by Elly Swartz
I shrug. “Brad got a message from Cat Momma, and I just came from Jessica’s to try and work on the stupid Shakespeare thing.”
“And?”
“I, on behalf of Brad, deleted Cat Momma, and Jessica was just weird.” For some reason, it feels like a betrayal to tell him details about what happened when I was at Jessica’s house. “So what did you learn about the Hogan family, Sir Sleuth?”
He opens the file and unloads the history of every Hogan family member since the ’40s. Their family tree is a cross-pollination of greed and power. Kind of reminds me of Macbeth.
“So guess what else I discovered?” Elliot asks.
“These people are like real-life bloodsuckers?” I make my best vampire face.
He doesn’t laugh, despite how funny I am. Instead, he gives me the I’m-serious head lean.
I inhale my vampire face. “Okay, what did you find out?”
“No one has seen Reggie’s cousin Mickey.”
“This is the big revelation? Maybe he’s working nights and sleeping days.”
Elliot shakes his head.
“Maybe he shut off his phone.”
Elliot shakes his head.
“Maybe he’s on vacation.”
Elliot shakes his head.
“Maybe he’s—”
“Dead,” Elliot says.
Elliot says he’s working on a plan. I’m not sure I want to hear it, but tonight I’m saved by the Mendelson party. Dad texted me a long list of to-dos that begins with trash and ends with a tray filled with little hot dog appetizers. I quickly gather the garbage and bring it outside to the bins. This time, no sign of Annie.
When I’m done, I pop downstairs. I see Dad’s added to the puzzle. The littlest pup has her whole tail. The rooms in the B&B are decorated with twinkle lights, yellow tulips from Maisy’s Florist in town (Mrs. Mendelson’s favorite flower), and photos of the couple over the years. I like the one where Mr. Mendelson’s head is tilted back and his whole body is laughing. I wonder what Mrs. Mendelson said to make him laugh like that.
I pass Dad at his desk. He’s on the phone. “Of course. I understand. Maybe the next time you’re in the area.” He hangs up, comes around, and gives me a hug.
“Francine, you look beautiful.” The words wrap me like a warm blanket. “And you need to put shoes on those feet.”
I look down and my blue, red, green, orange, and pink toenails stare up at me. Rule #6—Shoes. Shoes. Shoes. This one I’m not so good at remembering. I meant to put my shoes on but got stuck cleaning my room (item four on my to-do list) and forgot. I climb the stairs, slip on my uncomfortable, dad-approved shoes with no mud or holes and run back downstairs. Dad shoots me a thumbs-up and hands me the tray of hot dogs.
“Who were you talking to before?” I take the tray and pop a dog in my mouth.
“Just a guest who needed to cancel. Sick relative.”
The words swallow the flowers, the twinkly lights, and the laughing photos. I don’t know what to say, so I offer Dad a hot dog.
“Not now, but save me one for later. I need to check with Mr. Mendelson to see what time he wants to start the ceremony.”
The lobby is flooded with people. Everyone visiting the B&B was invited, plus the Mendelsons’ family. Mr. Mendelson has ten siblings, and all live under two hours from here. Right away I recognize one of the brothers. His one, long eyebrow is just like Mr. Mendelson’s.
“Hot dog?” I offer.
Unibrow smiles and takes three. He lines the hot dogs up on a napkin and carefully adds a dab of spicy mustard to each one. “You see,” he says, “it’s all in the system.”
I nod.
“Oh, sorry.” He puts his dog system on the end table and reaches his hand out. “I’m Asher, Eli Mendelson’s youngest brother.”
“Frankie.” His hand swallows mine.
“You must be Brad’s daughter.”
I nod and wonder how he knows. I never thought I looked like Dad. Gram always says I look like Mom, “Same round cheeks, brown curls, and intelligent eyes, one smart cookie, just like your mom.”
“Well, thanks for helping out tonight. My brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t celebrate their anniversary anywhere else.”
They may not feel that way if they knew there might be a ghost named Mickey haunting the place.
Asher wanders over to the shrimp platter. I see him line up the shrimp and dump cocktail sauce on each one. His drench with condiment system seems to transfer to all appetizers.
