Spying on Miss Muller by Eve Bunting

here and the top of Robinson Cleavers, our biggest department store, and the Albert clock and the Cavehill. Sometimes you could even see the blue sheen of the water in the Belfast Lough.
    I leaned forward. Weren’t the clouds heavier where the Lough should be? A flame shot up. It took a minute for me to realize I was looking at the Shore Road, where last night bombs had fallen, where homes were destroyed and people killed.
    I was cold, so cold. Rain soaked my blouse, sticking the long, white sleeves to my arms. I made myself look toward the Shore Road and think, The Nazis did that. Maybe in some way Miss Müller had helped them. My stomach was cramping again, and I backed away from the roof’s edge.
    Carefully, I went back down the curved stone steps. A damp breeze seemed to follow me, to lift my hair. For a second I thought I smelled apricots, but it was probably my imagination. Up here near the coffin room you could imagine anything.
    Hillary was still waiting at the dispensary. “I’m still here,” she said unnecessarily. “What can Nursie be doing to poor Flash?”
    Hillary bobbed her head toward the stairs and rolled her eyes. Above the collar of her white blouse her neck was filthy. I could see the water mark where she’d washed the front of her face and for a couple of weeks forgotten there was a neck underneath. Poor little thing. There’d be no chance Nursie wouldn’t notice it.
    â€œDo you have a hanky?” I asked. She fished one out of her tunic pocket.
    â€œHere, spit,” I told her, and I tried to at least blur the line of dirt to blend with the rest.
    â€œThanks.” She put the hanky back in her pocket. “Did you go past the coffin room?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s not that bad,” I said. “Sometimes I have to go up there for a dare.” She would think that’s why I’d gone today. I shivered, and she shivered along with me.
    â€œI’d never,” she said. “You’re brave. I’d have a worm down my back first.” A worm down your back was the penalty for not following through on a dare.
    â€œYou didn’t see Marjorie, did you?” she whispered.
    â€œNo, thank goodness.” I clenched my hands to stop my shivering.
    â€œNadine Porter saw her.” Hillary’s voice was so low I could hardly hear her.
    â€œYou mean she saw the ghost?”
    Little Hillary nodded. “Nadine had the whooping cough. She was in the san, and in the middle of the night she started whooping awful bad.”
    I nodded. I’d had whooping cough myself.
    â€œSo she got out of bed and pressed the bell for Nursie. You know the bell by the door?”
    I knew. It was under the light switch and it rang in Nursie’s bedroom in case you needed her in the night. But you’d better really need her, or heaven help you.
    â€œWell, Nadine rang and the door was open, the san door. ’Cause you know how Nursie likes it open when somebody’s sick?”
    â€œYes, yes, go on.”
    â€œAnd Nadine said it’s awful having to be in there with the door open, because Marjorie might come down, and there’d you be, sick and weak, and not able to scream, or even to run.”
    â€œPlease, Hillary, will you just tell me?”
    At that moment Flash appeared, one shoe off, limping.
    â€œWhat did she do to you?” Hillary asked.
    â€œYou’re to go in,” Flash said.
    â€œDid it hurt an awful lot? What she did to you?” Hillary whispered.
    â€œIt hurt like anything,” Flash said, “and I had to keep my foot in disinfectant for ten minutes and then she put this big piece of wadding on it.”
    I grabbed Hillary’s arm. “What do you mean Nadine Porter saw Marjorie’s ghost?”
    â€œShe saw her going up the steps.” Hillary was struggling to get her arm free. “Going back to the coffin room. I have to go. Nursie will be mad if I keep her