The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

by Campbell, Julie

  At that moment, the waitress arrived with their desserts, and in the confusion, Trixie managed to say, “Not at all,” and leave it at that. She could hardly accuse Eric of anything when he was sitting right across from her.

  An older man with gray wavy hair and a thick moustache came up to their table to greet Linda and Wanda. “Glad to see you’re back in town instead of hibernating out in the mountains,” he said.

  “Jim Carlyle!” Linda exclaimed. She pointed to the guitar case in his hand. “You’re not the music tonight, are you?”

  “Sure am.”

  “Marvelous! These are some of our friends... here’s another Jim, Jim Frayne. His father might buy Mead’s Mountain and turn it into a natural resort area.”

  “What a great idea,” Jim Carlyle said heartily.

  Wanda introduced the others at the table and explained, “Jim is the music teacher at the high school, as well as an old family friend. We have an evening of good music ahead of us!”

  Wanda had not exaggerated. Jim Carlyle played the guitar beautifully and sang many old folk songs in a warm, mellow voice. Everyone in the crowded restaurant, even the waitresses and waiters, chimed in at the choruses. All too soon, the evening of music ended with a medley of Christmas carols that caused even the cooks in the kitchen to join in the singing.

  “I hope someone is good at math,” their waitress announced when she brought their check. “I guess I shouldn’t have put everything on one bill. It might be confusing to divide up.”

  “No need to,” said Eric, reaching for the bill. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “No, we’ll each take care of our own share,” Trixie protested. “It’s more fair that way.”

  “I said I would pay the bill,” he answered. Something in his manner made Trixie give up her arguing. “I guess the Christmas carols got me into a generous mood,” added Eric. “Besides, vegetables don’t cost very much.”

  As everyone thanked him, Trixie wondered how a college student who had to work during Christmas vacation could afford such moods of generosity... unless it was because of money from Wanda’s quarters and Honey’s watch.

  Pat stood up. “It’s time Katie and I left. We’ve got to be up early to get the lodge in action, and if any others at this table are interested in keeping their jobs, they can hop on the O’Brien train, too.”

  Linda, Wanda, and Eric all took Pat up on his offer and left in his pickup truck. Soon Bert and Jack took off in their small rented car.

  Only the Bob-Whites and Miss Trask stayed on, to linger over their cups of herbal tea and enjoy the peaceful darkness of the restaurant, a darkness punctured only by candlelight.

  A Brush with Death ● 11

  THE RAIN HAD CHANGED to crusty snowflakes and the wind had picked up by the time the Bob-Whites and Miss Trask came out of the restaurant and piled into the Tan Van. As they were heading back to the lodge, Jim suggested a midnight swim. Everyone was in favor of it except Trixie, whose short night’s sleep was beginning to hit her, and Miss Trask.

  “I don’t know where you get all your energy,” Miss Trask sighed. “Tomorrow morning is soon enough for my swim.” She swung the Tan Van from the highway to the narrow road that went to the lodge.

  Trixie listened to the wind as it whipped the tree-tops back and forth and howled through the gullies of the mountainside, creating an eerie song: hurry home, Bob-Whites, hurry home. She shook herself awake and tried to concentrate on the conversation.

  “You know, something should be done with this road,” Jim was saying. “It’s been carelessly, cut into the side of this mountain, leaving the exposed area open to erosion. Look how some of the trees are already starting to lean over the roadway.”

  “Let’s put that into our notes for Mr. Wheeler,” Brian said.

  After Miss Trask had to slow down to negotiate another hairpin corner, she commented, “This road would be a lot safer if it were straightened out—” Before she could finish, a loud s-s-n-nap filled the air. While the others peered out their windows to locate the source of the sound, Miss Trask stepped on the gas, and the van lurched forward. Suddenly something brushed against the back of the van, and they looked back in time to witness a large tree crashing directly behind them, its outer branches actually touching the van.

  As the others gasped in horror, Miss Trask slammed on the brakes and pulled the van over to the side of the road. “Thank heavens for quick reflexes,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “I could tell that was coming, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to react in time.”

