Andi Unstoppable Read online

  She folded her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “So how was your trip?”

  “Interesting.”

  She arched her brow. “How’s that?”

  I bit my lip, but then decided to tell my aunt about the ghost. “Do you know the story of Dominika Shalley?”

  “Oh sure, every kid who grew up in Killdeer has heard that story.” She bent into a full body stretch.

  “Do you think it could be true? Do you think Dominika Shalley’s ghost haunts the woods?”

  My aunt looked up from her stretch. “Personally, I have never seen the ghost, and your dad and I spent a lot of time in Shalley Park when we were children. It became a park when we were kids. Even then, your dad was interested in plants, so he would go into the woods looking for specimens. Most of the time, he would let me tag along and carry his bag. I loved every minute of it because I got to spend time with my big brother.” She looked away for a moment but not before I saw the tears in her eyes.

  Mr. Rochester hopped off me and bumped his head against Amelie’s knee. He always knew when someone needed him.

  I didn’t want to start crying, so I asked, “Have you ever seen the graves?”

  She stroked Mr. Rochester’s orange fur. “Yes, many times. That was your father’s favorite place to gather plants. There was less tree cover there, so more varieties of plants were able to grow. We never saw the ghost, but trust me, I looked.” She paused. “I noticed that you took your dad’s binoculars with you for the expedition.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t use them . . . do you think?” I squeaked. “Something might happen to them.”

  “Don’t be silly.” She scratched Mr. Rochester under the chin. “I noticed because I knew how much your dad would love it that you were tramping through those woods just like he and I did as kids. It’s a great way to honor his memory.” Amelie smiled gently at me.

  “Really?” I asked, glad the binoculars were in my backpack.

  She grinned. “Absolutely, he would love it. Your mom would too.” She clapped her hands. “So, did you see it?”

  I bit my lip, but finally told my aunt the whole story from Ava and me stumbling onto the graves to Colin and me possibly seeing the ghost in the middle of the night to Paige running out of the woods terrified. “Why would the ghost appear to us and not you?”

  “Were you bothering the graves?” She placed Mr. Rochester in her lap, and the tabby curled up and shut his eyes. He would stay there all night if she didn’t move.

  I shook my head, remembering the holes I saw dug into the graves. “Colin and I didn’t, but someone else might have.” I told her about the holes.

  “That could be it. What did the ghost look like?”

  “She wore a white robe and had long silver hair. She seemed to float through the trees.”

  Amelie was thoughtful. “Did the clothes look old? I mean, if it was really Dominika Shalley from the Civil War era, shouldn’t she be wearing Civil War era clothing?”

  “It looked shimmery like it was made of silk or something like that. I didn’t get that close to her to see if her robe was antique, but I found this.” I reached into my pocket and brought out the piece of fabric I had found in the cemetery. Most of the glitter wore off, but there was still enough there.

  Amelie took it from my hand. “Andi, this is polyester.”

  I gave her a blank stare.

  “Polyester wasn’t invented until the 1940s. I don’t know who or what you saw in the woods, but if she was wearing this, it wasn’t Dominika Shalley’s ghost.” She handed the piece of fabric back to me.

  If it wasn’t a ghost, who was playing a practical joke on Colin and me, and possibly Paige too?

  Outside, a car pulled up in front of the house. I ran to the window to see who it was. Through the window I watched Romero open the passenger side door of his pickup for my sister. Bethany and Romero stood under the streetlight. She laughed at something he said and flipped her hair. A knot formed in my stomach.

  “Andi, what are you staring at so hard?” Amelie padded to the window and stood next to me.

  I pulled the curtain closed. “Bethany’s home.”

  “Why isn’t she coming inside?” She moved the curtain. When she saw who Bethany was talking to, she sighed. She rested her head against the cool windowpane. “I was hoping I could get through the first year of parenthood without having to deal with boys. And did he really have to be driving already? A pickup truck?” She shook her head. “I think that’s a little harsh, don’t you?”

  I didn’t think she wanted me to answer the question.

  She stepped back from the window and the curtain fell back over the pane. “Maybe a curfew isn’t a bad idea. Do you know who the boy is?”

  “He’s Ava’s brother, Romero,” I said. “He dropped Ava off at Colin’s when we were planning out the birding trip on Thursday.”

  “Bethany told me she had a friend from school named Romero. I think she wanted to tell me about him before you got a chance. Maybe I was naïve to think they were just friends like you and Colin. She is fourteen.” She sighed. “I’m happy she told me. I want to keep the lines of communication open. Your sister is too prone to shutting people out. That’s the last thing I want to happen. I want you both to feel you can come and talk to me about anything.” She put a hand on my shoulder. “You do know that, don’t you?”

  I forced a laugh. “I just told you I might have seen a ghost, so, yeah, I know it.”

  She laughed. “Why don’t you go upstairs and hop in the shower? You need one after a night in the woods. I think you have a stick in your hair. It’ll give me time to talk to your sister alone.”

  I planted my feet. “I want to know what’s going on with Bethany and Ava’s brother too.”