Gram’s serving champagne and smiling. She glances my way and winks. I think she looks beautiful in her navy dress.
I wander around the room handing out hot dogs. The room’s packed with toothy smiles and pat-on-the-back congratulations. When my silver tray is empty, I dip into the kitchen for a refill. There are like a hundred more mini hot dogs sitting on the counter.
“I’ve told you before, selling is not an option.”
I look around. The kitchen’s empty. I don’t see Dad, but recognize his you’re-about-to-be-grounded voice. He used it after the purple linens incident.
“Well, you might not have a choice. Soon I’m going to own you and your promissory note. And I’m not as forgiving as that bank of yours.” The gravel in this voice echoes through the kitchen.
“You’re not going to get the note. The bank will understand. Business is cyclic, that’s all this is,” Dad says.
“Don’t kid yourself, Brad. Your business isn’t cyclic, it’s in trouble.”
The business is in trouble?
“And it’s not getting any better. I’ve heard the rumors just like you.”
“They’re just rumors.”
“Maybe so. But no one wants to stay at a haunted inn.”
Chuckle.
Cough.
Chuckle.
I recognize that voice and freeze like an ice sculpture.
The door slams. I see Dad return to the party, and finally exhale. Then I put down my tray and step into the hall.
In the middle of the floor is a toothpick and the lingering smell of burger grease.
The Mendelson party ends around midnight. Long after the mini hot dogs are gone, the ceremony is over, and Dad’s threatened by Reggie, I text Elliot that we need to meet in the morning. Code Red–Hot Chili Peppers. I watch Lucy stare at Winston as he weaves around his paper towel roll to his tower of blocks, then to his sock hammock. I flip and turn and flip and turn, thinking about Dad and Jessica. I shouldn’t care about her. She’s not a friend. Anymore. But I can’t unsee what I saw at her apartment. Eyes open. Eyes closed. I can’t get comfortable. The only thing that distracts me from worrying about Jessica is the memory of Reggie’s voice piercing my brain.
I open my butterfly book.
Dear Mom,
Someone at the party said I look like Dad. No one’s ever said that before. People have always thought I looked like you. That I have your eyes. Your wild curls. And your duck feet. So tonight when I brushed my teeth, I stared in the mirror for a while holding the photo of Dad at the lake next to my face. Please tell me I don’t have his nose. Or his droopy ears. Do you think I look like Dad? No offense, but I like looking like you.
And here’s the other thing. I’m scared something bad is about to happen. I’m not sure what to do. I want to ask Gram, but she doesn’t seem like Gram lately. She’s wearing perfume and maybe even lipstick. And, she keeps ordering hangers and lots of weird stuff.
Maybe I’ll ask Elliot about it. Tomorrow he reveals his big plan. Help us both!
Love you,
Francine
P.S. I ate like twenty of those mini hot dogs. They could be my favorite food group. Dad says you used to like them, too.
P.P.S. I’m sort of freaking out about this ghost thing. So if it’s you, give me a signal or something.
At 3:00 a.m., I read my letter to Winston. He twitches his nose and I’m pretty sure he agrees that I look more like Mom. Lucy stops listening, snuggles up close, and falls asleep. Some
times I wish I was a dog. I grab my phone and make a list of the best Word Play words I can think of. At 5:00 a.m., I get out of bed and nudge Lucy. “Come on, girl. Time to find out what’s going on.”
I slide into my fuzzy-on-the-inside slippers and tiptoe downstairs. There are too many secrets crowding my brain. Time to unearth one of them. I grab a screwdriver and a shish kebob skewer and head outside. Lucy runs ahead, happily chasing the squirrels and chipmunks that are surprised to see us awake so early.
I walk over to the shed where Elliot’s meter went off. Not sure what I’m even looking for. A ghost probably isn’t hanging out in the shed waiting for me. I mean by now it could be in Yahtzee or Gram’s room or nowhere. Truth is, I don’t know if I even believe any of this spirit stuff, but something is going on and Dad needs my help.
I inhale deeply to move my brave to the surface. “Okay, here goes.”
