Chapter 11

The cozy kitchen fell silent. Amelia studied her nails as though she hadnever seen them before. Her chair was drawn up close to Bob's. He had his arm over her shoulder, but was staring fixedly at the low hanging lamp over the table. Jerry broke the silence.

"Well, maybe we should write this all down. I think we are confusing ourselves with so many possibilities."

Amelia got up and rummaged in her backpack. "I have a notebook in here somewhere." She produced it and handled it to Bob.

"All right, colleagues in crime solving," said Bob, in his best pontificating manner, "We have lots of evidence that something is rotten in Skate Connection, but no evidence of who may be doing it or why."

"Right," said Jerry, who was straddling a chair backwards. "We have the missing and found uniforms. Write that down Sherlock. Dog doo covered uniforms. Even though we examined the gross things, there are no clues on the uniforms." He tossed Bob a pen. "We also have Rosita's lost and damaged skates. And some vicious prank phone calls."

Bob caught the pen with a flourish. "I don't mind writing. These notes will be invaluable in bringing the perpetrator to justice and in filling out my application for the internship."

He spoke as he wrote, "Suspicious act: Stolen and vandalized uniforms."

"Right," continued Jerry. "Now they turned up missing the day after our game and were found yesterday. How were they taken, when were they put in the Dumpster and why? If they wanted them to be found, why the Dumpster? If they  didn't, why vandalize them?"

Bob was writing frantically, "Slow down Jerry. Why did they what?"

Jerry started to answer when a lively looking elderly lady bustled into the room. She was comfortably plump, white haired, and had a slightly harassed expression on her face.

The boys stood up and so did Amelia. Mrs. Korbes was the lady Amelia boarded with. She was an old family friend of Mr. Lynch. Amelia's parents had not wanted Amelia to be completely on her own when she changed training sites. In Delaware, she had stayed with her Aunt and Uncle. Staying with Mrs. Korbes, an old family friend of the Lynches, had seemed the perfect solution. For her part, Amelia was grateful to Mrs. Korbes who was always there with help  and support, but knew to give the eighteen year old plenty of space too.

"Oh dear, I don't know where the time has gone today!" Mrs. Korbes exclaimed in her soft voice. "Mrs. Vanderpool and I are leaving for to New York in fifteen minutes, but I had hoped to finish that batch of cookies for the choir practice tomorrow afternoon. Would you children possibly..."

Bob volunteered promptly, "We can finish them for you, Mrs. Korbes, just tell us what to do. Would you like us to deliver them for you tomorrow? My car is working like a top. For the moment."

"Bobby Belden, that would be very helpful. The dough is chilling in the ice box and the cookie cutters and rolling pin are in the pantry. They bake at 350 for about 7 minutes. Now you can eat some cookies yourselves, but save me 4 dozen for tomorrow. Boys, there is  plenty of pheasant on the stove for supper and you're welcome to share it with Amelia, but you better leave by 11:00. I am trusting you to do so, she added pleasantly, but with a stern eye."

"Thank you, Mrs. Korbes, we will," Jerry assured her, slightly embarrassed, though he knew he had no reason.

Amelia flushed slightly too, but she gave Mrs. Korbes a kiss on the cheek. "Have a good time. I know you will love Riverdance. See you tomorrow."

"Good night, child. I should be back by noon. The number of the hotel is there by the phone if you have an emergency. Good night."

When she had left, Amelia went to the refrigerator and took out a large crockery bowl. "I hope you understood what she said, Bob," she remarked, "I have no idea how to make cookies."

"Um, really? I thought you... well, I've seen my mom do this a hundred times, it's not that hard."

"You thought because I am a girl that I could make cookies like Suzy Homemaker? I have nothing else going on in my life! For goodness sakes, I only learned how to do my own laundry when I came to live here with Mrs. Korbes." There was an edge in her voice Jerry had never heard before and she looked tired.

Bobby heard it too. He took the cold bowl from her hands, set it on the kitchen table gently pushed her into a chair.  "OK, OK, I can be a little bit of a sexist sometimes, in fact my sister just told me that! It's a good thing I have you two to keep me straight. You just sit here and Jerry and I will make the cookies. Yes, and we'll solve the mystery too while we're at it."

She relaxed and smiled. "I'm going to take you up on that. But to be fair, I will take the notes while you guys do the cooking and the mystery solving."

"Okay," said Jerry briskly, as he dumped the entire bowl of dough out on the table and looked perplexed at the sticky, pale mass. "We were trying to figure out the motive for taking and vandalizing the uniforms and wondering if they were meant to be found or not."

"I think we were meant to find them," said Bob, emerging from the pantry with a rolling pin,  a pile of cookie sheets, and bunch of copper cookie  cutters. "The vandalism was deliberate," he said somewhat abstractedly as he started to mush down the dough with the rolling pin.

Amelia objected,  "I don't see how they could have know the uniforms would be found. I mean who spends a lot of time looking in Dumpsters? It was pure luck that Jerry thought to look there.  If they wanted them found, they would have put them in some busy place that people use all the time, like the bathrooms. The stuff in the Dumpsters gets hauled away every few day. Doesn't it?"

"Do we have to talk about this clue while we are dealing with food? I am the one who went swimming in garbage and the thought is still nauseating! Let's work on Rosita's skates." Jerry said, shuddering.

Bob gasped. "I just realized something!" he said excitedly.

Amelia looked up from her notebook, Jerry from the dough. "What?" they chorused excitedly.

"Moms puts flour on the table before she rolls out dough." With this anticlimactic, but helpful revelation, he scraped the dough up off the table and put it back into the bowl.

Amelia gave a little half smile. Bob noticed she had a cute dimple when she tried to suppress her amusement this way. Mrs. Korbes keeps flour in that canister on the counter, she said, pointing to a blue and white porcelain set of canisters.

The boys sprinkled flour on the table and took turns rolling out the dough. It eventually got flatter and started to spread over the entire table. Occasionally it stuck to the rolling pin and it also tore, prompting mutterings from the young men.

Amelia continued, "Rosita's skates were taken in the morning. Heather said her bag had been in the ladies locker room. So it has to be a woman, right?  I'll bet it's Julie Summers, yuck!"  She looked pleased with both with her deductive reasoning and her choice of villain.

Bob rolled the dough with such vigor, a large blob of it fell onto the floor. Bob glanced at Amelia to see if she had noticed, but she was busy writing, so he surreptitiously stuck it back into the dough on the table.

"But Bob found the skates in the men's locker room, that means a guy had to hide them! That lets Julie off the hook." Jerry had noticed Bob's mishap, but he didn't say anything.  Mrs. Korbes floor was clean enough to eat off. "So how do we work these cookie cutters, Bob?"

"You just press 'em into the dough and you get these shapes, like this star." Bob demonstrated and was delighted when it worked. Then you put it on a cookie sheet." He tried to pick it up and squished it. He grumbled under his  breath.

Amelia ignored him. She was still frowning over the thought of Rosita's skates. "Yes, and you found the skates locked in the closet there. Oh my gosh!"

This time Jerry and Bob looked up from their work. "What?"

"It has to be someone with keys! Someone who works at Skate Connection is doing all this!"

Bob gasped. "What an idiot I am! I should have seen that right away. Wow! Industrial espionage!"

Jerry laughed incredulously. "Where do you get industrial espionage? They are not making a secret formula here. It's more likely someone with a grudge against my dad," he said sobering.

"That's a good point, Jerry. We need to look at who is the intended victim." Bob was serious, too, now.

"I still think it could be Julie," muttered Amelia, as the phone rang. She picked it up and said hello, and then paled.

"Who is this?" she said in an angry, shaking voice.

Bob jumped up and put his ear next to hers. She held out the receiver so he could hear a man's silky voice say, "Just an admirer. You always look so  fine, Amelia."

Bob, unable to restrain himself, yelled, "Look creep! Stop calling!" He heard   the click as the caller hung up. He took Amelia in his arms and she leaned   against him limply.

"Remember," Bob said intensely, "This is not directed against you, and anyway, Jerry and I will protect you. Don't be scared."

She straightened. "I am not scared," she lied, "I am angry. So much for it being Julie behind all this. Let's get this creep and kick his... Well, let's  get him."

"Star sixty-nine," said Jerry.

Amelia blinked. "What?"

"Right!" exclaimed Bob, "Star sixty-nine!"

Really confused now, Amelia said, "Are you talking about the cookies? I think we should use all the shapes, not just the star. There's a Santa Claus  and a bell and a..." her voice trailed off as Bob dialed some numbers.

"Holy Toledo!" he exclaimed and he wrote something down in the notebook.

"If you dial star sixty-nine it will tell you the last number that called you," Jerry explained to Amelia.

"Oh, I didn't know that,"  she murmured. "I could have done that days ago."

"Look, look!" Bob exulted. He waved the notepad under Amelia's eyes. "This is where that call came from!"  He was holding it too close to her eyes.   Amelia pushed it away and then gasped.

"What?" asked Jerry tensely.

"It's the number for Skate Connection. So, it is an inside job!" Bob spoke very quietly.

"Can we figure out which phone it came from?" asked Amelia.

Bob shook his head. "There's probably 20 phones or more there and they go out through this one central number. But we're starting to put the pieces together. Look at   the whole thing with Rosita's skates. They were taken by someone who has keys and who could go into both the men's and the women's locker room. Whoever it was also had access to the hockey equipment room because that's where our uniforms were. And now we know the calls are coming from the rink
too."

The three teens had abandoned the cookies for a moment, but now Jerry picked up a Santa cookie cutter and pressed it into the dough. He picked the cookie up gingerly and placed it gently on a cookie sheet. "And we know that the person is there right now. Can we run over and see who's there? It would at least narrow our possible suspects."

Bob and Amelia looked at each other. She spoke. "It takes about 10 minutes to get there. By the time we got there, the person could have left. And we really need to finish these cookies. We promised."

She started to cut out bells and put them on a cookie sheet. The kitchen was quiet while the three cut out cookies, placed them on cookie sheets and then slid them into the oven.

Nothing was said until they had four cookie sheets ready to be baked. Jerry frowned, staring at the expanse of dough still left, riddled with star, bell, and Santa shaped holes. "What do we do with all this extra dough?"

"Throw it away?" This was Amelia's hopeful suggestion.

"Whoa!" Bob said slowly, "I think I know what to do!"

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Jerry said crossly. He'd burnt his finger putting a cookie sheet in the oven. "Do we toss it or what?"

"Not about the cookies!" Bob said impatiently. "About catching this guy! Tonight is our golden opportunity. With Mrs. Korbes in New York..... Listen up, you guys! I have the perfect plan!"


Chapter 12

Tempest was usually starving after a practice, but not today. He was tired, sore, irritated and not in the least bit hungry. His practice this morning had taken away his appetite. Ed always said you learned more from a crappy practice, but it was hard to assess the educational value of stepping out of every jump he didn't fall on. He rubbed his temples as he walked stiffly down the corridor to his room. The worst fall had jarred from his butt all the way up his spine and he now had a terrific headache.

His headache increased when he reached his room and saw the complimentary copy of the Sleepyside Sun on the floor in front of his door. He told himself this was not Vancouver, people in the US didn't know or care about some skater from Canada. That's why he came to Sleepyside, at least one reasonanyway. Still he was relieved that there was no front page photo of him kissing Trixie.

The thought of Trixie chased away his aches and pains. She had the most amazing eyes. Their vibrant blue depths reflected all her emotions. They lit up when she laughed. When he had been sulking like a baby last night, they had been soft with concern. When the reporter confronted them, her eyes had flashed such fire, he was surprised the guy hadn't been reduced to ashes. He tossed the paper on the bed, dumped his skate bag in the corner and went into the bathroom to start the shower.

He wondered what she was doing right now. It was not quite 7:00 AM, probably she was still asleep. As the bathroom filled with steam, instead of stripping off his sweaty work out clothes, he dwelt on the thought of Trixie  sleeping peacefully, her golden lashes brushing her cheeks, her curls rumpled on the pillow. He woke from this extremely pleasant daydream when the phone rang. Saved by the bell, he laughed to himself. If he'd continued that line of thought, he would have had to trade the hot shower for a cold one. He picked up the receiver, foolishly hoping it was Trixie. It was Ed Dugget, his coach.

"Hey Ed, what's up?"

"Just touching base with you. You said you were happy with everything at first glance, I want to know how things are going after a few days."

They talked for a bit about the ice and the ice time, both of which Tempest was quite happy with and then Tempest confessed about the lousy practice.

"You couldn't get the triple loop?" Ed echoed. "Since when? I'm going to be there day after tomorrow, unless you want me to come today. I could cancel..."

Tempest protested, "Forget it, Ed, no way. I told you I need some time on my own. It was just one bad practice. Someone told me once you learn more from bad practices, so I must just be very smart this morning."

"Smart alecky is more like it. Seriously, what's going on? Is the shoulder acting up again?"

"No, no, it's fine, hasn't been bothering me at all." Tempest knew Ed wouldn't let it go, so he went on, "I was a little distracted, that's all. I  had a date last night."

There was silence over the line, then Tempest rushed on.

"Look, Ed, I know this isn't the greatest timing, but this girl is really special. And I wasn't distracted by her, I was distracted by... " Tempest sighed. "There was this local reporter that took a picture of us when we were out and we had a little discussion with him."

"I don't like the sound of that. What do you mean, a little discussion?"

Tempest told Ed about how the reporter, some guy Trixie seemed to know, had snapped a picture of their kiss and then proceeded to try and interview them. Tempest smiled to himself as he recalled Trixie who apparently had  quite a struggle to keep her temper.

"It was OK, really, I just did the usual bit about how nice it is to be here, that Skate Connection is really good. I even mentioned the play we saw.  So it was all right, just a little annoying.."

"Hmm. Just another day at the office, eh? I thought you'd get away from that junk in the states."

"Believe me, that was nothing compared to what was happening back home. I'm fine, honest."

"Sure you don't want me to come early?

"I'm starting to get mad, Ed. I am not a baby. So I am changing the subject, now." He cleared his throat noisily. "I hope the case is going well."

"Well, so far no one knows about it, that's good anyway. I don't know how long I can keep it under wraps though."

