The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder

by Campbell, Julie

  Mart’s Confession ● 7

  THERE WAS stunned silence. Then everyone began talking at once.

  “You?” Trixie said. “Did you say you were Miss Lonelyheart?”

  “If this is one of your jokes—” Brian began.

  Di blushed crimson. “Oh, no! I—I just wrote a letter to Miss Lonelyheart only last week—”

  “But—but you can’t be Miss Lonelyheart, Mart!” Honey exclaimed.

  “But he’s not joking,” Dan put in. “Look at Mart’s face.”

  There was another silence, while Mart’s face and neck turned beet red.

  “Go ahead,” he burst out at last. “Why don’t you all laugh? I know you want to. If it were me listening, I’d be falling on the floor in hysterics by now. Didn’t you get it? I’m Miss Lonelyheart. I’ve been Miss Lonelyheart all along. Me, Mart Belden!”

  Jim’s mouth was twitching, but he managed to say solemnly, “We’re not laughing, Mart. Honest!”

  “Of course not,” Brian added, without quite looking at his brother.

  “We wouldn’t laugh over anything like that, would we, Trix?” Honey said, avoiding her best friend’s eyes.

  Trixie struggled to swallow back the laughter that she could feel beginning to bubble up from somewhere deep inside her. “No,” she said, trying vainly to stop her voice from shaking. “We wouldn’t laugh over anything like that, would we?” Then all at once, she started to giggle. “Well, would we?” she demanded, and her eyes began to water. Then she answered her own question. “Yes, we would!” And she threw back her head and shouted with laughter, while Mart glared across the room at her.

  Trixie’s laughter was contagious, and in the next moment, first Honey, and then the others began laughing with her.

  Mart did his best to hang on to what dignity he could. “It’s not funny,” he kept repeating. “Aw, come on, you guys. It’s not that funny.”

  But it was that funny, because Mart’s news had been so unexpected. The more he protested, the more the Bob-Whites howled with laughter, until Mart himself began to smile and finally to laugh, ruefully, with the others.

  They were still laughing a few minutes later, when Harrison, the Lynches’ reserved and solemn butler, appeared in the doorway. He raised a disapproving eyebrow at the Bob-Whites’ hilarity, which made them laugh harder than ever.

  “Lunch is served, miss,” Harrison announced to Di at last, when he could make himself heard.

  Mart stopped laughing instantly. “Good,” he said promptly. “I’m starved. Come on, everyone. Didn’t you hear? It’s lunchtime, and I’m about to faint if I don’t get something to eat.”

  “Besides,” Honey said, wiping her eyes, “we’ve still got to hear the rest of Mart’s news.”

  “You’re r-right, Honey,” Trixie gasped, holding her side, which now ached from laughing so hard. “And I don’t know why I should think so, but it’ll even be good to see Mart’s appetite back to normal at last.”

  She was not disappointed. For the first time in weeks, Mart ate everything that was put in front of him.

  Even Harrison stood approvingly at Mart’s elbow while Trixie’s almost-twin demolished three bowlfuls of soup, half a dozen ham and cheese sandwiches, and two huge wedges of chocolate cake.

  While Harrison was in the room, the Bob-Whites talked idly among themselves of unimportant matters, though Trixie could tell that everyone was thinking about what Mart would tell them as soon as lunch was over.

  Mart must have known it, too, for the door had no sooner closed behind Harrison’s stiff back than he leaned forward and said, “Okay, is everyone ready now?”

  The Bob-Whites nodded solemnly, and sat back in their chairs to listen.

  “It all began,” Mart said, “as I told you, when I joined Mr. Zimmerman’s journalism class. It started out fine, except I couldn’t seem to write the stuff old Zimmerman wanted to print.”

  “What really did happen about last week’s article, Mart?” Trixie asked.

  Mart scowled. “It was just like I told you, Trix. It was another article I’d slaved over, and Zimmerman didn’t like it.”

  “And did you write up one of our adventures?” Honey asked.

  Mart shook his head. “No, I didn’t write about one of them. I wrote about them all.”

