Chapter 13: Creeque Alley

Anne drove a disappointed Trixie back to the stables. After a sigh, Trixie asked, "You didn't get anything?"

"Sorry, Trix," Anne replied. "I guess I got nervous. It felt like everyone knew what I was up to and knew why I was asking about Mr. Belden."

Trixie grit her teeth. "You were just supposed to ask about the coffee mug, not about the case."

Anne sighed. "I know. And I didn't. Not really." She shifted in her seat and checked the rearview mirrors. She turned the truck onto Glen Road. "I don't know how it all got messed up, but it did. I guess I'm just not cut out for detective work. Not in person, anyway."

"You'll get better." It was all Trixie could think of to say. She didn't want to confirm her friend's suspicion that her talents lay in other directions, but at the same time, she didn't want to lie. Anne could only get better -- she certainly could not get worse.

Their conversation lapsed until Anne pulled the truck into its usual parking space near the stables. As the girls jumped down from the truck, they saw Dan hurry toward them. "Glad you're back," he said without preamble. "They've been looking for you." He gestured toward Anne, who frowned.

"They? Who is they?" Anne ignored his impatience and went to open the tailgate. She pointed at the box of supplies, but Trixie moved to grab it first.

"Where does this go?" she asked, sliding the box toward her, tilting it so she could more easily grasp it.

Dan didn't let Trixie complete her action. Instead, he took the box out of her arms and lifted it, easily balancing the weight on his shoulder. "Come on," he said and led the way into the stable offices.

*     *     *

"I'm so sorry. So very sorry." She kept repeating herself, but only because she could think of no new way to apologize. "I'll pay for any damages. I will. I didn't do anything on purpose." Why wouldn't they just let her go home?

But the FBI agents who had tracked her and Mart down at the dance studio in White Plains weren't saying much of anything beyond, "Did you know that your cell phone was recently used to commit a crime?"

"Recently?" she had repeated. "How recently?"

"As recently as eight a.m. this morning," Agent Chadwick, a thoroughly pleasant-looking woman, informed her. It was Diana's first impulse to trust this woman, but after what Trixie had warned the Bob-Whites about the sneaky tactics of FBI agents, she knew better.

"I want to see my lawyer. I'm not saying anything without talking to my lawyer first!"

"You don't have to," Chadwick replied. "Since we have to wait for one of your parents before we can proceed anyway."

Diana felt a bit better for that piece of news. Then she imagined her mother and father being called out of whatever bit of business they were up to that day, being called so that they could come get their daughter out of the Sleepyside jail. Not that she was really in jail. She was just in a coffee room, like the one on NYPD Blue. There was a female police officer there, one Diana had seen once or twice but never taken much notice of, and there was Agent Chadwick. Somewhere outside, in a waiting room or, God forbid, being questioned himself, was Mart.

The two of them had gotten halfway through their dance lesson when the agents showed up. They had actually been doing quite well, once they agreed that Louis Prima's 'Just a Gigolo' suited their style perfectly. They were in the midst of discovering just what that style was, when she was taken 'downtown.' Mart, thankfully, kept his cool. "I'll follow you all the way there," he told her. "I won't let you out of my sight."

And he didn't. He practically tailgated the agents' car all the way into Sleepyside. He was forced to park Mrs. Lynch's car in the visitor's lot, however, so by the time he got into the lobby, Diana had already been taken into the coffee room and he was unable to see or speak to her.

The minutes until her parents showed up ticked by more slowly than they did in math class. She was keenly aware that she should not say a word until her parents arrived, and that it was unlawful for the officers to question her until that time, but that meant there was nothing for her to do except sit in silence. Diana hated silence.

She tried to think. She knew very well what crime her cell phone had been involved in that morning. She hadn't thought that the FBI would be able to not only send some sort of power surge through the lines to short out her phone but be able to tell just whose phone it was. Oh, why had she ever begged her parents for her own phone?

*     *     *

"Okay, Dan. Now tell me what's going on. Who's looking for me?" Anne sat down in Regan's desk chair and tilted it back. She looked up at Dan and waited. Trixie rested her shoulder against a filing cabinet with an intent expression on her face.

Dan swallowed hard, obviously getting his thoughts in order. "Well, they aren't exactly looking for you yet," he began. "But they should be. And they will be, too."

"Who?" Anne tried again. "Who specifically are you talking about?"

"The Feds. They're onto what happened today." He glanced at Trixie, then at the floor. "In the clubhouse this morning."

"How do you know?" Trixie asked. "Did they come by here? Did someone call?"

Dan nodded. "They called, all right."

"What'd you tell them?" Still leaning back in the chair, Anne braced one knee against the desk. "What'd they ask?"

Trixie thought of something else. "Why'd they call you? Or did they call here? But if they were looking for Anne…"

"They're not looking for Anne," Dan told them. "Not exactly. They called looking for Joan. Apparently," he continued. "They called her dad's place first, then found out she's been here since last night. They called Uncle Bill's place, then the stables."

"They called looking for Joan," Anne repeated. "Not me?"

"Not you," Dan said. "But they asked about her laptop. Since I know where her laptop's been…" His voice trailed off.

Anne sat upright. "You didn't tell them about me, did you?"

Dan's face flushed red with anger. "What? No! Of course not! How could you think I would give you up like that! No way. I told the truth, though. I said that Joan was due back inside an hour. Less that, now." He looked at the huge schoolhouse clock on the wall. "I didn't say a thing about you."

"Anne," Trixie said slowly. "When they sent back that pulse to crash the computer, did they know whose computer they were crashing?"

"Of course they did," Anne replied.

"If they could tell who was doing it, why on earth did you hack their database?" Trixie heard her own voice rise in pitch and she fought to keep it as normal as possible. Controlling her temper had long been a goal.

"Huh?"

Trixie almost couldn't believe that Anne had been so careless with other people's things. She was about to say just that, when Dan said almost the same thing. "Yeah, Anne! How could you risk it? I thought Diana was your friend. You just used her cell phone to commit a crime and when it fried, you just handed it back with not so much as an apology."

Anne's mouth opened to utter a sharp retort, but Trixie didn't let her speak. "So much for respecting other people's belongings! And what about poor Joan? Not only did you ruin her PC, but you used it in a crime. It's evidence now. She'll never get it back!"

