“I’ll check with Moms,” Trixie told her, “but I’m sure it’ll be okay. Gleeps—I think it’s been at least two weeks since I was in Sleepyside! I’d better ride along today. Otherwise, I won’t remember my way around town at all when school starts next month. I’ll have to have someone with me at all times, or have Moms pin a note to my coat when I leave every morning!”
Through the telephone wire, Honey’s laughter rang out merrily. “I don’t think it would be quite that bad, Trixie, even though your sense of direction isn’t much better than mine is. I’m glad you’re going to ride along, though. We’ll pick you up about one-thirty.”
“I’ll be ready,” Trixie promised. She hung up the receiver, shaking her head in amazement at how long it had been since she’d been to town. Crabapple Farm was only about two miles from Sleepyside, and her father drove into town every day to his job at the bank. Brian and Mart made the trip to town offener, too, to go to the library or to run errands for their mother. For Trixie, however, the sidewalks and shops of Sleepyside couldn’t begin to offer the excitement of the Wheeler stables, the lake and the boathouse, or the Bob-White clubhouse, which was tucked away in a secluded grove of trees on the Wheeler estate.
I wonder if Honey and I will have to move to a big city when we set up the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency, Trixie mused. I know we’ll have to live in a bigger town while we’re in college, anyway. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. I’d rather stay right here, but I guess becoming a full-fledged detective is more important. She allowed herself a small groan at the necessity of giving up one thing for another, then went off to tell her mother she’d be going to town later that day.
When the station wagon pulled into the drive that afternoon, Trixie was ready, as promised, armed with a short list of errands to run for her mother and a swatch of fabric to match to a spool of thread.
She ran to the car, the shoulder purse she hadn’t carried since June bumping uncomfortably against her hip. Uncomfortably, too, she noticed that Laura Ramsey was once again in the front seat with Jim, while Honey was sitting in the back.
“Moms made up quite a list for me,” Trixie told Honey after she was settled and the car had begun its progress toward town. “I hope all the stores are still where I remember them.”
“I don’t think Sleepyside will have changed too much in two weeks,” Honey told her with a straight face. “In fact, I don’t think it’s changed all that much in the past fifty years!”
“Well, if we get separated, you’d better send Sergeant Molinson out looking for me,” Trixie said. “Although I’m not sure he’d look very hard. He might figure his troubles would all be over if Trixie Belden would just get lost!”
Honey’s serious pose broke down, and she began to laugh. “On the other hand,” she gasped, “he might feel better if he could just once solve a problem for you, instead of the other way around.”
Trixie joined in Honey’s laughter, feeling a little guilty as she did so. Time and again, Sergeant Molinson had warned the Bob-Whites—and Trixie especially—against getting involved in potentially dangerous mysteries. Time and again, the Bob-Whites had ignored his warnings, telling themselves that they had no choice but to ignore them. Although the result was usually that cases were solved faster than they might have been otherwise, it was usually Sergeant Molinson who was called at unlikely hours to take criminals into custody.
“On second thought,” Trixie said with a rueful grin, “maybe you’d just better let me stay lost. I think I’d prefer it to one of the sergeant’s tongue-lashings.”
The girls were quiet for a moment, each imagining what Sergeant Molinson would say to Trixie if he found her wandering lost through the tiny town of Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. Gradually, Trixie became aware that Jim was making several turns that weren’t necessary for the trip to the downtown area.
“Where are you going, Jim?” she asked curiously, leaning forward.
“Downtown,” he said, as though he were reminding her of their destination.
“I know that,” Trixie said. “But why are you taking such a funny route?”
“I thought Laura might like to take the scenic tour of Sleepyside,” he said. His tone was casual, but Trixie sensed an underlying tenseness in it. She also noticed that his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white.
On a sudden hunch, Trixie turned in the seat and looked out the rear window of the station wagon. A small, green car was several yards behind them. “We’re being followed, aren’t we?” she said, facing forward and gripping the back of the front seat with both hands.
