The Mystery of the Castaway Children

by Campbell, Julie

  “Is this Dodgy’s bottle?” the sergeant asked Eileen.

  “Oh, yes. At least, I have bottles like that left from Davy’s baby days. But I don’t recognize the label in the neck of that torn T-shirt. My husband doesn’t wear that brand. And, of course, I have no way of identifying the coins.”

  Even the sergeant had to admit that the girls had spent their morning profitably. “I’ll get these things to the lab right away. It just may be that Davy is still hanging around the woods.” He paused to look sternly at Trixie and Honey. “Just keep in mind that he may or may not be alone.” The kitchen phone rang persistently. Mart loped across the yard and porch to answer. He didn’t take time to return to the table with a message but instead shouted from the kitchen window, “Sergeant, it’s your Saw Mill River call!”

  Trixie debated about whether or not to follow the sergeant. Finally she told herself, “This is our case, too,” and beckoned to Honey. The two girls stood just inside the kitchen door.

  “Read it to me, Mr. Dodge,” the sergeant was saying. “Slowly.”

  Trixie watched him write while he repeated aloud, “ ‘Are your kids worth twenty thousand dollars? Then prove it.’ ” The sergeant prepared to continue writing, then looked startled. “That’s all?” he barked. “Well, sit tight and keep in touch with me. We have a few new clues here, but nothing definite yet. No, I think it’s safer if I don’t try to contact you till we know for sure what’s going on. Keep your chin up. By the way, your wife and baby are just fine. They send their love.”

  Again Trixie felt a little thrill of surprise at the sergeant’s real concern for the emotional welfare of the people he served. Always before, she’d regarded him as a hardheaded, grouchy cop.

  As the three made their way back to the picnic table, it seemed to Trixie that she saw Eileen’s shadow stretch a bit too far. For one instant, Trixie ha¿ the impression that a second shadow blended with Eileen’s. How else could Dodgy’s beautiful mother, slim to the point of leanness, cast a lumpy-looking shadow? Trixie shook her head till her curls bounced, shut her eyes, and looked again. Eileen’s shadow was long and lean again. I'm seeing things, she decided.

  Almost at once, she heard a kind of thump and slither. No one else seemed to notice, although the robins darted into the maple tree by the doghouse. She assumed that the burden of the Dodge case was affecting her senses. Stay alert, she warned herself.

  Sergeant Molinson spoke to Dr. Ferris in a low mutter. The doctor kept his eyes on Eileen while the sergeant told her about the second note, then he reached across the table to test her pulse.

  Eileen jerked her wrist away and made knots of her two hands. “I’m fine! It’s Davy we have to worry about!” She widened her large blue eyes at the sergeant. “Did you say twenty thou— Why, we’ll only have a few dollars left from our auction when we pay that! And we have so many bills!”

  Trixie noticed that Eileen did not say “if.” She said “when.” Of course her boys were worth twenty thousand dollars.

  Boys. Not boy.

  “Sergeant!” Trixie shouted. “That kidnapper’s a fake! He doesn’t know we have Dodgy, and he probably doesn’t even know where Davy is!”

  “You caught on to that, too, huh?” the sergeant snapped. “The note said ‘kids.’ I was on the verge of calling in the FBI, but now I see it won’t be necessary. What we have here is some two-bit, small-time swindler who’s trying to cash in on one family’s troubles!” His voice was full of contempt. Turning to Eileen, he asked, “You sure you don’t know anyone who would fit that description?”

  “Oh, no!” Eileen said fiercely.

  The sergeant thanked Mrs. Belden for lunch and got ready to leave. Miss Goodley and Dr. Ferris rose to follow him.

  “Honey and I will keep looking for Davy,” Trixie promised. “Just Davy.”

  “Just don’t go looking for the would-be kidnapper,” the sergeant stressed. “This wretch might find out that Dodgy’s back. No kids, no easy money. In that case, he might try to pull some kind of stunt.”

  “Oh, please be careful,” Eileen begged, turning from Trixie to Honey.

  “We’ll find him,” Trixie said stubbornly.