"Hold on a second!" Anne stood, her body quivering with a full five-feet-three-scant-inches' worth of fury. "I didn't hear any complaints this morning when the crime was being committed! You guys were just as eager to see what the FBI had on Mr. Belden as I was, probably more, since you guys know him better. And as far as the laptop or the cell phone go, heck! Diana can easily get another cell phone and who's to say she wouldn't have lost it sooner or later anyway and have to replace it? And as for Joan…" She shuddered eloquently. "Who cares about her?"

A deep voice replied, "I do."

That's when they realized that Regan, and Joan, had come back a little early.

*     *     *

It was a silent and uncommunicative car trip to the Sleepyside police station. Joan drove her car, because she didn't trust anyone else behind the wheel. Regan went along because he didn't want his girlfriend to face things alone. Anne went along because no one was altogether certain she'd turn herself in unless someone was going to insure it. Trixie went along because otherwise, she'd never find out what happened. Dan remained behind at the stables, guiltily relieved to be rid of them for the time being.

Once inside the station house, Trixie immediately led the quartet past the Desk Sergeant straight to Molinson's office. "He's got to be back from lunch by now," she stated. Indeed, she found the man at his desk, checking his voicemail messages. He acknowledged her presence with a half-hearted grin and hung up the phone.

"I wondered when you'd get here, Belden," he began.

"I got here just as soon as I could," she replied. "Once the yelling settled down, anyway." He frowned a question, but she waved it away. "Not important." There wasn't any reason she could see to tell the man about Regan and Anne's knock-down and drag-out fight, Joan's hysterical tears and Dan's inability to keep peace between his uncle and his own girlfriend. "I brought-" She turned to introduce the other woman, but she took care of the matter herself.

"I'm Joan Stinson," she said, extending her hand. "Of Stinson Farms in Saratoga. I understand I'm wanted for questioning regarding my laptop computer." She smiled pleasantly. "Are you the gentleman I need to see?"

As Trixie watched, Molinson seemed to stand taller and almost puff out his chest. "Actually, no, Miss Stinson," he replied. Miss Stinson! Trixie nearly shrieked. Was Molinson actually flirting with Regan's girlfriend? With Joan? She wanted to see if Regan was noticing what she was noticing, but couldn't think of a less obvious method of figuring it all out than turning her head to stare.

Molinson continued. "You'll need to see the agent in charge. That's Agent Hoffman. I believe she's set up a command center down the hall. I'll show you." He gestured to indicate the direction and smiled.

"Thank you very much," Joan replied. She turned to Regan. "You'll be here when I get back, right, sweetie?"

Regan kissed Joan swiftly. "How can I leave? You've got the car keys." He grinned, but as she moved away down the hall, the grin faded.

"Cheer up, Regan," Anne said once the other woman was out of earshot. "If all else fails, I could always hot-wire the thing." He turned a murderous glare on the teenager. She put up her hands defensively. "Don't look at me that way! Dan's the one who showed me how."

Regan turned on his heels and stalked back toward the lobby to wait. Shrugging once, Anne followed after him. They had taken about four steps before Regan whirled about once more. Anne's boots almost left skid marks, she stopped so fast to avoid walking smack into him.

"What's the matter?" Anne asked, turning her face up to look him directly in the eyes.

"Why are you here?"

"Huh? What do you mean? In the philosophical sense? Or do you mean I'm here because I got driven in a car?"

Watching their exchange, Trixie put her hand to her face, half in awe that Anne would so easily pick another fight with Regan, half in horror that they might this time actually come to blows.

"I mean," Regan growled, "that you're here because you're going to confess."

Anne put her clenched fists on her hips and shot back at him, "I don't see any priests around here, do you?"

He threw up his hands and shouted, "There's a whole squad full of them! Look around you. Pick one and confess. Do the right thing for once."

Reacting as if struck, Anne took a step backward. "I was doing the right thing," she replied quietly. "Trixie needed to know what they know or she'd always be ten steps behind them. Information is power. Up till this morning, they had the power. All I did was even things up a bit. I don't feel a single twinge of guilt about what I did. Not one. All things being equal, anyone else'd do the same."

"But all things are not equal," he told her. "And what's even more unfair is letting an innocent woman take heat for something you did."

"Oh, give it up," Anne sneered. "Right now your precious girlfriend is in there telling Agent Hoffman all about how she gave me her laptop last night to fix and how she hasn't seen it since. It won't be another five minutes before Hoffman is out here, barking orders to have me brought in for questioning. I’m just saving them some time and energy by being right here and easy to locate."

There was a part of Trixie that understood Anne's point. She suspected, however, that there probably was no part of Regan that ever would. She wondered if she could say anything to diffuse the situation. Luckily, someone else did. The aforementioned Agent Hoffman appeared.

The powerfully-built woman strode easily down the linoleum-lined hallway, her thick heels making loud clunks. She reached Anne and Regan, still standing in the center of the hallway and practically shooting laser beams with their eyes, but instead of telling them to move, she asked, "Are you Anne Maypenny?"

Anne jumped, turned and frowned at the taller woman. "Yes. I am. Who are you?"

Hoffman indicated her ID badge that hung from a clip attached to her lapel. "I'm Agent Hoffman. Will you come with me, please? I have some questions to ask you regarding your actions this morning."

Anne smiled. "Sure. I'll go with you. You can ask me whatever you want, but I won't answer."

Hoffman folded her arms. "Oh, you won't? And why not?"

Anne folded her arms. "Because you can't question a minor without her parents being present."

"Then we'll contact your parents."

"It's just my father," Anne told her, her satisfaction growing more evident by the syllable. "He's on a hunting trip today. Good luck finding him."

"We're the FBI," Hoffman said with conviction. "We can find anyone."

*     *     *

Trixie tried to call the Lynch residence and warn Diana about the FBI, but Harrison could only say that she had not yet arrived home from her day with Mart. Worried and uncertain how to contact them, now that Diana's cell phone was useless, she wandered back to the station lobby and sank wearily into an uncomfortable chair next to Regan. She wondered how her mother was doing at the newspaper. She wondered how her father was doing at the county jail. She wondered what would possibly happen next.

