The Marshland Mystery (9 page)

‘.‘Moms, please,” she said abruptly, “may I go and see if Regan’s fixed Bobby’s bike? If he has, then I’ll bring it home so Bobby can go riding with me tomorrow afternoon.”

“Go ahead, dear.” Mrs. Belden’s eyes twinkled. “It’s very thoughtful of you. Besides, I wouldn’t think of keeping you here while all the excitement is going on over there. But be back in a couple of hours so we can start getting dinner ready and eat on time.”

“Thanks, Moms! You’re wonderful!” Trixie dashed for the doorway, and a moment later she was running down the driveway.

A Piece of Glass • 8

REGAN WAS BUSY around the stable as Trixie came hurrying up the Wheeler driveway.

“Hi,” she called breathlessly to the tall groom. “Any sign of Gaye?”

“Not yet,” Regan answered soberly.

“Do you think she might be hiding around here somewhere?”

Regan looked thoughtful. “I did at first,” he admitted, “but I’m not so sure now. Miss Crandall is fit to be tied because we haven’t found her, but I don’t know of a place on this whole property, including the lake, that we haven’t checked. It’s getting to look like that half-baked reporter kid hit the nail on the head when he guessed it might be a kidnapping.”

“Golly, I hope not!” Trixie breathed. “Are there any clues?”

Regan shook his head. “Nope. But that might not mean anything. A gang of professional crooks would be too smart to leave clues.” He picked up a pitchfork and started into the stable.

Trixie called after him, “Moms was wondering if you’d had time to fix Bobby’s bike. I can wheel it home if it’s ready.”

Regan turned with a look of chagrin on his honest face. “I knew there was something I was forgetting. Drat it! I’ve been running in circles all day.”

“That’s okay, Regan,” Trixie said quickly. “I can take it the way it is, and Brian can probably fix it in the morning.”

Regan hesitated. “Well,” he said finally, “I hate to go back on my promises, Trixie, but maybe that would be better, after all. When I finish here, I’ve got to take another walk around the lake to the boathouse, just to make sure we didn’t overlook any signs there.”

Trixie nodded and asked hopefully, “Could I go along and look, too?”

The stableman shook his head emphatically. “No, thanks. Just run on up to the toolshed. It’s open. Be sure to tell your mom I’m sorry I didn’t get around to fixing the bike. And tell Brian the brake probably only needs tightening.”

“Okay, and thanks, anyhow,” Trixie called back as she started up the long, winding driveway.

As she trudged up toward the toolshed, she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Here she had been so sure that Gaye had taken the disabled bicycle and ridden to the marsh. And all the time, the bike was safe in the shed. A fine detective she was!

As she pushed open the toolshed door and looked inside, her heart beat faster again. There was no bicycle there!

Then there was still a good chance that Gaye was out at the marsh, she thought excitedly. She simply had to get out there and examine that muddy bike in the ditch. If it
was
Bobby’s, she could rush back with the news, and they would soon locate Gaye.

Trixie glanced at her wristwatch. In a little more than an hour and a half, her mother would be expecting her back to help prepare dinner. How could she get out to the marsh and back again in that short space of time?

She heard Lady whinnying down at the stable. The little thoroughbred was Mrs. Wheeler’s pet, but she had been too busy lately to exercise her regularly, so Regan had taken on that job in addition to all his regular duties. Sometimes he let Trixie take Lady out instead of steady old Susie, but a lecture always went with it, plus warnings to take good care of the part-Arabian Lady.

Trixie made up her mind suddenly. She started running down the driveway, calling, “Regan!” as she saw Regan and young Tom Delanoy, the chauffeur, coming out of the stable leading Lady.

Regan turned a surprised face toward her and waited for her breathless arrival. “Now what? I thought you went to get Bobby’s bike,” he said good-naturedly.

She gave a careless wave of her hand. “It can wait. Please, Regan, may I exercise Lady this afternoon? I haven’t had a ride today, and I’d just love it.”

