Part One: Dan
Saturday, May 28, 2005
“Now, what do you know about getting past locked doors without the key?” asked Honey, having just pulled apart his private life and then good-naturedly agreed to leave it alone in future.
“What?” asked Dan, reeling from the sudden change of subject.
“I said, what do you know about picking locks?” she repeated. “As in, have you ever, is it hard and what kind of equipment do you need for it.”
For a moment, Dan’s mind refused to co-operate. There did not seem to be any legitimate reason why he should answer, yet Honey was standing there waiting, with a look of innocent inquiry on her face. “Uh, no, I haven’t,” he finally admitted. “It’s a lot harder than it looks. Back in the day, if we ever wanted to get somewhere that was locked, we’d smash something.”
“So, you’d need some kind of special equipment to open a lock without breaking it?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he replied with a nod. “If it’s a good quality lock, definitely. Older kinds you might be able to get around without much special stuff. It would take time, though, and you’d probably need to practice first.”
“How about the kind of lock that was on the summerhouse at Ten Acres?”
Dan thought for a moment. He had never spent much time on Jim’s land, and was not particularly familiar with it. “It was the old-fashioned kind, right? I think you might be able to open it if you found a key that was similar. They don’t need to be exactly the same, just close enough.”
“Thanks,” Honey replied, wandering away, apparently deep in thought. “That’s a big help, I guess.”
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
From his comfortable position in front of the television, Dan could see a good deal of what was happening in the house. He noted that Mart was raiding the refrigerator, Brian was in his room, studying, and that some sort of disagreement was happening in one of the adjoining rooms. This was all, from Dan’s point of view, quite satisfactory.
He was leaning back, stretching the muscles in his shoulders, when the peace was broken by a shriek. Jumping to his feet, he was already headed towards Jim’s room when he heard Trixie demand, at the top of her lungs, “How dare they put that here?”
The door flew open and she emerged at full speed, nearly bowling Dan over. She rushed past, unheeding. He turned his attention to Jim, who was following at a sedate pace, his face ashen.
“Is something wrong?” Dan asked, dreading the answer.
Jim nodded towards his room. “Come and see,” he invited. Dan stepped inside, then shot his friend a puzzled look as he invited him to stand on a chair. “Do you see that black spot,” Jim asked. “It’s a pin-hole camera, set into the ceiling cavity. I can’t be certain until we get it out, but I expect that it will have an audio component as well.”
At that moment, Trixie returned, holding a sheet of paper and a yellow highlighting pen. She drew them out of the room before scrawling a message. Dan read: ‘I’m going to check the whole house for those things.’ Further down the page, the message continued: ‘They must have been inside the house to do this.’
The three shared a worried look. Dan took the pen and wrote, ‘Change the locks?’ Jim shook his head. His contribution read, ‘Old-fashioned bolts – today.’
Friday, September 16, 2005
For the fifth time, Dan looked at his watch. His eyes scanned the area outside the library for any sign of his girlfriend, but she was nowhere in sight. He checked his watch once more. It was the right day, the right time and the right place, but she was definitely not here.
Maybe she slept in, he decided, and turned towards her dorm. I’ll go check if she’s still in bed. He trod the familiar path back to her building and found the right door. His knock was answered by her room mate, Karen, who looked surprised to see him.
“Shari’s not here,” she said, without any prompting. “She must have left before I woke up this morning.”
“Oh. I was thinking she maybe slept in and was running late.” Dan frowned and was about to leave, when he thought to ask, “Was she out late last night?”
The young woman’s face took on a look of concern. “I thought she was with you. I didn’t see her at all last night.”
With a growing feeling of panic, Dan asked, “And when did you last see her?”
Karen hesitated. “Maybe two or three days ago. Definitely not yesterday or today.”
“Was she here the night before last when you got home?”
Once again, there was a pause. “No, she wasn’t. I kind of wondered about that, because it was just after ten and she’s usually here by then, but I guessed she was with you.”
Dan nodded and turned to leave. The knot in the pit of his stomach had tightened to the point of pain. Hardly knowing what else to do, he headed for home, in the hope of finding Trixie. He was in luck, as she and Honey were busy working together at the computer in Trixie’s room. Sensitive Honey sprang to her feet at the first sight of him and, with a gentle hand on his arm, asked what was wrong.
“Shari’s missing,” he explained. “She missed some classes yesterday, and she wasn’t at our usual lunch place, but I thought she was just busy. Then, this morning, she was supposed to meet me outside the library but she never showed. I’ve talked to her room mate and she hasn’t seen her for a couple of days.”
“Who is Shari?” Trixie demanded.
