The Indian Burial Ground Mystery Read online

  I sound just like Mart, she thought as she quickly collected her things. Then, straightening up, Trixie looked defiantly at Charles Miller.

  “If I were you,” she said with a smug grin, “I’d try being a little nicer to people. Nobody likes a grouch!”

  “Why you...” Charles started.

  “Hey, do you think she was listening?” Harry snapped, his eyes narrowing as he watched her.

  “I doubt it,” Charles answered. But he looked a little worried. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. For one thing, she’s just a high-school kid.

  And for another, I’m going to see to it that she gets thrown off this dig.”

  Squaring her shoulders and holding her head high, Trixie slowly marched away from the two men.

  “We’ll see about that,” she muttered under her breath. “And wait until I tell Brian and Mart what I just heard. You guys won’t get near the Historical Society if I have anything to say about it.”

  Filled with determination, Trixie hurried through the woods to find Honey—and Professor Conroy.

  5 * Treasure Talk

  “And then Charles said we weren’t allowed to work there,” Trixie said to Professor Conroy, trying to control her anger. “We were working just where you told us, too.” Professor Conroy looked perplexed. Slowly turning a small trowel over and over in his hands, he looked at the red-faced girl standing in front of him.

  “It really doesn’t matter where anyone digs,” he finally said. “I’ll speak to Charles and see if there’s any reason for this. In the meantime, why don’t you go over to the students in the cleaning tent and see if they need any help.”

  Slightly annoyed that Professor Conroy hadn’t exactly taken her side, Trixie stood there lamely, trying to hide her anger. Although Professor Conroy didn’t say as much, Trixie detected an expression of annoyance on his face. She wished she could think of something to say that would make him go off and scold Charles Miller. Then, thinking better of it, Trixie turned away. After finding Honey, they spent the afternoon hanging around the cleaning tent, accomplishing nothing.

  That night after supper, the Bob-Whites met in their clubhouse. The clubhouse had once been the old gatehouse on the Wheeler estate. The Bob-Whites had repaired it, hung curtains, and added some old furniture. They’d even gotten a wood-burning stove from Mrs. De Keyser, who lived down Glen Road. The stove made it possible for them to use the clubhouse for most of the year.

  Trixie was curled up in a newly covered armchair. She had just finished telling Di, Mart, Dan, and Brian about the unfortunate meeting in the woods with Charles Miller and Harry.

  “Maybe there’s a real treasure buried on the preserve,” Trixie concluded excitedly.

  “I still say, Little Miss Detective,” Brian said firmly, “the only thing Charles Miller could possibly be talking about is the buried ‘treasure’ of archaeology. You’re wasting your time.”

  “I am not,” Trixie countered. “I think Charles Miller and Harry know something about a real treasure. I say they’re using this dig as a cover for finding it. Maybe they’re looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure.”

  “The only thing people find when they’re looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure,” Mart said with a superior look on his face, “is other people looking for Captain Kidd’s treasure.”

  “What about the map part?” Trixie asked. “What other kind of map could they be talking about in the same breath as treasure?”

  “Probably an old map of the Indian encampment,” Brian said reassuringly. “Now don’t get yourself all worked up over nothing.”

  “Nothing!” Trixie blurted angrily, but inside she was disappointed that Brian didn’t agree with her. He usually took her side, and Trixie was always grateful for it.

  “Speaking of nothing,” Mart interrupted, “I have had nothing to eat since dinner. What we need in this clubhouse is a refrigerator full of food.”

  “It’s only been an hour since dinner, but let’s all go to the Manor House,” Honey suggested. “There’s always loads of food there, and Miss Trask said she’s missed us lately.”

  “I’ve missed her, too,” Di said softly. “I’ve been so busy with the dig and taking care of the twins. I haven’t had a chance to see anyone.”

  “Let’s go,” Mart whooped, skidding out the door. “No sense hanging around here talking about food. We could be up in the kitchen doing something about it!”

