“Sure it’s closed. But the postmaster lives right over top of it. Across the street a way from here.”
Mary Louise and Max went there next and were fortunate enough to find the man at home. When Mary Louise told him about the registered letter and described the girl, he said he believed he did remember. So few people came to the little country town; still fewer registered letters. But Margaret hadn’t stopped in a car, he thought—she had walked from somewhere. No, he was positive she hadn’t been boarding with any of the folks around, or he’d have heard of it.
Well, that was something definite! Maybe she was hiding in one of those empty houses the clerk had spoken of, to escape from the police.
Max turned his car off the main highway into a little dirt road, almost impassable with its slush and snow. He stopped in front of the first empty house which the clerk had described. It was dark and forlorn.
“There would be some sort of light if anybody were living there,” observed Max.
“You can’t tell,” replied Mary Louise. “If Margaret were hiding, she’d be careful about lights. Let’s get out and look.”
“But why should she hide? Didn’t you tell me the employment manager promised not to send her to jail?”
“Yes, but you don’t know what crimes she’s committed since. If she were behaving herself, wouldn’t she have written to her grandparents? Either she’s dead or she’s doing something wrong.”
They waded through slush over their shoe-tops but could see no signs of any life. Mary Louise decided to try another house.
“It’s a wild theory, Mary Lou, but you’re the doctor,” agreed Max. “So long as my bus’ll run, I’m game.”