Chapter Three - The Curious Antique Shop
Rated Blue Star for all ages. Some mild violence
“Oh, I do hope it’s still open,” Trixie cried as she hurried ahead of Honey to climb the steps to the Antique Barn.
Honey joined her, and the two of them peered through the leaded glass of the large bay window. An array of antique dolls, teddy-bears, and other toys were set around an old-fashioned dollhouse, its rooms illuminated by glowing miniature lamps. Honey pointed at it, delighted.
Further back, they could see hanging pots and pans, washstands, beautiful Tiffany styled lamps—even a canopied bed.
The two exchanged glances and Trixie opened the door. As it closed behind them, a clanging bell announced their presence.
They stood for a moment, but no one appeared. Trixie placed her books on a side table and walked towards the display of toys. She reached for a strange metal figure of a man, his hand outstretched.
“What is this, Honey? It looks sort of familiar.”
Honey came to stand beside her and nodded her dark gold head. “Of course, it does. Don’t you remember Brom’s donation to our antique show? It’s a bank.”
“Oh, now I remember. I guess that’s another bank.” Trixie pointed to a shelf with an Indian kneeling before a bear. “If I could ever manage to save any money, I’d buy one of those. But you know me. I’m hopeless with money.”
“You are not!” Honey scolded. “You’re just very generous. You don’t just give to the club; you buy things for Bobby—all sorts of things.”
Trixie laughed. “I doubt he sees it that way.”
“This looks interesting.” Honey indicated a small mule pulling a cart. Her long, slim fingers reached for the winder at the back.
“Can I help you?” A low gravelly voice asked.
Both girls turned to face the man behind the voice. Trixie saw a short and stocky man with unfriendly eyes. He was dressed in a fancy suit—Honey would probably know how expensive it was.
“Yes,” she answered. “We were just looking at all these toys. They’re so interesting. Is that bear one a bank?”
“A bank?” The man shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“What about this?” Honey asked. “I can’t quite work out what it does. Would it be alright if I wound it up?”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” the man returned stiffly. “It is an antique.”
Trixie resisted the urge to say “Duh!”, but Honey merely turned her attention to the dollhouse.
“Can you tell me when this is from? I was thinking the 1880s, but the roof line doesn’t seem quite right.”
The man frowned, looking from Honey to the dollhouse and back again.
“What about this washstand? My grandmother has one, but looking at the tile detail, I think this one may be older.”
The man continued to study Honey but did not respond to her queries. She merely smiled and moved through the st
ore, pointing out a lamp, a tea set, and an antique gown, peppering the man with questions.
Trixie couldn’t help but think her best friend seemed to know a lot more than the shop owner—maybe he was just a clerk who worked for the owner. She really hadn’t got that a good look at him outside of the supermarket.
“Is Mr. Reid here?” she asked.
“I’m Carl Reid,” he returned, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?”
“You’re the owner?” Trixie couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.
“Yes, I am,” the man said shortly.
Honey shot her best friend a look of vague reproach and began chattering about antiques again. “We were curious about the china dolls,” she said with a smile. “I have a friend who’s a collector, but she’s mainly interested in German dolls, pre-1885.”
Carl Reid rolled his eyes. “Honestly, kid, your friend needs to come in and look for herself.”
Trixie bristled at his tone, but Honey merely titled her head to one side and pointed to a ship, sitting on a dressing table. “Is this a Civil War Ship? My brother is quite interested in the Civil War.”
“He is?” Trixie said.
The man’s eyes were now virtually slits, and he glanced nervously towards what looked to be a storage room at the back of the store. “Why don’t you kids head home, now?” He said, his tone surprisingly sweet. “I’m very busy. Really don’t have time to chat.”
“I just wanted to ask one more…” Trixie trailed off as Honey took her arm and gently pulled on it.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk to us,” Honey said. “We just love your store.”
“Sure thing. Anytime.” Carl Reid’s expression was one of relief as the two girls, collected their books, headed to the door, and left the store.
“Hey!” Trixie shook Honey’s hand off. “I wasn’t finished looking.”
“Well, I think Mr. Reid has had enough of our looking, plus it’s getting dark, Trixie. We should get home.”
“I guess,” Trixie allowed. “I think it’s weird that he doesn’t know anything about antiques. Maybe you could get a part time job there. You certainly knew heaps more than he did.”
Honey laughed. “I guess I was showing off a little, wasn’t I? I don’t know, Trixie. There’s a lot of specialties in antiques. Maybe his expertise is in something else. Or maybe he’s just the money man. Daddy has interests in businesses he doesn’t have a lot of knowledge of.”