The Lynches arrived soon after. From her seat Trixie watched Diana's parents storm through the front doors, descend upon the Desk Sergeant and begin shouting questions. She had never seen them so upset and wondered what had happened. As she listened, she realized that no one needed to tell Diana anything. Not only did Diana already know the FBI was looking for her, she had been found, and so had her parents. Oh, well, she decided. Best just to let that play out as it will. Hm. I wonder where Mart is then? I didn't see the car he and Di were driving parked anywhere in the visitor's lot.

Beside her, Regan flipped through the pages of a magazine. He seemed perfectly calm and like his earlier fury had completely subsided. Trixie leaned to her side and said softly, "The Lynches are really tearing into that poor guy, aren't they."

Regan glanced up at the scene in front of them. "I guess so."

Surprised, she regarded him closely. "You okay, Regan?"

He stared back at her. "Should I be? My girlfriend's being questioned by the FBI, my employee's the one who got her in trouble and my nephew's been teaching his friends how to hotwire cars. You tell me. Should I be okay?"

"I guess not," Trixie mumbled in reply. After a moment, Regan returned to his magazine. In front of them, the Sergeant directed the Lynches to the room where their daughter waited. On a hunch, Trixie got up and went to Molinson's desk and spoke quietly to the police officer. Several minutes later, she returned dejected to the lobby. As soon as she sat down, she looked up to see Joan being released from her own interrogation. Trixie smiled pleasantly as the frazzled-looking young woman approached. "How'd it go?" she asked.

Joan made a face. Regan set aside his magazine and stood. She immediately stepped into a comforting hug. "It was all right," she began. "They asked me a lot of questions about my laptop, but when I told them I hadn't seen it since I gave it to Anne last night, well…" She shrugged. "That's when they went to get Anne. I had to sign some papers, but that's all done with now."

"Is she in there, then?" Regan asked.

"Mm-hm," Joan said, snuggling her head on Regan's broad chest. "Her father's on the way, apparently. How're you doing, Trixie?" She smiled.

"Oh, I'm fine," Trixie replied. "My brother's supposed to be around here somewhere. I asked Molinson about it, but he thinks Mart went to find my mom, which would explain why Diana's mother's car wasn't in the parking lot. Anyway, last we heard, Moms was at the newspaper."

Joan nodded, then looked up at Regan. "You ready to go home now?"

"What about Anne?" he asked. "Shouldn't we wait for her?"

Joan blinked. "Why? She's likely to be here a long time. I don't think they'll just let her go home, do you? Regan, she committed a crime. They're not going to let that go."

He was about to answer when the front doors opened once more and Micah Maypenny himself walked through them. Apparently, he was easier to locate than his daughter had anticipated. Micah saw Regan first. He hurried over. "Is she okay?" he asked. The two agents who accompanied him went to the front desk and spoke quietly with the Sergeant there.

Joan turned and smiled. Regan opened his mouth to answer when Joan replied, "I'm fine, Micah. Thanks for asking." She pulled Regan's arms around her waist and leaned back against him.

Micah's gray eyes shifted from her to him, confirming Trixie's immediate assumption the older man had not been asking about Joan. Micah was polite. He smiled and said, "That's good to know." Then he looked more deliberately at Regan to ask, "And Anne? Have you any word?"

"I think they're just waiting on you," he said.

Regan's blue eyes seemed to Trixie to be apologizing for Joan's behavior. She was about to suggest everyone sit down and wait when the two agents who had accompanied Maypenny returned from their side business and touched him on the elbow. "They're waiting for you in the interrogation room, sir." Maypenny nodded and the trio hurried down the hall.

Trixie glanced from Regan to Joan. "So, uh, are you two going now, or what? I'm pretty sure I can get a ride home with Mart. He's not going to leave Diana, even with her parents here. I'm sure he's coming back."

Joan tugged at Regan's arm. "Come on, honey," she urged. "You've still got the rest of your day off to spend with me. Let's go and forget the whole sordid ordeal. I for one am starving!"

He hesitated, then said, "How about you go over to Wimpy's and pick up something to eat? Bring it back here. I don’t want to seem like I'm abandoning my friends. I'm sure that's not your intention, either."

The thin chord of steel in Regan's voice made Trixie suddenly wish she were far, far away from the two of them, and that she wasn't so obviously a part of their conversation. As unobtrusively as possible, she sank down onto the vinyl chair and tried her best not to appear like she could hear every word they said.

Joan looked shocked. "Of course not! Do you really think that's what I'm suggesting?"

"No, I don't," he replied, but Trixie suspected he was only saying that to spare her feelings. With almost palpable relief, she heard him say, "Oh, look. He's coming back. With Anne."

Trixie stood up. What was going on? No sooner had Mr. Maypenny gone into the interrogation room than he was returning with his daughter. The agents clustered about them. Were they really apologizing? What for? Why? She moved past Regan and Joan, hoping for a better idea of what had transpired. She got an earful.

"We're very sorry, sir," Agent Chadwick was saying. "We hadn't had a chance to pull the records, or believe me, we wouldn't have escalated the situation like this."

"That won't happen again," Hoffman promised them. "Will it, Chadwick?" She was assured that it would not.

Trixie pressed through the clutch of agents and tugged on Anne's arm. The other girl turned and Trixie easily read the look of triumph and vindication in her brown eyes. "What happened? What's going on?"

A slow smile spread across Anne's face. "It's simple. Basically," she replied, "they found my paperwork."

"Huh?" Trixie asked. "What paperwork? What are you talking about?"

Sighing quickly, Anne pulled her away from the adults. "All the legal stuff they made me sign years ago, promising I'd never hack again. Stuff like that. They had printouts of everything."

She blinked rapidly. "But didn't you just break that agreement today?"

Holding back a laugh, Anne nodded and shrugged. "Sort of. But where there are lawyers, there are loopholes. Dad, that is, my ex-Dad, made sure of things like that. Forget about it. I'm off the hook, so is everyone else. We're all in the clear."

"But - ? What about - ?"

But Anne wasn't letting Trixie finish, and in a moment, neither were Diana and her parents. "Trixie!" Di shouted, throwing her arms around her. "I'm so glad to see you! I’m free, Trixie! I'm free!"

