The Marshland Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

“I love these bloodroots,” Honey said. “Do you know that they close when the sun sets and that they’re very delicate, in spite of their big leaves?”

  “Miss Bennett says the Indians used the red sap of the bloodroot to decorate their faces and tomahawks.” Trixie carefully enclosed the wet plant with its fragile white flower in a length of plastic wrapping material that would keep it fresh until they could get the specimen safely into water at home.

  They worked busily for a few minutes and soon had all the specimens neatly stowed away in the wire basket.

  It was a longer hike back to their bikes than they had realized, and Trixie hurried Honey along. She had noticed that the sky overhead was getting dark and the clouds were scurrying past over the tops of the tall trees that ringed the marsh.

  “Let’s eat some lunch and then get started home,” she suggested when they were back at the edge of the swamp. “It’s going to sprinkle, I’m afraid.”

  The lunch that Mrs. Belden had packed was full of pleasant surprises, and the girls did full justice to it, down to the last stuffed date and rosy-cheeked apple.

  Trixie snapped the lid down on the empty basket and moaned. “I’m simply stuffed. I know I’ll never pedal all that way home now.”

  “Why don’t we walk our bikes partway, till the fried chicken is settled down for the ride?” Honey laughed.

  Before Trixie could reply, a light spatter of rain answered for her.

  They mounted their bikes and headed for home, but the sprinkle turned into a steady spring rain before they had even reached the small white cottage.

  Trixie, with rain streaming down her face, called to Honey, “Why don’t we stop at the old witch’s house and ask her to let us come in till the shower’s over?”

  “I’d rather keep going,” Honey called back, with a shiver.

  “I know, you’re afraid she’ll turn us into gingerbread dolls! Or is that the way the story goes in ‘Hansel and Gretel’?” Trixie was never sure of her facts about fairy tales.

  Honey laughed. “Worse than that! She fattened ’em up and ate ’em. It was her house that was gingerbread!”

  They both stared hard at the small cottage as they went past, but no one came to the window. The door of the small barn in the rear was partly open, as it had been when they first went by, but there was no one in sight.

  Trixie was riding ahead now, against pelting rain. She stared suddenly at something lying partly in the ditch a few yards beyond the last pickets of the white fence. The object was a small child’s bicycle. It was lying on its side, half-covered with muddy water as the rain splashed down on it. But in spite of the mud and water that hid it, Trixie could see that it wasn’t a rusty old machine that somebody had discarded but a shiny, almost new one.

  “Pretty careless,” she reflected, riding on through the pelting rain. And she thought with a shudder of what her parents would say to her or the boys if they; treated their bicycles like that. All four had them, and because they knew that their father had paid a good price for the bikes, they were careful of them.

  Honey caught up with her, and they rode side by side on the slippery, muddy road. She called over to Trixie. “Did you see the bike in the ditch back there?”

  Trixie nodded vigorously. “I guess it belongs to the little girl who takes care of the rose garden,” she said. “She ought to be spanked.”

  “It was a boy’s bike, I’m sure,” Honey informed her. “Then either she rides a boy’s bike or she’s a he, even if she or he wears pointed shoes.” Trixie laughed. “I hope whichever one it is didn’t hurt himself-herself when he-she fell into that ditch!”

  “Maybe we should go back and see if there’s anything we can do, like going for a doctor.”

  Trixie hesitated, then grinned over at Honey. “That was a pretty neat little cottage. Maybe they even have one of them there newfangled things called tellyphones!” Honey giggled. “You would have to be sensible when I wanted to be a hero-een!”

  So they rode on through the rain and were glad to turn back onto .Glen Road a few minutes later. Even though Glen Road was called a country road, it was well surfaced, and they no longer had to plow through inches of mud. They pedaled along as fast as they could.

  They had almost reached the foot of the Wheeler driveway, when someone close behind them tooted an auto horn loudly. It scared Honey so that she nearly fell off her bike and into the path of the car. Brakes squealed, and Brian, at the wheel of his jalopy, barely managed to stop it a few feet from the wobbling bicycle.

  Brian climbed out and ran to Honey as she dismounted unsteadily. Mart, in the front seat, sat looking scared and sheepish as Jim swung out of the rear seat and rushed to his adopted sister.

