Walls within Walls (9 page)

CJ awoke to bright sunshine and the sound of his father's voice in the hallway. It took a minute before he remembered that it was Saturday, and Labor Day weekend. When he came into the kitchen for breakfast, everyone was very kind and didn't say much to him. Though he squirmed inside, remembering his humiliation yesterday at the hands of Maricel, he appreciated the space.

To CJ and Brid's surprise, they thought very little about the Post family treasure all weekend, and even the planned visit to Grant's Tomb didn't seem too important. Maricel had the weekend off, and both their parents were around for a change, even if their dad spent several hours each day in his office. Their mom helped them unpack, and CJ had to admit he liked seeing his stuff get
put away. He could really see his floors, now that they were clean. They had intricate designs in the wood. His many books that had lived in piles in his Brooklyn house had ample bookshelves here. It was so easy to find stuff. He could see that only one of the walls in his bedroom was new, and the other three were the original walls of the apartment.

On Monday, they went to a barbecue in their old neighborhood in Brooklyn. They had fun, but it felt weird to hop on the subway back to the Upper East Side afterward, instead of walking down the block to the old house with the painted green floors.

 

The next morning, CJ stood adjusting his tie in the steamed-up bathroom mirror. He felt ridiculous in his school uniform of khaki pants, button-down shirt, tie, and blue blazer with brass buttons and a Saint James's emblem on the lapel. He looked like he worked in a bank. Brid came up behind him in a checkered tunic, a puffy-sleeved blouse, and lace-up shoes with flat heels.

“We look so dorky,” she said with a grin.

“I cannot wait for this day to be over,” muttered CJ. He realized he'd never told his sister about the no-name elevator operator and what he'd found in the storage room. It was too much to blurt out right then, so he decided to wait.

Mrs. Smithfork walked by, looking very different from her usual self.

“Mom, your hair turned blond!” Brid exclaimed.

“Brid, I prefer to think of it as turning back to blond, a shade I haven't enjoyed since I was about ten! Thought it would be a fun change, kind of like a disguise.”

“Yeah, our uniforms are like disguises, too. Two cool kids disguised as dorks.”

“Never mind that. You look great. C'mon, give me the chant: I feel good.”

Brid and CJ reluctantly repeated after her, “I feel good.”

“I'm going to have a great day!” their mom continued. This had been a tradition in their family ever since they were little and afraid to leave her for preschool.

“I'm going to have a great day,” they both repeated in a monotone. To their surprise, the familiar words made them feel better.

“Your breakfast is on the table,” their mom said. “Patrick is already there. Maricel will walk you up to Ninety-eighth Street. Your backpacks are in the front hall, and Carron and I are off to yoga class.”

“Carron does yoga?” Brid asked, rolling her eyes at CJ.

“It's mommy-and-me yoga. You cannot believe how flexible that baby is!”

She brushed the back of CJ's head with her lips. “Have fun,” she said, in a weird, chirpy voice that both CJ and Brid found really irritating.

With Maricel holding Patrick's hand, the three kids
headed north on Fifth Avenue, joining a parade of children wearing a multitude of uniforms. “Where did all these kids come from?” Brid asked. “These streets have been empty since we moved here.”

“I guess everyone is home from their summer houses,” said Maricel.

“So many different uniforms,” said Patrick, “it's like we're at the Olympics.”

For some reason, this made them all laugh. As they passed a kid in a tartan kilt, CJ said, “It's a sprinter from Scotland.”

Next was a gaggle of girls in pale blue tunics. Brid said, “It's the gymnastics team from Finland.”

Then came girls in lime-green jumpers. “Oh, it's the synchronized swimmers from Bulgaria,” said CJ. Even Maricel was smiling. They kept this up until they saw a huge pack of uniformed boys about CJ's age, pulling on each other's backpacks, pretending to trip each other, and mussing each other's hair. Behind them marched a small army of women who appeared to be nannies or housekeepers, wearing the pale gray-and-white uniform of the Upper East Side. The boys were obviously from Saint James's School.

