All That's Missing (30 page)

“When was this?”

“Last night. Around dusk. Like I told you.”

Arlo sneaked a fresh look at Mr. Garringer. He had gotten up from the table now and was pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. His eyes were trained on the hallway where Mrs. Stemple and Matthew were standing. He kept pouring and pouring until the coffee overflowed into his saucer. Meanwhile, Matthew finished telling his story.

“Ida said she'd heard noises before, but she'd always figured they were shutters banging in the wind. Said she'd never given them a second thought. . . . well, not until last night, that is.”

Mrs. Stemple handed Matthew a check for the muffins. “I don't guess I ever told you about my great-aunt Thelma, did I?” she asked.

“Don't believe you did,” Matthew said. He glanced sideways at Mr. Garringer.

“Well, Aunt Thelma had a ghost who liked to throw towels on her bathroom floor.”

“Now, you see,” Matthew said, “those are just the kind of stories I never believed.”

“Well, I admit I always wondered. Aunt Thelma had a tendency to stretch the truth. Fact is, she drank a little. We never liked to talk about that. But with Ida . . . well, that's a different story.”

“Ida's as straight as an arrow,” Matthew agreed. “If that lady tells you something, you can take it to the bank.”

“She has her feet on the ground, all right.”

In the dining room, Mr. Garringer folded up his newspaper. He blotted coffee off his saucer with a napkin, keeping an ear cocked toward the front hallway.

“You'll let me know what you need for Tuesday?” Matthew said.

“I'll give you a call,” Mrs. Stemple said.

As they walked out the door, Arlo glanced over his shoulder. Mr. Garringer was peering at them through the front window.

Back in the van, Matthew tapped a victory beat on the dashboard. “We set the bait,” he said. “Now it's up to you and Maywood.”

Arlo looked at him.

“You and the sergeant ought to be more careful who's listening when you go planning your next caper.”

Matthew kept his eyes on the road.

“That was a good ghost story,” Arlo said. “How'd you think of it?”

“That story really happened,” Matthew said. “Most of it, anyway.”

“Not to Ida, though. Right?”

“Of course to Ida. All except the part about the soldier.”

“I don't understand,” Arlo said.

“Ida really did see a man in the attic. Only, it wasn't a man in uniform. He was wearing a blue sweater.”

An uncomfortable chill crossed Arlo's shoulders. “That was a long time ago, wasn't it?”

“About nine years,” Matthew said.

Arlo couldn't help thinking about the picture he'd seen in the family album, the photograph of a man wearing a blue sweater, a man who'd died in a car accident nine years ago.

“You all right, Skywalker?”

“I'm fine.”

“You don't look so fine.”

Arlo leaned his head against his seat and let the music from the radio wash over him. He tapped his pocket till he found the carving. Sure enough, it felt warm to him. Maybe he and Maywood weren't being so creative after all. Maybe putting a ghost in Ida's attic wasn't anything that hadn't already happened before.

As Arlo got out of the car, Matthew reached in the backseat and handed him a bag.

“Fresh doughnuts,” he said. “Ida likes the cake kind. I put in a couple of blueberry-filled for you.”

“Thank you,” Arlo said.

“You available to make deliveries next Saturday, too?”

“Sure,” Arlo said. “I'd like that.”

Matthew smiled. “I'd like that, too,” he said.

As Arlo watched from the gravel path, Matthew followed the curve of Ida's driveway till it straightened out and led him back to the road. Arlo mulled over the story about the man in the blue sweater.

Meanwhile, Ida waved from the kitchen window.

“Arlo? Are you all right?” she said. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“I'm fine.” Arlo bounded up the short staircase and handed her the bag. “Matthew sent you these.”

Ida looked up the driveway, where dust swirled in the wake of Matthew's van. “That man,” she said. “He's a treasure, isn't he?”

The afternoon after Matthew and Arlo made deliveries to the Swan's Neck, Arlo and Maywood worked on their plan for haunting Ida's house. They were in the attic, searching for ideas. Arlo picked up a harness-looking thing hanging from a hook on the wall. It had long leather strips studded with ornamental brass buttons.

“What's this?” he asked.

Maywood shook her head. “Looks like some decoration for a horse,” she said. “For a parade or something.”

“Whatever it is, it's been up here forever.” Arlo ran a finger over one of the strips and showed her the dust.

“I'll bet it would make a good noise if you dropped it,” Maywood said.

Arlo raised his arm.

“Wait a second,” Maywood said. “Where's Ida?”

“In the garden,” Arlo said.

He raised his arm higher before letting go. The object hit the floor with a resounding clatter.

“That's perfect,” Maywood said.

“Not bad,” Arlo agreed.

“We need something else, though.” Maywood turned in a circle, examining the contents of the attic. “What's over there?”

