Secrets in the Attic by V. C. Andrews
Never having been inside a police station before, I did not know what to expect. From watching old movies and television, I thought I would see prisoners in cells, but it looked more like a
government office, with secretaries and office machinery. Even the woman who I learned later served as a police dispatcher wasn't in a uniform.
There were two detectives waiting with the chief of police when we arrived. My father explained that they came out from state law enforcement agency called the
Bureau of Criminal Investigations and were the ones usually called upon when there was a capital crime.
Chairs had been set up for my father and me. One of the detectives, a tall, thin man with light brown hair and unusually dark brown eyes that reminded me of shoe polish, sat across from us. His long, lanky legs were crossed, which made his upper torso look lower in the seat. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Cooper and the other detective as Detective Simon. Simon was considerably shorter, stouter, and less good-looking because of his oversized facial features and somewhat balding head of thin black hair. His forehead looked as if someone had drawn permanent crease lines in it with a thin stick of charcoal, too.
The chief was a kindly looking fifty-some-yearold man with what I called grandfather eyes and a pleasant, soft smile. His face was angular, with a firm mouth and a strong, taut jaw. He was about my father's size but broader in the shoulders. His name tag read "Chief Keiser." He rose after the detectives were introduced and offered my father his hand.
"Thanks for bringing her down so fast, Mr. Stein." "No problem. She's obviously very upset, and I think it's best we do this now and quickly."
"Oh, I couldn't agree more," Chief Keiser said. "Just a terrible thing. Terrible." He smiled at me again and indicated we should sit.
It didn't come as any surprise that the police would have found out so quickly how close Karen and I were. In our small school, everyone knew everyone else's relationships, friends, and family. Besides, Karen and I were together every opportunity we had during the school day. As Karen had said many times, we were birds of a feather. Of course, now I had to wonder just how close my feathers really were to hers.
"When something like this happens," Lieutenant Cooper began, turning his attention directly to me, "we like to find out why as quickly as we can. It helps us understand more about it all. We've been speaking with a number of people about it, and we have some ideas, but from what we've been told . . . Zipporah, is it?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "Zipporah. From what we've been told, no one would have a better idea, perhaps, than you." "Her mother would," I said quickly.
The two detectives exchanged a quick look, and
Lieutenant Cooper turned back to me.
"Why do you say that, Zipporah?"
"Because she's her mother," I replied. The
answer was so obvious it brought a smile to my father's face and even the chief of police's face, but the two detectives didn't even move their lips.
"Okay," Lieutenant Cooper said. "If you were Karen's mother, what would you know?"
"I don't know what her mother knew and didn't
know, sir. I was just her friend. I didn't live in the
same house. I never even had dinner with them." "Boy, you can tell this is the daughter of an
attorney," Lieutenant Cooper remarked.
I could feel Daddy bristle beside me.
"I don't think that's called for," he said. "She's
trying to be as accurate as she can be. Maybe you
should phrase your questions better, be more specific,
Lieutenant."
"Right, sorry. Do you know where Karen
Stoker is right now?" he asked sharply.
"No," I said. I told myself it wasn't a lie. I knew
where she was before we left the house, but I didn't
know where she was at that moment. Maybe she had left the attic. Maybe she was outside. Maybe she was
in my room.
"Did she tell you she was thinking of doing this
terrible thing?"
"Oh, no." Again, that was no lie. She hadn't
ever said anything about killing her stepfather. "We've heard she was upset about her mother
marrying Mr. Pearson, and we know she never wanted
him to adopt her, but did you ever witness anything in
their home that would upset her enough to do this?"
Detective Simon asked.
"I didn't witness anything that would give me
such an idea, no."
"You never saw them argue?"
"I never saw Karen and Mr. Pearson argue
when I was in the house."
"Did you see them argue anywhere else?"
Lieutenant Cooper asked with a deep sigh of
annoyance.
I shrugged. "They didn't argue so much, but
Karen was upset with things he said when she was at
the drugstore sometimes."
"According to her mother," Detective Simon
said, some frustration in his voice, "you were with her
more than she was."
"I don't know how that could be true. We rode
the school bus together back and forth. We were
together when we could be in school. I went to her
house occasionally, and she came to mine to study
and stuff. A few times, my father took us to the
movies and out to eat. We went to some school
ballgames together. I never slept over at her house," I
said. "She has slept over at mine, but she's been with
her mother all her life."
