The 100-Year-Old Secret by Tracy Barrett Read Free Book Online Page B

turned out to be sausage with buttery mashed potatoes.
    Then Xander slipped away from the table while Andrew ordered another Coke. “No Bathesons in the phone book,” he whispered to Xena when he returned. “And the waitress has never heard of them.”
    â€œWhat did you say?” Andrew asked.
    Xena and Xander looked at each other. Maybe Andrew could help. Of course, he'd probably be obnoxious about it, but they might learn something anyway.
    â€œWe're working on a mystery,” Xander said. Andrew snorted. “Well, we are,” Xander went on. “It's about a missing painting—”
    Andrew stood up, pushing his chair back noisily. They looked at him in surprise.
    â€œWhat makes you think you can solve a mystery?” he hissed at them. “Just because your ancestor was the great Sherlock Holmes—” his voice dripped with sarcasm “—and mine was only Dr. Watson. Watson was as smart as Holmes. He was just too modest to write about himself. And all the movies about them make him out to be an idiot. Well, I'm sick of it.” He smacked his hand on the table. “I'm going to that Internet café across the street. Come get me when it's time to go home.” He strode out the door.
    Xena and Xander looked after him in stunned silence.
    â€œWow,” said Xena.
    â€œWow,” agreed Xander. “Well, at least now we know why he doesn't like us. He's jealous that his relative isn't as well known as ours.”
    Xena took a deep breath. “We have to shake it off,” she said. “Who knows when we'll be back here again? Let's find the Batheson house.”
    They paid for their meal and went outside. The wind had picked up a little, and it was chilly.
    Xander pointed to a little stone church across the street. “I read somewhere that churches keep records about people. Maybe someone overthere knows about the Bathesons,” he suggested.
    They crossed over to check it out. A note on the church's door said “Back at 3:00.” It was 2:45, and with any luck their parents wouldn't call too soon.
    Xander picked up a pamphlet. “Anything useful?” Xena asked.
    â€œNope,” Xander said. “It's all about how old the church is and about the fine architecture of the nave, whatever that is, and about how some famous poet wrote a poem there. Nothing about people who lived here.”
    â€œWell, we might as well look around while we're waiting,” Xena said.
    The two took a stroll through the grounds and stumbled upon a small graveyard just off the back of the church. Many of the tombstones had flowers—some fresh and some plastic—leaning up against them. Moss had grown up over the markers, making a few impossible to read, and others were even less tended, sagging at odd angles as if the people buried there had been forgotten.
    Xena hugged her sweater closer to her and read an inscription. “Emma Marsh. Died when she was just two years old. Sad.” She glanced at the next headstone. “Winston Thompson. Beloved husband and father . . .”
    Xena moved on to another marker and stopped.
    â€œXander!” she called. “Come back!”
    Xander, who had been wandering across the churchyard, turned. When he saw Xena's expression, he broke into a trot.
    â€œLook at this!” she said, pointing at the third headstone. “Another clue!”

C HAPTER 9

    W hat is it?” Xander asked.
    â€œRead it,” she said.
    He bent down. “Cyril Batheson. And he died only two years ago!”
    â€œYou know what this means?” Xena asked, almost whispering.
    Slowly, Xander nodded. “It means that there are still Bathesons in Taynesbury. Or at least there was one, up until two years ago.”
    â€œCome on!” Xena said. “People usually bury family members near one another. Maybe there are more Bathesons here.”
    And there were, but they were all from long, long ago. Finally, just when