Petals on the Wind (Dollanganger 2)

that. But I was not Carrie; I would not run away in

only a nightgown. All her little uniforms were there,

custom sewn by Henny, and her small sweaters, skirts

and blouses, and pretty dresses, all there. Everything

she'd brought to this school was in its proper place.

Only the porcelain dolls were missing.

Still on my knees before Carrie's dresser, I sat

back on my heels and looked up at Paul and showed him the box that contained nothing but cotton wadding and sticks of wood. "Her dolls aren't here," I said dully, not comprehending the sticks at all, "and as far as I can tell the only article of her clothing that's missing is one of her nightgowns. Carrie wouldn't go outside wearing only her nightgown. She's got to be

here--someplace no one has looked."

"We have looked everywhere!" Miss Dewhurst

spoke impatiently, as if I had no voice in this matter,

only the guardian, the doctor, whose favor she sought

even while Paul turned on her another of his stern,

hard looks.

For some reason I can't explain I swiveled my

head about and caught a cat-who's-eaten-the-canary

look on the pale and sickly face of a frizzled, rusthaired, skinny girl whom I detested merely from

hearing the little Carrie had told me about her

roommate. Maybe it was just her eyes, or the way she

kept fingering the big square pocket of her organdy

pinafore that narrowed my own eyes as I tried to

pierce the depths of hers. She blanched and shifted her

green eyes toward the windows, shuffled her feet

about uneasily and quickly yanked her hand from her

pocket. It was a lined pocket and it bulged

suspiciously.

"You," I said, "you're Carrie's roommate, aren't

you?"

"I was," she murmured.

"What is that you have in your pocket?" Her head jerked toward me. Her eyes sparked