Free The Mystery off Glen Road by Julie Campbell

Honey demanded. “As a matter of fact, you did ask him. I heard you yell at the top of your lungs, ‘Who was that man who just left here?’ ”
    Trixie chuckled ruefully. “That was the trouble. I shouted, and Mr. Lytell got mad. Said I was a harum-scarum tomboy and all that sort of thing. So I didn’t dare ask him again.”
    “Well, it really doesn’t matter,” Honey said, without much interest. “We’ll probably never see that man again.”
    “It does matter,” Trixie argued. “I think he’s a poacher.”
    Honey laughed. “You’ve got poachers on the brain, Trixie. Mart would say that you had poached brains instead of scrambled brains.”
    “Don’t mention Mart’s name to me,” Trixie begged. “What I’ve been through this week! He and Brian teased me so much I almost gave up. It was simply torture getting dressed for dinner every evening and having to sit there and listen to their wisecracks.”
    “Never mind,” Honey said soothingly. “You succeeded, and it will all turn out to have been worth it in the end. This week has been awful for everybody. Miss Trask is worn out with trying to do both Celia’s and Tom’s work, and sometimes she’s almost cross, if you can believe it.”
    “I can’t,” Trixie replied. “She’s always so nice and cheery. And that reminds me. Did you hear anything from the honeymooners? Moms was worried the night of the storm because trees were crashing down on the highways upstate. I didn’t worry, because Tom is such a marvelous driver. I figured they had sense enough to stop off at an inn until the storm ended.”
    “They did,” Honey told her. “They’re in Canada now. We all got postcards from them yesterday. They’ll be back next weekend, thank goodness. When Mother called up from Florida on Wednesday, she told Miss Trask to hire a temporary maid and a temporary chauffeur at any price, but Miss Trask said it wouldn’t be worthwhile breaking them in for such a short time. She has enough trouble breaking in cooks, who are forever leaving.”
    “I hope for Miss Trask’s sake,” Trixie said, “that Ben Riker doesn’t try to put any frogs in this cook’s bed.”
    “That would be the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Honey agreed. “If the cook left while Celia and Tom are away, I think Miss Trask would probably quit, too.”
    “And that,” Trixie added, “would be the end. She’s just wonderful. Oh, Honey, let’s canter. I can’t wait to find out if Miss Trask and Regan will give us the gamekeeper’s job.”
    “I can’t, either,” Honey admitted. “If we can win Regan over to our side, I’m sure Miss Trask will agree. But Regan can be stubborn at times. We’ll have to be careful, and also we had better be very sure that we do a perfect job when we groom the horses.”
    Half an hour later, Honey began the conversation with Regan: “Oh, about those ads you and Miss Trask put in the papers. Did anybody apply for the gamekeeper’s job?”
    Trixie couldn’t help grinning. Honey was trying so hard to make her voice sound casual as she worked on Strawberry with a currycomb.
    “No,” Regan replied from the doorway of the tack room. “And, in my opinion, nobody ever will. There aren’t many people left who can afford game preserves, and they’ve got all the gamekeepers there are left working for them.”
    “Oh,” Honey said as she led Strawberry back to his stall. “Do you have to be so very wonderful to be a gamekeeper? I didn’t think much of Fleagle. I mean, I thought he was really sort of dumb, didn’t you?”
    Trixie’s secret grin widened. There just wasn’t anybody in the world as tactful as Honey Wheeler.
    “Fleagle,” Regan said in a wrathful tone of voice, “was as stupid as they come. Why, even you and Trixie know more about horses than he does.”
    “That’s just what I thought,” Honey said innocently. “Trixie and I, working early in the morning and after school, could be just as good a gamekeeper as Fleagle