Chapter 13:

"You're Next"

Trixie nearly choked on a piece of sausage. "We didn't leave the tractor running in the barn!" she exclaimed with a start. "At least Honey and I didn't."

Jim glanced over at Dan, whose eyes grew wide.

"Hey, don't look at me," he piped up quickly. "I haven't been anywhere near the tractor today. Honest."

"Well, it didn't start by itself," Jim replied firmly.

Honey stomped on her brother's foot under the table to get his attention. She didn't understand the growing tension between Jim and Dan, but it had to stop before another fight broke out. "I think it's safe to assume none of us are responsible," she said. "And to answer the first part of your question, we were out following the red pickup."

"Ah. Now things are beginning to make sense," Brian admitted. "That's the something red, which Dan mentioned. I've been wondering about that. And don't tell me. You caught up with it at Mr. Handleman's?"

"Exactly," Trixie replied.

Jim's mood grew even darker. "So, you saw the reporter again?"

"Yes," Dan told him flatly. "And this time, we got a pretty good look at him."

"Don't forget, his girlfriend too," Honey added.

Miss Trask came through the door with the heavy tray of drinks. "Whose girlfriend?" she asked, smiling. The teens were growing up so quickly. It made her appreciate the time she spent with them all that much more.

"No one, you know," Honey giggled nervously. "Here, let me help you with that." Honey cleared a space for the tray and then passed out the glasses as her governess took a seat at the head of the table.


After dinner, when Miss Trask had settled in by the fire with a novel, the Bob-Whites gathered upstairs in Jim's old bedroom room to finish their discussion. The house was still without electricity, so Trixie lit the candles on the dresser before joining her friends who were huddled in a circle on the floor, trying to stay warm. Pulling up the hood up on her sweatshirt, she squeezed in between Jim and Brian and suggested, "Suppose we try this again. Let's start with the tractor. You said you found it running in the barn, Jim?"

Jim reached into his back pocket and pulled out a brass key. Tossing it into the center of the ring, he replied, "Sure did. When we pulled in the drive, the car lights hit the barn. That's when I noticed the door was standing ajar. So while Miss Trask and Brian took the pizza into the house, I went to pull it shut. You can imagine my surprise when I heard the tractor idling inside. When I told Brain, he feared the same thing I had. That one of you had been messing around and gotten hurt. We were about to go to Miss Trask when you came up the drive."

Trixie picked up the key, studied it for a moment, and then handed it back to Jim. "Someone's playing ghost again," she remarked. "How long were you back before we got here?"

"Not long," Brian replied. "How come?"

"I think our friends in the red pickup must have stopped by the farm after leaving Mr. Handleman's," his sister revealed. "They would've had just enough time to start up the tractor and flee before you arrived. Of course, that means one of them was in the house last night to take the key. Who knows, maybe the woman in the truck dropped off the man who planned to steal the tractor. Only you interrupted him and scared him off."

The thought hadn't occurred to Jim, but it did make some sense. As he threaded the key onto his keyring, so no one could get their hands on it again, he concluded, "If that's the case, then Dale Dart, of the Cloverton Chronicles, is our so-called vagrant. I take it Jonesy's father's been removed from the picture?"

Honey nodded and explained what she and Trixie had learned from Mr. Handleman. "So now," she finished with a sigh, "Trixie's back to thinking it's Mr. Handleman who's trying to scare us off the farm. Or at least she did?"

"Oh, I still do!" Trixie piped up quickly. "Only now I'm more of the opinion that Mr. Handleman and the reporter are in on it together."

Dan hesitated but admitted it did appear that way. "After witnessing what we did tonight, there's little doubt the two are connected somehow," he said.

Brian sat back and scratched his head. "That's the part I don't buy," he returned. "How would this reporter fellow even know Mr. Handleman?"

"This isn't York City," his sister pointed out. "I'm sure everybody knows everybody around here, just like they do in Sleepyside. Dale Dart probably interviewed Mr. Handleman after news of Jonesy's death leaked out. As Jonesy's neighbor, he'd be my first choice. Anyhow, I'm guessing Mr. Handleman brought up the robbery, and the two of them cooked up a plan to hunt for the lost stamp."

Jim looked uncomfortable. Trixie knew he didn't want to believe Mr. Handleman was involved, but the teen's body language suggested he was holding something back. " I wasn't going to bring this up," the young man admitted, "but I think the owner of the Cloverton Chronicles may belong to Mr. Handleman's lodge. He wasn't one of the fellas playing cards last night, but most of the prominent businessmen in town are members. He could have sent Mr. Dart over to interview Mr. Handleman."

