Mary Anne's Bad-Luck Mystery Page 6

  Friday, October 30.

  Halloween Hop night! I couldn’t believe it had finally arrived. It seemed like just a day or two ago that Logan and I were having trouble deciding whether to dress nicely for the dance or to dress in costume. But that was actually several weeks ago. Now the decision was long made, and I was in my bedroom putting on my costume and getting nervous.

  Logan and I were going to the dance as cats. We had both seen the musical Cats and had been very impressed with the wild, furry cat costumes. We’d decided to make our own — a rough, tough tomcat costume for Logan, and a delicate kitten costume for me. They weren’t nearly as good as the costumes in Cats, but they weren’t bad, either. Tigger crouched on my bed and watched me solemnly. I had modeled my costume on Tigger. I’d taken a black leotard and a pair of black tights and painted some gray tiger stripes on them, like Tigger’s. I was wearing gray-striped black gloves on my hands and (plain) black ballet slippers on my feet. I have to admit that Logan and I had cheated a little on one part of our costumes: we’d rented fur headdresses from a costume place in town. But we planned to make up our faces ourselves.

  Now, seated before the mirror in my bedroom, wearing the leotard, the slippers, and of course the bad-luck charm, I painted black and gray stripes across my face. Then I put on the gloves and the wild fur headdress. I turned around.

  “How do I look, Tigger?” I asked. “Just like you, huh?”

  Tigger’s eyes grew as wide as plates. He got to his feet and backed away, puffing up his tail. The fur over his spine bristled. He was a Halloween kitty.

  I burst out laughing. “It’s just me, Tigger, you old ’fraidy-cat.”

  I reached over to pat Tigger, but he sprang into the air and tumbled off the bed. Even though I felt a little sorry for him, I couldn’t help laughing. I ran downstairs to show Dad the costume.

  When I appeared in the living room, Dad glanced up from a book he was reading and jumped about five feet.

  “Gracious, Mary Anne,” he said. “That is some costume. Especially that fur thing.”

  I smiled. “Thanks. Sorry I scared you, though. I scared Tigger, too.”

  “Why are you wearing that necklace?” asked Dad.

  “This?” I replied, pointing to the charm. (I didn’t touch it. I touched it as little as possible.)

  “Yes. It takes away from the costume a little.”

  “Does it? I don’t know. I — I just like it.”

  “Well, anyway, you are one amazing cat.

  Ding-dong!

  “That’s Logan!” I cried. “He and his mom are here!”

  “Have fun, Mary Anne,” Dad called as I grabbed my coat from the closet. “Be home by ten o’clock — at the latest.”

  “Okay. Mr. Bruno will drive us home. See you later.”

  I flung open the door and said hello to Logan, and we ran down the front walk to his car. We must have been a pretty funny sight, with our headdresses and all.

  I tried to get a look at Logan in the moonlight, which was bright. The next night would be a full moon.

  “Logan!” I exclaimed. “Your costume is fantastic!”

  Logan had refused to wear tights and a leotard like me (I couldn’t blame him), so he had bought a few yards of this cheap furry fabric at a sewing store (he had also refused to go into a sewing store by himself — I had to go with him), and he and his mother had made a fur suit for him. He was wearing a fur top, fur pants, and even fur-covered shoes. His hands and face were painted in tiger stripes like mine. And then, of course, he had put on the fur headpiece.

  Mrs. Bruno started laughing as we got into the car.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Logan. “The costumes?” He was a little sensitive about them.

  “No,” his mother replied. “You two look wonderful. It’s just that I’ve never driven anywhere with cat-people in the backseat.” (With her southern accent, what she actually said was, “No. You two look wunduhful. It’s just that Ah’ve nevah driven anywhere with cat-people in the backseat.”)

  Logan and I laughed.

  I was feeling fairly relaxed. Ordinarily, dances make me incredibly nervous. They are not the perfect event for a shy person who isn’t sure of herself. If you’re happy with your hair, your clothes, your face, your body, and your personality, then you’ll love a dance. But I’m never sure of anything about myself. The first time Logan and I went to a dance was a disaster. Now we’ve been to several together. Each one gets easier, but I still feel self-conscious. I always think everyone’s looking at me. And considering I’m with Logan, maybe they are.

