by Janet Rising
As we sat and Mom and Alex chatted, my plan seemed to be going perfectly. They drank some wine (my mom didn’t drink too much like she did the first time they met—thus proving to Alex that she wasn’t some kind of binge drinker gone bananas), and they seemed very interested in each other.
“Where are you staying, Alex?” asked my mom.
“At Holly House B&B, about four doors down from here,” Alex replied.
“I didn’t know there was a bed and breakfast in the neighborhood,” I said.
“Pia, you never notice anything unless it involves horses,” my mom told me, lifting her eyebrows at Alex in a knowing way.
I opened my mouth to protest, but then shut it again. I couldn’t really argue with that one.
“Oh, there’s Mike—yoo-hoo, Mike, over here!” yelled my mom as Mike-the-bike strolled into the bar in his motorcycle leathers. What was he doing here?
My mom (silly as she is) had apparently told him to join us. This was a major blow to my plan. Was it my imagination or did Alex look disappointed when Mike walked in? Apparently not, as before long, Mike and Alex were yakking on like old friends—about motorcycles, can you believe it? V-Twin this and suspension that. I felt myself starting to sulk.
“What are they going on about?” I asked Mom. “Motorcycle talk is so boring.”
“That’s how we feel when you start up about horses,” my mom replied, rather harshly, I thought. And she looked all smug like she’d scored a major victory. Honestly, parents! The thought that she might not take too well to a horse lover like Alex did cross my mind, but I decided she’d get used to it. After all, she gotten used to Mike’s motorcycle. If she could ride on the back of that, she could surely ride a horse. I imagined my mom riding, getting really into it. That would be good, wouldn’t it? Providing she didn’t morph into someone like Dee’s mom, Sophie. I decided I’d have to keep an eye on that.
The rest of the evening went either really well, or very disappointingly, depending on your point of view. Alex, Mike, and my mom seemed to have a whale of a time, but my plan to get Mom together with Alex was a complete failure. I would have to think up another way to get them together without Mike, I decided. And then, my plan was initiated without my help.
“Are you staying here long, Alex?” Mom asked him.
Alex assured her that he was, and Mom suggested we all got together for another meal at the Mill House in a few days. To which Mike said he couldn’t because he was having a night out with the guys from work, but that shouldn’t stop us from going ahead, so Mom and Alex agreed to meet up without him. Perfect! I felt slightly guilty about Mike being so good about it—after all, he was the best boyfriend Mom had found so far by miles and MILES, and here he was, helping my plan to get him replaced with Alex Willard, horse trainer extraordinaire.
I calmed my conscience by telling myself that maybe my mom was interested in Alex again after all. I mean, she’d thought of meeting up again without any prompting from me. Maybe my plan had a chance of working. At last, I thought, as we walked home, something seems to be going right.
It was about time!
By the time we all got to the stables on Monday evening after school, the Time Detectives had gotten cracking! The area in the field where the house had been had been roped off, a huge great chunk of turf had been cut out by a bulldozer, and three student-types and an older man with long white hair and a beard were raking around with trowels and brushes, while a camera crew filmed a man and a woman who asked questions and got overexcited whenever anyone found a brick or a piece of anything that wasn’t dirt. Jessica and a tall, lanky bald man were wandering about with clipboards and drinking coffee out of Styrofoam cups. Several vans were also within the roped-off area. Everyone had been very excited at the thought of a film crew at the yard, but once we’d gotten used to the idea, it was actually very boring—nothing much seemed to happen—and they seemed to film it not happening all the time.
The ponies had spent all day in their stables. Considering the sacrifice was all about them, they were taking it very badly.
“WHY am I confined to the barracks?” Drum demanded to know as soon as I turned up.
“I take it you’re talking to me again,” I replied snootily. My sympathy had changed to annoyance after he had ignored me for days.
“Never mind that—what’s going on?”
