The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

wonders never cease?”
    “So, who are our suspects?” asked Di. “Who’s been acting suspicious around here?”
    “Who hasn’t?” Brian threw in.
    “Pat and Katie do a super job running this place,” began Trixie. “But we’ve found out that something is bothering them for sure.”
    “I just can’t believe they could be that nasty,” insisted Jim. “How about Bert and Jack? They’re a tall and short pair, and they certainly are unusual.”
    “Jack gets to me with all his talk of ghosts,” agreed Brian. “Trixie, did you ever find out what kind of boots they wore?”
    “I haven’t been able to check them yet,” Trixie sighed.
    “You know who else is suspicious?” asked Mart. “That honeymoon couple. He’s tall, and she could pass for a short guy. They stick to themselves almost all the time. Hardly anyone ever sees them.”
    “You’re not supposed to see a lot of honeymooners, silly,” Di giggled.
    “Who’s to know if they’re really honeymooners?” asked Jim.
    “It can’t be them,” answered Trixie. “I think it’s got to be either Jack and Bert or Pat and Katie.”
    “But there’re all kinds of tall people connected with short people,” Mart objected. “What about Mrs. Fleming? She’s tall, and Linda and Wanda are both short.
    They could keep an eye on Eric, and they could use the money to help pay Jenny’s doctor bills.”
    Trixie squirmed. “But Carl said the tall kidnapper was a man. Besides, they could never spend a bunch of counterfeit money in a small town. It’s already been spotted, and it’s only been passed once.”
    “Okay,” said Mart. “But there are other people here at the lodge, people from out of town.”
    “I still don’t think it could be anyone but Bert and Jack or Pat and Katie,” Trixie maintained.
    Even Honey was baffled by Trixie’s stubbornness. “I can see that both couples could keep an eye on Eric and that they could spend the money elsewhere, especially Bert and Jack. Or the O’Briens, when they move. But why can’t it be anyone else?”
    “Because whoever is forcing Carl to do the counterfeiting wanted to make sure that the money was good,” explained Trixie. “And you can bet that they were there to see Eric pass the money.”
    Jim whistled. “And Pat and Katie and Bert and Jack were all at the Purple Turnip that night.”
    “Along with a bunch of vegetables,” added Mart. “Oh, this discussion is all beside the point. Carl is obviously counterfeiting on his OWTI and is long gone by now.”
    “If that’s the case, we’ll go up to his cabin tomorrow to make sure he’s gone,” said Jim. “Then we’ll tell the police everything we know. But tonight, at least some of us ought to be at Porcupine Pond.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” Brian said. “Jim, you and I can accompany our schoolgirl shamuses. It’s a good thing Mr. Wheeler signed you up as the alternate driver. Now you can drive us in the Tan Van.”
    “That’s too many people,” Honey objected. “We’re sure to be missed.”
    “Brian, why don’t you stay and see who doesn’t show up at the party?” Trixie urged. “Give us an hour or so after you find out who’s missing. If we’re not back then, you can come like the cavalry and rescue us.”
    Trixie was glad they’d had time to settle on a plan, because just then the door opened and Miss Trask walked in. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to tell her, but Trixie had given her word that no one but the Bob-Whites would know. And Miss Trask would be sure to call in the police.
    Miss Trask was brimming with talk about the party. “Why don’t you have an early dinner tonight?” she suggested. “Then you’ll be free to help put out food and fix up a stage for the show. In fact, we could eat now.”
    “Oh, I almost forgot!” exclaimed Honey as they all stood up to leave. “Miss Trask knows some Robert Frost poetry. I’ll bet we could sweet-talk her into reciting some of it tonight. Won’t you please, Miss Trask?”
    Miss Trask looked doubtful, but the others clamored so much that she could hardly say no. “Only for the Bob-Whites would I do this,” she chuckled.
    After dinner, Trixie noticed Eric sitting at another table and called, “Will you do something for us in the show? A song, or a ski demonstration, maybe?”
    Eric shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll even be at the show,” he called back. “Hate to miss some good moonlight skiing in fresh snow.” On his way out of the