The Secret of the Unseen Treasure Page 7

  “Good afternoon,” she said wearily. “May I help.... Well! Hi, Trixie! Hi, Honey!”

  Trixie stared, trying to recognize her.

  “I’m Ann Rinehart,” the girl said. “My sister Debbie was in school with you until we moved here from Sleepyside.”

  “I remember now,” Trixie said. “Hi!”

  Honey smiled and nodded. “How do you and Debbie like living in White Plains?”

  The young woman frowned. “Not much. Living in the city is a hassle. But, you know how—” The dark-haired man came out from the office. “I’ll take care of these young ladies,” he said curtly. “Get back to work on that arrangement you were making.”

  He smiled, but the smile looked like a cardboard cutout pasted on his face. His shining dark eyes looked like circles of one-way glass. Trixie felt a chill wriggle along her spine. “What may I do for you?” the man prompted. “We were just looking,” Honey said.

  “For anything in particular?” the man asked impatiently. “Potted flowers or cut? A display for local delivery, or something ordered by wire?”

  Trixie glanced about nervously, seeking an answer for his questions. Her eyes focused out the back door, and she saw the front of a car parked there—a gray car!

  “Th-That’s right,” Trixie stammered. “We were just looking, Mr. Finlay.”

  The man’s expression didn’t change. “Where did you get that name? Mine’s Manton.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Trixie gulped. “I—I guess we have the wrong shop.”

  Honey nodded jerkily.

  “I don’t know anybody in the flower business named Finlay,” the man said. He raised his voice without taking his eyes off Trixie and Honey. “Let that flower arrangement go for now,” he called to his redheaded helper. “Take your coffee break.”

  Without looking up, Ann Rinehart pulled off her smock, grabbed her purse, and hurried out the back door.

  The man stepped to one side and gestured toward the office. “Get in there. We’ll see if the name you want is in the phone book.”

  The door chime knelled softly. Trixie turned and saw Mart. Saved by the bell! she thought with relief.

  “We got the wrong flower shop, Mart!” she exclaimed loudly. “Are all the others waiting in the car? Come on, Honey, we’ll have to scout around town. Maybe we’ve got the wrong town! Thanks for your offer to help, Mr. Manton.” Mart picked up his cue. “I didn’t think this

  was the right place,” he said. He opened the door. “Let’s go.”

  Trixie and Honey hurried out of the shop. Walking rapidly toward the comer, Trixie resisted the urge to look back.

  “You came just in time,” she told Mart. “But how—”

  “I saw you two go off by yourselves,” Mart said. “Since you weren’t staying with Miss Trask, I figured you were up to something. I just followed you.”

  “This is one time I’m glad you did,” Trixie admitted.

  “I was watching through the window,” Mart said. “It looked like you wanted out of there in a hurry. What was going on?”

  “I think he’s the man who tried to set the fire,” Trixie said. “There was a gray car parked out back. Maybe we ought to go around the block and take a look at it.”

  “Are you kidding?” Mart asked. “After that little act back there? Besides, I’m supposed to be keeping your wild geese under control, remember?”

  “The day of the arson attempt,” Trixie declared, “a gray car was backed into the bushes and against a small tree.”

  “So maybe there are some scratches on it,” Mart said. “That doesn’t prove anything. Most cars have scratches and nicks.”

  “I don’t think that man is a florist at all,” Trixie stated. “His hands weren’t stained green like Ann’s were.”

  “I noticed that, too,” Honey said. “He was going over the books. It looked like Ann was doing all the real work.”

  Trixie nodded agreement. “And he wasn’t the least bit interested in us until he heard Debbie’s sister mention Sleepyside.”

  “Then he dropped what he was doing and came out of the office,” Honey said. “The way he looked at us!”

  As they approached the shopping center parking lot, the B.W.G.’s saw the camp bus unloading. A cheerful crowd of adults and young people exchanged greetings.

  “Don’t you dare say anything about this to Miss Trask,” Trixie warned Mart. “Honey and I will bring the other Bob-Whites up to date later on.”

