“Goodness, I had no idea that letter was stolen. That’s dreadful!” the owner of the antique store exclaimed. Mrs. Holmes was a round, short woman with wiry gray hair. “I would never knowingly sell stolen merchandise,” she told the Aldens. “I must call the police about this.”
“Mrs. Holmes,” Jessie said gently, “do you remember who brought the letter in?”
The owner sighed and looked around her store. “I have so many things in here,” she said wearily. “It’s hard to keep track of who brings in what. I buy most of my things at yard sales and auctions, but I don’t believe that’s where the letter came from. I wish I could remember more. I really do. And I must apologize to Seymour.” Mrs. Holmes was wringing her hands.
“That letter would have come in recently,” Henry pointed out.
“Well, we don’t know that for sure,” Jessie reminded her brother. “Seymour doesn’t exactly know when the letters were stolen.”
“True,” Henry agreed. “But we think it was within the last month or so.”
“Seymour is also missing a stamp collection and a sword dating from the Civil War. You don’t have anything like that around, do you?” Henry asked.
Mrs. Holmes shook her head. “Good heavens, no. That I’m sure of. I just wish I could remember more about the letter. If you’ll give me a few moments, I’ll check my files. Perhaps I can find some record there.”
“Sure, we’ll just look around your store awhile,” Violet offered. “You might even remember more while we’re here.”
“I’ll certainly try to,” Mrs. Holmes assured her. “I just wish I kept better records of things.” The owner vanished behind a large oak desk and started rummaging through some cardboard boxes that served as her filing cabinets.
Henry walked over to a pile of newspapers. Jessie looked at some old glass vases in a cabinet. Violet and Benny went to a corner where there were some old toys: dolls, wooden blocks, and rocking horses.
“These are such old toys,” Violet said as she lifted a doll’s dress to inspect her petticoat.
“Those are the best kind,” the owner muttered. She sat on the floor surrounded by scraps of paper. “Oh, this is useless,” she said sadly. “I’m never going to find anything in this mess.”
Violet came over to her. “Mrs. Holmes,” she began, “do you remember buying the letter from someone?”
The owner nodded and pushed her wire-rimmed glasses on top of her head. “I believe I did. I don’t remember buying that letter at a yard sale. I think I would have remembered that.”
“Was this person who sold you the letter a woman or a man?” Violet continued.
“A man, I believe,” Mrs. Holmes answered.
“Did this man have long blond hair and a beard? Did he say he was an author?” Violet asked.
Mrs. Holmes frowned. “No, I don’t remember meeting anyone like that. I usually remember faces. That’s about all I do remember well.”
The Aldens waited while Mrs. Holmes rummaged through a few more cardboard boxes stuffed with papers, but she never found any record of the letter.
“I don’t want to keep you here any longer,” the owner finally said. “I know Seymour’s number. If I find anything, or remember who sold me the letter, I will give you a call, I promise.”
“Thanks for all you have done,” Jessie said as the Aldens waved good-bye and filed out the door. Once outside, they were surprised to find that the sun was low.
“We should try to get home before dark,” Henry warned the others.
“I didn’t realize we had been in that store so long,” Jessie remarked. “Everything was so old in there, it was almost like being in another century.”
The others laughed.
“I wish Mrs. Holmes had been able to remember who brought her the letter,” Violet remarked as the Aldens were mounting their bicycles.
“That would have made our job a little easier,” Henry remarked as he began to pedal away.
Jessie was about to follow when she noticed a large blue car parked under some trees near the antique store’s driveway. The car flashed its lights and began to move toward the Aldens.
“Who is that?” Jessie asked out loud.
The car pulled alongside Jessie, Violet, and Benny. “How about a ride home?” a deep voice asked.
“Mr. Ambrose!” Jessie was so startled she almost shouted.
“What are you doing here?” Benny wanted to know. He was right behind Jessie.
“I was out exploring the area,” Mr. Ambrose answered smoothly.
“We don’t want a ride home,” Benny said firmly.
“It’s true,” Jessie agreed. “What would we do with our bicycles?”
“I would probably have room for them in my trunk,” Mr. Ambrose answered.
“We still don’t need a ride.” Benny remained firm.
“Were you driving out here to visit the antique store?” Jessie asked. She stood with one foot on the ground, the other on a bicycle pedal.
“Uh, no,” Mr. Ambrose answered.
“Have you ever been in this store before?” Jessie persisted.
“I was here once or twice when I first began my research,” the author answered. Then he cleared his throat. “Well, if you don’t need a ride, I really must be on my way,” he added. Before the Aldens could say anything more, the author pulled the car away and sped down the road.
“You know I saw a big blue car like that following us to the antique store,” Benny informed his family when they were back on Seymour’s farm. The four were walking their bicycles to the shed to put them away.
“I noticed that car, too,” Henry remarked. “I’m sure it was Blake’s car.”
“But why would he want to follow us?” Violet asked as she walked her bicycle beside Henry’s.
“Well, if he is involved in these burglaries, he probably wants to find out how much we know,” Henry suggested.
“And he probably doesn’t want us to get in his way,” Jessie added.
That evening, after dinner, Violet and Benny decided to take a walk in the orchard with one of Seymour’s flashlights. Benny wanted to hear the ghost for himself, and Violet thought it might be good to keep him company.
It was a windy night and as Violet waved the flashlight at the scarecrow, it looked like he was waving at them.
“Poor scarecrow,” Violet said sadly. “He’s probably going to need to be restuffed after this windy night.”
“I bet we’ll hear the ghost tonight,” Benny said eagerly. He walked into the orchard, with Violet at his heels. At that moment, the two heard some whispering, and a low call that sounded like a long, drawn-out boooooo.
“What’s that?” Benny asked.
Violet listened closely.
“Whooooooo...Whooooooo...Whoooooo.”
“It could be an owl,” Violet answered, but she did not sound very sure. Being out in the orchard after dark was spookier than she had thought.
“No, it’s not,” Benny said stubbornly.
“How far do you want to go?” Violet asked.
“Not too far,” Benny said. His voice was a little quavery as he peered into the dark mass of fruit trees whose branches looked as if they could reach out and grab him. “Are there wolves out here?” Benny wanted to know.
“I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure there aren’t.”
Just at that moment, Benny and Violet heard a long, low hiss. Benny jumped two feet in the air. “Do you hear that?” he shouted, clutching Violet’s arm. “I bet that’s a snake.”
Violet stopped walking and shone her flashlight on some low bushes behind the trees. Stray leaves were rustling in the wind, making a hissing sound — pssst, pssst, pssst. “That might be the whispering sound we’re hearing,” Violet said hopefully.
“Are you sure?” Benny asked.
“Yes.” Violet’s voice quavered. She wasn’t really sure, but she wanted Benny to believe she was.
To get their minds off the hissing noise, Violet shone her light, which was getting dimmer, on the trees in front of her. Something she saw made her stop short and stare. “Benny, that marking. It wasn’t here the last time we were in the orchard.”
“What marking?” Benny rushed over to the tree where the flashlight shone on its bark. In the dim light, he could see a drawing of a helmet, next to the drawing of the sword the Aldens had seen earlier.
“You’re right,” Benny said. “Do you think the ghost drew this?”
“No, I don’t,” Violet said. “But I hope it doesn’t mean that a helmet is missing from Seymour’s collection.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Benny exclaimed. “We’d better check the secret passageway right away.” At that moment, the flashlight went out. Violet and Benny could not believe how dark it seemed, even in the moonlight. |