The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs (6 page)

Cautiously, Dub nodded.

“We could look up stuff about big fires and see if Mrs. Hobbs was involved.”

“But we can't get into school to use the library,” said Dub.

“So we'll go to the public library tomorrow.”

“I thought we were going roller-blading tomorrow.”

“Well, we were. But now we've got to do this.”

“We've
got
to?” Dub repeated.

“Yes.”

“Getting kind of bossy, aren't you?”

“Come on, Dub! It's for my ghost.”

Dub gave her an odd look, then said, “Well, you can go to the library if you want. I'm going blading.”

“But, Dub! I was counting on you to help me.”

“I was trying to, Al. But you don't seem to be listening. Why don't you ask your boyfriend to help? He always seems to be there, right when you need him.”

He turned off onto his street, leaving Allie with her mouth hanging open in astonishment.

That evening at supper Allie told her parents that Mr. Henry had asked her to watch Hoover. “Can Michael come with me tomorrow?” she asked. “If he's over his allergies, we can get a dog!”

Her mother looked horrified. “No, you're not taking Michael!” she protested. “Of course he's still allergic. He'd itch and sniffle and sneeze and be miserable.”

“Well, I just thought we could check—”

“Nice try, Al,” her father said with a smile. “But I'm afraid Mike can't go. It's flattering, though, that Mr. Henry has so much faith in you, don't you think?”

“Yeah,” said Allie proudly.

“Mr. Henry lives . . . where? Over on Highland Avenue?”

“Yeah. It's only five or six blocks. I'll just go over
on my bike.” She added wistfully, “Are you sure there aren't pills Mike could take?”

“We've been through this, Al,” Mrs. Nichols answered. Then, in what Allie thought was an obvious attempt to change the subject, her mother said, “I heard a lot of fire sirens this afternoon. Anybody know what happened?”

“The fire was at school,” Allie answered. “It was kind of weird, actually. I was in the cafeteria interviewing Mrs. Hobbs—”

“The Snapping Turtle!” Michael shouted gleefully.

Allie had told her family about Mrs. Hobbs and the Elders Day project the night before. Michael had been entranced by Allie's description of the scary lady at the lunch counter. He'd spent the rest of the evening making believe he was a snapping turtle, ambushing Allie and her parents and pretending to bite them with his powerful jaws.

Allie groaned. “Don't start, Mikey,” she warned. “Or I'll call the
real
Snapping Turtle and ask her to come over here and bite
you
.”

Michael considered this. “Will not,” he said. But he didn't sound too sure.

Allie continued her story, trying to decide how much of the truth to tell. She wished, not for the first time, that she could simply announce to her parents and to the world that ghosts were real and they'd better get used to it. But she couldn't do that, not unless
she wanted her parents to start worrying and wondering if she was out of touch with reality, the way they had before. Could she tell about Mrs. Hobbs starting the fire? She decided to feel her parents out on the subject.

“So, anyway,” she said, “the fire started in the cafeteria. We all had to leave the building, and we got out a little early because Ms. Gillespie didn't want us going back inside.”

“Do they know how the fire started?” asked Allie's mother.

“No.” Which was true. Only she and Mrs. Hobbs knew that. And Dub, of course.

Dub. What the heck was the matter with him, anyway? She pushed the thought from her mind. Whatever it was, she was sure he'd get over it.

“Did you ever hear of a fire starting all by itself?” Allie asked casually.

To her surprise, her father said, “Sure. Spontaneous combustion.”

The words rang a bell, but Allie couldn't quite recall what they meant.

“Remember when Aunt Corky's house burned down?”

Allie nodded. “Oh yeah. The fire started in a plastic garbage can in the garage. They left a bunch of rags there that were soaked in something.”

“Some sort of varnish,” said Mrs. Nichols.

“Right. The rags warmed up in the sun, and that's all it takes. Spontaneous combustion.”

But that wasn't what had happened in the cafeteria. “Have you ever heard of a person starting a fire with his
mind
?”

