The Other Child Read online

  He grinned again as he slipped the prints into their folders. It gave him a curious sense of well-being, having his own secret cache of great brandy. Karen was absolutely right about this house holding all sorts of antique treasures.

  TWELVE

  “Sure is hot enough for August. Weatherman says the heat won’t break for another month.” Hal Jenkins carried the heavy rolls of wallpaper upstairs and set them in the hall, where Karen had indicated. He was puffing a little from the steep climb, but he didn’t really mind. After all, Mrs. Houston couldn’t very well carry them in her condition, and Hal had been brought up to be polite. His mother always said there was man’s work and there was woman’s work, and carrying heavy rolls of wallpaper was definitely a job for a man.

  “You folks sure do have this place fixed up nice. I’d never believe it was the same place. Bonnie and me were inside, back a couple of years ago, just taking a look around. Bonnie gets a kick out of these big old houses. Just one more load from the truck and I’ll be through.”

  Hal took in all the details as he went down the stairs and out to his pickup again. Bonnie would ask a million questions when he got back to the store. The whole town was buzzing about these new folks. Rumor had it they were weird, but he thought Mrs. Houston seemed nice enough. A little too quiet, maybe, but that didn’t bother him. It was kind of nice to meet a quiet woman for a change. One thing for sure—if Bonnie could see this place now, she wouldn’t call it a run-down, old claptrap. It must have cost a pretty penny to fix it up like this!

  “Well, that’s the last of them, ma’am.” Hal knew the time had come and he dreaded what he had to do next. Mrs. Houston seemed all right, but she was an out-of-towner and you just couldn’t tell about folks if you didn’t know their families. He hated to ask for a payment right away, but Bonnie had good business sense and she was usually right.

  The story around town was that these city folks had spent a bundle on decorating. Marilyn Comstock said they went through money like water. Before he’d left the store this morning, Bonnie insisted that he charge for the wallpaper on delivery instead of sending a bill as they usually did.

  “Uh . . . ma’am?” Hal couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “We have to ask for payment on delivery this time—a little problem with the billing. We’ve got too much outstanding on the books.”

  “That’s quite all right, Mr. Jenkins.” Karen smiled at the stoop-shouldered, nervous man. “Would you like a check now, or could you wait until my husband comes back from the Cities?”

  “Well . . . I’d rather have it now, if it’s not too much trouble.” Hal reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe his sweating face.

  “Why don’t I pour you a cup of coffee and then I’ll make out the check,” Karen suggested. “We’ll go over the bill in the kitchen and you can write a receipt.”

  “That sure would be kind of you, ma’am.” Hal followed her back down the stairs. She hadn’t acted the least bit insulted when he asked for the money right away. Bonnie said he didn’t have any tact, but this time she was wrong. He had handled the whole money business just fine.

  Karen hurried back up to the third floor after Mr. Jenkins was settled in the kitchen with his coffee. She was puffing with exertion as she reached the landing and opened the darkroom door. Mike’s workroom was a mess, but she knew he kept the checkbook up here somewhere.

  “It’s got to be here!” Karen rummaged hastily through the drawers in Mike’s desk. He handled all the money and took care of their checkbook. It had been a relief not to have to worry about payments and receipts, but now she wished she’d paid a little more attention to Mike’s accounting system. Of course there was bound to be enough money to pay Mr. Jenkins’s ninety-dollar bill. Mike had been paid the previous Friday.

  “Aha!” She opened the checkbook and glanced at the balance in amazement. One hundred and fifty-three dollars? Perhaps Mike hadn’t deposited his paycheck from the magazine yet. No . . . there it was, last Friday’s deposit initialed by the bank teller. Where had their money gone?

  She didn’t take time to examine it closely until Mr. Jenkins left. Then she carefully added up the bills Mike had paid this week. Over nine hundred dollars had been paid out to various creditors, but that didn’t explain why they were left with such a small balance. There should be at least a thousand dollars left.

