Contains some adult themes

Disclaimer: Hi! I’m just writing this as sort of a lark. I’m not sure how many parts this will end up having, but I’m thinking a total of five chapters. They say ‘write what you know’ so here goes! I hope you like it, but if you don’t, please understand that I have no self-esteem and if you tell me you hate it, well, I can’t be held responsible. Thank you and hope you enjoy the rest of the program. Oh, yeah – these are licensed characters, I’m using them w/o permission, etc, etc, etc, Amen.

The Spring Break Scam

by Shana

Prologue

Clearwater Beach, Florida
Lifeguard Stand #4
3:30 p.m. EST

"So, like, um, what hotel are you staying in?"

"The Ramada over there."

"Cool. That’s cool. Me and my friends are down the beach a bit at the Sands."

"Who are your friends?"

"Right over there. See those two? That’s them."

"They look an awful lot alike."

"That’s because they’re twins."

"Hm. Well, I should probably get back to my friends, too."

"Oh? Where are they?"

"They’re sitting over there, on those pink towels. The two blonde girls. See them?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, hey, Cindi. I’ve got an idea. You have two friends, and I have two friends. What say you and me and they get together for dinner?"

"Um, I think they might go for that. Where do you want to go?"

"I hear Bern’s is a nice place."

"Ha! Yeah, right. Like you three bums could afford it."

"Not me! I’m flat broke and happy to admit it. But those two over there. My friends? They’re loaded, so they’re paying."

"For everyone?"

"For anyone."

"We’ll meet you in our lobby in two hours. I hear it’s real fancy. Hope you brought a jacket to wear with those shorts!"

*      *     *

Outside Bern’s Steakhouse
Tampa, Florida
Same Day, 10:30 p.m. EST

"What we gonna do, Bobby? What we gonna do?"

"Yeah, man! Try getting us out of this one! We are in such deep trouble. My dad is gonna kill me when he finds out!"

"Cool it, you two! First, he’s got to find out. Then he’s got to find you. I might have an idea."

"Well, spill it! I don’t got the rest of my life here!"

"Hey, clone! Stop talking like a juvenile delinquent! You make me look bad."

"I can’t help it if you got all the ugly genes!"

"Guys! Cut it out now! I’ve got an idea and it’s brilliant! Give me your phone."

"Huh?"

"He wants your phone, you idiot! You do have your phone, don’t you, little brother?"

"You jerk! Just because you were born 10 minutes before me, you have to –"

"Guys! Stop it! Do you have the phone or don’t you?"

"No. I don’t. But here’s some change and there’s a pay phone over there."

"Thanks."

"Who are you going to call?"

"Who always gets us out of jams?"

"That’s great! Think she’ll come?"

"She’s my sister. She’ll come."

"You know, your sister is one fine looking woman. You think she’d go for a younger guy?"

"No."

"What about one 10 minutes older than that idiotic younger guy?"

"Definitely no. Now shut up. It’s ringing. Damn! It’s going to voice mail. ‘Leave a message’, yadda-yadda-yadda. Beeeeeeeep. Hey, it’s me. I’m in trouble. Can you get down here ASAP? Oh – and don’t tell Moms! I don’t want her worried, but I really, really, really could use your help – hey! Give that back! Hey! HEY!!!"

<click>

 

Chapter One

Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson, New York
The Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency
10:15 a.m. EST
the following day

"I tell you, Honey! If I have to do surveillance on that creep one more time, I’ll end up doing something completely awful and irreversible!" Trixie Belden slammed shut the door and threw her purse, a duffel bag and keys onto a small sofa.

Honey Wheeler looked up from her magazine sympathetically. She had been lounging casually on the opposite sofa, in the reception area of their office suite. "Trixie, it can’t be that bad. Can it?"

Her friend and business partner sighed and tugged on her hair. "It’s just not fair! We start this business so that we can solve crimes and help people, and what do I end up doing with my time? Staking out insurance frauds! Snapping pictures of adulterous spouses! Hiding out in the woods all night waiting for alien beings to kidnap Joe Vandershoot – and then being told it didn’t happen because we didn’t believe hard enough in the aliens themselves!"

Honey giggled and set down her magazine. "Trix! Come on. You get this way exactly 10 days after we’ve solved our last case. Our last ‘important’ case, as you call them. Another one always comes along. You know that. It always has and always will, just when you’re not looking for it."

Trixie stared at her friend angrily for thirty seconds, then relaxed and smiled. "You’re right. I’ve been this way all my life. I just hate feeling like my life’s ambition was to catch men cheating on their wives!"

"Or baby-sit delusional weirdoes instead of going out on a date?"

"Whatever." Trixie gathered her things in her arms and started past Honey. "Has Anne fixed the computer system yet?" Honey dropped her magazine onto an end table and followed Trixie through the dividing door to their shared office.

The reception area of Belden-Wheeler reflected warmth and comfort and was designed to put clients at ease. The office, however, reflected the personalities of the partners, and put very few at ease. Two large desks faced each other in the center of the room. Filing cabinets lined the back wall. A detailed map of the United States hung on the left wall while a map of New York hung on the right. A water cooler stood humming in the corner, next to a small refrigerator, a microwave and electric teapot, all on top of a small folding table. A door in the opposite corner led to a bathroom and a storage closet. Upon every flat surface, including the floor and walls, were papers, Post-It notes, scraps, letters, notices, cards, pages torn from phone books, restaurant delivery menus, newspapers, magazines – as well as reference books, notebooks, cassette tapes and assorted electronic parts. Not always neatly.

Trixie dumped her assortment of items on her chair and glanced at her blank computer monitor. "Anne? Is it working yet?"

"Just about." The voice emanated from underneath Honey’s desk. Trixie heard the clanking of metal tools as the other woman searched through her toolbox. "I think I solved your problem, but do me a favor and don’t try to upgrade your computers yourself ever again. Trying to undo whatever it was you managed to do took all morning!"

Trixie sighed. "Sorry, Anne. I guess I thought ‘how hard can it be’? You seem to have no trouble making these darn things behave!"

Anne laughed. "Just leave computers to the experts, okay? I’ll leave the detecting to you."

Trixie heard the computer case being slid back into place and crossed her fingers. "Did you hook them back up yet?"

"No. And don’t touch anything! You’ll jinx it." Anne scrambled out from under Honey’s desk and brushed off her jeans. Though she was a year older than Trixie or Honey, Anne still resembled a teenager. Her small frame and long reddish hair contributed to that impression. When it came to computers and mechanics, though, Anne was light-years ahead of anyone they had ever met, or were likely to. She pushed the CPU back under the desk and readied the monitor. She grabbed a long gray cord and connected it to a central hub. "Honey, you’re just standing in the doorway. You afraid the thing’s going to blow up?"

"It wouldn’t be the first time," Honey noted, purposely not looking at Trixie.

"Well, it won’t now, I assure you." Anne smiled and switched on the central power to both computers. They heard the motors kick in, and the beeps of the processors checking out all the components. Right on cue, Trixie’s monitor and then Honey’s lit up with a scrolled list of commands and data.

Trixie just stared at the familiar-looking words, understanding only that the computer had to get through the whole list in order to work. When the familiar blue-cloud scene popped up, she let out her breath. "So far, so good!"

Anne scowled at her. "You doubt me?" She watched as the password protection software kicked in. She entered the password and watched as the tool bars appeared. Trixie did the same. "There. It’s all done," Anne smiled smugly.

"Hello, what’s this?" Trixie leaned forward as a message screen appeared. "Hey! Someone called the computer last night and left a message! It worked! I did install it correctly!"

Anne looked startled. "No you didn’t! You couldn’t have!" She joined Honey, now standing over Trixie’s shoulder. "Maybe you did?" she added dubiously.

Trixie allowed herself a moment of smugness. "I think I might have!" She knocked her things out of her chair and sat down at the desk. She got the mouse and began clicking to receive the message. The trio waited intently as the computer prepared to run the captured sound file. Then they listened; jaws dropped in horror, as Bobby Belden’s voice sounded in the office.

"Hey, it’s me. I’m in trouble. Can you get down here ASAP? Oh – and don’t tell Moms! I don’t want her worried, but I really, really, really could use your help – hey! Give that back! Hey! HEY!!!"

"Oh, My, God," Trixie stammered. "What has that little monster gotten himself into now?"

"Hey," Honey reminded her, "that ‘little’ monster isn’t so little. He’s taller than Brian, you know!"

"Isn’t he on Spring Break in Florida?" Anne asked.

"He’s supposed to be," Trixie said. "Let’s see. There’s supposed to be a way to Caller ID and get a location. You know, that didn’t sound like a cell phone."

Honey thought about it for a moment. "No, you’re right. And I heard traffic. And birds. Did you hear birds?"

Trixie replayed the message. "There’s something in the background." She stared thoughtfully at the screen, imported the sound file into an editor and began clicking on options and opening tool bars.

"You know," Anne remarked, "it’s just amazing to me how little you know about why a computer works, but you can still get it to do anything you want, software-wise."

Trixie just grinned and continued fiddling with the controls. "Okay, I think this will bring up just the background noise." She clicked on PLAY.

The sound of quail echoed from the small computer speakers. "Sounds like sick birds being tortured to death," Anne remarked dryly.

Honey’s eyes widened. "No it doesn’t! That’s how Larry and Terry whistle! You remember, they never quite got it right! Jim spent hours and hours trying to teach them, but they just couldn’t do it!"

Trixie nodded, remembering. "So why are they whistling –" she stopped suddenly and looked up at Honey. "You think they’re using the old signal?"

Honey nodded. "That means they’re in real trouble!"

Trixie leaned back in her chair. "I’m not so sure. Remember, they used to use that signal at school, too, to signal each other they were having trouble with a test."

Anne laughed. "They did?"

"The Lynch kids aren’t exactly known for being smart."

"Well, the girls aren’t stupid," Honey defended her teenage protegees. "It’s just that nobody gives them any credit for the things they do know. Like Diana."

"I’ll give you that." Trixie hit some more keys and started the tracking program. "This may take awhile, if it’s off their cell, so – whoa! That was quick!"

Anne smiled. It was her turn again to be smug. "I made a few improvements while I was down there."

"Thanks!" Trixie leaned close to the monitor. "It says here, they called from a pay phone on South Howard Avenue, Tampa, Florida." She brought up the phone number and relayed that and the address to Honey.

Honey grabbed a CD-ROM from a stack of similarly uncased disks and slipped it into her drive. A moment later, she said, "Found it! Apparently, they were just outside Bern’s Steakhouse when they called. Huh! That’s a pretty fancy place for three guys to eat."

"Unless they’d met somebody they were trying to impress," Anne offered.

"Bobby? Meet a girl?" Trixie asked. "Are you sure? That just seems so, I don’t know, unlikely."

"Trix!" Honey scolded gently. "He’s almost 19 years old! In some cultures, he’d be married with kids by now!"

"Bobby? Little Bobby?" Trixie asked weakly. "What is this world coming to?" She thought a moment, then shook her head to clear it. "Okay. What do we have? Bobby calls us from a pay phone in Tampa while on Spring Break with Terry and Larry, who whistle the old bob-white code for danger, then Bobby gets cut off unexpectedly. So, these are our questions. One, why a payphone and not the cell? Two, why are they signaling for danger? Three, what caused Bobby to cut the connection? Four, if it was just a simple disconnection, why hasn’t he called back? Five, who would date Bobby?"

"Uh, Trixie," Anne said. "I really don’t see how that last one’s so impossible to understand. If I were his age, I’d go for him. Bobby’s a nice guy, real sweet, and real gorgeous. Haven’t you ever noticed?"

"He is?" Trixie repeated.

"Yeah, Trixie," Honey agreed. "He’s grown up a lot in the past couple years. And lots of girls go for that surfer look with the long, curly blond hair and those baby blues."

"I’m starting to worry about you, Honey. Maybe you’re engaged to the wrong Belden brother?"

Honey laughed. "I can still appreciate a good looking guy, you know. And you could, too, if you weren’t related to him."

Anne glanced at her watch. "Oops. I’ve got to run. Dan’s coming by to pick me up for lunch and I haven’t cleaned up yet." She hurried back to Honey’s desk and began replacing her tools in her toolbox. Just then, the outer door opened, jangling the bells hanging off the handle.

"Hello? Anybody here?"

Anne let out an Ack! as Honey went back to the reception area. "Hi, Dan! What’s up?"

Dan bent down and kissed Honey on the cheek in greeting. "Not much. When are you coming by the ranch to visit? I think Lady misses you."

"I know I haven’t been down to see the old girl and I really should. Tell Bill that Brian and I will make plans in a couple of days, okay?" Honey turned as Dan looked up at Anne’s approach.

"Hey, Stranger!" she greeted him, playfully punching him in the shoulder. "Aren’t you late?"

"I had trouble finding a spot to park the truck. What’s Trixie up to in there?" he questioned, looking to the back room.

Honey shook her head worriedly. "Bobby, Terry and Larry are in trouble."

"Trouble? How much trouble could they be in? They’re in Clearwater for Spring Break!" He thought a moment. "Oh." Dan smiled, hoping to reassure Honey.

"Hello, Dan!" Trixie called from her office.

Dan pushed past Anne and Honey and went to the office. He saw Trixie pulling on her curls in thought. The glow from the monitor shone on her face, illuminating the freckles that still showed faintly on her cheeks. Her blue eyes looked troubled as she stared at a group of photographs on her desk.

"Bobby’s in trouble?" he asked gently.

In response, Trixie replayed the message. Dan’s face darkened with concern. "Did you hear the bob-white whistle? That was Terry."

"Yeah, we figured that out, but thanks. I’m just not sure what I should do."

"Help them, of course."

"Well, of course! But is this serious enough for me to go down there, or should I just call or should I just chalk it up as a prank?"

"I doubt even the Lynch twins would misuse the bob-white whistle. Jim was always pretty adamant about that, and you know how much they respect him." Dan leaned a hip against Trixie’s desk. "Why don’t you just call the hotel first? Then you can see what’s going on."

"I was just doing that, but I got put on hold." She gestured to her phone. The speakerphone button was lit.

A woman’s voice came over the phone. "Thank you for holding. How may I help you?"

"Yes. Please connect me with one of your guests. He’s staying with friends and I think the reservation would be under Lynch, either Terrence or Lawrence. That’s L-Y-N-C-H," Trixie requested.

"One moment, please."

Trixie and Dan shared a grin as they waited. "I’m sorry, Ma’am, but that party has checked out."

Trixie leaned forward. "What do you mean? When?"

"Early this morning."

"Did they say where they were going? Like, to another hotel or something?" Trixie felt herself slide into alert mode.

"No, ma’am. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t on duty at that time."

"What time was it?"

"According to the records, it was at 4 a.m. this morning. Now, ma’am, if there’s nothing else, I do have guests to see to."

Trixie rushed to ask her next question. "Just one more thing. Who signed the bill?"

The woman sighed. "It looks like Terrence Lynch."

"Thank you for all your help," she said slowly.

"Thank you for calling the Sands Hotel, where every day is a sunny day." The line went dead.

Trixie leaned back in her chair. "That makes no sense." She grabbed the phone and dialed another number. As it rang, Honey and Anne returned to the office.

"What’s going on? Who are you calling?" Honey asked.

Dan answered. "She called Bobby’s hotel and found out they checked out at 4 a.m. Terry signed the bill. I don’t know who she’s calling now."

Trixie held the receiver to her ear. "Hello? Who is this? Let me speak to Terry!" An instant later, she punched a code into the phone and launched another program on her computer. "Terry Lynch! This is his phone and I want to speak to him now!" She winced and hung up the phone. "He hung up on me, whoever he was."

"What happened?" Dan asked. "Who answered?"

"I don’t know. It wasn’t the Lynches or Bobby. But he was expecting a call, because he answered right away, after the second ring. He just said ‘yeah-what do you want’ in a low gravelly voice. When I asked to speak to Terry, he seemed surprised. Then he hung up."

They were silent for a moment. Then Dan spoke up. "So when do we leave?"

"What?" Trixie replied, startled. "When do who leave?"

"When does the Belden-Wheeler Agency leave, then?" Honey asked.

"As soon as we can get a flight out of here. Honey, could you call the airlines? I’ve got to make some other arrangements." Trixie began shuffling through files on her desk as Honey dialed up a familiar number on her extension.

Dan straightened and nodded firmly. "Right. I’ll tell Bill, pack a bag and meet up with you by, say, 2?"

Trixie stopped flipping through her notes and stared up at him. "You’re not going!"

"Of course I am! Bobby’s in trouble and that means you need all the help you can get! Besides, I’m the only ‘muscle’ you’ve got. You know that."

Trixie scoffed and continued her search. "Right. Like Honey’s and my karate training means nothing."

Dan grabbed Trixie’s chair, wheeled her around to face him, put his hands on the armrests and leaned in close to her face. In a threatening growl and with a completely evil expression, he said, "You couldn’t intimidate a frightened mouse. You need me. I’m going along. That’s final." Relaxing his grip and his expression, he continued. "Please, Trixie. I care about Bobby, too. He’s like my own little brother and if I can help him at all, isn’t it worth having me along?"

Trixie sighed. "Okay, fine. Grab a bag and meet back here as soon as you can. You got your phone on you?"

Dan nodded. "It’s in the truck."

"Well, keep it on. I don’t know when Honey can get the tickets."

Honey was just getting off the phone. "The jet is being fueled as we speak. We can leave when we get there."

"The jet?" Trixie asked. "What jet?"

"Daddy’s jet, of course! Now, before you say anything tiresome like, ‘we have to pay our own way’, let me remind you that this is family. That means we spare no expense! And if it makes you feel better, we can pay for the fuel later." Honey brushed her dark blonde hair off her face and nodded once in emphasis. "Now, are you going to tell your brothers or am I?"

"I guess you’re right. You’ve got that deal with Brian to never leave town without telling him first, and if Bobby’s involved, then he’s going to tell Mart. You know they’d never leave it up to us to do this without them, so we should plan for them to come along. I guess one of us should call Di." Trixie sighed in surrender.

