Author's Note: All praises to Chris (my husband) who helped me plot this whole mess - especially this chapter. But what else are you going to do when you're stuck in a car on I-4 in rush hour traffic? Thanks as well to Lynn for her help with proofing and whatnot. Especially the whatnot.

And thanks to Dragonquirk for suggesting the title for this chapter. (chapter five)

If Café Alberto's ever realizes how much I owe to them for the development of plot twists, plot points and just plain plots, they may start charging me more to eat there.

Chapter 5: I Wanna Be Sedated

Peter's brain hurt. The dura mater that encased his brain hurt. The bones that formed his skull that protected the dura mater that encased his brain hurt. The skin that covered the bones that formed his skull that protected the dura mater that covered his brain hurt. So did the follicles and so did the ends of his dark brown hair. He tried his best to ignore the pain and pay attention to what everyone was saying.

"Are you certain you're the only one with access to your PC, Mr. Belden?"

"Yes, of course," he replied. "No one knows my password. Not even my wife. It's standard bank procedure to keep it a secret." Not that I expect to be tortured to give up my security codes.

"And it's a random alphanumeric series? And you change it on a regular basis?"

"Yes," he answered. "Completely random." If you consider 'brothers3kids' to be a completely random alphanumeric series.

"Uh-huh."

"Can you tell me what you're looking for? I’m sure I can help you search." Peter was not surprised that no one took him up on his offer.

He had arrived at the bank several hours ago. His secretary, Lisa, had been waiting for him in the employee parking lot behind the bank when he got out of his car. "Peter! Omigosh! Thank God you're here now!" The slender blonde raced toward him, her three-inch heels not impeding her progress across the pitted lot. She wore her favorite bright-red Ally McBeal-ish miniskirted suit, and for once, appeared less than perfectly groomed. She clutched Peter's arm and tugged, not willing to wait for him to retrieve his laptop computer from the Camry.

"Hold on, Lisa. Give me a minute, will you?" Lisa's impatience made him nervous. He purposely took his time with his laptop and ran a hand over his hair. He took a breath and smiled pleasantly at his secretary. "Now. What's going on? Why all the rush?"

Lisa fairly burst with the news. "They say there's money missing! They say it's been going on for months! They say it's millions of dollars!"

Peter frowned. "That doesn't make sense," he said slowly. "If there were millions missing, wouldn't we have caught it before now?" They stood for a moment in the tiny parking lot behind the bank, Lisa looking helpless and Peter feeling his nervous worry return. There was a private employee entrance and as Peter approached the metal security door, it opened. A man in a dark suit nodded at the bank manager and his secretary and allowed them to enter. Peter was dismayed to discover the presence of several agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation waiting for him in his office.

In the hours that followed, Peter discovered that the main talent of these FBI agents seemed to be the ability to ask hundreds of unrelated questions without giving a hint of what they hoped or expected the answers to be. They asked him about the bank's routine. They asked him about previous audits. They asked him about work habits of various employees. They asked him about life in Sleepyside. They asked him about the New York Yankees. Peter didn't have a clue what they really wanted to know.

He spent most of the afternoon pacing the bank lobby and greeting customers. When a few people asked what was going in his office, Peter simply smiled and reassured them it was 'just a routine audit; nothing to worry about.'

At five o'clock, the bank closed up as usual. Peter went to oversee and assist the tellers as they turned in their drawers, but one of the agents relieved him of that task. "Why don't you just have a seat in the lobby, Mr. Belden?" he suggested.

Eventually, the only bank employees left were Peter and Lisa. They sat in the lobby and tried to not to think of the agents ensconced in Peter's office. Lisa had a magazine open on her lap. Peter had given up hope the newspaper would distract him. "You can go on home, you know," Peter told her. "Everyone else has and there's really nothing here you're needed to do."

"I'm staying as long as you're staying," Lisa promised. "Peter, you've the best boss I could ever have. I'm loyal. I'm staying."

He smiled at her. "Thanks. I appreciate that." He checked his watch, then glanced at his office. Through the glass wall in front, he could see the agents clustered around his desk, staring at the PC monitor. What are they searching for? What do they want?

He frowned and wondered if he needed to ask permission to call Helen to tell her he was still at the bank. He had told her not to keep dinner for him, but he wanted to hear her voice anyway. He felt her absence keenly. He decided to call. He stood up.

In the office, Peter could see the woman in charge, Special Agent Brenda Hoffman, was on the phone. She stared at Peter, said something into the receiver, then hung up the phone. Peter paused. The agent said something to the others in the office, then gestured to Peter to wait where he was. The meaning was clear. They had something to tell him.

*     *     *

Anne was irritated. "For the seventh time since we got in the car, Dan, I'm fine!" She glared comically at him across the back seat of the Wheeler's limousine. Matt Wheeler had sent the car and his driver to take Mr. Maypenny and Dan to the hospital to pick her up once she'd been discharged. Micah had to sign the discharge papers on his daughter's behalf and Dan wouldn't allow himself to be left behind.

Once safely in the limo, Anne had stretched out her legs and let herself grin. "I can't believe I'm finally out of there! You know," she said to her father, "You could have sprung me from that prison last night. I really didn't need to stay there as long as I did."

But Micah was unmoved. "You were under observation. Your continued good health is important to me. If the doctor had asked that you stay for another round of tests, believe me, you'd still be there."

"More tests," Anne grimaced. "Yuck." Micah had brought his daughter a change of clothes for the trip home. Her party clothes were in dire need of dry cleaning.

The trip through town was otherwise uneventful, save for Dan's constant questions which prompted Anne's snippy reply. Eventually, Tom turned the limo off the main road onto a little-used path that led directly to the Maypennys' cabin. Keeping the speed down to a crawl, he managed to avoid most of the exposed tree roots that kept most cars and even some trucks away from the isolated house. When the log cabin came into view, he called out to his passengers, "We're almost there and we've made it in one piece. Welcome home, Anne!"

"Thanks, Tom," Anne grinned. When the limo came to a stop, she didn't wait for the chauffeur to get out and open the door for her. Instead, she jumped from the vehicle in eager anticipation of greeting Pepper. True to form, the frisky Pomeranian scampered across the front yard, his tiny legs propelling his compact body as fast as possible toward his beloved mistress. Anne leaned forward and the dog jumped high into the air. Anne caught the warm, wriggly body and held him close. "Hi, Pepper!" she sighed. "Did you miss me?"

Behind her, Micah and Dan exited the limo. "Yes," Micah said with an exaggerated sigh. "Pepper let me know in no uncertain terms that I did not know the proper way to put water in his bowl. He knocked it over three times before finally drinking some."

"Pepper!" Anne gasped, also in an exaggerated manner. "Did Grandpa not give you water in the right way?" She laughed as the dog licked her face and yipped.

"Come on, Anne," Dan said, petting Pepper affectionately. "I think you'd better get inside now."

"Why?" she wondered. She followed him toward the cabin, then stopped short. "I can't forget my clothes from last night," she said, turning. "Tom, could you-"

But Tom had already retrieved the bag with her clothes and shoes and was handing it to her father. "Here you go, Mr. Maypenny," Tom was saying. "I've got to get back to Manor House now." He noticed Anne watching him with a grateful smile, so he nodded and said, "I’m glad you're feeling better. Try to take it easy for a few days, okay?"

"Thanks for picking me up, Tom," Anne said. "I really appreciate being driven home in style."

Micah and Dan thanked Tom as well. They waited while Tom got back in the limo and carefully turned to go back toward the main road. In silent agreement, the threesome went into the cabin.

Almost immediately, Anne realized why Dan and her father were the only ones at the hospital. Everyone else who would have visited was stuffed inside the tiny living room of the cabin. Anne let Pepper out of her arms so that she could return Diana's, Honey's and then Trixie's hugs. Brian, Mart and Jim hugged her next and Cap, Knut and Hallie congratulated her verbally. Dan led Anne to the single sofa and told her to sit still. Everyone else found places to sit either on the sofa, the single easy chair, chairs brought in from the kitchen or on the floor. Mr. Maypenny disappeared into the kitchen to take over preparations for Anne's 'welcome home' lunch.

"How do you feel?" "What'd the doctors tell you?" "Are you okay now?" "Do you know what happened?" "Do you remember anything about last night?"

The sudden and overlapping questions made Anne laugh. "You guys! I can't believe I missed you all so much!" She took a deep breath. "To try and answer you, I feel fine. The doctors took a lot of tests but they didn't say hardly anything except my blood sugar is pretty much back to normal, so that's good. I don't remember a lot of what happened last night, but they tell me I got drunk and jumped Jupiter over Ben Riker's Land Cruiser, threw a hissy fit and then collapsed. There. Did I cover everything?" She grinned. She hoped they would stop asking her questions. She wasn't ready to share everything the doctors had told her just yet.

Trixie leaned forward from her perch on the edge of the armchair. "Do you remember drinking the vodka?"

"Is that what it was?" Anne asked. "They didn't say at the hospital. But, no. I don’t." Having made his rounds of the room, sniffing interestedly at everyone's face and hands, Pepper returned to sit across Anne's feet. She leaned forward and scratched him between his ears. As if speaking to the dog, she said, "So many questions! Do you have anything you want to ask, Pepper sweetie?"

"It was mixed into your soda," Mart informed her unemotionally.

"Really?" Anne shrugged. "I must have picked up someone else's by mistake." She didn't miss the looks that suddenly passed from one person to the other. "What's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember clearly?" Cap asked, ignoring her question.

Anne took a long moment to consider. Did she demand to know what they were driving at or did she answer their questions and hope they'd soon get to the point? She decided to let them proceed as they wanted. "I remember dancing." She glanced at Dan, sitting next to her, and blushed. "Umm… I remember having a really good time. Everything was really funny." She grinned. "It was a terrific party, Jim. We must do it again sometime!" Jim murmured his thanks but looked away from her.

Dan laid his hand on hers and squeezed gently, bringing her attention back to the question. "Go on, Anne. What else do you remember?"

She sighed. "I guess I remember everyone leaving and still wanting to dance. I think I remember going outside and talking to Ben." She wondered why they were still hedging.

