“So why are you just pushing your food around the plate? LouAnne, you’re usually ravenous after your morning run.”
“Must be the heat, Mom.”
“Yes, Mrs. D.,” piped in Bortnicker. “Even I, who helped prepare this feast, find myself a little stodgy.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have chowed that third plate of pasta last night,” cracked T.J. “You even outdid Uncle Mike.”
Brushing aside T.J.’s remarks, Bortnicker said, “Hey, Mrs. D., find any more bullets?”
“Not lately, but they’ll turn up.” She again regarded the unusually reserved teens. “I know what,” she said brightly. “After dinner, why don’t we all take in a movie?”
The three looked up, alarmed. Terri’s offer hung in the air.
“Ah, we’ll have to pass on that one, Mrs. D.,” said Bortnicker. “You see, the Red Sox are playing the Phillies in an interleague game at seven on ESPN, and T.J. and I bet LouAnne an ice cream sundae the Sox will kill ‘em. But thanks, anyway. Maybe next week?”
“Well, alright. I’m just worried you boys aren’t having any fun.”
“Are you kidding?” said Bortnicker. “We were just talking about finishing that garden weeding and going into town for a pizza!”
“What, no battlefield tour today?” Terri asked, cleaning the breakfast plates.
“Even we have limits,” said T.J. sheepishly.
LouAnne said, “And as for me, I’ll be—”
“Babysitting!” cried the boys in unison.
“Alright then,” said Terri, “it’s the ballgame for tonight. I’ll make a big bowl of popcorn. It’ll be fun! Even Mike will want to watch, even though he thinks baseball’s a little slow. He’ll always be a football coach at heart.”
Once outside T.J. wheeled on Bortnicker. “Well, that was brilliant. What makes you think I want to do yard work in this heat? And what if the game tonight goes late?” LouAnne nodded in agreement.
Bortnicker kept his cool. “I have two answers,” he replied dramatically, an index finger upraised. “First, I think a little outside work is a meaningful gesture on our part because, if you haven’t noticed, we’re clearing out all the produce in Terri’s garden with our gargantuan appetites. Besides, LouAnne has already showered and applied a very fragrant lilac perfume and we wouldn’t dare ask her to get sweaty again.”
T.J. rolled his eyes and LouAnne blushed.
“And second, our toiling in the hot sun will give us the perfect excuse to turn in early tonight. By the fifth inning we’ll have everybody yawning, and we’ll be on our way by ten as planned. And, oh, one additional observation. I didn’t see either of you coming up with anything to shoot down the movie idea. You should be thanking me!”
T.J. frowned and LouAnne shook her head, smiling all the while. “Gotta jet, guys,” she said sweetly. “And Bortnicker, I hope this means you’re picking up the tab for T.J.’s pizza.”
“Yeah,” added T.J. “I have a feeling I’m gonna be very hungry come lunchtime.”
But Bortnicker was already sinking his shovel into the dirt, singing to himself from The Dan’s “Bad Sneakers” about burial ditches being dug that they might not see coming.
* * * *
“Wait a minute,” said Bortnicker, applying layers of garlic powder to his pizza slice. “You order a pie with ‘everything on it’ and then you pick off the anchovies? That’s just cruel.”
“So sue me,” T.J. snapped, lifting a thin brown strip from his portion and eyeing it suspiciously.
“Makes no difference. You can remove the anchovy, but its heavenly taste remains.”
The boys immersed themselves in their food, so happy to be in the air-conditioned room that they neglected to notice Carlton Elway’s receptionist, Tiffany. She eased into a seat just inches away, separated from their table only by a six-inch high frosted glass atop the wooden partition that bisected the dining area. She’d seen the teens enter and order their food and hearkened back to their recent visit. The one with the glasses was a dork, though the other was kind of cute, albeit a bit young for her. But what really peaked her interest was the conversation between them and her boss that she’d eavesdropped on, and how Mr. Elway had complained afterwards of them being nosy and up to no good. Perhaps if she could bring some juicy info back to him he’d give her a raise or maybe let her do some ghost tours, where the tips were good.
