Spyhole Secrets Read online

  OTHER DELL YEARLING BOOKS BY

  ZILPHA KEATLEY SNYDER YOU WILL ENJOY

  Cat Running

  The Egypt Game

  The Ghosts of Rathburn Park

  Gib and the Gray Ghost

  Gib Rides Home

  The Gypsy Game

  The Headless Cupid

  Libby on Wednesday

  The Trespassers

  The Unseen

  The Witches of Worm

  DELL YEARLING BOOKS are designed especially to entertain and enlighten young people. Patricia Reilly Giff, consultant to this series, received her bachelor’s degree from Marymount College and a master’s degree in history from St. John’s University. She holds a Professional Diploma in Reading and a Doctorate of Humane Letters from Hofstra University. She was a teacher and reading consultant for many years, and is the author of numerous books for young readers.

  To the little girl I saw on television whose life

  had just been tragically transformed by a tornado,

  and whose grief and anger inspired Hallie’s story

  When that long, weird day was finally over, Hallie went to bed without telling anyone about the attic window. Not her mother, and certainly not the second-floor Tilsons. Not even Marty, but for an entirely different reason.

  She couldn’t tell her mother or Mrs. Tilson because they both knew that the attic was forbidden territory. But why not call up Marty and tell her? The only answer had to be that Marty couldn’t handle it. Hard to believe, but there it was. Not even Marty Goldberg, who’d been Hallie’s best friend for nearly six years, and who used to go along with some fairly far-out fantasy stuff, could be expected to buy this one. How could anyone really believe that Hallie Meredith had found a secret window that let her spy on other people’s lives without the slightest chance that anyone would know she was doing it?

  Sound impossible? And if not impossible, something like black magic? Or else a miracle? You might think so, but it wasn’t any of those things. Not really.

  First off, it wasn’t a miracle sent by God, that was for sure. As far as Hallie could tell, God had stopped paying attention to anything that happened to the Merediths a long time ago. And supernatural? No way. Magic stuff doesn’t just up and happen that way. Everybody knows that in movies or on TV the supernatural doesn’t start without some mysterious clue that lets you know what to expect. Something like a swirling cloud of icy air drifting down a staircase, for instance, or maybe finding a strangely shaped Arabian lamp. Right? Or at the very least there has to be a sudden shift in the whole atmosphere, like in the movies when the music changes key and goes spooky and ominous.

  In this case there wasn’t anything like that. On that Tuesday afternoon Hallie certainly hadn’t been looking for anything magical or even out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t been looking for, or even looking forward to, anything at all. Particularly not looking forward to. Not just then, and maybe not ever again. What she had been doing was— well, a little bit like hiding.

  Quite a lot like hiding, really, but not the sort you do for fun, as in a game of hide-and-seek. And not exactly the kind you do when you’re trying to get away from somebody. Not unless the somebody is your own miserable self.

  Now, that was getting close. What she’d really been looking for at that moment was a hiding place good enough to get her away from all the horrible stuff that had been happening in her life lately. And—in particular—to get away from the unbelievably dumb lie she had just told.

  Actually, the first few hours of that weird Tuesday hadn’t been any worse than the Monday that came before it, at least not until school was out. During the school day most of her new classmates at Irvington Middle School had been nice enough to simply ignore her. There had been a few, however, who’d gone out of their way to make it absolutely clear that anybody who hadn’t had the privilege of knowing them since kindergarten was certain to be a hopeless bore. But that wasn’t anything new. They’d already let her know how they felt about that the day before. It was what had happened after school on Tuesday that was especially disgusting. And the worst part of it was that it had been her own fault.

  It had been Hallie’s fault, all right, but another kid had actually started the whole thing. The only kid, strangely enough, who hadn’t gone along with the class’s “Let’s make the new kid feel like an idiot” routine. Her name was Erin and she was blondish and kind of bulgy and embarrassingly enthusiastic about everything. But she was someone to talk to during recesses and lunch. Or at least to listen to.

