The Dollhouse Murders by Betty Ren Wright

you,” Louann said finally. “When are you coming home, Amy?”
    â€œWell, I’m stopping in tomorrow afternoon for a few minutes,” Amy said. “I have to pick up some tapes for the—some tapes I want. I’ll see you then, okay? Tell Mom.”
    â€œOkay.” Louann liked carrying messages. “Goodbye.” The receiver clicked.
    I shouldn’t have told her I was coming
, Amy thought.
I could have picked up the tapes while she was at Mrs. Peck’s. She’ll just get upset again when I leave
. But she felt better for having talked to her sister. If Louann was having fun with Mrs. Peck and Marisa, Amy didn’t have to feel so guilty about being away.
    She decided to call Ellen before doing her homework. “I checked all of May and June,” she said in a low voice. “They didn’t find out who did the murders.”
    Ellen whistled. “Not even a clue? Amy, maybe the killer is still here in Claiborne. Maybe it isn’t such a great idea to be living way out there in that old house. He might come back and—”
    â€œAfter thirty years?” Amy scoffed. “Why would he do that?”
    â€œStill,” Ellen insisted, “I wouldn’t like staying in a house where people were murdered. Even thirty years ago. It could be haunted.”
    Amy had been trying not to think about that. The parlor where her great-grandmother had died was onlya few feet away. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she said, more bravely than she felt. “And I guess Aunt Clare doesn’t either, or she’d never have come back here to live, even for a short time. Listen, Ellen, do you want to go back to the library with me next week and check the rest of the tapes for 1952? Maybe they caught the killer later. The last thing I found today was an article telling about Aunt Clare going to Chicago and my father being adopted by some cousins—” The floor creaked behind her, and she whirled around to discover Aunt Clare standing there, white-faced, holding a large cardboard carton.
    â€œI have to go. See you tomorrow.” Amy hung up the phone. “It was Ellen,” she said, unable to meet her aunt’s eyes. “I’ll carry that stuff. Where do you want it?”
    Aunt Clare turned away. “It’s some pieces of the best china,” she said. Her voice was cold. “I’m going to put them up in the attic with the rest of the set, so the appraiser can tell how much there is.” She shot a furious glance over her shoulder. “You must have a lot more telephoning to do. Everybody loves hearing about a gory murder.”
    Amy felt as if she’d been slapped. “I wasn’t gossiping, Aunt Clare—not really. I just wanted to know what happened to Grandpa and Grandma—and I haven’t told anyone but Ellen. She was with me when I found the stories in the papers—”
    Aunt Clare started up the stairs.
    â€œI’m
sorry
,” Amy said. “I know I keep saying anddoing the wrong things. But I don’t mean to make you feel bad.”
    â€œDon’t bother to apologize,” Aunt Clare snapped. “You admit you’re curious—don’t expect me to like it. The past is dead, and it would help a lot if you’d leave it that way. You needn’t go back to the library, either. The police didn’t find out who killed them.”
    At the bottom of the attic stairs she stopped and waited for Amy to open the door. “I think I’d like to be alone for a while,” she said and went on up the steps, puffing a little with the weight of the box.
    Amy was close to tears. This time she’d made a real mess of things.
Why didn’t I wait till tomorrow to talk to Ellen?
she mourned.
Now Aunt Clare is disgusted with me, and I don’t blame her
.
    The hall was dark, the house very still except for Aunt Clare’s steps overhead. With dragging feet, Amy made her way