In the previous two parts, an unexpected change of plans allowed Trixie to accompany Jim on a trip north. Soon after arriving, she noticed suspicious happenings next door and discovered a fresh grave. Her investigations of the unfortunate victim took her back to Sleepyside for the day and this part picks up with her return trip.

Part Three

Half an hour before reaching her destination, Trixie decided that she simply had to make a stop. She noticed a sign on the side of the road for a picnic ground and gratefully turned the car towards it. Pulling up in the shadow of a large evergreen, she quickly got out, locked the vehicle and headed for the amenities. A few minutes later, feeling a lot more comfortable, she decided to take a short walk and stretch her legs before resuming her journey.

Aimlessly, she wandered around the grassy area for a few minutes, before coming across a tiny path leading off into the patch of heavily-wooded land beyond. Her curiosity was piqued, and she set off. Without a conscious decision, Trixie found herself tiptoeing. She had almost convinced herself that she was being silly, and that there was no one around to hear her on this secret little path, when she heard a woman’s throaty laugh.

She stopped short, certain in the knowledge that she was about to interrupt a rendezvous, and started to turn around. In doing so, she caught a glimpse of the hidden pair, and something about them caught her attention. Pushing down the guilty feeling that she should not be looking, she turned her head back and forth until she found an angle with a better view. Through little gaps in the undergrowth, she could just make out a woman’s hand caressing bare flesh, and that hand was adorned with long, red-enamelled nails.

“It won’t be like this for long,” Trixie heard the woman promise in low tones. “When the divorce comes through, and I have my share, we won’t have to pretend any more.”

“I don’t see why we have to pretend now,” the man grumbled, his voice stirring faint memories of recognition for Trixie. “There is such a thing as no-fault divorce.”

The tone of the next remark sent shivers up Trixie’s spine. “I rather like my role as ‘victim.’” the woman purred. “It serves Reg right to be viewed by the whole of his precious home-town as a nasty cheating bastard, and if it does my case for a bigger share of the assets any good, all the better.”

“Is he really cheating?” the man asked.

The woman laughed. “When would he have the time? He spends every free moment searching for the treasure – as if it actually exists. I’m nearly certain of that now, otherwise I’d stay and snatch that away from him, too.”

“You’d do better to leave that alone,” the man replied, sounding angry. He scrambled to his feet. “You have no claim to it.”

As the sounds of his movements reached her, Trixie felt an urgency to escape from the situation, even as the woman soothed him back down again. The last thing she needed right now was for the couple to discover her. With steps as light and as rapid as she could manage, she returned to the picnic ground, then raced across the grass to her car. Just as she was about to get inside, a frown crossed her face. How did they get here? she wondered, looking around for any other cars. Her sharp eyes caught sight of some shiny bodywork a short distance away and, with a glance back towards the tiny path, she decided to take a chance and investigate.

The black Jaguar was almost completely hidden by the thick bushes on the other side of the road. A quick glance at the plates confirmed Trixie’s suspicions of its owner. The second vehicle – and she assumed that there must be another, for they could not risk arriving together – was too well-hidden, or too far away, for Trixie to discover in the few minutes that she could spare.

Slightly disappointed, but reluctant to risk staying any longer, Trixie got back into her car and headed for home. As she drove, she wondered about the things she had heard. She knew that voice from somewhere, but where?

“Hey, Olivia,” Trixie greeted, as she entered the office at opening time the next morning. “Can you take a look at some pictures for me, please? I need some names to go with faces.”

“Sure,” the other woman agreed, holding out her hand. “Who am I identifying?”

Over the next few minutes, Trixie jotted names on the back of the prints using a soft pencil. Many of the visitors, of course, were from out of town. Others, though local, were not known to Olivia, except by sight. They received descriptions such as ‘Lady with the disobedient dog,’ ‘Man from the blue house,’ and ‘Some kind of official; probably retired.’ When finally, they reached the last few shots, Trixie held her breath.

“That’s strange,” the receptionist murmured, staring at the photographs. “Why would he be there? And why does he look so upset?”

“He wasn’t there for the funeral,” Trixie explained, watching her friend closely. “He came after everyone else had left and stayed about ten minutes.” A moment later, she added, “So, who is he?”

“My uncle,” said Olivia, still sounding stunned. “His name is Eugene Dickson… But, wait. This really doesn’t make sense. I didn’t know he even knew her all that well.”

