Chapter 14:
More Confused than Ever
"Where's the certificate now?" Jim asked the next morning, as he drove Trixie and Honey into Cloverton.
Trixie reached the small leather purse her Aunt Alicia had given her for Christmas. When she'd first started carrying it, it seemed like such a nuisance. But Trixie was finding more and more just how handy it could be. "I've got right here," she replied. "Would you like to see it?"
"Not while I'm driving," Jim told her. "But when we come to a stop, I would. I think I'll run it over to Sheriff Baker's office while you're in the library. It's evidence, and it backs up some of our claims."
"But you can't do that!" Trixie exclaimed. "What if he's in on the plot to scare us off the farm?"
"So what if he is?" Jim replied.
Honey, who was sitting next to Jim, took the folded paper as Trixie handed it begrudgingly over the seat. Setting it on the dash, Honey reminded her brother that Trixie had already confessed to Mr. Handleman, that she was one responsible for the incidents at the farm. "I'm sure the sheriff has heard by now," she added.
"I'm sure he has," Jim agreed. "Even so, Trixie didn't dump herbicide down the well or try to steal the tractor. Besides, we both know she didn't do the things she said she did. So I'll need to try to make sense of her reasoning there, too." Jim shook his head and made a face. "Honestly, Trixie. You only made things worse, you know."
Trixie crossed her arms across her chest and slumped back in her seat. "You don't need to remind me," she said. "But sometimes things just pop out. Would you like me to go with you to explain?"
Jim thought it would best if Trixie wasn't along, which only served to aggravate her. She didn't necessarily want to face the Sheriff, but it bothered her that Jim didn't trust what she'd say if she did. Maybe he had a right to feel the way he did, but what was done was done, and in Trixie's eyes, she'd learned her lesson. Or so she hoped. However, slowly, the young girl realized, there were times when she preferred her red-headed friend wasn't at her side either, especially when she had a little investigating to do, like now.
As the car pulled up in front of the Cloverton Library, Jim put on the hazard lights and warned the girls not to dawdle. "I'll be back in about an hour to pick you up," he said. "That should give you more than enough time to find what you're looking for. You can wait for me on that bench over there under that maple tree. Capeesh?"
With a promise they'd be waiting, Trixie and Honey waved good-bye, and Jim drove on up the street.
The morning was crisp and clear, and it recharged Trixie's batteries. It was funny how a little sunshine could make a dark situation seem brighter. Honey, too, appeared to be feeling better, especially since Jim was going to see the Sheriff.
"What a beautiful day!" she remarked, bouncing up the sidewalk.
Honey, who'd stopped to admire the purple and yellow crocus dotting the lawn, had to agree. "Simply beautiful," she sighed contentedly.
Swept up with impatience, Trixie took her friend by the arm and tugged her toward the brick building. "You can stop to smell the flowers any old time," she said. "Right now, we need to put our noses to the ground and get on the scent of that missing stamp."
Honey giggled. "Maybe Dan was right, and we should call you Bloodhound Trixie," she said.
Trixie grimaced. She didn't exactly appreciate the comparison, even in fun, but she'd given Honey the opening, and the dog jokes were becoming contagious. "Just don't let one of the boys put a leash on me," she sighed, deciding to laugh at herself. "Jim's already trying to make me sit. Why, if we aren't on that bench when he gets back, it's the dog house, for me, for sure."
"That might not be such a bad thing," Honey admitted, giggling a bit more. "Anything's better than staying in that creepy farmhouse another night." Then she got serious. "But you're right, of course, Trixie. We shouldn't be wasting time."
As they entered the library, the girls were unable to spot the card catalog, so they went up to the information desk to ask for help. The librarian on duty looked knowledgeable, but he was so preoccupied checking in a pile of returned books, he didn't see the two approach.
"Excuse me," Honey whispered politely, attempting to gain his attention. "Would you be able to tell us where we might find a stamp collector's price guide?"
The balding, middle-aged man jerked up with surprise. "Certainly," he said with a grin. "Take the center aisle down to the section labeled 'hobbies,' then look under 'S' for stamps. But you needn't whisper. We like to think of our library as an activity center, where people are encouraged to come and socialize. If you prefer a quiet space, there is a room in the left wing reserved just for reading."
Trixie could appreciate the nontraditional approach. "In the library at home, I'm constantly being shushed for talking too loudly," she admitted openly. "Gosh, if they adopted a policy like yours', I might actually enjoy going to the library."