“Let’s go over our plan for tonight,” said Bortnicker.
“I didn’t know we had a plan,” countered T.J.
“Precisely. Must I think of everything?”
“That’s why you’re here.”
“Point taken. Okay then, let’s say we get to the woods and our ghost shows up. Then what?”
At this point Tiffany fought hard to avoid gagging on her mouthful of meatballs. What ghost?
“Well,” said T.J., “I think I’m gonna have to assure him that you guys are okay, that none of us is a threat—”
“But he’s the one with the gun.”
Tiffany’s heavily mascaraed eyes grew wide. A ghost that shoots people?
“Yeah, well, it’s because of that we don’t want to anger him. We’ve gotta feel him out, kind of. Find out how long he’s been, you know, haunting this place. How he got here. Why he got here. See if we could help him in any way.”
“Help him? How? He’s dead!”
“Well, you know how on all those ghost shows they talk about spirits who are trapped here, bound to this world? We’ve got to see if there’s a way we could make it possible for him to go where he’s supposed to. His situation must have something to do with the battle. He must’ve died in a way that led to some unresolved business. That’s where you could be valuable. Listen, Bortnicker, nobody knows more Civil War stuff than you. I think that if you could at least get his name and regiment, we could research him and find out more.”
“So, you’re thoroughly convinced this is a ghost and not some crackpot with a Civil War fantasy?”
“The more I think of it, yeah. That and the smell.”
“Hmm, tell me about that again.”
“Not much to tell. Kind of a putrid, decaying, sickly smell. I mean, believe me, you and LouAnne are gonna have to fight it the whole time. But I think it’s so important that, no matter how scared we are, we don’t show it.”
“You know what, Big Mon, I’m more afraid of your uncle finding out than I am of any ghost.”
T.J. nodded. “I believe Uncle Mike knows a lot more than he’s letting on, but I still think we can’t talk to him yet.”
“That’s where your cousin comes in. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”
“Not as much as you’d think, man. Remember, deep inside him there’s still ‘Maddog Mike’, the linebacker. I don’t want him firing out on us.”
Bortnicker chewed his third slice thoughtfully. Suddenly he asked, “Think she’d go out with me?”
“Out where?”
“No, out. I find myself staring at her so much, I have to look away. Do you think she knows she has that effect?”
“Girls always know,” said T.J. “They make like they don’t, but they do.”
“Like Katie Vickers, right?” said Bortnicker, raising an eyebrow.
“Katie Vickers? How’d she get into this conversation?”
“Well, she’s like your typical hot-looking girl who knows she’s hot.” He brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes. “You can tell in the way she walks, those secret smiles she gives to her witchy friends.”
“I hadn’t really noticed.”
Bortnicker threw down his napkin. “C’mon, T.J., give me a break. She’s your dream girl, and you know it! I remember once you said—”
“Hey,” said T.J., eyeing his friend suspiciously. “How did this become a Katie Vickers discussion?”
“Well, I—”
“’Cause it’s over. I never want you to mention her again in my presence.”
“Okay, okay, cool your jets, Big Mon. I’m so
rry.”
T.J. frowned at his friend, as though wondering what was spawning all this Katie Vickers talk. “Listen,” he said finally, “let’s solve the ghost problem first, and then we’ll concentrate on your love life.”
“Solid!” said Bortnicker triumphantly. “Tonight the adventure begins!”
“You hope.”
“I know. Hey, there’s one slice left. You gonna eat it?”
“Why don’t you bring it with us?”
The two boys pushed their chairs back and exited, Bortnicker holding his pizza in a paper napkin, sporting dribbles of tomato sauce on his tee shirt.
As they left the pizza parlor Tiffany thoughtfully chewed the last bite of her sandwich. Aside from all the junior high romance stuff, she’d gotten some great dirt on these two. She looked at her watch. As usual, she’d overstayed her lunch hour. But Tiffany wasn’t worried.
Elway was waiting for her when she blew in, tossing her handbag on the desk.
