The Pike River Phantom by Betty Ren Wright Read Free Book Online

neighborhood. Shades were drawn across the front windows of the house, giving it an unwelcoming look. Charlie decided to go to the rear door.
    As he reached the backyard, the screen door was kicked open. A young man with longish brown hair hurried out, his arms wrapped around a television set. He put the television on the passenger seat of the truck, before he noticed Charlie crossing the yard.
    â€œHey, kid! Don’t go in there!”
    Charlie hesitated at the steps. The man sounded tense. He took a step toward Charlie, his shoulders hunched.
    â€œI wasn’t going in,” Charlie said. “I just want to talk to Mrs. Fisher.”
    â€œWell, you can’t. She’s sleeping—she doesn’t want to be bothered.”
    â€œI wasn’t going to bother her.” Why was he getting so excited? “I just want to sell her some candy.”
    The man took another step toward him. “I told you, kid, she’s sleeping. Now beat it!”
    Reluctantly, Charlie retreated around the side of the house. He didn’t understand what was happening here. If Mrs. Fisher was sleeping, what had the young man been doing in her house? If he was a television repairman, surely he couldn’t just walk in and take the set. Suddenly Charlie had an answer, and it was a scary one. The man was stealing Mrs. Fisher’s television set! Charlie had arrived just in time to catch him at it.
    He thought of Tim Kelly, Aunt Laura’s neighbor in the apartment building in Milwaukee. Tim had come home from work one evening to find his television, stereo, and camera gone. The thief had slipped in during the day and vanished without leaving a clue.
    The old pickup clattered into motion. Charlie darted across the street and waited, looking from one house to another, pretending to decide which one he should call on next. When the truck backed out into the street, he turned his head just enough to see the license plate: AYK-175. He said it over to himself.
    The truck turned the corner, and Charlie went back across the street. His heart pounded with excitement, but he wasn’t sure what to do next. He could call the police and give them the license number, but he wasn’t absolutely sure the man was a thief. A terrifying thought struck him. Maybe the fellow was more than a burglar. Maybe he was a murderer! Maybe he broke into Mrs. Fisher’s house thinking no one was home, and she caught him in the act of taking her television set. She might be lying in there unconscious. Tied up! Bleeding to death!
    Charlie went to the back of the house and looked at the door nervously. He’d have to go in and look. If he didn’t do something quickly, and Mrs. Fisher was badly hurt, it would be his fault if she died.
    He tiptoed up the steps and tried the door. It opened easily. Inside was a small, spotless kitchen and beyond that a hallway leading to the rest of the house.
    Charlie stood in the middle of the kitchen. It was the second time in two days he’d entered a stranger’s house uninvited. This second time he called an uneasy hello and received no answer.
    The first door in the hallway stood slightly ajar. Charlie peeked inside and saw a vacuum cleaner, a broom, and a shelf full of cleaning supplies. He had started to close the door, when there was a rustle of footsteps in the hall. Before he could turn around, someone hit him hard between the shoulder blades and sent him hurtling into the closet. His head struck the shelf with such force that he barely heard the door slam behind him and a key turn in the lock.
    He slid to the floor. His head throbbed, and when he touched his forehead he groaned with pain. As if from a great distance, he heard the whir of a telephone dial.
    â€œPolice—yes, that’s who I want—this is Marie Fisher on Cutler Street. Six two one.” The voice was quivering with fright. “You get over here right away—I’ve captured a burglar! He’s locked in