Free The Ghost and Mrs. Hobbs by Cynthia DeFelice

replied with interest. Maybe she’d find out the answers to some of her questions, after all. Not wanting to appear too eager, though, she waited.
    â€œIt was a real tragedy,” he said, shaking his head at the memory. “You say you’re interviewing Mrs. Hobbs for a project?”
    â€œYes,” answered Allie.
    â€œThen you should probably know this. Her husband and child died in that fire. Someone else, too, as I recall. I’m sure you don’t want to bring up painful memories or ask her any awkward questions.”
    Too late for that, thought Allie. I already asked her about her family, and she got so mad she set fire to the cafeteria. She didn’t say anything, though, hoping Chief Rasmussen would say more about the “someone else” who had died.
    â€œThe poor woman,” said Allie’s father, sounding horrified.
    â€œWorst thing I’ve seen in all my years on the job,” the chief said sadly.
    â€œBy the way,” he added to Allie, “I’m sure glad you got out of the glen safely. According to the newspaper, you were quite the hero that day.”
    Allie smiled and shrugged, feeling embarrassed at the word “hero.”
    Her father and the chief talked for a few more moments. Then the chief left, saying again, “Sorry to have bothered you folks.”
    Allie was glad Chief Rasmussen had realized she wasn’t a mentally deranged kid with a fire-starting fixation. But she knew her troubles were far from over.
    Sure enough, her father turned to her with a look of exasperation. “Allie, what in Sam Hill is going on?”
    It was one of her father’s favorite expressions. Allie had often meant to ask him who Sam Hill was, anyway, but she didn’t think this was the proper moment.
    â€œFirst the cafeteria lady from your school, Mrs. Hobbs, comes here and scares Michael half to death, and next thing I know, the fire chief is here, asking questions as if he thinks you’re a pyromaniac!”
    Allie was still trying to take in the bizarre notionthat Mrs. Hobbs had actually come here, to her house.
    â€œDad, I have no idea what happened at the library. The microfilm just started to melt. It was really weird. Even Mrs. Harris said they’ve never had that problem before. And then, because there was a fire at school, too, and I happened to be in both places, the chief decided maybe I was some kind of creepy fire nut.” She looked at her father beseechingly.
    â€œWell, I think we got that straightened out,” said Mr. Nichols. “At least, I hope so. But this visit from Mrs. Hobbs . . . Why do you think she came here? You haven’t been bothering that poor woman, have you?”
    Poor woman! Allie thought. “No!” she cried. “I asked if I could interview her and she said yes, only we got interrupted by the fire in the cafeteria. What was she doing here?”
    Her father handed Allie a piece of folded paper. “When I told her you weren’t home, she asked if she could leave a message.”
    â€œFor me?” Allie asked with amazement.
    Her father nodded, watching her curiously. Allie was curious, too, but mostly she felt bewildered and—yes, she admitted to herself—scared. She held the message gingerly between two fingertips, as if it were a poisonous snake or a ticking bomb. Feeling her father’s eyes on her, she wished she could read itin the privacy of her room. But what excuse could she give for that?
    Slowly, she unfolded the paper and gasped as she read the scribbled words:
    Â 
    Be careful.

You’re playing with fire.
    Â 
    â€œWhat?” asked her father, his voice filled with concern. “Let me see that.” He read the message and gave a low whistle. “What does she mean?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Allie whispered, staring at the paper in horror.
    â€œAllie,” her father said, reaching out to touch her face, “you aren’t