Secrets in the Attic

  He nodded, and we drove on. A little ways past Karen's mother's house, Jesse pulled to the side and parked. He turned off the engine arid the lights and just sat there quietly, gazing into the rearview mirror. For me, the silence was unnerving.

  "Why are we doing this? What do you hope to accomplish, Jesse?" I asked.

  "I could tell from the way Dad reacted, and I imagine the way the policemen you spoke to reacted, that the part of Karen's story involving Harry Pearson and his dead mother didn't fly," Jesse said. "My guess is they didn't even bother to check out that part, but we will."

  "How?"

  "C'mon," he said, grabbed his camera, and got out.

  I followed, and we started back down Main Street, hovering close to the shadows along the sidewalk. Just before Karen's mother's house, Jesse stopped. There was a small light on in what I knew to be the living room, but other than that, the house was dark.

  "Looks like no one's home," Jesse muttered. He paused and gazed around again.

  "What are we doing?"

  "Just follow me. Stay close," he said, and cut abruptly into Karen's mother's driveway. We walked quickly, still clinging to the cover of darkness and avoiding the illumination of the streetlights.

  I followed him around the garage to where Karen had described the apartment Harry's mother had lived in until she passed away. Of course, it was pitch dark inside, and the window shades were drawn down.

  "Does Karen know we're doing this?" I whispered.

  "No," he said. "I started to mention it, and she became very agitated. She's very frightened she'll cause more trouble for us if we get caught here."

  "She's right," I said.

  "Shh."

  He went to one of the windows and pressed on the frame.

  "Seems like it was never opened, or it's locked." "Of course, it's locked," I said. "Why shouldn't it be locked? There are probably . . ."

  He went to a second window and pushed, and this time, the window moved. He paused and looked at me, and then we both froze and listened. It sounded as if someone was coming down the sidewalk in front of the house. The footsteps quickened, slowed, and then disappeared as the person walked past and toward the center of the village.

  "I'm going in," Jesse said. "You stay out here and watch for anyone. If you hear anything, just whisper, and I'll come out quickly. Okay?"

  "I'm scared, Jesse."

  "I'm not exactly free from fear, but this could go a long way to helping Karen," he said. Then he climbed in through the window.

  If my heart beat any faster, I would surely faint on the spot, I thought. It beat so hard I could hear the thumping reverberate through my bones and fill my ears. It was so loud that I wouldn't be able to hear anything else. He was so quiet inside. I was suddenly even more worried.

  "Jesse," I whispered, drawing closer to the open window. "Are you all right?"

  "Quiet," he returned.

  I waited in- anticipation of the camera flashing, but nothing happened. What was he doing? I could hear him moving around inside. Finally, he appeared in the dark opened window. I stepped back to watch him climb out.

  "What are you doing? Did you take any pictures? What did you see?"

  He didn't reply. "C'mon," he said, and walked quickly back the way we had come. I followed. He was walking with his shoulders hoisted as if he were trying to keep from getting a bad chill He turned abruptly onto the sidewalk, not even stopping to look back to see if I were right behind him. Then he started to cross the street, practically running. I did run to catch up. He got into the car, and I went around to get in on the passenger side.

  He didn't start the engine. He just sat there, staring ahead.

  "What is it, Jesse? What's going on? Why did you come out without taking any pictures?" I asked.

  He turned to me slowly. "There's nothing to take pictures of," he said.

  "What do you mean, nothing?"

  "Not a bed, no furniture, nothing. In fact," he added, "the room's never been completed."

  "Not completed?"

  "The walls are studded, but they were never sheet- rocked. The wiring is hanging out. It's an unfinished room, Zipporah. No one could have lived in it."

  "But Karen said . . ."

  He stared at me a moment, and then he started the engine. "I know what she said."

  "What does it mean?"

  "I don't know. Maybe, maybe, her mother just had the place ripped apart to do something else with it."

  "Why?"

