Long Lost, стр. 4

Fiona glared at the back of Arden’s seat. “Let me out here.”

Her mom caught her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are you feeling carsick?”

“No. I just don’t want to be stuck at an ice rink for hours and hours.”

“Fiona.” Her mom sighed. “You didn’t want to stay home alone, remember?”

“I won’t be at home. I’ll be . . . here.” Fiona glanced out the window at the town blurring past. “I can walk around.”

“You can’t just wander around an unfamiliar place.”

“Why not?” Arden’s voice was chilly now. “She’s got her map.”

Their mother sighed again.

They rolled along Old Mill Road, past a row of grand houses that lined the lake, all of them converted into law offices and dental practices now. Suddenly, beside the largest house of all, their mother veered to a stop.

“All right,” she said, squinting through the windshield. “Here’s the deal. You can stay at the library—only the library—while Arden and I are at the rink. We’ll be back by twelve thirty. You have your phone with you, right?”

“Mom!” exclaimed Arden. “We’re already going to be late!”

Their mom craned to face Fiona. “You can call me anytime. And remember your dad’s campus is fifteen minutes away. You can reach him if there’s an emergency. But I don’t expect there to be any emergencies, because you’re going to stay here, at the library. Right?”

“Right,” said Fiona.

“We have to get going. Unless you’re changing your mind again, Fiona.”

“No.” She pushed open her door. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“See you at twelve thirty, ladybug.”

Arden didn’t say goodbye.

Fiona dragged her backpack out onto the sidewalk and listened as the car pulled away.

Before her stood a grand brick mansion. Tall, narrow windows glared down at the street from each of its three stories. A widow’s walk fenced with iron spikes topped its steep black roof, and giant trees clustered close to its walls, cloaking the house in leafy shadows. CHISHOLM MEMORIAL LIBRARY, read a sign in the center of the lawn.

But this didn’t look like a library.

This looked like a house that belonged to rich, strange, secretive people. The kind of people who might keep an insane relative shut up in the attic or collect tanks full of poisonous snakes.

Fiona ventured up the walkway to the porch. At the heavy double doors, she hesitated, wondering if she should knock and wait for a black-suited butler to let her in. But that was silly. This was a library. Besides, nobody had butlers anymore. Did they?

Fiona pushed one thick brass handle. The opening door pulled her into a wide, wood-floored foyer, where the air smelled reassuringly of books. Taking a deep breath, Fiona stepped through an archway into a room that was nearly as large as her entire house.

The room had parquet floors and damask wallpaper and tall, narrow windows bright with sunlight. It also had clusters of tables and heavy armchairs filled with gray-haired people. The gray-haired people all turned to stare at her. So did the librarian behind the broad wooden desk.

For a single, powerful heartbeat, Fiona wished that Arden was beside her.

Arden could belong anywhere. She seemed right no matter where she was. It had to do with the way she moved, as if she always knew where she was going and how she was going to get there. Fiona could tag along, unnoticed and unquestioned, because anyone who glanced at them would see that they were sisters. If Arden belonged somewhere, Fiona must belong there too.

Fiona took a breath, straightening her shoulders. She didn’t need her sister to belong in a library. She could do this on her own.

Gradually, the gray-haired patrons returned to their newspapers and computer screens. The librarian, who was youngish, with olive skin and brown hair pinned up in a mound of swirls, gave Fiona a smile before going back to her work.

Fiona padded along the edge of the room, trying to ignore the glances that followed her.

All around the central reading room were doorways leading to other areas. STUDY, read a sign outside a bookcase-lined alcove with a brick fireplace. A long, rectangular chamber that might once have been a dining room was labeled REFERENCE. CHILDREN’S SECTION, said the sign outside a sunny glass room that had obviously been a conservatory. (Just like in Clue! Fiona thought.) And at one end of the central chamber, next to a sign reading FICTION—SECOND FLOOR, a broad wooden staircase angled upward.

Fiona climbed the steps.

A portrait of a white woman in a sea-green armchair hung above the landing. As Fiona drew nearer, she noticed that the woman was somewhere between middle-aged and old, with silvery-gold hair around her face, and fine lines around her eyes, and a triple strand of pearls around her neck. She wore a regal little smile—the kind of smile someone wears while saying, “This is mine, but you may use it.” But the woman’s eyes didn’t match her smile. Fiona stopped on the landing, leaning closer. There was something in the woman’s eyes that looked . . . was it sad? Or was it something else?

She was still trying to figure it out when a voice behind her said, “Margaret Chisholm.”

Fiona whipped around.

Beside her stood another kid—the only one she’d seen in the library. His face was very round, and his hair was very pale. He looked about her age. Fiona felt a zap of nervousness. She wasn’t good at talking to kids she didn’t know. She either said too little, which made her seem unfriendly, or way too much, which made her seem weird. Why was this boy talking to her in the first place? And had he just called her Margaret? He must have mistaken her for someone else.

“Um—no,” Fiona began. “My name is—”

“That’s Margaret Chisholm,” said the boy, nodding at the portrait. “She left her mansion to the town, so it could become the library.”

“Oh,” said Fiona, feeling stupid. Which was her least favorite thing to feel, especially in front of a stranger. “So she’s . . .”

“Dead?” The boy glanced at the portrait. “Yep. A long time