Free The Mystery of the Phantom Grashopper by Julie Campbell Page B

would be okay to say it on the recording?”
    “Indeed it would,” Mr. Perkins said, entering the room. “I listened through the speaker in the next room,” he confessed. “You all sounded like professionals! Let’s record.”

    The Bob-Whites were still glowing with pride when they crowded into Wimpy’s for colas on the way home.
    “Our elocution certainly sounded effective,” Mart said.
    “Let’s just hope it helps to get Hoppy back,” Trixie added.

Bobby Takes a Tumble • 11

    ASTHE BOB-WHITES SIPPED their colas, Trixie grew unusually quiet.
    “Now what are you ratiocinating about so intently?” Mart asked.
    “I’m thinking —about Hoppy, of course,” Trixie replied. “Suppose the wind didn’t blow him off the roof of Town Hall. Is there a way that someone could have taken him down?”
    “I’ve kind of wondered about that myself,” Jim admitted. “If somebody actually planned to steal Hoppy, they wouldn’t wait around for a storm to blow him down. They’d figure out a way to go up and get him.”
    “Hey, that’s right,” Mart said.
    “How would anybody get Hoppy down from the roof?” Di asked.
    “A ladder?” Honey offered.
    “I don’t think so,” Trixie said, shaking her head. “Where would anybody get a ladder that tall? The only ones I’ve ever seen that could get that high are the ones on a fire engine.”
    “Maybe we ought to look on the roof of the fire department and see if they have a new weather vane,” Brian joked halfheartedly.
    “How about a crane?” Dan put in.
    “No,” Mart said. “Too heavy. A crane would have left deep tire marks in the grass on the common.” Honey nodded. “And besides, somebody would have noticed a big thing like that.”
    “Nobody was outside that night, though,” Trixie reminded her. “And the power was off, so there weren’t any fights.”
    “Let’s drive by the common and see if we come up with anything else,” Mart suggested.
    “That’s a good idea,” Trixie said. “I’m ready; let’s go!” She sprang to her feet.
    A few minutes later, Jim pulled the station wagon into the parking lot not far from the common. The offices in Town Hall were closed, and the building was dark inside. The big elm trees behind the building had lost most of their leaves, and the empty cupola on the roof was especially noticeable against the late afternoon sky.
    “I wonder—” Trixie began.
    “Hey!” Honey interrupted. “There’s Sammy. He must be feeling better now.”
    Sammy was cutting across the common, walking with his hands in his pockets and eyes downward. He reached the sidewalk and passed the station wagon without looking up.
    Mart rolled down the window and called, “Hey, Sammy!”
    The young man jumped and looked almost as if he were going to run. When he recognized the Bob-Whites, a look of relief came over his face. “Oh, it’s you,” he said.
    “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Mart apologized.
    As Sammy came up beside the station wagon, he pulled a small white earphone from his ear and patted the transistor radio in his shirt pocket. “I was listening to music. I didn’t hear you drive up.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just finished working, and I’m beat.”
    “Maybe you shouldn’t be working so hard, Sammy,” Honey said, “if you’ve been sick. And it must have been awfully busy around here today.”
    Sammy glanced up at the empty cupola. “The whole deal is a mess,” he snapped. “I almost wish I’d never come to this place.”
    Trixie couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. “You really are tired,” she said. “Can we give you a lift somewhere? Were on our way home from WSTH—”
    “That hick station?” Sammy interrupted scornfully. “What were you doing there—helping them dust off all their moldy oldies?”
    Honey flushed. “Mr. Perkins, the man who owns the station, is a good friend of my parents,” she said softly.
    “That’s their problem,” Sammy said.
    Trixie was upset