The Mystery at Saratoga

  Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library

  1

  The Secret of the Mansion

  2

  The Red Trailer Mystery

  3

  The Gatehouse Mystery

  4

  The Mysterious Visitor

  5

  The Mystery Off Glen Road

  6

  Mystery in Arizona

  7

  The Mysterious Code

  8

  The Black Jacket Mystery

  9

  The Happy Valley Mystery

  10

  The Marshland Mystery

  11

  The Mystery at Bob-White Cave

  12

  The Mystery of the Blinking Eye

  13

  The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island

  14

  The Mystery of the Emeralds

  15

  Mystery on the Mississippi

  16

  The Mystery of the Missing Heiress

  17

  The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest

  18

  The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper

  19

  The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

  20

  The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road

  21

  The Mystery of the Castaway Children

  22

  Mystery at Mead’s Mountain

  23

  The Mystery of the Queen’s Necklace

  24

  Mystery at Saratoga

  25

  The Sasquatch Mystery

  26

  The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

  27

  The Mystery of the Ghostly Galleon

  28

  The Hudson River Mystery

  29

  The Mystery of the Velvet Gown (new)

  30

  The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder (new)

  31

  Mystery at Maypenny’s (new)

  © 1979 by Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Produced in U.S.A.

  GOLDEN®, GOLDEN PRESS®, and TRIXIE BELDEN® are registered trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  0-307-21595-4

  All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.

  “Regan’s Disappeared!” • 1

  TRIXIE, PLEASE COME meet me at the clubhouse right away,” Honey Wheeler said urgently.

  Even over the telephone, Trixie Belden could tell that her best friend was upset. Honey’s voice sounded choked, as if she were struggling to hold back tears.

  “What is it, Honey? What’s happened?” Trixie demanded.

  “Oh, Trixie,” Honey wailed, the tears that she’d been holding back finally spilling over, “Regan’s disappeared!”

  “What!” Trixie gasped. “When? Why?...”

  “Just meet me at the clubhouse right away, please,” Honey begged. “I’ll tell you everything I know about it when you get there.”

  In her haste, Trixie all but threw the receiver back onto its cradle. Calling out, “I’m going to the clubhouse, Moms,” she dashed out the door into the hot August sunlight.

  Trixie ran along the pathway that led from Crabapple Farm, where she lived with her parents and her brothers. Although she was running practically at full speed, she knew that the pounding of her heart was not altogether due to her exertion.

  “Regan’s disappeared!” Honey had said. With those two words, the peacefulness of the summer was shattered. Bill Regan—known simply as “Regan” to everyone in Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson— had been hired to take care of the Wheelers’ horses long before the Wheelers moved to the Manor House.

  When the Wheelers bought the big mansion just west of the old farmhouse where Trixie lived, one of Trixie’s fondest dreams—to have a best friend her own age living nearby—had come true.

  Then, when she discovered that the Wheelers also had a full-time groom and a full-fledged stable at the Manor House, Trixie felt as if she must be the luckiest girl on earth.

  To top it all off, the Wheelers had adopted Jim Frayne, an orphan whom Honey and Trixie had befriended when he ran away from his cruel stepfather, a mean and greedy man named Jonesy.

  Jim, Honey, Trixie, and Trixie’s two older brothers, Mart and Brian, had all become the best of friends. Together, they had formed a semisecret club called the Bob-Whites of the Glen, in order to organize special events to help worthy causes. The clubhouse to which Trixie was hurrying through the heat of the late afternoon belonged to the Bob-Whites. It had originally been a gatehouse for the Manor House, back before the days of the automobile. The Bob-Whites had discovered it overgrown with weeds and had restored it with hard work and loving care.

  It's all been “perfectly perfect,” as Honey would say, Trixie thought, half-smiling in spite of herself at her best friend’s favorite expression. I've been so happy since Honey and Jim have been at the Manor House, and I know Honey feels the same way. Honey had been .frail and timid, frightened of her own shadow, when she moved to Sleepyside. But the time she’d spent with “tomboy Trixie” had changed all that. This summer, she was brown as a berry and just as ready for mischief as was her sandy-haired, freckle-faced friend. Having Jim for a brother, after being an only child all her life, had helped, too.

  But now.... “Regan’s disappeared!” Honey’s voice echoed in Trixie’s mind. If Regan were really gone forever, one of the Bob-Whites’ chief pleasures was gone, too: Mr. Wheeler frequently said that he wouldn’t keep the horses if he didn’t have someone as knowledgeable and dependable as Regan to take care of them.

  More than that, Regan was a good and loyal friend to all the Bob-Whites, always willing to listen to their problems and help them out in any way he could. Trixie, in particular, had good reason to be grateful to Regan. Her six-year-old brother, Bobby, was a favorite of the young groom’s, and Regan liked to take over the babysitting chores that were among Trixie’s usual tasks in the Belden household, leaving Trixie free for the activities the Bob-Whites enjoyed together.

  Remembering the sight of Bobby riding “horseback” on Regan’s broad shoulders, Trixie felt tears welling in her eyes as she reached the clubhouse.