"That's our goal," the librarian replied with a chuckle. "We've definitely seen an increase in traffic since we implemented the new system. This stack of books is proof positive the experiment has been a success". He waved at the tower before him and then sighed as if he dreaded going back to work. "If you need further help, please don't hesitate to ask," he finished sincerely.
Honey thanked the slender man for his assistance and then joined Trixie, who was already three steps ahead and flipping through a book in the hobbies section.
"Look, Honey, I think I've found it!" Trixie announced excitedly, as she pointed to a color picture in a copy of the Post Office's Guide to American Postage Stamps.
Peering over Trixie's shoulder, Honey gasped. "Why I've seen stamps like that in your attic," she said. "Remember the time you found the secret crawl space over your kitchen and the letter which led us to recover Mr. Carver's emerald necklace?"
Trixie nodded. There was no way she'd ever be able to forget the exciting adventure that had taken the Bob-Whites to Virginia. But Honey was being silly. "Of course I do," Trixie said. "Only that letter was written during the Civil War. Long before Mr. Handleman's stamp rolled off the press."
"No, no. Not on that letter," Honey insisted. "But on others which were in the trunk under the window. The trunk we went through, hoping to find additional clues. I know I saw some like it, Trixie. I know I did. Why you've got to be rich!"
Trixie laughed as she turned the page. "I wish I were," she admitted. "I thought I'd seen a stamp like this before too, but I couldn't place where. I guess it was in that trunk, as you say. But I'm afraid the stamps at home are probably like this one," she went on. "It's a later issue, and quite common. According to the chart, they're worth maybe a quarter at the most."
Honey took the softbound book from Trixie and studied the two diagrams carefully. Both stamps were brownish-red with a statue-like profile of George Washington printed on them. At first glance, they appeared identical. "How on earth do you tell them apart?" she wondered aloud.
"It's not easy," Trixie admitted. "See the tiny lines that make up the background of the stamp?"
Honey strained her eyes and then nodded.
"Well, Mr. Handleman's stamp would have nine lines to the right of President Washington's face, where the common variety of the stamp only has eight," she said.
Honey did her best to count the thin red lines in the blown-up photo, then proclaimed, "That's tricky. I'd go cross-eyed if I had to count them on a tiny stamp. How much does the book say Mr. Handleman's 1886 Washington carmine issue is worth, Trixie?"
"I haven't looked yet," Trixie replied, reclaiming the weathered volume from her friend. "I wanted to wait for you." After taking a deep breath, she asked Honey if the stamp was canceled or un-canceled.
When Honey guessed it had likely never gone through the mail and was in un-canceled condition, Trixie was so excited she nearly hit the ceiling. The stolen stamp could be worth as much as $25,000!
Eager to return to the farm to resume her search, Trixie rushed to the photocopier to make a duplicate of the entry. Bumming a nickel off Honey, she slid the coin into a slot and waited as the noisy machine spit out a black and white image of the page in the guide. It didn't come out perfectly, but at least they'd have something to show the boys.
Returning the book to its proper shelf, Honey suggested they check to see if Jim was waiting for them out front.
As they prepared to leave, Trixie's eagle-eye zeroed in on a familiar face. Tugging Honey back behind the bookcase, she waited until the woman exited the library, and then announced, "Did you see that girl at the book return, Honey? She's the same one who was in the pickup last night."
Honey's eyes bulged. "Then let's not stand here," she declared. "Let's see what she dropped off. You can tell a lot about a person from the books they read."
Reaching the return, Trixie lifted a long flat volume from the metal pushcart and exclaimed, "Gleeps! Now I'm certain the reporter's our ghost. This book's titled, So You Want to Build a Haunted House?. It's full of tips for staging Halloween attractions."
Honey pulled another book off the trolley. "This one is about ghosts and monsters too," she told Trixie. She began rifling through the pages, and as she did, three sheets of notebook paper escaped from their hiding place and floated to the floor.
Diving after them, Trixie found herself staring at a familiar pair of white leather court shoes. Looking up, she smiled sheepishly at the young man standing over her with his hands on his hips and a stern look on his face.
"Trixie Belden! What on earth are you up too, now?" Jim asked, helping her feet.
Caught like a thief, with the notes in hand, Trixie turned the pages over to Jim and attempted to explain.
"Boy, this doesn't look good," Jim admitted, skimming the notes. "I'll see if the librarian knows who the woman is. If he does, I'd like to return these personally."
"Do you think he'll tell you?" Honey wondered with a bit of surprise. "Most people aren't allowed to handout people's personal information."
