The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

by Campbell, Julie

  “Whatever it was,” Honey said, “may be starting all over again with Max. Maybe Mr. Hartman won’t help us because it might hurt Mrs. Elliot.”

  “I guess we won’t know until we ask,” Trixie murmured.

  After tidying up the clubhouse, the B.W.G.’s drove up Glen Road to the Hartmans’. They heard Mrs. Hartman’s cane tapping toward the door as she came to answer their knock.

  “Well, hello, Trixie... Brian.” Mrs. Hartman smiled. “These must be the other young people you spoke about. How nice of you to come calling.”

  Trixie introduced the others. Then she asked, “Is Mr. Hartman here?”

  “Oh, he left early this morning for a meeting of retired policemen,” Mrs. Hartman said. “When will he be back?” Trixie inquired. “Not until the end of the week.”

  “That long?” Trixie exclaimed in dismay. “Well, the meeting doesn’t last that long.” Mrs. Hartman smiled indulgently. “But expolicemen are just like old soldiers or athletes when they get together. They’ve got to talk a lot and relive their times together. I suppose you’re too young to know about that.”

  “Trixie knows about talking a lot,” Mart commented.

  Trixie gave him a sidelong look, then returned her attention to Mrs. Hartman. “We had a question to ask your husband. About Mrs. Elliot, sort of. I mean—”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Hartman said. “Charles went over there yesterday, to ask them to keep an eye on me while he was gone.”

  “Of course,” said Trixie. “He’d be concerned about your being here alone.”

  Mrs. Hartman nodded. “It’s good he was there, too.”

  “Why?” Honey asked. “Did something happen?”

  “Ethel had a phone call from a realty company saying they had a buyer for her place.”

  “Is she trying to sell it?” Trixie asked, surprise in her voice.

  “Oh, my, no. Ethel loves that place. Evidently, though, someone else likes it, too, and asked the realty firm to make her an offer. She’s had a bit of financial trouble recently—”

  “We know,” said Trixie, giving Honey a look, “—so, naturally,” Mrs. Hartman continued, “an offer to buy her place was tempting, much as she’d rather stay there. She asked Charles what he thought, and he told her the offer was much too low.”

  “What realty company was it?” Trixie inquired, curious.

  “I don’t know,” Mrs. Hartman said.

  Mrs. Hartman offered the young people doughnuts and milk, but they declined, explaining that they’d had a large breakfast. After a few minutes of visiting, the Bob-Whites excused themselves and piled back into the wagon. “Let’s go to Mrs. Elliot’s,” Trixie said.

  “They won’t be there,” Jim reminded her. “They’re delivering the carnations to Manton’s this morning.”

  “I know,” Trixie said, “but I want to look in that cornfield in the daylight.”

  Brian nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

  As they were climbing out of the wagon in Mrs. Elliot’s driveway, they heard the phone begin to ring in the cottage.

  “I wonder who’s calling,” Trixie muttered. Whoever it is,” Brian said after a moment, is awfully anxious. I’ve counted fifteen rings. Ten rings are plenty before hanging up.”

  The phone stopped ringing on the twentieth ring.

  The B.W.G.’s headed into the cornfield, pushing their way between the rows of com. Suddenly they found themselves in a huge open space, surrounded by cornstalks.

  Trixie groaned. “We’re too late. It’s already been harvested.”

  Jim walked ahead to a blackened heap in the middle of the open area.

  “Harvested, nothing,” he called back. He leaned close to the black mound and sniffed.

  “Careful,” Brian warned. “Don’t breathe too much of that.”

  Jim stepped back. “I wasn’t sniffing for the marijuana. I smelled something else. Gasoline.” He poked his foot at blackened stalks, stems, and twigs. “That stuff was too green to burn without some help. Gasoline was poured on it.”

  “But why?” Di wanted to know.

  “Because Trixie and I discovered it last night,” Honey answered. “Trixie had it in her pockets. Some was sticking out, and I’m pretty sure Max saw it. He probably realized he’d have to get rid of it before we told the police.”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Jim declared. “He and Finlay could have just cut it down and hidden it somewhere.”

