Trixie let her body sag against the wall and watched silently as the men continued their moving operations. The smaller man was packing paper, ink, and counterfeit money into boxes, which the big man carried to the van. Then the smaller man began to take apart the press, and his accomplice strained to carry the heavy metal pieces up the stairs.
After what seemed like hours, the cellar was empty. “You take the girl out to the truck,” the smaller man said. “I want to take one last look around, to make sure we didn’t forget anything.”
The big man grunted in agreement, grabbed Trixie by one arm, and dragged her to her feet. He pushed her up the stairs, caught her roughly as she stumbled, and guided her out the door.
When they got to the van, the big man lifted her up, as if she were a sack of flour, and tossed her into the back, closing the doors behind her.
In the darkness, Trixie groped and stumbled, trying to find a place to sit. She settled herself uneasily on a pallet of paper. She heard the big man grunt again as he boosted himself into the vehicle, then heard the door on the driver’s side of the van slam shut.
Trixie heard a slight rustling sound and felt a hand on her arm. She tried to scream.
“It’s okay, Trixie,” Nick Roberts’s voice whispered close to her ear. “Don’t make any noise. I’ll get us out of here.” Nick crouched behind a stack of boxes as he heard the smaller man trudge up the cellar steps, slam the door shut, and pound the hinges back into place. He walked around to the passenger side of the van and climbed in.
“Let’s go,” he barked.
As the motor started, Nick removed Trixie’s gag and began to untie her hands. A jumble of thoughts raced through her mind. What’s Nick doing here? she wondered. And how is he going to get us out of this van without their knowing about it?
She heard the grinding sound as the driver put the engine in gear and the groaning noise of the heavily loaded vehicle starting to move forward.
Suddenly the glare of floodlights pierced the darkness, and she heard a familiar voice call, “Stop that van and come out of there. This is the police.”
Trixie looked at Nick in astonishment and saw that he looked as surprised as she felt. The van jerked to a stop. Trixie cautiously opened one of the back doors and peeked around its edge. She watched the big man crawl slowly out from behind the wheel, his hands raised over his head.
The other man hesitated a moment, then yanked open the door, jumped to the ground, and started to run across the clearing.
“He’s getting awayl” screamed Trixie. Heedless of her danger, she clambered out the back of the van and scrambled to the ground, with some confused idea of giving chase to the counterfeiter.
“Are you crazy?” yelled Nick Roberts. “You’ll get yourself killed!”
The counterfeiter had almost reached the woods when another figure emerged from the shadows and caught the fleeing man with a flying tackle. “I’ve got him!” Trixie heard a familiar voice shout. It was Jim Frayne!
Explanations • 17
THE TWO SCUFFLED BRIEFLY, then Sergeant Molinson ran over and pulled the counterfeiter away, leading him to a waiting patrol car, where his accomplice slouched sullenly in the backseat.
After a quick examination of the contents of the van and a few words with Nick Roberts, Sergeant Molinson turned to one of the policemen he had with him. “You drive that load of evidence to the station,” he ordered. Just before he drove away in his own car, he called out to Trixie, “I have a few things to say to you later, young lady!”
Jim had stood up and was dusting himself off after the scuffle. “Oh, Jim, are you all right?” Trixie asked anxiously, running up to him.
Jim looked at Trixie and started to reply, then did a double take. “I think that’s supposed to be my line, Trixie,” he said, laughing. “But since you ask, I’m fine, thank you.” His green eyes turned serious. “How are you? That’s the more important question.”
For the first time, Trixie had a chance to stop and think about how she felt. She was shaking like a leaf, she realized, and there was a lump in her throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard she swallowed. Overall, though, she couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so good. “I—I feel just great, Jim, now that you’re here. But how—”
“How did we deduce the whereabouts of our peripatetic sibling?” Mart asked as he, Brian, and Honey walked up behind her. “Elementary, my dear Beatrix.”
Trixie jumped as she heard Mart’s familiar voice, then gave a happy cry and threw her arms around each Bob-White in turn.
“We got home from the movie to find you missing, and we immediately got worried because it was already after dark,” Brian explained. “We called Honey, to find out if you were with her. You weren’t, of course, and she began to worry, too. She and Jim came over in the station wagon immediately. By that time, we’d already discovered that your bike was gone.”
Trixie nodded guiltily as Brian told the story, which was so much like the one she’d imagined when she was tied up in the cellar of the abandoned house. I had them all so worried, she thought. 1 feel just awful about that. Thank heavens, in real life they figured out where I was. “How did you find me?” she asked aloud.
“I defer to your distinguished colleague,” Mart said, bowing low to Honey.
Honey blushed as they all turned their attention on her. “Well, Trixie, your bike was gone, and it’s the night before the bikeathon, so it didn’t take much detective work to figure out that you were somewhere along the route. Why I thought immediately of this abandoned house, I’m really not sure. I guess it just seemed the most likely spot, since it is abandoned, and since it’s the rest stop you’ll be at tomorrow morning.” Honey gave up trying to explain and simply shrugged. “Maybe it’s just because I know you so well, Trixie,” she finished.