"I think so," Jim replied wink. "He should remember me as a trustworthy sort. I organized a book drive for the library when I was in the scouts. Now wish me luck."
Fifteen minutes later, the trio of successful B.W.G.s stood peering through the tall chain-link fence surrounding Circus World Amusement Park. The park had not yet opened for the day, but the guard on duty at the main gate gladly paged Miss Margret Ann O'Malley at the teenager's request. Now all they could do was wait.
Nervously, Trixie toyed with the silver I.D. bracelet circling her wrist. Jim had given it to her on the return trip from her uncle Andrew's farm in Iowa. Trixie still felt a bit self-conscience wearing the dainty chain in public, but in truth, it was her most prized possession. For this reason, the cautious young lady certainly hadn't wanted to leave it at home, where Bobby Belden could get his grubby paws on it. Her youngest brother had "borrowed" things of hers before, and they rarely got returned in one piece – if at all.
Take, for example, what had happened at Thanksgiving. Bobby'd swiped the faux diamond ring Trixie'd been flashing in Ben Riker's face. She'd been swooning over Honey's gooney cousin as part of a secret charade designed to keep Mr. Lytel from selling the Jalopy before Brain had recouped the funds to buy it. Only Bobby didn't know the ring was a paste imitation, and he'd run away from home when he'd "losted" it. It was one memory his big sister tried hard to forget.
Suddenly chilled, Trixie looked about, trying to decide whether the feeling came from recalling the embarrassing incident, or from something unsettling she was picking up in the air.
"The park sure looks spooky when it's dark and empty," she observed, deciding on the latter.
Honey thought so too but hadn't brought it up. "Maybe we should take the notes to Sheriff Baker and let him question Miss O'Malley," she suggested with a shiver.
"I thought about that," Jim admitted seriously, "but the librarian wasn't certain it was Miss O'Malley who'd returned the books. She wasn't the one who checked them out. Anyway, what could happen with a security guard on duty?"
"Looks like we're about to find out," Trixie declared, moving from the fence to the looming metal gate. "Here come's Miss O'Malley, and the reporter is with her!"
As the couple drew closer, Jim began to laugh. "That's no reporter," he announced. "That's Mr. Handleman's assistant manager, John."
Jim waved at the young man and called out, "Hey John!"
John smiled and waved back. "Jimmy! Long-time no see. What's brought you out here to see my beautiful bride-to-be?"
Trixie and Honey looked at one another with puzzled expressions. "We may have made a mistake," Honey whispered in Trixie's ear.
Trixie clenched her fists and tossed her blond curls. "Don't be so sure," she said firmly.
Returning Margret Ann's notes, Jim introduced everyone.
Shyly, Margret Ann, who insisted on being called Maggie, thanked the young people and said, "I didn't realize John left his notes in the book. He'd be lost without them."
John put his arm around her slim shoulders, hugging her to show he wasn't upset. "I'm working for Maggie's father during my off hours to make a little extra money," he told the Bob-Whites. "Mr. O'Malley is part owner of the amusement park. I'm in the process of renovating the old Haunted House. Those notes are part of my plan-o-gram."
The brief explanation sounded reasonable enough, but Trixie still had her suspicions. "John, do you happen to own a red pickup?" she asked boldly.
"Why no," he replied. "But I do drive the park's truck, from time to time, and it's a red one."
Honey narrowed her eyes and stepped up beside Trixie. "So others drive that truck?" she asked.
John straightened the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, suddenly taken aback. "All of the employees do," he admitted looking at Margret Ann. "Why the battery of questions?"
"You'll have to excuse the girls," Jim apologized. "It's not that they're nosy, exactly. They can just be a little overly curious, at times."
Trixie flashed Jim a dirty look. "We saw you at Mr. Handleman's, last night," she told John, cutting to the chase.
Both John and Maggie appeared a bit panicked.
"You haven't mentioned it to Mr. Handleman, have you?" Maggie exclaimed.
As Jim assured the two they hadn't spoken to the elderly gentleman, John let out a sigh of relief.
"That's good," he said. "Not that it's anyone's business, mind you, but Mr. Handleman is having a bit of financial trouble right now. I'm sure he'll get things ironed out soon, but in the meantime, he's had to cut my hours. I've offered to work without pay. Only he won't hear of it. So last night I put some money in an envelope, and anonymously slipped it under his front door."