Trixie gave Jim a firm shove in the side. "How dare you keep that from us!" she exclaimed indignantly. "That explains how the story of our ghostly encounters hit the paper so quickly. One of the owner's pals from the card game must have given him a call after we'd gone to bed, thinking it'd make a great story. It's hard to say who all is involved in this. Mr. Handleman, Dale Dart, the sheriff, the owner of the newspaper, maybe the whole town?!"

Brian muttered something inaudible under his breath. He was growing tired of theories, tired of mysteries, and well, just plain tired. "Little sister, I love you to death, but let's cut the drama. Chances are pretty slim that stamp is still around, and Mr. Handleman's just too smart to believe otherwise. I don't think any of this has to do with the stamp, Mr. Handleman, or his fellow lodge mates. I hate to say it, but I think you're barking up the wrong tree."

When Dan looked as if he might counter with another dog joke, Trixie threw him a look that would have melted a snowman. "Then you explain what the reporter was doing at Mr. Handleman's house tonight," she challenged her brother.

Jim clapped his hands over his ears. "I've heard enough," he said firmly." Brian's right, Trix. You're on the wrong track."

Trixie's face dropped, and she fell back on the floor in a deflated heap. She wasn't going to give up on solving the mystery, but her head hurt from overthinking it.

Sighing heavily, Jim nudged her until she sat up. "Don't look so dejected," he said. "You could still be right about the reporter. He may have been snooping around for a story and decided to burglarize the farm. We know he's a pretty unsavory character from our run-ins, so far. It just worries me what he was doing at Mr. Handleman's. I hope Dale Dart hasn't started harassing him too."

That was a possibility Trixie hadn't considered. But she had one other, and she knew Jim wasn't going to like it. "You know, she hesitated, "even if we remove the stamp from the picture, it doesn't mean Mr. Handleman's in the clear. Mr. Dart may have hired Mr. Handleman to help carry out some of his dirty work. Tonight we could have been witnessing a payoff of some kind."

Jim got to his feet, leaving his circle of friends. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he picked up a worn toy monkey and fingered it unconsciously. "Stop right there," he warned her before she went on. "Let me make this loud and clear, Trixie Belden. Mr. Handleman is not involved in any way, shape, or form. He's been nothing but kind to me. End of discussion."

Only Trixie would not be silenced. There were still things Jim needed to hear. Like them or not. "I know," she argued on. "And under normal circumstances, I don't think Mr. Handleman would be involved. But right now, he needs money desperately. He told Honey and me he's about to go bankrupt."

Jim looked up, startled. He tossed the stuffed animal into his "keeper" box and rejoined his friends on the rug. "I didn't realize the situation had gotten that bad," he admitted quietly.

Honey's large hazel eyes filled with tears. "That's why Trixie and I are hoping more than ever, we can find the stamp," she told her adopted brother. "If we could return it, it's sale might help him get out of debt. No one wants to see Mr. Handleman lose his home or business."

"Even if he is involved somehow," Trixie finished gently.

Brian left the room and came back with a tissue for Honey. Accepting it gracefully, Honey apologized for getting over-emotional. It seemed to Brian he was drying too many eyes. "No, I'm sorry," he said. "As long as there's a remote chance the stamp's here, we should be looking for it, and that means us boys, as well as you girls. Even if we don't find it, I bet the Bob-Whites can come up with some plan to help Mr. Handleman out of his predicament."

Dan and Jim were quick to agree, and Honey gave Brian a big bear hug.

She was still a bit weepy, and Brian decided he should have brought the whole box of tissues, but he didn't immediately pull away to fetch it. Instead, he waited until Jim broke in, suggesting they could always sell the tractor and present Mr. Handleman with the proceeds.

Trixie thought the idea was big-hearted, but also a smidge premature. "Let's see how this trip plays out before we make that call," she suggested. "With everyone on board, we stand a better chance of locating his stamp. We learned from Mr. Handleman it was issued in 1886, and it has a picture of George Washington on it. But that's about all Honey, and I know. Honey had a good idea, though. She thought maybe one of you could drive us into the Cloverton library to check out their section on stamp collecting?"

As it turned out, Jim already had plans to run into town the next morning. Miss Trask had spoken to Regan, and the red-headed groom would be coming up with the horse trailer on Wednesday afternoon. Tom, the Wheeler's chauffer, had volunteered to accompany him since Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler were away in Florida on a little R&R. So with two extra mouths to feed, the Bob-Whites were going to need more groceries and ice.

"If you don't mind getting up early, you can ride with me, and we'll swing by the library?" Jim offered.

Honey and Trixie jumped at the well-timed opportunity. "That would be wonderful," Honey replied. "When should we be ready?"

