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

the closet—a great big fellow, mean as poison. I think he was going to kill me!”

CHAPTER 7
    Charlie fingered the swelling on his forehead. The bump was getting larger and the pain was worse. When he shifted, the broom handle slipped from his shoulders and clattered against the door.
    â€œYou stop that! You can’t get out of there, no matter how you try!” The quavery voice was just outside.
    â€œI’m not trying to get out,” Charlie muttered. He doubted he could even stand up. His chin rested on his knees, and every time he lifted his head another wave of pain washed over him. He discovered that the fingers of his left hand were sticky. Blood! He groaned. I’m probably bleeding to death in here! Then he sniffed his fingers and recognized the sharp, lemony fragrance of furniture polish.
    Footsteps shuffled away from the closet door. “I’m going outside to wait for the police,” the voice said. “If you do any damage, you’ll just make it worse for yourself.”
    Dear-little-old-thing Mrs. Fisher , Charlie thought. He wondered how things could get any worse.
    If it weren’t for the very real pain, this could easily be a nightmare. Charlie’s stomach lurched as he thought of Grandpa Will and Grandma Lou. What would they say if they could see him now, locked in a closet, waiting for the police to arrive? Like father, like son? No, they wouldn’t say it, but they would have to think it. Everybody would.
    Car brakes screeched, and there was a clatter of heavy feet entering the house.
    â€œHe’s right in there,” Mrs. Fisher announced. “And you’d better get your guns out before you open that door. I didn’t see whether he was carryin’ a gun or a knife. I just sneaked up behind him and pushed him into the closet.”
    â€œWe’ll take care of him,” a deep voice assured her. “You just go out in the kitchen and wait, ma’am. Out of harm’s way.”
    â€œOh. Oh, yes!”
    The closet door swung open. Charlie, doubled up on the floor, blinked at the light. The two policemen looking down at him appeared nine feet tall.
    â€œHey, now,” one of them said softly, “will you look at that killer!”
    Charlie struggled to his feet. “Not a killer,” he said thickly. He groaned as one of the policemen pulled him out into the hall.
    â€œWhat’s your name, kid? What are you doing in Mrs. Fisher’s house?”
    â€œCharlie Hocking. Selling candy.” Talking was dangerous. If he unlocked his jaws, he was afraid he was going to be sick all over the policeman’s shining boots.
    â€œYou Will Hocking’s grandson?”
    Charlie nodded.
    â€œJohn Hocking’s boy,” said the younger of the two men. “You know about him, Eddie.”
    Charlie’s knees buckled. He started to slide to the floor, but the older policeman half-carried him down the hall and into the dim living room. He lowered Charlie into an overstuffed chair.
    â€œConcussion, I bet,” the young policeman commented. “That’s some egg on his forehead.”
    Charlie leaned back. “I’m okay,” he mumbled. “I just feel sort of—”
    He was interrupted by the return of Mrs. Fisher; at least that was who Charlie supposed she was. A tiny, frail-looking old lady, she clutched a gray bathrobe around her and peered out at them from under a pink crocheted hairnet.
    â€œSo that’s him!” she exclaimed. “Wicked-lookin’, ain’t he? I caught him red-handed, officers. He was just going into the closet—someone must have told him I keep my weddin’ pearls and all the silverware in there. I just tiptoed up behind him and shoved.” She demonstrated, nearly pushing the young policeman off his feet.
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Both men looked at her solemnly. “You took a terrible chance, though.”
    â€œWhat was I supposed to do—let