Author's Note: Since some of the info presented in this chapter is US-specific, I thought a bit of explanation for any non-US readers was in order. 1) The IRS (or Internal Revenue Service) is not technically a government agency, but supposedly they work for the government anyway. They have a great deal of leeway when it comes to deciding if someone owes more than they claim on their taxes and stuff like that. 2) Last year, the US started minting quarters dedicated to each state in the union. The coins were produced in order of each state joining the union. Rather than having George Washington's portrait on one side, the design in some way represents the state itself. Some people have been collecting them in hopes the coins will be worth more than 25¢ some day.

As always, thanks to Lynn for her editorial eagle eyes.

 

Chapter Ten: Monday, Monday

Sunday turned out to be a day of chores, particularly at Crabapple Farm. Helen invited Mr. Davis to dinner, so Hallie and Trixie were drafted to assist in the kitchen. The boys were set to putting the gardens to rights and telephone conversations with the other Bob-Whites were kept to a minimum. There just wasn't time for everything.

The early dinner the family shared with the lawyer taught Trixie a valuable lesson: how to look like you're grateful for company even when you resent that person's presence. Mr. Davis spoke of little about the trial, preferring instead to humor Bobby's persistent questioning about lawyers and judges and courtrooms.

As Mr. Davis waxed rhapsodic about the criminal justice system, Trixie realized her brain had kicked into 'detect' mode. She discovered her edge over the lawyer. He thought she was just a kid, probably a troublemaker. He had been retained by the family in case she had ever gotten into too much hot water, so naturally he discounted the quite valuable work she had already done. What she needed to do was going to be easy. She needed to play dumb and let him tell her everything she wanted to know without his knowing that's what he was telling her.

She assumed her most Diana-like expression (wide eyes, tilted head, small smile) and began asking her own questions. She was rewarded with the strangest looks from her brothers and cousins, but that did not matter to her. She was also rewarded with answers from Mr. Davis.

By the time the lawyer had left the farmhouse, much too late, Trixie thought, for a proper guest, she had a plethora of information to sort out. She hurried upstairs to her room, pleading an early night. She noticed Hallie hurrying upstairs beside her, but did not mind. A second brain to sort the mess was just what she needed.

The two girls sat cross-legged on their respective twin beds and faced each other. "Okay, spill it, Beatrix," Hallie said sternly. "What was that performance at dinner all about?"

Trixie grinned. "It was about detective work and I think it was a success!"

"I thought you had something going," her cousin replied. "But what did you figure out?"

"A couple things," Trixie said. "Namely, that the investigation on his end is centering on proving my dad's innocence, which is good. But nobody's looking for who's doing this to him or why."

Hallie shook her head. "But won't that come out in the trial anyway? I mean, if they prove it's not your dad, then…"

"That's all they have to do," Trixie said. "They don't have to figure out who's doing this to Dad. They just have to prove my dad's not doing it. But! If the person who's doing this can be found, then my dad's automatically proven innocent and everything will be over really quick."

"I don't follow."

Trixie wondered if her cousin were intentionally playing dumb to force her to prove her theory. "Okay," she said slowly, trying to think of a real-life example. "You remember the OJ Simpson trial, right? He was proven 'not guilty', but no one ever found the guy who really did it, so the trial took a really long time."

Hallie just stared. "It did?"

Trixie stared back at her cousin. "You don't follow the news too much, do you." It was not a question but a sad statement of fact. Maybe Hallie wasn't playing.

"I guess I don't," she admitted. "I mean, I remember coming home and finding they had interrupted soaps to show the verdict, but I don't really remember the trial taking all that long. I mean, I guess it did, and I guess I can see what you're driving at."

Trixie gave up. "Okay, short version. If I figure out who's doing this to my dad, then they can't prosecute my dad for the crime because then obviously he won't have done it."

Hallie's face brightened. "Okay." She laughed. "Maybe I need to up my dose of gingko. Where are you going to start looking, then?"

Trixie grinned and jumped off her bed. She went to her desk and opened a drawer, retrieving a notebook and pen. "I'm going to make a list and you're going to help me." She sat back on the bed and balanced the book on her knee, opening it to the first blank page. "Now, who would benefit if my dad was found guilty?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Hallie lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "You know, in TV shows and stuff, they always suspect the wife first."

Trixie nodded. "I know. But there's no way my mom did this to my dad."

"But do you know a logical reason that's so? Or are you just hoping she's not to blame?"

"It's logical," Trixie replied. "For one thing, look at her. She's not taking this well at all. Tonight was the first night all week she looks like she's slept any. Except for her going to the jail, this is the first time I've seen her with her hair brushed and her clothes not all rumpled. She's falling apart."

Hallie nodded. "I suppose so. But maybe she's just a good actress?"

"She's been crying herself to sleep, Hal," Trixie reminded her acerbically. "We've all heard her, except maybe Bobby and the guys sleeping downstairs. She did not do this. Next suspect." Her tone brooked no opposition.

"Okay," she said, giving in. "Anyone else around here?"

"Not hardly." Trixie tapped her pencil against the notebook. "It's gotta be someone at the bank, but who?"

"Is your dad hard to work for?"

"Only when it comes to cleaning out the garage," Trixie smirked. "Then he's a true slave driver." She sighed, thinking of the last time Peter Belden had set his children to that particularly despised chore. It had taken the four kids three full days before their father pronounced the converted barn 'clean'. What she wouldn't give to hear him ordering her to clean it out again.