"Ben?" Honey piped up. "What were you two talking about?"

Anne frowned. "You know. I have no idea. When I think of it now, I just see his lips moving, but the sound's muted." Was that important? Did Ben tell her something she was supposed to remember later on?

"Do you remember saddling Jupiter?" Mart asked.

Anne covered her face and laughed. "Oh my, yes! I remember that I couldn't remember how to do it! Isn't that funny?" Since she was the only one laughing, she soon stopped. "Well, I think it was." She decided humor was not diffusing any of the tension in the room.

Honey asked quietly, "Whose idea was it to jump the Land Cruiser?"

Everyone waited for Anne's reply. This seemed important, so she thought carefully before replying. "Well, let me see. Ben told me to jump the BMW, but-"

"What!?" Jim said suddenly. "My BMW?"

Anne's demeanor turned to embarrassment. "Uh, yeah. I definitely remember jumping your BMW." They didn't know that? Curious.

Jim's freckles stood out in sharp contrast to the rest of his skin. "You jumped a horse over my new car? What if… what if…" He could not complete the thought.

Brian laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's all right, man," he said. "Nothing happened, remember? There wasn't a scratch on it."

"Right, Jim," Mart joined in. "No harm, no foul."

But Jim wasn't listening to their wisdom. "When I see that miserable son of a… I'll kill him." He looked to the guys for support. "That's my car! I haven't even had it twenty-four hours yet. I haven't driven it ten miles. I haven't taken it over forty!"

"Hey, relax!" Anne laughed. "I've jumped smaller horses over larger targets in competition. Jupiter cleared it with room to spare."

Jim took a huge sigh. "If you say so. Just, please, don't do it again."

"Honestly!" Anne shook her head. "I'm sure I would never have done it in the first place if I hadn't been drunk! It was dark out, for one thing." She wondered if that were the problem, that she had taken Jupiter out without permission. "Boy, Regan must really be angry with at me, huh!" Her second attempt to lighten the mood also fell flat. What's going on? This is starting to irritate. Why are they interrogating me? I should just stand up and demand - no! I'm not going to get impatient. I am not going to make a scene. They're being calm. I can stay calm, too. Take deep breaths and just listen to what they are saying and try not to misinterpret anything. We're all just having a nice, friendly conversation.

"Getting back to the matter at hand," Trixie said, drawing everyone's attention once more. "Do you want to know how you got drunk?"

Suddenly, Anne realized this was the point of all the questions. Slowly, she looked around the room, gauging everyone's mood and expression. She read tension, concern, fear and hope. She fixed on the hope in Hallie's eyes, then asked slowly, "Why? Is it important?" She looked at Trixie and waited. That's it. Nice and friendly. No drama. No more hissy fits.

Trixie shrugged. "That's for you to decide," she said. She looked to her cousins. Knut sat on the floor against the front door. Cap sat next to him. Hallie sat in front of them at their feet, her expression of hopefulness fading.

"Do I want to know?" Anne asked. She looked at Dan. "Do I?" She felt tension twist her stomach. She wondered if her ignorance could actually be bliss.

Dan put his arm around her. "Don't you want to know the truth? Aren't you the one who always goes on and on about hating lies and wanting people to be honest with each other? I know I'm curious to learn exactly how this all happened." He glanced at the others.

"Oh, dear…" Anne said softly. "Someone did this on purpose, didn't they." It was not a question. I can still be calm. I can still do this in a rational, mature, adult way. No one here's to blame for any of this, after all. These are my friends and cousins of my friends. I am safe here.

Dan nodded his head. "Yes. Apparently."

She licked her lips nervously. "Who?" She glanced around the room. "Who would do this to me? Why?" Everyone she looked at glanced away from her to stare at their shoes or their hands or some spot on the ceiling. The only sound was the slow tick-tick of an antique clock on the mantle and the more cheerful sounds of her father fixing lunch in the kitchen. The only person who met her gaze was Hallie Belden. Anne asked her, "Do you know about this?"

Hallie nodded her head. "I did it. I put the vodka in your soda can."

Anne just stared at her. Finally, she asked, "Why? What for? I don't understand." She felt Dan's hand on her back begin to move in calming strokes. Friends. These are all my friends. Every friend I have in the world is here. Everything will be fine. She repeated the words over and over in her head like a mantra.

"Hallie?" Dan said with a dangerous tone in his voice. "Tell us exactly what you did."

The younger girl's eyes filled up with tears. "I'm sorry!" she said to Dan. "I didn't mean anything to happen! I didn't know-"

"Excuse me?" Anne interrupted. "You spiked my drink and you didn't mean anything to happen? What were you thinking? That I was immune or something? That it wouldn’t matter? That it wouldn’t affect me?" Hey! Calm down! Friends, remember? Mature? Adult? Deep breaths?

"No!" Hallie almost shouted. "That wasn't it at all!"

The sudden presence of Anne's father in the doorway to the kitchen drew everyone's attention. He stared at Hallie, his expression bleak. "I was just about to announce that lunch was ready," he said softly. "I happened to overhear what you were telling my daughter, Miss Belden. Please. Go on. I'm interested to know, too, what you thought you were doing."

Trixie spoke up first. "My cousin's just a little flustered, Mr. Maypenny. It's been a rough couple of days-"

"I'm not interested right now in how rough her visit has been," Maypenny responded with uncharacteristic harshness. "I want to know what was going through her mind that she sought to jeopardize my daughter's health and recovery this way."

Anne realized she had stopped petting Pepper. She concentrated on the golden brown dog and repeated her mantra, adding, That's good. Let him take over. Calm yourself. It'll be all right. If you fly off again, you'll more than likely embarrass yourself. This is all just a horrible mistake. It has to be.

"Recovery?" Hallie repeated in a tiny voice. "You mean from the surgery, right? Not like she's an addict or something-"

"Hallie!" Diana gasped. "Think for a minute before speaking, will you?" Clearly appalled at what her sometime-friend had implied, she covered her face with her hand and leaned toward Mart, sitting next to her on the other side of the sofa.

Anne flinched at Hallie's words then almost smiled at Diana's retort. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she sometimes did feel like an addict when she injected herself with insulin three and sometimes four times a day. It would at least change the subject and smooth the ruffled emotions.

Hallie's mouth opened and shut as if catching flies. "I-I-I… I just meant…" Unable to complete a sentence, she appealed to Trixie with her eyes.

However, her cousin urged her to continue. "Go on and tell them everything, just as we discussed."

"Yeah, Hal," Cap told her. "Get it over with as planned. Don't back out now."

In a hushed voice, Hallie told them all, "I wasn't thinking of any consequences. I didn't think anything really bad would happen. I just thought she'd get a little tipsy and maybe do something silly. I didn't think she'd be hurt by it."

"You thought," Mr. Maypenny said, "but you weren't thinking." He nodded, his eyes were cold. He folded his arms and then forcibly looked away from the teenager sitting on his hardwood floor.

Anne needed to know more. She needed to know 'why'. Mentally chanting her mantra faster and faster, she was able to begin calmly when she asked Hallie, "Why did you want to see me act silly? Why get me tipsy? Why experiment on me? What would you gain from it? Vicarious thrills?"

Hallie looked down at her lap. She half-shrugged as she said, "I'm sorry, but I guess I just wanted to hurt you."

"But why?"

In an even smaller voice, Hallie managed to say clearly, "I guess I just don't like you very much."

Utter silence filled the room as Hallie made her pronouncement. Anne could not move. Pepper whined slightly for her to pet him again and she did, but did not feel the warm, soft fur beneath her fingertips. She doesn't like me. She doesn’t even know me. She just met me two days ago and already she can tell I'm a horrible person. What if no one likes me at all? What if everyone here is just here because they feel sorry for me? What if that's all anyone feels for me - pity? I know no one chose to have me here. I disrupted everyone's life by coming here. Star light, star bright, I truly wish I'd been born Margaret Lang instead of this Anneka Maypenny person.

Anne found her voice long enough to say, "Oh."

Pepper whined a little more and pushed his wet nose into Anne's palm. She caressed his tiny snout and smiled down at him. Her vision rippled and blurred but she met Pepper's chocolate brown gaze directly. "Do you want a treat?" she asked. Pepper stood and braced himself on her knees, his mouth parted in a huge dog-type grin. "Let's get you a treat!" Anne picked Pepper up into her arms and stood. Without meeting anyone's eyes, she pulled away from Dan's arms, stepped carefully around everyone's legs and went into the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight of the living room, she set the dog onto the floor and did her best to cry silently.

In the living room, Diana recovered first. "Hallie! I'm surprised at you! How could you just say that? Even if it's true. You couldn't think of a nicer way? She just got out of the hospital, for Pete's sake!"

"You said to tell the truth!" Hallie defended herself. "That's all I did." Then, as if noticing him for the first time, she looked sideways up at Anne's father.

Mr. Maypenny's expression was remote and unreadable. He stared above everyone's heads and said, "Make yourselves at home. There's plenty to eat in the kitchen. I'll be outside with my daughter." He turned and went into the kitchen. A minute later, they all heard Anne and her father go out the kitchen door to their back yard.

"Some welcome home party this turned out to be," Dan said sourly. "Thanks a lot, Hallie."

"Please don't hate me, Dan!" Hallie moaned. "I didn't mean any harm!"

"Tell me another one," he replied.

"I’m sorry!" she insisted. "It was a stupid mistake. Please forgive me!"

Dan laughed unpleasantly. "That's just perfect, Hallie. Beg my forgiveness when you didn't do anything to me except prove to me how right I was in dumping you. You have got some messed-up set of priorities if you think apologizing to me will win you any points."

Knut got to his feet. "Come on, Hallie. You've done all the damage I can stand to witness for one day. Let's go." Reluctantly, Hallie got to her feet. Cap joined them at the door. The siblings took their leave of the cabin and set out to return to Crabapple Farm.

Once the Bob-Whites were alone in the cabin, Dan asked them, "How long have you guys known about all this?"

"Since last night," Trixie said quietly. "We found out everything last night."