  As the three cars disappeared down the lane and Eileen and Mrs. Belden started clearing the table, Jim turned to Trixie and his sister. “You have the Bob-Whites to help you, you know.” Brian nodded vigorously. “Davy has to find food,” he said earnestly. “Maybe he’ll return to the places where he was able to find food during the past few days.” He winked soberly at his small brother. “Just like Bobby returns to the cookie jar until he finds it empty.”

  “What about checking out the nearby milk supplies to see where Dodgy was fed?” Honey urged. “Davy must have eaten, too.”

  “Let’s do that later,” suggested Trixie. “While it’s still light, I think we should all concentrate on finding the Shetland. We can cover a lot of territory in two or three hours and exercise the horses at the same time. When we find the pony, we may find the boy.”

  “I agree with Trixie,” said Jim. “I’ll go on ahead to the stables and start saddling the horses.” And he hurried away, walking to save time on the uphill bicycle path.

  “Where will we start?” objected Di. “I mean, I want to help, but it seems so hopeless.”

  Dan spoke up quietly. “We start in the clearing where Spartan grazes.” In response to everyone’s look of astonishment, he went on, “The other day, I noticed that the tools on Mr. May-penny’s workbench were out of order, so I’ve been keeping my eyes open for trespassers. Just before I came to lunch today, I found three horseshoes and a pile of nails by a stump in the clearing, plus Mr. Maypenny’s missing rasp.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” bellowed Mart as he jumped to his feet.

  “Shouldn’t we help your mother first?” Honey asked reluctantly.

  “Not at all,” called Eileen. “I'll take care of that. After all, it’s my son you’re hunting for.” As Trixie turned to leave, she noticed that Bobby was busily wrapping a sandwich in a paper napkin. “I’m helping, too,” he explained. “In case Davy’s hungry, I’m putting this sandwich on top of the doghouse.”

  “You know, he may have something there,” Brian said.

  Trixie thought so, too. Oh, if only she could be in two places at the same time! She knew she had to join the search party for the pony, though; there were few enough searchers as it was. Oh, well. Bobby would be so proud if his sandwich happened to lure Davy into the yard.

  Within an hour, the Bob-Whites and their horses were gathering at the clearing. As Di cantered in on Sunny, she said apprehensively, “Oh, I feel so sorry for Eileen. If anything like this ever happened to the twins, I’d just go insane with worry!”

  “Nothing like this could ever happen to your brothers and sisters,” Honey reassured her.

  When Dan showed them where he had found the shoes, Trixie commented, “This is quite a way from where I found the other shoe.”

  Dan shrugged. “A horse can wander pretty far while grazing. In the forest, it’s sometimes a long way between mouthfuls of tender grass. He’s probably a grain-fed animal, not much used to foraging for himself.”

  “Probably hungry, too,” Brian added. “Come on. Let’s start looking for Shetland tracks. If you find something, yell.”

  Soon after the riders scattered, everybody was yelling. Each yell was almost immediately followed by a groan. The pony had done a lot of wandering, but the tracks were next to impossible to follow in the forest duff.

  Trixie took time out to study the land that surrounded the clearing. The area sloped uphill in one direction and downhill in the other. Wouldn’t the pony have taken the easiest route and moved downward? After a fruitless few minutes, she decided there was something wrong with her thinking. Maybe a horse would stay on level ground as long as the grass held out. That theory should be easy to test.

  Trixie let Susie pick her own way, and sure enough, Susie took the course of least resistance. Gradually
the mare’s neat hooves scribed a wide arc that led to the grounds of Ten Acres. The ruins of the Frayne mansion had stood here in hollow neglect since the fire that had resulted in Jim’s inheritance of his great-uncle’s wealth and his adoption by the Wheelers. The barn had not burned, but it, too, had fallen into disrepair. With a growing excitement, Trixie rode through the weed-choked barnyard and on to the barn itself.

  Yes! There were visible prints near a sagging door, and those small hoof marks toed in!

  Positive that she had found the Shetland, Trixie guided Susie into the silent barn. She was just about to dismount, when to her horror, something swished past her head.

  A Goat Named Nancy ● 10

  AFTER A STARTLED INSTANT, Trixie realized that she’d disturbed a bat, which had moved past her into the dim heights of the loft. Once her heart had stopped pounding and her eyes had grown used to the darkness, she also realized that the bat was the only living thing housed in the barn. There was no pony and no small boy, although there was evidence that the Shetland had been there.

