Fay still looked upset. “I don’t know,” she answered. “But those reporters said they’d had an anonymous tip. On the phone, they said. I know it couldn’t have been Honey. She and I were together all night and again this morning.”
“I was with you, too,” Trixie protested.
“Not after breakfast,” Fay said, her voice low. “Honey and I left you talking with your brothers, if you’ll remember. You could have used the telephone then—that is, unless it was—” She stopped and stared thoughtfully at Brian and Mart.
“Hey, back off!” Mart said, throwing up his hands in a show of mock horror. “We weren’t the anonymous tipper-offers, either.”
“Well, then—” Fay looked bewildered. “If it wasn’t Trixie, and if it wasn’t Brian or Mart, then who could it have been? Who else knew about it? The reporters said the call came in early this morning. No one else knew about it then.” She smiled at Jim and Di. “Even you hadn’t heard the story.”
“Not that early,” Jim said, running his hand perplexedly through his red hair. “Anyone got any ideas?”
But not one had.
Trixie was still thinking about it when Fay returned from the information desk with the number of her mother’s room.
Trixie heard Honey say, “Why don’t you go visit your mother alone, Fay? The rest of us don’t mind waiting out here.”
“That’s right,” Trixie said absently. “Anyway, we can go see a couple of friends in the gift shop. Honey and I work as Volunteens here in the summer sometimes, and—” She broke off.
“And what?” Brian demanded.
“Hold on to your hats!” Mart exclaimed. “Ms. Sherlock Belden has got one of those a-thought-has-just-struck-me looks on her face.”
“It was the door,” Trixie breathed.
Jim frowned and glanced over his shoulder.
“What door are you talking about, Trixie?”
“The back door at Lisgard House,” Trixie replied impatiently. “I’ve been trying and trying to remember what made me think someone else could have been there last night. It was the back door. I’m sure of it. I heard it close.”
“Or open?” Brian asked.
Trixie shook her head. “I don’t think so. It was after those terrible noises we heard, and after the room was filled with smoke. Just as we were sure we were all going to die, the noises stopped. The smoke began to clear. But why? How could it? Fay’s bedroom didn’t have any window.”
“Maybe it was more black magic,” Honey began, then looked as if she wished she hadn’t. “Er—that is, what I meant was—”
Trixie wasn’t listening. “I opened the bedroom door. The passage outside was cold—very cold, as if cold air had been blowing through it. It was then I heard a door close—the back door. Oh, don’t you see? It’s the only solution. Someone else must have been there! But who?”
“If you’re right,” Mart said slowly, “then undoubtedly the dirty-deed-doer was the anonymous informant as far as the boob-tube people were concerned. She must have called good ol’ Paul Trent at the same time.”
“She?” Honey said, looking puzzled.
“A slip of the protrusible oral organ,” Mart said loftily, “in other words, tongue, Trix. I could as easily have figured the stool pigeon as male.”
All the same, Trixie noticed that Mart didn’t look at Fay. So he still suspects her of playing some game of her own, she thought.
After Fay had hurried away, the Bob-Whites discussed Trixie’s theory about the possible identity of the intruder—if, indeed, there had been one, which Mart seemed to doubt.
As no one had anything helpful to add, however, it wasn’t long before the girls hurried away to the gift shop, while the boys flung themselves into the lobby’s chairs to wait.
Trixie was busy talking to Mariellen Hanrahan, the only Volunteen on duty behind the counter that day, when a voice said in her ear, “So this is where you’ve got to. I’ve been looking all over for you, Trixie.”
Trixie swung around and found herself looking into the kindly face of Dr. Ferris. “How’s Mrs. Franklin?” she asked, smiling at him.
“Doing well,” he answered. “You’ve heard, of course, that we’ve got to keep her here at the hospital for several more days. But by the time we’re finished with her, she’ll be as good as new— you’ll see. Now, about that daughter of hers: Brian tells me you’ve invited her to stay at Crabapple Farm. Then see that you fatten her up. That child is much too skinny—not at all like the bouncing Beldens, eh?” He chuckled at his own mild joke as Trixie reddened. Then he glanced at Honey and Di, who had gathered close to hear his news. “Of course, young Fay would do just as well if she stayed with the lovable Lynches or the wonderful Wheelers.”
