The Unforgettable Guinevere St. Clair Read online

  I went inside, washed my hands before dinner, and sat down.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Taking a quick shower,” Nana said. “He was filthy.”

  “Filthy?” I asked. My father was never filthy.

  “Must’ve been helping someone out on his way home. In Crow, that’s what neighbors do for one another. Bitty!” Nana called. “Time for supper.”

  My blood ran cold, my heart pounding against my rib cage. I tried to think logically. Nana was right about neighbors helping one another out. But what if that neighbor was Gaysie? For all I knew, maybe my father did know how to ride the Blue Mistress. For all I knew, he told me everything—until he didn’t.

  I stared at my father when he came into the kitchen, his hair washed, combed, and parted neatly. He wore his usual khakis and button-down shirt and looked like my father again, nothing like a ghost on a blue tractor.

  CHAPTER 20

  I BECAME SHERLOCK HOLMES ON HALLOWEEN night, my absolute most favorite holiday. I wore my grandfather’s old, brown tweed driving cap and carried a fake plastic pipe. I tried to talk Bitty into being my sidekick, Watson, but instead she dressed as a princess. In, like, pink stuff.

  Jimmy showed up as a zombie wrapped in white toilet paper, with black makeup encircling his eyes and mouth. Micah wore a chef apron and a little white cap. In his hands he carried an apple pie.

  “Made it myself,” he said proudly.

  “Mmmm,” I said, pinching off a piece of crust. “Share with me later?”

  Micah smiled from ear to ear.

  Music played on Main Street, while jack-o-lanterns glowed and local businesses kept their lights on, handing out treats. My father, Lolly, Nana, and Vienna set up Halloween outside the dental office. Except they handed out toothbrushes and floss. My father kept one hand on Vienna’s shoulder at all times and said to each person, “You remember my wife, Vienna?”

  She sat in her wheelchair because she tired easily, dressed as a toothbrush, to match my father’s toothpaste costume. Lolly stood behind her, dressed as a nurse.

  “Vienna,” I said nervously, wondering how unpredictable she might be. I touched her hands lightly. “This is Jimmy and Micah, my friends.” I smiled in an extra friendly way to show her we were friends.

  Vienna nodded, her eyes dancing.

  Lolly smiled. “I’ve heard all about what good friends you boys are.”

  “Vienna, they come with Gaysie to visit you,” I added.

  “Where’s Gaysie?”

  “At home,” Micah said. “She doesn’t like Halloween.”

  “I love Halloween!” Vienna said. “Where’s Gaysie?”

  “At home,” Micah said again.

  “She’s so ugly,” Vienna said, wrinkling her forehead.

  “Never mind,” I interrupted, not wanting to hurt Micah’s feelings.

  “But I’m her friend,” she said. “I’m a good friend, right?”

  “Yes, you are,” my father said, patting her arm.

  “Mom and I went to see her in the hospital. I said I’m sorry.”

  “Oh my!” Nana interrupted. “It’s Halloween, for heaven’s sake. Go eat candy!”

  “Go eat candy!” I exclaimed. “Did Nana just say that?”

  “No. Yes.” Nana looked flustered, and I paused. What was wrong with her? Did it have to do with what Vienna just said about Gaysie and saying sorry? Was there really something to it?

  “I like candy!” Vienna yelled, tapping on my arm. “Candy, candy, candy!” And the moment was gone again.

  I rummaged around and gave her my only banana Laffy Taffy. My father frowned, taffy being a dentist’s worst enemy. Vienna played with the wrapper, tried to open it with her fingers, then her teeth, and finally threw it on the ground out of frustration.

  “I like your costume, Mrs. St. Clair,” Micah said, opening the taffy for her.

  Vienna grasped his hand, gazing into his eyes like she’d never seen him before in her life. “Mrs. St. Clair?” she murmured.

  “Bye, Vienna,” I said just as Annabelle appeared behind my father. She was dressed as a red devil with red lipstick. Red horns sat atop her long, shiny, dark hair. She was the most breathtaking devil anyone had ever seen.

  “Come on,” I said, elbowing a drooling Jimmy and Micah.

  “Have fun,” my father called.

  “I know, I know, we’ll be careful,” I said before Nana could open her mouth.

