From the previous part:

“Well, I think that’s all I can get from this one. What else is left?” [asked Trixie.]

“Not much,” Honey answered, handing her another index book. “I’m not sure it was worth coming here, really. We’re not any further forward than when we got here.”

Part Five

Trixie did not lift her eyes from the page. “It was worth it, even if it’s just to show that they don’t have what we need. Process of elimination.”

Honey sighed. “I get the feeling there’s going to be a lot more of this before you accept that you’ve got everything there is to find.”

At this, Trixie looked up and smiled. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever find everything there is to find. I just need to find enough to draw some conclusions.”

Trixie leaned forward and bumped her head against the table two or three times. She had spent the entire day talking to various people around town, and all the exercise seemed to have achieved was a heightened sense of frustration.

“Is there a reason you’re doing that?” Jim wondered, as he entered the kitchen.

In response, she groaned. “I had this brilliant idea that I might be able to help stop the rumours if I knew more about how they were spreading. It’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. I hardly know anything more now that I did before I had this idea, and what I do know seems to be utterly unbelievable.”

He sat down next to her. “Unbelievable? How?”

“The only name that came up more than once is one of those ultra-respectable ladies from the Country Club, who I would never think would be involved in this sort of thing. It can’t be her that’s starting them; it’s just too far out of character.”

“Then, I suggest, it’s not her.” He ran a hand up her back in a soothing gesture. “Maybe she’s just an innocent bystander, so to speak.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s passed on all of the different rumours, even if she didn’t start them,” Trixie answered, sitting up straight once more. “It seems kind of odd that she’d even do that. I didn’t know she was like that.”

“Who is she?” he asked.

“Mrs. Protheroe. You know her?”

“Barely. Mother does, but I wouldn’t say they were friends.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought she was a gossip, either.”

“Well, whether she is or she isn’t, it looks like I need to think of a new strategy for getting whoever it is to stop.”

He smiled. “You could do something outrageous and distract them.”

“Will you help with that?”

He shook his head. “No, I think you’d do just fine on that by yourself.”

Before she could come up with a reply, a volley of knocks sounded from the front door. They exchanged a glance and Trixie rose to answer it.

“I’m not doing any good here,” she commented.

When she opened the door, she found herself face to face with Terry Lynch whose face wore an intense expression that faded into embarrassment as he saw her.

“Hi, Terry. What can I do for you?” she asked, smiling.

“Uh… I was wondering…”

She nodded encouragement.

“I wanted to know how your investigation was going, and if I could be in on it,” he admitted, all in a rush. “I want to help.”

“Come in,” she invited, “and I’ll go over it with you.” A thought occurred to her. “Do your parents know you’re here? Is it okay with them?”

He nodded. “Yeah, they know. They’re not real happy with me at the moment, because of Larry, but I can’t help that.”

She gave him a sad smile. “You need to do what you think is right and hope that he’ll come around. Now, come and sit down and I’ll get my file.”

A moment later, she returned with a thick folder and bumped down next to him on the sofa.

“You don’t have to read all of this,” she reassured him, seeing the alarm on his face. “I’ll pull out the important bits for you.”

At that, she began selecting pages from the file and explaining what they were. Terry examined each one and commented now and again, but it was not until she had almost reached the back that he added anything she had not already deduced or considered.

“Did you ever find out who it was who left the persquirrel?” he wondered. “Maybe they’d heard some old stories that related to this – especially if they’re from Goodwin Lane.”

Trixie stared at him for a moment. “I didn’t even think to ask, but you’re so right. That’s the most likely place for them to be from. The elements that they chose are kind of suggestive, as well. I’ll look into it tomorrow, if I get a chance.”

“Or, maybe, I could?” he asked.

Her expression softened. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let me know how you get on.”

His face lit up in a smile. “I will.”

The following afternoon, Terry was waiting for her when she arrived home from work. From the restless energy he was exhibiting, it was clear that he had achieved success.

“Well?” she asked, as she reached him.

“I know who it was,” he offered. “They do live on Goodwin Lane – at least, some of them do. It was two brothers who live right down the end, and – you’ll never guess.”

“Since I don’t know anyone who lives there, no I won’t.” She grinned. “Go on, tell me.”