Obediently, the girls laughed.
“We’re glad that Mrs. Franklin is going to be okay,” Honey told him. “Fay was very worried about her.”
Dr. Ferris looked down at her. “Those two worry about each other too much,” he said. “I think, too, that Mrs. Franklin is anxious to get back to her job. She seems to think she’s going to lose it if she takes time off. I asked her what was more important—her health or her work. And bless me if she didn’t have to stop and think about it. Why anyone would want to stay at Lisgard House is more than I can understand. Ah, well, it takes all kinds to make a world.”
“I think the Franklins need the money,” Di put in. “Mr. Gregory pays a good salary.”
Dr. Ferris nodded his head. “So that explains it. I wondered, y’know. The last time I was there, I thought the place looked like a morgue—or a museum.”
Trixie’s mind snapped suddenly to attention. “The last time you were there? Was that when old Mr. Lisgard died?”
Dr. Ferris nodded. “Yes, it was. Poor old fellow. I expect you heard. I got there too late. Couldn’t do a thing for him. Of course, I’d warned him it was going to happen.”
“Warned him that what was going to happen?” Trixie asked, thinking of the story Regan had told her. “Did he really see the witch and then have a heart attack and die of shock?”
Dr. Ferris stared. “Now, where did you hear a story like that?” he asked sharply. “That’s the most ridiculous nonsense I’ve ever heard.”
“You mean it isn’t true?” Trixie said slowly.
“Of course it isn’t true! Not a word of it! If you must know, young lady, old Mr. Lisgard had suffered from high blood pressure for years. I warned him that he mustn’t have any excitement at all, but he didn’t listen. One night he lost his temper with his housekeeper. She upped and stormed out of there, never to return. Caleb promptly had a stroke and died. Take my word for it!”
“Then he didn’t have a heart attack?” Trixie asked.
Dr. Ferris stared at her sternly. “He died of a stroke brought on by a bowl of mashed potatoes, if you must know. I made it my business to find out all the strange details afterward.”
“He died of a bowl of what?” Honey gasped. “Mashed potatoes,” Dr. Ferris repeated. “He’d ordered ’em baked, you see. His housekeeper forgot and mashed ’em, instead. He lost his temper over it, and there you are! You can tell everyone I said so, too. Died of a witch’s ghost—or the sight of one? I never heard of such a thing!”
Trixie was tempted to tell him that she’d never before heard of anyone dying of a bowl of mashed potatoes, either, but thought better of it.
Dr. Ferris turned to leave. “How’s that young nephew-in-law of Caleb’s getting on?” he asked. “I expect he’s tidied up the place quite a bit now, with Zeke’s help. Repainted it, I have no doubt, and made it look a lot more cheerful. Apart from that antique furniture of his, old Caleb had no taste when it came to decorating his house.”
“No,” Honey told him, “Mr. Gregory hasn’t repainted anything—at least, it doesn’t look like it. Trixie and I were there last night—”
Dr. Ferris shook his head. “Ah, well, maybe the young man’s a chip off the Lisgard block—though I don’t quite see how that could be, cons
idering young Lewis Gregory’s only an in-law. I must say, I felt very sorry for that young man when he took over that big old run-down house. People around here tell me he was raised in the city, so I daresay he’d rather be back there than stuck way out here in Sleepyside.”
“I can’t see how anyone can prefer living anywhere else but here,” Honey remarked.
“Ah, but then your family also has money to enjoy it with, young lady,” Dr. Ferris answered, smiling at her. “You see, old Caleb didn’t have any money to leave young Lewis—at least, not nearly as much as everyone thought.”
“I always thought old Mr. Lisgard was rich,” Trixie said thoughtfully.
“Everyone did.” Dr. Ferris sighed. “But in the last months of his life, Caleb made some pretty bad investments—a lot of them. Result? Money gone. So there you are. Young Mr. Gregory inherited a white elephant of a house and no money to run it with. Yes, I feel sorry for that young man. Ah, well, there’s nothing I can do about it. I must be off. Be sure and fatten up the Franklin girl while she’s staying with you, Trixie.”
