Chapter 12:

The Return of the Red Menace

"Do we go back to believing in ghosts?" Honey asked Trixie, after Mr. Handleman told the two to have a nice evening and shut the door behind them.

Trixie started down the steps, thinking it over as she went.

The girls visit with the older gentleman had been a short, but productive, one. He'd just sitten down to a hot TV dinner when they arrived. So to be polite, Trixie hadn't wasted his time. She'd promptly confessed and then apologized for the drama she caused the night before. She'd stuck to the same story she'd told Miss Trask, and Mr. Handleman had reacted to it in about the same way as the governess had.

After a brief lecture on the virtues of honesty, which had left a sour lump in Trixie's throat, the shopkeeper had praised her for having the courage to come forward. "Maybe you're not such a bad kid after all," were the words he'd used.

It had been a sideways admission and it'd spurred Honey into announcing Trixie's intent to recover and return his stolen postage stamp to him. She explained how the teens had uncovered the stories regarding the robbery in the old desk. Which, in turn, brought up the topic of Jonesy's father.

Since Trixie had taken the blame for most of the hoopla at the farm, Honey had been careful to avoid any explanation of why they'd asked about Mr. Jones.

But Mr. Handleman's disposition had grown chilly at the mention of Samuel Jones's name, and it had become evident he was no longer in the mood for company. After giving the girls a swift earful, he'd sent them on their way before his dinner got cold.

So now, with the wind at their backs, and mission accomplished, Trixie and Honey's return trip was progressing rapidly.

Trixie welcomed the fresh air. It was nice to have one of her burdens lifted. Still, she carried a heavy load. She and Honey hadn't gotten the answer they'd hoped too. But on the brighter side, they were coming back with more information than they'd left with.

"I'm done with ghosts," she told Honey as they marched intently along. "After this afternoon, I've moved Mr. Handleman back to the top of my list of suspects."

Honey took Trixie by the arm before she went any further. "Honestly, Trixie, you can't mean that? Do I have to remind you again, what a nice man Mr. Handleman is? Why if Jim heard you now, he'd send you right on home."

"Phooey," Trixie rebutted. "Jim's not going to send me anywhere. And I'm sick of people making that threat. I have the right to my own opinion. I know Jim thinks the world of Mr. Handleman. And I respect that. But yesterday I almost fell into the trap of believing your brother might like me better if I thought so too. But he wouldn't. It'd be a lie. And I'm tired of lies. Mr. Handleman doesn't exactly think I'm the cat's meow either, you know."

"But Jim does," Honey finished quietly. She chewed on the nail of her thumb, then added, "I'm sorry, Trixie. You're right, of course."

Trixie clenched her jaw. "I don't want to be right," she began angrily, "not about Mr. Handleman anyway. But you heard what he said when we showed him the articles, Honey. He swears to this day Jonesy's father robbed him. And I also get the impression he thinks Samuel Jones got too sick to unload the last of the loot before he kicked the bucket. If true, that gives credence to rumor that the stamp is still on the farm. It also gives Mr. Handleman a pretty good motive to scare us off so he can look for it. So until we can prove differently, he's a suspect. We can't be good detectives if we look the other way, Honey."

Honey walked along in silence, thinking things through. "If Mr. Handleman wanted to look for the stamp, all he'd have to do is ask Jim," she said after a bit. "Did you ever think of that, Trixie? Jim certainly wouldn't say no."

Trixie picked up a chunk of gravel and winged it down the road. "Would you rather go back to believing in ghosts?" she replied curtly. "Or maybe some mysterious visitor who comes and goes in the middle of the night without being seen? None of it makes any sense, Honey. None of it at all."

Honey sighed. It was no use arguing with Trixie when she was feeling so vexed. She decided a change of focus was needed.

"You know Trixie, we should be pretty excited. I think chances are good the stamp's hiding somewhere just under our noses. If we can find it, Mr. Handleman's financial worries will be over."

Reaching the farm, Trixie plopped down on the front stoop. The rain had dissipated, and for the first time since leaving Sleepyside, a hint of sunshine warmed her face. "How much did Mr. Handleman say the stamp is worth?" she asked her friend.

Honey sat down next to her. "Around two thousand dollars when it was stolen," she replied. "But I think it's probably worth much more than that, now. Daddy collects rare stamps, and many of them increase in value every year. He says they make a good investment."