  “You’re certainly more alert than any of us,” Honey breathed gratefully.

  “Come on, Brian,” said Jim. “Let’s get that thing off the road so cars can get through tomorrow.”

  Trixie, more wide-awake than she’d been for hours, grabbed a flashlight out of the glove compartment and got out of the van to take a look around. A gust of wind hit her in the face as she joined Jim and Brian near the fallen tree.

  “This is way too big for us to pull off the road,” Brian decided, taking the flashlight and running it down the length of the tree. “Pat’s going to have to get a chain saw down here. Wait till Mr. Wheeler hears about how far the erosion has gone.”

  “Just a minute,” Trixie whispered hoarsely. “Look at this.” She pointed to the trunk end of the tree.

  “It’s been sawed!” Jim exclaimed.

  Trixie shivered. “The note—the note said my life was in danger! Let me have that flashlight a minute.” She explored the area around the trunk and discovered a mass of footprints there in the snow.

  Miss Trask’s voice came to them through the blowing snow. “Do you need more help back there?”

  “We’ll be right there,” Jim called back.

  “Here’s a whole perfect footprint, and another,” Trixie said tensely. “They go off in this direction. Let’s follow them!”

  Miss Trask called again. “We must get back to the lodge before the storm gets worse.”

  “Whoever it was is long gone by now, Trixie,” Jim said. “Come on, we’re not doing any good standing around in the storm all night. Let’s not mention this -to Miss Trask for now. We don’t want to alarm her.” It was a silent group that traveled the rest of the way to the lodge. Trixie, deep in thought, again seemed to hear the wind singing its song.

  “I’m going to report the tree to Pat and Katie,” said

  Miss Trask as they got out of the van. “I’d advise the rest of you to skip your midnight swim and go right to bed.”

  Mart was the first to enter their suite Just inside the door, he stooped to pick up something from the floor, nearly causing Trixie to tumble directly over his back. “What are you doing, Mart?” she complained. “Trying to' make me break my leg?”

  Mart turned and gave her a peculiar look. “We’d all be a lot safer if you did,” he said.

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Would you like to tell us what you and Brian and Jim found in the woods?” Mart countered.

  “That falling tree was no accident,” admitted Jim. “It had been sawed through and pushed over as we went by.”

  “That’s about what I expected,” said Mart grimly. He held out a folded piece of white paper. “It’s got your name on it, Trixie.”

  Trixie took the note and read the by now familiar red block letters:

  NEXT TIME I WON'T MISS

  T.L.M.

  “Oh, no,” Honey gulped. She jumped up and hugged Trixie. “What are we going to do?”

  Mart shook his head. “If Miss Trask knew about this, she’d have us packed up and on the next flight out of here.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Brian spoke up. “If Trixie really is in danger, Miss Trask should know.

  Especially since we don’t have any idea who T.L.M. might be.”

  “Brian, I am not in any real danger,” said Trixie stubbornly. “Someone is just trying to distract us from the moonshining or whatever is going on here. And
don’t you dare mention that to Miss Trask. You’ll worry her to death, and we’ll never get to the bottom of this. Anyway, we have an excellent clue as to who T.L.M. is.”

  “We do?” They all stared at her blankly.

  “The footprints near the tree,” she said. “They were man-sized waffle-stomper boot prints.”

  Brian threw his hands up in the air. “Everyone at the lodge wears waffle stampers,” he said. “That’s what you wear in mountains like these, Trixie.”

  “Let’s check our own boots to compare the patterns on the bottom,” said Trixie.

  All of their boots turned out to have the same design of several bars around the outside of the boot. But Di s had crosses in the center and Jim’s had chevrons, while everyone else’s had four-pointed stars.

  “I suppose you remember what our tree trimmer had for footprints,” said Mart skeptically.

  “Of course,” Trixie answered. “They had stars with five points in the center.”

  “So all we need to do,” said Honey, “is find someone with man-sized waffle stampers that have a five-pointed star design, and we have our ghost!”

