The Ghost of Gruesome High (8 page)

Suddenly my mind seemed to snap to and I sat up. I had a brilliant idea! “I know! Let’s not do your project on the Civil War at all—that’s boring and half the class will be doing the Civil War.”

The boys stopped their mock battle with the toy soldiers and looked at me as if I was crazy. “What are you talking about?” Wesley said, slightly annoyed. “We’re already half done with it.”

I looked at the almost empty plywood board and the unopened bag of instant paper mache. In all fairness they had put a lump of pink modeling clay in the middle of the board and they had formed it into something that sort of resembled a fort-like structure.

“Half done?” I asked as I closed the Civil War books and stood up. I began pacing. I was still formulating my idea and I needed a few seconds to get it right in my mind. “I know how we can get you an “A” and help solve the mystery of the Gruesome High ghost!”

“What are you talking about?” Wesley asked again. “I’m already started on this. I’ve done most of the research, I’m all ready to start writing the—”

“No, no, no,” I said as I stopped pacing and faced the guys. “Let’s do your project on the history of our own town! Let’s trace the history of Grissom cemetery and the building of Grissom High. No one’s ever done that before! Mr. Stafford will have to give you an “A”! It’ll be great! And besides, we have to do all the research anyway.” I suddenly frowned, another half-idea suddenly flooding my mind. “We may even have to dig up some bodies from the old graveyard,” I said suddenly. I didn’t really know what I was talking about, but something made me say it anyway.

Wesley thought about digging up bodies and suddenly smiled. “Gruesome!” he said enthusiastically.

Alan shook his head, looking slightly irritated. “Wait a minute. What do you mean we have to do all this research anyway?” Alan said, pushing his glasses up with the bayonet of the toy soldier he held in his hand. “Why would we do that?”

I was totally exasperated. Hadn’t these guys been paying attention to everything we’d been doing? Didn’t they have a clue what was going on? Didn’t they want to solve this mystery? “Because . . .” I began—and suddenly realized I didn’t have a simple answer to that question. “Because we need to do a lot of research—especially about the old graveyard—if we want to solve the mystery,” I answered rather lamely.
 

“What mystery?” Alan asked, setting his toy soldier down. “So there’s a ghost wandering around the school. Big deal. It’s not bothering me. What do I care?”

“I think you’re spending a whole lot more time with this ghost thing than you should,” Wesley echoed. “Give it a rest. The ghost has been around for years, ever since the school was built. What’s the big deal?”

I think I must have stood there with my mouth open, not believing my ears, for at least a full ten or fifteen seconds. I couldn’t believe these guys didn’t care. But then I realized they hadn’t seen and heard everything I had. All I had to do was tell them, and then they’d be just as anxious to solve this mystery as I was!

So I paced all around Wesley’s basement den and told them everything that had happened. I told them about sneaking up to the school last night and seeing Mr. Greenwald; I told them about being spied on at lunch by Ben Thompson; I told them about my meeting with Mr. Greenwald after school; and after a slight hesitation I even told them about my run-in with Ben Thompson—though I toned down certain parts of it because I was afraid Jason would feel obligated to prove how much of a “man” he was by fighting Ben or something equally boy-dumb, and I didn’t want him getting hurt.

What I wanted was for them to get as excited about all this as I was.

When I finished my story I sat down in the big chair, cross-legged, and waited expectantly for their thrilling response.
 

What I got instead was a lot of feet shuffling and quick glances back and forth between them. Finally Jason said: “Wow. I can’t believe you did all that. Why didn’t you ask me to help you?”
 

He said it with a hurt tone to his voice. This was definitely not starting out the way I hoped it would. Instead of concentrating on the mystery, Jason was concentrating on himself and the fact that I hadn’t gotten him to be my big protector —and the crazy thing was, I tried to get the guys to come to the school with me last night, I waited for them at lunch, and I tried to get them to come to Mr. Greenwald’s class with me after school.

What was wrong with these guys? Why weren’t they as fired up about this ghost thing as I was?
 

