Chapter 21

The restrooms at Skate Connection were not well lit. As Honey Wheeler hesitated and looked down, her expressive eyes were in shadow. When Jim and Trixie had found their seats, good ones, front row and literally on the ice, being folding chairs on strips of carpet laid directly on the ice, Honey was waiting there. Baffled by Jim's hot and cold attitude, Trixie hoped Honey could shed some light on it. She quickly made an excuse to Jim and dragged Honey to the ladies' room before the show began. But as they combed their hair, instead of asking about Jim, Trixie had found herself asking if Honey had considered the possibility that Tempest was a target of the harassment.

"Well, it's an interesting theory..." Honey was clearly groping for words. "But I really don't think...well, there are some other possibilities... I mean we have things under control, don't worry...." Honey seemed to have lost the ability to finish her sentences. In fact, she sounded, well almost  patronizing. I suppose I sounded that way when we were kids, Trixie told  herself. Apparently Honey was not going to take her hunch seriously. "Oh?" Trixie asked, trying not to feel hurt.

"Well, in fact, um, I am pretty sure who is behind everything. It has nothing to do with Tempest Smith, Trixie. It's all about money, essentially a bit of sabotage to persuade Mr. Lynch and his shareholders to sell Skate Connection. A rather clumsy attempt at that."

She looked at Trixie directly and Trixie saw that flicker of disapproval in her eyes again. "Tempest is a big attraction, I know, but this will all be over soon. We have our suspects under surveillance and we will have the paper trail to back it up very soon."

"Oh, well, thanks for the update," Trixie allowed some sarcasm to creep into her voice, and then could have kicked herself, but it would be a courtesy for Honey to give her a few more details.

"I'm sorry Trixie, I thought you weren't interested in detective work anymore." Surprising how Honey's sweet voice could convey a little sarcasm as well.

I'm not, Trixie told herself, I'm not interested in detective work. I am going to be a teacher. No one will be hurt because of me ever again. She picked up her purse and the Holiday Show program, and held the ladies' room door for Honey.

"Yes," she said stiffly.  "Well, I guess we better get to our seats. The show is about to begin." Glancing down at the program to avoid Honey's eyes, Trixie saw Tempest's photograph along with Amelia Gould's on the cover. She felt a shiver run down her spine. Dammit, something was wrong....

"What is the matter with you Trixie Belden? Why are you mooning over some celebrity when you ..." Honey's voice, normally so soothing to her clients sounded almost strident as she bit off her sentence.

Shocked out of her forebodings, Trixie shot back, "I am not mooning over anyone, Honey Wheeler! But maybe you are missing some important clues even if you know who's doing it!"

Honey's eyes widened. Instead of being angry at Trixie, she spoke with a hopeful intensity, "Trixie!  Why don't you help, then? Join the agency? You can, youknow, just say the word. I've always hoped you'd come back. It can be just like we always planned. When you get your degree, you can come be my partner. When Brian finishes his residency we'll be married and Jim can run his school and you two can... I mean the Bob Whites will be together."

Trixie was unable to speak. It had been so easy, back in California, buried in her studies of the Civil War. She wanted nothing to do with the detective business... I am just touched by Honey's friendship and her loyalty, Trixie tried to convince herself. There's no question what my future is. She would tell Honey so as soon as she could draw a deep breath.

Before she could, though, Jerry and Bob rushed up. "Honey, where have you been? We have crucial information for the investigation!" Bob exclaimed in a  self important fashion.

Honey was still looking at Trixie expectantly. "Just a sec, OK?"

Reprieved, Trixie babbled hastily, "No, no! You guys talk, you guys can talk, I'm going go back to my seat, the show is about to begin."

Knowing she had taken the cowardly way out, she left them, feeling Honey staring after her.

Trixie tried to hide her turmoil as she sat down next to Jim. He smiled at her and casually put his arm over her shoulder. Seated behind them were Mart, Dan and Dan's girlfriend Jennifer.

Mart leaned over to Trixie, "Too bad Diana wanted to take some backstage pictures, I saved a place for her. If Brian were back in town we could have a real Bob-White reunion."

"Would the assembled Bob-Whites be able to solve the mystery of the librarian's frozen feet?" Jennifer bantered. "On-ice seats mean cold feets."

Dan laughed, "Is that a quote from Dr. Seuss or a subtle hint? I hope it's the latter," he added as he put his arm around her and the lights dimmed.

Some new age type music began to play and an announcer welcomed everyone to the first annual Skate Connection Holiday show, "featuring US Silver Medalist, Amelia Gould, Eastern Conference Synchronized Skating Champions, The Crown Jewels and World Champion, Tempest Smith."

Concentrating on the skating proved to be impossible after all. She would look Jim from the corner of her eye, and blush to find herself touching her lips. Firmly she would fix her attention on the skaters on the ice only to find her self a minute staring down at the program on her lap, unable to shake the foreboding that something was still wrong, even if Honey was positive Tempest was not a target. Then she would shake her head at Honey's unexpected offer.

Lost in her own thoughts, she missed the beauty of Amelia's sultry skate to "Will You Still Love me Tomorrow," and the charm of Rosita's program "The Girl I Mean to be" At some point Honey joined them and sat oddly tense for someone who had everything under control.

Then Tempest's name was announced, Trixie thought she had had enough shocks for one day, but she was wrong. By the end of his program, she had risen to her feet in shock. She had thought she'd gotten to know him pretty well the last few weeks. He had seemed sweet, quiet, calm, modest even. She had always enjoyed skating but she had never seen any skater, male or female, like this, so fast and powerful, yet pulling the audience into his own enjoyment of the music. She couldn't have said what jumps he did or what elements he completed, she only knew that she was watching genius. And his love of skating was obvious in every move he made.

"He's really good, Trixie." Honey's whisper barely reached her under the crowd noise, but it sounded apologetic, somehow. Trixie was overwhelmed by this unexpected side of Tempest, and angry at herself for underestimating him. And frightened at his charisma and his megawatt smile and his obvious passion for skating.

She muttered something deeply insightful to Honey along the lines of, "Hmmm" and tried to turn her attention to the rest of the show. It was no use. Her thoughts tumbled about like clothes in a dryer, and she paid no attention to Wesson and Dunbar or the Crown Jewels.

Trixie woke up from her thoughts as Tempest skated past in some kind of group number. The crowd was clapping rhythmically and she belatedly joined in, until she noticed the acrid smell of an electrical fire! Simultaneously, a girl screamed and the set of lights not five feet from Tempest exploded in a shower of sparks and shattered glass. Trixie's heart seemed to stop beating as Tempest fell backward on top of Amelia. He obviously sized up the situation in an instant, however, kneeling to cover Amelia, keeping his back to the lights and covering his head with his arms.

A second explosion rang out, sending more shards of glass flying, and Jim pulled Trixie down. She felt, rather than heard Honey, Mart, Dan and Jennifer take cover as well, but the glass and debris was flying onto the ice, not into the crowd. Frantic about how still Tempest was, Trixie squirmed out from under Jim's protective arm and crawled onto the ice.

Quick as she was, Honey was ahead of her. A hysterical voice yelled, "Fire! Fire!" and more screams rang out.

There was glass on the ice, so she stood up, thinking, "People are going to panic in a minute!" As if in answer to her thoughts, she heard Jennifer's sweet but oddly carrying voice above the noise, "It's OK, it's OK, they've got the fire out!"

A quick glance over her shoulder indicated that Jennifer was right; both Dan and Guy Mitchell had already found fire extinguishers and were playing streams of foam over the dying flames. Trixie flashed another look at Jim and Mart. They appeared uninjured, and were helping Jennifer calm people down. Jerry Lynch was standing near Guy as well. For some reason he reminded her of a wildcat ready to pounce, but she had no time to wonder at his fierce expression.

Her boots crunched over shards of glass as she reached Tempest. He was lying curled on his side, not moving. Amelia was sitting up, her bodice splotched with red. Mr. Lynch and Honey were already by her side. The scene was eerily similar to the day they had found the paint on the ice. Trixie swallowed as she saw more red streaks stark against the white ice, and knew this time the blood was real. Tempest stirred slightly and she saw blood oozing from an ugly gash along Tempest's jaw line. Crouching to avoid the broken glass scattered all over the ice, Trixie put her hand on his shoulder and called gently, "Tempest?"

"Oh, Hello Trixie is that you?" Tempest asked sounding dazed. "Why didn't you like it? Or was it the underwear?"

Underwear? He must have hit his head on the ice, she thought. She felt a stupid smile quivering on her lips as she tried to sound reassuring. "You're going to be fine, Jim, don't worry."

She pulled her sweater off, folded it into a pad and pressed it to the cut, applying pressure the way her oldest brother Brian had taught her years before. The pale blue cashmere turned dark. Tempest turned his head toward her and she said in a sharper voice, "Don't move, there's glass all over the place!"

His eyes were dark with pain as he asked "Amelia? Where is she? Is she OK?"

It was getting crowded on the ice. Trixie couldn't see Amelia anymore. Amelia's coach, Mr. Krupke that was his name... was now crouched next to her. Bob stood to the side, his face whiter than the ice. Julie and Heather, for once not snipping at one another, were ushering the other skaters off the ice.

"Amelia's fine," Trixie said, smoothing back the curls from Tempest's forehead, and hoping she was telling the truth. "Looks like you got the brunt of it."

Tempest closed his eyes for a moment. "It's not that bad." He was quiet for a moment and she continued to stroke his hair lightly, dislodging tiny fragments of glass as she did so.

His eyes opened again and he said in a much clearer voice, "Help me up."

"No way, " she exclaimed, "You need medical attention."

"I can't get it here, there's glass all over," he pointed out practically. "Help me to a chair."

"Forget it, you don't move an accident victim." Trixie couldn't believe she had to argue with a bleeding man whose hair was filled with shards of glass.

"Fine, I'll do it myself," he said stubbornly, and suited his action to his words. Realizing she couldn't stop him, Trixie slipped her arm under his shoulder to steady him and he leaned on her, letting his breath out in a hurry.

"What do you think you're doing?" Someone was standing over them, a distinguished man, grey at the temples with concern on his face.

"Hi, Ed! I'm just getting off the ice so they can clean up." Tempest was now sounding strangely exuberant. "Trixie, this is Ed Duggat, my coach. Ed, THIS is Trixie Belden."

He emphasized the word "this," as though he had talked about her to Ed. Trixie felt an idiotic flush of pleasure, which dissipated quickly as Ed was looking pretty pissed off. Trixie found herself explaining, "He was going to get up no matter what."

Ed let out a breath of pent up frustration. "It's OK, Ms Belden, he thinks he's superman sometimes." He leaned down and put his arm around Tempest's other shoulder. With their help, Tempest was able to stand, a little shakily.

Apparently the crowd had been watching anxiously. When they saw Tempest rise, they burst into spontaneous and very much relieved applause. He raised one hand and waved to them and Trixie and Ed supported, or more accurately, towed him on his skates to the folding chairs.

"Look out, miss!" Trixie jumped as a commanding voice from behind her spoke. A paramedic. She breathed a sigh of relief. She stood back as the paramedics took over. On the ice, Amelia was up too. She glided cautiously in a circle to more applause from the audience. Under her own power, but closely followed by Mr. Lynch, Mr. Krupke and Bob, she glided to the side of the ice and another paramedic began ask her questions.

Bob stepped over to Trixie, and she was surprised and touched when he hugged her gently, both giving and seeking comfort. Brother and sister stood watching the paramedics minister to Tempest and Amelia. She could feel Bobby trembling and tightened her arm around him as she glance up at his face. In the back of her mind she noted his expression was as much one of guilt as worry.

"Bob, are you OK? It looks like Amelia is fine, Don't worry."

"She says she is, her coach and Mr. Lynch want the paramedics to check though." His voice sounded harsh as he continued, "It was Tempest, he's the one who kept her from getting injured. While I was..." He shook his head and muttered something. Trixie thought she heard him say "Scooby Doo fantasy" but there was still so much commotion going on, she must have misheard.

"I'm fine, Ed, it's just a cut," Tempest was saying unconvincingly. "Hockey guys do this all the time, they don't get carried out on stretchers and I'm not gonna either."

"Dammit, Tempest, shut up and do what these guys tell you."

The paramedic didn't appear to want to cooperate with Ed. "Oh, he needs some stitches, but he can walk if he's careful. Someone can drive him to the emergency room" The paramedic finished putting taping a bandage over Tempest's jaw and started to pack his medical supplies away.

"See, Ed, it's fine, I'll go get stitched up and come back for the party." Tempest spoke breezily, but he had a look in his eye that indicated he expected an explosion from his coach.

It came. "A party? Are you crazy? Ed's voice rang out across the ice.

Mr. Lynch rubbed his face with a hand that shook visibly. "No, the party is off, the show is over.  We probably have to evacuate the building. Anyway, we'll be shutting down Skate Connection till we get this straightened out.

A chorus of protest greeted this announcement.

"No! Mr. Lynch, we can do the second half, I feel fine, the paramedics said I was fine!" insisted Amelia.

"The publicity would be really bad if you canceled. And besides there's someone I want to dance with at the party." from Tempest still in pain, but persevering.

"No! Amelia, are you crazy?" Bob's voice was right next to Trixie's ear.

A forceful voice cut through the babble. It came from Honey. "Mr. Lynch, Tempest is right. No one else is hurt. Dan and the other fire fighters have confirmed the fire is out with no danger of rekindling. There is no reason to evacuate and plenty of reasons to go on. And besides, with this incident, we may have evidence of who is behind all this."

Honey turned to Diana Lynch who had been hovering with a professional looking camera in her hand and asked sweetly, "Di, did you get those behind the scenes photographs we talked about?"

Di, who had spent the three years since she graduated from art school building quite a reputation as a free lance photographer held up her camera and said, "I have it all right here!"