Hugging her back, Trixie could only smile. She watched Anne stride confidently toward Regan and Joan, say something, then continue on to go outside. When the outer door closed, Trixie saw Joan's lips twist in ill-disguised displeasure while Regan manfully contained a grin. In a moment, they had left, too. Mr. Maypenny signed a paper handed to him on a clipboard before joining the Lynches and the rest of them on the sidewalk. The last one out the door, Trixie was happy to discover that Mart had finally returned with their mother, who wore her own vaguely triumphant smile. Across the street in a metered parking space, she saw where Mart had recently parked Mrs. Lynch's car.

"I'm starving," Mr. Lynch proclaimed. "Starving, and in the mood for a celebration. What say we go to Wimpy's, everyone? My treat." Regan and Joan glanced at each other then nodded, agreeing to the change in their plans.

Helen stopped them all from departing the sidewalk, however. A bit bemused, she asked them, "Why are you celebrating? What have I missed?"

"Diana's been cleared from any wrongdoing," Edward Lynch told her.

Before he could continue, Helen held up a hand. "Speaking of wrongdoing," she began, and briefly filled in her friends and neighbors about the allegations of infidelity that had been front page news just that morning. She glanced at her son. "Mart told me the kids had done some investigating on their own. I'm glad no one will have to suffer any ramifications from it." Her expression turned carefully neutral. "I regret having to keep all this a secret from everyone, but I naively hoped the news wouldn't break until I was more prepared to deal with it."

Elayne hugged Helen. "That's what you have friends for," she told her. "Thank goodness some of this nonsense has been taken care of. Still, I'm really curious how it all came about. What made them drop all the charges?"

"I have a great idea, Mr. and Mrs. L," Mart said grandly, forestalling further explanation. "Let's discuss all the gory details at Wimpy's." He hugged Diana, kissed her temple, and led the agreeable parade to the popular eatery.

*     *     *

It didn't take long to relate the entire series of events. As each deed, event and happenstance was related, the assembled, including the Lynches, Micah, Helen, Regan and Joan, shook their heads in dismay and disbelief.

"Trixie," Helen said when she was finally brought up to speed. "What am I going to do with you?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "You broke into a government website?"

"Actually, Mrs. Belden," Anne broke in. "I did that. Trixie and the others were there, but they hardly had anything much to do with it. I wouldn't even venture to guess that they knew what I was doing until I was done doing it."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Helen asked.

"Don't worry, Helen," Micah said kindly. "I'm not feeling too proud at this moment, either."

Trixie watched as Anne's eyes focused on her salad plate. Speaking up for her friend, she told them, "In all honesty, Anne might not have been operating under orders, so to speak, but she also wasn't doing anything I might not have asked her to do had I known she could, and would, do it."

Helen smirked. "Now I'm not feeling too proud." She and Micah shared a halfhearted grin.

As if to lighten the mood, Mrs. Lynch spoke up. "This is what amazes me. Here we have, on the one hand, Peter being accused of crimes we all know he not only could not have committed, but did not. He's in jail with the full force of the nation's law enforcement against him. On the other hand, the kids actually commit a crime, admit to it even, and they're let go with barely a warning. What kind of government do we have, anyway?"

Slowly, everyone began to nod in agreement. "That's a good point, Elayne," Helen said.

Micah spoke up thoughtfully. "Seems I remember from a high school civics class somewhere that, since each of us is empowered to vote for our government, we are each responsible for the kind of government we have."

Trixie asked, "You mean we bring it on ourselves? Terrific." As the conversation turned another corner and the adults began sharing memories of high school classes and youthful perceptions of what adulthood would mean, Trixie couldn't help but think of all that she had learned that day. First on her mind was the certain knowledge that there was more going on in Anne's head than anyone realized. It was no wonder to her anymore how Anne could remain so calm and unapologetic in the face of all she had accomplished. She knew, she somehow knew in advance, how the FBI was going to react, what they would find and what they would do with that information. How? Why?

The only person who acted even remotely like they knew or understood how it all came about was Anne herself. Even her father, when pressed about the dismissal of charges, could only say, "They walked in with a file. I assume it all had to do with Anne's history. This isn't the first time she's been in this situation, you know."

"It is how I found out everything about myself," Anne had said at one point. "Figuring out the truth about my past wasn't my first experience on a PC."

But that mystery would have to wait. More pressing issues, like the fact that the FBI seemed willing to drop the entire matter of hacking their database, began to bother her. Apparently, they felt that fusing the circuits on the laptop and the cell phone, and Anne's promise to 'never do it again,' were sufficient deterrents to possible future criminal behavior. Trixie decided that Anne must have taken full responsibility. That would have to be the only reason they would let Joan and Diana go, too.

Which brought up another point. Obviously, it would take a gifted computer person, a techie, to create and maintain a false identity, hack the bank's intranet system, write the thief program and set up the foreign accounts. Did the FBI really think Peter Belden could do that? They must, or wouldn't their case fall apart? Shouldn't it? It followed logically (she hoped) that if Anne, a person with proven technical expertise, admitted to a crime and wasn't prosecuted for it, that the government had real reason to believe that Peter Belden, a man with no apparently appreciable computer skills had committed a crime which could be proven in a court of law. If they weren't bothering about Anne, then proving his crime must be a much surer thing, and a much more important one, than a simple database hack job. Right?

On the other hand, if a man was found stabbed to death, and the only possible suspect was a quadriplegic, wasn't it logical to assume that someone else committed the crime? Yet, Peter Belden only knew enough about computers to surf the Net, do his work and play FreeCell. He did not know how to commit a cyber-crime. In that regard, he was the hypothetical quadriplegic accused of a fatal stabbing.

I have to tell the FBI what I know and give them my suspects, she thought. It's the right thing to do. They've probably already thought of it, but maybe my coming forth will prompt them into action. And if they haven't thought of it, then they're idiots and it would do them some good to think logically for a change. Mrs. Lynch is right. We get the government we vote for. We get the FBI we deserve, too. I vote for an FBI that looks at all the options and all the suspects, an FBI that will consider everything before pursuing a single course of action.

