Chapter 7

Chapter 7

B randt thought that the second floor of the old house looked like something out of a scary movie set. It was dark, the lights didn't work, and the narrow beam of their flashlight seemed to only make every nook and cranny more foreboding. It was also really cold, thanks to the fact that about a fourth of the windows had broken panes.

He wasn't a fan of the Dennison mansion. Not at all.

He wasn't afraid, but he didn't like wandering around in the dark. Some of his buddies in high school had loved to visit all the haunted houses in the area every October. He hadn't been one of them.

Worse, Frieda seemed nervous enough to jump out of her skin. Every time they encountered a shadow, she gasped or cringed. Meanwhile, Carter seemed to only be going through the motions—as if the activity was only slightly better than getting a root canal. Though Brandt could relate, he was competitive enough to want to do well. As far as he was concerned, if they had to participate in this crazy hunt, they might as well get the prize.

The only person who seemed to be of any help was Tricia, but it was obvious the other people's moods and actions were taking a toll on her. Some of the brightness that had been in her eyes at the beginning of the night had faded.

Brandt was beginning to think it was up to him to pull their team out of the doldrums.

Standing in the third bedroom the four of them had wandered into, he cast the flashlight into all four corners of the room. "Does anyone see anything promising?" he asked.

Carter didn't wait a second before replying. "Nope."

"I don't either," Frieda whispered.

Noticing that the woman was already edging toward the door, Brandt held up a hand. "Come on, everyone. We need to give this a better try than that. We need to look."

"I'm not sure what to look for," Tricia said. "There are neither beds nor sugarplums in here."

Carter folded his arms across his chest. "There sure isn't any way of discovering if anything has ever been dancing in anyone's heads either."

Brandt couldn't deny that, but he wasn't about to let them all give up so quickly. "We need the Ghost from Christmas Past to pop up and give us a hint," he joked.

Frieda gasped. "This place is scary enough. The last thing we need are visiting spirits."

"He was making a joke, Frieda," Tricia said. "And a reference to A Christmas Carol ."

When Frieda looked as if she couldn't care less, Brandt said, "I'm sure everything is fine. No need for anyone to be nervous."

"Ack!"

Boy, that Frieda sure didn't want to calm down! "Frieda—"

" Nee , Brandt," she interrupted. "I think I found our clue." She pointed above her head. Practically in unison, they all looked at the ceiling. There, suspended from a few pieces of sturdy looking yarn, was a note in an envelope.

"Oh!" Tricia said. "I can't believe it."

Carter laughed. "Frieda, that's terrific. Good for you." He lifted one arm. His fingers grazed the bottom edge of the envelope, but it was obvious he was too short. "Brandt, can you reach it? If not, we'll have to lift Tricia on our backs or something."

He was a little taller than Carter, so he could reach the envelope, but clutching it between his fingers wasn't easy.

He attempted to jump and grab it. The first time he missed, but on the second try he found success. One tug from his hand pulled the item from the strings. And then there it was. Resting in his right hand.

"Oh, gut job, Brandt!" Tricia clapped.

"Here you go, Frieda," he said with a smile. "Since you discovered the clue, would you like to read the message out loud?"

Even in the dim light cast by the flashlight beams, he could see that she was pleased to have found the first clue. " Danke , but you go ahead."

He tore open the white envelope. Out fell both a red card and a lollipop.

"I think that's supposed to be a sugarplum," Tricia said.

"I reckon so. Here's what it says. " ‘Pa rum pum, pum, pum.' "

"What is that supposed to be?" Tricia asked.

"It's a song," Carter blurted. "You know, ‘Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum,' " he sang, every single note off key. "It's ‘The Little Drummer Boy.' "

"But the problem isn't the song . . . it's what are we supposed to do with that information?" Brandt asked.

Tricia frowned. "I don't remember a lot of the words. All I remember is something about " ‘Come, they told me' . . ."

"It goes something like this." Feeling a little foolish—and slightly pleased with himself because he wasn't quite as out-of-tune as Carter—Brandt began to recite the words to the familiar tune. Carter, Frieda, and Tricia listened intently.

