*Contains Adult themes: mild profanity, violence, and sexual references

 

Have You Seen This Child?

by Shana

Chapter One: Have You Seen This Child?

Bob-Whites of the Glen Clubhouse
Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, New York
January 2
9:45 p.m.

"Move to adjourn."

"Second."

"All in favor."

A chorus of weary ‘Ayes’ filled the small clubhouse. Seven red-jacketed teenagers sat around a wooden table, stifling yawns and rubbing bleary eyes.

"Meeting adjourned."

"Thank God! That’s over," muttered Jim Frayne, red-haired Vice President of the Bob-Whites of the Glen.

Trixie Belden glanced up at him. "Sorry, everyone, that this ran so late. I didn’t know I’d have to sweep out the fireplace tonight and keep everybody."

"That’s okay, Trix," her loyal friend, Honey, replied. "We understand. We’ve all been guilty of holding meetings up before."

The others stood and pushed their chairs in around the table. "Yeah, Trixie. It’s also not your fault that some of us were up at the crack of dawn to shovel snow," Dan Mangan reminded them.

Unlike the other teens, Dan lived in a cabin deep in the woods. Whenever it snowed, as it did the night before, drifts would pile up against the sides; on rare occasions, the snow would trap the occupants inside. That morning, in order to complete his regular list of chores, he’d had to dig his way out of the front door. Ironically, the snow didn’t stick and what remained on the ground had begun to turn to frozen slush, thanks to the still sub-freezing temperatures.

"Well, I’m for a shower and my bed," remarked Di Lynch, long regarded the prettiest girl in Sleepyside. They heard her chauffeur beep-beep politely outside.

"I shall escort you to your car," offered Mart Belden, Trixie’s 11-month older brother. It was well known he had a serious crush on Di, and that she returned his interest. He helped her with her purse and scarf and followed her into the winter night.

Jim Frayne, Honey’s adopted older brother, chuckled as the door swung shut. He turned to Brian Belden, Trixie and Mart’s oldest brother, and quipped, "Should we give him a moment?"

Brian smiled devilishly. "Are you kidding? Like he lets me alone when I’m trying to be alone with Honey." His look changed as he realized he was talking to Honey’s brother.

"Relax, Brian," Jim assured him. "I couldn’t ask for a better guy to take out my sister, now that I have one, that is. Just remember - I know where you live."

Brian grinned and nodded toward the two girls, chattering on about something or other, as they straightened up the other end of the clubhouse. "The same goes double for you where my sister’s concerned."

Jim held up three fingers. "I’m a perfect gentleman! Scout’s honor!"

"Poor Trixie," Brian laughed, shaking his head. "She never has any fun." With that, he tossed his scarf over one shoulder and threw open the door. He swallowed his laugh when he spied his brother and Di suddenly break apart from each other and carefully looked everywhere but at each other or Brian – or the ultra-polite chauffeur, still sitting in the driver’s seat.

"Well, drive safe, Di. See you tomorrow at school." Mart opened the back door of the town car for her.

Di blushed furiously, but refused to meet Brian or Jim’s amused faces. "See you, Mart," she told him, then slipped inside the overheated automobile. Mart stepped away from the car and watched as the chauffeur backed out of the clubhouse drive and onto the Wheeler’s driveway, tires crunching on the gravel, pause, pull forward toward Glen Road and stop. The right turn signal blinked, the car pulled onto the road and the taillights sped from view.

"Hey, Mart, see you at home?"

"Yeah, Brian. I’m coming." Mart sighed. It was difficult enough to get the nerve to talk seriously to Di Lynch knowing his brother and best friends were always around him. Forget it, he told himself. I’m just some blond Pagliacci with a penchant for ponderous vocabulary. He turned toward Crabapple Farm and began the long trudge home.

"Looks like it’s going to be one of those nights, Jim. See you in the morning." Brian lifted a hand in farewell as Jim pulled his jacket closer.

The clubhouse door opened again. Trixie, Honey and Dan exited just as a gust of wind blew up the drive from the street. Trixie reached in to shut off the lights, Dan closed the door and Honey turned the key in the lock. Trixie pulled on the door just to be sure it was secure.

"Trixie! You coming or what?" Brian asked, torn between a desire to get under his down comforter and a sense of responsibility to see his sister safely home.

"Oh, all right! I’m coming." Trixie hugged herself, determined not to let the early January weather get the best of her. "Good night, Honey. Good night, Jim. Dan, are you going to walk with us?"

"Sure." Dan zippered his jacket over the thick blue sweater Honey had knit for him for Christmas. "You ready?"

The boys nodded at each other. Honey and Jim started off up the hill toward Manor House as Brian, Trixie and Dan cut through the woods towards the farm. Dan lived deeper in the woods, but the shortest path to his cabin began in the Belden’s back yard, so he often cut through their property on his way home or to club meetings.

As they approached the side yard, where Mrs. Belden kept her flower garden, Dan called out another good night/see you tomorrow to the brother and sister, then tucked his gloved hands in his armpits to keep them warmer and hurried off to the cabin. Maypenny was certain to have that old cabin as snug as possible, and Dan didn’t want to waste a single moment in the cold. He’d have enough of that in the morning, when he patrolled the larger section of the preserve. He normally patrolled that larger portion on weekends, and the smaller on weekdays, alternating with Maypenny. But this morning, he’d left both for the old man to handle. Maypenny didn’t mind, Dan supposed. He’d always been after Dan to spend more time with the other kids his age. "Wasn’t natural," he’d say, "for a young man not to spend time with young people, especially if he could be chasing young ladies."

But Dan didn’t care so much about all that. He loved his work out in the woods, among the trees and the animals. Some days, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to even visit New York City again. Lately, his ‘dream’ of becoming a New York City Police Officer seemed like a plan carved in stone rather than just one single possible future for himself. He wondered what it might be like to live off the land, like Maypenny, at one with nature. But with a telephone. And maybe a TV. And a cigarette. Quitting smoking before moving to Sleepyside last year had been difficult. Cold weather, and the memory of warm smoke filling his lungs, made it still more difficult. But he hadn’t even sneaked a cigarette since before Christmas. Uncle Bill would be proud.

He smiled to himself. His dreams may be changing, but they were still manageable. And doable. Probably everyone had the same doubts about their futures when they were 17, which he would be turning next week. Except his uncle, who at 17 was already making a living doing the same thing he was doing now, at 24: training and caring for horses.

Dan left the patch of light cast by the Belden homestead. The moon, practically new, barely shone enough light through the snow-covered trees to allow him to see clearly. He cursed to himself. He’d left his flashlight on his dresser instead of bringing it down with him. He’d have to be sure to remember it in the morning. Daybreak came late this high in the Catskills.

He cut through the back yard of Ten Acres, a ruined mansion belonging to Jim’s aunt and uncle, now belonging to Jim himself. It was part of the inheritance Jim had received long ago, when he first met Trixie and Honey, and had been adopted into the Wheeler family. Jim and Dan were both orphans, but while a wealthy family had taken in Jim, Dan had found his uncle, Bill Regan. He wondered who was luckier, Jim or himself. Jim had a new family, complete with mom, dad and sister, while Dan had a blood relative, who remembered Dan’s mother and spoke of her often when they were alone.

Dan and his uncle spent at least two nights a week together for dinner. At least twice more they arranged outings together, either the movies, dinner out, or something horse-related. Dan usually got to go along when his uncle went to county fairs or horse shows, looking for more horses for Mr. Wheeler to buy and train. Their relationship, while rocky at the start, had lately become almost brotherly. He felt much freer to confide in Bill the whole truth about his time on the street with his old gang, including the truth about the crime he’d been accused of committing that had eventually led to his release into his uncle’s custody. Those facts, while not completely unknown to Regan, coupled with Dan’s unforced discussion of them, cemented the bond between them and broke many of the barriers that had existed.

He decided that, for all Jim’s money and lifestyle, his only relative, his cousin Juliana, lived in Holland, and she hadn’t ever met any of her US relatives before visiting last year. Dan’s closest relative lived just down the hill. He glanced in the direction of the garage, above which Regan lived, but he couldn’t see it. He knew that he would be able to, if any light were on over there, so he knew his uncle had gone to bed already, or he was just watching TV with the lights off, or he’d been invited to Tom & Celia’s for dinner, or he’d been on a date, but no, he knew, his uncle would have told him if he’d had a date, besides, it was Thursday...

He heard a twig snap. He froze. Something was moving around in the undergrowth. Not for the first time did he wish for his flashlight, or even Maypenny’s walking stick, to use as a weapon. He heard another noise, but this time, he knew it was human. "Who’s there?" he called out.

A third noise, almost a whimper, drew his attention downward, to the thick undergrowth that characterized Ten Acres’ current state. "Come on out. I won’t hurt you. I promise." He crouched in front of the bushes, hoping he appeared less threatening. His dark eyes searched for a visible clue to the identity or location of the person hiding from him. A rustle of movement drew his gaze to a shadowy mass huddled against a maple. He pulled some dried branches away from the base of the tree, revealing a small body.

His first thought, that it was an animal, a dog perhaps, faded, replaced by a realization it was a human. The person, dressed in jeans and a thick parka and covered with muddy slush, seemed to shrink from him. He moved forward, still crouching, and touched the person’s arm.

"It’s all right, I swear. I won’t hurt you. I just want to help. You can trust me," he murmured softly, gently pulling the person’s arm toward him. The person seemed rather small, barely more than a child, and very rigid. It wasn’t too difficult to pull the child into his arms and then out onto the path and the pale moonlight. He tilted the child’s face upward and gasped.

Staring up at him, almost blindly, was the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. It was a girl, about his age, he guessed, with pale skin and dark hair. Her features were even and regular, but her expression was frightened and her eyes glassy.

"Are you all right?" he asked again. He looked around to see if anyone was with her, but could find nothing to suggest she wasn’t alone. "How did you get here?" he asked.

She moaned then and her head fell back. Dan realized there was something more wrong with her than the odd desire to camp out on Jim’s property. They were closer to Crabapple Farm than Maypenny’s. He tried the bob, bob-white whistle that was the BWG’s distress call, but knew that the farmhouse was shut up tight and no one would hear him.

