The Red Trailer Mystery (11 page)

It was still quite dark when she awoke in the morning after a troubled sleep. The sun was just beginning to paint the patches between the trees a reddish gold. Trixie dressed quietly and slipped out of the
Swan
without even disturbing the dogs.

“Honey is too unhappy already,” she told herself aloud as she trudged along the road. “If I find out the Darnells’ trailer is the
Robin
, I won’t tell anybody but Mrs. Smith. I’ll let her notify the police.”

Birds were chirping in the trees and every now and then a truck whizzed past, but the rest of the world seemed to be sound asleep. Trixie knew that farmers arose with the chickens so she guessed that the Smith household would be at breakfast when she arrived.

She had walked hardly half a mile north of where the Autoville road came out on the main highway when she slowly realized that there was something familiar about the woods on her right. And then it dawned on her that she was standing only a few yards from where she had discovered the mysterious van’s hiding place.

“Those bridle trails certainly do run around in circles.” She chuckled as she gazed into the clearing.
“Honey and I had no idea we were so near home when we found that net.”

There was no sign of the net now and the heap of evergreen branches had been torn down. “Honey and I didn’t notice the clearing yesterday,” Trixie muttered, “because on our way back from the Smiths’ we were riding on the other side of the road. And Sunday afternoon we were so busy looking for bicycle tracks we didn’t realize that the road to Pine Hollow is only a stone’s throw north of the road to Autoville. Our only other excuse for being so dumb is that, after all, we were asleep when Miss Trask arrived at the trailer camp the night before, so neither of us had seen the entrance from the main road until yesterday.”

She laughed to herself as she hurried on toward the Smith farm. “No wonder we kept getting lost. We never look where we’re going.”

If Miss Trask insisted upon driving home the next morning, Wednesday, Trixie knew that this was the last day in which they could look for Jim. She and Honey had planned to ride to Rushkill Farms after breakfast, so she must get back from the Smith place as soon as possible.

The sun had risen above the tall trees by now and although Trixie walked along the highway as fast as she
could, she kept looking for bicycle tracks in the soft dirt in the shallow ditch between the road and the woods.

“I just know he’s hiding around here somewhere,” she kept encouraging herself. And then the sunlight gleamed on something that was shiny and metal on a rise of ground above the bushes on the other side of the road.

“Bicycle handlebars!” Trixie gasped and began to run in that direction. The underbrush hampered her every step, and brambles slapped her arms, but she kept on until the very denseness of the thicket forced her to stop. It was all too obvious that nobody could have dragged a bicycle through that part of the woods.

“I’ll come back this afternoon with Honey,” Trixie decided, “and see if we can find a path that leads to that shrub-covered mound.”

Of course she couldn’t be at all sure that the thing she had seen gleaming in the early morning sunlight had been part of a bicycle, but somehow she felt positive that it had something to do with Jim.

The air was hot and sultry now, and although the sun in the east was splashing the sky with rosy gold streaks, a heavy fog hung over the treetops of the western woods.

“It looks and feels like rain,” Trixie told herself,
depressed again. “Oh, I hope the sun burns off that fog. If we can’t look for Jim today, I’ll die!”

And almost as depressing was the thought that they might never find Joeanne or discover the hiding place of the mysterious van. And, as Honey had said, Mr. Darnell might be arrested any minute for the theft of the red trailer. Then what would happen to his poor, half-starved family?

Hoping against hope that the Darnell trailer would not turn out to be the
Robin
, she trudged on, feeling like the worst tattletale in the world. It was awful to be torn between sympathy for the Darnells and her sense of duty. The only comforting thought was that kindhearted Mrs. Smith might not notify the police, but would advise her new hired hand to turn himself in; then at least his punishment would be less severe. But in that case he might well be accused of the other trailer thefts, and how could he prove his innocence?

“Oh, golly,” Trixie groaned aloud, “if only I had time to get proof that would lead to the arrest of Jeff and his bushy-haired friend!”

