The Mystery of the Uninvited Ghost

Molinson, for your help. My nephew’s sending a taxi to pick me up. If you’ll please go to the parking lot and tell the driver where to find me, I’ll meet him at the porte cochère.”
    Quickly, Trixie estimated distances. The porte cochère was out of sight of the wedding guests. A trip to the parking lot would put the sergeant beyond contact for a few minutes. Whatever this—this person was planning must be going according to some previously arranged schedule.
    “You must stay for the refreshments,” Trixie said hastily. “You’ll want to see Juliana cut the cake.”
    Miss Ryks ignored Trixie. “If you please, Sergeant?” Obediently the sergeant left his folding chair and strode off down a path that would lead him to the parking lot. Trixie felt a moment of panic, knowing he would never have gone had he not believed Miss Ryks to be a helpless cripple. I have to hand it to you, Trixie thought. You’re a pretty good actor to be able to fool the sergeant. Aloud she said, “Miss Ryks, you really must have a cup of punch before you go.”
    Miss Ryks fanned her thickly made-up face. “It is hot,” she agreed. “Please push me.”
    Even with Bobby’s help, pushing Miss Ryks was no easy task. When they reached the terrace, where the picnic table had been transformed into a bridal table, both Trixie and Bobby heaved sighs of relief, and Trixie paused to straighten her hat and gloves.
    Hans and Juliana took their places behind the towering wedding cake, and the guests singed forward to watch the silver knife cut the first slice. Juliana stood on tiptoe to feed Hans his first bite of food as a married man. Cameras flashed, people laughed, and hands pattered happy applause.
    Miss Ryks gripped the arms of the wheelchair as if to rise, then settled back as stiff as a broom handle. She said coldly, “My dear Trixie, I simply must reach the porte cochère to meet that taxi.”
    “Just a minute, Miss Ryks. The newlyweds will have their punch, and then I can bring you a cup.”
    Miss Ryks opened the large purse that lay in her lap. Standing at her shoulder, Trixie was just tall enough to look down into it. Sunlight glinted on a shining mass that Miss Ryks quickly covered with a handkerchief. As the handkerchief was moved, Trixie could see an open moneybag. That bag held something, just as Bobby had said, but that something wasn’t a frog dying for want of air—it was a small gun.
    Trixie’s pulse pounded in her throat. What had Jim said about guns like this? “Trigger can be set to go off if you blow on it.” So don’t blow! she warned herself sternly.
    “Bobby?” Trixie tried to keep her voice from trembling. “Will you please go find Jim? I think he went to speak to someone at the gift table.”
    There was no mistaking Miss Ryks’s reaction to Trixie’s words. She kept her purse open with her hand close to the gun in the moneybag. When Bobby was out of immediate danger, Trixie began pushing the wheelchair very slowly toward the table where the punch bowl sat in a bank of daisies. Instead of avoiding people, Trixie crowded the bulky chair into groups. She spoke to friends and neighbors, introducing Miss Ryks and calling attention to her presence. Miss Ryks could only sit stiffly, nod, wheeze, and mutter, “Trixie Belden! I told you that I’m ready to leave. At once!”
    Trixie cooed politely while keeping her eye on the door. Would Jim never come back?
    At long last Jim came running out. Mart and Brian were right behind him.
    “Trixie!” Jim burst out. Trixie put her fingers to her lips and pointed at Miss Ryks’s back. Jim forced himself to whisper. “The wedding gifts are gone, and so are the guards!”
    Trixie wasn’t surprised. She’d known something would happen. “One guard went to find Hallie,” she whispered back. “I think Miss Ryks is trying to get away to meet the gang. What shall we do?”
    “Stop her!” Jim hissed.
    Trixie knew that Miss Ryks must have heard something of the whispered conversation because she started to turn around. Hastily Trixie said, “Sit still, Miss Ryks. Jim will help me take you to the porte cochère.”
    Jim took the hint and helped push the chair out of sight of the wedding festivity. Mart and Brian walked behind the chair, obeying Trixie’s beckoning hands.
    Sergeant Molinson was in the taxi that entered the porte cochère. He left the cab to help Miss Ryks to her feet.
    Jim acted instantly. He slammed against the side of the wheelchair with all