The Mystery of the Memorial Day Fire

she’d ever heard — as though her heart itself had stopped beating.
    Then, all at the same time, a dozen different noises began. Small children began to cry and older ones shrilled, “What was that? What made that noise?” Adults were asking one another the same question, and their voices added to the din.
    Trixie could hear the terrified whinnying of horses down the street. She felt grateful that the horses were as far away as they were from the explosion, and that they were headed in the opposite direction.
    Amid the commotion, Trixie suddenly realized that she could still hear the faint music of a marching band. Some valiant group was trying to carry on, in spite of the uproar. Even as she became aware of the music, though, it came to a ragged halt as one musician after another admitted defeat - or gave in to panic.
    “What was it? What happened?” Honey asked in a hoarse whisper, as if she were reluctant to add any more to the noise around her.
    Trixie had been so busy trying to get her bearings in the crowd that she’d almost forgotten the explosion itself. At Honey’s question, she looked again in the direction from which the ball of fire and the deafening boom had come. As she looked, it seemed to her that she could still see a reddish glow in the darkening evening sky. She blinked her eyes and shook her head, wondering if the explosion had left a spot in front of her eyes just as Jane Dix-Strauss’s flash had earlier.
    Trixie opened her eyes and looked again. There was no doubt about it — the glow really was there. “Something exploded, Honey,” Trixie said. “And now that something is on fire.”
    Although Honey, too, must have realized what had happened, hearing Trixie say it seemed to make it real for her. “Oh, no!” she moaned.
    Trixie linked her arm through Honey’s and leaned close to her, getting as well as giving support. She stood still, barely breathing, watching as the red glow grew brighter and listening to the excited, frightened hubbub of the crowd.
    Then another noise was added — the cycling wail of the fire truck. Trixie breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized the sound, knowing that help was on the way. She stopped in midbreath, though, when she realized that the wail of the truck had suddenly ceased to grow louder.
    “Oh, no!” Trixie echoed Honey’s moan. Sleepy-side’s only fire station was on the opposite side of Main Street from the fire. The whole crowd of panicky, confused parade watchers stood in the way. The truck could not possibly get through!
    Trixie stood frozen, looking from the red glow in the sky to the red cab of the fire truck, which she could see above the crowd. She looked from the truck back to the glow as if somehow, through sheer force of will, she could bring the two closer together.
    She was roused from those useless, helpless thoughts by a rough hand on her shoulder. “Head for the car, Trixie,” Brian Belden said to her. When his sister just looked at him dazedly, Brian repeated, “Go to the car, Trixie. Now! Move it!”
    Trixie made her knees bend and her feet move through another effort of willpower. Honey, her arm still linked with Trixie’s, moved along with her friend.
    The action of her body cleared Trixie’s mind, and she became really aware of the crowd for the first time since the explosion. There was fear on the faces of those around her, but there was also excitement, and most of the people she saw were heading toward the fire. That would only make the situation worse, she realized — as Brian had realized even sooner.
    “Let’s go,” Dan said firmly. He had grasped Di’s arm and pulled her, too, away from the confusion and toward the Bob-Whites’ station wagon, which was parked several blocks from Main Street.
    The four young people walked quickly, heads down. It was only after they’d gone almost a block that Trixie realized the other boys weren’t with them.
    She turned to look back and saw that Jim, Mart, and Brian were headed their way, but working slowly through the crowd, pleading with the spectators to clear the way. A few people, but not many, were responding to the boys’ requests.
    Trixie thought briefly of turning back to help her brothers and Jim. Then she decided that that would only make matters worse, starting a movement of people back toward the fire instead of away from it. She turned again toward the car and quickened her steps.
    Trixie had never been so glad to see the station wagon with