Chapter Five: What Happened At Maypenny’s Anyway?

As Trixie and Honey finished up their tack, the telephone extension in Regan’s office rang. After a moment, Regan set down the bridle he was cleaning and went to answer it. Brian and Jim shared a look of relief, then grinned.

"What’s so funny?" Trixie asked.

Brian shrugged. "It’s just so weird to be doing this, all of us here together, but not saying a word."

Trixie looked at Honey. "Do you think Regan is still angry?"

Honey glanced toward Regan’s office. "I hope not. As soon as we finish here, though, I’m going to have a chat with Daddy and see if I can nip anything in the bud."

"What about Margaret?" Trixie asked. "Do you think you could get her to apologize?"

"I don’t know," Honey said miserably. "I don’t know if I should go talk to her now or-"

Regan’s return interrupted them. He stopped at the doorway. "Where did Dan say he was going when he left with Cranberry?"

Jim frowned. "I thought he said he was just going back up to Maypenny’s."

"Why?" Trixie asked, reading more in Regan’s expression than curiosity.

Regan hesitated, then said, "He’s not back yet and Maypenny’s worried. Apparently, more happened at the cabin than you let on."

"Like what?" Brian said, putting up his tack. "We barely had a chance to do more than grab a snack."

"I don’t know exactly," Regan admitted slowly, "but it sounds like the place was pretty much trashed. Now, I know you kids better than to think you’d mess up anyone’s house, but…."

"What did Mr. Maypenny say happened?" Trixie asked.

Regan looked at her, then at Honey. "Not much. I imagine he was more worried about Dan’s whereabouts than some dirty dishes. He’s still on hold. I’ll go tell him Dan left to go straight home." He returned to the office, swinging the door closed behind him.

As the door swung, however, Trixie leapt to her feet and hurried to the doorway. The door almost closed, but a light touch from Trixie prevented it from doing more than briefly touching the jamb. "Trixie! What are you doing?" Brian scolded his sister.

"Shhh!" She admonished him, then leaned in close to the opening.

Angry now, Brian stood and moved across the tack room to grab Trixie’s arm and pull her away from the door. "You’re not going to eavesdrop on Regan’s private conversation, you got that?"

"Stop it! It’s not like that! Dan’s in trouble," Trixie said, struggling against her brother’s grip. "Regan sounds really worried and there’s more wrong at the cabin than they’re telling us. We need to go find Dan and fast or something really bad is going to happen."

Honey gasped. Jim closed the jar of saddle soap he’d been using and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Trixie, be serious. What could possibly happen to Dan between here and his house? It’s not that far."

"I don’t know," Trixie admitted. "But before I was dragged away from the door, I overheard Regan tell Mr. Maypenny that he was worried Dan hadn’t shown up yet. I think-"

Regan reappeared in the doorway. "You think what?" he asked, scowling. When Trixie just turned a guilty expression to him, Regan shook his head. "Forget it. Just go home. I’ll finish up here."

"But, Regan," Honey began.

"But nothing. Get out of here." Regan took the bridle away from Honey and shooed her out the door. "Go on, kids. I’ll see you tomorrow." He waited until Jim, Brian and Trixie, only reluctantly, exited the tack room, then shut the door on them.

"Well! That was mysterious," Trixie offered.

"Let’s just go home, Sis," Brian said. "I’m sure Moms has something you can do there that’ll take your mind off other people’s business."

*     *     *

Indeed, she had. Trixie spent the next hour straightening and dusting her father’s study, the front parlor and the family room in back of the cozy farmhouse. "Thank goodness it’s winter outside," she moaned, collapsing on the newly fluffed sofa.

"Why’s that, Trixie?" her youngest brother, Bobby, asked, plopping himself on the end cushion and staring at her.

She smiled at him. He was so cute, she thought. Idly, she wondered if her blonde curls looked as cute on her, and if anyone else thought so. Aloud, she said, "Because if it were Spring, I’d have to drag this huge old rug outside and beat it to death. Since it’s Winter, I can just run the carpet sweeper over it. That’s a lot easier to do."

Bobby nodded wisely, then frowned. "Harrison just vacuums everything," he said, referring to the Lynch family butler. "Why don’t you just vacuum it?"

Trixie grinned. "This is too valuable a rug and it might come apart. At least, that’s what Moms says. But I’ll tell you what. I think she just says it to teach me a lesson."

Bobby frowned. "I don’t understand."

"Well, just look at this old thing," she said, gesturing at the area rug on the floor. "Does this look particularly valuable to you?" As Trixie gestured at the carpet, she stretched herself out on the cushions, resting her head on the arm of the sofa. "It’s all water-stained and – and… oh, no. What’s that doing there?"

From her viewpoint, she could see under all the furniture in the room, including the wing chair across the floor. Below that wing chair, she saw a thick book, which she didn’t immediately recognize, shoved way underneath. Frowning, Trixie went over and crouched in front of the chair, stretching her arm beneath it to grab the book. "Hm. I wonder how you got under there," she said thoughtfully.

"Is it a story?" Bobby asked. "Read me a story, Trixie." He joined her on the floor and grabbed the book from her hands, opening it and flipping through the pages. "Pooh! That isn’t a story. There aren’t any pictures. Boring. I want to read a good story."

"Okay, okay," Trixie said, irritably. She retrieved the book and told him, "Go read a story, then. Your teacher says you can read real well. Why don’t you go upstairs and read something you’ve already got?"

"I know!" Bobby jumped up. "I’m going to read one of Brian’s books! They’ve got pictures of people in them!"

As he raced out of the room, Trixie called after him, "That’s wonderful, Bobby, but be careful not to tear the pages!" As his footsteps faded, Trixie idly wondered what book of Brian’s would have pictures of people in them. Was he taking an art class? A thought struck her. Brian was taking an anatomy class… No. He wouldn’t just leave that kind of thing lying around for Bobby to flip through. Right?

Dismissing that thought, Trixie picked up the book and examined it. It was small, about the size of a trade paperback, and hard covered in a blue and red plaid fabric. There wasn’t a title nor any other marking on the book to identify it. Shrugging, Trixie flipped the book open to a random page. She read:

August 28

Dear Diary,

I overheard them arguing again about me. Mom just loses it whenever Dad brings up the operation. Why won’t she let me have it? What’s wrong with testing them for compatibility? Why won’t she let me have a chance at a more normal life? Dr. Klein says I’m headed for dialysis in the next two to three years if I don’t try something radical. If she won’t even get tested now, how about when I need a kidney? Diary, I’m scared. Does my mother want me to die?

Trixie slammed the book closed. She felt her heart racing, her pulse throb in her throat. She glanced around the living room. She was still alone. In the kitchen, she could hear her mother softly humming as she prepared a huge pot of chili for dinner. She could smell the baking bread, hear Bobby singing along with his tape recorder upstairs, and see Mart, Brian and her father in the back yard, fixing the chicken coop. Reddy was ‘helping’ them.

Trixie suddenly felt incredibly grateful for the normalcy of her life.

A thought began plaguing her.

She obviously held Margaret’s diary in her hands. Should she continue to read it? Her natural instinct told her not to, that it was wrong to read other people’s personal thoughts and ramblings, even if curiosity killed her outright. Hiding the book behind her back, Trixie got up and poked her head in the kitchen door. "Moms? Is it okay if I go to Honey’s for a while?"

Helen glanced over her shoulder at her daughter. "Sure, Trixie. Dinner’s at 6:30 tonight. I’ll expect you to call if you’ll be late."

"Thanks, Moms," Trixie smiled. She let the door swing shut, grabbed her club jacket and hurried outside to Manor House.

*     *     *

"You didn’t read it, did you? Because that would be wrong." Honey stared intently at the nameless journal in Trixie’s hands.

"Of course not," Trixie said. "Well, not beyond what I accidentally read. But that was before I knew what it was or who it belonged to."

"How did it get in your house?" Honey kept eyeing the journal.

"I emptied Margaret’s knapsack looking for her ID and stuff Thursday night. I must have kicked it under the chair while I was re-packing her stuff for the hospital. I just noticed it not half an hour ago."

Honey sighed and leaned back against the sofa. The girls sat in the Wheelers’ formal living room. "I wish I didn’t feel differently about reading it," she sighed. "But I can’t make it all right in my head to do it."

"I know," Trixie moaned. "I feel terrible about what I did read, and that was purely by accident." She told Honey the gist of the passage she’d read.

"Wow. I had no idea she was so sick, or so scared," Honey breathed.

"I know. She just seems angry all the time." As Trixie listened to herself speaking, she began to nod. "Which all makes sense, you know. I’d be pretty angry too, if I needed a kidney or something and Moms or Dad refused to get tested."

"I just can’t imagine it. I mean, of course I’d get tested! Even if it were Jim and the chances of us matching on something like that are next to nothing. He’s my very own full-blooded adopted brother! I’d do anything for him!" Tears welled up in Honey’s eyes at the thought.

Trixie put her arm around her friend’s slender shoulders. "I know, and so would he. So would any of us. That’s what’s so hard to understand about Margaret’s parents. I’m sure that’s why she’s been so difficult with us."

Honey nodded resolutely. "I’m going to be much nicer and more understanding of her, that’s for certain. Before she goes, we’re all going to be much better friends."

"I agree," Trixie said. "Let’s start by taking her her diary and asking if there’s anything she wants to talk about. Maybe she’ll bring this whole thing up and maybe we can think of a better solution for her than running away from home."

They got up and hurried to the main staircase. "She’s upstairs in her room, resting, she said. If she’s really sleeping, we won’t wake her," Honey said. "But if she’s not, we’ll return her book and, hopefully, have a real good chat." She paused on the first landing. "I hope you’re not too upset."

"About what?" Trixie frowned, bewildered.

Honey sighed briefly and glanced down the hallway to the guestroom. "That your mystery has turned out a little, well, flat. I mean, we know who she is and we know why. Well, sort of. She obviously feels left out at home and she ran away. She was probably just looking for attention. Her parents could be here as early as tonight, so everything will probably straighten itself out when they get here. What’s the mystery?"

Trixie passed Honey on the landing. "The mystery, my dear Watson, is why exactly Margaret felt she had to leave and why exactly did she choose Sleepyside? We know she didn’t realize your parents lived here. We know she didn’t just randomly choose Sleepyside, either. She came here for a reason. She was looking for something, not running away." She moved down the hall to Margaret’s room. Honey followed close behind. "Of course," Trixie continued. "There’s still the question of who attacked her in the woods."

"Do you really think someone did? I mean, could she have made the whole thing up in order to cover up something else?" Honey whispered.

Trixie turned, astonished. "Honey Wheeler! I would never have believed you capable of thinking someone capable of planning something so devious!"

"Well," Honey laughed, "I think it all comes from spending time with you."

The friends laughed together a moment, then Trixie knocked on Margaret’s door. "That’s strange," she said after a moment. "There’s no answer." She knocked again.

When Honey knocked and called out and they still received no answer, Honey turned the knob, opening the door. "Margaret? It’s Honey and Trixie. We’re coming in. Is everything all right?"

They entered the guestroom and looked around. Trixie quickly realized Margaret hadn’t been there for some time. The bed wasn’t even wrinkled, which implied she hadn’t taken a nap. A small white teddy bear, the fur well rubbed off, lay propped up on the pillow. Otherwise, there wasn’t even a sign that Margaret had ever been there.

Honey opened the closet door and saw Margaret’s few clothes hanging inside. Meanwhile, Trixie entered the bathroom. She saw Margaret’s insulin kit and blood sugar monitor on the counter. She peered closely at the monitor and turned it on. The display read 194. Trixie wondered if that was good or not. She looked around again, then called out, "Honey, she left all her stuff here, so she hasn’t run away again. Maybe Celia saw her leave?"

Honey nodded as Trixie returned from the bedroom. "Let’s go ask."

But Celia could only tell them, "Actually, Miss Honey, I don’t mean to tell tales, but Miss Margaret seemed pretty upset about something. She kept saying one of us took a book from her, but neither the upstairs maid nor I know what she’s talking about. We just unpacked exactly what was in the knapsack Mr. Jim brought in from the car last night."

Trixie groaned. "Oh, Celia! She’s missing her journal. Her diary," she explained. "It accidentally got knocked under a chair at my place. I just found it and was here to return it."

Celia smiled in relief. "Oh, Trixie! She’ll be so happy to know that! I left her in the conservatory. She was making a mess of that Bach piece Mrs. Wheeler enjoys so."

Trixie and Honey thanked her and hurried off to the small music room. But Margaret wasn’t there, either. Trixie looked around in frustration. "This is becoming more trouble than it’s worth, trying to track her down! Where is she?"

"I don’t know either," Honey sighed. She sank down on the piano bench and stared at the sheet music still propped up on the stand. "That’s funny," she said. "Some pages are missing."

"Here they are," Trixie said, retrieving several sheets of music from under a long couch. "But how’d they get here?" As she returned the sheets to the piano, she glanced up, noticing the French doors leading to the porch. "I think I know which direction she went, at least."

"How do you mean?" Honey asked, shuffling the sheets back into order.

Trixie opened the French doors. "Simple. She opened the doors to go outside and the wind blew the pages off the piano. Let’s go find her."

"Wait up a minute and I’ll get our coats," Honey said, rushing back toward the entrance hall.

Trixie looked at the gunmetal gray sky. "Good thinking. It is cold out there."

