The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost Page 7

  Feeling somewhat dishonest, but glad to have the information, Trixie said, “Right. Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced. You’ll have the chair by eight tonight, as ordered. I have confirmation from Teed Moving Service. They now have the chair.”

  The instant Trixie replaced the phone, Hallie demanded, “Tell me!” When Trixie had reported all of Miss Parker’s comments, Hallie said, “So that chair goes where it was supposed to go in the first place. Big deal. What can that prove?”

  “I won’t know unless I go to the inn to see who gets the chair!”

  “So it’s a little old lady in tennis shoes. Then what?”

  “Then we look around to see if that man we saw pushing the wheelchair shows up,” Trixie said obstinately, her stubborn streak showing.

  Admiration shone in Hallie’s berry-black eyes. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “No. Not when someone spills a puzzle and loses a piece.”

  Trixie picked up the phone again and dialed the Wheelers’ number. She reached Honey in her room, dressing for dinner. “Honey, please, will you bike with me tonight?”

  “Isn’t it pretty warm? Wouldn’t you rather swim?”

  “We can do both,” Trixie pleaded. “It’s important, Honey. You won’t have to ride back up the hill to your house. Brian will be glad—”

  Brian came through the hallway. “What will I be so glad to do?”

  “Drive us to the lake for a swim,” Trixie told him. When he nodded his assent, she continued talking to Honey. “Brian says yes. I’ll see you. Is seven-thirty at the mailbox okay?”

  Hallie was playing jacks with Bobby when Trixie went to meet Honey. She didn’t indicate that she felt left out, and Trixie didn’t invite her to go along. It would be good to spend some time alone with Honey. Not even Di was included in everything that Trixie and Honey did.

  As the two girls rode slowly down Glen Road, Trixie reported her call to the hospital supply company. Jim had already told Honey about having checked the mailboxes. Like Hallie, Honey thought the delivery of the wheelchair to Glen Road Inn should end the matter. “Now we can get on with the wedding preparations,” Honey coaxed.

  “Maybe not,” Trixie said stubbornly. “Did Di get an invitation? She’s never mentioned it again.”

  “Yes, she did. Miss Trask made a special trip up to the Lynch house and delivered it in person.” Honey wobbled to a stop and asked Trixie, “What’s that room number at the inn?”

  “Two-fourteen.”

  “Well, no wonder there was a delivery mix-up. That’s the mailbox number at the Frayne property.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” Trixie said. “Two-fourteen Glen Road. Room two-fourteen, Glen Road Inn. Even a good secretary could make that mistake.”

  Glen Road Inn was a large brick house, very old and of Dutch design. It had been one of the original manor houses of the area. Once frequented by the wealthy, it was now mainly a tourist stopover. Most of the rooms overlooked gardens.

  The girls stopped at the desk for directions to room 214. The desk clerk was working a crossword puzzle. He pointed the way to the room, then went back to his puzzle.

  As she followed Trixie down the hall, Honey whispered, “What are we going to say? We ought to have some plan before we knock on the door.”

  “I’ll think of something,” Trixie promised.

  As it happened, Trixie wasn’t forced to invent a reason for calling. No one answered the door. Trixie and Honey walked back to the desk. Business was slow, and having solved his puzzle, the desk clerk had plenty of time to talk. “How was Miss Ryks?”

  “She wasn’t,” Trixie replied in a frustrated tone of voice. “She didn’t answer her door.”

  After a bike ride on the twenty-first of July, it was easy to look tired enough to be invited to rest in the lobby, and Trixie and Honey managed it. They sat side by side on chairs near the desk and waited for the Teed deliveryman.

  “What do you expect to find out, Trixie?” Honey whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Trixie said softly. “It just seems to me that this is our last chance to check on that wheelchair before it drops out of sight like that Oliver Tolliver. There’s something fishy about an empty wheelchair and a stolen wedding invitation. I have a funny feeling!”

  Honey knew about Trixie’s feelings and respected them. They weren’t strange intuitions or wild hunches. Trixie was a down-to-earth person, keenly aware of information gathered by all of her five senses—plus that extra sense called horse sense. When Trixie had a feeling, it meant that her brain hadn’t finished running all the information through its mental computer.

  Honey rubbed the carpet with one foot. She tried to think of some plausible reason why a stranger would take a wedding invitation from a mailbox and push an empty wheelchair down Glen Road on a hot July afternoon. Trixie was right. There was something fishy about the combination.

