Group Writing Project #2
DISCLAIMER: The characters found in this story do not belong to me. They are the property of Golden Books and Western Publishing. Chris Carter owns a few of them too. I’m not making any money off of this, so please don’t sue me. It’s all just for fun, and I’ll put everyone back where I found them as soon as I’m done!
The Manufactured Mystery
By BethAnn
Seventeen-year-old Trixie Belden sat listlessly at the kitchen table of Crabapple Farm, her family’s home for several generations.
"Oh, Moms," she wailed. "Isn’t anything exciting ever going to happen to me again?"
Mrs. Belden smiled at her only daughter. "If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last several years, it’s that wherever you go you’re bound to find excitement, Trixie."
"But there hasn’t been anything interesting happening since Christmas break when we all went back to Mead’s Mountain," wailed Trixie. "And even then, there was nothing mysterious, like the time we uncovered the counterfeiting and found Carl Stevenson’s kidnapped daughter hidden in a remote cave and…"
Trixie was interrupted by her mother’s laughter. Mrs. Belden gave her daughter a quick hug, then dropped into a chair next to her. "I think I know what part of the problem is, dear," she said gently. "You’ve had so many exciting things happen to you that everyday life is bound to seem dull by comparison. Don’t get discouraged. You never know, another mystery might be right around the corner. In the meantime, just enjoy each day to the fullest."
Trixie smiled. "You’re right, Moms. Carpe Diem, as Mart would say. Even without a mystery I can still have lots of fun riding, and swimming, and just hanging out with all my friends," she said, feeling a little better. But I wouldn’t complain if a mystery happened to come my way, she thought to herself.
BRRRNNNGG! The shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted Trixie’s thoughts. "I’ll get it!" she yelled, jumping up and running towards the phone. "Hello?" she said as she picked up the receiver. But all she heard over the line was labored breathing, then a loud clatter and a click as the connection was ended. Well that’s odd, she thought as she hung up the phone. As soon as she had placed the receiver back on the cradle, the phone rang again. Trixie cautiously picked it up again and listened, prepared to hear the strange breathing once more.
"Trixie? Are you there?" came the sound of Honey Wheeler’s voice over the phone.
"Oh, Honey, it’s you. I just had the weirdest prank call…" Trixie began, but was interrupted by her best friend.
"No you didn’t—that was me. I ran all the way up to the house and was all out of breath, then I dropped the phone. Oh, Trixie, you’ve got to meet me at the clubhouse right away!" cried Honey urgently.
Trixie’s heart started beating faster. "What is it, Honey? What’s wrong?" she cried.
"I can’t even begin to explain it, Trixie," replied Honey. "Just meet me there as soon as you can."
Trixie quickly hung up the phone and headed for the door. "Moms, I’m going to the clubhouse!" she called as she headed outside.
On the way to the Wheeler estate she wondered about Honey’s mysterious phone call. Jeepers, I hope nothing has happened to the clubhouse, she thought.
The former gatehouse had been nearly overgrown when she and Honey had found it four years ago. Together with Trixie’s brothers Brian and Mart, and Honey’s adoptive brother Jim Frayne they had cleared away the wisteria and honeysuckle vines and repaired the roof. The clubhouse had been the site of meetings of the Bob-Whites of the Glen, the semi-secret club the five of them had formed. The club grew to seven members with the addition of Diana Lynch and Dan Mangan, and together the group had many wonderful adventures, and also managed to help many people along the way. Now that Brian and Jim were in college and Mart and Dan would be joining them in the fall, the clubhouse was mostly used to store their sports equipment.
Still, I’d just be heartbroken if anything happened to the building, thought Trixie.
When she reached the clubhouse she found the door slightly ajar and noticed the Bob-White station wagon parked in front of the building. She pushed the door open completely and saw Honey standing in the middle of the room, grinning.
"Honey Wheeler! What was the big emergency you called me down here for?" sputtered Trixie.
"Like I said, Trixie, I can’t even begin to explain. I’ve been given very specific instructions. My job was to get you here and give you this," said Honey, handing Trixie a large blue envelope. "Good Luck!" she added, and left the clubhouse.