  Pausing before she opened the door, Trixie took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Honey had sounded so upset over the telephone. It wouldn’t do for Trixie to walk into the clubhouse in tears, upsetting her even more.

  Opening the clubhouse door, Trixie almost lost her composure once again when she saw Honey sitting at the big table in the center of the room, her face in her hands, while Dan Mangan stood behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

  Dan! Trixie thought, suddenly realizing how selfish she had been not to think about how Regan's nephew must be feeling. Especially since Regan is the only relative Dan has in the world, since his mother, Regan’s sister, died several years ago. Dan had fallen in with a bad crowd in New York City after his mother’s death, but Regan had brought him to live in Sleepyside, and now Dan, too, was a Bob-White.

  As Trixie closed the door behind her, both Honey and Dan started and turned to look at her. Trixie could see that Honey’s huge hazel eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. Dan’s face was white and strained under his unruly dark hair.

  Trixie fought to keep her face from showing her own fear. “Where’s Regan?” she asked. “What’s this all about?”

  “We don’t know,” Honey said. “The last time I saw Regan was this morning in the stable when I went for a ride. He scolded me for not exercising the horses yesterday, but that’s not unusual.” Honey smiled wryly, and Trixie
smiled back. Regan was a good friend to the Bob-Whites, but his horses came first. That dedication, combined with the fiery temper that matched his red hair, often made him impatient with the Bob-Whites when they found “more important” things to do than giving the horses their morning workout.

  “Then,” Honey continued, “Dan came over this afternoon with the note.”

  “What note?” Trixie demanded.

  “Here,” Dan said, handing Trixie a folded piece of narrow-lined notebook paper.

  Unfolding the paper, Trixie immediately recognized Regan’s large, bold handwriting. She read the note aloud:

  “Dear Dan,

  “When you find this, I’ll already be gone. I have some things to take care of that may keep me away from the Manor House for quite some time. I wish I could tell you more, but, for the time being, I have to keep ‘seecruds,’ as Bobby Belden would say.

  “Please believe that I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then, work hard for Mr. Maypenny, and keep making me proud of you.

  “Your uncle,

  “Regan”

  Trixie’s voice cracked as she finished reading the note. It was so like Regan, she thought, to want Dan to know how proud he was that his nephew had broken off with the street gang and was now working for Mr. Maypenny, the Wheelers’ gamekeeper, in return for room and board. Yet it was so like him, too, to sign the letter “Your uncle,” instead of “love.”

  “When Dan showed me the note, I asked Miss Trask to let us into Regan’s apartment above the garage,” Honey said. “Everything looked just as it always has—neat as a pin. Only Regan’s shaving things and some of his clothes were missing. There was a note on his nightstand addressed to Daddy. My parents had left for Saratoga this afternoon, so Miss Trask opened the letter.”

  Trixie nodded. Miss Trask was officially Honey’s governess, but since Honey had grown more and more independent, Miss Trask had gradually taken on the responsibilities involved in running the Manor House when the Wheelers were away— which was quite often. “What did the note to your father say?” Trixie asked.

  Honey shrugged. “It was practically the same as Dan’s. He didn’t say anything more about where he was going, or why. He did ask Daddy to try to keep his job for him until he got back, but he said he’d understand if Daddy hired someone else.”

  Trixie suddenly realized that she’d been holding her breath in suspense while she listened to Honey. Now she let it out in a long, helpless sigh. “I wish Jim were here,” she said. “And Brian.” Brian was the oldest of the four Beldens, and his calm, logical mind often saw solutions to problems that Trixie, in her impatience, overlooked.

  “In fact,” Trixie added with a lopsided grin, “right now I’d even be happy to see Mart.” Mart Belden was her “almost-twin.” He was eleven months older than Trixie, but they looked enough alike to be real twins. Trixie delighted in teasing him with the fact that for one month out of the year they were the same age.

  Mart, on the other hand, delighted in teasing Trixie, period. Their constant verbal battles hid the fact that they were actually devoted to one another.

  “But Jim and Brian and Mart aren’t here,” Honey pointed out. “They’re all counselors at camp, and they won’t be back for a whole week. Oh, Trixie, what are we going to do?”

  “We’ll think,” Trixie said firmly. “Our brothers aren’t the only Bob-Whites who have mastered that skill, in spite of what they try to tell us. Now, try to remember if anything unusual happened today, before Regan disappeared.”

  Dan Mangan immediately shook his head. “I hadn’t seen Regan since yesterday. He seemed fine then. He must have left—left the note—while I was out patrolling the game preserve this afternoon.” Honey shrugged. “I didn’t see Regan this afternoon, either. I was busy helping my parents entertain a guest for lunch, a Mr. Worthington, who’s planning to sell my parents another horse.

  “Wait a minute!” Honey added, raising her head so fast that her honey-blond hair bounced on her shoulders.

  “What is it, Honey?” Trixie asked quickly. “Did you remember something that happened this afternoon?”

