The Mystery of the Antique Doll Read online

  True to his word, Brian met them with the station wagon when they got off the bus. They drove to the Manor House to get the doll, and then went on to The Antique Barn.

  “I’ll wait out here for you,” Brian said, when they pulled into the small parking area by Mr. Reid’s antique store. “I’d rather listen to the radio than a whole bunch of chit-chat about dollies.”

  Trixie laughed. “We’re only going to be gone a minute.”

  Pleased at having accomplished their mission in Paris, Trixie and Honey walked sedately into The Antique Barn carrying the box.

  Carl Reid immediately took it from them, and carried it to his desk without a word. Quickly ripping off the wrapping paper, he slid back the top. He reached inside and roughly pulled the doll out of the box. While Honey and Trixie watched in amazement, he sqeezed the doll’s arms, torso, and dress. Then, with a satisfied smile, he set the doll down on his desk and turned to the girls.

  “Is anything broken?” Honey asked, looking worried.

  “Nope. And thank you very much,” he said, smiling absently. “Now it’s getting late, and I have lots to do.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Reid,” Trixie said. Then she stepped forward. “Actually, I have a sort of favor to ask you, too, if you have a minute.”

  Mr. Reid looked at her sharply. “Yes?”

  “Uh, well,” Trixie continued as quickly as possible, “I have this article to write for the school paper about a local merchant, and I wanted to write my article about you and the antique toys in this store. They’re so interesting, and I’m sure everyone else would think so, too. And it would be helpful advertising for you if there was an article about your—”

  “No articles!” Mr. Reid interrupted. “I mean, not this week. I have a lot of things to take care of—Christmas season, you know. Maybe after Christmas. Now look, I’ve got work to do. I’ll talk with you two some other time.”

  Shocked at his response, Trixie could do nothing but mumble good-night and stalk out the door.

  “Of all the nerve!” she snapped, as she got into the car. “After I did a favor for him, would he do one for me in return? No, he would not.”

  “What’s all this about?” Brian asked, shutting off the radio and backing the car out onto the road.

  “That selfish man won’t even let me interview him for the school newspaper!” Trixie said, folding her arms across her chest in disgust. “After the big favor we did for him, I think that’s crummy! I only want half an hour of his time. What nerve!”

  Honey didn’t have anything to say, and Brian drove them quietly home while Trixie fumed.

  They pulled up in front of the Manor House, and Honey got out of the station wagon.

  “See you tomorrow!” she called.

  “Bye,” Trixie said glumly. She didn’t say a word as Brian parked the Bob-White station wagon, and then she stomped into the house.

  Trixie tried to get up the stairs to her room where she could fume in privacy, but she was stopped by Bobby. The little boy came running around a corner and grabbed her knees.

  “Trixie, Trixie, Trixie,” he sang. “I’m so glad you’re home early! Could you please help me with my room?”

  “Oh Bobby,” Trixie said. “I have so much to do. Why do you need help?”

  “Moms says I have to clean up my room,” Bobby moaned. “She says I’ll get lost in there one of these days, and no one will be able to find me!”

  “It’s true that you have a lot of junk,” Trixie said, drawn out of her bad mood by Bobby’s little worried face. “But I doubt if you’ll get lost in there before this weekend. I promise I’ll help you then, okay?”

  “Okay,” Bobby agreed. “But Moms says I have to clear a path to my bed right now. Could you help me just a little tonight?”

  “All right, sweetie,” Trixie said. “Just let me take off my jacket, okay? I’ll help you until dinner time, but after that, I have a ton of homework to get done.”

  Even though Trixie was annoyed at Mr. Reid for not agreeing to the interview, it turned out for the best. She was so busy all week with chores and homework that she wouldn’t have had time to do the interview anyway. She and Honey had not practiced their spelling words in Paris after all, and now they had to work twice as hard to catch up. The Eastern Regional was on Saturday. They practiced every chance they could find, but Trixie worried that it was not enough.

