“You’ve seen the secret storage closet then?” I asked casually.
Peter’s eyes widened ever so slightly with the first hint of real interest. “Hey,” he said. “You’re the one I saw on TV yesterday. On the news!”
This kid watched the news? No wonder he was too smart for his own good.
“It might have been me,” I said as mildly as I could. “I’ve talked to a lot of reporters over the last couple of days.”
“The people on TV said you found a bunch of stuff hidden in a secret room. Things nobody’s ever seen for a hundred years.” Peter could not quite keep the enthusiasm from creeping into his voice.
“Actually, it’s more of a closet than a room,” I said. “Do you want to see it?”
He started to grin, then caught himself and cleared his throat instead. “I’ll bet it’s dumb,” he said, his bottom lip jutting outward again. He was not going to go along that easily.
“There are plenty of other things to see around here if secret closets aren’t your thing,” I said with a careless shrug. “Like the creepy dolls they’ve got hidden in the basement.”
Peter blinked again. That was twice I’d gotten him—and he knew it. I saw indecision momentarily warring behind his dark eyes before he finally decided to sacrifice pride to the sheer power of unbridled curiosity. “What creepy dolls? Why are they hidden in the basement?”
“They’re too freaky to put out on display,” I said, pretending to polish an invisible scratch on the wobbly hall table. “Toward the end of her life, Margaret Kensington started making all these hideous dolls and hiding them all over the house.”
“Liar,” Peter said, but there was a small smile turning up the left corner of his mouth.
I silently made a cross-your-heart motion over my chest, just like Matt. “Ask Kat if you don’t believe me. Are you interested in seeing any of this stuff or not?” I glanced at my watch, implying that we might run out of time if he didn’t make up his mind quickly.
“I guess so.” He tried to make it seem like it was no big deal, but his big, black eyes were now riveted on me with interest. “Can we see the stables first?”
“What stables?” I asked.
It was Peter’s turn to look smug. “They’re out behind the gazebo. The Kensington’s used to keep horses there a long time ago. I’ve seen the stables from the outside, but nobody ever lets me go in there.”
That’s right. Taylee had mentioned the stables the day she was here. I’d forgotten all about it. “What are we waiting for?” I said, suddenly curious myself. “Let’s get over there.”
“Yes!” Peter pumped one arm in the air.
Before I knew what was happening, Peter grabbed my hand. His small but eager fingers clutched unyieldingly against my own as he dragged me along behind him. I staggered, barely managing to step around the pile of broken pottery on the floor. Peter ran right through the middle of it, sending shards of glass skipping and skittering in all directions. Wouldn’t that just make Kat’s day when she saw it?
“Don’t we need a key or something to get inside the stables?” I asked, stumbling to keep up with the overeager boy. He had grabbed my sprained wrist, which was a far from pleasant experience. Not to mention, every bone in my body was now telling me, in no uncertain terms, that they did not like being forced to hurry.
“The stables are always open, so the public can go inside and look around,” Peter said. “It’s part of the history of this place.”
I was going to be history if we didn’t slow down soon. We’d made it all the way outside and were headed around the side of the house, when Peter started coughing and hacking.
“Hey, there’s no hurry, bud” I said, suddenly concerned about his Cystic Fibrosis. “The stable isn’t going to get up and run off before we get there.”
Reluctantly, Peter reduced his pace as a bad fit of coughing seized him. I put my hand on his shoulder which he forcefully shrugged off.
“I’m fine,” he panted between racking coughs. “Coughing’s… good… for me.”
I knew from personal experience how embarrassing it was to be a sick kid having a medical problem in public where everyone could see it. I pretended to study the beautiful landscape while waiting for the coughing to stop. It was only after Peter had things back under control that I finally turned my attention to him.
“Now which way did you say the stables were?” I asked as if nothing had happened.
Peter studied me a moment in silence as if he couldn’t quite believe I wasn’t making more of a fuss over his coughing attack than I was. He smiled grudgingly at me.
“This way,” he said, pointing in the direction of the gazebo. He reached out and slipped his fingers into mine, tugging gently against my hand. We started off once again, this time at a much more reasonable pace.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Why are there weird signs on all the doors?” Peter asked as he checked out each and every stall in the stable.
I read the mysterious words aloud for both our benefit. “Night Watch. Bold Truth. Cupid’s Arrow.”
“Cupid’s Arrow?” Peter said, wrinkling his nose in puzzlement. “Like the naked baby that shoots arrows on Valentine’s Day?”
Cupid. Where had I’d seen that word recently? Emily’s copybook! Cupid was Xavier’s beautiful, gray stallion with the velvet soft nose.
I reached out and touched the name plaque, reverently running my fingers along its cool surface. “These are the names of the horses that once lived in this stable.”
“Those are some weird names,” Peter scoffed. “If I had a horse, I’d call him something cool, like Killer or Ripper. Then nobody would want to ride him but me.”
Peter pointed at a set of narrow, rickety stairs in one corner of the stable. There was a waist-high wrought iron gate in front of it with a sign that read, “Staff Only Beyond this Point.”
“You’re staff,” Peter said, rather hopefully. “Because your aunt owns the whole place, right?”