“It looks that way,” Jim admitted. “But I had hoped that I could keep from getting everyone upset about it.”
Trixie sat back, silenced by the rebuke in Jim’s voice.
Gradually, Jim slowed the car to a crawl. The green car shot forward and passed them, continuing down the street until it finally disappeared from sight.
Honey let out a relieved sigh. “There! You see? He wasn’t following us at all,” she said.
“Yes, he was,” Trixie corrected her. “He just didn’t want to be too obvious about it. When Jim slowed down, he had to pass, to make it look as though he was going somewhere. But I could tell he was following us. I could tell something else, too: That’s the same car I saw pulling away from the boathouse yesterday!”
Honey gasped, and Laura Ramsey turned in her seat, staring at Trixie in shock.
“It’s a common make and color, Trixie,” Jim told her.
“I don’t care if it’s the very commonest make and the very commonest color,” Trixie said defiantly. “It’s the same car. I know it!”
“All right, all right,” Jim said impatiently. “I don’t want to fight about it. I just don’t want to get everyone all upset about it, either.”
You don't want Laura Ramsey upset about it, you mean, Trixie thought resentfully. She crossed her arms in front of her stubbornly. She would say nothing more about the green car, but she would not let herself be persuaded that that car was not the one she had seen at the boathouse the day before.
A mood of grim determination had replaced her lighthearted one. When Jim finally pulled onto the town’s main street and parked, Trixie split off from the others. She stalked from store to store, taking care of her mother’s errands, totally uninterested in browsing along the way. Trixie was accustomed to her friends’ refusal to take her seriously. Many times, she had to admit, they were right not to. But this time, she knew she was right. She knew, too, that Jim’s repeated denials had to do with his desire to protect Laura Ramsey from worry.
“I think protecting her from danger is more important,” Trixie muttered.
A salesclerk looked up. “May I help you with something?” she asked.
“I’m just looking,” Trixie answered automatically. “I mean, no—I mean, yes, I’d like this spool of thread, please.”
The clerk took it from her hand gingerly, as if whatever were causing Trixie’s confusion might be catching. She rang up the purchase, took Trixie’s money, and handed her the small paper bag containing the thread.
Trixie took it and put it in her purse, leaving the store hastily to avoid further embarrassment.
Outside on the sidewalk, she checked the list her mother had given her and discovered that she was finished with her errands. She walked to Wimpy’s, where she had agreed to meet the others, slid into a booth, and ordered a soft drink. She jabbed the ice angrily with her straw, searching her mind for ways to make the other Bob-Whites accept her point of view. No plan occurred to her. The problem was that even though she was sure the Bob-Whites had been spied on and followed, she couldn’t figure out why.
If Anthony Ramsey had been kidnapped, his kidnappers would send ransom notes, not spies. What if he had disappeared because of a nervous breakdown? Would he hire someone' to keep an eye on his daughter, to make sure she was all right? Trixie considered the idea briefly, then shook her head. She didn’t know very muc
h about nervous breakdowns, but she was fairly sure that if that was the cause of Anthony Ramsey’s disappearance, he wouldn’t be capable of arranging for someone to look after his daughter. He might not even remember he had a daughter. Or if he did, wouldn’t he arrange for someone to contact her, to let her know he was all right, to make sure she had enough money?
Trixie circled her straw in her glass, making a whirlpool that reminded her all too much of the endless circles her thoughts were making.
When Laura, Honey, and Jim walked in, laughing and chatting together as though nothing was wrong, Trixie sat up straight and pasted a welcoming smile on her face. If you can't beat ’em, join ’em, she thought, determined to be cheerful.
“Sleepyside is really a lovely little town,” Laura Ramsey said. “It’s so clean, and the people are so polite and unhurried. It’s quite a change from New York City.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Honey said warmly. “I’d hate to think that all your memories of your stay with us were unhappy ones.”
