The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

by Campbell, Julie

  Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library

  1 The Secret of the Mansion

  2 The Red Trailer Mystery

  3 The Gatehouse Mystery

  4 The Mysterious Visitor

  5 The Mystery Off Glen Road

  6 Mystery in Arizona

  7 The Mysterious Code

  8 The Black Jacket Mystery

  9 The Happy Valley Mystery

  10 The Marshland Mystery

  11 The Mystery at Bob-White Cave

  12 The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

  13 The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island

  14 The Mystery of the Emeralds

  15 Mystery on the Mississippi

  16 The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

  17 The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest

  18 The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper

  19 The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

  20 The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road (new)

  21 The Mystery of the Castaway Children (new)

  22 Mystery at Mead’s Mountain (new)

  © 1978 by Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Produced in U.S.A.

  GOLDEN, GOLDEN PRESS®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  0-307-21591-1

  All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.

  The Art Fair • 1

  PLEASE HURRY, TRIXIE,” Honey Wheeler urged her best friend. “I want to have as much time as possible at the art fair, and Ben said he’d only wait half an hour to give us a ride home.”

  Trixie Belden put her books in her locker and slammed the door a little harder than was necessary. As she followed Honey to the gymnasium, where the art fair was being held, she thought about how much things had changed since Honey’s cousin Ben Riker had been staying with the Wheeler family.

  Honey Wheeler had been Trixie’s best friend since the day the Wheeler family moved into the Manor House, the big mansion on the hill just west of Crabapple Farm where Trixie lived with her parents and her three brothers. Together, Honey and Trixie had solved several mysteries, and they planned to open the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency after they finished school.

  One of their first cases had been to find Jim Frayne, who had run away to upstate New York to get away from his cruel stepfather. Honey’s parents had adopted Jim, and Honey, Jim, and Trixie, together with Trixie’s two older brothers, Mart and Brian, had formed a club called the Bob-Whites of the Glen. Two other members, Dan Mangan and Di Lynch, had been added to the club since then. The Bob-Whites devoted themselves to helping others and to having fun, as well as to solving the mysteries in which Trixie was constantly getting them involved.

  But that’s all changed now, Trixie thought grudgingly. Ever since Ben Riker arrived last month, Honey and Jim have been so busy trying to keep him out of trouble that there hasn’t been time for anything else. I don’t know how Honey can stand him.

  Honey’s cousin Ben had always been a show-off and a practical joker, plaguing the family with pranks like filling the sugar bowl with salt. But his jokes had been harmless enough until a few months before, when he had fallen in with a bad group at the expensive boarding school he’d been attending. With his grades slipping and his behavior getting him closer and closer to real trouble, he had been sent to stay with the Wheelers for a while, in hopes that Jim and Honey—and the Beldens, too—would be a good influence.

  It certainly hasn’t worked that way so far, Trixie reflected as she and Honey entered the gym. All he’s done since he came to Sleepyside is to get in with a crowd that’s as had as the one at his hoarding school. And even though Honey and Jim try to be nice to him and plan things to do together, he always seems bored and ungrateful when he’s around them.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Trixie,” Honey said, interrupting Trixie’s troubled thoughts. “It is too bad that we have only half an hour to spend at the art fair. I know that Jim or Brian would have given us all the time we wanted. They might even have come along with us if they weren’t busy with other things. But with Ben— Well, at least he did agree to give us a ride home. Sometimes I think Ben really would like to be helpful and to get along better with the rest of us, but he’s afraid to show it.”

  “Why would someone be afraid to show that he’s a nice person?” Trixie asked. “That doesn’t make any sense at all to me.”

  “That’s because you’ve never had to go to one of those dreadful boarding schools, Trixie,” Honey told her. “Believe me, I know. You get so lonely, away from your family all the time except for holidays, that feeling that you belong to a group becomes dreadfully important. You don’t want to do anything that will make your group lose respect for you. And in Ben’s case, the group he belongs to thinks it’s cool to get into mischief and not to care about schoolwork or helping other people. So Ben goes along with the crowd. I know it’s hard for you to understand, because you’ve always had loving parents and two older brothers to encourage you to do the right thing. But everyone isn’t as lucky as you’ve been, Trixie.”

  Honey’s huge hazel eyes clouded over, and she lowered her head so that her shoulder-length honey-blond hair would shade her face for a moment. Trixie knew that her friend was thinking about the days before she’d come to live in Sleepy-side, when she, too, had been sent away to boarding schools in the winter and to camps during the summer and had come to think that her parents didn’t care about her. All that had changed for Honey when her parents bought the Manor House and hired Miss Trask, Honey’s former math teacher, to look after Honey while they were on their frequent travels. But Trixie knew that the memories of the earlier times were still painful for her friend.

  “Im sorry, Honey,” Trixie said. “You’re right about my not understanding. I guess I’m spoiled by all the affection I’ve always got from my family. I’ll try to be more patient with Ben.”

  Honey raised her head and smiled at Trixie. “You’re wonderful to keep trying. I know he’s my cousin, not yours. But I think he’ll come around soon, and then you’ll like him. Just wait and see.” I’ll wait, Trixie thought, but I don’t think I’m going to see any big change—not in Ben Riker.

