Boo Who

by Rene Gutteridge

  “That’s too late.”

  “That’s what she said. So she wondered if you had another idea for your cake.”

  Ainsley sighed. “Okay, I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  “She said she’d definitely need to know something by the weekend. Her calendar is filling up.”

  Outside, a faint scream could be heard. Ainsley gasped and turned toward the door. Her father rolled the yarn across the floor.

  “Dad? Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “That scream.”

  Her father shook his head.

  “You seem to be the only one around here not to notice there have been some strange things happening, Dad.”

  Her father clapped his hands loudly while Thief retrieved the yarn. “Honey, people scream for all sorts of reasons. And so far, nobody is reporting any sort of crime, so I don’t really see what I can do. Fetch, Thief!”

  “All right then. If you’re not concerned, then I guess I shouldn’t be,” she said. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Okay, sweetheart.”

  She made her way upstairs, changed into her pajamas, scrubbed the makeup from her face, and fell into bed. But she knew as tired as she was, sleep would not come easily, because all she could think about was where Wolfe might be this late at night.

  “You’re relatives?” the male nurse asked.

  Wolfe glanced at Martin, then shook his head. “No, she has no living relatives.”

  “We can’t let anyone see her but relatives.”

  “Sir,” Martin said, “she is a lonely old lady. Her only chance at survival may be the comforting words of those who … um.

  “Care about her,” Wolfe finished.

  “Yes, that.”

  The nurse glanced toward the room where Miss Peeple was apparently ‘resting comfortably,’ as he’d put it earlier. “Well, I have to say I’ve been a little disappointed nobody has been up to see the poor lady. She seems so sweet and lovely.”

  Martin and Wolfe tried not to flinch.

  “How is she?” Wolfe decided to ask. That would be an appropriate question if she were sweet and lovely.

  “Honestly, it’s not good.”

  “Is she sick?” Martin asked.

  “Well, basically what I can say is that she’s simply dying of old age.”

  Martin glanced at Wolfe. “People don’t actually do that these days, do they? Die of old age?”

  The male nurse smiled a little. “It is rare. You’re welcome to go in and see her. But I must warn you, she hasn’t woken up since she arrived.”

  Martin followed Wolfe into the room. She lay in the bed, so white she nearly blended into the sheets. Her breathing was shallow but steady. With those menacing eyes closed, she nearly looked peaceful. Wolfe kept his distance, though. Something told him she might just fly out of bed with a scream.

  “This isn’t good,” Martin whispered.

  Wolfe pulled the key out of his pocket. “Miss Peeple? We found your key. Now we want to know why we have it and what it belongs to.”

  The only reply was the constant beep of the heart monitor. Martin was all but huddled behind him.

  He sighed and turned to face Martin. “Now what?”

  “Maybe you can help me with something.”

  “What?”

  “I found a hidden map. It shows five shacks up in the foothills. I’ve visited all the shacks, but there doesn’t seem to be much up there. Maybe tomorrow we can go up there together and you can take a look around. See if you can find anything.”

  “Sure. After work.”

  The male nurse approached them as they left the room. Martin said, “If she wakes up, please call this number,” and handed him a card.

  CHAPTER 28

  OLIVER COULD HARDLY SLEEP that night.

  He’d warmed some milk, sat up and read, even sipped some Nyquil, but to no avail. Rest would not come. All he could see was the Kentucky ghost’s startled eyes staring back at him.

  In the morning, he rose so early he decided to go eat a big breakfast at The Mansion. But the food tasted like cardboard. So he left most of it and went to work. He was sitting at his desk when he heard someone at his door. A knock came, and then another knock. Oliver swallowed and in a strained voice said, “Come in?”

  The door opened, and a middle-aged, suave-looking guy peeked his head around. “Was that a question?”

  “No, please, come in.” Oliver fumbled the pen in his hand and tried to stand up, banging his knees on his desk. Wincing in pain, he did manage to shake the man’s hand.

