All That's Missing (32 page)

After he went to bed, Arlo lay awake in the dark, trying to puzzle everything out. The gauzy shape in the attic. Maywood's disappearance. He stared at the shadow cast by a thin strip of paint peeling off one of the shutters at his window.

Later, angry crows worked their way into his dreams. Arlo was standing in line at the bus station. When he stepped forward to buy his ticket, the clerk opened his mouth to speak, but only crow sounds came out. Arlo turned and ran.

He woke up soaked with sweat and found Ida standing at the door to his room.

“I heard you calling out,” she said. “Bad dream?”

“Sort of,” Arlo said. He felt like he'd barely slept at all. He noticed she was more dressed up than usual. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked.

“Nathan cleared time to see me this morning. I was going to see if you minded going to school a few minutes early.”

“Are you going to talk about not selling your house?”

“That and other things,” Ida said.

Arlo reached for the T-shirt he'd tossed on the foot of his bed the night before. “I'll be right down,” he said.

On their way out the door, the clock on the mantle in the living room began striking the hour. Ida stopped dead in her tracks.

“That clock hasn't chimed in eight years,” she said. “Did you wind it?”

Arlo shook his head. “I never touched it,” he said.

Ida moved back through the kitchen, straight to the living room. She walked to the mantle and placed her hand on the clock. Then she turned and slowly gazed around the room.

“What's wrong?” Arlo asked.

“Nothing.” She ran a finger along the top of the clock. “I haven't cleaned in here for at least ten days, and there's not a speck of dust on this clock. Must have been that Mr. Garringer. The way he went around touching everything in the house. Must have wound the clock. Probably had his eye on buying it, too. Acting as if he owned the place. Honestly. What a horrible man!” She walked toward the kitchen again. “Hurry up, Arlo. We're late.”

Was it Arlo's imagination or did something sweep past the window as he glanced toward the attic on his way to the car? He blinked and looked again, but the clouds had uncovered the sun and bright rays glinted off the glass so he couldn't see anything.

When he turned back toward the car, Ida was watching him. She gave him the funniest look.

“I thought I saw something in the attic,” Arlo said.

“Light playing tricks on your eyes,” Ida said. “Happens all the time.” A muscle twitched in her cheek.

Arlo waited for Maywood at her locker.

“What happened to you yesterday?” he asked.

She gave him a quizzical look.

“How did you get out of the attic?” Arlo said.

“Just the way we planned.” She turned the dial on her locker and clicked out the numbers of her combination.

“But you couldn't have,” Arlo said.

“Why not?”

“Because Mr. Garringer went storming up there as soon as you started moaning.”

“As soon as I started what?” She put down her backpack and turned to face him.

“You know. That
was
you moaning, right? When the storm hit.”

Maywood frowned. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said. “I left as soon as you started calling for Steamboat. Just the way we planned.”

A clammy feeling settled on the back of Arlo's neck. “If it wasn't you . . .” he started, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“I never did any moaning,” Maywood said.

“But there couldn't have been anybody else.”

“Must have been the wind,” Maywood said. “That was a terrible storm. I was soaked by the time I got home.”

“I don't think so,” Arlo said.

Maywood unzipped her backpack and lifted her history book into her locker. “As long as we fooled Mr. Garringer,” she said. “As long as we made him think the house was haunted.”

Arlo sighed. “He doesn't think it's haunted. He thinks we were playing a trick on him.”

“Well, he's right about that,” Maywood said.

“I know, but not the way he believes.”

“I don't understand.”

“That's because you weren't up there when it happened,” Arlo said.

“When
what
happened?”

Arlo sighed. He wasn't sure how to explain what he'd seen. “Did you notice anything
unusual
?” he asked.

Maywood frowned. “Unusual how?” she said.

Arlo tried to demonstrate the shimmering with his hands, but it was basically hopeless. “I don't know,” he said finally. “Just something you didn't expect.”

Maywood watched him closely, as if Arlo were suddenly speaking a foreign language and she was trying to decipher his words.

“I saw the same stuff you and I saw when we were up there before. Boxes, trunks, ice skates, Christmas wreaths, suitcases . . .”

“Besides that.”

She shook her head. “Not really,” she said.

Arlo stared at the pile of papers in his locker. He was going to have to explain. She was looking at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was. Who knows? The whole thing was strange.

“Arlo?”

“Yes?”

“What are you trying to tell me?”

“There was something up there,” he said. “It wasn't just me. Ida saw it, too. And so did Mr. Wolfe.”

“Saw what?”

“This . . . thing.” He repeated the same shimmering motion. “I'm trying to explain it to you.” He waited while she put the rest of her books in the locker except for math and science. “You're the one who's always talking about ghosts,” he said.

Maywood nodded as she twisted the dial on her locker. “Wait a minute,” she said, turning to look at him. “Are you telling me you saw a ghost?”

“It was this shimmery light thing.”

“You saw a ghost and you didn't tell me?”

“I'm telling you now,” Arlo said.

“I can't believe this. I wait all my life to see something like that and you're in Edgewater for barely any time at all, and practically right off you see a ghost. It's not fair.”

“I'm not sure what it was. It's just that strange things are happening. Like the clock on Ida's mantle. It's not supposed to chime, but it did.”

“Now you really aren't making sense.” She zipped up her backpack and hoisted it onto her shoulder.

