The Mystery of the Antique Doll Page 3

  “Really, kid,” Mr. Reid said, and he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I can’t help you. Your friend would just have to come in here and see for herself.”

  “When was this battleship made?” Honey asked. She couldn’t resist another question. “Is it supposed to be a Civil War ship?”

  Mr. Reid looked blank and then his eyes narrowed slightly. He glanced nervously behind him into the storage room.

  “Why don’t you be nice kids and go home?” he said, smiling sweetly all of a sudden. “I’m busy in the back right now, and I really can’t take the time to chat.”

  “But I wanted to ask you about the—” Trixie broke off when she felt Honey’s hand on her arm.

  “Thank you very much for your time,” Honey said, and she led Trixie to the door. It was very nice of you to let us look around.”

  “Sure thing,” Mr. Reid said. He seemed relieved. “Anytime.”

  ‘Honey!” Trixie snapped, as the door closed after them. “Why did you drag me out of there? I wanted to keep looking at the antiques!”

  “I’m sorry, Trixie,” Honey said, “but it was obvious that Mr. Reid didn’t want us in there anymore. Besides, it’s getting dark and we should be starting home.”

  Trixie kicked at the stones along the side of the road as they walked. She knew that Honey was right, but she was very curious about Mr. Reid, too.

  “Didn’t you find it a bit peculiar that he didn’t know anything about antiques?” Trixie asked finally.

  “Well, for one thing,” Honey said, “you can’t jump to conclusions about his knowledge of antiques. Just because he didn’t know about the toys, doesn’t mean he knows nothing about any antiques at all.”

  “Yes, I know,” Trixie said, “but I think you and I know more about antiques than Mr. Reid does. You do anyway.”

  “You’re still jumping to conclusions, Trixie. He’s a businessman. He knew we weren’t planning to buy anything from the shop. He didn’t want us wasting his time unless we were serious!”

  “Humph,” Trixie sniffed, feeling somewhat put out. “I’m always serious! I just think there’s something fishy about that man, that’s all.”

  “That’s what I love about you, Trixie Belden,” Honey said. She threw an arm around Trixie’s shoulders and gave her a brief hug. “If it wasn’t for you, our lives would be so dull and boring!”

  “I don’t think up things that are fishy, Honey Wheeler,” Trixie said, defending herself. “I only notice them!”

  “Well, I’m beginning to notice a strange cold feeling in the area of my feet,” Honey said. “I’m going to run the rest of the way home. Beat you!”

  And with that, Honey started to run as fast as she could along Glen Road. It was a long way, however, and she soon slowed to a walk. Trixie caught up to her, and together they walked until they came to the driveway of the Manor House where Honey lived.

  They were panting with exertion from the brisk walk, but feeling a good deal warmer.

  “Why don’t you come to our house for dinner?” Trixie asked.

  “Great idea,” Honey replied. “I’ll call Miss Trask from your house.”

  Miss Trask was Honey’s governess, and she also managed the Wheeler estate. Honey adored Miss Trask, as did all the Bob-Whites.

  “Good thinking,” Trixie said. “Race you to the front door!”

  The two girls set off again. They clambered up the steps of Trixie’s house, and fell against the door in unison, laughing.

  Moments later, the door was opened by Brian Belden, but he wasn’t quick enough to protect the girls from their greatest admirer—Reddy!

  “Down boy!” Trixie shouted, but it was too late. Reddy, the Belden’s handsome Irish setter, leapt on them, and showered the girls with dog kisses. Trixie’s books fell to the floor, and the papers in her loose-leaf notebook went flying for the third time in two days.

  “Is that you, Trixie?” Mrs. Belden called from the kitchen.

  “Yes Moms. Sorry we’re a little late,” Trixie called back, bending down to pick up her books. Reddy trampled through the papers excitedly.

  Trixie went into the kitchen. “Hi, Moms, Hi, Dad,” she said, giving each a kiss. “May Honey stay for dinner?”

