The Mystery of the Castaway Children

by Campbell, Julie

  “That’s Davy. We re such a nicknaming family,” Eileen explained. “ is for David Dodge, Junior. Dodgy is for Robert, because we started out calling him the new Dodge. had a pony named Wicky, short for Wickcliff. I thought Wicky was sold at the auction, but might have got his hands on him first.”

  “Putting a baby in a doghouse sounds like something a child Davy’s age might do,” David Dodge mused.

  “I agree with you,” Sergeant Molinson said, stopping his pacing to stand beside Trixie’s chair. “But how does that fit in with the second note?”

  “I think—” Both Trixie and Honey began to speak at the same time.

  Trixie often spoke from impulse, while Honey was more apt to reason. With Sergeant Molinson actually allowing them to work with him, even just for the evening, they really ought to make the best impression. “You go first,” urged Trixie.

  Honey’s pretty face flushed with earnestness. “I think, for the safety of both children, we can’t ignore the possibility that the note is genuine. I—I don’t know why a ransom note would be sent after Davy had run away, but it does tell me that someone is watching this house. Somebody knows the boys are missing and—”

  “—and that person wants to take advantage of it. Is that what you’re saying?” the sergeant asked sharply.

  Honey’s skin was not as thick as Trixie’s. It obviously rattled her to be spoken to in that tone of voice, but she stood her ground bravely. “Yes, sir. I’m wondering what will happen to Davy when they discover that the baby has been found and returned home.”

  “And,” Trixie added quickly, “what if they decide to snatch Dodgy when they see he’s back here?”

  “What’ll we do?” Eileen Dodge gasped. Frantically her eyes darted from the baby to her husband, then to the sergeant, Trixie, and Honey.

  Again the sergeant paced, and again Trixie could hear the clock, as well as the hum of the refrigerator and a sound that might have been an electric fan in a bedroom. Trixie had the kind of mind that was receptive to what her five senses told her, and she had the ability to place bits and pieces of information into mental pigeonholes for further reference. Mart said she would never be a poet, but who cared? She was going to be a full-fledged detective one day! Now that she was technically doing police work, that day seemed to move into some middle ground between the future and the present.

  “We could take the baby back home with us,” Trixie suggested finally.

  The sergeant looked skeptical, then glanced at his wristwatch. The strain of his long day was beginning to show on his face. “I can’t think of a better solution at the moment. I think we’ve done all we can do tonight. Is that plan all right with you, Mr. and Mrs. Dodge?”

  “I won’t let him go!” Eileen Dodge declared. Tears seemed imminent.

  Hesitantly Honey spoke up. “Sergeant, would it be all right if Mrs. Dodge came with us, to help take care of Dodgy until the case is solved?” Eileen brightened. “I like that idea,” she admitted shyly.

  “The kidnappers, if they’re watching the house, won’t notice she and the baby are gone,” Honey said, “if they leave with us tonight, in the dark.”

  “Well,” Sergeant Molinson put in, “we’ll just have to take that chance, anyway. They may not be watching the house all that closely.”

  “And,” Trixie chimed in, “she would be right on the spot to help Honey and me with any clues we turn up in searching for Davy.”

  “You’re going to search for clues.” The sergeant did not ask a question; he made a statement of fact.

  “You asked Honey and me to work on this case, remember?” Trixie said hopefully.

  “I meant help me deliver the baby to his parents tonight,” the man said stiffly.

  Unexpectedly, David Dodge came to the girls' rescue. “Sergeant, it seems to me that Trixie and Honey could be very helpful. They’ve done so much for us already, and they’re obviously alert and intelligent. Besides, it’ll throw these kidnappers off the trail. It won’t occur to them that a couple of teen-agers are actually working hand in hand with the police department.”

  “You have a point,” decided the sergeant. “All right—Trixie and Honey, you may keep your eyes peeled for clues as to the whereabouts of Davy. However, under no circumstances are you allowed to search for the kidnappers, and we must assume that some type of kidnappers are involved here. Leave them to the police, you understand?”

  Trixie’s head was spinning from David’s compliments and the sergeant’s agreement, but Honey managed to stammer, “Y-Yes, sir!”

  David looked relieved and turned to his wife. “You keep in touch, now, dear, okay?”

