Mary Anne and the Haunted Bookstore Read online

  “Has either of you seen my sketches for where the bookshelves go?” Ms. Spark asked them.

  The kids turned to her, frowning. Tom crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. Gillian looked up at Tom, then did the same thing.

  “If you do see them, will you bring them down? Please?” Ms. Spark smiled brightly at them.

  “Maybe you two could show me around a little bit, tell me what the store’s going to look like,” I suggested.

  “Good idea,” said Mr. Cates, sounding relived. “You can start with Benson Dalton Gable’s office. I haven’t changed it that much. It’s the one thing I plan to leave the way it was.”

  “You guys will have to tell me about Benson Dalton Gable,” I said as I joined the kids in the hall.

  “He was a mystery writer, a contemporary of Poe’s,” Ms. Spark said, not giving the children a chance to tell me anything. “He lived here all his life. Larry bought the house from his descendants. But you’ve probably never heard of any of Gable’s work. That’s why Larry named the store Poe and Co. and not Gable and Co.” She and Mr. Cates laughed.

  “And there’s lots of speculation that Poe visited Gable here. Just think. Edgar Allan Poe walked on the same floor you’re walking on now,” Mr. Cates said, a touch of awe in his voice.

  I looked down at the floor, then at Tom and Gillian. They rolled their eyes.

  “The floors are all new,” Tom said. “The place was a wreck, and it isn’t much better now. We had a nice house before.” He turned and walked toward the back of the house. Gillian glanced at me to see if I was coming too, then followed her brother.

  “Here’s the office where the old guy wrote stuff.” Tom flung open a door, then leaned against the wall outside the room.

  I peeked inside. There was a huge desk in the middle of the room and shelves along one wall. Two windows overlooked the backyard.

  “That’s going to be a parking lot,” said Gillian. “We won’t have any grass here.”

  Tom walked away. “Here’s the kitchen, but we never cook anything. My mom used to cook the best spaghetti….” He sighed.

  Where was Mrs. Cates? I wondered. This was the first time she’d been mentioned, and there didn’t seem to be any sign of her. I knew better than to ask about her, though. The kids would talk about her when they were ready.

  “This is the downstairs bathroom,” said Gillian, continuing the tour, “but anybody who comes in the store can use it anytime they want. It’s not private.”

  “And that’s Dad’s office.” Tom pointed to a closed door. “That room, with a table and carts in it, is where all the books come in. The rest of the downstairs is going to be the store. There’s a basement, and we live upstairs.”

  “How do you like Stoneybrook so far?” I asked.

  “Hate it,” Tom mumbled.

  Gillian nodded. “It’s rained every day since we moved here. I’ve only played outside on the school playground two times.”

  “It can’t rain forever,” I said. “When it stops you’ll see that there’s lots to do here. But we don’t have to wait for it to stop raining. Want to play some games? Do you have any board games?”

  “Packed,” said Tom.

  “Packed,” repeated Gillian.

  “Want to play store?” I grinned.

  “We lived right down the street from a video arcade at our old house,” said Tom. “And Mom took us there whenever we wanted, didn’t she, Gillian?”

  Gillian looked at Tom, a puzzled expression on her face, then nodded.

  “I’m afraid there aren’t any video arcades nearby,” I said, wishing I’d brought my Kid-Kit. “You guys must like books. And your dad owns a bookstore.”

  “You want to read us a story?” asked Tom.

  “We could read —” Gillian said.

  “No way,” her brother cut in.

  “What would you like to do?” I asked, trying another tack.

  “Move out of this place,” said Tom.

  “How’s it going?” Mr. Cates asked, sticking his head around the corner.

  I made myself smile. “Fine,” I answered.

  “If you kids are looking for something to do, why don’t you go upstairs and unpack some of the boxes in your rooms? You might find something you haven’t played with for a while. You wouldn’t mind supervising, would you, Mary Anne? We haven’t had a lot of time to spend on organizing the house.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all,” I said, actually feeling grateful that there was something to do.

  “Come on, Gillian,” said Tom as he stomped up the stairs.

