The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

smiled disarmingly and Fredericka’s nightmare vanished.
    “Fixin’ to come yist’dy, but found it advisable to help out at the depot with a parcel o’ freight for Miss Philippine.”
    “But that didn’t take all day, did it?”
    “No ma’am, Miss Wing. But I then went out to the Farm where I busy myself with one business and then another business. Did reckon to come along here afterwards, but they wasn’t no time lef’, time I got done.”
    “But Christopher, I thought you were going to be regularly employed by me now. Wasn’t that what we agreed? I mean, I thought you were my man.”
    “Yes, ma’am—but the good Lord He say we is to help one anothers and as they done have all this trouble…” He stopped and then added significantly, “Mis’ Hartwell, she never used to mind much.”
    “I see.” Fredericka bit her lip in annoyance, but she knew it would be both unwise and quite useless to say more. “I have some coffee for you,” she said quickly.
    Christopher’s grin returned and he nodded vigorously. “I’ll jes’ set myself down on the porch here for the time bein’. Mis’ Hartwell she don’t like my boots for outside to go inside on her floors.” He exhibited a pair of muddy shoes heavily studded with nails. As Fredericka turned to go in to the kitchen, she looked back and saw with surprise that Christopher had glanced furtively over his shoulder and then walked to the far end of the porch.
    Was everyone queer, or was there something wrong with herself? Fredericka poured out the coffee quickly and took two doughnuts from Miss Hartwell’s large crock. When she got back to the porch she found Christopher sitting on the far edge with his feet stretched out before him. He seemed to have shrunk down into his bright plaid shirt, and to be regarding his outdoor boots with deep concentration.
    “What’s the matter, Chris?” she asked, feeling sudden anxiety for the man.
    He took the coffee with obvious gratitude, but did not reply. And all at once, Fredericka knew the answer. Christopher was frightened—plain frightened. That was why he had to get himself as far away from the hammock side of the house as possible. No doubt that was why he hadn’t appeared yesterday.
    “It’s all right, Chris,” she said quickly. “They’ve taken the—er—I mean they’ve taken Mrs. Clay—and the hammock away.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” was all Christopher said, but his look of relief was obvious. He began to dunk his doughnut in his coffee with every appearance of complete satisfaction.
    Was it simply superstitious fear or was it a sense of guilt? How much did he know about Margie Hartwell’s secret hiding place?
    “Chris,” she said suddenly, “I was looking about the place on Sunday and I discovered a break in the fence. Did you know about that?”
    “Jes’ an ole foxhole, I reckon. I told Miss Lucy and she say she ain’t worried about no foxes round here.” He laughed and the sound grated unpleasantly on Fredericka’s oversensitive nerves.
    “Well, what about that collection of things in the old greenhouse back there?”
    “Those belongs to Miss Margie. Miss Lucy, she say they is not to be removed.” He frowned down at his empty coffee cup.
    It’s a conspiracy against me, Fredericka thought unreasonably. Well, it was no use trying to get anything more out of Chris. She took the coffee cup and went to get the letter to Miss Hartwell.
    In searching for a stamp in the desk drawer, Fredericka saw the little silver patch box, and her mind strayed for a moment from her immediate purpose. She could have asked James Brewster if he had observed anyone using it. Perhaps Peter had been serious after all. But surely the box must belong to Margie. It had been found near the porch and it was Margie who used the back way more than anyone else. But it was true that the box didn’t look in the least like Margie. It looked more like—yes, of course, like Catherine Clay herself. Catherine probably did come around to try the back door when she found the front locked on that fateful Saturday afternoon. And it was a fact that she had come part way around since she would have had to in order to get into the hammock. If only she had asked James, he would have known whether or not it was Catherine’s and his reactions would have been interesting—very. Well, she wasn’t much of a sleuth.
    Fredericka put the box back into the drawer with a gesture of impatience. What would happen to her work if she