Spooky Spindle Page 7

  “The Root of All Evil is a Criminal Organization,” she read. “Like many criminal organizations in the supernatural world, it was started in Shimmerfield. Here, as many of our readers know, is the location of Down Below.

  “The criminal supernaturals of the world wanted to have a place where they could gather without threat of trouble. This place became known as Down Below. Aptly named for the space we took up in a very large basement on a large supernatural estate.

  “The location in question is Haunted Bluff Mansion. Here there is a world-famous haunted house. Over many years, criminals gathered Down Below. With a wide variety of expertise to their names, they were able to pool resources for joint criminal enterprises.

  “Many also have side pursuits. Like writing excellent columns and producing newspapers.

  “You would think that if there was a criminal organization taking root and known as the Root of All Evil, the location would be Down Below.

  “However, that is not the case.

  “Down Below has an excellent system of justice. We have our own codes and rules that we all follow. The Fudge is a respected leader. We are allowed to carry out our own pursuits to our hearts’ content.

  “Therefore we have never had any desire to forage off on our own.

  “The trouble is that not all of the supernaturals with a criminal bent chose to come Down Below and live by our rules.

  “Some of them made the mistake of rebelling.

  “Not only that, but their opposition was allowed to ferment up above.

  “Because of the Garbos.”

  My mom stopped reading and looked up. Her expression had gone from anger to frost and back again. “It goes on, but I don’t think we need to finish it right now. The author certainly has a flair for the dramatic, though,” she said. Her voice was soft, belying the fury in her face.

  “I want to see every paper that comes out of Down Below from now on. If any day is missing I will not do anything else until I’ve found a copy. Do I make myself clear?” she asked.

  We all nodded except Cookie.

  Mom glared at her.

  “How am I supposed to wipe up my spills?”

  Chapter Nine

  My mom didn’t dignify that with a response; what she wanted to discuss was what she had just learned.

  “All of you have read this?” she asked.

  “I didn’t. I didn’t want to know,” said Audrey.

  “That’s probably a good way to go. I always thought they wrote nonsense,” said Meg.

  “They used to. Now I’m wondering whether they have a source inside our haunted house,” said my mother.

  We all shifted uncomfortably. It sounded an awful lot like someone from upstairs had talked to this reporter. Events, comments, and other little details and tidbits were known that should have been secret. Given everything else that was always going on at the haunted house, I hadn’t thought much about it. Now that it was distressing my mother, I had a feeling I’d be thinking about it more in the coming days.

  “Is there a reason why all of you kept this from me?” my mom said.

  “I was literally on my way to tell you when Edmund called to say that there had been a murder at his house,” said Cookie.

  “And then you just couldn’t possibly tell me,” said my mother.

  “Exactly. I really wanted to, but I have been very busy,” said Cookie.

  “That makes perfect sense,” said my mother.

  “I really thought we didn’t put any stock in Down Below said,” said Audrey. “Why has that changed?”

  “Because they clearly have an inside source,” insisted my mother. “Also, their articles are relentlessly negative about our family. They have an agenda now, and even if we didn’t take them seriously before, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take them seriously now. There are dangerous criminals Down Below. We have lived without any serious problems for a while. We could either look at that and assume it will continue, or we could look at that and plan that it won’t,” said my mother.

  “And because these articles are so hostile, you think you know which way it’s going to go?” I said quietly.

  “Exactly. It makes your role as liaison all the more important,” said my mother.

  “Why is every article in this paper written by Old Leslie? Jane, do you know who that is?” Audrey asked. She had picked up one of the papers sitting in front of my mom and started flipping through it.

  I shook my head. I was new to my job and hadn’t had the chance to investigate that question yet.

  “There are two options. Either he does in fact write every story,” said Meg, “or it’s a code name for all of the writers who work at the Spooky Times. Cowards trying to remain anonymous, so they don’t use their own names to criticize us.” She fluffed up one of her curls. As usual she was perfectly turned out, this time in a blue blouse with a sweeping scarf around her neck, her hair curled into ringlets that framed her face.

  As usual, I wondered who she thought she’d see today that she needed to dress up to that standard. Maybe just herself, I concluded.

  “Jane, you have to find this Old Leslie character and stop him from writing this garbage,” said Meg.

  “I’ve asked Mr. Judge who he is, but he has no idea,” I said.

  I didn’t want to whine, but we had tried over the years to discover who Old Leslie was, and we had never found out. Down Below kept their secrets very well when they wanted to.

  “Try again. You weren’t working with them in an official capacity the last time you asked. You might be viewed as having more authority now. They might listen to you,” Mom urged.

  I shook my head. I wasn’t remotely sure that was true. Aside from Mr. Judge and Peter, I’d had no interaction with any of the characters who lived Down Below since I’d become the liaison. Jefferson Judge was nice, but I could tell that even he didn’t view me as having any real authority in the criminal underworld.

  A perfect example of the situation was the Fudge’s response to my note requesting to see him. He was too busy, he’d said, to meet with me any time in the near future. I had to figure out what to do about that, as well.