“Good luck,” Brid said in a barely audible voice as CJ turned toward the wide red doors of his school. It was the first time CJ had considered that his sister could be a little nervous, too.

“Yeah, you, too. See you after school.”

For some reason, this made them both feel better.

 

After school, CJ bolted right to his room. Nobody had spoken to him all day except in homeroom. When his homeroom teacher had introduced CJ to the class, it made him feel like a freak show. His teacher had CJ stand in front of everyone while they peppered him with questions. The teacher, Master Demeny, a bow-tied intellectual type, encouraged the class to think of the most interesting questions they could concoct, but most were pretty dull.

“Why did you move from Brooklyn?” “My dad's job.”

“How many kids are in your family?” “Four.”

“Do you like Saint James's?” “I've been here for half an hour.”

“Do you live in the neighborhood?” “Yes.”

“Why don't you try out for the soccer team?” “I did.”

“What does CJ stand for?” “Cavanagh James.”

“Do you play an instrument?” “Electric guitar.”

“Was Brooklyn dangerous?” “Nope.”

The minute the wall clock hit three
PM
, CJ bounded past the front doors, past Maricel waiting on the steps with the throngs of nannies and strollers, and straight home. He slammed the door of his bedroom, eager for the privacy of his own space, but Brid was already in there. She had
her notebook spread before her on the floor.

“Homework?” he asked.

“Not yet. But we have to get this mystery solved before it piles on. I couldn't concentrate in school, because the treasure was all I could think about. Girls were asking me for playdates today! Playdates! I'm nine years old. Anyway, I told them I have an after-school job.”

“What?” said CJ. “A job? Who would be hiring a nine-year-old?”

“I told them I worked for a detective agency.”

“Brid, they're going to go home and tell their mothers, and you're going to look like a big fat liar.”

“By the time they're brave enough to ask, we'll have solved this mystery, and then it won't be a lie, right?”

“Brid, there's something I have to tell you,” CJ said.

“What? Are you running away from home? If you are, take me with you!”

“What? No! Do I seem that miserable?”

“Well, yes. When you disappeared on Friday, I thought for sure that you'd decided to move back to Brooklyn. I'm so glad you aren't leaving us.”

“Brid, that's idiotic. I have no money and nowhere else to live. And don't you think I like my family?”

“Well, it seems like you're always mad at us, and Mom and Dad don't really talk to us anymore, so I wouldn't blame you.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” said CJ.

“Then what do you have to tell me?”

“On Friday while you were up in the apartment with Pat, I went back to the storage space, remember.”

“Yeah, when I was taking care of Pat.”

“Exactly. Don't interrupt me.” He took a deep breath and told Brid about the night elevator man who didn't seem to like CJ poking around. He told her about the wall seam and the keyhole. “But that's not all,” he said.

“It's not?”

“Brid, Eloise Post is not only alive, but she still lives here.”

“Living in our apartment? Is she a ghost?” Brid's voice was as soft as a whisper.

“No, not a ghost. She lives in the apartment just below us. She's the lady who came up here the night we were being so noisy. She lives here.” It felt good to tell his sister at last.

Brid was speechless. She didn't even reach for her pink notebook to write anything down.

“Okay, now you can speak,” said CJ.

Brid's eyes were very wide, and she still didn't say a thing.

CJ said, “Are you mad I didn't take you with me to the storage room? From now on, we'll do this stuff together. Okay, Brid?”

Maybe he shouldn't have told her so much at once, he thought. “I know you want to include Patrick more, and
I think he can be a big help to us. We certainly have a lot of work to do,” he continued.

But Brid didn't answer. She simply pointed behind him with terrified, enormous eyes.

“What?” CJ turned around just in time to see the figure of a man moving quickly down the hallway and darting into Patrick's bedroom.

CJ's legs felt like they didn't belong to his body. Seeing a man running toward his little brother's bedroom, realizing Patrick could be in danger, he moved like an Olympian. He grabbed the baseball bat lying by his door and raced into the back bedroom, while Brid ran for Maricel.