“I tried,” I finally said. “You were busy, remember? But now we can figure this whole thing out and Wesley’s history project is the perfect excuse we need.”

Wesley looked at me and shook his head quickly. “Excuse we need? Excuse for what?”

I sighed. Hadn’t these guys been listening to what I said? Were they really this dense? “The excuse we need to interview Mayor Thompson!” I said, exasperated.

Chapter 14

Hizonor, Mayor Thompson

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this?” Jason hissed at me between clenched teeth. “You’re a certifiable loon!”

We were seated in a large room at city hall. All of us were there, Jennifer, Alan, Wesley, Jason, and myself. Jennifer and I were wearing dresses, something I don’t usually do. Wesley’s mom made him wear a suit and tie; he kept pulling at his collar as if he couldn’t breathe very well. Alan was wearing dress shoes and dark pants, a white shirt and a sports jacket; it’s possible he had been wearing a tie when his mother last saw him, but if so it was long gone now. Jason was dressed casually, the way he dressed for school, wearing blue jeans and tennis shoes. At least the tennis shoes were fairly new and not scuffed too badly.

I had the impression the Mayor didn’t want a lot of people coming to see him; the chairs we were told to sit on while we waited for our audience were the most uncomfortable pieces of furniture I’d ever sat on in my life. I don’t know if it was just because I was so uncomfortable, or whether it had something to do with the fact that Jason had been such a pain all morning, but I really wasn’t in the mood to put up with any more of Jason’s nonsense.

“You can leave,” I told him quietly and calmly. “It’s not like we really need you here. You’ve done nothing but complain ever since we got here.” I was proud of myself. I simply stated the facts. I didn’t get mad, I didn’t raise my voice, I didn’t use a sarcastic tone. I felt as if I was handling the situation like a true adult.

Jason stuck his tongue out at me, folded his arms, and shifted his body to face away from me.

So much for being adult!

I was about to tell him he was being a real jerk when Mr. Ponsonby, the Mayor’s assistant, came out of the Mayor’s office to tell us the Mayor would see us now. I was the first to stand. I didn’t look at Jason. I did, however, give Jennifer a smile which I hoped was a lot more confident than I felt. Then I led our little troop into the office of Hizonor, Mayor Thompson.

I had seen Mayor Thompson’s face hundreds of times before, on campaign posters, buttons, and on local TV. He was always dedicating a supermarket or a laundromat or something like that and getting his picture on the news or in the paper.

A lot of adults I knew (including my parents) thought Mayor Thompson was nothing but “a spiffed-up used car salesman!”

As I walked into the room, followed by my friends, Mayor Thompson got up out of his big chair behind his big, dark-wood desk, and stepped around to meet me, his hand held out to shake mine, and a smile on his face as big as the full moon. “Hello, children,” he said enthusiastically, “I’m always happy to do whatever I can for the youth of our great community. My motto is: the youth of today are the leaders of tomorrow!” He shook my hand so hard I thought my arm would fall off and smiled real big, as if he were waiting for a flash bulb to go off. Just who did this guy think he was calling “children”, anyway? I was already beginning to think this guy was a real loser.

Suddenly his smile faded slightly, then returned at half strength. “Sit down, sit down. Can I have my assistant get you anything? Cokes? Kool-aid? What is it you modern kids drink nowadays?”

Boy, were my parents right about this snake-oil salesman! I had never had such an instant dislike of another human being in my whole life! This guy was the biggest phony I’d ever met. Or ever wanted to meet!

I ignored his condescending remarks about what we wanted to drink and said: “I wonder if you could answer a few questions for us on the recent history of the town? For a school report?”

His smile blinked off—then blinked back on. “Of course! I’d be delighted to!” He stood up and came around to the front of his desk, sitting on the corner nearest me. “The town of Rossmore was founded in 1889 by—”

“Excuse me, your honor,” I interrupted. “That’s not exactly what we had in mind.”

This time his smile faded for a full two or three seconds before it returned—and when it did you could barely read by it any longer. Now it almost looked like the smile of a real person, rather than the smile of a plastic politician. “What exactly did you children want to know?” he asked in what seemed a slightly guarded tone.

