The Mystery off Old Telegraph Road

town. We can have the vote right here on the bus, she thought. At least it will all be over soon—one way or the other.
    She signaled for the others to join her at the back of the bus, where they could have relative privacy.
    With their heads bent close to Trixie’s, Di, Dan, Honey, and Jim listened while Trixie told them briefly about the phone conversation she’d had with Nick Roberts the night before, and about the decision that she and her brothers had made to ask the Bob-Whites to vote on whether or not to cancel the bikeathon.
    When she had finished, she looked around at the solemn faces of her friends. Then she opened her notebook, took out a sheet of paper, and quickly tore it into seven pieces. Trixie handed the pieces of paper to her friends, saying, “We’ll have the voting by secret ballot. Just write yes’ if you think the bikeathon should go on tomorrow as scheduled, and no’ if you think it should be canceled.”
    Trixie quickly wrote “yes” on her own ballot, then folded it in half. Brian and Mart both wrote their votes quickly and handed their folded ballots back to her. She looked at her brothers intently, but she couldn’t tell from their expressions which way they had voted.
    Jim also made his decision quickly and handed the folded paper to Trixie. Dan, Di, and Honey each thought for several moments before they wrote their votes and, with solemn expressions, handed the last three ballots to Trixie.
    Trixie stared at the seven folded pieces of paper in her hand. This is it, she thought. In a minute we’ll know whether the bikeathon goes on or not.
    “Hurry up, Trixie,” Honey urged. “Count the votes. I can’t stand to wait another moment!” Trixie’s hands were shaking as she unfolded the first piece of paper. “ ’Yes,’ ” she read. She unfolded the next piece of paper. “ ’Yes.’ ” Her hopes soared: Maybe the vote would be unanimous for having the bikeathon. Her hopes plummeted when she unfolded the third ballot. “ ’No.’ ”
    The fourth ballot was also a “no,” and Trixie felt her stomach tighten. Three folded pieces of paper remained, and they would be the deciding ones.
    The three remaining votes were all “yes.”
    “Yippee!” Mart cheered, removing any doubt as to which way he had voted. The other Bob-Whites did their best to remain expressionless.
    Trixie sighed with relief. The bikeathon would go on as scheduled, she announced.
    Then her feeling of relief left her and tension took its place as she realized what the vote meant: The Bob-Whites were once again divided. Two of the club members were opposed to the bikeathon, and, although they would go along with the decision of the majority, the vote wouldn’t be enough to remove their fears.
    What if something does go wrong? Trixie thought. What if somebody wants to stop the bikeathon enough to do something desperate, and Sergeant Molinson s men can’t stop it from happening? How will the Bob-Whites feel about each other then?
    Trixie scanned her friends’ faces as if she hoped to find the answer written there. All she found was six pairs of troubled eyes looking into her own.

At the Abandoned House • 16

    THE REST OF the school day passed without incident, although Trixie was nervous and inattentive. She jumped and looked at the door whenever she heard a noise in the hallway, half expecting to be summoned to the principal’s office and told of another incident that would mean that the bikeathon must be called off.
    As the day wore on, Trixie began to relax. If something else were going to happen, it would have happened by now, she thought. I don’t think we have anything to worry about dining the bikeathon. The threats were meant to make us cancel it. Whoever made them has probably given up hope of scaring us into calling it off.
    Still, she had to admit that that was only an optimistic guess. Not knowing who had made the threats—or why—she could only keep her fingers crossed until the bikeathon was actually over.
    By the time Trixie boarded the school bus that afternoon, she was almost cheerful again. “Just think, Honey,” she said, bouncing up and down on the seat in her excitement, “by this time tomorrow, it will all be over. We’ll have checked off all the riders who returned to the school parking lot, and we’ll know exactly how much money they earned.”
    “That doesn’t mean it’s all over,” Honey reminded her. “We still have to make all those phone calls to the