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us boatloads of smelly manure for our very own.”
    “In which we will bury Mrs. Plackett and Mr. Godding,” Pocked Louise pointed out.
    The girls froze.
    Disgraceful Mary Jane was the first to snort.
    Dear Roberta tried hard not to laugh but even she couldn’t help it.
    “Farewell, Old Stinky Face,” Smooth Kitty declared. “If you hadn’t been such a sourpuss to us, we would have said no to Butts Farm manure as your eternal rest. Come, girls. We must finish quickly.”
    They heaved into the work once more with grim determination.
    “Do you suppose Henry really did see someone here last night?” Dear Roberta inquired.
    Disgraceful Mary Jane laughed lightly. “Certainly he did. His own shadow.”
    Dull Martha pushed her hair out of her eyes, which left a muddy smudge across her forehead. “If he only saw himself, why would he bother to come and tell us?”
    “Maybe,” Pocked Louise said, “he saw us last night and thought we were the intruders.”
    “That makes sense.” Smooth Kitty nodded.
    “But we heard the cooing sound the first time well before then,” Dour Elinor pointed out.
    Mary Jane, who was stronger than she looked, heaved a heavy rock loose from the claybed. It released its hold on the soil with a loud schlock . “I’m certain it was him,” she declared. “He spies on us all a good deal more than you realize. I’ve even seen him point his mother’s opera glasses our way.” She wrestled the melon-sized stone out of the hole, which was finally beginning to look like a grave. “Who else could it have been?”
    Dour Elinor’s spade sliced through a shaft of pear tree roots. “The murderer.”

CHAPTER 6
    The grave was nearly dug when Henry Butts returned with his wheelbarrow heaped with pungent manure.
    “We are truly in your debt, Henry.” Smooth Kitty curtseyed for his benefit. “I wonder if we might trouble you for one more favor?”
    Henry fumbled his hat off his head, leaving his sandy hair sticking every which way. “What can I do for you, Miss Katherine?”
    Kitty slipped her arm through his and steered him toward his home. Farming, she noted, does no harm to one’s muscles. “You know dear Miss Fringle, of course? The choir mistress?”
    Henry nodded.
    “She visited us last evening and twisted her ankle. She passed the night at the school with us because she was in no state to walk home. I wonder if you’d be willing to drive her home in your handsome little cart.”
    “Of course.” Henry looked relieved once again to have something to do other than visit with the young ladies. “Let me go wash and hitch up your pony, and I’ll be right back.”
    Henry and Brutus bolted off through the leafy path toward the farm, and the young ladies put their shovels away for the moment.
    “Time to wake Alice up, before Miss Fringle rouses and begins asking her questions,” Smooth Kitty said.
    They left their muddy boots at the door, hurried softly indoors, and washed their hands in the kitchen. Kitty went upstairs and slipped into Mrs. Plackett’s bedroom, prepared to whisper Stout Alice into wakefulness, and found to her surprise that Alice and Miss Fringle were deep in conversation.
    “Oh! Excuse me, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Kitty stammered.
    “Not at all, young lady,” Miss Fringle said generously. “Your headmistress and I were just having a bit of a chitchat about poor Julius and his uncle, Mr. Godding.”
    “I see,” Kitty said slowly. And she did see. Stout Alice lay with her back turned slightly toward Miss Fringle, and her face pointed toward the doorway where Kitty stood. Alice appeared to be working hard not to laugh. Miss Fringle looked like another creature altogether with her gray hair rumpled on the pillow, and her spectacles missing.
    “Reach me my glasses, young lady,” Miss Fringle ordered. Smooth Kitty slipped them from her pocket before the choir mistress could discover that they’d never been on the nightstand.
    Kitty returned to Alice’s side of