  “Are you Oliver?”

  “Yes. Oliver Stepaphanolopolis.”

  “Goodness. Going to need a flashcard for that one.”

  Oliver tried to politely smile. “Just call me Oliver.”

  “I’m Dr. Hass.”

  “Are you looking for a new or used car?”

  “No. The reason I’m here, Oliver,” he said, going over to the door and quietly shutting it, “is of a private nature.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. First of all, I have to know, are you the kind of person who can keep a secret?”

  “Well, I’m certainly the kind of person who is always willing to hear one.” Oliver offered a bashful grin. The doctor smiled mildly. “Um, anyway, I guess so. But if you’re going to tell me you murdered somebody, I’d have to turn you in to the police. So don’t confess anything.”

  Dr. Hass sat down in a chair across from Oliver, who also sat down. “It’s nothing of that sort. But I have to know if I can trust you.”

  “I’m not sure if you can. I don’t know why you’re here, and quite frankly, you’re making me feel kind of eerie.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to do that,” the doctor said with a warm wink. “Okay, I’ll tell you why I’m here. I’m sure you’ve noticed a group of people around town that don’t belong.”

  Oliver jumped out of his chair with a yelp. “So it’s true! I caught one! Those creepy little twits are wandering around our town, ready to take it over, or do whatever they’re going to do! So I caught one! Scared it, too, if you want to know the truth. He screamed like a girl, and I don’t think I’ll ever see him around these parts again, whatever kind of ‘him’ he is.” Oliver blinked away the frightful scene and looked at the doctor.

  “Oliver, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  “It is?”

  “I need somebody brave enough to catch them and bring them to me.”

  Oliver tore off one fingernail after another with his teeth, barely pausing to comment. “Brave enough. I wouldn’t exactly call myself brave.”

  “Oh, I think what you did was incredibly brave, Oliver.”

  “How do you know about that?” Oliver felt his skin crawl.

  “It’s not important how, but just know, I have faith that you’re the right man for the job.”

  “I’d like a little more information about what you plan to do with these … these … whatever they are.”

  “A little more information? How does a hundred and fifty dollars sound? For each one you bring in?”

  Perspiration collected over his brow line. “Are you trying to buy my silence?”

  “Just your trust.”

  “Well, I’ll take one twenty-five if I can tell my friend Martin.”

  “Martin. Hmm. The only other person who knows about the shed.’”

  Oliver gasped. “Are you psychic?”

  “No, no. But I do know Martin. Have met him once. Seems to be an admirable fellow. Sure, why not. But only you two. And you must bring them to me discreetly. Without harming them.” He handed Oliver a card. “That is my address. Martin knows the place.”

  “How do you know Martin?”

  “Oliver, I’m a counselor of sorts.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes. Martin is not a patient, but I have met him.”

  “So what does a psychologist want with a bunch of ghosts?”

  “Are you ce
rtain they’re ghosts?”

  “I’m not sure what they are!” Oliver said, pounding his fist on his desk. “All I know is that I want them out of my town!” Oliver shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m normally a pretty docile man. I’ve been surprising myself lately, though. Over the past few months I’ve done everything from scheming to keep two lovers apart to asking the woman of my dreams to marry me.” He looked at Dr. Hass. “I could’ve probably used a shrink … I mean head doctor … a few months back.”

  Dr. Hass said, “You want these people out of your town?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can guarantee that if you’ll help me.”

  “You’re not going to do anything … illegal, are you?”

  “I’m going to help them.”

  “How do you help a ghost?”

  “Oliver, do you want them gone or not?”

  “I do,” Oliver sighed.

  “Are you going to help me?”

  Oliver swallowed. “I will.”

  “Good. Then I can guarantee you’ll be rid of them soon.” Dr. Hass stood. “Oh, and Oliver. They’ll be coming into town disguised as tourists.”