  "She didn't want to remember any of it. Of course, that would be something we could easily prove or disprove. Just check with the builder remodeling it, but I think it's highly unlikely." He shook his head. "Highly unlikely," he repeated.

  We rode around aimlessly to pass time so our parents would believe we had gone to the department store. Jesse said he would claim it closed before we arrived.

  "I don't understand this, Jesse. Karen and I were going to go in there," I told him.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Didn't she explain what our plan was originally?" He slowed down. "No, tell me."

  I described it and told him how she said she wore Harry's mother's wig, made up her face to resemble the way his mother did hers, and wore one of her dresses.

  "And she confronted him that way?"

  "Yes. He came to her room when her mother was away, and that's how she wanted to greet him. She said she expected him to come, and she was trying to get him to stop."

  "What about the wig, the dress?"

  "She left it behind afterward," I said.

  "That's great. The police would have found it there. Listen--" he said.

  "But how can you explain the room, the apartment she said was there? She even told me she had slept there recently.

  "I don't know just yet. Let's not say anything to her about this for now. I don't want to see her frightened or unnerved in any way at the moment. She's walking on hot coals as it is. Dad will get me the information about what the police did and didn't find."

  "How will you get him to ask for that sort of detail?"

  "Leave it to me," he said. "Dad and I have a good relationship, Zipporah. Sometimes we're more like brothers."

  "Not if he finds out who's in the attic," I muttered. "He won't," Jesse said confidently, but to me, it sounded more like a prayer.

  He was silent now, and I settled back in my seat, feeling numb. Suddenly, he slowed down, stopped, and pulled to the side of the road.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "I just realized something How did you know all that about the actual incident and what she left behind? You spoke to Karen afterward? Did she call you?"

  Lies give birth to lies, I thought, which have a way of leading you to the edge of a cliff. After you fall, the only parachute available is honesty.

  "Yes," I said.

  "When?"

  "When she came to the house."

  "I don't understand. You mean just now?"

  "No, Jesse. Karen didn't tell you the truth. I've been hiding her in the attic all this time."

  "What? You've been hiding her? But what about her trip to New York?"

  "She never went to New York," I said, and described how she had prepared the tape recorder and I had made the call from a pay phone.

  "But . . . why didn't she tell me the truth, tell me she was already there in our house for some time?"

  "When I asked her that, she told me she was protecting me."

  "OW" he said. "Yes, I suppose that makes sense." "Does it?"

  "Sure. You're her best friend. Look at all you did for her. Why shouldn't she think of you, of protecting you?"

  "There's more she didn't tell you, Jesse," I said. I couldn't hold back anything now.

  "What more?"

  "One day, she found your journal, and she read it. She wanted me to read it, but I wouldn't."

  He was silent. I couldn't see his face well in the darkness, but I felt his confusion, his disappointment, even his embarrassment.

&n
bsp; "Well," he finally said, "I'm sure she was bored sick. I probably would have done the same thing. I never noticed it had been taken," he said, sitting back again. "It was childish to keep a journal like that."

  "There's no reason to find fault with yourself because of what she did, Jesse. That's stupid."

  "Yeah, I know. I'm not blaming myself. It'll be all right. Somehow we'll bring it to a good end," he said. He sounded as if he were talking to himself now.

  We drove the rest of the way home in silence, each of us trapped within our own terrors and fears and perhaps more bonded as brother and sister than we had ever been.

  Mama quickly accepted Jesse's excuse for not having bought anything. She still believed his principal purpose was to have a heart-to-heart talk with me. We didn't linger. We both went up to our Booms. I saw he was still a little shaky from hearing the truth.

  "Don't go up there tonight, Jesse. Those stairs make so much noise under you. I was surprised Mama and Daddy didn't hear you the other night."

  He looked surprised that I knew, and a little guilty as well.

  "Right," he said.

  We both glanced at the closed attic door before retiring for the night.

  I was determined to be stronger the next day and do well in school, so I wouldn't attract any more attention to myself. Jesse volunteered to take me to school on his way to Daddy's office. I knew he wanted the opportunity for us to talk again.