He nodded. "I remember hearing Hallie say something about the vodka in Anne's drink, but I wasn't paying too much attention to her." He shook his head. "I guess that was part of the problem, huh."

Diana smiled sympathetically at him. "You can't blame yourself. If you don't want to be with Hallie, and you're honest enough to tell her straight out, then it's not your fault what she chooses to do about it." Dan smiled his thanks, but he still looked miserable.

Brian asked then, "Did the doctors say what effect the alcohol may have had on Anne's system?"

"No," Dan shook his head. "At least, if they did, Anne didn't say." He frowned. "I think they did some tests, but those usually take some time to come back, so…"

"There's something else you don't know about," Honey said suddenly. She had been unusually quiet up until that moment, so she immediately drew everyone's attention. "Ben was involved, too." In a few, brief sentences, Honey told Dan how Ben had gotten the alcohol and given it to Hallie to spike the soda, then gave the adulterated drink to Anne. Dan's reaction was strong, but controlled.

"That -", he cursed. "I'll make him pay. It's as simple as that. He thinks it's funny to give a diabetic enough alcohol to put her over the legal limit? Well, we'll just see how much-"

"Whoa, Dan!" Trixie said. "Hold on there! Over the legal limit? What do you mean?" This particular bit of information was news to the others.

"Just what I say, Trix," he replied. "Anne's blood alcohol was something like a thousandth percent over the limit for a six-foot, three hundred pound man. She wasn't just drunk. She was plastered. They didn't just give her a shot or two, mixed in with her soda. They must have been spiking her soda all night. Refilling a can every time she got one halfway drunk. She was really thirsty. We were dancing a lot. So I guess they had plenty of opportunities."

"Holy guacamole!" Diana whistled, clearly upset at the news. She pulled Mart's arm over her shoulder and snuggled close to him for security.

Jim pushed himself off the wall where he'd been leaning. "Well, don't do anything rash, Dan. Regan's in charge of Ben's punishment."

"Huh? What do you mean? And why would Mr. Wheeler give Ben over to my uncle for punishment?" Dan asked.

"Simple," Jim grinned. "Since Ben deprived Regan of a stable hand, he gets to take over Anne's duties. I understand Regan's been on a cleaning kick lately. He'll probably have Ben start scrubbing out the stables with a toothbrush."

Dan began to chuckle. "So Anne's got a few days off at least. That's good. She could probably use a vacation."

*     *     *

Micah wasn't sure what to say or how exactly to broach the subject. He started out by telling Anneka to take a walk with him outside. She put Pepper on a leash and accompanied him out the back door. She did not speak nor did she look at him, but kept her eyes on the dog as he hunted butterflies.

Finally, she said, "You asked me out here to talk, so talk."

"I find it difficult to know what to say or how to begin," he replied. "Come over here and sit down." He brought her to a wide, flat-topped stone he'd found and brought to his property years ago. It was large enough and comfortable enough for two adults and a small child to have a good-sized picnic upon. It would serve his purposes now.

Anne climbed up on top of the four-foot high stone. She watched her father easily lift himself into place and then fold his legs into a relaxed position. "What's there to say?" she asked him. "Have I been rude in leaving my welcome home party so soon?"

"No." He shook his head. "I wouldn't say that. I'd say your reaction was understandable, given the circumstances. You just found out that someone you barely know gave you alcohol on purpose but for no good reason. Why shouldn't you become upset?"

"Not for no good reason," she pointed out. "Hallie had the best reason in the world. She hates me."

"She didn't say that."

"Fine," Anne said. "She said she wanted to hurt me because she wants to be best friends forever. I guess I just misinterpreted her actions. When I run her over in a truck, she'll know we should get married."

"Don't oversimplify things," Micah cautioned her. "Just because she doesn't hate you doesn't mean she loves you. There is a wealth of gray in between those two absolutes." But how could he make her understand this the way he did? How could he make her see that, even in a love relationship, there were elements of discord and disenchantment?

"Okay, then," Anne said, clearly unconvinced and just as clearly unwilling to discuss it further. "She doesn't hate me and she doesn't love me. She just doesn't care enough about me one way or another. I can live with that. I don't care about her, either."

"There are reasons for everything that people do," Micah said, trying another tack.

"Oh? So now you're going to tell me she had a good reason?"

Micah was a patient man. Living alone for so many years taught him that. Living with his daughter for just a few months was enough to put all that previous experience to an almost excruciating test. "No, Anneka. I'm not going to tell you that-"

Anne interrupted him. "Why do you persist in calling me 'Anneka'? I hate that name."

Micah blinked at the sudden shift of conversation. "It's the name you were given at birth. What would you have me call you?"

She stared at him. "'Anne' would be nice. 'Anne' works for me. I like it."

He almost smiled. "Your mother called you 'Anne'."

"Well?" She gestured aimlessly. "Isn't that good enough for you?"

"Let me tell you something," he said. "I don't hold much with parents giving their children one name only to call them something else. If Peter and Helen wanted to have a daughter named 'Trixie', for instance, they shouldn't have named her 'Beatrix'."

That caught Anne off-guard. "Excuse me? They really named her 'Beatrix'? I thought Mart just made that up to be cruel."

"Yes, they really did," Micah nodded. "Just like Honey Wheeler's real name is Madeleine and Jim is really James."

"What's wrong with nicknames? Or shortening something to make it simpler?"

He shrugged. "I always hated it when people called me 'Mike'. My name is 'Micah'. What's so difficult to understand?"

"Okay, fine," she relented. "You can call me 'Anneka' if it makes you feel better. But don't expect me to go around forcing people to stop calling me 'Anne', okay?"

"That's fine," he assured her. "Now. Where was I?" He thought a moment, a bit distracted by the sight of Pepper straining at his leash after a yellow butterfly. "Oh, yes. Hallie's reason. There's something about Hallie I suspect you don't know." As briefly as he could, Micah outlined the relationship that had existed between Dan Mangan and Hallie Belden. "She was largely responsible for putting a smile on his face in those days, after he first moved here. Sort of like what he's now doing for you."

Anne found she couldn't look at her father. A strong, unnamable emotion kept her head turned away from him. "Oh, really?" she said softly.

"I'm not blind," Micah told her. "I see the way Daniel looks at you and I see the way you look at him."

"Is that… does that bother you?" she asked. When he didn’t answer right away, she dared to look at him. His expression was kind and patient. He smiled.

"I like Daniel. He's a fine young man and I think he's done a world of good for you." He hesitated a moment, then added, "I owe him a great deal for that, as I don't think I have been any help to you at all."

Anne blinked, startled and surprised by that admission. If asked, and if she were reasonably sure the answer would never get back to him, she might have said the exact same thing. Hearing him say it, however, brought to mind all he had done for her. The home and the life he had rearranged to make her more comfortable. The routines he had given up. The years of isolation he had ended. All of it was to make her happy and keep her safe and healthy. He had given her space, time and unconditional support, enough for her to find her own way and make her own choices where she could. As she sat in the sunlight on the large flat rock she realized he had been a truer, better father for her than she could have imagined or wished for, and certainly better than she suspected she deserved.

"That's not true," she said, but her throat closed with emotion and she had trouble saying the words. "You have been a terrific father to me. You're-"

"No, no," he contradicted her. "When I saw you in the Wheeler's living room and I realized you had returned from the grave, I had no idea what I was getting myself involved in. Suddenly, I had a front-row seat for a media circus and a headline-grabbing custody trial. Me. Micah Maypenny. The Hermit off Glen Road." He chuckled and shook his head. "That whole mess took weeks to straighten out. It's still not completely settled, you know. But I didn't get much of an opportunity to get to know you as you are now. That's hurt us."

"It has? How?" she asked, realizing this was the first time they had ever discussed the kidnapping or the trial in terms of how it had affected either of them emotionally. She had not realized she needed to discuss the kidnapping this way or with him, but now that he had brought up the subject, she did not want to let it go too soon.

Micah shook his head. "I miss my little girl. The one with the long dark hair and the big brown eyes. The rambunctious toddler who used to race from one end of the house to the other, screaming with laughter as I or her mother chased after her." His eyes stung with the beginnings of unshed tears, but he ignored them. "I miss the little girl who used to call me 'Daddy' and gave me hugs every time she saw me. When they told me she died, my heart broke. When I realized she was alive, and had been kept from me…"

Anne wiped at her eyes. Great. I'm either going to cry for one thing or another. What's wrong with me? I've become so emotional. Am I low on insulin or something? "Go on," she urged him.

He heaved a ragged sigh. "When I realized what the Langs had done, not just to you but to me and your mother, for the first time in my life, I hated. I wanted to make someone suffer. Part of me rejoiced to have my little girl back in my life, but you were such a stranger to me that soon I was mourning your loss all over again."

Anne swallowed the growing lump in her throat. She shook her head and brushed her hands at her eyes again. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know-"

"I know that!" Micah said, not wanting to stop telling her his feelings. "I've become too good at keeping things inside, especially where you're concerned. I didn't want you to know how much it upsets me to know you hate to spend time with me, how much it hurts to see you rush off to the stables or the clubhouse every chance you get rather than hang out here."

She didn't know what to say or do. She rubbed a bit at the end of the leash in her hands and stared out into the trees. "I didn't know what you expected of me," she finally said. "I mean, I kind of always got the idea that you weren't seeing me, but that little girl you mentioned. I guess that really bothered me, especially since I realized the Langs were never really seeing me, either, but their own little girl."

"I want to get to know you and who you are becoming," he told her. He paused a moment.

She sniffed and laughed. "You sure about that? I know one person who hated me on sight."

"Forget about her," Micah told her. "She has her own problems. I was going to say, too, that I'm not sure I like the person you're becoming. I don't like what the Langs taught you."

"What do you mean?" Anne asked, a sudden, horrible feeling washing over her.

"The Langs taught you nothing but how to lie to people and that other people's feelings and wishes and desires were of no consequence. That's wrong. I would never have taught you that."

She shook her head. "The Langs loved me! They did nothing but take care of me-"

"They stole you from your true parents," Micah said. "And they made arrangements to keep their theft hidden and a secret. People who are capable of doing that are incapable of teaching a child how to be honest and trustworthy and good."

