All That's Missing (29 page)

“Sounds good,” Arlo said.

“I want to decorate the tree house to look haunted,” she said. “Want to help?”

“Sure.”

Lucius took them to Val-U-Mart, where Maywood bought strands of fake ivy and moss. They took an old pair of jeans and a flannel shirt and stuffed them with newspapers and then propped them on a chair in the clubhouse with a carved pumpkin for a head. They strung electric lights through the branches and put a light inside the pumpkin head so it glowed through the window.

Everyone loved it, except for four-year-old Melody Walters, who took one look and started screaming. Arlo saved the day by turning on all the lights and showing her that the jack-o'-lantern ghost was nothing but old clothes stuffed with newspapers.

On Saturday Arlo helped Matthew make deliveries to the inns and bed-and-breakfasts up and down the Northern Neck. Matthew regaled him with more stories about things he and Arlo's father had done when they were in school.

“We weren't exactly angels, you know,” Matthew said. “Especially in sixth grade.”

“That's how old I am now,” Arlo said.

“I know,” Matthew said. “That's what made me remember.”

“What exactly did you do?”

Matthew rubbed his hand over his chin. He had an odd expression on his face, as if he were embarrassed to be telling this story, but he kept going anyway. “We used to climb over the fence and break into the city pool,” he said.

“Break in? You mean without paying?” Arlo asked.

“No,” Matthew said. “That wasn't why we had to break in. It was because we were going to the pool after they'd closed it for the season.”

“I don't understand.”

Matthew laughed. “Of course you don't. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Going to a pool after they've drained out all the water.”

Arlo nodded.

“Well, here's the thing,” Matthew said. “We waited till they'd patched the cracks and put on a fresh coat of whitewash. Then it was perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” Arlo asked.

“I don't remember who came up the idea,” Matthew said, “but somehow your dad and I started sliding down the walls of the deep end.”

“How?” Arlo asked.

“Good question,” Matthew said. “You see, the first thing we had to do was, we'd start at the bottom and take a running start and go as far up the side of the pool as we could. It was like going up the side of a mountain — only with fresh whitewash and running shoes, we had some traction, you know? We'd run as far as we could until we started slipping. Then, at the last second, we'd flip over on our backsides and slide down.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Arlo said.

“Well, the flipping-around part didn't always work so well, I'll admit. A couple of times, we slid facedown.”

“Ouch!” Arlo said.

“Yeah.” Matthew smiled. “I'll admit there was a little
ouch
from time to time.”

Arlo tried to imagine a younger version of Matthew alongside the picture he had of his dad at that age. He pictured them climbing a chain-link fence and dropping down on the other side.

“One day we got caught,” Matthew said.

Arlo looked over at him. “Did you get in trouble?”

“Did we ever!” Matthew gave a rueful laugh.

“Who caught you?”

“Well, it's not a person you've met, but you do know his grandson,” Matthew said.

Arlo frowned. “I don't know anybody in Edgewater except you and Maywood and Lucius and . . .”

“I'm talking about a person you probably don't think of as a
friend,
” Matthew said.

“Oh,” Arlo said.

“Yeah.” Matthew raised an eyebrow as he stared over the steering wheel.

“Which one?” Arlo asked.

“The one whose father is mayor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Back then Hafer's grandfather was the sheriff.”

“Oh, geez.”

“No kidding.” Matthew shook his head. “He made us redo the paint job on the pool. Said if we did that, he wouldn't press charges.”

“At least you survived.”

“Better than that,” Matthew said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you've met the Hafer who hangs around with Boyle, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That boy's father was in school with Wake and me. And he thought he could get away with anything because
his
dad was sheriff. So, when he heard about Wake and me sliding down the pool, he figured that sounded like fun. He wanted to do it, too.”

“Did he get caught?”

“Oh, boy, did he. Him and another kid. Rodney Wilkins.”

“What happened?”

“It was about this time of year. Maybe a little earlier. Hafer's dad was climbing over the fence and got himself stuck up there. He had his pants so tangled up in that wire he couldn't bust loose. Someone saw him and called the police.”

“Someone?” Arlo asked.

Matthew's mouth broadened into a smile. “Someone you know,” he said. “Let's just leave it at that. Someone who didn't tell the dispatcher at the sheriff's office who the boy
was
hanging off the fence.”

Now Arlo was smiling, too.

“So, when the sheriff comes, Hafer-the-future-mayor-of-Edgewater is dangling there by his belt buckle.”

“Was he hurt?”

“No. He was even smiling for the picture.”

“What picture?” Arlo asked.

“The one the photographer for the
Essex Times
took for the front page after an anonymous caller tipped him off.”

“An anonymous caller?”

“That's right.” Matthew grinned again.

“What did the sheriff do?”

“Grounded future-mayor-Hafer for the rest of the year,” Matthew said. “Told him he had to rake leaves and mow grass and clean out the garage and the basement at his house. Basically made his life miserable for eight months.”

“Did you keep sliding down the pool?”

Matthew flipped the blinker to signal a left turn. “That was the end of our pool-sliding days,” he said. “After that we moved on to skateboarding in the cemetery.”

Arlo looked at Matthew. “You used to skateboard in the cemetery?”

Matthew shrugged. “Way back in the day they used to pave that road leading up the hill. It was a great place to skateboard . . .
as long as you didn't get caught.
”

“Isn't that the turn at the curve?” Arlo pointed to the sign shaped like a swan.

“You got it.” Matthew flipped his blinker and made the turn.

It was their last delivery for the day. Arlo twisted his head all the way around when he spotted the shiny black car in the parking lot.