  “Of course, but wash up first,” Mrs. Belden answered. “Dinner will be on the table in three minutes. Call Miss Trask, Honey. She’s waiting to hear from you.” Honey quickly sidestepped the mess Reddy had made of Trixie’s papers, and went to phone Miss Trask for permission to stay for dinner. By the time she’d completed the phone call and washed her hands, the family was seated at the table.

  “And then Willy, the dog, stole the carrots,” Trixie was saying, as she picked up her fork.

  “Pass the mashed potatoes, please,” Mart mumbled, as he set down the platter of fried chicken.

  “And Mrs. De Keyser taught us how to make the greatest stew,” Trixie continued. “She’s teaching us how to cook. We’re going to prepare meals for her in advance, so she can heat things up when she gets hungry.”

  “Well, isn’t that nice, dear,” Mrs. Belden said. “And did you get a chance to look at the antique store?”

  “I was just getting to that, Moms,” Trixie said. “We paid Mr. Carl Reid of The Antique Barn a visit all right, but he doesn’t know a thing about antiques! Can you believe it? We asked him quite a few questions about the dolls and toys in his window display, and he couldn’t answer one of them!”

  “Oh no,” Brian groaned. “Here we go again!”

  “Is our inquisitive sibling trying to initiate another second-rate series of innuendos?” Mart muttered. But he smiled affectionately at his suspicious sister. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of antique dealers—or where it will lead.”

  “Mart!” Trixie said, feeling insulted. “My innuendos are never second-rate! How dare you!”

  “Crooks, beware!” Mart intoned in a somber voice. “The schoolgirl shamus is on the trail again!”

  “Trixie thinks it’s highly irregular and cause for suspicion if a person who knows nothing about antiques is in the antique business, that’s all,” Brian said.

  “Well, I know how you feel, Trixie,” Mr. Belden said. He had been listening with interest. “But nowadays, there are a lot of people in business who know nothing about what they’re trying to make or sell. Many people believe that any business can be reduced to numbers, and columns of figures. It’s what is called ‘the bottom line.’ ”

  “You mean, Daddy, that lots of people go into businesses just for the money?” Trixie asked.

  “That’s right, sweetie,” Mr. Belden said. He paused briefly. “So, even though you think it’s suspicious for Mr. Reid not to know about antiques, at the bank we see that as an everyday occurrence.”

  “But Mrs. De Keyser says he doesn’t even have customers!” Trixie said. “What kind of a business is that? I still think it’s strange, and I’m going to investigate some more.”

  Her eyes flashed as she looked around the table. “Believe me, you’ll see who’s right!”

  4 * Trixie Investigates

  THE FOLLOWING DAY after school, Trixie and Honey decided they’d better devote their entire afternoon to studying the list of spelling words for the contest. Mart insisted on helping them—in between his huge snacks—but Trixie complained that he was not being entirely helpful.

  “You’re just showing off, Mart,” Honey agreed, laughing. “We all know that you know a lot of big words, but I’ll bet you that the word prestidigitator isn’t anywhere on that list!”

  “It is inconsequential and irrelevant to worry about things like that!” said Mart. “How you can even begin to lay claim to the exalted position of local spelling finalist and potential Eastern Regional winner, without a thorough knowledge of spelling, is beyond me.”

  “You just want us to know you can pronounce that word!” Trixie argued.

  “Oh, by the way, ladies,” Mart said, faking a tremendous yawn, “I forgot to mention your newspape
r assignments.”

  Trixie picked up one of the couch pillows and tossed it at Mart’s head.

  “Forgot?” she howled, as she took aim with another pillow. “How could you forget something like that? I have half a mind to bury you in feathers!”

  “Now don’t get excited! The articles aren’t due for three weeks, so try and be temperate. Smooth your ruffled feathers!”

  Honey, acting like an island of sanity in a sea of hysteria, grabbed the pillow from Trixie’s hand and sat on it.

  “Just tell us the assignment,” she said merrily. “Unless you’ve forgotten what it is.”

  “I most certainly didn’t forget what it is,”

  Mart said pompously. “We’re each supposed to choose a local merchant, and interview them about what they sell and how seasonal buying habits affect their merchandise. And at the same time we’re supposed to encourage them to take out ads in the school paper.”

