The Mysterious Visitor

by Campbell, Julie

  Trixie, convulsed with laughter, collapsed on the sled Brian had just brought in. The three older boys joined in her laughter. Honey smiled rather nervously, but Di stood at the entrance to the cottage looking completely bewildered. She looked from Trixie to the boys to Honey and back to Trixie again.

  "I—I don’t understand what you’re talking about," she said after a while. "I know you can t join any secret club without being initiated in one way or another, but what will I—"

  Honey threw one arm around Di’s shoulder.

  "It couldn’t be simpler, Di," she said. "All you have to do is keep Bobby amused, and he’s really a little angel, in spite of what Mart said. He can sail boats in the wading pool up near the house, and Regan will give him a riding lesson on Lady about eleven, then it’ll be time to clean up for lunch, and then after lunch he has a long nap—" "Not forgetting the comics," Trixie interrupted. "He suffers from insomnia in the daytime, Di, which means you have to read Peter Rabbit to him over and over again. And as for Regan and the riding lesson, how do you know Regan hasn’t already quit?"

  "Regan—quit?" Brian and Mart almost shouted in one quick breath.

  Trixie explained while her older brothers listened in horrified silence. "Of course," she finished, "we’re not absolutely certain that Mr. Wilson will insult Regan. But if he says anything at all that gets Regan’s goat—well, I guess I don’t have to tell you what will happen." She shrugged.

  "Please don’t go into the ghastly details," Mart moaned. "If Regan quits, it’s the end of everything." He turned to Honey. "If that happened, your dad would get rid of the horses, wouldn’t he?"

  Honey was nervously clasping and unclasping her slim hands. "Oh, I don’t know what Daddy would do. He and Regan both have red hair, you know, and the quick tempers that go with it. Although Daddy thinks the world of Regan, I don’t think he’d exactly get down on his hands and knees and beg him to stay if Regan decided to quit right this minute and started to leave in a huff."

  Jim nodded in full agreement. "And we all know that we’d never find another groom who would put up with us kids. But," he added, "we’re probably making a mountain out of a molehill. In spite of what you blondes and brunettes think, redheaded people don’t fly off the handle all the time. Take me, for instance." He grinned. "Why, I’m just the sweetest-tempered boy in the whole wide world!"

  "Is that so?" Trixie demanded with a sniff. "How about that time last summer when you jumped down my throat because I implied that you were not telling the truth?"

  "You know I was telling the truth that time, Trix," Jim insisted, starting to get angry.

  "Sweet-tempered Jim," Trixie chanted and everyone laughed.

  "Don’t mind us, Jim," Honey said at last, "we’re just trying to tease you. Besides, we’ve got another temper to worry about right now. Do you think there’s a chance Uncle Monty won’t say anything insulting to Regan?" Honey asked Di.

  "You don’t know Uncle Monty," Diana answered. "He’s sure to insult Regan somehow. He’s one of those people who knows all the answers. Why, last night he told Dad that our house slowly but surely was being eaten alive by termites."

  Brian laughed, but there wasn’t the slightest sign of a smile in his black eyes. "Is it possible, Di," he asked, "that your uncle is an exaggerator?" "It’s worse than that," Diana said, gulping. "He’s a liar, that’s what he is. Uncle Monty lies all the time. I know it. I know it!"

  "Oh, Di," Honey cried. "You mustn’t talk that way about your mother’s own brother. A lot of people exaggerate. Trixie and I do all the time, but it doesn’t mean that we’re liars."

  "Uncle Monty is, though," Diana insisted. "He told us that he made a lot of money but he lost it all because he’s been sick for the past ten years. But if you could see him eat, you’d know that he’s as healthy as an ox. I think he just pretends to be sick so he won’t have to work, and that means he’ll live with us for the rest of his life. If you want my candied opinion—"

  "The word is can did," Mart interrupted and was promptly silenced by Brian, who gave him a brotherly punch and said sternly:

  "Keep your outsize vocabulary to yourself, bud. Go on, Di."

  But it was too late. Di wordlessly shook her head, wheeled stiffly, then broke into a run. The Bob-Whites helplessly watched her as she raced across the lawn and up the steps to the big house.

  Halloween Plans • 6

  NOW YOU’VE done it," Trixie cried, giving Mart a disgusted look. "Di is sure to pack up and go home."

