A Dubious Welcome • 3
STOP THE CAR!” Trixie yelled.
Miss Trask began to brake, and the van swerved. “I can’t stop—it’s too dangerous,” she said tersely. “What’s the matter?”
“I—I think I saw an old woman lost in the storm.” Miss Trask sighed. “Now, Trixie, you know you have a vivid imagination.”
“But I saw someone, really!”
What exactly did you see, Trixie?” asked Jim. “The back of a person disappearing into the woods,” Trixie said. “She had all this long white hair.”
“I know what you saw,” said Brian matter-of-factly. “A tree stump covered with snow.”
“But it moved, Brian.”
“It must have been a stump, Trixie,” Honey argued gently. “No one would be out in this storm.”
Trixie was not convinced. “Di, did you see anything?” she demanded.
“Well, I did see some movement right before you yelled,” Di replied doubtfully, “but it could have been the wind.”
Miss Trask swung the van into the lodge parking area and breathed deeply. “Well, I for one am glad to be off the roads before they get any worse. Trixie, do you really think we have to go back and check out the old woman you thought you saw?”
The long day’s activities were starting to take their toll on Trixie. Getting ready for the party that morning seemed like years ago. “No, Miss Trask,” she murmured. “I guess not. Even if it were a woman, she’d be gone by now.” She sighed and curled up on the seat. “Boy, am I tired. I could go to sleep right here.” Mart leaned over and tapped her on the head. “Un momento, dear sister. I don’t mind carrying your luggage, but you most definitely are too heavy.”
Trixie jumped up. “Did you hear that? He volunteered to carry my suitcase!”
“I’ve been had!” Mart protested.
Miss Trask pulled the van as close to the lodge as she could. While the others got their luggage out, Trixie ran for the large double doors of the lodge.
Once inside, she gazed appreciatively around the spacious lobby. Most noticeable was the towering Christmas pine tree nearly touching the peak of the cathedral ceiling. One entire wall was taken up by a large stone fireplace fenced in by comfortable-looking chairs and couches. At the other end of the room, opposite the fireplace, was the reception desk. The wall between the fireplace and the reception desk, facing the mountain, was entirely glassed in, but nothing could be seen in the outside floodlights except falling snow.
Hearing footsteps, Trixie whirled around to see a tall, muscular blond man entering the room. He was wearing a very tight striped T-shirt tucked into bell-bottom jeans, and he had a clipper ship under full sail tattooed on his left forearm. With the rope sandals on his feet, he looked like a misplaced beachcomber.
What a peculiar outfit for a ski lodge, thought Trixie.
By this time, the others were filing into the lobby. Jim headed straight for the blond man. “Hi!” he greeted him. “Are you Pat O’Brien?”
The man extended his hand and said, “No, I’m Bert Mitchell. Pat is expecting some kind of investigating team to arrive late tonight, so he and Katie are in the kitchen making sandwiches.” He held up his other hand, revealing a half-eaten sandwich. “They’re good, too.”
Mart grinned. “Good, because we’re hungry.”
“We’re that investigating team,” Jim explained, and then he introduced all of them.
“You? But you’re just a bunch of kids!” Bert scoffed. “What do you do—watch to see who’s stealing out of the cookie jar?” He grinned at his own wit.
Miss Trask stepped forward and said firmly, “Honey and Jim’s father is considering buying the lodge, and he wants to know if young people like this area.”
“I see,” said Bert, still grinning. “You’re on a sort of vacation, huh?”
“No,” replied Jim evenly, “we’re on a job. Could you please tell me where the kitchen is, so I can talk to Mr. O’Brien?”
“Right through the door next to the reception desk,” replied Bert.
After Jim left, Bert turned to the others. “Hey, kids, I’m sorry for laughing at you. When Pat said he was getting rooms ready for some people coming to investigate the lodge, I expected Sherlock Holmes types, not people whose father wants to buy it.”
“That certainly is understandable, Mr. Mitchell,” said Honey pleasantly. “But we are taking our work very seriously.”
