I had been thinking for days about what had happened the last time I was at the Craines’. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about those letters we’d found. Kennedy Graham had been such an odd, reclusive man, but he’d come to love that cat so much. So much that, even after it died, he heard it meowing! The lonely man, the white cat, the meowing from the attic — it gave me the creeps, to tell you the truth. And I started to wonder (now please, don’t think I’m totally nuts) if maybe Ghost Cat really was a ghost.

Could it be? Could Ghost Cat and Tinker be one and the same? I’ll tell you, I had a few strange dreams, just from thinking about the possibility. But you know what? I was kind of glad for the distraction, glad for something besides Uncle Joe to think about.

Anyway, one night I had a brainstorm. If I was having a ghost problem, or at least a possible ghost problem, the person to talk to was Dawn. She is fascinated by ghosts. In fact, she’s sure that there may be one living in this secret passage in her house. (Dawn’s house is really old. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were several ghosts living in it!) Dawn reads everything she can about ghosts, and she knows an incredible amount about different types of ghosts and what they do.

When I called Dawn, she immediately grew excited by my idea. “What we have to do,” she said, “is run some tests on Ghost Cat. Tests that will prove whether he really is a flesh-and-blood cat, or if he’s something else.”

Her voice sounded so creepy when she said “something else.” “Um — do you know how to do tests like that?” I asked. The idea made me a little nervous.

“Sure!” she said. “No problem. When do you want me to see the cat?”

I gulped. “Well,” I said. “I’m supposed to sit at the Craines’ on Thursday afternoon, and I guess —”

“Great!” she said. “I’ll be there.”

So that’s how Dawn came to be with me at the Craines’ house that Thursday afternoon. I had called Mrs. Craine the night before to make sure it was okay if a friend visited with me (I didn’t mention the G-word at all), and she had said it was fine with her.

The girls were excited about having two sitters that day. And they liked Dawn right away. “Hi, Dawn!” said Sophie. “Want to come see my room?”

“No, my room!” yelled Margaret.

“Play with Barbie B.?” asked Katie shyly, holding out her favorite doll.

“You should be honored,” I whispered to Dawn. “Not too many people get to play with Barbie B.”

“Barbie B. looks just like any regular Barbie to me,” Dawn whispered back.

I nodded. “She is. But she’s pretty special to Katie.” Then I raised my voice. “Margaret! Sophie! Come over here. We have something to tell you. We’re going to play a really fun game today,” I continued as they huddled close to me and Dawn.

“What?” asked Sophie.

“We’re going ghost-hunting!” I announced.

“Yay!” yelled Margaret.

“Oh, boy!” shouted Sophie.

Katie beamed. They loved the idea. I’m pretty sure they are too young to be truly afraid of ghosts. Plus, they’ve all seen the Ghostbusters cartoon, so they know that hunting ghosts can be fun and exciting.

“Dawn is our ghostbuster,” I said. “She’s going to make sure that if there are any ghosts in this house, they’re taken care of.” I didn’t want to bring up the idea that Ghost Cat was under suspicion — at least, not yet.

“What do we do first?” asked Sophie.

“Let’s show her the attic,” suggested Margaret.

“Great,” said Dawn. “Ghosts love attics.”

We headed upstairs, flashlights in hand. The girls began to give Dawn a tour of the attic.

“There’s the table Ghost Cat was hiding under when we first saw him,” said Margaret.

“And there’s the hat box where we found the letters,” said Sophie.

“Right, the letters,” said Dawn. “I’d like to see those.” She was holding something in her hand and peering at it as she shone the beam of her flashlight over it.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“A thermometer,” she said. “I just wanted to check on the temperature up here. A lot of times there will be a distinct chill in the air when ghosts are present.”

“Oh,” I said, impressed. Dawn seemed so — so professional.

After a little while, Dawn said she’d seen enough, so we trooped back downstairs. Margaret ran to find the letters, while Dawn took a break from ghostbusting to play a quick game of patty-cake with Katie.

“Here they are!” said Margaret, waving the letters in the air as she came back into the room. “And here’s a picture of that weird Kennedy Graham.”

“He wasn’t so weird,” I said, feeling defensive. I guess I was thinking of Uncle Joe. “He was just old — and lonely.”

“Let’s see the letters,” said Dawn. She read through them quickly. “Hmmm …” she said. “I wonder …”

“What? What?” asked Margaret and Sophie.

“I wonder if Ghost Cat really is a ghost cat!” Dawn said.

I’d known it was coming, but the girls were taken by surprise. Their eyes lit up.

“A real ghost?” asked Sophie.

“How do we find out if that’s true?” asked Margaret.

Some kids might have been scared, but not these two. Even Katie was excited, although she was too young to know what was going on. She banged a spoon against her high chair. “Dost!” she cried.

Dawn was in her element. “Well,” she said, “there are some tests we can do. First, we’ll check the temperature in that laundry room —”

“Hey, I just thought of something,” interrupted Margaret. “How can that cat be a ghost? He’s a cat! Aren’t ghosts always people?”

“Nope,” said Dawn. “In fact, this book I just read said that up to twenty percent of all ghosts are animals, or even objects. And the most common animal ghosts are dogs and cats!”

“Wow!” said Margaret, in a hushed voice.

