No one was in sight, only a yellow hound-dog. The general store seemed the likeliest place to make inquiries. Going in, Vicki found it deserted. She looked around at the shelves, counters, boxes, and barrels piled with provisions for living deep in the country. She noticed a bell on the counter, rang it, then waited.
Presently a man and woman came in, carrying baskets of garden produce. They said good morning to Vicki, and looked at her curiously.
“Was that you flying around here a while ago?” the man asked. Vicki smiled and nodded.
“Well! What’re you doing in these parts, young lady?”
“We don’t often see strangers,” the woman put in. She said their names were Carl and Angie Potter. “My, that’s a handsome jacket you’re wearing.”
“Thank you,” said Vicki. “I wonder if you’d give me some advice?” The couple were eager to help. “I wonder if you’ve seen an elderly lady and a brown-haired girl about my age with her?”
“Why, sure enough, we have,” the man said. Vicki’s hopes leaped up. “They came here in a car about two weeks ago.”
“The lady’s name is Mrs. Elizabeth Heath,” the woman said importantly. “I saw her name on an identification tag tied on her suitcase—I noticed it when I carried some of the groceries out to her car. I can’t figure out whether the girl is her daughter or niece or exactly what. They bought a whole carload of groceries from us, same day they got here, and went on up to the old Glidden place.”
“The house up in the hills?” Vicki asked.
“Uh-huh. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of them since,” said the man. “Bill Jenkins from the telephone company strung up a wire to their house, so we know Mrs. Heath has the phone working again. But except for phoning me to bring more groceries, she hasn’t called up nobody here.”