That decided, she asked her mother's permission to remain in town 'to run some errands' after the others went home. "I can catch the city bus," she told her. "Or a cab. If I get stuck, I'll call." With that promise made, Helen allowed her daughter to stay behind in Sleepyside after the late lunch.

Once the last car had driven out of sight, Trixie headed for the police station to do the right thing and share her suspicions.

*     *     *

She should have known it wouldn't work. All Agent Hoffman did was take some notes, grunt a few 'mm-hmm's and thank her for her interest in the case. Then she had Chadwick show Trixie the door.

Surprisingly, Molinson was sympathetic. He offered her his own desk phone to call a cab. A gathering of dark clouds and a scattering of fat raindrops on the dusty sidewalk outside the station prompted her to remain inside while waiting for the taxi to arrive. The officer waited with her.

They didn't talk about the case, or even police work. Instead, they talked about Sleepyside, summer movie releases and the impact the original Star Wars movie had when seen on the big screen. It was a strange conversation and a feeling Trixie would always remember. For the first time, she felt like she and Molinson were both members of the same species. She almost regretted that the taxi arrived in short order and she had to leave.

Once home, Trixie found things in a quiet uproar. Her mother was in rare form, ruthlessly chopping vegetables for a salad and singing along to an oldies radio program, "Give it to me now! Re- re- re- re-, re-, re-, re-, re-spect when I come home. Yeah, baby. When I come home!" She looked up and grinned when she saw her daughter enter the kitchen. "Don't worry about helping with dinner," she said. "I think since doing battle with Mrs. Trent this morning and spending some unexpected time with a few of my friends at lunch has given me some of my energy back." She laughed and shook her head. "It was such a kick, giving that woman 'what for' for the article she published about your father. It probably won't change anything, but it sure felt good!"

Of course, Trixie had heard all about the epic confrontation during lunch. "That's great, Moms. Now you know how I feel when I tell off the bad guys."

Helen fixed her with dubious amusement. "Oh, really?" Then she chuckled and shrugged, allowing that her daughter might be on to something. She waved a hand in dismissal. "Go on and relax. Hallie's been looking for you. I think she's upstairs."

Trixie smiled in reply and went off to find her cousin. She found her on the stairs. "Oh, good. That was you. Come quick into your room," Hallie said breathlessly. "We've got to talk."

"Sure," Trixie said, following the longer-legged girl into their shared bedroom. "What's up? What's going on?"

Hallie shut the bedroom door and sat on one of the twin beds. She waited for Trixie to sit, too, and as the other girl began to pull off her shoes and socks, she blurted out, "I'm worried sick about Bobby. I don't think he's handling things well at all."

"What do you mean?" Trixie dropped her shoes beside her bed and carefully crossed her legs. She paid Hallie strict attention and waited for her to explain.

"It's like this," she began. "This morning, when I took my walk, I ended up following Bobby. Did you know he has a tree house over by the Lynch's place?"

Trixie nodded. She knew all about it. "Regan built it for him. Why?"

"Did you know he's been going there?"

"So?" she asked carefully.

"Alone?"

Trixie waited. She did not want to jump to any conclusions, nor did she want to possibly encourage any hysterical 'jumping' Hallie had done.

Hallie sighed. "He's been going there alone, sitting in that tree house by himself for hours. He stares at a picture of your whole family and he talks to it. Sometimes, he cries."

Trixie found she did not know what to say. "You can't be serious. You must be misinterpreting something, or… or…"

"Or nothing," she said flatly. "I followed him there this morning. I decided to climb up unannounced. You know, to see what was going on when he thought no one was watching." Trixie nodded. "He had already taken out this ratty old picture when I reached the platform. He wasn't happy to see me, but he settled down once he realized I wasn't going to tease him about it."

"His tree house?"

"Uh-huh. He thought I might think it was babyish."

"Why?"

"Because that's where he keeps his old baby blanket and some toys and stuff," Hallie explained. "As well as that picture you guys all took, like I said. Anyway, after a long - and I mean long - conversation, he told me how he was feeling. And he told me he cried 'sometimes.' He said sometimes, but I think he meant a lot."

Trixie felt heartsick at the thought of her sweet-faced baby brother crying by himself. Usually, his tears were calculated for maximum benefit and therefore valueless. If he were saving them for solitude, that meant they were serious. "Did he say anything else?"

Hallie nodded. Her blackberry eyes were solemn. "Did you know he's been having nightmares?"

"About what?" Trixie asked, more and more alarmed with each revelation.

"Something about being trapped in a cave or something," Hallie said, too casually. "Does that ring any bells for you?"

Of course it had. Slightly more than three years ago, right when Dan first came to town, in fact, Bobby had gotten stuck down a hole in a pit inside a cave. It had taken some quick thinking on Trixie's part and a selfless action on Dan's, not to mention an evil-looking switchblade, to rescue the little guy. Despite all his family's best efforts, none of the Beldens could prevent the terrifying nightmares, nor the claustrophobia, which plagued Bobby for months afterward. Thankfully, the terrible dreams and irrational fears seemed to go away on their own. Or so they had all thought.

"Oh, God," Trixie breathed. "I didn't realize. But he used to wake up screaming from those dreams," she said. "I swear, Hallie. You could hear him for miles. I haven't heard anything the last couple of nights. Have you?"

Her cousin shook her head. "No, I haven't. Bobby says that now in the dream when he goes in the cave to find the kitty and he gets stuck, he finds he can't cry out, make a noise, nothing. He just wakes up in a cold sweat." They sat in silence for several moments. Very softly, Hallie said, "The other night? He wet the bed." At Trixie's gasp of shock, she hurriedly explained. "I didn't say anything to him about it. I figured that wasn't my place and that it wasn't worth upsetting Aunt Helen about, either, what with all the other stuff going on. I only noticed because I washed his sheets. He had stripped his bed and they were bundled up in the laundry room. I didn't have the heart to ask him about it."

Trixie sighed heavily. "It must be all the stress. I'm sure it was just a one-time thing, you know?"