Laura’s face shadowed with worry for a moment, then she returned Honey’s smile and laid her hand on the girl’s arm. “I’ll have many happy memories when I leave Sleepyside,” she said. “You and your friends have been wonderful to me. As I told you once before, it means a lot to me just to know that there are still people in this world whom I can trust.”
Trixie swallowed hard as she remembered that Laura Ramsey’s worries had actually started weeks before her father’s disappearance. Maybe Jim and Honey were right to try to keep from adding to her burden. She realized then that she’d never tried to get an opinion from either of them in private. Out of Laura’s hearing, they might be more willing to admit that the green car was a cause for concern.
“Could Ï ride back to Manor House with you?” she asked. “I thought of a couple of things I’d like to add to my deposition.”
“Sure,” Jim said. He lifted his glass and drained the last of his soft drink. “Let’s get going.”
On the way home, Trixie, determined to be tactful, said nothing, but she couldn’t resist turning a couple of times to look out the back window for the little green car. She couldn’t see any sign of it.
At the door of Manor House, Miss Trask greeted them with the news that Mark McGraw had come to talk to them. “He’s waiting in the library,” she said.
The four young people hurried to meet the detective. “Is there any word?” Laura asked him anxiously.
McGraw shook his head. “I’ve spent the day nosing around town, and I’ve put in calls to contacts of mine all over the state. There are a few leads, but nothing so definite that I’d want to talk about it at this point. I just thought I’d check in before I head back to the city.”
Laura turned away from the detective and walked to the window. Her shoulders sagged with discouragement.
“We’ve been followed,” Trixie blurted suddenly.
McGraw tilted his head. “You think so?” he asked doubtfully.
Trixie quickly gave him the details of her sightings of the small green car at the boathouse and again on the way to Sleepyside. When she finished, the detective looked less doubtful. He took the small notebook out of his pocket. “What make and model?” he asked.
Jim told him.
“Did you get the license number?” he asked brusquely.
Once again, Jim gave him the information. Trixie looked at him gratefully. Even though he had denied that the car was suspicious, he had noted and remembered the number—which was more than Trixie had done!
For the first time, McGraw seemed excited— almost shaken, Trixie thought. “That wasn’t reported by any of my contacts. Do you have any theories about it?”
“I have,” Laura Ramsey said, turning around and walking back toward them. “I’ve been turning it over in my mind all day, and the same thought keeps returning to me. It must be Frank Riebe—or a detective he’s hired to find me.”
“Why would he do that?” Trixie asked.
“As I told you before, if Frank can prove that my father disappeared without a trace, he can use that as grounds to take control of the company. If he has the slightest suspicion that the story I told Esther wasn’t true, hiring a detective to discover the truth would be the first thing he’d think of.”
The detective nodded. “That makes sense,” he said. “I’ll check out this license number. In the meantime, the most important thing is for you to avoid any contact with this detective—if that’s what he is. He might try to take you or one of your friends, here, by surprise.”
“T-Take us?” Honey stammered, her eyes wide.
The detective waved one hand, brushing her fear aside. “I don’t mean take you physically. I mean he might pop up suddenly, in some unexpected place, and ask you a leading question, hoping you’ll blurt out some information about Laura—why she’s here, where her father is. Detectives can be tricky, believe me.” McGraw smiled wryly. “The only way to avoid making trouble is to avoid him. Be on your toes.”
“But he hasn’t got close enough to get any information from us,” Trixie protested.
“Yes, he has,” McGraw said, in the tone Trixie sometimes used on Bobby. “He’s got close enough to identify Laura Ramsey from a photograph. That would logically be his first step, don’t you think?”
Trixie looked at the floor and nodded dumbly. It would be for a real detective, she thought, but she herself would probably start right in asking questions—and get lots of information about the wrong person.