“But he wouldn’t go in and try and run one of them, would he?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“See—mysterious!”
“Oh, I do love you, Trixie.” Honey flung an arm around her friend. “Life is never dull with you and your penchant for mysteries.”
“P-e-n-c-h-a-n-t,” Trixie retorted with a grin. “And it’s always well-founded. Almost always, anyway.”
“Anyway, my feet are going to freeze if we don’t get moving. Race you back home.” Honey took off and, after a moment, Trixie ran after her. They were slightly breathless, but warmer when they stopped.
Trixie turned to her friend. “Come and have dinner with us,” she urged.
“I’d love to,” Honey said. “I’ll just need to call Miss Trask from your house.”
“Come on, then.” Trixie tugged on her friend’s arm and raced towards Crabapple Farm. Honey followed suit and soon the two were stumbling through the kitchen door.
“Hi, Moms. Can Honey stay for….” Trixie trailed off at the sight of not only her mother who was standing at the stove, but also her oldest brother, Brian, and his best friend and Honey’s brother, Jim Frayne. The two tall teenagers were gathering plates and serving bowls.
“We are way ahead of you,” Brian said. “Jim and I were working on a project together, so I invited him and then we agreed that you would want Honey to stay, too, so we fixed it with Moms and Miss Trask.”
“Who has again raised the question of we Manor House residents paying board at Crabapple Farm,” Jim added with a grin.
“I know I should,” Honey admitted, shrugging out of her jacket and hanging it on the rack near the door. “At the very least, I can set the table.”
“Mart’s already on that,” Brian said.
Trixie glanced around her carefully, a frown wrinkling her brow.
“Is something wrong, Trix?” Jim asked.
Trixie shrugged her shoulders. “I was just wondering if this was some sort of alternate universe Crabapple Farm. It’s almost dinner time and all the chores are done. All Honey and I need to do is wash our hands and eat.”
“Never fear,” a voice declared as the door between the kitchen and dining room opened. “There will still be dishes after we eat. They’re all yours.” Mart grinned and his sister grinned back.
“Dish up the mashed potatoes, Brian.” Helen Belden instructed from her position at the stove. “The chicken is ready.”
Within minutes, the entire group plus Peter Belden and Bobby were gathered around the Beldens’ dining table.
“And then Willy the dog stole a bag of carrots and we had to chase him around the room so we could make the stew!” Trixie forked her creamy mashed potatoes appreciatively.
“The woman is ill and you’re fixing her dinner?” Mart quipped.
“Trixie can make stew for me any day,” Jim put in.
“The stew was delicious,” Honey insisted. “And Mrs. De Keyser is going to teach Trixie and I more recipes. Not of course, that we expect you to try them, Mart. That might be dangerous.” Her hazel eyes blinked innocently, and the rest of the group laughed—even Mart.
“I think that sounds lovely,” Mrs. Belden said. “And did you get a chance to check out the Antique Store?”
Trixie’s blue eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned forward. “Yes, we did, but Moms, that man knows about as much about antiques as he does about driving manners.”
“Driving manners?” Jim’s expression was puzzled.
“Don’t ask,” Mart advised, spearing another piece of fried chicken. “Tell me, sister dear, when exactly did you become the doyen of antiquities?”
Trixie made a face. “That word is on our list. And Honey is the doyen, not me. She knows so much more than Mr. Reid.”
Several inquiring glances were thrown Honey’s way.
“Honey does know a lot for someone her age,” Brian said after a moment.
“It’s totally weird how much that man didn’t know,” Trixie affirmed. “He couldn’t answer any of Honey’s questions, could he, Hon?”
“Well, he certainly didn’t seem to know a lot about the things I pointed out, but sometimes owners of stores aren’t experts.”
“That’s silly,” Trixie said. “How can they run things if they don’t know stuff?”
“It is more and more common,” Peter Belden observed. “We see at it at the bank regularly. It depends on their employees and partners.”
“I still think it’s strange. And I have a feeling about him.”
“A feeling?” Mart echoed.
“Trixie’s feelings are more often right than wrong,” Jim said staunchly, earning a quick look of gratitude from her
“Jim’s right,” Honey added.
Trixie nodded her head, setting her curls bouncing, and reached for another piece of chicken. “Thanks, you two. Honey and I are going to be at Mrs. De Keyser’s every other day, so I’ll have plenty of time to investigate.” She cut into the chicken and took an appreciative bite. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
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Author's Notes: My thanks to the most amazing group of editors/supporters Dana, Deanna, Susan and the bestest Vivian. And also to MaryN, whose graphics are sooo bee-yoo-ti-ful. And if you are still reading, thanks to you, too. Trixie Belden et all belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