  “Happy Halloween!” Bitty yelled, skipping along after me.

  “Just look at your girls going off by themselves!” I heard Lolly say.

  I looked back, my father the toothpaste juxtaposed between a toothbrush and the devil.

  Jimmy peered down into his pillowcase. “Great treat,” he said, holding up the toothbrush.

  “He’s a dentist,” I said. “He can’t give you a candy bar. And even raisins will cause . . .”

  “I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care!” Jimmy yelled, sprinting ahead of me.

  We ran down Main Street, seeing bunches of kids from school. Penny and her friends were Crayola crayons, and Travis and the Creepers wore black trench coats and goblin masks. When they saw us they began to bark.

  “Avoid, avoid, avoid,” I muttered, steering a clear path away from them. But Micah found himself face-to-face with Travis Maynard. Travis lifted up his mask.

  “What is that? A pie?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Jimmy said.

  “Give me a bite,” Travis said.

  “No,” Jimmy said.

  “It’s okay,” Micah said. “You can have a bite.”

  “Sweet,” Travis said. He looked at his hands and felt his pockets. “I don’t have a fork. Just give me the pie,” he said, lifting the pie out of Micah’s hands.

  “Like Jimmy said—don’t even think about it!” I pulled the pie back.

  “Give it,” Travis said. We tugged back and forth until I saw Officer Jake walking toward us. I let go. Travis fell backward, and Micah’s beautiful pie went with him, smashing all over his black coat, neck, and face.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Officer Jake said, hands on his hips. “Travis Maynard stealing a pie.” He looked down at Travis and shook his head as Travis sputtered, wiping apple pie out of his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  “You all go finish having a fun evening,” Officer Jake said to us. “I’ll deal with this.”

  “Enjoy the pie, buddy,” Jimmy whispered to Travis.

  “Watch out for your little dogs!” Travis yelled after us. I grimaced, wondering if Moose and Tomato were roaming Crow again, thanks to the Creepers.

  “Don’t be sad, Micah,” Bitty said as we walked away.

  He sniffed. “It was my best one. I made it extra special for you and Gwyn, with extra cinnamon and my best picked apples of the tart variety.”

  We comforted Micah the best we could, making him laugh when describing the apple goo all over Travis’s face.

  I immediately forgave Officer Jake for his past behavior until he condescendingly winked at me when we passed him again later on and asked if I had any more tips for him, as if I hadn’t given him a genuine suspect.

  Toward the end of the night we held out our bags for the staff at the care center, whom we had become fast friends with. They smiled and chattered about Vienna, her excitement for Halloween, and her love of candy. They doubled up on our candy distribution and waved good-bye as we headed past the town cemetery.

  “Let’s walk through,” Jimmy said casually. “There’s something we’ve never shown you.”

  “No, Gwyn,” Bitty said, clutching my arm.

  “Come on!” I said excitedly, drawn to the old headstones, crypts, and stone birds.

  I felt that delicious, spooky feeling again as we wandered past graves, leaves crunching under our feet and a sliver of a moon shining down upon us.

  “What do you want to show me?” I asked Jimmy and Micah.

  They stopped in front of a white granite stone with an angel
engraved on it. The plot was well cared for, with flowers tastefully trimmed back. I read the name on the gravestone and nearly sunk right into the ground.

  The stone was for a ten-year-old boy named Myron Myrtle.

  “Myrtle,” I breathed. “Not . . . Myron was Ms. Myrtle’s boy?”

  “You didn’t know?” Micah asked.

  “No one ever said the words ‘Myron’ and ‘Myrtle’ together!”

  “I’m never going sledding again,” Bitty said.

  “Gaysie’s been here, hasn’t she?” I asked.

  “Oh sure,” Micah said. “She and your dad even brought Vienna. But Vienna doesn’t like it so well.”

  Why would Gaysie and my father take Vienna to a gravesite? To remember? I shivered.

  “Come on,” Jimmy said. “Best day of the year. Let’s get more candy!”

  My insides twisted into miserable knots. I felt so foolish! I had spoken to Ms. Myrtle about her boy as if he were grown up and alive.

  I stumbled after my comrades, out of the cemetery, trying to shake off the feeling.