  “Oh boy, that’s a hard one,” Trixie muttered. “They want interviews? What if the storekeepers don’t have time to talk to us?”

  “What if we don’t have time to talk to the storekeepers?” Honey asked.

  “Well, a newspaper can’t consist entirely of editorials, can it? Just because an opinion is easier to get down on paper doesn’t mean that’s what the people want to read about, little sister. Hieroglyphics.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Hieroglyphics. It’s the next word on the list, so start spelling!”

  “H-e-i-r-o-g-l-i—”

  “You might as well stop right there, because you’re way off,” Mart said. “You’ve already made two errors, and you’re not even finished with the word yet.”

  “Let me try,” Honey said, frowning slightly and closing her eyes to concentrate. “H-i-e-r-o-g-l-i—”

  “You’re both hopeless,” Mart said, throwing down the pillow he’d been holding. “I really doubt that either of you will win this contest. As a matter of fact, it completely escapes me how you even got to be local finalists.”

  Trixie started to throw the pillow she was holding at him, when suddenly she stopped. A bubble of laughter caught in her throat, and then Honey and Trixie began to giggle uncontrollably.

  “You’re just jealous, Mart,” Honey teased. “Don’t worry. If one of us wins, we’ll let you keep the trophy in your room, okay?”

  “Perhaps you should win it first—then we’ll discuss who gets to keep it!” Mart said. “I’m going out to practice basketball. You two don’t appreciate my attempts at your edification, that much is clear.”

  “That’s not true,” Trixie had to admit. “We’re glad you want to help us. By the way, that word is spelled e-d-i-f-i-c-a-t-i-o-n, for your edification!”

  Mart laughed. “See you later,” he called, and went to get his jacket.

  The girls settled down to some serious studying. They covered every word on the list twice—once for Honey, and once for Trixie. All the while, they could hear the wop-wop sound the basketball made on the driveway.

  “Studying together is so much fun,” Honey said, “but I think I’d better head home now, Trixie. Miss Trask already thinks I’ve moved in with the Belden family! Besides, I promised I’d set up a schedule with Regan for exercising the horses.”

  “Did you tell him that we promised to help Mrs. De Keyser every other day?” Trixie asked, pained at having neglected one of her other chores—and a favorite one, at that. All the Bob-Whites helped exercise the horses in the Wheeler stables. Honey, who was an excellent equestrienne, had taught Trixie how to ride. Trixie loved riding, and felt very bad about neglecting the horses.

  “Is Regan angry at us?” she asked.

  “No,” Honey said, as she slipped on her jacket. “Regan’s very pleased that we’re helping someone, but the horses need to get exercised, too. Jim and Dan are helping, but you and I should also do our share.”

  “No problem,” Trixie said, walking Honey to the door. “I’ll do whatever I can. See you tomorrow morning on the bus!”

  She waved, and then watched Honey cut across the back of the property and take the foot path to the Manor House.

  Later that night, after Trixie had eaten, done the rest of her homework, and helped her mother with the dinner dishes, she went upstairs with Bobby and read him a story before bed. She watched his eyelids grow heavier and heavier. When it looked as if he could hold out against sleep no longer, she turned off the lamp and kissed him goodnight.

  In her room, Trixie lay waiting for sleep, but her mind was so full of dancing thoughts that she only felt more awake than ever. There was so much to do: Mrs. De Keyser, the horses, the Eastern Regional—and she had all her usual chores, and homework too!

  And the newspaper assignment. She’d almost forgotten that.

  Suddenly her eyes flew open. I’ve got it! she thought. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it before! I’ll interview Carl Reid for the school newspaper. It’s a perfect excuse for snooping around and it will make a really good article, too. I’ll bet I’m not the only one who’s interested in those old-time toys.

  Trixie settled back against the pillow, and reviewed the wonderful banks and mechanical toys she’d only had a brief chance to look at. Each one is practically an invention in itself! she thought happily. Why, I’d interview Mr. Reid even if he wasn’t suspicious, but this only makes it better.

  Trixie snuggled under the covers, and fell asleep contemplating her plan.