  She bobbed her head up and down. “Just a minute, I’ll get changed and pack some clothes!” This time Eileen Dodge did not miss a step when she used the stairway.

  The Missing Horseshoe • 7

  ONLY BOBBY HAD GONE to bed by the time the group reached Crabapple Farm. Di, Mart, Jim, Dan, and Brian were arguing amiably over a Monopoly game, while the senior Beldens were watching the news on television.

  Mart looked up when he heard the footsteps on the porch and yelped, “It’s about time you got back!”

  Di jumped up and ran to the screen door. “Were they Moses’ parents?” Seeing the baby without noticing who carried him, she cried, “Oh, I’m sorry!”

  “Don’t be sorry!” Trixie lilted. “Dodgy likes his room so much that he brought his mother back to share it with him!”

  “Dodgy? Who’s Dodgy?” Brian wanted to know.

  “Robert! Moses! Brian, his name—I mean, his nickname—is Dodgy,” Honey replied.

  The two groups met and mingled, those who had stayed home and those who had traveled. Everybody talked at once. Hands reached to touch Dodgy; hands reached to shake Eileen Dodge’s hand. Mart got so carried away he even shook hands with the sergeant. “Great job, sir!” he said.

  “Well, thanks, Mart,” Sergeant Molinson said. “It’s time I got back to the station.” As he turned to head toward his car, he looked at Trixie and Honey and warned, “Keep me posted.”

  Once Eileen had put Dodgy to bed, she joined Trixie and Honey in the telling of the Dodge story. At one point, she flushed and said, “I hope I won’t inconvenience you, Mrs. Belden. I just realized that I’ve invited myself to your home.”

  “No, Mrs. Dodge,” Honey interrupted, “I was the one who invited you, so really I should insist on taking you home to Manor House.”

  “Call me Eileen,” Mrs. Dodge urged.

  “Thank you, Honey,” Mrs. Belden said, “but I’m sure we can make Eileen and Dodgy comfortable here. Now that Dodgy has been found, I’m sure it won’t be long until Davy is back, safe and sound.”

  By the time the lights were turned out at Crabapple Farm and Trixie was in her own bed, with Di sleeping in the matching twin bed, she knew just how the sergeant felt. It had been a long, hard day. She, too, was tired, yet still so wound up that sleep would not come to her immediately.

  She recalled the hopelessness she had felt twenty-four hours before, when she had realized that finding the baby’s parents would involve sifting multitudes of people through a screen. One day later, because of the love and concern of total strangers, that baby had a name and a mother to guard him. And, wonder of wonders, she and Honey were to work with the sergeant in the all-out search for the baby’s brother.

  Trixie’s mind gnawed impatiently at the problem. Because of the total upset at the Dodge farm, it would be difficult to conduct the search from that end of Davy’s trail. Anyway, she didn’t fool herself into thinking that she could walk in and find clues that Davy’s own parents had missed.

  Logically, therefore, she must begin her search right here at the farm. So far, all indications were that whoever had left Dodgy in the doghouse had ridden a horse. Well, Davy had owned a pony. His parents weren’t sure if Wicky had been auctioned, but surely that could be checked. Yawning, Trixie decided that her first step was to ask her father how an auction was conducted. He’d kno
w.

  Just on the verge of sleep, Trixie roused herself to whisper, “Regan!” Regan would know if that horseshoe she’d found matched whatever Davy’s pony turned out to be. Of course, kidnappers could be holding both the boy and his horse, but Trixie refused to let herself dwell on that possibility.

  She felt goose bumps rise on her skin as she recalled placing Dodgy in his mother’s anus. Jeepers, if only she could do the same for his brother. Oh, happy day.....

  She had to work carefully. A criminal might just be waiting for someone to make a mistake. Trixie sighed heavily, aware of the burden of responsibility she bore. As she dozed off, she heard Reddy bark once. Poor clog, she thought. He still hasn’t recovered from the invasion of his property....

  The following morning, as Trixie and Di got dressed, Di bubbled with excitement. She had waked at two o’clock to help Eileen with Dodgy’s care. “She didn’t know her way around your kitchen, but I did,” Di said. Anxiously she added, “Do you suppose she managed the six o’clock feeding by herself?”

