Bertha smiled reassuringly. “I had heard they wanted to rent their garage; do you know anything about it?”
“Why, no. They have a car. They took it with them.”
“Thank you,” Bertha told them courteously. “I’ll just take a look in the garage. They want to rent it.”
She retraced her steps, more confidently this time, crossing the street and walking up the cement driveway to the garage. Behind her the children watched her for a moment, and then went on with their play. By the time Bertha had reached the garage, they had entirely forgotten her, and the shrill treble of children’s voices raised in screaming play reached Bertha’s ears.
Bertha tentatively tried the garage door, expecting it to be locked.
It swung smoothly on well-oiled hinges.
Bertha pushed the door back a few cautious inches. She didn’t intend to go inside unless—
She saw a car on the inside of the garage.
There was something vaguely familiar about the back of the car. Bertha glanced at the license number.
It was the number of Mrs. Belder’s automobile.