  Trixie disagreed. “All I need to do,” she said, “is get some sleep!”

  By morning, the wind was gone and the sun reigned over the skies again. After breakfast and their swim, the Bob-Whites asked Katie to make a picnic lunch so they could spend the entire day in the mountains. At the base of the chair lift, they stopped to talk to Pat, who was operating the lift.

  “I called the road crew last night,” Pat told them. “They cleared away the tree the first thing this morning. I sure am glad you kids didn’t get hurt.”

  “Yes, that would have cramped our skiing style today,” Mart observed.

  “Which way are you headed?” Pat asked.

  “Into the valley on the other side of this ridge,” Brian replied. “We were looking at the relief map in the lobby, and that area seems to have lots of small up-and-down knolls.”

  Pat grinned. “It should be good skiing. But then, most places around here are.”

  “Everything is so lovely,” raved Di. “You’re lucky to live here year-round.”

  “Yes, it’s been wonderful,” he said. Then he sighed. “It’s rough to find the perfect place to live and the perfect life-style, only to be forced to give them up. I know we’ll never find another place to match this.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the lodge and mountains.

  “Are you moving, then?” asked Trixie.

  “I guess we don’t really have much choice. Don’t you kids feel bad about it. It’s not your fault, and there’s nothing you can do. I guess there’s nothing anyone can do. I only hope that we can save enough money for a down payment on a farm before we have to leave.” Abruptly, Pat left them to help some other skiers get on the chair lift.

  “How about that!” Trixie exclaimed, once the lift was in action. “He’s moving because he’s being forced to.”

  “What could be wrong?” Brian wondered.

  “He said it’s not our fault,” added Di. “Now, why would it be our fault?”

  “Somebody wants him out of here,” Trixie conjectured after a moment’s reflection.

  “Do you think he’s being blackmailed?” asked Honey.

  “It sounds kind of like it,” Trixie said thoughtfully. “Or else he could be running from something. Maybe he did something terrible, and now he’s being forced to leave—jeepers! If he is in some kind of trouble, he sure wouldn’t want a bunch of detectives here at the lodge.”

  “I see what you mean,” Mart said. “It would be very easy for Pat to be the one playing ghost.”

  “I find that extremely hard to believe,” Jim said curtly. “Pat and Katie O’Brien are two of the nicest people I ever met. They’re always cheerful and helpful. When I told Pat about the deer we saw when we were skiing, he explained how he puts feed out for them and how they’re almost tame now. A man like that doesn’t go around doing the kind of things our ghost has been doing.”

  “But he sure has some kind of a problem,” Trixie said, “and it sounds to me like he’s in trouble.”

  “Maybe,” said Jim as they all stepped off the lift.

  “But let’s just keep alert and not jump to any conclusions. Okay?”

  “I’ve just been adding it up,” Mart groaned. “In between keeping an eye on the O’Briens, Eric, and Mr. Moonshine and looking for Honey’s watch, we won’t be able to do our job and earn our car expenses.”

  “Oh, yes, we will,” said Brian. “That’s the most important thing. And let’s get started, right now.”

  They spent the entire morning crisscrossing the mountainside on crooked trails and through open fields. Near noon, they came to a small clearing on the edge of a gentle cliff. Before them stretched a panoramic view of the entire valley.

  Honey gazed down in appreciation. “It’s places like this that make you realize that this world is certainly a beautiful place to live,” she sighed.

  “At the risk of disturbing your pastoral reverie,” Mart said, “might I add that this looks like the perfect place for lunch?”

  “We’ve earned it,” agreed Jim. “This cross-country skiing is hard work. I’m glad we all keep in good' shape.” He dropped down to the ground, looking like he was in anything but good shape.

  As Honey and Brian started getting out the fried chicken and fruit, Di took a small sketch pad out of her pack. “I have to have twenty-five good sketches for my art class by the end of the semester,” she said. “Trixie, may I sketch you staring out into the valley?”