When she turned in the Smith driveway, Laddie came rushing out to meet her, barking so loudly that Trixie knew she could not now investigate the barn without being seen by somebody when she passed the
house. Indeed, when she came nearer, she saw that Mrs. Smith herself was standing out on the back stoop with Jimmy Crow perched on one fat shoulder.

With a jolt of surprise, Trixie realized that Mrs. Smith had been crying. Her plump red cheeks were streaked with tears, and her black eyes were almost hidden in little puffy rolls of flesh. It would never have occurred to Trixie that anyone as cheerful as the farmer’s wife would give way to weeping.

“Oh, you lamb,” Mrs. Smith called, her voice choked with gasping sobs, “I’m so glad you came. Come right in and have some waffles and sausages and hot chocolate. I said to Nat only a few minutes ago, nothing will ever cheer me up but a young person around the place again.”

Trixie tried to protest, but Mrs. Smith hustled her into a chair and poured batter into the double waffle iron, talking all the while.

“My precious babies’ pictures, all of them gone! I wouldn’t mind the locket so much, although Nat must have paid a pretty penny for it. Solid gold it was, studded with real pearls and turquoises. Of all the things they could have stolen in this big house, why did they have to take that?”

Trixie, completely baffled, rubbed her forehead.
“I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. Smith,” she got out. “What happened?”

Mrs. Smith heaped sausages on a plate the size of a serving platter and pushed the butter crock and maple-sirup pitcher closer to Trixie. It was not until then that Trixie realized how hungry she was, and although she was dying to know what her hostess was talking about, she ate steadily throughout the conversation.

“It’s my own fault, Nat says,” Mrs. Smith went on between shuddering sighs of grief. “Although he’s as bad as I am. Neither one of us can ever think evil of anyone. And that nice little Mrs. Darnell! Who in the world could have thought she was a thief?”

Trixie gulped guiltily and choked so hard on a bit of waffle Mrs. Smith had to pat her on the back.
Oh, dear
, she thought,
I should have warned Mrs. Smith yesterday. Now it’s too late!

“I took the locket out of its case to show Mrs. Darnell how my boys looked when they were her baby’s age,” Mrs. Smith continued when Trixie had stopped coughing. “It’s an album locket, you see, and Nat had it especially made for me so I could have all seven of my lambs’ pictures together; with Nat himself as a baby in the extra space. And now they’re all gone.” Mrs. Smith burst into tears and covered her face with her voluminous
apron. She sobbed loudly for several minutes, her great shoulders heaving, while Trixie tried to guess what had happened.

“What makes you think Mrs. Darnell took the locket?” she asked when Mrs. Smith’s sobs had subsided. “Have you accused her?”

“Accuse her?” Mrs. Smith demanded. “How can I accuse her when they sneaked out in the night and were gone without a trace when we woke up this morning?”

“Oh,” Trixie gasped. “That’s terrible. Whatever made them run away?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Mrs. Smith moaned. “And if they just stopped here to steal from us, why didn’t they take the silver too and my teapot that’s filled to the brim with my egg money?” She reached up on a shelf above the table and brought down a large pewter teapot that was literally crammed with bills and small change. “They both knew about this,” she explained, “for they saw me put five dollars in it when Lalla Stern came over to pay her bill. The chickens are mine, you see. Nat gave them to me as a present and I pay for the feed and everything out of my egg money. I like to have a bit of cash that’s my very own, and I told Mrs. Darnell that. And now, will you tell me why she took that locket and left all this loose cash?”

Trixie shook her head. “Maybe she didn’t take it. Maybe you misplaced it.”

Mrs. Smith placed her hands on her broad hips. “Do you think I look like the kind of woman who would misplace her babies’ pictures? No, after I showed the locket to Mrs. Darnell I put it right back on top of the highboy in the parlor where I always keep it because that’s where it catches the morning sun and looks so pretty gleaming against the shiny mahogany.”

Trixie thought for a minute. Now was the time to tell Mrs. Smith what she should have told her yesterday—that the Darnell family had stolen their trailer. But was it necessary? “Have you notified the police?” she asked.

