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The Mystery on Cobbett's Island

Page 12

by Kathryn Kenny


  “Is that a handicap?” Jim asked seriously.

  “No, not exactly,” Peter replied. “It’s fine when it’s blowing, but then, all of a sudden—no wind, usually just when you need it most to get across the finish line. Anyway, it’ll be good practice.”

  After Peter had parked the Ice-Box, they brought the sail bags over to the lawn. Trixie and Jim spread out the huge, filmy spinnaker, so Peter could fold and pack it properly in a cardboard carton. He pushed the two bottom corners, or feet, of the sail into the slots cut in the box so they could quickly and easily be snapped onto the sheets.

  “It’s not quite as complicated as folding a parachute, but almost.” He chuckled as he finished the job and headed for the dock, Trixie and Jim following with the sail bags.

  The club was almost deserted at this hour, and the launch wasn’t yet running, so Peter borrowed a dinghy and rowed them out to Star Fire which was curtsying gaily at her mooring. The sails were soon hoisted, and after sailing up to the dock to return the dinghy, they headed east into the bay.

  “We’re running before the wind now,” Peter explained, “so we can set the spinny anytime. Are you ready to give it a try, Trix?”

  “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She climbed out of the cockpit and went forward, carrying the carton with her. She put the spinnaker pole in place on the mast, fastened the guy lines to the corners of the sail, and hoisted it. It filled almost immediately, and Trixie was so elated at her success, she forgot to take down the jib until Peter called to remind her.

  “Jeepers, I forgot all about that,” she yelled back as she hurriedly lowered the jib and left it in a neat pile on the deck ready to be hoisted again later on. She climbed back inside, and by carefully trimming the lines kept the spinnaker well filled. Star Fire zoomed along at a merry clip, and Trixie was beginning to think her fears had been kind of silly and that the spinnaker detail was really pretty simple after all, when suddenly the beautiful blue sail collapsed like a pricked balloon!

  “Pete!” she cried. “I’ve forgotten what to do. Help me!”

  “It’s okay, Trix. Don’t get all clutched up,” Peter reassured her. “Remember I said the wind was fickle. She’s just showing you who’s boss out here today.”

  Trixie saw he was right. The wind had died, and they were barely moving.

  “No knowing how long before the wind will be anything more than a breeze, so I guess we’d better take down the spinnaker and get back to the club, or we’ll miss the start of the race,” Peter suggested.

  Luckily, by the time the jib was again in place, the wind freshened slightly and bore them back without difficulty. As they rounded the point and came in sight of the harbor, Trixie and Jim both let out a gasp of surprise. All the boats they had seen earlier bobbing at their moorings now had their sails up. There were about thirty in all.

  “Gleeps!” cried Trixie. “Are they all going to race?”

  They were near enough now to distinguish the various types of boats, and Peter explained that each kind raced in its own class. He pointed out the little catboats called Wood Pussies, the Blue Jays, the Lightnings, and the Stars. “Hey, there’s the committee boat, and look who’s aboard. The Bob-Whites!” he yelled, waving to a large motor cruiser. “That belongs to Cap’s father. They’ll have a chance to watch the whole race. What a break!”

  At this point, a gun on the porch of the yacht club went off, and Peter told them it signaled the start of the Star race. “They’re the biggest and fastest class we have, and if they didn’t go first, they’d run right through the rest of us,” he explained.

  “Jeepers! What a sight!” Trixie cried, as the eight Stars, their sky-raking masts carrying a huge cloud of sail, went careening up the bay.

  “Lightnings next,” Peter warned. “I set my stopwatch when the gun for the Stars went off. Five minutes to go!”

  There were nine Lightnings beside Star Fire in the race. Back and forth they went behind the line, jockeying for the most advantageous position.

  Trixie, her eyes shining with excitement, noticed Blitzen sailing nearby. “Good luck, Cap,” she called out with a wave of her hand.

  “You, too,” he yelled back good-naturedly.

  Peter was now counting down for the start. “One minute to go,” he intoned. “Fifty seconds, forty, thirty, twenty, ten, five.…”

  Can I do it again? I just can’t goof this time! Trixie thought, her heart pounding as the boats raced for the line.