Dan braced himself for the backlash. “My girlfriend.”
Trixie looked uncomfortable – though not in any way surprised. “She’s not just avoiding you, is she?”
“You think I didn’t consider that?” he asked, incredulous. “Why do you think I’ve left things this long? Yesterday I thought maybe she just needed some space, or she was tired and didn’t want to go to class. Now, I’m sure that something’s wrong. Are you going to help me, or not?”
“Of course we’ll help.” Trixie brushed the question aside impatiently. “When did you last see her? What was she doing? Was she her usual self?”
Dan took a moment to consider. “I walked her home the night before last at about nine-thirty. She went inside while I watched. There wasn’t anyone else around and her room mate wasn’t home. Everything was fine; she said she’d see me in class the next day. Only, according to her room mate, she wasn’t there half an hour after I left.”
The two girls shared a look. “It’s got to be related somehow, doesn’t it?” Honey murmured. “I just don’t see what the connection could possibly be, unless we’ve got everything the wrong way around again.”
“Don’t even think that,” Trixie replied. “It has to fit in somehow. We just don’t know enough, yet.” She turned to Dan. “I’ll start investigating, but if she doesn’t turn up soon, you’d better report it to the police.”
“Thanks, Trix. I appreciate it.”
Part Two: Helen
Saturday, May 28, 2005
“Moms? Dad? Can I ask you both something?” Trixie enquired, at the first moment the three of them were alone. They were sitting at the kitchen table after lunch and her brother had wandered off to some business of his own. At their agreement to her request, she continued, “I’m wondering if there’s anything strange that’s been going on that either of you know about that might have something to do with my investigation.”
Helen cast a worried glance across at Peter. For the past few weeks, she had been beginning to wonder whether this case might cause trouble for the family. Old troubles seemed ready to resurface. Hints had been coming to her, through Sleepyside’s extensive grapevine, that a certain former resident was back and seeking to cause trouble. That Trixie knew nothing of the long-buried matter, she was confident. Finally, she and her husband reached an unspoken agreement.
“I don’t think there’s anything, sweetheart,” said Peter, reaching over to pat her hand. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve been pretty thorough. I’m confident that you’ve found everything that there is to find around here.”
A chill drew up Helen’s spine as she watched her daughter. “Thanks, Dad,” she replied. “Thanks, Moms.” Rising from the table, she calmly walked away. Helen was certain, however, that she had not believed a word her father had said.
Saturday, July 9, 2005
“Peter, have you seen my grandmother’s cameo, lately?” Helen called, seeing her husband wandering past the bedroom door. “I’ve looked everywhere I can think of and can’t seem to find it.”
He thought for a moment. “I think it’s in the safe deposit box,” he decided. “We put it there when Bobby was going through his jewelry-destruction phase and I don’t think we ever retrieved it.” A look of shock crossed his face. “I forgot all about Trixie’s bracelet.”
“What bracelet?” she enquired, while returning half a dozen necklaces to her jewelry box.
“I never told you about that?” He shook his head. “Mr. Bridgeman came up to me one day and handed me a diamond bracelet that he said must have been Trixie’s. I put it in the safe deposit box and forgot all about it… what with one thing and another.”
Helen nodded, knowing the meaning of the last phrase. It worried her husband more than he cared to express what might happen in the future at the bank. When one of the other employees a number of years his junior had threatened him, he had not shown any outward sign of stress, but Helen knew that it was eating at him inside.
“She doesn’t have a diamond bracelet,” she assured him. “She certainly didn’t lose one. You’d better tell her about it, so she can return it to its rightful owner.”
“She’ll use it as evidence in her investigation,” he replied, with a slight pout. “There are things I don’t want her to know.”
“I know.” Helen nodded, slowly. “I’m not sure that I agree, though.”
Saturday, September 17, 2005
The house in Winter Rock was as quiet as Helen had ever seen it. The previous day, Dan’s girlfriend had been reported missing. Now, all of the members of the household, save Mart and Diana, were either searching or investigating. This appointment, set weeks before, was the only reason the other two were here.
“It’s too bright,” Evelyn Lynch declared, looking critically at the new nursery. “Diana, you should have taken my advice and engaged a professional decorator.”
“I think it’s beautiful, sweetheart,” Ed Lynch added, dropping a kiss onto Di’s head. “Anything else I can do for you, just let me know.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she murmured. “I think we have everything, now.”
Evelyn sniffed. “You have too many things. You don’t need all of these things for babies. Not even for twins.”
“Nothing is too good for my grandchildren,” her husband contradicted, with a laugh. “I’m just glad it’s ready in time.”
