“Cool!” said Dub.
“I know. Mr. Henry will be glad when he hears that. Oh, hi, Mom.”
Mrs. Nichols was standing at the door, holding the portable phone. “It’s Karen, sweetie. Shall I have her call back later?”
Allie hesitated. “No,” she said. “I can talk now, I guess.”
Her mother handed her the phone and left. “Hello?” said Allie.
“Hi!” Karen’s voice was breathless with excitement. “Did you see the paper? You’re on the front page! There’s a huge picture and a whole big article!”
“Yes,” Allie answered. “I saw it.”
“It’s so awesome, discovering a murder! Everybody’s talking about it.”
“Mmmm,” said Allie, curious to see what it was that Karen wanted.
“It must have been so gross to have that guy die right before your eyes.”
“Actually,” said Allie, “I didn’t see him die.”
“Whatever,” said Karen breezily. “It’s still totally gross. Did you see that girl’s body? Was it like really, really disgusting?”
“All I saw was a bone,” Allie said.
“Ewwww!” Karen shrieked with horrified delight. “And what about the guy? He murdered her, right? How did he do it?”
“Why do you want to know?” asked Allie.
“Why? It’s like the biggest thing that’s ever happened around here.”
“You didn’t seem too interested yesterday,” said Allie. “You said I was making the whole thing up.”
Karen laughed. “Oh, Allie! Don’t take everything so seriously! Pam and I were just kidding around. So tell me, how did he kill her? Do you know?”
“Yes,” said Allie. “I do. But if I’m such a liar, how do you know you can believe me?”
“Allie, come on. Lighten up! Can’t you take a joke? You’re such a party pooper sometimes.”
Allie was silent.
“Hey,” Karen went on. “I know! Why don’t you come over tonight? Pam’s sleeping over. We can watch the season finale of Teen Twins. The previews looked really awesome.”
Allie almost smiled. Two days before, she would have jumped at the chance to spend a Friday night at Karen’s house. But now she said, “I can’t, Karen. I’ve already got a friend over—Dub. But thanks, anyway.”
No sound came from the other end of the line. Allie imagined the look of surprise on Karen’s face. “Well, I’ve got to go,” Allie said. “I’ll see you Monday, Karen. Bye.”
She clicked the phone off and looked at Dub, who had been listening, eyebrows raised. “What?” she said.
Dub shook his finger at her, making a tsk-tsk sound. “Queen Karen isn’t used to having her loyal subjects dismiss her.”
Allie shrugged.
“Let me guess,” said Dub. “Now that you’re a big celebrity, she’s acting like your best friend again. This afternoon I heard her telling everybody that you told her all about Lucy’s murder yesterday, but that she had promised not to say anything.”
“I can’t believe it. Yesterday she wouldn’t even talk to me.” Allie shook her head in amazement. “How could I ever be so dumb as to think she was my friend?”
Dub tactfully said nothing.
“Well, I think I’ve figured something out,” said Allie.
“What?”
“When you start to see ghosts and hear voices—that’s when you find out who your friends really are.” She looked down at her hands on top of the covers, embarrassed to look at Dub. After a minute, she glanced up to find Dub grinning at her. “Okay,” she said, “I admit it. You were right about Karen. And Pam, too, I guess.” She grinned back. “I really hate it when you’re right.”
“I can’t help it,” said Dub with false modesty. “Being right is what I do.”
“It’s weird,” said Allie, speaking her thoughts out loud as they came to her. “Sometimes I see things other people don’t notice—”
“Yeah,” said Dub, interrupting. “Like ghosts!”
“But,” Allie went on, “other times, the truth is right in front of my face and I don’t see it. I mean, I kept trying to figure out what I was doing wrong to make Karen and Pam not like me, and it wasn’t my fault at all.”
“You were a little dense on that one,” Dub said. “But you caught on.” He shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Allie wryly. She picked for a moment at one of the bandages on her hand, then said, “I’m kind of sorry it’s over.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to miss her.”
Dub looked incredulous. “Karen?”
“No, silly. Lucy’s ghost.”
“I thought you said it was scary having her around.”
“It was, at first. But then it was so exciting.”
“If you ask me, it got a little too exciting this morning,” said Dub.
Allie laughed in agreement.
Dub thought for a minute and said, “She probably won’t be back, you know. I think she got what she was looking for.”
Allie nodded. “Dub, she saved my life. When I was on the cliff and Gag-Me was about to catch me, I was sure I was going to die. I think I would have, too, except all of a sudden I heard him say, ‘No! It can’t be! Go away! You’re dead!’ And then he screamed and—fell.”
Dub’s brow wrinkled in concentration. “You think he was talking to Lucy?”
“Who else?”
“You think he saw her?”
Allie nodded. “I think she appeared to him and scared him—to death.”
Dub looked impressed. “Wow.” Then he said, “What do you think will happen now?”
“Well, the truth is out now about Lucy’s murder. Gag-Me’s dead. Lucy’s mom is going to protect the glen. I guess Lucy’s ghost can go wherever spirits go to rest in peace.”
