The Secret of the Unseen Treasure Page 10

  “I don’t know,” Trixie admitted.

  Her parents exchanged glances.

  “But I know someone who does,” Trixie went on. “Mr. Hartman. I’m sure he knows something about Max’s father that could clear this all up.”

  Her mother looked skeptical. “Sam Elliot has been dead for five years,” she said.

  “But Mr. Hartman knows something about him... something that he wouldn’t tell us before. Maybe he’ll tell us now, to help Mrs. Elliot. Please,” Trixie pleaded, “let me go talk to him. He and Mrs. Hartman are Mrs. Elliot’s best friends. I know they can help.”

  Mrs. Belden sighed. “I suppose you’re too excited for lunch now, anyway.”

  Trixie hugged her. “Oh, thank you, Moms!” Peter Belden raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t hear her actually say that you could go to the Hartmans’.”

  Trixie flushed.

  “But go ahead,” her father said indulgently. “Don’t make pests of yourselves, though.”

  Brian drove Trixie and Mart to the Hartmans’ in his jalopy. “Runs like a dream since Tom tuned it up,” he said.

  “Too bad this case isn’t running as smoothly,” Mart mumbled.

  The Hartmans were in their backyard when the young people arrived. Mr. Hartman was digging in the garden while his wife supervised. After friendly greetings, Mrs. Hartman began pointing out unusual plants in her herb garden. While Brian and Mart listened, Trixie motioned Mr. Hartman aside.

  “Well, Trixie,” he said, wiping his hands on a handkerchief, “what’s on your mind?”

  “I’m worried about Mrs. Elliot,” Trixie said. “Max might end up going to jail for something he didn’t do. That would leave her without anyone.”

  Hartman scowled. “Molinson told me about the marijuana. I don’t think he’ll press charges.”

  “Oh, good!” Trixie exclaimed. “At least Max won’t go to jail. I just hope that his being around won’t cause more problems for Mrs. Elliot.”

  Hartman looked puzzled. “First you sound glad that he’s not in jail, then you talk as though he belongs there.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Trixie said. “I think Max knows what’s going on. I think he’s been trying to prevent it and not succeeding.” Trixie hesitated. “But I thought if you... could get him to tell what he knows...

  Mr. Hartman shook his head. “He’s had plenty of opportunity to talk. He says there isn’t anything to talk about. He’s taking all the blame for everything.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Trixie declared. “I think there’s something he doesn’t want Mrs. Elliot to know—I don’t mean about himself, but about his father, Sam Elliot.”

  Hartman started to shake his head again. Trixie spoke quickly. “When I was here another time, Mr. Hartman, you hinted something about Sam Elliot—”

  “Just a slip of the tongue. I told you then: Sam Elliot is gone, and everything with him. So forget it. Don’t disturb Ethel’s memories of him.”

  “Is it more important that she has good memories or that she saves her farm?” Trixie asked. “Because she’s going to lose her farm. Max has taken the blame,” Trixie declared, “but he can’t be responsible. He must know who is but doesn’t dare point a finger at that person. The other person must be threatening him with something.”

  Charles Hartman neither agreed with nor denied that. “And just what do you think Sam Elliot has to do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” Trixie admitted in puzzled frustration. “But I’m positive who the other person is. It’s Al Finlay. Under the name of Manton, he runs a flower shop in White Plains. He wants Mrs. Elliot’s property for some reason. He’s been doing all those things to ruin her business. Now he’s almost forced Mrs. Elliot to sell her property by having her Social Security payments stopped.”

  “What?” Hartman asked, frowning. “Who told you that?”

  Trixie swallowed. “My father. But I’m not supposed to say anything—”

  “I understand,” Hartman said.

  “I think Finlay lied about how much money he’s paid Mrs. Elliot for her flowers,” Trixie went on. “And now they’re going to stop her Social Security payments.”

  Hartman shook his head slowly. After a moment, he spoke over his shoulder to the others. “Anyone want some cold soda? Trixie and I will bring some out.” He nodded toward the house, and Trixie followed him inside.