  At least I didn’t have to walk into that big roomful of people by myself. I hung on to Logan’s arm as if it were a life preserver, the dance were a sinking ship, and I didn’t know how to swim.

  Nothing happened.

  We just walked in. Everyone kept doing what they were doing, which was mostly eating. It always takes awhile for the dancing to start, even though that’s what you’re there for.

  I looked around for Dawn and Claudia and Austin. I saw Dawn talking to a group of kids I didn’t know very well. She wasn’t wearing a costume, but she had smeared green makeup on her face and stuck a plastic wart on her nose. She looked like a young, blonde witch. I told you Dawn is an individual.

  “Hi, Mary Anne! Hi, Logan!”

  Logan and I turned around. There were Claudia and Austin. They were not in costume, either, unless you’d consider Claudia’s wild floral outfit, gigantic hair dip, and armload of silver bangle bracelets a costume. Most people would. Claudia didn’t.

  Austin, who was wearing a suit and tie, looked more like her father than her date.

  “Hi, you guys!” said Logan.

  I just smiled, suddenly feeling shy.

  “Great costumes,” Claudia said. “Who made up your faces?”

  “We did them ourselves,” Logan told her.

  “Wow!”

  Logan and Austin started talking about the JV football team, so Claudia took the opportunity to point out Grace and Cokie to me. They were dressed as punk rockers — really impressive costumes. Unfortunately, they caught us looking at them. Immediately they began whispering behind their hands.

  “Those two make me so uncomfortable,” I said to Claud.

  “Oh, they just think they’re better than everyone else.”

  “Really?” I replied. “That’s funny. I always thought they thought we thought we were better than everyone else.”

  Claudia grinned. “Well, we are.”

  I grinned, too.

  The band was really picking up by then, and more kids had started to dance. Claudia and Austin joined them. Logan knew it would be a long time before I would want to dance, so we wandered over to the refreshment table and loaded up on cupcakes and stuff.

  “You know,” I said to Logan, “this is better than dancing, but I do have to admit that it’s a little embarrassing to know your English teacher is watching you stand around eating Mr. Happy Face cookies.”

  “While you’re wearing a fur head-thing,” added Logan.

  We finished eating. The band played two fast numbers, a slow number, and three more fast ones. When another slow one came on, Logan asked me if I wanted to dance. I could tell he was getting bored, so I said yes. Besides, a slow dance isn’t really dancing. It’s more like leaning in time to the music. I relaxed against Logan.

  We danced and danced. It was an odd experience — dancing next to chickens and gorillas, space creatures and storybook characters, not to mention the usual hoboes and witches and goblins. Someone was even dressed as a stick of gum.

  Except for one incident, I felt, better about that dance than any other I’d been to. The one incident involved Cokie. She and the boy she was dancing with made their way over to Logan and me, and Cokie suggested switching partners. As we did (to my complete dismay), Cokie leaned over to me and said, “Cute costume. And nice bad-luck charm. It really completes the outfit.”

  Okay, so Dad was right. The charm took away from
the cat costume. I couldn’t help that. And I couldn’t explain to Cokie why I had to wear it. Only my closest friends knew the reason.

  A year ago, a comment like that might have made me burst into tears and run home. But that night, I survived, simply waiting until Logan was my partner again. I didn’t even tell him about Cokie’s rude comment.

  Then Logan and I danced the night away.

  An hour and a half later, he and his father were dropping me off at my house. As their car backed down the driveway, horn honking, I ran to the porch, turned around, and waved.

  I was just reaching for the doorknob, when I saw it: A note was taped to the doorjamb. My name was on the envelope — in those horrid, scary, cut-out letters.

  My heart leaped into my mouth, but on the street, the Brunos were waiting to see that I got into the house okay, and in the living room, Dad was probably waiting to see if I’d gotten home in one piece. So I stuck the envelope in my jacket pocket, let myself inside, flicked the porch lights for Logan, and even had a talk with Dad.

