The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost Read online

  Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library

  1 The Secret of the Mansion

  2 The Red Trailer Mystery

  3 The Gatehouse Mystery

  4 The Mysterious Visitor

  5 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 (new)

  18 The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper (new)

  19 The Secret of the Unseen Treasure (new)

  © 1977 by Western Publishing Company, Inc.

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

  GOLDEN and GOLDEN PRESS® 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.

  0-307-21588-1

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

  The Suitcase Mix-Up • 1

  NEITHER OF HER TEENAGE BROTHERS saw the flash of light at the end of the lane, but Trixie Belden did. She suddenly wailed, “She’s here! She’s in my room, and she’s doing it again. She’s spying on me!”

  “Huh?”

  “Who?”

  The boys’ muttered questions blended with the grumbling motor of Brian’s old car. Brian steered a careful course around the scooter Bobby had left near a lilac bush at the edge of the road. He flicked an anxious glance toward Trixie, who sat beside him. In the backseat, Mart strack a wooden Indian pose. He propped his chin on Trixie’s shoulder. Shading his eyes, he lowered his voice to its rock-bottom level. “If Belden maiden in distress show light to heap brave brothers—”

  “Aw, cut it out, Mart,” Brian said good-naturedly. “Can’t you see that Trix is about to blow her stack? And since Moms has been with Bobby all day, she needs peace and quiet, not another fight to referee.”

  “Who’s fighting?” Mart asked with a teasing grin, and his face could easily have been a reflection of Trixie’s, so alike were they in coloring, features, and bone structure.

  “I am!” Trixie snapped. In frustration, she pounded her knees with both fists, causing her short sandy curls to bounce against Mart’s nose. His loud sneeze wasn’t make-believe. “Now you’re covering me with germs I” she yelled. “What chance do I have?”

  “I know,” Brian interrupted in his best doctor-to-be manner. “You’re spied upon, teased, and completely unappreciated. But whom are you accusing of spying? Moms?”

  “Moms!” Trixie’s round blue eyes widened with shock. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t even suggest it! Why—why—Moms wouldn’t—I mean she couldn’t—”

  “Then who?” Brian asked. He stopped the car in a graveled drive that led to the door of a comfortable farmhouse—the house in which Beldens had lived for three generations. The lawns, flower and vegetable gardens, orchards, and fields of Crabapple Farm dozed in the summer sun. Reddy, the Irish setter, had raised his head from a nest of cool grass at the sound of the car. He woofed sleepily, subdued proof that Bobby, an energetic first grader, was not outside. Trixie herself was the only discordant element in the whole pleasant scene.

  Before answering Brian’s question, Trixie craned her neck to peer at the second-story windows of her room. Her eyes darkened as she pressed her lips in an angry line. “She’s up there,” Trixie declared. “I saw the curtains move!” With her best friend, Honey Wheeler, Trixie planned to become a detective and had already solved a number of baffling mysteries. When a curtain moved, she saw it. And when light reflected off a pair of binoculars pushed between those same curtains, she saw that, too.

  “Hallie Belden! That’s who!” Trixie declared, finally answering Brian.

  “Hallie?” both boys asked in one voice.

  Mart jumped out onto the gravel. The greeting forming on his lips was never given because Trixie delivered a sharp kick to his ankle that sent him hopping toward the back porch. “Must you resort to violence?” he asked plaintively as he rubbed his ankle. “I was only—”

  “I know what you were only,” Trixie retorted. “Before we do all the meeting and greeting that’s expected of us, we’ve got to have a plan of action. Trouble on two feet—that’s Hallie Belden!”

  “Since when?” Brian asked. Pocketing his ignition key, he walked past Trixie for a quick look at Mart’s ankle. “You’ll live” was his professional opinion. Then he faced Trixie, waiting to hear an explanation of her accusation.

  Trixie gulped down a lump of misery. All the memories she had ever registered of her cousin from Idaho tumbled through her head like marbles in a tin can. Mr. Belden and his brother insisted that their daughters were too much alike to ever be friends. But Trixie was equally sure they were “not one smidgen alike!”