  Cash—$300: a small notation in printing on the side of the register . . . and a few days later, Cash—$500. Thoroughly puzzled, Karen began to skim the earlier entries. Last month Mike had drawn out over two thousand dollars in cash!

  She looked up as she heard the truck in the driveway. Mike was back early. Now she could find out about those withdrawals.

  “Hi, honey—I’m home.” Mike came into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. “How’s everything with my talented decorator today?”

  “Fine, I guess,” Karen responded automatically. “I don’t understand these notations, dear. I had to pay Mr. Jenkins for the wallpaper and I noticed our balance is really low. How did we spend over two thousand dollars in cash last month?”

  Mike glanced at Karen’s bewildered face and almost groaned aloud. For a moment he was speechless. Why hadn’t he taken the checkbook with him when he left this morning? She had no business going through his things!

  “I told you I’d take care of the finances. We’re in fine shape.... I just had a lot of overhead last month, that’s all.”

  “But two thousand in cash?” Karen couldn’t keep the note of anxiety from her voice. “I thought we paid all the bills by check so we’d have receipts.”

  “Well, sometimes businesses give discounts for cash.” Mike knew he’d better change the subject in a hurry. Karen was asking too many questions he couldn’t answer. “Let’s see the wallpaper, honey. Did you get that flocked stuff you wanted?”

  Karen nodded, but her mind wasn’t on wallpaper. There was something about the cash withdrawals Mike wasn’t telling her. Of course she could demand to know where the money had gone, but he’d think she didn’t trust him. He’d been handling the finances for three years now and they hadn’t run into any trouble yet. Maybe it would be wiser just to drop the whole thing. She didn’t want to nag him or sound suspicious. A wife should have more faith in her husband.

  She forced a cheerful smile. “The wallpaper’s upstairs. Mr. Jenkins carried it up for me. You should have seen him, Mike—he said he’d seen the house a couple of years ago and he was really impressed by all the work we’ve done.”

  As Mike inspected the rolls of wallpaper, Karen decided to keep a closer eye on their finances in the future. She didn’t need Mike’s permission to check their expenditures once in a while. After all, they were in this together.

  THIRTEEN

  Leslie stood by her telescope, frowning. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, and the breeze from the east was tantalizing. She could spend hours up here with her telescope, taking pictures, trying out new lenses. Or she could just gaze out of the windows, taking in the view in all its different aspects. But, of course, her mom would be much happier if she went outside to play. Leslie knew her mother was worried because she didn’t play with the town kids.

  Leslie sighed and made up her mind. She’d go out right now before she lost her nerve. She’d go down to the river and she’d try to be nice and friendly. Through the telescope she’d seen some kids jumping and swimming in the cool water and it looked like fun. Maybe they’d like to have their pictures taken if she promised them prints.

  Leslie felt the key resting warmly against her chest. She kept it there still, and it gave her confidence. She had finally come to a decision about the ghost. If Christopher wanted to be her friend, she’d be his. Ghosts had been real live people before they died and Christopher was a boy ghost. Once he’d been a kid, just like her. And just having the key there, if she ever needed it, made her feel a whole lot better, more sure of herself, somehow.

  Karen was in one of the bedrooms on the second fl
oor, hanging the new curtains. Leslie found her sitting on a stool, hooking drapery pins on a rod.

  “Here, let me help you with that, Mom.” Leslie started to lift the other end of the curtain. “You shouldn’t be up on that stool, you might fall.”

  “I’ve got it. Don’t bother, Leslie.” Karen’s tone was impatient, and she tried to soften it. “I’m really all set, honey. Why don’t you run along?”

  Mike was working away from home much more lately. This week he was shooting exteriors of high-rises in St. Paul, commuting every day. He left early and didn’t return until long after dark. And Leslie was usually off by herself. That was fine with Karen. Now she could do things her way. There was still so much to be done.

  “Well, if you don’t mind, then could I go down to the river and play?” Leslie asked hesitantly. “I saw a whole bunch of kids down there when I was looking through my telescope.”