"Isn’t she in London?" Anne asked.

"Her number is on Honey’s Rolodex. Would you call her, Anne?" Trixie finally found the paper she’d been searching for. "I’ll get a rental car for us in Tampa and make hotel reservations. Let’s see. We’ve got you, me, Dan-" she began ticking off the expected party. "Gleeps! It sounds like the Bob-Whites of the Glen are back in action!"

"Whoa! Sorry, but you’ll have to count me out," Anne said, dialing Diana’s London apartment. "Not that I don’t care about Bobby and the guys, but I’ve never been much of a good-luck charm where your investigations are concerned. Besides, if you need anything from the office, I can be here in five minutes."

"Okay. Reservations for six. That means two rooms. I should get a van." Trixie picked up the second line and dialed out.

"Make that seven."

They looked up and saw Jim Wheeler standing in the doorway, a storm raging in his green eyes. "What? You think I’d let you all go off to rescue the kids alone? Who’s going to make sure you don’t do anything stupid?"

"Fine. Seven. I’m still just getting two rooms, though." Trixie heard the other party pick up, ‘Thank you for calling the Sands Hotel, where every day is a sunny day. How may I help you?’ so she ignored the rest of the conversation around her.

By the time she’d made the hotel arrangements and provided for a rental van, Dan and Jim had left to pack bags and make provisions for their unexpected trip to Florida. Anne had left a message on Diana’s machine and Honey had packed a duffel bag full of equipment she thought they might need once they got to Clearwater.

"Anne," Trixie said, standing, "I know how much you’d like to go along with us, despite what you said. I appreciate your offer to handle anything here that we might need. We won’t be gone long and we will keep you posted."

"Thanks, Trix. Who knows? Maybe I’ll organize things in here while you’re gone." She grinned.

"Don’t you touch a thing! This is my foolproof security system! Anyone breaks in here, they won’t be able to find a thing!"

Honey laughed, adding, "Either that, or they’ll think someone else got here first!" She grabbed her purse and the duffel bag. "Come on. We’ll call Brian from the car on our way to the apartment."

Three hours later, six adults boarded the Wheeler private jet, waved goodbye to a small redhead on the tarmac, and set off for Tampa International Airport. The Bob-Whites of the Glen were back.

Chapter Two

an alley outside Bern’s Steakhouse
Tampa, Florida
10:15 p.m.

Bobby woke up. He was sitting on a cold, damp slab of concrete, leaning against a Dumpster. His head hurt and he thought he could feel an entire colony of ants crawling on his bare legs. He saw Larry and Terry standing a few feet away, shaking their heads in concern.

"Hey. Bobby’s awake." Terry (or was it Larry?) pointed toward him. It was Larry. He leaned over and held out a hand to help him up.

"Thanks. What happened?" Bobby asked, brushing mud off his bare legs. He scraped the excess off his hands using the edge of the Dumpster. He felt a bit concerned that he was only wearing his bathing suit, socks and shoes. He took consolation in the fact that Terry and Larry weren’t wearing much, either.

"Oh, man! Those girls robbed us! They took our clothes and everything and robbed us! They left us here to die or something!" Terry gestured wildly at him. "This is, like, so not cool!"

Bobby looked at Terry, then at Larry, then at himself. "You’re right. This is definitely not cool. Terry," he asked as kindly as possible, "happy face boxer shorts?"

Terry huffed and folded his arms. "At least it’s not red bikini briefs!"

Larry flushed angrily. "I took them from your suitcase, little brother!"

Bobby sensed the twins were about to lose sight of their predicament. He stood between them. "Hey, guys. Quit it. We have more important things to worry about. Like, where are our clothes? Where are the girls and what was that stuff they gave us to drink out of that bottle?"

The twins relaxed. Terry ran his fingers through his hair, making a chunk of it stand on end. Larry crossed his arms and rubbed his elbows. "You’re right, Bobby. Sorry we got out of hand. But what are we going to do? How can we get our clothes back?"

Bobby looked around wildly. "They aren’t here?" He felt his heart race as Terry and Larry shook their heads.

"No, man. We even checked in the Dumpsters. Those girls ran off with them. And I don’t know what was in that bottle they gave us. I don’t even know why I drank some," Terry complained. Larry just looked scared.

Bobby thought a moment. "I suppose the valet ticket was in your jacket?" Terry stared at him blankly. "Okay. So. We don’t have the ticket, but surely the valet remembers us. He’ll let us have the car."

Terry frowned. "So what? We don’t have the keys."

Bobby smiled kindly. "The valet has the keys."

Terry grinned. "Oh, yeah. That’s right. Cool!"

Larry frowned now. "But wouldn’t the girls have taken the car? I mean, they’d have had the ticket. Not to mention all our money."

"Probably," Bobby admitted. "But it won’t hurt to ask and find out."

"Hold on, man! I ain’t going over there in my underwear! You go," Terry said to Bobby. "At least you’re wearing your bathing suit."

"Hey!" Larry said. "How come you weren’t wearing underwear?"

Bobby thought a moment. "I guess I didn’t have any that were clean." He shrugged at the twins, then turned and left the alley to reconnoiter the valet.

He returned five minutes later. "Bad news, guys. The girls took the car. They left with it about thirty minutes ago." Bobby took a deep breath. "I hate to be an alarmist, but we’re in trouble."

Terry and Larry just stared at each other. "Somehow," Larry growled at his twin, "you’re to blame."

Bobby sighed. "Let’s point fingers after we get back to the hotel. We can argue then. Meantime, let’s see if there’s anything around here we can use to cover you two up."

A brief search of the alley found a folded stack of dirty towels shoved under the dumpster. Grimacing slightly, the twins each took a towel and tied them around their waists. Bobby followed suit. "Tell the truth, Bobby," Terry pleaded. "It looks like we came from the beach, right?"

Bobby checked them over. The twins each had smears of mud and other nameless muck across their arms and legs. A large smear across Terry’s stomach gave evidence that Larry had recently slugged his older brother. A similar smear down Larry’s face proved that Terry had retaliated. They still had their dress socks and shoes on, though.

Bobby smiled encouragingly. "You guys look great. How about me?"

Terry groaned. He was cold, wet and far from home. The enormity of their situation began caving in on him. "We look like bums. How are we going to get back to the hotel? No cab is going to pick us up looking like this! We gonna walk? What we gonna do, Bobby? What we gonna do?"

Larry retied his towel higher around his waist and chimed in with his own argument. "Yeah, man! Try getting us out of this one! We are in such deep trouble. My dad is gonna kill me when he finds out!"

Bobby sighed and tried again to calm them. "Cool it, you two! First, he’s got to find out. Then he’s got to find you. I might have an idea." In fact, several ideas raced through his mind. It was just a matter of deciding on the best one.

Terry stamped his feet and rubbed his arms. Goosebumps had sprung up all over his skin. "Well, spill it! I don’t got the rest of my life here!"

Larry, wet, muddy and feeling a distinct chill through his towel, gritted his teeth and growled at his brother, "Hey, clone! Stop talking like a juvenile delinquent! You make me look bad."

Terry sneered, "I can’t help it if you got all the ugly genes!"

Bobby sighed. This was getting old fast. He needed to get them across town, which really shouldn’t be all that difficult. Getting into their hotel room was the tricky part. How could they get duplicate room keys made up without proof of identity? How could they prove their identity without wallets? Suddenly, the perfect solution popped in his head: get someone else to provide the answer, preferably someone who provided answers for a living. "Guys! Cut it out now! I’ve got an idea and it’s brilliant! Give me your phone."

Startled, Terry could only grunt. "Huh?"

Larry rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the ache that had begun ten minutes earlier. "He wants your phone, you idiot! You do have your phone, don’t you, little brother?"

Terry decided not to tell his brother he’d just smeared more muck on his forehead. "You jerk! Just because you were born 10 minutes before me, you have to –"

Bobby felt himself getting impatient. "Guys! Stop it! Do you have the phone or don’t you?"

Terry saw something glittery on the sidewalk. He picked it up. "No. I don’t. But here’s some change and there’s a pay phone over there." He had seen it earlier and was glad he had had the unexpected presence of mind to mark its location.

Bobby took the money. "Thanks."

Terry followed Bobby back onto the sidewalk. "Who are you going to call?" He glanced down the street. A Car was leaving Bern’s parking lot, but it turned north. In the dark, he felt relatively unnoticeable.

Bobby smiled slyly. "Who always gets us out of jams?"

Terry punched the air in excitement. "That’s great! Think she’ll come?"

Bobby reached the phone and inserted the change. "She’s my sister. She’ll come."

Terry grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You know, your sister is one fine looking woman. You think she’d go for a younger guy?"

Bobby didn’t even hesitate. "No." He punched in the first phone number that came to mind.

Larry, feeling braver about his towel, came closer. "What about one 10 minutes older than that idiotic younger guy?" He grinned as his brother playfully swung a fist at his face. They laughed, relieved that their problems were almost over.

Bobby turned his back on them to concentrate on the phone. "Definitely no. Now shut up. It’s ringing. Damn! It’s going to voice mail." Bobby waited through his sister’s recorded greeting, ignoring Terry & Larry’s sudden, inexplicable birdcalls. He recited along with the familiar recording, "‘Leave a message’, yadda-yadda-yadda. Beeeeeeeep. Hey, it’s me. I’m in trouble. Can you get down here ASAP? Oh – and don’t tell Moms! I don’t want her worried, but I really, really, really could use your help – hey!" He felt a sudden cool breeze as his towel unwrapped itself from his waist. He turned to find a huge man, covered in sweat and grime, holding three familiar-looking towels. The Grimy Man grinned, displaying a pair of teeth, then turned and ran. "Give that back! Hey! HEY!!!" Bobby slammed down the receiver and ran after the huge man, but being unfamiliar with the area, quickly lost track of him. Larry and Terry had fled back to the safety of the alley. Things had gotten worse.

*      *      *

"What now, Answer Man?" they wanted to know as Bobby shuffled back, towel-less. Bobby couldn’t believe his luck. Just when he thought his first college Spring Break was going so well, he ends up half way naked not with a girl, but with Terry and Larry Lynch. How exciting. He thought hard. What would Trixie do? He heard a grunt. He almost didn’t turn in time to see Grimy Man’s sudden, violent return. Bobby cried out in surprise, then pushed the twins ahead of him.

Grimy Man charged after them into the alley, brandishing a heavy stick. "Get out of here!" he screamed. "This is my place and you ain’t welcome!"

Terry, Larry and Bobby, cowering in shock and sudden fear, covered their heads with their arms and ran as fast as they could in their dress shoes past Grimy Man out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. Terry instinctively ran away from the lights, toward Bayshore Boulevard. They were young, active men and could run for a long distance without getting tired. They made it all the way to the boulevard itself before having to stop, worn out and breathless.

They stared at the huge, divided street. The well-lit road curved along the edge of the bay. Two lanes in each direction were separated by a wide grassy median. Elegant mansions set well back from the street lined the north edge while a wide concrete platform, a sort of extended sidewalk, ran along the other edge, overlooking a large body of water. Cars sped along the road at great speeds, carelessly maneuvering along the serpentine road. The property directly to their left had a tall hedge border. The trio crouched beside it in the shadows.

"Is that the bay?" Terry asked.

"Yes, you idiot. That’s the bay. Isn’t it, Bobby?" Larry answered.

"I’m pretty sure." Bobby thought a moment. "That means that Clearwater is… that way." He pointed west, then peeked out beyond the hedge. To the east he could see a few tall office-type buildings, well lit at night with searchlights and neon striping. "I figure that’s downtown Tampa."

Terry and Larry peeked, too. Terry laughed. "That’s it? That can’t be bigger than Sleepyside!" He reconsidered. "Well, maybe Croton, but not by much."

"It’s big enough. Besides, we are not going that way." Bobby looked toward the west. He could see the road stretch before him and curve south. Several tall apartment and condominium buildings in the distance blocked his view. "We’re going that way. If I’m right, and if I can remember how we got here, we should go along this road and we’ll come to a bridge. The first bridge takes us to St. Petersburg. The second to Largo. We need the third. Or can we take the second? I’m not sure. Maybe by then we’ll find someone who can direct us. Or at least a few signs." He smiled encouragingly. "Come on. It’s just over there. Not much farther than from your house to Wimpy’s back home."

Terry looked hopeful. "They say people are friendlier in the South," he remarked.

"Yeah, like those local girls Bobby picked up today. Real nice. ‘Come have a drink’, they say. ‘Let’s have some fun’, they say. ‘What are y’all waiting for’, they say," Larry said in a high pitched voice, trying to imitate the girls’ southern drawls.

Bobby felt pressure build up in his head. What did they want from him? He turned to face them. "Hey, guys, listen. You don’t want my help, fine. Don’t take it. But I’m going back to Clearwater the only way I have left. My own two feet. You want to join me, fine. You want your daddy to come bail you out, you call him collect. Go ahead. And then see what he has to say about you! I won’t have to worry about my report card! Your father will kill you before the semester ends and I’ll get straight A’s for ‘bereavement’! Let me tell you something. That’s okay by me!" Bobby finished his tirade and stalked off across Bayshore toward the huge sidewalk.

The sounds of the waves crashing against the pylons and rocks echoed soothingly across the pavement. Bobby began walking west, resolute and determined. He didn’t hear anyone following him, but he refused to turn around and check. Forget them if they were going to blame him for any of this! It wasn’t his fault those girls turned out to be thieving wackos! But it was going to be his sister who fixed it all for them. Their sister was just an actress. What good was that?

"Hey! Bobby, wait up! Hey!"

Terry and Larry were running after him with their dress socks and shoes in hand. Bobby turned, an expression of disinterest carefully plastered on his face. They caught up to him and then stopped running, their faces blood red with exertion, their chests heaving, their expressions desperate. "Come, on, man!" Terry panted. "You, know, we, can’t, get, back, on, our, own! We’re, sorry. We’ll, do, what, you, say. Promise." Larry nodded, unable to speak. "Just, please," Terry sucked in a huge breath, "can we walk on the shady side of the street?" He pointed eagerly to the residential side with its tall hedges and low level lighting.

Bobby allowed himself a smile. They were so easy to bluff. Their journey would be more like walking from their house to Croton, but not quite so scenic. No way was he going alone! He agreed to their plan to keep to the shadows. Apparently, this side of Bayshore was used as an exercise course, with permanent workout equipment stationed every twentieth of a mile. There were a lot of stations ahead.

The trio waited near a clump of bushes and palm trees for the next big break in traffic, then darted across the road. Larry stumped his toe on the curb and cried out in pain, but continued across.

"Why did you guys take off your shoes?" Bobby asked.

"We looked stupid with them on," Terry replied.

Bobby pointed out the obvious. "You’re standing there in happy face boxer shorts, and you’re worried that your shoes make you look stupid?"

Larry defended his twin. "We figure that, if someone asks, we’ve come from a pool party somewhere. These are just our swimsuits."

Bobby glanced at Larry’s tight red bikini briefs. "Swimsuits?"

Larry dared Bobby to make something more of it. "It’s a Speedo. Got it?"

"Whatever. Let’s go." Bobby waited until they started walking in front of him before giving full vent to his amusement. The twins ignored his laughter and strode as quickly as possible westward.

The trio kept to the bushes when possible and only crossed the pools of streetlight when absolutely necessary and no witnesses seemed present. A few cars did pass by, some of them slowing down for a closer view, some of them honking at them. One old car slowed almost to a crawl. The windows were rolled down and the driver, a man in his late 30’s, called out to Terry, who was in front, "Hey, kid! You looking for a ride?"

Terry walked faster. Larry walked faster. Bobby walked faster. The car followed them.

"Hey! I asked you a question! You want a ride? I’ll give you one!"

Terry started running. Larry started running. Bobby started running. The car turned at the next street and drove away.

"What did that guy want?" Bobby asked after they all stopped running.

"To give me a ride," Terry nearly shrieked, still panicked.

"Gross." Larry said. "He wanted to give you a ride? Couldn’t he tell I’m the cuter one?"

Terry aimed a punch at his brother, but Bobby intervened as usual. "Let’s just concentrate on getting to Clearwater, okay? We seem to be coming to somewhere." He pointed over head through some trees. "See that highway up there? That’s got to go somewhere. Maybe we can find an onramp and just take it to the beach. What do you guys think?"

Terry and Larry shared a look. "We think you know what’s best." Larry offered. "You’re the man."

Bobby sighed. Sometimes he wondered what it might be like not to be in charge. "Okay. Then we’ll go there. At least, we’ll get some a better idea of direction. Of course, how we’re going to escape notice when we’re barely dressed is another issue altogether."

At the next intersection, he led them away from the bay and, he hoped, toward the overpass. He lost sight of it after a few minutes, but since he could now hear the traffic roaring above, he figured they were on the right track.

The neighborhood they now moved through, clump of bushes by clump of bushes, avoiding porch lights and guard dogs, had a charm about it undiminished by age. The houses were huge and most were built in a typically New England style, although a few did resemble small Spanish castles or missions. Clearly, although this was not the most modern of neighborhoods, it had retained its property value.

Small streets intersected smaller ones and they kept moving toward the sound of traffic. After ten minutes, they discovered that the highway towered above them at least 20 feet, and no onramp was in sight. They stared up at the gray concrete monstrosity, an ugly blot in this charming, well-maintained neighborhood, and despaired.

"How are we supposed to get up there?" Terry wondered.

Larry looked dubiously at the thick undergrowth that clung to the support columns. "I don’t think we can climb those vines and things. I think that one bush has got thorns."

"Great," Bobby muttered. Things had gotten worse again.

They heard a horn just behind them on the street. The trio jumped and stared into a car’s headlights as it crept slowly toward them. A man leaned out of the driver’s side window. "You ready for a ride yet?" It was the creepy old man.

Terry swallowed hard. "Bobby," he whispered without moving his lips, "do something! Get us out of here!"