  Then Peter’s voice broke in on her thoughts, “Four seconds to go, three, two, one—gun!”

  They were off! The boats beat up the bay, well bunched, but Star Fire and Blitzen gradually drew ahead of the rest of the fleet, and Peter, looking behind him, said, “It looks like Cap’s the one we’ll have to beat. As soon as we round the harbor buoy, get set to fly the spinnaker, Trix, for the long run down to the next mark. Cap’s really moving. Our only chance may be to outsmart him.”

  “Okay, Pete, I’ll do my best,” Trixie said fervently as she got ready to go up on the foredeck.

  Star Fire and Blitzen were neck and neck as they approached the harbor buoy which they had to round before heading out into the bay.

  “All right, Trix, get ready to let her fly,” Peter said, and with a little prayer, Trixie climbed out of the cockpit, being careful not to upset the balance of the boat.

  Luckily, the lines, which at first glance looked completely tangled, fell magically into place when she fixed the guy lines to the spinnaker and started hoisting the big blue sail. It filled beautifully, and Star Fire leaped ahead as the balloon began to exert its terrific power. This time Trixie remembered to take down the jib before she dropped back into the boat.

  “Good girl, Trix,” Peter called out to her. “Cap’s spinny went up at least thirty seconds after yours.”

  Trixie hardly dared look around at first, but when she finally stole a glance, she saw that Star Fire was stealing away from Blitzen at an ever-increasing rate.

  “Hey, isn’t Cap in trouble?” Jim suddenly cried. “I don’t think his spinnaker’s filling, after all.”

  Peter, darting a look over his shoulder, said, “You’re right, Jim. His gear must have got fouled up somehow. That’s tough on Cap, but you know what they say, all’s fair in love and war—and boat racing!”

  By this time, Star Fire had a commanding lead, and she held it all the way to the black buoy where they had to come about before heading back to the finish line. Cap finally got his boat moving again, and after a few minutes, once more began to threaten Star Fire’s lead. Trixie noticed that Peter’s calm was giving way to tension.

  “Get ready to hoist the jib and take the spinny down,” he ordered sharply, “and, Jim, trim the mainsail a bit as we round the mark. Cap’s coming up like greased lightning and we can’t afford to miss a trick!”

  As Star Fire boiled up to the mark, Trixie raised the jib, and clawed the spinnaker down. At the same moment, Jim trimmed the mainsail and Peter put the tiller hard over. They squeezed around the mark with only inches to spare and were off for the finish line.

  “By Jove, that was perfect timing,” Peter exulted. “You two are real pros!”

  Trixie was tingling all over with the excitement of it all. She knew one day she would have to have a boat of her own. There was nothing quite like sailing.

  As Peter and Cap raced home, they met the rest of the fleet still making for the last mark, all of them seeming very slow compared to the two lead boats. Blitzen had cut down on Star Fire’s lead until now, no more than fifty feet separated them. The tension was almost unbearable. Peter, crouched over the tiller, glanced up at the sails every few minutes to be sure they were filled, but not once did he look back.

  Suddenly, Trixie said, “Pete, I do believe the wind is getting flukey again, just like it was this morning.”

  “You’re right, old girl,” he crowed. “It just may haul around, and if it does, we may have time to use the spinny again. Let’s get it ready, anyway. Try not
to let Cap see you go forward, so he won’t catch on to our little plan.”

  Cap apparently didn’t notice the activity on Star Fire. Peter kept his eye on the water to watch for any ripple that would indicate a shift in the wind. Sure enough, before very long it got very puffy so Jim and Peter had a hard time keeping the sails full and drawing, and then it settled down to a steady blow from behind them.

  “Spinnaker!” Peter yelled as he saw his hunch was right. Trixie had the sail up in a flash. Star Fire leaped again and rushed for the final line.

  “We’ve got him!” Peter shouted exultantly. “We caught old Cap napping!”

  He was right. Cap had missed the trick. He had been so intent on overtaking Star Fire, he hadn’t noticed how variable the wind had become, so his crew wasn’t ready to take advantage of it as Peter had done. When he saw Peter’s strategy, his crew tried frantically to get the huge sail up, but it was too late. Star Fire raced across the line, and the gun, signaling the winner, roared again from the club.

