The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

money?”
    “That’s where Eric comes in,” said Trixie. “Remember when Carl told Eric ‘the money looks good’? He didn’t mean they’d make a lot of money. He meant the money he made looks real!”
    “Could be,” murmured Honey as she started down the trail again.
    “And do you remember the dinner we had at the Purple Turnip?” Trixie went on, ignoring Honey’s doubtful tones. “Eric paid for that dinner with twenty-dollar bills. And remember how nervous he was.” Honey looked thoughtful. “I do remember that he was awfully quiet while the rest of us joked and laughed a lot.”
    “See? It all fits together!” Trixie cried triumphantly. “Well, just a minute,” Honey demurred. “It’s very difficult to make a plate to counterfeit money. Carl would probably be able to do it, but he’s such a well-known artist that he can make all the money he would ever want with his prints, which would be much easier to do.”
    Trixie hated to admit that what Honey said made sense. “Maybe he got tired of art and wanted to do something else. Maybe he considered counterfeiting a challenge,” she said, making wild guesses. “I have a very strong feeling that he is a counterfeiter. And even if he isn’t, we have to check his footprints to see if he’s the ghost.”
    By this time, the girls had caught sight of the cabin. They stopped under a tree uphill from the cabin and took off their skis.
    “I wish it were night,” said Trixie. “If he’s there and he glances out his window....”
    “You’d better get some story ready, just in case,” warned Honey. “I don’t think he’ll buy the drink of water bit again!”
    Trixie pointed to the back window of the cabin. The curtains were drawn, but there was a space of a few inches where they didn’t quite meet. As silently as possible, the girls crept up to the window. Trixie pressed her face close to the glass. It was dirty, and the room was dark inside.
    As Trixie’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the dimness, she could make out several printing presses and a lot of art material... and what looked like stacks of paper money on the table, and uncut sheets of money hanging to dry! She had her evidence!
    Then Trixie heard Honey’s muffled scream and felt a cold hand wrap itself around her neck.
    “All right, detectives. Get inside,” an icy voice commanded.

In the Cabin ● 15

    TRIXIE AND HONEY had no choice but to obey. They were forcibly pushed through the doorway, and the door was bolted behind them.
    The girls stood shivering in what was obviously the living quarters of the cabin. There was a cot, a table, two chairs, a stove, an old-fashioned icebox, and nothing else, other than the pictures—Carl Stevenson pictures—that covered every spare inch of wall space. A piece of canvas divided the living section from the work area in back, where Trixie had seen the printing presses and the money.
    Carl Stevenson shoved a second bolt across the door and turned toward them, his eyes flashing and his body trembling with anger. He had not changed the bandage that Brian had put on his head, nor had he bothered to wash the dried blood out of his white hair.
    When he tried to talk to them, only sputtering came out, until finally he shook his fist at the ceiling and asked, “Why? Why does this have to happen now?” Trixie was more than a little frightened. The idea of being locked in a cabin with a hermit often mistaken for a ghost was not appealing. She remembered the question that Honey had asked earlier, about why a man who could make so much money at art would want to counterfeit. Maybe because he was crazy— that’s why! And an old man living all alone in the mountains might easily go crazy, Trixie thought. Y ipes! He might even believe himself to be Thomas Mead’s ghost! Oh, why didn’t we tell anyone where we were going?
    His face bright red, Carl moved toward Trixie and shouted, “What can I do with you?”
    Behind her, Honey was shaking with fear, and Trixie knew that she had to act boldly.
    “I suggest that you go to the police with us and turn yourself in,” she said matter-of-factly. The calmness in her voice amazed her.
    Carl went on as though he didn’t hear her. “I can’t just lock you in here until tonight. You’d be missed for sure. Then I’d have all those snoopy brothers of yours poking around here. No, that would never do.” Trixie tried again. “That’s exactly why you should turn yourself in now,” she said. “You