The Mystery of the Missing Heiress (10 page)

Jeepers, she thought frantically,
I only had time to butter the bread and put it in the oven to toast.
She looked in the mirror over the stove. “Mrs. Witch in person,” she groaned. “Oh, well, the room’s ready.”

Quickly she whisked blue homespun mats from the kitchen drawer, put them on the old maple drop leaf table, then added silver and yellow paper napkins. Moms would have something ready to eat in no time, she thought as she toweled her face till it shone and brushed back her sandy curls.

“Welcome to Crabapple Farm!” she called to the slender girl who came in with Mrs. Belden, followed by Mart and Brian carrying boxes.

Inside the kitchen Janie stood quiet, sniffed the fragrant toast, saw the sprigged curtains stirring in the breeze from the garden, and let her eyes wander to the hospitable table with its ladder-back chairs pushed in and waiting.

She saw Trixie, red-faced and radiant, felt the brush of Reddy’s wagging tail, saw the boys disappearing down the hall with her possessions, and tightened her hold on Bobby’s hand. “It’s all so wonderful,” she sighed. “Why are you so good to me?”

“We want you to get well,” Mrs. Belden said briskly. “Trixie, take Janie back to her room. I’ll have some salad and soup on the table in a minute. Bobby, take Reddy outside, please. No dogs in the house when we are eating, remember?”

“Reddy’s not a dog,” Bobby pouted. “He’s part of the family.”

“Then part of the family will eat lunch outside.” Mrs. Belden handed Bobby Reddy’s dish. “I added a little of that cat food he’s so crazy about. After all, he’s entitled to something special, too, because Janie’s here.” She ran her hand lovingly over Bobby’s cowlicked hair.

“When do we eat, Moms?” Mart asked, pretending to puff from the weight of Janie’s box he had carried. “Where’d she get all those things, anyway? All she had was what she had on when she was found—”

“Shhhh!” Mrs. Belden warned. “Honey s mother told Miss Trask to buy the things Janie needed,” she added in a quiet voice. “Oh, I do hope she’ll be happy here.”

“And gets well soon,” Bobby added, slamming the screen door.

“Amen to hoping Janie will get well, but why can't Bobby ever learn to close a door without a bang?” Mart asked.

“He’ll learn it the same way you and Brian did,” Mrs. Belden said and told both the boys to wash their hands at the kitchen sink.

“See, smarty?” Bobby jeered.

“Oh, yeah?” Mart answered and pulled the chair out from under his brother, dropping him to the floor, howling.

“Mart, pick Bobby up immediately,” his mother said, “and all of you, for goodness’ sake, stop yelling at one another.”

“You see?” Trixie said to Janie, who had come in from her room. “It isn’t all sweetness and light at the Belden homestead.”

“Who’s perfect all the time?” Janie answered, smiling, and won the boys’ hearts. “That’s the loveliest room, Mrs. Belden—and the view!

“Trixie and the boys put it in order,” Mrs. Belden answered. “Just sit anywhere, Janie... maybe over there next to Bobby. Then there won’t be any squabbling about ‘who’s sitting in my chair?’ ”

“That’s what the bears said,” Bobby told Janie and handed her the napkin-covered basket of crisp toast.

“I faintly remember reading something like that about fifteen years ago,” Janie said, smiling.

“The salad’s from our garden,” Bobby said. “Take a lot of it, Janie. We have it every day. Hey, Trixie, there comes Honey on her bike. Just listen to Reddy barking.”

What Happens to Missing People? ● 9

WHY DIDN’T YOU let me know Janie was coming? Honey asked. “I’d have helped you get ready.

The luncheon dishes were done, and, at Mrs. Belden’s suggestion, Janie had gone to her room to rest.

Honey and Trixie were in Trixie’s room upstairs. How she loved this room of her own and Moms s inflexible rule: No one enters a room with a closed door without knocking. Here was privacy, a rare thing in a household of young people, and it was greatly treasured.

