Last Dance (6 page)

I awoke to the delicious smell of bacon and sound of sizzling eggs. Thorn’s bed was empty, and when I glanced at my watch, I was startled to see I’d slept past nine-thirty. Quickly, I slipped on my clothes and raced downstairs.

Before I could say “good morning,” Mrs. Matthews had me sitting at the dining table and was serving me a plateful of hot blueberry waffles. She insisted I call her “Aunt Deb” and kept urging me to eat more.

Mr. Matthews sipped coffee and told more stories about “Baby-Girl Beth.” He chuckled over the time two-year-old Beth, who wasn’t quite potty trained, had an accident in a neighbor’s brand new hot tub. Thorn turned as red as the strawberry preserves spread on her toast. I would have felt sorry for her if I hadn’t been laughing so hard.

Afterwards, Thorn and I offered to wash and dry dishes. When we were through, her uncle gave us directions for Peaceful Pines Senior Resort. We were finally on our way to learning about my ancestors. I was excited, but nervous, too.

“We should have called first,” I said as I buckled my seat belt.

“And spoil our element of surprise?” Thorn started up the jeep. “Not a chance. We’ll learn more if we just show up.”

“As long as we aren’t the ones surprised,” I added with a glance up at dark clouds blowing across a gray sky. The temperature had dropped and the air smelled of rain. I didn’t need psychic skills to know a storm was brewing.

Pine Peaks was a small mountain town with only a few blocks of quaint businesses along Pine Street. So it was a shock to get stuck in a traffic jam. A posted sign announced a population of only 835, but it looked like that number had tripled. Cars were squeezed in every available space and the only motel had a no-vacancy sign.

“What’s the slow-up?” Thorn slapped the dashboard. “Don’t they know small towns are supposed to be peaceful?”

“Nothing small or peaceful about Pine Peaks today,” I said, looking around curiously. “Wonder what’s going on.”

After waiting for three light changes of a street light, we found out. A large banner was stretched across the arched entry into a park announcing: “Pine Peaks’ Ninth Annual Chloe Celebration.”

“Chloe?” I read, puzzled. “Who’s that?”

“Like I know or care.” Thorn swore as the traffic slowed to a complete stop. “My aunt warned me the roads would be busy, but I didn’t believe her. And now we’re stuck in some groupie fest. Where did all these people come from?”

“That van is from Sacramento.” I pointed to a white van with a radio station’s logo painted on the side. “And look over there—isn’t that Heidi from Channel 3? The newscaster with the perky—”

“Check out the license plate in front of us!” Thorn interrupted with a low whistle. “Florida.”

“—smile,” I finished. Then I pointed to a red car. “There’s a Texas license plate.”

“And that parked truck is from Arizona,” Thorn added. “This Chloe chick must be really hot.”

“A famous singer or actress,” I guessed, studying a crowd of people milling on the sidewalks, all wearing identical yellow T-shirts.

“Being famous doesn’t give her the right to screw up the traffic,” Thorn grumbled. “That baby stroller is moving faster than we are. I’ve had enough! I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

“How?” I asked.

“Watch me.”

She rolled down her window and called out to the group of yellow shirts. “Hey! Can someone answer a question?”

The yellow shirts turned to Thorn, then spoke among themselves. After a few minutes, a pear-shaped woman wearing retro black-and-white saddle shoes stepped forward. She was probably over thirty, but seemed younger with her curly black ponytail bobbing as she moved.

“Hello!” she greeted with a smile that revealed blue-tinted braces. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah.” Thorn pointed to the T-shirt. “What’s everyone celebrating?”

“We gather here every October to see Chloe,” she said as if that explained everything.

“Chloe who?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of her!” The woman’s voice rose with astonishment. “She’s famous!”

“Not to me.” Thorn shook her dark-blond head. “Is she around here somewhere?”

“She’s everywhere and nowhere.” The woman spread her arms out wide. “If the weather cooperates we’ll see her soon.”

