The Mystery of the Red-Brick House
by
Betty Casbeer Carroll
Copyright 2002, 2011 by Betty Casbeer Carroll
License Notes:
This book is available in print at most online retailers
Dedication
Dedicated to my children (now grown)
who were models for the five siblings in the book.
Peggy Choka
Martha Scott
Jacquelyn Carroll
Richard Carroll, Jr. (deceased)
Michael Carroll
Table of Contents
Part I: The Enigmas
Part II: Impending Danger
Part II1: The Mystery Unfolds
About the Author
Other Books by the Author
Author's Notes
Acknowledgments
Connect with Me Online
Part I: The Enigmas
Chapter 0: Introduction
This is a mystery involving five siblings (Jeanie, Ann, Liz, Ricky, and Neil). They move into a red-brick house for the summer that had been vacant for years. It is located on the back of a wooded lot populated with oak, maple, and pine trees, and surrounded by an iron picket fence with a rusty gate that squeaks and creaks when it’s opened.
The neighbor kids think the place is spooky because it’s been vacant so long, the red bricks are chipped and cracked, and the yard is full of tall weeds, except Cindy. She once lived in the house, and laughs at such rumors. The spider webs hanging on the eaves, in the doorways, and all through the house reinforces the children’s initial impression when they first moved in, that the house is haunted.
Their mother hires a housekeeper, Miss Briggs, who has beady eyes that get red and watery when she’s provoked. Her presence and eccentric behavior frighten them.
When the five children fuss about Miss Briggs to their mother, she assumes they just don’t want to be supervised when she’s gone, and ignores their complaints. She learns eventually how wrong she was.
Chapter 1: Pancakes and Maple Syrup
“Hold it,” a voice called from the end of the hall. “No pillow fights today.”
“How did she know?” whispered Jeanie. After all, they weren’t making that much noise. It didn’t near compare with throwing balls against the wall like Ricky and Neil did when they were bored.
The five pillows dropped to the floor. Neil glanced at his older brother and mumbled under his breath, “I won.”
Ricky dropped his jaw, and rolled his eyes in obvious disagreement. “I heard that,” he said. “You can’t win a pillow fight. Nobody keeps score.”
Neil glanced sideways at his oldest sister Jeanie, and waited for her to say something, to come his rescue. But she just ignored him. “So-o-o,” he said to his brother, not wanting to back down.
Ricky rolled his eyes again, and slapped the side of his own face lightly. “Duh-h.” Then added, “So-o-o, who says?”
“Me. I say.”
“That doesn’t make it so. If anyone won, it was me.”
Jeanie interrupted them. “Hey. Shut up. What’s point?.”
Neil turned to his sister Ann, but she was preoccupied fluffing pillows and putting them back on the bunk beds. His last hope was Liz, but he lost that when she spoke up next. “I won,” she said, looking wide-eyed and solemn, like that settled the matter right then and there.
“Who cares?” asked Ann, plumping up another pillow and placing it on Neil’s mattress.
“I do. ‘Cause I won,” repeated Liz, taking the pillow off Neil’s bunk and throwing it across the room. It barely missed a lamp and landed on Ricky’s bed.
“Get your pillow off my bed, Lizzie.”
.“Breakfast is ready,” their mother announced, as she poked her head through the doorway. “Buttermilk pancakes and maple syrup.” Tall, with ash blonde hair that barely touched her shoulders, she projected confidence and optimism, and commanded attention wherever she went. Her children knew her to be loving, but demanding. When she barked out orders, they seldom defied her, and only if they thought they could get away with it. She stayed so busy, she rarely remembered anyway. And when she stopped for her power nap shortly after lunch, they had a good two hours to do what they pleased.
After supper, when she would take a warm shower, brush her hair, and slip into a colorful shift or flowered chemise, the boys would climb on her lap and the three girls would flank her on each side. Bedtime was their quiet time. It was time to unwind, to talk or read or listen. Her voice seemed more serene, not hoarse and deep and impatient. But the same was true of her children. When dusk turned to night and bedtime was imminent, they became quieter. Less energetic. More subdued.