“I’d have let you know she was coming,” Trixie said, “but I wasn’t sure—not really sure—till she came home with Moms. Anyway, Mart and Brian helped me get the room ready. Oh, Honey, do you think she will be happy here?”

“It’s a perfect place for her.” Honey’s eyes shone. “I wouldn’t mind losing my memory, if I could stay for a while at Crabapple Farm.”

“Anytime... any old time you want to come,” Trixie said, putting her arm around her friend. “I wish I could
really
do something to help Janie... soon; she looks so white and thin. Oh, I know what you’re going to say: Moms’s food will soon change that. That’s true, but there’s much more to it.”

“She keeps worrying about not knowing who she is,” Honey said sadly. “I know what you mean. I don’t know what anyone can do about that—I mean anything we haven’t already done.”

“She’s so helpless. Honey, we can’t just play around this afternoon. We have to start doing what we can for her. I know! I’ll ask Moms if I can go to the library. We can ride our bikes.”

“What could we do there?”

“Look over every inch of the
New York Times
for at least ten days back—see if we can find any item about a missing person.”

“Don’t you think the Missing Persons Bureau would know that before a news story could get into the
New York Times?’

“Maybe so. Maybe they would. But with so many people disappearing all the time, they could overlook something. It’s worth trying. Miss Trask won’t care if you go, will she?”

“Not if your mother thinks it’s all right. Shall we ask her?”

“We’ll just ask if we can go to the library. She might think we were silly to look through the newspaper. I’m sure the boys would think so if she told them.”

Mrs. Belden had no objection. “You may go—if you think you can get your bike out of the barn and get away without Bobby seeing you. Lately he thinks he has to go along with anyone who leaves this house. He’s back in the pasture with Reddy now, so hurry!”

The two girls pedaled rapidly to the top of the hill, then coasted their bikes down into the village. They parked them in the rack outside the library and went into the reading room.

“May we please see late copies of the
New York Times
?” Trixie asked.

“Help yourself, girls,” the librarian answered. “They’re hanging on that rack over there—this week’s editions. If you want to go back farther than that, reach into the shelf right back of the rack.” They carried copy after copy to the long table and ran their fingers down each column looking for news of accidents or missing people, following through on any item that seemed to have any promise. Aside from the small notice about the dredging of the marshland, which Honey found, there was no other mention of Sleepyside.

“I didn’t think we’d find anything,” Honey said sadly. “After all, the police all over the state of New York have been notified.... What
are
you staring at, Trixie?”

“This!” Trixie said aloud, and the librarian held up a warning finger. “Look, Honey.” She spread out a copy of a small newspaper from Lakeside, Illinois, a Chicago suburb.

“That man who was sitting across the table from us left it,” she told Honey excitedly. “And I saw this headline. It may mean something.”

Honey read the headline: WHAT HAPPENS TO MISSING PEOPLE?

In response to a roving reporter s questions, several people had given their answers. Trixie’s eyes fairly popped from her head as she huddled close to Honey, reading.

The picture of one woman, and her answer, stood out as though it were in boldface type.

The woman s name, Beth Meredith, was given, and her address. In an excited whisper, Trixie read Beth Meredith’s answer to the query:

“Ten days ago my younger sister, Barbara Crane, went to the southern part of New York State to take her first teaching job. She promised to write or call the minute she found a place to stay. I haven’t heard a word from her. Today I called the president of the school board, and he said she had not reported to him. What
do
people do to trace missing people?”

“It’s Janie!” both girls shouted.

“Shhhh!” the librarian warned.

“Let’s go outside where we
can
talk,” Trixie whispered. “Wait. I’ll copy the name and address.” Outside, Trixie found herself trembling. “It’s Janie... I know it is! What shall we do?”

“Find out how much money we have between us,” Honey said. “If there’s enough, we can telephone to Lakeside.”

“See how smart you are? And you’re always saying I’m the brains of our agency. Oh, Honey, my fingers are all thumbs.”

