The Indian Burial Ground Mystery

assistant to the
Wheelers’ gamekeeper, Mr. Maypenny , and lived with
Mr. Maypenny in a cottage on the preserve.
    Trixie and Honey were very special friends. They both wanted to be
detectives, and they planned to open the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency
someday. The two girls made a good pair because they complemented each other.
Trixie was quick-tempered and impulsive, while Honey was naturally cautious.
Together, they had already solved several mysteries.
    “Well, Di’s excited about the dig,” said Honey. “Her parents said she
had to watch her twin brothers and sisters for only half a day. But Dan can’t
make it, so it’s not so bad if Trixie and I can’t, either. Since not all the
Bob-Whites will be participating, it can’t be a club activity.”
    “That sounds like a rationalization to me,” Mart said.
    Suddenly a whoop of triumph was heard from the hall, and Trixie came
back into the living room seconds later.
    “Mrs. Beales said we could work half a day,”
she shrieked happily. “We just have to start early—at 8 o’clock—and work until
1 o’clock. Whoopee! A whole half day for the dig!”
    “Oh, I’m so glad,” Honey said excitedly. “Great!” Mart exclaimed,
hauling himself out of the chair. “Which reminds me, I haven’t eaten for at
least an hour. Food!”
    “How can he eat all the time and still look like a bag of bones,” Trixie
mused as she watched Mart amble off to the kitchen.
    “His basal metabolism is out of whack,” Brian snorted.
    “That’s not the only thing that’s out of whack,” Trixie chuckled happily.
“But enough about him. Where’s Dad?”
    “Enjoying a few moments of peace with his wife out in the backyard,”
Brian answered. “But he left the newspaper, so I think I’ll try to catch up on
current events, if you don’t mind.”
    “I do mind,” Trixie said, playfully snatching the paper off the coffee
table. “May I have a look first? Miss Wilson, one of the kindergarten teachers
in the elementary school, asked me to do her a favor and cut out pictures of
food that she can use for her class.”
    “She wants them to eat newspaper?” Mart Belden asked, incredulous. He
had come back into the room munching on a hamburger.
    “No, silly,” Trixie said. “She wants them to make a collage of the basic
food groups.”
    “Ah, yes,” Mart said. “The five basic food groups—fast food, sweet food,
carbonated food, pizza, and hamburgers.”
    Trixie didn’t laugh, and continued to read intently. Mart’s expression
changed from one of devilish glee to pained annoyance.
    “Nobody listens to me around here,” he griped.
    “Hey, guys,” Trixie said slowly, “listen to this—‘Gang Robs Westchester
Mansions.’ This news article says there’s a gang of thieves hitting all the big
mansions and estates in the area. The police don’t have any clues or leads
yet.”
    “Sergeant Molinson will catch them,” Honey
said firmly.
    “That’s right,” Mart added between mouthfuls. “He always gets his man.
Or rather, Trixie always gets his man.”
    Mart was referring to the fact that Trixie had managed to solve a few
cases that had stumped Sergeant Molinson and the
Sleepy-side police department. The sergeant didn’t like her interference, but
even he had to admit that the clever fourteen-year-old had a nose for crime.
    “I wonder…” Trixie mused.
    “Uh-oh,” Brian said with a chuckle. “Here it comes.”
    “I wonder about that Charles Miller,” Trixie continued, oblivious to her
older brother’s remark. She turned to Honey. “The way he was looking at all the
things in your living room. Why, he even asked if the Renoir was real.”
    “Oh, Trixie,” Honey said calmly. “Everyone asks that question.”
    “I know that,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “but he was prowling all over,
looking at everything so carefully. Don’t you think that was a little odd?”
    “For once in your life, Trixie, you have the opportunity to work on a
mystery with redeeming social value,” Mart began in his usual pompous way. “You
are going to delve into the mystery of prehistory. Hey, did you hear that? I’m
a poet! The mystery of prehistory.”
    “Oh, Mart,” Trixie moaned irritably, “be serious for once in your life.”
    “I am serious,” Mart answered quickly, looking a little hurt.
“Why, I could join the ranks of the great and the near-great. Just think of
it—Shakespeare, Wordsworth... me!
    Delighted with his own wit, Mart giggled merrily,