The Dead End (8 page)

One week after the steamer trunk incident, Casey came to the end of Millie’s journal. It was dated
August 22,
and as usual, it began,
Dearest friend.

I am going to have a party today! Mama and Papa are throwing it, and they won’t even tell me why. It isn’t my birthday or anything. Papa said, “Who needs a reason for a party?” They have planned all kinds of games and things. “Now, if that doesn’t put a smile back on your face, I don’t know what will,” Papa told me.

We have invited children from all over Stillness — sixteen altogether. Edie Finney is coming from way out on North Road. Also, Grace Evanston, Pearl Miller,
the Avery girls and baby Jackie, Nathan and Rose Hopkins, George Archer, Gretchen Forsyth, and of course the Henrikssons — Johan, Peter, the twins, Alf and Charles, and little Anna. I have even invited Gunner Anderson, although he does not really deserve it.

Mama has been working on the cake all morning. It has yellow icing and sugar roses. I am going to wear my best dress, and as soon as Mama is done with the cake she is going to braid ribbons into my hair.

The only bad thing is that there were clouds when I woke up this morning. I hope they go away. I don’t want a single drop of rain to spoil my perfect party.

I am so excited. I think I may burst waiting for it to begin!

Yours truly,

Millie

Casey turned to the next page, but it was blank. So was the next. She flipped to the end of the journal, then went back again and checked each page carefully. There wasn’t so much as a single word.

Casey closed the diary, feeling troubled. She couldn’t imagine why Millie would stop writing.

Maybe she made a new friend at the party,
Casey told herself,
so she had someone to talk to and didn’t need her diary anymore.

But that didn’t seem right. After all, Millie wrote about everything in her diary. Wouldn’t she write about making a new friend, too?

“It doesn’t really matter,” Casey told herself. “It all happened a long time ago.”

She set the journal aside and went downstairs. Her parents had finished painting the living room and were now working on the second room, running rollers of white paint up and down the walls. Casey skirted the paint-splattered drop cloths and went out to the porch. On the swing, she put on her headphones and tried to listen to No Tomorrow. But for once the moody music didn’t soothe her. She couldn’t shake the thought of Millie from her mind.

Finally, she took off her headphones and got her bike.

“I’m going for a ride,” she called through the dining room window to her mother.

“Be back before dinner!” her mother called back.

Casey pedaled to the gas station and called Jillian. To her relief, her friend picked up on the second ring.

“Casey!” Jillian shrieked. “You called at totally the best time! I’m about to meet up with David to go to this concert in Central Park. Do you think I should wear my zebra-striped mini or that orange sundress I got at the Salvation Army?”

“I don’t know,” said Casey. “Jillian, listen, I need to talk to you. I’m really worried about something.”

“Case, what’s wrong?” Jillian asked, her voice suddenly filled with concern.

“It’s complicated,” Casey said. She launched into the story of finding Millie’s diary in the attic, Millie’s eerie predictions and her disturbing dreams, and the abrupt way the diary ended.

“She was going to a party and she was really excited,” Casey explained. “I can’t understand why she’d suddenly just stop writing. I’m worried, Jillian. I have this feeling something bad happened —”

“Hold on,” Jillian interrupted. “You’re not making sense. You said you found this diary in the attic and it’s really old, right?”

“Uh-huh. It was written in 1939.”

“So … I don’t get it. What are you so worried about? I mean, for all you know, she could be
dead.”

Casey gulped. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she whispered.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Jillian cleared her throat. “Look, Casey, I don’t know how to say this, but you’re acting really weird. Why are you freaking out about someone who lived, like, forever ago?”

Casey paused, searching for the words. How could she explain to Jillian that Millie felt as real to her as Jillian — as real as Casey herself? That what happened to Millie
did
matter. It mattered a lot.

On the other end of the line, Casey heard the buzzer to Jillian’s apartment.

“Oh, sugar,” Jillian said. “That’s David, and I haven’t even finished getting dressed. I have to go. Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure,” Casey said, trying to make her voice light.

“I’m fine.”

“Call me later. Promise?” said Jillian.

“Okay.”

Casey hung up the phone, feeling rattled and confused. Jillian was right, of course. If Millie wasn’t
dead by now, she was at least very, very old. But it was hard for Casey to imagine her that way. To her, Millie would always be the girl she was in her diary.

Jillian was too busy to listen, and Casey knew that her parents wouldn’t understand. But there was still one person who might.

Casey wheeled her bike up the driveway to Erik’s house. She could see toys scattered around the yard. Two little kids were playing in front of the house. They both had short curly blond hair like Erik’s.

“Hi there,” Casey said as she drew up close. “I’m looking for Erik. Is he around?”

Two kids gaped at her like she’d flown up in a spaceship. Then one of them leaped up and ran around the side of the house. The other remained, warily watching Casey as if she might try to make off with a tricycle or something.

A moment later, Erik came around the side of the house. Casey felt her heart do a little jump.