When I glance at the lock, I realize the screwdriver was a bad choice, so I try the skewer. I saw this once on some crime show I watched with Elliot. My hands grip the lock tightly. The metal’s icy. My body feels cold and nervous hot-sweaty at the same time, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I need to know what’s going on. I need to fix things. Lucy gives up on the critters and joins me. I pick at the lock hoping to loosen the secrets hidden inside.
Then I hear a door slam behind me, and my entire body freezes.
“Francine, what are you doing out here?” Dad wants to know.
I turn around to find confusion wrapped in a navy-blue robe.
My brain searches for a good explanation, but I don’t have one. Not one that makes any sense. “Um, Lucy didn’t feel well, so I brought her outside.”
Half true.
I stuff the skewer and screwdriver into my pocket and pull my sweatshirt down to cover any trace of my lock-picking tools.
“Is she okay?” Dad asks.
“She barfed, and I was going to … uh … bury it. You know the whole people-are-counting-on-us thing,” I say. “No one wants to step in puke.” I give him a nod-along-with-me-we’re-in-this-together look and hope he buys it.
He stares at me a beat too long, and I think I may need to come clean. I start to wonder what a lifetime of being grounded actually feels like.
“That was very responsible of you,” he says.
Guilt squeezes my entire body.
“Come inside. Let’s get you and Lucy something for breakfast. It’s early and cold.”
The kitchen feels undeservedly toasty. Dad hands me a plate of scrambled eggs with dill and a heaping portion of bacon. Lucy gets plain rice.
Sorry, Lucy.
Dad sits next to me, breaks his bacon into tiny bits, and mixes it into his eggs. A family tradition. Years ago, I asked why we don’t just cook the bacon into the eggs, and Dad said, “That’s just the way Pop did it, the way his dad did it, and the way I do it.”
I break up my bacon and mix it into my eggs. “The Mendelsons seemed so happy last night. You did a really good job,” I say.
He smiles. “Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without your help. We’re a good team, Francine.”
I nod. I know that’s true. I’m just hoping to expand our roster by one.
When Dad gets up to make the breakfast for the rest of the B&B, I quietly hand Lucy a piece of I’m-sorry bacon, then clear my plate. “So last night, did everything go as planned?” I ask, waiting for him to tell me what happened with Reggie or show me a sign that everything’s really okay or give me the dreaded we-need-to-talk-in-the-library face.
None of that happens. He nods and adds hot sauce to the eggs. I guess we’re moving on.
“Where’s Gram?”
“Sleeping.”
I look at the vegetable clock on the wall. It’s 6:00 a.m. “She’s usually been up for two hours by now.” Actually, she was the one I was worried I’d run into on my mission to meet the ghost.
“True. Hand me the sea salt.”
I pause when I give him the wooden shaker, expecting he’ll fill me in, but again, he doesn’t.
“She okay?”
He nods and reaches for the pepper.
I decide I’ll find out what’s going on when she comes down to make the cookies. It’s her day. I inhale the rest of my breakfast. Apparently, no sleep equals hunger. “Got to run, meeting Elliot.” Then the next mom candidate. I leave this part out. Seems lately a lot of our conversations are filled with empty holes of things not said.
“Okay, one thing before you go.”
This is it. He’s going to tell me what’s going on.
“I need you back here later today to make the check-in cookies.”
“Why? It’s Gram’s turn.” I grab some bacon for Elliot.
“We just need a hand. Gram’s got stuff to do.” I think about it and remember Gram said she was on a deadline to get the senior center’s newsletter out. Plus, the timing of the cookie making may work out well with Evelyn’s “accidental” run-in with Dad anyway.
“Okey dokey.”
He kisses my forehead and grabs the whistling tea kettle.
Lucy follows me down to Headquarters. While we wait for Elliot, I pull out my phone, open Word Play, guess three wrong letters, and realize my mind’s like a pinball machine on tilt. I can’t focus. Lucy isn’t having that problem. She’s trailing a beetle all over the floor.
