The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

by Campbell, Julie

  Both girls stood for a moment, breathing hard.

  “At least,” Honey gasped, “it wasn’t a snake.”

  Trixie tensed. There would be snakes in here

  —com snakes, garter snakes, maybe even poisonous copperheads or rattlers. She gritted her teeth and gingerly put a foot forward in the darkness. Now she wished she’d worn boots instead of sneakers.

  The girls moved on slowly across the dark cornfield. After a few minutes, Honey called out softly, “Trixie!”

  Trixie turned but couldn’t see Honey. “Where are you? What is it?”

  “Come straight back. I’m stuck.”

  Trixie backtracked a few paces until Honey’s ghostly face appeared.

  “My hair’s caught,” Honey said. “I can’t get it free.” She spoke apologetically. “I should have put it up.”

  “We should have done a lot of things differently, Trixie agreed. Honey’s hair was caught on a tall weed of some kind. Trixie couldn’t unsnag it without breaking the plant, which made more noise than she would have liked.

  We must be about in the center of the cornfield now,” Trixie whispered. “I hope we’ve been going straight.”

  Trixie parted two stalks but paused before stepping between them. In moving around to untangle Honey’s hair, she had lost her sense of direction. Now she didn’t know which way to go.

  “Do you know which way we should go?” she asked Honey.

  “That way.” Honey pointed. “I think. I got turned around trying to free my hair....”

  Trixie sighed. “We’ll have to use the flashlight to get our bearings. Shield it with your hand.”

  The light shining through Honey’s palm made the hand look reddish and bony.

  “Point it at the ground and let a little more light out,” Trixie said. “If we can find our footprints, then we’ll know which way to go.”

  As Honey directed the fight downward, a pair of beady little eyes gleamed redly nearby. Honey gasped and covered the light again. There was a rasping sound of tiny feet scurrying away in the dry litter on the ground.

  “What was that?” Honey whispered shakily.

  “A field mouse,” Trixie said. Her toes curled in her sneakers. “Let out some light again.”

  As Honey moved the beam of light around, they found a line of footprints. “Those are mine,” said Trixie. “Where I came back to help you.”

  “Then,” said Honey, moving the light to the other side, “that’s the direction we should go.” She snapped off the light. “I’ve heard about people being lost for days in cornfields in the Midwest.”

  “This cornfield isn’t that big,” Trixie said. She frowned in the darkness. “Turn the light on again. Keep it down.” She looked at the stalks surrounding them. “Raise the light a little. Carefully.”

  She saw many small green leaves and twigs. “That’s not com!” Trixie exclaimed.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Move the light around.”

  As far as they could see, the tall green plants were all the same. They definitely weren’t corn plants.

  “I don’t know what these are,” Trixie repeated, “but I’ll bet Max does.”

  “Yes,” Honey breathed. “Max was working here with a hoe on the day of the arson attempt. I thought that the com where he was standing seemed different from that in the rest of the field. I was about to mention it when you spotted the man with the gasoline can at the shed.”

  Trixie nodded in the darkness. “Max was standing in these plants, whatever they are. I wonder if they have anything to do with what’s been happening here. Maybe Max is involved, after all.”

  “But Max couldn’t be involved,” Honey said. “He was the one who saved Mrs. Elliot’s Social Security check by having her mail it to the bank.”

  “Yes,” Trixie agreed. “But still, Mrs. Elliot didn’t have any problems until Max came back from the city. There must be some connection.”

  “I wonder what these plants have to do with everything,” Honey mused. “This keeps getting more and more confusing.”

  “It sure does,” Trixie said. “Let’s take some pieces of these plants along with us. We’ll ask Mart if he knows what they are.”

  “They’re probably just weeds,” Honey said.

  “Then why didn’t Max hoe them down?” Trixie asked. She broke off stems and leaves and thrust them into her jacket pockets. Then she led the way toward the clearing. After a moment, something scraped against Trixie’s head. She reached up and felt a large leaf of com.

  They came to the edge of the cornfield and paused to get their bearings. The well and water pump were off to the left in the darkness. The cottage was beyond, with one shaded window glowing with soft light. Somewhere ahead, in the darkness, should be the clearing for the carnations.