I told him—skipping the part about our plan not going entirely as we had wanted and it being unlikely that we’d actually saved the stables but instead helped Robert Collins’s start on the foundations for his buildings. So Drummer softened a bit. Only a bit.
When I walked across the yard to the barn, Bambi wanted to know the same thing. Moth was her usual quiet self—thank goodness. Bluey asked me politely, and Tiffany just stood at the back of her stable, her eyes all wide and anxious. The noise of the bulldozers and camera crew traffic all day had put her on edge. Or possibly over it. Dolly was lying down and catching up on some z’s, having been to a big show the day before. She wasn’t the least bit interested, being out for the count and barred from the field anyway. Besides, she encountered all sorts of strange things at county shows every weekend.
My cell phone rang—and the number calling wasn’t on top of my list of favorites right now. I pushed the button anyway and put the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Dad!” I said, doing a pretty good job of sounding pleased to hear him.
“Hi, Pia!” Dad shouted back. At last, I thought, he stopped calling me Pumpkin. That was one good thing.
“Lyn and I are very excited about the possibility of moving near you—Laurel Heights is an amazing location. We’ll be able to see much more of you. Why, Drummer and us, we’d be neighbors—or neigh-bors! Get it? Ha ha!”
I got it. That joke was at least two centuries old, and it hadn’t been funny when it had been wheeled out the first time. I was not amused.
“Actually, Dad,” I began, intending to set him straight about Drummer being threatened with eviction due to the development, but Dad talked over me.
“Listen, don’t get your hopes up, Pumpkin…” My heart sank. There was no chance of my hopes getting up, nothing ever seemed to go right—even my Pumpkin crusade. “But I know Lyn’s very keen on the plot of land.”
“OK, I won’t,” I said meekly.
“Anyway, Pia, when are we going to see you? Soon I hope!”
“Er, things are a bit hectic at the moment, Dad,” I replied, crossing my fingers behind my back in preparation for the lies to come. As it happened, I didn’t need them. Dad didn’t want specific plans. He was just talking to talk. After a few more moments of talking about school and how I was doing, he hung up, leaving me more discouraged than ever about the proposed development.
“Was that your Dad?” asked Drummer. I nodded. “Can’t wait to get rid of all of us so he can live here?”
“In a nutshell!” I told him.
“Won’t come to that,” Drummer assured me.
“How can you possibly know?” I wailed. I could see it all: Skinny Lynny parking her red sports car in the garage where Drummer’s stable now stood. Walking over to her house, our barn (converted), her high heels clicking on the path, picking a rose from around the door and sighing at the countryness of it all. My shoulders slumped with hopelessness.
“I’m telling you,” said Drummer, “it will never happen. You mark my words.”
I wanted to believe him. I just couldn’t.
I had such high hopes for dinner with my mom and Alex at the Mill House on Tuesday, I could hardly sit still. This was so going to work! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I could so get my mom a suitable boyfriend. More suitable than the ones she picked herself, although I was a bit troubled by my casual discarding of Mike-the-bike. He was definitely her best boyfriend yet, and I still had pangs of guilt at the thought of him being dumpe
d. But think of the bigger picture! Alex Willard as a step-dad. Hello!
Mom and I got to the restaurant first, and as we waited for Alex to arrive, I fiddled with the menu. I fidgeted. I kept sighing. In the end, Mom told me I was getting on her nerves and to act my age.
“Honestly, Pia, that Lhasa apso over there is better behaved than you,” she said, tutting.
“It’s a shih tzu, actually,” I mumbled, throwing the menu onto the table and sighing again. Just before Mom got all heavy about attitude, someone came through the door and saved me. “Oh, there’s Alex!” I cried, leaping up.
Air kisses were exchanged. Got to improve on that, I thought.
