“Trixie!” Honey cried in alarm, glancing at her watch. “It’s almost eleven-thirty! We’ve got to get back to the museum.”
The two girls quickly hailed a cab and were soon on their way.
“I didn’t realize we’d walked so far,” Trixie said, as the meter clicked off another ten cents on the fare. When they arrived, Honey hurriedly paid the cabbie, and the two girls bounded up the steps to the museum entrance.
The guard who had given them directions earlier that morning spotted them entering the door. “I’ve never seen two girls so anxious to get into this museum,” he chuckled. “Everything in here has been around for a long, long time, young ladies. It won’t disappear in the next few minutes. Take your time—enjoy!” He smiled.
Trixie and Honey laughed and slowed their pace slightly. The first display was of ancient musical instruments, and they walked briskly up and down the wide aisles.
“Okay.” Trixie took a deep breath. “We’ve just had a music lesson. Do you think we should tackle seventeenth-century art in the ten minutes we have left?” she asked, glancing at the panel describing the next exhibit.
“This is ridiculous!” Honey wailed, but before she had a chance to protest, Trixie was dragging her by the coat sleeve past paintings by Rembrandt and Velazquez.
“Try to remember at least one of these paintings,” Trixie said urgently. “We’ve got to have something to tell Miss Trask.”
Exactly at noon, the girls hurried back to the museum entrance. Miss Trask, always punctual, was waiting there for them. She didn’t seem to notice Honey’s sheepish look when she enthusiastically asked the girls about what they had seen.
Trixie, sensing Honey’s guilt, chattered on about how much they had enjoyed the museum, and then she asked Miss Trask about her sister.
“She’s feeling a little better,” Miss Trask answered. “I’ll call her tonight to check and see how she’s doing, but right now, I’m famished. How would you two feel about one of those big hot dogs and some fries?”
“Miss Trask!” Honey exclaimed. “We’d love it, but it doesn’t sound like the type of lunch you’d normally choose. It doesn’t sound, well, sensible.”
“Why not?” Miss Trask chuckled. “I enjoy a good hot dog just as much as the next person.”
Honey laughed, too, and Trixie breathed a sigh of relief as she saw her friend relax and begin to forget about their sleuthing adventure, at least for the time being.
They made their way to the restaurant and leisurely enjoyed their lunch. They still had forty-five minutes left before their train, so they walked down Fifth Avenue, looking in the windows at Tiffany’s and Cartier’s.
“Look at that diamond,” Honey said in awe. “It’s immense! I bet Mother would love that.”
“I don’t understand why people buy so much expensive jewelry and then don’t wear it,” Trixie said. “They keep it locked up in safe-deposit boxes!”
Honey shrugged. “I suppose they consider it a good investment,” she said. “My mother often wears her jewelry, though.”
Miss Trask stopped at a newsstand just outside the station and bought a copy of The New York Times. “Reading matter for the trip home,” she said, neatly folding the paper and tucking it under her arm. “I left my magazines for my sister to read. We’d better get to our track,” she said. “It’s almost time for the two o’clock train. Sorry it had to be such a short day for you two. Next time we’ll plan a whole day of shopping and sight-seeing.”
Trixie cringed at the word shopping, one of her least favorite activities, but she nodded.
Miss Trask had caught her look, and she laughed. “I promise I won’t drag you around, making you try on dresses. It will mostly be a day of sight-seeing.”
As they arrived at the track, their train pulled in on the Hudson River line, and they boarded. The seats in the car they chose were all double and faced each other, like bookends placed back to back in a row. Miss Trask sat in one, and Honey and Trixie sat in the other, facing her.
Good, Trixie thought. This is just what I need—some quiet time to piece all of this together.
Miss Trask unfolded her paper and began to read, while Honey gazed dreamily out the train window, watching the buildings recede and finally disappear.
Suddenly Miss Trask gave a startled gasp, and her eyes widened as Honey and Trixie met her gaze.
“What is it?” Honey asked anxiously, leaning forward. Miss Trask’s face had paled. “Do you feel all right?”
