The Dollhouse Murders (8 page)

Amy helped herself to a handful of caramel corn. It was good to see a smile after the painful scene at home.

“This tastes marvelous. Ellen will go crazy—caramel corn is her favorite thing in the whole world. What else are we going to have?”

“Fudge,” Aunt Clare said. “Tons of fudge. That's
my
favorite. Not that I'm going to hang around the party and make a pest of myself—I do remember what it's like to have adults watching every move you make. But we'll
cook a double batch, and then tomorrow night I'll go off to my room after you've eaten, and I'll take along a whole plateful, just for me. And how about egg rolls? I have the most marvelous recipe for egg rolls—”

“With pizza?” Amy giggled. Her aunt's enthusiasm was irresistible.

“You're right. A terrible idea! But I bought a huge box of potato chips on the way home, and the makings for a very special dip. How does that sound?”

“Terrific!” Amy was feeling better by the minute. “I'll run upstairs with the stuff I brought from home—oh, my mother said Dad will drop off the cake tomorrow afternoon. He's going out of town, and he'll bring it on the way.”

“That'll be fine.” Aunt Clare covered the bowl of popcorn with foil and set it at the end of the table. “How did it go at home?” she asked. “Everything back to normal?”

Amy didn't want to talk about home. “It was okay,” she said. “I wasn't there very long.”

“How's Louann getting along with the sitter?”

“All right, I guess. They make things.” Amy changed the subject. “Shall I get out the sugar and butter for the fudge?”

Aunt Clare nodded. “It's perfectly obvious Louann needs other people in her life. It isn't fair to expect her family to carry the whole burden. I know I've offended your mother by saying that, but I couldn't help speaking up the first night I had dinner at your house.”

So that was it. That was why Amy's mother turned
cool and quiet every time Aunt Clare was mentioned.

“Anyway,” Aunt Clare continued, “we have work to do at the moment, right? Do we have enough chocolate for a double batch of fudge? Let me check. And you can open a can of soup—whatever you like.”

By the time they had eaten, set the fudge to cool, and mixed up the dip—which turned out to have fourteen ingredients—it was after nine.

“There's one more thing we ought to do this evening,” Aunt Clare said. “You mentioned you'd like Ellen to stay overnight, didn't you?” Amy nodded. “Then we must get out an extra blanket and air it. There's a chest in the attic packed full of blankets and comforters. They're in good shape, even after all this time—but definitely musty. You run up and pick out one for Ellen. I'll hang it on the clothesline to air tomorrow, before I start cleaning.”

Amy's stomach did a sharp flip-flop. She wasn't ready to go up to the attic. Not for a while.

“The nights aren't very cool now,” she protested. “Ellen might not even want a blanket.”

“Of course she'll want one,” Aunt Clare said. “At least, there should be one in her room if she needs it.”

“But I'm not sure I can find the chest.”

“It's just at the top of the stairs on the left. A big metal box. You can't miss it.” Aunt Clare gave Amy a look, and Amy knew she was sending a message.
She wants me to know she trusts me to go up there without moving the dolls
.

There was no way out. She'd have to get the blanket.
Amy left the kitchen and went down the dimly lit hall to the stairs.
I won't even look at the dollhouse corner
, she promised herself.
I'll grab the top blanket and run
.

At the attic door, she hesitated. Maybe she could give Ellen her own blanket instead of getting another one. No, Aunt Clare would surely ask questions.

“Amy!” It was Aunt Clare calling from the kitchen. “I forgot to tell you, I think the light is burned out in the attic. Take the big flashlight that's on the table next to my bed.”

Oh, great!
Amy's heart thudded as she switched on a lamp in Aunt Clare's room and searched for the flashlight.

She was halfway up the stairs, the flashlight beam bobbing on the steps in front of her, when she heard a small sound.
Mice. Please let it be mice
. A funny thing to wish, considering how much she hated mice. She stood still. The sound stopped, too, for just a moment, then began again. Something was moving around in the darkness above her.