  I don’t know how I managed to wait so long before I read the note, but I did. When I was at last alone (with Tigger) in my bedroom, I opened the envelope. The note was made of cut-out letters. This is what it said:

  I shuddered and held Tigger tight. Old Man Hickory’s headstone was in Stoneybrook Cemetery. The next day was Halloween. And that night, Halloween night, the moon would be full.

  I spent an awful lot of time on the phone the next morning. My father may have relaxed most of my rules, but one still holds fast — no phone conversation can last longer than ten minutes. Well, that was a tough one. I had to call Kristy, Dawn, Claudia, Jessi, and Mallory to tell each of them about the note, and they had millions of questions. Each time I’d been on the phone for ten minutes, we’d have to hang up, and then my friend would have to call back.

  I really don’t know why Dad put up with that (except that he could see that technically I was following the phone rule), but I was glad he did. I’d hardly slept a wink the night before. I’d just lain in bed worrying. I jumped at so many harmless sounds and shadows that Tigger finally got fed up with me and mewed to be let out of my room. Then I was on my own for the rest of the long, spooky night.

  I might have been relieved to see morning arrive — especially a Saturday morning — if it hadn’t been Halloween. Since I was still a nervous wreck, I began calling my friends as early as I dared. That started all the phone calls back and forth. The thirteenth call was from Kristy.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Oops,” I replied. “You know, you’re the thirteenth call of the morning. That can’t be good for you.”

  “Well, I’m not going to worry about it,” Kristy told me. “And I’ll put an end to the phone conversations. I am calling an emergency club meeting.”

  “Another one?” I replied. Emergency meetings are supposed to be rare.

  “Yes. That note was for all the girls in our club, not just you. Well, anyway I think it was for all the regular members. Probably not Shannon. She doesn’t come to meetings, anyway. But this is a group matter — a club matter — and it’s serious. We’re in this mess together, and we’ll do something about it together. One-thirty this afternoon in Claudia’s room.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” I replied.

  I wasn’t sure whether Kristy would have thought it was funny that I saluted her.

  One-thirty came around awfully slowly. After Kristy called the emergency meeting, the phone stopped ringing. The morning crawled by. Dad didn’t know what was wrong. He just thought I was bored and kept suggesting things to do. After I had filled a bowl with candy bars for the trick-or-treaters, clipped Tigger’s nails, changed the sheets on my bed, and polished some silver, it was lunchtime, thank goodness. Dad and I ate, and then … finally … I headed over to Claudia’s.

  I brought the note with me, envelope and all, in case it contained any clues.

  Brother, if you thought Kristy was all business at any of the other meetings I’ve told you about, you should have seen her at Saturday’s emergency meeting. I was surprised she wasn’t wearing an army outfit or cracking a whip or something. If the graveyard business hadn’t been so serious, I might (might) have laughed at her.

  She was sitting ramrod straight in the director’s chair. Her visor was pulled down over her eyes, and two pencils were stuck over her right ear. The club notebook was open in her lap. She was not talking to Claudia. She wasn’t doing anything, not even chewing gum. As soon as I came in, she held one hand out for the letter, and gave me the notebook and one of the pencils with her other hand. In case I wanted to take notes, I guess.

  Claudia and I glanced at each other, then nervously watched Kristy read the note. Kristy let out a low whistle.

  “Can I see it?” asked Claud.

  Kristy handed it over.

  Claudia turned pale as she read it.

  Jessi was the next to arrive, and before she even read the note, I thought she was going to pass out from the mere sight of it.

  Last to arrive were Dawn and Mallory (who live near each other). They took a look at the note, too, of course, and managed to remain calm, but I could tell they were scared.

  All us club members could sense Kristy’s nervous, businesslike mood, so when Dawn and Mallory had read the note and returned it to Kristy, we just sat in silence, waiting for Kristy to make the first move.

  Kristy got right to the heart of the matter. “We’ve got to do this, you know,” she said. “The six of us have to gather in the graveyard at Old Hickory’s at midnight tonight, just like the note says.”

  “No way!” cried Dawn.

  “Um, can I ask a question?” Jessi spoke up. “Who’s Old Hickory?”

