A Llama in the Library Read online

  “And if she had a reservation?” Justin added.

  “Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home,” I chanted, remembering a nursery rhyme in one of April’s books at home.

  “Are you looking for someone?” a voice asked.

  I don’t know who jumped higher, Justin or I. It wasn’t a ghost speaking; it was a woman. She looked familiar. Maybe I’ve seen her in the supermarket or in the post office.

  “Uh, uh, not exacdy,” said Justin. He’d lost all the confidence he’d had when we’d entered the place.

  “Well, make yourselves useful. We’ve got a big problem here,” the woman said. “This place is overrun with—”

  “Ghosts?” asked Justin hopefully.

  “I wish it were ghosts,” the woman said. “This is much worse. People like ghosts. They think that’s interesting. But this just gets them upset. Especially the older women.” She went to the window and pointed to the sill. “They’re all over,” the woman said.

  “Ladybugs!” I called out when I saw the little red insects that must have been the sisters or aunts of the little bug still resting on my finger.

  “It’s like a huge convention of them,” the woman complained. “They’re everywhere. They’re looking for someplace warm to hibernate.”

  Sure enough, now that she’d called our attention to them, I began noticing some on the curtains and on the bedside table and on the wall. Those little critters must reproduce like wild, I thought. Not one at a time like my mom.

  “Whatever you do, don’t kill them,” the woman said as Justin started picking a few of them up off the windowsill and putting them in his hand.

  “Why not?” Justin asked. “Why don’t you just vacuum them up? It would be a lot faster than doing it this way.”

  “Ladybugs are good insects. They eat aphids, and aphids are bad. Aphids eat the leaves off the flowers and vegetables in the garden. We need ladybugs. The problem is that we also need happy guests.”

  “Can’t you explain to the guests what good bugs these are?” I asked. “Ladybugs don’t sting or bite or anything.”

  “You try talking about bugs to someone spending money here,” the woman said.

  So Justin and I each took a drinking glass from the bathroom and put all the ladybugs we caught inside. We must have found a hundred each, and there were still more.

  “What should we do with them now?” I asked.

  “Take them outdoors. Walk a good distance off. Maybe they’ll fly someplace else,” the woman said. But as we were about to leave the room, she stopped us. “Wait a minute,” she called. “What were you fellows doing here anyway?”

  “Oh,” said Justin, smiling innocently and sounding more relaxed than when we were first discovered in the room, “we were looking for the owner of this place. Is it you?”

  The woman laughed. “Fat chance!” she said. “You want Mr. Grinold. You certainly wouldn’t find him coming to make the bed in one of the guest rooms or running around collecting bugs either, for that matter. He might be in the dining area. Or he could be in the living room. What do you want with him?” she asked suspiciously.

  Justin pointed to me, and I held out the handful of flyers that I’d dropped on the bed when I started going after the ladybugs. “I wanted to ask him if he could leave these around. Maybe some of the guests would be interested,” I said.

  The woman took one of the flyers and read it. “Is this your mom?” she asked me.

  I nodded my head.

  “I’ve seen her and her llamas a couple of times. It looks like fun,” the woman said. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Adam Fine, and this is Justin Rice,” I answered. We were in this together, so she’d better know Justin’s name as well as mine.

  “Well, go downstairs if you want to find Mr. Grinold,” the woman said. “I’m Sally Ames, and I came in here to straighten up.”

  “Say, Sally,” said Justin, talking to her as if she were a kid our age, “we heard that there are ghosts in this place. Have you ever seen any?”

  “Ghosts? Do you think I’d work in a place that was haunted?” Sally Ames asked him with a smile. “No ghosts. Just guests. And ladybugs,” she answered.

  “You mean, you’ve never seen or heard anything a little bit strange? Like doors closing or windows banging shut all on their own?”

  The chambermaid looked at us for a moment as if she were deciding how to answer. “I haven’t seen anything,” she said slowly, “but I’ve heard a few stories.”

  “Like what?” asked Justin.

