The Prophet of Yonwood Read Free

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    The Third Floor
    They put up the hoods of their jackets and dashed through the pelting rain, along the path, up the steps, and across the stone terrace to the wide, wooden door. The Yonwood real estate office had sent Crystal a key; she fitted it into the keyhole, turned it, and pushed the door open.
    They stepped into a wide hall. Crystal groped for the light switch, and a light came on, revealing walls hung with gilt-framed paintings of old-fashioned people, such old paintings that they were nearly black. At the end of the hall was a flight of stairs curving up into the darkness.
    Through an archway to the left was the dining room, where chairs stood around a long table. Through an archway to the right was the living room. The front parlor, Crystal said, turning on a lamp. It was a gloomy room: dark red curtains at the windows, floor-length; walls lined halfway up with bookcases, and above the bookcases red fuzzy wallpaper; Persian rugs on the floor, thin as sheets of burlap, patterned in dusty blue and faded red. And beside the window, a long couch with three bed pillows and two blankets neatly folded.
    This must have been where Grandfather spent his last days, Crystal said.
    Who took care of him? Nickie asked.
    He hired a girl, I believe. For those last few weeks, he wasnt able to cook for himself, and he needed help to get around. Crystal reached out and picked something up from a side table. Look, she said. Here he is. Grandfather. It was a silver-framed photograph of a smiling, silver-haired man. You would have liked him, Crystal said. He was interested in everything, just like you.
    Nickie studied the man in the photograph. He was very old; his skin sagged, but his eyes were lively.
    Crystal strode to a window and swept back the curtains. What I need to do, she said, is make a list of the valuables. She took a notebook out of her big purse. I may as well start on it, as long as were here. I think there might be some first editions among the books.
    Im going to look around, okay? said Nickie. I want to see everything.
    Her aunt nodded.
    Nickie went back through the dining room and through a swinging door that led to the most ancient kitchen she had ever seen. It had a smell so indescribably repellent that she hurried away down a passage that led behind the front parlor.
    There she found two bedrooms, each with a towering four-poster bed of black carved wood and a great black chest of drawers topped with a mirror in a heavy frame. Up on the second floor were four more bedrooms. She pulled open a few drawers, expecting to find them empty. But they were filled with folded clothes and jewelry boxes and hairbrushes and old bottles of dried-up perfume. It looked as if no one had ever cleaned these rooms out after their occupants had gone away or died.
    There was a study on the second floor, too, where a computer sat on a desk, and a lot of file folders and papers and books lay scattered around the room. Her great-grandfather must have worked here. Hed been a college professor before he retired, but Nickie wasnt sure what hed been a professorof. Some sort of science.
    It was strange, she thought. Until just a few days ago, this house had been lived in continuously for over 150 years. It was never vacant, and it was never soldher ancestors had always owned it. Children had grown up here. Old people had died. The house had been so full of life for so long that it probably felt like a living thing itselfand now, in its sudden emptiness, knowing its family no longer wanted it, she imagined it must feel frightened and lonely. Well,I want you, she thought. I think youre wonderful.
    Remembering that there was a third story, Nickie looked for another stairway. She found it behind a door to the left of the big front stairsthese werent broad and polished but narrow and plain. There was no handrail along the wall.
    At the top was a closed door. She opened it to find herself in a hall with two doors on each side. She