“I can’t,” Mrs. Smith wailed. “In spite of what they did to me, I can’t bear to cause that poor family any more trouble. The frail little woman fainted yesterday after picking all those beans. And I think that’s why they left. She felt she was too sickly to earn her bed and board, although I’m sure I didn’t want her to do a thing but rest and get her strength back. I was fixing her a nice cup of hot tea when the little girl, Sally, came running in, chattering the way she always does.

“ ‘Oh, Mommy,’ she said, ‘Guess what! When I was taking my nap I looked out of the window and I saw those girls riding away from here. You know, the ones that live in the big silver trailer with my black puppy.’ And that,” Mrs. Smith finished, “was when Mrs. Darnell fainted. She turned as white as my apron and pitched forward into my arms.” Mrs. Smith glanced sharply at Trixie. “You never told me you knew the Darnells, but Sally insists that Honey has her puppy.”

Trixie flushed. “We didn’t know it was the same family,” she explained. “We thought it
might
be the one we parked beside at a trailer camp farther down the river. That’s why we asked you if their trailer was red, remember?”

Mrs. Smith rocked back and forth, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “I do remember now. And what’s the story of the black puppy? Every time Sally mentions it her parents get very upset.”

Trixie laughed. “Sally thinks all black puppies are hers because she had one once that died. She took Honey’s dog with her when they left the camp and we didn’t get him back until we caught up with them at a picnic ground.” Trixie suddenly sobered. “Do you know what I think? I think Sally took your locket. She may have thought the babies’ faces in it were her brother and sister. Baby pictures do look pretty much alike, you know.”

“Impossible,” Mrs. Smith declared. “She couldn’t have reached up to the top of that highboy.”

“She could have pushed something over and stood on it,” Trixie argued.

Mrs. Smith smiled for the first time that morning. “You don’t know my parlor. There’s not a stick of furniture in it that a child of six could so much as budge. They’re all massive mahogany pieces that belonged to Nat’s parents.” She heaved herself to her feet. “Come on. Look for yourself.”

Trixie followed her hostess down a long hall to an enormous room that ran from one end of the house to the other. It was crowded with early Victorian furniture, and Trixie had to admit that she herself would have a hard time moving any of it.

Mrs. Smith slapped at a wasp. “I air the room every morning,” she said, “and Nat hasn’t put the screens up yet although I nag at him to do it all day long. I was telling Mrs. Darnell when I showed her the locket yesterday morning that now Nat had somebody to help him with the beans I hoped he’d have time to do some chores around the house.” She sighed. “Such a grand worker that Darnell man was too. And I’d already grown to love the children. If only they’d stayed with us I would have cheerfully given Mrs. Darnell that locket, after I’d
taken my lambs’ pictures out, of course.”

Trixie was staring through the glass doors of a ceiling-high corner cabinet. Some of the heavy antique silver on display looked as though it belonged in a museum. “Is this cabinet locked?” she asked.

“Heavens, no,” Mrs. Smith told her. “Nat and I never lock up anything. And in spite of all the tramps I’ve fed and sent away again in warm clothing, we’ve never before had a single solitary thing stolen.” She sank down on a tapestry-upholstered sofa. “I suppose I should notify the police, but somehow I keep hoping that family will come back. Mr. Darnell was very worried about that trailer. He only borrowed it until he could get steady work on a farm where his family could live. But he as good as promised Nat he wouldn’t return it until the beans were in. Do you think they might have borrowed that locket and pawned it, planning to redeem it later? I mean, to cover their expenses while they returned the trailer?”

Maybe that is the answer
, Trixie thought.

“If they ‘borrowed’ the trailer, why not a piece of jewelry too?” she wondered out loud and then bit her lip. She mustn’t let Mrs. Smith guess now that the
Robin
had been stolen. Borrowing without permission amounted to practically the same thing as stealing. But if Mr.
Darnell, assured of a job and a home for his family, was returning the trailer to its rightful owner, shouldn’t he be given a chance to correct his original mistake?