House of Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page B

stick! ”
    Silence gripped the room. Brendan gulped and gave his dad the lacrosse stick.
    “Now apologize,” ordered his mother.
    Brendan took a deep breath, refusing to make eye contact with the old woman, and said under his breath, “Sorry.”
    “You’re more than sorry. You’re grounded for a month. You can’t just threaten people,” said his father.
    “I’m not sure she’s a person,” Brendan mumbled.
    “Bren,” Cordelia said, “she was introducing herself. She’s our next-door neighbor.”
    “Great.”
    “I apologize for my son’s unconscionable behavior,” said Dr. Walker, putting the lacrosse stick against a wall. “Brendan, go to your room; we’ll discuss this shortly. Ma’am, we never had a chance to get your name.”
    “Dahlia Kristoff,” the old crone said. “And please don’t worry about your son. I understand about young boys. Especially these days. So many stimuli.”
    “Are you related to Denver Kristoff, the writer?” Cordelia asked breathlessly.
    “He’s my father.”
    Was your father, Brendan thought as he mounted the back stairs, unless he’s like two hundred.
    “I’m a fan,” Cordelia said. She held up her copy of The Fighting Ace .
    “It’s so nice to meet a fellow bibliophile. Did you get that from my father’s library?”
    Cordelia nodded, a little embarrassed—but then again, it was her library now.
    “I remember when he finished it. I was born here. See that old joker behind you?” Dahlia nodded to the philosopher bust in the great hall. “Used to call him Arsdottle. Never could pronounce his name correctly.”
    “How long did you live here?” asked Cordelia.
    “Oh, not too long,” replied Dahlia. “I’ve moved around a bit. Europe, the Far East . . . I’ve lived in places you wouldn’t believe. But I could never get Kristoff House out of my soul.”
    “Where do you live now?” Eleanor asked. “One thirty or one twenty-six?” Cordelia gave her a squeeze. She was getting better with numbers.
    “Aren’t you a precious one!” said Dahlia. “One thirty, the fine painted lady next door.”
    “The purple house with the white trim?” asked Mrs. Walker. “It’s beautiful.”
    “Thank you. And you are . . . Walkers , correct?” said Dahlia.
    “How did you know that?” asked a slightly unnerved Dr. Walker.
    “The neighbors,” replied Dahlia. “They like to talk. But they didn’t tell me your Christian names—”
    “She’s lying!” Brendan called from the staircase where he’d been spying. “Don’t listen to her—”
    “Brendan. To. Your. Room,” Dr. Walker said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kristoff—”
    “Miss Kristoff.”
    “ Miss Kristoff. We are the Walkers, yes.” Dr. Walker put on his business voice. “I’m Jacob. This is my wife, Bellamy; our daughters Cordelia and Eleanor; and . . . um . . . Brendan . . . who is apparently refusing to leave the staircase.”
    “That’s right!”
    Dr. Walker sighed.
    “Such a pleasure,” said Dahlia. “So, what are you children ‘into’?”
    “Excuse me?” Dr. Walker asked.
    “What are your enthusiasms and interests? Isn’t that how the young people put it today?”
    “Reading,” said Cordelia.
    “Horses,” said Eleanor.
    “And your brother? What about him? Is he more adventurous?”
    “None of your business!” Brendan yelled. “Why are you guys letting her stay here? You should be kicking her—”
    “Brendan! I’ve got this,” Dr. Walker said. “I don’t want to be rude, Miss Kristoff, but we have dinner to get to. We do look forward to being your neighbor. And we gratefully accept your pie.”
    Dahlia handed Dr. Walker the gift and looked at each of the Walkers in turn. There was nothing in her eyes but equanimity.
    “I know I ask too many questions. It’s only because I don’t have many friends left. Or much time.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry!” said Mrs. Walker. “Your health . . . ?”
    “It’s nothing to worry about. Nothing lasts forever. I shouldn’t have