Claudia and the Lighthouse Ghost

  “Is outdoors all right?” Mr. Hatt said with a grin. “We’ll do some scraping first, then put on a coat of primer if we have time.”

  When we reached the lighthouse, Mr. Hatt unlocked the door and disappeared inside. He came back out with an old radio and a handful of metal scrapers.

  We began peeling all the old paint off the sides, to the sounds of holiday Muzak.

  “He’s fixing the house, and scraping it twice,” Abby sang. “Scaring away the goblins and mice. Santa Claus is cominnnnnn’ to town!”

  We spread out, north, east, south, and west. I had the side closest to the house next door. The side with the message HATTS OFF.

  As I was working on the second “T,” I spotted a movement behind me to my right.

  I turned around. Mr. Langley was leaning over his fence, glaring at me.

  When our eyes met, he began walking toward a pickup truck in his driveway.

  What was that all about? Was he admiring my work — or angry that I was erasing his?

  I sidled around the lighthouse nonchalantly, trying to whistle along with the radio.

  I ran into Kristy first. “He’s there!” I whispered. “Mr. Langley!”

  Kristy turned and let out a shrill whistle.

  I cringed. “Don’t do that!”

  Abby and Stacey came running. I shushed them and whispered, “Where’s Mr. Hatt?”

  “In the basement,” Stacey replied. “Some problem with the generator.”

  I led them all slowly around the lighthouse. The hood of Mr. Langley’s pickup was open, and he was fiddling around with the engine.

  We ducked out of sight.

  “I say we talk to him,” Kristy said.

  “Go for it,” Abby agreed.

  “Are you crazy?” I asked.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Kristy called out, walking toward the house.

  I thought I was going to die.

  Mr. Langley poked his head out from under the hood. He shuffled toward us. “Yeah?”

  “I hope you don’t mind talking about this, but we were, uh, doing research for a historical project about the lighthouse, and we read about — well, the tragedy.”

  Mr. Langley just stared at her.

  “Anyway, we’re really sorry about what happened to your son, sir,” Kristy went on. “I know you may not want to talk about it. We realize it was a horrible time —”

  “Hatt talk about it to you?” Mr. Langley snapped.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  An angry smile played across Mr. Langley’s face. “Sure he didn’t. Wouldn’t want to admit what he did, would he?”

  Kristy nodded. “We read about the rescue. It must have been —”

  “Rescue?” Mr. Langley laughed. “You didn’t read all the articles. You didn’t read that he locked the place up with Adrian inside. Oh, sure, it was a mistake, people said. He didn’t check inside enough before he closed up that night. Besides, they all said, Adrian could have slept the night and waited. He didn’t have to jump. They didn’t know my son had bad claustrophobia. But Hatt did, you can be sure of that.”

  I could feel my heart sinking. But the story didn’t make sense. “Why was Adrian in there?” I asked.

  “Does it matter?” Mr. Langley shot back.

  “I — I just can’t believe anyone would do such an awful thing,” I said.

  “Tell that to Alex Hatt,” Mr. Langley grunted. “Ask him about the fight he had with Homer Langley over the lighthouse property. The property that was deeded to my grandfather years ago and passed down to me, before a certain Alex Hatt illegally took it over. Ask him about the fight I put up. And about the high-priced lawyers he hired to beat down a working stiff like me. I wasn’t afraid of the lawyers, no, ma’am. And Hatt knew it. He knew there was only one way to intimidate me —”

  “Pop? What are you doing out there?”

  A boy, high school age, was leaning out the front door.

  “Just talking to these girls about Alex Hatt,” Mr. Langley replied. Then he turned back to us and said softly, “Paulie was only eight at the time. He took his brother’s death the hardest of all.”

  The boy stormed out of the house. “Don’t talk about that animal, Pop,” he said, grabbing his father by the arm. “Who are you kids, anyway?”

  “W-w-we’re helping the H-Hatts,” I stammered.

  Paul’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke, his face reddened and the veins in his neck stood out. “The only good Hatt,” he said, “is a dead Hatt.”

  They turned and walked to the pickup. Mr. Langley slammed down the hood. Then they climbed in, and the truck squealed away from the curb.

