The Black Jacket Mystery Read online

  “Why can’t Honey and I tag along and watch, too? We ought to know what to do in case one of our horses gets a bad cut sometime out in the woods.”

  “I suppose we could stand their company,” Mart said gloomily to Brian.

  “If they don’t take too long with the dishes,” Brian agreed. “Heaven knows, they have lots to learn about caring for horses.”

  Honey sighed. “There’ll be a sinkful. I guess we can’t expect you to wait.” She tried to look pathetic.

  “Well, see you later, squaws!” Mart started out. “Too bad you’re stuck!” He laughed and went out and Brian followed.

  “I guess that’s that.” Trixie sighed as she and Honey gathered up the dishes after Mr. and Mrs. Belden had gone into the living room to listen to the weather reports.

  But, a few minutes later, the kitchen door to the hallway opened, and Brian and Mart, bundled up for outdoors, came in.

  “Not done yet?” Mart said. “I told you they were slow as molasses!” he told his brother. “Let’s go.”

  But Brian whipped a couple of dish towels off the rack and handed one to him. “We’ll give them a hand.”

  “Hey! What is this? A frame-up?” Mart pretended to be annoyed.

  “I think it’s darling of you both to help.” Honey smiled at them both impartially as she handed them each a plate from the drying rack.

  “Okay, we’ve been outfoxed,” Mart groaned and went to work.

  “About the carnival,” Brian said over the clatter of silver and dishes. “Are you thinking of a snowman theme, or what? We’ll have to make up our minds about the theme before we do anything else.”

  “I’ve got it!” In her excitement Trixie splashed a platter into the soapy water so hard that suds flew all over. “Mexican! Because it’s for the benefit of our Mexican pen pals! And we can wear the Western costumes we got for Tucson! And Jim can sketch some Spanish señoritas on the posters for us to color in…”

  They talked about it on the way to the Manor House as they plodded along in the starlit night. They each had a flashlight, and they kept pretty well together at first, but Trixie was so anxious to begin talking to Regan that she soon drifted ahead of the others and kept on going when Brian stopped to mend a broken lace on his boot.

  She was quite a way ahead of them as she approached the big stables. There was no light in the barn, but the tack-room window showed yellow through the darkness. Regan must be busy there. She headed toward the fight.

  She heard Regan’s big voice as she stepped into the barn. “I know you’ll do the best you can, but it’s a tricky business, and I can’t expect miracles. I never thought anything like this could happen.”

  A man’s voice, low-pitched and indistinct, answered. Trixie couldn’t make out the words, and the voice didn’t sound familiar.

  Then Regan spoke again. “Tom and I will get back as early as we can Sunday afternoon, and we’ll meet at your place. That is, if we have any luck.” Again she heard the murmur of the second man’s voice. Regan had referred to Tom, so this wasn’t Tom. Who could it be, then? And what kind of “luck” was Regan hoping for?

  She decided not to wait for the others. She could hear their voices and laughter outside. She started across the barn toward the partly open tack-room door. The boards in the old floor squeaked loudly, but she was so used to them that she paid little attention.

  As she shoved open the door, the rear half-door to the stalls was swinging as if someone had just gone out.

  “Hi!” she greeted Regan. He was reaching up to turn a knob on the small radio that he kept on the shelf above the harness pegs. He liked to listen to the various sports contests as he worked. He turned up the volume of a musical program before he glanced at her.

  “Oh, hello, Trixie. Where are the boys?”

  “Coming,” she said shortly. “Who was that?” She nodded toward the rear half-door.

  “Who was what?” Regans green eyes looked blank.

  “I heard you talking to somebody a minute ago.” She was a little surprised. “A man.”

  “You must have heard me fooling with the radio,” Regan said carelessly.

  “No.” Trixie shook her head. “You were talking, and I heard this man answering, sort of mumbling.

  I was just wondering who he was.”

  “You have a great imagination, young lady.” Regan laughed. But his voice sounded sharp a moment later as he added, “Don’t let it run away with you. You heard the radio.”

  Trixie knew that Regan was fibbing deliberately. He just didn’t want her to know who was there with him. But why? She felt angry and hurt. Regan had always been so friendly, even when she was dumb about things he tried to show her about riding.