Bobby froze, unable to come up with a single escape tactic. The entire neighborhood stood breathless, poised, ready for his decision. What would Trixie do? He asked himself. He heard his sister’s calm voice, explaining to him: If you’re in trouble, the first thing to do is calm down. If you panic, you’ll only make things worse. When you’re calm, the situation seems much more manageable. Bobby took a deep breath and felt his heart rate slow.

Trixie continued in his head: Second thing is to think about all your options. All of them. Run through them in your mind one by one, dismissing an option only when it’s completely unfeasible. Bobby thought: 1. Go with him and end up dead or worse. This guy’s a major weirdo. 2. Talk to him and explain we don’t need his help. Maybe he’ll just go away. 3. Run screaming toward one of these houses. Someone has to be home. Of course, he couldn’t see a single car in anyone’s driveway, not even the telltale blue glow of a television program.

"We’re okay!" Bobby called out to the driver. "We don’t need a ride."

The man frowned. "You sure?"

Then Bobby heard another sound: music. Loud music. Loud, thumping party music. He relaxed. "Yeah. We’re going there." He pointed through the overpass down the street. He saw about 20 cars packed into somebody’s front yard. "Our friends invited us to their party. Let’s go, guys. We’re late."

Terry and Larry, wide-eyed, arms crossed to cover as much of their bodies as possible in the bright headlights, hurried to walk next to their friend as he strode confidently toward the cars. They didn’t dare whisper to each other as they tried not to appear nervous. As they got nearer to the house, they could hear the music clearer, as well as shrieks of laughter and splashes of water. They walked faster. It was a pool party. Things were getting better!

The car followed them slowly, waiting until they had gone all the way onto the front stoop and rang the bell. When the door opened, the car sped off.

"Hi!" A pretty dark-haired teenage girl answered the door. Oddly, she had a sheet wrapped around her, but she didn’t seem to mind. "Umm, I don’t know you. Are you friends of Steve’s?"

"Yes!" Terry answered quickly.

"Cute swimsuit!" she smiled at him and let him into the house. When Larry passed her, her smile grew larger. "The party’s mostly out back. There’s a keg in the garage, one on the patio and the rest of the liquor’s in the kitchen. Help yourself!"

Bobby glanced around. They were standing in a large open room full of about twenty people either slouching on one of the two couches, laying on the floor or leaning against the wall. Each one wore a sheet wrapped around them, like their hostess. They all stared at the TV, but the monitor faced away from the door, so Bobby couldn’t tell what had them all fascinated. Everyone had a drink in their hand. Several bottles, cups, glasses and mugs littered the coffee tables, end tables, side tables, the floor.

The girl had pointed toward the kitchen, on the other side of the room. Terry and Larry were already stepping carefully over legs and arms to go there. Luckily, everyone seemed too wrapped up in the action on the screen to pay attention to the happy face boxers or the red bikini briefs. When they turned to see if Bobby was coming after them, they saw the TV. And understood what had everyone’s attention.

Bobby saw Terry’s and Larry’s jaws drop open in utter amazement. Then their heads, already so completely identical, turned in the same direction at the same rate of speed. Bobby noted that everyone else watching the TV was also turning their head just the same way. He heard a giggle beside him.

"Look at them. Like monkeys." She gazed up at him in an open invitation to get to know her better.

Bobby stared at the girl. She was cute, if a bit young for him. "You got a phone?" he asked suddenly.

She blinked at him. "Yeah. In the kitchen."

Bobby stepped over the people stretched out in the living room, grabbed Terry and Larry and pulled them with him into the kitchen. He saw the base of the phone, mounted on the wall by the refrigerator, but the cord stretched taut out of sight beyond the island workstation in the center. The surrounding countertops were covered with soda bottles, cans, juice containers and glasses, cups, mugs and napkins, towels, straws and swizzle sticks. Except for the unknown person currently using the phone, the kitchen was empty. A throng of people crowded the patio outside, however, all gyrating to pulsing drum and bass. A voice from the kitchen floor rose above the music.

"Yeah? Is that so? Since when have you been such an expert in relationships anyway, Mr. ‘I’m Such A Sensitive Guy’? Oh, I’m so sensitive!" a female voice mocked. "I cry at movies! I have a teddy bear!! HA!"

Bobby saw the cord jump violently in the air. Apparently, a girl sitting on the floor on the other side of the island held the receiver. He heard her huff in frustration. "Just forget it, Mister! You’re such a jerk! You’ll never understand the first thing about women! Yes, women! I’m a woman and you’ll never understand me, you sexist, perverted twit!" Bobby stopped moving. Would it embarrass her for her to realize there were witnesses to all this? The cord jumped around again, slacking and then growing taut, sliding against the edge of the workstation. Bobby saw that if the cord kept moving, it would drag the contents of the bar onto the linoleum. Instinctively, he grabbed the cord and held it tight.

"Hold on," he heard the girl say. He glanced across the counter and down and saw she had short blonde hair and wore a bright blue bikini. A sheet lay bunched next to her. Bobby noticed she had painted her toenails a matching shade of blue. Before Bobby could say anything, she reached up to grab the cord and, without looking, yanked. Hard. The cord slipped out of his hand straight across the bar and pulled right out of the wall.

Later, it was hard to say what startled Terry and Larry more. Was it the sudden snap of an elastic phone cord slapping against the counter top? Was it the sudden crash of several bottles of rum, tequila and other liquids, along with an ice bucket, on the bare linoleum floor? Or was it the fact that the liquor bottles fell just inches from their feet, splashing them with a sticky mixture of multi-colored liquids and ice, soaking their shoes and socks (still clutched in their hands), drenching the happy face boxer shorts and the red bikini briefs? Things were getting worse.

Hours later, the memory of that moment, with its inherent hilarity and crushing misery, drifted across Bobby Belden’s mind as softly as a southern breeze across warm water. He lay on a plastic chaise lounge, staring up at the stars, a half-empty beer bottle in one hand, the other hand wrapped around the cute blonde from the kitchen, now sharing the lounge with him. She had stopped crying about her broken relationship and was now idly tapping her long blue fingernails against his chest.

"Your friend seems a little strange. Cute. Funny. But strange," she remarked.

Bobby thought her name was Linda. Or Lisa. Or Louise. Something like that. It was all a blur. The broken glass, the shouting, the blaming. Somehow he had managed to escape it all and make it outside to the patio, find a beer and start to relax. At some point, he’d discovered that he and the twins had crashed a fraternity toga party. Bed sheets had been appropriated from a linen closet and were now wrapped around Terry, Larry and himself. No one had commented on the lack of clothing, he figured, because most of the people here were drunk.

Bobby had never been drunk before. He’d tasted alcohol, though, at Brian and Honey’s engagement party the summer before. He’d spiked his own glass of punch with half a cup of vodka and spent the rest of the evening struggling to remain upright, and the following morning struggling to keep his breakfast down. But beer, he decided, wasn’t too bad. Maybe he should have spiked his punch with the beer.

Across the patio, on the other side of the pool, Terry held court. He stood at the top of the slide, toga in place, singing at the top of his lungs the ‘Chicken Song’. "Da, da, DA DA da da DAH. Da, da, DA DA da da DAH. Da, da, da, da, dai, dai, DAI. Quack, quack, quack, quack!" He tucked his hands under his arms and flapped his elbows. He sang the verse again and wriggled his behind. On the last verse, he threw himself headfirst down the slide, screaming. His audience laughed and applauded as he pulled himself to the swim-out and sat on the step. The next drunken idiot got on top of the slide and began to sing.

That’s probably dangerous, some portion of Bobby’s mind told him, but the larger part of his brain had begun to shut down for sleep. Wasn’t there something he had to do? He wondered, but nothing came to mind. Wasn’t he supposed to call someone? No one came to mind. He remembered being on the phone, and talking, so he supposed he was just going crazy and forgetting to do something he had already done. Or something like that.

The patio only took up about half of the huge backyard. On the grass, several couples danced, some moving to the pulsating beat, others barely moving at all. Larry barely moved. He had asked the cute dark-haired girl to dance with him and she agreed. They’d spent the past hour standing close to each other on the grass. Bobby wondered if they had fallen asleep, except that every few minutes or so one of them readjusted their grip.

Well, good for Larry, Bobby thought. It’s about time he got himself a girlfriend. Of course, this girl was barely 14. But Larry was just 18, so in 90 years it wouldn’t matter. Still, there was something he was supposed to do, if he could just remember what that was.

Abruptly, the music stopped. One of the fraternity guys opened the sliding glass door from the kitchen and called out. "R-O-A-D T-R-I-P! We’re going to the beach! Y’all want to come, let’s go! The bus leaves in five minutes!"

Bus? Bobby stared at the guy, then lay his head back on the chaise. That was it, he thought to himself. They were supposed to go to the beach. Now if he could only remember why . . .

 

Chapter Three

About four hours after Chapter One
Tampa, Florida

The Wheeler jet touched down at Tampa International Airport at 5:22 p.m. The six adults disembarked, collected their luggage and boarded a tram to the main building. They quickly found the car rental counter, where Trixie picked up the keys to the van she’d ordered. After a 10 minute wait made more tedious by Mart’s incessant droning on about the history of the Tampa Bay area, they were able to pick up the van itself.

They barely managed to stuff everything into the van, get directions to the hotel and negotiate the tight parking lot in just under 15 minutes. They pulled onto Boy Scout Road, made a U-turn at the next light, and headed west toward Clearwater.

The rush hour made negotiating traffic difficult, especially considering most of Trixie’s driving experience took place on unpopulated country roads in the middle of the night. But she managed to get the van safely onto the Courtney Campbell Causeway headed toward Clearwater.

The Causeway began on the edge of Tampa, among several hotels, restaurants and strip clubs.

"Did you know that Tampa is the Strip Club Capital of the US?" Mart asked.

"Mart?" Trixie sighed. "Did we need to know that?"

"Well, we are searching for three 18-year old boys on Spring Break. They could be anywhere."

She shot her brother a look of disgust. "I’m sorry, but I just can’t picture Bobby at a strip club! I had a hard enough time when he took Susie Hoover to the prom." She glanced in the rear view mirror at the other occupants of the car. Brian and Honey, in the middle seat, whispered to each other and smiled, Dan and Jim, in the back seat barely spoke. Instead, they stared out their respective windows at the scenery.

"Hey. What can I tell you, age-deficient female sibling, but that small fry become large fry and large fry beget small fry." Mart slouched casually in his seat.

A picture formed in Trixie’s mind of a little Bobby Belden begetting other little Bobbys, all calling him ‘Dad’. She could see, a few years in the future, a Belden family gathering. Brian and Honey and their beautiful, responsible, well-behaved children, Mart and someone and their bratty-but-smart kids, and Bobby and his wife, some sweet young woman, carrying a baby and presenting it to Moms and Dad, just busting with pride, and herself. With a cat.

She had never felt more depressed.

The Courtney Campbell, four lanes of divided highway bound on either side by an access road and a rocky beach, took them straight across the bay to an almost identical collection of businesses, restaurants and hotels. Signs for golf courses, jet ski rentals and para-sailing vied for prominence with billboards advertising local radio stations, the Clearwater Mall and the Largo Renaissance Festival. Following the directions she’d obtained earlier from the desk clerk at The Sands, Trixie guided the van through downtown Clearwater, past the Scientology Center and City Hall, inexorably westward to the beaches.

Finally, they arrived on Mandalay, which veered into South Gulfview. Everyone kept a lookout for The Sands. It seemed they passed large hotel after large hotel, beach club after beach club, tourist trap after tourist trap, before finally reaching the hotel.

"Wow," Honey breathed. Trixie guided the van under the entrance canopy. A uniformed valet began opening the doors as a bellhop brought up a luggage carrier. As Trixie dealt with the valet, Jim and Dan began helping the bellhop load their things onto the rack. Honey entered the lobby with Brian and Mart close behind.

The Sands Hotel lobby, whether by accident or design, was literally full of sand. Embedded in the carpet, it crunched under their feet. The brass and cherry wood registration desk dominated the left wall. Opposite that lay doors to a game room, a bar, a restaurant and the hotel offices. In front of them Honey could see the elevators, the stairs and a huge wood-framed glass window looking out onto the beach and the setting sun. Doors on either side of the window automatically opened as college students passed through in their bathing suits, towels slung over their shoulders, beach bags dragging on the floor.

Confidently, Honey approached the check-in counter. "Welcome to the Sands Hotel," the clerk began, "where every day is a sunny day. How may I help you?"

"Hi!" Honey began cheerily. "I’m Honey Wheeler of the Belden-Wheeler Agency. I believe you have a reservation for us? A pair of connecting rooms, two double beds, six people." She pulled the confirmation number from her purse and gave that to the clerk as well. The clerk nodded and began paging through her database.

Trixie joined her a moment later. "How’s it going?" she asked her partner.

The clerk spoke then. "I’m afraid, Ms. Wheeler, that we have a slight overbooking problem. All we have available is a suite on the top floor. We will, of course, only charge you the quoted rate, but the room only has one double bed. Otherwise, we’re completely full up."

"Oh." Honey glanced at Trixie. "What do you want to do?"

Trixie shrugged. "What can we do? This is the best place to begin our search and apparently a central location of all this Spring Break action." A passing clutch of young, barely-clothed women caught her eye, as well as the attention of the guys. "We need to stay here at least a couple of days." She turned to the clerk. "What do you have in the way of rollaways or cots?"

The clerk tabbed through a few more screens. "I’m afraid we’ve only got one spare cot."

"We’ll take it. Here’s the credit card." Trixie handed the clerk the plastic card, then turned to face the guys, still staring at the young women. "Guys?" she called to them. "Guys? Listen up. They’ve only got one suite with one double bed, and one cot. We’re going to take it. If any of you want to find another hotel and stay there, I suggest you do that soon. It’s getting late and I’m anxious to get started with the investigation."

Jim shook his head. "No way are we leaving you girls alone here. We’ll take the room. All of us."

Trixie felt herself bristle at his proprietary tone. "Fine. We women will get the room keys while you boys finish checking out the local color." She pivoted on her heel and nodded to the clerk. "While you’ve got that screen up," she began, "Could you tell us what room number our friends are in? It would be under either Terrence or Lawrence Lynch." She spelled the last name and mentally crossed her fingers.

"I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have a guest registered under either name."

The first brick wall, she thought to herself. "Could you check again? It’s important that we find our friends."

"Hmmm. Let me try something." The clerk began hitting keys and tabbing through programs. They waited without speaking for seemingly a century before the clerk finally spoke again. "I’m sorry. They were here, but they checked out this morning."

Trixie thought quickly. "Just out of curiosity, did they stay in room 714?" At the clerk’s quizzical look, she explained. "I’m trying to prove I had a psychic flash."

The clerk’s looked changed to one of tolerance and handed over their room’s key card. "I’m sorry to disappoint you again, ma’am, but they were in room 822. This is your key to your room, 1106."

"Thank you so much!" Trixie accepted the key card while Honey okayed the preliminary credit card receipt. "I guess I’m not the psychic I had hoped."

As they turned away from the counter, the clerk called after them, "If there’s anything more I can help you with, don’t hesitate to ask. My name’s Marcy."

They thanked her and left the lobby, the men and their luggage in tow. As they approached the elevators, they were assaulted with the combined odors of salt, sand, cocoa butter and chlorine as four Spring Breakers, male and female, leaned against the wall and emptied sand from their shoes.

Without hesitation, Trixie approached them. "Hi! I’m looking for some guy friends of mine. A tall blonde with curly hair and a set of twins, black hair and eyes. Real cute. Have you seen them? They’d be staying in this hotel. Room 822?"

The quartet glanced at each other, then shook their heads ‘no’. "Sorry, Ma’am," the older-looking boy replied.

Trixie thanked them. The elevator arrived and she joined her friends in one car while Mart and Jim waited with the luggage for the second one.

"How’d it go?" Honey asked. "Had they seen them?"

"How’d it go?" Trixie repeated. "How’d it go? I’ll tell you how it went. They called me ‘Ma’am’. That’s how it went." She ignored Honey’s suppressed chuckle and waited the rest of the ride up in silence, thankful Jim and her brothers hadn’t been present to hear her complain.

They found their suite with little difficulty. All the rooms above the fifth floor faced west to overlook the beach and were accessed by a single hallway running the length of the hotel. Trixie opened the suite and quickly cased the room.

Decorated in a similar style as the lobby, the room’s main colors were aqua and sand. Along the left wall stood an entertainment center, desk and pair of wing chairs. A standard size couch faced the TV and a driftwood coffee table completed the grouping. Across from the entrance, stretching the length of the room, hung long, heavy aqua drapes. On the right wall, just beyond a small refrigerator and bar area was the door to the bedroom.

Trixie moved to open the heavy curtains and draw back the sheers. A red-orange sun had just sunk beneath the watery horizon, leaving a blue-violet night sky behind. Several stars had already dotted the sky. She opened the glass doors and let in the salty sea air. She breathed deep and smiled.

The balcony contained four wrought iron chairs and a table. Trixie leaned on the railing and stared at the sand, the surf, and all the people walking up and down the beach.

"Look at them all."

Trixie didn’t have to turn around to recognize Dan’s voice. "There are so many of them. How are you planning to find our three kids in a city full of kids on Spring Break?"

She smiled. "I have a plan, don’t worry."

"Care to fill me in?"

She glanced at him, momentarily startled by the sight of him, dark hair blowing in the sea breeze, his eyes lit with the last rays of sunset, his muscular body leaning casually against the railing. She fought a blush. "I’m starving. I’ll tell everyone over some food."

Dan agreed and, twenty minutes later, room service delivered two pizzas, twenty hot chicken wings and six brownies. Brian and Mart took up a quarter collection and they got sodas and ice from the machines down the hall. Since the weather was so balmy, they kept the doors open and ate on the balcony.

"So, what’s the plan, Sis?" Brian asked, handing a plate of pizza to Honey.

