“I’ll show you later,” Erin told him, relieved that he seemed willing to help. “You’re going to have a little extra acting to do,” she said cautiously. “That’ll be fun, too.”
Cowper dropped the thread. “You said I could be a dead body,” he said. “That’s all I’m going to do. I don’t know how to be an actor.”
Erin frowned. She didn’t want to argue with him before they even started the video, but she felt her temper rising. Fortunately, Mrs. Lindsay chose that minute to call them to breakfast.
“Okay,” Erin’s father said after his first sip of coffee. “Tell us what’s going to happen this morning, Madame Director.”
Erin hadn’t forgiven him for being interested in the video only as a means of entertaining Cowper. Still, when she began explaining the plot, she couldn’t hide her excitement. “You’re Mr. and Mrs. Dooley,” she told her parents. “They’re nice, but they’re kind of chicken—I mean timid.”
“Thanks a lot,” her father said dryly. “I won’t have to act much. I’ll just be my plain old chicken self.”
“Spooky things start happening in their apartment, so they go to see a famous ghost-detective,” Erin hurried on. “That’s me. And the detective decides to spend some time in the apartment all alone to see what she can find out. The Dooleys go away so she can have the apartment to herself.”
“Good!” Mrs. Lindsay-Dooley exclaimed. “I’m much too timid to be of any help.”
Erin described the ghostly tricks she had planned. “The very last thing that happens,” she explained, “is that the detective starts searching the apartment, and she discovers a body lying on the floor.”
“That’s you, Cowper,” Mr. Lindsay announced. “The part you wanted.”
Cowper didn’t smile. He was watching Erin uneasily.
“But then the body disappears,” Erin went on. “Because it isn’t real. And when Detective Lindsay describes the ghost-corpse to the Dooleys, they say it sounds like the man whose apartment they’re renting. He’s a very rich, famous author who is away on a trip doing research for his next book.”
“Mysteriouser and mysteriouser!” Mr. Lindsay exclaimed. “Now what does Detective Lindsay do?”
“Well, at first she doesn’t know what to think.” Erin wrinkled her forehead, pretending to concentrate. “But then she notices a book lying on the coffee table, and it’s the story the famous author has written about his own life. She opens it up, and there on the very first page”—she paused and looked around triumphantly—“he says he had an identical twin brother. The brother was adopted the day they were born, and the author has never seen him again.”
“So what?” Cowper demanded. “What’s the twin brother got to do with it?”
“I know!” Mrs. Lindsay’s eyes sparkled. “The brother has come back and killed the author. He’s taken the author’s place and has taken all his money as well. And the author can’t rest in peace because his murderer hasn’t been caught. That’s why his ghost—I mean his ghost-corpse—is haunting the apartment. Erin, what a marvelous idea!”
“My daughter the writer!” Erin’s father slapped the table so hard they all jumped. “You’re going to be a rich, famous author yourself, my queen!”
Erin looked at Cowper. He looked—she could hardly believe it—he looked impressed. “That’s pretty good,” he said slowly. “I don’t know how you made up a thing like that.”
Then the uneasy expression came back. “What happens next?”
Erin hesitated. They all liked the plot so far, even Cowper. He had to agree to the rest of it. “While they’re talking there’s a knock at the door, and it’s the brother—the murderer-brother. He’s home from his trip, and he’s come to collect the rent. And he looks exactly like the ghost-corpse. So Detective Lindsay accuses him of murder. And when she shows him the book, he tries to run away, but she—she tackles him—”
“Oh my,” Mrs. Lindsay breathed. “Does she have to?”
“They can fake it,” Erin’s father said. “Cowper can pretend to fall. Can’t you, Cowper?”
Before he could answer, the telephone rang. Mr. Lindsay pushed back his chair. “I’ll get it,” he said lightly. “Probably some salesman.”
“It’s probably Mr. Corini,” Cowper said. He leaned back in his chair, his face as white as Margaret Mary’s bonnet, his arms folded across his chest.
