The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire
Page 1
The TRIXIE BELDEN Series
1 The Secret of the Mansion
2 The Red Trailer Mystery
3 The Gatehouse Mystery
4 The Mysterious Visitor
5 The Mystery Off Glen Road
6 The Mystery in Arizona
7 The Mysterious Code
8 The Black Jacket Mystery
9 The Happy Valley Mystery
10 The Marshland Mystery
11 The Mystery at Bob-White Cave
12 The Mystery of the Blinking Eye
13 The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island
14 The Mystery of the Emeralds
15 The Mystery on the Mississippi
16 The Mystery of the Missing Heiress
17 The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest
18 The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper
19 The Secret of the Unseen Treasure
20 The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road
21 The Mystery of the Castaway Children
22 The Mystery at Mead’s Mountain
23 The Mystery of the Queen’s Necklace
24 The Mystery at Saratoga
25 The Sasquatch Mystery
26 The Mystery of the Headless Horseman
27 The Mystery of the Ghostly Galleon
28 The Hudson River Mystery
29 The Mystery of the Velvet Gown
30 The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder
31 The Mystery at Maypenny’s
32 The Mystery of the Whispering Witch
33 The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim
34 The Mystery of the Missing Millionaire
35 The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire
36 The Mystery of the Antique Doll
37 The Pet Show Mystery
38 The Indian Burial Ground Mystery
39 The Mystery of the Galloping Ghost
Copyright © 1984 by Western Publishing Company, Inc.
All rights reserved. Printed in the U.S.A. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher. GOLDEN®, GOLDEN & DESIGN®, A GOLDEN BOOK®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc. Library of Congress Card Number: 83-83351 ISBN 0-307-21558-X/ISBN 0-307-61558-8 (lib. bdg.)
All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.
Contents
1 * The Torchlight Parade
2 * Retreat to Crabapple Farm
3 * A Meeting of the Bob-Whites
4 * “Arson!”
5 * A Trip to Jail
6 * At the Scene of the Crime
7 * Trixie Has a Plan
8 * One Clue Lost... One Clue Found
9 * Selling and Sleuthing
10 * Was It a Payoff?
11* "We’re Going to the Police!”
12 * The Right Suspect
13 * Who, What, When, Where, and Why
1 * The Torchlight Parade
“OH, HONEY, AREN’T PARADES WONDERFUL?” Trixie Belden didn’t wait for an answer, because she knew her best friend would agree. “I just love the clowns and the horses and the marching bands.” Trixie’s blue eyes were shining, and her cheeks glowed under their dusting of freckles. Her sandy blond curls, which always bounced when she was excited, were practically dancing.
“My sororal sibling has particularized a procession that has not yet commenced,” Mart Belden said, rolling his own blue eyes upward in a look of mock-disbelief. Mart was Trixie’s “almost twin,” just eleven months older and with the same sandy hair and freckles. He used his almost-constant teasing to hide his deep affection for his younger sister.
“I think he means that you just described the parade even though it hasn’t started yet,” Honey Wheeler told Trixie. Both of the girls loved to decipher Mart’s inflated sentences, to show him he wasn’t the only smart one in their group. “But I don’t see what’s so strange about that, since the Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson Memorial Day Torchlight Parade is always the same, every single year. That’s what I love about it — that and getting to see absolutely everyone in town lined up along Main Street to watch.” Honey’s hazel eyes were shining, too, and the cool breeze made her honey-blond shoulder-length hair look pleasantly windblown.
Jim Frayne put his arm around Honey’s shoulders and gave his adopted sister an affectionate hug. I can’t believe there was ever a time in my life when I didn’t spend Memorial Day eve watching the parade on Main Street,” he said.
I can’t, either,” Dan Mangan agreed.
I have spent every Memorial Day watching this parade,” Di Lynch said. “But I can’t believe I didn’t always watch it with the other Bob-Whites of the Glen.”
