Chapter Three

“It is more fun to talk with someone who doesn't use long, difficult words but rather short, easy words like "What about lunch?"” ~ Winnie the Pooh

 

 

“Tell me – everything!” Trixie demanded the moment she handed her menu to their waitress.

 

“Jeeze,” Jim said, scrubbing his face with his long, tapered fingers. “I’m not even sure where to start.” He closed his eyes.

 

“Honey and I went looking for you, you know,” Trixie said. “With Miss Trask. Joeanne Darnell still thinks the world of you, Jim.”

 

Jim smiled. “The Darnells were good people. You and Honey got awfully close to finding me, it seems,” he said admiringly.

“No wonder you don’t have too many jumps – you trained early to get your man.”

 

“But we couldn’t find you,” Trixie said, her lips twisting in a sad frown.

 

“I’m not sure even if you found me I would have gone back with you,” Jim confessed.

 

“But Honey had it worked out with her parents!” Trixie exclaimed. “When Mr. Wheeler found out you were Win Frayne’s son, he said he’d adopt you.”

 

Jim tensed at both the name of his father and the man who had paid to send him away. Had Wheeler dangled that carrot in front of his daughter so Honey would think he was a kind and noble man? Like a puppet master, had he been working behind the scenes to make sure Jim was never seen from again?

 

Wheeler and his father – friends? Jim couldn’t believe it.

 

“I wasn’t able to find any work at any of the camps upstate,” he began. “I had Uncle James’ mattress money but I knew I had to make it last a long time.” He’d had Wheeler’s dirty money too, but he never talked about that. “I lived off the grid. Had a job as a barback, running kegs and cleaning empties for this dive bar. The owner paid me cash and fed me an occasional hamburger. It was enough,” Jim said, quietly. He opened his eyes and faced Trixie.

“I wish you hadn’t left,” Trixie said.  

 

Jim grimaced, angry at the younger version of himself for listening when Regan found him hiding in the Summerhouse and offered him the money.

 

“Just a little going away present from Mr. Wheeler,” he’d called it. But there was more in Regan’s eyes as Jim watched him warily.

 

“Mr. Wheeler is worried about the girls. He doesn’t know you. I’ve assured him you would never hurt them but sometimes worry for a daughter does odd things to a man. A man with a family has something to lose. That fire up here made him think that Jones character could come looking for your friends.”

 

Jim nodded. He knew what it was like to lose everything. He worried about the girls, too.

 

“We’re men of action not words,” Regan said, acknowledging his kinship with the younger man. “We don’t lie easily or well.”

 

Jim stared at the envelope, his hands shaking with rage and fear and hope.

 

“This is between us, now. If you take the money. The girls don’t know”

 

Jim’s hands fisted, staring at the envelope. His options were few. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention the $50,000 he’d found in the old mattress but he managed to bite it back. His experiences hitchhiking to Sleepyside taught him that living was expensive and $100,000 just might let him survive a very long time.

 

“Then I suppose I’ll learn to lie,” Jim said, finally taking the money.

 

 

“You don’t know how many times I almost came back,” Jim said, shaking away the cobwebs of the past. But of course, he couldn’t have. That was part of the deal. His departure for the money. But even in hindsight, he wasn’t sure he would have made a different decision. Jonesy was a threat to him and, by default, anyone he became close to. Being at Jonesy’s mercy had been bad enough, but not the girls. It would have killed him to have either Honey or Trixie get hurt by Jones. Jim looked down at his hands. “But I suppose I’m too tenacious-”

 

“Stubborn,” Trixie interrupted.

 

“Determined,” Jim corrected, his eyes warming.

 

“Cantankerous,” Trixie said with a grin. She smiled her thanks as the waitress brought them their drinks.

 

“At any rate,” Jim conceded and saluted Trixie with his bubbling glass of cola, “I had set out on a path and I was going to finish it. I stayed at the bar until that next summer – when I turned 17.  I wound up forfeiting my scholarship and joining the Marine Corp the day after my birthday.”

 

“Gleeps,” Trixie said, reaching across the table and picking up his hand. “How did that go?”

 

“I enlisted for six years and when I got out, I had no idea what I was going to do for money. Gotta’ eat to live, gotta’ work to eat,” he said. “I had a little saved and was staying with this guy who I’d known since boot camp – his name is Ned. Nice guy. From Iowa,” he explained, as though that meant something.

 

“Anyway, I decided it was time to go home to New York. Dot – Nick’s friend from high school and my current assistant – wanted to blow the small town dust off her boots and see New York so we split expenses and driving time. I got a job on a construction crew, an apartment, and had settled into a decent groove.”

