The Mystery on Cobbett's Island (17 page)

Trixie was tingling all over with the excitement of it all. She knew one day she would have to have a boat of her own. There was nothing quite like sailing.

As Peter and Cap raced home, they met the rest of the fleet still making for the last mark, all of them seeming very slow compared to the two lead boats.
Blitzen
had cut down on
Star Fire's
lead until now, no more than fifty feet separated them. The tension was almost unbearable. Peter, crouched over the tiller, glanced up at the sails every few minutes to be sure they were filled, but not once did he look back.

Suddenly, Trixie said, “Pete, I do believe the wind is getting flukey again, just like it was this morning.”

“You're right, old girl,” he crowed. “It just may haul around, and if it does, we may have time to use the
spinny again. Let's get it ready, anyway. Try not to let Cap see you go forward, so he won't catch on to our little plan.”

Cap apparently didn't notice the activity on
Star Fire
. Peter kept his eye on the water to watch for any ripple that would indicate a shift in the wind. Sure enough, before very long it got very puffy so Jim and Peter had a hard time keeping the sails full and drawing, and then it settled down to a steady blow from behind them.

“Spinnaker!” Peter yelled as he saw his hunch was right. Trixie had the sail up in a flash.
Star Fire
leaped again and rushed for the final line.

“We've got him!” Peter shouted exultantly. “We caught old Cap napping!”

He was right. Cap had missed the trick. He had been so intent on overtaking
Star Fire
, he hadn't noticed how variable the wind had become, so his crew wasn't ready to take advantage of it as Peter had done. When he saw Peter's strategy, his crew tried frantically to get the huge sail up, but it was too late.
Star Fire
raced across the line, and the gun, signaling the winner, roared again from the club.

Before its echoes had died, Trixie, Peter, and Jim began yelling and laughing and slapping each other on the back.

“Jeepers!” Trixie cried. “I'll never,
never
be the same again!”

“What a race!” Jim yelled.

“And what a crew!” Peter added. “Trix, I've said it once and I'll say it again, you're absolutely super.”

“You can say
that
again,” Jim said seriously. Trixie felt unexpected tears rising. She tried to laugh off their praise as she started to get the sails down.

Now I know what they mean when people talk about tears of joy
, she said to herself,
but I don't know whether mine are because we won, or because of what Peter and Jim said. Or do I?

Everyone crowded around to congratulate Peter as he walked up the dock, and he was not slow in giving his crew a big share of the credit. Jim and Trixie found themselves the center of a crowd of admirers as they went up on the porch where sandwiches and soft drinks were being served. Cap, in particular, sought them out to tell what a fine job they had all done.

“Don't let my crew hear me,” he good-naturedly whispered to Pete, “but they aren't as good as Jim and Trixie, and they've been racing with me for three years.”

“Oh, we were just lucky,” Trixie said. “You know what they say about beginners, and besides, Peter really made it all seem so easy.”

The other Bob-Whites soon joined them, and after they had finished eating, they said good-by to Cap and the others and headed for the Ice-Box.

“Why don't you stick around for a while?” Cap urged. “We might get up a game of tennis or something.”

“It sounds tempting, Cap,” Trixie replied, “but
we've just got to go and see El. We haven't had a minute since he broke his leg. See you later, and I hope we can get together for a game before we leave.”

Elmer lived in a neat little cottage near the center of the island. As they drove up to the curb, Brian asked, “Don't you think maybe just one of us should go to the door and inquire how he is first? He might not want all seven of us barging in at once.”

“Why don't you go?” Honey suggested. “After all, you're the one who really took care of him when he had the accident.”

“Okay,” Brian agreed. He jumped out of the car and ran down the brick path to the front door. Soon after he rapped the little anchor knocker, the door was opened by a stout, pleasant woman in an attractive house dress and a big white apron.

Brian had no sooner introduced himself than Mrs. Thomas said El had seen him coming and wanted all of them to come right in. She hustled Brian inside and was off down the path, taking her apron off as she went, to tell the others they should all go right in and see her husband.