Trixie spilled the contents of her coin purse on the steps between them. “You count it. We’ll have to call person-to-person. That’ll mean more money.”

“We have a lot.” Honey laughed. “There’s almost two dollars in my purse and... heavens!... nearly four dollars in yours!”

“Part of that belongs to Moms. I was supposed to pay the laundryman this morning, and he didn’t come. Moms would never mind, I know, if we had to use it. Let’s find a telephone booth—one outside the library. She’d just start shushing us again.”

“There’s one across the street at the filling station.” Honey put all the money together in Trixie’s purse. “We can try it.”

They hurried across, leaving their bikes in the library rack.

“You do the calling, Trixie,” Honey insisted. “You’ll know what to say.”

“I’m shaking so I can’t even dial the operator. Here, hold this purse and take out the coins so I can drop them in when I get the connection... if I do. Oh, jeepers, Honey, just think—”

The operator asked for the deposit, heard the correct amount being inserted, then said, “I have your party on the line. Go ahead, please.”

“Oh, Mrs. Meredith! I’m Trixie Belden, and I live in Sleepyside, New York. You don’t know me, but that’s who I am, and my friend Honey Wheeler is standing right here beside me. Oh, dear... that doesn’t mean anything to you, but
I hope 1 know your sister!”

“Oh, heavens!” the voice answered. ‘‘You think you know Barbara? Wait a minute till I get a chair. I feel faint. Is Barbara all right?”

“Oh, I do hope so. You see, it was this way....” Trixie told her of Janie’s accident and described her. “She did have long, blond hair before they had to cut it very short because of the bump on her head.”

“Oh, dear! Please, go on.”

“She wasn’t seriously hurt. I think it was an accident. Nobody seems to know. Her head is all right now... well, no, it isn’t…”

“What do you mean? You sound incoherent.”

“I’m sorry. What I’m trying to say is that your sister—I hope she
is
your sister; we call her Janie— she’s completely well, except that she has lost her memory. The doctors don’t think it’s serious. She
is
well, physically, Mrs. Meredith.”

“You mean she’s not well
mentally?
Oh, dear!”

“No, Mrs. Meredith... please... she is all right. The doctor doesn’t think her loss of memory is serious. She was released from the hospital and is staying at our home, Crabapple Farm, just outside of Sleepyside, New York. I’ll give you our telephone number, but please give me a chance to get back there before you call her. My friend and I just found a copy of your Lakeside newspaper in our library. We saw the interview you gave the reporter, and that’s why we called. Please call this number—” Trixie recited her home phone number— “in about half an hour, will you?”

“Your three minutes are up... please deposit—” The receiver at the other end of the line clicked. “She hung up,” Trixie said, dejected. “I guess I did sound kind of wild. She must have thought I was crazy. We’d better get home as quickly as we can, Honey, before she telephones our house. Moms won’t have the slightest idea what it’s all about.” The girls fairly ran up the hill from the library, pushing their bikes ahead. Then, on level ground, they pedaled as fast as their feet would fly down Glen Road and into the driveway at Crabapple Farm. They dropped their bikes and ran into the house.

“Did she call?” Trixie cried. “Did she talk to Janie?”

“Trixie! Calm down!” her mother ordered. “Did who call whom?”

“Did Mrs. Meredith call her sister Janie... I mean Barbara?”

“Janie’s not Barbara,” Bobby said.

“She is! She is! I know she is. I’m practically certain she is,” Trixie insisted, stumbling over the words in her excitement.

“Now, Trixie, take it easy. Honey, you’re just as excited. Whatever could have happened? Take your time and tell me what this is all about—slowly, please,” her mother said.

“I... have to... tell... Janie, too,” Trixie gasped. “Where is she?”

“I’m here, Trixie. What happened?”

“I’ve just talked on the telephone to your sister, Janie—I mean, you are really Barbara.”

She looked expectantly at Janie, who only seemed confused.

“My sister? I don’t understand.”