  “Gosh, I’m sorry, Honey!” Brian exclaimed. “My moron brother, here, thought he was being funny!”

  “I—I didn’t mean to—” Mart’s face was crimson as he climbed out of the car and came to them. “I was just—”

  “Just being a clown, which comes naturally!” Trixie snapped angrily. “Don’t bother apologizing. We know that little children must play!”

  “Aw, Trix!” Mart mumbled.

  “Oh, stop making a fuss,” Honey said, laughing. “I didn’t take a tumble, did I? That’s pretty good for a gal who didn’t know one end of a bicycle from the other at one time!”

  “It wasn’t his fault you didn’t fall!” Trixie cast a withering glance at Mart.

  Jim decided it was time to change the subject. He nodded toward the specimen basket on the front of Trixie’s bike. “I see you girls were a bit more successful in your expedition than we were in ours. We were rained out before we had half the corn planted.”

  “We have some beautiful specimens,” Honey told him proudly. “Miss Bennett will be delighted.”

  But Trixie was still frowning in Mart’s direction. All she said was “Hmph.”

  Brian caught Jim’s eye and shrugged. Jim tried again. “By the way, Trix, I didn’t notice till you were out of sight this morning that I’d forgotten to give you back the map. I suppose you came back and found it where I pinned it on the door of the clubhouse.”

  “Why, no,” Trixie said, surprised. “We didn’t miss it till we were almost halfway to the swamp and had to decide which way to turn. But we muddled along somehow and finally found the swamp without it.”

  “Then the map’s still hanging there, I guess.” Brian laughed. “And here I flattered myself that you two just couldn’t get along without my artistic help!”

  “It was a lovely map, and it did help!” Honey smiled warmly at Brian. “We remembered things you had on it, and they helped a lot.”

  “Good!” Brian was pleased. “And now, Miss Trixie, Til load your bike on the back of my car, and you can ride the rest of the way home with us. Then, if you like, I’ll help you prepare those specimens the way Miss Bennett likes them for class.”

  “Thanks!” Trixie said, with a sigh of relief. “At least I have one male relative who’s not a complete idiot!”

  “Only half a one, I suppose!” Brian laughed.

  “I didn’t mean any such—” Trixie began, but she stopped abruptly as they all heard the low warning whine of a police car siren coming along Glen Road from the direction of town.

  A moment later, a Sleepyside Police Department car came speeding into view, its red light busily blinking.

  Everyone jumped back, to be well out of the way when it passed, but, to their amazement, it slowed down at the foot of the driveway, then swung in and went up the drive to the front of the mansion.

  Trixie was the quickest to react. “Something’s wrong!” she exclaimed.

  Honey turned white and looked as if she might be going to faint. “Mother—Dad—oh!” she whispered, clutching Jim’s arm.

  “Whoa!” Jim started to laugh, and his arm went across his sister’s shoulders. “Somebody probably telephoned headquarters that there was going to be a party for our small celebrity tonight, and they’re here to find out if we need a detective
to guard the guests’ jewels.”

  “A party? Oh!” Trixie’s blue eyes brightened.

  “For the Arts Club ladies to meet Gaye and her aunt.” Jim grinned. “Which means I stay in my room and study!”

  “I couldn’t have attended the party, anyhow,” Trixie said, putting on a society-matron air. “I’ll be much too busy. I do hope poor Gaye won’t pine away when I don’t arrive.”

  Jim chuckled. “Small chance! Not after she came back looking for you two and I had to explain that you had decided to go on without her. I told her you were sorry, but it didn’t help.”

  “She did have to practice, didn’t she?” Honey asked uneasily. “I’d feel awful if I thought my mistake made us hurt her feelings.”

  “I’ll say she had to practice!” Jim assured her. “Her loving aunt marched down to the clubhouse personally and dragged her, weeping, to the practice dungeon.”

  Mart leaned against the car and snickered. “Weeping? Yowling like a banshee, you told me, friend. As I recollect, you said she yelled louder than Bobby with soap in both eyes!”

  Even Trixie had to laugh, to Mart’s relief. It meant that she wasn’t angry any longer. Mart always felt better when he and Trixie were on good terms, though it was almost always his fault when they squabbled.