Jim stood up and stretched. "The supermarket opens at 9:00, and I'd like to be there when they unlock the doors," he said. "I vote we hit the hay, so we're fresh in the morning."

Trixie grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back into the ring. "But we haven't decided what to do about the man in the pickup," she objected. "Shouldn't we set a trap or something? He's bound to come back, sooner or later."

"A trap?!" Dan hooted. "What do you suggest we do, Trixie? Sit on top of the barn with a net and hope he passed under it?"

"That might work," she replied hesitantly.

The B.W.G.s groaned, and Brian said, "You've been watching too many of Bobby's cartoons, again."

Trixie felt silly. It was a ridiculous idea. "I guess I do need sleep," she admitted. "Let's turn in."


Despite the afternoon's excitement, Trixie fell asleep quickly, having had little sleep the night before. At two o'clock, however, she awoke, wondering if she'd remembered to lock the car door after returning from Mr. Handleman's.

"Jim's put some valuable things in the car," she thought restlessly. "I'd better make sure they're safe."

Pulling on a pair of sweats, Trixie slipped down the stairs and out the front door without waking anyone. Rounding the corner of the house, she stopped dead in her tracks. Out of the shadows, a dark figure emerged. And it was headed straight toward Belden's station wagon.

Diving behind a rundown piece of machinery, Trixie watched in silence as the tall, slender form tried opening the left rear car door.

When the door didn't yield, Trixie felt a moment of triumph, until she realized, whoever-it-was could just as easily break a window to gain access. Clenching her teeth, Trixie waited, listening for a crash. Instead, she heard a familiar jingling sound. Somehow, someone had gotten a hold of the keys.

Gathering her courage, the disquieted teen inched out of hiding, to get a better view. Taking a deep breath, she held it as she watched the intruder wrestle with the lock in the dark. When the door finally swung open, and the light inside the car went on, Trixie gasped. She was looking at her older brother Brian."

"Brian! What are you doing out here?" Trixie exclaimed, creeping up behind him.

Startled, the young man jerked up his head, banging it on the inside headliner. Climbing out of the station wagon, he let out a low groan. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd try studying, "he replied. "Only I left my books in the car." He rubbed the sore spot on the top of his head and gave his sister a disapproving scowl. "May I ask what you are doing out here?" he went on, "Especially without any shoes?"

Trixie wiggled her bare toes. "I wanted to make sure the car was locked up," she explained. "I wasn't planning on being out very long."

Brain shook his head. "Who knows what you could have stepped on in the dark," he scolded her. "A rusty nail. A piece of glass. There are all kinds of things hiding in this gravel. Have you had a tetanus booster lately?"

Trixie didn't need a lecture. Brian was right, of course. Without something on her feet, she was getting a bit chilled as well. But then it dawned on Trixie that her brother had to be even colder. Maybe he did remember to slip on his loafers before he left the house, but that was about all. Wearing only a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, he was hardly dressed for the weather.

"Perhaps you should be more worried about your health?" she suggested saucily. "It's a little nippy to be running around in your skivvies, isn't it Doctor Belden? I seem to recall someone telling me we're still in flu season. Now I wonder who that was?"

Brian looked down, uncomfortably. "Touché," he replied with a chuckle. "Let me get my books, and we'll head in before one of us ends up in the ER."

As the older Belden rummaged around in the back seat of the station wagon, Trixie gazed up at the constellations in the night sky. Polaris, the North Star, was bright and easy to find. It was the first point of light making up the handle of the little dipper. As she traced the imaginary lines across the dark backdrop of space, she caught sight of a falling star. Closing her eyes, Trixie made a wish.

When she reopened them, the first thing she noticed was a piece of paper tucked under one of the car's front wiper blades. Lifting the mechanical arm, Trixie freed the document, and let out a gasp. "Gleeps! This sure isn't what I wished for!" she exclaimed with alarm. "Brian, come quick."

Once again Brian jumped, this time bumping his head on the door frame. Rushing to join his sister, he snatched the paper from her hand and just stared at it. Unable to believe what he was seeing, he moved it under the inside dome light to get a better look.

"Is that what I think it is?" Trixie asked, pushing in beside him.

Brian shrugged, then wadded the sheet of paper into a ball and tossed it to his sister. "I imagine so," he said. 'It's a copy of Jonesy's death certificate."

Trixie did her best to smooth out the wrinkles in the official-looking document. She wanted to save it to show Jim in the morning. As she pressed it flat against the window, she discovered there was something scrawled on the flip side of the sheet. After reading it, Trixie scrunched the page back up.

Brain, who'd been trying to act uninterested, had been watching over her shoulder. "What's it say?" he asked when she failed to comment.

Trixie gulped. "You're next," she quoted uneasily.