Helen kept her mouth shut, leaving the Lynches to disagree amongst themselves. She shot a glance at Peter. Never had she been more glad of the state of agreement that existed between Peter and herself than when she had seen first-hand what Diana’s situation had done to her parents’ relationship. The prospect of grandchildren had thrown Ed into a spending spree, lavishing attention and gifts on the parents-to-be. His wife still bristled with disapproval.
“Me, too,” Di replied. “I was getting a little worried.”
Mart gently patted her arm. To his mother, he seemed extremely uncomfortable. Not surprising, she reflected, considering the amount of criticism he faces every time he sees his mother-in-law.
A flinch crossed Di’s face and she rubbed the top of her belly. At once, every eye was upon her. Her mother abandoned her previous attitude and flew to her child. “What is it, darling? Are you going into labour? Is it time, already?”
“No, just a Braxton-Hicks contraction,” Di replied, with tears welling in her eyes. A lone tear spilled down her cheek. “For a minute I thought you actually cared.”
“Of course I care,” Evelyn breathed. “I care so much about you. That’s why I didn’t want you in this situation. I wanted so much better for you than this. I was so angry with you, for throwing away your future. But I do care. Please, remember that.”
Awkwardly, Di embraced her mother and the tears flowed.
Part Three: Peter
Wednesday March 30, 2005
“Do you have a minute, Peter?” a voice asked, from behind the frosted glass partition, as Peter Belden passed. He recognised the speaker as a long-time colleague and one of the bank’s business specialists, Brad Stanley. “I need a second set of eyes to spot the error here.”
“Sure,” he replied, passing through the security door and entering the small space, where business clients could discuss their financial affairs in relative privacy. The other man waved him towards a seat. “What’s the problem?”
Brad slid a few sheets of paper across the desk, briefly outlining the situation. Peter’s brows came together as he studied the figures. His concentration broke as the heavy street door to the bank swung open with force. Through the frosted glass, he could make out the figure of a man. His voice, loud and demanding, came to the pair as clearly as if they had been right next to him: “I want to see Peter Belden, and I want to see him right now!”
With a shake of his head, Brad indicated that he thought his old friend should stay still. “I’ll check it out,” he whispered. “You stay here.”
“No,” Peter disagreed. “I think I know who that is. I’d better go and see him, or he’ll make a scene.”
“We both know who that is. That’s the sorest loser in all of Sleepyside and the man who hates your guts just because you were the one to tell him that the bank was foreclosing on his loan.”
Peter shook his head. “There’s a lot more to it than that and you know it.”
“All the more reason why I should check it out.”
From the other side of the partition, a young teller was insisting that Mr. Belden was not at his desk and that the man would be best advised to leave a message. Peter took a deep breath and stepped out into the foyer.
“I’m here, Frank,” he said, quietly. The angry man turned. Cold blue eyes looked out of a haggard face. Peter knew this man to be a few years younger than himself, but the years had not been kind. “How about we step outside and let everyone else get on with their business?”
The other man let out a humourless laugh. From an inside pocket of his well-cut suit, he drew out a fat cigar and took his time about lighting it. “I don’t think so. What I came to say, I want everyone to hear.” Blowing a stream of smoke in the direction of a ‘No Smoking’ sign, he laughed in the same manner as before. “You’re going down, Belden, and it’s what you deserve. You don’t deserve to work here, or to own that high-priced lump of dirt. Soon, you’re going to get what’s coming to you and I want everyone to know it when you do.”
Without another word, the man turned on his heels and walked out of the bank. There was an embarrassed pause, then the place slowly returned to normal. Peter walked back towards his friend’s cubicle, only to find it empty. He was on his way to his own desk when he noticed Brad conversing with the bank president, presumably on the situation which had just unfolded.
“His name is Frank Mitchell,” he was saying. “He defaulted on a mortgage about eight or ten years ago and Peter was the one to tell him that we were foreclosing. It was a large loan, relative to the value of the land, and he was a long way behind on the repayments. It took some time to find a buyer and we only just covered our costs. He makes a scene like that every year or two. Once, when Peter wasn’t here, he had to be escorted from the premises.”
“By the sounds of things, the situation just now was well-handled,” the bank president told Peter, drawing him into the conversation. “I appreciate cool heads in a crisis.”