At her words, Guy Mitchell broke away from the crowd, only to be tackled by Jerry Lynch. He kicked at his youthful attacker, got loose, stumbled to his feet, only to be felled by a right hook from Jim Frayne.

 

Chapter 22

Bob had been walking in the woods for hours. Like a malfunctioning VCR, he kept replaying in his mind the moment when Amelia fell to the ice in a shower of broken glass, then the heart stopping moment when she sat up, covered with blood. Twenty-four hours later, he felt still almost incapacitated with guilt and remorse. The fact that Amelia was unhurt in no way mitigated his failure to protect her, and his failure to solve the crime.
 
Worse still, when Guy Mitchell, the same man who had been terrifying Amelia with all those calls, fled the scene, did Bob Belden, Super Detective, do anything to stop him? No, Jerry had tackled him, Jim had subdued him while stupid little Bobby Belden, charter member of the Scooby Doo Fan Club, had stood there with his mouth hanging open. Bob shuddered, sat down on a fallen log, and buried his head in his hands.
 
He didn't know how long he sat there, trying to come to grips the loss of his dreams. Gradually he noticed his butt was cold and wet. Next time he indulged in self pity in the great outdoors, he'd remember to brush the snow from his seat of choice. His stomach growled. Cowards and failures shouldn't be thinking about food, but Bob's stomach apparently didn't know that, it felt cavernously empty. Maybe things would look brighter after he'd eaten something. He sighed gloomily. He had made some decisions anyway.
 
Obviously he was not cut out for detective work, maybe he should be a teacher like Trixie and Jim. It sounded dull, but at least he would helping people not hurting them. He stood up and got his bearings. He was very near Lytell's store. He would get something to eat then go home and tear up the application for Honey's internship. Better to start his new, sensible life as soon as possible. He clumped up the steps to Lytell's store and the bell tinkled as he stepped into the familiar surroundings.
 
" 'Afternoon, Bobby." Mr. Lytell called out. Bob hated being called Bobby, but he was too dispirited to protest.  Mr. Lytell was halfway down the aisle, crouched and unpacking some boxes, but he continued talking, "Sounds like there was some excitement at the ice show yesterday. Was just reading the article in the Sun. Can't believe there was a ruckus in this town and your sister wasn't involved, but the paper didn't even mention her name. Guess she really has out grown her foolish notions. Thought she would."
 
Bob bristled. "Trixie would be a great detective if she wanted to, she just changed her mind, is all. And Honey is a great detective right now, it was her agency that cracked the case!"
 
Mr. Lytell stood, with much creaking and popping of his joints. He still had to crane his neck to look up at Bob, who was a good six inches taller. "Honey Wheeler's chosen a dangerous profession, and success or not, would have done well to stick with accounting. Besides, Miss Trask tells me Honey's got something on her mind regarding her business, wouldn't surprise me at all if she was going to give it up herself. Brian Belden's coming back in a year or so, she most likely wants to be settling down."
 
Bob opened his mouth to defend Honey then paused, as he realized too, that she had seemed a bit distracted yesterday. Best to let the subject drop, there was no arguing with Mr. Lytell anyway.
 
Mr. Lytell held out a bottle of Tylenol and addressed the air behind Bob, "Extra strength, that's what you said, Mr. Smith?"
 
Bob turned and saw Tempest Smith leaning on the counter. Geez, he must have walked right past him. Tempest smiled and stepped forward saying, "Hi Bob. Yes, thanks, Mr. Lytell, sorry to put you to all that trouble."
 
"Not much trouble, had to unpack that box sooner or later. Too bad my eyes aren't what they used to be." Mr. Lytell momentarily looked puzzled as he glanced down at the bottom shelf. "Would have sworn I had a better supply of that," he mumbled to himself. He sighed, "Well we're none of us getting any younger."
 
As he handed Tempest the bottle, he looked over his spectacles and offered his opinion, "Better take some now, looks like you need it. You look mighty pale. Sure you shouldn't be in the hospital? Don't want infection to set in."
 
Bob had thought he couldn't feel any worse, but looking at Tempest, his heart sank lower than ever. Tempest had a bandage running almost from under his ear, along his jaw halfway to his chin. Maybe Tempest was going to be scarred for life. And he was the one who saved Amelia. Amelia could be the one all bandaged up. Or worse. Bob felt almost sick for a moment.
 
"Bob? Bob? Are you OK?" Tempest’s concerned voice finally registered.
 
"Who, me? I'm fine," Bob answered automatically then did a double take, "Wait a minute! What about you? Are you all right?"
 
Bob paused and stared at Tempest. He did look pale, now that Mr. Lytell mentioned it and that bandage... It looked uncannily like someone had tried to cut his head off. Scared, Bob continued babbling nervously, "Shouldn't you be in bed or the hospital or something? Are you going to have to miss the Olympics? You really look awful! "
 
Tempest’s lips twitched very slightly, but he answered seriously enough, "I am fine, I promise. I took the morning off, but I walked here just fine. I'll probably do a light work out this afternoon. And there's no reason to pull out, this will be all healed well before Olympics. It doesn't even hurt that much."
 
He could probably see Bob was not reassured and changed the subject, "So, I guess you were in the thick of things, yesterday, I gotta admit I'm a little confused as to why Guy Mitchell was behind all the harassment."

Mr. Lytell had been frowning over the aspirin and Tylenol shelf, but this caught his attention. "Bobby Belden, can you tell us the whole story?" He moved pretty fast for an old man as he walked to the counter and poked his finger down on the Sleepyside Sun open there. "Says here, more arrests may be pending, what's that all about?"
 
They were both looking at Bob expectantly. It couldn't hurt to explain, could it? Tempest certainly had a right to know. It would be rude to refuse to give just the facts the papers had left out. Vowing to keep it simple, Bob began, "Well, I wasn’t really in on it, but I was there when Honey told Mr. Lynch what had been happening. She figured there were two people involved. Jerry and Amelia and I knew that all along, of course, because one of the harassing calls she got was from a woman. Guy has a real low voice, no way he could sound like a woman. We were trying to tackle the problem from who had access to the rink, and meanwhile Honey looked at motive."
 
Tempest surreptitiously swallowed a couple of Tylenol as Bob talked, a good reminder for Bob to avoid sounding like Sherlock Holmes. He continued in a more subdued voice.
 
"Honey says ninety percent of the time, money is the motive in cases like this. When she did some digging she found out that Marge Williams, the owner of Ice Palace in White Plains had all these repairs and stuff to do for her rink, because it was like 30 years old. When Honey found out that Guy Mitchell was her son in law, I guess it was pretty easy from then to figure out Guy and her were trying to chase away business so then Mr. Lynch would sell out to her. She had them both under surveillance this week, but there was no suspicious activities from them till the ice show."
 
Mr. Lytell snorted. "I've met that Marge Williams, her late husband was in Rotary. They used to drive a gold Mercedes, but they were very tight with the pennies, very tight. Not surprised Marge found herself in a pickle after he was gone, she never had much sense. So she's under arrest, is she?"
 
"Well, I guess taken in for questioning. Honey was at the police station turning over all the evidence she gathered. Actually, Di Lynch was the biggest help, she had photos of Guy fiddling with the lights right before the show. Funny though, he and Mrs. Williams say they never meant for them to explode, they were just supposed to smoke. Guy even kind of defended himself that he had a fire extinguisher right at hand. It was just supposed to scare people, according to them. No one was supposed to get hurt." Depressed again, Bob stopped. A phone in the back recesses of the store rang. No one seemed to notice the echoing tinkle of the bell over the door. Mr. Lytell went to answer the phone, muttering to himself that he wasn't a bit surprised, not one bit.
 
Bob studied the toes of his boots. “No one was supposed to get hurt,” he repeated. His stomach growled loudly and Bob suddenly felt utterly humiliated. He looked across at Tempest, waiting for him to laugh, but Tempest looked rather solemn.
 
"What's wrong, Bob? If something's bothering you, it sometimes helps to talk it out."
 
Bob prepared to say, 'No I'm fine' and yet somehow found himself asking Tempest, "Did you always want to be a skater? I mean even when you were a little kid and all that?" Bob wasn't even sure why he asked that question, but Tempest answered it without any apparent puzzlement.
 
"Well, I can't remember a time when I didn't skate, I knew I wanted to be the best I could, by the time I was ten, I knew I wanted to make a career of it. It seems like it has always been in my blood if that's what you mean."
 
Bob looked down at the picture of Honey in the Sleepyside Sun. "Well, I know you're world champion and all, but what would you have done if you weren't good enough?"
 
Tempest was silent a minute and then said very quietly, "I would never have stopped skating, it may sound dumb, but I love it, it's a part of me, whether I do well or not."
 
It was Bob's turn to think hard. "But no one can get hurt if you don't skate well, but people get hurt if you are a crappy detective."

"Is that what you want to be, a detective?"
 
"Not anymore, I realize that's all kid stuff and ego." He waited for Tempest to protest, but Tempest was quiet, so Bob stumbled on, "My sister, Trixie, when I was a kid, she was, wow, she was like an amateur detective. She just seemed to know when stuff was wrong and figured out why and who was behind it. She even had a club, they were called the Bob Whites, their motto was to help people in trouble and they really did!”
 
Bob noticed Tempest was listening very intently now and the words poured out, "You've met them all now, oh except my older brother Brian, he's in Michigan. It was Mart and Brian, Honey and Jim, Diana Lynch and Dan Mangan. They were always going off having adventures, putting criminals behind bars, and I was always stuck at home with Moms and Dad. I kept thinking that once I was grown up I could be a Bob White too. I wanted to be a detective like Trixie. She and Honey were going to have the Belden Wheeler Detective Agency, and I figured I could join too. When Trixie changed her mind, I thought there could still be a Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency, I could be the Belden."
 
"Maybe you still can, why do you think it's all kid stuff and ego?"
 
Bob met Tempest's eyes squarely. "Because I made things worse. It's my fault you were hurt. I’m.... I’m so sorry. I was so busy feeling important and acting dramatic, I didn’t check to make sure Guy was really doing the Zamboni. He told us he was going to, we knew he was a suspect and I just took his word for it! How stupid could I be?"
 
Tempest raised his eyebrows and said, "Well, Jerry didn't catch it either, neither did Honey for that matter, the lights still exploded. Seems to me the only person at fault is the person who rigged them to explode."
 
Bob felt a little relief, but he couldn't let himself off the hook that easily. "OK, maybe you're right, but then when Guy made a break for it, I just stood there! Jerry reacted instantly and I felt like my brain and my body were stuck in the mud! If that’s how I react in a crisis, I can't be a detective. I can’t even protect my own girlfriend!  If I stand back and look at myself objectively, I see a guy who can’t handle a crisis. I have to learn from that and move on.”

Tempest had straightened up, and glanced over his shoulder at the door while Bob was talking, but he’d apparently been listening. He turned back to Bob. “My grandmother used to say it wasn’t enough to learn a lesson from your mistakes, you have to learn the right lesson.” He put the Tylenol bottle into a brown paper bag on the counter and picked it up. “She also really liked Earl Grey tea and I have a good supply here. Anytime you want to come by and talk, give me a call. But right now I think you should talk to your sister.” He nodded to his left; Bob saw with surprise that Trixie was standing by the door.

 

Chapter 23

Trixie stepped out from behind a display of old fashioned stick candy. "How did you know I was there?” she asked quizzically. Tempest felt he would always know when she was nearby but wisely limited his explanation to “The bell over the door gave you away.”
 
"Are you OK?" Trixie asked anxiously, "I didn't get a chance to talk to you at the party, but I saw you there,"

"I'm fine, just a couple of stitches," Tempest couldn't deny he enjoyed the concern in her voice, but he wasn't going to make a big deal of it either.

"I'm glad," was all Trixie said, but with enough warmth to raise the hopes he'd been fighting against for several weeks.

"What are you doing here, Trix?" Bob interrupted them rather defensively. He was looking embarrassed, caught talking about his big sister as if he adored her, which of course he did. Tempest could relate.
 
"Moms ran out of cornmeal, I guess Mart used it all up and didn't tell her." She reached for a blue and orange box, while she said casually, "We did feel bad about leaving you behind, you know."
 
He smiled reluctantly, "I know that's a lie! I was a complete brat when you guys were off on an adventure! Especially when you went to Cobbett's Island. I knew something exciting would happen, I just knew it! I wanted to go with you so bad!"      
 
Tempest loved the dreamy, far away look in Trixie's eyes as she remembered, "You were all packed."     
 
He was feeling rather dreamy himself, imagining Trixie as an intrepid teenager, rushing off to solve mysteries. The spell was broken by Bob's stomach growling again, and though Tempest pretended he hadn't heard, he pulled a box of granola bars from his grocery bag and offered them to Trixie and Bob while he asked "Cabot's Island? What happened there?"    
 
"Cobbett's Island," Trixie corrected. "We literally found a treasure map."   
 
Her eyes were bright with remembered excitement and Tempest demanded she tell the story, as Bob chomped through the granola bar in two seconds.  He reached for another looking, substantially more cheerful. Tempest was relieved that he even chimmed in between crunches when he felt Trixie had omitted some important detail. The resilience of youth.     
 
The Bob Whites had obviously worked as a team to find the treasure on Cobbett’s Island and helped a troubled teen at the same time, but it was pretty clear to Tempest that Trixie had been the leader, the one with the intuition to see the clues and the clarity of mind to put them together. Tempest could have listened to her forever, except for the number of times the name "Jim" popped up in her narrative.     
 
"Slim is in the coast guard, now, just like he planned." she concluded with evident satisfaction.  A shadow crossed her face then and she fell silent, leaned her elbows on the counter and raked her hands through her hair.  
 
Bob had been frowning, and now he burst out, "Why? Why did you give it up?"   
 
