The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim, page 1
part #33 of Trixie Belden Series
Your TRIXIE BELDEN Library
1 The Secret of the Mansion
2 The Red Trailer Mystery
3 The Gatehouse Mystery
4 The Mysterious Visitor
5 The Mystery Off Glen Road
6 Mystery in Arizona
7 The Mysterious Code
8 The Black Jacket Mystery
9 The Happy Valley Mystery
10 The Marshland Mystery
11 The Mystery at Bob-White Cave
12 The Mystery of the Blinking Eye
13 The Mystery on Cobbett’s Island
14 The Mystery of the Emeralds
15 Mystery on the Mississippi
16 The Mystery of the Missing Heiress
17 The Mystery of the Uninvited Guest
18 The Mystery of the Phantom Grasshopper
19 The Secret of the Unseen Treasure
20 The Mystery Off Old Telegraph Road
21 The Mystery of the Castaway Children
22 Mystery at Mead’s Mountain
23 The Mystery of the Queen’s Necklace
24 Mystery at Saratoga
25 The Sasquatch Mystery
26 The Mystery of the Headless Horseman
27 The Mystery of the Ghostly Galleon
28 The Hudson River Mystery
29 The Mystery of the Velvet Gown
30 The Mystery of the Midnight Marauder
31 Mystery at Maypenny’s
32 The Mystery of the Whispering Witch
33 The Mystery of the Vanishing Victim
34 The Mystery of the Missing Millionaire
© 1980 by Western Publishing Company, Inc.
All rights reserved. Produced in U.S.A.
GOLDEN® , GOLDEN PRESS® , and TRIXIE BELDEN® are
trademarks of Western Publishing Company, Inc.
No part of this book may be reproduced or copied in any form without written permission from the publisher.
ISBN 0-307-21554-7
All names, characters, and events in this story are entirely fictitious.
CONTENTS
Mr. Burnside’s Surprise ● 1
Trixie’s Idea ● 2
Hit and Run! ● 3
Unidentified Victim ● 4
The House on Glenwood Avenue ● 5
A Hard Night’s Work ● 6
A Visit With the Victim • 7
A Visit From a Vandal • 8
The Glenwood Avenue Connection ● 9
Held Hostage! • 10
The Drop • 11
Meiser’s Miser ● 12
Mr. Burnside’s Surprise ● 1
OH, JIM, CAN’T YOU DRIVE any faster?” Trixie Belden pleaded, bouncing up and down on the backseat of the car. Her arms were draped over the front seat, and her head was thrust forward, as though she hoped that would somehow make her closer to her destination.
“I can’t go any faster without violating the speed limit—and my own common sense,” Jim Frayne told her. “This station wagon, handy as it is, is a gas guzzler. Once I get over fifty-five miles an hour, I can practically watch the gas gauge drop.”
“Gleeps, Jim,” Trixie said, “I wish you weren’t always so sensible. After all, we can’t burn up that
much extra gas between here and Mr. Burnside’s house. And I can’t wait to see what his surprise is. He sounded so mysterious over the telephone.”
Honey Wheeler, sitting in the front seat, next to her brother, widened her hazel eyes when she heard the word “mysterious.” But the other young people in the car burst into gales of laughter.
The others included Trixie’s older brothers, Brian and Mart Belden, Di Lynch, Dan Mangan, and, of course, Jim Frayne. They, along with Trixie and Honey, were the members of a semisecret club called the Bob-Whites of the Glen. The Bob-Whites were devoted to helping others and to having fun together. Their current project was a community-wide rummage sale to raise funds for the Sleepyside hospital.
The Bob-Whites also kept finding themselves involved in mysteries. Usually, all of the Bob-Whites pitched in to help solve the mysteries, but it was almost always Trixie and Honey who discovered them in the first place. Their love of mystery often led them to suspect something was “mysterious,” even when the other Bob-Whites were totally oblivious to it.
