Eric came back in and arranged the logs on the pile of kindling in the fireplace. “Sorry I was kind of short with you out there, Trixie,” he said. “I do appreciate your help. I guess I’m disappointed because the weather is going to cut down on the time I can spend in the woods today.”
“Do you think the storm is going to let up at all?” asked Honey.
“It has already,” said Eric. “Matter of fact, Katie was saying she thought it might clear up by lunch, so that she and Miss Trask could go into town to do the shopping for the party.”
“Come on, Honey, we’d better get back and wake up the others,” said Trixie. “We have a lot of work to do before the party, ourselves.”
On their way back to the suite, Honey declared, “That really clears Eric of everything. He’s not the ghost, and he didn’t take my watch or Wanda’s quarters.”
“There’s still something odd about him,” replied Trixie. “But I think I know who the ghost might be.”
“Who?” asked Honey, not at all surprised that Trixie was already on the track of someone new.
“Carl. He knows we’re detectives. He even warned us that being detectives here was unhealthy.”
“Maybe it’s time we took heed of that warning,” sighed Honey as she opened the door to their suite.
The others were all up and dressed, sitting around the fire. “Ah, our early-morning peripatetics have come to roost,” Mart said. “Feel like journeying to breakfast?”
“Someone should call the police and pawnshop,” decided Miss Trask, “to let them know the watch has been returned.”
“I will,” volunteered Trixie. “Eric says you’re going to town to do the party shopping with Katie this afternoon.”
“Does Katie think the snow will let up by then?” asked Miss Trask. “Maybe I should go talk to her.”
“Why don’t you do that now?” Honey suggested. “We’ll make our phone calls and meet you in the restaurant in about ten minutes.”
After Miss Trask left, Trixie told the others about Eric’s footprints.
“Well,” said Brian, “I guess that takes care of Eric. But someone is still playing ghost around here, and I’d like to know who it is and why.”
Di spoke up. “A lot of the evidence is beginning to point to Pat.”
“He’s so nice, though. It hardly seems possible,” said Trixie.
“You’re just saying that because last night he said you were a good detective,” gibed Mart. “I think we should check his footprints.”
“Okay, but right now I’d better make those phone calls, so we won’t be late meeting Miss Trask,” said Trixie, reaching for the phone.
Trixie called the police, and then she called Pawnbroker Joe and told him the watch had been found at the lodge. She didn’t say that Rosie had taken it and let the talkative pawnbroker assume that Honey had simply misplaced it.
“I’m right glad to hear that,” he said. “I was worried about your little friend thinking Vermont was full of crooks. It seems like we’re getting more and more hoodlums up here every day. A body even has to lock his doors at night now. It’s shameful. That’s just what I was telling the police when they came here to warn me about the counterfeit money this morning.”
Trixie tried to interrupt to ask him what he was talking about, but his flow of words didn’t stop. “You know, in my business you meet a lot of shady characters,” he continued. “I try to run a good honest business to help people get a little money in times of need, but some of the folks I run into! The stories I could tell you—well, you’re too young to want to know anything about shady characters and crooks. I’m just glad your friend found her watch and that it wasn’t stolen by a Vermonter.”
Finally he paused, and Trixie asked quickly, “What counterfeit money?”
“Counterfeit money? Oh, yes... what the police were talking about. Apparently someone passed some pretty good counterfeit twenty-dollar bills in town the other day. The bank caught them later. The police are telling all of us merchants in town to keep an eye out for them. They’re supposed to be regular works of art, but the paper feels a little bit different from normal money. Maybe you’d better mention it to Pat O’Brien—isn’t he the one in charge of the ski lodge out there?”
“Yes, he is,” answered Trixie. She thanked him, hung up, then told the others about the conversation. “And I already know who the counterfeiter is,” she finished.
Mart got down on the floor and salaamed Trixie. “You’re clairvoyant!”
Trixie pretended to kick at him. “Get up, silly. If you had half a brain, you’d have already figured out who the counterfeiter is, too.”
