I fished around on the Internet that night until I actually found a casualty list for Sally’s regiment in the Irish Brigade — the 88th New York Volunteers. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, what great luck.

My happiness didn’t last too long, though, because scrolling down the list it wasn’t long before I found Sally, or rather Sam Keegan. All it said was “Age, 16 years. Enlisted at New York City, to serve three years, and mustered in as private, Company G, on October 2, 1861. Promoted corporal, no date. Wounded and missing in action; December 13, 1862, at Fredericksburg, Va; no further record.”

That stopped me cold. I read the notation a dozen times, trying to get my head around it. It all seemed so final. And Sally’s whole life, or her time in the army, anyway, summed up in just those three little lines.

But at least Frankie’s name wasn’t on the casualty list, and that was something good that I would get to tell Sally, and that I bet would make her happy.

My phone vibrated with a text. It was Julie, telling me she had just found out the same thing as I had. She was even on the same website, which made me feel pretty smart. Then Greg buzzed in. He had found it, too.

Nice! I texted back.

Sad about Sally, Greg texted. And still the mystery.

But good about Frankie, Julie texted, echoing what I’d been thinking. Will help Sally to know.

The next day was uneventful, except that all three of us got in trouble in our three different classes in the morning at school for dozing off.

“I’m just glad tomorrow is December 13,” Julie said when we met up at lunch and shared our stories about sleeping in class. “At least I think I am — if Sally will remember all the rest of her story, and we can finally help her find her answers.”

“I just can’t wait to tell her about Frankie,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Greg. “Wish we knew what happened to him after the Battle of Fredericksburg — if he survived the rest of the war, if he got to live for a long time and make something good of his life.”

I thought about that, and then, for no real reason, said, “I just have this feeling that he did.”

Julie and Greg nodded slowly, as if they had that feeling, too, even though none of us could explain why.

We got together at the Kitchen Sink for band practice, but really in hopes that Sally would show up. We were all still so tired that practice was terrible anyway, so we ended early. There wasn’t an All-Ages band competition in December, so I guess it didn’t matter that we weren’t practicing all that much. I promised I would call Julie and Greg if Sally showed up at my house again that night, and Greg said, “You better.”

“We’ll come right over,” Julie added. “We’ll want to see her, too. It shouldn’t be just you, Anderson.”

“You’re going to sneak out of your house?” I asked, not believing she would.

“Well …” Julie thought about it. “Maybe if Greg came over and got me and we came over together.”

“Sure,” Greg said. “I could do that.”

“Okay,” I said, still not believing it would happen. I figured Greg would sneak out for sure, but not Julie. “Anyway, it’s not like I can summon her to appear, or that I’m just waiting until you guys aren’t around to see her, you know.”

“We know,” Greg said, though he sounded just a little suspicious.

They rode off together on their bikes, but I stayed back to sweep the floor, something I’d been doing lately as a way to repay Uncle Dex for letting us use the basement for our band practice. Julie, Greg, and I were planning to try busking again soon — street performing — to raise some money for Uncle Dex, too. The broom seemed to kick up more dust than it swept, so I dragged out what must have been an antique vacuum cleaner and plugged that in. It made an industrial-level roar as I went through the store, careful not to knock anything over as I got up what dirt and dust that I could. Really, the whole place needed a good wiping down, but I wasn’t about to take on that project.

Uncle Dex was long gone, so I locked up with the store key he’d given me. But then I stopped short, because who should be sitting there on her bicycle on the sidewalk next to my bicycle but, once again, Little Belman.

“Oh geez,” I said. “Don’t you ever just be, you know, home?”

“It’s a free country,” she said. “I can be wherever I want.”

“Okay, well whatever,” I said, climbing on my bike. “I’m leaving, so I guess you can keep sitting right here the rest of the night.”

“Wait,” she said, suddenly not sounding so, well, so like herself.

I looked at her.

“Is she?” she asked.

“Is she what?” I asked back.

“The soldier. The ghost,” she said. “She’s a girl, isn’t she?”

I hesitated, not wanting to say anything to confirm that there even was a ghost. The less Little Belman knew — or could be sure she knew — the better.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “You really have a big imagination.”

She narrowed her eyes to glare at me. But that didn’t last.

“Nobody will believe me,” she said. “Not my mom, not Morris, not anybody.”

“Who’s Morris?” I asked.

Little Belman sighed with exasperation. “Morris Belman? Hello? He’s my brother? The one you and your friends dropped eggs and my rubber chicken on?”

I started laughing, though I knew I shouldn’t. It would only make her mad. But I couldn’t help it. “Oh,” I finally said. “Him.”

“I just need to know about the ghost,” she said, changing the subject. “Is she a girl — which I know she is. And what happened to her? And what’s going to happen to her? I want her to be all right.”

It was practically a speech, coming from Little Belman. But I still wasn’t going to confirm anything for her. I said, “Let’s just say that if there was a ghost — and I’m not saying there is, because there’s no such thing as ghosts — but if there was one, and if that ghost happened to have been a Union soldier in the Civil War, then, um, okay, so maybe the ghost could have been a girl dressed like a boy, and maybe some people might be helping the ghost find out the answers to the rest of your — or her — questions.”

I realized in trying to dance around actually answering Little Belman I’d answered her anyway, and just about totally confirmed everything she suspected.

But she didn’t ask anything else, which surprised me. I thought she’d be all over me with a bunch more questions, like a police detective, or like Julie. But she just took a deep breath in, let it out really slowly, and then said, “Okay. Well, just let me know what happens. I can see her so that means you have to include me, too.”

And with that she climbed on her bike and pedaled away.

I felt bad for Little Belman, who I was actually starting to think of not so much as “Little Belman” but as “Deedee.” I don’t know what I’d do if Julie and Greg didn’t believe me about the ghosts I’d met — or rather if they weren’t able to also see and talk to the ghosts, too. I’d probably lose my mind and go through life like a crazy person.

But since they were right there with me, it all seemed okay. Weird, of course. Very, very weird. But okay.

So I guess if I did sort of confirm the existence of Sally to Deedee, it might not be so bad.

As long as she wasn’t up to something sneaky and devious, and totally trying to trick me. I mean, she was a Belman, after all.

I didn’t have too long to mull all that over, though, because once again I’d managed to be late for dinner without calling or texting. Thankfully, Mom seemed to be all the way better from her fall, and she was in a pretty good mood. Dad still wasn’t home because of the usual traffic jam on the interstate from DC, so we sat at the kitchen table and played Uno for half an hour. I won three games in a row, but Mom didn’t seem to care. She smiled and called me a stinker.