I shifted in my seat. I wasn’t sure how to begin, or—now that I was actually sitting here in front of him—even sure what I really wanted to ask. I took a deep breath and said, “I understand you started out in this town from fairly humble beginnings.” He licked his lips quickly. I could see a look in his eyes that told me I’d better get to the point fairly quickly if I didn’t want us all to be kicked out of here. “You used to own a jewelry store, didn’t you?”
 

He stood and began pacing slowly around the room. “Yes, that’s right. I owned Thompson’s Coin and Jewelry. But that was a long time ago. I really don’ t think your—”

“I read that your store was robbed.”

Mayor Thompson suddenly stopped pacing and sat down again on the corner of his desk. He looked me directly in the eyes. The smile was gone from his face. Completely. “I see you’ve done your homework, young lady. Unfortunately, as I’m sure you also know, crime is nothing new.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Were any of the stolen coins or jewelry ever found?”

“No.” He kept looking me straight in the eyes. The smile hadn’t returned to his face.
 

“And it was right after that that you started Thompson Construction Company?” I asked as innocently as I could, looking down at the paper in my hand as if I were consulting my notes. The truth was, his stare was beginning to make me nervous.

“Do you really think all this will be of interest to your teacher or fellow students?” There was an icy tone to his voice.
 

“Your construction company’s first contract was to build our school, Gus Grissom High. I understand you under bid every other company by quite a lot to get the job,” I continued.
 

I was just making up that last part; I had no idea how the bidding was done for the job. But I really hit a nerve! Mayor Thompson stood up and turned his back to us. He picked up his phone, waited a second, then said, “Is my four-thirty here yet?” He waited a few moments, then hung up the phone. He crossed back behind his desk, sat down and folded his hands in front of him before he finally raised his eyes to meet mine again. “That’s quite right, young lady. That’s how business is done. You know,” he continued without pausing, “it suddenly dawns on me that I don’t know your name.”

My heart suddenly started beating twice its normal speed. My palms began to sweat and my body became ice cold all over. I felt myself trying to smile and to look slightly embarrassed at the same time. It’s a combination that’s worked well for me in the past; I used to be able to get my Dad to do practically anything for me if I gave him the right cute, embarrassed little smile. Of course, that trick hadn’t been working nearly so well for the past three or four years and I have no idea if I pulled it off now or not. As I said before, I’m not all that good of an actress, and his question scared me, but I saw no way around answering it. “Patricia Hoyle,” I said in as calm a voice as I could. “And these are my . . .”

But he wasn’t interested in my friends. He kept his eyes on me as he leaned back, made a tent of his fingers, and said: “Ah, yes, I’ve . . . heard of you. My son goes to your school. Perhaps you’ve met him. A big boy. Name’s Ben. A real good boy. Very protective of his old man.”

“Uh, yeah, I think I know him,” I said. I had the feeling the Mayor was trying to tell me something without actually saying anything. It felt as if there was an implied threat when he mentioned Ben. But I couldn’t stop myself now. I knew I’d hit a nerve and I liked seeing him squirm a little. “Do you know a Mr. William Bell?” I asked suddenly.

A light had just gone nova inside my brain and I suddenly remembered what it was Mr. Bell had said that bothered me so much! But for a moment I didn’t think I’d get a chance to ask my next question. At the mention of Mr. Bell’s name, Mayor Thompson’s face changed. He looked scared! Then he put on a steely face and his voice lost all last vestiges of politically-correct good-humor.

“I don’t think that name rings any bells,” he said, and then smiled at his own lame joke. “Now if you children will excuse me,” he said, standing up, “I’m afraid that’s all the time I have right now.”

My friends all stood up, preparing to leave. But I stayed right where I was. I looked Mayor Thompson right in the eye and said: “Mr. Bell was a known alcoholic. No one in town would give him a job. But you gave him a job. You hired a known alcoholic as a security guard. That’s a very important job to give to someone with a drinking problem, don’t you agree? I was wondering why you did that.”