“Hey!” he said when he saw Casey. He sounded surprised. “What’s up?”

“I was just riding by. I thought you might be home,” Casey told him. For a second she wasn’t sure what to say. She glanced down at the little kid, who was still regarding her suspiciously. “Are these your, uh …” Casey trailed off, unsure if they were boys or girls.

“Sisters,” Erik filled in quickly. “This is Bridget and that’s Bee, short for Beatrice. Don’t worry if you can’t tell them apart. Almost no one can. They’re identical.”

The twin closest to him tugged his hand, and when he leaned down, she whispered in his ear. Erik glanced at Casey and laughed.

“What?” asked Casey.

“She says you’re pretty,” Erik told her. He smiled and added, “She wants to know if you’re my girlfriend.”

Casey blushed, and Erik laughed again. “You want to come in?” he asked. “Sure,” Casey said.

“You, too,” Erik told the twins. “You can’t be outside alone.”

Erik led the way into the house. In the living room, there were children’s toys strewn everywhere,
and Casey heard the TV going in another room. The whole place was messy in a comfortable way. Casey liked it much better than her own house.

Erik shooed the twins into the room with the TV. “Come meet my mom,” he said to Casey.

Casey followed him into the kitchen. A woman was sitting at the table, surrounded by pieces of paper. She had blond hair pulled back in a bun and pale gray eyes like Erik’s.

“Mom, this is Casey Slater,” Erik said. “She just moved into the house at the end of the lane.”

“Nice to meet you,” Casey said politely. “Thank you for the casserole.”

The woman gave her a tired smile. “I’m glad you liked it. It’s as easy to make two as it is to make one.”

“It was delicious,” Casey fibbed.

Erik’s mother nodded. “Nice to meet you, Casey,” she said, and turned back to her papers.

Erik got two cans of soda from the refrigerator and led the way into the living room. He cleared some stuffed animals off the couch, and they sat down.

“Mom’s a little distracted. She’s always like that
on bill day,” Erik said. He popped open his soda can. “So what’s up?”

“I didn’t come over just because I was riding by,” Casey confessed. “I wanted to talk to you. There’ve been more weird things happening. At my house.”

Erik’s expression grew serious. He waited for Casey to go on.

She told him about the past week — the crying in the attic, the doors slamming, and things falling. Then she told him about Millie’s journal. It took a long time to explain, and sometimes the things she said sounded crazy, even to her own ears. But Erik listened without interrupting, a little frown of concentration on his face.

“For a while I thought maybe my parents were right. Maybe it was all in my head,” Casey told him. “But I don’t think that’s true anymore. Things have been happening to me just the same as they did to Millie. And then when I came to the end of her diary …” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Erik finished it for her. “You’re afraid that whatever happened to Millie could happen to you, too.”

Casey nodded, relieved that Erik didn’t think she was nuts.

“But you don’t know that anything happened to her,” Erik pointed out. “She could have just lost her diary or moved or something.”

“I know,” Casey admitted. “But … I just have a feeling something bad happened.”

From another room, a shrill voice suddenly called out, “Charles!” Casey jumped, startled.

“That’s my gran,” said Erik, getting to his feet. “I’d better go see what she wants. You can come, if you want.”

Casey got up and followed Erik to the TV room. She was surprised to see an old woman sitting in a chair by the window. Casey hadn’t noticed her before. The woman had a pale face and a down-turned mouth, and at once Casey recognized her as the face she’d seen in the window that day. The woman’s lap was covered with a blue crocheted blanket. She stared vacantly at the TV, where the twins were watching cartoons.

“She might seem a little confused,” Erik warned Casey. “Gran’s memory’s not so good anymore.” He
went over to the old woman and gently touched her shoulder. She looked up, startled.

“Hey, Gran. It’s me,” he said.

She blinked at him. “Charles?”

“No, Erik. Your grandson,” he said patiently. “I have someone I want you to meet. This is my friend Casey.”

Gran’s gaze slid past Erik. When she saw Casey, her expression brightened. “You’re back!” she exclaimed.

“I’m sorry,” Casey told her. “You must be mistaken. I’ve never been here be —”

“You’re back!” Gran insisted, her voice girlish and lilting. She looked into Casey’s face, her eyes shining. “I’ve missed you so much, Millie.”

Casey stared at the old woman in horror. “Why did you call me
Millie?”

“No, Gran,” Erik said. “Her name is Casey. My friend
Casey.”

Gran didn’t seem to hear him. She reached out and grasped Casey’s hand in her bony one. “I’m so happy to see you, Millie. I looked for you everywhere. We all looked for you.”

Casey felt the urge to wrench her hand away, but she resisted it. Erik’s grandmother knew something about Millie, and this might be Casey’s only chance to find out.

“What do you know?” she asked urgently. “Do you know what happened to Millie?”

The old woman stared at her. Then she dropped Casey’s hand. “It’s not my fault,” she said.

“What do you mean? What’s not your fault?” Casey pressed.