  “Of course you can, kitten!” Karen was so surprised she almost dropped the box of drapery pins. Leslie had never asked to go to play before. Usually, she had to be coaxed even to go to the store, and now she was asking to join the other kids, all on her own. Things were definitely looking up.

  There was a big smile on Leslie’s face as she left the house. Mom was glad she was going out to play. Her smile stayed in place until she stepped outside the iron gate. Then all her old fears seemed to jump out at her at once and she wanted to run right back inside where she was safe. But she had her key to protect her, and at least one good friend—Christopher.

  Drawing a deep breath, Leslie forced her feet to move. She took the dirt path leading to the river, her Nikes kicking up puffs of dust as she walked. She never would have volunteered to do this if it weren’t for Mom, but now that she was outside in the fresh summer air, she couldn’t help feeling good. The sun was warm on her back and she could feel the tender skin on her legs prickle with the heat.

  There was a light breeze and Leslie’s hair blew around her face in a shining cloud. It was a beautiful day, with high white clouds floating in a clear blue sky. Birds were singing in the trees along the path and there was a lazy hum from summer insects as they darted over her head. A fat gray squirrel scampered across the path in front of her and disappeared into the bushes, emerging several yards away to scurry up a tree. He circled around and around, ears perking up alertly to see if she would give chase.

  “You’re safe, squirrel. I just want to be your friend,” Leslie said with a laugh. His eyes were bright and sparkling and he was so cute she almost wished she could take him home. There were probably squirrels in her own yard if she went out and looked for them. Maybe Mom would let her feed them if she asked.

  The air was sweet and fresh and Leslie took big gulps of it as she walked along. It was wonderful to be outside. As she got closer to the river, there was a damp, exciting scent of cool water and lush green undergrowth. The sunbeams streaked through the tall trees, slanting on a granite rock to make it sparkle like a huge jewel.

  As she got closer to the swimming hole, Leslie could hear the shouts of children as they played, laughter and catcalls, good-natured jeering and an occasional splash as someone jumped in. Everyone seemed to be having a great time and Leslie’s spirits rose. This might be more fun than she had anticipated.

  “Watch me stand on my head!” There was a splash and a loud burst of laughter. As Leslie pushed her way into the clearing, she saw kids on inner tubes floating in the lazy river, plump black rings bobbing on the sparkling water line, arms pumping and splashing furiously to change direction in the slight current. Smaller children played in the shallow water, splashing and screaming in excitement, sand pails and shovels abandoned in bright disarray on the bank. A young mother watched from the shade of a tree, idly turning pages in a magazine while her children played. Frequently one of them would dash up with a stone or a snail shell to add to the growing pile at her feet.

  Leslie smiled. It was a lovely family scene and perfect for a picture. She moved nearer and snapped one of the children playing. She’d find out who they were and give their mother a print.

  “Gary Wilson! Be careful!” the young mother called out, her voice sharp as water showered up around her children. Gary’s head popped up from the water and Leslie heard him laugh as a small child squealed in fright.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Jackson,” he called out, not sounding sorry at all. He ran from the water, tanned legs flashing as he streaked for the shore and grabbed a rope dangling from a strong branch overhanging the river.

  Leslie shivered as she watched him. Ever since her birthday party she’d been afraid of Gary Wilson, the big bully.

  He was climbing up the riverbank now, heading for the huge granite rock with the rope in his hand. He gave a yell as he reached the top of the rock and grabbed the rope up high with both hands. Then he leaped up into the air and swung out, yelling all the while, and dropping off at the top of the arc to land in the deepest part of the river.

  “Be careful, Gary!” the young mother called out again. “That’s dangerous, and you’re setting a bad example for the younger children.”

  This time Gary didn’t even bother to reply, but Leslie could see why Mrs. Jackson was concerned. The tip of a large rock protruded from the water, directly in the path of the homemade swing. The arc of Gary’s swing carried him right over the partially submerged granite slab. A young child, attempting the same trick, might jump short and land on that sharp rock.