We all sat down, and Alex and my mom started talking like they were old friends. I couldn’t believe how well things were going. I even heard my mom ask whether anyone was missing Alex at home (how transparent!) and how long he’d known Jessica, and he assured her he had no one at home and told her that he had known Jessica and her husband (phew, I was worried there for a minute) for some time. My mom seemed pleased too. I mean, it was all working out perfectly, and I could just tell Mom was still into Alex. She looked so thrilled once she’d established that Alex was a free agent. I felt almost like I had a sign to wave that said Alex Willard for Pia’s Step-dad! I could hardly sit still I was so excited about how well things were panning out.
And then, of course, we had a reality check. Big time.
“Hiya, Suze!” a shrill voice pierced the air and the Lhasa apso, shih tzu, whatever, leaped in the air and started barking hysterically like a siren had gone off.
Oh no, no, nooo! I thought, my heart sinking. Would nothing I organize ever go right?
“Carol!” exclaimed my mom, feigning surprise very badly.
Yeah, right! I thought. You don’t fool me. It was totally obvious she’d tipped her dreadful man-eating friend Carol off and got her to come along. What for, I did not know. It wasn’t long, though, before things began to fall into place.
“You must be Alex!” gushed Carol, smiling so widely it was like a black hole opening up and I thought we were all going to get sucked into it and disappear forever. She swung her ample chest in Alex’s direction, followed by the rest of her. As far as her skimpy pink halter top went, there was more of Carol out than in, and I couldn’t tell whether Alex was startled or impressed.
“You must join us,” insisted Mom, unable to keep the smugness out of her voice as she pulled up another chair next to Alex for her friend.
I wasn’t the only one with plans, I thought. It was becoming obvious where I’d inherited my scheming ways. There I was trying to set my mom up with Alex, and here she was trying to set him up with Carol. Not that Carol needed anyone’s help—she never did. All flashing eyes, cleavage, and teeth, she brushed Alex’s arm throughout the meal, hung on his every word, and laughed like a hyena whenever he said anything remotely amusing. It was as though someone, somewhere, had decided that whatever I tried to do, they were going to make sure it didn’t happen. Furiously I tore my paper napkin to shreds under the table and got more and more annoyed. If this was karma, I must have done something terrible.
I went to the bathroom to beat the walls in frustration and have a good scream. Only I couldn’t do that either because there were two women in there gossiping and complaining about their so-called friend they’d left at the table. My leaden feet dragged me back to the scene of disappointment where Alex was telling my mom and Carol all about the Time Detectives’ dig and their latest research, which was much more interesting than listening to Carol’s alternate hysterical and inane ramblings.
“I thought it was an Elizabethan house?” my mom asked. What had I missed, I thought.
Alex nodded and gulped down some wine. “Yes, the one Jessica is most interested in was built around 1600, but there was another house built to the right of it in 1750, after a fire destroyed the first one. The same family built and lived in both—well, generations of the same family, I mean.”
Carol went off into one of her over-the-top laughs, which made everything on her shudder, which made me shudder. Mom leaned forward and urged Alex to continue. She seemed fascinated—and so was I. This was far more interesting than listening to Carol blabbing on, even if I was in the depths of despair over my failed plan.
“Yes,” repeated Alex, “generations of the same family. They’re all buried in the church in town. It used to be their family church, apparently. They built it.”
“What, St. Mark’s?” asked my mom.
“If that’s what it’s called.” Alex nodded. “They fill about a quarter of the graveyard, so I’m told. Well, their remains do.”
I shuddered again.
“What was their name?” asked Mom.
Alex frowned. “Hmmm, can’t remember, something to do with boats. It’s all in the local and church records. Jessica has had her researchers finding out as much as they can. Apparently, one of the early ancestors married an heiress, another one made a lot of money in investments, and there was a scandal with two of the sons after World War I. There were four sons originally, but two died in the trenches in France. The eldest of those left was due to inherit the estate, but the youngest made a lot of noise about it not being fair and wanting half of it. Anyway, the eldest solved that particular argument by secretly running off with one of the girls in the village and was never seen again.”