"But do his employees at the bank hate him?"

"I don't think so," Trixie said slowly. "I mean, they certainly wouldn't tell me if they did. His secretary seems to call a lot, but I don't think she hates him, if you catch my drift."

"Oh, really?" Hallie turned on her side to face her. "So his secretary's got a crush? Then maybe she's doing this to get at Aunt Helen or something?"

Trixie frowned at that thought. "Then why get rid of my dad? Wouldn't she be better off getting rid of my mom? I mean, cause otherwise, she's just put the object of her affection into the slammer. That's not exactly going to win her brownie points at work."

"Hm. I guess you're right." Hallie began chewing on one of her oddly colored fingernails.

"So, what if this person likes my mom?" Warming to the idea, Trixie spoke faster. "Then, getting rid of my dad would be a good thing, cause my mom would be lost and she'd need help and oh my god but are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Slowly, Hallie sat upright, her eyes wide. "I don't think so. What are you thinking?"

"That it's Mr. Davis himself who's doing this!"

*     *     *

Trixie called an emergency meeting of the Bob-Whites early Monday morning, but they couldn't completely assemble until noon. The last one to the clubhouse, Anne breathlessly apologized for her tardiness. "Sorry, but my doctor's appointment ran long." Dan shot her a concerned look, but she refrained from further explanation, instead concentrating on taking her seat at the table between him and Diana.

"Okay, then let's get to business." At the head, Trixie rapped her knuckles on the wooden conference table to officially bring the meeting to order. "The first thing on my agenda is to discuss my parents' situation."

"Trixie?" Brian, sitting between his sister and Honey, broke in first. "What are you going to do?"

"Come on, Brian! I have to do something," she explained.

Mart tilted his chair back and rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if to say 'there she goes again'. Sitting across from her boyfriend, Diana's violet eyes went wide with surprise and admiration. "Are you really going to take on the federal government, Trixie? Wow!"

"No, she's not," Brian said firmly. "Dad told you to stay out of it. He asked me specifically to make sure you did."


Mart lifted a hand. "Hey. I was there. I was included in that."

"He asked me and Mart," Brian amended. "He made us promise we'd do our best to keep out of this. Despite our reservations."

Trixie's eyes went wide with surprise. "You had reservations?"

"Sure," Brian told her. "You've always been more right about these things than wrong. Still, Dad worries about you. He always will."

"It's that 'Daddy's Little Girl' thing," Mart smirked.

Trixie shrugged. "Well, too bad," she told them. "I'm not going to just sit on my hands and do nothing, especially when I think Mr. Davis is looking in the wrong spot."

"Excuse me, Trix," Jim said, sitting in his usual seat at the other end of the table. "I know this isn't really any of my business, but what makes you think the lawyer your dad picked out himself isn't doing his job right?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's doing his job the best he can," Trixie assured them all. "I just don't think he's thinking of all the possibilities. I also don't think he's thinking of the quickest way to settle this whole issue."

"Of course, he is," Jim said, but Dan laughed, interrupting him.

"Can you imagine a lawyer not dragging out a case so he can rack up the billable hours?"

"Exactly!" Trixie grinned triumphant. "I don't think he's thinking an inch beyond his bill."

"What else do you have to go on?" Jim asked cautiously.

"Hallie and I put together a list last night," Trixie said. She leaned over, reaching under her chair for her overstuffed shoulder bag. She pulled it onto her lap and opened it, producing a sheaf of notebook paper and a notebook. She spread the papers out on the table, smoothing the creases.

"Where is Hallie, by the way? Why didn't she join us?" Diana asked.

Quickly and almost under her breath, Anne said, "This is a Bob-White meeting," carefully stressing the closed nature of the gathering.

Brian told them all, "Our cousins took the day to drive into White Plains to hunt up souvenirs and stuff for their friends back in Idaho." Diana smiled her thanks to Brian for the information.

"Okay, so what did you and Hallie come up with?" Jim asked, redirecting the conversation to the topic at hand.

Trixie lifted the papers off the table, suddenly shy about sharing her brainstorm about Mr. Davis with the rest of them. She was no longer certain the lawyer was at the bottom of things, but she had no other suspects to offer. "The best we could come up with was that Mr. Davis was doing this himself." She braced herself for the firestorm of disbelief and outright ridicule.

There was none. At least, there was no such immediate reaction.

"Mr. Davis, huh?" Brian repeated thoughtfully. "Why?"

"Yeah, Trixie, why would he?" Anne asked. "Just to make some money off defending your dad? That seems kind of iffy."

"Lawyers are sleazoids, that's for sure," Dan said, "but I almost can't believe a lawyer would stoop to such a dirty trick just for the money."

"You don't think it is just for the money, do you," Jim asked Trixie speculatively.

"No," she admitted. "I don't." She wondered if Jim were still mad at her for leaving things the way she had Saturday night. She hadn't chanced calling him Sunday, but when she did speak to Honey, nothing had been mentioned about Jim at all. She hoped he was excusing her behavior without waiting for her apology.

"Then why?" Mart asked her straight out. "He just hates Dad? I don't get it."

She looked at her papers. "I think it's Moms he's after."

That's when she got a reaction.

"Moms? No way!" Mart blurted out.

"He had better not be thinking of Moms that way!" Brian said hotly.

In unison, Diana and Honey said, "Ewww!"

