Free The Dollhouse Murders by Betty Ren Wright Page B

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!”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œYou 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.”
    â€œWell, 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 shereached the top, she opened the metal chest quickly and took out a neatly folded blue blanket.
    â€œAmy?” It was Aunt Clare calling from the lower hall. “Shall I come and help you? Is the latch on the chest hard to open?”
    â€œNo!” 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. Witha 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