The Dark Stairs R/I by Betsy Byars

were on the end table. Herculeah picked them up and lifted them to her face. She adjusted the lens. She leaned forward in her intensity.
    She noticed three things:
    1. The door to Madame Rosa’s house was open.
    2. Madame Rosa’s parrot had flown outside and was now perched on one of the porch rockers.
    3. Her hair was beginning to frizzle.
    She thought, Now I know something’s wrong. Her hair always did this when there was danger. Meat had once called it “radar hair,” and she had smiled. Herculeah wasn’t smiling now.
    She rushed into the hall, pulling on her sweater as she ran out the door. Pausing only to check for traffic, she crossed the street.
    Madame Rosa’s house was the fourth one down. There was a sign in front, in the shape of an open hand, that said:
    Madame Rosa
Palmist
Walk-ins Welcome
    Herculeah opened the gate and paused by the sign. She often came to Madame Rosa’s to feed the parrot when Madame Rosa was out of town. It alarmed her to see the parrot loose, because Madame Rosa was very particular about him. Something had to be badly wrong.
    â€œTarot,” Herculeah said in a calm voice, not wanting to alarm the bird.
    Tarot cocked his head and looked back with round eyes dulled slightly by the cold.
    She glanced up at the house. “Madame Rosa, Tarot’s out!” she called.
    She waited, but Madame Rosa did not appear in the open doorway.
    â€œMadame Rosa!”
    Again no answer.
    Slowly Herculeah started up the walk.
    â€œIt’s just me, Herculeah,” she told the bird. “You want to go back inside, don’t you, where it’s warm? I’ll even feed you.” The bird took a side step on the back of the rocker. “You want to go back to your perch? Then don’t fly off, Tarot.”
    The bird lifted his wings and flapped them but didn’t go anywhere.
    â€œThat’s right. Don’t fly off. I’m taking you back in the house. Madame Rosa, your parrot’s out on the porch!”
    Herculeah slipped off her sweater as she climbed the stairs. The parrot lifted his wings in another feeble flutter.
    â€œIt’s just me. I feed you, remember? I’m going to help you back in the house.”
    In one lightning-fast move, Herculeah threw her sweater around the bird. “Gotcha,” she said. She felt a moment of relief because Tarot was easily startled and she could have ended up chasing him all over the neighborhood.
    She carried him to the open door. She paused in the doorway.
    There were no lights on inside the house. Herculeah’s feeling of relief at catching the parrot so easily was replaced by a chill of dread.
    â€œMadame Rosa?”
    The parrot struggled in her arms. “It’s all right, Tarot. I’ll let you out in a minute.”
    Herculeah entered and shoved the front door shut with her shoulder. She walked into the dark living room.
    The huge pieces of furniture had been in place since the house had been built seventy years ago. The velvet drapes—almost as old—were drawn against the afternoon light. Herculeah clicked on a lamp as she passed the table.
    The parrot’s stand had been turned over and lay across the faded and worn Persian rug.
    â€œYou must have gotten scared when your stand tipped over, huh? That’s why you flew out on the porch?” she said, though she had the feeling that that was not what had happened.
    She picked up the parrot’s stand. There was something else wrong about the room, but she couldn’t place what it was.
    She unwrapped the trembling bird and placed him on his perch. He took a few steps and began to swing his head from side to side.
    â€œSomething happened in this house,” Herculeah stated. “Madame Rosa would never let you go outside—not if she could have prevented it.”
    She turned, slowly looking into the shadows of the room. She remembered that the last time she had been here, Madame Rosa had tried to pay her