The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

there is to it,” Brian concluded.
    “We can move him now,” an attendant said. “Let’s get the stretcher.”
    “Can’t we go to the hospital, so we’ll know how he is?” Trixie pleaded.
    “I’d suggest you go home, instead,” one of the policemen told her. “There probably won’t be any report on this man’s condition for several hours. Meantime, we’ll give this information to Sergeant Molinson. He’ll probably want to hear your story again. I’d suggest you sit tight and wait for him.” Trixie gulped and nodded. She watched silently until the ambulance sped away, with lights flashing and siren blaring, toward the hospital.
    “I guess we’d better head home,” Brian said. “Our parents are probably frantic by this time.”
    “I imagine they’ll be concerned, all right,” Mart said, “but at least they know where we are. I called them from the phone booth right after I called for the ambulance.”
    “Good thinking,” Brian said. “At least that will save us from having to repeat the whole story as soon as we get home. I’d just as soon not think about what just happened for a while—until Sergeant Molinson questions us, at least.”
    Trixie looked at her brother enviously. He would, she knew, be able to put the incident out of his mind long enough to give himself some much-needed relief. She herself would not be so lucky.
    “Honey, do you suppose you could spend the night at our house?” Trixie asked suddenly. “The sergeant will probably want us all together when he talks to us.”
    “It would be easier for him if we were all in the same place,” Honey agreed. Then she smiled wryly. “Besides, I don’t want to go home and answer a bunch of questions, either. I’d rather be with other people who don’t want to talk about what just happened. I’ll call home from your house and ask Miss Trask.”
    The Bob-Whites drove to Crabapple Farm, the Belden home, in silence. Helen Belden met them at the back door with a worried expression, but Brian stopped her questions with a finger-to-lips gesture.
    “We’re all right, Moms,” he said gently. “And the man who was run down is in the hospital. That’s all we want to say about it right now, okay?”
    Mrs. Belden opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay,” she said.
    Trixie threw her arms around her mother and felt the comfort of the familiar embrace. “Oh, Moms, you’re wonderful. You understand everything.” She pulled away as she remembered Honey. “May Honey stay here tonight?”
    Mrs. Belden smiled and put her arm around Honey’s shoulders. “Of course you may, dear,” she said directly to the honey-haired girl. “I’ll call Miss Trask right now and explain.”
    The two girls went up to Trixie’s room and sprawled on the twin beds, staring at the ceiling.
    In spite of herself, Trixie saw the scene of the accident replayed in her mind’s eye: the stranger turning to walk away, the van, coming out of nowhere, bearing down on him— Trixie sat bolt upright. “That’s it!” she shouted.
    Honey jumped nervously at her friend’s exclamation. “What’s it?” she asked.
    “When I saw that green van heading for the stranger, I sort of put words to what was happening.
    In my mind, I mean. Just now, in my mind, I saw the whole thing again, and I put those same words to it. Both times, I thought of that van as ‘coming out of nowhere.’ ”
    “It did seem that way,” Honey admitted. “But I don’t see what you’re getting at.”
    “You don’t?” Trixie asked unbelievingly. “Honey, that van did come out of nowhere. No, I don’t mean out of nowhere. I mean—out of a parking place! Honey, that van wasn’t just coming down the street. It was parked, waiting for the stranger to walk into the street. That man was run down on purpose!”

Unidentified Victim ● 4

    HONEY WHEELER GASPED and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Trixie, you can’t mean what you’re saying,” she said through her fingers.
    “I can and I do,” Trixie replied. “Think about it, Honey. On that dark, deserted street, we should have noticed that van when it was still blocks away. We should have heard the engine and seen the headlights, even before the stranger started across the street. But we didn’t. All of a sudden, there it was, the headlights right in our eyes, blinding us.”
    “Stop!” Honey cried, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t want to think about what came after that. It