"It doesn't matter if it does come out. It would just put Paul in a bad light, not you. That's why he agreed to the gag order."

"Come on, Tempest! If the media find out I am not only gay but going through a palimony suit, my career is dead."

"It will not be dead. People will stand up for you. I know they will." Tempest knew this, but it was awkward to tell Ed how much the fans loved him.  His silver medal with his sister Emily at the Olympics was legendary. Her death a few years later had apparently almost destroyed Ed, but he'd come through it and was beloved in Canada. Tempest knew most people had figured out Ed's orientation anyway.

"Look, Tempest, I really appreciate this, but now is not the time for this to come out literally or figuratively. We have worked for four years and we  are not going to be distracted now. You need to focus on your skating only, not to be questioned and distracted by the media about my stupid problems."

"I am focused. You know that, Ed. I think this afternoon I'll go back to the quad loop. I think maybe the triples were getting too big on me."

"All right, that sounds reasonable." Ed sounded glad to change the subject. "I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Take care, bye."

Tempest started back into the bathroom, hoping the hot water had not run out. He stuck his hand in the stream. Lukewarm. Sighing, he turned it off, brewed himself a cup of tea, and settled back on the bed with the newspaper. In retrospect, he realized it was very unlikely that the picture would be in the paper. Male figure skaters in the US were not considered newsworthy at all. Trixie had been furious though. Tempest had been pretty peeved himself, but in a way the interruption was probably a good thing. He had been shaken by the power of his feelings for a girl he had only known three days. Almost made him believe in love at first site.

"Tempest, you are an idiot!" he spoke out loud. "You don't love her, you don't even know her! Don't be getting weird now. Of course talking out loud is a sign of weirdness, too."

He flipped through the pages of the paper and his lips tightened when he saw the picture on the first page of the Living section. Damn. What would Trixie think of this?  This is just why he'd planned to avoid any relationships till after the Olympics, it was so unfair to any girl to be badgered just for dating someone.

The headline read, "Local celebrity welcomes world champion skater." The article was very short, thank goodness. As they drove home last night Trixie had said that Paul Trent was the kind of reporter who liked to dig up dirt. His attitude had been rather confrontational; fortunately, Tempest had a fair amount of experience diffusing that type. Thus, the article basically repeated the deliberately bland comments Tempest had made.

It did offer Tempest a little background on Trixie. "Ms. Belden, well known to Sleepyside for her stormy teenage exploits in crime solving, continues her Tempestuous life." It gave details about a group of gun runners she had uncovered as well as other "exploits."

Crime solving? Odd, they had talked about their childhoods, but she'd said nothing about any adventures. He toyed with the idea of calling her, to  apologize for getting her involved in the article. Of course he had  apologized last night on the drive home, and of course she had said it wasn't  his fault, but it was not exactly a dream ending to their first date. He'd wanted to kiss her again at the door, but her brother Mart had pulled into the driveway and ruined the opportunity.

He looked at the picture again. The article was not too bad but the picture was. He hated that such a private, precious moment was exposed to the world. He and Trixie stood between two cars, oblivious to the photographer. Their embrace looked pretty passionate. She had put her arms around him after few seconds and she had trembled slightly in his arms. He closed his eyes. He was overcome with the urge to see her, talk to her.

It was still too early to call he noted, looking at the clock. He would get cleaned up, eat, and then call. He turned the hot water back on and was glad to feel it had warmed up. He had just pulled his shirt off when there was a knock on the door. Must be his breakfast. Since he was now suddenly hungry, he adjusted his plans (again), turned off the water (again) and grabbed a fresh T-shirt. He never answered any door less than fully dressed.

He was fumbling for a tip as he pulled the door open. When he saw who was standing, there he thought for a moment he was dreaming. Trixie rushed past him and shut the door. Tempest was tempted to pinch himself. Before he could express his delight at seeing her, she asked abruptly.

"Was Bob at the rink this morning?"

"What? Your little brother? Yes, he has been taping my jumps for me, why?"

Trixie drew a huge breath of relief and sat down rather weakly on the bed.

"Trix, are you OK?" Concerned, he sat down next to her and put his arm around her. She leaned against his shoulder for a moment with her eyes closed. He cherished the moment, but she broke it up too soon.

She straightened up and said fiercely, "Well, where Robert Belden now? I need to know because I am going to kill him." 

Relieved to see her spirit return, he stood up hastily (sitting next to Trixie on the bed was a little too close to his fantasy for comfort) and poured some tea for her. She didn't seem to notice. She was striding around the room, mumbling to herself. He supposed she would eventually explain the problem, but Tempest was quite content to have her there. He leaned against the dresser and let her pace without comment.

"That little sneak!" Her voice vibrated with anger. "He told my parents he was spending the night at his friend Jerry's house. Jerry had told his parents he was staying with us!  I have been frantically trying to find him. I didn't know if he was hurt or if he was dead or if he was merely off doing something my parents would kill him for! I talked to Jerry's sisters and they decided to keep it from Jerry's parents unless we couldn't track them down. Oh my gosh, Jerry was there too, wasn't he?"

Tempest placed cup of tea in her hand. She accepted it absently and sipped it while he answered.

"Yes, Jerry was there. They were both waiting for me when I got there. If they weren't at either house, my guess is they spent the night at the rink, but I couldn't tell you why."

"Are they still there?"

"They were when I left, they were going to sort out hockey equipment. Or so they said."

"What does that mean? Did you think they were up to something? Why didn't you call me? I called the rink and there was no answer, and then I kept trying you here and the line was busy. So I just drove over."

She set her cup down on the dresser and started for the door, then stopped abruptly. "I've gotta call Jerry's sisters. They are probably frantic. Can I borrow your phone?" She whirled suddenly and bumped into Tempest, who had been politely following her to the door. She had been going full tilt and staggered, but he steadied her, wondering why she drove to the Glen Road Inn instead of just heading out to the rink, and hoping it was because she just wanted to see him as much as he'd wanted to see her.

"Hey, its OK, Trixie, your brother is fine, I don't think he and his friend were up to anything really nefarious. Probably something harmless. Here's the phone. Why don't you finish your tea, too, it'll do you good."

She looked at him and for the first time, her tense features relaxed into asmile.

"You must think I am a madwoman, bursting in like this." She shook her head ruefully. "I used to baby-sit him, I guess I feel like a second mom to him sometimes. God help me!"

Tempest handed her the phone, pulled out the chair at the desk, and said, "Make your call."

She dialed, spoke briefly, and promised to send Jerry home properly chastened. Oh, and tell me, when is Di going to be back? Ok, that sounds great! See you later!" She looked much more cheerful when she hung up.

He was about to offer to accompany her back to the rink, when there was another knock on the door. He went to answer it, saying to Trixie over his shoulder,

"That's probably my breakfast, would you like to eat before you go commit fratricide? The servings are really big here."

He opened the door. Suddenly his headache came back. In the hallway, Tempest beheld a hotel employee carrying his breakfast tray of oatmeal, fruit and poached eggs. It was Mart Belden.

Chapter 13

Trixie hung up and felt herself relax for the first time since she’d groggily picked up the phone at 6:30 and realized Bob’s trick. She smiled at Tempest and started to apologize for her idiotic behavior, but there was a knock at the door.   

“That’s probably my breakfast, would you like to eat before you go commit fratricide? The servings are really big here.” Tempest said, his glance over his shoulder doing nothing to decrease his appeal.    

As he moved out of her line of vision, Trixie took off her jacket and took another sip of her Earl Grey. Tempest seemed to be a very tidy person, she noted; his bed was already made. He must have done that himself, since it was barely 7:30. The Sleepyside Sun was open on the bedspread. Her gaze fell on it and she choked, spilling her tea down her T-shirt. In her worry about Bob, she had completely forgotten the fiasco last night. She had no time to consider what to do about it, because she immediately received a second serious shock.

“We need to talk,” Mart was saying abruptly. “Do you have time for me to come in?” The jolt that ran through Trixie caused another wave of tea to spill down her already wet shirt. Trixie twisted her head so that she could see the doorway.

Tempest looked tense, as well he might. He said in a cautious voice, “Hi, You're Trixie's brother, Mart aren't you? Trixie said you worked here.”   

Trixie’s thoughts were racing. Mart sounded serious, but not in a brotherly fury. Obviously he didn’t know she was there, but he wouldn’t be happy if he found her in a man’s hotel room at 7:30 in the morning.   

“Yeah, I’m an assistant cook here,” Mart continued. “When I saw your order come through, I thought it might be an opportune moment. I need to talk to you about something that’s happening at the rink.”

“Um, sure, I'd be happy to talk to you. I’m on practice again around one o’clock. We could meet right before or right after.” Tempest was holding the door half closed.    

"I don’t want anyone to see us talking there. I don’t suppose you have a little time right now?” Mart’s voice sounded polite but insistent.

Trixie glanced around the room. Tempest’s room was on the first floor, she could climb out the window, she thought wildly. She moved swiftly, but softly across the room and pulled at the latch. It was stuck.

“OK, but can you give me 15 minutes to get cleaned up and eat?” Tempest's voice floated back to her.

What was Mart doing here, anyway? Trixie wondered, as she tugged at the window. Why on earth couldn’t he talk to Tempest at the rink? She got the window open and stood staring out at the snow covered woods. What the heck was going on? Bob and Mart were clearly up to something and Trixie suddenly was tired of it. She was tired of playing it safe, tired of guarding against her fatal impulsiveness.

She slammed the window closed, marched past Tempest to open the door wide and said defiantly “Why don’t you guys talk right now, Tempest? I’m sure Mart won't mind if I sit in on your conversation.”

Tempest looked surprised, but a little relieved. Mart’s eyes widened; actually they bugged out in astonishment. Then he flushed red with anger. The covered dishes on the tray he held clashed together as he looked around frantically for a place to put it down.

Tempest took the tray from Mart as he said calmly, “Let me take that. Come on in. Let's talk.”

Mart sputtered incoherently. “Talk? You want to talk? You...What...”

Trixie grabbed Mart's arm, pulled him into the room and shut the door. “Mart...” she began.

Mart’s shock rapidly turned to fury. He shook off Trixie's hold on him and barked out, “You have got exactly one minute to explain, Smith, why my sister is in your hotel room at 7:30 in the morning like, like, like the worst kind of groupie.”

Tempest suddenly sounded icy. “I don't think that is any of your business, Belden. But you’d better watch it. Your assumption is as insulting to her as well as it is to me.”

"I’m insulting? I am not insulting my sister, you are! I mean, you are... she is...”

Realizing he wasn’t making any sense, Mart ended his verbal quagmire by letting his fist fly at Tempest's jaw. Tempest dodged the blow neatly, grabbed Mart’s arm and twisted it up behind his back. Trixie recognized this as a move she herself had learned in one of her self defense classes several years ago. Tempest executed it well. Mart struggled against the iron grip, but couldn’t break it.

“I think you better leave,” Tempest continued coldly. “You are welcome to come back when you have calmed down and are ready to have a quiet, respectful conversation.”

Mart kicked back at Tempest, panting, “Respectful? I'll teach you about respect!”

Trixie stared at the two struggling young men. Tempest was smaller, but he handled Mart with no apparent effort. Neither paid any attention to her, they were totally involved in their macho shows of strength.

Suddenly enraged at both of them, she went over to the table and grabbed two metal covers from the tray Mart had brought. She slammed them together several times. The sound of clashing metal filled the room and Tempest and Mart stopped dead in their tracks.

“All right! Hold it, both of you!” Trixie yelled, “Take your corners.”

Tempest released Mart and they both stared at her. 

“Sit down!” she snarled at Mart, pointing at a chair with the dripping cover in her hand.  Mart, still seething, sat in the chair by the phone. Tempest started to speak and she glared at him, “You too. Sit!”  With a meek expression (and the beginning of a smile) he sat and waited to hear what she had to say.

Well, she had plenty to say. Plenty. She started to run her hand through her curls, realized she still had the lids in her hands and tossed them on the table, where they clanged one more time. Tempest was clearly trying to hide his amusement, which was annoying, but Mart was only too ready to resume hostilities, glaring at Tempest with fire in his eyes. Fine, Mart would be the first to hear her wrath.

“Mart Belden, how dare you barge in here like this! I can’t believe you would think I would, um, spend the night with someone I had met three days ago. Do you respect me and trust me that little?” She had started out angry, but her voice trailed off in a hurt whisper.

Shocked out of his anger for a moment, he replied “No, Trix, I trust you, I, I just, well. You don’t even know this guy. I mean, he could take advantage of you.”

“Well, you must think I am stupid, just like you always did when we were kids.” Trixie was shocked to feel tears stabbing at her eyes so she whipped up her anger and yelled fiercely. “Well, I am not stupid, Mart Belden, And you know what?  I never have been, in spite of what you, and Brian and, and Jim thought!” Out of the corner of her eye she was aware that Tempest suddenly looked very alert.

“Oh, Trixie, you’re not stupid, we never thought you were, you were always way ahead of us! We struggled to keep up with you! How can you say that?” Now Mart looked hurt. She wasn't going to let up on him though.

“Well, would you do me the courtesy of letting me make my own decisions then?” She practically spat the words at him. Mart looked in her eyes and nodded, reluctantly, she noticed, but she would have to accept it. (for now) 
 

“As for you, Tempest Smith,” Trixie turned on the other combatant, “I appreciate your chivalry, but it is not necessary. Save your energy for your skating. Now, if you big, strong men have finished thumping your testosterone,” Tempest couldn't quite smother a laugh at that, but since there seemed to be both admiration and understanding in his eyes, she relented slightly.  “I spilled my tea while you guys were doing your caveman act. Would you possibly have a shirt I could borrow?”

Without a word, Tempest pulled a shirt from a drawer and tossed it to her. She smiled triumphantly at both of them and said, “Why don’t you two get acquainted in a more civilized manner while I change?” Without waiting for an answer, she went into the bathroom and shut the door emphatically.

