4 Hemmed In by Marjorie Sorrell Rockwell Read Free Book Online Page A

confused with the Cherokee’s “Trail of Tears” – although both were carried out under the Indian Removal Act signed into law by President Andrew Jackson).
    “We need to go back to Mad Matilda’s cottage and check out those runes in the well,” Cookie was saying.
    “Not really,” argued Maddy. “The old woman copied them onto her quilt, and we have a picture of the quilt. Professor Pudhomme gave us a good enough translation. We know all that we’re going to know about the location of the treasure.”
    “An excursion of thirty Norsemen could have carried quite a lot of silver. It would be a valuable find.”
    “More valuable than a hundred thousand dollar quilt?”
    “Oh yes. Millions maybe.”
    “But anyone who knew runology could have translated the message without having to steal the quilt.”
    Cookie laughed. “ True. But what a clever double crime, the thief got the quilt and the treasure map in one fell swoop.”
    Lizzie wandered over to join Maddy and Cookie in the shade of a leafy elm tree. “According to Edgar’s story,” she interjected, “it was a Lord of the Rings fan who spotted the runes. His mother’s boyfriend stole it.”
    “Who do we know that’s dating a single mom?” Bootsie called from the water’s edge. Sound carried in this boxy canyon.
    Maddy turned in her direction. “Good question. But we’ll find out. The guy Edgar overheard was Boyd Atkins’s son, Charlie. I imagine your husband is calling on him at this very moment to find out his buddy’s name.”
    “Yes,” said Bootsie. Her short dark hair was plastered against her head from standing under the waterfall. She looked like a plump little sausage in her black one-piece swimsuit. “I predict we’ll have that quilt back on the wall of the Town Hall by the end of the week.”
    “Wouldn’t that be nice,” sighed Cookie. As secretary of the Historical Society, she felt responsible for the quilt.
    “Don’t worry,” said little Aggie. “The Quilters Club will find it.”
    ≈ ≈ ≈
    Police Chief Jim Purdue and his deputy drove out to Aitkens Produce to interview Charlie. This was a delicate matter, considering his father was the biggest landholder in the county. The farmer pulled a lot of weight on the town council.
    The main house reminded you of South Fork, that stately edifice you see on the opening credits of Dallas . Over to the west was a gigantic watermelon warehouse, a steel-framed building as big as a city block. Positioned between them was a two-story red barn. A blue Ram pickup was parked in front of the open barn door. The vanity plate – Aitkens 3 – identified it as Charlie’s. Boyd was Aitkens 1 and his oldest boy Ralph was Aitkens 2.
    Jim Purdue pulled his squad car next to the pickup. He wondered if Charlie might be inside the barn. “Let’s peek inside before we try the house,” he suggested to his deputy.
    Pete Hitzer nodded as he unholstered his Glock.
    “Hey,” said Jim, “you’re not going to need that.”
    “Don’t be too sure. I know Charlie Aiken. Went to high school with him. He’s a hothead. Got a mean streak.”
    “Keep it holstered.”
    “Yes, chief.”
    The interior of the barn was dark. Jim didn’t like standing there silhouetted in the open door. Pete had spooked him, no doubt. “Hello,” he called. “Anybody in here? It’s Police Chief Jim Purdue.”
    No answer.
    “Hello,” he repeated.
    Same lack of response.
    “Must be over at the house,” said Pete.
    “Wait. Find a light switch.” He had a feeling.
    Click!
    The barn was flooded with bluish light. There in the center of the floor was a body sprawled facedown. Jim Purdue recognized it as the Aitkens boy.
    Talk about a dead end. Without Charlie Aitkens, they’d never be able to identify his buddy who stole the Witch Quilt.
    “Looks like somebody konked him in the head with this rock.” Pete Hitzer pointed to a fragment of stone laying on the dirt floor beside the body.
    “Nothing we can do here.