Hallie shrugged. "Could be. I don't really know too much about little kids, seeing as how I'm the youngest and all. I'd ask Knut or Cap about it, but…"

"I know," Trixie replied. "You don't want to make Bobby feel bad or make this a bigger deal than it needs to be. Gosh, Hal!" She rested her face in her hands. "This is getting to be a bit too much to deal with all at once. I don't know what I can do, though. Obviously, he doesn't want us to know."

"Not at all," Hallie agreed. "He swore me to secrecy about the nightmares and he doesn't suspect I know about the other thing. Naturally, I break my promise the first chance I get." She indicated their present conversation.

Trixie waved away the guilt. "You did the right thing. I think we should keep this from Moms, though. It'd just kill her to know that Bobby's been reacting this way."

"We should do something, though, to help him."

"Agreed." Trixie smiled wryly. "How do you feel about board games?"

Hallie frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Bobby. He 'dores board games." She got off the bed and headed for the door. "I'm going to suggest a Family Game Night, to take all our minds' off everything. I think it'll be just the subtle ticket that Bobby needs. You know, to remind him and us that no matter what, we're all still a family." She reached the door and opened it, saying, "It'll be good to do something fun together, anyway. I mean, isn't this supposed to be a vacation?"

Hallie jumped off her own bed and sauntered into the hallway. "It is indeed, sweet cousin. What shall it be? Risk? Encore? Sorry?"

Trixie laughed. "I just got a great idea. Let's let Bobby decide."

"Perfect!"

The two girls smiled at each other and shook hands. They were about to go hunt up their respective brothers and announce their plans when they heard Helen calling them all to dinner.

*     *     *

Trixie woke the next morning feeling more at ease with the world than she had in a long time. The night before had been spent laughing and joking with her family. Everyone got involved. They played game after game of Sorry! and Clue, and ended the evening with a rousing match of Encore (the song-filled sing-off game), which Trixie's team won handily.

After a quick shower, she headed downstairs for breakfast. Her mother stood stiffly at the stove and nodded a silent greeting as Trixie sat in her usual seat. Lying on her plate was the Sleepyside Sun. The headline?

SCHOOLGIRL SHAMUS SUGGESTS SUSPECT SWAP

-- A PAUL TRENT EXCLUSIVE

The accompanying article briefly outlined the solution Trixie had provided the FBI the previous afternoon without naming her suspects' names. Trent had summed it up and then easily dismissed it as the desperate delusions of an overactive teenage girl's imagination.

Her mother stood flipping French toast in an oversized skillet. She cut off a tab of butter from an opened stick and remarked, "I didn't realize your errand yesterday was going to involve the authorities. You led me to believe you wanted to do some book shopping or errands or something. Did you even do any of that?" She dropped the butter onto the sizzling skillet.

Trixie looked down at her plate. "No, Moms. I didn't." She sighed and explained how she had felt she needed to tell the FBI her theory, that doing so would be the Right Thing To Do. As she spoke, Mart, Brian, Bobby, Knut, Cap and Hallie came downstairs. By the time breakfast was on the table and she finally had control of the syrup, everyone knew about her 'secret' excursion.

"Nice going, Trixie," Mart cracked. "Not only have you blown any chance you have of ever solving this case yourself, but you've alerted whoever is doing this that you're onto him." Brian didn't speak, his mouth full of French toast instead, but he shot Trixie a look that told her he thought she was taking on too much responsibility but was trying to be supportive of her all the same.

Hallie frowned. "Maybe not. This Trent guy does make Trixie out to be some sort of village idiot."

"Thanks," Trixie muttered.

"You know I don't think that," Hallie quickly explained. "But this Trent guy does, so probably the average reader will, too. Maybe our bad guy will?"

"'Our' bad guy?" Helen repeated casually, taking her seat. "And since when has this become a group effort? I thought yesterday we were all agreeing that this was better left in the hands of the authorities."

"What?" Trixie said, feeling a spark of rebellion in her soul. "The same authorities who are keeping Dad in jail while they let Anne wander the streets scot-free? The same authorities who ridicule a perfectly sound theory just because it doesn't gel with their own preconceived notions?" Mart's eyes popped at her unexpected vocabulary, but his mouthful of bread and powdered sugar prevented him.

Helen sighed. "That's not what I mean, sweetie. Your father's defense is best left to the professionals. I’m also concerned that more publicity like this article will only serve to help the government's case."

"But! How?" she sputtered, even as Cap and Knut unisoned their agreement.

Her mother focused for a moment on preparing her own plate of French toast, then said, "I thought getting his mother to tone down the suggestive headlines would be enough. See, I'm hoping to keep this out of the papers as much as possible. I don't want public opinion to prevent your father from coming back to his job at the bank. I want him to be able to reclaim the respect that's due him and his position as bank manager."

"I understand," Trixie struggled to say. "I'll try to keep my name out of the paper."

"Remember," her mother said, picking up the short jug of Vermont maple syrup. "Your father has access to the papers, too. Not being here every day is taking a toll on him. He misses you kids. He even misses Reddy." At the sound of his name, the depressed Irish Setter nosed Helen's thigh, then slumped to the floor at Bobby's feet.

"I know, Moms," Trixie grumbled. She did not want her father reading articles ridiculing his only daughter's attempts to save him. That might even lead to his thinking that her ideas were wrong-headed or silly. That might lead to him discounting the still very plausible and probable theory she had developed and fine-tuned with the other BWGs. That would be a Bad Thing.

She had to continue with her work, though. If the FBI wasn't going to pursue this extremely logical and probable avenue, and if Mr. Davis wasn't going to give her theories the time of day, then it was up to her to prove her theories right. She had done it before. She could and would do it again. She had to. There was still an unoccupied place at the Belden table and her father was still eating his breakfast on a cold metal plate instead of sharing his wife's vanilla-flavored French toast on his grandmother's everyday dishes. Thinking of all of that, she vowed silently to get even with whatever malevolent force was currently guiding the universe and, in particular, the FBI and Mr. Paul Trent.

*     *     *

Trixie helped Hallie wash and dry the breakfast dishes, then called Honey to make plans for the day. Unfortunately, Honey had to beg off any investigation. After commiserating with her over the FBI's short-sightedness regarding the case, she explained, "I really want to go, you have no idea how much I want to, but Miss Trask and I have meetings in the city with the underwriters for the fundraiser. We have to get checks cut and sign some legal stuff. Jim's going along so he can find out about this kind of thing. Considering he's planning on running his school partly through donations, it's important he get a good sense of some of the legal stuff involved." The wistful note in her tone made it clear to Trixie that her friend wanted to do both, but could not think of a way.

