“Wait just a minute, Moms. You’ve always told me not to grow up too soon,” Trixie said.
“That was two years ago at least,” her mother said, exasperated. “I don’t want you to grow up, but I’d like to be able to tell the difference between you and your brothers without straining my sight.”
That afternoon in Sleepyside Mrs. Belden made a few purchases before she picked up Trixie. A girdle was one of them. Before Mrs. Belden and Trixie went into the Teen Town dress department, she first went to the restroom and succeeded, with many a protest from Trixie, in getting her into the girdle. It slimmed her waist amazingly.
“Now we’ll look for the dress,” Mrs. Belden said.
“Don’t even pause at the rack that has pink dresses,” Trixie said.
“Why not?” her mother asked. “I’ve always liked pink. Pink is pretty on blondes.”
“Not on this strawberry blonde,” Trixie said.
The saleswoman slipped a pink dress over Trixie’s head, fastened it, and Trixie turned to her mother. “See what I mean?” she asked.
“Don’t slump so. Stand up straight,” her mother answered. “You’re just trying to make it look as bad as you can. It’s a pretty dress.”
“The dress is all right,” Trixie said. “But look at it with my hair, and my freckles.”
“Pink isn’t exactly right,” her mother agreed reluctantly. “We’ll try the blue one, please,” she said to the saleswoman.
There was something the matter with the blue one. There was something the matter with the yellow one, with the striped one, with the green one.
“You can’t make a swan out of me,” Trixie said, laughing. “You should have Honey for a daughter. Sit down here, Moms. I’ll look around by myself. You’re tired. If I have to get a dress I have to get one, I guess.”
Trixie looked around at all the racks in Teen Town, then she wandered over to the Young Flair shop. These aren’t quite so full-skirted, she thought. Maybe I’d look all right in something just a little more streamlined.
She found a dress of white chiffon. It was made very simply, with a Peter Pan collar and short sleeves. The skirt was short, and it was very full, but it was stitched in pleats around the hips to hold the fullness in place.
When Trixie slipped it over her head and looked in the mirror she couldn’t believe her eyes. “I feel like the old woman in the Mother Goose rhyme,” she said to herself. “ ‘Laws a mercy this can’t be I.’ I’ll show it to Moms.”
Her mother’s exclamation when she appeared was sufficient approval. “It’s the perfect dress,” she said. “It’s time I turned you loose to select your own clothes. Shall we go and find some white slippers for it?”
“Heavens no, Moms,” Trixie said. “I’ll get some bright green ones. Then I can wear them this summer with cotton dresses.”
Mrs. Belden held her palms up and shrugged. “Green shoes, of course,” she said.
When they had finished their shopping, they went into the tearoom for a soda before starting back home.
There they found Diana and her mother at a table and joined them. “We’ve been shopping for some things for Diana’s party,” Mrs. Lynch explained, “favors, paper plates, paper cloth, and cups—all Valentine things.”
“We’ve been shopping, too, for the party,” Trixie said. “A new dress!” she said excitedly. “I never knew it could be so much fun to buy clothes. I won’t even tell you what it’s like, Diana. You’ll see at the party.” Trixie’s blue eyes twinkled. “Moms may make a swan out of me yet. That would be a laugh, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know who would laugh,” Diana said. “Honey and I keep telling you that you’re getting prettier every day.”
Trixie reddened and changed the subject. “I’d give anything to know who those other people were who were with Bull Thompson when they stole the desk. Moms is relieved because Bull Thompson is at the reform school, but she’s still terribly worried about the others.”
“Maybe there aren’t any others now, Trixie,” Diana said. “Bull Thompson was all alone when he tried to break into Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house.”
“We think he was,” Trixie said. “I don’t know. Tad said that Bull’s Uncle Snipe Thompson is an ex-convict and that Bull had been living with him.”
“I might as well give up,” Mrs. Belden said. “I thought your mind was miles away from all that burglary business.”
