The Mysterious Visitor Page 2

  Di shook her head, the smile fading from her lips. "Mother is sending a suitcase out with our chauffeur. I begged and begged her not to, but—" She stopped, looking as though she was going to burst into tears.

  "Why, what difference does it make," Trixie blurted, "whether she sends it or not?"

  "I can’t talk about it here on the bus," Diana whispered tensely.

  "Why not?" Trixie demanded.

  Di turned her face away to stare out the window. She seemed to be very interested in the scenery.

  Trixie twisted around on her seat to look out the window, too. But there wasn’t anything interesting that she could see. They were passing through the crowded section of the village, and the bus had simply stopped for the light at Main Street.

  Some of the boys and girls in Trixie’s class, who walked to and from school, were standing on the comer. One of them waved to her and shouted, "How about that English homework assignment? Tough, huh?"

  "You said it," Trixie yelled back. "It’s going to ruin the whole weekend."

  The bus lumbered off again. Di continued to stare out of the window.

  Trixie nudged her with her elbow. "What’s the matter with you, Di?"

  Di pretended she hadn’t heard.

  The other kids were making so much noise that there was no reason to whisper any longer.

  "Awful talkative, aren’t you?" Trixie asked Di sarcastically.

  Honey, who was sitting on the other side of Diana, shook her head, put a warning finger to her lips, and frowned at Trixie.

  Trixie knew she wasn’t being very tactful, but she was so curious about that suitcase that she ignored Honey. She nudged Di again. "Are you deaf, Diana Lynch? Or has the cat got your

  tongue?"

  Di whirled away from the window then. Her violet eyes were filled with tears and her lips were trembling. "I said I didn’t want to talk about it here on the bus," she whispered hoarsely. "Anyway, Trixie Belden, you wouldn’t understand!"

  A Mysterious Suitcase • 2

  THE BUS LUMBERED to a stop at the Beldens’ driveway. Trixie and her brothers got off. "I can t figure Di Lynch out," Trixie said to Mart as Brian hurried on toward the house. "There’s something mysterious about it," Trixie added, frowning. "Oh, no," Mart moaned. "Not another mystery!" "I don’t mean that kind," Trixie said. "I don’t think there’s a criminal connected with the mystery of why she’s so unhappy."

  "Of course there isn’t," Mart said. "She probably just imagines it. Girls are crazy like that." "But you didn’t hear what she said about her

  suitcase," Trixie said and explained. "Why should she have a fit about a simple thing like that? It just doesn’t make sense to me, Mart."

  Bobby, who had arrived on the grade-school bus a few minutes before, appeared then. He had entered the first grade that September and was very smug about it. "Hey," he greeted them. "I know who ’scovered ’Merica. Bet you don’t." Trixie started to hoot with laughter, but Mart nudged her with his elbow, and she quickly assumed a solemn expression. "Who did discover America, Bobby?" she asked.

  "C’lumbus," he yelled triumphantly. Then a frown puckered his sandy eyebrows. "What’s ’scover mean, Trixie?"

  "Well, you know what exploring means, don’t you?" she asked gravely.

  He shook his blond, silky curls. "You’re always ’sploring, Trixie. It means going into places where you’re not s’posed to go."

  Mart gurgled with suppressed laughter. "That’s an excellent definition of the kind of exploring Trixie does, but a more accurate definition is the word ‘trespassing.’ Isn’t that right, Trixie?"

  "Oh, don’t confuse him," Trixie cried impatiently. "You’ll get him all mixed up with those big words. Besides, the only time I ever trespassed in my life was up at the old Frayne Mansion, when

  I was trying to be helpful." She stooped to give Bobby a hug. "When Honey and I explored the Mansion, what did we find, Bobby?"

  "You founded Jim," he said.

  "That’s right," Trixie said. "But you could have said we discovered him."

  "Oh." Bobby blinked his round blue eyes. "Then C’lumbus founded ’Merica?"

  "Now I’m confused," Mart complained. "But you’ve got the general idea, Bobby. What else did you learn in school today?"

  But Bobby had a one-track mind. "If C’lumbus founded ’Merica," he asked suspiciously, "why didn’t the teacher say so?"

