Trixie felt herself growing red with anger. She wanted to scream, At least we’re helping something besides ourselves and a bunch of black-market gem, dealers! Only the knowledge of David Llewelyn’s need for secrecy made her bite her tongue.
“We’re always interested in doing something worthwhile.” Honey’s voice was overly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll realize that more and more as time goes on.”
Oh, wonderful, wonderful Honey, Trixie thought. She’s taking out her anger on Paul Gale, and he doesn’t even know it.
Indeed, Paul Gale didn’t have a clue that Honey was being sarcastic. “I’m sure I will,” he said with a smile. His heavy beard hid most of his face, so that the smile was really only a baring of teeth.
Like a hungry animal, Trixie thought.
Paul Gale launched immediately into roughly the same lecture his assistant had given the day before. The girls listened to it with jaws clenched. Trixie grew angrier and angrier at every claim of good works she heard Paul Gale make. Honey’s tones grew sweeter and more admiring as she, too, became more irritated.
Finally the girls were able to disentangle themselves and head for the door. Outside, Trixie muttered a low growl and marched away from the building at a brisk pace.
“You were supposed to make Paul Gale angry,” David Llewelyn said as he appeared from nowhere and fell in step beside the girls. “You weren’t supposed to get angry yourself.”
Trixie laughed in embarrassment. “I did, though. I got absolutely furious. I’m even angrier that nothing got accomplished in there.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” David Llewelyn said as he reached out and unclipped the microphone from Trixie’s collar. “After six months of trailing Paul Gale, I was getting discouraged. Hearing that smooth pitch of his made me angry, too—angry enough to tail him for another six months, if necessary.”
“I hope it won’t be,” Trixie said. “If there’s anything more we can do to help, just let me know.”
“Thank you,” David Llewelyn said. “But you’d better spend your time thinking about your own mystery.”
11 * Computerized Confrontation
AS IT TURNED OUT, however, Trixie had very little time for thought that evening. She was just taking off her coat when Bobby ran to her. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.
Trixie gave her younger brother a hug. “No sign of Reddy?” she asked softly.
The question was all it took to make Bobby start crying again. “N-no Reddy,” he wailed. “Moms and me looked and looked this afternoon. She said you guys would help me look tonight. But Mart’s gotta work on his computer, and Brian’s gotta run an errand for Daddy. So would you help me look? Please?”
“Of course I will,” Trixie told him without hesitation.
The two Beldens searched the grounds around Crabapple Farm until their feet were numb with cold. They shouted until their voices were hoarse. But there was still no sign of Reddy. Finally, concerned about the effect of the cold on Bobby, Trixie persuaded the unhappy six-year-old to go back inside.
“Brian and I will go out again after dinner,” Trixie promised.
Dinner that night was a gloomy affair, very different from the usual noisy, enthusiastic occasion that the Beldens all enjoyed. Bobby only played with his food. Mart, usually the most talkative in the family, hardly said a word. He arrived at the table at the very last minute, quickly downed two helpings of roast beef and mashed potatoes, and asked to be excused to go back to his borrowed computer.
After dinner, Trixie helped her mother with the dishes while Brian went back outside to look for Reddy. Then Trixie joined her brother and the two of them made another round of the Belden property, calling Reddy’s name. There was no sign of the dog.
When Trixie and Brian came inside and admitted their defeat, Bobby’s eyes once again filled with tears. “Come on,” Trixie said, putting her arm around his shoulders and leading him upstairs. “I’ll wash those tears off your face, and then I’ll tell you all the stories I’ve heard about dogs who have been lost for days and weeks and months, even, and have found their way home.”
“Really?” Bobby asked. “Is that true?”
“It’s truly true,” Trixie told him. I just hope it turns out to be true for Reddy, she thought.
Trixie didn’t have to try to remember very many happy endings, however. The brisk exercise Bobby had put in during the day soon had him drifting off to sleep. Trixie kissed his cheek, which was ruddy and chapped from the cold air, and tiptoed out of his room, closing the door behind her.
As she passed Mart’s room, she heard him say, in an exasperated voice, “I don’t get this at all!”
Softly, Trixie walked into his room. “Your program still isn’t working,” she said sympathetically.
“It’s working perfectly,” Mart said. “That’s what I don’t understand. I had such a confusing crazy quilt of corrections that I decided to go right back to the beginning. So I put the program in the same way I did two weeks ago at school, without any of the changes or modifications I’ve made since then—and now it works!”
“You must have done something differently, if it works now and didn’t then,” Trixie insisted.
“No, I put this exact same program in the computer,” Mart said stubbornly. “It took me the whole hour. The next morning I came in and tried to run it, and—” Mart suddenly jumped to his feet, backing away from the computer as if it might be about to explode. “There’s only one explanation. Somebody sabotaged my program after I left the computer room!”
Mart continued to stare at the computer. He stood with his feet wide apart, his shoulders pulled back, and his arms held stiffly out from his sides. It was, Trixie realized, the posture of a cowboy who was about to draw a six-gun and shoot down a villain.
That ridiculous thought snapped the tension that Trixie had been feeling all evening.