  “Maybe they didn’t think there was enough time for that,” Brian suggested.

  Trixie shook her head. “There was too much money involved in what was growing here. I don’t think Finlay would have burned it up. And, in a way, this could still be evidence. So why leave it lying here like this?”

  Now what do we do, dear sister?” Brian asked.

  Trixie scratched her head.

  “Whatever we do,” Di urged, “let’s not do it here. I don t want to be seen anywhere near this stuff!”

  “That’s right,” Honey said. “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where we can think.” Think, Trixie repeated silently. For Mrs. Elliot’s sake, think!

  A Confession • 10

  ASTHE BOB-WHITES climbed out of the station wagon at Manor House, Regan and Dan came out of the garage, headed toward the stable.

  “Well,” Regan greeted them, “I was just about to run an ad in the paper for someone to exercise the horses. Help me, Dan—don’t let them move in any direction except toward the stable.”

  Dan grinned and jumped to herd Trixie in the right direction. As he touched her arm, his

  grin vanished abruptly, and Trixie felt his grip tighten on her arm.

  “What’s the matter, Dan?” Trixie asked. Glowering at her, Dan yanked her toward Honey and seized her arm, too. He raised it toward his face.

  “Dan?” Honey asked in an alarmed tone. “You crazy kids!” Dan snapped. “You’ve been smoking marijuana!”

  “No!” they protested.

  “Don’t lie to me. I know the smell of it. I can smell it on all of you!”

  Regan’s face quickly flushed with anger, matching Dan’s. The yard filled with the sound of accusations and protests.

  The clamor brought Miss Trask hurrying from the house. The boys were shouting. Honey was crying. Trixie was on the verge of tears herself.

  Miss Trask put her arm about Honey. “That’s enough! All of you. What’s this all about?”

  “Can’t you smell it?” Dan demanded. “They’ve been smoking marijuana!”

  Miss Trask remained calm and kept her arm around Honey. She looked squarely at Jim.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “It’s marijuana smoke you smell,” Jim confirmed. “But we weren’t smoking it. We were at Mrs. Elliot’s this morning—”

  “She and Max were gone,” Trixie interrupted, hoping Jim would not mention their little “midnight mistake.”

  “We wanted to check something out,’ Jim went on. He described the smoldering mound they had discovered in the middle of the cornfield. “The smell of the smoke got into our clothes,” he finished.

  Regan nodded. “Marijuana. So that’s what’s been going on at Mrs. Elliot’s place. Somehow I’m not surprised.”

  Dan shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should have realized I know you guys well enough to know you wouldn’t try anything so dumb. That smell just—”

  “It’s all right, Dan,” Honey sniffed.

  “I’m sure Mrs. Elliot doesn’t know about the marijuana,” Trixie said. “But we saw Max in that very same spot on the day of the arson attempt at Mrs. Elliot’s potting shed.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me, either,” Regan said. “Mrs. Elliot’s troubles didn’t seem to start until Max came back from the city. It all fits now.”

  “But Max—” Honey began.

  Miss Trask spoke up. “Sergeant Molinson will have to be notified about this, as much as we’d like to save Mrs. Elliot from more distress. You discovered evidence of criminal activity, and it’s yo
ur duty to report it.”

  “We know,” Trixie admitted reluctantly.

  “I’ll phone him,” Miss Trask said, tinning toward the house.

  While the others discussed the situation, Trixie motioned Dan aside. “I’m sure Al Finlay had something to do with this,” she told him. “But why would he bum the marijuana?”

  Dan shook his head. “I don’t know. The police will still be able to identify it, even though it was burned.”

  “We thought so,” Trixie said. “It’s still evidence against whoever’s responsible.”

  “Maybe,” Dan said thoughtfully, “Finlay did it to make more problems for Mrs. Elliot and Max. It’s almost certain now that Max will end up in jail. That’ll leave Mrs. Elliot without any help.”

  Trixie frowned. “I wish I could figure Max out. I’m sure he knows what’s going on, but he won’t say. Still, I’m not convinced that he has anything to do with it.”

