Read The Ghost of Fossil Glen Online
Authors: Cynthia DeFelice
The Ghost of Fossil Glen (8 page)
May 3, 1994
Dear Diary
,
Tonight I was watching TV and Gag-Me and Mom were talking in the other room. Suddenly I heard Mom say NO kind of loud
.
That's what got my attention, 'cause she usually doesn't say no to him. I started listening. He was acting all lovey-dovey, smoochy-smoochy, saying, “Please, honey, just sign it.”
And she said, “I'll have to think about it.”
And then he acted real hurt and said, “You don't trust me,” and she said, “Of course I do, but I think you should finance it with your own money,” and he said, “How am I supposed to be successful if you don't have confidence in me?” and Mom said, “Lucy's father left the money for her, so I can take care of her and educate her. I wouldn't feel right risking her inheritance in a real estate deal.” He said, “But there's no risk! This is a sure thing! You'll get the money back twenty times over.”
Mom said, “But John left the land to Lucy, really. And she told you she doesn't want to sell it. You know how she feels about that glen. It was a special place for her and her father.”
Like Gag-Me cares! Anyway, it went on and on and finally Mom said, “Let's watch TV with Lucy,” and he sat there and sulked like a little baby, I swear. But I was thinking, Good for Mom!!!
May 16, 1994
Dear Diary
,
I think I'm onto something BIG!!! Today I went into Gag-Me's office to see if there were any paper clips in the desk. It's not that I was snooping or anything. I mean, it's our desk he's using. And in the drawer I found sheets of paper covered with my mom's signature. Except she didn't write it. Why would she practice writing her own name? It was Gag-Me, writing her name over and over and over! There were some old checks there he must have been copying from. And he was getting pretty darn good at forging her signature
.
So I kept looking around. I know it's bad to peek at people's private stuff, but I figure this is war. There was a big bunch of papers from a bank in Rhode Island with all these blank lines for “Cosigner's Signature.” They were marked with red X's
.
Those must be the papers Gag-Me was trying to get Mom to sign. And since she wouldn't, he's going to sign them himself! Which means he's going ahead with his crummy project, promising the bank our money and planning to sell our land!
I have to show Mom. He didn't actually forge her signature on the papers yet. But it's pretty obvious what he's thinking about. OhâMom's calling me. More laterâ
Bad news. I left you out on my desk when Mom called me. I thought I'd be right back, but she wanted me to go to the store with her. Darn! Darn! Darn! I can't believe itâI've been so careful to hide you up until now. When we got home, Gag-Me was here andâthis is the bad part: I'm pretty sure he found you and read everything I've written
.
He was upstairs when we came home, where he doesn't really have any business being. I mean, he doesn't live here
.
You were over near the corner of my desk. That's not where I left you
.
But the worst thing was the way he looked when he came downstairs. He watched Mom and me real hard for a minute, as if he wondered if I'd already told her what he's up to, and then he stared at me
for the longest time, and his eyes wereâOh, I can hardly describe how they lookedâdark and empty and cold. It was like looking into a deep, poisoned well
.
I've never liked him, Dear Diary, you know that, but I wasn't afraid of him. Until now
.
May 17, 1994
Dear Diary
,
I told Mom about the papers, but when we looked in the desk they were gone. Mom cried and said she doesn't know if it's true or if I'm making it all up. She said, “Why don't you think he was just doodling?” Then she said, “He didn't actually sign the papers, did he?” Which makes me mad because why doesn't she believe me? Why does she take his side?
Then she said that, either way, she doesn't see how she can get married. Which should make me happy, I guess. But I just feel crummy
.
She told Gag-Me the wedding is off, at least for now. She didn't say anything about the papers or her signature or any of that. She just said they had to wait until he and I could get along. He said, “You're going to let that brâ” he almost said
brat
but caught himself in timeâ“that
child
decide if you should get married or not? Did you ever consider that she's jealous of me and will do anything she can to prevent the wedding?”
And then Mom asked him to leave, and he tried to apologize and make up, and she said she was tired and they would talk about it tomorrow
.
And at that moment I was sure I could read his mind. He thinks I'm ruining all his plans. He thinks everything would be perfectly fine if I wasn't around. He wishes he could get rid of me
.
I remember his eyes and the way they looked at me, and I think he
would
get rid of me if he could figure out a way to do it. If he thought he could get away with it
.
I'm scared
.
Allie put down the diary with shaking hands. That was Lucy's last entry. She died the following night.
Allie sat at her desk for a long time, thinking. Mr. Curtis's boss was looking for a red leather diary that matched Allie's journal. Mr. Curtis's boss was upset that the diary hadn't been found. Why?
Because Mr. Curtis's boss was Raymond Gagney!
And Gag-Me didn't want anyone to read what Lucy had written about him!