Trixie stared at the retreating form of her friend, then turned her attention to the envelope. Opening it, she found the following note:
Dear Schoolgirl Shamus,
I know your life has been less exciting than usual this summer, so I’ve manufactured a little mystery for you. Test your powers of deduction and follow the clues to find a great reward.
Love,
JimA thrill of excitement passed over Trixie as she headed out to the station wagon. That sneaky Honey Wheeler! she thought, unlocking the car door. Another blue envelope was lying on the front seat of the car. Trixie quickly tore it open and read her first clue:
I tried to help with your broken-down car
Though no longer in town, I haven’t gone far.
Being a miser gets lonely and old
If you stop for a visit the trail won’t grow cold.At the bottom of the note was a map, with the route from Sleepyside to Tarrytown highlighted.
This must mean Mr. Meiser, thought Trixie, thinking of the inventor who had been the subject of one of her earlier mysteries. I haven’t seen him in ages, but I do remember hearing that he and his wife had settled in Tarrytown.
Eyes shining with excitement, Trixie climbed behind the wheel, started the station wagon, and headed to Tarrytown. The drive did not take long, and soon Trixie was pulling up to a phone booth. She quickly found the address for the Meisers, and in a matter of minutes was standing on their front steps, ringing the doorbell.
The door was soon opened by a smiling Henry Meiser.
"Why, Trixie Belden! What are you doing in this area?"
"Well, I…" Trixie stopped, suddenly confused. Had she jumped to a wrong conclusion again? Then she saw the twinkle in Mr. Meiser’s eyes.
"I think I’m here for my next clue. You wouldn’t happen to have a large blue envelope with my name on it, would you?" Trixie grinned.
"Now, I think I may have something that fits that description. I’ll tell you what. I can see you’re quite anxious to get your next clue, and I’ll hand it over to you on one condition," said Mr. Meiser. "Promise me you’ll come back someday soon for a real visit with Eileen and me, so you can tell us how this little mystery of yours turns out."
"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Meiser," Trixie said with a smile. "But you’ve got yourself a deal!"
Mr. Meiser then handed her a blue envelope, which Trixie tore open on the way to the car, finding this clue inside:
Fog creeps slowly through the marsh
Reporter’s rumors, cruel and harsh.
A treasure hidden in plain sight
Your green-eyed dragon, shining bright.Trixie immediately thought of the gold dragon-box that Miss Rachel Martin had given her for her 14th Birthday.
This clue must have something to do with Miss Rachel and the mystery we solved at Martin’s Marsh, thought Trixie. But the marsh has been drained and replaced with an access road for over two years now. Suddenly, another thought struck Trixie. Maybe this clue is just about Miss Rachel, and not the marsh itself. I think I’ll try stopping at her shop in Sleepyside, anyway.
Trixie headed back to Sleepyside and soon found herself in front of Miss Rachel’s small business. Using the money she had received from the sale of the valuable dragon-box, Miss Rachel had opened a small tearoom and quilt shop in Sleepyside. Although the village was small, it was close enough to New York City to attract many shoppers, who filled the town’s small antique and specialty shops on weekends. On this Thursday morning, however, the shop was very quiet, and Miss Rachel rushed to greet Trixie as soon as she entered the store.
"Oh, dear, it’s so good to see you!" she said, taking Trixie’s hands in hers. "I’ve just brewed a fresh pot of mint tea; I know that’s your favorite. Please stay and have a cup with me."
Although Trixie was anxious to find her next clue, she couldn’t resist the specialty of the house. The two enjoyed their tea while Trixie told Miss Rachel what she and the rest of the Bob-Whites had been doing recently.
"But have you been involved in any mysteries, dear?" asked Miss Rachel, her eyes filled with merriment.
"Actually, I’m working on a kind of mystery right now," replied Trixie. "You wouldn’t have seen a young redhead bearing a blue envelope recently, would you have?"
"Hmmm," mused Miss Rachel. "Now that you mention it, that does sound vaguely familiar. There was a very handsome redhead here just this morning. He didn’t stay long, but he did seem awfully interested in the quilts on that shelf," she said, and pointed to a shelving unit on the other side of the shop. "Why don’t you take a look while I clean up the tea things. It’s been wonderful visiting, Trixie; please stop again soon."
