Gilda Joyce: The Bones of the Holy

by Allison, Jennifer

  The three of them stood silently for a moment, waiting for more signs of ghostly activity or faulty wiring, but there was only an eerie, watchful silence.

  “Okay,” said Debbie, “I didn’t see any signs of a well outside the house, so let’s check the interior. Maybe there’s something under the floorboards somewhere.”

  “I think my mom and Eugene are still out picking up the flowers and vases, but we should hurry,” said Gilda. “They could be back any time now.”

  Debbie stopped in her tracks when she saw the jawbone on display in Eugene’s coffee table. “This,” she said, pointing, “is a problem.”

  “Mr. Pook says it’s probably a Timucua Indian bone,” Gilda explained.

  “And it was found on this property?”

  “I think so,” said Gilda. “Someone may have found it here a long time ago—maybe back when the house was first built.”

  “I see.” Debbie spoke in a clipped, irritated tone. “And I’m sure whoever found it took no notes on where, exactly, it turned up.” She pulled out a notebook, jotted some comments, then took a photograph of the bone with her cell-phone camera. “It bugs me so much when people mess up archaeological sites,” she fumed. “Is it possible to take this bone out of the case?”

  “We don’t have time,” said Gilda. “What about looking for the well?”

  “Okay, okay. But I’d love to take a closer look at that bone to figure out how old it is. That could be some pretty compelling evidence that there’s a burial site somewhere on this property.”

  Debbie walked through the room, examining the floorboards and the structure of the house. When she walked into the kitchen she stopped in her tracks. “Come here and feel this,” she whispered.

  Gilda and Stephen followed Debbie into the kitchen. Gilda immediately felt a tingling, cold sensation. She remembered her mother’s strange behavior in the kitchen upon their arrival at the house.

  “That’s a definite cold spot—a sign of spirit activity,” said Debbie. “I’ve had that feeling from time to time on my ghost tour, but it’s never been this strong.”

  “That is weird,” said Stephen, walking from one side of the room to the other. “It’s like walking through an invisible refrigerator.”

  “Something’s up in this room.” Debbie walked slowly across the room. “I’d like to look under this floor.”

  “The thing is,” said Stephen, frowning at the floor, “I don’t see any way we could pull up these boards without Mom and Eugene finding out.”

  Debbie reached into her handbag and pulled out a magnifying glass and a small brush. “Some Southern belles carry lipstick and powder; I carry archaeology tools,” she joked. “You just never know.” She held the magnifying glass over the floorboards and brushed away some dust to get a closer look. “There are some interesting irregularities here in the floor if you look at it closely.”

  “I doubt we’ll have time—” Stephen fell silent because Debbie suddenly reached down and removed an oddly shaped cutting of wood from the floor. It came out easily, and beneath the piece of wood was a handle. “Will you look at that!” said Debbie. “I think we’ve found something even more interesting than I expected!”

  Gilda stared at Debbie with admiration. Note to self: learn some archaeology and/or carpentry skills for future investigations!

  “Wow,” Stephen breathed.

  “Looks like a secret trapdoor,” said Debbie. The door was an irregular shape, like an enormous jigsaw puzzle piece; if you didn’t know it existed, its outline merely looked like natural cracks in the wooden floorboards.

  Gilda’s heart raced. So there was something under the kitchen floor!

  “Can you give me a hand, Stephen?” Debbie asked, attempting to pull the handle connected to the trapdoor. “I think it’s stuck.”

  Stephen pulled on the handle until the trapdoor opened slowly, with a creaking sound. The three of them stared, astonished, into a dark cavern beneath the house. In the complete darkness, it was impossible to see what might be hidden there.

  “Now hop down in there, Stephen, and check it out,” Gilda joked.

  “We don’t want anyone jumping down there and discovering that it’s where Mr. Pook hides his pet alligator or something. . . .” Debbie pulled a flashlight from her bag. Just as she was about to beam it down into the gaping hole, the three of them heard footsteps on the porch outside. “Close it!” Stephen grabbed the trapdoor handle and pushed Gilda out of the way. “They’re back!”