Moments later, the two girls hurriedly made a circuit of the porch, which wrapped around three-quarters of Manor House. They found no one.

"Do you think she went searching for the book herself?" Honey asked slowly.

"You mean, out in the woods?" Trixie scanned the tree line.

"Yeah," Honey nodded. "Maybe she thought the book got tossed out of the knapsack when she was attacked. Maybe she thought she should just go looking for it before it got too much later."

"Well, I would." Trixie nodded. "Let’s go."

"Do you think we should tell Jim or Brian?" Honey asked.

"Why?" Trixie frowned. "It’s the middle of the afternoon. We’ll be together. We know where we’re going. Heck, we’ll probably catch up to her ourselves. Let’s go, okay?"

Worried, Honey followed her curly-haired friend across the lawn and into the woods.

*     *     *

"Well, this is the spot she was attacked," Trixie said. "Here’s where I found the rock. I guess Molinson took it for evidence." She pointed to the spot on the ground.

Honey shivered. "Ugh. I can just imagine. I can’t tell you how many times, winter and summer, I’ve walked this path to Maypenny’s by myself without even questioning it. And now some stranger comes along and this happens! Why do these things happen, Trix?"

"I don’t know," Trixie told her. "I only know that, when I hear or read about these kinds of things and know the police have zilch they can do about it, my urge to become a detective just about takes over."

"I know. Mine, too. I just want to help her, you know?" Honey jammed her hands into her heavy winter coat. "I wonder where Margaret is. I don’t see her tracks anywhere around here. Do you?"

They had found a set of boot prints they believed to be Margaret’s (thanks to the Timberwolf logo) on the main trail that lead through the woods to Crabapple Farm and then up toward Maypenny’s cabin. About halfway past Ten Acres, however, the trail stopped in a slushy mess. Trixie and Honey, knowing where they were going, kept on up the trail. They figured Margaret had, too. Now they realized they couldn’t find Margaret’s tracks anywhere.

"Oh, no. Do you think she got lost?" Trixie asked.

"If she went off the path, she did. You remember how long it took us to get used to all the trails and bridle paths and foot paths, don’t you?"

"I still get worried I’ll get lost when we go on the other side of Maypenny’s," Trixie admitted. "But we’re not there. We’re here, where we know where we are. So where’s Margaret?"

Honey scanned the upwardly sloping path. "You know," she said slowly. "You can almost see the smoke from Mr. Maypenny’s chimneys from up here. Maybe that’s where she went."

At that, Trixie’s ears perked up. "That’s a brilliant suggestion! We should go right up there and see. We can talk to Mr. Maypenny and find out if he’s seen Margaret and find out if Dan’s come back yet and see if there are any more clues as to who scared the horses and see what happened to the cabin that Regan doesn’t want us to find out and-"

"Hold on," Honey laughed. "That’s a lot of ‘see’s and ‘find out’s. Let’s just ‘find out’ whatever we can and ‘see’ if we can leave it at that, okay? For once, let’s just let events unfold as they should and not go around stirring up trouble."

Trixie threw a sour look over her shoulder as she led Honey through the woods.

*     *     *

"No, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the girl," Mr. Maypenny told them. He came out to meet them in his yard, but closer to the edge of his property line. "Sorry, but I don’t know where to suggest you look for her, either."

"Mr. Maypenny," Trixie began, "do you mind if I take a look at your hitching post? I’m kind of curious about the incident this afternoon with the horses. I assume Regan told you what happened?"

"Oh, aye," he said, nodding grimly. "He told me. Strange things are going on in these woods lately."

"What kind of strange things? Do you mean the attack on Margaret?" Honey asked him.

Maypenny shook his head, then nodded it. "Well, no. Or should I say yes. It’s all mixed up together somehow." He sighed. "I don’t see the point in keeping any of this a secret, so come on up to the house. I’ve got something to show you."

Curious and eager, Honey and Trixie followed the old man toward the cabin. As they got closer, Trixie immediately noticed a strangely familiar, yet completely incongruous, thing on Mr. Maypenny’s door. The old man gestured at the design. "What do you make of that?" he asked.

Trixie and Honey moved closer to better examine the door. Someone had spray-painted what appeared to be geometric symbols on the wood. Since the only color used was "Crimson Velvet, unless I miss my guess," according to Trixie, and the painter allowed the paint to drip, determining the exact nature of the design proved difficult.

"Trixie! I think I know what this is!" Honey turned horrified eyes to her friend. "I think it’s a warning for Dan!"

"Well, of course it is. It’s a ‘tag’. I’ve seen them on the news," Trixie agreed. "Question is, who tagged the door and what’s the message?"

"It looks like," Honey hesitated, then continued. "It looks like a lower case ‘D’, the ‘#’ sign and then a knife or sword running through it at an angle."

"Is that what that is?" Trixie backed up a step for a different perspective. "How can you tell?"

"Well," Honey admitted, "I’m just guessing. I’m pretty sure about the D and the #."

"I just wish we knew what Dan’s tag was."

"You think he had one?"

"Of course he did. He must have. It said on the news that every gang has a tag to mark their territory, and every member of that gang has a tag to identify that person. Everything about the tag means something. The color, the size, the placement on the wall. What it’s next to. It’s a whole other language almost." Trixie gestured at the door. "I wish I could remember what it means when one tag is painted over another. Because that’s what it looks like."

A familiar deep voice from behind them said, "It’s a death threat."

The girls whirled in place, startled to see a grim-faced Regan standing there, glaring at the door. "How do you know?" Trixie demanded.

Regan didn’t even glance at them. "Dan told me. How else?"

"Did he also tell you what his tag was?"

Regan sighed. "D sharp." To answer Trixie’s next unspoken question, he explained. "Tim Mangan was a musician. D sharp is a musical note. The ‘D’ was for Dan, the ‘sharp’ was to imply he was dangerous. But no, I don’t know who the dagger represents, except the guy who wants Dan dead."

Trixie looked carefully through Regan’s deadly calm expression. "You know more about all this than you’re letting on, don’t you. Why don’t you just tell us and maybe we can all help Dan? Where is he, anyway?"

Maypenny sighed. "I don’t know. Cranberry’s here but Dan’s not. That’s why I called Regan." He looked at Honey. "I don’t want your father to hear about this the wrong way."

"Don’t worry. My father thinks the world of you both. Whatever your reasons for doing anything, he’ll accept them, I’m certain," Honey hastened to assure him.

Maypenny and Regan shared a look, then Regan shrugged. "Oh, go ahead. It won’t hurt to tell them now."

Trixie and Honey listened as Maypenny told them about the campsite Dan found in the woods the morning before, and how he suspected he knew the campers. He also mentioned another piece of evidence, which Regan hadn’t heard. "There’s a funny white mark in the middle of the bruise on Margaret Lang’s cheek," Maypenny explained. "Dan says he recognized it as coming from a particular ring a young man he knew on the streets wore."

"Which young man? Not that horrible Luke person?" Trixie said.

"No, it couldn’t be Luke. He’s back in jail on assault. Dan told me that last November. Who was it, Maypenny?" Regan asked.

The old man shrugged. "Danny didn’t exactly say for sure. Just that he thought the mark came from a ring of a kid he knew on the streets. The way he talked about that boy, though, makes me think the boy’s dead now."

At that, Regan startled. "He said that?"

"Oh, aye," Maypenny confirmed. "But not exactly. It was more in the way he talked about this other boy. As if it were all in the past. Over and done with."

"But he’s sure about the mark?" Regan asked.

Maypenny nodded firmly. "Come over here. Excuse us, ladies." Maypenny led Regan several steps away from Trixie and Honey and spoke to Regan in a low voice.

Trixie strained to hear what they said to each other, but all she thought she could hear were the words ‘that dream again’, ‘up in his room’ and ‘worried sick’. She glanced at Honey, trying to determine if she had any better idea of what Mr. Maypenny might be talking about, but she seemed as in the dark as Trixie herself.

Regan said something in an even lower tone back to Maypenny, then both men stared thoughtfully at the ground. Trixie broke the silence with, "Should we be worried that Dan isn’t back yet? Because Margaret’s somewhere in the woods, too. She could easily have gotten lost. Maybe they’re together?"

The two men turned their attention to Trixie, their expressions grim, but thoughtful.

*     *     *

"Oh, God! My head is killing me!"

"Finally! You’re awake!"

Margaret opened her eyes. She was in what she took to be a cave of some kind, though she’d never been in a cave before. She was sitting upright on a cold, hard patch of ground. High above her arched a rocky ceiling and in front of her about 15 feet or so, gaped an opening. Through that opening, she could tell that a great deal of time had passed since – what was it that happened? Oh, yes, she remembered. She was searching for her journal in the woods when she heard fighting. She went to investigate and… something… what was it? Oh, yes! Some mangy looking guy popped her one on the jaw.

She tried to make herself more comfortable, but instantly realized she was tied to something hard and unyielding, thick ropes forcing her upper arms slightly behind her, while the ropes bound her elbows to her sides and her wrists to ropes around her thighs. She straightened her neck and her head smacked into something solid.

"Ow!"

That wasn’t her. But the voice sounded familiar.

"Would you stop moving around? I almost liked you better when you were unconscious."

That wasn’t her, either. "Who-?" she began, realizing she was tied to another person. "Dan?"

"Who else would get stuck here with you?"

It was Dan! "Where are we?" Apparently, Dan and she had been tied back to back, arms to arms, waist to waist, their legs straight out in front of them, ankles tied tight.

"We’re in a cave, obviously."

"How long?"

"I’m not wearing my watch, so I’d have to guess about half an hour or so."

Margaret sighed in frustration. "What’s going on? What am I doing here?"

"You’re getting in the way."

Now she sighed in irritation. "That’s not what I meant. I heard people fighting. Arguing. I went to see what was going on when –"

"I know. You found Duke. Or should I say, Duke found you? You made an awful lot of noise crashing through those bushes. It’s a good thing you’re so anti-hunter. You’d never make it if you had to put meat on the table yourself."

"Hey! Why should I have tried to be quiet? You certainly weren’t! And who’s Duke? Another BWG?"

Dan laughed harshly. "Not in a million years! Duke is a guy I used to know in the city. He’s real bad news."

"Who were you fighting?"

"Duke’s cousin, Kilroy."

"No kidding. His name is Kilroy?"

"Yeah. As in ‘Kilroy was here’. It’s his street name, anyway. I don’t know what’s on his birth certificate. It’s from some old Styx song in the 80’s."

"Plus there’s the obvious pun."

"What pun?"

"’Kill Roy’." She waited a minute, then felt Dan’s shoulders shaking. "Ha! I got you to laugh, at least."

"Fat lot of good it’ll do me," he muttered sourly.

"So. If I’m here because I wandered through the woods at the wrong time, are you here because you lost that fight?"

"No. I’m here because you wandered through the woods at the wrong time, too."

Irritated at that remark, Margaret brought her head up sharply and banged it against Dan’s. She grinned at his ouch!, slightly regretting her own burgeoning headache. A moment passed in silence before Margaret asked, "So. What do we do now?"

"You mean, you’re not having fun?"

"I’m not usually this kinky."

"‘Usually’?" he repeated, and this time, they both laughed. "All right. Kilroy said he’d be back, but he didn’t say when. Honestly, I’ve got no idea how I’m going to get untied. What about you?"

She thought a moment. "You got anything on you? A tool or a weapon or something?"

He sighed. "No. Kilroy took everything. Even my wallet and keys."

She squirmed in place, concentrating. "Drat. I think he emptied my pockets, too."

"Gee. If only he’d let you keep your headband and your ballpoint pen," he cracked. "We’d be so much better off."

"You watched him search me?" She tried to turn her head, but could only clearly see Dan’s shoulder and a thick lock of his black hair.

"It was the highlight of my afternoon."

"I feel so… so violated somehow, knowing you watched while some strange guy felt me up."

"Huh. And getting knocked out and searched while unconscious. That’s not a violation?"

"Well…" She let the matter drop. A moment later, she said, "You know, a ballpoint could have helped us. If we could have stuck it in one of these knots, we could use the pen to help loosen it. I’m not sure what I could have done with the headband, though. Hey! He took my coat!"

"Yeah, he took mine, too. I’m freezing in this T-shirt. That’s a good idea about the pen, though. Wish we had something like that."

"Yeah." She thought a moment longer. "You know, if we could stand up, maybe we could shake loose some of these ropes. That’s how magicians get out of being tied up, you know."

"Well, we can try. On the count of three, then, we’ll start to stand, okay? 1, 2 –"

"Wait! Wait a minute. Do you mean, 1-2-3 and go or 1-2 and go on 3?"

He thought a moment. "1-2-3 and go."

"Okay. Count again." She braced herself and as he counted ‘3’, she pushed back against him and struggled to pull up her knees and stand. Less than a second later, however, she yelled at him, "Stop pushing! You’re pushing too hard!"

"How can I be pushing too hard?" Dan’s irritation showed clearly in his voice. "Besides, you’re not pushing at all!"

"I am, too! Just give me a moment and count again." She braced herself, summoned all her strength, closed her eyes and, when Dan reached 3, shoved with all her might against him. She fairly squeaked with excitement as she felt her butt lift off the ground. They were almost standing when she opened her eyes and shrieked.

