The Dollhouse Murders (10 page)

“Come on, Amy, you're next. Don't you want to find out what's going to happen to you, now that you're thirteen?”

“I'm not sure,” Amy replied, and meant it. So many strange things had happened recently, she wasn't sure she was ready to hear more.

The Great Zorina said the man in Amy's life was going to be tall and dark. “And you're going to make an important discovery. Something that seems little will turn out to be big.”

“She's going to find a diamond ring,” Midge guessed.

“Or an oyster with a huge pearl inside it,” suggested Carol.

“The dollhouse!” Ellen sang out. “It's the dollhouse in the attic, Amy! Cissie said, ‘Something little will turn out to be big.' ” She turned to the others, her eyes shining. “Oh, you have to see it. It's a perfect miniature of this house we're in right now. It's probably worth thousands of dollars.”

“We can't go up there!” Amy snapped out the words, and the girls looked at her in surprise. “Aunt Clare
doesn't want anybody touching it,” she explained. “It's—like Ellen said, it's very valuable.”

“Oh, Amy, we won't touch it,” Ellen coaxed. “We don't even have to open it. If you say so, we'll just look at the outside and peek in the windows.”

“What dollhouse?” Louann demanded. “Where's the dollhouse? I want to see the dollhouse, Amy.”

Amy's heart sank. Darn Ellen, anyhow. She should have told her not to mention the dollhouse at the party. Now it was too late. Even if the other girls didn't insist, Louann would keep on begging.

“We can't—” she said weakly.

“Can't what?” Aunt Clare was back, with a bowl of caramel corn in either hand. “Here's something to fill up any remaining empty spaces—until it's time for the cake.” The girls groaned. “What can't you do, Amy?”

“Show them the dollhouse. Ellen told them—”

“I told them how really beautiful it is, Miss Treloar,” Ellen interrupted, helping herself to a handful of caramel corn. “You wouldn't mind if we took just a quick look at it, would you? Please!”

Aunt Clare's lips tightened. She glanced at Louann, who was on her feet and peering into corners of the dining room as if the dollhouse might be hidden there. “Well,” she said reluctantly, “I suppose if you really want to. . . .”

“We do!” Cissie exclaimed. “Oh, we do!”

“Go ahead, then. You take them up to the attic, Amy. I replaced the light bulb this afternoon.
Please
, don't touch anything in the house.”

“We won't,” Ellen cried. “Come on, everybody. Wait'll you see it!”

With dragging feet, Amy followed her friends up the stairs. Ellen was in the lead, with Louann right behind her, pink with excitement. When they reached the far corner of the attic, Ellen stepped back and pulled Amy to the front.

“You'd better take off the sheet, Amy,” she said. “Your aunt will feel better if nobody else touches it.”

Amy was stiff with dread. She didn't want to uncover the house. The thought of what she might see—another change that couldn't be explained—was terrifying. It took all her willpower to pick up the end of the sheet and pull it off the house. She hardly heard the gasps of delight as her friends gathered around.

“Peek in through the windows,” Ellen urged. “Amy and I put all the dolls at the dining room table, and they look just like real people sitting there. Oh, Amy.” She knelt at Amy's feet. “Open the front and give everybody one little look. Your aunt won't mind—what harm can it do, anyway?”

“I don't think I'd better.”

“I want to see,” Louann begged. “Please, Amy, please, please, please. I want to see inside.”

Amy released the latch that held the front of the house in place, and the wall swung back. The girls crowded closer and bent down. At first they were speechless; then they all talked at once.

“The grandfather clock!”

“Look at the tiny dishes on the dining room table!”

“The fireplace with little logs and a poker!”

“Look at the old-fashioned bathtub!”

Amy stared. The grandfather doll was in the bedroom, and the grandmother was in the parlor, in the same positions in which she'd seen them last.

“You've moved the family around, Amy,” Ellen said. “We had them in the dining room, remember? Where's the girl doll? The one that's supposed to be your aunt?”

“She's in the box,” Amy said tonelessly. “I just left them. . . .” She stopped in confusion, but Ellen didn't ask any more questions.