  Sergeant Molinson’s car squealed into the driveway. He climbed out and eyed the young people coldly. “Miss Trask said you had something very important to tell me—something about Max Elliot.” He sniffed the air, and his frown deepened. “Did Max sell marijuana to you kids?” he growled.

  “No,” Jim said. “We’re not even sure that Max is involved.” He described once again the discovery in the cornfield. “We did see Max in approximately the same spot a couple weeks ago,” Jim said. “But he could have—”

  “It figures,” Molinson said, jotting notes in his pad. He looked up at the Bob-Whites. “I might as well tell you that Max already has a police record.”

  “Are you sure?” Trixie asked.

  Molinson turned red. “Young lady, I—” He paused and took a breath. “I’m sure because Max told me himself, after the arson attempt. When I took his fingerprints to compare them with those on the gasoline can, Max admitted that he had a record. He figured I’d find out anyway, with his fingerprints on file. Mrs. Elliot doesn’t know about it, and Max said he didn’t want her to find out. She’s sure going to find out now.”

  “Thanks to us,” Trixie moaned.

  “I’d have caught up with him sooner or later,” Molinson said. “You do realize that you’ll probably have to testify against him?”

  Trixie was crushed. “I couldn’t.”

  “Me, either,” Honey said.

  “If it goes to trial, you’ll have no choice,” Molinson said. He glanced sidelong at Trixie. It s part of the ‘job,’ Miss Detective,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get up to the Elliots’ to wait for Max to get back. I don’t know if I should say thank you or not.” He headed for his car. “If I were you, I’d get out of those smelly clothes,” he said over his shoulder as he got into the car.

  Trixie was miserable for the rest of that day and the next. Listlessly she did her chores in the house and garden. She took care of Bobby and tried to share his enthusiasm for whatever they were doing, but she wasn’t very successful.

  At the moment, they were playing checkers, but Trixie’s mind wasn’t on the game. She had lost three times in a row. A tear slipped down her cheek.

  Bobby misunderstood. “Don’t cry, Trixie. You’ll win next time. I’ll let you,” he said sympathetically.

  Mrs. Belden overheard. “Bobby, you find something to do by yourself now.” She waited until he was out of the room. “Trixie?” she asked, putting her arm gently around Trixie’s shoulders.

  “Oh, Moms, I’ve made such a mess of everything!”

  “Trixie, you can’t blame yourself. You had good intentions, but things turned out badly because of what other people had done.”

  “But I should have minded my own business, like you and Dad wanted me to,” Trixie moaned. “If I hadn’t tried to help Mrs. Elliot—”

  “Things might have been worse for her if you hadn’t become involved. Of course it’s a blow to her, finding out about Max’s police record. But that’s not your fault, either. It would have come out sooner or later. You did accomplish something good,” Mrs. Belden said. Trixie wiped away a tear. “What?” she asked. Mrs. Belden spread open yesterday’s White Plains newspaper to a page of color photographs. One of them was a picture Mart had taken of Mrs. Elliot’s sweet pea vines climbing on the umbrella frame.

  Trixie stared at the photo. “Well, at least that’s something,” she murmured. “Not much, but something.”

  “Trixie,” her mother chided. “Not long ago, you were positive this photo was going to win the big grand prize at the end of the contest. Let’s have some of that enthusiasm back.” Trixie shrugged. “It’s gone, Moms. I’m not so sure now that Honey and I should even plan on being detectives. I don’t want to create problems for people.”

  “You mustn’t feel like that, Trixie,” Mrs. Belden said with a sigh. She glanced at the photo, then looked closer. “Why, look! The flowers on this short vine look yellow. I don’t recall ever seeing a yellow sweet pea blossom. Were there really yellow flowers when the photo was taken, or is something wrong with the printing here?” Trixie glanced at the photo without her usual keen interest. “I don’t remember. Maybe Mart knows.”

  Mart came in at that moment. “What do I know?” he asked. “I thought I was supposed to be just a dumb brother.”

  “I’ve probably been wrong about that, too,” Trixie murmured.

  Mart stared at her in disbelief. For once, no big words came to mind. Outside, a car door slammed. Mr. Belden was home from the bank for lunch.

