“So you’re not the docent?” Kristi ventured. She didn’t like this woman, with her perfect complexion and officious attitude, but she wanted to know more about her.

“Of course not,” the woman said. “That’s Marilyn Katcher!”

Kristi pushed. “So why are you here? For a place that’s closed to visitors, there seems to be a lot of people running around.”

“I’m Georgia Clovis,” she bit out. “Georgia Wagner Clovis.” She said it as if it were supposed to mean something to Kristi.

Mathias, like a puppet on a string, said quickly, “Mrs. Clovis is a descendant of Ludwig Wagner and—”

“Direct descendant,” she corrected frostily, her red lips turned down at the corners.

“Direct descendant of the man who so graciously donated this house and property to the archdiocese to establish the university.”

Kristi gave Georgia a bland “So what?” look.

“Mrs. Clovis, along with her brother and sister, still sit on the board of Wagner House. Very important to All Saints. Now, if you’ll come back when Mrs. Katcher is here…”

“Someone’s upstairs,” Kristi said, just to gauge their reaction. She’d come this far, might as well go for broke. She didn’t think she would get another chance and she wasn’t frightened of either of these two people. Father Mathias was often brooding, but he seemed like a weak man. Georgia Clovis, tall, slim, her dark hair twisted onto her head, tried her best to be intimidating—and wasn’t half bad at it—but Kristi wasn’t about to be cowed.

“No one else is in the house,” Georgia said through her teeth. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“I saw someone in the window. That’s why I came inside. It was a girl, er, woman, and she looked scared out of her mind.”

“Impossible.” She shook her head, but the perfect facade cracked just a bit. “You imagined it.”

“I didn’t.”

“A play of light,” Mathias put in, shooting a look at Georgia.

“One way to find out.” Without waiting for any kind of permission, Kristi headed through the dining room and up the stairs.

“Wait a minute. You can’t go up there!” Georgia called after her, high heels clicking across the hardwood floors. “Wait!” To the priest, she added shrilly, “What does she think she’s doing?”

Kristi didn’t waste any time. She raced to the third floor and once there, dashed to the door of the room that overlooked the backyard, the one where she was certain she’d seen Ariel, or someone, standing near the watery panes of glass.

Father Mathias’s heavier tread was climbing the stairs. “Miss…please…you aren’t allowed…”

Kristi twisted the knob and the door swung open to an empty room. The one that held the Victorian dollhouse. No one was inside, but the dollhouse, which had been closed, was now open, the perfectly furnished rooms on display.