The Ghastly Gerty Swindle With the Ghosts of Hungryhouse Lane Read online

  “Eew. I’m not eating tongue sandwiches,” said the littlest Sweet. “How can the moo-cow say moo if it hasn’t got its tongue?”

  “Look, the cow is dead,” snapped Gerty. “Somebody somewhere else in the world is eating the rest of it. You might as well say how does a sheep walk if we roast a leg of lamb.”

  String me up, thought Gerty. For breakfast they’d gobbled down bacon and pâté de fois gras, and they had the nerve to turn up their noses at tongue sandwiches!

  “You didn’t whack the crusts off,” said Charlie.

  “And I like my sandwiches cut into equilateral triangles, actually,” said Zoe.

  “Oh, please excuse me,” cried Gerty. “I didn’t know you needed geometry lessons to make proper sandwiches.”

  A distant cloud seen through the window made her even more impatient. What if it rained and they cancelled the picnic? As Amy Steadings struggled into the room with a green blanket, Gerty clapped her hands in a let’s-be-busy way.

  “If you don’t all hurry up, it’s going to rain. Come along now; the grass will be wet and horrible and you’ll have to eat your picnic standing up. Off you go!”

  “What are we going to drink?” asked Zoe.

  “The lemonade is in the fridge. Fetch it like a good girl, if you can carry it, that is—do you really have to bring your first-aid case to a picnic?”

  “Of course. Someone might rip their flesh on barbed wire.”

  “Oh, my gawd, charming,” muttered Gerty.

  When Zoe opened the fridge door, she saw a plate of tongue sandwiches sitting on the second shelf. They were bound in plastic wrap and they had been sprinkled over with heads of fresh parsley. That wasn’t all. They had been cut into neat equilateral triangles.

  Huh, thought Zoe.

  Muldoon led the picnic party out of the front door. Then, on her cane, came Miss Amy, who was helped by Zoe, who passed her first-aid case to Charlie, who passed the plastic cups to Bonnie so that he could have one hand free to tape interesting sounds if he heard any. And so Bonnie couldn’t run back for Lulubelle because her arms were too full to carry anything more.

  “Could you open the garden gate for us please, Gertrude,” said Amy. “What are you going to do with yourself all afternoon?”

  “I must walk into the village, dear. I need some stamps.”

  “Dear me. I’m sure I must have stamps you can have.”

  “Oh, stamps isn’t all, duck. I’ve got to get a turnip and bread.”

  “Enjoy the tongue sandwiches,” said Zoe.

  “Never eat them! If I let tongue past my lips it gives me heartburn. Cheers!”

  How mean could you get, Zoe thought as the picnic party moved on. Imagine making triangle sandwiches for herself and squares for everybody else! And then telling lies about it! Because if Gertrude Moag wouldn’t eat those sandwiches in the fridge, who were they for?

  8 …

  Alexander the Grate

  A white van traveled along the highway toward Tunwold village.

  It was a new van, but rather inclined to show the dust as white vehicles sometimes do. An anonymous finger had written WASH on the left rear door and ME on the right rear door. Along the side, in bold blue letters, were these words:

  ALEXANDER THE GRATE

  ANTIQUES AND OBJETS D’ART

  OLD FIREPLACES A SPECIALITY

  Alexander himself was driving on this particular day—the day of the Sweet kids’ picnic. He was dressed in a leather jacket, slate-blue trousers and gray running shoes. Over the bald spot that had given him so much misery in life he wore a jaunty yachting cap. His shades had mirrors on the outside, so that when you looked at his eyes you saw two segments of reflected sky under the crescent-shaped peak of the cap. All in all, he had a sort of crumpled-but-quality look that went awfully well, he thought, with antiques.

  A glance at his watch confirmed that he was on time. The plan was to arrive sometime after three and leave shortly after four with the van stuffed to the gills. He was looking forward to making a good bundle out of this trip.

  Even as a child, Alexander had been very interested in other people’s property. If someone in his class lost a pencil, the lost pencil had a way of being found in Alexander’s schoolbag. His teacher used to say, “Now, children, Alexander only borrowed this pencil I found in his bag,” because she was a nice person and didn’t want people to think that he was a thief. She didn’t even want Alexander to think that he was a thief.

