The Dollhouse Murders (3 page)

“I thought I had Coke, but I haven't,” she apologized. “I run out of things all the time. In Chicago—” she paused, her expression wistful—“there was a great little corner store. I used to shop practically every night on my way home from work.” She sipped the iced tea. “It was a friendly block—I loved it.”

“Why did you leave?” Amy thought she knew, but she asked anyway. It was nice having a conversation with a grown-up who treated her like an adult.

“I lost my job,” Aunt Clare said bluntly. “No job, no money to pay the rent. This house had been empty for four years, ever since Uncle James—your great-uncle—died. He was a real hermit—lived in the kitchen and one
bedroom and never touched the rest of the house. He didn't take care of the place, but we were glad to have him move in when . . . when the rest of us left, thirty years ago. After his death, Paul—your father—kept asking me to come back and clear out the house; he didn't know what to do with everything. And this seemed like a good time to do the job.” She looked around the kitchen. “Not the cheeriest place to spend a few months, I can assure you, but it'll do for a while.” She shook her head. “So we all have problems. What about you, Amy? If you don't mind my saying so, those pretty brown eyes look a bit troubled right now.”

Amy hesitated. She hadn't planned to talk about the angry scene that had sent her running out into the countryside.

“You'll think I'm a rat,” she said.

“I doubt it. I've done enough ratty things to know how bad it feels. I'm not likely to judge anyone else harshly.”

Amy clutched her glass in both hands. “It's Louann,” she said, the words spilling out fast. “I'm so sick of looking after her and smoothing things over when she gets into trouble—and losing friends because of her! That's what happened this afternoon. I
know
she can't help being brain-damaged. She's like a little kid, and she always will be. I'm just tired of having to think about it. And my mom says I'm really terrible. She says I'm lucky to be the normal one, and I should quit complaining.”

Aunt Clare looked thoughtful. “I can imagine her
feeling that way. What does your father say?”

Amy shrugged. “Nothing, usually.” She searched for words that would describe her father's attitude. “He just wants peace, I guess,” she said. “My mom yells and bawls me out, and Dad says, 'Well, well, I'm sure Amy didn't mean it'—whatever
it
is—and he changes the subject. Or he says, ‘Let's remember we're a family.' And that's not fair, because I'm the kid who has to do all the remembering. Louann just goes along being herself and having her own way.”

“Family means a lot to your father,” Aunt Clare murmured. “He had so little of it.”

“He had you. And Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa Treloar.”

Aunt Clare fluttered her fingers, brushing away the words. “Our parents died when Paul was practically a baby, and we only lived with Grandma and Grandpa Treloar until he was five and I was eighteen. Then they were killed—in an accident—and the cousin who'd wanted to adopt us in the first place took Paul. The poor little guy must have been thoroughly confused by that time. He lost me then, too, because I went to Chicago to look for a job.”

Amy tried to picture her tall father as a frightened five-year-old and failed. “That's what I'm going to do,” she said. “The minute I'm eighteen, I'm going to get away from Claiborne. I'm going to have an apartment in Chicago and lots of friends and a neat job.”

“Doing what?” Aunt Clare smiled. “It isn't as simple as it was when I did it. Now they ask which college you
went to or which business school trained you.”

“Then I'll go to college,” Amy vowed. “I'll go anywhere, just so it's away from here.”

Aunt Clare reached across the table and patted her hand. “You do sound as if you've had your fill of sister- sitting.” She seemed to be turning over something in her mind. “I have a suggestion,” she said. “And that's all it is—a suggestion. Your mother and father will have to approve. But maybe you and Louann ought to have a vacation from each other for a while. If you'd like to keep me company for a couple of weeks, I'd love to have you.”

The offer took Amy completely by surprise. “My mom wouldn't let me,” she said after a moment. “I have to take care of Louann every day until she gets home from work. And when they go out.” She couldn't say the rest of what she was thinking—that her mother wouldn't agree because she didn't particularly like Aunt Clare.

“I'll talk to your father first,” Aunt Clare said, as if she were a mind reader. “Will he be home by now?”

