The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

by Campbell, Julie

  As the Bob-Whites put on their skis, Eric explained the equipment. “As you’ve noticed, the boots are really just leather tennis shoes,” he said, helping Di with her skis. “You want as little weight as possible. Since cross-country skiing can be quite strenuous, there’s no sense expending extra energy by overloading yourself. I’m glad to see you’re all wearing lightweight clothing.” He gave Di, in her royal purple knickers and lavender Nordic ski sweater, an approving nod.

  Di seems to turn heads everywhere we go, thought Trixie affectionately.

  Eric held his leg straight out so his ski was standing on end. “The skis are long and narrow for gliding, and they don’t have the sharp edges for turning, like downhill skis do. So, avoid any trees long before you come to them!”

  Then Eric demonstrated the gliding gait basic to cross-country skiing. In a very short time, all the Bob-Whites had mastered it. Trixie couldn’t help feeling disappointed. If cross-country skiing is just shuffling around on flat places in the snow, then it’s not a sport I could get very excited about, she thought.

  As if he were reading her mind, Eric assured them, “It may seem a bit boring now, but once you learn to run uphill on the skis, you’ll really start to enjoy cross-country.”

  “Run uphill on skis! You must be kidding!” said Di, her violet eyes opening wide.

  Eric smiled. “It’s not that hard. That’s why waxing the bottom of your skis is so important. It helps you stick to the snow when you’re going uphill.”

  “But how about coming back down the hill? Don’t you stick then, too?” worried Trixie.

  “No, friction from the speed of going downhill melts off the snow sticking to the wax. Some skis have commercial finishes so you don’t have to wax, but we purists prefer to wax. That way you can get the best finish for the day’s weather conditions. Besides, waxing is almost a ritual. Linda helped you wax already, didn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Jim answered. “She said to tell you she had us put on green wax. Is that right?”

  “Green’s a good choice for today with the new snow and perfect sunny weather. Since you’re new to the sport, though, maybe we should add a blue kicker.”

  “A blue what?” asked Trixie.

  “Sounds like an illegal drug,” commented Mart.

  “A blue kicker—that’s an extra layer of wax right underneath the boot area. It gives a bit of added grip going up hills,” Eric explained.

  “Well, I’m all for that,” said Trixie, grinning.

  Eric demonstrated how to run uphill, and then how to herringbone up steeper grades by placing skis in a V-shape, leaning forward, and waddling uphill like a duck. He made it all look easy, but the Bob-Whites soon discovered how deceiving looks could be. The first few times they tried running uphill, they found themselves slipping backward instead. When herringboning, they were inclined to trip themselves up by getting their skis crossed behind them.

  Just when they felt that they were finally getting their skis under control, little Rosie came skiing downhill at a breakneck speed, traveled all the way around the Bob-Whites, and quickly ran back up the hill until she was standing right over them.

  “Hi!” she said, not the least bit out of breath. With her black curls peeking out from under her pink stocking cap, her cheeks flushed bright red, and her blue eyes shining innocently, Rosie looked more like a Kewpie doll than an expert skier showing up people three times her age.

  “Who let that kid on the slopes?” Mart demanded. “She’s a menace to my morale.”

  Eric chuckled. “Rosie’s going to be vying for my job soon. It will be a while before you kids have her control and speed.”

  “I’m going to take Miss Trask for a walk,” announced Rosie. “She told me to tell you we might not be here when you’re ready for lunch, so you can go ahead and eat if you want.”

  “Have a good walk, Rosie,” called Honey, as Rosie took off again at top speed.

  Mart dug his ski into the snow. “Well, I’ll bet I have a bigger vocabulary than she does.”

  “Sure, but she can probably spell better than you,” teased Trixie.

  “What’s next, Eric?” asked Honey.

  “Now you’re ready to take off on your own.” He hesitated, then said, “Mead’s Mountain is really special. Your first experience should be a dramatic one. I think the most exciting thing would be for you to take the chair lift to the top. From there, you’ll have quite a climb through the trees to get over the crest. It won’t be an easy climb for you beginners, but it’s worth it. When you get to the top, take one of the trails off to your right. You should have a super time in the fresh snow we got last night.”

