The Mystery at Maypenny's

horse into a trot. That car is hidden for a reason, she thought as she rode. I hope we can find out what the reason is.

The fugitive ● 11

    WHAT ARE WE looking for?” Honey asked as they once again tethered their horses on the path next to the ravine.
    Trixie had been asking herself the same question as they rode, and she was prepared with the answer. “First,” she said, “we should look for damage to the car. If John Score had had an accident on his way out of town—even a flat tire—he might not have trusted anyone in Sleepyside to fix it. He might have decided to hide the car and come back for it later—or send someone else for it.”
    “Why would he hide it here?” Honey asked.
    “He was in the preserve at least twice,” Trixie reminded her. “He was at Mr. Maypenny’s the night we were there, and he came back sometime and found the duck. He’d know how quiet and deserted this part of the preserve is. He’d know it was the best place to leave his car if he didn’t want it found.”
    “All right,” Honey said. “Damage to the car is the first thing we look for. What else?”
    Trixie shifted her weight from one foot to the other impatiently. She wanted to be down in the ravine looking for clues, not up here telling Honey what to look for. She knew, however, that her friend would be less nervous if she had a definite list of things to do once they got to the car. “Second,” she continued, “we see if the car is unlocked and if there’s a key inside.”
    “I didn’t even think of that when we were down there before,” Honey said.
    “Neither did I,” Trixie admitted. “If we can get a key, we can open the trunk. We might find—” Trixie had been about to say “a body,” but she stopped herself. “We might find something in there.”
    Honey’s frightened look told Trixie her friend hadn’t been fooled. “I think we should hurry up and get to the car and start looking,” Honey said. “If we don’t go pretty soon, I’ll be so utterly terrified that I won’t dare to go at all.”
    Trixie readily agreed, and the two girls scrambled back down the bank.
    They searched the outside of the car in silence for a few moments, looking for signs of an accident. Finally Trixie stood up and arched her back to take the kinks out of it. “This old car is so beat up it’s hard to tell, but I don’t think there’s any damage bad enough to keep John from driving it out of town.”
    “I didn’t see anything,” Honey said. “This rear tire is a little low, but it certainly isn’t flat. The rear fender is dented, too, but it’s already started to rust, which means the dent has been there for quite a while.”
    “Then it’s on to step two,” Trixie said, reaching for the door handle. The button on the handle pushed in and there was a click as the latch opened. “It wasn’t locked,” Trixie told Honey. “I feel stupid for not thinking of that before.”
    Trixie slid onto the front seat. Honey came around and stood by the open door, but she made no attempt to climb inside.
    Trixie examined the map that was spread across the passenger’s side of the front seat. “It’s a map of New York State. The highway that leads to this area from the west is traced with a red marker. John Score must have followed that route when he drove here from Ohio.”
    “Maybe he was following it to get back to Ohio,” Honey said nervously, “until somebody stopped him.”
    ‘ “The same road would lead both ways,” Trixie said lightly. The same thought had occurred to her, but she didn’t want to give Honey any more cause for worry.
    “The keys aren’t in the ignition,” Trixie said. She lowered both of the visors above the windshield. “They aren’t tucked up here, either. That’s where the mechanic at the service station always leaves Daddy’s keys after he fixes the car.” Trixie wriggled off the seat until she was lying on her back under the dashboard. She groped around for a few moments, then shouted, “Aha!” Trixie wriggled back onto the seat and held out a small, flat black metal box for Honey to see. “What is it?” Honey asked.
    Trixie raised her eyebrows and gave Honey a mysterious, sidelong look. “It’s a magic box,” she said. “Look. I wave my hand over it so, slide back the top, and—presto chango, a key!” Trixie held the key triumphantly in the air. “It’s a magnetic box,” she added matter-of-factly. “It’s used to hide a spare key, in case the owner