Trixie removed her jacket and then wadded it into a ball before stuffing it her lap. "I'm beginning to wish I'd had more patience when Uncle Andrew tried to get me started in stamp collecting," she mused. "I'm not even sure what we're searching for. Mr. Handleman referred to the stamp as an '1886 Washington carmine issue '. What does all that gobbledygook mean, Honey?"

"I really have no idea," Honey confessed. "But the library in Cloverton is sure to have a guide book with a picture and a description."

Trixie knew this was likely, but didn't see what good it'd do them. "I can tell you now, the boys aren't going to drive us into town to check," she said flatly. "They're sure to see it as a waste of time ."

"I don't know about that," Honey said, pulling her friend to her feet. "Anyway, it won't do any harm to ask. Let's give it a shot." She tried the front door but found it wouldn't open.

"You'll need to knock," Trixie reminded her. "Jim's orders were to keep all doors locked at all times, don't you remember?"

Honey admitted it'd slipped her mind. So she wrapped on the heavy door and then had to knock again before Dan let the girls in.

"Is Jonesy's father dead?" he asked, as he rebolted the latch and followed Trixie into the living room.

"Long dead," Trixie replied. She sat down on the couch, throwing her wrinkled jacket haphazardly over the arm. "Mr. Handleman said smoking did him in. Mr. Jones came down with pneumonia while incarcerated. His lung function was already so impaired, he never fully recovered. Mr. Handleman thinks he actually had tuberculosis. Anyhow, Mr. Jones passed away some years later after a very prolonged illness."

Dan's face dropped, and he sank beside Trixie. It was apparent that despite his earlier pessimism, he'd been hoping for a different outcome.

"So how'd Mr. Handleman take your confession?" he asked Trixie quietly.

While Trixie and Dan had their little chit-chat, Honey'd been poking about the house. Rejoining her friends, she inquired into Jim and Brian's where-a-bouts.

Dan's frown quickly disappeared as he revealed they'd accompanied Miss Trask into town. Since the trio would be late getting back, they planned to bring home pizza for dinner.

"Pizza!" Trixie and Honey exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Yummy-Yum! "Honey cheered.

"I'm famished!" Trixie echoed.

Dan let out a loud snicker. "I thought you'd like that," he said, getting up. "But that's the good news. Now for the bad. Miss Trask didn't have time to go through the boxes of clothes she found in the cellar. She'd like us to do it before they get back."

He pointed to a corner of the living room. "Those are the containers over there," he announced. "I started working on them downstairs, but I was getting a really weird vibe, so I brought them up here to finish. That pile's bound for the trash," he continued, "And that one's for charity."

Neither Trixie nor Honey questioned Dan's "really weird vibe." The house held a strange air, whether anyone was present or not. Trixie tried to imagine what it would be like to be there alone, and it made her shudder. For Dan's sake, she wished they'd been back sooner.


Diving headfirst into the musty boxes, the three Bob-Whites focused not on the work at hand, but rather the delicious treat which would be waiting for them when they finished. They were getting close to the bottom of the last box when Honey thought she heard the sound of tires approaching on the gravel road.

"Pizza's here!" she chimed, tossing another moth-eaten sweater on the heap with the rags.

Trixie jumped up and ran to the window, expecting to see the B.W.G station wagon coming down the drive. Only she didn't. Instead, she watched as a familiar vehicle drove on past the entrance to the farm. And even though it'd grown dark, Trixie was positive it was not the midnight blue sedan.

"Quick, come look!" she cried, her voice echoing throughout the house. "It's the red pickup!"

Honey and Dan leaped to their feet and pushed in at the window beside her.

"Where did it go," Dan asked, straining over Trixie's head to see.

"Are you sure it was the same pickup?" Honey wondered, staring off into the growing blackness.

"I can't be certain," Trixie admitted, "but whoever it was, was up to no good. He was creeping along with his lights out." She flew across the room and grabbed a flashlight off the mantel piece. Banging it on her hand, she flicked the switch back and forth until the light came on. The batteries were getting low, but it worked.

Dan swung around and asked her what she was doing.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she replied saucily. "I'm going after that truck."