 

Trixie’s heart beat against her chest so loudly, she was sure Jim and the other patrons would start to stare any minute. He was living with his glamorous assistant.

 

Insecurities both new and old crept in. Once again she was Tomboy Trixie, the not quite pretty girl whose personality made up for lack of looks. She was the nice girl who went to prom by her cousin Cap. She would have skipped prom completely except Honey had begged her to go.  She was the woman who kept pushing forward on these internet dating sites even though they all seemed to end in disaster.

 

Common denominator? Her.

 

 She took a deep breath and fiddled with the diamond ring he’d given her so long ago. Her dad had finally taken it out of the bank after she’d turned 18. She’d had it sized – Nell Frayne must have been a tiny woman! – and wore it on the middle finger of her right hand every day since.  Would he ask for it back? No, probably not, she decided. He had given it to her years ago as a gift.

 

Should she give it back?

 

“…I helped capture Jones and my career path was set,” Jim finished.

 

Trixie blinked owlishly at him. She’d apparently missed a big chunk of the story while she’d been thinking about his personal life. “He jumped bail?” Trixie asked, trying to play catch up with the conversation.

 

“Domestic abuse,” Jim clarified. “It was a huge bail - $100,000 because he’d been a repeat offender and was out on bail when he abused this last woman.”

 

Trixie whistled at the amount. That kind of a bail jump would have driven her out of business.

 

“The jump tracer tracked me down, somehow. Court papers, probably. I agreed to help him for a cut of the fee. When I realized how much money could be made tracing down people for money, I started working for the guy as a bounty hunter.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Eventually, I started writing bonds myself.”

 

“You like the big bonds?”

 

“I like the big recoveries,” Jim said.

 

She was saved for having to say anything as their lunches were delivered and they each tucked in.

 

“So what about you?” Jim asked. “What’s been happening in your life? How did you get into the business?”

 

Well. At least that one was easy. “Mr. Lytell actually got me into it,” she said. At Jim’s frown, she clarified, “The nosy grocer that mistook you for Mr. Wheeler’s son.”

 

“Was he arrested or something?”

 

Trixie shook her head. “No, but he had Miss Rachel Martin arrested. She’s one of our neighbors – has a cute little cottage in Sleepyside. Sweet lady – I think she was in her early 70s when she ran into some money problems. Unfortunately, she thought she could augment her retirement income by shoplifting.”

 

“Uh oh,” Jim said.

 

“Yep,” Trixie said, her curls shaking with her indignation. “Mr. Lytell called the police and pressed charges against her!”

 

“Shoplifting is against the law, Trix,” Jim said.

 

“I know,” Trixie said, “But still – she was his neighbor who had fallen on some hard times. This wasn’t a flash mob out to steal all his strawberry pop.”

 

Jim shuddered. “You still drink that garbage?”

 

“Yes,” she said, eyes narrowing, daring him to say something. “At any rate, Miss Rachel didn’t have any family to post bail for her, so my parents did. I was just about ready to graduate high school and was looking into the criminal justice program at Westchester County Community College. They had a bail bonding course and I guess the rest, as they say, is history.”

 

“Saving the Miss Rachels of the world from grumpy grocers?”

 

“And teens in trouble with the law. One of our friends is a social worker – the kids he works with can find themselves in a bit of trouble. And of course, various traffic violations and other things that people get arrested for.”

 

“Do you get many skips?”

 

Trixie shook her head. “No, not too much. The kids sometimes. My brother Mart or our cousin Cap take care of a lot of housekeeping for us, but of course, we all help out as needed.”

 

“So, except for Brian, do you all work for Belden Bail Blondes?”

 

“Triple B,” Trixie corrected with a smile. “And yeah, we all help out. Some more part time than others. Mart has a degree in journalism and freelances for the Sleepyside Sun. Bobby – ugh, I mean Bob – has an intern position at WSTH, the local radio station.”

 

“And you?” Jim asked, his eyes warm. “What else do you do?”

 

Trixie shrugged. “I still help Moms with canning and taking care of the farm. I rent a small cottage from Mr. Wheeler. When Honey and I were kids, we used to think it would make a great clubhouse but Mr. Wheeler wound up letting his maid and chauffeur convert it into living space. Tom and Celia moved out after they started having kids and – well, I guess I moved in right after college.”

 

“That’s still really close to your parent’s house, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, that was half the appeal, I guess. Growing up with a houseful of brothers, I wanted some independence. Then my cousins moved in. Hallie was younger and – what else could I do? I just didn’t want to go too far, I suppose.”

 

Jim nodded, understanding both what she’d said and what she’s left unsaid.

 

“I get along better with my brothers, now. We even work together without fighting,” Trixie said with a smile.

