The Red Trailer Mystery (2 page)

“Wonderful,” Trixie cried enthusiastically. Actually, Trixie hated housework but cooking in a trailer sounded like camping out.

“I’ve always wanted to fool around in a kitchen,”
Honey said wistfully, “but none of our cooks would ever let me touch anything.”

“Well,” Miss Trask said briskly, “I think every girl, no matter what her position, should learn how to cook and keep house. And I also think that girls as well as boys should learn how to take care of themselves in the woods. I’ve packed a book with simple menus for both indoor and outdoor cooking. Some of the recipes sound delicious.”

“I can cook,” Trixie said proudly. “I fixed homemade baked beans for Dad’s supper tonight. It’s a cinch,” she admitted with a grin. “You just put some pea beans into a pot with water, add chili sauce, garlic, onions, salt pork or bacon, and molasses, and bake the whole mess slowly for eight hours.”

“Sounds divine,” Honey said admiringly and added to Miss Trask, “When we find Jim he’ll teach us how to take care of ourselves in the woods. He’s a real woodsman and promised to show us how to skin and cook a rabbit on a spit and build a shanty tent between two trees, and—and everything!”

“I’m sorry you girls never gave me a chance to meet him,” Miss Trask said. “Regan was telling us just now what a great lad Jim is and what an expert horseman.”

“We wanted to tell you about him, Miss Trask,”
Honey said impulsively. “We knew we could trust you but we were pretty sure you’d feel he ought to go back to his guardian.”

Honey, pushing back her bangs and tossing her shoulder-length, wavy, light-brown hair, turned to Trixie. Her huge hazel eyes were wide with sympathy for the runaway. “If it hadn’t been for that awful Jonesy, we
would
have told Miss Trask about Jim, wouldn’t we?”

Trixie nodded so vigorously that her sandy curls tumbled down on her tanned forehead. She was not quite as tall as Honey but a lot sturdier. Miss Trask glanced at her appraisingly.

“All of those sweaters, bathing suits, jerseys, and shorts that Honey wore at camp last summer are too small for her now,” she told Trixie. “But they should fit you perfectly. Why don’t you let me put the lot of them in this extra suitcase and bring them along? Then all you’d have to pack would be dungarees, underclothes, some socks, and an extra pair of shoes.”

Trixie’s round blue eyes sparkled at the sight of shelves stacked with expensive and almost new sports clothes. “Golly, that would be marvelous, Miss Trask,” she breathed. “Most of my stuff is in rags. I simply can’t sew,” she admitted ruefully, “and Moms insists that I’m old enough to do my own mending.”

“I’ll do your mending, Trixie,” Honey offered. “That’s one thing that awful governess I had before you, Miss Trask, showed me how to do well.” She laughed. “Mother can’t sew or cook either and she doesn’t approve of girls doing anything that might hurt their hands. She’d have a fit if she knew I’d been riding horses and bikes all week without gloves!”

It always made Trixie feel depressed to think about Honey’s beautiful but spoiled mother so she quickly changed the subject.

“Well, I’d better go home now and fix Dad’s supper,” she said. “See you at the crack of dawn.”

But they did not get off to an early start after all. At the last minute both girls decided to take their dogs, the Belden Irish setter, Reddy, and Honey’s new cocker spaniel puppy, Bud.

And, of course, after they had packed everything inside the spacious chrome-trimmed sky-blue trailer, neither dog could be found. Finally Regan, the Wheelers’ good-natured groom, located Bud, who had accidentally got shut into an empty horse stall. But although Trixie called and whistled for what seemed like hours, there was no sign of Reddy.

“We can’t go off and leave him now,” she wailed as it grew later and later. “Dad won’t be home until suppertime
and Mrs. Green isn’t coming out from the village until five o’clock. Both of them will think Reddy is with us and so they won’t even look for him. Something awful may have happened to him. I’ve
got
to find him!”

She and Honey tramped through the woods that ran between the Wheeler estate and the burned-down mansion, calling and whistling until noon. After lunch Trixie gave one last, discouraged shout, and this time there was an answering bark.

Reddy, minus his collar, his silky auburn coat matted with burrs, came bounding up from the hollow to the Wheeler driveway where the trailer was parked.

“Oh, Reddy,” Trixie scolded him affectionately. “You’ve lost your collar again. You’re just about the worst nuisance in the world!”

