The Ghost's Grave

by Peg Kehret

  “Eight!”

  Willie disappeared through the front door. Why would he leave me now? Even if he couldn’t move any more objects, I needed him for moral support. I wanted to shout, “No, Willie! Don’t go!” but I couldn’t, because I didn’t want the man to know Willie had left.

  “Nine.”

  I couldn’t let the man get to ten. No amount of money was worth giving up my life for.

  I walked slowly to the kitchen, with the man following me.

  Hurry! I pleaded, sending my thoughts to the police. Please, please, hurry.

  I stopped in front of the clothes washer, listening for any sound of a vehicle approaching Aunt Ethel’s house. I heard only the rapid, nervous breathing of the man who held the gun.

  “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll pull the trigger when I say ten, and when your aunt gets home, I’ll pull it again.”

  I opened the washer and removed the metal box.

  As soon as he saw it, he lunged toward me and ripped the box out of my hands. “I knew you had it, you lying little thief. It’s my money, for my retirement, and you tried to steal it.”

  I wanted to shout, “You’re the thief! You’re the one who stole this money!” but I knew it wasn’t smart to make him any angrier than he already was so I said nothing.

  “You broke open my locked box. For all I know, you took some of my money.”

  “It’s all there,” I said. “You can see for yourself; the box is full. Count it if you don’t believe me.” I hoped he would; that would take some time, and the police might still get here before he got away.

  He opened the lid, looked inside, then shut the box again.

  He looked at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said, “but you’re the only one who knows about the money.” He kept the gun pointed at my chest. “I’ve waited two years for this day. I can’t leave a witness who can identify me and spoil all my plans.”

  My throat tightened. He was going to shoot me even though he had the money. What a rotten liar!

  I tried to stay calm. “I can’t identify you,” I said. “I have no clue who you are. You’ve had a mask on the whole time, and I don’t live around here so I don’t recognize your voice. I’m visiting my aunt. I don’t know anybody in this area.”

  He hesitated, as if thinking over what I’d said. “Why take a chance by leaving a live witness?” he asked. He spoke quietly now, as if he were asking himself, not me.

  “If you shoot me,” I said, “you won’t get away with it. Willie will lead the police to you.”

  The man looked over his shoulder. “There is no ghost.”

  “No? Who do you think broke the plate and moved the phone? You can’t see him, but my aunt can, and so can her friend. Willie will follow you and tell them where you are, and the police will find you. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

  I could tell the talk of a ghost made him nervous. While I tried to think how else I could convince him not to kill me, Florence screamed from the porch. It was the loudest, most shrill scream he’d ever made. Even though I knew it was him, I still jumped and got goose bumps on my arms.

  Had Willie shown himself to Florence? Is that why he was screeching? He usually only screamed when he spread his train before meals, but Aunt Ethel had told me peacocks also display their feathers and cry out when enemies are near. Maybe Florence regarded Willie as an enemy. Maybe that’s why Willie had left me with the man; he’d gone to search for the peacock. Had he been keeping his word about letting the peacock see him, or was he purposely trying to scare Florence into screeching?

  The man in the ski mask jumped, too, when Florence screamed. Then he pointed the gun toward the front door. “What was that? Who’s out there?”

  “It’s the last person who didn’t do what the ghost told him to do,” I said. “Now he’s gone mad. He roams through the woods, screaming with fear. That will happen to you if you take the box of money when Willie told you not to. Even worse will happen if you shoot me.”

  The man trembled now, and I could see fear in his eyes, but he didn’t give the box back to me. I wished Florence had cried out before I took the box out of the washer.

  The man ran out of the kitchen, then through the living room toward the front door. Holding the gun in front of him, he pushed open the door and peered out.

  Florence screamed again. I was certain the cry could be heard clear down in Carbon City. He was perched on the porch railing as usual.

  “It’s only a big bird,” the man said. “Shoo! Get out of here!”

  Florence stayed on the porch rail.

