The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs Page 7

  “Dub? Hi. It’s me.” She stopped, unsure what to say next. She’d never before felt awkward with Dub. “Uh, I wasn’t sure you’d be back. How was skating?”

  “Great!”

  “Oh.”

  “The new rink is awesome.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s Pam?”

  “She’s really cool, Al, when you get to know her.”

  Allie couldn’t believe her ears. She didn’t want to believe her ears. She realized that what she was feeling was jealousy, which was totally dumb. How could she be jealous over Dub?

  She remembered John Walker saying that Dub was jealous. Was it true? And was he trying to get back at Allie and make her feel the same way by hanging around with Pam? It was ridiculous! But maybe . . .

  Meanwhile, Dub was going on and on. “Now that she’s not really friends with Karen, she’s completely different.”

  “Yeah, well, wasn’t it you who said a leopard doesn’t change her spots overnight?” Allie said.

  “Geez, how come you’re being so grouchy?”

  “I’m not being grouchy!” Allie said loudly, hearing as she spoke how grouchy she sounded.

  “If you say so,” said Dub. “Hey, how was the library?”

  “Something really, really strange happened.” Allie took a deep breath and told him everything.

  “Wow,” Dub said when she had finished.

  “I know. Pretty amazing how she made the microfilm melt, huh?”

  “You think she did that?”

  “Well, I don’t think it was a coincidence. It happened just when I was reading that the fire was suspicious and they were questioning Mrs. Hobbs.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Dub?”

  “I’m here,” Dub said slowly. “You know what you’re saying, don’t you? That would mean she killed her husband and her own baby.”

  “I know,” said Allie. “And John Walker, too, don’t forget. My ghost.”

  “But why would she go back in the house and nearly kill herself trying to save them if she set the fire in the first place?” Dub asked.

  “To prevent anyone from suspecting her,” Allie answered. To herself she added, Obviously.

  “Sounds kind of far-fetched to me,” Dub said matter-of-factly.

  “Well, what do you think happened, then?” asked Allie, suddenly furious.

  “I have no idea, Al,” Dub said carefully. “I’m just saying it’s kind of hard to believe that somebody would kill her own kid. Even the Snapping Turtle.”

  “Then why did she make the microfilm melt just when I was about to find out more? If she’s innocent, why not let me read all about it in the paper?”

  “I don’t know.” Dub was quiet for a minute. “But if she can do stuff like that, maybe you should stay away from her.”

  “Yeah. But what about John Walker?”

  “What about him?”

  “Dub! What if I’d just ignored Lucy Stiles? Raymond Gagney would have gotten away with murdering her!”

  “This seems different somehow.”

  “How?” Allie demanded.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Dub said thoughtfully. “This guy Walker . . . I can’t figure him out. If he really was murdered, and he wants you to prove it, he’s not giving you much to go on. You know what I mean?”

  Allie couldn’t believe Dub. “What do you mean, if he was murdered?”

  “Look, what I mean is, Lucy tried to help you, giving you clues and stuff,” Dub went on. “This guy kind of shows up and looks sad, and leaves you to fill in the blanks by yourself.”

  Allie felt outraged on John Walker’s behalf. The poor guy was dead, murdered, and all Dub could do was pick on him. “I’m sure he’s trying his best,” she said tightly.

  “Maybe,” said Dub. “But this letter from Hobbsy . . . It’s creepy. I’m afraid you’ll end up in trouble.”

  “Like I didn’t end up in trouble last time, when Gag-Me was trying to kill me in the glen!”

  “Okay, okay. All I’m saying is, you might not be so lucky this time, Al.”

  “Dub, since when are you such a wimp? I was hoping you’d help me figure out a plan.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do,” said Dub angrily. “But what do you need a wimp like me for? You’ve got your precious ghost, which is the only thing you seem to care about.”

  Allie listened with disbelief to the click of the phone as Dub hung up. Tears sprang to her eyes. It was so unfair! She’d always counted on Dub to understand, but he was just as bad as everyone else. No, worse. Because she’d thought she could count on him, no matter what.

