Mystery of the Melting Snowman (6 page)

In a moment Cindy and Dexter saw Alex Baxter leave the Wellington house, his long black coat and wide black hat etched against the white snow.

She and Dexter watched him stride to the end of the street and walk around the barricade. Then he climbed into the green car with the crumpled fender. In a moment he was gone.

“It’s funny,” said Cindy. “I was so sure he was a bad guy. And all along he was a detective trying to prove that Jenny and Tom were the guilty ones.” She stared outside. “I still don’t believe it,” she decided. “I believe it with my head, but I don’t believe it in my bones.”

Dexter sighed. “Your bones!”

Jay came in with a platter of sandwich fixings.

“And mugs of soup!” said Cindy. “Thank you, Jay!” In a few minutes they had finished lunch. Many people were going in and out of the red house. People were coming out with their arms filled with packages.

“The sale seems to be doing all right,” said Jay. “They must be making money.”

“We have to watch sharp to see if one of those people leaving the house is Tom. He could be disguised,” said Dexter.

“He couldn’t be disguised as a very little, very old lady,” said Jay.

They were still watching when Mrs. Temple left with the Tates for Chicago.

C
INDY WAS LEAFING
through her notebook for the tenth time. “It’s funny,” she said, “that Alex Baxter is letting Jenny and Tom sell Mrs. Wellington’s things. He knows they’re guilty. Why doesn’t he stop them now?”

“Because a detective has to have proof,” said Jay. “That’s what he was telling us.”

“And the iron dog is proof,” said Dexter, pushing his glasses up on his head.

“Right. And we have the iron dog,” said Jay.

“But he doesn’t know we have it,” said Dexter. “Nobody knows but us.”

“And nobody should know,” said Cindy. “We have to be able to prove how it got into the snowman before we let Alex Baxter know we have it. Otherwise, we’re not helping at all.”

Suddenly Jay clapped a hand to his head.

“You’ve thought of something!” said Dexter.

“I’ve thought of my paper route,” answered Jay. “Just as things start happening, I’ll be off on my paper route! Delivering papers when I should be solving mysteries.”

“Call Travis Hackworthy,” suggested Dexter. “Ask him if he’ll sub for you.”

So Jay called Travis and arranged for him to deliver the afternoon papers for his route.

Cindy was writing in her notebook. “If we can prove once and for all that Tom Foster stole the iron dog and hid it in the snowman, we can really help Alex Baxter. Here’s what we know so far: Tom Foster helped the Maxwell kids with the snowman. We know that because of the sunglasses and the scarf. He sent Amy and Randy into the house for a carrot. That’s when he could have hidden the iron dog.”

“Could have, could have,” said Jay. “We have to have real proof before we call Alex Baxter.”

“I wish he had told us why that iron dog is so important,” said Dexter. “But he was in such a hurry.”

Cindy chewed her pencil. “I still can’t believe Jenny’s a crook.”

“Here we go again,” groaned Jay.

“Cindy, remember the time you really liked that usher character in a movie?” asked Dexter. “You were so sure he couldn’t have been the crook because he had such a nice smile. And because he was polite.”

“Well, he was polite,” said Cindy.

“Sure, but it turned out he was a crook,” Dexter said. “I think we ought to have a new rule. The Usher Rule. The rule that says you have to try just as hard to prove someone you like is guilty as you try to prove someone you don’t like is guilty. See how long it took me to say that? And now all we have to say is the Usher Rule.”

“OK,” agreed Cindy. “And you’re right. The reason that Tom and Jenny are so good at this confidence racket is because they seem so nice.”

“The Usher Rule,” Jay said to himself. “Good.”

Cindy turned another page in her notebook. “Oh, here’s something I forgot to tell you. When I went upstairs in Mrs. Wellington’s house there was a long hall. That’s when I scared myself stiff seeing my reflection in the big mirror at the end of the hall. Anyway, there were lots of different doors that opened into the hall, only they were all closed. That’s what made it so dark. All but one, and that was strange too. The door was open and I saw flowers in the room. Why? I thought the house was empty.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Jay said thoughtfully.

“Nothing makes sense,” said Dexter.

“But everything will, once we talk to Alex Baxter again,” said Cindy. “This time we’ll have time to ask him questions.”

Cindy copied her notes. The boys kept watch. Dozens of people had come to the sale, come and gone. But not Tom Foster.

“Maybe he sneaked out the back door,” said Jay.

