The Secret Files of Fairday Morrow

by Jessica Haight

  Magical blueprints with rhymes, hidden somewhere. Where could they be?

  Is the brass key the one Thurston Begonia threw at the gypsy? Why did he wear it around his neck? Did Ruby ever figure out what it unlocked? Key we found unlocks balcony—and willow comes alive.

  Shoes belonged to Eldrich, so how did they end up inside the mirror? Who’s in the mirror? Gypsy or Ruby?

  Lizzy leaned over Fairday’s shoulder to scan the list, then nodded. “Looks like you got everything. Why don’t you pack up the new clues and I’ll go back and finish looking through those newspapers.”

  “Okay, sounds good.” Taking the ziplock baggies out of her pack, Fairday labeled the rose petal and the diary, then placed them inside her bag with the other evidence.

  Lizzy’s voice rang out from across the room. “Fairday! I found the red-haired lady’s name!” She was kneeling next to the newspapers, shaking one of the pages above her head. Fairday hurried over and dropped down beside her. Lizzy spread out the front page of the Ashpot Weekly in front of them. The newspaper was dated October 16, 1958, and even though it was torn off at the top and bottom, most of the article was legible. “Here, look,” Lizzy said, pointing at the headline. In a rushed voice, she read:

  THE MISSING BRIDE

  The picture underneath the story was in black-and-white, but Fairday was certain it was the red-haired lady. With her heart banging against her chest, she listened as Lizzy read:

  Ruby Begonia, only daughter of the well-known world adventurer Thurston Begonia, went missing yesterday. Officers were called to the Begonia House shortly after 3:00 p.m. after having been notified that the bride-to-be could not be found. Miss Begonia was set to marry Gilford Pomfrey at a 3:30 p.m. ceremony taking place at the exclusive manor. She was last seen just before 3:00 p.m. in one of the upstairs rooms of the home, where she had been having her portrait photographed as a gift for her father. Harold Frogtrom, the artist commissioned to do the work, was the last person to see Miss Begonia that day. Mr. Frogtrom stated, “She was just fine––cheerful, and looking forward to getting married. I left the room so she could change into her wedding dress, and I went downstairs. That’s all I know.” Investigators are continuing to question everyone who was present during this mysterious disappearance but still have no clues as to what may have happened to the bride.

  “That has to be her!” Lizzy exclaimed, dropping the paper and looking at Fairday. “Ruby Begonia, RB, like on the brush and in the diary!”

  “I know!” Fairday replied. “The photo in the paper looks the same as the one in the frame. I’m glad you looked through these old newspapers. Who knew they would be so important!” Glancing over at her friend, she noticed Lizzy scrutinizing something. “What’s up?” she asked.

  Lizzy looked from the article to a spot in the room. “Not only is it the same picture, but if I’m not mistaken, this photo was taken right over there,” she said. “Ruby Begonia’s sitting in that chair in the picture.” She pointed over to the chair in the corner. “It has the same striped pattern.” Lizzy grabbed the frame off the table and held it up.

  Fairday looked from the photo in the newspaper to the picture in the frame and then to the chair. Each hair on her arm stood up. Suddenly, she blurted out, “Lizzy, I forgot to tell you! The clock on the kitchen stove is stopped at exactly three o’clock. I wrote it down.” She flipped through the pages of her notebook and handed it over.

  Lizzy read over Fairday’s notes. “It can’t be a coincidence. I mean, the article says she disappeared sometime around three in the afternoon.” Lizzy moved toward the chair and touched its cushion. “Which means Ruby Begonia was right here just before she vanished!” Someone called out from below, breaking the hushed spell that had momentarily fallen over them, and they both looked toward the door.

  “Ten o’clock, girls! Time to get ready for bed.” It was Mr. Morrow. They heard footsteps climbing the staircase, and then his head popped through the door. “So,” he said, peering around the room. “What sort of fascinating secrets have we found up here?”

  Fairday blandly answered, “Hi, Dad. Not too much, just a bunch of junk, pretty much.” She knew she had to play it cool, because her parents were already suspicious that something was up.