Dan actually seemed to be thinking about it. "I could buy that," he said finally. "I mean, your mom is-" He broke himself off when he realized Brian and Mart were watching him extra carefully. "Never mind." He did not turn to look, but he knew Anne was watching him, too. Diana giggled.

"What makes you think Mr. Davis would go to all this trouble just for your mom, though?" Jim asked. "I mean, this isn't just discrediting him. This goes far deeper than that. Whoever's doing this is intending to ruin your dad's reputation, not just get him out of the way so he can make moves on his wife."

"I had thought of that," Trixie admitted. "Believe it or not, I didn't think this theory held a whole lot of water. But I can't think of anything more likely. Or, I couldn't last night." She put the sheaf of papers back down on the table. Thoughtfully, she began pulling at one of the yellow curls of hair that kept falling in her eyes.

"Wait a minute," Brian said loudly. "Jim. Are you really saying that our mom isn't worth that much trouble?" He stared hard at him, daring the redhead to imply his mother was ugly.

"What?" Jim hastened to assure his friend. "No, of course not. She's probably worth stealing a nuclear bomb for!"

With the same expression as his brother, Mart asked Jim, "So now you're saying you find our mom attractive?"

Jim almost jumped from his seat. "Of course not! I mean - yes, but - argh!" That's when he saw Dan smother a chuckle and Brian hide a grin. Realizing his friends were teasing him, he slumped back in defeat. "You jerks. You know what I mean."

The others laughed, finding the release of tension welcome. "We know what you mean, Jim," Brian finally said. "Don't worry about it. Back to business."

"Yes," Trixie agreed with a roll of her eyes. "If it isn't Mr. Davis trying to impress Moms, then who is it and why?"

"Trixie," Anne began, "not that I'm trying to tell you how to run your investigation or anything, but what makes you so certain Davis isn't working this angle himself? It seems illogical to duplicate his efforts."

"But we aren't." Trixie smiled, supremely confident. "I found out last night that Mr. Davis is perfectly happy with the way his case is progressing and that he is not looking for alternate suspects."

Brian and Mart frowned at each other. "Hey, Trix," Mart said. "I was at dinner last night, too. I don't recall him saying anything like that."

"Yeah," Brian agreed. "Neither do I."

Trixie fairly puffed up with more confidence. "I know you don't. Because he never said that."

"Okay," Honey broke in. "I'm not following this at all."

"You're not?" Diana asked with a laugh. "I’m shocked, because I am and I usually don't and you usually do."

"Well, I'm sorry," Honey snapped back. "I can't always be on top of things."

Wounded, Diana stopped smiling. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said. "I'm sorry."

Honey waved a hand. "Oh, skip it. I'm just on edge today." She shot a look to Trixie, who stared hard at her for a moment before recognition hit her.

"Oh! Okay," she said. Trixie caught Anne's questioning look, so she turned to Anne and said, "She's on edge today."

Anne made the same expression of recognition and turned to Diana with a half grin. "She's on edge."

Diana grinned. "Oh!" Her expression changed swiftly to one of complete empathy. "I am so sorry," she said. "Forgive?"

Honey chuckled ruefully and waved a hand gracefully. "It's okay."

Throughout this bit of silent female communication, the boys were doing their share of struggling to decipher the messages each girl was sending to the other. They ended up shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads. When Diana began to chuckle, Dan's face lit up. "Oh! I get it!"

Brian asked him, "Is it what I think it is?" Dan nodded.

"Oh!" Mart said. "Then it's what I think it is, too. I think."

Diana flushed a delicate pink and nodded as well. "Yeah, Mart. It's what you think."

Completely flustered, Jim stared at all of them. "Well, I'm completely clueless. Would somebody let me in on this secret that everyone knows but isn't telling me?"

The seven other Bob-Whites alternated staring at each other, the table, the ceiling and the walls before Honey, exasperated beyond measure, blurted, "I've got PMS, okay? Jeez!"

It was several minutes before Jim's face regained its natural coloring. "Let's get back to business, okay?" he managed to choke out.

"Sure, Jim," Trixie said. He flashed her a grateful look and she smiled back, relieved they were such good friends they didn't have to discuss the tiff Saturday night. There were no awkwardness, no hesitant glances. They were friends first and foremost. Friends didn't have to worry about every single argument or dispute. They could get over things because they understood each other. Jim was like that. She could be like that, too. "As I was saying," she continued. "Mr. Davis never came right out and said he wasn't searching for other suspects, but he did say he was a firm believer in 'innocent until proven guilty'."

"Which means what, exactly?" Jim asked dubiously. "I mean, I know the legal principle, but him saying that means what?"

Trixie dimpled. "It means he's content to let the government prove its case. He's not going to do anything more than cast doubt on the prosecution. He's not planning to offer any counter-theories. He doesn't think he has to."

Dan grimaced. "Doesn't sound like much of a lawyer."

"Actually," Brian countered, "he's got a good win/loss record and he came highly recommended." He looked uncertainly at his sister. "I’m not sure he isn't looking into alternate suspects."

"Well," Trixie said. "He didn't say he was, either."

"Maybe he was trying to keep you and Moms and all of us from all this worry?" Mart asked. "Maybe that's the only rationale for his statements."

Trixie made a note on her papers. "Maybe, but can any of you honestly tell me Davis has been researching other suspects and theories?"

The others shook their heads. "I guess not," Diana said. "But I'm not sure we'd know if he were."