  “Are there any paths up there,” asked Jim, “or do we forge our own?”

  “The whole state of Vermont is honeycombed with trails and paths,” said Eric. “Old Indian trails, animal paths, hiking trails. Even the Appalachian National Scenic Trail isn’t too far from here.”

  “What’s that?” asked Di.

  “It’s a hiking trail that extends the length of the Appalachian Mountains, almost two thousand miles,” explained Eric. “I’ve skied on it in Massachusetts, where I go to school, and I hiked on it through the Shenandoah Valley one summer. Someday I’d like to travel the entire length. I understand there’s another trail that runs the length of Vermont, from Massachusetts to Canada, called the Long Trail.”

  “Somehow I don’t think we’re ready to tackle the Long Trail today,” Jim said. “But it sounds like we shouldn’t have any problems. First we have to go inside to get our survival kits and some snacks for a rest stop. We don’t go anywhere without our kits,” he told Eric.

  “Good policy,” said Eric. “These mountains are rough, you know. Weather can change at any time, putting someone who isn’t prepared in a very dangerous position. And there’s the danger of rockslides and avalanches.”

  “You’re not making these mountains sound very inviting,” Di fretted.

  Eric laughed. “As long as you have your survival kits, you don’t have to worry that much. What do you carry in them?”

  “First aid things like different types of bandages and smelling salts,” Brian answered. “Also windproof blankets, matches, compass, signal mirror, whistle, rope, flashlight... let’s see, what else... oh, a can of Sterno fuel, and some dried soup mixes and tea, too, among other things.”

  Eric looked impressed. “Sounds like you know how to take care of yourselves in the woods. I’ll see you tonight and find out how you managed. Right now, I’d better get back and help Pat. Good luck!”

  The Bob-Whites skied back down the hill to the lodge. “It feels nice to be going downhill for a change,” Honey sighed.

  The girls went to the suite to get the survival kits and to rest for a few minutes. Honey was standing in front of the dresser, looking into the mirror to put on lip balm, when suddenly she gasped.

  “It’s gone! Trixie! Di! My watch is gone! I put it right here on the dresser before we went to bed last night. I know I did. Ohhhh!” She sank onto the bottom bunk.

  “Jeepers, Honey, what are you talking about?” asked Trixie.

  “My good gold watch. The one that belonged to my grandmother. She gave it to my mother when she finished school, and Mother gave it to me when I was so sick, before we came to Manor House. It’s very old and very valuable!”

  “Don’t worry, Honey,” said Di, sitting down on the bunk and putting her arm around her friend. “We’ll find it. We’ll look everywhere. How can we not find it with a super detective like Trixie on the job?”

  Trixie was already down on her hands and knees, looking under the dresser. “Not here,” she said anxiously. “Move your feet, so I can check under the bed.... Not here, either.”

  They looked everywhere. In all the rooms, in all their clothing, in everyone’s shoes. Soon the boys came back with snacks from the restaurant and joined the search. Everyone had just about given up, when Trixie thought of one last place to look. She got a flashlight and a knife to chec
k in the crevice between the mirror and the dresser. No watch.

  Honey’s hopeful look turned to despair. “It’s gone forever! I’ll never see it again,” she wailed, pacing the room.

  “I don’t know why you brought such an expensive watch here in the first place,” scolded Mart.

  “I didn’t mean to, Mart. I wore it to your open house, and then we were in such a hurry to catch the plane, I forgot to take it off. I didn’t even notice I was still wearing it until last night, as we were going to bed.”

  Jim brightened. “Honey, you know how Miss Trask is always reminding you to be more careful with your things and is always picking up after you? She probably has it for safekeeping.”

  “Oh, Jim! Of course you’re right. I’m sure she has it. Oh, I feel so much better.” Honey sat down on the couch and smiled for the first time in what seemed like hours.

  “I’ll go ask her if she has it,” volunteered Di, “just to make sure.”

