The Mystery of the Ghostly Galeon

by Campbell, Julie

  Secretly she thought all of them looked handsome in their dark trousers and white shirts. A moment later, when Miss Trask arrived, it was obvious she thought so, too.

  “Am I late?” she asked, her bright blue eyes twinkling at them. “I must say, I feel very honored to be surrounded by such a well-dressed group of young people.”

  “You look very nice yourself,” Honey said softly as she looked at Miss Trask’s plain but well-cut gray dress. “And, oh, you simply must take a sip from my glass! It’s the most delicious drink you can imagine.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Mart said promptly. “Let me guess. Its name is Good-for-Your-Gullet Grog.“

  “Wrong!” Di chortled. “It’s called Maiden’s Delight!”

  Gingerly, Miss Trask raised Honey’s glass to her lips and sipped. “My goodness,” she exclaimed, “that is good punch! What a peculiar name to give it, though. In the old days, we didn’t have to think up fancy words to describe anything like that.”

  “And was the inn a success?” Jim asked.

  Miss Trask sighed. “No, I suppose not. Oh, we had our small share of tourists during the summer. But the rest of the year, I’m afraid, things were very slow.”

  “Well, they’re not slow now,” Trixie pointed out. She looked around the crowded dining room. “The people here tonight can’t be tourists, except for the Bob-Whites, that is. So it looks as if the townsfolk like it here, too.”

  A tall blond waiter appeared suddenly at her elbow. Although he was dressed in the usual pirate costume, he was, Trixie thought, a vast improvement over scruffy Weasel Willis, who had gloomily served them their drinks.

  This waiter quickly and efficiently delivered menus to each of them. Then he grinned and said, “My name’s Smiley Jackson, and when you’re ready, I’ll take your order.” He turned to Miss Trask. “The boss says to tell you he’ll be joining you soon.”

  “I can see why he’s called Smiley,” Mart said when the waiter had gone. “I’ve never seen so many glistening bicuspids in all my life. He must have at least a hundred in his oral cavity.”

  Trixie laughed and studied the menu. “I almost wish Smiley had stayed and practiced some reverse psychology on us. Everything sounds so delicious, I don’t know what to order.”

  “The Weak-Hearted Willies sound terrific,” Dan said. “Listen to the description: ‘Chicken pies, whose interiors will please your palate and whose exteriors will melt in your mouth.’ ”

  “Or we could have Flaming Trask-ka-bobs,” Brian said. “How does this sound? ‘Chunky beef wedges, marinated in Pirate’s Inn’s own special and delicate sauce, skewered, and cooked to perfection over an open fire.’ ”

  After much agonizing over the tantalizing descriptions, Smiley Jackson finally received eight orders of Captain’s Chowder. The thick, creamy soup was to be followed by Swashbuckler’s Steak (“cooked the way you like it”), one demure order of iced tea (for Miss Trask), three more Maiden’s Delights for the girls, and four Jolly Rogers—also punch—for the boys.

  Mart tried to order the Yo-Ho-Ho Rum Cake for dessert, but Smiley merely said casually, “I think the boss has something else planned for you tonight.”

  “Probably Yummy Yardarm Yogurt,” Trixie said, jokingly, knowing her brother didn’t like yogurt.

  “Or perhaps I-Scream-You-Scream-We-All-Scream-for-Ice-Cream,” Jim suggested.

  Miss Trask sighed. “I simply don’t know what to expect this evening,” she said. “My brother Wouldn’t say what his surprise is going to be. I must say, though”—she glanced at the fearsome portrait facing her—“that picture is quite taking away my appetite.”

  “Would you like to change places with me?” Trixie asked quickly. “That way you won’t have to look at it.”

  “Thank you, Trixie,” Miss Trask said briskly, but I will not be chased from my chair by an inanimate object. I can’t imagine why the original painting had to be removed, though. It was much nicer than this one.”

  Privately, Trixie agreed with her. She wasn’t sure whether this portrait really did lend atmosphere to the room. All she knew was that having it behind her made her feel acutely uncomfortable. Every time she glanced over her shoulder, she imagined that the pirate’s eyes were watching only her.