“Supersleuth Trixie strikes again,” Brian Belden said. Brian was seventeen, a senior at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School, and the most studious of the Bob-Whites. He was often the first to spot the flaws in his younger sister’s logic and to keep her from jumping to the wrong conclusion.
“Our quixotic sibling once again descries suspicious comportment,” Mart Belden announced. Mart was Trixie’s “almost-twin,” just eleven months older and possessed of the same sandy hair, blue eyes, and freckles. His use of enormous words (he hoped) made him seem much older and more sophisticated than he really was.
“All right, all right!” Honey Wheeler’s usually soft voice had a note of exasperation in it. She was Trixie’s best friend and most loyal supporter, and she hated Trixie’s being teased almost as much as Trixie herself did. “You’ve all had your fun; now I think we should find out what made Trixie think Mr. Burnside’s call was mysterious. She usually does have a pretty good reason, you know.”
Trixie felt herself blushing at her friend’s praise, which was almost as disconcerting as the others’ teasing. “What’s mysterious is that Mr. Burnside told us to come over and pick up a donation for the rummage sale—no, wait!” She held up her hands to stop any comments. “That’s not what’s mysterious, so don’t start laughing again! What’s mysterious is that he told me all the Bob-Whites had to be along when we came to pick it up. He told us we had to come get his donation right away, first thing, even though the rummage sale is a week from now. And he told us we had to come in the Bob-White station wagon.”
“Maybe it’s something that’s so big and heavy that it will take all seven of us to carry it,” Di Lynch guessed. With her violet eyes and black hair, Di was the prettiest of the girls. She was also the most fragile. Trixie bit her lower lip to keep from laughing at the idea of Di Lynch helping to load some heavy object into the car.
“That wouldn’t explain why he wanted us to come right away,” Trixie pointed out.
“Maybe it’s a big, heavy piece of really useless junk that he’s extremely eager to get rid of,” Dan Mangan said.
“Dan!” Trixie exclaimed reproachfully. “You know Mr. Burnside wouldn’t donate a piece of junk to the rummage sale! He’s always been very generous. Why, when we had the winter carnival to get books for the school library in Mexico, Mr. Burnside donated all that lumber for a prize, and—” Trixie broke off when she saw the twinkle in Dan’s dark eyes and realized that he was teasing her. She grinned at him to let him know she’d caught on to the joke. Dan was the quietest of the Bob-Whites, but he had a lively sense of humor. That was something none of them would have guessed when he had first come to Sleepyside, just at the time the Bob-Whites had been planning their winter carnival. Then he had been sullen and hostile, rejecting the Bob-Whites and clinging t© his friendship with a group of troublemakers from New York City. Remembering that time, Trixie was still amazed, and grateful, for the change in Dan Mangan.
“It looks to me as though none of you can come up with a good explanation for Mr. Burnside’s mysterious requests,” Trixie said. “So I say it’s a mystery until proven otherwise.”
“And I say it will be proven otherwise very shortly,” Jim said, switching on the turn signal as he approached Mr. Burnside’s driveway.
Trixie felt a small flutter in her stomach, which she identified as excitement mixed with disappointment. She was eager to find out what Mr. Burnside’s donation was, but at the same time, she wanted the anticipation to last a little bit longer. It was the same feeling she had just before Christmas, when she wanted more than anything to find out what was in all those brightly wrapped packages under the tree, but knew that much of the excitement would be over when the presents were opened.
“Whatever Mr. Burnside’s donation is, I bet it will be perfectly perfect,” Honey declared. “And I bet we’ll be really glad that we hurried over here to pick it up.”
Trixie looked at her friend gratefully. Honey was so tactful that it sometimes seemed as if she must be able to read minds. What she’d just said was the “perfectly perfect” way to make Trixie feel better.
Jim pulled the station wagon to one side of the circular drive in front of Mr. Burnside’s house and shut off the engine. For a moment, nobody spoke. Everyone stared at the huge, white colonial house and wondered what the surprise was that was waiting for them inside. Trixie realized that, as usual, her friends had been just as excited as she was, even though they had tried to pretend that she was getting carried away.