  Suddenly Honey clutched Trixie’s arm. “Miss Ryks!”

  “Who?Where?” Trixie stared about the lobby.

  “The name!” Honey said excitedly. “Miss Ryks! That’s the person who called Hans and asked to be included on the guest list. Remember?”

  “You’re right,” Trixie gasped. “Her wheelchair’s missing—and she needs a wedding invitation.” That was too much of a coincidence for Trixie, and she said so.

  Honey argued, “We’ve worked together long enough to know coincidence plays a big part in solving a mystery, Trixie Belden.”

  “Gleeps, Honey! Coincidence usually takes us down a dead-end street.” Trixie’s attention bounced in another direction. “Wasn’t Miss Trask to call Miss Ryks? What did she find out? Is Miss Ryks a friend of the Maasdens or the Vorwalds?”

  “Miss Trask tried to call her, but she wasn’t in.”

  “Well, that solves one problem,” Trixie said cheerfully. “Now we know what we can say if she does answer that door. We can say we have mutual friends —Juliana Maasden and Hans Vorwald.”

  “Yes-s,” Honey breathed. “That’ll work.”

  The air conditioner was on, but in the lobby, it managed only to move hot air from one place and deposit it in another. Trixie pushed her short mop of curls up from the nape of her neck and sighed. “I wish that deliveryman would come before my brains melt.”

  They didn’t have long to wait. The man came through the door, notebook in hand. At the desk, he thumbed his visored cap back from his brow and asked, “Ya got a Miss Ryks here, room two-fourteen? Well, I got this wheelchair, see, and I don’t want no mix-up. If it ain’t too much bother, I’d kinda like you to witness that I delivered this pesky contraption. Okay?”

  “Okay with me,” the desk clerk said. “Side door.” With no loss of time, the talkative young driver appeared at the service entrance, pushing a wheelchair. The clerk left the desk and took him down the intersecting hall to room 214. Trixie started to follow, but Honey held her back. “We can’t snoop, Trixie.”

  “Who’s snooping?” Trixie argued. “Anybody can walk down a hall! Besides, the clerk knows we tried to see Miss Ryks. Come on. We’ll stay out of sight.”

  “We know the wheelchair is being delivered. Isn’t that enough?” Honey begged.

  “I want to see it with my own eyes,” Trixie said with finality, and Honey gave in. Both girls stationed themselves in the service hall within sight and hearing of room 214.

  Bare Cupboards • 8

  THERE WAS A WAIT at the door of room 214. The clerk knocked several times while the driver fluttered pages of his notebook. The door was opened by a barefoot young man wearing hiphugger jeans and a stretched-out T-shirt. Stringy brass-colored hair hung limply to the top of the neckband. An equally stringy moustache hid his mouth, and huge dark glasses hid his eyes. In a nasal voice, he said, “I’ll sign. I’m Miss Ryks’s nephew. Miss Ryks is sacked out. Indisposed.”

  He signed the receipt, accepted the wheelchair, pulled it into the room, and closed the door. Trixie and Honey ducked through the
service entrance door before the Teed man turned the corner of the hall. The girls were busy unlocking their bikes when he drove away in the same pickup that Hallie had seen at Wimpy s.

  “I wonder,” Trixie worried, “if we should go back and try again to see Miss Ryks. If we could describe her, maybe Hans or Juliana would recognize her.”

  “We can’t go back. She’s sick.”

  “She can’t be all that sick,” Trixie argued. “She expects to be well enough in two weeks to go to a wedding, doesn’t she?”

  Trixie straddled her bicycle but kept both feet on the parking lot pavement. “Miss Ryks should be told about that wheelchair. If it was stolen once, it can be stolen again, and there she’d be, unable to attend the wedding of her dear old friends, and—”

  Honey giggled. “Dear old friends! Trixie, neither Hans nor Juliana ever heard of her!”

  “Well, she’s heard of them,” Trixie said. “Right now, let’s get back to that wheelchair. We know a man caught a ride with the Teed driver. We’ve seen the truck. No chair could fall out, so somebody lifted it out. Probably the hitchhiker. He could have hidden the chair to collect the reward money. Right?”

  “You saw the man pushing the chair. Did he look like a thief?” Honey asked.