“First you physically brutalize me,” Mart howled, “then you insult my mentality!”
“You’re putting us on, Trix,” said Jim. “You must have supernatural powers if you know that already.”
“Are you sure this isn’t another one of your famous hasty conclusions?” asked Brian.
Even Honey and Di were looking doubtfully at her. “If I told you who it is, you’d all know I’m right,” Trixie retorted. “But since you’re being so awful, I won’t tell you a thing. All I’ll say is that I’ll have you convinced I’m right before the year’s out!”
Evidence! • 14
AFTER BREAKFAST, the Bob-Whites asked Katie where Pat was, hoping he’d be outside so they could check his footprints.
“Pat’s in the apartment working on the account books,” Katie told them. “It’s such a miserable day that he decided to stay inside and get the bookwork done. If you want to talk to him, I’m sure he’d love an interruption.”
Trixie shook her head. “We, uh, were just wondering if the ski lift was going to be operating today.”
“Not unless the weather gets better,” said Katie. “Then he might open it this afternoon. Listen, if you want something to do, I need a couple of gallons of ice cream made. We can store it outside until the party. And the decorating can be started anytime.” The boys went to the kitchen to make the ice cream, and the girls began hanging crepe paper streamers from the lobby ceiling. Di was unraveling the last roll of paper as Bert and Jack strolled into the lobby.
“Hi, girls,” said Bert. “What’s the good word?”
“Balloons,” Trixie called from the top of the step-ladder. “We were just about to blow some up. Want to help?”
“Sure,” said Bert. He took a balloon from Honey, and between puffs, he asked, “Have you girls seen Pat? We wanted to ask him about the weather conditions.”
“He’s doing some paper work,” said Honey.
“It might clear up this afternoon,” added Trixie. “They’ll start the ski lift if it does. Vermonters sure know how to recover from snowstorms. Katie was expecting the roads to be okay by this afternoon, so she and Miss Trask could go shopping in town.”
“Oh? Well, they’ve got that four-wheel-drive pickup truck,” Bert said. “It can go anywhere, snow or no snow.”
“Say, how about singing some sea chanteys in the program tonight?” Trixie asked. “Or telling us about some of your adventures as merchant marines? We’d love to hear them.”
“I don’t think you’d better count on us,” said Jack. “What Jack means,” said Bert, “is that we aren’t very good singers. But if you want, we could work a little something up. Okay, Jack?”
“Well, sure, if you say so, Bert.”
“I’m starved. I could use some lunch,” Bert declared.
“We’ll see you this evening, girls.”
By the time the Bob-Whites had eaten lunch, the snow had almost stopped and the wind had completely died down. Miss Trask and Katie left for town, and the Bob-Whites decided to go back to the suite to work on their notes for Mr. Wheeler.
Trixie and Honey sat together on a couch in front of the fireplace. Trixie appeared to be deep in thought, and Honey finally leaned over and whispered, “You’ve got something on your mind, and I want to know what it is.”
“I’ve been thinking about our firs
t night here,” Trixie said softly. “I think I’ve figured out how our ghost came in without leaving any footprints.”
Honey looked startled, and Trixie explained, “He came in the front door, doused the fire, opened the patio door to make it look like he came in that way, and then went out the front door again, locking it behind him.”
“But the front door was locked,” Honey began. “Oh—you think Pat’s the ghost instead of Eric. He would have had a key.”
Trixie shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You don’t need a key,” she said smugly. “Honey, do you have your student ID with you—you know, the plastic-coated one?”
Honey fished the card out of her wallet, trying to control her curiosity.
“I’ll go out in the hall, and you lock the door,” Trixie commanded. “I’ll be back in by the time you can count to ten.”
Honey locked the door behind Trixie and began to count. “One... two...”
Trixie took Honey’s card and slipped it in between the door and the doorjamb.
“Five... six...”
She forced the card against the lock and started to wiggle the card back and forth.