“How are you with your cousin?”

 

Trixie looked startled. “How did you? Oh, never mind. You can’t be in this business without learning to read between the lines, can you? My cousin Cap freelances for us. He’s a great tracker.  Hallie is a photographer. She goes on assignment for the Sun and she comes by and takes pictures of our charges.”

 

“Jim?” Trixie said, once more playing with the exquisite art deco engagement ring on her finger. “Do you want your aunt’s ring back?”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

“Sometimes new love comes between old friends. Sometimes the best love was the one that was always there.” ~ Unknown

 

 

“Hey, Moms,” Trixie said as the screen door slammed behind her. She had arrived at Crabapple Farm to help put the finishing touches on their picnic. “What all needs to be done?” she asked her mother.

 

The weather that Saturday morning was clear but with a bite in the air that only a New York fall can produce.  

 

Moms came out of the pantry, pushing a stray curl away from her forehead. “Hi, sweetie,” she greeted her daughter and brushed a kiss across Trixie’s forehead. She handed her a can of homemade ketchup. “Could you open this and get a spoon? Daddy’s got the grill going and Hallie mixed up the hamburger meat. Maybe when Honey gets here you girls can start forming the patties?”

 

Brian jogged down the stairs, saw Trixie in the kitchen and paused. “Oh,” he said, disappointment in his voice. “Hey, Trix.”

 

Trixie rolled her eyes and hugged her brother. “Glad to see you, too, Brian.”

 

“Did you invite anymore surprise guests to my birthday party?” Brian asked, ruffling his sister’s curls.

 

“Just the three I told you guys about,” Trixie said as she pulled the hamburger meat out of the fridge and set the table up to make patties.

 

“Knock, knock,” Honey said as she entered the home kitchen. “Hey, Brian,” she said with a breathless little gasp.

 

“Where are Mart and Bob?” Trixie asked. She smiled in greeting at her best friend.

 

“Heap big man make fire,” Mart said as he entered the kitchen.

 

“Wonderful,” Trixie said. “Can ‘heap big man’ get the lettuce out of the fridge? And Brian – I think there’s still a few jars of homemade pickles in the pantry. Can you get them, too?”

 

“What’s this?” Mart asked, indignantly. “Are you making us menfolk work?”

 

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Hallie said with a smile.

 

“Hey, Honey,” Brian said. They stared at each other for a long moment before Brian seemed to catch himself. “Let me, um. Can I take your jacket?” he asked, approaching her and slipping her denim jacket off her slim shoulders.

 

“Wash up, Honey,” Trixie invited, indicating the sink. “There are 10 of us plus Mart. So, I think we need to plan for 20 hamburgers and 15 hotdogs.”

 

“At least,” Hallie said, sending a teasing glance at Mart.

 

A hesitant knock sounded at the door and Trixie looked up. They were still missing Dan, Diana, and Jim. Since she knew Dan wouldn’t knock, she guessed at who was behind the timid knock. She smiled coyly at her brother. “Hey, Mart?” she said. “That’s either Diana or Jim. Could you let them in?”

 

“I’ll get it,” Bob said, pushing past his brothers to the door. “Hey, I know you,” he said. “You’re Larry and Terry’s sister, aren’t you? We used to play together.”

 

“I am,” came Diana’s soft musical voice.

 

“Diana,” Mart said, in a hushed tone as he rushed to the door to welcome the raven haired beauty into the farmhouse.

 

“Di,” Brian said, also reaching to hug Diana. “Haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”

 

Bob was learning to read people. It was an important skill for his chosen vocation. He watched Honey’s face fall as Brian hugged Diana. With a jerk of her head, Bob pointed it out to Trixie. Trixie's eyes darted between them, curiosity etched on her features.

 

Trixie, meanwhile, saw Mart’s face darken with anger. With a subtle dart of her eyes she indicated Mart’s darkening mood.

 

Taking pity on them, Bob said, “Hey, Mart, it’s getting a little crowded in here. Can you and Diana see if Dad needs any help?”

 

Honey watched the Mart and Diana leave with a touch of relief as she sat down to begin making hamburger patties with Hallie and Trixie.

 

Bob stood awkwardly in the kitchen before leaving to check on the parking situation.

 

“How’s your photography going, Hallie?” Honey asked as the hamburger patties piled up on a platter.

 

“It’s going. My portfolio is building. The manager at Crimper’s called. They want me to do the Santa pictures this year.”

 

“Is that what you want?” Trixie asked.

 

Hallie shrugged. “Not completely. I can’t add them to my portfolio but a paying gig is a paying gig. I can’t afford to turn it down.”

