The Mystery of the Millionaire Read online

  Mr. Lytell looked as though he’d just started his tirade, so the girls hastily dug the correct change out of their pockets, laid it on the counter in front of the storekeeper, said quick thank-you’s, and left the store.

  Outside, Trixie held the cold can of pop to her face for a moment before she opened it. Her cheeks were even redder than they had been before she’d gone into the store, and she knew that the heat had nothing to do with it.

  Honey put one arm around her sandy-haired friend consolingly. “Don’t let Mr. Lytell upset you, Trix,” she said. “He’s just having a bad day. He wasn’t even nice to me, and you know how careful he usually is to keep in my good graces— because of Miss Trask.”

  Trixie nodded, but her blue eyes were brimming with tears. “It’s just that I get so tired of being yelled at. You wouldn’t understand about that, because you have such good manners that hardly anyone ever gets angry at you. But I’m always doing thoughtless things that upset people, and then when I do decide to be thoughtful, it turns out that people are ‘just having a bad day,’ and they yell at me anyway.”

  Honey put one hand on each of Trixie’s shoulders and turned her so that they were face-to-face. “Trixie, do you really think that you did anything in the store just now that was worth getting yelled at?”

  Trixie thought for a moment, then shook her head.

  “Well, then, forget about it. It isn’t your problem. It’s his. You only need to worry about what you can do something about,” Honey said firmly.

  “But maybe if I’d been more polite in the past, Mr. Lytell wouldn’t yell at me so much now,” Trixie protested.

  “Miss Trask doesn’t yell at you, and you’re the same person with her that you are with Mr.

  Lytell,” Honey pointed out. “And if I had to choose, I’d much rather have Miss Trask like me than Mr. Lytell.”

  Trixie giggled, then sniffed. “Okay, Honey. I’ll forget Mr. Lytell. I’ll just avoid him from now on—for a while, at least.”

  “Good. Now, let’s head back to Manor House and get these horses curried before it gets any hotter,” Honey said.

  When the girls had mounted their horses, Trixie peered up at the cloudless sky, from which the sun was beating down. “Honey, could we ride back along Glen Road? It’s much shorter that way. Regan won’t mind if we just walk the horses, will he?”

  Honey pondered Trixie’s request for a moment. Regan was the Wheeler groom, and Lady and Strawberry were two of the Wheeler horses. Although the groom appreciated the help he got from the young people in keeping the horses exercised, he was strict about when, where, and how they rode. The Bob-Whites were to ride on the paths of Mr. Wheeler’s huge game preserve, as the girls had done that morning. Galloping along concrete highways, which could damage the horses’ hooves, was absolutely forbidden.

  “It’ll be all right if we walk the horses, I think,” Honey finally answered. “Glen Road has a wide gravel shoulder, so we won’t really be on the highway at all. Mr. Lytell rides Belle along this road every day at noon, so it must be safe enough.” She clicked to Strawberry and started down Glen Road, with Trixie on Lady right next to her.

  “How do you know Mr. Lytell rides Belle along here every day?” Trixie asked.

  Honey 'giggled. “Mr. Lytell’s exercise route goes up Glen Road to our driveway, past the stables, into the preserve, and then back to the store. I see him ride past most days.”

  “Why wouldn’t he just ride into the preserve from his store?” Trixie asked, puzzled.

  “I think he wants to do some sight-seeing along the way,” Honey said in a teasing voice.

  “But there’s a lot more to see in the preserve than—” Trixie broke off as she understood Honey’s hidden meaning. “Miss Trask!” she exclaimed abruptly.

  Honey nodded. “I’m sure that’s why he takes that path—so he’ll have a better chance of running into Miss Trask. Of course, he’d never admit it, and Miss Trask wouldn’t, either.”

  Trixie shook her head, smiling to herself at the idea of Mr. Lytell arranging “accidental” meetings with Miss Trask. Just then Lady shied slightly to avoid something in her path. Trixie looked down automatically, then reined in sharply when she saw what was lying on the shoulder of the road.

  “Wait, Honey!” she called. “I just found a wallet!”