Peter thanked the man and the three went their separate ways. Alone at his desk, Peter drew a tattered piece of paper out of his wallet and looked at it for a long time. Old debts, he thought, as he tucked it away. Sooner or later, we all have to pay them.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Peter was in the midst of reflecting that it was a usual, peaceful Friday afternoon at the First National Bank of Sleepyside when a voice yelled, “You can’t do this!” and startling him considerably. The angry male continued, “You owe me a promotion, not a one-way trip out of the building!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair. We don’t owe you anything.” The bank president’s voice was firm, but quiet. Peter imagined that the conversation must be happening very close by for him to be able to hear it. “You can escort him out, now.”
Peter kept his head down, knowing from first-hand experience the indignity of being fired from a bank. He heartily disliked Corey Sinclair, but he would pay him the courtesy of pretending not to notice his departure. Guiltily, he reflected that his job was probably a lot safer with that objectionable young man gone.
Part Four: Trixie
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The streets of Winter Rock still had a sleepy, summery feel to them as Trixie wandered home from work. Business had been slow and she had spent the afternoon unpacking boxes and shelving books. She felt dusty and tired and ready to slump in front of the television.
At the edge of her vision, a head of blonde curls caught her eye. On the opposite side of the street, a young woman was walking quickly. With instant certainty, Trixie knew that this was the girl who had been impersonating her and causing so much trouble.
The slim figure slipped through the sparse shoppers. Trixie glanced at the passing traffic, looking for an opportunity to cross. A cluster of cars passed, causing her to step back onto the pavement. Across the street, the woman was still in sight, but rapidly getting away. Trixie darted down her own side of the street, trying to keep pace while still looking for a chance to cross. A huge greyhound bus lumbered past, blocking her view. In its wake, Trixie made it to the opposite pavement, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.
Damn, damn, damn! she thought, heading for the last place she had seen her. Where did she go? She can’t be too far away. A narrow alleyway came into view and Trixie decided to take a chance and follow it. It emerged at the rear of the buildings in a loading dock, with a laneway extending to the left. Looking around desperately, she just managed to catch some movement to the right.
On closer inspection, Trixie found a small gap in the fence which separated this property from the next. It was too narrow to admit Trixie’s sturdy frame and the fence too high for her to see where the other girl had gone. Stomping with frustration, she dragged a derelict packing case across and stood on it to get a better view of the other side.
The neighbouring property was evidently something of a junk yard, the second-hand goods in the store overflowing onto the small patch of land at the rear. Rough sheds lined the boundaries, each filled with disreputable old furniture, old doors and windows, household goods and other miscellany. From here, it was impossible to tell whether there was another narrow gap through which her quarry might have escaped. In any case, there was no point in continuing the chase.
Trixie remained still, watching, while peeking out from behind a rusty, old refrigerator. Her patience was rewarded when the slim blonde emerged from her hiding place across the yard and slunk across to the back of the store. With barely a glance over her bony shoulder, she skipped up the flight of rickety stairs and used a key to open the door at the top.
At least I now know where you live, Trixie thought, climbing down from the packing case. Now, I just need to plan my next move.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
“Does any of you own this?” Jim called, to the general populace, as he walked through the house. No one seemed willing to own up.
“What is it?” Brian asked, stepping closer. The large bottle had no label, and was filled with a clear liquid. A plastic funnel was resting over the lid.
“I don’t know,” Jim replied. He took off the child-proof cap, after a short struggle, and passed his hand over the opening to get a whiff of any vapours.
“Whew!” said Brian, waving the foul-smelling fumes away. “It’s toluene – a paint thinner that’s used in the automotive industry; very flammable, not to mention being a carcinogen. You’d better take it outside. We really don’t want it in the house.”
His friend nodded and headed for the door. Over his shoulder, he called, “If the owner doesn’t own up by this time tomorrow, it’ll be gone!”
Something about the incident started alarm bells ringing in Trixie’s brain. Thoughts began to chase each other through her head, jumbling together in wild confusion. Absentmindedly, she picked up an object from the floor next to her and began to fiddle. The plastic bangle had probably been left by one of Di’s sisters, who had visited recently. Its hollow centre was filled with fluid and glitter. As it turned in Trixie’s fingers, the shiny fragments tumbled and sparkled.
“A tube,” she murmured, aloud. “Where did I see a tube?” For some reason, it seemed important. She remembered, suddenly, a day spent in the garden. Somewhere in the yard, she had seen a piece of plastic tubing. Jumping up, she raced outside. The bangle, slipping from nerveless fingers, bounced away and rolled under the sofa.
Once in the yard, she raced back and forth, unable to remember the exact location. Sighing with frustration, she headed back inside, nearly colliding with Jim. “Did you see it?” she demanded, taking hold of his shirt collar. “Do you do something with it?”
“If you’d like to tell me what you’re talking about, I might be able to answer that.”