  During the ride back to Sleepyside, Jim and Brian told about their two weeks at the camp for underprivileged children. Brian, in addition to being a tent leader, had assisted in the doctor’s tent, where he helped treat cuts, poison ivy, and stomachaches.

  “There weren’t many serious medical problems,” Brian said. “But we did have one near-drowning. Luckily, Jim got to the boy as he was going under for the third time. And Jim revived him with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He’s the camp hero!”

  Everyone in the B.W.G. station wagon cheered, even Miss Trask.

  Jim was embarrassed. “He was swimming when he shouldn’t have been. It’s a tough way to learn a lesson, but he learned. A couple of other boys in my tent admitted that they had been planning some extra swimming, too. They changed their minds pretty fast. What’s been happening around here... anything?”

  Mart winced. Trixie eyed him sternly, then began telling Jim and Brian about happenings of the last two weeks. She told about Dan discovering the sabotaged water pump, but didn’t mention the man named Al Finlay.

  “That’s about all,” Trixie concluded. “Now that you’re back, we can have a meeting at the clubhouse tomorrow. If I think of anything else, I can tell everyone about it then.”

  The following morning, after completing their chores, Trixie, Brian, and Mart walked to the B.W.G. clubhouse on the Wheeler estate. Honey, Jim, and Di met them there.

  Honey motioned Trixie aside and whispered, “Dan couldn’t make it to the meeting today. I talked to him last night. I didn’t mention the flower shop, but I asked him to describe Al Finlay—just in case we should happen to see him.”

  “Well?” Trixie prompted.

  “It was him. The man in the flower shop,” Honey confirmed.

  “I thought so,” Trixie said.

  Jim spoke up from behind. “I got the impression that you were holding back something yesterday,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “They think they’ve found the man who’s been making problems for Mrs. Elliot,” Mart said. “And I think maybe they’re on the right track.”

  Trixie gaped at the unexpected support from her brother. She told the others about Al Finlay, and then described what had happened at the flower shop. “I tried the name Finlay on him, but he didn’t show any reaction,” she said.

  “Not right then,” Honey joined in. “But right after that, he told Ann to take a break. I don’t know what he would have done to us if Mart hadn’t come in.”

  Jim shook his head. “I don’t like this. It’s too dangerous. If that man really is Al Finlay, then he must have a police record. I say we call Sergeant Molinson.”

  Trixie moaned. “He’ll just say we don’t have any proof.”

  “You don’t,” Brian pointed out.

  “Well, then, what can Sergeant Molinson do?” Trixie retorted. “He can’t just arrest Finlay for no reason.”

  “Maybe the police already want him for some other crime,” Mart suggested.

  “But if they arrest him for some other crime,” Honey said, “then he won’t be punished for what he’s tried to do to Mrs. Elliot.”

  “And we’ll never know why he tried to do it,” Trixie added.

  Brian nodded. “I suppose you have a plan. Right, Trixie?”

  “Yes, I do,” Trixie said. “Honey and I are going to have a slumber party.”

  The other Bob-Whites—including Honey-looked at one another in surprised silence.“A slumber party?” Brian repeated.

  Trixie nodded. “Monday night. Honey is going to
invite Di and me to spend the night at her place. And you, Brian, are going to invite Jim to spend the night at our house.”

  “And what are we going to do in our soporific state?” Mart asked sarcastically. “Dream of capturing Al Finlay?”

  “We’re not going to sleep at all, if that’s what you mean,” Trixie said. “At midnight, we’re all going to meet right here at the clubhouse.”

  “You mean sneak out of the houses?” Di asked nervously.

  “We’ll have to,” Trixie said in a serious tone. “It’s the only way we will be able to stand guard at Mrs. Elliot’s.”

  “I don’t get it,” Jim said.

  “The last time Mrs. Elliot had a big order of flowers to sell,” Trixie explained, “they were trampled down on the night before she was to pick them.”

  “The snapdragons,” Honey said.

  “That’s right,” Trixie said. “Now she has a big order for carnations. She’s going to pick and deliver them on Tuesday morning. So, on Monday night, were going to stand guard over the carnations.”