  Ainsley was not sure if she was hyperventilating. But she did know that she couldn’t catch her breath, and she felt as if her heart was going to pound right through her chest wall.

  “Hello? Ma’am?”

  She nearly dropped the phone, but managed to put her mouth to the receiver. “Y-yes. I’m here. I’m … um … just.

  “I’m sorry, we just don’t have the banquet hall available for that night. You really should’ve called sooner.”

  “Thank you …” Ainsley reached out and tried to hang the receiver up, missing twice before finally lifting it high enough for it to hook. “What am I going to do?” she cried to herself. This morning she’d worked on Melb’s reception. But she knew that left her plenty of time this afternoon to work on her own wedding. Except everything she was doing kept leading to dead ends. Marlee had even called wondering when her bridesmaid’s dress was going to be ready. Ainsley could hardly believe she’d forgotten to sew it! She’d picked out the pattern many weeks ago, and gotten Marlee’s measurements, but that was it. The pattern lay in a corner, ready for material.

  Material. Go get material.

  She grabbed her purse off the table and went outside. As she drove to the fabric store, her mind swirled with everything that was going wrong. All she had right were her wedding dress and invitations. Besides that, she had yet to pick out flowers, had not planned the reception or found a caterer, hadn’t found a new wedding cake or attended to all the minute details that came with planning a wedding in general. And she was flabbergasted to realize she might not be capable of it all. Never in her life had she not been capable of planning something. But now everything seemed to be crumbling before her.

  “No,” she said to herself. “I can do it. I’ve always been able to do it, and I still can.” She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel and leaned forward in steely determination.

  Once at the fabric store, she told herself to get in and get out. There was no rime to waste. She had still not talked with Wolfe, and it picked at her. She’d decided not to call him. She’d left a message. She wasn’t going to beg him to understand. If he didn’t understand her passions and desires, maybe he didn’t understand her at all.

  “Hi Ainsley!” Alma Hayes, the store owner, said.

  “Hi Alma.” Ainsley smiled through her distressing thoughts.

  “Let me guess! You’re making some new aprons? We just got in this fabulous chili pepper pattern.”

  “No aprons.”

  “A table runner?”

  “Actually, a bridesmaid’s dress. For Marlee.”

  Alma frowned. “Really? This late?”

  “I know, I’m running a little behind.”

  “Well, nobody I know can sew faster than you can.”

  “This shouldn’t be hard. I already know what I want.” A dreamy smile stole over her lips. “Powder blue silk.”

  Alma smiled and went behind the nearby counter. “Five yards?”

  “Yes, that should be fine.”

  Alma was jotting all this down. “Powder blue silk. Okay, I’ll put in an order for it.”

  “An order? You don’t carry it in the store?”

  “Not silk. We carry only white. Everything else has to be special ordered since it’s so expensive.”

  The next question came out as barely a whisper. “About how long would it take to get it in?”

  “About four weeks.”

  Her face warmed as she tried to hold back tears. “Four weeks.”

  Alma grinned. “But we have a lovely selection of blue taffeta.”

  Reverend Peck could hardly sleep, could hardly eat. He was exhausted, for one. He’d spent a week trying to put all the pews back in. The bolts that were so easy to take off didn’t seem to want to go back on.

  But he also knew he was losing hope. The passion that had for so many years put him behind the pulpit and provided him with a message few wanted to hear was dying. He could no longer look into indifferent faces. He could no longer pretend what he was doing was making the slightest difference.

  But something deep inside told him he couldn’t leave Skary. True, it was home to him. Yet there was something more about this town, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  In all his years of ministry, he had kept every single sermon he’d preached. He simply filed them by date. He had nearly a thousand, stored neatly in his basement. Reverend Peck made his way down there, pulling the string that illuminated the single light bulb.

  Without much trouble, he found the very first box from twenty years ago. Opening it, he thumbed through the folders and found it. Holding it up toward the light, he laughed. His very first sermon at this church! Learning to Love Those Who Are Different. He sighed. It was probably useless to preach. Everybody in this town was exactly the same!