She stared at him. "What are you telling me? What are you trying to say? That I'm evil?"

"No!" he almost shouted. "I'm not telling you that at all. I'm telling you that I've been watching your actions these past few months and I understand them."

"What actions? What have you seen?"

"The way you've been tormenting Ruth Kettner, for instance," Micah said. "She's a very nice girl. I've met her. She's bright and very pretty."

"I know," Anne said sourly. "She was in some of my science classes."

"Dan dated her for a while, too."

Anne's lips twisted. "Yeah. I heard."

Micah almost smiled. "So you've been tormenting her because of it. Just like Hallie tried to torment you."

"I have never endangered anyone's life!" Anne retorted hotly.

"I'm not saying you have," Micah replied reasonably. "I’m only saying that you reacted similarly. And that you reacted in the only way the Langs taught you. By using your skills to embarrass and hurt a person who really doesn't deserve to be mistreated."

Anne and Micah shared a long, thoughtful look. Finally, Anne grinned and said, "I think we're getting the hang of this father-daughter stuff after all." At Micah's curious look she added, "At least, you've gotten the lecture part down pat."

He had to grin at that, his weather-beaten face relaxing for the first time in months. "Maybe I have at that," he said. "I'm glad I didn't have to yell or send you to your room or ground you."

Anne wanted to say something in reply, but she didn't quite have the nerve. She jumped off the rock and shook the leash so that Pepper would know they would be moving away from their spot soon. Micah got off the rock and stood next to her. Anne decided it was now or never. She looked up at her father.

"I’m glad I discovered the truth about me in time to get to know you," she said sincerely. "And I'm real happy I'm your daughter." She took a deep breath and forced herself to say the words, knowing if she didn't say them now, things would not get better. "Thanks, Daddy."

Supremely heartened, Micah could only say, "Thank you." He took a chance and held out his arms. When Anneka stepped into his embrace, he finally wept in joy.

*     *     *

"What are they doing now? Still talking?" Trixie poked her head out the window next to Dan's. He had been checking on father and daughter every two minutes since they left the cabin.

"Appears that way," he said. "I think things are going well. They generally don't talk much."

"Don't they?" Trixie frowned. "That's too bad. Mr. Maypenny is a really cool guy."

Dan grinned. "You don't have to tell me that." He let the café curtain fall back into place. "I'm going to get some more to eat. You hungry?"

"A little," Trixie admitted. She followed him back to the large kitchen table. Mr. Maypenny had set out a feast. Sliced venison and turkey with fresh sourdough for sandwiches, greens and vegetables for salads and an abundance of doughnuts rounded out the buffet. "I wish the others hadn't felt the need to leave," she said. "I think Cap would get on with Mr. Maypenny really well."

"They're here for another two weeks," Brian pointed out, about to take a bite of his sandwich. "I'm sure Cap'll have plenty of chances to get up here again."

Honey whispered to Diana, "Are you going to try to talk to Hallie? Help her straighten things out at all?"

Diana played with her salad fork, idly spearing shredded leaves of romaine and sopping up the vinaigrette. "Hallie and I don’t talk much any more. She's so hard to get a handle on, you know? I mean, she's all sweetness and light when she's here, but last summer in Idaho…" She shook her head. "She was next to impossible to like."

Honey nodded. "I guess it's up to Trixie, then. I just never got that close to her, myself."

Diana smirked. "Well, I wish Trixie all the luck in the world with that one. She's a tough nut to crack."

"Since we're all here," Trixie announced brightly, "Why don't we have a meeting?"

"We're not all here," Jim reminded her. "Anne's outside."

"So we'll fill her in later." Trixie started assembling a sandwich as she talked. "I think we should definitely do that fundraiser we had discussed before school let out."

"Which one?" Mart asked. "The cooking contest?" He grinned as a thick drop of relish dribbled off his chin onto his shirt.

"Ooo!" Dan laughed, pointing at the stain. "That just missed your jacket. You lucked out of another sloppy clothes fine."

"Not the cooking contest," Trixie said, handing her brother a napkin. "The dance contest." She looked around at everyone's bewildered expression.

"We agreed to hold a dance contest?" Jim asked. "Why don't I remember this?"

"We didn't agree to it, it was just one of the suggestions."

"As I recall," Mart said. "It was one of your suggestions, am I not correct?"

"So what?" Trixie asked. "It's a good one. I was reminded of it last night at the party, when we were all learning to Salsa." She completed her sandwich creation with a diagonal slice and a side of doughnut.

Brian frowned. "But I hate to dance."

"You do?" Honey asked. "But you told me-" She stopped abruptly and then concentrated once more on her plate.

"Well," Brian amended, "I mean I don't particularly like it." He avoided the suddenly extremely interested looks on the others' faces.

"It'll be fine," Trixie assured them all. "We can have it at the school. We can set it up so that anyone can enter. We can have age groups and sections for different styles and really get the entire community involved!"

"You mean styles like 'Latin' or 'Ballroom' or something?" Dan asked, back again at the kitchen window.

"Sure. Why not?" Trixie asked. She took a bite of her sandwich and sighed happily. Her mouth full, she announced, "Thith ith the betht thandwith!"

"Well I didn't ask for a preview!" Mart scolded her, shielding his eyes from the sight of his sister's half-chewed lunch.

Trixie swallowed and said, "Ha. Ha. You are so funny." She stuck her tongue out at him, then laughed as he pretended to gag.

"Come on, you two," Brian, ever the aggrieved older brother, urged them. "Now, Trixie. About this idea-"

"I like it," Honey said suddenly, her eyes staring into some middle distance. "I think it'll be a good way to raise money and awareness for medical research."

Trixie stared at her. "Raise money for medical research? Where'd you get that idea?"

Honey blinked, startled. "I'm not sure," she said. "But what else would we do all this for?"

"UNICEF?" Trixie asked.

Jim suggested, "The Red Cross? Disaster relief?"

"Amnesty International?" was Mart's request.

"A literacy foundation?" was Diana's.

"I know Anne would suggest the Juvenile Diabetes Foundation," Dan said, returning from the window. "But I've always been partial to Save the Music."

"Then there's Greenpeace," Brian said.

"No!" Honey said firmly. "It has to be for medical research. Let the winners in each category determine where their money goes as long as it's for something medical. One of those orphan drugs or rare illnesses or something."

"Okay," Trixie said slowly, not willing to upset Honey with further discussion. "We can do that. That would probably work, too, if it would bring more people in." She began to warm to the idea. "We could have tables set up with volunteers from those organizations so that the spectators could donate time or money to the organizations themselves! I really think that would work."

"But would the winners get to keep anything themselves?" Diana wondered. "Or are they just playing for their charity?"

"I think we'd have to give them something, too," Jim said. "But it doesn't have to be anything very big. Gift certificates or donated items from around Sleepyside might do just as well. And as usual, we can get corporate sponsors to promote the idea among their employees like my dad or Di's dad, and all their business friends, and get the bank involved, too."

"Or some of those organizations might have things they could donate, too," Brian said. "It couldn't hurt to ask."

Trixie grinned, her sandwich now forgotten on her plate. "I think we have a great plan, Bob-Whites! This could be our biggest fundraiser ever! We could get local television coverage, Public Access Cable, newspapers and maybe even a write-up in one of those national magazines!"

Mart smirked. "You just want your name in the paper again. That's what this is all about, isn't it? Publicity."

Trixie was about to reply when Jim spoke for her. "That's not it and you know it. Trixie does this for charity, not for herself. And I will say this. I have certainly noticed who always hangs around when the cameras come out and it's not your sister."

"Okay, I surrender," Mart said. "It was a bad joke. I'm sorry."

"That's okay, Mart," Trixie said. It was easy to excuse her brother's teasing when someone else stood up for her. It was particularly easy when that someone was Jim Frayne. I just wish all bad jokes were as easy to excuse, she thought. Then maybe Hallie wouldn't be having such a terrible vacation.

Standing at the window and peeking through the café curtains, Dan saw Mr. Maypenny hold out his arms and Anne step into them. He smiled, knowing without being told that father and daughter were well on their way to becoming a family. As they turned toward the cabin, Dan announced, "They're coming back now. I think everything'll be okay." He smiled at his friends sitting around the kitchen table. Yeah, he thought. Everything's going to be great from now on.

*     *     *

Dinner that night at Crabapple Farm revolved principally around the plans for the medical research fundraiser. The Bob-Whites had decided to give themselves a full two months to plan the event, in order to generate as much community support and excitement as possible. Helen Belden was as full of encouragement and ideas as she could manage. She still had not heard from Peter. When the last piece of strawberry-rhubarb pie she'd made for dessert was left in the pie tin, she announced she was going to call the bank. "Even though he said to wait to hear from him, I can't wait any longer."

The children fell silent. They were each worried about the bank, but were unwilling to burden Helen with their own fears and concerns. Even Bobby seemed to understand enough to not ask questions. As Helen disappeared into the study, Brian and Knut stood and began clearing the table.

"Come on, guys," Brian said. "If we get this taken care of, it'll be one less worry for Moms."

By the time the dishes were in the drying rack and the last crumb swept off the dining room floor, Helen had returned to the kitchen. She turned down the volume on the ever-present radio on top of the refrigerator. "Sorry, kids. I called every two minutes for a half hour, but there's no answer. I just keep getting the voice mail system."

"That's mysterious," Trixie said. "If someone's there, shouldn't they answer?"

Helen shrugged, clearly upset. "I don't know where else he would be, if he's not at the bank. I don't know where to look for him. I mean, did he start to come home? Did the car break down? Did he have to go somewhere else?" She fell silent, unwilling to continue her train of thought out loud. Bobby moved to hug her, his arms wrapping around her hips.

The phone rang then, startling all of them. Helen answered before the ring's echo had reached the kitchen walls. "Hello? Peter? Hello?"

There was a pause and Helen's face fell. It was not Peter. Then her expression changed to one of alarm and deep concern. "Lisa - he was what? Why? You're kidding! This has to be a joke!"