  “Oh, he was this mean old man, James Hickman (his nickname was Old Hickory), who used to live in Stoneybrook,” Dawn told her. “He was the richest man in town. Also the stingiest. Also a recluse.”

  “And what happened to him?”

  “They just found him dead in his mansion one day. Some people say he died of old age. Others say he died of meanness. Anyway, he didn’t want a big funeral or a gravestone or anything, but this long-lost nephew of his turned up, inherited Old Hickory’s fortune, felt guilty, and had a gigantic headstone —”

  “More like a statue,” Claudia interrupted.

  “— put up in the graveyard,” Dawn continued. “Now it’s supposed to be haunted by the ghost of Old Hickory, who’s angry about the way he was buried. You know, that his nephew went against his wishes.”

  Silence.

  Finally, Jessi said, “And we’re supposed to go to a haunted gravestone in a cemetery at midnight on Halloween — when there’s a full moon?” She looked incredulous and scared to death.

  “I think we better,” said Kristy. “We all know what happens when we ignore warnings.” She looked meaningfully at me. “Besides, I have a feeling something important is going to take place in the graveyard.”

  “Yeah, we’re all going to die,” said Claudia.

  Kristy shot Claudia one of her glares. “That is not what I mean. I mean, I think there’s going to be some sort of, um, confrontation. Everything will get cleared up. So we have to go. But we have to be together on this. We have to be a club, a team. If anyone isn’t behind me, well, who knows what might happen. So — if you’re willing to work with me, to work together, then raise your hand. But you’ve got to mean it.”

  Kristy raised her own hand to start things off. Dawn was next. Then Claudia. Slowly, I raised my hand. And at last, Mal and Jessi exchanged sidelong glances and raised their hands.

  “Great,” said Kristy brusquely. “Thank you. Now, how are we all going to sneak out of our houses tonight? I figure we should leave around eleven-thirty.”

  “Sneak out! Oh, my gosh!” I cried. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ll never be able to get out of my house at eleven-thirty at night.”

  “Yes, you will,” Kristy told me. “We all will. Think. How could you do it?”

 
“I don’t know. My father’s the lightest sleeper in the world. Everything wakes him up. Look up ‘Lightest Sleeper’ in the Guinness Book of World Records. You’ll find a picture of Dad.”

  My friends giggled.

  “Well, I won’t have a problem,” said Dawn. “Mom could sleep through World War Three. All I have to do is walk downstairs and out the front door. She’ll never know.”

  “I share a room!” wailed Mallory. “I’ll never get out!”

  “Don’t you ever have to get up to go to the bathroom?” asked Kristy.

  “Well, yes,” replied Mal.

  “So if Vanessa asks what you’re doing, tell her you’re going to the bathroom. She’ll probably go right back to sleep.”

  “Okay …”

  “I think I’ll sneak out in stages,” said Claudia thoughtfully. “I’ll tiptoe to the bathroom, stay there for awhile, tiptoe downstairs, stay in the kitchen for a while, then finally just leave.”

  “That might work,” said Kristy. “What about you, Jessi?”

  Jessi shook her head. “I don’t know, but I’ll have to be real careful. Mom and Dad had an alarm system put in the house. I’ll have to find out how to turn it on and off. And how much time I have to get in and out of the house before I set it off.”

  Kristy began to look worried.

  I knew how to shake her up a little more. “Hey!” I exclaimed. “I think I figured out a way to get out of my house. I just open the window, jump over to that tree branch, and climb down.”

  “Oh, no!” cried Mallory. “Didn’t you ever see that movie Pollyanna? The one with Hayley Mills? She falls trying to sneak back into her house and nearly kills herself.”

  “Whoa,” said Kristy. “Forget this idea. Just forget it. Alarm systems, climbing out of second-story windows. You guys were right. This won’t work.”

  Really?! I thought. Oh, good!

  “I’ve got another idea,” said Kristy.

  Darn.

  “I know how you can leave your houses pretty late — and tell your parents about it.”

  “How?” asked Claudia” Mal, Jessi, Dawn, and I. We were utterly mystified.