“It is confusing, isn’t it?” Trixie agreed. Her logical mind began working on the problem. “Juliana went to college in New York. I’m sure she knows lots of people. There are her special friends, the De Jongs, on vacation in the Poconos. Any number of people could have told Miss Ryks where to find Juliana. Her close friends know about her engagement to Hans.
By this time, they’re getting their wedding invitations. Word must be getting around.”
Jim nodded. “I suppose it’s even possible that Miss Ryles knows some other Hans Vorwald.”
“Who’s engaged to some other Juliana Maasden?” Trixie teased. “Since Vorwald and Maasden are such very ordinary names, that has to be the answer!”
Jim forced a smile. He picked up and set down his mug several times, making a pattern of wet rings.
“Is there something you’re not telling me, Jim?” Trixie asked.
“No. It’s only that Hans would just as soon forget that phone call, but it was such a strange call that he can't.”
“And neither can you,” Trixie sighed. The chill she felt was not caused by drinking frosted root beer.
A small sporting goods store stood across the street from Wimpy’s. In muggy, end-of-July weather, the shop didn’t do much business. That was the first reason that Trixie noticed a man stop to look at its one display window. The second reason was that she was sure she had seen that same man, just a few hours earlier, pushing an empty wheelchair down Glen Road.
She became so absorbed in watching him that she walked over to a window to get a better view. Jim followed. He studied the whole block. “What in blazes do you see out there, Trixie?”
“Let’s go look at that display window.”
For the first time since they had talked about Hans’s strange phone call, Jim Frayne laughed. “It takes a mind reader to keep up with you, Trixie.” He paid for their root beers and followed her out the door.
It was like stepping from an icebox into an oven, but Trixie ignored the heat and marched across the street. When she reached the store window, she gazed inside a moment, then muttered, “Nuts!”
“Well, what did you expect? Cannonballs?”
Inside the shop, the tall young man bent over a showcase. He pointed at a gun so small that it looked as harmless as a toy. Jim whistled. “Wow! That’s a wicked one. With a little work, its trigger can be set to go off if you blow on it. Now, why do you suppose he wants that?”
“He doesn’t,” Trixie answered. “He’s buying rope.” As she started to turn from the window, the man glanced up. For a long moment he stared, then bowed. Trixie nodded in return.
In surprise Jim asked, “Do you know him?”
“Do you?” Trixie countered. “He’s looking at you, too.” She caught sight of Honey, already inside Wimpy’s and waving for their attention. “Come on. We’re being paged.”
Following her, Jim said, “You never did answer my question, Trixie.”
“About that man? He’s the one Hallie and I saw pushing that wheelchair. He must have collected the reward money, and it’s binning a hole in his pocket.” Trixie and Jim had stood in the sun long enough to get thirsty again. They reordered root beers and
joined in the talk about everything and nothing. Trixie sketched the latest news about the wheelchair. Suddenly Hallie said, “I saw a truck go by.”
“How about that? Don’t they have trucks in Idaho?” Jim teased. “Now, let me tell you about trucks. They’re vehicles, four-wheeled, used for—”
Hallie ignored Jim. “This was a truck belonging to the Teed Moving Service—the same moving service that lost the wheelchair.”
“Where?” Trixie tried to scan the street from her place in the middle of the group.
Hallie jerked a thumb toward the parking lot. “In the alley.”
“I never noticed a warehouse there,” Trixie said. Jim asked, “Why should you? What have you wanted to have hauled that wouldn’t go in the station wagon?” He shrugged. “I suppose you want to go over there.”
“Why not?” Trixie demanded. “We can just kind of...She gestured with both hands, palms up, as if she weighed invisible objects.
Honey giggled. “All right. Let’s go, ‘kind of.’ ” While shopping bags were stored in the station wagon, Jim suggested that it might look odd if the whole group inquired about one wheelchair. He told Trixie, “We’ll wait for you.”
Trixie pulled Honey across the parking lot on the run while Hallie loped two steps behind.