“It's just another weird thing that happened. That's all. Ida thinks Mr. Garringer wound it. Maybe he did. I don't know.”

Maywood started toward the classroom. “I can't believe I was up there and never saw anything,” she said.

Arlo followed her. “Don't get mad at me,” he said.

They turned into Mr. Raffo's class.

“I'm not mad,” Maywood said, “except I can't believe we went through all that and we didn't even scare him.”

“I know,” Arlo said. He sighed as he slumped into his seat.

What Maywood said was true. That was the worst part.

The next week passed slowly. Arlo still hated being a new kid, but he was beginning to adjust. At least his teachers were nice. They didn't make demands on him. And Maywood helped him feel less isolated. But he missed Sam. He missed knowing what to expect. One thing he didn't miss was Mrs. Gretzky's math tests.

On Saturday he helped Maywood shelve new books. Later, he helped Matthew make a delivery to the Swan's Neck. As they carried boxes to the kitchen, Mrs. Stemple told them Mr. Garringer had appeared very agitated when he came back to the inn the evening after looking at Ida's house.

“He was angry about something,” she said. “There was another man with him. Mr. Wolfe is his name. They stayed upstairs a long time. I think they were planning something.”

“Why do you say that?” Matthew asked.

“It was when that Mr. Wolfe left,” Mrs. Stemple said. “Mr. Garringer called down the stairs after him. ‘A few more days and we'll be set for life.'”

“Set for life? That's what he said?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean?” Arlo asked.

“No idea,” Matthew said. “Sounds like they're planning something all right.”

“There's something evil about that man,” Mrs. Stemple said. “I don't trust him.”

“Me, either,” Matthew said. “How long is he staying?”

Mrs. Stemple gave Matthew a meaningful look. “That's just it,” she said. “He checked out this morning.”

“So he's gone?” Arlo said.

“Not a minute too soon, as far as I'm concerned.” Mrs. Stemple shook her head.

Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Well, now. Isn't that interesting? Did he say he was coming back?”

“Not a whisper of that,” Mrs. Stemple said. “I'm happy to report.”

“Do you think he's coming back?” Arlo asked when he and Matthew were in the car on the way home.

“Probably,” Matthew said.

“I think it has something to do with the way Mr. Wolfe was tapping on all the walls.” Arlo closed his eyes and replayed the memory. “It was like he was looking for something.”

Matthew didn't say anything. After a few minutes, he flipped the blinker and made a left turn off the highway. He followed a two-lane dirt road to a sign marked
WILDLIFE REFUGE
.

“Are we making another delivery?” Arlo asked.

“No. There's something I want to show you.” Matthew followed the path to a sandy parking lot on their left.

“Does this have something to do with Mr. Garringer?” Arlo asked as they were getting out of the car.

“No,” Matthew said. “This is about your father.”

Cliffs rose on the opposite side of the river. An osprey's nest sat atop a wooden pole.

“That's an empty osprey nest, isn't it?” Arlo said.

Matthew looked impressed. “You know birds, do you?”

Arlo shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “Ida and I saw an osprey on the way home a few weeks ago. And then Maywood and I saw an empty nest, and she told me about them leaving for the winter and coming back to the same nest every spring.”

Matthew nodded. “Those birds were about gone when your daddy and I used to come here,” he said.

“When was that?” Arlo asked.

“Junior high and high school. Right over there's the spot where we pitched a tent one night.” Matthew pointed to the spot where the dunes rose to a point above the river. “It was that summer I was telling you about, after your dad came home from camp.”

As they walked closer to the water, Arlo noticed a sign.

NO CAMPING OR FISHING
.

He cocked an eye at Matthew.

“Didn't used to be that way,” Matthew said. “Camping was still legal back then. The government didn't restrict this area till fifteen years ago. The whole place was getting too crowded. They wanted to protect the eagles. Closing the campground helped.”

“Must have been nice back in those days,” Arlo said.

“Just about perfect,” Matthew said. His mouth flattened into a line as he stared at the river.

Arlo looked at the river, too. He tried to imagine his dad and a younger version of Matthew camping here. If he stared at the water long enough and concentrated really hard, he could almost see them. As the image grew clearer in his mind he felt the carving growing warmer in his pocket. When he put his hand over it, it felt like it was moving again.

“You still with me, Skywalker?”

“I'm here,” Arlo said.

“Thought I lost you there for a minute.”

Arlo shrugged. “I wish I could talk to him sometimes,” he said. “I know that sounds crazy.”

“Doesn't sound crazy at all,” Matthew said.

“It doesn't?”

“No.”

They stood silently watching the water for a minute.

Matthew picked up a stick and broke it in half. He handed one piece to Arlo and kept the other piece for himself. As Arlo watched, Matthew heaved the stick as far as he could into the water. “Your turn,” he said.

Arlo raised his arm and aimed for the spot where Matthew's stick had gone.

“Nice job,” Matthew said.

“Thanks.”

Matthew turned to look at him. “You know, this might sound a little strange, but there's nothing that says you couldn't go ahead and talk to your dad sometimes.”

Arlo kept on looking at the spot where his stick had disappeared.

“I don't mean you have to do it out loud or anything, but shoot, for all we know, he could be out there listening. . . . I mean, from wherever it is people go.”

Arlo nodded.

They lingered a few moments, watching the sun turn pink as it sank lower in the sky.

“Better get going,” Matthew said finally. “Ida will be wondering where we are.”