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the bottom of the lake. They were in a bag, weighted with that stone.”
    “Oh!” Molinson grunted.
    Jim grinned. “You can change in the boathouse, Sergeant. I’ll dig out a pair of trunks.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” Molinson said. Trixie thought that this would be a good opportunity for her to confirm her suspicions, while Molinson was off guard. “Someone along Glen Road must have seen the checks being stolen,” she said. “That’s probably why they were tossed in the lake, to get rid of incriminating evidence. When we find out who—”
    “Nobody saw anything,” Molinson said curtly, cutting her off. “My officers questioned everyone along Glen Road after the checks were reported stolen. And what do you mean by ‘ we ‘ young lady?”
    Trixie gulped. “There must be some reason why the checks were thrown away instead of being cashed,” she said.
    “Of course,” Molinson said noncommittally. Trixie waited, but he didn’t continue. He carefully gathered the envelopes. “Suppose you show me exactly where you found these.”
    “Out there, sir.” Jim pointed toward the opposite side of the lake. “I’ll row you out.” Molinson eyed the rowboat and shook his head. “I’ll drive around. One of you come with me.” He nodded at Jim.
    “Better take Trixie,” Jim suggested. “She was the one who found them. She can show you where they were, and maybe you can get some idea about where they were thrown in.” Molinson hesitated.
    Brian spoke up. “I’ll drive Trixie around in the club car.”
    “Okay,” Molinson said.
    As they walked up to the garage, Trixie muttered to Brian, “What’s the big idea? I wanted to see if he’d tell me any more about how his investigation’s coming.”
    “I know,” Brian admitted.
    “Then why?”
    Brian stopped and faced Trixie. “Because there’s a police rule against a male officer transporting a woman in a police car without having a policewoman as an escort.”
    Trixie protested. “But that doesn’t apply to—
    Brian smiled at her. “You’re not a little girl anymore, sis. You’re a young woman.”
    Trixie stared at him. He wasn’t kidding.
    “Gee, thanks... I think.”
    A few minutes later, Brian parked the B.W.G. station wagon behind the police car at the edge of Glen Road.
    “Let’s not rile the sergeant by tramping all over his evidence,” he advised. “Let’s wait until he asks us to get out.”
    Rain and traffic in the past ten days had destroyed any possible indication that a car might have stopped along the road near the lake. Sergeant Molinson scanned the area carefully, then began walking slowly toward the lake. He beckoned for Brian and Trixie to follow.
    At the water’s edge, Trixie pointed to the spot where she had found the bag of checks. Molinson mumbled that the bag had probably been tossed there with an underhand throw.
    A search of the shore revealed nothing.
    Molinson gave Trixie a wry look. “It’s not like television, where there are clues all around, just waiting to be noticed. Real detective work isn’t so quick and easy.”
    Trixie raised her eyebrows. “But it’s exciting anyway,” she declared.
    Molinson snorted. “You call this exciting? Listen: Stick to television, kid.”
    That stung. Trixie didn’t feel as grown-up as she had a few minutes before.
    “Whoever threw those checks in certainly didn’t expect them to be found,” Molinson went on. “And I do owe you my thanks for that. But I don’t think finding the checks will solve anything.”
    Back in the station wagon, Trixie motioned for Brian not to start the engine. “Let Sergeant Molinson leave first,” she said.
    “What’s up?” Brian asked, puzzled. They watched as the police car headed back to Sleepyside.
    Trixie opened the glove compartment and removed a pad and pencil, “Help me remember as many names as we can from those checks,” she said.
    “The names were all in last week’s paper,” Brian reminded her. “We can go back