“A plastic tube,” she yelled. “There was a plastic tube in the yard somewhere. Do you know where it is?”
Jim shook his head. “I remember seeing it, too, but I don’t remember where.” He thought for a moment. “I think it might have been the weekend your brother and Di’s brothers visited us; I remember seeing it when we were doing the yard work with Bobby. Was it in the area where we were pruning?”
She shook her head. “And the paint thinner definitely wasn’t yours.” He did not bother to respond. “Okay, I think that’s all I need from you.”
Trixie released her hold on her boyfriend and rushed away through the house. She snatched up the telephone and dialled her parents’ number, barely pausing for a greeting before demanding to speak to her younger brother. “Did you see a plastic tube lying around the weekend you visited us?” she asked, as soon as she heard his voice on the line.
“Might’ve,” he mumbled. “I don’t know.”
“Bobby!” she chided. “I’m not asking if you stole it; just tell me if you saw it.”
“I don’t know, Trix,” he whimpered. “I don’t remember anything much about it.”
Her voice rose in frustration. “Tell me!” she cried. Hearing his frightened intake of breath, she softened her tone with an effort. “Please, Bobby! It’s terribly important.”
“Uh, I think it was behind the house; kind of in the garden,” he stammered. “Near where that bench is. We thought it was a hula hoop, but it was just a kind of tube, or plastic hose. We just left it there, I think.”
“You didn’t move it at all?” she demanded.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You didn’t touch it? None of you touched it, did you?”
“No. We just left it there. I told you already.” His voice had become truculent.
The phone clattered to the table and she ran outside to check. A quick look confirmed that the tube was still in place. Returning to the telephone, she found that her brother was impatiently waiting for her.
“It’s still there,” she told him, beginning to pace, despite the restraint of the phone cord. “You know what this means, don’t you?” She continued, oblivious to his obvious dissent. “It means that this whole part of the plan was abandoned for some reason – that, or they left everything in place for another attempt after the first one went wrong.”
“They did?” Hearing her brother’s confusion, she realised what she was doing and made an excuse to end the call.
Feeling deeply distressed by the whole situation, she sought out Honey and practically dragged her into her room. “I think we had a pretty lucky escape,” Trixie admitted, flopping onto her bed. “I just can’t figure out why. Something really bad must have gone wrong, otherwise why didn’t they go ahead?”
“I don’t see,” her friend replied, slowly. She turned the computer chair to face her friend and gracefully took a seat. “What, exactly, do you think they were doing with the paint thinner?”
Trixie shrugged. “I’m still not exactly sure. It’s just that when I thought about the paint thinner and that tube in the garden, I got an idea about feeding the tube through a hole somewhere and using it to pour the paint thinner inside, without actually getting in.” Her head dropped back and she gazed up towards the ceiling. Her eyes focussed on something. “Like that hole, there.” She jumped to her feet and poked at a circular patch, almost an inch across, which had been painted the same colour as the wall. “Into my room! They were going to set the fire right here!”
Her friend gasped. “You mean, they meant to burn the house down? Maybe, even, with us inside?” The initial shock must have worn off a little, because she frowned and queried, “How would they have set it alight?”
“Oh.” It was Trixie’s turn to frown. She snapped her fingers. “How about some kind of electronic device? If someone was outside, they could use some kind of remote control to set it off, after they’d actually left the scene.”
“Wouldn’t we have found it when we searched the place for surveillance equipment yesterday?” Honey asked.
“Maybe not. All kinds of things have a remote control. We might not have noticed.” She got up and began to pace. “That still doesn’t explain why they didn’t finish it. What could have happened to stop them? It must have been something big.”
“Like being killed?” Honey suggested, with a shiver. “Andrew King was looking at our house and someone hit him on the head. What if he was involved? Not the person doing the bit with the tube and the paint thinner, of course, but controlling everything, somehow.”
A light went on in Trixie’s head. “And I just remembered: Jim’s second impostor got away from Brian by running into a warehouse owned by an automotive respray company. Brian said that paint thinner was used on cars.”
The two girls shared a look. Trixie murmured, “If Andrew King hadn’t been hit on the head…” They had all been in the house at the time. The result might have been disastrous.
Friday, September 16, 2005
“I can’t wait to hear what everyone thinks about the new site design,” said Trixie, with a sly look at her best friend. The two were working together at Trixie’s computer, preparing a big update for Trixie’s site. Underneath the banner, which now read ‘The Joy Lunch Club’, instead of ‘Trixie’s John and Lucy Page’, was an announcement of a new author.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Honey added. “I mean, really, Trixie, who would want to read about Lucy and Doug, when in the books she’s with John?”
