The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

“Then that is right. Today is Saturday the twenty-first—”
    “And that makes next Thursday the twenty-sixth,” Honey put in. “The exact date when Sarah was killed.”
    Fay let the bushes fall back into place and turned to face her friends. “I didn’t mean for you all to get involved in the haunting of Lisgard House,” she said, “but you have no idea how much you’ve all helped me. For one thing, I’ve had no one to talk to about it. I thought at one time I was going crazy. I had nowhere to turn.”
    Honey put her arm around Fay’s thin shoulders. “Try not to worry, Fay,” she said. “There’s nothing you can do now, until Mr. Hunter has made his arrangements. He said he’d let us know when he was ready.” She paused. “Trixie? Do you really think Sarah Sligo’s getting ready to do something evil on the anniversary of her death?”
    Trixie drew a deep breath. “I have a hunch that something’s going to happen,” she said, “and soon.”
    Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a sudden movement. As she watched, she saw the figure of Zeke Collins turn from the shelter of a nearby tree and hurry away toward the old mansion.
    How long he’d been standing there, she had no idea. But one thing was certain: He’d been listening closely to every word they’d said.

Questionable Antiques ● 14

    ON THE WAY HOME, Trixie was only half listening to her friends’ conversation as the horses trotted smartly along Glen Road.
    She heard Fay exclaim several times over the fact that she and her mother had each,been trying to protect the other.
    “I had no idea that Mother knew anything was wrong at Lisgard House,” Fay said.
    Trixie frowned and thought again about how much Mrs. Franklin must have needed the salary her employer was paying her to stay there.
    She wondered, too, how Mrs. Franklin had happened to slip and fall last night. Had it been just an accident, or had she seen—or heard—something that had startled her so much that she lost her footing?
    The closer Trixie came to her home, the more unreal the events of these last few hours seemed. She let Susie’s reins slacken in her hand and watched absently as her three friends rode easily in front of her.
    She half heard Di remark, “Well, I think it’s wonderful, Fay, that you and your mother are so concerned about each other.”
    “I do, too,” Honey agreed, obviously thinking of her own mother, who rarely had to be worried about anything.
    “What do you think, Trix?” Di called over her shoulder.
    “The trouble is,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “I don’t really believe it.”
    She caught a glimpse of three startled faces turned toward her. Three pairs of hands pulled gently on their reins to allow Trixie and Susie to draw abreast of them.
    “But it’s true, Trixie,” Fay cried, sounding hurt. “My mother and I do worry about each other. There’s only us, you see—”
    “I didn’t mean that, Fay,” Trixie interrupted. “I was talking about the witch’s ghost. It’s just—it seems—” She took a deep breath. “Oh, don’t you see?” she burst out. “The whole thing’s weird. I simply can’t get over what happened last night and again this afternoon. Each time it was as if we were sort of spectators at some strange play.”
    “Except that I was part of it,” Fay said, her voice low. “I’ve been a part of it all along. Oh, Trixie! You must have read about other houses, other hauntings where strange things have happened. No one’s ever been able to explain them, either.”
    Trixie frowned and remembered the glimpse they’d had of Zeke Collins that afternoon. “I keep thinking that the odd-job man’s got something to do with all this. Regan says the stains on his overalls last night were probably paint.”
    Honey looked surprised. “But I saw those stains, too, Trix, and they were paint. Didn’t you know that?”
    “Then what had he been painting?” Trixie demanded. “I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I can’t remember seeing anything freshly painted, either inside or outside the house—not last night or this afternoon, either.”
    “That’s true,” Honey agreed slowly.
    Trixie rushed on. “And not only that, but if it was Zeke I saw outside the house last night, why didn’t he come over and try to help? He could see that Mrs. Franklin was hurt. Why was he listening to us just now? And why is it that, until recently, no one’s thought much about Sarah Sligo’s