The Dollhouse Murders (11 page)

“And bananas. And orange marmalade. And grape jelly and raspberry jam—” Amy was babbling. Ever since she got up, she'd been chattering, giggling, hurrying Louann, discussing the party with Ellen—anything to keep from thinking about what had happened in the attic last night.

Aunt Clare plugged in the coffeepot and put a slice of bread into the toaster. “What are you going to do this beautiful morning? Besides talk about who said what at the party, of course?”

“We're going for a hike to Rainbow Falls,” Ellen replied eagerly. “We were going to bike there last Saturday, but my aunt and uncle came from Chicago.”

“Good idea.” Aunt Clare flicked a questioning glance at Louann, who was spreading a thick layer of jam on her toast.

“Louann's going with us.” Amy felt rather than saw Ellen's look of surprise. “She likes to hike, don't you, Louann?”

“I like to hike,” Louann agreed. “Or else, I want to go up and watch the poor dolly—”

“We'll take sandwiches,” Amy said quickly. “What kind do you want, Louann?” She could hardly wait to get her sister out of the house. Louann knew she wasn't supposed to talk about the dollhouse, but the temptation was great.

“Peanut butter and pickles.”

“Ellen?”

“Anything.”

“Well, just take whatever you want.” Aunt Clare sounded relieved that there were to be no arguments about what Louann would do. Later, when Ellen had gone upstairs to make the beds, taking Louann as a helper, Aunt Clare said, “Your friends are really very good with Louann.”

“Not always.” Amy busied herself slicing cheese and spreading peanut butter. “I've had friends who were really awful to her. She scares them, I guess. But Kathy Sells was terrific last night, and after a while everyone else copied the way she acted. Ellen, too, I guess. I still think Ellen backed out of our bike ride last Saturday because of Louann,” she added.

“Then it's especially nice of you to take Louann along today,” Aunt Clare said. “I hope it won't be a burden for you.”

That word again! Amy wondered why it bothered her so much. After all, she'd certainly let Aunt Clare know Louann was a burden at the mall last Friday afternoon.
But she's my sister
, she wanted to say,
not just my burden
. She sighed. There was no easy way to explain her feelings. She couldn't even explain them to herself.

It wasn't until they were out of the house and walking down the country road that Amy relaxed. Warm sun pressed against her shoulders and the backs of her knees, and a breeze ruffled her hair. “This is great,” she murmured. Now if Louann would just forget what happened last night. . . .

“The poor dolly cried,” Louann announced. “The books fell down.”

Louann never forgot anything—except warnings to keep quiet.

“What dolly? What books?” Ellen looked at Louann curiously.

“The dolly in the dollhouse. She cried and cried.”

Ellen turned to Amy. “Does she mean
the
dollhouse?”

Amy nodded. Lying in bed that morning, before the others woke up, she'd realized that she probably wasn't going to be able to keep the secret of the dollhouse to herself after all. Not now, with Louann knowing what she did. Besides, she really needed to talk about it to a friend. The whole thing was becoming too scary.

“Louann went up to the attic after we were all asleep last night,” Amy said slowly. “I woke up and went after her.” As briefly as possible, she described their adventure, then went on to tell Ellen about the strange events that had happened on previous nights. “I can't talk about it to Aunt Clare,” she finished. “The dollhouse really upsets her. She was furious when she thought I'd moved the dolls around to act out the murders.” She shuddered. “As if I would.”

“But you'll have to tell her,” Ellen protested, eyes wide. “It's her dollhouse, after all.”

Amy shook her head. She reached for Louann's hand and drew her farther over onto the shoulder of the road. “She wouldn't believe me. The thing is, I think the ghost”—she gulped over the word and hurried on—“is trying to tell us something. Something about the murders, maybe. And Aunt Clare doesn't want to think about them or talk about them. If I
don't find out what the secret is, no one ever will.”

“A ghostly secret!” Ellen's eyes shone. “Amy, that's the most exciting, most scary thing I've ever heard. I don't see how you could keep quiet about it. What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. This morning I thought about telling my dad, but he'd want to see for himself, and then Aunt Clare would know. She'd probably order us all out of the house.”

