The Mystery of the Headless Horseman

friends?
    “Okay, Di,” she said at last. “I was wrong to think Harrison is a crook. I won’t worry about him anymore. I’ll forget him.”
    “He truly is innocent, you know,” Di said. “Who is?”
    Di stared. “Why, Harrison, of course.”
    “I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Trixie said airily. “Harrison? Who’s he?”
    Suddenly, they were aware that Honey had been watching them both closely. When she saw they’d noticed, she laughed happily.
    “You know what?” she shouted. “It’s a beautiful day. I feel so happy I could fly like a bird. Watch!”
    She spread her arms and flapped them up and down. Slowly, Di raised her arms, too.
    Trixie hesitated, then flung her own arms wide. And laughing together, at last, the three friends “flew” to their bicycles.

    What a wonderful morning it was! The three girls visited almost every store in Sleepyside, though they bought very little. It was enough that they were together again. Trixie had never felt happier—but it didn’t last.
    They were busy eating juicy hamburgers at Wimpy’s when the trouble began all over again.
    Trixie glanced out of the window at the street beyond. She saw Saturday shoppers and tradespeople hurrying about their work. She saw a bicycle propped outside the doughnut shop.
    She leaned closer to the window to get a better look. “Say,” she said idly, “isn’t that—” she paused—“someone-whose-name-I’ve-forgotten’s bicycle?”
    Di popped another crisp french fry into her mouth. “Couldn’t be,” she answered. “He doesn’t have a bike. I asked him about it only yesterday.”
    Trixie looked again. The yellow bicycle certainly looked like the same one that she’d seen Di’s butler riding.
    At that moment, a man came out of the shop with a small paper bag. He wore neither his uniform nor his gun, but Trixie recognized the man immediately. It was Charlie, Harrison’s accomplice.
    Trixie saw him glance quickly up and down the street. Then he climbed onto the yellow bicycle and rode swiftly away.
    All at once, Trixie was certain that it was the same bicycle that had been parked for so long on Mrs. Crandall’s front porch. She caught a quick glimpse of the long black scratch mark that she’d noticed before on its back fender.
    She came to with a start when she realized that Di was looking at her coldly.
    “You’re not going to let go of it, are you, Trixie?” Di asked. “You won’t be satisfied until you’ve found out all there is to know.”
    “No, that isn’t true,” Trixie protested. “I was only wondering what that man Charlie was doing with Harrison’s bike.”
    Di pushed her plate away. “But I already told you—Harrison doesn’t have a bike.”
    “But, Di, he definitely told Jim that he did. And that bike was it. I should know. I certainly saw it enough times last week.”
    Suddenly Di stood up. “All right, Trixie,” she said, “we’re going to settle this once and for all. Come with me. I want to show you something.” Honey looked from one to the other. “Oh, Trixie, Di! Please let’s forget the whole thing. What’s happened has happened. It’s over and done with. Leave it alone.”
    But Trixie had been thinking. “Maybe it’s best if we get this settled between us. If we don’t, I think it’s always going to make a difference in how we feel about each other. And I don’t want that, Di. Do you?”
    Di wasn’t listening. She was already counting out the money to pay for her lunch. “Come on,” she repeated. “We’re going to settle this—now.” Trixie’s thoughts were in a turmoil as she and Honey followed Di out of the diner. Meekly they tagged along behind, while Di marched across the square and along the street that led to the art museum.
    On the other side of the road, the hospital parking lot seemed as busy as ever. Trixie sighed. So much had happened since she and Jim had been there together. Had it really been only a week ago?
    Di marched into the art museum. She paused inside the door and glanced around the little entrance hall as if she were looking for someone.
    Trixie glanced around, too. She had visited here many times with her classmates when she was in elementary school. It was one of the teachers’ favorite places to visit for a field trip.
    Through the archway to her left, Trixie knew, was a small art gallery. The town of Sleepyside was proud of its collection. Several of its wealthier residents had famous paintings on permanent loan