The Red Trailer Mystery

by Julie Campbell

  “First you take an onion,” Ben said, his eyes twinkling, “and after that you weep and weep.”

  “Not if you peel it under water.” Mrs. Ditmar smiled. “But Ben will never learn.”

  “By the way,” Mr. Ditmar said to Trixie, “you’re not the only people who’ve stopped at the ranch today asking for missing persons. A man came to the back door early this morning wanting to know if we’d seen his little girl.”

  Trixie stared across the table at Honey. “Was he driving a red trailer?” she asked.

  Mr. Ditmar looked surprised. “Why, no,” he said. “He was on foot and went off through the woods walking north. I took it for granted that he was a farmer.”

  Trixie laid down her fork. “Did he describe the girl?” she asked, trying not to sound excited. “Did he say her name was Joeanne?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Mr. Ditmar shook his head. “He simply said she had black pigtails and was about eleven years old. I offered to send a group of boys through the woods to help search for her, but he rather rudely refused the offer and strode away hastily.” He gave Trixie a sharp glance. “What made you think he would be in a red trailer? Do you suspect the man had anything to do with the recent theft that has been announced on the radio so many times?”

  Before Trixie could think of a word to say, Honey interrupted with, “Did the man have long, shaggy hair?”

  Mr. Ditmar laughed. “There’s some mystery about all this, but you two are certainly on the wrong track. The man, and I think he must have been a neighbor farmer, had a closely cropped head—it was practically a crew haircut.”

  “Then I guess we’re talking about two different people,” Trixie said with relief. “We saw a shaggy-haired man driving a red trailer on our way up the river last week.”

  Honey quickly changed the subject. “You must come over and see our trailer before we go back,” she said to Ben. “I’d like to ask you all to lunch but it’s not quite big enough for that.”

  “I should hope not,” Ben said as they left the dining hall. “It would have to be a young village on wheels to hold all of us.”

  Sid and Ben went off to saddle Prince and Peanuts while the girls said good-by and thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Ditmar. Then they rode off through the woods in what they thought was the right direction.

  The minute they were alone Trixie said, “Didn’t you nearly die of excitement when Mr. Ditmar said a man had been asking about an eleven-year-old girl with pigtails?”

  Honey nodded. “And I almost died of disappointment when he said the farmer had a crew cut.”

  “Well, I didn’t,” Trixie said. “I think Joeanne’s father has simply had a haircut, that’s all.”

  Honey, who had been leading the way, looked over her shoulder at Trixie. “I never thought about that,” she admitted. “Then maybe the red trailer family is somewhere near here.”

  “That’s right,” Trixie said. “They’ve probably abandoned the Robin and are living in the woods.”

  “Oh, golly,” Honey giggled. “You’ve got so many people hiding in the woods now it’s a wonder we don’t stumble over them.”

  Trixie grinned. “Maybe we’ll do just that before we’re through, but right now I wish we’d stumble across a trail that looks familiar. We should have come out on the field we galloped through on our way over to the ranch long ago.”

  “That’s true,” Honey said, frowning. “I never saw that brook before, did you?”

  “Never,” Trixie said. “Does it show on the map?”

  The horses had stopped of their own accord and were drinking thirstily. Honey produced the map from her pocket and handed it to Trixie.

  “You figure this one out,” she said with a laugh. “I got us to the ranch, now you get us back!”

  Trixie stared at the map for a whole minute before she realized that she was holding it upside down. Even when she had righted it she was as baffled as ever. “I simply can’t follow maps,” she said ruefully. “Maybe we’d better go back to the ranch and start all over again.”

  “All right,” Honey agreed, gathering up her reins. “But Ben will tease us for losing our way so quickly.”

  They rode along in silence for a while and then Trixie said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Honey, here’s the brook again. Now we are good and lost. I don’t even know how to get to the ranch from here, do you?”

  “No,” Honey said. “But let’s keep going anyway. Miss Trask said all the trails come out on a main highway sooner or later. This path looks as though it was used more than the other ones. It’s bound to lead somewhere.”

  “Suits me,” Trixie said. “I’d just as soon not go back through the woods. The deer flies are simply terrible.”

  The path grew wider and wider and finally they realized they were on a back country road.

  “We’re probably trespassing,” Honey said. “I can hear a dog barking just ahead of us. I hope he doesn’t rush out and bite us.”

