The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

school on Wednesday, when she and Di and Honey once again set up their table in front of the principal’s office.
    For an hour they were busy indeed, as one student after another handed in pledge cards. When the last student had left, the girls sat for another few minutes, quietly totaling up the pledges.
    “Yippee!” Trixie yelled when she looked at the final total. The yell echoed in the deserted hallway, and she clapped her hand over her mouth and looked around guiltily. “Look at this!” she exclaimed. “If all the riders finish the route, we’ll have raised close to three thousand dollars!”
    “Oh, Trixie, are you sure?” Honey asked, her hazel eyes round with disbelief.
    Di Lynch quickly rechecked the figures and nodded. “Trixie’s absolutely right. Oh, just imagine how many things the art department can buy with that much money!”
    “That would make it all worthwhile, wouldn’t it?” Trixie didn’t explain what she meant by “all.” She didn’t have to. Honey and Di both knew that she was talking about the troubles with Ben Riker and Nick Roberts. They nodded, indicating their agreement.
    After dinner that night, Trixie was trying unsuccessfully to concentrate on her homework, when the phone rang.
    “It’s for you, Trixie,” her mother called a moment later.
    Trixie ran to pick up the receiver. “Hello,” she said.
    “Trixie, this is Honey. Meet me at the clubhouse, right away.” Honey’s voice was so low that Trixie could hardly hear it, but the note of distress was unmistakable.
    Trixie knew immediately that Honey was speaking quietly so as not to be overheard by her family, and she forced her own voice to stay light and cheerful as she replied, “Okay, I’ll be right over.”
    Hanging up, she turned to her parents, who were sitting in the living room. “That was Honey,” she said. “She wants to talk to me. It’s about the bikeathon,” she added. “I’ll be back in a while.” That wasn’t really a fib , she thought as she pulled on a light jacket and hurried out the door. I’m almost sure it has something to do with the bikeathon. What else could it be?
    At the clubhouse, Trixie found Honey pacing the small room, her arms wrapped around her body as if she had felt a chill. Honey was so preoccupied that she didn’t even seem to see Trixie come into the room.
    Trixie walked over to her friend and gently touched her shoulder, forcing Honey to look at her. “What is it, Honey?” she asked anxiously. “What happened?”
    “Oh, Trixie,” Honey wailed, “I just got the most horrible phone call. H-He said I should call off the bikeathon. He—he said if I didn’t—if the bikeathon went on as scheduled next Saturday—that something awful would happen. ’You can be sure of it,’ he said.” Honey put her hands over her ears, as if to drown out the sound of the man’s voice.
    Trixie stared at Honey, trying to absorb the shock of what her friend had just told her.
    “Who was it, Honey?” she asked after a few moments. “Did you recognize the voice?”
    Honey shook her head. “It was low and rasping and awful,” she said. “I’ve never heard a voice like that. I’d remember it, I’m sure.”
    Trixie thought for a moment. “He was probably making it sound that way on purpose, to make it sound more threatening.”
    “Well, he certainly succeeded,” Honey said. “I’ll never forget how awful it sounded—never, ever.”
    “Wait a minute,” Trixie said. “He could have been disguising his voice—in which case, it might be somebody you know.” Trixie thought for another moment, then took a deep breath and spoke quietly. “Honey, please don’t be offended. I have to ask you this. Was Ben home when you got the phone call?”
    Honey looked up, startled. “No,” she said slowly. “No, he wasn’t. Oh, Trixie, you don’t think—”
    “I don’t know what to think, Honey,” Trixie interrupted. “I’m not accusing Ben of anything. You have to admit, though, that he’s a suspect. He’s made crank phone calls before.”
    “Oh, Trixie, never like this one,” Honey said. “He’s made silly calls, asking if he was talking to ’Man or House’ and then demanding to know which—and then dissolving into giggles at the other end of the phone, so we knew who it was right away. This was different, Trixie.”
    Trixie hesitated again, then asked, “Honey, did it—did it sound at all like Nick Roberts’s voice?”
    “Trixie, I told you before, it