Read Online The Mystery of the Emeralds by Julie Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Campbell
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matters a bit.”
“You’re right, Honey,” Jim said. “I hope she’ll get some encouragement. She’s so sure she’s on the trail of something big; I’d hate to see her bubble burst now.”
The store was empty when Trixie entered, but the squeak of the hinge apparently had been heard by someone in the rear, because it wasn’t many seconds before there was the sound of scuffing feet. A curtain hanging in a doorway at the back was pushed aside, and a wrinkled-faced old woman came out. Although the day was hot, she clutched a faded blue shawl around her thin shoulders.
“Excuse me,” Trixie began, her voice unnaturally high with excitement. “Do you happen to know where Rosewood Hall is?”
“Rosewood Hall?” The old lady cackled. “I reckon I do know where it is. My folks used to live there before—” She gave Trixie a long, cold look, the smile disappearing from her face. “What do you-all want to know about Rosewood Hall for?” she drawled. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, we’re just passing through,” Trixie answered as nonchalantly as she could. “Relatives of a friend of mine used to live there, and I was curious to see it, that’s all.”
She smiled sweetly and tinned as though to leave, hoping to reassure the old lady that she didn’t have any ulterior motive in asking about Rosewood.
“Not so fast, honey,” the woman said, coming out from behind the nearly empty showcase, the wry smile reappearing. “I thought you might be another of those rich folks from up north.”
“Well, I’m from up north,” Trixie said in her most ingratiating manner, “but I’m certainly far from being rich!”
“They come down here and buy up these old places, and us folks who’ve lived in ’em for years have to get out,” the old lady said in a whining voice. “Then they don’t even have the grace to come in here to buy a stamp.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Trixie asked. “Well, not exactly,” was the evasive reply. “Part of Rosewood burned down during the Civil War, and the wing that was left, where we lived, just finally fell down around our ears when I was a girl. Rotten clean through, it was. There’s only the front left standing today.”
Trixie’s heart was pounding as she said, “Well, I’d like to take a look at it, as long as I’ve come this far.”
“It’ll just be a waste of time, honey. If you want to see a really nice place, go to the house next to it, Green Trees. That’s one the Northerners haven’t got their hands on yet.”
“And who lives there?” Trixie asked, wanting to get as much information as possible from what might turn out to be her only source.
“Edgar Carver, and he’s the last of his line,” the old woman said sadly. “I’m told his ancestors built the house over a hundred and fifty years ago, and there’s been a Carver in it ever since. It’s down the road a mile. You can’t miss it.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss—”
“James, honey, Lizzie James, and if you see Edgar, tell him I said hello.” And with that she shuffled off behind the curtain. So far as she was concerned, the interview was over.
As Trixie came out of the store, the Bob-Whites couldn’t tell from her looks what her luck had been. She walked slowly toward them, a trace of a frown on her forehead, but she didn’t keep them in suspense long.
“Well, it’s both good and bad news,” she said as she settled into her seat with a sigh. “I found out where Rosewood Hall is, all right, but—” she paused, and tears welled up in her eyes—“it’s nothing but a ruin!”
“Oh, Trixie,” Honey cried sympathetically, putting her arm around her friend. “I had so hoped—”
“Let’s drive on down the road, anyway,” Trixie said, dabbing her eyes and forcing a smile. “We might as well know the worst.”
They had not gone far before they noticed what appeared to be a newly installed post-and-rail fence running along the road. The grass
“You’re right, Honey,” Jim said. “I hope she’ll get some encouragement. She’s so sure she’s on the trail of something big; I’d hate to see her bubble burst now.”
The store was empty when Trixie entered, but the squeak of the hinge apparently had been heard by someone in the rear, because it wasn’t many seconds before there was the sound of scuffing feet. A curtain hanging in a doorway at the back was pushed aside, and a wrinkled-faced old woman came out. Although the day was hot, she clutched a faded blue shawl around her thin shoulders.
“Excuse me,” Trixie began, her voice unnaturally high with excitement. “Do you happen to know where Rosewood Hall is?”
“Rosewood Hall?” The old lady cackled. “I reckon I do know where it is. My folks used to live there before—” She gave Trixie a long, cold look, the smile disappearing from her face. “What do you-all want to know about Rosewood Hall for?” she drawled. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, we’re just passing through,” Trixie answered as nonchalantly as she could. “Relatives of a friend of mine used to live there, and I was curious to see it, that’s all.”
She smiled sweetly and tinned as though to leave, hoping to reassure the old lady that she didn’t have any ulterior motive in asking about Rosewood.
“Not so fast, honey,” the woman said, coming out from behind the nearly empty showcase, the wry smile reappearing. “I thought you might be another of those rich folks from up north.”
“Well, I’m from up north,” Trixie said in her most ingratiating manner, “but I’m certainly far from being rich!”
“They come down here and buy up these old places, and us folks who’ve lived in ’em for years have to get out,” the old lady said in a whining voice. “Then they don’t even have the grace to come in here to buy a stamp.”
“Is that what happened to you?” Trixie asked. “Well, not exactly,” was the evasive reply. “Part of Rosewood burned down during the Civil War, and the wing that was left, where we lived, just finally fell down around our ears when I was a girl. Rotten clean through, it was. There’s only the front left standing today.”
Trixie’s heart was pounding as she said, “Well, I’d like to take a look at it, as long as I’ve come this far.”
“It’ll just be a waste of time, honey. If you want to see a really nice place, go to the house next to it, Green Trees. That’s one the Northerners haven’t got their hands on yet.”
“And who lives there?” Trixie asked, wanting to get as much information as possible from what might turn out to be her only source.
“Edgar Carver, and he’s the last of his line,” the old woman said sadly. “I’m told his ancestors built the house over a hundred and fifty years ago, and there’s been a Carver in it ever since. It’s down the road a mile. You can’t miss it.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss—”
“James, honey, Lizzie James, and if you see Edgar, tell him I said hello.” And with that she shuffled off behind the curtain. So far as she was concerned, the interview was over.
As Trixie came out of the store, the Bob-Whites couldn’t tell from her looks what her luck had been. She walked slowly toward them, a trace of a frown on her forehead, but she didn’t keep them in suspense long.
“Well, it’s both good and bad news,” she said as she settled into her seat with a sigh. “I found out where Rosewood Hall is, all right, but—” she paused, and tears welled up in her eyes—“it’s nothing but a ruin!”
“Oh, Trixie,” Honey cried sympathetically, putting her arm around her friend. “I had so hoped—”
“Let’s drive on down the road, anyway,” Trixie said, dabbing her eyes and forcing a smile. “We might as well know the worst.”
They had not gone far before they noticed what appeared to be a newly installed post-and-rail fence running along the road. The grass
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