“I can tell,” he said, seeming impressed. “Call me Bert, by the way. How long do you plan to stay?”
“Only a week,” Trixie replied.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves. I’m going to hit the hay now. See you later,” Bert said, and he strode off down the hall, sandals flopping.
“We should have told him about the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency,” Trixie sniffed. “Then he could have had a real laugh.”
“Hey, everyone, come here,” Di called. She was standing at the reception desk, looking up at a beautiful picture on the wall. It was of the sun setting on the mountains, washing a rainbow of colors over them. “Why, that’s a Stevenson print,” said Miss Trask. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“It sure is,” agreed Mart. “Who is Stevenson?”
“You mean I know something you don’t?” Trixie crowed. “Carl Stevenson is only the best and most famous printmaker on the East Coast. If you’d take your nose out of the dictionary sometime, you’d learn there’s more to this world than words.”
“Don’t you remember the reception my parents had last spring to benefit the art museum?” Di asked him. “His daughter, Ellen, was there.”
“Now I remember,” said Mart. “She’s the one who handles the business end of his art work, because he’s practically a hermit. I really like his stuff.”
Just then, Jim came back into the lobby with a tall, lean, athletic man with wavy auburn hair and twinkling green eyes.
Pat O’Brien grinned infectiously as Jim completed all the introductions. “Welcome to Mead’s Mountain!” he said. “I sure hope Mr. Wheeler does carry out his plan for this place. It’s very special. It’s been a wonderful home for Katie—that’s my wife—and our little girl, Rosie.” Then he sighed. “We’ll be sorry to leave it.”
That’s funny, Trixie thought. I thought Mr. Wheeler said the O’Briens were the new caretakers.
Pat picked up Miss Trask’s suitcase and said, “Katie’s making sandwiches and hot chocolate for you, and I’ve got a fire going in the fireplace in your suite. Come on!”
When Trixie started to follow him, Mart grabbed her arm and pointed to her suitcase still sitting on the floor. “You’re on your own now, toots.” Trixie made a great show of struggling with her suitcase.
“Let’s get you settled so you can tackle these mountains in the morning,” Pat was saying as she caught up to the group. “I’ve put you in suite twenty-three at the end of the hall. There’re two dorm rooms with bunk beds in each. Both of them open onto a small balcony overlooking the mountain. There’s another bedroom for you,” he told Miss Trask. “You have a small kitchen, although Mr. Wheeler said you’d be eating most of your meals in the restaurant. A sliding glass door opens out onto the pool. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“I’m sure we will. It sounds very nice,” Miss Trask answered.
“Especially the bed part,” yawned Mart.
“Mr. O’Brien?” Trixie fell into step with him as they walked down the hall.
“Pat, please.”
“Pat, on the way up here I saw some movement alongside the road. The others thought it must have been the wind, but it looked like a person to me. All I could see was the back and what looked like long white hair.”
Pat just stared at her for a moment, and then he chuckled. “You’re not the first person to say you’ve seen a figure with long white hair in these mountains, especially on nights like tonight, when the snows, winds, and imaginations are active. You mean you don’t know what you saw?”
Trixie shook her he
ad.
“The ghost of Thomas Mead, of course,” Pat said, with a tiny flicker of a smile.
Di stopped short. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” she asked nervously.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Pat answered. “A great many people in this area do believe it. And the story makes for a lot of fun.”
“To Trixie, ethereal beings are not fun; they’re—” Mart, noticing the glare Trixie was giving him, decided not to continue.
At the end of the hall, Pat put down the suitcase and fumbled for his key ring. “You should have plenty of privacy in this section of the lodge,” he told them. “The only other people near you are a young honeymooning couple, and we don’t see them too often.”
Finally he got the door open. The Bob-Whites peered in and saw what normally would have been an inviting, cozy room. In the center was a circular fireplace. Surrounding it were gold and brown overstuffed chairs. The floor was covered with a thick rust carpet, and the walnut-paneled walls were decorated with pictures of mountain scenes.