“Tiffany,” he began, on the edge of impatience, “do you realize that you’re twenty minutes—”
She stopped him by holding up a pudgy pink hand. “Mr. Elway, before you go any farther, may I speak with you for a moment in your office? I have some information that you might want to hear.”
* * * *
“I knew they were up to something,” Elway said after listening intently to Tiffany’s story. “You’re sure you didn’t leave anything out?”
“Well, they started talking about their love life, or what passes for one at their age. But that’s all the ghost stuff.”
“And Mike Darcy’s daughter is in cahoots with them. Hmm. I can’t believe he’s not on to them by now. Oh well, whatever. Tiffany, you’ve been a real help. This could mean you’re ready to move up the ladder in the business here. What would you say to doing a couple of walking tours this week? See if you like it?”
The girl beamed. “I’d LOVE it!” she squealed, her gum snapping.
“Okay, then. Here’s the script we follow for the twilight candlelight tour. You’ve got to memorize it more or less, and then you’ll be good to go.”
She plucked the stapled copy-paper booklet from Elway’s fingers before he could rethink his promise. “I’ll just take this with me,” she chirped, practically skipping back to the welcoming desk as an elderly couple entered the building.
Left alone, Elway processed the information. Although the girl was well-meaning, she was basically incompetent as an assistant. However, she seemed positive in the details she’d overheard.
Al Warren had to know about this stuff. Probably Bruce Morrison, too. Why was everyone shutting him out? He was Gettysburg’s premier ghost hunter! Well, he’d show them. Tonight he would stake out Mike Darcy’s house on Seminary Ridge and follow those kids, armed with every piece of paranormal equipment he owned. This had to be worth at least a one hour documentary...maybe even a book! And maybe, just maybe, he’d finally get to see an honest-to-goodness ghost.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The beginning of the interleague game between the Sox and Phillies was everything the teens hoped it would be. By the time the Darcy clan and their two boarders had settled into their cushy leather seats in the family room and begun working their way through bowls of popcorn and Doritos, the Phils had loaded the bases on the Red Sox pitcher, Tim Wakefield.
“His knuckler’s not knuckling,” said T.J.
“You think?” cracked LouAnne.
“How’s the running coming?” asked Mike, changing the subject.
“You’ve gotta see T.J., Dad,” said LouAnne, licking orange Doritos cheese off her fingers. “He’s really improved. I think he could make our varsity team!”
T.J. blushed and LouAnne added, “Of course, I’m still better, but...”
Mike shook his head and scooped up some more popcorn.
Wakefield got out of the inning having given up only one run, and the kids were secretly disappointed. They needed a blowout here, not a nail-biter that would keep the family up until late.
But the Phillies came through for them, tacking on a run here and there. Finally, they broke it open in the sixth inning on a towering Ryan Howard homer. “That’s it,” said Bortnicker, “I surrender. The Sox have had it.” He stretched theatrically.
“Told you the Phils would smash ‘em,” chortled LouAnne.
“That Howard is a moose,” said Mike admiringly. “Would’ve made a good tight end.”
“See? It always comes back to football,” chided his wife.
“I think we’ll turn in, Aunt Terri,” said T.J., rising slowly from his comfy chair. He kissed his aunt on the forehead. “Thanks for the snacks. They were great.”
“I second that emotion, Mrs. D.,” said Bortnicker as the two boys made for the stairs.
“Well, I guess this party’s over,” said Mike, clicking off the remote.
“We running tomorrow, Cuz?” asked LouAnne, playing her role perfectly.
“No question. See you at seven.”
“I guess I’ll go up too, then,” she replied.
By 10:00 P.M. the house was dead quiet, save for the window air conditioner humming in the Darcys’ bedroom. At 10:30 P.M. precisely T.J. eased open his window and looked down towards LouAnne’s room. Within seconds her head popped out as well.
“Ready?” he whispered.
“Yeah. I’ve got a flashlight for us. You guys are wearing dark clothes, right?”
“The darkest stuff we had with us.”
“Then let’s do it.” She eased out onto the porch roof, her sneakers lightly scraping the shingles. T.J. and Bortnicker followed suit, leaving their beds behind filled with pillows to simulate their sleeping bodies “They do that in all the prison break movies,” said Bortnicker.