Trixie swallowed some cheese, took a sip of soda, and began outlining her strategy for finding the three lost boys. "It’s not so difficult to figure out," she began. "First, I’m going to search their old room. Maybe they weren’t completely checked out. Maybe there’s something left behind. This hotel is completely full. I can’t believe that their maid service is that good that they’d remove all traces of the guys. It’s also possible that the guys, afraid of something, just moved their rooms and checked in under a different name. However, since I can’t think of a different name they might use," she paused to shrug and eat some more pizza.

"How are you going to get into their room, Trixie? The clerk said she didn’t have any more rooms. That means their room has been rented already," Honey pointed out.

"I’ll get in," Trixie averred.

Jim frowned. "How? I mean, are you just going to knock on their door and say, ‘hey, I’m a detective, let me in to search your room for clues to my missing brother and his friends?’ or something?" Mart laughed in agreement and took another chicken wing.

Trixie felt herself bristling once more. "No, of course not. But I’m going to search that room. The rest of you should go downstairs and talk to the other guests, especially the ones here on Break. Maybe they remember seeing the guys, hearing about them, talking to them. After all, we’re talking about a set of good looking, dark haired twins who have already been here since last Saturday. We’re talking about Terry and Larry! Somebody’s seen them. I can’t believe they’ve been anywhere without somebody noticing them. And Bobby. He’s tall with curly blond hair. The three of them together always attract a great deal of attention. Someone at this hotel knows something. We just need to find that person and ask the right questions."

She glanced at each of them in turn, a bit startled to see each one nodding their head. Yet another sign of the impending apocalypse, she thought. Everyone agrees with me!

It was decided that they should split into teams to cover more territory. Brian and Honey would be a team, Jim and Mart, and Dan and Trixie. Actually, Trixie wanted to go alone, but Dan insisted on accompanying her, ‘in case she got into a bad situation’, he told her.

Fifteen minutes later, the teams left the room to begin their search, Trixie and Dan exiting on the eighth floor, the others going all the way to the Lobby. They found room 822 easily enough. With Dan as lookout, Trixie knocked on the door and called out, "Housekeeping!" She waited several moments, her ear pressed to the metal door, but heard nothing. She produced a passkey and swiped it through the card reader.

"Where did you get that?" Dan asked.

"When we ordered the extra towels, I borrowed it from the maid. How did you think we were getting in here?" Trixie pushed open the door and peeked inside.

The room, almost identical to their own, was lit only by a single lamp in the far corner. As quickly as she could, Trixie pocketed the key, stepped through the door, pulled Dan inside and began her search.

They found nothing in the living room, so they started in the bedroom. A pair of suitcases, still packed, lay open on the dresser. The bathroom had barely been touched; only a few towels were out of place. The bedspread barely had a wrinkle. Trixie glanced around, thought a moment, then dropped to her knees and checked under the bed.

Dan just watched as Trixie lay flat on the carpet and wriggled herself as far under the bed frame as she could manage. "You need some help?" he asked lightly.

"No, I got it." She had found a small newspaper underneath the bed. She managed to grab it with her finger tips and pull it out from under the bed to look at it. "The Weekly Planet," she read. She handed the paper to Dan. "We’ll take that back with us. Is there anything in the waste baskets? There’s always something in those."

Dan checked. "No. Nothing."

"Darn it!" Trixie said. "There’s got to be something!" She sat on the edge of the bed and thought hard. "People always leave something behind when the check out of a room. No one remembers everything, especially not Terry and Larry. But it’s starting to look like they didn’t check themselves out of the room. But if they didn’t, who did and why?"

In the middle of Trixie’s rambling, Dan heard a noise from the other room. The people who had rented the room were coming back. Trixie was still talking; she hadn’t heard. Could they hide? No, even Trixie couldn’t fit under the bed. What should they do? An idea occurred. Lacking time to decide if it was a good idea, Dan acted on it.

He grabbed Trixie’s arms and pulled her upright. He scooped her up into his arms, leaned a knee on the bed and dropped her into the middle of it. With a wink at her startled expression, Dan lay down on top of her and began kissing her. Thoroughly.

Trixie didn’t know what to do. All of a sudden, Dan was making a major pass at her, but why? He was kissing her and moaning. It was embarrassing. Sort of. It was also kind of flattering. And interesting. But why here? Why now? Why not?

"What the he--? Who are you and what are you doing in our room?" Angry voices penetrated the fog surrounding Trixie’s brain. Dan rolled off her and she sat up, blinking at the sudden appearance of another couple in the room. She opened her mouth, but nothing came to mind to say.

"Omigosh! Is this your room?" Dan answered. "I thought it was my friend’s room! Oh, man, this bites! He lent us his key so that we could get some time alone, if you know what I mean. I had no idea we weren’t in the right room! I’m so sorry! Come on, honey, let’s find the right room and finish what we started, okay?"

Trixie stared up at Dan. Was he crazy? What was he talking about? Then she looked at the couple, dubious, but obviously willing to believe Dan’s explanation. She smiled, still a bit dazed, and stood up. Dan took hold of her hand and began dragging her out of the bedroom. A moment of coherent thought prompted her to grab the newspaper off the floor. As they exited the room, she turned to the other couple and waved. "Bye!"

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that Trixie’s brain started working again. "So, you heard the people come in, right? That’s why you did what you did?"

"It was the first thing that came to mind, yes." Dan punched the lobby button.

"Good instincts."

He cast a glance at her. "Really?"

"Well, they bought it, right?" Trixie didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to discuss the actual kissing, or her reaction to it, or why that particular action occurred to Dan, until later. When she was alone with Honey, who understood men a bit more, seeing as how she was engaged to one, then she’d discuss it. Maybe.

Dan’s expression didn’t change and he didn’t say a word. He just nodded and waited for the elevator to reach their destination.

Back in the lobby, a small crowd had formed. Dan and Trixie tried to push their way through. "What’s going on?" he asked some people.

"Diana Lynch is coming! She’s staying here!" a girl answered.

Dan and Trixie glanced at each other in surprise, then fought harder to get through the small crowd.. They saw several policemen at the front of the hotel, setting up a perimeter to keep a larger crowd outside. The sudden, mad popping of flashbulbs signaled the arrival. Reporters and fans began outside began shouting, "Miss Lynch! Diana! Over here! Look this way! Is it true--?"

The crowd parted and worried Diana strode through, removing her sunglasses to scan the lobby. She spied Dan easily, as he was taller than most of the crowd. She waved excitedly and called out to him. Dan grinned and moved to greet her. "Dan! It’s so good to see you!" she cried, and hugged him hard. "Trixie! I didn’t think I’d find you guys so quick!" She hugged her, too, and Trixie noticed the relief in her old friend’s voice.

"We’ll fill you in upstairs in our room. I didn’t know you were coming, Di! This is so great!" Trixie hugged her friend again. "The original Bob-Whites are all together again!"

Dan volunteered to take the bags up to their room while Diana signed autographs for the fans in the lobby. After ten minutes of signing, Trixie felt the initial jealousy that always kicked in when she thought about her beautiful, famous, talented friend, dissipate. Who wanted to be treated like meat, anyway? The fans would get their autograph, then abruptly leave without even saying thanks. And everyone seemed to act as if Diana owed them a smile, a signature and a picture, just for coming into the place where they were. No, she wouldn’t trade her problems for Diana’s.

Once the crowd left them alone, Trixie and Diana went toward the bar, where Brian and Honey were supposed to have gone searching for clues. As they opened the door, however, Jim, Mart, Brian and Honey were coming out. The next several minutes were taken up with Diana hugging and kissing Jim, Brian and Honey hello. When she looked at Mart, however, all they seemed able to manage was a brief, non-squeezing hug and an air kiss. They barely even made eye contact. Not for the first time did Trixie wonder what exactly happened between them years ago. Neither had ever said.

They piled into the elevator and returned to their room. "This is so great!" Honey kept saying. "You got Anne’s message and just came? I thought you were filming or something. I didn’t think you’d be able to go!"

"Well, the weather wasn’t cooperating at all, and more storms were forecast for the rest of the week, so filming was going to be postponed anyway. Ken wanted more rehearsals, but when I told him my little brothers were missing, he agreed to let me go. I have to be back Friday night, though," Diana explained.

"How’d you get here so fast?" Brian asked.

"Well, since the Concorde now flies to Miami, it wasn’t that long of a flight. It’s only 50 minutes from Miami to Tampa, so here I am. I hope you got room for me." She smiled impishly.

"Of course we do," said Trixie, "it’ll be just like old times!"

"It’s so great to be around you guys again!" said Diana as she hugged them again.

"What movie are you making now?" Jim wanted to know.

"I’ll be Celia in ‘As You Like It’. I hadn’t thought to do another costume drama so soon after ‘The Mists of Avalon’, but Ken Branagh is a genius at directing Shakespeare, so I couldn’t really refuse, could I? I scheduled a vacation after filming, though, so I’ll definitely be back in Sleepyside for the wedding." She smiled at Honey and Brian, holding hands in the elevator. "I can’t wait!"

Once in the room, each team relayed their findings. Both Brian & Honey and Jim & Mart had found people who remembered the trio, but not since 5 p.m. yesterday afternoon, when they left in suits and ties, presumably to go to Bern’s for dinner. Jim had talked to a man who thought he’s seen one of the twins walking up the street, but since he was alone and at least 20 feet away from the man, he couldn’t be sure. Honey had talked to a girl who remembered seeing one of the twins walking down the street, but she seemed unreliable as well. The newspaper yielded two tiny clues; in the Restaurant Guide, the ad for Bern’s Steakhouse was circled. As they paged further through the paper, a small receipt fell out: a receipt for a rental car.

Trixie summed up the findings. "Okay, so that was their room, and they were planning to go to Bern’s, which is where we know they ended up, and they had access to a car. Tomorrow, I’ll go to Bern’s to find out what I can from there. Everyone else should probably split up into teams again. We should probably search the beach and the streets. It seems possible they split up. We’ve had pretty good luck questioning the college students so far. I’m betting our luck will hold out a bit longer. I’m waiting on a e-mail from Anne at 11 to tell me if she’s found any mention of the kids in any police or hospital database. That’s all I’ve got. Anyone got any other suggestions?"

No one had anything to add. "I’ve got a question, though," Diana asked. "Is there really only one double bed and a cot?"

"Yeah, sorry. They overbooked. But that brings up a question. Where are we sleeping tonight?" Trixie asked.

Brian answered, "Well, I think I speak for us guys when I say you three should take the cot into the other room and sleep on the beds. We’ll flip for the sofa and the chairs, losers get the floor."

"Oh, no. We three can share the bed. If you guys are going to be uncomfortable, we can be uncomfortable. One of you can take the cot, one the sofa, one the chair and only one of you will be on the floor," Honey replied, settling the issue, "If that’s all right with you, Di."

"Why not? It’s been a long time since I was treated like a regular person. I’ve missed you guys so much!" Diana exclaimed.

Everyone else agreed to that plan as well and started getting ready for bed. At lights out, Brian kissed Honey good night, the girls shut the bedroom door, and then Honey demanded, "So tell me, Trix. What’s the deal with you and Dan?"

Startled, Trixie looked up from her laptop computer, reading Anne’s email. "Excuse me? What do you mean?"

Honey smiled and sat next to her on the bed. "I was there. I witnessed that little exchange earlier. I’m not stupid. Heck, I’ve suspected something like this for years now."

Slowly, Trixie forced her attention back on her notes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"You know." Playfully, Honey pushed at Trixie’s shoulder.

"No, I don’t know. What don’t I know?" She glanced up to be sure Diana was in the bathroom and couldn’t hear them.

"How Dan feels about you."

Trixie shot her a look of concern. "Dan? Feels? About me?" What could Honey have guessed?

"Come on, Trixie! You had to have realized it by now."

"Isn’t he dating Anne?"

Honey turned conspiratorial. "Nope. They’re just going out as ‘friends.’ Anne told me she really wants to get back with him, but she’s afraid she burned him so bad after high school he won’t go back to her. I think he thinks he’ll have a better experience with a different Bob-White."

"You don’t mean Diana, do you." It was not a question.

Honey grinned. "No, silly. I mean you."

Trixie sighed and shook her head. "I don’t get it. Dan said something to you?"

"No," Honey answered thoughtfully. "Not exactly. But Brian told me about a conversation he had with Dan about marriage at our engagement party. He told Brian he was getting ready to settle down. And Mart, a long time ago, made a crack about Dan spending more time catching up with you than him whenever anyone was home from college. And, well, sad to say, but Dan told Anne she’s just a friend to him now. He doesn’t even hold her hand when they’re out together, and you know what they were like when they were dating!"

Trixie nodded her head, remembering the formerly affectionate couple. "Yeah, I remember. But so far, he hasn’t said anything specifically about me, though, right?"

Honey closed her eyes. "You are so blind. How can you not notice the way he looks at you? Earlier today, as soon as he knew you were in the back room, he just brushed past Anne, whom he was there to see, and went to talk to you. And he made a point of coming along. A real personal point. And something happened to you when you were searching that room, didn’t it? You didn’t say anything happened, but I can just tell you’re holding out on me."

"Nothing happened," Trixie assured her hastily. "Dan is just concerned about the kids. We all are. I doubt he feels anything special toward me. I’m like a sister to him. Moms often asks him to dinner and I hear he helps Mart and Bobby with lots of things around the farm that Dad can’t get to and Brian has no time for. You can’t jump to conclusions, you know."

Honey turned mischievous. "What’s the problem? It’s not like you’re dating anyone now. Or ever," she added wryly.

Trixie didn’t rise to the bait. "I just don’t think I’ve ever thought about Dan that way."

"Not ever?" Honey repeated, a bit incredulous.

"Of course not!" Trixie repeated, unwilling to examine her feelings now, after the rather scorching kiss he’d planted on her earlier. "And what’s that look for? Don’t tell me you-!"

Honey teased, "Well, to be honest, and I’d never lie to you, I have thought about it. I think it’s the whole ‘bad boy’ thing he’s got going for him."

Trixie nearly choked. "You? Should I warn Brian about anything?"

Honey dismissed the notion with a wave. "Oh, for Heaven’s sake, of course not! You know that for a long time I wasn’t even dating Brian. Not exclusively, anyway. Besides, Brian and I are very honest about that sort of thing. It’s unrealistic to assume that a person will only find their partner attractive for the rest of their lives. Humans just aren’t designed that way. However, it is possible to love just one person for the rest of your life, and be happiest with that one person, and be completely faithful to that one person, despite having occasional thoughts about someone else. Did I just make sense?"

"You mean, look but don’t touch?" This was turning out to be a big day for thinking about her brothers as regular human beings. They had always just been pests before.

Honey kicked off her slippers and picked up her hairbrush. "Sort of. But I kind of enjoy looking at Brian, so . . ." She grinned happily and began brushing her long, honey-blond hair.

Trixie smiled. "He kind of enjoys looking at you, too. When you were away that time in Italy, I swear I heard him saying good night to your picture."

"That is so sweet! I didn’t know that!" She stopped brushing her hair.

Trixie got under the covers and switched off her bedside light. "Don’t go getting gooey on me tomorrow. We’ve got work to do."

Honey smiled, unrepentant. "I can’t help it. Your brother is just the sweetest man! I love him so much. I’m lucky to be marrying him."

"He’s the lucky one, Honey, and don’t you forget it!"

*     *     *

Breakfast the next morning passed in a sticky blur of butter, pancakes and syrup. The septet was ready to begin their search at 8:30 a.m. "Everyone has their cell phones charged and ready? Everyone knows everyone’s number? Watches synchronized? Remember, we check in every hour starting at 9, to share information. Dan calls Mart, Mart calls Brian, Brian calls me, I call Dan. Got it? Honey, you and Brian are going north along this street to check out the information you got from that guy last night. Mart, you and Diana are going south to check on that girl’s story. Dan, you’re checking out the beach and Jim, you’re with me. We’re going to Bern’s. Okay? Jim and I’ve got the van." Trixie looked at each of them to be sure they knew their assignments. Each one nodded in agreement. "Everyone has a picture a recent picture of Bobby and the twins, too, right?"

Diana wailed, "No! I’ve only got a picture of Bobby and Larry!"

Honey touched Diana’s arm gently. "Sweetie, remember they’re identical. You’re the only one here who would know that wasn’t Terry in that photo."

"I guess so," Diana agreed sadly.

Trixie aimed for a positive spin before sending everyone off on their assignment. "Okay! Anne didn’t find any record of the kids at the hospital or the morgue. The police records are constantly being updated, though. She’ll try calling one of us if she finds out anything. We’ll find them soon. I promise!" She smiled at Diana, who attempted a smile in return.

In the lobby, they began to split up. Dan exited on the beach side of the lobby, Brian and Honey, Mart and Diana called ‘good luck!’ to each other as they set off in separate directions, up and down the street. Trixie handed the valet the receipt for the van’s keys and waited outside with Jim.

The sunlight was just peering over the roof of the buildings across the street, but the air had warmed up long ago. "It’s going to be a beautiful day," Jim said.

Trixie nodded. "We’re going to find them, you know."

"I know. I have every confidence that you know what you’re doing."

"Yeah, right. Sure you do," Trixie scoffed.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Jim asked. He glanced at her.

"Forget it. Here comes the van." Trixie pointed as the valet parked the van a few feet away. "I’ll drive." Jim didn’t argue.

Trixie put the van in gear and slowly exited the hotel entranceway, carefully maneuvering around a police car parked at an angle. "I wonder what they were here for."

"It’s Spring Break," Trixie explained. "They’re probably searching out underage drinkers, checking out a noise complaint, or they’re here for breakfast. Could be anything."

Driving back into Tampa took most of their half hour. The cell phone rang just as Trixie got onto I-275 East. Jim answered the phone, listened, asked a few questions, then hung up.

"Okay, that was Brian," he informed Trixie. "He and Honey talked to a hot dog vendor who claims one of the twins knocked over her cart. Mart and Di haven’t turned up anything yet. Dan hasn’t had any luck yet, either."

Trixie nodded. "So they have split up. I wonder why."

