Free The Strangers by Jacqueline West Page A

nails. A wedding ring engraved with an infinity symbol—”
    “That’s her!” said Olive.
    With a little smile, Delora put the pen and the glasses back into Olive’s hands. “She too is still within the realm of the living.”
    Relief washed over Olive like a warm bath. She sank limply back down onto the step beside Mrs. Dewey. “Thank you,” she whispered.
    “What puzzles me, Doctor Widdecombe,” said Rutherford, “is why Annabelle would have abducted Mr. and Mrs. Dunwoody while leaving Olive herself behind. On their own, they don’t possess anything that Annabelle would want.”
    “Ah.” Doctor Widdecombe folded his hands over his substantial belly. “But there is one obvious purpose for which she may have taken them.”
    Olive blinked up at Doctor Widdecombe.
Ingredients for spells?
suggested the panicky voice in the back of her brain.
Food for magical monsters?
    “Bargaining,” said Doctor Widdecombe. “She will try to exchange them for something of value.”
    “You mean, ‘Something
else
of value,’” said Mrs. Dewey.
    “Yes,” said Doctor Widdecombe. He wiped his hands on the front of his jacket. “Yes, of course.”
    Olive’s hands shot to the spectacles tied under her collar. “Well—then—maybe I should just offer her what she wants,” she said shakily. The spectacles seemed to prickle against her skin, like metal hit by a sudden frost. “Because what I want most of all is to have my mom and dad back.”
    Delora widened her silvery eyes. “Do not be too eager,” she warned. “With our help, you may not need to give her anything at all.”
    “Delora is right, Olive,” said Mrs. Dewey, patting Olive’s shoulder. “If we can just be patient, Annabelle will eventually come to
us.
”
    As the others spoke, Doctor Widdecombe strode slowly away down the hall. He examined each doorway and peered into each open room. The glow of the wall sconces slid over his belly, like acrobats trying to balance on a ball. “It seems likely that Annabelle would take other things while she had the opportunity,” he said, staring into the silent parlor. “Is anything else of significance missing from the house, Olive? Any magical tools or objects? A book of family spells, perhaps?”
    “I don’t know yet,” said Olive. “The cats are checking everywhere. Besides, Annabelle wants this whole
house
back.”
    “I find it astonishing that Annabelle was able to enter the house in spite of your spells, Doctor Widdecombe,” said Rutherford, following the doctor’s motions with worshipful eyes.
    “As do I,” Doctor Widdecombe answered. “As do I.” He moved slowly toward the foot of the stairs, hands clasped behind his back. “Generally, an opponent must already be aware of the spells that have been cast in order to counteract them. This leaves us with two possibilities: Either Annabelle was expecting these
specific
spells and came to the house prepared to undo them . . . or her powers are somehow growing stronger.”
    Under the weight of these words, everyone fell silent.
    Olive didn’t know what the others were thinking, but her own brain roiled with possibilities. Perhaps simply having her grandfather’s portrait was adding to Annabelle’s power. Perhaps the McMartins had a spy—someone like Mrs. Nivens or the painted Horatio—passing them news of what went on inside the old stone house. Or perhaps something else was happening . . . Something that no one would expect or recognize until it was too late.
    Olive glanced up at her new neighbors.
What if . . .?
she wondered. But Rutherford trusted them. Mrs. Dewey trusted them. And Delora had just described Olive’s parents, right down to the ink on Mr. Dunwoody’s sleeve. Clearly she had been telling the truth.
    Another gust of wind struck the house. The walls groaned softly. A spattering of dead leaves clicked against the front door.
    “We will commence a thorough search of the area first thing tomorrow morning,” Doctor Widdecombe