Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake (32 page)

“Now, before anyone gets upset, let me point out that Gilda’s grades are just fine for any average student here at Our Lady of Sorrows.”

“Average?” Gilda hated the word
average
. It would be better to be called “abominable” or “a spectacular failure.” She would prefer to watch Mrs. McCracken hurl her file across the room in a fit of disgust and outrage than to be labeled with the reassuring insult “average student.”

“That’s a little reassuring,” said Mrs. Joyce, oblivious to the fact that Gilda was seething.

“The problem,” Mrs. McCracken continued, “is with Gilda’s scholarship. You remember that in order to maintain this scholarship, the student’s grades must never fall below a B-plus average.”

Gilda and her mother were silent for a moment. “I don’t recall that you mentioned that,” said Mrs. Joyce.

“I’m certain that I did. It’s in the documents you signed when you first came to the school.”

Gilda vaguely recalled seeing something about a “B-plus average” written somewhere, but at the time she had ignored it,
assuming that it wouldn’t be hard to maintain B-pluses at Our Lady of Sorrows.

“Grades for the first trimester have just been turned in, and I see here that Gilda has a C-plus average.”

Gilda felt a wave of irritation. Didn’t Mrs. McCracken realize she had been investigating a crime while simultaneously reading
Hamlet
, writing and producing a play, and studying the Pythagorean theorem?

“So she just needs to study harder and bring her grades up,” said Mrs. Joyce hopefully.

“There are a few other performance-issue notes in her file,” Mrs. McCracken continued. “Mr. Panté says she needs to work more closely with a teacher if she wants to stage any plays in the future.”

“Gilda staged a play?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“Gilda never said anything to me about it.” Mrs. Joyce glanced at her daughter, and her voice became very quiet. “I would have been interested in hearing about that.”

“It wasn’t your kind of thing,” said Gilda, realizing that her mother was furious and wishing they could change the subject.

“Gilda has also received detentions for passing notes during science class, wearing her skirt too short, and playing hooky from her morning classes.”

Mrs. Joyce’s face turned pink. Gilda knew from past experience that her mother felt uncomfortable around authority figures like Mrs. McCracken, and that more than anything, she hated being called into the office to hear that one of her children
had misbehaved in school. Of course, Stephen never seemed to get in trouble; it was always Gilda.

“
When
did Gilda play hooky from her classes?” Mrs. Joyce asked through clenched teeth.

“Let’s see. There are actually two instances here. One was at the beginning of the school year when she failed to come back to the classroom with her English class, and the other, more serious one was just a few days ago.”

“A few days ago? Where were you, Gilda?”

“If I can just say something on my own behalf,” Gilda ventured. “
Everyone
at school wears their uniform too short, so I’m really just keeping up with fashion in that department.”

Mrs. Joyce glared at Gilda. Her face was rigid with rage.

“Mrs. Joyce, I truly am glad to have Gilda here with us at Our Lady of Sorrows. But with a record like this, I’m simply afraid that we won’t be able to continue her scholarship.”

“Just because her grade-point average dropped for the first trimester?”

“Along with these other items in her file, yes. It’s a very clear stipulation of the scholarship. It doesn’t mean she can’t continue her education here. We just need to make those funds available to students who are the true
academic
leaders in the community.”

“But there’s no way we can afford this school if she isn’t on scholarship!”

Mrs. McCracken folded her hands and looked down at the papers in front of her apologetically.

Gilda decided she had nothing to lose by speaking up. “Mrs.
McCracken,” she said, attempting to sound as adult as possible, “I think we know what this is
really
about.”

Mrs. Joyce shot Gilda a horrified look.

“Oh?”

“You know very well why I have a C-plus average instead of my usual A-pluses.”

Mrs. McCracken flipped through some pages in Gilda’s file. “I don’t see that you ever had a straight-A average in the past, Miss Gilda.”

Gilda stood up to face Mrs. McCracken as if she were a prosecutor in a courtroom. “The
reason
I have a C-plus average is because I’ve been working my tail off solving the biggest mystery this school has ever seen.”

Mrs. Joyce looked as if she were about to grab Gilda’s arm and drag her from the room.

