The Dollhouse Murders

by Betty Ren Wright

  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.

  14.

  “The Poor Dolly Is Crying”

  “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 he
r, in the house, came the tiniest of sighs.

  15.

  “A Ghostly Secret!”

  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?”

  “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.