  “How do I know what a thief looks like? The point is, there’s a man with sticky fingers who hasn’t been caught yet. He’s not just greedy—he’s mean. He knew someone was helpless without that chair. Isn’t it our civic duty to do something about people like him?” Honey was more lenient. “Maybe he didn’t give that a thought. When I have a problem, I don’t always think of how my actions will affect other people.”

  “Oh, you!” Trixie scoffed affectionately. “You’re at the head of the line when it comes to considering other people.” Trixie scanned the parking lot, where the night-lights had just been turned on. She grinned at Honey. “Can you spot a wheelchair thief right this minute? Well, neither can I, so let’s go home.”

  Honey bent to retie a shoelace before getting on her bike. While Trixie waited for her, she rode in a slow, wobbling circle, appreciating the shadows that cooled the old brick walls of the inn. She watched a well-fed cat walk toward the back of the building. Evidently it was headed for the kitchen door, where a row of garbage cans had been set out for the trash collector. Suddenly Trixie began pedaling at a furious rate after the cat.

  “Trixie! Have you lost your mind?” Honey, too, joined the cat’s parade.

  “It’s Hallie!” Trixie yelled. “I saw her leave the rear of the building.”

  “You must be wrong,” Honey insisted.

  But Trixie wasn’t wrong. Hallie saw them coming and waited in the paved area near the garbage cans.

  “What are you doing here, Hallie Belden?” Trixie yelled.

  “Same thing you are,” Hallie retorted. “Snooping.”

  Immediately on the defensive, Trixie said angrily, “I’m not snooping! I’m investigating! I knew it would be like this. Not a minute to myself! We agreed on no kissy-kissy, but you’re obviously still whacko-whacko!” Trixie took a deep breath, almost prepared to pick up her previous show of temper where she’d left off. Then she smiled instead. “I did it again, didn’t I, Hallie? I’m sorry. What did you find out?”

  To Trixie’s surprise, tears ran down Hallie’s brown face. In alarm, Trixie asked, “Is—is something wrong?” She’d never seen Hallie Belden cry.

  Hallie swiped at the tears with the back of a hand. “That’s the first time you ever said ‘sorry’ when you didn’t have to,” she gulped.

  “Oh.” Too embarrassed to continue her questioning, Trixie stared at the only object close at hand— that stray cat.

  Honey rushed to Trixie’s rescue. “What did you find out, Hallie? We know who ordered the chair.”

  “Miss Ryks,” Hallie confirmed. “Well, I found out that she has strange eating habits. She’s been here two days, but she’s never been to the dining room, and she hasn’t ordered a bite of food from the kitchen. Then just a few minutes ago, she ordered liver and onions.”

  “But that nephew said-” Trixie turned to Honey, who finished the sentence.

  “—indisposed. What a peculiar diet for an invalid!” Honey’s puzzled expression changed to a smile. “Okay if we go swimming now?” she pleaded. “Brian’s going to have his nose glued to a medical journal if he has to wait for us much longer, and I’ll have to ride all the way up that hill after all.”

  “If that happens, well run along behind and push,” Trixie promised. “Let’s go.”

  As they left the inn, Honey said, “There’s a new ten-speed bike just like Jim’s.”

  A gate stood open where a brick walk branched off from the kitchen pavement and disappeared into a shadowy curve between the building and a hedge of lilacs. Partially hidden on the walk was a bicycle. It looked so new that a price tag might have dangled from the handlebars. Just like Jim’s, the bike was blue. But this one had a scratch.

  As they neared the farm, Trixie asked Hallie, “How’d you happen to go to the kitchen?”

  “My mother’s a smart kid,” Hallie drawled. “She says that if you want to get acquainted with a new neighbor, go to the back door.” She slanted a glance at Trixie. “I really didn’t mean to interfere. I didn’t know what you had in mind, so I just thought I d hang around in case you ran into that Oliver Tolliver and needed help. He spells trouble.”

  “How’d you get in, Hallie?” Honey asked.

  “I said I was thirsty and asked if I could please have a drink of water. It was after the dinner hour, and the cook was griping because this order came in when she wanted to watch a TV program. She didn't want to mess around with onions.”

  “Well,” Trixie mused, “all we know is that Miss Ryks is an oddball.”

  “A sick oddball,” Honey corrected.

  “Sick!” chorused the Belden cousins. “Eating liver and onions?”

  “Anyway, she needs a wheelchair,” Honey said.

  At the farm, the girls found Brian sitting in the jalopy, reading a medical journal by flashlight. Bathing suits and towels were heaped in the backseat. Mart was playing tag with Bobby but vaulted into the jalopy when he saw the three girls.

