The Secret of the Unseen Treasure Read online

  Peter Belden came in. “Sorry I’m late for lunch,” he apologized. “Got held up at the bank.”

  “You were held up?” Bobby asked excitedly.

  “Not that way, thank goodness.” His father turned to Mrs. Belden as Bobby, having lost interest in the conversation, left the room. “I heard you mentioning Ethel Elliot. As a matter of fact, she’s why I’m late,” Mr. Belden went on.

  “Did she come to see you?” Trixie asked anxiously.

  “Trixie,” Mrs. Belden said, “that’s none of our

  business.” But she looked inquiringly at Peter.

  He sighed, shaking his head. “Bank business is private, of course. But I know you’re all concerned about Ethel Elliot.” He paused, looking at each of them. “What I say is to stay at this table and go no farther. Ethel Elliot came to me for a loan. She needs a new pump for her well. She wanted something short-term that she could pay off quickly.”

  “What happened to her old pump?” Trixie asked.

  Peter Belden shrugged his shoulders. “It ran dry. It wasn’t pulling water anymore. That can ruin a pump.”

  “Poor Ethel,” Mrs. Belden said. “She’s just barely getting by as it is. Did you grant her the loan?”

  “Not the way she wanted it,” Peter Belden said. “I had to extend it to make the payments smaller, or she wouldn’t have had any money to live on. A one-and-a-half horsepower selfpriming pump costs more than three hundred dollars.”

  “And on top of that, she’s going to have to pay the interest on the loan,” said Mrs. Belden.

  Trixie’s father nodded. “It’s going to be hard, I know. I did the best I could for her. I offered to lend her the money myself, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “You did what you could, Daddy,” said Trixie. “Now Mrs. Elliot really needs to enter that contest—and win!”

  Mrs. Belden frowned. “Trixie, don’t build up false hopes. I’m sure Ethel doesn’t even own a camera.”

  Trixie took a bite of her sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Daddy,” she asked after a moment, “can Mart borrow your camera?”

  “Hey! Stop putting words in my mouth,” Mart objected.

  “Mart,” Trixie pleaded, “you’re so much better with a camera than I am.”

  Mart gaped at her. “Did I hear words of adulation?”

  “And,” Trixie continued, “as a future earth-wor—as a future horticulturist, you’ll know how to photograph flowers to best advantage. Prize-winning advantage.”

  “Give up, Mart.” Peter Belden chuckled. “You haven’t got a chance. I know from experience.” He glanced from Trixie to her mother.

  “What does that mean, Peter?” Mrs. Belden asked with mock severity.

  “It means I’ve got a wonderful family, always ready to do something good for others.” He turned to Mart. “You know I’m fussy about my camera. Take good care of it.”

  Mart nodded.

  “Daddy,” Trixie said, “it’s strange that Mr. Elliot didn’t leave his wife much money when he died. Didn’t he have anything in the bank?”

  “That’s private, Trixie. But Sam Elliot didn’t bank here in Sleepyside anyway. As far as I know, he didn’t bank anywhere. Since he didn’t leave a will, several banks were contacted to see if he had accounts. None were found.”

  “Maybe he hid his money somewhere,” Mart suggested.

  Peter Belden pointed a finger at Mart. “Now, don’t go—”

  “—jumping to conclusions,” Trixie finished for her father, trying to hide the excitement she suddenly felt. “May I be excused?” she asked, pushing back her chair. “I want to call Honey. If Dan s there, maybe he’ll drive us to Mrs. Elliot’s this afternoon so Mart can take a picture of the sweet peas.” She hurried from the room.

  “Yes,” Honey said over the phone a minute later, “Dan is here. He’s having lunch with Regan. What are you so excited about, Trixie?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” Trixie said. “Ask Dan if he’ll please drive us to Mrs. Elliot’s this afternoon.”

  “Okay. Hang on.”

  It seemed like an hour while Trixie waited for Honey to return to the phone.

  “Trixie? Dan said he’d drive us. Come on over after lunch. Now, what’s up?”

  “We’re in business again,” Trixie said excitedly. “Wear some grubbies—we may do some digging.”

  “You mean asking more questions?” Honey queried.

  “No, I mean digging,” Trixie said. “See you in a while.”