"Maybe we should be looking into all this," Honey said finally. "Anything to help is helpful, right?" She glanced at the Bob-Whites across the table and then at Jim.

"I'm not so sure," Jim said. "What experience do we really have in this area? None. Our cases before this have always been pre-trial stuff. I can't believe this Davis guy isn't looking into this same thing."

"You mean," Trixie said, "That you think Mr. Davis is hiding things from us? That he's telling us he's not looking for the guy who's doing this, but he really is?"

"Why not?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure why not, but I'm not buying it. Davis comes off as too sanctimonious about it."

"Sanctimonious?" Mart grinned. "Wow, sis. I'm impressed!"

Diana repeated the word, then asked, "What does that mean?" Mart gestured to Trixie to allow her the honor of providing the definition.

Trixie colored slightly. "I think it means 'holier than thou'."

"Good enough," Mart grinned.

Diana nodded. "So, Mr. Davis is sanctimonious about his belief that it's best to play a waiting game with the government? That it's in your dad's best interest if he simply pleads 'not guilty' and lets the government do all the work to prove he is?"

Trixie nodded. "Basically, yeah. Mr. Davis believes that, since Dad is innocent, the government will be unable to prove his guilt. So he's leaving it at that."

"That sounds cold," Honey said. "And stupid. Shouldn’t the lawyer be doing more?"

"Well, he isn't, as far as we know," Trixie told her. Her small concession to the boys' questions did not go unnoticed. "Which is why I want to. I'm not content to just sit here and wait for the government to throw things at my dad, hoping something will stick and he'll be found guilty when he's not. I think someone's gone to a great deal of trouble to make it seem like my dad's a real sleazoid, as Dan would say. I want to know who that is. Even if," she pointed out, "my dad is found innocent, the guy who is doing this would still be on the loose and able to do it again or even something worse next time."

The group fell silent for several minutes, considering that very possible development. Finally, Anne spoke up. "Okay then, what about your dad's employees? Would any of them have reason to cook this up?"

Brian answered with a negative shake of his head. "He's a great boss. They all like him."

Mart nodded. "I've never seen a hint of complaint or anything like that."

"Well, would you have?" Anne asked. "I mean, whenever I visited the factories or offices with my-" she stumbled over the term, "-ex-parents, the workers always told me how great the Langs were to work for. But in deposition after deposition, in all that pre-trial stuff, it came out how they were horrible to their employees. Firing them for no good reason. Canceling vacations on a whim. Things like that."

"My dad would never do that," Trixie said. She appeared to want to say more, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

The Bob-Whites stared at each other. They were all present and accounted for. Who would be calling on them? Who knew they were there? Who would knock and not call out his or her name? Who should get up and find out who it was?

It occurred to them that Dan was Sergeant-at-Arms and it was therefore his duty to answer the summons. He stood up and went to the door. Opening it, he asked, "Yes? Can I help you?"

A slender man in a dark gray suit stood in the early afternoon sunlight. He wore glasses and carried a briefcase and a laptop computer. He asked, "Is this the Bob-Whites of the Glen clubhouse?"

Startled, Dan nodded. "Yes, it is. What can I do for you?"

The man smiled. "Wonderful. I found it. Ms. Trask's directions were excellent. May I come in?"

"First," Dan said, "who are you? This is a private meeting and we don't allow visitors." He didn't look, but he could sense his friends' interest.

"Excuse me," the man said. "I'm Francis Bascombe, of the Internal Revenue Service. Here's my card." He withdrew a small white business card and handed it to Dan. "Now may I come in?"

Dan read the card. He glanced to Jim and Trixie. "Guys? He's from the IRS."

Uneasily, Trixie stood. "Oh? Um, well…" She glanced at the others. What was she supposed to do?

Jim stood as well and moved to the door. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Bascombe," he said, extending his hand. The agent shook it. "Please, come in."

Dan and Jim shared a look and a shrug before stepping aside to let the man enter. The agent glanced around the clubhouse. "Nice place," he said. "Did you guys have to fix it up much before you moved in? That looks like a fairly new roof."

"Well, sure," Trixie said. "We did all the work ourselves, though."

"Did you really?" The agent looked impressed. He gestured to the table. "May I sit down?"

"May I ask what this is all about?" Anne asked as Jim led Bascombe to sit in his place.

"Certainly, certainly," the man said. "Let me get my computer set up first." He put his laptop on the table and opened it. In moments, he was paging through a document. "Here we go," he said finally. Jim had pulled up a folding chair and he sat between his sister and Trixie, sharing the opposite corner of the table.

"Here we go?" Brian asked. "What's this all about?"

Bascombe smiled. "I'm one part of a team of agents investigating Peter Belden."

"What does that have to do with us?" Jim asked warily.

Trixie asked, "I thought you said you were with the IRS? The FBI's investigating my father. What does the IRS have to do with any of this?"

"We're just a little club," Brian said. "We have nothing to do with our parents."

"Oh, no," Honey moaned. "I've got a bad feeling about this." She rubbed a hand over her stomach.

Bascombe smiled. "I don't mean to worry you," he said. "But I must ask you some questions all the same."

"What kind of questions and what does this really have to do with us?" Trixie asked.

"And why ask us anyway?" Mart questioned. "We have nothing to do with the bank."

"Please," Bascombe said. "Let me get a word in edgewise and I think I can explain just how you are involved in Peter Belden's case." He waited, but there was no further interruption. "Good. Now, as you are all apparently aware, the government believes that Peter Belden has embezzled quite a large sum of money from his bank and deposited it all in a Swiss bank account."