  In the living room, Hartman telephoned information to get the number of Manton’s Flower Shop in White Plains. Then he dialed that number. “Hello?” he said. “This is Mr. Wilson of the Social Security Administration. Is Mr. Manton in?... He’s not?... Well, perhaps you could answer a few questions for me, miss.” Trixie leaned close to try to overhear. When Hartman finally hung up after several minutes, his expression was thoughtful. “That was lucky. She didn’t know about the investigation. But she did know that Manton pays Ethel in cash for her flowers—twenty or thirty dollars at a time, usually. In the ledger, though, a zero has been added to make it look like she’d been paid two or three hundred dollars.”

  “That explains it!” Trixie exclaimed. “Manton—I mean Finlay—probably made a complaint to the Social Security office. They looked at his books, then compared his figures to Mrs. Elliot’s reports of her earnings.”

  “Since he paid in cash,” Hartman muttered, “it really comes down to his word against hers.” He looked squarely at Trixie. “All right, young lady. I’ll talk to Max later today. I don’t know if it’ll make any difference, but I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Wil - uh, Mr. Hartman,” Trixie said.

  Hartman pointed a finger at her. “Forget you ever heard that little tactic,” he advised.

  “Yes, sir!” Trixie said, smiling.

  The Unseen Treasure • 11

  BRIAN RACKED HIS JALOPY down the Hartman driveway and onto Glen Road. Trixie was telling him and Mart about what Mr. Hartman had done. “So he said he’d talk to Max,” she concluded. “Maybe he’ll find a new lead for us to follow.”

  Brian eyed the gas gauge. “We won’t be following anything if I don’t get some gas,” he said.

  “Drop me off at Mrs. Elliot’s on the way,”

  Trixie instructed her brother.

  “Hey!” Mart said. “You just said that Mr. Hartman was going to talk to Max.”

  “I want to talk to Mrs. Elliot,” Trixie explained, “about those yellow sweet peas. Moms didn’t think there was such a thing.”

  “Okay,” Brian said, pulling to the side of the road at Mrs. Elliot’s drive. “We’ll come back for you after I fill ’er up.”

  Trixie walked up the drive and knocked on Mrs. Elliot’s door. Mrs. Elliot answered, wearing an apron and holding a beautiful fresh corsage.

  “Why, hello, Trixie. Do come in,” she said cheerfully.

  She doesn’t know about the Social Security payments yet, Trixie thought with a twinge. “Hello,” she said as cheerily as she could. “Brian dropped me off. I wanted to ask you something.” She eyed the corsage in Mrs. Elliot’s hand. “Can I help?” she asked.

  “Well, if you wouldn’t mind,” Mrs. Elliot said, “you could help me with some corsages for a reception this afternoon.”

  “Lead me to them,” Trixie said, glad to have an excuse for staying.

  “I thought I had plenty of time to get them finished without Max’s help. He’s working in the bam,” Mrs. Elliot said. “But then a man phoned and talked for quite a while. He wants to see me this afternoon.”

  “A man from the realty company?” Trixie inquired.

  “No, that man hasn’t called again, and I can’t find his firm fisted anywhere in the phone book.”

  Trixie wondered if Manton himself had posed as a realtor, disguising his voice. Perhaps he had had someone else pose as a realtor.

  Mrs. Elliot went on. “The man who called today is from a company that raises and sells flower seeds. He saw the photograph you entered for me in the newspaper contest. He tried to telephone me yesterday, when it was printed in the
paper, but I was in White Plains.”

  Trixie nodded, remembering hearing the ringing telephone.

  “He wanted to know about the yellow sweet

  peas that appeared in the photograph. He said no seed company has ever been able to produce yellow sweet peas.” Mrs. Elliot looked bewildered. “I had to admit that I’d never heard of yellow sweet peas, either.”

  “They’re growing right here in your garden!” Trixie exclaimed. “That’s what I came to ask about.”

  “They’re right in plain sight,” Mrs. Elliot said with a chuckle, “but somehow I just didn’t notice them. The man from the seed company wanted to know if there was a mistake in the picture.”

  “That’s just exactly what Moms said!” Trixie recalled.

  “I told him there really are yellow flowers,” Mrs. Elliot continued. “He indicated that the vines could be worth a great deal of money to me.”

