The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

by Kathryn Kenny

  “Oh, we’d love it,” cried Trixie, and the others joined her in eagerly accepting the invitation.

  “I don’t think any of us has ever been to a real clambake. What’s it like?” asked Honey.

  “We won’t tell you a thing about it until tomorrow,” laughed Cap. “It has to be seen and eaten to be believed, doesn’t it, Pete?” And with a wave of his hand, Cap was off on his bicycle.

  “Jeepers, we’d better get going, too,” said Trixie. “It must be awfully late.”

  “By my faithful chronometer, it’s only nine thirty,” Mart said, as he looked at his wrist watch, “but it certainly seems as though we’d been out on the high seas half the night.”

  When they got back to The Moorings, Jim said, “I have a sneaking suspicion you didn’t tell all that happened out there, Pete. Am I right?”

  “You sure are!” exclaimed Trixie, and she started to tell about the broken lights and the plan they had suggested to the captain for getting further information. “And you know we shouldn’t waste any time getting over there to Jimmy’s Place,” she added. “If those two in the boat get suspicious that the Coast Guard is on their trail, they may take to cover for a while. How about going over tonight?”

  “You’re right, Trix,” said Diana, “but how can we work it? I don’t think we should all go, do you?”

  “That’s a thought, Di,” Trixie said with a frown. “With Peter and all of us, there would be seven, and if we barge in there, everyone’s going to notice us and wonder what’s up.”

  “I agree,” Brian said seriously. “Besides, someone from the island would be sure to spot Peter. The story of the Coast Guard rescuing us will spread like wildfire, and if those two are there, they’d certainly get suspicious.”

  “Well, who’s to go?” asked Peter. “I agree it would be taking a chance for me to go. How do you Bob-Whites decide a thing like this?”

  “Oh, we don’t have any set procedure. Usually someone starts out with a vague idea and we kick it around for a while and come up with a solution. It’s as simple as that.”

  “I suggest that our capable president and co-president be assigned to this dangerous mission,” said Mart. “I know my darling sibling is secretly dying to go, and who could offer her protection better than our stalwart Jim?”

  “But remember I never saw the yellow boat,” answered Jim, “and much as I’d like to go, I wouldn’t be of much use, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter,” Trixie quickly replied. “I’d know those two if I met them on a dark night in China! Come on, Jim, say you’ll go.”

  “Okay, but there’s another problem. How are we going to get there?” Jim queried. “I can’t drive after dark on my junior license, you know, and neither can Pete.”

  Trixie thought a minute and then, snapping her fingers, she said, “I have it. We’ll ask Tom to drive us all down in the station wagon. He can park a little distance from Jimmy’s Place, and Jim and I can walk on from there. Then, if there should be any trouble, you’ll all be close enough to hear if we give the Bob-White whistle.”

  “That’s a great idea, Sis,” said Brian. “Now all we have to do is get you two dressed up, and we’ll be all set.”

  While they were eating the delicious pot roast and vegetables which the cook had kept hot for them, they told Miss Trask about their plan, and she agreed to let them go if Tom would drive them. As usual, when the Bob-Whites needed him, Tom was more than willing to help.

  “Now let’s see,” said Trixie thoughtfully. “Jim really ought to be wearing jeans that are two sizes too small and a leather jacket, but none of us has one.”

  “I have a very old black jacket,” volunteered Tom, who had been called in to hear about the project. “I brought it along to wear when I work on the car. You’re welcome to it if it will be any use.”

  “Wonderful, Tom; thanks a lot!” Honey replied. “We certainly can use it.”

  “I’ll bet if Jim tries, he can wiggle into a pair of Mart’s jeans,” added Diana.

  “Just you be careful not to stretch them,” said Mart, pretending to be serious. “I’m very particular about sartorial details, you know.”

  “Oh, we know, Beau Brummel. You always are the mirror of fashion,” said Brian. “Look at you now!” And everyone pretended to admire Mart’s dirty sneakers, unpressed jeans, and badly spotted sweat shirt.

  “Go on, all of you. Clothes don’t make the man,” Mart retorted.

