The Twilight Prisoner (10 page)

“Forget it,” said Euri, as soon as they'd flown out of the courthouse. “We still have time before the paper comes out and the guards go after Cora. Let's just keep looking for Viele on our own.”

Jack looked at Dylan Thomas's pocket watch and shook his head. “Less than three hours.”

“So you're saying you trust Mann?” asked Euri.

“I'm not sure,” Jack admitted. “But he could have just turned Cora in right there. Think of the headline:‘Mann Down Exclusive! Mann Down Nabs Living Avenger in Crowded Courtroom.' Instead he wants to get back at this person who hurt him during his life. That seems real to me.”

They both turned to Cora. She hadn't said a word since they'd left the courthouse, chewing on another invisible piece of gum.

“What do you think?” Jack asked her.

“We don't have any other leads about Viele,” she said finally. “I think we need to do what Mann says.”

Reluctantly, Euriled themuptown. As they sailed over the little parks near the courthouse, Foley Square, and Collect Pond Park, Cora turned to Jack. “Why didn't you show up in that photo?” she asked.

Jack told her about the photos Dr. Lyons took of him—how he, but nothing else in the room, had come out overexposed.

“So you're sort of like a ghost yourself?”

“But I'm alive,” Jack insisted, thinking of the guard who was certain he looked dead at the library. “I just have some paranormal abilities.”

“Is that why they call you the Living Avenger?”

Jack nodded. “Even when I'm in the living world, I can see ghosts. Sometimes they realize I can see them and get frightened.” He told her about the ghost he had shouted at in Central Park (though he didn't tell her the exact reason why) and the Mann Down column about how the Living Avenger had terrorized a ghost in Central Park.

“So if I'm supposed to act like the Living Avenger now,” Cora asked, “what should I do?”

“Create a scene,” said Euri. “Shout at people. Act crazy. It'll be fun.”

Jack could tell Euri wished she could be the Living Avenger.

As they turned onto Park Avenue, Cora practiced fierce expressions, grimacing and scowling and raising a threatening fist. Jack looked away so he wouldn't laugh.

“Think of things that make you angry,” coached Euri.

“Like being stuck in the underworld?”

“Exactly. And not being thin.”

Cora's face turned red and her eyebrows furrowed. She glared at Euri.

“That's better,” said Euri. “And all the people who've done you wrong.”

“Like who?” Cora asked, still looking annoyed by the fat comment. “You?”

“Well, there's Jack.”

“Thanks,” Jack interrupted. “I think she's probably ready to go now.”

They floated up Park Avenue to a regal four-story red brick and marble building on the northwest corner of Sixty-second Street. Euri led them under a blue awning and toward a heavy wood door with a stained glass arch above it.

“What's this place called again?” asked Jack.

“The Colony Club,” said Euri as they flew into a rotunda-shaped, cream-colored lobby decorated with tall, dark vases and a giant cast-iron chandelier. “It's the city's oldest private club for women.”

“Clearly not just
any
women,” said Cora, pointing to a series of large oil portraits of stern-looking women in triple-strands of pearls and feathered hats.

“No, wealthy women, social-register types,” said Euri.

As Euri peered around the lobby, looking for signs announcing the class, a trio of ghosts carrying squash rackets made an unnecessarily wide arc around them, and an elderly woman in an outdated swimsuit that looked like a dress floated up through the floor and asked Jack to fetch her a drink. But before he could explain to her that he was not, in fact, a waiter, a tall ghost in a sweeping black dress and large feathered hat emerged from the corner of the lobby and cleared her throat. Jack recognized her from one of the portraits.

“Can I help you?” she said in an unhelpful voice.

“We're here for the class,” said Euri.

The ghost looked the three of them up and down. “You were invited?”

Euri crossed her arms as if to challenge her. “Of course.”

“Even”—the ghost made a dismissive gesture at Jack with one hand—“him?”

“He was especially requested,” Euri said.

The ghost wrinkled her nose. “Very well,” she said, “they're up in the library.”

They followed her through the ceiling into a library with floral-patterned armchairs and row upon row of dark wood bookshelves. A circle of women in long white nightgowns, boat-necked silk dresses, and velvet ball gowns floated in the center of the room. A tall, gray-haired ghost with a small black hat perched at an odd angle on her head and large pearl earrings floated at the circle's head and beckoned them to join.

“Just because one is dead does not mean that one should be rude,” she instructed. “For example, there has been a tragic decline in what I shall call ‘flying manners.' It has become commonplace for ghosts to carelessly whip around the corners of buildings, nearly crashing into others.”

A few of the ghosts nodded in recognition.

“One should slow down before turning and proffer a salutation to others traveling past, such as ‘Good Evening,' or if the traveler is an acquaintance, a friendly inquiry such as,‘How is your Aunt Millie? Has she moved on?'”

The ghosts murmured in assent.

Jack suddenly noticed Weegee perched on the windowsill outside the library. He waved to Jack and then lifted a finger to his lips.

