Free The Marshland Mystery by Julie Campbell Page B

with the news, and they would soon locate Gaye.
    Trixie glanced at her wristwatch. In a little more than an hour and a half, her mother would be expecting her back to help prepare dinner. How could she get out to the marsh and back again in that short space of time?
    She heard Lady whinnying down at the stable. The little thoroughbred was Mrs. Wheeler’s pet, but she had been too busy lately to exercise her regularly, so Regan had taken on that job in addition to all his regular duties. Sometimes he let Trixie take Lady out instead of steady old Susie, but a lecture always went with it, plus warnings to take good care of the part-Arabian Lady.
    Trixie made up her mind suddenly. She started running down the driveway, calling, “Regan!” as she saw Regan and young Tom Delanoy, the chauffeur, coming out of the stable leading Lady.
    Regan turned a surprised face toward her and waited for her breathless arrival. “Now what? I thought you went to get Bobby’s bike,” he said good-naturedly.
    She gave a careless wave of her hand. “It can wait. Please, Regan, may I exercise Lady this afternoon? I haven’t had a ride today, and I’d just love it.”
    “Well, now,” Regan beamed, “it would be a help, right enough. Don’t go too far or too fast, and don’t slack on the grooming if I’m not here when you get back.”
    “Don’t worry; I’ll be careful,” Trixie promised.
    Two minutes later, she was on her way at a slow trot. But once she was beyond reach of Regan’s eagle eye, she put Lady to a faster pace and was soon cantering along.
    Luckily, there was little traffic on Glen Road on a Saturday afternoon, and she covered ground rapidly. Almost before she realized it, she had reached the turnoff beyond the lightning-struck oak tree. And soon she was in sight of the small neat cottage near the marsh.
    There was no sign of the old woman at the window, and the barn door was still partly closed.
    Trixie dismounted hurriedly and dragged the bicycle free of the mud that had half covered it. There was no mistaking it. The metal nameplate that Brian had attached to the frame was still in place.
    She knew that she had guessed right. Gaye had found the bike and ridden off on it, probably carrying the little poodle on her arm or in the wire basket. She had ridden safely this far, only to lose control and end up in the muddy ditch. Where Gaye had gone after that was something Trixie made up her mind to find out as soon as possible. ,
    “Let’s see, now,” she asked herself, “where do you think you would have gone first? Why, that’s simple. Right over to the cottage, to get warm and dry!”
    She left the bicycle leaning against a tree to dry off, and she tied Lady to a low branch of the same tree. “Take care of the bike, old girl,” she told Lady, scratching the mare’s soft nose. “And rest, because something tells me you’re going to have quite a load going home!”
    The gate squeaked loudly, just as it had earlier when she and Honey had started into the neat little yard. But this time there was no spectral hand at the window, waving her away.
    Trixie knocked on the door, timidly at first, and then with more force. There was no answer.
    Her heart sank. Her hopeful thought that she’d find Gaye here didn’t seem to be true. Maybe the child had wandered toward the swamp instead. She could have fallen hard back there in the ditch and hurt her head.' Or Mr. Poo, the poodle, could have run away when the bike fell, and she could have run after him into the swamp.
    Trixie tried again, knocking more loudly. But when there was still no answer, she turned away, wondering what to do, which way to look. Then she heard the sharp, shrill bark.
    She felt sure it was Mr. Poo barking. He had sounded just like that yesterday in the orchard.
    The sound was not coming from inside the cottage. It seemed muffled now, but there was no mistaking that it was from somewhere not far away.
    Trixie hurried away from the door and rounded the