  “You’re right, they don’t,” Jim remarked, “but they sometimes give a pretty good indication of what a person thinks of himself. Take those two vulgar boatmen, for example. They may be perfectly good guys, potentially, but they picture themselves as desperate characters and act accordingly.”

  No one noticed that Trixie had left the room with Tom. When she returned a few minutes later, everyone shrieked! She was wearing Jim’s biggest sweater which, on her, came way down below her hips. Her curly hair was hidden under a black scarf, and she was wearing a tight black skirt Celia had lent her. Her eyes, made up with eyebrow pencil and mascara, looked completely unnatural.

  “Trixie Belden, where did you get that rig?” yelled Jim, not knowing at first whether to be mad or amused by her outlandish getup.

  “Celia helped me,” giggled Trixie. “It seems that when she and Tom go out for an evening, she sometimes puts on a bit of makeup, so she helped me put on, not just a bit, but scads of the stuff!” Trixie gingerly wiped the corner of one eye with her little finger. “And the skirt is part of the uniform she wears when she serves dinner.”

  Tom came back at this moment with the jacket, and seeing Trixie, he burst out laughing. “I’d never believe it, Trixie; you should be an actress.”

  “She’ll end up being the world’s greatest female sleuth, or I miss my guess,” said Brian.

  “She’s really one already,” added Jim admiringly. “Come on, away to work, Sherlock Holmes. You all get in the car, and I’ll dash up and change into Mart’s jeans,” he said as he ran up the stairs, pulling on Tom’s jacket as he went.

  Everyone was laughing and joking as they piled into the station wagon and headed for Pebble Beach. Tom said he knew where it was, because he and Celia had gone there swimming on their day off. He parked the car off the road in the dark at some distance from the roadhouse. A blue neon sign proclaimed to the world that this was, indeed, Jimmy’s Place. Cars were parked in front of the brightly lighted building, and they could hear the blare of the jukebox and the raucous laughter of what apparently was a good-sized crowd.

  Jim and Trixie got out of the station wagon and headed down the road. “Jeepers, Jim,” she said nervously, “I don’t know if this was such a brilliant idea or not. I’ve never been in a place like this in my life, and I—”

  Jim took firm hold of her hand and said, “Don’t worry, Trix; I’ll bet there’s more noise than danger in there. We’ll look in the window first, and then we’ll plan our attack.”

  Trixie felt ashamed of her momentary panic and was glad that none of the others had heard her remark. She knew that Jim understood how she felt and said in a low voice, “Gee, Jim, I’m awfully glad it was you they picked to come tonight. Thanks for calming me down.” For an answer, Jim gave her hand a squeeze.

  They strolled up to the front of Jimmy’s Place and tried to look as casual as possible. They saw a couple come out and start up the road in the opposite direction. Through the window, they could make out a crowd around a jukebox. Others were leaning against the bar in the rear or were sitting in the high-backed booths which occupied one side of the smoke-filled room.

  “Come on, Trix,” said Jim, pulling her toward the door. “Chin up.”

  “Hey, not so fast,” Trixie whispered as she pressed her face closer to the window. “See that bunch of boys over there in the first booth? I’ve got a hunch if there’s dirty work going on around here they’d know about it. They’re the same type as those characters in the motorboat. In fact, they may be the same ones.”


  “Okay, Trixie,” Jim answered. “Let’s go on in and head for that empty booth right behind them before anyone beats us to it. We won’t be conspicuous there and we can at least get the lay of the land.”

  They took a last look down the road to the car to reassure themselves and then pushed their way inside. They sat down opposite each other in the booth. Jim realized they would have to order something if they didn’t want to attract attention, although neither of them relished the idea of eating here. He asked for a ham sandwich and a Coke for each of them.

  While they were waiting for their order, they glanced around to see if any of the crowd were the ones they were looking for and realized that practically any of the boys in the place might be the ones Trixie had seen in the yellow speedboat. She ruefully conceded that she didn’t have as clear a picture as she had at first thought.

  “Why do I always act so impulsively?” she moaned. “I was sure I’d know those two, and now I couldn’t be more puzzled. It must be awful in a police lineup when you have to try to identify someone. I’ll bet there are loads of mistakes made, and a lot of people are accused of things they never did.”