  The man opened the door farther and raised his hand, pointing the gun at the peacock.

  “No!” I cried. “Don’t shoot him!” Aunt Ethel wouldn’t be able to bear it if this man killed Florence. I leaped toward him, hitting his arm just as he pulled the trigger.

  BAM!

  I’d deflected the man’s arm enough so the bullet hit one of the porch posts but missed the peacock. Florence flapped away to roost in the chestnut tree.

  My racing heart throbbed in my ears. I was certain the man would turn on me next. I had saved Florence, but at what cost?

  Instead of shooting me, the man ran to his car, got in, and started the engine.

  I closed the door and locked it in case he changed his mind and came back.

  I tried to read the license plate number through the window, but the car was beyond the light from the porch. It was so dark I couldn’t even tell what color car the man drove.

  As the red taillights moved down the driveway, my knees shook so much I had to lean against the window ledge. Relief that I was still alive mixed with dismay that the thief had gotten away with the money.

  I had tried my best to stop him, and so had Willie, but our best had not been good enough. I slumped onto the couch and closed my eyes, fighting back tears.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A shrill sound sliced through the black night, but this time it wasn’t the peacock. Sirens rose and fell, close by!

  I rushed to the window and saw the red taillights still in the driveway. The thief’s car stood nose to nose with a police car. Blue lights whirled, sending flashes of color across the trees.

  The police car had entered Aunt Ethel’s driveway before the thief could drive out.

  A second police car pulled in directly behind the first one. The sirens died. Two people in uniform got out of each car and approached the thief’s car with their guns drawn.

  I ran out to the porch. “He’s armed!” I shouted. “He has a gun!”

  The police officers surrounded the car. One of them opened the driver’s door. The man stepped out with his empty hands over his head. He was not wearing the ski mask.

  As I cautiously approached the cars, I heard one of the officers say, “Aaron Turlep? What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask the same of you,” the man said. “I came to visit Ethel Hodge, but she isn’t home.”

  The officer turned to one of the other officers. “This is Aaron Turlep,” he said, “manager of the Hillside Bank.”

  “May I put my hands down now?” the thief asked. “Clearly, you’ve made a mistake here and are looking for someone else, so I’ll be on my way.”

  “No!” I shouted as I ran toward them. “There’s no mistake! This man held a gun on me and threatened to kill me.”

  “Why?” an officer asked.

  “I was planting flowers at the cemetery when I found a buried box of money. He came and made me give it to him. I think it was stolen.”

  The police kept their guns drawn. One of them patted down the thief while the others searched his car.

  One of the officers called out from the front seat of the car, “The kid’s right. There’s a box full of hundred-dollar bills! There’re also a handgun and a black ski mask under the seat.”

  “Can you explain those?” the officer who had recognized Mr. Turlep asked.

  Mr. Turlep said, “I demand to call my
attorney.”

  Mrs. Morris drove in behind the police cars. She ran to me, her red hat askew, and hugged me. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  I struggled to get out of her ample grasp. “I’m fine,” I said, “thanks to you.”

  She and I went back to her car, where we could see what happened without being in the way. Soon a police officer questioned both of us, then set a time for us to come to the police station the next morning.

  Mrs. Morris had to drive her car up to the house when a police tow truck came to take Mr. Turlep’s car away. As we watched from the porch, I told Mrs. Morris that Aunt Ethel had a broken ankle and was in the hospital.

  Mrs. Morris wanted me to go home with her, but I said I had animals to care for, which was true.

  “Then I’m spending the night here,” she said. “I can sleep in Florence’s room.”

  “You don’t have to do that. With Mr. Turlep in custody, I’m not scared to stay by myself.”

  “I know you aren’t, but I wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing you’re out here by yourself.” Since Aunt Ethel’s telephone wasn’t working, she gave one of the police officers her daughter’s phone number and asked him to let her family know where she was.

  As soon as the tow truck left, the two squad cars left, also, with Mr. Turlep in the backseat of the first one.