  Before its echoes had died, Trixie, Peter, and Jim began yelling and laughing and slapping each other on the back.

  “Jeepers!” Trixie cried. “I’ll never, never be the same again!”

  “What a race!” Jim yelled.

  “And what a crew!” Peter added. “Trix, I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you’re absolutely super.”

  “You can say that again,” Jim said seriously. Trixie felt unexpected tears rising. She tried to laugh off their praise as she started to get the sails down.

  Now I know what they mean when people talk about tears of joy, she said to herself, but I don’t know whether mine are because we won, or because of what Peter and Jim said. Or do I?

  Chapter 14

  Another Clue

  Everyone crowded around to congratulate Peter as he walked up the dock, and he was not slow in giving his crew a big share of the credit. Jim and Trixie found themselves the center of a crowd of admirers as they went up on the porch where sandwiches and soft drinks were being served. Cap, in particular, sought them out to tell what a fine job they had all done.

  “Don’t let my crew hear me,” he good-naturedly whispered to Pete, “but they aren’t as good as Jim and Trixie, and they’ve been racing with me for three years.”

  “Oh, we were just lucky,” Trixie said. “You know what they say about beginners, and besides, Peter really made it all seem so easy.”

  The other Bob-Whites soon joined them, and after they had finished eating, they said good-by to Cap and the others and headed for the Ice-Box.

  “Why don’t you stick around for a while?” Cap urged. “We might get up a game of tennis or something.”

  “It sounds tempting, Cap,” Trixie replied, “but we’ve just got to go and see El. We haven’t had a minute since he broke his leg. See you later, and I hope we can get together for a game before we leave.”

  Elmer lived in a neat little cottage near the center of the island. As they drove up to the curb, Brian asked, “Don’t you think maybe just one of us should go to the door and inquire how he is first? He might not want all seven of us barging in at once.”

  “Why don’t you go?” Honey suggested. “After all, you’re the one who really took care of him when he had the accident.”

  “Okay,” Brian agreed. He jumped out of the car and ran down the brick path to the front door. Soon after he rapped the little anchor knocker, the door was opened by a stout, pleasant woman in an attractive house dress and a big white apron.

  Brian had no sooner introduced himself than Mrs. Thomas said El had seen him coming and wanted all of them to come right in. She hustled Brian inside and was off down the path, taking her apron off as she went, to tell the others they should all go right in and see her husband.

  “Land sakes, El hasn’t talked about another thing since he got hurt but how you helped him. He was hoping you’d come by, but he knows how busy you young folks are, being here such a short time and all.”

  Although the cottage looked quite small from the outside, the living-room was spacious, and the Bob-Whites, after greeting El, were invited to “sit a spell.”

  “It’ll do El so much good to have visitors. He gets restless, not being able to get out and around like he’s used to,” Mrs. Thomas said as she brought in an extra chair from the dining-room.

  There was much to tell El about the fallen tree, the work of clearing after the storm, and their meeting with Peter.

  “Well, I’ll be back on the job in a few more weeks,” El said. “Doc says I’m making fine progress. You know, this is the first time I’ve been laid up since I started taking care of The Moorings.”

  “When was that?” Trixie asked him, more to make conversation than out of any real curiosity.

  “Well, let’s see now. It was about five years before Mr. Condon died, and he’s been gone eighteen or nineteen years, so it’s close to a quarter century since I started in as yard boy.”

  Trixie’s ears pricked up, and she saw, as she glanced at Jim and the others, that they had imperceptibly leaned forward as El spoke.

  “I was just a young shaver then, and didn’t care too much for work,” El continued with a smile, “but Mr. C, as we all called him, was as patient a man as I’ve ever met. He got me interested in gardening, and ’fore I knew it, I was actually looking forward to going to work. I even started to read up on shrubs and pruning and stuff like that, so I could do a good job.”

  “You certainly have made the place beautiful,” Trixie said. “Did you ever work on Mr. Condon’s boat? I saw a picture of it down at the club the other day.”