“Oh,” Thorn said with an arch of an eyebrow that looked bare without its usual pierced stud. “Will she cancel her performance if it rains?”

“On the contrary. She only appears in the rain. Lightning storms are even better.”

“Huh?” Thorn gave me a sideways look and I shrugged. If this woman was an example of Chloe fans, we wanted to get far away fast. I hoped the street light would hurry up and change.

“I’m the president of Chloe’s fan club and helped organize this event. Our main anniversary celebration is Saturday night, but if there’s a storm tonight we’ll gather at the pavilion. Come join us,” she invited. “If we’re lucky, Chloe may make an appearance.”

“You go to all this trouble for someone who might not even show up?” Thorn asked incredulously. “Chloe sounds like one rude diva.”

“She has a long distance to travel.”

“That’s no excuse. She can just hop into her private plane to meet her fans.”

“If only it were that easy,” the woman said with a good natured sigh. “But we can’t expect her just to show up whenever we want.”

“Why not?” Thorn demanded.

“Because Chloe has been dead for fifty years.”

“Why would anyone celebrate a ghost?” Thorn asked as we pulled into Peaceful Pines Resort. “It’s worse than those people who still think Elvis is alive.”

“You mean he isn’t?”

She gave me a shocked look, then lightly smacked my shoulder when she realized I was teasing.

“It’s cool people still care about Chloe so many years later,” I added as I unfastened my seat belt.

“There’s nothing cool about this. It’s all a freak show to get tourist business. Come to our town and see a ghost. Ha! I bet the whole thing is a big fake.”

“Why couldn’t it be real? It makes sense that Chloe shows up when it rains. With electricity in the air, the connection to the other side is more open.”

“Of course you know everything about ghosts,” she said with an edge of sarcasm.

“Not even—but I’ve seen a few. Haven’t you?”

Thorn shook her head firmly. “No.”

“Never?”

“Nope. And I don’t want to.”

“Why not?” I asked, a little disappointed we didn’t have this in common. “Most people want to see someone they loved one last time.”

“Well, I’m not most people. I keep telling you, finding is just a game for me. I don’t have any other special abilities. I don’t want some ghost to pop in while I’m taking a shower. When people are dead, they should stay that way.” She was protesting too much, and I sensed she wasn’t telling me the whole truth. Was she afraid of ghosts? I wondered.

Before I could ask, we reached the office and entered a door marked “Manager.” A jingling bell announced us, and a petite woman carrying a longhaired Chihuahua in the crook of her arm stepped forward. Her swept-up hair was a silvery blond and her wrinkled neck contrasted with her unnaturally smooth face.

“Good afternoon, I’m Helen Fontaine. What can I do for you?” she asked in a voice more shrill than her yapping dog.

“We’re here to see Eleanor Baskers,” Thorn said politely.

“Oh, you are?” Helen’s dark eyes pooled with curiosity. “Ellie never mentioned having granddaughters, only grandsons.”

“We’re not related to her,” I explained.

“I didn’t think so, not with that blond hair.” She turned from me, furrowing her brows as she studied Thorn. “But your face is familiar … do I know you?”

“No.” Thorn shook her head. “I’m not from around here.”

“Are you sure? That upturned nose and the way your mouth curves on one side … I know!” She snapped her fingers. “You’re one of Deborah’s nieces. Which of the Little Women are you? Amy, Meg, or Beth?”

“Uh … Beth.” Thorn’s cheeks blushed first-degree-burn red.

“Oh, the one that dies … in the book, that is.” She laughed. “Your aunt and I go way back. I was her Sunday School teacher and—”

“We can’t stay long,” I interrupted, coming to Thorn’s rescue. “How do we get to Mrs. Baskers’s cottage?”

“It’s Number 261. Only she’s not there. She’s away on a Caribbean cruise.”

Thorn frowned. “But she’s supposed to be back today.”

“Her plane was delayed by a bad storm in Florida,” Helen answered as she stroked her dog’s smooth fur. “Ellie called a few hours ago to say she wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” I cried, my hopes sinking fast.