  Trixie wondered if the others had reached their positions. She pursed her lips and gave the Bob-White whistle, very softly. There was no response.

  The girls moved quietly ahead, stepping slowly, feeling first to make sure there were no twigs underfoot to snap.

  Trixie placed her right foot ahead and felt something soft and squirmy under it—a snake!

  She choked off a scream and jumped back in alarm, knocking into Honey.

  Honey gasped, clutching her. “What’s the matter?” She whispered in a painful tone, “You stepped on my toes.”

  “I stepped on a snake... I think.”

  Honey shuddered. “Did it bite you?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t feel anything.”

  “Is it still there?” Honey asked in a shaky whisper. “We’d better make sure with the flashlight.” She handed the light to Trixie. “You look. I can’t.”

  Trixie covered the flashlight with her hand and switched it on. She stared sheepishly at the length of garden hose stretched snakelike across the path.

  Honey peeked, then giggled softly. “I would have panicked, too,” she admitted. “What are you waiting for?”

  Trixie swallowed hard. “Just trying to get my heart back down where it belongs.”

  Trembling with excitement, the girls moved ahead once more. As they passed some deeply shadowed bushes, there was a rustle, and a figure of a man appeared. Trixie gasped, and Honey swung the darkened flashlight. It struck solidly.

  “Hey!” Mart exclaimed. He lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “Are you trying to break my wrist? What’s the matter with you two? Where have you been? What took you so long?”

  “Shh!” Trixie cautioned.

  But it was too late. Light flooded the garden from a spotlight under the cottage eaves. The door opened, and Max came out with a powerful flashlight in one hand and a piece of metal pipe in the other.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Mrs. Elliot appeared behind him, wearing a long, quilted robe. “Goodness!” she exclaimed. “It’s Trixie and Honey. I was going to call the police. It’s after midnight.”

  Max directed the blinding light at the three startled faces, moving it back and forth from one to the other.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded again.

  Trixie found her voice and directed it past him to Mrs. Elliot. “We’re sorry we frightened you, Mrs. Elliot. We didn’t mean any harm. We—we knew you had an order of flowers for tomorrow, and the last time, someone trampled them all down on the night before. We thought we’d just sort of quietly stand guard over the carnations.”

  Mrs. Elliot shook her head. “That was thoughtful of you, but—”

  “Oh, yeah,” Max interrupted. “Maybe they came to trample the carnations themselves 1” Before Trixie could reply, she heard feet hurrying through the garden from the other lane. Brian and Di came into the area of light.

  Brian looked apologetically at Mrs. Elliot. “We’re sorry. We only came to—”

  “Trixie has already explained,” Mrs. Elliot said.

  Trixie felt a nudge from Honey. Honey’s gaze lowered pointedly to Trixie’s jacket pocket. Some of
the leaves of the strange plant poked out. Trixie thrust them down out of sight.

  Mrs. Elliot continued. “It was kind of you to plan on staying out all night to protect my flowers, but it wasn’t necessary. Show them, Max.”

  He pointed the powerful flashlight into the nearby clearing. The young people saw a mass of pale green plants, but no carnations on them.

  “We picked them late this afternoon,” Mrs. Elliot said, “and placed them in the cooler in wet moss. They’ll be ready for delivery first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh!” Trixie gave the others an abashed, sheepish look.

  Max spotlighted Trixie with the flashlight. “Disappointed?” he asked.

  “Max!” Mrs. Elliot scolded. “These young people certainly didn’t mean any harm. They were just trying to help.”

  Max stared at Trixie for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Just trying to help.” He switched off the flashlight.

  Trixie swallowed. “Did you pick the carnations today because you were afraid that... something would happen to them?”

  Mrs. Elliot shook her head. “I hadn’t really given that a thought,” she said. “We had plenty of room in the cooler, and Max suggested that-”

  “It was Max’s idea?” Trixie asked.

  “It was my idea,” Max affirmed. “And, no, I didn’t do it because I was afraid something would happen to the flowers. I just don’t like to get up so early in the morning, that’s all.”

