The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

strong-willed, I see. I admire that. I won’t try to change your mind about people. Maybe life will do that for you, as it did for me. If you still want to do something to pay me back—although, as I said, I did what I did because I like cars, not people—you can tell me how close I am to Glenwood Avenue. Then I’ll be on my way—on foot.”
    Brian relaxed and smiled as the stranger withdrew his unwanted advice. He turned and pointed toward Glenwood and told the stranger the best route for getting there.
    The stranger nodded, stuck his hands in his pockets, and started down the street, head lowered, as if he had already forgotten about the Bob-Whites and their Model A and was lost in his own thoughts.
    Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Trixie saw the lights of a car. They were moving down the street toward her, and they were coming much too fast. As Trixie turned her eyes away from the blinding lights, she saw, to her horror, that the stranger was walking slowly across the street, directly in their path!
    “Hey!” Brian shouted. “Look out!”
    But it was too late. The large green van behind the lights sped down on the stranger. A sickening thud told Trixie the van had hit him. She watched in disbelief as the van sped away, not even slowing down. Then slowly, unwillingly, she turned her attention back to the street and the crumpled, motionless form that now lay at the edge of it.
    Brian was already racing toward the stranger, and Mart was right behind him. Trixie fumbled for the door latch and finally found it, then stumbled out of the car. Honey scrambled out behind her.
    “Is he all right?” Trixie shrieked.
    Brian, crouched beside the stranger, looked up at his sister, his face shining white in the darkness. “He’s still alive. But a jolt like that has to do some damage. How much, I can’t tell.”
    “What are we going to do?” Honey asked in a strangled voice.
    “We need an ambulance, and we need to keep him warm,” Brian said.
    “I’ll find a phone,” Mart said as he hurriedly slipped out of his Bob-White jacket and handed it to Brian. Without another word, he was gone, running off down the street.
    “It could take ages for Mart to find a phone,” Trixie said. “Couldn’t we put him in the car and—“
    “No!” Brian barked as he took off his own jacket and covered the stranger. “You should know that by now, Trixie. The one thing not to do with an accident victim is to move him.”
    Trixie bit her lip. She did know it, but the panic of the moment had driven it from her mind. Once again, she was grateful for Brian’s calm reaction to a crisis.
    “It’s so awful just to sit here with him,” Honey said, her voice revealing how close she was to tears.
    “I know that,” Brian said. “I feel pretty helpless, too. That’s why I snapped at you, Trixie. I’m sorry.“
    “I deserved it, Brian,” Trixie told him. “I guess this man was right when he said I’m not a very good listener. But maybe, if people keep telling me the same thing over and over often enough, harshly enough, I’ll finally get it through my skull.”
    “Oh, Trixie, you do listen!” Honey hastened to defend her friend. “Sometimes it takes a while for you to think things out—and the rest of us don’t seem to be very good at that. Mr. Lytell would never have gotten his money back that time if you hadn’t listened. This man was wrong.”
    “He said we shouldn’t get involved with him, either,” Brian added. “It looks as if we’ve got ourselves good and involved with him now.”
    Trixie looked down solemnly at the twisted body of the stranger. “We don’t even know his name,” she murmured.
    The man on the ground moaned softly and turned his head from side to side. A bleeding gash on his forehead showed in the dim light.
    “Just lie still,” Brian told him gently.
    “Can’t,” the man panted. “Can’t... stop. Find. Find the—” He stopped speaking as he tried to raise his head. He groaned in pain and let his head sink back down to the pavement. “Miser,” he groaned.
    “He has to find the miser? Is that what he said?” Trixie asked, looking from Brian to Honey.
    Honey raised her shoulders in a worried shrug, and Brian shook his head. “That’s what it sounded like to me, but it’s hard to tell,” he said. “I don’t know if ‘miser’ was the end of the sentence or a whole separate thought.”
    “Has anybody heard of a miser who lives on Glenwood Avenue?” Trixie demanded.