The Pet Show Mystery Page 5

  back to the office.”

  As they followed him, the noise gradually dropped off. Finally it was quiet again.

  Crowded into Dr. Chang’s tiny office, the Bob-Whites quickly reviewed the plans for the pet show and the progress to date.

  “The worst problem we’ve encountered so far,” Honey said casually, “is that we’ve irritated the school secretary by distributing fliers without getting her permission first. Miss von Trammel was very upset about it.”

  “Miss von Trammel—that’s the secretary’s name. Do you know her, by any chance?” Trixie added.

  “Yes, Miss von Trammel and I know each other,” Dr. Chang said. “She was one of my first clients when I came to Sleepyside. She had an Irish setter, like the Beldens’ Reddy. Rather better behaved, though.

  “Rusty was a beautiful animal. He was well trained and well treated. Miss von Trammel loved him.” Dr. Chang’s face grew sad as he spoke.

  “What happened?” Trixie asked, breaking a short but heavy silence.

  “Well, in the end, she killed the dog with love. You see, Rusty had a tumor. The lump appeared on the dog’s side, and Miss von Trammel tried for a long time—too long—to ignore it. I suppose she thought that it would go away by itself.

  “By the time she faced the truth and brought the dog to me, it was too late. I did what I could. She wanted me to do more. Finally I told her there was nothing more to be done. I told her the animal should be put down, to end its suffering.”

  “Is that what she did?” Trixie asked. “Eventually,” Dr. Chang said, “after she took the dog to another vet who said the same thing. By then, however, she’d decided I’d wasted time trying ineffective treatments. She said she could have saved the dog by taking it to the other vet first. It wasn’t true, of course. But I suppose it eased the guilt she felt about ignoring the tumor for so long.”

  “So she killed her own dog and blamed it on you,” Trixie said bluntly.

  “I think your way of putting it is too strong,” Dr. Chang told Trixie. “I don’t know that I could have saved the dog if she’d brought it to me immediately. But she did blame me for the dog’s death.”

  “That was so long ago,” Honey said. “You’d think she’d be over her anger by now.”

  “It really wasn’t anger, though,” Dr. Chang said. “I think it was guilt. That feeling tends to last quite a while—forever, sometimes.”

  “Poor Miss von Trammel,” Honey murmured.

  Dr. Chang’s story seemed to cast a pall of sadness over the room. The young people finished their discussion, said good-bye to Dr. Chang, and headed for the car.

  As soon as they were on their way home, however, Jim said briskly, “What’s the idea of bringing up Miss von Trammel? You two girls were fishing for something. What was it?”

  “We still think the rumor about the pet show was started deliberately,” Trixie said. “We wanted to find out if Miss von Trammel was a likely suspect.”

  Jim looked puzzled. “And?” he asked lead-ingly.

  Trixie blew out a long sigh. “And it looks like we were wrong. Anybody who once loved a dog that much wouldn’t try to sabotage a pet show that’s raising money to keep animals from starving.”

  “It’s good to see you backing away from a conclusion, instead of jumping to one,” Jim said.

  The playful comment made Trixie’s temper flare. “Just because I was wrong about Miss von Trammel doesn’t mean I’m wrong about the rumor. Somebody started it, and I’m going to find out who did—with your help or without it!”

  7 * The Man from the Mall

  IN THE SCHOOL CAFETERIA the next day, the Bob-Whites made it clear that they would have no part of a mystery.

  “The pet show is only a week and a half away,” Jim said. “We have to give it all our energy, so we can get everything done in time.”

  “We can’t afford any wild-goose chases,” Brian said. He paused and smiled at his unintentional pun. “Not if we want to save the pheasants.”

  “I have barely enough time to give to the pet show,” Dan said. “I can’t investigate a rumor, too.”

  “I heartily concur,” Mart said. “The mysteries of subsorts are the only sort I can devote my attention to.”

  “Does that mean you’re still having computer problems?” Di asked.

  “A few minor discrepancies continue to plague me. I shall set them to rest in the next day or two,” Mart said.