Trixie took a breath, to calm herself. “Is there someone you could call?” she asked, breathlessly.

The other woman nodded, picked up the phone and dialled a number that she obviously knew by heart. Trying to be tactful, Trixie stepped away, but not so far that she couldn’t hear the conversation. It was not, however, enlightening. A few minutes later, the conversation ended and the young receptionist faced her, blushing slightly.

“I don’t want to repeat what my mother just told me,” Olivia murmured, avoiding Trixie’s curious gaze. “Let’s just say that Uncle Eugene did know Mrs. Hill.”

What is she trying to say? Trixie wondered, racking her brain for a method of getting the information she needed. Are they ashamed of the association? Is it a secret? A business rivalry? Something more personal? Aloud, she said, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not trying to get at your family secrets, or anything.” Turning, she made as if to leave.

“Wait!” cried Olivia. “It’s not that, exactly. It’s more his own, personal secret, that my mother just happened to know. It’s not anything to do with me, or my immediate family.”

There was something in the other woman’s manner that intrigued Trixie. She doesn’t want to think about it, whatever it is, she realised. What could be too icky to think about other than… “You don’t mean – your uncle – and the old lady were –”

Olivia screwed up her nose and nodded. “A long time ago.” Her next words tumbled out in a terrible rush. “Mom said it was all over and done with a long time ago, but it’s just too gross to even think about my uncle – my own uncle – and that wrinkled-up old lady!”

“Maybe it was so long ago that she wasn’t all wrinkled-up back then,” Trixie soothed.

“I’ll hold onto that thought,” Olivia muttered, screwing up her nose once more. Apparently setting the matter aside, she changed the subject. “So, what do you think of the news that all over town this morning? Did you hear, yet? Mrs. Hill has left almost everything to charity!”

“She has?” Trixie demanded, intrigued. If this was correct, it would blow a whole lot of motives out of the water. “What about her son?”

Olivia shrugged. “Seems she settled a lot of money on him when he was younger, so he could start his own business. She’d fixed things so that she had enough money to live on, but the rest of the assets weren’t even in her name any more. Her house and the land it’s on have actually been owned by St. Leonard’s Mission for about twenty years and I never knew!”

“She must have really liked this place,” Trixie muttered, feeling more than a little perplexed.

“Well, I guess it’s to do with what happened when her husband died,” the other woman explained. “Apparently, in those days, our office was right next door to his business. He had a heart attack, or something, and some of our workers went and gave first aid and looked after him until the ambulance arrived. Then, they made sure everything was okay in the shop and pretty much looked after everything for her until she’d had time to recover from the shock.”

“So, she was grateful for their help.” She nodded slowly, in understanding. “Thanks, Olivia. Oh! One more thing before I go,” Trixie suddenly remembered, on her way out the door. “The police officer I spoke to when I reported the broken window has the same surname as Mrs. Hill’s business partner. I was kind of wondering if they’re related at all. Do you know?”

The other woman shook her head. “Him? No, he’s new to town – and let me tell you, the folks around here made it pretty clear that he had nothing to do with them,” she confided. “He’s not popular!”

“Sounds like someone I know back home,” Trixie replied with a grin. “He always thought he knew better than I did, too. Thanks! That clears up one mystery, at least.”

Outside, a few minutes later, Trixie wandered the grounds aimlessly while she rearranged her mental suspect list. Son, daughter-in-law, business partner, former lover, she mused. Which is the most likely? If Olivia was right about the money and assets, there would be little reason for either the son or daughter-in-law to commit the murder. The business, also, seemed on a firm footing and it seemed that Mrs. Hill never interfered with decisions regarding it. But then, do people murder former lovers, whom they haven’t been associated with in years and years? It did not seem especially likely.

Maybe there should be more suspects, Trixie decided, wracking her brain as to how to find out. She wandered towards the boundary opposite the murder site and gazed through the fence at the houses being built there. What about the land? she wondered. Would someone want the land badly enough to kill for it?

Turning towards the land in question, she was struck by the size of the property in which she stood and the neighbouring one combined. That’s a whole lot of land. I guess it’s worth looking into. The very thought of combining the two gave her the inspiration of how to find out and she headed off to speak to Jim.

“Can you do something for me?” she asked her husband, once inside his office. “Can you find out whether there’s been anyone trying to buy this land?”

A frown crossed his face. “How do you suggest I do that?” he wondered. “And why do you want to know?”

