Free 3 Coming Unraveled by Marjorie Sorrell Rockwell

blocked entrance to the farm. They could see the two-story house in the distance.
    “Not very inviting,” observed Maddy. There was a thick padlock on the gate. A handpainted sign said GO AWAY!
    “Jim said Errol Baumgartner doesn’t welcome v isitors. Not even the FedEx man,” said Bootsie, staring out the car window toward the forbidden citadel.
    “We’re here to see his wife,” said Maddy. “At least that’s the cover story.”
    “Okay,” nodded Cookie. “Let’s climb over the fence and hike up to the house.”
    Ten minutes later they were knocking on the door. “Hello,” called Maddy. “Anybody home?”
    The door swung open and a wild-eyed man said, “ Didn’t you see the sign on the gate?”
    “We knew you didn’t mean us,” said Maddy. “We’re the Caruthers Corners Quilters Club and we’re here to see your wife Janey. We brought her some watermelon tarts. We heard she just had twins, so we wanted to see if she needed anything.”
    “My wife is napping.”
    “Well, can you give her this basket of tarts?” Lizzie thrust the offering toward him. “They’re quite tasty.”
    Errol Baumgartner looked at the basket suspiciously, but took it. “Thank you. Now if you’ll excuse me –”
    “Did you hear they found another of those Lost Boys?” Maddy continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “You must’ve known them. They were about your age.”
    “Yes, I went to school with them,” he admitted, eyeing the four women cautiously.
    “You were with them the day they disappeared, weren’t you?”
    “Uh, what makes you say that?” A look of panic crossed his face. He was a slender man with dark hair and unshaven stubble on his chin. Handsome in a way.
    “There ’s a photograph of you with them.”
    “That’s impossible,” he protested. “No one saw us go into the swamp.” The blood drained from his face as he realized what he’d just said. “Uh, I mean –”
    “What happened that day?” demanded Bootsie. Always a policeman’s wife.
    “Perhaps you’d better come in,” said Errol Baumgartner, stepping aside to let his visitors enter the house. “But keep your voices down. We don’t won’t to wake up the babies.”
    ≈≈≈
    “Bobby Ray brought his friends over that day,” Errol Baumgartner told the story. “They wanted me to take them into the swamp. Living out here, I’d explored some of it, knew a few trails that were safe. No quicksand.”
    They were sitting around the kitchen table, listening to Errol while his wife served coffee. Everybody was munching on the watermelon tarts.
    “I’ve never told this to anybody other than Janey,” he sighed. “I swore I’d keep their secret.”
    “What secret’s that?” asked Cookie, fascinated with this untold history.
    “That they were running away to join the circus. There was one camped on the other side of the swamp. They needed me to guide them across.”
    “Circus?” muttered Maud, reminded of her granddaughter’s excited tales of Haney Bros. Circus and Petting Zoo. What kid wouldn’t be tempted by the romantic idea of joining an entourage of lions and tigers and clowns?
    “That’s not so surprising,” said Cookie, handy with her historical facts. “There were lots of circuses passing through. At one time Peru, Indiana, was known as the “Circus Capital of America.”
    “Did those boys push Bobby Ray into a pool of quicksand?” asked Liz zie, looking for a sensational tale of murder.
    “No,” the man chuckled. “He fell into a marshy area and got his clothes wet. But last time I saw those boys – that was thirty years ago – all three were alive and well. They waved goodbye to me as the headed across the field toward those circus tents.”
    “Why didn’t you tell anybody?” challenged Bootsie. “Their poor parents thought they were dead.”
    “The boys made me promise not to tell. Gave me a pocketknife as payment. But I had another reason too. My grandpa would have beat the tar out of me if he