I walked over to the stairs and leaned over the gate, craning my neck to see where the steps led.
“You know you want to go up there as bad as I do,” Peter said with a mischievous grin.
Saying no to him would only make him more determined. Better to let him see what was up there and get it over with. I scrabbled clumsily over the gate and tested the first step with the weight of my foot. As far as I could see, they looked sturdy enough. I glanced upward, bracing myself against the thought of climbing all those steep stairs. I’d just have to take it slow and steady. Like always.
“All right, we’ll go up for a few minutes—but only if you promise not to touch anything,” I said, putting out a hand to stop Peter who already had one leg over the gate.
“I swear I won’t touch anything,” Peter said, making an exaggerated crisscross motion over his heart, just like I had.
Not that I need to have worried. Peter couldn’t do much damage because everything we found on the second floor was already broken. We walked past endless piles of shattered chairs, a gutted sofa, and even a rusty, metal bed frame. If ever a place looked haunted, the second floor of the stable was definitely it. Dust was thick upon the warped wooden floors. Peter and I left dark footprints wherever we went. Cobwebs swathed every nook and corner, and the windows were clouded with murk and age.
“I think this used to be the groom’s living quarters,” I said.
“Why would anyone want to live here after he got married?” Peter asked.
“Not that kind of groom,” I said, trying to hide a smile. “A groom is also a person hired to take care of the horses.”
“Look at that!” Peter pointed to a huge ornate mirror propped against one wall. Carved along the top of its frame was the form of a woman’s upper body. She had her arms spread out as if gathering the mirror in her graceful embrace.
“Is that supposed to be Snow White’s mirror?” Peter asked in a slightly hushed voice.
“Why don’t you ask it a question
and see if it answers?” I said, giving him a teasing poke with my finger.
“No way,” Peter ominously shook his head. “It might answer back.”
I had to admit, the mirror was a little creepy. The golden woman looked like she might open her eyes and look up at us any second.
“Do you think this is where Xavier Kensington killed his cousin?” Peter’s words whispered eerily through the abandoned building. The only answer was the creak of the stable’s shifting timbers and the wind sighing against the roof overhead. The sound made Peter edge a little closer to me.
“What makes you think Emily died here?” I found myself whispering, as if afraid of being overheard.
“Xavier pretended he was going to take Emily riding,” Peter said. “That means he would have brought her here to the stables. Maybe even taken her upstairs where no one would see. She could have died right where we’re standing.”
Now there was a charming thought. So kind of Peter to share it with me. I looked into the ominous shadows that lurked in the dark corners of the dusty room around me. Peter was right. There was an eerie feeling hovering over this place. Even if Xavier wasn’t the murderer, someone had lured Emily here with the promise of a ride. For all I knew, she could have breathed her last breath in this very room. A shudder ran through my frame.
This was not a place you would want to die in.
“Is that why you wanted to come out here to the stables? Because you wanted to see where Emily was murdered?” I asked.
Peter sheepishly nodded his head.
“Well, now you’ve seen it,” I said, suddenly anxious to move on. “You ready to face the scary dolls in the basement, now?”
Peter’s huge grin was all the answer I needed.
“Do you think your aunt would let me borrow this faceless one?” Peter’s eyes glowed with excitement as he gingerly picked up one of the dolls. They were all so creepy, he’d fallen in love with them at first sight.
“What do you want that one for?” I asked.
“I could leave it on Mom’s pillow tonight. She’d turn on the bedroom light and freak.”
“I don’t think Aunt Victoria will let any of them be taken away from the museum—even for a cause as fantastic as that.”
Peter was bummed out about that for a while. Silently he studied each and every doll—picking them up and examining them one by one. I was amazed at how careful he was with them. “How come they all look alike?” he asked, cocking his shaggy head to one side. “They’ve got the same eyes and hair.”
I looked down at Peter in surprise. Nothing got past this kid. “They’re all copies of another doll—made to look like Xavier Kensington. He had green eyes and dark hair.”
Peter’s eyes went huge. “Is the real doll as scary as these are? Where is it? I want to see!”
Uh oh.
“Uh Peter,” I said hesitantly. “Can you keep a secret?”
Peter lowered his chin and raised both eyebrows, clearly questioning my intelligence for even asking him such a dumb question. A boy who had no qualms putting a faceless doll on his unsuspecting mother’s pillow at night was definitely the kind of kid who knew how to keep a secret from adults.
“If I show you the doll, you can’t tell Kat about it,” I said.
“Are you kidding?” Peter grinned gleefully. “I like those kinds of secrets best of all. There’s a lot Kat doesn’t know.”
I could just imagine.
“This doll is special. You can’t tell anyone about him. Not a single soul,” I pleaded. “At least, not till I tell you it’s okay.”
Peter solemnly raised two fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor, already. Just let me see the secret doll.”
I knew showing Peter the groom doll was a really bad idea, but if I refused to let him see it now, he’d threaten to tattle on me to Kat in order to get what he wanted. It would be much better to have him on my side right from the start.
