The Mystery of the Moonlight Murder Read Online Free Page A

been the best weather vane he had ever laid eyes on.
    In the back of the covered wagon, Ed was quiet, staring off at the wisps of clouds scattered about the sky. John and Elmer relived the evening of two nights ago in their minds, although Elmer’s memory was of an awfully fast horse ride. Blue sure could go when the spirit moved him. John’s mind kept flashing to the shadowy outline that had scurried into the forest and to poor Mr. Schneider, still as can be, in the arms of his distraught wife. He wondered if he should have given chase to the mysterious figure.
    â€œNo one deserved what happened to Hans Schneider,”
    thought John. “It’s just not fair.”
    As the Diefenbaker wagon pulled up onto the long Schneider laneway, John fixed his intense, dark eyes on those who had already arrived. He saw about twelve people standing near Mrs. Schneider and recognized mostly everyone, including Pastor Mackenzie, who would be conducting the service. The boys frowned as they noticed the rectangular hole in the ground a few yards away with a mound of dirt beside it. John held his breath momentarily as he looked for signs of the body. He was certain that it must be in the wooden box under the large tarp he could see sitting on wooden slats.
    As the Diefenbakers got out of the carriage and began solemnly shaking hands with the others, John noticed that many pairs of eyes were fixated on him. He felt self-conscious but tried not to show it, staying in step with his parents and uncle who were making the rounds of saying hello to everyone. He could feel a trickle of sweat beading up on his scalp.
    Elmer nudged him. “Everyone’s staring at you, John,” he whispered. “You’re famous.”
    John hit him back, in the way brothers do. “I am not famous, Elmer. They’re just curious about what happened,” he countered, feeling very awkward.
    A few of the conversations seemed to be focused on Hans Schneider’s love of “the bottle,” as most of them called it. John knew that this meant whisky and alcohol in general. He didn’t
    know why some adults drank alcohol, but his mother believed that it was a serious sin.
    When another wagon, very different from the others, turned off the main trail and onto the lane that led to the farm house, it drew everyone’s gaze. The boys felt their stomachs flip in excitement. Mr. Wright!
    The carriage, drawn by two large quarter horses, was spacious and canary yellow. It had fancy black and gold script writing on both sides of the wagon, which read:
    Earl T. Wright
The Rawleigh’s Man Quality Products Kitchen needs, spices, medicines and miscellaneous
    â€œI didn’t know Earl would be here today,” murmured someone, smiling.
    â€œBut it makes sense,” voiced another. “Gertrude likely bought half the man’s liniment stock, as much as old Hans used to complain about his back.”
    Earl T. Wright was probably the most welcome man in the Saskatoon-Borden-Battleford corridor. It wasn’t that he was well known—he had only been on the job for a few months. But the Rawleigh name carried a great deal of weight when it came to getting quality products delivered right to your door.
    As the area salesman for the respected company, Earl Wright was treated like an old friend, almost everywhere he went. A Rawleigh’s man was a peddler who had anything one needed— salves for colds and cuts, spices for cooking from exotic places like China and the West Indies, and even beauty creams for those rich city women who had time and money for such luxuries. Not to mention, he was the best source of news one could ask for, since he travelled so much.
    He had moved up from Montana a short time ago, carving out a new life for himself on the Canadian prairies where there was less competition and more elbow room. Almost everyone who came into contact with Earl walked away believing that he had just put their needs