“Well, now,” Regan beamed, “it would be a help, right enough. Don’t go too far or too fast, and don’t slack on the grooming if I’m not here when you get back.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll be careful,” Trixie promised.

Two minutes later, she was on her way at a slow trot. But once she was beyond reach of Regan’s eagle eye, she put Lady to a faster pace and was soon cantering along.

Luckily, there was little traffic on Glen Road on a Saturday afternoon, and she covered ground rapidly. Almost before she realized it, she had reached the turnoff beyond the lightning-struck oak tree. And soon she was in sight of the small neat cottage near the marsh.

There was no sign of the old woman at the window, and the barn door was still partly closed.

Trixie dismounted hurriedly and dragged the bicycle free of the mud that had half covered it. There was no mistaking it. The metal nameplate that Brian had attached to the frame was still in place.

She knew that she had guessed right. Gaye had found the bike and ridden off on it, probably carrying the little poodle on her arm or in the wire basket. She had ridden safely this far, only to lose control and end up in the muddy ditch. Where Gaye had gone after that was something Trixie made up her mind to find out as soon as possible. ,

“Let’s see, now,” she asked herself, “where do you think
you
would have gone first? Why, that’s simple. Right over to the cottage, to get warm and dry!”

She left the bicycle leaning against a tree to dry off, and she tied Lady to a low branch of the same tree. “Take care of the bike, old girl,” she told Lady, scratching the mare’s soft nose. “And rest, because something tells me you’re going to have quite a load going home!”

The gate squeaked loudly, just as it had earlier when she and Honey had started into the neat little yard. But this time there was no spectral hand at the window, waving her away.

Trixie knocked on the door, timidly at first, and then with more force. There was no answer.

Her heart sank. Her hopeful thought that she’d find Gaye here didn’t seem to be true. Maybe the child had wandered toward the swamp instead. She could have fallen hard back there in the ditch and hurt her head.' Or Mr. Poo, the poodle, could have run away when the bike fell, and she could have run after him into the swamp.

Trixie tried again, knocking more loudly. But when there was still no answer, she turned away, wondering what to do, which way to look. Then she heard the sharp, shrill bark.

She felt sure it was Mr. Poo barking. He had sounded just like that yesterday in the orchard.

The sound was not coming from inside the cottage. It seemed muffled now, but there was no mistaking that it was from somewhere not far away.

Trixie hurried away from the door and rounded the corner of the cottage. Surprisingly, the barn door was closed tightly now. And as she stared at it, frowning, she heard a faint bark from that direction.

Trixie stalked over and pushed open the barn door. Inside, it was too dark for her to see anything at first. She stood on the threshold and stared in, feeling a small shiver down her spine. Finally she gathered courage and stepped inside.

But she still could see nothing but darkness and smell only ancient leather and musty hay.

“Gaye?” she called, her voice making echoes. “Are you in here? It’s me, Trixie Belden, Gaye! I’ve come to take you home.”

There was no answer from the shadowy depths of the barn. A faint light from a dust-and-cobweb-covered window high in the loft failed to show any details of what lay ahead. Trixie stood her ground in spite of an impulse to run.

“Gaye!” she exclaimed impatiently, her voice breaking in spite of her. “I know you’re here! Answer me right now!”

But there was only silence. If Gaye was there, she had no intention of answering.

But if Gaye wouldn’t answer, perhaps the poodle puppy would. Trixie stuck two fingers into her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. While it still echoed, she called, “Here, Mr. Poo! Come get a nice big bone!” The mention of a bone always brought Reddy. But apparently bones were not on the elegant dog’s diet. There was no answering bark.

Trixie stepped farther into the barn, well out of the patch of sunlight that had followed her inside. Now she could see the outline of an old-fashioned buggy against the far wall. Above it, a shallow loft stretched the width of the barn. A rickety ladder, minus a lower rung, leaned against the loft. Up there, Trixie could make out the ends of a couple of leather trunks and some barrels piled against the side wall. Musty hay swayed in the breeze from the open door behind Trixie.

