The Old Willis Place

Georgie asked me.
    "The police aren't going to take you anywhere," Lissa said. "They've come for the children's bodies, not for you."
    Georgie drew closer to me. "You think you're so smart," he told Lissa scornfully. "But you don't know anything."
    "Shh," I warned him as softly as I could.
    The wind whipped Lissa's hair around her face, and she hunched her shoulders against the cold. From the looks of her, she was scared and cold—and very unhappy.
    The silence between us grew. We were alone in the trees. The police car and the hearse had vanished around a bend in the drive. Every now and then, we could hear tires spin in the snow.
    "Let's not fight any more, Georgie," Lissa said. "I'm sorry for all the dumb things I've said and done. Dad says I'm too prickly. I guess he's right."
    I looked at my brother. "You're sort of prickly yourself, you know."
    "So what if I am?" He scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at a tree— splat. "I could've thrown it at you," he told Lissa with a grin, "but I didn't."
    Lissa smiled. "It's good you didn't," she said. "My dad taught me how to make a really hard snowball."
    Georgie touched my hand. "Come on."
    With MacDuff bounding ahead, we plodded on through the snow until the house was in sight. Georgie pulled me behind a huge oak. Lissa hid with us, pressed beside me.
    The hearse and the police car, its lights still flashing, were parked by the front steps. The tall double doors stood open. While Mr. Morrison talked with one of the police, the men from the hearse maneuvered a gurney up the rotting steps. Excited by the commotion, MacDuff ran to Mr. Morrison. One of the policemen patted him.
    "Are you going to watch them bring the bodies out?" Lissa whispered. I had a feeling she wanted to leave.
    Georgie nodded, but I touched his arm. "Let's go."
    "Why?"
    "Because it's morbid to stay here and watch," I told him.
    "Don't you want to be sure they find us?"
    I glanced at Lissa, but she was edging away toward the warmth and safety of the trailer. She hadn't heard Georgie.
    "Please, Georgie," I whispered. "Watch what you say. Do you want Lissa to know everything?"
    He shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore."
    "I'm going to the trailer with her," I said. "Please come with us."
    Georgie didn't answer. Nor did he move. His attention was fixed on the house's open doors and the darkness beyond.
    I left him there and ran after Lissa. "Wait!"
    Behind me, the policeman's voice droned on. He was saying something about ghosts, old mysteries, Miss Lilian's role in the children's disappearance. With every step I took, my back prickled. I was tempted to look over my shoulder, but whatever came out of that cellar was best not seen.
    From the high gray dome of the sky, a hawk dove toward the field not far from the drive. In a second he was flying upward again, a mouse in his talons.
    Lissa glanced at the hawk and shuddered. "I hate this farm."
    "Hawks have to live," I said.
    "It's not just the hawk and the mouse," Lissa said. "That's just plain old nature. I mean ghosts and dead children and crazy people—things that give me nightmares. I want to leave, like you."
    I followed her into the trailer. "Do you want hot chocolate?" she asked.
    "No, thanks."
    "How about peanut butter cookies?" She held out a plate. "Dad and I made them this morning. Don't they smell delicious?"
    I shook my head. "Thanks, but I'm not hungry."
    Lissa sat down at the counter. I took a seat beside her. "I guess your parents don't allow you to eat sweets ," she said.
    "That's right." I toyed with a pencil lying on the counter, spinning it idly this way and that. It was hard to think of anything but the cellar and what the men from the morgue were doing down there.
    Lissa fixed herself a cup of cocoa and ate a few cookies. I breathed in the aroma. It was almost as satisfying as actually eating and drinking.
    "Let's play checkers," Lissa said. "The board's all set up."
    I followed her to the sofa. The checkerboard lay on the coffee table, ready to go. "Red or black?" Lissa asked.
    "Black." I picked up a checker and rolled it in my fingers. Maybe a game would take my mind away from the cellar.
    Lissa won easily. Not because she was a good player. I made sloppy moves, I overlooked traps, I let myself be cornered and captured.
    "What's wrong, Diana?" Lissa asked.
    "Nothing." I gathered up my captured men and began setting up the board for another game.
    "You're miles away," she insisted. "I can tell by the way you're playing."
    I