e-mail the author

* according to the author

Author's Note: While it's not particularly necessary to have read Have You Seen This Child?, it may help clarify one or two small matters, such as the history of Anne Maypenny and the status of the various romantic relationships of the BWGs. Basically, at this point, Mart and Diana are 'going steady', Brian and Honey have yet to actually go out on a solo date, Dan's been giving Anne time to adjust to her new life as a Maypenny and Jim is still giving Trixie the proverbial 'fond look'. Also, note that Anne's experimental operation was performed in April. Her cousin, David Maypenny, donated the necessary tissues and the tissue transplant is considered, so far, a moderate success. Her doctors are cautiously optimistic.

I know, I know. Knut's older than Cap. But I see Cap as being taller. It could happen! Oh - and Knut is pronounced ka-NOOT. I have it on good authority from a woman from Minnesota. Knutson was her last name, so there. : P

Special thanks go to Lynn, who's been editing above and beyond the call of duty. Not only is she pointing out areas of possible confusion, she's been giving me superb medical info. J

The .001% Solution

by Shana

 

Prologue

Sleepyside First National Bank
Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, New York
Monday, 2:15 p.m.

Lisa Hencey tapped her favorite pen against her desk, trying her best to think. If she had to choose, who would she rather be shipwrecked with on a deserted island? Gilligan, the Professor or Mr. Howell?

The answer was terribly important. After all, this was a Cosmo Quiz designed to predict her Perfect Mate. Did she want a comic, a scientist or a millionaire for the rest of her life?

She supposed a comic was out. You could always get laughs from a sitcom. A scientist, she supposed, too, would think too much and expect her to do the same, so she crossed him out, as well. That leaves Mr. Howell, she realized, circling the answer in her magazine. Hm. I always did like money. Guess it's good that I work in a bank.

She glanced up from her folded magazine and took a quick look around the bank lobby. Lisa's desk sat in front of the branch manager's office, blocking access and giving her a clear view of the entire room. To her left were the tellers, behind them the drive-through window. Behind Lisa to the left was the vault and the safety deposit boxes. Behind her to the right was the employee break room. To her right and facing the tellers were the other bank officers' offices. In the middle were several comfortable chairs, small tables, a coffee service, bank slips and supplies, and straight across from her were the glass entrance doors. There were no customers, the only sounds the occasional whisper of someone counting money, a ping! from someone's computer terminal, the ka-THUNK of the time clock in the break room and Lisa herself, tapping her pen.

She was about to return her attention to the quiz when the front doors opened. Lisa immediately recognized Mrs. Vanderpoel, a down-the-street neighbor of her Aunt and Uncle's, in her trademark 'go to town' suit. She smiled a friendly greeting but the older woman paid no attention. She simply headed straight for the first teller window.

Lisa watched idly as Theresa McKinney, the teller for that window, greeted Mrs. Vanderpoel, who was digging into her large brown shoulder bag. In a moment, the older woman produced a sheaf of papers. From the distance, Lisa thought maybe they were bank statements.

Mrs. Vanderpoel handed Theresa the papers and began speaking urgently to her. After several minutes of back and forth conversation, Theresa left the window and went to speak to the Head Teller, Rose Dugan. Rose and Theresa then spent another several minutes speaking to Mrs. Vanderpoel.

Lisa tried to overhear their conversation, rationalizing that it was the only thing to do that June afternoon. The minutes ticked by, and then Rose left Theresa and Mrs. Vanderpoel and headed straight for Lisa's desk.

"He's in, right?" Rose asked.

"Of course he is," Lisa replied. "You need him for this?"

"Oh, yeah," Rose said with a roll of her eyes. "If he can't handle Mrs. V, no one can."

Lisa pushed her chair back from the desk and stood. "Really! What's wrong?"

"Just get him, okay?" Rose's impatience with Lisa's curiosity was more than evident.

Lisa nodded, then knocked on the manager's door. She pushed it open. "Mr. Belden? You busy?"

Peter Belden looked up from his computer. "Not really, Lisa. What's up? Is it time to go home already?"

She smiled. "No, sir, not yet. Rose has a problem with a customer, Mrs. Vanderpoel. She wants you to come help settle something."

Surprised, Peter closed his program and stood, slipping on his suit coat. "I'll be right there. What's the problem? Do you know?"

Rose poked her head over Lisa's shoulder. "Something's wrong with her statement. She says it's wrong."

"How can it be wrong?" Peter wondered aloud, but he followed Rose to where Mrs. Vanderpoel waited at the teller window. "Good afternoon, Mrs. V," he greeted her affectionately. "What seems to be the problem?"

The short Dutch woman smiled tightly when she saw him approach. "Peter Belden, I hope you can make sense of this," she said. "These girls don’t seem to understand the situation."

"Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me about it, okay?" He escorted her to his office. "Have a seat. Lisa?" he asked his assistant. "Get Mrs. V some tea with lemon, okay?" Lisa nodded, then hurried off to the break room.

"Thank you, Peter," the older woman nodded. "Some tea would do me good." She sat primly on one of the seats, resting her slightly bulky body. "It has to do with my savings accounts," she began. She handed Peter the sheaf of papers she'd been clutching. "They're wrong."

"Oh?" Peter asked politely, taking the chair next to her. He took the papers and began to page through them. Upon first glance, they seemed quite normal and accurate. Like all account statements, including Peter's own, each page listed the name and address of the account holder, the account number, and any deposits, withdrawals, charges, interest payments and fees made to that account. He idly noted the rather large final balance on the last page. "This is several months' worth," he said. "Are they all wrong or just the most recent or what?"

"They've been getting wronger," she said. Lisa arrived with a cup of tea. Mrs. Vanderpoel accepted it gratefully, then sipped. Lisa hesitated, then left the two alone once more.

"Go on," Peter urged.

"Well, you know how Anne Maypenny comes and visits with me every few days," she began. Peter nodded. Anne's mother Katrina, a cultural anthropologist, had been a third cousin of Mrs. Vanderpoel's, and it was the older woman who was mostly responsible for Katrina coming to Sleepyside all those years ago to study the American Indian cultures of the Hudson River Valley. Years later, when Anne discovered her true parentage and returned to the town, Mrs. Vanderpoel had made short work of making Anne feel more a member of the family. To that end, the teenager visited Mrs. V three times a week to do housework and take cooking lessons.

"Well, last weekend, I was going over my bank accounts," Mrs. Vanderpoel was saying. "I had them all spread out on the table while Anne was baking a batch of windmills. She heard me fussing about my bankbook being wrong, so she asked to take a look at it. Well, I'll tell you!" She laid a hand on Peter's arm. "One glance at my book and then at the papers and you know what she said?"

"What?"

"She said that the statements were off by a total of 27¢!"

Peter blinked. "Twenty-seven cents?" he repeated. "That's it?"

Mrs. Vanderpoel looked horrified. "That's it? That’s enough! Your fancy-pants computer system has cheated me out of twenty-seven cents! I want it back in my account!"

Peter smiled. "Well, if that's the case, then that's no problem, of course, but what makes you think our computers made the mistake? I can assure you the computers don't make mathematical errors."

"Don't tell me that, Peter!" she scolded. "Anne's told me all about this Y2K bug-thing that's going to happen and-"

"Whoa!" Peter held up a hand. "This financial institution, just like most major banks in the US, has been fully Y2K-compliant for two years now. The millennium should not be a problem. We have monthly compliance tests and checks on all our systems from the security cameras to the time-locked vaults to SWIFT, our inter-banking messaging system," he said confidently. "We do not anticipate any loss of services to our customers-"

"-and that's just fine and dandy, young man!" she said, interrupting him in return. "But computers are only as good as they're programmed to be. Anne told me that, too!"

Peter remained quiet for a few seconds. "Yes, that's true," he confirmed. "But as far as the individual accounts go, I don't think your statements could be wrong."

"Anne says they are!"

"It's probably just a difference in the calculator she used," he tried again. "Different brands of calculators round decimals differently. When it comes to money, there are always rounding issues. I know you have an interest-bearing savings account. Perhaps she miscalculated the percentages?"

She regarded him through narrowed eyes. "Anne does not miscalculate! Besides. She didn't use a calculator. She did it in her head."

He tried to hide his amusement. "Why don't we look this up on my computer and see what we find, okay?" He got up from the chair beside her and moved to the other side of the desk and sat down once more. He jiggled the mouse, entered his screen saver password, and attacked the problem.

A half hour later, Peter was ready to concede defeat. "I don't know how it could be so, Mrs. V," he told her. "But it appears Anne was right."

"Why should that be so hard to understand? Her mother was a very intelligent woman, you know."

"I remember," he said. "Still, I'm stumped. Where did your 27¢ go?" He leaned forward to stare at his monitor and began typing furiously. He paused, typed some more, and then waited again.

"Anne said it looked like a few pennies had gone missing every few months since last year."

"Oh?" He barely heard her.

"Yes. That girl. It only took her a few minutes to glance over my papers to figure it out. Mind like a steel trap, she has." Mrs. Vanderpoel sipped at her third cup of tea. "It runs in the family."

Peter smiled at that. "Does it?" He leaned forward, launched another program, and waited.

"Mm-hmm. Like in yours. You and your brothers," she smiled. "Such bright boys, the three of you. How is Harold? And Andrew? Is he married yet?"

"No, Andy's still living larger than life," Peter grinned. "And Harold's just fine. He's going to Bolivia and Argentina for a couple months this summer. His kids are coming to stay with us for a while before visiting their mother's parents in Washington state."

"It'll be nice to see them," she said. "You will send them round, won't you?"

"Of course. I'm sure Hallie will be delighted to see you again," he told her. A new screen of information caught his attention. He scanned it, then frowned, not finding what he was after. He hit a few more keys and waited.

"Such a nice, young girl. Rather spirited, like your own Trixie." She smiled. "How is Brian doing, by the way?"

"He's doing great. Still at the top of his class at school, you know. This summer he's interning with the EMTs again. He loves riding around in that ambulance." He glanced at her. "Mart's going to graduate high school next year, if you can believe that. And Bobby's going into 4^th grade."

"Where does the time go," Mrs. Vanderpoel marveled. "Seems like only yesterday I was attending your wedding." She leaned forward and placed her teacup on his desk. "What are you finding out? Anything?"

"No," Peter said, "and I’m getting frustrated. This should be a simple matter." He glanced at her. "I know you wouldn't be satisfied if I just handed you the 27¢ right now, right?"

She straightened her spine as if he had insulted her. "Absolutely not! I want that money in my account where it belongs. Plus the interest due on it."

He regarded her uneasily for a long moment. "I'll be honest with you, Mrs. V. I'm not sure where your money is, but I'll find it. I don't know how long it'll take me, but I will locate the error and correct it myself. Can you bear with me and the bank for that long? I'll give it my full attention, I promise."

"I know you will, Peter," she said. "You've always been a good boy. Harold was the dreamer and Andrew too wild. You were always the tenacious one. If you say you'll find it, you'll find it. You're like your daughter in that regard, you know."

"Shhh!" he said quickly. "Don't let that get around! I'm trying to convince everyone that Trixie gets her stubbornness from her mother."