  "I’m sorry," Mart said, shamefaced. "I was just trying to be funny. I mean, she gets so tense about everything, I thought if she laughed she might relax."

  "She is tense." Honey agreed. "But it’s just because she hasn’t had any fun for a long time, Mart. When you’re unhappy you don’t have a sense of humor. I’m going up to her room now and try to talk her into staying."

  Brian nodded. "We’d better skip initiation in her case. Trixie, you go up to the garage and check on Regan. Take Bobby with you. If Regan is mad, Bobby will be a big help. He adores the kid." Bobby, who hadn’t been listening to their conversation until now, grinned and took Trixie’s hand. "Regan ’dores me," he said smugly. "And I ’dore Regan. He never gets mad at me."

  The girls started off with Bobby between them. When they reached the steps, they saw that the Lynches’ limousine was moving down the driveway. Mr. Wilson was alone in the front, and he was staring curiously at the house. There was no one in the backseat.

  "Well, Di’s still here, anyway," Honey said. "Trixie, we’ve got to be awfully careful of what we say to her. She’s very sensitive about her mother and her uncle. Let’s keep the conversation away from them. Even if Mr. Wilson isn’t quite honest, we ought not to talk about it in front of Di!"

  "Okay," Trixie agreed. She and Bobby hurried on to the stable and found Regan in the tack room cleaning a saddle. "Hello, Regan," Trixie said nervously. "How are you?"

  He dropped the sponge and placed both hands on his hips as he stared down at her. "What goes on here, anyway?" he demanded. Then he scooped die little boy into his arms. "Is your sister nuts or something?" he asked Bobby. " ‘How am I?’ she asks, a question she never asked me before in her whole life. A lot she cares how I am. And it’s plain to be seen that I never felt better. Do I look sick?" he asked Trixie.

  "No," Trixie said, flushing. "But I just wanted to know. You’re not mad at anybody, are you?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Should I be? Don’t bother to answer. I should be, but I haven’t found out why yet. What have you kids been up to?"

  "Nothing," Trixie replied hastily. Then, because her curiosity got the better of her, she blurted, "How did you get on with Mr. Wilson?"

  Regan guffawed. "Why, just fine. He’s a nice little man, but what he doesn’t know about horses would fill the Sleepyside Public Library."

  "But, Regan," Trixie cried, "he used to be a broncobuster. He must know a lot about horses." Regan laughed so hard that he had to set Bobby down on the floor in order to wipe his streaming eyes. "Broncobuster! Unless I miss my guess, that guy’s never been on a horse in all his life."

  "But he said—" Trixie began and interrupted herself. "I can’t understand this. Why did he come out here posing as an expert?"

  "That I can’t tell you," Regan said. "Unless he thought he could fool me. He’s been reading up on the subject, all right. Uses words like spavin and fetlock correctly. Good grooms are scarce, in case you don’t know it. A lot of rich people have to hire guys who don’t know much more than Mr. Wilson. But if you’ve spent most of your life with horses, as I have, you can see through that kind of bluff right away."

  "Does he know you saw through him?" Trixie asked thoughtfully.

  "Certainly not," Regan replied emphatically. "Would that have been polite of me? He’s the pretty little girl’s uncle, isn’t he?"

  "I’m not so sure that he is," Trixie said, thinking out loud. Then, remembering that "little pitchers have big ears," she said to Bobby, "Why don’t
you go to the garage and see what Tom Delanoy is doing? You haven’t seen him in ages." "Don’t want to," Bobby said, squeezing Regan’s soapy sponge with both plump hands. "I’m going to stay here and holp Regan."

  "Not today you aren’t," Regan said firmly. "You go next door and ‘holp’ Tom. He’s washing the cars. That’s more fun than cleaning leather." "Okeydokey," Bobby said and scampered off toward the garage.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Regan said to Trixie, "Now, listen, if you’re off on one of your mysteries again, let me warn you. Nice people like that Lynch girl don’t have uncles who are crooks. Mr. Wilson is just one of those harmless? little guys who likes to hear himself talk. Eccentric, you might call him, but aren’t we all? You and your brother Mart, for instance, are as crazy i as June bugs, and do you think anyone in his right mind would stick around here as long as I have? Ever since you arrived on the scene, they should have changed the name from the Manor House to the Madhouse!"

