The Mystery of the Antique Doll Page 2

  “Fish?” Trixie said. “Fish isn’t on that list!”

  “So what? I’m the one who’s testing you,” Mart said, “so you have to spell the words I give you. Now, spell fish!”

  “F-i-s-h!” Trixie shouted.

  “Wrong,” Mart said, with a haughty sniff. “It’s g-h-o-t-i.”

  “It is not!” Trixie wailed. “And you’re wasting my time with all this.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Mart said. “This is an example of how ridiculous spelling in the English language can be. See, gh is the f sound in rough; o is the i sound in women; ti is the sh sound in motion. So—g-h-o-t-i! Fish!”

  “If you’re so smart, Mart Belden,” Trixie snapped, “why didn’t you win the spelling contest, huh?”

  Mart blushed furiously and looked at the floor. Although he was the smartest of all the Beldens, Mart had a lot of trouble with spelling.

  “I only understand things that have intrinsically logical rules,” Mart snapped back peevishly. “And spelling is based on centuries of erroneous whims, dubious derivations, and illogical usage. It is, consequently, beneath my contempt!”

  “Only someone who can’t spell would say something like that,” Trixie began. But when she saw her brother’s embarrassment she felt bad.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mart. Come on, ask me another one!”

  “How about fluorescence?” Mart said, regaining his usual superior attitude.

  “Oh goodness,” Trixie said, with a sigh. “Are you sure that’s one of the words?”

  “Yup,” Mart said efficiently. “Hurry up. You haven’t got all day, you know.”

  “Ugh! F-l-u-o-r-e-s—um—c-e-n-c-e!”

  “Perfect, little sister. Your mnemonics are improving!”

  “Her what?” Honey said as the bus turned a corner.

  “Mnemonics is the art of developing the memory,” Mart explained. “And furthermore—”

  “Gleeps!” Trixie yelled, leaping to her feet in the lurching bus. “Speaking of memory, Honey, we’re getting off now. Don’t you remember? We’re stopping to help Mrs. De Keyser.”

  Trixie dashed to the front of the bus. She bent down and explained the unexpected stop to the bus driver, who nodded. The bus wheezed to a halt in front of a trim little white house, and Honey and Trixie clattered down the steps. They waved to Mart as the bus pulled away from them.

  Trixie shivered as she zipped up her jacket.

  “It might be time to start wearing a sweater under this. I can’t believe that winter will soon be here. Only last week it was Halloween!”

  Honey pulled her jacket closed, and zipped up too. They were standing on the shoulder of Glen Road between Mrs. De Keyser’s house and a beautifully restored barn with a brand-new sign hanging over the door, Dark blue letters outlined in gold said THE ANTIQUE BARN.

  “I like the sign,” Trixie said, glancing up appraisingly. “It looks old-fashioned and nice, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does,” Honey agreed. “But Mrs. De Keyser is expecting us, so we’d better go in and see what has to be done.”

  The two girls went up the flagstone walk, and climbed the steps of the wide porch. The front door had a lovely semicircular stained-glass window set near the top. Trixie raised the lion-head knocker and rapped sharply.

  A few moments later, they heard the shuffling noise that slippers make when they’re finally broken in and comfortable. The door swung open, and a rosy-cheeked little woman stood on the other side, smiling at them. Her arm was in a cast and she wore a colorful, Chinese-silk scarf as a sling.

  “Please come in, girls,” she said warmly, brushing a wisp of grey hair out of her eyes. “You’ll have to pardon my appearance—and the appearance of this house, too—but it’s hard to keep things in order when you only have one hand and arm to do it with.”

  She laughed nervously, and ushered Trixie and Honey into a cozy, cluttered living room. All the surfaces were piled high with magazines and books.

  Suddenly, a small black-and-white dog came tearing around the corner, yapping furiously. His stiff brush of wiry fur seemed to be standing on end with anger as he planted his feet firmly in front of Trixie and Honey.

  “Oh, Willy,” Mrs. De Keyser said. “Stop all that noise! These nice girls have come to help me, you silly thing.”

  Willy cocked his head to one side, but was not about to change his mind.