“Files?” she suggested, negligently. “Isn’t there some kind of record of stuff that happens here? I need to know whether anyone’s been trying to get the land next door, and it stands to reason that if they are, they might want this land, too.”

Once more, Jim frowned. “If they wanted the land, why did they hide the body?”

“Maybe it was an accident,” Trixie speculated. “They could have been trying to reason with her and lost their temper and just strangled her instead, then they would need to hide the body so that they wouldn’t get caught. Probably they’d stop trying to buy the land then, since they’d know that she wasn’t there to be bought from. Or, maybe they thought it would be easier to get away with if the body was hidden for a while – long enough for the evidence to be destroyed.”

Looking dubious, Jim walked into an adjacent room, which held a bank of filing cabinets, and pulled out a drawer. Trixie almost held her breath as he studied a document he found there, before moving to a different cabinet and extracting a file. Her heartbeat quickened as she noted the look of surprise on his face.

“Whew! I thought you were imagining things, Trix, but you’re absolutely right: someone has been trying very hard to get this land – and for a number of years.” He flicked through the substantial stack of letters, shaking his head. “I would guess that most of these originate from the same person or company, but I don’t think there’s any clue as to who that might be – they’re all either from estate agents or lawyers, but don’t name their client.”

His expression changed once more, to a look of concentration, as he came across a particular document. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “I don’t think I should show you this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, I didn’t think it would hurt for you to know about that sort of correspondence, but this is different.” He looked up, directly into her eyes. “I know this is hard for you, Trix, and I’m sorry. Let’s just say that the party behind this has tried some dirty tactics.”

There was a long pause, while Trixie tried to both curb her disappointment and formulate her most powerful question. In the meantime, her husband replaced the file and the two returned to his own office. “No clue as to who it was?” she finally managed.

Jim took a quick glance through the window, which looked toward the construction site next door. “I can’t tell you,” he murmured, looking terribly uncomfortable.

Trixie smiled. But you just did, she inwardly crowed. I know you, Jim Frayne, and I know just why you looked that way with that look in your eyes. Bestowing on him a quick kiss, Trixie left Jim’s office for her next line of enquiry.

A few minutes later, she had passed in front of the construction site, read the sign which proclaimed the name and address of the developer and was headed for his office. The slick presentation of the display, when she arrived, made her feel uncomfortably that she should have changed her clothes first. However, it was too late for that sort of consideration for a man in a suit was advancing, hand outstretched.

“Welcome!” His voice, while on the surface quite pleasant, somehow grated on Trixie’s nerves. “Please, step inside. My name is Vernon Talbot. How may I help you?”

“Oh! I – well, I was just taking a look,” Trixie stuttered, wishing that Honey was there to help forward the investigation. She had always been more comfortable in these sorts of situations. Trixie still found herself tongue-tied when confronted with business-like men. “I’d seen some of your houses going up and I was wondering what they’d look like when they’re finished.”

“This way,” he urged, guiding her to a display. The man launched into a well-rehearsed blurb for the development, with enough numbers and product names that Trixie forced herself to block them out. It would not help her to become overwhelmed with irrelevant details at this point.

The stream of information drawing to a close, Trixie frowned slightly. “I don’t think that’s exactly what my husband and I are looking for in a house. We’d like something a little more special – and we’re prepared to pay for it.”

A mercenary gleam came into the man’s eye and she noticed his sizing her up anew. He caught a flash of the large, pale blue Ceylon sapphire in her engagement ring and was apparently satisfied. “The views from the houses in the top gallery will be pretty special,” he assured. “Those, of course, will have a number of extra, luxury features.” Here followed another list, which Trixie once again tried not to absorb.

She shook her head as he finished, then looked up at the wall, which held a large-scale plan of the development. “This space here,” – she pointed to the site of St. Leonard’s Mission, which was marked on the diagram in plain green – “does this mean you’ll be expanding in the future?”

At once, the salesman took a step forward. “Negotiations are in hand as we speak,” he confided. “We’re quietly confident that there will be a second stage in the near future. Perhaps that is more to your taste? The views, of course, will be superior, and the situation rather more private. If you signed with us before the second stage is made public – and that would be immediately the negotiations are completed – we could integrate your requirements into your chosen property.”

Liar, thought Trixie, as she thanked the man and promised to discuss the matter with her husband right away. They’re not negotiating; they have no hope of acquiring that property! That’s the whole reason why Jim’s here – to prepare the way for a big expansion on that site. There’s no way the land would be sold now!