Mrs. Nichols looked skeptical, but Allie's father said, “There's a name for that. Telekinesis, I think. It means causing objects to move using the force of the mind, as you said. Maybe it would include starting fires. I don't think it's very scientific. It's associated more with parapsychology.”

“What's that?” Allie asked.

“Oh, it has to do with séances, Ouija boards, and that kind of crackpot stuff.”

Crackpot stuff, Allie thought. Like ghosts.

“I'm just glad you all got out safely,” said Allie's mother. “Now, let's do a little planning for tomorrow. What are you all going to do while I'm slaving away at the store?”

Mrs. Nichols owned an antiques shop, which was open on Saturdays. Her weekend employee was sick, so she was going to have to work all day.

“I've got to mow the lawn,” said Mr. Nichols, “and Mike and I are going to the high school lacrosse game. Allie-Cat, you're coming, too, right?”

“No, I have to go to the library to do some research.”

“I thought you and Dub were going to try skating at the new rink,” said Mrs. Nichols.

“Well, we were, but I've got to work on my project,” said Allie. Thinking about Dub made her feel uneasy again. She decided to call him after dinner and make sure he was over whatever had been bugging him.

When she'd finished drying the dishes and putting them away, she dialed Dub's number. If he was mad about not going skating, she was ready to compromise. When he answered she said, “Hey, Dub? I was thinking maybe we could go to the library and then go skating.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Dub? You there?”

“Yeah. It's just that—Well, when you said you weren't going, I called some other people.”

“Oh.” Allie felt let down. “Who'd you call?”

“Brad and Joey, but they both had stuff to do. So I'm going with Pam.”

Allie was stunned. “You called
Pam
?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to her being a—a leopard?”

“Come on, Al, she was acting pretty nice today, don't you think?”

Now it was Allie's turn to be silent. Dub was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it. In fact, she
didn't at all like the way this conversation was making her feel. Dub was
her
friend. What was he doing going skating with Pam? Especially when she really needed him. “Yeah, sure,” she replied finally. “Okay, well, I guess I'll be seeing you.”

“Okay. Bye.”

As soon as Allie hung up, she felt like calling back. She and Dub had always been so close they could practically read each other's minds. Now all of a sudden they were acting ridiculous. She picked up the phone, then put it back in the cradle. If Dub wanted to go skating with Pam, fine.

She was going to the library.

Because of a ghost.

Maybe she was a crackpot, after all.

Later that evening, Allie was in her bedroom when Michael appeared at the door in his pajamas. He was clutching the Scorpion, his favorite Galactic Warriors action figure, and sucking his thumb. He looked at her, his eyes big and worried.

“What's up, Mike?”

Slowly, he removed his thumb from his mouth and said in a low voice, “Did you call her?”

“Who?” Allie asked.

Michael looked about fearfully before saying, “You know.” When Allie shook her head, he whispered, “The Snapping Turtle.”

“Oh, Mikey,
no
. Come here.” Allie patted the bed beside her.

But Michael didn't move. “You
said
.”

“Oh, Mike, I know, but I was only kidding, Squirt-Face. Honest. Come here.”

Michael took a few slow steps toward Allie, then stopped.

She got off the bed and went over to kneel in front of him. “Mikey, listen to me. I was just fooling around. The Snapping Turtle isn't coming here. She doesn't know where we live. And I didn't call her, I promise. I don't even know her phone number.”

Michael was still looking at her mistrustfully. She decided to try joking with him. “Besides, who ever heard of a turtle talking on the telephone?”

A little smile began at the corners of Michael's mouth, then stopped. “ 'Cept she's not really a turtle. She's a mean, scary lady.”

“That's right, Mike. She's not a turtle. But she's not really so mean and scary.” The last part wasn't true, but Allie figured her fib was for a good cause. She decided to try changing the subject. “Hey, are you all ready for bed?”

Michael nodded.

“Teeth brushed?”

Another nod.

“Okay. Let's go get in your bed, and you can tell me about the Warriors' latest adventures. Last I remember, the good guys were fighting the bad guys at the fort, right?”