  “Why, we’re on somebody’s farm,” Trixie said with a gasp of surprise. “See the cows in the pasture over there? And look, Honey. Just beyond the pasture is that old orchard we saw from the top of the hill.”

  And then the sound of the barking dog came nearer. In a moment they saw a large collie racing through the fields toward them. Before the girls could gather their wits, Peanuts, terrified at the sight of the angry dog, bolted and set off up the road at a run. Trixie took up the slack in her reins too late. Prince was already galloping madly after Honey’s big chestnut gelding.

  Chapter 8

  The Black Sentinel

  A low branch slapped Trixie in the face as Prince raced up the road with the collie barking at his heels. Tears of pain filled her blue eyes and for a moment she was blinded. Clinging desperately to the saddle with her knees and pulling in the reins with all her might and main, she got out a few weak “Whoa’s,” and then she saw that Honey, a few yards ahead of her, had managed to halt Peanuts in front of a rambling white frame farmhouse.

  Trixie sighed with relief. “Prince will stop when he catches up with Peanuts,” she thought, bracing herself.

  Prince was, in fact, already slowing from a dead run to a more sensible gait when a large black crow suddenly swooped down from a cherry tree beside the house. With a loud, defiant “Caw!” the crow flapped its widespread wings in Prince’s startled face.

  The horse shied violently and the next thing Trixie knew she was sprawling in the gravel driveway. The angry collie skidded to a stop beside her and stood there, growling threateningly, while the crow, from its perch in the tree, screamed insults down at her.

  “If I lie perfectly still,” Trixie decided in desperation, “the collie probably won’t come any nearer, but I wouldn’t trust that crow. He’s as mad as a hornet and he could do a nice job on my face with his beak and claws.”

  And then she heard a woman’s voice calling from the farmhouse, “Laddie, Laddie! Come right here to me, you naughty dog, frightening that poor little girl. Don’t worry, child, he wouldn’t hurt a flea. His bark is worse than his bite.”

  The collie, tail drooping, head lowered in shame, trotted obediently to his mistress. Trixie, keeping one eye cautiously on the bird in the tree, rolled to a sitting position.

  An enormously fat woman with bright red cheeks and snapping black eyes was hurrying as fast as her weight would allow her down the back steps. “You poor lamb,” she crooned breathlessly. “I saw the whole thing from the kitchen window. It was that crow’s fault, the black pest.” She shook a plump, dimpled fist up at the cherry tree. “Just wait till I get my hands on you, Jimmy. I’ll make you into a pie so fast you’ll never know what happened to you.”

  Jimmy Crow shifted back and forth on his perch as though rocking with laughter. Then with a hoarse, derisive “Caw!” he swooped down on an innocent little garter snake that was wriggling through the grass under the cherry tree.

  By this time his mistress had reached Trixie’s side. “Are you all right, lamb?” she asked worriedly. “
Such a tumble! You did a complete somersault in mid-air. It’s a wonder you didn’t break every bone in your body!”

  Trixie laughed and scrambled to her feet. “I’m all right,” she said, “but your pet crow had me scared for a while.”

  “My pet, indeed!” the fat woman sniffed. “It’s my husband who has adopted the loudmouthed pest, and the pest has adopted me. He knows I don’t like him so he follows me every step I take. I tell you it gets on my nerves, or at least it would if I were not so fat that I haven’t any nerves.” She laughed loudly at her own joke and patted Trixie’s arm. “I’m Mrs. Nat Smith,” she said, gasping for breath. “And you must come into the house and have some lemonade and cookies. If I do say so myself, I make the best chocolate oatmeal cookies in the county.” She glanced down the road, her black eyes sparkling. “Your friend will be back as soon as she catches your horse, and then we’ll have a nice tea party in my kitchen.”

  “We’d love it,” Trixie said as she followed Mrs. Smith to the back steps. “But won’t it be too much trouble? I know how busy a farmer’s wife must be all the time. We have a small farm farther down the river. Just a vegetable garden and about forty chickens, but it’s an awful lot of work.”

