The Mystery of the Castaway Children

home.”
    “Didn’t anybody pay her?” Honey asked alertly.
    “Eileen had told her we’d pay her after the auction money was in.” David looked embarrassed, and Trixie recalled what her father had said about this man’s carelessness with money. “We—we owed her for several sittings and were going to pay her at the end of the month. She— she was a good baby-sitter; I’m sure she doesn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping.”
    “Are you sure the note is from Davy?” Sergeant Molinson asked.
    “Yes,” David said.
    “Then why do you suspect kidnapping?” the sergeant snapped.
    “We didn’t, until—” David opened the second note and stared at it, apparently unwilling to share it.
    Then he changed his mind and shoved the note into the sergeant’s hand. “We found this under the door Sunday morning. That’s why we were late in turning in a picture of the boys. We didn’t want to risk their lives. But there’s a limit to how much a person can stand. We’ve got to have help!”
    Again Trixie and Honey read the note along with Sergeant Molinson.
    “ ‘We have your boys,’ ” Trixie read aloud. “ ‘Don’t call the police if you ever expect to see them again. We’ll bargain with you later, when you’ve had time to think about this.’ ”
    “What they mean,” said David bitterly, “is when we’ve had time to drive ourselves crazy, so that we’ll meet any terms they suggest.”
    By this time, Eileen had finished feeding the baby and was raising him to her shoulder. Trixie could hear the soft patting of her hands. Eileen had pretty hands, gentle and capable. She couldn’t have inflicted those bruises on that baby’s helpless body.
    “Which note did you find first?” Trixie asked. Sergeant Molinson quirked an approving eyebrow at her.
    “Davy’s,” answered Eileen. “It was pinned to the pillow in Dodgy’s bed. We found it Saturday afternoon. That’s when we found the broken piggy banks and discovered that some formula bottles were missing.”
    The sergeant waved Davy’s note. “You don’t think he was forced to write the note?”
    “No,” David said firmly. “I honestly think he took Dodgy and ran away for some mixed-up reason of his own. What happened to him after that is anybody’s guess.”
    “You haven’t found another note?”
    “No, so we’ve been hoping that the second one was some kind of cruel prank. But—” David shrugged helplessly— “none of our neighbors are the kind who would do a thing like that.”
    The sergeant paced about the room, evidently thinking deeply. The Dodges, Trixie, and Honey watched him silently. The baby slept on his mother’s lap. Trixie could hear the ticktock of that upstairs clock.
    Eileen smiled slightly, noticing that Trixie was listening to the clock. “We didn’t sell the clock,” she said. “It’s been in our family for generations, and Davy likes it. He says it puts him to sleep at night and keeps him company if he happens to wake up.”
    Trixie tried to return Eileen’s smile, but it died before it reached her lips. Where was Davy tonight? No place where an antique clock chimed, she could bet on that.
    David looked at Trixie. “Tell us about Dodgy.”
    Again Trixie repeated the story of the discovery of the baby in the doghouse, and of the care he had received since then. “He has bruises we can’t account for,” she said.
    “Bruises!” Hastily Eileen Dodge lifted the gown to examine the tiny body. The sounds she made showed both her outrage and her deep concern. “I don’t understand this. Dodgy has never even had a rash!”
    “Were there any clues to show how he got to the doghouse?” David asked.
    “I found a horseshoe nearby,” Trixie told him.
    “Could have ridden Wicky?” Eileen asked her husband.
    “ ?” Honey repeated.
    “That’s Davy. We re such a nicknaming family,” Eileen explained. “ is for David Dodge, Junior. Dodgy is for Robert, because we started out calling him the new Dodge. had a pony named Wicky, short for Wickcliff. I thought Wicky was sold at the auction, but might have got his hands on him first.”
    “Putting a baby in a doghouse sounds like something a child Davy’s age might do,” David Dodge mused.
    “I agree with you,” Sergeant Molinson said, stopping his pacing to stand beside Trixie’s chair. “But how does that fit in with the second note?”
    “I think—” Both Trixie and Honey began to speak at the same time.
    Trixie often spoke from