  “One of the waitresses said that someone pushed her arm when she was pouring the coffee one morning. But there was no one in the pantry at the time. Someone else said maybe the ghost of the old lady who used to live here pushed her.”

  “You mean Mrs. Brown?” I asked.

  Sally Ames nodded. “Personally I think she was just careless and was looking for someone else to blame for getting coffee all over the floor,” she said.

  “Anything else?” asked Justin.

  “Not that I can think of,” Sally said. She pulled the blanket off the bed and began straightening the sheets.

  “What was the name of the waitress?” asked Justin.

  Sally turned to Justin. “I think it was Dale. She was one of those college kids who came to work during the summer. She left just before Labor Day.”

  I saw the disappointed look on Justin’s face. He’d been all set for us to march into the dining room and interview Dale.

  “Look, kids, you’d better get on downstairs. I’ve got twenty beds to make this morning. To say nothing of all the bathrooms that need cleaning.”

  “Well, thanks a lot,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Justin said.

  The two of us went downstairs. It was quiet now, though the breakfast odors were still in the air. We walked around. I had the flyers under my arm and my hand over the top of the water glass to keep the ladybugs from getting out. But even though we looked all over, we didn’t see anyone.

  “This is like a ghost town,” said Justin.

  It was a little eerie. All the guests had disappeared, and there was no sign of any waiter or waitress or hotel owner about. Justin wanted to keep opening doors and looking for clues. But I was ready to go. After all, according to what I’d seen on TV what he wanted us to do might be considered breaking and entering, and that was a criminal offense.

  “You’re wrong,” Justin replied when I mentioned it to him. “The door was open. We’re not breaking it down or poking at locks or anything.”

  “Well, your dad’s a lawyer, and he could defend you if we get into trouble,” I said. “I don’t have a lawyer to help me out.”

  “Stop worrying,” Justin said. “For someone who doesn’t believe in ghosts, you sure sound very nervous to me.”

  “There are other things to worry about besides ghosts,” I said, eager to get out of the place. I tried to think of something to distract Justin.

  “What we should do is go to the public library,” I suggested. “Maybe we could find a book about this place and learn more about Mrs. Brown. Stuff like that.”

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea,” Justin said.

  But first Justin and I went outside and walked toward the vegetable garden. We propped the glasses against some dried-up cornstalks and watched the ladybugs begin their escape.

  It was only when I bent to open my bike lock that I realized I was still holding all those yellow flyers. I stuffed them back into the saddlebag. Maybe I could drop them off at the library, I thought.

  4

  There Is a Ghost!

  We rode down the hill and through town to the public library. When we arrived, no one was there except Ms. Walsh, the librarian. She greeted us with a big smile. Our town library is pretty small compared with the one in Brattleboro. But usually it can come up with some sort of information to help you with whatever homework assignment you have.

  “Do you just sit around and read when the library’s empty?�
�� I asked Ms. Walsh.

  She laughed. “Everyone thinks that’s all librarians do,” she said. “We have to order new books and balance the budget, plan programs, and check that the plumbing and heating don’t break down too.”

  “Wow,” I said, “I didn’t know that.”

  “Librarians are expected to know all sorts of things—even architecture. Have you ever seen a blueprint?” Ms. Walsh asked us. She slid some huge sheets of paper with blue lines and letters toward Justin and me. “This is the plan for the library renovation and expansion.”

  “What kind of renovation?” I asked, looking around the small room.

  “We’re going to make the whole basement into a children’s area and get new shelving and furniture and lighting, and there will be a small addition put up in the back that won’t change the front of the building. From the outside we’ll look just as always, but inside, you won’t recognize us at all. We’ll be able to add a couple of thousand new books to the collection too.”

  “Great,” said Justin. “I’ve already read everything you’ve got here.”

  “I doubt it,” said Ms. Walsh. “There must be one or two books that are still waiting for your attention.”

  Justin grinned. “Not about ghosts,” he said.