“New York, more than any city in the world, honors authenticity, wit, and originality, and so will allow for variation in manners,” the gray-haired woman continued. “But I am appalled by the behavior of many poltergeists. Screaming, interfering with lights or plumbing, or otherwise drawing attention toward oneself in an untoward manner are not the hallmarks of a well-bred spirit.”

Jack noticed Euri begin to pick at her skirt.

“Weegee's here,” Jack whispered.

“Good,” said Euri, looking up with relief. “Cora, you're on.”

Cora took a deep breath and stood up. “I am the Living Avenger!” she shouted.

A communal gasp rose up from the lady ghosts. Someone shrieked. Jack noticed Weegee raise his camera.

“Stop!” declared the gray-haired ghost with the small black hat. “Stop it all of you!” Floating over to Cora, the gray-haired woman seized her hand and shook it firmly. “How do you do, Miss Avenger? I am Emily Post, the etiquette expert, and I am honored to have you at my manners class.”

Cora shook her hand and then confused, pulled it away. “I'm the Living Avenger,” she said weakly.

“Yes and I'm Mrs. Post. Emily, if you will.” Mrs. Post gently scolded the other ghosts. “The hallmark of a polite spirit is treating every guest to the underworld with equal respect—whether they are dead or alive.”

Euri shot out of her seat. “No, you have to act terrified!”

Mrs. Post raised a single eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Living Avenger is terrorizing the city! Now she's come to terrorize your class!”

Mrs. Post gave Cora a sympathetic look. “You don't seem very terrorizing.”

Jack noticed Weegee put down his camera, perplexed. What if he flew away and told Colonel Mann that they had betrayed him?

“Wait!” said Jack. “I have an etiquette question.”

Mrs. Post turned to him.

“Say you've been blackmailed by a newspaper columnist who's threatened to publish photos that will jeopardize the life of someone”—Jack felt himself blush—“very special. The only way to stop him is to get one of his enemies to act terrorized so the columnist can publish photos of her instead.”

Mrs. Post frowned. “So my old friend Colonel Mann is behind this. After he tried to blackmail my husband, Edwin, I encouraged Edwin to involve the police. The Colonel ended up in a very compromising court trial about the real nature of his gossip column. The right thing to do is to resist his demands.”

Jack noticed Weegee glance impatiently behind him into the night. He clearly couldn't hear their conversation and was losing interest. “But we need to find Egbert Viele,” Jack begged. “And Colonel Mann has promised to help.”

“Viele, the engineer?” piped up a tiny, shriveled ghost in an ostrich-feather hat.

“That's right,” said Jack, hoping she would know something. He pulled out Viele's maps and reports and floated over to show her. “He made these.”

She flipped through the reports and maps, stopping at the one of Central Park. “I forgot what a wasteland it was before they built the park,” she remarked.

Cora pointed to the scattering of squares. “But what are these?”

“Squatters,” the ghost replied dismissively. “Mostly free blacks, a few illiterate Germans and Irish. The city evicted them when it built the park. Made it a much nicer place.”

“Do you know where to find Viele?” Cora asked.

The ghost regretfully shook her head. “I'm afraid not.”

“We can't help you,” added Mrs. Post gently.

Jack floated over to Cora, who was deep in thought, chewing her phantom piece of gum. “We better go,” he said glumly.

“Wait,” Cora said. She turned to Mrs. Post. “If you're so into manners, isn't the proper thing to do to put your guests' comfort and well-being before your own?”

The lady ghosts murmured in assent.

“Of course it is,” said Mrs. Post. “But in a case of blackmail—”

“Your guests will need to depend on your hospitality even more,” Cora interrupted. “Won't you please, just for a minute, act frightened of me?”

For a moment, Mrs. Post looked uncertainly at Cora. Then, with a loud shriek, she pulled at her hair and nearly crashed into the wall. “The Living Avenger!!!” she cried.

“She's come for us!” shouted the ghost in the ostrich-feather hat, pretending to faint as she slumped against an armchair.

Suddenly all the lady ghosts started flying in distressed circles, clutching their hands together, wailing and pointing at Cora who, with a look of delight, began to chase them around the library. Euri took the opportunity to fly from armchair to armchair, jumping and shouting.

Weegee, Jack noticed, had stuck his head through the window and was hurriedly taking photo after photo. After a few minutes, he gave Jack a thumbs-up and flew back through the window into the night.

“These are good, quite good,” said Colonel Mann, a note of surprise in his voice as his thick fingers flipped through the stack of photos that Weegee had dropped off just moments earlier.

They were sitting at a table in the back of Delmonico's restaurant on Beaver Street, which was a winding lane lined with small stores and barbershops. The restaurant was closed for the night, but inside its heavy wood-paneled rooms, ghosts in enormous hats, silk dresses, and tuxedos hovered above the dark brown leather chairs, looking very much like the mural of elegantly dressed people dining at Delmonico's on the walls. Waiters in blue shirts and tan vests with the Delmonico's emblem flew through the dining rooms, carrying trays of drinks and greeting patrons by name. “I've been coming here since 1837,” Jack overheard one ghost tell another, “and the service has never been better!”