“The other two were visiting their grandmother and her name is–”

“Yolanda Adams?”

His face creased into a frown. “You said you didn’t know anyone there.”

“I met Mrs. Adams once. And she’s the only person on Goodwin Lane who has any connection to the case, so it’s an easy guess.”

He grunted. “Anyway, they told the other two a story about the old shack and a murderer and a dead baby and some ghosts. They told it to me twice and it was different each time, but I think the idea was that the murderer had lived in the ruined house and he’d killed a man – or, possibly, a whole lot of people – and buried them where the shack is now. His ghost is supposed to haunt the place, looking for more people to murder.”

“Where does the baby fit in?”

“Oh, he killed it, too. You’re supposed to be able to hear it crying.” He shrugged. “They weren’t very coherent. I’m not sure how it was all supposed to go.”

“They probably don’t either,” she answered. “Well, it’s interesting to hear what sort of story has been handed down through the generations by the Adamses. There’s probably a grain or two of truth in there somewhere.”

“You think it might help?” he asked, eagerly.

Trixie nodded. “I’ll make a note of it and keep it in mind. You never know what might turn up later that could help us interpret it.”

That weekend, Honey visited Trixie and the two went over all of the evidence again. The investigation had almost ground to a complete halt and they had run out of ideas on where to look for any further clues.

“There’s probably more to find in The Sun, but I don’t want to read every issue they ever published from cover to cover,” Trixie commented. “I’ve had enough of the stupid microfiche machine.”

Honey put on a regretful expression. “Maybe you’ll have to tell Captain Molinson that it can’t be done.”

At once, Trixie became determined. “I know I can do this. I just need to find the right piece of information to get me going again.”

“Well, what are you going to do to get it?”

“That’s the problem; I just don’t know what else to do. I’ve looked up everything I can think of; I’ve investigated everyone’s descendants, except Obadiah Fletcher, and that’s only because he doesn’t have any.”

“Who?” Honey asked.

“Obadiah Fletcher. He was the grocer who was the victim of the embezzlement.”

Honey hesitated, thinking hard. “You didn’t tell me his name before now, did you?”

“I don’t know,” Trixie answered. “I don’t think so; it wasn’t all that important.”

“But I’ve heard it somewhere… or seen it.” She frowned a little, still thinking, then her eyes opened wide. “The library! We’ve got to go back there!”

Trixie took one look at her and started for the door. “Well, let’s go, then.”

Once they arrived, Honey led the way downstairs to the reference section.

“Now, which is the file you gave me to look at?” Honey wondered. “The one where I found the article on unsolved mysteries.”

It took Trixie only a short time to pick it out, but longer for Honey to find the article in question. Once she did, she found what she was looking for almost at once.

“I knew it! He’s here. This has just about got to be him!”

“What does it say?” Trixie demanded. “Here, let me see.”

“It’s the third one,” Honey explained. “I started to tell you… I told you the first two, but I got distracted by the second one.”

“‘Our third unsolved mystery is that of a missing fortune,’” read Trixie. “Sounds a little like Jim’s uncle, only his wasn’t missing when this was written. ‘One day near the beginning of the First World War, one of Sleepyside’s most well-known citizens collapsed and died at his home. He was Obadiah Fletcher, the last of an old local family. Many years before, he had been the chief victim of the insidious crime detailed as our second mystery. He had struggled back from that misfortune and re-established himself as one of the wealthiest men in town.’”

“I don’t know how I missed seeing it the first time,” Honey murmured. “I’m sure I read that part the first time we were here, but I didn’t connect it to the paragraph before.”

“You were concentrating on Weiss. It’s easy enough to do.” Trixie waved the matter away and went back to reading. “‘When the time came for the reading of the Will, a most handsome bequest was made to a certain local institution, but the money was never found. Many exhaustive searches were made, but to no avail. The estate of Obadiah Fletcher contained enough to cover his debts and nothing more. Many years later, when his house was demolished, local speculation considered that the missing legacy would be discovered. Much care and attention was taken, but this was not the case.’”

“It reminds me a lot of Jim’s uncle,” Honey noted. “Remember the rumours that went around just after he died, about the treasure?”

Trixie nodded. “I bet they were mad, whoever it was that was supposed to get it. I wonder why it doesn’t say who it was.”