"That does sound like a good idea," Trixie reluctantly agreed. "I’m sure you two will have a good time and learn a lot." She hoped her disappointment wasn't too apparent.

"Relax, Trix," Honey managed to laugh. "It's not the end of the world. You can still get some investigating done. Give Anne another chance."

"No way," was her reply. "Besides, I don't think Regan's going to let her off the hook after frying Joan's PC. I know Mart and Di had rescheduled their dance lesson in White Plains. Maybe Dan would go?"

"Maybe," Honey said. "But I wouldn't count on it. I heard my dad say at breakfast this morning that Mr. Maypenny is planning to dig another well and lay in some pipes. He'll need Dan's help to do it. I even think he said the guy volunteered to help."

"You're kidding."

"It's not my idea of fun, but apparently he likes doing stuff like that."

"I guess," Trixie said dubiously. She thought a moment. "I don't want to even try asking Brian to go with me. I just can't picture him being too happy about going along. Darn it, Honey! I want you to go with me!"

"I want to go with you, too, Trix," Honey insisted woefully. "It's so much more fun and interesting to go investigating with you than it is to deal with all this fundraiser stuff, but I can't just drop it all in Miss Trask's lap. Remember the time we let her take over after Harrison's accident? She didn't say anything about it, but I could tell she wasn't too thrilled about suddenly being responsible for that UNICEF bazaar we had. You remember. When she filled in for Harrison."

Trixie sighed. "You're right. I guess I'll have to go it alone." Inwardly, she threw a fit. She wanted Honey to go. Honey wouldn't mess things up. Honey wouldn't have gotten tossed out of the bank on her ear. Honey would have solved the whole thing just by smiling pretty and giggling. Maybe that was exaggerating things a bit, but still! If she couldn't have her partner in on it, she would rather go it alone. No one could replace her.

"What about Hallie?"

"Too late," she replied. "Hallie, Knut and Cap have already decided to take Bobby off to the skating rink. I think I'm on my own."

"Tell me you'll be careful!"

"You know I will!" she promised. "And I will do my best not to get into any trouble today. I'll make it my personal goal."

Trixie could almost feel Honey's smile through the phone line. "I know you'll do your best. Oh-! I gotta go. Miss Trask just walked in and she's all set. Good luck today!"

"Same to you, partner!"

*     *     *

As it turned out, the tenor of Trixie's luck depended on which way she looked at it. If she thought about the morning's events as training for her future as a private detective, then the fruitless and ultimately uninteresting conversation she had with Brandon Serlin, the systems guy at the bank, was good. Surely a true private detective spent a great deal of time having fruitless and uninteresting conversations. If she thought about proving that Serlin were the true culprit, actively involved in framing her father for a cyber-crime he did not commit, then it was bad.

Accordingly, discovering Ken Kellerman coming out of a travel agency with several brochures for tropical islands in his hands was a stroke of good luck. Discovering upon a brief conversation that Mr. Kellerman was in the midst of planning his honeymoon and that the wedding was scheduled for September, was bad.

After little less than an hour's work, Trixie was down two suspects and working on her third. Ron Barger, it turned out, had taken a personal day. Business at the bank was down, for obvious reasons, so his taking some time off was considered unremarkable. It took the young detective ten minutes to track down Barger's address. Happily, he lived within walking distance of the bank, in a well-kept but not too fancy apartment complex. Still, since she had borrowed the Bob-White car, it had a working A/C and it was hot outside, she drove the short distance and parked in the likeliest lot.

As she walked from the lot toward the buildings, Trixie wondered what it would be like to have her own place, to live in an apartment. Part of her wanted very much to be able to walk into the office and sign a lease, but the other part worried that she'd never have enough money to pay rent, utilities, food - all the things she now got at home for free. At least she still had six years left of school before she was out on her own, and maybe Honey would consent to share an apartment with her. It was worth hoping for, anyway.

Barger's actual apartment building was reached after a long trek up a steep hill to almost the center of the huge complex. She walked in the main foyer-style entrance and read the names on the mailboxes there. Barger, Ronald. Apartment 1A.

Inwardly, she cheered. First floor. Hoping against hope that the man was home, because it would kill her to have gone all this way for nothing, she nevertheless rejoiced she did not have to climb any flights of stairs. She took a deep breath and, before she could lose her nerve, walked up to his door, knocked and then rang the bell.

After a moment, she heard the sound of someone sliding open a chain lock. The door opened. Mr. Barger stood there, a puzzled look on his face. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Hi, Mr. Barger!" Trixie began, realizing she had no easy way of beginning a conversation with him. "I hope I'm not catching you in the middle of anything."

"Uh, no," he said slowly. "Trixie Belden, right?"

She blushed and nodded, thankful a natural reaction would only serve her purpose more. "Right. You work for my father."

He nodded. "And what can I do for you?"

She took a deep breath. "I was just wondering if… um…" Her mind sorted rapidly through all sorts of conversational sallies. Out of desperation, she tried this one. "If you wanted to be invited to my father's 'welcome home' party."

Barger's eyes widened. "He's been released?"

"Oh, no!" she told him. "Not yet. But he will be, and soon. I'm sure of it."

Then his eyes narrowed. "I read the papers this morning. You're not seriously thinking your father's been framed, are you?"

"You think he's guilty?"

It seemed like he was about to say something, but there was the sound of a ringing phone. Strangely, it didn't sound quite like any telephone Trixie had ever heard before. She was about to ask what the sound was when Barger excused himself and hurried back into his apartment. He pushed the door shut, but Trixie stuck her foot out so it did not close. She then followed him inside.

Without looking like she was studying him or his apartment, Trixie saw that Barger was wearing a headset apparently attached to his computer. He was speaking into it, and she assumed he had somehow routed the call through the machine. She let him talk. His apartment was a bit more interesting than his conversation, which seemed to revolve around an unpaid bill.