  Again, Gillian waited for me before following Tom. “My room is up here,” she said. “It has roses on the wallpaper.”

  “That sounds very pretty,” I replied.

  “And my room has guns,” said Tom.

  “Dad’s going to change it first chance he has,” Gillian whispered to me. “He doesn’t like guns that much.”

  I heard the outside door open again.

  “Mail’s here,” Mr. Cates said, then I heard something smack against the counter.

  “Mail,” said Gillian to Tom.

  They thundered down the stairs, pushed past me, and hurried into the main room of the store.

  Tom grabbed the stack of mail and shuffled through it. When he reached the last letter, he threw it down. The mail slid all over the counter, some of it falling to the floor. “Nothing,” he said to his little sister.

  I saw tears brighten Gillian’s eyes. She took a deep breath that sounded almost like a sob.

  Mr. Cates had watched the kids as they looked through the mail. He looked as though he wished he’d never announced it was there. He knelt between Tom and Gillian. “Mom is busy settling into her new place too. She has a new job and a new apartment. She’s probably waiting to write a really long letter to tell you all about it. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “That’s what you said yesterday,” said Tom.

  “She’ll write,” Mr. Cates said. “Go on upstairs. The one who unpacks the most boxes chooses where we eat tonight. Deal?”

  “Deal,” said Gillian softly. I almost didn’t hear her.

  Tom turned and climbed the stairs slowly.

  “Mary Anne?” Mr. Cates said.

  I’d started to follow the kids, but he motioned to me.

  “The kids’ mom, my wife, left not long ago and the kids still aren’t used to it yet. They may seem a little difficult, but keep in mind we’re all trying to make a new start and it’s hard for them,” he said.

  “I understand. It’s okay. I’ve had to deal with some pretty big changes too.”

  “Thanks,” Mr. Cates added.

  I smiled at him. I was glad for the information. It explained a couple of things.

  Before I even entered Tom’s room, I heard him grumbling.

  “Books. Bookstores,” he muttered.

  “What about books and bookstores?” I asked, coming into his room. On the bed a sleeping bag was spread over the mattress — no sheets or blankets. A suitcase with clothes spilling out sat in the middle of the floor. Boxes were everywhere. The room was a disaster.

  “Dad and his books. He had to open a bookstore no matter what. Mom didn’t want to at all. That’s probably why she left,” said Tom.

  “There are probably lots of reasons,” I said cautiously. I knew enough about life to realize that big changes, such as a parent leaving the family, seldom happened because of one thing. Or one person.

  “You don’t know anything,” said Tom.

  “You’re right. I don’t. Maybe you should talk to your dad.”

  Tom pulled open a box and dumped the contents on the floor. I saw albums of baseball cards, a baseball glove, and some pictures.

  “Where are you going to put all that?” I asked.

  “I’ll find a place.” He opened one of the albums and started looking through it.

  “You want to make up the bed? If you tell me where the sheets are, I’ll help you,” I suggested.

>   “Maybe later.”

  “It might not hurt to unpack your clothes,” I tried again.

  “Uh-huh. Shouldn’t you go check on Gillian?”

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a little while.” I walked down the hall to Gillian’s room.

  “This is pretty wallpaper,” I said, admiring the pink roses.

  Gillian smiled. “My bedspread from my old house looks good with it, doesn’t it?”

  The bedspread was also pink, with ruffles. It reminded me of the way my room used to look before Dad let me redecorate. “It does look good.” Gillian’s bed had sheets on it and I could see that she’d already unpacked some of her clothes. They hung neatly in the closet. She was unpacking books now, and putting them on a shelf over her desk.

  “How many boxes has Tom unpacked?” she asked.

  “He’s working on his first one.”

  “Tom doesn’t listen very well,” Gillian confided in a low voice. “Sometimes Mom would have to tell him a million times to make his bed and clean up his room or bring his dirty clothes down to the laundry room. She used to get really tired of it. But I didn’t keep my room very neat then either. I do now, though, don’t I?”

  “It’s great,” I assured her.

  “I wish Mom could see how much better I am. I could be a big help now.”

