The Mystery of the Emeralds

telephone.
    “This promises to be a productive day,” Mrs. Belden commented as she walked with her husband to the door and bade him good-bye. She didn’t know, as she said it, just how productive it would turn out to be.
    She gathered up several cartons from the porch and headed for the back stairs that led to the attic. She was soon joined by Trixie and Bobby, who announced, “I wanna hunt for the elephant, too.”
    “Where do you want me to start?” Trixie asked her mother as she pushed aside an enormous cobweb stretched between an old chest and a Victorian umbrella stand.
    “Why don’t you begin with that chest, dear? I haven’t the faintest idea what’s in it. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever used it. It’s probably full of your great-grandmother’s things. Take a look.” Mrs. Belden went on to sort out some discarded picture frames on the other side of the attic.
    Trixie opened the top drawer and took out two little bonnets. The feathers were no longer perky, and the ribbons were faded, but they were still pretty. Trixie put one on and tied the ribbon under her chin. She brushed the dust from the mirror over the chest and surveyed herself critically. She was surprised to find the image rather pleasing. Her face, outlined by the soft lines of the bonnet, took on an unaccustomed sweetness, and Trixie resolved to try harder to curb her tomboy impulses. She forgot the resolve a moment later.
    Pushing the little bonnet back on her head, she tried to open the drawer below, but it was stuck fast. She braced her foot against the bottom of the chest and gave a mighty tug. It worked all too well! The drawer came out completely, cascading its contents all over Trixie, who, losing her balance, crashed into the wall behind her.
    “Trixie, are you hurt?” cried her mother, running over to help her up.
    There was a smudge of dust on the end of Trixie’s nose, but she wasn’t hurt. “I’m fine, but I’ve broken this board to smithereens,” she said, looking curiously at the splintered wall behind her. “What’s back there, anyway?” she asked, pushing the board to one side.
    “It’s just a crawl space over the wing of the house where the kitchen is,” her mother answered. “It’s too small to be of any use, so I guess it was just boarded up when the attic was finished off. It doesn’t even have a window.”
    Trixie thought no more about it as she picked up the scattered clothing from the chest. The attic was getting very warm, and her forehead was beaded with perspiration.
    “Speaking of windows, why don’t we open this one and get a little air in here?” she suggested. “The rain won’t blow in. It’s coming straight down.”
    As she made her way to the dormer, she looked out and saw that the rain was actually letting up and the sun was trying to break through the clouds. She opened the window, and, as she turned to go back to her work, a streak of sunlight fell across the room and lanced through the broken board. Trixie caught a glimpse of something through the crack—a kind of dull metallic gleam. There was more than just an empty space back there, but what? She pushed and pulled the board impatiently until it came loose.
    “Hey, Bobby, run and get the flashlight in my room, will you? There’s something in there, but I can’t make out what it is,” she said, her voice suddenly tense with excitement.
    “Sure, Trix, but wait for me. I wanna go in, too,” begged Bobby as he good-naturedly went to get the light she wanted.
    Mrs. Belden, who had come over to see what was going on, laughingly asked, “Now, what have you unearthed this time?” She was no longer surprised when Trixie uncovered a new mystery; it had happened so often before. In fact, she had even begun to believe that Trixie’s dream of starting a detective agency with Honey wasn’t as farfetched as it might seem.
    Before Trixie had time to answer, Bobby came padding up the stairs. “Here’s the light, Trixie. You go first. I’m skeered!” he cried, fear crowding out his curiosity. “There may be a ghost in there or sumpin’.” His eyes were wide, and he edged up to his mother’s side for reassurance.
    Trixie squeezed through the opening into the room, which was, indeed, little more than a crawl space. On the floor was a pile of old clothing, which she gingerly nudged with the toe of her sneaker. A mouse scurried out from a coat sleeve and ran away into the darkness. Trixie shivered, despite the