The Pike River Phantom (7 page)

“Guess that's what you're looking for.” Her expression told him she didn't think
his
pictures would be very interesting.

Charlie paid her and hurried out into the late-afternoon sun. He tore open the envelope and thumbed through the prints.

There was a shot of his friend Terry Cutter holding up the baseball he'd caught at a Brewer game. There were three pictures of Pete Sternig's new Labrador puppy, and two of the automobile race Charlie had gone to with Pete and his father. There were several shots taken on the last day of school. Charlie was glad to have them all. When he lived in California, the pictures would help him remember his old friends.

He reached the last print and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
Maybe I do have a concussion after all
, he thought, as he looked again at the picture.
Something's wrong with my eyes
.

He went back to the first photo and turned each picture over, counting, until there was only one left—the picture he'd been depending on to prove he wasn't a liar.

It was a snapshot of a sunny glassed-in porch with dusty windows, an empty rocking chair, and a candy bar lying on the floor.

CHAPTER 9

The lights were on in the kitchen when Charlie reached home. He could see Grandma Lou moving from stove to counter and back again. At the other end of the house, a faint blue glow suggested his father and Grandpa Will were watching the evening news.

Charlie stood in the backyard and looked at the house. It had never seemed quite so inviting, and he had never felt so much a stranger. When he was gone, life would continue in there, and in Pike River, without him. Oh, they'd talk about him for a while—a boy who didn't always tell the truth, a boy who got in trouble with the police. His father's son. Even Grandma and Grandpa would be secretly relieved that they didn't have to worry about him anymore.

He walked around the garden looking at flower beds, at the birdbath, trying to memorize details so he could recall them when he was far away.

“What's that—pictures?”

Charlie jumped. He'd been so busy feeling sorry for himself, he hadn't heard Rachel come outside. She was eyeing the packet of snapshots in his hand.

“Yeah—pictures.” Charlie shoved the folder into his pocket.

“Show me?”

“It's too dark.”

“In the house, silly. I like looking at snapshots.”

Reluctantly Charlie followed her indoors and down the hall to her bedroom. Girls were a puzzle; at least, this one was: teasing, sharp-tongued one minute, warm and friendly the next. He wondered if they tried to be that way, or if it just happened.

“Come on, let's see them.” Rachel sat on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her.

Charlie hesitated. The biggest mystery of his life was in that folder. He couldn't show Rachel the shot of the empty rocking chair without explaining why he'd taken the picture, yet he didn't want to give her, or anyone else, a chance to call him a liar again. Maybe if he was very careful … He took out the folder and removed eleven of the twelve prints, holding the packet high so Rachel couldn't see what he was doing.

“They're mostly guys I used to know,” he said, “in Milwaukee.”

Rachel went through the pictures, studying each one. She lingered over the pictures of Pete Sternig and his puppy.

“Cute,” she said softly. “I love dogs.”

“His name is Rip. For Rip van Winkle. Because he falls asleep wherever he is.”

“What are these cars?”

Charlie sat down and peered over her shoulder. “That was at a racetrack north of Milwaukee. There's Pete again, and there's his father. His dad is a great guy. He took us places—Brewer games, a Bucks game once. Pete's my best friend.”

Rachel started through the pictures again. “These are neat,” she said. “I never had a best friend before I came to Pike River. I have one now,” she added hastily. “Jenny Chase. But she's in Colorado till August.”

She paused. Charlie hoped she hadn't been counting the pictures as she looked at them.

“Why didn't you have a best friend before?” he asked hurriedly.

“We were always moving. We lived in Boston for a while, and then two different towns in Mexico. Then we went to St. Thomas, and for about six months we were in Puerto Rico. It was no use trying to make friends because I knew we wouldn't be around long. When my dad got his permanent assignment—in Zaire—my folks decided I should go to school in the United States. So I came here. And I've been here ever since.”

She brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “I love Pike River,” she said dreamily. “I wish I'd lived here all my life. There's a white house on Brooker Street that I call our house. I pretend my father is a minister here in Pike River, and I'm staying with Grandpa and Grandma for a little while because my bedroom in our own house is being redecorated. That's all make-believe, but I really am going to stay in Pike River the rest of my life. I'm going to know everybody, and everybody's going to know me—” She looked at Charlie sharply. “Don't you dare tell anybody what I said about the white house, Charlie Hocking. If you do, I'll—I'll push you in a closet and let you soak in lemon oil all night long!”

Charlie had to laugh. He was glad she'd told him about herself; now he understood why she was always so busy. It must be a full-time job, getting to know, and be known by, everybody in town. And he understood why being chosen the Fourth of July Sunbonnet Queen was so important to her. The Sunbonnet Queen became part of Pike River's history. She would truly belong.

“Where's the last picture?” Rachel demanded abruptly. Sure enough, she'd been counting. “Let me see it, Charlie.”

Charlie made a quick decision. A few minutes ago he would have refused to take out the twelfth print, but that was before Rachel told him about her make-believe home on Brooker Street. She'd trusted him not to laugh. Maybe he could trust her, too.

He opened the folder. “Do you remember the cook-out when I told about the old woman in the woods? And everybody said there wasn't any old woman? They said I was telling a whopper.”

“No, they didn't,” Rachel protested, “not exactly. They just said—”

“
You
thought I was lying, too,” Charlie continued. “You said so. You said I ate that chocolate bar and made up the old lady. And Grandpa didn't believe me! He went out to the house the next day and looked around. He told me no one was there, and he was sure no one had been there for a long time.”

“What's all that got to do with the other picture?” Rachel demanded. “Come
on
, Charlie.”

He handed her the snapshot. “I went back to the house myself. I saw the woman again, and I took a picture of her. I wanted to prove to all of you that I was telling the truth.” He leaned over Rachel's shoulder and pointed at the rocking chair. “She was sitting right there when I snapped the picture. I swear it! Her foot was next to the candy bar on the floor.” He waited. “You going to call me a liar again?”

Rachel looked from the snapshot to Charlie and then back to the picture again, as if they were two parts of a peculiar puzzle. “Is this a joke?” she asked finally. “If it is, I don't get it.”

“No joke,” Charlie assured her. “The woman was sitting right there. We talked, and when I was leaving I took her picture. You're looking at it.”

“But she isn't here,” Rachel protested.

“She was.”

Rachel's look of doubt changed to awe. “Then you're lucky,” she said slowly. “You're absolutely the luckiest person I know. I'd rather have seen her than—than be chosen Sunbonnet Queen.”

Charlie blinked. “Why?”

“Because she's a ghost, dummy. A phantom! I've never seen a phantom in my whole life, and I don't know anyone else who has. Except you.” Rachel held the picture up to the light. “She really isn't there. You can't take a picture of a ghost, you know. Not with an ordinary camera.”

“Who says so?”

“I say so. I
know
so. Oh, Charlie,” the know-it-all tone changed, “let me go out there with you next time. Please!”

Charlie shook his head. Rachel had just put his own worst suspicions into words. The woman wasn't real. He had talked to her twice, but
she wasn't real
. “I'm not going back to that house, ever,” he said. “Why should I?”

“But you have to go back,” Rachel insisted. “Don't you want to prove you were telling the truth about the old woman? I'll be your witness.”

Charlie didn't like her assumption that people would believe her when they wouldn't believe him. He grabbed the snapshot and stuffed it back in the folder. “I don't care about that anymore,” he said. “It doesn't matter.”

Rachel groaned. “Come
on
!” she exclaimed. “How can you
not
want to find out the truth, Charlie? Besides, if we prove the house is haunted, everyone in Pike River will know us. We'll be famous!”

“And you'll be chosen the Sunbonnet Queen for sure.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “You'll be a hero, Charlie. People will be so sorry they didn't believe you in the first place. Especially Grandpa!”

Charlie sighed. That was another disturbing thing about girls; they could talk you into doing just about anything they wanted.