  “Don’t worry about that now, Trix. We may not find out anything tonight but I’m sure eventually they’ll be caught. You can’t get by with that kind of stuff for very long, you know,” Jim reassured her.

  They were silent for a while, taking occasional tiny bites from the unpalatable sandwiches and listening to the flow of talk around them. All of a sudden Trixie put her finger to her lips and motioned over her shoulder to the booth behind her. She put her head close to the back of the booth, listening intently. Jim wasn’t able to hear anything except the general din around him so he just sat perfectly still. Finally Trixie leaned over the table and whispered, “Let’s get out of here, Jim. Quick!”

  He put the money to pay for the food on the table and they left. They raced back to the car.

  “Did you find them?” asked Brian, impatient for news, as they all were.

  “No,” gasped Trixie, trying to get her breath. “But I have some really good leads—at least I think I have,” she declared, remembering this time to be a little more cautious.

  “Hurry up and tell us,” said Jim. “Even I don’t know what Trixie found out in there.”

  “Well, before we went in I looked through the window and spotted some boys who looked kind of suspicious. So we went in and sat in the booth right back of them,” Trixie began.

  “Oh, step on it, Trix. Skip the details and tell us what you found out,” Mart urged her impatiently.

  “Anyway, I caught the words ‘flashing buoy’ so I pressed my ear right up against the back of the booth and heard most of the conversation. One of them was boasting that some guy in Greenpoint had asked him to go out and shoot out the buoy lights. He said it was Slim something-or-other who had thought up that little caper. It sounded like a foreign name. I couldn’t hear it clearly. Anyway, it seems Slim was sore about being turned down by the Coast Guard and swore he was going to keep them hopping.”

  “Good work, Trix. At least you got part of his name and where he’s from. I think that’s terrific. Were you scared?” asked Honey.

  Trixie looked at Jim and conceded that she was glad he had been with her. “That’s quite a joint!” she said. “But now we should get this information to Abe, don’t you think?”

  “We can telephone him as soon as we get back,” Brian suggested. “I hope he doesn’t think this is another wild-goose chase.”

  “You can bet he won’t. Not after what Captain Price must have told him tonight!” Trixie exclaimed.

  It was later than usual by the time they all got to bed, and everyone was glad he could sleep a little later the next morning. Once the excitement had let up, they realized they were more tired than they had at first thought.

  Trixie tossed and turned in her bed, unable to go to sleep, with visions of Jimmy’s Place, the chart, the coming clambake, and the open sea going round and round in her head.

  Diana, realizing how restless Trixie was, got out of bed and very quietly, so as not to disturb Honey, went into the bathroom, returning with a washcloth which she had wrung out with cold water. She sat on the edge of Trixie’s bed and put the folded cloth on her forehead, patting her arm gently until she felt the tension ease. Before long, Trixie yawned sleepily and mumbled, “Thanks, Di. Good night.” It was but a few minutes then before they were both asleep.

  Chapter 11

  The Captain’s Tales

  The Bob-Whites were just finishing breakfast the next morning when they heard the familiar beep-beep of the Ice-Box. Honey ran out to tell Peter they would be ready in a minute. “We always have to wait for Mart to finish the last bite of toast or pancake, or whatever we’re having,” she said. “I think his legs are hollow.”

  The others came out almost immediately, and Peter smiled when he saw Mart with a half-eaten bun in his hand. “I bet we’ll fill you up tonight, Mart Belden,” he said as they were getting into the car. “You’ve never seen so much food in your life as they have at one of these clambakes.”

  “Who’s giving it?” Trixie asked as they were driving off.

  “It’s the yacht club’s opening party,” Peter answered. “Some of us pitch in and help set it up, but it’s really supervised by old Captain Clark. He’s the island clambake expert. He’s a real character.”