The trunk on the left at the top of the stairs
. Amy said the words to herself, trying to close out every other thought. When she reached the top step, she saw the big metal chest right where Aunt Clare had said it would be. She leaned over to loosen the fastenings with trembling fingers.
The top blanket
, she told herself.
Quick!

The rustling, scraping sound grew louder. It was coming from the dollhouse corner. Without really meaning to, Amy swung the flashlight beam across the attic. The sheet that had covered the house was on the
floor in a white heap. The house gaped open.

Amy's knees turned to jelly. The flashlight slipped from her fingers. When she tried to bend down and pick it up, she couldn't move. All she could do was stare at the house, and at the eerie glow that was beginning to fill the dollhouse parlor.

A light in the dollhouse. Amy squeaked in terror and dropped to a crouch. Her fingers closed on the flashlight, and she clattered down the steps, stumbling on the last one and hurtling into the hall. With a sob she slammed the door behind her and leaned against the wall.

“Amy! What on earth are you doing up there?” It was Aunt Clare again. “Did you find a blanket?”

“Everything's okay,” Amy quavered. Her voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. “I dropped the flashlight, but it didn't break.” She paused, willing her aunt to stay downstairs. “I guess I'll do my homework now and go to bed. I'm sort of tired.”

“That's fine. Pleasant dreams.”

What a joke that was! As Amy pulled off her clothes and fumbled with the buttons on her shorty pajamas, she was more wide-awake and more frightened than she'd ever been in her life. After a moment's thought, she pushed the rocking chair across the room and hooked its back under the door so that no one—and nothing—could open it without her knowing. Then she climbed into bed and pulled the sheet over her head.

I saw a light in the dollhouse
. The words rattled around in her brain. And she'd seen even worse. In the
second before she ran down the stairs, something had moved in the dollhouse parlor. Something small and standing on two feet.

Not a mouse
, Amy whimpered under the sheet.
Oh, I wish it had been a mouse!

“Happy birthday, dear Amy!” Aunt Clare started to sing as Amy came into the kitchen, then stopped short. “You look terrible. Don't tell me you're coming down with something. Not the day of your party!”

“I'm fine.” Amy tried to sound as if she didn't have a thing on her mind except being a year older. “I just didn't sleep very well.”

“I should think not.” Aunt Clare put a hand on Amy's forehead. “You're not feverish, but what circles under those eyes! Why couldn't you sleep, for heaven's sake?”

Amy sat down and busied herself with cereal, sliced bananas, and milk. “I guess I was just excited about the party,” she lied. “It's really nice of you to do all this for Ellen and me, Aunt Clare.”

“You know I love it,” Aunt Clare said. “It's great to have a daughter even if it's just for a short time. And it'll be nice having Ellen stay overnight, too. Did you find a blanket for her?”

Amy gulped. “I'll get it as soon as I'm through eating,” she promised. “It was so . . . so dark up there last night, I decided to wait until morning to get one.”

“Well, never mind. I'll do it.” Aunt Clare poured coffee into a big, old-fashioned mug and lifted it to her lips. “I was just feeling lazy by the time we finished making the fudge last night. Today I'm bursting with energy.”

Amy shook her head quickly. “No, I'll do it. I want to.” Aunt Clare mustn't go upstairs; she'd find the house uncovered and open and be certain Amy had done it.

I should have called her to the attic to see what I saw last night
, Amy thought for the hundredth time. But she had been too frightened then to think clearly. All she'd wanted was to get out of the attic as fast as possible.

As soon as breakfast was over, Amy went upstairs and collected her schoolbooks from her room. She laid the books and her notebook in a neat pile at the top of the stairs, and then, taking a deep breath, she marched to the attic door and opened it.

Sunlight streamed through the dusty windows above her. She climbed the stairs slowly, wishing with every step that she didn't have to go through with this—wishing she were a thousand miles away. When she
reached the top, she opened the metal chest quickly and took out a neatly folded blue blanket.

“Amy?” It was Aunt Clare calling from the lower hall. “Shall I come and help you? Is the latch on the chest hard to open?”

