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

Charlie’s dead as road kill. Let’s see if any suspects are home.”
    “Gee, Jim. I’ve never worked a murder before.”
    “We don’t get many of them around here,” the police chief acknowledged. “I’ve not worked many myself.”
    Pete picked up the murder weapon, unmindful of fingerprints. But it was unlikely the limestone fragment would hold a latent print anyway. “Lookit this,” the deputy said. “Some kind of chicken scratches on this rock.”
    Jim leaned forward to squint at the angular stone. Sort of a trapezoid shape, like it had been broken off a larger chunk. There were markings on it, sort of like stick figures. Where had he seen that before? Then it came to him: These were like the decorative border on the Witch Quilt.
    How did these markings get on a rock used to kill Charlie Aitkens?
     
     

 
    Chapter Eleven
     
    Cookie in the Witching Well
     
     
    O n the way back home from their picnic, Maddy and her entourage stopped off at Mad Matilda’s cottage. Well, the ruins of the old farmplace. With all the kids under wing, there were two cars – Maddy’s SUV and Amanda’s hatchback. Maddy’s car led the way down the narrow dirt road that dead-ended at the oasis of oak trees.
    “There’s the well with the funny rocks,” Aggie pointed.
    “ Can I see them?” wheedled N’yen, nose pressed against the car window.
    Maddy shook her head. “Too dangerous, young man. The writing’s inside the well. If you slipped and fell your mom would be very upset. You’re her treasure.”
    “I thought we’re looking for silver treasure,” said the boy. Disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see the magic writing.
    Maddy brought the car to a stop. “Everybody out,” she called. “But keep the children away from the well. I’m surprised Boyd A itkins hasn’t had it topped off. An open hole like this could be a legal liability.”
    The Quilters Club and Aggie stood on one side of the SUV. Amanda and the other children were next to the car in back. “Why did we come back here?” she asked. “This place is kinda spooky, a few trees in the middle of a vast watermelon field. Must’ve been lonely for Matilda Wilkins out here.”
    “No doubt,” said Lizzie. The redhead was f eeling a little uneasy herself.
    “Where did they bury Mad Matilda?” Freddie’s wife asked.
    “They didn’t,” replied Cookie. “According to the Gazette they left her body in the well. Too dangerous to retrieve it, 80-feet down.”
    “That’s no big deal,” huffed Bootsie. “They were probably just scared of going down there for a witch’s corpse.”
    “Ooo,” said N’yen. “I’m afraid that ol’ witch’s gonna get me.”
    “Don’t worry, dear,” his grandmother assured him. “Matilda wasn’t really a witch. There’s no such thing. Just a crazy old lady who fell in the well.”
    “Got thrown in,” Aggie corrected her. “By those bad angels.”
    “Well, yes, but –”
    “Don’t sugarcoat it,” said Cookie. “Aggie’s smarter than the lot of us. ”
    That may have been true. Her recent school test clocked the girl in with an IQ of 160. Genius level, to be sure.
    “Got your digital camera?” Cookie addressed the redhead. “And do you have the flashlight?” she turned to Maddy.
    “Camera,” Lizzie replied, holding up a boxy little Vivitar.
    “Flashlight,” echoed Maddy, turning it on and off by way of proof. Like the winking of a firefly.
    “I’ve got the rope,” Bootsie volunteered, displaying a strand of nylon cord guaranteed at 200 lb. tensile strength.
    Cookie set her jaw with grim determination. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get proof that these are the exact same runes as shown in the photo of the Wilkins Witch Quilt. Lower me down.”
    ≈ ≈ ≈
    Later, they would laugh about how Cookie nearly fell in the well. Being the lightest of the Quilters Club members (excluding Aggie), she was the one hanging by a rope over the lip of the well to get a digital shot of the runes. Lizzie