  As the six young people trudged up the driveway, they heard the sound of laughter and music coming through the trees.

  “That must be coming from the dig,” Trixie exclaimed.

  “It sounds like guitars and folksinging,” Di said.

  “It sounds like a party to me,” Brian said. “Let’s go see!”

  “What about food?” Mart moaned dramatically, clutching his stomach.

  “Forget about food for a while,” Dan said. “Maybe we’ll have some fun, instead.”

  “What could be more fun than food?” Mart mumbled as he grudgingly followed the other Bob-Whites along the dirt road leading to the dig site.

  When they came to the clearing, a lively campfire was burning. The students were sitting around the fire on logs and rocks, singing and talking. Professor Conroy was there, too, and it looked as if a delightful songfest was on.

  “Join us,” he boomed, seeing the six Bob-Whites straggle in through the trees. “We need a tenor. Any of you a tenor?”

  “At your service,” Mart called back. Then he began to warble, “Do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do!” They all found spots in the circle, and the singing continued.

  “Where’s Charles?” Brian asked, after looking around the assembled group.

  “He’s in the city,” answered one of the graduate students. “He goes there every night.”

  “Why?” Trixie asked with interest.

  The girl replied with a toss of her long blonde hair. “He pays his own tuition, so he has to work every summer to earn money. But he didn’t want to miss the dig, either. He decided to do both.”

  “How can he do both?” Di asked.

  “He works on the dig during the day, and he has a night job, that’s how. That way he earns the money, and doesn’t lose the course credit.”

  “Whew,” Brian said. “That’s a rough deal.” Trixie suddenly had a thought. All the talk of Charles had stirred her questions again. Since she hadn’t gotten too much sympathy from the others, she decided to talk with Professor Conroy. Maybe he would have a key to what Charles was talking about in the woods. Shifting her place, she managed to find a spot next to him around the campfire.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know any stories about treasure in this area?” she asked during a break in the singing.

  “Oh, yes,” Professor Conroy answered. His eyes started to glow in that special way they always did when he was about to begin one of his little lectures. “But there are always hundreds of treasure tales that circulate in areas of great historical significance such as this one. Why, I could go on all night.

  “Ahem.” He cleared his throat happily. “For example, Captain Kidd—whom you surely have heard about—is said to have buried various treasure caches along the Hudson River. There’s supposed to be a cave somewhere around Crow’s Nest—right near here— which contains some of his treasure. He was also supposed to have buried treasure on Gardiners Island, in Gardiners Bay, and on Long Island. But no one’s ever found a bit of it. I can only assume that he never actually buried it. Maybe he spent it all, heh-heh.”

  Professor Conroy was obviously enjoying himself. “There are Dutch treasure legends, too,” he went on. “With ghosts! A long time ago, a Dutch ship laden with treasure sank in the Hudson. The survivors knew where the treasure should have been, but because of shifts in the channel and shoreline of the river, they were never able to find it. But they swore to continue looking. Rumor has it that at low tide, when the moon is full, their ghosts still wander up and down in search of the gold, while a white hound howls at their shadowy wraiths.” />
  By this time, the singing had petered out and the group around the campfire grew hushed. The professor’s rumbly, eerie voice made the stories seem truly scary. Honey shivered. Trixie was sorry she’d even asked. She didn’t really believe in ghosts, but still....

  “Ooooo Ooooooo,” Mart wailed spookily. Trixie jumped as the others laughed. “Let’s tell ghost stories around the campfire,” Mart said.

  “Let’s not and say we did,” Honey answered nervously. “Besides, it’s getting late. I should be getting back home. We all have to get to work early tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely right, Miss Wheeler,” said the professor. “We should all pack it in. Early day tomorrow for us chaps, too.”

  Everyone stood up, and while they were stretching, collecting guitars and cases, and pouring sand on the fire, Trixie seized another chance to ask Professor Conroy about Charles Miller.