“Nine... ten...”
Trixie held on to the doorknob and tried to turn it, still wiggling the card.
“Thirteen... fourteen...”
Trixie was just about to ask Honey to let her in, when finally the door popped open! Trixie handed Honey her school card. “You count too fast,” she breathed.
The other Bob-Whites were standing open-mouthed behind Honey.
“Trixie Belden, how did you do that?” Di asked in amazement.
“Cheap locks,” Trixie answered. “Anyone with a credit card has a key to this door!”
“Dad’s definitely going to have to replace those locks,” said Jim firmly. “Here, let me try.”
While the others took turns trying to open the locked door, Trixie grabbed Honey’s arm and pulled her into their bedroom, closing the door behind them.
“I’m going back to the cabin in the woods,” Trixie announced.
“I knew it,” moaned Honey. “You still think Carl and Eric are guilty of something, don’t you? Even though Eric isn’t the ghost or a thief, and Carl is a famous artist, not a moonshiner.”
“Everyone keeps forgetting about the conversation I overheard,” said Trixie. “I do think they’re up to something, and I think all the answers to this whole case lie in that cabin.”
“You can explain it to me on the way,” sighed Honey, reaching into the closet and pulling out her windbreaker. “There’s nothing I can say that will change your mind.”
Trixie gave her friend a hug. “I knew you’d come,” she said.
“I don’t have much choice—remember your promise that you wouldn’t go anywhere alone? How about asking Jim to come, too?”
“I forgot about the promise,” Trixie admitted. “But let’s not ask Jim. We’re only going to check footprints and look in a window if we can. There’s nothing that can happen to us.”
When the girls told the others that they were going for a walk, Brian said, “We might go skiing pretty soon. Think you’ll be back in time?”
“Don’t wait for us,” Trixie said. “Where are you going?”
“Downhill—we want to explore what’s below the lodge,” said Brian.
“Have fun,” said Honey. “We’ll join you if we’re here in time.”
Trixie and Honey were delighted to see that Wanda had started the chair lift, which would save them a grueling walk up the mountain.
“The snow is kind of deep today,” Wanda cautioned, “but you won’t have much of a problem. You kids have really gotten to be good cross-country skiers. One of these days you’ll be showing up Rosie!”
After they had made the climb through the woods above the chair lift, Honey demanded that Trixie explain everything to her.
“You have to remember what the pawnbroker told me about the counterfeit money,” Trixie began. “That’s what really gave it away.”
“What did he say?” prompted Honey.
“That the bills were works of art,” replied Trixie. “So?”
“Who would be better at making ‘work of art’ forgeries than an artist such as the best printmaker on the East Coast—Carl Stevenson!”
Honey stopped skiing. “But the man’s a hermit, Trixie. He never goes to town. How could he have passed counterfeit money?”
“That’s where Eric comes in,” said Trixie. “Remember when Carl told Eric ‘the money looks good’? He didn’t mean they’d make a lot of money. He meant the money he made looks real!”
“Could be,” murmured Honey as she started down the trail again.
“And do you remember the dinner we had at the Purple Turnip?” Trixie went on, ignoring Honey’s doubtful tones. “Eric paid for that dinner with twenty-dollar bills. And remember how nervous he was.” Honey looked thoughtful. “I do remember that he was awfully quiet while the rest of us joked and laughed a lot.”
“See? It all fits together!” Trixie cried triumphantly. “Well, just a minute,” Honey demurred. “It’s very difficult to make a plate to counterfeit money. Carl would probably be able to do it, but he’s such a well-known artist that he can make all the money he would ever want with his prints, which would be much easier to do.”
Trixie hated to admit that what Honey said made sense. “Maybe he got tired of art and wanted to do something else. Maybe he considered counterfeiting a challenge,” she said, making wild guesses. “I have a very strong feeling that he is a counterfeiter. And even if he isn’t, we have to check his footprints to see if he’s the ghost.”