  “Time to go home now!” the young mother called out, glancing at her watch. She began gathering up sand pails and shovels. “Sally, you take Billy’s pail. Billy, you can help Mother carry your rocks. Come on, Tina . . . you too. We have to go and meet Daddy.”

  Leslie had been so interested in watching the rope swing, she hadn’t noticed that the kids in the inner tubes were gone. The young mother was herding her children toward the path, and now she was left alone at the river with Gary. It was time for her to go, too, while she could get away unnoticed. She didn’t want to be alone with Gary Wilson.

  “Hey, Leslie!” Gary hollered out, spotting her at the riverbank. “How come you got your fancy camera? Do you want to take a picture of me swinging?”

  She didn’t really want a picture of Gary Wilson. He’d been hateful at her birthday party. Leslie was about to refuse when she remembered how happy her mother had been when she went out to play. Maybe, if she took Gary’s picture, he’d be a little nicer to her. Then he’d tell all the rest of the kids that she was all right.

  “I’ll take your picture if you want me to,” Leslie agreed, giving Gary a timid smile. “Just let me focus on that rock out there and I’ll shoot when you swing over it.”

  Gary chuckled as he climbed up on the bank and got ready to grab the rope. He didn’t really care if she took his picture or not, but it was a good way to keep her here for a couple of minutes. They were completely alone, and it was a great opportunity to be even with her for those hornet stings. Now, what could he do to really get Leslie’s goat? Maybe he could think of some way to ruin her picture . . . or her whole roll of film. He didn’t dare grab her camera and throw it in the river or anything obvious like that. Then his mother would skin him alive. Just ruining her film would be enough.

  “Hey, Leslie—do you develop your own pictures?” Gary forced a friendly note into his voice. Everything depended on whether she developed her own pictures or not.

  “I can’t do it by myself yet,” Leslie confessed, giving Gary a shy smile. “Mike lets me print sometimes, but he does all my developing for me. He’s teaching me how, but I can’t use the darkroom alone.”

  “So he’s right there to help you?” Gary asked quickly, double-checking. He gave a grin when Leslie nodded. “Then he looks at all your pictures and teaches you, right?”

  “That’s right.” Leslie nodded happily. She hadn’t known that Gary was so interested in photography. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. Gary might be nice if she got to know him.

  “Holler when you start to swing,
Gary.” Leslie set her shutter speed on a thousandth of a second and checked the focus again. “I’ll catch you when you let go of the rope and dive in. It’s going to be a super picture—just wait and see.”

  Gary smirked as he climbed up on the rock. You bet it was going to be a super picture, but Leslie didn’t know just how super. He could hardly believe how well his little plan was working. Leslie was holding her camera, looking through the viewfinder at the slab of granite. She couldn’t see anything he was doing behind her back now, and that was exactly how he wanted it.

  With a quick motion Gary unzipped his shorts and slipped them down. Ha! She was going to get more than she bargained for this time. She’d snap the picture and it would be a picture of his naked butt. She wouldn’t dare let her stepfather develop it and she’d have to throw out her whole roll of film. He was a genius for thinking of it!

  “Here I come!” Gary grasped the rope up high and kicked out of his cutoffs. He swung out with a yell and beamed expectantly as Leslie gave a startled scream. He just hoped that she had snapped the picture.

  Gary hit the water with a splash that sent up a geyser of water. He resurfaced quickly and hooted with laughter when he saw Leslie’s face. Her mouth was open and her fists were clenched by her side.

  “How dare you?” she screamed. “You ruined everything, Gary Wilson! You ruined my whole roll of film!”

  Gary saw the way her eyes snapped when he raced past her, wiggling his butt in a lewd display. He gave a huge laugh and rubbed it in even more.

  “Come on, dummy. You can’t be upset over a little thing like that!” Gary’s voice was taunting and mean. “I bet it’s the best picture you ever took!”

  “You . . . you . . . !” Leslie was so angry she couldn’t speak. The blood rushed to her face and she grabbed the key around her neck in desperation. Gary Wilson was awful! He was crude and nasty! Helpless tears of rage rolled down her cheeks and she stood there, trembling in anger.