  “She’s the baby’s mother, silly. After all, she’s used to running a farmhouse while taking care of two children and a husband.”

  “True,” Di agreed. “But that was in her house, not this one.”

  “What’s the matter with this house?” Trixie retorted. “Moms has raised four kids here!”

  “I love your house,” Di began earnestly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry for snapping at you,” said Trixie. “I guess I didn’t get enough sleep.”

  “I found some nickels and dimes on the kitchen table,” said Di as the two girls went downstairs. “I put them on the refrigerator and closed the refrigerator door. It was open when I went to the kitchen.”

  “Open?” Trixie repeated. “Moms’ll scalp Mart. He’s always so careless about that door.”

  “Oh, Ï hope she doesn’t,” Di giggled. “I like Mart’s scalp!”

  Trixie rushed into the kitchen, saying, “Dad, I need to talk to you—” She stopped in consternation. His chair was empty. She turned to her mother, who was expertly scrambling eggs. “Hasn’t Dad come down yet? He’ll be late to work.”

  “Money. Filthy lucre—that’s all you think about,” Mart mourned between bites of bacon.

  “Your father had a Chamber of Commerce breakfast to attend this morning,” said Mrs. Belden.

  “But I—” Trixie gulped down her disappointment. Oh, well. She could still consult Regan this morning.

  Soon Eileen Dodge entered the kitchen. Amid the chorus of “Good morning’s,” she took the place at the table that Brian offered.

  Trixie noticed that the puffiness was gone from around Eileen’s blue eyes, but her face was still so drawn that the skin seemed to be too tight for even her fine bones.

  “I am grateful for your hospitality,” Eileen said somewhat formally, “but I’m not sure I should be here. What if David hears—” she hesitated— “b-bad news about ? He’ll need me. And if our house is being watched, they’re bound to notice I’m not there.”

  Mrs. Belden arranged an attractive plate of food and passed it to Eileen. “Why don’t you at least stay long enough to meet Dr. Ferris?” she suggested. “He’s coming out this morning to examine the baby. It will put your mind at ease to hear his report firsthand.”

  “Oh, yes,” Eileen agreed. “I have to find out what caused those bruises and how to heal them.”

  “We’ve been treating them,” Brian told her. “That was approved by Miss Goodley, the social worker from the county welfare department.”

  “W-Welfare?” Eileen stammered. “Just as soon as we settle up with the auctioneers—”

  “This isn’t a matter of inability to pay bills,” Mrs. Belden explained gently. “Abandoned children are the state’s responsibility. The police delegated Dodgy to our care during the investigation. I do feel you should let us help you. Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think you’re in shape emotionally or physically to cope with Dodgy’s total care until your older son is found.” Eileen’s hand shook as she lifted her coffee cup. “I—I have been so worried and scared that I was afraid I was losing my mind,” she admitted quietly.

  “You’re among friends, Eileen,” Brian said.

  “I am grateful,” Eileen repeated.

  Trixie took a deep breath and glanced through her lashes at Di. Di, too, was so moved by Eileen’s confusion that she was having trouble swallowing her food. Trixie forced herself to finish her meal, her heart aching for Eileen.

  “Does somebody have time to look at the washer?” Mrs. Belden asked hopefully.

  Brian had already left the kitchen, and Mart was preparing to follow. He heaped buttered toast with jam to take with him. “Later, Moms,” he promised. “My elder counterpart doth crack a mighty whip. I wouldst away before I incur his displeasure.”

  “Brian isn’t working in the woods,” grunted Bobby. “I heard Dad tell him to irri-something the raspberries this morning.”

  “Irritate?” Mart guessed on his way out the door.

  Bobby looked doubtful.

  “Irrigate,” Trixie told Bobby. “Gleeps, with Mart for a teacher, Bobby’ll never learn to speak English!”

  Eyes sparkling, Di put in, “But, Trixie, Mart is so smart!”

  “How nice to have your very own fan club,” muttered Trixie as she began to clear the breakfast table.

  “I’ll help,” Di offered.

  They had just finished the kitchen work when Harrison, the Lynch butler, came for Di. She rushed to check up on Dodgy before climbing into the limousine. “If you need me, just call,” she urged.