  “How wonderful!” Trixie said happily. “But please go slow, Mrs. Elliot. Don’t accept his offer too fast, and don’t let him dig up the vine or have you sign any papers until you’ve talked to a lawyer.”

  Trixie helped select blossoms from several bunches of flowers on a table. Mrs. Elliot snipped off the stems and added them to corsages. “Where did the yellow flowers come from?” Trixie asked.

  Mrs. Elliot shook her head. “Sam, my late husband, was a genius with plants. He was always experimenting and keeping notes. Early this spring, while cleaning out part of the bam, I found a jarful of seeds he had labeled ‘Sweet Peas, Special.’ I planted them with my other sweet pea seeds, thinking they were just a hardier variety of the usual colors.”

  “But now,” Trixie said, “we know what he meant by ‘Special.’ He must have kept records about their development. Did you find any records?”

  “I didn’t look for anything like that,” Mrs. Elliot replied. “They wouldn’t be of use to me— I don’t have Sam’s know-how about crossbreeding plants and such.”

  “Where did he keep the records?” Trixie asked.

  Mrs. Elliot raised her eyebrows. “I found the deed to the property and some fire and car insurance papers in his desk. When I had what was needed, I had his desk and the records about his plants moved out to the barn. Having them in here just reminded me too painfully of....”

  Trixie nodded understandingly. She tried to hold down her excitement. “Mrs. Elliot, if records can be found to verify the new variety, it would be even more valuable. We should go out to the barn and look for them before the man from the seed company gets here.”

  Mrs. Elliot nodded, then looked at the table of flowers and corsages. “Oh, dear, I've got to get those finished first. You go ahead, Trixie. Sam’s plant records are in a ring binder with a hard green cover. It should be in the bottom drawer of the desk. If you can’t find it, I’ll be out shortly to help.”

  “I’ll find it,” Trixie said. She dashed out to the bam. After searching among a clutter of old furniture and boxes, she hauled back a sheet and sneezed in the dust cloud that arose. The desk was underneath. After moving some cartons, Trixie pulled out the bottom drawer and lifted out the binder.

  She found pages headed by the common and Latin names of flowers, followed by dates and notations on planting, seeds, and blossoms. Trixie flipped through the pages, looking for something about sweet peas, but there was nothing.

  She groaned. Maybe Sam Elliot had made his notations under a Latin name. What on earth would that be? Mrs. Elliot might know it or have a book where it could be looked up.

  As Trixie picked up the binder, a long white envelope slipped out. Picking it up, she saw writing on one side of it. She gaped at what she read: “To be opened after my death. Sam Elliot.”

  Below that was another line, underlined for emphasis: “Not to be opened in the presence of my wife.”

  Trixie stared at the sealed flap. What should she do now? She couldn’t take this to Mrs. Elliot. Should she take it to her father or Mr. Hartman? She read Sam Elliot’s writing again.

  He hadn’t specified who was to open this, just that it wasn’t to be done in his wife’s presence.

  With trembling fingers, Trixie opened the envelope. She withdrew several folded pages. The first page was a short, handwritten note.

  I do not want Ethel to know about some of the matters contained here. That is why I have not placed this with other papers needed for the settlement of my estate. I’m requesting that whoever, finds this will see that Ethel gains from the legacy enclosed. But please do not reveal to her the other information herein.

  The next page was a loose-leaf sheet removed from the ring binder. It was headed “Sweet Peas (very good possibility for a new and valuable yellow variety).”

  It’s no longer just a possibility, Trixie thought. The remaining pages also contained notes about some kind of plants, and also dates and large amounts of money written in. There was another handwritten note with these pages. As Trixie began reading this note, her face paled and her mouth dropped open.

  Suddenly Trixie was aware of voices. Max and Mr. Hartman. They were somewhere nearby in the bam, and it sounded as if they were arguing.

  Trixie’s attention returned to Sam Elliot’s writing. She could hardly believe what she was reading, but it was there in black and white, in Sam Elliot’s own words. As she finished, she again became aware of the rising voices of Max and Mr. Hartman.

  “Listen to me, Max,” Charles Hartman was saying. “Trixie Belden knows, and now I also know, that you’ve been trying to protect Ethel from Al Finlay, alias Manton. But you’ve been failing. Now he’s managed to stop her Social Security payments!”