  I fed Florence, who seemed no worse for his encounter with Willie, and took a shower. Then Mrs. Morris and I finished off the chocolate chip cookies.

  Although I really wasn’t scared, I did lock all the doors before Mrs. Morris and I went upstairs.

  Bed had never felt better, but I was too keyed up to fall asleep right away. I lay thinking about everything that had happened. I wished Willie would show up, so I could thank him for helping me. If he had not come and distracted Mr. Turlep by pushing the phone to the floor and breaking a plate and making Florence screech, I wouldn’t have been able to keep Mr. Turlep there long enough. He would have gotten away with the money before the police arrived.

  I wondered why Willie had come when I called. I’d already moved his leg bones, so he didn’t have anything to gain by helping me. Was he keeping his end of the bargain? He had said he didn’t ever go places he had not been when he was alive, yet he came when I needed help. He had used up all his strength trying to scare Mr. Turlep.

  I wondered how Aunt Ethel was. I hoped she’d come home tomorrow. I had expected the summer here to be dull, but Aunt Ethel made it interesting. I’d eaten spaghetti for breakfast and pancakes for dinner; I’d met a peacock and helped a stray cat; I’d even learned to knit.

  Even though I didn’t agree with everything Aunt Ethel did, such as shoot the bat, I liked her.

  Gradually I relaxed, and when I closed my eyes, I thought about Mom and Steven. I hoped they were all right; I hoped everything was going well for them in India. I wasn’t angry at them anymore. My close brush with death had erased my resentment about spending the summer here. Baseball isn’t quite as important when a gun is pointed at your heart.

  Florence woke me early, as usual. I fed him, grabbed a muffin for myself, and hurried to the tree house to be sure Mrs. Stray and her kittens had food and water. The food dish was empty, so I refilled it.

  I didn’t see the cats or Willie, and I couldn’t wait because Muriel Morris and I were going to the police station in Diamond Hill. We had to give our official accounts of what had happened and sign affidavits.

  “We need to leave early enough for me to stop at home and change clothes,” she said.

  On our way to town, she said, “That was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years. It was so quiet! I never woke up once.”

  I waited in the car while she went into her apartment to change. She came out wearing a different purple dress and a different red hat. This one had a broad brim with a big purple bow.

  “You’re the talk of the town,” she told me. “My phone rang three times while I was trying to get ready. The whole county is in shock over Aaron Turlep getting caught with a gun and stolen money.”

  She switched on the car radio; a news station was giving details of Mr. Turlep’s arrest. It seemed odd to hear the radio announcer broadcast details of something I had actually experienced.

  When we got to the police station, two of the officers who had arrested Mr. Turlep the night before took our statements. I explained again how I happened to find the box.

  Mrs. Morris told them she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the word HELP written in frosting on her daughter’s birthday cake.

  “I almost asked Josh if this was supposed to be a joke,” she said, “but then I saw the look in his eyes, and I knew his plea for help was real. Also, I’d seen Ethel’s truck parked outside so I knew the story of her going to Carbon City wasn’t true. As soon as I was out of sight of Ethel’s house, I tried to use my cell phone to call for help, but I was out of range, so I drove straight to the Carbon City Market and used the phone there to call you. I didn’t know what was wrong at Ethel’s house, but I knew Josh needed help in a hurry. I’d seen a car I didn’t recognize parked at Ethel’s house, but Josh didn’t answer when I asked who it belonged to.”

  “Josh, if you hadn’t been able to stall the thief,” the officer said, “we might not have made it in time. You used your head and did everything you could to keep Mr. Turlep there for as long as possible.”

  “I didn’t want to give him the money. He said it was his, but I didn’t believe him.”

  “You only gave it up when you had to, in order to save your own life. That was the smart thing to do.”

  “It’s lucky we caught Turlep with the ski mask, the gun, and the money in his car,” the other officer said. “If we hadn’t, he would never have been a suspect. Friday was his last day at the bank. He had told everyone he was retiring and moving to Florida; he would have gone as planned. We had no reason to think he had stolen cash with him.”