“So now everything is going to go back to normal.” Dub sounded disappointed.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Allie. She hesitated, then remembered: this was Dub. “What’s normal?” she asked.
Dub laughed. “Good question.”
“There’s no telling what might happen next.”
Dub said teasingly, “Oh, like maybe another ghost will come along tomorrow, needing your help.”
“It might,” said Allie. “I’ll be ready, just in case.”
Gofish
Questions for the Author
CYNTHIA DEFELICE
What did you want to be when you grew up?
Happy. That was it. No further ambitions.
When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
Not until I was 36. Talk about late bloomers! I was working as a school librarian, which I loved, when I suddenly KNEW I wanted to try to write the kinds of books I loved sharing with my students
What’s your first childhood memory?
I was playing down in the cellar window hole of our house (don’t ask me why) and I poked my head up out of the hole into the sunshine. There were buttercups growing nearby and they were very yellow in the sun. I had the clear thought that I was me, a unique person, and that I was part of the world. I was very young, probably four. I don’t think I had words then for the feeling I had, but I felt its meaning very strongly.
What’s your most embarrassing childhood memory?
Oooh, lots of those! And the worst part was, I couldn’t hide it. My face turned beet red—a dead giveaway every time.
What’s your favorite childhood memory?
Fishing and acting as first mate on Captain Hank Garback’s charter boat with my brothers.
As a young person, who did you look up to most?
My dad, who was a good listener and very understanding.
What was your worst subject in school?
Math. Shudder. I still have math anxiety.
What was your best subject in school?
Surprise—English!
What was your first job?
Working in a bookstore in high school.
/> How did you celebrate publishing your first book?
Oh, I worked the celebrating to death! We celebrated the acceptance phone call. Then the contract. Then the advance check. The first galleys. The first review. Publication. And on and on. Champagne, ice cream, you name it!
Where do you write your books?
In my office, second floor of my house on Seneca Lake. I am deeply attached to my office and find it difficult to write anywhere else.
Which of your characters is most like you?
Allie Nichols, except that she is much braver, smarter, and cooler than I ever was!
When you finish a book, who reads it first?
My husband. He’s a good critic. And I love getting the male point of view.
Are you a morning person or a night owl?
I’m a morning person for sure. I go to bed pathetically early.
What’s your idea of the best meal ever?
Shrimp or fish pulled fresh from the ocean and cooked right then on the grill on the boat.
Which do you like better: cats or dogs?
No contest: dogs. I really enjoyed writing about Hoover, Mr. Henry’s golden retriever, in the books about Allie Nichols. Look for Josie, a dog character in my novel Signal. There’s also a dog in the novel I’m working on now!
What do you value most in your friends?
Humor, brains, and honesty.
Who is your favorite fictional character?
I first read To Kill a Mockingbird when I was in fifth grade, and Boo Radley still haunts me.
What are you most afraid of?
Giving a dumb answer to a question like this one.
What time of year do you like best?
Fall, because that’s when we go on our summer vacation!
What’s your favorite TV show?
NFL football.
What’s the best advice you have ever received about writing?
Plan on throwing out most of what you write
What do you want readers to remember about your books?
The characters.
What would you do if you ever stopped writing?
I hope to work with horses or dogs, and volunteer to teach adults to read.
Where in the world do you feel most at home?
I crave being outdoors.
What do you wish you could do better?
I would love to be able to play a musical instrument well, and I’d love to be an accomplished horsewoman. These are both VERY distant goals. So distant that I think I’ll need to wait for my next life.
Allie is being haunted by a new ghost, a handsome young man, and he needs her help dealing with a dangerous person. Or is he the one who is dangerous?
Keep reading for an excerpt from
The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs
by Cynthia DeFelice
COMING SOON IN PAPERBACK FROM SQUARE FISH.
One
Allie Nichols knew she was dreaming, but that didn’t make the feeling of being trapped in a burning building any less terrifying. Flames surrounded her, scorching her skin, licking at her clothing and hair, sucking the oxygen from the room and from her lungs until she couldn’t breathe. Frantic, blinded by smoke and coughing, she crawled across an endless floor toward a door. When she got there, the doorknob was too hot to touch. Someone was on the other side of that door, someone who would die unless she got through. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reach the door, and it was going to be too late. And then—oh no, no, no!—the ceiling came crashing down and she was trapped, and then it was too late.
Allie woke up with a sob, drenched in sweat, the taste of ashes in her mouth. She lay still, willing her heart to stop pounding, but the nightmarish urgency and the feelings of fear and desperation lingered. Not wanting to be alone, but not wanting to disturb her parents, either, she went down the hall to her little brother Michael’s room and crawled into bed with him.
“Mmmm,” he murmured sleepily.
“Okay if I get in with you for a while, Mikey?” Allie whispered.
“Mmmm.”
Allie snuggled up to the curve of his warm, little four-year-old body and took a deep breath. What a dreadful dream! At first it had seemed to be happening to her. But then, in the strange logic of nightmares, she had felt as if she were watching and it was someone else who was struggling toward that door.