Regan reached down to pat the setter’s head and said, “He’s awfully hot and sweaty, Trixie. I think he must have got his collar caught in something and only just worked his way free.” He straightened. “You can’t take him without his license and identification tag. He might get lost on this trip. Can you remember his license number?”

Trixie told him what it was. “He’s lost his collar so many times I know it by heart.”

“Okay,” Regan said. “I’ll run into the village in the
station wagon and pick up another collar and have another tag made.”

And so it was almost three o’clock when they finally set off on the Albany Post Road, driving north along the Hudson River.

At first Trixie and Honey rode in the trailer because Trixie had to examine carefully everything inside the house on wheels. Trixie was surprised that 200-odd square feet of floor space could hold so much. The back door, up one short step, opened into a combination living-room and bedroom with a cozy little dining alcove. Beyond that was a tiled kitchenette which Honey said her father referred to as the “galley.” The glistening modern bathroom was equipped with a glassed-in shower, fluorescent lighting and a compact mirrored cabinet over the washbasin.

In the galley were an electric stove and refrigerator, and a stainless steel sink and worktable unit. The shelves and cabinets, which were covered with bright blue oilcloth, were filled with all sorts of canned goods. The floor was covered with spotless blue and silver linoleum.

Wide-eyed, Trixie wandered back to the stern of the
Swan
. On one side was a convertible davenport where Miss Trask would sleep, Honey said, and on the other, trim double-decker bunks.

“I hicks the top bunk,” Trixie cried, and then added, ashamedly, “unless you want it, Honey.”

Honey was unpacking suitcases and stowing their contents on the shelves of compact cabinets built in behind sliding doors under the lower bunk. She looked up with a smile. “No, thanks. I’d be sure to get seasick or something.” She pointed to a mirrored closet in one corner of the combination living-room and bedroom. “There are plenty of hangers if you want to put anything in there.”

Trixie was still too stunned to unpack. “I never saw anything like this, Honey,” she breathed. “It must have cost a mint!”

Honey shrugged. “I’ve seen much more luxurious ones, and Mother thinks this is so uncomfortable she won’t travel in it. One of her friends has a coach that’s thirty-eight feet long and has four rooms. It’s air-conditioned, and I wish the
Swan
was. This is the hottest July I ever remember trying to live through!”

“It is hot,” Trixie admitted, sinking down on the plaid-cushioned divan. “But it’s not that I mind so much. It’s the humidity—it’s going to rain again before night, I’ll bet.”

After the girls had unpacked, Miss Trask stopped at a gas station, and then they joined her in the tow
car, a gleaming midnight-blue sedan.

“I hope you don’t mind this snail’s pace,” said Miss Trask from the front seat. “I’m a cautious driver to begin with and now I feel as though I were dragging an elephant behind us!”

At six o’clock she said over her shoulder, “A nice little trailer camp is shown on the map just this side of Poughkeepsie. Let’s stop there for the night. We may not find another good place to park before dark, and I don’t like the idea of driving around the countryside after dark.”

“That reminds me,” Honey said. “We haven’t told Trixie about the camp where we’re going to have our headquarters. It’s in the farming district far upstate,” she went on to Trixie, “and it’s practically a little village, with a cafeteria that’s really the clubhouse, and an outdoor movie, and not far away is a riding academy. I thought we might rent horses and ride to the three different camps Jim said he was interested in. The trailer village, which is called Autoville, is only a few miles from Pine Hollow Camp and Wilson Ranch and just a good long ride to that other boys’ camp.”

“Rushkill Farms, you mean,” Trixie said. “That’s the name of the third camp Jim mentioned. It’ll be swell fun riding horseback to them. I’ll drop Dad a post card
as soon as we reach Autoville and give him the phone number in case he wants to get in touch with me.”

“You can do it now,” Honey said. “Miss Trask has already called the manager, who has offices in the cafeteria, to reserve parking space. When she telephoned Mother and Daddy yesterday, she gave them the number so they could have it in case—” She stopped and gazed out of the window at a glorious view of the Hudson River reflecting a purple and gold sunset.

Then they turned into a small trailer camp, and Trixie watched excitedly from the back seat while Miss Trask made arrangements with the owner for overnight space and electricity and water.