“Well, at least we’re all together this year,” Brian Belden observed in his reasonable way. “That’s really all that matters.” Brian, the oldest of the Beldens, was also the calmest and most logical.
Happily, Trixie nodded her agreement. The seven young people standing on the curb in the twilight were more than good friends. They were the total membership of a semisecret club called the Bob-Whites of the Glen, which was dedicated to helping others and to having fun.
The fun certainly included times like this, waiting together on Main Street for the Memorial Day parade to begin. But making the club a success had also required giving lots of help to one another, as well as to the community.
Not too long before, Jim Frayne had been a runaway, hiding from his cruel stepfather and having nowhere to turn after his great-uncle died. Then Jim had met Trixie and Honey, and Honey’s parents had adopted him.
Dan Mangan, too, had once been without a real home. Instead of running away, Dan had gotten involved with a street gang in New York City, where he’d lived. His Uncle Regan, the Wheelers’ groom, had brought Dan to Sleepyside to get him away from those bad companions.
Di Lynch had always lived in Sleepyside. Her life had changed, though, when her father suddenly made a lot of money and the Lynches moved into a luxurious mansion. Di had been confused and frightened by the change, but her friendship with Trixie and Honey had helped her to adjust.
Honey, too, had gone through her share of unhappiness to get to this Memorial Day parade. It was almost impossible to remember that the Honey Wheeler who had first come to live in Sleepyside had been thin and pale and afraid of her own shadow.
Honey’s parents had always been wealthy. Her father was a hard-working businessman who traveled a lot. Her mother was loving but not very strong. As a result, Honey had lived at boarding schools and summer camps. That had left her feeling unloved and insecure.
The Wheelers had bought the Manor House, a mansion just west of the farmhouse where Trixie lived, to give Honey a more stable home. Their plan had succeeded beyond their hopes mainly because of the sturdy, fearless tomboy who lived next door. In fact, Honey’s parents sometimes wondered if things hadn’t gone too far, especially when Honey got involved in the mysteries that Trixie was always trying to solve.
“We’re going to have a beautiful starry night,” Trixie pointed out. “That will make the parade even better.”
“Oh, it certainly will,” Honey agreed. “There’s nothing sadder than seeing everyone huddled at the curbs under umbrellas. Nobody talks or laughs, and everyone seems just miserable.”
“At least negative atmospheric conditions permit intensive inhalations,” Mart said with a frown. “The magnitude of this assemblage is overwhelming.’’
“The crowd is half the fun and you know it, Mart Belden,” Trixie said. “It’s just as Honey said — this is the one day of the year when you can see just about everyone.”
“I don’t see Moms and Dad and Bobby,” Brian said, his eyes scanning t
he crowd. “I hope they got close enough so that Bobby will get a good view.”
“Even if they don’t, Bobby will charm his way to the front,” Honey said.
Bobby was the fourth and youngest of the Belden siblings. Honey Wheeler, who had no younger brothers or sisters of her own, was devoted to the energetic six-year-old. Trixie loved him, too, but she was more likely than Honey to lose patience with his antics.
“Oh, look,” Di Lynch said. “There’s old Brom and Mrs. Vanderpoel.”
The other Bob-Whites looked to where Di was pointing. Sure enough, the two old people were waiting for the parade with as much excitement as the teenagers across the street from them. Old Brom and Mrs. Vanderpoel had lived in the country near Sleepyside all their lives.
“Just think how many Memorial Day parades they’ve been to,” Trixie said, her eyes widening at the thought. “Probably since the days when there were real torches to light the parade, instead of streetlights that make it bright as day.”
“Isn’t that Nick Roberts across the street?” Jim asked.
“That’s Nick, all right,” Trixie said. She raised her hand and waved, and Nick waved back.
“He’s certainly friendlier now than he was when we first met him,” Honey said. “Remember that day at the art fair?”
“I certainly do,” Trixie said, wrinkling her nose. “I also remember how unfriendly he was when I told him we were going to sponsor a bikeathon to raise money for the art department at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School. I thought he’d be happy about it, since he’d already told us how badly the art department needed money for supplies and equipment. Instead, he was downright rude!”
