Danger at the Fair (7 page)

AS ELLEN
and Caitlin approached The Great Sybil’s trailer, a white-haired woman was walking away from it. When she saw the two girls, she smiled and said, “Are you girls going to have your fortunes told?” Without waiting for them to answer, she went on, “It’s well worth the price. The Great Sybil gave me the most wonderful news.”

“She did?” Caitlin said.

The woman dabbed at her eyes but Ellen could tell her tears were happy ones. “Harold is at peace,” the woman said. “I can stop worrying about him.”

Wondering who Harold was, Ellen said, “How did The Great Sybil know?”

“Oh, she talks to the spirits,” the woman said, “and they answer her. She specifically asked if Harold is all right and she was told, yes, he is. I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I’ve been terribly worried about Harold. He wasn’t ready to go, you know. He didn’t want to leave me and he wanted to watch the grandchildren grow up. It happened so fast; we didn’t have time to adjust to his sickness and, boom, he was gone. Ever since, all these months, I’ve worried that Harold couldn’t rest in peace because . . .”

Ellen broke in to ask, “Did the spirits answer in writing?” She felt rude for interrupting but she had a feeling the woman would talk all day, given half a chance.

“Writing? How could spirits write anything?”

“They talked, then?” Caitlin said. “You heard someone?”

“Oh, no, my dear. I heard nothing. If I could hear such
things myself, I wouldn’t need to pay a spiritualist, now would I? The Great Sybil heard the spirits and told me what they said.”

“But how do you know she got an answer?” Caitlin said. “What if she made it up?”

The woman frowned. “Why would she do that? She never knew Harold. She can’t possibly care if he is happy or not.” The woman’s smile returned. “I’m going to be able to sleep tonight, without taking a sleeping pill, for the first time since Harold passed on. The Great Sybil said I won’t need pills anymore, now that I know Harold is at peace.”

“I’m glad for you,” Ellen said.

“Me, too,” Caitlin said. She nudged Ellen and started to walk on. “It was nice talking to you,” she said over her shoulder.

“When you girls get your fortunes told,” the woman said, “I hope your news is as good as mine.” She walked away, smiling and nodding at everyone she passed.

When the woman was no longer within hearing range, Caitlin said, “Do you think The Great Sybil really got a message about that woman’s husband, or do you think she pretended, knowing what the woman wanted to hear?”

Ellen shrugged. “Does it matter? Either way, the woman is happy.”

“I guess most people believe what they want to believe,” Caitlin said.

“The trouble is,” Ellen said, “I don’t know what I want to believe. One part of me thinks it would be great if I could communicate with Grandpa. Another part of me says I’m asking for trouble if I try again. Also, there’s Corey to consider, assuming he is ‘the small one’ in the message. If he is going to
be in danger, I want to help him and I don’t see how I can, without more information.”

They had reached the ticket booth. “Hello,” Ellen said to the man inside.

He barely glanced up from the newspaper he held before he said, “Sorry. You have to be eighteen or over.”

“The Great Sybil told me I could come back without paying.”

The man put down his paper and looked directly at her. “Aren’t you the kid who was here earlier today?”

“Yes. I need to see her again.”

“Sorry. She’s out.”

Ellen and Caitlin looked at each other. Their eyes agreed:
He’s lying.

Ellen, with Caitlin right behind her, marched to the door of the trailer and knocked.

“Hey!” the man called after them. “I told you Sybil isn’t in.”

The door opened.

“I am glad you returned,” The Great Sybil said.

The man stepped out of the booth and hurried toward them. “Sybil,” he said, “I don’t think you should do this.”

“I have to,” The Great Sybil said. “Please come in, Ellen. And?”

“This is my friend Caitlin,” Ellen said. “I told her about the automatic writing.”

“Welcome, Caitlin. Pure one.”

Caitlin looked questioningly at Ellen as they stepped inside.

“Caitlin,” explained The Great Sybil, “is from the Greek name Katharos, meaning ‘pure one.’ It honors St. Catherine
of Alexandria who escaped martyrdom on a spiked wheel in the fourth century.”

“No kidding,” said Caitlin.

“Be seated, please.”

Ellen sat on the couch, leaving room for Caitlin to sit beside her. The Great Sybil sat on the same chair as before. “Do you wish to try again to contact the spirits?” The Great Sybil asked.

“Yes. I want to ask who the message is from and when the danger will be.”

The Great Sybil nodded.

“You’ll need the paper and pencil again,” Caitlin reminded her.

Ellen reached in her shoulder bag and removed her notebook and pencil.

“Maybe you will get a spoken message this time,” Caitlin said to The Great Sybil. “Maybe the spirits will speak to you.”

“No,” The Great Sybil said. “It is Ellen who will receive any messages.” Ellen wondered why she sounded sad; she had seemed thrilled earlier, when the automatic writing occurred.

Ellen carried the pencil and notebook to the table and sat opposite The Great Sybil. She kept her hands on the table, with the pencil poised, ready to write. “I’m ready,” she said.

The Great Sybil dimmed the lights and said the same calming words she had used before, about deep breaths and looking at the sky.

This time, although Ellen kept her eyes closed, she remained tense. Instead of imagining blue skies and fluffy clouds, Ellen’s mind focused on the pencil she held. She gripped it tightly, expecting it to jolt into a frenzied scribbling.

“Ellen has a question, loving spirits,” The Great Sybil said.
“She needs your help in knowing when the little one will face danger.”

Nothing happened.

“We come to you in love,” The Great Sybil said. “We ask you to tell us when to expect the danger.”