  The boys and Honey came in before she could argue any more.

  And Regan ignored her pointedly as he led the way to Thunderer’s stall and gave the boys a lesson in bandaging. Even Honey noticed how Regan was snubbing Trixie.

  “What are you and Regan glaring at each other for?” Honey whispered as Regan demonstrated the way to wrap the injured foreleg.

  “Guilty conscience. His, I mean,” Trixie whispered back. “Tell you later.”

  And, as they prepared for bed a half hour later, after the chilly walk from the stables, Trixie tried to explain.

  “It isn’t at all like Regan,” Honey admitted, wrinkling her smooth forehead in perplexity. “Are you sure it wasn’t the radio, Trixie? You know how you are... you could be wrong.”

  Trixie glared at her friend. “There you go! I told you I heard Regan. I’m certain of it. And the way he acted just now was proof of it. Every time he looked at me he sort of froze up. He thinks I’ve been spying on him.”

  “Well—” Honey looked uncomfortable.

  Trixie’s glare faded. A grin replaced it. “I guess I can’t blame him. I did listen, but I didn’t intend to.”

  Honey nodded. “Maybe he’s just protecting a friend—the other man you heard. Maybe he’s doing something kind for him. Anyhow, it must be all right, or your mother wouldn’t have tried to help Regan, would she?”

  Trixie sighed. “Of course not! Honey, I’m going to apologize to Regan for being so nosy, and I’m going to forget all about it, no matter what he’s up to.”

  But Honey knew better. Trixie could no more give up trying to solve a mystery—any mystery— than a bulldog could be pried off a bone once he had hold of it!

  The Missing Skate • 4

  T.G.I.S.!”TRIXIE SAT down sleepily at the table and rubbed her eyes.

  “M.T.!” Honey agreed, stifling a yawn.

  Mr. Belden, who had been up since six doing his weekly home chores, stared at them over the top of his paper. “Translated into English, that means?”

  “Thank Goodness It's Saturday!” The two girls laughed, and Honey added, “And I said, ‘Me, Too!’ ” Mr. Belden went back to his paper, shaking his head. But a minute later he put it down quickly as a wail of grief came from the kitchen. “What’s the matter with that child? He’s done nothing but yell all morning!”

  Trixie looked worried. She had overslept again, because she and Honey had talked and giggled half the night. Moms had gotten Bobby up and dressed and down to breakfast without disturbing her and Honey.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Trixie said hastily.

  Her mother and Bobby were looking through the back porch closet for something among the boots and snowshoes and a stray baseball bat.

  “Can I help, Moms?” Trixie asked.

  “I can’t seem to find Bobby’s other ice skate. The boys have promised to take him to the lake for another skating lesson this morning as soon as they get back from working out the horses.”

  “Trixie tooked it! I know she did!” Bobby burst out crying again.

  “Look, half-pint!” Trixie held the remaining skate against her shoe. “What good would your skate do me? It’s inches too small!”

  Bobby looked critically at it and then nodded, dashing away the tears. But they started
again at once. “Wah! I’ll never find my skate! It’s losted!” Honey came in quickly. “Skate? I think I know where it might be. Last week at the lake, Bobby banged one of his blades against a rock, and Regan took it to the toolhouse to file the nick out of the blade. I imagine the skate is still there or in the tack room.”

  “Well, that’s a relief!” Mrs. Belden got to her feet. “I imagine Regan s forgotten it, poor fellow.”

  Trixie felt a tingle along her spine. She had bumped into the mystery again. “Why is he a ‘poor fellow,’ Moms?” she asked, much too carelessly.

  Mrs. Belden looked startled and bit her lip. Then she gave a little laugh. “I mean he’s probably been much too busy taking care of that horse that was cut the other day. He does work hard.”

  Trixie and Honey looked at each other. Moms wasn’t very good at covering up.

  She hurried on. “Do you think you could find Bobby’s skate at your place, Honey? The boys are still there working with the horses, and they can help.”

  “Of course we’ll find it. Come on, Trix and Bobby. And if the skate’s all fixed, you and I’ll go skating, Bobby, and I’ll show you some slick tricks to surprise the boys!”

