The Mystery of the Galloping Ghost

girls
were outside, Honey slowly and carefully closed it again.
    Out
on the back porch, both girls breathed a sigh of relief and waited for their
eyes to adjust to the dim light. It was still possible to see fairly clearly at
short distances, but faraway objects had faded into dark blurs.
    “The
dark will work in our favor now,” Trixie whispered as
she led the way off the porch. “It will make it easier to sneak up on the
watcher. We can cross the yard over there beyond the stable, then double back
in the shadow of the trees.”
    Honey
nodded and set off for the stable behind her friend.
    Trixie
heard a radio playing and the rumble of deep voices in the apartment above the
stable. Regan and Pat Murrow were apparently finding things to talk about. She
put her finger to her lips, signaling Honey to keep
quiet. If Regan caught us sneaking around out here, he’d probably send us
right back to Sleepyside, she thought with another twinge of conscience.
    Crossing
the open yard was the easiest part of the journey, in spite of the soft, broken
soil. As the girls followed the line of trees on the far side, branches caught
on their jeans and twigs snagged their hair.
    Uncomfortable
as the walk was, the girls had to stay hidden in the shadow of the trees. They
had to see the watcher before the watcher saw them!
    When
Trixie did spot the watcher, she stopped so abruptly that Honey ran into her.
Trixie quickly put her finger to her lips again, worried that Honey might try to apologize. Then she pointed straight ahead.
    Trixie
was suddenly aware that she hadn’t really planned her next move. Feeling her
stomach tighten, she thought, I might as well get it over with, before I
lose my nerve.
    “Hello,”
she said.
    The
word sounded like a shout in the stillness. The watcher let out a stifled
scream and dropped the binoculars, which fell with a thud.
    It’s
a woman! Trixie thought in amazement as the watcher turned to
face her.
    She
was like no other woman Trixie had ever seen. She was small—hardly taller than
Trixie—and so round that she looked almost like a snowman. She was wearing
baggy plaid pants, and even in the gloom Trixie could see that they matched
poorly with the woman’s long-sleeved, floral print blouse. Her gray hair was
pulled back in a bun, from which numerous wisps had escaped. Her untidy
appearance was topped off by a pair of huge eyeglasses, which had slid down to
the very tip of her nose.
    “Who
are you?” Trixie asked.
    “Bird-watching,”
the woman replied immediately, answering a question Trixie hadn’t asked.
    She
must have rehearsed that answer in case someone questioned her, Trixie thought. “What are you doing here?” Trixie asked aloud.
    The
woman seemed to realize that she’d already ruined her carefully planned
response to a confrontation. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again,
and pushed up her glasses. The glasses slid right back to the tip of her nose.
“I’m Wilhelmina James,” she said, deciding to go ahead with her own script no
matter what.
    “It’s
a little late for bird-watching, isn’t it?” Honey asked.
    “I’m
watching night birds,” Wilhelmina James said defensively.
    “Like
what?” Trixie asked.
    Wilhelmina
made a vague, circular movement with her left hand. “Oh, like owls,” she said.
“And, uh, like that bird over there.” She pointed at a small winged creature
that was swooping around the stable.
    Trixie
turned to look, then turned back to Wilhelmina.
“That’s a bat,” she said.
    Instantly,
the woman put her hands over her head, as if the bat might swoop down on her at
any moment. “It is?” she asked in a small voice.
    “You
can tell from the flight pattern,” Honey said. “It’s very distinctive. I’d
think an experienced bird-watcher would know that.”
    “Especially
since you’ve been watching from this same spot night after night,” Trixie added.
It was an educated guess, based on the flash of light she’d seen the night
before. The look on Wilhelmina’s face told her she’d guessed right.
    “Maybe
you just didn’t recognize the bat because you’re so used to the binoculars,”
Honey said. She bent down and picked up the woman’s binoculars.
    Wilhelmina
took them with a murmured “thank you,” then spent much more time than was
necessary checking them over. Clearly, she wanted to avoid further
conversation.
    Trixie
turned to Honey. “I guess even a bird-watcher is something we’d have to tell
Mr. and Mrs. Murrow