The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

  Charles tied the rope firmly around his waist, then he bent down and gathered the squirming dog in his arms. Draping Reddy awkwardly over his shoulder, he held onto the dog with one arm, and the rope with the other.

  Meanwhile, Trixie had checked to see that the rope was knotted firmly around the tree stump. Then both girls got tight grips on the knotted rope. They began to pull with all their might. It wasn’t easy. Charles probably weighed one hundred and forty pounds, at least. Reddy was a sixty-pound Irish setter. Two hundred pounds all together!

  But taking it slowly, and moving their hands carefully from one knot to the next, the girls were finally able to pull Charles and Reddy up the wall.

  As his front paws cleared the opening, Reddy leapt ahead. Charles managed to pull himself the rest of the way out. Trixie and Honey fell backward onto the ground, their arms aching from exertion.

  “Whew!” Trixie finally said. “That was hard.”

  Charles dusted himself off, and said to Trixie, “Now, tell me why you think I’m a burglar.”

  Trixie, startled for a moment by the young man’s worried expression, straightened her back slowly and then stood up. “I appreciate your help, I really do. But I’m still suspicious. There are too many things about you that don’t add up.”

  “Like what?”

  Trixie took a deep breath. “First of all, there has been a rash of burglaries in this area—all mansions and all in the last few weeks. So far, none of the burglars have been caught. Just last night, someone tried to rob the Manor House. But they got away with only the small Renoir. Maybe you remember it?”

  Trixie saw that Charles looked upset, but she went right on. “The first time we met, you were very interested in that painting. You asked if it was real.”

  “I was merely surprised that anyone would have a real Renoir in their house,” Charles began quietly. “I thought paintings like that were only in museums.” Then he became more defensive. “Besides, I could not have been in Sleepyside committing a burglary when I was in New York City. I work nights, you know.”

  “That’s what you say,” Trixie said, “but maybe that’s just an alibi. The burglars were interrupted in the middle of the burglary by Miss Trask. They accidentally banged the fender of their car on the oak tree at the curve in the driveway when they made their getaway. Miss Trask heard the noise. When I looked at the tree, there was yellow paint on it. That little yellow Volkswagen your friend Harry drives has a dented front fender. We saw it parked in the woods when we came here today. How do you explain that?” Charles looked surprised. “There were no dents in the car that I know of,” he said.

  “Right,” said Trixie. “But today there are, so the scrape is new. Harry is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

  “Harry Kemp? Yes and no.”

  “And another thing,” Trixie went on, feeling more confident in her accusations, “Professor Conroy was knocked unconscious soon after he’d spoken with you about letting us work at the village site. He thinks he banged his head on a low-hanging branch. But I think you hit him.

  “In order to get him out of the way until you found your hidden gold, you made sure he’d be in the hospital for at least ten days. That way, as student head of the dig, you would have complete freedom to look for the treasure. And you knew where it was hidden because you found the map at the Historical Society.”

  “How did you know about that map?” Charles gasped.

  “The same way you did—by looking in the archive room at the Historical Society. It was in Edward Palmer’s diary.” Now Trixie was starting to get angry. “How can you claim you’re above stealing if you stole the diary? I even saw Harry waiting outside the Historical Society for you!”

  “You mean it’s missing?” Charles said, horrified. “I never stole the diary. What was Harry doing there?”

  “How should I know?” Trixie snapped.

  “And if you didn’t steal it, who did? It’s gone, and I saw you running off with it. I was looking out the window of the archive room at about three-thirty that afternoon—you know, the same day you went there with Brian. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “Three-thirty?” Charles said angrily. “I wasn’t there then. We went in the morning. You can ask Brian.”

  “Why should I?” said Trixie. “I’m sure you wouldn’t steal the book right out from under his nose. That’s why you went back to get it that afternoon.”

  Charles rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I didn’t steal the book. The big question is, who else would want Edward Palmer’s diary?”

  “But I saw you,” Trixie said firmly.