  Trixie giggled. "I guess you’re right. The trouble with me is that I have a suspicious nature."

  "That you have," Regan said, grinning. "I got to know Di Lynch pretty well yesterday when I was giving her a riding lesson. She’s got enough troubles without you sleuthing around after her uncle. Right now you think he’s an impostor, don’t you?" he finished abruptly.

  Trixie nodded.

  "Well, leave that up to Mr. Lynch," Regan said sternly. "He’s no fool. Nobody who could make a million dollars as fast as he did could be."

  "I guess you’re right," Trixie said again. "I was just thinking—"

  "Don’t," Regan interrupted. "Don’t think. Every time you do, this place is swarming with state troopers and G-men."

  Just then Di and Honey came into the tack room, arm in arm. Honey gave Trixie a quick, questioning look and asked, "How are you, Regan?"

  At that the groom emitted a loud groan and stalked away.

  "Oh, dear," Honey sighed. "Uncle Monty did make Regan mad, didn’t he, Trixie?"

  "No," Trixie said. "Everything is just fine. He’s crazy about your uncle, Di."

  "I don’t believe it," Di said in amazement. "Nobody could be crazy about Uncle Monty. Oh, Mother loves him, of course, but what I mean is— a man like Regan! You just can’t make me believe you, Trixie Belden. Regan couldn’t possibly even like Uncle Monty."

  Trixie said nothing as the girls linked arms and strolled back up to the veranda.

  To change the subject, tactful Honey said, "We’ve got an awful lot to do this weekend, Di. We’ve not only got to make plans for your Halloween party, but we’ve got to write those compositions for our English class. What are you going to say in your theme, Di?"

  "I haven’t given it much thought," Diana admitted. "We didn’t do anything exciting last summer."

  "Why, Di!" Honey cried. "It was your red trailer that disappeared so mysteriously. I’d certainly call that incident exciting!"

  "I know," Di said. "But you and Trixie will tell about that. I didn’t have a thing to do with solving the mystery."

  "Don’t be silly," Trixie said generously. "That story is yours, all yours. If you haven’t got the newspaper clippings, Honey and I will be glad to lend you our scrapbooks, won’t we, Honey?" "Do you really mean it?" Di asked.

  "Of course we mean it," Honey said as they settled down in the glider. "Trixie and I have so much to write about we hardly know where to begin. Let’s do our themes right now while we’re all together. It’ll be fun!"

  "Not with Bobby in our hair," Trixie objected. "Every time we try to put two words together into a sentence, he’ll interrupt. I know that fiend. You never can find him when you want to give him a bath or put him to bed. But just try to hide from him! He’s got the nose of a bird dog, or maybe I mean a bloodhound."

  Diana giggled, and Trixie could see that she was beginning to relax. "I’ll go play hide-’n’-seek with Bobby right now," she offered. "Then you girls can write your themes in peace. I wouldn’t want to borrow your scrapbook," she said to Honey, "until you’re through with it. I’m sure it must be filled with newspaper clippings which you and Trixie will need."

  The rest of the weekend went smoothly. Di insisted upon taking care of Bobby as her initiation, and Honey kept her company most of Saturday while she made Diana a red jacket like the others with "B.W.G." cross-stitched in white on the back. By Sunday evening they had invited everyone on the fist to the Halloween party and were completing plans for it.

  "M-m-m, let’s see," said Honey, who, as secretary of the club, had been checking off names on the list. "Twelve girls and fifteen boys. That means about ten pounds of chopped meat for hamburgers, at least six dozen frankfurters, about a gross of rolls, several gallons of ice cream, a couple of cases of soft drinks, and milk for those who don’t want Cokes. And we mustn’t forget mustard, relish, catsup, and butter. You ought to order all of this stuff from the store right after school tomorrow, Di, and make sure that it’s delivered Friday afternoon."

  "What are you going to do with it after it arrives?" Trixie asked. "Practically all of it should go right into the refrigerator. Is your mother’s refrigerator large enough for all the food, Di?" "We’ve got two huge ones and a gigantic freezer," Di said, "but they’re always crammed full. I’m beginning to see what Mother meant when she said we ought to hire caterers. What am I going to do, Honey?"