“No!” Amy shouted. “You don't need to come. I'll be down in a minute.”
As soon as I do one other thing
.

She had to close the dollhouse. No matter how frightened she was, she couldn't take a chance on Aunt Clare's finding the house open.

She slipped out of her shoes and tiptoed across the floor to the dollhouse corner. The sheet still lay in a heap. The box that had held the dolls was open. Only the girl doll was inside.

Amy forced herself to look into the house. The grandfather doll was upstairs in the bedroom again, lying across the bed the way she and Aunt Clare had found him two nights ago. The grandmother was back in the parlor, facing the bookshelves that were built across one wall.

Amy's stomach turned over and she wondered if she was going to be sick. The grandmother doll, in its blue silk dress, had been moving in the parlor the night before, or it had been moved by hands no one could see.

Try to make Aunt Clare believe that!

Shakily, Amy reached around the grandmother doll and loosened the latch on the wood-closet next to the fireplace. The tiny door opened, revealing the boy doll inside. Amy jumped back as if she'd been stung. With
a sweep of her hand she slammed shut the front of the house, hiding the dolls from view. Then she scooped up the sheet and dropped it over the roof. With her toe she flipped the cover of the doll box and pushed the box back out of sight.

“Amy? What are you doing up there? You have a phone call.”

“Coming.” Amy ran back to where she'd left her shoes and the blanket. Aunt Clare was waiting in the second-floor hall.

“You must have looked over every blanket in that chest,” she teased. “Do you really think Ellen is going to care what color you give her?”

Amy's knees were still shaking, but it was such a relief to get out of the attic—to have the dreaded errand over—that she felt giddy.

“Ellen won't care about anything as long as we give her lots of caramel corn!” she exclaimed. She thrust the blanket into Aunt Clare's arms, snatched up her schoolbooks, and ran downstairs to the telephone.

It was her mother, still sounding a little cool but determined not to spoil the birthday. “Have a lovely day, Amy. Your cake is all ready, and I must say it looks beautiful.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Louann wants to say happy birthday, too. She's right here.”

“Happy birthday, Amy.” Louann sounded depressed. Amy could imagine their mother standing next
to the phone, wanting things to be right between her daughters.

“I'll see you in a couple of days, for sure,” Amy promised. “We'll have a party, just the way Mom said. Okay?”

“Okay.”

When she hung up, Aunt Clare was in the hall, watching her. “I don't see why you have to feel apologetic about this party tonight,” she said. “I'm sure your mother doesn't want that.”

Amy shrugged. She knew what her mother wanted.

“Cheer up now. Today you're a teen-ager, and they're supposed to have plenty of problems without borrowing extra ones.”

“Right,” Amy said. “I have to find a boyfriend.”

“And think about a career.”

“And wear eye makeup.”

“And learn all the new dances.”

“And get to school on time!” She ran downstairs. “See you tonight, Aunt Clare.”

Today I'm a teenager
. Amy said the words to herself as she biked to school. Growing up meant taking responsibilities, and she was doing that. She was protecting Aunt Clare from the painful memories and guilt feelings that upset her so much. And protecting Aunt Clare meant not telling what she'd seen in the attic last night. She couldn't even tell Ellen without feeling like a traitor.

She stopped at an intersection while two small girls darted in front of her. They giggled as they ran.

I used to be like that
, Amy thought,
when I was a little kid
. Suddenly it seemed a long time ago.

The school day dragged by. Ellen was full of plans for the party. Her mother would deliver all the guests to Aunt Clare's house at six, and another parent would pick them up—except Ellen, of course—at eleven. Cissie Talbott had a fortune-telling game she wanted to bring, and Kathy Sells had talked her cosmetician-aunt into giving her a box full of makeup samples. They could practice making themselves gorgeous. After the pizza. “Fat and gorgeous.” Ellen sighed. “Oh, well.”

“Aunt Clare made caramel corn,” Amy said wickedly. “But if you think it's too fattening—”

Ellen groaned. “I'll blow up and burst, but I'll die happy,” she said. “Oh, I wish it was six o'clock right now.”