cabinets shone in the sun.
âWhy, this is really quite nice,â Aunt Grace said, sounding surprised. âThese old houses can be so damp and musty.â
That was what was different, Chris thought. The musty smell was gone, and the gloom had gone with it.
They followed Uncle Ralph as he led the way down the hall, into the parlor, through the dining room and study, and back to the front hall. Aunt Grace and Jenny thought they were being given a tour, but Chris knew Uncle Ralph wanted to look around. Except for the books piled on the floor of the study, there was no trace of the terrifying events of the night before. The rooms were bright and still.
âChristina, you take Jenny upstairs and show her your bedroom,â Aunt Grace ordered. âI want to talk to Ralph for a while. We have to make plans now that your grandmotherâs coming home.â
Chris looked at Uncle Ralph, wide-eyed.
Upstairs?
âYou donât have to,â Uncle Ralph said quickly. âWe can all go up and look around later.â
Chris gulped. âThatâs okay,â she said. âI think everythingâs all right now.â
âSo do I,â Uncle Ralph replied. âOr I wouldnât let you go.â
Aunt Grace frowned. âWhat in the worldââ
âCome on, Grace,â Uncle Ralph said. âIâll make coffee. Tell me about Ma.â
Jenny crowded close to Chris as they climbed the stairs. âItâs awful at Aunt Graceâs,â she whispered. âI have to eat liver and peas. And she
boils
the chicken. And I canât watch any good television shows.â She poked Chris in the ribs. âI bet it was awful staying with Uncle Ralph, too.â
They had reached the top of the stairs. All the doors except that of Chrisâs bedroom were closed. The chest was against the wall at the end of the corridor. And the air was fresh and sweet, with a lake breeze blowing through Chrisâs bedroom window.
âIt wasnât so bad here,â said Chris.
Jenny peeked briefly into Chrisâs room and then turned to the door next to it. âWhatâs in here?â she demanded, and threw the door open. âHey, itâs a little kidâs room! Oh, I wish Iâd stayed here instead of with Aunt Grace. This would have been my room for sure.â She darted around, admiring the posters and running her fingers over the game boxes on the shelves.
Chris stood in the doorway. The room had changed.
âEven the bed is my size,â Jenny squealed. âLook!â
Chris looked. The bed covers, which had been turned back and waiting for thirty years, were pulled up and neatly smoothed.
She crossed the red carpet and stood beside Jenny.
Good-bye, Russell
, she thought. She touched the pillow, knowing, as surely as if heâd told her, that she wouldnât see the little boy again. He could rest peacefully now that the stamps were found and the last mystery surrounding his death was solved.
âCome on,â Jenny shouted. âI want to see the rest of the rooms.â
She ran away and down the hall, throwing open bedroom doors left and right. âIf I stayed here, Iâd sleep in a different room every night,â she announced. âYou picked the worst room, silly old Chrissy. . . . Whatâs in here?â
Her hand was on the attic door.
âNothing,â Chris cried. âDonât open it!â
Jenny paid no attention. She had the door open and was partway up the stairs when Chris reached her.
âBig deal,â she said, shaking off Chrisâs hand. âThis is nothing but a stuffy old attic. Boring.â
The staircase was warm and dusty. Chris forced herself to look up, where the dust floated in bright beamsof sunlight. âBoring,â she agreed. She leaned against the wall until she stopped shaking.
When they went downstairs, Uncle Ralph and Aunt Grace were in the kitchen drinking coffee with a box