The Dutch woman regarded him balefully. "As if anyone would believe that."

 

Chapter One: School's Out for Summer

The Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School bell rang, announcing the end of the last day of school before summer vacation. Within moments, every door of the brown brick building was shoved open by exuberant teenagers, but none were more exuberantly shoved than by Trixie Belden.

"School's out and thank GOD that's another year over and done with!" Trixie shouted as she tossed a worn notebook binder into an oversized garbage can. She pushed a twisty lock of curly blonde hair over her ear.

Her best friend, Honey Wheeler, laughed. "I can't believe it's finally here myself." Impulsively, she tossed in one of her own notebooks.

Trixie frowned into the garbage can. "I don't understand. We bought the same notebooks on the same day last August. Mine's in pieces and yours looks brand-new." She looked up at her sweet-tempered friend. "You sure you don't want to save it for next year?"

Honey blushed. She got jostled by a rush of freshmen, all of whom dumped their notebooks and papers into the garbage can, but managed to say as seriously as possible, "Do you think I should? We're supposed to be recycling whenever we can. That is a new Bob-White rule."

The Bob-Whites were a semi-secret organization of teenagers, all of whom lived in the same area on the outskirts of Sleepyside on the Hudson, New York. Besides Trixie and Honey, the members included Trixie's two older brothers, Brian and Mart, and Honey's adopted brother Jim, as well as Diana Lynch and Dan Mangan. The eighth member, Anne Maypenny, had been the last to join in February.

"Let's not forget college!" Trixie teased. "You could use it then, too." She watched as Honey reached into the can and began picking through all the papers and books, looking for her binder. "Forget it, Honey! Just get a new one. The bus is already here."

Honey reluctantly relented. The one thing she liked to say about herself was that she always followed the rules. But today, there wasn't time. The bus was starting to fill up. There would not be a second one that day, nor had there been a second bus run for the last two weeks of school, since all the after-school clubs had suspended meetings until next fall. She hurried after her friend.

The girls managed to squeeze into a seat next to Anne Maypenny. Behind them, Trixie's brother Mart sat with Diana and Dan. Trixie turned to ask her brother a question and noted Mart's arm was around Diana's shoulders. "Hey, Mart," she said, now used to seeing her brother and her good friend as a 'couple'. "Is Moms still planning on letting us have that 'Thank God it's Summer Vacation Cookout'?"

Mart smiled with deep satisfaction. "I am persuaded that our maternal forebear has acquiesced to the occasion. Provided her distaff offspring produce both the accoutrements and provisions as well as ensure their disposal subsequently."

Anne translated dryly and without glancing up from her book, "He means you guys have to fix it all and then clean it up after."

"I know what he said," Trixie huffed. "I think I've started to decipher my elder sibling's conversation."

Anne shrugged while Honey laughed. "Given all the exposure to it, I'm not surprised."

The bus lurched forward then and conversation drifted to the usual topics: horse riding, summer jobs, swimming in the lake, hiking in the mountains and mysteries.

The Bob-Whites of the Glen, for such was the official name of the club, helped people in trouble. Often, as it happened, helping people involved solving mysteries, finding lost items and, in the case of Anne Maypenny, returning kidnapped children to their birth family. Usually, it was Trixie herself who recognized if something unusual, shady, criminal or otherwise mysterious was going on at any given time. Things just seemed to 'happen' when she was around.

Fortunately, Trixie had the intelligence and the determination to solve each mystery before too long. She and Honey had plans to open a detective agency just as soon as they could. It was a huge disappointment when they realized that, in the State of New York, detectives could not be licensed until they were 25 years old and had completed at least two years of apprenticeship with another licensed detective. Discovering this slight hitch in their plans only made Trixie even more determined to realize her dream. She was not going to let a little thing like a state law deter her.

The other BWGs had each a good reason to be grateful for Trixie and Honey's detective skills. The girls' first case had involved Jim Frayne. They found his missing inheritance and the boy himself (after he had run away) in the matter of two short weeks. Honey's parents adopted the fifteen year old upon learning of the deaths of Jim's parents and his abusive step-father.

They had helped Diana when they proved that a man was falsely claiming to be her Uncle Monty from Arizona. The imposter was after a share of the money Mr. Lynch had made almost overnight on the stock market.

When Dan moved to town, on probation from the court in New York City for his role in some gang-related trouble, the girls had proven that Dan was not responsible for a series of petty thefts, nor an assault, nor another gang member's plan to rob Manor House, the Wheeler estate.

Trixie had helped her brothers, too. When Brian was accidentally poisoned, it was Trixie who noticed the effects as well as figured out the cause. Last autumn, she had also proven that Mart was not the mysterious Midnight Marauder who had been committing acts of vandalism.

In short, almost everyone Trixie came in contact with, she ended up helping out of trouble in one way or another. But just as a prophet is without honor only in his own country, Trixie's best friends and family were sometimes her biggest detractors.

"Are the other guys invited, too?" Diana asked, bringing the conversation back to the subject of the party. "I mean, they've been enjoying their vacation for a month already." Diana referred to Jim and Brian, who were both in college despite not yet being eighteen years old. They had each accelerated their progress through grade school. Jim was currently double-majoring in Business and Psychology, while Brian was majoring in Pre-Med. Jim's dream of opening a school for troubled boys and Brian's dream of becoming a doctor were well-known to all.

"Of course, they are," Honey assured her. "It is a Bob-White event, after all. And it is their summer vacation, too. Even if Jim is going back for a summer session in July."

"He is?" Trixie asked, vaguely disappointed. She knew that Jim intended to get as much education as he possibly could as quickly as he could. Taking summer classes enabled him to do that. She also knew that it was Mrs. Wheeler who convinced Jim to take at least part of the summer off to relax. She liked how Jim was growing closer to both of his adoptive parents.

"Yes," Honey replied, knowing how much Trixie enjoyed spending time with the handsome redhead. "It got decided yesterday. Jim told me at breakfast this morning. He's got an opportunity to do some work-study for a while at a suicide prevention hotline back on campus. It's for his psychology degree. He's also going to intern with Daddy three days a week for his Business degree until he has to go back."

"Sounds like a full schedule," Dan commented. "I hope he remembers how to have fun."

Honey turned in her seat, noticing that Anne hadn't contributed much to the conversation. Their friend with the dyed-white hair stared intently at her book. She asked, "What are you reading, Anne? School's over, you know."

"Huh? What?" Anne looked up, startled. "Are we there yet?" She looked out the window and saw they were still in the Sleepyside suburbs and therefore only halfway done with the bus ride. Their stops were in a more rural area.

"No, silly!" Honey laughed. "But what are you reading?"

Anne held up the slim book. The title, in large orange letters, was Complexity: the Emerging Science at the Edge of Order and Chaos. "It's a refutation of Chaos theory," she explained briefly. "You interested?"

"Um, no," Honey said hastily. "Forget I asked."

Anne shrugged and returned to her book. Honey shook her head and rolled her eyes a bit, eliciting gentle laughter from the others. Anne's education prior to her return to Sleepyside was heavy in the physical sciences and she naturally excelled in mathematics as well. She had an unusual memory, a facility for figures and her braininess had often been labeled 'scary'.

The conversation turned again, and soon the almost-empty bus was climbing the slope of Glen Road. Diana got out first with Mart. He often walked her to her door and stayed a while at her house. In the late afternoon, he would then walk back home in time for dinner. He had rearranged his after-school chores at his own house in order to spend more time with his girlfriend.

With more room to spread out, Trixie had moved to sit in the empty seat across from Dan; Honey had moved across from Anne. Both girls stretched their legs out onto the seat, reveling in the few minutes of comfort the bus ride afforded before reaching their own stop.

All four teenagers disembarked in front of the Wheeler mailbox. They said their 'bye's and then Dan and Honey walked up toward Manor House. Dan lived in one of the efficiencies above the Wheeler garage; his uncle, and guardian, lived in the other one. Trixie and Anne started toward Crabapple Farm, the Belden homestead. Anne lived deep in the woods with her father. The shortest path to that house was from the Beldens' back yard.

Crossing the shady front yard, Anne abruptly questioned Trixie, "Hey, do you know if your dad solved Mrs. V's bank problem?"

"Huh?" Trixie stopped short. "What are you talking about? Mrs. Vanderpoel's got money problems?"

"Huh?" Anne stopped, too. "No! She's fine. There was a problem with her account statements of the last several months, is all. They don't balance with her bank book."

Trixie frowned. "So? People make mistakes all the time. I mean, don't they?"

Anne shrugged and brushed a lock of her snow-white hair off her forehead. "I don't get the impression Mrs. V makes errors. She prides herself on her accuracy."

"Umm, well. No. Dad hasn't mentioned it," Trixie finally said. "You want me to ask him when he gets home?"

"No, that's okay," Anne said. "As soon as I get home I've got to get to the stables for my shift. I can ride Whistler over to the house and ask her directly. Thanks, though."

"You're welcome," Trixie replied, though she didn't think she had done anything helpful. The girls separated cheerfully at the white farmhouse. Trixie went into the sunny kitchen as Anne strode slowly and steadily to her own home, the book open in front of her. "Moms! I'm home!" Trixie called.

"Moms isn't here right now," her oldest brother, Brian, told her. He looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading while leaning against the counter. "She's gone into town for some things and said she'd pick up Bobby from school today, remember? It's his last day of third grade, you know."

"I know. I forgot, is all," Trixie said. She pulled open the heavy refrigerator door and examined the contents. Retrieving a pitcher of apple juice, she selected a glass and poured herself a drink.

"So. How's it feel to finally be a junior?" Brian asked, folding the newspaper, pulling out a chair and sitting down comfortably.

"Okay, I guess," Trixie said. "Of course, Mart's now a senior, so that should be fun."

"Ouch!" Brian laughed. "I guess he's been lording it over you, then?"

"Well, yeah," Trixie said. She put the juice back into the refrigerator, took her glass and sat down at the table. "Ever since the senior class graduated last week, in fact. He's been a terror." She grinned. "Especially to the Freshmen."

"He'll get over it soon enough," Brian assured her. He pushed the Winnie the Pooh-shaped cookie jar across the table to Trixie. "Have a snickerdoodle. Moms baked this morning."

Her blue eyes wide, she snatched Pooh's head from his body and reached inside. "She did? And there's still some left?" She took out two cookies and examined them suspiciously. "What's wrong with them? Why are they still here?"

Brian laughed again. "Relax, Trix. Moms made a double batch. I've more than had my share." He patted his flat stomach and grinned.

Relieved, Trixie bit into the first cookie. She sighed happily, then turned, lifted her legs and laid them on top of the table, tilting her chair backwards only slightly. "Ahhh," she sighed. "Now this is the life."

Brian snatched Trixie's second cookie, then drank the rest of her juice. To apologize, he got up to refill her glass. As he did so, the crunch of tires on gravel alerted them both to the timely return of their mother and youngest brother. "Your life is now over," Brian commented. "Especially if Moms catches you with your feet on the table."

"I know," Trixie moaned. "It's just so comfortable to be slouchy." But she straightened up and went to greet her mother and little brother.