Teed Moving Service occupied a warehouse on an alley behind Wimpy’s. When the three girls entered, they found no one behind the high counter that blocked off an office area. A desk sign read, HATTIE ROE. Two men, wearing visored caps with badges, leaned elbows on the counter. One of them said, “Hattie’s out back somewhere for a few minutes,” then turned back to resume his conversation.
“The darnedest thing happened on my run yesterday. I was supposed to deliver this wheelchair to a cripple, see, out near where all them rich guys live— Wheelers, Lynches, Beldens—and—”
Trixie sputtered. This was the first time she had ever heard her family called rich. For an instant, she worried about the ethics of eavesdropping. But, she argued with herself, how can I be eavesdropping when they’re looking right at me while they talk? They had to be talking about that intriguing wheel-chair! But—who was crippled?
“Well, here’s what happened, see. Hattie musta wrote down a wrong number. I told her I never heard of no such place out there, and I was right, ’cause when I found that address it belonged to a burnt-out shell of a house with weeds growing through the bricks.”
Honey whispered, “Jim’s uncle’s house.” Trixie nodded. The Frayne house had burned.
“Just in case they’d built a house back in the woods someplace, I got out and scouted around, see, but there wasn’t no house, just like I told Hattie. All I could do was get back in the pickup with this guy I’d given a lift. He was sittin’ there waitin’ for me.”
“That’s a violation,” the second driver reminded the storyteller.
“Sure, but I figured old man Teed wouldn’t never find out. I chalked it up to a public service.
“Well, I let this guy off down the road, and I turned off on a side road to finish my deliveries, see. When I got back here to report in, I didn’t have no wheelchair, and I didn’t have no signed, sealed, and delivered slip neither. Now, what d’ya make of that?”
“Tough luck,” the second man muttered. “Trouble?”
“Well—I dunno. Not yet. Teed, he put an ad in the Sun and I’m waitin’ to ask Hattie if that chair got turned in. She takes all the phone calls. She oughta know. Wish me luck. Here she comes.”
Silently both the drivers and the girls watched Hattie Roe, the desk clerk, return to her post. She told the drivers, “I’ll talk to you in a minute.” She asked the girls, “May I help you?”
“It’s about the wheelchair,” Hallie said, leaving Trixie with her mouth open, her question unasked.
Hattie tapped the eraser of her pencil against the counter. “Are you the folks who ordered that chair from White Plains Hospital Supply? There seems to have been a mix-up. If you’ll give me the right address, I’ll see that the matter is taken care of.”
“No,” Hallie explained, “we didn’t order it. We noticed your ad in the paper, and we just want to report that we saw the chair.”
By this time, Trixie was sizzling. Here stood the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency in person—both persons!—without a chance to get a word in edgewise. Who did Hallie Belden think she was?
“On Glen Road,” Trixie put in sharply.
Hattie glanced at Trixie, but she spoke to Hallie. “Thank you for your interest. That chair was returned.” She nodded toward the drivers.
The man in trouble mopped his brow and said, “Looks like I’m off the hook.” Both drivers walked through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY.
Feeling both let down and angry, Trixie headed for the station wagon. The faster she
walked, the angrier she became. At her heels and breathing down her neck came Hallie. Behind Hallie, Honey made placating noises meant to calm both cousins.
When they reached the car, Hallie made a flat statement. “That was sure a wild-goose chase. Ever since I came, I’ve heard nothing but wheelchair, wheelchair. Now we can forget about it. If that man’s a criminal, he’s got holes in his head. All his secrets are spread out in plain sight.”
Several times during this speech, Trixie tried to break in. Finally she exclaimed loudly, “Hallie Belden! You were the one who saw the truck!”
Hallie shrugged. “So I saw a pickup.”
“And who asked all the questions? You did!”
Hallie grinned. “So I’ve got a big mouth.”
With her temper bouncing like com in a popper and no Brian present to cool her down, Trixie yelled, “If you had sense enough to keep track of your own belongings, nobody would have seen a wheelchair!
I suppose it’s going to be like this all the rest of the summer. Whenever I turn around, there you are, causing me trouble!”
