Free The House on Sugar Plum Lane by JUDY DUARTE

more empty boxes into the house.
    As the child surveyed the living room, she frowned and scrunched up her nose. “It’s all dark in here. And it smells yucky.”
    â€œThere’s a definite odor, but the house has been closed up for a long time. It just needs to be aired out.” Amy strode toward the nearest window. “Give it a moment or two. It’ll get better.”
    Callie dropped her backpack in the center of the floor, then plopped down beside it. “Will you turn on the lights?”
    â€œOnce I get things opened up, we won’t need to do that.” Amy pulled on the cord and drew back the drapes, letting in the sunlight. Then she unhooked the latch and slid open the window. There was a refreshing salt-laced breeze blowing in from the Pacific today, so that would help.
    â€œDo you want me to put on a movie?” she asked the child.
    â€œOkay. The Little Mermaid. ”
    Amy had brought along a DVD player, as well as some of her daughter’s favorite movie cartoons. So she went out to the car to get it, then hooked it up to Ellie’s television, put in the disk, and pushed Play.
    While Callie settled in front of the TV screen, Amy carried a box to Ellie’s bedroom so she could pack the woman’s clothing and personal items.
    As she progressed upstairs, the steps creaked in protest. She pressed on, using her free hand to grip the banister, which was made out of dark wood in a solid, bold style, the kind that tempted some children to use it as a slide. At least, that’s what Amy might have tried to do, if she’d lived here as a girl. But something told her there hadn’t been too many children in this house.
    Maybe Ellie hadn’t liked having little ones about.
    At the top of the landing, a picture of two cherubs hung on the wall, which was the closest hint of children she’d yet to see.
    Just below the angels sat an antique table, the top of which bore what had once been a lush, green pothos. But the plant, its leaves and vines now withered from lack of water, was nearly dead. It was as if Ellie had developed dementia overnight, and the family had just let the house go.
    Yesterday, while cleaning out the pantry, she’d found a bag of cat food. She’d looked all over the house and yard for any other signs of a pet, but didn’t see any. Hopefully, the plants were the only living things that had been abandoned.
    Amy carried the pothos to the bathroom and turned on the faucet. After drenching the soil, she left the ceramic pot in the sink to drain and returned to the task at hand.
    Once inside Ellie’s bedroom, with its pale pink walls and white eyelet curtains, Amy scanned the furnishings. She wondered if they’d be considered antiques by anyone’s standards. Some of them had to be at least forty to fifty years old.
    The double bed had been covered haphazardly with a pink and white chenille spread. One edge hung noticeably lower than the other, as though it had been made by a child—someone Callie’s age.
    There was an indention on one of the pillows, as if Ellie might have lain down to take a rest before being taken away. Had she been feeling ill? Tired?
    Had she only dreamed of hippies piping marijuana through the vents? Or had it been a full-blown hallucination?
    She supposed it didn’t matter.
    A cedar chest sat at the foot of the bed, its varnish darkened and cracked with age. An old-style quilt with heart-shaped pieces had been folded carefully and draped over the top.
    Interesting, Amy thought. The hearts were all the same size and stitched onto brown squares and quilted to a calico backing, but they had been made from a hodgepodge of fabric: satin, cotton, nylon, and flannel. Some of the material, like the pale yellow and white flannel with a baby duck print and the red gingham, appeared to have been washed many times, while the white satin hadn’t.
    She couldn’t help running her fingers over the quilt,