*      *     *

Anne entered the sunny, fragrant clearing where her father's log cabin stood. To one side a profusion of flowering plants and shrubs collected sunlight and bumblebees. To the other a vegetable garden sprouted promising green shoots. In the center of the front yard, a circle of bricks and slate marked the outdoor cooking fire, complete with iron spit. A small barn, sheltered by tall maples, almost hid a sturdy, stone shed. As she moved into the yard, she spied her father toward the far side of the garden, crouching with his back to her, clearly digging at something in the dirt.

Anne passed by these things without breaking stride. She entered the log cabin and headed upstairs to her room, her frisky pet Pomeranian, Pepper, yapping happily at her heels. Once in her room, Anne tossed her book onto her bed and kicked off her shoes. Moments later, she had changed into worn jeans and a thin, sleeveless sweatshirt. She brushed her hair and pulled it into a high ponytail. After a quick application of lip balm, she headed back downstairs. Anne took a few moments to check Pepper's water supply, leash the dog and lead him outside.

They had made it to the outdoor grill when she heard from the vegetable garden, "Going so soon?"

Anne stopped and turned, forcing a smile on her face. "Uh, yeah. I'm running late." She watched as her father slowly exited the garden and approached. He brushed dirt from his hands and calmly regarded her.

"I see," he said, and Anne felt a surge of guilt.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were out," she began, hoping to convince him she hadn't seen him earlier. She spread her hands in an innocent gesture. Pepper surged forward on his leash, sniffing eagerly at a butterfly. "Sorry."

"I see," he said, not moving.

Anne felt transfixed by his impassive gaze. "So, I guess…" she said haltingly, "I'm home from school and I'm off to work." She forced another grin. "Okay?"

He nodded. "And dinner?"

She thought quickly. "Is it my turn to cook?"

He nodded again.

"I see." She felt the minutes ticking by and knew that she could only escape a lecture on timeliness if Regan, her boss, wasn't there when she arrived. "Then I'll be back in time to heat up some of that leftover stew. How's that sound?"

"Fine," he said, his expression unchanged.

Relief allowed a more genuine smile. "Then I'll be back before seven. I'll be late if I don't hurry." She edged away from him, moving out of the clearing.

"Say hello to Regan for me, will you? And tell him that item he asked me about earlier is ready any time he wants to pick it up."

Startled by the sudden burst of words, Anne stopped once more in her tracks. "Oh? What'd he ask you about?"

She wasn't sure, but she thought she could see his gray eyes twinkle as he replied, "Just give him the message. He'll know what I mean. Tell him he can pick it up tomorrow night. I'll have dinner for him if he's interested."

"But the cookout's tomorrow night!" Anne protested. It would be her first-ever cookout to celebrate her first-ever semester in a regular school. She didn't want to miss it.

"I know," he said evenly. "Did I ask you to stay for it?"

"No," she said. "I guess not."

He paused another moment, then asked, "Aren't you going to be late?"

Anne gulped, nodded, waved a quick goodbye and then hurried off down the main trail toward Manor House, Pepper trotting happily alongside her. As she half-ran and mostly avoided stumbling down the sloping path, she ignored the persistent echo of her twice-weekly therapist. 'Remember we identified that you wanted to get along better with your father, to spend more time with him and get to know him as a person.'

"I remember!" she had replied. "But he's so different from my other parents. I mean, my kidnappers, the Langs. Like, I've never met anyone who actually washed his clothes by boiling them in a kettle. Do you realize how long it has taken me to convince him to add on a laundry room to his house? He was ruining my silk blouses!"

She reached the end of the path, a few hundred yards from the Manor House stables. As she hurried toward the brick and wooden structure, she heard the unmistakably soaring vocals of Boston and her heart sank. Regan was inside. The lecture was inescapable.

*     *     *

While Dan and Honey walked up the long driveway toward Manor House, they chatted easily about the upcoming summer.

"Uncle Bill wants to take Joan to go sailing on Lake Erie," Dan said. "I'd like to go, too, but I don’t want to be a third wheel."

"That's a shame you feel that way," Honey replied. "I'm sure Regan would welcome a chance to spend part of his holiday with you. You didn't get an opportunity to last year, or the year before, what with everything."

"Yeah," Dan agreed, thinking of the reason he couldn't join his uncle on any trips. Dan had been on probation from his arrest the month he turned fifteen. He was still technically on probation until he turned eighteen, but his Probation Officer was allowing him more privileges and more unrestricted movement. This summer, he'd been hoping to do a little male bonding, but there was Joan. He swallowed hard. It seemed there was always Joan.

He tried to remember what it was like, Before Joan. Before those frightening days last year when his uncle had disappeared without a word, and it turned out he'd been wanted for possibly fixing a horse race. While Dan would always be grateful to Trixie and Honey for helping prove Bill Regan's innocence, he couldn't help but feel irritated that Joan Stinson had found her way into his uncle's life as well.

It wasn't that Dan didn't like Joan. What was there not to like? She was pretty, fun-loving and knew a lot about horses. It wasn't that she spent a lot of time at the stables, either. Although that was changing more and more time as the weather warmed up. When she cooked for Bill, she always made plenty for Dan as well, either bringing it over to him while he studied or inviting him to join them around Bill's tiny kitchen table.

He just couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Joan made him uncomfortable. Spending a whole week with her sailing on Lake Erie sounded downright unpleasant.

Honey had kept chattering on about her summer plans. "Mother says she wants to take me to Italy either this year or next. Can you imagine? A villa in Italy in the summertime? It'll be like 'Room With a View'! I think I can get her to invite all the Bob-Whites. Wouldn't that be so perfect?"

Dan smiled. "Sure would, Honey. All that pasta and garlic for breakfast, lunch and dinner. All those beautiful Italian girls."

"Dan!" Honey laughed. "Is that all you think about? Food and girls?"

"What else is there?"

They had reached the top of the driveway and were about to part ways when Dan noticed a familiar Honda Del Sol parked beside the garage. "Joan's here," he announced.

"How nice," Honey smiled. She poked him gently. "Maybe you can figure out something for your vacation."

Dan shrugged. There was always a chance.

*     *     *

"Hey, Mart! Show me how you fight Zhar the Mad!" Larry Lynch ran into the marble-floored foyer of the Lynch mansion as soon as they heard Mart and Diana enter.

"No, Mart! Show me where Valor is!" Terry Lynch ran down the gently curving staircase. His shout echoed in the entranceway.

Mart laughed. "Hey, guys! I just got in the door. Let me dump my stuff and then I'll see about helping you."

Diana shook her head. "Forget it, Mart. My brothers are completely addicted to that stupid computer game. If you don't go immediately to show them how to kill Diablo, they'll never leave us alone. Did you know last weekend they were up past midnight playing against Bobby on Battlenet?" She took Mart's jacket and book bag. "I'll put these away. You go on up with the twins. I'll get us snacks and sodas and meet you in the rec room in twenty minutes, okay?"

Mart smiled at her. "Baby, you're the greatest," he said, in his best Jackie Gleason, and then kissed her.

"Ewww! Gross!" Larry pretended to gag.

Terry just laughed. "Come on, Larry. Let's get 'Diablo' started!" Together, the twins raced up the stairs toward their play room.

"Kids," Diana grinned. "You must remind me never to have any of my own."

Mart laughed. "Consider yourself reminded." He hugged her, then ascended the stairs. "Hey," he called back over his shoulder. "If you still have any Oreos, bring those, okay?"

"I'll see what we've got," Diana called back, "but I'm not making any promises."

*     *     *

"Just so we're clear, Regan, this was not my fault-" Anne stopped just as suddenly as she started, her eyes wide and her jaw dropping toward the floor. She had not, as she expected, interrupted Regan hard at work, grooming one of the horses. Instead, she had interrupted him kissing his girlfriend, Joan Stinson. Anne recovered from her shock long enough to greet the other woman. Pepper surged forward on his leash, barking happily at the young couple.

"Oh, hi, Annie," Joan smiled, her arms still wrapped around Regan's waist. "Home from school already?" She glanced down at the Pomeranian. "Hiya, pup!"

"Uh, yeah," Anne said, bristling slightly at Joan's greeting. She asked Regan, "Where do you want me to start?"

"Oh," Regan replied, dropping another kiss on the top of Joan's head. "Your choice. Starlight or Strawberry. Both of them need to be put through their paces today. Hello, Pepper," he called, grinning at the dog's exuberant display.

"Cool," Anne smiled. She unleashed Pepper and watched as the dog jumped up at Regan, accepted a single pat on the head then raced deeper into the stables to greet the horses. Anne wrapped up the leash in a practiced motion and tossed it onto a nearby stool, then she pushed past the couple to the tack room. "I'll take Strawberry over to Mrs. V's. By the way," she said, pausing in the doorway, "You ordered something from my-my father?" Regan nodded, so she continued. "It's ready. If you pick it up tomorrow night, he'll have supper."

"Sounds good to me," Regan agreed. "If you're taking Strawberry, I'll saddle up Starlight and let Joan ride Whistler. We should be back in an hour." Joan giggled and said something inaudible. Regan glanced at her, then amended his prediction. "We may be longer."

Anne stopped still. "You're going to let Joan ride my horse?"

"Come on, Anne," Regan said patiently. "We've been through this before. Whistler has to get used to other people riding him. So do you, for that matter."

Joan turned to face Anne sympathetically. "I understand Whistler used to be your horse, Annie, but he's not anymore. Mr. Wheeler bought him, remember?"

Anne felt cold straight through to her gut. "I know very well he's not my horse anymore and thank you so much for reminding me! Have a nice ride!" Then she continued into the tack room and moved out of direct sight.

"What?" she heard Joan ask. "What did I say?"

Regan sighed. "It's just taking her a long time to get used to things, that's all. I'll ride Whistler. You take Starlight." Anne permitted herself a smile. At least 'Joanie' won't be riding my horse! she thought.

"But if Whistler needs to get used to other riders…" Joan continued.

Anne prayed as hard as she could. Please! Please, God, please!! Don't let Regan say yes! Please don't let Joan ride my horse!

"You know I'm a good rider…" Joan's tone turned wheedling.

Grow up, woman! Anne fumed. Get your own horse!

"All right, Joan," Regan acquiesced. "You can ride Whistler. But if he gives you any trouble, you're getting off, okay?"

Anne couldn't believe it. Was everyone against her? She thought she and Regan had reached some understanding regarding Whistler. Yet there he was, letting just anyone ride her horse. It was intolerable.

Regan's entrance into the tack room startled her. He glanced at her as he got a pair of halters. "You okay?" he asked her.

"I've been better," she replied.

"Relax," Regan told her. "It's going to be a long enough summer without you carrying on so much about one little ride."

"I know," she forced herself to say. "And I've got to get to Mrs. V's." She grabbed Strawberry's halter from its peg on the wall, then hurried out of the tack room.

*     *     *

After finishing up her after-dinner chores, Trixie found her father sitting on the back terrace, quietly reading a magazine. "Hey, Dad?" she asked softly. "Is something wrong with Mrs. Vanderpoel and the bank?"