“Sorry I’m late!” Elliot hollers as he tromps down the basement stairs. “My mom’s emergency list of nonemergency things I had to get done immediately was twice its normal length, and that was before she tacked on feeding Huey and cleaning his cage.” Huey was Elliot’s eighth birthday present. A very cute, very fat, now very old teddy bear hamster. So old, his fur has actually changed from milk chocolate to baking-tin gray.
“You may be right.” I hand him the bacon.
“I know I’m right. I would’ve been here thirty minutes ago, if it wasn’t for the list. How does emptying the dishwasher and folding the laundry qualify as an emergency?”
“I’m not talking about that.”
“This bacon’s so good. Like a smoky maple. If you guys didn’t already have a B&B, I would seriously be discussing the need to open a restaurant with your dad. This stuff is gold.”
“Reggie was here last night.”
Elliot stops mid–bacon chew. “Headquarters?”
“The party.”
“Your dad invited him to the Mendelsons’ vow renewal?”
I give him the you’re-an-idiot look. “No. He wasn’t invited. He just showed up.”
“At the ceremony?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t actually see him, I overheard him in the kitchen.” I told Elliot about the rumor, the cancellations, the cyclic business, and the we-may-be-in-trouble conversation.
“Maybe the person you overheard wasn’t Reggie,” Elliot says, diving back into the bacon.
“Only one person sounds like his voice went through a meat grinder. Besides, he left one of his disgusting toothpicks and the scent of burger grease behind.”
Silence.
“Well?” I see a fly buzz toward Lucy and the beetle. “Say something.”
“I told you there’s a ghost around here and Reggie’s got something to do with it. Do you believe me now?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, there are lots of reasons your maybe should be a yes.” Elliot’s list includes:
The ten on the ghost meter
The moaning and floating rumors
Reggie’s threat against my dad
Reggie’s known lack of heart (I mean, who doesn’t give out candy on Halloween?)
The mysterious disappearance of Mickey
I then confess my failed mission to meet the ghost at 5:00 a.m. this morning.
Elliot smirks. “So deep down where you won’t admit it, you really do think there’s a ghost.”
“I’m just worried about my dad.”
He sits down and pulls something out of his backpack. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.” Elliot opens
his laptop to a file titled Dead Guy.
“Original,” I say.
“To the point.” He takes me through his elaborate plan.
Step 1: Meet in Headquarters.
Step 2: Bring a box of fresh cookies. Please make a few extra for Elliot.
Step 3: Walk to Reggie’s building.
I’m following along until I get to step four.
Step 4: Sneak into Reggie’s office.
“We can’t just walk into Reggie’s office,” I say.
Lucy has the beetle wedged in the corner and is trying to play with it. She doesn’t fully appreciate that the beetle may not think her teeth on its body is fun.
“The plan doesn’t say walk in—it says sneak in.” Elliot points to Step 4.
“So you and I are going to break into Reggie’s office. Unnoticed?”
Elliot nods.
“I hate to bring you back to reality, but we can’t even eat the afternoon cookies without getting caught by Gram.” It was fifth grade, an early-dismissal day from school. Elliot and I walked into the B&B and the entire first floor smelled like gingerbread. We skipped our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and instead ate the entire two dozen cookies. I threw up gingerbread for the next two hours and was grounded for the whole weekend.
“But we created an online profile for your dad in secret. And we’re finding you a mom in secret.”
“That’s different.” I don’t know how, but I know it is. “Look, I’ve actually got to meet the next Possible in a few minutes. Let’s talk later and figure out a plan that doesn’t involve breaking into Reggie’s office.”
“This plan will work. It’s the only way to find out what he’s up to. And it’s not like we’re going in with clown masks—we’re going in as ourselves,” Elliot says.
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Trust me.”
“That’s what scares me.”
I leave Elliot in Headquarters outlining the details of our great break-in, while I slip back upstairs. Evelyn’s on her way, and I’ve got only forty-nine days left to find a mom.
My phone rings. It’s Jessica. I want to answer, but when I look at my watch, I realize I’m late. I hit IGNORE, run up to my room, make my bed, put on shoes (it’s too early to know if Evelyn is a fan of assorted toe nail colors and no socks), attempt to tame my mane with a brush, and fly back down stairs.