  “You can’t,” said Trixie, “remember? Rosie was taking her for a walk. They could be anyplace.”

  “Then why don’t we have lunch now?” Brian suggested. “It’s almost time anyway. She may come back by the time we’re done.”

  “A meritorious notion,” cheered Mart. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “I’m amazed you didn’t,” Trixie sniffed.

  Minutes later, the Bob-Whites were feasting on homemade split pea soup and brown bread. Bert Mitchell and another man sauntered over to their table. Bert was still dressed as oddly as he had been the previous night, Trixie noticed. The other man’s outfit wasn’t very typical of a ski lodge, either.

  “I want you to meet my friend, Jack Caridiff,” said Bert. “Do you mind if we join you?”

  “Not at all,” said Jim, scooting down the bench to make more room.

  Jack Caridiff was short, and his striped T-shirt revealed that he had broad muscular shoulders and long hairy arms. With his ruddy complexion and his curly reddish brown hair cut close to his head, he rather reminded Trixie of a playful monkey at the zoo.

  Honey, always polite, had no trouble starting a conversation with anyone, even when she was upset about something like losing a valuable heirloom. “Tell me, Bert, are you and Jack from this area?” she inquired pleasantly.

  “No, not at all,” Bert answered with a wink. “You might say Jack and I are from all over. We belong to the merchant marines and travel the world on tramp steamers.”

  “How exciting!” Trixie exclaimed immediately. The idea of sailing from port to port on a tramp steamer, taking cargo wherever it was needed, appealed to her lively sense of adventure.

  “It’s an interesting life,” Jack agreed. “But it’s nice to get away from the sea once in a while, too. A ski vacation in the mountains is our idea of excitement.”

  “You both ski?” Di frowned. “I didn’t know sailors could ski.”

  “Sailors are just like other people,” Jack informed her. “Some can ski, some can’t. Bert and I were raised in Washington State. There’s a lot of good skiing out there.”

  “How about swimming?” asked Mart. “Do you fit the stereotype of the sailor who loves the sea but can’t swim?”

  Bert chuckled. “I’m a fairly good swimmer, but Jack here refuses to fill a bathtub more than three inches.” Jack turned a shade redder than his normal red. “Aw, come off it. I just never got the hang of swimming, that’s all,” he said weakly.

  Katie came around to their table, offering second helpings of brown bread. “Bert and Jack,” she said cordially, “I see you’ve met our junior detectives.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jack, looking up from his bread to Katie.

  “I don’t really know the whole story myself, but apparently Trixie and Honey are amateur sleuths. Isn’t that right, Trixie?”

  Trixie sighed. She really didn’t like going into her plans for the future when she suspected that adults were laughing at her.

  Honey came to her rescue. “Yes, we’re going to open the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency officially once we’re out of college.”

  “So, you really are the Sherlock Holmes types, after all,” teased Bert.

  “Oh,” said Jack, “you mean that’s what you want to be when you grow up.” He leaned across the table and patted Trixie’s hand. “Well, don’t give up your dream, kid. When I was young, I dreamed of going to sea, and look at me now—I’m a sailor.”

  The other Bob-Whites, sensing the adults’ condescending manner, jumped to Trixie and Honey’s defense. “This isn’t just a dream,” argued Mart. “They’ve solved a lot of very tough cases already. Maybe you read in the paper about the capture of an international jewel-theft organization. Trixie was responsible for that.”

  This announcement brought a look of sisterly affection from Trixie, but only further grins from the three adults.

  “How nice,” said Bert politely.

  “Well, how about those people who were stockpiling guns?” added Jim, his well-known temper starting to flare. “They were going to start a revolution in South America, but Trixie figured out a coded map and helped the police capture the criminals.”

  Bert looked startled and put his elbows up on the table. “You’re not talking about those big arsenals the FBI found on the Mississippi River, are you?” he inquired sharply.

  “That was our Trixie in action,” Di said proudly.

  “I remember reading in the paper that a bunch of teen-agers were instrumental in helping the police,” Bert said thoughtfully. “That was you kids?”