  “You’d better,” Trixie said. “Otherwise, there surely won’t be any wild-goose chases, because our goose will be cooked.”

  Trixie’s joke was met with loud groans. “Okay, back to the business at hand,” Jim said. “I ran into Nick Roberts this morning. He wants us to drop by his father’s shop and pick out the trophies and ribbons we want for the show. Who’s going to go, and when?”

  “The sooner the better,” Brian said.

  “For sure, except I’m really busy this afternoon,” Mart said through an enormous mouthful of sandwich. “I’ll be closeted with the computer, as usual.”

  “I have to take the first bus home,” Dan said. “I do, too. Sorry,” Di added.

  “Well, there’s still four of us,” Jim said.

  “Two of whom need to man the sign-up table,” Brian pointed out.

  “Ah-ha! Then Honey and I get to go to the store and pick out the trophies,” Trixie said, rising quickly from the table.

  “How did you reach that conclusion?” Jim asked.

  “Well, if someone’s going to man the table, it has to be you and Brian, doesn’t it? Meanwhile, the women will be downtown picking out ribbons. We’ll be back here in time for our ride home. See you!” Before the boys could protest, Trixie gathered up her lunch refuse and headed for her locker.

  “Brr!” Honey said as she and Trixie started off on foot for downtown Sleepyside. “Maybe we should have let the boys do this, since they could have taken the car.”

  “Huh-uh. We’ve done more than our share of sitting at that sign-up table. We started this whole project because we were sick of being stuck indoors, so why get stuck at school?”

  “It is good exercise,” said Honey, pulling her head down into the protective collar of her jacket. “The store isn’t far, anyway.”

  “N-o-o. And if we get too cold, we can always stop in someplace to warm up,” Trixie said in an overly casual tone.

  Unable to turn her head in her bulky coat, Honey looked at Trixie out of the corner of her eye. “Just what kind of someplace did you have in mind?” she asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Someplace where people wouldn’t mind giving shelter. Someplace where the people are, you know, charitable. Someplace like, um, the World Anti-Hunger Foundation.”

  “So that’s it!” Honey said. “I wondered why you were so eager to run this errand. But, Trixie, you know what the boys said, and they’re right. We don’t have time—”

  “To chase wild geese,” Trixie said. “I know, I know. But we won’t be any good to the pet show if we get frostbite. The foundation office is right on the way; I checked the phone book. We’ll stop on the way back from Roberts’s Trophy Shop. C’mon—let’s hurry.” Trixie picked up her pace, and she kept the pace brisk enough so that Honey couldn’t protest.

  By the time they reached the trophy shop, Trixie felt warm under her layers of woolen clothes.

  The shop was cozy and comfortable. Unlike the previous store, which had burned down, this one was bright and cheerful, even on a bleak winter day. There was more display space, and the colorful T-shirts and hats that had helped to make the store successful were pinned up on the walls.

  Nick came out of the back room and smiled when he saw the girls. “Surviving the cold?” he asked.

  “Just barely,” Trixie said, feeling her cheeks start to tingle as the warm air hit them.

  “We’re fired up about the pet show, anyway. That helps,” Honey told him.

  “Ah, yes, the pet show.” Nick reached under the counter and drew out a cardboard box and a t
hin catalog. “Ribbons first.” He opened the box and drew out ribbons in purple, blue, red, and yellow. Some of the ribbons were plain, and some had rosettes on the top. “You told me everyone’s to be a winner at this show, so I wasn’t sure you’d want a different color for first-, second-, and third-place. Still, all blues or purples could be boring.”

  “Hmm. Good point.” Trixie considered the ribbons that were lying on the counter.

  “Every animal has its own category—or will, if Mart ever gets his computer program running. So there can’t be any second-places,” Honey said.

  Suddenly, Trixie had an idea. “Of course. We need all first-place ribbons.”

  “They aren’t really first-place, if there’s only one animal per category. They are all champions, though, so let’s make all the ribbons purple,” Nick said.

  Trixie nodded emphatically. “Perfect solution.”