Trixie shrugged and kept her eyes on the screen. “You’ll find out soon. I think I’m ready to upload it now.” Her fingers brushed against the metal case of the computer and she drew a sharp breath. “Darn static,” she muttered. “The sooner I can afford a new computer, the better.” Resuming her previous task, she prepared to update the site.
“Wait!” her friend cried. “I’m not ready. Can’t we wait a week or two; how about next month?”
A gentle knock sounded at the door. At Trixie’s invitation, it swung open to reveal Dan, his face frozen into an expressionless mask. Sensitive Honey sprang to her feet at the first sight of him and, with a gentle hand on his arm, asked what was wrong.
“Shari’s missing,” he explained.
Over the next several minutes, the three talked over the situation, with the conclusion that the girls would begin an investigation. Finally, Dan left to give the matter his own consideration.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Trixie grabbed her best friend by the arm. “Go and get changed into something nondescript,” she whispered. “I’ve got a plan!”
Not waiting for a response, she tore towards her room and began to wildly rummage through her clothes. A few minutes later, she emerged wearing a faded pair of jeans and a soft, old T-shirt, which had originally been navy blue. The worn rubber treads of her shoes would hardly make a sound.
Honey, apparently, was still dressing. Itching with impatience, Trixie tapped on the door and walked right in, causing the other girl to jump. “Don’t do that,” she complained, but without much conviction. She finished lacing her shoes and stood. “So, where are we going to look first?”
“I’ll show you.” She grabbed Honey by the arm once again and practically dragged her out of the house. “The place I saw the girl who’s been impersonating me. It’s the obvious place! From the street, no one would even know there was anything there. Probably the only place you can see it from is the place where I was standing, and I had to stand on a box to see it.”
The two raced out of the house and started up the hill towards the main street. Nearing the top, Trixie suddenly slowed her pace. “We need to look natural,” she whispered, in response to her friend’s inquisitive look. “We’re just going for a casual stroll, okay?”
Honey gave a quick nod, falling into step. They moved past the last few houses at a sedate pace and entered the business precinct. Everything seemed exactly as usual as they wandered past shops and offices. The nicer part of town was left behind, as they approached their destination. Honey gave an involuntary shiver when an ill-dressed old man leaned forward to leer at her. She shrank closer to Trixie, and asked whether they were almost there, yet.
“Just up ahead,” her friend responded. “See that junk shop there? It’s upstairs; the door is around the back.”
They stepped over the dusty front step and into the dimness of the store. Junk of all descriptions crowded for a place in the maze-like interior. Old furniture, piled high with crockery, car parts and old magazines, shared the space with industrial off-casts. There was no sign of anyone working in the store. A few minutes’ searching brought them to the rear door, which looked out into the cluttered yard.
“Around here,” Trixie whispered, leading her friend around to the right. “Watch your step!”
They tiptoed to the top of a flight of stairs, half-concealed by a massive pile of old doors and windows. The door at the top stood ajar. The two girls shared a glance, before Trixie gingerly pushed it open.
Inside, the blonde girl was lying face upwards on the floor of the tiny, scantly furnished room. With enormous relief, the girls noticed that her chest still rose and fell, though with an unsteady rhythm.
“For a minute, I thought she was dead,” Honey breathed, kneeling beside the unconscious form. “Do you think she’s asleep?”
Trixie picked up a small bottle from a pile on the floor and read its label. “If she took all these, I doubt it,” she replied. She stepped over to the table, where a note could be seen. “Quick, Honey! We need to call an ambulance. She’s trying to kill herself!”
At once, Honey sprang into action. “I’ll call,” she decided. “Oh, wait. How will I tell them the address? I’ll go outside and check.”
As she raced back down the stairs, Trixie took the opportunity to examine the young woman on the floor. With a tentative finger, she managed to open the girl’s mouth, which spilled forth a handful of tablets. Screwing up her nose, Trixie checked for any more and removed a couple which remained.
Unable to think of anything more to help the victim, she began to check the contents of the room. Against the wall opposite the door was an unmade bed, its dirty and threadbare covers lying askew. A moment’s search revealed nothing. The space underneath was occupied only by dust and cobwebs. To the left, a disreputable chest of drawers held a scant collection of clothes; its top was littered with rubbish, among which Trixie found a number of pawn-shop receipts. To the right of the bed was the table which held the suicide note. Finding nothing else of value, Trixie returned to read it again.