  Trixie spent a long time riding in and out among the trees and bushes surrounding the ruins. Finding nothing, but sure she was on the right track, she eventually headed back to the Manor House stables. Honey, Jim, Mart, and Brian were already there.

  “Di rode Sunny home, and Dan had to go back to work,” Brian told Trixie gloomily. “None of us found a thing.”

  “Trixie, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” Mart accused. “Or should I say the shamus that swallowed the Shetland?”

  Honey eyed her partner. “Trixie, you did find something.”

  Eyes shining, Trixie told about the tracks she had found at the bam. “I think Davy and Wicky use it as a hideaway. Maybe they go back there at night,” she finished.

  “Could be,” agreed Jim.

  “Well, there’s only one way to prove it,” Brian declared. “The thing to do is to explore the Frayne place after dark. If we do it tonight, we might not have to backtrack on checking out the milk supply.”

  “Have dinner with us so we can get an early start,” Honey urged.

  Trixie began an objection. “Oh, but I’m so hot and dusty.”

  “Okay, let me change that invitation,” Jim said. “How about a shower, then dinner?”

  “You’re out of luck, Jim,” Mart put in. “My sister has a proclivity toward thunderstorms, not showers, as a means of expunging dirt.”

  “Ah, now I remember,” teased Jim. “Rather primitive, I think, yet effective. I mean, she seldom looks as bad as she does now.”

  “Speak for yourself!” Trixie sputtered.

  “I think we all need showers,” Honey spoke up tactfully.

  The others laughingly agreed, and by the time they joined Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler and Miss Trask for dinner, the five were scrubbed till they shone. They were hungry, too.

  “Sheer luxury!” Trixie gloated. “No dishes to wash.”

  No discussion with Dad about auctions, either, she thought ruefully a second later. Maybe, just maybe, there would turn out to be no need for that talk.

  A beautiful sunset was beginning to spill across the sky by the time the young people finished their strawberry tortes and dashed outside to the Bob-White station wagon. Jim guided the big car through the tall dry weeds around Ten Acres without mishap. A thorough search of the grounds on foot made it clear that the abandoned property hid neither Davy nor a pigeon-toed pony.

  “Nothing like getting tangled up in cobwebs right after a shower,” Jim grumbled good-naturedly as they returned to the station wagon.

  “Well, that’s an hour wasted,” sighed Brian.

  “The clock upbraids me with the evanescence of hours,” Mart intoned.

  “Oh, Mart, cut the gibberish,” Trixie pleaded. “We’ve got to figure out where Dodgy would have got his milk.”

  “I know,” Mart said soberly. “I’m just trying not to have a nervous breakdown in the meantime. What about Lytell’s store? Seems like a logical place to start.”

  “Davy could have bought some with the money from the piggy banks,” Honey agreed.

  Jim suggested stopping in at the houses between Ten Acres and the store, but at none of them had anybody been asked to fill a baby’s milk bottle.

  Mr. Lytell was the neighborhood gossip. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his pale eyes brightened with curiosity at Trixie’s query about a small boy buying milk. “Would that have something to do with that baby up at your house?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” Trixie answered noncommittally.

  The storekeeper shrugged. “Can’t say. A lot of people buy milk here.”

  Trying not to become discouraged, Trixie returned to the car and recommended checking at Glen Road Inn next. There they found Ella Kline enjoying the evening coolness on the lawn, her wheelchair parked near a hedge of lilac bushes. She waved and called to them. After greetings were exchanged, the pretty seamstress reached for Trixie’s hand. “I’ve been meaning to call you—I found out about that fly sheet.”

  Mart smote his brow. “Don’t tell me they’re letting rooms to horses!”

  Ella twinkled at Mart. “Only on the first floor. Horses aren’t allowed on the stairs.”

  “Flies are allowed anywhere?” Jim teased. Trixie leaned toward Ella. “What about the fly sheet?”

  Ella pointed. “See a kind of hidden place in those shrubs by the gate? Pete told me he found the fly sheet there, folded up neatly.”

  Trixie ambled over to the gate and noticed that the lawn hadn’t been mowed right up to the shrubs and trees. An object could remain hidden there for quite a while. Even though the inn was a former manor house, it had seen better days and had known better care. Trixie dropped to her knees to paw through the branches and tall grass.