  Bobby was halfway to the door with his lone skate, but Trixie lagged behind.

  “Well, come on!” Honey shouted to Trixie from the doorway.

  Trixie hesitated. “I’ve got a lot to do—” she said, looking almost as pathetic as Bobby had.

  Mrs. Belden laughed. “Scoot along. And take your skates. A little bird told me you’re going to have to practice hard if you plan to do any fancy stuff at the carnival.”

  “You can say that again, Moms!” Trixie sighed. “That bird said a beakful, even if he has a blond crew cut and thinks he knows all the answers!”

  “He does,” Honey said, laughing, “when it comes to skating, speed skating particularly. Mart’s about the nearest to a professional I’ve ever seen, and Dad’s taken me to watch a lot of them.”

  “Is he that good?” Trixie was really surprised. “Hey, he’ll be able to win a prize for the B.W.G.’s. Gleeps, I hope it’s something the club can use!”

  “Your father thinks his friend Mr. Burnside of the lumber company will donate some flooring from that old saltbox house they’re wrecking. It seems to me it would be just right for your clubhouse,” Moms said.

  “That’s it! We’ll ask Mr. Maypenny how to lay it. And we won’t have everything getting dusty the way it does now.” Trixie was planning. “You know, that saltbox house was famous. Maybe we could charge admission to show the floor...

  “Dad hasn’t even spoken to Mr. Burnside yet,” her mother reminded her. “Remember that old saying about not counting your chickens before they’re hatched!”

  “My skate!” Bobby interrupted, tugging at Honey’s hand. “Bundle me up an’ let’s go.”

  “A good idea. Scoot, all of you!” Mrs. Belden shook her apron at them, smiling. And they scooted to dress in their heavy sweaters and scarves.

  “You’re spoiling those youngsters.” Mr. Belden was in the doorway, newspaper in hand. “They should do their chores first. They’re old enough to feel responsible for their duties.”

  “I know.” Mrs. Belden smiled saucily at her husband. “I’m terrible. I make rules and then break them.” She walked over to the hall door and watched a moment as Trixie and Honey and Bobby shrugged into their outdoor clothing and left hastily, laughing and talking.

  Mrs. Belden turned and saw her husband’s affectionate smile. “But I’m not sorry. They’re so young and so—helpless.” She hesitated a little over the last word.

  Peter Belden snorted and rattled his paper. “Trixie and Honey helpless? After the situations they’ve managed to get into and out of again without getting hurt?”

  “I guess I wasn’t thinking of them, so much. They’re lucky—about a lot of things. But there are others who may not mean any more harm at the start than our girls do, but who’ve had a different kind of luck.”

  Mr. Belden looked serious. “I know. Poor Regan. I wish we could do more to help him, but the safest tiling is to stay out of it and hope it works out.”

  The wind was blowing hard as Trixie and Honey ventured out into Glen Road, each holding one of Bobby’s hands. Big, racing clouds were moving down from the Catskills. Soft and fluffy like great gobs of swirling whipped cream, they seemed to be trying to escape the masses of dark gray that pursued and swallowed them one by one.

  “Looks like another big storm,” Honey shouted against the roar of the wind.

  “Marvelous! Hope the snow sticks around till we’ve staged our carnival!” Trixie yelled back. “It would be gloopy if the lake defrosted too soon!”

  Now they were past the woods that divided Crab-apple Farm from the Wheeler estate. The neat little cottage at the foot of the long, sloping driveway had once been the gatehouse of the Manor House. The B.W.G.’s had taken it over as their clubhouse.

  Trixie and Honey had found it the summer before, veiled and almost hidden by rank-growing wild honeysuckle and wisteria vines. Now, thanks to a great deal of effort on the part of the Bob-Whites, it stood neat and strong in its grove with blue spruce and dogwood trees all around.

  There had been mystery around the cottage at first, about a stolen diamond embedded in the dirt floor and vicious thieves who wanted it. But Trixie' and Honey had outmaneuvered them and turned them over to the law.

  Later, in a November hurricane, a tree had smashed the roof in. But with hard work, they had restored it, weathertight. Now all their summer and winter sports equipment, from water skis to toboggans, was stored safely in it.

