The Mystery of the Millionaire

Wasn’t he expected at the office this morning?”
    Laura rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I still can’t believe the story I invented. I’m so unused to doing that sort of thing. I called his office this morning, and when my father’s secretary answered, I just sort of chatted with her casually for a while. I thought something might come out that way—you know, that she’d suddenly say, ‘Oh, my goodness, I was supposed to call you last night to tell you your father wouldn’t be home.’ Or that she’d ask me if I wanted to talk to him, and I’d find out he was already at the office.
    “Well, what happened was that eventually she asked me where he was. My heart sank, but I told her the story I’d invented, that my father had received a call from an old college chum who was headed upstate on a fishing trip, and my father decided, on the spur of the moment, to go along.”
    “Did she believe you?” Trixie asked.
    “I think so,” Laura replied. “As I told you, people are very important to my father. That makes it easier to believe that he’d want to spend some time with an old friend. And Esther—that’s my father’s secretary—is aware of the strain he’s been under. She told me she was glad he’d taken some time off, that she thought he could use the rest.”
    The room fell silent, everyone wondering what could be done to find Anthony Ramsey.
    “I’ve got it!” Trixie exclaimed. “Why don’t you hire a private detective?”
    “Oh, Trix, that’s a great idea!” Honey exclaimed. “He wouldn’t have to tell anyone about Mr. Ramsey’s disappearance. He could just sort of nose around and find clues.”
    “It is a good idea,” Laura Ramsey agreed. “It was one of the first things I thought of, but I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
    “Why?” Trixie asked.
    “Detectives cost money, a lot of money. Why, when a friend of mine hired a detective a few months ago to find a stolen diamond necklace, she had to pay two hundred dollars a day, plus expenses!”
    Trixie whistled. “That is a lot of money!”
    “From the way you’ve described your father, I’d say he could afford it,” Mr. Lytell said gruffly.
    “He can. But he’s the one who disappeared. I have some money in the bank, but I also have bills to pay, bills that my father takes—took care of. If I don’t make payments on the house and keep our other bills paid up, someone will get suspicious. I can’t draw on my father’s company expense account, because Frank would find out about it. And I don’t think private detectives take credit cards,” she concluded with a wry smile.
    “We have fifteen dollars in the Bob-White treasury,” Trixie said. “I’m sure you could have that.”
    “I could ask my parents to help, but you’d have to wait several days until they get home,” Honey added.
    Laura smiled at the girls bravely. “You’re very kind, but I’m afraid I need a lot more than fifteen dollars, and I need it immediately.”
    Silence reigned again. Trixie looked around the room, as if hoping to find an answer there.
    And, gazing at Mr. Lytell’s ledgers, she suddenly did. “Mr. Lytell—” she began.
    “No!” The storekeeper had read Trixie’s mind. “I’m sorry for Miss Ramsey, and I hope she finds her father, but I’m not going to give her any money.”
    “Oh, no!” Laura Ramsey exclaimed. “No, Mr. Lytell, of course not. You’ve done so much to help already, calling to tell me about my father’s wallet and listening so patiently to my whole story. I wouldn’t dream of asking you for anything more.”
    Laura Ramsey stood up and held out her hand to the storekeeper. “Thank you for everything. I’ll just have to solve this in my own way.” She smiled at the girls and turned to leave. Then she turned back to face them.
    “You know, if nothing else, this experience has already taught me about the value of money. I’d always taken it for granted, until now. Why, just a month ago, on my twentieth birthday, my father took me to a car dealer and let me pick out any car I wanted, then paid for it in cash— twelve thousand dollars! And now, today, when I need a couple thousand to find him, I can’t raise it.” She shook her head sadly and turned again to leave.
    “Wait!” Trixie shouted. “The car.”
    “I can’t sell it—” Laura began.
    “You don’t have to!” Trixie exclaimed. “Mr. Lytell, remember how you held Brian’s jalopy when I gave you my diamond ring as collateral?”