  “Oh, he won’t bite,” Mrs. De Keyser said, patting his head fondly. “He just likes to make a fuss when someone new comes into the house. Poor thing—he gets so bored, especially now that I can’t take him for such long walks.”

  “We’ll take him for you,” said Trixie, smiling and bending down to pat the dog on the head. Willy growled slightly, and then rolled over on his back. He grinned a dog grin at her and begged to have his tummy scratched.

  “There, you see?” Mrs. De Keyser said. “He likes you. I knew he would. He really likes young people a great deal.”

  “Do you want to tell us what chores need to be done?” asked Honey politely, putting down her books and slipping out of her jacket. “We should get started, especially if there are a lot.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Mrs. De Keyser said. “Here, hang your coats up in this closet— that is, if you can find a hanger. Oh dear, what a mess. I was planning to straighten out the closets, and then this dreadful thing happened.”

  She waved her cast mournfully at them, but perked right up again.

  “Actually, the first thing you can do is follow me around the house, and move the things that I use a lot into my reach.” She went into the kitchen, and the two girls trailed behind her. “You see, I have difficulty getting at the things I need every day.”

  “Do you want anyone to help you with yard work?” Trixie asked. “I have two older brothers, and they’ll be glad to come and rake the leaves or trim the hedges for you.”

  “Well, isn’t that sweet of them,” the older woman said gratefully. “But the outdoor work can wait. What I really need you for is to help me tidy up, put things away, and make the bed. Perhaps you can also help me prepare a big stew so I can just heat a little up now and then when I get hungry.”

  “We’d love to!” Trixie said briskly. “Where should we start?”

  “I think we should prepare the stew,” said Honey. “Then we can dust and vacuum while it’s cooking.”

  “Aren’t you wonderful,” Mrs. De Keyser said. “Now, I have everything right here in the fridge! Mrs. Vanderpoel did a big shopping for me, and we had it delivered. That’s all very nice, but how can I be expected to slice onions and carrots with one hand, I ask you?”

  Mrs. De Keyser opened the refrigerator door and bent down to get some vegetables. A bag of carrots dropped on the floor. In a flash, Willy zipped over and grabbed the bag.

  “Now, Willy! You come back here with those carrots this instant!” Mrs. De Keyser snapped, straightening up. “That dog just loves to snatch things. I’m always finding the strangest things in the most unexpected places. Willy! Bring that here this minute!”

  But Willy, loving the game, dashed back into the living room with Trixie on his heels. He ran around behind the couch. Seconds later, he emerged with dust bunnies on the end of his nose, and a look of triumph on his face.

  Trixie, not fooled for a minute, reached her arm behind the couch and pulled out the bag of carrots.

  “Naughty dog!” she scolded sternly. But Willy just wagged his tail and dashed back into the kitchen.

  Following Mrs. De Keyser’s careful instructions, the girls put the meat and vegetables they’d sliced into a heavy Dutch oven along with some spices. Then they followed her up to the second floor of the house and got out the vacuum cleaner. Trixie quickly began to vacuum Mrs. De Keyser’s bedroom, while Honey straightened the bedclothes and plumped the pillows.

  “Now you’re sure this isn’t too much for you?” Mrs. De Keyser asked.

  “It’s not hard,” Trixie said, smiling. “We thought we’d come every day after scho
ol and do things for you.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” she answered. “That really isn’t necessary. I’ll manage quite nicely on all you’ve done here today.”

  “Oh, no,” Honey said. “I think we should come at least every other day, don’t you, Trixie?”

  Trixie bent her head in concentration as she stuck the vacuum cleaner nozzle behind a chair cushion.

  “We can come as often as you need us, Mrs. De Keyser,” she said. “Every other day would be fine with us.”

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. De Keyser asked. “I certainly wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

  “It’s no trouble, Mrs. De Keyser,” said Trixie, turning off the vacuum cleaner. “Besides, we are grateful for the chance to get off the bus here. We’ve been meaning to stop and have a look at the new antique store.”

  “Oh yes...” Mrs. De Keyser began, then her voice trailed off. A frown creased her brow at the mention of the antique shop. “Have you been inside yet?” Trixie asked.