Duke and Kilroy stood in the cave entrance, staring at them and shaking their heads sadly. "Will you look at that, cousin," Duke was saying. "Our little birdies are trying to fly the coop."

*     *     *

"It sure doesn’t take long to mobilize the neighborhood, does it?" Jim grinned, leaning over from his perch on top Jupiter. The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees, promising an early nightfall.

"Not when your parents are in charge of mobilization, it doesn’t," Trixie agreed.

"And not once the word got out about Dan’s old gang possibly being involved. People around here don’t like the thought of something happening to him because of those losers." Jim frowned, glancing around at the gathering search party.

Once it had been decided that Margaret and Dan were missing and/or lost, a call had been put in to Manor House and a search party organized. The Beldens (save Helen and Bobby, who were put in charge of coordinating things at Crabapple Farm), the Wheelers (save Madeleine and Miss Trask, who were in charge of things there), the entire male staff of Manor House, and all the neighbors along Glen Road and some on Telegraph (including Mr. Lytell) had all come out to search. Some, like Jim and the remaining male Bob-Whites sat astride horses. Others planned to walk through the preserve in the hopes that the missing teens were off the beaten paths.

"Just like old times, ain’t it, Pete?" Mr. Hauer called sadly to Peter Belden, who nodded in reply.

Trixie moved casually to stand near her father. "What does that mean, Dad?" She casually observed the milling crowd. A few women had volunteered for the search party, but mostly, it was a crowd of men.

Peter smiled at his daughter. "Nothing for you to worry about, thank goodness."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Just that it was all a long time ago and that mystery’s solved."

"What mystery?" When it looked as if her father wouldn’t answer, she asked him again, adding, "please tell me!"

He sighed. "Sweetie, relax. It all happened years ago. You were barely a year old. A little girl got lost in the woods around here and the search parties were out for days before they found her."

Trixie shivered, but not from the cold. "Was she all right?" she asked hesitantly.

Peter’s eyes turned sad. "No, I’m afraid we weren’t in time to save her."

"What happened?" She felt she had to know.

Her father heaved another sigh. "A catamount got to her first. It wasn’t a pretty sight and I don’t want you to think any more about it, understand? And I especially don’t want you upsetting your mother with any questions, either. She took the whole thing rather hard as you were just a baby yourself."

Finally, Regan called for everyone’s attention. "Listen up! Just so we’re all clear. We’ve got two teenagers out there. One is my nephew, Dan. The other is a girl, Margaret Lang, a houseguest of the Wheelers. You all know what Dan looks like: black hair and dark eyes, about 5’ 11". The girl’s got reddish hair, brown eyes and she’s maybe 5’ 2" and very thin. She’s got diabetes and we don’t know when she last took her medication, so she may be seriously ill by now. We don’t know if they’re together and neither one has been seen in at least five hours. Also, there is at least one and possibly more gang members out there, too, probably armed and definitely dangerous. If they have Dan or the girl, do not approach them but call for backup. Remember, Dan knows these woods. Probably better than any man out here except Maypenny. But the girl doesn’t know a thing about this area. If you find them alone, shoot twice in the air and then call Manor House on your cell phone. They’re waiting to provide further assistance. Everyone got that?" The searchers nodded. "Good. One more thing. Stay close to your partner. We don’t want to have to organize a search party to search for the search party. Good luck, everyone."

They laughed briefly and Regan sent them all on their way. Peter and Brian started on foot toward the Hudson while Mart and Jim, on Starlight and Jupiter, started in the opposite direction, toward Glen Road. Honey and Trixie, not included in the search parties due to their age and gender, went into Maypenny’s cabin to wait.

"How long do you think this will take?" Honey asked.

"I hope not long. This is definitely a case where no news is not good news!" Trixie told her what her father said, about the other search party and the little girl.

"How horrible!" Honey gasped. "I hope Dan and Margaret are all right!"

"Well, you and I both know Dan’s okay. He can definitely take care of himself. It’s Margaret I’m worried about! She knows nothing about taking care of herself in the woods." Trixie slumped onto Mr. Maypenny’s sofa.

"So. What should we do while we wait?" Honey asked.

They were alone in the cabin since Maypenny had gone to search the woods with the others. Outside, they knew Mr. Lytell was coordinating the search efforts, taking down cell phone numbers of those who had cell phones and issuing flashlights and maps to each team of searchers as they arrived. Since the police department couldn’t get involved officially until the teens were missing at least 24 hours, and the tag on Maypenny’s door had been officially classified as a possible prank, Molinson was there on an unofficial nature only. It was the first time Trixie could remember seeing the man in something other than a uniform. She hadn’t even recognized him until he spoke to her.

Now, however, the girls sat inside with nothing urgent to do, which was not Trixie’s natural state. Restlessly, she stood and paced. "I just wish we were allowed out there ourselves! It’s not like we’re not responsible and it’s not like we don’t know our way around these woods! Better than a lot of those people out there, anyway!"

Honey nodded. "I know. It just doesn’t seem very Bob-White-ish for us to sit and stare at the walls."

"Hey. Where’s Diana?" Trixie asked suddenly.

Honey frowned. "I think I heard Mart say her mother had put her in charge of keeping Terry and Larry busy at Crabapple Farm. Your mom and hers are putting up refreshments and stuff and bringing it to Manor House for the men when they get done."

"Oh, that’s right. I stuck her with Bobby Duty, didn’t I?" Trixie grinned sheepishly.

"Well," Honey said, "you couldn’t help it you were already up here when the word went out, could you? I’m sure she’d rather be there, anyway. It’s more the center of things. This is just the starting point. When they’re found, the searchers are supposed to bring them to Manor House anyway, so Dr. Ferris can check them out. Di’ll probably see Dan and Margaret long before we do."

"You’re right, as usual. Sensible Honey Wheeler." Trixie grinned to take any sting out of her words. "So. You want to head to your house or – hey! I’ve got an idea!" Without saying another word, Trixie hurried up the stairs to the second floor.

"Trixie!" Honey scolded, getting off the sofa. "What are you doing? Where are you going? Hey! Wait for me!"

*     *     *

Dan and Margaret slumped back onto the ground, wincing a little at the impact. Margaret got her first good look at Duke and Kilroy.

Duke, she figured, was the smaller one. He stood maybe an inch taller than she did, but outweighed her by at least twenty pounds. He wore his dark hair close-cropped and, as he laughed at his own humor, she saw he had his name carved into his scalp. Kilroy, by comparison, wore his hair in a long, stringy ponytail and sported a small, infected cut on his left cheek. She guessed he weighed just the same as Duke, but stood about five inches taller. Duke wore an oversized, outdated winter coat while Kilroy wore Dan’s scarlet Bob-White jacket.

"I see you’ve noticed my new threads," Kilroy smirked. "Got it real cheap, too."

Margaret felt Dan stiffen, but when he didn’t reply, she kept her mouth shut, too. Instead, she concentrated on maintaining a blank expression as Kilroy smoothed his hand over the windbreaker. He approached the two of them slowly, an evil sort of grin playing over his thin lips. "What are you going to give me, huh, sugar?"

Kilroy crouched beside Margaret. He reached out a grimy hand and tucked her hair behind her right ear. He tapped the fading bruise on her cheek and chuckled. "Looks like I put my mark on you, all right." He brandished his signet ring in front of her eyes, cackling softly.

Margaret felt herself tremble. She couldn’t defend herself from Kilroy now. What would stop him from hurting her again, possibly worse this time? She took a chance and glanced up into Kilroy’s eyes. They were hard and cold. She glanced away.

"Ooh, cousin. Looks like Danny-boy don’t like you messing with her, don’t it?" Duke joined his cousin, crouching on his left so he could see Dan better. He laughed again. "Do it again, cousin, and watch Dan’s expression. He looks like one of your pet rats do when you sic them on each other, don’t he?"

Kilroy stroked Margaret’s cheek and rubbed her neck, all the while staring at Dan’s face. Dan, meanwhile, controlled his rage and maintained a calm expression, staring at the back of the cave, memorizing the formations of the rocky strata.

Kilroy soon tired of his game when it became apparent Dan wasn’t going to provide much entertainment. "This ain’t no fun," he growled and stood up.

"What’re you going to do now, Kilroy?" Duke asked, standing up beside his cousin.

"What do you think? I’m going to kill them both. But not before I have myself a little fun."

Duke squealed and hopped a little in his shoes.

*     *     *

"Trixie! What are you doing up here in Dan’s room?" Honey hesitated before entering the bedroom, having never been above the ground floor in the cabin before. She glanced around, dismayed at the disarray. "What a mess. You know, I’d never have thought Mr. Maypenny would let Dan keep his room in such shambles as this."

"I know," Trixie agreed. "Or that any relative of Neat-Freak Regan could do it, either. Which makes me think there was someone up here." She stood in the center of the chaos.

Honey’s eyes widened. "Why would someone come up here?"

"Think, Honey. I heard Mr. Maypenny say ‘up in his room’, or something like that. Someone tagged Mr. Maypenny’s front door as a warning to Dan. Why wouldn’t they come inside, too? We certainly weren’t interested in locking the door when we left to find the horses today. I’m not even sure there is a lock on the door." Almost without thinking about what she was doing, Trixie began sorting through the piles of books that had once been on the shelves, clothes that had once been in the dressers and the blankets that had once been on the bed.

After a moment, Honey joined her. "So. Are we cleaning up or searching?"

Trixie thought. "A little of both, actually. I thought whoever’s been threatening Dan might have come up here, and we might find a clue to their whereabouts. And, I thought, if it had been searched, we might be doing Dan a favor by cleaning it all up before he got home. And, maybe we could figure out what whoever it was was interested in."

"Uh-huh." Honey started putting the room to rights by helping Trixie return the sheets and blankets to their original condition on the bed. Once they smoothed out the bedspread, Trixie collapsed onto the mattress and stared at the slanting ceiling.

"I wonder who’s after him," Trixie mused.

"I wish we knew, too. Someone from the city, that’s for sure," Honey sighed.

Trixie rolled onto her side. "Do you think it’s someone from that awful gang? Or someone from another gang getting back at him for something?"

"We don’t really know a lot about Dan’s past, do we?"

"No, we don’t. I guess I figured he’d tell us what he wanted us to know." Trixie stared across the bedspread at Dan’s desk, his schoolwork crumpled and torn, his textbooks lying open, their spines cracked.

"Maybe he thinks we can’t handle it."

"Yeah, right. We’ve handled worse than him, you know. He knows it, too," Trixie scoffed.

Honey sank slowly down onto the bed beside Trixie. "No, I think he thinks we can’t handle the truth about him," she said with more conviction. "I think he thinks if he were honest with us about his past, we’d treat him like a criminal or something."

"You mean, we’d treat him like we treated him when we first met him two years ago?"

"Yeah. More like that. I can’t blame him for not wanting to go back to that."

"Neither can I," Trixie said slowly, sitting up on the bed. An expression of outrage and incredulity on her face, she got up from the bed and hurried to the desk.

"What’s going on? What did you find?" Honey joined Trixie at the desk, curious.

Trixie picked up a small, framed photograph and held it under the light.

Honey gasped and they stared at each other in horror and dismay. "Oh, my goodness!" Honey exclaimed. "Who would do such a thing?"

*     *     *

"You’re not really going to kill us, are you?" Margaret tried not to sound as terrified as she felt.

Duke and Kilroy just laughed. "You tell her, Danny-boy. Why do they all call me ‘Killer’?"

"Your bad breath?"

Kilroy’s fist connected solidly with Dan’s jaw, throwing his head back to knock into Margaret’s. "Hey!" she shrieked. "I didn’t say it!"

"Just goes to show that what happens to one of you is going to happen to the other one," Duke sneered. "Ain’t that right, Kilroy?"

His cousin, however, turned to him in disgust. "I told you to call me ‘Killer’!"

Despite his aching jaw, Dan had to chuckle. "I guess they don’t ‘all’ call you Killer, do they?"

"Huh. They will. Especially after tonight, they will!" Kilroy nodded firmly.

"What can I do, huh? What can I do?" Duke piped up.

"Build a fire. It’s getting dark in here and this worthless jacket ain’t keeping out the cold." Kilroy stalked to the back of the cave, opened a cooler and brought out a bottle of beer. He twisted off the cap, drank gustily and wiped his mouth with the jacket sleeve. He rather crudely indicated the need to answer nature’s call, so he left the cave and disappeared just outside of the entrance.

Duke didn’t speak. He gathered up some loose twigs and small branches from the trees just beyond the cave and brought them inside the opening. Margaret watched, amazed, as Duke heaped the twigs and branches in no particular order, well inside the cave opening. When he brought out a lighter and held it to a twig, she cried out, "What do you think you’re doing?"

Still holding the tiny flame to the twig, Duke growled, "Starting a fire! What’s it look like?"

"Well, yeah. But, in here?" She jerked her head in emphasis to indicate the cave.

Duke looked around. "Yeah. In here. Why not?"

"I should think that’d be obvious!"

Even more bewildered, and now growing angry, Duke retorted, "I ain’t sleeping out there in the cold and we don’t want no one to see the light, so why should I build the fire out there?"

Margaret just shook her head. "Forget it. You’re right. Why should I care anyway? You two want us dead, for some unknown reason, what does it matter if you kill us by direct action or not?"

"What do you mean, direct action?" The twig finally caught flame. Smiling, Duke laid the twig on top of the heap of wood, then frowned as the flame died.