"It's all a lie," Trixie said sourly. "But we are all aware of that."

"Good." Bascombe smiled cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the ill feelings the Bob-Whites held regarding him and his purpose. "Right now, investigators from my office in White Plains are auditing Peter Belden's personal finances."

"What do you mean, right now?" Brian asked sharply.

"I mean they are at Crabapple Farm as we speak," the agent replied. "We all drove over here together."

Brian stood. "I have to get home then."

"So do we," Trixie said. Mart stood, too.

"No, you don't," Bascombe replied smoothly. "Please. Sit down." He waited until the Beldens did as he asked. "The agents there are only acquiring certain records that your family's accountant has stated were being kept in the house. Records the FBI neglected to take with them when they searched on Friday."

"You mean they forgot something?" Trixie asked sarcastically. "Cool."

"Yes, well," Bascombe said. "This should only take a brief moment or two. Let me first be sure to whom I am speaking. I take it you are Beatrix, Martin and Brian Belden?" He pointed at the three siblings.

"Yes, we are," Brian affirmed. The Bob-Whites exchanged glances. How did this man know who they were?

"Then you are Madeleine and James Wheeler?" Bascombe asked Jim and Honey. They nodded. "And that leaves Diana Lynch," he looked at Di, "And Daniel Mangan and Anneka Maypenny." They nodded, too. "Good. I received photographs from the main office. It's good to know the identification on them was correct. Usually, they're not so accurate. Now. Who can tell me about this organization, the Bob-Whites of the Glen?"

They all looked to Trixie. "Well," she began. "We're a club. We formed three or so years ago. We help people in trouble."

Bascombe typed rapidly on his keyboard. "I see. A 'club'. Is this club sanctioned by the school system?"

"Well," Trixie replied. "They have no objection to us." She glanced at the others, who nodded in confirmation.

"That's nice," Bascombe replied. "But does the school system have any authority over your club? Such as a sponsor or something?"

"No," Trixie said slowly. "We're not a school club." She felt a growing pit of unease in her stomach. What was this guy driving at?

Bascombe nodded and kept typing. "So you're a private organization?"

"I guess so," Trixie replied. She glanced at the others. By the expressions on their faces, they were as puzzled and curious as she was - and as uncertain.

"What's the problem?" Jim asked. "We've been in existence, like Trixie said, for three years now. We've never had any problems."

"Oh, I'm sure you haven't," Bascombe replied. "If you had, I'm sure you young people would have straightened this all out then."

"What needs to be straightened out?" Trixie asked, hating herself for sounding nervous. Beside her, Jim laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She kept herself focused on the agent.

"For one thing," Bascombe told them, "the IRS has no record of ever receiving a tax return from you."

"What?" Diana and Anne said in unison while Dan stifled a curse.

"A tax return?" Mart muttered in stunned shock.

"You've got to be kidding me," Trixie said. "We don’t have any money. Why would we file a tax return?"

"Were we supposed to?" Jim asked.

Bascombe nodded. "Of course you were. Every club, every organization, every business, every person in the United States is required to file a tax return. It's the law, you know."

"But we're just kids," Trixie protested. "We don't pay income tax!"

Brian, Mart, Dan and Jim glanced at each other. "Well, we have," Brian said, indicating the boys. "Since we each work. Naturally we have filed returns."

Dan nodded. "Sure. I like getting my refund every year." He grinned valiantly. "Are we going to get a refund now?"

"Uh, no," Bascombe replied. "And businesses, just like individuals, are required to file certain forms every year, to prove to the government they are paying their fair share of the overall tax burden, based on how much capital they have accrued the previous year."

Trixie felt a surge of relief. "But we're not a business," she said.

"No?"

"No," she replied. "We're a nonprofit organization." She smiled as if that had put an end to the discussion.

"I see," Bascombe said. He returned his focus to the computer. "Well then. The IRS still has no record of your organization, even and especially under the 'nonprofit' category."

"But we are," Trixie insisted. "You want to see our finances?"

"That is why I am here, yes," Bascombe said neutrally.

"Mart," Trixie said, "Go get our money box. Show our guest exactly how much we have in the Treasury." Agreeing with a nod, Mart leaned back in his chair and stretched his arm toward the shelves behind him. His fingers grabbed securely onto the handle on a strongbox and easily hoisted the entire metal container onto the table.

Mart produced the key from his pocket and opened the latch. "See?" he said, waving a hand inside. "Fifty-five cents. Of course, one of them's a Pennsylvania quarter, so in a few years, that might actually be worth a bit more."

"That's doubtful," Bascombe replied. "Considering the number of people hoarding those state quarters. To continue then, just because you have no funds does not mean you qualify as a nonprofit organization."

"It doesn't?" Trixie asked.

"No," Bascombe replied. "It only means you have no control over your finances."

Trixie grit her teeth. "Actually, we give most of our funds to charity."

Bascombe nodded again. "I see. I will naturally expect to see receipts for those gifts."

"Sure," she replied, hoping against hope Mart had gotten receipts. As Treasurer, wasn't that his job? She glanced at her almost-twin brother. He did not look happy. "Anything else?"

"Quite a bit," Bascombe said. "If you are a nonprofit organization, when did you file for nonprofit status?"