"I didn't mean that literally," Detective Simon
said, closing and opening his eyes. "I meant, and I'm
sure her mother meant, that you were with her more
than any other person, friend."
"Yes. We were les oiseaux d'une plume," I said,
smiling.
"What?"
"I think that means 'birds of a feather' in
French," my father said. "No one denies they were
inseparable, Detective, as girlfriends. That's why you
asked to see her right away, isn't it?"
"Okay," he said. He looked at me again. "Was
her father too strict with her?"
"Her father died about four years ago," I said. "Her stepfather, he means," Lieutenant Cooper
said, and glared at my father.
"She told me he wouldn't let her talk on the
phone for more than two minutes, and he wouldn't put
a phone in her room."
"Oh, how cruel. So she killed him," Detective
Simon muttered.
"Easy," Chief Keiser said. He flashed a smile at
Daddy and then at me.
"Did she talk about that and about other things
he wouldn't let her do?" Lieutenant Cooper asked me.
"Sometimes, but not that much," I said.
"What else, then?"
"She told me he wouldn't let her serve him any
food, meals."
"How come?" Detective Simon asked. "I don't know."
"Did she act strange, stranger than ever, this
past week or so? Was anything in particular bothering
her?" Lieutenant Cooper followed before I could
respond to the first question.
"She had some headaches."
"Headaches?" They looked at each other. "What kind of headaches?"
"She went to the nurse at school. You could ask
her what kind they were. I don't know much about
headaches," I said, and I heard my father grunt a
chuckle.
"Did you ever see a knife in her room?"
Detective Simon asked me, so suddenly I couldn't
respond for a moment.
"Yes, I saw a knife "
"Did you ask her why she had it there?" "No." I hadn't asked. "I ha
room," I recalled. "My brother gave it to me as a
present. It's a real Boy Scout knife, I think. It has . . ." "All right. You have a knife," Lieutenant
Cooper said.
He sat back. Everyone was quiet, and they were
all looking at me.
"You know it's against the law to hold back any
information that relates to this case," Lieutenant
Cooper finally said. "You could get into big trouble." "You have no reason to threaten her," my father
said. "She came down here, and she's answering your
questions. She's just trying to be as accurate as possible."
He looked at my father, nodded, and turned
back to me.
"Did she ever talk about a place she would go,
somewhere she wanted to go?"
"The city," I said.
"The city?" He looked at Detective Simon as
though I had given them a brilliant lead.
"New York City?" Simon asked.
"That's the only city people up here mean when
they say 'the city,' " Chief Keiser said.
"All right. If you think of anything that might
help us understand this situation more, you call the
police station here, and ask for Chief Keiser. He'll get
to us right away, especially if Karen Stoker calls you,
understand?" Lieutenant Cooper asked me.
"If she calls me, call you right away," I
promised. She would never call me in my own house.
"Thank you, Mr. Stein," the chief said, standing and
offering his hand.
Daddy rose to shake it, and I stood.
"No problem," Daddy said. "Good luck with the
investigation," he told the detectives, and then he led
me out of the police station. He didn't speak until we
were in the car. He inserted the ignition key and
started the engine first. Then he turned to me. "You
did real well, honey. Don't let the detectives upset
you."
"I'm not upset," I said.
I was actually a little proud of myself.
Somehow, I felt I had escaped telling an out-and-out terrible lie. As silly as it might sound to someone else, I felt Karen would be proud of me, and I was happy
about it.
"Good. Let's go get some pizza," he declared,
and we were off.
I felt guilty about having a good time with my
father at dinner while Karen sat upstairs in the
darkness trying to keep as quiet as she could. Of
course, she didn't have to worry until my mother or
we were home, but still, she had to eat leftovers and
had to eat by herself. I wondered how I could get to
see her. Since my mother would be on duty into the
evening and then sleep late in the morning, I would
have to leave the house for school before I could get
up to the attic. My first opportunity wouldn't be until
after school.
Daddy decided that at dinner, we would not talk
about Karen and what was going on, but he did talk
about what he now thought was my need to get myself
more involved with traditional school activities. "You need to make more friends. You could
join the chorus. You sing so well, Zipporah. I'm sure
they'll want you. And what about drama club? I was
in drama club, you know," he said, and told me about
the plays he had been in and the parts he had acted. I
had never known that.