In case Hallie wasn’t hearing well, Trixie shouted. “If you didn’t think there was something fishy about this wheelchair business, why did you horn in?” Abruptly Trixie became aware of silence and watchful eyes. Jim was the only one not staring. He was fumbling with his ignition key. While Trixie gulped down her temper, Jim walked around the hood of the wagon and held open the door. He didn’t look at Trixie.
Trixie didn’t move. In one of her rare outbursts, Honey cried, “For goodness’ sake, we all have work to do. Let’s go home and do it!”
Feeling guilty and foolish, Trixie joined Di and Hallie in the backseat. Already frightened by the robbery and hurt by the missing invitation, Di was very upset by Trixie’s display. She asked the others’ opinions about this and that, and nothing she said made much sense. Trixie didn’t talk, even when Hans tried to be polite to her.
When Jim drove up the farm lane, Trixie couldn’t scramble out of the car fast enough. Nervously she told the others, “Don’t be late for dinner. H-Hallie and I are cooking tonight, aren’t we, Hallie?”
“Sure,” Hallie agreed, sealing a hasty truce.
Scooped • 6
BEFORE THEY ENTERED the house, Trixie and Hallie shook hands. Each muttered, “I’m sorry,” then went straight to the kitchen and set to work.
In less than five minutes, however, Trixie exclaimed, “I still feel like hitting something!”
“How about a tennis ball?” Hallie asked, half joking.
Trixie was struck by sudden inspiration. “We don't have a court, just the net in the backyard. Are you game to bike to the country club for a real set?” Hallie shrugged. “Okay. How far is it?”
“It’s downhill coming home,” Trixie hedged. Luckily they didn’t have to pedal far. Before they reached Mr. Lytell’s store, they heard a car behind them. Di’s father slowed his Cadillac to shout, “Going my way?”
“Country club?” Trixie shouted back.
“Righto. Hop in. I’ll put your bikes in the trunk.” As soon as they were seated, he launched into a recital about the news item in the Sun. He ended by saying, “There’s the darnedest development for the club directors to handle, too. That stand-up comic at the club has quit.”
“Mart thought he might,” Trixie said slowly. “Smart boy, Mart. If he could pack ’em in like that fellow Tolliver, we’d hire him!”
“Did the police find out who wrote that note in the fireplace?” Hallie asked.
“Nobody at our house, or else our own telephone notepaper would have been used. It matches the decor, you know.”
Trixie grinned. “Royal blue and gold.”
“My wife’s a nut about having things match,” Mr. Lynch said. “Even children!” He roared at his own joke about the two sets of twins at his house.
Before going to the tennis courts, Trixie stopped at the nearest club telephone and looked at the note pad to see for herself that Mr. Lynch was right. The note in the fireplace did match this paper.
Trixie found that she had to work when she faced Hallie across the net. The younger girl had strong legs and a smashing serve. They had long since forgotten their argument when Mr. Lynch plopped down on a spectators’ bench. “Thought you two might like a ride home.”
By the time the Belden family was under one roof again, the girls were working together, if not happily, at least calmly.
Dinner that second night of Hallie’s visit was a gathering of the Bob-Whites, Hans, and Juliana. Even Dan Mangan was there. Not usually vain about his appearance, Dan had trimmed the sideburns of his long dark hair for this occasion. Instead of the “tough guy” black clothing he used to wear, he was neatly dressed in faded jeans and a denim jacket. Trixie thought he looked nice and told him so. He grinned and went in search of Hallie.
When the table was cleared for dessert, Hans excused himself. From the Belden refrigerator, he brought a corsage of tiny white rosebuds. When he sat at the table again, he gave the flowers to Honey and said, “Pass it on.”
As each person looked at the corsage, Trixie heard whispers: “Oh, my!”
“Lovely.”
“Perfect!”
Unable to control her curiosity another minute, Trixie asked, “What’s so special about roses?” When it was her turn to receive the flowers, she saw what was so special. Fastened with a wisp of white ribbon, Juliana’s engagement ring circled one tiny rosebud.
