Nancy looked uneasy. “I don’t want to be away from the house too long,” she said. “Not with all of these accidents going on.”
“Why don’t you go, then, Nan,” George said. “I’ll go with Bess and try to keep her out of trouble.” She poked her cousin playfully in the shoulder.
Nancy boarded the next bus that came by, while Bess and George waited for one that would take them closer to Sacramento Street.
When Nancy walked in the door of the mansion, she heard the piano down in the saloon playing a bouncy ragtime tune. That must be Abby, Nancy figured.
Nancy walked through the entry hall, heading for the stairs down to the saloon. Just then, through the glass door at the back of the entry, she saw Abby come up the saloon stairs and go into the kitchen.
But the piano playing continued.
If Abby was upstairs, Nancy wondered, then who was playing the piano?
Nancy headed on down to the saloon. Halfway down the stairs, she heard the music stop.
When Nancy entered the saloon, it was empty. “Hello!” she called. No answer. Puzzled, she went over to the piano.
It looked like a regular grand piano. She pressed the keys and played a scale. Then she lifted the lid. Inside was a roll of music.
That’s it! Nancy thought, a player piano. She’d seen those before, though usually they were upright pianos. But this grand piano had a roll of music tucked away in its belly.
Nancy felt foolish. With all the weird goings-on in this house, my suspicions are on overdrive, she told herself.
Just then she heard voices on the saloon stairs. She hastily ducked behind the piano.
“Just consider my offer, Rose. I’m willing to buy you and Abby out.” Nancy recognized Louis’s voice speaking.
“Abby has already talked to me about selling the mansion,” Rose answered as they came into the saloon. “And I won’t.”
“But the accidents,” Louis said. “I’m worried about the danger—and the expense.”
“We’re making progress,” Rose said stubbornly.
Nancy could hear Louis sigh. “I hope you’re not being too optimistic,” he warned. “If you lose your life savings, you don’t have thirty working years to earn the money back, as Abby does. I’m willing to buy you out as an act of friendship. Think about it.”
Silence. “I’ll talk to Abby,” Rose said at last in a small, tight voice.
So Rose is finally considering selling the house, Nancy thought to herself. But she can’t give up, not now! Nancy clenched her jaw, more determined than ever to find out who was behind all these accidents. It would be so unfair if somebody else found Lizzie’s gold.
Rose bent over Charlie’s tool kit and took out a pair of pliers. “Here they are,” she said. She and Louis left the saloon. Nancy waited a few minutes, then slipped quietly up the stairs, so no one would know she’d been down there.
Upstairs, she found Bess and George in the kitchen. “We found some fabulous hats,” Bess said. “I spotted them from the window of the bus.”
“You’ve never seen someone ring for a bus stop as fast as Bess did when she saw those hats in the window,” George told Nancy.
“We’ll show them to you later,” Bess told Nancy. “Right now it’s our turn to fix dinner.” She handed Nancy an apron.
“What’s on the menu?” Nancy asked.
“I’m making a cheese soufflé,” Bess said. “You and George can do salad and dessert.”
The three of them got busy. Bess took charge, bossing Nancy and George around, enjoying every minute of her role as head cook.
The cheese soufflé was a great success, as was Nancy’s spinach salad and George’s apple strudel. After dinner, despite Hannah’s and Rose’s protests, the girls insisted on washing up.
“You’ve been waiting on us enough,” Bess said. “It’s our turn to wait on you.”
After cleaning up, the girls headed up to the Blue Room. On the bed Bess had laid out the dresses they’d found in the trunk. Then, from a large plastic bag, she pulled out a big feathered hat.
“Do you like it, Nancy?” Bess asked, settling the hat delicately on top of her blond hair.
“It does look nice,” Nancy said, hiding a smile as she watched Bess’s eagerness. Even when they had been little girls playing together, Bess had always enjoyed dress-up games.
“I feel just like Lizzie Applegate,” Bess declared, admiring herself in the mirror. “We found hats for you and George, too.”
