Free The Marshland Mystery by Julie Campbell Page A

bruised knee or a skinned nose— or worse!”
    Trixie’s eyes widened suddenly with excitement. “Oh!” she said in a small voice.
    Mrs. Belden had opened her book again. She looked up in surprise. “Oh, what?” she asked quickly.
    “Oh, nothing, Moms,” Trixie assured her hastily. She had decided not to say anything about the sudden thought that had come to her mind at mention of the muddy ditch. That small bicycle in a muddy ditch out near the strange old lady’s house—that could have been Bobby’s! Gaye could have found it and used it! And that would answer the question of how Gaye could have reached the swamp and disappeared while the two girls were still gathering the plants deep in the marshland. But if she did—what had happened to her after that?
    ‘.‘Moms, please,” she said abruptly, “may I go and see if Regan’s fixed Bobby’s bike? If he has, then I’ll bring it home so Bobby can go riding with me tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Go ahead, dear.” Mrs. Belden’s eyes twinkled. “It’s very thoughtful of you. Besides, I wouldn’t think of keeping you here while all the excitement is going on over there. But be back in a couple of hours so we can start getting dinner ready and eat on time.”
    “Thanks, Moms! You’re wonderful!” Trixie dashed for the doorway, and a moment later she was running down the driveway.
     

A Piece of Glass • 8
     
    REGAN WAS BUSY around the stable as Trixie came hurrying up the Wheeler driveway.
    “Hi,” she called breathlessly to the tall groom. “Any sign of Gaye?”
    “Not yet,” Regan answered soberly.
    “Do you think she might be hiding around here somewhere?”
    Regan looked thoughtful. “I did at first,” he admitted, “but I’m not so sure now. Miss Crandall is fit to be tied because we haven’t found her, but I don’t know of a place on this whole property, including the lake, that we haven’t checked. It’s getting to look like that half-baked reporter kid hit the nail on the head when he guessed it might be a kidnapping.”
    “Golly, I hope not!” Trixie breathed. “Are there any clues?”
    Regan shook his head. “Nope. But that might not mean anything. A gang of professional crooks would be too smart to leave clues.” He picked up a pitchfork and started into the stable.
    Trixie called after him, “Moms was wondering if you’d had time to fix Bobby’s bike. I can wheel it home if it’s ready.”
    Regan turned with a look of chagrin on his honest face. “I knew there was something I was forgetting. Drat it! I’ve been running in circles all day.”
    “That’s okay, Regan,” Trixie said quickly. “I can take it the way it is, and Brian can probably fix it in the morning.”
    Regan hesitated. “Well,” he said finally, “I hate to go back on my promises, Trixie, but maybe that would be better, after all. When I finish here, I’ve got to take another walk around the lake to the boathouse, just to make sure we didn’t overlook any signs there.”
    Trixie nodded and asked hopefully, “Could I go along and look, too?”
    The stableman shook his head emphatically. “No, thanks. Just run on up to the toolshed. It’s open. Be sure to tell your mom I’m sorry I didn’t get around to fixing the bike. And tell Brian the brake probably only needs tightening.”
    “Okay, and thanks, anyhow,” Trixie called back as she started up the long, winding driveway.
    As she trudged up toward the toolshed, she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Here she had been so sure that Gaye had taken the disabled bicycle and ridden to the marsh. And all the time, the bike was safe in the shed. A fine detective she was!
    As she pushed open the toolshed door and looked inside, her heart beat faster again. There was no bicycle there!
    Then there was still a good chance that Gaye was out at the marsh, she thought excitedly. She simply had to get out there and examine that muddy bike in the ditch. If it was Bobby’s, she could rush back