Peeled (14 page)

“Hello,” a man answered.

“Is this the home of Lawrence Miner?” I asked into the phone, trying not to sound like a telemarketer.

“Yes,” the man said hesitantly into the phone.

“Mr. Miner?”

“Who is this?”

“This is Hildy Biddle, sir. I live in Banesville, New York.”

“Mitch Biddle’s girl?”

“Yes.”

“God, I haven’t talked to anyone from Banesville for years.”

I found him!

“How is your dad doing?” he asked.

“Oh…” I sighed. “He’s not doing so well, Mr. Miner. He died a few years ago.”

Silence, then, “I’m so sorry, Hildy. Your dad was a great guy.”

I bit my lip. “I guess you and I have losing someone we love in common.”

“I guess we do,” he said sadly.

I told him why I was calling, told him what had been happening in town. “I don’t want to intrude in any way, Mr. Miner. I can understand if you wouldn’t want to talk about Sallie.”

“I do, though, Hildy. It would help me. You know Sallie had an amazing love for make-believe. She was a sensitive girl—it was hard on her, she felt different from the other kids. I don’t know how she first heard about the Ludlow stories, maybe at school. But she just zeroed in on that like there was a ghost who was personally out to get her. She had nightmares; she’d come home crying. We had her see a doctor and things seemed to settle down…” He stopped talking.

I was writing like mad. I asked the big question. “Do you think she saw a ghost the day of the accident?”

“She never told me that. Her mother and I were in the hospital with her round the clock for three days. A nurse was the one who told that story.”

“A nurse? Do you know the nurse’s name?”

“No. The story just spread all over town. I think people were trying to make sense of such a tragedy, trying to find something to pin it on. Do you know what I mean?”

“When people are scared, they look for something to blame,” I said, remembering what Eaton Ebbers had told me.

“Exactly!” He sighed. “Her mother and I—this thing split us apart. We didn’t have the strength to talk to people. We should have gone someplace to heal. We didn’t do
that. Your dad came by so often to talk with me and listen. He helped me more than I know how to say.”

That so touched me. “Dad was a good listener.” I was writing as fast as I could. I had one more big question. I took a huge breath. “Mr. Miner, could I quote you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank
you
, Hildy. Your dad would be so proud of you.”

I sat there and let the tears come.

“These are direct quotes?” Baker asked me. He was sitting at the desk, drinking coffee.

“Yes.”

“No doubt?”

“None.”

“Mr. Miner gave you permission to use his name?”

“Yes.”

He deleted my phrase
in an emotionally charged interview
and pushed the piggy bank close.

I dropped in dimes, grumbling that it
was
emotionally charged.

He handed the copy back to me. “Good work.” The left side of his mouth curled up, which was how Baker smiled.
“Run it.”

I called it “Remembering Sallie,” and people read it.

Really
read it.

Kids stopped me in the hall.

Minska asked for extra issues to have at the cash register.

Sheriff Metcalf called me at home, saying it was a fine job.

I mailed a copy to Mr. Miner in Miami, hoping he’d like it.

It still didn’t get me a date to homecoming, but Tanisha, always the forward thinker, had ideas about that.

“We’re both going to miss the dance, Hildy, so let me lay this out for you. I checked the National Weather Service and we’re supposed to get high winds and rain Saturday night, which would mean if we went we’d be miserable and wet. I also checked the Centers for Disease Control website and it looks like people are getting the flu early this year and the shots won’t be ready until November, if at all. Just think of the bacteria crawling on the food table. We’d be taking our lives in our hands. Also, that week in October is usually when cold season starts, so we’d be close-up to those germs, too.” She nuzzled Pookie and said, “We don’t know how good we’ve got it.”

For some reason that helped.

As the election for Homecoming Queen drew closer, Elizabeth was acting strangely. She was spending lots of time in her room, and she didn’t want to pet MacIntosh because she said he might have germs.

“Are you okay?” I asked her. She was standing in the
clearing in the orchard, looking at the rust-colored sunset that seemed painted across the sky.

“I know who’s going to be the Homecoming Queen,” Elizabeth told me.

“Bonnie Sue, probably,” I said. All the popular kids were handing out her brochures. “Have you seen the stickers? ‘Bonnie Sue, we love you!’” I groaned.

Elizabeth laughed happily. “Jackie’s going to win.”

As far I knew Jackie didn’t really stand a chance. Every thinking person in school was voting for Lacey, but whether she could beat Bonnie Sue’s heavily financed campaign was unclear.

“It’s a done deal, Hildy,” Elizabeth assured me. “Jackie’s got it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Elizabeth kept staring at the sunset that was being swallowed up by the night. “Madame Zobek told Jackie she was going to win.”

I stared at her. “You don’t really believe Madame Zobek’s for real, do you?”

Elizabeth kept looking at the sky. “There are things in this world that are greater than we know, Hildy.”

“Have you gone to see Madame Zobek?” I demanded.

Elizabeth shook her soft blond curls. “Of course not!” She walked quickly away.

I think that was the first time Elizabeth ever lied to me.

Something spooky seemed to hover in the air.

Homecoming fever was everywhere. It was a welcome relief, too, from the creeping, crawling hype around the Ludlow house.

“You know what I love about this school?” Mr. Grasso shouted from the makeshift stage in the cafeteria. He gazed proudly at the
GO
BEASTS
! sports banner and said, “We’ve got it where it counts! We don’t have the newest facilities, we don’t have the fanciest uniforms, but we’ve got heart! I’m calling on every one of you to rally strong for our teams during Spirit Week! Let’s cheer the Beasts on to homecoming victory!”

Among Beasts fans, Tanisha’s dog Pookie was the only true believer. She came to every pep rally and jumped with the cheerleaders. She ran across the football field during practice in her navy-and-orange
GO
BEASTS
! sweatshirt.