As Trixie watched, concerned and worried for her father, she couldn't help but see her mother start to tremble. Eventually, Helen hung up the phone after saying a sullen 'goodbye'. "What's happened, Moms?" Trixie asked. "Was that Lisa? What'd she have to say? Where's dad?"

Brian shot her a stern look. He moved to his mother and put his arm on her shoulder. "You need to sit down a minute. Mart, get a blanket. Moms's had a shock."

"No, no," Helen said, resisting Brian's efforts to get her near a chair. "I don't have time to sit. I need to go. Where're my car keys?"

"Go? Go where?" Brian asked. "Moms, I really don't think that's a good idea right now."

"Brian, you don’t understand!" Helen stared into her oldest son's eyes. "Your father has been arrested. Right now he's in the Westchester County Jail being interrogated by agents of the FBI. They say he's embezzled millions of dollars from the bank. They say they have incontrovertible proof!"

"What?" Brian repeated. "How can-"

"That's impossible!" Trixie blurted out. "Dad would never do anything like that! They're crazy! There has to be some other explanation!"

Helen shook her head. "I don't know. Lisa didn't know all the details. She was there when they arrested him. She knew I'd want to know right away, so she called me. I have to get down there. I have to get to the jail and see if there's anything I can do about this. Your father… Peter's counting on me!"

She moved toward the door, but Brian held her firm in his grip. "Moms! Helen! You're not going anywhere right now. You're in no shape to drive and there's probably nothing you can do for him anyway."

"Yeah, Moms," Mart agreed. "Don’t we need to get a lawyer or something?"

Trixie added, "And they can hold him for twenty-four hours without charging him. He won't get out until tomorrow night, at any rate."

Helen's lips twisted. "I’m glad I raised my children to be so aware of police procedure." She struggled to hold back her emotions, but when Brian pulled her into a comforting embrace, she lost her struggle. "Oh, God!" she moaned. "What am I going to do?"

Brian told her calmly, "I’m going to take you upstairs and sit with you until you fall asleep. In the meantime, Mart's going to call that lawyer you and Dad put on retainer and get him working on this. You'll feel better in the morning, after you've had a chance to recover from this shock, okay?"

"No!" she said firmly. "I have to go see him. I have to go talk to him. Brian!" She broke free of her son's grasp. "He's my husband! I have to go!"

"Okay!" Brian surrendered the battle. "But I'm driving and going with you and if I think you need to come home, I'll pick you up and carry you back here myself, okay?"

Helen looked at Brian for a long moment. "You're so much like your father," she said quietly. She wiped at her eyes and straightened her shoulders. "Fine. You drive. Get the keys and I'll get my purse and we won't stop for the lights."

Brian agreed and inside of two minutes, they were both out the door, in the minivan and roaring down the driveway.

"Whoa!" Trixie said, leaning against the counter afterward. "I don't believe it!"

Hallie shook her head, her eyes wide. "This is unreal! I didn't think things like this really ever happened to people I knew."

Mart grabbed Knut. "Come on. Help me search for this lawyer guy's name in the Rolodex."

"Why do you have a lawyer, anyway?" Knut asked as they left the kitchen.

"In case Trixie ever got into too much trouble," Mart replied.

Cap walked up to Trixie and hugged her. "Relax, cousin. These charges won't stick. You'll see. It'll all get straightened out in no time."

"Really?" was the wavering reply, but it did not come from Trixie. Instead, young Bobby Belden was asking the question, his huge blue eyes filled with frightened tears.

"Oh, gosh," Trixie moaned. "Bobby, sweetie, why don't you go upstairs and start your bath? You'll feel better."

"I'll take him," Cap volunteered. "Come on, cuz. Let's go and we can talk about this, okay?"

Bobby smiled. "Okay, Cappy."

"Just one thing," Cap said as they filed out the swinging door. "Don't ever call me 'Cappy' again!"

Hallie groaned as the door closed. "Oh, gosh, Trixie. What a mess." She glanced sidelong at her cousin. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"It's okay, Hallie," Trixie said, shaking her head. "I'm glad you're here."

She smiled. "I am, too." She moved to sit down. With one foot, she kicked one of the other chairs away from the table. "Come on and sit," she commanded. "Let's get the Belden-Belden-Wheeler Agency into action, okay?"

"Sure," Trixie said, taking the seat. "But without more information, I don't know what help we can be."

"Then we'll figure out a plan to help Aunt Helen handle things on this end."

"Sounds good," Trixie grinned, and they began to plan.

Quietly, on top of the refrigerator, the Weekly Wednesday Hour of Punk Power (courtesy WSTH) had begun. Top of their list was The Ramones.

…twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go-o-o… I wanna be sedated! Nothing to lose nowhere to go-o-o-o… I wanna be sedated!

 

Chapter Six: Good Morning, Judge

Trixie was still awake, although in bed, when her brother and mother arrived back home. She heard the minivan in the drive, so she went to her bedroom window to peek out. Would her father be there? He was not. Disappointed, she almost turned away from the sight of Brian supporting their mother, helping her walk to the front porch.

Oh, Moms! Trixie cried silently. I don't know how to help you right now, but I swear that I'll fix this if it's the last thing I do!

With her mother home, though, Trixie finally felt sleepy enough to get back in bed and close her eyes. Hallie, in the twin bed opposite her, did not stir.

*     *     *

The household awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon, sausage and eggs. One by one, the bleary-eyed young people went downstairs into the kitchen. Upon seeing Helen Belden in her pajamas and bathrobe making breakfast, each one gave their own variation of 'what do you think you are doing?' Helen's reply was the same. "What does it look like? I’m making breakfast. Sit down and help yourself."

When Mart pressed her further, she simply looked at him, her eyes bloodshot and her hair unkempt. "Your father is in jail. What do you want me to do?" Mart hugged her gently, kissed her on the cheek, then sat down at the table between Cap and Knut. Hallie and Trixie smiled a wan 'good morning' to each other, but otherwise there was no conversation.

Even Reddy seemed subdued. When Bobby let him out for his morning squirrel chase, the normally frisky setter merely did his business quickly and returned to the kitchen. He did not beg for food nor did he get in the way of anyone going back and forth from the table to the sink to the refrigerator. He simply stayed under the table near Brian and Bobby's feet.

The mood in the kitchen was decidedly tense, especially after Helen sat down to a single cup of coffee. Eventually, Trixie had the courage to ask, "How'd it go last night, Moms? What did you find out?"

Brian answered instead. "We got there, but they wouldn't let us see him. We tried to get one of the cops or the agents to talk to us, but they were 'too busy'. When Mr. Davis showed up -"

"Who?" Hallie asked.

"The lawyer," Brian told her. "He got copies of the arrest record and some more information. Basically, Dad's in a lot of trouble." He shot his mother a cautious look, but she waved a hand, allowing him to continue. "Dad was arrested on several charges, including embezzlement and fraud. He's going before a judge this morning for his arraignment. They're going to set bail."

"I want to be there," Trixie said. She turned in surprise to look at Mart. He had said the same thing.

"That's nice, kids," Helen said. "I'm sure your father will be happy to see you all there, even Bobby. It'll be good for the whole family to… to… to be there." She swallowed some of her coffee without tasting it.

The youngest Belden nodded his head, but did not speak. Trixie suddenly realized how much the entire situation must be affecting him. Poor kid. This must seem like the end of the world, she thought. He doesn't have all the coping skills adults do. I should stay here with him and get his mind off everything. Before she knew it, she was volunteering just such a plan to her mother.

"Nonsense," Helen said, a bit of her usual spark returning. "You all need to see your father. It'll do you and him some good."

"How is he, Aunt Helen?" Knut asked. "Did you get to see him at all?"

Helen shook her head. "Not really. At one point, I was coming from the ladies room and he was being taken out of an interrogation room. There were all these men in dark suits with guns and Mr. Davis was with him and-and-" She took a shuddering breath and blinked back tears. It was obvious to the older children that she was trying her best to be strong, but the shock of it all and the lack of sleep did not help her in this.

"Oh, Moms!" Trixie jumped up from her seat and stood behind her mother's chair. She bent down and hugged her mother from behind, tucking her face beside her mother's neck. Helen reached up her hands and clutched at her daughter. Reddy laid his narrow head on Helen's lap and stared up at her, his chocolate brown eyes oozing empathy and understanding.

Finally, Helen released her daughter's hug and rubbed Reddy's nose. "Did everyone get enough to eat?" she asked, looking around at the half-eaten eggs. "Come on, kids. It'll do no one any good to starve to death. Capleton! You haven't touched anything." She gestured at his empty plate. "There's plenty of eggs and bacon for everyone."

Embarrassment flooded Cap's features. "Uh, Aunt Helen? I don't eat meat, remember?" As embarrassed recognition washed his aunt's face, he hastened to reassure her. "Don't sweat it, though! I'll just make myself some toast and jam and I think there's some fruit salad left over from dinner. I'll be fine!"

"I'm so sorry, Cap!" Helen cried. She put her coffee mug on the table with a clunk. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Everything lately is just falling apart!"

Cap put his elbows on the table and laid his face in the palms of his hands. "No, I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't meant to upset you."

"We're all on edge," Trixie said, hoping to diffuse the situation before everyone started apologizing for everything. "I don't really think we need to beat ourselves up over this stupid stuff. Cap," she offered. "I'll get you that fruit salad. Anyone else want any?"

Helen reached her hand across the table and held onto Cap's wrist. "It's fine," she said. "Don't sweat it, yourself. Trixie's right. We are all on edge. Having Peter back home will make things easier."

"Will Daddy be home today?" Bobby asked. He stuck a fork in his sausage and stared at one end of the meat tube.

Helen looked at Brian, her expression clearly what do I say? Brian laid a hand protectively on Bobby's shoulder and said, "That's the plan, little guy."

Trixie had gotten the bowl of leftover fruit salad and a spoon and handed it to Cap. "Just eat the rest of it," she said. "No sense dirtying another bowl by serving it to you properly."

"What time are we due in the courthouse?" Hallie asked.

"By nine A.M.," Brian said.