He maneuvered himself around the girl and picked her up. She weighed less than he expected. He shifted her in his arms and got a whiff of perfume and of cologne and, strangely, cigarettes. He groaned from the unexpected jolt of remembered nicotine and began hurrying toward the farm. If Brian couldn’t diagnose this girl’s condition, at least the Belden’s had a phone to call a doctor.

The girl let her head fall back against his shoulder as he pushed through a break in the bushes. He whistled again, thankful that the porch lights were on at the farmhouse. He carried the girl up to the back door, readjusted her weight in his arms, and knocked hard.

He heard a commotion inside, a light was turned on, and Mr. Belden himself, a robe wrapped around his flannel pajamas, opened the door. He frowned in concern. "Dan? What’s going on?"

"Evening, Mr. Belden. I found this girl out on Ten Acres. I think something’s really wrong with her, but I can’t tell. We need to help her." Even as he finished speaking, Mr. Belden had opened the door fully, allowing Dan to bring the girl inside to the family room.

"Dan! What’s going on? Who is she?" Mrs. Belden, also in flannels and a robe, switched on a light beside the sofa and made room for Dan to lay the girl down. Mr. Belden pulled a whining, barking Reddy into his study and shut the door.

It barely registered to Dan that Mr. and Mrs. Belden had been enjoying a quiet evening alone in front of the fireplace and that all the kids were upstairs. He just lay the girl on the sofa, not thinking twice about her wet clothes damaging the fabric, and sat on the edge of the coffee table to examine her more carefully.

Mrs. Belden hurried to the bottom of the stairs. "I’d better get Brian down here to help."

Mr. Belden pushed open the door to the kitchen. "I’ll get a cold compress and some soap and water to clean her up a bit."

Alone with her, Dan saw that the girl’s hair was probably red and her eyes dark brown. A bruise had formed on her right cheek, a funny mark showing bright white in the center of it. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she was panting. Her hands pushed at her parka fretfully. Her eyes drifted from side to side, opening and closing at random. He heard footsteps from upstairs and Mr. Belden returned with a tray full of first aid supplies.

Dan had wrung out a cloth of soapy water and applied it to a gash on the girl’s temple by the time a worried Brian entered the room, tugging his sweater back over his head and asking, "What happened, Dan? Where’d you find her?"

Dan scooted further down the coffee table, allowing Brian, who’d already taken several rescue and first aid courses from the local Red Cross and the Sleepyside Hospital, to take over. He briefly explained what had happened as a yawning Trixie and Mart joined them. Mrs. Belden whispered to her husband that she had checked on Bobby, the youngest, and that he was still asleep. Mr. Belden nodded in reply.

"So we don’t know what she was doing there or why?" Trixie asked, a familiar gleam in her eye. It had been weeks since her last adventure and she was itching for another mystery to solve.

"Relax, Trix. The only mystery right now is how badly is she hurt and do we need to call an ambulance tonight." Brian glanced up at his parents. "I should try to make a thorough examination."

"Go ahead, Brian. Do what you can." Peter Belden replied. "We’ll be in the kitchen making coffee and cocoa. This may be a long night." He herded his children toward the kitchen. "Dan? Do you want any coffee or cocoa?"

Dan barely glanced up at him. "Coffee would be great, Mr. Belden, but I’m staying here with her. I need to make sure she’s all right."

"Okay, Dan. Help me take off her coat." Brian unzipped the parka and pulled it open. "Whoa!" he glanced at Dan with narrowed eyes. "Did you know this?"

Dan shook his head, bewildered. "No. I just found her and took her here." He helped Brian remove the coat, revealing the girl’s partially nude torso beneath. If she had a shirt or sweater, she no longer wore it. All that remained was an unfastened bra and bony frame. Dan and Brian noticed at the same time that her jeans were only buttoned, not zipped. Several small bruises were forming around her waist; someone had grabbed her there. A bite mark appeared on her shoulder and her skin was marked all over by bloody scratches and cuts. They shared a glance.

"I think we need to call the police."

Dan nodded. "I’ll tell them in the kitchen." Then he noticed a glint of metal on the girl’s wrist. "What’s that?"

Brian lifted her wrist, saw that she wore a MedicAlert bracelet and cursed softly. "Did she have anything around her? A bag or a purse or something?"

Dan thought for a moment. "No. Nothing at all."

"Come on, Dan. All women carry purses."

"No, Brian. Nothing. Why? What’s she got?" Worry shone in his eyes. He knew what a MedicAlert bracelet meant.

"Diabetes. I think she’s going into some kind of diabetic shock. We need to get her some sugar or insulin now. She would have had something with her." His fingers searched out her pulse point on her neck. He glanced at a clock on the sofa table and counted silently. Her pulse was rapid and her skin hot. Her hands kept twitching, pushing ineffectually at his arms.

"I’ll tell them to call 911 and then Mart and I’ll go check the area with flashlights. There’s no light out there now. I must have missed something." Dan hurried into the kitchen.

"What’s going on? How is she? Who is she?"

"Later, Trix. I need to use the phone." Dan yanked the phone off the cradle and dialed. The Beldens shared a look of quiet concern as Dan began speaking into the phone. "That’s right. Crabapple Farm on Glen Road. I found a girl in the woods. She’s got a MedicAlert bracelet on her. She’s got diabetes and I think she’s going into shock. I can’t find her insulin and I think she’s been attacked. No, I don’t know her. I was on my way home through the woods and I found her. You’d better send the police. I think –" he glanced at the family, hanging open mouthed on his every word. "She’s been attacked." He listened for a moment, then said, "Dan Mangan. 18 ½ Glen Road, care of Bill Regan. Yeah, he’s my uncle. Please hurry. Thanks." He hung up.

Brian poked his head through the door. "Dan? You get through okay?" Dan nodded. "Great. Mom? I need some orange juice or something with a lot of sugar in it. Nothing hot."

Dan turned. "Mart, help me search the woods for this girl’s purse. She’s got to have some medicine with her, Brian and me figure."

"Let me get some jeans on and I’m there." Mart bound out into the laundry room.

Trixie followed. "I’m going, too."

"Oh, no you’re not, young lady." Mr. Belden grabbed her by the shoulder. "You’re staying here."

"Why? Three sets of eyes searching for this girl’s things will get them found so much faster." She didn’t understand her parents’ objections.

Mrs. Belden took her daughter by the shoulders. "There may be a rapist out there. I don’t want you to get hurt."

"I’ll be with Dan and Mart. What could possibly go wrong?" She pulled out of her mother’s grasp and backed toward the laundry room.

"I’m sure that’s pretty similar to what this girl told her parents before going out tonight."

Trixie sighed. She really needed to help this girl. "Then you come too, Dad. We’ve got enough flashlights."

Mart reentered the kitchen. "You coming, Trix, or what?"

"Moms? Dad? Please let me do something to help!"

Mrs. Belden turned to her husband. "If you go with her, Peter, I won’t worry."

He kissed his wife, smiled, and said, "All right, Helen. I’ll go, too. When the ambulance gets here, if we’re not back yet, ring the cowbell. We’ll be back right away. The police will want to search, too, and ask questions." He turned to the kids. "Dan, you and Mart can go. Trixie and I will catch up with you."

"Hey, guys. Remember it’s a crime scene. Try not to disturb any important clues!" Trixie called after them. She grabbed a pair of jeans and yanked them over her pajamas. She nearly collided with her father as she dashed for her boots and heavy coat in the main hall. She waited for her father in the family room and watched Brian still tending the girl.

He’s going to be such a good doctor one day! she thought. "Is she going to be all right?" she asked.

Brian barely glanced at his sister. "If we can get her levels normalized, she will."

Mrs. Belden had gotten a small glass of fruit juice and was helping hold the girl up so she could sip at it. She murmured, "Come on, miss, take some."

The girl tossed her head away from the glass, nearly spilling it. "No! No!" she muttered, her words slurred. "Don’t want –"

"Shhh," Helen continued in a soothing voice. "It’ll be all right. You’re safe here. We just want you to have some juice."

"No. Don’t know you." Her eyes closed.

Trixie stepped forward. "Where is your medicine? Do you remember?"

Brian shot her an angry glare. "Can’t you see she’s in shock? She can’t really understand what any of us are saying or that we’re trying to help her. Scram."

"Trixie, please. Your father’s ready. Go and help the boys find her things." Mrs. Belden’s sympathetic eyes calmed her hurt feelings. Trixie knew she was in the way here. She had just hoped that the girl would be able to tell them something useful. She turned and found her father at the back door with two flashlights.

They hurried across the back yard toward Ten Acres and within moments found Dan and Mart, searching the area with their flashlights. Mart called over to them. "Dan found her over here," he indicated the area in front of him with his light. "The ground’s been disturbed. Dan found a trail indicating she was probably trying to crawl toward the house for some shelter but only got that far. He’s following the trail that way. I think she might have been trying to get back somewhere."

Trixie nodded, seeing the scene in her head. That’s where she was attacked. Her attacker left – somehow, somewhere – and she went in the opposite direction, toward the house. From the ground and the back, it does look as if Ten Acres is still pretty much standing. You’d have to have seen it from the front to know it’s not. Or was she trying to get to the road? Or to our place? She definitely was not going to go the way her attacker went. Which means her attacker was going deeper into the woods.

She shivered. A strange man was stalking girls in these woods? And where was he going? Or was he someone she knew? She stamped her feet to warm them and headed toward the bushes Mart had first indicated while her father began searching Ten Acres with Mart, working off the idea the girl had been trying to return to someplace safe rather than find one.

Apparently, Dan had stumbled almost on top of the girl while on his way home. She shook her head. She couldn’t keep calling her ‘the girl’ every time. She named her Jane Doe and continued her train of thought. Jane was hiding under the maple in these bushes. She pulled them away from the tree trunk. There was a cozy little hollow formed by the huge roots and an impression of a large mass in the ground, like an animal had nested there recently. Of course, that had been Jane.

Heading deeper into the woods Trixie found Dan, his flashlight scanning the ground, following Jane’s trail. She caught up with him. "Find anything yet?"

"No."