She looked up at that and her eyes flashed, "I did not give up!" she said fiercely, balling both hands into fists "I, I just got to know myself a little better, realized I wasn't cut out to be a detective, that's all."     
 
Bob's eyes widened to hear her unwittingly use the same words he had earlier. Tempest held one of her clenched fists in both hands and pointed out gently, "But you did give it up. What made you give up your dream?"     
 
He waited for her to tell him it was nothing, or that it was none of his business but without seeming to realize what she was doing, she slowly curved her hand around Tempest's and held it. Her voice and her eyes were suddenly far away    
 
“It was in college, that’s when it happened." She looked up at Tempest and said suddenly, "I'll bet you were a good student."
 
 "Well, I knew I was lucky, my dad and grandmother let me go to school instead of being tutored like a lot of the other skaters. And I had to do well or they wouldn't let me skate." He wasn't sure why she asked, but he seemed to have said the right thing because she nodded and continued.     
 
"It was really exciting, doing well in my classes. It was like as soon as I could study something I liked, you know my major, criminal justice, everything else got interesting too. I got straight A's my freshman year. Everything was going so well."    
 
She faltered slightly, then continued flatly "But then I tried to help a friend. I had seen Jason around campus, but didn't really pay much attention till Amy fell for him." Her lips twisted, her voice hardened. "Jason. He was handsome, charming, well off. He was funny, too, kind of the campus Jim Carrey. He had every advantage, nice parents, even. I met them, later, they were nice. A police officer once told me sometimes it's a mystery why some people are bad. And he was bad."    
 
Trixie's terse, almost childish statement sent a chill down Tempest's spine. Bob was transfixed by his sister and Tempest saw him shiver. Trixie shook her head. "It wasn't just that he dealt drugs. He enjoyed destroying people, seeing them suffer."       
 
She swallowed. "And Amy, my friend, she wanted to kick loose, to experiment. Jason made it easy for her. She thought she was in love with him. Well, that's the way he worked, a lot of girls were in love with him. But Amy was only 17, just throwing her life away, missing classes, driving recklessly. We tried to warn her but she wouldn't listen. Finally in spring of our sophomore year, we set up an intervention for her. I guess she was scared enough by that time, she accepted our help, she got treatment, she left school, and worked through it."     
 
"But she came back to school the next fall. She thought if she didn't, she'd be running away from her problems. But she was afraid of Jason and she was afraid of herself, too. One day she came to our apartment, she was crying. She wanted to go back to him. He’d asked her to come back to him. Honey took her to the campus counseling center, but I was too mad."

"That afternoon I made a plan, me, the big important detective."  Her mirthless laugh sounded like ice cracking.      
 
"Amy told me where he wanted her to meet him. I was going to tell him to stay away from Amy or I would turn in evidence she had given me. Just call me Super Trixie, PI, saving the world from itself! I even fantasized that I could persuade him from his evil ways!"     
 
"It was at a Hilton, I told you he didn't need the money; he did this totally for kicks. I had just enough sense to leave a note for Honey. When she got back, she panicked. She got hold of Jim and they came after me. She had Jason's measure better than I did, she figured he would get violent."    
 
Tempest let out a breath. "And he did?"     
 
She came back from the past for a moment, looked down at their hands entwined "It's good to get this off my chest," she said sounding puzzled.  "I really haven't talked to anyone about it. Just my parents... Anyway I was talking to Jason, well demanding really, that he stay away from Amy. We were yelling, he was yelling, he was threatening me, he smashed a vase of flowers against the wall. I was still egotistical enough to think I could handle him with all my hotshot self defense training, but that’s when Jim basically broke the door down."   
 
"Jason was no dummy, he could think on his feet and he was armed, which I didn't expect. He had a knife, I found out too late that he carried it everywhere. Jim is a good fighter, but he certainly expect a weapon and Jason went right for his throat. It all happened in about a second. I saw the blood, and I heard Jason laughing and I grabbed the desk chair and literally broke it over Jason's head."     
 
She managed another travesty of a laugh. "People do that in the movies all the time, and the person just shakes his head and hops back up. But that's not real life. In real life you fracture the person's skull, which is what I did to Jason. Jim was bleeding, they both were unconscious, only Jim was bleeding, there was blood all over, grabbed the phone, hit 911, left it off the hook, had to stop the bleeding. I told Jim he would be all right."
 
Tempest felt his heart grow cold, but Trixie continued in a stronger voice, still seeing that hotel room. "I knew Jason needed help too, but I only helped Jim." She drew a shaky breath.     
 
"Jim had lost so much blood, the paramedics weren't sure he was going to make it. He was in intensive care for two days. But he is really strong and, obviously he recovered."     
 
She finished speaking in almost a conversational tone, making the horror behind her eyes all the more wrenching.     
 
"What happened to Jason? Did he die?" Tempest found his voice to ask.      
 
She blinked. "Oh, no, he survived. He had severe brain damage though. Permanent. He's not comatose, but pretty close. He'll be institutionalized for the rest of his life. I went to see him at the hospital and he didn't recognize me. He doesn't recognize his parents. I met them. They were very nice people. They said it wasn't my fault."     
 
Bob looked both aghast and sympathetic. Tempest stepped back from her, not aware of what he was doing till Trixie pleaded, "I know I should have helped Jason, too. I'll regret that forever. I have to live with that forever. But I've done everything I could to make up for it. I learned my lesson." 
 
Shocked, he put his arms around her and held her close. He couldn't resist running his hand very gently through her curls as he exclaimed, "What do you have to make up for? You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't do anything wrong! You tried to help someone. Just like you helped that guy, Slim. You didn't do anything wrong!"     
 
Her voice was muffled but she said, "I nearly caused the death of two people, Tempest. And Jason is, he'll never be whole again, because of me!" Her voice caught and she buried her face against his shoulder, crying silently now.   
 
He continued to hold her, closing his eyes briefly, letting his lips brush lightly against her golden curls briefly. When her sobs had eased after a blissful but short moment, he repeated firmly, "You did nothing wrong. The only person who did anything wrong was Jason. He put himself in that hospital. And I think you know that."     
 
She broke away and spoke shakily, "Well, yes, I know, I mean, but I handled it all wrong." She sniffled loudly and with an oddly touching gesture, wiped her nose with her sleeve. "It wasn't an impulsive decision. To be a teacher. For the rest of the term, I thought about it and I finally realized I couldn't subdue my ego enough to be a good detective. I decided my talents could be used in a more safe environment. I had to start all over, I went to California. As a teacher I can still help people and still use reason, deduction, logic, and all that, just no more impulsiveness, no one will get hurt because of me."     
 
She spoke the next words as if to herself, Tempest had to lean forward to hear her say, "And I almost think Jim had forgiven me."    
 
Tempest never thought he had much of a temper, and the white hot anger that surged through him took him by surprise. He thought of the pain she must have gone through, the needless guilt. He thought of the dreams she had given up. She must have seen the change in his face because she took a step backward.  
 
 
"Forgive you?" he shouted, "Jim, forgive you? Are you crazy? He should be begging you for your forgiveness. Did he have the gall to blame you?"     
 
She drew herself up and directed a fierce glare at him. Well, good! People should get mad when they have been wronged!  he thought as she shouted right back, "He never blamed me, he never said one word, he almost died and he never once made me feel bad about it!"
 
"What's all the hollering out here?" Mr. Lytell came scurrying out of his office, holding a sheaf of yellowed computer printouts. Tempest felt like cold water had been poured on him. He stared at the ancient linoleum. What had gotten into him? Had he really been shouting in public at a girl who had just finished crying? He was shocked at his own behavior.
 
Mr. Lytell looked over his spectacles at Trixie and a sound amazingly like a rusty laugh emerged from his throat. "Well, if it doesn't seem like old times, after all. She's got a temper, doesn't she, Mr. Smith?   
 
Tempest couldn't say a word, couldn't manage a smile but Mr. Lytell didn't seem to notice, in fact he actually nudged him. "She has quite a reputation for solving mysteries, too. Wish she could figure out what happened to that darn ink! " Neither Trixie nor Tempest were paying any attention to him, nor did they see Bob give a sudden start.

Trixie raised her head to look coldly at Tempest. She looked defiant and magnificent and he knew he had ruined any chance that she could ever love him. He still couldn't force a smile, but he said in a voice that did not shake. "Sorry for the noise, Mr. Lynch. Um, I better get going. I have to get to practice."
 
"Want me come along? I can tape your jumps." It was Bob, with a very odd expression in his face.
 
"No thanks, I'm not doing any jumps," he said automatically, wondering if he had somehow revealed his feelings for Trixie. “See you later.”
 
Almost blindly, he reached out for the doorknob. The bell jingled merrily as he left, leaving a half empty box of granola bars, bottle of Tylenol and some Earl Grey Tea on the counter.

He walked as fast as he could from Lytell's store, the jolt of each step causing a fresh stab of pain to his jaw. He was glad of the pain, he only wished it kept him from thinking about how stupid he was, criticizing Jim to Trixie. Tempest had been fighting his feelings for Trixie, suspecting that there was more to her relationship with Jim than she even realized herself. Well, he certainly had his fears confirmed back there. Damn. He kicked at a fallen log. Suddenly all the anger and the adrenaline drained out of him. He had never felt so tired, this was nothing compared to the hardest workout. He sat down on the log and looked at the gray, freshly plowed length of Glen Road and wondered if he could even make it back to the inn. Not that he had a choice.

Absorbed in his misery, he barely noticed a car approaching until it stopped in front of him. A voice called out, "Need a lift?" His head was so heavy, it seemed hard to look up, but when he achieved this feat, he swore to himself. The good Samaritan offering a ride was Jim Frayne.

Chapter 24

Trixie scowled at the innocent objects before her: an open copy of the Sleepyside Sun, some specks of dust dancing in a sunbeam, a brown grocery bags. It was the kind Mr. Lytell had used for years, complete with the name "Lytell's" printed in red flowing script on both sides. She had seen one recently, she thought irrelevantly.
 
"You're right Mr. Lytell, these invoices are hard to read," She heard Bob saying. "See, they're not just faded, they were printed on an old time dot-matrix printer. Gosh! These invoices must be older than me!"
 
She felt a sharp stinging in her hands and was surprised to find herself clenching her fists so tightly that her nails were biting into her palms. That old goat, Mr. Lytell, nudging Tempest and smirking about her temper. No wonder Tempest had gotten out of there so fast.
 
She was furious with Tempest, too, and even more angry at herself. How could she have lost the careful control she had maintained for four years, crying like a baby?
 
"Those invoices are only about ten years old." Mr. Lytell sounded huffy. "I don't sell much ink these days, more's the pity. If I could just find the record of my last shipment, I'd know exactly what I am missing Shoplifters..."
 
The memory of the sympathy in Tempest's eyes steadied Trixie. Maybe she had made it sound like Jim blamed her for the tragedy, but of course he didn't. If there was a barrier between them, it wasn't because Jim blamed her for his injury, Trixie assured herself. Jim wouldn't do that.
 
Mr. Lytell was still grumbling about shoplifters when Bob suddenly gasped, "Gleeps! Here it is! You got a shipment of ink, four bottles of each color, blue, black and red almost exactly ten years ago!"
 
Tempest had been so sweet, she shouldn't have yelled at him, he just didn't understand. She stepped back to the window, overcome with a sudden need to explain to Tempest, maybe he hadn't gone far. Though the window was spotless, its age softened the scene outside: blurring the snowy road, the bare branches of the trees, the lonely figure walking farther away from her. Trixie had a sudden feeling she was watching Tempest in a dream as he rounded the bend in the road and was gone.
 
"But Mr. Lytell, how can you tell from ten year old invoices? Can you be sure?" Bob’s skepticism was obvious.
 
She turned away from the window, in time to see Mr. Lytell drew himself up. "I know my inventory, young man, I've run this store for 40 years and never had to use any new fangled machines! Computers, my foot!" He snorted and tapped his temple with a gnarled finger. "It's all in here, Bobby Belden, all in here. I can tell you how much exactly how much ink I have sold since I received that shipment, if you would just let me think."
 
Trixie wondered vaguely why Bob was so excited about ink, then her thoughts turned back to Tempest. He'd left so fast, he'd forgotten his groceries. She could bring them to Glen Road Inn. Maybe he would ask her in for tea. She put the granola bars into the bag alongside a bottle of Tylenol. There had been lines of strain around his eyes and his mouth; probably he was in pain. Would he have a scar?
 
She closed her eyes. Poor guy comes to the store to get some pain reliever gets blubbered all over and yelled at. Conscious stricken and completely forgetting Moms waiting at home for cornmeal, she picked up the bag.
 
She turned to say good bye to Bob (and to haughtily ignore Mr. Lytell) and saw a strange sight. Bob was on his hands and knees, moving things around on the bottom shelf while Mr. Lytell stooped over him, pointing to the shelves as he spoke.
 
"Seems to me, I sold some of the black and some of the blue, but not one bottle of red. There ought to be four bottles of red ink down there."
 
"I only see one!" Bob exclaimed as he shifted bottles of aspirin, Tylenol, and blue and black ink around.
 
"Gotta be sure!" he muttered, "No jumping to conclusions this time." He lay flat on the floor to peer carefully along the entire length of the shelf, from the wax paper to the tampons to the bread. Then he sat up and said impressively, "Mr. Lytell, there is no doubt. There is only one bottle of red ink. You are missing three bottles."
 
"Hmph, " There was a note of satisfaction in Mr. Lytell's voice, "Well, I knew it. Must have happened after I restocked the aspirin week before last. Whoever took it shuffled the bottles around some, but they couldn't fool me!"
 