“We’re coming. We’re coming,” yelled Neil and Ricky as they followed their mother down the hallway to the kitchenette.
Jeanie stepped into the doorway and turned around, facing her two sisters. She pushed a string of uncombed hair out of her face, and held up her hand like she was directing traffic. “Wait,” she said and wrinkled her brow to get just the right effect--solemn and serious. “I have butterflies in my stomach.” She paused for a moment, then continued, “It’s a warning. It’s an omen. Something exciting, maybe dangerous, is going to happen this summer.”
“I’m kinda nervous myself,” added Ann. “I think it’s because we’re moving.” She held out her shaking hands as proof.
“Me, too. My stomach is turning somersaults,” said Liz. She looked from Jeanie to Ann, then back to Jeanie. She pointed to her belly. “See how it jumps.”
“It’s just because we’re moving,” Ann explained a second time, with her usual logic.
“No. It’s not,” said Jeanie. She was forever apprehensive about something, conjuring up images of potential disasters. When her sisters expressed any skepticism, she reminded them about her prediction of the tornado last year that tore the roof off the barn, and pulled up the oldest oak tree in the cow pasture. Ann tried to explain over and over that anyone could predict a tornado coming when its funnel was already dropping from the clouds. She said it was a warning, even a happening, but not a real, honest prediction.
Jeanie lowered her voice so she could barely be heard. “I feel it in my bones. It’s like a premonition.”
“Of what?” said Ann.
“Who knows? Wait ‘til you see the house,” Jeanie whispered again. “If there was ever a haunted house, this one is.”
“Haunted?” asked Liz, her face turning ashen. She drained the color from her face so often, her sisters either scoffed, or just ignored it.
“Yes. Haunted,” repeated Jeanie, raising her voice. Her eyes dilated and flashed with excitement. She looked at her sisters, and waited for a response.
“Why?” asked Ann politely. She thought Jeanie was overdoing it.
“It looks spooky, that’s why.”
“Spooky?” repeated Liz as she immediately turned ashen again. The look of death, her sisters called it.
“The kids in that neighborhood think so.”
“Did they tell you that?” asked Ann.
“Not exactly,” said Jeanie. “But I can tell. These two little girls wouldn’t get near the fence.”
“You’re making that up. I wish Mother had taken me to get the keys.”
“She asked me first.”
“It was your time to baby sit.”
“That doesn’t matter. Mother wanted me. I’m the oldest. ”
“She never keeps track whose time it is. You shoulda told her.”
“You coulda told her yourself.”
Their mother called from the kitchen, “Girls, your pancakes are getting cold.” There was a slight edge to her voice.
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“Mother’s getting impatient. Let’s go before the boys eat up our pancakes.”
“Okay by me.”
“Liz, don’t tell the boys or Mother what I just told you.”
“Why?”
“Because I said not to.”
“You’re not the boss.”
“Just this once keep your mouth shut. Could you please do that? Just this once?”
“Maybe.”
“Liz, I’m warning you. If you say one word, I’ll tape your mouth shut.”
Liz ran out of the room, yelling,” Mother-r. Jeanie’s going to tape my mouth.”
“Let her go,” said Ann. “You really think it’s haunted?”
“Yes. It’s definitely haunted.”
“Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
“How can you eat at a time like this?” asked Jeanie.
“Because I don’t believe in ghosts,” answered Ann, which wasn’t exactly the truth. Ann wavered between the rational and the irrational. She only believed in ghosts when she actually saw one herself, which didn’t happen very often, if ever. She could never say with certainty that the ones she did see weren’t just temporary illusions caused by Jeanie’s fervor about things that go bump in the night.