Her brow furrowed as she tried to decipher the shaky writing. In the distance, she could hear the wail of a siren. Is that ‘I can’t live with the things I’ve done’? she wondered. ‘I didn’t know what it was when I started. I wouldn’t’ve done it if I knew she was going to make me kidnap people’ - does she mean Shari? – ‘so I’m ending it all. I didn’t know that she was working for that man. I didn’t want to hand her over to him but he made me do it. I’m so sorry – Morgan.’ I guess that’s her name. Glancing back at her, Trixie noticed something shiny around the girl’s neck. She pushed back a fold of the girl’s shirt to reveal a necklace of delicate gold. ‘Morgan’ – It must be, Trixie decided.
The siren, which had been steadily approaching, cut out. Trixie knew that she had only a few more moments to investigate before the opportunity evaporated. Seeing nothing else in the room which could be searched, she turned to the girl’s pockets, most of which turned out to be empty. Heavy footsteps were sounding on the stairs as she slipped a hand into the last one. A scrap of crumpled paper emerged, just as the paramedics were reaching the top of the stairs. With barely time for more than a glance, Trixie returned it and made as if she was checking the patient.
A short time later, the unconscious girl was on her way to the hospital, while Trixie and Honey slowly walked home. Honey let out a sigh. “In all the excitement,” she said, “I didn’t have time to even think about searching. There could have been millions of clues, right under our noses and we wouldn’t know.”
“I did search a little,” Trixie admitted. “The only really interesting thing, apart from the suicide note, was a paper she had in her pocket, with a name on it: Michael King, and his cell phone number. I’m more worried about something else we didn’t find: we didn’t find Shari.”
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
“I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid!” Trixie cried, stomping into Honey’s bedroom and throwing herself on the bed, much to Honey’s surprise. “It’s all related.” Sliding down onto the floor, she drew out the much-amended and highlighted list of mysterious happenings and attacked it with another highlighter. “The bank and the other stuff in Sleepyside and everything that happened here.”
“Everything?” Honey asked, with trepidation.
Her friend paused. “Well, not about my mother being pregnant,” she admitted, scratching that line out with a pen. “And not about your aunt’s car accident, either, or your Aunt Vera.” She deleted those entries as well, using so much force on Aunt Vera’s name that the pen went right through. Trixie frowned and shoved it back into her pocket.
“Anyway,” she continued, “we were thinking that the stuff at the bank wasn’t connected because Mart said it wasn’t, only now I think that the suspicious part happened before my misguided almost-twin stuck his nose in it. We were more right before.”
Honey thought for a moment. “So, we really needed to find someone who has a grudge against your father and my father and the Bob-Whites.” She frowned. “So, how does this reflect on the situation with Shari?”
“It makes it even harder to understand,” Trixie sighed. To the best of her knowledge, the police had not been able to get any useful information from the girl, Morgan. The only advantage of the situation was that they were now taking the case more seriously. “Unless, Shari knew something that we don’t. Somewhere she’d been, or someone she knows?”
“Maybe we should ask Dan again,” Honey suggested. “Did we ask him where they’d been recently? Like where they’d been before he walked her home that night?”
“No, we didn’t.” Trixie scrambled to her feet and headed for the door. “Let’s go and find him now.”
In a few moments, they had traced Dan to the kitchen, where he was fixing an afternoon snack. To Trixie’s blunt question, he replied, “We took a walk, then got something to eat at Joe’s Pizza.”
“Where did you walk?” Trixie asked, breathlessly.
He considered. “Up a road that goes past the college, then along a path at the end of it, up to the top of the cliffs.”
“You walked all that way?” Honey demanded. “And I thought it was bad enough when I went with Trixie and we drove to the end of the road.”
“Nice view, though,” he answered, with a shrug. “Now, if there isn’t anything else, I’ve got things to do.”
“Just one more thing,” Trixie added. “How far did you go? Did you stop when you got to that first place where you can see the view?”
“No, we followed the cliff edge all the way along.”
“How long, exactly, did this so-called walk take?” Honey asked, in disbelief.
“Most of the day,” he replied, with a shrug. He gave a short, bitter laugh at her look of disbelief. “So, we cut classes for the day. It was sunny and nice and Shari wanted to get outside. Now, will you leave me alone? I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast and I need to get back out there and look for her.”
“Show us where you went,” Trixie pleaded. “I think this may be important.”
An hour later, the three stood in the spot that Dan had taken his girlfriend only a few days before. The view was little different than at the place where Trixie and Honey had sat, about six months previously.
“I don’t get it,” Trixie muttered, sitting down on the edge of a large rock. “This is the place?” She wriggled backwards and drew her knees up under her chin. “How long did you stay here?”
“Couple of hours, I guess,” Dan replied, looking uncomfortable. “We sat down, where you are now.”