  My teeth were chattering as we walked back toward the lighthouse.

  Honk! Honnnnnk!

  Mrs. Hatt’s car was just pulling up. “Time to switch shoppers!” she called out cheerily.

  “I’ll guh —” My heart was stuck in my throat. I swallowed. “I’ll get him.”

  I ran into the lighthouse and climbed downstairs. From outside, I could hear Stacey talking to Mrs. Hatt. Kristy and Abby stayed on the first floor and whispered a mile a minute.

  Mr. Hatt was downstairs, working on an old machine. “Mr. Hatt?” I said meekly.

  “Huh?” He spun around, wild-eyed. I froze.

  A murderer. Adrian Langley’s murderer.

  I was alone with him.

  “You startled me,” Mr. Hatt said with a laugh.

  “It’s your life — I mean, wife —” I blathered.

  “Oh! Thanks. Are you coming with me?”

  “No!” I blurted out. “I mean, I think I’ll do my shopping tonight.”

  Mr. Hatt shrugged. “Okay.”

  As he walked upstairs, my heart slowed down. I slumped against the wall.

  I almost didn’t notice the little piece of paper. It was neatly folded, gray with dust, sticking out of a piece of broken linoleum tile against the wall.

  Litter. I picked it up and started to stuff it in my pocket. But I noticed handwriting on it.

  I opened it up and read:

  “No … NO-O-O-O-O!” a muffled voice called out.

  A cold blast of wind ruffled the note in my hand.

  “Abby?” I shouted. “Kristy?”

  They appeared at the top of the stairs. “Yeah?”

  “Are you trying to scare me?” I asked.

  Abby gave me a baffled look. “Do we need to?”

  I shook it off. The voice was probably in my head.

  But the wind wasn’t.

  And neither was the note.

  “Claudia, be careful!” Laura grabbed me by the arm and pulled me back onto the curb.

  HOONNNNNK! A car whooshed by, swerving toward the other side of the road.

  “Oh!” I caught my breath. “Thanks.”

  “Claudia, what’s with you? You’ve been, like, in a fog all day long.”

  “Sorry, Laura, just … um, tired, I guess.”

  Okay, I lied. But what was I going to tell her? I haven’t trusted you ever since I found those scissors? Or Laura, I think your father might be a murderer? Or Stacey and I are hearing voices in the lighthouse?

  As it was, I could barely put a sentence together. I was obsessed with the weird note I’d found in the lighthouse on Sunday. I had been looking at it all day in school, trying to figure out what it meant. Abby, Kristy, and Stacey hadn’t a clue about the meaning. Neither had the rest of my BSC friends, when I’d shown the note to them.

  “I am soooo mad at Steve,” Laura was saying, as we approached my house.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because he’s a creep. He invited all these kids to the Christmas party in the lighthouse, but would he ask his own sister? Nooooo.”

  “Don’t worry. Your parents wouldn’t let him have it there.”

  “They did let him!” Laura replied. “Didn’t you hear my dad give him permission this morning?”

  “Well, there was a lot going on …”

  I pushed open the front door. Caryn wa
s already home, sitting on the sofa with her mom and dad. They were hunched over the coffee table, looking at a sheet of paper.

  “Hi!” I called out.

  From the grim looks on their faces and the pile of unopened mail on the floor, I had a feeling something bad had happened.

  “Another letter?” Laura asked.

  Mrs. Hatt nodded grimly and held it out:

  “What does it mean?” Caryn asked.

  “I don’t know, sweetheart,” Mrs. Hatt said. “But the joke is growing stale.”

  I cast a sideways glance at Laura. She turned and stormed into the kitchen. “Some joke,” she grumbled.

  Caryn looked on the verge of tears.

  Okay, so maybe the scissors and cut-up paper in their room was just a coincidence. Either that, or Laura was a great actress.

  Well, if she thought she could scare her mom into leaving Stoneybrook, the plan didn’t seem to be working. Mrs. Hatt looked strong as a rock.

  I sat on the sofa next to Caryn. As I was looking over the note, Janine and Steve walked in the front door.

  Right away, Steve took the letter from my hand. “Hey, cool! More crank mail! I can put these on the wall for the party.”