“Anyway,” said Dawn, “as I was saying, first we’ll check the temperature in there. Cooler temperatures can indicate ghosts. Then we can test for the presence of ectoplasm with this meter.” She reached into the knapsack she’d brought with her and pulled out a weird little box covered with dials and knobs.

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“I sent away for it,” she said. She admired it for a moment. “It was advertised in the back of a Ghostly Tales comic book.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure that what she was holding was much of a scientific tool. It looked as if it was made out of cardboard. Heavy-duty cardboard, but still cardboard.

“Well, let’s get started!” I said. Dawn could probably talk about ectoplasm levels all day, but personally, I was ready for action.

We opened the door of the laundry room cautiously, expecting Ghost Cat to dash out. But by that time, he had started to feel comfortable in there. He was curled up on top of the dryer, and he glanced at us with mild curiosity when we came in.

Dawn looked closely at Ghost Cat. “Hmmm …” she said, making a few notes in the little book she was carrying. “He doesn’t seem to be transparent at all.”

“What does transparent mean?” asked Sophie.

“It means like plastic wrap,” explained Margaret. “Like when you can see through something.”

“Ghost Cat isn’t like plastic wrap!” said Sophie indignantly.

“Right,” said Dawn. “But some ghosts are. It’s just one of the things to check for when you’re looking for ghosts.” She was taking the temperature in the room and marking it down in her book. Then she held up her ectoplasm meter, pointing it toward Ghost Cat. She adjusted a few knobs, checked and re-checked the dials, and adjusted the knobs again. She frowned as she looked at the main dial. “No reading,” she said. She banged her hand against the side of the box, then checked the dial again. “Hmph,” she said, putting the box down. “I can’t tell whether it’s working or not.” She seemed disappointed. “Oh well, what can you expect for five ninety-nine?” She gave the box a little kick.

“What’s next?” asked Margaret.

“Well,” said Dawn, “The next thing I think we need is to take a picture.” She pulled a Polaroid camera out of her knapsack.

Margaret pulled Sophie and Katie in front of the sink. “Say cheese,” she instructed her sisters. She gave Dawn a big smile. What a ham!

“A picture of the cat, you silly!” said Dawn.

“Oh,” said Margaret, clearly disappointed.

I gave Dawn a Look.

“Well, I guess we can take a picture of you guys, too,” said Dawn. She pointed the camera at the girls and the flash went off. Then she took a picture of the cat. He still didn’t move, just sat there blinking after the flash.

We waited for the pictures to develop, and then Dawn put them side by side. “Look!” she said. “The picture of the cat is lighter and less focused!” She sounded really excited. “This could be important!”

I hated to bring her down, but I had to point something out. “I think it’s just because the one of the girls has had more time to develop,” I said. And sure enough, by the time I’d gotten the words out, the picture of the cat had become strong and clear.

“Well,” said Dawn. “This isn’t looking good. I mean —” She corrected herself. “I mean if you happened to be hoping for a ghost,” she said. “I’m sure you girls would be happier if he was just a regular cat, right?”

Margaret nodded.

“I have one more test,” said Dawn. “Actually it’s two tests in one. But this will prove once and for all whether or not this cat is a ghost.” She shooed the rest of us out of the laundry room, but left the door open so we could see what she was doing. Then she took a little plastic bag out of her knapsack and sprinkled some white powder on the floor. “Flour,” she explained, before we could ask. “If he’s a ghost, his footprints won’t show.” Then she reached back into her knapsack and came up with some thumbtacks and thread. She strung the thread across the lower part of the door, holding it in place with the thumbtacks. “A ghost would go through the string without breaking it,” she said.

She stepped carefully out of the laundry room. “Now all we have to do is get him to come out of there,” she said.

“I know how to make him come!” cried Margaret. She ran for his box of kitty treats. Then she shook it outside the door, and the cat came running. He ran right through the flour, leaving big, clear footprints. Then he broke through the string. Margaret gave him a treat. “Good kitty,” she said, patting him.

“I’m glad he’s not a ghost,” said Sophie. She and Katie bent to pat his head.

Dawn and I looked at each other. I could see that Dawn was disappointed. Then I saw her frown. “What’s that noise?” she asked. I stood still and listened. A meowing sound. Coming from upstairs. Dawn raised her eyebrows. A shiver ran down my spine. And then the phone rang.

“Hello?” I asked, grabbing the phone. My heart was beating fast.

“Hello, I’m calling about your ad in the paper — the ad about the white cat. I’m sure he’s mine. Has he got a small nick in his right ear?” The man’s voice was brusque. He almost sounded rude.

“Yes!” I said. I’d noticed that nick when I was looking at the picture Dawn had taken.

“His name is Rasputin,” the man said.

“Well, you can come and get him tonight,” I said. (Mrs. Craine had told me not to let anyone who might answer the ad come by while I was baby-sitting. She wanted to be home when a stranger arrived.)

“I can’t,” said the man shortly. “I’m out of town. But I’ll be there in two days’ time.” He hung up without saying good-bye.

Well, that was weird. If this guy was out of town, how did he see the paper? And couldn’t he get here sooner, if he really missed his cat? But I didn’t have time to worry about my questions. We needed to clean up the flour before Mrs. Craine got home!