Mystery of the Sassafras Chair Read Online Free PDF

So I started runnin’ faster.”
    â€œBut—but why did you run, Mr. Pendergrass? You weren’t guilty of anything, were you?”
    â€œTimmy, I had to get away from there fast. I had to. Like I said, there’s complications …”
    Old Wiley’s voice was getting weaker. Timor said, “Can you talk a little louder? I can hardly hear you.”
    â€œMy juice is runnin’ low … gotta sign off till tomorrow night. Timmy, go see Nathaniel … first thing. Remember … we only got till the end of the week …” Wiley’s voice died.
    â€œMr. Pendergrass!” Timor whispered urgently. “Where are you?”
    There was no answer. He turned on the light and looked at the chair.
    The sassafras chair was empty. Old Wiley had faded away completely, leaving a dozen important questions unanswered.

4
    Nathaniel
    A SUDDEN DISCORD of static, voices, and twanging mountain music from the kitchen radio brought Timor out of a sound sleep. He rolled over and raised up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes while he sniffed the drifting aroma of breakfast bacon. Sunlight, slanting through the window, touched the carved back of the sassafras chair, making the yellow wood gleam like gold. The chair seemed almost alive. In fact, it was actually glowing a little.
    Timor sat up and stared at it. Had he really talked to Wiley Pendergrass last night—or was it only a dream? If it had happened back in Malaya, he realized, he wouldn’t have questioned it. But this wasn’t Malaya.
    â€œTimmy!” Odessa called. “Aren’t you ever going to get up? Breakfast is ready.”
    â€œComing,” he called back.
    He spun out of bed, swiftly drew on his clothes, and hurried to the bathroom to splash water on his face and comb his thick unruly hair. It couldn’t have been a dream, he told himself. I really saw him and talked to him—and he was sitting right there in the chair when Odessa entered the room …
    In the kitchen Odessa greeted him with a cheerful “ Tabé ,” and added, “are you going sketching with me this morning, Timmy? If you are, you’d better get a move on—or have you other plans?”
    Sketching? It was one of the things he’d looked forward to all winter, an entire summer drawing the tangled tree and rock shapes that so fascinated him here. Odessa had majored in art at college, and she’d had her first important exhibition during the winter. Odessa painted, and she was wonderful; but his own interest was decoration and design. Everything in life had to be designed, and to learn design you must start with nature …
    â€œSketching?” he repeated absently. “I—where’s Uncle Ira?”
    â€œDaddy got up early and went fishing.” Odessa looked at him curiously. Suddenly she said, “Timmy, is anything wrong? Is it the—the dream you had last night?”
    â€œI wasn’t dreaming,” he replied. “And I’ve got to see Mr. Battle. It—it’s terribly important.”
    â€œWhat’s the big rush? Can’t it wait?”
    He shook his head. “We have only three days.”
    â€œThree days for what?”
    â€œTo find that box.”
    â€œYou mean the peti blik —Mr. Battle’s tin box? Who says you must find it so soon?”
    â€œThat’s what Wiley—I mean, I—”
    He stopped, confused, conscious of a sudden quietness in Odessa, a sharpening of the dark eyes that were now intent upon him.
    â€œTimmy,” she said slowly, “haven’t we always been close—like brother and sister? You don’t have to keep anything from me. Last night I know you thought you were talking to Wiley Pendergrass, because I heard you. Sit down and eat your breakfast and tell me about it. And don’t worry about Daddy—I packed a lunch for him, and he won’t be back till late this afternoon.”
    â€œAll right.”
    He