  Erin was a babbler. The kind of person Dad would have said tended to say a lot of things she hadn’t thought of yet. Hallie had listened to Erin’s silly babbling on everything under the sun, including an endless rave about how she, Erin Adelaide Barlow, had lived in Irvington all her life, and how she knew practically everybody in town, and how much she liked meeting new people.

  During lunch hour that Tuesday, the topic had been the important people in Irvington who were on the city council, and how important the city council was, and how Erin’s very own mother was on it. Which was just before she asked the question that caused the problem.

  Erin didn’t ask many questions. Most of the time she was too busy answering questions that hadn’t been asked. But she had gotten around to asking where Hallie’s parents worked and what they did. So Hallie mentioned her mother’s job at the savings and loan. That turned out to be just about the only thing she had a chance to say, which was great. She hadn’t been planning to mention her father at all. And she didn’t, at least not until she told the stupid lie.

  Hallie had tried to be interested in Erin’s conversation, and to be glad that at least one of her new classmates wanted to be friendly, but the truth of the matter was that she hadn’t been all that grateful. And she’d been even less grateful when Erin caught up with her on the sidewalk right after school was out.

  “Where is it you said you lived?” Erin asked. When she heard “Warwick Avenue,” she said, “Oh, good. I can go home that way. It’s only a little bit out of my way.”

  So then, of course, they’d wound up in front of the Warwick Mansion and Erin had gone into a stark raving seizure about it. About how she’d always adored the old Warwick Mansion and how it had been her favorite Victorian house practically forever.

  “And you actually live there?” she kept saying. “I can’t believe it.” Erin’s whisper couldn’t have sounded any more stoked if she’d been talking about Bluebeard’s castle. “I just love that huge tower with all those stained-glass windows and gingerbready trim. It really is like a palace, isn’t it? My mother says it used to be the most famous house in the whole city. She was so angry when the city let them divide it up into apartments and then…” She stopped to glare up at the ten-story building next door. “And then, worst of all, let them build that ugly high-rise practically touching it.”

  She stopped staring at the Warwick Towers high-rise long enough to grab Hallie’s hand and squeeze it. “I just can’t believe I’m lucky enough to meet someone who actually lives there.” Erin’s plump cheeks were positively quivering with enthusiasm. “Can I go in with you, Hallie? Can I?” And then, when she noticed the look on Hallie’s face, “Just for a minute, to see what it looks like inside. I won’t stay long.”

  That was when Hallie told the unbelievably crazy lie. Crazy because Erin was certain to learn the truth—if she didn’t already know it. And unbelievable because Hallie had no idea why she’d stammered out that she couldn’t have visitors just then because … “Because my father works nights, so he has to sleep during the day. He’s probably sleeping right now.” That was what she’d actually said. Her father worked nights! Her father, Alexander Meredith, who just happened to
be dead, and had been for almost three months.

  Hallie was still talking and, at the same time, wondering why on earth she was saying such a ridiculous thing, when she realized that Erin was staring at her. Staring at her as if—well, as if maybe she had already heard that the new girl’s father was dead. And probably had only asked about Hallie’s parents to see if she could get her to talk about the terrible freeway accident. And now she must be wondering if Hallie was flipping out, or was a compulsive liar, or what. She didn’t say so, of course. All Erin said was “Well, okay. Maybe some other time.”

  She left then, hurrying up Warwick Avenue as if she couldn’t wait to get away from a person who would tell such a crazy, pointless lie. Hallie watched her go, feeling more or less the same way—feeling a sudden need to get away to a place where she could curl up like a bug in a cocoon and forget everything about Hallie Meredith. Forget her whole messed-up life, and especially the stupid lie she’d just told.

