The Pike River Phantom (9 page)

John Hocking opened the car door and jumped out. From the corner of his eye, Charlie saw his grandfather returning with a cardboard tray of ice-cream cones. He was walking fast, but his worried frown faded as John grabbed Frank Mason's hand and shook it vigorously.

“This is one heck of a relief to me!” John exclaimed. “Makes me feel a lot better, Frank.”

“If he doesn't stop shaking Mr. Mason's hand, he's going to break it off,” Charlie whispered.

Rachel giggled. It was good to hear her laugh again. “You're awful,” she murmured. They watched as Grandpa set the tray on the hood of the car and joined in the handshaking.

“You should be proud of Uncle John,” Rachel said, just as if she hadn't been as nervous as Charlie was a couple of minutes ago. “He didn't even say ‘I told you so.'”

Charlie was proud, but he was uncomfortable, too. His own advice to his father kept resounding in his head.
You should have kept quiet
. He was glad Rachel didn't know about that.

On the ride home John gave a long, contented sigh. “I never thought that would happen,” he said, grinning over the top of his triple-dip cone. “Frank Mason apologizing that way. Made me feel like ten million dollars.”

Grandpa Will nodded. “I'm happy for you, son. Happy for Frank Mason, too. Saying he's sorry doesn't come easy to that man.”

“The thing is,” John went on, “I hate having somebody mad at me, even when I know I'm right. It's depressing—you know what I mean?”

In the backseat, Charlie looked quickly at Rachel. Her smile had vanished, and the dazed expression had returned. She was thinking about the phantom.

Oh, you're going to be sorry!
the ghost-girl had shrieked.
You'll be sorry for everything!
Charlie remembered the tears that had streamed down his cousin's cheeks. She was hated by someone—and she didn't even know why.

“Well, now, folks,” John said grandly, “I want all of you to know this has been a great little trip to the Chocolate Palace. You were around when I was down, so I'm glad you're here now.”

Looking from his father's smile to his grandfather's look of amusement and satisfaction, Charlie felt a thousand miles away from them both. He'd been no help at all when his father was trying to do the right thing about the paint. Now he and Rachel had a problem of their own, and he didn't know the right thing to do about that either. He didn't even know where to begin.

CHAPTER 12

To his surprise, Charlie had a good time at the Saturday night cookout. The bratwurst, simmered in Mrs. Gessert's special barbecue sauce, had something to do with it. And Grandma Lou's baked-bean casserole was melt-in-your-mouth perfect. But more important than the food was the remarkable change in his father. John Hocking seemed relaxed, at ease. When Mr. Gessert told a long story about his freshman English class, John listened patiently. He laughed at the other men's jokes without trying to top them. The guitar lay on the patio step until Mrs. Michalski suggested it was time for a sing-along.

“Uncle John is happy,” Rachel whispered. “I never saw him really happy before.”

Charlie looked at her in amazement. He'd thought his father was happy most of the time.

There was still another reason to enjoy this cookout night. Helping Grandma set up tables and carry out food had given him something to think about besides the ghost-girl. The experience in the old house had been on his mind constantly since yesterday, though he and Rachel had talked about it only once, when they'd met in the hall early in the morning.

“I feel awful,” she'd whispered, barely moving her lips. “I had nightmares all night.”

Charlie had had a nightmare, too.

“The whole thing is connected with the Sunbonnet Queen contest,” she went on. “Oh, I wish I never entered the contest! I'd like to call someone on the committee and say I'm dropping out, but then I'd have to explain to Grandma Lou. And she'd never believe me if I told her why.”

“Maybe she would,” Charlie said. “Believe
you
, I mean. It's me people don't believe.”

“No, she wouldn't! Not a chance! She really wants me to be queen, Charlie. It's important to her. If you really wanted me to do something, and I told you I wasn't even going to try because I'd seen a ghost—would you believe me?”

Charlie shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You would not! You'd say I was making up a story because I'd changed my mind. And you'd be disappointed in me.” Rachel's lips quivered at the thought of making Grandma Lou unhappy. “What can I do?”

“Well—we'll investigate, okay? Tomorrow.”

