The Old Willis Place Page 3

  I picked up Nero and rubbed his head with my chin. The cat purred, but I frowned. What did Georgie know about Lissa? He was a boy, after all. He didn't know anything about girls. Lissa was nice, I could tell. She'd be a good friend, if only—if only, if only, if only.

  "The policeman warned Lissa to stay close to the trailer and not to go to Miss Lilian's house," Georgie went on. "If Lissa and her father see anything suspicious, he wants them to call right away."

  I lay on my back with Nero on my chest, purring so loudly I could feel his whole body vibrating. "I'm glad Mr. Morrison doesn't believe in ghosts," I said. "It would be awful if he quit. He and Lissa are much more interesting than the grumpy old men who usually take the job."

  Georgie shrugged. "He sure was mad about the bike."

  "I'm mad about the bike, too."

  "I said I was sorry." Georgie rubbed his hair dry with a blanket and took off his wet clothes. In a pair of baggy pants that used to belong to Mr. Potter and a sweatshirt he'd found in the woods, Georgie looked smaller than ever.

  I got to my feet, tired of being indoors. "Let's see what they're doing now."

  The night air was cold and thick with mist. The rain had stopped, but the trees were dripping and the ground was wet. We mucked through the woods and across the field. In the gloom, we saw the trailer's cheerful lighted windows.

  Lissa and her father were in the living room playing checkers. MacDuff lay beside Lissa, his nose on his paws, sound asleep.

  "We should borrow the checkers, too," Georgie whispered. "I'm tired of playing with stones and acorns. Just think, a real board instead of squares scratched in the dirt."

  I put my finger to my lips. "Hush. Do you want to wake MacDuff?"

  We watched Mr. Morrison win the game by capturing Lissa's last king. "Time for bed, kiddo," he said.

  "Just wait till tomorrow night." Lisa smiled and kissed him good night. "I'll beat you."

  "We'll see about that." Her father got to his feet and turned off the light.

  Georgie and I sneaked around to Lissa's window and hopped up on the cinder block. She was already in bed, reading. I squinted hard at the title. Lassie Come-Home—one of my favorites. I longed to read it again. I'd begged Daddy to let me have a collie just like Lassie, a dog who would love me best of all and be loyal and true. But he'd said no. Miss Lilian wouldn't allow a dog on her property. It might frighten her cats.

  Georgie made a slight noise, and Lissa looked straight at the window. We ducked down.

  "Be still," I whispered. "She almost saw us."

  The next time I raised my head, Lissa was reading again. Finally, she yawned, closed the book, and laid it on the table beside her bed.

  When she turned off her light, Georgie nudged me. "Should I sneak in and get the book now?"

  I shook my head. "Give her time to fall sound asleep."

  "Let's see what her father's doing," Georgie suggested. "His light's still on."

  We crept to the other side of the trailer. "Where's MacDuff?"! whispered to Georgie.

  He climbed up on the cinder block ahead of me. "In here," he whispered.

  Sure enough, there was MacDuff, curled up in a dog nest as cozy as Lissa's bed. Mr. Morrison sat at his desk, working on his computer. It was the first one we'd ever seen, except in television ads. While we watched, words formed themselves into sentences and paragraphs on the screen. Like magic, I thought.

  "He must be working on his novel," I whispered. "I wonder what its about."

  "We could borrow his computer and read it." Georgie grinned. "I bet the novels boring, but it would be fun to have a computer."

  "I think you need electricity to make one work."

  "Too bad," Georgie muttered.

  After Mr. Morrison quit for the night, we returned to Lissa's window. Georgie lifted the screen quietly. He'd gotten very good at borrowing, much better than I had.

  Cautiously I followed him inside. He could have taken the book by himself, but I wanted a closer look at Lissa's room. While Georgie waited impatiently, I examined her stuffed animals, her books, the pictures on the walls.

  I pointed to a photograph in a silver frame. "Look, Georgie," I whispered, "that must be her mother. She looks just like Lissa."

  Georgie picked up the photograph and studied it. "I wonder what happened to her," he said. "Do you think she died?"

  Saddened by the thought, I shook my head. "Maybe they got divorced. Lots of people do that now." Another useful bit I'd picked up watching TV.