Dan’s quick answer told Trixie he was worried and feeling the pressure for a swift conclusion to their hunt. "Did she say anything to you that might help?" She tried again.

"No."

A moment later, they reached an intersection of the trail where the main bridle path from the Wheeler stables met the one from Ten Acres. Several twigs had recently been knocked off their branches and the slushy ground had been kicked up. Dan picked up a rock, grimly noting a brownish stain on one sharp end.

"The scene of the crime," Trixie said soberly. Dan nodded and replaced the rock on the ground.

"The police will want hair and blood samples. Maybe they can get some DNA off it," he said.

"If Jane used the rock on her attacker and not the other way around," Trixie added.

"Jane?" Dan shot her a quizzical glance.

Before he could speak further, Trixie shook her head. "Jane Doe. We can’t just call her ‘the girl.’"

"Yeah." Dan nodded. "Well, this was where it happened. Something else should be here."

Trixie and Dan fanned out. A moment later, Trixie spotted a bright green knapsack in the distance. She hopped down the incline for a better view. "Dan! I found it!" As he hurried toward her, she scrambled over some more rocks and branches, reached over a small break in the ground and grabbed a strap. It was heavy, but she managed to pull it loose from the bush it was stuck in. She brushed off some mud and opened the top.

Dan reached her then. "Is that it? Is her insulin inside?"

Trixie carefully searched the interior of the knapsack. She found mostly female clothing, a small book, an old stuffed teddy bear and a set of keys on a ring.

"What about this side pocket?" Dan suggested.

"Some detective I am," she grumbled, opening the pocket and finding an insulin kit and blood sugar tester. "I never looked in the most obvious place!"

"Whatever," Dan dismissed her remarks. "Let’s get back to the farm."

Despite their earlier fatigue, Dan and Trixie were able to summon enough energy to race back to the other Beldens searching Ten Acres, yell that they’d found the insulin, and continue running up to the back porch of the farmhouse. Trixie handed the knapsack to her mother, panted, "It’s in the side pocket," and collapsed against the door frame to pull off her boots. Dan yanked off his galoshes, too and left them to dry outside, following Trixie inside the warm family room.

Brian and his mother were not idle during the search. Although they had been unable to get Jane to drink any juice, they cleaned up most of her cuts and scrapes, removed her coat and jeans and covered her in a thick quilt. The girl lay still on the couch, her breath shallow.

Brian took the kit from his mother and swiftly read the instructions and easily deciphered a doctor’s handwritten notes.

"Brian?" Helen looked worried. "Are you sure you should go ahead and do this?"

Brian looked worried, too. "No, I’m not sure. It’ll take the ambulance at least another 5 or 10 minutes to get here. She’s getting worse, though, and no longer responsive. I’m not sure it’s safe to wait." He opened the blood sugar tester and quickly read the directions. Then he took one of her fingers, used the finger-stick to prick the skin and touched the blood drop to the testing strip, held in place by the monitor. After thirty seconds that seemed like thirty years, the monitor beeped and displayed a number: 45.

"Whoa!" Brian exclaimed. "That’s not good at all. She’s hypoglycemic. She needs more glycogen." He searched the kit and found a pre-filled pen-shaped syringe full of glycogen. Again, he quickly scanned the instructions and dialed up the dosage. Then he stopped. Should he wait for the ambulance? He didn’t hear the siren yet. He turned a questioning gaze to his parents.

"Go ahead, Brian. Better safe," Helen told him. Peter and Mart arrived and were stamping their bare feet on the carpet beside Trixie and Dan. Brian became uncomfortably aware of their quiet stares.

"It’s okay, son. You know what you’re doing." Peter Belden’s encouragement seemed to do the trick. Brian smiled gratefully, then nodded and prepared a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol. He lifted the quilt, noticed a few track marks on the girl’s thighs, selected a spot just above what seemed like the latest one_, swabbed, and placed the needle against the skin. He took a deep breath, steadied his hands, and applied even pressure against the needle. He felt the needle pierce the skin, move through layers of dermis and then the pressure gave out. He pushed the plunger and injected the glycogen into her fatty tissue (he hoped). When the level bottomed out, he released his breath and withdrew the needle, cleaning the bloodless wound with another swab of alcohol.

Brian felt light headed, so he closed his eyes. Minutes later, he heard a siren getting louder and louder. Flashing lights flooded the main hall and his parents rushed toward the front door. He heard voices asking questions and giving orders and then two EMTs were there, and Trixie was pulling him away from the sofa into an armchair. Someone pressed a glass of juice into his hand. He grimaced, forcing the liquid down his parched throat. He tried to listen to what the EMTs were saying. They were asking a question.

"Who gave her the glycogen?"

"My son did. He felt the situation warranted it –" Peter Belden defended his son.

"Well, the doctors will have a fit, but I think it was a gutsy move. It’s what we would have done, had we been earlier. Don’t sweat it, kid. You probably saved her life." They lifted the girl onto a gurney and began wheeling her down the hall. Brian followed, suddenly overcome with a need to be certain she would make it all right.

"Brian, stay here. We’ll call the hospital in the morning to check on her." The others crowded into the main hall even as Peter laid a hand on his son’s shoulders to keep him from leaving. Brian turned to thank him and saw his youngest brother, Bobby, had woken up and was huddled on the sixth step, his thumb in his mouth and tears in his eyes.

"You okay, Bobby?" he asked gently.

Bobby shook his head and tears began running down his cheeks. "Who was that? Was she dead?"

Helen rushed to hold Bobby in her arms. "No, honey, she wasn’t dead. She was just sick. We found her outside and called the paramedics to drive her safely to the hospital. I’m sure you’ll be able to meet her in a few days.

"Who is she?" Bobby wanted to know.

"Well, honey, we don’t know--" Helen shared a look of concern with her husband. How much should she share with her youngest, most impressionable child?

"Her name is Margaret Lang and she’s from Sugar Grove. That’s in Pennsylvania!" Trixie, still carrying the wallet she had found in the green knapsack, answered.

Mart motioned to the front yard. "Well, now we have some more information for the police."

Sergeant Molinson of the Sleepyside Police Department strode quickly over to the ambulance. After a few hasty questions of the EMTs, he more slowly approached the farmhouse. Another squad car pulled into the drive, followed by two more. Four officers and a K-9 unit assembled in the front drive. Molinson approached the porch. Mart opened the door as the Sergeant arrived and admitted him inside.

After greeting Mr. and Mrs. Belden, Sgt. Molinson turned toward Trixie. "Well, Junior Detective, why don’t you tell me what happened so that I can go back home, another case solved?"

Trixie flushed. It wasn’t her fault she happened to be in the right place at the right time to solve crimes! Was it? Her mother intervened, inquiring if the sergeant wanted some coffee in the family room. Peter took Bobby back up to bed while Helen prepared mugs for the coffee and cocoa in the comfortable family room.

"First," the Sergeant began, accepting a cup of coffee from Helen and Peter had returned to the room, "can someone show my men where to start a search for the perp?"

Mart nodded, pulled his coat back on and left, leading the investigators through to Ten Acres.

Sgt. Molinson opened his notebook and opened his ballpoint. "All right. Who’s going first?"

Everyone turned toward Dan. "I, uh, guess I should." He cleared his throat, betraying his nervousness at going first as well as his learned defensiveness around police officers. He told the officer, as succinctly as he could, how he had been walking home and discovered the girl in the bushes. When he got to the part about Brian beginning a physical exam, the sergeant asked that young man to continue.

Brian told him, "I noticed she was sweaty and pale. I saw the bruise on her cheek and some scrapes on her hands. I asked Dan to help me remove her coat. That’s when we noticed she wasn’t wearing anything underneath but her, um, bra. There were several bruises and cuts –" he indicated the approximate locations on himself "-and we noticed her jeans weren’t zipped up, just buttoned. That’s when we knew for sure she’d been attacked, possibly worse. We saw the MedicAlert bracelet and I realized she was in diabetic shock. Dan went to make the 911 call and then he, Mart, Trixie and my Dad went out to search for her insulin. Moms and I made her as comfortable as we could. We cleaned out her wounds and removed her jeans, they were soaked through with snow and slush, and covered her with a quilt and afghan."

Helen pointed out the coat and jeans hanging by the fire, drying out. "She wasn’t wearing anything else," she said, delicately. Molinson caught her eye, then nodded.

"I see," he said. "And the rest of you. Think you can show me where you found the insulin?"

"Of course," Trixie answered. "But we also found this knapsack." She pointed to the now-empty green knapsack at her feet. An explosion of clothing and personal items lay scattered on the carpet. "That’s how we know her name: Margaret Lang. She’s from Sugar Grove, Pennsylvania."

The sergeant glared at her. "Would you mind, just once, Miss Belden, if you allowed the police to find out something?" But he took her place on the ottoman and began rifling through the clothing. Sighing, he gave up. "What’s all here?"

Trixie had the grace not to look triumphant. "About three complete changes of clothing, an extra pair of underwear and socks, a wallet and a teddy bear. I’d say she was running away from home."

"What makes you say that, Trixie?" Dan asked, suddenly interested.

"Simple. If she were on a family vacation, she’d have put all that stuff in a suitcase, or left it with her family. She also wouldn’t be likely to take along some old stuffed animal for a few days’ or weeks’ vacation. She’d leave it behind."

"Our Trixie. The Feminine Mystique explained." Brian’s tone was dry, but he smiled.

Trixie retorted, "Scoff if you must, brother mine, but I do understand how and why a girl packs certain things in her knapsack." She didn’t mind Brian’s joke at her expense. He had been acting so strangely about giving Margaret the injection, she was glad to see he was recovering.

"I’m inclined to agree with you, Trixie," Molinson interrupted, causing no end of raised eyebrows among the Beldens. "I think she was running away, too. I’ll run this ID through the FBI database. Maybe her parents have noticed her missing and have reported it." He stood up. "It’s really dark out there now. I’ll be around in the morning to go over the crime scene in greater detail. Meanwhile, if you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Belden, could you show me the scene? Maybe go over a few details?"