“Land sakes, El hasn't talked about another thing since he got hurt but how you helped him. He was hoping
you'd come by, but he knows how busy you young folks are, being here such a short time and all.”

Although the cottage looked quite small from the outside, the living-room was spacious, and the Bob-Whites, after greeting El, were invited to “sit a spell.”

“It'll do El so much good to have visitors. He gets restless, not being able to get out and around like he's used to,” Mrs. Thomas said as she brought in an extra chair from the dining-room.

There was much to tell El about the fallen tree, the work of clearing after the storm, and their meeting with Peter.

“Well, I'll be back on the job in a few more weeks,” El said. “Doc says I'm making fine progress. You know, this is the first time I've been laid up since I started taking care of The Moorings.”

“When was that?” Trixie asked him, more to make conversation than out of any real curiosity.

“Well, let's see now. It was about five years before Mr. Condon died, and he's been gone eighteen or nineteen years, so it's close to a quarter century since I started in as yard boy.”

Trixie's ears pricked up, and she saw, as she glanced at Jim and the others, that they had imperceptibly leaned forward as El spoke.

“I was just a young shaver then, and didn't care too much for work,” El continued with a smile, “but Mr. C, as we all called him, was as patient a man as I've ever met. He got me interested in gardening, and 'fore I knew it, I was actually looking forward to going to work. I even started to read up on shrubs and pruning and stuff like that, so I could do a good job.”

“You certainly have made the place beautiful,” Trixie said. “Did you ever work on Mr. Condon's boat? I saw a picture of it down at the club the other day.”

“No, it's funny, but I never took to the sea, even though I was born and bred right here on the island, and my grandfather was a whaler. It was my buddy, Ed, who was the sailor, and he went out on
Sapphire
every chance he could, until Mr. C's heart got so bad he had to quit sailing. But you know,” El continued reminiscently, “Mr. C never gave up to his illness. No sir, he went out for walks every day, and Ed often went with him for company.

“They even worked out some kind of sailing game to entertain them on the way. Ed used to laugh at me because I never could get the hang of it, but he and Mr. C used to get a lot of fun out of figuring the courses they set up.”

“You said Ed
was
the sailor. Did he give it up, too, when Mr. Condon got sick?” Jim asked.

El's head lowered, and it was obviously an effort for him to continue the story, but he went on. “No, you see my friend was lost at sea off a Bunker boat, and Mr. C died a day or so after he heard that Ed was gone.”

“How terrible!” Trixie exclaimed.

“Well, it was awful hard on me,” El continued, “but the ones it really hit were Ethel and the baby. Ed had got married a couple of years before. That's how he came to go out on the Bunker boats. He had to earn more than he'd been making doing odd jobs and such.”

“Whatever happened to his wife and baby?” Jim inquired solicitously.

“She couldn't stand living here any more after Ed went, so she moved South-side. There was enough insurance money from the company that owned the boats to take care of them until the youngster went to school, and then Ethel started selling baked stuff—bread and muffins and cakes—and you know, before long, she'd built up enough business so she couldn't handle it all from her home and she opened up a little shop.”

“She must have been a wonderful person,” commented Honey.

“Are you talking about Ethel?” Mrs. Thomas asked
as she came in from the kitchen with a plate of freshly baked cookies. “She's one in a million, and her son, too. I get a card from them every Christmas.”

Her cheerful presence broke the spell of sadness which had settled over the room. “Now, help yourself. I just made this batch this morning. It's a new recipe, and I'm not sure they're fit to eat,” she chattered on as she passed the plate. “My grandchildren like me to make different kinds. They live right next door, and I have to keep the cooky jar full for when they drop in.”

“Never knew you to make a poor cooky or anything else for that matter,” El told her as he took a generous handful. “She's the best cook on Cobbett's Island.”

Everyone agreed that the cookies were delicious, and Mrs. Thomas beamed as she saw the last one disappear. After thanking her and assuring El that all was going well at The Moorings, the Bob-Whites said good-by.