  Mrs. Smith nodded as she began a slow, ponderous ascent of the steps. “Work, work, work from morning till night,” she panted. “I tell Nat he’s too old now to keep up that pace, but you can’t stop him. And now with the beans all ready to be picked our hired hand fell out of a tree and broke his leg.” She grunted in disgust as she heaved her bulk through the door and collapsed into a huge rocking chair beside the stove. “Wouldn’t you know that good-for-nothing boy would pick a time like this to climb one of those half-dead trees down in the orchard?”

  “Oh,” Trixie asked, “does that old orchard belong to your property?”

  “Indeed it does,” the woman said, “although we haven’t got an apple out of it for these past six years, and the boy knew as well as I do that it’s not safe to climb those half-dead trees.” Having regained her breath, Mrs. Smith shuffled to the refrigerator and produced a gallon jug of lemonade. She pointed to an enormous crock on the other side of the long, sunny kitchen. “Get out some cookies, will you, my dear? That copper tray on the wall behind you will do nicely. I’m not one for platters. They just don’t hold enough. I always say if you’re going to take the time to eat at all you might as well eat all you can hold.”

  Trixie heaped thick oatmeal cookies, dotted with chunks of chocolate, on the tray and brought it to the table while Mrs. Smith filled tall glasses with ice-cold lemonade. “These are the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted,” Trixie said between munches and sips.

  Mrs. Smith beamed. “That’s what our hired hand used to say about everything I cooked. Poor boy! I’m sorry he had to go and hurt himself, and of course we’re paying his hospital bills and his salary as well while his leg’s in the cast, but I must say if he had to fall out of a tree he might have picked a time when we didn’t need help so badly. All those beans!” She folded her hands in her snowy apron and rocked back and forth in despair.

  “Why do you suppose he did such a foolish thing?” Trixie asked. “Even I have sense enough to stay out of a dying tree.”

  “That’s the worst part of it,” Mrs. Smith told her. “He gave as his reason that he thought he saw a tramp down in the field below the orchard. Now what would a tramp be doing down there? A tramp can smell as well as the next person, and even a blind one could find his way to my kitchen door and ask for food. But does that idiot boy figure that out? No, he climbs a rotten tree to get a better view of the field, and that’s that!”

  A tramp, Trixie thought. Could it have been the bushy-haired man or Jeff? Aloud she asked, “Is there an abandoned barn in the field below the orchard?”

  Mrs. Smith glanced at her sharply. “A barn way off down there? Why would anyone build a barn so far away from the crops?”

  “I just thought it might have been used to store apples in when the orchard was bearing fruit,” Trixie said. “And a tramp might have been living in the barn.”

  Mrs. Smith rocked back and forth for a minute. “Well,” she said, “if there is I never saw it, but of course, I haven’t been able to walk that far since I began to put on weight about ten years ago, and we bought this place shortly after that.” She leaned forward a little. “You’d never believe it, but once I was as slim as your honey-haired friend. This is the first time I’ve ever regretted my size. If it weren’t for that, I’d be down there picking beans with Nat right now.”

  “Honey and I’ll help pick them,” Trixie cried impulsively.

  “Now that’s real sweet of you,” Mrs. Smith said with a broad smile. “But you two young things couldn’t stand the heat in that unprotected garden. There’s not an ounce of shade except over the cucumber hills. And didn’t I tell you that the good Lord, seeing our plight, sent us help last night?”

  Trixie shook her head. “No, you didn’t, but I’m glad you won’t lose the bean crop.”

  Mrs. Smith crinkled her red face into a puzzled frown. “Now, I’m sure I told you when we came in not to slam the screen door for fear of waking the children who are upstairs taking their naps.”

  It was Trixie’s turn now to look puzzled. “What children?”

  “Why, the Darnells’, of course,” Mrs. Smith cried impatiently. “Three of the sweetest lambs you’ve ever seen, at least they will be when I feed them up. And, you know, my dear, I did tell you about the little boy’s cold. That’s why I had the lemonade all made. And I remember distinctly telling you how the little girl gobbled up my cookies.”

  Confused, Trixie wondered if she had perhaps received a bad blow on the head when Prince threw her, and was suffering from a momentary loss of memory. “I’m sorry,” she began, but Mrs. Smith suddenly burst into gales of laughter.

  “It’s as Nat says,” she got out between chuckles. “I’m alone so much since the boys grew up and went away from home, that I talk to myself and then I accuse him of not listening even though he wasn’t in the house at the time.” She lumbered to her feet, her sharp black eyes snapping. “Here comes your honey-haired friend back with the horses. Just run out and help her tie them to that hitching post in front. Take off their bridles and let the poor things graze on the lawn. You’ll find halters and rope hanging beside the back steps.”