It occurred to me that we get to know even the
people we love in little ways over a long period of
time. Just because someone is your father or your
mother doesn't mean you know everything about him
or her. Everyone reveals things about himself or
herself carefully, slowly, sometimes because he or she
didn't remember these things until something stirred
up the remembrance. Maybe we go through our whole
lives and never really get to know the people we love
or think we love. Look at how much I had learned
about Karen in just the last few months.
My father mistook my deep thinking for
sadness.
"We'll try to do something this weekend," he
promised after we left the restaurant. "Maybe we'll
take a ride to the city and see a show. I think your
mother gets this weekend off. That'll be fun, won't it?" "Yes," I said. I juggled my sadness about Karen
missing all the fun with the realization that she would
have the house to herself and wouldn't be so restricted
in her movements. She could even watch television,
play music, anything, if she was just careful about not
leaving any traces. We'd have to go over that, I
thought. We'd have to be sure that was followed
strictly.
There was so much preparation to do and so
little time to do it. An idea occurred to me.
"Daddy, I'd like to stay home from school
tomorrow."
"You would? Why?"
"It's going to be terrible for me to go back right
after all this. They'll gang up on me to tell them everything I know, and they won't leave me alone all day. I
need a little time. Please," I pleaded.
"Sure, I understand," he said. "I'll call your
mother at the hospital and let her know. No problem,
honey."
"Good," I said. Good, I told myself. The
moment my mother left for her shift, I'd be able to get
upstairs and be with Karen.
Pretty smart thinking, Zipporah, I heard myself
think. It was as if Karen had just said it, too. The phone was ringing almost as soon as we
entered the house, which gave support to my theory
and reason to stay home. Suddenly, girls at school
who would barely nod at me wanted to speak to me. I
told my father to say I was unable to speak on the
phone. I was asleep. They all understood, but I was
sure all that did was make me more desirable. They were all hoping for the same thing: exclusive information that they could then spread through their
gossip mill.
My mother called to see how I was doing, and I
went to the phone to speak with her.
"Daddy told me about the police, Zipporah. I
guess they weren't as nice to you as they should have
been. Are you all right?"
"I'm okay," I said, "but I want to stay home
tomorrow."
"Yes, he explained that, too. I agree you should.
Get a good night's rest. We'll talk in the morning:' "Okay," I said, and went up to my room. My
father was on the phone, so I shouted good night, and
he shouted back, "Sleep tight!"
I was tempted once again to go up to the attic.
He would probably stay downstairs and watch
television or read or do both, as he often did. The risk
remained too great, so I opted to be patient. When I
went into my bathroom to wash and brush my teeth,
however, I found a note on the sink.
Hey, I'm doing fine. Don't worry. I got
something to read and I found a box of Cracker Jacks
in the pantry. You know I love Cracker Jacks. I'll save
the surprise for you. Have a good day in school. I can't wait to hear the gossip. Destroy this right away.
K.
I did just that, and then I brushed my teeth and
went to bed.
As I lay there in my bed and looked up at the
ceiling, I tried listening hard to see if I could hear
Karen's movements. Except for the usual creaks and
moans in the old house, I heard nothing new. She's
probably asleep herself I thought. She has to be
totally exhausted. It would be a nice surprise for her
tomorrow when she found out I didn't go to school.
We'd have lots of time to spend together.
I didn't think I could fall asleep after the events
of this day, but I surprised myself. Minutes after I
closed my eyes, I spun into a dark tunnel and fell into
such a deep sleep I didn't hear my father get up in the
morning or anything. Since I had turned off my alarm
clock the night before, by the time I opened my eyes,
it was nearly nine o'clock. I had slept through my
normal breakfast and the school bus pickup. Now I
wondered if Karen knew and was worried that
something was going to happen any minute. My mother came to my room and saw I was
awake. "Hey, how are you, honey?"
"Okay," I said.
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Scrambled eggs," I said. She made the best,
with cheese. My appetite put a smile on her face, and
she went down to make breakfast. I rose, washed, and
dressed quickly, putting on a pair of old jeans and a
short-sleeved blouse. Before I went downstairs, I
looked up at the attic. I half expected she would be
peering out.
I started toward it, thinking I would just open
the door and tell her quickly not to worry, but the
moment my foot touched the first step, it creaked so
loudly I was sure I had alerted my mother below. I
froze, listened, then turned quickly and hurried down
the stairs, thinking there was no sense in taking any
risk when I would be free to move about in a short
while.
"I'm glad you wanted to stay home today," my
mother told me when we both sat at the table. "I was
worried about not having time to spend with you after