Trixie woke feeling stiff and sore. Her face looked haggard, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
Remembering her dream, she wondered why she had connected the deutsche mark with the bikeathon. I’ve read that dreams sometimes point out connections that the waking mind has overlooked, she thought.
“I wonder...” she mused aloud.
On the school bus, there was more bad news from Dan Mangan. “Somebody destroyed Mr. Maypenny’s game cart last night,” he told the other Bob-Whites. “It was right out in front of the house, and when I went out this morning, there it was, looking as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.”
“Did you hear any unusual noises during the night?” Trixie asked.
Dan shook his head. “Mr. Maypenny and I are both pretty sound sleepers.”
Trixie caught Honey’s eyes and pressed her lips together in a “keep quiet’’ signal. Honey nodded almost imperceptibly, but Trixie saw Jim looking from one to the other of the girls. His green eyes were troubled. Trixie looked away, feeling guilty for keeping secrets from Jim. She felt relieved when the bus pulled up in front of the school. She got out quickly and hurried to her first class.
That afternoon, Trixie was called out of class. In the principal’s office, she found the other Bob-Whites, looking confused, and Sergeant Molinson, looking stem.
When Trixie joined the group, the sergeant cleared his throat and began to speak. “The department heard from Mrs. Vanderpoel this morning. She reported that she received a threatening phone call last night. She didn’t recognize the voice, but the message was clear enough. The caller told her that she’d be in serious trouble if she allowed the bikers to use her house as a rest stop on Saturday.” Trixie felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She forced herself to remain calm as the officer continued sternly.
“Since you young people have been organizing this bikeathon, I thought you might have had some similar experiences.”
Dan immediately told the sergeant about finding Mr. Maypenny’s mined game cart early that morning.
After Dan had finished, Di Lynch looked at Trixie and Honey, hesitated a moment, and then told Sergeant Molinson that her bicycle tires had been slashed the week before.
Sergeant Molinson had been taking notes on what Dan and Di told him. Looking up, he said, “Is there anything else I should know?”
Honey looked pleadingly toward Trixie. Trixie nodded slightly.
“There is something else,” Honey said. She told him about her own mysterious phone call the night before.
Sergeant Molinson’s face looked serious as he asked, “Do any of you have an idea of who might be behind these incidents?”
Jim’s voice broke the silence that followed the sergeant’s question. “Tell him what you’ve been thinking, Trixie,” he said.
Reluctantly, Trixie told the policeman about the strange behavior of Nick Roberts and Ben Riker. “Nick and Ben were both around when Di’s bike tires were slashed. Ben and his friends have made fun of the bikeathon all along, and Ben has been known to use the telephone for practical jokes. Nick Roberts went from agreeing to help us to asking us—me—to call the whole thing off. He also tore one of the bikeathon posters off the wall. I saw him do it.”
Sergeant Molinson jotted a few more words, then closed his notebook. “The two boys will have to be questioned, although what you’ve told me hardly proves that they’re responsible for the phone calls and vandalism. Meanwhile, I’d suggest that you young people consider canceling the bikeathon. Someone doesn’t want it to take place. I know it’s for a worthy cause, but it isn’t worth having someone get hurt.”
At dinner that night, Brian and Mart told their parents about the conversation with Sergeant Molinson. Trixie stared at her plate, pushing her food around with her fork.
“Just the other night, Brian was saying that Trixie had outgrown her attraction to mysteries,” Mart said. “Now here we are, knee-deep in another one. I guess she’s just gotten better at keeping secrets.”
“I must say that I agree with Sergeant Molinson,” Mrs. Belden said. “I know how strongly you all feel about helping the art department, but if that caller meant what he said, Mrs. Vanderpoel could be in danger. I know none of you would want to cause her to be-harmed.”
“Sergeant Molinson told us before he left school today that Mrs. Vanderpoel isn’t afraid,” Mart told his parents. “She called the police because she was angry. She doesn’t really like the idea of telephones, anyway, and when she got that call, she was really annoyed.”
“The fact that she isn’t afraid doesn’t mean that she couldn’t get hurt,” Mr. Belden said. “Far from it. In fact, people often come to harm because they refuse to take warnings.”
Trixie didn’t raise her eyes from her plate, but she could feel her father looking directly at her as he spoke.
“I think that canceling the bikeathon is something we should at least consider,” Brian said quietly.
Trixie and Mart looked quickly at him, then at each other.
“I disagree, Brian,” Mart said. “There’s just not enough evidence to prove that the phone calls are linked to the vandalism of Mr. Maypenny’s game cart or Di’s tires—and those are the only actions that have been taken so far. As long as the police know what’s happened, they’ll be on the lookout. There’s just too much money at stake for us to go running scared.”
Trixie looked at Mart gratefully. Once again, they were on the same side of an issue. He said exactly what I’ve been thinking, Trixie thought. Only he explained it better than I could have. The bikeathon just has to happen. 1 couldn’t stand to disappoint all the students in the art department and Mr. Crider, after he was so kind and helpful.
Mr. and Mrs. Belden said no more about canceling the bikeathon. They were confident that their children—Brian, especially—had enough common sense to make the right decision.