“Now, let’s not get all upset about this,” Mrs. Lindsay said. “After all …” Her voice trailed off, and they waited in silence.
It seemed a very long time before Mr. Lindsay returned. “You were right, Cowper,” he said. “That was Mr. Corini himself.”
“What’d he say?” Cowper barely breathed the words.
“He said you’re a remarkable young player, and he enjoyed hearing you. He was impressed. And he hopes to have you perform with the symphony—someday.”
“When?” Erin’s mother asked.
Mr. Lindsay cleared his throat. “Oh, a few years from now,” he said. “When Cowper’s a little older. More experienced.” He reached across the table and ruffled Cowper’s hair. “That means we can forget about the audition and concentrate on Erin’s video,” he said heartily. “What do you say?”
Not a chance, Erin thought. Any second now, Cowper was going to head down the hall to his bedroom, and that would be the last they’d see of him for the day.
“I don’t think Cowper feels like acting at the moment,” Mrs. Lindsay said. “Erin understands, don’t you, dear?”
Cowper had been sitting very still, staring at nothing at all. Now he blinked and shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said in a small voice. “I can do it.”
Erin was astonished, and judging by her parents’ expressions, they were surprised, too.
Mr. Lindsay recovered first. “Well, great!” he exclaimed. “Let’s get to work then. Madame Director?” He bowed in Erin’s direction, and they all filed after him out of the kitchen.
It was a morning Erin would remember. At first she felt uncomfortable telling her mother and father what to do and what to say when they came to Detective Lindsay’s office. Cowper had to be shown exactly how to hold the camcorder and warned not to move it around too much or too fast. Being the director meant being the boss.
But the awkwardness slipped away when they started the scene. Mr. Lindsay was convincing and funny as the timid Mr. Dooley. He stammered nervously as he told the detective about their haunted apartment. Mrs. Lindsay—Dooley nodded in agreement and whispered, “That’s right” and “Gracious me, it was horrible!” whenever he paused.
When the first scene was complete, they trooped from Erin’s bedroom to the living room. Now Erin turned the camcorder over to her mother and demonstrated all of her ghost-tricks for her father and Cowper.
Mr. Lindsay was as impressed as Cowper had been earlier. “You’ve done a terrific job,” he said and pulled the nearest thread. A pillow moved on the couch as if an invisible hand had touched it.
Cowper didn’t say much, but he listened carefully to Erin’s explanations and even volunteered to hide behind the armchair and make it “rock.”
By the time everyone had their assignments clearly in mind, it was nearly noon. “Let’s take a break,” Mrs. Lindsay suggested. “I need some lunch if I’m going to do a good job as the cameraperson.”
“Excellent idea,” Mr. Lindsay agreed. “I always act better after I’ve had a bologna sandwich. What do you say, Cowper?”
“It’s okay with me.” He was strangely calm, Erin thought, almost as if he’d forgotten the bad news from Mr. Corini. But she knew he hadn’t. He was thinking about it and thinking about it. Any minute now he might say he was tired and didn’t want to work on the video anymore.
“About the last scene,” Erin said, when they were settled at the kitchen table eating their sandwiches. “We could—”
She stopped when her mother put up a warning hand. “No shoptalk at the table,” she said firmly. “Time to relax.” She smiled when she said it,
but Erin could tell her parents were wondering what Cowper was thinking, too.
As soon as lunch was over, they went back to the living room. Erin closed the draperies and turned on the lamps, then lay down on the couch, pretending to doze. After a moment or two the pillow twitched under her head, and she opened her eyes in pretended astonishment.
“What’s going on?” She sat up, just as some papers on the coffee table floated to the floor. Then a thunderous knocking shook the walls, and a low moan floated through the room.
Detective Lindsay was cool and brave. “I have to find out the reason for all this,” she muttered. “I’d better search the whole apartment.” She tiptoed across the living room, aware that her mother was right behind her with the camcorder.
When she stepped out into the hall, the ghost-corpse was lying where they’d planned, but with a difference. Cowper had covered himself with a long white bath-towel, in order to look “ghostly.” His eyes were wide open, and his lips were parted in a truly frightening grin.
