Milford Kate - Greenglass House. 02: Ghosts of Greenglass House

Clarion Books

3 Park Avenue

New York, New York 10016

Copyright 2017 by Kate Milford

Illustrations copyright 2017 by Jaime Zollars

All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.

Clarion Books is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

www.hmhco.com

Cover design by Sharismar Rodriguez

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Names: Milford, Kate, author.

Title: Ghosts of Greenglass House / by Kate Milford.

Description: Boston ; New York : Clarion Books, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2017] | Summary: Twelve-year-old Milo is stuck spending the winter holidays in a house full of strange guests who are not what they seemagain! He will have to work with friends old and new to uncover clues in search of a mysterious map and a famous smugglers lost haulProvided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2016049761 | ISBN 9780544991460 (hardcover)

Subjects: | CYAC: Mystery and detective stories. | Hotels, motels, etc.Fiction. | SmugglingFiction. | IdentityFiction. | GhostsFiction. | AdoptionFiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Mysteries & Detective Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Family / Adoption. | JUVENILE FICTION / Fairy Tales & Folklore / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Holidays & Celebrations / Christmas & Advent. | JUVENILE FICTION / Legends, Myths, Fables / General. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Friendship.

Classification: LCC PZ7.M594845 Gho 2017 | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016049761

eISBN 978-1-328-82892-7
v1.0817

To Tess, Evy Lou, and Zoey, at the start of their adventures, with love

F ROST WAS PRETTY MUCH the worst. It was like a promise with nothing behind it. It was like not enough icing on a cookie, not enough butter on toast. It was like the big gilt-framed antique mirror in his parents bedroom: from a distance it was shiny and beautiful, but once you got close enough, you could see the plain old everyday wood peeking through the gold paint. Frost, at least when you wanted snow, was about as disappointing as anything in this world had a right to beassuming you figured things had a right to be disappointing. Milo Pine wasnt feeling that generous at the moment.

He knelt and leaned on the sill of one of the houses two big bow windows, examining the yard critically through a circle of clear glass in the middle of one white-rimed pane. An English-Mandarin dictionary and a notebook lay forgotten by one knee. Admittedly, the current spectacle was pretty impressive. The frost perfectly mimicked a dusting of snow, and because the temperature outside was so frigid, it had lasted through the day. It had crunched satisfyingly underfoot, too, which was a nice complement to the clouds that had puffed into the air with each breath as hed crossed the lawn after his last day of school, headed back to the big old inn he and his parents called home. But it wasnt snow, which made it almost worse than nothing at all.

This was good. Being cranky about the weather was just what he needed to keep from thinking about the other things he didnt want to let up from the mental depths at which he could just barely manage to ignore them.

His mom sat down on the loveseat behind him and held out a steaming cup. Want to talk about it?

I hate frost, Milo said in a tone that he hoped would signal to his mother to please not dare to suggest that the weather wasnt what was really bothering him.

Twilight was coming on, and he could sort of see her reflection in the glass. She had a look on her face that was both unimpressed and thoughtful, as if she had gotten the message and was debating whether or not to call him on it. But then, the glass was old, wavy and uneven, so maybe it was just twisting up her reflection funny. He reached back to take the cup.

On top of the hot chocolate was a float of unreasonably thick whipped cream that hed heard Mrs. Caraway, the inns cook, making about ten minutes ago. The cream was dusted with smashed candy cane bits, which was probably his mothers touch. He hazarded a look at her... she definitely knew he was upset about something other than weather. She was just waiting him out. Well, he could play that game too.

Thanks, he said, and turned resolutely back to the window.

First hot chocolate of winter vacation. Mrs. Pine raised her own cup. Cheers.

Cheers. As they sipped, footsteps approached on the stairs. Reluctantly, Milo pivoted to look over his moms shoulder, following the sound. The ground level of the inn was big and open, with one room flowing into the next, and from where he was, Milo could see pretty much the entire floor. Whens he leaving? he asked, watching the bottom of the staircase on the other side of the dining room.

Tomorrow at some point. Supposedly, Mrs. Pine said quietly. Then she turned to the young man who appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a pencil behind one ear and glasses askew on his nose. Drinks on the stove if youre done for the day, Mr. Syebuck.

Emmett Syebuck, their only guest, sighed happily. I could just stay here forever. This place is amazing.

Well, were so glad youve enjoyed your visit.

Hey, about that, Mrs. P.

Oh, no. Milo stifled a groan. His mom patted his shoulder.

The young man crossed the dining room and came to lean on the back of the loveseat. I was thinking, he said. One more day and Ill have every window at least sketched. Would it be a huge pain in the neck if I checked out day after tomorrow?

Milo slurped in a huge mouthful to keep himself from answering. Yes, yes, it would, actually. I, personally, would find it a huge pain in the neck.

His mother, of course, said what Milo had known shed say. Thats no problem, Mr. Syebuck.

Their guest beamed. Thanks, maam. And I wish you all would just call me Emmett.

Youre welcome, and Ill try, Emmett, but you know, old habits die hard. Mrs. Pine glanced into the kitchen. Mrs. Caraway leaves tonight, though, so just be aware that meals will be a little less fancy tomorrow.

It could be toast and instant noodle soup and Id be perfectly content, Emmett assured her. Im a simple fellow at heart. And in a pinch, some of my colored pencils are kind of tastynot that Ive tried them or anything.

Milos mother laughed. It wont come to that.

Well, thanks again. And hey, thank you, too, Milo.

Milo turned, surprised. What for?

For letting me impose on your holidays. I promise Ill be out of your hair before Christmas Eve. I know how it is.

Its okay, Milo said gruffly.

Well, I appreciate it. And now that I dont have to pack tonight, I think Ill relax and just stare at the fire awhile. He drummed a short ba-da-ba-bump on the back of the loveseat with his palms, then straightened and went into the kitchen.

You think hes really an art student? Mrs. Pine asked in an undertone.

Probably, Milo said. That or hes Skellansen in disguise, wanting to make sure his precious chandeliers being looked after properly. Theyd been amusing themselves with speculations like this since the day Emmett had showed up.