  “You only think you saw me. Let me think a minute. You say you saw Harry Kemp waiting outside the Historical Society, so it could have been Harry who stole the book. We can’t be sure. By the way, he’s not really my friend, he’s a friend of Professor Conroy’s. I didn’t meet him until the day we were packing for the dig. And the Volkswagen belongs to Professor Conroy, not to Harry. You can check the registration if you like.”

  “And I suppose Harry was the ghost, too?” Trixie asked smugly.

  Charles suddenly looked very shamefaced. His ears turned bright red. “Look, I’m really sorry about that stunt,” he said, staring at his hands. “I wanted to scare you girls away from the treasure.”

  “Ah-hah!” Trixie whooped. “You admit it. I thought you were in New York that night, working at your job.”

  “It was my night off,” Charles said sullenly. “I didn’t scare you enough, though. You came back the very next day.”

  “Now that we have established that you were in Sleepyside the night of the burglary,” Trixie said, “you could have broken into the Wheeler mansion.”

  “I could have,” Charles snapped. “But I didn’t!”

  “Wait a minute, Trixie,” Honey interrupted. “I just realized something. We saw the ghost at the same time the burglars were in my house.”

  Trixie pulled herself up short, then she looked at Charles. “That’s true,” she murmured, squinting her eyes thoughtfully. “One person can’t be in two places at the same time.”

  “Am I cleared of guilt yet?” Charles asked harshly.

  Trixie thought for a moment. Then she said, “No. You could still be involved with Harry, whether you were in the house that night or not. Besides, how did Harry find out about the gold if he’s not your friend? You were pretty worried when you thought Honey and I were about to discover your secret. So why would you tell Harry?”

  “Believe me, I didn’t want to tell that weasel about the gold,” Charles said bitterly.

  “He was loading my stuff on the truck the day we were leaving to come up here,” Charles went on to explain. “One of the cartons fell off the back of the truck and broke open. He saw my papers and notes. He said he’d help me look if I gave him some of the gold when we found it. And I needed the help. I knew I’d be working at the dig during the day, and at my job at night. That wouldn’t leave much time in between. I knew that once he’d found out about the gold, he was going to help me look whether I wanted him to or not. So I figured that sharing it was better than letting him take it all for himself.”

  “That still doesn’t explain the burglaries,” Trixie said, pressing on. “If what you say is true—that the yellow car is Professor Conroy’s, and Harry Kemp is his friend—then you’re really accusing Professor Conroy and Harry of breaking into the Manor House last night. How do I know you aren’t just covering yourself by accusing someone else?”

  “I tell you, I’m not a burglar!”

  “But you’re saying that a close friend of the Wheelers—Professor Conroy—is a burglar.”

  “Wait a minute,” Honey said. “Maybe neither Charles nor Professor Conroy is a burglar. Maybe Harry Kemp is, and the professor doesn’t know anything about it.”

  “The two of them are very close friends, I tell you,” Charles said shrilly. “Harry’s in his tent all the time talking business, although I can’t imagine what that business could be.”<
br />
  “That’s a nasty claim to make about a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler, Charles,” Trixie said smugly. “You know that Professor Conroy couldn’t be the burglar. He’s in the hospital with a concussion. He can’t even get out of bed.”

  “Actually,” Honey said quickly, “I don’t think Professor Conroy is a close friend of my parents.”

  Honey looked a little embarrassed, then she continued. “I didn’t remember hearing my father ever mention him, so I asked Miss Trask. She told me that he came to my father with a letter of introduction from Professor Ingles at Oxford University. My father has known Professor Ingles for years, so it’s almost the same, I guess. He didn’t bother to check directly because Professor Ingles was in the Sudan on a dig, and my parents were on their way out of the country. But checking hardly seemed necessary. Professor Conroy was so nice, and he did invite all of us to join the dig.”

  “Whether he’s a real friend or not is beside the point,” Trixie maintained stiffly. “He’s in the hospital. How can he rob houses if he can’t get out of bed?”

