The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost

ordered liver and onions.”
    “But that nephew said-” Trixie turned to Honey, who finished the sentence.
    “—indisposed. What a peculiar diet for an invalid!” Honey’s puzzled expression changed to a smile. “Okay if we go swimming now?” she pleaded. “Brian’s going to have his nose glued to a medical journal if he has to wait for us much longer, and I’ll have to ride all the way up that hill after all.”
    “If that happens, well run along behind and push,” Trixie promised. “Let’s go.”
    As they left the inn, Honey said, “There’s a new ten-speed bike just like Jim’s.”
    A gate stood open where a brick walk branched off from the kitchen pavement and disappeared into a shadowy curve between the building and a hedge of lilacs. Partially hidden on the walk was a bicycle. It looked so new that a price tag might have dangled from the handlebars. Just like Jim’s, the bike was blue. But this one had a scratch.
    As they neared the farm, Trixie asked Hallie, “How’d you happen to go to the kitchen?”
    “My mother’s a smart kid,” Hallie drawled. “She says that if you want to get acquainted with a new neighbor, go to the back door.” She slanted a glance at Trixie. “I really didn’t mean to interfere. I didn’t know what you had in mind, so I just thought I d hang around in case you ran into that Oliver Tolliver and needed help. He spells trouble.”
    “How’d you get in, Hallie?” Honey asked.
    “I said I was thirsty and asked if I could please have a drink of water. It was after the dinner hour, and the cook was griping because this order came in when she wanted to watch a TV program. She didn't want to mess around with onions.”
    “Well,” Trixie mused, “all we know is that Miss Ryks is an oddball.”
    “A sick oddball,” Honey corrected.
    “Sick!” chorused the Belden cousins. “Eating liver and onions?”
    “Anyway, she needs a wheelchair,” Honey said.
    At the farm, the girls found Brian sitting in the jalopy, reading a medical journal by flashlight. Bathing suits and towels were heaped in the backseat. Mart was playing tag with Bobby but vaulted into the jalopy when he saw the three girls.
    Mrs. Belden called from the porch swing, “Brian, please stop at Mr. Lytell’s store. He’ll let you have a couple of loaves of bread if you go to the back door. I can’t imagine how we ran out before baking day!” The next morning, the shortage of food came up again. Mrs. Belden said, “I do wish you boys would check up on our chickens’ diet. With both a future doctor and a future farmer in the house, we should be able to keep a few hens laying. There wasn’t one egg yesterday.”
    While his mother was speaking, Mart slid a second egg onto his plate. He paused, server in midair. “Am I taking more than my share, Moms?”
    Quickly Bobby said, “You can have mine, Mart. I’m kind of not hungry.”
    Mr. Belden peered over the wall of his newspaper. “What’s all this sudden concern for Mart’s appetite, Robert Belden?” he asked. “I’m the provider for this household. If we don’t get enough eggs from our hens, we’ll buy them from Mr. Lytell.”
    Mart thumped Bobby’s back. “You shared bacon with me. Now I’ll share an egg with you. Okay?” Bobby tried to put on his angel face but didn’t quite manage it. His lips trembled. “Can I be ’scused?” Mrs. Belden shook her head. “Peter, I’m puzzled. Maybe I’m turning into the old woman in the shoe. My cupboards are bare!”
    “Wrong nursery rhyme, Moms!” Mart teased.
    It was early that evening when the young people of Glen Road gathered at Crabapple Farm. The day had been hot, but a downdraft of evening coolness moved toward the Hudson through the clove where the farm lay. Each person found a comfortable lounging spot on the porch or in the yard. Hans didn’t talk much, but each time he did speak up, Trixie turned to listen. She liked the sound of English words on a tongue that had spoken Dutch from babyhood. There was a trace of the same accent in Juliana’s voice, but she’d learned English well enough to use American slang. It amused all of them to explain a word or phrase to Hans.
    Because she was listening so intently, Trixie noticed a soft thump, thump. She heard a faint rumble in Reddy’s throat. His head lifted, ears alert, and his feathery red tail moved nervously. Trixie slid along the porch step she shared with Di and Honey until she was next to the dog. She whispered,