  Trixie gasped. “Every one?”

  “Every one,” Mart replied, “and d’you know what old Zimmerman said? He said I had a good imagination, but the whole article was unbelievable. Can you beat it? Our adventures couldn't have happened, as far as he was concerned.“

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Mart,” Brian said firmly. “Tell us about—” his mouth twitched— “Miss Lonelyheart.”

  Mart sighed. “I really backed into that one. I kept on writing articles, like I told you. And old Zimmerman kept turning them down, so I tried to think of something he would accept.”

  “And?” Honey prompted.

  “And so I got this idea of writing a regular weekly column.” Mart’s face was flushed again. “I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand, honest! I got to thinking it could be something like household hints, or something similar.”

  “I think that was a good idea,” Honey said at once. “Lots of people like to read stuff like that.“

  “I looked into that old book that Moms uses all the time,” Mart confessed, looking at Trixie. “There’re all kinds of things in there, like how to get stains out of tablecloths, and how to keep cut flowers from wilting—”

  Trixie nodded. “I remember.”

  Mart bit his lip. “But then I had to get clever,” he said. “Shortly after Mr. Zimmerman had approved a household hints column, I overheard a couple of the guys talking in the gym. One of them wanted to know how he should go about asking a girl to go with him to the spring dance. So I stuck that question in the column, too, along with my answer.”

  Brian looked at his brother. “Which was?”

  “The only way to find out if a girl wants to go out with you,” Mart answered promptly, “is to ask her.”

  Brian nodded approvingly. “That sounds fine to me.”

  Mart sighed. “It sounded fine to Mr. Zimmerman, too. He approved the copy—even the dumb name I thought up, which, as you now know, was ‘Miss Lonelyheart.’ And that was my big mistake.”

  “Why didn’t you sign your own name, Mart?” Trixie asked.

  “I didn’t think anyone would want to read the stuff if they knew who was writing it,” Mart said, leaning his elbows on the table. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But then, you see, the stupid column really caught on as soon as it appeared in the paper.”

  Dan grunted. “So then what happened?”

  “What happened was,” Mart answered slowly, “the school’s newspaper office was shortly flooded with heartrending missives. And it soon became clear that lots of kids wanted advice about their love life.” He looked down at his hands. “At first, I could handle it. I printed their questions as well as my answers.”

  “I remember,” Honey said, “and a lot of your answers were funny.”

  Mart nodded. “I know. I thought the whole thing was funny. That was then. But soon I began getting other kinds of letters. Some of the kids had real problems;”

  “What kind of problems, Mart?” Brian said. Mart sighed again. “Some kids felt that no one liked them. They were unpopular at school—and often at home, too.”

  Trixie thought of her own happy home life. Instantly, she felt sympathetic toward those schoolmates who didn’t know the warm feeling of being loved and wanted. “Oh, Mart, how awful!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling.

  “But that wasn’t all,” Mart said, looking at her. “Some of these kids, Trix, have got a real raw deal out of life. One girl wrote about her father. She said he drank—a lot. I guess he was an alcoholic. She wanted to know what she should do. Another said her mother had left home a couple of months ago. She just picked up and walked out on the whole family. The father didn’t know where she’
d gone or why she’d left or anything. So now he’s trying to raise six kids all by himself. The girl who wrote the letter wanted to know what ‘Miss Lonelyheart’ would advise her to do about it. How could she get her mother back?”

  Di gasped. “But that’s terrible, Mart! What did you tell her—and that one with the alcoholic father, too?”

  “I couldn’t handle it.” Mart’s voice was low. “How could I tell people what to do with problems like those? I told them to see their counselors. That’s what I told most of them—when they’d signed their letters, that is. But a lot of them wrote in anonymously—and those letters I answered as best I could when I printed them.” He raised his head and looked at his friends. “It’s been just awful these last few weeks. I haven’t had any idea what to do.”

  Brian shifted sharply in his chair. “And so we come to the Midnight Marauder business,” he said. “What do you know about that?”

