The Red Trailer Mystery

by Julie Campbell

  “I’m afraid you’re out of gas,” Trixie said. “So we really didn’t rescue you after all. The motor itself would have saved your life in the end.”

  Mr. Currier sighed. “I’m terribly confused, and the ringing sensation in my ears isn’t making matters any better. Perhaps you’d better begin at the beginning.”

  “Surely you have heard about the trailer thefts,” Trixie began.

  “Why, yes.” Mr. Currier nodded. “We’ve been warning our customers not to leave the main highways—” He stopped and clasped his forehead in his hands. “Oh, I see it now. I walked right into a trap. That hitchhiker was one of the gang!” He glanced behind him and saw for the first time that his trailer was gone. “But this is dreadful! They’ve taken Mr. Whitsun’s trailer. He paid us eight thousand dollars for it, and it was completely equipped; even had a television set.”

  “Don’t worry,” Trixie interrupted hastily. “The troopers have found it already and captured the gang.”

  An expression of relief mixed with disbelief spread over Mr. Currier’s pale face. “How do you know all this?”

  “There were two men,” Trixie explained. “They got jobs at Autoville with forged references. They stripped the stolen trailers of valuable equipment and hid it in an old barn not far from here. We were hiding in the barn when the troopers arrested the men about half an hour ago.”

  “Not so fast,” Mr. Currier begged with a bewildered grin. “How do you know Mr. Whitsun’s custom-built coach is safe? That’s what worries me.”

  “Because,” Honey put in, “a friend of ours let the air out of a tire on the thieves’ van. It’s still attached to your trailer and stuck in the woods near here. Unless the troopers have taken it away by now. After our friend fixed the van so it would have a flat, he notified the police where to look for it.”

  “Well, your friend is also my friend and deserves a fat reward which, I assure you, my firm will be very glad to give him.” Mr. Currier started to get out of the car. “But right now I’d better give Mr. Whitsun an explanation of what happened. Is it a very long hike from here back to the trailer camp?”

  “Only a stone’s throw,” Trixie told him. “And you can get gas there too, or send somebody from the garage for your car.”

  “I’ll do that,” Mr. Currier said with a smile. “I hope I see you two again so I can thank you properly.” He waved and hurried down the road toward the main highway.

  They watched him until he disappeared from sight. “I wouldn’t be in Al’s shoes,” Trixie said, “when Mr. Currier tells the police how he shut him up in this car with the motor running.”

  “Neither would I,” Honey agreed. “I guess both Al and Jeff will get long prison sentences.”

  “And it serves them right,” Trixie said. “What worries me is that they’ll tell the troopers about Jim and start them looking for him so he can be a witness. We’ve just got to find him right away.”

  “Oh, I don’t think either Al or Jeff is going to talk about Jim,” Honey objected. “Why should they? It’ll only make matters worse for them if the troopers produce a witness who heard them planning to steal Mr. Currier’s trailer.”

  Trixie shook her head. “Those troopers are dying to know who tipped them off. They’ll make Al and Jeff talk eventually. Don’t you see, even though they did catch those men in the barn it won’t be easy to prove that they are the trailer thieves without Jim’s testimony.”

  “What about Mr. Currier?” Honey demanded. “He can identify Al as the hitchhiker he picked up.”

  “I doubt it,” Trixie argued. “Al must have worn some sort of disguise. Otherwise, Mr. Currier might have recognized him later when he was on duty at the trailer camp. He knew Mr. Currier was going to deliver the trailer to Mr. Whitsun at Autoville.” She stopped and gave Honey a look of frank admiration. “You know, Honey, you’re awfully smart. You figured out that when people stopped being careless with their trailers, the crooks would start hijacking. And that’s just what they did.”

  Honey giggled. “I never thought they’d have the nerve to do it in broad daylight with the roads filled with troopers, and such a short distance from Autoville.”

  “They did have a lot of nerve,” Trixie agreed, “and they would have got away with it, if it hadn’t been for Jim. Oh, I wish he’d just loosened that tire valve and let it go at that. I’m sure the troopers will start combing the woods for him tomorrow, and if he gets the least bit suspicious that they’re on his trail, he’ll disappear for good.”