“Mrs. McCracken, you and I both know that this school has been haunted for the past three years, and I’m the one who figured out why. I’m the one who uncovered what happened to Dolores Lambert at the hands of a little group called the Ladies of the Lake, and, if I recall correctly, I told you about it just a few days ago.” Gilda realized that she had begun to speak in a slight Southern accent that sounded as if she were mimicking Mrs. McCracken’s voice. “Funny timing to take away my scholarship, don’t you think?”

Mrs. McCracken held up a flat palm, as if signaling a traffic stop. “Hang on there, Miss Fancypants.” She shot Gilda a blue-eyed, fierce look that warned,
I’ll direct this conversation, thank you very much
.

“‘Miss Fancypants’?”

“I appreciate that you shared what you knew about the so-called ‘Ladies of the Lake,’ and I assure you, it’s being handled. But that is not
your
concern. Your concern right now should be your own studies, not the problems of other students.”

“You’re telling me to go mind my own business when we’re talking about murder?”

“We
aren’t
talking about murder. Not even close.”

“What’s going on here?” Mrs. Joyce looked from Gilda to Mrs. McCracken, bewildered.

“Mrs. Joyce, your daughter seems to see herself as something of a police officer, and I appreciate that. I have some law-enforcement professionals in my own family, and they always need to keep tabs on everyone.”

“I do NOT see myself as a police officer.”

“Excuse me, Gilda. May I finish? As I was saying, Mrs. Joyce: from what I’ve heard, Gilda is very good at spying on the other girls and talking about their problems, but she needs a little improvement in the area of taking care of her own issues.”

Gilda felt completely misunderstood and humiliated. She had an urge to pick up Mrs. McCracken’s stapler and throw it at her.

“I’m confused,” said Mrs. Joyce. “What is this ‘mystery’ that Gilda supposedly solved?”

“Mrs. Joyce, it’s a disciplinary matter involving other girls, and the situation is confidential at this point. Out of consideration for the girls and their parents, I can’t discuss it. I called this meeting to talk about Gilda—not about other students.”

“But it sounds like Gilda is involved with these other students in some way.”

“Mrs. Joyce, do you mind if I make an observation?”

Gilda’s mother leaned back uncomfortably in her chair. She obviously dreaded hearing Mrs. McCracken’s observation.

“I believe Gilda needs more discipline and structure at home. In my opinion, she has some attention-seeking behavior, and she seems to be avoiding her responsibilities as a student.”

“That’s a load of horse crap,” Gilda blurted. “I didn’t solve this mystery to get attention; I solved it because I wanted to get to the truth.”

“You see what I mean, Mrs. Joyce? This kind of talk is disrespectful and shows a lack of self-control.”

“But Mrs. McCracken—”

“Gilda, please be quiet.” Mrs. Joyce spoke in a voice Gilda recognized—her this-is-the-final-warning-and-you’d-better-not-say-another-word voice.

Gilda knew that some kids had parents who
always
took their side in arguments with the school principal, no matter what the circumstances. She wished her mother was one of them. Mrs. Joyce tended to take the opposite approach: she assumed that if her children got in trouble at school, they must be completely at fault.

Gilda felt deflated. All the effort she had put into her investigation had only resulted in criticism and resentment. To make matters worse, she had to admit (grudgingly) that Mrs. McCracken had a point: it was true that she had neglected her schoolwork and failed to take her scholarship seriously enough. She had accomplished her goal by solving a mystery, but for some reason, it wasn’t a goal anybody else seemed to share or value in the least.

In the future, people will really appreciate it when I solve a mystery, and then I’ll look hack on this day and laugh
, Gilda told herself. But at the moment, it was hard to imagine that day would ever come.

Gilda trailed behind her mother, who walked through the school parking lot at a brisk, unfriendly pace.

“We should park our emotions outside the car for the sake of driving safety,” Gilda reminded her mother when the two of them reached the car.
Park your emotions outside the car
! was a phrase Gilda had seen on several of Stephen’s driver’s education pamphlets.

Ignoring Gilda’s advice, Mrs. Joyce climbed into the car, slammed the door, and stuck the key into the ignition. “What were you
thinking
in there, speaking to Mrs. McCracken that way?”

