Boo Who (16 page)

He rolled out of bed. Goose and Bunny’s wet noses gave him an extra lift. He trotted downstairs and let them out into the cold. In two hours he was supposed to be at the car lot. He wanted to call Ainsley before she left for Indianapolis, but he had no idea what time she would be waking up.

So instead he put on some longjohns—on the off chance he might actually leave the building and be allowed to step onto the sacred grounds of the car lot—and decided to read his Bible. He knew one thing for sure: He was looking forward to church on Sunday. Maybe the reverend’s sermon would really speak to him.

Ainsley shoveled one cookie after another with the spatula, sliding them into a beautifully decorated country-style basket. It was a little past five in the morning, and so far she’d baked one hundred and thirty cookies, seventy of those last night, mostly out of pure indignation. How could Wolfe not support her in this? What made him the authority of her life? This was her whole life’s dream, wrapped up in a nice bow and about to be handed to her. How could he deny her that? Was he just jealous? Her thoughts had distracted her so much she’d put three teaspoons of vanilla in one batch of cookies, and then mixed the pecans into the wrong batter.

She had tried so many times to understand what in the world he was thinking, but rational thoughts were replaced by incensed emotions, which translated into another batch of cookies. Alfred had asked for three kinds. So far she had nine.

But it hurt her heart to know they were angry at each other. She shouldn’t have stomped out of his house last night. Yet what more was there to say? She was going to Indianapolis, and he wasn’t going to stop her with his petty worries of how Alfred Tennison was going to corrupt her. He’d done a lot for Wolfe. Why couldn’t his talents be used for her dreams now?

Ainsley decided she’d better stop with the cookies. She turned off the oven and stood by the phone, thumbing absent-mindedly through the folder Alfred had given her last night. It was early, but she would be leaving soon. How could they go the whole day angry at each other?

She was just about to pick up the phone when she heard a scream. Gasping, she turned around, and then heard another horrifying scream. It was the worst sound she’d ever heard in her life.

“Daddy!” Ainsley ran upstairs. “Dad! Dad!” Opening his bedroom door, she found that he was just coming to. “Dad! Wake up!”

“What?” He jumped out of his bed, fully clad in his pawprint pajamas.

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That screaming?”

The sheriff rubbed his eyes. “Screaming?”

“I heard a woman scream, Dad. I’m not imagining it. I wasn’t even asleep. I was downstairs baking. I heard her scream twice. It was simply terrifying!”

The sheriff sighed, robed himself, and followed Ainsley downstairs, all the while beckoning Thief to come with him. The cat never left the bedroom. “What is it going to take with this cat?” her father complained. “He’s like a zombie.”

“Dad, focus. The woman. Screaming.” Ainsley opened the front door and followed him outside, both with their house slippers on. Standing on the front porch, the sheriff looked around.

“I don’t see or hear anything.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard a scream.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what I can do until someone calls the police or we hear something else. Now come on back inside. It’s freezing.”

Ainsley followed her father inside, but not without one more look. She knew she’d heard someone scream.

“Whoo. Whoo.”

Ainsley looked up. It wasn’t yet 5:30 a.m. There, high in the trees, she heard an owl. She couldn’t see it.

“Whoo. Whoo. Whoo.”

“Who screamed?” she said flippantly, then went inside. Her father sat at the breakfast table, staring at the mound of cookies on the counter.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m entering a baking contest in Indianapolis today.”

The sheriff tried to look interested, but his eyes were puffy, and he was now staring at the kitchen clock. Ainsley quickly poured him a cup of coffee.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he admitted. “I’m worried about Thief. He’s not the same cat. Half the time he doesn’t want to come out on patrols with me. But when he does, he just sits in the car.”

“Well, that’s probably the best place for him, Dad. That way he won’t get into trouble.”

“I think he’s depressed.”

Ainsley joined her father at the table. “Thief will learn there is more to life than chasing lady cats.”

Her father shrugged and sipped his coffee.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I got in a fight with Wolfe yesterday.”

The sheriff looked up. “Thank goodness.”

“What?”

“I was beginning to worry about you two, viewing everything through rose-colored glasses all the time.”

“I feel horrible. I don’t know what to do. What did you and Mom used to do when you got into a fight?”

“We’d take some time to ourselves, just to cool off. Then your
mom, she was always really good about bringing us back together to talk about it. Of course, I never wanted to. But once we started, we both realized why the fight started in the first place, and by the end of it, we were usually laughing about the whole thing.”

“I’ve been reading Mom’s diary about the wedding. I wish you two would’ve taken more pictures. It sounds so wonderful. Mom was so excited.”

“It was the best day of my life. And it’ll be that way for you too. Wolfe’s a good man, Ainsley. I’m glad you’re marrying him.”

“Me too,” she smiled. “I’ll call him when I get back from Indianapolis. I’m sure everything will be fine. By the way, don’t forget to go get fitted for your tuxedo, okay?”

“I already did. Yesterday.”

“Really? Thanks!”

Outside, a horn tooted. “Who is that?”

“Alfred. He’s taking me to Indianapolis.”