  "Because ‘discovered’ is the better word," Trixie said, beginning to lose patience. "Why don’t you explore your pile of junk in the garage and see if you can discover anything worth keeping?" She straightened and said to Mart, who was edging away, "In case you’ve forgotten, Dad said we had to clean out the garage this afternoon. He couldn’t get his car inside last night."

  Mart groaned. "I had forgotten until you brought the unpleasant subject up. Now that you mention it, I seem to recall that Fire Prevention Week looms in the immediate future. That means a scrap drive coming up soon. Right, Trix?"

  "You are so right," Trixie informed him.

  "Now, listen, Sis," Mart said placatingly, "you do my share. Jim, Brian, and I have to work on the clubhouse roof until it’s time to exercise the horses. At the rate we’ve been going since school started, it’ll be Christmas before we finish shingling it. It’s Indian summer now, but we’re due for rain, if not hail, snow, and sleet, around the middle of November."

  Trixie merely glared at him.

  "And," Mart continued, "since you are about as handy with hammer and nails as you are with thread and needles—"

  "Oh, all right!" Trixie hated to admit it, but she knew that Mart was right. They couldn’t do much about the interior of the clubhouse until the roof was finished. It was just one big room now with a dirt floor. The boys planned to partition off one end of it and line the walls in that section with shelves. Then they were going to make tables and benches for the conference room, and Honey had already bought material for curtains. They had started to work almost two months ago, when the club had been formed, but their first job had been to build screens for the windows and doors. That was because Honey hated bugs and also because, when they first held informal meetings without screens, they had spent most of their time slapping at mosquitoes.

  The tumbledown cottage was ideal for a secret clubhouse, because it had been the gatehouse of the manor in the days of carriages and sleighs, and even at this time of the year when the leaves were falling, it was almost completely hidden by ropelike vines and evergreen branches. A narrow but thickly wooded section separated it from Glen Road, and only if you knew it was there could you see it from the veranda of the big house.

  All of the Bob-Whites had worked hard to earn the money for the necessary material to make the clubhouse snug and attractive. Even Jim, who had inherited half a million dollars when his miserly great-uncle died, had worked. Honey had earned her share through mending jobs, although her father, if he had known she needed money, would have given her enough so that the clubhouse would have been a little palace long ago. But one rule of the club was that every member must contribute to it money he or she had earned.

  Trixie knew that she couldn’t help the boys finish shingling the roof. "All right," she said again. "I’ll clean the garage. You’ll help me, won’t you, Bobby?"

  "No," Bobby said decisively. "I’m a boy. I’m gonna holp the big boys jingle the roof."

  Trixie laughed. "You sound like Di Lynch when she has stage fright. I remember in one school play, when she was not much older than you, Bobby, she called Benedict Arnold ‘Arnold Benedict’ from beginning to end. Do you know who Benedict Arnold was?"

  He shook his curls. "No."

  Mart raced off up the driveway and into the house. Bobby started to trot after him, but Trixie grabbed his hand. "If you’ll help me clean the garage, I’ll tell you about Benedict Arnold. It’s a very exciting story."

  "Okeydokey," Bobby agreed.

  "I’ve got to change into blue jeans and an old shirt," Trixie told him. "You wait here f
or me on the terrace. Moms must have your orange juice ready. You can drink it with a straw and blow orange juice bubbles until I come back out again." Trixie was only too glad to change. One thing she hadn’t liked about entering junior high was that none of the girls wore jeans to school anymore. Even the most tomboyish ones wore sweaters and skirts. Di Lynch, who wasn’t a tomboy at all, had worn jeans until her father got rich. And this year she had started wearing dresses to school—the kind of dresses, Trixie reflected, that made her look as though she were going to a party. And on cool days when the others wore sport jackets, Di appeared in a pretty pale blue coat that made her look more than ever as though she were going to a party.

  "Di has changed a lot," Trixie decided as she and Bobby started to work on the garage. "She never seems to have fun anymore. Maybe it’s because she’s always so dressed up. Goodness knows, I can’t have any fun unless I’m wearing jeans." Then she dismissed Di from her mind.

  It was five o’clock by the time that Trixie, more hindered than helped by Bobby, finished cleaning the garage. Her mother joined them then, half-smiling, half-frowning.