Trixie hugged her friend gratefully. “I’m glad you do, Honey,” she said. “If you hadn’t been here, with the police— Who called the police?”
Mart and Brian looked at Honey and Jim, and Honey and Jim looked at Brian and Mart. No one seemed to know. Finally Mart grinned. “I think
Moms will have the answer to that question when we get home,” he said. “She and Dad were awfully worried, and Dad took off to look for you along Glen Road. Moms didn’t want to let us drive over here, but we insisted that we had to. I guess she figured it couldn’t hurt to send us some reinforcements. Sergeant Molinson has probably already called her by now, to tell her were all out of danger.”
“I hope that’s why he left so abruptly,” Trixie said. “I was afraid he was too angry at me right then even to give me his usual stem lecture about not getting involved in police business.”
“I may give it in his place,” Jim said, only half teasing. “You almost got yourself into a lot of trouble.”
Trixie looked at the ground and nodded. “It would have been even worse if Nick hadn’t—Nick!” Realizing that she’d forgotten all about the young art student since the police halted the van, Trixie raised her head and looked around the dimly lit clearing.
Nick was standing just a few yards away, wordlessly listening to and watching the Bob-Whites’ reunion. Trixie hurried over to him, grabbed his arm, and practically dragged him back over to where her friends were standing.
“Nick was in the van that those two men had,”
Trixie explained. Seeing her friends’ suspicious looks, Trixie realized that they didn’t fully understand the reason for Nick’s presence at the abandoned house. I guess I don’t either, she realized, looking at Nick questioningly.
Nick’s face became sullen as the Bob-Whites continued to stare at him. “I wasn’t in on the counterfeiting scheme, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he muttered.
“Oh, Nick, of course we don’t think that,” Trixie assured him. “I’m awfully, awfully happy that you happened to be here. We’re just wondering—well —how you happened to be here.”
Nick looked around at the others, paused for a moment, and then began to s
peak. “It all started the day you called me about the bikeathon. Remember that, Trixie?”
Trixie nodded. How could I forget? she thought. “I guess I wasn’t very polite when you called,” Nick admitted. “I’m not naturally optimistic, anyway, and after the poor turnout we’d had for the art fair, my first thought was that the bikeathon would just be another wasted effort.”
Nick was silent for another moment, then cleared his throat. “That wasn’t really all of it. I was angry with you because your friend Ben Riker had broken Amy Morrisey’s vase, and because I’d read about you in the newspaper, after you helped solve that
mystery about the stolen weather vane.
“You all seem to be such insiders, and I’ve always felt like an outsider since we moved to Sleepyside.”
Just like Ben Riker, Trixie thought. I bet Nick would never believe me if I told him that Ben felt exactly as he does.
“After I thought about it for a while, I started to see that the bikeathon might not be such a bad idea after all,” Nick continued. “Just because you people are insiders and know Sleepyside so well, I thought that you might be able to create some enthusiasm for the bikeathon and, as a result, raise some money for the art department.
“By dinner time, I was really getting excited about the bikeathon, and I told my parents everything you’d told me about it—the route it would take, how the pledge cards would work, and so forth.
“My father got very upset about the whole idea,” Nick said. “He absolutely refused to let me take part in the bikeathon. When I tried to protest, he got even more upset. He threatened to throw me out of the house if he ever found out that I’d taken part in the project, and he said that I should try to convince you not to have it at all.”
Nick’s face contorted, as if he could still hear his father’s angry words ringing in his ears. He shook his head as if to dispel the sound.
“My father is a very old-fashioned man, in many ways,” Nick continued. “In some ways that’s good. He has an old-fashioned pride in his work that I’ve always respected very much. I think that’s why I got involved in art—I wanted to do something that I could feel as proud of as he does.” Nick looked around him as if begging someone to understand what he was saying. Trixie looked at her friends and saw that their expressions had changed from suspicion to sympathy—sympathy with a touch of admiration.
“In other ways, my father’s old-fashioned attitudes are harder to live with. He doesn’t like to be questioned by me or my mother. He believes that, in his house, his word is law. I knew that he would carry out his threat to throw me out of the house, and I could see that our argument was upsetting my mother, so I dropped it.
“I knew, too, that my father doesn’t believe in taking charity. No matter how broke we’ve been— and believe me, we’ve been pretty broke in the past few years—Dad would never ask for outside help. I figured that was why he was so upset about the bikeathon. He thought that would be like taking money from strangers, I decided.”
Nick fell silent again. Trixie could see beads of perspiration on his forehead and his upper lip.
She wondered whether Nick was going to tell them that his father was working with the counterfeiters. She wanted to blurt out the question, but she held her tongue. Nick was not usually a very open person, she knew. Even Mr. Crider had said that nobody really knew Nick Roberts. She realized that any interruption in his telling of the story might make him decide not to finish it at all. The other Bob-Whites seemed to sense it, too, because they all waited quietly for Nick to continue.
“I owe you an apology, Trixie,” Nick said finally. “I was very rude to you that morning in school when you wanted to talk to me about the posters. I couldn’t explain to you what had really happened, and I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Nick. I understand now,” Trixie said, her voice barely above a whisper. For a moment she thought Nick had said all he was going to say, but then he began to speak again.