"All it keeps talking about is how the little boy doesn't have a good gift like the Wise Men," Frieda complained. "All he can do is bang on the drum."

"Have any of you seen any drums lying around?" Brandt asked, only half joking.

"We've already been in all the bedrooms," Carter said. "There wasn't a drum in sight."

Tricia sighed. "I guess that means we need to head downstairs."

"Or . . . didn't Annie say that there was an attic?" Carter asked.

Tricia answered. "She did. And I even happened to notice how to get up there. There's a ladder in the closet in the first bedroom."

"Let's go check out the attic, then," Carter said with a new note of enthusiasm in his voice. "An attic sounds like a logical place to store old instruments."

Realizing everyone was in agreement, Brandt waved a hand toward the door. "Lead the way, Carter."

So off they went. Back down the hall, past the second bedroom and into the first. Just as Tricia was opening the closet door, Brandt heard his friend Mark call out his name. He stepped back into the hall to acknowledge him.

"You good?" Mark asked.

"We're doing fine," he replied, glad that his group's mood had improved. "What about you? Is your group having a good time?"

"More or less." Mark was scanning the area. "How's it going for you?"

Suddenly realizing that his friend smelled a little like a barn, Brandt shrugged. "Pretty good. We've gotten one clue."

"Oh. We have two."

He realized then that Mark looked irritated instead of pleased. "Why don't you look happier?"

"Because the second was in a pile of straw on the ground." He wrinkled his nose. "It wasn't soiled, but it wasn't exactly clean. Now instead of wanting to find the prize, I just want a shower."

He did smell pretty bad. "I bet."

Mark groaned. "I smell, don't I?"

"Yep."

"Maryanne was just starting to smile at me, too. I told my parents that I shouldn't have to do this. They disagreed."

"Brandt?"

"On my way!" Turning back to Mark, he said, "That's Tricia. I have to go."

Mark craned his neck to peek into the room. "Where is she?"

There was something in Mark's eyes that gave him pause. "Why are you up here?" Brandt asked.

"Uh, doing a scavenger hunt."

"But where's your team?"

He averted his eyes. "They sent me upstairs to look for a clue."

Mark had been feeling him out! "You wouldn't be trying to cheat, would you?"

"Never."

"I hope not. Because if you were, that would be a real shame. Especially since Tricia is your cousin and I'm your best friend."

"Brandt? Brandt, where are you?"

"I'm coming, Tricia!" As he started walking, he peeked back over his shoulder. "Don't you follow me, Mark."

"Fine," he grumbled. "But don't you expect me to help you out when you get in a bind."

"We won't. We're going to sail through this hunt and win."

"You wish."

"I know," he said as he hurried into the room—and closed the door behind him. It probably wouldn't keep Mark from following him, but it might slow him down.

As he climbed the ladder, Brandt couldn't help but think about how nice it would be to gloat for a whole year over winning the hunt. He would, too. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't above participating in a little bit of good-natured ribbing.

When his head popped up into the floor of the attic, he noticed all three of his teammates frowning at something on the floor.

"What's going on? Did you find anything?"

"You could say that," Carter said.

Concerned, Brandt approached the trio. "Is it a drum?"

"It's a drum major's uniform," Carter said. "And, because you were taking your time, I went ahead and read the note."

"It said we only get credit for this clue if one of us wears the jacket."

"So, who's going to do that?"

"I'm an old Amish woman," Frieda said. "I can't do that."

Frieda was forty if she was a day. "Carter?"

"I can't fit into it, son." He patted his belly. "It would never button."

"All right then. Tricia?"

"I think there's a spider or a beetle or something living in it. Wearing this is a man's job."

Frieda smiled sweetly. "That's you, dear."

"Next year, tell your aunt and uncle to plan a different activity. Like charades or something."

Tricia's lips twitched as she watched Carter bend down, pick up the uniform jacket and give it a good shake before handing it to Brandt.

And . . . there popped out a spider. Things were going from bad to worse by the second.