"On foot?" the young man replied. "It must've been moving mighty slow. Besides, we made a promise we'd stick together."

Trixie knew Dan wouldn't let her go by herself. But she was also aware that of all the boys, he'd be the least likely to stop her from going. "Then you're both coming with me," she advised him firmly. "I have a hunch the pickup's headed for Mr. Handleman's." She went for the spare house key, and then shooed her friends onto the porch as she locked the door behind them.


Outside, Dan made a beeline for the Belden's station wagon. "It'll take too long if we walk," he observed. "I'll drive. Brian left me the car keys in case of an emergency."

"But that's too risky!" Trixie complained, pulling Dan back. "The driver's sure to recognize our car and know we're spying on him."

Honey went ahead and climbed into the rear set of the station wagon. "Dan can drive using the running lights," she advised. "If he parks far enough away, the person in the red pickup won't notice us."

Trixie hesitated but took the seat in front of her. A quarter of a mile down the road, she instructed Dan to pull over and turn out the lights. Trixie could just make out the silhouette of a vehicle sitting in a ditch ahead of them. She was pretty sure it was the one she'd seen earlier.

"I don't understand. Why'd the truck stop way out here?" Honey said, looking over Trixie's shoulder. "Mr. Handleman's house is still quite a ways away."

Trixie flipped on her flashlight and climbed out of the car. "Let's find out," she replied. "Follow me and be sure you don't slam the doors."

Silently, the youngsters scurried into the ditch on the opposite side of the road. Keeping low, they followed it until they were across from the vehicle.

"Turn out your torches and get down," Dan ordered abruptly in a loud whisper. "I see someone moving in the cab of the pickup."

Trixie did too. She studied the woman sitting in the passenger's seat. Despite the darkness, she felt sure she'd recognize her if she ever saw her again. The woman's short pixie haircut, and large, heavy glasses, were sure give-a-ways. To Trixie, she looked as if she might be in her twenties, but it was only a guess.

"I wonder where her companion went?" she mumbled, eyeing the cornfields around them.

Honey inched closer to Trixie. "I think I saw someone walking toward Mr. Handleman's," she replied quietly.

Dan nodded, confirming he'd also seen the man. "So what do you think, girls?" he uttered. "Is this the same red truck?"

Though it was too dark for Trixie to read the fading numbers scribbled on the palm of her hand, she'd memorized them by heart. "The license plate numbers match," she replied. "And so do those crazy dice hanging from the mirror."

"Oh, there's no doubt about it," Honey breathed. "It's the same pickup. If you look close enough, you can just make out where Trixie wrote "WASH ME" on the side of the door, when the moon shines through the clouds."

Dan had to agree. "So what next?" he asked, completely perplexed.

"We get a better look at the driver of that truck and figure out what he's up too," Trixie replied.

Before anymore was said, she scurried off, with Honey and Dan quick on her heels.


A few yards ahead, the young people again caught sight of the mysterious man. Ducking into the shadows, they watched as the dark figure took something from his jacket pocket, and slipped it under Mr. Handleman's front door.

Like the woman in the cab, he didn't appear to be much older than twenty, and he too was wearing glasses. Even from a distance, with little light, Trixie could tell he was clean-cut. He looked nothing like the scruffy middle-aged drunkard she'd been expecting. Still, looks could be deceiving, and it was very apparent the young man was anxious about something. He kept looking about as if afraid of being seen.

Honey wondered if he could sense he was being watched. "I don't understand," she whispered in Trixie's ear. "Why doesn't he just knock on the door? What's he doing?"

"He's making a drop," Trixie said assuredly. "I don't think he wants anyone to suspect that he and Mr. Handleman are in cahoots. Either he's either paying Mr. Handleman for attempting to scare us off the farm, or he's leaving him his next set of instructions."

Honey looked at Dan for a second opinion.

It made the young man feel uncomfortable. He wished he could tell her that Trixie's theory was overly paranoid, but he couldn't. He'd pretty much reached the same conclusion. Fortunately, Trixie interrupted his reply with a tug on the arm.

"Look, he's leaving," she said with alarm. "We've got to go! "

"No!" Dan insisted. "He might hear us. We'll give him a few minutes to get back to the truck, then head out ourselves. I don't want him to realize we've been following him."