  Lizzy grabbed the article and slipped it into her DMS pack. “Neat place, though, Mr. Morrow. It’ll be a great bed-and-breakfast when it’s finished.” She slung her pack over her shoulder and walked out of the room. Fairday followed close behind. She quickly glanced toward the mirror, making sure it was covered, and headed down the steps.

  The digital face of Fairday’s alarm clock proclaimed midnight just as she finished rereading the newspaper article in a whisper. Both girls were huddled on the floor of Fairday’s room, hidden underneath a purple comforter with the flashlight propped up on a pillow, illuminating the tentlike area.

  “So we know for sure the red-haired lady in the picture is Ruby Begonia. She disappeared on the day of her wedding sometime around three o’clock, and the last place she was seen was the third-floor room,” Lizzy calculated, raising her fingers one at a time as she went through the facts.

  “Right,” Fairday replied, nodding in agreement. “We also know there are probably magical blueprints hidden somewhere around here and that the high-heeled sneakers belong to a gypsy named Eldrich. Plus, we know the brass key somehow activates the willow tree.”

  “We still need to figure out the hourglass,” Lizzy said.

  Fairday took it out of her DMS pack and placed it on the floor between them. She shined the flashlight on the hourglass and they considered the strange object. It still wasn’t working. As Lizzy put her hand out to give it a shake, sparkling red sand suddenly began to fall. The girls looked at each other with their mouths dropped open.

  “How did that happen?” Fairday asked.

  “I don’t know, but the sand is fascinating. Doesn’t it seem to be falling slowly?”

  “It does. Weird!”

  “Should we pick it up?”

  “No, let’s just watch it for a while and see what happens. Plus, we still need to go over the interview questions for Larry Lovell.”

  Fairday dug her project folder out from the folds of her sun-and-moon sleeping bag, along with a piece of paper that listed all the questions she and Lizzy had written down to ask during the interview. Grabbing her pen, she stuck one end into the corner of her mouth and gazed up contemplatively.

  “How should we word the questions about Ruby Begonia? I don’t want to let on that we actually saw her, or her ghost, or whatever we saw in the mirror. He’ll think I’m completely gaga.” Fairday stuck out her tongue and rolled her eyes. Lizzy giggled, covering her mouth. “Shhhh,” Fairday murmured. “My mom will kill us if we get caught up at this hour.”

  Lizzy got ahold of herself. Thoughtfully, she suggested, “Well, you could just show him the article and ask if he knows anything about it. You said he worked for the town paper a long time ago, and it wouldn’t seem suspicious that you found it in the house and are curious. Which, if you think about it, really is the truth. Just not all of it.” She flipped her hair, adding, “Who knows, maybe he wrote it? Too bad the reporter’s name was ripped off.”

  “True,” Fairday said. “Should I show him the diary?”

  “I don’t think so. Let’s keep that piece of evidence to ourselves for now.”

  Fairday slipped the piece of paper back into the folder and closed it, tossing it aside. “Well, we definitely have our work cut out for us, that’s for sure.”

  “You betcha!” Lizzy said.

  Just then, the girls heard the floorboards creak right outside their fort. Grabbing each other’s arms, their eyes widened as they inched closer together. A looming shadow crossed over the tent, causing fear to rise in Fairday’s throat. Neither girl spoke as their hearts beat wildly. They watched the eerie shadow slink back and disappear.

  “Is it safe?” Lizzy mouthed.

  “I don’t know,” Fairday whispered.
“What should we do?”

  Lizzy leaned over and pulled back the tent door to have a look.

  “Do you see anything?” Fairday asked, her voice shaking.

  “No, but your bedroom door is open,” Lizzy said.

  “What? I know we definitely closed it! Someone was in here with us! This is just like the night I first moved in. I could’ve sworn I saw someone standing at the end of my bed. And the door was open then too,” Fairday said, pulling her sleeping bag in closer. “You don’t think it was the lady from the mirror, do you?”

  “Could be or maybe it was your parents checking in on us,” Lizzy said. “We should turn on a light to make sure everything is okay.”

  “No way! I’m not going out there.”

  “We’ll do it together,” Lizzy said, grabbing Fairday’s hand. Both girls ran out of the fort and switched on the lamp. Their eyes scanned the room, but no one was there.