  “That’s the holiday spirit,” Laura called from the kitchen.

  “Steven, really,” Mrs. Hatt said.

  Laughing, Steve dropped the note on the coffee table. Mrs. Hatt and Caryn were now opening the other mail, so I grabbed the note and sneaked into the kitchen. “Laura?” I said.

  Laura was snacking on some Triscuits. “What?”

  I braced myself. “The other day, when I went into your room to look for you, I saw —”

  “You went into my room without asking?”

  “Ohhhh, no!” shouted Janine. “Help!”

  I darted back into the living room. Janine was holding back the curtains, peeking outside.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It’s Jerry the Jerk!” she said, running for the stairs. “Tell him I’m not here. Tell him I’m in Siberia on vacation.”

  “Don’t forget I have a meeting today!” I shouted after her.

  WHAM! went my bedroom door.

  Ding-dong!

  Steve strode to the front door and pulled it open. “Yeah?” he grunted.

  You should have seen the look on Jerry’s face. If he were a cat, he would have hissed. “Is Janine home?”

  “She’s in Liberia,” Steve said.

  “Siberia,” I corrected him. “And she’s not there, anyway. Really. She’s just busy, Jerry.”

  Jerry’s eyes were still riveted on Steve. “I just want to talk to her for a minute.”

  “Okay by me,” Steve said with an amused expression.

  “I don’t think so, Jerry,” I said.

  “Well, then, just give her this, okay?” Jerry handed me a letter. “It’s very important, and very private.”

  Jerry glared at Steve again, then turned to leave.

  “What’s his problem?” Steve said as he shut the door.

  “You,” I mumbled under my breath.

  I ran the letter upstairs, into my room. “Special delivery!”

  “Is he still here?” Janine asked.

  “No, but he left a love message.”

  I handed the letter to her and watched her open it. She pulled out a few sheets of yellow legal paper.

  “No magazine cutouts?” I asked.

  “Do you mind?” Janine snapped.

  I sat at my art desk and pulled out the lighthouse note from my bag.

  The crude little drawing at the bottom looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. I spread the note out flat and sketched the little face myself. I tried to fill in details, imagining what it might be based on.

  My third attempt looked like this:

  As I drew it, I noticed Janine looking over my shoulder. “Do you mind?” I asked.

  “That’s really quite a good likeness,” Janine remarked.

  “Do you know what it is?”

  Janine nodded. “I see it every day. It’s the gargoyle over the high school entrance.”

  Thump. That was my heart. “It is?”

  “Of course, most gargoyles are based on a few basic patterns,” Janine went on. “So this one could be from anywhere.”

  “ANYBODY SEEN MY CASHMERE SWEAT-ER?” Laura called out at the top of her lungs.

  “No-o-o-o!” yelled Steve in a mock-female voice from downstairs.

  “JERK!” she shouted back.

  “WHERE DID YOU WEAR IT LAST?” Mrs. Hatt asked.

  Clump-clump-clump-clump went Laura’s footsteps up the stairs. “I think Janine had it.”

  Smack! went my bedroom door as Laura pushed it open. “Do you?” she asked Janine.

  “Come in, the door’s open,” Janine said sarcastically. “And no, I don’t have yours, but I own a similar one.” She dug into what was once my closet and pulled out a grayish cardigan.

  “Not my style,” Laura said flatly.

  A burning smell wafted up from downstairs. An alarm was beeping manically. I ran into the hall and yelled, “Is something on the —”

  “WHO-O-O-OA!” came Steve’s voice.

  “Steven Hatt, haven’t I always told you to keep newspapers away from the top of the stove?” Mrs. Hatt yelled.

  “Helloooo, I’m home!” sang my mom from the front hallway. “What’s that smell?”

  Laura and Caryn were running downstairs at top speed.

  I could hear clattering noises and splashing water in the kitchen. Steve was whooping loudly, as if the whole thing were a hilarious joke.

  Janine turned to me with a weary look. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait until they leave.”

  For once, my sister and I were in full agreement.

  * * *

  By BSC meeting time, the fire was out and the house had calmed down.