  “That sure won’t be a bed of roses,” Mart quipped.

  “No, it won’t,” Brian agreed. “If we get caught sneaking out of the house at night, we may be grounded for the whole summer.”

  “Well, somebody has got to guard those flowers,” Trixie said stubbornly. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

  “Hold on,” Jim cautioned. “If we do anything, well do it together. That’s what the Bob-Whites are all about. Let’s just make sure we know what we may be getting into.”

  “Besides Max,” Trixie said, “we’re the only ones who know that Mrs. Elliot has that flower order.”

  “You don’t suspect Max, do you?” Di asked. Trixie shook her head. “Not directly. I think maybe he knows something about what’s been happening, but he won’t say. The only other person who knows about the flower order is Finlay, alias Manton. If he’s the one who’s trying to ruin Mrs. Elliot’s flower business, then he may try something on Monday night.”

  Di looked worried. “Couldn’t we just tell Sergeant Molinson to put a stakeoff—”

  “You mean a stakeout,” Mart corrected.

  “A stakeout,” Di went on, “at Mrs. Elliot’s on Monday night?”

  Jim shook his head. “He’d want some kind of proof that something was going to happen to the flowers.”

  “We’d have to reveal our whole plan,” Trixie added, “and Molinson would tell our parents, and they would tell us that we were jumping to conclusions, and—”

  “And nobody would guard the flowers,” Di concluded.

  Mart shrugged. “Why all the syllogistics? Trixies already made up our minds for us.”

  Jim sighed. “Mart’s right. But we should take a vote to make it official. Remember: This could be dangerous. And if our folks find out about it, we could be in big trouble. All in favor of Trixie’s plan raise your hand.”

  Trixie’s hand went up, then Mart’s and Brians. Honey looked at Jim, and when he raised his hand, she raised hers. Di swallowed and raised her hand, too.

  “It’s unanimous,” Jim said. “Now, let’s agree on something else. We’ll need the B.W.G. station wagon to get to Mrs. Elliot’s. Once we’re there, we’ll stick close to the wagon. If we see something happening, we won’t try to stop it ourselves—we’ll head for the police, fast. Okay?”

  The others nodded.

  “Any questions?” Jim asked.

  Mart raised his hand. “I have a question. Why couldn’t my sister be interested in something safe and sensible... like hockey or professional wrestling?”

  Night Watch ● 8

  THE MOON PEEKED between tree branches, covering the damp ground with a patchwork of cold light. Trixie hunched her shoulders and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. Di, standing beside her, shivered.

  “Cold?” Trixie asked.

  “Scared,” Di admitted. “I’ve been rearranging all of my goose bumps.”

  “If you need any more,” said Honey, “I’ve got plenty to spare.”

  Jim jingled the keys to the station wagon. “There’s no need for all of us to go over there,” he said. “Brian, Mart, and I could go.”

  “Oh, sure,” Trixie protested. “This was my idea, and now you want to leave me out of it.”

  “You wouldn’t be out of it,” Brian said. “We’d leave one of these with you.” He patted a leather case attached to his belt. It contained a walkie-talkie, one of a set given to Mart the previous Christmas. “One of us will keep you informed of what’s going on, if anything.” Trixie shook her head. “You’re not leaving me behind. We need both walkie-talkies at Mrs. Elliot’s. One of us has to stay in the car in case we need to get away fast. Whoever that is will need a walkie-talkie to be alerted. The other walkie-talkie has to be where we’re keeping watch.”

  “And another thing,” Honey pointed out. “Leaving us behind would be a form of sex discrimination.”

  “Gee,” said Mart, “I should have thought of that before I held the door open for you at Manton’s Flower Shop.”

  “Maybe we ought to equalize the situation,” Jim said. “We’ll stay here and let them go.” He tossed the keys to Trixie.

  “But I can’t drive,” Trixie said.

  “That puts it on us,” Brian said to Jim. “I’d call that age discrimination, wouldn’t you?”

  “There’s only one way to settle this,” Honey said with a nervous giggle. “We’ll all go.”

