Free The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim by Julie Campbell

on herself.
    “These are some of my auction purchases over here. Anything that’s being sold for a dollar or two always seems like such a bargain—until I get it home and have to decide what to do with it,” she continued.
    “What’s that?” Trixie asked, pointing at the object the woman now held in her hand.
    “Ah!” the woman exclaimed fondly. “This is a genuine collector’s item. It’s an antique canteen. It’s a canvas bag, you see, with a rope handle, so it could be hung over a saddlehorn. Here’s the spout, here. It still has the original cork in it, with a string attaching the cork to the bag so it won’t get lost.”
    “I thought a canteen was something to hold water,” Trixie said.
    “It is,” the woman told her.
    “But wouldn’t a canvas canteen leak?” Trixie asked.
    “Yes, indeed. That’s the whole point!” The woman threw back her head and laughed again at the girls’ bewildered expressions. “It doesn’t leak very much, because the fibers swell when they get wet. But it does leak a little bit. And the water that leaks through evaporates, and the evaporation acts a s a coolant. The water never gets warm, even if it’s exposed to the sun for hours at a time.”
    “How clever!” Honey exclaimed.
    “Isn’t it?” the woman agreed. “Of course, now we have all those insulated plastic jugs, which are really better. But these were still being used when I was a little girl. That’s why I couldn’t resist buying this thing at that auction. It was only a dollar.”
    She held the bag up by the rope handle. “I thought it would look rather interesting hanging on a wall. But I never found quite the right spot for it, so it wound up down here with all the rest of these things.”
    “Could I ask what that is?” Honey said, pointing. “Oh, now, that’s a very interesting item,” the woman said. “You, of course, can’t remember anything further back than the automatic washer. But there was a time—not that long ago, either— when women used to wash everything by hand, in big metal tubs. This is the washstand that held the tubs. You see, it’s just a wooden frame. One tub, with soapy water, goes here. The other tub, with clear rinse water, goes here. And rising up between them is a wringer. The woman who was washing fed all the clothes through the wringer to get as much soapy water out of them as possible. See? This crank turns the rollers.”
    “The wringer still works!” Trixie said.
    “Well, as I said, these washstands were in use not too terribly long ago.” She gave the wringer a final turn. “Not as efficient as the spin cycle on your mother’s washing machine, I’m sure, but it did the job in those days.
    “The reason I bought this was that a friend of mine has one she used as a stand for her stereo. The turntable goes on this side, and the receiver goes over here. It’s very clever, and quite a conversation: piece. Unfortunately,” the woman added ruefully, “my husband hated the idea. So here it sits.”
    “Someone at the rummage sale would probably love to have it,” Honey said politely. “We could put a sign on it explaining the stereo-stand idea.”
    The woman nodded her head. “Yes, that would be wise. It would probably bring a few dollars more if someone knew there was a use for it.”
    She stood for a moment, looking around her at her accumulated belongings. “I don’t have to have everything ready right this minute, do I?”
    “Oh, no,” Trixie said hurriedly. “In fact, it wouldn’t do much good if you did. You see, we’re on foot. We’ll just take down your address and come back later with a station wagon.”
    “I’ll have everything ready by seven o’clock this evening,” the woman said firmly.
    “Oh, you can have a few days, if you like,” Honey suggested.
    “Seven o’clock this evening,” the woman repeated. “I’m feeling energetic about the idea right now, so right now is when I’d better carry it out.“
    “We’ll be back