The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

realize until the other day at the sign-up how much Honey is being hurt by Ben’s behavior and our disapproval of it. It’s easier, now, for me to be tolerant. But I’m glad you understand how I feel. It—it means a lot to me.”
    Jim nodded sympathetically. “I know you pretty well, Trixie Belden—and I like what I know about you,” he said. “Let’s get this milk back to the clubhouse while there are still cookies left to drink it with.”
    Too happy to speak, Trixie only nodded.
    Back at the clubhouse, Trixie sat in a corner, watching and listening to the banter among her closest friends. I can’t imagine any of us being happier than we are right now, she thought.
    After a while, Trixie’s reflective mood passed, and she joined in the chatter. The Bob-Whites discussed the plans for the bikeathon and their hopes for its success. Then the topic shifted to the upcoming end of school and the beginning of summer.
    “I can’t wait,” Di Lynch said happily. “Just think —swimming, lying in the sun—”
    “And weeding the garden,” Mart groaned, clutching his back as if he could already feel it ache after bending over a hoe.
    “We’ve had one good omen for the summer already,” Brian said.
    “What’s that?” Honey asked.
    “Well, it’s been quite a while now since Trixie got us involved in a mystery. That just might mean that she’s outgrown the phase, and we can spend the summer enjoying ourselves, instead of keeping her out of trouble.”
    Mart, Dan, and Di laughed, but Trixie and Honey exchanged guilty glances, knowing that their suspicions about Ben and Nick amounted to two more mysteries to solve, even though they’d been telling each other that there was no such thing.
    I’d be working on the bank note mystery, too, Trixie thought, if I knew where to begin.
    As her eyes shifted from Honey’s, Trixie saw Jim looking at her, his green eyes trying to read her thoughts.

The Trophy Shop ● 12

    BY MONDAY, Trixie was feeling restless and distracted. During class, during homework and chores for her mother, Trixie’s thoughts continually returned to the bikeathon. She was eager for it to start, and just as eager for it to be over with, so she’d know how much money had been raised.
    There was very little she could do, however. At the clubhouse on Saturday, it had been decided that Trixie, Jim, and Brian would man the first rest stop at the deserted house, checking off riders’ names and handling the refreshments. Di and Mart were to be at Mrs. Vanderpoel’s, and Dan and Honey would help Mr. Maypenny.
    When the last riders left each point, the Bob-Whites working there would go to Maypenny s so that they’d all be there for the picnic.
    Between now and then, there’s just nothing left to do, Trixie thought, except to hand out pledge cards to people who ask me for them at school and set up the booth on Wednesday to collect the cards.
    When Trixie wasn’t thinking about the bikeathon, she was thinking about the counterfeit bank note, wondering what was being done to solve the case. She racked her brain trying to think of something she could do, some way to find a lead, but she had to admit that it was impossible. The closest she came to being in on the case was when her father came home and told the family that the police had questioned the employees at the bank, asking if anyone had tried to redeem any German bills there. No one had.
    Brian had errands to run for his mother after school on Monday, and Trixie took advantage of the opportunity to stay downtown and do some window-shopping, hoping that it would provide her with some distractions.
    “I’ll meet you back here in an hour,” Brian told her after he’d guided the jalopy into a parking space on the town’s wide main street. “Try not to spend all your money. You have to leave some for your Bob-White dues.”
    “I’ve already paid my Bob-White dues,” Trixie told him, “as well as a fine for having a button missing from my club jacket at the last meeting. That means I have no money left to spend.”
    Honey had made all of the Bob-Whites’ jackets right after the club was formed. She had worked on them with loving care, fitting the red cloth perfectly and embroidering B.W.G. on the back of each. The Bob-Whites were all very proud of the jackets, and they had decided that any member who appeared in public with his or her jacket in less than top-notch condition would have to pay a fine of ten cents a day to the club