Pookie also learned to pee on
The Bee’s
special editions.

“Right here, baby.” Tanisha pointed to the front-page article and Pookie let loose on badly written copy:

“The living room is the most haunted place,” said an undisclosed source who supposedly had been inside the Ludlow house. “And by the fireplace I could feel the spirit of Mrs. Ludlow the most. Sometimes I could hear her crying. Once I asked if there was anything I could do to help, and suddenly something tried to push me on the floor! I ran out of there fast, and when I got home, I had black-and-blue marks on my back!”

I’m sorry, this isn’t journalism.

But it got into the atmosphere just the same.

Even into Spirit Week at Banesville High. Someone added an
E
and
O
to all the Spirit Week posters, changing
SPIRIT
to
ESPIRITO
, which means “ghost” in Spanish.

The Bee
had its own Spirit Week celebration.

“Homecoming isn’t just for high school,”
wrote Madame Zobek.
“Homecoming has at its root a deeper dimension. I sense that many spirits of the dead will find their way home to Banesville at the beckoning of the ghosts now gathered on Farnsworth Road.”

I went over to Farnsworth Road to see what Pinky Sandusky had to say about that. The leaves were changing to brilliant reds and deep yellows, but nothing, not even autumn’s beauty, could make the Ludlow house look respectable.

She showed me her 24/7 time chart of everything observed.

Assorted birds.

Assorted weirdos.

No ghosts, however.

“How long have you and your friends been watching the property?” I asked her.

“Close to three weeks.”

“And what do you think your findings mean?”

“I have no proof whatsoever that any kind of ghost resides on this property.”

“Can I quote you?”

“Honey, you can stick my words on a bumper sticker.”

Home.

I was standing outside Elizabeth’s room. The door was shut; I knocked on it.

“It’s me,” I said.

“Just a minute,” Elizabeth said nervously.

It sounded like she was putting things away. I never do this, but I walked in anyway.

There was a tray on the bed with photos of her mother in antique frames; Elizabeth and her mom looked so much alike. Next to the photos were candles. I could tell they’d just been blown out—the wicks were smoking.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Her heart-shaped face was furious. “Who gave you permission, Hildy, to just barge in here?”

“What are you doing?” I asked again.

Tears came to Elizabeth’s eyes. She gathered up the
photographs of her mother. There was a big pile of money on her dresser, too.

“What’s the money for, Elizabeth?”

“Leave me alone, Hildy.”

“Are you seeing Madame Zobek?” I persisted.

“No! I already told you! Leave me alone!”

“Sorry, I can’t do that.” I sat on her bed. “What’s going on?”

Elizabeth’s hands started shaking. She dropped to her knees on the hooked rug, crying.

“I only went to her two times, Hildy. She said my mother wanted to talk with me, but something was preventing it…”

“Madame Zobek told you this?”

She nodded, weeping.

“What else did she tell you?”

“She said that there were special candles she could get me that would help set Mom’s spirit free so she could come to me.”

I looked at her bed. “Are those the candles?”

She bit her lip; nodded.

“How much are you paying her?”

“Not that much.”

I looked at the money on her dresser. Elizabeth had sponge painted that dresser in white and silver last year. It was beautiful.

“And what is she charging for the candles?”

“A hundred dollars, okay? But she gave me the special sale price and—”

“You gave some woman in a cape a hundred dollars!”

“You weren’t there, Hildy. I was. You didn’t hear her—I did. You knew your father, I never knew my mother, and if she’s trying to get back to give me a message, I’m going to spend everything I’ve got to hear her!” She threw a lace pillow across the room.

I stood on the porch, trying to figure out what to do. I could see my breath in the air, floating like a wisp.

I had to tell, I knew that.

I hated having to do it.

When Elizabeth and I were younger, I used to tease her that she was part apple because her emotions bruised so easily. I didn’t want her to get hurt in any way.

Felix had gone to bed early. Nan and Mom were at an Apple Alliance meeting.

Nan was the one who needed to talk to Elizabeth. Nan understood her gentleness better than anyone.

It was 10:45 when Mom and Nan walked through the door, exhausted. Apple Alliance meetings are grueling.

Mom flopped into the floral chair by the fireplace. “Why do I do this?” she asked me.

“To make the world safe for apple buyers everywhere,” I reminded her.

Nan took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Dear
Lord, forgive me, but when Eve Lundquist starts talking about expanding the market for fruit, she just goes on forever.”

“I need to talk to you both about something important.”

Nan kicked off her clodhoppers. “Go ahead, darlin’.”

I told them about Elizabeth, the money, and what Zack had found out about fake psychics.

Nan stood up. “We’re stopping this before it goes any further. Is Felix awake?”

“He went to bed.”

Nan went to wake him up.

Mom shook out her ponytail. “You did the right thing telling us, Hildy.”

Then why did I feel like an informant? Because Elizabeth and I normally didn’t tell on each other—that’s why.

I watched as Nan, Felix, and Mom climbed the round oak staircase up to Elizabeth’s room.

I listened as the voices grew louder, as a foot stomped down hard and shook the ceiling above me.

I waited for them to come downstairs; they finally did.

Felix looked like he’d been hung out to dry. His shoulders drooped like he couldn’t bear the weight of them anymore.

“I didn’t know Elizabeth was so in need of her mother,” he began. “I’m going… well, I’m going to have to figure out what to do about that.”

He walked toward his bedroom.

Nan said, “Hildy, it’s best to give Elizabeth some space with all this. She’s not thinking right now, she’s just feeling.”

“Laurie liked blue. She was quite an artist,” Felix said to my mother at the breakfast table the next morning. He was talking about his wife, Elizabeth’s mom.