Indigo Christmas by Jeanne Dams Read Free Book Online Page B

Cavanaugh now, Andy,” Hilda reminded him with a smile. “Surely Erik told you I am married.”
    â€œOh. Yes, miss—madam. Sorry, madam. I forgot.”
    â€œâ€˜Miss’ will be best, Andy. I am—I am in disguise .” She whispered the last word conspiratorially.
    Andy opened his eyes wide. “Are you on somebody’s trail, miss?”
    â€œIn a way. It is difficult, because I do not know very much yet. Do you remember the barn fire a few weeks ago, Andy? In early November, it was, south of town.”
    The boy screwed up his face in concentration. “I don’t think so, miss. only—was that the one where somebody burned to death?”
    â€œIt was. A hired man named Jenkins.”
    â€œBurned alive! That’d be a terrible way to die,” said Andy soberly. “Almost anything’d be better’n that.”
    â€œHe maybe did not know what was happening to him,” said Hilda gently. “Patrick says when people die in a fire, they breathe in the smoke first and it makes them unconscious. So do not worry too much. But have you heard anyone talking about the fire or the man who was killed?”
    â€œJust the newsboys. They say—I mean the paper says—it was maybe a murder. Miss Hilda! Is that what you’re tryin’ to find out about?”
    â€œYes, but do not talk so loud!”
    â€œSorry, miss. But nobody can’t hardly hear what we say in here. So you want me to ask around, like I did before?”
    Andy and the other bellboys had gathered information for Hilda once before, very successfully.
    Hilda smiled. “You can read, can you not?”
    Andy drew himself up. “ ’Course I can read! I’m not stupid!” “I know that you are smart,” said Hilda a shade reprovingly. “But you went to school for only a little time, before your father—had his troubles.” Hilda had heard from Erik about Andy’s father. out of work, the man had a year or two ago taken to drink and gambling, nearly destroying the family before a job pulled him out of his despondency. Andy’s wages, meager as they were, had helped keep the family afloat. Hilda had a good deal of respect for Andy. “Is he doing better now?”
    â€œYes, miss.” Andy didn’t sound too sure. “Papa’s got a pretty good job, but there’s a lot of men losin’ their jobs these days, so we never know… but anyway, see, I like to read. So I taught myself, sort of. People leave magazines around, see, and newspapers, and when things are slow I read ’em. And there’s a dictionary in the lounge, so if I don’t know a word I look it up. I can read ’most anything!”
    â€œHave you ever read stories about a man, a detective, named Sherlock Holmes?”
    â€œOh, yes , miss! They’re really good. kind of hard to read, some of them, and maybe not as good as Sexton Blake, but real exciting! I reckon I could figger things out just as good as them if I really tried.”
    â€œI think you could, too, Andy. That is why I want you and your friends to be my Baker Street Irregulars.”
    Andy’s face lit up. “Just like in the stories! Yes, ma’am ! Are you going to pay us a shilling each for an errand? What’s a shilling, anyway?”
    â€œMoney in England. I do not know how much. Yes, I will give you money. Five cents every time you tell me something useful, and ten cents if you must run an errand.”
    â€œOoh! I can maybe buy some stuff for my little brothers and my sisters, for Christmas! I’m your man, all right. Whatcha want us to do?”
    â€œListen and look. Report back everything you hear about the fire. I want to know when it started, how it started, who was there at the time—everything you can learn. And if someone seems to know something, see if you can ask them a few questions. But you must not—”
    â€œI know, miss. not make ’em