Who? And who was on the other side, waiting to be rescued? She couldn’t imagine, and at last grew tired of trying. Concentrating instead on the soft, even rhythm of Michael’s breathing, she finally fell back to sleep.
The vividness and power of the dream were still with her, though, when she woke up to find Michael staring at her curiously. “How come you’re here?” he asked.
“Don’t you remember when I came in?”
Michael shook his head. “Did you have a bad dream?” he asked.
Allie nodded.
“About the tree monster?” Michael asked, his eyes growing big and round.
“No,” said Allie, giving him a hug. “Not that dumb old monster. Remember? I told him he better not show up in your dreams or mine ever again or else.”
Michael giggled. “Oh yeah. Dumb monster!”
“My dream is all gone now,” Allie said, lying. Michael had a powerful imagination, just as she did. Sometimes he scared himself with his own fantasies. She didn’t want to get him started again on his old, bad dreams about the tree outside his window coming to grab him while he slept. “Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”
The dream stayed in the back of Allie’s mind while she and Michael ate their cereal.
When their parents joined them in the kitchen, Michael announced proudly, “Allie was in my bed this morning.”
“Trouble sleeping, sweetie?” Allie’s mother asked with concern.
“A little,” Allie answered evasively. She had been trying especially hard not to give her parents any reason to worry about her, since she’d nearly died during a class field trip to Fossil Glen just three weeks before.
Allie had never figured out quite how to explain to them that the whole Fossil Glen episode had come about because she’d been helping a ghost. Now that some time had gone by, it seemed even harder to bring up the subject. Allie was afraid that her parents would start worrying again that she didn’t know the difference between fantasy and reality.
It was asking a lot to expect them to believe that the ghost of an eleven-year-old girl named Lucy Stiles, who had been murdered, had come to Allie for help in proving it. Allie didn’t know if she’d be able to accept it if it hadn’t happened to her.
The only person who knew the whole story was her best friend, Dub Whitwell. Thank goodness for Dub, she thought, not for the first time. If it wasn’t for him, she might worry that she was crazy.
As Allie walked to school, her frightful dream replayed in her mind. She tried to concentrate during language arts, but the dream kept drifting through her thoughts, accompanied by the faint smell of smoke.
She was finally roused from her reverie when Mr. Henry announced that the school’s annual Elders Day celebration was coming up the following week. A groan rose from the class.
Mr. Henry just smiled. “I know, I know,” he said calmly. “You’ve done Elders Day in May of every school year since kindergarten. And you’re tired of it. So I was thinking that instead of having each of you bring a special older friend to school for the day, as you’ve done before, we’d do something different this year.”
Joey Fratto let out a cheer. Karen Laver muttered, “This better be good,” but, as always, she made her comment too soft for Mr. Henry to hear.
Allie sat up and listened attentively. Mr. Henry was the best sixth-grade teacher in the school, the best teacher she had ever had. He had a way of making almost every subject fun and interesting. No matter what Karen said, Allie had a feeling Mr. Henry’s plan for Elders Day was going to mean excitement.
Two
“So, Dub, who are yo
u going to interview?” Allie asked. She and her classmates were eating lunch in the cafeteria, following Mr. Henry’s announcement that the kids would interview an older person and give an oral presentation.
Dub had just taken a huge bite of his sub sandwich. He struggled to chew and swallow so he could answer, but before he had a chance, Karen spoke up. “I don’t know why we can’t just skip stupid Elders Day now that we’re in sixth grade,” she said sulkily. “I mean, enough already.”
“Well, at least Mr. Henry’s letting us do something interesting this time,” said Allie.
“Big deal,” Karen replied. “It’s just as boring.”
Allie shrugged. Karen thought everything was boring.
“As far as I’m concerned,” said Dub, “anything we do will be an improvement over last year.”
Allie laughed, along with several other kids who had been in Dub’s fifth-grade class to witness the previous year’s fiasco. Like Allie, Dub had no grandparents living conveniently nearby, so he had been stuck with bringing his neighbor, old Louie Howell, to school for Elders Day. The trouble was that Louie was almost totally deaf.
Dub groaned. “That was a real nightmare.”
“A real white hair, you say?” Imitating Louie Howell, Joey shouted in a high, whining voice, “Who’s got white hair? For the love of Myrtle, speak up, young man, and stop your mumbling!”
Everyone at the lunch table cracked up. Dub said, “Compared to that, picking an elderly person to interview will be a piece of cake. And here’s some free advice: Pick somebody who can hear your questions.”
“So, Dub,” Allie persisted, “who are you going to pick?”
“I’m going to ask Mr. Henry if it’s okay to do the interview over the phone,” Dub answered eagerly. “If he says yes, I want to call this cool old guy I met at the Cape last summer. He invents stuff using seaweed. So far he’s made spaghetti sauce, wrinkle cream, and dog bones. Last summer he was making paste to hold his false teeth in.”
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