“It’s... this article,” Miss Trask answered slowly. “It’s about Eileen Darcy’s fiancé, Peter Ashbury....”
More Pieces of the Puzzle ● 9
“WHAT DOES IT SAY?” Trixie asked breathlessly.
“Look,” Miss Trask answered shakily, and she handed the paper to Trixie.
Trixie’s eyes widened as she read the article aloud to Honey:
“Peter Ashbury, the prominent gemologist who was dismissed from the prestigious Park Avenue Jewelers last month, will face a grand jury indictment early next week.
“Ashbury allegedly procured diamonds and other precious gems under the Park Avenue name, had paste imitations made, and sold the fake gems to Park Avenue customers, representing them as genuine. The fraud was discovered by one of the jewelry store’s owners, B. Alfred Kelman.”
Trixie looked up from the page and saw her own shocked amazement reflected in Honey’s eyes.
“Go on,” Honey urged.
“When asked to comment on the allegations, Ashbury denied any involvement. ‘They have no proof,’ he claimed. ‘What would I do with the real gems? Stones and settings from Park Avenue Jewelers would be recognized by other dealers.’ ”
I know what he did with those gems! Trixie thought fiercely as she continued to read. Oh, poor Miss Darcy!
“Kelman refuted Ashbury’s statement, saying that the jewels could be easily removed from their original settings. ‘Unfortunately,’ Kelman added, ‘there is a big market in this city for stolen gems.’
“The owners of Park Avenue Jewelers are contacting all customers who, within the last six months, have purchased jewelry set with precious gems, and are asking them to bring the stones in for evaluation.
“ ‘Ashbury was with us for six months,’ Kelman said. ‘He came to us with the highest recommendations, and a great many valuable stones have passed through his hands. We just hope that most of them were real.’ ”
Trixie finished reading and sat back in stunned silence.
Honey grabbed her arm excitedly. “That's where I’ve seen him!” she exclaimed. “Mother buys jewelry at that store, and I must have gone there with her at some time within the last six months!”
Trixie gaped at her. “You mean—Honey, your mother may have bought some fake jewels from them!”
Honey shook her head. “I doubt it. Mother can tell the difference between a real gem and a fake just by looking at them.”
“Can you remember if she bought anything when you were with her?” Trixie asked.
“No, I can’t, but we certainly have to tell her about this, if she hasn’t already heard.”
“Well, she certainly will be told,” Miss Trask said to Honey. “Fortunately, your parents are returning from Miami tomorrow afternoon. Poor Eileen,” she sighed, sinking back in her seat. “That young woman has had nothing but grief lately. First her father, then the accident, and now this.”
“Do you think she knows about it?” Trixie asked anxiously.
“I don’t know,” Miss Trask reflected. “In fact, I don’t ever remember her mentioning what Peter did for a living. She just always talked about how happy she was with him, until recently—” Miss Trask stopped, as if saying anything more would be breaking a confidence.
“I really don’t know if she’s aware of this,” Miss Trask concluded simply. “She’ll find out soon enough, I’m afraid.” Then she turned her head and gazed out the train window, and the two girls knew she would say no more.
Honey and Trixie e
xchanged meaningful looks. Trixie’s mind was whirling with this new information. Gems, costumes, and catalogs! What does it all mean? she puzzled as the train made its way toward Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson.
Nothing more was mentioned about Peter Ashbury or Eileen Darcy for the remainder of the trip, although Trixie was nearly bursting to share her deductions with Honey. She also wanted to ask Miss Trask more questions about Eileen Darcy, but she knew she’d get no answers.
The train finally pulled into the Sleepyside station. Miss Trask picked up the newspaper and once again tucked it neatly under her arm.
“Mrs. Wheeler will be sure to see the article when she returns tomorrow,” she said quietly.
As Miss Trask led the way to the parked car, Honey and Trixie dropped back behind her. “I’ve got to talk to you,” Trixie whispered, “but I have to do the chores that Moms didn’t finish, or my folks won’t let me out of the house for a month. Call me later this evening.” Honey nodded, and they hurried to the car.