Once inside, Trixie leaned against the door and took a deep breath. Several in fact. She felt like she was on a runaway roller coaster this morning and it was only 8:00. Even though her shirt was a little clammy, it would have dried easily. She just needed a few minutes to absorb everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

The Glen Road Inn certainly had nice bathrooms, she noticed. She sat limply on the chair in front of the vanity, took one more deep breath and started to assess the situation. The events of the last few days whirled around in her head, as she tried to make sense of them. Bob accused of vandalism, Moms and Dad taking up skating, Jim, hinting at, well something. And twice this week, she had gone to sleep thinking of Tempest. His kiss yesterday, was it only yesterday? had been a revelation for Trixie, totally different from any dates she had had, or from her daydreams. He had tapped depths Trixie didn’t even realize she possessed.

Briskly, she changed her shirt. The dry shirt Tempest had tossed her was black with a small red maple leaf over the heart. It was too big, of course, and smelled like it was just out of the dryer. She smiled faintly, looking at Tempest’s razor on the counter. He hadn’t yet shaved this morning; she had noticed the dark line of stubble along his jaw. He had been very patient, with Beldens rushing in, making demands, yelling accusations, throwing punches. Tempest sure was a calm person, even though he'd been quick to defend himself from Mart.

Trixie realized it was awfully quiet out in the other room. Giving in to curiosity, she leaned her ear against the bathroom door. They were talking. Hotels being what they were, the door was thin enough for Trixie to be able to hear their conversation.    

Mart’s voice was still filled with tension. “You can sit down, Smith, I’m not going back into the 'caveman act.' Not yet anyway. I’m going to sit here like a good boy.”

Tempest replied. “In that case, do you think you could bring yourself to call me by my first name? You must have figured out by now, that I did not seduce your sister.”

“OK, Tempest.” There was still an edge to Mart’s voice. “And yes, I do believe my sister. It was partly a déjà vu thing. See, Trixie got into a very nasty situation a few years ago by trusting some stranger and going to his room.”

Trixie tensed in fury. She had never been fooled by Jason, not for one second. Her impulsive action and her conceited conviction that she could handle him on her own caused the tragedy, but she had not taken in by him.   
 
 
“Really?” Tempest sounded quizzical. “She’s really sharp, your sister. I find it hard to believe she was taken in by some smooth talker.”

“Oh, geez,” Mart groaned, “It wasn't that. She thought... she thought she was going to save the world and, well, she got into trouble. She came closer to being killed than I care to remember. I still have nightmares about it sometimes.

“No, Mart!” Trixie cried silently. “Don’t tell Tempest what I did.” She sank to her knees, hearing Jim’s voice crying out, seeing blood and the flash of a knife. She shuddered.

Tempest was talking to Mart lightly. “Here, drink this. It’s tepid, but my grandmother always said Earl Grey could solve all the world’s ills. I don't think she was joking, either. Are any more Beldens dropping by? Maybe I should brew another pot.”

Even though Tempest was talking to Mart, Trixie felt strangely comforted by his even voice. It apparently had its intended effect on Mart as well. 

“Thanks, the world may still be ill, but I do feel better.” Trixie heard him say. He laughed shortly and spoke as if to himself. “I bet Moms and Dad drank a lot of this while we were growing up. Between snake bites, people falling off cliffs, and kidnappings, they must have been feeling pretty ill all the time.”

Tempest said cautiously, “Kidnappings? Plural? That sounds like a lot more than teenage exploits.”

"What do you mean, teenage exploits? Where’d you hear that?” Mart asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Well, in this article. Um. Better brace yourself.”

There was a rustle of newspaper and Mart gasped. His voice was rough with anger again when he spoke.

“What the heck is this, Smith?”

Tempest’s sigh could be heard even through the bathroom door. “Demoted to my last name again.”

“But you’re kissing her, right in the middle of the newspaper. I’ve heard of PDAs but this is ridiculous! I can’t believe you didn't melt the tires on that fancy Mercedes, for crying out loud! Listen Tempest, I want to you to stay away from my sister.” That was quite enough! Trixie scrambled to her feet, furious, but having left behind the memories behind. She stood in the doorway, unnoticed, too mad to speak.

Tempest was finally looking angry. “We were on a date! Obviously Trixie doesn’t think it’s any of your business and neither do I, but to keep the peace, I’ll tell you all the juicy details. We went to a play. We had coffee. We walked back to the car. We, we shared one kiss. Some reporter snapped a picture and then tried to interview me. We palmed him off with platitudes. I took your sister home.” He sighed and spoke more softly. “I do owe her an apology; it's no fun to be harassed by the media, but I am not going to apologize for kissing a beautiful, intelligent, intriguing woman!"
 
Mart was silent, clearly having trouble thinking of harum scarum Trixie as an intriguing woman. The silence stretched uncomfortably. Both Tempest and Mart looked embarrassed. Touched and rather thrilled by Tempest’s description of her, Trixie's anger at Mart’s interference melted. Trixie decided it might be best to pretend she hadn’t heard their conversation.
 
"OK, I'm much more comfortable now," Trixie announced. "Now if all the fireworks are out of the way, wouldn't you like to know the real reason I am here? And I want to know exactly what you are up to!"

Chapter 14

Trixie had been lost in thought on the short trip from Glen Road Inn, staring at the glove compartment as if it contained the secrets of the universe instead of a rather eclectic collection of CDs. When Tempest pulled his rental CRV into the Skate Connection parking lot and turned off the ignition, she made no move to get out. The cold crept into the car. Tempest was about to say something to break the silence when Trixie took a breath and spoke in a rush, avoiding his eyes.

"I'm so sorry about everything, Tempest. I mean, me bursting in like that, and then Mart, and, well, what he said. He's only 11 months older than me, but he thinks he should protect me. You know how brothers are." 

Well, I don't actually, only child and all, but I think I can understand that protective instinct. Seems to me, I saw someone else this morning displaying it. Someone worried about her little brother."

He thought he'd gone too far when she tilted her head to glare at him, but after a moment, she laughed ruefully.   

"OK, I would love to say the situations are entirely different, but your point is taken. So if I go in there," Trixie nodded at the front door of Skate Connection, "and wring Bob's neck, it's not fair for me to stay mad at Mart?"

It was Tempest's turn to frown and stare at nothing. He felt like he'd been riding a roller coaster since he got to Sleepyside. He knew he shouldn't allow any distractions to interfere with his training. His country wanted that gold medal, and Tempest knew it would take every bit of his skill and concentration to bring it home. He certainly wanted it too, it was his chance to prove his style of skating was as artistic as the balletic forms currently in vogue. The distractions of the press and the well meaning fans had driven him to seek a quiet training facility. But meeting Trixie had scrambled his priorities. And Mart Belden's little visit this morning and the bombshell he'd laid down suggested that Sleepyside was not going to be a quiet haven.

After Mart had calmed down, (more or less) he had told them that the damage to Rosita's skate was just the latest disturbing incident that had happened at the rink since it had opened. Mr. Lynch, one of the owners, back last summer had recruited Mart, not just as a hockey coach but also to keep an eye on things. Mart said some incidents had been simple, like graffiti, and garbage being strewn about the parking lot but others had been more serious, like some threatening calls Mr. Lynch had received. Mart was convinced the rumors about Wesson and Dunbar were somehow related as well. He was worried that Bob and Jerry might be getting dragged in as scapegoats. His frustration evident, Mart had admitted he hadn't been able to discover any useful information. So Mart come to Tempest to enlist his aide in his detective work. Tempest had no chance to respond.

Trixie had been in her element. Her questions to clarify the situation clarified had been brisk and logical. She asked about possible motives. Tempest had laughed a little when she asked if Julie Summers was a suspect. Poor ol' Julie, no one liked her. As Trixie had talked, a sparkle in her eye despite the business like tone of her voice, Tempest had been again been struck by that uncanny feeling that he'd met her before. He was growing more and more intrigued by this woman, but he also felt he had to tread warily. He glanced over at her, and saw her expression of exagerrated patience while she awaited his answer, twiddling her thumbs.

He laughed out loud and apologized. "Well, I would kind of like to know what Bob was up to last night, wouldn't you? We don't have to actually wring his neck. We could pump him real subtle like. If he and Jerry were here all night, they must be hungry. Let's go in and see if the cafeteria is open and we'll bribe, I mean buy them a snack. Anyway, I'm hungry too. I know Mart is a master chef but cold poached eggs and oatmeal just aren't a taste sensation to me.

Without waiting for a refusal, he hopped out of the car, ran around and opened her door. She gave him an assessing look through narrowed eyes and he wondered if she would balk at his highhandedness. Gulping a bit, he bowed theatrically to her and held out his hand.

Moments later, there was a broad (but relieved) smile on his face as they moved through the cold, empty lobby. Skate Connection was deserted at this early hour. The pro shop was closed. and dark. Far down the hall, they heard a door open and saw a figure moving swiftly out of the locker room and head toward the entrances to the two rinks. Trixie let go of Tempest's hand abruptly and dashed after him.
 
"Jerry, Jerry Lynch, wait up!"

Her voice bouncing off the high ceilings certainly stopped him. Jerry turned and as he approached them, Tempest saw he looked both tired and nervous. He ran a hand through his straight dark hair and said in a carefully casual manner,

"Hey, Trixie! What are you doing here? Hi, Tempest, forget something?"

Trixie smiled and said easily,  "Actually, it was Mart who forgot something. He thinks he left a notebook here. It has a recipe he needs for work. He might have left it in Ms. Summers' office."


"Oh, sure, her office is next to the Pro shop, right over there. She got here really early today, she's probably in there right now." Jerry directed an inquiring look at Tempest.

"I'm just the chauffeur." Tempest explained, impressed at Trixie's cool poise.

Jerry knocked at a blue door labeled Skating Program Director. There was no answer, so he pushed the door open cautiously.

"Ms. Summers?" Jerry called softly. There was no answer. "I'm sorry Trixie," Jerry said awkwardly, " How urgent is it? I'm going to be here a while yet, I can ask her about it when I see her."

Trixie bit her lip and frowned. "Mart sounded like it was really important. He is really trying to impress his boss..." she let her voice trail off.

Jerry looked down the hall, wishing for once that Ms. Summers would turn up.

"Hey, why don't I just peek in real fast? The notebook is probably right on her desk." Ignoring his vague protest, Trixie slipped past him and pulled the door closed.

Concealing his admiration at Trixie's aplomb, Tempest tried to distract Jerry, who was understandably not eager to be caught by Julie at this moment.

"Say, Jerry, do you know I could check the tapes from this morning? I think I know what the problem was on my triple loop, but I'd like to take another look."

Jerry, his eyes darting from Tempest to the office door behind which he could hear the sound of paper rustling, replied distractedly "Um, I don't know, Tempest. Amelia is finishing up right now. I don't think Mr. Krupke was taping her, so they're probably still ..."

Tempest raised his voice to muffle the sound of drawers opening and shutting.

"I was really impressed with Amelia at Skate Canada. She is going to be a force to be reckoned with. She seems really nice, too."

"Oh, yes, she is forced, I mean, she is nice." Jerry voice was sounding very strained, but fortunately for his mental health, Trixie emerged from Ms. Summers' office.

She looked rather thoughtful, but said in a sad voice, "It wasn't there. I'll call Mart and let him know. I don't have my cell phone, is there a payphone around here?"

Not bothering to hide his relief, Jerry answered "There's one in the cafeteria."

"Perfect," Tempest exclaimed, "Let's go get something to eat. Jerry, I bet you're hungry, come and join us. But find Bob first, I want to have a discussion with both of you."

Jerry would never be a good detective. Outright panic was written all over his face. Tempest took pity on him and added smoothly. "I want to set up a regular schedule where you and he take turns taping. I know you guys are still in school, you should really share the job so your class work doesn't suffer. You look really tired, like you have been up all night."

Before Jerry could protest that he wasn't tired, Trixie gave him a little push. "Go find Bob," she directed, "And see if Amelia can join us, I'd like to meet her. Join us in the cafeteria."

Jerry hurried off, a baffled look on his face. Tempest, laughing inwardly, looked at Trixie, who was looking quite satisfied. He grabbed her hand again and said, "Come on, I'm starving. And you are supposed to be making an urgent phone call."

A few minutes later, they were settled in the cafeteria with gigantic muffins in front of them. They were the only customers, as it was not quite ten in the morning. The bored-looking cashier had disappeared after filling their orders so they had the large room to themselves. Trixie was quiet, apparently mulling over the situation. Tempest was content to watch the expressions play across her face while she sliced her chocolate-chocolate chip muffin into fourths and sipped her coffee.

She glanced up, finally aware of his scrutiny, and blushed slightly. She cleared her throat and said briskly, "There was something strange in Ms. Summers' office. Or rather, there wasn't something strange."

"Oh really?" he replied cautiously.  "Very interesting. Very interesting indeed. Um. Well, actually, you've completely lost me, Trixie. Double negatives always confuse me" Tempest confessed.

She smiled. "Sorry, I wasn't being clear, my advisor would chew me out. What I mean is, there was a weekly report on her desk for Mr. Lynch, but the incident with Rosita's skates wasn't even mentioned in it." She took a bite of her muffin and a sip of coffee. Tempest leaned forward a little, trying to capture a memory hovering at the edge of his mind, as she continued,

"Of course she could have told him on the phone, or if she is afraid she'll be held accountable, she could be hiding it from him. Still, I think Ms. Summers' warrants further investigation."

Suddenly, the elusive memory became clear. He was so shocked and so embarrassed, he gasped and inhaled a crumb of his carrot raisin muffin.  After a bout of frenzied coughing, while Trixie thumped his back helpfully, he drew a shaky breath and croaked, "Thanks, sorry! I'm fine, I'm fine. He wiped his teary eyes and blew his nose on a paper napkin, and inwardly cursed his stupidity.

"I'm fine," he said one more time. This time he was the one who couldn't meet Trixie's eyes. He felt like a snot-nosed nerd, and he obviously looked like one. He risked a glance at her. She was smiling, sympathetically not derisively. He managed a smile back.

"You looked like you had a revelation." That was a polite way of looking at it, Tempest thought, she could have more accurately said he looked like he had a convulsion.

She continued, "Was there something about Julie that you remembered?"

The temptation was strong to say he was suspicious of Julie. Problem was, he didn't think she was in on it. There were lots of people in the skating world like her, hangers on, but often critical or even bitter. They didn't go around sabotaging ice rinks. He said as much, and she looked thoughtful.