Margaret laughed as silently as she could. "I mean that, if you ever manage to set fire to something, the smoke and noxious gases that such a fire would produce would suffocate us all first. See?" She looked up at the cave ceiling. "There’s no passage for the smoke to leave, and the cave is higher inside than at the entrance, so there’s no ventilation. Of course, the way you’re going, you won’t start a fire at all, so I guess I shouldn’t be worried about it."

Duke followed her gaze to the roof of the cave, then stared at his pile of twigs. His second attempt to light them failed also. He glanced outside, but Kilroy hadn’t yet returned. He looked at Margaret. "What do you think I should do?"

"For Pete’s sake, Margaret! You’re not going to tell him, are you?" Dan finally had to say something. Was she really trying to help these guys?

"Well, I’ve got nothing better to do. And besides, these guys have no reason to hurt me. You, I am sure, have contributed to their list of grievances against the world more times than Einstein could calculate. Why should I suffer the same fate as you? If I’m nice and cooperative, maybe they’ll only rough me up a little. I think I could handle that."

Dan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She couldn’t be serious. Could she? What did he really know about her, anyway? Maybe she was going into shock or something. "Did you take your insulin today?"

Loud laughter burst from Margaret’s lips. "Of course, I did! Why else would I be thinking so clearly?" She looked at Duke. "Are you going to take my advice or not?"

Duke looked thoughtful, but said only, "I’ll have to ask Kilroy what he thinks."

"Oh. I see." Margaret nodded sagely. "Kilroy does all the thinking and you do all the work. Typical."

"What do you mean? I do some thinking, too!"

"Of course you do. In fact, I’m positive you do. You probably have lots of plans and schemes you’re just itching to try out, but you can’t tell Kilroy, can you?"

"Why not?"

Margaret tried to shrug. "It’s easy to figure out that you’re the smarter one and Kilroy knows it. If you were to come up with a good idea, a good plan, it would prove to everyone that you don’t need him to get along in the world. You can get by yourself."

"You know, you’re right about that! I’ve got plans! I’m not going to be no penny-ante thief the rest of my life, no! I’ve got dreams and ambitions, same as anyone!"

Now, she tried to look interested. "Tell me some of them!"

Duke sat cross-legged by his pile of sticks. "Well, sure. Now you ask I can’t think of none. But let’s see. There’s the Wells Fargo trucks, see? And they follow the same route every day. All we need is enough guys with guns and to get the truck just after its last stop. Just go in and hijack it. We could be sitting pretty in Jamaica before the cops would even have time to –" He broke off as Kilroy reappeared in the cave entrance.

"The temperature’s been dropping so fast I just made ice cubes! Ha! What’s going on here? Where’s the stinking fire?" Kilroy tossed his empty bottle onto the cave floor and stared at Duke and the flameless sticks.

"Aww, Killer! It won’t do us any good to build a fire in here!" Duke complained.

"Why not? I told you already that we can’t build a fire where someone will see it and I’m not sleeping outside, neither!"

Duke glanced at Margaret, then stood up. "Any fool could see it, Killer. We build in here and we get all kinds of gas. There’s no ventilation. See? The roof is higher than the entrance."

Kilroy grunted. "All I see is you on your lazy butt, talking it up with my chick."

"Your chick? I thought you said we could share!"

Margaret felt herself shrink against Dan’s back. She felt the brush of his hair against the back of her head as he turned to whisper, "Don’t worry. You’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you."

She whispered back, "If you can help it, you mean."

"Hey, you two! Enough of that! No talking or I’ll have to gag you both!" Kilroy came closer to them. Margaret stared mutely up at him and shivered.

*     *     *

"Probably the same guy who tagged the front door, that’s who did this!" Trixie stared at the photograph, completely dismayed by all it represented.

Honey took the picture and held it closer under the light. "Wow. Regan’s sister sure was beautiful! Look at that gorgeous red hair!"

"Yeah, and Dan’s dad sure was a hunk, even if he did need a haircut."

"Trixie! He was a musician. That’s just the way all the guys in those 80’s rock bands wore their hair. Haven’t you ever seen those commercials for those compilation CDs like Monsters of Rock? He looks exactly like one of those guys from Warrant or Winger or something. He’s not so out of fashion, you know. It’s just that styles change. Thank goodness!" She giggled.

Trixie smiled half-heartedly. "Unfortunately, this picture’s now ruined. Look how someone tried to yank it from the frame. It’s all bent and wrinkled."

"And marked up with that horrid dagger-shaped ‘tag’," Honey added. "Another threat."

"Notice how the tag is just over the baby’s face? What do you think that means?" Trixie asked.

"That it’s someone who knows Dan, at least well enough to recognize his baby picture," Honey said thoughtfully.

Trixie nodded. "And someone who didn’t threaten his parents. Probably because he knows they’re already dead. But that baby doesn’t particularly look like Dan. I mean, all babies kind of look alike, you know?"

"So the tagger knows this is Dan’s parents and that this is a picture of his whole family?"

Honey handed the photo back to Trixie, who took the time to loosen the frame and remove the picture. "Hey! There’s an inscription on the back. Oh, Honey!" she breathed as she read it. "It’s so sad! Sweet, but sad. It reads: ‘For the most wonderful wife in the whole world. My heart sings when you are near. Happy birthday. Love, Tim. March 198-.’ This was her birthday present!"

Honey just stared at Trixie for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. Then her face changed and she spit out, "I am just so angry that anyone could just waltz on up here and deface Dan’s private, personal property! Well, he’s just not going to get away with it, just let me tell you!" Indignation distorted Honey’s normally serene expression.

"Don’t worry! He won’t!" Trixie agreed. "Now, if only I had an idea how to do that."

The two girls sat down on the edge of Dan’s bed, deep in thought. Trixie’s brain kept whirling and swirling the events of the past two days, throwing everything up against the wall of Dan’s unknown past, hoping something would stick.

She knew that Dan’s gang had a reputation for being brutal. She also knew their members had associates in all sorts of criminal fields. She also knew that Dan was a whole two years away from gang life. What would be the profit for them to come back and rustle an ex-gang member back into the city?

Then it hit her. The other thing she saw on that news report about gangs.

There were no such things as ‘ex-gang members’.

*     *     *

"What did you do to him to make him hate you so much?" Margaret whispered over her shoulder. Kilroy and Duke had given up on making a fire inside the cave. Kilroy finally figured out there wasn’t adequate ventilation for the smoke, so he had Duke drag the branches and twigs outside. After several moments, they had a small fire going which provided little in the way of heat or light.

Dan whispered back, "I’ve never done anything to him. This is all about something else."

"Well, if I’m going to have to suffer because of it, don’t you think I’d better know why?"

Dan sighed. "It’s a long story and most of it really doesn’t concern you."

"Hey. I’m not going anywhere and I’ve got nothing better to do. Besides, maybe it’ll take my mind off my bladder." There was silence, and then she felt Dan’s shoulders shaking. "You’re laughing at me, aren’t you. Aren’t you?"

He couldn’t contain it any longer. "Yes! Yes, I am laughing at you! God, I wouldn’t be a girl for nothing. Girls are forever going to the bathroom."

Margaret shook her head. "Just because guys have all that extra room to carry it around, doesn’t mean-"

"Hey! What’s going on in there? I thought I said no talking!" Kilroy stomped back inside the cave, waving around his second beer bottle.

Dan tried, but couldn’t stop laughing. Kilroy’s vicious kick to his ribs helped.

"Hey!" Margaret cried. "You almost missed him and hit me!"

"Sorry, sister, but I don’t care." Kilroy glared at her. "What were you two talking about?"

"Dan was just about to tell me why you want him dead."

"Oh. This ought to be good. Hey, Duke!" Kilroy shouted, drawing his cousin’s attention from the flickering fire. "Come on in here. Danny-boy’s going to tell us the story of why we hate him so much!"

Duke scampered inside and grabbed a beer for himself. He grinned. "I wonder if he’ll leave out any of the important details."

"Excuse me?" Margaret broke in hopefully.

"What do you want?" Kilroy barked.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Kilroy laughed. "There ain’t a bathroom around here for miles. You want I should drive you to the gas station?"

"Well, that would certainly be more sanitary, but any old bush would do. As long as it’s a private bush, that is."

"No way. We untie you and Danny-boy here takes advantage and escapes. Or you do. It don’t matter. You ain’t going."

Duke giggled. "That’s funny, Killer. You said, ‘you ain’t going’. Like going to the--"

"Yeah, yeah. I’m a real laugh riot."

"Come on! I’m about to wet my pants!" Margaret beseeched Kilroy. "Please!" When they didn’t seem to be all that empathetic, she added, "It’ll stink up the cave if I have to go in here!"

Kilroy considered it then, and said, "Well, all right. As long as Danny-boy understands what we’re going to do if there’s any trouble." He stared directly into Dan’s eyes. "If she tries to escape, Duke here is going to slit Dan’s throat. Got that?"

"Umm, pardon me for pointing out the obvious," Margaret began slowly, "but what do I care if he lives or dies? We just met yesterday. And aren’t you going to kill him anyway?"

"Margaret!" Dan said, disbelievingly. "Why don’t you just shut up for once?"

Kilroy’s eyes blazed. "Fine! Fine, then if you try to escape, I’ll slit your throat, Miss Smarty-Pants!"

"Oh," Margaret shrank back from Kilroy’s glare. "You’re right," she said, subdued. "That I would care about."

After several moments, Duke finally had Margaret untied from Dan. He pulled her roughly to her feet. "Come on, let’s go!" Kilroy ordered and began to walk outside.

Margaret, however, could barely move. Sharp, shooting pains traveled up and down her legs as blood rushed to her feet. Her arms, stiff from their enforced inactivity, felt like heavy weights dragging down her shoulders. Seeing that she wasn’t moving, Duke pushed her forward and she stumbled heavily after Kilroy.

Duke crouched next to Dan, holding the sharp edge of his switchblade up against his pulsing jugular. Dan forced himself to remain calm and not think of the blade, but just try to get blood flowing back into his own legs and arms. Because Margaret had been keeping him sitting upright, without her behind him, he laid flat on his back. He felt very cold, but fought off the shivers his body kept inducing as a way to maintain heat. Shivering would make him appear weak, and cowards like Duke and Kilroy preyed on the weak and helpless.

Almost ten minutes passed before Kilroy brought Margaret, kicking and cursing, back into the cave. He carried her, fireman-style, over one shoulder, her butt in the air, her legs flying in front, her fists beating against his legs and back. Kilroy shoved her off him into a heap on the ground. "Tie her up again," he ordered Duke. "The little witch scratched me!"

"Well, you wouldn’t turn around! Serves you right for staring at me," Margaret fairly shouted. "I didn’t realize you were such a sick pervert!"

"You tried to escape! You took off into the woods. You’re lucky I found you, or you’d have gone right over those cliffs into the river!"

Dan closed his eyes in relief. Without a doubt, he now knew exactly where they were. Finally, he could put his plan into action.

 

Chapter Six – Photographs & Memories

Dan’s Room, Mr. Maypenny’s Cottage
Immediately following

"Let’s finish putting Dan’s room in order. It’s driving me crazy not doing anything when there’s so much to do." Honey pushed herself up off the bed and began sorting through the myriad paperbacks and hard covers that sprawled across the desk and floor. "I wonder," she said as she examined the various titles and authors, "if this stuff is as good as they say. It just seems so boring. Robots and aliens and stuff like that."

Trixie began refolding Dan’s clothes and replacing them into his dresser, hoping to distract herself from her worries. "My Uncle Andrew reads some of that stuff, and so does Mart, of course, but I know what you mean. It seems so… so…"

"Boring?" Honey supplied helpfully.

"Well, it isn’t Lucy Radcliffe." She grinned to herself. Nothing would ever replace Lucy Radcliffe in her heart! She concentrated on folding Dan’s shirts and laying them in place, a bit startled to see a small shoebox tucked into the back of the drawer. Curious, she tried to ignore it, but the lid, laying half across the opening, revealed the contents. "Look at this, Honey! Come here!"

Honey joined Trixie at the dresser. "What’s that? Hey! Where’d you get that mitten?"

Trixie lifted a small, bright blue knit mitten into the light. "It was just lying there, in that box." She handed it to Honey.

With a practiced eye, Honey examined the mitten. "It’s handmade," she reported. "And a really nice job, too."

Thoughtfully, Trixie returned the mitten. Several items in the shoebox vied for her attention, including a ticket stub to a midnight showing of ‘Rocky Horror’; a pair of baseball tickets from 8 years before, untorn, Yankees vs. Cubs; a small, ring-sized jewelry box, open and empty; a strip of 4 black and white photographs from a $2 vending machine, of a younger Dan and a pretty girl Trixie didn’t recognize: snapshots depicted both smiling, him kissing her cheek, her kissing his cheek, both kissing each other; a bent horseshoe nail; and, a group picture of the Bob-Whites at their 4^th of July cookout: everyone arm in arm in arm with barbecue sauce all over their faces and clothes.

Honey sighed. "Well, I did say we should try to get to know him better. But I don’t think snooping through his personal things is the way to go about it."

Guiltily, Trixie slammed the lid back down on the box. "You’re absolutely right. I’ll remember to apologize."