  “It all began,” Mart said miserably, “when I started to get a series of letters. Every time, they were shoved under the door of Mr. Zimmerman’s office and addressed to ‘Miss Lonelyheart.’ Some of ’em were so bad, I never showed them to old Zimmerman at all. Whoever had written the letters hated school, hated the teachers, and ranted on about how one day he was going to do something desperate.”

  “How did you handle it, Mart?” Brian asked, staring at his brother.

  Mart shrugged his shoulders. “I handled it as best I could. The letters weren’t signed, so I didn’t know who it was. At first, I kidded the writer along and made out that things weren’t as bad as he—or she—thought they were. I used to leave the answers taped to the outside of old Zimmerman’s office door. I had to ask his permission to do that, of course.”

  “But what happened then?” Trixie persisted. “You must have some reason for thinking this same person is the Midnight Marauder. Did you keep all his letters?”

  “I didn’t dare,” Mart confessed. “Some of ’em were really bad, so I threw them away. I only kept the last one.” He reached slowly into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a much-crumpled and obviously well-thumbed letter. “I got this last Thursday,” he said. “Here”—he pushed it across the table to Trixie—“you read it and see what I mean.”

  Trixie scanned the letter quickly. Then she looked up and announced, “It’s written in block capitals, and this is what it says: ‘Dumb Miss Lonelyheart: You think you’re so smart with your slick answers, but let me tell you something. I’ve tried everything, and nothing’s worked. I’m fed up with being ignored by everyone at school. No matter what I do, no one likes me, so now I’m really going to do something to make people sit up and take notice. A desperate situation calls for desperate measures. I’ve made up my mind. Saturday’s the day! You have been warned!’ ”

  Di craned her neck to see. “Who signed it?”

  “It isn’t signed at all,” Trixie answered, turning the paper over to see if anything had been written on the back. Nothing had.

  “So now you know,” Mart said, standing up suddenly. “I tried, and I failed to help. The whole Lonelyheart idea was dumb, and I shouldn’t have started it in the first place.”

  Trixie looked up at him. “I still don’t understand, Mart, why Sergeant Molinson should suspect you of anything.”

  Mart looked down at his feet. “I’ve had to do really sneaky things, Trix, so that no one would find out that it was only me who was Miss Lonelyheart. Yesterday there were so many people around the journalism department, all looking to see who was going to pick up Miss Lonelyheart’s mail, that I had to leave it there. I sneaked back last night on my bike to get it. One of the kids must’ve seen me there and told the police this morning. That’s the way it happened.”

  Trixie gasped. “So that’s where you were!”

  Mart nodded. “And when Sergeant Molinson asked me about it—”

  Brian looked at him with sudden understanding. “You lied about it.”

  Mart’s face flushed. “Yeah, I did. Real dumb, huh? But if I’d admitted being on the school grounds, I’d have had to say what I was doing there. And not only that, I’d have had to tell the police what I suspected.”

  Dan stared at him. “Then why didn’t you?” Mart held out his hand, then let it drop to his side helplessly. “Because I’ve got no proof,” he said. “No proof at all. I think the person who’s been writing to me is the same one who vandalized the school—”

  “—and Wimpy’s, too,” Trixie added.

  “And it could be any one of half a dozen people,” Mart said, nodding. “I’ve been watching so many kids these days that I can’t see straight anymore. You know the people I think it could be, but I can’t watch them all now.”

  “So you want the Bob-Whites to help?” Brian asked.

  “Of course he does,” Trixie answered for Mart. “And I’m going to do all I can.”

  “Me, too,” Honey added quickly.

  Jim looked at the circle of solemn faces. “I guess that goes for all of us. When one Bob-White’s in trouble—”

  “It’s up to the rest of us to help,” Di said, nodding her head.

  “Then the only thing now,” Trixie put in, “is to decide exactly what we’re going to do.”

  Dan frowned. “I still think Mart should tell Sergeant Molinson everything he knows about this.”

  “Aw, let’s try it this way first,” Mart said, almost pleading. “Then if it doesn’t work—well— I’ll be the first to admit it and go tell the police what I know. Okay?”