“You didn’t walk around up here at all?”
He shook his head. “Nope. We stayed right here until it was time to go back, then we went back the way we came.”
“You can see our house from here,” Honey pointed out. “Much better than we could from further back, too.”
Trixie nodded, absently. “I’m going to take a look around.” For fifteen minutes, she wandered the area but without result. Nothing stood out as out of place. Finally, she had to admit that the glimmering of an idea she had experienced when hearing of the outing had been incorrect.
“Okay, I think it’s time to go back,” she admitted. “But drop me off at the bottom of the cliff. I want to take a look around down there and I’ll make my own way home.”
Saturday October 8, 2005
At seven o’clock in the morning, Trixie stood at her best friend’s bedroom door, fully dressed and ready to take another look at the case. She took little notice of the bleary-eyed frown that Honey threw in her direction, simply leading the other girl towards the dining table, where breakfast was well underway.
“Eat up,” Trixie ordered, pushing Honey into a chair. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today. You’ll need the energy.”
“You sound like your mother,” Honey grumbled, while still doing as she was told. “It’s too early. I don’t feel like eating. There’ll be plenty of time later.”
“There won’t,” Trixie disagreed with a grin. “Trust me.”
Honey rolled her eyes, but continued to take a small portion of oatmeal. A few minutes later, she rose gracefully and excused herself from the table. The two girls returned to Honey’s room and settled comfortably on the bed.
“I’ve been thinking,” Trixie began, without preamble, “that we’re missing something really obvious. I think we should go over everything we’ve got, all over again. Have you finished making the lists of suspects?”
Honey withdrew the documents she had prepared from the neat sanctuary of her desk and laid them on the covers. “I suppose these are our main suspects,” Honey explained, sliding one sheet away from the rest. “These are people who came into contact with either your family or mine while we were on a case, but who are on the loose at the moment.”
Trixie frowned. “How many of them came into close contact with both of our families,” she asked. “Especially ones who came in contact with Dan.”
“Well, none, really,” her friend admitted. “In fact, even if we include all of the people who we know are in jail, or otherwise unavailable, there’s not really anyone who would want to get at both of our families, whether they knew Dan, or not.”
With a sigh of frustration, the other girl shuffled through the papers. A moment later, her head popped up. “What did you mean by ‘otherwise unavailable’?”
Honey had the grace to look embarrassed. “I meant deceased. There are a couple of criminals we came across who have since passed away – Pierre Lontard, for one. I don’t think he will be bothering us from beyond the grave.” She watched her friend brood over the lists, a pre-occupied frown on her face. From the depths of her pocket, she produced the crumpled and much-highlighted list of mysterious events.
She scratched at it for a minute or two with her pen, before realising that much of the page was now illegible. “Stupid list.” She balled it up and threw it to the furthest corner of the room. Honey watched the proceedings with a raised eyebrow, but did not comment.
“But this just doesn’t make sense!” Trixie suddenly cried, making her best friend jump. “It’s like whoever it is wants everyone to suffer – my parents, your parents, all the Bob-Whites. I can’t see anyone who would want to hurt all of us! We’ve run out of suspects, but the problems keep coming.”
She cast a look of despair at the lists of names that Honey had so carefully compiled, with the neat annotations of potential motives and current locations, where known. Over the years, the Bob-Whites had solved so many mysteries that the list of villains they had helped put away was formidable.
Honey’s face showed her deep concern. “Are you sure we’re looking for just one person?” she asked.
“No, but if it’s more than one of these people, how will we ever find out which? Do you have any idea how many combinations that would be?”
“I think you have to multiply the number of suspects with one less than that, then add-”
“I didn’t mean literally!” Trixie laughed. “I mean, it’s too much. We need some other kind of clue.”
“Either that, or we’re missing the right suspect altogether. Maybe it’s someone who just wants to hurt your father and my father and not have anything to do with a past case. All of the troubles we’re going through might be because we’re their children.”
With a suddenness that sent shivers up her spine, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place for Trixie. Certain incidents took on greater significance and she jumped up in her excitement. “Honey! It’s all there! Just think: your Dad’s business and my Dad’s job; their properties; they’ve even been using Ten Acres, which is Jim’s property; they were watching this property, too; they tried to sell this property; they used my grandfather’s will against my brothers. The rest of it doesn’t matter. Those things tell us what it’s all about.”
“I don’t think I see,” Honey said, slowly.
“You will,” her friend promised. “We need some documents and I think your father will be able to get them for us.”
The end was in sight for Trixie as she raced for the telephone, her best friend trailing along behind.