They had no sooner got into the Ice-Box than everyone started to talk at once. Now that Ed's family had become a reality, they were more than ever determined to find out if there was anything to the mystery of the hidden money.

“What did El mean by South-side?” Trixie asked Peter.

“That's the way the islanders speak of the southern point of Long Island. It could be that Ethel lives anywhere from Montauk to Southampton,” Peter answered.

“Do you suppose the telephone directory would give us a lead?” suggested Brian.

“It might if we knew Ed's last name,” Trixie said impatiently. “Do you all realize that with all the information we've managed to get, we still don't know
that?
”

“I know, and it would have seemed kind of obvious if we'd asked El,” Jim added.

“Say, wait a minute,” Trixie cried, snapping her fingers. “Diana, if you were going to open up a bake shop, what would you call it?”

“I'd call it the Calorie Emporium,” Mart interrupted.

“Oh, stop it, Mart. I'm serious,” Trixie said.

“I suppose I'd call it Diana's Bake Shoppie just to be quaint,” Di replied. “Why?”

“I get the idea!” said Mart gleefully. “Ethel's Bake Shoppie; am I right, Trix?”

“Jeepers, Mart, you're getting to be a real detective. Maybe we'll have to let you into the firm,” Trixie's eyes twinkled as she replied. “That's exactly what I was thinking. Hurry up, Peter, let's stop at The Moorings and look it up.”

They nearly fell over each other in their rush to get the directory from the hall table. Trixie took it out on the porch, and while everyone waited breathlessly, she looked in the Yellow Pages under “Bakeries—Retail.” Jim, who was leaning over her shoulder, was the first to spot the advertisement for Ethel's Bakery. “You're right, Trixie,” he cried. “At least there is an Ethel. Now we'll have to find out if she's the one we're looking for.”

“Yippee!” exclaimed Mart. “Where does she live?”

“Let's see,” Trixie said as she read on. “Ethel's Bakery. Mrs. Ethel Hall, proprietor. Homemade bread, rolls, and pastries. Cakes for all occasions. J-U-nine-one thousand. Locust Lane, Easthampton.”

“That must be the right one,” Mart said. “Now all we lack is the thousand dollars.”

“Oh, Trixie, if only, if only,” moaned Honey.

“You're so right,” Trixie answered. “If only we could break the secret of the chart. It
must
mean something. I feel so helpless, I could scream!”

“Brian, you seem lost in thought. What's on
your
mind?” Peter asked.

“I was just wondering what kind of game it was that Mr. C and Ed used to play,” he replied. “Isn't there one that involves sailing or boats or something?”

“There's one you play with model boats, I think,” Peter answered, “but I've never seen it. It would be fun to try and work one out, wouldn't it?”

Trixie, who had been only half listening to the boys' conversation, suddenly jumped up from the hammock and dashed into the house.

“Now what do you suppose has got into her this time?” Mart asked as he followed her inside, for even though he often teased his almost-twin to the point of distraction, he was always secretly concerned when he felt she was worried or discouraged.

“My guess is that she's had one of her hunches,” Jim remarked. “Wait and see. I'll bet she'll be right back in a minute.”

He was right. It wasn't long before Trixie came back carrying the chart with her. She spread it out on the table and began to study it intently.

“Gosh, Trix, you must know that thing by heart now,” said Mart, who had also rejoined the group. “What's up?”

“Jim, run in and get the letter, will you? I forgot it, and I want to look at it again. It's on the desk in the library,” said Trixie, ignoring Mart's question.

“Sure thing, but you must know the letter by heart, too, Trix,” Jim said as he went into the house.

“I know, it all sounds silly, but I may have found the last piece in our puzzle, so step on it,” she said, her voice tense.

As they were waiting for Jim to come back, Honey glanced at the chart and again hummed the six elusive notes. “I wish I could get a hunch about that little puzzler,” she said, “because I just know it has something to do with the whole thing.”

“It's been running through my head all week,” Mart added. “Maybe it's from some old song that was popular in Ed's day.”