Trixie blinked. She turned to Jim. He met her eyes. They blinked at each other. "File?" she said. In Jim's green eyes she read apology and regret. She also read support and friendship, and that made her feel a bit better. "We were supposed to file?"

"Of course you were!" Bascombe seemed surprised. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

"No."

Bascombe tsk-tsked. "That surprises me, considering who all your fathers are."

"We're in trouble, aren't we," Anne said flatly.

"The extent of your troubles has yet to be determined," the agent replied mildly. "Now then. You never filed for nonprofit status, so that would imply you are for profit. A business."

"Okay then," Trixie said, uncertain where the discussion was going, but willing to go along with it. Who knew? Maybe there was light at the end of this tunnel after all. "We're a business. What does that mean?"

Bascombe pushed a few keys on his computer for a moment before replying. "It means that you are three years late on filing your taxes, which should be filed every quarter. It means that you are probably in violation of several state and federal statutes regarding the proper organization and structure of your business. It means that you are very likely in violation of employment laws as well as open to lawsuits from anyone who has been turned away from your company."

Trixie could not move, even to blink. "But… but… we're not a company. We're not a business."

"I'm confused," Honey said. "Why can't we just be a club like we always thought we were?"

"A club?" Bascombe repeated.

"Yeah," she said. "Like the Kiwanis in Sleepyside."

"Or the Knights of Columbus," Dan offered. "We're kind of the same thing as they are."

"Ah," Bascombe replied. "But those are nonprofit organizations. They do file tax returns and 990s every year. They do follow government restrictions and mandates regarding such organizations. They are subject to federal and state guidelines and laws. Actually, any organization that collects dues or handles money acquired from an outside source needs to file. Even religious institutions and professional organizations."

"And if we were a school club," Mart said slowly, "Then we wouldn't be subject to these restrictions?"

"Not at all," Bascombe said, his cheerful smile in place. "Then the school system would take care of that for you. The school is already a nonprofit organization and, since schools operate under the auspices of the government, it is exempt from some guidelines and subject to others."

Trixie heaved a huge sigh. "So where does that leave us? Because we're certainly not a business!" She glanced at the others around the table. "I mean, we don't have employees and we don't pay ourselves a dime."

"Right," Diana said. "We're like a charity."

Trixie grinned. "That's exactly what we are. A charity."

"Uh-huh," Bascombe replied. "Charities are nonprofit organizations which puts you back in the same spot you were before. You've never established your nonprofit status."

"Then let's do that," Jim said. "Unless one of you guys has any objections to that."

"No," Brian said. "I can't think of one."

"How do we do that?" Trixie asked the agent.

"I can send you out a package of forms and information that you can fill out and return," he said. "In the meantime, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask to see your financials."

"That can't wait until we get the packet and fill it out?" Trixie asked hopefully.

"No."

"Is this going to take a long time?" Honey asked.

"You have somewhere else to be, Miss Wheeler?" Bascombe asked her in turn.

She nodded. "I have an appointment with a decorator for an upcoming fundraising event."

Bascombe checked his laptop. "And what position do you hold in this 'club'?"

Honey looked uncertain. "I guess I'm just a member."

"I see." Bascombe made a notation on his computer. "I only really need to speak to any of the officers. The regular members can go."

Everyone looked to Trixie and Jim, who looked at each other. "Go ahead," Trixie said, making the decision. "Brian, I'm sure Moms'll be glad to see you. Honey, focus on the fundraiser. I'm sure everything will work out for the best. Diana, Anne and Dan, I guess you guys can go if you want."

Dan frowned a bit, but nodded. "Okay. Diana, since you didn't drive, I'll walk you home." Diana nodded and the two of them stood. "If you're in the mood for a walk," he continued, "how about joining us, Anne?"

Anne stood slowly. "That sounds like a good idea, if you're sure, Trixie."

"We'll be fine," she assured them all. "Expect a message later on when this is over." After a brief round of good-byes, Brian, Honey, Dan, Anne and Diana left the clubhouse moments later. Trixie waited until the others had readjusted their seats around the table. She still sat at one end, Bascombe at the other. On her left was Jim. Mart was on the right. They waited for Bascombe to speak.

"I've done some preliminary research on your organization," he began. "I found some interesting and questionable facts about which I'd like to get your opinion."

"Okay," Trixie said. "Like what?" She turned the pages in her notebook to a fresh sheet and prepared to take notes.

Bascombe set his briefcase on the table and opened it, withdrawing a thick manila file full of papers. He opened the file and read the first sheet. "Let's begin with the summer of 1996."

"Okay," Jim said slowly. "That's when I first came to Sleepyside. What about it?"

Bascombe nodded. "I'm interested specifically in the recovery of a diamond, the subsequent reward for finding it and the police reward for capturing the thieves responsible for its disappearance in the first place."

"What do you want to know?" Trixie asked.

Bascombe shrugged. "Anything you can tell me about what you did with the reward money."

"Umm…"

*     *     *

Brian walked Honey up the hill to Manor House. Halfway up the drive, long out of sight of the clubhouse or Dan, Anne and Diana, he took her hand in his. Surprised, Honey glanced up at him, a smile of delight forming on her lips. They continued walking in silence.

Honey's hand had never felt more comfortable than at that moment, when it rested in Brian's. She seemed to feel a surge of strength and support from the simple contact. The rush and the worry and the stress of the past week seemed to be kept at bay by Brian's nearness. It was as if they walked through the parted Red Sea of Trouble, safe in each other's hands. She hoped it was the same for him.