Peter glanced up from his article. "Wrong? What do you mean, Trixie?"

She sat down on the bench across from him, a worried frown puckering her brow. "Anne asked me today if you were able to solve Mrs. Vanderpoel's banking problem. She said she was going to ask her more about it when she saw her today, but she got me curious."

Her father smiled tenderly at her. "Relax, Trixie. Mrs. Vanderpoel is not going bankrupt or anything like that. You don’t need to worry about her. It's a very minor problem and not worth fussing over or getting upset."

"It isn't?" she asked.

"No," he said, more firmly. "Believe me when I tell you this is nothing."

"Well," Trixie shrugged. "If you say so."

He stared at her. "I do." The last thing he needed was for his daughter to go off searching for an elusive 27¢, thinking there was some larger mystery lurking around.

She shrugged. "Huh. Okay, then." She stood and twisted, working out a kink in her back. "You know we're having that Bob-White party tomorrow night."

"I remember," Peter smiled. "Your mother and I are taking Bobby and the Lynch twins to the movies and Wimpy's."

"Cool," Trixie grinned, relieved. She feared having Bobby around would only ruin the party.

"As long as you take him off your mother's hands in the morning, that is," Peter amended. "That's the deal. She's got enough to do this weekend, preparing to have your cousins stay with us for a few weeks."

"Got it, Dad. And believe me," she added, "I have every intention of making this the most stress-free couple of weeks for everyone concerned."

"No mysteries planned, then?" Peter asked, his eyes twinkling.

Trixie laughed and waved her hand airily. "I haven't even left room in my schedule!"

*     *     *

Saturday Night
Crabapple Farm

Mart Belden stared into the charcoal flames, unwilling to believe his own eyes. Put in charge of producing the perfect patty, he had failed. They were more than cooked. He poked at one flat clump of meat with an oversized wood-handled metal spatula. The touch produced a tiny clink. He frowned, then called over his shoulder, "Okay, who wants one only slightly burnt?"

"Define 'slightly'!" Anne shouted with a laugh. She was otherwise engrossed in the rather haphazard game of soccer that ranged over the Beldens' back yard. The black and white ball rolled toward her. She swung her leg, hoping to hit the ball with the inside edge of her foot. Her other foot slipped out from under her, however, and she went down with a thud!

"That's what you get for criticizing my cooking!" Mart shouted back at her. The other soccer players were hastening to help Anne, so he returned his attention to the grill.

"Anne! You okay?" Diana, nearest to Anne's sprawling form, knelt onto the grass and laid a hand on her friend's forehead.

"Did you twist your ankle? Hurt your knee?" Brian, the future MD, regarded Anne's legs in as professional a manner as he could muster. Honey hovered over Brian's shoulder, apparently curious to see if she could see what Brian saw when he examined a possible injury.

Jim picked up the ball and echoed Brian's concerns. "Can you move it? Is it broken?"

"That was some fall!" Trixie marveled. "Usually, I'm the clumsy one." Honey shot a scowling grin at Trixie in a friendly reprimand.

"I'm fine!" Anne insisted, sitting up. "I just fell down. Honestly, you guys are worse than-." She broke off suddenly.

"What? What's the matter?" Dan, who had yet to express any verbal concerns for her welfare, suddenly spoke up. "You sure she's okay, Brian?"

Anne huffed, then got to her feet. "I'm fine, see?" She brushed grass and dirt off her legs. "Just a bit messed, that's all. I'll live." She saw everyone staring at her. "I'm fine! I promise! What's the big deal? Trixie ran straight into Mart and no one stopped the game!"

Brian pressed his lips together in disapproval. "Trixie didn't spend most of April recovering from major surgery."

"That was two months ago!" Anne protested. "I'm the picture of health!" She turned to Jim. "Can we just get back to the game?"

Jim shrugged and tossed the ball into the air. "Sure. Is that a 'do-over' or do we take the play from there?"

"Do-over?!" Trixie shouted. "No way! You put that ball right back where you picked it up from, Jim Frayne! We're not licked yet!"

Jim laughed. "That's optimism for you!"

"Hey," Mart interrupted. "What say we eat first?"

Jim checked his watch. "Why not? This could be halftime." With that pronouncement, the eight teenagers crowded around the redwood picnic table and began fighting over ketchup, pickles and mustard. After twenty minutes of eating and digesting, the Bob-Whites returned to the Beldens' Big Green.

The soccer game itself devolved several times into tickling fights, wrestling matches and light-hearted arguments until finally, a winner was declared. The losing team was therefore put in charge of turning the crank on the old-fashioned ice cream machine.

After finishing her small dish of peach ice cream, Anne stretched out on a blanket in the middle of the yard and stared up at the darkening sky. One by one, the others finished up their desserts and joined her. The blanket wasn't quite large enough for everyone to stretch comfortably. By mutual, unspoken agreement, everyone pushed as close together as they could, allowing arms on stomachs, heads on knees, and feet to crowd feet. Each of them stared upward, lost in their own thoughts.

"Starlight, star bright," Trixie whispered, disturbing the silence.

"First star I see tonight," Honey automatically continued the old rhyme.

"I wish I may," Mart grinned.

"I wish I might," Diana sighed.

"Have the wish," Jim said, a bit reluctantly.

"I wish tonight!" Dan finished.

There was a brief hesitation before Anne picked up her cue. "Oh," she said. "My turn, I guess. I wish I-"

Silence returned.

"What?" Mart finally asked. "You wish what?"

"Nothing," Anne replied.

"No," Jim stated flatly. "You have to finish now. What do you wish?"

Close to her right side, Dan nudged her with his shoulder. "Go on, Anne. You wouldn't have said anything if you didn't want to tell us."

"It's nothing."

"It's something, all right," Mart told her. "Or you wouldn't be making such a big deal about it."

Physically hemmed in by her friends, Anne felt emotionally surrounded as well. She sighed angrily. "Fine! Then I'll tell you, since you seem to think it's all any of your business. I was going to wish I-"

Anne didn't get the chance to make her wish, for at that moment, the back door of the Beldens' farmhouse banged open and young Bobby Belden ran straight at the picnic blanket, screaming at the top of his lungs. At the last moment, Bobby leapt into the air and into the middle of the tangled Bob-Whites, landing almost exactly on Dan's stomach, his knees on his brother Mart's head and his elbows in Anne's ribs, thus ending the introspective moment.

"Bobby! Get off!" Trixie slapped at her brother and tried to push him off the surging throng of teenagers. Bobby responded by giggling and laughing until Trixie succeeded in rolling him onto the grass.

He lay on his back and panted. "We're back home and Moms said you guys need to clean up now," he announced.

Trixie glared at him. "You didn't have to jump on us to tell us that, you know."

"I know," Bobby laughed. "But you guys looked like a pile of leaves and I thought it might be fun."

"Well, you've gotten too old for that sort of thing, Bobby-boy," Dan groaned, rubbing his stomach. "You almost landed on something important."

One by one, the Bob-Whites stood up, brushed themselves off and began cleaning up the picnic. Mart and Brian disassembled the grill and cleaned its parts. Dan and Jim packed up the soccer equipment and readied it all to be returned to the clubhouse. Diana and Anne packed up the leftover food and Honey and Trixie started washing the dirty dishes.

Everyone ended up in the kitchen, helping to dry off the tableware and return the plates and glasses to their usual places. Brian turned on the radio on top of the refrigerator. Dan suggested, "See what's on WSTH tonight."

In moments, a song with a strong Latin beat filled the kitchen. Diana squealed, "It's that new Ricky Martin song! Omigosh. He is so cute!"

"Who is this?" Anne asked, once again bewildered by a mention of popular culture.

"Ricky Martin!" Honey sighed. "I just adore dark-haired men." She grinned at Brian and Dan in turn.

"Hey!" Mart yelped, putting the last glass away. "I think I resent that! Everyone knows blondes have more fun! Besides. You're leaving out Jim here, too. I hear he's got tons of admirers up at college."

"Right, Mart." Jim laughed. "You think anyone actually prefers guys with red hair?"

"Trixie does," Diana giggled sotto voce.

"Shut up!" Trixie scolded her friend.

Honey, realizing Trixie was now at risk for some teasing from Brian and Mart, jumped into the discussion. "Sure. Haven't you noticed her crush on Regan?"

Since the idea of Trixie being romantically involved with Regan was so foreign a concept, the Bob-Whites erupted into laughter. Anne, forcing herself to laugh with the rest, concentrated on neatly folding the dishtowels.

"Come on, Jim," Dan urged. "What's wrong with having red hair? It's different. Makes you stand out."

Jim just shook his head. "Get real. I took Mrs. Vanderpoel to the drug store last week. She was picking out hair color, so I checked out the men's section. You know what I found? Rather, what I didn't find? A single box for red hair. It's all black, brown or blond. That's it. No red."

"Really?" Dan frowned. "I hadn't noticed. Gosh. What are you going to do when it turns gray?"

"What!" Jim feigned insult while Dan's smirk kept the tone light.

"You know," Anne said slowly, "I kind of think Jim would look good with green hair. You know. To match his eyes."

"That's just weird, Anne," Brian declared.

"No weirder than white hair," Diana chuckled.

"Hey! You know my plans for this," Anne protested. She grabbed a hank of her snow-white hair and shook it. "It's going to be striped for the 4^th of July. I'll be the height of patriotic fashion."

"Whatever," Trixie drawled. "Come on, guys. Let's take the stuff back to the clubhouse. Anyone up for a game of Clue?" She led an exodus into the back yard.

"Not Clue!" Mart shouted. "Anything but that."

"Trivial Pursuit?" Anne suggested.

"Oh, sure," Diana groused. "If Mart doesn't win, you will!"

Jim laughed. "I know a game we can all play and no one's any better at it than anyone else!"

"This I've got to hear," Brian laughed. By this time, the octet had picked up their gear and were heading through the woods to their clubhouse. Brian caught Honey's hand in his and they walked together. Behind them, Mart had his arm around Diana. In their free hands, they carried the ice cream maker, the soccer ball and the blankets.

Jim, helping Trixie carry one of the soccer nets while Dan helped Anne with the other, replied. "Monopoly!"

A chorus of groans drowned out his explanation. "Come on, guys!" he pleaded. "It's the perfect game. We could play teams. We could play the short version. We could play…"

*     *     *

Hours later…

"Come on, Anne!" Mart groaned. "Sell me New York Avenue. I’m offering you triple what you paid for it!" He gestured at the property on the game board. Looking completely bored with the negotiations, Brian and Jim stared at the walls of the small clubhouse.

Anne flatly refused. "No, Mart! A thousand times no! If I sell you New York, then you'll have the orange properties. Statistically, those are the ones most people land on. If I keep this one, then you can't build any hotels."

Mart stared at her. "Jeez! I'll make you a deal. If you sell me New York, you'll never have to pay rent on these properties when you land on them. How about it? You can't beat that!"

"No fair!" Jim broke in. "You can't make that kind of deal."

"Come on, Mart," Brian groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Give it up. She's not going to sell you New York."