  Now that my mom had found out about these articles and decided that they were a problem, it was high time for me to start taking a more active role: right after I finished investigating the murder at Edmund’s and helping out at the haunted house. Not to mention that there was a spindle on the property that had sent everyone into a tailspin. I wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with that, but problems had a tendency to bleed into other problems, so I added that to the list for good measure.

  The work of a witch investigator was never done.

  Mom didn’t linger. She clearly didn’t want to discuss the Root article any further right now. She was already angry enough that Mirrorz had gotten away, and anyhow, Cam, Kip, and Corey had all already left the room. She and Meg followed suit as soon as she had given me her orders about Down Below.

  “Is there any news from Edmund?” I asked Cookie, who was stumping along back to the kitchen. In the colder months she was less likely to be found outside, madly stirring her cauldron. Instead she spent a lot of time in the kitchen, where her presence drove Audrey crazy.

  When she wasn’t there, she had taken over one of the smaller sitting rooms and turned it into a shrine of 1920s flying contraptions and old posters. In her sitting room she had one comfortable chair and three very uncomfortable chairs.

  She might as well have put up a sign that said she prized the right furniture over the comfort of visitors.

  Right now she was actually willing to talk to me about Edmund. “He said you’re an excellent investigator. He said that the police were back there interviewing all of the vampires but haven’t told him anything new about the murder. Once they leave he’ll let me know so you can go over. In the meantime he’s hoping you’ll notify his brother of the situation. He can’t always get in touch with Jeff Down Below on his own.”

  That dovetai
led nicely with my need to find out from Jefferson Judge who Old Leslie really was. If I was extra lucky, maybe he could tell me everything I needed to know in one sweeping go.

  If the Spooky Times were to be believed, though, the Garbos were anything but lucky.

  My grandmother looked displeased. “Someone definitely talked to the reporter. We have to find whoever it was and deal with them.”

  “You want to silence them?” Pep asked.

  “It might have been one of the investigators. They might not have known the difference, or why they shouldn’t speak to somebody from Down Below,” Lark pointed out.

  “That might be true, although I doubt it,” Cookie said. “As investigators they’d be well-versed in what not to speak about. The very fact that anyone spoke at all makes me think they were trying to get in good with Down Below. I would also like to know why someone would attempt that.”

  “There are all kinds of reasons,” Lark pointed out. “If you make a friend Down Below you have influence and access to criminals. If you want something stolen and you’re Down Below, all you have to do is look left or right to find a supernatural willing to steal it.”

  “That’s true, but I still think that if we find whoever the snitch is and are able to silence him, it will really help the situation,” said Pep.

  Cookie shook her head. She did not appear to agree with what we were saying. I just had no idea why.

  “Why do you think we’re wrong?” I asked.

  Cookie pursed her lips. “It isn’t your fault that you’re young and dumb. These supernaturals are not playing fair. The Root of All Evil is trying to kill me. It isn’t a joke. It’s my life. Maybe the Spooky Times isn’t directly helping them, but the fact of the matter is that we have to stop playing fair. This isn’t a fair game,” said Cookie.

  “So you want to find whoever is feeding information to Down Below and threaten them? Order it to stop? I’m sure you can be pretty scary, you know, if it’s any day in the week,” said Pep.

  She sounded excited. We all wanted to see what Cookie could really do. For most of our lives she had played the old grandmother card, and she certainly wasn’t as young as she used to be. None of us, however, were under the illusion that she was all that fragile.

  “I don’t know where your mothers went wrong raising all of you,” Cookie went on. “Maybe it’s that your fathers weren’t around; who knows what sort of impact that has had. It’s late now to correct all the mistakes, but I’m going to do my best. We are going to find whoever is feeding the information to the supernaturals Down Below. Then we are going to feed them whatever information we want. Under no circumstances are we going to let this individual know that we know their secret. In that way we’ll be able to control the flow of information.”

  She paused portentously, then declared, “All we have to do is find out who’s doing the talking.”

  She stomped on ahead, leaving the three of us to follow. I felt like I had just been schooled in the art of life. It was so obvious, and yet I would never have thought of it. We didn’t want to stop the flow of information to Down Below now that the floodgates had been opened. No. We wanted to control it. And that is exactly what Grandmother Cookie intended for us to do.

  I almost wanted to dance.

  This was going to be a lot of fun.

  I hoped.

  “Do you ever get the impression that Cookie was a spy in a war and that she was really good at it?” Pep asked.

  “Yes, like a current war in which she is still really good at it. The Root of All Evil want to fight. I don’t think they have any idea how formidable their opponent really is,” I said.

  “I would have to agree with you. Now all we have to do is find out who’s talking to Down Below,” said Pep.

  “I also have to find out who Old Leslie is,” I said, biting my lip in thought.

  “Just remember, it’s never who you suspect it is,” said Pep.

  Chapter Ten

  I left a note in the Down Below mailbox for Jefferson Judge. Given that it wasn’t our normal meeting time, I wasn’t sure how soon he’d respond, so while I waited to hear from him I went and did some work around the haunted house.