  They stopped to admire their clubhouse, ignoring Bobby’s impatient tugging.

  “It was worth the struggle,” Trixie said solemnly. “And lots of fun,” Honey added.

  “It was a good thing Mr. Maypenny showed the boys how to put on the new roof,” Trixie said with a giggle, “though he did do most of the heavy work himself, so he’d be sure it would be done right.”

  “Our brothers didn’t mind that a bit!” Honey laughed. “Remember how you and I thought the old dear was a big, bad poacher, robbing Dad’s game preserve—”

  Trixie nodded. “I sure do.”

  “Well, he’s a wonderful gamekeeper, and Brian calls him a typical Hudson River Valley settler and the salt of the earth.”

  “I’m c-cold and I want my skate!” Bobby pulled at her sleeve. “Why do we stand here talking?”

  “That’s a fair question, Bobby,” Honey admitted. “Let’s race Trixie up to the stables. Come on!”

  She took Bobby’s hand, and they started running up the long driveway, but Trixie didn’t accept the challenge. Let them run. She had some thinking to do about Regan and his mysterious problem. Moms had almost come out with it. Some kind of trouble. Maybe he had had an accident, hit-and-run or something. But Regan would never run. He would stay and face it, whatever had happened. Maybe it was Tom who was in a jam. Maybe his wife Celia would let something drop about it. Maybe she would mention that stranger who was in the tack room last night with Regan. Trixie was bewildered.

  She caught herself suddenly. She had told Honey she wasn’t going to think about it anymore, and here she was all tangled up in it in her mind.

  “I’m going to forget it!” she said aloud fiercely and then started up the driveway, running to overtake Honey and Bobby and to put this silly mystery out of her mind.

  Honey and Bobby, flushed and breathless, were waiting outside the barn. “Let’s do it again!” Bobby called out.

  “Not me! You won, fair and square!” Trixie laughed and winked at Honey.

  “The boys—don’t seem to be—around,” Honey panted. “Guess they’re still riding.”

  “We can look around the tack room for Angel Face’s skate and ask them when they come if they’ve seen it anyplace.”

  So they went into the tack room and looked high and low. “Not here,” Trixie said, lifting aside a paper file box to look behind it. />
  As she picked up the file box, the unfastened end of it dropped open. A pile of bills and papers slid out onto the shelf, and some fluttered to the floor.

  “Gleeps! Now I’ve done it!” Trixie moaned. ‘Look, Honey! Regan will skin me alive. I’ve spilled all his bills and stuff, and I don’t know how he had them filed.”

  Honey came over swiftly. “Let’s pick them up and put them in the file, and when we see him tomorrow, we can explain that it was an accident.” They retrieved most of the papers, but one sheet had drifted under the workbench. Trixie had to crawl after it.

  “I hope he won’t be too angry.” She wriggled out backward clutching the missing sheet. “Here, slip this in—” She broke off abruptly and stared at the writing on it.

  “Now what?” Honey asked, seeing her startled expression.

  “A page from a letter—” Trixie still stared at the paper. She read aloud, “ ‘—but Judge Armen is willing to let you try. Your sister felt it is probably the last hope left to straighten— Oh! I’m sorry!” Trixie’s face was scarlet as she thrust the paper at Honey. “Here, put it away!”

  Honey slipped it into the file and replaced the file on the shelf. “You didn’t mean to snoop, Trix.”

  “I really am sorry,” Trixie confessed unhappily. “You couldn’t help glancing at it,” Honey insisted. “It was perfectly natural. Anyhow, you only read a few words. You didn’t find out anything you shouldn’t.”

  Trixie sighed. “But I did, Hon. It practically said that Regan’s in some kind of trouble with the law ” There were voices outside at that moment, and the sound of horses’ hooves on the barn floor. The boys had returned.

  Bobby ran out to meet them. “We can’t find my skate,” the girls heard him complain loudly. “Have you got it?”

  “Honey”—Trixie still felt terribly guilty—“we don’t have to tell them about Regan being in trouble, do we?”

  Honey looked grave and shook her head. “We would just be gossiping if we did. I still say you didn’t find out anything, really. So there’s nothing we could tell.”