Jeanie shrugged and followed Ann to the dining room. She sat down, poured hot syrup over cold pancakes, and felt just a little smug as she looked across the table at her skeptical sister. She’ll believe it when she sees the red-brick house. It’s haunted, that she was sure of. She took a bite of her pancake, and it stuck in her throat just thinking about it.
####
Chapter 2: The Red-Brick House
Liz stared out the window at the two weeping willows by their pond, and daydreamed of lying under the shade of the billowing branches that swept the ground when the wind blew. Only today there was no wind, just a heavy, hazy fog that hid the barn and outbuildings. Squinting her eyes, she barely recognized the yellow-brown outline of Bossy. Was someone milking? She couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just the fog moving slowly across the field.
It was one of those sticky-hot days, clammy and humid. The kind of day when kids swim in shaded swimming pools or lakes.
Her mother’s voice interrupted her daydream. “Liz, we could use some help with the packing.”
“Oh, Mother. I thought you were milking Bossy.”
“I finished that hours ago. Get a move on.” She took a deep breath, and silently prayed for patience.
“I don’t want to move.” She continued to stare at the fog.
“It’s just for the summer, Liz. You know that.” She took another deep breath.
“Who’s going to feed my gerbil?”
Exhaling loudly, her mother answered, “You can take it.”
“What about my baby chickens?”
“We’ve gone over this a dozen times. Uncle Ben will feed your chickens. Now stop your procrastinating.” She looked to the ceiling. Why me?
“I’m not ‘crastinating.” Liz looked up at her tall, attractive mother. “I love you.”
She sighed. “I love you, too.” She grabbed Liz by the hand and lead her outside where Jeanie and Ann were stacking boxes in the truck. “Here’s your helper,” she announced to the other girls. “Where are the boys?”
“In the barn.”
“Liz, go get the boys. Tell them we’re just about ready to leave.”
“It’s too foggy. I can’t see”
“I’ll go,” offered Ann, trotting toward the barn. “Ricky. Neil. We’re leaving.”
The two boys came running up the hill from the cow pasture. “We told Bossy bye,” said Ricky.
“She looks sad,” added Neil.
They piled into the truck with the load of boxes, and headed down the winding driveway. Uncle Ben stood in the yard waving as they drove away. He was their great-uncle, the youngest brother of their maternal grandfather who died many years ago. But he was more like a grandpa. Neil and Ricky waved from the truck bed until they turned onto the highway and could no longer see him. “He looks sad,” said Neil, wiping away his tears.
They rode past their country schoolhouse, and the homes of friends and people they knew before the country-side took on a newness, with ponds and silos and farms rarely seen. Flat, cultivated land stretched for miles and miles.
Neil was the first to see the tall buildings across the green and yellow fields of soybeans and corn. “There’s a town,” he said, pointing toward the east.
“What’s its name?” asked Ricky.
“Redding,” said Ann.
“Why do they call it that?” asked Liz.
“It’s probably named after some famous person,” said Ann.
“I don’t know any famous person named Redding,” said Liz.
“Me either,” said Neil.
“Do you know any famous people?” asked Jeanie.
“George Washington,” answered Ricky.
“I don’t think they name towns after people,” Ann reflected. “I mean, just name all the towns you know. Dallas. Anaheim. Los Angeles. Grand Rapids. None of them were people.”
“Well, you said so,” Liz reminded Ann.
“I changed my mind,” Ann answered, as she continued to name towns. “San Diego. San Antonio. Fort Wayne. Lansing. Tulsa.”
Their mother hardly noticed the chatter. The radio was playing classic country by Patsy Cline, George Jones, and Hank Williams. She was more tuned into the music than the repartee of her five children. When she neared the outskirts of the city, she scanned the landscape and interjected, “I think we’re getting close. Jeanie, do you remember any landmarks near Chase Street?.”
After driving a half mile or so, Jeanie called out, “I see it. It’s just past the Conoco Station on the right.” Jeanie was accustomed to navigating. Her mother relied on her until she had learned new landmarks. After that she did her own navigating. She turned on Chase Street, pulled up in front of an iron picket fence, and parked the truck.
