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“Oh!” said Mrs. Wilson firmly. “Just the generators acting up again. And that was my clock chiming—it does birdcalls at each hour, isn’t that nice?”
Coco didn’t think it was that nice at all. The chiming clock had sounded just like a little girl might sound, whistling in the corridors. Ollie, Brian, and Coco all looked at one another, and Coco saw the same thought echoed on all their faces.
“Now,” Mrs. Wilson was saying briskly, “enough ghost stories. Sam and I will just clear away the empty dishes, and you all can have more hot drinks.”
But right at that moment, all the lights in the dining room flickered again and went out. Then, with a hiss like a basket of snakes, a huge mass of snow fell straight down the chimney and smothered the fire.
3
COCO STARED AT the dead fire. Mr. Voland stopped eating, his fork halfway to his mouth. Ollie had shot to her feet.
“Now, now,” said Mrs. Wilson at once. “No need for alarm.”
Ollie slowly sank back down.
Mrs. Wilson got up. “Nothing to worry about,” she said. “Snow down the chimney! I’ll get it cleared out. We’ve had such a run of bad luck.”
Mrs. Wilson hurried away. Coco thought she looked glad to get away from Mr. Voland.
Sam Wilson said, standing, “I’d better help her. Thanks for helping out in the kitchen this morning, Roger.” He shook Mr. Adler’s hand. “Zelda,” he said, nodding at Coco’s mom. He didn’t say anything to Mr. Voland.
“Don’t mention it, Sam,” said Ollie’s dad. He took his last drink of coffee.
Mr. Voland lifted his head and frowned. “Hear that?” he said.
“No,” said Ollie’s dad. “What?”
“Well, it’s more a nothing than a something,” Mr. Voland replied. “Sounds like the generator’s out. Hope the heat is gas powered. Otherwise we’re going to be pretty chilly tonight.”
Coco hoped so too. The lodge was chilly enough with the heat going.
“The heat is gas powered,” said Ollie’s dad. “And I’m sure we’ll have the generators going soon. No worries there. I think I’ll go help Sam with the dishes. Nice to meet you, Don. Kids, finish your pancakes.” He snagged the last piece of bacon and headed in the direction of the kitchen, humming.
Just like that, breakfast had mostly broken up.
“I am sure you have some good stories from ghost hunting,” Coco’s mom said to Mr. Voland, pouring herself more coffee. She said it politely, but she seemed disappointed with him anyway. Coco’s mom might have been excited to talk to a real journalist, but some ghost hunter didn’t count.
“I sure do,” said Mr. Voland with enthusiasm. “And maybe after today I’ll have another.” He gave the dining hall an eager look. Coco didn’t know what he was so happy about. The snow piling up outside the windows made the dining room seem gray and lonely.
Coco’s mom looked skeptical. “Maybe.”
Mr. Voland grinned at her. “Come on now,” he said. “What better thing to do in an old lodge while the power is out than go looking for ghosts?”
“Bake cookies?” suggested Coco’s mom at once. But she was smiling too. Mr. Voland was strange, but his eagerness was contagious. “I’d rather finish the day with oatmeal cookies than any number of ghosts.”
Coco agreed. She was really hoping that today didn’t become a good ghost-hunting story for Mr. Voland.
“Well, there may be time for both,” said Mr. Voland, and smacked his lips. “The supernatural goes well with peanut butter cookies!”
Coco’s mother snorted. “If you say so. Roger makes great cookies,” she said. “Maybe we can convince him later. In the meantime, I think I’ll help Sue with the fireplace. If you’re okay here, hon?” The last sentence was to Coco.
“Fine,” said Coco, a little embarrassed to be treated like a kid in front of her friends.
Coco’s mom stood up and cracked her neck. The fireplace was a mess of ash and water, and Mrs. Wilson was shoveling it out, swearing under her breath. “Good luck with your ghost hunting, Don,” said Coco’s mom. “Got an extra shovel, Sue?” She headed over to the fireplace.
Then it was just the four of them at the table. Ollie, Brian, and Coco were getting full; they picked at their pancakes. Mr. Voland ate some more eggs, looking thoughtful. Coco was just about to suggest that she, Ollie, and Brian sneak off for a conference, when Mr. Voland turned abruptly to Ollie. “Why did you ask me what the ghosts looked like?” he asked. “It was an odd question.”
Ollie hesitated. Then she asked a question in return. “Mr. Voland,” she said, “have you ever seen a ghost?”
