The Secret of the Unseen Treasure

to—
    Brian smiled at her. “You’re not a little girl anymore, sis. You’re a young woman.”
    Trixie stared at him. He wasn’t kidding.
    “Gee, thanks... I think.”
    A few minutes later, Brian parked the B.W.G. station wagon behind the police car at the edge of Glen Road.
    “Let’s not rile the sergeant by tramping all over his evidence,” he advised. “Let’s wait until he asks us to get out.”
    Rain and traffic in the past ten days had destroyed any possible indication that a car might have stopped along the road near the lake. Sergeant Molinson scanned the area carefully, then began walking slowly toward the lake. He beckoned for Brian and Trixie to follow.
    At the water’s edge, Trixie pointed to the spot where she had found the bag of checks. Molinson mumbled that the bag had probably been tossed there with an underhand throw.
    A search of the shore revealed nothing.
    Molinson gave Trixie a wry look. “It’s not like television, where there are clues all around, just waiting to be noticed. Real detective work isn’t so quick and easy.”
    Trixie raised her eyebrows. “But it’s exciting anyway,” she declared.
    Molinson snorted. “You call this exciting? Listen: Stick to television, kid.”
    That stung. Trixie didn’t feel as grown-up as she had a few minutes before.
    “Whoever threw those checks in certainly didn’t expect them to be found,” Molinson went on. “And I do owe you my thanks for that. But I don’t think finding the checks will solve anything.”
    Back in the station wagon, Trixie motioned for Brian not to start the engine. “Let Sergeant Molinson leave first,” she said.
    “What’s up?” Brian asked, puzzled. They watched as the police car headed back to Sleepyside.
    Trixie opened the glove compartment and removed a pad and pencil, “Help me remember as many names as we can from those checks,” she said.
    “The names were all in last week’s paper,” Brian reminded her. “We can go back to Honey’s and dig it out and—”
    “And Miss Trask will want to know what we’re up to,” Trixie interrupted. “She won’t let Honey come back with us anyway, and since were already here...
    “What now?” Brian prompted.
    Trixie was jotting names on the pad. “If we could find out where the last check was stolen,” she said thoughtfully, “maybe we could discover who or what scared the thief into getting rid of the evidence.”
    “But Sergeant Molinson said—”
    “I know what he said,” Trixie stated. “But there must be some reason why the thief threw the checks away. Drive down Glen Road, slowly, while I check the names on the mailboxes.”
    “Okay,” Brian said. “The others won’t be expecting us back right away. I hope.”
    As Brian drove along Glen Road, Trixie called out the names on the mailboxes. Frequently the name didn’t sound familiar, but that could be because there was no reason for it to be recalled. Not every mailbox received a Social Security check each month. Still, there were a number of older people living in the area.
    Another mailbox came into view. “Charles Hartman,” Trixie said, checking it off the list. “His was the first envelope we found floating in the lake.”
    The next mailbox, around a turn in the road, was Mrs. Elliot’s. Brian drove on by it. In about a quarter of a mile, they passed another box. The name wasn’t on Trixie’s list, and neither of them remembered it from the checks. Two more mailboxes, side by side, came into view. Trixie read the names aloud.
    “I know the last one doesn’t belong on the list,” Brian said. “Their son is a classmate of mine. No old folks living in his home.”
    “It’s not just older people who get Social Security checks,” Trixie said. “Disabled people and widows—”
    “Both parents are alive and healthy,” Brian said. He squinted at the other box. “I think there’s an older couple living across the road.” He pointed toward a little house set back among the trees. “I’ll see if I can find out anything.” Brian parked the station wagon beside the road and got out. Trixie could see him talking first to an elderly woman at the door, then to an old man who joined them.
    When Brian returned to the car, he looked thoughtful. “Their check wasn’t stolen, but it could have been. It sat in the box for hours before one of them came down to get the mail. And they told me they‘ve got friends up the road a bit, and none of them had their checks