Read Online Christina's Ghost by Betty Ren Wright - Free Book Online Page A

door, and again the night she’d heard footsteps in the upstairs hall. Still, she hadn’t wanted to run away; she’d wanted to solve the mystery. But that was before she’d seen the spirit of Thomas Dixon. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about that huge, threatening figure at the top of the attic stairs. She wanted to leave, but Uncle Ralph wanted to solve the mystery, no matter what they had to do.
    The study bookshelves, stretching all the way to the ceiling, made her sigh. She was glad the day was dull and drizzly. She didn’t think she could have stood it if the weather had been perfect for swimming or a walk in the woods.
    â€œHold each book like this,” Uncle Ralph showed her. “Flip the pages, but don’t strain the binding.”
    By noon, Chris’s arms ached and her head throbbed. They had searched through all the books on one walland had checked the back of each shelf to see if anything was hidden there. Books stood in wobbly piles all around them.
    By four o’clock, the second wall had been emptied. “Let’s quit,” Chris begged. “Otherwise, I’m going to hate books forever.”
    â€œIf you say so.” Uncle Ralph slid one more book back onto its shelf. He looked as if he, too, was beginning to lose hope.
    They went out to the kitchen and opened the cupboard.
    â€œSpaghetti?” Uncle Ralph suggested. He pushed the cans around. “Vegetable soup? Hash? Chili?”
    They settled, without much enthusiasm, on the roast beef hash. Uncle Ralph fried it and poached eggs to go on top, while Chris mixed powdered milk and opened a can of peaches.
    â€œNow what happens?” she asked when they sat down. She propped her aching head with one hand while she ate.
    â€œWe have a few more shelves to check,” Uncle Ralph said. “And a few hundred books to put back in place.” He scowled. “You know, I was really sure we were going to find something there. After all, Dixon was a teacher as well as a thief. He probably spent a lot of time in the study, when he wasn’t looking after theboy. If he wanted a hiding place for a few stamps, what better place . . . ?” He patted his mustache with a paper-towel napkin. “We may still find them,” he said.
    â€œBut not tonight,” Chris protested. “I can’t look any more tonight.”
    Uncle Ralph grinned. “Not tonight,” he agreed. “I’m going to settle down in the parlor with a good book.” He chuckled at Chris’s pained expression. “Reading books is more enjoyable than flipping their pages,” he told her. “You ought to try it sometime, sport.”
    Chris wrinkled her nose at him. “Not tonight,” she repeated. “You go ahead and read if you want to. I’ll wash the dishes.”
    Alone in the kitchen, she found herself peeking over her shoulder frequently and jumping at every sound. All day she’d felt as if someone were watching them search through the books. She suspected Uncle Ralph had felt that way, too; he’d stopped often and stood very still, as if he were listening.
    What could she do this evening while Uncle Ralph read? She wouldn’t mind reading some comic books—they didn’t count as real books—but they were in Russell’s room upstairs. And she certainly wasn’t going up there to get one. She hadn’t been upstairs all day, except for a fast early-morning trip, with Uncle Ralph at her side, to get clean underwear, her toothbrush, and a comb.
    There was one comic book downstairs, she remembered—the one she’d picked up the first day after they arrived. She’d seen it somewhere, perhaps on the dining-room sideboard. She gave the sink a final wipe and went down the hall. But the sideboard was bare, except for a huge enameled bowl.
    For a moment Chris stood there, wondering what else she could do this evening. Then she bent down and