“We’d have seen him,” said Dexter.

It was beginning to grow dark. “We won’t be able to see him if he doesn’t leave pretty soon,” complained Dexter.

Just as he spoke, Jay grabbed Dexter’s arm. “There he is!” he whispered.

Sure enough, Tom Foster was just coming out of the front door of the red house. He had the metal box under his arm. Filled with money, thought Cindy. Tom started to walk down the street toward the construction barricade.

“Remember, one of the detectives is waiting in the car behind Tom’s,” whispered Dexter. “He’ll follow him.”

“We’ve got to call Alex Baxter,” said Jay, reaching for the telephone.

“Wait until Torn gets to the barricade. And opens his car,” suggested Cindy.

“We can’t see that far. It’s too dark,” said Dexter.

Jay picked up the telephone. He looked at the card Alex Baxter had given them.

In a moment a woman’s voice answered, “May I help you?”

“I want to leave a message for Alex Baxter,” said Jay.

“Your name, please?”

“Jay Temple,” said Jay. “Tell him Torn Foster has left the house. And wait a minute,” continued Jay, looking at Dexter and then at Cindy. “Tell him we have the dog he was looking for.”

“Very well,” said the voice. “Thank you.”

Jay stood holding the telephone a minute. Then he hung up. “That’s all,” he said. “The end of the mystery.”

“Not quite,” said Cindy. “When he comes to get the dog we can ask him why it’s so important to the case. Why he needs it to prove that Jenny and Tom are guilty.”

The Spotlighters looked through the deepening dark to the red house. “What will Mrs. Wellington think when Jenny and Tom don’t come to see her tonight?” asked Cindy. “She’ll be waiting for them to come with Tom’s parents. And they’ll never come. Because there aren’t any parents and there isn’t any wedding. Jenny and Tom are running off with the money from the sale and the house.”

Suddenly Cindy jumped up. “We have to tell Mrs. Wellington! We can’t let her sit there and wait and wait. And then hear all about it from strangers—policemen and detectives—tomorrow. Let’s find her and tell her tonight. There’s nothing more we can do here, anyway.”

“How can we find her?” asked Dexter.

Cindy picked up her notebook and started flipping through the pages. “Here it is. The North Star. Jenny says Mrs. Wellington lives there now. Let’s look it up.”

“It’s out on Cypress Drive,” said Jay in a moment, “on the other side of town.”

“We can take a bus,” said Dexter. “It’s a long ride, but we can get there.”

“Good,” said Cindy. “I like it when we’re doing something about something. I’m tired of just sitting and thinking.”

Soon the three detectives were running to the bus stop. In a few minutes the bus pulled up to the curb.

“What if Mrs. Wellington won’t see us?” asked Cindy. “You remember what Alex Baxter said about her—she’s old and feeble. She doesn’t really know what’s going on.”

“I still don’t know why Mr. Baxter hasn’t told her anything about Jenny and Tom,” added Jay. “It’s only fair she should know. It’s her house after all.”

“Maybe he was afraid she’d tell Jenny,” said Dexter. “And then Jenny would run off with her brother Tom.”

They left the bus at the Franklin Street stop. Cypress Street was just a short walk beyond the bus stop.

“Well, here we are,” Cindy said, staring across the snow-covered lawn. A long building lay before them, with lights shining in almost every window.

They started up the long walk to the front door. As they walked into the building, a woman seated at a desk glanced at them.

Cindy spoke up. “We’d like to visit Mrs. Melanie Wellington, if we may.” The three detectives looked at the lady behind the desk.

“Oh, how lovely,” the lady said. “Mrs. Wellington is in Apartment 14.” She turned halfway around in her chair. “You follow this first corridor and then turn left by the double doors, and there you are!”

The Spotlighters thanked her and walked where she had directed. They passed a large room with many tables in it. Some people were playing cards and laughing. Others were sitting, talking quietly.

“I thought it was an old people’s home,” said Cindy. “These people don’t look old at all!”

They found Apartment 14 and hesitated just outside the door. “Remember,” Cindy whispered. “We’ll tell her about Jenny first.” The boys nodded. Cindy knocked softly on the door three times.

“I’ll be right there!” called a voice from inside. The door opened and they faced a tall, elegant lady. Thin lines of gray hair swirled into brown curls on top of her head. She was dressed in a beautiful long gown. Sparkling earrings hung in small loops from her ears. Her big brown eyes looked down at the children in a friendly way.