  “Thanks, Di,” Trixie answered. She returned to her morning work with a mind churning with plans. She had been fumbling around, trying to get a grip on the mystery. She had found it, but where to now?

  The minute her morning chores were finished, Trixie called Honey. “Meet me at the stables?”

  “Are we going to ride?” Honey asked. “What shall I wear?”

  “Just wear what you have on now.”

  “A bath towel? I just took a shower!”

  Trixie giggled. “You’re out of uniform, Detective Wheeler. Let’s wear shorts and wait to ride till it’s cooler, okay? I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  When Trixie reached the stables, she heard Honey call, “Trix, I’m in the supply room. There’s a fan here.”

  Trixie called back, “I’m stopping at the tack room first.” She went straight to the shelf where she had thrown the horseshoe. She patted the entire length of the shelf, then patted again.

  “Honey, it’s gone,” she wailed. “The horseshoe’s gone!”

  Honey hurried down the wide alleyway. “Regan probably threw it in the scrap heap. There’s a bin behind the barn.”

  As Trixie rushed after Honey to the barn, she breathed in the familiar odors of timothy, clover, bran, oats, leather, saddle soap, and horseflesh. Everything was in order. She should have known Regan would notice that shoe.

  The scrap bin was a huge wooden box with a hinged lid held in place by a hasp. It took the girls’ combined strength to lift the lid. Trixie stared in dismay at the bits of chain, the bars of metal and tools without handles, the odds-and-ends leftovers from Regan’s world.

  “Where do we start?” Trixie asked.

  “At the top,” Honey said practically. “Help me lift this wheelbarrow frame. There’s small stuff under it.”

  “How’d you recognize a wheelbarrow frame?” Trixie asked in amazement.

  Honey grinned. “I saw the gardener take the barrow apart.”

  With the first plunge into the scrap, both girls broke fingernails and got rust smeared on skin and clothing.

  “And you’ve just had a shower,” Trixie said apologetically.

  “We have lots of soap,” Honey retorted cheerfully. “Just tell me why we re doing this.”

  If we find that shoe,” Trixie explained, “we can use it to check tracks we run across and locate that horse. Davy may be on that horse. And R
egan can identify that shoe for us.”

  As if on cue, just then Regan came around the corner of the barn. Hooking both thumbs in his wide belt, he queried, “Going into the junk business?”

  The horseshoe, Regan!” Trixie cried. “Where is it?”

  For a second, Regan blanked. Then he asked, “You mean that Shetland shoe Dan found on a shelf?”

  “Shetland?” Although Trixie had guessed that the horse was smaller than Spartan, it wasn’t until her visit to the Dodges that it occurred to her that the lost shoe might have belonged to a pony. Even so, she dared not raise her hopes too high. Bobby had recently learned to ride while Regan had trained a Shetland named Mr. Pony. Mr. Pony could have lost that shoe on the bicycle trail. That was one of the few trails Bobby had been allowed to use.

  Regan didn’t have to be told that Trixie had put the shoe on the shelf. Her drooping lips and shoulders were tattlers. “Where’d you find it, Trix?”

  Trixie told him.

  The tall, red-haired groom nodded. “Molinson’s already been here looking for a transient horse. None of our horses had lost shoes. There was this extra shoe, so we gave it to him.”

  Trixie thrust her sneaker toe against the scrap bin and tried to think of a way of dealing with this discouraging development. She had counted on finding that shoe.

  Wet Soap and a Tepee 8

  REGAN SAID KINDLY, “If it will make you feel better, Trix, Molinson told me you were the one who put him on the trail of the horse.”

  Trixie tried smiling but failed. “Let’s go take a bath while we think of a new plan, Honey.”

  “You going to give up, just like that?”

  Alertly Trixie turned on Regan. “Why? Do you know something else?”

  “I might.”

  “Tell us!” Trixie begged. “This case is awfully important to Honey and me. Yipes, Sergeant Molinson has actually asked us for help, and we don’t want to blow it. We simply have to find that missing boy.”

  “Boy?” Regan repeated. “Thought we were talking about a horse.”

  Honey filled Regan in on the story of Davy. “Well,” Regan mused, “after Molinson left, I got to thinking about that shoe and wondering why it was so important to find a transient horse. You know, you can tell a lot about people by the way they take care of their horses.”