The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

It’s supposed to be very relaxing.”
    “It does sound neat,” Trixie said. “I can’t wait to try it in the morning.”
    “Right now I think you should try going into the kitchen,” said Mart. “Our culprit left a calling card.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” Trixie demanded, almost knocking him over in her rush to get back inside.
    Trixie hurried to the corner of the main room where there was a small sink, stove, refrigerator, and breakfast counter. On the counter, written in large block letters with a bright red liquid, were the words:

    LEAVE MY MOUNTAIN NOW!
    T.L.M.

    “Thomas L. Mead!” Trixie breathed. “So that was him I saw on the road—and he’s been here!”
    “Not so fast,” said Mart sternly. “In the first place, it’s ‘that was he I saw on the road.’ In the second place, what you saw was a stump. The real truth is that someone is playing a practical joke on us.”
    Trixie was about to make a furious reply, when there was a knock on the door.
    Pat looked startled. “I don’t know what to expect around here anymore,” he said, going to answer the door.
    It was a young man of about twenty, carrying a tray of sandwiches and mugs of hot chocolate.
    “Oh, it’s Eric.” Pat sighed in relief. “Wait till you see this mess. Eric works here,” Pat told the others.
    Eric was long-limbed and lean, with very curly, longish blond hair and watery blue eyes. As Pat made the introductions, Eric passed around the tray and gave each of them a wide smile, revealing perfectly straight white teeth.
    Eric seemed as baffled as Pat by the intrusion and the message on the counter. He touched the red liquid with his finger and then put it to his tongue. “Catsup,” he announced.
    “Oh,” quivered Di. “I was sure it was blood.”
    “Someone is trying to be funny,” Pat said, trying to sound calm. “It’s my fault for forgetting to lock the patio door. I can assure you it won’t happen again. I’m off to tell Katie about this. Good night, everyone.” Eric quickly cleaned up the fireplace and the counter, and then he, too, said good night.
    As she locked the door after them, Miss Trask commented, “I can’t imagine anyone doing such a peculiar thing.”
    “Neither can I,” said Brian, taking out his notebook. “But I’ll tell you, this lodge does not rate high on warm welcomes.”
    “What do you make of it, Trixie?” Jim asked.
    “I’m not really sure,” she answered. “But I think that ghostly person I saw on the road may be connected to this somehow.”
    “Trixie,” Mart began, finishing the last of his hot chocolate, “just because you choose to believe in exteriorized protoplasm does not mean you have to foist your hallucinations on us.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Trixie, her eyes flashing. “All I know is that there were no footprints outside that patio door. And someone, or something, wants to scare us away from Mead’s Mountain!”
    “Trixie, we can’t be sure of that at all,” Miss Trask tried to reason with her. “I tend to agree with Mart. Someone is playing a practical joke, and it’s in extremely poor taste. Right now I think we’d better get some sleep. We have a long day behind us and a big day ahead of us.”
    Even Trixie had to agree.

Locked Doors, Missing Quarters ● 4

    DESPITE THE LATENESS of their bedtime, the Bob-Whites awoke early the following morning, excited about the week of mountain adventure ahead. It was a beautiful day. The snow had stopped, and the sun was shining its warmest possible welcome.
    Now, this is the way to start a mountain vacation, Trixie thought.
    The first thing on the agenda was an early morning swim. Trixie, Honey, and Di threw towels over their swimsuits and, not bothering to put shoes on, stepped outside the sliding glass door. A chilly gust of mountain air sent them hopping on their toes toward the pool as fast as they could go. Wasting no time, they jumped into the soothing warm water, where the boys had already started their swim.
    “Mmmm.... This is gorgeous!” Di purred. “It’s just like taking a bath outside!”
    “Not quite!” hollered Jim as he scrambled out of the pool. At the pool’s edge, the boys had made an arsenal of snowballs, which they now used to bombard the girls.
    Laughing and screaming, the girls kept diving under the water. As long as they could stay underwater, they were safe. Whenever they came up for air, they found themselves all too visible