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Authors: Margaret Sutton
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that there was a Coast Guard station near. Peter’s work with the FBI had given her confidence in all the various branches of the service. Help, he always said, was as near as the nearest telephone.
“It only takes fifteen minutes to walk to the dock where the telephone is, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Ten if you run. Maybe less. But we don’t want to go calling people and alarming them if what we saw was only—I mean if it was an apparition or something,” Irene started to explain.
“What you really mean is a ghost,” Flo said bluntly.
“I want to see.” Little Judy, now half awake, was probably thinking of the gay little cartoon of a ghost she had often seen romping on the television screen.
“The show is over. Go back to sleep, Precious,” Irene told her gently. “I’ll be right downstairs fixing breakfast.”
“Will she be all right alone?” Pauline asked.
“Of course.” When they were all downstairs Irene 83
added, with more concern, “But maybe someone should guard the stairway in case that—that woman returns.”
“I don’t think she will unless, of course, she was my aunt Hazel,” Flo said. “Then, of course, I want her to. Of course—”
“You’ve said of course three times already,” Pauline pointed out, “and Irene’s said it once. That proves how nervous you are. Of course—”
“Now who’s nervous?” Judy interrupted, laughing.
“I was going to say of course it was one of the relatives. They all received letters from this lawyer, Mr. Brand, didn’t they?” Pauline asked.
“I suppose they did,” Flo acknowledged. “I know my mother received a letter—something about a foreclosure. She and my father were discussing it and I overheard—”
“Eavesdropper!” Pauline charged, making a face.
The two were the best of friends. Judy knew it was all in fun. But what they were suggesting wasn’t so funny. That tall figure in black couldn’t possibly be Hazel Barton. But then who—or what—was it?
“Nothing has been disturbed. That is—” Judy had discovered a large basket of apples on the kitchen table. “I mean, she didn’t take anything, she left something. This.”
“Good heavens!” Flo exclaimed as Judy pointed 84
to the apples. “I hope they aren’t poisoned.”
“You’re remembering your fairy tales again.
What about this Mrs. Hatch?” asked Judy. “Is she tall and thin and does she ever dress all in black?”
“No, she’s sort of—medium.” Irene, the only one of the four who had actually seen Mrs. Hatch, couldn’t remember her well enough to describe her.
“Does she wear black?”
“No, when I saw her, she had a suit on. Sort of tweedy. Brown is more her color. I’m sure that wasn’t Mrs. Hatch, but who was it?” Irene asked, lowering her voice to a frightened whisper.
“Anyway, she didn’t come to steal anything. She came to give us apples, which reminds me, I’m starved,” Pauline declared. “What’s holding up breakfast?”
“Nothing except the jitters. Let’s have cereal with cut-up apples and take a chance,” Judy suggested.
“Who wants coffee?”
They all did. “To warm us up,” Irene explained.
She wasn’t so sure about the apples. There were eggs in the cupboard. Everybody voted for eggs.
Irene had just broken the eggs into the pan when there was a sound on the stairs, and a moment later a whirlwind broke in upon her.
“Mommy! Mommy! I want to help,” cried little Judy, dancing over to Irene and hugging her so energetically that she almost sent the eggs, pan and 85
all, on the floor.
“Come, help me make beds,” Flo invited her.
“We’ll put Lady Luck right here on the newel post where she can watch us eat and then . . .” Little Judy wasn’t listening. She had pushed open the double doors with the lemon tree painted on them. A draft of cold air came sweeping in from the screened porch.
“There’s a bed here—”
“No, no, Judykins, close that door. You’ll freeze us to
“It only takes fifteen minutes to walk to the dock where the telephone is, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Ten if you run. Maybe less. But we don’t want to go calling people and alarming them if what we saw was only—I mean if it was an apparition or something,” Irene started to explain.
“What you really mean is a ghost,” Flo said bluntly.
“I want to see.” Little Judy, now half awake, was probably thinking of the gay little cartoon of a ghost she had often seen romping on the television screen.
“The show is over. Go back to sleep, Precious,” Irene told her gently. “I’ll be right downstairs fixing breakfast.”
“Will she be all right alone?” Pauline asked.
“Of course.” When they were all downstairs Irene 83
added, with more concern, “But maybe someone should guard the stairway in case that—that woman returns.”
“I don’t think she will unless, of course, she was my aunt Hazel,” Flo said. “Then, of course, I want her to. Of course—”
“You’ve said of course three times already,” Pauline pointed out, “and Irene’s said it once. That proves how nervous you are. Of course—”
“Now who’s nervous?” Judy interrupted, laughing.
“I was going to say of course it was one of the relatives. They all received letters from this lawyer, Mr. Brand, didn’t they?” Pauline asked.
“I suppose they did,” Flo acknowledged. “I know my mother received a letter—something about a foreclosure. She and my father were discussing it and I overheard—”
“Eavesdropper!” Pauline charged, making a face.
The two were the best of friends. Judy knew it was all in fun. But what they were suggesting wasn’t so funny. That tall figure in black couldn’t possibly be Hazel Barton. But then who—or what—was it?
“Nothing has been disturbed. That is—” Judy had discovered a large basket of apples on the kitchen table. “I mean, she didn’t take anything, she left something. This.”
“Good heavens!” Flo exclaimed as Judy pointed 84
to the apples. “I hope they aren’t poisoned.”
“You’re remembering your fairy tales again.
What about this Mrs. Hatch?” asked Judy. “Is she tall and thin and does she ever dress all in black?”
“No, she’s sort of—medium.” Irene, the only one of the four who had actually seen Mrs. Hatch, couldn’t remember her well enough to describe her.
“Does she wear black?”
“No, when I saw her, she had a suit on. Sort of tweedy. Brown is more her color. I’m sure that wasn’t Mrs. Hatch, but who was it?” Irene asked, lowering her voice to a frightened whisper.
“Anyway, she didn’t come to steal anything. She came to give us apples, which reminds me, I’m starved,” Pauline declared. “What’s holding up breakfast?”
“Nothing except the jitters. Let’s have cereal with cut-up apples and take a chance,” Judy suggested.
“Who wants coffee?”
They all did. “To warm us up,” Irene explained.
She wasn’t so sure about the apples. There were eggs in the cupboard. Everybody voted for eggs.
Irene had just broken the eggs into the pan when there was a sound on the stairs, and a moment later a whirlwind broke in upon her.
“Mommy! Mommy! I want to help,” cried little Judy, dancing over to Irene and hugging her so energetically that she almost sent the eggs, pan and 85
all, on the floor.
“Come, help me make beds,” Flo invited her.
“We’ll put Lady Luck right here on the newel post where she can watch us eat and then . . .” Little Judy wasn’t listening. She had pushed open the double doors with the lemon tree painted on them. A draft of cold air came sweeping in from the screened porch.
“There’s a bed here—”
“No, no, Judykins, close that door. You’ll freeze us to
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