  “That’s why we came,” I explained to Ms. Walsh. “We wondered if there were any history books about this town. Justin heard that there’s a ghost up at the White House. Do you know anything about that?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have exactly the book you want,” said Ms. Walsh. She got out from behind her desk, took a few steps, and from a shelf in front of her picked one book out. “Here,” she said, “page thirty-eight.”

  “Do you know all these books by heart?” I asked, very impressed.

  “No. Just the few that I get asked about the most. I can tell you the page to find the chocolate cream pie recipe in the Joy of Cooking. And the weather pages in the Farmer’s Almanac. And a couple of others.” Ms. Walsh turned to Justin. “I’m surprised someone like you, who’s interested in ghosts, hasn’t already discovered this book about New England.”

  Justin was busy turning pages of Green Mountain Ghosts, Ghouls & Unsolved Mysteries, by Joseph A. Citro. “Look! Here it is,” he said, pointing to the page we were looking for.

  We sat down at one of the library tables and began reading. Believe it or not, there was a chapter about the White House Inn. According to the book, a guest whose last name was Brown was awakened in the night. She discovered a white-haired woman sitting in a chair near her bed. The white-haired woman told the guest that she didn’t mind her staying there but that one Mrs. Brown in the room was enough.

  “See,” Justin said. “I told you there was a ghost at the inn.”

  I turned the page. There we found mention of a chambermaid named Kelly Brown who was cleaning in one of the bedrooms when the doors began opening and closing. The chambermaid said there was no wind to explain what was happening to the doors.

  “It looks like the ghost of Clara Brown shows up only to people who have the last name of Brown,” I commented jokingly.

  Justin took my words seriously. “No wonder we didn’t see anything,” he said. “Clara Brown doesn’t care about two kids named Justin Rice and Adam Fine.” He paused a moment, and I knew he had the same thought that I suddenly had.

  “Alana Brown!” he said, referring to our new classmate.

  I just knew what he was going to say next.

  “We’ve got to get Alana to go to the White House with us. Then we’ll see the ghost.”

  “Can we take this book out?” I asked Ms. Walsh.

  “That’s the reference copy,” she said, looking up from her papers. “The circulating one is out. But if you have thirty cents on you, you could photocopy the pages you’re interested in.”

  I shook my head. Justin didn’t have any money either.

  “Okay. You can owe me the thirty cents,” Ms. Walsh said.

  Justin took the book over to the machine in the corner and copied the three pages that told about the White House Inn. There’s a little cardboard box near the machine and people just put the ten-cents-a-page fee inside. It’s done on the honor system, just like the overdue fines.

  “Thanks a lot,” I said to Ms. Walsh. “We’ll bring the money tomorrow.”

  “The library is closed on Sunday,” Ms. Walsh reminded us. “But don’t worry. Your credit is good,” she added. “Bring it the next time you come.”

  Justin was ready to leave, but I stopped to look again at the plans for the renovated library. I’d never seen an actual blueprint before.

  “Are you going to have a party or something to celebrate?” I asked, remembering the party we had in town when the new playground was opened.

  “I’ve been thinking about that very thing,” Ms. Walsh said. “But I haven’t figured out what I could do to make it special.”

  “How about a costume party?” Justin suggested. “I’ll come as a ghost.”

  “If it’s a costume party, people should dress up like book characters,” I said.

  “Ghosts are in books!” Justin shouted out, holding up the newly photocopied pages as proof. “Everything is in books,” he added.

  “A costume party is a great idea,” Ms. Walsh said. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself.”

  I wished it were me and not Justin who had come up with that idea. Suddenly I thought of something else. “How would you like to have our llamas come to the library?” I asked.

  “A llama in the library! What a funny idea!” Ms. Walsh said.

  “You can’t have a llama in the library. What about the poop on the carpet?” Justin asked.

  “Llamas are very clean,” I protested. “I bet Ethan Allen and Ira Allen would never mess up your carpeting. And if they did, my dad would know how to clean it up.”