  My heart was breaking. Gillian thought her mom had left because of them. Tom, on the other hand, seemed to think it was because of their dad. Who knew?

  “Gillian, you were probably a big help to your mom all along. It wasn’t your fault she left,” I said. “Have you talked to your dad about this?”

  Gillian shook her head. “He doesn’t like to talk about Mom much. I think he misses her too. At least he did before Ms. Spark came. Do you think they’re boyfriend and girlfriend? Tom said he thinks so.”

  Whoa! Another news flash. I had seen a little of that when Ms. Spark smiled at Mr. Cates earlier.

  “Did I hear my name?” Ms. Spark stepped into the room. “How many boxes have you unpacked, Gillian? I want you to win because I know you’ll choose pizza and your dad invited me to stay for supper.” She smoothed Gillian’s hair.

  Gillian jerked away from her, squatting down to take another armload of books out of the box.

  I looked around and found a brush, comb, and mirror lined up perfectly on the dresser. “I’ll brush those tangles out of your hair for you if you want,” I said to Gillian.

  She finished putting the books away, then sat in front of me on the floor. “When I play at school and don’t have it pulled back in a ponytail, the tangles get worse,” Gillian said. “I can’t comb them out as well as Mom did. You won’t pull, will you? She pulls.” She looked at Ms. Spark, then down at the floor.

  “I admit I need a little practice,” said Ms. Spark. “I haven’t had long hair for a while now. And mine never looked as good as yours anyway. It’s too curly to wear long.” Ms. Spark ran her fingers through her hair, smiling.

  Carefully, I combed out Gillian’s tangles.

  “Do you mind if I look around for my sketches in here?” Ms. Spark asked. “I doubt they’re here, but I can’t find them anyplace else.”

  “They aren’t here,” said Gillian.

  “They aren’t in Tom’s room either,” said Ms. Spark. “I guess I’ll look in the den and in your dad’s room.”

  “Did you check in the hall closet?” I looked up at the sound of Tom’s voice. He was lounging in the doorway, watching us.

  “Not yet, but I will.” Ms. Spark had to squeeze through the door. Tom didn’t move even the slightest bit.

  “Let Ms. Spark through please, Tom,” I said. He turned sideways so she could pass a little easier.

  Tom watched Ms. Spark. I heard the door open, then a sharp scream. Gillian shot up off the floor. I ran after them to see what had happened.

  “Pluto, you rascal!” I heard Ms. Spark say.

  “What’s going on up here?” Mr. Cates joined us in the hall.

  A black cat faced Ms. Spark, its back arched and tail puffed. Pluto definitely did not look happy.

  “Pluto was in the closet, and when I opened the door he jumped onto me. I thought I was going to have a heart attack,” Ms. Spark explained.

  “At least you didn’t find a body in there,” said Mr. Cates. He and Ms. Spark laughed. “I named this cat Pluto after the black cat in the Poe story called ‘The Black Cat.’ It’s the one in which the man kills his wife and bricks her up in the basement, and the cat is in there too. When the police come, the cat alerts them to the body by meowing behind the wall. It’s a good story. And every bookstore needs a cat. For Poe and Co., a black cat was the obvious choice and Pluto the obvious name.”

  I guessed I’d have to read “The Black Cat” now.

  I watched as Tom nudged Gillian. They were trying not to laugh. I had a notion that Pluto didn’t end up in that closet by accident. It grew stronger when I remembered that Tom had suggested Ms. Spark look for the plans in the closet.

  “Come see what I did today, Daddy,” Gillian said, tugging on his hand.

  “This almost looks like a place to live in instead of a storehouse,” Mr. Cates said, peering into Gillian’s room.

  “I unpacked more boxes than you did,” said Tom, counting the empty cardboard boxes stacked against Gillian’s wall. “I did four.”

  That surprised me. When I’d left the room, he hadn’t unpacked one.

  I was even more surprised when I stepped inside his room. The bed was made — with sheets. Clothes hung in the closet, and four empty boxes were on the floor.

  “Did you put stuff away or dump it in the drawers?” Mr. Cates asked.

  “I put it away in the drawers,” Tom said.

