The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

didn’t sound like anybody I know,” Honey replied, her voice shrill. “What are we going to do?”
    Trixie sank into a chair. “Nothing,” she said flatly. “We’re going to do nothing.”
    “But, Trixie—” Honey began.
    “Don’t you see, Honey?” Trixie interrupted. “With no more information than we have now, the only thing anybody would do if we told them about it would be to cancel the bikeathon. That wouldn’t help us find the phone caller, and it won’t help the art department, either. You just have to be very careful for the next few days. Keep your eyes open and stay out of trouble. Then, after the bikeathon, we’ll report the call to the police.”
    Honey agreed reluctantly. “I’m still scared, though, Trixie.”
    “It was probably just a crank call, Honey,” Trixie said. “I’m sure that nothing will come of it.” Almost sure, she thought guiltily.
    The girls parted, with Honey agreeing not to tell anyone about the call and Trixie reassuring her that everything would be all right.
    That night, Trixie lay awake a long time before she finally fell asleep.
    Later, she dreamed that she was being chased by a mysterious man on a bicycle, who kept calling out for her to stop in a raspy, horrible voice. In the dream, she couldn’t stop, because ahead of her she saw a German deutsche mark that she had to get so that she could give it to the art department to pay for posters.

    Trixie woke feeling stiff and sore. Her face looked haggard, and there were dark circles under her eyes.
    Remembering her dream, she wondered why she had connected the deutsche mark with the bikeathon. I’ve read that dreams sometimes point out connections that the waking mind has overlooked, she thought.
    “I wonder...” she mused aloud.
    On the school bus, there was more bad news from Dan Mangan. “Somebody destroyed Mr. Maypenny’s game cart last night,” he told the other Bob-Whites. “It was right out in front of the house, and when I went out this morning, there it was, looking as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.”
    “Did you hear any unusual noises during the night?” Trixie asked.
    Dan shook his head. “Mr. Maypenny and I are both pretty sound sleepers.”
    Trixie caught Honey’s eyes and pressed her lips together in a “keep quiet’’ signal. Honey nodded almost imperceptibly, but Trixie saw Jim looking from one to the other of the girls. His green eyes were troubled. Trixie looked away, feeling guilty for keeping secrets from Jim. She felt relieved when the bus pulled up in front of the school. She got out quickly and hurried to her first class.

    That afternoon, Trixie was called out of class. In the principal’s office, she found the other Bob-Whites, looking confused, and Sergeant Molinson, looking stem.
    When Trixie joined the group, the sergeant cleared his throat and began to speak. “The department heard from Mrs. Vanderpoel this morning. She reported that she received a threatening phone call last night. She didn’t recognize the voice, but the message was clear enough. The caller told her that she’d be in serious trouble if she allowed the bikers to use her house as a rest stop on Saturday.” Trixie felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She forced herself to remain calm as the officer continued sternly.
    “Since you young people have been organizing this bikeathon, I thought you might have had some similar experiences.”
    Dan immediately told the sergeant about finding Mr. Maypenny’s mined game cart early that morning.
    After Dan had finished, Di Lynch looked at Trixie and Honey, hesitated a moment, and then told Sergeant Molinson that her bicycle tires had been slashed the week before.
    Sergeant Molinson had been taking notes on what Dan and Di told him. Looking up, he said, “Is there anything else I should know?”
    Honey looked pleadingly toward Trixie. Trixie nodded slightly.
    “There is something else,” Honey said. She told him about her own mysterious phone call the night before.
    Sergeant Molinson’s face looked serious as he asked, “Do any of you have an idea of who might be behind these incidents?”
    Jim’s voice broke the silence that followed the sergeant’s question. “Tell him what you’ve been thinking, Trixie,” he said.
    Reluctantly, Trixie told the policeman about the strange behavior of Nick Roberts and Ben Riker. “Nick and Ben were both around when Di’s bike tires were slashed. Ben and his friends have made fun of the