The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

ghost? Now, suddenly, everyone’s talking about it again. And tell me this. What did the first man die of?”
    “Hey, stop!” Honey laughed and held up a protesting hand to stop the string of questions.
    Lady seemed to think that her mistress was telling her to stop. She flattened her ears back against her head and began slowing to a walk. Honey had to dig her heels gently into the mare’s flanks to get her moving again.
    As soon as the four horses were cantering abreast once more, Honey asked breathlessly, “What man?”
    “The first Lisgard, of course,” Trixie said impatiently. “Fay said she heard that he’d wandered off into the marsh and was never seen again. Is that true?”
    Di seemed to have been thinking of something else, but now she glanced around at Trixie and grinned. “He didn’t die of a bowl of mashed potatoes, if that’s what you mean,” she said. “I expect he died of old age. After he retired, he turned Lisgard House over to his son and went to live with his married daughter in Massachusetts.” Trixie stared. “Why, Di! How do you know all that?”
    Di shrugged her slim shoulders. “There’s a book in the public library that tells about some of the early citizens of Sleepyside. I seem to remember reading about the first Lisgard when I was researching something else. I needed it for an English paper I had to do for school.”
    Honey was obviously still thinking about Zeke and his paint-stained overalls. “Has Mr. Collins painted anything around the house, Fay?” she asked.
    But Fay didn’t seem to be particularly interested in Zeke or his strange behavior. Now that they were clattering into the Wheelers’ stable yard, she seemed to have the beginnings of that same air of relief about her that Trixie had noticed before.
    For the moment, Trixie let the matter drop. The more she thought about the odd-job man, however, the more certain she felt that he knew far more about the strange events at Lisgard House than even Mr. Hunter knew.
    I need to talk to Honey alone, Trixie thought to herself as she slid from Susie’s broad back. I haven't even had a chance to tell her about what I saw in Fay's hallway last night.
    A moment later, she realized that she’d had no chance to talk to Di alone, either.
    Di’s hand on Susie’s bridle stopped Trixie from following Honey and Fay as they rode into the warm, fragrant interior of the stable.
    “I need to tell you something, Trix,” Di said, leaning from her palomino’s saddle. “It’s the strangest thing. Didn’t Fay tell us that Lisgard House was full of genuine antiques?”
    Trixie looked up at her, puzzled. “Sure she did. And it is full of antiques. You saw them yourself.”
    Di slowly shook her head. “I saw furniture all right, Trix,” she replied, “but it’s not what you think. Most of it’s fake.”

    Trixie had no further chance to talk to Di about her astonishing news, for in the next moment, Regan was hurrying toward them.
    It was always the same when he realized that his beloved horses had returned safe and sound. He stood over the riders while he made sure that their mounts were groomed and made comfortable. Then he watched to see that the tack was polished and rehung on the stable wall.
    This afternoon was no different. Even Di stayed to help, while Sunny waited patiently, knowing his turn would come when he would be led to his own pasture on the Lynch estate.
    Trixie had almost finished brushing Susie’s sleek black coat when Honey’s voice came from the adjoining stall: “If you ask me, Regan’s getting worse! He’s a real slave driver!”
    “I heard that, Honey,” Regan’s cheerful voice answered from the depths of Strawberry’s box, where he was lending Fay a hand. “And let me tell you, if you always did as good a job as your friend here, I wouldn’t have to be a slave driver at all.”
    In another second, both Regan and Fay appeared and stood watching as Trixie hung her bridle neatly on its hook under the saddle peg.
    Trixie glanced at them both and noticed that Fay’s face looked flushed and happy. “You seem to have been enjoying yourself, Fay,” Trixie remarked as she gave her little black mare one last good-bye pat on her shining rump.
    “I did enjoy it,” Fay said breathlessly. “I’d forgotten what fun it can be—being around horses, I mean. Besides, it helped me to forget—to forget—”
    “If it’s that much fun,” Di’s voice floated out to them, “I’ll let you help me