He strode out of the gift shop and was gone. Honey stared after him, obviously still thinking about what he’d told them. “Trixie, who told you that Mr. Lisgard died of shock from seeing the witch’s ghost?” she asked.
Trixie giggled and led the way out of the shop and back to the boys. “Regan told me,” she said. “I can’t wait to tell him the true story!”
The Psychic Medium ● 11
ALL THE WAY HOME IN THE car, Trixie was thinking about everything that had happened since Fay had come pounding on the Beldens’ door the previous evening. So much had occurred in that short time. So much still had to be explained.
She glanced at Fay out of the corner of her eye and wondered what she was thinking. Did she still believe that she was possessed by the witch’s spirit? Did she really believe that she could summon the powers of darkness at will?
When the Bob-Whites had looked briefly into Mrs. Franklin’s room before leaving the hospital, it was obvious that Fay had told her mother nothing of their frightening experiences the night before.
Mrs. Franklin had looked relaxed and had been obviously glad to see them. She had once more thanked them warmly for looking after her daughter—and no mention had been made of any witch, or ghost, or rooms filled with smoke.
Now Trixie wondered if Fay had been wise to keep this information from her mother. If the press was already hot on the trail of this kind of story, it was likely that Mrs. Franklin would soon discover what had happened in her absence.
“Maybe you should have told her,” Trixie said to Fay, who was seated beside her on this return trip.
Fay jumped, as if her thoughts had been a million miles away. Then, when Trixie explained, she smiled and said, “I’ve already made sure the newspaper people won’t bother Mother—or the television crew, either. I spoke to Dr. Ferris about it. Don’t worry. Mother won’t even see a paper or a television set for a while.”
Honey had been listening from the front seat. She turned her head and remarked over her shoulder, “All the same, Fay, it might not have been a bad idea to tell your mother something about it. It’s going to come as a terrific shock once she finds out.”
But Fay only shook her head and repeated that she didn’t want her mother worried right now. Trixie dropped the subject, sensing that Fay didn’t want to discuss it any further.
Jim slowed the big car as it neared the grounds of Lisgard House. “Do I use the back entrance, Fay?” he asked. 1
Fay frowned, puzzled. “Why are you stopping, Jim?” she asked.
Brian glanced at her. “Didn’t we hear something about picking up some clothes?”
“I heard that some bubble-headed females packed bathing suits last night,” Mart observed.
Trixie was startled when she heard Fay laugh aloud. It was as if her spirits had suddenly lightened, and her fears, if not quite gone, were at least held in check for a while.
“If you wouldn’t mind, all of you,” Fay said, “I really would prefer to leave it till later. I need to see Mr. Gregory, you see, and he won’t be home till sometime this afternoon. I need to tell him about Mother’s accident—and she wants me to tell him she’ll be back at work as soon as she can.”
“Jeepers!” Mart exclaimed. “What an admirable devotion to duty.
“Of course, you can do whatever you want, Fay,” Brian said, “but if you’re feeling nervous about going in there alone, maybe you’d better leave it till later on tonight.”
“Why does she have to leave it?” Trixie demanded. “You’ve already promised me you’d come with us.”
“We thought you meant now,” Mart explained. “I mean, after we’d been to the hospital. The thing is, Trix, that Brian, Jim, and I have a date.”
Trixie stared. “What kind of date?”
“It is an engagement with a comely damsel who is demure of eye and fair of face,” Mart replied. “She is to be relentlessly pursued by a bashful swain who is too solemnly silent to be believed.” Trixie glared at him. “Oh, for crying out loud, Mart! What are you talking about?”
“I’m afraid he means that we’ve been booked for the school’s Thanksgiving play,” Brian said, “and rehearsals start this afternoon. Jim is playing the part of Miles Standish, I’m going to be bashful John, and one of Mart’s classmates—”
“A female,” Mart added needlessly.
“—is playing the part of Priscilla.”