  “I suppose I should go tell her I’m sorry,” Trixie said grumpily.

  “We’ll give her a bunch of those yellow violets and a couple of the extra blue flags,” Honey suggested. “You know, as a tribute to her genius or something.”

  “Great!” Trixie giggled. “She’ll eat it up!”

  “Women!” Brian said with a sad shake of his head and a side wink at Jim.

  Jim grinned in reply, but before he could add his comment to Brian’s, they all noticed a tall, broad-shouldered figure hurrying toward them down the driveway. It was Regan, the head groom. Regan was the friend and confidant of all of them and, when it came to stable behavior and duties, their boss. He was always good-natured, except when one of them became a bit slack in grooming a horse or was careless taking care of the gear.

  Regan’s broad smile was missing as he came up to them. “Glad I found all of you before you broke up,” he said in an unusually serious voice. “Sergeant Rooney wants to talk to you up at the house.”

  “Goodness! Why?” Trixie asked in surprise.

  “Because he hopes one of you can give him a lead on where Miss Gaye has disappeared to!”

  Missing ● 7

  GAYE? GONE?” Honey gasped, her hazel eyes wide with shocked surprise.

  “Looks like it,” the groom answered soberly. “We’ve just about turned the place upside down looking for her and that little white pooch of hers. No luck.”

  “She’s probably hiding,” Trixie suggested quickly.

  But Regan shook his head. “Don’t know where. That clubhouse of yours is locked, isn’t it?”

  Jim spoke up. “I’m the last one who left there this morning, and I tried the door before I turned away.” Regan was disappointed. “Well, that’s about the last hope we had—the clubhouse. I guess we’d better mosey up to the house and let the sergeant talk to you kids.” Jim, Mart, and Brian walked ahead with Regan, while Honey and Trixie brought up the rear. There was an uneasy silence between the two girls until the others had gone beyond hearing distance. Then Honey, with a worried frown puckering her brow, said, “I hope she didn’t go far into our woods. There’s the lake, you know.”

  “Hmph!” Trixie wrinkled her small nose. “She’s probably a champion swimmer. The lake wouldn’t be big enough for her to condescend to go swimming in it!”

  “I suppose she does know how to swim, at that,” Honey agreed, relieved.

  “What I think is that she’s hiding under the bed to worry her aunt, if she was as angry as Jim says she was when she got dragged away to practice.”

  “Or in a closet in one of the guest bedrooms,” Honey suggested.

  “Wherever she is, I’m sure she’ll show up for dinner!” Trixie predicted lightly.

  “But I wonder why they sent for the police.” Honey looked worried.

  They were in front of the huge Wheeler mansion now, and the boys were waiting on the steps for them.

  Mart met them with a grin. “You dolls be sure to clam up,” he hissed, pulling at an imaginary moustache. “Don’t let on we’ve got her bound and gagged in the old icehouse.”

  They both giggled, and Trixie pushed Mart out of the way as they hurried up the steps after Regan.

  Sergeant Rooney of the Sleepyside Police satisfied himself that none of them could throw any light on the whereabouts of the famous young violinist. He was very much inclined, Trixie guessed from his offhand manner, to think that this was all much ado about nothing.

  Miss Trask, the Wheelers’ efficient housekeeper, had assured him that no one belonging to the household had seen the child since midmorning.

  Honey’s mother had been in her room resting all day and could add nothing to that.

  Trixie and Honey told a straightforward story about their expedition to the marsh. “We knew Gaye had to practice,” Trixie said, “so we didn’t wait for her to come with us.”

  Miss Crandall, mopping tears from her eyes, admitted that she had had a slight disagreement with her niece about practicing. “Nothing serious, of course,” she assured the officers. “The dear child is high-strung, like all great talents. A little firm discipline now and then is the only answer.” Her lips made a thin line as she concluded, and Trixie felt suddenly sorry for Gaye, wherever she was. Moms was right, she reflected. Gaye did lead a different kind of life from hers and Honey’s. And it couldn’t be a very happy one, with stern Miss Crandall in charge.

  “And you’ve searched every room?” Sergeant Rooney asked Miss Trask, while his young officer solemnly made notes in a small black book.