  When she confided this fancy to Di, she discovered that her friend had the same feeling.

  “The picture isn’t going to spoil my dinner,” Di whispered, “but I sure wish Mr. Trask would move it someplace else. Where is he, anyway?”

  When he did arrive, the Bob-Whites almost didn’t recognize him. In place of his pirate chief’s costume, he wore a smart dark blue suit, a pale blue shirt, and a striped tie.

  Instantly, he was the courteous host, making sure that his guests had everything they wanted. Then, when they were enjoying their meal, he told them story after story of the old inn’s earlier days.

  Mart, not to be outdone, promptly told several stories of his own. Soon the captain’s table was the merriest spot in the room.

  Once, after a particularly noisy burst of laughter, Trixie found the Weasel’s one eye staring in their direction. On the other hand, Mr. Appleton, who was dining alone at a small table nearby, seemed to be enjoying their conversation. On several occasions, Trixie saw him smile and lean toward them, straining to hear what was being said.

  “I wonder what he’s done with Clarence?” she murmured to Honey, who immediately began to giggle again.

  Trixie was having such a good time that she quite forgot to notice whether Mr. Appleton’s every move was being watched—or even her own. Somehow it no longer seemed to matter. With the good food in front of her, and her laughing friends around her, she was beginning to think that she had never felt happier in her life.

  At last the Bob-Whites leaned back in their chairs, wondering if their stomachs would ever be able to hold another morsel of food.

  Mart groaned as Smiley Jackson deftly removed his dinner plate. “That was one of the most scrumptious meals I’ve ever had,” he announced. “Undoubtedly, my avoirdupois has now been augmented by countless pounds and ounces.”

  “If that means you shoveled food into your mouth without even pausing for breath tonight,” Trixie remarked thoughtlessly, “then I guess we’ll all agree.”

  Instantly, Mart drawled, “Take care, sister dear, for your accusation could apply equally to yourself. In other words, it’s merely a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about,

  Mart Belden,” Trixie retorted, her cheeks burning hotly.

  “It means,” Mart said, in his most infuriating tone of voice, “that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

  Trixie’s fingers curled around the stem of her water glass as she glared across the table at her brother.

  “On the other hand,” Miss Trask said suddenly, “a rolling stone gathers no moss, a stitch in time saves nine—”

  “And every cloud has a silver lining,” Frank Trask boomed. “By gum, Marge, I’d quite forgotten that old game we used to play.”

  “What old game?” Jim asked, bewildered. “When I was just a sprout, like yourselves,” Mr. Trask replied, “my sisters and I used to squabble among ourselves, as youngsters sometimes do.” He didn’t look at Trixie and Mart. “When that happened, we often said more than we meant to. And often tempers got hot. So to cool ’em down, we used to quote old proverbs— old sayings—at each other until someone laughed, and then the quarrel was forgotten. It was our way of counting to ten, y’see.” He leaned toward his sister. “We should have remembered our game the last time you were here, Marge.”

  Miss Trask nodded. “Yes, Frank, perhaps we should have done just that.” Trixie noticed that her cheeks were suddenly flushed.

  “In that case,” Mart announced loudly, “I hereby affirm that it is understandable that homo sapiens commit erroneous actions, while deity confers absolution.”

  Trixie looked at him and frowned. “Does that
mean we shouldn’t count our blessings before they hatch?”

  She was startled when everyone laughed, until she noticed that Mart was laughing, too.

  “You’ve won the game, Trix,” Brian told her, grinning, “and it took you exactly one second to do it. Mart was saying that to err is human, to forgive divine.”

  “But it’s chickens that shouldn’t be counted,” Jim explained.

  Trixie, glad that Mart was no longer angry, joined in the laughter. “I’d sooner count blessings than chickens any day,” she told her friends happily.

  Mr. Trask leaned back in his chair. “And on that cheerful note, we get at last to the surprise I promised my sister. In fact, there are two surprises. Before I tell you what they are, I should explain that there was a time when my sisters and I thought we would have to sell this place. Naturally, we didn’t want to. Ever since anyone can remember, a Trask has been at Pirate’s Inn. It all seemed hopeless, until I had an idea.”