“And I’m the stage manager,” Mart finished. “And so, you see, irate sibling, our services have been engaged by the Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School for this afternoon. Either we accompany you to Lisgard House right now—”
“—or I’m afraid you’re going to have to go there by yourselves this afternoon,” Jim said, looking sorry about the turn of events.
Trixie could tell that Fay and Honey felt as unhappy as she did about the way things had worked out.
“I’ll come with you,” Di said suddenly, pushing the dark, shining curtain of hair away from her pretty face. “Fay needs clothes; she also needs to see Mr. Gregory, who isn’t home yet; and I wouldn’t miss seeing inside that house for the world. Besides, it’s daylight. Whoever heard of a ghost appearing in the afternoon? Okay, girls?”
Slowly and reluctantly, the girls nodded their assent.
“It’ll be fine,” Trixie told Fay reassuringly as the big car sped homeward toward the safety of Crabapple Farm. But as they turned into the Beldens’ graveled driveway, she discovered that she was crossing all of her fingers.
It wasn’t long after this that Trixie, remembering her promise to Regan, suggested that they should take the horses on their trip back to Fay’s new home. At two o’clock, the four girls met in the Wheelers’ stable yard.
Di, mounted on Sunny, her palomino, watched patiently as Trixie and Honey saddled Lady, Susie, and Strawberry.
Trixie had already whispered in Starlight’s ear that he would get his turn another time, because the other Bob-Whites were busy and there was no one left to ride him.
Starlight had nodded his head almost as if he understood and forgave them all.
When the girls were nearly finished with getting their mounts ready, they heard Regan’s voice call, “Don’t forget to tighten Lady’s cinch.” He appeared from around the side of the stable and strode toward them. Soon he was running an experienced hand over the leather cinch that Honey had just tightened.
Trixie grinned at him. Ever since she had known him, Regan had never failed to mention that Lady had a habit of “blowing herself up” when she was being saddled. Her cinch had to be tightened after riding a short distance; otherwise the saddle loosened and slipped.
Only once had Trixie forgotten. But Regan hadn’t. He had not enjoyed watching her being tumbled helplessly from the dapple gray mare’s back onto the hard ground below. On that occasion, it had taken repeated assurances to convince him that she wasn’t hurt. He didn’t intend to let it happen again.
&nbs
p; “Don’t worry, Regan,” Trixie told him now. “We’ve already asked Fay, and she’s quite used to horses. In fact, she’s quite an accomplished horsewoman. She was just telling us about it.”
“My mother had a job on a ranch one time,” Fay explained shyly. “The school I attended was pretty far away, so the only way I could get there was on horseback. Mr. Larson, the ranch owner, helped me. He taught me to ride and lent me a horse, too.” She sighed. “I still miss old Smoky.”
Trixie glanced at her with sympathy. It must be awful never having a home or a pet of your own, she thought. I wonder how many homes Fay has had? How many has she had to leave when she really didn't want to?
Regan watched as Fay lifted herself into Strawberry’s saddle, while Trixie mounted Susie.
“We won’t be too long, Regan,” promised Honey, who already sat astride the mischievous Lady. “And I will remember to tighten the cinch again.”
“And we won't take the horses for a fast gallop through the woods,” Trixie added, grinning down at Regan’s worried face.
“To say nothing of jumping fallen trees,” Di couldn’t resist saying.
For a moment, Trixie thought they’d gone too far, for Regan was frowning up at them.
At last, obviously realizing they were only teasing, he said, “Well, you just be careful.”
The other girls had already moved out of the stable yard. Trixie was about to join them, when Regan put a restraining hand on Susie’s bridle.
“One more thing, Trixie,” Regan said. “If you see Zeke, don’t you let him scare you with one of his weird tales.”
Trixie was startled. She’d forgotten all about the Lisgard odd-job man. Now she thought of the stains on his overalls. Had they been blood?
“Does he like to hunt?” she asked Regan abruptly. “Who, Zeke?” Regan scratched his red head. “Not that I know of. Why?”
Trixie told him of Zeke’s strange appearance and was surprised when Regan laughed. “I expect it was just paint,” he said. “Zeke’s been doing a lot of painting lately.”
The Mystery of the Whispering Witch Page 8