Mr. Lytell pushed his glasses up and frowned at Bob, whose eyes were snapping with excitement. "No point in getting all excited, young man, police won't come for shoplifting. Just have to keep a more watchful eye on my customers. Here's another one now," he said, as the bell jingled to announce an elderly lady wearing a fuzzy blue hat.
 
Finally distracted from her own troubles, Trixie wondered what this was all about. "Bob, you need a ride home?" she asked, carefully suppressing her curiosity.
 
"Sure," he replied matching her casual tone. He looked at the bag in her arms and added, "We can take Tempest the stuff he left, too. Bye, Mr. Lytell!"

Trixie nodded coldly to Mr. Lytell as she opened the door. He snorted in reply.
 
Once Bob had folded his six foot frame in Mart’s little car, he could hold back no longer. "Trixie! The red stain on the ice was ink! It must have come from Mr. Lytell's store!"
 
His excitement was rather contagious. I just need a break from my troubles, Trixie assured herself as she questioned, "Ink? I thought it was paint."
 
"No, Honey said it was ink. Now how many stores stock red ink nowadays? It must have come from Mr. Lytell's store!" Bob was almost breathless with excitement.
 
His theory was certainly possible, Trixie mused. Bob was looking at her eagerly, but she didn't want to mess things up by being impulsive. On the other hand there was no more danger. The criminals had been caught. This was just clean up and evidence gathering. She and Bob could handle that.
 
She leaned back in the driver's seat, forgetting to turn on the engine, "So Guy probably stole the ink from Mr. Lytell, right? He threw it on the ice as part of their harassment campaign. It may be useful to the police to know that. If that's what happened."
 
Bob started to say something and abruptly changed his mind. "It’s funny...Well, there's one way to find out. We can ask Mr. Lytell if Guy was ever in the store.

“His picture is in the paper." Trixie mentioned casually.

She and Bob started at one another a moment and then in perfect synchronization, they threw open the car doors and raced back up the steps.

"Mr. Lytell, Mr. Lytell!" Bob shouted as he and Trixie got stuck in the doorway, trying to enter at the same time.
 
"Oh back already, are you?" Mr. Lytell grunted, not overjoyed to see them.
 
Trixie resisted the temptation to tell Mr. Lytell what she thought of his little nudges and smirks and instead met his disapproving glare with a brisk, professional air. "Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Lytell but this involves the theft of your ink."
 
Bob took her cue and spoke with the seriousness of police officer investigating a jewel theft. "Mr. Lytell, we have a possible suspect and we were wondering if you could give us a positive ID."
 
The lady Mr. Lytell had been helping widened her eyes, pushed her furry blue hat back, and said, "Oh my, how exciting!"
 
Mr. Lytell did not look especially excited, but he was taken back by the admiring look the lady gave him. His mouth which probably had been open to scold, popped shut and he ran a hand over his thin hair and straightened his bow tie.
 
"Well, now, Bobby, I already told you I didn't know who took it," he said quite mildly.
 
Trixie picked up the copy of the Sleepyside Sun which had pushed to the side and found the picture of Guy. She folded the paper back and showed it to Mr. Lynch, "We think this is the perpetrator. Has this man been in your store in the last two weeks, Mr. Lytell?"
 
He looked over his glasses and shook his head, "The fellow from the ice rink?
No. I have never seen him in here."
 
"How about Mrs. Williams?" Trixie asked quickly.
 
"Marge Williams has never set foot in this store. I only know the woman from Rotary gatherings and the like. The rink isn't that close, you know."
 
"Are you sure, Mr. Lytell?" Bob sounded intense, somehow. Trixie would have expected him to be disappointed, but he had almost a look of dawning realization on his face.
 
Mr. Lytell’s chin stuck out ominously. He roundly told Bob and Trixie just how sharp his memory was and just how long he'd been greeting each and every customer and just how he had seen shoplifters come and go. It took quite a while before Trixie could disentangle them from his monologue, but finally they were back in the car. 
 
Trixie felt drained, as she put the key in the ignition. "Well, I guess it was just a coincidence. It's probably for the best." She sighed faintly, then continued, "I'm going to take Tempest the stuff he left, you want me to take you home first?"
 
Bob opened his mouth and paused. She hoped he picked up her hint that he was not invited to join her in dropping off the groceries. He shook himself visibly and said "Um, yeah, I guess, I'll go home."
 
He looked at Trixie a moment and then down at the groceries in his lap. His drumming fingers rattled the paper bag.  As she drove, Trixie began to feel annoyed. She was watching the road, but she could feel her brother studying her. As she pulled into the driveway at Crabapple Farm  she couldn't stand it any longer. "What? Why are you staring at me?"
 
He looked at Tempest’s grocery bag in his lap. Trixie again had a memory of seeing one a few days. She frowned trying to remember, but Bob's next words were quite a distraction.
 
"Trixie, do you think it was my fault Tempest got hurt? And, and that Amelia could have been hurt?."
 
That was the last thing she had expected from him, but she rushed to reassure him. "Oh, Bobby no, of course not. How can you think that?"
 
He folded the top of the bag down, over and over while he answered hesitantly.
 
"I suspected Guy all along. I was afraid he would try something at the ice show. I was going to keep an eye on him. But when he said he was going to resurface the ice, I believed him. And that's when he was rigging the lights. If I had been more alert, Tempest wouldn't have been hurt."
 
"It's not your fault, even Tempest said so." Trixie knew the power of guilt and she knew her words were inadequate. How could she explain?
 
Bob was now unfolding the bag carefully. "Well, I just wanted to talk to you about it. Because I knew you would understand." He reddened as he spoke, but continued doggedly, “ Because I wanted to be a detective. Like you. I’ve always wanted to be like you."
 
It was suddenly hard to speak. It was suddenly hard to breath. After a minute she said. "Not like me. Like yourself. And you'll be a good one."
 
Bob nodded as if her words had confirmed his thoughts. "You know something? Tempest was right. It wasn't your fault what happened. I mean to Jim and that creep Jason. You shouldn't blame yourself. And neither should Jim."
 
She gasped angrily and lashed out, "I don't recall asking your opinion, Bobby Belden. You better go inside, I’ve got to get going. " When did Bobby go from tag along kid brother to career counselor?
 
"No really, Trixie. It wasn't your fault." Bob was clearly going to have his say. "If that's why you changed your mind, I mean, about being a detective, I think... Well, it's like me. When Tempest got hurt yesterday, I mean that really was kind of my fault, but..." He paused, looked down and continued shyly, "Maybe neither of us learned the right lesson from our mistakes.” He took a deep breath and told her “I’m going to be a detective."
 
Trixie turned off the ignition. The car was quiet. Bob got out of the car quietly, still holding the groceries. Before he closed the door he leaned in and said, "Well. Sorry. I didn't mean to... anyway, thanks for the ride."
 
She barely heard his thanks. Was that what she had done? Learned the wrong lesson? She loved history, that was true. But it was also true that she looked forward to her career as a teacher with relief, contentment perhaps,  but not excitement. Her thoughts shocked her, but this time she didn't flinch away from them.
 
She glanced up. Bob was stooped, leaning into the car, and still clutching those stupid groceries. Annoyed by the obvious anxiety in his face, she snatched them from him, tearing the already bedraggled bag. She drew her breath in sharply. She remembered where she'd seen another Lytell's bag. When she had searched Julie Summer's office,  there was an   identical bag in her desk drawer, one containing a bottle of aspirin and a bag of maxipads.
 
"Oh my God!" she gasped. "Guy didn't steal that ink! Julie Summers did!"

 



Chapter 25

Tempest walked over to Jim's car and leaned in the open window.      
 
"Hi, Jim, actually I'm enjoying the walk, but thanks!" It was hard to sound cheery after what Trixie had just told him, but he thought he'd succeeded till Jim looked at him searchingly.    
 
"Sure you're OK?" It sounded like genuine concern in Jim's voice, but it was probably an auditory illusion.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, just out enjoying your countryside." Why did his voice sound so high? He lowered it and added firmly, "See you around."    
 
Jim accepted the hint. "OK, see you around."     
 
To confirm that he had never felt better in his life, Tempest waved jauntily, turned and took two brisk steps away from the car. Big mistake.          
 
Tempest Smith, World Figure Skating Champion, famed for his ability to land the toughest jumps, tripped over the fallen log he'd been sitting on and fell head first into the snow. Some cruel fate dictated that his bandaged jaw smash into a half hidden rock.       
 
Things were fuzzy for a little while after that, what with the pain shooting through his head and all. Someone was calling his name. The voice seemed awfully low, but he asked hopefully, "Trixie?" The voice said something garbled. It sounded like swearing, so he figured it wasn't Trixie.
 
"She still wants to be a detective," Tempest heard himself mutter. "She is just afraid someone will get hurt again."   
 
He heard another four letter word. His vision was clearing and he found himself looking up at a cloudy sky through some bare tree branches. He raised himself on one elbow and saw Jim Frayne crouching next to him, talking quietly on a cell phone. Jim finished the conversation and his cold green eyes narrowed when he saw Tempest sitting up, cautiously touching the bandage and trying not to wince.  
 
"That’s a bit of good luck, I have a friend who is a doctor and he’s home unexpectedly. Let me get you in the car. It looks you're bleeding again." Jim's speech was marked by a particular lack of graciousness and Tempest was glad to respond in kind.   
 
"Thanks, but I don't need a doctor, I'll be fine." Maybe his jaw smarted a bit, but there was no way Jim Frayne was gonna tell him what to do.   
 
Jim's stern look reminded him that Jim was a school principal. "Let me help you into the car."   
 
Tempest suspected he was fighting a losing battle, but he persevered, "My coach can get me to a doctor. He's staying at Glen Road Inn, too."   
 
"If you're talking about Ed Duggat, I just left him at police headquarters. He wanted to make sure the rink is safe for you now." Jim's tone implied that Tempest was either a baby or a prima donna.   
 
"Well, I guess he thinks you can't be too careful when you're about to go to the Olympics. It's an experience most people never have a chance at." Tempest still thought Jim had some nerve in his unforgiving attitude toward Trixie, but he couldn't help laughing to himself at their stupid verbal battle. Who said only women were catty?    
 
A anwering twinkle came into Jim's eyes and he relaxed slightly. "Just get in the damn car. I guess sitting next to an Olympian is as close as I'll ever get to the Olympics."   
 
Yielding to the inevitable, Tempest achieved a standing position unassisted, but had to lean rather heavily on Jim getting into the car. They were both silent on the drive. Jim seemed lost in thought. That was fine with Tempest. He wasn't really feeling up to making polite (or impolite) conversation.   
 
Jim pulled into a familiar driveway. "Crabapple Farm? What are we doing here?" Tempest was finding it difficult to articulate, as if he were drunk. There was something wet dripping down his neck, vaguely he realized he must have ripped his stitches. Oh. Maybe that's why he needed a doctor.   
 
Jim turned off the ignition. "My sister's fiance lives here. He's a doctor, well, a resident actually."    
 
Tempest never really remembered the next half hour very clearly. Things got kind of blurry until Tempest found himself sitting in a well lit bedroom while a dark haired stranger (who introduced himself as Brian Belden) added a few more stitches to the emergency room's handiwork.
 
When it was over, too tired to argue, he swallowed the tablets Brian offered. Obeying Brian's further instructions, he leaned back against some pillows, (when did he get in bed, he wondered groggily) and looked around the cozy room. Pine furniture, braided rugs, family photographs on the walls. "Thanks for the help," he murmured. "Could I borrow a phone to call my coach? He can come pick me up."      
 
Brian's response, "Jim left a message for him at the rink and the inn." echoed though his head. Tempest found by turning his head slightly he had an excellent view of a photograph of Trixie holding the bridle of a horse, and as the codeine in the Tylenol 3 took effect, he fell asleep.   
 
He was drifting through a dream where Trixie watched him skate through a pane of glass. She had tears on her cheeks, but she smiled at him.  He skated toward her and wiped the tears away, the glass having disappeared the way things so often do in dream. He was leaning forward to kiss her, when there was a flash of light and Julie Summers grabbed his shoulder and told him she needed his Tylenol. He couldn't deck a woman even in a dream, but he really wanted to. Trixie had disappeared, he had find her. Was that her voice down the hall? His head swam as he walked, but the voices were getting louder.
 
"Yes, he's asleep. You wanna wait here? Honey is coming by after she wraps things up with the police."  
 
"Seemed like a lot of blood, is he is really OK?"
 
"It looked worse than was. He'll be fine.”
 
Tempest frowned, he could hear Brian and Jim, but not Trixie.
 
"So what's the deal with Tempest Smith anyway?" That was Brian. "I got the distinct feeling Honey doesn't like him, but Bob keeps writing e-mails about how great he is."
 
"He's nice enough." Jim was the epitome of noncommittal. "So he'll be OK for the Olympics? You're not just trying to make my sis feel better?"
 
Thanks for the ringing endorsement. And yes, I'll be there for the Olympics, Tempest tried to tell Jim, but he couldn't force the words out.
 
"He's fine, just needs a little rest. Why does it matter to Honey?"
 
"She thinks she could have prevented all this. She didn't think violence was part of Guy Mitchell's MO. She talked with me for a long time last night. I'm glad you're home. She's feeling pretty guilty"   
 
"Honey feels guilty, Bob feels guilty, Trixie feels guilty. This place should be called Guiltyside, not Sleepyside." Tempest had reached the source of the voices, a large, brightly lit kitchen. Jim and Brian were sitting at a table, staring at him with identical expressions of shock. It would have been comical except that he realized he was not dreaming and he'd spoken out loud.

He gasped. "I am sorry, I was trying to wake up, I , I...was, um, looking for Trixie." Brian was next to him in a flash.   

"It's ok, Tempest, Trixie’s not here, she parked in the driveway, and then roared out a second later, must have forgotten something. Sorry we woke you up. I forgot you can hear everything from the kitchen in that guestroom! How are you ..."
 