  “But still a little boring,” Nick said. “Isn’t there some way to liven things up?”

  “Not without getting Dr. Chang into trouble with the pet owners,” Honey said. “We can’t risk that. He agreed to judge only because we promised to have a prize for every pet.”

  “Wait a minute!” Trixie said. “What about a ‘People’s Choice Award’? Everyone who buys a ticket can get a ballot, and they can vote for their favorite pet. Then we’ll have a special award without putting Dr. Chang on the spot.”

  “Oh, Trixie, that’s perfectly perfect!” Honey exclaimed.

  “It is, indeed,” Nick said. He flipped through the catalog. “Here’s a trophy that would work well. It’s a simple loving cup on a walnut base with a plaque that we can en-grave: ‘People’s Choice Award, Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson Pet Show,’ and the date. How does that sound?”

  Trixie’s shrug showed that she had nothing to add. “It’s perfect!”

  “Fine. I’ll have everything ready by a week from Saturday,” Nick said.

  “Gleeps! That sounds so close!” Trixie exclaimed.

  “It is close. And there’s so much more to do!” Honey added.

  “That means we’d better get going,” Trixie told Nick. The girls pulled on their hats, jackets, and mittens, and hurried back outside.

  “That didn’t take long at all,” Trixie said as they headed down the street. “There’s plenty of time for a stop at the World Anti-Hunger Foundation.”

  “You aren’t going to just walk in and accuse Paul Gale of starting the rumor, are you?” Honey asked worriedly.

  “Of course not. How unsubtle do you think I am? I’ll just try to get him talking and see if he says anything suspicious.”

  The trouble was, Trixie didn’t have the slightest idea what she’d say to Paul Gale. She lapsed into silence as she planned the conversation in her mind. Lost in this imaginary dialogue, she was surprised to look up and see the foundation office up ahead. The sight of someone in heavy winter clothes coming out of the office added to her surprise.

  It’s Norma Nelson, it has to be, Trixie thought. I’d know that clumsy walk of hers anywhere, wouldn’t I? Trixie stared hard at the person, who was moving away from her, trying to decide if her eyes could possibly be deceiving her. What would Norma be doing here? She should be out on her route on Glen Road this time of day. Why would she be visiting Paul Gale?

  Just as Trixie opened her mouth to ask Honey if she’d noticed too, the person disappeared around the corner. Well, it just couldn’t have been Norma, that’s all, she thought. Meantime, here we are at the foundation office, and I haven’t decided what I’m going to say to Paul Gale.

  As it turned out, however, Trixie didn’t have to say anything to Paul Gale, because he wasn’t in his office. Instead, a young blonde woman, simply dressed in a woolen skirt and matching sweater, came out of a back room and greeted the girls. “Welcome to the World Anti-Hunger Foundation,” she said. “Have you come to make a pledge to help us in our work?”

  “N-no,” Trixie said, taken aback. What should I say I’m here for? she thought frantically.

  “We just came in to find out more about the foundation,” Honey said smoothly. “We saw Paul Gale on television the other day.”

  The young woman smiled. “Hearing Paul’s message inspires many people to give. That’s why he spends so much time away from the office, getting that message across to as many people as possible. Meantime, I’d be happy to tell you about the foundation.”

  She walked across the room to a large map of the world that was pinned on the wall. “The red pins on the map indicate all of the areas where desperately poor and needy people are receiving food and emergency supplies from the foundation,” she said, pointing to the map.

  “The green pins,” she continued, “indicate all those cities and towns in the United States where people are contributing money to the foundation.”

  Trixie noted that the number of green pins far outnumbered the red ones, and she mentioned that fact out loud.

  “Of course,” the young woman said. “The ratio of donors to recipients has to be five or six to one. For example, your pledge won’t be enough to entirely support a needy person.”

  Trixie began to feel a slightly choked feeling, as if the woman were exerting a physical pressure on her.

  The woman led the girls across the room to a huge leather photo album that was lying open on a lectern. “Here are some pictures of people who have been helped by contributions like yours,” she said.