  Jim hurried to join her. “Here, let me do that. You’ll get bitten by spiders.”

  “Since when are you immune to spiders?” Trixie retorted.

  “I’m not, but the stick I poke with is,” Jim said.

  While the others chatted with Ella, Jim and Trixie went over the ground near the gate thoroughly. At last Trixie sat back on her heels, ready to admit defeat. That was when she saw something dangling in a forsythia bush a few yards away. It turned out to be a scrap of blue yarn.

  “I’ll be darned,” Jim said. “It’s a... what-you-call-it...”

  “A bootee!” Trixie said with a quiver of excitement. As if she’d needed it, this was more solid proof that Dodgy and the horse were connected. But where was the third member of this triangle? She and Jim searched further, but there were no more clues to be found.

  When they returned to the group on the lawn, they learned that Brian had talked to the cook. No one had asked to have a bottle filled, but several days ago, a boy had paid for one glass of milk and carried it to the courtyard to drink.

  “Davy,” Trixie breathed.

  “He must have poured the milk into Dodgy’s bottle,” Honey agreed.

  Trixie and Honey took one last look around the forsythia bush before the Bob-Whites said good night to Ella.

  “Where to now?” Jim asked when they were back in the station wagon.

  Trixie was too deep in frustrated thought to reply, so Jim swung the car onto Old Telegraph Road. “We could try some of the houses this way,” he decided.

  With the lowering of the sun, a glow had spread over the land. Trixie tilted her face to the breeze coming in through the window. Suddenly she pointed and exclaimed, “There!”

  “Huh?” Jim asked.

  “Tar!” Trixie shrieked.

  “An odorous, bituminous, viscous liquid, according to Webster,” Mart began calmly. Then he, too, waved his arms and yelled, “Turn around!”

  “Brian, does being nuts run in your family?” Jim demanded.

  “We found some tar on Dodgy’s foot,” Brian reminded him.

  “Well, give me some warning this time,” Jim said as he pulled to the side of the road.

  “You’ll be able to smell it
,” Trixie said.

  Jim had to retrace only a few hundred yards before Trixie shouted, “Stop!”

  Facing the protected forest of the Wheeler game preserve stood an old Dutch barn, which was apparently being remodeled. Jim peered through the dusk to see that the contractor’s sign included the name of a well-known Hudson River artist. “Wow, what a studio!” he exclaimed.

  Trixie wasn’t looking at the carefully placed windows. She was looking at a tethered goat. “Milk!” she squealed.

  “Shall we explore?” prompted Brian.

  They found the usual construction clutter: stacks of lumber, a temporary tool shed that was locked, empty nail kegs, sawhorses, and several empty tar buckets. Jim whistled while they completed a quick tour of the ancient farm lot. “Wow,” he said again. “When I have my school, I hope I can find a solid old barn like this to fix up for a craft building.” Jim was planning to use his inheritance to build a camplike school for underprivileged children.

  Mart, like Trixie, was more interested in the goat than in the barn. “They’re using the goat to get rid of the brush that’s grown up around the lot,” he commented.

  The group heard a noise behind them and turned to find a tall boy, wearing shorts and sneakers, biking onto the lot. He dropped one foot to the ground and looked them over, obviously curious. Because he wore no shirt, Trixie guessed he lived nearby. She introduced herself and added anxiously, “We re on the trail of a Shetland that might have been here several days ago.”

  “Black? Very small?” the boy asked.

  Trixie gulped. “When did you see him?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Last Monday or Tuesday—I’m not sure which —I found the pony playing tag with Nancy.” He nodded toward the goat. Hearing her name, Nancy stopped munching alfalfa and stepped forward daintily. The boy scratched her velvety ears while he talked.

  “The pony got his foot caught in a coil of heavy chain. I was trying to free him when a kid came rushing across the road to help me. He was awfully nervous about something. A couple of times, he ran back into the woods over there.” The teen-ager waved toward the trees of the game preserve. “He looked hungry, so I asked him if he’d like a cup of goat milk. He didn’t drink all of it. He asked if he could bring the cup back later. I told him sure, and if he wanted more, just to help himself.”