“You mean go back to that house?” She looked sicker than before.

Fortunately, Grandpa had come along just then and asked for help weeding the garden “before company comes.” Charlie didn't have the slightest idea of how they could investigate a ghost. He certainly didn't want to return to the house, any more than Rachel did.

Now, as his father started a last chorus of “Someone's in the Kitchen with Dinah,” the phantom seemed far away. Charlie even sang a little, which he didn't usually do because his voice cracked when he least expected it.

“I think this has been one of the nicest Saturday evenings we've had,” Mrs. Koch announced. “I'm sorry Merrill wasn't here to enjoy it.”

Merrill was Mr. Koch. He was in Kansas City at a lodge convention, so Charlie and his father had helped to carry the Kochs' card table and chairs and Mrs. Koch's fruit salad to the picnic.

“Rachel and I'll take your things home,” Charlie offered as the others began to gather their belongings. He was sorry to have the evening end.

Short, round Mrs. Koch reached up to pat his head. “I don't know what we did before you and your father got here, Charlie,” she said. “I hope you stay with us for a long, long time.”

Her kindness startled Charlie. He realized this was the first time all evening that he remembered he would be leaving Pike River soon for California.

They were cutting through backyards, with Mrs. Koch and her flashlight leading the way, when Charlie had his bright idea. Maybe it had been there all the time, when he'd promised Rachel they would investigate the ghost. Maybe it was the real reason he'd offered to help Mrs. Koch. She knew all about the Sunbonnet Queen, didn't she? She even remembered when Grandma Lou was queen, more than fifty years ago.

He hurried to catch up to the bobbing flashlight. “You remember most of the Sunbonnet Queen contests, don't you, Mrs. Koch? I bet you know a lot of stories about them.”

He heard Rachel's quick intake of breath.

“I do remember one sad thing that happened,” Mrs. Koch mused. She shifted her empty salad bowl to the other arm while she fished in her pocket for the house key. “I don't know if I should tell you about it, though. Your grandma might not like it.”

“Why not?” Charlie tried to sound unconcerned, but his heart was thumping a brisk tattoo.

“Because it happened the year she was queen,” Mrs. Koch said, “and it was really dreadful. We never talked about it in front of her—just tried to forget it had happened.” She opened the back door and led the way into her kitchen. “I don't think I should—”

The sentence ended in a bloodcurdling scream. Charlie stopped so suddenly that Rachel crashed into him. The card table and chairs they were carrying clattered against the counter.

“A mouse!” Mrs. Koch screamed. “I saw it when the light went on. I saw it! It ran in there!” She pointed to the dining room. She was perched on top of the kitchen table, her feet drawn up under her. Charlie wondered how she'd gotten up there so fast.

“A mouse won't hurt you,” Rachel said. She sounded as if she didn't approve of people who were afraid of mice.

Mrs. Koch rocked back and forth. “I can't stand them!” she wailed. Her glasses were askew, and there were tears in her eyes. “Oh, what am I going to do? Why isn't Merrill here!”

Charlie and Rachel exchanged glances.
Of all times!
his cousin's look said clearly.
Just when we were going to find out something
.…

“Have you any traps?” Charlie asked. “My aunt Laura had mice in her apartment in Milwaukee, and she set traps every week or so.”

Mrs. Koch shuddered. “I suppose we have one somewhere. But if you think I can go to bed when there's a mouse running around my house …” She looked longingly at the back door, as if she wished there were some way to reach it without touching the floor. “I'll go over to the Gesserts',” she announced. “I can sleep on their couch. Merrill will be home tomorrow. He can set some traps then.”

“You don't have to do that,” Charlie said quickly. “We'll find the mouse—no problem. It's probably hiding under something. Where's your broom?”

Mrs. Koch pointed to a door. Charlie opened it and faced shelves of cleaning materials. The smell of lemon oil flooded the air. In spite of himself he stepped backward, and heard Rachel's not-quite-smothered snicker.

“Hurry
up
, Charlie!” she exclaimed. “Do you want the mouse to get away?”

Reluctantly, Charlie reached in and snatched a broom. With Rachel right behind him, he searched the dining room, looking under the table and chairs, sweeping under the heavy sideboard that filled one wall.