She almost drove right past Bern’s Steakhouse. The nondescript warehouse-type building didn’t exactly advertise five-star status. She parked the van in the valet lot, not surprised to discover the valet service missing.

"Trix? Can I ask a question?" Jim said as they got out of the van.

"Sure."

"How are we going to find out anything if the place is closed?"

"Because there’s always somebody working doing something in a restaurant. They have to get deliveries, they have to clean up, they have to train the wait staff, management has to look over the schedule and pay the bills and do all kinds of things. It’s really a 24 hour business." Trixie led them straight to the front door and tried to open it. It was locked. She knocked and waited. "You still got the ad we clipped from the paper?"

Jim fished the Bern’s ad from his pocket and handed it to her. She dialed the number on her cell phone and waited. "Hello! Yes, I hope you can help me. My name is Trixie Belden. I’m a detective searching for three young men who had dinner here Monday night. Is there anyone I could speak to who might remember them? No, they would be pretty memorable. They’re 18 years old. One is tall, with curly blond hair and blue eyes. The other two have dark hair and eyes and are identical twins. They probably came with dates, but I have no description on them. Yes, I’ll hold."

Jim felt himself get nervous. Were the kids really all that memorable? Could it be this easy to find them? What kind of danger would Trixie get into searching for them?

"Thank you so much. I’m right outside the front entrance. Come around the back? Okay. I’ll be right there." Trixie hung up the phone. "The manager said to come in through the kitchen. They’re having a staff meeting and he’ll let us ask the waiters themselves."

As they walked through Bern’s’ kitchen led by a friendly assistant pastry chef, Trixie was struck for the first time in her life with the desire to cook something. Gleaming pots and pans hung from racks in the ceiling; gleaming chrome counters and trays displayed utensils; ovens, stoves and an open-fire grill also caught her eye as well as chrome and glass food storage units. It was all so clean. Moms would love this place!

The employees were sitting in the dining room having their meeting. A tall man walked over to greet them. "You’re Trixie Belden?"

She nodded and shook his hand. "This is my partner, Jim Wheeler." As they shook hands, Trixie glanced around the room. The waiters seemed slightly bored and mostly exhausted. She felt she could empathize with their demeanor, having been a waitress at Wimpy’s back home.

The man introduced them to the staff, then asked if anyone had served the table in question. An older man raised his hand. "Yeah, I remember them. They were here Monday night with three girls. I remember them especially because I didn’t think they could pay for everything, but their card went through fine. And they tipped well." He seemed to hesitate, so Trixie prompted him for any more information.

"Well, yeah. There’s something else. I got off my shift a little after they left. It was a pretty slow night. I was on my way home when I passed three guys walking down Bayshore. They were in what I took to be bathing suits. As I passed them, I remember thinking they looked like the guys I had served earlier. I slowed down and asked if they wanted a ride anywhere, but they just took off running."

Trixie frowned. "But they had a rental car! A BMW, in fact. I found the rental receipt. The car hasn’t been turned in yet. Why would they be walking?"

"Hey! I saw these guys, too!"

Trixie turned. One of the younger guys had spoken. "Now that you mention the bathing suits, I remember I saw the blond guy. He came walking up from the alley and asking me if he could get his car without his ticket. I asked him which car, he told me, but some chick had already turned in the ticket and gotten the car. I told him and he just walked back to the alley. I was busy getting cars for a while after that. I don’t know how they got to Bayshore, though."

"Thank you so much," Trixie told them. "You all have been extremely helpful. If no one remembers anything else, then I’ve taken up enough of your time."

"Actually, I wasn’t quite done. After the guys ran off, I went home and sat in my driveway thinking about it. I decided that maybe I had scared them somehow, so I drove off to find them. I was going up and down the streets, looking for them. I live in a nice neighborhood, but it’s still pretty dangerous to go walking around in the middle of the night. No telling where you’ll end up, you know? So I found them again. They were just under the Crosstown Expressway and looking scared. I asked them if they were sure I couldn’t give them a ride somewhere and they just pointed to a house and said they were going to a party. I followed them. They ran up to the porch, someone let them in, so I left it at that."

Mentally, Trixie groaned. It would be just like those three to run away from someone trying to help them! "Could you give us the address of the house they ran into?"

"I could give you directions."

Trixie handed the man a pen and her small notebook. He sketched out a rough map of the area and put an X on the house in question. "You can’t miss it. It’s just two houses west of the Crosstown."

Jim and Trixie thanked the manager for their time. He thanked them for the opportunity to help them. As they left, Jim smiled. "They were really nice. Maybe we should go back for dinner one night before we leave."

Trixie nodded. "Yeah. I think that would be fun. It looks expensive, though. I’m not sure everyone could afford it."

Jim sighed. "No, Trixie. I meant you and me."

She glanced at him through the windows as she unlocked the van. "Oh. Um. Well, that could be fun, too."

*     *     *

Dan spent the bulk of the morning getting sand in his shoes. He hated the sand in his shoes. The sun quickly grew hot and the breeze only seemed to blow occasionally. The raucous cry of gulls, the rhythmic pound of the surf on the shore, the high-pitched squeals and bawdy jokes of the college students on break – it all left him cold. Disconnected. He passed around Bobby and the twins’ pictures, but got nowhere. A few volleyball players seemed to recognize them as a team they had played against on Sunday, but so far, no one had seen them since.

He wandered up and down the beach, finding nothing to connect anything to anyone. Lost in his thoughts, he passed by a tall condominium, walled-off from the casual beachcomber. He heard an argument between two men, one accusing the other of stealing his shirt and shorts off the wall, where he’d left them to dry. Dan shook his head. Someone probably just stole the clothes. Why get so upset?

His cell phone rang a few minutes later. It was Di this time, checking in. She and Mart had passed the pictures around in several T-shirt shops and drugstores. One of the twins had been identified as a shoplifter. Di also related Trixie & Jim’s information from Bern’s. Dan called Brian and updated him. "I’ve just got some people who say they saw them on Sunday, but nothing more recent. I’m heading back up the other way," he told them, then ended the call and turned around.

*     *     *

Brian called Trixie. "Ready? This is what we got now. Mart and Di found a drugstore clerk who says one of the twins stole from him a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and a pack of that baking soda gum. Dan went about two miles down the beach. He’s heading back the other way now. Honey and I haven’t found anything else since the hot-dog vendor. We’ll keep going if you think it’s a good idea." He listened, then hung up.

"Trixie thinks we should go on, if you agree. She’s got an address the boys were seen at Monday night, so she’s going to check it out. Chances are they made it back to the beach at some point. So. What do you think?" He sat wearily on a bus stop bench.

Honey sank down next to him. "I’m not sure." She stared up and then down the street. "We haven’t found anyone else who remembers seeing one of the twins except for that vendor a mile back. What really worries me is no one has seen Bobby."

Brian took a deep breath. "That worries me, too. I’m halfway ready to strangle that kid when we do find him. I knew we should have told Moms and Dad. They deserve to know what’s going on."

"Do they really deserve to worry about this? We all agreed not to say anything until we knew for sure what happened, or until we felt we needed to bring in the police or the FBI. I know Trixie’s not ready to do that," Honey said, sympathetically squeezing Brian’s hand. Her engagement ring sparkled in the morning light.

Brian sighed. "Do you really think Trixie can find them?"

"I know she can! The two of us have done a lot of maturing since we started solving crimes ten years ago. And even then, we never left a case unsolved. She’ll keep searching and she’ll find them. I promise you. Bobby is going to be at our wedding and we’re all going to laugh about this!" Honey turned sideways to face him. "I promise you!"

"I believe you." He smiled, then kissed her.

Several miles south, Di and Mart stood in the shadow of a faded awning, arguing. "I can’t believe you just said that! My brothers are not stupid! Just because they let your little brother get them in trouble!"

"Exactly my point. They listen to Bobby, never known for having a lick of sense. It’s the idiots allowing the lunatics to decide their fate!" Mart raged at her, oblivious to the stares and giggles of the people around them.

Di fought the urge to drag her nails across his freckled face. How could he be so unfeeling? "My brothers are missing! Both of them! And you just stand there and say it’s all their own fault!"

"Well, you heard Trixie! If they had just accepted the ride from that waiter, they’d be back at the hotel and we wouldn’t even be here!"

She threw up her hands. "Oh, right! Like they’d ever accept a ride from strangers in the middle of the night while lost in a strange city wearing bathing suits! Would you?"

"I wouldn’t have gotten lost in the first place! Or lost the car, for that matter. I simply wouldn’t get myself in that situation to begin with." Mart, sensing they were drawing attention, spoke now in an angry whisper. He grabbed Di’s arm and began dragging her away from the store.

Di clenched her jaw. "Well, I can believe that! The Mart Belden I know ‘and love’ is way too sensible to ever get caught doing something fun, that just might turn out to be stupid. That just might be a little crazy. That just might require thinking of himself as a regular human being instead of some ridiculous encyclopedic computer!"

Mart stopped short, allowing Di to keep walking. His utter fury at this brainless, beautiful, idiotic, talented woman nearly choked him. He forced himself to take a calming breath. He would refuse to say anything more to her. How dare she insult him like that! Where did she get off - - but no! He wasn’t even going to give her the time of day in the privacy of his own thoughts! No, sir, not Martin Belden!

*      *      *

"So you remember seeing them, then?" Trixie repeated for the third time.

"Um, yeah, I think so. It was late and I was kind of wasted." The fifteen year old girl smiled up at Jim. "You sure you weren’t at the party?"

Jim smiled weakly in return. "I’m positive. I didn’t even get into town until yesterday."

"That’s a shame. Cause it was a great party! Someone smashed all the liquor bottles on the floor in the kitchen," she laughed at the memory, "and later on, they all got in cars and headed out to the beach. We had a great time out there until the police came."

"Do you remember if any of these guys went with you to the beach?" Trixie showed her the pictures again.

"Oh, yeah! I made out with one of them. I can’t really tell them apart, you know? But he’s a great kisser! When you see him again, could you have him give me a call? I gave him my phone number. He should still have it," the girl smiled up at Jim. "I could give it to you, too. If you like."

"No, thanks." Jim glanced around the girl’s living room. She had said her parents were out of town for another week. It looked like she hadn’t cleaned up yet from the party.

"Do you mind if we look around?" Trixie asked. The girl shrugged.

Ten minutes later, Trixie and Jim were back in the van. "Well, that was productive and encouraging. They got back to the beach via some drunk drivers at a frat party hosted by some underage tramp."

"How is that encouraging?" Jim wanted to know.

"Because it proves one thing beyond doubt. The Belden gene for making stupid decisions has certainly manifested itself in my little brother, leaving the smart gene completely recessive. I had always suspected as much."

Jim smirked. "It must be the same gene that causes the blond hair and blue eyes."

"Thanks, Jim. That’s real sweet of you," Trixie shot back.

 

Chapter Four

Tuesday
9 a.m. EST
Clearwater Beach, Florida

As far as Bobby was concerned, this was the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in. The blankets, warm and soothing, covered every inch of him up to his neck, just like he liked it. There were no cold spots, no place for his toes to poke out into icy morning air. He smiled and rolled over. The pillow was a little hard, though, and as his awareness grew, he realized it was difficult to get his arm underneath it, to plump it up a bit more comfortably. He gave up and sighed contentedly. The bed was just too warm for him to care.

The covers were moving. Was someone tucking him in further? "Thanks, Moms," he murmured. Then something touched his foot and wrapped around it. He kicked at it, but it didn’t go away. He felt it move up his leg. He fought sleep enough to roll his aching body away from the whatever-it-was.

That was odd.

This bed was really big.

He yawned and stretched, rubbing his eyes. Briny water splashed into his mouth and down his throat. He jerked upright and spit as much of the foul water out as possible. He was on the beach. On the very edge of the beach, staring straight across the horizon at the Gulf of Mexico. He heard cackling laughter behind him.

"Oh, that’s rich! That’s too funny! Hoo-boy! You college idiots! Come down here every spring. Get drunk and then sleep it off on a public beach. It would serve you right to get drunk and drown out here, thanks to your own foolishness!"

Bobby turned and saw an old man leaning heavily on a cane. The man wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat, a loose cotton T-shirt and Bermuda shorts. Thick fingers of sunlight peered through an eastern cloudbank, illuminating the long strip of hotels and shops along the beachfront. "Hey. Where am I?" he asked.

The old man stared at him. "You’re that drunk, are you? Well, as you can see, that’s the Surfside Holiday Inn right over there and that’s Sand Key right over that way. Where do you think you are?"

"Umm, Florida?" Bobby asked.

The old man shook his head and began walking away. "That’s what we get for cutting education."

The warm gulf water kept splashing up Bobby’s swimsuit. Nearby, he could see his ‘toga’ from the night before, half buried in the sand. He stood up, instantly regretting it. His head started spinning and he felt his stomach turn over. He tried a few shaky steps up the beach to higher ground. He saw two dark shapes lying next to each other, covered in white sheets. He stumbled nearer for a closer look.

It was definitely Terry and Larry. Bobby heaved a sigh of relief as he yanked off their sheets. Thankfully, both were still in their underwear. Terry opened an eye and stared up at Bobby.

"You guys stay here. I’m going to scout the area and see just where we are." Terry shut his eye, and Bobby plowed up the beach toward the nearest hotel.

As with all the hotels in the area, the Surfside Holiday Inn boasted a pool and private cabana, as well as pricey rooms overlooking the beach. Bobby checked, but no one was around. He opened the men’s cabana door, gave thanks it was unlocked and vacant, and stepped inside. A wall of lockers faced him. To his left ran a row of urinals, sinks and the shower stalls. Bobby grinned. Finally a chance to rid himself of all this sand!

He stood under the warm water for three minutes before realizing the shower pumped out saltwater from the gulf. While ridding his hair and skin of sand, he was adding salt. He rinsed out his bathing suit, put it back on, and tested the water in the sink. Luckily, it was regular tap water. Not as good as the well water at Crabapple Farm, but welcome nonetheless. He drank his fill, then returned outside.

The morning sun had woken up several early sunbathers, but Bobby ignored them. He knew Sand Key was south of The Sands, where Terry had booked their room, so he started walking north. As he passed a walled-in condominium, he noticed a shirt and a pair of shorts hanging over the wall. Obviously, someone had left them out overnight to dry. Bobby glanced around. Quickly, he grabbed the shirt and tried it on. It fit well enough. He hurried back to the cabana, removed his swimsuit and pulled on the shorts. They fit a bit snugly, but it would work. He decided to lend his swimsuit to either Terry or Larry, until they could find clothing for them, too.

Terry and Larry hadn’t stirred from their sandy bed. Bobby nudged them awake. "What’s up, Bob?" Larry groaned. "Where are we?"

"We’re on Clearwater Beach, a mile or so down from the hotel. I found some clothes, so I’m letting one of you use my swimsuit. There’s a shower in that cabana. It’s not too bad. Come on," Bobby urged.

The twins slowly sat up, looked around and blinked. "I think I’ve got sand in my eyes," Terry complained.

"You’ve got sand in your head," Larry cracked.

"Come on, guys! Let’s go! Before someone sees you!" Bobby pushed at them to hurry up. The twins trudged up the sand hill toward the cabana, their dirty sheets wrapped around them like cloaks. They stumbled into the cabana and nearly slipped on the dirty, wet tile floor.

"Oh, man! This floor is full of crud!" Larry declared. "Where’s my shoes?"

Bobby felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. He hadn’t noticed any shoes. "I’ll check. You guys go take showers!" He turned and ran back onto the beach and quickly scanned the sand. Neither shoes nor socks could be seen. Mentally, Bobby cursed. He had borrowed those shoes from Mart last Christmas, when they’d all gone to that barn dance. He hadn’t yet returned them, and now it looked like he never would. With any luck, though, Mart wouldn’t notice they were missing. Of course, the Lynch’s shoes weren’t anywhere to be found, either. But they could afford a new pair, so Bobby didn’t really worry.

Bobby returned just in time to see hotel security forcibly removing Terry and Larry from the cabana. He ran up, shouting, "Hold on there! What’s going on?"

"Bobby! This guy says since we’re not guests, we can’t use the showers!" Larry replied, angrily.

"That’s right. This cabana is maintained for guests of the hotel only. If you’re not a guest, you are not allowed to use it," the beefy security guard growled.

"This must be some kind of mistake," Bobby said. "We are guests in this hotel. Room 402, in fact."

The guard regarded them skeptically. "That’s not what they said earlier."

"We’re staying with friends. There’s a line for the shower, so we came down here to use this one," Bobby went on, warming to his story.

"Oh, yeah? Where’s your soap and shampoo? You didn’t even bring a towel. Or even regular clothes!"

Terry and Larry stared at Bobby, willing him to come up with a decent explanation for their condition. Bobby swallowed hard. "You mean someone stole them? That’s just great! What kind of security guard are you, that you harass guests of your hotel, yet allow perverts to steal clothing?!? I want to talk to your manager!"

The guard sputtered a bit, confused, then shook his head. "Forget it, kid! I know what’s going on here! Just get whatever things you got and get out of here! Before I call the cops and have them straighten this whole thing out!"

Terry, Larry and Bobby thanked the guard for his sense of duty and split.

"Hey, Larry, why don’t you at least put on my swimsuit?" Bobby offered.

"What about me? My boxers are ruined!" Terry complained.

"Hey! I’m in Jockeys, here! You’re a lot more covered up than I am!" Larry grabbed the suit from Bobby’s grasp and pulled them on. It was awkward since he tried to still hold the sheet tight around him.

"I’m in happy face boxers here! Besides, I thought you were telling people those were Speedos."

"Relax, goon face! Girls wear boxers all the time as regular shorts." Larry slung the sheet around his neck like a towel. "Thanks, Bobby. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, Larry. Girls wear boxers! I’m clearly not a girl. A few more holes in this thing and nobody else will have any doubt, either," Terry complained.

Larry started laughing. "Cheer up, bro. Your old girlfriends will always have doubts!"