Miss Trask dropped Trixie off at Crabapple Farm. The governess had been very quiet since the revelation of the news article. She’s probably worried about Miss Darcy, Trixie thought as she thanked her for the day.
Trixie trudged slowly up the driveway, lost in thought, her hands thrust in her coat pockets.
“Hey, Trixie!” Bobby shouted, seeming to have appeared out of nowhere.
Trixie looked up, startled. “Sorry, Bobby.” She smiled when she saw his cheery, cold-reddened face. “My mind was a million miles away.”
“Moms said you went to New York City. Is that a million miles away?” Bobby asked.
“No, honey.” Trixie giggled at the question. “That’s just an expression. It means that I was thinking about something totally different from what I was doing.”
“What were you doing?” the little boy asked. “And what’s a ’spression?”
Trixie sighed. At some point in most conversations with Bobby, it was best to admit defeat.
“I’ll try to explain it better later on,” Trixie laughed. “Why don’t you come inside for a while? I’ll read you a story.”
Bobby shook his head. “Nope. Can’t. Reddy’s getting his rest-up. I played and played with him all morning and after lunch. Then Moms said I should let him rest up for a while and I should go outside to play.”
Trixie laughed again. “I’ll bet you wore poor Reddy out with all that playing. Okay, I’ll call you in later, after I finish my chores. Then I’ll read a nice, quiet story to both you and Reddy.“
“Okey-dokey,” Bobby said happily, and he went back to the snowman he’d been building.
He’s certainly in a good mood today. Trixie smiled to herself as she watched the little boy, bundled in heavy snow gear, clumsily attempt to pack more snow onto the lopsided figure he had created. It must be because Reddy’s home. Trixie was met by a barrage of teasing from
Mart as soon as she came in the back door.
“Ah, the lady of leisure has returned.” He bowed low, doffing an imaginary hat. “While we slave away here on the old homestead, you’re out enjoying the big, wide, wonderful world. Do tell, milady, how was the Big Apple today?”
“No more exciting than usual,” Trixie replied casually, selecting an orange from the refrigerator. “Honey and I went to the museum while Miss Trask visited her sister, and then—” Trixie couldn’t contain herself any longer, and without pausing for breath, she told Mart what the newspaper article said about Peter Ashbury.
“Whew!” Mart whistled. “I don’t think it’s humanly possible, using just the normal vocal apparatus, to articulate faster than you did just now. You might even qualify for the Guinness Book of World Records. Did you know, Trixie, that it takes the human ear at least one-fifteenth of a second to hear separate sounds?”
“Ma-art,” Trixie said threateningly from between clenched teeth.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Mart held up his hands in a mock-defensive gesture. “I was just as impressed with the contents of what you said as with the speed at which you said it. I really think you’ve got something there,” he said more seriously. “As wacky as you are sometimes, you do stumble onto some pretty interesting situations. But how do you put this together with the costumes and Miss Darcy?”
Trixie told him about having seen Miss Darcy removing “decorations” from one of the costumes. She also told him about her and Honey’s sleuthing adventure that afternoon.
Mart frowned. “That was not very bright.”
“But we didn’t see the newspaper article until later,” Trixie said defensively. “I only suspected that Ashbury was involved in something shady. I didn’t expect to have my suspicions confirmed so soon!”
“You know, sometimes that sixth sense of yours is one heck of a criminal radar, Miss Sherlock. All suspicious characters within a fifty-mile radius, beware! Trixie Belden will find you out!” But he smiled at her with admiration. “Good work. Really, Trixie, I mean it. Now—”
He was interrupted by Helen Belden’s frantic call from upstairs. “Will someone help me— please!”
Trixie and Mart both raced up the stairs, following the sound of their mother’s voice. When they reached Bobby’s room they tried to stifle their laughter when they saw their mother. She was down on her knees, with one finger stuck in the grating over a floor register. Reddy was at her side, with his foot wedged in beside her finger.
“Thank goodness you were inside the house!” Mrs. Belden cried when she saw them. “I was afraid everyone had gone outside.”
“What happened?” Mart asked, surveying the situation.
“Ask for explanations later,” Mrs. Belden groaned. “Right now, all I want to do is to get both Reddy and me out of this ridiculous predicament.”
