The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim

parking lot right now to break the news.”
    “We’ll come along,” Trixie said, jumping up from her chair. “We’ve been in here all morning, and we’ll be here most of the afternoon. This is probably our only chance to see the car show when it isn’t swarming with people.”
    Out in the parking lot, Mart, Di, Dan, and Brian were helping Mr. Burnside arrange the cars for display. The job was more difficult than it sounded, because the proud owners were there, too, each demanding that his car get the best possible display spot.
    The owners whose cars were already in place were going over them with polishing rags, wiping off imaginary fingerprints.
    “This has turned into a first-class show,” Mr. Burnside said, looking over the cars on display. “Just about every really great car you could think of is represented.”
    “Look at that beautiful car over there,” Honey said.
    Mr. Burnside nodded his head approvingly. “You have excellent taste. This is a Bugatti, one of the most beautiful and admired of the classic cars.”
    “Is that the kind of car you want to buy next?” Trixie asked.
    Mr. Burnside shook his head regretfully. “Bugattis are the most beautiful and admired, but they’re also the most difficult to own and maintain. Bugatti owners simply accept the fact that every time they drive their cars, they’ll wind up pulling over to the side of the road to tinker with the plugs or the radiator. That kind of thing isn’t for me.”
    “At least you wouldn’t have to do all that tinkering to get the car started, as you do with the Steamer,” Trixie pointed out.
    “That’s what you think,” Mr. Burnside said. “If it’s at all cold, you have to drain the radiator and put in hot water. You have to empty the oil out of the crankcase, heat it on the stove, and pour it back in. You have to hand-crank the engine, because the electric starter won’t work. You have to let the car idle at least ten minutes at high speed, so that the plugs won’t get clogged with oil. Then you’re ready to go—until the car breaks down somewhere along the road.”
    “Gleeps!” Trixie exclaimed. “Why didn’t they make a better car than that?”
    “There is no better car when it’s working right,” Mr. Burnside told her. “It drives as though it’s alive, as though it has a brain that understands exactly where you want it to go. That’s what Bugatti was aiming for. He was an artist—he actually studied sculpture. The everyday concerns of the driver were of no interest to him. There’s a story that someone once complained to Bugatti about the difficulties in getting one of his cars started on cold mornings. Bugatti sniffed, looked down his nose, and said, ‘Keep the car in a heated garage.’ ”
    “Another eccentric inventor,” Trixie mused. For the first time that day, she thought about Henry Meiser.
    As if reading her thoughts, Brian said, “I wish Mr. Meiser could be here today. He said cars were his passion. Can you imagine how thrilled he’d be?” Trixie nodded her head. “What do you suppose is going to happen to him?”
    “I don’t know,” Jim replied. “Kowalski’s story has been broken wide open, after all he admitted to you the other night. So the original charge of assault will undoubtedly be dropped after a hearing. Since Mr. Meiser did escape from prison, he’ll have some straightening out to do with the law before he’s through.”
    “But he risked his life to save us,” Honey said. “That has to be worth something.”
    “I’m sure it will be,” Brian assured her. “The fact that he called the police as soon as Kowalski called him and told them exactly what was happening, so that the squad cars could be waiting at Memorial Park, is bound to work in his favor, too.”
    “I feel terrible about all the doubts I had about Mr. Meiser while Andy Kowalski had us in the back of the van,” Trixie said. “I’d almost convinced myself that Mr. Meiser had arranged the whole thing so that he could drop off a phony bundle and get away, leaving us to—” She broke off with a shudder, refusing to think about what she and Honey would have been left to.
    “The gruff exterior concealed a marshmallow heart, after all,” Brian concluded.
    “I hope we get a chance to thank him someday,” Honey said.
    Jim looked at his watch. “Right now, I’ll thank you to get inside and man your stations,” he said. “It’s two minutes to sale time.”
    Trixie, Honey, Dan, and Di hurried