Deep in thought, she meant to head back to the trailer, but soon found herself in the main street, wandering past the various shops. Not far ahead was the electrical store in which Mrs. Hill had been a partner. There was a neatly-printed notice in the window. Trixie quickened her steps to read the heading: ‘Business For Sale.’ Underneath, it gave contact details for those wishing to make enquiries.

As she stood, staring, with brows creased, an older gentleman came up beside Trixie and addressed her in a pleasant baritone. “May I help you?”

“Sorry? Oh, no, thank you,” she replied. “I just noticed your sign and I was wondering… I mean, I thought… I mean, never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

The man smiled. “You’re the young lady staying up at St. Leonard’s Mission, aren’t you? I hear that you’re the one who persisted until they found poor Euphemia.” His expression became solemn. “I, for one, am grateful to you. I regret very much that I did not notice earlier that she was missing. She was an old friend, and a very able partner in the business. I am very sorry that she is gone.”

“And now you’re selling?” Trixie asked, emboldened by the man’s friendliness.

“Oh, that’s not new,” he replied. “I took the sign down the day that they found her, because… well, for one thing, I wasn’t sure whether I could sell before the estate was settled, and secondly, because it didn’t seem right to leave it up there before the funeral. I’ve had a long discussion with the lawyer, now, and he assures me that the sale can continue.” He sighed. “I’ll be sorry to leave this place, but Euphemia and I agreed that it was time to let go. You see, I’m intending to retire, and neither of us wanted to manage staff when we weren’t around to supervise them. It’s so much more of a risk.”

“Well, I hope you get a buyer, soon, then,” Trixie replied, “and that you have a happy retirement.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, once more. “I’m very glad to have met you.”

After lunch, Trixie found the address she had been given for the historical society. Their archive, it turned out, was housed in an obscure room in the back corner of the town hall, accessed via a series of staircases and twisting corridors. She tapped on the partly-open door.

“Oh, at last, some help,” Mrs. King greeted. “Come in, child. You’re just in time to prevent a disaster.” She hurried on without giving Trixie a chance to reply. “This is Mrs. Pickering and I’ve spent the last ten minutes insisting that she not climb this ladder, but will she listen? No, she will not.”

“I would be perfectly fine,” Mrs. Pickering answered, an irritated look on her thin face. “I don’t need to be replaced by a teenager.”

“I’m twenty-three,” Trixie corrected, feeling slightly miffed.

Mrs. King moved forward, forcing Mrs. Pickering to step back to accommodate her. They made an odd pair – one large and solid, the other small and slight.

“Now, we just need those boxes on the top shelf brought down so that we can review them,” Mrs. King explained, ignoring the whole issue of Trixie’s age. “Two at a time should be sufficient, I think.”

Trixie shifted the ladder a little closer to the shelves, then climbed up to get the first box. She had soon transferred both it and its neighbour to a nearby table. The two older women peered inside the first box, frowning.

“I think this is going to be a long job,” Mrs. Pickering grumbled. “I would have very much preferred these to be catalogued properly before we stored them, but some people just will not listen.”

“You will hear no argument from me,” Mrs. King answered, beginning to poke through the files the box contained.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what is it that we’re doing?” Trixie wondered.

Mrs. Pickering sighed. “The society has received a request for information on a particular topic. We have the unenviable task of finding all of the relevant documents that are held here and answering some particular questions. Not that we will be able to answer questions on an item which never existed, of course.”

“You don’t know that it never existed.” Mrs. King shook her head. “You can’t prove a negative, you know.”

“I can weigh up the available evidence and draw the conclusion that it’s unlikely to the point of absudity that it existed. And, in the unlikely event that it did exist, I can be close to certain that it met its destruction by fire twenty-five years ago.”

“That what existed?” Trixie asked.

Mrs. Pickering appeared unwilling to share, but her companion promptly said, “The Lychfield Treasure.”

“Treasure?” Trixie looked from one to the other. “What was it supposed to be?”

“That’s the problem,” Mrs. King admitted. “No one knows. Rumour has it that it passed down through the family to your late neighbour, Mrs. Hill, but was destroyed when her previous house burned down. Or, that perhaps she hid it somewhere else and it could still be found. Or, that it was only ever a myth, made up to torment the descendants of the female lines of the family. And now, with the last of the Lychfields dead, the old controversy has reared up again.”

“And someone wants you to help them find it?”

