The Mystery at Mead's Mountain

quite a while. Trixie wished she had had the foresight to hide closer to the pond so she could have heard what was going on.
    “Look,” Jim whispered. “They look like they’ve come to an agreement of some kind. Do you suppose they could have been in this together all along?”
    “No,” said Trixie with a vehement shake of her head. “Otherwise Carl would never have told us about this meeting. But I sure don’t understand what’s going on now.”
    Carl was turning to leave, the pack still on his back. Pat and Katie followed him toward the edge of the pond.
    “Where are they going?” worried Trixie. “We can’t lose track of them now!”
    Suddenly Pat raised his hand high into the air and brought it down on the back of Carl’s head. Carl slumped to the ice.
    “Why did he do that?” Honey gasped, tears in her eyes.
    Trixie could tell that Jim was gritting his teeth. She knew what he was thinking. Her temper was about to flare up, too.
    Pat bent over and propped Carl up, while Katie got Carl’s backpack off. She slung it over her shoulder and headed back toward the car in front of Pat, the two of them leaving Carl lying alone on the ice.
    They had taken only a few steps, when, to the Bob-Whites’ horror, Pat took out his gun and brought it down on Katie’s head. As she fell to the ice, Pat grabbed for the pack.
    Trixie had to cup her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.
    “I just don’t believe this is happening,” Jim whispered fiercely.
    In a matter of seconds, Pat had taken a length of rope from his pocket and tied Katie’s hands behind her back. Then, swinging the pack onto his shoulders, he started running toward the pickup.
    Jim, Trixie, and Honey quickly scrambled for cover. As she heard the crunch of Pat’s boots coming up the hill, Trixie clenched her fists. Capturing a man who would be so brutal to his wife and an old man was more than I bargained for tonight, she thought.
    Pat was panting heavily by the time he reached the truck. He pulled the door open and threw in the pack, shoving it over to the passenger side as he climbed in. The Bob-Whites heard a whirring noise, then some muttered curses.
    Trixie and Jim managed to smile faintly at each other.
    The motor whirred again. After about ten seconds, the door opened. Trixie could see Pat slowly getting out of the pickup, a gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other. Aiming his flashlight at the woods, he made a full circle around the pickup before stopping. Then he put his gun in his pocket, tucked the flashlight between his knees, and started to open the hood.
    “Now!” whispered Jim. He leaped out of the woods at full speed and made a flying tackle.
    “What should we do?” Honey wailed as she and Trixie came out of the bushes.
    “Nothing,” Trixie answered. “Jim can handle him.”
    But as they drew closer, Trixie could see that Pat was fighting rough. Pat rolled on top of Jim, and his hand reached out for something that had fallen out of his pocket—the gun! Acting in a split second, Trixie kicked the gun just as Pat’s fingers touched it. Then she snatched it up and threw it as far as she could into the woods.
    When she turned back, she saw Jim surprising Pat with an uppercut to the chin. Pat, thrown off balance, fell backward and hit the ground. As if controlled by one mind, Trixie and Honey rushed to throw all their weight onto Pat’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground.
    “What teamwork,” Jim called breathlessly as he ran to the bushes. He brought back the ropes from their survival kits. “Somehow I thought I might be needing this,” he said as he tied Pat’s feet together. “Hold him up so I can tie his hands behind his back,” Jim instructed the two girls, who were still holding Pat.
    Once Pat was securely tied up, Jim said, “I’d better go down and check on Carl and Katie.”
    “Jim, you stay here and rest. I’ll go check on them,” Honey volunteered. She disappeared down the hill.
    Jim sank to the ground, exhausted, and Trixie turned to Pat, who was propped up against the truck wheel.
    “You put on a pretty good act, Pat,” Trixie said sorrowfully, reaching for his grotesque ski mask. “We all thought you were really nice.” She yanked the mask off.
    Then she gasped. “Wh-Why, you’re not Pat O’Brien at all!”

Where is Ellen? ● 18

    BERT MITCHELL just growled at them.
    Jim’s jaw dropped open. “What were you doing in Pat and Katie’s truck?” he demanded.
    “I’m not