  But Georgie's interest had been caught by something else. Bending over Lissa, he carefully lifted the teddy bear lying beside her head and cradled it in his arms. "It's just like the bear Miss Lilian took away from me," he said. "She said I stole Alfie, but Mrs. Willis gave him to me. Remember how I cried and cried?"

  Just then Lissa sighed in her sleep and rolled from her side to her back. Scared of waking her, I grabbed Lassie Come-Home and headed for the window, with Georgie right behind me.

  We must have made more noise than we'd thought, because MacDuff started barking before we'd crossed the yard. We heard Mr. Morrison yell at the dog to be quiet. Lissa called out from her room, and the outside light flooded the yard.

  Without waiting to see what would happen next, we fled into the woods. It wasn't until we were safely home that I noticed Georgie had brought the bear with him. He fell asleep that night holding it as tightly as he'd once held Alfie. I hadn't seen him look so happy in a long time.

  THE DIARY OF LISSA MORRISON

  Dear Dee Dee,

  Something even more scary has happened. While I was asleep last night, someone came in my room and stole Tedward and Lassie Come-Home. Dad says I must he mistaken, I just forgot where I put them—but I know Tedward was on my pillow; I sleep with him every night. My book was on the table beside my bed. When I woke up, they were both gone.

  I bet the same kids who stole my bike took my bear and my book. They have a lot of nerve to come into my room while Tm sleeping. They could have murdered me! How can I ever sleep in my bed again? Til have to keep MacDuff in my room to protect me.

  Oh, Dee Dee, I don't know what I'll do without Tedward. He's my most special toy, my favorite, the one I love best of all. My mother gave him to me when I was jive years old, not long before she died. Tve slept with him ever since. Now he's been kidnapped and I want him back! What do those kids want with a little brown bear? I love him so much.

  Dad says Tedward and my book will turn up, but I doubt it. I wonder what they'll steal next. I hope they take something that belongs to him. His computer maybe. Then he'll know how it feels.

  If only Dad would fix the lock on my window. But oh, no, he's too busy working on his book to do anything like that. He won't even help me search for those kids. He says they're long gone, but he called the police and reported it, just the same.

  If they dare to come back, I'll sic MacDuff on them. He'll give them a bite they won't forget!

  Oh, Dee Dee—I wish you were real and could write back to me and tell me what you think. I feel like Tm talking to myself, going on and on, writing letters nobody will ever read.

  Well, that's all for now. I guess I'll take MacDuff for a walk. And keep my eyes peeled, as people say—which is a very weird expression when you think about it. Eyes peeled like grapes. Ugh.

  Seeya later—

  Your friend, Lissa

  Chapter 4

  The next morning Georgie and I made ourselves comfortable in our favorite tree, and I began reading Lassie Come-Home to him. Nero climbed to a high branch and stretched himself along its length like a panther surveying his kingdom. He dozed lightly, as cats do, swinging his tail from time to time to show he was keeping an eye on us.

  The first thing I noticed about Lissa's book was that the pictures were exactly the same as I remembered. There was Lassie, sitting at the gate, waiting for her boy, Joe. And the words were the same, too. "'Everyone in Greenall Bridge knew Sam Carraclough's Lassie,'" I read. "'In fact, you might say
that she was the best-known dog in the village—and for three reasons.'"

  I leaned against the tree's rough bark and smiled at Georgie. "Isn't that a great beginning?"

  "Go on," Georgie said. "What happens next? What are the three reasons?"

  I read the first three chapters. I'd meant to stop after one, to make the book last longer, but Georgie insisted I keep going. Like me, he was furious when Sam Carraclough sold Lassie and even more furious when the dog was mistreated by Hynes, the evil kennel man. He finally agreed to let me stop for the day when it seemed Lassie was about to escape from the kennel and meet Joe at school as she always did.

  "Now Joe will get to keep Lassie," Georgie said with confidence. "The duke will see that Lassie loves Joe too much to take her away from him. And he'll fire Hynes."

  Of course, Georgie was wrong. It wouldn't be much of a story if everyone got to be happy right away.

  I hid Lissa's book in a special hole in the tree trunk where we kept other things—the TV remote, plus a jackknife and a ball of string we'd also borrowed from Mr. Potter, and a cigarette lighter and a flashlight we'd borrowed from Mr. Allesandro. I suppose that sounds bad, but they were all things we thought we might need someday. It wasn't as if we had a choice. What are people to do if they have no money?