  “Please, Andi. Bethany isn’t going to tell me anything about him with you hanging around.”

  I knew it was true, but it still hurt to hear my aunt say that. “Okay.” I grabbed my backpack and ran upstairs and then up the second flight of stairs to my attic bedroom. I dropped my bag on my bedroom floor and ran back down to the second floor bathroom just as the front door slammed shut.

  I turned on the shower in the bathroom, closed the bathroom door from the outside, and crept to the top of the stairs. I knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but it was the only way I was going to find out what was going on with my sister. Like Amelie said, Bethany wasn’t going to tell me anything. Mr. Rochester sat beside me at the top of the stairs. He was an excellent spy, and he knew all the secrets of the house.

  “How was the party?” I heard Amelie ask.

  “Okay,” my sister answered.

  “Did you meet some new friends?”

  Bethany mumbled an answer.

  “Who dropped you off in the truck?”

  “Were you watching me?” Bethany’s voice was louder and sharper than before.

  “I heard a car and looked out the window, yes. Was that Romero?”

  “Yes. He’s a nice guy.”

  “I’m sure he is. Maybe next time he drops you off I can meet him?”

  My sister said something that I couldn’t hear.

  “I was a teenage girl once too. I know what it’s like, okay? Just let me know what’s going on.”

  “Fine,” Bethany said, but she didn’t sound angry. “I’m going to my room.”

  I leapt back and dashed into the bathroom.

  CASE FILE NO. 12

  The next morning, I stepped into College Church and scanned the congregation for Mr. Finnigan. After some coaxing from Bergita, he had
started going to our church a few weeks ago. I wanted to find my friend because if anyone could tell us the true story about Dominika Shalley’s ghost, it would be the town curator.

  “Where is he?” I swayed back and forth in the pew searching for Mr. Finnigan.

  “Andi.” Bergita touched my hand. “Stop bouncing around like a jackrabbit.”

  “I was hoping Mr. Finnigan would be here,” I whispered.

  “He might be. You can look for him after church. Now, face front and pay attention.”

  I sighed and looked forward. Bethany flipped her church bulletin over and over in her hands. I was dying to ask her about Romero, but I was too afraid it would turn into a fight.

  Finally, church ended. After the pastor walked down the aisle, I jumped up and searched the congregation for Mr. Finnigan. He wasn’t there. Disappointed, I followed Bergita, Colin, my aunt, and Bethany out of church.

  On the drive home, I asked Bergita and Amelie if Colin and I could go to the museum to check on Mr. Finnigan.

  Bethany rolled her eyes at my question. She thought it was weird that Colin and I spent so much time with the town curator. But then again, Bethany wasn’t interested in history like we were.

  Amelie frowned. “Patrick wasn’t in church today for a reason.”

  “Shouldn’t we find out what the reason is and make sure he’s okay?” Colin asked.

  “I see you have a bee in your bonnet about it.” Bergita tapped the steering wheel then. “Yes, you kids can go over to the museum and check on Patrick. If he’s not there or not up to visitors, I want you to come straight home.” She pointed at Colin. “And you need to come home for Sunday supper. Your parents promised to be there.”

  Colin brightened at the thought of seeing his parents. They were both ER doctors at the local hospital, and he didn’t see them often. Any time they ate dinner as a family was a special treat.

  When we got home, Colin and I jumped on our bikes and rode to the museum. It was one place in Killdeer I knew well. I had spent a lot of time there since moving to town in June.

  When we stepped inside the building, Mr. Finnigan unfolded his long legs from underneath the metal desk just inside the historical society’s front door. He grinned when he saw us. “Andi, Colin, I have been wondering when the two of you would pop in again.” He covered his face and sneezed, three times.

  Colin and I took big steps back.

  “Don’t worry. I don’t have a cold. It’s these blasted allergies. The goldenrod is starting to bloom in the fields around town, and that is the worst for me.” His eyes were red and his nose was runny. He dabbed at it with a handkerchief. “I skipped church today to spare everyone from my sneezes.” He leaned on his desk as he shoved his handkerchief back into his pocket. “So tell me, what brings you here today?”

  “Can you tell us everything you know about the Shalley family?” I asked.

  Mr. Finnigan stood and walked down the smooth brick floor toward the archives. “That’s a tall order. The Shalley family has almost as much written about them as the Pike family.” He glanced at me. “And you personally know how far back the Pike family goes in this town.”

  “Are there still Shalleys living here?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “There hasn’t been since the Civil War. The five boys who were killed were the last of the line.”

  “Why is there so much written about them then?” Colin asked.

  “Because of the ghost,” I guessed.

  Mr. Finnigan walked back to his desk near the entrance and sat. “I’m not one to give into fanciful stories. I like my history free and clear of folklore. But yes, Andi is right. There is a lot of interest in the Shalley story because of Dominika’s ghost.”

  “One of the birders told us about her at the campfire on Friday night.”

  Mr. Finnigan rested his elbows on the desk. “Which one?”