  “I’m sorry, Allie. It’s awful when people you care about turn their backs on you, isn’t it? I know how you feel.”

  He was there. His beautiful, sorrowful face appeared before her, his dark eyes looking into hers, his lips curved in a sympathetic smile. He knew how she felt. He was the only one who did.

  “He’s jealous, of course. But maybe he’s right. Maybe you’d better stop. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Wait!” Allie cried. “Please don’t disappear again. I don’t want to give up, but I don’t know how to go on. My dad says I have to stay away from Mrs. Hobbs.”

  “He’s right.”

  “And let her get away with what she did to you? It isn’t fair!”

  “Life isn’t fair,” he said sadly. “And neither is death. But I shouldn’t have asked you to take this on, Allie. The price is too high.”

  Allie was desperate to get some answers before John Walker disappeared again. “She killed you, didn’t she?”

  Walker’s expression clouded. “Yes.”

  Allie gasped, although she had known the answer.

  “You’re amazing, Allie, to figure that out on your own. But you must stop now, to protect your sweet self from harm.”

  He reached out, and this time Allie was certain she could feel the caress of his hand on her cheek.

  Then he was gone.

  Allie put her hand to her face, trying to hold on to the feeling of John Walker’s touch. How could she let him down, when she was all he had?

  Fifteen

  Fired up with renewed determination, Allie dialed the phone number for the library, thinking that perhaps she could return and pick up her research where she’d left off. She got a recording saying that the library was closed for the rest of the day, Saturday, but would reopen on Sunday at noon. She sighed, frustrated by the delay.

  The phone rang then, interrupting her fretting. She grabbed it quickly, allowing herself the small hope that it was Dub calling to make everything between them right again. “Hello?” she said eagerly.

  “Allie?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Chief Rasmussen.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised. “Hi. Do you want to talk to my dad?”

  “Yes, I understand he called. But as long as I’ve got you, let me tell you something. I got to thinking about the Hobbs fire, and I came back here to the station and looked up the old records. I thought you might be interested in what I found, if you’re going to be interviewing Evelyn Hobbs.”

  Might be interested? She was dying to hear anything about Mrs. Hobbs and the fire that had killed John Walker! Trying to sound casual, she asked, “What did you find?”

  “You’d have read about most of it in the newspaper, if the microfilm machine hadn’t broken. But some of the details of the investigation didn’t get into the papers. We had our suspicions, but we couldn’t prove anything.”

  “Suspicions about what?”

  “Well, we knew the fire was set deliberately.”

  “I read that you suspected it was,” Allie answered eagerly. “Who did you think did it?”

  At that moment a siren began to sound. Allie heard it over the phone line, incredibly shrill and loud, and in her other ear, more faintly, as it carried across town from the fire station.

  Chief Ra
smussen shouted over the sound, which must have been very loud to him, “That’s the bell! Call me later!”

  Allie sat for a moment, listening to the dial tone, then groaned and hung up.

  Her father called up the stairs to say it was time for lunch. As they were eating, Michael imitated the sound of the fire sirens that continued to blare across town, and Mr. Nichols asked, “Who was that on the phone?”

  “It was Chief Rasmussen, but the fire alarm rang and he had to go.”

  “Poor guy’s having a busy day,” said Mr. Nichols.

  Allie was glad her father didn’t ask anything more. She didn’t mention that the chief had information for her about Mrs. Hobbs.

  Michael was blissfully trying to feed his grilled cheese sandwich to Vulture-Breath. “Can we go to the game now?” he asked.

  “As soon as Vulture-Breath finishes his lunch,” Mr. Nichols answered.

  Ordinarily Allie loved watching lacrosse. But sitting in the high school bleachers next to Michael, she found it impossible to concentrate on the figures racing about on the field. Even when the Seneca Heights Hornets scored and Michael and her father rose to their feet, cheering excitedly, and the stands around her were going wild, Allie’s thoughts were far from the game.

