Robin was still staring at the indentation in the leaves. Faye grabbed her sleeve and shook it.
“Come on—I’d like to at least try to pass that math test this morning, okay? Please?”
Robin gave a vague nod and followed as her friend hurried away. Faye was right, of course, she argued with herself—those smears of blood and that hair had only been the remains of some unfortunate animal. What had she been thinking of, anyway?
But that path through the leaves … it was so wide … so mashed down … that dead animal would had to have been awfully big.…
With a sheer act of will Robin forced the suspicions from her mind and ran to catch up with Faye. By the time they reached school, they’d already missed homeroom, so after a quick stop at the office, the girls dashed into math class, receiving a warning glare from Mrs. Grouse as they collected their tests. Breathing a sigh of relief, Robin slipped into her desk and caught a wink from the long-haired boy slouched next to her.
“You lead a charmed life, Bailey,” Walt murmured under his breath.
Robin smiled and lowered her head, trying to concentrate on her test paper. No one ever called Theodore Waltermize by his real name. Tall and soft-spoken, Walt was an enigma Robin hadn’t been able to figure out even though he’d transferred to Lewis High at the start of the school year. He wasn’t handsome in that breathtaking way Parker Swanson was, yet there was something equally intriguing about him—his sandy hair, for one thing, hanging thick and wavy past his shoulders; his customary outfit of threadbare jeans and faded workshirt; the steady calm of his brown eyes; and his square stubborn jaw. She knew a lot of girls were attracted to him, because he was a main topic of fantasizing at lunch and sleepovers and in the girls’ locker room—and yet she never saw Walt with a date or even hanging out much with the other guys. A lot of her friends thought he was a brain, and therefore unapproachable, and some suspected he was really a narc because his uncle used to work on the local police force, but Robin thought that maybe he was just shy. Now, as she risked a glance in Walt’s direction, she saw that he was still watching her, and she dropped her eyes back to her paper.
Time passed too quickly. Before she’d quite managed to finish the math test, Robin heard the bell ring, and she hastily scribbled a guess to the last problem. The room had already emptied by the time she handed in her paper. She went out glumly and found Faye waiting for her in the hall.
“So what’d you think?” Faye ran one hand back through her bleached hair and tossed her head, model-style. “Did you know anything?”
“Foreign language.” Robin sighed. “Come on. I’ve got to stop at my locker.”
“Me, too. We should have just taken our time this morning. Saved Mrs. Grouse the trouble of flunking us.”
Faye’s locker was right beneath Robin’s at the very end of the hall. While Faye knelt on the floor and began pulling out an impossible stash of books and papers, Robin wandered across the corridor, to the gigantic bulletin board on the wall. There was likely to be anything posted here—as Robin’s eyes traveled slowly across the hodgepodge of clutter, she saw personal messages, cartoons, and drawings; official announcements from the teachers and the principal; poems and quotes for the day; schedules of club meetings and sports events; newspaper and magazine clippings; even telephone numbers. A girl had lost her purse in the cafeteria. Someone was offering baby-sitting services; another needed tutoring in biology. Someone else had found an earring and hung it on a push pin. There were a bunch of faded photographs from the last class picnic—one of Vicki in her too-tight sweatshirt—another of Faye eating a hotdog—Walt alone, leaning against a tree—plus one of herself smiling that she had no idea who had taken.
And then she saw the ad.
It had been ripped from the morning paper and was practically buried beneath the photographs, yet the bold black print seemed to speak just to her:
HELP WANTED
GET RICH QUICK
DETAIL-ORIENTED STUDENT FOR CATALOGING
PERSONAL LIBRARY
NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY
555-4357
Robin’s heart leapt, yet she forced herself to go back and read the ad through one more time. Detail work and books—two things she loved! An absolute dream job, it sounded like—so of course someone’s probably snatched it up by now—just my luck.… Still, it couldn’t hurt to call and find out. She pulled the paper off the bulletin board and stuck it in her pocket just as Faye came up juggling an armload of notebooks.
“Have you seen Vicki?” Faye frowned. “Is she sick or something?”
Robin stopped and thought a minute. “She’s always sick when there’s a math test. You know that.”
“Well, she’d better show up sometime today,” Faye grumbled. “She was supposed to bring back that bracelet I loaned her. The little thief.”
“Why is she a thief if you loaned it to her?”
“Because she’ll keep conveniently leaving it at home until I forget about it.”
“Then don’t forget about it.”
“Well, I have so much on my mind!” Faye complained. “I can’t remember everything that’s important!”
“How about which class you have this hour,” Robin deadpanned. “Social studies? Gym? Just blink once for yes, twice for no.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but Faye grabbed her arm and hustled her off to class.
Robin could hardly wait for three-fifteen. Faye had been quick to spread the word about their morning encounter with Parker Swanson, and all day long Robin had had to endure glances of half envy, half disbelief from her female classmates. She supposed she should have been flattered by all the curious attention, but today it only irritated her, and when Parker made a point of waving at her in English class, she slid down in her seat, all too conscious of every girl in the room staring.