Allie glanced at the clock. It was 7:30. She raced downstairs and hollered to her parents, who were in the living room, “I've got to go to Dub's for a minute to get a homework assignment. I'll be right back.” She crossed her fingers as she lied. She felt bad about it, but she was in too much of a hurry to try to explain to her parents where she was really going.
“Okay, sweetie,” her mother called, “but come right back.”
Allie got on her bike and pedaled furiously up Cumberland Road, turned onto High Street, and headed toward the Stiles house. She stopped in front of the sign for
GLEN VIEW ACRES
and read the words at the bottom: “R&G Enterprises, Santa Monica, California. Call 1-800-NEW-HOME for information and free brochure.”
R&G Enterprises. Raymond Gagney. R and G.
Allie's knees wobbled as she turned her bike around and rode home. Her mind raced as she pedaled down the street:
Lucy Stiles didn't fall from the cliffs above Fossil Glen: Raymond Gagney pushed her. He killed Lucy and he got away with it
.
She remembered that Mr. Henry had said that Lucy's mother moved to California after Lucy's death. R&G Enterprises was in California. Perhaps, thought Allie, Gag-Me followed her there and sweet-talked her into getting married, after all. And now, at last, Gag-Me was carrying out his plan to develop Fossil Glen.
Allie crept into the room her parents used for an office and dialed the operator. “Could I please have the area code for Santa Monica, California?” she asked. When she called Directory Assistance in Santa Monica and asked for the number of a Raymond Gagney, she was told that the number was unlisted. Next she asked if there was a number for a Rebecca Stiles, but was told no, there was no such listing.
Taking a deep breath, she dialed 1-800-NEW-HOME. “Hello, R&G Enterprises,” chirped a cheery woman's voice.
Allie wished she'd planned more carefully what she would say if someone answered. “Um, hello,” she said, trying to make herself sound like a woman rather than an eleven-year-old girl. She decided to take a wild chance. “May I please speak to Mr. Gagney?”
“Mr. Gagney isn't in at the moment,” said the voice. “May I take a message?”
The woman sounded friendly and helpful enough, so Allie said, “Well, I'd really like to speak with him about Glen View Acres.”
“Oh, yes, the project in Seneca, New York.”
“Is there a number where I could reach him?”
The woman laughed. “You're in luck, honey. He's there now. I'll give you the number of the New York office and you can try him. Although you probably won't be able to reach him until tomorrow. It's still business hours here on the West Coast, but it's whatâa little after 8 p.m. there in New York?”
Allie glanced at the clock. “Yes,” she said.
“Well, here's the number.” The woman read off a number and Allie copied it on a notepad.
The telephone exchange was familiar; Allie recognized it as that of a nearby town. Good, she thought. It's not a toll call. She dialed the number.
To her surprise, a man answered after two rings.
“Hello,” he said brusquely.
“Hello,” said Allie. “Is Raymond Gagney there, please?”
“Speaking.”
Allie felt a moment of panic. Gag-Me himself! The man who came so horribly alive in Lucy's diary, the man who had killed her! Without thinking, Allie blurted, “I have the book you're looking for.”
There was a pause. “Who is this?”
“I know what you did to Lucy,” Allie went on, unable to stop herself. “You'd better not sell the glen, or you'll be sorry!” Quickly, she hung up, then stared at the phone in horror. What if it rang? Could Gag-Me trace the call? What if he had Caller ID? What in the world had she done?
She lifted the receiver again and dialed Dub's number. When he answered, she told him all about the diary and about the call she had made to Raymond Gagney.
“You did
what
?” Dub shouted in her ear. “You called a murderer and said, âI know what you did'? Why didn't you just say, âPlease come kill me, too'? Are you
crazy
?”
“Geez, Dub,” said Allie, “take it easy.”
“Did you actually say, âYou'll be sorry'? Oooh, I bet that scared him, Al.”
“I never thought he'd answer the phone!” Allie wailed. “So I was sort ofâunprepared.”
“I'll say,” said Dub darkly. “You didn't happen to say, âBy the way, my name is Allie Nichols and I live at 67 Cumberland Road,' did you?”
“Give me a break,” said Allie. “I'm not
that
stupid.” There was a silence. “Dub, you're scaring me,” she said in a small voice.
“Well, I'm sorry, but I wish you'd called me
before
you got the brilliant idea of calling to threaten a known murderer.”
“He's not a known murderer,” said Allie. “That's the problem. We're the only ones who know.”
“Didn't you tell your parents?” asked Dub.
“I can't,” Allie answered.
“Why not?”
“I showed them my journal the first night Lucy wrote in it,” Allie explained.
“So?”
“And when they saw the message, âI am L,' they thought I wrote it myself and made up a story about how the words appeared. Then the next night I heard them talking. They were all worried that I'm a hopeless psychopathic liar or something. They were trying to decide if they should send me to a shrink.”
