The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

Miss Trask came back into the room.
    “Honey,” Miss Trask said, “as soon as you discovered that you had worn your good watch by mistake, you should have brought it to me.”
    “You’re right, as always,” Honey said apologetically. “I’ll try to be more careful next time.”
    “Now that we’ve solved the mystery of the missing timepiece,” Mart broke in, “perhaps we could take some time out for dinner?”
    Trixie and Honey fell behind the others as they walked over to the restaurant. “If Eric doesn’t turn out to be the ghost, who do you think it could be?” Honey wondered.
    “There’re lots of people,” Trixie said. “Carl for one. I still think he’s up to something, famous artist or not. And he’s the one I saw in the woods the night our room was broken into and the fire was doused. Pat’s another one. He’s certainly had the opportunity. And what about Jack Caridiff? He’s always talking about ghosts.”
    “But Jack was with us when all the lights flickered in the lodge,” Honey said.
    “Oh, that’s right. I still think it’s Eric,” said Trixie just before they joined the others at the table.
    As they were finishing another excellent dinner, Katie came up to their table with an announcement. “Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, you know.”
    “Already?” exclaimed Di. “We couldn’t have been here that long.”
    “Oh, yes,” laughed Katie. “And my question is, would you like to help plan a big party for everyone at the lodge? We would hold it in the lobby.”
    “We’d love to help!” said Honey. The others agreed, and Katie handed out paper and pencils.
    “I thought the boys could be in charge of food,” she said. “Mart seems like a natural for that job. And you girls might be in charge of entertainment and decorations. We don’t need anything fancy.”
    The storm Jim had predicted materialized soon after dinner. The wind built up strength and the snow came down harder as the Bob-Whites kept busy making lists of food, decorations needed, and entertainment possibilities. Mart suggested a show with people from the lodge doing different songs and stories from their regions. This idea met with great enthusiasm, although Trixie claimed he thought of it just so he could be master of ceremonies.
    “We could sing some folk songs from the Hudson River valley,” Jim recommended. “Perhaps Linda and Wanda would sing songs about the Vermont Green Mountains, and Bert and Jack might do something from the sea. We could ask Jim Carlyle to come and sing, too. And to make sure that Mart doesn’t steal the show with his clowning around, we’ll make Di co-master of ceremonies.”
    It was quite late by the time they completed their party plans and went to bed.
    When Trixie woke up the next morning, the snow was still coming down and the wind was still blowing hard, although the storm had lost some of its fury.
    She jumped out of bed with a burst of energy, then shivered as her feet touched the cold wooden floor. “You’d think they’d carpet the bedrooms, too,” she muttered to herself, pulling on blue jeans and a red pullover sweater.
    Today’s going to be super busy, she thought. Besides the party, there was all this fresh snow—perfect for checking people’s footprints. She bent over Honey’s bunk and quietly shook her. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she whispered.
    “Don’t listen to her,” came Di’s voice from the other bunk. “We need lots of sleep if we’re going to stay up late and see in the new year.”
    “I’m sorry, Di,” Trixie said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
    “You didn’t. I’m already back to sleep.”
    Honey sat up and stretched. “What are you so excited about that you want to get started so early?” she asked.
    “We’ve got to go check footprints.”
    “No one else is up yet. There won’t be any footprints to check,” responded Honey, ducking back under the covers.
    Trixie threw Honey’s jeans at her. “Come on! Lots of people are up.”
    Trixie went out to the living room and put on her wool socks and waffle-stomper boots. When Honey was ready, they went to the lobby. Eric was already there, putting kindling into the fireplace.
    “Morning,” he said stiffly.
    “Are you building a fire?” asked Trixie.
    “What’s it look like?” he answered, heading for the door.
    “Do you need any help getting more logs?” Trixie asked sweetly.
    He looked at her suspiciously for a moment, then said, “Sure, that’d be nice. I don’t