The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

an outstanding meal. I couldn’t eat another bite, and that’s really saying something.”
    “We love to have you here, Mart,” said Mrs. Wheeler pleasantly. “Cook is especially delighted—you appreciate her efforts so much.”
    “I can’t think of a nobler goal in life than delighting Cook,” said Mart grandly. “Anyone who has elevated cuisine to such an art deserves as much delight as possible. Matter of fact...”
    “Jeepers, Mart, let Mr. Wheeler talk! Please, won’t you tell us your surprise now, Mr. Wheeler?” begged Trixie.
    Mr. Wheeler laughed indulgently at Trixie’s impatience but agreed that it was time to break the suspense. He got up and strode across the room to the fireplace. He leaned against it, his bright red hair contrasting vividly with the snowy woods scene in the priceless painting that hung over the mantel.
    “As you all know,” he began, “my company is involved in many business ventures, and we’re always looking for promising new investments. Do you remember George Kimball, our neighbor at Cobbett’s Island?”
    “Sure,” Jim answered. “We had a great time swimming and sailing with his son, Peter.”
    “Do you remember that George was looking for a ski lodge to buy?” prompted Mr. Wheeler.
    “Oh, yes,” recalled Honey. “Did he find one?”
    “He found the beginnings of one and approached me with a very special plan for it,” her father replied. “He and I may become partners in the venture. It’s in a beautiful area of Vermont. Originally there was going to be a fancy resort and a full-scale downhill ski course. However, the developers have had a number of problems and are ready to give up. Before running out of patience and financing, they managed to build a very nice lodge, several rope tows, and one chair lift. What George and I hope to do is turn the entire project into a natural recreation area, leaving the land as undisturbed as possible. In the winter, there’d be cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, and skating, with camping, fishing, and hiking in the summer. We’d keep the social center and restaurant at the lodge open year-round.”
    “Dad, that’s terrific!” exclaimed Jim.
    “We really need more natural recreation areas in this country,” Brian agreed.
    “I’m glad you feel that way,” beamed Mr. Wheeler, “because we’re hoping to aim this project at spirited young people like you. George and I have decided we’ve got to get firsthand impressions from that type of person. I am hiring a group of professionals to study all the facilities and make a full report back to me, but they won’t be able to give me that young person’s viewpoint.”
    Trixie sucked in her breath. She suddenly knew what Mr. Wheeler was going to say next.
    “So I also want to send in others who can give me that information,” continued Mr. Wheeler, his voice businesslike but his eyes twinkling. “And I don’t know anyone who would do a better job than the Bob-Whites. That is, if you want the job...
    Mr. Wheeler found himself drowned out by a chorus of shouts: “Wow!”
    “Terrific!”
    “You’re kidding!”
    “Gleeps!”
    “What does he mean, do we want the job?!” Then level-headed Brian spoke up. “But, sir, I really don’t see how we could possibly take the job, what with school and our chores and all.”
    Mr. Wheeler walked back to his chair and sat down. “That’s why I wanted to get you all here tonight,” he said, unperturbed. “We want to get started right away. With the Christmas holidays coming up next week, I thought you might like to go then.”
    “It sounds fantastic, Mr. Wheeler, but we Beldens can’t possibly go,” said Trixie despondently. “Moms and Dad are planning a big open house on Saturday, the twenty-sixth. They’ll need all of our help.”
    “For shame, Trixie,” Mr. Wheeler chuckled. “I wouldn’t think of letting you and the boys leave until you help your parents with the vast mountain of dirty dishes they’re going to have. And speaking of mountain,” he went on, noting the hopeful expression returning to Trixie’s face, “that’s the name of the lodge —Mead’s Mountain. The plan would be for all of you and Miss Trask to fly up to Groverville—which is about half an hour from Mead’s Mountain—on my private plane Saturday night, after everything is cleaned up from your party. If you stay for a week, that should be enough time to get the feel of the place, and you will have a day or two to rest up