"Are you guys still playing that stupid game?" Trixie asked, exasperated. She, Honey, Diana and Dan had all cashed out of the game long before. The foursome lounged on two small, beat-up armchairs rescued from Mrs. Vanderpoel's attic, and a matching pair of footstools. They had spent their portion of the evening talking, laughing and drinking sodas from the tiny dorm-sized refrigerator.

"It's not over until someone wins," Anne reminded her, her gaze still fixed on Mart. "I am not selling you New York. Get over it!"

Mart huffed. "Fine. Then I guess it's my turn again." He picked up the dice and rolled.

Trixie shrugged. "We could be here all night," she said to the others.

"Could be worse," Dan laughed. "We could still be playing Monopoly."

Diana slapped a hand to her forehead. "Don’t even joke about something like that! I'll have nightmares!"

Honey, beginning to giggle hysterically, said, "When I think about what your father and my father would do if they knew their precious little girls absolutely hated this game!"

Trixie and Dan started to laugh, too. "It is pretty funny," Trixie agreed. Honey and Diana's fathers were among the richest and most powerful men in the world. Their business acumen had been studied and emulated by countless entrepreneurs and business executives.

"I just hate the whole corporate lifestyle," Diana grimaced. "All those suits and ties, those horrible clothes they make women wear in the office. All those stupid rules."

Honey nodded. "The secretaries and the appointments to make appointments. The snooty receptionists hired because they look good. The fast-track executives who can't wait until you get older so they can flirt with you to make themselves look better in front of your father."

"What?" Dan asked. "Your father's employees flirt with you?"

"They want to," Honey explained. "There's a difference. Right now, I’m too young for them to take much note of me. Wait until I turn eighteen or go to college. Then - watch out. I'll be 'prime choice'."

"That can't be true," Trixie said. "That's so 1950's."

"Has anyone said something to you?" Dan continued. "I mean, how do you know that's what's going to happen?"

Honey blinked at her friends. "Same way I always know." She shrugged. "I just know."

"Okay, fine! Have it your way. I’m out." Brian's sudden outburst from the table caught the quartet's attention. They turned and looked up as he stood and handed in his money to Jim, who took charge of the bank.

"Did you lose, big brother darling?" Trixie asked, batting her baby blues coquettishly.

His mouth twisted in a half-grin, half-grimace. "I outlasted the lot of you, didn't I?"

"Ooo, Brian!" Honey feigned insult. "Is that a slam on us?"

Dan laughed. "Face it, Bri. We're just smarter than you. We got out with our good humor intact." He raised his almost-empty can of soda in a toast.

Brian sighed. "Yeah. Okay. You guys win again." He shook his head, then fit his lanky frame onto the floor next to Honey's feet. "What've you been doing over here, anyway?"

"Oh," Trixie sighed luxuriously. "Just this and that."

"The usual," Honey added.

Dan smirked. "You know, taking bets on who'll end up the winner, who'll end up saying it was fixed and who'll end up obsessing over every detail, trying to figure out who cheated, why and how."

Brian laughed along with the rest. "I guess those three are pretty pathetically predictable."

The conversation turned then to discussions of summertime activities. "For Jim's birthday on Tuesday, we're having a party, right?" Diana eventually asked. "Is everyone invited or is it just for us guys?"

"You mean, is it a family thing or a friend thing?" Honey interpreted. Diana nodded, so she replied, "It's a friendly family thing. At twelve-thirty or so, you guys are coming for some cake and any presents you have to give him. Then you go home. Mother and Dad are having a family dinner later that afternoon and they want to give Jim some presents in private. Around eight or so, you guys are supposed to show up for the real party, plus some of the guys from school and wherever."

Brian asked, "Your parents are letting us use the rec room, right?"

"Right," Honey affirmed. "They agreed to stay up in the conservatory and 'have drinks'."

"I hope it's a good party," Trixie said thoughtfully.

"Why shouldn't it be?" Dan asked. "The Wheelers always throw killer parties."

"I know," she said. "But with all our cousins there, too? I mean, our cousins show up tomorrow, and then there's Ben on Monday. It'll be a packed house."

Diana smiled at the mention of Ben Riker. "It'll be very interesting," she said with a gleam in her violet eyes. She twisted a small promise ring on her left pinky. "Very interesting indeed."

*     *     *

Crabapple Farm kitchen

"Bobby Belden? What are you still doing up?"

Bobby froze. He had one hand on the refrigerator door and the other on a carton of milk. He cautiously raised his eyes to meet his mother's curious expression. "Nothing."

Helen blinked at her youngest child. She flipped on the light switch and folded her arms. "It doesn't look like nothing. What are you doing? It's after midnight."

"It is?" Bobby squeaked.

Helen nodded. "Yes. It is. Now tell me. What are you doing up?" She looked at the carton, still in his hand. "Aren't you sleepy?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Then why the milk?" she asked.

Bobby sucked in his lower lip. "I was thirsty?"

Helen paused, a thousand replies racing through her brain. "Wouldn't you rather have some ice water?"

"I guess so." He looked at the milk carton, then replaced it in the refrigerator.

"I mean," Helen continued. "Since water will quench your thirst much faster."

"Right," Bobby agreed. He closed the refrigerator door, then grabbed a coffee mug off a short wooden stand and brought it to the sink.

As he filled it up with water, Helen regarded her son. "Have you even brushed your teeth since supper?" she asked.

"Uh…"

Helen shook her head. When Bobby hesitated, that meant he didn't want to tell the truth, but didn't want to lie, either. "You've been playing computer games again, haven't you."

Bobby shut off the water and faced her, bringing the mug to his lips for a swallow. "Yes, Moms."

"I thought we discussed this already."

Bobby's face fell. "We did. I’m only supposed to play 'Diablo' for two hours on the weekends and a half hour after dinner during the week."

"If you know that, then…?" Helen was at a loss. How could she let her son grow up if she had to keep monitoring his behavior? How did that teach self-reliance and self-discipline if Bobby only behaved because someone was watching?

Bobby shrugged. "I was winning. Both Terry and Larry just suck at Diablo, Moms! I was kicking butt! You should've seen me!"

"Excuse me, young man? Terry and Larry what at Diablo?" If there was one thing she detested, it was the use of off-color language in her kitchen and by her children.

Bobby instantly realized his mistake. "But they do, Moms! They're really bad at it! They're just so easy to beat and each time I beat them, they owe me money."

Now Helen was horrified. "Wait a minute. You bet on these games?"

Bobby nodded. He sipped his water. "Why?"

She took a deep breath. "Tomorrow morning, young man," she began. "You, your father and I are going to have a serious discussion about taking advantage of friends and obeying the rules. Got that?"

Bobby finished his water and turned the mug upside down in the sink. "I got it. I'm really tired now. May I go to bed?"

"Sure, Bobby," she said. He brushed past her then and through the kitchen door, not stopping to let her give him a hug or even blow a kiss in his direction. Guess he's outgrowing the hug and kiss before bedtime routine, she thought sadly. I suppose they all have to grow up sometime. I just wish it wasn't overnight. With a quick glance around her spotless kitchen, she switched off the light.

An instant later, she switched it on again. "What's that noise?" she wondered aloud. A faint hum from above her head drew her attention to the top of the refrigerator. She rose up on her toes and peeked. The old radio, a relic from the forties, was on.

Helen tapped it with one finger to see if the radio were broken or just off the frequency. Almost immediately and causing her to jump, the radio tuned into WSTH and Alice Cooper was screaming:

-School's out! for! Summer! Schoooooool's Out! For! Ever!

Chapter 2: There's Your Trouble

Sunday at Crabapple Farm

Peter Belden stood at the foot of the main staircase of the old white frame farmhouse and yelled, "Kids! If you're coming with me to the airport, hurry up! If not, great! I'm leaving in five minutes, with you or without you!" Four screams in various degrees of anguish replied, but Peter remained unmoved. He tossed his heavy set of car keys into the air and caught it expertly with the other hand. "Four minutes!"

His wife, Helen, poked her head out of the kitchen door. "Peter, relax," she said quietly. "They won't go anywhere without you."

The 'they' to whom she referred were his older brother's three kids, Knut, Cap and Hallie, due in late that morning at the Westchester County Airport. Peter just smiled tolerantly at his wife. "You know how Harold is. If he hears I left his kids waiting for one moment at the terminal, he'll fly up here from South America to personally kick my butt. I may have kids of my own, but he still treats me like I was ten."

Helen just shook her head with a grin and returned to cleaning her kitchen of all traces of the huge Sunday breakfast feast. Peter tossed his keys again and checked his watch. "Two and a half minutes! Let's go, kids! I'm walking out the door!" he shouted.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" Peter looked up to see his daughter, Trixie, scamper downstairs, one shoe on her foot, the other dangling from her fingers. She reached the bottom step and sat down to put on the other shoe. She grinned up at her father. "Relax, Dad. The plane'll probably be delayed anyway."

"Yeah, cheer up, Dad." Mart appeared on the stairs. "If we're lucky, they missed their connecting flight in Chicago."

"Lucky?" Peter repeated.

Behind him, Brian stood on the upper landing. "Mart's not looking forward to sharing bathroom space with three more people." He chuckled. "Just wait until he gets to college."

"So, who's all going, then?" Peter redirected their attention. "The van won't take everyone and all the luggage."

"Hallie's the only one who'll come with any luggage," Trixie said. "Doesn't Cap pride himself on packing light?"

Brian spoke up. "I'm staying here, Dad. I've got some studying I want to do before my next EMT shift."

"That's this afternoon, right?" Mart asked.

"Uh-huh," his brother replied. "I'll be back around midnight. Try and save me some dessert, okay?"

"I make no promises," Mart laughed, ducking as Brian threatened to push him down the stairs.

Peter opened the front door so that Trixie and Mart could leave. "Your mother knows Bobby's still here?" he asked Brian.

"Yeah," Brian said. "He's been cleaning his room, believe it or not. I guess your talk with him at breakfast did some good."

Peter smirked. "We'll see how long it lasts." He waved a farewell to his son, then called out to his wife. "We're going now, Helen! Be back as soon as we can. I love you!"

"I love you, too!" came the reply. "Drive careful!"

"I always do," he called back, then went out the door.

Once outside, Trixie called 'shotgun' and raced her brother for the front seat of the Belden family minivan. Since they rarely locked their car doors, she climbed up into the seat and pulled the safety belt. Mart climbed in behind and stretched out his legs.

"Hey, Mart," Trixie asked while they waited for their father to join them. "Who won the Monopoly game last night?"

"Ugh," Mart groaned. "It was almost a tie." He rubbed his face and blinked rapidly. "At some point, I fell asleep on one of those awful chairs. Anne eventually bought Tennessee and St. James, and since she got Kentucky, Illinois and Indiana from Brian, and since somebody who shall remain nameless sold her the railroads and the utilities," he glared at Trixie, "she ended up with that entire corner. Plus all the blue properties between GO and JAIL, and the green ones as well."

Trixie merely grinned. "So Anne won?"

"She was certainly in the lead when I left," he said.

At that point, Peter opened the minivan door, got in and started the engine. "Everyone set?" he asked.

"All set, Dad," Trixie replied. "Go on, Mart. Who ended up winning?"

