The Dark Secret of Weatherend by John Bellairs Page A

forever. See you later."
    And with that, Miss Eells turned and dragged herself toward the staircase. From the look on her face you would have thought she was going to the dentist to have a wisdom tooth pulled.
    A few minutes later Miss Eells stepped into the Genealogy Room. There were ladies galore: tall ones, short ones, fat ones, thin ones. In flower-print dresses, with cameo brooches, lace at the throat, pearl necklaces, and all. On a table near the door stood two silver-plated urns, one with hot water for tea and the other with coffee, and a huge glass punch bowl full of pinkish liquid. Nearby on another table were plates of little triangular sandwiches and bowls of peanuts. At the far end of the room a string quartet was playing. In the midst of all this was Mrs. Oxenstern, bigger than life and twice as bossy-looking. She was wearing her best white silk dress, and on her collar was the jeweled American flag pin that she always wore on special occasions. And, as usual, her silver-gray hair was done in a rippling permanent wave that looked so permanent Miss Eells always imagined attacking it with a hammer and chisel to uncover the plaster beneath. Everything was as it should be—polite and proper and indescribably boring.
    Miss Eells advanced into the room. She passed up the tea urn and the coffee urn and took a cup of punch. She sipped and winced—it was so sweet that it made her fillings ache. With the cup in her hand she turned and looked this way and that. And at that moment something very strange happened.
    It was as if Miss Eells had been suddenly seized by some force outside herself. She went reeling madly across the room, elbowing people aside and slopping punch everywhere. She stopped in front of Mrs. Oxenstern, and then, with a jerky motion of her hand, she threw the punch all over the front of the fat woman's dress. All Mrs. Oxenstern could do was stare in stupefied horror. Miss Eells was shocked too. She tried to speak, but only a strangled sound emerged from her throat. Then the force took hold of her again and flung her back across the room, to the table where the coffee urn was. Picking up two cups of coffee, one in each hand, Miss Eells went charging off. She raced the full length of the room as the bystanders ducked and dodged to get out of her way. She was headed straight toward the large Chinese vase that stood on a pedestal near one of the tall windows—one of Mrs. Oxenstern's prized possessions. Mrs. Oxenstern had lent it to the library because she wanted the Genealogy Room to look spiffy. Everyone was too shocked to move. They all just stood watching in slack-jawed amazement as the head librarian of the Hoosac Public Library went cannoning into the pedestal. The vase rocked, fell, and smashed to smithereens. One cup went flying one way, the other flew another, and Miss Eells fell down on her back, unconscious. The party was over.

CHAPTER FIVE
    After the crash an awful silence fell in the room. Everyone stood dead still, staring at the unconscious form of Miss Eells. In the middle of the room stood Mrs. Oxenstern. Across the front of her dress was a large pink stain. Her fists were clenched, her face was very red, and she was trembling all over with fury. When she could finally make herself move, she turned and stalked out of the room, walked down the stairs, and went straight into Miss Eells's office. She picked up the phone and called the police. Then she called the Hoosac Daily Sentinel, and, finally, the hospital. When she had finished phoning, Mrs. Oxenstern no longer looked angry—she looked triumphant.
    Three days later, on a cold, gusty November evening, Anthony Monday was ringing the doorbell of Miss Eells's house. He felt very bad. Miss Eells had been suspended from her job at the library. Although she hadn't exactly been fired yet, everybody figured that it was only going to be a matter of time before that happened. Wild stories were going around about her. Some people claimed she had