The children remained in the truck bed and stared at the three-story house. It was partly-hidden in a grove of tall pines, looming above the trees on the back of the lot, far from the street. Its red-brick exterior was chipped and cracked, and surrounded by dry weeds that the blistering sun had scorched to a dark brown. A rock walkway lead to the narrow porch that wrapped around the front and left side of the house.
“That’s our summer home,” said their Mother. She smiled proudly. “Isn’t it enchanting?” She could barely contain her excitement. She’d rented it for very little money while their farm house was being remodeled. It would give her children their first experience living in a city neighborhood, something she never had herself as a child.
“It’s spooky,” said Neil. “I don’t like it.”
“Come on. Hop down.”
They jumped from the truck, lined up outside the gate, and continued to stare.
“Fraidycat,” said Ricky to his younger brother, as he pushed the rusted gate. Being the older brother, he tried to act brave, whether he really felt that way or not. The gate creaked and rattled, and wouldn’t budge. “It’s stuck.”
Jeanie stepped forward and gave it a strong shove, knocking Ricky to the ground. She reached over and pulled him up by his collar as he yelled, “Ouch, you knocked me down.”
“Get your cleaning stuff out of the truck,” their mother yelled. “I’m going to get some groceries, and do some other shopping before the moving van gets here. While I’m gone, you kids sweep up the dust, then mop the floors. Somebody wash the windows. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. And don’t forget the lunch basket.”
“Can I go with you?” asked Neil, looking toward the red-brick house, then back at his mother.
“No. We talked about this last night. Remember? Everyone has to pitch in, including you.”
“Come on, Neil,” Ann said. “Big sister will help you.”
They stood at the gate with their cleaning paraphernalia. Brooms, mops, buckets, window cleaner. After their mother drov
e off, they continued to stand and stare at the red-brick building. Tall oak and maple trees overhung the long walkway. Green pines nearly camouflaged the house, giving it a kind of lonely and mysterious facade.
Ann was the first to speak. “Come on gang, time’s awasting.” She stepped on the rock walkway and started forward. Jeanie followed, with the littler kids tagging behind, hovering close as they edged toward the porch.
Ann stepped cautiously up the front steps, pushing spider webs out of the way as she went. They hung everywhere. Under the eaves, on the windows, over the door.
Jeanie put the key in the front door, flinching ever so slightly, and glancing around for the spiders. “The door is stuck. Give me a push.”
They lined up. “Okay, one, two, three, push,” said Ann.
The door opened. Live spiders and dead crickets and Japanese beetles scattered in all directions. Neil stumbled to the floor, blocking their path. Ricky fell on him, with Liz on top.
Jeanie and Ann couldn’t hold back their giggles as they stared at the stack of arms and legs and heads, until Neil screamed, “Scorpions.”
Liz and Ricky jumped up and ran in circles. They’d been at the mercy of a scorpion sting more than once. It was something to avoid for sure. Ann reached down and pulled Neil up by his collar just as two scorpions scooted out nearby and fled across the floor.
“Scorpions,” Ann yelled, running back outside.
They all followed, screaming, “Scorpions, scorpions.”
Jeanie glimpsed several people strolling down the street turn to watch their bizarre behavior. She calmed down instantly and looked away. “We can’t stay out here and jump all day,” she said, then whispered, “Get inside. The neighbors are gawking.”
They filed back in, one at a time, like kids in kindergarten returning from play. Neil held on to the edge of Jeanie’s shorts, and Ricky did the same with Ann’s. The room was still dark and dank and dusty. It smelled strongly of musk and mildew. Jeanie shuddered as she peered into the murky dark, sure scorpions were still running all over the place. “Where’s the light switch?” she asked.
Ann groped along the wall until she found one. A tiny beam of light cast its stream of yellow color on to the walls. She sighed with relief. “At last.”