Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library
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
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
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
Mysteryat Mead’s Mountain
23
The Mystery of the Queen’s Necklace (new)
24
Mysteryat Saratoga (new)
25
The Sasquatch Mystery (new)
26
The Mystery of the Headless Horseman (new)
27
The Mystery of the Ghostly Galleon (new)
28
The Hudson River Mystery (new)
© 1979 by Western Publishing Company, Inc. All rights reserved. Produced in U.S.A.
GOLDEN®, GOLDEN PRESS®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are registered trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc.
No part of this book may be reproduced or copied In any form without written permission from the publisher.
0-307-21599-7
All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.
A Strange Presence • 1
TRIXIE BELDEN FLUNG her spade to the ground with a loud groan.
As of three o’clock, her Sunday was offering about as much excitement and mystery as a punctured balloon. It was bad enough that she and her best friend, Honey Wheeler, were spending the day helping Mrs. Belden with an endless number of late-fall chores in the garden. At least Trixie could sympathize with how frantically busy her mother was. And with Honey to help, even the backbreaking task of working leaves and plant debris into the soil was going as well as could be expected.
What was harder for Trixie to tolerate was the weather. It was turning uglier and uglier as they worked, which meant that she and Honey would be unable to ride the Wheeler horses later, as they had planned.
”Between my baking yak and those clunder-thouds,” said Trixie, ”I definitely think it’s time we took a break.”
Honey straightened up and put her hands on her blue-jeaned hips. ”Taking a break’s the best idea you’ve had all day,” she said finally. ”But what in heaven’s name was that other thing you said?”
”I guess I’ve been talking to Mart and Bobby too much lately,” giggled Trixie, running the cleaner of her two hands through her mop of unruly blond curls.
Mart was one of Trixie’s two older brothers, her ”almost-twin,” who loved to entertain and confound people by using big words, small words, or indeed any kind of words he could think of. Bobby was Trixie’s younger brother, six years old and always attentive to what the ”big kids” told him. Sometimes Bobby was a little too attentive.
”Ever since Mart amused Bobby one afternoon with those things—you know, where you mix up the initial sounds of words—spoonerisms, I think they’re called... well, Bobby’s been fracturing them left and right.” Trixie sat down and smiled wryly. ”He’s driving everyone crazy, in fact. He’s even getting on Brian’s nerves, and that takes some doing.”
Brian, Trixie’s oldest brother, was the most level-headed and even-tempered of the four Belden children. All the Beldens agreed that he was going to make a perfect doctor. Steady and serious, he had been making plans for a medical career for as long as anyone could remember. His parents encouraged him in his efforts, just as they encouraged all their children. The home life of the Belden family was usually very happy. They enjoyed a quiet but comfortable life at Crabapple Farm, near the east bank of the beautiful Hudson River in New York.
Honey lived in nearby Manor House, a more luxurious and stately home than Trixie’s. Somehow she felt almost as comfortable at Crabapple Farm as did Trixie. She spent plenty of time there and didn’t even mind giving up part of her Sunday to help Trixie with her chores. She was very fond of Brian, too.
”No one has steadier nerves than Brian,” Honey agreed. ”And if he were here, I’m sure he’d know just the perfect cure for your baking yak, by which, I assume, you mean your aching back?”
Trixie nodded, and Honey added, ”I could massage your neck for you, if you’d like. My mother finds that soothing.”
Trixie couldn’t conceive of Honey’s picture-perfect mother doing the kind of drudgery that would warrant a massage, but she accepted Honey’s offer with enthusiasm. ”Honey, you’re a peach!” she squealed as Honey knelt behind her.
”Better make that ’tomato,’ ” said Honey, kneading Trixie’s neck muscles with one hand and waving the other at a bushel of tomatoes. ”Speaking of which, shouldn’t we take those inside so your mom can finish up with this year’s canning?”
”Just a few more minutes with Miss Wheeler’s Health Spa for Overworked Teen-agers,” Trixie begged. ”I’ll even entertain you with some more spoonerisms—let’s see, I guess you figured out that clunderthouds is really thunderclouds, and jeepers, aren’t they getting fierce? Then there’s flutterby for butterfly, and sea poup for pea soup. I like nosy little cook for cosy little nook, and my personal favorite is oderarmdeunderant for underarm—”
”You’re starting to sound like Mart,” warned Honey, giggling in spite of herself. She stopped her massage and took up her spade. ”Listen, Trix, let’s get this digging over with. This storm is going to break any minute, and it looks like it’s going to be a dandy. If you think this is hard work, wait till you try digging in the mud.”
Trixie looked at the black clouds scudding across the sullen sky and felt a chill in the October air. ”Oh, woe,” she said, scrambling to her feet. ”Why must I have such a sensible person for my best friend?” She attacked a dead bean plant with renewed vigor and commented, ”Now I know what a gravedigger must feel like! You’re right, the storm is going to be a dilly. I heard on the radio this morning that New York might get hit with the tail end of Hurricane Bob. So I guess we can kiss Lady and Susie good-bye for this afternoon.” Lady and Susie were the Wheelers’ two mares that the girls usually rode.
