The Mystery of the Whispering Witch

all? Or had Trixie’s ears been playing tricks on her? Mart had told her often enough that she had an overactive imagination.
    Trixie decided not to tell Honey anything about the strange whisper—not just yet, anyway.
    Honey was still talking when Fay appeared in the doorway. “Our room’s all ready, Trixie,” Fay announced, “so we can turn in whenever we like. You know, it’s very kind of both of you, staying here like this....”
    Trixie and Honey both moved to her sides and took hold of her arms.
    “We’re only too glad to help out a neighbor,” Trixie said awkwardly. She always felt uncomfortable when she was thanked for being kind.
    “Are you hungry?” Fay asked shyly, looking from one to the other. “Would you like a snack before we turn in? I make a great cup of hot chocolate.”
    “Hot chocolate would be nice about now,” Honey admitted. “What do you think, Trix?”
    But Trixie’s thoughts were far from the delights of hot chocolate. She was remembering the strange voice she’d just heard. She thought about the mysterious figure she’d seen outside, who might or might not have been Zeke Collins.
    “Fay, is there anyone else in the house—besides us, I mean?” she asked suddenly.
    Trixie heard Fay catch her breath sharply. “Someone else? Why, no. There’s no one.”
    Fay had answered quickly—almost too quickly, as if she were trying to convince herself as much as her friends.
    “In that case,” Trixie said, still watching Fay closely, “could we—that is, would you mind, I mean—could we look over the house? I’ve always wanted to, and this seems such a terrific chance.” And if I’m going to sleep here , Trixie thought to herself, I'd like to make sure that all the doors and windows are locked up tight.
    For one brief moment, Fay seemed to hesitate. Then she said, “Why, of course, Trixie. I’d have offered to show you around before this, but there’s really not that much to see. Old Mr. Lisgard kept a lot of the rooms shut up. That way, he figured they didn’t have to be cleaned very often.”
    “Or even at all,” Trixie added, remembering the stories that had been told in Sleepyside. Mr. Caleb Lisgard had been a skinflint. It was said that he begrudged every penny he’d ever had to spend.
    Fay smiled and led the way toward the front of the house, flipping on light switches as she went.
    Honey pressed close to Trixie’s side. “I don’t like this,” she muttered. “What was wrong with drinking our hot chocolate and then just going to bed? Supposing we meet up with that ghost Mart was talking about?”
    Trixie had been wondering the same thing, but she thought it might be best not to mention it. “Remember,” she whispered, “the Lisgard family lived here for generations, and they didn’t seem to
    be bothered by any old ghost.”
    “And there’s one thing you should remember, Trix,” Honey retorted. “There aren’t any Lisgards left to tell us anything different. They’re all dead, aren’t they?”
    Trixie chuckled and hurried to join Fay at what was obviously the old mansion’s front entrance hall.
    Trixie glanced quickly at the large front doors and noticed at once that they were bolted at both top and bottom. She sighed with relief.
    She turned her attention to the dingy, dark-paneled walls and made a face when she saw the stuffed animal heads that hung there.
    Fay looked apologetic, almost as though it was her fault that some long-ago Lisgard had been a big-game hunter. “Pretty awful, aren’t they?” she said softly. “We—my mother and I—wish that Mr. Gregory would take them down. It makes me want to cry when I think that these poor creatures had to die just to provide a trophy for someone’s walls.”
    Trixie agreed wholeheartedly. She was about to say so when she noticed that Honey’s attention had been caught by a striking picture, one of the few hanging in the hallway. Simply framed, it was an oil painting of a clown dressed in a blue costume.
    “Why, Fay!” Honey exclaimed. “Isn’t this a Picasso? If so, it looks like the real thing!”
    “It is the real thing,” Fay confirmed, smiling. “If you’ll look closer, you’ll see the signature. That picture is just about the only thing Mr. Gregory brought with him when he moved in here. He’s very proud of it because he says he bought it from someone who didn’t realize its true value. It’s worth a lot of money now.” She sighed. “A lot of things in this house are