  “Jim. He’s a triplet. His brothers are birders too and were there.”

  Mr. Finnigan nodded. “You must mean Jack, Jim, and Joe Higgins. I’m not surprised one of the triplets told the story. They love to be the center of attention.”

  “Do you know them?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Mr. Finnigan knows everyone,” said Colin.

  Mr. Finnigan shrugged. “Almost everyone.”

  “There was a professor at the campout too. Dr. Gregory Sparrow. Do you know him?” I asked.

  Mr. Finnigan picked up his coffee mug from the table and took a sip before answering. “He’s an ornithology professor at the university. I would expect him to be there if a rare bird was sighted in Shalley Park. I know him of course, but not as well as I know the faculty in the history department. That being said, one of his students came to see me last week. He wanted an early map of Shalley Park. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything like that. Until the land was donated to the city in the 1990s, there were no records of its trails and paths. They were only recorded when the land became public property.”

  “Do you believe the ghost story?” I asked.

  Mr. Finnigan wrapped both hands around his coffee mug. “Of course, I love the idea of a sensational story like this in our little town. It could bring more tourists into Killdeer. But no, I don’t believe that it’s true. It goes against every logical thought I have.”

  “We saw the cemetery,” I said. “There were fall mums planted there.”

  “That was me,” Mr. Finnigan said. “It’s one of my jobs to look after the graves, which is why I doubt there is a real ghost. I’ve never seen one, and I visit the graves once a month.”

  “We saw the ghost,” Colin blurted out. “At least we thought we did until Andi found a clue.”

  Mr. Finnigan sat up straight. “What was that?”

  Just like I did the night before, I removed the piece of fabric from my pocket. “This. We believe it is part of the ghost’s dress.”

  He took it from my hand. “It’s polyester with glitter.”

  “Amelie said it can’t be from a ghost who dates back to the Civil War.”

  “She’s right. Polyester was invented in 1941 in England. It didn’t appear in clothing until 1950 if I remember correctly. I think you are dealing with an imposter.”

  “One of Gregory’s students saw the ghost,” I said. “She was scared half to death. She actually left the camp.”

  Mr. Finnigan set the piece of fabric in front of him on the desk. “There are no such things as ghosts.” He pointed at the piece of fabric. “And this proves it.” He stood up. “If you want to learn more about the Shalley family, follow me.” He headed into the old bottling factory.

  I snatched the piece of fabric off his desk before following Mr. Finnigan and Colin into the hallway.

  Near the end of the hall was Michael Pike III’s office, which Mr. Finnigan had converted into the museum office and the place to keep the archives. He unlocked the door to Number Three’s office. In its heyday, the building had been the Michael Pike Bottling Company, famous for their sweet ginger ale. The company went out of business nearly fifty years ago and eventually, the building was donated to the town. That’s when it became the historical society and museum.

  We stepped into what used to be the secretary’s office. I could tell Mr. Finnigan had done a lot of work on it in the last few months. Instead of piles of boxes and crates all over the place, the display cases were polished and the artifacts, from Native American arrowheads to memorabilia from Michael Pike University, were carefully labeled. Even the bookshelves looked like they were in better shape. The books were upright and ready to be read. Mr. Finnigan walked to one of the shelv
es and ran his finger along the spines of the books, then suddenly stopped. “Here we go. Like I said, I don’t believe in the Dominika Shalley ghost story. However, ten years ago, a researcher came through and wrote a book about it. Here it is.” He pulled a thin paperback book from the shelf.

  The cover was a photograph of the crumbling Shalley homestead at dusk. Fog rolled in on the scene and there was a full moon. The book was creepier than the Shalley homestead was in real life.

  Mr. Finnigan walked across the room and leaned on the desk. “Believe what you read in there with a kernel of doubt.”

  “Why?” Colin asked.

  “The main focus of the book is the ghost story, but I would say the first fifty pages are a decent history of the Shalley family — how they came to Killdeer and why each boy decided to go off to war. You know, for the Civil War there was no draft in the North. No one was forced to fight. Many volunteered because they believed in the cause. There were other reasons, of course, that the men signed up, but that was the most common one.” He sighed. “The last one hundred pages of the book talk about the ghost of Dominika Shalley.”

  Colin spun in a desk chair. “Can we talk to the man who wrote the book? Does he live nearby?”

  Mr. Finnigan shook his head. “He passed away a couple of years ago. As far as I know, this is the last of his research. A year after his death, I contacted his widow and asked her if I could have his papers on the subject for the archives here, but she said she threw them all out.” Mr. Finnigan winced as if the thought of all those lovely papers being thrown away caused him physical pain. “It’s such a shame, so much town history was potentially lost.”

  Colin took the book from Mr. Finnigan’s hand.

  I leaned on the glass case. “You said that you visit the graves once a month.”

  Mr. Finnigan sat behind his desk. “That’s right.”

  “Have you noticed digging in or around the graves?”

  He sat up straight in his chair. “Digging? There shouldn’t be any digging around the graves.”