  If Trixie couldn’t sort out her own feelings about Hallie, how could she explain them to her brothers? She hadn’t even told them Hallie was coming, though she’d known it since the afternoon a week ago when she’d overheard her mother talking longdistance with Hallie’s mother.

  Dangerously close to tears, Trixie said stiffly, “Let’s go meet her.” There was some resentment in her voice. After all, Brian and Mart weren’t just her brothers; they were fellow members of a very select club, the Bob-Whites of the Glen. They should accept her judgment without question. So there!

  At that moment the back door opened, and Mrs. Belden stepped onto the porch. She was followed by a tall, lean, sunbrowned girl with eyes the color of ripe blackberries. The nails of her bare feet were painted green, and her black hair was long and smooth. She wore cutoff jeans and a tank top.

  “Children,” Mrs. Belden said brightly, “we have company!”

  “Remember me?” the girl drawled. “I’m Hallie.”

  Both Brian and Mart hurried up the steps, hands outstretched. Trixie lagged behind. This summer of her fourteenth year had been going so well. What had she done to deserve a visit from a cousin who’d outgrown her by three inches? Merely by looking through a veil of long black lashes, Hallie reduced two teen-age boys to pulp. If she did this to Brian and Mart, who were her cousins and therefore somewhat immune, what would she do to Dan Mangan— and—

  The thought was so prickly that Trixie tried not to finish the sentence, but her stubbornly logical mind whispered, and to Jim Frayne!

  In the commotion of “How are you?”

  “Wow! Look at you, all grown-up!” and “Did you have a good trip?” no one noticed that Trixie hadn’t climbed the steps. Reddy sensed her mood and rose from his comfortable spot on the grass. He pushed his nose into her palm and wiggled his head to fit her scratching fingers to his itches.

  Hallie made the first move. She stepped past her grinning male cousins to speak directly to Trixie. “Hi, Trix. So, you’re a detective now!”

  Trixie stammered, “H-How—”

  “I’ve been catching Hallie up on news,” Mrs. Belden said.

  Trixie climbed the wooden steps and stood on tiptoe, prepared to kiss Hallie’s brown cheek if it killed her.

  Hallie sidestepped and stuck out a tanned hand for shaking. “No kissy-kissy stuff,” she said crisply.

  “Fine,” Trixie said, just as crisply. “No kissy-kissy.” Knowing that the others were watching and listening, she felt her ears burning.

  “Dad is g
oing to Switzerland to a mining conference,” Hallie announced. “Mom wanted to tag along, so I just said, ‘Blessings, kids. I’ll give Trix a hand at whatever she’s up to.’” Hallie slid a sidelong glance at Brian and Mart and grinned. “I hope it’s fun.”

  Trixie was glad Hallie’s grin didn’t include dimples. Her mouth was wide and thin-lipped. With relief at having found a flaw, Trixie began to relax. Then an imp inside her head whispered, Does everybody like dimples, or do you think so just because you have them?

  “Honey Wheeler and I just finished a case,” Trixie told Hallie.

  “They managed to get all of us Bob-Whites involved,” Mart put in.

  “Don’t they always?” Brian teased.

  “Bob-Whites,” Hallie repeated. She rolled her eyes and said, “Now I’ve heard everything. I’m a cousin to bird-watchers.”

  Trixie floundered for an answer. Practicing to become a full-fledged detective and sharing the chairmanship of the Bob-Whites with Jim Frayne were the two most important interests in her whole life. When her father said, “Write to Hallie,” Trixie wrote. Certainly she’d written about the club, of service given to the needy, and of mysteries solved. Didn’t Hallie Belden read her own mail? And quite often the Bob-Whites had been written up in newspapers outside the Hudson River valley. Hallie must read newspapers in that mining town in Idaho!

  Brian knew Trixie had been edgy for days. Her well-known hair-trigger temper was set to go off, so he decided to respond to Hallie. “You haven’t been here for a couple of years, so maybe you don’t know about our little club.”