  As soon as she said those words, Trixie gasped. A disturbing picture had just popped into her mind.

  “The shoes!” she yelped. “How could I have missed such a big clue!”

  “What shoes?” Honey asked, perplexed. “You’re always talking in riddles, Trixie.”

  “When I looked in on Professor Conroy this morning, I saw his shoes next to the bed,” Trixie said. “They were caked with damp mud! That means he was wearing them outside, and very recently—like last night.”

  “That’s right,” Charles agreed, frowning with concentration. “And that’s the one part of this mystery that didn’t add up until now.”

  “What didn’t add up?” Trixie asked archly. “I thought my reasoning was perfect.”

  Charles smiled. “It was. But since you wouldn’t believe anything I said, I didn’t feel like telling you that, as far as I knew, Professor Conroy was never unconscious. You told me that he said he banged his head at night, and woke up later in the hospital. That indicates he was unconscious.

  “But when I spoke to him that morning he was fine,” Charles continued. “He said he’d knocked his head, and that Harry was going to drive him to the doctor’s office for his allergy medicine. But that was all. So when you told me about the concussion, it didn’t add up.”

  “You’re right,” Honey said. “But why did Conroy make up that story and get stuck in the hospital?”

  “I know why,” said Trixie. “He needed an airtight alibi. Maybe he was afraid the police were closing in on him. If he is the burglar, we have to prove it.”

  “But how?” asked Charles. “Yesterday’s airtight alibi is going to be just as airtight today.” Trixie began pacing up and down. “Just give me a minute,” she said. “I think I may have a plan, and it just might work. But we have to get everybody in on it. That’s going to be the hard part.”

  “Maybe we should go back to the clubhouse and talk it over with the boys,” Honey said helpfully. “They could help us work something out.”

  “We’ll go back to the clubhouse,” said Trixie, “but I don’t need any help figuring out the plan. I just need help putting it into action.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked Charles.

  “Let’s go,” Trixie said, picking up her flashlight. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “Now am I cleared of guilt?” Charles asked again as they headed out of the woods.

  “Let me put it this way,” Trixie said with a laugh. “You’re no longer my number-one suspect.”

  “That’s a relief,” Charles said. “You certainly know how to build a wicked case against someone—even if he’s innocent!”

  “What a thing to say!” Trixie said, bristling. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounds,” Charles said reassuringly. “But I can just imagine what kind of case you’d build against a person who was guilty!”

  13 * Trixie’s Scheme

  That evening after dinner, the Bob-Whites met at their clubhouse. Brian had been leery of coming until he heard that Charles Miller would be there, too. Trixie had asked Charles to come and help her convince the others. He’d managed to get the night off.

  Trixie quickly explained her plan to the group.

  “What makes you think it’s going to work?” Brian asked. “It could take days.”

  “Knowing Conroy and Kemp,” Charles said, “I think the plan has a good chance of being successful. Besides, what have we got to lose?” Trixie was pleased to see a look of amazement cross Brian’s face. He was obviously surprised to see how chummy his sister and Charles had become.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Brian said with a shrug. “Why not give it a try?”

  The next morning, Trixie’s plan to catch the thieves went into effect.

  Trixie met Honey at the foot of the driveway to the Manor House, and then they rode their bicycles into Sleepyside. Trixie was so excited, she could hardly breathe. When they arrived at the hospital, they immediately went to see Professor Conroy. After fluffing up his pillows and straightening his blanket, they were ready to begin. Honey pulled up a chair and sat down. Trixie stood behind her.

  “I have something to tell you, Professor Conroy,” Honey said. “I’m going to have to leave the dig.”

  “That is most unfortunate,” Professor Conroy said. He seemed distracted, and uninterested in Honey’s news. “Well, it’s been very nice having you, my dear.”

  “I hope my leaving won’t be an inconvenience, but it can’t be helped,” Honey went on. “My parents are staying in Europe longer than they’d planned, and Miss Trask and I are joining them there. We’re closing down the house for the rest of the summer. I’m sorry. I know you need all the help you can get, especially now that you’re sick.”

