Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake (29 page)

Gilda turned out the light and closed her eyes. As she drifted into sleep, a disturbing image popped into her mind—a face blurred by sadness. She didn’t want to see what was
behind
the aging, puffy eyes—the unbearable emptiness and loss.

It was Mrs. Lambert’s face.

G
ilda strolled along the edge of Mermaid Lake, feeling happy because she had just discovered something: Mrs. McCracken had opened a Starbucks for students right on school grounds. The coffee shop had somehow been built into the structure of the ruins. From the crumbling walls, familiar letters announced the promise of caffeine:
STARBUCKS COFFEE
.

Wendy Choy appeared. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.

“You’re right,” said Gilda. “I’m late!” She had almost forgotten that she was supposed to be
working
at Starbucks to help earn her tuition money, and now she was late for her shift.

Standing behind the Starbucks counter, Gilda put on her green polyester apron and made herself a Trippio, but accidentally knocked it over as Danielle walked into the shop.

“Want a latte?” Gilda offered.

“I really just want to get rid of this,” said Danielle, handing Gilda something that felt like lunch meat wrapped in tissue paper.

The paper was printed with pink hearts. Gilda opened it and discovered a large goldfish inside.

Something wasn’t right about this exchange, but Gilda didn’t want to let on that it wasn’t her job to get rid of a goldfish. Danielle was a customer, and she was supposed to make her happy. “I’ll need to weigh it first,” she explained, turning to the counter behind her, where old-fashioned scales sat next to the coffee grinder. She put the fish on a scale and found that it was far heavier than she had expected. “Too heavy,” she said.

Danielle handed her a book. “See if this balances it out,” she said. Danielle held
The Master Psychic’s Handbook
in her hand. “I trust you, Gilda.”

As Gilda placed the book on the opposite scale, she realized that something horrible had just happened. The floor of the shop had flooded with slushy water, and the goldfish had transformed into a girl—a girl with drenched hair and puffy, gray-white skin. She wore a pink skirt and lay on the ground like a dead mermaid stranded on a beach. Motionless, she gaped at Gilda with blind, colorless eyes.

“Gilda, please help me,” she said. “I’m so cold.”

Gilda awoke suddenly, her heart beating heavily. Somebody was in the room with her. She scanned her bedroom, but saw only the long, fingerlike shadows that moved across her ceiling as a car passed by on the road outside her window. She felt certain that someone had just been standing at the foot of her bed, watching her. Gilda jumped out of bed and flipped on the light. She impulsively decided to call Wendy Choy on her cell phone.

At first, Wendy simply answered the phone and hung up, so Gilda dialed her number again.

“What?!” Wendy’s hoarse voice whispered into the phone.

“I think I saw a ghost, Wendy.”

“Ghost?”

“I think it was a ‘bedpost ghost.’ I’ve read about those things—they’re ghosts that come stand by your bed, and they leave a message for you while you’re dreaming.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s about eleven o’clock.” Gilda glanced at the clock and saw that it was actually after 3:00
A.M.
“Wendy, did you hear what I said?”

“Bedposht ghost,” Wendy slurred.

“I definitely
felt
a presence. There was definitely somebody there.”

“Mmm.”

“I had this dream that I was working in Starbucks, and out of the blue, a dead mermaid appeared. She looked right at me with these spooky eyes.”

Wendy snorted.

“Isn’t that weird?”

“No.”.

“I think the dead mermaid represents Dolores.”

“Duh.”

“She wants me to help her.”

“And instead, you’re chugging sippios with the people who killed her.”

“Trippios,” said Gilda, slightly startled by Wendy’s sudden ability to form a complete sentence.

She remembered the disturbing feeling she had experienced in the dream: the sense that she was supposed to be doing something important—something she had misplaced.

“I think I’m supposed to tell someone about the Ladies of the Lake, Wendy.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“It feels really weird to tell on someone.
I’m
usually the one getting in trouble.”

“You’ll get in trouble soon enough.”

Gilda heard Wendy moving something around on her night-stand.

“Omigod! You’re such a jerk! It’s after three in the morning!”

“It is?” Gilda feigned surprise.

“I have three quizzes tomorrow, Gilda, and now I’m going to be exhausted.”

“Try having an espresso before class; it really helps.”

Wendy hung up.

Gilda opened her dream journal and wrote:

I got your message.

Don’t worry; I’m going to help you.

A
lthough less ornate than her luncheon room, Mrs. McCracken’s office was similarly swathed in shades of pink. Gilda peered through the doorway and found the headmistress sitting at her desk behind a large bouquet of silk roses. She cradled the telephone under her chin while holding a china teacup and saucer in her hands.

“We’ll all be praying for her,” said Mrs. McCracken, beckoning to Gilda with a pink talon.

“Okay, Ethel.” She slurped her tea loudly into the telephone receiver. “Excuse me, sweetie! I’m just having some tea. Okay, love to your family, sweetie pie. Bye-bye.”

Gilda entered the office and sat down on a plush pink chair that was significantly lower than Mrs. McCracken’s desk.

“Hello, Miss Gilda! What brings you all the way down to this neck of the woods?”

Mrs. McCracken appeared to be in a jovial mood—a mood that somehow made it more difficult to bring up the subject of the Ladies of the Lake.

“I just wanted to talk to you about something,” said Gilda.

“What’s that, sugar? You can tell me anything.”