  But in spite of the urge to run and hide, Hallie went on standing there for several seconds while her mind began to spin out reasons and excuses, none of which made any more sense than the lie itself. Reasons like it had only happened because of how much she hated letting anybody, not just Erin but anybody, see where she lived. Actually, there wasn’t anything crazy about that. Anyone who grew up living in a house like the one in Bloomfield, and then had to move into a really crummy apartment, would feel the same way.

  So that was what started it. She’d suddenly needed to think up an excuse to keep Erin from coming in, and the first thing that popped into her mind had been to say that her mother worked nights and slept during the day. But then, with her mouth open to speak, she’d remembered that she’d already told Erin about the Irvington Savings and Loan. So there went that good idea. Erin Barlow might not be a giant brain, but she was probably smart enough to know that savings and loans didn’t have night shifts. So the working nights story had to be changed in a big hurry. And that explained the stupid lie—or did it? Hallie hoped so, since the only other possibility was that she really was as crazy as Erin probably thought she was.

  It wasn’t until Erin had disappeared up Warwick Avenue that Hallie went on into the house. In through the grand double doors to the wide entry hall with its majestic spiral staircase which, except for some scruffy old rugs and peeling paint, probably looked almost as glorious as Erin had been expecting it to be.

  On the second floor a wide, well-lit hallway passed the doors to the fairly nice apartments. But then came a climb up the steep and narrow back stairs, the air getting thinner and the heat heavier with every step. At last, puffing and sweating, she reached a small enclosed landing where the only light came from a tiny window, and where there were only two doors. Both were closed and locked—like the forbidden doors at the top of Bluebeard’s castle.

  One of the doors actually did lead to forbidden territory, but the one on the right was—home. The Merediths’ home sweet home, or else the Merediths’ cell block, which was a much better name for it.

  Taking out her key, Hallie opened the door, closed it behind her, and walked down a hallway past a row of cell-like rooms that had once been the Warwicks’ servants’ quarters. Five incredibly tiny, dark rooms strung out along a narrow hall that, since August, had been the home of the Meredith family from Bloomfield. Hallie clenched her teeth and swallowed hard. All that was left of the Meredith family, at least.

  It was then, as she was hurrying down the hall to the kitchen to dump her books on the table, that Hallie really began to think about hiding. No, not think, actually. Think wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t the kind of thing you really thought about. It was more like something that you just let happen.

  Actually, she’d always liked having a secret hiding place, even back in Bloomfield when it had been a kind of game. She’d never understood why exactly, but when she was curled up in the crotch of the old peach tree or under the desk in her dad’s study, it had always seemed easier to have a conversation with God if she felt like it, or just to daydream and think her own private thoughts.

  Back then she could always call up a wonderful fantasy about the great things that might happen someday. Like the one about the animal talent scout who discovered what an incredibly smart dog Zeus was and gave him his own TV series. The kind of stupid, “don’t you wish” daydreams most normal kids have.

  But all that had been in beautiful Bloomfield before the tenth of June. Now it was September, and the place was a crummy apartment on the third floor of what had once been the private home of a rich family. A very rich, very dead family named Warwick. And daydreams were definitely out of the picture. Hallie was quite sure she would never daydream again, and as for talking to God, no more of that either.

  The hiding thing had gone through a lot of changes too. The way it had been happening lately was that one minute she would be sitting in front of the TV or at the kitchen table, and the next she’d be squeezed into the back of her tiny closet or curled up on a blanket behind the couch. The hiding places had changed a lot, but the biggest change was that none of it felt much like a game anymore.

  This time, on a weird Tuesday afternoon, Hallie had no more than walked in the door of the ratty old cell block when she found herself drifting toward her tiny bedroom with its even tinier closet. And then, when she was almost there, stopping and turning around in a slow circle before she headed in an entirely different direction.

  In a different direction and toward a different kind of hiding place. This time she was headed—for a moment she hardly knew where…. It wasn’t until she got to the kitchen that she knew for certain: She was going to the attic. The attic of the Warwick Mansion, a place she had been only once before, and which, according to Mrs. Crowley, she was never to visit again unless “accompanied by a responsible adult.”