  They had strolled along the road until they reached a spot where the underbrush was less dense than it was near the highway. “Let’s cut through here.” Trixie led the way through the wet vines, still worrying. “Jim is so honest he can’t bear anything underhanded. I suppose he had to risk setting the troopers on his own tracks to make sure those crooks didn’t get away.”

  “That’s what I thought all along.” Honey sighed. “And now I’m scared to death he may have already left this part of the state for good.”

  As they picked their way along, the thicket thinned out and became quite a respectable path. “Looks as though someone has been dragging something heavy through here,” Honey said thoughtfully. “Whatever it was has laid the underbrush almost flat.”

  “How about a bike?” Trixie said over her shoulder. “Jim’s smart. He’d be careful not to leave any signs close to the road, but this far away he’d feel it was safe to make a path to his hide-out.”

  “Oh, oh,” Honey interrupted with an excited scream. “Look down there where the woods are thick. There’s something stuck to a branch of one of those white birches. Something blue!”

  Almost tumbling over each other in their haste, the girls raced downhill. And sure enough, caught on a twig not three yards from where they had seen blue-jean clad legs disappear into the woods on Sunday, was a dilapidated bit of frayed blue sateen. Faded and water-soaked as it was, both girls recognized it at once.

  “Joeanne!” they cried in unison. “It’s one of her hair ribbons.”

  “Then,” Trixie finished breathlessly, “it was she we saw, not Jim. I’m almost disappointed.”

  “Well, I’m not,” kindhearted Honey exploded. “I’ve worried myself sick over Joeanne. She’s nothing but a little girl, and after all, Jim’s perfectly able to take care of himself wherever he goes.”

  Trixie looked embarrassed. “I know,” she said shamefacedly, “and I’ve worried about Joeanne too. But I did so hope we’d find Jim’s hideaway before it was too late.”

  “Maybe we will,” Honey said cheerfully. “The bicycle tracks ended near here. We have no reason to think Joeanne has a bike, but we know Jim has one.”

  “Come on,” Trixie yelled, starting up the hill again. “Let’s follow that little path and see where it leads.”

  It was hard work walking up the slippery, sloping ground, and they almost missed the path. And they might have missed it if Trixie’s sharp eyes hadn’t suddenly seen in the mud between the trodden-down vines and thick grass, distinct marks of bicycle tire treads.

  “Now we really are on Jim’s trail at last,” she gasped, hurrying ahead of Honey.

  The trail went on through the underbrush and into the woods where a heavy carpet of old pine needles hid all traces of bicycle tires.

  At that moment Reddy and Bud, their coats muddy and matted with burrs, joined them.

  “You tramps!” Trixie scolded. “They’ve gone completely wild in the last few days, Honey. We really shouldn’t let them roam the countryside like this. They’re sure to get into trouble sooner or later.”

  After joyful greetings, the dogs trotted off through the trees and then waited, as though they wanted the girls to follow them.

  “Maybe they’ve discovered something,” Honey suggested.

  “We might as well go that way as any other,” Trixie agreed.

  They trudged along the pine needle carpet under the thick canopy of evergreens and suddenly came out upon a clearing.

&nb
sp; “We’ve found it!” Trixie shouted at the top of her lungs. “It’s Jim’s camp.”

  There could be no doubt that somebody had been, or still was, camping out on the spot, for a crude canvas tent had been stretched between two trees on the edge of the clearing. Nearby were the ashes of a small fire between two upright forked sticks.

  “That’s just like the outdoor spit Jim built up at the mansion,” Honey said. “He ran a pointed stick through a piece of meat then hung it over the fire between two forked sticks and kept turning it until it was done.”

  “I’ll bet he built that tent too,” Trixie cried. “It’s even got a mosquito net. Let’s peek inside.”

  They started across the clearing and then stopped as they both saw something that had obviously been ground into the mud and had been washed to the surface by the recent heavy rain. It was another faded blue hair ribbon.