  She wondered why Mrs. De Keyser seemed so troubled.

  “Yes, only briefly. Oh, I do so worry about that man,” Mrs. De Keyser said in a sad voice. “You know, I rented that barn to Mr. Reid, and I thought it would make a lovely shop. But now I’m not so sure. It’s right on Glen Road, but so far he’s had hardly any customers at all. I wonder how he affords the rent.”

  “He doesn’t look as if he’s doing so badly,” Trixie muttered, thinking about the expensive car he drove.

  “Well, I mentioned it to the real estate agent, but she said I was being silly to even consider reducing the rent. I suppose it is silly of me because he always pays on time.”

  “Well, maybe things will be better in the summer when more tourists are on the road,” Honey said reassuringly.

  “Yes, that’s what I keep telling myself,” Mrs. De Keyser said. “After all, he has a whole store full of antiques to sell. But, you know, he’s hardly ever open and I never see any customers!”

  “Do you like antiques?” Trixie asked. “We certainly do.”

  Mrs. De Keyser stopped, and then burst into a merry laugh.

  “Oh, my dear. Like antiques?” Her small round form shook with laughter. “Not really. You see, when you get to be my age, an antique is just something that was brand-new when you were young. Some things, of course, are much older than that, but those generally aren’t the ones that turn up in antique stores.”

  Trixie and Honey smiled at Mrs. De Keyser. Then Willy suddenly jumped up, scratching at their skirts.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. De Keyser gasped, catching her breath. “I forgot all about poor Willy. I know it’s getting to be five o’clock, but would you be dears and take him for a little walk outside? And don’t let him off the leash. The silly thing likes to run off and explore. Sometimes he doesn’t come back for hours at a time.”

  Trixie and Honey got their jackets from the closet, and put Willy on his leash. They stepped outside and breathed in the crisp air. It was early November and most of the leaves had fallen from the trees. The branches looked like spidery drawings against the sky. They shuffled through the dry leaves as they walked. Their red and gold colors had long ago turned to brown, and they blanketed the lawn and the bushes around the house.

  Trixie and Honey welcomed the chance to be outside and to look all around Mrs. De Keyser’s snug little house. To the north stood a long row of fir trees. They had probably been planted a hundred years ago to break the cold north wind that blew all winter. Rhododendrons and azalea bushes snuggled up against the graceful porch, and a broad, curly maple tree grew on the front lawn.

  “Willy probably wishes he could find a nice rabbit to play with,” Honey said, as the surprisingly strong dog dragged her from one bush to the next, looking for good things to sniff.

  Willy led the girls to the south side of the property, and they found themselves standing about two hundred yards from The Antique Barn. Trixie and Honey stood there quietly, gazing wistfully at the warm yellow light that spilled from the windows. They could see someone moving inside.

  “Look, Honey. It’s open. Why don’t we stop in?” said Trixie, excitement mounting in her voice. “After we leave Mrs. De Keyser’s, we can have a quick look before we head home.”

  3 * The Curious Antique Shop

  TRIXIE AND HONEY took Willy back inside, then made sure that everything Mrs. De Keyser would need the next day was within easy reach. They put the stew in several smaller containers in the refrigerator, and washed the heavy Dutch oven.

  “You girls have really done a wonderful job,” Mrs. De Keyser said as she gazed around her somewhat tidier house. “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

  “Actually,” Trixie said, picking up her books, “you’ve taught us how to make a terrific stew.”

  “I’m going right home and write down the recipe,” Honey added. “I don’t think I ever smelled anything quite that good.”

  “Maybe our payment should be special cooking lessons,” Trixie suggested. “Not that we need any payment, of course.”

  “Dr. Ferris said you were sweet girls,” Mrs. De Keyser said as she walked them to the door. “But he didn’t say how sweet.” Willy started to bark as the girls stepped out onto the porch and said good-night.

  “He doesn’t want you to leave,” Mrs. De Keyser said. She bent down and patted Willy on the head. “Now don’t worry, the girls will be back day after tomorrow.”

  Willy kept barking furiously as the door closed, and Trixie skipped down the steps ahead of her friend.