Detective Lindsay dropped her flashlight in surprise. When she picked it up, the corpse had vanished.
Mrs. Lindsay switched off the camcorder, and Cowper reappeared in the kitchen doorway. “How was I?” he demanded. “Did I look dead?”
Mrs. Lindsay made a face. “Very.”
“Well, that’s good.” Cowper turned to Erin. “You’d better tell me the rest of my lines. And we’ll have to practice the fight so it looks real.”
Erin stared at him. She was aware of her father listening in the front hall and her mother close by, not moving. She knew they were thinking the same thing she was. Cowper isn’t just pretending—he’s having fun. And he wants to play the part of the murderer!
“We have one more scene to do first,” Erin explained carefully. “Mr. and Mrs. Dooley come home, and Detective Lindsay finds the book about the famous author’s life, and she figures out who the killer is. That won’t take long. And then we’ll practice the fight, okay?”
“Okay.” Cowper took the camcorder from Mrs. Lindsay and hoisted it to his shoulder. “I like doing this, too.” He ambled into the living room, pointing the camera in one direction and then another.
Erin followed, and her mother and father brought up the rear. “Detective Lindsay, you’re a miracle worker,” her father whispered. “What’s going on here?”
“I don’t know,” Erin whispered back, giggling. She didn’t feel like a miracle worker, but it was nice to be called one.
Then she surprised herself with a totally unexpected thought. It was nice to have a brother.
Chapter Twelve
Cowper made his announcement that night at the Burger Boy across from the YMCA. Mr. Lindsay had decided they must go out for supper to celebrate the finishing of “the world’s most terrifying video.”
“We’ve earned it,” he said, as they settled into a booth in the brightly lit restaurant. “Mr. and Mrs. Dooley are exhausted, and the two of you must be black and blue.” He looked from Erin to Cowper. “It was a terrific fight, though. It looked very convincing when we played it back.”
“As long as you didn’t hurt your hands, Cowper,” Mrs. Lindsay said. “All those practice falls …” She shook her head. “What’s the matter, dear?”
Cowper leaned back against the purple cushions. “The thing is,” he said slowly, “it doesn’t matter about my hands. Because I want to stop playing the piano.”
Erin held her breath. He was actually saying it.
“You want—what?” Mrs. Lindsay looked dazed. “I don’t understand.”
“I want to stop playing the piano,” Cowper repeated. He began tearing his paper napkin into tiny pieces. “For a while, anyway.”
“But you can’t! What are you talking about, Cowper? You have so much talent.…” Erin’s mother leaned across the table and took the shredded napkin from his fingers. “You’re just discouraged, dear. And you’re tired. You’ll feel different tomorrow.”
“No, I won’t. I feel fine. I just want to do something else for a while.”
“What?” Mr. Lindsay exploded. “What in the world do you want to do?”
Cowper shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just something else.” He looked sideways at Erin. “We could make another video maybe. Or I could learn how to skateboard. Stuff like that.”
“But you love music! You’ve always loved it.”
Cowper kicked the leg of the table, a steady tap-tap-tap. “I still do,” he said. “But I don’t want to play the piano all the time. I’m tired of that.”
A waitress approached the table, but Mr. Lindsay waved her away. He reached across the table to squeeze Cowper’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said. “But before you make up your mind, let me tell you how your Aunt Grace and I feel. We know you’re working very hard this summer, but it’s only for a couple of months. We’re trying to help you the way your mom and dad would have if they were here. You don’t want to let them down, I know, and neither do we. We want you to get better and better, just the way they hoped you would. If you stick with it, you will be a famous concert pianist some day.”
It was a long speech. And no jokes, Erin thought. She’d never seen her father so intent. As Cowper listened, his defiant look faded. It seemed to Erin that he was shrinking into the purple cushions.