By this time, the girls had caught sight of the cabin. They stopped under a tree uphill from the cabin and took off their skis.
“I wish it were night,” said Trixie. “If he’s there and he glances out his window....”
“You’d better get some story ready, just in case,” warned Honey. “I don’t think he’ll buy the drink of water bit again!”
Trixie pointed to the back window of the cabin. The curtains were drawn, but there was a space of a few inches where they didn’t quite meet. As silently as possible, the girls crept up to the window. Trixie pressed her face close to the glass. It was dirty, and the room was dark inside.
As Trixie’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dimness, she could make out several printing presses and a lot of art material... and what looked like stacks of paper money on the table, and uncut sheets of money hanging to dry! She had her evidence!
Then Trixie heard Honey’s muffled scream and felt a cold hand wrap itself around her neck.
“All right, detectives. Get inside,” an icy voice commanded.
In the Cabin ● 15
TRIXIE AND HONEY had no choice but to obey. They were forcibly pushed through the doorway, and the door was bolted behind them.
The girls stood shivering in what was obviously the living quarters of the cabin. There was a cot, a table, two chairs, a stove, an old-fashioned icebox, and nothing else, other than the pictures—Carl Stevenson pictures—that covered every spare inch of wall space. A piece of canvas divided the living section from the work area in back, where Trixie had seen the printing presses and the money.
Carl Stevenson shoved a second bolt across the door and turned toward them, his eyes flashing and his body trembling with anger. He had not changed the bandage that Brian had put on his head, nor had he bothered to wash the dried blood out of his white hair.
When he tried to talk to them, only sputtering came out, until finally he shook his fist at the ceiling and asked, “Why? Why does this have to happen now?” Trixie was more than a little frightened. The idea of being locked in a cabin with a hermit often mistaken for a ghost was not appealing. She remembered the question that Honey had asked earlier, about why a man who could make so much money at art would want to counterfeit. Maybe because he was crazy— that’s why! And an old man living all alone in the mountains might easily go crazy, Trixie though
t. Yipes! He might even believe himself to be Thomas Mead’s ghost! Oh, why didn’t we tell anyone where we were going?
His face bright red, Carl moved toward Trixie and shouted, “What can I do with you?”
Behind her, Honey was shaking with fear, and Trixie knew that she had to act boldly.
“I suggest that you go to the police with us and turn yourself in,” she said matter-of-factly. The calmness in her voice amazed her.
Carl went on as though he didn’t hear her. “I can’t just lock you in here until tonight. You’d be missed for sure. Then I’d have all those snoopy brothers of yours poking around here. No, that would never do.” Trixie tried again. “That’s exactly why you should turn yourself in now,” she said. “You haven’t a prayer of escaping from all of us.”
Carl paced the room and again acted as though Trixie had not spoken. “If I let you go, you’d have the police swarming over this mountain so fast that everything would be ruined for sure. Why can’t anything go according to plan? First my grandson shows up asking questions, then you meddle to the point of causing almost certain disaster.” He turned on Trixie again and demanded, “I ask you, what should I do?”
“I told you. Go to the police with us and turn yourself in,” Trixie repeated. “They’re much easier on people who turn themselves in.”
“Ha! Don’t you think there’s nothing I would like better? But I can’t—Ellen’s life depends on that!” All at once, the energy and anger seemed to drain out of Carl. He slumped down on the cot and shook his head. “Poor Ellen. Poor, poor Ellen!”
By now, Trixie was positive that Carl was crazy. “Wh-Who’s Ellen?” asked Honey.
“Ellen Johnson, my daughter... Eric’s mother,” he muttered.
“Eric’s mo—of course! Eric is your grandson!” Trixie cried.
Carl continued to mutter. “When all this started, I told him to stay at school, but he’s as stubborn as his mother was at that age.”
“I’m really mixed up, Mr. Stevenson,” said Honey. “I remember Eric saying that his mother was going to meet him here but had to go somewhere on business.”
The Mystery at Mead's Mountain Page 12