“Sorry, girls. Come back then and I’m sure she’ll be happy to talk with you.” A phone rang and the Chihuahua started yapping again. Shushing the dog, Helen waved good bye, then whirled off to answer the phone.

“Now what?” I sighed deeply as Thorn and I left the office, the jingling bell over the door sounding so cheerful I wanted to smash it.

Thorn shrugged. “We come back tomorrow.”

“But that means staying another night. Will your aunt and uncle mind?”

“They’ll hire a band and throw a parade in our honor. They love having us.”

“They’ve been great, only I hate waiting around here accomplishing nothing.” I paused on the brick path, looking around at towering pines and an overcast sky that seemed to close in on me. I wondered how Nona was doing. I should be there with her, not so far away.

“So we’ll do something,” Thorn suggested. “Wanna check out the local shops?”

I cupped my ear, not sure I’d heard right. “Is shopping allowed in the Goth Code of Conduct?”

“Page 50, Paragraph 2, says the only rule for Goths is we don’t have rules.” She shrugged with attitude. “Besides, I find great stuff at thrift stores. Once I found a roll of barbed wire for only a dollar that I twisted into a wicked belt.”

“I’ll pass on the barbed wire accessories.”

“So buy something touristy. Like one of those lame Chloe shirts.”

“Only if you get one, too.”

“No way.”

“But a yellow shirt would go great with your jeep,” I teased.

“My mom’s jeep, not mine.” She reached out to swat me, only I dodged to the side then hurried ahead down a rock path.

The path led to a beautifully manicured park with wicker benches and flower gardens. The damp air carried a whiff of freshly mowed grass. Beyond shady trees, I glimpsed cozy white stucco cottages. I wondered which one belonged to Eleanor.

I heard Thorn call my name and turned back. I caught up with her by a ranch-style clubhouse. As we passed a large picture window, laughter echoed from inside the building. Curiously, I peeked through the glass and saw several elderly people crowded in front of a large screen TV. Another group gathered around a card table, each protectively studying their cards. And off alone in a quiet corner, a frail red-haired woman reclined in a blue cushioned chair. She wore a familiar yellow T-shirt with black letters that read: “We Love You Chloe.”

Another groupie! Why is Chloe so popular?
I puzzled.
Is it is because of her life or her death? What magic did she have that brings flocks of people to this tiny town fifty years after her death?

A strong curiosity came over me. I had to know more.

“Where are you going?” Thorn demanded.

“Inside.” I walked around to the door and stepped into the clubhouse.

No one barred my way to ask what I was doing here. The card players ignored me and the TV watchers laughed at an old
I Love Lucy
episode. So I crossed the room toward the lone woman.

Up close her hair was more pink than red, reminding me of cotton candy. She wasn’t holding a book as I’d expected, but an electronic game. She hunched over the game, her fingers clicked keys rapidly, accompanied by musical sounds of beeps, crashes, and booms.

She hadn’t noticed me, so I tapped her shoulder. “Excuse me …”

Startled, the woman jumped. Her hands slipped from her game and an explosion blasted. The tiny screen went dark.

She whirled accusingly. “You killed my wizard!”

“I-I didn’t mean to,” I stammered.

“I would have beat my highest level if you hadn’t interrupted.”

“I was just trying to get your attention.”

“Well you certainly did that. I didn’t even get a chance to save my score.” With a groan, she tossed her game aside on an end table.

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say, and held out my hands in apology.

“What’s done is done.” She shrugged, then surprised me with a smile that showed off pearly dentures. “I’ll simply try again later. So what do you want?”

“Nothing much … I mean, I just wanted to ask about your …” I flushed with embarrassment. “Your shirt.”

“This silly thing?” She plucked at a fold in her T-shirt. “I got it at Tansy’s Trinkets for $13.95. But you can find them just about everywhere in Pine Peaks.”

“A lot of people were wearing them when we drove through town.”

“What do you expect?” she asked with a shrug. “It’s October.”

“But why all the interest in Chloe? I never heard of her before today. All I know is that she died fifty years ago.”

