not really getting married at all. They’re brother and sister.”
Mrs. Wellington stared at the children for a moment. Then she burst out laughing, “Oh dear, oh dear.”
“It’s true,” insisted Dexter. “You’ll never see Jenny Mayflower again.”
Mrs. Wellington leaned against a chair and then collapsed into it, laughing. Finally she wiped her eyes with her long trailing silk scarf. “I’m afraid you’d better start from the beginning,” she said.
Cindy looked helplessly at Dexter and Jay.
“Oh, but you must all sit down,” Mrs. Wellington said. “Let me pull some chairs up.” She was standing before the three detectives had a chance to move.
“From the beginning,” said Mrs. Wellington, when they were all sitting down.
Cindy opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Wellington jumped up from her chair again. “With all this going on, I forgot I was the hostess. Would you like some hot chocolate? I can fix some in a jiffy.”
Without waiting for an answer, she flew across the room and went through a swinging door.
“Poor lady,” Cindy sighed. “It’s going to be sad when she hears the truth. And she’s going to be hard to convince.”
Jay, Dexter, and Cindy looked around them. There were paintings in frames on the walls. Dexter got up from his chair to look at one of the paintings. “Hey,” he said, “the signature on this says Melanie Wellington.”
“And here’s a portrait of Jenny,” said Cindy. “That makes me feel even worse about telling her.”
A moment later Mrs. Wellington appeared with a silver tray, laden with cups and saucers.
“We were looking at your paintings,” Cindy said. “You’re an artist!”
“Painting is a new hobby with me,” Mrs. Wellington said. “In that big old house would you believe I could never find a room to paint? I really love it here!”
Cindy saw something else framed and hanging on the wall. “Is this a poem?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s a sampler,” Mrs. Wellington explained. “It’s a riddle my husband and I made up when we moved into the old red house.”
Cindy read the riddle silently. “I can’t guess it,” she said. “Do you mind if I copy it?”
Mrs. Wellington passed the boys their chocolate and gave Cindy a cup when she sat down. “Once again—begin at the beginning,” she said.
“Well,” Cindy started, “Jenny Mayflower isn’t at all what you think. She’s selling all your things and your house and she’s going to keep all the money. She and Tom Foster are going to run away with it.”
Mrs. Wellington smiled at Cindy. “But dear, they’re doing no such thing. Jenny is the kindest, dearest girl I’ve known. She and Tom are getting married this week. A wonderful young man, that Tom.”
“But they wouldn’t even let you come back to your own house!” exclaimed Dexter. “They made you sign papers to sell it. And they’re not even going to give you the money for it.”
“I think someone has absolutely been pulling your legs,” laughed Mrs. Wellington.
“But then why are you here instead of in your own house?” asked Cindy. “You can’t even go back now because they sold your house.”
Mrs. Wellington shook her head. “I don’t want to live in that big old house. I love it here. Can’t you see?” She spread her arms and looked around her apartment. “Everything that I could possibly want is here. There are so many people here my own age. We play cards. We even gamble! And it’s so cheerful, having someone to talk to about old times. It was my decision to move here. Nobody else’s.”
Cindy sat up straighter. “But, Mrs. Wellington, what about all those things in your house that Jenny and Tom sold? What about the money they took?”
Mrs. Wellington leaned over the table and picked up a cookie. “I can see it’s time I got some answers from you. What on earth makes you think all these strange things have happened?”
Jay looked from Dexter to Cindy. He cleared his throat. “A detective
Mrs. Wellington stared at the children for a moment. Then she burst out laughing, “Oh dear, oh dear.”
“It’s true,” insisted Dexter. “You’ll never see Jenny Mayflower again.”
Mrs. Wellington leaned against a chair and then collapsed into it, laughing. Finally she wiped her eyes with her long trailing silk scarf. “I’m afraid you’d better start from the beginning,” she said.
Cindy looked helplessly at Dexter and Jay.
“Oh, but you must all sit down,” Mrs. Wellington said. “Let me pull some chairs up.” She was standing before the three detectives had a chance to move.
“From the beginning,” said Mrs. Wellington, when they were all sitting down.
Cindy opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Wellington jumped up from her chair again. “With all this going on, I forgot I was the hostess. Would you like some hot chocolate? I can fix some in a jiffy.”
Without waiting for an answer, she flew across the room and went through a swinging door.
“Poor lady,” Cindy sighed. “It’s going to be sad when she hears the truth. And she’s going to be hard to convince.”
Jay, Dexter, and Cindy looked around them. There were paintings in frames on the walls. Dexter got up from his chair to look at one of the paintings. “Hey,” he said, “the signature on this says Melanie Wellington.”
“And here’s a portrait of Jenny,” said Cindy. “That makes me feel even worse about telling her.”
A moment later Mrs. Wellington appeared with a silver tray, laden with cups and saucers.
“We were looking at your paintings,” Cindy said. “You’re an artist!”
“Painting is a new hobby with me,” Mrs. Wellington said. “In that big old house would you believe I could never find a room to paint? I really love it here!”
Cindy saw something else framed and hanging on the wall. “Is this a poem?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s a sampler,” Mrs. Wellington explained. “It’s a riddle my husband and I made up when we moved into the old red house.”
Cindy read the riddle silently. “I can’t guess it,” she said. “Do you mind if I copy it?”
Mrs. Wellington passed the boys their chocolate and gave Cindy a cup when she sat down. “Once again—begin at the beginning,” she said.
“Well,” Cindy started, “Jenny Mayflower isn’t at all what you think. She’s selling all your things and your house and she’s going to keep all the money. She and Tom Foster are going to run away with it.”
Mrs. Wellington smiled at Cindy. “But dear, they’re doing no such thing. Jenny is the kindest, dearest girl I’ve known. She and Tom are getting married this week. A wonderful young man, that Tom.”
“But they wouldn’t even let you come back to your own house!” exclaimed Dexter. “They made you sign papers to sell it. And they’re not even going to give you the money for it.”
“I think someone has absolutely been pulling your legs,” laughed Mrs. Wellington.
“But then why are you here instead of in your own house?” asked Cindy. “You can’t even go back now because they sold your house.”
Mrs. Wellington shook her head. “I don’t want to live in that big old house. I love it here. Can’t you see?” She spread her arms and looked around her apartment. “Everything that I could possibly want is here. There are so many people here my own age. We play cards. We even gamble! And it’s so cheerful, having someone to talk to about old times. It was my decision to move here. Nobody else’s.”
Cindy sat up straighter. “But, Mrs. Wellington, what about all those things in your house that Jenny and Tom sold? What about the money they took?”
Mrs. Wellington leaned over the table and picked up a cookie. “I can see it’s time I got some answers from you. What on earth makes you think all these strange things have happened?”
Jay looked from Dexter to Cindy. He cleared his throat. “A detective
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