Peter stood, but Dan interrupted him. "Excuse me, Sergeant, but I can show you. I’m the one who found Margaret and I was there when Trixie found the knapsack, so I can show you that, too. Besides, I have to get back to the cabin. Maypenny’s sure to be worried about me out so late, and I have school in the morning, even if it’s a half day. I won’t be available much for questions tomorrow."

Molinson nodded. "All right. Lead the way. Ma’am," he said to Helen, "I’ll be around about 9 to let you know what’s going on. I’m sure Trixie will be bugging you first chance she gets to find out all the latest. This way, maybe she won’t come down to the station to find out herself. When I have further questions, I’ll be in touch. Good night, everyone, and thank you for the coffee. I’ll send Mart back home." He and Dan, who had already slipped on his heavy coat, exited the back door.

"What a night!" Peter Belden exclaimed, securing the door behind them and turning the lock.

"Peter!" his wife scolded.

"What, sweetheart?" he asked.

"You locked the door!" Worriedly, her eyes rested on each of her children. Were any of them truly safe any more, now that violence had struck so close to their own home?

Chapter Two: Questions & Answers

Westchester County Hospital
Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, New York
Friday, January 3
2:30 p.m.

"Come on, Honey. They put her in ICU. Let’s go and visit." Trixie pulled on her best friend’s arm impatiently.

"Okay, Trixie! I’m coming! I just don’t want to appear too obvious about it." Honey gently chided her friend. "We’re supposed to be visiting all the patients. And we’re not supposed to be bothering the ones in ICU, remember?"

Trixie sighed. "I remember. I just want to make sure she’s all right. I heard from Moms that Margaret came around earlier, and that Sgt. Molinson was able to ask her some questions. I want to ask some questions, too."

Honey regarded her friend with concern. They reached the main elevator bank and Trixie summoned the next car. "You’re not going to hound her, are you?"

"What’s wrong with you? Of course not! But remember our last Jane Doe? She turned out to be someone important and we helped figure that out. Maybe we can help this girl, too." The car arrived and the girls entered. Trixie punched the button for the 4^th floor. They were about to continue their conversation when a pair of nurses called to hold the door.

The two friends waited silently as the elevator deposited the two nurses on the 3^rd floor - Surgical & Post-Op - before continuing. Honey said, "Our last Jane Doe had amnesia. This one knows who she is. From what you told me, everyone thinks she’s a runaway. That means parent problems. How can we help with that? She needs counseling, probably."

Trixie sighed. "That sounds so reasonable. But I can’t help it. Something about this whole mess bothers me. I mean, what was she doing out behind Ten Acres? And who attacked her? And why? What would a girl from Sugar Grove want with Sleepyside? Why run away from there to here? What’s the point? Why not go to Manhattan? Or Philadelphia? Or Pittsburgh, even?"

Honey frowned, thinking about it. "She got lost?"

Trixie chuckled. "Nice try. But let’s find out for ourselves, okay?"

Honey agreed, still reluctant to bother a perfect stranger on the morning after a vicious attack. Trixie had related all the details to the BWGs on the morning school bus. Di and Honey thought it lucky Dan had happened to take that particular trail back home, and told him so repeatedly, since otherwise, Margaret might not have been found in time.

The girls simply walked past the nurse’s station and ducked into a supply closet. The nurse on duty barely looked up as they pushed the door almost closed. They waited just a few moments for their luck to kick in. The nurse picked up a stack of patient files and walked down the hall away from the closet.

Trixie yanked open the door and hurried behind the desk. She punched in a few keys on the computer and brought up the latest patient list. Margaret Lang was listed for room 405. Trixie smiled. "Bingo!"

Honey whispered urgently, "She’s coming back!"

Trixie hastened back around the desk and the two girls walked as normally as possible in the opposite direction. When they reached room 405, they hurried in. Trixie peeked around the doorjamb. The nurse hadn’t noticed a thing.

"Whew!" she breathed, relieved.

"Trixie!" Honey whispered, a bit of wonder in her voice. "This was Janie’s – I mean, Juliana’s – room!"

Trixie nodded at the girl in the bed, staring at them with blatant curiosity. "Now it’s Margaret’s."

Honey turned. The girl in the bed, Margaret Lang, stared at her. She had dark brown eyes, dark red hair and pale, almost ivory, skin. It looked to Honey like she’d never had a tan in her life. Margaret was also remarkably pretty, in a definitely Irish sort of way. She was slender, almost too thin, and looked almost frail. Honey smiled warmly. "Hi! I’m Honey Wheeler and this is my best friend, Trixie Belden."

The girl half smiled in return. "I’m Margaret Lang, but somehow you already know that."

"I’m the one who found your knapsack," Trixie explained. "You were taken to Crabapple Farm after you were found last night. That’s my place. I mean, my family’s place. My brother Brian is the one who gave you that injection of glycogen that saved your life and our friend Dan was the one who found you in the woods."

The girl nodded slowly. "Crabapple Farm. Brian. Dan. Woods. Uh-huh." She licked her lips, wincing a little at a cut on the lower lip.

Trixie stepped closer. "Don’t you remember what happened?"

Something in the girl’s eyes seemed to close. "I was going into shock. I don’t usually remember anything when I do that."

Honey pulled up a chair and sat down. "You’ve gone into shock before?"

Margaret pulled the covers further over her lap. She sat up straighter. "Once or twice. Not by choice, you understand. I know how important taking care of myself is. That’s why I had my stuff with me."

Trixie sat on the arm of the chair. "We want to help you. Would you tell us what you were doing out in those woods?"

Margaret glanced down at her hands, clutching the blanket tight. "I got lost."

Honey elbowed Trixie and shot her a significant glance. Trixie felt a bit deflated. It couldn’t be that simple could it? "Where were you trying to go?"

Margaret paused a moment, her shoulders shrugging. "Albany, I guess."

Something in her manner told Trixie she was covering up something - something important. "You’re lying," she said casually.

Honey stared up at her friend. "Trixie! How can you say that?"

Margaret half-smiled. "Yeah, Trixie. How can you sat that? We just met and already you’re accusing me of being dishonest!"

Trixie shot her friend a warning ‘be quiet!’ look, then turned to Margaret and said coolly, "Why on earth would you go to Albany? Most runaways go to Manhattan."

Margaret laughed. "Not if that’s where they’re running away from. Got you there, Sam Spade."

Trixie sat up, startled. "You read detective fiction?"

Margaret leaned back against the pillows. "What are you talking about? Sam Spade is the character in a series of mysteries for the computer. You know: The Maltese Falcon Starring Sam Spade, with Bruce Willis as Spade. Or, The Dame Wore Diamonds, et cetera, et cetera."

Trixie grumbled, disappointed. "Well, they were books first."

"Oh."

"What were you doing in Manhattan?" Honey asked, getting them back on track.

"School trip." Margaret stretched, trying to work out a kink in her shoulder. Trixie and Honey instinctively got up to help her readjust her pillows. "Thanks, that feels better."

"No problem," Trixie answered, sitting back on the edge of the chair. "So, why’d you run away from your school trip?"

Carefully, with warning in her eyes, Margaret replied, "I’d always wanted to see the capital of New York and the time seemed ripe. Unfortunately, the bus driver wasn’t going to cooperate. So I had him ‘disposed of’, got my things and left."

Not buying the obvious lie for a moment, Trixie folded her arms and asked, sarcasm dripping from her lips, "Why not take the bus yourself? You’d get farther."

Margaret smiled. She’d been prepared. "A Greyhound bus is easy to trace. They have GPS’s in them, you know. I don’t."

Honey whispered to Trixie. "What’s a GPS?"

Trixie, unwilling to let Margaret know that she didn’t know either, whispered back, "Tell you later."

Margaret smiled wider. "Global Positioning System. It’s a network of satellites that compares your position to a predetermined fixed position providing feedback to a central computer as to where you are in the world."

"Oh." Trixie felt her face get hot. She hated feeling stupid. Then something else clicked. "Sleepyside isn’t exactly on the way to Albany. You’d want to have taken 9W."

"Oh?" Margaret replied warily.

"It is on the other side of the Hudson. Just like Albany." Now it was Trixie’s turn to act smug.

"Like I said, I got lost." She shrugged. "Why am I telling you any of this? You’re just candy stripers. The most you can help me with is choosing a suitably out of date magazine."

Honey bristled. She took her volunteering quite seriously. "We do more than that! We provide emotional support, a cheerful attitude and a comforting presence. We assist the nurses by taking over minor, routine functions like filling water jugs and-"

Margaret interrupted her. "And prying into people’s personal affairs. Besides. Candy stripers aren’t allowed in ICU, are they? Just one touch on this button," she brandished the nurse’s call switch, "and you guys are history. Just like that!"

Trixie and Honey shared an uneasy look. Just then Nurse Phillips entered the room. She was staring at a chart, so she didn’t see the stripers immediately. "Good news, Margaret! They located your parents and they’re on their way! Oh! Trixie and Honey. What are you two doing here? You should be in Pediatrics reading stories."

Trixie and Honey stood guiltily. Trixie opened her mouth to offer a quick explanation, but Margaret spoke first. "It’s all right, Nurse. This is the sister of the guy who helped me last night. She was just concerned about me. You can go now. I’m fine." She directed the last statements to the girls, seemingly eager to let them leave.

Trixie and Honey nodded, thanked Margaret for her time and exited the room. Trixie pulled Honey against the wall and prepared to eavesdrop. She waved a hand at her friend to be quiet so she could hear.

Margaret was talking. "How did you locate my parents?"

"It wasn’t easy! For some reason, your housekeeper thought they were in Russia, working on some business deal. But they were just in Canada at their fishing lodge. We contacted them about an hour ago. They said they’d charter a plane and fly into Sleepyside by early tomorrow morning."

Margaret was silent for a moment. "So I have to stay here all night?"

"Well, normally you could check out, but with no place to stay tonight, you may as well stay here."

Abruptly, Trixie started down the hall toward the elevators, pulling Honey along with her. Once inside the car, Honey demanded, "Trixie! What’s going on? What’s so mysterious?"