  Honey chewed her pencil worriedly. "We can’t ask your mother’s advice now, when she has said you can run the party yourself. We’ve got to cope with the problem, but I don’t see how." She thought for a minute. "We don’t really have to serve milk, and you can buy the ice cream packed in dry ice."

  "And," Trixie added, "you can buy a big chunk of ice for the soft drinks. We always do, and we keep it in a tub. Frozen hamburger doesn’t have to be kept in a refrigerator and neither do canned frankfurters. If the butter’s soft, it’ll be that much easier to spread."

  "How smart you are," Di said admiringly. "If we get the things you suggested, we won’t have to go near the kitchen. I’D just have everything carried onto the terrace as soon as it’s delivered." "Suppose it rains?" Honey asked dubiously. "This heat wave we’ve been having is bound to end in a thunderstorm soon."

  That won t matter," Di said. "Our terrace is enclosed. It’s really more of an outdoor living room which runs all along one side of the house. We can cook the food in the big fireplaces at each end of it."

  "Marshmallows," Trixie exclaimed. "Halloween wouldn’t be Halloween without toasted marshmallows."

  "And popcorn," Diana added. "We forgot all about that important item."

  "I’m beginning to get nervous," Honey said, chewing her pencil again. "We’ve probably forgotten all sorts of important things. I think we should add to the list paper plates and napkins and straws. If we cause the servants a lot of extra work, Di, Harrison will raise a fuss, and then your mother may not let you attempt to give another party by yourself."

  "I wish he’d get mad enough to quit," Di said crossly. "The way he acts, you’d think he owned our place. I hardly ever see my little brothers and sisters, because Harrison doesn’t like children that age. He’s afraid they’ll break something in the living room or put their sticky hands on the slipcovers, so the twins spend most of their time in the nursery when they’re not outdoors." She turned to Trixie. "You may not believe me, but I had fun taking care of Bobby yesterday. You don’t know how lucky you are to have a little brother you can hug and kiss whenever you feel like it."

  "Oh, I know," Trixie said sympathetically. "Bobby is an awful nuisance sometimes, but he really is so cute. And I have no business complaining when I have to take care of him. Moms always pays me twenty-five cents an hour when I do, and I get an allowance of a dollar a week, too." She added shamefacedly, "You’re right, Di; I guess I am a pretty lucky girl."

  "That reminds me," Di said worriedly. "How am I going to earn some money so that I can contribute to the club like you both did?"

  "Let’s not worry about that now," Honey said
quickly. "Your party is the most important thing. If it’s a success without Harrison having anything to do with it, maybe your mother will decide you don’t need a butler."

  "Maybe," Di said without much hope. She peered over Honey’s shoulder at the list. "We’ve forgotten about prizes. What games do you think we ought to play?"

  "Oh, I know a wonderful game," Trixie cried. "Murder at Midnight! It’s more fun."

  Di shuddered. "It sounds delightful. I’m beginning to think you are a goon, Trixie. Or should I have said ‘ghoul’?"

  Trixie laughed. "To win a prize in this game, you can’t be either a goon or a ghoul. You’ve got to have brains. There are all sorts of ways of playing Murder at Midnight, but this is the way we play it at our parties. First you deal out the cards. The person who gets the Queen of Spades is the murder victim. The person who gets the Ace of Diamonds is the murderer. But, of course, he doesn’t let anybody know that. Then you choose up sides. Half of the gang goes out of the room with the Queen and the Ace. The murderer tells his side who he is, and they leave all sorts of clues around, trying to baffle the other side. The person who is smart enough to guess who the murderer is gets first prize."

  Honey giggled. "Who gets the booby prize? The Queen of Spades?"

  "No," Trixie told her. "The ‘detective’ who asks stupid questions and sort of blunders around. There’s always somebody like that at every party." "I’m going to give myself the booby prize right now," Diana said, smiling. "But that game does sound like fun, Trixie, and our house is so big it’ll take practically all evening to find the clues and solve the mystery."

  "You can’t tell," Honey argued. "At every party there’s always somebody who’s awfully smart, too. He or she might solve the mystery very quickly. To be on the safe side we really ought to think up some more games. Got any more ideas, Trixie?"

  "Well, there’s that relay of passing a paper bag and having each person in line eat whatever wrapped article he or she grabs on to," Trixie said thoughtfully.