“You're not supposed to call them that,” said Dub. “They're psychiatrists.”
“No kidding, Dub,” said Allie in exasperation. “The point is, I don't need one. I'm telling the truth. But they'll never believe me. I mean, I can hardly believe it myself.”
“Maybe we should tell the police,” Dub said.
“I've thought about that,” said Allie. “Can't you just picture the two of us at the police station explaining that a ghost has informed us that she was murdered?”
“Well, there's the diary,” said Dub.
“I know, but it's not really
proof
,” said Allie. “It ends with her saying she's scared.
We
know what happened after that because Lucyâor her ghostâhas practically told me! She made me have that dream where I saw her falling. She told me to look in the newspapers. She told me to search in the desk until I found the diary. She keeps giving me clues. She wanted me to figure out what happened to her. But who's going to believe that?”
“I see what you mean, I guess,” said Dub.
Allie and Dub were both quiet for a minute while they thought about the odd happenings of the past three days. It was apparent that Lucy had chosen Allie to avenge her murder. She needed Allie's help to bring Raymond Gagney to justice and stop him from developing the glen.
And Allie wasn't going to let her down. But she had to figure out what to do.
On her way to school the next day, Allie was dismayed to see a bulldozer poised at the edge of the meadow. She stopped and stared. It looked like a huge, menacing yellow creature, with a wide mouth made to scrape off the skin and dig deep into the guts of the earth, and treads designed to obliterate everything in their path. She shuddered, imagining the thing at work.
When she got to school, she groaned as she looked at the blackboard and saw the words: Pop QuizâMath. She was exhausted. How could she possibly concentrate?
Allie had hardly slept all night, thinking about Raymond Gagney and how she could stop him from carrying out his plan. She'd stared wide-eyed into the darkness, hoping that Lucy's ghost would come to her and tell her what to do. She'd gotten up four times to look in her journal to see if any helpful instructions had appeared. She'd squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to see Lucy's face or hear Lucy's voice. Nothing. It seemed as if Lucy had abandoned her.
Every time she began to feel that she might be drifting off to sleep, an image of Raymond Gagney would appear in her mind's eye. She'd never seen the man, but Lucy's vivid descriptions made him real to her.
He knew who she was. He knew where she lived. He was right outside her door. No, he had climbed up and was peering in her window. No, he was underneath the bed. Yes, he was waiting for her to sleep so he could put his hands around her neck as he had done to Lucy, to silence her forever.
Sleep had been impossible. But now that she was in school, she could hardly keep her eyes open. On the day of a math quiz. Terrific.
As always, it was difficult to tell who felt worse about the quiz, the kids or Mr. Henry. He passed out the pages apologetically and told them to begin. “Read each question carefully and do your best,” he said.
Allie read the first question. It was about two trains leaving a station at different times, traveling at different speeds. Which one would get from Point A to Point B first? Oh boy.
She read the question again, then drew a little picture of two trains on her scratch paper. She drew Point A and Point B. She stared at the little trains, willing them to chug to Point B so she could see which one would arrive first. They didn't move.
This is ridiculous, she thought. I've got to wake up and think. I've got to be
logical
. She turned back to the problem with ferocious concentration. There was a formula for calculating the answer; she simply had to remember it.
Slowly, she worked her way down the page, carefully filling in answers with her pencil. Soon she came to a question that made her smile. Mr. Henry put one or two gag questions in every test, just for fun. This time the question was: Who is buried in Grant's tomb? Allie grinned.
Who is buried in Lucy Stiles's grave?
The question came to her unbidden. Answer:
No one
. Lucy's body was never found. Allie tried to remember what she had read in the newspaper accounts about the search. The police figured that Lucy fell from the cliff. Since her body wasn't at the bottom of the glen where she fell, they assumed it had been carried downstream. That was logical.
Then, since it wasn't anywhere along the creek's banks, they calculated that it had been washed out into the lake by the high waters of early spring. Again, logical.
But, thought Allie excitedly, Lucy didn't fall. She was pushed. By Raymond Gagney. And if he'd tried to strangle her first, the way he had in Allie's dream, maybe he hadn't wanted her body to be found. Maybe he had counted on the police figuring things out exactly the way they did.
Which meant that he must have done something with Lucy's body. Allie thought about that, gazing fixedly into space, trying to picture the scene: A dark, rainy night. A murderer standing on a cliff, staring down at the body of his victim far below in a deep and isolated glen. Hoping her body would be swept away, then realizing the risk if the body was ever recovered.
What would he do?
She felt someone's eyes on her and looked up. Mr. Henry was gazing at her with a worried expression on his face. He pointed to his watch and mouthed the words, “Get to work.”