"Come on, guys. Let’s not bicker and argue. As soon as we get back to our room, we can change and this will all be behind us," Bobby said, controlling his urge to laugh at Larry’s joke. They continued on their way to the hotel.

Terry kept complaining. "I didn’t even get most of the dirt out of my hair!"

Larry kept teasing. "What else is new?"

Bobby kept worrying. "Do you think Trixie got the message?"

Halfway back to the hotel, Bobby saw a stand of pay telephones. He grinned in relief. "I’ll call Trixie and let her know not to worry!" He headed up to the phone and dialed Trixie’s 800 number. A familiar and annoying repeating signal taunted him from the receiver. Busy! Then he tried to remember Trixie’s local New York number, and dialed it collect. This time the operator came back saying, "Sorry, but that number appears to be disconnected. Are you sure it’s correct or may I try another number for you?"

Bobby didn’t know. He could only think of one other number: his parents. He was not going to call them! If he was ever going to get them to start treating him like an adult, he had to start taking care of his own problems. "No, thanks," he told the operator. "Maybe later." He hung up, thoughtful. He tried the 800 number again. Still busy. They waited a little while and tried again. Busy. "Oh well," he shrugged, "we’ll try her again from the room." The trio continued on their way.

They made it to the Sands by ten-thirty a.m. The threesome, barely reputable-looking, stumbled tiredly to the registration desk. A clerk glanced up from her computer. "Welcome to The Sands Hotel, where every day is a sunny day. How can I help you?"

"Hi. I’m Bobby Belden. My friends and I are staying in Room 822, but I’ve lost my key. Could you let us in or get us a spare one?" He smiled hopefully.

The clerk began flipping through the database. "I’m sorry, sir. But we show that room as already checked out."

"What!?" The three of them exclaimed at the same time.

The clerk glanced up in alarm at the sudden explosion of noise from the raggedy twins. "That’s correct, ‘sirs.’ Terrence Lynch checked out at 4 this morning."

"But that’s impossible!" Terry insisted.

Larry glared at his little brother. "Oh, is it? You jerk! Just what did you have to drink last night, huh?"

"Cool it, guys!" Bobby hushed them. He turned back to the clerk. "We weren’t here last night, so how could we have checked out?"

The clerk stared at him. "I didn’t say ‘you checked out’, sir, I said ‘Terrence Lynch checked out.’"

"But I’m Terrence Lynch!" Terry shouted again. "And I can prove it!"

The clerk, looking doubtful, sighed, "O-kay…"

Terry’s face fell. "Well, I had identification, but it was stolen last night. But he can vouch for me!" He pointed to his twin.

The clerk sighed again. "I’m sorry, sir, but I can only accept a driver’s license, passport, birth certificate or other government-issued ID as proof of identity."

Bobby thought hard. "Who was it who handled the check out? Was it you?"

The clerk shook her head. "No, sir, it was not. That was the night shift. They’ve already gone home. If there’s nothing else?" The desk phone began ringing.

"But what happened to all our stuff? Someone must have taken it! Which means we’ve been robbed! Robbed in your hotel! A crime has been committed and – and –" The phone kept ringing. Bobby sighed. "You can answer that."

The clerk looked relieved. "Thank you for calling the Sands Hotel," she answered. "where every day is a sunny day. May I put you on hold? Thank you." She put the phone back on the receiver and looked up expectantly. "Frankly, sir, without a police report or even proof of your identity, there’s nothing I can do. If there’s nothing else, I have guests to attend to."

Terry and Larry looked defeated. Bobby didn’t know what to do. "Come on, guys, let’s go think this out." They walked outside and sat on a bench on the sidewalk.

They sat for over an hour, staring at the tourists, the Spring Breakers, the locals, all well fed, clothed, clean, happy. They all had somewhere to go and plenty of money to do it with. They drove by in their fancy cars, skated by on their shiny Rollerblades , and walked by in comfortable shoes. They watched as a chubby boy about 9 years old ate two hot-dogs loaded with relish, mustard and salsa, and got most of it on his shirt. When the boy threw half of his second hot-dog away, the threesome sighed in unison.

"I am so hungry."

"I second that."

"What say we grab that kid, shake him upside down to get the rest of his money, grab that hotdog he just tossed in the garbage, and get something to eat?"

Terry and Larry stared at Bobby. "What? What did I say?" he asked.

"You never, absolutely never, suggest doing things like that!" Larry said.

Terry agreed. "You always, absolutely always, try talking us out of doing things like that! Bobby, in this little system we’ve got going here –"

"--you’re the brains. We’re the ones who come up with stupid ideas," Larry finished.

Bobby sighed. "Well, I’m all out of brilliant ideas. I tried calling my sister, but her number’s disconnected. There’s no way of knowing if she got my message, we don’t have any money, we’re starving, all our stuff is missing and we have no way to get back home. Face it, guys. This whole week was a stupid idea."

They sat silent once more. Morose. Self-pitying. Despondent. Low.

Another hour passed. The sun, directly overhead, beat down onto their scalps, causing rivers of sweat to trickle through their hair, down their necks, eventually collecting in their underwear. Terry, wrapped up in his sheet, flapped it open every few minutes, hoping to catch a merciful breeze. Bobby wished for sunglasses, a hat, an ice cube. Panic threatened to overtake him. How were they going to get back to school on Monday? What was he going to tell his parents? When would it be absolutely necessary to call them – and at what point would his parents say he had waited too long to call?

He tried to empty his mind and calm down. Things always seemed to work out for his sister, and she got in trouble a lot. Or at least, she used to. How did she manage to always come out of trouble without a scratch? His ears tuned into a conversation behind him between two girls.

"Yeah, we’re going back to Ohio State, too. You need a ride?"

"Definitely! That is so cool of you to offer. I never want to see my creep boyfriend again!"

"Your creep ex-boyfriend, you mean! What a dog!"

The perfect plan slammed him in the head. "That’s it!" he sat upright.

Terry and Larry, relieved beyond reason that Bobby had finally come up with a plan, sat up, too. "Spill it, Bobby. What’s your plan?"

Bobby grinned at them. "Simple. We find someone else from school here to take us back! Once there, it’s a simple matter to get the RA to let us in our rooms. After all, he definitely knows who we are! Then we can get our ID’s replaced and all that. Piece of cake!"

"That’s brilliant, Bobby! Brilliant!" They exchanged high-fives. "Now," Larry continued, "who do we know came here?" They thought a moment.

"I can’t think of anyone," Terry admitted.

Bobby smiled slyly. "Maybe we can find some girls from school here! You know, make new friends?" He elbowed the brothers and they laughed.

"That is so cool! We’ll be riding back in style, chauffeured by some hot babe. Let’s go find her right away!" Terry stood up.

"Hold on there, Terry!" Bobby began. "We’ve got to find her first, and even then - beggars, which is us, can’t be choosers, you know? It might not even be a girl."

Terry nodded his head vigorously. "That’s cool. I can handle that."

Larry sighed. "But nobody’s leaving this soon. What are we going to do in the meantime?"

"We’re going to spend every waking hour looking for our ride back. Once we find her, or him," Bobby said, "we can relax. Maybe we can sleep on somebody’s floor or something and pay for it when we get back to campus. In the meantime, we need to eat. I have the distinct impression that I lost my dinner last night on the beach somewhere. Rather than go back and find it again, I’m going to eat something new. For that, we need money. Any ideas on how to get some?"

Larry thought a moment. "Shouldn’t there be a soup kitchen or something around here?"

"No, not in the tourist section. That would be back over that bridge in downtown Clearwater. That’s too far, but maybe if we haven’t gotten anything by tonight," Bobby said. "Anything else?"

"We could just do what the homeless guys do back home," Terry suggested. "Dumpster dive."

"There is no way I am getting all slimed up with garbage just to eat a little half-decayed, roach infested, rat-chewed, moldy food!" Larry argued.

"Come on, Larry! It’s not like that! You just hang outside a restaurant until they dump their garbage. Before the rats get to it, you get to it. It’s practically fresh off the stove!"

Bobby stared up at the younger twin. "You have got to be kidding. Right? Tell me you’re kidding."

Terry looked offended. "Oh. So you’re too good for a little leftover food? Tell that to Trixie next time she and Honey ask you to volunteer for one of their benefits, okay? Tell her you’re above that sort of thing!"

"It’s not like that, Terry! I just don’t think I’m that desperate, is all," Bobby explained. "I was thinking we’d just panhandle for it. I saw a special on TV that showed that panhandlers can make several hundreds of dollars a day with their phony pitches. Well, we’d be telling the truth. We should get even more! Maybe enough to get a room. Maybe enough to get us some shoes and Terry something else to wear and maybe enough for a bus ticket back to school!"

Larry mulled it over. "Well, that sounds fine, I guess. I just never thought I’d see myself begging for quarters on the street. I have a trust fund, you know."

"We have a trust fund," Terry reminded him. "And I guess I’m in, too."

"Great!" Bobby stood. "We should probably split up. That way we can maximize our prospects. I’ll stay here and one of you can go north and the other south. We’ll get what we can and meet back here by say, 6?"

"What about food?" Terry asked.

"We can eat then, when we see what we’ve made. Remember, if you find anyone else from school, try to get them to give us a ride back. That way, we won’t have to spend any of our money on a bus ride and we can eat better instead," Bobby instructed.

They agreed to Bobby’s plan. Terry decided to go south, toward Sand Key. Larry walked north, toward Mandalay and Pier 6, a huge sandy playground full of slides and swing sets. Bobby began patrolling in front of the Sands, begging for loose change. Things were getting better.

*     *     *

Larry crossed the street and started north. He felt hopeful and determined. There was no way his little brother was going to get more money than he did today! As he neared Pier 6, he slowed to a stop. He wondered for the first time just how he was supposed to go about doing this. How do panhandlers panhandle? He had no idea.

Sure, when he saw beggars on the street, he usually tossed a few quarters or loose change at them, but only if they looked like they really needed it. Like if they were missing limbs or something. It made him feel guilty not to do more, but what more could he do? He already volunteered time at the Sleepyside shelter and the Westchester Food Bank. Of course, that was mostly because Trixie had asked him, and he liked nothing more than to see her big blue eyes happy and smiling at him.

He looked around. He stood just a few feet from Pier 6, the huge beach playground. He wondered why they called it a pier when there wasn’t any place to moor a boat. Then he looked across the street and saw a long row of sailboats, catamarans, speedboats and a couple of larger boats advertising dinner cruises. There were also several booths renting jet skis, offering para-sailing and windrunners. He longed to take out a Jet Ski on the ocean. The Lynches had purchased jet skis two years ago, to use on the Wheeler’s lake, but the waves there hardly compared to the chop in the gulf!

He felt his stomach rumble. He smelled hot dogs and ketchup. A hotdog cart stood not thirty feet from him, on the other side of the street. He walked across the street for a better sniff. A young woman with long blonde hair looked up and smiled. "Can I get you something?"

Larry grinned in return. The girl was absolutely beautiful: the perfect Florida woman. She was tall, blonde, leggy, tanned and curvy. She wore a bikini top and tight short-shorts. Larry stretched slightly and flexed his muscles, thankful he and Terry had started working out last fall. "I would love a hot dog," he replied.

"Sounds great!" she said, then opened the cart to fish out a dog and a bun. "What do you want on it?"

"Ketchup and relish," he said, watching her carefully put the dog on the bun.

"Sounds great!" she said again, and scooped the condiments onto the hotdog. She handed it all to Larry. "That’ll be a buck-fifty."

Larry took the hotdog and swiftly debated eating and running, or telling this really beautiful girl the truth. Which was more important? Scoring points with this stranger or filling his stomach?

He ate it, and as he wiped a napkin across his lips, he confessed. "I don’t have any money."

Suddenly, the girl wasn’t so pretty. Her face twisted in disgust as she shouted, "What! You don’t have any money? Then what in Hell are you doing eating a hot dog – a lousy, buck-fifty hotdog – when you can’t afford it!"

A small crowd of people began to form around them. Larry glanced guiltily from one disapproving face to another. A pair of teenage girls began to snicker behind their hands at him. An old woman stepped forward. "You don’t have any money and you ate that woman’s hotdog? How dare you! That isn’t right! That just isn’t right!"

"Um, look, I," Larry stuttered. Where was Bobby when he needed someone to get him out of a jam? He glanced around again, but no friendly or even sympathetic faces showed themselves. He began to back away from the pretty blonde, still shrieking that he had stolen from her.

"You jerk! I have to account for every hot dog! I paid for this cart and I have to get back my money! You owe me! You can’t just take what you want and forget it! This ain’t charity I’m doing here! I need to eat, too! I need to survive! I’ve got two kids depending on me at home-" Larry stopped paying much attention to her. The crowd, sensing the arrival of the police, began to back up, widening the stage for this sudden drama they’d found.

Larry felt dizzy. He grabbed the push bar on the end of the cart. "Look, please understand. I lost all my money yesterday. I was robbed and I’m hungry. I can pay you, just not right now –"

"What’s going on here!"

A loud, booming voice interrupted the fracas. Larry froze. The police! They’d call his parents for sure and then where would he be! Six feet under, that’s where! He panicked. He bolted. But he hadn’t let go of the cart, so it started to bolt with him. Since Larry ignored the instructions for properly moving the cart, the cart tipped. And fell. On Larry. Spilling ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, salsa, napkins, spoons, buns, hotdogs and steaming hotdog juice. On Larry. And the sidewalk.

Larry dodged out of the way of the cart itself, but he managed to get most of the contents on him. He yelped at the steam and halfway slipped on the squirmy franks before retrieving his footing and racing down the street. The police officer, wearing leather soled shoes, did slip on the ketchup and mustard and mayonnaise, and did fall down in a face full of salsa. The blonde girl, frozen in shock, finally quit screaming.

Larry ran further up Gulfview, finally stopping behind a Dumpster between two a small T-shirt shops. He leaned heavily against the wall, panting for breath. Within moments of stopping, he began to lose his hot dog against the Dumpster.

"All that effort for this," Larry muttered. "I wonder how Terry’s making out!"

*      *      *

Terry headed south toward Sand Key. He decided to try his luck on the island itself and hiked over the tall, arching bridge that connected the landmass. Once on the other side he soon realized that people just lived on Sand Key and the huge buildings he had seen weren’t hotels, but condos. He walked back, disappointed.

He approached a few older people for cash, but they just walked away from him. He considered asking some teenagers, but figured they were just as likely broke. He found college students from Michigan, Wisconsin and Oklahoma State, but so far, none from New York.

His stomach grumbled loudly. He decided to put his money (or lack of it) where his mouth was. He started wandering down the strip looking for a Dumpster to dive. He found a Spanish diner bordering an alley. He saw a small Dumpster in the back of the alley. It was open and he could see the tops of several bags of trash. He tried to be enthusiastic.

As he skulked down the alley, trying to look nonchalant as well as hiding from the casual observer, he noticed that the restaurant’s kitchen door was open. He glanced inside and saw a small, cramped kitchen, three brown-skinned men in white chef’s clothes arguing. They were standing over a large pot and one wanted to add some particular spice while the others argued against it. At least, that’s what it looked like to Terry.

He kept going down the alley. He grabbed a bag off the top of the trash pile and took it behind the Dumpster. Reasonably sure no one saw him do this, he tore open the bag and examined the contents.

A foul odor, reminiscent of rotten dung from a diseased horse left too long in the sun, blast up at him through the rip in the plastic. He forced himself not to gag. He was a grown up! He could handle a little adversity! Really, he could! He told himself that the tears coming to his eyes were a result of the methane gas that had escaped the bag, and not the fact that he sorely missed his mother.

He heard his own words haunting him: It’s practically fresh off the stove!

He tossed the bag back onto the Dumpster as a new idea occurred: he could just ask the kitchen guys for food! After all, they probably ate free all the time. Why shouldn’t they help him out? He approached the door and peeked through the opening. The three men were still there and still arguing. Terry cleared his throat and then knocked on the open door. "Excuse me?" he called out.

Startled, the men turned. One of them said, "¿Quién eres tú, chico? Y ¿qué es lo que quieres?" ^A

"Huh?" Terry stammered, struggling to remember his high school Spanish. "Umm, may yama Terry." ^B

A second man asked the first one, "¿Qué está diciendo?" ^C

The second one replied, "¿Está enfermo? No quiero estar agarrando algo si está enfermo!" ^D

Terry thought wildly. He shoved his hand through his hair and tried to remember something – anything – he’d learned in that class. He tried, "¿Donde esta la casa de Pepe?" ^E, but suspected that wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

The third man, much smaller than the other two, bustled forward and stared at Terry skeptically. "¿Está enfermo? Sácalo de aqui? El Inspector de Salud está por llegar en cualquier segundo y no quiero un mal reporte!" ^F

Terry stared back at the man, amazed at the rapidity of Spanish that just burst from his lips. Señora Dery had never spoken so fast!

The second man shook his head. "No creo que esté enfermo, pero seguro no tiene casa. Míralo." He pointed at Terry’s sheet, which barely covered him. "Está todo desarreglado y está sin ropa." ^G

Terry thought wildly. Ropa. Ropa. What did ropa mean. Dress? Shoes? Rope? Clothing! Ropa meant clothing! He smiled. He understood them! Wait a minute, he thought again, and pulled his sheet tighter around him. Were they making fun of him?

The first man laughed and elbowed the second man. "Claro que está. Está usando shorts boxer de mujer con dibujos de caras felices!" ^H

Now Terry knew they were laughing at him. He stood as straight as he could without letting the sheet gape in front of him. "I’m just hungry," he muttered, becoming angry.

The first man, still chuckling, suggested, "Creo que está con hambre." ^I

The second man nodded his head and turned to the shorter man. "¿Crees que debiéramos darle arroz con frijoles negros?" ^J

The short man exploded. "No! Nosotros no damos comida a los de la calle! Haces eso para un tipo y de allí todos quieren que les des una mano!" He began waving his arms at Terry. "Sal de aquí, estúpido vagabundo! No te queremos aquí! Fruitcake!" ^K****

Frightened, Terry backed into the alley. The short man continued yelling at him until Terry, conscious of the attention of passers-by, walked away. He hoped Bobby was having better luck.

