The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

Moms!” Trixie promised as she rushed out of the kitchen.
    “Hold on, Trixie,” Honey said as she scurried to keep up. “I thought you were tired!”
    Trixie giggled. “I guess the smell of Moms’s pot roast revived me.”
    In Trixie’s room, the girls changed clothes, with Honey borrowing a pair of Trixie’s jeans and a T-shirt. “You know, Trixie, our families aren’t so different, after all. At least, we both change clothes before dinner.”
    “That’s right,” Trixie agreed. “Only at your house, you have to change into a dress, and here you have to change out of it!”
    “I think I like your way better,” Honey confided. The formal dinners at the Wheeler home, with candlelight and Celia Delanoy, the maid, serving the food, were never as much fun as the meals shared by the noisy Belden clan. “Speaking of dressing, Trixie,” Honey continued, “I’ll have to go home after dinner and pick up a dress to wear to school tomorrow.”
    “No, you won’t, Honey,” Trixie told her. “Remember week before last, when you came over here after school and borrowed my clothes and Brian’s bike so that we could go for a ride? You left your school dress here, and it’s nicely laundered, thanks to Moms, and hanging in my closet.”
    “Oh, Trixie, I shouldn’t have caused her that extra work. Remind me to thank her for it when we get downstairs,” Honey said.
    “I’m sure she’ll be happy to let you make up for the extra work by helping with dinner,” Trixie assured her. “Let’s go.”
    Downstairs, Mrs. Belden handed out assignments to her willing helpers. Honey was put in charge of getting Bobby ready for dinner, to the delight of both girls. Honey was devoted to the rambunctious six-year-old, since she missed having younger brothers and sisters of her own. Trixie was more than happy to give Honey the chore for once.
    Just as Honey led the shiny-faced Bobby back downstairs after his cleanup, the front door opened, and Mr. Belden walked in. The family gathered around him, and he bestowed kisses on Mrs. Belden, Trixie, and Bobby and hugs on Brian, Mart, and Honey.
    “It’s good to be home,” he said. “Especially since my nose tells me I’m just in time for one of my wife’s most famous delicacies.”
    “That’s right,” Trixie said. “It’s all ready for the table, too. Sit down, everybody. I’ll bring out the food.”
    When they were all settled at the table and had begun to eat, Bobby looked accusingly at Trixie. “Honey got my face all cleaned up, Trixie,” he said. “And she didn’t hurt it at all. She didn’t make me promise to eat one whole cooked carrot, either.”
    “Yipes!” Trixie exclaimed. “Cooked carrots! Dad, what do you know about deutsche marks?”
    Even though Mr. Belden was used to his daughter’s rapid changes of subject, he couldn’t help but look confused. “Deutsche marks are German money, Trixie. West German, I should say. They are a very stable type of currency right now, which means that they can be traded for more than their face value in our money. I don’t know what they have to do with cooked carrots, however.”
    Trixie began at the beginning, telling her father about finding the fifty-deutsche-mark note on Old Telegraph Road and giving it to Bobby as a reward for eating “one whole cooked carrot.”
    “Brian said he’d seen an article about deutsche marks in one of your magazines, Daddy,” Trixie said. “Do you remember what it said?”
    Mr. Belden had listened intently to Trixie’s explanation, and now he replied, “Indeed I do remember, Trixie. I’d like to see that bank note, if I may.”
    “I’ll show it to you, Daddy. It’s in my collection.” Bobby jumped up from the table and ran to his room.
    Mr. Belden lowered his voice so that Bobby couldn’t overhear. “The article was about counterfeiting, Trixie. Because West German money is so valuable right now, it’s become very popular with counterfeiters. They forge large bank notes, like the fifty-deutsche-mark, mix it with some real notes of lesser value, then redeem them at banks for United States currency. Because the banks exchange so much currency every day from people returning from Europe, they seldom think to examine the money. The article was written to inform bankers of the problem and to let us know how we can spot the phony bank notes.”
    “Here it is, Daddy,” Bobby said, returning to the table. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s my most favoritest part of my