“Okay, we'll go back, once,” he grumbled. “But if the woman isn't there, you have to swear never to tell anyone else about the picture. They'll just laugh.”

“See?” Rachel grinned. “You do care.” She jumped up from the bed and pulled Charlie to his feet. “I swear. Now let's make cocoa and write a list of what we'll need,” she ordered. “Oh, Charlie, we're going ghost-hunting tomorrow morning!”

CHAPTER 10

Charlie was back in Mrs. Fisher's closet, only now the closet had shrunk to the height and depth of a coffin. He tried to call for help, but he couldn't make a sound. He heard a soft hissing. Mrs. Fisher was piping poison gas into the coffin.

“Sssst, Charlie.”

He struggled out of the sheet that was tangled around him and sat up. His heart pounded. “Ssssst,” the sound came again. Not poison gas after all. The door of the den opened a few inches and Rachel's dark head appeared. “Is it okay if I come in?”

Charlie glanced at the other half of the sofa bed. His father was gone, and the room was drenched with sunlight. “It's okay,” he replied groggily, then discovered Rachel was already at the foot of the bed.

“What time is it?”

“Nine-thirty.” Her tone suggested that he was the worst sleepyhead she'd ever known. “Grandma said we had to let you sleep. She said you needed time to recover from your terrible experience yesterday. All that lemon oil.”

Charlie glared at her. “I'll bet Grandma never mentioned the lemon oil.”

“What's the difference?” Rachel drawled. “The point is, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Need more time to get over your terrible experience? Because if you don't, I think we should get started for the house in the woods right away. I've got the list.”

Charlie looked at the paper she dropped on the bed. “Flashlight,” he read aloud. “Candles. Skeleton keys. Sandwiches.” He rubbed his eyes as if he couldn't believe what he saw. “If we go out there this morning, why do we need a flashlight and candles?”

“You had to search for the old lady last time, didn't you?” Rachel demanded. “Maybe this time she'll be in the basement, and we'll need lights to find her.”

“If she's in the basement, she can stay in the basement,” Charlie said firmly. “I'm not going down there to look for her. No way! And there's something I forgot to tell you last night. She wasn't an
old
lady the second time I saw her. Not as old as the first time, I mean. Her hair was different, and her face. And she was thinner.”

Rachel stared at him in astonishment. “How could you possibly forget to tell me that?” she exclaimed. “Maybe it wasn't even the same ghost. Maybe it was the first ghost's daughter.”

“It was the same—whatever,” Charlie said. He returned to the list. “We won't need skeleton keys either. The front door will be unlocked, so we can walk right in, or else it'll be locked up tight the way it was when Grandpa came out there. If it's locked, we can forget the whole thing. We're not going to break in.”

Rachel took back the list. “I've already made the sandwiches,” she said coolly, “just in case you were going to say we don't need them either. I won't hike out there without taking lunch.”

“Good idea,” Charlie agreed. He discovered he was starving. That should convince Grandma he was over yesterday's terrible experience, even if the memory of it lingered in his dreams.

As they trudged along the highway outside of town, Charlie remembered something else he hadn't told Rachel. “The ghost was sewing when I took her picture,” he said. “She told me she was busy getting ready for the Fourth of July parade.”

“Really?” Rachel narrowed her eyes against the sun. “And the first time you saw her she said to tell Will Hocking hello from the real Sunbonnet Queen.” Her voice rose excitedly. “Those are clues, Charlie! This ghost-person has come back from the dead because of something to do with the parade or with the Sunbonnet Queen contest. If we can find out what the clues mean, we'll know what the ghost is doing in that house.”

Charlie supposed she was right. The closer they came to their destination, however, the more he wished they'd stayed home. A ghost—this ghost, anyway—meant trouble. He didn't know how he knew, but he was sure of it. And now that Rachel believed his story about the woman in the old house, he didn't have to prove himself to anyone else. He could leave Pike River and let her tell people that they'd been wrong about Charlie Hocking. She was right; they
would
believe her, even if they hadn't believed him.