  “I think we should close the door and prop my desk chair against it to keep intruders out,” Fairday said, closing her bedroom door as quietly as possible.

  “Good idea,” Lizzy said, picking up the chair and positioning it under the doorknob. “At least we’ve set a trap in case someone tries to sneak in.”

  The girls hurried back into the tent and snuggled deep into their sleeping bags. “We should probably try and get some sleep so we aren’t tired. ‘Got to have a sharp mind on the morrow!’ ” Fairday proclaimed in a whisper, dramatically pointing her finger in the air. Humor was the only way she could get over this disturbing experience.

  “You betcha! Your father’s favorite quote,” Lizzy said, her eyes already closed as she added through a yawn, “Night. See you in the morning.”

  Fairday loved that Lizzy was probably the only other person in the world who appreciated her dad’s somewhat strange humor. “Night,” she said, wishing sleep came as easily to her as it did to her friend. Shifting her gaze to the falling sand in the hourglass, she watched it until her eyes closed. Wild images circled madly behind her eyelids. And as she fell deeper and deeper into sleep, they spun themselves into the web of her dreams.

  Fairday’s alarm sounded earlier than usual for a Saturday morning. Stretching, she reached through the opening in the makeshift tent to shut it off. As she pulled her hand back, her eyes fell on the hourglass. The sand had stopped falling. Fairday gently picked it up and flipped it over. Nothing. Hmm, that’s odd, she thought. Why did it work last night? Lizzy was still sleeping soundly, so Fairday poked her lightly on the shoulder.

  “Lizzy, wake up!”

  “What is it?” Lizzy replied, yawning.

  “Look at this! The sand stopped moving.” Shaking it, Fairday turned it over again. Still nothing.

  “That’s totally weird,” Lizzy said. “What could’ve made it stop?”

  “I have no idea! But it must mean something, right?”

  “I’m sure it does. Could it have anything to do with that creepy shadow we saw last night?”

  Fairday shivered at the memory. “It might. We’ll have to try to figure it out when we get back from the library.”

  “Ding-dong! Witch is dead. Old witch? Wicked Witch! Ding-dong! Wicked Witch is dead!” Margo belted out the lyrics to The Wizard of Oz sound track that was playing in the Morrow family cruiser.

  “Wow, she really gets into the music, doesn’t she?” Lizzy said.

  “This is her favorite song,” Fairday replied, smiling, as the car pulled up in front of the library.

  “How fitting,” Lizzy murmured, glancing at Fairday.

  “She’s on her way to becoming the next pop sensation, aren’t you, my little snookykins?” Mrs. Morrow piped up proudly, looking back at Margo, who was still bopping to the beat. Her tone became more serious as she addressed Lizzy and Fairday. “Now, girls, here’s my old phone. Fairday, put it in your backpack. I have some errands to run, and then I’ll be at the town hall around noon. Lord knows I’ll probably be there forever, filling out paperwork for all the permits we’re going to need on the house.” She rolled her eyes and sighed as she added, “Just call or text me when you’re ready to leave.”

  “Okay, Mom,” said Fairday, taking the phone and securing it in a side pocket of her DMS pack. She and Lizzy climbed out of the car and onto the sidewalk. They waved goodbye to Mrs. Morrow as she pulled out into traffic, honked twice, and then disappeared through a green light.

  Fairday glanced up at the wide, double-glass doors of the library. An old man, using a cane and sporting a golf cap, was just opening the door. She pulled on the strap of Lizzy’s pack. “Hey, do you think that’s Larry Lovell?” she asked, nodding toward the doors.

  “Could be,” Lizzy said as he disappeared into the building. The bell on the clock tower announced with its tenth chime that it was definitely ten o’clock.

  It was quiet and cool inside the library. The reception area was just beyond the entranceway. A woman with blond hair was bent over reading some forms at the desk. As Fairday and Lizzy approached, she looked up and smiled at them.

  “Hi, girls. Is there something I can help you with?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “Hi, um yes, actually,” Fairday replied. “We’re meeting Larry Lovell. You wouldn’t happen to know if he’s here, would you?”

