The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

haunted—especially around here in Sleepyside, where everything’s so old.” Honey nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. I’m with you, so far. It sounds logical, but—”
    “But nothing! Who has a key to just about everything at that house?”
    “We don’t know that, Trix,” Honey objected. “All we know is that he has a key to the front gate.”
    “I’ll bet you he has a key to just about everything else, as well,” Trixie replied, “including the back door. Fay told us it worked on a spring lock, remember? She also said it was never bolted, because it could only be opened with a key—Zeke’s key!”
    Honey tucked her legs under her. “Go on.” Trixie plopped herself back in the chair and ran a hand impatiently through her mop of curls. “If I’m right, Honey,” she said slowly, “that means that it was Zeke all along who was causing the ‘ghost’ to walk. He was the one who kept on opening and closing doors, and moving objects, and blowing out candles—to say nothing about all that other stuff.”
    Honey was still looking skeptical. “But what about last night, Trix? You still haven’t explained last night.”
    “Tape recorder,” Trixie said smugly. “I’ll bet it was all done with a tape recorder. Remember that dumb tape Mart’s got? One minute it sounds as if a train’s rushing right through the middle of the house. And next, it sounds as if the living room’s full of barnyard animals. What it is, really, is just a whole lot of sound effects, all—what do you call it?—spliced together. The first time that Mart played it, it scared Moms and me silly.”
    Honey smiled. “I remember your telling me about that when it happened.”
    “And that’s what Zeke’s using—I’m certain of it,” Trixie declared. “He could have used the smoke from—from something or other and fanned it under the door in some way. I haven’t quite got that worked out yet. As for the figure of that ghost I saw....” She hesitated, as if she hated to speculate.
    “Yes, Trix? And what was that?”
    “I think it was all done with a film projector,” Trixie said slowly, “though I’m not sure about that.... But I’ll bet I’m right about everything else!”
    “And what about Mr. Hunter and what happened this afternoon?” Honey asked.
    “Zeke used his tape machine again,” Trixie answered promptly, “and probably that same fan. This time he used the fan to blow cold air into the room instead of smoke. As for Mr. Hunter, I expect he’s worked with spooks so often that he’s hearing and seeing them, even where there aren’t any at all.”
    Honey was silent and sat staring at her hands. “Are you going to tell Fay?” she asked at last.
    Trixie frowned. “I’ve been thinking about that, and I’ve got an idea Fay wouldn’t believe it. For too long, she’s been living with this thought that she’s being taken over by the ghost. It’s been several weeks, Honey, and her imagination’s been working overtime.” She paused. “I’ve got an idea that Brian’s right. If this goes on much longer, Fay’s going to need to see a psychiatrist, or something.” She clenched her fists. “Ooh, that Zeke! I’d like to see him get what’s coming to him!”
    Honey looked at her. “I can see how important it is to let Fay know she’s not really possessed, after all,” she said slowly. “But, Trix, you know we have no proof. None at all!”
    “But we do!” Trixie stuck her legs way out in front of her and tapped the sides of her sneakers together thoughtfully. “We have the proof that the antique furniture is fake.”
    “And that’s all we’ve got,” Honey stated. “Even so, Di’s not an expert. She could be wrong.”
    “Then we must tell Mr. Gregory what’s been going on,” Trixie answered firmly. “He can call in an expert himself. Then, if I were he, I’d send for Sergeant Molinson and then have Zeke Collins arrested.”
    Honey sighed and got to her feet. “I’m sure you’re right, Trix, and it does sound possible that things happened the way you say—”
    Trixie stared at her. “Possible? But, Honey, it’s the only way it could have happened! I’m right. I’m just sure of it!”
    “Then what do we do now?”
    Trixie bit her lip. The truth was that she hadn’t worked that out yet.
    She wished passionately that her own sensible father hadn’t chosen to go to Croton just when she needed him. He could have given her some sound advice.
    As she sat there thinking, she had a