The Pet Show Mystery

just dropped my corn, is all.”
    “No, I mean before. I saw you on your hands and knees, and I thought you were hurt,” Trixie explained.
    “Oh.” The girl paused to consider Trixie’s theory. “I guess I can see why you’d think that. But I’ve spent plenty of time on my hands and knees along this road, and nobody else ever thought that.”
    “You have?” Seeing the girl’s blank look, Trixie added, “Spent plenty of time kneeling out here, I mean. Why?”
    “Feeding the birds. That was a bowl of cracked corn that you just knocked out of my hands.”
    “Sorry,” Trixie said belatedly. “But why are you out here feeding the birds? We get dozens and dozens at the feeder in our backyard.”
    “Not these birds, you don’t,” the girl said. “These are birds like pheasants and quail. They feed off the ground, not from feeders. But when there’s as much snow as there’s been this winter, the ground is all covered. The birds can’t get to their food. They’re dying by the thousands.”
    “Oh.” It was Trixie’s turn to pause and consider. “It seems like I’ve seen more pheasants this winter than usual, though.”
    “You have,” the girl said. “They’re so desperate for food that they’re coming out of the underbrush to hunt for food along the roadside.”
    “So that’s why you’re putting the corn out here,” Trixie concluded, hoping that she was finally on the right track.
    “I have ten feeding stations along a three-mile section of Glen Road. I have ten more along Old Telegraph Road. Every day I come out and refill one set of stations or the other. It isn’t much, but it’s the best I can do.”
    “I think what you’re doing is wonderful,” Trixie said sincerely. “It’s been a hard winter. Walking three miles out and three back every day takes real dedication.”
    “My dedication won’t keep the birds alive,” the girl said bitterly. “Only the food will help. And I’m not putting out nearly as much as is needed.”
    “But you’re doing all you can,” Trixie insisted. “That’s all anyone can do.”
    The girl shrugged off Trixie’s reassurances. “I know, but it just isn’t enough.”
    There was an awkward silence. Trixie couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come pelting back in her face the way the cracked corn had. “My name is Trixie Belden,” she said finally.
    “I know who you are,” the girl told her. Trixie peered through the fur-trimmed hood and knit muffler, trying to recognize the girl. It was no use.
    “My name is Norma Nelson,” the girl finally said.
    “Oh! Hi. Of course, I know you.” Trixie realized that she was speaking with more warmth than was really appropriate. Something about Norma’s sullen coldness made Trixie desperately want to produce some sign of a thaw. Actually, though, she didn’t know Norma Nelson at all. Hearing the name, Trixie could picture the girl’s face and see her walking down the halls of Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School. But as far as Trixie could remember, she’d never spoken to Norma before.
    “I have to get going,” Norma said. “It’s getting dark.”
    “Can I help you with the rest of your route? It’s my fault that you’re behind schedule, after all.”
    “I can manage.” Norma Nelson picked up a large plastic pail and a stack of smaller plastic bowls. Without saying good-bye, she walked off in the direction from which Trixie had just come.



2 * Patch Provides a Plan

    TRIXIE WATCHED Norma for a moment before turning and continuing on toward the Manor House. I don’t even know where Norma lives, she thought. She must live in town, or I’d have seen heron the school bus. It really takes guts to make that hike every afternoon, the way the weathers been.
    “It certainly does,” Honey Wheeler agreed a few minutes later. Settled in Honey’s bedroom, Trixie had immediately related her encounter with Norma Nelson. “It kind of surprises me. Norma has always seemed so quiet and timid.”
    “Do you know her?” Trixie asked.
    Honey shook her head, and her honey-blonde hair moved softly across her shoulders. “I had an English class with her once. She never raised her hand, and when the teacher called on her, there was always a long, long pause. I sometimes had the feeling that Norma might not say anything at all. But finally she’d answer. She always knew the right answer, too. She’s not dumb or anything. She’s just shy.”
    “It’s hard for me to imagine being that