  In the end, they took a vote on it. The final result was six to one in favor of the Bob-Whites trying to find out the identity of the Midnight Marauder themselves.

  Dan gave in with good grace. “Okay,” he said, “I guess I’ll have to go along with what you’ve decided. But I still think you’re wrong, you know.”

  “Jeepers!” Trixie said to Honey, as they made their way to the family room, “I’m sure glad we’ve got that settled. Wow! What a day! First I thought Reddy was missing—” She broke off and looked around at Di. “Speaking of Reddy, where is he? I expected him to come barking and running to meet us when we arrived.”

  Di pushed back her long hair. “Oh,” she said vaguely, “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. Wait a sec, I’ll find Harrison and ask him. He was the one who saw the two dogs earlier, anyway.” * In another few moments, Di was back, and Trixie stiffened with alarm when she saw the expression on her friend’s face.

  “Oh, Trixie,” Di wailed, “I don’t know how you’re ever going to forgive me. Reddy and Patch aren’t here, after all! Harrison saw them first thing this morning—at least, he saw Reddy, and he assumed Patch was with him.”

  “But where did Harrison see Reddy?” Trixie asked in a tight voice, though she sensed Di’s answer even before she heard it.

  “He saw Reddy in the woods,” Di said slowly. “It was about a mile from Mr. Lytell’s store, and just off Glen Road.”

  Brian stared. “But we’ve already looked for Reddy there,” he said, “and what everyone’s been seeing is just an old scrap of someone’s torn shirt.“

  “So I was right all along,” Trixie said, her lips quivering, “and Reddy’s still missing—and he’s been missing all night.”

  Honey moved at once to her friend’s side. “Don’t worry, Trix,” she said quickly. “We’ll find him—you’ll see.”

  “We’ll get the horses now,” Brian said, “and we won’t stop searching till we discover what’s going on.”

  “Is that okay with you, Trix?” Mart asked.

  But Trixie was no longer there. She was already out of the house and running down the hill and across the wet grass to the Wheelers’ stable.

  Dreadful News ● 8

  WHILE DI RACED for the paddock to saddle up her own palomino, Sunny, the other Bob-Whites hurried to catch up with Trixie. Then together they entered the stable’s dim and cool interior.

  At once, they smelled the familiar fragrances of saddle soap and sweet hay and heard t
he eager movements of the horses, who seemed to sense they were about to be allowed to stretch their legs.

  Regan, who had been talking to Miss Trask at the stable’s far end, hurried forward to meet the Bob-Whites. “I don’t believe it!” he exclaimed. “You’ve actually remembered that horses need to be exercised.”

  But Trixie wasn’t even listening. “Oh, Regan,” she burst out, “you’ll never guess what’s happened. We thought Reddy was found, but he isn’t. I know I asked you before, but have you seen him? We thought maybe he’d been around—”

  Her heart sank as Regan slowly shook his red head. “I haven’t any idea where he could be, Trixie,” he answered. “I already told you that first thing this morning. Then, when I didn’t hear from you again, I thought you must’ve found him.“

  “Patch is missing, too,” Honey put in. “I thought he was with Jim. Jim thought he was with you—”

  “No,” Regan said again, “I haven’t seen Patch, either.”

  “What’s this about Patch?” Miss Trask asked, joining them. Then she listened patiently while Trixie explained.

  “I’m sorry, Trixie,” Miss Trask said quietly, when she had heard the whole story of the dogs’ disappearance. “When you asked me about Reddy earlier, I thought he was off chasing rabbits somewhere. I told you so, if you remember.”

  “That’s what everybody told me,” Trixie said.

  “I thought so, too,” Brian put in. “But now we’re not so sure. Trixie thinks something may have happened to both Reddy and Patch. It seems funny that they’re both gone.”

  Trixie was almost dancing with impatience. She wanted nothing more than to rush to Susie’s stall, jump on her back, and dash away over the fields, yelling for Reddy at the top of her lungs.

  She knew, however, that first they’d have to get Regan’s permission to take the horses on their search.