The Pet Show Mystery

room, however, Trixie found herself feeling far from cheerful. Mart’s programming problems are over. But there are still so many other problems to be solved. I don’t see how we can do it all before the pet show on Saturday.
    She fell into a worried sleep that was plagued by troubled dreams. In one dream, she was walking Reddy down Glen Road. The energetic setter suddenly lunged forward, wresting the leash from her hand. She called to him, but he was running after a boy. The boy turned around just as Reddy jumped at him, and Trixie saw the terrified face of Gordon Halvorson. Reddy knocked Gordon down, and Trixie ran forward to retrieve the dog and help Gordon to his feet. But by the time she got there, Gordon had turned into Paul Gale, and it was the man who was attacking the dog, rather than the other way around.
    In her dream, Trixie cried out, but no one responded. She looked around frantically for help, and saw Norma Nelson standing silently by the side of the road.
    “Help me, please,” Trixie cried.
    Norma’s only response was to toss a handful of cracked corn into the air like confetti.
    In the morning, Trixie woke feeling drained and tired. She straggled after her brothers out to the car, carrying Mart’s book bag so that he could carry the computer.
    At school, she followed Mart up to the computer room so that she could hand him his book bag as he dropped off the computer.
    The computer room was large. There was a desk and chalkboard in the front of the room, with four rows of tables and chairs so that students could listen to lectures. The computers, on their special desks, were pushed up against the side and back walls.
    Mart started toward an empty desk to put back his computer, then froze when he saw the lone student working at a computer in the far corner.
    Trixie felt an urge to turn and run when she recognized Gordon Halvorson; she wondered briefly if Mart felt the same way. But it was too late. Gordon had heard them and turned around.
    “Good morning,” he said cheerfully, rising from his chair. He was a tall, thin boy with mud-colored hair that fell in a lifeless lock on his forehead. “Did you make any progress last night?”
    “Yes,” Mart said as he put down his computer.
    “Well, good,” Gordon said, not realizing that anything was wrong. “We’ll work on it this morning during class. Maybe we’ll get those snags out for you.”
    “The snags are out,” Mart said. For a moment, it seemed as though he would be unable to say anything more. Then, with great effort, he added, “I know what you’ve been doing, Gordon.”
    Gordon’s face registered his shock vividly. His denial, when it came, was unconvincing: “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
    “Yes, you do,” Mart said. He seemed more at ease now that the initial accusation was over. “You’ve been sabotaging this program all the while you were pretending to help me with it. Last night, I tried the program as I’d originally written it two weeks ago, and it worked perfectly.”
    In spite of himself, Gordon looked impressed. “That was a smart way to handle it,” he said. “I thought you’d just keep patching what you had. It never occurred to me that you’d try going back to the beginning.”
    The nerve of him, Trixie thought. He’s still acting superior, even now. “Don’t you think you’ve got some explaining to do?” she asked out loud.
    Gordon shifted his attention to Trixie. “I suppose I do. Well, primarily I made minor changes in the data base—the kind that no one would notice in a quick scan. From time to time, I also made some changes in the loops for each subsort, and—”
    “But why?” Trixie demanded.
    Gordon looked down, touching the keyboard of a computer, almost stroking the keys. “I just thought one of the Beldens could let someone else be good at something for a change.”
    Trixie looked at her brother to see if he’d understood Gordon’s statement. When Mart shrugged, Trixie asked, “What does that mean, Gordon?”
    Gordon looked up at Trixie. His mouth was set in an angry pout. “You Beldens and your rich friends—you’re always hanging around in that tight little pack of yours, living in your own little world, working on your own little projects. You think you’re too good for the rest of us. You think nobody has anything to offer you, because you’ve got it all.”
    “That’s not true!” Trixie protested.
    “Oh, yeah? Well, look what happened when I tried to help your