The minutes dragged by while the girls looked into each room and found new details to admire. “We'd better go downstairs,” Amy said finally, when it looked as if they would be content to stay there the rest of the evening. “You didn't finish telling my fortune, Cissie. You haven't done anybody's but Ellen's. And we're going to have birthday cake.”

The girls got to their feet, except for Louann, who seemed hypnotized by the contents of the house.

“So little,” she crooned. “So pretty.” With a delicacy Amy wouldn't have thought possible, she reached into the parlor and picked up a tiny rocking chair with an embroidered seat. “So little,” she said again. “I love the dollhouse.” She put the chair back and moved out of the way so Amy could close the front wall. “Good-bye, house. Good-bye, dolls.”

“Come on, Louann,” Kathy urged. “You want your fortune told, don't you?”

They trooped downstairs, Ellen leading the way once
more, and Amy, Louann, and Kathy bringing up the rear.

“Good-bye, house,” Louann called again. “Goodbye, dolls. I have to have my fortune told now.”

Amy stopped for a last look at the sheeted house before following the others down the stairs.
It's just a toy
, she told herself. But she knew it was more than that. The moving dolls, the light—they were as real as the house itself. And since no one else knew about them, it was up to Amy to find out what they meant.

“Well, what do you think?” Aunt Clare stood with Amy, Louann, and Ellen on the front porch as the Sells' car pulled away. They waved and shouted good-nights until the taillights blinked out of sight around the curve and the stillness of the country night settled around them.

“A terrific party!” Amy said.

“It was really wonderful, Miss Treloar!” Ellen exclaimed. “After all, it had my two favorite things in the world—caramel corn and pizza! We had a great time.”

“Was it all you wanted it to be, Amy?” asked Aunt Clare, as they turned back into the house. Aunt Clare glanced at Louann, who held a paper napkin filled with the last of the caramel corn.

“It was perfect,” Amy assured her. Except for those
uncomfortable minutes in the attic, she'd loved the party. Having Louann there hadn't made any difference at all. Kathy had treated her the way she treated everyone else, and the other girls had followed suit. Aunt Clare had helped, too, by keeping Louann busy when she threatened to take over the conversation, and by giving an occasional signal for her to calm down.

When the last dishes were stacked in the sink, Ellen yawned and stretched. “I'm really sleepy, all of a sudden,” she said. “I'm going to bed and dream about the blond man coming into my life. Maybe it won't be the paper boy after all.”

“What's wrong with the paper boy?” Amy demanded, and yawned, too.

“He's ten years old.” The girls went upstairs, giggling, while Aunt Clare lingered behind to check the doors and turn off the lights.

“You get up when you want to,” she called after them. “You know where the breakfast things are, Amy. I'm not going to be in any great hurry to get moving tomorrow.”

Amy felt as if she might fall asleep on her feet. She undressed quickly, called a last good-night to Ellen, and was dozing when Louann returned from the bathroom and climbed into the other side of the big bed.

“Good night, Amy.”

“Good night.”

“I like Kathy. She's my friend. She's going to take me to the museum sometime.”

Amy burrowed into her pillow. “I can take you to the
museum. I didn't know you wanted to go.”

“Neither did I.” Louann's voice started to fade. “Kathy says they have dolls at the museum. And doll-houses. I love dollhouses. . . .”

She was asleep, her breathing deep and regular. Amy closed her eyes and tried to match her breathing to Louann's.
I'll take her to the library
, she thought.
We can look for books about dollhouses
. And then she was asleep, too.

The grandfather clock downstairs was striking two when Amy woke. Moonlight flooded the bedroom, as it had Wednesday night when Aunt Clare had come to talk and had scared Amy half to death. What had awakened her this time? She sat up and stared at the door, expecting to see the knob turn again. After a breathless moment she turned to see if Louann was awake, too, and discovered that the other half of the bed was empty. Louann was gone.

Amy slid out of bed and listened. If Louann had gone down the hall to the bathroom, there was no point in following her and starting a conversation that would waken Ellen and Aunt Clare. But there was no sound of returning footsteps, and when Amy opened the door, the hall was dark and so was the bathroom.