“Maybe some of them were still alive and still mad,” Honey theorised, giggling. “Maybe the editor thought it better not to point any fingers. This was supposed to be more of a fun piece, I guess, than actual news.”

“I wonder if any of the fine, upstanding citizens of Sleepyside made a big fuss about the missing money.” Trixie smiled at the thought. “There might have been a scandal.”

“Probably. Just think of the people we know at… say, the Country Club, if they thought they were going to get a whole lot of money, but it just vanished into thin air.” Honey giggled a little more. “Just imagine dignified Mrs. Protheroe throwing a tantrum.”

Trixie screwed up her nose. “No, thank you! I think I’m developing a strong dislike for Mrs. Protheroe. I’m sure she’s spreading these rumours.” She sighed. “It’s like catching smoke, but I’ve been trying to track some of them and I’m certain it’s her. She seems to hear things and then, the next thing that’s happening is that a completely different story is circulating.”

“That’s very odd,” Honey replied. “I never really thought of her as a gossip. Mother deals with her fairly regularly, since she seems to do everything there. No matter what it is that’s going on at the Country Club, Mrs. Protheroe is right in the middle of it.”

Realisation dawned across Trixie’s face. “You know, you’re right. Before now, I don’t think she was a gossip. But why should she start? She’s busy enough. Most of those other old women just don’t seem to have enough to do to keep them out of trouble.”

Honey shook her head. “I don’t think I know enough about the local flows of information to tell if she always gossiped and we just didn’t notice, or if this is new.”

“If it is new, this could be our break,” Trixie mused. “Maybe there’s some link to her that we can find.”

“I have no idea how we’d do that,” Honey put in, “and I’m not sure we should, even if we could.”

Trixie made a frustrated sound. “I’m not meaning to pry into her business. I just need to look at this and see if we already have a link to her that just isn’t all that obvious.”

“Could she possibly be upset about this?” Honey wondered, pointing to the article. “It would be from before she was born…”

“It doesn’t really seem likely.” Trixie frowned. “I know she can’t be connected to Obadiah Fletcher because I already checked that angle. He just doesn’t have any relatives left. So, who is it that she wants to avenge or punish or victimise or whatever it is that she’s doing?”

Honey pursed her lips. “Hmm… Well, we know that the most recent gossip has mostly been about the Strattons. Before that, it was you – or, according to his mother, that one was about Jerry Adams. Before that, again, I think it might have been you, again. I don’t think this helps all that much.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Trixie squeezed her eyes shut. “Maybe if we look at the elements of the different rumours, we might find something more useful. What do they have in common?”

“Sex,” Honey answered, without stopping to think. “Though, I don’t see how that helps us, either. Isn’t that one of the main things rumours are usually about?”

“Probably,” Trixie grumbled. “Ugh! I hate rumours. But I think we might be onto something, so I guess we need to keep going. The first one was after we found the persquirrel, right? And it was about a baby buried near, or in, the shack.”

“Right. Most people who aren’t Yolanda Adams took it to mean that it was yours and that it connected to the last rumour about you, which you and I both know was completely fabricated.”

Her friend grinned for a moment. “True. Then, the second one was about Principal Stratton and it was a lot more vicious – and changed a lot more frequently. You know, one version of it that I heard had it that his grandmother’s family were all mad and had their own private burial ground for all the family members they murdered, and that if you kept digging you’d find dozens of bodies.”

Honey shuddered. “I bet some people are really enjoying that kind of story.”

A shadow crossed Trixie’s face. “That’s the worst part, I think. And I know that people were claiming that the skull we found was a baby’s long before anything was officially said about anything.”

“It seems to be the common denominator about all of the rumours,” Honey noted. “Almost right from the beginning in eighteen-whatever, that’s what people were saying about the place.”

“Well, that was true,” Trixie pointed out. “There was a baby buried there.”

“It doesn’t help us now, with figuring out who is keeping them going.”

Trixie sighed. “I’m almost certain it’s Mrs. Protheroe. I just wish I knew why.”

For a few moments, they lapsed into a thoughtful silence, broken at last by Honey. “Do you know Mrs. Protheroe very well?”

“No. Hardly at all. Why?”