  Mrs. Morris said, “I’ve known Aaron Turlep for thirty years, and I would never have suspected him. It’s sad to see someone who’s respected in the community throw away the rest of his life. If he needed money in his retirement, he could have worked part-time in Florida. He could have been a guide on a fishing boat or done something else he enjoyed. Instead, he stole what didn’t belong to him.”

  The officer said, “The only fish Mr. Turlep will see in retirement are the ones served for dinner on Fridays in the state prison.”

  “Do you think the money is from the Cash for Critters auction?” I asked.

  “It is,” the officer said. “We examined it last night.”

  “How can you be sure?” Mrs. Morris asked. “Even though the total amount is the same, how can you prove where it came from unless you know the serial numbers of some of the stolen money?”

  The police officer smiled. “We can prove it,” he said, “thanks to my grandchildren.”

  “Your grandchildren!” I said. “How do they figure in this?”

  “Back when we had the auction, Lexi and Krista earned money to help the animals. They were eight and ten years old then; they did chores for my wife and me and for their other grandparents. They even had a Cash for Critters lemonade stand. When it came time to turn in their earnings, I told them I’d match what they had raised. Since they each had earned almost fifty dollars, I took their money and gave both of them a one-hundred-dollar bill to take to the auction.”

  “That could still be any one-hundred-dollar bill,” Mrs. Morris said.

  “Let me finish the story. Before we left home to go to the auction, Lexi and Krista took a red pencil and printed For the animals on their money. When the money was stolen, I alerted every bank in the state to watch for those words on a one-hundred-dollar bill. The two bills never surfaced until last night. They were both in the box Josh found.”

  “For the animals,” I said, thinking of Mrs. Stray and her kittens. “All that money is for the animals.”

  “We’ll finally get our animal shelter,” Mrs. Morris said.


  “There’s one thing I can’t figure out,” the officer said. “After we arrested him last night, Mr. Turlep kept mentioning a ghost. I’ve never heard stories of the old Hodge place being haunted.”

  “Before I gave Mr. Turlep the money,” I said, “I told him there was a ghost in the room. I was trying to scare him so he would leave.” As much as I liked Muriel Morris and the police officers, I didn’t want to tell them the truth about Willie. He was my special secret friend, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “Mr. Turlep was superstitious,” Mrs. Morris said. “I worked at the bank for a short time years ago, and I used to joke about it with one of the other employees. Mr. Turlep wouldn’t step on a sidewalk crack or walk under a ladder, and he disliked Friday the thirteenth. Telling him you saw a ghost was probably the best thing you could have done to make him nervous.”

  The officer walked with us to the door. A reporter and cameraman waited outside.

  “Is this the boy who found the money?” the reporter asked.

  The police officer told me, “You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  The reporter stepped closer, and the camera turned toward me. Too bad Aunt Ethel didn’t have a TV set so I could watch myself later.

  When we were finished talking to the news crew, Mrs. Morris drove me to the hospital to visit Aunt Ethel.

  “Will you come in with me?” I asked. “I have to be accompanied by an adult because I’m not sixteen yet.”

  “Of course I’m going in. I can’t wait to tell Ethel about all the excitement.”

  As we walked down the hospital corridor, Mrs. Morris said, “I have a grandson your age. Maybe you’d like to go with me to one of Bruce’s baseball games. I watch all of them.”

  “Sure!” I said. “I was supposed to be on a baseball team myself this summer, back in Minneapolis.”

  Before we reached Aunt Ethel’s room, we heard her shouting, “Fleas and mosquitoes! This isn’t what I asked for.”

  “Oh, oh,” Mrs. Morris said. “It sounds as if Ethel is back to normal.”

  When we reached the doorway, we saw a nurse, hands on hips, standing beside Aunt Ethel’s bed. “This is a hospital, not a restaurant,” the nurse said. “I can’t request breakfast items that are not on the menu.”