  “Little!” Trixie flared.

  Brian ignored her and riveted his attention on Hallie. Mart, too, turned to Hallie. “Some of us live too far from Sleepyside to take part in after-school activities, so we’ve organized our own club,” Brian explained. “We fixed up the old gatehouse on the Wheeler property for a clubhouse, and we even have our own station wagon, donated by Mr. Wheeler.”

  “Well, lah-di-dah!” Hallie drawled.

  Trixie flushed. “We work!” she loudly defended their club. “We work hard, and we earn the money to pay our dues. Even Jim works—and he’s inherited piles of money—and Honey works—and her family owns half this valley. What they don’t own, Di’s folks do-”

  “Hey,” Mart said, “don’t leave out the Beldens. We own some of this county, too, you know!”

  Trixie whirled fiercely on him. “You’re making us sound like a bunch of snobs, and we’re not! Honey Wheeler has a houseful of servants, but she peels potatoes better than I do, and so does Di Lynch!”

  “Even Bobby can do that,” Mart retorted. “Children, children!” Mrs. Belden waved her hands to fan away some of the steam from the heated encounter. Behind her the screen door slammed, and Bobby, the youngest Belden, came out of the house, pretending to yawn. Shrewdly his mother studied his performance. “Bobby,” she chided, “you didn’t take a nap. What have you been up to?”

  “Well... Bobby widened his blue eyes to include the whole group in an innocent stare. “There was this suitcase, and it wasn’t locked.”

  “Trixie,” Mrs. Belden ordered, “go see what’s happened to Hallie’s belongings.”

  “Nothing happened to ’em,” Bobby said. “They’re in the middle of my bed, and they smell funny.”

  “Something must have spilled,” Hallie declared. Trixie ran, but Hallie ran faster. She overtook Trixie on the stairs and was the first to reach the second-floor hall. Trixie jerked open her own bedroom door, but Hallie went to Bobby’s room.

  “You’re lost!” Trixie shouted, then stared at the unbleached muslin spread that covered her bed. It was as smooth as she had left it that morning. No suitcase, no spilled cologne.

  Bobby’s bedroom was across the hall, and Trixie ran to the door. Her mother was right. Bobby’s bedspread wasn’t even wrinkled, so he hadn’t napped. And, there was a suitcase!

  “Why’d you go to your room?” Hallie asked.

  “I—” Trixie paused. It was a little awkward, letting Hallie suspect that she’d expected to find the suitcase in her own room because she’d seen binoculars behind a curtain there.

  Hallie waved a long, slim hand at Bobby’s bed. The middle of it was heaped with a jumble of a boy’s camping clothes. Right on top of the heap was a pair of washable sneakers, at least size eleven. Both of Hallie’s narrow bare feet could be squeezed into one of those shoes. Bobby was right—those shoes smelled. “It isn’t my bag,” Hallie said.

  “I can see that.” Trixie walked toward the bed. “Whose is it?”

  “How would I know? It’s your house, and you’re the detective!”

  Trixie studied her cousin’s thin brown face suspiciously. Was this some kind of trick? If so, it wouldn’t be the first time Hallie had made trouble for her. In the past, Trixie had been the one to end up in the family doghouse because she lost her temper while Hallie remained calm. This time, Trixie decided firmly, I won’t bite. If Hallie’s playing a trick, it’s on her.

  Trixie snapped her fingers. “Well, where’s your suitcase? I’ll help you put your clothes away.”

  “I just told you,” Hallie said slowly and distinctly. “This isn’t my bag.”

  “You mean, you’ve already hung up your clothes, and—” While speaking, Trixie crossed the room and flung open Bobby’s closet door. Nothing that would belong to Hallie could be seen.

  Hallie crossed her arms. “Well?” she drawled. “Your clothes are in my closet!” Trixie dashed from Bobby’s room into her own room. Again she flung open the closet door, certain that Hallie was playing one of the tricks she’d played when they were children. She shouted, “There!”