"And then ask about the girl in those photographs. I know you, Trixie Belden!" Honey smiled to ease the sting from her rebuke, then returned to her task, replacing the books on the shelves.

Trixie hurried through the rest of the refolding. As she slammed the last drawer shut, she heard Honey exclaim, "Hello! What’s this?" Trixie turned to see Honey holding up another photograph.

"Another photograph?" Trixie asked. Wordlessly, Honey handed it to her. Trixie stared at the picture of a small girl, not more than 2 years old, standing in the middle of a sunny field, flowers in her long brown hair, wearing a bright yellow sundress, giggling at the camera. Trixie flipped the photo over, but there was no helpful inscription. "Okay, who do you think this is?"

Honey thought a moment, pursing her lips. "Well, it’s in Dan’s copy of Foundation, so it must be a relative of Dan’s."

Trixie nodded. "His mother? But, no. This is a color photograph. Did they have color photographs back then?"

Honey just flashed Trixie the ‘of course, silly!’ look. "I don’t think it’s his mother, though. Look at her picture when she’s older." She held up the family portrait. "See? And this girl’s hair is clearly brown. There’s not that much similar about them. Besides, Dan’s mother was 17 when she had him, so this picture would have to be what, 35 or so years old? It seems much newer than that."

"I guess. She doesn’t look much like Mr. Mangan either, does she."

"No," Honey agreed. "She could look like Dan, though. I’ve seen that expression on his face before."

"A giggle? No way."

"Well, not the giggle. But the way his eyes crinkle up sometimes when he laughs."

Trixie thought about it. "Maybe. So if it’s not his mother or one of his father’s relatives, but it looks sort of like Dan…" Her heart stopped. "No. You don’t think…"

Honey did think that, though. "I can’t even complete the thought in my head! Do you really think –"

"That this little girl is Dan’s daughter? I don’t know! I mean, gleeps!"

*     *     *

Duke retied Margaret to Dan’s back, relishing his task to the point where Margaret was sure she’d have permanent impressions of ropes and knots on her insides. Years from now, she thought, medical students would be given the task of determining just what caused her to die. ‘Not diabetes’, they would say, ‘but a severe case of rope burn’.

"What’re we going to do now, Killer?" Duke asked after tightening the last knot.

"I still want to hear Danny-boy’s story. Come on, Danny-boy," Kilroy urged, nudging Dan’s legs with his shoe, "I want to know if you know why I went to all this trouble."

Dan grunted. "Of course I know why. Because of Eldon."

"Who’s Eldon?" Margaret muttered sourly.

"That’s right! Well, what do you know! Danny-boy guessed it!" Kilroy leaned in close to Dan’s face. "Frankly, I’m surprised you had the guts to say his name."

"Who’s Eldon?" Margaret repeated, louder this time.

"Why shouldn’t I have the guts to say his name? He was my best friend," Dan replied evenly.

"Will somebody tell me who in blazes is Eldon?" Margaret insisted loudly.

"Watch your mouth, sweetheart," Duke admonished.

Margaret stared up at the smaller guy. "I just want to know who this Eldon person is!"

"Tell her," Kilroy told Dan, jerking his chin in Margaret’s direction. "Tell her all about ‘your best friend Eldon’."

Dan hesitated, then complied. "Eldon lived downstairs from my Mom and me when we moved after my dad died. We were in the same class at school, so we rode the subway together and got to be pretty good friends. Then one of Eldon’s other friends got him into a gang. Eldon wanted me to join it, too, so I did."

Kilroy interrupted. "That’s right! Eldon took you in and made you a member of the gang. And how did you repay him, huh? With your knife in his back."

"Just who’s telling this story, you or me?" Dan said, a threat in his voice. Kilroy gestured for Dan to continue. "Fine. I joined the gang. We had a lot of fun and did a lot of stupid things, too. That summer before everything happened we were as close as real brothers—"

"No! You weren’t that close," Kilroy said. "I should know."

"Whatever. Anyway, we met this girl one night we were out in Times Square. Her name was Darci. Eldon and me, we took her out, we showed her around New York. She was a runaway from Providence," he added for Margaret’s benefit, "and a real nice girl-"

"Yeah, real nice," Kilroy smirked.

Margaret glanced over her shoulder. "Why did she run away from home? What was she doing in New York?"

"Who cares about that?" Kilroy asked. He slapped Dan on the shoulder. "Get on with it already!"

"Fine, fine," Dan agreed. "But quit interrupting." He waited for some kind of reply, but Kilroy just kept his mouth closed. "So, Darci ended up pregnant. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, since it’s an occupational hazard of girls forced into her line of work-"

"Wait a minute. Darci was a prostitute?" Margaret asked, startled.

Dan sighed. "Yeah. Some of the time. Mostly, she was a mule."

"Excuse me?"

"A mule, idiot! A mule!" Kilroy snapped. "Now you quit interrupting!"

"A mule is a person who transports drugs or stolen property. It’s the most thankless job in the organization. Hooking was a step up since she got to keep some of her money," Dan explained. "Anyway, she ended up pregnant-"

"Who was the father? One of her customers or one of you two?" she asked bluntly. She felt Dan stiffen and heard Duke giggle.

"It wasn’t me," Dan said tightly, "I was careful."

Margaret understood the unspoken confession. "So what happened? Did she have the baby?"

"Yeah, Danny-boy. Tell her what happened to the baby!" Kilroy sneered.

Dan was silent for a long time. Margaret wished she could see his face, to try and see if she could tell what he was thinking. For some reason, Kilroy and Duke remained silent, too. Then Dan spoke once more, his voice hollow.

"The baby died. You know that. Darci had a miscarriage when one of her ‘customers’ knocked her around too much and left her bleeding on the floor. I found her, called an ambulance, but it was too late. She died soon after reaching the hospital."

"Oh, no!" Margaret gasped, her heart going out to Dan, who was obviously pained at having to relate the incident. "What happened then?"

"I knew how Eldon felt about Darci, so when I finally figured out she was gone – see, they found and told only her parents so I had to get an orderly to tell me what happened – I went to see Eldon to tell him. I found him in his room, lying on the bed, beaten and bloody beyond recognition. I called an ambulance, but this time, I knew I was too late. He was DOA. There were stab wounds all through him."

"That is NOT what happened!" Kilroy yelled, his words echoing through the cave. "You killed him yourself and you called the ambulance only when you thought you might get jammed up over what you did."

"I did not!" Dan retorted through gritted teeth. "I tried to save him, but no matter how many times I tell you that, you don’t believe me! Eldon was my best friend. I did not try to kill him and I am not happy he’s dead!"

"You killed him! You killed my brother in cold blood! Admit it!" Kilroy’s rage purpled his face while his fists flexed furiously.

*     *     *

"What are you girls doing up here in Daniel’s room?"

Trixie and Honey turned, guilty expressions on their faces, to see Mr. Maypenny standing in the doorway. "Oh!" Trixie said. "What are you doing back so soon? Have they found them?"

"No," Maypenny answered slowly. "Spartan threw a shoe so I came back to see how else I could help, since Regan’s on Cranberry. I saw lights up here and came to see what was going on. So. What’s going on?"

Honey smiled reassuringly. "It’s okay, Mr. Maypenny. We were just cleaning up Dan’s room for him. It was a mess."

"Yes, it was," he agreed slowly. "What have you got there?" He gestured at the photo in her hand.

Honey gave it to him. "We were just wondering if you knew who that little girl is. She’s awfully cute."

Trixie watched carefully as Mr. Maypenny’s expression changed from pleasant curiosity to shock to sadness. "Where did you find this?" he asked.

Honey lifted the book. "In here. It just fell out when I was replacing it on the shelf."

Maypenny nodded. "I see. I had wondered where this was."

"Who is it?" Trixie prompted. "You haven’t said."

Maypenny suddenly seemed very old, his eyes haunted by terrible memories. "It’s no one, anymore. She’s… dead. A long time, now." He still stared at the photo, touching it with one callused fingertip. Shaking loose of the mood that had overcome him, he glanced up at each girl. "It doesn’t belong in here. I’ll take it." He nodded at them and said, "You’re doing a good job. Dan will be pleased. He hates a messy room, thank goodness."

They watched as Mr. Maypenny turned and went down the hall to his own room, shutting his door behind him. They turned, wide-eyed, to each other. "What was that all about?" Trixie asked.

"Oh, Trix! Do you think that was his-, no, that doesn’t make sense. Why would he have a baby picture of her? And it’s still a way too recent photograph for that to be the case…"

"Honey! What are you talking about? Who wouldn’t he have a baby picture of?"

Honey’s hazel eyes filled with anguish as she explained, "Oh, Trixie! I just found out yesterday morning that Mr. Maypenny had a wife a long time ago. Isn’t that sad? She must have died."

Trixie’s blue eyes turned confused. "Since when? He’s never been married."

"But I heard your mother say to Regan and Dan that Mrs. Maypenny had given her the recipe for buttermilk biscuits. I don’t really think she meant his mother. No," she said slowly, "I distinctly remember her saying ‘his wife’, meaning Mr. Maypenny’s. Not his father’s. Am I making sense?"

Trixie giggled. "About as much sense as ever! It’s a good thing I speak fluent Honey Wheeler!" Then a thought struck her. "You know, I wish he hadn’t taken that picture from us. That little girl still looks really familiar."

"Did she? Once I knew she wasn’t Dan’s little girl, I sort of gave up on that. Do you think it’s maybe Mr. Maypenny’s little girl? Your mother didn’t say anything about children, though," Honey said.

Trixie turned thoughtful again. "Remember when we met Mr. Maypenny and he said his family had lived in this area for the past 150 or so years?

"Yeah…", Honey said slowly, not liking where this was heading.

"I remember seeing a graveyard around here. Maybe that could shed some light on this."

"Ick. You want to go creeping around a graveyard in the middle of winter while some strange guy is stalking the woods?" Honey shivered.

"Not a graveyard, a family plot. Lots of old, established families have them. Like old Miss Martin out by the marshes. Not everyone gets buried in the churchyard. You know, I think I remember seeing one last summer when we were out here." She pointed through the window at the blackness outside. "I think you should be able to see it in the daytime from this very window. It’s not all that far away." She looked at her best friend and nodded firmly. "We should definitely go check out the family plot. Besides. What else do you have scheduled?"

"Nothing, I guess," Honey agreed. "Until Dan and Margaret are found, of course."

The girls finished cleaning up Dan’s room, then hurried out the back door of the cabin toward the Maypenny family plot or, at least, Trixie’s recollection of the location. They found the fenced-in yard rather easily. Trixie produced her ever-present Maglite and soon they were inside the gate.

"Try and see if you can figure out the order these go in," Trixie suggested, looking at row after row of tombstones, some crumbling with age, others sunk halfway into the ground, others still firmly upright.

"Okay," Honey agreed. "This one looks like-jeepers! Marta van Poole Maypenny, beloved wife and mother, 1880-1898! How sad. She died so young." They moved on. "Here’s Martie’s husband, Matthias Maypenny, 1879-1954."

Trixie sighed. "Here’s old Matthias’s second wife, Ethel van Anderson Maypenny, 1890-1950. At least Matthias and Ethel had more time together."

"I wonder if these are Mr. Maypenny’s parents," Honey said abruptly. "That might explain why they’re here in front. Usually the older graves are in back, aren’t they?"

"Sometimes," Trixie agreed. "But I think it depends on when. Mostly, it seems, people get buried in groups according to when they died. At least, that’s the way it seems in the churchyard in town. All the 1700-1750s are in one area, then the 1750-1800s people are in another. Like that." She shone the flashlight to the next row of tombstones.

Honey sighed. "Those must be some of Matthias’s brothers and sisters." They read off the list of names and ages.

"This is just depressing me," Trixie admitted. "Let’s try over there. Those seem newer."

They walked across the main pathway to the still-upright headstones. Trixie played the flashlight over the first stone. Wordlessly, she stared at Honey. She moved the light to the second stone. Abruptly, she twisted off the light. "Well, I guess we know who that little girl was," Trixie said softly.

Honey brushed a tear from her eye. "We certainly do. Poor Mr. Maypenny!"

*     *     *

Margaret was confused for just a moment. "Wait, Eldon was your brother? Huh. That makes sense."

"Yeah, genius! Eldon was my brother. He was! He’s dead now, no thanks to Dan!" Kilroy spat.

"But you heard him. He got there too late. How is it Dan’s fault he died?" she replied reasonably.

Suddenly, Kilroy was in her face. "Because he killed him himself! Everyone knows how vicious Dan gets when he’s mad. He’s put lots of guys in the hospital!"

Margaret still had a question. "What would be his motive for killing him, though? Was Eldon the father of Darci’s baby?"

"No," Kilroy bit out, "Eldon respected Darci too much to slip her $50 and knock boots!"

Dan couldn’t keep his silence any longer. "I never paid Darci! Eldon understood that Darci and I were together. I knew how he felt about her, and he seemed to be okay with how she felt about me."

"Yeah. Right," Kilroy scoffed. "You mean, he trusted her with you! And you got her knocked up and you beat her up and in your guilt you went to Eldon and when he threatened to tell the police, you killed him. Didn’t you!"

"I told you what happened! I told everybody. The gang understood. Criminy, the cops understood," Dan said, forcing desperation from his voice.

"Well, I believe you, Dan," Margaret said quietly. "It sounds like someone else has a guilty conscience, though."