  “I knew it all along,” Jim admitted. He retrieved the keys from Trixie. “Let’s get started, or it’ll be daylight by the time we get to Mrs. Elliot’s.”

  It was decided that Jim would stay in the station wagon when they arrived. The others would spread out in different directions, keeping as close to the wagon as possible.

  “There is one essential facet of this operation that has been overlooked,” Mart commented. “Such as?” Trixie prompted.

  “Just where is the bed of carnations whose slumber we’re supposed to sentinel?”

  “That’s right,” Jim said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Uh-oh!” Trixie pursed her lips. “I know where the sweet peas are, and the delphiniums, and clematis, and roses—”

  “The carnations?” Mart urged.

  Brian looked at Trixie. “Are we going to have to go searching around in the dark?”

  “Tiptoeing through the tulips?” Mart added. “Tulips are not in season,” Trixie snapped.

  “I know where the carnations are,” Honey said. “I remember seeing them on the afternoon the new pump was put in.”

  “Tell us as exactly as you can,” Jim said. “You don’t want to make noise blundering around, and it would be better if no one has to use a flashlight.”

  Honey described having seen the carnations beyond the shed, to one side of the cornfield. “They’re in a big open area where the com won’t shade them,” she said.

  Trixie nodded. “Now I remember. I saw them there on the day of the arson attempt. The carnations just didn’t register with me. I had other things on my mind.”

  “As usual,” Mart said.

  Brian spoke up. “That location solves a problem. We won’t have to go past the house and chance alarming Mrs. Elliot.”

  “Brian’s right,” Jim said. “We don’t have to use Mrs. Elliot’s drive. We’ll go up the lane on the other side of the cornfield, where the gray car was.”

  “If someone does come,” Honey warned, “he might use that same road.”

  “We’ll spot him that much sooner if he does,” Jim said. “I’ll have the wagon hidden off to the side.”

  Trixie leaned forward. “Brian, you and Di take the far side of the clearing, opposite the cornfield. There are some bushes there to hide in. Mart,” she continued, turning to him, “you take the front of the clearing. Honey and I will cut through the com to the near side.”

  “If you get hungry,” Mart said, “you can munch on an ear of com.”

  Di spoke up, t
rying to sound braver than she felt. “Just be sure it isn’t popcorn. Too noisy.” Jim turned the B.W.G. station wagon off Glen Road and onto the rough lane that led around behind Mrs. Elliot’s property.

  “Drive slowly,” Brian cautioned. “We don’t want to make too much noise.”

  “Can you see without the headlights on?” Trixie asked.

  Jim switched the headlights off. “I can see well enough,” he said. “We’re almost there.” A moment later, he pulled off the lane. “Here we are,” he said in a hushed tone. He turned the engine off.

  The young people sat for a moment in the stillness surrounding the station wagon. Trixie still had her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her jacket. She was glad she’d worn it— though it didn’t seem to be keeping her very warm at the moment. She pulled a hand free and reached for the door handle. “I guess we’d better... get into position,” she whispered.

  “Keep it quiet,” Jim advised. “Don’t slam the doors. I’ll turn the wagon around so that we can pull out fast if we have to.”

  In the pale moonlight, their faces looked ghostly white. “See you later,” Trixie said. She kept herself from adding, “I hope.”

  “Good luck,” said Jim. “You’d better not use the flashlights if you can avoid it.”

  “Sure,” Mart said, “just use your scotopic vision.”

  Trixie and Honey crossed the lane. The tall com reared up in the darkness like a solid wall. Trixie reached out and spread two stalks so she could step between them.

  “Hope we don’t get lost in here,” Honey murmured behind her.

  “We’ll have to sort of feel the furrows with our feet,” Trixie said softly. “We’ll keep going across them. Don’t follow me too closely—maybe you can keep me going in a straight line.”

  Trixie parted another pair of stalks. They rustled dryly, sounding awfully loud in the darkness. A rough com leaf rasped across her cheek.

  A sudden shrill squeak and a flutter of motion made Trixie cringe back. A small bird scolded indignantly and flew off.