She went to the top of the stairs. Could Louann have gone downstairs for a drink of water?

She should have wakened me
, Amy thought crossly.
I told her she should tell me if she had to get up
.

A sound, like a sigh, made her whirl and look down
the shadowy hallway. The attic door was open—only an inch or two, but as Amy stared, she thought it opened farther. And she knew then, without a doubt, where her sister had gone.

“Darn, darn, darn!” Louann had awakened and decided to take another look at the dollhouse in the middle of the night. She knew very well that Amy would have stopped her, so she had sneaked away by herself.

There was nothing to do but go to the attic after her. If Aunt Clare woke and heard someone moving around up there, she'd be frightened and angry. Amy had to get Louann back to bed without making a sound.

She tiptoed down the hall and slipped through the attic doorway. Moonlight made a silvery tunnel of the stairwell. If she was lucky, she'd be able to bring Louann back downstairs without switching on the light.
If I'm lucky
, she repeated to herself.
And if Louann doesn't see something that sends her into hysterics. If I don't have hysterics myself!

Halfway up the steps, Amy began to feel as if she were reliving her nightmare visit to the attic twenty-four hours ago. There were the same noises—small, scratchy sounds, a little like a mouse might make, but not a mouse. Before she reached the top step, she saw that the house was open. The parlor was glowing eerily. In front of the house Louann knelt, staring with rapt attention into the lighted room.

Amy fought down the urge to run. She couldn't go without Louann. On tiptoe, she crossed the attic to her sister's side.

Louann looked up. “Look at the dolly,” she said in a voice that was much softer than usual.

Amy looked without wanting to. The grandmother doll still stood in front of the bookcase, but now one blue-clad arm was raised. As Amy stared, a tiny book fell from the shelf, and then another. And another. They simply slid off the shelves and lay scattered at the doll's feet.

“Books fall,” Louann murmured. “The poor dolly is crying.”

Amy gasped. A muted weeping had begun, a sound so despairing that it made her want to cry herself.

“That's not the doll crying,” Amy whispered hoarsely. “Don't be silly.” But the sobs were coming from the dollhouse parlor.

“Louann, get up!” Amy couldn't fight back panic any longer. She tried to drag Louann to her feet. “We have to get out of here.”

“Listen to the poor dolly, Amy. Why is she crying?”

“I don't know!
I don't know!”
Amy almost forgot to whisper. Clearly, Louann wasn't frightened at all; she rocked back on her heels as if she were watching a show and enjoying it. Perhaps that was what this was to her—a show like the puppet show at the mall. No more frightening, no more magical than that, and just as fascinating.

The light in the parlor began to fade. The sobbing stopped.

“Getting dark,” Louann said. “Why, Amy?”

“I said I don't know. I don't know anything.” This
time Amy succeeded in getting Louann on her feet. “Walk on tiptoe,” she ordered. “Aunt Clare will be mad at you if she finds out you came up here.”

Looking only slightly worried, Louann started toward the stairs. Amy lingered a moment in front of the dark and silent house. Her heart pounded. The house
was
telling her something; in spite of her terror, she knew that. But what was it? Would she ever know?

With trembling fingers she closed and covered the house. “I'll try to figure it out,” she whispered and turned to follow Louann. From behind her, in the house, came the tiniest of sighs.

Amy wasn't surprised to see Aunt Clare appear in the kitchen while the girls were eating breakfast. She was too energetic to stay in bed when everyone else was up.

“Have you had orange juice? There's tomato juice, too, if you'd rather. Or apricot? Amy, did you make plenty of toast?”

“We're fine. I thought you were going to sleep late this morning,” Amy teased.

“I couldn't. I say I'm going to, but I always wake up early. On my last job”—Aunt Clare looked wistful—“I was up at six-thirty every morning to make my connection on the elevated. Saturdays and Sundays, when I could have slept late, I woke promptly at six-thirty just the same and stared at the ceiling for a half-hour trying to convince myself I was enjoying the rest. I'm a morning
person, and I might as well accept it. Have you had cereal?”