Mrs. Pickering shook her head. “We can’t tell you that. We shouldn’t have told you this much.”

“It’s not a secret," Mrs. King argued. “Yes, child, someone wants to find the treasure. Several people want to find it, in fact. But the one who asked us for this information is Claudia Hill, Euphemia’s daughter-in-law. And if we want to be finished with this search before Christmas, we had better get started.”

Trixie nodded, filing the information away to ponder later, and they set to work.

That evening over dinner, Trixie’s thoughts returned to her interview with the developer, and she addressed her concerns with Jim. “There’s no doubt about the project you came here for, is there?” she asked, before taking a mouthful of potato.

“What? No, of course not,” he assured her. “Everything’s on track: I visited the temporary office this morning and it’s starting to look like a proper office. At the end of the week, the movers are coming to move the rest of the files and equipment there, then I’ll have a few more days here to go through the junk that’s left, while the usual staff get themselves established. I’ll supervise the first stage of work – that starts next Thursday – and then we’ll head back to Sleepyside and the construction will start here.”

“That’s what I thought,” she replied, going on to explain about her visit to the sales office. “I just knew he was lying to me.”

Jim nodded. “A couple of months from now, those luxury homes he was promising will be replaced by secure accommodation for victims of domestic violence.” He smiled. “I think I’d rather the land was used for that than the tacky houses that are going up over there as we speak.”

“Me too.” She grinned. “I wonder what they’ll do when their potential gold mine gets built over with something like that? It doesn’t really fit in with the image they’re trying to project.” A frown crossed her face. “Come to think of it, it doesn’t really fit with Mrs. Hill, either. Did she object to the new project here?”

“Object?” he laughed. “Of course not. She paid for it. It was her endowment that made this happen. It was a condition, of course, that she would have anonymity for her lifetime, but since she hasn’t even lived to see it begun, they’ve decided to dedicate the new buildings to her.”

Once more, Trixie frowned. “There’s something there,” she muttered. “I just can’t quite pick it. I’m sure that her murder has some kind of connection with the land here, but I can’t quite figure out how.”

The following morning, just as she was about to leave the trailer for a morning walk, Trixie spied the developer to whom she had spoken approaching the building where Jim worked. Unwilling to be seen by him in this situation, she quickly pulled shut the trailer door and peered through the window. He paid the trailer no attention as he strode up to the building and went inside.

For ten long minutes, Trixie waited. Just as she was beginning to think that he intended to stay there all day, the door was thrown open and she saw her husband forcibly ejecting the weakly-struggling man. The sound of his angry voice carried to her:

“If I see you behaving that way here again, I will be calling the police! Now, please leave the premises.”

A slow smile crossed Trixie’s face as she watched the man scurry away, with a few fleeting glances over his shoulder. The fear on his face had been quite plain. The instant he was safely out of sight, she raced out of the trailer and into the building.

“Oh!” cried Olivia in fright, as the door swung open. “Oh, it’s only you. I thought, maybe, he was coming back.”

“What happened?” Trixie demanded, looking back and forth between her husband and the receptionist. “I saw that developer… what was his name? Tallow? Talbot? That’s it: Vernon Talbot. I saw Vernon Talbot arrive, then later I saw Jim show him out.”

Olivia bristled with irritation. “He tried to intimidate me! He had the nerve to come in here and start demanding to see the person in charge, and when I told him to go to the temporary office in town, he threatened me!” She grinned. “And that’s when I picked up that damp sponge I’d been using to seal the envelopes and threw it in his face! You should have seen him try to get away then, only Jim had come out of his office, and was standing between him and the door, and asked him to explain himself. The little creep didn’t know what to say!”

“Well, perhaps I overreacted a little,” Jim admitted. “I don’t like seeing people threatened.”

“I don’t think anyone needs to be defended from him,” Olivia contradicted, with a giggle. “He might need to be defended from you.”

Slightly red in the face, Jim returned to his office. Trixie chatted with the receptionist for a few minutes more, before letting her get back to her work. Outside once more, Trixie paced around the grounds for a while, thinking. Vernon Talbot had been near the top of her suspect list, but now she was not so sure. If a slightly-built receptionist could fend him off with a damp sponge would he be able to overpower an independent older lady? Somehow, Trixie did not think so. His credibility as a suspect had been destroyed.

Where does that leave me? she wondered, as her mind went back over the case. I’m missing something important about this case. I just know it.

Continue to part 4.