Last Ghost at Gettysburg by Paul Ferrante

“You are a goddess. I am not worthy,” he intoned, as if
waiting to be knighted.
    “Jeez Louise, Bortnicker,” moaned T.J., “will
you cut it out and get up? At least try to act halfway
normal.”
    Bortnicker rose, grinning sheepishly, his
bangs hanging in front of his tortoise shell glasses.
    “Oh, I don’t know, Cuz,” said LouAnne,
hefting the dusty duffel bag, “I think he’s kinda cute.”
    T.J. shook his head in disgust. “Don’t
encourage him.”
    They started back towards Seminary Ridge,
Bortnicker’s head continuously swiveling, taking in all the shops,
eateries and bullet-pocked row houses. It was why he did so well in
school, despite his eccentricities. Bortnicker had a way of taking
a mental inventory of everything around him to the smallest
detail, especially if it was of interest to him. And, boy, was he
interested.
    “How’d you get here so fast?” asked LouAnne
as they climbed along Buford Avenue toward Seminary Ridge.
    “It was easy. The Internet is such a great
tool that I had it mapped out within minutes. I took the New Haven
Line into Grand Central, the Amtrak to Philly, and then picked up a
tour bus to here. I’d never done Amtrak before. Way cool! Has T.J.
told you I’m big into model railroading?”
    “No,” replied LouAnne. “We really didn’t have
much time for that. Your mom’s okay with you coming down here
alone, just like that?”
    “Oh, yeah. She likes when I do grownup stuff
like this. Plus, I just spent some time with her up in Boston and I
think she needed a break from me. I can’t imagine why,” he added
wryly, and LouAnne smiled. T.J. just frowned.
    “Well, Bortnicker,” she said, “my parents are
fine with you bunking with T.J. in the guest room. They were
worried that he was getting a little homesick, anyway.” She looked
at her cousin who rolled his eyes in embarrassment.
    “Homesick ?” cried Bortnicker.
“ Here? With all this going on? We’ve got a major mystery to
solve, it seems to me. When T.J. gave me the basics on the phone, I
was so jacked I couldn’t sit still! Even if my mom had said no, I
would’ve bugged out anyway. No way I’m missing this. It’s the
adventure of a lifetime!”
    “Easy, man,” cautioned T.J. “We’ve got to
think things through before we decide on a plan of action.”
    “Don’t worry, Big Mon.” Bortnicker pulled a
loose-leaf notebook from his duffel bag. “As The Dan said,
‘the true facts unravel the more one travels.’” He suddenly turned
to LouAnne. “Name THAT one!”
    “ ‘ Show Biz Kids,’ ” she said
sweetly.
    “Ooh, you’re good,” he answered, handing the
notebook to T.J. “I wrote down a lot of thoughts about this on the
train. Check it out.”
    T.J. thumbed through the pages, which were
mostly filled with Civil War-related minutiae and questions that
must’ve come flying into Bortnicker’s mind a mile a minute. He had
filled at least twenty pages! “Wow,” he mumbled, “you’re really on
it, Bortnicker.”
    “Isn’t that why you called me?”
    “Guess so.”
    “Okay, then,” he said, the physical exertion
of walking causing him to breathe raggedly. Bortnicker hardly ever
exercised or gave an effort in phys ed. The one year he’d played
little league on T.J.’s team he’d contented himself with
instantaneously computing everyone’s batting averages and compiling
the team’s highest on-base percentage by managing to get hit with
the ball almost every time up.
    “As I see it, here is what we have to do. If
this is a ghost we’re dealing with, because we’re still not sure, I
think we should drop in on the foremost expert in town on
hauntings. Now, LouAnne, you must know that if you surf the net
you’ll find at least three different ghost tour outfits. They’ve
got candlelight tours, sunset tours, walking tours, riding tours,
in town and on the outskirts of the battlefield. But the one that’s
always on the History Channel is run by this guy, Carlton Elway.
Know