 

“Will they let you pass out your business cards?” Trixie asked.

 

Hallie was quiet for a long moment as she considered Trixie’s suggestion. “I’ll ask.” She shared a grin with her cousin as they continued to form the hamburger patties.

 

“Hey, look who I found!” Bob announced, leading a flustered looking Jim into the kitchen. “Trixie, isn’t this the guy you found up at the miser’s mansion the summer I got bit by a snake?”

 

“Jim!” Honey screamed, flinging herself at the tall redhead.

 

Jim stiffened under Honey's embrace but didn't push her away.

 

This time, Bob noted with glee, it was Brian and Trixie whose faces darkened with emotion. He shared a grin with Hallie.

 

Oh, it felt wonderful to be the only one whose heart wasn’t currently in their throat, Hallie thought.

 

And then Dan walked in.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

“Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success.” ~ Henry Ford

 

 

Trixie passed the pictures out to the eight people seated around the table in her kitchen in the old Gatehouse. The small man with the dark, olive pit eyes smiled back at them. His arm was slung around Diane Lynch’s shoulders.

 

Mart was the first to speak. “I’d forgotten how blue your mom’s eyes were.”

 

Di nodded.

 

“That could be a clue,” Trixie said. “Do you know if there are any pictures of your grandparents? Did they both have blue eyes?”

 

“I don’t remember what color eyes they had but Mum did have portraits made up from an old picture,” Di said, excitedly. “The portraits are in the gallery in the Glen Road house.”

 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Mart said. “You, Bob and I have Moms’ blue eyes and Brian’s are dark like Dad’s. Does that prove that Brian is an adopted child?”

 

“Well, no one would adopt you,” Trixie said with a sniff.

 

“Aunt Alicia doesn’t look a thing like Moms, and they’re sisters,” Mart pointed out.

 

“It’s the Mendelian theory of heredity,” Brian said. “An individual possesses two alleles for each trait; one allele is given by each parent. So, brown eyed parents can have blue eyed children but it would be very rare for blue eyed parents to have brown eyed children. Blue is a recessive gene and brown is dominant gene.”

 

“When we’re done here, do you want to take a drive over?” Mart asked Diana.

 

“Sounds good. I can take pictures of the portraits and we can compare them.”

 

“Did Wilson have any proof of his identity when he showed up, Di?” Jim asked.

 

Di shook her head. “Not really, no. He had a few facts, but I suppose he could have gotten those from the million and one personal ads Mum placed over the years.”

 

Honey couldn’t hold in her news any longer. “I was able to get in touch with the law offices of Tyler, Snyder, and Jay.”

 

She handed out copies of the letters to everyone present. “Wilson said they were the law offices your mom was adopted through.” She bit her lip. “Di, I’m sorry – these are criminal attorneys and they haven’t been incorporated long enough to have handled your mom’s adoption.”

 

“I suspected as much,” Di said quietly. She turned to Jim. “How can I get the bond revoked?”

 

Jim shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Di,” he said, gently. “Your mom has to revoke the bail and then I need to hunt him down and find him.”

 

“She’s staying at the Penthouse in the Century building at 25 Central Park West,” she said. She turned to Mart. “Will you come with me? After we get snapshots of the portraits and then off to convince Mum to revoke the bail?”

 

“I can take the pictures if you want,” Hallie said. “Then you guys are free to go into the City.”

 

Di nodded. “Your camera is probably much better than the one on my cell phone. But I’ll have to be there to get you in. Harrison would never let you in on your own.”

 

Honey turned to Jim. “Where are you staying while you’re here?”

 

“It was late when I got in yesterday so I got a room at the Olyfant Hotel on Hawthorne Street,” Jim replied.

 

“Not a great section of town,” Dan commented. “It’s one of those long term hotels for people who can’t afford a real place. A few of my families have lived there.”

 

“We have an apartment at Manor House,” Honey said. “You’re welcome to use it.”

 

“No,” Trixie said. “There’s room at Crabapple Farm,” Trixie argued.

 

“Where?” Hallie demanded. “Bob is still in his room. Brian is back in his room. And I’m in our old room.”

 

Mart pulled out his key. “Cap is still off in the woods backpacking so I have an empty room at my place. You’re welcome to stay there.”

 

Jim laughed. “This reminds me of the argument Trixie and Honey had when we were kids. They each fought over who was going to adopt me.” Sobering he looked at the group around the table. “I appreciate all of your offers but I’m going to check out the Summerhouse. I had it remodeled a few years back when I had the old mansion’s remains cleaned up.”

 

“That was you?” Trixie asked.

 

“Who do you think would have done it?”