  "I've given it all a great deal more thought," he began. "If I can, I'll come by for you at the end of the day. I think the two of us should meet with Karen to tell her what we found out last night and what I find out from Dad."

  "What if you don't find anything out from Daddy?" I asked.

  "We'll worry about that later. Just be sure to wait for me before you say anything about last night."

  "I'm going to tell her I told you everything," I said. "She should know."

  "That's fine," he said. "You can explain that I'm not angry. No sense in worrying her about it."

  "Maybe she should be worrying a little more," I replied.

  "Take it easy," Jesse said. "Don't condemn her yet."

  Was he saying that because he had become her lover or because he wanted to be fair?

  "Whatever," I said.

  We drove into the school parking lot. He saw the way I was looking at the school, contemplating all I had to face inside.

  "I know it's hard for you, Zipper, but try to think of other things. Dive into your schoolwork. That will help."

  "Right," I said, and got out of his car. It was easy for him to say.

  "I'll try to be back in time," he called.

  I lifted my hand without turning back and kept walking toward the building entrance.

  As it turned out, I had forgotten completely about the delivery of the sports car. Jesse had no idea why, but Daddy had arranged for both of them to cut the work day short. I had done what Jesse had suggested and concentrated hard on my classes, my lessons, and homework. It worked. I didn't feel under the microscope as much and the day passed quickly for me. Dana Martin left me alone as well, probably because of my dramatic reaction to him yesterday in the cafeteria.

  I really didn't have high hopes for Jesse to be there when the final bell rang, but there he was, waiting in the parking lot. I hurried to his car, and he explained that Daddy had sprung him.

  "And himself. Something's cooking," he said. I reminded him about a surprise.

  "So what is it?"

  "I won't disappoint Daddy," I said, and thought to myself how hollow that sounded now. I wouldn't disappoint him with something like this, but I would disappoint him deeply with what Jesse and I were doing with Karen. "What did you learn?"

  "Nothing yet. Dad was waiting for a return call. He might have gotten it before he left. I left first. I didn't want to pressure him too much about it. That could raise some suspicions."

  Somehow, in my heart of hearts, I felt that suspicions had been swimming just under the surface of Daddy's thoughts from day one of all this. Jesse looked more troubled and worried to me as well.

  However, when we drove up, Daddy was already home and standing next to the convertible, his face beaming.

  "Holy cow!" Jesse cried. He pulled up beside it quickly and jumped out of his car.

  Daddy started laughing.

  "When did you get this?"

  "A little while ago," Daddy replied. "It's going to become Zipporah's car eventually."

  "Zipporah's car?"

  "But if you're nice to her, I'm sure she'll let you use it from time to time. Should we let him take a ride in it now, Zipporah?"

  "Sure," I said.

  "How did she rate something like this?"

  "Play your cards right, and we'll look into a trade-in for you, too," Daddy said. "Go on. Take her for a short spin, but don't dare speed on these roads."

  Jesse walked around the car, his hands gliding over the sides and hood, as if he believed it could react to his appreciation. His eyes lit up with excitement.

  "Girls and cars," Daddy told me. "The formula for male ecstasy."

  "Get in," Jesse cried.

  I did, and we drove off with Daddy standing there still beaming after us. Jesse didn't drive fast, but it felt fast with the wind blowing through my hair. It was a beautiful car, and for a few precious minutes, we both forgot all our troubles.

  "He's a good guy," Jesse said, slowing down to cruise for a while. "We don't deserve him."

  More than ever, I believed that now, but all that did was make me sadder. Daddy had gone into the house before we returned. He stepped out again when we drove in.

  "Well?"

  "I got a feeling you bought this for yourself, Dad," Jesse teased.

  "Your mother accused me of the same thing, but someone has to break it in. We'll do it together this summer," he added. "Come on in. I want to talk to you both." It had an ominous ring to it Jesse glanced at me, and we followed Daddy into the house and into the living room. He sat in his chair.