“Mom, if you’ll—”

“Do you realize what this means for us? We cannot
afford
to send you to school here anymore, Gilda!”

“I know, but—”

“Do you think opportunities like this grow on trees? Do you think other schools are just going to knock on your door and offer you scholarships willy-nilly—”

“Mom! Mrs. McCracken is trying to get rid of me because she knows I’m onto her.”

Mrs. Joyce tapped the side of her head with an index finger. “Gilda, I’m starting to worry that you don’t know the difference between reality and things you make up in your head.”

“Then why don’t you just drop me off at the psychiatric ward right now? I’ll get myself fitted into a straitjacket, and
you, Brad, and Mrs. McCracken can get together for a little tea party while I get a lobotomy.”

As a group of students walked past the car, Gilda quickly feigned cheerfulness, smiling and offering a little “hello” wave.

“Okay, Gilda.” Mrs. Joyce turned to face her daughter. “
Why
do you think Mrs. McCracken is out to get you?”

“Because I figured out that three of the most popular girls in the school murdered somebody.”

“They
murdered
somebody?”

“Well, they harassed a girl and made her do a weird initiation ritual, and she ended up drowning in the lake by accident. It was three years ago.”

Mrs. Joyce gazed into her daughter’s face intently, as if searching for evidence that the story was fabricated. “Are you telling the truth?”

“Of course I’m telling the truth! The whole reason I wanted to come to this school in the first place was because I knew there was something weird going on here. Based on what I’ve uncovered, my time here has actually been a huge success.”

“Losing your scholarship is not what I call a huge success.”

“Mom, I figured out what really happened to Dolores Lambert! But after I told Mrs. McCracken about it, she would hardly talk to me anymore. I bet you a million dollars she’s worried I’ll discover some other dark secrets about the school, so she wants me to leave.”

Gilda’s mother noticed Mrs. McCracken exiting the school and quickly turned the key in the ignition. “Gilda,” she said, backing out of her parking space, “why didn’t you tell me about this right away?”

“I should be able to handle this sort of thing on my own, Mom.” Gilda had never even considered talking to her mother about the Ladies of the Lake. What self-respecting psychic investigator would need help from her mother? “It’s supposed to be my job.”

“It’s
NOT
your job! Your job is to be a good student.”

“Mom, did you even hear what I told you? I actually solved this case!”

Mrs. Joyce shook her head. “Gilda, if what you’re saying is true, we should be talking to the police.”

For Gilda, going to the police meant acknowledging two uncomfortable truths: (1) deserved or not, three of her peers might actually get in serious trouble as a direct result of her investigative work; (2) she would have to admit that she was actually finished working on the case. After all, the police would hardly view her as a fellow investigator.

“Mrs. McCracken would probably just deny the whole thing and say I have some ‘personal problems,’” she said glumly.

They drove through the tidy neighborhoods of Bloomfield Hills in silence. Gilda glanced out the window and saw the Lamberts’ large, Tudor-style house. A heavyset woman she didn’t recognize was unloading something from a car parked in the driveway.
Looks like the Lamberts are already in Hawaii
, Gilda thought. She pictured Dolores’s bedraggled ghost standing under the tree in the front yard—a girl who stood wondering why her familiar pink bedroom had disappeared.

“Gilda, I have to go back and finish my shift at work, but we need to have a serious talk about all of this when I get home. I can tell you right now that you’re definitely grounded for cutting
classes. I still can’t believe you would do something that dumb.”

“I’m not the only dumb person around here.” Gilda was about to tell her mother to ground both Stephen and Brad while she was at it (Stephen, for skipping class to help her trail Brad, and Brad, for lying about his whereabouts).

“What do you mean by that?”

Gilda remembered the sight of Brad sitting on the park bench, making calls to people who didn’t want to talk to him. Maybe it was bad enough for her mother to discover that her daughter had cut class without simultaneously learning that her boyfriend’s “breakfast meetings” were completely fabricated. “Nothing,” said Gilda. “Never mind.”

Inside, Gilda found Brad sitting on the couch. For once, he was watching the local news instead of playing “Grand Theft Auto.”

“Hey, Gilders,” he said. “How was your day?”