The Dark Secret of Weatherend Read Free

weren't any bodies. There was just the heat and the buzzing of flies and the feeling of loneliness that you get from looking at abandoned houses.
    Finally Anthony broke the silence. "Who lived here, Miss Eells? He must've been pretty rich, don't you think?"
    "Pretty rich, and pretty weird," agreed Miss Eells. "J. K. Borkman made his money from mining in the Iron Range up north of here, and when he settled down in this place at the age of seventy-two, he decided that he wanted to do two things: First he wanted to live the rest of his life in splendid isolation. Second he wanted to study the weather."
    Anthony was startled. "The weather?"
    Miss Eells nodded firmly. "The weather. I know it sounds ridiculous, but some people are like that. I had an aunt who was nutty about the weather. She would check the weather reports in the newspapers twice a day, and she was always listening to the weather news on the radio. Well, Borkman was just the same. He filled his house with barometers and barographs and thermometers, and there was one of those whirly-cup things on the roof that measured wind speed. And if you ask me why old Borkman had this nutty obsession, I'd have to say that I don't know. In my aunt's case it was probably just something to do to keep from going bananas with boredom." Miss Eells sighed and gazed around. "It's a shame somebody doesn't buy this place and do something with it. You'd think the National Trust for Historical Preservation would be interested in it, but they aren't. And there aren't many millionaires who want to live in rural Minnesota. So the old place just sits and rots. I've come up here a few times to prowl, and I've never seen a soul. What do you suppose is in this rather pretentious garage, eh? Shall we have a peek?"
    Anthony turned and looked at the stout, nail-studded wooden doors of the garage. He saw two twisty wrought-iron door handles held together by a chain that was fastened with a large and very rusty padlock. "But the door's locked," he said.
    "I wonder if that's true," said Miss Eells thoughtfully. As Anthony watched, Miss Eells walked up to the door and yanked at the padlock. Flakes of rust showered down, and the lock sprang open. Grinning mischievously, Miss Eells removed the padlock. She threw it contemptuously into the weeds, and with a grand flourish whipped off the chain. Unfortunately the flourish was a bit too dramatic, and the end of the chain whirled around and hit Miss Eells on the back of her neck.
    "Ow!" she yelled. "Why me, I ask? Why do these things happen to me?" She sighed and looked down at the chain in her hand. "Ah, well," she said wearily, "it's probably just a judgment on me because I'm a nosy old bat. Come on, Anthony. Let's see what's inside."
    And with that. Miss Eells dropped the chain and tugged at one of the garage doors. Anthony grabbed the other door handle and pulled. With a dismal groaning sound the doors shuddered open. In addition to the shut-up, musty smell that drifted out there was an odd, clammy chill to the air, even on this hot day. Inside everything was thickly coated with dust and dirt, and cobwebs festooned the grimy windows. It was so dark that it took Anthony's eyes a few seconds to get used to it. Gradually, though, he began to see things. Flowerpots were stacked in one corner, and nearby were old gardening tools, rakes and hoes, and a hand-powered lawn mower. There was a sagging table with more flowerpots on it, plus some trowels and a pair of stiff, dirty gardening gloves.
    At the back of the building, in the shadows, four large shapes loomed.
    Anthony was startled, and afraid. "Hey, Miss Eells!" he said, pointing, "What the heck are those things?"
    Miss Eells shrugged. "Darned if I know. Why don't we go find out?" And she walked boldly forward.
    At first Anthony hung back. Then he pulled himself together and followed Miss Eells. The boards of the garage floor creaked as he moved cautiously forward. Now he could see what the four things were.