  “You must be chilly,” Mrs. Elliot said to the Bob-Whites. “Come in, and I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

  “Thank you,” Trixie said, “but we’d better be getting home.” She turned to Mart. “Call Jim and have him come around here to pick us up.” To Mrs. Elliot, she repeated, “We’re really sorry to have frightened you. We were just trying to help.”

  “I know,” Mrs. Elliot said. “You’ve been kind. I’m certainly glad that I didn’t call the police.”

  Trixie winced. “So am I!” She couldn’t imagine trying to explain this little outing to her parents and Sergeant Molinson.

  Gravel crunched as the B.W.G. station wagon pulled into the drive. Jim got out and started to speak, but Honey interrupted him.

  “We’ve already explained,” she said. “Let’s go, so Mrs. Elliot can get in out of the cold. Good night, Mrs. Elliot, Max.”

  Trixie, Brian, and Mart said sheepish good-nights and climbed into the wagon. Di was too embarrassed to say anything. On the way down Glen Road, Trixie explained to Jim what had happened.

  “It is a good thing she didn’t call the police,” Jim said. “Being grounded is one thing, but being in jail...

  “We aren’t home free yet,” Mart reminded him. “We still have to sneak into the houses without our folks catching us. If they hear us, maybe they’ll call the police.”

  Trixie gulped.

  Brian eyed Trixie and Honey. “The next time I let these two talk me into something like this, somebody kick me.”

  “We all voted on this,” Jim said. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I just want to get inside and go to bed and forget all about it.”

  Trixie slouched and tucked her hands into her pockets. She felt the leaves and twigs inside. She started to speak but then changed her mind.

  Better wait until tomorrow, she thought, or they'll all kick me.

  A Strange Plant • 9

  IN THE MORNING, the Bob-Whites met at the clubhouse for breakfast. The boys yawned and grumbled about lack of sleep, but Trixie, Honey, and Di were alert and cheerful.

  Why so Elysian this morning?” Mart inquired pompously.

  I don t know what that means,” Trixie scoffed. “Were just relieved, that’s all.”

  Honey nodded. “We didn’t get caught.”

  Not yet,” Jim said. “What if Mrs. Elliot calls our elders to tell them what wonderful kids we are?”

  “Gleeps! I hadn’t thought of that,” Trixie admitted. “I wish we weren’t so wonderful!”

  Jim and Brian prepared bacon and scrambled eggs and lots of buttered toast. Their late-night adventure had given the young people hearty appetites.

  After breakfast, Trixie removed a folded tissue from her pocket and opened it. The leaves inside were wilted, but still dark green.

  “Does anybody know what this is?” Trixie asked.

  “Where’d you find that?” Jim asked.

  “In the cornfield last night,” Trixie said. “There were lots of plants like this. They’re surrounded by the com.”

  “Sort of hidden,” Honey said, “where we saw Max standing on the day of the arson attempt.”

  “I’m no botanist,” Jim said, frowning. “Neither am I,” Brian agreed. His frown matched Jim’s. “Hidden, you say? That suggests something.”

  “What?” Trixie inquired.

  Brian shook his head. “Pass them down to Mart. Maybe he can tell for sure.”

  They turned. Mart was rubbing a swelling on his wrist where Honey had struck him with the flashlight.

  “You’re the future agriculturist,” Trixie said, handing the tissue to Mart. “What kind of plant are these from?”

  Mart was about to make a sarcastic remark, but his lips pressed closed and his gaze became intent. “What are you doing with that stuff?” he demanded.

  “I just said that Honey and I found it at Mrs. Elliot’s. What is it?”

  Mart didn’t answer. He took part of a leaf, crushed it in his palm, and smelled it. Next he broke a twig and smelled that also. “Do we have any matches here?” he asked.

  Jim brought the matches from his camp stove. Mart struck one and burned a bit of one leaf.

  “That smells like rope,” Trixie said.

  Mart nodded. “Because it’s hemp.” He looked intently at Trixie. “Have you got any more of it? If you do, then get rid of it!”

