House of Secrets

Chapter 8

The Walters had been renting since “the incident.” Their new apartment was much smaller than their old house, especially the kitchen, which was more of a corner than a room. That meant less cooking and more cheap takeout. The night after seeing Scott House, Dr. Walker convened a family meeting over Chinese food in the living room.

“So what’s up?” Casper asked.

“I just want to make sure you’re all comfortable with our decision to buy Kristoff House.”

“You mean your decision,” said Jonathan. “We had no part in it.”

“Fine,” said Dr. Walters. “But speak now if you have a problem.”

“If we moved in, wouldn’t it be Walters House?” asked Nellie.

“I think we should call it Four Twenty-two Sea Cliff Avenue, its proper address,” said Mrs. Walker. “Otherwise it sounds like we’re moving into something that belongs to someone else.”

It does belong to someone else, thought Jonathan. The old crone. But he didn’t want to sound scared. He said, “Nellie said. She was using a sauce-dipped spring roll to gather up as much shredded carrots and celery as possible; it looked like the spring roll was wearing a wig. “The faster we move in there, the faster we can get Misty.”

“Nell, how many times do we have to go through this—”

“But Mom said I could get her. Mom made me picture her—”

“You’ll get your horse someday,” Mrs. Walters said, “if you eat your spring roll and stop playing with it.”

Nellie tackled the spring roll in four huge bites. She looked at her mother and spoke with a full mouth: “Do I get my horse now?”

Everybody laughed—even Jonathan. You’d have a hard time getting them to admit it, but the Walkers liked dinners this way, quick and greasy, instead of with cloth napkins with rings.

“What about you, Alyssa?” Dr. Walker asked.

“Let me show you something.” Alyssa ducked out of the room and returned with an old book. It had a black cover, no dust jacket, and gold lettering nearly worn off the spine.

“Savage Warriors by David Scott,” Alyssa announced. “First edition, 1910. I took it from the library. And look!” She pulled out her MacBook Air. “On Powell’s Books they’re selling this for five hundred dollars! So that library alone is worth, like, the closing cost of the house!”

“Alyssa,” Casper said, “you stole from the Scott House library?”

“You don’t steal from libraries. You borrow. Not that you would know.”

“No, your brother’s right,” said Dr. Walters. “It’s not our house yet, and you shouldn’t have taken that—”

“That’s right you shouldn’t!” Jonathan stood up. “Somebody might be really mad at you for stealing! You ever think of that?”

“Seriously, Jon?” Alyssa smirked. “Since when do you have a moral compass?”

Jonathan didn’t answer—partly because he didn’t know what a moral compass was, partly because he was terrified of the old crone. Maybe she was a homeless lady, but maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she lived at 422 Sea Cliff Avenue. Maybe she didn’t take kindly to curious girls stealing books from her library. Brendan almost spoke up then about seeing her, about how he could still feel her hand around his wrist, about how that wrist felt cold even now, about how she had said “Walters” like it meant something . . . but he didn’t want to get made fun of. He would handle the crone himself when they moved in. Like a man.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just . . . it’s not right to steal.”

“That’s true,” Dr. Walters said, “and Alyssa, you’ll be putting that book back next week.”

“What happens next week?”

“We’re moving in.”