  With Nero at our heels, as faithful as a dog, we made our way through the fields and woods to the trailer. Even Georgie couldn't stay away.

  Lissa was sitting on the steps. MacDuff lay by her side, panting in the fall heat. Mr. Morrison was inside, writing. Every now and then, I heard him swear. Georgie giggled at the language the man chose to express himself, but Lissa paid no attention to her father. I guessed she was used to his way of talking.

  Georgie poked my side. "Do you think Mr. Morrison puts words like that in his book?"

  "I hope not."

  "I could borrow a few pages," Georgie offered. "And you could read them to me."

  I shook my head impatiently. "It's a book for adults," I said. "And probably boring—even with cussing in it."

  Georgie caught a grasshopper, something practice had made him good at, and then let it go. "Lissa writes, too," he said, "in a little book."

  "Her diary, probably," I guessed.

  "I bet she writes about us—the spies and thieves in the woods," Georgie said. "Wouldn't you love to read what she thinks of us? It would be easy to borrow it."

  Even though I would have loved to know Lissa's thoughts, I shook my head. "Diaries are secret books. You put your deepest thoughts and most private feelings in them, things you don't want anyone else to know."

  I glanced at Lissa. The sun shone on her dark hair. "I used to have a diary, but I filled it up a long time ago. It had a lock," I told Georgie. "I kept the key on a chain around my neck."

  "That flimsy lock didn't stop me." Georgie edged away, ready to run. "I know all about Stephen Jenkins and the dimple in his chin and how he asked you to be his girlfriend. And you let him kiss you at the sixth-grade picnic."

  Forgetting about Lissa, I jumped up to chase Georgie, but he was gone like a flash. The two of us made so much noise Lissa got to her feet and stared across her yard at the woods.

  "Thieves," she called. "You'd better bring my stuff back! My father called the police and they're after you."

  MacDuff ran toward our hiding place, with Lissa right behind him, as mad as any girl I've ever seen.

  Georgie had already disappeared, but I wasn't fast enough. I pressed myself against a tree trunk, hoping the sunlight and shadows would camouflage me. She'd called me a thief. Me, a thief. Didn't she know the difference between stealing and borrowing?

  Just when I was sure MacDuff would find me, Nero came to my rescue. Making a loud rustling sound, he leapt out of the bushes right under MacDuff's nose. The dog forgot about me and ran after Nero. In a few bounds, the cat scrambled up a tree. Well out of MacDuff's reach, he arched his back and hissed at the dog.

  "MacDuff! MacDuff!" Lissa tugged at the dog's collar, trying to pull him away from the tree. She was so close I could smell the shampoo she used, as sweet as honeysuckle. If it hadn't been for Nero, she would have seen me.

  Mr. Morrison opened the door and stuck his head out. "What's all the commotion?" he yelled. "Has MacDuff treed a raccoon or something?"

  "It's a big black cat," Lissa cried. "He's way up high in the tree. What if he can't get down?"

  Mr. Morrison crossed the yard and grabbed MacDuff s collar. "Sit! Be quiet!"

  MacDuff sat as commanded and stopped barking. Mr. Morrison peered up at Nero. The cat lashed his tail and growled. With his fur puffed up, he looked twice as big as normal, almost the size of a panther.

  "It's a feral cat," Mr. Morrison said. "It can take care of itself."

  "He's not feral," Lissa insisted. "He belongs to someone, I can tell. See how nice and shiny his coat is?"

  "Mr. Maloney told me Miss Willis had dozens of cats," her dad said. "After she died, they ran off into the woods and went wild. I imagine there are hundreds of them out there."

  "Can't you get him down, Dad?"

  "With my luck, I'd fall out of the tree and break my neck." He patted Lissa's arm. "I'll take MacDuff inside. Don't worry. When the cat sees it's safe, he'll come down."

  Lissa watched her father walk away with the dog. Then she looked up at Nero. "I used to have a black cat just like you, but he died last year. He was very old."

  Nero began edging backward along the tree limb. Slowly he inched down the trunk. His claws made a scratching sound on the rough bark.

  "Good boy," Lissa crooned as he descended, "good boy."

  When Nero was low enough, Lissa lifted him from the tree and cuddled him in her arms.