Tempest didn’t give Brian a chance to finish his sentence, "I'm so sorry, I mean I'm fine, really much better. I, I better get going now."
 
Brian was shaking his head. "I want to keep an eye on you for a little while. Are you hungry? It's just the three of us right now but my fiance Honey is coming and I figure Trixie and Bob will come back anytime now. My mom had to run out and buy cornmeal, she should be back soon, too."
 
Trixie had a very kind brother. Tempest felt himself calming down, though he was both embarrassed at having eavesdropped on a private conversation and pissed at what Jim had said. He didn't relishing hangin' with Jim, but with his legs feeling like spaghetti, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere right away. And the news that Trixie would be coming any time was a powerful inducement
 
"Well, thanks. Thanks for everything, that's very nice of you. And thanks for stitching me up, I really do feel better." he said truthfully and more coherently.
 
"Great! Sit down, Would you like some juice or some coffee?"
 
Tempest was feeling a little better, but not well enough to drink coffee. "No thanks. Could I just have a glass of water, please?"
 
Jim finally spoke stiffly. "Tempest probably prefers tea, I'll put the kettle on."
 
Brian either didn't notice the tension in the room or chose to ignore it.  "Oh geez, I’ll get you a clean shirt. Hold on, I'll be right back."
 
Tempest glanced down at his shirt and saw it was pretty gory. "Thanks," he called.
 
Jim turned a burner on under the copper teakettle, took out a mug and draped a teabag in it. He was obviously quite at home here. There was a distinct and sudden chill in the kitchen.
 
Tempest looked at him levelly. "Something on your mind?"
 
"Yes, there is. Mind telling me why Trixie feels guilty?"
 
"If she doesn't feel comfortable confiding in you, I'm sure not going to." Tempest tried to sound as offensive as possible.
 
Apparently he was successful because Jim's eyes blazed. "Don't play games, Tempest. I've known Trixie a long time and I don't want her hurt."
 
Tempest laughed outright. "Well, you're about four years too late for that, pal."
 
Jim rose and Tempest followed suit.
 
"I think you better me what Trixie said." Jim spoke in a deadly whisper.
 
Jim was a good 5 inches taller, but Tempest was not intimidated, "Are you really asking me to betray her confidence?"
 
Jim burst out, "She's never talked to anyone about it, not to Honey, not to her brothers." The anger in his voice turned to pain and he whispered, "Not to me, she has never talked to me."
 
Tempest was ashamed. His jealousy of Jim was as strong as ever, but he couldn't bear the naked pain on Jim's face. He didn't know what to say, so when the tea kettle shrilled, it was a welcome interruption. He poured water over the tea bag and sat back down, waiting for what Jim had to say.
 
When Tempest was seated, breathing in the fragrance of the tea, Jim took a deep breath and said, "Sorry. I had no business saying that."
 
"It's OK." Tempest addressed his response to the soggy teabag he was fishing out of the mug.
 
Jim, in turn, spoke to his coffee cup. "So I guess you know all about it, what happened four years ago."
 
Yeah, I know you messed up, got yourself hurt and then made Trixie feel like it was her fault, thought Tempest, but he nodded impassively.
 
Jim continued to talk to his mug. "When I woke up in the hospital, her face was the first thing I saw. She cried, Trixie never cries, but she never talked about it, either, just kept telling me how glad she was that I was all right. I thought she needed time, I tried to give her space. She seemed OK, really she did. She has so much strength of character."
 
He looked up at Tempest, then glanced away. "She has always been so impulsive. She always rushed into danger. I was so scared she was going to get killed."
 
Jim’s eyes looked blind. Somehow Tempest knew Jim was seeing that hotel door, hearing the crash of the vase behind it, hearing the shouts. It was as clear in Tempest’s mind as if he'd been there himself.

“I would have broken the door down too,” Tempest said, knowing it was the truth. But I would never have made Trixie feel she needed my forgiveness.
 
Jim closed his eyes and a tear glistened briefly. “No, it was my stupid macho stunt that forced her to attack Jason, to protect my worthless neck. It’s my fault he’s in that hospital for the rest of his life. She can’t forgive that. Whenever I get close to her, when I think we can move on, I, I just remember that she had to practically kill a guy for my sake.”

"Sorry I took so long, I realized my stuff and Bob's would be too big, but Mart's shirt won't be too bad a fit." The cheeriness in Brian's voice as he came back in the kitchen holding a blue shirt triumphantly was almost an obscene contrast to Jim’s pain and guilt. “Let me have another look at those stitches.”
 
He stood and let Brian tilt his head to the light to examine the stitches, somehow knowing that behind him Jim was wiping his eyes and regaining his composure.  Tempest responded to Brian’s questions while his mind absorbed the shock. Jim didn’t blame Trixie, he blamed himself.

“I want you to take another day off.” Brian was saying. “You can’t risk falling on it again.”

Tempest protested to Brian, while he was telling himself that the grotesque misunderstanding between Trixie and Jim was none of his business. Jim had had four years and did nothing to resolve it.

“Look I know you are in training, but if you push it, you won’t make it to the Olympics at all.” Brian was insistent.

“If I feel bad tomorrow, I’ll take the morning off,” Tempest conceded.

The phone rang and Brian, who was looking rather grim, answered it as Tempest continued to rationalize to himself. I’ve known Trixie for two weeks and I can see in her forthright gaze that she would never hold a grudge, never. If Jim wasn’t able to see that, well, that’s just his tough luck.

“Yeah, he’s here, hold on,” Brian was saying. “Oh, OK, I’ll give him the message, but...”

Tempest risked a glance at Jim. He looked calm now. It’s not my fault if he misjudged Trixie, Tempest set his jaw.

Brian hung up and shrugged. “Tempest, that was Julie from Skate Connection. She said your coach is sending a cab to pick you up and take you the rink. I tried to tell her you’re staying here for the night, but she hung up on me.”

Tempest laughed shortly. “Yeah, that sounds like Julie. Thank you for the invitation, but I do need to get going.” Brian opened his mouth and Tempest hastily continued, “I won’t skate, but I need to talk to Ed. He can drive me back to the inn.”

There was a fair amount of useless conversation about rest and sleep and stuff, but Tempest was adamant. He had changed his shirt, promising to return it to Mart at the inn, and wiped the bloodstains from his neck, when a cab was pulling up behind Jim’s car. Brian disappeared to get Tempest’s jacket but Jim was still in the kitchen.

He looked wrung out, which was his own fault. Tempest’s throat was strangely tight. He wasn’t going to interfere. He was going to get in the cab and get back to his life, which he prayed would include the golden-haired girl he knew he’d fallen in love with. But somehow he found himself telling Jim in a quiet but steady voice, “Talk to her. Tell Trixie what you told me.”

 



Chapter 25

Tempest walked over to Jim's car and leaned in the open window.      
 
"Hi, Jim, actually I'm enjoying the walk, but thanks!" It was hard to sound cheery after what Trixie had just told him, but he thought he'd succeeded till Jim looked at him searchingly.    
 
"Sure you're OK?" It sounded like genuine concern in Jim's voice, but it was probably an auditory illusion.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, just out enjoying your countryside." Why did his voice sound so high? He lowered it and added firmly, "See you around."    
 
Jim accepted the hint. "OK, see you around."     
 
To confirm that he had never felt better in his life, Tempest waved jauntily, turned and took two brisk steps away from the car. Big mistake.          
 
Tempest Smith, World Figure Skating Champion, famed for his ability to land the toughest jumps, tripped over the fallen log he'd been sitting on and fell head first into the snow. Some cruel fate dictated that his bandaged jaw smash into a half hidden rock.       
 
Things were fuzzy for a little while after that, what with the pain shooting through his head and all. Someone was calling his name. The voice seemed awfully low, but he asked hopefully, "Trixie?" The voice said something garbled. It sounded like swearing, so he figured it wasn't Trixie.
 
"She still wants to be a detective," Tempest heard himself mutter. "She is just afraid someone will get hurt again."   
 
He heard another four letter word. His vision was clearing and he found himself looking up at a cloudy sky through some bare tree branches. He raised himself on one elbow and saw Jim Frayne crouching next to him, talking quietly on a cell phone. Jim finished the conversation and his cold green eyes narrowed when he saw Tempest sitting up, cautiously touching the bandage and trying not to wince.  
 
"That’s a bit of good luck, I have a friend who is a doctor and he’s home unexpectedly. Let me get you in the car. It looks you're bleeding again." Jim's speech was marked by a particular lack of graciousness and Tempest was glad to respond in kind.   
 
"Thanks, but I don't need a doctor, I'll be fine." Maybe his jaw smarted a bit, but there was no way Jim Frayne was gonna tell him what to do.   
 
Jim's stern look reminded him that Jim was a school principal. "Let me help you into the car."   
 
Tempest suspected he was fighting a losing battle, but he persevered, "My coach can get me to a doctor. He's staying at Glen Road Inn, too."   
 
"If you're talking about Ed Duggat, I just left him at police headquarters. He wanted to make sure the rink is safe for you now." Jim's tone implied that Tempest was either a baby or a prima donna.   
 
"Well, I guess he thinks you can't be too careful when you're about to go to the Olympics. It's an experience most people never have a chance at." Tempest still thought Jim had some nerve in his unforgiving attitude toward Trixie, but he couldn't help laughing to himself at their stupid verbal battle. Who said only women were catty?    
 
A anwering twinkle came into Jim's eyes and he relaxed slightly. "Just get in the damn car. I guess sitting next to an Olympian is as close as I'll ever get to the Olympics."   
 
Yielding to the inevitable, Tempest achieved a standing position unassisted, but had to lean rather heavily on Jim getting into the car. They were both silent on the drive. Jim seemed lost in thought. That was fine with Tempest. He wasn't really feeling up to making polite (or impolite) conversation.   
 
Jim pulled into a familiar driveway. "Crabapple Farm? What are we doing here?" Tempest was finding it difficult to articulate, as if he were drunk. There was something wet dripping down his neck, vaguely he realized he must have ripped his stitches. Oh. Maybe that's why he needed a doctor.   
 
Jim turned off the ignition. "My sister's fiance lives here. He's a doctor, well, a resident actually."    
 
Tempest never really remembered the next half hour very clearly. Things got kind of blurry until Tempest found himself sitting in a well lit bedroom while a dark haired stranger (who introduced himself as Brian Belden) added a few more stitches to the emergency room's handiwork.
 
When it was over, too tired to argue, he swallowed the tablets Brian offered. Obeying Brian's further instructions, he leaned back against some pillows, (when did he get in bed, he wondered groggily) and looked around the cozy room. Pine furniture, braided rugs, family photographs on the walls. "Thanks for the help," he murmured. "Could I borrow a phone to call my coach? He can come pick me up."      
 
Brian's response, "Jim left a message for him at the rink and the inn." echoed though his head. Tempest found by turning his head slightly he had an excellent view of a photograph of Trixie holding the bridle of a horse, and as the codeine in the Tylenol 3 took effect, he fell asleep.   
 
He was drifting through a dream where Trixie watched him skate through a pane of glass. She had tears on her cheeks, but she smiled at him.  He skated toward her and wiped the tears away, the glass having disappeared the way things so often do in dream. He was leaning forward to kiss her, when there was a flash of light and Julie Summers grabbed his shoulder and told him she needed his Tylenol. He couldn't deck a woman even in a dream, but he really wanted to. Trixie had disappeared, he had find her. Was that her voice down the hall? His head swam as he walked, but the voices were getting louder.
 
"Yes, he's asleep. You wanna wait here? Honey is coming by after she wraps things up with the police."  
 
"Seemed like a lot of blood, is he is really OK?"
 
"It looked worse than was. He'll be fine.”
 
Tempest frowned, he could hear Brian and Jim, but not Trixie.
 
"So what's the deal with Tempest Smith anyway?" That was Brian. "I got the distinct feeling Honey doesn't like him, but Bob keeps writing e-mails about how great he is."
 
"He's nice enough." Jim was the epitome of noncommittal. "So he'll be OK for the Olympics? You're not just trying to make my sis feel better?"
 
Thanks for the ringing endorsement. And yes, I'll be there for the Olympics, Tempest tried to tell Jim, but he couldn't force the words out.
 
"He's fine, just needs a little rest. Why does it matter to Honey?"
 
"She thinks she could have prevented all this. She didn't think violence was part of Guy Mitchell's MO. She talked with me for a long time last night. I'm glad you're home. She's feeling pretty guilty"   
 
"Honey feels guilty, Bob feels guilty, Trixie feels guilty. This place should be called Guiltyside, not Sleepyside." Tempest had reached the source of the voices, a large, brightly lit kitchen. Jim and Brian were sitting at a table, staring at him with identical expressions of shock. It would have been comical except that he realized he was not dreaming and he'd spoken out loud.

He gasped. "I am sorry, I was trying to wake up, I , I...was, um, looking for Trixie." Brian was next to him in a flash.   

"It's ok, Tempest, Trixie’s not here, she parked in the driveway, and then roared out a second later, must have forgotten something. Sorry we woke you up. I forgot you can hear everything from the kitchen in that guestroom! How are you ..."
 
Tempest didn’t give Brian a chance to finish his sentence, "I'm so sorry, I mean I'm fine, really much better. I, I better get going now."
 
Brian was shaking his head. "I want to keep an eye on you for a little while. Are you hungry? It's just the three of us right now but my fiance Honey is coming and I figure Trixie and Bob will come back anytime now. My mom had to run out and buy cornmeal, she should be back soon, too."
 
Trixie had a very kind brother. Tempest felt himself calming down, though he was both embarrassed at having eavesdropped on a private conversation and pissed at what Jim had said. He didn't relishing hangin' with Jim, but with his legs feeling like spaghetti, he knew he wasn’t going anywhere right away. And the news that Trixie would be coming any time was a powerful inducement
 
"Well, thanks. Thanks for everything, that's very nice of you. And thanks for stitching me up, I really do feel better." he said truthfully and more coherently.
 