 

“Why didn’t you ever… come back?” Trixie asked, cursing the blush she felt crawling up her neck. Had she sounded as hurt as she felt?

 

Jim reached for her hand. “A bunch of reasons,” he said. He glanced at Honey.  “But now they seem more like excuses than reasons.”

 

Honey reached out and touched Jim’s other hand. “The important thing is you’re here now.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden.  ~Claudia Ghandi

 

Honey and Brian walked down the path towards Wheeler Lake. “I’m glad you’re home,” Honey said a bit shyly.

 

They sat down on the edge of the dock and dangled their feet over the edge. The gold and russet leaves were in beautiful contrast to the endless expanse of blue sky “It isn’t going to work,” Brian said.

 

“What isn’t?” Honey asked. Panic clenched her stomach. This was it. He was breaking things off with her.

 

“Me in Bethesda. You in New York or LA or Amsterdam or wherever your father sends you.”

 

Tears welled in Honey’s eyes. Was he telling her he was moving on? Had met someone else? Their relationship had always been a bit under the radar. Was this the end?

 

“Did you meet someone?” Honey asked, keeping her eyes firmly trained on where the Water Witch was docked.

 

~*~*~

 

Di and Mart drove up to the Glen Road mansion in Di’s dark purple 1952 GMC Pickup. “This is a gorgeous truck,” he said, admiring the slick lines and metal flake paint job.

 

Di smiled. “I love it,” she gushed. “This was Daddy’s first car and he had let it rust out and it was in terrible shape. He finally gave me the green light to have it restored and I’ve used it ever since.”

 

“I’ve thought about you,” he said as they took each other’s hands and walked up the driveway.

 

“I have, too,” Di said. “I mean. I’ve thought about you, too. Not about me. That would be silly.” Mart tightened his hand around the smaller one he cradled, letting her know he understood.

 

~*~*~

 

“It’s broad daylight,” Hallie said. “I think I can find my way from Trixie’s cottage to Crabapple Farm. I need to get my camera and then head over the Lynch estate.” Hallie was being cranky and unreasonable and she knew it but – oh, there was something about Dan Mangan that she couldn’t quite get over.

 

Dan nodded and continued walking with her. “I left my truck down in the hollow,” he reminded her. “We’re going to the same location.”

 

“You don’t have to be nice to me, Dan. I mean, I know I had a bit of a crush on you when I was a kid, but I’m over that, now.” After she’d been a royal idiot, of course, and asked him to her senior prom. This discussion was long past due.

 

“We’re colleagues now, Hallie. I do a lot of work with the Triple B. I know I messed things up.”

 

“You stood me up, Dan.”

 

Dan nodded. He’d embarrassed her and let her down but it couldn’t have been helped. At some point, he was going to have to come clean about what had gone down that night but in the meantime. “Can’t we just relax and be friendly?” He held up his fingers in the Boy Scout salute. “On my honor as a Boy Scout, no ulterior motive. I promise.”

 

His words startled a laugh out of Hallie. “You were never a Boy Scout,” she said. “Were you?”

 

Dan smiled, his dark eyes lit with the roguish Irish charm that women loved. “You don’t know everything about me, Hallie Belden.”

 

~*~*~

 

Jim pulled his Jeep in front of 201 Hawthorne Street.

 

“This place doesn’t look safe – at all,” Trixie declared.

 

“Yeah, the quicker I get checked out of here, the better,” Jim said. It took minutes for Jim to pack his suitcase and Trixie took a quick glance around to ensure nothing was left behind.

 

As Jim checked out, they were approached by a rather ugly man wearing a tight-fitting, shiny blue suit. He’d obviously avoided his razor for several days. His eyebrows were so bushy and black they seemed to merge with his eyelashes, giving Trixie the impression that he was wearing a black domino mask.

 

“Mr. Frayne,” the man said. “I hear you’re leaving my establishment. I hope everything was up to your standards?”

 

“I guess you must be Mr. Olyfant,” Trixie said.

 

He glared at her through his mask of eyebrows and eyelashes. “What’s it to you if I am?”

 

Jim frowned. Putting his arm around her, he pulled Trixie close to him. “Excuse me?” he asked, raising one russet eyebrow in surprise.

 

Instead of answering, Mr. Olyfant took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. “As I said, I just wanted to make sure your stay was satisfactory.”

 

As Trixie stared at his hands, she realized with a start that the book of matches he held were royal blue with ‘The Lynches’ printed on it in big, sprawling gold letters.

 

~*~*~

 

Brian’s jaw dropped. “Oh, Honey, no. I just meant – I meant, I’m tired of only catching glimpses of you. I want us to be more…permanent.”