Margret Ann took John's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Mr. Handleman looks at John like a son," she said. "He's training him to take over the business one day. He can't pay John much right now, but he's giving him free room and board by letting him stay in the apartment over the shop. "
"I took the job with Mr. O'Malley so I'd be able to go to the trade shows and pick up some new merchandise to sell in the store this Christmas," John explained further. "Sometimes, to make money, you have to spend a little money. I look at it as an investment in my future, too."
"Only Mr. Handleman thinks we'll need that money once we're married," the young woman finished. "But we'll be fine, won't we, John?"
"We will as long as we aren't fired for being late for work," her fiancé chuckled half-seriously. "Guys, I don't mean to be rude, but it's time Maggie and I were getting into our costumes. Park policy requires that we dress as circus entertainers."
Jim assured John he wasn't being rude in the least. "We need to be going too," he reminded the girls. "We've got ice in the car that'll melt if we don't get back to the farm, soon."
As the young couple and the Bob-Whites said their goodbyes, Margret Ann asked the teens if they planned to visit Circus World be for returning to Sleepyside.
"Actually yes," Jim disclosed, removing his car keys from his pocket. "I promised to bring the whole gang out tomorrow morning. We thought we'd swing by the hobby shop first for a few souvenirs, then head this way before the lines get too long."
Maggie flashed a bright smile. "Wonderful," she said. "Trixie and Honey must stop by my stand near the concessions hall when you come. I'd like to sketch their caricatures as a thank you for returning John's notes. Does that sound like fun, girls?"
A hard lump rose in Trixie's throat. She and her friends had not returned the notes as a good deed, and she felt uncomfortable accepting Miss O'Malley's offer. "Gee, that sounds awfully neat," she admitted sheepishly.
"But it really isn't necessary," Honey finished awkwardly for the two.
"Nonsense," Margret Ann objected with a shake of her head. "I insist. And while you're busy posing for me, John can give the boys a special tour through the spook house. He's on the schedule until 2:00 tomorrow. OK with you, John?"
John was all for the idea, which left the teens no choice but to accept.
Back on the road, Trixie let out a dramatic sigh causing Jim to ask her what was wrong now. He knew full well Trixie's lament meant she had something to say that he wouldn't like. But he also knew he'd made her promise not to keep things hidden from him, so the least he could do was hear her out.
Trixie leaned forward over the front seat. "Nothing's wrong, really," she began slowly, "It's just that I'd hoped our talk with Miss O'Malley might clear things up. Only now, I'm more confused than ever. You don't think John's also moonlighting as a reporter, do you, Jim?"
Jim let out a low grunt as he fought the blinding glare bouncing off the car in from of them. "Of course I don't," he replied. "You're grasping at straws again, Trixie, and you know it."
Trixie reached into the cubbyhole between the seats and produced her friend's sunglasses. "I know," she admitted, handing him the mirrored shades. "But don't you think it's a tad odd we've linked the red pickup to the amusement park?"
Jim slipped on the aviator-style glasses and said, "Sure, I do. But I don't believe John's the same person who was driving the pickup in Sleepyside. Or on the day it broke down, for that matter. There has to be some other explanation."
Honey, which had been quiet up until this point, flipped down her visor and joined in the conversation. "Of course there is," she chirped, from her seat next to Jim's. "Just because John isn't moonlighting as a reporter, it doesn't mean someone else at the park isn't."
Trixie was beginning to believe there was no reporter. She'd heard of people using that line just to gain information. It was a trick she'd been tempted to try herself. "Now we just have to figure out who," she said, again sighing loudly.
"Maybe Margrett Ann or John would have some idea?" Honey ventured, cautiously.
As a dark cloud rolled across the sun, Jim pulled off his sunglasses and tossed them on the dash. "Let's keep John and Maggie out of this," he said firmly. "It's up to the sheriff to decide who to talk too. I want you girls to promise, that if I take you to the amusement park tomorrow, you're not going to go off and try tracking this guy down."
When Trixie and Honey agreed, but reluctantly, Jim continued by saying, "Don't be so gloomy. I'm not telling you can't play detective for the rest of the trip. I'm only asking that you focus on finding Mr. Handleman's stamp and leave the rest to Sheriff Baker. He didn't like the looks of Jonesy's death decree at all. In fact, he seemed pretty shaken up by it."
"Well, good!" Trixie huffed, throwing herself back into her seat. Her tone sounded a tad bitter, but neither Honey nor Jim could blame their friend for her attitude. They, too, felt it was time someone took the Bob-Whites' concerns seriously.
As the station wagon went over a sudden hill and then swung into the valley, navigating a series of sharp zig-zags in the road, the young people let out a chorus of surprised whoops and whees.