"Great! Sit down, Would you like some juice or some coffee?"
 
Tempest was feeling a little better, but not well enough to drink coffee. "No thanks. Could I just have a glass of water, please?"
 
Jim finally spoke stiffly. "Tempest probably prefers tea, I'll put the kettle on."
 
Brian either didn't notice the tension in the room or chose to ignore it.  "Oh geez, I’ll get you a clean shirt. Hold on, I'll be right back."
 
Tempest glanced down at his shirt and saw it was pretty gory. "Thanks," he called.
 
Jim turned a burner on under the copper teakettle, took out a mug and draped a teabag in it. He was obviously quite at home here. There was a distinct and sudden chill in the kitchen.
 
Tempest looked at him levelly. "Something on your mind?"
 
"Yes, there is. Mind telling me why Trixie feels guilty?"
 
"If she doesn't feel comfortable confiding in you, I'm sure not going to." Tempest tried to sound as offensive as possible.
 
Apparently he was successful because Jim's eyes blazed. "Don't play games, Tempest. I've known Trixie a long time and I don't want her hurt."
 
Tempest laughed outright. "Well, you're about four years too late for that, pal."
 
Jim rose and Tempest followed suit.
 
"I think you better me what Trixie said." Jim spoke in a deadly whisper.
 
Jim was a good 5 inches taller, but Tempest was not intimidated, "Are you really asking me to betray her confidence?"
 
Jim burst out, "She's never talked to anyone about it, not to Honey, not to her brothers." The anger in his voice turned to pain and he whispered, "Not to me, she has never talked to me."
 
Tempest was ashamed. His jealousy of Jim was as strong as ever, but he couldn't bear the naked pain on Jim's face. He didn't know what to say, so when the tea kettle shrilled, it was a welcome interruption. He poured water over the tea bag and sat back down, waiting for what Jim had to say.
 
When Tempest was seated, breathing in the fragrance of the tea, Jim took a deep breath and said, "Sorry. I had no business saying that."
 
"It's OK." Tempest addressed his response to the soggy teabag he was fishing out of the mug.
 
Jim, in turn, spoke to his coffee cup. "So I guess you know all about it, what happened four years ago."
 
Yeah, I know you messed up, got yourself hurt and then made Trixie feel like it was her fault, thought Tempest, but he nodded impassively.
 
Jim continued to talk to his mug. "When I woke up in the hospital, her face was the first thing I saw. She cried, Trixie never cries, but she never talked about it, either, just kept telling me how glad she was that I was all right. I thought she needed time, I tried to give her space. She seemed OK, really she did. She has so much strength of character."
 
He looked up at Tempest, then glanced away. "She has always been so impulsive. She always rushed into danger. I was so scared she was going to get killed."
 
Jim’s eyes looked blind. Somehow Tempest knew Jim was seeing that hotel door, hearing the crash of the vase behind it, hearing the shouts. It was as clear in Tempest’s mind as if he'd been there himself.

“I would have broken the door down too,” Tempest said, knowing it was the truth. But I would never have made Trixie feel she needed my forgiveness.
 
Jim closed his eyes and a tear glistened briefly. “No, it was my stupid macho stunt that forced her to attack Jason, to protect my worthless neck. It’s my fault he’s in that hospital for the rest of his life. She can’t forgive that. Whenever I get close to her, when I think we can move on, I, I just remember that she had to practically kill a guy for my sake.”

"Sorry I took so long, I realized my stuff and Bob's would be too big, but Mart's shirt won't be too bad a fit." The cheeriness in Brian's voice as he came back in the kitchen holding a blue shirt triumphantly was almost an obscene contrast to Jim’s pain and guilt. “Let me have another look at those stitches.”
 
He stood and let Brian tilt his head to the light to examine the stitches, somehow knowing that behind him Jim was wiping his eyes and regaining his composure.  Tempest responded to Brian’s questions while his mind absorbed the shock. Jim didn’t blame Trixie, he blamed himself.

“I want you to take another day off.” Brian was saying. “You can’t risk falling on it again.”

Tempest protested to Brian, while he was telling himself that the grotesque misunderstanding between Trixie and Jim was none of his business. Jim had had four years and did nothing to resolve it.

“Look I know you are in training, but if you push it, you won’t make it to the Olympics at all.” Brian was insistent.

“If I feel bad tomorrow, I’ll take the morning off,” Tempest conceded.

The phone rang and Brian, who was looking rather grim, answered it as Tempest continued to rationalize to himself. I’ve known Trixie for two weeks and I can see in her forthright gaze that she would never hold a grudge, never. If Jim wasn’t able to see that, well, that’s just his tough luck.

“Yeah, he’s here, hold on,” Brian was saying. “Oh, OK, I’ll give him the message, but...”

Tempest risked a glance at Jim. He looked calm now. It’s not my fault if he misjudged Trixie, Tempest set his jaw.

Brian hung up and shrugged. “Tempest, that was Julie from Skate Connection. She said your coach is sending a cab to pick you up and take you the rink. I tried to tell her you’re staying here for the night, but she hung up on me.”

Tempest laughed shortly. “Yeah, that sounds like Julie. Thank you for the invitation, but I do need to get going.” Brian opened his mouth and Tempest hastily continued, “I won’t skate, but I need to talk to Ed. He can drive me back to the inn.”

There was a fair amount of useless conversation about rest and sleep and stuff, but Tempest was adamant. He had changed his shirt, promising to return it to Mart at the inn, and wiped the bloodstains from his neck, when a cab was pulling up behind Jim’s car. Brian disappeared to get Tempest’s jacket but Jim was still in the kitchen.

He looked wrung out, which was his own fault. Tempest’s throat was strangely tight. He wasn’t going to interfere. He was going to get in the cab and get back to his life, which he prayed would include the golden-haired girl he knew he’d fallen in love with. But somehow he found himself telling Jim in a quiet but steady voice, “Talk to her. Tell Trixie what you told me.”

 

Chapter 26

Bob tossed the remains of the bag and Tempest's sadly abused groceries onto the back seat and hastily fastened his seatbelt as Trixie roared back to Glen Road. After he had caught his breath and taken a brief moment to savor being with Trixie in action, he exclaimed, "Julie Summers! Wow! She was my original suspect, too! How did you figure that out?"

Trixie, driving fast but with care, explained, "I saw a Lytell's bag in Julie's office along with some aspirin and some maxipads, Mr. Lytell keeps those on the same shelf as the ink!"  Bob thought that over, and then spoke at the same time as Trixie.
 
"We better not jump to conclusions!" They laughed together. It felt good to be laughing with Trixie and it felt even better that she seemed to consider him her partner. Well, junior partner, anyway. Watson to her Sherlock. Shaggy to her Scooby.

"So how do we prove it?" Bob asked.
 
"Our first stop is Mr. Lytell's store, we find out if he remembers her."
 
"If she was there, he'll remember her," Bob said confidently. He pointed to his temple and spoke in a creaky voice, "I've run this store for nigh unto 100 years, Bobby Belden, It's all in here sonny, all in here."
 
Trixie laughed again, but when they'd entered the store, she was all business. Although Mr. Lytell was clearly not happy to see them for the third time in an hour, when they described Julie, they got a quite an earful about people who wear high heels to walk through snow, who don't bother to say thank you and who track dirty snow all over clean floors. Yep, Mr. Lytell remembered Julie Summers all right.

Mr. Lytell's brows were lowered and he was glowering so ferociously while muttering about people going in and out and never buying a thing that Bob hastily bought some Marshmallow Fluffies and a quart of milk. Then he dashed to follow Trixie who was already back in the car.

But she didn't start the ignition. She sat frowning at the steering wheel for a moment and this gave Bob time to realize granola bars are not very filling, and to rip open his cookies. He was abut to offer one to Trixie, but was stopped by her pensive look. Worried, he asked quietly, "You OK? I hope you don't mind, you know, what I said before."

She looked at him for a moment as if she had forgotten he was in the car. "Oh. No, that's OK. I'm OK. I have a lot to think about, but" and as she turned the key in the ignition, her voice became brisk and a little worried," Bob, If Julie was involved in the vandalism and no one suspects her ... well, we've got to stop her."

She paused as if to listen to her own words, shuddered slightly and rephrased her thoughts, "I mean we need to tell the police. That's what we need to do."

Bob was slightly disappointed, but he figured she was right. "So, are we off to the police station, then?" Bob asked just before he stuffed a Marshmallow Fluffie into his mouth.

Trixie didn't answer his question, instead she looked at him consideringly and when he'd swallowed, asked one of her own, "Why did you suspect Julie?"
 
Bob suddenly felt like he'd been called upon in class when he hadn't done his homework. He sat up straight and pulled his thoughts together.

"She had keys to the entire building, so it would be easy for her to sabotage everything. And we knew one of the perpetrators was a woman because one of the calls Amelia got was from a woman." That didn't sound like much to go on, so Bob added helpfully, "And she's really kind of a jerk."

Trixie was silent and he wished he could take back his unprofessional wisecrack. He tried to mend his fences, "Well, what I mean is, well, you have to be kind of mean to do stuff like that, don't you? And Julie seems kind of mean, you know?"

"It's OK to go with your instincts." Bob didn't know if she was reassuring him or herself as she continued, "I think sometimes our unconscious mind picks up clues, and that's really what we call instinct. You have to check and double check, of course. But lots of times you find your gut instinct is dead on." She seemed to come to a decision, and almost literally shook her pensive mood as she turned Mart's car into the Sleepyside civic parking lot.

"So  we're going to the police?" he said.
 
"No, not quite yet. Let’s do some checking first." The parking lot served the Sleepyside Library, the police department and the Town Hall. Trixie strode purposefully toward the attractive library which had recently expanded and remodeled with a rare minimum of civic fuss and strife. The additions had been so cleverly designed that the charm of the original building was retained. Bob, not particularly civic minded, had no time to reflect on this however, as Trixie was disappearing through the oak doors

He caught up with her in the reference section, which had formerly been in the basement. It was now a spacious, well lit area in the center of the first floor. Trixie passed the reference desk, and beckoned to Bob. "There's an Internet terminal available, can you do a search on Julie Summers? I'm going to start with a periodicals search. Then I'll try the Internet, too."
 
"Right, Trix!" Bob nodded briskly. He sat down, then ran his hand through his hair and asked sheepishly, "Um, what are we looking for?"

"As you said, Julie had the means and opportunity, and she seems to have the character, or lack of thereof," Trixie was pulling off her coat as she laughed dryly. "The stolen ink connects her to one of the incidents. But it would be nice if we could figure out why. So we're looking for motive."

"I thought the motive was to get Mr. Lynch to sell out!" he said to her retreating back. He sighed, pulled off his coat, and got down to work.
 
He was scowling at a Google search result page when the quiet of the library was broken by a lot of kid-type noises. He looked up and saw Dan's girlfriend Jennifer leading a line of 5 year olds dressed in pajamas to the circulation desk. She was wearing pajamas too, flannel ones, the kind with feet and her red hair was done up in two long pigtails. She caught his eye and came right over to him, apparently not at all embarrassed to be looking like a giant preschool kid. "Hi Bob, finding what you need OK?"

Her pajamas had little monkeys and bananas all over them. She was wearing Curious George earrings too.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, kind of. Well, no. Not really. I mean, I've got 2000 results here, but none of them are what I need."

She must have noticed he kept looking at her jammies because she explained, "I just finished preschool storytime, our theme today was sweet dreams. Maybe I can help you, what are you looking for?"
 
He told her and she raised one eyebrow, but made no comment. She picked up a heavy reference book, hunted through the index, then found the page she was looking for. "There are two organizations that may have information on someone involved in skating. They both have websites, the United States Figure Skating Association, and the Canadian Figure Skating Association."
 
She pointed to their URLs. "They may have searchable records on line, at the very least they will have links to sites that may give you more information on her." She glanced over her shoulder and one of her pigtails slapped his face. "Whoops, gotta go, looks like someone needs help, good luck, Bob!"

"Thanks," he murmured, already keying in the first URL. He'd found something, he wasn't sure quite what, when Trixie came back.

"How are you doing?" she asked.
 
For answer, he shrugged and pointed his monitor displaying a list of Canadian novice pairs competitors from 20 years ago. "I don't know, I found out she's a former skater herself. She was a pairs skater and was in second place three times. But that was when she was a kid."
 
Trixie leaned over his shoulder and scanned the names. She gave a low whistle, hastily cutting it off when she remembered she was in the library. "Whoa, Bob! Good work! Can we say motive?"
 
He started to admit Jennifer had helped him and then interrupted himself, "Motive? Where? What motive do you see? I mean, so what, she skated, we probably could have guessed that."

"Look who beat her and her partner three years in a row. Tina and Ed Duggat!" She looked at the page again. "Hmm and she had a different partner each year. This is fitting together!"
 
"Duggat? You mean Tempest's coach? But that can't have anything to do with Skate Connection! Even if it’s the same guy, that was 20 years ago!"
 
Looking rather smug, she showed him a piece of paper. It was hard to read, and he looked up. "What's this? I can barely read it.

She shook her head and laughed a little. "I am getting the idea that skating fans are a little weird. I printed this just now from a website I found. It's a newsletter from a skating club in Ontario. Some guy had all the issues for like fifteen years scanned in on his website. Look at the column called, 'Change your partners? Do si NO!'"
 
Bob focused on the blurred page, read silently and then found his lips puckered up to whistle as well. "So, twenty odd years ago, she told everyone she was auditioning with Ed Duggat and a month later, it was reported that he was still planning to skate with his sister. So her motive is revenge? Over something that happened when she was what, about 14?" Bob was very skeptical.