“There’s no excuse for being rude, but Nick Roberts had an awful lot on his mind just then,” Brian said. “His mother was in poor health and his father’s business was failing. Not to mention the fact that Nick wanted to get into art school, but couldn’t get enough experience because Sleepyside didn’t have the equipment he needed.”
“It does now,” Jim said.
“I hope Nick doesn’t stop doing his marvelous pen-and-ink drawings,” Honey said. “He admitted he chose that medium because pen and ink and paper were the only supplies he could afford. But I can’t imagine any piece of sculpture or pottery more beautiful than the drawing Nick did of the Manor House. That’s how we first met him — when I saw that drawing at the art fair.”
The drawing of Crabapple Farm is just as beautiful,” Trixie said. The old farmhouse where the Beldens lived wasn’t as fancy as the Wheeler mansion, but it was just as well loved by the people who lived there. “Moms loved it when I gave her the drawing for Mother’s Day. It’s a good thing I didn’t keep it for myself, although I’d planned to until you said you were buying the picture of the Manor House for your mother.” Trixie sighed. “I’ll never be as generous as you are, Honey.”
“It took a generous person to come up with the idea of having a bikeathon to raise money for art supplies,” Jim said. “If it weren’t for you, Trixie, Nick would still be doing only pen and ink — and not by choice.”
Trixie felt herself starting to blush, as she often did when anyone paid her a compliment. Having the compliment come from Jim made the blush even deeper. All the Bob-Whites knew about the special feelings that Jim and Trixie had for one another, even though Trixie denied it and both of the young people tried not to show it.
“Well, I’m not responsible for the end of all of Nick’s troubles,” Trixie said quickly. “Look — the woman he’s standing next to must be his mother. That means her health has improved. I’m sure that’s a load off Nick’s mind.”
“I’ve heard his father’s business has improved, too,” Jim said. “Mr. Roberts is a master engraver, you know, and he was trying to get by with trophies and plaques and things that needed engraving. Now he’s added caps and T-shirts, which are more in demand.”
“There’s Mr. Roberts now,” Di said as a dark, heavy-set man joined Nick and his mother. “He must have dropped them off and gone to park the car.”
“Maybe he was working late, if business is as good as Jim says. His shop is just a couple of blocks from here,” Trixie said. “I was there once, remember?”
“Remember who was responsible for the salvation of your epidermis prior to the bikeathon?” Mart asked mockingly.
“Now that’s worth remembering,” Jim said to Trixie. “I’m proud of you for helping Nick and his family, but I wish you hadn’t got mixed up in a mystery — and a dangerous situation — along the way.”
“Solving that mystery was just as important to Nick’s future as the bikeathon itself,” Honey said, jumping in as always to defend her fellow detective. Honey liked mysteries as much as Trixie did, and the two girls planned to start the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency when they finished school.
“That’s all right, Honey,” Trixie said with a wave of her hand. “Jim and Mart made their point. But let’s not talk about mysteries right now, because there isn’t a mystery in sight. There is a parade in sight, though. Look!”
Trixie pointed down the street, and the Bob-Whites could see, blocks away, the satin banner of the first of the marching bands. At the same time, the first thin, clear notes of the glockenspiel sounded over the lower-pitched babel of the crowd.
“Oooh!” Di Lynch squealed. She clapped her hands and jumped up and down like a happy child. The animation made her even more beautiful than usual, although her slim figure, violet eyes, and black hair were always the envy of Trixie and Honey. “Trixie’s right — it’s starting! Oh, I can’t wait, I can’t wait!”
The chatter among the young people ended abruptly. All seven of them stared intently toward the beginning of the parade, with various looks of excitement and pure joy on their faces.
A sudden flash of light made Trixie’s head snap back and her eyes snap closed. When she opened her eyes again, a huge blue spot was swimming in front of them. “Hey!” she said irritably. “What was that?”