The sound of Jim opening the door on his side of the station wagon was so loud in the silence that Trixie jumped. “We won’t find out what Mr. Burnside’s surprise is by just sitting here and wondering about it,” he said.
With a chorus of “You’re right!” and “Let’s go!” the other young people piled out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk to the house.
Jim rang the doorbell, and it was only seconds before Mr. Burnside himself opened the door. He looked at the eager-faced Bob-Whites and smiled. “You made good time,” he said. “Come on in,” he added cordially.
The seven young people crowded through the doorway and walked into the living room. They knew that it would not be polite to seem to be searching the room for the donation; nonetheless, they all stole furtive glances, trying to see something that looked out of place.
It took Trixie only a moment to decide that nothing was 'ever out of place in this room. It was furnished in beautiful, well-preserved antiques. Every bit of wood gleamed, every pillow was puffed and positioned just so. Each coffee table held just enough odds and ends to be interesting without looking cluttered. And while it was formal, it still looked comfortable and “lived in.”
“This is a lovely room, Mr. Burnside,” Di Lynch said.
Mr. Burnside nodded. “Yes, it is. And I can say that without being immodest, because I really had nothing to do with it. Mrs. Burnside is the interior decorator in the family.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. The Bob-Whites were too preoccupied with thoughts of the promised donation to make small talk, but they were also too polite to hurry Mr. Burnside into handing it over to them.
Mr. Burnside, on the other hand, seemed to be in no hurry at all to let them know what the donation was. He rocked back on his heels, surveying his living room with pleasure, as if seeing it through new eyes because of Di’s compliment. Finally, he said, “Can I get you young people a soda or something?” The Bob-Whites looked at one another. There was, indeed, something they wanted Mr. Burnside to get them, but it wasn’t a soda.
Brian cleared his throat as he assumed a take-charge attitude. “Actually, Mr. Burnside, we’re sort of curious about the donation.”
Mr. Burnside’s face broke into a wide smile. “I’ll bet you are,” he said. “And I think you’ll be very pleased with it. You won’t blame me for milking it for as much excitement as I can.”
The man’s frank admission broke the tension, and the Bob-Whites grinned back at him.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll take you to it. Follow me.” He walked straight through to the back of the house and out into the backyard.
Actually, Trixie thought, backyard was the wrong word for the expanse of beautifully kept lawn that seemed to go on and on for miles. They were walking toward a garage that stood at the back of the property. Trixie frowned and looked back over her shoulder toward the house. Just as she remembered, there was a two-car garage attached to the house. So this must, instead, be some sort of storage shed.
Mr. Burnside halted a few yards from the shed. “There’s my donation,” he announced, making a sweeping gesture.
Trixie stared in confusion. She didn’t see the donation. There was just the shed with an old car parked next to it.
“Oh, no!” Brian shouted. “Mr. Burnside, don’t tell me— You’re not—”
Mr. Burnside nodded, the big grin on his face once again. “That’s right,” he said. “My donation to the rummage sale is a genuine, beautifully restored and working Model A Ford.”
Brian let out a long, low whistle, and Trixie took another look at the old car. It wasn’t just an old car, she realized now. It was an antique. It was also—it had to be—the most valuable donation they had yet received for their rummage sale.
Brian, Mart, and Jim were swarming over the car. Dan Mangan, who shared his Uncle Regan’s love of horses over all automobiles, was only slightly less enthusiastic.
Even Trixie and Honey, who were far more interested in mysteries than in motors, had to admit that the car was a beauty. It had a high, square, boxy shape, and alongside the doors, wide running boards that curved up to become the front and back fenders. The wheels had open spokes, like those oh a bicycle, and the spare tire was mounted just in front of the door on the driver’s side.
“Tell us about it, Mr. Burnside,” Brian said as he circled the car, peering closely at every detail.