  Mr. Lytell Calls ● 2

  TRIXIE SCRAMBLED DOWN from Lady’s back and picked up the wallet. Turning it over in her hands, she saw that it was made of smooth black leather. It looked both new and expensive. A reflex made her turn and look up and down the road, but there were no cars or people in sight.

  “Look inside, Trixie,” Honey suggested, climbing down from the saddle to stand at her friend’s side. “Maybe there’s some identification.”

  Trixie nodded and opened the wallet. Inside were clear plastic windows, each holding at least one credit card. Trixie flipped through them. “A. Ramsey, A. Ramsey, A. Ramsey,” she read.

  “Aha! Here we go: Anthony Ramsey. It belongs to a man.”

  “Is that someone from around here?” Honey asked.

  “I don’t recall having heard the name before,” Trixie said, still examining the contents of the wallet, “and there’s no driver’s license. I could ask— Gleeps, Honey!” Trixie broke off in midsentence and looked up at her friend, her blue eyes wide.

  “What is it?” Honey asked anxiously.

  “Look!” Trixie drew a hundred-dollar bill out of the bill compartment of the wallet and held it up for Honey to see.

  “Oh, Trix!” Honey exclaimed. “That’s a lot of money. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to return the wallet to Anthony Ramsey, of course,” Trixie said.

  “Of course,” Honey replied. “But how?”

  Trixie stood silent for a moment, the hot sun beating down on her head and making it hard for her to think calmly. She looked up and down the deserted road again, as if hoping Anthony Ramsey might suddenly appear. Finally she sighed. “I hate to have to say this, but the closest place around is Mr. Lytell’s store, so that seems like the place to start. We can find out if he knows this Anthony Ramsey, or if someone he didn’t know stopped in the store this morning.”

  Honey nodded in agreement. “Let’s go,” she said, swinging into the saddle once again. Trixie shoved the wallet into her pocket, swung up onto the saddle, and followed Honey back down Glen Road. She felt a curious mixture of excitement and apprehension. This was a new mystery, and Trixie loved mysteries more than anything. Still, she wished that she didn’t have to see Mr. Lytell again quite so soon.

  As the girls dismounted and tied their horses outside the store, Trixie reached into her pocket, pulled out the wallet, and held it out to Honey. “You’d better do the talking,” she said reluctantly.

  Honey hesitated, then took the wallet. The two girls walked into the store and stood at the counter for a moment before Mr. Lytell emerged from the back room.

  “You girls again!” he grumbled crossly. “What do you want this time?”

  Trixie flushed, but she bit her lower lip and said nothing.

  Honey spoke in her politest tones. “We found this wallet on Glen Road, very near here, Mr. Lytell. It seems to belong to an Anthony Ramsey, and it has a hundred dollars in it, so we’re sure Mr. Ramsey would like to have it back. Has he been in the store this morning?”

  Mr. Lytell snorted sarcastically. “Well,” he said, “how would I know which one was Mr. Ramsey? Almost all my customers pay me with hundred-dollar bills. That’s why I’ve got so much money.”

  Honey cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “Then you don’t know Mr. Ramsey?” she asked quietly.

  Trixie looked at her friend admiringly. Only Honey would still be able to be calm. Trixie reached out and picked up the wallet, which Honey had placed on the counter, and started to inspect the contents once again, partly to keep herself from getting angry during Mr. Lytell’s next retort.

  “Wait a minute,” Trixie said suddenly,
interrupting the storekeeper, who glowered at her. “I just found a motor club membership card tucked into a pocket here. It gives Anthony Ramsey’s address. He lives in New York City, so maybe he hasn't been in the store.”

  “Well,” Mr. Lytell said bitterly, “very few people drive up here from the city just to sample my merchandise. Anyway, no stranger came in today.”

  “Mr. Lytell, do you suppose you could phone Mr. Ramsey?” Honey asked. “I know it would be expensive, but Mr. Ramsey would probably be very happy to repay you. I could ask Miss Trask to do it, but your store must have been somewhere on his travel route.”

  Mr. Lytell reached out and took the wallet from Trixie. “Don’t you bother Marge with this,” he said in a more friendly tone of voice. “I’ll make the call.”