"Isn’t it obvious? She doesn’t want her parents to find her! She ran away for some reason, but not from home. From a school trip to Manhattan. But since when do schools plan trips over winter break? And her parents were away in Canada, but the housekeeper thought they were in Russia. Why would the Langs tell their own housekeeper false information? Especially with their daughter out of town and sick with diabetes?" Trixie blurted out her questions as the elevator descended.

"That does seem strange, unless Margaret set the whole thing up. But why run away in the first place? And why tell us she was going to Albany? And why was she on Glen Road in the middle of winter, and who attacked her? And where are we going now?"

Trixie grinned. "I’ll answer the last question first. We’re going to Pediatrics because those kids are counting on us. The rest, I’m determined to find out. Before the Langs arrive, I hope."

*     *     *

Dan spent his school half-day fighting his fatigue. He’d taken at least another hour with Molinson last night, going over details about the crime scene, before he made it up the mountain to Maypenny’s. The old man had been waiting up for him, about to begin a search himself.

"I know you know this place about as well as anyone, Daniel," he had said, "but I was worried just the same. Something just doesn’t feel right about the woods tonight."

So Dan told the old man the story over a cup of soothing tea and it took another half-hour before he climbed the stairs to his room. By the time he’d fallen into his bed, he had been up almost twenty hours.

His alarm went off at 4 a.m., reminding him of his responsibilities. He showered quickly, wincing at the icy water, grabbed a strip of jerky, poured a cup of coffee into a thermos, jammed a woolen cap on his head and started out to the small barn.

Maypenny opened one of the second-story windows. "Daniel! If you like, I’d be happy to patrol the other side for you."

Dan smiled. That was the larger, and more boring, section to patrol. "No, thanks! I appreciate it, but I already owe you. Besides. I’m already up. Go back to sleep."

"But you’re a growing boy. You need your rest," Maypenny protested.

Dan called up to the window, still striding toward the barn. "I’ll rest when I’m dead! Isn’t that your motto?" He grinned at Maypenny’s disgusted expression. "Tell you what. You make breakfast by the time I get back and we’ll call it even." Maypenny, satisfied with the bargain, nodded and shut the window. Dan whistled as he set down his snack and began saddling his horse, Cranberry.

Cranberry had been a Christmas gift from his Uncle Bill. Bill had taken Dan to a horse auction in Saugerties, about three hours north of Sleepyside. They had made a day of it and Dan had picked up his Christmas exchange gift for the BWGs at the same time. He had thought they were just on a regular sort of Uncle/Nephew outing, just two guys and a car and not much else to do but window shop for horses and look at pretty women.

But Cranberry had been a surprise. She was a young mare without much going for her in the way of looks. She’d been caught on a barbed-wire fence and had ugly scars across her left flank. But she possessed a spirit that Bill had instantly picked up on as perfect for his nephew. He purchased the horse ostensibly for the Wheeler stables, but on Christmas Eve, he led her up to Maypenny’s to present her to Dan as his own.

Dan couldn’t have been more grateful, or more humbled by the gift. His uncle was known for caring too much about horses to admit that someone else might care for them as well as he. Giving a horse to anyone meant he trusted them. Giving a horse to his nephew meant they’d come a long way in repairing their relationship. He vowed to himself that Cranberry would never know injury or suffer neglect. In that way, he could repay his uncle’s trust.

Cranberry, however, was still getting used to the trails through the preserve. That was another reason he wanted to patrol as often as he could. He started on the southern side of Glen Road, making mental notes of any feeders down, any salt licks that needed to be replaced and any unusual activity or signs of camping or poachers. He found nothing that couldn’t be explained away as a natural occurrence.

He’d opened his package of jerky and began drinking the steaming coffee about halfway through his patrol. He finished the jerky by the time he approached Glen Road. He saw the taillights of the paperboy’s ancient Chevrolet as he stopped at each mailbox along the road toward Telegraph. Dan urged Cranberry to hurry across the street. He didn’t want the horse to get the impression that the road was a safe place to dawdle.

On the northern side, he began at the Lynch property line and headed north. Dan again found nothing unusual. He circled back by the Manor House, noticing lights coming on in Jim and Honey’s rooms. The lazy rich, he grinned to himself, sleeping in every morning. He finished his coffee and debated heading up toward the stables to grab some more from his uncle. He circled the lake, still considering it, when he found what he wasn’t looking for: an abandoned campsite.

He got off Cranberry and tied the reins to a low branch. He glanced around, finding definite signs of recent camp activity. He saw day-old ruins of a small fire and a pair of downed logs pulled up around it. A few bones lay scattered in the brush to one side. He examined them carefully. They looked like pork and chicken bones. He picked up one of the chicken bones. There were unusual scratches on it, like from a serrated knife. An empty can of ravioli, a cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper and a few Chinese take-out cartons lay further into the brush. He sniffed the cartons carefully. Extra-spicy General Chicken, wonton soup and pork-fried rice.

Dan felt nervous and sick. Something about these items being here, being together, worried him. What was it? He turned over a carton and spied a sticker on the bottom. To place an order, call (212) 555-EAST. Dan stood suddenly, nearly cracking the top of his head on a tree branch. "555-Eat At Shanghai Treat. The Best of the East," he said unwillingly.

It was just amazing how good marketing slogans stayed with a guy, Dan reflected, staring at the box. But what was an East Side Chinese restaurant take-out box doing in Sleepyside? And why should he suddenly be thinking about the attack on that girl last night? What could this all possibly have to do with anything unless -.

Dan didn’t want to finish the thought. He tried hard to come up with a simpler explanation, but failed. He would have to face the facts. Old friends had come to visit.

Dan dropped the box and hurried back to Cranberry. If someone from the old neighborhood were back in town, he could easily guess why. He urged Cranberry into a swift trot and they moved along the path, hurrying toward the stables. If anyone knew what to do, it would be Bill.

*     *     *

Bill Regan woke up at 4:30 a.m. sharp every morning, rain or shine, week-end or –day. By 4:45 he had showered, shaved and dressed. By 4:50, he was out the door, munching on a cereal bar, swigging his first of 60 ounces of spring water per day.

His routine was pretty simple. He checked on the horses first, to make sure no health problems had occurred during the night. If they checked out, he fed them, watered them, and then checked them again. Starlight hadn’t been eating well the past couple of days. He’d better get the vet out to see him this afternoon, he decided. Lady’s eye infection seemed completely healed. He’d let her get some exercise with the others that afternoon. She should be happy about that, he thought. Jupiter finished his food quickly and began bumping against the stall door. Regan smiled. He was just as anxious to get going on their morning ride as the huge black animal.

Regan knew the BWGs might be able to ride that afternoon after their half-day at school, so he decided just to ride Jupiter. A second ride in the afternoon wouldn’t be so bad. The horse had a lot of excess energy and loved to work it off. He slipped a halter over the horse’s head and carefully led him out of his stall to saddle him.

Regan had just finished tightening the cinch when he heard hoof beats. He smiled. Perhaps he’d join his nephew for a quick tour of the preserve. Just as he thought that, Dan and Cranberry came into view and pulled up short. He felt himself involuntarily scowl. That wasn’t the way to treat a fine animal like Cranberry, but Cranberry also wasn’t his responsibility. It was Dan’s. He opened his mouth to say ‘good morning’, when Dan blurted out, "Uncle Bill! I have to talk to you! It’s serious!"

Regan closed his mouth, nodded, and fairly leapt into the saddle. "We can talk and ride. You need to walk your horse a bit."

Dan accepted the criticism with a humble nod. "I know. But this is important and I need to talk to someone about it."

Regan signaled Jupiter to leave the stable yard and Dan, on Cranberry, followed. "Have you patrolled the northern side yet?"

"No, and I need to." Dan urged Cranberry next to Jupiter and they set off across the back lawn toward the woods.

As they rounded Manor House, they met up with Jim and Honey, laughing together, dressed to ride. "Oh! Good morning, Regan, Dan! Wait up a minute and we can go with you!" Honey smiled happily. She loved nothing better than to ride with a group of people. It just seemed more fun that way and less like a chore.

Jim wished them a good morning and added his invitation to his sister’s. "We were planning on stopping at Crabapple Farm, too. It’s Friday and that means Mrs. Belden’s making buttermilk biscuits."

Regan’s eyes lit up at the thought and glanced at his nephew. Dan felt his stomach rumble, despite his bit of jerky. He wasn’t ready to share his particular news with anyone but his uncle just yet, but there was news he needed to tell the three of them, so he nodded. "Hurry up. It’s cold out here."

Jim and Honey hurried off for the stables to saddle up. Dan turned to Regan. "Sorry. But there’s something else I need to tell all of you. Something serious."

"What about what you wanted to talk about?" Regan regarded his nephew with concern.

Dan took a deep breath. "It’ll keep for now. Don’t mention it to them, though. I especially don’t want to worry Honey. Or get Trixie involved." He gave his uncle a look that made Regan laugh.

"Got it. No problem." They turned the horses around and trotted back toward the stables to wait for the other two.

Despite the snowfall on the two nights previous, there remained little beyond dirty slush on the ground, especially through the ‘high-traffic’ areas surrounding Manor House. Cranberry was already sporting mud splashes on her knees and Jupiter was beginning to look just as disreputable. Jim and Honey hurriedly saddled Strawberry and Susie respectively, and joined them in the stable yard. The quartet started off at a brisk trot, once more around the side of the house.

Manor House was just coming awake. The various servants were beginning to make breakfast, pick up the morning paper, brush slush off the walk to the garage and wake the Wheelers. Once they were without earshot of the house, Dan told them about the events of the night before, leaving out the suspected sexual nature of the attack. He figured Honey didn’t need to know and he could tell Jim later, if he didn’t hear about it from Brian or Mart. Besides, Trixie was just as likely to tell Honey and Dan couldn’t see himself discussing anything to do with sex with Honey. Honey was his boss’s daughter. That meant he had a responsibility to her that went beyond friendship.

The quartet rode toward the farmhouse, asking questions quietly, one by one, until they fell silent. The farmhouse had long since been up and Mrs. Belden spied them from the kitchen window, and met them by the door. "Good morning, Regan! Jim, Honey, Dan," she greeted them in turn. "Can I begin to guess what has brought you four to my door this Friday morning?"

