Minerva Clark Gives Up the Ghost by Karen Karbo

Author:Karen Karbo
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2007-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

8

When I walked in the back door, Mrs. Dagnitz was standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands on her hips, saying, “Why does it still smell like fish in here?” She had that crease between her forehead. Everyone was in their normal places. Mark Clark was in front of the computer. Quills was in the basement practicing his bass. Morgan was in his room reading.

She was talking to Quills, Mrs. Dagnitz was. He’d come upstairs for a Mountain Dew. He was tapping out a rhythm on the top of the can with two fingers, still listening to some inner tune. For a split second, I felt a little bad for Mrs. Dagnitz. Really, no one listened to her. When you’re a mom who follows your yoga instructor to another state, no one listens to you.

She was right. The entire bottom floor of Casa Clark reeked. I’d noticed it the second I’d opened the door. The smell was gross enough to interrupt my nonstop freak-out at having survived a paranormal experience. That’s what it was called, right? When you caught a ghost acting up? I’d already called Reggie from the bus. Wasn’t there, or wasn’t picking up. Then I’d tried to call Kevin. Wasn’t there, or wasn’t picking up. Then I’d tried to call Angus. Went straight to voice mail.

All the way home on the bus my thoughts had ricocheted around my head. I had seen all those toaster levers sliding up and down with my own eyes. I had seen the freezer door swinging open with my own eyes. I had been alone in the grocery.

I chewed my cuticles, as nasty a habit as nail-biting, but I didn’t care.

It had to have been Louise, the ghost in the walk-in, the Kikimora. Except it couldn’t be Louise, the Kikimora. No person with half a brain believed in ghosts. It was like believing in unicorns, the Loch Ness monster, Big Foot, special personal angels who watched over you. I calmed down thinking of all the lame woo-woo things that did not exist, ghosts included.

Then how did you explain the toasters pretending to be toasting and ejecting their invisible pieces of toast? How did you explain the door of the walk-in freezer opening all on its own? The door had been shut firmly—I’d heard the smart click of the handle as clearly as Mrs. Dagnitz’s voice complaining about the fish smell.

“That halibut was fresh,” she said. “It shouldn’t smell like this. Minerva, don’t you smell it?”

“It’s disgusting,” I said, pinching my nose shut with my fingers.

Quills shrugged and took his opportunity to slink back down into the basement.

I was happy to help Mrs. Dagnitz throw open the windows and reclean the counters with Windex, grateful not to be in trouble for having missed family yoga that morning.

“Don’t go easy on the stuff,” she said over my shoulder. “We have got to get that smell out of here before I do something I regret.”

“Like order a bag of McDonald’s fries? They cover every smell in the world.

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