The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

anxious about it?” she asked. “Oh, you know Di,” Jim answered vaguely. “I think she just wanted to show the rest of the staff that she was able to look after everything. I can understand it.”
    Trixie frowned. “Well, I don’t understand it at all. It’s not like Di to be so bossy.”
    “Maybe, Trix,” Jim said gently, “it’s because you’re so used to running things yourself.”
    “But I’m not bossy,” Trixie cried.
    Jim grinned at her to take the sting out of his words. “Oh, sometimes you are. Just a little bit, maybe. But then, I guess someone’s got to be the boss.”
    Trixie wasn’t sure she liked this thought at all.
    “I thought we were all bosses,” she said slowly.
    Jim decided to drop the subject. “Getting back to Harrison’s hat, I promised Di this morning that we’d drive on to the hospital if we had time. I’d like to get rid of the derby problem once and for all.”
    Trixie said nothing, but she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It sounded as though Di was still in the same peculiar mood that she’d been in the day before.
    And if that’s the case , Trixie thought, that could mean trouble for all of us.

Derby Surprise • 10

    IT WASN’T LONG before the station wagon was the most fragrant vehicle on wheels.
    At Mrs. Elliott’s, they were presented with several huge bunches of late-blooming sweet peas.
    “To thank you for all your help in finding my ‘hidden treasure,’ ” Mrs. Elliott said. Her eyes, as blue as delphiniums, twinkled at them both.
    “Oh, how lovely!” Trixie exclaimed. “These will sell immediately, I know. How kind everyone has been.”
    “That’s because you’re such a kind person yourself,” Mrs. Elliott answered.
    The remark made Trixie feel a little better.
    At Mrs. Vanderpoel’s, they loaded boxes of mouth-watering windmill cookies into the station wagon’s spacious interior.
    “People will be able to smell you coming from miles away,” Mrs. Vanderpoel said, wiping her hands on her blue-checked apron. “But what could be nicer than cookies and flowers. Delightful!”
    As they drove away, Trixie said to Jim, “Next stop, Sleepyside Hollow.”
    “Honey told me all about last night,” he said. “She’s over her fright now, I think.” He shot Trixie a puzzled glance. “What do you make of it?”
    They were still talking about the events of the previous evening when they found the entrance to Sleepyside Hollow Lane. They followed its twists and turns and, at last, arrived at the clearing outside Mrs. Crandall’s white frame house.
    It was Polly Ward who hurried out to greet them. “Rose couldn’t be here,” she said. “She had to pick up some groceries at Mr. Lytell’s. Then, I think, she’s going on to the hospital to see Mr. Harrison. Everything’s ready, though. The jams and jellies are in the kitchen.”
    Jim moved toward the house at once, but Trixie’s eyes searched the ground for the strange hoofprint she’d seen the night before.
    She couldn’t find it. She couldn’t even remember exactly where it had been. Somehow, everything looked different in the daylight.
    “Come on, slowpoke!” Jim called from the front porch. “Are you going to stay out there all day?”
    “Jim! I’ve found something!” Trixie exclaimed.
    But Jim didn’t hear. He had turned and gone into the house.
    Trixie moved quickly to one of the lilac bushes that grew in the tiny front yard. She might not have found the hoofprint, but her sharp eyes had spotted something else—a small scrap of black material fluttering from a high twig.
    Trixie stared. It looked as if it had been torn from an article of clothing. Could it possibly have come from a ghostly cloak?
    Quickly, Trixie reached up and disentangled it from the bush. “It may have been torn from a cloak,” she muttered to herself, “but a ghostly cloak? Never!”
    She stuffed the tiny piece of material into the pocket of her jeans and went to find Jim. He was in the kitchen with Mrs. Ward. They were just fitting the last jar of jam into a large cardboard carton.
    Jim grinned at Trixie. “I thought for a moment I’d lost you,” he said. “Were you trying to figure out the meaning of the alphabet trees?”
    Mrs. Ward looked startled. “The alphabet trees?” Puzzled, she glanced out of the kitchen window. Then she shook with laughter. “Ah, yes, I see what you mean. Those fruit trees do look peculiar, don’t they? Come and see them close up. Really, I