  Pirate’s Cove was on the other side of the island from The Moorings. It was approached by a dirt road that twisted and turned through woods of scrub oak, locust, and wild cherry trees. Peter told them the whole area was a game sanctuary, and as he drove slowly along, they saw a doe shyly looking at them from the trees. Jim, who was a great nature lover, pointed out a fawn whose dappled baby coat made it almost invisible among the leaves of the underbrush. A cock pheasant sauntered jauntily across the road in front of the car, as if to show off his brilliant plumage and beautiful long tail. A covey of quail rattled up into the air from their hiding place in the leaves.

  “I guess they don’t recognize their bob-white cousins,” Jim remarked, but when Peter stopped the car and Jim imitated the little crooning noise the birds make when feeding, he was able to lure them back into view.

  “What a wonderful place this would be for my camp!” continued Jim, whose fondest dream was to establish a year-round outdoor school for children who, like himself, had been orphaned.

  Pirate’s Cove was a quiet little bay, surrounded by a broad stretch of sand. Peter said it got its name from the legend that a pirate had once been forced to take refuge there and may have buried his treasure on shore. “Every island I’ve ever heard of has its favorite pirate,” he added with a laugh, “so Cobbett’s is not to be outdone, but so far, no one has found a thing except Indian arrowheads and stone utensils.”

  “Even Sleepyside has a legend about Captain Kidd,” Trixie said. “He must have been quite a traveler!”

  As they piled out of the car, they saw a huge fire already burning in a shallow pit down on the beach. An old man was adding pieces of driftwood with the help of Cap and some boys.

  “Come on, slowpokes!” yelled Cap as he came up to meet them. “Help us bring some big rocks. The fire’s almost ready for them.”

  “Rocks on a fire?” Trixie queried, her brows furrowed in bewilderment.

  “It does sound crazy,” said Peter, “but the idea is to get the rocks as hot as possible and then cover them with wet seaweed.”

  “That would make steam, I gather, but where does the food fit into the picture?” asked Brian.

  “Are you embarking on a scientific investigation of this mysterious process, or are you just making sure you won’t have to eat algae for supper?” quipped Mart.

  “I’m merely taking careful note of the procedure for future reference, dear brother. Here, grab a rock!” And Brian tossed a big stone to Mart who, pretending to be knocked down as he caught it, rolled over and over in the sand.

  Peter, introducing them to Captain
Clark, said, “Our island’s most eminent seafarer. Captain Clark’s been sailing since he was a boy of—how old, captain?”

  “I was twelve when I first went to sea, just sixty years ago, come July,” Captain Clark answered in a booming voice.

  He was a huge man with thick hair which was almost white, and a heavy beard. Trixie thought, as she looked at him, that he would make a perfect Santa Claus if he were dressed for the part. Instead, he was wearing faded blue denim pants held up by an intricately woven rope belt, and a red and white striped shirt which accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and the girth of his chest. His arms were tattooed from elbow to wrist with assorted mermaids, ships, and anchors. Very bright blue eyes shone out from under his shaggy brows, and in a stentorian voice he was barking orders for them to “set to, and heave up the rocks, else we’ll have no clambake tonight.”

  Once the pile of stones on the fire was hot, it was covered with seaweed. Then Captain Clark led them all up to his truck parked in the shade near the edge of the woods. He pulled back a canvas which covered a great variety of baskets. Some contained clams, others, ears of corn still in their husks, and in still others there were plump chickens, wrapped in cheesecloth. There were lobsters, and a basket of potatoes, each of which had been wrapped in aluminum foil. Everything was carried to the fire and laid on top of the seaweed. When the captain had checked to be sure each item was in its proper place, an enormous tarpaulin was carefully spread over the whole pile and weighted down with sand which the boys shoveled on top of it.

  “Now we’ll let this steam all day, and tonight—” Words failed the captain as he thought of the succulent feast, and so he merely kissed the fingers of his right hand and pointed to the heavens in an elaborate gesture of anticipation.

  Everyone had been so busy there had been little time for talk, but now that the work was done, they went down to the edge of the beach to scoop up water onto their hot faces and to dip their tired feet. After they had cooled off, they sat down in the shade of the trees, and Cap, calling to the captain who was still fussing around the clambake to be sure everything was in the proper order, asked him if he would tell them a story.