Reluctantly, Allie forced her thoughts back to the quiz. When Mr. Henry called for the papers to be handed forward, she had actually answered all the questions. She even thought she'd gotten most of them right.
Mr. Henry announced that since it was raining, with occasional bursts of thunder and lightning, they would postpone their field trip to Fossil Glen until the following day.
Joey Fratto raised his hand. “Did you see the sign at the glen?” he asked. “About building houses there?”
Mr. Henry looked disturbed. “Yes, I saw that,” he said, “and I find it puzzling. My understanding was that the owner, Mrs. Stiles, wanted to leave the glen as it is, for everyone to enjoy. I'm really surprised that she would allow this.” He shrugged. “But sometimes people have to do things they'd rather not do.”
“We could write her a letter,” said Dub, “and tell her we've been learning all about the glen and don't think she should let it be ruined.”
He looked at Allie, who shrugged and nodded. It couldn't hurt. She hadn't had any luck phoning Lucy's mother, but perhaps Mr. Henry could help them track her down. Allie was willing to bet that Mrs. Stilesâor Mrs. Gagney, or whatever her name was nowâdidn't know what Gag-Me was up to.
“That's a good idea,” said Mr. Henry. “What do the rest of you think?”
“Yeah!”
“Good idea.”
“Let's do it.”
“Okay,” said Mr. Henry. “Tomorrow during our field trip we'll make a list of everything we see and all the reasons why we think the glen should be preserved.”
“Can you bring Hoover tomorrow?” Brad asked.
“Please,” begged Julie in a wheedling voice.
“Please,” chorused twenty-three other voices.
Mr. Henry smiled. His dog not only had been to school on many occasions but also had accompanied the class on several field trips, including one to a local apple farm, where she'd raced through the orchard and eaten the cores of everyone's apples.
There had been one anxious moment when she had disappeared. When the class found her, she was happily rolling in a large, smelly mound of cow manure behind the barn. Even with all the windows of the bus open, the ride back to school was something none of them was likely to forget.
“Good idea,” said Mr. Henry. “I'm glad you thought of it. Hoover will be happy, too, I'm sure. But if I bring her, you'll all have to help me keep an eye on her. I don't think there's any cow manure in the glen, but you never know what she'll find to get into.”
“We'll watch her,” Julie promised.
“All right,” said Mr. Henry. “Miss Hoover will join us. Now, since we won't be going outside, let's go back to the library and continue our research there. I want you to look for field guides that will help us identify the things we see in the glen tomorrow. Let's go.”
Allie went straight to Mrs. Foster and asked if she could look again at the newspaper articles about the glen. Dub joined her as she began to reread each entry carefully.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“I don't know,” Allie answered. “A clue, maybe. Something I missed the first time. Or any mention of Gag-Me.”
“Yeah!” said Dub. “If the police were suspicious of him back then, they might believe us if we tell them our theory.”
“Maybe,” said Allie doubtfully. “If we leave out that we got our information from Lucy's ghost.”
“But they have to pay attention to murder!”
“Murder? Ghosts?” said a scornful voice. Allie and Dub looked up to see Karen Laver standing behind them. “Don't tell me Allie's sucking you into her ridiculous stories now, Dub.”
“Nobody was talking to you, Karen,” said Dub.
“But I heard you,” answered Karen. “It says in the newspaper plain as day what happened to that girl Lucy Stiles: she fell. Somebody falls or gets hurt in the glen almost every year. But Allie has to turn everything into a big hairy deal.”
“Why don't you go mind your own business,” said Dub.
“Gladly,” said Karen. “It's bad enough that Mr. Henry has made Allie his little pet. I'm surprised that you're falling for her stupid stories, too.” With a disdainful toss of her braid, she walked away.
Allie sat where she was, trying to sort out the confused rush of feelings Karen's remarks had sent flooding through her. What was Karen talking about? She soundedâwell, if Allie didn't know better, she'd think Karen was jealous. Once again, Karen had managed to take Allie by surprise, attacking and then retreating before Allie had time to take in what Karen had said, and certainly before Allie had time to think of something to say back.
Looking at Dub, she shook her head in consternation. “I wish I knew why she hates me so much.”
“Forget it, Al,” said Dub. “It's a game she plays. She doesn't have anything better to do. But we have. So let's keep looking.”
They went over every account of the disappearance of Lucy Stiles, but found nothing new and no evidence that Raymond Gagney had been a suspect.
“What now?” asked Dub.
“Well, we can hope that your idea about writing to Lucy's mother might at least stop the bulldozers. But that won't help us prove that Lucy was murdered.”
There had to be a way. Allie thought about what she had read and about all that had happened. She reminded herself that she wasn't even twelve years old. But she was alive, she told herself, and strong, and pretty smart. And, for some reason,
Lucy had chosen her
.
She owed it to Lucy to see that Raymond Gagney didn't get away with murder.