  Over the woman’s bent head, Trixie darted a look at Honey. Honey rolled her eyes in a “can you believe it?” expression. She was no more impressed by the woman’s high-pressure tactics than Trixie was.

  The pressure stayed on as the girls gradually extricated themselves from the office. The woman asked them outright for a contribution, and then for their names and addresses so that they could be added to the mailing list. When those requests were refused, she finally resorted to thrusting contribution envelopes into their hands. “Just mail us your pledge whenever you’re ready to make the commitment,” she said.

  Trixie and Honey, having backed themselves to the door, turned and escaped through it.

  “Wow!” Trixie said when she was safely back out on the sidewalk. “That was awful! I’ve seen barkers at the carnival who didn’t sell as hard as that woman!”

  “Trixie—” Honey began in a voice that sounded vaguely alarmed.

  “Oh, I know. It is a charity, and they are raising money for a good cause, but I still don’t think they have to behave that way. After all—”

  “Trixie!” Honey’s tone was escalating.

  “All right, all right! I won’t criticize them anymore. But from the way you looked in there, I didn’t think you appreciated that woman’s sales pitch any more than I did!”

  “I didn’t. And that wasn’t why I was trying to get your attention just now. I wanted to tell you that the nice man who gave us the forty-dollar donation at the mall is sitting in a parked car right across the street.”

  Trixie quickly looked up and turned her head. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a parked car, but she had already walked well past it. There was no way for her to see the driver. “Oh, woe, I missed him because I was ranting on about the foundation. Are you sure it was him?”

  “Absolutely,” Honey said. “In fact, I noticed him sitting there when we were on our way into the office. I wasn’t really sure then, so I didn’t say anything. But I took an extra-close look when we came out. Now I’m sure.”

  “Let’s turn around and go back, so I can get a look at him.”

  “We don’t want him to notice we’ve seen him, though.”

  “Why not? We have every right to be here. We aren’t doing anything wrong. And he shouldn’t mind being noticed, unless—” Trixie broke off, her blue eyes widening.

  “Do you suppose he’s doing something wrong?” Honey asked, picking up on her friend’s thought.

  “He was right behind Paul Gale at the mall,” Trixie said. “Now he’s right outside Paul Gale’s office. Maybe—maybe
he’s planning to rob the foundation! They must take in tons of money.”

  “Maybe,” Honey said reluctantly. “But he didn’t seem like a robber to me. Maybe he’s Paul Gale’s bodyguard.”

  Trixie snorted at the idea. “He’s hardly any bigger around than I am! Some bodyguard. Besides, he didn’t seem to like Paul Gale. That’s why he gave us all that money. He wouldn’t work for him!”

  “I guess not,” Honey said.

  Trixie walked on silently for a while, trying to pull another theory out of the cold air. Nothing came to her.

  “What should we do?” Honey asked.

  “Just head back to the school, I guess,” Trixie said.

  She was distracted by a gasp from Honey. “Look at the clock there on Nordin’s jewelry store,” Honey said. “We have exactly two minutes to get back to school and get our ride home with the boys!”

  “Oh, no! They probably wouldn’t leave us behind if we re late. But they’d chain us to that sign-up table, for sure. Let’s hurry before we’re trapped!” As Trixie spoke, she broke into a fast walk. Honey hurried to keep up.

  The mystery of the nice man from the mall was left behind—but not forgotten.

  8 * Dressed for Waiting

  THE MYSTERIOUS RUMOR, the aggressive woman at the World Anti-Hunger Foundation, Paul Gale, and the nice man from the mall were very much on Trixie’s mind that evening—much more so than the French Revolution, which was the subject of the chapter she was supposed to be reading for her world history class. Only her brothers’ heavy concentration, as they sat in the den with her, made her try to keep her mind on her textbook.

  A peculiar noise from Mart—a combination of a groan and a growl—made her look up. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, eager for a momentary distraction.

  “A mere comment on the complexity of computers,” Mart said loftily.

  “Are you still having problems?” Trixie asked.

  “There are problems, but I have no doubt that I’ll be able to correct them,” Mart said confidently.