Peter maneuvered the minivan onto Glen Road, then turned toward Post. "Is this story going to explain why you dragged yourself in at six-thirty this morning?"

Trixie gaped. "Mart! You didn't get in until six thirty?"

"Well," Mart explained, "I wasn't awake all that time, and I did remember to get the eggs before I came in."

Trixie sat still for a long moment. "Don't tell me Jim and Anne are still playing!"

Mart shrugged. "Okay, I won't." There was a longer pause until he said, "But they were going strong when I left them at six-fifteen."

*     *     *

"There they are!" Trixie yelled excitedly. She pointed at a trio of young people who had just disembarked their plane. Standing together and looking around with interest were Knut, a tall brunet almost a year older than Brian, Cap, an even taller young man with long blond hair twisted into two Indian braids who was just a few months younger than Brian, and their sister Hallie, a slender girl with long black hair who was a year younger than Trixie. Trixie called their names and shouted, "Over here!" She turned and tugged at her father's arm. "Come on!"

Peter laughed. "Hold on, Trixie. Don't go running off."

"Too late, Dad," Mart snickered, watching his sister dodge small pockets of people as she darted toward her cousins. "Did she ever stay in one place for long?"

His father thought about it. "No," he said finally.

Minutes later, Peter had hugged his niece and both nephews and commandeered their luggage claim tickets. Cap grinned. "I traveled smart, Uncle Pete," he said, hoisting an oversized backpack. "All my stuff is in here."

Hallie grinned at Trixie. "I tried to do the same, but I just couldn't fit everything I might end up needing into one burlap sack."

Knut laughed. "Like they don't sell shampoo in New York."

"What do you know, Snooty Knutie!" Hallie shot back. "You haven't been to Crabapple Farm in over ten years."

"Has it been that long?" Peter asked. He shook his head. "I almost can't believe it. No matter. Mart and I'll get your luggage. Trixie, take them to the van, okay? We'll meet there."

"Can I drive the van to the door to pick you up?" she asked, her blue eyes hopeful.

Peter thought for a long moment. He nodded slowly. "All right, but only if Knut rides up front with you. Keep an eye on her, okay?" he asked his nephew, the oldest son of his oldest brother.

Knut nodded. "Sure thing, Uncle Pete!" He laid his hand on Trixie's shoulder. "So, you drive now, eh?" he asked as their small group walked toward the exit and the parking lot.

"Yup!" Trixie grinned. "But Dad still doesn't like me driving by myself." She rolled her blue eyes to indicate her thoughts on her restrictions.

"That's gotta be a good thing," Cap said. "Hallie's going to start learning this summer. I'm thinking of posting huge signs on the roadway." He held up his hands to indicate a billboard and spoke in a deep voice, "Warning! If you see this driver, get off the road immediately!"

Knut laughed. "That would work, except she's unable to keep the car on the road long enough!"

Trixie started giggling, delighted at seeing sibling teasing from a distance instead of close up as she usually did.

"Would you two stop it?" Hallie begged. "I've been behind the wheel exactly once! Dad himself said it was that squirrel's own fault for not getting out of the way!"

"What?" Trixie gasped, unwilling to picture what must have happened. They reached the exit doors then, and she concentrated on leading her cousins to the minivan without mishap.

*     *     *

That afternoon, all the Beldens save Brian, who had left for his shift, sat down to an oversized lunch in the formal dining room. Helen had prepared a small ham as well as a roast chicken. In respect to Cap's vegetarianism, she also prepared a wide variety of vegetable dishes and a pasta salad. For several minutes, the family did nothing but pass butter and gravy and fill glasses with milk and ice water. Then the conversations began.

"What are you kids planning to do with your time here?" Peter asked.

Cap and Knut glanced at each other, then at Mart. "We were hoping to do some camping while we were here," Knut answered. "If that's okay with you guys."

"Sure," Mart smiled. "That'll be good. We owe you, after all that exterior habitation in Idaho last year."

Cap grinned. "Got any mythical creatures or legends that need investigating?" He turned mock serious and said to Trixie, "As long as we're here, you understand."

Trixie smirked back. "Ha. Ha. Just so you know, there is nothing mysterious going on right now." She forked a piece of ham and dunked it in mustard.

"Really?" Hallie asked, clearly disappointed. "I was hoping…" She shrugged.

Cap dug into his pasta salad. "This is really good, Aunt Helen," he said. "Thanks for remembering about me."

Helen smiled. "It was no trouble at all, Cap. Besides. Your mother emailed me a detailed list of foods you kids would and would not tolerate."

"She did not!" Hallie, horrified, dropped her fork on her plate. "I'll just die if she did!"

Helen laughed, then waved a hand at her niece. "She may have mentioned a few preferences, but it wasn't anything more than I asked her about. I want you kids to feel at home here." She exchanged a look with her husband that went unnoticed by the others.

Mart shook his head and helped himself to several more slices of ham. "How could they not? We're all just one big, happy family. Share and share alike."

"So when do we swap sisters?" Knut asked. "I think we've had Hallie for more than our share."

"You're kidding!" Bobby said suddenly. "You guys want Trixie?"

There was a burst of laughter, gentle admonishment and an outraged Hey! Then Cap said, "Sure, we do. Your sister's cool. She does things. Ours just sits around the house mooning over boys."

"I do not!" Hallie insisted.

Knut surrendered. "Okay, Hal. Whatever you say." There was a moment of silence as the young people collected themselves, then he said casually, "So tell me, guys. When do we get to meet this paragon of virtue named Dan?"

Hallie flung her napkin onto her plate. "That does it! That is the LAST time I confide anything in you, Knut! You're supposed to be nice to me!"

Knut and Cap dissolved into laughter even as realization dawned on Trixie and the others. "Paragon of virtue?" Trixie repeated. "You're kidding. Dan?"

Cap managed to stop laughing long enough to ask, "You mean, he can't leap tall buildings in a single bound?"

"Run faster than a speeding bullet?" Knut added.

Mart blinked. "Dan? Dan Mangan?"

Bobby, his mouth full, managed to say, "What's wrong with Dan? I like him."

Cap found he couldn't stop laughing. "That's his last name? MANgan?" He glanced at his uncle, who was even now shooting him a warning look. "Sorry, but she never told us his last name."

Knut leaned close to his brother and loudly whispered, "Dan, Dan, he's her man, if he can't-"

Hallie pushed back her chair and stood. "That is ENOUGH!" She took a breath. Her voice shaking with barely concealed anger, she said, "Uncle Pete, Aunt Helen, lunch was great, but I'm a bit tired right now. I'm going upstairs to lie down."

As she pushed herself behind Helen's chair, not even waiting for her aunt to make more room for her passage, Cap tried to make amends. "Come on, Hallie, I'm sorry. Come back to the table."

Knut joined his brother. "We'll stop. Promise-"

Hallie ignored them both. She left the dining room and everyone heard her footsteps hurry up the stairs. Trixie took a deep breath. She wasn't sure exactly what had just happened, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, but she was definitely happy her own brothers had never teased her about Jim that way. She didn't think she would have handled herself as well as Hallie had. She glanced up at her mother. "I'll go check on her," she offered.

Helen smiled gratefully. "Eat your lunch first," she suggested. "Give her some time to settle down. She's had a long flight and I'm sure she could use some rest."

Peter concentrated on his own plate. Mildly, he said, "Do you always treat your sister that way?"

The brothers immediately sobered. "No, sir," Knut said.

"Not exactly," Cap amended.

"Uh-huh," Peter nodded, still looking at his food. "That's a good thing. Because if that is any example of how you usually treat her, I'm surprised she hasn't come into your room at night, Cap, and cut off those Indian braids you're so proud of." As Cap involuntarily touched one of the twin braids that rested on his chest, Peter looked up at Knut. "Or interfered with any of your 'friendships' with the opposite sex."

Knut swallowed guiltily, clearly thinking of the girls he'd left behind him. "Yes, sir," he said humbly. "We'll fix things with Hallie by dinnertime."

"Fair enough," Peter nodded. "Now, then. What else have you planned for your vacation here? Not just camping, I trust?"

Prodded into life once more, conversation turned to swimming, horseback riding, fishing and possible day trips into the city. Movies were mentioned and plans made for evening excursions to the riverfront and a sightseeing tour up the Hudson on a boat.

As she helped clear the table after lunch, Trixie smiled to herself. She had a sneaking suspicion this was going to be one of the better summer vacations of her young life. Why not? she asked herself. There'll be plenty to do, plenty of people to talk with and plenty of excuses to get out of dusting the downstairs. It'll be a perfect summer.

*     *     *

Monday at Manor House

Honey poked her head into Jim's bedroom. "Ben's Land Cruiser is coming up the driveway," she announced. "We have to go say hi."

Jim reluctantly closed his copy of Crime and Punishment. "I'm coming." He slid off his bed and placed the heavy book on his bedside table. He joined his sister in the hallway. "I guess we're in for it now, huh."

Honey gave him an exasperated look. "Honestly, Jim! He's going to be a lawyer. He's got to grow up sometime. Give him a chance."

Jim laid his hand over his heart. "I promise to give him every benefit of every doubt, Honey. He's my cousin now, too. But if I find one speck of dust in my room out of place, he's history!"

Honey just took Jim's hand in hers and dragged him toward the stairs. "It'll be fine. I promise!"

And it was fine. Ben charmed his aunt and uncle with stories of his last semester at Yale and his intentions for Harvard Law. When Madeleine remarked on how 'Paper Chase' it all seemed, Ben laughed even as Jim and Honey shot each other bewildered looks. "When I told Mother I wanted to go to law school, she made me watch that movie," he explained. "I think I surprised her by wanting to go even more."

Matthew roared with laughter. "If I know your mother, and I do, she probably thinks you hope to end up with your professor's daughter!"

Ben smiled. "Now that wouldn't be a bad thing, if the kid is as pretty as that chick in the movie. I have standards, Uncle Matt!"

"I'm sure you do," Jim remarked evenly. "Somewhere."

They shared a celebratory lunch in honor of Ben's arrival. Afterward, Miss Trask and Mrs. Wheeler requested Jim's approval of his birthday plans, leaving Honey with her father and Ben.

Matthew smiled at his nephew. "What are your plans while you're here, Ben?"

Ben shrugged and drank the last of his after-lunch coffee. "To sleep, mostly. I've got some books to read before I start One L, which is what they call the first year of law school. Other than that, I guess I'll just hang out here and see what's going on."

Honey laid her napkin beside her plate and spoke up. "The Belden cousins are here for three weeks, Father. I'm sure that Ben will be asked to join in any of our outings and parties."

"I don’t want to horn in on any malt shop get-togethers," Ben said. "I’m a little past all that."

A bit stung, Honey tried to smile. "You don't have to accept our invitations, of course."

Ben realized his rudeness. Chastened, he ducked his head. "I didn't mean that. I'd like to be invited, of course. I'm sure anything you guys plan will be fun."

"In the meantime," Matthew announced. "What say we all go for a ride? I've been wanting to give Jupiter a good workout for a while now. Ben? You up for it?"