  Trixie stared at Honey as she handed her the stained bit of frayed sateen. “Joeanne again! But she couldn’t have put up that tent. It took a strong boy to handle that heavy canvas. Only Jim could have done it all by himself.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t alone,” Honey put in quietly.

  Trixie gasped. “Oh, my goodness. That’s the answer, of course. He and Joeanne have met each other!”

  “That’s what I think,” Honey said. “And it’s like Jim to have let her live in this nice tent while he looked for some other shelter. I’ll bet that’s how he happened to find the old barn.”

  “He caught a glimpse of it from that mound where I saw something metal shining in the sunlight,” Trixie went on excitedly. “That little hill can’t be far away from here.”

  “Let’s try to figure out what happened,” Honey said. “We can only guess, of course, but this is what probably happened. It was Joeanne we saw Sunday on our way back from Pine Hollow. Shortly after that she met Jim or discovered him here in this camp. He gave her a nice supper and let her spend the night in his tent while he moved to the old barn.”

  “And that was the very night,” Trixie added, “that the trailer thieves changed their hideaway. Jim heard them coming and hid in the loft and watched them unload the van.”

  “He probably suspected something dishonest was going on,” Honey continued, “but couldn’t be sure. So he stayed there again last night and heard them planning to hijack Mr. Currier’s trailer.”

  “We know the rest of it,” Trixie finished, “except where he and Joeanne are now. Let’s see if there are any clues inside the tent.”

  They unhooked the mosquito-netting flap and ducked under it. An army blanket was folded at the foot of a bed of neatly arranged balsam boughs in one corner and in the other were stacks of canned goods—tomato juice, evaporated milk, corn beef hash, soups, and other groceries. On top of the cans was a complete Boy Scout kit of cooking utensils.

  “Jim bought all this stuff a little at a time,” Honey said, “at different towns on his way up the river. He may even have bought a secondhand bike in Sleepyside when he left early Thursday morning.”

  “Do you think he’s gone away and left it all for Joeanne?” Trixie asked thoughtfully.

  “Somehow, I don’t think so,” Honey replied. “Joeanne is the one who mystifies me. Why did she run away and then turn around and follow her family upstate?”

  Trixie shook her head. “That whole red trailer family baffles me. I wish I could remember where I’d seen the Robin before—if I really did.”

  At that moment Bud wriggled under the mosquito netting. Before Honey could stop him, he had playfully seized one corner of the army blanket in his mouth and dragged it half off the bed.

  “Drop it, Bud, you bad puppy,” Honey commanded, patting his muzzle as she slipped the blanket from between his sharp little teeth. “Honestly, you’re the worst pest—”

  “Honey,” Trixie interrupted. “Look under the boughs at the foot of the bed. Jim’s cup and Bible and—oh, I can’t bear it! Two long black pigtails.”

  Honey giggled nervously. “Joeanne has had a haircut too. But why?”

  “I think I can guess,” Trixie said. “After she lost her ribbons she had an awful time keeping her hair neat. Especially in the woods where it would keep getting tangled in the brambles and bushes. Even if Jim bought her a comb, long hair would be an awful nuisance.”

  “It certainly is,” Honey agreed, shaking back her shoulder-length bob. “I wish mine was as short as yours.”

  Trixie grinned and snatched up a sharp knife from the cooking kit. “Just stand still, madam, and I’ll hack it off for you.”

  “Not you.” Honey laughed. “When I get around to it, I’ll ask Mrs. Smith for a crew cut.”

  Trixie sobered. “It’s getting late. Let’s look for that mound. If we go uphill through the woods behind the tent we should come right out on top of it.”

  “I don’t trust your sense of direction for one minute.” Honey smiled. “But let’s go. I hear the sound of a brook. That must be the one the dogs went swimming in on Sunday, remember? If we follow it we are bound to get somewhere.”

  They walked around to the back of the tent and then they saw the stream. “Let’s not follow it,” Trixie objected. “It runs down in that gully. Let’s walk uphill. I won’t be happy until I find out what was gleaming in the sunlight this morning.”