  When Trixie hung up the phone and turned around, Mart was standing right beside her.

  “If you think you fooled Dad and Moms, you’re wrong,” he said.

  Trixie was dismayed. “Did they say we couldn’t go to Mrs. Elliot’s?”

  “They think the idea of helping her enter the contest is a noble one,” Mart said. “But they don’t find solace in the sound of the wild-goose wings flapping in your head. Or the glint of buried treasure in your eyes.”

  “Oh, stop,” Trixie insisted. “Can we go or not?”

  “Yes. With conditions.”

  “What conditions?” Trixie asked.

  “I’m to clip the wings of the wild geese if necessary,” Mart said.

  “You’re always trying to do that anyway,” Trixie retorted.

  “Albeit in a brotherly way.” Mart grinned. “This time I have a parental mandate behind me.”

  “Just keep it back there, out of my way,” Trixie warned.

  “There’s more,” Mart said.

  Trixie eyed him suspiciously. “Such as?”

  “Bobby is to go with us.”

  Trixie accepted the news calmly, knowing she had no choice. “Okay. He’s probably tired of being read to and playing games.” She brightened. “Besides, he can keep Mrs. Elliot company while we—”

  “Clip-clip!Clip-clip!” Mart made scissors motions with two fingers.

  As they walked up the hill to the Wheelers’, Bobby scampered ahead and tried to turn uphill somersaults.

  “Easy,” Trixie cautioned. “If you get too dirty or hurt yourself, you’ll have to go home.” She spoke to Mart, who carried his father’s Leica camera on its strap around his neck. “This picture will be important, so make it good. It just has to win a prize. Try for sharp detail and good balance.”

  Mart scowled at her. “Elementary, my dear sister. But why the exhortation? You’ve already admitted that I have quite an overwhelming superiority with photographic apparatus.”

  Dan and Honey were waiting on the lawn near the B.W.G. station wagon. Bobby dashed toward them and crashed into Dan, who then tumbled backward on the grass.

  “Wow!” Dan shouted. “Did you see that tackle by the junior linebacker?”

  Bobby yelled with delight and charged again. Dan took a stance, only to be tumbled over once more.

  On the way to Mrs. Elliot’s, Dan told Bobby about twin fawns he had seen on the Wheeler game preserve. Bobby told Dan about a dragon he had seen behind the Beldens’ shed.

  Dan laughed. “What an imagination!”

  “It runs in the family,” Mart commented dryly. “With some members,” he added, glancing at Trixie, “it’s really running wild today. So watch out.”

  “Oh?” Dan inquired with a smile. “I thought this was just a photographic expedition.”

  “It is,” Mart said. “But it’s also a reconnaissance mission. Now Trixie thinks there’s buried treasure at the Elliot place.”

  “I didn’t say that!” Trixie declared. “You were the one who said that at lunch.”

  “I just happened to say the words before you could,” Mart said. “As I recall, your mouth was full at the time.”

  “Treasure!” Honey said excitedly. “Is that what you meant about doing some digging?” Trixie told Honey and Dan about the conversation at lunch—omitting the part about Mrs. Elliot’s loan. “Moms said that Mr. Elliot was doing well with his business. But when he died, there was hardly anything left for Mrs. Elliot. And Dad said that Mr. Ell
iot didn’t put any money in the bank. That’s when Mart said that maybe the money was hidden at the Elliots’.”

  “I was just babbling,” Mart said. “Listen, Trixie: Mrs. Elliot digs up that whole place every spring. If there was money buried there, don’t you think she would have found it by now?”

  “Mart has a point there, Trixie,” Honey said. “Maybe it’s hidden in one of the buildings,” Trixie persisted.

  “Mrs. Elliot probably uses the shed every day during the summer,” Honey pointed out. “So if it was hidden there, she would have found it, too.”

  Mart snorted. “If it is hidden in the shed, then whoever tried to set that fire sure didn’t know about it!”

  “Of course not,” Trixie stated. “If he knew about the hidden money, then why would he steal the Social Security checks?”

  “Hey! Slow down a minute,” Dan said. “You lost me back there. Trixie, are you saying that the man who tried to set the fire is the same man who stole the checks?”

