Secrets 01 Secrets in the Attic

by V. C. Andrews

  worried about not having time to spend with you after

  all this. It's good for you to catch your breath before

  going back into the fish bowl. That's what it's going to

  feel like for a while. Once your classmates realize you

  don't know all that much more about it than they do,

  they'll stop talking to you about it. The one thing you

  don't want to do, however, is be so closed-mouth and secretive that they think you do know more. Un

  derstand?"

  "Yes."

  "Daddy told me the questions you were asked

  and how you answered them. Was there anything else,

  something you didn't tell them that might shed some

  light on all this?"

  How ironic, I thought. My mother, who was a

  nurse and not a police detective, got right to the heart

  of it. How would I squirm out of it without telling a

  bald- faced lie?

  "I wasn't sure what they wanted to know," I

  said. "I thought I told them everything they wanted to

  know." My mother's eyes narrowed a bit.

  "Your father said they called you a lawyer's

  daughter, something like that."

  I kept eating.

  "Karen's mother, I heard, told the authorities

  she has no idea what would drive Karen to do such a

  thing. Should she have an idea, Zipporah?"

  "She's her mother," I replied. "Sure she should." "But you don't know why she did what she

  did?"

  "I wasn't there," I said. I stopped eating and

  looked as I felt, upset, even getting nauseated. "I knew she had a knife in her room, but I never thought she

  would . . . she would . ." I started to gag.

  "Okay, okay. I just want you to be comfortable

  with what you told the police. Let's not talk about it

  anymore. What are you going to do today?"

  "I'll catch up on some of my studying and do

  some reading and rest," I said.

  "Good. I've got to do some shopping before I

  return to the hospital today, so I'm going to leave in

  about an hour. I'd take you with me, only I don't think

  it would look so good, your not going to school but

  shopping instead."

  "It's all right. I want to stay here."

  "Fine. You call Daddy if you don't feel well or

  anything," she said. "Call him especially if Karen gets

  in touch with you, Zipporah. If she does, tell her to go

  to her mother immediately."

  "I will." I had already told her that I held my

  breath. Would my mother see through me? I could see

  she believed my being on the verge of tears was solely

  because of what Karen had done and had nothing to

  do with my raging conscience.

  "And we'll hold your father to his promise to

  take us to see a show in the city this weekend, okay?"

  "Yes," I said, smiling.

  I helped clean up the kitchen and then went up

  to my room to wait. She stopped by again to tell me

  she was going and again told me to stay in touch with

  my father. I knew they were both expecting Karen

  would be in touch with me, and they both feared I

  wouldn't do the right thing.

  As soon as I looked out the window and saw

  her drive off, I headed up to the attic. Karen was

  standing by the window facing the front, too, and

  knew my mother was gone. She was dressed in one of

  the antique dresses we put on when we sat up in the

  attic and pretended. For a moment, seeing her like that

  took me by such surprise I couldn't move or speak. It

  was as if she had turned back time to a point when we

  were up there amusing ourselves and nothing more. "What are you doing home?" she asked quickly.

  She looked angry about it instead of happy. "You

  could give it all away."

  "I thought you'd be alone too long, so I got my

  parents to let me stay. I didn't want to face all those

  petite bourgeoisie, anyway."

  "You should have gone to school," she said,

  instead of showing appreciation and gratitude. "The

  faster you get rid of their suspicions, the better. The

  police might even be watching this house now. The trick is not to do anything that detours from your normal routine. Every detective story we've read

  teaches us that."

  "I don't think the police are watching the house.

  I've already spoken to them. You were right. My

  father had to take me to the police last night:' "What?" She went to the sofa. "What

  happened? Tell me everything."

  I described my session with the detectives,

  relating their questions and my answers as accurately

  as I could. She listened attentively, her eyes narrow

  and cold. Then she nodded.

  "Good. I like that part about the headaches.

  They'll think I went nuts or something."

  "What will the school nurse tell them?" "That she couldn't find any reason for my

  having a headache, no fever. She thought I was

  behaving strangely, especially when I pleaded not to

  be sent home. I kept promising I would be better soon,

  and she got busy with other students and forgot all

  about me."

  "I'm pretty sure your mother told them she

  didn't know why you would have done what you did."

  "Didn't I say she would?" she asked, and rose. She

  paced, her arms extended firmly, her hands clenched into fists. "She'll never admit to anything now. She'll

  just wring her hands and cry."

  "Why are you so sure?"

  She stopped and turned on me. "Don't you see?

  Don't you get it? Stop being so thick. I gave her a perfect way out of everything. She'll collect on some life

  insurance or something. Or she'll sell the drugstore

  and move away to live like a wealthy woman and find

  herself another well-to-do man. I did what she

  couldn't get herself to do."

