Free Waiting Spirits by Bruce Coville Page B

Then, gathering her courage, she added, “But I do know you had an awfully strange expression on your face the night that ghost chased me up the stairs.”
    Her grandmother’s eyes grew hard, and suddenly “The Great Stone Face” seemed a perfect description for her. “Lisa, I am a scientist. I don’t like to talk about nonsense!”
    That was it. End of conversation. Lisa knew there wasn’t a chance of getting anything else out of her grandmother. She sighed and rose from the swing. “Thanks, Gramma,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
    Dr. Miles had opened her book. “Not at all, dear. Come and talk to me anytime.”
    Lisa felt as if she were going to explode.
    Tuesday was much like Monday. Brian and his father finished the work on the house, and Brian asked Lisa if she would like to go out for a ride and get something to eat that night. They had a lovely evening, and avoided talking about the house at all.
    Her grandmother acted as if the previous day’s conversation had never taken place.
    Carrie, too, seemed to have forgotten that anything had happened. Lisa knew that wasn’t really so. She had learned over the last few years that Carrie would bury things inside, worry about them, chew them over, all the while acting as if they were of no concern at all—only to let them out in a sudden storm of anger or tears days later.
    Her father settled down. With the rain finally over and the work on the house completed, he began to make solid progress on his book. His mood seemed to improve with every page he finished.
    Mrs. Burton spent time on the beach, reading and sunning herself.
    All in all, it seemed as if everything had returned to normal. Lisa should have been very happy. With Brian’s arrival on the scene the summer had taken on a new glow, and she was no longer aching to go home.
    But she couldn’t easily forget being chased by a ghost. Uncomfortable memories lingered in her mind. She waited with dread for the next appearance, the next manifestation of whatever was haunting the old house.
    â€œRelax,” said Carrie as they went to bed Tuesday night. “I think it’s over.”
    Wednesday morning the puddles began to appear.

Chapter Eight
Where There’s Smoke
    Lisa woke with the vague awareness that something was wrong. Drifting up from the deepest sleep she had had in several nights, she finally realized that her father was bellowing somewhere downstairs.
    She rolled over. Carrie was next to her, her hair damp. Lisa frowned. She detected a strange odor in the air. She couldn’t quite place it. But it wasn’t right; it didn’t belong in the bedroom. She sniffed curiously, but the smell seemed to be drifting away.
    Downstairs her father’s voice was growing louder.
    Carrie sat up and stretched. “What’s going on?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
    â€œI don’t know. Daddy’s on the warpath about something.”
    â€œBoy, the cease-fire didn’t last long, did it? Do you think we should go see what’s wrong, or lie low until it blows over?”
    â€œI don’t know. It’s probably safer to stay here. But my curiosity is killing me!”
    â€œMine, too!” said Carrie. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed her robe. “Let’s see what’s up.”
    Martin Burton was standing in the kitchen, clutching a sheaf of soggy papers and roaring like a wounded bear. “You tell me!” he cried, shaking the papers in his wife’s face. “I don’t have the slightest idea.”
    When the girls entered the room he turned to them and cried, “Do you two know anything about this?”
    â€œAbout what?” asked Lisa.
    â€œThis! My notes for my next chapter! I spent all yesterday afternoon working on them. Now they’re soaking wet!”
    Lisa and Carrie looked at each other. “We never go near your office, Daddy,” said