Suddenly, uncontrollably, she started to laugh.
Mart whirled and looked at her furiously. “What’s so funny about someone sabotaging my program?” he demanded.
Somehow, Mart’s rage made the whole thing seem even funnier. “N-nothing,” Trixie said, her laughter contradicting the denial. “I’m sorry. It’s been one of those days, I guess. But are you sure someone sabotaged the pro-gram r
“How else do you explain it?” Mart asked. “This is the same program I typed into the computer two weeks ago. It works perfectly now, but it sure didn’t then. That’s why I’ve spent all this time trying to get the bugs out of it.”
“But who would have done such a thing, and why?”
“I don’t know why, but I do know who,” Mart said grimly. “It would take a lot of knowledge about computers to ruin the program without my being able to spot the sabotage. There’s only one person in my class who knows enough to do such a thing.”
“Gordon Halvorson!” Trixie exclaimed.
“Gordon Halvorson,” Mart confirmed.
“But why?” Trixie pressed. “I thought Gordon was so eager to teach you about computers.”
“That’s how he’s been acting,” Mart said. “But maybe he was being helpful as an excuse to hang around and make sure I didn’t get the program working.”
“Oh, but Mart, I can’t imagine—” Trixie broke off as Brian Belden walked into the room.
“Still having problems with your program?” he asked.
“Not anymore,” Mart said. “There’s a different kind of problem now.” Briefly, he told Brian what he’d concluded.
Brian let out a soft, low whistle. “So that’s the story,” he said. “Well, it’s a relief. I was beginning to think you weren’t as smart as you’ve been telling me you were.”
“Terrific—another comedian,” Mart said.
“This isn’t funny, Brian Belden,” Trixie said, forgetting that she had been laughing at Mart just a few minutes earlier. “Gordon deliberately sabotaged the program. What he did was wrong. Somebody has to make sure he doesn’t try it again.”
“You’re right, Trixie. I apologize, Mart. I guess I just wanted your programming problems to be over, so that we could concentrate full-time on the pet show and on finding Reddy. But you’re right—Gordon has to be confronted.”
Mart sank back down into his desk chair. He reached around to the back of the computer and pushed the off switch. The screen instantly went blank, but Mart continued to stare at it. “At least I’ve seen the last of that program,” he said.
“The last of it?” Trixie shrieked. “Getting it working was just the beginning. Now you have to put all the data from all the pets into it.”
Mart’s jaw dropped open. He turned in his chair and stared dumbly at Trixie.
Again, Brian and Trixie began to laugh.
Mart wasn’t amused. He rose, zombie-like, from his chair. “I’m going to bed,” he announced.
“Sweet dreams,” Trixie said in a syrupy voice. Then, bursting into laughter once again, she left her brother’s room and headed for her own.
Alone in her room, however, Trixie found herself feeling far from cheerful. Mart’s programming problems are over. But there are still so many other problems to be solved. I don’t see how we can do it all before the pet show on Saturday.
She fell into a worried sleep that was plagued by troubled dreams. In one dream, she was walking Reddy down Glen Road. The energetic setter suddenly lunged forward, wresting the leash from her hand. She called to him, but he was running after a boy. The boy turned around just as Reddy jumped at him, and Trixie saw the terrified face of Gordon Halvorson. Reddy knocked Gordon down, and Trixie ran forward to retrieve the dog and help Gordon to his feet. But by the time she got there, Gordon had turned into Paul Gale, and it was the man who was attacking the dog, rather than the other way around.
In her dream, Trixie cried out, but no one responded. She looked around frantically for help, and saw Norma Nelson standing silently by the side of the road.
“Help me, please,” Trixie cried.
Norma’s only response was to toss a handful of cracked corn into the air like confetti.
In the morning, Trixie woke feeling drained and tired. She straggled after her brothers out to the car, carrying Mart’s book bag so that he could carry the computer.
At school, she followed Mart up to the computer room so that she could hand him his book bag as he dropped off the computer.
The computer room was large. There was a desk and chalkboard in the front of the room, with four rows of tables and chairs so that students could listen to lectures. The computers, on their special desks, were pushed up against the side and back walls.
Mart started toward an empty desk to put back his computer, then froze when he saw the lone student working at a computer in the far corner.
Trixie felt an urge to turn and run when she recognized Gordon Halvorson; she wondered briefly if Mart felt the same way. But it was too late. Gordon had heard them and turned around.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, rising from his chair. He was a tall, thin boy with mud-colored hair that fell in a lifeless lock on his forehead. “Did you make any progress last night?”
“Yes,” Mart said as he put down his computer.
“Well, good,” Gordon said, not realizing that anything was wrong. “We’ll work on it this morning during class. Maybe we’ll get those snags out for you.”
“The snags are out,” Mart said. For a moment, it seemed as though he would be unable to say anything more. Then, with great effort, he added, “I know what you’ve been doing, Gordon.”
Gordon’s face registered his shock vividly. His denial, when it came, was unconvincing: “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” Mart said. He seemed more at ease now that the initial accusation was over. “You’ve been sabotaging this program all the while you were pretending to help me with it. Last night, I tried the program as I’d originally written it two weeks ago, and it worked perfectly.”
