The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

really got room for it, and Harrison did say he wanted to pick it up himself.”
    Trixie slipped into the station wagon’s front seat. “I’m so glad you solved the mystery of those alphabet trees for me,” she told Mrs. Ward.
    “And the card,” Jim said, who had heard all about it. “Don’t forget the Halloween card.”
    “There’s another card around here somewhere,” Mrs. Ward said. “At least, we’re pretty sure there is. A birthday card and a birthday present. You see, Rose’s birthday comes soon after Halloween. She knew Jonathan had bought her a gift because he told her so. But he hid it. He always did.”
    Trixie was interested. “Where did he hide it?”
    “That’s just it. Rose has never found it. Oh, Jonathan did give her a clue. He liked to make a little game out of it, you see. He kept on saying over and over, ‘It’s simple.’ ”
    ‘It’s simple,’ ” Jim repeated. “What did he mean?”
    “I don’t know,” Polly Ward said. “I wish I did.”
    “But why didn’t Mrs. Crandall give up when she couldn’t find her present?” Trixie asked. “He would have given it to her then, surely.”
    Mrs. Ward’s usually cheerful face saddened. “By then it was too late, my dear. Jonathan died very suddenly the weekend before her birthday. She’s looked for that gift everywhere. They were a very devoted couple, and it would have been nice for Rose to have that one last gift from him.” She sighed. “Poor Rose. So many strange things have happened since Jonathan died. Even his raincoat has been missing for many months. Rose thinks someone must have stolen it, though I can’t imagine why.”
    “Won’t you and Mrs. Crandall come to the bazaar this afternoon?” Jim asked.
    “Oh, yes! Please do!” Trixie urged.
    But Mrs. Ward shook her head. “No, we’d better not. There was a lot of bad feeling among some of the townsfolk over that missing vase. Seeing Rose at the bazaar might set some folks’ tongues wagging again. But there! I’m a fine one to talk, standing here gossiping away like this!” Trixie was quiet all the way to the hospital. They were just pulling into the parking lot when she said suddenly, “Wasn’t that a sad story, Jim? I wish we could do something to help.”
    She stared out of her window at Sleepyside’s small Fine Arts Museum on the other side of the street. Built at approximately the same time as Sleepyside’s white frame town hall, the museum, too, was housed in one of the area’s older buildings.
    Trixie thought again of Jonathan Crandall, the former curator who was now regarded as a thief. She sighed and wondered what he had looked like. Had he been tall and thin, like the well-dressed man who was standing in the museum’s doorway? Or had he been short and muscular, like the bald-headed policeman who was hurrying into the hospital’s side entrance?
    “I wish we could figure out where Mr. Crandall hid his wife’s birthday present,” Trixie said thoughtfully.
    Jim groaned and turned off the engine. “As fast as we think we’ve solved one mystery, you go and dig up another. But, yes,” he added, nodding his red head, “it would be very nice to try to help. Do you think we will?”
    Suddenly remembering their earlier conversation, Trixie said icily, “Why ask me? If I tell you, you’ll say I’m being bossy!”
    “Who’s being bossy?” someone asked.
    The voice was familiar. Trixie looked up quickly and saw Dr. Ferris’s kindly face smiling at her through the window.
    “If it’s either one of you who’s doing the bossing, you’re just the person I want to see,” Dr. Ferris said. “Do you have a minute? I’d like to talk to both of you. It’s about your friend Mr. Harrison. If anyone needs bossing, that man does.”
    Trixie and Jim followed the doctor to a bench under the tall maple trees.
    When they were seated, Trixie said anxiously, “How is Harrison? Is he badly hurt? I know Brian’s been keeping in touch with you about him.”
    “And so has Miss Diana Lynch.” Dr. Ferris chuckled. “In fact, I’ve been kept so busy on the telephone; answering anxious inquiries, it’s a wonder I’ve had any time left over to give to my patient.”
    “But how is he, Doctor?” Jim asked.
    “He’s fine—or he will be if I can prevent him from dashing off to that bazaar of yours this afternoon.”
    Trixie stared. “Dashing off to—? But why would he want to do that? We’ve found someone to take over for him.”
    Dr. Ferris