“This is more fun,” Ziggy shot back.
“He likes climbing trees,” Josée said. “So do I, actually. But not in a skirt. Pioneer girls must have been really mad about that.”
It took a couple of tries before they figured out how to tie the end of the rope to a small stick, which made it easier to throw. Ziggy looped the rope over a branch and tossed the stick end back down to them. They tied one end through the basket’s handles, then pulled the other end, easily raising the basket.
“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Ziggy called down, pleased. Alan clambered back onto the bottom branch and started climbing up to where Ziggy was.
“I’m not coming to rescue you if you two get stuck up there,” Josée said, heading back to the inn.
There were plenty of clean, ripe apples within reach, and they filled the basket quickly. Alan climbed down again, untied the end of the rope holding the basket up, and lowered it without trouble to the ground.
“Come on, Zig. We’ve got enough.”
“Just one more,” Ziggy said from above. “There’s a beauty one just a little further up, all red and perfect.” There came a rustle of branches, and then—“Hey!”
“Hey what?” Alan called up.
Ziggy came down double-quick, almost falling in his haste to reach solid ground again. His eyes were wide.
“I thought I saw something move in that little window up by the roof of the inn—a face, maybe. Really pale and sort of blurry. Just for a second. Next moment, it was gone.”
“Can’t be. That’s the attic. Remember that trapdoor in the ceiling? There can’t be anything up there.”
“That’s what I mean. I think I just saw a ghost!”
FOUR
Mrs. Creasor was pretty interested in Ziggy’s ghost-sighting, but not enough to investigate, much to Alan’s disappointment.
“It could have been a manifestation of some sort,” she said. “Some years back, before I started here, another woman insisted that there was a poltergeist in the inn. But more likely, it was a reflection of light you saw.”
“Couldn’t we go up and check it out?” Alan said.
“No, dear. You can’t get up into the attic without a ladder, and we’re not about to do that. I don’t believe anybody’s been up there for years. It’s not a very convenient place for storage, after all.”
“What’s a poltergeist?”
“Well, they say it’s a ghost or spirit that likes moving things around. They’re said to make pictures on the wall go crooked, or move furniture around—sometimes they even throw things. Now, I do admit I’ve sometimes felt a presence here, as I told you, but I won’t go as far as to believe in poltergeists, and you shouldn’t, either.”
“But what if it’s a raccoon or squirrel stuck up there?” Josée said. “Shouldn’t we rescue it?”
“Oh, I think we’d have heard a lot of scrabbling in the roof if that was the case,” Mrs. Creasor said. “Now let’s leave the ghost talk behind us and get on with the job at hand. I really shouldn’t have been talking that way at all—frightening you with silly stories. I just get carried away sometimes.”
“We’re not scared,” Ziggy declared. “We like it.”
There was a distant rumble of thunder, and it was getting darker outside by the moment. Mrs. Creasor set the boys to peeling apples and started making pastry, with Josée’s help. When the rain came, not long afterwards, a sudden rush of tourists came into the inn to get out of the downpour, and Alan, Ziggy and Josée were kept busy serving cups of cider and greeting visitors.
At one point, Alan managed to get away for a few minutes and took the opportunity to go upstairs to the hallway where the trapdoor to the attic was. A couple of tourists were looking at the bedrooms, talking in those hushed voices that people use in museums, but they went back downstairs soon after Alan arrived.
He stood directly under the trapdoor, looking up. Mrs. Creasor had said nobody had been up there for years. Was the attic really empty? Was it a ghost that Ziggy had seen? He looked down at his feet. There was some fine, white dust on the floor below the trapdoor. Couldn’t that mean that someone had been up there recently? The rest of the place was so clean. Why would there be dust just there and nowhere else? Somehow, he had to get the opportunity to investigate, if only to set his mind at rest. There was a mystery here, he was sure of it. Maybe there were more guns stashed up there, or stolen goods of some kind.
“Alan! Your mom’s up at the main building waiting for us,” Ziggy called up the stairs. Alan took a moment to peer out the hall window and saw that it was still raining—hard. He realized that the distant roaring sound he had been hearing, but not really registering, must be the sound of the rain pounding on the roof. They had been meaning to walk home after their first day on the job, but it wouldn’t be much fun right now. He pounded down the stairs and came into the kitchen.
“How do you know my mom’s here?” he said to Ziggy. “I thought there were no phones here.”
“We have walkie-talkies,” Mrs. Creasor said. “We have to keep them hidden, though. Mrs. Tench’s orders. Mine’s in the breadbox by the window, if you ever need to use it. Emergencies only, mind you. The message just came through.”
Six apple pies had just been taken out of the oven of the big woodstove, and they smelled amazing.
“It’s nice of Mary-Anne to come and pick you up,” Mrs. Creasor said, “but it’s too bad you can’t stay and have a piece, after all your work helping to make them. Tell you what—I’ll wrap one of these in a tea towel, and you can take it home with you.”
“Wow, thanks!” Ziggy said. “Can we stay for dinner, Alan?”
“Probably,” Alan said. “Let’s ask.”
“Don’t forget to bring the pie plate back tomorrow,” Mrs. Creasor said. “If you manage to eat it all, that is.”
“It’ll be empty, don’t worry,” Ziggy promised.
They made their way up the path to the main building, huddled together under a big umbrella that Mrs. Creasor gave them, Josée in the middle cradling the pie.
It didn’t take long to change out of their costumes. After a whole day on the grounds, pretending to be pioneers and doing pioneer work, it was a little strange to be back in “civvies”, as Greta the wardrobe lady called their regular clothes.
“It’s your responsibility to keep your site clothes in good order,” she said, when they’d returned from the changerooms. The wardrobe area was in the basement of the main complex, a low-ceilinged, narrow space with racks and racks of dresses, coats, hats and boots.
“Josée, I think your apron will have to be washed, and boys, your coveralls are definitely whiffy. I’ll wash them tonight, but after this, do try to keep them clean, okay? When you’re not in costume, your stuff goes here,” she said, pointing to where three coat hooks were already marked with their names.
“It looks like they’re not getting ready to fire us yet, if they’ve put up labels,” Ziggy whispered to the others.
“And the rule is that you never, ever wear or take your costume off-site,” Greta added. “Some people think they can borrow things, you see, for Hallowe’en parties and so on, and they never bring them back. So be warned.”
“That’s too bad,” Josée said as they went back upstairs to where Alan’s mom was sitting with Mrs. Tench. “I was thinking just that—that my skirt and bonnet would have been perfect for trick-or-treating.”