"Maybe she saw an opportunity to screw him when he came here to work with Tempest," Trixie said, folding the paper and stuffing it in her purse. "Maybe she just wanted to annoy him, distract him. Maybe Marge Williams and Guy Mitchell didn't even know about her."

Brother and sister were silent a moment and then again, they spoke in unison.

"But we better not jump to conclusions!"

"Right, so now our next step is to track down Ed I’ll bet he is at the rink!” Without waiting for Trixie answer, Bob started toward the exit. He was moving pretty fast and almost knocked over a small boy running past them, pursued by a woman with a baby stroller, diaper bag and a harassed expression.
 
"I'm so sorry," she whispered to them, all but cringing with embarrassment, as she caught hold of the boy's hand. The boy wailed, “I want Peter Rabbit, I want Peter Rabbit!"

The lady's harassed expression deepened. "Shh. Cameron. Use your library voice,” she whispered. “We have gotten Peter Rabbit so many times, I thought'd you'd like something different." She saw she was fighting a losing battle and as his mouth open to produce another ear splitting howl, she surrendered, "OK, OK, If you really want it that badly, I am sure Miss Jennifer can find it for us."

 The little boy, suddenly all smiles, thanked her sweetly and chanted softly, "Peter Rabbit Peter Rabbit Peter Rabbit," as she led him away, smiling apologetically at Trixie and Bob.

Temporarily distracted, Bob said out of the side of his mouth, "Geez, what an incredible brat!" and then wondered at Trixie's suddenly clenched teeth and fixed expression.
 
He was about to ask what was her problem when he overheard a man at the reference desk saying to the librarian, "I wonder if you can help me, I am trying to track down a phone number of a farm. It's called Crabapple Farm. I tried the phone book, but it doesn't seem to be listed, at least I couldn't find it."
 
“Crabapple Farm!” Bob exclaimed involuntarily, too loud for the library. The man turned around and Bob gasped. “Speak of the devil! It’s Ed Duggat!”

Bob had not really seen much of him yesterday, but he saw now a tall, greying man with steady eyes focused on Trixie and anxiety in his voice. “Ms. Belden, Trixie. I’ve been trying to reach your home, I must have written your phone number down wrong. Is he all right? How badly is he hurt? Tempest would never cancel a practice, unless it was really bad.”

Bob was baffled and he looked to Trixie for guidance. He was just in time to see every drop of blood drain from her face as she asked, “Something happened to Tempest?”

 

Chapter 27

Jim rushes up to Trixie as she is studying. He pulls the book away from her and speaks:   
 
"Trixie, Trixie, Trixie!" (Tempest wonders why Jim is talking like Cary Grant in his dream but Jim continues his bad impersonation.) "Tempest, that great guy, tells me we have a bit of a misunderstanding going on. Now don't your worry your pretty little head any more. It was my fault. I was a cad, a bounder, but Tempest helped me see the light. (What a great guy he is!) and now I beg your forgiveness. Tell me you forgive me, baby, and give me a kiss"
 
Trixie seems transfixed by Jim. "Oh Jim, you are right, I have been a fool! Tempest really is a great guy! Did you notice how handsome he is too? I must go to him at once!"

She stands and turns, but Jim pulled her back to him like she is a trout he was trying to land.   

"But Trixie, baby, what about me? Don't you forgive me? Don't you love me?"
 
Trixie turns and looks up at Jim with those amazing eyes, "Jim, I have always loved you . You are the redheaded brother I never had!" She stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, wiggles her fingers goodbye, and goes off in search of the handsome great guy Tempest.

"Hey, Buddy, wake up! We're here!" Tempest opened his eyes. The taxi driver who was mumbling through a mouthful of pink bubble gum, "Hey, if you're gonna play some hockey, you're outta luck. Power's been out on this side of town about an hour. I saw the accident, car hits a pole, Bang! Brings down a whole bunch of electrical lines." He blew a bubble, popped it, then added,  "The jerk was lucky he wasn't fried!"  
 
Still half asleep, Tempest paid the fare and told himself that being in love was having a detrimental effect on his dreams. Trixie clearly had strong feelings for Jim, but he couldn't help hoping it was sisterly or a childhood crush never resolved. He was probably stupid for giving Jim advice, but how could he let Trixie go on thinking it was her fault? Jim was the only one who could make her see the truth. He hoped after they talked, she would feel free to explore other romantic possibilities. Such as himself.

Shivering, he turned to go inside and almost bumped into Heather and Rosetta.
  
 
"Hi Tempest, can we have your cab? The power's supposed to be out another hour or so and the police still need to finish their investigation, and all the chairs still haven't been put away, so I think we’re going to take the afternoon off."

"But Heather, Tempest isn't taking the afternoon off."  Rosetta was obviously continuing an argument. His glance at Heather's exasperated expression confirmed it had been going on for quite some time.

He said quickly, "Sorry Rosita, not even Michelle Kwan skates in the dark! I'm just meeting Ed here and then we're out of here too. See you guys later!"

He held the cab door for them and Rosita expressed her appraciation by sticking her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture and she laughed.

Skate Connection was deserted. As he walked through the lobby, the power came back on with a hum. Maybe it was an good luck omen. He wandered over the figure skating rink to wait for Ed.

Even with the power back on, one bank of the overhead lights was still dark, perhaps a fuse had blown. A lone female skater, obviously tired of waiting, skated out in the dim purplish light. Tempest leaned on the boards watching her, idly noting that she had beautiful flowing edges, soft knees and pretty upper body movements. Her face was in shadow and he wondered who she was.

He was almost never cold in a rink, but he shivered again. There was something a little creepy about seeing the silhouette of the nameless skater doing a fast, tight sit spin. The small amount of daylight coming in from the windows up near the roof was fading fast. There were a jumble of folding chairs around the circumference of the rink, pushed carelessly behind the boards. The infamous light standards from the show were still set up. Maybe he could turn one on.
 
There was a stepladder near by and he pulled it over. A moment later he was puzzling over what he'd found. Tempest had inherited exactly zero of his father's mechanical aptitude, so he couldn't be sure, but he thought maybe this thingamajig here didn't belong on the light. This wasn't the set of lights that had exploded though. Had Guy put one of these on each light? Tempest touched his jaw, which was still sore, reflecting on how lucky they'd been.

"Tempest Smith!" Someone with a voice like a brass gong yelled his name. He nearly fell off the stepladder, then groaned. Was it Friday the thirteenth? Did he break a mirror, or let a black cat cross his path? Because his day had been pretty crummy so far and now Julie Summers was calling him.   

"Tempest Smith!" She was calling from the boards and his annoyance was forgotten as he realized she was the mysterious skater. He walked over to her, "Wow, Julie, that was great!"   
 
"Thank you, Tempest Smith. You sound surprised," she said primly.

He was surprised. On skates, her soft, gentle movements were a complete contrast to her usual aggressive stride, brusque movements and general air of tension. Right now, half in shadows, she looked more relaxed than he had ever seen her   
 
"I didn't realize you had been an elite skater." He apologized, "I'm not as up on skating history as I should be."    

"Oh, well, no, Tempest, you don't have to search the ancient history books,  I skated Novice and Juniors, but never Seniors."   

Her voice was as hard and brittle as glass and he tried to correct his mistake. "Really? You could have skated seniors, I can see that!" This was not BS, he could tell she had a innate talent for the sport. "Did you decide to go pro?"    

She pushed away from the boards and did a shaky Charlotte, a old move that had been revived by Michelle Kwan a couple of years ago. Julie did it pretty darn well for a forty year old woman. She glided back to lean on the boards and answered his question as if there had been no pause in the conversation.

"Well, I took a break from skating, so to speak." She laughed at a private thought and her mouth twisted oddly as she asked, "So you think I could have made it as a senior, Tempest Smith? Would you like to have been my partner?" 
 
This was a weird conversation. If it wasn't Friday the thirteenth, maybe there was a full moon. He tried to respond normally."Oh, you skated pairs? Sure, anyone would be lucky to have you as a partner. Of course, I am too short for pairs."   

"Oh, you're short but you’re strong. You could handle me. I am very small and light. I can still wear my costumes from when I was fifteen. I haven't gained an ounce." She leaned over the boards and tapped the bandage on his face with a sharp, polished fingernail. "Do you know how to do a death spiral?"   

He stepped back. "Well, not a good one, but sure, you know how it is, I've messed around with some of my friends."   
 
She grabbed his hand in an iron grip. "Let's do one now!"     

This was getting a little too weird. He extracted his hand gently and pointed out, "I don't have my skates, but maybe some other time, eh?"   

"What kind of skater are you, being at a rink without your skates?" She laughed softly and answered her own question, "Well, let's see, Tempest Smith is hard working, a role model, a world champion, there’s not even any nasty gossip about him. At least that's what the million articles about you say, Tempest Smith."

She drew his name out mockingly, and he'd had enough. "Well, I guess Ed got delayed. I better get going."  

She skated backwards slowly, her hands behind her back in a little girl pose and her voice drifted across the ice. "Ah yes, Ed Duggat. I forgot one of your numerous virtues, Tempest, loyalty. You gave quite a performance at the press conference the other day. Do you think he would stand up for you, if you were in trouble?"   
 
He turned to see her skating toward the boards again, at the last minute doing a hockey stop that sprayed snow all over the boards. "He wouldn't, you know. He's a coward at heart."   

His dream where he wanted to punch Julie suddenly came back to him. He was shocked to find his hands in fists and hastily uncurled them.  "Good bye, Julie."    
 
"Wait, Tempest Smith, wait! I have something to show you." She darted away from him across the rink and called over her shoulder, "I found something the police don't know."   
  
His patience was at an end. "Then tell the police, for crying out loud, Julie.    
 
"No wait!" Her voice was suddenly pleading. "I, I need your help. I mean you are loyal and fair, too. I shouldn't have joked about that, but I'm scared. Please?"

He swore to himself. She was at the far side of the rink right next to the Zamboni. It was easier to walk across the ice than weave his way around all the chairs and lights that were still behind the boards. When he reached her, not bothering to hide his impatience, he asked bluntly, "What is it?"

She had her back to him, but she turned at that and said, "It's this! Do you like it?"

He stopped. His heart stopped. His mind stopped. She was holding a pistol aimed at his chest.

"No gold medal for you, Tempest Smith," Her voice usually so sharp was like melted butter now, "It's nothing against you personally, but Ed Duggat must never win an Olympic gold."   

He stared at the gun. He thought of his dad, thought of Trixie. Every muscle screamed for action, but he retained just enough sense to stay completely still.   

Julie was talking, "If I can't have a gold medal, he certainly can’t, that's only fair. I was a better skater than Tina, for one thing she was huge! You say you are too short, well, she was too tall, and heavy, too, a complete cow. She knew it, the media knew it, he did too, but he wouldn't even let me audition for him. If he had, he'd have a gold medal today and so would I. Did you ever meet her?"
 
Tempest was afraid to move and afraid not to answer her. The pistol was unwavering. He spoke hoarsely "No, I never met Tina, she died a few years before I started working with Ed."   

"Oh, well, you must know she completely choked at the Olympics. It was a miracle they got the silver at Worlds the next month. She wouldn't have died, if she'd given up skating. Still, I was glad when she did, because I knew Ed would quit skating. He was out of it for a good ten years, he was washed up. But then I heard he was coaching some red hot gold medal prospect. I was sick, just sick."  
 
Tempest unfroze enough to step back away from that gun, and her mouth tightened. "I hope you know I will shoot. Why don't you have a seat on the boards? Make yourself comfortable."

She kept the pistol trained on him as he raised himself up onto the boards, a precarious perch. Then she glided forward till the barrel of the gun was touching his knee. His mouth went dry.
 
"There, you won't try anything stupid, now, will you?" She smiled. "Where was I? Oh yes, when you won the World Championships last year, I barfed until I was throwing up blood. But what a stroke of luck when you came here to train. I knew this was my chance to keep him from the Olympic gold."

She was relaxed again, all except for the manicured hand holding the gun. "I don't want to kill you, you  know, just keep you out of the Olympics. Just incapacitate you a little. Just keep Mr. Ed Duggat from getting that Olympic gold. A hole right through your knee will accomplish that nicely." She slowly ran the gun up his thigh and back down to his knee and laughed when he shuddered.
 
Her finger was on the trigger. If he ducked or kicked her, the gun would go off. He knew he should try to talk her out of her plan, but his mouth was so dry he couldn't get any words out. He couldn't keep from shuddering again and at that moment saw a quick movement across the rink and a flash of blond hair.
 
He thought he couldn't be more scared, but found out that wasn't true. He knew it was Trixie. She was standing on the stepladder, doing something to the lights. She didn't look at him, but somehow he knew she wanted him keep Julie talking. Tempest could feel the gun through his jeans. He forced the specter of a shattered kneecap from his mind.
 
"You know, I could just pull out of the Olympics. If you shoot me, you'll go to prison."

This time she threw back her head and laughed till the rafters swallowed the jangly sound. "Tempest, you are so stupid. Haven't you figured it out? I... am.... insane. DUH!   Yep, been in and out of Shady Acres for years. I won't be put in any prison! Just locked away in some mental institution again. It would have been nice to avoid it, but, I've never really been concerned about punishment."

Cold sweat rolled down his back as he said, "Look if the choice is for you to shoot me or I pull out, I'll pull out. Or I'll fire Ed."

Smoke was suddenly pouring from the light. Trixie was climbing down from another one, then moved out of his sight. He didn't dare turn his head, but he was as afraid for her as he was for himself.
 
"That is a very kind offer, Tempest Smith, but no thanks. No offense, but I don't really trust you. Anyway, I think I will enjoy Ed's guilt when he sees you crippled because of him." Her back was to the smoke now drifting across the arena from several of the lights.
 
