The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

yellow. We also have two styles of shirts — T’s, with the shorter sleeve, and jerseys, with the longer sleeve. Caps are all one style, and in the same four colors. Prices are noted on your instruction sheets. Now, for the lettering. There are three sizes: one-inch, two-inch, and three-inch. The price is calculated by the letter; the bigger letters cost more, of course. The prices for the various sizes are on the instruction sheets, too. Any questions so far?”
    “You’ve made this so clear that even I understand it, Nick,” Trixie said, scanning her instruction sheet.
    The slender boy smiled appreciatively at Trixie. “Well, you’re pretty understanding, from what I’ve seen,” he said. “For custom work like this, we need ten percent down, at the time you take the orders. That just helps us make sure people are serious about wanting the order. Otherwise, we’d be left with a lot of useless customized merchandise. The balance is C.O.D., which means you get the cash when you deliver the order.”
    “Cash?” Di asked. “Does that mean you won’t take checks?”
    “No, no,” Nick said hurriedly. “Checks are fine. We don’t take credit cards, though. My father doesn’t believe in them.”
    “How’s your father doing, by the way?” Brian asked.
    Nick’s frown contradicted his words: “He’s okay.”
    “Say,” Trixie said, “I’d almost forgotten. The story about his release should have been in this morning’s paper.” Nick’s frown deepened so abruptly that she was immediately sorry she’d spoken.
    “It was there, all right — two paragraphs on page eight,” Nick said.
    “That’s all!” Honey exclaimed sympathetically.
    Nick nodded. “The worst part is that Sergeant Molinson was quoted as saying they released him because they ‘didn’t have enough evidence to press charges.’ That made it sound as though there was some. That got Dad down pretty badly. I suggested that he and Mother go for a drive this afternoon, just to get away from things for a while.”
    “That was a good suggestion,” Brian said. “And speaking of getting away, that’s what we’d better do.”
    “I’ll second that motion,” Dan said. “I have some work to do yet this afternoon. I’ll be able to start selling first thing tomorrow, though — I have all the information I need.”
    “We all do,” Honey agreed. “You did a perfectly perfect job of organizing everything, Nick.”
    “There’s still one thing you need, though — samples,” Nick said. He picked up a box from the floor and opened it to show the Bob-Whites the contents. “There are seven caps and seven T-shirts in here — two each of blue, green, and red, and one yellow. The caps are adjustable, of course. I just guessed at the size of the shirts.”
    “This is wonderful!” Honey said. “We can wear them whenever we’re out selling, so that people will know what the merchandise looks like.”
    “What if we’re selling by phone?” Jim challenged.
    “Then we’ll wear them to give us confidence,” Honey retorted.
    “I’m sorry I couldn’t imprint them, but I don’t have the equipment I need yet,” Nick said.
    “We’ll take a rain check on that,” Brian said as he took the cardboard box from Nick.
    “You should make haste in ordering the new equipment, however,” Mart said. “You will soon be inundated with orders for individualized apparel.”
    “You’re going to sell lots of merchandise?” Nick guessed.
    “You’re catching on,” Trixie said, laughing. “We’d better get going. Thanks for everything, Nick.”
    “Thank you,” he said. He made an “after you” gesture to the Bob-Whites, then followed them up the stairs.
    As Jim, who was at the head of the line, opened the side door, the young people heard the sounds of a heated argument coming from the front of the house. The Bob-Whites all hesitated and looked back at Nick, who moved past them and headed for the noise, with the others close behind.
    Everyone froze when they saw, on the front walk, Mr. Slettom and Jane Dix-Strauss in a face-to-face confrontation.
    “You will leave these people alone, you — you scandal-monger!” Mr. Slettom’s face as he yelled was almost as purple as his paisley sports coat.
    “That is not your decision to make,” Jane Dix-Strauss retorted. “If Nicholas Roberts doesn’t want to talk to me, let him tell me so himself.”
    “Will you take my word for it?” Nick asked, walking slowly toward the two. “I’m