They waited. The pencil remained still.

“Is the one who sent the message here with us? If you are, please let us know your identity.”

Nothing. After five minutes of silence that seemed to Ellen more like an hour, they gave up.

“The spirits do not always choose to answer us,” The Great Sybil said, after Ellen had opened her eyes and the lights were bright again. “Or perhaps they do not always hear our requests. We will have to try another time.”

As Ellen and Caitlin walked away from The Great Sybil’s trailer, Caitlin said, “If I were you, I would forget all about that so-called message. Before you went in there the first time, I was positive that she was a fake. Then you convinced me that the automatic writing really happened. Now I think it was all a hoax, after all. The reason it didn’t work this time is that I was there, watching.”

“When it happened, it seemed so real.”

Caitlin unwrapped a stick of gum and offered half to Ellen. “Maybe so, but it is odd that you would get a message when you were there alone but nothing happened when I was looking. If the whole thing was genuine, why didn’t it happen the second time? If there is really danger in Corey’s future, and the spirits want to help, why did the spirits ignore you?”

“Maybe I was too nervous. I couldn’t relax this time; I kept waiting for the pencil to start writing.”

Caitlin said, “I think it was all a trick. Maybe she does it
with magnets or some kind of ink that’s already on the table but it’s invisible until it touches paper or—oh, I don’t know how but I think it was all faked somehow, just like she pretended the spirits spoke to her and told her what that woman wanted to hear about her husband.”

“That was different,” Ellen said. “That woman asked a specific question. And her message was not in writing.”

“If a person is dishonest in one situation,” Caitlin said, “how can you trust them anywhere?”

They entered the sheep arena just as the judges began handing ribbons to the owners of the champion sheep.

“Look!” said Caitlin. “Ben got a red ribbon; that’s second place.”

Ellen said, “I’m sorry I’ve ruined your day. You missed seeing Ben show his sheep and we’ve hardly gone to any of the exhibits yet, all because I wanted to get my fortune told.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Caitlin said. “The Great Sybil was more interesting than any exhibit. Besides, Mom and I are coming tomorrow. I can see the rest of the exhibits then.”

“In that case,” Ellen said, “would you mind if we go home early? I’m worn out.”

As the girls walked to the bus stop, Ellen was glad tomorrow was the last day of the fair. She wanted The Great Sybil and her tricks to leave town as soon as possible.
If
they were tricks.

Everything Caitlin said about the automatic writing being faked made sense but deep inside herself, Ellen still believed she had received a true message. It might be possible to make the writing appear on the paper but how could anyone have caused Ellen’s hand to jerk without touching her? How could her inability to control her own body be a trick?

Corey was not home yet when Ellen arrived. She tried to
read but she couldn’t concentrate; she flipped the TV from channel to channel and saw nothing interesting. What’s the matter with me? she thought. Ever since Grandpa died she had felt edgy, as if she expected another tragedy. Now her uneasiness was multiplied tenfold as she listened for Corey to burst in, chattering about what he and Nicholas did at the fair.

I never thought I’d be eager to hear my brother’s voice, she thought, trying to laugh away her tension. Usually when Corey was home, she wanted to plug her ears.

She was sure Corey was perfectly fine. After all, Mrs. Warren was with him and she was one of those fussy mother-hen women who hardly let Nicholas out of her sight. Nothing could happen to Corey when he was with Mrs. Warren. Still, Ellen would be glad when Corey was safely home.

CHAPTER
7

“
SOME KID
knows what we’re doing.”

Mitch Lagrange opened the trunk of his car and put the
MADE IN THE U.S.A.
shopping bag inside, next to the five other
MADE IN THE U.S.A.
bags that were already there.

“How could he?” Joan asked. “We haven’t worked the same area twice all day and no one has acted the least bit suspicious. How could some kid catch on?”

“I don’t know, but I’m telling you this boy has it figured out. He ran after me, grabbed my bag, and tried to accuse me.” Mitch slammed the trunk shut. “Luckily, there’s something wrong with his voice and he couldn’t make himself heard. I pretended he was trying to take the bag away from me and two teenagers stepped in and acted like big macho heroes. They held the kid while I walked away from him.”

Mitch unlocked the car door and slid behind the wheel. Joan got in the passenger’s side and Alan sat in back.

“How old was he?” Joan asked.

Mitch shrugged. “About the same age as Alan, I’d guess. Maybe eight or nine.”

“What does he look like?”

“Just an average-looking kid, except he had a big Batman bandage on his face. Brown hair. Jeans. A T-shirt with elephants on it—from a zoo, I think.”

“Did his parents see you?” she asked.

“He was alone.”

“Are you sure? If he was only eight or nine, somebody must have brought him to the fair.”

“There wasn’t anybody with him when he ran after me,” Mitch said, “but by now he’s probably blabbed to his parents or whoever brought him. We’ll have to quit. We can sit here and wait until Tucker gets his dinner break.”

“No!” said Alan. “You promised we could work until Uncle Tucker can meet us.”

“I didn’t know some junior detective would show up and accuse me of stealing.”

“I want some more ice cream.”

“You’ve had enough ice cream,” Mitch said. “We’ve bought a dozen ice-cream cones today.”

“I never get to finish them. I always have to pretend I’m falling and spill them on the ground.”

Joan chuckled. “You’re getting to be a fine little actor,” she said. “I almost believed you myself last time, the way you cried and carried on.”

Alan smiled. “Let’s move to Hollywood,” he said. “Maybe I’ll get a job in a TV show.”