“It’s kind of serious.”

“Oh?”

“It’s about Dolores Lambert.”

Mrs. McCracken frowned and sat up straighter. “A terrible tragedy,” she said. “Just terrible!”

Gilda pulled the Minutes of the Ladies of the Lake from her backpack and placed it in front of Mrs. McCracken, who regarded the handwritten pages as if they were something Gilda had pulled out of a trash can. The sight of Danielle’s notes on the headmistress’s desk made Gilda feel nervous. She tried not to think about how mad Danielle would be if she suddenly walked into the room.

“Danielle Menory is such a lovely girl,” Mrs. McCracken cooed, noticing Danielle’s name. Her expression soured as she squinted at the handwriting in front of her. “Sweetie, I don’t have my glasses on. Summarize, please.” She gave the paper a little spanking with her puffy, manicured hand.

Gilda told Mrs. McCracken about the Ladies of the Lake. She explained how they had made Dolores Lambert a Pledge to their secret club. She described the final test in which Dolores was blindfolded and left to find her way to the ruins all alone.

As Gilda mentioned each of the seniors involved, she sensed a resistance she hadn’t expected: clearly, the last thing Mrs. McCracken wanted to believe was that these girls had anything to do with Dolores Lambert’s death.

“So let me get this straight, Gilda,” said Mrs. McCracken, leaning back in her chair and squinting fiercely. “Danielle Menory gave you these notes about this supposed secret club?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I guess she wanted to tell someone what really happened back when she was a freshman.”

“Then why didn’t she come to me directly?”

“Probably because she didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“So it’s
your
job to get her in trouble?”

This wasn’t the reaction Gilda expected. “I just thought you should know about this. I think the reason this school is haunted—”

Mrs. McCracken shook her head. “No, no, no. This school is not haunted!”

“Keith thinks it’s haunted, and so did Miss Underhill.”

“Both Velma and Keith have some personal problems.”

Gilda couldn’t see why personal problems had anything to do with Dolores’s ghost. “Anyway,” Gilda continued, “the people who are
really
haunted are Priscilla, Danielle, and Nikki. They even do a ritual to try to keep Dolores’s ghost away because they feel so guilty.”

Mrs. McCracken’s face looked more aged than it had when Gilda first walked into the room. She regarded Gilda steadily, then seized the edge of her desk with both hands and shifted her weight around in her chair as if her clothes suddenly felt very itchy.

“Gilda, if what you’re telling me about this supposed hazing incident is true, it’s a very serious offense. I would be absolutely shocked if this is true. The girls in this senior class have been such role models.”

“Maybe they were different when they were freshmen.”

Mrs. McCracken grimaced.

“I know they feel really bad about what they did, Mrs. McCracken. At least, Danielle seems to.”

Mrs. McCracken watched Gilda, waiting for her to say more.

“I think that’s part of the reason she does so much community service—to make up for it in some way.”

Mrs. McCracken pursed her lips.

“I’m not so sure about Nikki and Priscilla, though.” Gilda sensed that Mrs. McCracken was somehow making her dig a hole for herself by sitting there silently, saying nothing while Gilda continued to talk.
I’m not going to say another word until she says something
, Gilda told herself. The two stared at each other for a moment.

Finally, Mrs. McCracken sighed deeply. “I’ll look into this, sweetie.” She clasped her hands and rested her chin on her knuckles. “And, aside from this issue, how are things going for
you
, Gilda?”

“Pretty well.”

“Finding some interesting activities to get involved with here?”

“I’ve been working on the school paper.”

“And how are your grades?”

“Grades?”

“Yes, grades.”

Gilda squirmed. She knew she had fallen behind recently, and she had just received a C-minus on a math quiz.
Isn’t the truth about what happened to a drowned girl more important than my grades
? Gilda fumed.
Mrs. McCracken doesn’t even seem grateful to me for telling her what’s really been going on at this school. If anything, she seems mad at me
!

“Things have been pretty busy lately.” Gilda sensed that Mrs. McCracken was scrutinizing her and forming a judgment. “I got a little behind, but I’m definitely catching up.”

Mrs. McCracken nodded, as if making some silent decision. She stood up abruptly, signaling that Gilda’s time was up. “Gilda, sweetie, I’m so glad you came in to talk to me. You know my door is always open to you.” She extended a squishy hand, and Gilda shook it. “Don’t worry about a thing. Just go have a wonderful day, and good luck with your studies.”

Gilda left Mrs. McCracken’s office with an uneasy feeling.
Something about that handshake seemed too final
, Gilda thought.

After Gilda left, Mrs. McCracken reluctantly called Priscilla Barkley, Danielle Menory, and Nikki Grimaldi out of their classrooms. One by one, they came into her office, and she did her best to tease out the truth while secretly hoping that Gilda had fabricated this distasteful story.

But Danielle confessed almost immediately.
Yes, those pages of notes were in her handwriting
, she admitted, looking paler than ever.
Yes, she had been there when Dolores Lambert was blindfolded
.

“But why did you keep it a secret for so long, Danielle? It must have been torture for you to live with this burden, sweetie.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint everyone.”

Mrs. McCracken held Danielle’s hand, and Danielle began to cry. “I’ve just been admitted to Georgetown, and now I’ve ruined everything.” But even as tears rolled down her cheeks, she looked as if a weight had been lifted. She sobbed with relief as Mrs. McCracken said a prayer for her.