"The obvious one is not always the perpetrator, that is certainly true," she mused. In a sudden shift of mood, she spoke as if to herself, "Sometimes it is, and you still get burned."

Tempest knew she did not intended him to hear her last sentence. He figured she was talking about the incident Mart had alluded to and longed to banish the haunted look in her eyes. He sighed. Even though he knew he would look like an even bigger fool, he decided to tell her why he had gasped. It was a high compliment to her, at least in his eyes.

He pushed away the remains of his muffin and took a deep breath.

"Lucy Radcliffe. You remind me of Lucy Radcliffe. She was this great teen age detective in these books, and when I saw you in the airport you looked so familiar and it has been bugging me ever since, why you look so familiar because I know I never met you, I would remember you, no matter what, and I choked just now because I realized it's because you look like Lucy Radcliffe."

Instead of looking confused at this ridiculous jumble of words, she objected,

"No way, Tempest! Lucy has long, red hair and a peaches and cream complexion."

"Well, I know that was the description in the later books, but in the first one, she had blond hair. I read them in order. When I read the other ones, I always ignored the red hair description"

Trixies brow furrowed. "Are you sure? The Mysterious Merchant was the first one."

"Yeah, don't you remember? When she finds the missing diamond necklace in the secret compartment in Mr. Sweinecroft's cane, he calls her a meddling Goldilocks!"

"Oh my gosh, that's right! Why didn't I ever notice that?"

"Well, in the Emerald Enigma, they changed Lucy's hair to red. I always picture her with blonde hair though."

Trixie did a double take. "Wait a minute, you read Lucy Radcliffe? Are you kidding me?"

"I read them all! I thought they were so great, Lucy traveling all over the world, having all those adventures, and Lucy was, um, well, a 12 year old boy's dream. Of course I didn't tell anyone. It was bad enough that I was small for my age, I was a figure skater and I have this awful name. If it got out around school that I read girl books too, I would probably never have gotten out of grade 6 alive! But I loved them. I take it you read them too."

"Oh sure, Lucy was my idol, I wanted to be just like her. I can't believe I didn't remember that about her hair. But I only read the Mysterious Merchant a few times at my Aunt Alicia's house. It was out of print even back then."

Tempest relaxed. She didn't look sad now, and either she was incredibly polite, or she didn't think he was completely weird. He decided against telling her he had always hoped to grow up and marry Lucy, that would be pushing his luck.

"Let me get you another cup of coffee," he said, starting to rise, "And I'll tell you how you can find The Mysterious Merchant on Ebay. And there is a Lucy Radcliffe website that is... "

He was interrupted by Jerry and Amelia who'd rushed into the cafeteria,

"Trixie, come quick! We can't find anyone to help us!" Jerry's voice was urgent.

Without a word, Trixie and Tempest followed them at full speed. They led the way to the hockey rink, which Tempest knew was supposed to be locked at this time. Jerry yanked the glass door open and they all rushed in then stopped, stunned. Tempest heard Trixie her draw in her breath and saw the blood drain from her face. Her shocked gaze was transfixed on the ice. He put an arm around her to support her as he saw a bright red pool gazing over on the ice. Lying face down next to it was Bob Belden. Amelia screamed.

Chapter 15

Time shifted into reverse.  Confused, Trixie shivered. It wasn't supposed to be cold, it was supposed to be hot, it always was hot in the nightmare.  She always felt her bangs damp on her warm forehead when she saw the blood pooling out under Jim's limp body. Her fingers would be steady, but not cold, when she held the rough hotel towel against the ugly wound, praying that that she could stop the bleeding. Knowing that Jason also needed medical help, but not able to leave Jim's side. Guilty, knowing she didn't really care if Jason died. "You're going to be fine, Jim," she whispered.
 
She felt a strong arm around her waist and she started. It was Bobby, not Jim who needed help. She was having flashbacks like a third rate Scarlett O'Hara, while Bob was lying bleeding on the ice. As she shook her head to clear it, she heard Amelia scream. In an effort to keep from screaming herself (screaming was generally useless in situations like this) she spoke in a controlled, quiet voice. "We need to find out how badly Bobby is injured and then we can call 911."
 
She stepped carefully on the ice, Tempest right behind her. "Bobby?" she called out softly.
 
To her mingled shock and relief, he sat up promptly and blinked at her.
 
"Don't call me Bobby!" he told her with great indignation. He glanced behind her and Trixie turned. Amelia had followed Trixie out on the ice. Her eyes looked huge in the dim light. Even wearing workout shoes instead of skates, she moved easily across the ice past Trixie and kneeled next to Bob.
 
"Are you all right?" Trixie heard her murmur softly, brushing his blond curls back from his forehead. Bob started to answer, but Trixie interrupted.
 
"You shouldn't be sitting up till we how you're hurt," she scolded gently. "Where are you bleeding?"  Moving more cautiously than Amelia, Trixie's feet nevertheless slipped out from under her and she sat down hard next to her brother. Not worrying about the bruise now forming on her posterior, she scanned Bob anxiously. He showed no signs of pain. She was aware of more movement behind her, but her entire attention was focused on her brother. He was staring at her in apparent puzzlement, and she reached behind him to gently feel the back of his head.
 
Bob pulled away from her. "I'm not..."
 
"Better keep him warm." Tempest was now right behind Trixie and handed her his sweatshirt.
 
"This is getting serious, Bob. What happened?" Jerry was on the ice too, leaning over his friend, who was starting to look annoyed.
 
"What is the matter with you all?" he exclaimed, pushing away the sweatshirt Trixie was trying to wrap around him. "Stop that!  I'm not hurt! What's going on?"
 
"You're not hurt? Are you sure?" Trixie was relieved, but skeptical. "Whose blood is it then? Who is hurt?"
 
Amelia and Jerry started to talk at once.
 
"We saw the blood a few minutes ago, we don't know where it came from..."
 
"The door wasn't locked, Bob said we should find someone, he was going to check it out while we got help..."
 
Bob interrupted them, "It's not blood at all. It's paint or something."  He started to say something, stopped and then added lamely, "Just someone's idea of a joke, I guess."
 
Relief that Bob was fine quickly turned to white hot anger. Trixie exploded, "Well, what the heck were you lying on the ice for? We thought you were dead! We thought someone attacked you! We almost called 911!"
 
"I was trying to get a good look at it and I slipped. But that's how I figured out it isn't blood," Bob said in a reasonable voice that made Trixie clench her teeth to keep from shouting at him.
 
Amelia and Jerry were not so restrained.
 
"I told you we need to tell Dad! This is getting way out of hand!" Jerry almost bellowed in frustration, his voice echoing in the cold, empty rink.
 
Sitting next to Bob on the ice, Amelia sounded both angry and worried. "Oh, Bob, you really scared us. I thought someone had attacked you after Jerry and I left! We should have stayed together, like we agreed last night."
 
Trixie didn't miss the swift warning look Bob shot at his two friends, but before she could speak, Tempest cleared his throat and said "Bob, you have to understand. We came in and saw you apparently lying in a pool of blood. I think you better tell us what's going on. But shall we find some more comfortable seats than the ice?"
 
The reasonableness of this suggestion calmed them all down. Bob stood and helped Amelia up, though she clearly needed no assistance. Tempest held out a hand to Trixie and she was not too proud to accept his assistance. She wasn't eager to have her bottom connect with the hard ice again.
 
Jerry led the small procession off the ice and up the stairs to the bleachers overlooking the hockey rink. Some crocheted blankets formed a nest hidden about four rows from the top. There were some unopened cans of soda, a few candy bars and a half eaten bag of potato chips sitting on one of the benches. A crumpled brown paper bag had fallen onto the blankets. Obviously Bob, Jerry and Amelia had all spent the night here and quite comfortably at that!
 
They settled themselves on the bleachers and Trixie, feeling determined to get to the bottom of all this, spoke first.
 
"First of all, we know you spent the night here. I have been covering your, um. Well, I have been covering for you guys and I am not too happy about that. So I want to know what's going on."
 
Amelia and Jerry instinctively looked at Bob. Now that he was at the center of attention, he looked a little self conscious, and hesitated. Trixie fired her best glare at him and he hastily began.
 
"OK, well, um, I, well, we, have been noticing some strange things happening here at the rink. We noticed that some of the stuff seemed to be happening while the rink was closed, so we, um, well we had a stake out, that's all, to try and find out who is behind it. Cookie, anyone?" At the last two words he thrust the crumpled brown paper bag out.
 
Trixie stared from his innocent blue eyes to the crumpled bag, outraged. All the fear and stress of the last 24 hours welled up inside her and she knocked the bag aside. A few star shaped sugar cookies fell out while Trixie shouted at Bob "What kind of explanation is that? What strange things? What happened on the stake out? How did that paint get there? Do you realize I lied to Moms and Dad about you?" The chill air seemed to throb with her anger.
 
Shocked, Bob looked down. There was silence for a moment.  Amelia and Jerry looked ashamed. "Well?" she said in a tight whisper, more intense than a shout could ever be.
 
Finally completely serious, Bob described a series of events that were certainly cause for concern. Bob, Jerry and Amelia were quite certain Rosita's skates had been tampered with, but that was not the only frightening event. When Bob described the harassing phone calls to Amelia, Trixie was aware of Tempest's quick, questioning glance at her, but she shook her head slightly. She wanted to hear Bob's story first, then she could tell him about Mart's information.
 
Bob told Trixie and Tempest about the Ice Dawg uniforms that had been missing and how Jerry had found them in the dumpster and in what condition. 

"And then last night, Amelia got another phone call. We tried star 69 and found out the call came from the rink. We couldn't get there fast enough to find out who was here at the time, but we’d figured out that the uniforms had to have been stolen either late at night or early in the morning, so we decided on the stake out. Our goals were to see who had keys, who had access to the locker rooms, kitchens and phones and see if anyone used them during those crucial times." 

They had made the hockey bleachers their headquarters, because they felt they could hide there most effectively. They stayed together all night, checking out the offices, cafeteria, locker rooms and figure skating rink at half hour intervals not telling anyone where they were because, as Bob explained ingenuously, "That way no one would worry."
 
Trixie had been reluctantly impressed with Bob’s narrative. Their stake out had clearly been a big adventure to them and didn’t really make much sense, except as a glorified sleep over.  Even if anyone had been lurking around after hours, bent on doing mischief, the presence of the three teens would have postponed his (or her) plans, as their hiding place was hardly unobtrusive. But on the other hand, the trio’s deductions about when the incidents were taking place and knowing they had to find out who had access, were logical enough. She felt that if she told the kids about Mart’s information, the pieces of the puzzle could be put together fairly easily.  And then she would cast aside mystery solving forever. That heart stopping moment of thinking Bob was hurt reminded her of her vow pretty forcefully.

They had all been silent for a few minutes, and now Tempest asked a question, “So how and when did the paint get thrown there if you guys were in here all night? Don't you realize you guys are going to be....”

He was not destined to finish his sentence as two Skate Connection employees burst through the doors. without a glance toward the bleachers, they moved toward the ice. One, a young man, dragged his companion, none other than Julie Sommers, to the boards. He gestured violently at the hideous puddle on the ice and she stepped back in apparent revulsion.

“I guess we better go down there and tell them it is just paint,” Bob muttered. He stood with an air of facing an unpleasant duty. Tempest leaned forward, saying, “Wait!” but Bob was already heading down the steps, Jerry and Amelia close behind him.

“It’s OK,” Bob called to Julie and her coworker as he descended. “It’s OK, it’s not blood, it paint!”

Trixie was puzzled to hear Tempest mutter, “Damn!” under his breath. Trixie turned to Tempest, “What’s wrong?” she asked, seeing his grim expression.

“Guess who the obvious suspects are going to be?”

Chapter 16

When the last bell rang, the halls exploded with the exuberance occasioned by the twin joys of the end of finals and the beginning of Winter Vacation. Bob Belden, however, found himself quite unable to join in the excitement. He twirled the combination of his locker, flung the door open, and threw his Psych text in with unnecessary vigor.

Did he even pass the exam? If he was lucky he might have pulled a D out of it. The worst thing was that he liked psychology and felt that it would come in handy for his career. But with all that had happened last week, he'd found it almost impossible to focus on his studies.

Every time he'd tried to concentrate on Maslow's hierarchy of needs, he'd see Amelia's resolute expression as she told Mr. Lynch about receiving the false messages and harassing phone calls. She had done it for him and for Jerry. And now, just as she'd feared, her coach, Mr. Krupke was threatening to leave Skate Connection and to leave Sleepyside.

Mr. Lynch had turned up at the rink right after the Red Puddle Incident (as Bob couldn't help calling it). Julie Summers and Guy Mitchell, the zamboni driver who had discovered it, told Mr. Lynch it was another example of vandalism and harassment at the rink. Bob had been shocked to learn Julie knew about the uniforms and had been the one to throw them in the dumpster after seeing the "damage." Mr. Lynch's comments made it clear Julie had reported this to him promptly.

Bob's first reaction was chagrin that Julie and Mr. Lynch had been working on the problem all along. But, when she, with what seemed to be genuine reluctance, pointed out that Bob and Jerry had had possession of the keys on several occasions and had stayed overnight at the rink, chagrin turned to panic. Surely Mr. Lynch knew his own son would not be involved.  But Mr. Lynch had looked very stern. Bob felt cold and it was not from standing in the dimly lit hockey rink.

Tempest had spoken up for Jerry and Bob again, and Trixie had been livid, but before she could erupt, Amelia had told Mr. Lynch about the calls. Julie's reaction had been shock and she had quickly assured Amelia that every effort would be taken to stop them. Mr. Lynch obviously had not known about them either and promised to speak to her parents and coach. They both pledged to get to the bottom of the problems quickly. And as Amelia had expected, this drew suspicion away from Bob and Jerry.

But Mr. Krupke had acted exactly as Amelia predicted. When told of the calls, he dramatically announced that he could not nurture Amelia's talent in such a distracting and potentially unsafe atmosphere.