Julie stopped talking. The gun was pressing harder into his knee. He bit his lip in an effort to keep from panicking.

"You sure had everyone fooled," his voice was thready, trying to buy time, hoping this was what Trixie wanted him to do. "The police think Guy Mitchell and Marge Williams were behind everything."
 
"Well, they were, I just know an opportunity when I see one, that's all. It was pretty easy to figure out Guy was behind all the stupid shenanigans. He's not exactly CIA material. I offered mommy in law a deal she couldn't resist; I let her continue her little game, even helped her, for a cut of Skate Connection. Mr. Lynch was already suspicious, hiring Mart Belden as a spy, like he was gonna help! But my charming little contributions like the ink and Rosita's skates confused everyone! Oh, and the best part! The leak to the press about Ed's depravity, that was sweet!" Julie's laugh rang out like silver bells. "It was almost too easy. My little fireworks display should have taken you out, you know."
 
The smoke was getting heavier. It swirled and billowed and made the light even dimmer, but Julie didn't seem to notice. Her heavily made up eyes were on his face, drinking in his fear. As she rubbed the pistol up and down his leg again, he felt, rather than heard someone moving behind him. Trixie must have crawled around the rink behind the boards. He was praying now.
 
Julie sighed . "But it wasn't meant to be. So, back to the funny farm for me and I guess you'll be spending some time in the hospital." Tempest saw her face change, saw her make the decision to shoot. He had to attack. Maybe he would get lucky.
 
As he tensed, Julie finally noticed the smoke. "What the hell is that?" she exclaimed. She turned slightly and Tempest slammed both feet into her chest and fell to the ice. She toppled back into the smoke. He couldn't see the gun. He couldn’t see Julie. Smoke was everywhere, but he could just make out Trixie's blond curls next to him, and he lifted her. It seemed unromantic to notice she seemed much heavier than she looked,   as he heaved her over the boards and jumped over after her, but a split second later this stupid thought was wiped out as he fell face first on the cement floor. A gunshot exploded next to his ear. The boards next to them splintered. Trixie was struggling, but he held her down with all his strength. His ears were ringing, so he must have imagined an indignant male voice saying, "Let me go!" He whispered, "Trixie?" Then everything went black.

Chapter 28

The last rays of the winter sun shining through the skylight illuminated Julie as if she were standing in a spotlight. It caught the sequins on her elaborate skating costume and made them sparkle, it shone on her silver blades and made them glow. From her small white skates to her pristine hair and makeup, she looked like the ice princess from a little girl's dream. But it was no dream, nor even a nightmare. Julie Summers was holding a small pistol aimed at Tempest's heart. This was ugly and it was real.   

They were standing at the far end of the rink, no one could approach her without being seen, no one could tackle her without the gun going off and hitting Tempest point blank. Trixie and Bob were standing in the shadows near the entrance to the figure skating rink. Tempest met Julie's eyes unflinchingly. His chin was up slightly, the muscles in his neck stood looked taut, but he was speaking calmly to Julie.   

Good, thought Trixie, Keep talking, Tempest. We're going to help you.  She nodded to Bob, and he gave her a wide eyed look, then his fright in his face turned to resolve. Moving with exquisite care, he dropped to his knees. Trixie swallowed as her youngest brother crawled slowly through a jungle of chairs and disappeared around the corner.    

Scarcely breathing, Trixie climbed the stepladder. She prayed that Guy had been telling the truth to the police and that her deductions were correct. The unease she'd felt ever since they ran into Ed at the library (was it only a half hour ago?) had deepened into black, icy fear, but she forced her cold hands to grope for a switch she wasn't even sure was there, every minute expecting to hear the blast of a gunshot. Just as she was thinking in despair she needed another plan, she felt a switch move and she sighed with silent relief as a puff of mist rewarded her effort. Guy had told the truth, it was just supposed to be special effects mist.   

The first part of her plan was working but there was no time to waste. Keeping to the shadows, she moved to the next light. She risked a glance at Tempest and Julie and froze. Tempest was now sitting on the boards.  She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out with fear. Julie had the gun only inches from Tempest's knee. Her voice floated across the ice. "I don't want to kill you, you  know, just keep you out of the Olympics. Just incapacitate you a little. Just keep Mr. Ed Duggat from getting that Olympic gold. A hole right through your knee will accomplish that nicely."    

Trixie fought back a sob of horror. Tempest's eyes were riveted on the gun, but his voice did not waver as he told Julie, "You know, I could just pull out of the Olympics. If you shoot me, you'll go to prison."   

She encouraged him silently as she crept to the next light. That's right Tempest,   you'll be fine, you're doing great. She couldn't see Bob, but she knew he was crawling back behind the boards toward Tempest. When would he be in place? Were the police on the way? Ed had called them as soon as they realized Tempest was in danger.   They'd persuaded him that his appearance could cause push Julie closer to violent action, and he agreed to stay out of sight, evacuate the few people at Skate Connection right now, and to meet the police.

Julie was laughing, now. Oh God, if that pistol went off... Trixie felt hysteria rising up in her throat as she remembered the crowds cheering Tempest, rising to their feet for him in this rink just 24 hours ago. Stop that, she told herself fiercely. Just get the job done.  She started the mist machine on the fourth light mad looked around. She would be in Julie's peripheral vision if she tried any more. But the things had worked better than she'd hoped. They were producing a thick mist that was drifting across the rink toward Julie and Tempest. It would probably not last long. There was no time to hesitate. Setting her jaw, Trixie stepped firmly on the ice.


Too firmly. In spite of her caution, Trixie's foot slipped on the ice and she gasped, flailing her arms, struggling to remain upright and silent at the same time.  She expected Julie to turn, even fire, but Julie, absorbed in tormenting Tempest, was unaware of the mist and of the girl moving ever closer.  Step by step, only half camouflaged by the billowing mist Trixie moved forward. Julie was looking up at Tempest, drinking in his fear, when she caught sight of the mist. She twitched her head back and in the same instant, Tempest raised his feet and shoved her backwards. He slipped forward, his back slamming onto the ice.

Julie fell too. The mist swallowed her but before she disappeared, Trixie saw the gun in her hand. A second later she felt her whole body jerk as the blast of the pistol rang out close by. She knew she wasn't hurt. But what about Tempest?   

Julie suddenly materialized in front of her and her eyes reflected shock at the sight of Trixie. Taking full advantage of her surprise, Trixie kicked the pistol from Julie's hand, then applied her fist with all her strength to Julie's jaw. The momentum from her blow carried both women to the ice and they slid into the boards.

The gun was only a few feet away. Julie scrambled after it, then let out an enraged screech as Trixie grabbed her legs. She kicked out violently and Trixie cried out in pain as the sharp blade of Julie's skate sliced across her palm. She had to let go and Julie squirmed out of reach, crawling toward the gun. In a moment she vanished as the mist closed around her.   

Trixie was disoriented. Where were the boards? Where was Tempest? Was he laying on the ice in a puddle of real blood? Oh God, and where was Bobby? He was supposed to get Tempest out of the way. Frantic, she groped about blindly and by sheer good luck, touched the boards. She pulled herself to her feet, only vaguely noticing the red handprints she was leaving. Her breath was coming in harsh gasps, but under the sound of her breathing and her heartbeat, she heard a scratching sound, Julie's blades on the ice.  

Grimly, Trixie followed the sound. She cursed her clumsiness on the ice, her boots were slipping and skidding every few steps. The mist was dissipating, now, and she saw Julie gliding slowly and easily, peering over the boards, the gun still in her hand. The feathers at the neck of her costume fluttered gently and there was a brilliant smile on her face.  She was approaching the gate in front of the Zamboni. It stood behind the boards, large and solid and looking oddly normal, decorated with prosaic advertisements for hockey gear.

Suddenly Tempest's curly head appeared over the hood of the Zamboni. Without a moment's hesitation, Julie raised her gun and cooed, "I'm really going to enjoy this, Tempest Smith! Give my regards to Ed."  Everything seemed to happen at once. Trixie yelled, knowing she couldn't possibly reach Julie in time, hoping to distract Julie's aim, as she dove forward in desperation.

In the same split second, the gate in front of the zamboni burst open, and knocked Julie backwards. The gun went off as she slammed back into Trixie. Trixie's feet flew out from under her. She was flat on her back, Julie was on top of her, the air was still throbbing with the echo of the gunshot. The gun clattered to the ice and suddenly Bobby was there, diving for it, tripping, skidding, sliding away from the two women now fighting in earnest.

Julie raised sharp nails to Trixie's face. Trixie knocked her arm away with her elbow and jerked her upright. Julie clamped strong fingers around Trixie's throat. Trixie couldn't pry them away so she raised her hands up to grip Julie's hair and yanked hard. Julie screamed, but her fingernails kept digging into her flesh. Trixie felt a growl coming from her own throat and she slammed Julie's head sideways into the boards. The fight suddenly went out of Julie and she slumped against the boards, her eyes dull, sweat and make up running down her face. "It's just not fair." she murmured. "All I ever wanted to do was stand on the podium."   

Trixie heard herself saying softly, "It's ok, Julie, you'll be ok." A moment later she realized how stupid that sounded. The rink was silent for a moment. A last tendril of mist floated up to the ceiling. As Trixie watched it rise, she saw Tempest moving  unsteadily toward her. There was seemed to be blood on his face and shirt, but he looked at her solemnly and said "You are an amazing woman, Trixie Belden."   

He took a step forward, his hand outstretched, when the cavalry arrived. There were people everywhere. Ed Duggat rushed past her calling Tempest's name. Uniformed cops, firearms drawn, barked orders at Julie, "Lie down, LIE DOWN!" As Julie complied, looking utterly defeated in her tattered costume, more cops crowded around, a few having trouble keeping their balance on the slippery surface. Trixie sat down on the ice very suddenly. She couldn't see Tempest. And where was Bob?  A female officer about her age was talking to her, "Miss, Miss, do you need medical assistance?"

"My brother, he was here, where is he?" Before the officer could answer her, someone crouched beside her, thank God, it was Bobby.

"Bobby, are you ok?" she gasped. "That shot went wild..."    

"It's ok, I'm fine, Trix, I'm fine. I'm all in one piece." It felt strange to have her little brother reassuring her, but she sighed with relief that he was unhurt.

"I'm not sure your sister is though," an unsteady, familiar voice spoke. A strong hand lifted her bleeding palm gently then clamped a cloth down hard on her wound. A moment later Jim pressed a kiss on her wrist. His other arm slipped gently around her waist. Trixie leaned against Jim's strong shoulder and stifled a groan as the cut started throbbing. The rink was getting darker, her bones seemed liquid. Was she fainting?    

"No way," she said forcefully and tried to stand. She was puzzled when her efforts failed, maybe it was because she was shaking, with cold, of course.

"No way is right. Let's get you out of here." Jim's voice was also shaking, but he slipped one arm under her knees, the other supported her back as he lifted her gently. She was a strong, independent woman, and she would resist this babyish, not to mention chauvinistic, treatment in a moment, but for just for a second, she  would relax against his warm body as he carried her off the ice.   

They reached the lobby, the brighter lights there making her blink "Here's a patient for you, Doc." She heard Jim say. Her head was clearing and she squirmed from Jim's grasp to throw her arms around Brian, then Honey. 

"Whoa," he exclaimed, "I guess I don't have to worry about you too much! But sit down, and tell me is, this the only place you're leaking?"   

"I'm not hurt, Brian, not much, honest." she assured them, feeling stronger by the minute.   

He guided her gently into a chair and started to examine her cut, "Feels like old times. Police swarming, criminals arrested, wrongs righted." A flash of pain shot through her hand and she couldn't quite hide her wince. Brian's dark eyes hardened, but he continued speaking lightly, as he pulled a bandage tight. "I've missed doctoring the Bob Whites."   

"Yep, my twin is back in business, which means Dr. Belden doesn't get a vacation." Twin? Only one person called her that. She whirled and Mart, appearing from nowhere, hugged her tight.   

She hugged him back while bombarding him with questions: "What are you doing here? How did you get here, I have your car, where did Tempest go? I think he was hurt..."    

"Relax, Trix, he's fine, look, he's already talking to the police. Telling them that you and Bob saved his life."   

Anxiety warred with relief, "Did we? Are you sure? Is he ok? I saw Julie fire at him. I saw blood..."   

Jim stirred slightly as Mart answered, "See for yourself, Tempest is right over there, clad in an amazingly attractive and strangely familiar shirt."


He gestured, and as the crowd shifted, she saw Tempest. He was talking to a police detective and looked exhausted and stiff, but ok. As if he felt her gaze, he looked up. Jim put his arm back around her waist and said to Brian, "Well, is everything alright with our intrepid Trixie?"   

She was still watching Tempest and didn't hear Brian's response. Tempest's expression was strangely bleak in spite of his smile. He made a move as if to walk over to her, but a older man with curly gray hair pushed through the growing crowd in the lobby. Tempest's face lit up as the man drew him into a fierce hug. Trixie saw Tempest close his eyes, almost could hear him say, "I'm ok, Dad," as the man rumpled his hair and held him even closer.   

"His Dad, Bill Smith. Nice guy. Looks just like him, huh?" said Mart, answering her unspoken thought. "He flies in from Vancouver about an hour ago, arrives at Glen Road Inn, can't find Tempest, can't find Ed, so I commandeer the catering van and brought him over here. Poor guy nearly had a heart attack what will all the cops around and all. We missed all the fireworks, but maybe that was a good thing, eh? I guess we'll read all about in the paper. Don't look now because here comes the fourth estate, headed by Paul Trent." 
 
Jim's arm tightened protectively around Trixie and his lips brushed her ear as he whispered, "This just in: Trixie Belden's back in town."

To Be Continued

Trixie Belden Fan Fiction