“Maybe we should go back to the library and read some more about the murders.”

Amy shrugged. “I have a feeling we wouldn't find out much. Maybe we can—” She was suddenly tired of thinking about a problem that seemed to have no answer. “Maybe we can just wait to see what happens—and today we can have a good time and forget about it. Come on! You, too, Louann! Race you to the park entrance.”

Amy dashed ahead. In a moment Ellen had caught up to her, and she could hear Louann's heavier steps close behind. They all reached the park gate together.

“You're—you're a good runner, Louann,” Ellen panted as they slowed to a walk. “And you know something? You're the bravest person I know. I never would have gone up in that attic by myself in the middle of the night.”

Louann looked puzzled. “Why not?” she asked earnestly.

“I wouldn't want to run into a ghost.”

“I don't run into anything,” Louann said smugly.
“When I run, I just run.” And away she went, leaning into the wind, leaving her companions far behind.

It was a perfect day for a picnic. The girls waded in the shallows of Rainbow River and sent sticks hurtling over the falls. They had their sandwiches on a flat rock overlooking the water, and in the afternoon they chased a cracked Frisbee Ellen found under a bush.

“Your sister is really fast,” Ellen said. Louann continued throwing and pursuing the Frisbee after Amy and Ellen had collapsed on the grass. “You know those Special Olympics—the ones for kids like Louann? She ought to be in that.”

Amy considered. “I don't think my mom would like it much.”

“Why not? Louann would love it.”

“She doesn't like to admit Louann is different.” Amy wasn't in the mood to talk about that problem either.

“Our minister believes in ghosts,” Ellen said after a few moments of silence.

“How do you know?”

“He said once—he said things happen that we can't explain. And if you see something like that, you should feel lucky, not afraid, because most people never have the experience. I'd be afraid,” she added honestly.

“I bet he would, too,” Amy said. “I bet he wouldn't feel so lucky up there in that attic with a ghost crying and lights going on and off and dolls moving. . . .” She lay back, squinting into the sun. Grown-ups could make a lesson out of anything!

At three o'clock they gathered up their belongings, leaving the Frisbee on a picnic table for someone else to enjoy. Ellen's mother had said she would be at Aunt Clare's house at four.

“This was a fun day!” Ellen exclaimed as they left the park. “When we moved to Claiborne, I didn't know anybody, and now I have a best friend. Just like Cissie said when she was telling my fortune. I'm glad it's you, Amy.” She turned to Louann, who was listening intently. “You're a good friend, too, Louann.”

Amy wished later that their day could have ended right there. But as they turned into the yard of the old house, they saw Aunt Clare sitting on the top step of the porch. Her face had a dark, closed-up look, and she barely nodded in response to the girls' hellos.

“Your mother called—she's on her way, Ellen,” she said abruptly. “She wants you to be ready because she's in a hurry. Are you all packed?”

“Yes.” Ellen looked at Amy.

“What's the matter, Aunt Clare?” Amy asked. “What's wrong?”

Her aunt glared at them. “I'm sure if you think about it, you'll know very well what's the matter. We'll talk later.” Her voice shook with rage.

“I'll get my suitcase,” Ellen said and hurried inside.

“But I
don't
know what's wrong,” Amy insisted.

“We'll talk about it when Ellen is gone,” Aunt Clare said tightly. “There's already been far too much talk in front of strangers.”

They sat in silence on the steps until the crunch of tires on gravel announced Mrs. Kramer's approach. Ellen must have been waiting and watching from an upstairs window, for as soon as the car turned into the yard, her footsteps sounded on the stairs. She came outside on tiptoe and closed the door gently behind her as if someone were ill.

“Thank you for the lovely party, Miss Treloar,” she said. “It was really nice. See you Monday, Amy.”

Amy nodded, too upset to speak.

“ 'Bye, Louann. 'Bye, everybody.” Ellen jumped into the car and was gone.