Amy glanced at her watch and shifted uneasily. Not only would her father be home, but by this time both her parents would be upset by her absence. She could pretend, when she was angry, that they didn't care what she did, but she knew it wasn't true. They wanted to know where she was after dark.

“I'd better call right away,” Amy muttered. “He's home, all right, and he's probably mad at me.”

Aunt Clare put out a restraining hand. “Let me,” she
said. She jumped up and hurried down the hall to the telephone niche next to the parlor.

Amy waited, hardly knowing what to feel. The harshly lit kitchen was faintly shabby with age. The curtains were thin and yellowed, and the linoleum was faded. There was an ancient gas stove with a high oven at one side, and a refrigerator that thrummed. The sink was small and not quite level; a single shelf above it was crowded with cleaning materials. The whole room was as different from her mother's sparkling, efficient kitchen as it could possibly be.

Amy felt a flicker of homesickness. Could she really leave her family, her bedroom, everything that she knew, and move out to this isolated old house?

It's a sad place
, she thought, remembering Aunt Clare's expression when she talked about the past.
I can feel sadness in the air
. But then she thought about the picnic Ellen had called off after Louann got into trouble at the mall. She thought about how her sister would beg to go back to the puppet show tomorrow, and how angry Mom would be if Amy refused to take her.

The voice in the hall sounded warm, smooth, persuasive. Suddenly, Amy was praying that Aunt Clare would be able to make her parents agree to the visit. She wanted to come! In addition to her other reasons, there was the dollhouse up in the attic.
I'll dust it and polish the furniture and make it look just like new
, Amy thought. She was picturing the grandfather clock with its tiny gold pendulum and weights, when her aunt came back to the kitchen.

“Well, I've done my best,” she said briskly. “Your father wouldn't say yes—I gather your mother is very upset about what happened this afternoon. But he didn't say no, either. I think he wants you to come, Amy, and I'm sure he's going to see what he can do. Of course, they'll have to find a sitter to watch Louann after school for a week or so.” She looked thoughtful. “It'll all take some doing. When you talk to them about it, remember you're invited because I need company. Don't mention Louann at all.”

Suddenly Aunt Clare pulled Amy to her feet and swung her around the kitchen. “We could have one terrific time, kiddo! Doesn't it sound like fun?”

“Oh, yes!” Amy flew across the room and collapsed into a rocker. Her head whirled. This was just exactly what she wanted, wasn't it? A chance to get away from Louann for a while. Of course it was!

But she didn't believe it would happen. Her mother would never let her do it.

“I don't understand why Clare is so lonely all of a sudden,” Mrs. Treloar said for the third time since they'd sat down to breakfast. “She talks about the importance of being independent—what's happened to all that independence? I'd like to know. She's a very changeable person.”

Amy fished for the last banana slice in her cereal bowl and said nothing. She'd heard her parents talking until very late. Maybe they'd talked all night!

“It's possible to be independent and lonely at the same time.” Mr. Treloar sounded tired and grumpy. “That house
is
a lonely place, you know. And it's full of very painful memories. I can understand Clare wanting company for a while.”

Painful memories? Amy wondered what he meant.
She waited for her father to say more about that, but he said, “Staying there will be a nice change for Amy, too.”

“Change?” Mrs. Treloar jumped on the word. “Why does a twelve-year-old girl need a change? I think Clare is interfering in something that's none of her business, just because Amy went running out there when she was upset. Now Louann's going to feel abandoned—”

Mr. Treloar looked unhappy. “I don't think Louann's going to feel abandoned,” he said. “Not if she has some adventures of her own.” He smiled at Louann, who had been silent ever since she learned that Amy was invited to Aunt Clare's. “We're going to ask Mrs. Peck if you can stay with her after school, until Mom gets home from work. You'll have fun.”

“No, I won't,” Louann said. “I want to go to Aunt Clare's with Amy. I hate Mrs. Peck.”

Amy's father stood up. “You've stayed with Mrs. Peck before, and you've never said you hated her. I'm going to call her now.” He looked at Amy's mother. “Unless you want to do it.”

