The Mystery Off Glen Road (10 page)

“An ice storm,” Honey was saying mournfully. “It could happen tonight or tomorrow night. And then, if it were followed by a high wind, why—”

“Oh, Honey,” Trixie interrupted, “don’t be such a Calamity Jane. Maybe all of the feeding stations are okay, so the boys can go right back to work on the clubhouse. Let’s explore and make sure for ourselves.”

“Oh, no,” Honey cried, reining the big chestnut gelding to an abrupt stop. “We promised the boys that we wouldn’t ever leave the trails, Trixie.”

“We didn’t do anything of the kind,” Trixie retorted. “They tried to make us promise, remember? But we didn’t. Oh,” she interrupted herself, “I suddenly remembered something. We shouldn’t be patrolling this part of the game preserve now. We should be on the other side of Glen Road. I told Dad we’d ride to Mr. Lytell’s store and get the Sunday papers.”

“But, Trixie,” Honey wailed, “why did you promise to do such a silly thing? We simply haven’t time. Miss Trask would have got your family’s papers when she went to get ours, as you know very well.”

“There was a method in my madness,” Trixie said, leading the way down toward the road. “I want to find out more about that strange character we saw yesterday.”

Honey laughed helplessly. “The Man with the Red
Cap! You’re convinced he’s a poacher. Oh, Trix! Why must you always be an amateur detective?”

Trixie joined in her laughter. “I suppose I am silly to suspect somebody who probably never killed so much as a fly on somebody else’s property, but he
was
wearing hunting boots, Honey.”

They walked their horses across Glen Road. “Was he?” Honey asked. “I didn’t notice. I was so fascinated by that turtleneck sweater and those weird woolen knickers he was wearing!”

“He was wearing hunting boots all right,” Trixie told her. “And he left a footprint on that tiny path he disappeared into. If we were FBI men we could lift that footprint and match it up with the other one we found at the fork.”

“Well, we’re not FBI men, or women either for that matter,” Honey said. “And I don’t think poachers look like that strange man did. They should wear green clothes so they can fade into the forest the way Robin Hood did. No poacher in his right mind would barge around wearing a bright red cap.”

“Yes, he would,” Trixie argued. “During the deer season everyone in his right mind wears a red cap so he won’t be mistaken for a deer.”

“We’re not,” Honey reminded her.

“We’re riding horses,” Trixie said. “Nobody could suspect us of being a deer.”

“Or does,” Honey said with a laugh. “Not even centauresses. Anyway, I still don’t think that funny-looking man is a poacher. He wasn’t carrying a gun, for one thing. All he was carrying was a box of groceries. Because I was on my horse when he passed us I could see what was in the carton and it couldn’t have been more innocent. Tea, coffee, sugar, salt, tiny cans of condensed milk—things like that. His wife probably sent him shopping, and—”

“But he was trespassing,” Trixie interrupted.

“Pooh,” Honey said. “He was probably taking a short cut home. There’s no harm in that.”

“But where
is
his home?” Trixie demanded. “
I
never saw him before, so he can’t be a neighbor. And he certainly wasn’t planning to carry that big carton for miles and miles.”

“He and his family might have moved into the neighborhood recently,” Honey pointed out.

“That’s not possible,” Trixie said emphatically. “Your father bought up all the land around here that was for sale, didn’t he?”

Honey nodded. “But that man might be living in a rented house.”

“There aren’t any,” Trixie said. “You know as well as I do, Honey, that there are only huge estates around here. The people who own them have been living there for generations. They wouldn’t think of renting them. Even if they did, that odd-looking man couldn’t afford to pay the rent they’d ask.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Honey said. “Sometimes people do rent their big country places—if they’re going abroad, for instance. And you ought to know better than to judge a book by its cover. I never saw Jim’s great uncle, but you did. There was a very rich man who looked and lived like a pauper.”

“True,” Trixie agreed. “Oh, dear,” she interrupted herself. “Here come the dogs. I thought they were with the boys.”

Reddy and Jim’s springer spaniel, Patch, came bounding out of a narrow path onto the trail.