  The next day after school, Trixie and Honey got off the bus at Mrs. De Keyser’s house, and spent an hour helping her. They did some laundry and took care of the pile of dishes that had accumulated in the last two days.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. De Keyser fussed. “I’m so embarrassed about this mess, but if I do dishes, I just know I’ll get my cast all wet. What a nuisance!”

  “Please, don’t give it a thought, Mrs. De Keyser,” Honey said soothingly. “If you could do these things yourself, then there’d be no need for us to come and help. We really do understand.”

  “Oh, I know you do, dear.” The distraught woman smiled at the girls. “Now, when my arm is better I’m going to invite you over for tea some afternoon. Then I’ll have a chance to do something for you!”

  “We’d love it,” Trixie said. “And besides, we’re going to miss Willy, so we were hoping you’d invite us over to play with him sometimes.”

  Willy, who had been running circles around Trixie as she dusted, started yapping enthusiastically.

  “Poor Willy will miss you, too,” Mrs. De Keyser said gratefully. “Now, I really feel bad about keeping you two busy girls here any longer. Why don’t you run along, and I’ll see you again day after tomorrow.”

  Trixie and Honey collected their books and put on their coats. After the door closed behind them, Trixie explained her plan about the interview to Honey.

  Honey hesitated. “I don’t know, Trixie,” she said. “Mr. Reid wasn’t too eager to talk the last time.”

  “But this is different,” Trixie insisted. “If I do an article about the shop, it will probably attract customers. Then Mr. Reid will make more money. Why, I’ll bet a lot of people don’t even know the store is here. Glen Road isn’t exactly a main thoroughfare, you know.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Honey said, understanding her friend’s persistence. “Why don’t you go ahead and do the interview now? I have to go home and help Miss Trask with the mending.”

  “Okay, Honey,” Trixie said. “Who are you planning to interview?”

  “I was thinking of interviewing the butcher,” Honey said, trying to suppress a giggle. “He’s going to say, ’I buy lots of turkeys at Thanksgiving and lots of hams at Christmas, and thank you very much but I most definitely don’t want to take out an ad in the Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School newspaper!’ ”

  Trixie waved to her friend as Honey skipped up the road. Then she turned her attention to the task at hand—Mr. Carl Reid and his antique store!

  Her heart beat fast as she went n
ext door to the shop. But her excitement quickly turned to dismay when she saw the “Closed” sign hanging in the window. It’s not even late, she thought grumpily. How on earth does Mr. Reid ever expect to make any money if he doesn’t keep his shop open?

  Pressing her face against the glass-paned door, she tried desperately to see inside the darkened shop. There was a tiny light on in the back. She pulled at the bell rope and banged on the door, but no one answered.

  I just know someone’s back there! Trixie thought. But whoever it is just isn’t in the mood to answer the doorbell. She knocked loudly a few more times, and then sat down on the step disconsolately. But she was deterred for only a minute. Why not just go around to the back and check to see if anyone’s there? she asked herself. After all, my name wouldn’t be Trixie Belden if I just sat on the steps and did nothing.

  Trixie picked up her books, and marched around to the back of the shop. Small windows were set rather low in the side and back of the wooden building, and the rear door was the old-fashioned Dutch kind. The top could swing open separately from the bottom, but today they were both shut, and locked.

  Trixie pressed her face against one of the small windows and tried to make out the objects in the dimly lit room. A bare overhead bulb gave off enough light for her to distinguish some of the shapes. She could see a small Queen Anne sofa, with springs popping through the horsehair. There was also a pile of old leather-bound books atop a handsome bureau with brass drawer pulls. Farther in the corner, she could see an old record player—the kind with a horn—sitting on what appeared to be an antique printing press.

  Trixie knocked on the window, but it was obvious the store was empty. Too bad! Trixie thought sadly. This would have been a perfect opportunity to do the interview—if only someone were here to answer the questions!

  Deciding to give up and go home, she turned and found herself face to face with Mr. Reid.

  “What do you mean snooping around here!” he shouted.

  “I was just...” Trixie stammered, trying to collect her thoughts.