  With high hopes, but rather low expectations, the two girls went into New York City on Saturday morning, accompanied by Miss Trask and Helen Belden. The spelling competition was held in one of the big conference rooms at the Sheraton Hotel. Trixie and Honey were so nervous when they were seated at the front of the large room filled with strangers, they could barely breathe. Trixie’s plaid wool skirt felt even itchier than usual. It was all she could do to keep from squirming in her seat.

  The voice of the competition leader seemed to be coming through water, and when it was Trixie’s turn she felt strangely light-headed. She stood in front of the microphone, listening carefully.

  “Miss Trixie Belden from Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. The word is—pusillanimous.”

  Trixie’s answers sounded to her as though they were being delivered by someone else, and she felt miles and miles away. The microphone had a strange echo to it. Afterward, Trixie had very little recollection of anything she had said, and no recollection of Honey’s answers, either.

  “Talk about stage fright,” Honey said as they left the room.

  “I really wasn’t that keen on winning,” Trixie said, punching the elevator button. They all stood waiting.

  “Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” Miss Trask said, with a somewhat pleased expression. “After all, winning isn’t everything, you know.”

  “I know. It’s how you play the game,” Honey said. Honey always knew how to finish Miss Trask’s sentences.

  “Well, I thought you girls did very well,” Helen Belden said, gazing at them with obvious pride. “Some of those words were terribly difficult!”

  “Oh, Moms,” Trixie said. “You’re so sweet to feel that way. I’m sorry I lost, but, to tell you the truth, I’m sick of studying spelling words!”

  “Me, too,” Honey agreed. “I was beginning to dream spelling words! If we had won this contest, we would have had to spend the next six months saying things like ‘iconoclastic’ and ‘discrepancy’ to each other. I don’t think I could have stood it!”

  Trixie suddenly felt free. In the elevator, she and Honey could hardly keep from giggling. Finally, the doors slid open in the main lobby, and released them.

  “Are you sure you don’t have some odd form of claustrophobia?” Honey said, bursting into laughter. “You know, the kind that gives you hysterics in enclosed spaces?”

  “Claustrophobia,” said Trixie. “C-l-a-u—” Before she could finish, they fell against each other, laughing.

  They made their way across the big lobby behind Mrs. Belden and Miss Trask. Trixie loved to look at people when she was in New York City. Their faces seemed so much more interesting than the ones she saw every day in Sleepyside.

  She realized that it was probably just her own imagination that made it seem that way. But so what? She still liked to look at each person and try to figure out what sort of life they led. Perhaps they were movie stars, or maybe rich financiers, or even spies from foreign governments!

  Suddenly, she was jolted out of her reverie by something far more upsetting than her own romantic imaginings. Her stomach contracted sharply as she caught sight of a familiar face in the lobby, and she grabbed Honey’s arm for support.

  “Honey!” she gasped, pointing toward a group of armchairs by the window. “He’s right there! Look!”

  “Who?” Honey asked.

  “The red-haired man from Paris!” she managed to say. “He’s sitting right there!” Honey looked. Sure enough, there was a man with red hair sitting in the Sheraton lobby.

  “But Trixie,” she whispered. “Are you sure he’s the same one you saw
in Paris?”

  “I’m positive,” Trixie said. “What on earth is he doing here? I wonder if he saw us? Let’s get out of here.”

  When Miss Trask asked the girls if they wanted to stop for ice cream sodas, she was mildly surprised that they turned down the offer and asked to be taken home. Miss Trask and Mrs. Belden glanced at each other, deciding that perhaps the girls were more upset about losing the Eastern Regional than they’d originally let on.

  “All right then,” Mrs. Belden said, smiling at them sympathetically. “I believe we can just make the 4:40 out of Grand Central if we rush.”

  “Yes,” Trixie said, glancing over her shoulder. “That sounds like a terrific idea. Let’s rush!”

  Trixie practically dragged the two women through the street and onto the bus. It wasn’t until they were all settled comfortably on the train to Sleepyside that she let out a sigh of relief.

  “I kept my eyes peeled while we were walking,” she whispered to Honey, “and I don’t think he followed us.”