“Do you see it?” Mrs. Koch quavered from the kitchen.

“Not yet.” Charlie decided it was hopeless. The dining room opened into a living room crammed with furniture. To the left was another door leading to a hallway and the bedrooms. The mouse could be anywhere in the house by now.

“Do something, Charlie,” Rachel whispered fiercely. “I want to hear the rest of that story about the time Grandma was Sunbonnet Queen!”

Charlie gritted his teeth. “So do I! If you're so smart,
you
find the stupid mouse.”

They moved into the living room, and Charlie swept the broom under the sofa, and the two armchairs, and the television console.

“What are you going to do if he comes running out?” Rachel asked. “Smack him with the broom?”

Charlie hadn't thought that far ahead. “Chase him out the back door,” he suggested. “That's probably the way he came in.”

“Right past Mrs. Koch? Oh, wow.”

It occurred to him then that most of his problems involved elderly ladies. Mrs. Fisher. Mrs. Koch. Grandma Lou, once in a while. Old ladies might look harmless, but looks could be deceiving. Even the ghost-girl had been an old lady the first time he'd seen her. But
she
hadn't looked harmless at all.

They searched two bedrooms and the bathroom. The bedroom closet doors were closed, and Charlie said that meant the mouse couldn't be in either of them, though Rachel pointed out that the space beneath the doors was wide enough for a skinny mouse to slip through. Still huddled on the kitchen table, Mrs. Koch called out warnings to be careful.

“Any minute now she's going to decide to go to the Gesserts' for the night,” Rachel groaned, “and that'll end our chance to find out what she knows about the contest.”

“What's behind there?” Charlie pointed to a door at the end of the hall. It was opened a crack. Rachel ran down the hall to look, then returned to the kitchen, motioning Charlie to follow.

“I guess we found out where the mouse went,” she announced cheerfully. “The basement door was open just a little, and he must have scooted right down there. I closed it, so you can forget about that old mouse until Mr. Koch gets home tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Koch looked doubtful.

“Oh, absolutely,” Rachel insisted. “The basement would be the natural place for him to run to, wouldn't it? After all, the poor little thing was probably scared to death when we walked in and surprised him.”

“Poor little thing, indeed!” Mrs. Koch lowered herself to the floor and straightened her glasses. “I'd rather find an elephant in my kitchen than a mouse.”

Charlie grinned, but Rachel looked sympathetic. “Now you don't have to go over to the Gesserts' house after all,” she soothed. “Why don't you just go in and lie on the sofa for a while, and I'll make you a nice cup of tea?”

She led the way into the living room and watched approvingly as Mrs. Koch lay down. “You go ahead and talk,” she said. “Tell us all about when Grandma Lou was the Sunbonnet Queen. And talk loud, won't you? I don't want to miss a word.”

She bustled back to the kitchen, and Mrs. Koch looked after her with a puzzled expression. “I didn't really promise to tell that story, did I? It was such a long time ago—I'm sorry I even mentioned it.”

“I think you
should
tell us,” Charlie told her, wondering what they were talking about. “It can't do any harm after fifty years, can it?”

Teakettle in hand, Rachel darted back to the living room. “Mrs. Koch, you have to tell us,” she declared dramatically. “I'm running for Sunbonnet Queen, you know. Don't you think I should hear about all the problems that might come up? I mean, what if whatever-it-was should happen again?”

“Heaven forbid!” Mrs. Koch smiled wearily. “I can easily imagine you in the queen's costume, dear. You'd be the very picture of your grandmother fifty years ago.”

Charlie sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs. “Does she really look so much like Grandma did then?”

“She surely does. I've told you that before.”

Charlie felt like a detective who has finally recognized a pretty obvious clue. “What about the other girls in Grandma's contest? Do you remember them, too?”

“Of course I do. That's what I was thinking about before—before the mouse! We always remember troublemakers, and if ever there was a troublemaker it was Katya Torin.”

Rachel turned abruptly and returned to the kitchen. They heard the stove turn on with a little
pop
, and then she rushed back to the living room and settled expectantly in the other chair.