  Mr. Lytell went into the back room while the girls waited impatiently. They heard him dial once to get the number from directory assistance; then they heard him dial again. There was silence for a few moments. Then they heard the receiver being replaced.

  “No answer,” Mr. Lytell said as he came back into the store.

  “Well, thank you very much for trying,” Honey said. “We’ll take the wallet and try the number later, if you—”

  “I’ll do it,” Mr. Lytell said abruptly, putting the wallet in his pocket.

  Trixie looked at the storekeeper in surprise at his offer. Then Honey’s next words made her realize the motive for his cooperation.

  “I’ll be sure to tell Miss Trask how perfectly perfect you’ve been, going to all this trouble and everything,” Honey said sweetly.

  Trixie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning. Despite his gruff “Get along with you now,” Mr. Lytell actually had a glow to his cheeks.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Lytell,” Trixie said cheerfully. Honey echoed her, and the two girls left the store.

  Once again they mounted their patient horses and started off down Glen Road. Trixie was quiet for a few moments as she thought about what had happened. Finally she said, “You were wonderful with Mr. Lytell, Honey. I’d give anything to have your poise. Still, I wish we’d kept the wallet. I’d really like to solve this mystery myself.”

  “But, Trixie, there isn’t any mystery to be solved. Mr. Ramsey lost his wallet, and Mr. Lytell will see that he gets it back. If I know Mr. Lytell, he’ll ask how the wallet was lost along Glen Road— you know how he loves gossip—and we can ask him about it. Or Miss Trask can,” Honey added impishly, “the next time she’s in his store. But I don’t think there’s any mystery. Besides, Trixie, I wouldn’t be surprised if Anthony Ramsey offered a reward for the recovery of his wallet. The way Mr. Lytell was talking, maybe he needs the money.”

  Trixie groaned. “You always have the right answers where people are concerned, Honey. I wouldn’t even have thought about a reward.

  Now that you mention it, I’m more than happy to let Mr. Lytell return the wallet and get the reward. Maybe he’ll use it to stock up on strawberry pop!” The girls were still giggling over Trixie’s joke as they rode up to the Wheeler stable.

  For the next half hour, there was no time for jokes as they brushed the horses and cleaned the tack. When they were finished, Trixie said a quick good-bye and hurried home to Crabapple Farm and lunch.

  She was just reaching for the back door handle when the door flew open, rapping her knuckles painfully. “Ow!” she yelped.

  “Sorry,” Mart Belden said hurriedly as he rushed out the door and went tearing down the driveway.

  Staring after him, Trixie saw that the mail truck had just pulled up to the mailbox down on the road. Trixie shook her head in bewilderment, wondering again what was causing her brother’s mysterious behavior.

  She walked into the kitchen and saw her mother setting the table for lunch. Automatically, Trixie reached into the silverware drawer and pulled out the right number of knives, forks, and spoons. Following her mother around the table and putting the silverware at each place, Trixie asked, “Do you have any idea what’s gotten into Mart? He almost knocked me over in his hurry to get to the mailbox.”

  Helen Belden smiled and shook her head. “I assume he’s expecting something very important. He’s been rushing out to get the mail every day for the past week.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you to see him acting that way?” Trixie asked, frowning.

  Her mother laughed. “I consider a little strange behavior from my children to be quite normal. At least Mart’s interest in the mail keeps him close to home all morning.”

  Trixie blushed, wondering if her mother was making a subtle reference to her own absence, which, because of the wallet, had extended far longer than she’d expected. Before she could explain to her mother, Mart came back from the mailbox. The gloomy expression on his face said plainly that whatever he’d been expecting had not arrived. Letting the door slam behind him, he dropped the mail onto the table inside the back door and slouched morosely through the kitchen.

  “Don’t go too far, Mart. Lunch is almost ready,” Mrs. Belden cautioned.

  “All right,” Mart replied. “But I’m not very hungry.”

  Trixie gasped and turned to look at her mother. Besides his love for big words, his love for big helpings of every kind of food was Mart Belden’s most distinguishing characteristic. If he wasn’t hungry, he must be in the throes of something very mysterious indeed.