 

Honey’s breathing slowly returned to normal. “I – I work for Daddy,” she said. “He says I need to do all this traveling to give me the kind of ‘Wheeler Bronze’ I’ll need to one day run things.”

 

Brian nodded. “I’m nowhere close to fulfilling my duty to the Navy. But I thought – even though you’ll still need to travel for work – maybe you’d consider making Bethesda your home base?”

 

Honey bit her bottom lip. “What if you get moved around?”

 

“That’s always a possibility,” Brian said. “I’m not saying I won’t travel or you won’t have to. I’m just saying.” He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Oh, I’m saying this all wrong!” He pulled a small velvet box out of his jean’s pocket. “Marry me, Honey Wheeler. Put me out of my misery of sleeping alone every night and only ever getting to see you on Skype.”

 

“Oh, Brian!” Honey said as she opened the box and looked at the exquisite antique diamond ring.

 

“It was Grandmother Belden’s ring,” Brian said quietly. “If you’d rather have something new, we can go shopping. But I thought you -”

 

He was interrupted when Honey threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Brian – it’s perfectly perfect! I wouldn’t change a thing!”

 

~*~*~

 

Di, Mart and Hallie stared at the empty spot where her grandparent’s portraits should have hung.

 

“Harrison?” Diana called out for her parent’s butler. Hallie proceeded to take pictures of the scene, documenting the slashed frames.

 

“Yes, Miss Diana?” Harrison said, approaching the trio.

 

“Who else has been in here?” she demanded.

 

“Excuse me, Miss?”

 

Diana gestured to the empty picture frames. “Someone slashed the pictures of my grandparents out of their frames, Harrison. You have the keys to the gallery. Who else has been in here recently?”

 

“No one, Miss. Naturally, the staff comes in once a week to dust but no one else.”

 

“Did one of the maids slash the portraits?” She gestured to the other artwork. “None of the paintings which are actually worth money have been disturbed. So who could have done this?”

 

Harrison’s already stiff posture pulled himself even higher. “Your accusations at the staff are unfounded, Miss Diana. I can assure you none of them would do something like this.”

 

“Then who?” Mart said. His instincts told him the butler knew more than he was letting on. “Was one of the family here?”

Harrison nodded. “Yes, Mrs. Lynch’s brother spent a few nights here.”

 

~*~*~

 

“Did you see the matchbook?” Trixie asked as they drove away from the Hawthorne Street Hotel. “It said ‘The Lynches’.”

Jim nodded, his freckled hands gripping the wheel. “What do you think the connection is?”

 

“I’m not sure, but there’s something mysterious about this whole thing.”

 

 

 

Chapter Seven

“All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them.” ~  Galileo Galilei

 

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bob whispered to his sister as they searched the San Remo apartment. “What if we’re caught?”

 

Trixie shrugged. “Di and her mom gave us the key. Mrs. Lynch owns the apartment and we have her permission to be here.” She paused as she searched. “If we’re ever going to get the evidence we need to prove he’s an imposter, we have to search for clues.”

 

“I guess.”

 

They both looked up at a noise coming from near the closet. “Must be the alarm clock, or something?” Trixie said, nervously wiping the palms of her hands up and down her jeans.

 

Bob nodded and rummaged through the desk. “I think I found something.”

 

“What is it?” Trixie asked, rushing over to see what was in her brother’s hand. “It’s Wilson’s driver’s license.”

 

“Check the name,” Bob said.

 

“Tilney Britten,” they said in unison.

 

“Drop it! What are you doing in my apartment?”

 

Trixie and Bob whirled around to face Tilney Britten, alias Monty Wilson, who stood in the doorway of the office holding a Glock 9 mm.

 

“Drop it,” he said again. “Can’t you see I’ve got a gun?”

 

Trixie let the driver’s license fall to the floor.

 

“Now, who are you?” the small, bandy-legged man demanded, his narrow olive pit eyes squinting at them mercilessly.

 

“We’re friends of the Lynch family,” Bob said, brazening it out. “Mrs. Lynch said you’d skipped town and we offered to help find you.”

 

“Why, shucks, folks, I didn’t disappear,” he said, falling back into his cowboy identity. “My sister Diane is such a goose, gittin’ all worked up ‘bout nuttin.”

 

Trixie swallowed hard. No matter how her knees shook, she was not going to admit her fear to this common criminal. “So, Mr. Britten,” Trixie said, emphasizing his last name. “Resorting to identity theft?”

 

“Think you have it all worked out, little girl?” Trixie watched in awe as the ‘Wilson’ façade left to be replaced by Britten.

“Well, in a few minutes, it won’t matter what you say or do. I have a cashier’s check for a hundred grand and a one way ticket to Belize.”