“Mrs. Wellington?” asked Cindy, hesitating.

The woman smiled and nodded. “And to what do I owe this honor?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Come in, come in.” She stretched a slender arm toward her living room.

The Spotlighters looked at each other. Cindy thought, Why she’s not a little old lady at all. She’s beautiful.

This time it was Dexter who spoke first. “Mrs. Wellington, I’m Dexter Tate, and these are my friends, Jay and Cindy Temple. We’ve come to warn you.” He stopped and looked at Jay and Cindy.

“Warn me? Warn me about what?” asked Mrs. Wellington. “I daresay this is a most interesting evening. Do tell me what you’re about.”

Cindy cleared her throat and then spoke in a rush. “Mrs. Wellington, it’s about Jenny Mayflower. She’s been lying to you all this time. She’s sold your house and she’s going to run away with Tom Foster and all the money. They had a house sale today and sold all your nice things. And they’re not really getting married at all. They’re brother and sister.”

Mrs. Wellington stared at the children for a moment. Then she burst out laughing, “Oh dear, oh dear.”

“It’s true,” insisted Dexter. “You’ll never see Jenny Mayflower again.”

Mrs. Wellington leaned against a chair and then collapsed into it, laughing. Finally she wiped her eyes with her long trailing silk scarf. “I’m afraid you’d better start from the beginning,” she said.

Cindy looked helplessly at Dexter and Jay.

“Oh, but you must all sit down,” Mrs. Wellington said. “Let me pull some chairs up.” She was standing before the three detectives had a chance to move.

“From the beginning,” said Mrs. Wellington, when they were all sitting down.

Cindy opened her mouth to speak, but Mrs. Wellington jumped up from her chair again. “With all this going on, I forgot I was the hostess. Would you like some hot chocolate? I can fix some in a jiffy.”

Without waiting for an answer, she flew across the room and went through a swinging door.

“Poor lady,” Cindy sighed. “It’s going to be sad when she hears the truth. And she’s going to be hard to convince.”

Jay, Dexter, and Cindy looked around them. There were paintings in frames on the walls. Dexter got up from his chair to look at one of the paintings. “Hey,” he said, “the signature on this says Melanie Wellington.”

“And here’s a portrait of Jenny,” said Cindy. “That makes me feel even worse about telling her.”

A moment later Mrs. Wellington appeared with a silver tray, laden with cups and saucers.

“We were looking at your paintings,” Cindy said. “You’re an artist!”

“Painting is a new hobby with me,” Mrs. Wellington said. “In that big old house would you believe I could never find a room to paint? I really love it here!”

Cindy saw something else framed and hanging on the wall. “Is this a poem?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s a sampler,” Mrs. Wellington explained. “It’s a riddle my husband and I made up when we moved into the old red house.”

Cindy read the riddle silently. “I can’t guess it,” she said. “Do you mind if I copy it?”

Mrs. Wellington passed the boys their chocolate and gave Cindy a cup when she sat down. “Once again—begin at the beginning,” she said.

“Well,” Cindy started, “Jenny Mayflower isn’t at all what you think. She’s selling all your things and your house and she’s going to keep all the money. She and Tom Foster are going to run away with it.”

Mrs. Wellington smiled at Cindy. “But dear, they’re doing no such thing. Jenny is the kindest, dearest girl I’ve known. She and Tom are getting married this week. A wonderful young man, that Tom.”

“But they wouldn’t even let you come back to your own house!” exclaimed Dexter. “They made you sign papers to sell it. And they’re not even going to give you the money for it.”

“I think someone has absolutely been pulling your legs,” laughed Mrs. Wellington.

“But then why are you here instead of in your own house?” asked Cindy. “You can’t even go back now because they sold your house.”

Mrs. Wellington shook her head. “I don’t want to live in that big old house. I love it here. Can’t you see?” She spread her arms and looked around her apartment. “Everything that I could possibly want is here. There are so many people here my own age. We play cards. We even gamble! And it’s so cheerful, having someone to talk to about old times. It was my decision to move here. Nobody else’s.”

Cindy sat up straighter. “But, Mrs. Wellington, what about all those things in your house that Jenny and Tom sold? What about the money they took?”

Mrs. Wellington leaned over the table and picked up a cookie. “I can see it’s time I got some answers from you. What on earth makes you think all these strange things have happened?”