  Another year brought a new teacher. Somebody lost a Mickey Mouse watch and it couldn’t be found anywhere, not even in Alexander’s schoolbag. (Although the watch was in his schoolbag.) Unfortunately, little Madeline Jaffir brought tongue sandwiches to school that day. Alexander had never tasted tongue, so he swapped one of his mushy banana sandwiches for one of little Madeline’s.

  She nearly lost a tooth that day, because the Mickey Mouse watch was in there, all slimy with banana. It had been a brilliant hiding place—only, Alexander’s greed had let him down. Strangely enough, tongue became his favorite sandwich filling after that.

  “It’s those ads on TV,” his mother complained to the teacher. “They’d make anybody steal, they would. I heard the Archbishop of Canterbury say so with my own ears! The poor boy sees all those lovely things he can’t have.”

  But Alexander went on to steal other things that weren’t advertised on TV—such as cases of candy sweets from supermarkets and coal from moving trucks. At sixteen years of age he was almost shot out of a tree by a bunch of furious bird-watchers for trying to rob the nest of the last osprey in the British Isles.

  After the rare-egg trade, Alexander had gone into the antiques business. By buying low and selling high (and telling outrageous lies), he had managed to do quite well for himself. And of course he was prepared to commit downright robbery. Like right now.

  Tunwold village was a little tucked-away place that seemed quite promising through the van window. Horse country, by the look of it. And horses meant money.

  Alexander brought the van to a halt at the end of Hungryhouse Lane before getting out. Now he needed just a little care. One must not be seen, of course. He crawled through a hole in the hedge, and from there to a shrubbery. Beyond a rose arch he watched the old lady set off on her stick with three kids and a dog. Enjoy your picnic, Alexander thought with a grin. This was going to be like taking candy from a baby—although, strangely enough, taking candy from an actual baby was one thing that Alexander had never tried. He waited just a few moments more, in case they forgot something and came back to the house, before bringing the van to the front door.

  “Hello, Mom.”

  “Alex! Come inside, duck, I’ve got everything ready. How is your chest? Did you rub it with oil of eucalyptus like I told you to? A summer cold is the devil to get rid of, you know.” Swinging his shades by one leg, Alexander followed his mother into the house. Silly old cow! Of course he hadn’t rubbed his chest with oil of eucalyptus; the fumes would knock people off their feet. Did she think his customers had all lost their noses?

  Alexander didn’t speak these thoughts aloud, however. When he needed people, he could be quite charming to them, and he needed Gerty for a few months yet. One more job. Perhaps the stately home of an earl or a duke….

  “Nice house, Mom,” he said. “Do I see a genuine oak-beam ceiling? Man, look at that fireplace. Pity I can’t take it with me. Let’s load up the heavy stuff first.”

  “First you’ll eat,” said Gerty. “You can’t go to work on an empty stomach.”

  Saying which, she set out the plate of triangular tongue sandwiches. “Your favorites, duck!”

  Alexander gave her an affectionate and charming little peck on the cheek. Gerty just smiled. She was ever so pleased.

  Then they went to work. The Victorian lounge-sofa was a lump of a thing, and the grandfather clock didn’t exactly feel like a feather, either. Then they shifted some items from the attic, including a large and ancient bottle Gerty had wrapped in a velve
t curtain for protection. The Edwardian baby carriage and the old teddy bear would certainly bring a pretty penny, thought Alexander. And the elephant’s foot. No doubt about it, Mumsy-wumsy sure knew what stuff to pick.

  This was the third big house they’d done in two years. Soon Alexander hoped he’d have enough cash to live the high life in some flashy spot like the Bahamas, or maybe even Rio. The climate was very good in Rio, he’d heard. No need for oil of eucalyptus there! Or Mother, either. Gerty played no part in his long-term plans.

  They filled the van in thirty-five minutes.

  “Are you sure they won’t suspect you?” said Alexander through the window of his van.

  “No. I was out all afternoon, wasn’t I? Went to the village for some stamps. I’ll be in touch when I’ve gathered up enough stuff for a second run. Two trips should do us, then I’ll split. Take care now, you hear? We don’t want things swishing around in the back. Half of those lovely goodies are mine, duck. I want to be comfortable in my old age.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Alexander said with a sly little smile. I’ll send you a postcard from Rio, he was thinking. “See you, Mom.”