Instantly exhilarated, Trixie stopped her mopping and cried, "I hope the roller coaster at Circus World's this wild!"
"Just wait until you try it!" Jim declared with enthusiasm. "It's a gas! I rode it six times straight once."
Honey clenched her stomach and moaned. "You're lucky my breakfast's set," she announced, looking slightly green around the gills.
Jim laughed and gave his sister a wink. "Then, for heaven's sake, be sure you skip breakfast in the morning," he teased. "We wouldn't want you tossing up your Wheaty-Os."
Trixie wrinkled her nose at the repulsive thought. "Why must boys be so gross?" she wondered aloud.
Honey giggled but didn't have an answer. "Maybe we should ask one sometime?" she suggested to her friend.
Trixie sucked in her cheeks and pretended to put on a high-hat of superiority. "Perhaps in ten thousand years when they've reached our wrung on the evolutionary ladder," she sniffed in reply.
Jim scoffed at the girls' sorry attempt at humor. "You're not going to make a monkey out of me," he proclaimed as he stopped the car. "Out with you both. You can walk the rest of the way to the farm."
Trixie couldn't keep from laughing. They were parked in the gravel drive in front of Jonesy's place.
As the young people began unloading the groceries, Brian called out to them from the porch. "What took you so long?" he asked, coming down the steps, offering to help. "Don't tell me you were off chasing the red pickup again?"
Jim grinned and passed a dripping bag of ice to Dan who'd magically appeared from behind his friend. "Would you believe we traced it to the amusement park?" he chuckled.
Neither Brian nor Dan was necessarily surprised by the news. From experience, they knew to expect the unexpected whenever Trixie was along for the ride. Never the less, the boys were anxious to hear the latest developments. So as the young people carried their parcels into the house, Trixie and Honey briefed them in.
"Gosh, Trix, I guess that that shoots you latest theory, doesn't it? "Dan remarked, as she and the others tagged behind him into the kitchen. "I hope you had better luck at the library?"
Refilling the coolers, Trixie admitted they had. Once she was done, she took the photocopied page from her purse and laid it on the counter for the boys. The kitchen was not sunny, like the Belden's was at home, so to see better, Dan flicked on the light above the sink.
Instinctively, Honey jumped back a few feet. "We have electricity!" she exclaimed with a start.
Brian laughed and turned on the faucet beneath the fixture. "Water too," he announced, much to her pleasure. As he shut off the tap, he nudged Dan to the side so that he could get a closer look at the diagram.
"And you say this stamp is supposed to be red?" he inquired with a gulp.
Trixie didn't like the look on her brother's face. "A brownish-red," she emphasized. "So what gives?"
Brian didn't look at her. Instead, he kept studying the page. "I may have found it," he revealed quietly.
"Oh, Brian, really!?" Honey cried, taking his arm. "If so, you may have saved Mr. Handleman from bankruptcy!"
Brian shook free and combed back his wavy hair with his fingers. "Afraid not," replied dimly. "I threw it away."
"You did what?!" Trixie exclaimed, unable to believe her brother had done such a thing.
"I threw it away," Brian reiterated. "You heard me the first time. How was I to know it was the stamp we're looking for, Trixie?"
Dan had to agree. It could have happened to any of them. Then Jim had an idea. Opening the window, he stuck out his head and strained to see up the driveway. Pulling it back in, the red-headed young man shook it sadly. "The dumpster's empty," he proclaimed. "I was hoping the disposal company hadn't come yet. The bin was piled high when we left this morning."
Brian felt terrible. "They were here about an hour ago," he said.
Honey attempted to make her friend feel better. "It could be the stamp you found wasn't the right one, Brian. Why I was just telling Trixie, I've seen stamps in your attic that look like Mr. Handleman's. Only she pointed out they probably aren't the same issue."
"You have to count the background lines to be able to tell them apart," Trixie explained glumly. She handed her brother the diagram, pointing to the illustration. "Too bad we'll never know for sure."
Brian was set to apologize when he noticed something more. "Maybe not," he began slowly. "The stamp I threw away was on an old postcard from the World's Fair. Based on the values I see here, I'm assuming you think Mr. Handleman's stamp wasn't used?"
"That's right!" Honey jumped in excitedly. "So it wasn't the one we've been looking for!"
Trixie couldn't remember a time when she felt more relieved. "Yippee!" she cheered, grabbing a bucket and sponge from the corner. With hopes renewed, and water running, it was time the Bob-Whites got to work.