  That first attic visit had happened almost a month before, when she and her mother were moving into what Hallie had already started thinking of as the cell block. They’d been standing in the middle of their tiny living room surrounded by dozens of unpacked boxes when Mrs. Crowley, the apartment manager, had dropped in for a visit. Actually, she’d only come to have Hallie’s mom sign some lease papers, and it wasn’t until she was about to leave that she told them about the storage space in the attic. And that wasn’t until after they’d listened to a little lecture about what kind of people shouldn’t expect too much out of life.

  The apartment manager hadn’t exactly said she was talking about a single parent and her kid, but that was obviously what she had in mind. The main part of the message turned out to be that one of the things such people shouldn’t expect out of life was an apartment with decent closet space, not to mention air-conditioning.

  Mrs. Crowley was smiling a wide, toothy smile when she lumped Hallie and Paula Meredith together with all the rest of the people in the world who expected too much. The smile didn’t make what she was saying any friendlier, however. In fact, Mrs. Crowley had the kind of smile that somehow managed to make almost anything she said come out the opposite of warm and friendly. Hallie remembered how her dad had described a smile like that as looking like a row of tombstones in January. Remembering how her father’s eyes could laugh even while his mouth didn’t had made a swelling at the back of Hallie’s throat, but she’d swallowed it away and went on pretending to listen to the lecture.

  After her little speech, Mrs. Crowley did come through with a key to the attic, but when she’d realized that Hallie was going to help carry up the boxes she’d added pointedly that unaccompanied children were never allowed in the attic. Hallie wanted to point out that a person who’d lived almost twelve years and had already been through some pretty terrible stuff wasn’t exactly a child. But she didn’t say it. Instead she bit her lip and went on biting it while Mrs. Crowley went on to hint that the attic was haunted.

  She didn’t come right out and say there were ghosts in the attic. What Mrs. Crowley actually said was something like “There’s plenty of empty sto
rage space up there. But most of the other tenants prefer to keep their extra belongings elsewhere. Not sure why exactly. Something to do with the rumors, I guess.” And when Hallie’s mother had asked, “What rumors?” she’d only muttered something about how there was always silly talk about old houses. She had still been smiling her tombstone smile as she’d added, “All nonsense, of course. No such thing as ghosts.”

  Remembering Mrs. Crowley’s warning, Hallie shrugged. She didn’t believe that haunted stuff. Not for a minute. Mrs. Crowley had probably made that ghostly rumors stuff up to make sure Hallie never did exactly what she was, at that very minute, getting ready to do. And what if the attic did turn out to be haunted? Big deal. Maybe a really scary ghost or two would be enough to take her mind off some other terrible stuff, at least for a while.

  According to the wall clock over the old-fashioned refrigerator, there was still plenty of time. Not quite three-thirty. More than an hour before her mother came home from work. And the key? The key that Mrs. Crowley had put on the shelf over the kitchen sink? Still there. Good. Smiling grimly, Hallie whispered, “Look out, ghosts, here I come.”

  She was hurrying now, wanting to get going before her conscience had time to tell her all the reasons she shouldn’t do it. Not that she’d listen if it did. Oh, sure, she used to believe there had to be good reasons for everything that happened in this world. Used to, but not anymore. So her conscience could just shut up and mind its own business.

  With the key to the attic in her pocket, Hallie headed for the door. But then, just before she went out into the stairwell, she did stop for a second or two. Stopped to think, the way her mother’s bossy friend, Ellen, was always urging her to do.

  “Think before you jump, Hallie,” Ellen was always saying. “You’re entirely too impulsive.” But this time it didn’t work the way Ellen was always hoping it would. Actually, all that particular moment of thought led to was the realization that she ought to get a move on while she still had the time. A minute later, Hallie unlocked the attic door and started up the stairs.