“Well, be careful,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. “I’ll see you when you get back. Good luck!”

Ainsley looked at the baskets of cookies on the counter. “Um, Dad? I think I might need some help out with these.”

Martin Blarty sat in the middle of the floor of the town’s small library. Scratching his head, he rubbed his eyes and decided there was nothing more to find. This library contained everything except information about the town. The sun was now high in the morning sky. He walked down the street to the deli, once called Deli on the Dark Side, now renamed Deli on the Side, which actually fit since it was on the corner and there was always something “on the side,” like a pickle or potato chips. After ordering a large coffee, he decided to pay the sheriff a visit. He knew the sheriff usually tried to be at the station on Saturdays. But when he got there, the dispatcher said he hadn’t been in, so Martin decided to visit him at home.

On his way there, he noticed something very peculiar. There was a strange man walking through a grouping of trees. And as he drove by, he saw this man’s expression, and it nearly scared the daylights out of him. This man looked like a ghost! His face was pale, his eyes gaping, his mouth hanging open like it’d been that way for a decade. And he walked swiftly. Back when Skary was the horror capital of the world, Martin wouldn’t even have thought about seeing such a sight. But now—how creepy.

He quickly pulled his car over to the side of the road, locked his doors, and backed up a few yards. But when he got to the spot where he’d seen the man, there was nothing but trees. He could hardly catch his breath with his heart beating so erratically.

Should he get out of the car? Panting out his fear, he decided he might be able to see better if he stood closer to the trees. With trembling hands, he unlocked his door. But first he thought he should get a weapon. He looked around, but all he had in his car was a Kleenex box. He’d heard once that a man died in a car accident after being hit in the head by a flying Kleenex box. With enough fearful adrenaline pumping up his muscles, he had no doubt he could fling the thing hard enough to at least knock someone out.

Unless it was a ghost. Then he would need garlic. No, wait. That was for vampires. Maybe it was a vampire. He hadn’t seen any fangs, and granted, the apparition wasn’t wearing a black cape, but a blue flannel shirt. Still…

Grabbing the Kleenex box, he slowly got out of the car. He tiptoed along the side of the road and slowly made his way closer to the trees. Something moved behind some leaves. He gasped. Then he saw it. Just a cat. “Shoooo!” he hissed, and the cat bounded away.

He was beginning to get a grip. There was nothing to be seen out here. Maybe he’d imagined it. After all, he’d spent the last two weeks trying to find documents detailing the history of this town, but everything seemed to have vanished. Or maybe it had never existed. Whatever the case, he was a bit weary. He had lost a lot of sleep from the many concerns of his life: a town whose history had vanished, a mayor whose
mind had gone mad, and residents who didn’t know what dire straights Skary, Indiana, was really in.

He pulled a tissue from the box and wiped his dripping nose. Maybe the mayor’s hallucinations were now his own. Scanning the trees one more time, he decided there was nothing more to see. He walked to his car.

And then a heart-stopping scream made him drop his box of Kleenex.

Melb’s double-decker sandwich was a work of art that defied gravity. Three kinds of meat, two kinds of cheese, plus lettuce, tomato, pimentos, and mayo, between two soft slices of French bread. Sure, probably a bowl of whole wheat flakes was a better choice for breakfast, but she’d decided that if she ate a lot in the morning, she wouldn’t be hungry the rest of the day. Plus, she needed a lot of energy. This was going to be the first day of her hobby. She hoped it would distract her from her diet, which so far had added seven pounds to her weight.

Just as she was about to take her first bite, someone pounded at the door frantically. Melb hopped up and answered it, only to find Martin Blarty standing there, his eyes wide and startled. “A ghost! Dead people! Screaming!” he was saying.

“Martin, goodness, come on in. I was just … um … fixing myself some rice cakes.” She opened the door, and Martin rushed by her.

“Is Oliver here?” he asked. She could see him shaking.

“No, he’s at the car lot. Martin, whatever is the matter?” Since he didn’t seem to be able to speak, she continued guessing. “Is it the mayor? He’s claiming to see ghosts? Dead people? My goodness, the poor fellow is just off his rocker, isn’t he?”

Martin was blinking and nodding and shaking his head all at once, and now eying the sandwich on the counter. “That’s for Oliver,” Melb said. “He likes me to bring him up a sack lunch sometimes.” She smiled, but Martin still looked terrified. Melb leaned forward on the counter,
and in a hushed voice said, “Martin … whatever the mayor thinks he saw, it’s nonsense. Is he saying he’s seeing dead people? Because that was a very good movie, but dead people don’t really walk around, you know? People who are losing their minds often think they see things that they don’t. It’s craziness, Martin. Don’t be afraid, okay?”

“Craziness…,” he mumbled.

She didn’t seem to be helping. She knew it must be hard to see a friend fall off the deep end. Should she tell him about Dr. Hass? Should she admit she’d been to see a shrink? What would people think of her? Still … if she could help Martin and the mayor, she should. She knew that for sure. Telling herself to swallow her pride, she said, “Martin, I think I know how to help the mayor.”