  “And have that chest seen to,” cried Gerty. “There’s nothing worse than a summer cold.”

  It was a comfortable drive home for Alexander. He was disappointed, in a way, that he didn’t even spot a policeman, for there was an odd kind of excitement in driving a van full of somebody else’s property under the very nose of the law. Back at the shop, the jeweler’s assistant from next door helped him to unload the goodies.

  And now, on his own at last, Alexander uncovered the six stolen pictures from Hungryhouse Lane. Five of them weren’t up to much—perhaps a thousand each. Nice frames. But the sixth picture had all the moody charm of a landscape by Rembrandt. Oh man, we’re talking big money here, thought Alexander. Sunshine, here I come! The old magical thrill of stealing things surged once more through muscle and vein, making him lightheaded.

  That was when he saw the monkey. He saw it quite plainly—the ghostly outline of a little monkey in a jacket and short trousers. And a fez. It seemed to be nibbling something. Nuts?

  Well, of course, this had to be an extraordinary trick of the light. Alexander knew that it would be gone when he looked again. And so it was. He gave himself a shivery sort of shake and smiled.

  You’re the one who’s nuts, Alex, he thought. Sillybilly!

  9 …

  “They’ve Got Lulubelle …”

  On a dry patch of ground near the top of the pond field, Amy Steadings laid out the picnic blanket and caressed its green tartan with such a long, sad sigh.

  “I’ve always used this blanket for picnics. It doesn’t seem to get old. It’s the very same blanket as it always was….”

  The Sweet kids watched in amazement as the old lady’s eyes misted over with great big wobbly tears. They had never seen a blanket make anyone cry before.

  Amy attempted a recovery with a smile. “You see, my friends and I used to come here and picnic in the old days. My, but I wish I had a penny for every glass of barley water and sparkling wine that we spilled! Memory is the strangest master of all, you know. One can’t choose what to remember and what to forget. There comes a time when you can’t share your memories with anyone at all. Your friends and loved ones have gone. They have all gone.”

  Amy ended with her lower lip trembling and out of control. Without thinking, Zoe reached out and took her hand.

  “We’re your friends, Miss Amy,” she said.

  “I am your friend,” Bonnie piped up. “I will always be your friend.”

  “I’ll get out the sandwiches,” Charlie mumbled.

  But Amy dried her eyes on a hanky that looked very like the one on the wrist of that snooty ghost with the sword. “I’m just being so silly,” she said. “And thank you very much, Charlie, but no—I shall prepare the picnic. You three are on your holiday, so off you go and enjoy nature while I set out all this. Don’t be too long.”

  The Sweet kids were used to being told “Do this” and “Do that,” and so were experts at thinking up reasons why they should never be asked to do anything. They seemed rather surprised that all of a sudden these skills weren’t necessary. They followed Muldoon through a gap in the hedge.

  It cannot honestly be said that the Sweet kids admired the shimmer of cloudy light on the running brook, or that they looked for the colorful flash of a kingfisher blue among the trees. Instead, they dive-bombed the sleeping trout with stone hand grenades and talked to the local sheep.

  “Hey, Lamb Chops.”

  “Yo-ho, Woolly Bum!”

  “Who knit your sweater, Baa-baaa!”

  Charlie tried to interview a cow on his tape recorder, but the beast stared at him blankly and refused to say moo. Bonnie wondered if its tongue had been made into sandwiches. As for Muldoon, an alien creature with sticking-up ears popped out of the ground and made him run for his life. Being a town dog, he’d never seen a rabbit before.

  “Yaaaa, you chicken, Muldoon,” jeered the Sweet kids.

  When they got back, everything had been laid out for eating and Miss Amy had made a daisy chain for Bonnie.

  “I thought Lulubelle would like it,” she said. “Where is she, anyway? I thought she would enjoy a picnic.”

  “Hiding,” said Bonnie. “Where nobody will never, ever find her even if they look until she’s very old.”

  “She’s old already,” said Charlie.

  “She’s not old.”

  “We’ll find her when she falls asleep,” said Charlie, “because she snores.”

  “She doesn’t snore.”

  “Swimming pool!” screeched Zoe.