  Either she had to figure out a way—and find the courage—to finish the interview with Mrs. Hobbs, or she had to pick somebody else. She didn’t have much time: she had to make her presentation on Monday.

  Her father and John Walker himself had both told her to stay away from Mrs. Hobbs. Mrs. Hobbs had warned her off, and Dub had put in his two cents on the subject, as well. But Mrs. Hobbs was Allie’s only link to John Walker. Mrs. Hobbs was the reason John Walker was stuck on earth as a ghost. Once the murder was exposed and justice was done, John Walker would be able to rest in peace, like Lucy Stiles. Everything led Allie to this same conclusion.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Dub walking by the bleachers with a hot dog in his hand. His face broke into a smile, and she rose from her seat to holler to him. She was about to open her mouth when she realized he wasn’t looking her way. He began climbing the stands to join someone. Allie craned her neck to see who it was. A sick feeling washed through her as she watched Dub sit down next to Pam Wright. Pam playfully grabbed the hot dog, took a bite, and handed it back to Dub.

  Allie could feel her face burning, and she quickly closed her mouth and looked away, trying to appear unconcerned. But it was too late: she’d been caught. To her dismay, her eyes fell on the smirking face of Karen Laver, sitting with her older brother and his cool friends several rows behind Allie and her family. Karen, who had obviously been watching the whole scene, gave Allie a pout of mock sympathy and mouthed the words “Poor baby” before breaking into a wide smile.

  “Did you see that shot?” Allie’s father shouted excitedly. “He faked the goalie right out of his shorts!”

  Michael and Mr. Nichols exchanged a high-five to celebrate the score, and Michael shouted along with the crowd, “Go, Hornets! Sting ’em!”

  Allie quickly turned away from Karen, furious with herself for revealing her feelings, and furious with Dub for making her look like a fool. She’d often wished that Pam would wise up and quit following Karen around like a loyal puppy dog. But now that Pam seemed to be doing just that, Allie felt angry at her, too.

  Allie tried not to see the backs of Dub’s and Pam’s heads as they laughed and talked together in the bleachers below her, but her eyes kept being drawn in their direction. She hated them, and she hated the way she felt, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  Sixteen

  As Allie, Michael, and their father joined the crush of people leaving the lacrosse field after the game, they heard someone shouting loudly across the parking lot. A horrified murmur ran through the crowd, followed by a hush, then a burst of voices talking all at once.

  “—a false alarm—”

  “There wasn’t any fire?”

  “No. But Chief Rasmussen, he—”

  “What happened?”

  “There was an accident at the station house.”

  “An accident? Is he all right?”

  “He fell.”

  “What did you say?” Without thinking, Allie grabbed the elbow of the man in front of her and spun him around to face her. “Tell me, please!”

  The man was pale, his expression shocked. “They’re saying he—the chief—slipped. Off the pole, they say, when he was sliding down. They think he’s hurt pretty badly.”

  Allie struggled to take in the man’s words, feeling dizzy and unreal. No, that can’t be true, she thought. He was at my house this morning. I just talked to him on the phone. It’s impossible! There was something he wanted to tell me.

  A sharp tingle ran through her, and she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Chief Rasmussen’s fall had not been an accident!

  A feeling of despair swept over her. Until now she had not understood the full extent of Mrs. Hobbs’s power, or the depth of her malevolence. Even worse for Allie was the realization that whatever had happened to Chief Rasmussen was her fault. She was the one who had brought up the subject of the Hobbs fire, rekindling the chief’s memories and causing him to look up the records on the case. He had been doing Allie a favor, trying to help with her project by giving her information from the investigation.

  Allie felt her father’s arms around her and heard his concerned voice. “Allie, honey, are you all right?” She buried her face in his chest and cried, while he patted her back and comforted her.

  Allie wanted more than anything to pour out the whole story to her father, to pass the burden to him and let him decide what to do next. But she couldn’t.

