Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake Read Online Free Page B

Gilda. So what were you saying about a psychic investigation?”
    Gilda explained the bizarre exchange with Miss Underhill and the story she had heard about Dolores Lambert’s ghost.
    “Weird.”
    “I know. I may need your help with this one.”
    “Okay, but I’m going to be really busy this year,” said Wendy. “I’m signed up for a college-level math class, and I also have a big piano competition coming up.”
    In the old days, Wendy had had plenty of time to do things like perform séances, spy on neighbors, or try on purple toenail polish, but then her parents decided that it was time for her to get serious about her studies, become a concert pianist, and look after her little brother several afternoons a week besides. At least Wendy
claimed
that it was her parents who put the pressure onher to become a high achiever. Gilda suspected that Wendy herself was the force behind most of the pursuits, despite her repeated claim that “All I want to do with my life is sleep!”
    Gilda heard Terrence crying in the background.
    “See?” said Wendy in a high-pitched whine. “I
told
you she would scratch you. Now your arm is going to be infected, and we might have to amputate it. Look, Gilda, I’ve got a cat trauma to take care of. I’d better go.”
    Gilda sat down at her manual typewriter to write a letter to her father. It was something she did almost every day—much like keeping a diary. Gilda liked to think that her father could somehow read her letters, especially when they were typed on the antique typewriter that had once belonged to him.
    Dear Dad,
    Mom has no idea that I want to go to Our Lady of Sorrows just to investigate a haunting.
    I have a gut feeling I’m going to be an outsider at this school, but that’s the price I pay for being a psychic investigator. Like my Master Psychic’s Handbook says, “Being a psychic isn’t a normal career, like being a doctor or a lawyer. At some point, there may be a price to pay for such an unusual, misunderstood lifestyle.”
    I don’t mean to put you in a bad mood, but I think Mom is going on a date with Brad Squib tonight.
    Don’t worry–I still can’t stand him!
    Character Flaws of Brad Squib–official documentation:
Too much nose and ear hair.
Takes up too much space when he sits on the couch.
Tries too hard to be likable, and this makes him doubly revolting.
Jingles car keys in his pocket while talking. Always a sign of perversity.
Grins in a sinister, cheesy way when he finds something funny, but doesn’t actually laugh.
Wears aftershave that smells like motor oil.
Always has to say something even if he knows nothing about the topic being discussed.
    Documenting Brad Squib’s flaws gave Gilda a surge of creative inspiration and a desire to write a story. She was tired of thinking about Brad, though, so she decided to begin a sordid tale about Miss Underhill and Mrs. McCracken instead:
    As the door closed behind their new victim (a sparkling, witty student on scholarship), Velma Underhill and Shirley McCracken shared a seizure of giggles that ricocheted across the forest. The hags cracked their knuckles and grinned like two arthritic hyenas ready to tear apart a carcass.
    “She doesn’t suspect a thing,” cackled Velma.
    “Of course she doesn’t!” her plump cohort replied. “They never do!”
    “You don’t think she noticed my fangs?”
    “No. But she might have noticed my tail.” Mrs. McCracken lifted her long skirt daintily to reveal a scaly, reptilian tail that swished back and forth.
    “It’s a magnificent tail.”
    “Don’t patronize me, Velma. I’m hungry. Get me a snack!”
    Velma slithered into the hallway, where a herd of plump, jolly schoolgirls skipped blithely toward their next class. Velma grabbed a girl who was moving more slowly than the others by her long ponytail and dragged her whimpering back to the headmistress’s office.
    Behind a locked door, the fiends sank their razor-sharp fangs into the slow-wittedgirl’s