  Our first order of business was the comet party. Mary Anne told us her dad had agreed to be on hand, to supervise and to drive home anyone who didn’t have a ride.

  After a phone call came in, I passed the latest letter to the Hatts around the room, along with my drawing.

  “The gargoyle face does look familiar,” Stacey said.

  Kristy nodded. “Sort of like my brother Charlie just after he wakes up.”

  “We’ll have to scout the high school tomorrow,” Abby suggested. “Check out the statue.”

  Jessi leaped to her feet. “I’ve got it!” she cried, holding up the crank letter. “Okay, clue number one — the postmark says Stamford, just like the other, so the notes are probably local. Clue number two — look at the cutouts. Who would have a magazine like this in the house?”

  We all leaned forward. Most of the letters in the message were pretty average-looking. But a couple of them caught my eye. The fonts were wild, colorful. One of the letters was superimposed on the face of a rock singer. Another looked as if it had been cut from an ad for a video game.

  “Someone young!” I exclaimed.

  “Or the parents of someone young,” Kristy added.

  “Terrific,” Abby said. “That narrows the suspects to … Mr. Langley, his son, the guy who was staring at the lighthouse, Laura, Steve, and Jerry.”

  Duh.

  It felt as if all the air had been let out of the room.

  We were still at square one.

  Charlotte Johanssen was wearing a surgical mask when Stacey picked her up Tuesday night.

  “What’s that for?” Stacey asked.

  “So I don’t catch the flu,” Charlotte replied.

  Charlotte’s mom, Dr. Johanssen, shrugged. “I tried to tell her it hasn’t been proven that comets spread germs, but she didn’t want to take chances.”

  Stacey tried not to laugh. Charlotte is one of the smartest and most mature eight-year-olds any of us has ever met. But hey, a kid is a kid.

  Stacey’s job was to round up Charlotte and the Braddock kids for the Great and Fabulous Once-in-a-Lifetime Baby-sitters Club Com
et-Watching Festival. (That name was Kristy’s idea, of course.)

  Haley and Matt answered their door in vampire costumes over their down coats. “Boo-ah-hah-hah-hah!”

  “Uh, isn’t it the wrong time of year?” Stacey remarked.

  “This is to ward off the ghosts,” Haley explained.

  Charlotte giggled. “That’s silly,” she said, her voice muffled by the mask.

  Together they walked to Mary Anne’s house. Why did we pick her house for the gala event?

  Because we needed someplace big and dark. Big, to fit all the kids. Dark, because street light makes it harder to see stars in the sky. And Mary Anne’s yard happens to be pretty far from any street lamps.

  When Stacey and Charlotte arrived at the party, it was seven o’clock and pretty dark already. A few floodlights were on, illuminating a yard full of Pikes.

  “Greetings!” Mary Anne’s dad called out. “Mallory’s near the barn, setting up her telescope.”

  Charlotte ran off to see. But Stacey couldn’t take her eyes off the Pike kids. They were putting up a tent and covering it with tinfoil.

  “Making a spaceship?” Stacey asked.

  Adam rolled his eyes. “No, a gamma ray protector!”

  “Who’s Grandma Ray?” Claire Pike asked.

  Well, the triplets thought that was hilarious. They fell on the ground, laughing.

  “Silly-billy-goo-goo,” Claire muttered and stormed away.

  She was almost knocked over by Buddy Barrett. He was running across the yard, wearing a pair of mirrored sunglasses. “What’s so funn —” he managed to say before falling flat on his face.

  Behind him were Jessi and her eight-year-old sister, Becca, plus three of Buddy’s siblings: Taylor DeWitt (who’s six), Lindsey DeWitt (eight), and Suzi Barrett (five). All three of them wore mirrored sunglasses, too.

  “Don’t tell me,” Stacey said. “To ward off the glare?”

  Lindsey shook her head. “To reflect back the hypnotic rays.”

  “Oh.”

  Next came Logan Bruno with the Hobart kids, lugging a huge cooler. “Full of fruits and vegetables,” Mathew Hobart explained. “In case the comet dust kills all the plants.”

  Where was I during all this? At the drugstore with Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold, twin eight-year-old BSC charges. I was helping them buy hair spray.