The Witch of Agnesi by Robert Spiller

Author:Robert Spiller
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Detective, Mathematics teachers, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Murder, Colorado, Mystery & Detective, Juvenile Fiction, Fiction - Mystery, Mysteries & Detective Stories, General, & Detective Stories, Women Sleuths, Mysteries (Young Adult), Mysteries, Fiction, Espionage, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 10-12)
ISBN: 9781932815726
Publisher: MEDALLION PR (2006年8月1日)
Published: 2006-09-17T02:02:47.275000+00:00

“I’M REMINDED OF WHAT BROWNING HAD TO SAY about one unfortunate Scottish mousey.” Armen ground to a halt in the Sheridan’s driveway and turned off the ignition. He offered Bonnie a sympathetic half-smile.

“The best laid plans of mice and math teachers.” She stared down a long empty driveway of pink peagravel extending to an equally empty graveled rear courtyard. Past the courtyard, framed in the green embrace of a stand of massive cottonwoods, stood a traditionally painted red and white barn. Not a hint of a vehicle was in evidence, not even a bicycle. No light came from the white-paneled two-story farm house.

Try as she might, Bonnie heard no sound coming from within. “Maybe the Sheridans are just sleeping?”

“It’s possible.” Armen found a way to say the short sentence and have it mean just the opposite. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Right.” This might even be better. No telling what they might find even with a quick look around.

“Would you give the front door a knock?”

By the time she’d exited and snatched up her crutches, Armen was already at the white screen door rapping away. There seemed no point in joining him if no one was home. She left him to his task and hobbled up the driveway toward the rear of the house.

The centerpiece of the courtyard was a white wishing well surrounded by an apron of yellow petunias. Small hillocks of pansies, snapdragons, and petunias defined the two borders of the yard not already defined by the house and barn. Someone had put in a lot of work planting and weeding these small berms. Bonnie was reminded of the fact that the Sheridans were a retired couple.

When I retire, I’ll have gardens like these. She’d told herself this lie before when confronted by other enviable gardens. It was a lie that felt better every time she told it.

A triple switchback of wooden ramps led from the rear screen door to the ground. At the base of the ramp, grooves had been worn into the hard-packed earth and gravel where a pair of thin wheelchair tires had attacked the ramp over the years—a wheelchair belonging to Molly, Edmund Sheridan’s sister.

Bonnie headed for the barn. If Peyton had stayed with Edmund, that would be the perfect place to hide. With effort and prerequisite cursing, she slid open the heavy wooden door. Although the barn hosted six horse stalls—three to each side of a wide dirt aisle—the absence of the musky smell of horse told a tale of long disuse as a paddock. No tack hung on the walls.

The Sheridans probably got rid of their horses after Molly’s accident.

Before she’d taken half a dozen steps, Armen joined her. “No one home, which is just as well for a pair of amateur burglars.”

“I have no intention of burgling. I just want to look around.”

“Uh huh. If I’d had known you were into breaking and entering, I’d have asked you out for coffee long ago.” He pointed with his chin to the far stall on the right.

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