  Gillian gave her brother a look. I’ve seen similar looks pass between Dawn and Jeff. I think it’s a brother/sister thing.

  “And I want Chinese food,” he added.

  “Cillia doesn’t like it,” said Mr. Cates.

  “You said the one who unpacked the most boxes could choose,” said Tom.

  This time Gillian smiled at her brother.

  “I’ll grab a hamburger when we go out to pick up the food,” Ms. Spark said.

  “I want to eat in a restaurant,” said Tom. His tone bordered on whiny.

  “We’ll see,” said Mr. Cates. “Mary Anne, I want to thank you for all you’ve done. I wish I had ten of you to help me get the rest of this place in shape. Will you be available to sit another time?”

  I started hearing heartbeats again. I hadn’t spent much time in the bookstore, and I was dying to see what books were packed inside the boxes. Was Mr. Cates going to carry children’s books?

  “I can’t promise you ten, but I’d like to come back, and some of the others in the BSC might want to help out if you think you can use us,” I said.

  “Use you? We’d love the help. The pay won’t be very much, but I could find something. If we don’t open soon, the bill collectors are going to outnumber the customers,” said Mr. Cates. “I could use as many of you from the BSC as you can send.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I promised. I knew Mal would want to come, and Jessi. In fact, I couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t want to come. Anybody who didn’t want to work with the books could help out with Tom and Gillian.

  “We’re about ready to finish up for the day. The workmen have all left,” said Mr. Cates.

  I noticed, once he mentioned it, that the hammering had stopped.

  We trooped down the steps to the main room. I couldn’t see much difference from when I’d gone upstairs.

  “We have to find my sketches before we can put the shelves in,” Ms. Spark explained. “They fit in a certain way.”

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” Tom pulled a stack of oversized paper off a shelf behind the counter.

  “My sketches!” Ms. Spark laid them out on the counter. “They were on the shelf? I can’t believe it. It’s like ‘The Purloined Letter,’ when the thief hides the stolen
letter in plain sight and no one can find it. I can’t believe I didn’t see them!”

  “We need a Dupin around here,” said Mr. Cates, as the two of them laughed together — again. Maybe Tom was right. They might not be boyfriend and girlfriend yet, but something was there.

  I recognized that name, Dupin, and the story about the letter. Dupin was the detective Poe wrote about in several stories. Mr. Cates and Ms. Spark knew an awful lot about Edgar Allan Poe. And, they had a lot of fun using what they knew.

  I turned to Tom and Gillian to say good-bye. They were glaring at Ms. Spark. Exactly how did her sketches find their way to that shelf? I wondered. I decided I’d better warn the rest of the BSC that Tom and Gillian like to “tease” Ms. Spark.

  Saturday dawned dull and rainy again. Mr. Cates had called us at the BSC meeting the afternoon before and asked whether some of us could help out at the store. He also asked if someone could baby-sit for Tom and Gillian on Saturday and suggested that they might like to go to the movies for a change of scene. Claudia had agreed to baby-sit for the kids. As I’d predicted, Mal volunteered immediately to help out in the store. I wanted to help too. Kristy and Logan ended up going with us as well.

  Since the last time I’d been at Poe and Co., someone had laid boards on top of bricks so we could approach the door without losing our shoes in the mud. There were three umbrellas on the front porch when we arrived. Mine joined them. Kristy and Logan wore hooded jackets instead of carrying umbrellas.

  A boy who looked old enough for high school was standing behind the counter, his chin resting in his hands, when we walked inside. A lone hammer pounded somewhere in the house.

  “Store’s not open,” the boy said, his hands pressing against his chin. This kept his jaw from moving and gave his words an odd sound.

  “We’re here to help Mr. Cates,” I replied. “Is he around?”

  “He’s talking to my dad in the office.” This time he stood up a little straighter. “What are you helping him do?”

  “Fix up the bookstore so that it’s ready to open,” I said.

  I was glad to see Ms. Spark come into the room. “Mary Anne! It’s so good to see you again,” she said. She carried rolled-up sketches under her arm. I guess she wasn’t letting them out of her sight again. I didn’t blame her.