Read Online Mystery of the Sassafras Chair by Alexander Key - Free Book Online

below the edge of the road on his right. The man had gone down the steep slope that fell away to the creek; now he seemed to be stooped over, playing his light along the rocks as if searching for something.
    Searching for what?
    Suddenly it occurred to Timor that he must be very close to the spot where old Wiley’s truck had crashed. Could the man be looking for the thing Wiley had thrown away?
    Timor moved closer to the road’s edge. As he did so, his foot struck a loose stone, and it slid downward over an area of fresh gravel that had spilled over the slope. Instantly the searcher’s light went out.
    Timor crept stealthily away, then ran, thankful that the wild rushing of the stream masked his footsteps. He did not expect to be followed, nor was he; but the experience had been unnerving. Why would anyone be out looking for something at this time of the evening, and be so strangely secretive about it?
    The gloom had deepened; presently he could not even make out the trees near at hand. He kept to the center of the road now, jogging along to keep warm and judging direction by the feel of the gravel under his feet. A car passed occasionally, heading for the Forks. Each time he hid again, fearful not only of his uncle, but of the unknown searcher who undoubtedly had had some means of transportation placed out of sight in one of the timber trails.
    It was a great relief when he reached the lower valley; here the mist lay above the road, and soon he was able to recognize the vague shape of a farm building close on his left. The Forks lay around the next bend. Presently he saw the dim glow of lights at Grosser’s store.
    A few minutes later, shivering and nearly exhausted, he was huddled by the stove in Nathaniel’s back room, soaking up the warmth of a wood fire and sipping hot coffee from a mug.
    â€œHave you had anything to eat?” Nathaniel asked.
    Timor shook his head. “I—there wasn’t time.”
    â€œEat first, then tell me about it. I know this is pretty important, or you wouldn’t have walked here in the dark, and without a jacket.”
    A steaming plate of hash was set before him. Timor ate it gratefully. Finally he said, “I talked to Wiley again. Then—then I had trouble with my uncle.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    Timor told him. “But Wiley wanted me to see you this evening, so I came anyway. He wants you to find out where Brad James and Rance Gatlin went that night after the accident, and how long it took them. Then he wants to know what Sammy Grosser did, and what time Shorty Malone and his partner came to work the next morning.” He looked up curiously. “Who is Shorty Malone?”
    â€œOh, a sort of jack-of-all-trades. He usually drives a truck when he can get a job.”
    â€œCould—could he have been driving one of the gravel trucks parked by the diner that night?”
    â€œWhy, it’s possible.” Nathaniel got up, frowning. “That never occurred to me, but then I seldom saw the drivers. They left the trucks here, loaded and ready to roll, and stopped by for them early the next morning. But they did that only for a few days, when they were working up your way.”
    He found a telephone book, searched for a number, and lifted the receiver of the wall phone beside the filing cabinet. “Pray this thing still works. I haven’t paid my last bill …”
    The telephone was working, and presently Nathaniel was engaged in a long and involved conversation, most of which seemed to have nothing to do with the problem at hand. Timor, listening, realized Nathaniel was skillfully angling for information without ever asking a direct question.
    Finally he hung up and looked thoughtfully at Timor. “Shorty is a talker, praise be. He’s given us most of the answers. He and the other driver picked up their trucks here at six that morning.”
    â€œIsn’t that sort of early?” Timor asked.
    â€œNot when