  Martin leaned back in his chair, folding his arms together, looking around the donut shop to see if anyone else was listening. Oliver was practically stretching all the way across the table, staring at him for any sign of reaction.

  “Oliver, this is crazy!” he whispered.

  “I know, I know,” Oliver whispered back. “I’m scared out of my mind!”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed. “This Dr. Hass … There seems to be something off about him, doesn’t there?”

  Oliver shrugged.

  “You didn’t ask why he wanted us to catch these people?”

  “He didn’t seem to want to give the information. In fact, the money was incentive to trust him.”

  “Trust him.”

  “Yeah.”

  They sighed at the same time, then studied each other. Finally Martin said, “I have a theory.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, about all these people. I don’t think they’re ghosts or goblins or even possessed.”

  “That’s what he said!” Oliver exclaimed.

  “There’s only one thing that makes sense to me.”

  “What is it?”

  Martin shoved his half-eaten donut out of the way. “They’re clones.”

  “Clones?!”

  “Shush!” Martin said.

  Oliver whispered, “Clones?”

  “Yes, clones. Don’t you remember what Missy Peeple has always said about Garth?”

  “Garth Twyne the vet?”

  “She’s always maintained that he cloned pigs. Some even thought cats, until that little mystery was solved.”

  “It was just a crazy rumor!”

  “Maybe, but maybe not. From all I can tell, Missy Peeple holds a lot of secrets about this town. You’ve said it yourself: These people don’t look normal. Perhaps they’re clones, throwaways, experiments that went awry.”

  Oliver’s eyes bulged. “Dr. Hass might be involved with this cloning experiment?”

  “It would make sense as to why he was so secretive about it. And why he
has suddenly shown up in town.”

  Blinking rapidly, Oliver covered his mouth in a frightful, private thought. Then he looked at Martin. “Could be why that guy thought he was from Kentucky. He was cloned from somebody in Kentucky!” Oliver gasped at his own words.

  Martin stared at the table. “I don’t know if I can believe it myself, Oliver. But I intend to find out the truth. As soon as Missy Peeple wakes up.”

  Oliver swallowed. “And I intend to catch myself a clone. And then use it for ransom to find out what Dr. Hass and Dr. Twyne are up to.” Oliver gobbled up his donut, chewing through one thought after another. He then said, “It is a little odd to think of Dr. Twyne cloning, though. I mean, from what I understand, he has trouble performing basic neutering operations.”

  “True,” Martin said. “But it could just be a disguise. And now he’s cloning people. Except the experiment isn’t going well. He’s got to figure out what to do with all the duds.”

  Oliver shook his head in disgust.

  “One thing I know, Oliver. I will find out what’s going on with this town, and what happened to it long ago, if it’s the last thing I do. It’s the only way to save Skary and Mayor Wullisworth.”

  “How is he, by the way?”

  Martin shook his head. “Well, last time I saw him he was sitting in his bathtub on the ‘beaches of Bermuda.’”

  “Goodness,” Oliver said. “It’s sad to see someone lose his mind.”

  Martin nodded and smiled. “At least somebody around here is thinking clearly.”

  They reached across the table and shook hands.

  Ainsley could not stop sobbing. For at least thirty minutes now, all she was able to do was sit on her bed, look through her wedding planner, and cry. Her dream wedding was falling apart piece by little petit four. Whenever she finally got herself together, she would turn the page in her wedding planner and start to cry all over again.

  Marlee was going to be wearing blue taffeta.

  The wedding cake was going to be coconut something-or-other. The cake lady assured her it would be terrific. Terrific for a luau.

  She still hadn’t found a suitable place for the reception. The only spot in town she liked was mysteriously booked. The woman wouldn’t say who’d booked it, only that it was firmly in the schedule. Ainsley thought it was a tall tale if she’d ever heard one.