  Mrs. Belden called from the porch swing, “Brian, please stop at Mr. Lytell’s store. He’ll let you have a couple of loaves of bread if you go to the back door. I can’t imagine how we ran out before baking day!” The next morning, the shortage of food came up again. Mrs. Belden said, “I do wish you boys would check up on our chickens’ diet. With both a future doctor and a future farmer in the house, we should be able to keep a few hens laying. There wasn’t one egg yesterday.”

  While his mother was speaking, Mart slid a second egg onto his plate. He paused, server in midair. “Am I taking more than my share, Moms?”

  Quickly Bobby said, “You can have mine, Mart. I’m kind of not hungry.”

  Mr. Belden peered over the wall of his newspaper. “What’s all this sudden concern for Mart’s appetite, Robert Belden?” he asked. “I’m the provider for this household. If we don’t get enough eggs from our hens, we’ll buy them from Mr. Lytell.”

  Mart thumped Bobby’s back. “You shared bacon with me. Now I’ll share an egg with you. Okay?” Bobby tried to put on his angel face but didn’t quite manage it. His lips trembled. “Can I be ’scused?” Mrs. Belden shook her head. “Peter, I’m puzzled. Maybe I’m turning into the old woman in the shoe. My cupboards are bare!”

  “Wrong nursery rhyme, Moms!” Mart teased.

  It was early that evening when the young people of Glen Road gathered at Crabapple Farm. The day had been hot, but a downdraft of evening coolness moved toward the Hudson through the clove where the farm lay. Each person found a comfortable lounging spot on the porch or in the yard. Hans didn’t talk much, but each time he did speak up, Trixie turned to listen. She liked the sound of English words on a tongue that had spoken Dutch from babyhood. There was a trace of the same accent in Juliana’s voice, but she’d le
arned English well enough to use American slang. It amused all of them to explain a word or phrase to Hans.

  Because she was listening so intently, Trixie noticed a soft thump, thump. She heard a faint rumble in Reddy’s throat. His head lifted, ears alert, and his feathery red tail moved nervously. Trixie slid along the porch step she shared with Di and Honey until she was next to the dog. She whispered, “What do you see, Reddy?”

  “He hears something, that’s for sure,” Dan said. Even though Trixie’s fingers smoothed his velvet ears, Reddy didn’t relax. Something hidden by the shadows was bothering him.

  The talk was about the wedding. Always interested in clothes, Di asked eagerly, “What will you wear, Juliana?”

  “Just a summer dress,” Juliana answered. “I know Miss Trask has followed Mrs. Wheeler’s instructions about sending out invitations, but neither Hans nor I want formality. We’ll live in an apartment in Amsterdam, and our life will be very simple. I’ve been away so long that I’ve lost touch with old friends. Even in Amsterdam, we’d have had a plain civil ceremony.”

  “You must wear white,” Mrs. Belden said. “Would you like to wear my wedding dress?”

  “I’d love it, but I can’t let you alter it,” Juliana insisted. “You must save it for Trixie.”

  Reddy was so restless that Trixie found it hard to take part in the conversation. She noticed that Dan, too, stared into the dark each time Reddy made a sound. For some reason, Dan refused to give up his place beside Juliana, even when Bobby tried to squirm between them.

  Trixie heard Hans tell Mr. Belden, “No, sir. We won’t use Juliana’s inheritance right away. We’ll save the money to educate our children.” Trixie hoped that the life of the young Vorwalds would settle into a comfortable routine. Like our own, maybe, she thought.

  When Honey and Di married, it would be with pomp and ceremony. Family wealth demanded it.

  That’s not for me, Trixie thought. She would wear her mother s dress in a simple and lovely home ceremony, and that dress would probably remain in the family for generations.

  “Mrs. Vanderpoel!” Trixie cried, surprising herself as much as the group. Mrs. Belden peered expectantly into the dark, and Trixie giggled. “Sit still, Moms. She isn’t coming up the lane. I was thinking about wedding dresses, and I remembered Mrs. Vanderpoel’s attic. I’ll bet she’s got every wedding dress anybody in her family ever wore. I know Juliana wants to keep things simple, but Miss Trask has invited all those people, and ordered the wedding cake, and hired an organist.” Trixie spread her hands. “Miss Trask and Mrs. Wheeler are going right ahead planning a real wedding. I mean—”