The Mystery in Arizona

was the day before Christmas, and they were watching the boys put the lights on the tree. “The star is still crooked,” Honey told Jim for the fourth time.
    He glared down at her from the top of the step-ladder.
    “Would you like to climb up here and try to wire it in place yourself?” he demanded.
    Honey giggled. “Heavens, no! The very thought makes me dizzy.”
    “The sight of these bubble lights makes me dizzy,” Mart said. “What’s the matter with them, Brian? They don’t work.”
    “Of course they won’t work, silly,” Trixie said with a sniff. “The trouble is that you’ve put them on the branches upside down.”
    “Oh, let’s stop arguing,” Di said. “I can’t wait to start putting on the ornaments. The tree has more lights than it really needs now, and the star is perfectly straight, Honey.”
    “It is now,” Honey admitted, staring up at it critically. “But we can’t all trim the tree at once. If we try to, we’ll get in each other’s way and break more than we hang up.”
    Mart chuckled. “That’s the way Bobby trims a tree. Last year he sat on one box of balls and fell into another one before he settled down to breaking them by hand.”
    “Look out!” Trixie shouted. “You almost sat on a box yourself.”
    Mart jumped. “Wow! That was close.”
    And then Jim, backing down from the top of the ladder, bumped into him, and Mart was forced to step on the very box of ornaments he had just avoided.
    Honey and Di went off into gales of laughter while
    Mart hopped around trying to free his foot. But Trixie didn’t think it was funny at all.
    “One whole box of beautiful red balls ruined,” she wailed when she finally examined the contents of the box. “That settles it. You boys clear out while we girls trim the tree.”
    “Delighted,” Mart said with a bow. “We shall return to the culinary department, where our services are both needed and appreciated.”
    “Are you really going to make a chocolate sauce to serve with the turkey tonight?” Di asked.
    “I’m brewing it right now,” Mart informed her airily. “Early this morning I cooked all three kinds of chili— pasillo, ancho, and negro —and then I ground them. I am now about to add to the chili fried and ground spices which include almond, raisins, chocolate, cinnamon, pepper, sesame, anise, and cloves.”
    “That’s enough!” Trixie, pretending to gag, pushed Mart out of the living room. “It may look like a watery chocolate pudding when you’ve finished it, but I’ll bet it burns like fury.”
    “It does,” Mart assured her. “It is not intended for unsophisticated little morons like you.” He fled, laughing.
    “No kidding?” Brian asked. “Can you girls carry on by yourselves? Mrs. Sherman doesn’t really need us while she’s stuffing the turkeys, although I did promise to fix the guacamole for lunch.”
    “What is guacamole ?” Di asked.
    “You’ve eaten it every single meal except breakfast ever since you arrived. It’s that ever-present side dish of mashed alligator pears, tomatoes, onion, and a bit of chili. My guacamole, of course,” he finished, “has a very distinctive flavor.”
    “So did your burnt bacon this morning,” Trixie informed him, her blue eyes twinkling. “And in answer to your question, yes, we can trim the tree without your help.”
    Jim looked doubtful. “Whoever trims the top branches will have to climb up on the ladder.”
    “Naturally,” Trixie retorted, “since we haven’t got wings. Just what’s so wonderful about climbing a ladder?”
    “Well, see that you don’t pitch headlong into the tree and break all the decorations.” He and Brian departed.
    “How do you like that?” Honey demanded, giggling. “It’s the decorations my beloved adopted brother is worrying about. He doesn’t care whether we break our necks or not. Furthermore, Trixie Belden, I have no intention of climbing that ladder. Just thinking about those top branches makes me dizzy.”
    “Me, too,” Di agreed.
    “Pooh,” said Trixie. “I’m not afraid of heights. Let’s start at the top and work down.” She clambered up the ladder. “Hand the stuff up to me.”
    “How about these blue and silver balls?” Di asked.
    Trixie nodded. “They’re the smallest and should go on top.”
    As they worked, her thoughts wandered back to Mr. Wellington, and she said again, “I wish there was some way we could make his kids come here. Mr. Wellington’s, I mean. It would be such