The Indian Burial Ground Mystery (2 page)

Turning away from the window with a satisfied look on her face, Trixie
walked toward the front door.

“Won’t you stay for dinner, Trixie?” Mrs. Wheeler asked.

“I think I’d better start home,” Trixie replied. “Moms wants me to help
her out tonight.”

“Come for dinner tomorrow, then,” said Mr. Wheeler. “You know we always
like to see you.”

“Yes,” Trixie answered, waving good-bye, “that would be nice.”

She skipped down the veranda steps thinking what a wonderful summer it
was going to be.
An archaeological dig! Wait till I tell Mart!
she
thought happily. Then a slight frown flickered across her face as she thought
about Charles Miller. He certainly seemed unpleasant, but Trixie didn’t care.
She wasn’t going to let a grouch like him interfere with an exciting summer
like this one!

“Moms!
” Trixie wailed as she threw herself full-length on
the comfortably worn sofa in the Belden living room. “I can’t believe you won’t
let me work on the dig with Professor Conroy. I just can’t believe it.”

“I never said you couldn’t, Miss Smarty-Pants,” Mrs. Belden said with a
wry smile as she watched her daughter’s theatrical misery. Helen Belden had
heard nothing but “dig, dig, dig” for the last four days. Even Bobby Belden had
been forced to listen to Trixie’s tales about how “wonderful” the dig was going
to be. “I only said that you can’t let them down at the hospital. You know they
depend on their volunteers each year. I would be most distressed if a daughter
of mine went back on her word.”

“But, Mother,” Trixie moaned, “I can’t miss the dig. Brian and Mart will
be there, since they’ll be working only mornings at the Historical Society. And
Honey’s parents said she could join in, too.”

“Well, perhaps you can work something out, Beatrix,” Mrs. Belden
answered. “But until you’ve spoken to Mrs.
Beales
at
the hospital, I don’t think you should make any plans.”

Despite the fact that her mother had called her Beatrix—her real name,
which she hated —Trixie brightened at the thought that it might be possible to
arrange something. She’d do anything to work on the dig with Professor Conroy!
Springing into action, she flung herself off the couch and ran for the
telephone to call Mrs.
Beales
. Mart, who was lounging
in an armchair and lazily scratching the top of Reddy’s head, watched her
scramble out of the room. The Irish setter’s tongue lolled out happily with
pleasure.

Honey was sitting quietly in the window seat. “I hope she can work it
out,” she said with a shake of her head. “If Trixie can’t work on the dig, I
won’t either.”

“Brian and I can’t help it if we arrange our lives properly,” Mart called
after Trixie. “We just have a knack for living well, I guess.”

A faint Bronx cheer came from the hall, followed by the sound of the
phone being dialed.

“She’ll work it out,” Brian said quietly. “All
Beldens
have a knack for living well.”

“Perhaps,” Mart sniffed loftily, “but some of us have a more developed
sense of—”

“The ridiculous,” Honey finished. “Trust Trixie to fix this one. Mrs.
Beales
always liked her best of all the candy stripers. By
the way, Jim isn’t changing his plans. He’s still going to work at camp this
summer. He says he wants the experience.”

“But he has higher goals than we do,” Mart said seriously. “After all,
if he’s going to start a home for orphaned boys after he gets out of college,
he’s going to need all the practice he can get.”

Jim Frayne was Honey’s adopted brother. The orphaned nephew of James
Winthrop Frayne, he had been adopted by the Wheelers after Trixie and Honey had
helped solve the mystery of his inheritance. That was the summer that Honey had
moved to Sleepyside.

When Honey first came to Sleepyside she had been painfully shy and
frail. But after being friends with Trixie for a summer, she was healthy and
outgoing. Honey had convinced her parents to let her go to public school with
all her new friends. The Wheelers were so pleased with the change in their
daughter, they’d happily agreed.