Trixie promised she would, then headed to the quilt display and began looking through the folded quilts. She found the blue envelope, and anxiously read her next clue:
A nosy old gossip might have tales to tell
Look closely at the goods he sells.
This clue is really very easy
Some might even call it cheesy.Trixie grinned as she read the words "nosy old gossip." This clue could only refer to Mr. Lytell. She left Sleepyside, and soon arrived at the small convenience store on Glen Road. Most of the people in the area did the bulk of their shopping at the larger grocery store in Sleepyside, so she was not surprised to find she was the only customer in the store. She was very surprised, however, to see Mr. Lytell sitting behind the counter watching television, especially when she recognized the show he was watching.
"Gleeps, Mr. Lytell! I never would have guessed that you were an X-phile. Wasn’t that episode just creepy? I mean, the whole shrunken-head-with-a-curse thing? My guess is Rat-boy’s behind it, somehow. Somebody should put a curse on him, don’t you think? And that slimy Diana Fowley, too. She is just…"
"TRIXIE BELDEN!" bellowed Mr. Lytell, his face practically purple with rage. "I have been waiting all week to watch this episode. What do you mean by coming in here and spoiling it for me?"
Trixie blushed. "Golly, I’m sorry Mr. Lytell. I just thought you were re-watching the episode. I know I sometimes have to watch the episodes a couple of times to figure out what’s happening. And even then I’m not sure I know. I mean, does anyone really know? Even Mulder and Scully think they know, and find out that what they know is really just what someone else wanted them to know, and probably isn’t the truth at all. You know?"
Mr. Lytell took a deep breath, silently counting to ten. "Other than ruining the show for me and trying to confuse me with your incessant babbling, was there something else you wanted, Miss Belden?"
Trixie gulped. "Well, did Jim…I mean, is there…do you have…" Trixie’s voice trailed off. Even if Jim had left her next clue with Mr. Lytell she didn’t think the man would give it to her at this point. She slowly glanced around the store, looking for something, anything that might help her out of this mess.
"Umm…I think I just want…umm… something to eat, or drink maybe," Trixie mumbled, and began wandering down the aisles. In the snack food section she saw it: a blue envelope taped to a box of Cheez-its.
"I’ll take these Cheez-its, Mr. Lytell," she yelled, hurriedly giving the angry storekeeper some money. "Keep the change!" she grinned, and left the store as fast as she could. As soon as she was safely inside the car she read the next clue:
In Iowa a cat named Blackie,
Hid her kittens, she thought quite knack’ly.
Little did she know Trix was on the case
Your next clue will be in a similar place.I found those kittens in Ben’s closet at Happy Valley Farm, thought Trixie. Oh, woe, I guess I’ll just have to clean some closets.
Trixie decided Crabapple Farm would be as good a place as any to start searching, so she headed back home. "Moms, do you know where my next clue is?" she yelled as she walked through the kitchen door.
Mrs. Belden smiled at the excitement in Trixie’s eyes. "Clue?" she asked sweetly. "I didn’t even know you were working on a case. In fact, just this morning I remember you bemoaning the lack of mysterious happenings around here this summer."
Trixie grinned at her mother. "So you’re telling me I’m on my own on this one, huh?" she said. "Well, I guess I’ll just have to start digging, since you’re not even going to give me one teeny, tiny hint?" she added hopefully, then sighed as her mother shook her head.
Trixie looked through the broom closet but found nothing, so she made her way to the front hall. The closet there was a jumble of gloves, hats, coats, umbrellas, and shoes. Pushing aside a muddy boot and an old pair of moccasins, Trixie searched the floor of the closet, then the shelves. Tucked back in a corner behind a pair of binoculars she found the blue envelope, and read her next clue:
Smile pretty, then say cheese
This clue you should find with ease.
Tripod, lens, flash and shutter
A hobby of your eldest brother.Trixie ran upstairs to Brian’s room and knocked on the door.
"Come in, Trixie!" he called out.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked, entering the room.
"Just a lucky guess," grinned Brian. "Is there something I could help you with?" he asked, amused at Trixie’s obvious impatience.
"Umm. Where’s your camera?" Trixie asked.