  “One of many,” Miss Trask murmured.

  “I borrowed some money from a good friend of mine named Nicholas Morgan,” her brother said, “and with the loan, plus a touch of imagination”—he nodded toward his surroundings— “I can honestly say that the inn is a success.”

  “Is it really, Frank?” Miss Trask asked.

  “It really is,” her brother assured her. “By this time tomorrow, I will have paid off the loan, and this place will be ours again, free and clear. But there! I see we are about to be interrupted. To celebrate your presence here tonight, our chef has baked us a three-tiered cake, which”—he looked toward the kitchen—“is even now on its way to our table.”

  Everyone turned and watched as Weasel Willis began walking toward them, bearing their dessert on a tray.

  What a cake it was! Even from a distance, the Bob-Whites could see that it was cunningly decorated with tiny anchors, minute seashells, and impudent sea gulls that rode waves of creamy frosting. Trixie nudged Honey when she saw a miniature galleon adorning the top layer.

  “Do you think it’s supposed to be Captain Trask’s Sea Fox?” Trixie whispered.

  Honey had no time to answer.

  “Cookie—our chef—has spent hours on this, his pièce de résistance,” Mr. Trask announced, enjoying their awed expressions. “But that isn’t all! I have an announcement to make, and it’s the first surprise.” He paused. “I know how the old captain disappeared/”

  Trixie’s eyes were round as she stared at him. “Oh, Mr. Trask! Do you really?”

  “I do, indeed.” He grinned. “I figured it out early this evening. I went to an old closet in my office to hang up my costume—and I suddenly realized what the solution had to be. After all these years, it’s the only possible answer.”

  The Bob-Whites were listening, fascinated. “How did the captain disappear?” Dan asked. “It was really very simple,” Mr. Trask said. “As you know, the soldiers arrived and marched up to the captain’s table—this table. They surrounded it. Then the captain merely—”

  Suddenly, from somewhere behind them, came the sound of a large, heavy tray crashing to the floor. Startled, everyone swung around to see what had happened.

  Across the room, Weasel Willis was gazing in horror at what lay at his feet. The beautiful cake, which had taken so many hours to make, lay smashed on the thick red carpet.

  Mart groaned. “Gleeps! What a catastrophe! Maybe we ought to offer our assistance.”

  Trixie heard Miss Trask say sharply, “I knew you should have dismissed that waiter, Frank.” Out of the corner of her eye, Trixie saw a sudden movement. But when she turned back to look, all she saw were the other diners staring in Weasel’s direction and other waiters hurrying to help him. She also saw Mr. Trask’s chair pushed back from the table—but there was no sign of him in the room at all.

  Their host had disappeared!

  New Worry • 9

  IN THE EXCITEMENT that followed, there was so much confusion that no one but Trixie had noticed that Mr. Trask was no longer with them.

  As the rest of the Bob-Whites watched, the door to the kitchen swung open, and a short, dark-haired man rushed into the dining room. He wore white trousers, white tunic, and a tall chef’s hat. His waxed mustache was bristling with rage.

  He stared down in disbelief at his ruined creation. You are the one great clumsy ox!” he shouted at Weasel. “For the waiter to trip over his own feet, this is unforgivable!”

  “Calm down, Gaston,” Weasel said, mopping vainly at the sticky mess with a damp cloth. “It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone.”

  “It could only have happened to you,” the chef snapped, almost dancing with anger. “If you would not wear the stupid eye patch, you would have seen where you were going.”

  “Oh, for heavens sake,” Brian muttered, “the poor guy can’t help having bad eyesight.”

  Trixie turned her head and was just in time to see Gaston snap his fingers at the three men standing behind him. They were obviously his kitchen staff. Although they also wore white caps and aprons, Trixie could see the brightly striped T-shirts and black trousers beneath them.

  Honey had an additional concern. “I noticed that Smiley hurried back to the kitchen a few moments ago,” she told Trixie. “I’m sure he’s gone to get us more dessert. I’m sorry about the cake, but I’m not sure I can manage anything at all. How about you?”

  But Trixie was still puzzling over Mr. Trask’s empty chair. “He vanished, Honey,” she said slowly. “I don’t know how he did it, but he’s gone!”

