Read Online The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire by Julie Campbell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julie Campbell
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gold button with her initials on it at the scene of the fire! Honey, do you remember whether she was missing any buttons when she talked to us on Main Street?”
“I didn’t notice. In fact, I didn’t even notice the gold buttons. I’m not as observant as you are — even if I am a lot more interested in clothes. But, Trixie, you can’t possibly think Jane Dix-Strauss started that fire! She wouldn’t have any reason to. Besides, you just said she was on Main Street when the fire started. So she couldn’t have been in a store off Main Street at the same time.”
“Mr. Roberts has been arrested for starting that fire, and we saw him before we saw her,” Trixie pointed out.
“All right. She could have started the fire. But why would she?” Honey asked. “If this is her button, I’m sure she lost it at the scene of the fire doing the same thing you were — investigating.” She held the button out to Trixie.
“I suppose so,” Trixie admitted, taking the button and dropping it back into her pocket. “I know Brian and Mart would say she’s only doing her job, but she doesn’t seem to care who she hurts while she’s doing it. Well, I can’t talk any more right now. I promised Moms I’d get tons of work done today, and the morning’s already gone. Can we meet at the clubhouse tonight? All the Bob-Whites, I mean? We priced the materials for the summer repairs today, and we need to talk about what to do next.”
“I don’t have anything planned,” Honey said. “I’m sure Jim doesn’t, either. We’ll check with Miss Trask and let you know.”
“Super,” Trixie said. “Would you call Dan and Di, too? I’ll be in charge of the snacks, since you brought them last time.”
With that agreed to, the girls said good-bye. Back home, Trixie quickly told her brothers about the meeting and got their mother’s permission to go. Then she pitched into work. First on the agenda was the garden, where seemingly millions of tiny weeds had poked through the earth since the previous week. Tiny as they were, they had to be pulled, since the plants in the garden were even tinier.
After the garden was weeded, Trixie scrubbed as much of the dirt from her hands as she could, ate a quick lunch, then took the dust rags into the living room.
As always, she paused to admire the painting her mother had done years before, of a tree-lined stream in winter. Now she paused, too, before the pen-and-ink drawing of Crabapple Farm that she had bought from Nick Roberts at the art fair. The simple black frame set it off perfectly — which is lucky, Trixie thought, since that’s all I could afford. She marveled again at Nick’s talent and resolved to do everything she could to see that that talent wasn’t swamped by a sea of troubles.
With the dusting done, Trixie washed the floor of the big country kitchen until it shone. Then she straightened her room and took down a load of dry clothes from the line.
Finally it was time for supper. Mart found that night an appetite to rival his own. “To what do we owe this gust of gustatory vehemence?” he asked.
“I’m hungry because I’ve been working hard,” Trixie said. “You ought to try it sometime. On second thought, you’d better not — the way you eat already, we couldn’t afford to fill you up if you did a lot of work.”
“Our day’s accomplishments may not seem like much compared to yours,” Brian said, “but we weren’t exactly lounging around. We got the garage cleaned out, the basement straightened up, and the driveway edged.”
“I’m proud of all of you,” Mrs. Belden said. “What about me, Moms?” Bobby said. “Are you proud of me?”
“Of course,” Helen Belden told her youngest son. “I think I have the four best children in the whole world.”
“I think they have the best mother,” Peter Belden said. “Certainly they have the mother who makes the best fried chicken and” — he raised his eyebrows in hopeful questioning— “apple
“I didn’t notice. In fact, I didn’t even notice the gold buttons. I’m not as observant as you are — even if I am a lot more interested in clothes. But, Trixie, you can’t possibly think Jane Dix-Strauss started that fire! She wouldn’t have any reason to. Besides, you just said she was on Main Street when the fire started. So she couldn’t have been in a store off Main Street at the same time.”
“Mr. Roberts has been arrested for starting that fire, and we saw him before we saw her,” Trixie pointed out.
“All right. She could have started the fire. But why would she?” Honey asked. “If this is her button, I’m sure she lost it at the scene of the fire doing the same thing you were — investigating.” She held the button out to Trixie.
“I suppose so,” Trixie admitted, taking the button and dropping it back into her pocket. “I know Brian and Mart would say she’s only doing her job, but she doesn’t seem to care who she hurts while she’s doing it. Well, I can’t talk any more right now. I promised Moms I’d get tons of work done today, and the morning’s already gone. Can we meet at the clubhouse tonight? All the Bob-Whites, I mean? We priced the materials for the summer repairs today, and we need to talk about what to do next.”
“I don’t have anything planned,” Honey said. “I’m sure Jim doesn’t, either. We’ll check with Miss Trask and let you know.”
“Super,” Trixie said. “Would you call Dan and Di, too? I’ll be in charge of the snacks, since you brought them last time.”
With that agreed to, the girls said good-bye. Back home, Trixie quickly told her brothers about the meeting and got their mother’s permission to go. Then she pitched into work. First on the agenda was the garden, where seemingly millions of tiny weeds had poked through the earth since the previous week. Tiny as they were, they had to be pulled, since the plants in the garden were even tinier.
After the garden was weeded, Trixie scrubbed as much of the dirt from her hands as she could, ate a quick lunch, then took the dust rags into the living room.
As always, she paused to admire the painting her mother had done years before, of a tree-lined stream in winter. Now she paused, too, before the pen-and-ink drawing of Crabapple Farm that she had bought from Nick Roberts at the art fair. The simple black frame set it off perfectly — which is lucky, Trixie thought, since that’s all I could afford. She marveled again at Nick’s talent and resolved to do everything she could to see that that talent wasn’t swamped by a sea of troubles.
With the dusting done, Trixie washed the floor of the big country kitchen until it shone. Then she straightened her room and took down a load of dry clothes from the line.
Finally it was time for supper. Mart found that night an appetite to rival his own. “To what do we owe this gust of gustatory vehemence?” he asked.
“I’m hungry because I’ve been working hard,” Trixie said. “You ought to try it sometime. On second thought, you’d better not — the way you eat already, we couldn’t afford to fill you up if you did a lot of work.”
“Our day’s accomplishments may not seem like much compared to yours,” Brian said, “but we weren’t exactly lounging around. We got the garage cleaned out, the basement straightened up, and the driveway edged.”
“I’m proud of all of you,” Mrs. Belden said. “What about me, Moms?” Bobby said. “Are you proud of me?”
“Of course,” Helen Belden told her youngest son. “I think I have the four best children in the whole world.”
“I think they have the best mother,” Peter Belden said. “Certainly they have the mother who makes the best fried chicken and” — he raised his eyebrows in hopeful questioning— “apple
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