Honey shrugged. “I just wondered if there was a reason that the talk about you wasn’t anywhere near as bad as this time.”

“Someone reported me to the police,” Trixie reminded her.

“Still, no one’s trying to say all your relatives are insane murderers, which is what’s happening to poor Principal Stratton.”

“It’s more… personal… I guess.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I wonder what her grandmother’s maiden name might have been. Or her mother’s. Her own, would be a start, even.”

“I have no idea. I don’t think I even know her first name, let alone her entire family history.”

Trixie picked up the file and returned it to its place. “Well, I think we’ve done all we can here. I’m sure there’s something in all this, we just need to figure out what it is.”

“So, where do we go from here? I can’t see any way to find out whether Mrs. Protheroe is really behind the rumours, or if it’s someone else.”

Trixie huffed in frustration. “I think I’m just going to ask Mrs. Vanderpoel. She seems to know just about everything, so why shouldn’t she know this?”

“It’s as good an idea as any,” Honey agreed. “I don’t think I can come with you, though. I really need to get some of my actual work done.”

Her friend nodded. “I wasn’t going tonight anyway. I’m going to leave it for the morning.”

When she visited Mrs. Vanderpoel the next morning, Trixie asked for strict confidence before outlining her theory. The elderly lady agreed at once.

“Do you know Mrs. Protheroe, who is very much involved in the Country Club?” Trixie asked.

Her friend made a vague gesture. “Not well. I would know who she was if I saw her. I know a little about her.”

Trixie nodded. “I’ve come up against a problem. Everything points to Mrs. Protheroe being responsible for the rumours,” she explained, “but I can’t think why she should do that. I was wondering, if I showed you some of the things I’d found, whether you might be able to spot a connection to her.”

“I will try,” the old lady answered, without much hope. “I’m not sure that you’ve come to the right place this time, child.”

Trixie smiled and placed a pile of papers in her hands. “I thought it was worth a shot. It doesn’t matter if you can’t help.”

A silence settled between them as Mrs. Vanderpoel read. After a time, she smiled and tapped a page with one finger. “Here. This is your connection.”

Trixie took the paper and read, brows drawn together. “The man who kept laying flowers on her grave? But how?”

“Her name is right here, among the grandchildren. She wasn’t married yet, at the time, so perhaps you missed her that way.”

“You’re sure?”

The old lady nodded. “I’d forgotten until I saw this, but yes, I’m sure. This is her.”

“Thank you for helping with this.” Trixie smiled and gathered together her papers. “I don’t think I could have put that together without you.”

“And how is the rest going?”

Trixie shrugged. “I’m not sure. I think I have most of the story put together, but there are still a few holes. I’m still not sure who it was who stole the money, and I don’t know at all what it was that Claude Brouwer did that led to his death – if that even was Claude Brouwer buried there. And now I’ve just found out that when the man whose money was embezzled died, there was money missing from his estate.”

“Ah, now that was a mystery,” Mrs. Vanderpoel mused. “I take it you mean Obadiah Fletcher. Before my time, of course, but it was one of those stories that people loved to retell. Many a time I heard theories on where that money went.”

“And what do you think happened to it?” Trixie wondered.

She laughed. “Oh, I doubt there ever was any money to lose. He was a scoundrel, as far as I can make out. A person who knew him and whose opinion I respected thought that he’d written the Will that way simply to make trouble and had made certain that it could never be carried out. And others who knew him considered the idea to be a good one; they thought it would be just like him.”

Trixie thought for a moment. “I wonder…” Her eyes widened. “What if there really wasn’t an embezzlement? I mean, they only had Obadiah Fletcher’s word for it, didn’t they? Well, I guess there might have been book-keeping records, too, but he could have altered them.”

“I’m not sure I catch your meaning.”

She frowned, thinking. “What if Obadiah Fletcher kept false records in his store and framed Jacob Weiss for a crime that never existed? Maybe Weiss found out what was happening… but, then, what about the missing money on the day he disappeared?”

“It seems to me that you’ll never be able to prove it, either way,” the old lady mused.

“I know. And it’s kind of frustrating.” Trixie sighed. “Thanks again, Mrs. Vanderpoel. I’ll let you know what else I find out.”

Continue to part six.