"Sure!" Ben stood, dropping his napkin beside his plate. "Honey? You coming along?"

She was about to demur when Celia entered the room. "Sir?" she said to Mr. Wheeler. "The Berlin office is on the phone for you. It sounds important."

Matthew sighed and nodded. "It will be. Thanks, Celia. Tell them I'll be right there." He looked at Honey and Ben. "I guess you'll have to go without me. I'll see you both at dinner, okay?" He left the room.

Honey smiled at Ben. "Come on, cousin. Let's go for a ride."

Ben smiled. "Lead the way."

*     *     *

For the most part, Anne enjoyed working in the stables. She got to see Whistler, who used to be her own horse, every day and ride him whenever she could. She got fresh air, lots of quiet, and pleasant company. For the most part.

Currently, she had none of that. Her assignment that morning had been to muck out the stalls. All the stalls. Completely. While Regan busied himself in the tack room, reorganizing the leathers and examining each for signs of wear, he had the radio on. Loudly.

Since Regan kept the radio on an overhanging beam, positioned so as to be easily heard in every stall and room of the stables, Anne was unable to either avoid the music or reach the radio dial to change the station. She was stuck listening to whichever station her boss decided he liked at any given moment.

That wasn't always a bad thing, since they mostly shared musical tastes. They did, however, disagree about one thing. Country music. Regan adored it. Anne despised it.

"Pablum for the masses!" she had told him. "Country music is nothing but warmed-over sentiment, hokey lyrics and ridiculous twangy voices."

"I don't care. I like it," he had replied. "And since I’m the boss here, that's what we're going to listen to."

Shoveling manure to the sound of Alan Jackson seemed, to Anne's mind, somehow appropriate. She dug into a fragrant mound and kept her mutters to herself. Despite the ever-present guitars and fiddles, Anne knew if she uttered a single disparaging remark, Regan would be sure to hear it. If only she could figure out what prompted his sudden desire to 'spring clean' the stables, and why he wanted her to muck. Indeed, mucking the stalls had been Regan's task ever since her surgery. This was the first time she'd been asked to do it since. She had certainly recovered enough, but she still had to wonder at the duty assignment.

Regan had spent all of Sunday in Saratoga with Joan for her birthday. By rights, he should not still be feeling his oats. Darn it, Anne realized. They must have had a fight. This is going to be a heckuva day.

Fully expecting the day to get worse, Anne rested for a moment, her head on her hands, bracing herself on the shovel. She twisted her foot inside the heavy work boot she wore, thankful that she had mastered mucking to the point she no longer needed to wear coveralls over her shorts and T-shirt. She scratched at a drip of sweat that fell from the base of her milk-white ponytail, then turned to look out the stall window. She saw Honey and a vaguely familiar young man laughing and walking toward the stables. Who is that? she wondered. Where do I know him from?

Trying to think, she rested the shovel against the stall wall and went to the main stable doors. "Hey there, Honey," she greeted, nodding as well to the still-unrecognized man. "Hello."

Honey looked up and smiled. "Anne, this is my cousin Ben Riker. Ben, this is -"

"Hey!" Ben broke in. "Weren't you Margaret Lang?" He snapped his fingers. "Sure you were! My parents rented the villa next to yours near that lake in Switzerland, when was it, three years back? Four?"

Suddenly, Anne remembered him, too. "Benjamin Riker, as I live and breathe," she said slowly. "I forgot."

Ben looked puzzled. "Forgot what?"

Honey broke in. "As I was about to say, Ben, this might be someone you knew from before." She looked slightly perturbed that her introductions had gone awry. "I guess you have met."

"Yeah, we have," Ben said. He asked Anne, "What'd you forget?"

Anne shrugged. "That you were related to the Wheelers, of course." She turned to Honey. "You guys going to do some riding or is this just a social call?" She looked at the sky. "You may think about putting it off for a few hours. I don't think it'll get any cooler until after four at least."

"Then we'll just say hi to Regan," Ben suggested.

"Sounds good," Honey agreed. She and Ben moved past Anne into the stable.

Anne hurried after them. "Be warned. He's in a rotten mood."

But Honey took no notice of Anne's caution. She found Regan sitting on the wooden floor in the middle of a twisted sea of leather straps and reins. "Afternoon, Regan!" she called sunnily. "Guess who's here for a visit."

Regan looked up as they entered the tack room. His scowl of concentration disappeared when he recognized Honey. "Afternoon," he said to her, then glanced past. "Hello, Ben. Nice to see you again." He smiled, stretched up and shook Ben's proffered hand. "You two going to do some riding?"

Honey glanced at the tangled mess surrounding the groom. "Um, no," she said finally. "We'll probably just go for a walk or something."

Regan looked somewhat chagrined. "This isn't as bad as it looks. I've got two sets all ready to go." He gestured at the wall. "I can have Anne saddle some horses in no time."

Honey turned to ask Ben what he might prefer, but he had disappeared into the further recesses of the stable itself. She turned back to Regan. "I'll go find out, but I wouldn't worry about it. Thanks, Regan." He nodded and she left to go in search of her cousin.

After greeting Regan, Ben had gone back to talk to Anne. He found her going into the stall in the far corner of the stables. He called out to her, "Hey, Margie! This is sure different digs than the Swiss Alps, huh!" He reached the stable and leaned on the wall, hooking his elbows over the top and watching her inside.

Anne picked up the shovel and growled softly, "Feel free to call me 'Anne', okay?"

Ben laughed. "'Anne', huh? Okay."

"What? It is my name, you know."

"Sure, sure," he said. He watched Anne shovel a small pile of manure into a wheelbarrow. He hid his smile.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"This," Ben explained, gesturing at the manure, the straw and the shovel. "Who'd ever have thought prissy Margaret Lang, poster child for the unfortunate diseased, would ever willingly shovel s***?" He laughed as if he had made a good joke.

"Excuse me?" Anne almost dropped the shovel. "It's manure, and it's extremely helpful to the environment, I'll have you know! And what I'm doing is just as important to the horses who have to live here."

Ben continued to chuckle. "I'm sure they appreciate it. Do they tell you so when they come in from their afternoon romp in the pasture?" He grinned at her, his teeth sparkling in the half-light. He was clearly enjoying himself.

Fully glowering, Anne replied, "They don't have to. How would you like it if your toilet didn't flush?" She was about to continue, when she saw Honey's face next to Ben's elbows. Honey's eyes were wide and she appeared anxious. Anne returned to her shoveling, effectively ignoring any further criticism, joking or interference from either of them.

"Come on, Ben," Honey urged. "Let's go for that walk, okay?" Behind Ben's back, she mouthed an apology to Anne, along with a 'call me later.'

"Whatever, cousin," Ben agreed, allowing Honey to tug him away. He glanced over his shoulder once more to see the former heiress shoveling muck and then asked, unaware his words traveled, "What's the story with the white hair, anyway? She supposed to be shocked she has to work for a living now?"

"Ben!" Honey said harshly. "I can't believe you sometimes."

"What?" he asked. "What'd I say?" He followed her into the sunshine and toward the woods. "Come on, Honey! Tell me. What'd I say that was so wrong?"

Left inside the stable, Anne shoveled the last clump of manure. She set the shovel against the wall and prepared to hoist up the end of the wheelbarrow and take it all outside. She took hold of each wooden handle and lifted, grunted, and looked up. Regan stood directly in her path. Thankful for the brief respite, she set the heavy barrow down. "Something wrong?" she asked, knowing there would be.

He nodded. "I don’t want to hear you arguing with any of the Wheelers, okay?"

"But-!"

He held up a hand, forestalling her shocked reply. "I don't care what he says to you or when or how or anything. In the future, if you can't smile and make nice, just ignore him and walk away, got it?" Anne opened her mouth to protest further, but Regan persisted. "You got it?"

"Fine!" she snapped. "I got it! Now, get out of my way!"

Regan hesitated a moment, then stepped aside. He watched as she struggled with the ill-balanced, half-full barrow, but he did not offer his assistance. He watched her maneuver it down the long alley toward the main stable doors. He sighed for a moment, his thoughts lost, then he shook himself. "Focus!" he whispered fiercely to himself. He returned to his task, re-sorting the tack room.

Outside, Honey and Ben had taken the scenic path through the woods. They walked just a few feet inside the tree line, giving themselves a shady path and a perfect back view of the Manor House grounds. "You knew Anne from before?" Honey asked.

"Yeah," Ben nodded. "When she was Margaret." He shook his head and batted at a low-hanging branch. "I read some about her, of course, and Mother spoke to your dad about it all, too. Pretty wild story, huh."

"Yes, it was," Honey agreed, falling silent. They walked on and she pointed out a few new landmarks to her cousin. Finally, she asked, "What was she like then? As Margaret, I mean?"

Ben snickered. "You've heard of spoiled brats?" Honey nodded. "They had nothing on Margaret. She just had to ask, and her parents gave her everything and more. If she didn't think a waiter was respectful enough, she just had to pout and that man was fired. If she didn't want to participate in a game or something," he went on, warming to his subject, "and there are always scheduled entertainments and things for the tourists, which we were. Well, if she didn't want to do it, she just fainted or something and voila! She was excused from it."

"She fainted?" Honey asked. "You're kidding."

Ben shook his head. "Nope. I wasn't sure she was faking it all the time, but I think she was. I only heard of once when she fainted and she was all alone. Man!" he chuckled. "You've never seen such a frenzy than when one of the Lang employees carried her into the main dining room, yelling something about a 'relapse' or something."

"That's horrible!" Honey, always tender-hearted, stopped in her tracks. "What happened?"

Ben shrugged. "They took her to the hospital, I guess. A few days later, we heard the Langs had left the Alps and were headed to some special clinic in Japan." His expression and manner clearly showed that he thought it had all been a lot of fuss over nothing.

"You know she's got diabetes," Honey said. "It's serious when she faints."

"Come on!" Ben dismissed the idea. "She takes a few injections, a couple of pills and she's fine." He turned and continued down the path.

Honey followed after him, shaking her head. She wondered sometimes how her cousin had any friends at all. He does have a large bankbook, she thought. Maybe that's all it is.

*     *     *

The Belden children had decided to take their cousins on a tour of their 'little corner of the world', as Hallie had put it. Cap and Knut hadn't been to the farm in over ten years; seeing Ten Acres ruined and Manor House in full life surprised them both.

"I can't get over the change," Knut said more than once. "It's tremendous."

After a tour of the Bob White clubhouse, the seven Beldens walked up the long driveway to the Wheeler estate. Celia showed them to the living room where they found Jim, anxious to escape Miss Trask and his own mother. "They're making me decide about the party tomorrow night," he complained. "You know how I hate this kind of thing."

Trixie laughed. "What you need is a party planner to make all these decisions for you," she said. "Not that I'm volunteering, you understand."

"Relax, Jim," Miss Trask told him. "You've given me enough input for now. I'll just go ahead and make any further decisions on my own."

Mrs. Wheeler agreed. "That sounds wonderful, Miss Trask." The delicately constructed woman touched a hand to her forehead. "All this discussion has given me a headache. I'll go upstairs and lie down before dinner." She smiled at them, then nearly floated out of the room.