Once outside, it was a quick climb down to the porch, and then they were in the front yard. The moon was a brilliant orb, the stars twinkling like birthday candles. “Man, it’s bright,” whispered T.J. “Don’t know whether that’s good or bad.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” hissed LouAnne. “Let’s make our way down Seminary Ridge, but stay off the road till we can turn off for the woods. We don’t want any passing cars to spot us in the residential area. This is a small town, and word will get back to my dad before you know it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Bortnicker.
They set off on their journey, cautiously checking left and right for automobile headlights, their hearts pounding with anticipation and excitement.
As the teens made their way along the tree-canopied street of the residential section, T.J. cut a glance at his cousin who strode purposefully to his left. Her eyes had that focused look that Uncle Mike might call “getting her game-face on.” Bortnicker, he surmised, was probably frightened to death but tried to play it off, whistling a tune through his teeth.
“Bortnicker,” hissed LouAnne, “Not so loud. And that’s ‘Reeling in the Years’ by the way.” Her remark temporarily broke the tension. Bortnicker had yet to stump her with Steely Dan.
They were almost to the place where the public road ended and Pitzer’s Woods began when a pair of oncoming headlights appeared around a bend roughly fifty yards ahead.
“Into the brush! Now!” said T.J., grabbing his mates by their shirts and diving as one into a clump of bushes.
Suddenly they saw Elway, who had his head down while fiddling with his EVP recorder, frozen like the proverbial deer.
They watched as the police cruiser came to a stop literally at his feet, its driver’s side door opening slowly. The ghost hunter squared his shoulders as though trying not to look stupid.
“Carlton, Carlton, Carlton,” said Al Warren, shaking his head with mock sadness. “Now just what in the world brings you out here at this time of night? Hmm?”
“I, er, um,” was all he could muster.
“And what’s all this equipment for? Looks like you got every gizmo in creation strapped onto you.”
“Sorry, Al,” he managed, looking at h
is shoes like a third grader. “I know I’m not supposed to be out here.”
“You got that right. Tell you what, Carlton. You get in the cruiser like a good boy and I’ll run you home and we’ll forget this ever happened, okay?”
Elway looked relieved that Warren wasn’t grilling him as to his reasons for being on the battlefield after dark, but he cursed his own stupidity as he dutifully climbed into the car .
As the cruiser’s red taillights faded in the distance the three youths slowly rose from the bushes. T.J. realized they’d been holding each other’s hands in a death grip. They all relaxed and Bortnicker rubbed his palms together. “What was that fake Elway doing out here?” he wondered aloud.
“You got me,” said T.J. “No way he could’ve known what we were doing tonight.”
“Are you sure?” asked LouAnne.
“Positive,” snapped T.J., annoyed.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “So we keep going?”
“Might as well,” said her cousin.
They pressed on, entering Pitzer’s Woods, picking their way through the trees, underbrush and brambles, using the flashlight sparingly. Deeper and deeper they went, so that the outside world and its noise and lights seemed not to exist.
“Be lucky if we don’t get poison ivy,” muttered Bortnicker.
Finally, they came upon a clearing and plopped down. Before them was another copse of trees and then a stretch of open space that had probably been farmland in the olden days.
“I’m bushed,” said T.J., “though we haven’t really walked that far, actually.”
“What now?” said LouAnne, rubbing the shin she’d bumped on a fallen tree.
“We wait,” Bortnicker said quietly.
They sat side by side against a large rock, LouAnne between the boys. The minutes ticked by, crickets chirping occasionally. An owl in the distance hooted once, but apart from that it was eerily still. LouAnne was the first to nod off, her head easing down onto T.J.’s shoulder, the smell of her strawberry shampoo filling his nostrils. Bortnicker was next, though he tried hard to fight it at first, his head bobbing occasionally as he would abruptly regain consciousness before slipping off again. T.J. held out until around midnight then succumbed himself.
Last Ghost at Gettysburg Page 13