“How dare you?” The words cut like a blade across the chirping, buzzing peace of late afternoon. Amy swung around to face her aunt. “How could you gossip about our family
to all those girls?
I can't forgive you for that, Amy. I told you how I felt about your putting the dolls in the rooms where they were murdered, and yet you went right up there and did it again last night. In front of everyone! You don't care how I feel!”

So that was it. Aunt Clare had been in the attic and had looked into the dollhouse.

“I went up to put Ellen's blanket away, and there was the house standing open the way you left it last night. And the dolls were in the bedroom and the parlor again! And the desk—oh, Amy, that was the worst! What were you doing—putting on a play for your friends? I just can't believe you'd be so insensitive.”

“The desk?”

“You know what I'm talking about! The desk in the parlor was moved over in front of the door. You must have read about that when you and Ellen went poking through the newspapers, looking for all the grisly details. After Grandma Treloar ran downstairs to the parlor with Paul, she pushed the desk against the door to try to keep the—the killer out. It didn't stop him, but she tried. The desk is there in front of the parlor door now, right where you put it.”

“I didn't!” Amy was suddenly angry, too. Aunt Clare had no right to assume she was guilty without giving her a chance to explain. “I didn't touch the dolls after we put them back in the box the other night. You were there and saw me do it. And I didn't touch the desk either.”

Aunt Clare clenched her fists in exasperation. “Amy, this is terrible! Why must you lie to me? You did move them—you or Ellen—there's no other explanation.”

“Don't yell at Amy!” Louann was on her feet at the foot of the steps. “Amy doesn't lie. I don't like you!”

“And I don't like being lied to,” Aunt Clare snapped. “Sit down, Louann. I'm talking to your sister.”

“I saw the poor dolly,” Louann shouted. “I heard the dolly cry.”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“The poor dolly—”

“Aunt Clare.” Amy knew what she had to do. She struggled to keep her voice steady. “I didn't move the dolls when I was up there last week, and I didn't move them yesterday. Neither did Ellen. Something really
strange is happening in the dollhouse. The parlor lights up, all by itself, and the dolls move around. I saw the grandmother doll moving. I did!” She turned away from her aunt's disbelieving eyes and hurried on. “Last night Louann went up there after we were all asleep, and I went to look for her. The house was open again, and there was a light, and”—she took a deep breath—“there was crying coming from the parlor. And some of the little books fell off the shelves, all by themselves. I saw them!”

“The books fell down,” Louann said in the silence that followed.

Amy waited for the explosion that was sure to follow her story. She hadn't wanted to tell, but Aunt Clare had forced her to do it. When the silence stretched out, she looked up and saw that Aunt Clare had buried her head in her arms. Her thin shoulders shook with sobs.

Amy scrambled up the steps and laid a timid hand on her aunt's arm. “I'm sorry. I didn't want to tell you. I wasn't ever going to tell you, because I knew you'd hate it. Please don't cry.”

Aunt Clare didn't answer. Gradually her sobs became softer, but she didn't lift her head. She seemed to have forgotten Amy and Louann were there.

“Aunt Clare?”

“You'd better leave me alone for a while.” The words were muffled.

Amy signaled to Louann. “We'll be inside,” she said. “Come on, Louann.”

They were in the foyer, looking at each other in bewilderment,
when Aunt Clare spoke again. “I'd like to believe you wouldn't lie to me,” she said tiredly. “But if you're telling the truth—if there's a restless, unhappy spirit haunting this place—that's even worse. Because it means what I've always suspected is true. And I can't bear
that
.”

The curtains on the west window were dancing in the wind when Amy and Louann entered their bedroom.

“There's going to be a storm,” Amy said. She stood at the window and watched the clouds boiling up over the trees. The darkening sky matched her mood.

“Let's go home, Amy.” Louann sagged against the foot of the bed. “I want to go home right now.”

“We can't,” Amy told her. “There's no one there.”

“I don't care. I want to go now.”

“I said we can't,” Amy repeated. “Mom and Dad wouldn't like it if we stayed in the house alone overnight, and Aunt Clare would have a fit.”