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had seen the thief and scared him into getting rid of the evidence. We found the checks today.” Max blinked at her. “You found the checks?” Trixie nodded.
    Max pursed his lips. “Guess you’re on the right track, then. Someone must have scared him into getting rid of them. But it couldn’t have been here. Maybe someone hasn’t told the police what they saw.”
    “Maybe,” Trixie murmured.
    Max eyed her. “Why are you interested in the stolen checks?”
    Trixie wasn’t so sure anymore. She didn’t want to mention her suspicion about the arson attempt. “Honey Wheeler and I are going to have our own detective agency someday,” she said. “Well, thanks for your help.”
    Max shrugged. “What help?”
    “You pointed me in a new direction,” Trixie said. “Thanks again.”
    Brian looked at her, curious, as they went back to the station wagon.
    “Let’s go see Charles Hartman,” Trixie said. “Are you sure you want to?” Brian asked. “If Sergeant Molinson finds out that you’ve been—”
    “I just want to meet Mr. Hartman,” Trixie said unconvincingly. “After all, his was the first check we found.”
    Brian shook his head. “Okay. But be careful what you say.”
    Minutes later, Trixie and Brian were standing on the Hartmans’ porch. A cheerful-looking white-haired lady, leaning on a cane, answered the door. The Beldens introduced themselves.
    “How nice to have someone calling,” Mrs. Hartman said. “Do come in.”
    “I hope we’re not disturbing you,” Trixie said. “Not at all, not at all. I was just watching television. I can’t do much of anything else these days. One of those soap operas, where they suffer and suffer—makes me thankful for how blessed I am.” She made her way across the neat living room to turn off the TV.
    “Oh, don’t,” Trixie protested. “You’ll miss some of the story.”
    “It’ll be easy to pick up tomorrow or the next day.” Mrs. Hartman chuckled. “It’ll drag out for weeks. They never solve their problems quickly.”
    A step sounded on the porch. Mrs. Hartman turned toward the door. “Charley, come in. We’ve got visitors. Wipe your feet first.”
    “Do I dare forget?” Charles Hartman came into the room with a smile. Unlike his wife, he stood erect and was lean and catlike. Only his white hair betrayed his age.
    “I was out back chopping wood,” he said. “Heard you drive up, so I thought I’d be nosy.” He winked. “I have to check up on who might be calling on my beautiful bride.”
    “Charley!” Mrs. Hartman blushed. She spoke happily to Trixie and Brian. “Nearly fifty years we’ve been married. He still acts like it was yesterday.”
    “That’s beautiful,” Trixie said.
    “She’s beautiful,” Hartman corrected, looking at his wife.
    Trixie felt guilty. The Hartmans were a cheerful, charming couple. They weren’t the type to withhold information from the police. Still, though, Mr. Hartman s check had been the last one stolen....
    “Well,” Trixie began as they all sat down, “we’re sort of friends of Mrs. Elliot’s. We—our family, I mean—have known Mrs. Elliot for a long time. We were there visiting yesterday. Since her husband died, Mrs. Elliot has been having a hard time with her flower business, so it’s a good thing that her Social Security check—”
    Trixie stopped. Charles Hartman was regarding her with steady, probing steel blue eyes. She floundered and forgot what she was trying to say.
    “Young lady,” Charles Hartman said bluntly, “quit circling around like a buzzard and get to the point.”
    “Charley!” his wife admonished.
    “Be quiet, sweetheart,” he said, still looking at Trixie. “This isn’t just a casual social visit. This young lady is after something. Well?” he asked Trixie.
    Trixie wished she could dig a hole and get into it. “We—I mean, I was wondering... on the day that the Social Security checks were stolen... if you told Sergeant Molinson—”
    “I told him I