The Follower by Kate Doughty (ebook reader with built in dictionary TXT) 📕

you something to do while you’re unpacking your rooms—I’ll look them over, of course, before we post anything. Oh, and set up your makeup studio. We’ll want before and after pictures of it, too.” She pauses. “Amber, of course,” she adds.

Amber nods.

Rudy aims carefully and throws his napkin into the trash can with an NBA-worthy follow-through. It clinks off the rim.

“Talent,” Cecily says in a monotone.

He shoots her a look and walks over to the napkin, dunking it into the trash. Of course Cece’s content gets prioritized. Of course everything is all about her makeup. “Hey, why doesn’t Cece just do her makeup in the turret room?”

“Rudy—” Cecily starts.

“Amazing views, great lighting,” he continues.

“Rudy—”

“You’re not scared—”

“You know, that might not be a bad idea,” their mom says. “Best to keep the ghost thing front and center; piques interest. Maybe you can shoot some Halloween-themed things there, Cecily. Great idea, Rudy. It’s settled.”

Rudy sticks his tongue out at his sister.

“I hate you,” she mutters, and her voice quakes enough to make him regret pushing it.

“Love you too, sis,” he says, standing. “Come on, let’s go.” He leads his sisters upstairs, giving the squeaky step a glare. “So, Cece. You going to come or ditch us to set up your makeup studio?”

Cecily shakes her head. “Last thing I want to do right now is unpack. I can’t believe that you volunteered me to do makeup in that horrible turret room.” She shudders. “I hate how much you’re enjoying this.”

“Cecily, there’s nothing in there,” he says. “But we can start with the attic, if you want.” Cecily doesn’t answer. They pause underneath the attic door. Rudy yanks the string, but nothing happens.

“Want me to get the key?” Amber asks.

Rudy shakes his head. “Nah. The realtor said it must have been sealed, right? Sounds like a lot of effort to open. Let’s do the turret first. We can help Cecily set it up, do a minirenovation, just for her. Make it look really good.”

Cecily’s expression softens. “All right.”

The triplets hear the sound of the front door open and junk movers filing in beneath them.

“I don’t get the big deal about keeping them off camera,” Cecily says. “Do you really think anyone believes that we do it all ourselves?”

Amber shrugs. “Viewers just want the illusion. I dunno; it’s nice to pretend, I guess.”

“Why?” Cecily asks.

“Because if we can do it, they can do it, too?” Amber asks.

“I think Mom just wants another thing to be mad about,” Rudy says, opening the turret door. Someone must have been in it this morning, because it’s unlocked. “She’ll probably be on the warpath for a while.”

“I don’t blame her,” Cecily mutters.

For a second, they all stare up.

“It’s dark in there,” Rudy says.

Amber shoots him a look. “Chicken,” she says, flicking on the light and climbing the stairs. Cecily doesn’t move until Amber calls down: “There’s some really cool furniture up here!” she calls. “Come on!”

Rudy eyes his other sister. “After you,” he says, and then follows her.

The turret room is actually not bad—beams of light enter through skylights and the bay window, cutting through the room and sending motes of dust dancing around them. Piles of junk line the walls, punctuated by the odd piece of furniture. Rudy stares at the turret window, trying to imagine Alex Grable standing there, her mother lying dead far below. That girl, with the brown hair and braces . . .

Rudy shakes his head to clear the thoughts and heads over to one of the cardboard boxes lining the walls. He peers inside. “Hey, Cece, you might like this one!”

She looks over. “If it’s a dead rat or something . . .”

“Nah, it’s all these old clothes. Don’t you do, like, vintage makeovers ever?”

Cecily comes over, intrigued. “Yeah, actually.”

“We could upcycle some of the stuff, too,” Amber says. “Ooo, we could have a turret haul, like a thrifting haul, and show it all off.”

“Not a terrible idea,” Cecily says grudgingly as she pushes aside some old cans of paint and reaches for a cardboard box. It contains mostly clothes—dresses, blouses, sweaters, and even what looks like an old track uniform complete with a sweet varsity jacket. Then her face sours. “Not funny.”

“What?” Rudy asks.

She pulls an old, broken doll from the bottom of the box. “Ha. Ha.”

“Wasn’t us,” Amber says.

Rudy reaches for it. “Creepy,” he says with a grimace. “Guys, we should do a haunted doll video. It would be so cool—Cece, you could do some cool doll makeup or something. We can make it a themed week!” He examines the doll, turning it over. “Hey, there’s something sewn on the dress—R-e-e-n-a.”

“Reena?” Amber asks. “Or Ray-na?”

“The second one?” Rudy says, but it comes out like a question. The doll is really not that creepy—just an old princess doll, wearing a pink dress with long, braided hair. Maybe something Alex owned when she was younger. Before everything went wrong.

“Who cares?” Cecily grumbles. She folds a couple of the prettier blouses and dumps the rest back in the box, beginning the junk pile. Rudy shrugs and explores the rest of the room. He removes a drop sheet in the corner to unveil an antique desk, stacked high with cardboard boxes. The desk itself is made of old, sturdy wood with tons of little drawers. It’s covered in carvings and embellishments.

“Cece, c’mere,” he says. “This thing has, like, seven million compartments. Need a makeup chest?”

Cecily walks over to examine the desk. In the background, Rudy can hear the click of a phone shutter sound as Amber snaps pictures. Can’t he just have one morning where no one is shoving a camera in his face? Can’t he clean out a room without it being documented for Insta, without having to worry if he looks attractive or buff enough in his ratty cleaning clothes? He shoots Amber a look and almost instantly regrets it. After all, it’s not her fault that they need to post so often.

Rudy goes to move one of the boxes stacked on top of the desk. It’s