“It’s called a flash,” said a sarcastic female voice. “It’s used for taking pictures after dark.”
Straining to see around the blue spot, Trixie looked in the direction of the voice. Sure enough, the young woman who had spoken was holding an expensive-looking camera with a flash attachment mounted on it.
“I’m Jane Dix-Strauss,” the woman said, “reporter for the Sleepyside Sun. Can I have your names?”
Trixie felt her initial irritation growing. First the reporter had startled her, then she’d made fun of her for acting startled. Now she was acting as though nothing had happened. “What do you want our names for?” Trixie asked.
“So that I can print them in the paper under this picture. ‘Sleepyside’s young people turn out for annual parade,’ that sort of thing.” This time, Jane Dix-Strauss’s voice sounded slightly bored, as if covering a parade in a small town was not her idea of exciting journalism.
As the spot faded from Trixie’s eyes, she took a closer look at the reporter. Jane Dix-Strauss was small — not much taller than Trixie, and almost as slender as Honey. Her hair was dark and curly. She wore large-framed glasses, a spotless navy blue blazer with gold buttons, and a crisp tan cotton skirt. Everything about her looked intelligent, capable, and businesslike.
Self-consciously, Trixie’s hand went to the missing button on the front of her red B.W.G. jacket. Honey had made the jackets for all the Bob-Whites, and one of the club’s membership requirements was to keep them looking spotless. Somehow, Trixie never succeeded. I bet Jane Dix-Strauss always looks perfect, Trixie thought irritably.
“I’m Di-Diana Lynch,” said the young girl, who was almost as well dressed as Jane Dix-Strauss. “This is Mart Belden,” she continued, giving the name of her favorite fellow Bob-White next. “This is Mart’s brother Brian and that’s their sister, Trixie. Or should I say Beatrix?”
“It’s Trixie,” the teenager said firmly. Just because her picture was going in the paper was no reason to remind everyone in town of her hated real name.
“I’m Honey Wheeler, and this is my brother, Jim Frayne,” Trixie’s friend said.
“Thanks,” Jane Dix-Strauss said, putting a pencil and notepad back in the pocket of her blazer. “See you in the paper!”
“We re going to be in the paper!” Di exclaimed when the reporter had moved on. “I wonder how I looked when she took my picture.”
“I’m sure you were beautiful, as usual, Di,” Trixie said gloomily. “I’m bound to be the one with my mouth hanging open or my eyes halfclosed. Although,” she added, “my eyes must have been wide open this time, or that reporter couldn’t have half-blinded me with her stupid flash.”
“Now, Trixie,” Honey said calmingly. “I know the flash was startling, but that’s what makes a good newspaper picture — taking people by surprise.”
“Then this picture will be great,” Trixie said, refusing to be soothed even by her friend’s honey-sweet disposition. “I just hope it’s worth it to that reporter to be so rude.”
“Your perspicuity in matters arcane is matched only by your predilection for prejudice, Beatrix,” Mart said, adding extra sting to his remark by reminding Trixie again of the real name she’d been trying to forget since her first day of school.
“I’m not acting prejudiced about Jane Dix-Strauss,” Trixie protested. “Prejudice is when you dislike someone you’ve never met. I’ve met her.” ‘You do tend to jump to conclusions about people, though, Trix,” said Brian. “You jumped to the conclusion that Honey’s cousin, Ben Riker, was trying to sabotage the bikeathon, for example. Remember?”
Suddenly humbled, and blushing yet again, Trixie nodded.
Well, jumping to conclusions like that isn’t a good idea,” Brian said. “Keep an open mind about Jane Dix-Strauss, okay? She was just doing her job as a reporter. When you see the picture of us in the paper tomorrow, you’ll probably forget you were angry and start feeling grateful. I don’t think there’s another picture of all of us together. I hope we can get prints.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Honey said. “We can have a copy framed and hang it in our clubhouse.” Even Trixie had to brighten at that idea. The clubhouse was the pride and joy of every member of the Bob-Whites.