“Go home,” Trixie and Honey yelled in unison, but the dogs only replied with joyous barks. They were obviously on the trail of something, and after greeting the girls, they raced off.

“Good riddance,” Trixie said. “We couldn’t possibly track down a poacher with those two barging around and barking their heads off.”

“They’d come in mighty handy if we got lost,”
Honey said. “Although I suppose if we gave the horses their heads they’d take us back home.”

“Not these two,” Trixie replied. “Strawberry and Jupiter and Lady would, but Starlight and Susie don’t know any more about this labyrinth than we do. Nobody has ever ridden them along the trails on this side of the road.”

“I still think horses have a sort of homing-pigeon instinct or something,” Honey said, “but let’s not take any chances on getting lost unless we’re riding Strawberry and Lady.”

“We’ll never get lost so long as we stick to the trails,” Trixie said. “They all come out on the road eventually.” A few minutes later they caught sight of the little Glen Road store and she said, “I’ve been thinking, Honey. I’d better not go near Mr. Lytell. He’d be sure to ask me a lot of questions about the ring and all. Here’s the money. You buy the papers and sort of casually ask him who that man was we saw yesterday.”

“All right,” Honey agreed as she dismounted and handed the reins to Trixie. When she came back she said, “Mr. Lytell is really very nice at times. See? He rolled the papers and tied them together so they’d be easy to carry.”

“Give them to me,” Trixie said, reaching down for
the bundle. “They’re my problem. Now, who is that strange man?”

“His name is Maypenny,” Honey said, swinging back into the saddle. “And, believe it or not, he’s owned property around here for simply ages.”

“That’s not possible,” Trixie said flatly. “I never saw him before.”

“It’s true though,” Honey replied. “Mr. Lytell says he’s sort of a hermit. He buys things from the store a few times a year, but mostly he lives on his land which isn’t very far away from here.”

“Oh,” Trixie said in a disappointed tone of voice. “That explains why I never even heard of him. Well, I guess he’s not a poacher after all.” She added thoughtfully, “It’s funny I never saw his house though. Where is it?”

“I have no idea,” Honey said. “Mr. Lytell tried to tell me where it was, but you know how vague I am when it comes to understanding directions. He sort of pointed when he talked about Mr. Maypenny, but since we were inside the store, I couldn’t tell whether he was pointing to the south or the east. The points of the compass are very different indoors from what they are outdoors.”

Trixie giggled. “To us they are, but not to normal people. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The important thing
is to find out who left that footprint in the clearing. Let’s look at it again when we reach the fork.”

“I suppose,” Honey said dubiously, “now that we’re gamekeepers, that is important. But why don’t we say that Mr. Maypenny left it, and let it go at that?”

“He couldn’t have left it,” Trixie argued. “If he has property of his own around here, why would he bother to trespass on your father’s property? Since he’s a hermit, he obviously never leaves home unless he has to. Mr. Lytell is different. He keeps on thinking that ancient Belle of his must be exercised every day, rain or shine, so he just has to trespass on the bridle trails.”

“All right,” Honey said placidly. “Then Mr. Lytell left that footprint. You don’t know for sure, Trixie Belden, that he doesn’t own a pair of hunting boots. Just because you’ve never seen him stir more than a few steps unless he’s riding Belle or in a car doesn’t mean he can’t ever take a walk in the woods. And if he does, which I’m sure he must, he’d wear boots on account of the copperheads around here. Boots are like those red hats. Nobody in his right mind would stroll through the woods without boots at any time of the year.”

“Don’t be silly,” Trixie snapped. “As soon as the weather gets cold, the snakes start to hibernate.”

“Well, poison ivy doesn’t hibernate,” Honey said.
“That’s reason enough to wear boots. Jim was telling me only yesterday that when he was a little boy he got the worst attack of poison ivy he ever had
in January!”

“I did, too,” Trixie admitted.

Honey shook with laughter. “When you were a little
boy?”