“Something wrong there, Skywalker?”

“No. It's OK.”

Matthew pulled around to the kitchen entrance in the back. A woman waved from the window, then came outside to meet them.

“Morning, Juanita.”

“Morning, Matthew. You're just in time. I've got this guest from Richmond who's been sitting in my dining room half an hour now waiting on one of Matthew Healy's famous Morning Glory Muffins.”

“Coming right up.” In one easy motion, Matthew opened the rear door and slid a long pastry box off the seat.

“What else did you bring?”

“I've got an apple pie, if you want it.”

“Thought the apples were all gone.”

“These are the last from Tallifarro's Orchards.”

“In that case, bring it on.”

Matthew nodded at Arlo to take the pie out of the box in the rear of the van. “Say hello to Juanita Stemple,” he said. “She's the boss around the Swan's Neck.”

“Nice to meet you,” the lady said. “But I didn't catch your name.”

“Arlo,” Arlo said.

The lady stared. “Arlo
Jones
?” she asked.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“What a surprise.”

“Isn't it?” Matthew said, leading Arlo toward the kitchen.

Arlo guessed that Mrs. Stemple must not be a friend of Augusta Stonestreet's, seeing as how she was the first person he'd met who didn't already know he was in town.

They carried the boxes inside the kitchen. Mrs. Stemple dipped her head in the direction of the dining room. “Better hustle those muffins out to that Garringer fellow. He says he's got some sort of property deal cooking and doesn't have time to waste.”

“Did you say Garringer?” Matthew raised an eyebrow.

“A shady customer, if you ask me. I'll tell you one thing”— Mrs. Stemple lowered her voice —“if I were on the other end of that property deal, I'd keep my eyes open.”

Arlo's heart sped up. A man named Garringer driving a black sedan, the same black sedan that he and Maywood had spotted in the cemetery.

“There's a man named Garringer trying to buy Ida's house,” Arlo said.

“Is that a fact?” Mrs. Stemple exchanged glances with Matthew.

“Tell you what.” Matthew opened one of the boxes and started putting muffins on a plate. “How about if I take these muffins out there? I'd like to get a look at this Garringer fellow myself.”

“Be my guest.” Mrs. Stemple extended her arm, gesturing toward the dining room.

As Arlo and Mrs. Stemple watched, Matthew set the plate of muffins in front of Mr. Garringer.

“Morning, sir,” Matthew said.

“Morning.” Mr. Garringer offered a gruff acknowledgment without looking up from his newspaper.

Matthew gave Juanita Stemple a conspiratorial nod behind Mr. Garringer's back. Then he started talking in a louder-than-necessary tone of voice.

“Juanita, I don't guess you heard what happened at Ida Jones's house last night, did you?”

Mrs. Stemple looked puzzled for a moment, until Matthew gave her an eye signal to play along.

“Why, no, Matthew, I don't believe I did,” she said, winking back at him. “Is Ida all right?”

Now the two of them smiled at each other.

“She's fine,” Matthew said. “Just shaken a little.”

“What happened?”

“It was yesterday evening. Around dusk.” Matthew moved over to the sideboard and lifted the coffeepot off its burner. “Mind if I have a cup?” he asked.

“Help yourself,” Mrs. Stemple said.

“Thank you.” Matthew poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup. “You know, when I was growing up, I used to hear stories about Civil War spirits haunting the old houses around Edgewater, but I never believed them.”

Mrs. Stemple and Matthew exchanged glances again.

“Some very reputable people have reported sightings,” Mrs. Stemple said, sliding into a strategic position behind one of the dining room chairs. “Of course, this time of year, people see ghosts all over the place.”

“Isn't that the truth,” Matthew said. “And I thought it was all hogwash.”

Mr. Garringer continued to sip his coffee, staring at his newspaper, though Arlo noticed he hadn't turned a page since Matthew started his story.

“Did something change your mind?” Mrs. Stemple asked as she pushed the small wicker basket of sugar packets and sweeteners in Matthew's direction.

“I've known Ida Jones all my life,” Matthew said, “and I've never known her to stretch the truth.”

“You're right about that,” Mrs. Stemple said.

Matthew lowered his voice. “But you should hear what she told me this morning,” he said.

“Go on.” Mrs. Stemple leaned closer, and Arlo noticed Mr. Garringer shifting in his seat as well.

“It was while I was waiting for Arlo to get dressed,” Matthew said. “Ida told me she'd seen something up in her attic.”

Matthew winked at Arlo, and Arlo thought again about the day Matthew had overheard Maywood and him planning to “haunt” Ida's house.

“Ida said she was up in the attic when . . .”

Mrs. Stemple lowered her voice now too. “When what?” she asked.

Matthew's voice was barely a whisper now. Mr. Garringer was leaning so far to his left that his newspaper had dipped into his coffee.

“Ida said she was in the attic searching for old photographs when she felt a chill, like cold air seeping out of the ground.”

“Really?” Mrs. Stemple said.

“That's right,” Matthew said. He put his hand over his mouth, and Arlo guessed he was covering up a grin. “Now, this is where the story turns strange,” he said.

“It's sounding strange already,” Mrs. Stemple said.

“That's nothing,” Matthew said. “Ida says she turned around and suddenly . . . there he was.”

“There
who
was?”

“The soldier.”

“What soldier?” Mrs. Stemple asked.

“Ida says he was dressed in Union blue and floating over her great-granddaddy's trunk. She said he had a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. Scared her so bad, she nearly put her hand right through him.”

“No.”

“That's what she told me.”