arrived.
"Are you okay, kiddo?" she asked her, putting her arm around her shoulders. The girl was still shaking, but she had stopped crying, and that was a good sign.
"Why do you think Barbie did that?" Atlanta asked. "I mean, I know we didn't like each other. We were giving ..ach other a hard time, but it wasn't all that bad. Why Amuld she put that horrible stuff on my bed?"
Savannah had a couple of theories running around
in her head. And Barbie vandali7ing Atlanta's bed was only one of them. She wondered whether it would be wise to share the possibilities with Atlanta. . . especially if the other scenarios might be more frightening than
the first.
"How could she hate me that much? It's such a crazy thing to do," Atlanta continued. "And where would she get so much blood?"
Savannah decided to plunge ahead, even if it might make things worse. "We don't know for sure that Barbie was the one who did it. And we don't know if it was meant to scare you or her. There's a lot we don't know yet, so just hang in there, honey, until we find out what's going on."
Through the glass French doors Savannah could see
a bustle of activity in the gallery. Mrs. Catherine WhitestoneVilla had said good night and excused herself
earlier in the evening, to return to her home, a lovely Spanish-style hacienda on the hill behind the
center. But apparently someone had alerted her to the problem in the guesthouse, and she was on the scene, running around in quite a dither.
For a moment Savannah wondered why Anthony
Villa hadn't returned with his wife. But then she remembered the mention of children being tucked into
bed and decided that Anthony had probably remained
behind for their sake.
"Atlanta, sweetie," Savannah said, torn between family loyalty and duty, "if you're feeling better, I should probably talk to Mrs. Villa for a minute, just to fill her in on what's happened."
Atlanta nodded. "Sure, I'm okay."
She didn't sound nearly as certain as her words.
JtJUK l7KAITZIII
Savannah could tell she was trying to be brave, and she respected her for it. Most people twice Atlanta's age would have freaked out under the circumstances.
Savannah stood. "Would you like to sit here for a while, or would you rather come with me?"
Atlanta jumped to her feet. So much for wanting to be rid of her interfering older sister.
The moment they stepped into the gallery Catherine
ran over to them. She had changed from her evening wear to a designer jogging suit that looked like it had
never been taken on a run. Her white tennis shoes were spotless, and her French twist still perfect. Her already fair complexion was even more pale, and she appeared terribly upset.
"Oh, Savannah, I'm so relieved to see you." She clasped her hands to her chest dramatically. "What on earth is going on around here? Somebody said that one of the girls had something dreadful put on her bed." She turned to Atlanta. "I believe they said it was you, Miss Reid."
Atlanta glanced at Savannah, who gave her a warning, "keep quiet" look. She shrugged and studied the ranch-pegged hardwood floor.
"Well, yes, that's true," Savannah offered. "Although we aren't sure yet how it got there or exactly what it is."
"I was told it's blood," Catherine said. "You don't think one of our girls has been hurt, do you?"
"I certainly hope not. We've called the police and--" "The police? Was that really necessary? I mean, if word of this gets out . .
"Yes?"
Mrs. Villa actually looked embarrassed, as though ashamed to be caught worrying about anything so frivolous as her vineyard's reputation, when one of her
11 L., J.Li.AVIGII.G UM&
young guests might have recently shed some of her
life's blood on one of her bedspreads.
"You . . . you know. . . how this sort of thing gets all blown out of proportion," she said. "People love a morbid story, and I can just see it all over the newspapers by tomorrow morning."
Savannah pasted a sympathetic look on her face.
"Are you okay, kiddo?" she asked her, putting her arm around her shoulders. The girl was still shaking, but she had stopped crying, and that was a good sign.
"Why do you think Barbie did that?" Atlanta asked. "I mean, I know we didn't like each other. We were giving ..ach other a hard time, but it wasn't all that bad. Why Amuld she put that horrible stuff on my bed?"
Savannah had a couple of theories running around
in her head. And Barbie vandali7ing Atlanta's bed was only one of them. She wondered whether it would be wise to share the possibilities with Atlanta. . . especially if the other scenarios might be more frightening than
the first.
"How could she hate me that much? It's such a crazy thing to do," Atlanta continued. "And where would she get so much blood?"
Savannah decided to plunge ahead, even if it might make things worse. "We don't know for sure that Barbie was the one who did it. And we don't know if it was meant to scare you or her. There's a lot we don't know yet, so just hang in there, honey, until we find out what's going on."
Through the glass French doors Savannah could see
a bustle of activity in the gallery. Mrs. Catherine WhitestoneVilla had said good night and excused herself
earlier in the evening, to return to her home, a lovely Spanish-style hacienda on the hill behind the
center. But apparently someone had alerted her to the problem in the guesthouse, and she was on the scene, running around in quite a dither.
For a moment Savannah wondered why Anthony
Villa hadn't returned with his wife. But then she remembered the mention of children being tucked into
bed and decided that Anthony had probably remained
behind for their sake.
"Atlanta, sweetie," Savannah said, torn between family loyalty and duty, "if you're feeling better, I should probably talk to Mrs. Villa for a minute, just to fill her in on what's happened."
Atlanta nodded. "Sure, I'm okay."
She didn't sound nearly as certain as her words.
JtJUK l7KAITZIII
Savannah could tell she was trying to be brave, and she respected her for it. Most people twice Atlanta's age would have freaked out under the circumstances.
Savannah stood. "Would you like to sit here for a while, or would you rather come with me?"
Atlanta jumped to her feet. So much for wanting to be rid of her interfering older sister.
The moment they stepped into the gallery Catherine
ran over to them. She had changed from her evening wear to a designer jogging suit that looked like it had
never been taken on a run. Her white tennis shoes were spotless, and her French twist still perfect. Her already fair complexion was even more pale, and she appeared terribly upset.
"Oh, Savannah, I'm so relieved to see you." She clasped her hands to her chest dramatically. "What on earth is going on around here? Somebody said that one of the girls had something dreadful put on her bed." She turned to Atlanta. "I believe they said it was you, Miss Reid."
Atlanta glanced at Savannah, who gave her a warning, "keep quiet" look. She shrugged and studied the ranch-pegged hardwood floor.
"Well, yes, that's true," Savannah offered. "Although we aren't sure yet how it got there or exactly what it is."
"I was told it's blood," Catherine said. "You don't think one of our girls has been hurt, do you?"
"I certainly hope not. We've called the police and--" "The police? Was that really necessary? I mean, if word of this gets out . .
"Yes?"
Mrs. Villa actually looked embarrassed, as though ashamed to be caught worrying about anything so frivolous as her vineyard's reputation, when one of her
11 L., J.Li.AVIGII.G UM&
young guests might have recently shed some of her
life's blood on one of her bedspreads.
"You . . . you know. . . how this sort of thing gets all blown out of proportion," she said. "People love a morbid story, and I can just see it all over the newspapers by tomorrow morning."
Savannah pasted a sympathetic look on her face.
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