CHAPTER VII

More Puzzles

Judy was halfway to the house with the excited children when they bumped into Horace, who had been out on some mysterious errand of his own. He grinned at them as if he knew a secret. Like Judy and the children, he had been caught in the sudden downpour.

“Come in! Come in!” Honey invited them. She led them through the living room and into Judy’s spacious kitchen which served as a dining room as well. “Join Blackberry and dry yourselves before the fire. He didn’t wait for an invitation. He scooted in ahead of you. Everything’s ready,” she announced. “Judy made the cookies herself. Try one. They’re delicious.”

Mrs. Riker seemed more willing to talk and joined the children around the table in the kitchen. She could not help exclaiming over the beauty of the room with its huge stone fireplace and beamed ceiling.

“It reminds me of our kitchen when I was a little girl,” she told the children. “I did want you to see it, but now I don’t know what we’ll do.”

“Maybe we can help,” Judy offered again.

But Mrs. Riker protested that she had been too kind already.

“I don’t deserve anybody’s kindness,” she added. “My troubles are all my own fault.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Judy objected. “If your pocketbook was stolen from you I would say the thieves were to blame. Do you mind if I tell Peter—”

“Your husband?” Mrs. Riker inquired.

“We help him solve mysteries,” Ricky began, but at a look from Judy, he suddenly fell silent.

“I’m afraid, instead of helping to solve them, you’re making them today,” declared Horace. “You didn’t hear any trees talking, did you, Ricky?”

“Me?” Ricky asked in surprise. “You are making jokes again?”

Muriel turned to Horace wide-eyed through the glasses that always seemed too large for her small face.

“I heard the trees talking,” she said. “I wasn’t going to say anything about it, because I didn’t think you’d believe me. They told us to run—”

“And so,” little Anne put in solemnly, “we ran back along the shortcut and Ricky caught up with us, and all three of us met Penny and Paul and ran after the bad men. Is the magician one of them?”

“I wish I knew,” declared Judy. “There’s a whole lot I wish I knew.”

“I don’t want to meet him,” Anne finished. “He can make things disappear.”

“So can I,” Horace chuckled, helping himself to another cookie.

He passed the cookies around and they rapidly disappeared from the plate. Afterwards there was silence. Each one seemed busy with his own thoughts, even Blackberry on his rug before the fireplace.

Judy liked her big kitchen. It was a good place for thoughts. Usually they were pleasant ones inspired by the view from the picture window. Judy had placed the table in front of it so that she and Peter could look out on the trees that bordered Dry Brook while they were eating. They had been lovely in the summer and early fall. But now with the rain beating against the bare branches, there was something eerie about them.

“The trees are still whispering,” Penny said to Anne, whose other name turned out to be Black. It seemed a misnomer to Judy since Anne was a tiny blonde. The little girl shivered as she watched the trees.

“Look at that big one with its arms spread out over the barn. It scares me,” she confided to Penny. “That was the tree that told us to run.”

“When did it tell you?” asked Horace, overhearing Anne’s remark.

He had what Judy called that “eager beaver” look in his eye. “I may as well warn you, Mrs. Riker,” she said, “that my brother is a newspaper reporter. He’s good at finding out things.”

“And _I_ may as well warn you,” Horace retorted, “that my sister is known as quite a detective. She’s good at finding out things, too.”

“Secrets?” asked Penny.

“You’d be surprised,” Honey said with a reassuring smile, for the little girl seemed suddenly frightened, “how many she’s kept and is still keeping.”

“More than even you know,” declared Judy.

“Are you keeping a secret about the talking trees?” asked Muriel. “Was it the magician? Magicians can do anything.”

“Was it a trick, Horace?” asked Judy. “Ventriloquism, maybe?”

She thought he might have guessed the answer. But he only shook his head and said, “A trick of the wind, perhaps.”

“It could have been magic,” Muriel insisted.

“It could have been anything!” exclaimed Honey, giving up. “A magic trick or the wind or fairies or the voice of a doll—”

“The one we’re supposed to find!” Judy broke in excitedly, forgetting her promise of secrecy. “That may be it, Honey! If we find the doll we may find out what the voice is, too. May I tell Peter about it?” she whispered to Penny. “He may be able to help us find it.”

“Find what? I didn’t tell you anything,” the little girl said loud enough for the others to hear. “I was just making it up.”

“Of course she was,” Paul agreed. “Penny is always making up things. Who ever heard of a green doll?”