*      *      *

Bobby actually did quite well. By six, he had collected almost $45 – not bad for a beginner, he told himself. If Terry and Larry were able to do as well, they might just make it back to campus with no one the wiser!

Except that Terry and Larry didn’t show up. Concerned, Bobby walked south on Gulfview all the way to Sand Key. He crossed the bridge, walked the entire length of the key, and returned to the hotel, but did not find Terry. He grew worried. He knew that neither one of his friends could have passed the hotel without him seeing. Could they? He walked north, toward Pier 6. The playground had emptied out, except for a few tourist kids. He didn’t see Larry anywhere.

He walked back to the hotel. Where were they? What where they up to? By the time he made it back to The Sands, night was definitely falling. He made eye contact with one of the valets. "Hey," he said casually. "I was supposed to meet my friends here around six. No one came looking for me, did they?"

The valet shook his head. "No, man. At least, no one said anything to me about it. Who were your friends?"

"They’re real easy to spot. They’re twins. Black hair, dark blue eyes. Just a little shorter than me. Our age." Bobby’s voice trailed off as the valet just kept shaking his head.

"Haven’t seen them."

"Tim!" A loud voice barked at them.

"Yeah?" the valet, obviously Tim, replied. They turned and saw the valet manager approach, clipboard in hand.

"You done parking that minivan or what?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I’m done. Here’s the key," Tim tossed the key ring to his boss, then said to Bobby, "Hey, if they come by, I’ll let them know you’re looking for them, okay?"

"Thanks! My name’s Bobby, by the way." He offered his hand.

"I’m Tim," the valet replied. He shook Bobby’s hand and then ran back toward the hotel entrance, where another car waited for him.

An hour later, Bobby broke down and spent $4 on some delicious black beans & rice from the Spanish diner down the street. He ate it while standing across from the hotel. He still hadn’t seen Terry or Larry. Where were they? What should he do now? He barely noticed a growing crowd in front of the hotel. A pair of police cars pulled up to the curb, but Bobby still paid no attention.

He did become more interested, however, as a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up in front of the hotel. A swarm of photographers and reporters descended upon the car as a uniformed chauffeur got out and hurried to open the back passenger door. Flashbulbs popped like mad as a dark haired woman stepped out onto the curb. She glanced around at the frenzied mob.

Bobby felt his heart thud in his chest. He knew that woman! That was Terry & Larry’s older sister, Diana! He threw down the remainder of his dinner and raced across the street screaming her name. She didn’t turn around again. She just grabbed two pieces of luggage and carried them toward the hotel.

Reporters shouted at her: Diana! Over here! Diana! Is it true that-! Just one more, Diana!

Bobby screamed as loud as he could, "Di! Di! It’s me! Bobby! Over here!" But she still didn’t turn around. Summoning all his strength, Bobby vaulted onto the Town Car, slid across the trunk and tried to leap off the side of the car, over the top of the crowd, onto the retreating figure of the woman who had baby-sat him years ago.

He landed on top of three reporters and a cop instead.

It was in the holding cell that he found Terry and Larry.

*       *       *

The police had given the twins prison jumpsuits to wear and flip-flops to protect their feet, but they had been arrested and processed too late for dinner. They had first been under the impression that Bobby was there to bail them out, somehow psychically knowing they had been arrested. The truth deflated their battered spirits.

"Now they have to call our parents, don’t they?" Terry moaned.

"Oh, God!" Bobby groaned, "My dad is going to freak! I am never going to hear the end of this one! I can hear them now: ‘You’re just as irresponsible as your sister was at your age! Young man, when are you ever going to start taking responsibility for yourself?’"

"Trixie wasn’t irresponsible, was she?" Larry asked, interested. "I mean, she always seemed like such a grown-up to me."

"Well, apparently, they kept me in the dark about quite a lot of things. You should hear some of the stories they tell about her now!" Bobby grinned, remembering. Trixie had saved his life more than once, and while he had learned how to gang up with his brothers and tease her, he often felt she understood him better than anyone. That was why, when he got in trouble, his first impulse was to call his big sister for help. She never let him down.

But could even the great Trixie Belden get him out of this mess? Here he was, arrested. In jail. In a Southern jail, no less. He’d be on a chain gang by the end of the week! He could just see the prison warden now, sneering: Whut we have heah, is a fail’re, to com’un’cate. Or worse: he had long, blonde curly hair. Girls seemed to like it. Would prison guys like it, too? He swallowed hard, alarmed at the direction his thoughts were taking. He tried to think of something – anything – else, but every prison movie he’d ever seen suddenly became the only thing he could think about.

An officer came to the holding cell and called out, "Robert Belden?"

Bobby felt his heart leap into his throat and he fought the urge to scream for his mother. He left the holding cell quietly enough, fearing he might never see his friends again.

When he returned, Terry and Larry peppered him with questions. In response, it was all Bobby could do to sink wearily onto one of the low benches against the wall and sigh.

"What did they want? What did they ask? Are they going to call your parents?"

Bobby looked at them, identical in their wide-eyed attention to his every word. He paused for maximum effect, then he confessed. "Apparently, I’m a stalker and I tried to kill your sister."

"What?" they each shouted. "When?"

"Tonight, of course! What did you think? I saw your sister get out of a limo at the hotel. When I tried to get her attention, they arrested me. They think I was trying to kill her or something," Bobby said, then frowned at them. "Why did you think I was in here?"

Terry and Larry looked at each other. In unison, they replied: "Disorderly Conduct, same as us."

Bobby closed his eyes. "Excuse me. Why are you here?"

Terry explained. "Disorderly conduct. Apparently, we each caused a little disturbance today. Mine was minor, really. I just sort of got a little sick in the men’s room at a souvenir shop and lifted a bottle of Pepto Bismol from a drug store."

"Don’t forget the gum," Larry reminded.

"Oh, yeah. And a pack of baking soda gum."

"Gum? Why gum? And why ‘baking soda’?" Bobby asked.

"That’s just what the cops wanted to know, too!" Terry smiled. "I told them that I hadn’t brushed my teeth since yesterday, and that invites tooth decay, so what else was I expected to do?" He shrugged.

"Why the pink stuff?" Bobby asked, feeling sheer exhaustion grab hold of him.

"For my upset stomach, of course!" Terry glanced down at his feet. "I tried a little Dumpster diving behind a pizza place. I think I ate a few bad anchovies. That’s why I got sick. The gum was also to get rid of that horrible aftertaste."

Bobby just waved a hand in surrender, then turned to Larry. "What about you?"

Larry sat down next to Bobby and folded his arms. "Well, my story’s much more serious. I tried to get this blonde hotdog vendor-chick to give me a hotdog. I was in the middle of explaining that I didn’t have any money, but that I would be willing to work out a trade or something in exchange, but she just kept screaming at me! ‘You stole a hotdog from my kids!’ Or something like that."

"You stole the hotdog?" Bobby repeated dully.

"Well, she’d already made it up for me. It was either eat it or let it go to waste in the garbage. You know how mom always made us clean our plates when we were kids. Anyway, this policeman showed up and somehow the hotdog cart ended up crashing over on top of me. There was ketchup and mustard everywhere! I barely got away from six or seven cops, all chasing after me, but I hid behind a Dumpster until they ran past." Larry paused for breath.

"You escaped from six cops?" Bobby repeated, nonplused.

Larry nodded proudly. "You bet! I would have kept away from them all day, if it hadn’t been for the dogs!"

"The hotdogs?" Bobby asked. He was feeling more disoriented with each question he had to ask.

Larry shook his head. "No! The dog dogs. They kept running after me. Barking at me. Chasing me. All freaking afternoon! They tore my sheet to pieces, nearly chomped a huge hole in your swimsuit –"

"My swimsuit?"

"-yeah, sorry, Bobby. Anyway," Larry continued, "this pack of wild dogs chased me halfway to Georgia before I finally got away from them. Of course, that wasn’t until I’d found the same cop I’d spilled the hot dog cart on before."

Bobby felt his head spin. "How did that happen?"

"Well, I doubled back to find you. I figured, hey. Bobby’s had a dog his whole life. If he couldn’t make these wild animals behave, then no one could. The cop recognized me – I don’t know how – and arrested me on the spot." Larry shrugged. "And that’s the rest of the story."

"I have such a headache."

 

Chapter Five

Cafeteria, Pinellas County Jail
8:10 a.m.

"Well, at least they feed you in jail," Terry commented.

Larry stared at his brother. "I cannot believe you’re eating this."

Terry glanced at Bobby. "What’s wrong with what I’m eating?"

"It’s gross. It’s bland. It’s gritty. It’s disgusting," Larry replied.

"They call it ‘grits’ and it’s the only thing I’ve had to eat since yesterday afternoon. Now, cut it out!"

Larry pushed Terry’s tray. "Make me!"

"Hey!" Terry cried, pulling the tray back in place. "Cut it out! Bobby! Make him stop!"

Bobby sighed. What crisis did he have to resolve now? "Let him eat, okay?"

Larry frowned. "What’s gotten into you?" He stuck his fork into his sausage and brought it close to his eyes, examining it.

"Nothing. Drop it." Bobby scooped up the last of his scrambled eggs and forced himself to swallow them. Somehow, some way, someone had managed to make eggs taste like that squishy white stuff that rises to the top of stew when it cools.

Larry shrugged. "So, what are we going to do today, do you suppose?"

"Do you think we’ll get our phone call?" Terry asked, continuing to eat the mysterious food.

"Right," Larry sneered, dropping his forked pork. "Like we have anyone we can call."

"We got Trixie’s 800 number! We could call that, couldn’t we?" Picking up on their friend’s uncharacteristically short temper, Terry didn’t even look at Bobby. Instead, he cleared off his tray and began to eye his brother’s leavings.

"It is supposed to be a local call, remember? No 800, 888 or 900 numbers allowed. No long distance. I don’t know who they expect us to call when we’re from out of state, but there you are. We could always call collect, but we’ve left a message on Trixie’s machine already for all the good it’s done. Our only other option is Dad. Oh, go ahead and have it." Larry switched his still-full tray with his brother’s empty one.

Unwillingly, Bobby answered Larry. He really didn’t want to get involved with their little discussion, but he wasn’t making headway on any plans of action himself. "Bail bondsman."

Terry and Larry turned identical expressions of confusion to him. "What?"

Bobby sighed. He’d been sucked into their conversation after all. There went any chance of him getting some thinking done. "You’re supposed to call a bail bondsman. Or a lawyer. But disorderly conduct isn’t exactly a required-lawyer offense. You just pay your fine and you go home. You guys will probably be released this morning."

"That’s great!" Terry nearly shouted, then he realized the trio were eating breakfast in the center of a huge room filled with prisoners, dressed as they were dressed, in county jail uniforms. Suddenly realizing a lot of the men in that room might not be getting out as early, he decided not to advertise his good fortune.

"You idiot!" Larry said. "You’ll attract attention!"

"Sorry." Terry managed to look contrite.

"What about you? When do you think you’ll be getting out of here?"

"I don’t know. The detective said he was going to check out my story this morning, so when he talks to Di and finds out I really do know her, he should probably let me go, too. But it won’t be until this afternoon, I’m sure. In the meantime, you should probably call the hotel yourselves and try to find your sister. She’ll help us out," Bobby told them.

Just then, a burly man, his tray full of double helpings of breakfast, stopped at their table. "I couldn’t help but overhear your particular discussion," he began, "and I think I can help you-all out with your present difficulties."

As politely as he could manage, Bobby glanced up at the burly man and inquired, "Oh? How’s that?"

The man grinned and nodded at Larry. "Call the number on your butt, boy. It’s a local call, and you will need someone to pay your fine before you can actually leave."

Larry, nearly choking in sudden fear, squeaked, "My butt?"

The man nodded. "You and your brother there ain’t all that identical, you know. Not for someone who’s interested. I’ll see you around." He smiled, then turned with his tray and sat at another table farther on.

"My butt?" Larry repeated.

Terry frowned. "You know, now that I think about it, I remember seeing something there when we took that shower yesterday."

"What were you doing staring at my butt?" Larry hissed.

"Forget that! What was that guy doing staring at your butt?" Terry hissed back.

"Guys! Quit it! What number?" Bobby hissed impatiently.

"I don’t know! I don’t exactly check out my own butt when I’m in the shower, you know!" He looked askance at his twin. "I don’t exactly check out anyone else’s, either. Including yours, clone!"

Terry returned to eating his breakfast. "I just noticed it because it was in green marker."

"I think we should call it," Bobby decided. "That guy’s right. It has to be a local call, and someone must have wanted you to call it, so . . . you should call it. Who knows? Maybe this person would be willing to bail you out. Then you can go back to the hotel and find your sister and she can get the rest of us out, too."

Larry stared at his brother and his best friend. Had they both gone mad? "Uh-uh. I’m not calling some strange number that some weirdo scrawled on my butt! That’s crazy! It could be anyone’s number. How am I supposed to know? We’ll just call the hotel and get Diana."

"Right. And do you really think some teenage boy calling up a hotel and asking to speak to Diana Lynch is going to get put through? They’re going to think it’s one of her fans, or some rabid stalker like me. Especially since you’d be calling from jail. I’m not sure you have much choice," Bobby told them.

"Look," Terry began. "You either call the number on your butt or you call Dad. Those are your choices. I vote for your butt."

Bobby half smiled. "I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but, Lawrence Lynch, I vote for your butt, too."

Larry sighed. He hung his head. He covered his eyes with his hands. "I can’t believe I was in a prison shower and some guy was checking out my butt."

"I know," Terry commiserated. "I can’t believe it, either. If he could tell us apart when we’re wearing the same prison clothes, why couldn’t he tell that I was the cuter one?"

*       *      *

"Okay. You’re going to make your one phone call? Great. There’s the phone." An officer handed Larry change and directed him to a pay phone. He stood watch nearby as Larry inserted the money and began to dial. Midway through the number, however, Larry stopped. He frowned in concentration. He sighed in frustration. Purposely avoiding eye contact with the officer, Larry began pulling off his jumpsuit. The officer called to him, "Hey, kid! What do you think you’re doing?"

Larry smiled weakly. "Sorry, officer, but the number is written on my butt. You want to help me read it?"

The officer retreated back against the wall, his hands palms up toward Larry. "No, thanks, kid. That really isn’t my thing."

Larry sighed, struggled with the jumpsuit, found the rest of the number scrawled across him in green marker, and finished dialing. While the phone began to ring, he tugged the jumpsuit back up.

"Hello?" a young female voice answered.

"Um, hi! My name is Larry. Larry Lynch," he began. "Um, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but your number was written on my butt."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and then, "Oh, wow! You’re the cute guy from the party! The really good kisser!"

Larry grinned, incredibly pleased he was so memorable. "That was me! How have you been?"

"Just great! How about you? Did you get back to your hotel room okay?"

"No, no," Larry told her. "Not really. In fact, my brother and my friend and I are in jail. We could really use your help."

"You want me to help you break out?"

"No! No, nothing like that," Larry hastened to assure her. "My brother and I just need to pay a fine to get out of here, but all our money was stolen Monday night before we went to the party. I hate to ask you this, but, could you come bail us out?"

"Sure! How much is it?"

Larry felt his knees give way in relief. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! It’s just $50 for me and $75 for him. If you only have money for me, though, that’s okay."

"Oh, no! I can get the money. What about your other friend? The blond guy?"

"Well," Larry began, "it’s kind of a long story, but his bail is $5000."

"Hm. Yeah," she said, "I’d have to get my parents’ permission before I spent that much. I’m really sorry."

"That’s okay! Really," Larry told her. "if Terry and I can get out of here, we can get Bobby out later. It’ll be all right. I just really need the bail money and then my brother and I need to work on getting Bobby out. Could you drive us to our hotel?"

"Gee, um, I don’t have a driver’s license yet. I’ve got to wait for my friend next door to drive me to you. She probably won’t want to drive y’all back to your hotel. I’m really sorry! She’s a real meanie, but she’s the only one who doesn’t mind taking me to the mall."

"That’s okay, really. Just getting me and my brother out of jail is all I really need. We can take the rest from there, okay?"

"Great! Just tell me what I need to do!"

Larry grinned. Things were looking up again!

 

Lobby, The Sands Hotel

1:15 p.m.

"Miss Lynch! Miss Lynch! I have a message for you!" A desk clerk hurried from behind the registration counter toward Diana.

Diana ignored Mart’s impatient scowl and smiled at the clerk. She took the folded message, opened and read it, and gasped. "Omigosh!" She turned to Mart, who looked mildly interested. "The police want to talk to me! I bet they have news about the boys! Let me have the cell phone. Detective Aranibar from the Clearwater Police wants me to call him."

Mart wordlessly handed her the phone.

 

Sidewalk, The Sands Hotel

1:16 p.m.

"Is that my phone or yours?"

"Yours."

Trixie sighed and began rooting through her shoulder bag. She finally found her phone, mysteriously buried beneath her wallet, checkbook, hairbrush, makeup bag, notebook, handheld tape recorder and two spare batteries. She dropped the bag and turned on the phone. "Hello?"

"Trixie? It’s Anne. Guess where our boys spent the night last night?"

 

Tiki Bar, The Sands Hotel

1:17 p.m.

"No, thanks. We’re still waiting on our friends."

Honey waited until the waiter walked away. "Brian, maybe we should trying calling them again. They must have forgotten we said we’d meet them at one for lunch."

Her fiancé sighed, then smiled indulgently. "You want to check the lobby one more time?"

 

Pool Bar, The Sands Hotel

1:18 p.m.

"Actually, man, I do remember seeing them talking to three girls the day before yesterday."

"That’s the day I’m interested in. What do you remember about those three girls?"