  Honey glanced around them nervously, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Trixie,” she finally said when Miss Trask and Mrs. Belden were involved in a conversation. “Are you really sure that man was the same one you saw in Paris?”

  “I’m positive,” Trixie said firmly. “Now, I just have to figure out why he’s here!”

  8 * Wrongly Accused

  TRIXIE PUSHED through the crowds of students in the school cafeteria, and tossed her books down on the table. She squeezed in between Mart and Brian, and tried to catch her breath. All the other members of the Bob-Whites were there too, because Trixie specifically asked them to meet her that day.

  Trixie had decided that it was time to discuss her problem with all the Bob-Whites. She knew she could count on their help in times of need. But since they all had such busy school schedules, it had been a couple of days before she could get them all together. Only Dan couldn’t come today, because he was working.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “Typical,” Mart said. “It’s just like you, Trixie, to call an emergency meeting and then neglect to show up.”

  “But I did show up,” Trixie retorted. “It’s just that Mr. Stratton asked me to finish washing the beakers after chemistry, and I could hardly refuse, could I?”

  “Okay, I have to admit you have a point,” Mart said with a smile. “Now tell us what this meeting is about.”

  Trixie looked at Honey, and then began to talk.

  “I realize this sounds farfetched,” she said when she’d told them all that had happened, “but I think there’s a definite connection between Mr. Reid’s antique doll and the man who was following us in Paris. I can’t figure it out all by myself, and I think we should get together and investigate as a team.”

  “Not that I’m arguing with you,” Brian said, “but we should clarify a few things first. Why do you think the store in Paris was so suspicious? Mr. Reid must know people besides antique dealers. Perhaps his friendship with this André is entirely unconnected to business.”

  “I suppose...” Trixie said, her voice trailing off.

  “But someone was definitely following them, don’t you think?” asked Di. She hunched her shoulders and leaned forward. Her worried gaze never left Brian’s face.

  “Well, I was about to get to that,” Brian said. “There is always room for coincidence, you know. Americans and Europeans travel back and forth across the ocean every day. Besides, the man never said anything to you, did he?”

  “No,” Trixie admitted. “But why was he everywhere we went?”

  “Could it be that your hyperactive imagination made you think you saw the same red-haired man everywhere you went?” Mart asked reasonably. “For example, people often say that I remind them of a certain person.” He smiled mischievously at Trixie. “Maybe you just saw someone who looked like the man.”

  Jim agreed with Mart. “It could be that, since you were frightened by the man waiting outside the store in Paris, you thought you saw him everywhere else.”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Trixie said, “but that still doesn’t answer the doubts I have about Carl Reid.”

  “Well, until he does something really dreadful or illegal,” said Jim, “I’m afraid we have no reason to suspect him of anything.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty,” Mart put in. “One of the great tenets of American law.”

  “Trixie,” Honey said quietly, “I did see the man you pointed out in New York, but I’d never seen him before that. Remember, you were the only one who saw him in Paris. Until someone else sees him following us, too, there’s no way we can be sure we’re actually being followed.”

  “I know you’re right, guys,” Trixie said disconsolately. “It’s just that I was so sure!”

  “Well, try not to worry about it,” Brian reassured her. “And if you see anything else, come and tell me right away.”

  “All right, Brian,” Trixie said. “I suppose I’d better eat before the lunch period is over, huh?”

  “Don’t worry, Trixie,” Mart said, eyeing her lunch hungrily. “Anything you can’t finish will be taken care of instantly by yours truly over here.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” Trixie said, laughing at the expression on Mart’s face. “Maybe we should tell Moms to pack you a boxcar-sized lunch instead of that measly little lunch-boxful.”

  “I’m going to run up to the library,” Honey said. “I have a few last notes to collect for my paper in English. But I’ll see you later on the bus. We’re going to help Mrs. De Keyser again this afternoon.”

  “Oh, thanks for reminding me, Honey,” Trixie said. “I’ll see you later.”