  “Larry? Oh yes!” she said. “Mr. Lovell is always here on Saturdays. Just about everyone knows him. He mostly keeps to himself, though.” She pointed to a table in the corner of the room. “That’s him, over there.”

  “Thanks!” Fairday said. The girls turned to face each other. “Here’s my library card. You’ll need it to get on the computer.”

  “All right, thanks,” Lizzy said, taking the card and stuffing it into her pocket. “You go ahead and get started with the interview. I’m going to try and decipher the writing on the back of the photo from the picture I took. If I have time, I’ll see if I can find any more stories on the house. You have all the questions we came up with and the article, right?”

  “I do,” Fairday said, checking the contents of the folder she had just pulled out. “Good luck with the picture and research. I’ll come and get you when we’re finished.” Lizzy traipsed off to find a vacant computer as Fairday turned toward Larry Lovell.

  Butterflies fluttered around in her stomach as she approached the old man. He was not very friendly-looking, Fairday discerned. Actually, the word curmudgeon popped into her head; her dad would be proud that she remembered the vocabulary word. He sat with his nose shoved purposefully into a newspaper, shaking his head at something he was reading. A travel mug that read I’M CRABBY TILL I GET MY COFFEE sat near his right hand, and Fairday hoped he’d already had his cup of joe, if the logo on the mug was accurate. Holding tightly to her folder, she walked up to him and lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Hi, um, Mr. Lovell,” she said.

  Fairday stepped back a bit as he jumped in his seat and blurted, “What?” Turning his head around to see who had touched him, he grumbled, “I’m not a door.”

  “I’m sorry. Hi, Mr. Lovell, I’m Fairday Morrow,” she said, extending a friendly hand.

  “Ah! Hello, Miss Morrow.” His voice warmed up immediately. “I have been anticipating our meeting today. I’m so glad to meet you.” He stood up and shook her hand. “Have a seat, please.” Larry Lovell pulled out a chair for her and then moved to the other side of the table. “You startled me. I was involved in a story and wasn’t expecting to get poked by someone.” He looked at her as he folded the paper and then rested his elbows purposefully on the table.

  “Sorry about that,” she replied again, hoping she hadn’t started things off on the wrong foot. Fairday wasn’t feeling very in control of the situation and started to wonder just who was the interviewer and who was the interviewee. He leaned over the table and seemed to study her from behind his wire-rim glasses, which were perched on top of his bumpy old nose.

  “Well, uh, so, thanks again for meeting with me,” she said, not sure how to begin. Fidgeting with her fo
lder, Fairday pulled out her sheet of questions. The article about Ruby Begonia was underneath it, but she wasn’t ready to introduce that just yet.

  “It’s my pleasure, young lady.” Larry’s voice was gruff, but there was a certain trustworthiness to his tone. He peered at her with interest. “Now, what would you like to know?”

  “Uh, let’s see. I have a few questions about your career as a reporter,” she said.

  “Shoot.”

  “Mr. Lovell,” she began, trying to sound professional, “what was the biggest story you covered?”

  Larry’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his mouth spread into a wide grin. “Ah, jumping right in, are we?” he sighed. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms across his chest while keeping his gaze on Fairday. “What an interesting question. Incidentally, the story that sticks out most in my mind involves your current address, Miss Morrow.” His pale eyes flickered mischievously. “How coincidental, wouldn’t you say?”

  “The Begonia House?” asked Fairday.

  “Yes, my dear, the Begonia House,” he mused, rubbing the stumpy hairs on his chin.

  The words hung in the air as Fairday’s thoughts raced wildly. She realized he was waiting for her to say something. As she started to jot down what he had said, she managed to find her voice and asked, “What was the story about?”

  “Oh, it was about many things my dear, many things indeed. If I’m being honest, I wrote more than one article about the house and its mysterious occupants.” He paused, giving his head a slight shake, then went on. “It’s all very complicated. I think the best thing for me to do is start at the beginning.” Larry looked down at her, took a sip of his coffee, and then began his tale. Fairday tried to keep up, taking down each word as fast as she could.

  “It was in 1936 when Thurston Begonia finally finished that enormous home, nothing but the best for him and his wife. He built the place for her, you know.” His eyebrows rose as he looked her over.