She could be hiding up there,
Trixie thought, but she dismissed the idea as she moved closer and saw the cobwebs that were everywhere.
Not our delicate little Miss Gaye of the concert stage,
she told herself.
A spider would panic her!
Trixie heard a sudden small rustle in one of the stalls. She tiptoed over and popped around the corner of the partition, expecting to find Gaye and the little dog hiding there.

Instead, something white rose up out of the musty hay and flew at her, wings flapping wildly.

Trixie gave a shriek and ducked out of the way as an old setting hen flew past her, clucking loudly, and took a perch high in the rafters.

Trixie expected to hear a giggle, but there wasn’t a sound. Suddenly it seemed very spooky in the old barn. Trixie turned around and fled out into the pale spring sunshine, closing the door hastily behind her.

She went slowly around toward the front of the cottage. Two things she knew: It was Bobby’s bike in the ditch, and the missing child was the only one who could have left it there. The mystery was where Gaye had gone.

And it
had
been Mr. Poo’s hysterical bark she had heard. She had heard enough of it yesterday afternoon not to forget it so soon. But it hadn’t seemed to come from inside the house. Maybe she had decided that mistakenly. Perhaps he was in a back room and the windows were closed. That would make his bark sound far away.

For the first time, she felt a little shiver of fear. The thought came back to her that maybe Gaye had been hurt badly when she fell off the bike. That could have been why there had been no answer to her knock a few minutes ago. Maybe the old lady had gone for a doctor.

Trixie made up her mind to get inside and find out.

She hurried to the front door again. This time she fairly pounded on the door.
I'll wait two minutes, and if I don't get an answer then, I'm going to try the door. I don’t care if it is illegal to walk into people’s houses without being invited. I’ve got a very good reason, and I’m sure I couldn’t be arrested.

But this time, no sooner had she pounded on the heavy oak door than she heard light steps coming from beyond the door.

Gaye,
she thought.
She must have decided to show herself.

But it was not Gaye who flung the door open and stood facing her with an angry frown. It was a wiry little old lady with white hair parted in the middle. And the face was the one that had stared out at her and Honey from between parted curtains this morning.

Trixie was so startled that for a moment she couldn’t speak.

The little old lady snapped angrily, “Who are you, and what do you want? Can’t you take a hint when a person doesn’t answer the door when you knock? And what were you doing prowling around in my barn, young lady?”

“I—I’m sorry.” Trixie found her tongue. “I was looking for a friend of mine.”

“Well, don’t look for him around here. This is private property.”

“It isn’t a him. It’s a her,” Trixie said hurriedly. “A little girl with long yellow curls. She plays the violin.”

“I don’t care if she plays the harp and carries it around with her!” the old lady said firmly. “She hasn’t been here, and I’m not expecting her. So run along!” And with that, she stepped back and slammed the door in Trixie’s face.

Trixie’s face was red. “Thanks for being so polite!”

Then she turned and stalked down the brick pathway toward the small white gate.

As she leaned down to unlatch the gate, she noticed something shining up from between two bricks in the walk.

It was glassy and seemed to flash when the sunlight struck it.

“Piece of bottle,” Trixie decided. But she leaned over and picked up the shiny object, anyway.

To her surprise, it was cut like a gem. It was about the size of the diamond that Honey and she had found in the gatehouse floor months ago. Had she found another?

She let it lie on her palm and reflect the sunlight.
If it’s anything valuable
,
I ought to take it to the door and give it to the old meanie,
she thought. But just as she decided to do it, she turned the stone over and saw that it was a piece of glass with colored backing painted on, like the rhinestones that her mother had sewed on her costume when she was eleven and played the fairy queen in the school play. Just a rhinestone, but quite a big one.