"Then we should start taking showers now," Trixie announced. "If any of us wants hot water, that is."

"I do!" Hallie jumped up from her chair. "I call the hall bathroom." She collected her dirty dishes and placed them in the sink. "What's more, I'll be back afterward to help with the kitchen."

Trixie watched her cousin rush out of the kitchen. She leaned a hip against the counter, realizing that, at least for this morning, she'd need to take over her mother's regular chores. That wasn't such a great prospect, but she still managed a smile. The great thing about being part of a family, she thought, is how we all come together in a crisis. Friends, too. Which reminds me I need to give Honey a call.

*     *     *

Trixie finally got the chance to make a phone call to her best friend a few minutes before leaving to go to the courthouse. Honey was appropriately sympathetic. "Oh, Trixie! Daddy saw it on the news last night and it was in the paper this morning. I wanted to call, but then I didn't want to intrude or anything," she said. "I'm so sorry! What can I do to help?"

Trixie smiled, her eyes tight with tears. "Thanks, Honey. I’m so glad you're my friend! But there's really nothing you can do right now. We're going to the courthouse for the bail hearing and then, hopefully, my dad'll be home. Could you call the others for me? Depending on how this goes, I'll want a Bob-White meeting late this afternoon."

"Sounds good," Honey agreed. "I'll tell the others, but I'm sure they've seen the papers anyway. It'll be okay. Will you want us to start working on the fundraiser? Or should we drop it?"

"I don't know," Trixie groaned. "I mean, we should, but I can't concentrate on any of that right now."

"Say no more. Miss Trask had a bunch of CDs for us to listen to, swing music and stuff like that. And I know that since Anne's got a few days off, she'll want to get her part over and done with." Honey paused a moment. "Tell you what. Why don't I take charge of this project? That way, you don't have to worry about it. Deal?"

Trixie smiled. "Deal. Sounds good. Let me know what I have to do when, okay?"

"Right now," she told her. "You have to go be with your dad."

"Yeah," Trixie said. "We're all set to go here. I'll call you when I get back." She said 'good-bye' and hung up the phone. Minutes later, the entire human population of Crabapple Farm was in the minivan on their way to the County Courthouse. They left behind one worried Irish Setter.

*     *     *

Trixie had been in courtrooms before, but Bobby hadn't. "It doesn't look like it looks on TV, Trixie," he said, clutching her hand as they walked in the room.

"Well, no, Bobby," she replied softly. "They're all different." The family found seats near the front. It was apparent that more than one hearing was scheduled for that morning, as several clusters of people, presumably families of other incarcerated suspects, helped fill the benches. In a soft voice, Trixie pointed out the courtroom's landmarks.

"That's where the judge sits," she said. "The DA and his team sit at that table, Mr. Davis sits at the other one. He must be the guy talking to Moms right now."

"Who's the good guys?" Bobby asked.

Trixie hesitated before replying. The last thing she felt comfortable enough to do was classify a government official as a 'bad guy'. She tried, "They're all only just doing their jobs. But we want Mr. Davis to win and the DA to lose." She continued to point out the jury box, the door the judge would come through and the door to the jury deliberation room. She pointed out the bailiffs, the judge's secretary and the court reporter.

"Does she work for a newspaper?" Bobby asked. "Is that why she's a reporter?" He hadn't quite gotten over the crush of journalists and newspaper people that had crowded the courthouse steps, not all of whom were there for Mr. Belden's hearing. Keeping Bobby out from underfoot allowed Trixie to avoid contact with the swarming members of the Fourth Estate.

"No," Trixie grinned, relieved that cameras had been barred from the hearing. "She just takes down everything people say. That's all she does."

Bobby's blue eyes were huge as he stared up at Trixie. "Is she recording our conversation now?"

"No!" Trixie giggled. Bobby began to giggle, too, and Trixie knew he was teasing her. "You silly!" She put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. Beside her, Hallie crossed her legs and searched in her purse for chewing gum. Withdrawing the pack, she offered one to Trixie, who refused a stick. Hallie shrugged and unwrapped one for herself.

The judge, Harry Carmike, walked out of his chambers a few minutes after nine. Mr. Davis sat next to Helen in the bench in front of the younger Beldens. Brian, Mart and Knut leaned forward to listen in on what the lawyer was telling Helen. When they sat back in the bench, Trixie shot them a 'what's going on?' look, but they shook their heads in reply. Apparently, nothing new was being said.

They had to sit through four bail hearings before The United States Government vs. Peter Belden was called. Trixie held out little hope the judge was in a good mood. He'd set bail at $50,000 for three of the offenders and $150,000 for the fourth. She wondered what he'd do for her father.

Trixie smiled encouragingly at Bobby as Mr. Davis stood and went to the defense table. She looked up as she saw the bailiff bringing Peter Belden into the courtroom. He wore the same shirt and slacks he'd left the house in yesterday. He held a jacket in front of him, folded over his arms. He beamed a smile to Helen and then to the children. The bailiff led him to Mr. Davis and they had a swift, hushed conversation.

Trixie leaned back against the bench, relieved beyond words simply to see her father again. She tried her best not to use her skills of detection, not to put the pieces together about her father's attire and behavior, but it was too difficult. He did not wear a belt, yet he had been wearing one yesterday. He did not wave to his family, but kept his hands hidden under a jacket that Trixie was certain was not his. Therefore, his belt, and probably his shoelaces were removed, and he was definitely handcuffed. Someone had given him a jacket so that the cuffs would not be noticed.

The prosecutor in Peter Belden's case was not the District Attorney, but the State Attorney, Victor Butterworth. Trixie vaguely remembered seeing the man's campaign commercials a few years before. She felt odd that she was seeing this man in 'action', when before all she'd ever seen of him was his wife, three kids and two dogs cavorting at some campground in the Catskills.

Another bailiff stood and read out the charges. It was a short but scary list. Trixie wondered how anyone could think her father capable of doing anything remotely illegal.

When the charges had been entered, Butterworth stood and addressed the judge. "Your Honor, the State and the Government agree on the handling of this case. The Federal Prosecutor from the Justice Department has been detained by a broken-down aircraft in St. Louis, but will be here as soon as she can."

The judge nodded and made a note. Butterworth continued. "Your Honor, the evidence against the Defendant is clear and complete in all charges. We feel Mr. Belden is a definite flight risk. He has accounts and investments in a number of foreign countries. He has friends with private jets. Therefore, we ask bail be denied in this case."

Denied! Trixie felt Hallie reach across her lap to squeeze her hand. She found that she could not look at anyone she knew or she feared she'd lose control of herself. She stared at the judge's bench. There was a seal. 'With Liberty and Justice for All'.

Mr. Davis stood and was speaking. "Your Honor, Peter Belden is innocent of all charges. Mr. Belden is anxious to prove his innocence and clear his name. Mr. Belden is not a flight risk. Mr. Belden was born in Sleepyside. The most time he's ever spent outside the village limits are six years when he went to college and lived in Manhattan and started working in the bank. He returned to take care of his dying parents. Mr. Belden owns the same house he grew up in, Crabapple Farm. He has four children, each of whom were born here. The three youngest attend local schools and are excellent students. His oldest is Pre-Med at New York State University. Mr. Belden is a respected member of the community and a valued employee at Sleepyside's First National, earning promotions and commendations virtually every year of his employ. He has more than just ties to the community. Mr. Belden has roots. Deep roots. Does Mr. Butterworth really mean to suggest that such a man would willingly uproot his family on the basis of false and bogus charges? Your Honor, I ask that Mr. Belden be released on his own recognizance."

Butterworth sputtered a laugh. "'Own recognizance'? Give me a break! I know you're supposed to ask for that, but, Your Honor! That's ridiculous! As soon as we let that man go, he's on a plane bound for Switzerland, or some other country with no extradition. Like Argentina, where his brother is now. Deny him bail and ensure his presence here for trial."

Judge Carmike held up a hand and both lawyers fell silent. "Mr. Butterworth, I presume you have evidence of these foreign investments and bank accounts you were speaking of?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Butterworth held up a sheaf of papers. The judge instructed the bailiff to bring the evidence to him so he could peruse it. Meanwhile, Trixie clutched Bobby's and Hallie's hands and wondered, what investments and accounts? And where?

The judge flipped through the papers and nodded his head. He looked up at Mr. Davis. "I assume your client acknowledges these investments?"

"Your Honor," Davis replied, "literally hundreds of thousands of people have investments in money markets and mutual funds that include foreign investments. It's a sound financial decision to diversify your holdings this way. These are not the type of investments you go 'visit'."

The judge shrugged and nodded his head, clearly not making a judgement on that issue one way or another. Mr. Butterworth started to sneer. "I hardly think his intention is to pay a call on some mutual funds! But liquidating his assets… why not?"

Davis turned on Butterworth and they began to argue. It reminded Trixie of the time she'd had to break up a dog fight between Reddy and a stray shepherd that had gotten lost from the village. After half a minute of argument, however, Judge Carmike banged his gavel. "Order! Order! Calm down, gentlemen," he said. "I tend to agree with Mr. Butterworth about the seriousness of the charges and the likelihood of flight. However, I, too, am a native Sleepysider, and would loathe to live anywhere else."

Trixie took a deep breath and held it. In her hands, she felt both Hallie and Bobby cross their fingers.

"Despite all this," Carmike continued, "I am bound by the law. I cannot release your client without reasonable assurance he will show up for the trial. Due to the amount of money indicated by these papers, I am not certain Mr. Belden would not prefer to live elsewhere the rest of his life. Therefore, I am denying bail in this case. Any questions?" He looked at the attorneys, but before they could speak he said, "Good!" and banged his gavel. "Fifteen minute recess." The judge stood up and, in a swirl of black robe, left the courtroom.

"What?" Trixie muttered. "That's it?"

Beside her, Bobby asked, "Trixie? What happened? Is it over? Can Daddy come home now?"

She was shaking her head, telling him 'no', when her attention was riveted to her mother. Helen had stood and pushed through the swinging gates that barred the spectators from the rest of the court. She ran to her husband and threw her arms around him. The bailiff in charge of Peter waited a moment before prying her off. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but this isn't allowed. Please go back to the benches."