“Uncle Jack is right,” Mrs. Lindsay joined in. “Music has been the most important thing in the world to you, dear. We know you were disappointed today, but you’ve been very brave about it. And there’ll be other auditions, lots of them. We’re counting on you. Uncle Jack is and I am, and so are your own mother and father. Erin’s counting on you, too.”
“Not me,” Erin said quickly. “If he really doesn’t want to play anymore—” Her mother’s reproachful look stopped her.
Cowper picked up a menu. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I was just kidding, anyway. I’ll have a cheeseburger and a strawberry shake, okay?”
“Okay!” Mr. Lindsay said. “Good idea. I’ll have the same. What about the ladies?”
While they gave their orders to the waitress, Erin watched her parents curiously. Couldn’t they see that Cowper hadn’t been kidding? Couldn’t he see that he’d have to try harder than that to convince her parents he was serious?
A half hour later Erin and Cowper stood side by side in the parking lot waiting for their parents, who had stopped to talk to someone from the university.
“Why are you such a chicken?” Erin demanded. “First you tell them the truth, and then you pretend you didn’t mean it. That’s dumb!”
Cowper gave her The Look. “It won’t work,” he said sullenly. “I tried to do what the earl—that doll—said to do, but it didn’t help. They don’t want to know how I feel.”
“They do,” Erin argued. “You didn’t try hard enough. They think you’re just feeling bad about the audition.”
Cowper turned to her. “I’ll tell you something,” he said earnestly. “The audition was a kind of test, see? When Mr. Corini said I wasn’t good enough to play in a concert—well, that meant it was okay to tell Uncle Jack and Aunt Grace I wanted to quit for a while. All day long I had fun because I thought it was going to be okay. I thought they’d understand. But they didn’t. You heard them. If I quit, they’ll hate me.”
Erin was outraged. “They will not! They’re not like that.”
Cowper started across the parking lot toward the car.
“You don’t know,” he said. “You can do anything you want to do.” He plodded away from her and climbed into the back seat of the car.
That’s a laugh! Erin thought fiercely. I can’t do what I want to do. Today was great, but from now on it’s going to be day after day of Nothing.
She actually felt worse because Cowper had tried to make her parents understand and had failed. He’ll never say it again, she thought dismally. My whole life’s going to be ruined because he won’t tell the truth. It’s not fair!
During the
week that followed, the family acted as if the conversation at the Burger Boy had never happened. Cowper went to the conservatory every day, and if he was even quieter than usual, no one but Erin seemed to notice. Her parents continued to take turns driving him to school and going to their own classes at the university. Erin mailed her video to Heather; after that she felt lost. In the mornings she read, watched television, and wrote long letters to her friends in Clinton. Afternoons she wandered downstairs to visit Molly Panca.
“How’s your brother?” the earl of Kirby wanted to know. “I’m a bit worried about him.”
Erin shrugged. “He’s all right.”
“Well, I hope he learns to speak up,” the earl said. “Has to do that, you know.”
“He tried but it didn’t work,” Erin said reluctantly. She didn’t want to talk about Cowper; she didn’t want to think about him.
“You must bring him back for another visit sometime,” Molly said sweetly. “The earl enjoyed talking to him.”
“Where’s Margaret Mary?” Erin asked abruptly. She felt as if she and Margaret Mary understood each other. Of course, Margaret Mary was just a doll, but she was so outspoken, so completely different from Molly Panca, that it was almost impossible to believe that she wasn’t wholly and truly a person herself.
From then on Margaret Mary was sitting in the living room with Molly each day when Erin came to call. “I was hoping you’d come,” she’d say. Or, “I thought you’d never get here! I’ve been bored out of my mind!”
Erin always nodded sympathetically. Her head ached from hours of watching the soaps and game shows.
“I want to go somewhere exciting,” Margaret Mary would exclaim. “I want to have adventures!”
“I’m sure you will, dear,” Molly replied soothingly. “Someday it will be your turn. But right now you have this whole beautiful afternoon to enjoy. Don’t waste it complaining. You can play games with the others, or you can look out the window—or you can tell us a story. That would be lovely.”
The Scariest Night Page 7
