Haunted (28 page)

"So tell him the underwear stuff. He'll fire her ass in a New York minute."

Amber grinned, feeling affection for her friend. "I guess I could, maybe. I'll have to think about it. But, I don't really want to, you know?"

"Yeah, it's weird to talk to your dad about underwear."

Kelly paused. "So what about this Melanie? Does your dad still love her or was the argument too serious?"

"He never says anything, but he's got her picture in his wallet and he's got one on his desk. He hides it in his drawer when anyone comes in."

"So he's got it bad?"

"Yeah."

"What about Melanie?"

Amber shrugged. "I don't know."

"Can you call her?"

"Why? So she can swear out an affidavit saying she helped me choose my underwear?"

Kelly shook her head. "Don't be a goof. If you could get them back together, nobody'd believe any of that stuff about your dad buying your underwear. You could get Minnie fired really easy."

"Melanie could hire someone new," Amber admitted. "She's really good at stuff like that."

Kelly nodded. "And she'd sure cramp old Pelinore's style."

*   *   *

The washing machine cycled and Amber put the softener into the water. Later, she might call Melanie, maybe, to ask her about some lamps she was trying to talk her father into, and just see how she acted, see if maybe Mel was missing him. Meanwhile, Amber could barely control her anger. The minute Minnie Willard walked in today, she wanted to fire her. Who knows? Maybe I will! Her dad might be a little ticked, but it would be worth it. She'd do a lot of the household stuff herself to make it easier. Then she realized that the rat lady wouldn't buy it unless her dad did the firing--and she'd have to tell him why she wanted Minnie out of the house. Christ!

She glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearly nine-thirty. Where was he? She slid off the table and walked around the room, idly opening and closing the myriad of cabinets lining the walls. One lower door stuck and she thought it was the fresh paint, so she yanked harder. Suddenly it opened and she squatted down to look.

"Wow." This one was too deep to see into, just like the giant linen closet between the bathroom and this room. She squinted, thinking she saw a golden glint deep inside. Finally, getting down on her hands and knees, she ducked her head and torso inside and reached for the tiny object.

"Ouch!" She pricked herself on whatever it was and, gingerly, she put her fingers around the object and drew it out.

She heard a vague clicking sound deep within the cabinet. It was a small jeweled brooch, an art nouveau butterfly. A drop of blood oozed from her finger, but she ignored it. How could this be here? she wondered. With all the people moving in and out of the house, it seemed impossible, but she felt sure it dated from Lizzie's time.

She rose and set the brooch on the counter then went to wash her hands, squeezing the blood out of the pinprick to clean it. A faint whiff of lavender reached her nose and she turned and looked at the open cabinet. "Lizzie?"

No reply, but what did she expect? The lavender fragrance strengthened. "You want me to look in the cabinet again?"

The smell was all around her as she got on her knees and crawled partway inside once more. Where the pin had lain, the bottom of the cabinet had slid away to reveal an opening similar to the one in her wardrobe. Another doll! Excited, she reached inside and, sure enough, her hand touched cloth. One, no, two dolls! They were stacked on top of each other. As she pulled them out, the opening smoothly slid shut.

The lavender scent had faded away to nothing, but she barely noticed as she peered at the top doll. It was a bearded male, dressed all in black, and it's expression was so vicious that she quickly laid it on the counter. It held a tiny multi-tipped whip in one hand.

After placing it carefully on the table near the laundry basket, Amber studied the other doll. It wore some sort of navy uniform, was also male, but had no head. Cautiously, she touched the ancient dark stain that marred the doll's neck and the front of the uniform, and it flaked off in her hand. It looked like dark rust. Or dried blood.

The thought startled her, and she let the doll slip from her grasp. Idiot! she thought as it tumbled, as if in slow motion, toward the floor. She swooped to catch it, but too late. The shattering porcelain sounded like wind chimes in the distance.

"Damn!" God, I'm such a klutz! She squatted and put her hand around it, hesitating as she felt something sticky and warm coat her fingers. Fighting back a rush of panic, she lifted the headless doll, revealing a small crimson puddle beneath it. "Oh, God." Paralyzed by shock, she watched hot, thick fluid drip off her fingertips.

As she stared at the broken doll, its uniform grew dark and damp. Blood! It looked like blood, but it couldn't be. Maintain! she ordered herself as her hands began to tremble. Maintain! No, it couldn't be blood. The twisted girl, Christabel, must have filled the doll with something resembling blood... she must have done it for the shock value. Real blood would be dried up after all these years, it would be nothing but a clump of dark redness.

Revulsion crawling up her throat, she forced herself to lift one of the china hands. Red fluid oozed sluggishly from a crack across the palm. As she gingerly examined it, half the hand suddenly snapped off. Blood spurted from the opening, spraying hotly across Amber's face, her cheeks, her nose, and into her mouth.

She heard someone screaming as she hurled the doll across the room. It splatted against the white wall, then slid slowly down to the floor, leaving a broad bloody streak behind it.

Suddenly, she realized she was the one screaming. She put her hands to her mouth, then saw the blood and pulled them back, staring at them in shock, still screaming, vaguely tasting the unmistakable metal tang of blood in her mouth.

"Amber! Amber, where are you?" Dimly, she heard her father calling her.

"DADDY!”

Body House: 9:31 A.M.

"DADDY!"

Hearing his daughter's ragged scream, David left the keys in the open front door and ran toward her voice. She screamed for him again and again as he checked in the kitchen, then the sun porch, panicking in his inability to discern the origin of her voice.