  “No, it’s funny, but I never took to the sea, even though I was born and bred right here on the island, and my grandfather was a whaler. It was my buddy, Ed, who was the sailor, and he went out on Sapphire every chance he could, until Mr. C’s heart got so bad he had to quit sailing. But you know,” El continued reminiscently, “Mr. C never gave up to his illness. No sir, he went out for walks every day, and Ed often went with him for company.

  “They even worked out some kind of sailing game to entertain them on the way. Ed used to laugh at me because I never could get the hang of it, but he and Mr. C used to get a lot of fun out of figuring the courses they set up.”

  “You said Ed was the sailor. Did he give it up, too, when Mr. Condon got sick?” Jim asked.

  El’s head lowered, and it was obviously an effort for him to continue the story, but he went on. “No, you see my friend was lost at sea off a Bunker boat, and Mr. C died a day or so after he heard that Ed was gone.”

  “How terrible!” Trixie exclaimed.

  “Well, it was awful hard on me,” El continued, “but the ones it really hit were Ethel and the baby. Ed had got married a couple of years before. That’s how he came to go out on the Bunker boats. He had to earn more than he’d been making doing odd jobs and such.”

  “Whatever happened to his wife and baby?” Jim inquired solicitously.

  “She couldn’t stand living here any more after Ed went, so she moved South-side. There was enough insurance money from the company that owned the boats to take care of them until the youngster went to school, and then Ethel started selling baked stuff—bread and muffins and cakes—and you know, before long, she’d built up enough business so she couldn’t handle it all from her home and she opened up a little shop.”

  “She must have been a wonderful person,” commented Honey.

  “Are you talking about Ethel?” Mrs. Thomas asked as she came in from the kitchen with a plate of freshly baked cookies. “She’s one in a million, and her son, too. I get a card from them every Christmas.”

  Her cheerful presence broke the spell of sadness which had settled over the room. “Now, help yourself. I just made this batch this morning. It’s a new recipe, and I’m not sure they’re fit to eat,” she chattered on as she passed the plate. “My grandchildren like me to make different kinds. They live right next door, and I have to keep the cooky jar full for when they dro
p in.”

  “Never knew you to make a poor cooky or anything else for that matter,” El told her as he took a generous handful. “She’s the best cook on Cobbett’s Island.”

  Everyone agreed that the cookies were delicious, and Mrs. Thomas beamed as she saw the last one disappear. After thanking her and assuring El that all was going well at The Moorings, the Bob-Whites said good-by.

  They had no sooner got into the Ice-Box than everyone started to talk at once. Now that Ed’s family had become a reality, they were more than ever determined to find out if there was anything to the mystery of the hidden money.

  “What did El mean by South-side?” Trixie asked Peter.

  “That’s the way the islanders speak of the southern point of Long Island. It could be that Ethel lives anywhere from Montauk to Southampton,” Peter answered.

  “Do you suppose the telephone directory would give us a lead?” suggested Brian.

  “It might if we knew Ed’s last name,” Trixie said impatiently. “Do you all realize that with all the information we’ve managed to get, we still don’t know that?”

  “I know, and it would have seemed kind of obvious if we’d asked El,” Jim added.

  “Say, wait a minute,” Trixie cried, snapping her fingers. “Diana, if you were going to open up a bake shop, what would you call it?”

  “I’d call it the Calorie Emporium,” Mart interrupted.

  “Oh, stop it, Mart. I’m serious,” Trixie said.

  “I suppose I’d call it Diana’s Bake Shoppie just to be quaint,” Di replied. “Why?”

  “I get the idea!” said Mart gleefully. “Ethel’s Bake Shoppie; am I right, Trix?”

  “Jeepers, Mart, you’re getting to be a real detective. Maybe we’ll have to let you into the firm,” Trixie’s eyes twinkled as she replied. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Hurry up, Peter, let’s stop at The Moorings and look it up.”

  They nearly fell over each other in their rush to get the directory from the hall table. Trixie took it out on the porch, and while everyone waited breathlessly, she looked in the Yellow Pages under “Bakeries—Retail.” Jim, who was leaning over her shoulder, was the first to spot the advertisement for Ethel’s Bakery. “You’re right, Trixie,” he cried. “At least there is an Ethel. Now we’ll have to find out if she’s the one we’re looking for.”

 

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