Suddenly, Kilroy’s hand clenched her throat and began squeezing hard. "What did you say?" A wild expression in his eyes, he stared at her. "Say it again. I dare you! I double-dare you!"

Margaret found it difficult to breathe. Kilroy’s fingers hadn’t just grabbed her neck, they had found her windpipe and were squeezing, closing it off. She heard herself gasping for air and struggling against the ropes that still tied her. She heard shouting and cursing, but it all seemed from a long way off. The firelight swirled around her and then she saw nothing.

*     *     *

"You know," Trixie said slowly. "I think I know where I’ve seen that little girl before." Before Honey could ask, Trixie turned and hurried out of the graveyard. "Come on, Honey! We need to hurry!"

Honey nearly tripped over an exposed tree root, but she kept up with her friend. They reentered Maypenny’s cabin, grabbed their things, shouted their good-byes to Mr. Lytell, still coordinating his end of the search, and rushed down the trail toward home.

They saw a few of the search parties, beating bushes and searching the undergrowth for clues. Each one, however, confirmed that neither teen had been spotted yet, but as the night was still young, they held out great hopes.

"Hey, Trixie Belden! Where are you going off in such a hurry?"

They turned, startled to hear a more familiar voice call for them. "Sergeant Molinson!" Trixie called out. "What’s up?"

"Just what I asked you, Miss Belden," he replied evenly, stepping out onto the path in front of them. "Evening, Miss Wheeler."

Honey returned his greeting politely, and added, "We’re just going to my house to wait for the search results. Have you found anything at all?"

Molinson’s eyes turned troubled. "No, nothing. Which bothers me. Dan should know these woods too well to get lost, which makes me hope he’s found Margaret and is keeping her company somewhere."

"You don’t think they’ve run off together or something, do you?" Trixie asked worriedly.

"Now why would you think something like that?" Molinson asked.

"No reason. Just that she ran away once to get here. Maybe she’s run away again."

Molinson eyed her speculatively. "If you know anything about this, you should tell the police immediately. Any delay in finding them could result in a tragedy."

"Just like what happened before," Trixie said thoughtfully.

"Just like when?" Molinson asked, then his expression changed. "How did you hear about that?"

"Were you in on that search, too?" Trixie asked eagerly. "Tell me about it."

"Hold on. That’s not a tale for young ladies to hear," he insisted.

"But it happened to a little girl. My father told me some of it. Why shouldn’t we be allowed to know the details?"

Molinson rubbed his face wearily. "All right. Here’s the facts. Yes, I was ‘in on’ that search, too, as you put it, but I wasn’t in charge or anything. I had just graduated high school and my father agreed that I could help the rest of the men search for that little girl-"

"It was horrible what happened, wasn’t it," Honey said. It was not a question.

Molinson said, "Yes, it was. You sure you want to hear about this?"

"We do," Trixie said, with a glance to Honey. "Please, go on."

"Fine. She had been missing most of the day when the call went out for search & rescue volunteers. Now, I didn’t actually find her, but my father was with the group that did and he told me what they found. And that is definitely not something you girls need to hear," Molinson said.

Trixie tried to look professional and detached. "You mean, because wild animals had gotten there first?"

Honey folded her arms over her stomach and hugged herself tightly. Molinson glanced from one girl to the other. He nodded. "Now, suppose you tell me why you girls are so interested?"

"Just one more thing," Trixie urged. "How did you know for sure who it was?"

"What do you mean?" Molinson asked. "Of course we knew! We found the clothes nearby and she matched the physical description."

"Which was-?"

"A little girl, brown hair and eyes, about 2 years old. And before you ask another question, there’s more. There were no reports of any missing children of that age in Westchester County that year. None at all. What’s more, there weren’t any unidentified bodies found, either."

"Isn’t that unusual?" Trixie asked.

"Not really. Not when you consider how the FBI’s been pushing children’s fingerprinting and ‘videoprinting’. Dental records, too. This is a pretty savvy area. Lots of rich folks who would spare no expense in protecting their children from such things."

Honey nodded. "I remember Daddy having me fingerprinted when I was five. He got Jim’s prints, too, just in case."

Trixie nodded, too. "Yeah, and I remember when the bank had that promotion a couple years back, and Moms brought in Bobby to be video-printed. But still, not everybody does that. And not everybody did that 12 years ago."

"I’ve been really patient, answering all your questions. Suppose you finally tell me what’s going on?" Molinson demanded, his hands on his hips.

Trixie hesitated, then said, "I’m not sure, but this is what I think happened." And she told him.

Several minutes later, Honey, Trixie and Sergeant Molinson hurried down the trail to Manor House.

*      *      *

"You want to kill me, go ahead. But let her go! She knows nothing about any of this. She’s not who you’re really angry at, I am. So just kill me and be done with it!" Dan heard the panic in his own voice, but didn’t care. If one more person died because of him -! He felt Margaret slump forward, her body pulling his off-balance.

Kilroy grabbed Dan’s neck and shoved his face up close. "I plan on it, Danny-boy! Believe me! There’s nothing I want more than to avenge my brother’s death! And that’s what I’m going to do. When I heard how you were living it up, sitting pretty with all these rich friends, all high-and-mighty, refusing to do a solid to your old pals, your brothers, your real family, I knew just what I had to do. Justice, that’s what! It was up to me. Don’t ask me why that Judge let you come back here, away from your brothers, away from me, but I never had no faith in the legal system, no how. This is the only justice I believe in!" Angrily, he pushed Dan sideways onto the cave floor and stood.

Duke, however, had long since stopped giggling. He looked up at his cousin. "What did she mean, ‘guilty conscience’?"

"What?" Kilroy turned his full attention on the smaller boy.

"Just that. She said someone here had a guilty conscience. Well, it ain’t me. I never even met this Darci person. It wouldn’t have made you so upset if it were Dan’s, so… I’m asking. Whose guilty conscience?" As bold as he dared, he looked straight into Kilroy’s face. "Is it yours?"

Without another word, Kilroy’s fist connected with Duke’s jaw and the back of Duke’s head connected with the rocky strata on the cave wall. As Duke slid down the wall, trailing blood, Kilroy shouted at him. "Come on, Duke! Get up!"

Struggling to pull himself and Margaret upright, Dan managed to say, "You’ve killed again, haven’t you, ‘Killer’."

Kilroy whirled, focusing on Dan. "I ain’t done nothing! I ain’t never killed no one!"

Dan just grinned. "You are such a liar. No wonder Eldon hated you so much."

"He didn’t hate me! He hated you!"

"No, that’s not so," Dan said evenly. "He told me all about you. How you stole money from your parents for booze and drugs. How you used to rob the collection plate at church. How you bullied the younger kids in the schoolyard. And how you used to rough up the girls you dated. Just like you roughed up Margaret in the woods the other night."

Kilroy’s face purpled again with rage. "She’s lying! They all are lying! She asked me, she begged me to take her! I was just doing what she wanted-!"

"If that were true, why did you have to hit her so hard your brother’s ring marked her face?"

Kilroy held up his hand and stared at the signet ring on his third finger. "Eldon’s ring?"

"Yeah. I recognized that mark right away. I remember when Eldon bought that ring from a pawnshop on 42^nd. I helped him pick it out, in fact. You know, now that I think about it, Eldon wasn’t wearing that ring when he died. I wonder why."

"He gave it to Darci," Kilroy replied. His gaze turned inward as he continued. "He wanted her to know how he felt and she laughed at him. She said she was in love with someone else." He glared at Dan, pure hatred in his eyes. "She was in love with you, you scum! He had no choice but to smack her around. Is it my fault she couldn’t handle it?"

Dan felt very cold inside, an old, familiar feeling he thought he had long since escaped. "Now, why should it be your fault, if you weren’t even there?"

Kilroy snapped out of his trance. "Exactly! It’s not my fault, it’s yours!"

Dan frowned. "Now, how could it be mine if Eldon is the one who killed Darci? That doesn’t make much sense." He felt Margaret stir and heard a soft moan. He tried to signal her to remain still and quiet.

Kilroy frowned. "But it is your fault Eldon’s dead. You’re trying to trick me! You killed Eldon for killing your girlfriend!"

"But if Eldon gave the ring to Darci, why didn’t he take it back from her after she died? Why didn’t he have it on him when he was killed?

"Uhmm," Kilroy stuttered, "because he gave it to me for safekeeping."

"When did he do that?"

"Uhmm, uhhh," Kilroy said, tugging his hair loose from his ponytail and chewing on the split ends. "After he killed Darci, but before he killed himself."

"He killed himself, did he? By stabbing himself with a knife over twenty times? But then why make it look like the Demonz killed him? I mean, that’s why we went to war with them, to avenge Eldon’s death. At least, that’s what I though I was doing when the cops arrested me," Dan said.

Kilroy shoved his hands through his hair, loosening his ponytail. "Because! Just because! Face it! Eldon was a stupid kid who didn’t know better."

"You mean, you were a stupid kid. You stole Eldon’s ring to give to Darci. She laughed in your face and you beat her up, leaving her for dead. You went to Eldon, who always made sure things turned out all right for you, but he tried to get you to turn yourself in or something. That’s when you killed him, wasn’t it? With your very own switchblade. When you saw what you had done, you panicked and made it look like the Demonz had done it." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Like they had gotten past any of our guys walking the neighborhood, or the guards on the first floor, and got all the way upstairs to Eldon’s room, killed him without getting a spot of blood on them, and got out of the ‘hood again without anyone noticing or suspecting a thing. That’s what you say happened?" Dan said, incredulously.

"That’s what Luke said happened! And everyone agreed. We had to retaliate against the Demonz for invading our territory. And we did. So what?"

"So you admit to killing Darci and then Eldon?"

A trapped expression came over Kilroy’s face. He glanced at Duke, still lying senseless against the cave wall. Margaret hadn’t moved since she came to. Dan just stared evenly at Kilroy, calm in the truth.

"No one knows nothing," Kilroy finally said. "And no one’s going to find out, either. Come summer, all you’ll be is a bag of bones."

Dan felt Margaret shudder. He knew she must be panicking by now, but he admired her courage in not breaking down or begging for her life. He was reminded rather strongly of Trixie, and felt comforted, thinking of how well she would bear up under the strain as well. "So, that’s it," he said. "You’re just going to kill us outright. You’re not even going to give us a chance to defend ourselves. You’ve grown that cowardly and weak you can’t face a guy on his own two feet anymore, like Eldon or even Darci, but you’ve got to get him all tied up so you can’t possibly miss?"

Kilroy pulled his switchblade out of his pocket and snapped it open. "Fine. You want this chick to see you crying and whimpering for your life? That’s okay by me." He came closer to Dan and, moments later, had sliced through the bonds that held him in place.

Margaret felt the ropes binding her to Dan loosen and then slip away. An instant later, she heard a muffled shout and then felt Dan shove almost violently against her. She fell forward and then over on her left as the scuffling noises and grunts increased. She maneuvered her aching body off to one side of the cave and rolled herself over, amazed at what she saw.

Dan had grabbed Kilroy and the two were wrestling on the ground, struggling for control of the switchblade. Margaret could clearly see the rope burns on Dan’s arms as his muscles flexed tight, and the sinewy strength of Kilroy’s body as he heaved against him. She heard them huff and groan as each landed a punch in close quarters, but neither one connected as solidly as they wanted.

As the wrestling continued, Margaret shuffled up against the cave wall and tried to inch herself into a standing position. She almost toppled over three times before seeing Dan force the switchblade out of Kilroy’s grip and then twist them both away from it, across the cave floor.

Margaret began to wriggle, trying to aid the ropes that wrapped around her down her body. She kept her eyes on the action, however, and nearly cheered when Dan broke away from Kilroy, whirled, and finally landed a solid uppercut that send Kilroy reeling against the cave wall.

But a swift conclusion to the fight, such an act did not prove to be. Kilroy rebounded and charged Dan, pushing him against the opposite wall, banging his head repeatedly against the rock and stone. Margaret felt the ropes begin to slip off her as she stared, helpless and afraid that Dan might lose.

"Dan!" she screamed. "Come on, Dan! Fight back! Get him!"

Dan seemed to hear her encouragement, for he grimaced and grabbed Kilroy’s head with one hand, his thumb gouging Kilroy’s eye socket, while his other fist punched Kilroy’s throat. Kilroy growled in anguished pain, then stumbled backward, tripping over Duke’s legs, losing his balance. Dan clenched his right hand into a fist and punched him again in the jaw, finally knocking him unconscious. Kilroy collapsed on the floor. Dan panted, leaning forward, his hands on his knees, a trickle of blood on his chin.

"Are you okay?" Margaret asked, as the ropes fell off her.

Dan looked up, saw she was almost free of the ropes, and hurried over to her. "I’ll live. How are you feeling?" His hands aching from the fight, he pulled the rest of the ropes off her.

She frowned. "What do you mean? I wasn’t the one in the fight. That was simply marvelous, by the way! I’ve never seen anyone fight before. I mean, a real fight, not like on TV or something. You really know what you’re doing, don’t you!" Her eyes shone at him with deep admiration.

"It wasn’t my first fight, if that’s what you mean," he said, trying to ignore her adoring gaze. "But what I meant was your diabetes. Is it okay?"

"Oh! Oh, that." She thought a moment. "Oh, yeah. I’m fine. I’m a little hungry though. I should probably get something to eat soon."