  Mrs. Belden’s face was expressionless, however. She made no comment on Mart’s loss of appetite, continuing instead to dish up their lunch. Although it was difficult, Trixie followed her mother’s lead and said nothing.

  A few minutes later, Trixie called her brothers to lunch. The ways in which Bobby and Brian responded to the call seemed to Trixie to be excellent summaries of their personalities. Brian walked quietly to the table, looked, pulled out his chair, and sat down. “Everything looks delicious,” he said politely, spreading his napkin across his lap.

  Bobby barreled through the doorway and skidded to a halt inches from Trixie, who was carrying two brimming glasses of milk to the table. “Sorry, Trix!” he crowed. He clambered onto his chair and reached immediately for a brownie, snatching his hand back when Trixie threatened to slap it.

  “Those are for dessert, Bobby, and you know it,” Trixie told her six-year-old brother sternly.

  “I know,” Bobby said, looking up at her mischievously. “I was just gonna have dessert first today.”

  Mart’s response to the summons for lunch was not typical of his personality, however. He stalked into the room, drew his chair out, and sat down on it heavily. Then he put an elbow on the table and lowered his chin into his hand with a loud sigh.

  Trixie, puzzled, looked at her brother, but Helen Belden was the first to speak. “All right, everyone. Let’s eat.”

  Mart tried hard to maintain his listless attitude, but Trixie noticed that he piled his plate just as high as he did on his more cheerful days. So much for his loss of appetite, Trixie thought.

  “Honey and I found a wallet on Glen Road today,” Trixie said as she loaded her plate and helped Bobby with his. “It belongs to an Anthony Ramsey of New York City, and it has a hundred-dollar bill in it.”

  Brian let out a long, low whistle, but Mart only looked up momentarily and said contemptuously, “Peanuts!”

  Trixie’s temper flared. “A hundred dollars is most certainly not peanuts, Mart Belden.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Helen Belden said quickly, before an out-and-out argument could erupt. “I hope you were able to return the money to Mr. Ramsey.”

  “We haven’t yet,” Trixie told her mother. “There was a card in his wallet that gave a New York City address. Mr. Lytell called from his store, but nobody answered. We left the wallet with Mr. Lytell, and he’s going to try again later today.”

  Mrs. Belden nodded approvingly, the boys went back to their lunch, and Trixie retreated to her own thoughts, which included wondering about Mart’s odd behavior and speculating whether she’d ever find out as much as she wanted to know about Mr.
Ramsey and how he had lost his wallet on Glen Road.

  “Moms,” she said suddenly, “do you think Mr. Ramsey will offer a reward for his wallet?”

  “I have no idea, Trixie,” Mrs. Belden said. “I don’t think I’d count on it, if I were you. If you need some extra money, Trixie,” she added gently upon seeing her daughter’s disappointment, “there are always extra chores I’d be happy to pay you to do.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t going to collect it, Moms,” Trixie said quickly. “I was thinking about Mr. Lytell—his store is always so empty. Maybe that’s why he’s always so crabby. A reward might mean a lot to him.”

  Mrs. Belden smiled. “Don’t worry too much about that, either,” she said. “Mr. Lytell’s store was here long before the big supermarkets opened in Sleepyside. And his store always seemed just as empty then as it does now. Although I don’t believe the rumors that Mr. Lytell might be one of the wealthiest people in Sleepyside, I imagine that he has money put aside for the proverbial rainy day.”

  Trixie stared wide-eyed at her mother for a moment. Then she lowered her eyes to her plate, picked up her sandwich, and took another bite. Mr. Lytell as a wealthy man—that was really something to think about, even if it was only a rumor!

  She was just finishing up her lunch when the phone rang. She ran to answer it; it was Honey calling.

  “Trix?” Honey said. “We’re supposed to be at Mr. Lytell’s store this afternoon at four o’clock. Can you be there?”

  “Sure,” Trixie said, “but why? Did he tell you why he wanted us to be there?”

  “He didn’t tell me anything,” Honey said. “I was taking a shower when he called. Jim took the message.”

  “It must be about the wallet,” Trixie guessed. “Maybe he talked to Mr. Ramsey. But why do we have to wait until four to find out?”

  “I don’t know,” Honey told her.