"Hey, Belden! Later Dude! See ya at the Christmas party!" Gordon, one of the Ice Dawgs, sent him staggering with an enthusiastic slap on the back, then joined the last retreating students. Bob blinked. The halls were almost empty. How long had he been standing there staring into his locker? It sure was a mess; he could clean it out, while he was waiting for Amelia and Jer. Something white and ragged was under a pile of library books about fingerprinting and DNA evidence. He'd gotten them on interlibrary loan; he'd better get them back, or he'd be facing another lecture from Dad.

Bob slid his backpack off his shoulder and started to sort out textbooks from library books. Moms' and Dad's disappointment in him had been another distraction this week. First Bob had tried to convince them that he had just been going undercover when he'd stretched the truth (well, lied) about staying at Jerry's. Then he'd tried the argument that he needed to protect Amelia. Finally he'd pointed out that Trixie had committed far more dangerous and deceptive acts and she had been younger, too. That had been a mistake. Dad's voice has been deadly quiet as he explained to Bob exactly what kind of trouble Trixie had got into a couple of years ago. Bob had known Jim had been hospitalized, but Moms and Dad had kept the details to themselves. While he had was trying to absorb that, Dad had said in a voice that for all its quietness cut like a knife.

"You're too old to be grounded, Robert Belden. You're too old to have your allowance taken away. But if you want to be considered an adult, you better rethink your values. You better think long and hard about the kind of adult, and the kind of detective you will be, if you don't practice honest, ethical behavior." Bob had been left with nothing to say. His dad's words had been haunting him all week.

"Hey, man!" a voice spoke close to him and Bob jumped. It was Jerry, not looking much happier than Bob. "So how did Psych go?"

"Psych sucked." Bob said alliteratively. "How was English?"

Jerry hesitated and hedged, "Well, not too bad. I may have got a B." Bob supposed he should be happy for his friend, but the best he could manage was a grunt. Jerry changed the subject, "Want some help?"

Bob turned back to his locker, "No, I think I can manage this at least. Even if I screw up everything else."

"Knock it off, Bob, since when are you Mr. Negativity? I think Dad was pleased with the info we gave him..." Jerry's voice trailed off.

All his fear for Amelia, added to the realization that he'd disappointed his parents and the knowledge that he'd messed up his final, welled up in Bob and he took it out on Jerry full force.

"Oh good, he's pleased! So who cares that Amelia didn't want to tell about those calls? Who cares that Krupke is this close to calling it quits at Skate Connection?" Bob's voice dripped sarcasm as he waved his thumb and forefinger in front of his friend's nose.

"As long as your dad is PLEASED!" Furious, Bob jerked the white cloth out from his locker and then jumped back to avoid an avalanche of books tumbling out. He swore and slammed the locker door closed, the bang echoing through the corridors. Jerry stared.

"Sorry" Bob muttered, not looking at his friend. "It's not your fault, or your dad's, it's mine."

Silently, Jerry bent and picked up the books. Bob stared unseeing at the grubby, white cloth in his hands. "Amelia says her parents are supporting Krupke wanting to go back to Delaware. They want her safe with her aunt. And she told them about us spending the night at the rink. She said she had to be honest with them."

Jerry sighed. "I'm really am sorry, Bob, but we agreed we were going to find tell my dad in a few days anyway. There's no way we could have hidden it much longer. And my dad promised that they would keep Amelia safe.  He's called her parents and spoken to them, I am sure they will come around. And forget Krupke, he's just enjoying the drama. He's not going back. Chill, OK?"

Obviously hoping to distract his friend, Jerry took the rag from Bob's hands. "What is that awful smell?" He sniffed it and coughed.  "Um. Could I ask a personal question? Why does this T-shirt smell like moldy pickles? Did you switch from Old Spice to Clausen?"

It wasn't a terribly funny line, but Bob appreciated the effort. He summoned up a smile and a hollow laugh and said, "I used it to mop up when I dropped a jar of pickles at the Senior Class picnic."   

Apparently the smile didn't look too sincere. Jerry frowned as he piled books haphazardly back in Bob's locker. 

Bob took the shirt. It was actually Amelia's. It had black spots of mold on it and it did smell hideous. That picnic, back in September, was where Amelia had agreed to go on a date. He'd been trying to play it cool, but was so nervous, he'd dropped the jar. He'd tried unsuccessfully to wipe up the juice with a paper napkin, but she'd just handed him her extra T-shirt to wipe up, helped pick up the broken glass, and said she would love to go to the movies with him. The smell of pickles would forever mean romance to Bob.

While Bob was mooning over his smelly souvenir, Jerry tried a different approach.

"Say, Bob, you know there is one way to make sure Amelia stays in Sleepyside."    

"Oh yeah? What?"

"We solve the mystery, right? You catch the villain, you win her parent's undying devotion, you get the internship, Amelia ..."  

"Amelia wins the national championship, and she shows her gratitude to her brave and clever boyfriend..." Amelia had joined then and she looked more different somehow.

Bob looked at her cautiously. He kissed her hello rather hesitantly, then stood back and looked at her searchingly. What he saw was reassuring. "Hey, you look great!"    

  Her solemn expression suddenly eased into a blinding smile.

"My parents said I could stay...." she started to say, but was cut off by Jerry, who whooped and tossed the pickle scented shirt in the air.  Bob's face lit up and he kissed her with enthusiasm, then picked her up and twirled her in a wide circle, with Jerry dancing around them, humming Stars and Stripes Forever, and waving the shirt like a flag. It was at this moment that a teacher poked her head out of her classroom only to begreeted by the stinky shirt flapping in her face. She recoiled and the trio froze, embarrassed.

"Oh my gosh! Sorry Mrs. Crowly! We were, um, just happy." Jerry gasped, red-faced.

Mrs. Crowley raised her eyebrows, her lips twitching slightly. "Whew! I won't ask what that is, but I suggest you wash it. As for being happy, you three may be done with finals, but I still have to grade them all. Why don't you celebrate elsewhere?"   

Their embarrassment at being caught acting like three year olds could not override their joy. Nor could the fact that Bob's jalopy (inherited from older brother Brian) was reluctant to start. When Bob finally got it going, they chugged to Wimpy's, a diner in town that was filled with laughing, rowdy students celebrating.

When they were settled, the boys with huge cheeseburgers, fries, and milk shakes and Amelia with Diet Coke, Bob took an enormous bite, wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, and pulled a wad out of the dispenser for future bites. Wimpy burgers were the juiciest, sloppiest, most delicious food imaginable. He and Jerry had been coming there since they were little kids.  He pushed his order of fries closer to Amelia and she helped herself. It was a ritual she had established on their first date. She had Diet Coke or milk and then as many of his fries as she thought she could manage without gaining weight. Bob had been concerned and uncomfortable, but she insisted the fries were a great treat. If she was really going all out, she would have some of his shake, too.
 
Jerry swallowed a bite of his cheeseburger and said somewhat thickly, "So, what's next? My dad said that everything has been completely cool at the rink this week. Do you think whoever has been scared off?"

Bob put his burger down hastily. "I think it's possible. I admit now, that maybe we should have let your dad in on it sooner, that may have been a slight miscalculation on my part."

"Miscalculate? You?" Jerry pretended to faint in shock, lying flat on the bench and sticking his feet up in the air.

"Cheer up Bob, I am sure even Sherlock Holmes made one or two miscalculations in his day!" Amelia laughed. The fact that Amelia, usually rather solemn, was teasing showed just how happy she was today.

Bob felt his spirits and confidence rise. "OK, so, all we have to do is figure out the motive, we should have done that from the beginning. So the question, my friends, is simple. Who wants Skate Connection closed down ... and why?"

Chapter 17

"I'll bet that felt good," Ed Duggat was thrilled and trying not to show it. "Five quads, just like that, bang, bang, bang! This is just where you should be right now."
 
"I don't know, though, I think I need to get a tighter rotation, I felt like I was going to open up on a couple of them." Tempest was as psyched as his coach, but they both knew there was still work to do. Still, it was hard to rein in his own excitement. He'd set the goal to land the quad loop at Nationals in a few weeks, and he knew there was a good chance he'd make that goal. If he did, it would be the first quad loop landed in a competition.
 
He felt a surge of confidence and excitement. Then reality hit, in the form of his usual hour-into-practice runny nose. He snuffled mightily to keep an enormous glob of snot where it belonged, and hastily skated to the boards, Ed followed, playing with a few basic footwork moves along the way.
 
At the boards, Tempest grabbed a Kleenex and Ed took a sip from his insulated coffee mug. After he'd blown his nose, Tempest said thoughtfully, "Maybe I should try a couple more." Ed leaned back against the boards and said, "Save it for tomorrow, eh? You're supposed to rehearsing your programs for this afternoon, you know."
 
"No, no, you're right, but I just want to do one more while I'm thinking about it." Tempest skated out and took a few strokes around to set up the jump, weaving his way around the other skaters at the rehearsal. Ed was laughing softly to himself. He always did when Tempest said "one more jump." Tempest landed a clean quad loop and Ed yelled, "That's what we want to see!" Tempest skated back, smiling broadly.

"OK, you nailed it, but no more stalling; you have a show in a couple of hours, let's see those programs." Ed was clearly afraid Tempest wanted to keep jumping. Ed knew him too well. But, Tempest was actually avoiding his exhibition numbers for another reason. He had basically re-choreographed his slow piece, and he wasn't sure how Ed would like it. But he'd been feeling the music more deeply the last couple of days and the changes just felt right to him. He also hoped it might impress Trixe more than his uptempo program, and impressing Trixie (or to be painfully honest, showing off to her) was his number one non-Olympics related goal in life.
 
Tempest had asked her to the Christmas party after today's show and she'd regretfully refused, (at least he hoped she was regretful) mentioning that Jim Frayne had already asked her. So, his number two non-Olympic related goal was to annoy the gallant, glory-shunning but rich Jim Frayne. He certainly hoped his energetic R&B number that usually brought an audience to its feet would be annoying to Jim.
 
"Whoa, wake up! Where are you, Tempest?" Ed's voice broke into his reverie. Tempest started, a little shocked. "Take Me to the River" from the soundtrack of "The Commitments" was blasting over the sound system and he was just standing there. Ed looked concerned, and well he should be. "Sorry, Ed, I changed my mind, could I start with "Unintended"? Might as well get it over with.
 
"Fine," muttered Ed, giving him an annoyed look before switching to the CD, "Showbiz", by Muse. Tempest skated to his starting position, and as the soft guitar intro began, he focused on the music, the purity of the sound, letting it smooth his tangled thoughts. The music carried him over the ice, and lifted him into his jumps. When the last notes died away, as he held his final pose, he felt like he'd been skating in a dream, it had felt that good. A smattering of applause startled him and he looked around, seeing that Amelia and Rosita had stopped their practice to watch and were clapping. Instinctively, he started to bow, then feeling foolish, waved a thanks to them as he skated over to Ed.
 
Ed's expression was unreadable. Tempest felt uneasy. He'd changed almost all Ed's choreography.
 
"Have you just been doing the exhibitions this week, or have you been doing run throughs of your competitive programs at all?"

Tempest swallowed and stammered a little in his reply, "Um, I've been alternating the short and long programs, just like at home. Messing around with "Unintended" a little every day.
 
"I'd like to see your long program tomorrow. If you skate that like you did your exhibition just now, you are a heck of a lot closer to the gold than you were two weeks ago." Ed's solemn face broke into a proud smile, and he clapped Tempest on the back. "You picked a good time to bring your skating to the next level."
 
Tempest was almost shocked by Ed's praise and by the hope his words conjured up. Ed was the most encouraging and generous coach out there, but he'd never said anything like that before. There was no way to convey to Ed in words what his praise and his support meant to him, so after a pause, Tempest just said, "Thanks, OK, tomorrow we'll work on the long."

Fifteen minutes later, as they were walking out of the locker room, Ed was telling Tempest his impressions of Sleepyside, "So I'm eating my breakfast and my waitress starts telling me about some damned play she's in. I'm being all polite and saying 'Oh how interesting', and she hands me this flier about it and gives me directions on how to get there!"
 
Tempest threw back his head and laughed. "The Pirate, starring Jane Morgan as Manuela! Hey, it was good, you should go see it." Tempest decided not to mention he had the playbill in his pocket right now, kind of like a good luck talisman. Although he had a good relationship with Ed, they never really discussed personal matters.
 
"Are you kidding me, you went to see this community theater thing?" Ed was laughing too, but he stopped abruptly as a thought struck him, "This waitress, um, is that the girl you told me about?" His voice was cautious. "The one in the newspaper?"
 
"Oh God, no!" Tempest's vehemence did not flatter Jane, and he moderated his tone. "The waitress is Jane Morgan, she's not too bad, really, a little talkative, but I don't think she's my type. She was good though, in the play, funny."
 
Ed raised his eyebrows, "Hmm, can't you take a hint? So where is the girl of your dreams? Am I going to meet her or what?"
 
Tempest knew that Ed was trying to determine the source of Tempest's distraction this morning. "Oh, we've.... She's, she's... There's a lot going on right now. In fact, I guess I'd better let you know, now that you're in town for a while." Tempest wanted to change the subject, and he also knew Ed needed to know about the Mysterious Rink Incidents. "You got a minute for a cup of tea?"
 
They proceeded to the cafeteria where Tempest told Ed about what had been going on. Ed was confused at first, then concerned. "So was your girlfriend's brother was involved or what?
 
"Trixie's not my girlfriend, we've only gone out once." Tempest could hear the wistfulness in his voice and embarrassed, he hurried on, "And no, Bob's not involved, he was just trying to protect Amelia.  Since that red puddle thing at the hockey rink, nothing has happened. Mr. Lynch and Julie are working with a detective agency. There's all this extra security and invesitgations and so forth. Most likely the guy who's doing it has been scared off."
 
"OK," Ed said evenly, "So how much this is affecting you? If this stuff is interfering with your training, we need to get on the first plane back to Vancouver, media or no media. Besides, your dad would kill me if anything happened to you."
 
"What the hell are you talking about? None of this stuff has anything to do with me. I'll be honest with you, I do check my skates before I start practice now. But otherwise, everything is normal here, great ice, great practice schedules, no media hounding me, no autograph hounds, and it's a nice, quiet little town."
 
Ed pushed aside his mug and leaned forward, his voice intense. "Look, is that more important than the gold? You could win it, you are so close right now. Do you want to risk everything you've worked for the last four years, everything you've poured into your skating?"
 
