"Well. I got some news," she said. "That telephone number? I called it and a man answered. He told me Toby DeMarco was his mother and she was in the Sisters of Mercy nursing home in Johnsville. It's not that far from here. I thought he might have been the baby in the Moses basket. so I asked him where he was born and he got very uptight, demanding who I was and what I wanted, so I just hung up. What do you think of that?"
"I don't know."
"Why did we find his mother's name and telephone number up there? Why is that attic locked away? Why did your aunt keep it the way it was all this time? Why did this man get so upset when I asked him stuff?" she rattled off at me.
"I don't know."
"I don't know. I don't know. Is that all you can say? Don't you want to know?"
Should I tell her about Ian? I wondered. Tell her about that thing he called telepathy and how I hear him warning me all the time? Would she think I am crazy already, too?
"This is like a real mystery story," she continued as she undressed for bed. "I think we'll be like two detectives. I know what," she said as she was crawling in under the covers, "I'll make it up with Chad and we'll get him to drive us to that nursing home. Maybe we'll go there this weekend. I can make him do whatever I want. Okay?'
When I didn't answer right away, she added. "Don't say I don't know or I'll throw you out the window."
I didn't say anything. She turned over to go to sleep, but a moment later, she turned back.
"Maybe we'll learn something that will help you help your brother. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes," I said.
"So there. This could be more than just some fun. Good night," she added.
Was she right? Did this house hold the answers to questions that would help Ian and me? Even Greataunt Frances? I was so tired. but I was afraid that the moment I closed my eyes. Ian's letters would give me nightmares. I tried thinking of happy things, but in the end. I cried silently to myself until I was too tired to even dream.
Alanis was up ahead of me in the morning and shook me awake, When I opened my eyes, she was kneeling beside my bed to look into my face.
"What is it?" I asked.
"The ghost," she said.
I ground the sleep out of my eyes and propped myself up on my elbow.
"What?"
"It's not a ghost. It's your great-aunt. She goes up there and cries and then comes down. I heard her and watched for her. Don't worry. She didn't see me. Now I really want to know who Toby DeMarco is," she added. "And so do you, so don't even think of saying you don't. Get up. We have lots to do and talk about. Your great-aunt's trapped more in her lies and secrets than a fly in a spider's web. If we're smart, we'll unlock more than just an attic door in this house."
Why did she mention spiders and flies? Had she snuck into Grandmother Emma's room and read Ian's letters?
I didn't like spying on Great-aunt Frances. but I couldn't deny I was very curious about it all now. She was as chipper as ever in the morning, making sure we both ate a good breakfast even though she didn't herself.
"Tomorrow. Jordan and I might have a chance to go visit a friend of mine who has a nice house with lots to do in it. There's a game room with a pool table and all sorts of stuff. I have a friend who can take us," Alanis said. "Will that be all right with you. Miss Wilkens?"
"Oh. Well, what does your grandfather say?"
"He says if it's all right with you, it's all right with him," she lied.
"As long as you're both back in time for dinner. I have some plans for our Saturday night dinner. Something special," she added.
"Oh, how can anything be more special than what we've had already?" Alanis cried. "It's so much fun living here, especially with someone as kind and as generous as you. Miss Wilkens."
Great-aunt Frances smiled. I looked down. Surely if I didn't, she easily could tell how much I hated seeing her fooled. I thought.
"Well, nothing makes me happier than seeing the two of you happy," Great-aunt Frances said.
I looked up at her and struggled not to shout out the truth: We snuck up into the attic, we found things and we're about to spy on people. The words got stuck in my throat and made my eyes tear, Great-aunt Frances thought I was just being grateful. She smiled at me and stroked my hair.
"Sweet child." she said.