They reached the wide front porch of Manor House, their steps slowing and finally stopping altogether. She faced him, never tugging her hand away from his. She let her eyes wander over his strong, young body, his broad shoulders and tanned arms, his neck and finally his handsome face. She met his dark, dark eyes and could not help but feel an inward rush of expectation.

"Honey," he said softly, quietly, the word barely disturbing the warm summer air. "Lately, you've seemed a bit stressed out. I want you to know that I wish I could be more help to you right now with this fundraiser."

"Oh, Brian," she smiled, her heart pounding faster. He noticed her state of mind! He cared! "You've had your own troubles to think of. I know that helping your mom through this has been all that you can concentrate on. I'd be horribly selfish if I expected you to focus any of your attention on me."

Brian took her other hand in his as well. "But, Honey," he said. "You do command my attention. You always have." He shook his head. "This is a horrible situation all the way around. If my dad hadn't gotten into trouble, you wouldn't have had to take over the fundraiser."

"Let's let this be a good thing," she said. "I'm not exactly alone in this, you know. I've got Jim and Dan and Diana and Anne helping me. Not to mention Miss Trask. I'm hardly the only person doing anything. Besides. I'd like to know that I can do this. I've always relied on Trixie to get things done. It'd be nice to know that I can handle something like this on my own."

He smiled and bent his head closer to her. "I don't ever want you to think you're on your own, Madeleine."

Surprised that he used her real name, Honey turned her face up toward his. Their lips were only inches apart. Then, as briefly as a thought, their lips touched. Her heart skipped three beats until he kissed her again, when it started pounding hard and fast.

Brian straightened and looked down at their hands, still joined. He had a sudden image of the two of them, standing together very much like this, in a church and in front of their family and friends and a man of God. Shaken by the clarity of his vision, he let go her hands. "I, uh, need to get back home and see if I can, uh, help my mom."

Honey nodded her head, her expression dazed. "I'll see you later, Brian. I hope things go well for your mom. Tell her I'm thinking of her, okay?"

"I will," he said, backing away from her while she ascended the porch steps. He watched her open the front door and disappear inside the house. He turned and slowly walked himself home.

*     *     *

"We used it," Mart said. "Remember? We used it to help fix this place up."

"Right," Jim said. "That and we gave some of the money to Celia and Tom, along with the Robin, for their wedding present."

"I see," Bascombe said. He made a notation in the PC. "And you have receipts for the materials and the labor?"

"We did it all ourselves," Trixie told him. "We didn't hire anyone to do it for us."

"I see." The agent frowned at the computer screen. He fixed Trixie with a look. "But you did use some of those funds for roofing materials?"

"Sure," Jim said, clearly not willing to withhold any information. "We used a bit more than we intended, because we had to do it twice."

"Twice?"

"There was a hurricane that November, remember?" Mart asked hopefully.

"No." Bascombe shook his head. "I don't."

Trixie wondered where Bascombe's cheerfulness had disappeared. "Well, there was," she said. "And a tree fell over and crashed into our roof. We had to repair it or all our equipment was going to get ruined and --"

"So naturally, you dipped into the available funds," he said.

"Right," Trixie agreed. Then, just as suddenly as the word left her lips, she realized her possible mistake. "I mean, we had already allocated funds for building materials. The money didn't come from any money we had earmarked for charity."

"And just what percentage of your funds do you allocate to charity, hm?"

Trixie glanced at Mart, then at Jim. "I’m not sure. All of it?"

"I see," Bascombe said again. He continued making entries on his PC.

*     *     *

At the Lynch estate, Diana, Dan and Anne found the two sets of twins playing croquet on the front lawn. Julie and Kathy ran toward the three teenagers. "Diana! Diana!" they called. "Come play with us!"

Diana hugged her sisters affectionately, but turned down their invitation. "No thanks, girls," she said. "We're going to go up to my room and talk about some things."

Kathy frowned, her six-year-old face petulant and pouty. Julie's face, however, brightened. "Are you going to talk about our birthday party?"

Diana laughed. "No, Jule," she said. "Mom's doing that, you know. Go back to your game. Terry and Larry look bored and ready to quit." She pointed at their brothers. Each of them held a croquet mallet by the wrong end and were 'sword fighting' with them. The girls sighed and raced back to the field.

"Your brothers are something else," Dan smiled, shaking his head. "It's a good thing your father made all that money, or you'd have a devil of a time keeping them entertained."

"Come on," Diana said, tolerantly amused. "Let's go." She walked between Dan and Anne and took their arms in hers, firmly escorting them inside her house. "We've got things to discuss," she promised them. "Not the least of which is what happened at your doctor's appointment to make you so quiet." She shook Anne's arm to let her know she wasn't going to take 'nothing' as an answer.

Groaning audibly, Anne allowed herself to be dragged to Diana Lynch's Star Chamber.

*     *     *

Trixie wondered how a person could tell the difference between a simple headache and a full-fledged migraine. Certainly, her head hurt. Certainly, her stomach hurt. She even felt a bit nauseated. Was she suffering from the worst kind of brain pain imaginable? Or was this just what it was like to be audited by the IRS?

Bascombe had not stopped asking questions since his arrival over two hours before. He very slowly and systematically examined the BWG's club finances from the moment its existence was declared to the present day. Somehow, he knew about every trip, every reward, every gift.

