The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

Maypenny’s .
The three young Beldens made their way home to
Crabapple Farm.
    As they walked, Trixie thought about everything she’d learned tonight.
One thing stuck out in her mind—Charles Miller needed money, badly. Instead of
calming her suspicions, that fact pointed to just one thing— Charles’s guilt. Graduate students aren’t known for being
burglars, Trixie thought, but most students aren’t as poor as Charles Miller is,
either. And then there was that mysterious conversation with Harry in the
woods, and the newspaper article, and Charles’s hostility toward her and Honey.
It was all pretty suspicious—and pretty confusing, too.
    By the time they arrived home, Trixie was too tired to think about
Charles Miller anymore. Slowly, she made her way up the stairs to her room,
thankful that it was bedtime. Tomorrow would be another long day.



6 * A Mysterious Accident
     
    When Trixie got to the second floor
of the hospital the next day, she made a startling discovery.
    As she wheeled her book cart into room 204, the door started to swing
shut. It banged against the side of the cart and a pile of magazines slid to
the floor with a loud flap. She didn’t see who the patient was until she stood
up, holding the slippery pile in her arms—and then she almost dropped it again.
    “Professor Conroy!” Trixie exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
    “I’m not sure I know,” Professor Conroy answered. He attempted a weak
smile, but his voice quavered. “Bump on the head, apparently.”
    “How did you bump your head?”
    “That’s the odd part. I got up last night to head for the bathroom, and
the next thing I knew I was in here.”
    “What does the doctor say?” Trixie asked, appalled.
    “Must have hit my head on a low-hanging branch or something. Might have
a concussion. I’m in here for observation for ten days. Can’t even get up.
Terrible!”
    “What about the dig?” Trixie gasped. “Who will take care of things?”
    “Fortunately, I have Charles,” Professor Conroy sighed. “I don’t know
what I’d do without him.”
    Trixie thought for a moment. An upsetting conclusion was forming in her
mind. Fortunately, my foot, she thought. I need to find
Honey—and right away!
    “Would you like a magazine or a book?” Trixie asked quickly. “Can I get
you anything at all?”
    “No, thank you, Miss Belden,” the professor answered weakly. “I think
I’ll just lie here quietly. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to read or not.
The doctor said he’d drop by this afternoon and have a chat about my
condition.”
    Trixie told Professor Conroy she’d check in on him the next day. Then
she quickly pulled her book cart out of the room, and parked it in the
corridor. She raced off to find Honey.
    It was almost 1 o’clock when she finally found Honey sitting at the
bedside of an elderly man, reading him the newspaper. Trixie controlled her
urge to interrupt, and backed out of the room. In a few minutes, Honey would be
through, and she could tell her everything on the way home.
    “Don’t you see?” Trixie said as they rode their bikes along Glen Road . “Charles
didn’t like being told to stay away from the village site. So he hit Professor
Conroy on the head last night, figuring it would look like an accident. Now
he’s in charge of the dig for ten days, and he can do anything he wants!”
    “I still don’t see why Charles wanted us to move. What’s the connection
between the place where we were assigned to dig and a treasure? Besides,
Charles was off at work last night.”
    “He could have come back from New
York anytime. Or Harry could have done it.”
    “I thought you said Charles was a burglar. Burglars don’t hit people on
the head unless they get interrupted in the middle of a burglary.”
    “I’m sorry you don’t agree with me, Honey. But I know there’s something
fishy going on, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
    The two girls rode on. Since Professor Conroy had told them to continue
working at the village site, that’s where they headed. But when they arrived,
they found a very gloomy-looking Charles sitting on a log.
    “Didn’t I tell you girls to get reassigned?” he asked grouchily. “You
keep turning up all the time, like bad pennies.”
    “Didn’t he tell you?” Trixie started with a smug look on her face. “We
checked with Professor Conroy last night, and he said that he’d told you to
devote all your time to the burial ground.”
    “He