Trixie's entire row stood as well. Each of her brothers and cousins wanted to rush the bailiff, grab Peter Belden and then do their utmost to convince the judge he'd made a terrible mistake. As a second bailiff ushered Helen back behind the gate, they knew that wasn't going to happen. They watched Peter being led out of the courtroom, presumably back to the county jail.

Helen drew herself together and smiled bravely at her family. Her eyes went to Bobby, held a moment, then turned abruptly away. "I need to get out of here now," she said.

"Aunt Helen, maybe you should sit," Cap suggested, taking her by the elbow.

"Not here," she said, shaking her head. "I can't stay here another moment."

"We'll all leave together, Moms," Mart said, taking her other arm. He waved to the others to follow them as they made their way to the exit. Stuck in the row between Hallie and Bobby, Trixie had to wait for her turn to shuffle out. She looked at her oldest brother, already in the aisle. His expression was bleak. For an instant, he looked exactly like her father had as the bailiff was leading him away.

*     *     *

In the hallway, Helen found an empty bench and sat down wearily. Cap stood in front of her, helping to guard her privacy from any passers-by and Mart sat next to her. "Moms," he said, "it'll be all right. I promise."

She nodded. "I know," she said. "But it's so hard to get used to this. I haven't… I need to call Andrew and Harold. They need to know what's going on."

Mart nodded. "We can do that back at the house. The others are here now." He waited while his sister, brothers and cousins joined them.

"Are we ready to go back to the house?" Brian asked softly.

Helen shook her head. "No. I need to see him. They have visiting hours at the… the… that place they're keeping him, right?" Brian nodded his head. "Then I'm going to visit him." She smiled gamely. "We can all visit him. Show him our support."

"That's a good idea," Brian replied evenly, but it was clear from his expression he wasn't sure.

"Of course it's a good idea!" Trixie said firmly. "Dad needs to know we love him and want him home. Besides, I have a few questions for Mr. Davis. I want to catch him before he goes back to his office."

"There he is, Trixie," Hallie said, pointing back toward the courtroom. "He's talking to that icky Butter person."

"It's 'Butterworth', Hallie," Trixie said. "But thanks." She smiled at her cousin then watched the two lawyers discuss whatever it was lawyers discussed away from cameras and outside of courtrooms. When she felt reasonably sure they were finished, she sucked up her gumption and strode across the hall to intercept him.

When Mr. Davis saw who was approaching him, he smiled a polite greeting. Trixie launched immediately into her sales pitch. "I want to offer my detective services to you on my father's behalf."

*     *     *

At Manor House, Honey Wheeler presided over a war room. She had commandeered a little-used parlor on the second floor of the mansion to use as headquarters for the Bob-White Dance Contest and Fundraiser. After her phone call with Trixie at eight-thirty that morning, she had decided that the best way to help her friend handle her troubles was to take over the trouble of organizing the function herself. If all Trixie had to do was show up and dance, then Honey would be able to say she had helped, at least in some small way, to ease her friend's troubles.

The first thing Honey did was call a meeting with the other Bob-Whites. The other members were more than happy to take on the Beldens' responsibilities for the fundraiser and for as long as they had their family problems to deal with. "It's the least we can do," Jim told them. "As Co-President, I can't believe I didn't suggest it myself." The quintet sat around a delicately constructed antique coffee table. Honey sat in a chair at one end, Jim sat across from her, and Dan, Anne and Diana sat on the sofa.

Honey flushed with the compliment, but rapped her pencil on her notebook to draw their attention. "We need to get as much done now as possible. What date are we aiming for, anyway? In July or August?"

"I'll be back in school the last two weeks in July and first two in August," Jim reminded them, holding up his Dayrunner. "So if we can schedule it for a week or so after then, I could definitely be back and in time to rehearse."

"Rehearse?" Dan laughed, lounging on the firm sofa. "You're entering the contest? With who?"

Slightly affronted, Jim replied, "With Trixie, I'll have you know. I asked and she accepted. She does not think I am a lousy dancer."

Dan shook his head. "You're going to lose, buddy. Anne and I are going to mop the floor with you!"

"Boys, please!" Honey said, her annoyance growing as Diana and Anne began to giggle. "Let's not focus on that now. It's good that we all have our partners set, but let's concentrate on getting the word out to sponsors and other potential contestants."

"Oh!" Diana said suddenly. "We'll need judges, too. Unimpeachable judges. Who should we get?"

Anne frowned in thought. "We should get at least three of them, maybe more but definitely an odd number in case there's a tie. And they should know something about dancing. I wonder if we could get someone from that dance hall in White Plains?"

"What dance hall?" Jim asked. "And how do you know about it?"

Anne stuck her tongue out at him. "Just because I've only lived here a couple of months is no reason to think I don't know what's around here. I can read a map, you know."

"Fine," he said. "What dance hall?"

"There's a club in White Plains where they teach ballroom dancing," she said. "Their rates are quite reasonable, actually. They sponsor teams for competitions."

"Competitions?" Diana asked. "Dance contests? Like in Grease?"

"Like in Simply Ballroom," Anne said. "Remember we watched that movie at your house?"

Diana's eyes went wide. "Oh, right! I adored that guy what's-his-name! He was such a good dancer!" She frowned. "For some reason, I thought that was just in Australia."

"No, Di!" Anne laughed. "They have those contests all over."

Dan broke in thoughtfully, "I think I've seen them on ESPN2 or something."

Jim blinked disbelievingly. "It's really a sport?"

"They even call it one," Anne informed him. "Dancesport."

Jim looked at her suspiciously. "And how do you know about this?"

Anne shrugged. "I've been taking lessons of all kinds since I was five. Horse riding, singing, languages, dancing. You know, tap, ballet, jazz, partner stuff. The Langs liked to show me off."

In the middle of their tangent, Honey pressed her clipboard into her face. The others finally asked her if she were all right. "Oh, I'm fine," she told them. "I'm just waiting for you guys to decide you want to get to work on this project, or if you want to discuss Anne's childhood some more. Or Australian movies. Or EPSN or whatever it's called."

The rest of them glanced guiltily at each other. "Sorry, Honey," Diana said first. "We'll behave now."

Honey giggled at Diana's contrition. "That's fine," she said, giving in. "I'm a little nervous about taking over. I want to do a good job, you know? For Trixie's sake, I want this to go well."

"We do, too," Jim told her. "And it will. For all their sakes. This can't be easy for them."

Anne shook her head. "No. It's never easy seeing your parents on the wrong side of a courtroom."

*     *     *

As the day passed on into the afternoon, Honey grew more and more edgy and nervous. Eventually, Jim had to physically remove her clipboard and pencil from her hands to get her to calm down. "Take it easy, Honey," he told her. "Sit over here next to me." He gently tugged her to her feet, then moved her to the couch. Dan and Anne had set up a boom box near the window and Diana was making calls to sponsors. They paid no attention to the brother and sister.

Jim encouraged Honey to tuck herself under his arm, cradling her head on his chest. "Relax, Honey. You don't have to do it all today, you know." He stroked her arms and lay his cheek on top of her head.

"I know," she said finally. "I just can't help thinking if Trixie were here she'd have it all sorted out by now. You know how good she is at this sort of thing."

He laughed. "Come on. She's good, but nobody's that good. This is a lot more complicated than the antique sales we've done, or even the bike-athon. This involves major publicity, corporations, prizes and judges and everything. We've gotten it off to a good start though. We've settled on a swing theme, haven't we?"

"Yeah," Honey sniffled slightly, alerting Jim to the nearness of her tears. "But that's mostly because Trixie got it all started yesterday." She lifted a hand to her eyes.

"Shhh," Jim told her. "It'll be okay. This is not worth crying over. You're just getting yourself all wet."

"Wet!" she moaned. "Oh, gosh. We forgot refreshments! Where are we going to get the money for refreshments?"

Despite the agony in her voice, Jim had to laugh. "Oh, Honey. Even if we had all the details in place today, there are a million things that we won't be able to get settled until the day of the event."

At that moment, Miss Trask knocked on the open door to the small room. Smiling kindly, she gazed at Honey and Jim and asked, "Do you mind if I make a suggestion? I think you'll like it."

*     *     *

Bobby had decided he hated jails, he hated courthouses and he hated police officers most of all. "Why Dan wants to be one I just don't know," he moaned to Trixie.

"I don't know either, sweetie," Trixie said, letting him lean against her. They sat on a vinyl couch in the lobby of the Westchester County Correctional Facility. If Molinson could see me now, she thought wryly, he'd probably make some joke they had locked up the wrong Belden.

The regulations regarding visitors of inmates was clear. No one under eighteen admitted unless an immediate relative and accompanied by a parent or legal guardian. That meant that Trixie and Bobby could see their father only with their mother present. Trixie didn't want her mother there when she saw her dad. She felt she could talk with him frankly about the case and the evidence if she saw him alone. She thought she could provide some help with his defense. Her attempt to convince Mr. Davis of the same did not go well.

"Why don't you let me handle the defense, Trixie," he had said. "The best thing you can do is help keep your mother focused and calm."

She wanted to strangle him. But I've helped lots of people in situations just like this one! I must be allowed to help my dad. How can it be the best thing for me to do nothing? She had resisted the urge to physically attack him. He was a good lawyer. Her parents trusted him. He'd lived in Sleepyside most of his life, after all. She should do as he said.

When Brian and Mart returned from their visit, Trixie stood to take her turn. Her mother stood, too, dropping the outdated magazine she'd been reading on a side table. "Ready to go, Trixie?" she asked.

Trixie nodded 'yes', but Bobby jumped up. "I want to see Daddy! Why can't I go? You let Brian and Mart go."

Helen nodded. "I know that, sweetie. But that's because they're old enough to go on their own. You and your sister need me to go with you and right now it's Trixie's turn." She did not reprimand her youngest for his pout. She was too relieved he hadn't started throwing a tantrum on the spot. She held an arm out for her daughter and together they walked to the check-in counter to get registered for visitation.