Barger's living room was full of leather furniture and sported a wide-screen TV. One wall sported a huge sliding glass door that opened onto a patio. A screen door on the patio opened onto a grassy courtyard beyond. As she moved casually about, Trixie could see the man's kitchen and the sink full of dirty pots. His bedroom door was halfway closed. Trixie moved toward a wall where the man had hung a dartboard. She turned, looked through the bedroom door, and saw three large suitcases sitting on the floor near Barger's bed. Moving more slowly and carefully, she casually stretched as if she were bored. She was about to take a few steps toward the bedroom when she heard Barger say 'goodbye'.

"Can I help you with anything or not?" he said wearily. "I've got things I need to do."

There seemed to be an unspoken 'before' at the end of his sentence, but Trixie couldn't think of a tactful way to ask what those things were. Still, it was all fitting together. The unpaid bill, the suitcases, the nice but not too nice furniture, the wide-screen TV that she knew very well cost more than $5000 since she had suggested to her brothers that they get one for their parents for Christmas last year, it all added up to one thing. Barger was the most likely suspect for stealing the money and then framing her father.

She smiled. "You have a great apartment, Mr. Barger," she began. "Since this welcome-home party is going to be a surprise, can we hold it here?"

"Huh? Here?" Barger looked stricken. "You say your father's going to be released?"

Still smiling, she nodded. "Maybe by the end of the week. That's what the latest edition of the paper says. Apparently, the Sun's printed a retraction of their statements this morning. That idiot reporter got it all wrong, you see." She affected a confidential tone.

He forced a smile. Trixie thought it did nothing to improve the man's appearance, particularly since he had draped the headset around his neck.

"How wonderful," Barger said. "But I really must ask you to go now. I have things I must do." He took off the headset and tossed it on the desk.

"Anything I can help you with?" she asked hopefully. Let him think she had suspected someone else all along. That would suit her purposes well.

"No," he said and almost physically ushered her to the door. "You'll have to go now."

"Sure, no problem," she told him. He practically pushed her into the foyer. She turned around to thank him for his time, but he shut the door. She heard him replace the chain and then slide the deadbolt. Mentally cursing her luck, she returned to the parking lot.

Trixie opened the car door and slumped into the drivers seat. What should she do now? Indeed, what could she do? Had she made Barger jumpy enough to accelerate his plans for escape? And was she right thinking that the presence of those suitcases meant he was leaving somewhere? Had she actually done what she intended to do?

As soon as she saw the door to his particular building open, she ducked below the dashboard. After counting to ten, she peeked one eye above the dash and looked at Barger. He hadn't noticed her. Good. He wasn’t carrying his suitcases. Better. He got in his car and drove away. Better still. Trixie got out of the car and headed for the apartment. Instead of trying the front door, however, she headed around back.

Years ago, her parents had installed a sliding glass door at Crabapple Farm. Once after grocery shopping, Helen, with a young Trixie in tow, discovered she had accidentally locked her set of keys in the car while trying to get Trixie inside the house. It was beginning to rain and the energetic four-year-old tended to track mud into the house. Helen had to get inside either the car or the farmhouse, where another set of keys hung tantalizingly on a hook in the kitchen. The rain was falling steadily harder. The ice cream in the car was melting even faster. Helen gave it all of thirty seconds' thought before she grabbed hold of the sliding door and heaved it off the track. Inside of a minute, Trixie was safely indoors, Helen grabbed the duplicate keys and the groceries were saved. Surely, Trixie now thought, she could work the same magic here as her own mother had.

Getting past the screen door was easy. The flimsy lock barely held up under her determined jiggling of it. She felt better being on the patio. She checked her watch. It was almost eleven. Likely, no one was home. Didn't most home burglaries happen in the daytime? Wasn't that because so few people were home then? Didn't that mean she had a better-than-average chance of successfully breaking into Barger's apartment?

She grabbed hold of the sliding glass door, thankful there were no security bars or pins in the frame, thankful there was no alarm system, either. At least, Barger hadn't input a code before he opened the door to admit her, nor after closing the door in her face. She was fairly certain she hadn't even seen any alarm control panels anywhere. Taking a deep breath, remembering to lift with her legs and not her back, she tugged at the door.

She tried it again.

With each heave, she grew more and more impressed that her mother could do it so easily. She adjusted her grip and lifted one more time. This time, she succeeded in pulling the door off the track. She grinned, forced the door to open, and went inside.

*     *     *

Twenty minutes later, Trixie sat in her car and watched Ron Barger get out of his car and return to his apartment. She had been more than successful in her search for evidence. Not only were the suitcases full, but Barger's closets and dressers were empty, a pair of first class plane tickets to Geneva were on the bed and a disk labeled 'FINANCIAL LIBERATION PROGRAM #1' lay on top of the computer's minitower.

What made things even more interesting, puzzling and almost unnerving, were the names on the tickets: Ronald Barger and Lisa Hencey.

What now? She assumed Barger had gone to check out her claim that the FBI was truly going to release her father. She knew he'd discover they were not. The plane tickets were for six-ten that night. She was running out of time. He would have to get to LaGuardia Airport by four. International flights required a two-hour wait. He would have to leave no later than two. It was eleven-thirty. What now? Tell the FBI? Tell them what? That she broke in? They'd probably arrest her and then what would Paul Trent write for a headline? Something smarmy about the Belden Crime Family, no doubt.

She had no choice but to trust the FBI. She turned the ignition.

A car pulled into the empty space across from her.

The radio came on.

There were two people in the car.

It was The Mamas & the Papas.

It was Molinson and Lisa FromTheBank Hencey herself.

It was a sign from Above. She heard singing. Broke. Busted. Disgusted. Agents can't be trusted. And Mitchie wants to go to the se-e-ea. Cass can't make it. She says we'll have to fake it. We knew she'd come eventual-ly…

Trixie turned off the engine and got out of the car. Molinson, in jeans and a polo shirt, and Lisa, in similar attire, were holding hands as they walked across the parking lot laughing quietly. Trixie ran up to them and pulled at the police officer's elbow. "Molinson!" she said. "You have to help me."

He looked at her questioningly, and more than a bit warily. "I do?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly. "You do."

To Be Continued

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