The Hudson River Mystery

just wasn’t paying attention. I sort of blacked out. The next thing I knew, I had steered the jalopy right into the next car!”
    ”Oh, Brian!” gasped Trixie.
    ”Actually it was more like I brushed against the car,” Brian hastened to say. ”I didn’t really do much damage, and there was no damage at all to my car that I can see. Naturally I stopped right away and got out to see what I’d done. The car’s owner was in the tackle shop and came running out to see what had happened.”
    Bobby, who had but a six-year-old’s appreciation of the seriousness of the occasion, was turning words over in his mind. ”Bait and tackle... hmmm, tait and backle. Is that right, Mart?” he asked.
    ”You can play with your words after I finish my story,” snapped Brian. ”Well, the owner was very upset at first, but after she took a good look at her car, she calmed down. She insisted that we shouldn’t call the police and wouldn’t hear of my paying for the damage.”
    Mrs. Belden set a mug of steaming tea near Brian and sat down. ”Of course you will pay for the damage,” she said.
    Brian nodded. ”That’s what made me feel so terrible. It turned out that her car was almost brand-new—a very expensive silver sports car. No wonder she was so hysterical at first! What I did was to put a scratch in the small rubber guard over the rear fender. I felt so guilty about putting the first scratch on a brand-new car that I promised to buy the replacement part and put it on her car myself tomorrow after school.” He paused to take a sip of tea. ”She wouldn’t hear of it for several minutes, but finally—probably just to keep me quiet—she agreed. She left then, and Loyola and I got our errand taken care of. Then I drove home. So I guess everything turned out okay. I don’t know why I still feel sort of disoriented over the whole thing.”
    His mother leaned over and placed her hand over Brian’s. ”You do seem flustered,” she agreed. ”And since you’ve come home, you’ve seemed a little cranky and irritable. Brian, is there anything wrong—I mean, really wrong? Are you feeling all right?”
    ”I’m fine,” Brian insisted. ”And I apologize for being so impatient. I seem to be doing nothing but causing trouble these days.”
    ”I’ll talk this over with your father when he comes home,” Mrs. Belden said. ”I do think that, besides your paying for and putting on the replacement part, it might be best if you didn’t do any driving for a week or so. Of course, your driving record up till now has been perfect—”
    ”No, you’re absolutely right,” Brian said. ”I acted irresponsibly. Would it be all right if I drove to school tomorrow, though, so I can take care of fixing that sports car?”
    ”Of course,” said Mrs. Belden, getting up from the table. ”Now, if my womato helpers will give me a few more minutes of their time, we’ll be able to work on getting some dinner together. I promise that whatever it is won’t have tomatoes in it!”
    A noisy cheer came from Mart.
    Brian rubbed his eyes, finished the last of his tea, and stood up. Abruptly he turned to Trixie. ”Oh, I almost forgot,” he said. ”The owner of that car—it was, of all people, that person you and Honey said you were going to see this afternoon—Loyola’s friend, Thea Van Loon.”

A Shocking Confession ● 4

    AFTER SCHOOL THE FOLLOWING DAY, Trixie and Honey found themselves crammed into the front seat with Brian in his jalopy. To Trixie, Brian still seemed moody and unpredictable. She had been almost surprised when he had agreed at ’once to let the two girls accompany him to Thea’s.
    Brian drove to a nearby car dealer’s and went inside to purchase the part he needed. Trixie and Honey waited in the car, chatting about the prospect of meeting a writer of children’s books.
    ”She’s probably a retired schoolteacher or some other sweet-little-old-lady type,” Trixie speculated.
    ”Who drives a racy sports car?” Honey teased. ”Well, everyone has little quirks,” said Trixie stubbornly. ”Take you, for instance. You come from one of the wealthiest families around here. Yet you wear blue jeans and sweatshirts half the time, just like me.”
    ”We’re not that wealthy, and I’m not quirky-just comfortable,” said Honey. ”Anyway, I love that name—Thea Van Loon. She sounds like a tall, willowy, ballet-dancer type. High cheekbones, long scarf, kind of arty-looking.”
    ”Who walks around quoting A