  “Why, yes, Miss Belden,” he answered cautiously. “I did talk with Charles Miller about that little contretemps this morning. I’ve decided to have Charles supervise the work only on the burial ground. As student head of the dig, he should be spending his time on the most important area. The village site has far less significance—not that you girls should feel bad about being assigned there.”

  “But what about—” Trixie started. Professor Conroy went right on talking. “Charles is an exceptional student—one of the best I’ve ever had. But he has money problems, and that sometimes makes him bad-tempered. I don’t think you girls should worry about Charles. I’m sure he’ll be around to apologize to you tomorrow.”

  Trixie nodded her head, but she felt wary. Apologize? I’ll believe it when I see it, she thought glumly.

  Noticing that the other Bob-Whites were saying good-night to everyone, Trixie quickly excused herself and caught up with them.

  “There wasn’t one speck of food at this gathering,” Mart grumbled as they walked home. “I suppose it’s too late to make a little side visit to your refrigerator, Honey.”

  “I’m afraid so, Mart,” Honey said with a laugh. “Will you live?”

  “I doubt it.”

  The group split up at the clubhouse, and Honey ran up her driveway. Dan walked Di back to her house, and then he went on to Mr. Maypenny’s. The three young Beldens made their way home to Crabapple Farm.

  As they walked, Trixie thought about everything she’d learned tonight. One thing stuck out in her mind—Charles Miller needed money, badly. Instead of calming her suspicions, that fact pointed to just one thing— Charles’s guilt. Graduate students aren’t known for being burglars, Trixie thought, but most students aren’t as poor as Charles Miller is, either. And then there was that mysterious conversation with Harry in the woods, and the newspaper article, and Charles’s hostility toward her and Honey. It was all pretty suspicious—and pretty confusing, too.

  By the time they arrived home, Trixie was too tired to think about Charles Miller anymore. Slowly, she made her way up the stairs to her room, thankful that it was bedtime. Tomorrow would be another long day.

  6 * A Mysterious Accident

  When Trixie got to the second floor of the hospital the next day, she made a startling discovery.

  As she wheeled her book cart into room 204, the door started to swing shut. It banged against the side of the cart and a pile of magazines slid to the floor with a loud flap. She didn’t see who the patient was until she stood up, holding the slippery pile in her arms—and then she almost dropped it again.

  “Professor Conroy!” Trixie exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m not sure I know,” Professor Conroy answered. He attempted a weak smile, but his voice quavered. “Bump on the head, apparently.”

  “How did you bump your head?”

  “That’s the odd part. I got up last night to head for the bathroom, and the next thing I knew I was in here.”

  “What does the doctor say?” Trixie asked, appalled.

  “Must have hit my head on a low-hanging branch or something. Might have a concussion. I’m in here for observation for ten days. Can’t even get up. Terrible!”

  “What about the dig?” Trixie gasped. “Who will take care of things?”

  “Fortunately, I have Charles,” Professor Conroy sighed. “I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

  Trixie thought for a moment. An upsetting conclusion was forming in her mind. Fortunately, my foot, she thought. I need to find Honey—and right away!

  “Would you like a magazine or a book?” Trixie asked quickly. “Can I get you anything at all?”

  “No, thank you, Miss Belden,” the professor answered weakly. “I think I’ll just lie here quietly. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to read or not. The doctor said he’d drop by this afternoon and have a chat about my condition.”

  Trixie told Professor Conroy she’d check in on him the next day. Then she quickly pulled her book cart out of the room, and parked it in the corridor. She raced off to find Honey.

  It was almost 1 o’clock when she finally found Honey sitting at the bedside of an elderly man, reading him the newspaper. Trixie controlled her urge to interrupt, and backed out of the room. In a few minutes, Honey would be through, and she could tell her everything on the way home.

  “Don’t you see?” Trixie said as they rode their bikes along Glen Road. “Charles didn’t like being told to stay away from the village site. So he hit Professor Conroy on the head last night, figuring it would look like an accident. Now he’s in charge of the dig for ten days, and he can do anything he wants!”