Michael's eyes lit up. “Right!” He raced down the hallway to his room, beckoning Allie to follow him.

Silently blessing the creator of Galactic Warriors, Allie prepared to listen to another installment of the never-ending saga that spun from Michael's imagination.

She tried hard to pay attention, but her mind was wandering. Suddenly, in the middle of a long, involved battle between Vulture-Breath and Greelior, Michael said, “Who's that?”

Coming out of her reverie, Allie thought guiltily that Michael was quizzing her to see if she'd been listening. She was thinking how to fake an answer when Michael said matter-of-factly, “He's gone now.”

He continued with the tale of the battle, and fifteen minutes later, he was sound asleep.

Allie went to her room to read. She
tried
to read, but it was no good. Thoughts of Dub and Pam and Mrs. Hobbs and her ghost kept running through her mind, making reading impossible.

Poor Michael had been afraid she would call Mrs. Hobbs. She shouldn't have teased him, knowing the way his imagination worked. She had told him she didn't know the woman's phone number, which was true. But she could probably find out. And it couldn't hurt to do so, she thought.

Paging through the phone book downstairs, she looked under the letter
H
. There were seven listings
for Hobbs. Three had men's names: Otis, Vincent, and Gerald. One was for Hobbs Tavern. Then there were three with initials: D.L., E.M., and P.

She dialed the number for D.L. and got a recorded message with the voice of a little kid. Definitely the wrong Hobbs. She tried E.M. The phone rang eight times, and she was about to hang up when a low, gravelly voice answered and said suspiciously, “Hello?”

It was the Snapping Turtle! Allie would have known that voice anywhere. Seconds passed, during which Allie tried to collect her thoughts and decide what to say.

“Who is this?” Mrs. Hobbs asked. Her voice was louder now, filled with anger.

Intimidated by Mrs. Hobbs's irate tone, Allie didn't answer.

“You!”

Allie froze.

Furious panting came from the other end of the line. “Why can't you leave me alone?”

There was a loud clunk, followed by the dial tone. Allie stood with the phone to her ear, stunned. How had Mrs. Hobbs known who was calling? And why was she so enraged?

Allie shook her head and put the phone down. She was about to close the phone book, when she thought to check the address. It was 1228 Armstrong
Street, just two and a half blocks away. Good thing Michael didn't know that.

She called good night to her parents, washed up, and got into bed. As soon as she closed her eyes,
he
was there. She knew he wasn't actually there, but she felt that she could reach out and touch his face. She
wanted
to touch his face: his melancholy expression made her long to comfort him. And then he smiled, and her heart twisted in a way she'd never known before.

“You're special, Allie,”
he said softly.

His words flowed through Allie like a warm current. Listening to him, she felt special.

“I know you're someone I can count on.”

“I am.”

“Then you'll help me?”

“I will,” Allie said. “I promise.”

His hand reached out, and she imagined its soft caress on her cheek. “
She promised me, too, Allie,
” he said sadly.
“But she broke her promise.”

“I'm not like that,” Allie said.

“I know. But you won't let Dub stop you, will you?”

Startled, Allie asked, “What do you mean?”

“He's jealous of me. You know that, don't you?”

Allie didn't know what to make of this remark. Dub jealous? Of a ghost? It was crazy. “He won't stop me,” she said firmly.

“I knew I was right to choose you.”

Allie kept her eyes shut tight, not wanting to lose his image, but already it was starting to waver and blur.

“Who are you?” she whispered as the face faded away entirely.

“I was John Walker. Until she ruined my life.”

Even though she'd spent most of the night thinking about her ghost, John Walker, Allie was up early the next morning. Knowing his name made her feel somehow closer to him, and more determined than ever to find out his connection to Mrs. Hobbs.

She had already dressed and was in the kitchen, finishing her cereal, when her mother came downstairs in her nightgown. “Morning, Mom,” said Allie. “I'm about to go feed Hoover. Then I'm going to the library.”