“Oh, how romantic!” gushed Carol, clutching her chest in a demonstration of how much she was moved by the story.
“So who got the money?” asked Mom.
“Well, it doesn’t have a happy ending I’m afraid,” Alex continued. “The second son was a gambler—which was why he was so keen to get hold of the inheritance—and had already run up huge debts. According to Jessica’s researchers, the old man had never wanted his younger son to inherit, and there was talk of him considering leaving his estate to a cousin, but he died before he could change his will so the younger son inherited after all.”
“Sounds suspicious,” said Carol, smacking her lips together in morbid glee. I had to agree with her on this one. Very suspicious!
“I bet the younger son killed the father!” Carol added, her eyes shining.
“What happened then?” asked Mom, leaning forward.
“The son continued to gamble, continued to lose, running up more and more debts, and eventually he died in poverty, the end of the family line. There were rumors that he went crazy in the end, running through the empty house yelling and cursing.”
“Guilt!” cried Carol triumphantly. “Guilt drove him crazy!”
“Why didn’t he sell the house?” asked Mom, not into the sensationalism.
“No one wanted it, apparently,” Alex explained, shrugging. “No money around just after the War. The house fell into disrepair and had to be demolished.”
Wow, I thought, all that drama that had gone on in Drummer’s field. No wonder Tiffany’s a nervous wreck.
“That’s a cheerful little story!” exclaimed my mom, sitting back and picking up the dessert menu. “How about something sweet to get us all smiling again?”
“Good idea,” I agreed. I might as well get something out of this evening, seeing as my master plan had gone down the drain.
Carol rubbed her hands together and grinned. “That was fascinating!” she told Alex. “Do you think the family’s ghosts all haunt the area?”
“Don’t be stupid, Carol!” snapped Mom, glancing at me.
“Oh, sorry!” mumbled Carol, rolling her eyes. “There is no such thing as ghosts, you know that don’t you, Pia? I was only joking!”
I gave her an indulgent smile and picked up my Coke. I decided I’d have lemon meringue pie. That would cheer me up.
“Oh, I remember what the family’s name was,” said Alex, clicking his fingers. “I knew it would come to me—it’s not exactly to do
with boats, but you’ll get the connection when I tell you.”
“Well?” asked Carol, hanging on his every word. I sighed and took a swig of Coke.
“Rowe!” said Alex. “The family name was Rowe.”
I spit Coke all over the table.
I couldn’t wait to get to the yard the next day and tell everyone. To say I was freaked was an understatement—but how I felt was nothing compared to how Bean took the news.
“You mean that lunatic we called up on the Ouija board really existed?” she screeched at me, throwing her arms around like a windmill.
I knew she was a little bit upset, because she had Tiffany on the end of the lead rope, and she never, ever does anything around her pony that might upset her. Tiffany reminded her of this policy by throwing her head up and backing up across the yard in a frenzy, yelling, “What? What? What?”
“Oh, Tiff, sorry, sorry, it’s all right,” soothed Bean, focusing on her pony and putting her own feelings on the back burner until Tiffany had calmed down and was convinced that nothing terrible was about to happen—for the time being anyway. Once Bean had put Tiffany in her stable, she turned on me again.
“Are you sure that’s the name Alex gave you?” she asked, her face white.
“What’s the commotion about?” said a voice. We both jumped about a mile in the air. Talk about edgy!
“Oh, James, you scared us half to death!” scolded Bean.
“What? What did I do?” asked James, all innocent—which, of course, he was.
We explained. A low whistle escaped James. “That is so cool!” he said, grinning. “That Adam Rowe fellow, the one we got at the séance, moaning about his bad death, that must have been the dad. His younger son must have murdered him!”
“That’s what Carol said,” I told him.
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
“I told you I wasn’t pushing the little pointer thing, didn’t I?” said James.
I had already thought of that. So didn’t want to. Bean shuddered. “Stop it!”