  "But I thought you said she didn't care about

  being married to Harry. You said she didn't even mind

  making love to him "

  "That was earlier. She was getting disgusted,

  too. Why do you think she spent so much time away,

  shopping, meeting other women? She wanted to avoid

  being home, even though she was leaving me with

  him." She laughed. "She didn't know why I would do

  it? That's just the beginning. You wait and see. She'll

  start talking about the strange things I did and how

  she couldn't talk to me or how I wouldn't let her get

  close. She'll make up tons of stuff until I look like . . .

  like some Lizzie Borden or something. Forget her.

  She'll never help me. We've only got each other," She

  said. "Les oiseaux d'une plume. So where did you go with your father? I was afraid to go downstairs. I thought you'd be back any moment, but you stayed

  out so long."

  "He took me for pizza."

  "Pizza? Oh, when will I have pizza again?" she

  cried.

  "We can have it today. My parents are both

  gone. You and I will make our special homemade

  pizza, just like we've done many times."

  "That's right." She smiled. "Let's pretend none

  of this happened. Let's pretend it's a weekend, and

  we're together, and we're just doing what we want.

  C'mon," she sa
id, heading for the attic door. "I'll find

  something of yours I can wear and get out of this old

  dress. We'll go into your father's office and play

  Parcheesi, just as we've done a hundred times. But I

  want to shower first and wash my hair and put on

  some makeup and perfume. I want to feel normal and

  happy again."

  She charged down the stairs ahead of me. If she

  could get herself to forget it all, I should be able to, I

  thought, and quickly followed. I waited for her to

  shower. We talked while she dried her hair with a

  towel. She wanted to know everything I had said to

  my father and mother and all the questions they had asked. I explained how I answered everything so

  carefully.

  "You were great," she said. "I couldn't have

  done any better if the roles were reversed."

  Roles reversed? I would have a better chance

  walking on the moon. There was no way the roles

  could have ever been reversed. I wanted to tell her

  that, to be sure she understood that we were birds of a

  feather only in some ways. No matter how many halftruths or clever answers I came up with, I was not

  standing in the same shoes and never would. As I watched her brush her hair and do her

  makeup, I thought how weird it was that she could

  still be so beautiful and care so much about her looks

  under these circumstances and after what had

  happened. It was truly as if she could step out of the

  person she had been the day before and become

  someone else today. Did that come from inner

  strength or inner madness?

  She chatted on, planning our days and nights as

  if she believed we would go on like this for months

  and months, maybe even years.

  "After a while, the police will stop running all

  over the place looking for me," she said. "People will

  forget or want to forget, especially after my mother

  moves away."

  "How can you be so sure she will?"

  She smiled. "I know my mother. Believe me,

  she's not going to be happy wallowing in this too

  long. She's very aware of how people, especially men,

  look at her. What available unmarried man is going to

  want to get seriously involved with a woman whose

  daughter is being hunted by the police for killing her

  husband? Someday, years and years from now, I'll

  ring her doorbell wherever she is and give her a heart

  attack," she said.

  "You mean it?"

  "Not really a heart attack. She'll be so shocked

  she might faint, but that's all. She'll have to take me

  in, give me money, do whatever I want her to do to

  help me, or I'll tell her new husband everything. I'm

  sure whomever she meets will not know the story. My

  mother is an expert when it comes to hiding the truth.

  You know that."

  "I don't know that."

  "What do you mean, you don't?" she snapped at

  me. "I've told you everything, how she's buried her

  head in the sand, how she did the same thing with my

  real father. I've told you."

  "Oh, yes, you have," I said.

  She relaxed, looked at herself in the mirror, and

  then glanced at me. "You know, if we had gone

  through with our plan exactly as you suggested, you

  might have been in that room, too. Did you ever think

  of that?"

  I felt my jaw weaken and my mouth fall open.

  She laughed.

  "I can't even imagine how you would have

  acted. You probably would have frozen, and I would

  have done everything, anyway. Maybe we would have

  buried his body in the backyard," she said.

  I shook my head. "I couldn't have done that." "Don't worry. You could have if you had to, but

  you didn't have to. I've done it all now, done it all for

  both of us. You sure you have enough cheese for our

  pizza?" she asked, almost in the same breath. "Yes, I'm sure."

  "Good. Well, how do I look?" she asked,

  spinning around and smiling.

  "Great," I said. She really did.

  "You have to do better with your own makeup

  now, Zipporah. I'm going to show you stuff I learned

  from my mother. After all," she cried, as if she had

  just made a tremendous discovery, "for a while,

  you've got to have all the romance for both of us!"

  9 A Daily Dose of Poison

  " l romance for both of us?"