"Merely the wish to see your cheerful face, Mrs. Belden," Jim smiled.

"And the hope that I might have made enough biscuits to share?" she smiled in turn. "Come in for a moment. The kids are already up and Mr. Belden is on his way down, too." Jim and Honey eagerly obeyed, tying their horses to the back porch.

Dan didn’t dismount. "Actually, Mrs. Belden, I still have a lot of patrolling to do. Is there a way I can get that order to go?"

"For our hero du jour, anything. Did you tell them about last night?" she asked.

Honey, climbing the steps to the kitchen door, shivered. "I think it’s terrible to think of that poor girl out there in the dark alone! I’m so glad Dan found her as soon as he did!" She hugged Mrs. Belden and entered the fragrant, warm kitchen.

Jim hugged Mrs. Belden, too, and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for letting us crash. Your biscuits are the best!"

"What about you, Regan?" she asked. "Are you staying or going?"

"I guess I’ll be going. Jupiter’s got a lot of pep this morning."

"I’ll get you two a basket. What you don’t eat, you can pass along to Mr. Maypenny."

"Thank you, Mrs. Belden. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it." Dan told her sincerely. Indeed, Maypenny was always supremely touched whenever one of his neighbors presented him with a gift of food.

"Well, he should! And you can tell him ‘thank you’ for me. These are the best biscuits I’ve ever had." Helen had disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a basket full of biscuits, all wrapped up in a towel, a small jar of honey butter nestled inside.

"Thank you for what, Ma’am?" Dan asked politely, accepting the warm basket.

Helen looked surprised. "The recipe belonged to his wife, of course! In fact, she taught me how to make them this way. I tell you, when I made these for Peter’s mother the first time, she nearly had a seizure at the thought that I could bake better than she! The expression on her face!" She chuckled. "I lived on that for months afterward." She turned conspiratorial. "Mother Belden was a difficult woman to cook for, I can tell you."

Her husband joined her at the door. "Morning, Dan, Bill. What are you going on about, Helen? You’re letting in all the cold air," he chided gently, slipping his arms around her from behind.

"Apologies, Mr. Belden," Regan began. "We were just stealing some of your breakfast."

Dan held up the basket and grinned. "Thanks!" he called out, laughing. They waved goodbye and exited the Belden farmyard, careful not to let the horses trample the future flower garden.

They split a biscuit and shared the honey butter in silence, enjoying the early morning forest sounds: the first chittering of the waking birds, the soft hum of a car traveling down Glen Road, the occasional rustle of a fox or rabbit scampering from the horses.

"It’s so beautiful out here, so silent," Dan breathed. "So different from the city."

Regan nodded. "I can well imagine. The smog, the pollution, the never-ending noise. I don’t know how you could have stood it."

Dan smiled. "It’s not so hard to explain. The city has an energy about it. It’s all around you all at once and so powerful, you have to become one with it. You groove with it, as my dad used to say. Don’t get me wrong, though," he grinned, "I like the woods, too. Except here, the energy and the life doesn’t jump out at you unless you’re still and quiet. It sort of seeps into you, creeps over you until one day you realize you’ve just wasted an hour of your life watching a deer with her fawn, yet it felt like the most important thing you’d ever done, watching that deer with her fawn."

Regan nodded knowingly. "I’ve spent many an hour watching rabbits and woodchucks. But I can’t imagine ever feeling as comfortable in the city."

"Well," Dan explained, "The city forces itself on you. Forces you to step at the same beat as everyone else. It connects you to other people even as it lets you completely ignore everyone else. It’s like everyone is part of this massive thing. Or like everyone has the same heart beating at the same pace."

"And if your heart can’t beat at that pace?"

"The city will chew you up and spit you out." Dan replied quickly with a typical New Yorker attitude and a cocky grin. Then he sobered and said, "Or it changes you into something cold and hard. Something not really human anymore."

Regan was silent for a moment. He wondered if Dan was referring to himself as he was just a year ago – cold, hard, almost inhuman. Regan hadn’t known his sister’s whereabouts ever since she left the foster care system to get married at 16. Regan had just been 7 years old when he last saw her. The foster families that cared for him didn’t seem to know where Rebecca Regan was or how she was doing, nor would they let him try to contact her. Finding out that his sister had lost her husband and then died herself, leaving her only son to the tender mercies of a tough street gang had been difficult enough. But then to face that boy, his only living relative, and try to establish some sort of relationship with him, that was a real challenge.

Dan hadn’t been willing at the beginning to give his uncle the time of day or the benefit of the doubt. All he knew was that some stranger, who half resembled his mother, now had guardianship of him, and would keep him out of jail, if and only if Dan moved to some Podunk little town a few hours north of the city, away from all that he had ever known. The man cared for horses, for heaven’s sake! And worked for somebody else! Some rich guy that probably had his uncle ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ all day long. To top it off, Regan wanted Dan to live with some old hermit in a log cabin in the mountains and work for his living. Work!

Not to mention the goody-two-shoes kids that lived around him. They were all friends of his boss’s kids and they all got along better with his own uncle than he seemed able. Would they report his behavior to his uncle if he screwed up? Would they lord it all over him? Make fun of him? After his first 24 hours, Dan had made plans to run away and rejoin his gang.

But then he met Bobby. A cute little kid who didn’t look at Dan like he was going to knife him to death. And Trixie was kind of cute, too, if a little naïve. And he hadn’t liked making Honey or Di cry. His mother had always taught him to be nice to girls, that being nice would pay off in the long run. On the street, he’d met a lot of girls he hadn’t needed to be nice to, to understand what his mother meant by ‘pay off’. But these girls were different. And the guys were okay, too. And then one of his old gang showed up, and Bobby’s life was threatened, and Trixie and Bobby had needed his help and that had been the end of any plan to return to Manhattan.

And Trixie had apologized. And Bobby started to worship him. And the other BWGs accepted him into their club, surprising him with a member’s jacket at that Winter Carnival. It was like being accepted into the gang, except without the initiation of blood. It was much easier to resist the temptation to return to the streets when a second member of the gang showed up to rob his friends blind. Much easier to resist than a cigarette, he’d found, after trying multiple times to quit. But every time he resisted the old habits, the old habits got weaker.

"It’s about the old gang," Dan said finally, breaking the silence. "I think they’re back. One or two of them, not many more. I’m not positive why, but I can guess."

Regan laid his full attention on Dan. "You can tell me."

Dan glanced away. "I found a campsite on the other side of the lake," he related the events of the morning and his conclusions.

Regan thought for a moment as the horses picked their way up the path. "I’ll say this: I’m glad you told me first. Although you do need to tell Maypenny so he can tell Wheeler when he meets for his report. Do you really think they’re here to get you back?"

"Or to get me out for good, yeah. Blood in, blood out." Regan shook his head at Dan’s bald recitation of the gang’s code of ‘honor’. "Hey, Uncle Bill, that’s what I signed on for. I knew that going in and I was cool with it. I figured, what was my life worth without them, anyway? Nothing. So I might as well belong to something that was going to give my life meaning. Knowing that I was important to the gang, what my leaving would mean, that was pretty heady stuff. It made me feel tough. Important. Consequential." He laughed harshly. "Of course, I wasn’t in school then, so I wouldn’t have known what ‘consequential’ meant. But you get the idea."

"I can’t see how you can laugh at this."

"Uncle Bill, really. What can I do to stop this? I don’t know where they are now, or even if they’re really truly after me. I think they are, but that doesn’t mean they are. I could just be pulling a ‘Trixie’ and jumping to completely the wrong conclusion."

They had reached Maypenny’s cabin by this time. Morning rays splashed through the trees and against the cabin. Maypenny had built on the highest 10 acres in the immediate area, so the cabin was usually well sunlit.

Regan and Dan left their horses in the warm stable and walked to the cabin where they could smell bacon and flapjacks. "I’ll tell Maypenny after breakfast," Dan said. "He hates to talk about work over a meal."

Regan nodded and followed him in. He hated to talk about that gang at any time.

The conversation had been brief. Maypenny didn’t give advice unless explicitly asked to, which was a major reason he and Dan got on as well as they did. He just accepted the information about the campsite and agreed to just tell Mr. Wheeler the bare facts. He couldn’t see any reason to worry the man over what may very well turn out to be nothing.

Dan brushed his teeth, grabbed his books, cared for Cranberry and made it to the bus just in time to board. The rest of them had finished filling Di in on all the details, so when he slumped into his usual seat, they all turned to congratulate him.

Dan didn’t understand what the big deal was. He just did what anyone would have done. As far as he was concerned, Brian really saved her, since he knew what to do to help her. And the paramedics, too. And the police, for trying to find the attacker. He kept mostly silent about the whole thing, figuring the excitement would blow over by the end of the half-day.

But by lunchtime, he’d been swamped with questions and comments from teachers and students alike, all wanting to know how it felt to be a ‘hero’. All wanting to express their own congratulations. All intruding on his usually solitary school day. He met the BWGs for lunch, grateful they, at least, seemed to be over the whole thing. Then Trixie and Honey started in with their rhetoric. Why was she there? What was she doing? How did she get that far into the woods in the first place? When was she attacked? Who attacked her?

Mart & Di, at least, rallied to keep Trixie’s curiosity from growing too large. They reminded her the police had probably already located her parents, the girl was just a runaway and the attacker, well, they should all just be more careful in the future.

Dan went home with thirty pages of history, two pages of Geometry, a French translation and a headache. Maypenny met him halfway up the hill. "Molinson came by. He had some news about Miss Lang. Apparently, her parents were up in Canada. They chartered a flight into Sleepyside and will be here in the morning. Miss Lang is all recovered."

Dan nodded. "I’m glad. Maybe she can work things out with her parents."

Maypenny squinted at him. "There something else bothering you?"

Dan sighed. "No, not really. Everyone was asking me all day about what happened and it all just got worse as the day went on. On the bus home, someone actually said he heard I’d killed the attacker! Why can’t people get the story straight?" He shook his head in amazement.

Maypenny laughed. "Human nature, Daniel. That’s all that is. People just want to be the first with any news, and they want the listener to be impressed with them. They’ll forget all about it soon enough, especially with that girl going home where she belongs."

