The Hound of Rowan Read Free Page B

trees near the backyard fort he had built with his father. When his stomach began to growl, Max finally put the letter aside and went downstairs to make a sandwich.
    He was descending the stairs when he saw a shadow moving beneath the front door. Max stopped as he heard three soft knocks. He remained still, poised between steps, when the knocks sounded again.
    â€œHello?” a lady called. “Anybody home?”
    Max exhaled—it was not the man from the museum. Tiptoeing down to a side window, he glimpsed a plump, elderly woman holding a suitcase and glancing at her watch. Her cane was propped against the door. Catching sight of Max, she smiled brightly and waved.
    â€œHello. Are you Max McDaniels? I’m Mrs. Millen. I believe you received a letter that said I would be visiting you?”
    Max smiled and waved back.
    â€œMight I come in?” she asked sweetly, nodding toward the locked door.
    He slid back the brass bolt and opened the door. Mrs. Millen stood on the doorstep, beaming and extending her hand.
    â€œIt’s very nice to meet you, Max. I was hoping I could have a few words with you about the letter you received.”
    â€œSure. Nice to meet you, too.”
    â€œYes, well, can we sit down and have a chat?”
    Max led Mrs. Millen to the dining room. She politely declined when he offered to carry her suitcase, leaning heavily on her cane as she swung it along. With a grateful sigh, she settled into a chair, sending up a waft of perfume. She smiled and removed her glasses to massage red, puffy eyes as Max took a seat across from her.
    â€œWell, before we begin…might I have the pleasure of meeting your parents? Are they at home?”
    â€œMy dad’s out on business.”
    â€œI see,” she said. “And your mother?”
    Max glanced at an old photo of the McDaniels family propped on the buffet.
    â€œShe’s not home, either.”
    â€œWell, that certainly makes my job a bit easier,” she said. Her shoulders relaxed, and she gave Max a little wink.
    â€œHow do you mean?” Max frowned, leaning back in his chair. He glanced at her suitcase, puzzled by the long, shallow scratches that scored its side.
    â€œOh, well, parents are often very set in their ways. For example, most parents can’t really understand strange events at the Art Institute, now, can they?”
    Max smiled.
    â€œYou did have quite a day yesterday, didn’t you, Max?”
    â€œYeah—I mean yes. Yes, I did.”
    â€œAnd tell me, what was so special about it?”
    â€œWell, I saw lots of weird things,” Max said with a shrug. “I found a room—a room I couldn’t find again after I’d left it. While I was in the room, I saw a tapestry.”
    Mrs. Millen nodded, tapping her finger against the table’s smooth, shiny surface.
    â€œWas it pretty?” she asked. “Was it a pretty tapestry?”
    â€œNot at first.”
    Her finger froze in mid-tap.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she asked.
    â€œIt was ugly,” Max whispered. But then he paused. His experience now seemed very personal. He was hesitant to share it with her.
    â€œYes?” Mrs. Millen said. “It was ugly? An old, ratty tapestry? Go on, dear…. I know it seems secret and silly, but it’s all right to share it with me. Believe me, Max, you’ll feel better if you do.”
    She smiled and leaned forward expectantly. Max suddenly felt sleepy.
    â€œIt started to glow,” Max said slowly, tracing the table’s grain with his finger. “There were words and pictures and music.”
    â€œAnd what were those words, Max? Tell me, what
pictures
did you see?”
    She spoke in hushed, urgent tones. Max felt his neck begin to itch; he paused to look at her closely.
    Her face was round and strangely taut. Although her smile stayed fixed, her pupils began to dilate. Max was fascinated by them as they grew. They reminded him of a polar bear he