I snuck Peter over into the west wing. Gently pulling the groom doll from his hiding place under my bed, I placed him on the edge of the quilt, with his tiny legs dangling over the side. Peter coughed quietly to himself a few times, then moved in to get a closer look.
“I thought dolls were always girls,” Peter said, squinting at the groom.
“Boy dolls are extremely rare,” I explained. “There are a few of them out there, though.”
“Does that mean he’s worth a lot of money?”
“Probably,” I admitted, feeling a twinge of guilt.
“Awesome.” Peter was completely enthralled with the doll. He stared at the little groom in silence for a while, then slowly put out one finger and reverently touched one of the doll’s tiny buttons.
“He’s cool. Not like the other stupid dolls they’ve got downstairs,” Peter spoke barely above a raspy whisper. “He almost looks alive.”
So, Peter had noticed it too.
The boy turned to me, his face squished up in sudden confusion. “Xavier Kensington was a murderer—why would anyone want to make a doll that looked like him?”
“Because he didn’t do it,” I said calmly.
Peter frowned up at me, completely unconvinced.
“Have you seen Xavier’s picture upstairs in the study?” I asked.
“Yeah, so?”
“Do you really think he looks like the kind of person who would murder someone?”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Peter waved a dismissive hand. “Lots of murderers don’t look bad on the outside. That’s how come so many of them get away with it. Real life isn’t fair, not like in the movies.”
Peter paused a moment, then looked up at me with thoughtful black eyes. “It’s like how I was born with CF. It wasn’t anybody’s fault—it just happened. It stinks, but that’s the way things are. You get over it.”
He spoke so matter-of-factly, shrugging it off with his scrawny shoulders like it was no big deal that he’d lost the Russian roulette of life.
Just like me.
It was so completely wrong. What had this sweet little boy done to deserve to suffer his whole life? What had I done?
To my surprise, I felt something hot and wet sear down my cheek, scorching my skin with its heat. A second tear quickly followed. I could feel my throat tightening and my lips trembling in protest against it. I turned slightly away from Peter, wiping away the tears with the palm my hand, but it was too late.
Peter stared at me, his eyes wide with sudden concern. I could see clearly within his horrified young gaze that he thought he’d upset me by telling me his secret.
“I’m sorry. Really, really sorry,” he said in a raw whisper. His eyes welled up, wet and bright. Oh great, now I’d made him cry.
“It’s not your fault, Peter. It just makes me sad that you have to be sick,” I said.
He reached out and gave me an awkward hug, his shaggy head pressed tight against my lower ribcage. The last resort of a child who doesn’t know what to do to make things better. Benji used to hug me like that. Right at the end. I placed my hand gently on the top of Peter’s head to reassure him, just as I’d done for my little brother.
“I don’t mind being sick. Not anymore,” Peter said, anxiously checking me to see if I was still crying. “If it hadn’t been me who got sick, it might have been someone else instead. Like my mom, who’s a carrier. Or even Kat. I’m glad it was me and not them.” I could see he meant it. Every word.
I thought of the horrible things people told me about Peter. They did not understand the truly remarkable, little boy who now stood beside me. Did any of us really know those around us? Especially those we thought we knew best?
“Peter,” I said slowly. “Do you see that little gold charm attached to the doll’s wrist?”
Peter nodded, putting out one finger to carefully touch the Stanhope lens.
“There’s a secret hidden inside that spyglass. Very carefully look inside it and tell me what you see.”
Peter lifted the doll’s arm and squinted into the spyg
lass. He gasped in delight. “There’s a girl in there!”
“That is Emily Kensington,” I said. “Xavier loved her so much he had this charm made so he could carry her picture with him wherever he went. I think his mother, Margaret, must have put that Stanhope lens on the doll’s wrist after Xavier died. It was her way of saying she knew he wasn’t the one who killed Emily.” I looked down into Peter’s eyes. He’d gone completely quiet.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I said. “How about a visit to the kitchen so we can get some lunch?”
Peter glanced at the doll. I could see he was reluctant to leave it behind. I understood that feeling only too well.
“We can come back later and let you say goodbye before you go home today,” I said, taking Peter’s hand in mine. The boy sent the doll one last longing glance over his shoulder as I led him out the door. We’d only gone a short distance down the hall when Peter jerked his hand from mine.
“We can’t leave the doll sitting on the bed,” Peter said. “Someone might see him there. Or he might fall off and get broken.”
“You are so right.” I turned to go back.
“I’ll get him!” Peter put out both hands to stop me. “I promise I’ll be real careful and slip him under the bed just the way you had him.” I could tell he really wanted to touch the doll. To pick it up and handle it by himself—just for a moment. But the thought of letting a boy as young as Peter handle Xavier’s spirit anchor without supervision made me nervous.
“Please?” Peter begged, his black eyes big and pleading.
“All right. But make it snappy. Careful snappy,” I said.
Peter took off running. “Be right back!” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared back into my bedroom. I heard him cough a couple of times—then silence.
It would be fine, I told myself. There was no need to worry. I sat in the hall, trying not to think about how tired I was while I waited.
And waited.
And waited…
“Peter,” I called out. “You’ve got to be snappier than that, my friend.”
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