“Why, Moms, you know that Honey and I are going to be detectives some day, and you know very well there are other thieves loose who know all about the antiques we’ll have at the show. They read about the jewel box in The Sleepyside Sun, and the news story had to go on and tell about a lot of other things we’d have such as—well, the samurai swords, for instance.”
“Do you see what I have to put up with?” Mrs. Belden appealed to Mrs. Lynch.
“It makes me nervous, too,” Mrs. Lynch said. “I’ll be glad when the UNICEF show is over and all the antiques are safely back with the people who own them. Do you honestly want to be a detective some day?” she asked Trixie.
“Indeed I do, more than ever,” Trixie said. “If Spider would only help a little more, I think we could find out who those other crooks are, and—”
“Maybe I should be glad that Diana just wants to be a flight stewardess,” Mrs. Lynch said, “though it will be a long time yet before the girls really have to decide. I used to shiver when I’d think of the possibility that Diana would be up in the air so much of the time. Maybe the girls will change their minds by the time they finish college.”
“Not me,” said Trixie, the box with the white chiffon dress forgotten, and the green slippers farthest from her mind. Her thoughts centered about the Bob-White clubhouse in the woods, the antiques they had repaired, and the need for protecting them from the thieves who were still at large.
Chapter 13
Moll Dick Goes Partying
The day of Diana’s party a cellophane-topped box was delivered to Miss Trixie Belden. Bobby answered the door and took the box to his mother where she was working in the kitchen.
“It’s a corsage,” she said. “Trixie will love it. Put it in the refrigerator, Bobby.”
“Can’t I open the box?” Bobby asked, his eyes popping.
“Of course not. It’s Trixie’s,” his mother said.
“I’ll bet Daddy sent it, ’cause he sent a box like this to you on your birthday,” Bobby said.
“I doubt if Daddy sent this one,” his mother answered.
“Guess what’s in the refrigerator!” Bobby called out to Trixie as she got off the school bus.
“I don’t know, Bobby,” Trixie said. “A lemon meringue pie?”
“No, sir,” Bobby answered, giggling. “It’s not to eat. It’s to smell.”
“A bunch of green onions,” Trixie guessed.
“No, sir!” Bobby said again.
“I’ll just see for myself,” Trixie said and opened the refrigerator door.
“It’s an orchid!” she exclaimed. “A white one—see, Moms—on a red satin heart—who could have sent me an orchid?” Excitedly she took the little card out of the envelope and read:
Dear Moll Dick: Is this your first orchid?
I hope so. See you tonight.
Jim.
Trixie blushed to the roots of her sandy hair. “Did you ever have an orchid in your life?” she asked her mother. “A beautiful white orchid from—of course you’ve had them from Daddy—but from a boy?”
“It was gardenias when I was your age,” her mother said. “It will look pretty with your new white dress.”
“Beautiful!” Trixie said, dancing around the room. “Oh, Moms, take it please and put it back in the refrigerator. Just look at my hair! I brushed it for an hour this morning, and it still looks like a Fiji Islander’s hair. And my freckles! May I possibly use just a teeny little bit of your powder base tonight?”
“You may use anything I have,” her mother said, “even my lipstick.”
; “You know you’re safe, Moms. I have my own. How can I possibly ever dance in high heels?”
“You’ll be dancing on air,” her mother said. “You won’t notice the heels.”
The record player was playing softly when Trixie, with Brian on one side and Mart on the other, walked into the Lynches’ beautiful big living-room.
The ceiling and wall lights in the long room were covered with gay Japanese lanterns. In the dining-room bright red cellophane hearts dangled from the chandelier. The table, covered with a Valentine paper cloth, held trays of Cokes, potato chips, popcorn, pickles, olives, and Valentine candies. On a cart a portable oven held hamburgers fresh from the kitchen—plenty of them that were replaced just as fast as the hungry guests could eat them.
Diana’s father and mother were busy putting last touches to the room. Through the railing at the head of the stairs as they came in, Trixie saw the four faces of Diana’s little twin brothers and twin sisters peeping at the scene below.
“Hi, Cinderella!” Jim said when he caught sight of Trixie. “Some dress! You smell wonderful, too.”