  "Would you like to be my cat? I'll keep you safe from MacDuff," she promised. "You can sleep on my bed at night. I'll feed you cream and sardines. And I'll call you Aladdin, like my old cat."

  Nero gazed at Lissa as if he were considering her offer. I felt a twinge of jealousy. Suppose he decided to belong to Lissa? No more mice and shrews and moles, no more cold nights in the shed.

  But no. In a flash, Nero jumped out of Lissa's arms. Stretching his slender body with each bound, he ran past my hiding place as if he had urgent matters to attend to. It might be a mouse hiding under a leaf, a squirrel twitching its tail on a tree trunk, a blue jay calling from a bramble bush. Away he went, ever alert, ever curious.

  "Aladdin, Aladdin," Lissa called. "Come back. Kitty, kitty, kitty..."

  For a moment I thought she was going to follow Nero and find me, but instead, she stood where she was and watched the spot in the woods where Nero had vanished, her face sad. I guessed she hoped he'd come back.

  When that didn't happen, she sighed and returned to the steps. She picked up her notebook and her pen and began to write.

  Before long, Mr. Morrison came to the door with Mac-Duff. "Do me a favor, Liss. Take MacDuff for a walk. He needs some exercise."

  Lissa laid her diary on the step and set off across the yard. MacDuff bounded ahead, sniffing and searching the way dogs do.

  "Where's she going?"

  I spun around to face Georgie. "Don't ever sneak up on me like that again! You scared me half to death!"

  "Sorry." Georgie's little smirk told me he wasn't one bit sorry.

  "Let's follow her," I suggested, "and find out."

  As usual, Georgie and I stayed in the deep shadows near the edge of the woods. Lissa and MacDuff walked in the sunlight. The dog ran in circles around the girl, sniffing the weeds, the bushes, the trees. Hundreds of grasshoppers leapt out of his way, but he didn't seem to be interested in them.

  Trailing behind her dog, Lissa walked slowly toward Miss Lilian's house—just where she'd been told not to go. She must be a rule breaker, I thought. I glanced at Georgie. Maybe I'd break a few rules myself.

  At the front steps, Lissa stopped and stared up at the double doors, secured with a rusty chain and padlock.

  Georgie gripped my arm. "She's too close," h
e whispered. "What if she—"

  "We have to stop her." I took a step toward the house, but Georgie tightened his hold on me.

  "No. You can't let her see you!"

  "But she might be in danger—"

  "We can't do anything," Georgie insisted. "Besides, Lissa's not the one she wants."

  Reluctantly I stepped back into the shade, unseen, unheard. Lissa was new to Oak Hill Manor. She knew nothing of the danger lurking behind those locked doors and boarded windows.

  Instead of climbing the rotting steps, Lissa stood on the grass, her face wistful, and gazed at the house. She was still too close, much closer than I dared go. Could she hear anything stirring behind the walls?

  "Oh, MacDuff," Lissa said. "Think how grand it must have been once. Can't you see guests arriving for parties, all dressed in fine clothes? They'd pull up right here in horse-drawn carriages. Inside the house, there'd be sparkling crystal chandeliers, dozens of candles, platters of delicious food, a band playing a waltz. Ladies and gentlemen would have danced all night long, twirling round and round till dawn."

  Lissa held out her arms and spun, as if dancing to music only she could hear. MacDuff cocked his head and watched.

  Georgie snickered, and I grabbed his arm as if I meant to pinch him. "Hush, she'll hear you," I whispered.

  After a few seconds, Lissa dropped her arms and curtsied as if she were thanking an invisible partner for the dance. Then, with MacDuff bounding ahead, she walked around the house. Georgie and I followed, as silent as an extra pair of shadows.

  At the rear, she climbed the shallow steps leading to the wide brick terrace that ran the length of the house. She sat on a stone bench supported by two crouching lions, their faces streaked with dark stains like tears. It used to be my special seat, my throne. I hadn't even allowed Georgie to sit there.

  "She's on your bench," Georgie whispered. "Don't you care?"

  I shook my head. Seeing Lissa in my favorite place made me feel closer to her, as if she were truly my friend and I was sharing something important with her.

  Georgie sighed and went to work on his mosquito bites. I slapped his hand. "Don't scratch. You'll make them worse."