  The professor lifted his head from the pillow, and Trixie saw a look of intense interest cross his face. But he quickly softened his expression.

  “It’s no problem,” he confided in a gloomy tone. “We might have to cut the dig short, anyway. This injury is affecting my ability to supervise. However, it certainly has nothing to do with you. Please don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you don’t mind,” Honey said, pretending to be relieved. “I was upset about backing out on such short notice.”

  “Short notice?” asked Professor Conroy. “When are you leaving, my dear?”

  “Miss Trask is packing now, and we’re leaving on a 6 o’clock flight tonight. I know it’s awful for you, but—”

  “Don’t think a thing about it, Miss Wheeler,” the professor said with kind concern. “I hope you’ll have a happy summer.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Honey said warmly. “I’m sure I’ll have a very happy time, and I hope you get better soon.”

  “Why, thank you,” the man said. Then he sank back on his pillows weakly, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “I hope so, too. Now, though it’s been lovely talking with you, I need to rest.”

  “I’m so sorry, Professor Conroy,” Trixie said, hoping she sounded contrite. “Of course, we’ve tired you out.”

  “Not to worry, girls. I’ll just take a short nap now, and I’m sure I’ll feel more chipper.” Professor Conroy closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Trixie and Honey tiptoed out of the room. They quietly closed the door behind them, and then ran for the stairwell where no one could hear them.

  “Oh, brother,” Trixie gasped. “Did you hear that? He fell for it—hook, line, and sinker!” Honey could barely control her laughter. “We’ll see if he did, won’t we?”

  The girls continued their rounds. The morning went slowly, but 1 o’clock finally came. With a burst of enthusiasm, they rode home as quickly as they could. Trixie ran into her house and found her mother in the kitchen.

  “Moms,” she said, “Di and I are going to stay over at Honey’s tonight. Is that all right with you?”

  “Of course, dear,” Mrs. Belden answered. “Why, we’ll be practically alone tonight. Mart and Brian j
ust told me they’re going to visit Jim at summer camp tonight. There’s supposed to be a powwow.”

  “You still have Bobby to keep you company,” Trixie said with a laugh.

  “Thank goodness for that. I don’t know if we’d be able to stand too much silence after all these years of a home filled with noisy children.”

  Trixie threw her arms around her mother and gave her a big kiss. Then she bolted upstairs and collected her nightgown and toothbrush.

  “Where’ya going, Trixie?” Bobby called to her as she started down the stairs.

  “To Honey’s,” Trixie called back. “See you tomorrow.”

  “You want to help me with my garden tomorrow?” Bobby shouted to Trixie. “You said you would.”

  Trixie stopped for a minute, somewhat ashamed. It was true that she’d promised Bobby she’d help him. But so many things had happened that she’d completely forgotten.

  “Maybe not tomorrow, Bobby,” said Trixie, “but definitely the day after. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Bobby answered, a big smile brightening his face. “Day after tomorrow— and don’t forget!”

  “I won’t,” Trixie said. “I promise.”

  Trixie dashed down the stairs and out the front door. Honey was waiting for her outside.

  “Next stop, the dig,” Trixie said gleefully. The two girls headed across Glen Road on their bicycles. Trixie was whistling merrily as they rode.

  Fortunately, they arrived at the dig during a lunch break. Trixie was glad. Now everyone would hear what Honey had to say. Harry Kemp was there, too. So much the better, Trixie thought.

  Honey mournfully said good-bye to all the graduate students, explaining that she and Miss Trask were joining her parents in Europe.

  No one seems very upset, Trixie thought. I guess they never got a chance to know us, so they probably won’t miss us. But Harry Kemp smiled broadly—much more broadly than the occasion warranted—and he wished Honey a pleasant summer.

  “Another fish,” Trixie chortled happily as they made their way back to the Manor House. “Hook, line, and sinker!”