  “I’m afraid not, Adam. The idea of a llama in the library sounds pretty spectacular. But I shudder to think of the chaos it could cause.”

  “You say that only because you haven’t met my llamas,” I said.

  Ms. Walsh shrugged. “It’s sweet of you to make the offer,” she said, “but I’m afraid I have to turn you down. I think I’ll go with a costume affair, however. That was a great idea, Justin.”

  Justin beamed at Ms. Walsh’s praise.

  “In fact,” Ms. Walsh added, “forget the thirty cents you owe me. I’ll pay your copying charge myself. It’s a cheap price for such a great suggestion.”

  I could barely stand to look at Justin’s widening smile of pride.

  Ms. Walsh turned to help some people who had just walked in, and we started to leave. “Goodbye!” I called out.

  “Thanks again for everything,” she responded.

  “Come on. We’ve got to find Alana Brown,” Justin said as we got on our bikes. Talking about the grand reopening of the library and thinking of bringing our llamas, I’d temporarily forgotten about the ghost up in the White House. But Justin hadn’t. He was really obsessed about it. I had to admit, though, that this business of ghost hunting seemed a lot more interesting with Alana Brown in the picture.

  5

  Alana Brown

  As it turned out, neither Justin nor I had the slightest idea where our new classmate lived, so we had to wait until Monday morning to confront her at school. I was curious about what it was Justin was planning to say to Alana. Did he think she’d come to the White House with us? If she did, what did he expect to happen then?

  There must have been some sort of bug, other than a ladybug, going around at school because Alana was absent on Monday, and so were three other fifth graders. I thought Justin would explode with impatience when Alana was still out on Tuesday and Wednesday. But finally on Thursday she was back in school. At lunchtime that day Justin grabbed me by the shirtsleeve and pulled me over toward her. I was glad to have an excuse to get near her. She was wearing a bright blue shirt that made her eyes look bluer than I’d ever seen them. But the ghost stuff reall
y embarrassed me. This whole thing was Justin’s idea, so I mumbled to him that he’d have to do the talking.

  He invited Alana to come with us after school to the White House.

  “Why do you want to go there?” Alana asked. She looked puzzled, and I couldn’t blame her.

  “Well, it used to be owned by a woman named Brown,” Justin answered. We hadn’t discussed how much of the story we should tell Alana, but Justin must have realized that it didn’t make sense unless she heard it all. “Some people say she haunts the place. But it seems as if the only people who have really seen the ghost are people named Brown.”

  “Is this some sort of trick you want to play on me?” Alana asked suspiciously.

  “No. Honest,” I chimed in. “Do you have the pages we copied at the library?” I looked at Justin.

  He pulled them out of his pocket. By now they were very rumpled but still readable. Alana studied them.

  “This is weird,” she said.

  “It is,” I said. “I don’t believe in ghosts. If you came with us to the White House, maybe we could prove once and for all to Justin that there’s nothing to this story.”

  “Or maybe we’ll prove that the place really is haunted,” Justin said hopefully.

  Alana shook her head, and her long braid swung from side to side. “It sure sounds nuts to me. But I’ll meet you,” she said. “Only I can’t go until Saturday morning. Is that okay with you?”

  Justin sighed impatiently. But I said, “If the ghost has been there this long, what’s another couple of days?”

  “I guess you’re right,” Justin said. “What time’s good for you?”

  “Ten o’clock,” Alana answered.

  “Great!” said Justin.

  We said we’d meet outside on the inn’s front porch.

  I was amazed at what a good sport Alana was, agreeing to go with us on that wild-goose chase, or should I say wild-ghost chase? No wonder I liked her, I thought.

  The only problem was that around nine o’clock on Saturday morning, the phone rang. It was Justin. I could hardly recognize his voice. He had caught the class bug, and he sounded really sick. “My mom won’t let me out of the house,” he said. “I got a temperature and a sore throat. Let’s go next week instead,” he croaked before he hung up.