  “Yes,” Trixie said.

  “Do you have any proof of that?” Dan asked in a serious tone.

  “Well... no,” Trixie admitted. “Just that the check thief and the arsonist both ended up at the same place: Mrs. Elliot’s.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing,” Dan snapped. He was no longer as easygoing as he had been minutes before. “Besides, from what you told us, the check thief only went as far as the Hartmans’.”

  Honey made a sign for Trixie to keep quiet. “Dan’s right,” she said in a soothing tone. “There’s probably no connection at all.”

  Trixie, Honey, and Mart exchanged glances. Mart shrugged his shoulders.

  When Dan swung the station wagon onto Mrs. Elliot’s drive, he seemed relieved that they had arrived. As they were piling out, Mrs. Elliot appeared on the porch.

  “Well, hello,” she said. “What a nice surprise. Bobby! I’ve hardly seen you since you were a baby.”

  “I’m all growed up now,” Bobby said with pride.

  “So you are, so you are.” Mrs. Elliot came down the steps. “I was expecting Max, and when I heard your car, I thought he’d come back.” Her gaze sought Honey. “Does your mother need to buy some more flowers?” Honey shook her head. “Mother’s out of town again with my father.”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Elliot said, attempting to hide her disappointment.

  “We did come about flowers, though,” Trixie said quickly. “Have you heard about the flower photography contest sponsored by the White Plains paper? There are going to be prizes. We think you should enter; you’ve got such beautiful flowers.”

  “Thank you, Trixie.” Mrs. Elliot smiled wanly. “But I don’t own a camera. Even if I did have one, I wouldn’t know how to use it.”

  “Moms said she was pretty sure you didn’t have one. We brought my father’s camera. Mart’s a real expert with it—”

  Mart interrupted. “Remember, you said that in front of witnesses.”

  “And,” Trixie went on, “we’d like to take some pictures and enter them for you.”

  “Well, bless you,” Mrs. Elliot said. “Go right ahead. But the pictures should be entered in your names, since you’re taking them.”

  “But they’re your flowers,” Trixie said. “We think a picture of the way you grow your sweet peas would surely win.”

  “Take all the pictures you wish. And be sure to pick yourself a bouquet of sweet peas, too. Since I don’t know anything about taking pictures, I’ll stay out of your way. Want to help me prepare some lemonade and a plate of cookies, Bobby?”

  Bobby nodded. “Daddy won’t let me touch his camera, either.”

  “If there’s anything you need, let me know,” Mrs. Elliot told Mart. “I’ll tell Dan where to get it if Max hasn’t come back with the new water pump.”

  “What happened to the pump you had?” Trixie asked, pretending not to know.

  “It wasn’t drawing water. Neither Max nor I noticed until too late. Without water running through it, a pump gets hot.” Mrs. Elliot shook her head. “It froze up and caused the electric motor to bum itself out. I had to buy a whole new pump.”

  Mrs. Elliot turned and led Bobby into the cottage.

  Trixie sighed. “She’s got to have a pump to water all the flowers. She’d be out of business without it. What would make a pump go bad so suddenly?”

  “Stop spreading those wild-goose wings,”

  Mart cautioned. “Who said it went bad suddenly? Maybe she knew it needed repairs but just didn’t have the money for it Maybe she just kept hoping it would hold out, like some people do with cars and washing machines and—”

  “All right,” Trixie said impatiently. “Leave some feathers on my wings. Put your mind, such as it is, to taking some good pictures.” The sweet pea vines were a lovely mass of variegated color, climbing up and over the suspended umbrella frame.

  “Oh, look at them!” Trixie exclaimed softly. “They’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw them. Be sure to get the umbrella frame in the picture, Mart.”

  Trixie’s eyes drank in the colors: white, blue, pink, yellow, lavender, and red. Suddenly she looked worried. “Mart, the camera is loaded with color film, isn’t it?”

  Mart gaped at her. “I thought you wanted black-and-white.”

  “I did not!” Trixie screamed. Then she detected the beginning of his grin. “Ooooooh, you—you—”

  “I’m the camera expert, remember? You said it yourself,” Mart reminded her.

  “You should have taken a picture of the expression on Trixie’s face,” Honey said with a giggle.