The clerk looked up at them and smiled. "You're in luck. There's just time for one more visit before hours are over. If I can see some ID on both of you, I'll get you your temporary passes."

Helen easily produced her driver's license. As Trixie dug into her purse for her own, she asked, "There really isn't time for another visit? My little brother hasn’t seen my dad, either. We can be quick. We don't have to take all the time."

The clerk shook her head. "I’m sorry, but no. There really isn't enough time for two sets of visitors." She held out her hand. "Can I have your ID, miss?"

Trixie looked at her mother who was looking back at her. "Oh, Moms," she said. "I'd feel awful if Bobby couldn't see Dad. I can wait until tomorrow."

A look of tender surprise on her face, Helen hugged her daughter tight. In her ear, she whispered, "You're my own special girl, Beatrix. I'm so proud of you and love you so much for doing this."

Growing embarrassed at her mother's effusive praise, Trixie tried to diffuse the suddenly emotional moment. "Just remember tomorrow that I get to go in first and take twice as long as the boys!"

Her mother laughed and nodded. "I will. Go get Bobby and tell him to hurry up."

Trixie nodded and raced across the floor. She ignored her brothers' and cousins' surprised questions to tell Bobby directly, "If you want to go see Dad, you have to go now. Moms' waiting for you. Hurry!"

Bobby nodded his head, his yellow curls flying, and he ran across the floor shouting, "Hey, Moms! Wait for me!"

Knut asked, "What's going on, Trixie? I thought you were seeing your dad next."

Trixie shrugged and sat back down on the vinyl couch. "There's only enough time for one of us to visit him, and since Moms has to go, too, well…"

The cousins glanced at each other with approving nods. Mart grinned. "Yup," he said proudly. "That's my twin, all right!"

*     *     *

"What's your suggestion, Miss Trask?" Dan asked. He motioned to Anne to turn down the volume of the CD player on the boom box so they could all hear.

The trim, gray-haired, semi-retired woman stood in the doorway, a spark of an idea lighting her eyes. "It occurs to me that you may have bitten off a bit more than you can chew. It occurs to me, also, that you might not have considered all the things you're going to need. Refreshments, decorations, music, a host. Those things run into money. The Bob-White Treasury is notoriously low on funds at all times."

Anne snickered. "I'll say. Spend, spend, spend. That's all we do."

"Hey!" Jim laughed. "We give, give, give to charity an awful lot."

"My point is," Miss Trask said, loudly enough to draw their attention. "What you need is more than just a corporate sponsor. You need someone to completely underwrite the event. Someone to foot the bill for you."

Diana frowned. "Why would anyone do that?"

Honey's hazel eyes widened as the implications came clear. "For the publicity. To have their name attached to a charity function. To have a huge tax write-off." She fairly beamed at Miss Trask. "It's brilliant. Do you think Daddy would do it?"

"If not your dad, then mine surely will!" Diana vowed.

"I'd dip into my trust fund," Anne said. "If, that is, I had access to it. My dad does until I'm eighteen."

"Well, my trust fund is my own," Jim said. "I could use that…"

Dan reached into his pockets and withdrew a handful of coins. "Well, I've got exactly," he said, swiftly counting the money, "$1.59. Don't spend it all in one place."

Everyone laughed. Anne ducked her head, chagrined. "I suppose we probably shouldn't flaunt our money, huh."

Diana emphatically shook her head, a huge grin on her face. "No, probably not!"

"And it probably shouldn't be one of us, anyway," Jim pointed out. "The Bob-Whites are a 'pay as you go' organization."

Miss Trask smiled tolerantly. "I think if you add up all the figures, you'll see that your club, as resourceful as it can be, will have a difficult time funding all you have planned. A corporate sponsor makes sense."

Honey frowned. "What kind of control would the corporation have over us? Would it be their show or what?"

"Why don't you go ask your father?" Miss Trask asked. "He's downstairs enjoying a game of pool with Mr. Lynch. Diana, your mother and Honey's are touring the gardens together and you all are invited for dinner."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Jim said, standing and moving to the door to put the plan in action. The others agreed and began to follow him and Miss Trask into the hallway.

Dan grinned. "Heck. Dinner at the big house always sounds like a good plan to me."

Jim cast a glance at Dan as they started down the main staircase. "You know, there's something in the way you call this place the 'big house' that is really starting to worry me," he said, but there was humor in his expression, and Dan did not take offense.

*     *     *

"You know, it's almost dinner time," he snarled sullenly. "But you don't care about that, do you."

"Don't I? I'm actually looking forward to it. Celia's making a roast."

"Pot roast?" Though he only spoke two words, he was able to conjure the full flavor and fragrance of the dish, even in the aromatic stables.

"Pot roast, yeast rolls, fresh pie for dessert. Celia cooks up a feast."

"You know something, Regan?"

"What, Benny?"

"Besides the fact that I abhor that nickname," he replied, "You are a cruel man."

Regan smiled blandly. "Let the punishment fit the crime," he said. "Or as in this case, give the guy a chance to repay his debt to society."

Ben growled. "You are not society," he said. "This is just you and my uncle being vindictive!"

Regan barely laughed. "This is not vindictive. This is justice. You put my employee out of commission. It's only right that you fill in for her while she recovers. You go around here acting as if real work is beneath you and that you're somehow better than everyone else. Hopefully, this will cure you of that. If it doesn’t, I still get clean stables."

Ben sat up on his knees and stretched. Since five-thirty that morning, he'd been cleaning. Regan allowed him time for lunch, but otherwise kept him mucking the stalls, sweeping them out and washing them with a scrub brush, soap and water, floor, wall and rafters above. He was on the floor of his third stall. His hands were rubbed raw, his knees bruised and sore, his back ached and his stomach growled. And he had more to do tomorrow.

"When's Anne coming back to work anyway?" he asked.

Regan, leaning over the stall wall to supervise Ben's progress, replied, "I gave her off until Sunday. That's my day off, so you'll need to be here then, too."

"And what's left to do after this?"

Regan grinned. "There's the tack room, the feed room, the office. The vet's coming by on Friday to update some shots. You can assist. Anne may be by to help exercise the horses, so don't worry about that."

Ben tossed the brush into his bucket. "There's no way you were going to have Anne do any of this! You can't tell me you make that girl do menial work."

"Of course I do," Regan smiled broadly. "You think I want to do it? Why else do you think I asked Matt Wheeler for an assistant?" He laughed at the expression on Ben's face. "Clean that up and get out of here," he said. "I'm going to dinner. I'll see you at five-thirty sharp tomorrow."

"Five-thirty," Ben repeated sourly after Regan left. "Right. I'll be here, Mr. Slave-Driver, with bells on." He slowly got to his feet, every joint and muscle and bone protesting. He carried the bucket and brush to the utility sink in the back of the stables. As he poured out the dirty water, he wondered, how do people do this stuff every day?

*     *     *

"So you didn't get to see your dad and you couldn’t even get any info from the lawyer? That's terrible, Trixie! I'm so sorry." Honey had been waiting for her friend's call all day. It had finally come after dinner. Honey was so relieved to hear Trixie's voice, they spent the first few minutes of conversation sympathizing with each other how hard it was to get through the day without seeing the other person.

"Well, I guess I can understand," Trixie said. "It's not like I'm licensed or anything, but still! I know I could help. But I'm not even supposed to go near the bank, so there goes checking out the scene of the crime. In fact, none of us are."

"Still, it's got to be rough," Honey said. "But you will see him tomorrow?"

"Yes," Trixie sighed. "But I don't think he'll be any more helpful than Mr. Davis was. You know my dad. He'll probably tell me to stay out of it, just like the thing with Mrs. Vanderpoel."

"What thing with Mrs. Vanderpoel?"

"Didn't I tell you?" Trixie asked. "Gosh, I thought I did." Briefly, she told Honey what Anne had told her, that Mrs. Vanderpoel had a small problem with her bank statements. Then she reiterated her father's wish that she stay out of it. She laughed. "I think either he's getting better at making things clear to me, or I'm getting more selective in my mysteries."

Sitting in her war room, surrounded by plans and phone numbers and contacts and CDs, Honey nodded. "I think you may be right. But when we open our own place, we won't exactly be able to take every case that walks in the door. We'll have to be selective, you know."

"But what if I want to select this one?" Trixie asked, purposely whining to make a joke.

"That's just too bad, young lady!" Honey said with mock sternness. "You cannot have everything."

"Don't I know it!"

Both girls chuckled. There was a pause in their conversation, a natural lull, and the CD Honey had been listening to, one of the swing records that Miss Trask had provided, keyed up the next song. Honey giggled at the lyrics:

The other night I took a ride with little ol' Lucy Brown… went to all the honkytonks and we really got around! She's five foot two with eyes of blue and pretty as a queen… I didn't know her Pop was a city cop and she was just fifteen!

"What's so funny? What are you listening to?" Trixie asked.

Honey laughed. "It's just a CD of all these swing bands on them. It's called 'Hipsters, Zoots and Wingtips'. Some of the songs on here are really neat!"

"Good," she said. "I'm glad to know that everything's falling into place. I even like the swing theme. And your plan to go with a corporate underwriter sounds like a good one. I'm sure glad Miss Trask thought of it."

Honey nodded. "From what it sounds like, I think they're going to make Miss Trask the coordinator for the money and still let us make the final decisions on things. Isn't that so cool?"

"It's perfect!" Trixie said. "Whoops! Honey, I got to go. Moms wants to try calling Argentina again. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Hug everyone for me," she said. "And I'll hope to see you tomorrow." They said their good nights and hung up the phone. Honey sat back in her chair and stared at all the papers and scraps and notes and CDs and pens and pencils and books and clipboards. She closed her eyes and let the music lead her thoughts away.

Filed my income tax return. Thought I'd save some dough… I cheated just a little bit cause I knew they'd never know! I got some money back this year (like I always do)… they'll have to catch me before I pay the Internal Revenue!

Good morning, Judge! Why d'you look so mean, sir? And Mr. Judge, what can the charges be? If there's been trouble I will plead 'not guilty'. There must be someone else, cause I know it can't be me!

Honey groaned and shut off the CD.

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