Tempest was rarely angry with his coach, but right now he was struggling not to lose his temper.  He groped for words. "I am not risking the gold, or anything else by staying here, Ed. I told you this stuff has nothing to do with me, and it's under control anyway."
 
"Under the control of Julie Summers." Ed's tone was dry.
 
"Yes." Tempest met his coach's dryness with stubbornness.
 
"Well, excuse me if I don't find that terribly reassuring. I've known Julie from way back. You can't possibly think she is a nice person, Tempest, you're not a bad judge of character."
 
Tempest laughed shortly. "No, I know she is not the nicest person in the world, but she certainly is efficient. And Mr. Lynch is both nice and smart, if he thinks she can do the job, that's good enough for me."
 
"Oh, yeah, Julie is efficient, always has been. So if you want results, go ahead, depend on her, just don't worry about who gets hurt along the way."
 
Tempest sighed, his anger receding. "OK, what's this all about?  What are you not telling me?"
 
"It's ancient history. My sister Tina got caught in some very nasty crossfire back when we were at a skating camp. There was a bunch of theft going on among the girls, money, jewelry and stuff. There was some circumstantial evidence that it was Tina. Of course it wasn't, turned out it was some janitor or something, but Julie was one of the kids who accused her."
 
"When was that?" Tempest asked softly.
 
 Ed shook his head slightly, "Geez, was it 20 years ago? I was nineteen, Tina was seventeen. We'd won nationals for the first time the year before. Tina had such a hard time getting over it, we wasted almost the whole year, finished 5th at nationals, we thought our career might be over before it started."
 
There was silence for a moment. Tempest was truly at a loss for words, Ed was still staring into the past. He never talked about his sister. The fact that he did so now was an indication of the strength of his feelings. But that's all it was, feelings, long time resentment, probably made stronger by Tina's tragic death of an eating disorder.
 
Tempest spoke finally, forcing the words out. "Do you really want me to leave? You said I had improved. Was that just BS? You've always been straight with me...." He shook his head, unable to finish the sentence.
 
Ed swore under his breath. "You're right, Tempest. I have always been straight with you and no, it was not BS that you've gotten better. But this is not a good situation. I see no reason for you to stay other than you're being hooked by a pretty face."
 
Tempest was suddenly tired of being understanding, and hearing Trixie being described as just a pretty face, caused his temper to rise. He opened his mouth to say something, later he was never quite sure what he would have said when the subject of their conversation (Julie not Trixie) came into the cafeteria, bracelets jingling.
 
"Well, Ed, you've been here one morning, and we already have chaos ensuing." She placed her hands on her hips and glared at Ed. "I need to know if you call a press conference. I really didn't feel one was necessary for today's show, but if you wanted one, all you needed to do was call me. I have a half dozen reporters out there complete with camera crews and I look like a fool with nothing set up."
 
Ed wasn't going to take this sitting down. "What on earth are you talking about? I didn't call any press conference; we came here to get away from the media attention, I thought that was part of your job; so what kind of operation are you running here?"
 
Julie wasn't even listening. She strode to the window overlooking the figure skating rink. "I told them to give me a couple of minutes. If you guys stand next to the window, the cameras can get a nice view of the set up for the show. It will have to do." She rushed out of the room and Ed looked at Tempest with eyebrows raised.
 
"See what I mean? Looks like you and I are about to do a press conference. Want me to call Air Canada after the show?" Tempest did not dignify this with a response.

Five minutes later, Tempest and Ed were facing Julie's half dozen reporters and camera operators. Ed had started with a bland comment about how well Tempest's practices were going in the new environment, but one of the reporters called out, "Ed, can you comment on the rumor that you are named in a palimony suit?"
 
Tempest saw the blood drain from Ed's face as he confronted the nightmare he hoped would never come. Tempest stood close and whispered, "It's OK, it's OK. Just tell the truth, you didn't do anything wrong."
 
Ed swallowed, stood tall, and told his story with quiet dignity. Most of the questions the reporters asked were respectful enough, until the local reporter, what was his name? Paul Trent, fired out. "So, Tempest, now that you know your coach is gay, will this change your relationship at all?
 
Tempest bit the inside of his cheek to contain his anger.

“I have trained with Ed Duggat for ten years and I have seen over and over again that he is a decent, smart, hard working man. He has been supportive of all my efforts and helped me become the skater and the person I am. I am sorry he is going through a tough time right now, but there is no reason for our relationship to change. We’re concentrating on Nationals and then the Olympics, that’s all.”

A lightening storm of flash bulbs answered him and he knew this press conference was going to go on a long, long time.



Chapter 18

Secure in the knowledge that Mart was at work, Moms and Dad were out to lunch and Bob was in the garage tinkering with his car, Trixie sang a capella.

"I'll be there as long as I can,
But I'm mending broken pieces of the life I had
Before you."

Her voice cracked as she tried to drawn out the last high note. Singing had never been her talent, but she loved that song by Muse. It had been running through her mind the last couple of days. She finished responding to a college friend's not very important e-mail and clicked on Send. She was about to log off when the kitchen door opened.  Trixie shivered as Mart, with a swirl of cold air, came in the kitchen. He dropped a white box on the kitchen table and his hat, jacket and gloves followed as he pulled them off.

"Morning, Mart," Trixie greeted her brother.

"It won't be morning much longer," Mart replied, "Still in your jammies at 11:30 AM? I thought you had the big date with Jim, why aren't you getting ready?"

Trixie felt a smile creep across her face at the thought of her upcoming date with Jim, as she answered, "These aren't pajamas; they're sweats, as you well know. And there's no point in getting ready for the show too early. So are you going to be able to go after all? What's in the box? It smells good."

Mart opened the box and waved it under Trixie's nose. "Cinnamon rolls, made at the Godawful hour of 3 AM. Want one? And yes, I can go.  Since I did the early shift, Tony will do the lunch and dinner crowds. I'm going to be tired as heck though." He yawned hugely.

"That's great! So how is it being the new assistant chef at the Glen Road Inn?"

"I am loving it, even the 3 AM shift. However, I foresee that mega-doses of caffeine and sugar are going to become part of my essential nutrients."

He set a roll in front of his sister, grabbed another for himself, and poured them both coffee. His glance at her was oddly penetrating as he continued, "I would feel kind of bad quitting my job at Skate Connection, with all the crap going on except that I know Honey will get to the bottom of it better than I ever could! I can't believe my undercover work was so useless. At least Honey has a guy assigned to watch over Amelia, and Rosita too."

"Mart!" Trixie spoke through a mouthful of cinnamon roll. "You weren't useless at all! Are you mad because you didn't know about the harassing calls to Amelia? You couldn't possibly have known! She only told Bob and Jerry!"

 Mart rubbed his eyes. "Aw, I knew the Bobster was up to something, just didn't realize he was playing detective." He glanced at her again and added, "Well I guess it runs in the family."

Trixie's eyes narrowed. Mart was clearly checking her emotional temperature, with two references to detective work in less than ten seconds. Fine. It certainly did not bother her. In an elaborately casual tone she spoke, "Honey is great. She is getting all the incidents down in a timeline and checking out the background of all the rink employees, skaters and coaches."

"Yeah I know. She gave me a copy of her notes, wanted to see if she was missing anything. The Wheeler Detective Agency leaves no stone unturned."

Trixie raised one eyebrow. "Really? Where is the list? Maybe I should look at it too." She was just interested in her best friend's work, that's all, she told herself. And, after all, detective work was very similar to historical research. Honey hadn't talked much about the case with Trixie. She knew Trixie was no longer interested in that business. With her trademark tact,
she'd focused on the positive: Trixie's preparations for her date with Jim.

Mart gestured with his mug, spilling a little coffee. "Her notes and timeline are over there on the counter. Help yourself."

Mart busied himself in wiping up the coffee while Trixie scanned them. Trixie lowered the sheets of paper and glanced back at Mart. He was taking an awful long time to wipe up coffee. Without looking up he said, "Does it look like she got everything? See any pattern? I'm thinking revenge myself. It's not directed at any one skater or hockey player, I think someone is out to get Mr. Lynch. What do you suppose Di's phony uncle is up to these days?"

"Honey checked that out, he's back in prison." Trixe spoke absently, frowning a bit at the timeline. "But there could be other people, disgruntled employees and so forth. Of course she's looking into that, too."

"Nothing left for us to do, huh? Well, except to go to the show and the party and keep things running smooth. I may not be a Skate Connection employee any more, but I intend to keep my eyes open. Even if things have been calm this week, I have a hunch it's not over yet." Mart stuffed the last curl of his cinnamon roll in his mouth and said indistinctly, "Well, I'm off to take my shower. I recommend you be standing by the door, rubber ducky in hand as soon as I'm out. If you let Bob in first, you'll be late, he takes forever to get ready when he's going to see Amelia."

"Right, Mart, I will," Trixie murmured vaguely, taking Honey's notes with her as she followed him upstairs.

In her bedroom, she stood indeterminately a moment, then tossed the notes on her bed next to her new skirt and sweater. As she looked at the new outfit, she forced her thoughts from Honey's notes. Jim was taking her to the Skate Connection ice show this afternoon and the Christmas party to follow. He had asked her on that hectic day that everything had come to a head at the rink. Jim's simple request for a date had sounded like heaven. On a deeper level, Trixie felt he was silently forgiving her. And just like that, her life had suddenly clicked back into place.  She felt a serenity she'd not felt in four years, maybe not ever.

She heard Mart finish up in the bathroom and, mindful of his warning about Bob, she hurried into the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, she was shampooed, conditioned, shaved, and loofah-ed. The bathroom was filled with the steamy fragrance of her lily of the valley body wash. She stepped out of the shower and surveyed herself in the mirror. She laughed suddenly. Tempest thought she looked like Lucy Radcliffe? He had looked so cute, equally embarrassed at choking and at reading "girl books." She hadn't seen him since that day, but she would see him skate this afternoon. She found herself humming,
"Unintended," again as she slipped into the long black skirt and the light blue sequined sweater which both flattered her figure and emphasized her California tan. It seemed imperative that she look her best today.

Briskly applying mascara, wielding the wand with awesome control, she made up her eyes more boldly than usual. Honey had insisted Trixie try some new shades in her eye shadow and as usual, her advice had been sound. Trixie fluttered her eyelashes at herself satirically, but she had to admit, she looked... good, very good. Not beautiful, but attractive, confident.

She glanced at her watch and saw she still had an hour before Jim's arrival. Dang. She was confident and attractive now but there was no telling what damage she could do in an hour: smear her mascara, spill soda on her sweater, bite her fingernails to the quick? In search of distraction, she wandered out into the hall and jumped as Bob whipped past her into the bathroom and slammed the door in her face.

"What?" she yelled through the door, no longer serene.

"Took your time, that's what! I gotta get ready too, you know!" he yelled back.

"Tough Bob, I guess you don't remember what it was like to get dressed when Brian was at home too. Spoiled rotten!" she grumbled under her breath. But she could sympathize. Bob had been down in the dumps all week, and with good reason, too. Dad had chewed him out, Amelia's coach had threatened to leave Skate Connection, and Bob was still under some suspicion at the rink. It was a good thing Tempest had stood up again for him and Jerry. But no one knew who was behind everything.

When Mr. Lynch had asked Honey to charge of the investigation, Trixie had experienced an unexpected pang. She had never regretted her career change, of course, but it just seemed kind of, well, backwards to have Honey being in charge. Which was silly. Honey had degrees in both criminal law and business and the Wheeler Detective Agency had been thriving for three years now.  But somehow it had never dawned on Trixie that Honey would take charge and direct operations with such quiet competence, assurance and determination.

Trixie sat on her bed and looked at Honey's timeline again. It bothered her that Honey had not included the Paul Trent photograph as an incident of harassment. Trixie had shown the clipping to Honey, suggesting that someone had set Tempest up. Honey had stared at the clipping for a moment and looked at Trixie with something approaching disapproval in her lovely hazel eyes.
 
"This doesn't seem like you, Trixie, to be making out with some guy you just met." she'd said in a soft, even voice.

Feeling defensive, Trixie burst out, "We weren't making out! What are you talking about? It was just one kiss!"

Honey looked appalled at her own tactlessness and apologized immediately. "I am sorry, Trixie. It just took me by surprise, that's all. I will definitely look into it. Now, what are you going to wear to the party?"

But apparently Honey had decided it was just coincidence.  Trixie's instinct was telling her otherwise.  If she was right, could that mean Tempest was still a target? Concerned, Trixie went downstairs, logged on to her laptop, typed Google.com and entered "Tempest Smith, Canadian figure skater".  

It seemed only a few minutes later when Mart walked behind her and said, "I'm outa here.  See you at the show" He leaned over Trixie's shoulder and exclaimed, "Geez, is that Tempest?" Trixie jumped and felt herself blushing. She'd found a fan site for Tempest and had been mesmerized by a photograph of him skating in a sleeveless shirt and tight jeans. It seemed to capture an excitement and vibrancy that was at odds with Tempest's low key demeanor.

"I was just checking something out.  Research, I was doing research, about Skate Connection" she stammered.

"OK, whatever, See you later!" Mart gave her a funny look before he slammed the door and went out to warm up his car. She relaxed and her eyes turned back to admire Tempest's well sculpted arms. Mart flung the door back open and yelled, "Jim's here, by the way!"

Right now? Trixie frantically clicked on quit, and shut down her computer. Maybe she'd been calm in the bathroom, but butterflies were dancing in her stomach right now. She didn't have her boots on yet, where were they? She hadn't checked her make up. What did her hair look like?

Jim poked his head in door. "Can I come in?" 

He stood in the doorway, looking at her from across the kitchen, the pale winter light fell on him and made him look almost like a stranger. She felt an odd bewilderment, but his words banished her panic.

"Wow, is this the tomboy I met ten years ago? Who would have thought she could clean up so good? It was much easier when you were a tomboy, Trix." 

"Well, I've grown up, I guess. I mean, not being so, so...."

Jim was walking slowly around the table toward her and she lost her train of thought

"I don't think you're so-so at all, Trix." Jim said with a twinkle in his eye.

Oh God, was he flirting with her? She returned to panic mode, knowing she had no aptitude for flirtation.