“Oh-h,” Trixie breathed. From the land where diamond cutting was a fine art had come this old, old ring—a cluster of perfect diamonds set in the center of a delicate golden tulip. When the corsage reached
Juliana, Hans took it from her hand. He untied the ribbon and placed the ring on Juliana’s finger.
“That ring’s too big,” Bobby piped.
Hans smiled. “We’ll have it altered to fit, Bobby.” Wisely Bobby advised, “You can put it in hot water and shrink it. That’s what Trixie did to my sweater.”
“That’s our Trixie!” Mart hooted.
Dan explained, “You don’t shrink gold, Bobby. You melt it.”
“Trixie’s hot water could prob’ly do that, too,” Bobby asserted.
Dan sat directly opposite Juliana. He reached across the table and lifted her hand, tilting the ring till the diamonds shimmered. His black eyes were unreadable when he told her, “Take very good care of this ring, Juliana.” Finding himself the center of attention, he laughed nervously. “Hey! I never touched a real engagement ring before. It’s kind of special, don’t you agree?”
“I agree,” Juliana said softly. “It’s very special.” Remembering the lost, injured, and lonely girl who had come from the hospital to Crabapple Farm, Trixie’s eyes dampened. How sad it would have been if she had never remembered who she was. How sad for Hans Vorwald across the sea in Amsterdam, and how sad for nameless “Janie.” Yet here were the two of them, gloriously happy because the Bob-Whites had solved the mystery that turned “Janie” into Juliana again.
It mattered that Trixie and Honey made use of the talent they had to help people with their problems. But for them, Jim Frayne might still be a hungry runaway. Yet here he sat, Honey’s brother by adoption, with a fortune in trust for wise use when he was grown. And Dan might have landed in prison. Instead, he had found work and friends. Di had been letting her family’s changing fortunes make her miserable and lonely. Now she was a well-loved friend, though troubled temporarily. At one time or another, each member of the Bob-Whites had faced loneliness or danger, yet here they all were, sharing this happy moment with Hans and Juliana.
Trixie had been thinking, It matters... and suddenly this became, I matter. Then she knew why she had flared at Hallie earlier that day. She had felt pushed aside.
Across the table, seated next to Dan, Honey sat with her face softly framed by long honey-blond hair. She looked up and smiled. Trixie wanted to tell Honey how lucky she felt to have her for a friend and how important it was to pursue a life’s drea
m, but all she could do at the moment was to smile back.
With the Bob-Whites helping, dishes and utensils were soon cleaned and stored away. One would never have guessed that a few of the workers were used to maid service.
With the day’s work done, the Beldens and their friends gathered on the wide porch to relax in the cool downdraft from the glen. At first they all chattered about the weather, the raspberries, and the Lynch robbery. Gradually voices became silent, and Peter Belden picked up the ukulele he had kept from his own young years. While he accompanied the others, they sang the old sweet songs that fitted the mood of the evening.
Once Hans said, “I thought American music was different. More—” He chopped the air with one hand.
“Like this?” Mart clapped his hands and stamped his feet in a rock beat. His father chuckled, matching the rhythm on the ukulele while everybody clapped. With a whoop, Mart pulled Hallie to her feet. Silhouetted against the setting sun, they performed a stamping, twisting dance on the grass. Dan cut in, and Mart collapsed on the steps.
“That was very nice, Mart!” Di exclaimed, her mood obviously brightened by the wild activity.
“Nice?” Mart repeated. “Better than that, by far. Hallie excels at the terpsichorean art!”
Solemnly Bobby said, “Hallie doesn’t look sick.” Maybe it isn’t catching,” Hallie called over her shoulder.
Jim and Trixie joined the dance. Brian and Honey continued clapping while Peter Belden played his ukulele. Even Hans tapped his foot.
“Want to dance?” Juliana invited him.
“Are you asking me to throw my spine out of alignment?” Hans retorted. “I’ll wait for a waltz.”
“One waltz, coming up,” Mr. Belden said. At once he switched to a Hawaiian melody that completely confused the dancers on the grass. Hans and Juliana danced alone on the porch. The others returned to the steps, with Dan making sure there was a place for Hallie to sit.
The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost Page 5