  Trixie was so lost in her thoughts about Ben Riker and the problems he’d caused that it took her a while to bring her attention back to the art fair. When she did, it was with a growing feeling of disappointment.

  This art fair was the first ever to be held at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School. Posters had been up in the school corridors for over a week announcing it, and Trixie and Honey had both been eager to go—Honey because she had an appreciation of beautiful things and Trixie because she was always curious about a new event, especially one that raised money for a worthy cause, like new equipment for the art department.

  The girls had planned to stay after school this Friday to attend the art fair, even though it would mean missing the school bus, and they were heartbroken when Dan, Jim, and Brian, the only Bob-Whites who had drivers licenses, had other plans and couldn’t give them a ride home. In desperation, Honey had asked Ben, who had consented to wait half an hour, but no more. Both girls felt it was better than nothing, although Trixie harbored the thought that Ben couldn’t have any plans that were so important that he couldn’t have waited longer. But now that they were actually at the art fair....

  “It looks like half an hour will be plenty of time, doesn’t it?” Trixie whispered to Honey.

  “It certainly isn’t what I’d expected,” Honey said tactfully.

  The gymnasium, which was always filled to o
verflowing at school carnival time, looked empty. There were only a few tables around the center of the gym and a few exhibits of paintings and drawings along the walls. Not very many students had shown an interest in attending the fair, and only one or two people stood in front of each exhibit.

  “Well, as long as we’re here, we might as well look around,” Trixie said, walking to die nearest table. The table held a small collection of pottery cups and vases. Even to Trixie’s untrained eye, they looked lopsided and amateurish. She felt vaguely embarrassed, not knowing what to say to Amy Morrisey, a girl she knew from her English class, who was standing behind the table. To her relief, Honey’s tact once again came to the rescue.

  “I’ve always been amazed that someone can take a lump of clay and put it on a wheel and turn that with their feet while they work the clay with their hands. It takes a lot more coordination than I’ll ever havel” Honey told Amy.

  Amy laughed. “Even with lots of coordination, it still takes a lot of practice. I’ve only been at it for two years, and with just one wheel in the art department, I haven’t had as much practice as I need to be really good. But I’m a lot better than I was. You should have seen the first things I turned out. They looked like something a caveman might have done!”

  “This must be one of your most recent things,” Honey said, pointing to a large vase with a blue glaze. “It’s really quite good.”

  “It’s my favorite,” Amy admitted. “I almost didn’t put it in the show because I’d like to keep it. But I decided that was a selfish attitude. The art department needs the money so badly, and this is the only thing I’ve done that’s good enough to ask a decent price for.” She shrugged. “I finally told myself I can’t really lose, either way. If it doesn’t sell, I get to keep it. And if it does, I have the satisfaction of knowing that the money will go to the art department.”

  “That’s terrific! I can never make myself think that way,” Trixie said, wrinkling her freckled nose and shaking her head so that her sandy curls bounced. “No matter how good the cause is, I just hate to give up anything of my own for it.”

  “That’s not true,” Honey said loyally. “Why, Trixie is the most generous person I’ve ever known. She gets an allowance from her parents for doing housework and baby-sitting for her little brother, and even though she has to give up all that time, she’s always willing to donate her money to—” Honey stopped herself from saying “to the club treasury” because the Bob-Whites were sworn not to tell that they all contributed their earnings to the treasury to be used for worthy causes. “To people who need it,” Honey finished. “And once she gave a valuable diamond ring to Mr. Lytell, who owns a store out near us, so he’d hold the car her brother Brian wanted to buy.” Honey saw her friend blushing at the praise and didn’t continue her list of Trixie’s unselfish acts.

  Trixie’s embarrassment was caused partly from hearing Honey telling Amy about her virtues, but it was also partly because she knew that she hadn’t been very gracious about giving up the companionship of Honey and Jim to the worthy cause of trying to keep Ben Riker from getting into trouble. I’ve just got to be more understanding about Ben, she thought.

  Aloud she said, “It was easy to give up that diamond because I’d never wear it, anyway, but to sell something I’d made— Well, I still think you’re terrific to do it, and I hope everything works out for you.”

  Saying good-bye to Amy, Trixie and Honey moved on through the gym, looking at exhibits of watercolors, oil paintings, and stained glass. At nearly every exhibit, they heard the same complaint: The young artists knew that the works they were showing weren’t very good, but the lack of supplies and equipment made it difficult to produce really first-rate things.

  “I wish there were something we could do,” Trixie told Honey after they’d made a discouraging round of most of the exhibits. “It seems so unfair that talented people should be held back because they don’t have the supplies they need.”

  “I know,” Honey agreed. “The art department obviously needs a lot more money, but I don’t think they’re going to raise much at this art fair. So few people are here, and nobody seems to be buying anything.”

  “Including us,” Trixie said ruefully. “But I haven’t seen anything I really like. And I don’t want to buy just anything. With the rules we Bob-Whites have about working for the money in our treasury, I’ve learned how important it is to be able to feel as though you’ve earned what you get, instead of taking charity.”

