The Old Willis Place

Jarfrom the trailer" he said."There's no telling who might he hanging out in the woods. And stay away from the old house."
"1 hear there's a hunch of snakes in the cellar," the first policeman said. "And the floorboards are rotten in some of the rooms."
The two of them got in the police car. "Keep your eye out," the first one told Dad. "Ifyou see anything suspicious, give us a call."
Officer Novak looked at me as if something was worrying him, but all he said was,"That's a real nice dog you've got."
We watched them drive away. I was hoping they'd turn their lights and siren on, but they didn't. I guess they only do that in movies.
So now Dad thinks I might have been right about kids hiding in the woods, spying and stealing stuff. Three hundred acres—there must be a ton of hiding places on this farm.
I'm going to look for them. If I find them, Til tell them to give my bike back—or else they'll end up in jail or juvenile detention. They can't scare me. And neither can Miss Willis.
Well, I've written so much my hand hurts, so I think I'll stop and read in bed for a while. It sure is dark outside. Not a streetlight. Not a house light. Not even a headlight going past.
Your friend, Lissa
P.S. I'm going to call you Dee Dee. It makes you seem more like a real pen pal.

Chapter 3
    The sound of falling rain woke Georgie and me. It pinged on the sheds tin roof like someone was beating on it with drumsticks. Nero curled beside me, purring, happy to be warm and dry. Georgie looked less happy.
    "Rain. I hate rain." He snuggled deeper under his blankets, as if he meant to sleep until the sun came out. "I wish we had a new book to read."
    I looked at the pile of old books we'd borrowed from Miss Lilian. "How about Clematis! We haven't read that for a long time."
    "I said a new book. I'm sick of those old ones. Especially Clematis. It's a silly girly girl story." Georgie pulled the blankets over his head. "Besides, I hate sappy endings."
    I yanked the covers back and laughed at his scowling face. "Tonight we'll borrow a book from Lissa," I promised. "She has a whole shelf full of them. Surely she won't miss one or two."
    "I want a story right now," Georgie mumbled. "Tell me the one about us."
    "But it always makes you cry."
    "Tell it anyway."
    I sighed and stretched out on my back beside him. "Once there was a little boy named Georgie," I began. "He had a big sister named Diana. They lived in a little house on a big farm with their mother and father. It wasn't their farm. It belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Willis, but Georgie and Diana could play anywhere they wanted. Inside and outside."
    "Upstairs and downstairs," Georgie added. "Diana and Georgie were so happy."
    "Most of the time," I said.
    "All of the time," Georgie insisted. "They rode bicycles—their very own bicycles. And they had lots of books to read. They had warm beds. And food, delicious food. Ice cream, candy, cake, and cookies, all they could eat."
    Lulled by the rain into a dreamy state like Georgie's, I said, "Devil's food cake was their favorite. And chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven, all gooey and sweet. Mother read to them every night and Daddy took them fishing in the pond."
    "And Diana played the piano every single day." Georgie snuggled closer. "Those were the best times ever."
    "Except for Miss Lilian." I was sorry the moment the old woman's name popped out of my mouth. It hung in the air for a long moment, a dark cloud over our heads, a curse nothing could dispel.
    Georgie drew away from me and covered his ears. "Stop, Diana! Don't tell the bad part."
    "But you said—"
    "I've changed my mind." Throwing his covers back, Georgie got to his feet and dashed out into the rain.
    "Georgie!" I ran to the shed's door and peered after him, but he was already out of sight. "Come back," I called. "You'll get soaked."
    There was no answer, just the sound of the rain and the wind stripping the trees, filling the air with ragged yellow leaves.
    "Georgie," I called again. Still no answer. He'd probably stay away all day, holed up in one of his secret hideouts.
    I stepped back from the sheets of water pouring off the roof. If I hadn't mentioned Miss Lilian, my brother and I would still be telling tales about the old days, amusing ourselves while the rain fell and the wind blew. Now Georgie was gone and I was alone.
    To keep myself from thinking about the bad part, I rummaged through our pile of moldering belongings until I found Clematis. I made a snug nest of