But, where the fire Pat had promised should have been, there were only ashes floating in a pool of water. And the patio door was standing wide open, allowing the wind to blow the cold air and the falling snow inside.
Pat looked genuinely distressed as he rushed over and closed the patio door. “I don’t know what to say! Who could have done this?” he asked, turning helplessly to the Bob-Whites.
Trixie looked alertly around the room. “Whoever did it just did it recently,” she answered.
“How do you know?” demanded Pat.
“Well, the room is still a little warm, and there isn’t that much snow on the rug.”
“That’s true,” said Pat. “But how could they have gotten in? The door was locked.”
“The patio door wasn’t locked when we got here,” Trixie pointed out. “Maybe it wasn’t before, either.”
“I didn’t double-check it when I readied the room,” Pat admitted, still looking dazed.
Trixie headed for the patio door, and Jim followed her. Outside the door, the snow was totally smooth except where the wind had blown it into drifts. “Hmm, no footprints. No one but a ghost could have come through this door,” observed Trixie.
Then, by the glare of the floodlights, she saw something as startling as the scene in their room. “What in the world— The swimming pool is outside! Jeepers, who would want to swim outdoors in weather like this? Do you suppose they haven’t finished the roof yet, Jim?”
“No, I think it’s supposed to be that way. See the steam rolling off the pool? That means the water has been heated and is probably very comfortable.”
“Sure, it’s like a Finnish sauna,” Mart informed them as he came out on the patio. “You roll in those large snowdrifts next to the pool and then jump in. Only in Finland, you jump into a natural hot spring. It’s supposed to be very relaxing.”
“It does sound neat,” Trixie said. “I can’t wait to try it in the morning.”
“Right now I think you should try going into the kitchen,” said Mart. “Our culprit left a calling card.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Trixie demanded, almost knocking him over in her rush to get back inside.
Trixie hurried to the corner of the main room where there was a small sink, stove, refrigerator, and breakfast counter. On the counter, written in large block letters with a bright red liquid, were the words:
LEAVE MY MOUNTAIN NOW!
T.L.M.
“Thomas L. Mead!” Trixie breathed. “So that was him I saw on the road—and he’s been here!”
“Not so fast,” said Mart sternly. “In the first place, it’s ‘that was he I saw on the road.’ In the second place, what you saw was a stump. The real truth is that someone is playing a practical joke on us.”
Trixie was about to make a furious reply, when there was a knock on the door.
Pat looked startled. “I don’t know what to expect around here anymore,” he said, going to answer the door.
It was a young man of about twenty, carrying a tray of sandwiches and mugs of hot chocolate.
“Oh, it’s Eric.” Pat sighed in relief. “Wait till you see this mess. Eric works here,” Pat told the others.
Eric was long-limbed and lean, with very curly, longish blond hair and watery blue eyes. As Pat made the introductions, Eric passed around the tray and gave each of them a wide smile, revealing perfectly straight white teeth.
Eric seemed as baffled as Pat by the intrusion and the message on the counter. He touched the red liquid with his finger and then put it to his tongue. “Catsup,” he announced.
“Oh,” quivered Di. “I was sure it was blood.”
“Someone is trying to be funny,” Pat said, trying to sound calm. “It’s my fault for forgetting to lock the patio door. I can assure you it won’t happen again. I’m off to tell Katie about this. Good night, everyone.” Eric quickly cleaned up the fireplace and the counter, and then he, too, said good night.
As she locked the door after them, Miss Trask commented, “I can’t imagine anyone doing such a peculiar thing.”
“Neither can I,” said Brian, taking out his notebook. “But I’ll tell you, this lodge does not rate high on warm welcomes.”
“What do you make of it, Trixie?” Jim asked.
“I’m not really sure,” she answered. “But I think that ghostly person I saw on the road may be connected to this somehow.”
“Trixie,” Mart began, finishing the last of his hot chocolate, “just because you choose to believe in exteriorized protoplasm does not mean you have to foist your hallucinations on us.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Trixie, her eyes flashing. “All I know is that there were no footprints outside that patio door. And someone, or something, wants to scare us away from Mead’s Mountain!”
