The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

it wouldn’t do much good if you did. You see, we’re on foot. We’ll just take down your address and come back later with a station wagon.”
    “I’ll have everything ready by seven o’clock this evening,” the woman said firmly.
    “Oh, you can have a few days, if you like,” Honey suggested.
    “Seven o’clock this evening,” the woman repeated. “I’m feeling energetic about the idea right now, so right now is when I’d better carry it out.“
    “We’ll be back at seven,” Trixie promised. “Yippee!” Trixie shouted when they were back on the sidewalk. “We hit the jackpot there, Honey! I bet we’ve taken an early lead in the contest.”
    “I’m not so sure,” Honey told her. “That woman may have lots to donate. Or she may decide she can’t bear to part with anything. You never can tell with a collector like that. Meantime, we spent almost half an hour talking to her. At that rate, we’ll hit about eight houses before it’s time for Jim to pick us up.”
    Trixie wrinkled her nose. “You’re right, as usual. Those things were awfully interesting, though, weren’t they?”
    Honey nodded. “But let’s just remember that we’ll spend plenty of time with those interesting donations, putting prices on them and setting them out for the sale. We don’t have to spend a lot of time on them now.”
    “Right,” Trixie said emphatically. “Now, let’s go on to the next house.”
    But at the next house, nobody was home. At the one after that, the man who answered the doorbell said, rather coldly, that he had nothing at all to contribute.
    Trixie sighed as the girls walked up to the next house. “I guess our first stop was just beginner’s luck. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll get any more donations at all.”
    “Why, yes,” Honey said in exaggerated tones of agreement. “It’s been all of five minutes since we’ve found even one little donation. I don’t blame you for being worried.”
    Trixie giggled. “You know, as much as I hate having Beatrix for my real name, I think it could have been a lot worse. My parents could have named me ‘Patience!’ ”
    Both girls were still giggling when a short, stout woman answered the door at the next house.
    This time it was Honey who introduced herself and Trixie and explained the reason for their visit.
    “Oh, dear,” the woman said breathlessly. “Oh, dear, it’s such a worthy cause, and I just can’t think of anything— Oh! Wait just a moment! Will you accept books?”
    “Oh, yes!” Trixie said. “I’m sure that books would sell very well.”
    The woman’s face brightened. “Then I do have something to donate. My children are both in college now, and the last time they were home for vacation, they sorted through all their books and set aside the ones they decided they’d outgrown. They’re all in a box downstairs. Come right this way.”
    “We can’t take them right now—” Trixie began. She turned to Honey helplessly as the woman continued down the stairs.
    “We have to follow her,” Honey whispered. “It would be rude not to. But let’s not get involved in a long conversation.”
    “No, of course not,” Trixie said.
    “Well, here they are,” the woman said, puffing as she pulled the large box out of the closet. She opened the box and began holding up some of the books. “These were my children’s favorites. That’s why they bought their own copies, instead of just taking them out of the library.”
    “Look!” Trixie exclaimed. “There’s a Lucy Radcliffe novel!”
    “Oh, yes, Lucy Radcliffe,” the woman said fondly. “She was my daughter’s special favorite. I don’t think there was a single Lucy Radcliffe novel that Beverly didn’t read.”
    “Those are my favorite books, too,” Trixie said. “Lucy travels all over the world, and she’s always uncovering spy rings and finding herself in terrible danger.”
    “That’s just how Beverly used to describe the books,” the woman said. “And she’d get that same starry look in her eyes.”
    “You can imagine how thrilled I was when I actually got to meet the author,” Trixie said.
    “You met the author?” the woman said in astonishment. “Oh, you must tell me what she’s like. Bev would never forgive me if I didn’t ask.”
    “Actually, she's a he." Trixie said. “The author’s name is Mr. Appleton, and he’s a very nice, quiet man, although for a while we did think he was a murderer. We met him at a resort in the Catskills,