Trixie, Jim, Honey, Mart, and Brian had formed a semisecret club—the
Bob-Whites of the Glen. Jim had taught the Bob-Whites a special secret whistle.
It was the bobwhite birdcall, and it had inspired their club’s name. The club
was devoted to helping others and to having fun. Diana Lynch and Dan
Mangan
were also members.

Di Lynch came from a wealthy family who lived in a mansion not far from
Crabapple Farm. She was known as the prettiest girl in school, with her long,
black hair and large violet eyes. Like Honey, Di had been very lonely until she
was befriended by Trixie and the Bob-Whites.

Dan
Mangan
, the newest Bob-White, was the
nephew of Bill Regan, the Wheelers’ groom. He worked as an assistant to the
Wheelers’ gamekeeper, Mr.
Maypenny
, and lived with
Mr.
Maypenny
in a cottage on the preserve.

Trixie and Honey were very special friends. They both wanted to be
detectives, and they planned to open the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency
someday. The two girls made a good pair because they complemented each other.
Trixie was quick-tempered and impulsive, while Honey was naturally cautious.
Together, they had already solved several mysteries.

“Well, Di’s excited about the dig,” said Honey. “Her parents said she
had to watch her twin brothers and sisters for only half a day. But Dan can’t
make it, so it’s not so bad if Trixie and I can’t, either. Since not all the
Bob-Whites will be participating, it can’t be a club activity.”

“That sounds like a rationalization to me,” Mart said.

Suddenly a whoop of triumph was heard from the hall, and Trixie came
back into the living room seconds later.

“Mrs.
Beales
said we could work half a day,”
she shrieked happily. “We just have to start early—at 8 o’clock—and work until
1 o’clock. Whoopee! A whole half day for the dig!”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Honey said excitedly. “Great!” Mart exclaimed,
hauling himself out of the chair. “Which reminds me, I haven’t eaten for at
least an hour. Food!”

“How can he eat all the time and still look like a bag of bones,” Trixie
mused as she watched Mart amble off to the kitchen.

“His basal metabolism is out of whack,” Brian snorted.

“That’s not the only thing that’s out of whack,” Trixie chuckled happily.
“But enough about him. Where’s Dad?”

“Enjoying a few moments of peace with his wife out in the backyard,”
Brian answered. “But he left the newspaper, so I think I’ll try to catch up on
current events, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” Trixie said, playfully snatching the paper off the coffee
table. “May I have a look first? Miss Wilson, one of the kindergarten teachers
in the elementary school, asked me to do her a favor and cut out pictures of
food that she can use for her class.”

“She wants them to eat newspaper?” Mart Belden asked, incredulous. He
had come back into the room munching on a hamburger.

“No, silly,” Trixie said. “She wants them to make a collage of the basic
food groups.”

“Ah, yes,” Mart said. “The five basic food groups—fast food, sweet food,
carbonated food, pizza, and hamburgers.”

Trixie didn’t laugh, and continued to read intently. Mart’s expression
changed from one of devilish glee to pained annoyance.

“Nobody listens to me around here,” he griped.

“Hey, guys,” Trixie said slowly, “listen to this—‘Gang Robs Westchester
Mansions.’ This news article says there’s a gang of thieves hitting all the big
mansions and estates in the area. The police don’t have any clues or leads
yet.”

“Sergeant
Molinson
will catch them,” Honey
said firmly.

“That’s right,” Mart added between mouthfuls. “He always gets his man.
Or rather, Trixie always gets his man.”

Mart was referring to the fact that Trixie had managed to solve a few
cases that had stumped Sergeant
Molinson
and the
Sleepy-side police department. The sergeant didn’t like her interference, but
even he had to admit that the clever fourteen-year-old had a nose for crime.

“I wonder…” Trixie mused.

“Uh-oh,” Brian said with a chuckle. “Here it comes.”

“I wonder about that Charles Miller,” Trixie continued, oblivious to her
older brother’s remark. She turned to Honey. “The way he was looking at all the
things in your living room. Why, he even asked if the Renoir was real.”