"Uh, well, thanks, I guess," she said lamely.

"You're welcome." Jim said softly. He leaned toward her and suddenly Trixie was sure she was about to be kissed.

He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers. Before she could enjoy the sensation, however, he drew back, picked up her black coat, which had been tossed over a chair and said, "Shall we go? "Or would you like to skip the ice show? We could go for a ride. I think Jupe could use a good gallop today. What do you think?"

Jim did not really want to know what she was thinking, because she was thinking a series of four letter words. She was thinking she was a fool. She was thinking that a moment ago he had moved aside a curtain that had been hanging between them for four years and then just as suddenly he jerked it back in place.

No, Jim Frayne, you don't want to know what I think, she told him silently. But she didn't remain silent for long.

 "Skip the show? Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to it! I want to see everyone skate! And we can be on hand if any more problems arise." Before she could unleash her full temper, however, though Bob burst into the kitchen.

"Jim, I am so glad you're here. I can't my car going, can you give me a ride? I don't want to miss Amelia and she is skating in the opening ... " Bob's rapid speech suddenly died away. Singled-minded though Bob was, he noted a certain tension in his sister and her long time friend. "Uh, is this a bad time?" He started backing out of the room. "Have Moms and Dad left? I can get a ride with them."

"No, no, Bob, come with us, that would be great," Trixie said in a sweet voice she hadn't known she possessed.

"Sure, Bob," Jim's voice sounded more natural, " The more the merrier. Let's go."

Trixie had time to calm down in the car. She was unsure of the cause of her anger. She was disconcerted to find her anger seemed to be largely because she hadn't wanted to miss seeing Tempest, or rather the skating. But she was also angry with Jim for pulling back. If he wanted to pay hot and cold he could play it with some other girl.

Chapter 19
 
Bob shivered involuntarily as a gust of wind swirled through the Skate Connection parking lot. He, Trixe, and Jim were getting out of Jim's car. Jim's voice sounded remote as he glanced at his watch and spoke. "We better find our seats, it is supposed to start about twenty minutes."   
 
Trixie was looking her, her chin lifted slightly. "I don’t know where we should go." She spoke as though she were issuing a challenge.

Jim's answer was equally odd but more soothing. "I know. It is confusing. Just come with me. It'll be all right." 
 
Bob kicked at a clod of dirty snow. He had never felt like a third wheel with Trixie and Jim, never, not even when he was a bratty little kid trailing after them, but the ride with Trixie and Jim had been uncomfortable. And what was going on now? They were obviously not confused about how to get in the stupid building, there was a whole line of people waiting to get in to see Amelia, Tempest, and all the other skaters do the holiday show. Upon reflection, Bob decided he would just as soon not know what the problem was between them. He had far more important matters on his mind.
 
"I'm not gonna wait in that line, I think I'll see if... I mean, I'll go in the. well, I'll see you guys later." Not waiting to see their reaction to this mangled excuse for a sentence Bob hustled off around the building, bypassing the front doors, heading for the employees’ door next to the famed Dumpster. He had no key, but maybe if he pounded on the door, someone would let him in.
 
As he rounded the corner of the building, Bob saw right away he'd be able to get in with no trouble. A lone female skater had propped the door open with her dufflebag. She looked incongruous, shivering in her pretty skating costume and puffing on a cigarette. As she saw Bob approaching, she hastily drew one last drag, tossed it on the top step and ground it out, with a small sneakered foot, looking very guilty.    
 
The girl smiled nervously as Bob nodded to her and climbed the stairs, trying to look as if he was supposed to be there. She patted her elaborately braided hair, as if checking that her rhinestone tiara was anchored firmly. Bob held the door for her and she picked up her duffle and slipped in ahead of him. This door opened into a small hallway in front of the service steps to the cafeteria.
  
Bob stepped inside and stared.  The cramped area was filled with teenage girls. It should have been a feast for his eyes (and hormones), but it seemed more weird than attractive. One girl checked her make up in a tiny mirror and Bob realized with a shock that they were all made up to look exactly alike. They all wore the same blue costume and each girl's hair was braided and topped by a sparkly rhinestone tiara. "Creepy," he muttered to himself. The girls were all talking excitedly, their voices bouncing off the low ceilings.  The noise, added to their clone-like appearance, gave Bob the dizzy feeling that he was in a dream.   
 
After a few minutes, however, the scene started to make sense. The girls must be part of some chorus line thing for the show. A woman with a harassed expression was trying to catch their attention. She looked older than Moms, maybe around sixty he guessed, and was tall and thin, her nose was long and thin too. She wore a pink satin jacket with “Ice Palace” embroidered on the back and she clutched an enormous snakeskin purse to her chest. Bob was relieved when he saw Mr. Lynch striding forward through the crowd.
 
"Mrs. Williams!" he exclaimed in a hearty voice. "Great to see you! Welcome to Skate Connection, or as it probably seems today, Skate Dis-connected." Mr. Lynch, impeccable in Friday casual attire, topped by a Skate Connection pullover sweater, smiled ruefully, and offered his hand.   
 
Mrs. Williams managed a tight smile as  she released her death grip on her purse to shake hands.
 
"Hello, Mr. Lynch. It's quite all right. It has been so long since our first ice show, I had forgotten what kind of confusion the first big show causes. I have run the Ice Palace rink for 30 years, so our shows go much smoother."
 
Something about her voice was odd, she had not exactly a speech impediment, but a strange way of stretching out the letter "s" when she spoke. Bob choked back a nervous laugh; between the hissing sound she made and the tight grip on her purse, she made him think of a boa constrictor clutching hits prey.
 
Mr. Lynch was talking. "... still trying to get caught up. We had, um, an impromptu press conference and Julie got tied up with that. But we are so excited to see your synchronized skating team! I certainly see why you call them The Crown Jewels!" He smiled at the assembled girls. "The Eastern Conference Synchronized Skating Champions, it is a huge thrill to have you all in our show! You know this will probably be the first synchronized skating performance in Sleepyside!  A historic event and a real treat for our audience. Looks like we are getting a big crowd, too."
 
Mrs. Williams' stiff expression eased to a simper at these words as Mr. Lynch continued, "Now, the Crown Jewels will be the last act before intermission, and we rigged up a temporary green room for you all in the cafeteria. It's right up those stairs. Thanks so much for your patience!"   
 
Mrs. Williams, responding as much to Mr. Lynch's genuine warmth as to his judicious flattery, smiled her thanks, climbed a few steps and clapped her hands to get the girls' attention. Their voices eventually faded away as Mrs. Williams hissed out instructions to them. Bob realized his earlier estimate of hundred girls was grossly exaggerated, there were only about thirty, but it still looked odd, thirty identical girls trooping up the stairs like soldiers in formation. As their voices faded, Mrs. Williams looked down her long nose at Mr. Lynch who was at the foot of the stairs.  
 
"Thank you, Mr. Lynch, and if you need any help getting organized, handling the press and so forth, just give me a call. Julie Summers is still a little new, I am sure she is doing her best, but there are some tricks to the trade only us old timers know. There is a lot more to running an ice skating rink than throwing a lot of money around. Gotta keep those elite skaters happy, you know. They're your bread and butter."    
 
Mr. Lynch's smile looked a little fixed but he thanked her and added, " Oh, and Mrs. Williams, tell the girls, drinks are on the house. Anything from Coke to our famous strawberry smoothies."   
 
When Mrs. Williams and the Crown Jewels had disappeared through the cafeteria door, Mr. Lynch's smile slipped a little. He leaned against the bannister and let out a long, pent up breath. Bob had never seen his best friend's father look the least bit tired, but today he was looking ragged at the edges.
 
"You OK, Mr. Lynch?" he asked, concerned. Mr. Lynch was pretty old, probably at least fifty. 
 
"Hi, Bob, didn't see you in the crowd of all those girls! I'm fine, this chaos is perfectly normal or so I'm told! I can't deny I am longing for the peace and quiet of the stock market floor right now, but it will all come out right."
 
His laugh was a little forced, and Bob laughed politely as Mr. Lynch continued, "And we have the Wheeler Detective Agency on duty to guard against any serious mishaps. Honey is prowling about as we speak and I think she has Di with her too. This stuff is just opening night jitters, but that means it should be a good show."   
 
"Um, is Jerry around? I was supposed to meet him. We were gonna help with set up and all that. I guess it's too late now."
 
"No, actually, I think we could use your help, this press conference really threw everything off. Fortunately I talked to Tempest and Ed Duggat. They said it wasn't our fault. Nice guys."
 
He shook his head "We simply must find out who is at the bottom of all this. Marge Williams wasn't very tactful, but she was right; the skaters need their privacy and a comfort zone. It's our job to provide it every bit as much as to give them good ice."
 
Uh-oh, did something new happen? Bob, his detective instincts on full power, opened his mouth to get some details but Mr. Lynch was looking up the stairs.
 
"Oh gosh, there goes Julie, I have to tell her the Crown Jewels get free drinks!" Mr. Lynch pounded up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, "Jerry and Guy are bringing some extra soda and stuff to the cafeteria, try the closet next to the locker rooms!"   
 
 "What press conference?" Bob yelled, his only answer was the bang of the door to the cafeteria.  Bob sighed gustily and set off to find Jerry, and some answers.

He found his best friend struggling with the soda. Jerry was backing out of the closet, holding the door open with one foot, while he balanced two cases of Coke in his arms. When he saw Bob, his expression changed from concentration to anger.
 
"Where the heck have you been?" he exploded, "There's been all kinds of things happening, Amelia is asking for you, reporters running in and out. What happened to our big plan?"
 
Bob felt the blood drain from his face and he grabbed Jerry's arm, causing a half a dozen cans to thud around their feet. "Amelia? Is she all right? What happened? Where is she?" He pushed past Jerry and started down the hall frantic with sudden worry.    
 
"Nothing's happened to her, she's fine, but there's just total chaos around here. Chill out, she just wanted to have good luck smooch from you before the show" Jerry's voice squeaked with alarm as he added, "Bob, you can't go in there!"
 
Bob realized he had his hand on the door to the ladies locker room and felt his face get hot.   
 
Relief flooded through him as he took a deep breath and spoke relatively calmly.   “ Fine. Jerry, would you please tell me what is going on here?"
 
Jerry covered his eyes. "Oh, man, someone called the press and told them that Tempest's coach is involved in a palimony suit, with another guy! Talk about a can of worms, I guess his coach, his name is Ed Duggat, is this big star in Canada, so this is basically outing him."
 
Bob swore. "This happened this afternoon? That can't be coincidence. Were you watching Guy Mitchell like we planned? Did he make any calls?"
 
"Nope, it wasn’t him," Jerry shook his head, positive. "When you didn't show up, I went ahead with the plan alone. I told Dad I thought Guy needed some help, he was setting up the chairs on ice and all these other chores, grumbling about it too, how was he going to have time to run the zamboni, so Dad had me help him. I was with him the whole morning. He never picked up a phone."
 
Bob’s voice rose in frustration. “I was sure it was him!  Once we realized he was the only one in the building when the paint was thrown on the ice, I knew we had our man. It all fits! He has the keys to the building, and I am sure it was his voice in that crank call to Amelia! I just know he's the culprit!"
 
"Ixnay on the ulpritcay," Jerry spoke out the side of his mouth as he picked up a can.
 
Bob wasn't very good at pig Latin, but there was no mistaking the warning glance Jerry shot him. He turned and saw Guy Mitchell, zamboni driver and general handyman of Skate Connection approaching. He was a burly figure of a man, looked older than his forty years, and wearing the Skate Connection windbreaker and a tweed cap.
 
"Jerry, your dad asked me to bring some cases of soda up to the cafeteria, but I can't be in two places at once and it is time to go do the flood."
 
Jerry stammered a bit as he responded, "No problem Guy, Bob's here, now, we’ll get the soda and stuff and you can go run the Zamboni. The shows supposed to start in about 15 minutes."
 
"OK, if you're sure." He turned to leave and almost tripped over Bob, who had dropped to his knees to help Jerry pick up the fallen cans.
 
Guy gave Bob a rather sour look. He kicked a can closer to Bob. "You know, they never figured out who threw that ink on the ice.  I told Mr. Lynch there was no way I was gonna clean up ink! I don't know who they suckered into it, but they shoulda made the person who made the mess clean it up." Guy's discourse was punctuated by accusing stares at Bob. "Well, you guys better hurry up with those drinks, or Ms. Julie Summers will chew my..."
 
He was interrupted by a can that burst open and sprayed Coke all over Bob. Guy laughed mockingly and without a word, hurried off in the direction of his zamboni.
 
Soaked, Bob rose and stared at Guy's retreating figure. He clutched his wet blond curls and tried to think. There was something significant buried in all Guy’s pointed remarks and mockery. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate.
 
Jerry was saying something. Why didn't he just shut up?
 
Bob grabbed Jerry by the arm and demanded, "Jerry, who cleaned up the red puddle? Was Guy telling the truth? He didn't do it?"
 
"My dad left it for Honey and her operatives to test it. And then they cleaned it up. I really don’t think it was that big a deal, either.” Jerry
handed him a wad of paper towels. “Speaking of cleaning up, you better go change your shirt, we’ve only got about 15 minutes before the show starts."
 
Bob brushed away Jerry's paper towels. "Never mind that now! We're onto something."
 
Bob absently wiped a few droplets of Diet Coke off a poster of Michelle Kwan as he cogitated. "I don't want to jump to conclusions. The night we spent here, there was no one here but us. No one was around till about 5:00 AM. We went to the figure skating rink and taped Tempest's practice, then we did another patrol, then we watched Amelia's practice. Then what?"
 
 Jerry was getting excited. "You went back to the hockey rink, you were gonna clean up our cookies and blankets. Amelia was talking to her coach, and I ran into Trixie and Tempest. They told me to get you guys and meet them in the cafeteria."
 
"Right, and when I went back to the hockey rink, the puddle was there. I told you to get help, because we thought it was blood and someone must be hurt."
 
Jerry groaned, "Bob, we went through this before. Yes, obviously Guy is the logical suspect but we have no proof, that's what we wanted to get today but he acted like he thought you did it! Are you thinking it was someone else, after all? Julie, maybe?"
 