“Hey, you!” yelled CJ.

He swung back the bedroom door. “You!” he yelled again. He gingerly peeked behind the door, seeing that the room looked empty and very quiet. Was the intruder in the closet? CJ kicked at the closed closet door. “Get out of there now. The police are on the way,” he said, wishing it were true. His voice trembled just a little bit. He positioned Patrick's desk chair just under the door
handle, effectively locking the thief in the closet, just as Brid and Maricel peeked into the room.

“He was here again?” asked Maricel. “Thank God, Patrick is at a playdate.” She ran to the house phone, and Ray was in the bedroom within two minutes.

“Kids outtaderoom while I take care of this guy,” said Ray, picking up CJ's bat.

“I want to stay,” said CJ.

Ray was already opening the closet the tiniest crack. He looked inside, then swung the door open the entire way. Patrick didn't own a lot of clothes, and the closet was huge, so it didn't take long to realize nobody was in there.

With his heart pounding as if he had sprinted a mile, CJ checked under the bed, but he quickly saw that Pat's twenty-seven stuffed animals took up all the space. There was no way a human could fit in there. Where did he go?

Brid and Maricel came into the room.

“Are you sureyaseeing a person?” asked Ray.

“Yes,” said Brid emphatically.

“I bet it's the same man Pat saw, and both times he went into this room,” said CJ. “Last time he left by the fire stairs, but this time he didn't leave. He came in here.”

“Yeah, but what I'm saying,” muttered Ray, “is maybe you are seeing something that isn't real, or maybe it's real, but not dangerous.”

“Like a ghost!” hollered Maricel.

“A ghost!” shrieked Brid.

“Hello?” said CJ. “Don't we all know that there isn't such a thing?” He didn't believe it was a ghost for one second.

“Wellyaknow what happened?” said Ray. “Maybe there is a ghost in this apartment. It's been such an unhappy place.”

“What do you mean?” asked CJ.

Ray took a deep breath. “Well, ya know Eloise wasn't an only child.”

“I think we sort of know that,” said Brid, trying to remember exactly what Lukas Williamson had said about the family.

“Nah,” said Ray, “she had a brother, supposed to be a nice kid. But he, um, well, he disappeared for a while. I heard he was away at some boarding school.

“By that time, his sister was already in college. They never were all together again.” Ray had a faraway look in his eyes. “He just sorta disappeared, heard he went to college out West and then into the army; he didn't even show up when his mom passed away.”

“You mean you were working here way back then?”

“Naw. I started in 1970. It's just that the guys who work here, we talk, yaknow? That night guy, Carlos, he was here back then.”

“Yeah, that guy doesn't talk much.”

“Yeah, good guy, but doesn't talk at all.”

CJ had crawled into the closet and was looking closely at the back wall. “Look at this. It's almost like this closet has a seam. You see that slight indentation?”

Glancing at the wall, Ray said, “Honestly, kid, there's no way to go in or out of this building without getting past me or the door guy. I'd say that what you have here is either a ghost, or an overactive imagination. Neither of those things is going to hurt you.”

In the background, they could hear the impatient buzzing of another tenant looking for the elevator. “Gotta go,” Ray said, “but call me if you have any more problems.”

As they watched him go, CJ mumbled to Brid, “It's time we include Eloise in this. We have too many questions and no answers.”

Brid nodded solemnly. “Uh-huh. For a mystery that's supposed to be dead for a long time, it feels so alive.”

“I bet this guy keeps coming here because he knows we are on to something. Maybe it's something he's looking for, too.”

The kids looked at each other. Every day brought more questions—and still no answers.

An hour later, Patrick was back from his playdate, and he, CJ, and Brid were descending in the elevator to the old servants' quarters. To their surprise, Maricel had made no objection when they told her where they were going, but had only told them to stay together. Abruptly, Brid turned to Ray. “We are going to clean out some things from the Post family storage area. Can you please ask Eloise to come down? She may want to keep some of these things, so we need her help.” It came out of Brid's mouth so neatly and matter-of-factly that CJ thought just for an instant that she was the perfect sister.