  With the dogs racing ahead of them they trudged along, and as they climbed, the trees thinned out until they realized they were halfway up a shrubby hill.

  “For once I was right,” Trixie panted. “Don’t ever make fun of my sense of direction again.”

  “I’ll believe you when we find a piece of shiny metal,” Honey retorted with a laugh.

  Trixie ignored her. “As the crow flies we are less than half a mile from the Smith farmhouse. We should be able to see it from the top.”

  “And that,” Honey finished, “is the answer to your mystery of the mound. Do you see what I see dangling from the branch of that little tree just ahead of us?”

  Trixie looked up and groaned. “Jimmy Crow again! Bicycle handlebars indeed! After this long climb all we find is another one of his treasures. A small, battered chrome towel rack.” She turned around in disgust. “He can keep it for all I care. Let’s go home before Miss Trask gets cross and worried.”

  Chapter 15

  A Moonlight Search

  The Autoville cafeteria that evening was humming with excitement. Everyone was talking about the capture of the trailer thieves, and the manager who had spent most of the day being questioned by the police, looked nervous.

  “I never liked that Jeff,” he told Miss Trask when she invited him to sit at their table and have a cup of coffee. “But he came to me highly recommended by an old friend I haven’t seen in years. It never occurred to me to check either one of those men’s references. The forged signatures were very convincing.”

  A man and woman were talking excitedly at the next table, and Trixie recognized them as the middle-aged couple Jeff had been listening to Sunday evening.

  “I’m certainly glad you took my advice,” the woman said with smug satisfaction. “If we’d gone off in the trailer yesterday, we might have been hijacked too.”

  The man nodded. “I had a feeling that waiter was listening to our plans when we were marking our route on the map at dinner Sunday.” He shrugged. “I thought he was just one of those snoopy people who can’t resist eavesdropping.”

  They left the dining-room then, and Trixie concentrated on what the manager was saying.

  “I’d like to know who tipped the troopers off,” he told Miss Trask. “I’d give the man a fat reward. I can’t imagine why he had to be so mysterious about it all.”

  “Do they know it was a man?” Honey asked cautiously, and Trixie kicked her sharply under the table.

  “Oh, yes,” the manager said. “Those crooks made up a tall yarn about a redheaded boy who they claim was hiding in the Smiths’ barn. Insisted he loosened the valve core on the van’s tire and hid their jack. But the sergeant who received
the telephone call said there could be no doubt that it was a man’s voice. Quite a deep one, although it was obvious, he said, that the man was very nervous. At first, you know, they decided it was a fake tip-off made by someone with a warped sense of humor. They run into a lot of false clues, I guess. They almost ignored that call, and I can’t say that I blame them. Why did the man hang up when they asked him for his name and address?”

  “Did they trace the call?” Miss Trask asked.

  The manager nodded. “Not until after they had arrested Jeff and Al. It was made from a public phone booth in a gas station up the road a way. By the time the troopers checked it nobody could remember who had used the booth. Several cars had stopped there since noon, and neighboring farmers who haven’t phones of their own often use that public booth.”

  Honey, ignoring Trixie’s warning kick, asked in an elaborately casual voice, “Are the troopers looking for a redheaded boy? Some boys do have deep voices, you know.”

  Miss Trask, guessing that Honey hoped they would find some clue to Jim’s whereabouts, glanced at her sharply.

  The manager laughed. “Oh, no, the gas station attendants would have noticed a boy with red hair if he had used the booth. That was obviously a tall tale Al cooked up for some reason.”

  “Maybe Al himself made that call,” Trixie put in. “He’s the smart one of the two, isn’t he? He must have realized even before the van got a flat tire that they didn’t have a chance in the world of getting out of the state with the loot. He may have planned to frame Jeff but didn’t get away in time.”

  The manager pushed back his chair and stood up. “One of the troopers seems to be thinking along those lines,” he admitted. “But I can’t see it myself. No, somebody who doesn’t want his identity known notified the police. We probably never will find out who it was.” He smiled and strode across the cafeteria to his office in the back.