The Mystery on Cobbett's Island (16 page)

“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen,” Trixie counted out
loud. “Two hundred and fifteen dollars!” she exclaimed. “Wow!”

“Wow, indeed,” Mrs. Kimball laughingly repeated. “And that's all free and clear because the food was donated. How can I ever thank all of you Bob-Whites for your help?”

“ ‘He is well paid who is well satisfied,' as Mr. Shakespeare once put it,” Jim replied.

“We certainly don't need any thanks,” Trixie added. “Jim's right. The whole thing has really been fun.”

“Besides the money we made, the party helped publicize the Library Fund,” Mrs. Kimball went on. “Several people told me they hadn't been especially interested in the building until they saw the model. Now they intend to make a substantial donation. Now tell me, what have you planned for tomorrow? You deserve a day of rest after the way you've worked.”

Trixie, not wanting to divulge their plan of further work on the chart, told her they'd probably spend the day on the beach or looking around the island.

“And we must go and call on El. We've neglected him since his accident,” Jim added.

The Bob-Whites had been so busy at the tea that even Mart hadn't found time to eat any of the delicious
cakes or cookies, so by dinnertime they were all starved. Since Miss Trask hadn't known what time they would be home from the party, she had suggested that the cook prepare a cold supper for them. A large bowl of potato salad, assorted sliced meats, coleslaw, and dessert were waiting for them on the buffet.

“Let's take trays out on the porch,” suggested Honey when they had all served themselves. “It'll soon be time for the sunset, and it should be another beauty.”

As they ate, they watched the sky in the west change from a purple-blue to rose, orange, and red as the sun sank behind the yacht club across the bay. They discussed the party at length and found that, although they had all been on the lookout for strange visitors, no one had seen anything suspicious.

Just as they were finishing, they saw Peter loping down the road toward The Moorings. “Hi, neighbors. Long time no see,” he called out as he came up the porch steps, two at a time.

“No, it's been ages,” Trixie answered. “All of two hours!”

“What brings you to the hallowed halls of Wheeler?” Mart asked as he passed the orange cake to Peter.

“Well, I hate to admit it, but I'm in a jam,” Peter
answered, flinging himself into a wicker chaise lounge. “I need help.”

“Gleeps, Peter, you sound desperate. What's up? You know you can count on us,” Trixie said.

“Oh, it's not a matter of life and death, so relax,” he told them, smiling, “but I got a phone call just now from Brad Cummings. He and his brother are my regular crew. He told me they can't get down here until next week because he has to take some kind of exam for college, and the tune-up races are tomorrow morning.”

“You don't mean you want
us
to go?” Trixie asked. “We've only been out that once with you. We couldn't possibly be any good in a regular race.”

“In the first place, it isn't a regular race, so simmer down,” he told her. “It's just a warmer-upper, and besides, from what Cap tells me and what I saw the other day, all of you acted like able-bodied seamen, even if you are new hands.”

Everyone expressed his willingness to help out and Jim and Trixie were finally delegated to go with Peter.

“Trixie, you can handle the spinnaker, because you're lighter than Jim and won't upset the balance of the boat so much when you have to go forward to set the sail.” Peter was full of enthusiasm, but Trixie was still quite apprehensive.

“The spinnaker! I've never even seen one outside a sail bag, let alone put one up. I'd simply die if I didn't do it right,” she moaned.

“I'll tell you what,” Peter said reassuringly. “We'll go over to my house, and I'll show you a book that describes the whole operation. It's really not that difficult.”

“May the rest of us come along, too?” Brian asked. “We might as well learn the tricks of the trade while we have a chance.”

“Sure thing,” Peter replied. “The more the merrier, and we can look at some movies Dad took of some of the races last summer.”

After taking their trays inside, they headed for Peter's house, and by the end of the evening, Trixie felt a little more confident. As they were walking back to The Moorings, Jim gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Don't worry, Trix, you can do anything you put your mind to. You know I think you're super!” he said.

For once in her life, Trixie was speechless! Her heart was racing. She thought,
I've just
got
to do it, not only to help Peter, but for Jim
.

That night, although she went right to sleep, her rest was interrupted by a long series of dreams in which
Star Fire
capsized because she stupidly hauled on the wrong line, or came in last with everyone laughing at her vain attempts to hoist the spinnaker. But when dawn finally arrived, she felt less panicky and firmly resolved to keep her fears to herself.

Peter had proposed that they get to the club early so they could go out for a practice sail before race time. So he picked up Trixie and Jim who had grabbed some breakfast on the run, leaving the other Bob-Whites to come down later.

Peter looked up at the cloud-littered sky and remarked, “We've got a good breeze today, but it's a little out of the west, and the west wind is fickle.”

“Is that a handicap?” Jim asked seriously.

“No, not exactly,” Peter replied. “It's fine when it's blowing, but then, all of a sudden—no wind, usually just when you need it most to get across the finish line. Anyway, it'll be good practice.”

After Peter had parked the Ice-Box, they brought the sail bags over to the lawn. Trixie and Jim spread out the huge, filmy spinnaker, so Peter could fold and pack it properly in a cardboard carton. He pushed the two bottom corners, or feet, of the sail into the slots cut in the box so they could quickly and easily be snapped onto the sheets.

“It's not quite as complicated as folding a parachute, but almost.” He chuckled as he finished the job and headed for the dock, Trixie and Jim following with the sail bags.

The club was almost deserted at this hour, and the launch wasn't yet running, so Peter borrowed a dinghy and rowed them out to
Star Fire
which was curtsying gaily at her mooring. The sails were soon hoisted, and after sailing up to the dock to return the dinghy, they headed east into the bay.

