The Secret of the Old Clock - Carolyn Keene [19]
“It was my fault. I should have set the pup down. Its mother probably thought I was trying to dognap her baby!”
“Possibly.”
Nancy explained why she had picked up the little animal and the farmer said he would look at the cut later.
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” he added. “Thanks for being such a good scout about it. Did you come to see me or my brother?” he asked. “I’m Fred Mathews.”
Nancy gave her name, and added that she was acquainted with the Turner sisters and others who had been told they would benefit under Josiah Crowley’s will.
“My dad—the lawyer Carson Drew—and I are working on the case. We believe there might have been a later will than the one presented by Mr. Topham, and we’d like to find it.”
“And you came to see if William and I could give you a clue?” Fred’s bright blue eyes sparkled boyishly.
“That’s right, Mr. Mathews. Also, did Mr. Crowley ever tell you he was going to leave you some money?”
“Indeed he did.”
At this moment another man came from the house and Fred introduced him as his brother William. Both were tall, spare, and strong-muscled. Though their hair was gray, the men’s faces were youthful and unwrinkled.
“Let’s sit down under the tree here and discuss this,” Fred suggested, leading the way to a group of rustic chairs. He told William of Nancy’s request, then asked him, “Did Cousin Josiah ever give you any idea he’d made a will in which we were not beneficiaries?”
“No. I thought one would come to light when he died. To tell the truth, Miss Drew, Fred and I were thunderstruck at the will which left everything to the Tophams. That wasn’t what Cousin Josiah led us to believe.”
“It certainly wasn’t,” Fred spoke up. “But I guess William and I counted our chickens before they were hatched. We just about make ends meet here with our small fruit farm. Help and equipment cost such a lot. One thing we’ve always wanted to do, but couldn’t afford, was to travel. We thought we’d use the money from Cousin Josiah to do that.”
“But our dream bubble burst,” said William. “No trips for us.”
Nancy smiled. “Don’t give up hope yet. Dad and I haven’t.”
She was disappointed that the brothers could offer her no clues about a place to look for another will. A little while later she left the farm and returned home.
“No new evidence,” she told her father. “Let’s hope Mrs. Abby Rowen has some!”
Early the next morning she set off for the elderly woman’s home, and reached her destination by asking directions of people living along West Lake Road.
“This must be Abby Rowen’s house,” Nancy told herself. “It fits the description.”
She climbed out of her car and stood before the one-story frame building which was badly in need of paint and repair. The yard around it was overgrown with weeds, and the picket fence enclosing the cottage sagged dejectedly.
“The place looks deserted,” Nancy mused. “But I’ll see if Mrs. Rowen is at home.”
Nancy made her way up the scraggly path to the house and rapped on the front door. There was no response. After a moment, she knocked again.
This time a muffled voice called, “Who’s there? If you’re a peddler, I don’t want anything.”
“I’m not selling anything,” Nancy called out reassuringly. “Won’t you let me in, please?”
There was a long silence, then the quavering voice replied, “I can’t open the door. I’ve hurt myself and can’t walk.”
Nancy hesitated an instant before pushing open the door. As she stepped into the dreary living room, she saw a frail figure on the couch. Abby Rowen lay huddled under an old shawl, her withered face drawn with pain.
“I am Nancy Drew and I’ve come to help you, Mrs. Rowen.”
The old lady turned her head and regarded Nancy with a stare of wonder.
“You’ve come to help me?” she repeated unbelievingly. “I didn’t think anyone would ever bother about old Abby again.”
“Here, let me arrange the pillows for you.” Gently Nancy moved the old woman into a more comfortable position.
“Yesterday I fell down the cellar stairs,” Mrs. Rowen explained. “I hurt my