The Mystery in Arizona Read Online Free

time.
    “We might as well unpack our suitcases,” Trixie said dolefully. “I always did think it was too good to be true.”
    “Don’t be a Calamity Jane,” Brian ordered. “I have a hunch it’ll stop snowing before midnight.”
    But Trixie knew better. The flight would be canceled. Mr. Lynch would leave for the Coast by train. And that would be the end of their dream of a Christmas in Arizona!

All Aboard! ● 3

    WHEN TRIXIE AWOKE the next morning, she felt sure she must be dreaming. It was still as dark as night outside, but somebody was singing, very off-key:

“Saddle up, boys, and come along, too.
You know Ari-zo-na is waiting for you.”

    Trixie scrambled out of bed and dashed out into the hall, where she collided with Mart. “Don’t tell me it’s good flying weather!” she exclaimed breathlessly.
    For answer he changed his tune:

“The skies are clear; the day is bright,
Gotta cross the desert before tonight,
Gotta follow the sun where the wind blows free,
Where the rattlesnake curls round the Joshua tree—”

    “Never mind,” Trixie interrupted. “There’s no sense in singing western songs while we’re still here in Westchester County. I don’t dare look out of the window. Just answer me yes or no. Is it good flying weather?’
    Mart made a fist out of his right hand and tapped her lightly on the jaw. “Strike the tepees, squaw. We hit the trail for the airport in half an hour.” Trixie dressed as fast as she could, finished packing her suitcase, and, with it bumping behind her, dashed downstairs to the dining room.
    “Blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” Mrs. Belden announced cheerfully. “It’s the nearest I could get to flapjacks.”
    “My favorite food,” Trixie wailed, “but I’m too excited to eat a thing.”
    “That will be the day,” said Brian, handing her a plate heaped high. “Maple syrup, jam, or brown sugar?”
    Bobby appeared then in full cowboy regalia, complete with two toy six-guns. “I’ve ’tided to go, too,” he said solemnly. And with determination he added, “I haf to go.”
    Mr. Belden lifted him into his chair. “No, sir-ree. You haf to stay with us. Your mother and I would die of loneliness if all of our children left us.”
    “Don’t care,” Bobby said stormily.
    “Think about poor Santa Claus,” Trixie said quickly. “If you go with us, there won’t be anybody here to hang up his stocking on Christmas Eve.” Bobby immediately brightened. “I’ll hang up all the stockings,” he said, counting on his fat fingers. “One, two, three, four...”
    Suddenly Trixie was overcome by a premature attack of homesickness. What would Christmas Eve and Christmas Day be like in a strange, faraway state? When you were a guest at a dude ranch, did you hang up your stocking? And what would it be like to awake at dawn on Christmas Day and not run into your parents’ room shouting, “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!”
    The only time Trixie had ever been away from home for more than a day or so had been when she and Honey and Miss Trask had gone off in the Wheelers’ luxury trailer to find Jim, after he had run away from his cruel stepfather. She couldn’t remember being homesick then, but that exciting adventure had taken place during the summer. Christmas was entirely different. Christmas was when families were closer than at any other time of the year. And Christmas Eve was when you did everything you could to make little brothers like Bobby keep on believing in Santa Claus.
    Christmas without Bobby—bright-eyed and redcheeked with excitement, hoarse from singing and shouting—why it was unthinkable!
    “I don’t think I want to go, after all,” Trixie heard herself mumble. But nobody heard her because down on Glen Road someone was blasting his automobile horn.
    That would be Tom, the Wheelers’ handsome young chauffeur, who was to drive them to the airport.
    Brian heaved a loud sigh of relief. “Guess the roads are okay now. The snowplow must