  “Well, it was mostly Trixie,” Brian said. “She gets the rest of us involved sooner or later.”

  “I guess you really do know what you’re doing, Trixie,” Bert admitted, leaning back again.

  Trixie blushed with pleasure, more because of her friends’ support than because the adults were now convinced.

  “Real detectives on Mead’s Mountain,” mused Katie, shaking her head. “I’ll have to tell Pat about this. Maybe you can solve the mystery of Thomas Mead’s ghost!”

  Trixie was dying to ask her more about the ghost, but before she could formulate a question, Katie had moved on and Honey was talking.

  “It’s getting late,” Honey was saying. “Why don’t we go skiing now? We can get my watch from Miss Trask this evening.”

  “Sure, if that’s okay with you,” Jim said. “I know what that watch means to you.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Honey answered. “Now that I’m sure that Miss Trask has it, I won’t worry.”

  Trixie said nothing. She was remembering the previous night’s prank and the locked patio door, and suddenly she wasn’t at all sure that Miss Trask had that watch.

  A Cabin in the Woods • 6

  ASERIC HAD INSTRUCTED, the Bob-Whites began their afternoon adventure with a ride to the top of the mountain in the chair lift. When they got off, they were greeted by a large white sign with black lettering that warned THESE MOUNTAINS CAN BE DANGEROUS. WATCH FOR FALLING ROCKS AND AVALANCHES. BE PREPARED AGAINST FROSTBITE AND HYPOTHERMIA.

  “How cheery,” said Di. “What’s hypothermia?”

  “That’s when exposure to cold causes body temperature to drop below normal,” Jim replied. “And the warning’s important, Di. Far too many people venture into the woods totally unprepared, without knowing the first thing about survival techniques.”

  “That doesn’t mean the sign has to be worded so as to induce an instant heart attack,” Mart joked.

  Between them and the crest of the mountain lay a hundred yards of heavily wooded hillside, with one small trail spiraling out of sight. The trail looked like nothing they had practiced on. In fact, it appeared to go almost straight up—a very difficult, if not impossible, climb.

  “I didn’t bargain for this,” said Brian, staring up at the trail. “What is Eric doing—sending us on a suicide mission?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to like cross-country skiing,” said Di apprehen
sively.

  “Come on, you know we can do it.” Jim tried to sound encouraging. “Look at the challenge! Besides, I don’t think Eric would have sent us here if he didn’t think we could handle it.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” agreed Honey, somewhat dubiously.

  “I guess the best thing to do now is to start,” Trixie determined.

  “Right,” said Jim. “Trixie, let’s you and I lead the way and make a path in the new snow for the others.”

  Trixie and Jim started up the hill, then Mart followed. Next came Brian, behind him Di, and lastly, Honey.

  Travel was slow and rough. Their skis kept slipping. Trixie was surprised at how fast her energy disappeared. She wasn’t sure she could make the climb to the ridge after all. Somehow she kept going, summoning up hidden reserves of energy rather than admit out loud that she would just as soon turn back and forget the whole thing. It was comforting to hear Jim keep calling out words of encouragement. How can he do that? she thought. How can he keep going and encourage us at the same time? I just want to drop dead.

  Suddenly Jim yelled, “I’m at the top!”

  Once again Trixie found new strength. In a few seconds, she, too, reached the small plateau on top of the mountain crest. Exhausted, she dropped down next to Jim. “We did it! Victory!” she puffed.

  Jim shook her hand. “The first thing that has to be done, if Dad is going to buy this place, is to extend the ski lift through those trees. Only people in top physical condition are going to make it to the top.” Jim struggled to pull his notebook out of his pocket as the other Bob-Whites made it up to the small plateau and flopped down next to them.

  After a few minutes of well-earned rest, Trixie pushed her sunglasses back on her head and looked around for the first time. In every direction were brilliant white peaks silhouetted against a turquoise sky. Dotting the mountains were thousands of trees— tall evergreens reaching for the sky, skeletal maples resting for the winter, birches, beeches, cedars.

  It was an awesome sight. “Jeepers, we’re on top of the world!” she gasped.