The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

Johnson, which was her mother’s maiden name, and the date. But today she found herself really looking at it for the first time.
    The sky was cloudy with just a hint of chilly-looking sunlight breaking through, and the water in the stream had the same muted, cloudy look to it. The trees were slender, but their trunks seemed well rounded, sturdy but supple. It’s quite good, Trixie thought. Moms must have had a lot of talent as an artist. And then she had to drop it for lack of money. Well, I’m not going to let that happen to Nick Roberts or any of the other gifted kids at Sleepyside. Not if I can help it. Speaking of Nick....
    Trixie tried again to get hold of the young artist, but once again there was no answer.
    Even though she interrupted her housework several times to phone, Trixie found that the chores were over and she still hadn’t been able to talk to Nick.
    “I only hope,” Trixie said to her brothers as they walked to the boathouse that afternoon, “that everyone else’s missions weren’t as impossible as mine.”
    At the Wheelers’, the other Bob-Whites did, indeed, have success to report.
    “I called the principal at home,” Brian said. “He really likes our idea. He says he knows the art department needs help, but it’s a matter of trying to spread too little money over too many activities. This seems like a great solution to him. He says we can have a sign-up booth after school, announcements over the public address system, and whatever else we need.”
    “Mr. Maypenny’s with us, too,” Dan reported. “Of course, he had to do some grumbling first, about how easy life is for kids these days, and how if they need money for supplies they should go out and earn it.” Dan imitated Mr. Maypenny’s scowl as the other Bob-Whites chuckled, recognizing the show of toughness Mr. Maypenny always used to hide his soft heart.
    “But finally, after all that grumbling,” Dan continued, “he said we could use his clearing, and he asked if he should make up a big batch of his hunter’s stew—enough to feed the whole crowd!”
    “Yummy-yum!” Di Lynch crowed. “Mr. Maypenny’s hunter’s stew is simply divine—turnips and parsnips and potatoes and beans and corn—”
    “And onions and cabbage and tomatoes, all spiced up with garlic and basil and thyme,” Trixie added. “And cooked outdoors. Nobody will drop out of the bikeathon when they know that’s the reward!”
    “Indeed,” Mart said. “But have you pondered the predicament of those unfortunate cyclists who overload their alimentary systems with the succulent comestibles and find themselves unable to persevere in their endeavor?”
    “If you mean the riders will eat too much to ride back to Sleepyside and finish the route, I think you’ve got it backward,” Honey Wheeler told Mart. “After a huge bowl of hunter’s stew, you have to work it all off! Anyway, now we know that Dan and Brian completed their assignments. I have success to report, too. Mrs. Vanderpoel will be happy to have the bikers stop at her house, and she will also provide refreshments. Nothing so wonderful as hunter’s stew, of course—just her own fresh-baked cookies!”
    “Gleeps!” Trixie exclaimed. “Mrs. Vanderpoel makes the best cookies in the world! We may have the first bikeathon in history where the bikers will gain weight!”
    “Ahem.” Jim interrupted the Bob-Whites’ laughter by clearing his throat importantly. “I have a couple of minor triumphs of my own to report, if you don’t mind.”
    The Bob-Whites turned to Jim expectantly, and he continued. “First of all, Sergeant Molinson was helpful, as always, and he has agreed to provide a police escort for the length of the bikeathon route. He also told me who owns the abandoned house on Old Telegraph Road. It’s a gentleman by the name of Mr. Matthew Wheeler.”
    “Daddy owns the house?” Honey Wheeler’s question rose above her friends’ astonished gasps. “But how, Jim? When did he buy it?”
    “It seems that the house belonged to a small farm that bordered the game preserve. About a year ago, Dad found out that the owners wanted to retire from the farm and move to town. Of course, he bought the farm immediately, since he’d been wanting to extend his property all the way to the road.
    “Needless to say, we have Dad’s permission to use the clearing. I asked him about it this afternoon. He doesn’t want to open the house, since he’s had it boarded up carefully to