The Angel Whispered Danger by Mignon F. Ballard Read Free Book Online Page A

found a couple, but I’m afraid the worms got to them first.” The screen door slammed as Uncle Lum wandered in from the back porch and set two tomatoes on the counter. He squinted at me from under the brim of his canvas hat. “Kate! It’s good to see you, sugar. I’d hug you, but it’s a mite sticky out there, and the mosquitoes about chewed me up. If Uncle Ernest doesn’t start using some kind of insect control, they’re gonna carry him off.” He nodded toward the living room. “You seen him yet?”
    I grinned. “In there buried in a book.”
    “One of those tomes about the War Between the States, I guess,” my uncle said. “Bet he’s read just about everything written on the subject.” He peered into the pot of eggs and rolled his eyes at me behind Aunt Leona’s back. “Maybe he’s trying to find out where Great-great-great-granddaddy Templeton hid that Confederate gold.”
    “Columbus Roundtree, you big silly! Your great . . . whatever-granddaddy never hid any gold around here.” Leona tied a faded apron about her twenty-two-inch waist and set vinegar and mustard on the counter with a double thunk.
    “Makes a darn good story, though. Besides, how do you know he didn’t?” Uncle Lum winked at me.
    “Grady and I dug holes all over the place looking for that gold when we were little,” I said. “Uncle Ernest told us it was buried out behind the house. I think he just wanted us to dig a place for him to plant tomatoes!”
    “Which reminds me, if we’re going to have tomatoes with that barbecue tonight, I’d better run down to the J and G and see if Jim has any local produce.” Uncle Lum made it a point not to glance at his wife, who shuddered slightly as the mention of barbecue.
    My aunt decided to clean out the cabinets, and since I wanted no part of that, I slipped quietly out of the kitchen. Uncle Ernest was engrossed in his book, so I wandered out to the porch where Grady lay back in a rocker, hands across his stomach, with the dog at his feet.
    “It’s a shame you can’t relax,” I said, pulling up a chair beside him.
    He immediately jumped to his feet. “Hey, don’t sit down! Uncle Ernest tells me Deedee and family are on their way. Let’s go down by Webster’s wall and see if the blackberries are ripe.”
    Webster Templeton was our ancestor who was supposed to have buried the gold—or so Cousin Violet claims, and the crumbling stone walls of what was left of his house was a favorite berry-picking spot.
    I grabbed a pail from the back porch and scooted myself with insect repellent, glad I had worn long pants that day. “Maybe Ella will make us one of her famous blackberry cobblers,” I said, referring to the time the housekeeper forgot the sugar, as we made our way along the familiar path.
    Grady made a gagging noise. “I hope you’ve learned to cook. Mom’s gotten to where she doesn’t even buy sugar anymore.”
    “You furnish the blackberries; I’ll take care of the cobbler,” I assured him. “And where is Ella anyway? Did you know your mother is in there cleaning out her cabinets?”
    My cousin groaned. “I doubt if she’ll even notice. You’ll have to admit they probably need it, and Ella’s getting too old to stand on ladders and scrub those high shelves. Hadn’t seen her lately, but she was looking for her cat right after I got here. Said it got out somehow.”
    The housekeeper always kept her cat, Dagwood, in her own part of the house. The animal was afraid, she claimed, of Amos the collie, but frankly, I think it was the other way around.
    I was relieved to find the path wasn’t as overgrown with weeds as I had expected. Someone—probably Casey, the writer-caretaker—had mown it recently and the air smelled of freshly cut grass. I took a deep breath, glad to be relaxing in the company of an old friend in a dear, familiar place.
    We found a treasure of ripe berries tumbling over the ruined foundations of the old house and soon had the pail almost