“A tomboy, then,” Trixie replied with a grin. “Gosh, Honey, I don’t see how I can possibly stand another whole week of behaving like a little lady.”

“The worst has yet to come,” Honey said, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Cousin Ben arrives this afternoon and you’ve got to act as though he were your very own dream man.”

“Nightmare is the word,” Trixie said with a shudder. “That creep! I don’t think I can even look at him without crossing my eyes.”

Honey laughed so hard she almost fell off her horse. “Don’t worry,” she finally got out. “He doesn’t like you any more than you like him, so when you swoon around and act as though you were crazy about him, he probably won’t even notice. He’ll just think you’re
crazy
, if anything.”

“I am crazy,” Trixie said mournfully. “Totally insane. I should be in a strait jacket. Why do I go through all this for Brian who never says a kind
word to me? I’m beginning to get one of those sibling complexes.”

“
What
complexes?” Honey asked in amazement. “You must mean
sibilant
, which is another word for hissing like a snake.”

“That’s
not
what I mean,” Trixie retorted, “although I do feel like hissing like a snake at Brian when he makes remarks about me at dinner. I’m talking about
sibling
, which is another word for brothers and sisters. I read about it in Brian’s book on psychology. I couldn’t understand much of it, but I think a sibling complex is the same thing as brotherly love, or, as in my case, brotherly
hate.”

They had reached the clearing at the fork, and Honey slid off her horse to collapse on the ground, almost hysterical with laughter. “You’re suffering from both kinds of complexes,” she gulped. “Oh, Trixie, you and your brothers are so wonderful. You all go around behaving as though you despise one another, and everyone knows that Brian and Mart and Bobby idolize you just as much as you adore them.”

Trixie dismounted and handed the reins of both horses to Honey. “You and Jim do all right as siblings, too, although you haven’t had as much practice as we Beldens. Just to show you what I mean, I’ll bet when
Brian gets that jalopy he’ll teach Mart and Bobby how to drive before he gives me one single solitary lesson.”

She knelt to examine the footprint, then straightened. “You hold the horses, Honey, I’m going to explore along this path. It must lead somewhere.”

“To the very heart of the labyrinth,” Honey said, still chuckling. “There you’ll find the Minotaur as Theseus did on the Isle of Crete in Greek mythology. I’ll be your Ariadne, but since we haven’t a spool of silken thread, this string around the newspapers will have to do.”

“Don’t be silly,” Trixie cried impatiently. “I’m not going to go far enough away to get lost.” She darted off along the narrow path, and a few minutes later found herself in another small clearing. There she came upon a scene that was so frightening she couldn’t even scream. She just stood there, staring with horror, then turned and raced back to Honey.

“Honey,
Honey!”
Trixie gasped. “The most awful thing has happened.” She collapsed on her knees in the small clearing, shuddering and covering her face with her hands.

Honey hastily wound the horses’ reins around her wrist and hugged Trixie with her free arm. “Oh, Trixie,” she cried, “I knew it would happen. You were bitten by a copperhead!”

“No, no,” Trixie moaned, rocking to and fro.
“I’m
all right. It’s the dogs. Honey, it’s so horrible, I can’t talk about it.”

“The dogs?” Honey repeated. “Did they fall into a nest of copperheads? Trixie! Please answer me. Are Reddy and Patch badly hurt? Are they—dead?”

Trixie raised her head. “Worse than that,” she said sadly, “because if anybody finds out what they did, they’ll be shot.”

“Shot?” Honey’s lovely face was very pale. “But why? What have they done?”

Trixie swallowed hard. “They killed a deer, Honey.
I caught them sniffing around the carcass, and there was blood all over the place.”

“I’m going to faint,” Honey said, and put her head down between her knees.

“Don’t you dare faint,” Trixie cried fiercely, although she felt like fainting herself. “We’ve got to pull ourselves together and do something about that carcass. If the boys should come across that dead deer they’d guess right away who killed it. And then—well, even though they love Patch and Reddy as much as we do, well, you know how ethical and honorable Jim and Brian are. Even Mart, especially now when they’ve been hired to be game wardens.”