  “Now, let’s take a quick look in The Antique Barn,” she whispered. “Oh, I hope it’s still open.”

  Honey and Trixie quickly crossed the lawn, and then walked along the few feet of road that separated them from the interesting little shop. They climbed the wooden steps

  in front, and gasped as they looked in the window.

  Behind the small leaded panes of the big bay window was a display of antique dolls and toys. Worn-out teddy bears leaned up against glamorous china-headed dolls and wooden trains. A good-sized dollhouse was set in the corner, and tiny little beaded lamps illuminated its little rooms. Further into the shop, they could see delicate pieces of furniture, oriental rugs, a lace-covered canopy bed, and iron pots and pans. Trixie felt a smile begin to crease her lips at the sight.

  Unable to resist, Trixie opened the door and the girls stepped into the cluttered shop. As the door shut behind them, a loud bell clanged in the back of the store.

  They stood uncertainly in the center of the large room for a moment, but no one appeared. They turned toward the window display to have a better look at the enchanting toys.

  Trixie put down her books and picked up an odd-looking contraption.

  “Look at this, Honey,” she whispered.

  “What do you think it could be?”

  Standing on a cast-iron base was a little iron man with his hand outstretched. A small cast-iron barrel stood on the base about two inches away from him.

  Honey was something of an expert on antiques. “I think it’s a bank,” she answered, after taking a closer look. “I saw one at the museum once. You’re supposed to put a penny on the man’s hand. Then you pull this lever, and he throws the coin into the barrel.”

  Amazed, Trixie replaced the bank, and looked around her.

  “Honey,” she said. “I think that one must be a bank, too!”

  On a shelf against the wall, between a wooden train set and a toy ship, stood another mechanical toy. On its small rectangular platform, an Indian knelt, facing a bear. The Indian held a gun.

  “I bet the Indian shoots the penny into the bear!”

  Honey laughed, and then turned to look at a small toy mule pulling a two-wheeled cart. She was about to wind the toy up just to see what it did, when suddenly they heard a noise behind them.

  “Can I help you?” came a low, gravelly voice.

  Both girls turned around to face the owner of the voice.

  “Uh, yes,” Trixie stammered.
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br />   A short, stocky, middle-aged man faced the girls. He was wearing an expensive-looking, perfectly fitted grey suit. A gleaming gold chain rested across his slight paunch.

  “We were just looking at the toys,” Trixie explained. “They’re very interesting. We were wondering if the Indian and the bear were a bank of some sort.”

  “A bank?” the man said. “I have no idea.”

  “What is this donkey supposed to do?” Honey asked, holding up the small toy. “Would it be all right if I wound it up?”

  “No, I’d rather you didn’t,” the man muttered. “It’s an antique, and it might break.”

  “Of course,” Honey said, putting the toy down. “Then could you tell me where this dollhouse comes from? It looks as if it might have been made in the 1880’s, but the way the roof is made makes me think it might have been later.”

  The man frowned and rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. He looked from the dollhouse to Honey, as if undecided about what to say.

  Honey pretended not to notice his discomfort, and went right on asking questions. She moved quickly around the room, touching one object after another, while Trixie watched the man’s reactions in amazement. Honey was miles ahead of him in her knowledge of antiques.

  While the man was distracted, Trixie studied his face. Could he be the owner? She really hadn’t been able to see the face of the man driving the maroon Mercedes-Benz, so perhaps this wasn’t Mr. Reid at all.

  “Is Mr. Reid here?” she asked finally.

  “I’m Carl Reid,” he answered. “What do you want?”

  “You’re the owner?” Trixie gasped. “I mean, uh, are you in charge of running this store?”

  “Yes, I am,” Carl Reid answered gruffly.

  Honey, embarrassed by Trixie’s blunder, stepped forward to take over the conversation. She thought it was certainly odd that Mr. Reid didn’t know anything about his merchandise, but maybe there was a good reason. He may have taken over someone else’s profitable business, as an investment. Her father did that sometimes.

  “We wanted to know about the china dolls,” Honey said smoothly. “I have a friend who’s a collector, but she’s looking for dolls made in Germany before 1885.”