"No," Bob said slowly, "I am thinking Guy is a good actor, but he just let something slip. Let me ask you, we know it wasn't blood, what was the red stuff?"
 
"I don't know. Paint, I guess, that's what we were calling it, anyway. I guess Honey and maybe my dad are the only ones that know."
 
"Then why did Guy call it ink? He called it ink twice, Jer!" Bob could hear his own voice trembling with excitement.
 
Jerry was not excited, he shook his head, "Don't get me wrong, Bob, I think Guy did it, too, but I don't see how that proves anything, he could have just assumed it was ink, just like we assumed it was paint."
 
"Come on, Jerry, who would assume it was red ink? I'll bet you can't just go in a store and buy red ink! No one uses fountain pens any more, especially not red ones! You buy a Bic or a felt tip or something. But you can buy poster paint at a grocery store or house paint at a hardware store. See? Paint is something you can get easily. That's why we made that assumption."
 
Jerry's expression was filled with dawning comprehension. "So if it was ink, how did Guy know..."
 
"Unless he was the one who threw it on the ice?" Bob almost shouted, "Gleeps, creeps and weeps! We got him, Jer!"
 
Jerry drew a hand over his face, "Gleeps, is right. We gotta talk to my dad!"
 
Bob drew a steadying breath. "Yeah, we do. You go ask your dad if that stuff was ink and if it was, tell him what Guy said. You're right, I have to change my shirt, I probably look like a crazy man."
 
 Bob started into the men's locker room, where he had an extra shirt. Jerry grabbed his arm. "Wait, if Guy did it, who's watching him now? If he wants to close Skate Connection, he may be planning sabotage right now."
 
 Bob shook his head. "He's got a couple of hundred people watching him run the zamboni, that takes at least 10 minutes, we'll be back on his tail right after he finishes." He gave Jerry a little push, "Go on, hurry up, find your dad! Or Honey!"
 
 Jerry needed no more convincing. Spurred by the urgency in Bob's voice, he ran toward the cafeteria. Bob almost tripped on a few cans of Coke as he dashed into the men's locker room. The first annual Skate Connection Holiday Show was about to begin.

Chapter 20

 "I need a place to spend the day
 Where no one says to go or stay
 Where I can take my pen and draw
 The girl I mean to be."   
 
Watching from the "tunnel", the curtained off runway through which the skaters made their entrances from backstage to the ice, Tempest felt himself finally relax. He leaned close to Heather and whispered, "Wow, that is a great piece of music, perfect for Rosita. Is it from a movie?"
 
Without taking her eyes from her protege who was gliding through a pink spotlight to the sweet melody, Heather whispered back, "A Broadway musical, The Secret Garden."
 
Rosita Ting ended her program with an Ina Bauer spiral, gliding to a gentle stop, while she mimed picking up a pen. She looked up wistfully as the music ended. The audience was silent for a moment then burst into applause. Rosita, her face lit up with a huge smile, skated to center ice, and bowed in all four directions as the announcer proclaimed over the sound system, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Rosita Ting!" The crowd applauded some more, Rosita waved some more, and skated off the ice. She jumped into Heather's hug, talking excitedly. "They liked it, didn't they?" Without giving Heather a chance to answer, she saw Tempest, and demanded, "Did you like it? How was my lutz?"    
 
Still marveling at her talent, he nodded enthusiastically, "The lutz was perfect, you held the edge all the way into the jump! And you know, you had the audience in the palm of your hand!" Heather handed Rosita her skate guards and with Rosita practically jumping up and down, and still chattering about her lutz, the two left the backstage area.
 
The music had already started for the next skaters, a junior pairs team, Wesson and Dunbar. They completed a wobbly split twist to Tempest's great relief. They'd had trouble with that move in rehearsal, and had a noisy argument about it, but they managed to get it right for the performance. In spite of all the problems beforehand, it looked like the first annual Skate Connection Holiday Show was a big hit. There'd been a few falls, but skaters were adapting well to the smaller ice surface caused by the on-ice seating for this event.    
 
Tempest shook his shoulder out; it still felt a little stiff sometimes. His first number was next. In the opening number, in between his scratch spin and a little jitterbug dance with Amelia, he'd been able to catch sight of Trixie, who was sitting in one of the on-ice seats right next to Jim the Wonder Teacher. She had looked pensive, he wondered if something was wrong.
 
He sighed. What wasn’t wrong? Ed had stayed for the show, he was in the audience with Mr. Lynch. He’d reassured Mr. Lynch, but Tempest knew his coach was still spooked by the press conference. After the reporters had left, the silence in the cafeteria seemed deafening. Ed had sat down at a table and covered his eyes briefly. He looked utterly defeated.
 
Tempest had been silent for a minute and then said helplessly, inadequately. "I'm sorry, Ed. I should have listened to you. I'll tell Mr. Lynch I can't stay here." Ed had lifted his head at that and he had slammed his fist down on the table.
 
"Not a chance, Tempest, we're gonna stay here and find out who did this." He'd glared across the room at Julie who was talking to a woman in a pink jacket who was vaguely familiar to Tempest. It had been pretty obvious who Ed thought was responsible.
 
On the ice, Wesson and Dunbar completed a very respectable star lift as Celine Dion finished wailing about her heart going on. Tempest joined the audience in applauding, then backed up, jumped up and down a few times in place. He felt the adrenalin start pumping through him. After the pairs team took their bows to very good applause, he skated out in the darkness, took a few warm up strokes, did a waltz jump and a single axel, before settling in his starting position.
 
He smiled spontaneously. He was facing Trixie and she looked beautiful. She had on a bright blue sweater that displayed a gorgeous figure. There was an expectant look on her face, and maybe she looked even a bit nervous. She was twisting her program in her lap, anyway. He winked at her as Take Me to the River started blasting on the speakers, and suddenly feeling happy, he went all out; enjoying his skating, the music, and the audience response.
 
It was one of those performances where everything clicked, and it was over too soon. Breathing quickly, but smiling, he was thrilled to see the crowd on its feet. He'd had his share of polite applause over the years and never got completely used to the sight of a standing ovation. Some teenage girls threw some flowers to the ice and he scooped them up and waved them in thanks as he looked at. The spotlight made it hard to see her and more flowers flew through the air, landing on the perimeter of the ice.
 
He held his hand up to block some of the glare and when he caught sight of her, his heart sank. Trixie was standing stock still, not applauding, her hands still clutching the program, a slight frown creasing her brow. A coldness in the pit of his stomach spread throughout his body. Her eyes met his and with a visible effort, she summoned up a smile and started clapping. Habit kept the smile on his face and he automatically bowed and waved. He shifted his eyes to Jim and had to give the guy credit, he was standing and clapping with the rest of the audience, a look of appreciation on his face, no annoyance in sight.

"Mr. Tempest Smith!" the announcer rolled out his name one more time as Tempest skated backward toward the tunnel. The synchronized skating team, the Crown Jewels, were in the tunnel and one of them had obviously picked up more flowers from the ice.
 
"You were great," she exclaimed, handing an armload to him.
 
"Thanks," he answered, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. He added more firmly, "It's a great audience, have fun!" She smiled, patted her tiara nervously and linked arms with five of her teammates. The announcer, in a dramatically hushed voice, introduced the Eastern Conference Champions and they skimmed out, moving together easily, with perfectly coordinated crossovers.
 
Backstage, Tempest felt his smile fade as he sat down on a folding chair. His arms were still full of the stuff people had thown on the ice. He tried to think rationally, but his mind just kept repeating stupidly, "Why she didn't like it?" A red teddy bear slipped off his lap. He leaned over to pick it up, then groaned as the rest of the load slid to the ground. Great, now he looked as stupid as he felt. He knelt on the ground and started piling everything on the chair.
 
He could hear the Crown Jewels' music, a medley of songs from My Fair Lady. He saw Bob and Jerry, who shouldn't have even been backstage at all, with Amelia, Rosita, and Wesson and Dunbar. They, along with Tempest, would go on for a brief Christmas group number with the Crown Jewels before the intermission.

Why didn't Trixie like his skating? He knew he was upset way out of proportion, but his brain refused to focus on the triple loop and a flying camel spin that were his part of the group number. A diversion, in the form of Jerry Lynch materialized. "Need some help?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer, he picked up a plastic Lisa Simpson doll and put it on the chair. (Tempest mentioned on American TV after the World Championships last year that he loved the Simpsons. Now he had a whole closet full of Simpsons
paraphenalia)
 
"Thanks, Jerry." Tempest picked up a Canadian flag and a bunch of carnations which should have been wrapped securely and weren't. "I hope none of these were left on the ice," he muttered. "Bits of flowers are really dangerous."
 
"I got a good look, I think the ice is ok," Jerry answered. He dumped some sad looking daisies on the chair, then frowned as he held up a pale piece of cloth up in the dim light.  "What's this?"
 
Tempest snatched the lacy scrap of cloth from Jerry but he was too late. He heard Amelia and Rosita giggle and he whipped the item out of sight, but it was too late. "Whoa! Were those panties? I mean like girl’s panties? Wow!" Jerry's voice held shock, but also awe. "Does that happen to you all the time?"
 
"No!" Tempest wished with all his heart he had stayed in bed this morning. He hurriedly shoved it under the pile of flowers on the chair and fed up, he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him, and stared at his skates.
 
Jerry sat next to him and whispered "Sorry." under the cheery sound of "I Could Have Danced All Night." The Crown Jewels were working up to their big finish.
 
Tempest felt very tired. "It's ok." Not really caring, but desperate to change the subject from girl's underwear, he asked, "So who won the coin toss for the zamboni break? Or is Mart going to do it since Dan did it before the show?"
 
Tempest's mind wandered back to Trixie's reaction to his program. His skating was an extension of himself. If she didn't like it... Lost in gloomy thoughts, Tempest didn't hear Jerry's gasp, he didn't see Jerry's frantic motions to Bob. Maybe Trixie saw the ... um, underwear,  maybe that was the problem. Hmm.  And maybe she...
 
"Tempest!" Bob's intense blue eyes were only a foot from him and he jumped slightly. Wow, Bob sure looks like Trixie, he thought to himself. "Tempest!" Bob repeated, "What was that you said about Dan and Mart?"
 
Tempest gathered his thoughts. Try not to look like an idiot, he told himself. "Oh, Dan and Mart had this really funny argument about who was going to run the zamboni before the show.  They actually flipped a coin."

Tempest had been laughing as they argued. Mart had said something like "Although there is an element of virile gratification involved in the operation of heavy machinery on a traction less surface, the greatest satisfaction stems from the performing one's responsibilities in a, er , responsible manner." Dan's answer had been profane and succinct in comparison. and then they had tossed the coin. Dan won.
 
After he'd said as much, Bob and Jerry exchanged worried glances. It dawned on Tempest that something was wrong. He sat up straight. "What's up?" he asked quietly.   Harry Connick Jr.'s duet with Branford Marsalis, "This Christmas" was now playing on the sound system. Tempest was due back on the ice in about two minutes, but he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "What's wrong?"
 
Bob met his eyes squarely. "Maybe nothing. But where was Guy Mitchell before the show? He was supposed to run the Zamboni, it's his job after all."
 
Tempest spoke slowly as he looked from Bob to Jerry, "Mr. Lynch said Guy was taking some stuff to the cafeteria and asked Dan or Mart to do it."
 
Jerry's eyes opened wide. "We took the stuff to the cafeteria, not Guy. He had plenty of time do the zamboni. Did you see him at all before the show?”

Applause rang out from the ice, and three pairs of eyes turned to the narrow opening to the ice where they could see Rosita, with great energy displaying an even better Ina Bauer than she had done earlier. Amelia was next. She blew Bob a kiss while Harry Connick and Branford Marsalis continued to jam and the audience applauded.
 
Tempest stood up. His cue was coming up. "No, I think the first I saw Guy was just before I went on for the opening number. That would be a good fifteen minutes after Dan started the Zamboni."
 
Jerry and Bob stood too. They both looked frantic. "No one was watching him! What was he doing during those fifteen minutes?" Bob whispered.
 
A burst of applause told Tempest that Amelia must have nailed her triple combination.
 
"He couldn't have done much!" Jerry was trying to convince himself, not too successfully. “We have been watching him since the opening number, he’s just been doing the usual backstage stuff.”
 
"Settle down, you guys," Tempest whispered forcefully. "I take it you think Guy is behind all this sabotage. Go tell Mr. Lynch he was missing for fifteen minutes. He will get it straightened out. I gotta get out there,"  he stepped from the darkness backstage to bright lights and more applause. This was one of the best audiences he'd skated for outside Canada, he thought irrelevantly as he stroked around the ice.
 
He deliberately forced his mind away from the worried looks on the teen's faces. The audience was clapping rhythmically as he set up for his triple loop. His smile was automatic as he nailed the jump. In the back of his mind he was happy he landed it, but he was feeling alarm. It wasn't likely that Guy could have done much damage before the show, even if he was the one responsible for the harassment. As choreographed, Tempest skidded to a stop next to Amelia at mid ice and all the skaters, including the Crown Jewels did a scratch spin.
 
 He took Amelia's hand and they took their places to the left, near the end of the ice while the Crown Jewels did a gigantic pivot. He and Amelia clapped along with the rest of the skaters but inside, Tempest was doing a slow burn about Guy. If he had been the one who told the press about Ed... whoops, time for the big finale. Tempest got ready to lift Amelia for the finale pose. In twenty seconds, it would be intermission. If Guy had done anything, it was probably just more splattered paint somewhere.  He put his hands on Amelia's tiny waist.
 
There was a sudden flash of light. Confused he thought, "That wasn't in the rehearsal" One of the Crown Jewels stopped skating, screamed, and pointed at the light standard just a few feet away from him. He gasped as he saw what she saw, a blue flame spreading along the top. He pulled Amelia behind him. Everything happened at once, there was a loud bang and  the very air exploded. He fell back, knocking Amelia to the ice, a million shiny particles flying at them.  He rolled over, covering her body with his, his arms protecting his own head as he yelled, "Stay down, everyone stay down!"
 
His yell was echoed by what seemed like a thousand screams, as there was another loud bang and more broken glass fell on both of them.

To Be Continued

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