  Again Trixie stared. Her own clothes, uncrowded and unmoved from their usual positions, hung from the long clothes bar. When Trixie turned her blond head, she saw that Hallie was leaning against the doorjamb, watching quietly.

  “Well, sweet cousin?” Hallie gibed.

  Furiously Trixie shouted, “I know there’s some kind of trick. There always is! Now, Hallie Belden, you’d just better tell me what’s going on!”

  “No, my dear daughter, you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

  “Dad!” Trixie gasped. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough to decide that you owe an apology to our guest,” Mr. Belden said firmly. “I thought two years of separation might have eased old strains, but I see I was wrong.” He put an arm around his tall young niece’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “How are you, Hallie? It’s good to see you. Did you have a pleasant trip?”

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Uncle Peter.”

  Mr. Belden turned to Trixie. He wore a baffled expression. “Trixie—” he began hesitantly.

  “I know, Dad,” Trixie said. “I’ve done it again. I've lost my temper before Hallie and I have been together ten minutes.” Stiffly she said to her cousin, “I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “It’s okay, Trix,” Hallie said. “You thought my longer legs were the only thing about me that’s changed. You may not believe this, Trix—” Hallie suddenly looked embarrassed. She rubbed the polished hardwood floor with a bare toe. After a long silence she said abruptly, “Aw, skip it.” Her wide mouth stretched in its dimpleless grin. “Since you had no mystery to solve, I’ve delivered one. Let’s have a look at that suitcase.”

  What Did Bobby See? • 2

  MR.BELDEN LEFT the room after giving an approving pat to each girl’s shoulder. Although he had said nothing more about the scene in Trixie’s room, words were not necessary. Trixie knew how he felt about his family and his home. Beldens at Crabapple Farm had put all their love and skill into building and preserving a gracious setting. The very rugs they walked on had been hooked in bright wools by Peter Belden’s grandmother. One Belden isn’t being very gracious, whispered Trixie’s conscience.

  As she followed Hallie to Bobby’s room, Trixie’s lashes dampened with tears she dared not shed. She liked people. Usually she got along well with
everyone. Certainly she always made a special effort to make a guest feel at home. That was part of being a Belden.

  Family was important to her, and Hallie was family. A cousin only one year younger, a guest back in the house after a long absence, should make for one of the happiest months of the year. But—childhood’s rivalry remained. The minute Hallie showed up, Trixie’s bones became butter to be melted down by some kind of heat she produced within herself.

  Mr. Belden was a banker in Sleepyside, and Trixie had inherited his analytical mind. This had helped her to solve numerous mysteries. She had a sixth sense that warned her of the presence of a mystery. Now she sensed that no matter what adventure grew from the suitcase mix-up, Trixie Belden faced the biggest mystery of all, the mystery of self—the enormously important question, Who am I?

  Finding an answer must include knowing Hallie. Mentally Trixie had convicted Hallie of spying with binoculars and of lying about the suitcase, even though the law held one to be innocent until proved guilty. Trixie knew she had hastily jumped to a conclusion before the facts were in.

  “That’s no way to solve a mystery,” she muttered.

  “What did you say, Trix?”

  Trixie flushed. “Don’t mind me, Hallie. I’m always talking to myself.”

  “Me, too,” Hallie confessed. “It helps me to think. Sometimes my ears have more sense than my eyes.”

  Soberly the cousins looked at each other. Maybe, Trixie thought, Dad’s right. Maybe Hallie and I are a little bit alike. We both like mysteries, and we both talk to ourselves. That’s a beginning.

  Side by side, Trixie and Hallie stared down at the jumble of boy’s clothing heaped in the middle of Bobby’s bed. Trixie asked, “Who put the suitcase here?”

  “I carried it from the taxi and put it on the bed myself,” Hallie said.

  “Didn’t you notice—” Trixie began, then closed her mouth. Of course Hallie hadn’t noticed that the bag wasn’t hers. And that meant the wrong bag was the same size and color as Hallie’s own suitcase. “It’s obviously a case of a mix-up at the depot.”