They parked beside another trailer, a big red one with
Robin
printed in small black letters on the door. Trixie stared at it, wondering why the shades on its windows were pulled down as though its occupants had already gone to sleep.

Then she yawned. “I’m starving.”

“So am I,” Miss Trask admitted. “Let’s have supper and go right to bed like the people next door so we can get an early start tomorrow. We’re way off schedule. I hoped we might spend this evening at Autoville, but what with the delay this morning and my over-cautious driving!” She chuckled. “I’m glad you girls are the
chefs. I’m too tired to boil an egg.”

They hurried inside the
Swan
, and Honey consulted the little cookbook. “We can frizzle a jar of chipped beef in a tablespoon of vegetable oil,” she said, leading the way to the galley, “and add a can of mushroom soup to it and serve it with canned peas.”

“Yummy-yum,” Trixie shouted. “That sounds—” She stopped by the living-room window and gazed out with her mouth open. A man with shaggy black hair had just emerged from the trailer next door. He was wearing a threadbare suit and scuffed shoes, and the tight collar on his white shirt was frayed and worn.

“That’s funny,” Trixie wondered out loud. “What’s such a man who looks so poverty-stricken doing in such a lavish trailer?”

Honey came out of the galley to peer over her shoulder. “Probably the chauffeur,” she whispered. “But then why isn’t he wearing a uniform like other chauffeurs?”

Bud and Reddy were scratching at the door, hinting that they had been cooped up inside the
Swan
too long. Trixie let them out, and they bounded in circles barking joyfully around the shaggy-haired man who, paying no attention to them, strode rapidly toward a nearby hot-dog stand. While the girls watched curiously from the entrance to the
Swan
, Bud and Reddy came back and
began sniffing curiously around the entrance to the red trailer.

At that moment the
Robin
’s door opened a crack, and a little girl appeared. She was barefoot and her patched yellow sunsuit was faded and worn. Carefully she slipped her thin body through the crack in the doorway and tiptoed down the steps. Bud growled at her playfully and jumped up to lick her face.

“Nice puppy,” she murmured, sitting down on the ground and gathering the little black cocker spaniel into her arms. “My nice puppy.”

Honey laughed. “He’s mine, but he likes you a lot.”

“Mine,”
the little girl insisted, frowning. “All black puppies belong to me!”

Trixie giggled and whispered, “She sounds just like my brother Bobby and I guess she is just about his age. Don’t you think so?”

Honey nodded. “She’s cute,” and added under her breath, “but she looks half-starved. If her parents are rich enough to own a big trailer like that, you’d think they’d feed her decently and dress her in something better than rags!”

“It’s not polite to whisker,” the little girl said, staring at them disapprovingly. “Only naughty people whisker. My name’s Sally. What’s yours?”

Before Trixie or Honey could reply, the door to the red trailer was suddenly thrown open, and a tired-faced woman came out on the top step. Her cheap cotton house dress was neat and clean but it showed signs of too frequent washing and mending. She was holding a tiny sick-looking baby in her thin arms and another child, in threadbare overalls, crawled behind her to peer out with big, expressionless eyes.

“Sally,” the woman called shrilly. “Come back inside at once!”

Sally promptly burst into tears, rubbing her blue eyes with grimy fists. “I won’t, I won’t. I’m sick n’ tired of staying indoors all the time.”

Her mother, completely ignoring Trixie and Honey, came quickly down the steps. She seized the little girl’s shoulder and shook her gently. “You’re naughty,
very
naughty. You know you’re not supposed to speak to strangers.”

Sally squirmed away from her and picked up Bud in her thin little arms. “I’ll come back if you let me take my puppy with me.”

The woman gasped and turned a shade paler, her lips almost white. As Honey said afterward, she looked as shocked as though the child had said something really dreadful.

Impulsively, kindhearted Honey called, “It’s all right. He’s my dog but she can play with him inside the trailer for as long as she likes.”

Sally’s mother caught her lower lip between her teeth and there were tears in her eyes, but she replied coldly, “I’ll not allow any such a thing! The idea of her saying it is her dog.” She raised her voice. “Joeanne,
Joeanne!
”

A slim, eleven-year-old girl with black pigtails hurried out of the trailer. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a shirt that was so much too small for her that Honey and Trixie could plainly see her protruding shoulder blades as she bent over and scooped Sally into her arms, puppy and all.