  While I worked, I daydreamed about how nice it would be if I got my own office. As the liaison between witches and warlocks on the one hand and Down Below on the other, it was important that I have an official space in which to discuss important business.

  My mother had mentioned the idea once, but I hadn’t heard anything about it since. I had resolved to ask her about it if she didn’t say something soon, but until then I decided to quit working in the haunted house for the moment and go help Lark in the ice cream shop.

  At some point in the late afternoon, Cookie found us and asked us to run some errands in town for her. She wanted some letters mailed. In fact, there was a rather large stack of mail to be taken into the Shimmerfield Post Office. Either she had waited months to ask us, or she had hastily scribbled a bunch of empty letters to nowhere out of spite.

  I decided not to think too hard about which it was.

  Lark and I went to find Pep, and since we were all tired of working for the day we decided to run these errands for Cookie sooner rather than later. As usual she wasn’t grateful. She had already gone back to her own office.

  “Not that I expected a thank you, but do you think she’s upset about the spindle?” Pep asked.

  “She might be. I don’t think we should take long on these errands no matter what. I have a feeling she’s trying to get us out of the mansion, and I want to make sure we get back as soon as possible,” I said.

  “You think the second we leave she’s going to go for the spindle?” Lark said.

  “I don’t see why she’d hide that from us. If she wanted to go for the spindle, I feel like she’d just say so,” said Pep.

  “Either way, let’s hurry back,” I said.

  We piled into the car. With the trip to Edmund’s and another into the town, we were doing a lot more driving than usual, but I didn’t mind. The drive would give me a chance to think.

  Sadly, I hadn’t gotten to see Grant yet today. If I had I’d probably be going over our brief conversation in minute detail by now. I’d dissect every line for meaning. Then I’d have some epic conclusion . . . that would change twelve hours later.

  I could tell that he was fixing to ask me out—officially, so to speak. Given that he was a warlock and I was a witch there were some conventions that had to be followed. They might be old-fashioned conventions, but I had a feeling Cookie would insist. I just wasn’t sure Grant would know about them. I also wasn’t sure he’d think it was worth it. He could so easily go find a witch who didn’t have a crazy family, and wouldn’t that be easier for him?

  The post office was crowded when we arrived. We got in the back of the line, and before we even got to the front our errand had already taken a lot longer than I’d hoped it would.

  Mrs. Gray, the wife of the Chief of Police, was one of the people in front of us. The second she saw us she hurried over.

  “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about this year’s holiday haunted house,” she gushed. “I’m really quite impressed with your family. I wouldn’t have thought something like that would go over very well around here, but people seem to love it. I think it’s because you do it in a bit of a tongue-in-cheek way. I suppose that’s always been how the Garbos like to do things.”

  “Our grandmother has never really been known for political correctness,” Pep admitted. “Sometimes I wish she would be. I know my mom loves the decorations, and it’s all in good fun, but sometimes I wish the participants would behave better.”

  “Isn’t it always the way?” said Mrs. Gray. She had thrown back her head and laughed at that statement. “I don’t care how old you get. Nobody ever wants to be told to behave.”

  “Cookie is an excellent example of that fact,” I said dryly.

  After Mrs. Gray came up to compliment us, several more people did the s
ame. They all loved the haunted house. They thought it was well done. They continued to be surprised at how good our costumes for the supernaturals were.

  Even the postmistress was complimentary. “I took my son there the other weekend. I didn’t want to because we’ve been several times before. We use the local family discount, obviously. He loves it. He’s constantly impressed with the scares. On top of that, the costumes are first rate.

  “At first I thought a holiday haunted house was terribly disrespectful. I didn’t realize you managed to do it all differently. I thought a haunted house was merely a haunted house. We had already been a couple of times before this most recent visit, so I didn’t think there was any reason to go again so soon.”

  The postmistress wasn’t taking a pause to breathe, so none of us could get a word in edgewise. We all just watched her with wide eyes.

  She continued, “Still, he convinced me. I can never tell my son no. Low and behold, I was impressed by what we saw. Your family did an excellent haunted house. I didn’t realize that the holiday performances simply involved keeping all of the rooms you usually have and dressing your supernaturals up in green and red. Well done,” she said.

  “Meg really did the decorations to represent the craziness of holidays,” Pep explained. “She really just wants people to be happy being together. If we happen to get a couple of gifts, a much-wanted book or a gorgeous necklace, all the better. My mother doesn’t like all this overconsumption. She buys everything secondhand. So I’m so glad your son enjoyed the experience! The people we have working as supernaturals really do try very hard.”

  Pep was the best of us at avoiding the topic of our supernaturals. She always handled it perfectly, whereas I always shied away from mentioning them at all for fear of getting it wrong. Pep never had that problem.

  We finally finished Cookie’s business and headed outside. The instant we left the building I knew something was wrong. With the light, with the smells, with the stillness.

  Cold puffs of air wafted into my face, but even that felt off.