In spite of himself, Gordon looked impressed. “That was a smart way to handle it,” he said. “I thought you’d just keep patching what you had. It never occurred to me that you’d try going back to the beginning.”
The nerve of him, Trixie thought. He’s still acting superior, even now. “Don’t you think you’ve got some explaining to do?” she asked out loud.
Gordon shifted his attention to Trixie. “I suppose I do. Well, primarily I made minor changes in the data base—the kind that no one would notice in a quick scan. From time to time, I also made some changes in the loops for each subsort, and—”
“But why?” Trixie demanded.
Gordon looked down, touching the keyboard of a computer, almost stroking the keys. “I just thought one of the Beldens could let someone else be good at something for a change.”
Trixie looked at her brother to see if he’d understood Gordon’s statement. When Mart shrugged, Trixie asked, “What does that mean, Gordon?”
Gordon looked up at Trixie. His mouth was set in an angry pout. “You Beldens and your rich friends—you’re always hanging around in that tight little pack of yours, living in your own little world, working on your own little projects. You think you’re too good for the rest of us. You think nobody has anything to offer you, because you’ve got it all.”
“That’s not true!” Trixie protested.
“Oh, yeah? Well, look what happened when I tried to help your brother learn about computers. He wouldn’t have any of it; he just pushed me out of the way,” Gordon said.
“I did not,” Mart countered. “I was grateful for your help, but I couldn’t learn just by watching you. I needed a chance to do things my own way and make my own mistakes. You wouldn’t give me a chance.”
“I wouldn’t give you a chance? That sounds pretty funny, coming from you!” Gordon’s lower lip suddenly started to tremble. He tried to control himself and, when he couldn’t, he stormed out of the room.
Mart watched him go, looking pale and shaken. “I had no idea he felt that way,” he said. “I could have listened to him a little more, if I’d known how important it was to him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had to—”
“To sabotage your program?” Trixie completed her brother’s thought, but shook her head. “He didn’t have to do that. And he was wrong to do it, although he doesn’t seem to have admitted it. I don’t think he should get away with it.”
Mart sighed. “No. I’ll have to tell the teacher.”
“Do you want me to come along?” Trixie offered.
“No, I’d better do it alone.”
Trixie held out Mart’s book bag, feeling as though it were a shield she was offering before sending him out to do battle. “Good luck. I’ll see you at lunch.”
Mart was the last of the Bob-Whites to get to the cafeteria that noon. Trixie had filled the others in on what had happened, and they were all waiting eagerly for him.
“What happened? What happened?” Trixie asked as soon as Mart sat down.
He opened a carton of milk and took a long swallow before he replied. “Gordon admitted the sabotage in front of the teacher. Mr. Johnson was neat about it. He’s not going to flunk Gordon, but he’s going to make him spend a hundred hours doing programming for some charity project. They’ll decide on one after school.”
“That is a good solution,” Honey said. “I guess the pet show project doesn’t need him now, though, does it?”
“No, and I don’t think that’s a project he’d pick,” Mart said. “You know, he never did say he was sorry. He’s really convinced that we’re a conceited little in-group.”
“Do you think that a lot of people agree with him?” Honey asked, sounding hurt.
“Not a lot, I’d guess,” Jim told her. “I think it’s more people like Gordon, whose lives aren’t what they want them to be, and who need somebody to blame.”
“Loneliness is so awful,” Honey said. “It can make you think strange things sometimes. I know all about that.”
“I wish we could do
something to help Gordon,” Di said.
“I do, too,” Mart told her. “But I don’t think he wants any help from the Bob-Whites right now.”
“No, I’m sure he doesn’t,” Dan added. “Well, we can’t solve Gordon’s problems, but I’m glad yours is solved, Mart,” Brian said. “Now we can deal with the others—Bobby’s lost dog and the endangered pet show.”
“I wish we could solve those problems as easily,” Jim said.
Something in their conversation had given Trixie an idea. “Maybe we can,” she said quietly.
12* Tailing a Suspect
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Brian asked.
“I—” Trixie began, then remembered the disbelief that had greeted all of her theories about the pet show. “There are some things that still need to be done before the pet show on Saturday,” she said. “Honey and I had better stay in town after school and take care of them.”
“What—” Honey started to question her friend’s statement, then caught the warning arch of Trixie’s eyebrow. “What a good thing that you remembered those details we talked about last night.”
Only Jim caught the look that the two girls exchanged. He knows there’s something going on, Trixie thought. If he says anything to Brian and Mart, we won’t be allowed out of their sight for the next month!
To her surprise, however, Jim didn’t voice his suspicions. He just gave Trixie a long, hard look. The look meant that Jim knew something suspicious was going on.
The warning bell sounded, ending the lunch hour. Trixie rose quickly and said, “See you tonight.”
The Bob-Whites all gathered up the remains of their lunches as well as their books, and headed in different directions for their afternoon classes.
Trixie and Honey had only a moment together in the hallway after the others had left. “It’s about Reddy, isn’t it?” Honey asked her friend. “Are we going to find him this afternoon?”
The Pet Show Mystery Page 8