  “Okay, nobody say anything about this discovery,” Gilda whispered. “We’ll find another time to investigate it when Mom and Eugene aren’t around—maybe later tonight.”

  Gilda, Debbie, and Stephen managed to close the trapdoor and reseal the wooden floorboards just before Eugene and Mrs. Joyce walked into the house, carrying vases of lilies.

  Mom doesn’t exactly look like a glowing bride-to-be, Gilda observed. Mrs. Joyce looked thinner and more pale than usual. With dark circles under her eyes, she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days.

  “Stephen,” said Mrs. Joyce, “would you help Eugene carry some things in from the car? We have some bottles of champagne and a few more vases of flowers to bring inside.”

  “Okay.”

  Gilda observed Eugene, wondering what the chances were that he didn’t know about the trapdoor under his own kitchen. It seemed unlikely. You lied, Mr. Pook! she thought. I bet you knew there was a cistern under the kitchen. It was all she could do to contain herself from blurting out the accusation right then and there. But if he is hiding something, she thought, I shouldn’t tip him off that I know about it until we’ve had a chance to investigate.

  “Gilda,” said Mrs. Joyce wearily, “if you would help me arrange these flowers and the wedding bouquets, that would be wonderful. Oh, and by the way, make sure you get up early tomorrow. Eugene made appointments for both of us to get our hair styled first thing in the morning, before the ceremony.”

  “No need,” said Gilda, “I’ll be wearing my ‘freaky bridesmaid’ wig,” said Gilda.

  “Not funny, Gilda.”

  “Okay, but seriously, Mom; I’m planning to wear a hat, so I won’t need to have my hair styled.”

  “Even so, we made an appointment for you.”

  Should I say something to Mom about finding the cistern under the floor? Gilda wondered. I can’t let her go through with this without at least knowing that Eugene might be hiding something!

  “Can you think of anything else we need to do tomorrow morning, Eugene?” Gilda’s mother asked.

  “Let’s see.” Eugene paused to think on his way out the door. “Stephen and I can pick up the cake first thing in the morning while you and Gilda get your hair done. The Furbos are bringing some hors d’oeuvres over tomorrow. I think we’ll be all set to have the cake and champagne back here at the house after the ceremony.”

  “Did anyone order the groom’s cake?” Gilda asked, mostly to tease Eugene. “I think Mom wanted to surprise you with a cake shaped like a mustache, Mr. Pook.”

  “Sounds like a surprise I can do without,” said Eugene.

  “I think that’s so cute when people have a groom’s cake shaped like one of the groom’s hobbies,” said Debbie. “I guess Mr. Pook could have something about antiques, right?”

  At this comment, Eugene suddenly appeared to notice Debbie’s presence in his house. He listened to her suggestion without smiling.

  “Or a chocolate graveyard filled with buried skeletons,” Gilda blurted. The words slipped out before she could stop herself.

  Stephen shook his head with disbelief at Gilda’s tactless comment.

  Eugene reddened and stalked out of the room. “Back in a minute,” he said.

  “Way to keep a low profile, Gilda,” Stephen muttered.

  “Gilda, can you help me cut some of these flower stems and tie bows on the vases?” Mrs. Joyce asked.

  “I’d better be going,” said Debbie. “Halloween is one of my busiest nights for ghost to
urs.”

  “Nice to see you, Debbie,” said Mrs. Joyce.

  “You too,” said Debbie. “I’ll see you all tomorrow morning!”

  Debbie squeezed Gilda’s arm as she passed. “Keep me posted,” she whispered as Mrs. Joyce turned to fill a vase with water. “Call me if you find anything important!”

  Gilda nodded. “Will do.”

  “So, Mom,” said Gilda as she helped cut flower stems and tie bows around vases, “I noticed you ended up with lilies for the wedding.”

  “Yes—they’re nice.”

  “But you wanted roses.”

  “Sometimes it’s okay to compromise, Gilda. What’s important to me is the marriage.”

  “And how are you feeling about that part?”

  “What part?”

  “You’re marrying Mr. Pook tomorrow, in case you forgot. Tomorrow you’ll become Mrs. Patty-Cakes Pook.”

  “I’m sure everything will turn out fine.”