  Trixie strained to hear. She couldn’t see the two men, so she assumed that they could not see her. For a moment, she heard only the buzzing of a fly.

  Then Max spoke, resignedly. “I’ll tell you this much. When I first ran away to the city, well, it was tough going. I managed to get by with odd jobs here and there. Then I made some so-called friends. Before I knew it, I was

  mixed up in a robbery. We got caught. That’s the police record I told Sergeant Molinson about. When I got out of jail, I’d had enough of the city. I came back here. My father was dead, and my stepmother needed my help here.”

  Max paused, then went on. “Everything was fine until early this spring. Then Al Finlay came to see me. He’d heard about me from one of my cell mates. He wanted me to get possession of this place and grow marijuana and other drugs for him. I told him no. The place wasn’t mine. That’s why I didn’t want any part of ownership when Ethel offered it to me.

  “But that didn’t stop Finlay. He was determined to get this place. I warned him that if anything happened to my stepmother, I’d tell the police everything I knew about him, which is plenty.

  “So Finlay began trying to force her to sell out. He would have stolen her Social Security checks if I hadn’t told her to send them to the bank. He beat me on the water pump, though. And somehow he managed to plant marijuana in the cornfield—probably while we were out delivering flowers.

  “But he won’t be able to prove those phony high payments for her flowers. Ethel doesn’t begin to grow nearly enough flowers to bring that much money. As soon as the Social Security office checks other flower shops for the going rate on flowers she does raise, they’ll know Finlay’s lying. They won’t stop her checks.”

  “Keep talking,” Hartman said.

  “That’s all there is,” Max mumbled.

  “No, there’s more,” Hartman insisted. “If it were only what you’ve told me, you could have gone to the police to protect Ethel. But you couldn’t, because Finlay is holding something over you.”

  “My police record,” Max said.

  “Hogwash,” Hartman snapped. “You paid your penalty on that score. You also told Molinson about it. Finlay’s threatening to reveal something about your father, isn’t he? Something you don’t want Ethel to know about.” It was more a statement than a question.

  Max’s voice flared back. “Leave thin
gs as they are! Ethel’s going to be okay now. There’s nothing more to talk about.”

  Trixie heard sounds of movement, as though Max were going to leave the bam. “Wait!” she yelled. “I’ve got something to show you!”

  She hurried through the cool darkness to the other side of the bam. Mr. Hartman and Max scowled at her.

  “I—I wasn’t listening in on purpose,” Trixie explained. “Mrs. Elliot sent me to the bam to look for something in Mr. Elliot’s old desk. I overheard you talking.” She waved the papers. “I’ve found the answer to what’s been going on around here!”

  She handed the empty envelope to Hartman, who read the words and passed it to Max.

  “Let me see those papers,” Hartman said. Trixie handed them to him and turned to face Max. “Your father knew you ran away to the city because you discovered that he was raising and selling drugs—marijuana and heroin poppies—to Al Finlay.”

  Max clenched his hands. “I wanted no part of that dirty business, but Finlay was trying to blackmail me into growing some marijuana on this property.”

  Trixie gestured to the pages Hartman was reading. “Your father’s conscience bothered him after you left. He destroyed everything that had any connection with drugs. All the money he’d made from them he donated anonymously to a drug rehabilitation center in the city. That’s why there was no money in his estate when he died shortly after that. He’d wanted to let you know that he’d reformed—that he was sorry— but he couldn’t find you.”

  Charles Hartman looked up from the confession he was reading. “This explains a lot to me. I suspected what Sam was doing and why Max ran away. Sam was afraid that Finlay might try to make trouble for you or Ethel, so he kept very careful records. There’s enough here to send Finlay to prison for the rest of his life. I’ll give these to Sergeant Molinson personally, and I’ll make sure that Ethel never knows about it. Finlay’s got nothing on you now, Max,” Mr. Hartman assured him. Turning to Trixie, he asked, “What’s the legacy’ Sam mentions?”

  Trixie explained about the yellow sweet peas Sam Elliot had developed. “They’re worth a lot of money,” she said. “The man from the seed company will be here any time. I’d better tell Mrs. Elliot that I found the records about the yellow sweet peas.”