Free The Mystery of the Headless Horseman by Julie Campbell Page B

got plenty to do, you know, without you dashing off after unsolved mysteries.”
    “Jim and I won’t be long,” Trixie said, “and the bazaar doesn’t start till one o’clock. Besides, we’ll be picking up more donations from two of our good friends. Moms just told me that Mrs. Vanderpoel has baked twelve dozen cookies for us, and Mrs. Elliott is donating some flowers. Isn’t that nice?”
    “It sounds great,” Mart said, returning what was left of his “snack” ingredients to the refrigerator. He poured himself a tall glass of milk. “And it just so happens that both of those people live not too far away from Sleepyside Hollow.”
    “But we really do need to pick up our bikes,” Trixie cried, glaring at him.
    “And while you’re there, are you also going to see if you can find another ghost?” Mart teased. “There is one thing that bothers me,” Trixie admitted. “Why did Harrison go down into that cellar in the first place?”
    “There’s nothing mysterious about that.” Mart wiped a milk moustache from his face with the back of his hand. “He said he heard a noise down there.”
    “But what noise?” Trixie asked. “And who made it? The practical joker couldn’t have been in two places at the same time. He couldn’t have been downstairs in the cellar thumping around— or whatever he did—and the next moment, be in the kitchen to slam the door shut. There has to be an explanation, and I intend to find out what it is.”
    “Maybe it was your headless horseman in the cellar.” Mart looked pleased that he’d thought of a possible solution. “Ghosts can walk through walls, you know. He’s already disappeared into thin air. You saw him do it.”
    “But I still don’t believe it,” Trixie replied. “That ghost and his horse both looked pretty solid to me. And here’s something else to puzzle out in your dreams tonight. I keep coming back to it. Why didn’t Harrison tell us he wasn’t alone in that house?”
    It was Mart’s turn to yawn. “I’ll think about it,” he said, “but not tonight. Right now, I’m going to bed.”
    “And I’ll think about it, too,” Brian said.
    “Well, I won’t think about it,” Trixie said. “I know I’m going to dream about that awful headless horseman instead—all night.”
    But she didn’t. She fell into a dreamless sleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

    The next day dawned bright and clear. Trixie could tell at once that they were going to have beautiful weather for the bazaar.
    Soon after breakfast, Jim called for Trixie, as promised. She watched the big station wagon swing into the Belden driveway, and she felt again a special rush of pride when she saw the bright red enamel lettering on the door: BOB-WHITES OF THE GLEN.
    Even now, she could hardly believe that the station wagon really belonged to all of them. Each of the Bob-Whites owned one seventh of it. Honey’s father had donated it to their club when he bought himself a new car.
    “I’ve already been up to Di’s,” Jim said. “All the others are up there now. This is going to be a great day, Madam President, so where to first?”
    “Mrs. Elliott’s, I think, Mr. Copresident,” Trixie answered, laughing.
    “Then on to Mrs. Vanderpoel’s?”
    “I think so,” Trixie said. “That way we can see if we’re still going to have room for the bikes. If not,” she sighed regretfully, “I suppose we’ll have to leave them till another time.”
    “We’re going to have to make the trip to Sleepyside Hollow anyway,” Jim answered, grinning at her. “Mrs. Crandall phoned Honey bright and early this morning. She’s donating some of her jams and jellies to the bazaar. Isn’t that great?”
    Trixie smiled happily and watched the scenery flashing by. After a while, she glanced at Jim. She thought he looked handsome in his smart red Bob-White jacket. Trixie was wearing hers, too, as would all the club members that day. After all, the bazaar was a club project.
    Jim