“Trixie, we can’t be sure of that at all,” Miss Trask tried to reason with her. “I tend to agree with Mart. Someone is playing a practical joke, and it’s in extremely poor taste. Right now I think we’d better get some sleep. We have a long day behind us and a big day ahead of us.”
Even Trixie had to agree.
Locked Doors, Missing Quarters ● 4
DESPITE THE LATENESS of their bedtime, the Bob-Whites awoke early the following morning, excited about the week of mountain adventure ahead. It was a beautiful day. The snow had stopped, and the sun was shining its warmest possible welcome.
Now, this is the way to start a mountain vacation, Trixie thought.
The first thing on the agenda was an early morning swim. Trixie, Honey, and Di threw towels over their swimsuits and, not bothering to put shoes on, stepped outside the sliding glass door. A chilly gust of mountain air sent them hopping on their toes toward the pool as fast as they could go. Wasting no time, they jumped into the soothing warm water, where the boys had already started their swim.
“Mmmm.... This is gorgeous!” Di purred. “It’s just like taking a bath outside!”
“Not quite!” hollered Jim as he scrambled out of the pool. At the pool’s edge, the boys had made an arsenal of snowballs, which they now used to bombard the girls.
Laughing and screaming, the girls kept diving under the water. As long as they could stay underwater, they were safe. Whenever they came up for air, they found themselves all too visible targets.
Finally the boys could stand the cold air no longer and were forced to jump back into the pool. The girls delighted in taking their revenge by dunking the boys thoroughly and repeatedly. Honey challenged each of the boys to a race and won easily each time.
Floating lazily in the shallow end, Di announced that she had to get out so she could get her hair dry before breakfast.
“Excellent timing,” said Mart. “You damsels go try to beautify yourselves, a task, which, although feasible for Di and Honey, will be impossible for Trixie. By the time we he-men get out, you can be cleared out of the bathroom.”
“By the time you he-men get out, you’l
l be as wrinkled as prunes,” said Trixie saucily, “which, I must say, will greatly improve your looks.”
Clutching their towels around them, the girls darted to the sliding glass door, and Trixie tugged on it. It didn’t move.
“It’s locked!” she gasped.
“Oh, no!” Honey trembled, hopping from one cold foot to another. “Were covered with goose bumps. Pound on the door, Trixie. Maybe Miss Trask will hear.”
Trixie thumped on the door, but Miss Trask had apparently left for breakfast. “I guess we’ll have to make a run for the hallway door,” she quavered.
“What if that one is locked, too?” worried Di as they started running.
“There’s got to be an unlocked door around here somewhere,” answered Trixie. “111 bet anything this is Mart’s idea of a cute trick. He probably locked the door, and that’s why he was so generous about letting us have the bathroom first.”
“Y-You don’t think it could have been the ‘ghost’ again, do you, Trixie?” asked Di apprehensively.
That thought had already occurred to Trixie, but to reassure Di she said, “Actually, we probably locked it ourselves accidentally. I guess it couldn’t have been Mart after all. He was with us the whole time.”
The girls cheered breathlessly when they found the hallway door open. Once in the hall, they stopped running, but it was hard to stop shivering. As they rounded the corner that led to their suite, they almost ran right into Eric.
“What are you doing here?” Trixie demanded, her teeth still chattering.
“I—I was looking for Rosie,” he said, staring at the girls. “She said she was going to visit you, but she’s not there. You girls shouldn’t be running around in weather like this in those wet bathing suits. You could freeze to death. I didn’t think you were that dumb.” Trixie looked Eric right in the eye. “Someone locked our patio door that opens out onto the pool.”
Eric just shrugged and walked away.
Di ran ahead and tried their door. “Hurray!” she yelled. “First dibs on the shower!”
While Honey and Trixie waited their turns, Honey said, “Trixie, don’t you think you were kind of rude? Why, the way you looked at him, you were practically accusing him of locking our door.”
The Mystery at Mead's Mountain Page 3