Wordlessly, George held them up for Nancy to see—a wide-brimmed hat with black plumes and a tiny blue bonnet topped with a wispy mass of colored straw. Nancy and George rolled their eyes at each other behind Bess’s back.
“You have to try on your dresses tonight,” Bess insisted. “Lizzie was a big woman. I may have to take her dresses in to fit you or shorten them.” Bess glanced at George’s and Nancy’s slender frames.
George groaned. “I know what that means.”
“That’s right,” Bess said. “Time for a fitting session. Now change into those dresses.” She flounced off to the hall bathroom to pin up her hair.
Nancy and George slipped out of their clothes and pulled on the heavy, old-fashioned dresses. Nancy chose a deep purple dress, George, the black-and-crimson one.
“The black-plumed hat goes best with my dress,” George said, snatching it up.
“Yeah, thanks.” Nancy laughed. “Now I’m stuck with this one that looks like a bird’s nest!”
“Ouch!” George cried out, jerking her hand away from her hat. “What’s this?” She pulled out a large hat pin.
“You’ll need that to anchor the hat to your head,” Nancy explained. “But be careful—those things can be dangerous.”
Suddenly the bedroom door flew open. “Nancy! George! Come quick!” Bess shouted.
“What is it?” Nancy asked, already in motion.
Bess was streaking toward the bathroom. “I was looking out the window to see the full moon,” she called over her shoulder, “and guess what I saw in the backyard. A blond woman with a small white dog! I think it’s the ghost of Lizzie with her little dog. Hurry!”
Nancy and George ran after Bess. From the small bathroom window, Nancy could just make out a blond figure down in the garden, under a tree. The person seemed to be staring up at the moon. A small white dog sat on the ground beside her.
“I don’t believe that’s Lizzie,” Nancy said, “but I do want to know who it is. Let’s go!”
Still in their antique dresses, the three girls rustled downstairs and raced out into the backyard. The yard was empty and still.
“Where did she go?” Bess asked.
The girls listened and looked. With the light of the full moon, they could see very clearly. No one was there. Then they heard footsteps.
Mary Lee came around the corner of the house. “Oh!” She jumped in fright when she saw the girls. “What are you dressed for?”
“Winter Festival,” Bess answered simply. “But Mary, what are you doing here?”
“Uh … I’m—I’m looking for my cat,” Mary said, flustered. “Max, my Manx cat. Have you seen him?”
A loud rustling came from the base of the house, and a cat ran out of the shrubbery. “Max!” Mary called. “See you guys later!” she added hastily, and then ran off after the cat.
George looked at Nancy. “A Manx cat doesn’t have a tail,” George said slowly. “But I definitely saw a tail on that cat. It looked like Abby’s black cat, Alfreida.”
“Where did the cat come from?” Nancy wondered. Gathering up her long skirts, she poked around the overgrown bushes at the base of the mansion.
“Hey, look.” She held up a screen from one of the saloon’s ventilation windows. “The cat was probably trapped inside. When he ran out, the screen fell off. That’s the noise we heard.”
Nancy propped the screen against the house and the girls headed back inside. “Well, at least you saw Lizzie from the window,” Bess said.
“Well, w
e saw someone,” Nancy admitted.
Back in the Blue Room, the dress fitting began. Bess sat on the armchair in their bedroom’s side nook, taking in the side seams of George’s dress. “Please hold still, George,” Bess pleaded.
“You’re sticking me!” George said.
“If you’d stop wiggling, I wouldn’t have to,” Bess mumbled through a mouthful of pins. “Now bend over so I can get this back waist seam.”
“I can’t stand this much longer,” George muttered. Bending forward from the waist, she leaned her hands for support against the paneled wall beside her.
“Lean over a little more,” Bess directed her.
George bent further, pushing against the wall.
The oak panels creaked and trembled. Then, with a groan, a secret door slowly swung open.
12
The Spirits Speak
George stumbled forward as the paneling gave way. “Whoa!” she yelled. “What—”
Nancy ran over, while Bess spit out the pins from her mouth. “You must have pressed a secret lever, George,” Nancy said.
