then. His father wrote about crops and how the chickens were faring, and that a cow had just given birth. I read a number of similar agricultural anecdotes before one particular entry caught my eye.
‘Amy! Max is on his way up!’ Gran shouted. Not that I needed telling: I could hear his footsteps on the stairs.
‘What’s up, Amy?’ he asked as I opened the door.
‘Look at this,’ I told him. ‘I think it could be another piece of evidence.’ Max eagerly picked up the diary and read out the entry.
PODCAST 3
Go to www.amycartermysteries.com/sabotage-3
Max looked up from the diary, wide-eyed. ‘Wow! Wait until Old Joe hears about this.’
‘We must show him this before he thinks about accepting an offer for his cottage. We’ll go round first thing in the morning,’ I said.
Chapter 12
No Accident!
‘I was hoping you would pop in to help me in the attic today,’ Old Joe said when we arrived early the next morning. ‘A reporter’s coming to interview me about my family history this afternoon, for a local newspaper. Apparently, my family is one of the oldest families in the village,’ he added proudly.
‘Hey, you’ll be famous!’ Max grinned. ‘We’ll have to get your autograph.’
‘You’ll have to treat me with a bit more respect, you mean,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling.
‘Well, I’ve found out something else about your family history,’ I told him. ‘This diary was written by Samuel Whittington – was he your father?’
‘He was indeed. He came from a good family you know. Very intelligent, loved his books. Was quite a scholar, my dad.’
‘Well, just listen to this.’
Old Joe listened in surprise as I read out the diary entry. He looked thoughtful. ‘1920 you say? Before I was born. I was the youngest of eleven, you know, and my dad died when I was but a lad, but Mum often talked about his fascination with the Romans.’
‘I can see why,’ I told him. ‘We read some more of your dad’s diaries last night. Once he’d found that ring, he was certain that other stuff must be buried, and he dug up most of his land searching for more treasure.’
‘Well, maybe there is a Roman settlement under my land,’ Old Joe said. ‘It’s all very interesting, but as far as I’m concerned, whatever’s buried there can stay there. I’m staying put.’
‘I think you’re going to be under a bit of pressure to sell.’ I told Joe about Mr Smythe leaving the B&B and the conversation I’d overheard. ‘I don’t think they’ll give up easily. They’re fanatical about this Roman stuff. They really think they’re going to be millionaires.’
‘I know. Mr Smythe turned up at my door yesterday and was quite annoyed when I told him I wasn’t selling. I don’t think I’ve seen the last of him.’ Joe sighed. ‘Honestly, I can’t believe that all these people are suddenly so desperate to buy my little old cottage.’
‘You could hold out for a very good deal if you wanted to sell,’ I told him.
‘I could, Amy, but I don’t want to sell. I just want to be left in peace. This Roman stuff took over my dad’s life, and now it looks like it might do the same to me.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go up and sort out the attic. I need to find some good photographs of my parents and one of myself as a child for the reporter this afternoon.’
We spent a couple of hours up in the attic and found quite a few photos of Joe and his family – one of him when he was about eleven made us chuckle. He had spiky fair hair and was wearing short socks and knee-length shorts, with a catapult sticking out of one of the pockets.
‘You look a right terror,’ I told him.
‘I was a bit of a lad, I admit,’ he said, his grey eyes twinkling. ‘But we never got up to the sort of stuff that the kids do today. We had a bit more respect, you see. We didn’t make a nuisance of ourselves or damage other people’s property. We’d get a good belting if we did, and no mistake.’
I knew he was
‘Amy! Max is on his way up!’ Gran shouted. Not that I needed telling: I could hear his footsteps on the stairs.
‘What’s up, Amy?’ he asked as I opened the door.
‘Look at this,’ I told him. ‘I think it could be another piece of evidence.’ Max eagerly picked up the diary and read out the entry.
PODCAST 3
Go to www.amycartermysteries.com/sabotage-3
Max looked up from the diary, wide-eyed. ‘Wow! Wait until Old Joe hears about this.’
‘We must show him this before he thinks about accepting an offer for his cottage. We’ll go round first thing in the morning,’ I said.
Chapter 12
No Accident!
‘I was hoping you would pop in to help me in the attic today,’ Old Joe said when we arrived early the next morning. ‘A reporter’s coming to interview me about my family history this afternoon, for a local newspaper. Apparently, my family is one of the oldest families in the village,’ he added proudly.
‘Hey, you’ll be famous!’ Max grinned. ‘We’ll have to get your autograph.’
‘You’ll have to treat me with a bit more respect, you mean,’ he replied, his eyes twinkling.
‘Well, I’ve found out something else about your family history,’ I told him. ‘This diary was written by Samuel Whittington – was he your father?’
‘He was indeed. He came from a good family you know. Very intelligent, loved his books. Was quite a scholar, my dad.’
‘Well, just listen to this.’
Old Joe listened in surprise as I read out the diary entry. He looked thoughtful. ‘1920 you say? Before I was born. I was the youngest of eleven, you know, and my dad died when I was but a lad, but Mum often talked about his fascination with the Romans.’
‘I can see why,’ I told him. ‘We read some more of your dad’s diaries last night. Once he’d found that ring, he was certain that other stuff must be buried, and he dug up most of his land searching for more treasure.’
‘Well, maybe there is a Roman settlement under my land,’ Old Joe said. ‘It’s all very interesting, but as far as I’m concerned, whatever’s buried there can stay there. I’m staying put.’
‘I think you’re going to be under a bit of pressure to sell.’ I told Joe about Mr Smythe leaving the B&B and the conversation I’d overheard. ‘I don’t think they’ll give up easily. They’re fanatical about this Roman stuff. They really think they’re going to be millionaires.’
‘I know. Mr Smythe turned up at my door yesterday and was quite annoyed when I told him I wasn’t selling. I don’t think I’ve seen the last of him.’ Joe sighed. ‘Honestly, I can’t believe that all these people are suddenly so desperate to buy my little old cottage.’
‘You could hold out for a very good deal if you wanted to sell,’ I told him.
‘I could, Amy, but I don’t want to sell. I just want to be left in peace. This Roman stuff took over my dad’s life, and now it looks like it might do the same to me.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go up and sort out the attic. I need to find some good photographs of my parents and one of myself as a child for the reporter this afternoon.’
We spent a couple of hours up in the attic and found quite a few photos of Joe and his family – one of him when he was about eleven made us chuckle. He had spiky fair hair and was wearing short socks and knee-length shorts, with a catapult sticking out of one of the pockets.
‘You look a right terror,’ I told him.
‘I was a bit of a lad, I admit,’ he said, his grey eyes twinkling. ‘But we never got up to the sort of stuff that the kids do today. We had a bit more respect, you see. We didn’t make a nuisance of ourselves or damage other people’s property. We’d get a good belting if we did, and no mistake.’
I knew he was
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