  "Sure. While I'm trapped up here, I'll live vicariously through you, through every kiss you get, every touch, everything. So don't hold back on a single juicy detail when I ask you to tell me exactly what happened."

  She played with my hair, pushing my bangs this way and that, just as my mother often did. What she suggested made me think about myself and recall the conversation I had had with my mother in the sitting room.

  "Actually," she continued, "I've planted some seeds for you already."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You'll see," she said. "Stop looking at me that way. What are friends supposed to do for friends? They look after each other, Zipporah. You're looking after me right now, aren't you?"

  "Yes, but . ."

  "No buts. I decided it's time we both had experiences we'll never forget. Little romances are important at our age. You don't just dive into a major love affair, you know. That always turns out to be a disaster. You need to get some battlefield experience. That's how my mother always referred to her early dating when she was our age--battlefield experience. She personifies that expression, all is fair in love and war."

  "Whom would I go out with now?"

  She shrugged and said, "You could go after Dana Martin?'

  "What? When you mentioned him before, I reminded you he's a senior, and he's going with Lois Morris."

  "Everyone's going to want to talk to you, even him, I bet. Play it up. Take advantage of the situation, silly. Don't be thick."

  She sat back. "I don't like any of your bras. They're like training bras. Don't you have any that give you some more lift?"

  "No. I'm not as big as you and don't have as much to lift."

  "You can make it look that way. There's all sorts of little tricks. I'll show them to you, don't worry. I learned a lot from my mother just watching her prepare to go out with someone. Actresses don't prepare as much to walk out on a Broadway stage. You know what she calls it, the coiffeur, the makeup, the perfumes, dresses, bras, jewelry, all of it?"

  "What?"

  "JFD, justifiable feminine deception. In her way of thinking, women trap men. Harry's mother wasn't all wrong about her, but even if we don't think exactly the same way, why shouldn't we benefit from her knowledge? Most of the boys in our school are too thick to realize they've been deceived, not that you're all deception or I am. We're both pretty good-looking girls. Any boy in that school should be happy to be with either of us."

  She smiled at herself in the mirror and then at me. "Remember when I told you that day that I had deeper cleavage?"

  "Yes."

  "I was really talking about a new bra."

  How could we be talking about all this? I wondered. Less than forty-eight hours ago, she was attacked by and killed her stepfather. Was she in some form of shock? Was I?

  "Stop looking at me as if I were crazy," she said. She sat back.

  "Well, you're saying silly things. Dana Martin. Why would he even think about talking to me? When he looks my way, he makes me feel invisible."

  "Okay, I'm going to tell
you something, a secret I kept even from you."

  "What?" I held my breath. What else could she have kept secret?

  "I've had a crush on Dana Martin for a long time." "You have?"

  She shrugged. "And every chance I had, I flirted with him so he would know."

  "You did? Where was I?"

  "You weren't with me every breathing moment, Zipporah. Don't be so thick." She paused and smiled.

  "What?"

  "He came down to Sandburg in his car some nights recently, and I met him."

  "Really?"

  "We just sat in his car talking the first time. Then he came down again. He really isn't all that crazy about

  Lois Morris anymore. He wanted me to be his girlfriend, but I wouldn't, so I'm sure he's going to come asking you questions about me."

  I stared at her. "What did you do when he came to see you?"

  "We took a ride to Echo Lake and parked."

  "You did?" I couldn't believe all this had gone on without my knowing.

  "Remember when I told you how hard it was for me even to think about having a relationship with a boy because Harry made me feel so dirty?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, that was part of the reason I agreed to see him like that. I wanted to see if I could be with a boy after what Harry was doing to me. I wanted to see if I could forget it."

  "What happened?"

  "I could," she said. "And I enjoyed it, too," she added quickly, and pressed her lips together as if she had just confessed to a priest.

  "I don't believe you," I said.

  "It's okay. I don't mind your doubting me."

  "Why wouldn't you have told me after all this time?"

  "I shouldn't have told you now. I see you're getting upset that I kept it so secret. Maybe you're not ready for all this yet."

  "I'm not getting upset. I'm just so surprised. How could you keep such a secret from me?"

  "I'm sure I don't know everything about you. I'm sure there are things about your brother you haven't told me, for example," she said with a note of annoyance.

  "No, there aren't."

  "There are things we both don't talk about, because they're so private, so much a part of us, it would be like betraying the people we love. It's not a terrible thing to keep some things to yourself. Anyway," she said, looking at her watch, "let's go work on the pizza for lunch. I want to watch Heart of a Woman. It's my favorite soap opera to watch whenever I'm home. I'll bet you anything my mother's watching it today, too. She used to talk about it as if they were real people, and she was spying on their love lives."

  "I can't even imagine how she could be sitting and watching a soap opera today, Karen." I really meant her, as well.