The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost

while stepping from the taxi to the wheelchair. In that brief glimpse of the woman’s upright figure, Trixie received the impression of a body with shoulders wider than hips. Yet when Miss Ryks settled into her chair, her shoulders hunched, and she no longer seemed either tall or strong. It was all very confusing.
    Her voice was deep and breathy, but thin, as if something crowded her windpipe. It seemed that every word she spoke took great effort. A large, bony hand, covered with rings, patted Trixie’s bare arm. Wheezily she said, “You can t be little Juliana. You’re too-”
    “Too big?” Trixie finished with a rueful smile. “You’re right. I’m your hostess, Trixie Belden.” Juliana ran lightly down the steps and across the grass. “And this is Juliana.”
    “My dear” was all Miss Ryks had to say. And she didn’t utter another word during all the flurry of meeting Mrs. Belden, Hallie, Di, and Mrs. Lynch. She simply nodded in a regal manner that required no speech.
    Juliana allowed herself to be led to the backyard by Mrs. Belden, while Trixie pushed the wheelchair. Miss Ryks might be frail, but she wasn’t exactly lightweight.
    “Surprise, surprise!” cried smiling guests, crowding around Juliana.
    Juliana sparlded. She danced from person to person, chanting, Tm so glad you’re here. How delightful!” She stopped in front of Miss Trask and Honey to tease, “I thought you two had errands to run!”
    Everybody was there, from Mrs. Vanderpoel to Di’s small twin sisters. Di’s careful plans became happy reality filled with good humor, warm conversation, delicious food, and beautiful gifts for the bride-to-be. As Trixie moved among the guests, she noticed that Mrs. Vanderpoel had made herself Miss Ryks’s champion, even to the point of volunteering to pick her up for the wedding. “Mr. Lytell is taking me, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to include you.”
    Trixie received the decided impression that Miss Ryks didn’t wish to be included, but Mrs. Vanderpoel insisted. “And you must have tea with me. I’ll invite Juliana and Mrs. Wheeler, too.”
    This time Miss Ryks flatly refused. “I can’t always be sure of the condition of my health,” she wheezed.
    Trixie was more concerned about the state of the woman’s manners. After having made such a point of being asked to the wedding, Miss Ryks was making no effort to get acquainted with Juliana.
    The tiny Dutch girl sat beside Miss Ryks and asked questions that might uncover the relationship between them. She got nowhere with Miss Ryks. The ancient dowager crouched in her chair and played with the many rings on her fingers. She wore several long strands of pearls and repeatedly tied them in knots, then untied them. Her hands were never still.
    Trixie wished she could see the eyes above that big nose. “I’ll bet she doesn’t miss a thing,” she whispered to Di while they served the cake.
    “I’ll call on you,” Mrs. Vanderpoel promised Miss Ryks as she left.
    “To be sure,” Miss Ryks agreed without enthusiasm.
    Brian was pressed into service to return Miss Ryks to the inn, and Jim had the happy chore of taking home Juliana and all her gifts, tissue paper, and ribbons. Trixie was tom between going with Brian and staying for one last look at the presents. Brian made the choice for her. “I'll need help with the wheelchair,” he said.
    At the inn, Miss Ryks wheezed, “I’m tired. I must get to my room.”
    Trixie expected Dick Ryks to appear at the door of room 214, but he didn’t. Still, as Trixie tinned away from the room and followed Brian down the hall, she heard the nephew’s nasal voice. “How was the shindig, Aunt Kate?” Miss Ryks’s answer was muffled.
    “That’s funny,” Trixie said. “Where did he come from?”
    Brian shrugged. He thought Dick might have been in the bathroom when they got there.
    “Yes,” Trixie agreed. “That was the only place he could have been.”
    When Trixie and Brian reached the Crabapple Farm lane, Bobby was sitting near the mailbox, and Brian stopped to give him a ride to the house. In the car, Bobby slumped in the backseat, totally woebegone.
    “Got problems?” Brian inquired seriously.
    Bobby sighed loudly. “It’s my scooter. You know, Brian, a guy just can’t live without his wheels.”
    Brian knew. Nothing had seemed as important to him as the purchase of his jalopy. “I’ll help you hunt for it as soon as we put away the tables and chairs. Okay?” Bobby sniffed