McGraw shook his head as if shooing off a pesky insect and put his notebook back in his pocket. “I’ll check out that license number,” he repeated. “Just remember: Don’t let that detective near you. And pass the word along to anyone else who knows why Miss Ramsey is here in Sleepyside.” With a curt nod, the detective left the room.
“I’m glad you brought up the subject of the green car,” Jim told Trixie in a quiet voice.
“I am, too,” Laura Ramsey added. “I was going to keep my suspicions to myself, so as not to cause any more worry for anyone. But I can see now that if I had, I’d have been playing right into Frank Riebe’s hands.”
“Exactly,” Jim said.
The tightness that Trixie had felt in her chest since she’d spotted the green car the day before disappeared. She had been right, after all, and now everyone was saying so out loud.
“Do you want to go up to my room and work on your deposition now?” Honey asked her.
Trixie stared at her friend blankly for a moment. In the excitement of what had just happened, she’d forgotten all about the ploy she’d invented to get to talk to Honey alone. Now, it was no longer necessary. Then, as another idea struck her, she thought, Oh, yes, it is! “Let’s go,” she said out loud.
As soon as they were safely alone in Honey's room, Trixie said, “I don’t really have anything to add to that deposition. I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I wanted to know if you really thought there was nothing suspicious about that green car.”
“What Laura said just now is true for me, too,” Honey said. “I was suspicious, but I wasn’t about to admit it. I thought it would just make things worse. I was wrong, as Mr. McGraw showed us.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Trixie said hastily. “What I want to talk to you about is what we didn’t show him.” Honey frowned in confusion, and Trixie continued, “Our assignments, Honey! I forgot all about them until after he left, when you mentioned the deposition. He didn’t even ask for them!”
“Well, we didn’t offer them, either,” Honey pointed out. “The green car was so important that it was all anybody thought about. That was one of the assignments, anyway, remember? We were supposed to tell him if we noticed any strangers in town.”
“What about the deposition?” Trixie demanded. Honey hesitated for a moment. “Mr. McGraw said he’d need the deposition for evidence in court. He probably isn’t worried about it right now. I mean, he hasn’t even proved that there is a criminal involved, much less caught
one. He probably hasn’t had time even to think yet about a trial.”
“What about the map?” Trixie asked stubbornly. “He could have used that right away. Now he’s going back to New York, and it won’t do him any good from there.”
Honey’s hesitation was longer this time. Finally she said, “All right, you’re right. McGraw should have remembered to ask us for the map. But what are you getting at?”
Trixie thrust her chin forward defiantly. “I don’t think for a minute that McGraw forgot to ask us for the map. I don’t think he ever intended to ask for any of those assignments. I think he just gave them to us as busy work, to keep us out of his way!”
Trixie Answers Questions ● 9
HONEY WHEELER, ready, as always, to see both sides of the situation, tried to change Trixie’s mind about Mark McGraw’s intentions, but Trixie was unmoved. “The only one who can change my mind about Mark McGraw is Mark McGraw,” Trixie said. “And the only way he can do that is to ask for those assignments he gave us.”
“He said he’d stay in touch,” Honey said. “We can remind him next time—”
“No!” Trixie interrupted vehemently. “That wouldn’t prove a thing. Of course he’d take the assignments from us if we reminded him to. He’d probably even find us more unnecessary things to do to keep us busy. But that wouldn’t mean he really wanted our help or that he ever meant to make use of what we gave him.”
Honey frowned. She was unwilling to believe the worst of anyone, but she had to admit to herself that what Trixie said sounded right. “What are we going to do?” she asked.
“I’m not going to do another thing,” Trixie said firmly. “You know how much I’d been looking forward to helping a real detective solve a case. But if he doesn’t want our help—and I’m convinced he doesn’t—then that’s that. I won’t help. I won’t worry. I won’t even think about this case if I can help it.”
The Mystery of the Millionaire Page 8