  “I still don’t see why Charles wanted us to move. What’s the connection between the place where we were assigned to dig and a treasure? Besides, Charles was off at work last night.”

  “He could have come back from New York anytime. Or Harry could have done it.”

  “I thought you said Charles was a burglar. Burglars don’t hit people on the head unless they get interrupted in the middle of a burglary.”

  “I’m sorry you don’t agree with me, Honey. But I know there’s something fishy going on, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  The two girls rode on. Since Professor Conroy had told them to continue working at the village site, that’s where they headed. But when they arrived, they found a very gloomy-looking Charles sitting on a log.

  “Didn’t I tell you girls to get reassigned?” he asked grouchily. “You keep turning up all the time, like bad pennies.”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Trixie started with a smug look on her face. “We checked with Professor Conroy last night, and he said that he’d told you to devote all your time to the burial ground.”

  “He never said a word to me about it,” Charles replied.

  “What?” Trixie asked, startled.

  “Listen,” Charles continued, “I’m student head of this dig, and I’m telling you to get reassigned.”

  Trixie was furious. Honey was perplexed. Both of them had heard Professor Conroy say he’d spoken with Charles. But Charles was denying ever having had such a conversation. One of them wasn’t telling the truth, and it was probably Charles. But how to prove it? And what could be the reason for Charles’s denial? Suddenly Trixie had an idea.

  “All right,” Trixie said with a conciliatory smile. “Anything you say. But we’re worried about Professor Conroy. How did he get knocked unconscious in the middle of the night?”

  “Unconscious?” Charles was visibly surprised. “He wasn’t knocked unconscious. This morning he complained that he felt ill, something about allergies. He went off to see the doctor. How do you know he was unconscious?”

  “Because he told me so in the hospital this morning,” Trixie said, carefully observing Charles’s facial expression. “The doctors think he might have a concussion.”

  Charles looked shocked, then mumbled something about having to check into it later. He turned away from the girls, and began consulting a chart showing geological features and elevations of the preserve.

  The gir
ls said a hurried good-bye and went off to look for Brian.

  “He’s obviously lying,” Trixie mumbled. She swatted a fly that was buzzing furiously around her face, and she couldn’t resist making a joke about it. “You know, Honey, this forest is full of annoying insects. The sixlegged and the two-legged kind, if you know what I mean!”

  Stomping back through the woods was difficult. The air was hot and muggy, and it felt like rain. Both girls were feeling bad-tempered and confused. When they finally located Brian, he wasn’t much help.

  “I still don’t feel any differently about Charles Miller,” Brian told his sister. “Charles is a very nice guy. I spent the morning with him in the archive room at the Historical Society. I had a chance to watch him and talk with him. There’s nothing strange about him, believe me.”

  “What was in the archive room that Charles Miller needed to look at?” Trixie asked sharply.

  “Revolutionary War papers and books, for your information,” Brian snapped back. But there was a small twinkle in his eye. “No maps, Trix, just diaries and letters and stuff like that.”

  “He’s supposed to be interested in Indians, not the Revolutionary War,” Trixie said in a sulky voice. “That’s history, not archaeology.”

  “Not true,” Brian said, tousling her hair. “You think the Indians disappeared the minute the settlers arrived? They ate Thanksgiving dinner and then said good-bye forever?”

  “No. I guess not,” Trixie conceded.

  “There happens to have been a big overlap,” Brian continued. “A lot of the letters and diaries written back then mention Indian customs, lore, and stories. Is that so suspicious?”

  “Maybe not,” Trixie said, but she refused to give up. “I’ll have to do my own research. But I still say that Charles hit Professor Conroy on the head last night. He was angry at him, wasn’t he?”

  “Maybe he was angry at him,” Brian said, trying to be patient. “But that doesn’t mean he hit him on the head. We’re civilized people, not a bunch of monkeys who go around acting out our aggressions. Sometimes I get angry at you, but I don’t go banging you on the head, do I?”