“Fifty-four years to be exact.” The elderly woman’s faded blue eyes gazed into space, as if she were seeing the past. “The whole tragedy could have been avoided if Chloe had listened to me.”

“You actually knew her?”

“Better than anyone. She was my dearest friend. We were together so much, people mixed us up, calling me Chloe and her Cathy. My father nicknamed us the ‘Stormy C’s’ because we could get really wild.”

It was hard to imagine this frail cotton-candy-haired woman as “wild.” But I nodded, encouraging her to continue talking. Call it perverse, but this whole ghost celebration intrigued me.

“We did everything together,” she explained. “We made up silly lyrics to our favorite songs, practiced dance steps, and double-dated. Of course, her parents were so strict they didn’t allow her to go out much, so she’d sneak out the basement window. Since our birthdays were two days apart, our families combined our parties. But it’s not Chloe’s birthday they celebrate now.” A bitter shadow crossed her wrinkled face. “It’s her death day.”

“How’d she die?”

“It’s too terrible to talk about. They called it an accident, but I knew better.” Cathy’s thin lips pursed and her eyes narrowed with fury. “It was
his
fault.”

“Who?”

“I won’t speak ill of someone no longer around to defend himself.” She shook her head. “But if it weren’t for him, Chloe wouldn’t have gone out that night. She would have married Theodore and still be alive. She was engaged to Theodore and he adored her. It was a secret, but of course I knew all about it.”

“Theodore must have been heartbroken when she died,” I said softly.

“She broke Teddy’s heart long before that. She was my friend and I loved her, but I didn’t approve of how she treated Teddy. He deserved someone better.”

Like you?
I wondered. “What happened to him?”

“He had a long distinguished career in the Navy, becoming an admiral. When he retired, he moved here into the cottage next to mine. He never married and won’t talk about Chloe. I’m the only one who ever visits him. All the fuss over Chloe, yet the Chloe Museum doesn’t even mention their engagement.”

“Chloe has her own museum?” I asked, astonished.

“Seems a bit silly, doesn’t it? That’s what a lot of us thought when it opened up fourteen years ago, but now it’s the hottest tourist spot in Pine Peaks. It’s the old brick building beside the barbershop. Fellow by the name of Kasper runs it.”

“Is that a bad pun? Casper the Ghost running a museum for a ghost?”

“Kasper with a K.” She smiled approvingly. “I’m surprised someone so young remembers old cartoons.”

“They’re on the Cartoon Channel. I don’t watch them anymore … but I used to.” With my sisters, I remembered with a sharp pang. Sure, they could be annoying, but we had good times, too. Like if my parents were gone on a weekend, I’d make them pancakes in animal shapes and we’d watch cartoons.

“Be sure to visit the museum while you’re in town,” Cathy added. “Kasper will tell you plenty about Chloe. It won’t all be true, but it’ll be entertaining.”

“I’d rather hear more about Chloe from you.”

“I’ve said enough already. But you can find out plenty in this week’s
Piney Press
. Here.” She handed me a newspaper from the end table. Then she wished me luck and turned her game back on.

When I stepped outside, I didn’t see Thorn. So I walked to the parking lot and found her waiting by the jeep.

“You took long enough,” she said.

“Sorry. But I found out some interesting stuff.”

“About what?”

“Chloe,” I answered simply. “I talked to her best friend.”

“A ghost has a best friend?”

“They knew each other when they were young. She gave me this newspaper and said there’s an article about Chloe.”

“Cool. Let me see.”

I handed Thorn the paper and we unfolded it together. A bold headline on the front page jumped at me: “Record Breaking Attendance for Chloe Celebration.” Below this caption was a black-and-white snapshot of a beautiful girl with wavy dark hair. She wore a mid-length skirt and a snug sweater that showed off her ample curves. Her sweet, sultry smile was inviting, yet harbored secrets.

I must have gasped, because Thorn asked what was wrong. But all I could do was stare at the paper. I now knew how Chloe had died.