  Trixie did as she was told. “Honey,” she giggled, “thanks a lot for catching Prince, but let’s not talk about that now. Mrs. Smith is the most wonderful person I ever knew although sometimes I don’t know what she’s talking about, but you never tasted such cookies and lemonade.”

  Honey stared at her as she slipped a halter over Peanuts’s head. “Frankly, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who is Mrs. Smith?”

  “The farmer’s wife,” Trixie exploded. “She and her husband own this place and the abandoned orchard. Come on! You’ll love her. She’s almost the fattest woman I ever saw, but she has such a pretty face and is so kindhearted!” Trixie pulled Honey along the driveway. There was no sign of the crow, but the collie, as friendly now as he had been angry before, trotted along beside them.

  “Don’t let that muddy animal inside my nice clean kitchen,” Mrs. Smith called from the other side of the screen door. But she made no protest when Laddie followed the girls inside and promptly curled up under the kitchen table as though he belonged there. “I declare,” she said, “that dog is as spoiled as Jimmy Crow. I’ll never forget the day Nat brought that pitiful little bird in to me. He had scarcely a feather—Jimmy, not Nat—and his long legs were too weak to hold up his round tummy. I was all for throwing him into the trash can but he croaked once as though he had the croup, and before I knew what I was doing I had wrapped him in flannel and was poking raw eggs into that big mouth of his.” She handed Honey a glass of lemonade and waved a plump hand toward the mound of cookies on the copper tray. “Sit down and eat, lamb,” she said. “You’re as slim as Mrs. Darnell, the poor little thing.�
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  “Oh, yes,” Trixie reminded her. “You were going to tell me about the Darnells when Honey came back.”

  Mrs. Smith settled down in the rocker and it creaked protestingly under her weight. “That’s right,” she said. “And I may as well start at the beginning since Honey missed the first part. You see,” she went on, “our hired hand broke his leg just when the beans were ready to be picked. That was yesterday afternoon. Nat sent for an ambulance and went in with the boy to be sure he would be as comfortable as possible at the hospital. While he was gone it rained so hard I thought the roof would cave in. I’m not one to be frightened easily, mind you, but I’m so used to having men around the place, what with seven sons until the youngest ran off last spring and got married, so you can see how relieved I was, Honey dear, when I looked through the window behind you and saw a man’s face.”

  Honey shivered. “I would have been scared to death.” She peered over her shoulder. “All alone in this big house, miles from everywhere and in the pouring rain!”

  Mrs. Smith rocked with laughter. “Scared, lamb? Why should I be scared of a pitiful creature who looked like a half-drowned shaggy-haired dog.”

  Honey choked on a cooky crumb and Trixie’s eyes popped open. A shaggy-haired man! She couldn’t believe her ears.

  “I asked him right in, of course,” Mrs. Smith went on easily, “and gave him hot coffee and made him change into dry clothes. While I was warming hash in the oven he explained to me that he was traveling north with his wife and three children in a trailer, and wouldn’t you know it, they went off the main highway and got stuck in the mud! Men, I always say, are forever taking short cuts which never fail to take twice as long.”

  Trixie gave Honey a quick look. “Was he traveling in a red trailer?” she put in as Mrs. Smith stopped for breath.

  “How should I know?” Mrs. Smith demanded. “When Nat came back from the hospital he dragged it out of the ditch with the tractor and put it in the barn.” She chuckled. “I haven’t walked as far as the barn since the dance we held there after young Nat’s wedding and he has presented me with three grandchildren since then. But red or white it makes no difference. What is important is that Mr. Darnell borrowed the contraption so he could take his family with him while he looked for work on a farm upstate.” She sighed with satisfaction. “It was the answer to our prayer, of course, and Nat hired Mr. Darnell on the spot. While they were discussing the bean crop, I got Mrs. Darnell and the children settled upstairs. Such a joy it was to have someone in those empty bedrooms after all these years, and the house filled with the sound of children’s voices.” She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I’ve been lonely for so long and bored with cooking for just Nat and the hired man, I don’t know what I’ll do if that family ever leaves me.”