George straightened up. “I was leaning right here,” she said, pressing against one side of the wood panel. The door opened wider. “Look!”
Behind the panel, in a dark niche, was a large, black, painted safe. George reached in and tugged on the safe’s metal handles. “It’s locked,” she said.
“Give it a try, Nancy,” Bess urged. “Lizzie’s secret may be inside!”
Nancy fiddled with the combination lock for a few minutes, one ear pressed against the dial to listen to the tumblers. At last she heard a click, and the steel doors grated open.
Inside the safe was a brown accordion file tied with black satin ribbon. Nancy pulled it out. “Let’s look at it on the bed,” she said.
“Hurry!” Bess said. “I can’t wait.”
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Nancy untied the ribbon and opened the file. It was full of old papers. Nancy examined the first document, a small sheet with Certificate of Marriage printed in elegant lettering at the top. She handed it to Bess. “You’ll like this, Bess.”
Bess’s eyes glowed as she read the certificate. “Diego and Lizzie were married on June 18, 1877, in Gold Pine Valley, California!”
“What else is there?” George asked Nancy.
Nancy’s heart pounded as she flipped through the papers. “Mining stocks,” she said, handing George several certificates with fancy embossed borders.
Bess picked up an old notebook and opened it. “Oh, it’s Lizzie’s journal!” She scanned the notebook pages. “And listen—this section is called ‘Life as a Bandit’! So Lizzie Applegate really did join El Diablo’s gang. Now we have proof.”
“What about the gold?” George asked.
Bess flipped through blank pages. “The last entry is Christmas Eve, 1878.”
“The day before the big stagecoach robbery,” George observed.
Nancy picked up a handwritten document. She reached out to clutch Bess’s arm. “This looks like a will! Signed by Elizabeth Valdez, and dated 1902.”
“Read it, Nancy,” George urged.
Nancy cleared her throat and read aloud. “‘I, Elizabeth Valdez, do hereby make this my last will and testament. To my employee and friend Lee Wing Yuen, the Chinese overmantel and the sum of fifteen thousand dollars.’”
“Mary’s great-grandfather!” George said.
Nancy nodded and read on. “‘To Nellie Beecham, my emerald brooch and the sum of five thousand dollars.’”
“Maybe like the emerald brooch Louis has in his shop,” Bess noted. “He said they were common.”
Nancy scanned the rest of the will. “There are more bequests for smaller items,” she said. “But listen to this: ‘To my beloved husband, Diego Valdez, my house and its contents with the exception of the bequests above.’”
“I knew it!” Bess cried. “Diego was alive!”
Nancy held up her hand. “Maybe not,” she said. “The will goes on to say that if Diego is deceased, the house is to be sold and the proceeds donated to charity. My guess is that Lizzie didn’t know whether he was still alive.”
“But I don’t understand,” George said. “If we’re just finding this will now, how did Mary’s grandfather get the Chinese mantel?”
“Maybe she also left it to him in another version of the will,” Nancy noted. “This may not have been her final will. This is dated 1902, but she lived until 1906.”
“Nancy, George, look at this—a telegram.” Bess said, holding up a small yellowed piece of paper. “‘Dearest Gardenia: I will return.’ The telegram must be from Diego. How romantic!”
Nancy pointed to the top of the telegram. “It’s dated January 2, 1879—after the Christmas Day robbery. So Diego did survive the ambush.”
“But if Diego had come back,” Bess reasoned, “Lizzie wouldn’t have been trying to reach him through séances for years.”
“Remember, some people thought Lizzie’s séances were publicity stunts,” Nancy said. “Maybe Diego did come back for the gold.”
George was busy examining the other papers. “These are house plans,” she said. “And it sure looks like the layout of this mansion.”
Nancy eagerly took the faded drawings and studied them. “The house has changed,” she said, tracing the drawings with her fingernail. “Rose’s office must have been added later. And look—there was originally a fireplace in the entry hall, here.” She pointed.
“That’s the wall where I’m going to put my photo display,” Bess said. “Ooh, wait until Rose and Abby learn what we found tonight!”
George frowned. “Do you think Rose—or Abby—already knows this safe is here?”