  "At least your father can get the car inside," Mrs. Belden said. "But where are the things that are to be burned or given to the scrap drive?" "There aren’t any," Trixie cried in despair. "Bobby wouldn’t part with a single one of his treasures and, well, neither would I." She pointed disdainfully. "Those piles of junk there belong to Brian and Mart. I didn’t dare touch their things." "Well, run along and enjoy your ride," Mrs. Belden said. "Supper at seven."

  "I forgot to tell you, Moms," Trixie said, wiping her grimy hands on the seat of her jeans. "We’re all invited to dinner at the Wheelers’. Okay?" Mrs. Belden nodded. "But you must come home first, Trixie, and take a shower and change into at least your school clothes. You really should wear that little wool dress I bought you last spring.

  I’ll let out the hem and press it for you."

  "Oh, Moms," Trixie wailed. "I hate that silly-looking thing. And it’s not a party. Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler won’t be there. Besides, I won’t have time to change. We’re going to ride right up until dinner time. All the horses need exercise like anything."

  Her father’s car turned into the driveway then, and Trixie and her mother, with Bobby between them, hurried out of the garage so he could drive into it. Trixie noticed with a sinking heart that she had left her father barely enough room, and that a less skillful driver would not have been able to park without grazing at least one of the piles of junk.

  Mr. Belden didn’t look any too pleased as he climbed out of the Ford roadster. "I’m glad to see that there’s been some sprucing up," he said. "But a lot of that stuff has to go. This place is still a disgrace and a dangerous violation of the fire laws."

  "We tried to get rid of some of it," Trixie explained. "But, actually, it’s all pretty valuable, Dad. There wasn’t much that we could throw out."

  "I holped," Bobby cried proudly.

  "I’ll bet you did." Mr. Belden kissed his wife and lifted the plump little boy up to his shoulders.

  "Trixie," he said, giving her an affectionate pat, "I don’t want to pry into your secrets, but I haven’t been able to miss the fact that the boys are building some sort of a shack on the Wheeler property. If you want to keep all of that junk, I’m afraid I’ll have to order you and your brothers to keep some of it in your shack."

  "All right, Dad," Trixie said meekly. "I’ll tell Mart and Brian about it tonight, and we can move the things sometime soon."

  "And," Mrs. Belden put in, "since they’re dining at the Wheelers’ this evening, don’t you agree with me, Peter, that Trixie ought to come home first and change into a dress? I’m sure Jim and Honey don’t come to the dinner table looking as though they had just cleaned a garage."

  "I’m sure they don’t," Mr. Belden agreed, laughing.

  "But, Dad," Trixie wailed, "there won’t be time between now and dinner. They’re having it early so the cook and Celia can go to the early movie. And the horses have just got to be exercised today or Regan will certainly get mad at us."

  "That’s true," Mr. Belden said thoughtfully. "Regan is awfully good to you kids, and you should be good to him. Don’t let him down."

  "I could take a shower in Honey’s bathroom," Trixie suggested hopefully, "and I could borrow

  one of her dresses. Would that be all right?" Mrs. Belden sighed. "I guess that will be all right. But it seems to me that you are forever deciding at the last minute to spend the night with Honey and so end up borrowing her clothes." Trixie grinned with relief. "Honey doesn’t mind. She has drawers and closets full of them." She raced off along the path that led up to the Manor House. When she arrived at the stable, she found that all five of the horses were saddled and bridled, but Jim and Honey were having some sort of an argument.

  "Please, Jim," Honey was saying. "I’d really rather stay home. Miss Trask may have some things she would like me to do before dinner—" Then it dawned on Trixie that if Di was going to ride, one of the Bob-Whites would have to drop out. And it was just like Jim and Honey to fight about which one that would be.

  "I don’t feel much like riding," she cried impulsively. "I’m half-dead from cleaning out the garage. You ride Susie, Di."

  Diana shook her head. "I don’t know how to ride. All of you please go. I don’t mind being left behind. Besides, I would like to be here when my suitcase comes, so that—"

  As she hesitated, flushing, Honey said quickly, "I don’t want to ride, either. Lady doesn’t need any exercise. Mother rode her this morning."

  "Dad rode Jupe before breakfast, too," Jim added.