Trixie had gone to get a bottle of hand lotion. “Maybe if I squeeze some of this along Reddy’s foot and on your finger, you can wiggle them out.”
“Lubrication,” Mart said. “Good idea.“
“Mart,” Trixie said, “we don’t need a minute-by-minute report here; we need help! Try easing Reddy’s foot out—slowly.”
With a little maneuvering, Mrs. Belden and Reddy were soon free. “Now. What happened?” Trixie asked.
Helen Belden laughed ruefully as she rubbed her sore finger. “I heard Reddy whining up here, so I came to see what was wrong. Apparently, he had been pawing at the grating with his foot and had gotten stuck. I tried to pull his foot out, but he had it wedged in there so tightly, it wouldn’t move. So I very cleverly decided I would push it out from underneath with my finger—but then I got my finger stuck, too!”
“It’s reassuring to know that sometimes even a mother gets into some pretty ridiculous situations,” Mart laughed as the three of them walked down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Belden said. “With all that excitement, I forgot to ask you: How was your trip to the city, Trixie?”
“Fine,” Trixie said. “Honey and I poked around in the museum while Miss Trask visited her sister.” She shot Mart a warning glance. Then she told her mother about the newspaper article.
“That’s terrible!” Helen Belden exclaimed. “I feel sorry for Eileen Darcy—she seems like such a nice young woman. I wonder if she knows about it.”
“Miss Trask doesn’t think she does,” Trixie answered.
“Well, maybe the young man is innocent,” Mrs. Belden sighed. “Perhaps it was someone else in the jewelry store. He hasn’t been proven guilty yet.”
“True,” Trixie agreed, “but—” She stopped, deciding it was best not to arouse her mother’s suspicions by showing too much interest in Peter Ashbury.
“But what?” Mrs. Belden asked.
“Nothing.” Trixie shrugged.
Mart had been quiet throughout the conversation, but now he intervened. “Hey, squaw,” he teased, “there’s about an inch of dust on everything in the den.” He tossed her a dustcloth. “Flitting off to museums for the day doesn’t get your chores done.”
“Oh
, yes,” Mrs. Belden said. “That’s one of things I didn’t get done today. Would you please dust, Trixie?”
“Sure, Moms, and thanks again for giving me the day off.”
“I’m afraid you won’t have the evening off,” her mother told her. “Your father and I are planning to go into town to see a movie and then have dinner. I’ll have hamburgers and some other things ready for you here. I’m making plenty, so if you’d like to have Jim and Honey for dinner, it would be fine with me. You just have to be sure to keep Bobby entertained until his bedtime.”
“No small feat, I might add,” Mart said. “That’s for sure,” Mrs. Belden sighed. “Between him and Reddy with that cast on, I’m surprised I got anything done today!”
“Thanks, Moms!” Trixie cried, giving her mother a quick hug. “It would be perfectly perfect to have Honey and Jim come for dinner. In fact, I’ll call them right now.”
“Dusting first,” Mrs. Belden reminded her, “and then the phone call.”
“Okay,” Trixie agreed, and she headed for the den.
Mart followed her. “You were just about ready to open mouth and insert foot out there,” he said in a whisper.
“I know,” Trixie giggled. “Thanks for getting me off the hook by changing the subject. I almost said something about you-know-what.”
She quickly dusted the room while Mart sprawled out, lounging lazily on the couch.
“You missed a spot near the lamp”—he pointed—“and near the bookcase. I hope you’ll be able to pass the white-glove test,” he teased.
“I think you’ve already passed the obnoxious test,” Trixie sniffed.
“Peace, peace,” Mart begged. “I’m really anxiously awaiting for you to finish so I can haul you upstairs and get the rest of the story about ‘you-know-what,’ ” he whispered.
“You wouldn’t think of helping me....“
“Me?” Mart gasped. “Why, I—”
Trixie laughed at his shocked expression. “Yes, you! Hey,” she said, suddenly changing the subject, “where are Brian and Dad? I haven’t seen either one of them today.”
The Mystery of the Velvet Gown Page 9