They started back up the trail to Maypenny’s cabin. "Her parents are due in tomorrow, then?" Dan asked, aiming for nonchalance.

A wise Maypenny answered in the same easy tone as before, "Uh-huh. But, I bet she’d like to see her rescuer first. Maybe thank him before she goes."

Dan glanced up at the old man. Maypenny stared blandly back at him. Dan’s face split into a grin. "You got me. I admit it. I’d like to check up on her myself. Is it okay if I skip dinner at home tonight? I’m going to head on over to Uncle’s and maybe borrow the club car to go into town, see if anyone else wants to go, too."

"Now, why do I get the notion that you won’t have a whit of trouble getting volunteers to go with you?"

*     *     *

True enough, by the time Dan was ready to start down the drive, he’d gotten Jim, Brian and Mart in the car with a promise to Di to stop by and pick her up. They were planning to meet Trixie and Honey at the hospital, since they were already there, volunteering. The Candy Stripers still had another hour to go, so the guys (and Di) planned to eat in town before catching up with the other two.

Burgers at Wimpy’s satisfied their hunger, but catching up with the Candy Stripers whetted their appetite for information. Di and Jim were the only two to not have met Margaret, but Jim allowed Di to push for a meeting ASAP. Trixie led them to the elevators. "She’s in a private room in Pediatrics now. She got moved about an hour ago, since she’s out of danger. Which is great, since Ped’s isn’t guarded like ICU."

Still, the septet raised a few eyebrows on the nursing staff, but when Honey charmed the floor nurse to allow them to visit "for 15 minutes, tops" since "Margaret would have been discharged but for unusual circumstances" and "most of these people are the ones who helped her last night and just want to see for themselves she’s all right", they let them in.

Margaret was sitting upright in her bed, staring at a muted TV. Her eyes widened as the BWGs crowded into the room. "Can I help you?" she asked, a warning in her voice. "You again! What is this? You brought reinforcements?" She glared at Honey and Trixie.

"Hi, Margaret!" Honey had long ago realized that a disarming manner would overcome any objectionable attitude. "Since you were transferred out of ICU, my friends and I thought it would be nice to come and visit."

"Before your parents took you out of here, anyway," Trixie added.

Margaret glanced uneasily at all the faces. "Why are you all wearing the same jacket?"

Honey smiled cheerfully. "It’s a club we formed a couple years ago. Let me introduce you. That’s Mart and Brian Belden, Trixie’s brothers –"

Margaret nodded at them slowly. "You two twins?" She asked Mart, interrupting Honey.

Mart sighed inwardly. "Negative. We were not ‘womb-mates’."

While the others groaned at his pun, Margaret returned her attention to Honey. "Go on. Who are all the rest of them?"

Her cheerfulness slightly dented, Honey continued. "Well, that’s Diana Lynch, who lives down the street from us,-"

"Nice to meet you," Diana inserted.

"--this is my brother Jim and this is--"

Margaret interrupted again. "Well, you two don’t look anything alike. Are you sure you’re related?"

Beside her, Trixie could feel Jim stiffen before answering, "I’m adopted--"

"Yes, of course we are! I consider him just as much my brother as if he’d always lived with me!" Honey’s words overlapped Jim’s, her emotional response causing Brian to slip an arm across her shoulders to calm her. She glanced up at him and bit her tongue.

A small smile crept over Margaret’s lips, but Trixie noted a touch of something else in her eyes besides humor. What was it? Sadness? Loneliness? Anger? Standing on her other side, she noticed Dan hadn’t said a word. Instead, he just looked at Margaret without any expression at all. Margaret turned her attention to him. Her smile seemed to freeze and then fade.

Margaret felt her breath catch. Something about the guy kicked up a memory for her, but what exactly? And why was he staring at her so hard? "Who are you, then?" she asked outright.

"I’m Dan Mangan," he replied. "I’m the one who found you last night."

She repeated, "You found me?" When he nodded slowly, she continued. "Are you sure that’s all you did?"

The girls gasped almost in unison. Jim folded his arms, Brian stood straighter and Mart’s mouth fell open. Dan merely let his left eyebrow rise in derision. "I wasn’t the one covered in mud unable to speak."

Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe you were the one who got me into that condition!"

Dan leaned forward, forgetting the others in his sudden anger. "Let me get something straight with you, sister! I don’t go around accosting strange girls in the woods. That’s not how I get my kicks. You were too far gone to even notice what I was doing, which was saving your sorry butt, so don’t start accusing me!" He glanced around at the others, who now stared at him with a wide-eyed mixture of concern and amusement. "I don’t know why I came here. She’s obviously recovered. I’m out of here."

Trixie stared at him as he brushed past them and swiftly left the room. The echo of his work boots on the hospital linoleum faded, but no one seemed ready to break the suddenly thick tension by speaking or moving. She forced herself to breathe evenly. Dan so rarely lost his temper, she wasn’t sure how to handle it. Would he get over it quick, or should someone go after him? At the same time, she heard Honey saying to Margaret, "that wasn’t nice. He saved your life, you know. You owed him a thank-you, not an insult!"

Di’s eyes burned violet fire. "That’s right! You are so rude! You have no idea what kind of person Dan is, or what he’s been through! To treat him like, like, like a dog is really, really – mean!"

"It’s despicable," Mart added.

"It’s outrageously insensitive," Brian continued.

"Not to mention miserable and low." Jim shook his head. "I’d be surprised if you had any friends at all, if you treat the people who help you this way."

Trixie, proud of the way her friends came to Dan’s defense, turned to give her own. She opened her mouth, all set to join in, when she noticed Margaret’s eyes. They were brimming with tears. Then she noticed her jaw. It was set and angry.

Margaret spit out her words through gritted teeth. "I don’t care what any of you people think about me! I was not put here on this earth to please you or to conform to your idea of what I should do and when! I have no idea what sort of person he is, that’s true. But can any of you say what he was doing last night at sunset? For sure and absolutely?"

Trixie glanced at the guys. Brian answered firmly, "He was with us from noon until 9:30."

Mart clarified, "He and I are working on a science project together. We met at our house after lunch to go over our plans. He stayed for dinner. We worked some more and then went to a club meeting. That was over at 9:30 and he went home. Not 10 minutes later, he’s in our living room with you. That was way after sunset."

"See?" Di told her. "You don’t know what you think you know."

Margaret sniffed. "Actually, I know a lot and I think I know it all. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have automatically assumed the worst. The thing is, I have a hazy idea of the guy who attacked me, and it looked a lot like Dan, but I could just as easily be mistaken." She relaxed her hands, letting go of the blanket. "I’m sorry I insulted your friend. And, Jim? You’re right. I don’t have many. It’s probably because of the way I come across sometimes."

Trixie smiled, feeling a bit more magnanimous, especially since the girl had brought up the subject of her attack herself. "Apology accepted. We come across a little strong sometimes, too."

Mart muttered, "Speak for yourself." Di nudged him and he shrugged.

Trixie continued. "We just wanted to see how you were doing, and maybe break up the monotony of staring at your TV all by yourself. So! You remember the attack?" Margaret stared at her. Trixie felt her friendsncouragingly anyway.

"Boy! You’re not subtle, are you!" Margaret shifted her position and glanced at the others. "Yes, I remember the attack. I remembered it this morning, when the police were here. I told that very nice Sergeant Molinson all about it. What’s the big mystery?"

Trixie still didn’t look at or acknowledge her friends in anyway. It was easier to interrogate someone when she wasn’t feeling the pressure her brothers, and especially Jim, put on her. But since she couldn’t order them out of the room, she pretended they weren’t there at all. "What do you remember about it?"

Honey moved to stand just behind Trixie. "We’re just kind of concerned. You see, we live out there and we’re in the woods all the time by ourselves. We’re just worried that something like what happened to you could happen to us."

"Yeah," Trixie agreed, grateful once again for Honey’s legendary tact, "we also wonder if maybe we’ve seen the guy, or maybe we know something we should tell the police."

Di left the foot of the bed and came around to Margaret’s other side, effectively directing the girl’s attention away from the boys. "Frankly, I’m in awe that you’re not freaking out! I know I am whenever I’m near danger, which isn’t as often as Honey or Trix, but near enough!"

Margaret frowned. "When are you guys in danger?"

Trixie waved dismissively. "Oh, lots of times. But we can tell you all about that some other day. Right now, we want to hear about your experience."

"Oh, all right," Margaret sighed. "I was walking along this likely-looking path through the woods round about sunset when-"

"Hold on," Brian interrupted. "What were you doing wandering around the woods alone, especially at night?"

"I just was!" She glared at him, then focused on Di. "Anyway, I was going up this trail and it turned and went over this sort of rise. When I came into this sort of clearing, where the trail intersected with a larger one, I stopped. I wasn’t sure which way to go at first, then some guy came running up behind me and grabbed me." She wrapped her right arm across her chest and her left around her neck to demonstrate. "He growled in my ear that he had a knife and he would use it if I gave him any trouble."

Di’s eyes grew even wider. "Did you scream?"

Margaret frowned in thought. "I think so. I’m not sure. I may have yelped a little. He told me to be quiet, so I must have said something. Anyway, he pushed me forward and off the trail. I kind of collapsed a little, and that’s when he sort of stood on top of me, but crouching down, you know?" She checked to be sure Trixie and Honey were following her, then she continued.

"He sort of pushed me over onto my face and got on top of me. I thought for sure he was going to, well, you can imagine what I thought! That’s when he started pulling my coat off me. I didn’t struggle. I wasn’t sure what to try to do, but I didn’t struggle. I didn’t help him, either, and he got kind of frustrated with me. He grabbed my knapsack and threw it into the bushes. He got my coat off me and pushed up my sweater." She sighed, frowning in concentration. "It’s hard to explain. He pulled me up to take my arm out of my sleeve, then let me fall again as he pulled the coat off. Then he pulled me up to push up my sweater, but the neck is really tight, so it got stuck. That’s when he got out his knife."