  We finished trick-or-treating down the street before parting ways. I gave Jimmy and Micah a thumbs-up sign.

  “See you at midnight,” I whispered.

  Because tonight, you see, was the night we were finally getting our fingerprints.

  • • •

  Four hours later, at eleven forty-five, I was reluctant to wake a snoring Bitty up. As she was the world’s heaviest sleeper, I had to make a decision: risk a noisy wake-up scene or let her slumber in peace. I would be faster alone, and snoring was a great cover, if someone should happen to check on us. I prayed Bitty would someday forgive me for what I was about to do.

  I climbed out the first-floor window and landed on Nana’s juniper bushes. I paused, looking at my father’s dark window. He had not come home from the care center yet. If he had, he would have come to us.

  I stalled, conflicted.

  What if he came home while I was gone? Or what if we ran into each other while walking down the street? The air was getting cold. Winter was coming. I would have to risk it.

  I ran to my bike parked behind the barn, dog jerky in my pocket to keep Moose and Tomato from yapping. But when I turned on my headlamp, I saw the kennel doors were wide open. Empty again.

  Darn those Creepers!

  Then again, if I got caught, the dogs could be a red herring. I pedaled down Lanark Lane, the only light shining from my headlamp and the occasional glimmer of the moon in an overcast sky. The cold wind whipped at my face. It felt like snow. We had to complete our mission tonight.

  The clementine house was entirely dark. Passing underneath Gaysie’s window, I heard a noise like a stick snap. I paused. All was quiet again except the wind in the trees and overgrown cornstalks.

  I held my shaking hands tight and gulped as I found the milking pail on the porch. I used my jacket to grab it and hid it behind the barn, completing my solo task before waking my friends.

  At 12:08 a.m. I threw a pebble at Micah’s window, but it missed and hit the house.

  No one appeared. I began to climb the tree closest to the house in the darkness, the trunk and branches black and overpowering with shadow. For once in my life I was glad it was dark, glad I couldn’t see how high off the ground I was. This is easy, I am not afraid, I am a good climber, I said over and over, trying to trick my brain. Don’t be a scaredy-cat like Nana!

  Balancing on a branch, I threw another pebble at Micah’s window before shining our signal: three quick light flicks from my flashlight.

  No response except for the sound of Gaysie snoring loudly enough to shake the window frames.

  Suddenly, a light went on in the upstairs bathroom. I almost fell out of the tree when I saw a white face with big, black-circled eyes.

  Jimmy!

  I slid down the tree, jumped down, and performed a somersault across the grass, the contents of my backpack making a loud turnover noise.

  “What took you so long?” I asked when Micah and Jimmy tumbled out of the house.

  “Sorry,” Micah yawned, patting my shoulder. “I fell asleep.”

  “I didn’t think you’d really come,” Jimmy said. He turned and started walking quickly toward the cornfield.

  “Are you wearing . . . Wilbur’s shirt?”

  “Gaysie gave it to me, said it didn’t fit him anymore,” he said over his shoulder. “But I put his boots back by the back door. So he can have ’em when he gets back.”

  “And so he won’t haunt us anymore,” Micah said.

  “Ah, Micah, hush up!” Jimmy said. He led the way as we walked single file down the corn path. White clouds moved overhead, illuminated by a bright moonlight, and old cornstalks crunched under our feet. We halted by the river, where Wilbur’s Blue Mistress had sat for months now.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I whispered.

  The wind moved the cornstalks, creating a sound of someone constantly walking toward us. Micah looked around, the whites of his eyes wide.

  I pulled out the needed items I’d read about in our fingerprinting book: Nana’s baking cocoa powder, my father’s camel hair paintbrush, tape, and construction paper.

  Pulling on Nana’s too-big disposable kitchen gloves, I carefully climbed up onto the tractor and sat. The wind picked up my hair and blew at my face. How wonderful it was to be so high and free, how different from New York. How eerily quiet! I could see why Wilbur liked it.

  “Cocoa powder,” I called down.

  Micah fumbled the box, but managed to hand it up. I shook cocoa onto the steering wheel.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Jimmy asked doubtfully.