  “Who’s gone?” Mart asked over his shoulder. Trixie waved a hand at the place where, only minutes before, their host had sat. “He said he knew the solution to the mystery of the captain’s disappearance. I think maybe he’s showing us.” Unbelieving, the Bob-Whites turned to see. “Wow! He’s done it! He’s really done it!” Jim said, excited. “But how?”

  “I hardly think,” Miss Trask remarked, still watching the scene on the other side of the room, “that my brother would choose to vanish at such an inconvenient time.”

  “But he has!” Di cried. “He really has!”

  Miss Trask glanced at her brother’s empty chair. She smiled at Di’s enthusiasm. “He’ll be back,” she said confidently. “I’m sure he’s merely gone to see what he can do to help over there.” Trixie was certain Miss Trask was wrong. She sat watching, her eyes bright, for their host to materialize suddenly from somewhere, like a genie out of a bottle. Where would he come from?

  She couldn’t resist bending down to look for him under the table, though she didn’t really expect to find him there. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of disappointment when all she saw was the bare floor. She turned her attention to the walls, but they, too, showed no sign of secret openings.

  Trixie tried to remember what Mr. Trask had said earlier. Was it something about his pirate chief’s costume that had helped him solve the mystery? If so, what could it have been?

  Trixie sighed and gave up.

  Gaston, the chef, was obviously still enraged at the accident to his creation. Trixie could hear him angrily directing the mopping-up operations until all signs of the catastrophe had been removed.

  He had looked twice in their direction as if he expected to see or hear some comment from his employer. In the end, however, he hurried back to his kitchen, and the door swung shut behind him.

  The group at the captain’s table continued to wait, but Mr. Trask didn’t return. Even Smiley Jackson seemed to have deserted them.

  Finally, it was the Weasel who dolefully picked his way around the crowded tables until he was standing at Miss Trask’s shoulder. “After all that’s happened tonight, I don’t suppose anyone’s got any appetite left. Not that I blame you. The chef says the chocolate éclairs are fairly good tonight, but he’s probably wrong.” He stood expectantly, his pencil poised once more over his pad.

  But this time, he received no orders, not even from Mart.

  “Our dinner was the last
word in gastronomic delectability,” Mart announced loftily. “However, my unerring instincts for the proprieties tell me that we ought to wait for our host to complete his magnificent, but completely mystifying, feat of prestidigitation, He’s really pulled it off. He’s vanished—just like the captain.”

  If he hoped to impress Weasel, he was mistaken. “Oh, well,” the waiter said, “wherever he is, he won’t have gone far. In fact, I expect he’s in his office right now, waiting to bawl me out for dropping Gaston’s cake. I’ll go see.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Trask said, rising to her feet, “but I’ll go myself.”

  “Oh, Miss Trask,” Trixie said, “may I come with you? I’d really like to know how the trick was done.”

  “Me, too!” Mart cried.

  “And don’t forget me,” Honey added.

  In the end, their curiosity aroused, they all decided to go.

  Miss Trask smiled. “I don’t really believe that my brother has chosen to play hide-and-seek. But by all means, come and help me look.”

  Trixie noticed that Mr. Appleton seemed to be disappointed as she and the Bob-Whites hurried away. Moments later, however, she forgot him as Miss Trask pushed open a door in the tiny front lobby and switched on a light.

  Trixie saw a small room with the usual dark-paneled walls and red-carpeted floor. An old-fashioned safe stood next to two wooden filing cabinets, and a big oak desk was positioned under the leaded windows. Its chair, however, was as empty as the one in the dining room.

  In a far corner, Trixie saw a small closet. She gazed at it expectantly. She half expected Mr. Trask to fling open its door and yell, “Surprise!” Miss Trask must have had the same idea. Striding across the room, she opened it. To Trixie’s disappointment, all it contained was the pirate chief’s costume dangling from a hanger.

  Trixie stared at it, hoping it would give her a clue—but it didn’t.

  She turned away as Weasel Willis poked his head into the room. “Did you find the boss?” he asked. “No? That’s funny. He’s not in his room or in the kitchen, either. It would be just our luck if he’s really vanished.”