“It’s Moms’ perfume,” Trixie said, grinning. “The orchid is super, Jim. Thanks!”
“Trade it for a dance,” Jim said and Trixie floated off on tiptoe, heels not even touching the floor, dancing on cloud nine.
Diana had asked Tad to her party. After the burglary at Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house, Spider and Tad had gone often, at the little Dutch woman’s invitation, to visit her, most of the time to stay for dinner.
After Mrs. Vanderpoel had heard about Spider’s attempt to make a home for Tad, trying to cook, manage the house, direct Tad’s activities all by himself, she told Trixie, “I need a boy around this house. I love to have someone to cook for. I’m going to ask them if they’d like to come and live with me.”
So it had been arranged. For a nominal rental, for Spider would have it no other way, they moved to Mrs. Vanderpoel’s house.
Tad now went back and forth on the bus with the other country boys and girls. They were all good friends.
At the Valentine party after Tad danced with Trixie he said, “I guess you know that Bull Thompson was sent to the reform school.”
“Yes,” Trixie said, “and it wasn’t half what he deserved. Did Sergeant Molinson or your brother find out anything more about the rest of his gang? Was Bull’s Uncle Snipe mixed up in it?”
“I don’t know,” Tad said soberly. “No matter how they questioned Bull they couldn’t get a thing out of him. He said the others had skipped to another part of the country. No one can take Bull Thompson’s word for anything, though.”
“Thank goodness nothing happened to Mrs. Vanderpoel,” Trixie said fervently. “I’m glad you and Spider live with her now.”
“That goes more ways than one,” Tad said. “She’s tops.”
Jim came up then with Cokes and hamburgers for Trixie and himself. “I should have brought one for you,” he said to Tad. “Here, take this and I’ll get another.”
“No, thanks,” Tad said and he jumped up from the chair where he had been talking to Trixie. “I’ll get it myself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you could dance like a feather?” Jim asked Trixie.
“Mart didn’t think so when I was dancing with him,” Trixie said, smiling. “He said I punctured his toes with my high heels.”
“I feel so sorry for him,” Jim said. “I’ll tell you this, I’d lots rather dance with you than I would with Mart. Say, Trixie, why don’t we take our food over on that divan that faces the window?”
Trixie followed Jim to the seat in front of the window. In front of them, through the window, the light from the full moon etched shadows of the bare trees on the glistening snow. There were millions of stars in the sky. They could see down the hill toward the Manor House. Back of them in the big living-room the record player played soft music.
Trixie finished her hamburger, then put her head back against the couch and dreamed. Outside the moon seemed to come closer and closer. Watching it, Trixie suddenly jerked her head to awareness.
“That light,” she whispered to Jim. “It’s Regan with a lantern. He’s running toward the clubhouse.”
“Shhhh!” Jim warned. “Get your coat. Quiet! I’ll meet you at the front door, right outside.”
Outside Jim held tight to Trixie’s hand to keep her from stumbling in her high heels. Faster and faster they went, trying to catch up with Regan and his bobbing lantern.
“Everybody keeps saying,” Trixie gasped, as she ran, “not to worry any more with Bull Thompson in reform school. Regan, did the alarm sound?”
“It sure did,” Regan said. “I was down in the stable yard and didn’t hear it at first,” he panted. “Blast it! There they go down Glen Road!” Red-haired Regan swung the lantern angrily in disgust. “Oh, for a good rifle! I left the apartment for about half an hour and this had to happen!”
“Forget it, Regan,” Jim said. “Come on, Trixie, let’s see what happened in the clubhouse.”
“Just look at this!” Trixie moaned as they went inside, and turned on the light. The beautiful curtains Honey had made had been jerked from the rods, to be used for bags to carry the small articles now piled on them. Everything had been dragged from the shelves, some of it thrown carelessly around the room.
“Go up to your house, Jim,” Regan said. “Tell your dad to call Sergeant Molinson and Spider, too, if he can reach him. Ask him to tell them to get out here as quick as they can.”
“I smelled gasoline when I came in,” Trixie told Regan as Jim left to call his father.
