The Mystery of the Velvet Gown

“You know, Bobby, you’re going to have to let Reddy rest a lot.”
    “I know. I checked out some libarry books this week, so I can read him lots and lots of stories. Trixie can help me with the words. Right, Trixie?”
    “Sure, half-pint,” Trixie answered, smiling down at her little brother. “Let’s start with how to pronounce ‘library.’ ”
    They were just finishing dessert when the telephone rang. “I’ll get it,” Trixie said, jumping up.
    “It never fails,” Mart groaned. “Right on cue—just when it’s time to do dishes!”
    “I’ll help tonight,” Honey said. “Thank you very much for the delicious dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Belden.”
    Trixie was gone only a few minutes before coming back to the table.
    “Shortest conversation you’ve ever had, Trix. What was it, a wrong number?” Mart teased.
    “Nope,” Trixie answered. “Wrong envelope. It was Miss Darcy. She was so embarrassed about giving me the wrong envelope. I told her I would return it tomorrow morning and pick up the right one. That was all.” Trixie shrugged, but she gave Honey a knowing look.
    Mr. and Mrs. Belden went into the living room to read the evening paper. Honey, Trixie, Brian, and Mart cleared the table and started the dishes.
    Bobby wanted to “help,” but Mart quickly diverted him by suggesting that he make a welcome-home sign for Reddy. Soon Bobby was stationed at the dining room table, eagerly at work with paper and crayons.
    “Okay, Trixie, what’s going on?” Mart and Brian demanded in unison.
    “Whatever could you mean, dear brothers?” Trixie asked innocently, suddenly very interested in an imaginary spot on a plate she was drying.
    “Neither of us is deaf, dumb, or blind,” Brian said, “and we know how you work.“
    “Unfortunately,” Mart added.
    “So what’s up?” Brian pursued. “I suppose you found Eileen Darcy’s father bound and gagged in some hotel room in White Plains, or something equally incredible.”
    “No, but I wish I had,” Trixie answered, with a rueful smile. “Well, Honey, what do you think—shall we tell them?”
    “There’s really not that much to tell,” Honey said. “At least, nothing that makes any sense. It’s such a hodgepodge right now.”
    “That’s not hard to believe,” Brian said. “I just don’t want you two getting yourselves into some kind of trouble and then not being able to get out of it—especially when you leave us in the dark.”
    “So you’d better start, Trixie, or we’ll have to use some drastic methods, like dragging you outside and throwing you in a snowbank,” Mart threatened.
    Trixie gave up and told the whole story, both Honey’s experiences and her own, ending with the mix-up of the envelopes.
    When she had finished, Mart said, “And?”
    “And nothing. That’s it,” Trixie answered.
    Mart hooted. “This is the best one so far, Trixie! Some schoolgirl shamus you are! You should stick to your schoolwork and chores. If you did those the way you’re supposed to, you wouldn’t have time for all this craziness!”
    “Mart, you have no imagination!” Trixie exclaimed, exasperated.
    “Thank goodness!” Mart laughed. “One imagination is enough for this family. Look, Trixie,” he added more seriously, “all you’ve got is one very upset drama teacher whose father has been kidnapped—in England, remember. Then you’ve got one overprotective boyfriend who likes to come to rehearsals and is interested in some pictures of costumes. No harm in that. Then you’re left with one jealous classmate who has harassed people, so far, but really hasn’t done anything. Now, if you can legitimately put that together into some kind of mystery, I’ll eat a whale.”
    “That’s no dare, Mart Belden. You’d eat anything.” Trixie laughed, but she had a determined look on her face.
    Brian had been quiet throughout the telling of the story, but now he gave his opinion. “I don’t know, Mart, the whole thing sounds a little fishy to me, too—no reference to your dinner plans intended.”
    Mart retorted, “A whale isn’t a fish, it’s a—“
    “I know, I know,” Brian laughed. “But fishy or not, I’d like to take a look at that safe-deposit receipt and those pictures, Trixie.”
    “Oh, no!” Mart groaned. “I can’t believe you’re falling for any of this, Brian. And I used to think you were so level-headed.”
    For all of Mart’s pooh-poohing, he accompanied the others up to Trixie’s room to look at the