The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

don’t have friends. I know all that, see — I did some interviewing of my own. All you’ve got is your work, and somebody else will take your place there. So it will all turn out for the best.” He hesitated for a moment, as if he really expected her to agree with him.
    In the silence, Trixie’s other senses once again became more acute. She was conscious of the ache in her muscles from sitting so long without moving. She was conscious of a smell, too — something that hadn’t been there before. Suddenly she knew what it was. Fire! He’s set the straw on fire!
    That thought had just come to her when the room suddenly went dark. Panic and confusion flooded through Trixie’s mind. Had Mr. Slettom left? In her distraction, she hadn’t heard the door close. Should she run for the door? Should she shout for help? What if Mr. Slettom hadn’t left. What if he was waiting just outside in the dark, to be sure the fire got a good start, to be sure Jane Dix-Strauss didn’t get away. She couldn’t let Slettom catch her. He’d make sure she died in the fire, too. It would fit right in with his story — Jane Dix-Strauss would have tried to silence Trixie and accidentally been silenced with her.
    Trixie’s mind raced through those troubled thoughts as she remained crouched and motionless in the closet. Her ears strained for any sound. All they heard was a crackle that told her the fire was spreading. It would take only moments for it to go out of control in the straw-filled stable.
    I have to risk it, she thought. She stood up and was struck by how much stronger the smell of smoke was away from the floor. She opened the door of the closet and walked out. She could see the flickering flames in a pile of straw near the door of the stable. The flames lit the ribbons of smoke that curled upward. They also let Trixie see the too-still figure of Jane Dix-Strauss.
    Once again, Trixie was faced with a hard decision. Slettom had, cleverly, set the fire close to the door. If she spent any time trying to rouse the reporter, the way out might be blocked for both of them. Yet, if she left to get help with the fire, she might not be able to get back in — not in time for the unconscious young woman. She could try to put out the fire herself, but if she failed, it would cost two human lives and the lives of all the horses in the stable.
    “I’ll go for help.” Trixie was surprised that she’d spoken out loud. She realized that she had, in fact, spoken to Jane Dix-Strauss. It was a promise, even if the reporter couldn’t hear it.
    For just a fraction of a second, Trixie felt as if she were frozen in place, with the fire spreading even closer to the door. Then she forced her knees to bend, forced herself to move. She would run from the stable to the Manor House as fast as she could, and pray that someone would hear her shouts.
    She saved her shouts, though, as she ran toward the house. She would wait until there was at least a chance that someone would hear her.
    When she got to the house, she saw the front door open and two figures appear on the top step. “Jim! Honey!” The cry was one of recognition and of gratitude. “Fire! Help!” She stopped running and half-turned back toward the stable. Her friends stared at her, too stunned to move.
    “Hurry!” she shouted. “Get the police! Get the fire department! Go!”
    She didn’t wait for a response. She needed help, and now she had it. The next thing to do was to help Jane Dix-Strauss.
    Trixie ran back into the burning stable.



13 * Who, What, When, Where, and Why

    THE FLAMES WERE LEAPING KNEE-HIGH inside the stable, and the smoke had already gotten so thick that Trixie could barely see. Her eyes started to tear as she peered through the smoke. Finally, she spotted the motionless form on the floor.
    Trixie took a deep breath and ran toward Jane Dix-Strauss. Her first-aid training told her it was dangerous to move the woman — but the sight and sound and smell of the fire told her it was more dangerous not to. Trixie put her hands under the woman’s arms and began to pull.
    It seemed to take hours to get to the door. Then, from behind her, Trixie felt the cool touch of fresh air. “We did it!” she said out loud. Her exclamation was answered by a groan from Jane Dix-Strauss.
    Trixie was overjoyed that the young reporter was alive. She was happy, too, that the fire in the tack room had not yet raged out of control. Leaving Jane Dix-Strauss on the ground outside