  Trixie finished her sandwich, and rushed to her math class, trying not to think about the red-haired Frenchman. But all through the math class he stayed in her mind.

  After school, Trixie and Honey went to Mrs. De Keyser’s. They helped make a kidney-bean-and-ham casserole, then went upstairs to clean. While they tidied up, they talked.

  “I think Mrs. De Keyser is feeling a little better,” Trixie said. “There hasn’t been as much to do here lately.”

  “Perhaps she’s getting more used to doing things with one arm,” Honey said. “And it probably doesn’t hurt her as much as it did at first.”

  Suddenly, they heard a cry of dismay from downstairs. They quickly ran to the top of the stairs, and saw Mrs. De Keyser standing at the open front door, calling frantically.

  “Willy! Willy, you naughty dog!” Her voice was shrill with worry. “Willy, you come back here this instant!”

  “We’ll bring him back,” Trixie called down, figuring out what had happened.

  “Oh, I feel so careless for letting him out like that,” Mrs. De Keyser moaned. “I just opened the door for a second to put that basket of gourds on the porch. Before I knew it, that dog just dashed out between my feet.”

  “Don’t worry,” Honey said comfortingly. “We’ll bring him back.”

  “I’m afraid that he’ll run into the road,” Mrs. De Keyser said. “He doesn’t know how to cross the street the way some dogs do. I’m so afraid he’ll be hit by a car.”

  Trixie and Honey put on their jackets and ran out in search of Willy. They searched all of Mrs. De Keyser’s property. They even went into the woods and across the road, calling as they walked. But Willy was nowhere to be found.

  Disconsolately, they trudged back to the house, crossing behind the antique shop as they went.

  “Look at that,” Trixie said, glancing at the back of the shop. “The bottom half of the Dutch door is open about a foot. That’s odd.”

  “It is,” Honey agreed. “Mr. Reid doesn’t seem like the sort who would leave a door open like that.”

  “That’s for sure,” Trixie said, with a rueful smile. “If it were up to him, he wouldn’t even leave the doors unlocked. A customer might come and try to ask him a question, or buy something—heaven forbid!”

  “Maybe Willy’s inside
the shop,” Honey said hopefully. She went over and called his name as loudly as she could. Then she called in a softer, more wheedling tone of voice. But no one answered, least of all Willy.

  “Oh well,” sighed Trixie. “I guess we’d better go back and tell Mrs. De Keyser the bad news.”

  They called a few more times, then walked back to the house, feeling completely useless. Each dreaded telling Mrs. De Keyser. But she took it fairly well.

  “He’s done this before,” she said. “I suppose it’s partly because he never gets to run by himself. I should probably have a fence built around the property. That way he could go outside on his own. But it’s just too expensive to even consider.”

  “Would you like us to look some more?” Trixie asked helpfully.

  “No,” sighed Mrs. De Keyser. “It’ll be getting dark soon, and Willy will probably come home then. Perhaps you could just tie up those newspapers and magazines for me.” Trixie and Honey tied up the papers in neat bundles, carried them outside, and stacked them by the garbage cans.

  “It’s a good thing it gets dark so early these days,” Trixie said as the light rapidly faded. “Otherwise, Willy wouldn’t have any excuse to come home for hours.”

  No sooner were the words out of her mouth, when she heard a triumphant yip from the road. Then a cold, wet nose bumped against her leg.

  “Willy!” Trixie cried happily. She brushed her hand across his wiry coat. “Oh, Willy, you’re all covered with burrs! What have you been up to, you rascally pooch?”

  Willy ran ahead of them when they opened the front door, and headed straight for his bed by the fireplace. He didn’t look at all ashamed when Mrs. De Keyser scolded him, but when he saw the dog brush he looked truly crestfallen.

  “He hates being brushed,” Mrs. De Keyser said. “But perhaps this will teach him not to go running off again. Now hold still, Willy.”

  But Willy was having no part of her attempts at grooming. Because of her broken arm, Mrs. De Keyser finally had to ask Trixie and Honey to do it for her. After a good half-hour’s work, Willy was finally presentable.