  “Of course I do,” I said confidently. “If protected enough, prints can remain on objects for years.” I pulled back the thin plastic atop the tractor. Hopefully, the paltry covering had protected the Blue Mistress. Fingerprinting for Amateurs said that if there was a sticky print, the cocoa powder would stick. If this worked, and I was interviewed on television for breaking the case, Ms. Priscilla would be the first person I thanked.

  “What was that?” Micah asked, looking behind us.

  “Probably the ghost,” I whispered.

  “Just hurry up,” Jimmy said.

  “Wilbur never let anyone on his tractor,” Micah shivered. “And you’re up there . . .”

  “You still think his ghost is watching us?”

  “We changed our mind,” Jimmy said. “It wasn’t a ghost, because that would mean Wilbur is dead and he’s not.”

  “Micah,” I whispered, “Gaysie said she died once. Does she know what ghosts look like?”

  He looked up at me and scrunched up his nose.

  “I don’t think she really sees ghosts. More like angels.”

  “Sees?” I asked. “Like, she still sees them?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Stop talking about ghosts!” Jimmy said, handing up my father’s camel hair brush. I carefully dusted away the excess cocoa powder. It had felt like a long shot, but there it was! Some cocoa was still sticking to the steering wheel.

  “Tape.”

  Very carefully, I stuck it onto the cocoa powder.

  “Paper.”

  I peeled off the tape and stuck it to the orange construction paper.

  “Now what?” Jimmy asked.

  “Lolly will take this back to Georgia Piehl—the prosecuting attorney in New York. I’ll tell her it’s a rush job. Time is of the essence.” I’d heard that in a movie once.

  The wind blew and again we heard the rustling sound. It stopped, then stirred.

  “Let’s go,” Jimmy said softly.

  I pulled the tarp back up and jumped down. Adrenaline made us move, but whatever was behind us, real or imagined, was moving faster. Micah tripped and fell to the ground.

  I pulled him up and we began to run again. Suddenly, there was something at my feet.

  Micah let out a scream that prompted a domino effect, sending all of us into hysterics. I screame
d so loudly it echoed across the entire field. But when I looked down I saw two twin fur balls.

  “Moose! Tomato!” I cried.

  “Oh,” Micah said, scooping both the dogs up and sniffling with relief.

  “I need to take them home,” I said.

  “An excellent idea,” a voice said behind us. We screamed again. She had appeared from nowhere, a giant looming over us.

  “Children.”

  “Ma!” Micah yelled, taking a step toward her.

  “Go inside.”

  Micah dumped the dogs in my arms and obeyed, running with Jimmy to the house. Gaysie turned, looked out toward the field before zeroing in on me.

  “What are you looking for, Guinevere?” Her voice was low. My mouth opened but nothing came out.

  “Hmm?” she asked, taking a step toward me. I took a step back.

  She stopped walking.

  “I . . .”

  “What exactly are you looking for?”

  “I’m looking for Wilbur!” I said boldly. “I’m wondering why you aren’t!”

  “Are you, now?”

  “Yes!”

  Gaysie rocked her large body as she looked out into the dark night. “Guinevere, be careful. Sometimes the answers you think you’re looking for aren’t the answers you find.”

  She turned toward me, her long scar accentuated by the moon.

  I was unsure what she meant. What other answers could I be looking for? Was she just trying to throw me off her scent?

  When I remained mute, she said my name. “Guinevere?”

  “Yes?”

  “Go home now.”

  I ran quickly to my bike, Moose and the fingerprints in my backpack, and Tomato down my jacket.

  On the road I glanced back, where all I could see was the giant shadow of Gaysie Cutter, who appeared to be slowly following behind.

  Ahead of me was nothing but the dark, black road. When I coasted I could hear it, though. That rustle again.

  The image of ghosts made me pedal faster. The closer I was to home, the more panic I felt to get inside the house! I dumped my bike behind it and shoved the dogs in their kennels. Moose growled.

  “Shh,” I said. He wiggled his head around, wrestling with something in his mouth.

  “What have you got there?” I whispered. I reached toward his mouth and pulled on something wet and slimy. Fabric of some sort. Grimacing, I stuffed the wet glob in my pocket, threw the dog treats in the kennel, and securely latched the locks. I turned to the black night. The rustle came again.