  Mrs. Hobbs had hurt the chief because of his knowledge. Allie was afraid that if she told her father everything, he would be in danger, too. The idea of something happening to him terrified her.

  Who else had she told about her suspicions?

  Dub! Her heart lurched. Of course, Dub had pooh-poohed her, saying her theory was “far-fetched.” She was mad at Dub, but she certainly didn’t want anything to happen to him. She would have to be very, very careful from then on. She could confide in no one. Mrs. Hobbs had murdered three people and gotten away with it, then harmed another to protect her secret. There was no telling where she’d stop.

  As these thoughts were racing through Allie’s mind, her father lifted her tear-streaked face by the chin and looked sympathetically into her eyes. “Come on, Allie-Cat, let’s go home.” He kept one arm around her while they walked. Michael stayed close to her other side, and she felt his small hand grip hers when they crossed the grassy lawn of the high school.

  “Don’t be sad, Allie,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay. But Michael didn’t understand what was going on: he was just trying in his own way to make her feel better. Touched by his sweet concern, her eyes filled again with tears.

  She wished she’d never told him anything about the Snapping Turtle. The less he knew about Mrs. Hobbs, the safer he’d be.

  At home, Allie’s father turned on the local TV news station, and they watched a report confirming Chief Rasmussen’s accident at the station house shortly before noon that day. A representative from the hospital said that the chief had suffered a broken leg and a severe concussion. It was impossible to know how long he might remain unconscious.

  Allie listened, terrified. Unconscious. Unable to tell what he knew. He’d been hurt, she was sure, because he’d been about to give Allie information Mrs. Hobbs didn’t want her to have. It couldn’t have been actual proof—he’d said that himself—or Mrs. Hobbs would be in jail. She must have covered her tracks very cleverly. Now she had acted to make sure they remained covered.

  Several firemen were interviewed. None of them could understand how or why their chief had fallen.

  “He could have slid down that pole with his eyes closed. It doesn’t make sense,” one said, before turning away from the camera. />
  “The false alarm makes it worse somehow,” said another. “Chief always said it was his duty to give his life, if he had to, to save somebody from a fire. But this is just a waste.” Then, angrily, he added, “Whoever called in that alarm oughta be ashamed.”

  Allie imagined Mrs. Hobbs listening, too, not ashamed at all, but gloating and triumphant.

  Along with Allie’s guilt and fear was the creepy feeling that Mrs. Hobbs somehow seemed to know what she was doing and thinking. I’m only a kid, she thought. How can I take on someone as powerful and treacherous as Mrs. Hobbs?

  Seventeen

  During supper Allie picked at her meat loaf while her father and Michael told Mrs. Nichols all about what had happened when she was at work. Allie’s mother shook her head in amazement and murmured, “I can hardly believe it. How terrible for the chief—for everybody involved.”

  “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Allie asked.

  “It’s hard to tell with concussions,” answered Mr. Nichols, “especially with adults. But there’s a good chance he’ll bounce back from this. Let’s turn on the six-thirty news and see what they say.”

  He switched on the little TV set on the kitchen counter, and Allie cleared the table as they all listened. Soon a local reporter appeared, saying, “And now an update from County Hospital on the condition of Eric Rasmussen, fire chief for the town of Seneca.”

  The picture switched to a woman in a white lab coat, who was identified as Dr. Leslee Barness. “Chief Rasmussen is responding very well to therapy,” she said. “He is healthy and strong, and he’s a fighter. We expect rapid progress and a full recovery.”

  Allie, who had been holding her breath, let it out in a rush of relief.

  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” said Mrs. Nichols.

  “Good news, eh, Al?” said her dad.

  Allie nodded, too grateful to speak. She began rinsing the dishes, praying silently that Mrs. Hobbs would leave the chief alone to get well. Allie hoped he would forget all about the Hobbs fire. She certainly wasn’t going to ask him about it again, even if he recovered that very evening.