“I’ll look around,” Regan said, disgusted. “Just look at this, Trixie, gasoline-soaked rags!”
“Oh, heavens,” Trixie cried, “do you know what they were going to do, Regan? Set our beautiful clubhouse on fire after they robbed it! Thank goodness for that alarm. It scared them away before they could steal anything.”
“You can’t be sure of that, Trixie, till you take an inventory,” Regan said. “Here comes the whole gang from the Valentine party now.”
Tad, eager to help, seemed to be everywhere. He helped Mart gather up the gas-soaked rags into a pile on a cleared place away from the clubhouse. Regan set a match to them.
As they blazed against the sky the crowd stood out as vividly as a painting, the girls in their bright dresses, coats hastily gathered around their shoulders, the boys milling around, thrilled at their first taste of off-TV drama, while far away on Glen Road the police siren screamed.
In the light of the fire Trixie spied something small shining against the snow. She picked it up, turned it over in her hands. “I guess it’s Patch’s dog tag,” she said to herself and put it in her pocket. “I’ll ask Jim when I have a chance.”
Chapter 14
At the Police Station
During the next few days the Bob-Whites of the Glen worked as they had never worked before, setting the clubhouse to rights. The girls pressed the draperies and put them back on the windows. They rearranged the things they had made on the shelves—dolls and aprons, repainted toys, small framed pictures.
Mart, furious at the scratches on the cherry gate-leg tables, worked and rubbed till the marks disappeared. Finally the clubhouse was in order again.
Only the samurai swords seemed to be missing. Not a trace of them could be found. The burglars must have made off with them.
“It’s a shame we didn’t sell them to the Hakaito brothers when they wanted to buy them,” Brian said. “Now we’ll probably never see them again, and they won’t do anyone any good.”
Trixie didn’t think the police were trying very hard to investigate the robbery at the clubhouse. “Why do they have to take forever to find anything out?” she asked the others. “I’d like to do a little investigating myself.”
“Lay off it,” Mart warned. “You know what Moms and Dad said … no more sleuthing.”
“I don’t have time now before the show,” Trixie said, “but if I did, I’d—”
“Well, there must be some way of finding who they are,” Trixie insisted. “I’d feel a lot safer about our show on Saturday if they all were in jail.”
She meant it, too, because one or two of the people who had promised Trixie some of their rare antiques had withdrawn their offers in the face of the publicity about the clubhouse.
“Another thing,” she said, “no one has ever found out who returned the oak desk the night of the blizzard. I know Bull Thompson didn’t have a change of heart. It’s a real mystery.”
“Maybe one of the other crooks in Bull’s gang is a softie and returned it,” Mart said.
“That isn’t even probable,” Trixie said. “Anyone who would put gasoline rags around our clubhouse hasn’t any heart at all.”
That night after Trixie went to bed she couldn’t sleep. Her mind went back to the Valentine party … the music, dancing. It was wonderful, she thought. Then that awful time at the clubhouse … those gasoline rags … that fire might have been our club burning. I wish the police could trace those crooks.
All at once a thought struck her. “Jeepers,” she said to herself, “I forgot all about that dog tag I found. It isn’t Reddy’s. Maybe it’s not even Patch’s tag. If it isn’t, it might be a clue! I’ll ask Jim about it tomorrow.”
On the bus the next morning Trixie asked Jim to meet her in the library at study period. When he did, she took the metal disk from her pocket, turned it numbered side up, and asked, “What is this, Jim, a dog tag? Did it come off of Patch’s collar? It doesn’t belong to Reddy.”
“One thing at a time, Trixie,” Jim said. “It isn’t Patch’s tag. It isn’t a dog tag at all. It’s the number of an automobile.”
“An automobile?” Trixie asked excitedly. “Then it is a clue. It belongs to one of the crooks who stole the swords!”
“What are you talking about?” Jim asked.
“The night of the robbery at the clubhouse,” Trixie said, as she rubbed the disk to show the number better, “I found this on the ground outside.”
The Mysterious Code Page 11