She’d forgotten about some overdue library books she had to return. By the time she discovered them in her locker and dropped them off, she’d missed the bus again and resigned herself to walking home. She couldn’t remember the weather ever being this cold in October before. Robin hurried through the old, silent neighborhoods and huddled deep into her jacket, keeping a nervous eye on the lengthening shadows around her. It had started getting dark so early now; she hated going home in near-twilight. As she passed the gates of Manorwood, an image of those blood-soaked leaves flashed into her mind, and she quickened her steps. Only an animal … of course it was … what else could it have been …?
“This is going to be a weird day … strange things are going to happen.…”
Robin began to run. She could still hear Faye’s premonition, and she tried fiercely to block it out. What’s wrong with you—quit being so silly. Yet it was only when she reached the warmth of her own house that she finally began to relax.
“Mom?”
Robin’s voice echoed back to her from empty rooms. After a quick inspection of the downstairs, she remembered her mother had class tonight after work and wouldn’t be home till late. At times like this she really missed her older brother and wished he hadn’t gone away to college. At times like this she wished her parents hadn’t gotten a divorce, that Mom didn’t have to work and hadn’t decided to go back to school, that Dad hadn’t remarried and moved halfway around the world. She could remember a time when the house hadn’t been empty and cold. She could even remember a time when they hadn’t had to worry about money.…
Angrily Robin yanked the receiver off the kitchen phone and pulled the crumpled ad from her pocket. When the voice spoke on the other end of the line, she was already bracing herself to be disappointed.
“Hello?” A man’s voice. He sounded old.
“Yes …” Robin stammered. “Yes … I’m … I’m calling about the ad.”
There was a moment of silence, and Robin’s heart sank into her stomach.
“The ad about the job—the personal library.” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “It’s probably already been taken, hasn’t it? I’m s
orry—I just thought I’d check and—”
“No,” the voice sounded mildly surprised. “No. It’s not taken.”
“It isn’t? Really?”
“No. As a matter of fact, you’re the first one to call.”
“I am?” She switched the receiver to her other hand and wiped her sweaty palm on her shirt. Come on, Robin, try to be professional. “Well, I really thought the job sounded interesting. Could you tell me a little more about it?”
This time the voice sounded crotchety. “I could if I felt like it. But it might make more sense if you came in person. What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“You have a name, don’t you? If I have to interview you, I have to know what to call you, don’t I?”
“Oh. Yes. Robin Bailey.”
“Robin Bailey,” the voice repeated. “You’re a student?”
“Yes. A senior.”
“Can you come at seven?”
“You mean tonight?”
“What’s wrong with tonight?”
“Well … nothing.” Three hours from now. Robin’s mind raced. “Will the interview take long?”
“Depends on how long you want to stay.”
“Oh. Not long, probably.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
What am I getting myself into? Robin glanced at the kitchen clock. Mom wouldn’t be home till nearly ten-thirty; there’d be plenty of time to go for an interview and be back before then.
“Seven would be fine,” she said.
“Fine for me, too. Sixty-five sixty-five Wald Avenue.”
“Wait—I’m writing it down.” Robin scribbled on a notepad, then stared at the numbers, frowning. They seemed familiar, but before she could figure out why, the voice went on again.
“Hope you don’t scare easy,” it said.
“What?”
The line went dead. Robin stared at the receiver, then quickly hung it up.
What a crazy conversation—if I had any brains at all, I’d forget about this whole thing and not go tonight.
She leaned against the kitchen sink and stared out the window. Going for a job interview was one thing—going alone after dark to a total stranger’s house was another thing altogether. Especially when he sounds like a mental case. Mom would be furious when she found out—how many times had she lectured Robin on what could happen to a teenage girl alone in the wrong place at the wrong time?
But I’m not a child, Robin argued with herself. I’m doing something responsible, I’m going for an interview so I can make money to do something I really want, and everyone’s been able to do what they want but me, and I deserve this. So I’m going.
Mind made up, she straightened with a fierce resolve, then paced the floor and watched the clock. Wald Avenue wasn’t that far—in fact, it was on the very route she walked back and forth to school. Robin knew the general location—how dangerous could it be going to the house of a neighbor?
At six-thirty she started off briskly, hands clenched in her pockets. Her shoes echoed eerily on the pavement, sharp stabbing sounds, and the wind, whining through the bare trees, gusted at her back, forcing her along. Once she thought she heard footsteps, but when she looked back over her shoulder, the sidewalk was empty and dark. Some of the streetlights had gone out, plunging the curbs and yards into pockets of deep shadow.
At last she reached the corner and saw the street sign above her—Wald Avenue. She began searching for house numbers, but after going the length of the block, she stopped in dismay. The street numbers seemed to jump, completely missing 6565. As if the house doesn’t even exist.…
Robin set her jaw and stopped. Methodically she went back to the opposite end of the block and started over again, just to make sure she hadn’t missed it. Still no 6565.
That’s it, I’m going home.
Feeling foolish for having started out at all, Robin paused beneath a sputtering lamppost to tie her shoe. Across the street Manorwood’s black iron fence hid the house and grounds from view, its spiked gates silhouetted against the night sky. A blast of wind fanned the tree branches that overhung the fence, and as it did, a frail beam of moonlight filtered down, illuminating the peeling street numbers above the gate.