By this time, Trixie and Honey had edged onto the bed, their expressions perfect duplicates of Di’s: wide-eyed concern, sympathy and interest. Meanwhile, Jim, Brian and Mart were also listening intently, but carefully keeping themselves as unobtrusive as possible. They realized what Di had somehow been able to do: get Margaret to forget about their presence long enough to start relating her misadventure.

A distant page sounded from the hallway and an orderly passed by with a mop and bucket, but otherwise, the only sound was Margaret’s calm voice as she meticulously related the events of the previous evening. "I don’t know where he was keeping the knife, but suddenly I felt something cold against my skin and heard the sweater ripping and then the sweater was the only thing between me and the ground. You know, I hate the smell of wet wool. Anyway, I felt him lay down on top of me. He was breathing real hard and grunting. I asked him to please not hurt me. I wasn’t going to scream, I told him, and he could have all my money, if he just promised not to hurt me."

Margaret laughed dryly. "He said something about not hurting me, but making me feel ‘real nice’ instead. That’s when he, um, flipped me over and yanked off my bra. He must have cut that off, too. I remember starting to panic, and struggling with him, and him slugging me with his fist." She indicated her right cheek. "He, um, unzipped my jeans and – and undid his pants and lay down on top of me." She shuddered involuntarily, her throat closing with remembered fear.

Di had laid her hand on top of Margaret’s left hand, while Trixie patted her right. Honey smiled encouragingly and murmured softly, "You’re safe now. It’s all right."

Margaret fought the fresh wave of tears in her eyes, but her voice didn’t break. "He started kissing me. Well, parts of me, anyway. He had really horrible cigarette breath. And his hands were all over me, too. I realized he didn’t have the knife anymore, so I started looking for some way to defend myself. I searched the area with my hands for something to use as a weapon – or even the knife itself. I found a rock!" She grinned through her tears. "A really big rock with a sharp point on it. I picked it up and jammed it into his face!"

She gestured with her fist, demonstrating her move on Di, who told her, "Wow! I would never have the presence of mind to do that! What did the creep do then?"

Margaret relapsed into thought. "He screamed at me, and tried to get his knife, but when he got off me to get it, I got up, saw it just lying there and grabbed it first. He cursed at me. His face was really bleeding bad, so he sort of held his hand over the gash and then turned and ran. I grabbed my coat and put it on. The sweater was a complete loss, so I just buttoned the coat and began looking for my knapsack wherever he threw it to. By that time, though, my levels had really dropped. I guess I was overdue for my dinner, or the fight took more out of me than I had figured, because I started feeling it really bad. I stumbled around for a long time. I didn’t even remember why I was out there or what had happened to me. I kind of thought I was back home, and that I could get to a safe place, if I could just find it. Sgt. Molinson told me that the house I was crawling toward had burned down a couple years ago, so even if I had made it, there’s not much it could have done for me. I don’t remember crawling into the bushes to hide. I barely remember some guy coming along and picking me up and carrying me into your house. I guess that was Dan. I’m pretty sure I lost consciousness along the way. The next thing I clearly remember is waking up in the ambulance."

Silence enveloped the room. Margaret wiped quickly at the corners of her eyes as Trixie, Honey and Di exchanged glances. Jim, Brian and Mart exchanged looks as well. Jim nodded toward the door, and they filed out into the hallway.

Once in the hallway, they saw Dan leaning against the wall just outside the door. The corner of his mouth turned up and he led them toward a waiting area.

"You failed to abandon us to our fate, Dan. My next interrogative concerns wherefore."

"I had the car, Mart." Dan replied. "I couldn’t make you all walk home. It’s the middle of winter. Now, if it had been summer, well." He let the sentence hang and slumped onto a brown sofa. Jim and Brian sprawled across the other two sofas, leaving Mart a small armchair, which he regarded dubiously. Then he sat.

"I didn’t think you’d actually leave us, but I’m glad you stuck around. How much did you hear?" Brian asked.

"Everything. I didn’t go far. Just to the elevator and back." Dan looked away from the group. "Listen, I’m sorry for getting angry and blowing it like that. I don’t know what I was thinking, yelling at someone so sick."

Brian looked quizzical. "Sick? She’s recovered from the attack."

Dan spread his hands in a ‘it’s obvious’ gesture. "She’s got diabetes. She’s always sick."

Brian leaned forward, elbows on knees. "She’s got a condition. That doesn’t mean she’s ‘always sick.’ Her life is probably just as normal as any of ours."

Jim chuckled. "Not Trixie’s."

Brian just gave his red-haired friend a look, but otherwise ignored his comment. "So you heard what happened. I didn’t see the place she was attacked. Does any of it jibe with her story?"

"You mean, does the evidence support her version of events?" Dan thought a moment. "Yeah, I’d have to say it does. I found a rock with blood on it. The ground was pretty well kicked up, and her clothes were torn to shreds. Molinson took it all in as evidence."

Brian frowned. "But just what was she doing in the woods all alone? She never answered that."

Mart shook his head. "I can’t imagine. Maybe she’s an adventure-hound like Trixie."

"She was running away, though," Jim said. "I doubt it was for the adventure of it. Kids don’t run away from happy homes." Dan nodded in agreement.

Brian and Mart shared a look, each mentally vowing to be more appreciative of their parents and more cooperative around the house.

"You think she was abused?" Jim asked Dan.

"I don’t know. She looked healthy enough. Her parents clearly take care of her ‘condition,’" he glanced at Brian, "but not all scars are on the outside."

"That’s for sure." They all sat quietly in thought for a moment until Jim sighed. "I just realized something."

Brian looked more interested. "What?" The expression of woe on Jim’s face, however, made him smile.

"We left Trixie in there, alone with Margaret."

"So?" Dan asked.

"Oh, I know," Mart groaned. "Detective Trixie is on the case and there have failed to be present more than a nil amount of superior males within a diameter of ten meters capable of either restraining her or redirecting her interest in the current criminal matter!"

"Oh." Dan glanced down the corridor toward the hospital room. "Here we go again."

*     *     *

"Now that they’ve left," Trixie began, "you can tell us. What were you doing out there in the woods all alone? And don’t say you were looking for Albany!"

Trixie was so close to her face that Margaret could count her freckles. "What does it matter? My parents are on their way and I’ll be taken back to that place I lately referred to as my home and there’s nothing I can do. Or you, for that matter."

"But we can help you," Honey insisted.

"Oh, really?" Margaret scoffed. "Help me? You’re all just a bunch of kids. Like me. It was foolish to think I could do this so soon."

"Do what?" Trixie nearly put her hands around the girl’s neck to throttle her. "Why won’t you just tell us? You can trust us!"

"Just because you say so, doesn’t mean anything!"

Diana nodded her head emphatically. "Honest! You can! When my uncle was being impersonated, Trixie helped unmask the creep. She helps lots of people! There were those missing kids last summer –"

"And the jewel thieves –" Honey continued.

"Which ones?" Di grinned. "There was that ghost. And the ghost fish. And the missing emeralds."

"And the Queen’s necklace. And the smugglers –"

"Which ones?" Di asked again, grinning.

"And the poacher who rode the unicycle, the shark in the Hudson, the fortune buried at Martin’s Marsh –" Trixie interjected dryly.

"Hold on," Margaret held up her hands in surrender. "What in Heaven’s name are you all talking about?"

"Just some of Trixie’s successes when she’s helped people." Di’s violet eyes sparkled with admiration. "She and Honey have helped so many people, I can’t begin to name them all! But I’ll most always be grateful for her help with my phony uncle, because we got to be such good friends!"

"And she got me my brother, Jim. And some of the best, nicest friends in the whole world." Honey added softly.

"It’s getting a little deep in here," Trixie said, blushing.

"I was just about to say that myself," Margaret added dryly. "But if half of what they say is true, maybe you could have helped me earlier. But with my parents coming, I don’t know what I’m going to do."

Just then a nurse walked in. "It’s almost the end of Visiting Hours and shouldn’t you Candy Stripers have clocked out by now?"

Trixie and Honey, still in their uniforms, got off the bed and shrugged sheepishly. "We were just visiting Margaret." Trixie began.

"We were going to leave soon," Honey added.

"Well, I really just came in to give Margaret a bit of bad news." She waited for Margaret to ask the others to leave.

"Go ahead. They can hear whatever it is," Margaret assured her.

"Very well. We just received word that your parents were snowed in. Apparently, some huge blizzard has just struck Nova Scotia and all flights have been canceled until further notice. I’m afraid there’s no telling when your parents will get here. Is there some relative we can contact to take charge of you?"

Margaret was stunned. The very thing she’d wished for had happened. They weren’t coming. She thought quickly. "No, there’s no one. Will I have to stay here in the hospital? I have my own credit card. I could get a room somewhere."

The nurse smiled. "No, that would never fly with your doctor. He will only release you to a relative, I’m sure."

"You mean, you’re just going to keep her here?" Trixie blurted out.

"It’s for her own safety," the nurse replied.

"Just great," Margaret muttered.

"Well, what if a responsible adult was to come forward and accept responsibility for her?" Honey asked.

The nurse thought a moment. "I’d have to check with the doctor on-call, but the adult would have to pass muster with Children’s Services. This really falls under their jurisdiction, too."

"But that won’t happen until Monday!" Di exclaimed. "You’d keep her in here until then?"

"Honey, who were you thinking of?" Trixie asked her friend.

"It’s perfectly perfect!" Honey said, clapping her hands once in excitement. "My father! He’s already adopted one child, so Children’s Services have already checked us all out and approved us. It’s just for a couple of days, so a Social Worker could come and check on us, if necessary. It could even be the one that checks on Jim every so often, to make sure he’s making all his ‘adjustments’ okay. And I’m sure he would approve! He’s home right now. I could call and have this whole thing set up in fifteen minutes!"

The nurse, Di, Trixie and Margaret all stared at Honey. The nurse mused, "I think that could work. Your father is on the board, after all. Let me get the doctor on the phone. You call your parents and make sure it’s okay. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes."

*     *     *

90 minutes later, the BWG club car was pulling up into the Wheeler driveway. Eight teenagers spilled out onto the gravel drive and stretched. Margaret stared up at the three-story brick colonial and grinned. "Somebody say Amen," she murmured. "This is all too perfect."

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