Dan nodded. "Check out that cooler over there. Maybe they brought more than beer." He gestured toward the cooler and Margaret turned to investigate it. Dan picked up the switchblade, closed it and stuck it in his jeans. He hurried over to Duke. "Hey, bring me some ice or something. Duke’s pretty badly hurt." In the half-light that emanated from the dwindling fire, Dan tried to examine Duke’s head injury.

"What are you doing?" Margaret asked.

"I’m trying to help him. What does it look like?" Dan replied.

"Why?"

"Because I’m not that way anymore. You going to help me or not?" He stared at her.

"Fine." Petulantly, she opened the cooler and dug out a chunk of ice. "Did you want some processed cheese spread? It’s either that or beer."

"Uh, no. I’ll pass. Just toss me the ice. Will the cheese be enough for you for now?" With a shaky underhand throw, Margaret chucked a small block of ice toward Dan. He caught it easily and applied it to Duke’s head.

"I think so. I don’t really pay that much attention to the whole thing," she said.

"Why not? Diabetes can kill you, you know."

She shrugged, biting open the plastic wrap surrounding the processed cheese. "So can anything. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got years and years. The doctor says it’ll be a miracle if I’m not hooked up to a dialysis machine five hours a day, four days a week by this time next year. I’ve got a fairly rare blood type. There isn’t much chance I’ll find any sort of kidney or pancreatic donor. My best chance is a blood relative." She tasted the tasteless cheese and spit it back out.

"Then I’m confused. Why run away from your family if they’re the only ones who can save you?" He frowned, applying the ice to the back of Duke’s head and splashing some of the drips onto his face. "Come on, Duke," he muttered. "Wake up already." Because they were rewarded with a soft moan and the fluttering of Duke’s eyes, Dan never heard her explanation.

"What happened?" Duke groaned.

"Everything. Kilroy threw you against the wall and you passed out. Now Kilroy’s out cold and the two of you are going to the hospital and then the cops, in that order," Dan told him.

Duke nodded. "Fine, man, all right. Whatever you want. Just make it stop hurting!" He sat up and Dan helped him stand, then guided Duke around Kilroy’s unmoving body toward Margaret.

"Margaret, help Duke get outside. I’ll take Kilroy. You guys have a car nearby, don’t you?" Dan asked.

"Yeah," Duke said. "I’ll show you." He shook his head sorrowfully, instantly regretting his action. "The fire went out again!"

Margaret smirked. "Your wood was too wet, you know. You really never had a chance to keep the fire going." She helped him balance long enough to navigate the cave entrance.

Once Margaret and Duke left the cave, Dan allowed himself a moment to wipe the blood from his chin, lay the rest of the ice chunk on his aching head and catch his breath. "I could really go for a cigarette right about now," he said, thankful no one could hear him. He hoisted Kilroy over his shoulder, fireman-style, and hurried after them.

Once outside, Duke lead them up behind the mouth of the cave to a small clearing where an old, gold Cadillac convertible sat covered in a light dusting of snow. Dan chuckled to see it. "You guys drove that thing all the way up here?"

"Yeah, so what?" Duke muttered, barely managing the steep climb on his own.

"Nothing," Dan said, and opened the back passenger door, laying Kilroy inside on the seat. "Get in," he said to Duke. "And watch over your cousin." He held the door open for Margaret, who smiled up at him, briefly touching her palm to his cheek to brush off a spot of dirt before slipping inside.

When Dan got into the driver’s seat, she asked, "What about the keys?"

Dan checked. There weren’t any keys in the ignition. He called to the back seat, "Where’s the keys?"

Duke groaned, "They were in the cave, last I checked."

Margaret shivered. "I don’t remember seeing them, but, well, hurry up. It’s cold and I want to get home."

"Forget going back to that cave," Dan said, reaching under the steering column. "Just remember, if and when you see my Uncle, I did not do this, understand?" He cast her a warning glance, then grinned as the engine roared to life.

"Wow," Margaret said softly. "You’re full of surprises."

Dan just winked at her and guided the car out of the clearing and onto a wider path that led directly to Telegraph Road. He turned the car toward Sleepyside. As they neared the turnoff for Glen, however, they saw a line of cars on that street, pulling onto the shoulder and parking. Dan slowed the car and saw a group of men with guns and dogs, milling about. "Uh-oh," he said. "I think you’ve gone missing."

Margaret frowned. "Maybe they’re hunters?"

"No, it’s posted private property. We’d better get to Manor House. There’s sure to be police there who can take these two losers off our hands, and if the Wheelers have organized a search for you, then that’s where you should be."

He turned the car onto Glen and drove carefully down the street, privately amazed at the number of people who had turned out to search for Margaret Lang. He had some difficulty negotiating the drive up to Manor House, as the Cadillac didn’t have snow tires and the drive was lined with even more cars, including a news crew from the local TV station, a car he recognized as belonging to Paul Trent of the Sleepyside Sun, and Molinson’s own police cruiser.

Dan parked the Cadillac next to the garage, unsurprised to see that Regan was not at home. "Look at all these cars!" Margaret said. "Are they all searching for us?"

"Well, you, probably," Dan said, opening his door. "You are an heiress, after all."

By the time Margaret got out of the car, Dan had already pulled Kilroy over his shoulder and ordered Duke to follow. Meekly, Duke did. The quartet, completely unnoticed by the few men standing near the news van, walked right up to the servants’ entrance and into the kitchen.

They were met with the crash of dishes hitting the tiled floor and a thunderous, "Mein Gott!" as the sudden sight of four muddy, bloody teenagers standing on her clean floor completely startled the Wheeler’s current cook. "Herr Mangan! Fraulein Lang! Go inside at once! They are all wondering about you! Go! Go! I clean up here." The Teutonic woman shooed them out of her kitchen, but not before Margaret snagged herself an apple from a bowl of fruit.

Crunching her apple contentedly, Margaret barely noticed that Dan led them straight into the Wheeler’s living room, already filled with people. In fact, her next thought, as a furry bundle of frenzied energy leapt straight into her arms, causing her to drop her half-eaten apple, was "Pepper!", which she shrieked, delighted to see the familiar Pomeranian wriggling in her arms. "How did you get here?" she laughed, as the dog licked her face and barked ecstatically.

"Why, Margie, my dear, we brought her along with us. You did not think we could just leave her home alone, did you?"

Margaret looked up, her blood running cold as Adele Lang, arms open wide, hurried forward to embrace her daughter in greeting.

*     *     *

As Trixie, Honey and Molinson raced toward Manor House, they could see the incredible collection of cars, trucks and vans that had sprung up around the massive structure. The incongruity of seeing an old, dented Ford pickup next to a gleaming limousine almost made Trixie giggle, then she slowed to a stop.

"What’s wrong, Trixie?" Molinson asked, already up on the porch.

"Whose limo is that?" she asked. "I’ve never seen it before."

Honey frowned. "You’re right. Daddy doesn’t like limos. That’s why Tom drives us in the Lincoln. I wonder whose it is, then?" But even as she was speaking, Trixie yelped and raced up the steps past Molinson into the house without even pausing to knock.

Honey, followed by the Sergeant, found Trixie in the huge living room, among a large group of people including her parents, Trixie’s mother, Mrs. Lynch, Diana and both sets of twins, Bobby Belden, Celia Delanoy and Miss Trask, home early from her vacation. As Honey ran to greet her former governess, she noticed another couple, standing and talking with her parents. She had never met them before and wondered if they were the owners of the limo outside.

"Trixie, Honey," Mrs. Wheeler was saying, "come and meet Margaret’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Victor and Adele Lang." As she introduced them to each other, Honey politely shook their hands and inquired after their health.

Victor Lang, Honey thought, looked like most of her father’s business associates. He wore an expensive Italian suit, only slightly rumpled, kept his silvering hair neatly trimmed and held steel-framed glasses in one plump hand. Otherwise, his looks were unremarkable. Adele Lang, on the other hand, subscribed to the ‘too rich or too thin’ philosophy. Honey very much doubted the perfectly dressed woman weighed more than 95 pounds, all 5 feet of her. She wore her pale blonde hair in a black chignon, a huge diamond wedding ring and a dark green woolen skirt and matching jacket. Even though the woman sported three inch heels, Honey still felt like a giant standing next to her.

"We heard you were snowed in up in Nova Scotia," Trixie said by way of greeting.

Adele Lang’s eyebrows rose. "I see. You are the Belden girl?"

Trixie fought an embarrassed blush. "Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you. I was just surprised you were able to make it this early."

"Well, when we heard what happened to our daughter, naturally we made every effort to reach her," Victor Lang explained, shaking Trixie’s hand. "When the airport canceled our flight and our pilot refused to fly us through the flurries, we simply drove to the next airport and found a new pilot with more skill. We had our staff bring us some things from the house and meet us in Newburgh. We drove from there."

"They’ve only just arrived, dears," Madeleine Wheeler said softly. "We’ve just finished telling them about Margaret."

"Indeed! Not 24 hours in your care and she goes missing again!" Adele snapped, betraying the slightest of a French accent. "What is it with this village? There are not so many of you that you can not keep track of one sick, little girl for a day until her parents arrive!"

Trixie and Honey shared a stunned glance. Madeleine merely smiled graciously and offered her guest some tea and a chair. Victor pressed a cup into his wife’s hands and pulled her to a seat. Trixie edged close to her mother. "Moms? What’s going on here?"

"Shh, Trixie. Mrs. Lang is just upset and worried over her daughter." Her mother then smiled at her own daughter and ruffled her yellow curls. "Looks like you’ve been doing some dusting. I know you weren’t at home, so…"

"I was cleaning up Dan’s room. I needed something to do," she added. Her mother’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing to indicate she thought it odd that Trixie preferred to clean up someone else’s room before her own.

"Sergeant Molinson?" Matthew Wheeler finally said. "Have you any news?"

"He is the police in this place? Well, it is no wonder they fail to find my precious baby!" Adele commented, swigging the last of her tea.

Molinson just nodded his head in her direction. "Ma’am," he said, and Trixie was amused to hear how much insult he could pack into the syllables. "As far as I know, they are still missing. I apologize for not being in uniform, but I’m not officially on duty again until Monday morning. However, the Chief has given me the go-ahead to conduct business while I’m here."

"They?" Victor Lang questioned. "Who else is missing? We thought it was just our daughter."

"She is the only one who matters," Adele reminded him.

"Daniel Mangan, a minor, is also missing. We have reason to believe they are together," Molinson answered.

"You do?" Miss Trask asked. "What reason?" During the past year especially, she had come to know the young man in question quite well, and was naturally upset to hear he’d gone missing yet again.

Molinson smiled at her. "Unless Dan is sick or injured, and he knows these woods too well to get lost, we figure he has to be with the girl, probably keeping her safe somewhere."

Trixie and Honey noticed that no one seemed to be telling the Langs about the connection to Dan’s old gang. That’s got to be for the best, Trixie thought. Why worry them over something that might not happen?

"I remember that name!" Adele said suddenly. She stared at Mr. Wheeler. "He is that juvenile delinquent you gave a job to, is he not, Matthew?"

Matthew Wheeler just closed his eyes and counted to ten. His wife just closed her eyes. Trixie, astonished that no one in the room had yet rallied to Dan’s defense, opened her mouth. "Dan is not a juvenile delinquent. He was in trouble once, but he’s not any more. He’s changed. He’s a really decent person and he’s been responsible for some really wonderful things in the past 2 years he’s lived here!" She would have continued, except Dan’s uncle walked through the door.

"Evening, folks," Regan began, obviously too preoccupied with Dan’s disappearance to notice the Langs’ presence. "Before you ask, no, I haven’t found them. I did, however, see a fire up in the bluffs overlooking the river, but it went out. I think I know where it was, but you can’t get to it through the woods at night, so I planned on taking a car and thought one of you might want to join me."

Trixie gulped in relief. Regan hadn’t heard Awful Adele’s comment. She watched as the Wheelers stepped forward, hopeful, followed by Mr. Lang. For a moment, Trixie felt a surge of disappointment that she hadn’t been the one to discover Dan and Margaret’s whereabouts, but quickly squashed that notion with relief that they were about to be found.

Victor Lang, however, did not look relieved. "You, again!" he snarled, turning his face to hide his disgust. "I almost can’t believe you’re still paying this man, Wheeler!"

"Oh?" Matthew turned in surprise. "Do you two know each other?"

"We’ve met," Regan said calmly. "Evening, Mr. Lang. Mrs. Lang." He nodded politely to the elegantly dressed woman, who whispered loudly to her husband:

"Who is that, dear?"

"Nobody, darling," he replied.

Trixie, overhearing every word, bristled with the insult. Regan, however, appeared to take no notice of the Langs after his polite words. Instead, he turned back to Mr. Wheeler and repeated his information. "So, if someone wants to go along, we should probably not-"

Regan was interrupted again, but this time by a sudden commotion coming from the direction of the kitchen. Everyone in the room turned, startled, as the swinging doors from the dining room burst open and Dan, carrying a disreputable-looking person over his shoulder, and another teenager, somewhat dazed and staggering, and Margaret, looking all the worse for wear, appeared. As Dan stood the guy on his feet, a small, furry, brown and gold creature leaped from the sofa next to Mrs. Lang and flung itself at Margaret, who hugged it delightedly.

"Pepper! How did you get here?" Margaret giggled.