6565.
Robin’s heart fluttered into her stomach.
She was hardly aware of moving across the street … hardly aware of stopping beside the gate as her eyes remained fixed on those numbers high above her head.
Something rustled in the shrubbery on the other side of the fence.
There was a muffled thudding sound … like footsteps running away …
Robin lifted one hand toward the gate.
“Come in,” a voice said, right beside her.
Robin whirled with a gasp, but no one was there.
Come in,” the disembodied voice said again. A man’s voice … the voice on the phone … “The gate’s open.”
Robin stared, her skin going cold. Before her eyes, the gate began to swing inward, leaving just enough space to squeeze through. As her frightened eyes swept the shadows on the other side of the fence, the voice spoke again, impatiently.
“I can see you on the security camera, and the gate works on remote. Don’t be so jumpy! Just follow the driveway to the house and come in the front door.”
Now’s my chance, Robin thought wildly. Now’s my chance to turn and run before I make an even bigger fool of myself. The memory of Parker Swanson and her refusal to ride with him still burned in her mind. Suppose this was some kind of weird joke, some strange retaliation for having snubbed him this morning.… He’d be just the type to hold a grudge when his pride was hurt.…
And yet curiosity got the better of her. The thought of actually seeing the inside of the house after admiring it for all these years … the irresistible temptation of that ad …
Robin forced all suspicions from her mind and started up the wide, curving drive. She followed it for quite a way up a thickly wooded incline, relieved when she reached the house at last.
Manorwood stood there, haughty and proud, elegant even in the fog. It was a strange piece of property—during one of its ownerless interims, Robin and Faye had gone exploring and found its thick forests riddled with dangerous ravines, the property itself bordered on one side by cliffs that overhung the dry, rocky riverbed far below. But tonight it didn’t look dangerous at all. Tonight lights gleamed softly from windows on every floor, casting long shadows over the surrounding trees and lawns, and the curved drive beside the porch was occupied by a limousine and Parker’s sports car.
The front door was standing wide open.
This is really crazy—what am I doing here?
Robin stood at the bottom of the porch steps. She stared up at the magnificent house, took a deep breath, and turned to go back when a voice stopped her.
“Robin Bailey, get in here. It’s too damp to keep this door open.”
The peculiar little man was very short and very stooped—a fairy-tale troll in a maroon dressing gown much too big and long for his size. Bushy white hair stuck out all around his bald spot and both of his ears, and white bushy brows sat low over his eyes. Because of his hunched shape, he didn’t seem able to lift his head much higher than his shoulders, and as he motioned Robin through the door, his chin moved back and forth in a sideways sort of nod. He was scowling at her, and as Robin glanced down at his feet, she saw that he was wearing big fuzzy purple house slippers.
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to gawk?” he said, wagging his head at her again. “Just let me get this blasted door shut, and then you can gawk at me in the light, if you must!”
Robin hadn’t meant to stare, but she couldn’t help it. As the old man slammed the door and turned to face her, she lowered her eyes quickly.
“Not what you expected, eh?” the old man burst out at her. “Well, I never am what most people expect. Come on. This way.”
Again he waved one arm at her and promptly began shuffling across the wi
de foyer. Robin glanced toward the locked door and realized she had no choice now but to follow. She saw her host disappear through a wide archway off the entrance hall, and she went cautiously after him.
She had never seen such a beautiful room. Spacious and satiny and luxurious, every detail of the furniture, the mirrors, the bookcases, and the statuary spoke of money, and yet Robin stood there feeling cold and horribly out of place. She felt as if she’d walked into a magazine ad where real people never lived, and as her eyes swept up to the friezes on the ceiling, she had to forcibly restrain herself not to turn and run. I don’t belong here.… Why did I come …?
“Well, Robin Bailey,” the little man began, then to her surprise, turned to her with a chuckle. “You are Robin Bailey, aren’t you? What a joke on me if you’re not! What if you came to rob the place, and I simply invited you in! Although”—he narrowed his eyes at her—“you don’t look as if you could carry much.”
He jerked his chin in the direction of a velvet sofa, and after a slight hesitation, Robin sat down, all too conscious of her muddy sneakers. When she looked up again, the old man had positioned himself next to the fireplace on the opposite wall and was once more watching her with narrowed eyes.
“So what would you like to know, Robin Bailey?”
Swallowing hard, Robin tried to think of something half intelligent to say.
“Are you … are you Mr. Swanson?” she asked at last. The idea of this funny little man being Parker’s father was almost more than she could take.
“I am the eldest Mr. Swanson. I am the patriarch Mr. Swanson. I am Hercules Diffenbach Swanson.” His eyes flashed. “There’s me, my stupid son, Gardner, and my brilliant grandson, Parker.”
“I …” Robin shook her head. “I … I’m sorry. I knew that your family had moved in here—I mean, everyone had heard that—but I didn’t know about … you.”
“Of course not. I’m the eccentric Swanson. The one no one ever talks about. They keep me chained up in the attic, you know. I’ve only just broken out this afternoon.”
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