The Mystery of the Velvet Gown

Reddy’s home. Trixie was met by a barrage of teasing from
    Mart as soon as she came in the back door.
    “Ah, the lady of leisure has returned.” He bowed low, doffing an imaginary hat. “While we slave away here on the old homestead, you’re out enjoying the big, wide, wonderful world. Do tell, milady, how was the Big Apple today?”
    “No more exciting than usual,” Trixie replied casually, selecting an orange from the refrigerator. “Honey and I went to the museum while Miss Trask visited her sister, and then—” Trixie couldn’t contain herself any longer, and without pausing for breath, she told Mart what the newspaper article said about Peter Ashbury.
    “Whew!” Mart whistled. “I don’t think it’s humanly possible, using just the normal vocal apparatus, to articulate faster than you did just now. You might even qualify for the Guinness Book of World Records. Did you know, Trixie, that it takes the human ear at least one-fifteenth of a second to hear separate sounds?”
    “Ma-art,” Trixie said threateningly from between clenched teeth.
    “Don’t get me wrong.” Mart held up his hands in a mock-defensive gesture. “I was just as impressed with the contents of what you said as with the speed at which you said it. I really think you’ve got something there,” he said more seriously. “As wacky as you are sometimes, you do stumble onto some pretty interesting situations. But how do you put this together with the costumes and Miss Darcy?”
    Trixie told him about having seen Miss Darcy removing “decorations” from one of the costumes. She also told him about her and Honey’s sleuthing adventure that afternoon.
    Mart frowned. “That was not very bright.”
    “But we didn’t see the newspaper article until later,” Trixie said defensively. “I only suspected that Ashbury was involved in something shady. I didn’t expect to have my suspicions confirmed so soon!”
    “You know, sometimes that sixth sense of yours is one heck of a criminal radar, Miss Sherlock. All suspicious characters within a fifty-mile radius, beware! Trixie Belden will find you out!” But he smiled at her with admiration. “Good work. Really, Trixie, I mean it. Now—”
    He was interrupted by Helen Belden’s frantic call from upstairs. “Will someone help me— please!”
    Trixie and Mart both raced up the stairs, following the sound of their mother’s voice. When they reached Bobby’s room they tried to stifle their laughter when they saw their mother. She was down on her knees, with one finger stuck in the grating over a floor register. Reddy was at her side, with his foot wedged in beside her finger.
    “Thank goodness you were inside the house!” Mrs. Belden cried when she saw them. “I was afraid everyone had gone outside.”
    “What happened?” Mart asked, surveying the situation.
    “Ask for explanations later,” Mrs. Belden groaned. “Right now, all I want to do is to get both Reddy and me out of this ridiculous predicament.”
    Trixie had gone to get a bottle of hand lotion. “Maybe if I squeeze some of this along Reddy’s foot and on your finger, you can wiggle them out.”
    “Lubrication,” Mart said. “Good idea.“
    “Mart,” Trixie said, “we don’t need a minute-by-minute report here; we need help! Try easing Reddy’s foot out—slowly.”
    With a little maneuvering, Mrs. Belden and Reddy were soon free. “Now. What happened?” Trixie asked.
    Helen Belden laughed ruefully as she rubbed her sore finger. “I heard Reddy whining up here, so I came to see what was wrong. Apparently, he had been pawing at the grating with his foot and had gotten stuck. I tried to pull his foot out, but he had it wedged in there so tightly, it wouldn’t move. So I very cleverly decided I would push it out from underneath with my finger—but then I got my finger stuck, too!”
    “It’s reassuring to know that sometimes even a mother gets into some pretty ridiculous situations,” Mart laughed as the three of them walked down the stairs to the kitchen.
    “Oh, my,” Mrs. Belden said. “With all that excitement, I forgot to ask you: How was your trip to the city, Trixie?”
    “Fine,” Trixie said. “Honey and I poked around in the museum while Miss Trask visited her sister.” She shot Mart a warning glance. Then she told her mother about the newspaper article.
    “That’s terrible!” Helen Belden exclaimed. “I feel sorry for Eileen Darcy—she seems like such a nice young woman. I