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Authors: Julie Campbell
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incredible.”
“No, but I wish I had,” Trixie answered, with a rueful smile. “Well, Honey, what do you think—shall we tell them?”
“There’s really not that much to tell,” Honey said. “At least, nothing that makes any sense. It’s such a hodgepodge right now.”
“That’s not hard to believe,” Brian said. “I just don’t want you two getting yourselves into some kind of trouble and then not being able to get out of it—especially when you leave us in the dark.”
“So you’d better start, Trixie, or we’ll have to use some drastic methods, like dragging you outside and throwing you in a snowbank,” Mart threatened.
Trixie gave up and told the whole story, both Honey’s experiences and her own, ending with the mix-up of the envelopes.
When she had finished, Mart said, “And?”
“And nothing. That’s it,” Trixie answered.
Mart hooted. “This is the best one so far, Trixie! Some schoolgirl shamus you are! You should stick to your schoolwork and chores. If you did those the way you’re supposed to, you wouldn’t have time for all this craziness!”
“Mart, you have no imagination!” Trixie exclaimed, exasperated.
“Thank goodness!” Mart laughed. “One imagination is enough for this family. Look, Trixie,” he added more seriously, “all you’ve got is one very upset drama teacher whose father has been kidnapped—in England, remember. Then you’ve got one overprotective boyfriend who likes to come to rehearsals and is interested in some pictures of costumes. No harm in that. Then you’re left with one jealous classmate who has harassed people, so far, but really hasn’t done anything. Now, if you can legitimately put that together into some kind of mystery, I’ll eat a whale.”
“That’s no dare, Mart Belden. You’d eat anything.” Trixie laughed, but she had a determined look on her face.
Brian had been quiet throughout the telling of the story, but now he gave his opinion. “I don’t know, Mart, the whole thing sounds a little fishy to me, too—no reference to your dinner plans intended.”
Mart retorted, “A whale isn’t a fish, it’s a—“
“I know, I know,” Brian laughed. “But fishy or not, I’d like to take a look at that safe-deposit receipt and those pictures, Trixie.”
“Oh, no!” Mart groaned. “I can’t believe you’re falling for any of this, Brian. And I used to think you were so level-headed.”
For all of Mart’s pooh-poohing, he accompanied the others up to Trixie’s room to look at the contents of the envelope.
“Hmmm,” Brian mused, looking at the pictures. “I thought you said these were photographs, Trixie. They’re not. These are pictures from a book. Look—there’s printing on the back of them.”
“Or from a catalog!” Trixie exclaimed. “Let me see those again.” Brian handed her the pictures. “There are six of them. Honey, do you know how many costumes were delivered?”
“Six, I think. Let me see, there was the velvet gown, the cape, and another costume for Romeo, and three more dresses. Yes, six in all.“
“Now, look at these pictures again, Honey,” Trixie directed. “Are these the same six costumes? I wish I had paid more attention to them! All I remember is the velvet gown, and here’s the picture of that.”
“I think they’re the same,” Honey said, “but I’m not positive.”
“You know, Trixie, even if these are the same costumes,” Mart said, “it could be that Miss Darcy’s friend sent the pictures earlier, just to show her what the costumes looked like.”
“That’s true,” Brian put in, “and she may have a safe-deposit box for any number of reasons—her passport and birth certificate, just to name two. Lots of people have one for documents.
“What we’re trying to say, Trixie, is that your ‘mystery’ can be easily explained. Your worst problem, if you insist upon having one, is Jane Morgan, and she’s easy enough to handle, I should think.”
“I suppose
“No, but I wish I had,” Trixie answered, with a rueful smile. “Well, Honey, what do you think—shall we tell them?”
“There’s really not that much to tell,” Honey said. “At least, nothing that makes any sense. It’s such a hodgepodge right now.”
“That’s not hard to believe,” Brian said. “I just don’t want you two getting yourselves into some kind of trouble and then not being able to get out of it—especially when you leave us in the dark.”
“So you’d better start, Trixie, or we’ll have to use some drastic methods, like dragging you outside and throwing you in a snowbank,” Mart threatened.
Trixie gave up and told the whole story, both Honey’s experiences and her own, ending with the mix-up of the envelopes.
When she had finished, Mart said, “And?”
“And nothing. That’s it,” Trixie answered.
Mart hooted. “This is the best one so far, Trixie! Some schoolgirl shamus you are! You should stick to your schoolwork and chores. If you did those the way you’re supposed to, you wouldn’t have time for all this craziness!”
“Mart, you have no imagination!” Trixie exclaimed, exasperated.
“Thank goodness!” Mart laughed. “One imagination is enough for this family. Look, Trixie,” he added more seriously, “all you’ve got is one very upset drama teacher whose father has been kidnapped—in England, remember. Then you’ve got one overprotective boyfriend who likes to come to rehearsals and is interested in some pictures of costumes. No harm in that. Then you’re left with one jealous classmate who has harassed people, so far, but really hasn’t done anything. Now, if you can legitimately put that together into some kind of mystery, I’ll eat a whale.”
“That’s no dare, Mart Belden. You’d eat anything.” Trixie laughed, but she had a determined look on her face.
Brian had been quiet throughout the telling of the story, but now he gave his opinion. “I don’t know, Mart, the whole thing sounds a little fishy to me, too—no reference to your dinner plans intended.”
Mart retorted, “A whale isn’t a fish, it’s a—“
“I know, I know,” Brian laughed. “But fishy or not, I’d like to take a look at that safe-deposit receipt and those pictures, Trixie.”
“Oh, no!” Mart groaned. “I can’t believe you’re falling for any of this, Brian. And I used to think you were so level-headed.”
For all of Mart’s pooh-poohing, he accompanied the others up to Trixie’s room to look at the contents of the envelope.
“Hmmm,” Brian mused, looking at the pictures. “I thought you said these were photographs, Trixie. They’re not. These are pictures from a book. Look—there’s printing on the back of them.”
“Or from a catalog!” Trixie exclaimed. “Let me see those again.” Brian handed her the pictures. “There are six of them. Honey, do you know how many costumes were delivered?”
“Six, I think. Let me see, there was the velvet gown, the cape, and another costume for Romeo, and three more dresses. Yes, six in all.“
“Now, look at these pictures again, Honey,” Trixie directed. “Are these the same six costumes? I wish I had paid more attention to them! All I remember is the velvet gown, and here’s the picture of that.”
“I think they’re the same,” Honey said, “but I’m not positive.”
“You know, Trixie, even if these are the same costumes,” Mart said, “it could be that Miss Darcy’s friend sent the pictures earlier, just to show her what the costumes looked like.”
“That’s true,” Brian put in, “and she may have a safe-deposit box for any number of reasons—her passport and birth certificate, just to name two. Lots of people have one for documents.
“What we’re trying to say, Trixie, is that your ‘mystery’ can be easily explained. Your worst problem, if you insist upon having one, is Jane Morgan, and she’s easy enough to handle, I should think.”
“I suppose
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