The Twisted Window by Lois Duncan Page A
Authors: Lois Duncan
Tags: General, Action & Adventure, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Survival Stories, Mysteries & Detective Stories, Stepfamilies
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furnished in an impersonal manner that revealed almost nothing about the apartment's occupants. The abstract prints on the walls matched the shades of rust in the two-tone carpet, and the couch, chairs, and coffee table might have been purchased as a set during a sale at Sears.
To Tracy, the apartment appeared on first glance to be less a real home than a short-term stopover area in which swinging bachelors could change their clothes between social engagements. She could see nothing anywhere to indicate the presence of a child.
"This is nice," she commented politely. "I have a single myself. I'd been wondering what the double apartments were like."
"The only real difference is that the living room's bigger," said Jim. "Then, of course, there's an extra bedroom and bath." He gestured toward the door to the kitchen. "The phone's on the wall to the left of the sink, and unless my roommate's dragged it off somewhere, the directory ought to be on the counter."
"Thanks," Tracy said. "I shouldn't be more than a minute."
When she entered the kitchen, she found that it, too, had the look of a room that received sporadic use only. The remnants of breakfast—a cup half filled with cold coffee, an apple core, two cereal bowls with milk scum dried on their interiors—still sat out on the table. An orange juice carton stood on the counter, and the sink was speckled with charred fragments of blackened toast. The dishwasher gaped open, the bottom section empty and the top shelf stacked with cups and glasses. A trash container standing next to the refrigerator was filled with cartons from frozen dinners topped off by a heavy sprinkling of empty beer cans.
Despite the extent of its clutter, there was nothing about the room to proclaim the fact that one of that morning's breakfasters had been a child. No high chair stood in the comer adjacent to the table; no food-spattered bib hung draped across the towel rack. There were no parental reminders attached with magnets to the refrigerator—Pick up Mindy's sitter at five. Take Mindy for allergy shot. Parent Open House at Mindy's nursery on Friday.
Jim Tyler had not accompanied her into the kitchen, but, conscious of the open doorway, Tracy picked up the telephone directory and riffled through its pages as though busily engaged in looking up a number. Then she lifted the receiver and held it to her ear.
"Hello," she said against the buzz of the dial tone. "I'd like to see about getting a phone installed in my new apartment. My name's Tracy Lloyd, and I'm at the Continental Arms." She paused, as if listening to someone on the other end of the line. "That's right," she continued, "it's Lloyd, spelled with two Ls.... No, I've never had a phone in my own name before." Another pause to listen to the nonexistent second party. "Thank you. I'll be there tomorrow, then. Good-bye."
As she was replacing the receiver, Jim appeared in the doorway. His hair, though still damp, was no longer dripping, and he was wearing a T-shirt and sandals.
"So, what's the good word?" he asked. "When can they install it?"
"Next week, I hope," said Tracy. "I have to go down to their office and sign some papers."
"Hassles!" Jim said lightly. "The whole world's filled with hassles!" He opened the door of the refrigerator. "What can I offer you in the way of refreshments? Beer? Pop? How about a rum and Coke? A bunch of us took a run down to Mexico last weekend and brought back some duty-free Ronrico."
"A Coke would be great. Nothing in it, please," said Tracy. She moved to stand beside him so she, too, could peer into the refrigerator. She was not sure what it was she hoped to find there—bowls of Jell-O, perhaps, or a container of Kool-Aid. Maybe even a Donald Duck glass filled with chocolate milk. All she saw were beverage cans, some apples, and a wedge of cheese.
Jim extracted a Coke and a beer, handed the former to Tracy, and shut the refrigerator door.
To Tracy, the apartment appeared on first glance to be less a real home than a short-term stopover area in which swinging bachelors could change their clothes between social engagements. She could see nothing anywhere to indicate the presence of a child.
"This is nice," she commented politely. "I have a single myself. I'd been wondering what the double apartments were like."
"The only real difference is that the living room's bigger," said Jim. "Then, of course, there's an extra bedroom and bath." He gestured toward the door to the kitchen. "The phone's on the wall to the left of the sink, and unless my roommate's dragged it off somewhere, the directory ought to be on the counter."
"Thanks," Tracy said. "I shouldn't be more than a minute."
When she entered the kitchen, she found that it, too, had the look of a room that received sporadic use only. The remnants of breakfast—a cup half filled with cold coffee, an apple core, two cereal bowls with milk scum dried on their interiors—still sat out on the table. An orange juice carton stood on the counter, and the sink was speckled with charred fragments of blackened toast. The dishwasher gaped open, the bottom section empty and the top shelf stacked with cups and glasses. A trash container standing next to the refrigerator was filled with cartons from frozen dinners topped off by a heavy sprinkling of empty beer cans.
Despite the extent of its clutter, there was nothing about the room to proclaim the fact that one of that morning's breakfasters had been a child. No high chair stood in the comer adjacent to the table; no food-spattered bib hung draped across the towel rack. There were no parental reminders attached with magnets to the refrigerator—Pick up Mindy's sitter at five. Take Mindy for allergy shot. Parent Open House at Mindy's nursery on Friday.
Jim Tyler had not accompanied her into the kitchen, but, conscious of the open doorway, Tracy picked up the telephone directory and riffled through its pages as though busily engaged in looking up a number. Then she lifted the receiver and held it to her ear.
"Hello," she said against the buzz of the dial tone. "I'd like to see about getting a phone installed in my new apartment. My name's Tracy Lloyd, and I'm at the Continental Arms." She paused, as if listening to someone on the other end of the line. "That's right," she continued, "it's Lloyd, spelled with two Ls.... No, I've never had a phone in my own name before." Another pause to listen to the nonexistent second party. "Thank you. I'll be there tomorrow, then. Good-bye."
As she was replacing the receiver, Jim appeared in the doorway. His hair, though still damp, was no longer dripping, and he was wearing a T-shirt and sandals.
"So, what's the good word?" he asked. "When can they install it?"
"Next week, I hope," said Tracy. "I have to go down to their office and sign some papers."
"Hassles!" Jim said lightly. "The whole world's filled with hassles!" He opened the door of the refrigerator. "What can I offer you in the way of refreshments? Beer? Pop? How about a rum and Coke? A bunch of us took a run down to Mexico last weekend and brought back some duty-free Ronrico."
"A Coke would be great. Nothing in it, please," said Tracy. She moved to stand beside him so she, too, could peer into the refrigerator. She was not sure what it was she hoped to find there—bowls of Jell-O, perhaps, or a container of Kool-Aid. Maybe even a Donald Duck glass filled with chocolate milk. All she saw were beverage cans, some apples, and a wedge of cheese.
Jim extracted a Coke and a beer, handed the former to Tracy, and shut the refrigerator door.
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