The Mystery of the Millionaire

going to call in a private detective to work on the case.”
    “You don’t seem heartbroken about it,” Brian said.
    “Heartbroken?” Trixie echoed. “Why would I be heartbroken?”
    “Why wouldn’t you be?” Brian retorted. “You and Honey were just getting the scent of a nice, juicy mystery, when this Laura Ramsey takes it all away, then goes back home and hires a professional detective to close the case.”
    “Oh, Laura isn’t going home,” Trixie informed him. “She’s going to stay with the Wheelers and call the detective from there. Honey decided that since this is where the last trace of her father was found, this is the best place for her to be. So, you see, there’s no reason for me to be upset. In fact, I’m delighted. For the first time, I’ll get to meet a real private detective and find out how he works.”
    Brian looked at her suspiciously. “You say you’re delighted, but you don’t seem delighted. Is anything wrong?”
    Trixie blushed to the roots of her sandy hair. “Of—of course not. It’s all going to be perfectly perfect, as Honey would say. It’s going to be a dream come true, meeting a real detective.”
    “The reverie for which I would like to attain existential veracity is achieving the acquaintance of Anthony Ramsey,” Mart said in a dreamy voice. “No professional investigator could be as fascinating as a captain of capitalism like Mr. Ramsey.”
    Eager to have everyone’s attention turned away from herself, Trixie asked Mart, “What’s so fascinating to you about Anthony Ramsey? Don’t tell me you’ve decided to give up the idea of being a farmer and become a grocer instead.”
    “What I have decided,” Mart replied loftily, “is to give up a life of poverty for one of untold wealth.”
    “What do you mean?” Trixie asked.
    “Just what I said,” Mart told her.
    “But how do you intend to get this untold wealth?” She tried to push him into answering.
    “I have plans,” Mart said, rising from the table and tossing his napkin down beside his empty plate. “May I be excused, please?” he asked his mother.
    He walked back toward the den. Trixie watched him with the same rapt concentration with which she’d watched the station wagon disappear an hour earlier.
    She turned to her mother questioningly, but Mrs. Belden just smiled and shrugged. “There’s no point in asking me about Mart’s strange behavior. I don’t know any more about it than you do.”
    “Brian?” Trixie prompted.
    Her oldest brother shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on with Mart, either, Trix. He’s been very—I hesitate to use the word in your presence—but he’s been very mysterious lately. Usually when he has something up his sleeve, he can’t wait to tell me about it, even if he has to swear me to secrecy afterward. But this time, there hasn’t been a peep out of him.”
    “Well, I’m sure we’ll find out eventually,” Trixie said, her dissatisfaction at having to wait for “eventually” sounding plainly in her voice. She stood up and started to clear the table. Her thoughts were a jumble of questions about Mart and Mr. Ramsey and Mr. Lytell’s money and —even though she tried to put it out of her mind—Jim Frayne’s attention to Laura.
    She deliberately pushed all those thoughts aside while she and her mother cleaned up the kitchen and did dishes. Instead, she chattered away about the garden, which was bearing more and more fresh vegetables every day, and about her hopes for the rest of the summer and for the rapidly approaching school year.
    If Mrs. Belden realized that her only daughter was attempting to hide her worries behind her chatter, she didn’t show it. She entered into Trixie’s conversation wholeheartedly, making plans for a trip into the city for school clothes and reciting a list of canning and freezing projects that made Trixie groan in mock despair at the amount of work to be done in the weeks ahead.
    When the last dish had been dried and put away, Trixie hung up the dish towel, then reached out and impulsively hugged her mother. “I’m glad I live here,” she said.
    “Well, I’m glad you do, too,” her mother said, surprised at her daughter’s affectionate outburst.
    “One of the reasons I’m glad is that I know you’re glad,” Trixie said with a giggle. “It’s nice to know that people care about me. And it’s also nice to care about others. It keeps me from thinking about myself too much.”
    It keeps me