Trixie was wondering whether their confidence was justified, when Jim telephoned after supper.
“Trixie, you and Brian and Mart have to come to the Manor House right away. It’s important.”
A Confession • 14
NONE OF THE BELDENS spoke on the way to the Manor House. They concentrated on hurrying as fast as they could over the narrow footpath that led from Crabapple Farm to the Wheeler mansion.
In their silence, Trixie could sense that her brothers were sharing her own troubled line of thought: What had made Jim call them and demand that they come over immediately? Did it have something to do with the bikeathon? Had there been another act of vandalism or another threatening phone call? Were Miss Trask or Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler demanding that the bikeathon be canceled?
When she saw the Manor House looming ahead out of the darkness, Trixie felt the same sense of awe she always felt when seeing the huge, imposing building. This time, her awe was tinged with nervousness. What were they going to hear once they were inside?
Miss Trask answered the door. She looked as calm and efficient as always, in a trim gray suit and sturdy oxfords. Her bright blue eyes were alert, but they gave no clue to her thoughts as she escorted the three Beldens into the library.
Trixie was doubly awed by the library, with its towering, floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined with leather-bound books. She started nervously when Miss Trask closed the heavy oak door behind her as she left.
Trixie had expected to see Mr. Wheeler or Sergeant Molinson in the library, but the only people there besides Jim and Honey were Dan, Di—and Ben Riker.
Jim greeted Trixie, Mart, and Brian and asked them to sit down. Trying to read his expression, Trixie saw that it was solemn but not grim. She relaxed a little bit.
When everyone else was seated, it was Ben Riker, still standing, who spoke. “I asked Jim to call you and tell you to come over,” he began.
“Today after school, Sergeant Molinson ordered me to come down to police headquarters for questioning. He told me that there had been some threats and some acts of vandalism that were apparently connected w
ith the bikeathon, and that I was a suspect because of my actions at the art fair and the sign-up.”
Ben paused for a moment, and the room was so quiet that Trixie could hear her own heart beat.
Ben looked around the room at the Bob-Whites, then continued. “Being questioned by the police really shook me up. I think—I hope—it knocked some sense into me. I’ve always liked practical jokes —I still do. But if my pranks, and the people I hang around with, are going to get me into trouble with the law, they just aren’t worth it.
“I spent a lot of time thinking, after I left the police station. At first, I was angry with all of you for reporting me to the police. It seemed ridiculous that you’d suspect me.
“After I thought about it for a while, I realized that you were probably justified. I haven’t been a very good guest since I’ve been staying here. In fact, I haven’t been a very good person. I’m going to try to change that now. And, while I don’t expect you to forgive and forget right away, I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove myself to you. In time, I hope we can all be good friends.”
As Ben paused again, Trixie found herself feeling confused. Ben was definitely apologizing to them. But was he confessing that he’d been behind the threats and vandalism? n
As if he were reading her thoughts, Ben spoke again. “I do want you to know that I wasn’t in on any of the things that Sergeant Molinson told me about today. I don’t think any of my so-called pals were, either.
“There’s one thing he didn’t mention that I was responsible for, and that’s the mess in the clubhouse the other day.”
Trixie and Honey looked at Ben in surprise, and he grinned sheepishly. “After we got back from the baseball game that Sunday, I was feeling restless, so I wandered over to your clubhouse. I saw the arrows that Trixie had made, and I decided to do a few myself, just to kill some time.
“After I’d been working awhile, I heard someone coming up to the clubhouse. I was afraid you’d be angry with me, and all I could think of was getting out of there without getting caught. I jumped up from the table, spilling the jar of paint, and got out through the window. I understand that Trixie took the blame for that, and I’m really sorry,” he finished contritely.
Another silence followed as Ben looked at the faces of his cousin and her friends, his expression strained and anxious.
Honey’s voice broke the silence. “You re still not telling the truth, Ben Riker,” she said sternly. Everyone looked at Honey in surprise. “I think you painted those arrows because you wanted to help out, not because you wanted to kill time.’ I think you’re a very nice person. Why don’t you confess’ to that?”
Everyone laughed at Honey’s outburst, and Ben joined in the laughter, his face flushed with happy embarrassment. “I haven’t been a very nice person lately, Honey,” he told his cousin. “But I want to be one if you’ll give me a chance.”
Mart rose and walked over to where Ben was standing. “We’ll give you all the chance you need,”, he promised. “After all, that’s what friends are for.” He extended his hand to Ben, who shook it gratefully.
Brian walked over to Ben and slapped him on the back. “It took a lot of courage to tell us what you just did, face-to-face. We all respect that, Ben.”
Trixie saw Honey staring at her nervously. She, too, stood up and extended her hand to Ben. “I’m sorry I haven’t been very friendly to you. No hard feelings?”
“No hard feelings,” Ben agreed, taking her hand.
Out of the comer of her eye, Trixie saw Honey smile as her best friend and her cousin took the first step toward friendship.
There was a knock on the door, and Miss Trask reappeared, carrying a tray. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I thought some of this chocolate cake might be in order about now.”
“Yummy-yum!” Honey exclaimed. “That was so thoughtful of you, Miss Trask.”