“When the police questioned me about those telephone calls, I began to suspect that there was more to my father’s attitude than just not wanting me to accept charity. I brooded about it for a couple of days, and tonight I finally demanded an explanation.
“Dad told me that some men had come to him a month or two ago. They asked him if he’d like to make a lot of money doing some complicated engraving. He asked them what kind of engraving. One of the men—I think it must have been the little man that the police caught tonight—winked slyly and told him, ’Let’s just say you’ll be making lots of money.’
“Dad realized they were talking about counterfeiting, and he said he couldn’t allow something like that in his shop. ’You wouldn’t have to,’ the little man said. ’We have our own setup.’ Then that big guy, who must be more muscle than brains, volunteered that it was on Old Telegraph Road. Dad said the other man gave the big one a murderous look and ordered him to shut up, and for a moment Dad was afraid he had already learned too much.
“He stuck to his guns, though, and said he wouldn’t have anything to do with the scheme. The little man shrugged and said that was fine, but he warned him not to go to the police. ’Your wife will get a whole lot sicker than she already is if you do,’ he said.
“Of course, Dad didn’t dare tell anybody about the counterfeiters, but when I told him where the bikeathon route would be and that the abandoned house was the first stop, he remembered what the big man had blurted out, and he realized that it might be the same place. That’s why he ordered me not to get involved.
“As soon as Dad finished telling me the whole story tonight, I took the car and came out here. I parked down the road and walked up here. The men were loading the van, and so I waited until they were both in the cellar and climbed inside. I thought I could ride along and find out where they took it, then hop out and call the police. Then Trixie came along and—well, I guess you know the rest,” Nick finished abruptly, as if his long speech had used up his entire allotment of words.
There was another long silence as everyone thought his own thoughts—about Nick’s courage, Trixie’s daredevil actions, and the narrow escape the two young people had just had from the desperate and dangerous criminals.
“I think what you did was perfectly wonderful, Nick,” Honey said, breaking the silence. “It took a lot of courage to come out here, knowing all along what you were going to find.”
Nick shook his head regretfully. “If I’d had real courage, I would have stood up to my father two weeks ago, and this never would have happened.”
“You couldn’t take chances with your relationship with your family, Nick. We all understand that.” Jim’s voice was quiet but firmly reassuring. Trixie guessed that Jim was thinking of his own problems with his stepfather, before Jim had run away and had been adopted by Honey’s parents.
“Anyway, my delaying put you all through some bad times, with the telephone threats and the tire-slashing and the destruction of Mr. Maypenny’s game cart. I heard those two bragging about doing all of those things, while I was hidden in the truck. They weren’t the least bit sorry for doing them, either—except that they didn’t succeed in getting you to cancel the bikeathon.”
“Are you sure those men mentioned doing all of those things?” Brian asked. “If so, the whole mystery is cleared up.”
Trixie nodded her affirmation of what Nick had said. “The little man confessed to doing most of those things, while I was in the cellar. I shouldn’t say he confessed, though, because he didn’t sound a bit sorry, as Nick said.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Nick said. “I almost ruined everything. Is there something I can do to make up for it?”
“I’d say you more than made up for everything tonight/’ Trixie said, “when you were there to save my neck.”
Honey, Jim, and Brian nodded.
“Not quite,” Mart said severely. The others looked at him in surprise.
Don’t tell me he’s still suspicious of Nick, T
rixie thought in alarm. That would drive Nick right back into that shell of his, which he’s almost shed.
Then she saw the twinkle in Mart’s eyes, and she felt herself relax.
“There’s still the little matter of the bikeathon tomorrow,” Mart told Nick. “I’d say the least you could do is to show up tomorrow afternoon and help dish out the hunter’s stew to that hungry mob. There might even be a spare bowlful for you. What do you say?”
“I say I’d be delighted to help,” Nick said with a smile. “I’m sure I can get time off from work. Just give me directions on how to get there.”
As the other Bob-Whites rummaged for a scrap of paper and Jim sketched a map for Nick, Trixie suddenly felt very, very tired. She realized that only her curiosity had been keeping her awake for the past few minutes. Now that it was satisfied, she felt positively bone-weary.
Seeing her yawning broadly, Jim put his arm around her shoulders and led her toward the station wagon. “We’d better get you home, young lady,” he said. “You’ve had a busy day.”
He settled her in the car, and she was almost asleep, with her head on his shoulder, before the other Bob-Whites got in. I’m so glad Nick’s father is innocent, she thought as she drifted off.
New Friends • 18
THE NEXT MORNING dawned bright and clear, taking care of the last worry that had lingered in everyone’s mind: that rain might force the bikeathon to be postponed.
The Beldens awakened early, even earlier than usual for a Saturday morning, and this Saturday there was no moaning or groaning to be heard as they got out of bed.
Trixie helped her mother fix a breakfast of waffles and sausage, although, she said, “I don’t know if we should eat all day. I want to be plenty hungry when we get to Mr. Maypenny’s place this afternoon!”
The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road Page 12