  “Exactly,” Honey agreed. “I think that’s been an even more important lesson for me than it has been for you, Trixie. We’ve had a lot of money ever since I can remember, and I used to just ask for whatever I wanted. But since I’ve been a Bob-White and earned money by doing mending for your mother and mine, I feel a lot better about myself. If we buy something here not because we like it but just because we want to donate money to the art department, the artist will know it, and that would hurt.”

  “Well, there are still a few things we haven’t looked at,” Trixie said. “Let’s hurry and see the rest of the exhibits before our time is up. There might be some pleasant surprises.”

  Without waiting for a reply from Honey, Trixie started off across the gym. Suddenly she felt Honey grasp her arm and heard her friend gasp.

  “Look, Trixie,” Honey said. “It’s the Manor Housel”

  A Shattered Vase • 2

  TRIXIE FOLLOWED her friends gaze to the far side of the gym, where a collection of pen-and-ink drawings was hanging against the wall.

  “It is the Manor Housel” Trixie exclaimed. “I can recognize it from clear over here. Oh, and, Honey, there’s Crabapple Farm, too! Let’s go!” Trixie almost ran across the gym to the exhibit, while Honey followed at a more dignified pace.

  Getting closer to the collection of drawings, Trixie saw several other places from the Sleepyside area that she recognized. “Look, Honey,” she said. “There’s Town Hall, and there’s Hoppy.” She leaned forward to peer at the signature on the drawing. “ ’Nicholas William Roberts the third.’ Is that you?” she asked, turning to a serious-looking, dark-haired boy standing nearby.

  “I’m Nick Roberts,” he told her. “But who’s Hoppy?”

  Trixie and Honey looked at each other and giggled. “That’s what we call the grasshopper weather vane on top of the Town Hall building,” Trixie explained. “My mother always thought, when she was a girl, that saying hello to Hoppy brought good luck. And she passed the tradition on to me. Oh, I’m Trixie Belden, by the way, and this is Honey Wheeler,” Trixie added, remembering her manners.

  “I read about you in the Sleepyside Sun,” Nick Roberts said. “You’re the ones who solved the mystery about the disappearance of the grasshopper from the steeple of Town Hall. Then you donated the reward money to the city to get the weather vane replated. It’s an honor to have such celebrities at our art fair,” he added in a teasing tone.

  While Trixie blushed, Honey said, “You’re the one who should be a celebrity, Nick. These drawings are just marvelous. This is where I live.” Honey pointed to the drawing of the Manor House. “And this house here, with all the big old crab-apple trees around it, is Trixie’s. We recognized them from across the gym, and we just had to come over here and see them up close.”

  “They’re even better up close,” Trixie added, forgetting her embarrassment as she inspected the drawing of Crabapple Farm. “Every detail is perfect. There are the windows of my room, with those crabapple branches almost touching them. I can even see Bobby’s bike in the front yard. He ’forgotted’ to put it away, as usual.”

  “The Manor House is perfect, too,” Honey said. “There are Susie and Starlight in the paddock in front of the stable. How do you manage to do such beautiful drawings, Nick?”

  “I have one here that I’m working on,” Nick replied, “if you’d like a brief demonstration.” When both girls nodded eagerly, Nick sat down at a table in front of his collection of drawings and showed them the picture he was worki
ng on.

  “I work from a photograph,” he told them. “That way I can work on the drawing for as long as I have to, whenever I have time, without being bothered by changes in light because of the time of day or the weather.

  “I work on illustration board,” he continued, “which is fairly heavy. It comes in a lot of textures and colors, so I can get different effects. The pen I use is called a technical pen, and it’s really just a hollow metal tube with a cartridge full of ink attached to it. The tubes come in several different sizes to give different widths of line. For example, I might use a size four for the outlines of the house, and then I’d switch to a smaller size, like a two-or three-aught, for fine lines like the twigs of the crabapple trees at Trixie’s house. I’ve already done a pencil sketch of this photograph of the Glen Road Inn, and now I just trace over the pencil and fill in the details with the pen.”

  As Honey and Trixie watched, the Glen Road Inn began to take shape under Nick’s rapidly moving hand. He filled in shadowy areas and gave some places depth with tiny crisscrossed lines, or “cross-hatching,” as he called them.

  “It must be wonderful to be so talented,” Trixie said admiringly. “How did you get interested in pen-and-ink?”

  Trixie saw the muscles in Nick’s jaw tighten as he dropped the pen almost contemptuously onto the table. “Actually,” he said, “I didn’t choose pen-and-ink. It chose me.” Seeing the girls’ mystified looks, he explained, “The other media, like watercolors and oils, are just plain too expensive. A good brush can cost twenty dollars. And one tube of oil paint is around four dollars. Add the cost of canvas and cleaners and multiply that by the number of colors you’d need to do justice to a painting and—well, you get the idea.”

  “Gleeps!” Trixie exclaimed. “I’ll say I do! Some of the other artists here have told us about the lack of money for art supplies and how it’s been bothering them, but nobody put it quite as, uh, vividly, as you have. No wonder the art department decided to put on this art fair.”