"Do you think he'd come after us?" Trixie mused as the notion sank in.

Dan shrugged, appearing less confident than he felt. "If he tried, I'd foot it to the sheriff's office," he admitted. "But quiet, here he comes now."

Honey held her breath and motioned for her friends to duck lower. The shadowy man was jogging past them on the road. To her relief, it didn't appear he saw them. A few more long minutes passed before the relieved teens saw the red menace speed out of view.

With the coast clear, Honey shooshed her friends back to the station wagon with a warning to make haste. They'd neglected to leave Miss Trask a note, and Honey knew the governess would be worried if they were not at the farm when she and the boys returned from town.

Trixie clapped her hands to her head. "Yikes!" she exclaimed with a start. "I hadn't thought of that. Come on, Dan, hurry! I don't dare get into any more hot water on this trip."

Dan flipped on his flashlight to check the time. "Easy, Trix. We could be the first ones back," he said. "We haven't really been gone all that long, and I haven't seen the car go by on the main road."

As he started the station wagon's engine, Trixie crossed her fingers and made a silent prayer.

But five minutes later, her hopes were dashed when she saw the B.W.G.'s midnight blue sedan sitting in the drive.

"Oh woe, how are we going to explain this one?" she wondered as Miss Trask and the boys rushed out of the house with concerned looks on their faces.

Preparing for the worst, Trixie opened her car door and was literally pulled to her feet.

"Thank goodness; you're alright!" Jim exclaimed, giving her a quick once-over. "We were worried sick that something had happened to you. Is everyone OK?"

"Yeah, we're all fine," Dan sighed. He sensed a bit of veiled irritation behind his friend's relief and wondered briefly what Trixie saw in such a hothead. Leading to the way to the house, he continued, "I guess I'm to blame. Trixie thought she got a glimpse of something red on the way to Mr. Handleman's, and I didn't think it'd hurt to go check. I figured we had time before you got back from town."

Miss Trask, who'd been waiting for the teens on the porch, moved to one side as the young people came up the steps. "I'm sorry," Dan apologized, giving her a hug in greeting. "We should have left a note."

Trixie realized her dark-haired friend had chosen his words very carefully. Not only had he avoided lying, but he'd also given Brain and Jim a clue about what had just gone down. And yet, Trixie could tell Dan was every bit as uncomfortable as if he'd genuinely fibbed.

Miss Trask, however, didn't seem to notice. And being entirely used to Trixie's detective driven whims, she didn't even inquire if the youngster's had found what they'd gone after. The governess simply made no mind of it. In fact, to Trixie, she seemed a bit preoccupied.

"Well, we all slip up from time to time," the older lady admitted, ushering the teens inside. "It seems I forgot to call Mr. Handleman while we were in town. When the two of us spoke this morning, I invited him to dinner tomorrow evening. Mr. Handleman had to check his schedule but thought he'd be free. He didn't happen to mention if he'd be joining us, did he?" she asked the girls.

Honey grinned, glad the conversation was moving in a new direction. "As a matter of fact, he did," she replied. "He said he'd love to come, but he had one condition. No frozen dinners. It seems he fixes one most nights. So when we explained that the boys plan to roast hamburgers on the tabletop grill, and he confirmed he was all in."

Miss Trask laughed. "Well, he'll be eating cold pizza unless people around here are beginning to get hungry?" she hinted, acting more like her old self. "Do I have any takers for supper?"

One by one, the ravenous B.W.G.s proclaimed a degree of starvation, prompting Miss Trask to suggest they help themselves to the boxes of savory pie waiting in the dining room, while she served up some beverages.

Trixie's mouth had been watering from the moment she walked into the house and smelled the delicious aroma of spicy pepperoni and sharp parmesan cheese. Eagerly, she opened one of the square cardboard boxes and transferred its contents onto paper plates for the Bob-White's and Miss Trask. Handing the biggest slice to Dan, she said, "Thanks for covering for us."

"Just returning the favor," he replied, taking an enormous bite of pizza.

Brian looked at Jim and narrowed his eyebrows. "I smell something fishy, and it isn't anchovies," he remarked dryly.

"So do I," Jim agreed. He turned and addressed Trixie directly. "Mind telling us what you were really up to, and why you went off with the tractor running in the barn?"