She pointed to a dark object in the shadows under the eaves. Arlo walked over to inspect.

“It's an old trunk,” he said.

“Try pushing it over the floor,” Maywood said.

Arlo gave the trunk a good shove. There was a delicious-sounding scrape of wood against wood.

“I like it,”
Maywood said.

“So, now all we need are signals for me to let you know when to make the noises,” Arlo said.

“And an emergency signal in case something goes wrong,” Maywood added.

That evening at dinner, Ida got a call from Mr. Tretheway.

“What's wrong?” Arlo asked when Ida came back to the table.

“Mr. Garringer is coming tomorrow to look at the house,” she said.

“On Sunday?”

She rolled her eyes. “At least we'll get it over with,” she said. “He's bringing a contractor along. They'll be here at one. He wants to talk about knocking down some walls.”

“But he's never even seen the house,” Arlo said.

Ida sniffed. “Nathan thinks he's making assumptions based on the age of the place — the fact that it was built in the twenties.”

Arlo phoned Maywood right after dinner. He explained what was going on. “Can you be here by twelve thirty tomorrow?” he asked.

“I was supposed to help Dad with inventory, but I'll think of some excuse,” she said.

Now there was nothing to do but wait and hope that everything went according to plan.

Ida was in her bedroom when Arlo spotted Maywood pumping her bike down the driveway. It was twenty-seven minutes past noon. Maywood steered her bike across the field and through the orchard until she came to a stop behind the garage.

Arlo rushed downstairs to meet her at the kitchen door.

“Is he here yet?” she asked.

“No,” Arlo said. “You made it.”

“Where's Ida?”

“In the bathroom, changing. Come on. I'll sneak you up the back stairs.”

They crept up the dark staircase and rounded the corner to the door to the attic. Ida's bedroom and bath were on the front side of the house, so as long as they stayed quiet, she'd have no idea that Maywood was in the house.

“Did you figure out the signals yet?” Maywood asked.

“When you hear me shut the closet door in my room,” Arlo said, “count to ten and then push the trunk across the floor.”

“OK,” Maywood said. “What else?”

“When I tap on the vent, count to twenty and then drop that harness thing with the leather strips.”

“Right,” Maywood said. “What about the emergency signal?”

“I'll call for Steamboat,” Arlo said.

Maywood looked at him.

“You know, if you hear me say,
Here, Steamboat,
that means, get out of the attic now!”

Steamboat wagged his tail. He jumped up on Arlo's leg.

“Not now, Steamboat,” Arlo said.

Maywood shrugged. She leaned down and patted Steamboat on the head. “OK,” she said. “If you think that will work.”

“It'll work,” Arlo said. “Just be sure to go down the back staircase. That way, all you need to do is get from the attic door to the back stairs without being seen.”

“That won't even take a second,” Maywood said.

“I know.”

Steamboat wagged his tail while Arlo held the attic door open long enough for Maywood to slip inside. He let the latch slip back into position at an agonizingly slow pace to avoid making any noise. When it clicked at last, he led Steamboat downstairs and waited for Mr. Garringer and the contractor in the kitchen.

When Ida came downstairs, she pointed toward two cardboard boxes filled with canceled checks and letters and files that were sitting under the sideboard in the dining room.

“Would you mind helping me carry those to the attic?” she asked. “I don't want strangers snooping through my personal papers.”

“The attic?” Arlo said.

“On second thought, maybe there's space under the bottom shelf in the pantry,” she said.

“That sounds better.” Arlo felt his heart slowing down again.

Ida looked at him.

“That way you won't have to carry them back down two flights of stairs,” he explained.

“Right,” Ida said. “Let's just get them out of the way before that horrid man arrives.”

Mr. Garringer's black Cadillac roared up the driveway at two minutes before one. He gave Arlo a hard stare as he came through the front door with another man. He seemed not to make the connection between Arlo today and the boy he'd seen yesterday at the Swan's Neck B & B.

“We're here to see the house,” he announced, stepping into the front parlor as if he already owned the place.

“My grandmother's waiting for you,” Arlo said.

He led them through the living room to the staircase in the center hall.

“Nice place,” the contractor said, nodding appreciatively at the moldings and the plaster walls. “Looks like solid construction.”

“It is,” said a voice behind them.

Mr. Garringer whipped around. “You must be Mrs. Jones,” he said.

“And you're Mr. Garringer,” Ida said without smiling.

Mr. Garringer's mouth twitched. “I've brought Wolfe here to check the construction,” he said.

“I'm sure you'll find the house extremely sound,” Ida said sharply. She extended a hand toward Mr. Wolfe. “Nice to meet you, sir,” she said, indicating by her failure to offer the same pleasantries to Mr. Garringer what she thought about him.

“If I were to buy this place, there would need to be certain modifications for modern living,” Mr. Garringer explained.