The Mystery of the Death Trap Mine - M. V. Carey [25]
“No, they didn’t,” said Allie.
“It’ll probably turn up all rusty someplace on the mountain,” said Mrs. Macomber. She walked to an old frame house that stood north of her own residence. “This place belonged to the McKestries,” she told them. “He was a paymaster at the mine.”
Mrs. Macomber pushed on the door and it opened with squealing protest. Allie and the boys followed her inside. They saw long-unused furnishings, cracked plaster, and cupboards with doors that sagged open to show odd pieces of chipped pottery. “Lots of people left things behind,” said Mrs. Macomber. “I guess they figured some stuff wasn’t worth taking.”
“You’d have to do a lot of clearing out and fixing up before you could rent this place,”
Allie told her.
“Of course I would. I had to do a lot to my house before I could move back into it. But it was fun.”
As they went from one place to another in Mrs. Macomber’s domain they sniffed air that was heavy with dust and dry rot. In some of the houses the roofs had let in the rain, and ceilings were splotched and stained. In one, a heap of yellowed newspapers was piled near a rusted wood-burning stove.
Bob crouched and flipped through the old newspapers. “Were these here when you bought your property, Mrs. Macomber?” he asked. “I mean, when you came back five years ago?”
“I suppose so,” said Mrs. Macomber. “Well, of course, they must have been. How else would they get here?”
“Interesting,” said Bob. “Could I have them?”
“What on earth do you want with a pile of old newspapers?” asked Mrs. Macomber.
“He’s a newspaper nut!” Allie laughed. “But he sure helped us find out a lot about what was going on here five years ago. After we discovered that body in the mine, we went down to the Twin Lakes Gazette to see if we could figure out what Gilbert Morgan might have been doing here. We found out a whole bunch of stuff, but—”
Jupe shot Allie a menacing glance as Bob interrupted her. “My dad’s a newspaperman,”
said Bob. “He’s got me interested in old papers. Could I take these?”
“Well, I guess you can have them,” she said.
Bob carefully picked up the stack of newspapers and held them at his side, and they all went out into the late-afternoon sun.
“Say, would you kids like a pop, or will that spoil your dinner?” Mrs. Macomber asked.
“Nothing can spoil Jupe’s dinner!” Allie laughed.
“Good. I’ve got some orange soda.”
They returned to Mrs. Macomber’s snug little house, but there was no soda in the refrigerator or in the cupboard or in the pantry that opened off the kitchen.
“What on earth?” Mrs. Macomber exclaimed. “I’m sure I had some pop. I know I didn’t drink it all myself.”
Jupe, with his eye for detail, stared at the groceries still piled on the counter. “You also
had a loaf of bread,” he said. “And some canned tuna. They’re gone!”
Mrs. Macomber looked at Jupe as though she didn’t understand. Then she gasped. She charged out onto the porch and peered up and down the road, as if expecting to see someone walking off with her supplies.
Bob put down his newspapers. He removed a
soggy cigarette butt from the gleaming kitchen sink and held it up between two fingers. “Mrs.
Macomber,” he said. “You don’t smoke, do you?”
Mrs. Macomber stared at Bob’s find.
“No, I certainly don’t,” she said.
By now Mrs. Macomber seemed to have recovered
from her shock. “I can’t understand why anyone would steal from me,” she said. “If someone wanted some food, all he had to do was ask me!”
“Well, he didn’t,” said Pete. “Maybe he wanted more than food. We’d better check the rest of the house.”
Mrs. Macomber shrugged and led the way out of
the kitchen. They went through every room and closet of the immaculate little house. No intruder lurked under the furniture, and not one of the widow’s many knickknacks and mementos seemed
out of position.
“I don’t have any valuables,” said Mrs.
Macomber. “And nothing else is missing.”
“I suggest you get those padlocks after all, Mrs. Macomber,” said Jupiter. “And lock this house when you go out.”
“But no one around here locks up,”