The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost

Trixie didn’t think about a mystery to be solved. She only wanted to see Di smiling again.
    The four-story Lynch mansion on the hill was lighted like a Christmas tree. Jim stopped in the turnaround at the entrance used by family and friends. It was on the side of the house directly opposite the formal entry. Here, a large foyer with a great stone fireplace was an extension of the family room. Jim, Honey, Brian, Mart, Hallie, Dan, Di, and Trixie marched in single file through the door, across the foyer, and into the family room, as orderly as a column of ants. Although the thick carpeting muffled their footsteps, they all tiptoed.
    “There’s—nothing here!” Mart exclaimed.
    “That’s what I told you,” Di reminded him.
    “If they could have carried the fireplace away, they would have,” Dan said. After a quick, nervous inspection of the room, he returned to the foyer. He stared into the cavernous mouth of the fireplace, unused since spring, and suddenly stooped to pick up a small wad of paper. Several times he tossed the paper into the air and caught it. The action made Trixie uneasy. That dark, unhappy look was on Dan’s face again.
    The next time Dan tossed the wad of paper, Trixie caught it and rolled it between her fingers. It didn’t feel like the gum wrapper she had thought it to be.
    Because she wasn’t used to an empty room in this luxurious home, Trixie was glad to have something to do. She unrolled the paper wad. The paper was of good quality and didn’t tear. When she saw words written on the paper, Trixie flinched as if she’d been caught opening another person’s mail. Then she saw the familiar crest of the Sleepyside Country Club. A bubble of excitement grew in her throat and burst into words. “Look! It’s your address, Di!”
    “So? We live here,” Di said.
    “But it’s written on country club paper, and it says, ‘Early. Kids.’”
    “What’s this about early kids?” a voice asked from the end of the foyer. Di’s father, followed by Sergeant Molinson, the policeman from Sleepyside, joined the young people, who wandered aimlessly about the foyer and family room.
    Although her bump of curiosity itched painfully, Trixie knew she couldn’t withhold evidence from the police. She handed the crumpled paper to the sergeant. “Dan found this in the fireplace.”
    “I noticed it because it was lodged against the glass fireguard,” Dan explained. “It—well, it was just the only thing in the rooml”
    “Except for the drapes and carpet,” Di corrected. Trixie looked at the blank walls. Even the pictures and games were gone from the walls.
    The policeman took the paper, tinned it over, then waved it to catch Mr. Lynch’s attention. “What do you make of this, sir? Is this your handwriting?”

Where’s Di’s Invitation? • 4

    MR.LYNCH TOOK the crumpled paper from Sergeant Molinson. “No, I didn’t write this, but I recognize the paper. I’m a director at the club. This sheet is from one of the note pads we place at the telephones there. Anybody can use them. That’s what they’re for.”
    The sergeant nodded. “I suppose this could be a confirmation of your dinner reservation. You took your whole family to dinner tonight, as I understand it.”
    “That’s right,” Mr. Lynch said, “but I can’t see this message as fitting the situation. At the club, my name and reservation time would have been listed with the number of guests to be at my table. Here at home-well, I can’t imagine Harrison unbending enough to use the word ‘kids.’ ”
    Harrison was the prim and proper butler who managed the Lynch household. He had been with the family since their sudden rise to wealth. At one time, while they were getting used to their new life-style, Mrs. Lynch had fired both him and the children’s nurses. Coping with the huge house had proved so overwhelming that they had all been rehired. Harrison was now as much of an institution there as Miss Trask was at Manor House. And it was unthinkable that he would either say or write “kids.”
    “Sergeant Molinson—” Trixie began.
    “Yes, Detective Belden?” The sergeant didn’t try to hide his amusement. “I wondered how long it would take you to get into the act.”
    “Could the thief have written that note?” Trixie asked with a rush.
    “Dim-witted thief I” Mart snorted. “That letterhead practically gives his address. All the police have to do is interview the staff at the club to find out who was off