The first antique show and sale for UNICEF. Did they have the receipts that proved all the money that came in went out again? The Japanese swords. Didn't the Japanese government provide a small reward for their safe return? And what happened to that money?

The Ice Carnival. What about the money generated by that? And the donated gifts. Were those gifts, including the flooring in the clubhouse itself, ever reported as tax-deductible by the donors?

The reward in Iowa for the capture of the sheep thieves. The money was given to a Mr. Benjamin Blank of Rivervale for the purchase of a car and boat, but was that transaction ever documented as a charitable gift, by the club or by Mr. Blank?

The Chinese dragon sandalwood box. The exact monetary value of the Troglichthys rosae discovered in the cave in the Ozarks and later donated to the Museum of Natural History in New York City. The reward for the diamond and the capture of Peruvian jewel thieves - is there a receipt for the purchase of the specially modified handicap-accessible van? The government's reward for helping capture gun smugglers and international terrorists. The reward for discovering the weathervane on top of the Sleepyside Town Hall. The reward for capturing the counterfeiters of foreign currency. The reward for capturing the counterfeiters of domestic currency.

Bascombe's curiosity was insatiable. He also wanted to know how the Bob-Whites had paid for their trips to Arizona, Iowa, Arkansas, New York City, Cobbett's Island, Virginia, Mississippi, Vermont, England and France, and who paid for their expenses while they were there.

If, he proposed, the Bob-Whites were acting on their own behalf and not their club's as they performed these heroic deeds, then he would need detailed records as to which club member earned which reward. If more than one member earned a reward, he wanted to know what percentage of each reward each member had control over.

That way, he told them with his original cheer returning, he would know which family's expenses to audit more closely.

"My father, I'm sure," Jim said more than once, "has made provisions in his own tax returns for his gifts to us kids. He's a generous man."

"I'm sure he is," Bascombe replied more than once. "But I'm more interested in the charitable donations. Have you found any receipts for those yet, Mr. Belden?"

Mart groaned. He'd spent the majority of his time searching through a small cardboard box that contained the sum total of the club's financial records. Unfortunately, Trixie realized with a regretful sigh, the Bob-Whites operated under the principle that people were honest. Whenever they handed over a reward check to or collected money for a worthy cause, they never considered that the government might look askance at their actions. She never considered that a nonprofit organization would have to account for all the money it collected in the name of 'charity', even if only so that those donating their time and money would be able to legally claim their donations on their own taxes.

Trixie saw her brother shake his head. She knew he was hating life. So was she. Jim's expression barely changed from the tight, closed look she rarely saw him wear anymore. "What happens if we don't have any receipts?" he asked.

Bascombe simply typed. "Let's just cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we?"

"No," Jim said, an edge creeping into his voice. "I want to know. What's the worst that can happen?"

"You'll probably only be charged some fees," the man told them. "Some fines and some paperwork. That's what you have to look forward to."

"What brought this all on?" Trixie asked suddenly. "I mean, we've been going along now for over three years. Why all the sudden interest in our club?"

"Miss Belden," Bascombe said, "I'll be honest with you. The IRS has been asked by the FBI to investigate the probability that your father, Peter Belden, has been using your organization to launder the money he's been embezzling from the bank."

"What!" Mart shouted. "That's crazy!"

Bascombe turned a baleful glare on him. "Young man," he said. "The Federal Government is not crazy." He seemed almost unable to continue speaking. It was as if he were unaccustomed to conflict, Trixie thought, watching him struggle to refocus his thoughts. She thought that was strange. After a moment, he abandoned his apparent struggle. He closed his PC and his briefcase. "This meeting is adjourned," he announced. "I shall take this information back to the office and review my notes. In the next two or three days, expect another call from me to schedule a more in-depth meeting at the IRS offices in White Plains."

"All right," Trixie said automatically. "I suppose we'll be there." She closed her notebook, several sheets now full of carefully and nervously jotted notes.

"With an accountant," Jim promised. They all stood as Bascombe moved toward the door.

"That's certainly your prerogative," the agent allowed.

"Or a lawyer," Mart added. "You'd better be sure of your accusations."

In the doorway, Bascombe assured them all, "We are. I will see you again. Good day." He nodded and then left the clubhouse, striding easily to his dusty BMW, parked off the side of the Manor House driveway.

From the window, Trixie watched him drive away, the uneasy feeling inside growing uneasier. "This isn't good," she said. "If we have to focus on this, how can we think about my dad?"

"I don't get why the IRS is investigating us now?" Mart wondered. "I mean it. Why suspect us of anything? We're just kids. We have nothing to do with the bank."

"On the contrary," Jim said grimly. "We do. Think about it."

"We do," Trixie agreed. "We have no receipts to prove how much money has been coming and going through the treasury and we do have an account at Sleepyside First National. Mart," she said, "You, Jim and I are on it as signers. We have access to it. Dad has access as well. The balance on that account fluctuates wildly. Large amounts get deposited and large amounts are withdrawn. It's a perfect cover."

Jim nodded. "No wonder we're being investigated."

Mart sighed. "Honey's not the only one with a bad feeling."

Trixie walked back to the conference table. She picked up her notebook, glanced at her case notes, and set it down again. Things just seemed to be getting worse and worse and it was only Monday.

Monday, Monday, she thought, the old Mamas and Papas song drifting through her head, can't trust that day… Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way. Oh, Monday morning, you gave me no warning, of what was to be…!

To Be Continued

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