 

“The feds will get you,” Trixie said, still stalling for time. Why wasn’t Bob drawing a weapon on this guy? He never went anywhere without his Bersa Thunder .380. “The Lynch’s know we’re here. When we turn up missing, they’ll figure it out.”

 

“They can guess, but they don’t know my real name. By the time anyone misses you, I’ll be hundreds of miles away.”

Trixie took a deep, calming breath and privately thought he was right. They were doomed.

 

“You – blondie, over here,” Britten ordered, using his gun to indicate Trixie stand before him. “You – pretty boy, nice and easy pull that gun out of its holster and set it on the floor.” Bob and Trixie exchanged a long look as he quietly did was he was told. “Now, kick it over here,” he ordered.

 

Trixie stood passively while Britten held a gun on her brother and forced him to zip tie Trixie’s hands behind her back. “No smart moves here, you two,” he said sharply, all pretenses of cowboy charm dropped.

 

Once Trixie was trussed up with a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth, it was Bob’s turn to be zip tied up. Britten went into the bathroom and produced a clean washcloth and shoved it in Bob’s mouth.

 

“Now, I need to pack and think about what I’m going to do with the two of you. I really didn’t want to add murder to my rap sheet,” he said, more to himself than to Trixie and Bob. He continued into the bedroom to pack, still muttering to himself.

 

Trixie sat on the floor, her life images passing in her memories. Was this it? Was this how it ended? To never see her family or Honey again? To never see Jim again?

 

Jim, she thought, closing her eyes, wondering if he knew how badly she had missed him. How badly she wanted to love him.

 

As she looked around the room trying to figure a way out, movement caught the corner of her eye. The closet door was oh - so slowly opening. Trixie’s nerves were so tightly wound that if she could have screamed, she would have. And then, to her amazement and joy, a familiar freckled face came out of the closet.

 

It was Mart!

 

Mart took the gags out of their mouths. “Oh, Mart, I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life,” Trixie whispered, very aware that Tilney Britton was only a few rooms away.

 

“Does this mean you’re officially out of the closet?” Bob asked with a smirk.

 

Mart gave him a gentle version of a Gibbs’ slap as he went to work on their bindings. His Gerber knife made short work of the hard plastic.

 

“How are we going to call the cops?” Trixie cried.

 

“Never fear, dear feminine kinsman,” Mart said, pulling out his iPhone. “Already taken care of. Police and back up in the form of one Jim Frayne. Thank goodness this isn’t 1954! We’d have had to use two tin cans to get the attention of the police.”

 

“Or throw pots and pans,” Trixie said.

 

“Got an extra weapon?” Bob asked. “The bastard took mine.”

 

Mart reached down and pulled his spare out its ankle holster. “Sorry, Trix,” he said with a shrug. “You know Bob is a better shot.”

 

Trixie nodded and grabbed a fist sized crystal egg sculpture from a shelf. She stood by the door and prepared to clobber Britten if he came back into the room. She winked at her brothers. “Softball team all through high school. Best aim on my team.”

 

They froze and looked at each other as the doorbell rang. They heard voices and the sound of a fist meeting a jaw.

 

“It’s Jim,” Trixie exclaimed, recognizing his voice and rushing into the fray.

 

“Trixie!” Mart and Bob called before following her.

 

Trixie leapt on top of Britten and pummeled him. Jim and Mart exchanged an amused male look. “Way to ruin my rescue, Shamus,” Jim said with a grin.

 

“Can I shoot him, now?” Bob said, calmly reloading his weapon he found on the coffee table.

 

Mart cringed. “Not with Trixie in the way,” he cautioned. “Jim can you get her off him so Bob can shoot the bastard?”

 

“What?” Britten screeched, finally wrestling in earnest with the blonde on his back. Trixie held on with the tenacity of a Mixed Martial Arts fighter with one round to go.

 

“Trix,” Jim said, his voice firm enough to get her attention. “Let me get handcuffs on him,” he said. “His parole on the fencing charges has been revoked and we can get him back in prison where he belongs.”

 

Trixie paused in her struggles long enough for Jim to clasp the handcuffs around Britten’s wrists.

 

“Jim,” Trixie said, panting, “Meet Tilney Britten, if that’s even his real name – identity thief.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

People who work together will win, whether it be against complex football defenses, or the problems of modern society. ~ Vince Lombardi

 

Trixie yawned, the adrenaline rush leaving her as she curled into Jim’s chest – back in the Summerhouse on Ten Acres where their adventures had all started.

 

Sprawled in various forms were their friends and colleagues – Dan, Hallie, Diana, Mart, Honey, Brian and Bob.