  “You know, Mom, we’d totally understand if you want to cancel this. I mean, we wouldn’t hold it against you.”

  Mrs. Joyce frowned. She gripped a bunch of lilies firmly and trimmed their stems with a large pair of scissors. “Why would you say that, Gilda?”

  “Because you don’t seem happy. I mean, you don’t seem as happy as a person is supposed to be right before getting married.”

  “Honey, even small weddings can be stressful. And just because everything isn’t perfect doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”

  “Okay,” said Gilda. “But I also just think there’s something you should know about Mr. Pook.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He might be hiding something.”

  “We all have secrets, Gilda.”

  “Yes, but—he might have a bigger secret than just getting up in the middle of the night to snack on datil-pepper jelly and ice cream.”

  “Gilda, please. What are you talking about?”

  “Mom,” Gilda whispered, “we found a cistern or something under the kitchen floor. But Mr. Pook had told me that there wasn’t any well on the property!”

  “Gilda, you know I don’t like you snooping around other people’s homes. Anyway, that doesn’t mean anything bad. He probably didn’t know the well was there. Maybe the previous owners knew about it.”

  Gilda wondered if her mother had a valid point. What if Eugene honestly didn’t know about the cistern?

  “You mean this house hasn’t always been in Eugene’s family?”

  “Actually, Eugene said he bought this house from the Furbos. I suppose he was enamored with the house as an antiques storage place even though the relationship with Charlotte didn’t work out.”

  Aha! Gilda thought. So the Furbos used to own this house! And maybe they’re the ones who know all about the trapdoor and the old cistern!

  “Mom,” said Gilda, “I don’t mean to shock you, but there’s something else I think you should know.”

  “What is it, Gilda?”

  Gilda decided to just go ahead and blurt out her theory. “I have reason to believe that the Furbos may have murdered their daughter, Charlotte.”

  Mrs. Joyce ceased arranging flowers and stared at Gilda. “Gilda—that is a horrifying thing to say!”

  “I know. But it’s an even more horrifying thing to do. I can’t prove they did it yet, but I just thought you’d want to know what you might be getting into here, Mom. I mean, since Eugene is so close to their family and everything.”

  Mrs. Joyce began pulling lilies out of the vase she had been arranging, as if she found the flowers offensive in some way. “Gilda, I don’t like some of the Furbos’ views any more than you do. But making an accusation like that is crossing a line.”

  “But—”

  “I know you like to pursue these little investigations, Gilda, and I also understand that you’re angry that I’m marrying someone other than your own father—”

  “That has nothing to do with it!”

  “I think it has everything to do with it!”

  “Mom, I only told you about this because I care about you!”

  Mrs. Joyce pulled the entire bunch of lilies from the vase. “If you care about me, then you will let me have my wedding day without ruining it for me—and for everyone else. You’re not a little kid, Gilda; it’s time to get over these childish games and realize that life changes. People, friendships—even families—they change over time!”

  Gilda fell silent. Something about her mother’s words made her feel as if someone had knocked the wind out of her lungs. She felt tears brimming in her eyes, but she didn’t want to cry.

  What if Mom is right? she thought. Is it possible that deep down, I’m trying to find a reason to break up her new marriage because I don’t want anything to change—just like the Furbos didn’t want anything to change in their family?

  Mrs. Joyce pulled Gilda toward her in an awkward hug. Her mother smelled different—like someone else’s perfume. “You know I love you, Gilda,” said her mother. “That will never change.”

  “I know that, Mom,” said Gilda. “And I like you, too, sometimes.”

  “Not love?”

  “Okay, I guess I love you, too. Whatever.”

  “Now—let’s finish these arrangements, and then we’ll go out for dinner.” Mrs. Joyce suddenly spoke in a clipped voice and moved briskly to disguise her frazzled nerves. Secretly, some of Gilda’s concerns had worried her. Is Gilda right? Mrs. Joyce wondered. Am I less happy than I should be right before my wedding?

  The front door slammed shut and Eugene entered the kitchen followed by Stephen. “So Stephen and I have made our plan for tonight,” said Eugene. “We’re going out for seafood and then on to a pirate ghost tour on the Matanzas. How does that sound for a Halloween night before the wedding?”

