The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

Nick continued, “I told you before that I didn’t think the bikeathon was a good idea.
    Now I’m sure of it. There’s no guarantee that the bikeathon will put the art department any further ahead than it is now. If there’s the slightest chance that someone could get hurt because of it, it simply isn’t worthwhile.”
    “But—” Trixie began.
    Nick ignored her interruption and continued to talk, his words coming in a rushed, breathless voice. “How do you think I’d feel—how do you think any of us in the art department would feel—if we knew the supplies and equipment we were using were purchased at the cost of someone’s suffering?”
    Trixie gulped. That was something she hadn’t thought about.
    “Look, Trixie,” Nick said, “from what Sergeant Molinson told me this afternoon, it’s obvious that someone doesn’t want the bikeathon to happen. I think you should call it off. Right away.” He stopped speaking abruptly, as if he’d finally run out of breath.
    He’s hiding something, Trixie thought. He’s been opposed to the bikeathon since long before he talked to the police. I’m sure that his father is against it, too. I wish I knew why.
    Aloud, she said, “I appreciate your concern, Nick. I don’t want to see anybody get hurt, any more than you do. We don’t have any real evidence, though, to prove that the vandalism is actually connected to the telephone threats. Unless,” she added boldly, “you know something more about them.”
    “I don’t know anything about anything,” Nick Roberts snapped. “And I don’t like your implying that I do. I was just trying to talk sense, but obviously that’s impossible to do with you.” He hung up abruptly.
    Trixie winced as Nick slammed the receiver down. She hung up the phone and turned to find Mart and Brian staring at her.
    “That was Nick Roberts,” she explained lamely. “He doesn’t seem to think the bikeathon is a good idea.”
    Brian shook his head. “I don’t think I do, either, Trixie. I know you have your heart set on helping the art department, and it’s hard to abandon the project now, when all the pledge cards are in and we know how successful the bikeathon could be. But I think we have to decide—soon—if the dangers don’t outweigh the advantages.”
    Trixie looked at Mart. “What do you think?” she asked him. “Are you still willing to go ahead with it?”
    Mart shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. I was almost hoping that Ben Riker or Nick Roberts would turn out to be the culprit, since that would at least solve the mystery and take us off the hook.
    Now we know that Ben Riker is innocent, and I guess we can assume that Nick is, too, since Sergeant Molinson let him go after he was questioned.
    “That means that whoever made those threats is still at large. And that means that there is a certain amount of risk involved with going ahead and having the bikeathon on Saturday.
    “I just don’t know what to say, Trixie,” Mart concluded helplessly.
    “I’ll tell you what,” Trixie said. “Tomorrow morning before school, we’ll all get together and have a vote. The majority rules. If at least four of the Bob-Whites vote to cancel the bikeathon, we’ll go right to the principal’s office and ask him to announce it over the PA. Otherwise, we’ll go on as scheduled.”
    “That seems fair,” Brian said. “It also gives us a night to sleep on our decision, which I intend to begin doing immediately. Good night.”
    Before she fell asleep, Trixie once again turned over in her mind her growing suspicion that the counterfeit bank note she’d found was somehow tied in with the attempts to have the bikeathon canceled. Ben Riker already is a forger, in a way, because of the arrows. And Nick has enough artistic talent to make a bill like that.
    Suddenly Trixie sat bolt upright in bed. “Mr. Roberts,” she murmured into the dark room. “He’s an engraver! I’m sure I’ve read that people who draw the pictures on money are called engravers She thought the idea over, then shook her head. “If Mr. Roberts were a counterfeiter, he wouldn’t be working all day in that shabby trophy store. The family wouldn’t still have money troubles, either, as Mr. Crider said they did. Still...Trixie shook her head again to dismiss the thought, then lay back down and drifted off into a troubled sleep.

    The next morning, Trixie was both relieved and nervous when all the Bob-Whites boarded the school bus for the ride to