 

Trixie’s eyes caught the glint on her best friend’s finger and recognized Grandma Belden’s ring. “I want all the details,” she said, around a yawn.

 

“You’ll get them,” Honey promised her. “But your story is far more exciting.”

 

Diana began. “Finding the portraits had been shredded confirmed in my mind that Monty – ugh. Britten was a fake and a fraud. Mart and I drove down to the City and got permission from Mum and Daddy to have the Triple B search the San Remo apartment for clues.”

 

Mart took over the story. “I figured if Britten was here as an imposter, he must have a contact in the area. Someone who had been in Sleepyside long enough to know the Lynches and feed the little details to him. The ones you can’t get from a Wikipedia search. When Trixie mentioned seeing the matchbox at the Hawthorne Hotel, I had Bob run Olyfant’s financials.”

 

“Wouldn’t you know,” Bob said, grinning at his part in this great adventure. “One owner of a slightly rundown motel in the bad section of town suddenly had a deposit of $10,000 the week Britten showed up to impersonate Wilson. I dug a little further – seems these two were cellmates in Sing Sing a while back.” He paused to allow the information to sink in.

 

“Trixie and I searched the apartment, found the evidence we needed to get Britten arrested,” Bob continued the tale.

 

“Unfortunately, we were caught in the act but were saved by Mart – who came out of the closet.” Bob couldn’t resist teasing.

 

“I was there setting up some bugs,” Mart said. “A friend of mine, Ty Scott, is a great resource for listening devices. Diana and I figured it would be a long shot, but if Britten ever showed up, we might get a lead.”

 

“And it would finally convince Mum he was a fraud,” Diana said, fire in her violet eyes.

 

Finally it was Jim’s turn. “I’ve been following Trixie and Bob all day. I gave them an hour in the apartment before going up to help.”

 

Trixie patted his chest – a rather nice muscular chest, she thought irreverently. “And we are certainly glad you were there, right Bobby?” Was her voice sounding mumbled and muffled? It didn’t matter. Tomorrow she’d be annoyed that she’d been rescued like a damn damsel in distress. Tonight, she was just relieved. She finally gave up and succumbed to sleep.

Bob grinned at his dozing sister. He didn’t even bother correcting her use of the nickname Bobby.

 

“Damn straight we were,” Bob whispered and winked at Jim.

 

By mutual consent, one by one the group quietly left.

 

Jim picked Trixie up and settled her on the bed. She woke with a start as she realized they were now alone. “I should go,” she said groggily, her eyes wide as she looked up at Jim.

 

“It’s late,” he said. “Stay. I’ll be right over there on the couch.”

 

“If you’re sure,” Trixie said, easing back on the pillows.

 

“Trix?” Jim said as he turned out the lights. The moon illuminated the little cottage beautifully.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I gave you that ring as both a remembrance and a promise,” he said.  “It worked. You remembered me.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Now is the time for the promise,” he whispered in the dark.

 

Trixie lay staring at the darkened celling for a long time, confused and in thought. What the Hell had he meant by THAT?

 

 

 

 

Author's notes:

 

First off, a HUGE thanks to my proofreaders – Cindy, Jo, and Sabrina (my dd who thinks our fanfiction is 100% better, funnier, and smarter than the KKs)

 

The standard disclaimers apply. I don’t own the characters nor do I make any money off them. I just enjoy playing with them periodically and sharing my imagination with other fans.

 

I borrowed shamelessly from Trixie Belden and The Mysterious Visitor. This is a new spin on an old favorite and you might see a few more of these come out in this universe.

 

Metropolitan Museum of Art located in NYC is the largest art museum in the United States.

 

Skype - is a proprietary Voice over IP service and software application. Skype allows registered users to communicate through both instant messaging and voice chat.

 

NABEA: The National Association of Bail Enforcement Agents, a group that provides services and legislative advocacy for the bounty hunter community.

 

Glock 9mm is a type of handgun produced by Glock Ges.m.b.H. of Austria.

 

The Bursa .380 is a small Argentinian made handgun.

iPhone is a brand of smart phone.

 

Sing Sing is the name of a prison in… Ossining, NY (aka Sleepyside-on-Hudson, NY)

Wikipedia – an online encyclopedia

 

San Remo Apartments – located at 145- 146 Central Park West. This is a VERY nice address.  If you can afford it, you can have Bono and Bruce Willis as neighbors.

 

Century Apartments – located at 25 Central Park West, this is also a very nice address to have if you live in NYC.

 

In the original, Trixie find’s Britten’s gun permit but the more I thought about it, the less logical that seemed. They do background and finger printing before getting a gun permit and Britten was a criminal so... I didn’t think it fit.