“I’ll say,” Mart agreed. “They say that confession is good for the soul, but it seems to have affected my appetite, as well.”
“Mart, would you make a fist of the things that don’t affect your appetite?” Brian asked. “I’ll engrave it on the head of a pin.”
As Mart put on an offended look, the others laughed, and Honey cut Mart an enormous slice of cake.
While the young people ate their cake, they talked among themselves about schoolwork and about Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School.
“It’s a good school,” Ben said. “I like most of my teachers, and I feel that I’m learning a lot more than I ever did at the expensive boarding schools I went to.”
Honey nodded her agreement.
“It’s harder to make friends, though,” Ben added. “At a boarding school, you’re with the same people twenty-four hours a day. You eat your meals with them, line up to get your mail with them. It’s just easier to get to know people in a situation like that. At Sleepyside, everyone goes home after school, and you generally don’t see your classmates until the next day. I just didn’t know how to cope.”
“You’re living here with us, Ben,” Honey pointed out.
“But I ’didn’t want to butt in,” Ben said defensively. “I had no idea, when you invited me to do something, whether you really wanted me along, or whether you just wanted to be polite.”
“Well, now you know,” Jim said. “We really want to be your friends, don’t we, gang?”
The other Bob-Whites chorused their assent, and Trixie nodded, a little bit reluctantly.
A short time later, Brian said, “We have to be going. Tomorrow is a school day, after all. See you in the morning!”
Trixie was as silent on the way home as she had been on the way to the Manor House, although her brothers were now discussing Ben’s change of heart.
Something was bothering her, but she couldn’t quite put her linger on what it was.
Ben had certainly seemed sincere, she thought. She wanted to believe him, if only for Honey’s sake. As Brian had said, it had taken a lot of courage for Ben to confront the Bob-Whites face-to-face that way and tell them he was sorry for the way he’d acted. He didn’t have to do that, Trixie reflected. He could have just told Honey and Jim. He didn’t have to tell us about sneaking into the clubhouse, either— Trixie stopped walking and stood frozen for a moment as she realized what had been bothering her.
Then, hurrying to catch up to Mart and Brian before they noticed that she had fallen behind, she thought, Those arrows—he forged them! He did a pretty good job of it, too, since Honey and I couldn’t notice any difference between the ones he did and the ones she and I did.
Trixie shook her head. She was being silly, she told herself. There was a big difference between forging a bunch of arrows with red poster paint and forging something as complicated as a German deutsche mark.
Still, ever since Trixie’s bad dream, she’d had a nagging feeling that the counterfeit bank note and the threats against the people involved in the bikeathon were somehow related. She couldn’t dismiss the idea that Ben’s confession had somehow made his actions more suspicious than ever.
Trixie heard the telephone ringing as she and her brothers entered the house.
“I think she just walked in,” she heard her mother say. “Trixie, you have a call.”
Trixie hesitated for a moment, worried that Honey might have called to ask why Trixie had been so quiet during the little celebration that had followed Ben’s apology.
Finally she picked up the telephone and said, “Hello.”
The voice on the other end of the line was not Honey Wheeler s.
“Hello, Trixie,” the voice said. “This is Nick Roberts.”
Bob-Whites Divided! • 15
TRIXIE WAS TOO STARTLED at hearing Nick Roberts’s voice to respond immediately. “Well, I—H-Hello,” she stammered finally.
“Sergeant Molinson questioned me this afternoon, Nick said. “He told me about the strange things that seem to be happening concerning the bikeathon.
I had nothing to do with an
y of it, except for ripping down the poster. I shouldn’t have done that, but I can’t tell you why I did.”
Cant tell me—or wont? Trixie thought. “Anyway,” Nick continued, “I told you before that I didn’t think the bikeathon was a good idea.
Now I’m sure of it. There’s no guarantee that the bikeathon will put the art department any further ahead than it is now. If there’s the slightest chance that someone could get hurt because of it, it simply isn’t worthwhile.”
“But—” Trixie began.
Nick ignored her interruption and continued to talk, his words coming in a rushed, breathless voice. “How do you think I’d feel—how do you think any of us in the art department would feel—if we knew the supplies and equipment we were using were purchased at the cost of someone’s suffering?”
Trixie gulped. That was something she hadn’t thought about.
“Look, Trixie,” Nick said, “from what Sergeant Molinson told me this afternoon, it’s obvious that someone doesn’t want the bikeathon to happen. I think you should call it off. Right away.” He stopped speaking abruptly, as if he’d finally run out of breath.
He’s hiding something, Trixie thought. He’s been opposed to the bikeathon since long before he talked to the police. I’m sure that his father is against it, too. I wish I knew why.
Aloud, she said, “I appreciate your concern, Nick. I don’t want to see anybody get hurt, any more than you do. We don’t have any real evidence, though, to prove that the vandalism is actually connected to the telephone threats. Unless,” she added boldly, “you know something more about them.”
“I don’t know anything about anything,” Nick Roberts snapped. “And I don’t like your implying that I do. I was just trying to talk sense, but obviously that’s impossible to do with you.” He hung up abruptly.
The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road Page 10
