The Mystery of the Millionaire

me to let the chores go until the last minute, then ask permission to skip them ‘just this once.’ But the time will go faster if I have something to do while I’m waiting for three-thirty to roll around.”
    Mrs. Belden had plenty of suggestions for things to do, but Trixie found that the time dragged, anyway. By three-fifteen, she could stand it no longer. She went to the garage, got her bike, and pedaled to Manor House, the hot August sun again beating down on her.
    Trixie found Honey already waiting on the front step, her bike propped against one of the stately trees that lined the Wheelers’ long driveway. Honey had changed into a fresh blouse and a pair of shorts, Trixie noticed. She glanced down at her own bedraggled clothes. I didn’t even think about changing , she thought disgustedly.
    “Let’s go!” Honey shouted as soon as she saw Trixie riding up the drive.
    “Wait a minute!” Trixie said. “Let me catch my breath. It’s even hotter than it was when we were riding this morning—and now I’m supplying my own horsepower!”
    Trixie took a few deep breaths, but Honey was so impatient that the girls were soon pedaling their bikes east along Glen Road toward Mr. Lytell’s store.
    When they pulled up in front of the store, both girls gasped at the sight of a low, sleek, red sports car parked outside.
    “Mr. Ramsey!” Trixie shouted. “That must be why Mr. Lytell called. Anthony Ramsey is here in person, to claim his wallet.” She pushed down the kickstand on her bike and raced to the door, with Honey close behind.
    When the girls entered the store, they did not see anyone who could possibly be Anthony Ramsey, however. Besides Mr. Lytell, the only person in the store was a young woman.
    Trixie stopped short when she saw Mr. Lytell’s customer, self-consciously running a hand through her tangled curls. The young woman seemed to be about twenty years old. She was tall and slender, with blond hair that formed a cascading mane down to her shoulders. She was wearing a simple sundress and thick-soled sandals. A thin gold chain encircled one wrist, and a small gold dot decorated each of her ears.
    The young woman turned to the girls. She smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth, but Trixie noticed dark circles under her eyes. “Are you Trixie and Honey?” she asked.
    Trixie nodded, and Honey said, “Yes, we are.”
    “Then you’re the ones who found my father’s wallet,” the woman said.
    “If your father is Anthony Ramsey, we did,” Trixie said.
    “I’m Laura Ramsey. I’d like you to tell me anything you can about finding the wallet,” she said. There was an urgency in her voice that puzzled Trixie.
    The girls looked at one another, then looked back at Laura Ramsey. “There’s really nothing to tell,” Honey said apologetically. “We were riding along Glen Road around eleven-thirty this morning when we saw it—” Honey broke off with a shrug, unable to think of anything else.
    “The wallet couldn’t have been there long,” Trixie added. “We’ve had a hot, dry summer, and anything that stays out very long gets a thick coat of dust on it. The wallet was still pretty clean, so I’d say it was dropped no earlier than last night. There was a hundred-dollar bill still inside, so I think we can assume that nothing had been taken. And... let’s see....”
    Trixie started to think again about what the wallet’s location and condition had told her about its loss, but she became self-conscious when she observed Laura Ramsey’s startled expression.
    “Don’t mind her,” Mr. Lytell said. “Trixie Belden likes to think of herself as a detective. She’ll detective-ize all day, if you let her.”
    “Miss Ramsey asked us for the information, Mr. Lytell,” Honey said in an unusually firm tone of voice. “Trixie is giving her what she asked for. And she’s doing a wonderful job of it, too. She’s thought of a lot of things that never would have occurred to me.”
    “That’s right,” Laura Ramsey said hastily. “This is exactly the sort of information I was interested in. Please go on.”
    Trixie was too embarrassed to do any more “detective-izing.” She shook her head, her face reddening. “That’s about all I can think of, Miss Ramsey. It really isn’t much. But it should be enough to jog your father’s memory. Once you tell him where he lost the wallet, and approximately when, he should be able to tell you the rest.”
    Laura Ramsey turned away abruptly, leaving Mr.