Adele Lang stood, beamed and said, "Why, Margie, my dear, we brought her along with us. You didn’t think we could just leave her home alone, did you?" In seconds, she had crossed the room and engulfed her daughter in a hug.

Trixie watched as Margaret dropped the dog on the floor and brought her hands up to clutch at her mother. But rather than return her mother’s embrace, as Trixie half expected, Margaret took hold of Adele’s woolen jacket and shoved her, saying, "Get away from me! Don’t touch me!" As Adele stepped back, a look of alarm on her face, Margaret continued. "What in God’s name are you doing here, anyway? You’re supposed to be trapped in Nova Scotia until Monday!"

The roomful of people had jumped up from their seats and stepped forward, happy and relieved to see Dan and Margaret safely returned, but, as Margaret broke free of her mother’s embrace and shouted at her, everyone froze in their tracks, shocked at the unexpected display, except Bobby, who ran full-tilt at Dan, wrapping his arms joyously around his legs.

Adele stared at her daughter, a bit perplexed. "What do you mean, ‘trapped in Nova Scotia until Monday’? Why would we be trapped until that particular date, Margie?"

Shaking with either nerves or frustration, Margaret managed to say clearly, "Because that’s as long as I figured I needed you out of the way."

Victor Lang slowly approached his daughter, a wary look in his eyes. "Margie, what did you do this time?"

His daughter glared up at him. "I just arranged things, that’s all. Red has a very sophisticated computer system in his study and it’s not so hard to manipulate a weather report, you know? Especially in that tiny little airport. Their security is so five minutes ago!"

Victor shook his head warningly. "Margie! How many times have I told you to steer clear of that sort of thing? Computer tampering is dangerous and you could get into a lot of trouble!"

"Oh, like you wouldn’t get your precious daughter out of trouble if you wanted! You’ve done it before. Both of you. Plenty of times. Isn’t that right, Mommy?" Margaret fairly spit at her parents.

Flustered, Adele glanced around the room, belatedly realizing her family drama was being played out in front of so many strangers. Still, most of them were Nobodies, so that was all right. But Madeline and Matthew Wheeler were there, too, and that worried her. She aimed for misdirection. "So! Are you the young men who rescued my daughter?" she asked Dan, Duke and a still-unconscious Kilroy.

Dan nodded at his uncle, knelt to pull Bobby into a brief hug, sent him back to his mother, then replied, "Well, actually, Ma’am, your daughter wouldn’t have needed rescuing if she’d just had the sense to stay out of trouble."

Adele reacted as if she’d been struck. "I see!" She kept her eyes on the disreputable-looking youth with the swollen cheek and the rather intimidating physique as she asked her husband, "Victor? Who is that?"

Victor slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and asked, "What’s your name, young man? Speak up, now!"

A bit bewildered by his reception so far, Dan gave his name. His bewilderment increased, as well as his insult-awareness, when Victor dropped the hand he’d offered in greeting and scowled. "What did you do to my daughter?" he asked in a low voice.

Dan felt his spine stiffen in response to the unspoken threat. "I saved her life. Twice, I might add." He turned to Molinson and gestured at Duke and Kilroy. "Sir, you should arrest these two. These guys are the ones who kidnapped me and Margaret, and held us captive in a cave overlooking the river. I can show you later. All the evidence is still there. This one," he indicated Kilroy, "is the guy who jumped Margaret in the woods Thursday night. Both of them are wanted by the New York police for assorted crimes, but this same guy is responsible for the murders of Darci Campbell and Eldon Madrone."

Molinson, even more interested by that last bit of information, stepped forward to take custody of the two young men. He glanced at Kilroy’s bruises. "He going to be all right?" he asked casually.

"I knocked him unconscious, but I’d have thought he’d be awake by now," Dan said, a slight frown puckering his black eyebrows.

Duke grinned. "I hit him again in the car." He flexed his hand and then shook it out.

Molinson took charge then, formally arresting the two, calling for police backup and arranging for Dan and Margaret to come into the station as soon as possible to swear out depositions. As he left a half-hour later, his suspects in tow, he grinned at Trixie, standing with her mother. "At least this time, Miss Belden, you stayed out of things. Can this mean you’ve given up on solving crimes?"

"Nope," Trixie grinned back. "I’ve just become more choosy, is all. Besides, aren’t you sticking around for the finale?"

He nodded. "I’ll be back, all right, just as soon as I put these two in a squad car. Do not start without me!" He hurried the two handcuffed criminals out of the room.

Meanwhile, Madeleine Wheeler arranged for food for Dan and Margaret; Regan oversaw things as Dr. Ferris and a paramedic checked over Dan’s cuts and bruises and Margaret’s condition; the other adults called off the search and Trixie made a call of her own. After Molinson left, she positioned herself by the living room door nearest the front of the house and waited with Honey and the other BWGs, recently reassembled and whispering quietly, filling each other in on the evening’s events. The Beldens and the Lynches sent their younger children upstairs to nap until it was time to go home. Celia, practicing for her impending motherhood, baby-sat them. Pepper curled up beside his mistress’s feet.

Between bites of his roast beef sandwich, Dan told everyone how he’d come across the camp Kilroy and Duke had made on the other side of the lake and how he’d recognized the funny mark on Margaret’s bruised cheek. He told how he’d seen the tag on the cabin and in his room, but left immediately afterward to look for Kilroy, whose tag was an angled dagger. He found Kilroy and Duke near Ten Acres, looking for the knife Kilroy had used to scare Margaret. Kilroy and Dan began to fight, but then Margaret wandered into the middle of it. Duke knocked Margaret unconscious and held his own knife to her throat, effectively capturing and guaranteeing Dan’s cooperation.

They were tied together and left alone in a cave, but since they had blindfolded Dan, he had been unaware immediately of their location. Dan told them how Margaret kept her head in the crisis, getting Duke to convince Kilroy to light their fire outside where it might be seen.

"That was good thinking," Regan interrupted, "since I was on my way to check out that fire when you showed up here."

Dan quickly related the rest of the events. Margaret noticed how he left out most of the part about Darci, only saying that Kilroy had been directly responsible for her death. He told how Kilroy choked Margaret, cut his own ropes loose, "and after that, well, we fought a little and I managed to knock him unconscious."

Margaret, however, did not hesitate to retell that part of the story, embellishing only slightly the daunting odds Dan faced and the epic struggle of which he emerged victorious. She ended her tale with, "he’s a true hero and I owe him my life."

Dan blushed when she kissed his cheek in front of everyone.

Her parents blanched white.

Regan gave Dan a big hug, clapping him on the back, and a look which promised they’d talk more about it later. The Bob-Whites alternated between congratulating Dan and scolding him for not letting them in on the whole story sooner. They each made a point of making sure Margaret knew how much they admired her, as well, for keeping her head and making it out of the situation intact.

After the congratulating and good-natured ribbing were through, Dan and Margaret settled down again on a sofa to have second helpings of food. Adele and Victor hovered over their daughter, trying to assist Margaret with her sandwich and diet soda, but she bluntly refused their help. They tried to get her to sit away from Dan, but again, she abruptly refused. They finally ordered her to leave immediately with them. At that, she threw her sandwich, plate and all, against the wall. Mustard, Trixie reflected later, made a very pretty brown stain on the Trompe l’oeil.

"Just get away from me! Why can’t you understand I want nothing more to do with you people ever, ever again!" Shaking with sudden adrenaline, Margaret paused for control. Pepper woke up and began to growl.

Adele, supplication in her eyes, knelt at her daughter’s feet. "Please, Margie! Tell us what we did wrong and we shall fix it!"

Victor tried the opposite approach. "Young lady! You will apologize to your hostess at once for breaking her dishes! That pattern was discontinued, you know!"

Through grit teeth, Margaret said tightly, "Maddie, I apologize for breaking your plate. But don’t worry. My family’s philosophy is simple. If you break it, don’t cry about it. Get yourself a new one."

Adele gasped. "What do you mean, Margie? What are you talking about?"

Margaret stared fiercely into Adele’s eyes. "The truth, Mother. Or don’t you think I’m smart enough to figure it all out? All the whispers, the speculation, the DNA!"

Adele stood slowly, her hands shaking. "What do you mean, Margie?" she repeated. "What are you talking about? I really must insist you speak plainly, dear."

Margaret stood, too. "Speak plainly? Fine. I’m talking about DNA, Mother. Simple, ordinary, everyday, DNA. You’ve got it. He’s got it," she gestured at Victor. "I’ve got it. The trouble is… we don’t got the same kind."

Adele’s jaw began to work, clenching and releasing. "What do you mean, Margie? What are you—"

"STOP SAYING THAT!" Margaret shouted, her words echoing in the crowded room. "I’m tired of you pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about! I’m tired of living some twisted lie! I’m tired of being Margaret Lang! I want to know who I am. Who I really am. I need to know. Just tell me. Please!"

Adele’s entire body began to shake. Victor pulled his wife a little behind him, then faced his daughter with a stern expression. The Pomeranian began to bark frantically. Margaret picked him up and held him. Victor said calmly, "Margaret, you’re upset, that’s clear. Your blood sugar is probably all out of whack. Who knows what that backwoods hospital did to you, and now this little escapade in that cave? Who knows what setbacks you’re experiencing due to just being here, away from your home and the people who know you and love you? You don’t realize what you’re saying-"

"And you’re just covering up for her, isn’t that right?" Margaret scoffed. She gestured to include the entire room in her next statement. "That’s all he ever does anymore, you know. He covers things up. His business is failing, but he’s covered that up so well even Red here is convinced it’s still sound. His marriage is a disaster, but they were still voted Couple of the Year at their country club last year. Their daughter died, but they just covered that up by going out and getting themselves another one."

Honey and Trixie glanced at each other knowingly as a murmur of disbelief and shock circled the room. Trixie wondered where Molinson was. He was supposed to have returned by now. She couldn’t wait much longer. And where was-? She heard a noise in the hallway.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about! Really, I don’t! My daughter didn’t die! She did not die! She’s standing right here in front of me. Right here!" Adele gestured at Margaret, her hands shaking wildly, her voice cracking and her face twisted in an insistent expression of righteousness.

As Adele fractured, Margaret collected herself. "Trouble with that, Adele Lang," she said, much more calmly, "is proving it. You can’t." She set Pepper back on the carpet and spread her hands in a simple gesture of surrender. "I already tried. But, hey! You’re welcome to try, too. You want the Internet addresses I used to track down the proof? I lost my journal, but it’s all still on my computer at home."

"It won’t be," Victor contradicted. At her surprised look, he explained. "One phone call from me and your hard drive gets wiped. Don’t think I can’t manipulate the sites you found, either. I’ve gotten very good at manipulating data since you were a child."

"I have no doubt about that," Margaret replied. "But you still can’t make me share your DNA. And that was the kicker. Why wouldn’t you get tested for my pancreatic cell transplant? Because you already knew you wouldn’t qualify as donors! Which really made no sense, since all I needed was a sufficient match and the right blood type and then I could really fight my diabetes instead of it fighting me!"

"Is that what this is about?" Victor smiled benevolently. "We found a donor. Several donors, in fact. Good people. All you have to do is come back with us to Pennsylvania and we’ll settle all this there. Margaret," he said placatingly, "please. You’re upsetting your mother."

Adele just stared at Margaret. "Everything I have done for you," she was saying, "and this is how you repay me? We give you the best of everything. The best tutors. The best doctors. The best vacations and the best people to be your society. You are a faithless child!"

Trixie tried to watch everything that was happening. She saw Madeleine Wheeler weeping on her husband’s shoulder, Matthew Wheeler trying to comfort his wife while riveted to the confrontation. She saw her parents holding hands, her mother’s eyes wide with concern. She saw the Lynches, likewise alert and wide-eyed. She saw Regan, arms folded, eyes hooded, leaning against the wall near Dan (and the mustard stain; Margaret had missed hitting Regan with the plate by mere inches), and Dan, leaning back in the sofa, a deceptively casual posture. Her brothers, Jim, Di and Honey couldn’t take their eyes off Margaret or her parents, even when the doors to the living room opened, and Molinson stepped through, another man following.

Margaret laughed harshly. "You’ve done nothing for me except steal me from the place I belonged and lie to me constantly since then! And, you! Victor!" she said. "Now you try to bribe me with the promise of a possible long-term solution? What, so you can continue to lie to me? I don’t think so!" The return of Molinson and the appearance of a strangely dressed man behind him caught her attention.

Margaret stepped away from her parents, glaring indignantly at the intruders. She recognized Molinson, of course. The other man resembled a scarecrow, all elbows and knees, thick white hair, flannel shirt and faded denim. He had removed his heavy coat and held a leather hat in his callused hands. He stared at her, studying her features, her figure, her eyes and her mouth.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" she demanded.

Mr. Maypenny could only say one word. "Katrina?" Then his eyes closed and he brushed a hand over them as if wiping away a phantom image. He shook his head. "No, no. Of course you are not her." He looked up at her again and a hesitant smile creased his weather-beaten skin. He managed to say one more word in the sudden, all-encompassing, expectant silence: "Anneka?"

Margaret flinched. Hoarsely, she asked, "Do I know you?"

Maypenny straightened. In a clear voice, he announced, "I’m Micah Maypenny. I’m your father."

That’s when all Hell finally broke loose.

To Conclusion

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