When they got off the elevator, CJ said, “Brid, sometimes I'm very happy that you inherited brilliance from your older brother.”

“I'm not sure it works that way.”

“Whatever. Good idea.”

The storage level seemed less sinister now than on CJ's early morning visit. Lights were on in the hall, and it smelled like cleaning fluid.

After they were inside the room and had cleared a wider path to the back wall, CJ climbed onto the low shelf again and tried to fit the large brass key into the keyhole, but he was too tall to get the key in at the right angle. Brid tried, but at last she said, “This is the right key, but something is holding it back. I think it's being held by all the layers of paint on the larger square panel.”

CJ could see what she was talking about. “We need to scrape the paint off on either side. I cleared around the keyhole last night, but to open this thing we need to scrape around the seam of the entire panel.”

Brid looked at her younger brother. “Pat, you're the only one who can do this. You're small enough to fit behind this shelf. Here, take this and start scraping.” She gave him a wire hanger that CJ had untwisted and showed him how to scrape paint off with the sharp edge. Within minutes, Pat had a pile of paint shavings on the floor.

“Pat, get out of the way,” commanded Brid. She climbed back onto the lowest shelf, key in hand. This time the key turned easily, and a large panel slid up, revealing an opening in the wall. “What the heck?”

“What is it?” Pat said.

“I can't see,” complained CJ. “Is there anything in there?”

Patrick jumped into action. He squeezed behind the shelves and crawled inside. “It's a box,” he said. “I'm in a metal box with a handle on the side.” His voice echoed off the sides. “I'm going to try pulling this handle down.” The room filled with a high-pitched sound, a bit like an electric motor, and that was the last they heard from Patrick. The paint-covered panel slid down, enclosing him inside, a weird rumbling sound could be heard, and then all was silent.

“Pat!”

Brid tried to squeeze herself behind the shelves, but she was too big. “I should get Ray, right?” she said, with panic in her voice. CJ began throwing boxes and books every which way to get closer to the panel. He crawled onto the shelf again.

“Just what, may I ask, is going on in here?” came a firm, authoritative voice.

CJ sat up, slamming his head on the shelf above him for the second time.

And there she was, Eloise Post, giving them a look that was more curious than angry. This was definitely not the way CJ had planned for them to meet. There was no time for niceties, or even a proper introduction, because they had lost Patrick.

“Our brother just disappeared back there!” CJ said. “A
panel closed; we heard a sound like a motor, and then he just disappeared.”

“Whoosh,”
Brid added, indicating the sound she heard when the panel door shut.

Eloise chuckled. “My goodness, that old thing still works?”

“Yes, this old thing still works,” said CJ, not seeing anything funny.

“Wherever did you find the key for that? I misplaced mine years ago,” Eloise said.

The Smithforks avoided the question. “But what is it?” Brid asked.

“Why, it's a dumbwaiter, my darling girl—a dumbwaiter for books, not for food. It's certainly not meant for little boys. I'm sure your brother is finding all sorts of nasty things in those walls. Shall we retrieve him?” Eloise asked. “Just pull that small lever in the corner downward.” She motioned to CJ, who was still lying on the shelf. He reached overhead and pushed a tiny lever in the empty space where a box had been. Again, they heard the faint sound of a motor, followed by a thump when the metal box landed on the floor.

“Patrick,” CJ said with relief in his voice, “get out of there.”

Eloise continued, “My father used this dumbwaiter to move around the books in his library. He needed a way to bring them from storage here to our other floors.”

“Is it a pulley system?” Brid asked Eloise.

“Well, the earliest dumbwaiters used pulleys, and people just pulled on the ropes to raise or lower the dumbwaiter, but this one was quite modern for its day,” Eloise said rather proudly. “It has an electric motor, which explains why it was able to lift your brother's weight.”

The door had slid open to reveal an empty, rectangular space.

“Patrick!” Brid said. “He's gone!”