"AMBER! WHERE ARE YOU?" he yelled as he pounded back through the dining room into the parlor.

He ran past the laundry room to the bathroom, thinking she was in there. Nothing.

"DADDY!"

He heard her voice to the right as he came back into the hall, and glanced at the closed laundry room door.

"DADDY!"

"AMBER!" He screamed her name as he grabbed the glass doorknob and tried to turn it. It wouldn't budge. "Amber! Open the door!"

Her screams turned into hysterical sobbing as she pulled on the knob from the other side. It barely jiggled. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she moaned between huge, hitching sobs.

"Get away from the door!" he called. "I'm going to break it down!"

He backed up ten feet and ran, hitting the door with a strength born of panic. It creaked and groaned, but held. He shoved his shoulder into it as hard as he could, once, twice then, abruptly, the door opened and the force meant for the door sent him flying across the laundry room, bending him over the folding table and knocking the breath from him.

"Daddy!"

Panting, he whirled, and saw Amber standing before him, her eyes huge in her blood-soaked face. "My God. You're hurt!"

Her shoulders shaking with repressed sobs, she shook her head no.

"The blood."

"It's... not mine," she said, her voice shaking as badly as her body. "Oh God." She tucked her arms around her stomach and ran for the big sink next to the washer. She turned on the water and bent over, retching.

David held her while she was sick, pulling her hair back away from her face, then waiting while she rinsed her mouth for what seemed like hours. Finally, she bent over even further and let the water wash the blood from her hands and face. When she righted herself he let go of her hair and pulled paper towels from the roller so that she could dry herself.

At last, she looked up, her gaze traveling to the door, then back to him. "Don't let it close," she said quietly.

Nodding, he took the box of detergent and set it in the doorway, then turned to his daughter. "Amber, are you sure you're not hurt?"

"No, I'm okay. I came home and you weren't here and I decided to do my laundry and I was looking in the cabinets and found this--" She took a small piece of jewelry off the counter and handed it to him. It was exquisite. "Then I smelled Lizzie's perfume--"

"Lizzie's?" He thought she'd made a mistake.

"Yes, Lizzie's. The lavender."

David nodded.

"And I thought she wanted me to look again so I did and where the pin had been there was a secret latch like in my wardrobe, and it opened. There were two dolls in it. This one." She shoved the laundry basket over so he could see the effigy laying behind it.

As his fingers closed around it, she whispered, "Be careful!"

"I will," he said, turning the doll over in his hands.

"Don't drop it," she added.

"Don't worry." It was a vile-looking thing. Thrusting against its black pants, he could see the outline of a huge erection. "This has to be another of Christabel's creations," he murmured as he carefully set it down. "Amber? Where did the blood come from?"

"The other doll." She pointed behind him.

He turned and saw the bloody skid mark on the wall and the dark lump on the floor beneath it. Taking a pen from his pocket he squatted down and pushed at the thing. It reminded him of a dead bird.

"I dropped it and I when I picked it up, it was bleeding."

"The doll was bleeding?" David couldn't believe his ears.

"Then it sprayed all over. It got in my mouth and I threw it." She looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

"Sorry? What are you sorry for?" He rose and put his arms out to her.

Immediately, she was in them, burying her face against his chest like she had when he carried her in his arms when she was little. "I'm sorry I dropped the doll. I got scared and threw it."

"Don't be sorry, kiddo. I would've thrown it too."

A sick giggle escaped her. "Then I'm sorry Minnie didn't find the stupid dolls."

He chuckled. "Me too. Can you imagine?" He stroked her wheat-colored hair and waited patiently until she pulled away from him. "Amber? You know that can't really be blood."

"That's what I thought. That's why I picked it up again even though I saw the stuff. I thought old Christabel had filled it with something gross."

"You're a smart kid."

"It's blood, though, Dad."

"How do you know?"

"It was hot. And it tasted like blood."

August 8

Body House: 1:15 P.M.

Amber, her dad, and Kelly Cox stood in the downstairs room they called "Lizzie's salon." One entire wall of wardrobes stood open to show off the two dozen antique evening gowns hanging within.

"Wow!" Kelly said. "There're so many! And they're gorgeous!"

"There were tons more," Amber told her, "but they fell apart."

"So, are you two sure you want to wear these to the dance?" her dad asked.

"Yeah!" Kelly breathed. "Jason's grandfather is letting him and Rick get old-fashioned sailor's uniforms out of his attic, so we'll all look great together."

"For sure," Amber seconded.

A look of concern crossed her dad's face. "Okay, but there's one condition you have to agree to before I let you use these dresses--"

"We're not little kids, Dad. We won't spill anything on them."

He smiled thinly. "That goes without saying."

"Anything, Mr. Masters," Kelly breathed. "Anything."

"All I ask is that you don't tell anyone where you got them or who their previous owners were. You can call yourselves opera enthusiasts, stage actresses, pre-flappers, or anything else you want--as long as it's not ladies of the evening."

"Sure, Dad."

"No problem."

His smile turned genuine. "Good. I wouldn't want the town gossiping about how I'm ruining the morals of teenagers by letting them dress up as hookers!"

"You told him about the--?"

"Shut up, Kelly," Amber hissed. She hadn't said a word to her dad about the stories Minnie had told about him picking out her underwear. It was just too mortifying. She hadn't called Melanie, either, because she knew her dad would be ultra-ticked if he found out she was messing around in his personal life.

"Told me what?" he asked, his brows raised questioningly.