  "What's up?" Jesse asked.

  I sat on the sofa, and he followed.

  "I received a phone call while you were taking the ride."

  "Oh. And?"

  "The police went to Karen's mother's house after Zipporah's second interview. There was no way Harry's mother could have been living in any apartment behind the house. There was an unfinished room, but there was no bathroom or any kitchen connections. Darlene Pearson said her mother-in-law had her own room in the house, the biggest bedroom, arid never moved out. She had a stroke, and for a while there was a nurse. "I wondered if Karen meant Harry went to that bedroom, of course."

  "Sure, she could have meant that, right, Zipporah?" Jesse asked me.

  I didn't reply. There was no confusion about it in my mind. Karen was specific about there being an apartment. She even talked about listening at the door.

  Jesse was disappointed by my silence but tried to ignore it. "Did you ask about the crime scene?" "What is it you expected us to learn, Jesse?"

  "I just wondered if there was anything to support the story," he said, and glanced at me.

  "They found Harry Pearson's body. They found the knife That was it, Jess."

  "Maybe Darlene Pearson cleaned up the room before the police arrived," Jesse suggested. "Covering up what had happened, what she didn't prevent."

  I felt how hard he was struggling to support what Karen had told me and him

  "Cover up? Like what? What was there to cover up? Harry was dead on the floor."

  "Harry's mother's wig or something?"

  "Why would Harry's mother's wig be in that room? Are you suggesting that Harry wore his mother's wig? You're taking the Psycho thing a bit far, aren't you? Isn't it a little on the incredible side to believe Darlene Pearson would tolerate such a state of affairs? Even if she wasn't worried for Karen, she would be worried for herself. Anyone would."

  Jesse looked down.

  "You guys know more than you're telling me," Daddy said.


  Neither of us denied it.

  Daddy leaned forward. "Holding back any information is a crime. You've been told that, Zipporah, and you know it, Jess. I'm not bothered by that as much as I am discovering you guys didn't trust me with the information."

  Jesse couldn't raise his eyes. The silence was tearing at both our hearts.

  "It's not his fault. It's mine," I blurted.

  "What is?"

  Jesse looked at me and shook his head, but I knew the time had come. Daddy had warned me that keeping the truth down wasn't easy.

  "I spoke with Karen right after she stabbed her stepfather," I began.

  "Where?" Daddy asked.

  "Here," I said. "She came here, Daddy."

  My throat was closing, and tears were burning at my eyelids. I tried to swallow. He was staring at me, the disappointment beginning to seep into his face, his eyes narrowing. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees.

  "Here?"

  "Yes, Daddy. I came home and found her here. She was in the attic."

  He leaned back. "In the attic?"

  "Yes. She had no place else to go."

  "Where is she now, Zipporah?"

  "She's in the attic," I said.

  Daddy was quiet. He glanced at Jesse, who continued to look down at the floor.

  "You're not telling me she's been upstairs in that attic all this time, are you, Zipporah?"

  I nodded. "Except for one night or two."

  He took a deep breath and gazed out the livingroom window for a moment. Then he turned to Jesse. "When did you know about this, Jesse?"

  "The day after I came home," he said.

  Daddy's face hardened. "What about the New York phone call, Zipporah?"

  "I did it with my tape recorder. She recorded the message, and I played it over the phone. She didn't want the police looking for her around here anymore. I went to the pay phone while Mama was in her bath."

  "My God," Daddy said. "You've been harboring a fugitive in our home. You assisted her in deceiving law enforcement. You caused your mother to tell a lie. Do you realize what you've done?"

  "She was my best friend, Daddy," I cried through my tears. "You told me what E. M. Forster said about choosing between your friend and your country."

  "That was something entirely different from this, Zipporah. I would have thought you understood. I've overestimated you, both of you," he said, looking at Jesse. "Okay. Go upstairs, and bring her down immediately. Go on!" he snapped. His lips were whitening in the corners with the flow of anger through his face.