“We're running before the wind now,” Peter explained, “so we can set the spinny anytime. Are you ready to give it a try, Trix?”

“I'm as ready as I'll ever be.” She climbed out of the cockpit and went forward, carrying the carton with her. She put the spinnaker pole in place on the mast, fastened the guy lines to the corners of the sail, and hoisted it. It filled almost immediately, and Trixie was so elated at her success, she forgot to take down the jib until Peter called to remind her.

“Jeepers, I forgot all about that,” she yelled back as she hurriedly lowered the jib and left it in a neat pile on the deck ready to be hoisted again later on. She climbed back inside, and by carefully trimming the lines kept the spinnaker well filled.
Star Fire
zoomed along at a merry
clip, and Trixie was beginning to think her fears had been kind of silly and that the spinnaker detail was really pretty simple after all, when suddenly the beautiful blue sail collapsed like a pricked balloon!

“Pete!” she cried. “I've forgotten what to do. Help me!”

“It's okay, Trix. Don't get all clutched up,” Peter reassured her. “Remember I said the wind was fickle. She's just showing you who's boss out here today.”

Trixie saw he was right. The wind had died, and they were barely moving.

“No knowing how long before the wind will be anything more than a breeze, so I guess we'd better take down the spinnaker and get back to the club, or we'll miss the start of the race,” Peter suggested.

Luckily, by the time the jib was again in place, the wind freshened slightly and bore them back without difficulty. As they rounded the point and came in sight of the harbor, Trixie and Jim both let out a gasp of surprise. All the boats they had seen earlier bobbing at their moorings now had their sails up. There were about thirty in all.

“Gleeps!” cried Trixie. “Are they all going to race?”

They were near enough now to distinguish the various types of boats, and Peter explained that each kind
raced in its own class. He pointed out the little catboats called Wood Pussies, the Blue Jays, the Lightnings, and the Stars. “Hey, there's the committee boat, and look who's aboard. The Bob-Whites!” he yelled, waving to a large motor cruiser. “That belongs to Cap's father. They'll have a chance to watch the whole race. What a break!”

At this point, a gun on the porch of the yacht club went off, and Peter told them it signaled the start of the Star race. “They're the biggest and fastest class we have, and if they didn't go first, they'd run right through the rest of us,” he explained.

“Jeepers! What a sight!” Trixie cried, as the eight Stars, their sky-raking masts carrying a huge cloud of sail, went careening up the bay.

“Lightnings next,” Peter warned. “I set my stopwatch when the gun for the Stars went off. Five minutes to go!”

There were nine Lightnings beside
Star Fire
in the race. Back and forth they went behind the line, jockeying for the most advantageous position.

Trixie, her eyes shining with excitement, noticed
Blitzen
sailing nearby. “Good luck, Cap,” she called out with a wave of her hand.

“You, too,” he yelled back good-naturedly.

Peter was now counting down for the start. “One minute to go,” he intoned. “Fifty seconds, forty, thirty, twenty, ten, five.…”

Can I do it again? I just can't goof this time!
Trixie thought, her heart pounding as the boats raced for the line.

Then Peter's voice broke in on her thoughts, “Four seconds to go, three, two, one—gun!”

They were off! The boats beat up the bay, well bunched, but
Star Fire
and
Blitzen
gradually drew ahead of the rest of the fleet, and Peter, looking behind him, said, “It looks like Cap's the one we'll have to beat. As soon as we round the harbor buoy, get set to fly the spinnaker, Trix, for the long run down to the next mark. Cap's really moving. Our only chance may be to outsmart him.”

“Okay, Pete, I'll do my best,” Trixie said fervently as she got ready to go up on the foredeck.

Star Fire
and
Blitzen
were neck and neck as they approached the harbor buoy which they had to round before heading out into the bay.

“All right, Trix, get ready to let her fly,” Peter said, and with a little prayer, Trixie climbed out of the cockpit, being careful not to upset the balance of the boat.

Luckily, the lines, which at first glance looked completely tangled, fell magically into place when she fixed the guy lines to the spinnaker and started hoisting the big blue sail. It filled beautifully, and
Star Fire
leaped ahead as the balloon began to exert its terrific power. This time Trixie remembered to take down the jib before she dropped back into the boat.

“Good girl, Trix,” Peter called out to her. “Cap's spinny went up at least thirty seconds after yours.”

Trixie hardly dared look around at first, but when she finally stole a glance, she saw that
Star Fire
was stealing away from
Blitzen
at an ever-increasing rate.

“Hey, isn't Cap in trouble?” Jim suddenly cried. “I don't think his spinnaker's filling, after all.”

Peter, darting a look over his shoulder, said, “You're right, Jim. His gear must have got fouled up somehow. That's tough on Cap, but you know what they say, all's fair in love and war—and boat racing!”

By this time,
Star Fire
had a commanding lead, and she held it all the way to the black buoy where they had to come about before heading back to the finish line. Cap finally got his boat moving again, and after a few minutes, once more began to threaten
Star Fire's
lead. Trixie noticed that Peter's calm was giving way to tension.

“Get ready to hoist the jib and take the spinny down,” he ordered sharply, “and, Jim, trim the mainsail a bit as we round the mark. Cap's coming up like greased lightning and we can't afford to miss a trick!”

As
Star Fire
boiled up to the mark, Trixie raised the jib, and clawed the spinnaker down. At the same moment, Jim trimmed the mainsail and Peter put the tiller hard over. They squeezed around the mark with only inches to spare and were off for the finish line.

“By Jove, that was perfect timing,” Peter exulted. “You two are real pros!”