The Hudson River Mystery

buy some supplies for our project.” Brian looked at his watch and stood up so fast that he almost lost his balance. ”In fact, I’ve got to split. Loyola and I have something to go over before our next class.”
    Trixie scrambled to her feet. ”I simply have to get to my locker pronto,” she said. ”If I don’t show up with the right book in at least one of my classes today, I might as well take the bus home right now. Hmmm, the way my day is going, that doesn’t sound like a bad idea!”

    Trixie’s afternoon at school was no more productive than her morning had been. Fortunately, the assembly-line canning process that Helen Belden set up left little room for additional misfortune at home.
    Bobby was proud to be assigned the task of washing the tomatoes Mrs. Belden had selected. Mart had his hands full with scalding them and dipping them in cold water. Trixie quartered them, while Mrs. Belden packed the jars and boiled them for the required forty-five minutes.
    Mart dumped several tomatoes into the boiling water at once, causing a slight spray to shoot upward, splashing Trixie.
    ”Mart, watch out,” complained Trixie. ”Jeepers, you’re more lethal than a shark.”
    ”Bobby, I think Reddy wants to come inside,” said Mrs. Belden. ”Could you let him in?”
    Bobby skipped out into the hall, and Mrs. Belden continued talking in low tones. ”Trixie, I wish you’d drop this business about the shark. You’ve got Bobby rather upset.”
    ”Oh, gosh, I didn’t even think—”
    ”I know you didn’t, dear. I wasn’t worried about it myself, until last night when I went in to say good night to him. Between that song Loyola sang and the story you told at dinner, Bobby was full of all kinds of fantasies. I don’t think he slept very well last night.”
    ”Now I feel terrible,” Trixie said. ”Prom now on, my lips are sealed!”
    ”That’ll be the day,” snorted Mart. Then, as Bobby and Reddy entered the room, he said, ”Come on, I’m running out of ammunition here. How about tashing more womatoes?”
    ”Womatoes, womatoes,” Bobby chanted. Trixie and Mrs. Belden threw weary looks toward Mart, who assumed a cherubic smile as he carefully lowered a tomato into the pot.
    Minutes later, there came a sound of footsteps in the hallway.
    ”That couldn’t be your father,” murmured Mrs. Belden. ”He has a retirement banquet to attend tonight.”
    It was Brian who shuffled into the kitchen and without a word sat down at the table, his head in his hands.
    Trixie took one look at her ashen-faced brother and said sharply, ”Brian, what’s wrong?”
    Brian stared back at her and said slowly, as if he still couldn’t believe it: ”I—I’ve had an accident with my car....”
    Instantly his family surrounded him, full of concern and questions: ”Are you all right?”
    ”Is anyone hurt?”
    ”Brian, what happened?”
    ”How did you get home?”
    Brian waved his hands. ”I didn’t mean to scare everyone,” he said apologetically. ”I’m fine. It’s just that nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
    ”Please, what happened?” begged Trixie. Everyone joined Brian around the table except Mrs. Belden, who asked, ”Can I make you some tea?”
    ”Yes, thanks,” said Brian. ”I still feel weak.” He looked as though he were mentally shaking off some sort of vision, and then he began his story. ”Loyola and I were getting some special equipment in a large bait and tackle shop in White Plains. It was right downtown, and I had a hard time finding a parking place.”
    ”Who was driving?” Mart asked, getting up to rescue the last of the tomatoes from the pot.
    ”I was. Loyola doesn’t even have her driver’s license yet. But she was the one who noticed the only space left on the block—”
    ”I’ll bet you had car trouble,” guessed Trixie. ”You were just saying last night that it hasn’t been running right lately. What happened—did it conk out on you?”
    ”You’re certainly getting into the habit of jumping to the wrong conclusions lately,” Brian said, annoyed.
    ”Merely a quotidian occurrence with our sister,” said Mart lightly, coming back to sit beside Brian.
    ”Anyway,” Brian went on, ”what happened had nothing to do with my jalopy. I mean, it was entirely my fault. I saw the space Loyola pointed out and moved into the right lane. Instead of backing into the space, like I should have done, for some reason I decided to pull forward. And I—I guess I