  “And anyway,” Bonnie added in a grown-up way, “she can’t snore, because she’s only a doll, and she can’t pick her nose either, so there.”

  Charlie decided to say no more. Whether Lulubelle snored or not, he knew where she was right now and Bonnie didn’t. She was in that clock on the landing. He got out his tape recorder and taped a wasp that suddenly came to the picnic.

  When they had finished eating, Zoe supervised the clearing-up operation because she believed in a clean environment. Then they went back to the house, bringing most of the square tongue sandwiches with them.

  “Perhaps Gertrude will eat them,” said Amy. “I do hate waste.”

  The Sweet kids were helping Amy to dunk her hanging baskets in the kitchen sink when Gerty appeared with a terribly pained expression on her face. (Muldoon slipped quietly out of the kitchen as soon as he set eyes on her.)

  “Ooh, do I wish I had wings! My poor feet are killing me!”

  “You should have taken a taxi from the village, Gertrude.”

  “Not me, dear. I’m not one to waste other people’s money when I have the two legs the good Lord gave me. Did you have a nice picnic?”

  “Oh yes, it was lovely. There are some tongue sandwiches left over if you’re hungry.”

  “Square ones,” added Zoe.

  “Not me, dear. Them and corned beef don’t agree with me. By the way, have you been moving the furniture?”

  “No,” said Amy. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I’ve just walked past the parlor, and the lounge-sofa isn’t there anymore.”

  Frowning, Amy went to see for herself. The sofa had certainly disappeared. So had the two fine bronzes that sat on the mantelpiece. And the long brass fireplace fender with all the hearth irons. Amy’s hand shook as she clutched the ruby brooch at her throat.

  “Charlie, look in the front room. Is the writing bureau there? It has solid-silver candlesticks on top of it.”

  After a few seconds Charlie returned with the news.

  “Nope. It’s gone and so are the candlesticks. We’ve been done.”

  “Done?”

  “He means we’ve been burgled, Miss Amy,” said Zoe.

  “The attic,” Amy said breathlessly, seizing Zoe’s hand and shaking it. “Check the attic for me, child. Quickly!”
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  Knowing exactly what she meant, Zoe sprinted up the two broad flights of stairs to the twist in the upper landing. One glance into the attic confirmed that the big glass bottle had been stolen and so had the elephant’s foot. Had the robbers got their evil hands on little Bobbie, too?

  No! Zoe spotted her huddled in a corner. The awful spiky hair—snipped off so that she could be sold as a boy sweep—made her look like a human brush. What a pity, thought Zoe, that you couldn’t give a spook a good cuddle.

  A tortoise could have passed Zoe as she came down the stairs. What could she possibly say to that old lady? All her friends had died, she had only memories, now even her best furniture was gone and the spooks had been kidnapped. Two of them, anyway. You needed more than a first-aid kit to mend a broken heart.

  On the first landing she met Bonnie, who was staring pop-eyed at the empty space where the big grandfather clock used to be. So that was gone too.

  “Zoe?”

  “What?”

  “Are the bugglers jugglers?”

  “What?”

  “The bugglers have taken Charlie’s juggling balls,” Bonnie said in a frightened whisper.

  “Try harder not to be a complete dope,” said Zoe. “Burglars aren’t jugglers. Come on, let’s break the news.”

  The news, of course, was bad from start to finish. Amy sat on a hard-backed chair in the middle of the kitchen, saying, “They were my responsibility. I have let them down badly, you know. All they ever asked for, apart from a little conversation now and then, was to be left alone. And I couldn’t even manage that.”

  She was feeling old and useless, Zoe could tell. But it wasn’t your fault, Miss Amy, she was about to say, when Bonnie started to howl.

  “THE BIG CLOCK IS GONE AND CHARLIE THEY’VE GOT YOUR JUGGLING BALLS BUT I ONLY PUT THEM THERE BECAUSE YOU SAID SHE DOESN’T USE TOILET PAPER AND SHE WANTS TO MARRY A DUCK.”

  Gerty, who had been quietly trying to make sense of this whole conversation, now gave up with a shake of her head. They’d all gone barmy.

  “They haven’t got my juggling balls.”

  “Yes they have, Charlie. I put them in the big clock and they took it away.”