  It does sound fun, Gilda had to admit.

  “Hey, Stephen,” Gilda whispered, pulling her brother aside as Eugene stepped in to oversee the floundering flower-decorating project in the kitchen. “Later tonight, when everyone goes to bed, we’ll find out what’s down there, underneath the kitchen.”

  Gilda half expected her brother to protest that there was no way he was getting up in the middle of the night just to open a trapdoor, but to her surprise, he agreed.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’d actually like to see what’s in there, too.”

  He probably just wants to be able to tell Debbie about it, Gilda thought. Well, whatever gets him to help is fine with me.

  One way or another, Gilda was determined to find out what was hidden beneath Eugene Pook’s house.

  38

  The Ghost-Pirate

  Dear Dad:

  I’m feeling a little weird right now. Maybe I’m nervous because in a few minutes, I’m going to wake up Stephen, and we’ll tiptoe downstairs with our flashlights and investigate the contents of that cistern.

  Maybe I’m also feeling weird because I actually had fun tonight when Mom, Eugene, Stephen, and I all went out on the ghost-pirate ship together. We were out on the water, and Captain Jack was telling the funniest and spookiest pirate tales (Mom and Eugene liked him so much, they even reminded him to come to their wedding if you can believe it !), and the feeling of being under the stars and looking out at the lights of St. Augustine from the dark water and feeling all those spirits around was kind of magical. I couldn’t help thinking, Maybe we could have more nights like this, all together. I mean, what if Stephen and I just never looked down in the cistern? What if I just pretend that I never suspected any dark secrets? If I pretend not to see ghosts, like Darla has done for years, will they eventually go away? Would I stop seeing the woman in white? Would I stop having nightmares about Charlotte’s death?

  But you know me, Dad. I can’t pretend that I DON’T know what I DO know.

  Besides, I can’t miss this golden opportunity to wake Stephen from his beauty sleep in the middle of the night.

  Wish me luck, Dad, and if you’re out there, please protect me from any evil spirits that
might be lurking around this house!

  Love,

  Gilda

  39

  The Secret in the Cistern

  I can’t believe I agreed to do this,” Stephen whispered. He and Gilda tiptoed down the hallway, doing their best to avoid stepping on the creaky spots in the floor. The glow of Gilda’s flashlight made the antique furniture and artifacts in the house look spooky and strange.

  “You know you want to see what’s in there just as much as I do,” Gilda replied.

  “Still—I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “It’s probably the most fun you’ve ever had on Halloween.”

  “That might actually be true.”

  They made their way down the long staircase, then walked through the living room. Gilda held her breath as she inched silently past the coffee table that contained the jawbone.

  They froze at the sound of something creaking in the next room.

  “Did you hear that?” Gilda whispered.

  “No.”

  Gilda cautiously moved toward the dining room and kitchen.

  “Let’s hurry up if we’re doing this, Gilda,” Stephen snapped. “There aren’t any ghosts down here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “You sure about that, son?”

  Gilda and Stephen gasped. A light shone directly in their eyes, and for a moment, they could only make out a shadowy figure who was pointing a flashlight at them. Then Gilda realized that it was Eugene. He had been sitting there, alone in the darkness.

  Was he waiting for us? Gilda wondered. Did Mom say something to him after I told her about the cistern? And why is he sitting there in the dark, with only a flashlight?

  “I couldn’t sleep,” said Eugene. “Must be wedding jitters.”

  “We couldn’t sleep either,” said Gilda, trying to disguise the panic in her voice.

  “So you thought you’d take a little nighttime walk?” Eugene was obviously suspicious.

  “I was actually just coming down to get a drink of water,” said Stephen. “I’ll be getting back to bed.”

  “Have a seat, both of you,” said Eugene, pulling out a chair from the dining table and pointing to it. Something about his tone made them obey him. Eugene lit his antique lantern, and as Gilda’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that Eugene had an assortment of objects in front of him, including two old rifles. There were also small bottles of cleaning fluids, an assortment of brushes of different sizes, and some other small antiques, including an old photograph.