”Bob?” snorted Honey. ”What are you talking about? Hurricanes are named after girls, as unfair as that is. You must have Bob-Whites on the brain, Trix.”
Trixie and Honey belonged to the Bob-Whites of the Glen, a semisecret club with five other members: Brian; Mart; Jim Frayne, Honey’s adoptive brother; Diana Lynch, who lived on a magnificent estate nearby; and Dan Mangan, nephew of Regan, the Wheelers’ groom. The seven all lived farther than most of their classmates did from the school in Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. Instead of joining in a lot of after-school activities, they spent many hours together, having adventures and working for worthy causes. Some of the happiest of those hours had been spent
in fixing up the old gatehouse on the Wheeler estate to be their clubhouse.
”Well, I am always thinking about the Bob-Whites,” Trixie said, ”but that’s got nothing to do with the hurricane. Haven’t you heard that they’re using both men’s and women’s names now? They’ve got David and John now, as well as Amelia and Greta. About time, too! Men can be just as blustery and tempesti—tempesto—stormy as women!”
”Are you sure about that?” asked a new voice.
Trixie and Honey whirled around to see Dan Mangan loping across the garden toward them. Dan was thin and quiet, with long black hair and sideburns. There was a time when the thought of him coming up behind them would have made Trixie and Honey slightly nervous. That was before they had got to know him well enough to realize that his past associations with a New York City street gang were long over with. Dan’s present ambition was to be a policeman. Trixie and Honey were in agreement that he was going to make an excellent one.
Dan’s dark face was lighted by a grin. ”I mean, I don’t know too many people who remind me more of a hurricane-than tempestuous Trixie Belden,” he said teasingly.
Trixie wrinkled her freckled nose at him. ”That’s just because you have to be assertive to become a good detective,” she said. ”Right, Honey?”
That was Trixie’s ambition, and Honey’s, too —to own and operate the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency after they graduated from college. In the meantime, there were a growing number of mysteries that the two girls had fallen into somehow—and solved somehow. Trixie was more quick-tempered and impetuous than Honey, who tended to hang back until she was really sure of her ground. Honey’s caution provided a balance to Trixie’s forcefulness, just as her tall, slim figure and long golden hair provided a contrast to Trixie’s strong, sturdy figure and short sandy curls.
”Right, Trix,” laughed Honey. ”And if we ever run out of mysteries to solve, we can tackle a few hurricanes on the side!”
”We’ll never run out of mysteries,” Trixie said confidently. ”We have one right here—I can hear the spooky background music now....
What was Dan Mangan doing at Crabapple Farm on the afternoon of Hurricane Bob, when everyone thought he was helping Regan with the horses at Manor House...?”
”That’s easy,” said Dan matter-of-factly. ”The horses have disappeared into the hurricane.”
”What?” the girls gasped.
”Just going along with Trixie’s little mystery,” Dan said innocently. ”Actually, Regan sent me over—I’m supposed to tell you that the ride you planned is off because of the weather forecast.”
”We know, we know,” Trixie sighed. ”But since you’re here, Dan, wouldn’t you like to help out with a little garden work? Why, Honey and I are having such a good time at it, we can hardly stand it.”
Dan looked at his watch. ”I suppose I could help for a while. I’ll have to get back to Regan soon, though. He has a lot of things to take care of before the storm.” He glanced around at the garden. ”But then, I see you do, too. Oh, well, I drove the Bob-White station wagon over, so I should make it back in plenty of time. What do you want me to do?”
Dan took over the digging, while Honey gathered stakes and wire fences to take to the shed and Trixie set about picking the last of the crab apples from the orchard.
Hardly a few minutes had passed before Dan paused to ask, ”Shouldn’t Brian or Mart be out here helping? Where are they, anyway?”
”Don’t worry,” said Trixie. ”Mart’s doing his duty—helping Moms in the kitchen. Probably so he can nab more to eat. And Brian’s off somewhere with Loyola.”
”Who?” asked Dan.
Trixie plopped down on the ground, heedless of the blackening sky and glad of an excuse to talk instead of work. ”Loyola Kevins,” she said. ”You must know her. She’s in the same chemistry class as you and Brian. She’s that short black girl with steel-rimmed glasses. Very skinny, and really smart, too. Brian thought it was a lucky break that they got to be lab partners. They’ve been down at the river every chance they could get for the past couple of weeks.”
”Now I know who she is,” said Dan. ”Brian told me they were collecting water samples for some ecological survey—for their semester project. Loyola’s supposed to be especially interested in the Hudson.”
”Well, between her brains and Brain’s Brian’s —I mean, Brian’s brains—they’ll probably win a Pulitzer Prize and be admitted to med school by next semester,” Trixie said.