  “The aperture would have atrophied,” Mart declared.

  “I’ll aprofy your atrochure!” Trixie warned.

  “Stand back, please,” Mart cautioned. “Expert at work.” He peered through the viewfinder.

  “The vines hide the umbrella frame too much,” he said. “Dan, will you find a ladder or something and get up there and clear the frame a bit?”

  Dan looked in the shed and found a ladder. Trixie steadied it for him as he climbed to clear some of the flowers and vines from the umbrella frame.

  “That’s good,” Mart said.

  As Mart began photographing, Dan nodded toward the shed. “As long as we’re here, I can help Max install the new pump if he gets back in time,” he said. “I’m going to go take a look at the old pump.”

  Trixie nodded, watching intently as Mart changed camera angles.

  A few minutes later, when Trixie glanced up, she saw Dan at the B.W.G. station wagon. He looked in the glove compartment, then moved to the rear and opened the tailgate. He opened the storage compartment and rummaged around.

  Trixie couldn’t see what was in his hand as he moved away from the wagon and disappeared behind the shed.

  “Dan’s up to something,” she whispered to Honey, not wanting Mart to overhear. “I’m going to go see what. When Mart’s done taking pictures, you cut the bouquet Mrs. Elliot said we could have.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Honey murmured.

  “No,” Trixie said softly. “Mart will suspect we’re up to something then.”

  “All right,” Honey agreed reluctantly. “But let me know what’s happening.”

  “Of course, partner.” Then Trixie raised her voice. “It’s hot out here. I’ll go see if Mrs. Elliot and Bobby have the lemonade ready.”

  “Good idea,” Mart declared, lining up another shot.

  Trixie started toward the house, then cut through the garden toward the shed. She found Dan kneeling beside the faded red housing of an electric water pump on a cement slab. He was frowning.

  “What’s the matter, Dan?” Trixie asked.

  Dan started, then motioned her down beside him. “Don’t let Mart squelch your imagination anymore,” he said. “This pump didn’t wear itself out. It was sabotaged!”

  A Series of “Accidents” • 6

  SABOTAGED?” Trixie stared at Dan. “How can you tell?”

  She looked at the pump. It was housed i
n a faded red metal box with two pipe attachments, one for drawing water and the other for pumping it out At one side of the box, a cylinder with an on/off switch enclosed the electric motor. Except for its obvious age, Trixie could see nothing wrong with the pump or motor.

  “When Mart asked me to find a ladder,” Dan said, “I saw the pump here. I thought I could help Max install the new one, just like I said. I came back to see if this one was disconnected, and, well... I started wondering.”

  “About what?” Trixie asked.

  Dan pointed to the pump. “These things are really pretty simple inside. Just a few moving parts. While it’s pumping, the water that it draws helps to keep it cool. Since it hadn’t been drawing water, I wondered if maybe the well had been pumped dry. We haven’t had much rain, so I thought maybe the underground water table had dropped. I rummaged around in the station wagon until I found some fishline and a sinker.”

  “So that’s what I saw you doing,” Trixie said. “You don’t miss much, do you,” Dan acknowledged. He nodded toward the well. It wasn’t the picturesque type with a shingled roof and a wooden bucket on a rope. It was simply a cement slab surrounding a steel pipe six inches in diameter.

  “I lowered the line and sinker into it,” Dan explained. “This pump should be able to draw water up from about forty feet. So when I had about fifty feet of line down the well, I began pulling it up, about three feet at a time, feeling for the first sign of wetness.”

  Trixie nodded, understanding. “How far down was the water level?”

  Nine feet. I only pulled the line up three times before it was wet.”

  “Only nine feet!” Trixie exclaimed. “Obviously there’s plenty of water,” Dan said. So then I figured that there wasn’t any water in the suction line.”

  He pointed to a pipe about two inches in diameter that descended into the well. The pipe took a right-angled bend a few inches above the ground and then extended horizontally over toward the pump.

  “If there’s nothing wrong with the suction line,” Dan continued, “there should be water in it all the way up to the pump, higher than the water level of the well. There’s a valve at the bottom of the pipe that keeps the water from dropping back into the well when the pump isn’t running.”