  “I certainly did,” Honey replied. “It has to do with our guest, Mr. Worthington. I told Regan this morning that he was coming out here and that he was a very important horse breeder who owned racing Thoroughbreds. But when the time came to show Mr. Worthington through the stables this afternoon, Regan wasn’t around. Tom Delanoy said he’d gone into town to buy some leather to repair a broken piece of tack.”

  Trixie whistled softly. “You mean Regan knew that someone would be coming around to inspect his stable, his tack, and the horses he's in charge of, and Regan wasn’t there to give him the grand tour?”

  Honey nodded solemnly. “That’s right, Trixie. That isn’t like Regan at all.”

  “I’ll say,” Dan agreed. “Regan is a very proud man, and the thing he’s proudest of is the way he keeps up the horses and everything around them. He doesn’t trust strangers not to frighten the horses when he’s not around—even if the strangers are supposed to be ‘experts.’ ”

  “Now that I think about it,” Honey said slowly, “it was right after I told Regan that Mr. Worthington was coming here for lunch that he snapped at me for not exercising the horses yesterday. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, because that’s not really unusual for Regan. But now—well, I just can’t help but wonder if the two things are somehow connected.”

  The three Bob-Whites sat lost in thought for a long moment. Dan Mangan was the first to break the silence that had settled over the clubhouse. “The two things aren’t necessarily connected,” he said. “And neither one is necessarily connected with my uncle’s disappearance. Maybe Regan really did go to town to buy a piece of leather. As I said, Regan’s proud of the way he keeps up the stable. He might have wanted to repair a broken piece of tack before Mr. Worthington came around. In that case, his leaving might have something to do with what happened while he was in town.”

  “You’re right, Dan,” Honey said. “Your explanation is just as good as mine. That leaves us right back where we started.” ’

  “I don’t think so,” Trixie said slowly. “I just have a hunch that Honey is right—that Regan’s disappearance is connected with the appearance of this Mr. Worthington in some way. What else do you know about him, Honey?”

  “Very little,” Honey admitted helplessly. “He has a lot of money, which he got through speculating on stocks and real estate. He owns Worthington Farms, near Saratoga. His horses race at Saratoga, Belmont, and Churchill Downs.” Honey ticked off the points on her fingers as she spoke. “He got in touch with Daddy because he’d heard that Daddy will sometimes buy an injured Thoroughbred, because he’s seen too many horses destroyed when their owners made them run to pay for their keep.

  “That’s really all I know,” Honey concluded. “I’d never met Mr. Worthington until this morning, and I don’t think my parents had, either.”

  “Could we ask your parents about him?” Trixie asked.

  Honey shook her head. “Not until tomorrow morning when they telephone. I told you, Trixie. They went to Saratoga this afternoon. They drove up with Mr. Worthington.”

  “That’s right,” Trixie said. “Well, I can’t wait until tomorrow to try to solve this mystery. If this Mr. Worthington is as rich as you say he is, and if his horses have raced at the biggest racetracks in the country, he’s probably had magazine articles— or even books—written about him. I say we should go to the Sleepyside library tonight and try to find out more about him.”

  “Now, hold on, Trixie,” Dan said sternly. “Jim, Brian, and Mart are gone, so I’ll say the same thing they’d say if they were here. I know how much you love solving mysteries, and I know that you and Honey plan to open the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency when you finish school. I think you’ll be great detectives, too.”

  Trixie blushed to the roots of her sandy hair, partly because of Dan’s praise, which was as rare as his uncle’s, but
also because she knew what he was going to say next.

  “That’s right, Trix,” Dan said, reading her thoughts. “I’m going to say that you shouldn’t rush into this latest ‘mystery.’ My uncle has been taking care of himself for a long, long time. There’s no reason to think that he can’t continue to do so.

  “We don’t really have any reason to believe he needs any help. After all,” Dan said, forcing a grin, “Regan disappeared once before, if you’ll remember, and he came back with me! That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Oh, no, Dan!” Trixie said hastily. “I’m awfully glad he did. And I admit that you’re right. I may be jumping to conclusions. Still....”

  Dan sighed. “All right, Trixie. I’m pretty worried about Regan, too. The library it is.”

  Trixie jumped to her feet. “Everybody meet at my house after supper. Bring your bikes. We’ll ride to the library and see what we can find out.” Looking at her friends’ worried faces, she thought, I hope we find something—something that will lead us to Regan.

  A Troubled Dinner • 2

  LEAVING THE CLUBHOUSE, Trixie saw that the sun was much lower in the west than it had been when she went inside. Gleeps! I bet Moms has dinner almost ready, and I promised her I’d help! Once again, Trixie set off along the path between the clubhouse and Crabapple Farm at a trot.

  When Trixie burst through the kitchen door, the aroma of fried chicken and green beans cooked with onions and bacon told her that dinner was, in fact, almost ready to be served.

  “I’m sorry, Moms,” she said. She hugged her mother, who stood at the stove stirring the simmering gravy. “I had no idea it was so late.”