  Regan, the pleasant-faced groom, came out of the tack room just then. "Well," he said, "the other horses do need exercise. So you Beldens had better get going before it gets so dark even the horses won’t be able to see."

  Trixie and her brothers quickly obeyed. Regan was usually very easygoing, but when he spoke in that tone of voice, he meant business. They trotted off single file along the narrow path that led into the woods. Trixie, who was leading, said over one shoulder, "Dad knows about the clubhouse. He calls it a shack, and I don’t think he knows where it is, but we’ve got to move a lot of our stuff that’s cluttering up the garage into it. The garage just won’t hold it all anymore."

  "Oh, no," Mart moaned. "Why, just your junk alone, Trix, would take up so much room we couldn’t hold a meeting."

  "Is that so?" Trixie demanded. "What about your pup tent and those rusty old traps?"

  "I use that pup tent every summer, and those traps are just as good as they ever were. If anything has to go it ought to be your—"

  "Dad’s right," Brian interrupted. "Now that I’ve got my driver’s license; I can pack our junk in the station wagon and move it down to the clubhouse in one trip. It’ll be handy to have the sleds, skis, and ice skates there. We’ve always done most of our winter sports at the Manor House, anyway." "True," Mart agreed. "If it doesn’t rain this weekend, we can finish the roof."

  "And we’ll move everything down there first thing. There’ll be plenty of room."

  Riding abreast now, they cantered across a field. Then they stopped to give the horses a rest. "I can’t stop thinking about Di and her suitcase," Trixie said. "Why is she so tense about it?"

  "That I don’t know," Mart said. "I can’t even hazard a guess. But you’re right about one thing, Sis. She is very unhappy."

  "I wish we could ask her to become a member of our club," Trixie said.

  "I’m glad you said that." Brian smiled. "That’s the way Honey and Jim feel, and that’s the way I feel, too. Is it okay by you, Mart?"

  "Natch," Mart said. "Boy! Let’s think up something terrific in the way of initiation. How about making her walk the ridgepole of the clubhouse roof? Or we could make her sleep out in the woods alone for an entire night. Or maybe we could-"

  "Now, wait a minute," Trixie interrupted. "Nothing like that," Brian said soberly. "She’s so jumpy now I think we Bob-Whites ought to skip ini
tiation in her case."

  "What makes you think she’s jumpy?" Trixie asked. "Did she do anything peculiar while I was cleaning the garage?"

  "Yes and no," Brian said. "When we got off the bus, I changed my clothes and went straight up to the Wheelers’. Jim was still up in his room, so I waited for him on the porch. Di was talking to someone on the phone in the study. I tried not to listen, but I couldn’t help it. She was crying and saying over and over again, ‘Oh, please don’t. Please don’t.’ "

  "Well, for pete’s sake!" Mart exclaimed. "What do you suppose that was all about? Didn’t she try to explain?"

  "She didn’t see me. I stayed out on the porch, and a minute later Jim came downstairs. I guess Di went up to her room."

  Trixie sighed. "She must have been talking to her mother about the suitcase. I can’t see why she cares whether it arrives or not. Why should it make so much difference to her?"

  "Maybe her mother was angry with her about something," Mart suggested hopefully.

  "I don’t think she was talking to her mother," Brian said slowly. "Because when she hung up I heard her say, ‘Oh, I hate him. I hate him!’ "

  A Long-lost Relative • 3

  HATE HIM?" Trixie repeated in amazement. "Why, who, I mean whom, could she have been talking to? Who could Di hate?"

  "Her father, maybe?" Brian asked.

  "Oh, no," Trixie cried. "Mr. Lynch is one of the kindest men who ever lived. He’s big and fat in a jolly way and so generous everyone who knows him loves him. Mrs. Lynch is darling, too. She used to be awfully jolly. The last time I saw her she was—" Trixie stopped.

  "Was what?" Mart demanded.

  "Kind of formal," Trixie told him. "Di invited me for lunch right after they bought that big place, and, dopey me, I thought things would be just the same. So I appeared in jeans and—" "—looking the way you do now," Mart finished, "as though you had just finished cleaning a garage. You probably scared the Lynches’ servants. I hear they have a flock of ’em."

  "Oh, stop it," Trixie cried. "I don’t clean the garage every day."