The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

that he told his students to watch. The only television set at the lodge is in Pat and Katie’s apartment.”
    “It really worked out nicely,” said Katie. “We rarely have a chance for an evening out with adults, or even teen-agers!”
    After the waitress had taken their dessert orders, Pat commented, “This seems to be where the action is for Mead’s Mountain people. I saw Bert and Jack over by the door as we came in.”
    “Really?” asked Trixie.
    “Why don’t we invite them to join us, too?” suggested Honey. “There’s enough room to add two more chairs.”
    Bert and Jack brought over their pots of herbal tea and seemed happy to join them. “How are things with the famous junior detectives?” hailed Bert. “I suppose you’re on the trail of the ghost of Mead’s Mountain.”
    At that moment, the waitress arrived with their desserts, and in the confusion, Trixie managed to say, “Not at all,” and leave it at that. She could hardly accuse Eric of anything when he was sitting right across from her.
    An older man with gray wavy hair and a thick moustache came up to their table to greet Linda and Wanda. “Glad to see you’re back in town instead of hibernating out in the mountains,” he said.
    “Jim Carlyle!” Linda exclaimed. She pointed to the guitar case in his hand. “You’re not the music tonight, are you?”
    “Sure am.”
    “Marvelous! These are some of our friends... here’s another Jim, Jim Frayne. His father might buy Mead’s Mountain and turn it into a natural resort area.”
    “What a great idea,” Jim Carlyle said heartily.
    Wanda introduced the others at the table and explained, “Jim is the music teacher at the high school, as well as an old family friend. We have an evening of good music ahead of us!”
    Wanda had not exaggerated. Jim Carlyle played the guitar beautifully and sang many old folk songs in a warm, mellow voice. Everyone in the crowded restaurant, even the waitresses and waiters, chimed in at the choruses. All too soon, the evening of music ended with a medley of Christmas carols that caused even the cooks in the kitchen to join in the singing.
    “I hope someone is good at math,” their waitress announced when she brought their check. “I guess I shouldn’t have put everything on one bill. It might be confusing to divide up.”
    “No need to,” said Eric, reaching for the bill. “I’ll take care of it.”
    “No, we’ll each take care of our own share,” Trixie protested. “It’s more fair that way.”
    “I said I would pay the bill,” he answered. Something in his manner made Trixie give up her arguing. “I guess the Christmas carols got me into a generous mood,” added Eric. “Besides, vegetables don’t cost very much.”
    As everyone thanked him, Trixie wondered how a college student who had to work during Christmas vacation could afford such moods of generosity... unless it was because of money from Wanda’s quarters and Honey’s watch.
    Pat stood up. “It’s time Katie and I left. We’ve got to be up early to get the lodge in action, and if any others at this table are interested in keeping their jobs, they can hop on the O’Brien train, too.”
    Linda, Wanda, and Eric all took Pat up on his offer and left in his pickup truck. Soon Bert and Jack took off in their small rented car.
    Only the Bob-Whites and Miss Trask stayed on, to linger over their cups of herbal tea and enjoy the peaceful darkness of the restaurant, a darkness punctured only by candlelight.

A Brush with Death ● 11

    THE RAIN HAD CHANGED to crusty snowflakes and the wind had picked up by the time the Bob-Whites and Miss Trask came out of the restaurant and piled into the Tan Van. As they were heading back to the lodge, Jim suggested a midnight swim. Everyone was in favor of it except Trixie, whose short night’s sleep was beginning to hit her, and Miss Trask.
    “I don’t know where you get all your energy,” Miss Trask sighed. “Tomorrow morning is soon enough for my swim.” She swung the Tan Van from the highway to the narrow road that went to the lodge.
    Trixie listened to the wind as it whipped the tree-tops back and forth and howled through the gullies of the mountainside, creating an eerie song: hurry home, Bob-Whites, hurry home. She shook herself awake and tried to concentrate on the conversation.
    “You know, something should be done with this road,” Jim was saying. “It’s been carelessly, cut into the side of this mountain, leaving the