Brian grinned. "I’m tempted not to tell you, but from the look on your face I think you might just burst if this torture continues much longer. All of my photography equipment is on the bottom shelf of my bookcase."
Trixie rushed to the bookcase, and quickly found the envelope in Brian’s camera bag. She tore it open and read:
I’ve tried being witty but the Bard I’m not
Time to head to a peaceful spot.
Swimming, boating, or diving here
Your great reward is very near.Trixie started quickly out of the room. "Thanks, Brian!" she called as she ran downstairs and left the house, heading for the Wheelers' lake. On the way she passed Bobby and Reddy playing fetch with a big stick.
"Hey!" yelled Bobby. "Where are you going?"
Oh, please, Bobby. Not now, thought Trixie. "I’m going to the lake," she told him.
"Reddy and I want to go to the lake, too!" he cried.
Trixie grimaced. She definitely wasn’t going to bring Bobby with her, but was not looking forward to his banshee cries when she told him "No!" Just then Mart came around the corner of the house.
"There you are, Bobby," he said. "I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Di, Dan and I are going to take you and Larry and Terry to the Water Park in White Plains. You have exactly five minutes to get ready or I’m leaving without you!"
"AWESOME!" yelled Bobby, running towards the house as fast as his short legs would carry him, Trixie and the lake completely forgotten.
"Thanks, Mart!" Trixie beamed at him. "You’re a lifesaver!"
"Indubitably, dear Beatrix. But to give credit where credit is due, a certain beau of yours concocted this little diversion for our beloved Robert Belden, esquire. You can offer him your undying gratitude," Mart said, and then added, grinning, "IF you ever find him, Sherlock!" and hurried into the house before Trixie could think of a retort.
Trixie hurried on to the lake. As always, the beauty of the location struck her. The sloping, well-manicured lawns of the Manor House led down to the clear blue waters. The willow trees that bordered the lake swayed in the gentle breeze, adding to the peace and serenity of the spot. When she rounded the corner of the boathouse, she found a small rowboat tied to the dock. A bouquet of daisies lay on one of the seats, partially covering a map showing the small island at the other side of the lake. Trixie got in the boat and started rowing; eagerly wondering what she would find on the island. Finally she reached the rocky shore and secured the boat to a large boulder. Looking around, she noticed a trail of daisies leading to a grove of trees near the center of the island. Following the trail, she soon came to a clearing. There a blanket was spread out, weighted down by a picnic basket on one end.
"Have any trouble finding the place?" asked Jim, stepping out from behind a tree.
Trixie smiled brightly at him. "Oh, Jim, I’ve had so much fun today. It was really sweet of you to go to all this trouble," she said. Then she giggled and added, "But that’s not what I was thinking when I was in Mr. Lytell’s store. I had a few choice words for you at that point, Jim Frayne."
Jim laughed. "Well, I had to do something to make it a little bit challenging. Forgive me?" he asked as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Give me one good reason to," replied Trixie saucily.
"How’s this one?" Jim asked, gently pulling her closer and giving her a lingering kiss.
"Mmm," replied Trixie as the kiss ended. "You’re forgiven."
"In that case, why don’t we enjoy our picnic," he said, and took her hand and led her to the blanket.
"Good idea. After all my sleuthing I’m famished. Did Cook pack some of her yummy chicken sandwiches?" she said, and as she opened the picnic basket she saw another blue envelope on top of the food. She gave Jim a puzzled glance.
"Open it," he prodded gently, and when she did she gasped in surprise.
"Oh, Jim! Tickets to the Van Morrison concert tomorrow night! How did you know I wanted to go?" she squealed.
"Let’s see. Your favorite singer is making one of his rare concert appearances less than fifty miles from your home. I guess it is quite a stretch to think you might want to go," teased Jim.
Trixie sniffed at him. "Keep it up, smarty, and I just might invite someone else to go with me."
"Yikes! In that case I’ll be on my best behavior from now on—Scout’s honor!" said Jim.
"Well then, I suppose I’ll be nice enough to bring you with me," Trixie replied, and she leaned across the blanket and kissed him lightly. "Thanks for giving me a perfectly perfect day, James Winthrop Frayne," she said softly, and settled back with the contented feeling that came from solving any mystery, even a manufactured one.
The End