Nancy shook her head as she gathered up the papers. “Even if they had found this secret door, they probably couldn’t have opened the lock. Besides, Rose said to me they had no plans of the house, so they must not have seen these. Let’s keep these papers a secret for now,” she cautioned her friends, “until we find the gold.”
“Then you really do believe the gold is hidden here, in the mansion?” Bess asked.
Nancy hesitated. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” she hedged. “But I believe that somebody thinks it’s here, and that person has been causing all these so-called accidents to scare Rose away.”
Bess was looking through the journal one last time. Suddenly she gasped. “Listen to this—it’s on the last page. She writes: ‘Forever, Diego, your treasure I hold true’—just like the words in the song. The gold must be here!”
The next day at lunch, Nancy and Rose had just begun eating their tuna sandwiches when Abby walked into the kitchen. Nancy blinked, astonished. Abby wore a silver turban, a matching silver skirt, and a black satin jacket with flowing sleeves. Nancy could smell Abby’s perfume—gardenia.
“Why, Abby,” said Rose. “What on earth are you dressed up for?”
“I’d like to invite you to a séance,” Abby said dramatically, “after lunch, in the saloon.”
“Oh, no, Abby!” Rose protested. “We’ve got too much work to do. We don’t have time for games.”
Abby’s face flushed. “It’s not a game, Rose,” she insisted. “To make this bed-and-breakfast a success, we have to stand out from the crowd. Séances could attract a lot of people.”
Rose hesitated. “Well, all right,” she said, giving in. “But then we all have to get back to work.”
After lunch the girls, Hannah, and Rose followed Abby to the dark saloon. At the top of the stairs Abby paused to take a candle from her jacket pocket and light it. Then she led them in a candlelit procession down the stairs.
Chairs were set around a square wooden table by the piano. Several books lay on one corner of the table. “Please sit down,” Abby said, putting the candle in the candlestick on the piano.
Once everyone had sat down, Abby was silent for a few minutes. Nancy felt restless. A séance seemed like a waste of time, except that she might learn something about Abby from it.
/> “We will attempt to contact the spirits,” Abby said at last, her voice low and solemn. “Join hands on the table.” Abby began to hum softly. “Is there a spirit you wish to contact?”
“Lizzie Applegate,” Bess announced.
“Lizzie Applegate,” Abby repeated. “Lizzie Applegate. We ask for a sign. Spirits, speak!”
Suddenly, a rapping noise broke the silence. It seemed to come from the table.
“The spirits are here,” Abby said. “Lizzie, is that you? One rap for no, three for yes.”
There was a momentary silence, followed by three distinct raps.
“Lizzie’s here!” Bess squealed. “Is Diego here, too?”
One rap. No.
Suddenly a dog began barking. “That’s Lizzie’s dog,” Bess said. But just then Bess’s chair lurched forward. She screamed, grabbing the chair with both hands to keep herself upright.
Now the table began to rock back and forth, first gently and then with more force. The books fell with a resounding thump. Then one end of the table rose and stayed up in the air.
“Oh!” Bess gasped.
The table fell with a thud. Abruptly, the piano burst out with a jangling tune.
Nancy felt Hannah grip her hand tightly. She glanced at Hannah, who rolled her eyes, looking annoyed by Abby’s theatrics.
Abby rose and began to circle the room. Moving over by the bar, she was barely visible. Nancy heard a whooshing sound like wind coming through a tunnel. A silver-colored spirit seemed to float through the air above Abby.
Nancy stifled a grin. That was the same figure she had seen floating in the fog outside Abby’s window her first night here. So that’s what the equipment in Abby’s room was for!
Gradually, the spirit vanished. Abby circled the room, calling, “Speak to us, Lizzie.”
Returning to the table, Abby took the candle and a piece of paper from the piano. “We will ask for another message,” she said. She held the paper above the candle flame. The paper burned with a startling white flash.
“The spirits have finished!” Abby proclaimed. “The séance is over!” Holding the candlestick, Abby began walking to the top of the stairs.
“Is that it?” George said flatly.