  “What is it?” Trixie insisted.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Cannabis” Mart said seriously.

  Brian spoke quietly. “I thought so, too. Especially since it was hidden in the cornfield.”

  “What on earth is Cannabis?” Honey asked.

  “That’s part of the scientific name,” Mart said. “Usually it’s just called marijuana.”

  “It’s illegal!” Honey said. “So that’s why Max is growing it hidden from sight.”

  “It might not be illegal for long,” Jim said, frowning. “There are a lot of states considering legalizing it.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I think there’s a bill in the New York legislature to legalize it.”

  “If it’s going to be legal,” Honey said, “then why hide where it’s growing?”

  “Because,” Brian suggested, “if it was legal, there’d be regulations and taxes for producing and selling it, just like alcohol. If someone wanted to avoid those, he’d still hide the plants.”

  “That’s why it’s hidden in the middle of the cornfield,” Trixie said. “That’s why Max didn’t hoe it down.”

  “Mrs. Elliot’s property is a good out-of-the-way place to grow something illegally,” Honey added.

  “And that’s why,” Trixie went on excitedly, “all those things are happening to Mrs. Elliot. She wouldn’t allow anything illegal, of course, so they’re trying to force her to give the place to Max.”

  “There’s a problem with that theory,” Jim said. “Max doesn’t want the place. Remember what Mrs. Elliot told you? She offered to give the farm to him, but he refused. He didn’t even want to be a co-owner.”

  “And,” Honey said, “he’s been doing things to protect Mrs. Elliot. He told her to have her Social Security check sent to the bank. He was the one who decided to pick the carnations earlier than usual.”

  “But why,” asked Mart, “is he so huffy every time we suggest that something crooked is going on? He wants us to think that the things happening to Mrs. Elliot are just accidents.”

  “Check,” Jim agreed. “I think he knows none of the things that have happened are accidents.” Jim gestured to the leaves and twigs fro
m the marijuana plant. “We’re not sure whether Max is responsible for this or not. But we’d better inform Sergeant Molinson about it.”

  Trixie felt awful. “That’ll mean more trouble for poor Mrs. Elliot. That stuff is growing on her property, and even if she doesn’t know about it—”

  “She couldn’t,” Honey said.

  “Of course not,” Trixie said. “But Sergeant Molinson will go over there to question Max.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Mrs. Elliot really loves Max and wants him to get adjusted to the farm after living in the city.”

  “In the city,” Brian repeated, “where he probably met Al Finlay. And now he’s either brought Finlay here, or Finlay has followed him.... It’s a mess for Mrs. Elliot, one way or the other.”

  “We’d better call Sergeant Molinson,” Jim said again.

  “Wait,” Trixie said. “Maybe we should think about getting some advice first.”

  “From whom?” Mart demanded.

  “From Mr. Hartman. He’s a good friend of Mrs. Elliot’s, and he’s also an ex-policeman.” Brian raised his eyebrows. “Can I believe what I’m hearing? You’re admitting that you don’t know what to do about this?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Trixie retorted. “I just think we should be careful, for Mrs. Elliot’s sake.”

  “Trixie’s right,” Honey said.

  Di nodded agreement.

  Jim ran a hand through his red hair. “I sure don’t want to cause any more problems for Mrs. Elliot. But I don’t want for us to get in trouble, either. If we don't tell Sergeant Molinson about the marijuana, and later on he finds out that we knew about it, he could arrest us for withholding evidence.”

  Mart whistled. “We’d have to change the Bob-White whistle to the jailbird whistle.” Honey paled. Di gulped.

  “Getting some advice first is a good idea, though,” Jim admitted. “And Mr. Hartman seems like the right person to ask.”

  Brian spoke up. “I don’t know. Remember, Trixie, when we were at Mr. Hartman’s asking about the Social Security checks? He hinted that he knew something suspicious about Mrs. Elliot’s husband, Sam. But he wouldn’t tell us what it was.”

  Trixie nodded. “He said it was over with. He didn’t want Mrs. Elliot to find out about it, so he wouldn’t talk about it.”