"Wow," Cap breathed after she left. "Your mom is so not like anyone I've ever met."

Jim shrugged. "What can I say? She's an original."

Miss Trask nodded. "She is that. Now, run along. All of you. I have work to do. Scoot!" Laughing, she ushered them out the door. "I'll see you all at the party tomorrow night, right?"

The teenagers found themselves on the back porch of Manor House, facing the stables and the garage. Trixie was about to ask for suggestions when Hallie shrieked and pointed, "There he is! That's him!"

Knut and Cap leaned over the railing. "That's the guy? That's the one?" Cap asked. He looked at his brother. "What do you think?"

Knut thought for a minute. "I think we can take him," he said. As if they had given a signal, Cap and Knut jumped over the railing and tore after the distant figure strolling along the grass, unaware of any controversy whatsoever.

Horrified, at first Trixie could do nothing. Hearing Jim ask, 'What's going on?', however, galvanized her into action. "They're going to kill Dan!" she announced. Instantly, the remaining teenagers started running after the brothers.

Dan, on his way to the stables to see his uncle, had his mind on other things, so when he heard the sound of pounding feet, it didn't register he should probably look up. When he finally did, he stopped short, more than a bit bewildered at the sight of two vaguely familiar persons rushing toward him. The taller one had dark blond hair in two thin braids and an expression a cross between righteous indignation and amusement. The shorter one had dark brown hair. His face betrayed no sign of friendliness. They stopped a few feet from him and narrowed their eyes.

Dan's street-born instincts took over. "You want something?" he said, his voice low.

The darker one stuck his chin out. "You Dan Mangan?" he asked, a sneer twisting the words.

"What if I am?" Dan replied. What was going on? Who were these people? Where did they come from? He quickly assessed their threat potential.

By the accent, at least one of them was not native to the state, or even the East Coast. The Indian braids and, Dan noted quickly, leather moccasins, identified the blond one as a spiritual heir to Mr. Maypenny instead of Mike Tyson. The other one, in his collared shirt and Dockers shorts, told him that he hadn't much experience in intimidation, either. Fortunately, Dan himself did.

Dan drew himself up as tall as he could and balanced his weight on the uneven ground. He felt his arms and chest flexing with anticipation. He stared levelly at the two. "Well? What if I am? You want to make something of it?"

Surprise and uncertainty flickered in the dark-haired one's eyes. "Uh, actually," he said, in a much different tone than before, "Not really. How do you do? I'm Knut Belden." He held out his hand.

As Dan took it, his guard still not dropping completely, the other one said, "And I'm Capleton Belden. We're Hallie's brothers."

Suddenly, it all made sense. "Her older brothers, I take it," Dan said, shaking the other one's hand.

"Right," Cap smirked at Knut. "You got it."

"Hey, man," Knut said. "Sorry if we scared you. It was more for her benefit than anything else."

"Her?" Dan looked past them as the rest of the Beldens swarmed.

Trixie, Brian, Jim and Mart formed a loose circle around them as Hallie shouted, "Dan! Don't pay them any attention." She ran in front of her brothers and took Dan's arm protectively in hers. "It would be a really bad idea if you were to fight him!" she said to Cap and Knut.

"Uh, relax, Hallie," Dan said, trying to pull his arm away. "They were just saying hello."

"They were what?" Hallie asked. Brian and Jim grinned and elbowed each other. Trixie made a disgusted sound.

Dan smiled. "Yeah. They just wanted to introduce themselves, that's all." He caught Cap and Knut's careful look. Apparently, he'd just been raised in their esteem. He decided he liked that, and he liked them. Dan glanced at the others. "I just got off work and there was a message for Uncle Bill on the machine. I was taking it to him. You want to come along or can I meet you guys somewhere?"

"I want to meet Regan," Cap announced. "Let's go."

"Sounds good," Knut agreed. And they all walked toward the stables together.

In front of the stables, they found Anne hard at work. She was using an oversized handheld garden shovel to stuff burlap sacks full of horse manure, the second stage of her assigned task. She sat next to a huge mound of the stinky material. To her left were the empty bags. She had not made much progress. She looked up as the group approached. "Hi," she said.

Trixie stepped forward to make introductions as Anne stood and brushed herself off. Since her hands were only dubiously clean, she waved to Cap and Knut. She turned to Hallie, who was still pressing herself against Dan's side. Hallie smiled. Anne grit her teeth and nodded. "Well, I've got work to do," she announced. "What are your plans for the day?" She sat back down and returned to stuffing the bags.

Hallie giggled. "Renew old acquaintances, I guess," she said. "What is that, by the way?"

Assuming she meant the music clearly audible from inside the stable and not the pile of muck beside her, Anne replied, "Reba McEntire. Got a problem with that?"

Hallie blinked. "No. I kind of like Country music. Shania Twain, for instance."

Anne mouthed 'Shania Twain?' to Trixie, who grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Dan excused himself. "I've still got to give this message to my uncle. I'll be right back."

"I'll be waiting," Hallie said, barely stifling another giggle.

After Dan walked out of earshot, Knut moved to his sister's side. "Do yourself a favor and cool it, okay?"

"What are you talking about?" Hallie asked softly.

Dan returned with his uncle. Regan was saying, "-sound angry or what?"

"No," Dan said. "I left the message there so you could listen to it yourself. I think she was sincere."

"Who was?" Anne asked, as Brian introduced Regan to his cousins.

"Joan," Dan replied. Anne nodded, her earlier guess confirmed.

"So, you're the guy to see around here if we want to do any riding?" Knut grinned.

"Looks that way," Regan replied. "We've got six horses, no waiting."

Mart spoke up then. "Diana's got some horses, too. I'm sure we could get permission to add them to our roster for the duration."

"Sounds good," Cap agreed. "Though I don't hold much with using animals for recreation."

"Oh?" Regan asked politely.

"Don’t mind him, Regan," Hallie said. "Cap's a member of PETA."

"I see," Regan nodded, effectively dropping the topic. He announced, "I'm going to grab some lunch and call my girlfriend. Help yourself to the horses. Anne can answer any questions. I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Got it, Chief," Anne called as Regan hurried toward his apartment over the garage. "Well?" She looked up at the group. "What'll it be?"

"I guess we're going riding, right, gang?" Trixie decided.

Hallie turned to Dan. "When do I get to meet Cranberry?" she asked. Dan made a reply and for a moment, everyone spoke at once, asking which horse would be most suitable for their afternoon ride.

Then Honey appeared with Ben. "I'm glad I caught you!" she said brightly. "Everyone, this is my cousin, Ben."

Brian stepped forward first. "Nice to see you again, Ben. These are our cousins from Idaho. Cap, Knut and Hallie."

After another flurry of 'nice to meet you', conversation returned to the horses. Finally, Ben asked, "Who gets to ride Jupiter?"

"Not you!" Anne snapped. Her sudden exclamation stopped the congenial conversation. Recovering herself, she said, "In the absence of Red or Regan, Jim rides Jupiter. Even I'm not allowed to ride him."

Knut asked, "Who's 'Red'?"

Brian quickly replied, "Mr. Wheeler."

Ben nodded thoughtfully. He gestured toward the pasture and the horses in clear view. "Then, how about that gray and white one? He's new, right? Whistler, isn't he?"

"No!" Anne said, her sharp tone returning. She glanced around, mentally assigning horses to each person. "Trixie," she said finally. "Why don't you ride Whistler?"

Trixie blinked, startled. Anne never let anyone ride her horse except Dan, who had his own, or Regan or Mr. Wheeler. "You want me to ride your horse?"

Anne smiled hopefully. "He's not really my horse. Not anymore. Please, Trixie? You're a real good rider. I trust you with him."

"I'm a good rider, too," Hallie said. "And Trixie usually rides Susie. Why don't I ride Whistler?"

Anne shot Trixie a panicked look, pleading with her to accept her suggestion. Trixie nodded. "I'll take Whistler. Hallie, why don't you take Susie? You'll like her. I promise."

'Thank you!' Anne mouthed. Aloud, she said, "I'll get some halters and bring in the horses from the pasture. You'll be all set in a flash."

Jim pulled Trixie aside. "That was a nice thing to do," he said to her before progressing to the tack room.

"Thanks," she said, surprised he had noticed any of the girls' nonverbal negotiations. Cap had struck up a conversation with Ben about college, and Knut chatted with Honey about the Ozarks while Brian listened in. She saw then that Dan and Hallie were engaged in conversation. How she wished she could hear what they said to each other!

*     *     *

"I'm sorry. I never meant to give you that impression."

"But I thought… that summer … we were… so close!"

Dan sighed. "I know. You're a real sweet girl, but I think you're too young for me."

"Too young!" Hallie's blackberry eyes filled with tears. "I wasn't too young two years ago!"

He shrugged. "I thought you were older. I didn't know you were only thirteen!"

"So? I'll be fifteen next month!"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But right now that seems so young to me. There's a lot in life you don't have a clue about."

She sniffed, trying to control herself. "There's someone else, isn't there."

He took a deep breath. "There might be."

Hallie nodded. "Trixie wrote me you were dating someone for a while. Ruth, wasn't it? But she said you stopped dating her sometime last year."

He nodded. "Ruth and I are still friends. It's not her."

"Who is it, then?" Hallie's eyes widened. "It's not Trixie, is it?"

He frowned, puzzled. "Trixie? No! She's just a good friend. No, it's not her, either."

"Then…?"

Anne stepped up to them and touched Dan briefly on the arm. "Dan? If you get a chance, could you help me with the horses?"

"Sure, Anne," he said with an involuntary smile. "I'll be right there." He watched her as she walked away.

"It's her, isn't it!" Hallie realized. "That kidnapped girl." Dan didn't meet her eyes. "I don't believe it! You've fallen for her tale of woe and that's that? That summer never happened?"

"It's not like that," Dan insisted. "She needs me." His eyes searched hers for understanding. "She needs something only I can help her with. I’m sorry. I tried to tell you when you emailed you were coming but you didn't seem to believe me or something. I tried. I really did." He sighed once more then brushed her hand with his, unwilling to raise her hopes by touching her more than that. "I am sorry for hurting you."

She didn't respond, but stood in the half light of the stable while her brothers and her cousins laughed and joked about horses and tack and life and other unimportant things. Dan whispered that he had to go help Anne and he walked away, leaving her alone. Hallie brushed at her eyes, angry that she had allowed him to see how much he had ever meant to her, determined he would never know how much pain he had caused her. She summoned up her strength and plastered a smile on her lips. She turned and called out, "So, Trix. I'm getting Susie, huh? I'm glad. She's a great horse."

Trixie looked up from saddling Whistler and smiled encouragingly. "Nothing but the best for you, Hallie."

"Thanks, Trixie," Hallie replied.

Then Hallie joined in the teasing and laughing about horses and tack and trails and life and other unimportant things. She did her best to ignore the constant background music, even as the Dixie Chicks sang:

There's your trouble, there's your trouble, you've been seeing double with the wrong one. You can't see I love you, you can't see she doesn't, but you just keep a-holding

Next Chapter

Trixie Belden Homepage