The Mystery of the Velvet Gown

The Stage Is Set ● 1

    FACE FLUSHED and sandy curls tousled in disarray, fourteen-year-old Trixie Belden raced down the south corridor of Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School.
    “Hold on there, Miss Belden,” a voice boomed. Trixie came to a sudden halt. The clock in science class had ticked away the seconds with painful slowness; every minute had seemed to hold back with selfish disregard, until finally the bell of freedom had rung—and now this!
    Trixie turned to find her math teacher, Mr. Sanborn, gazing sternly at her from a classroom doorway, his arms folded on his chest.
    “It seems to me, Trixie, that if you were as quick with algebra problems as you are at tearing through the halls between classes, we’d both be a little better off. Now, just where do you think you’re going at such a racetrack speed? Is there really a fire?”
    “Oh, Mr. Sanborn,” Trixie cried, relieved to note the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, “the results of the tryouts for Romeo and Juliet are being posted right now, and I’m dying to know if-”
    “Well, well,” Mr. Sanborn reflected, scratching his chin. “In the name of the arts and William Shakespeare—and in order to spare you an untimely death—I’ll let you go this time. But let’s try to keep it to a slow jog.”
    “Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Sanborn,” Trixie said quickly, before he had a chance to say something else about her math ability—or inability. At a slightly slower pace, she headed for the drama club office at the end of the long corridor.
    The freshman class play was an annual event at Sleepyside High. On the first day of school after the Christmas holidays, tryouts were held.
    Every freshman took part in some way, as a member of either the cast or the crew. Experienced juniors and seniors acted as aides, giving help to the freshmen on lighting sets, makeup, stage direction, and costumes.
    Trixie had already signed up as a stagehand. Her best friend, Honey Wheeler, was an excellent seamstress and was on the costume crew. The most exciting thing was that their good friend Diana Lynch had actually tried out for the part of Juliet. Di had spent weeks working on her speaking voice, projection, and poise, and on learning her lines. It had taken a lot of prompting from both Honey and Trixie to get Di to go through with the tryout, for she was shyer than either of her friends.
    As Trixie hurried down the hallway, she thought, Di is so pretty , with her shiny black hair and violet-colored eyes, she’d make a perfect Juliet. She’s just got to get the part!
    Trixie was so preoccupied with thoughts of the play and of Di as Juliet that she forgot to watch where she was going, and she collided with someone in front of her.
    “Oh, excuse me!” she cried as books fell to the floor and papers flew in all directions.
    “Well, Miss Bulldozer!”
    “Oh, it’s only you,” Trixie sighed, realizing that the victim was her brother Mart.
    “Only me! Only your ever-diligent, always supportive big brother! What’s with you, fuzz-brain, running into innocent bystanders like that? Especially when I happen to be the innocent bystander!”
    “Oh, Mart, my mind was on the play and Di and—”
    “And if you ever concentrated on one thing at a time,” Mart interrupted, “even something as elementary as getting yourself from one place to another—”
    “Mart, puh-leeze don’t start that. All I wanted to do was find out if Di got the part or not.”
    “Relax, Trixie,” Mart said, helping her retrieve her books and papers. “The notice hasn’t been posted yet. But somewhere in that mob over there,” he continued, motioning toward the large group crowded around the drama club office, “I’m sure you’ll find our aspiring thespian friend.”
    Just then, Honey joined them. She was taller and slimmer than Trixie, and she had hazel eyes. Her shoulder-length, golden-brown hair and her sweet disposition had earned her the nickname of Honey.
    “I tried to get here sooner,” Honey gasped, trying to catch her breath, “but I had to help wash petri dishes in biology lab, and then I dropped one and it broke and I had to clean it up, and you know how I hate that slimy stuff—”
    “Hold it, hold it!” Mart cried. “First I act as a set of brakes for Trixie, and then I have to hear a thirty-three rpm record playing at seventy-eight. Calm down, Honey. There’s no news yet.”
    As he spoke, a small woman with short, curly dark hair and bright green eyes