“Did you see the boys or anybody around at all?” questioned Mary Louise.
“Nary a soul. Everybody went to the picnic, as far as I know. I expected to go home, get fixed up, and get my brother Tom to row me over. But he wasn’t anywhere around when I got back, and I didn’t feel like gettin’ the boat and goin’ all by myself, so I just stayed home with Dad. I never knew a thing about the fire till I went over this mornin’ as usual to work at Flicks’.”
“Your brother—or your father—didn’t know anything about it, either?”
“Dad didn’t. I don’t know about Tom. I didn’t see him. He was off milkin’ the cows when I got up, and I left before he come in for his breakfast. I usually get it and set it on the table and then run down to Flicks’ quick as I can. But Mis’ Flick never cares if I don’t get there early, because we haven’t many people for breakfast.”
“And that’s all you know?”
“Yes. Except what I heard this mornin’ at Shady Nook—same as you heard.”
Mary Louise sighed. She didn’t feel as if she were making any progress. She wanted to ask more about Hattie’s father—Lemuel Adams—but she didn’t know how. And about this brother Tom, too. If he had been away from the farm last night, maybe he was responsible for setting the inn on fire.
Instead, however, she inquired about the strange creature who wandered about the countryside with her big pitcher under her arm.
“Do you know a woman with gray hair who calls herself Rebecca, Hattie?” she asked. “We almost ran over her half a mile down the road. She stepped right in front of our car.”
The other girl laughed.