Mrs. Treloar shook her head.

“But if Mrs. Peck agrees, you
will
let Amy go,” he insisted. “Just until school's out?”

Amy's mother looked from him to Amy, who was holding her breath. “If it's so important, I won't stand in the way. But I won't pretend to like the idea. And if it doesn't work out. . . .”

Mr. Treloar went to the den to telephone. Amy glanced uneasily at her mother, and at Louann, who was rolling her napkin into a tight ball. The kitchen
was silent until Mr. Treloar returned.

“All set,” he said. “Mrs. Peck is happy to have Louann. You go ahead and pack, Amy, and I'll take you out to Clare's when you're ready.”

Louann's wail followed Amy out of the kitchen. “I want to go with Amy! I have to, Mom. I have to.”

In the upstairs hallway Amy stopped for a moment, listening to her mother's soothing murmur. Then she went into her bedroom and closed the door.

Her duffel bag was in the back of the closet. She pulled it out and began stuffing it with shoes, jeans, socks, underwear, and pajamas. A half-dozen blouses and a cotton skirt went in on top, and her hair dryer, shampoo, and toothbrush went into her shoulder bag. She was ready. She wanted to go right away, before the argument began once more.

The telephone rang, and Amy heard Louann run, heavy-footed, to answer it.

“Amy, TELEPHONE!”

If only she wouldn't bellow! Amy raced downstairs, wondering if Aunt Clare had changed her mind.

“Hi, it's me. Ellen.”

Ellen! Amy hadn't expected to hear from her again.

“My mother's taking my aunt and uncle to visit some friends later this afternoon. I know it'll be too late for a picnic, but maybe you can come over for a couple of hours. We can make brownies or something. If you don't have anything else to do, that is.”

Like taking care of Louann
. Ellen hadn't said the words, but Amy knew what she meant.

“My mom doesn't usually like me to have friends over when she's out, but she said
one
friend would be okay,” Ellen went on. Another pause. She might as well have said it right out—
Retarded sister not wanted
.

Amy pushed down the resentment. She shouldn't blame Ellen for feeling the way she felt herself.

“The thing is, I'm going to stay with my aunt for a while,” Amy said. “It's on the way to Rainbow Falls—north of town. I'm leaving in a few minutes.” She had an idea and decided to take a chance that Aunt Clare would welcome a second visitor. “Why don't you bike out there?” she suggested. “I found something terrific in the attic last night—wait till you see it!”

Ellen agreed at once. “You mean you're going to live with your aunt? Just you?”

“I'm only staying a few days.”

The girls talked a couple of minutes more, and Ellen promised to be out at Aunt Clare's around three. When Amy put down the phone and turned around, she jumped. Louann was right behind her. Her feet were planted far apart, and her flushed face showed anger and hurt.

“What's terrific, Amy?” she demanded. “What's terrific at Aunt Clare's?”

“Nothing.” Amy ducked around her sister and ran back upstairs. She didn't want to look into those accusing eyes. She didn't want to think about how much Louann would love the dollhouse.

She'll see it someday. But not now. This is going to be my private time
.

Minutes later, as she was about to close her suitcase, Louann opened the bedroom door and walked in. She carried a vase she'd made at school.

“Here.” She laid the vase on the bed. “For your bedroom at that place,” she said.

The vase was an olive jar, covered with silver paint and pasted-on pictures of roses. It was one of Louann's dearest treasures.

“You don't want me to take that,” Amy protested. “It belongs on your dresser.”

“Take it.” Louann stalked out of the room but glanced over her shoulder. “Bring it back when you come home.”

“Oh, I will,” Amy said. “Thanks a lot.” She nestled the vase into the clothes in the duffel bag so it couldn't be broken. “You're going to have a great time at Mrs. Peck's,” she called. “You'll see.”

The only answer was the sound of scrunching springs as Louann threw herself across her bed.

Amy zipped up the duffel bag and picked up her shoulder bag. She hurried downstairs and out the front door. Her father was cutting the grass, but he shut off the mower when he saw her coming.