“Oh, Trixie,” Honey said calmly. “Everyone asks that question.”

“I know that,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “but he was prowling all over,
looking at everything so carefully. Don’t you think that was a little odd?”

“For once in your life, Trixie, you have the opportunity to work on a
mystery with redeeming social value,” Mart began in his usual pompous way. “You
are going to delve into the mystery of prehistory. Hey, did you hear that? I’m
a poet! The mystery of prehistory.”

“Oh, Mart,” Trixie moaned irritably, “be serious for once in your life.”

“I
am
serious,” Mart answered quickly, looking a little hurt.
“Why, I could join the ranks of the great and the near-great. Just think of
it—Shakespeare, Wordsworth... me!

Delighted with his own wit, Mart giggled merrily, then turned and headed
back to the kitchen.

“I must have more food,” he announced. “Great art cannot flourish in a
vacuum.”

By now, Honey was doubled over with laughter. Trixie started to laugh,
too.

“Well, maybe I was making a mountain out of a molehill,” Trixie finally
said. “But I’m not going to give up.”

“I feel much safer now,” Brian put in as he followed Mart into the
kitchen. “Knowing that Trixie is around eases a lot of my irrational fears.”

Trixie didn’t like being teased by her older brothers, and it was with
great self-control that she managed not to throw the pillow she was holding at
Brian.

“Come over to our house for supper,” Honey said. “At least we Wheelers
appreciate you.”

“I’ll go ask Moms.”

As Trixie and Honey wandered out into the backyard to speak to Mr. and
Mrs. Belden, they ran into Bobby. His face was smudged with long streaks of
dirt, and he was waving something triumphantly in his hand.

“I’m an
arpyologist
, too,” came his happy
voice. “Look, Trixie, I found a real, genuine Indian arrowhead. Dad said so!”

Trixie looked at the little piece of sharpened stone that Bobby held in
his hand.

“Why, Bobby, you
did
find an arrowhead,” she gasped in delight.
“Honey, take a look at this.”

Honey turned the beautifully shaped piece of flint over in her hands,
marveling at its loveliness. “We could show Professor Conroy this arrowhead,”
she said.

Bobby reached out and snatched his possession from Honey’s hand.

“No!” he said. “Don’t give it to anyone.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” Mrs. Belden said soothingly. “They wouldn’t give
away your arrowhead. I’m sure Professor Conroy will be able to find one of his
own. But it is interesting.”

“The fact that Bobby can find an arrowhead right in our backyard shows
that there must have been Indians in this area years ago,” Mr. Belden said.

“Professor Conroy is very smart,” Trixie told her father. “He’s
obviously chosen the right place for this dig.”

“I’m putting my arrowhead away in a special place,” Bobby said, and he
ran into the house.

“Will you be working on the dig?” Trixie’s father asked.

“Yes, Dad. I arranged it with Mrs.
Beales
at
the hospital.”

“Isn’t it neat,” Honey said happily. “A real Indian burial ground, right
on the game preserve.”

“That’s right,” Trixie said. Then she had a thought. “Neat—but creepy,
too. What if there are ghosts?”

“Ghosts?” Honey laughed. “Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing!”

“
Ooooeeeeooo
,” Trixie howled eerily. “We’ll
soon see, won’t we?”

The two girls burst out laughing, and then Trixie asked permission to
have supper with the Wheelers. Mr. and Mrs. Belden agreed. Then they watched
the two girls hurry off down the footpath that connected Crabapple Farm with
the Manor House.

“Well, I’m certainly glad they have something interesting to keep them
occupied this summer,” Helen Belden said when the girls were out of earshot.

“Maybe we can get through a whole two months without a mystery,”
chuckled Mr. Belden.

“Don’t count on it, dear. After all, you know our Trixie. If there isn’t
a mystery brewing today, she’ll make sure one starts tomorrow!”