  “What’s new in town?” Mrs. Belden inquired. “Anything that would perk up this family? The young people are so down in the mouth they’re about to trip over their chins.”

  “I know just how they feel,” Peter Belden said, “because right now, I’m feeling the same way.”

  “Peter! It’s hard enough trying to cheer them up. What’s wrong with you?”

  Trixie’s father slumped in a chair. “It’s bank business, of course, and I shouldn’t say anything. But I had an inquiry from the local Social Security office this morning. They had information that Mrs. Elliot was earning too much money. People with a large, steady income aren’t eligible to collect Social Security benefits until they’re seventy-two years old.”

  Mrs. Belden sounded puzzled. “Ethel is under seventy-two, but she certainly isn’t earning much money.”

  “According to the Social Security office, she has been,” Trixie’s father said. “They claim they have proof.”

  “There must be some mistake,” Trixie said in disbelief.

  Her father shrugged his shoulders. “I tried to tell them they were wrong. Ethel certainly hasn’t been depositing large sums of money in the bank. The office thinks that she’s banking it somewhere else or hiding it. Anyway, they’re going to stop sending her Social Security checks. She’ll either have to repay what they claim she’s received, or they’ll hold any more payments.” Trixie was on her feet. “Daddy, you’ve got to stop them! If you don’t, Mrs. Elliot will have to sell her property.”

  “I argued with them all I could,” Peter Belden said wearily. “They didn’t go into details with me, but they said that they’ve seen receipts that show, she’s been getting much more for her flowers than what she’s reported.” Trixie frowned. A familiar light was starting to show in her eyes. “As far as I know, shes been selling her flowers to only one shop.” Mart nodded. “Manton’s, in White Plains. Finlay’s place.”

  “I’m sure Ethel wouldn’t file false reports with Social Security,” Mrs. Belden said. “It must be a mistake. I’m sure that their office will realize that.”

  “Not if Finlay is still up to something,” Trixie declared. “And I’m sure he is.”

  “Is he still in the picture?” Peter Belden asked. “What about Max? He confessed to everything this morning.”

  “That’s impossible!” Trixie gasped. “He couldn’t confess to everything. I know that Finlay—”

  “Max didn’t incriminate anyone but himself,” Peter Belden interrupted. “One of Molinson’s deputies
told me this morning. Max took the blame for everything that’s happened at Mrs. Elliot’s place.”

  “How could he?” Trixie demanded. “We saw Max in the cornfield while somebody else tried to bum Mrs. Elliot’s shed. Max couldn’t take the blame for that without involving someone else.”

  “I remember you telling me about that,” agreed her father. “I mentioned it to the deputy. He said Max claimed you were excited and imagined you saw another man trying to set the fire.”

  “That’s not so!” Trixie said.

  Mart shook his head. “Will Max go to jail?”

  “Not unless his stepmother presses charges,” Peter Belden said. “But she doesn’t even know he confessed. And I don’t think Molinson is going to tell her.”

  “What about the marijuana?” Trixie asked. “It’s up to Molinson to press charges on that,” her father said. “But he can’t prove that Max planted it. And it was destroyed, anyway. Max said he burned it because he was afraid it would be discovered before he could harvest it.”

  “I don’t believe one word of Max’s confession,” Trixie said vehemently, her eyes flashing. Mrs. Belden looked alarmed. “Trixie....”

  “Mart,” Trixie ordered, “find Brian. We’ll need him to drive. If you can’t find him, then phone Jim to stand by.”

  “Trixie!” Mrs. Belden repeated. “Where do you think you’re going? There’s nothing you can do about any of this. Mrs. Elliot has some sort of mix-up with the government. And Max has confessed to the other crimes. It’s all over, as far as you’re concerned.”

  “Unless we do something,” Trixie said, “it’ll be all over for Mrs. Elliot. She won’t have anything!”

  “Trixie,” her father spoke seriously. “You have gone as far as you can go on this one. Drop it.”

  “I can’t,” Trixie moaned. “I don’t believe Max’s confession, and I’m sure you don’t, either. And I think I know why he did it.”

  “Why?” her father asked.

  “It must have something to do with his father,” Trixie said.

  “What?” Peter Belden prompted.