”I know her, too,” said Honey, coming back from the garden shed. ”She lent a book to me for one of my classes last year.”
Trixie nodded. ”Brian thinks she’s really nice. He told me she usually packs a lunch when they go to the river on the weekends, and she throws in extra stuff for him. She makes a Waldorf salad that’s out of this world, and she doesn’t even like it, but she knows he does and so she brings some for him.”
”She does sound nice,” said Honey. Then she frowned. ”They’re not on the river bluff just off the game preserve, are they? The county engineers are having a terrible time stopping the erosion there. It’s practically a sheer drop down the cliff into the river. Trixie, I’ve never forgotten the day you climbed down that cliff to rescue Jim’s cousin, Juliana. My hair nearly turned white that day!”
”I think Trixie was the last person with guts enough to try that routine, Honey,” said Dan, ”especially after your dad had that guard fence put up around the dangerous section and plastered it with red ’Keep Out’ signs. Brian wouldn’t be dumb enough to go past that fence.” Dan lived and worked with Mr. Maypenny, the keeper of the Wheeler game preserve, and he was acquainted with every one of its three hundred heavily wooded acres.
”The last time Brian went near those dangerous bluffs,” Trixie assured Honey, ”was the day that he had to struggle to get me and Juliana up that cliff. So he’s not likely to forget that day, either! No, he said something this morning about meeting Loyola at Killifish Point.”
”That’s not even on the game preserve, is it?” Dan asked.
Trixie shook her head. ”It’s actually part of Sleepyside, I think. It’s on the northern outskirts of town. Brian says the cliffs are lower there. There’re plenty of trails down to the river. It’s supposed to be quiet and private—really beautiful, too—so they’ve been getting a lot of solid work done.”
”I’ll say it’s private,” said Honey. ”I don’t think I’ve ever even been there. It sounds like a safe place to work, though.”
As the three friends were talking, Dan and Honey had joined Trixie on the ground, Honey sitting with her legs folded under her and Dan stretched out with his chin in his hands. Suddenly, over the whistling of the wind came the sound of Mrs. Belden’s voice, and all three—even Dan —looked up with guilty expressions.
”I’m worried about Brian,” she called as she came closer. Slim and pretty, Helen Belden looked as if she had had one hour too many in a bustling kitchen. With the back of her hand, she brushed the blond curls away from her face in a nervous gesture.
”Whew,” said Trixie. ”I was afraid you were going to ask why the three of us were having a party while the rest of you were doing all the work.”
Mrs. Belden glanced quickly around the tidy garden area and looked momentarily pleased. ”Oh, you’ve done a fine job. Trixie, your powers of persuasion must be wonderful,” she added, smiling at Honey and Dan. ”No, it’s Brian I’m concerned about. He said he was going to be home a half an hour ago, and I think he dashed out of here this morning without hearing any of the weather reports about the hurricane.” She studied the sky worriedly. ”I’m sure he and Loyola would have sense enough not to be out when the weather looks this frightful, but…”
”Don’t worry, Moms,” Trixie said. ”Honey and I’ll be glad to go hunt them up, won’t we?”
”Of course,” Honey said warmly. ”We’d better hurry, though.”
”Just in case it starts to rain, I’d better run you over in the station wagon,” offer
ed Dan.
”That’s about how I feel,” Trixie put in. ”Like I’ve been run over!”
”Thank you, Dan,” Mrs. Belden said, heading back toward the house. ”I’d go with you myself, but someone’s got to see that Trixie’s father and brothers don’t eat all the vegetables before they have a chance to be canned! Be sure to get back here as soon as possible—they’re forecasting the fiercest storm we’ve had all year.”
As he and the girls hurried to put the tools away in the shed, Dan chuckled, ”I hope she was talking about canning food, Trixie, and not your family.”
”I wouldn’t blame her if she felt like canning the whole lot of us about now,” Trixie said cheerfully. ”It seems like October’s always everyone’s busiest month of the year around here—all work and no play, if you know what I mean.”
”Quit complaining,” said Honey, giving Trixie a gentle push in the direction of the station wagon with BOB-WHITES OF THE GLEN lettered on the side. ”You do plenty of playing, and you know it.”
”Not to mention mystery-solving,” added Dan, climbing into the driver’s seat.
”That’s not always play,” Trixie protested. ”Anyway, who’s got time for a mystery in October? Not I!”
The three kept up their friendly bantering all the while Dan was steering the car down the Beldens’ driveway, along Glen Road, and over to Killifish Road. Outwardly, Trixie was as lighthearted as the others, but she was worried. Brian was always dependable; it wasn’t like him to be late. She hoped he’was at least seeking shelter. The sight of the wind whipping the trees along the road was unnerving. She herself was glad to be under a roof, even a car roof. Every now and then, a drop of rain splattered violently against the windshield.
The Hudson River Mystery Page 1