Gran looked back and forth between Erik and Casey. In a second, her eyes clouded with anger. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice suddenly harsh. “Charles, who is this? What is she doing in my house?”

She was almost shouting. The twins turned from the TV to stare.

“I’m Casey,” Casey told her. “Erik’s friend Casey. I need to know what happened to Millie.”

“Get out of my house!”

“It’s no use.” Erik put a hand on Casey’s arm and pulled her away. “She can’t remember anything.”

Gran’s lips worked soundlessly. She was trembling, but whether from anger or fear Casey wasn’t sure. Erik poured his grandmother a glass of water from a pitcher on a side table. Then he and Casey quietly left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Casey said when they were out in the hall. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“It’s okay,” Erik said. “She gets confused really
easily. She calls me Charles — that was one of her brothers’ names. The twins, too. Sometimes she even forgets who my mom is.”

“But she knew Millie,” Casey said. “She acted like they were old friends.”

“It sure seemed that way,” Erik agreed.

The wheels in Casey’s mind were turning. Something Erik said had sounded familiar. “Your grandmother had brothers?”

“Four of them,” Erik replied. “Why?”

“What were their names?” Casey asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Well, one was Charles, of course. And the others were Peter, Alfred, and John — Johan, that is.”

Casey nodded slowly. “And your grandmother’s name is Anna. Anna Henriksson.”

Erik’s mouth fell open. “How did you know that?”

“Millie’s diary,” Casey told him. “She wrote about the Henrikssons. They were her closest neighbors.” She could picture their names in Millie’s handwriting, just as clearly as if the diary were in front of her.

Erik exhaled with relief. “For a second there, I thought you really were psychic.”

“But do you see what this means?” Casey said. “Your grandmother and her brothers knew Millie, which means they may know what happened to her!”

“There’s just one problem,” Erik said. “Gran doesn’t remember anything. And all her brothers are dead.”

Casey chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Then there must be someone else,” she said at last. “There were a lot of children at that party. There must be someone alive who can still remember it.”

It had gotten darker in the living room, and Erik switched a lamp on.

“Jeez!” cried Casey, leaping up from the couch. “I didn’t realize how late it was. I’d better get home or my mom will freak.”

Erik walked Casey to the door. “Tomorrow we’ll go through the journal and look for clues,” he promised. He glanced out at the dusk. A stiff wind had come up and was bending the tops of the trees. “Are you going to be okay riding home?”

“I’ll be fine,” Casey said. “See you tomorrow.”

Outside, she was surprised at how much the temperature had dropped. It had been warm when she left her house, but she was suddenly freezing in her
shorts and T-shirt. She battled a headwind all the way back, and was chilled to the bone by the time she got home.

Her mother was in the kitchen when Casey came through the back door. “I was starting to get worried about you,” she said. “Where have you been?”

“I ran into Erik,” Casey told her. “You know, the boy with the tuna casserole.” She rubbed her bare arms. “Why is it so cold?”

“There must be a storm coming in,” her mother replied. “Your dad’s got a fire going in the living room. Why don’t you run in there and warm up? Dinner should be ready soon.”

Casey hurried into the living room. Her dad was standing there with his hands on his hips, looking proudly at the fire blazing in the fireplace.

“I had a heck of a time getting it started,” he told Casey. “Smoke kept pouring into the room, even though the flue was open. Whatever the problem was, it’s fixed itself now. Come get warmed up. I’m going to go help Mom with dinner.”

Casey stretched out gratefully on the rug in front of the fireplace. She wanted to think more about
Erik’s gran.
What had she meant when she said, “It’s not my fault”?
Casey wondered.

But after the excitement of the day and her cold ride home, Casey was deeply tired. The smell of food cooking soothed her, and the heat from the fire made her sleepy. Before she knew it, her eyes had closed.

Casey couldn’t have said how long she was asleep. She woke to a jarring crash.

Casey sat up with a gasp. The room seemed to be in shambles. Books and broken glass were everywhere. It took Casey a moment to put together what had happened. A heavy old china cabinet where Casey’s parents had been storing their tools and home improvement books had toppled over, landing just inches from where Casey was lying.

Her parents came rushing into the room. “Casey, what happened?” her father exclaimed.

Casey knew what had happened. But she also knew her parents wouldn’t believe her. “I don’t know. The cabinet fell,” she told them.

“There’s no way that cabinet could have just fallen over,” her father said. “It’s got to weigh more than a hundred pounds.” He looked at Casey, still
sitting on the rug, and she could see him calculating that she was not strong enough to move it herself. For the first time she saw a flicker of doubt and confusion in his eyes.

Her mother looked shaken as she helped Casey up. “It’s not safe,” she murmured. “You could have been killed.”

An unused can of paint had been crushed beneath the cabinet, and now a crimson puddle seeped across the floor. Casey stared at it in horror.
That could have been me,
she thought. Now more than ever she knew she needed to find out what happened to Millie. Her own life depended on it!