THE MYSTERY AT MARLATT MANOR
at the heavy gray clouds threatening to burst at any
moment, and pedaled her bicycle faster through the
shadowed woods toward home. We’ve only been here a
week, she thought, cramming the baseball cap down hard
on her head . . . a week, and already there’s a freaky storm
coming in.
Grandma Aggie, Mallory knew it wouldn’t make up for
losing all her friends in Philadelphia and her position on
what was bound to be a championship baseball team. She
still thought it wasn’t fair that her recently divorced
mother, Lorna Gilmartin, had moved the family back to her
hometown of Cedar Creek, Virginia. Although bitterly objecting to
the move, it had done little to discourage her mother from
further disrupting their lives. And now that they were here,
Mallory was discovering Cedar Creek to be even more
boring than she had imagined. She just wanted to go back
to Philadelphia.
the car approaching down the narrow lane to her left until
it was almost too late. As she jammed on her bicycle brakes,
the front wheel twisted sharply to one side and with a cry of
shock, she tumbled over the handlebars and into a ditch of
tangled weeds, the bicycle crashing to the ground beside
her.
A moment later a maroon-colored sports car tore
through the lane’s overgrowth of hedge and screeched to a
stop. A sallow-faced man in a pinstriped suit, unaware of
Mallory lying in the ditch, glanced into the empty road
then sped off in the direction of town.
Mallory stared after the disappearing vehicle in disbelief.
“What a jerk,” she fumed. “He could easily have killed me!”
She grabbed her cap and shoved it back on her head,
making a mental note to add the incident to her ever
growing list of reasons why it was absolutely necessary to
return to Philadelphia: Dangerous drivers live in Cedar
Creek.
Mallory stared up the lane toward the large, old mansion
sitting on the hill above. It had obviously once been
beautiful with its three floors, wraparound verandah,
rounded turrets, and leaded glass windows, but now it just
looked sad and lonely and in need of repair. So why,
Mallory wondered, would anyone be speeding away from
such a creepy-looking old house, especially since it was
supposed to be empty? With a sigh of bewilderment, she
brushed the leaves from her pants and yanked the bike back
onto the road, relieved to find it had little more than one
slightly bent spoke.
As Mallory pedaled furiously toward home, again trying
to beat the rain, she glanced down at her new blouse and
groaned. Smeared across the front were not only grass stains,
but blood from a scrape on her elbow. Mallory shook her
head. It seemed nothing had gone right since their move to
Virginia—nothing at all. A crash of thunder rumbled away
in the distance as if in agreement.
Rounding a bend Mallory pulled off the road and rode
up the path to a gray, stone cottage. It sat surrounded by
cedar trees and a narrow creek that wound through the
woods into town. As she headed for the porch, a gust of
wind suddenly whipped a pile of fallen leaves into the air. It
formed a swirling column that flew toward her like a
miniature tornado, growing larger and larger until it
hovered barely inches from her. Then, just as suddenly, the
wind stopped and the leaves drifted slowly back to the
ground. Mallory shook her head and made another note to
her list: Cedar Creek has weird weather.
She leaned her bike against the porch railing, climbed
the steps, and went in through the front door of their new
home. Knowing her brother Ron would be in the living
room, Mallory crept along the hallway hoping the
floorboards would not creak beneath her feet. Even
surrounded by packing boxes, Ron saw her sneak by.
“Fine time to get back,” he snapped. “Why did you stay
at Aggie’s so long? You were supposed to help me put this
stuff away.”
“Sorry,” Mallory mumbled.
“Right!” he said, with a shake of his head. Then he saw
her bleeding elbow. “Hey, what happened to you?”
In no mood for explanations, Mallory simply shrugged,
and continued on toward the bathroom to fix her wound.
At that moment the back door flew open and their mother,
Lorna Gilmartin, bustled into the kitchen. She was a tall,
pretty woman dressed in a blue silk dress and high-heeled
shoes. Clutching two overstuffed bags of groceries, she
elbowed on the overhead light and slammed the door shut
with her foot.
“I’m home!” she called out, “and just in time. That
storm is about to break any minute.”
Ron hurried into the kitchen, took the bags from his
mother, and set them on the table. “I’m starving,” he said,
and pulled out a large box of Zippy’s Southern Fried Chicken.
“Hmm,” he grunted, holding out the box as though on a
silver tray. “I see we’re dining in style again tonight.”
Lorna grinned and wrinkled her nose at her son. “Well,
young man, until we get completely moved in, you’re just
going to have to put up with all my gourmet meals, now
aren’t you?”
Lorna placed a carton of milk in the refrigerator, then
turned to ask. “I hope you and Mallory managed to get
more of that stuff unpacked—” She broke off, staring in
concern as her daughter appeared in the doorway. “Good
heavens, girl, I thought you were just going to visit your
grandmother. What happened?”
Wearing a fresh blouse and with her elbow wrapped in a
bandage, Mallory shrugged. “It’s nothing Mom, honest.”
“Well, guess what, young lady,” Lorna said, crossing her
arms and leaning back against the fridge. “I’ve got plenty of
time, so why don’t you just tell me all about this nothing.”
Ron grabbed the box of chicken and a stack of paper
plates. “I’d say sports-girl-of-the-year fell off her bike,” he
said with a grin, and headed for the dining room.
Mallory glared after her brother’s departing figure then
turned back to her mother. “I was riding home from
Aggie’s,” she began, “when I heard a car coming down that
old road leading up the hill—”
“Dark Hollow Lane,” interrupted her mother.
“Dark Hollow Lane? That’s the name of it? You’ve got
to be kidding, Mom, that’s so . . . Halloweenish!”
“It used to be one of the main entrances,” Lorna said,
dismissively. “Go on.”
“Well, I thought the man driving the car was going to
hit me, so I braked hard—” she paused. “And I ended up
falling in the ditch.”
“Mallory, that’s terrible!” Lorna hurried over and took
her daughter in her arms. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, honest. Just a few scratches.”
“Did the man stop to see if you were hurt or anything?”
“No.” Mallory replied, turning toward the dining room.
“And that’s what’s so unbelievable about this town, Mom.
It’s like he never even saw me.”