“Well, it’s a nineteen-thirty-one Deluxe Phaeton Model A. The first Model A was built in nineteen twenty-seven, just a few months after Lindbergh made the first solo flight across the Atlantic. And the car caused almost as much excitement as Lucky Lindy did. In some towns, they had to call out the police to control the crowds that gathered to look at the first Model A’s.”
“It must have created quite a sensation, after the old tin Lizzies,” Brian said.
“Tin who-sies?” Trixie asked.
“Tin Lizzie is what they called the Model T Ford,” Mr. Burnside explained. “The Model T was a pretty primitive-looking beast, compared to this car. In fact, this Model A was nicknamed the ‘Baby Lincoln,’ because it looked so much like the more expensive car. But this one cost only five hundred eighty dollars when it was new. There were less expensive Model A’s, for as little as four hundred thirty dollars, too.”
“Good old Henry Ford was really determined to put the whole country on wheels, wasn’t he?” Jim observed.
“He certainly was,” Mr. Burnside said. “In fact, before the first Model A appeared, Ford Motors had already manufactured fifteen million Model T’s, so he was well on his way to fulfilling that dream.
“You can see Ford’s idea of designing a car for people with average incomes by looking at the height of the Model A. It has over nine inches of ground clearance, because Ford was thinking of people who would drive it through the backwoods, on rough dirt roads.”
“May I open the hood?” Brian asked.
“Go ahead,” Mr. Burnside said. “It opens from the side, and the hood is hinged in the middle. It has a standard three-speed transmission and a singledisc clutch. The first Model A’s, the ones built back in nineteen twenty-seven and nineteen twenty-eight, had a multiple-disc clutch that was pretty difficult to manipulate.”
Trixie suddenly felt as if she’d been transported to a foreign country. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” she told Mr. Burnside.
“Well, I can,” Brian retorted. “And I think it’s fascinating. Please go on, Mr. Burnside.”
“There’s a lot more to tell you, but I think it would be better to save it for another time. Right now,” he said, turning toward Trixie with a twinkle in his eyes, “let me just add that, although the Ford Company claimed that the car could hit sixty miles an hour, fifty-five is the top speed I’ve managed with it.”
“This is a pretty expensive piece of rummage, isn’t it, sir?” Jim asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a worried frown.
Mr. Burnside nodded. “This car is worth several thousand dollars,” he said.
“Gleeps!” Trixie exclaimed. She stared at the car again. “Do you really think anyone will pay that much for it? I mean, I’d hate for the hospital to get less than your donation is worth.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Mr. Burnside told her. “The Model A is a favorite of antique-car collectors. Why, I average at least one call a week from someone who wants to buy the car, and I’ve never even had it up for sale. That’s why I wanted you to come and pick it up right away. I figured you could letter a sign to put on the car, telling where and when it will be sold. If you drive it around town for a few days while you’re picking up other donations, you’re bound to attract a lot of attention.”
“And people coming to the rummage sale to see the car will wind up buying other things! Oh, Mr. Burnside, that’s a great idea!” Trixie exclaimed. “I’m glad you said we had to come and get the car right away. Oh, that reminds me—why did you say we all had to come, and why did you say we had to bring the station wagon?”
Mr. Burnside chuckled. “I wanted the Model A to be a surprise,” he said. “I didn’t want to tell you about it over the phone. But I did want you to be able to take it with you. So I wanted to make sure Brian would be along to drive it. I know he’s a pretty good mechanic, and these antique cars can be tricky. I asked you all to come to make sure that Brian would be along, and I asked you to bring the station wagon because otherwise you might have come in Brian’s jalopy—and for anyone but Brian, that’s every bit as tricky to drive as the Model A.“
“That solves the mystery, all right,” Trixie said. “Well, I think there’s an even bigger mystery to be solved now,” Brian said. “How can you bear to part with this beautiful piece of machinery?”
Mr. Burnside looked solemn for a moment. “I have had a few twinges, I admit,” he said. “But there are two reasons for donating the car to the sale. The first one is that I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks last year, and I had excellent care. Donating the car is one way I can express my gratitude.
