The Visconti House by Elsbeth Edgar Page A

had felt so lonely and miserable; perhaps she was going to end up friends with Leon, after all.
    The next room they searched was the room Isabella and Laura had turned into the dining room. Samson was asleep on the table among the gutted candlesticks and the remains of Isabella’s vegetable centerpiece. When they came in, he looked up sleepily and yawned, making them both start laughing again. Laura picked him up and he began to purr, rubbing his head against her neck.
    Leon tickled Samson’s chin. “You’re so lucky to have a cat.”
    “Do you . . . did you have any animals?” asked Laura.
    “I had a dog once.” Leon turned away. “I couldn’t keep him,” he said in a voice that told Laura not to go any further. “Let’s start looking for the cellar here.”
    As Laura watched him kneel down and begin to examine the boards, she wondered if he would ever tell her about himself. She put Samson down andjoined Leon on the floor. Samson followed them, puzzled by their odd behavior.
    “This would be a good room for a cellar because it’s next to the kitchen,” said Leon.
    “Maybe.” Laura sat back on her heels and looked around. “But I can’t see where it would be. I think Mom was right. I think they were just making it up in the article.” She pressed her lips together scornfully.
    Leon glanced at her. “Let’s keep looking anyway.”
    They tried the other empty rooms on the ground floor and then the hall and the grand entrance area with its marble tiles. It was getting dark by then, and the shadows were closing in. For a moment Laura almost heard the soft
tap, tap, tap
of Mr. Visconti’s stick on the stone as he crossed the hall and began to mount the stairs.
    She shivered. “I think we should stop now,” she said. Then something caught her eye. It was glinting in the half light beside the staircase. “Look,” she cried. “What’s that?”
    It was a key. A tiny silver key jammed beneath the baseboard.

The key did not seem to fit anything, but Laura and Leon put it away carefully in the Mr. Visconti box with all the other discoveries. It was so small that Laura had to find another box to keep it in. She lined this box with some silk ribbon, and when she had polished the tiny, delicately patterned key, it nestled in the folds like a jewel.
    The discovery of the key convinced Laura that there was definitely more to find, and she responded enthusiastically when Leon suggested continuing their search for the cellar. “We’ll carry on tomorrow,” she said, but Leon shook his head.
    “I can’t come back till Saturday.”
    Laura waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t.
    Over the next two days, she spent a lot of time speculating about what he was doing, particularly when he did not turn up at school on either of those days. Was it somethingto do with his father? Or something else entirely? She was unsettled to discover that she missed seeing him around.
    He arrived early on Saturday morning, while Laura and her parents were still eating breakfast. Laura jumped up as soon as she heard his footsteps on the gravel and ran to the door to meet him. She was surprised to see that he was carrying Samson, who was purring.
    “I found him rolling in the road,” Leon explained. “I tried to convince him it wasn’t a good idea, but I’m not sure he agrees.”
    Laura looked severely at Samson, who purred more loudly and stretched back, rubbing his head against Leon’s sleeve.
    “He’d better come searching with us,” she said, scratching under his collar. “We should start in the studio since Mom’s not working yet.”
    Leon looked over her shoulder into the kitchen.
    “Have I come too early?” he asked, catching sight of her parents at the table.
    “No, of course not. Mom and Dad always spend forever over the weekend papers. Come in. Do you want some toast?”
    Leon shook his head. He was still hovering uncertainly on the doorstep.
    “Come on.” Laura wondered if she would have to drag him