  “Oh, yes,” Miss Trask assured him firmly, “and every possible hiding place around the house. I’m afraid the child has run away.”

  “Officer, you must find her before some terrible accident happens to my dear little niece!” Miss Crandall clutched at Sergeant Rooney’s arm. “She’s not used to being out all alone in the dark.” Her voice broke.

  Sergeant Rooney eyed her suspiciously. Trixie could see that he wasn’t impressed by Miss Crandall’s emotion. “It’s still a long way from being dark, Miss Crandall. I’m sure she’ll turn up safe before you have anything to worry about.” He chuckled. “Most runaway kids dash home quick when it comes around to the next mealtime!” Miss Crandall frowned. “I hope you’re right, but my niece is no ordinary child. If she should meet with an accident that would injure her hands, her career would be ruined. You must find her at once!”

  Trixie nudged Mart and whispered indignantly, “She sounds as if that career is all that matters!”

  “Shh!” he whispered. “Can’t you see she’s concealing her trepidation behind a facade of insouciance?”

  Trixie snorted. “Whatever that’s supposed to mean, I don’t believe it! And I bet you can’t even spell insou— whatever it is!”

  “I’ll just take you up on that—” Mart started, but he broke off to scowl toward the doorway. “Now, how did the Sleepyside Sun find out what was going on?”

  The butler was admitting Paul Trent at the front door and showing him to a chair in the foyer. Paul was carrying a manila envelope.

  “Looks like he brought those pictures they took yesterday,” Trixie guessed. “Gaye’s aunt has to okay them.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Mart agreed. “For a minute there, I thought he might be a mind reader!”

  They grinned at each other. “Not after watching him quarterback Central High last year!” Trixie laughed.

  Miss Crandall was wringing her hands and moaning, “Somebody must find her! Can’t anyone do anything?” Mart felt a smart tap on his shoulder and turned hastily to see Paul Trent close behind him. “What’s going on, sonny? Who’s missing?” Trent asked importantly.

  Trixie suppres
sed a giggle as she saw Mart flush. If there was one thing that Mart disliked nearly as much as being called Trixie’s “twin,” it was being called “sonny.”

  “Why don’t you ask the law over there?” Mart snapped.

  Trent scowled at him. “You’re one of those smart-aleck Bob-Whites, aren’t you? From that crummy Sleepyside High?” He sneered and started to turn away.

  “Yeah, that ‘crummy’ school that walloped you thirty-eight to three last term!” Mart gave an insulting little snicker. “Boy, I’ll bet Central was glad when you graduated!”

  Trent’s sneer turned to a scowl, and his fists doubled as he towered over Mart. Trixie interrupted hurriedly. “It’s little Gaye. She’s run away somewhere.”

  “Gaye? Jeepers!” Trent forgot Mart at once and abruptly dashed off to talk to Sergeant Rooney.

  Mart glowered after him. “I should have smacked him! What did you have to speak up for?”

  “To keep you from getting a punch in the nose!” Trixie told him. “So thank me.” But Mart only scowled.

  Trent’s voice came through a sudden hush. “It looks like a kidnapping to me, Sergeant. They’ll probably get a ransom note any minute.”

  Mitzi, Gaye’s maid, shrieked, and Miss Crandall promptly toppled over in a faint and would have fallen if the sergeant hadn’t moved quickly to catch her. He led her to a chair and left her in the weeping Mitzi’s hands before he marched back to confront young Trent.

  “Where did you get that nonsense about kidnapping?” he demanded brusquely.

  Trent scowled and looked uneasy. An audible snicker from Mart did nothing to help. Trent flashed Mart an angry look and then asked Sergeant Rooney sullenly, “How do you know it’s nonsense? The kid makes a fortune with her fiddle. Why wouldn’t some crook get the idea of a kidnapping?”

  The sergeant said coldly, “There’s no evidence of such a thing. I don’t know where you got the idea,” he said, glancing toward Mart and Trixie and their fellow Bob-Whites before he continued, “but wherever it came from, forget it till we find something that points to it.” He frowned. “Clear?”

  The young reporter nodded and looked crestfallen as the sergeant and his assisting officer moved away, quietly discussing the case.