Colonel Mann held up a photo of Emily Post in mid-screech and laughed heartily, tapping the ground appreciatively with his walking stick. “Charles!” he shouted.

A dapper ghost rushed up to the table, notebook in hand.

“Take dictation.” Colonel Mann cleared his throat. “‘Mann Down Exclusive. Exclamation point. Make that three exclamation points. Mann Down has learned that moronic manners maven Emily Post got the fright of her death when the Living Avenger paid a visit to her etiquette class at the Colony Club earlier this evening. “That silly socialite wasscared stiff,” confided one witness.'”

“That sounds like you,” said Jack to the colonel.

The colonel winked at Jack. “‘Luckily our fearless photographer caught some of the action.' Charles, let's make that tonight's lead item!”

Charles nodded. “Very well, sir. I'll take it directly to the newsroom.”

“We fulfilled our end of the deal,” said Euri curtly once Charles had left. “Now it's time for you to fulfill yours.”

“You're supposed to tell us about General Viele,” said Jack.

“And give us back the courtroom photo,” added Euri.

Colonel Mann slipped the Polaroid out of his breast pocket. “Here you go,” he said, sliding it across the table.

Euri snatched it up, looked it over, then handed it to Jack.

Mann laughed. “Don't worry, I've kept my promise.”

“Half of it,” said Euri.

“Drinks?”

Euri scowled. “You know they can't have them.”

Colonel Mann's eyes narrowed. “What do you mean,
they
?”

Euri blinked. “I mean Cora, because she's alive. And Jack—”

“Because I'm underage,” Jack interrupted. “I'm fifteen and I just died a few weeks ago.”

“Could have fooled me,” Colonel Mann said. “You look more dead than that. But it hardly matters. The waiters will serve any friend of Colonel Mann's, no questions asked.”

“That's okay,” said Jack, troubled that once again he looked so dead.

“We don't want drinks,” Euri said. “We want Viele. Where is he?”

Colonel Mann opened his eyes wide in a feigned show of surprise. “My dear girl, I never said I knew where he was. I only said I could tell you more about him.”

“You don't know where he is?” asked Cora.

“But you're right to look for him!” Colonel Mann thundered. He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “My sources tell me his map was used for an escape attempt just last year.”

“Now, there's a news flash,” said Euri.

“Viele knows other ways out, too,” Mann continued in a whisper. “Ways not on the map. Ways even the guards don't know. That's why they keep his haunt classified. They don't want him found.”

Jack squeezed Cora's hand under the table. “We know he made some other maps. One of Central Park—”

“Do you think he might haunt it?” Cora asked.

Colonel Mann snorted. “Viele haunt Central Park?”

Jack came to Cora's defense. “Well, he must have helped build it, right?”

The Colonel shouted out to a couple of ghosts floating at the table next to him. “Who designed Central Park?”

“Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux,” roared back a man in a waistcoat.

“Right,” said Colonel Mann. Then he added in a loud whisper, “But not if you believe General Viele.”

“What do you mean?” asked Cora.

“Viele was originally appointed chief engineer for the park and had his own plan for how to design it. But in the competition for who would design the park, his plan lost out to Olmsted and Vaux's. So being the belligerent man he was, he—”

“Sued them,” Jack said, thinking of what Eleanor Fletcher Bishop had said about Viele always being in court.

Colonel Mann nodded. “Exactly. He claimed they had copied his design.”

“Did he win?” asked Cora.

Colonel Mann shrugged. “Some back pay for his surveying efforts. But in the court of public opinion, he lost. His plan had some similarities to Olmsted and Vaux's but theirs was the better one. Throughout his life he referred to himself as the park's creator, but no one thought of him as having had anything to do with it. He was very bitter about it.”

Jack suddenly felt sorry for Viele. “But he did do all this other stuff with water.”

“No one thinks about water,” said Mann. “But everyone loves Central Park.”

“What else can you tell us about him?” Euri asked.

Colonel Mann gave an amused smile. “You flatter my intelligence. All I know is that Viele is this young lady's ticket home.” He turned to Cora and held out something small and brown. “Bonbon, my dear?”

“Sure,” said Cora. But just as she reached out her palm, Jack knocked the chocolate out of Colonel Mann's hand. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“You can't eat!” he said.

“I know,” Cora whispered. “I was just trying to be polite.”

“But he wasn't,” said Euri loudly, pointing to the colonel. She leaned across the table and hissed in his ear. “Why are you trying to kill her?”

Colonel Mann waved one protesting hand in the air. “I thought perhaps there could be a little glory for the Mann Down column. ‘Fearless Columnist Single-Handedly Apprehends Living Avenger!'” he whispered. “She's going to die here anyway.”

“No I'm not!” shouted Cora, jumping out of her seat.

Ghostly diners turned to stare.

“Weegee!” Mann shouted. “Photo op!”

“Let's get her out of here,” said Euri.

Before the photographer could appear, they disappeared through the wall.