  “Sure, how’s this?” Trixie puffed out her cheeks and stood on one leg, stretching her other leg and arms straight out.

  “I think it’s stunning,” Di said wryly, “but I doubt Mr. Crider would agree. Just keep on sitting on that rock and looking out into the valley as you were. I like that profile view. I’ll be done in just a couple of minutes.”

  Jim came over to watch while Di made quick, precise strokes. “How’s Mr. Crider as a teacher, Di? I’m thinking of taking art appreciation from him next semester.”

  “I like him a lot. He's a good teacher and really knows his stuff. If you do take it, you won’t be bored.”

  “You seem to know your stuff, too. You’re really quite good.”

  “Thank you, Jim, but I’m not that good,” said Di with a pleased smile. “I do enjoy art, though, and I’m thinking of majoring in it at college. That is, if I can ever get out of high school!”

  Jim grinned. “You’ll do fine, Di. You’re much smarter than you think you are.”

  Trixie, trying to sit still for Di, caught some movement out of the corner of her eye. “Honey!” she croaked. “Look down there! Isn’t that Mr. Moonshine —skiing out of control?”

  Below them, the old man twisted frantically through the trees, heading at an alarming speed for the bottom of the hill.

  An Accident—and a Warning • 12

  HELOOKS LIKE a movie that’s been speeded up,” Honey fretted.

  “He’s either training for the Olympics or else he’s missing all those trees by pure chance,” said Trixie.

  The old man’s luck ran out when he tried to swerve around a large birch. His skis slid over to the side, and he tumbled head first into the tree.

  Honey screamed, and Trixie yelled for the other Bob-Whites. Seeing the still heap Trixie was pointing to, Jim and Brian quickly reached for the first aid kit and started climbing straight down. Trixie was already slipping and sliding down to the old man. Honey, Di, and Mart came straggling along behind Jim and Brian.

  Although the sight of blood normally didn’t bother Trixie that much, she felt her stomach turning queasy. The man was lifelessly wrapped around the tree, sticky redness oozing from his head into the clean white snow.

  Brian came up and immediately dug into the kit for some sterile bandages to cover the cut. Then he applied pressure to stop the bleeding.

  “Oh, Brian, is he... is he alive?” asked Trixie in a quavering
voice.

  “Very much so,” said Brian. “It’s probably not as bad as it looks. It’s a head wound, which always bleeds a lot even when it isn’t very deep.”

  The old man moaned.

  “Don’t move,” warned Brian. “Where does it hurt?”

  “My head,” he muttered, so faintly Brian could barely hear.

  “Anywhere else?” Brian asked as he felt for broken bones.

  “No... I don’t think so,” said the man haltingly.

  “I don’t think there are any internal injuries,” Brian reported.

  Trixie and Jim had spread their windbreakers out on the snow, and together they all carefully laid the old man on them. Then the others took off their windbreakers and sweaters to wrap around him. “We should keep him as warm as possible so he doesn’t go into shock,” said Jim.

  “That may not be easy in this snow,” said Brian, gently wiping the blood off the man’s face.

  “Should I get the windproof blankets in our survival kits?” Honey asked. “And maybe something warm to eat?”

  Everyone looked at her in astonishment. “Honey, you sure can keep your head in an emergency,” said Jim.

  Honey glowed as she and Di started back up the cliff. Not too long ago, she would have been the first to faint at the sight of blood. Now she was actually helping in a big way.

  The old man whispered something weakly as the rest of them waited for Di and Honey to return with the food and blankets.

  “It’s only a shallow gash on the side of your forehead,” Brian told him. “The kind that might give you a headache for a few days. You’re very lucky, sir.” Mr. Moonshine just grunted. To Trixie, it didn’t sound like a grunt of agreement.

  “I’m going to pack cold snow around your cut now,” Brian said soothingly. “That should help stop the bleeding and some of the pain.”

  The old man simply moaned his consent.

  Soon Honey and Di came puffing back. “Getting back up that cliff isn’t easy, but we found a less steep path not too far away,” said Di. “How is he?”