The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

never said a word to me about it,” Charles replied.
    “What?” Trixie asked, startled.
    “Listen,” Charles continued, “I’m student head of this dig, and I’m
telling you to get reassigned.”
    Trixie was furious. Honey was perplexed. Both of them had heard
Professor Conroy say he’d spoken with Charles. But Charles was denying ever
having had such a conversation. One of them wasn’t telling the truth, and it
was probably Charles. But how to prove it? And what could be the reason for
Charles’s denial? Suddenly Trixie had an idea.
    “All right,” Trixie said with a conciliatory smile. “Anything you say.
But we’re worried about Professor Conroy. How did he get knocked unconscious in
the middle of the night?”
    “Unconscious?” Charles was visibly surprised. “He wasn’t knocked
unconscious. This morning he complained that he felt ill, something about
allergies. He went off to see the doctor. How do you know he was unconscious?”
    “Because he told me so in the hospital this morning,” Trixie said,
carefully observing Charles’s facial expression. “The doctors think he might
have a concussion.”
    Charles looked shocked, then mumbled something about having to check
into it later. He turned away from the girls, and began consulting a chart
showing geological features and elevations of the preserve.
    The girls said a hurried good-bye and went off to look for Brian.
    “He’s obviously lying,” Trixie mumbled. She swatted a fly that was
buzzing furiously around her face, and she couldn’t resist making a joke about
it. “You know, Honey, this forest is full of annoying insects. The sixlegged and the two-legged kind, if you
know what I mean!”
    Stomping back through the woods was difficult. The air was hot and
muggy, and it felt like rain. Both girls were feeling bad-tempered and
confused. When they finally located Brian, he wasn’t much help.
    “I still don’t feel any differently about Charles Miller,” Brian told
his sister. “Charles is a very nice guy. I spent the morning with him in the
archive room at the Historical Society. I had a chance to watch him and talk
with him. There’s nothing strange about him, believe me.”
    “What was in the archive room that Charles Miller needed to look at?”
Trixie asked sharply.
    “Revolutionary War papers and books, for your information,” Brian
snapped back. But there was a small twinkle in his eye. “No maps, Trix , just diaries and letters and stuff like that.”
    “He’s supposed to be interested in Indians, not the Revolutionary War,”
Trixie said in a sulky voice. “That’s history, not archaeology.”
    “Not true,” Brian said, tousling her hair. “You think the Indians
disappeared the minute the settlers arrived? They ate Thanksgiving dinner and
then said good-bye forever?”
    “No. I guess not,” Trixie conceded.
    “There happens to have been a big overlap,” Brian continued. “A lot of
the letters and diaries written back then mention Indian customs, lore, and
stories. Is that so suspicious?”
    “Maybe not,” Trixie said, but she refused to give up. “I’ll have to do
my own research. But I still say that Charles hit Professor Conroy on the head
last night. He was angry at him, wasn’t he?”
    “Maybe he was angry at him,” Brian said, trying to be
patient. “But that doesn’t mean he hit him on the head. We’re civilized people,
not a bunch of monkeys who go around acting out our aggressions. Sometimes I
get angry at you, but I don’t go banging you on the head, do I?”
    “Brian, I wish you would take me seriously,” Trixie said in an exasperated
voice. “I would never accuse someone if I didn’t feel I had good reason. You
know that.”
    “This time I think you’re wrong.”
    “We’ll see,” Trixie said. “If you thought about it, you’d know I was
right.”
    Honey was surprised to see Brian and Trixie arguing like this. Usually
the two were quite close. But neither of them would give an inch. Finally
Trixie squared her shoulders and stomped off in a huff. Brian shrugged and went
back to work.
    Honey hurried after Trixie. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
    “You’ll soon see,” Trixie answered. “I’ve got a plan.”
    Trixie pulled her bike from the bushes, and brushed a stray lock of hair
from her face. “I’m going to the archive room.”
    “But why?” Honey asked.
    “I want to see if I can find what Charles Miller was really looking for,” Trixie said. “He may