"Oh, I don’t know. They were hot, you know? Too young for me, but these guys, they were 19 or 20. Anyway, they make plans to go out, then I hear the girls afterward saying as how they had really lucked out because they were so rich it wouldn’t matter. That’s just what they said: ‘so rich it wouldn’t matter’. It stuck with me, ‘cause I wondered how rich that would have to be that ‘it’ wouldn’t matter. Whatever ‘it’ was. You know?"

Dan nodded in agreement, certain he’d discovered something important, but kicking himself for spending a perfectly good morning searching for just this sort of information and ending up with bupkus until now, when he’d decided to grab a quick cup of lemonade before heading inside for lunch. He could have spent the morning here on the pool deck, enjoying the view instead.

 

The Lobby, The Sands Hotel

1:19 p.m.

"Di! Great news! I just got off the phone with Anne and--" Trixie burst through the lobby doors and charged toward her friend. Her brother Mart intercepted her, however.

"She’s on the phone with the Clearwater Police. They’ve been trying to contact her," Mart told her.

"That’s great!" Trixie replied. "That’s where--"

"Trixie! Mart! Jim! We’ve been waiting for you inside the restaurant. Come on and let’s eat. Brian and I are starving." Honey interrupted them. "Any luck?"

"I’ve had a break," Dan replied, joining them from the beach side of the lobby. "It may not be much, but it’s a clue, anyway."

"Omigosh!" Diana cried, ending her cell phone call. "Bobby’s been arrested!"

Six sets of eyes turned curiously toward her. Six voices asked, "What? When? How?"

Diana waved them all quiet. "I just got off the phone with Detective Aranibar of the Clearwater Police. Apparently, he was part of the police escort last night. Anyway, he says that Bobby was there last night, trying to kill me or something. He says that he didn’t believe Bobby’s story that he’s known me for years. I have to go down there to sign some papers and then he’ll let Bobby leave! Isn’t that wonderful?"

Brian frowned, puzzled. "What made them think Bobby was a stalker?"

"How could anyone think little Bobby Belden could hurt anyone?" Mart asked.

"Did they tell you about Terry and Larry?" Trixie asked.

Diana grabbed Trixie’s arm. "No! What have you found out? Are they all right? Are they in trouble?"

Trixie smiled reassuringly. "No, nothing like that. Anne just called me. Apparently, Terry and Larry were guests of the Pinellas County Jail last night. They were arrested for Disorderly Conduct and were ROR’d this morning. If Bobby was there, too, I doubt they’d have just left him there."

Brian shook his head, still frowning. "ROR’d? What’s that?"

In unison, Jim, Trixie, Dan and Honey replied, "Released on Own Recognizance."

Trixie continued. "Yeah, they probably just paid their fine and left. Bobby’s held on a more serious charge. Di will need to go down there ASAP to straighten this out. I’ll get the van."

"We’ll all go," Dan responded. "Right, gang?"

 

Clearwater Police Department

(just down the street from the Pinellas County Jail – at least in this story)

2:05 p.m.

Two young men, remarkably similar-looking, sat on the steps in front of the police station. One wore a bright orange, long-sleeved shirt with a flared collar, tight white slacks and red tennis shoes. The other wore a red and green tie-dyed shirt, blue dress slacks and green tennis shoes.

"Oh, man! This bites!"

"You’re telling me! At least your clothes are the right size!"

"At least you halfway match!"

"Clone!"

"Degenerate!"

"Hey! Can I help it if ‘Bubba’ thought I was cute?"

"You are not cuter than me!"

"Augh! I am not getting into this ‘Romy & Michelle’ argument. I am not! You are such a jerk and when we tell Mom and Dad about this, I will be sure to inform them that-Hey! What are you looking-Omigod! Diana! Diana!"

"Woo-hoo! We’re saved!"

"Oh, great. Will you look at that. She brought the entire village of Sleepyside with her."

"Hey! At least that includes Trixie!"

"Yeah – and everyone else. How are we going to keep this from Mom and Dad now?"

Trixie parked across the street. The Bob-Whites poured en masse out of the van and ran toward Terry and Larry, shouting greetings. Diana reached her brothers first and engulfed them each in a huge bear hug.

"I can’t believe it! I’ve been so worried about you! Are you all right? Are you hurt? Brian, would you check them over to be sure?" Diana hugged them each again, giving silent thanks for their safe return.

"I’m sure they’re all right, Di," Brian laughed. He, Dan, Mart and Jim took turns shaking hands with the twins. "At least, you guys look healthy."

Honey hugged and kissed each twin, laughing and crying in relief. "I am so glad we found you! We have been searching all day!"

Terry grinned, blushed, and then hugged Trixie. "Don’t tell me you came all this way just to rescue us?" he asked her.

Larry lightly smacked Terry aside, then took his turn hugging Trixie. "Hey, Trix! I’m really glad you came. You look great, by the way."

Trixie, used to their blandishments and tolerant of their attempts to flirt with her, just smiled. "Thanks, Larry. But where’s Bobby?"

Terry and Larry shot each other a look, then turned toward Diana. "Sis," Larry began, "you’ve got to go in there and straighten this whole thing out. The cops think Bobby’s a stalker and--"

"--and that he tried to kill you last night! You’ve got to--" Terry continued.

"--tell them they’re wrong!" Larry finished.

Di, used to the twins’ way of finishing each other’s sentences when they were excited, just nodded at both of them. "Don’t worry. That’s why we’re here. I got the call from the Detective about Bobby just as Anne called Trixie about you two. I’m just so glad you guys are all right!"

Terry hugged his sister again. "So am I. And have we got a story for you!"

Larry slipped his arm around Trixie. "You are going to love it!" he promised.

Trixie started up the steps to the police station. "I can’t wait to hear all about it."

Mart allowed the others to precede him up the stairs, then followed behind. "Just one thing before we all go in there," he began. "What’s the deal with those clothes?"

As Jim and Dan held open the doors for everyone to file through, Larry groaned and replied, "We didn’t get to pick them out. Just remember that later on, okay?"

*      *      *

Detective Aranibar hadn’t expected Diana Lynch to be as nice, as sweet or as beautiful in person as she was on the silver screen. But after just two minutes talking with her, he had already asked her to pose for a picture and autograph it for him. The fact that the only camera in the station took mug shots didn’t faze Diana in the slightest. She happily posed against the wall, and signed the snapshot "To a wonderful Detective, my thanks, Diana Lynch".

It only took five minutes for Diana to sign all the papers agreeing to waive all charges. Trixie managed to put up the bail money and get Bobby released in half that time. The gang still had to wait half an hour for Bobby to be transferred from the jailhouse to the station, so they gathered in a small reception area and asked Terry and Larry about their clothes.

"It’s really kind of funny," Terry began.

"Yeah," Larry continued. "You see, when we were arrested, all we had on was, well, I was wearing Bobby’s swimsuit and Terry--"

"I had on my boxer shorts."

"Not the happy face boxer shorts I gave you for your birthday?" Diana asked, hoping against hope.

"Um. Yeah. Those. Why?"

Diana buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake. Worried, Honey put her arm around her and hugged her shoulders. "Diana? Are you crying?"

Almost violently, Diana shook her head, her hands still covering her face. Finally, she couldn’t contain herself. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, bent over and nearly bust her gut laughing. "I don’t believe it! I can’t stand it! Tell me you w-w-weren’t wearing th-th-those very same b-b-b-boxer sh-shorts I g-g-gave you for your bir-bir-birthday! Please!"

"Why?" Terry asked. "What was wrong with that? I like those shorts. I wear them a lot."

Becoming weaker with laughter, Diana leaned on Honey. Tears streamed down her face and the other Bob-Whites alternated between sympathetic chuckling and concern. "What’s the deal with the boxers?" Mart asked, remaining stubbornly sober.

Diana stopped laughing long enough to answer. "They were girl’s boxer shorts! It was a gag gift! You weren’t supposed to like them!"

The entire room erupted in laughter. Except, that is, for Terry. He stood stock-still and waited for the hilarity to subside. He had his dignity, after all.

*     *     *

Room 1106

The Sands Hotel

5:10 p.m.

Brian had been lecturing Bobby for twenty minutes straight. His voice grew hoarser, but he didn’t stop. "I just can’t believe you! First, you pick up three strange girls on the beach, take them out to dinner at a place you can’t afford and when they offer you a drink out of a mysterious bottle, you drink enough to knock yourself out. You get robbed and, instead of calling your parents to help you out, or the police to report the crime, you call your sister and leave an incoherent, incomplete message on her voice-mail. You didn’t call anyone you knew would be home. In fact, you went out of your way not to call anyone after that! You walk through a strange city and crash a frat party, get drunk. Drunk! You know you’re not of legal age yet! What you did was break the law! I can’t believe you were so stupid and careless with your life and the lives of your two best friends! You end up at the beach sleeping it off, steal someone’s clothing. Panhandle $40 and get arrested for stalking one of your sister’s friends! Didn’t you stop to think once during this whole mess? Didn’t you stop to think, hey! I could call my brother Brian. I could call my brother Mart. If you couldn’t come to one of us, you could have called Jim or Dan. Either one of them would have helped you out, too!" Brian finally stopped. His throat began to hurt.

Mart, leaning against the window in the bedroom portion of the hotel suite, remarked calmly, "You know, Brian, this last year that you’ve spent instructing new interns at the hospital has certainly paid off in a renewed and improved ability to sound arrogant, presumptuous and self-righteous simultaneously."

Brian whirled angrily to face his brother. "Don’t cross me, Mart! I’ve spent way too many Saturday nights on duty at the ER and have seen too many teenagers come in, busted up from driving drunk. It’s irresponsible of them and it’s irresponsible of Bobby, too. He should have known better! We should never have let him go off on Spring Break by himself!"

"Hold on there, Brian!" Trixie, sitting in the wing chair, had been silent up until now, content to let her ‘responsible’ brothers handle Bobby. But this was going a bit far. "First of all, Moms and Dad allowed him to go by himself. Just like they allowed all of us to go that one year to Miami. Second –"

"Yeah, thanks for bringing that little disaster up, Trixie! Who got us into that mess that time? You did!" Brian shouted.

Trixie shouted back, "And who got us out of that mess? Who gets us out of every mess? I do!"

"Yeah!" Bobby finally said. He had been slouched on the bed, propped up against the headboard, watching the interplay between his brothers and sister. They all stopped and looked at him. He smiled innocently and closed his mouth.

Brian paced toward Trixie. "The fact of the matter is that Moms and Dad would never have let us go if I hadn’t agreed to watch out for all of you! You do realize that I’m the reason Moms and Dad have let us go anywhere, don’t you? Because I’m the only one responsible enough to try to keep us out of trouble!"

Trixie swallowed hard, struggling to control her urge to attack her brother. "That’s not exactly true and you should be smart enough to realize it. Moms and Dad have learned to trust me with my own life. They have learned that I’m an adult and can make my own choices! Obviously, they’re trying to treat Bobby the same way! You should let them. They’re his parents, after all! We’re just his brothers and sister. It’s not our responsibility to raise him. It’s theirs. If they think he’s old enough to go on a trip by himself, then he is. That’s all there is to it and you need to deal with it."

Brian, fury igniting his brown eyes, opened his mouth and closed it again. Trixie stared up at him, almost daring him to speak. Brian glanced at Mart, now staring out the window, then threw up his hands and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

*       *      *

In the living room of the suite, Diana, Honey, Jim, Dan, Terry and Larry all jumped in their seats when Brian slammed the connecting door. Thanks to lax hotel construction standards, they had heard every word said to Bobby. Now they watched as Brian shook his head at the twins and stomped past them all toward the sliding glass doors. He yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him.

Honey, hazel eyes wide with concern, stood. "I’ll talk to him," she said to no one in particular. Carefully and much more quietly, she joined her fiancé on the patio. The others watched as she approached Brian, laid a hand on his shoulder and said something to him. They couldn’t hear her words, but saw Brian turn to her and fold her into an embrace.

Dan and Jim glanced at each other and stood. "Well, guys," Jim said to the twins, "what Brian said to Bobby in there just about covers it for me."

Dan nodded his head. "We’re just glad you guys are okay and none the worse for it. Jim, how about you and I go down and grab a beer or something from the bar?"

"Sounds good to me," Jim replied. "We’ll be downstairs, if you need us, okay?"

Diana told them she’d be fine. After they left, she moved to sit on the coffee table, facing Terry and Larry on the sofa. She smiled at her brothers. They still wore the hideous clothes that had been donated by the Salvation Army to help clothe prisoners who lacked proper attire. She made a mental note to visit one of the shops across the street from the hotel to clothing for them. She purchase more suitable took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Guys, you know I love you very much, so don’t worry. I’m not going to lecture you." The twins sighed, visibly relieved. "However, what Brian said goes very much for me, too." They straightened up again. "Especially when he started lecturing Bobby. It’s true. You guys didn’t think very well or clearly about your situation, but I don’t think it’s because you’re stupid or anything like that. No, what came to my mind is that you two don’t like yourselves very much. I wonder why that is."

Terry and Larry glanced at each other. "What do you mean, Di?" Larry asked.

"It’s just this. Everything you did, everywhere you went, you did it and you went there because you didn’t ask anyone for help. Why? Did you think no one would help you? Did you think you weren’t worthy of being helped?"

"No, Di. It wasn’t like that. We just thought that we should learn to solve our own problems," Terry said.

Diana shook her head. "No, that’s not it. Asking for help is learning to solve your own problems, because that means you’ve grown up enough to know you can’t always do things on your own." She took a deep breath. "All right. I hadn’t planned on telling you any of this, but here goes. I think it applies, so listen carefully and don’t interrupt, okay?" They nodded in agreement and watched her intently.

She began. "Do you remember when I started college at NYU with Trixie? I decided to major in drama. Well, part of the requirements for the major was that I go out on auditions. You remember. That’s when I got that cat food commercial you two thought was so funny. Anyway, I decided college was not for me. I threw myself headlong into acting. I got an agent who got me more commercials and a walk-on role in that off-Broadway production of Dracula. I got that part on All My Children and from that, I got that part in The Canterbury Tales. This you all know. What you don’t know is what was really going on in my life.

"Everything was happening all at once. I was suddenly earning a decent living while my two best friends’ biggest concerns were their midterms. I was living on my own in Manhattan, away from everything I had grown up knowing. Everyone wanted to be my friend. Every magazine wanted an interview. Every photographer wanted a photo shoot. I was on Letterman one week and Leno the next. I did all the morning talk shows. My face was everywhere. I was one of People Magazine’s 25 Most Beautiful People. I was voted all kinds of awards. But I still wasn’t happy about myself.

"I had people everywhere telling me how beautiful I was, how funny, how nice, how talented. But I didn’t believe it. All my life, I’ve been aware how much more intelligent other people were than me. Like the Beldens. They’ve always been the smart kids, you know? Brian’s a doctor. Mart’s a teacher. Trixie’s a detective. I’ve always been the pretty one. The one no one expects to know anything. I’m nice to look at, so who wants to hear what I have to say about politics or society, you know? Mom and Dad tried their best to raise us right, and for the most part they did great, but nothing they could say would make me believe that they didn’t think I was stupid, and wasn’t it great that at least I had my looks going for me. You two get the same treatment. It was always, ‘here’s our beautiful daughter, our handsome twin boys and our smart twin girls’.

"I don’t think that our sisters realize how envious I’ve been of them. I mean, they’re smart. Scary-smart, like Anne. But I think they’d rather be thought of as beautiful. Unfortunately, everyone sees those airbrushed photos of me everywhere and compares them to the pictures. I know it must hurt them. Every girl wants to be thought of as beautiful, I guess. But I’m getting off track.

"I kept getting all this adoration and attention for my looks, but no one seemed interested in what I might be thinking about it all. I became depressed and started hanging out with all sorts of terrible people. People who weren’t good for me, weren’t nice to me and weren’t healthy for me. I took up drinking as an escape. I can admit that now. I was heading for a huge fall when someone came up to me and asked me why I thought so little of myself that I trashed my self every chance I got.

"I asked him what he meant and he showed me how I was abusing my gifts. I had a real talent, he told me. I needed to stop living my life according to how I thought other people wanted me to live it and start growing up. I told him I was 21 and that meant I was an adult. He just laughed and said he’d met plenty of 45 year olds who were still children. He told me and I understand now that people who can’t rely on other people to help them out of trouble are the people who need people the most."

Diana smiled at her brothers. During her monologue, they had alternately brushed tears from their eyes and stared down at their hands. She leaned forward and laid her hands on theirs. "Do you understand what I’m saying to you? I hated myself so much I wouldn’t ask people for help. It took a truly stubborn man to come up to me and make me see that."

"Who could we have asked?" Larry inquired. "Who should we have called?"

Diana shook her head sadly. "Oh, Larry. You didn’t really need to call anyone. You could have asked the valet for help. The restaurant would probably have helped identify you to the police, who would have immediately started searching for those girls. Also, they would have taken you to the hospital to be sure you weren’t drugged with anything too harmful. You could have noticed that it was your own waiter who had been following you in his car and offering you a ride. You could have stayed at the house you were in, slept off your beer-guzzling and been safe, instead of sleeping all night on a public beach. When you found out your room had been checked out, you could have demanded to see a manager, who most likely would have called the cops. Not to arrest you, but, again, to help you. The cops would have combed through your room and probably have found something to identify those girls. Again, they would have put a trace on the car itself. Any one of those people would probably have allowed you to make a call to as many people in Sleepyside as necessary for you to get help."

"You’re right, Di. We weren’t thinking."

"Yeah, we weren’t. I guess we don’t think much of ourselves after all."

"You guys, stop it! This wasn’t meant to make you feel bad, just to open your eyes to something that could affect the rest of your lives. I love you both and I just want you to be safe and happy always. Is that too much to ask?" She smiled at them. They grinned back at her and the three of them ended up in a huge hug, side by side by side on the sofa.

"Hey, look!" Terry pointed to the patio. "Looks like Honey’s calmed Brian down."

"Thank God!" Larry breathed. "I don’t think I could stand Round Two."

*     *     *

Mart and Trixie flinched when Brian slammed the door, then closed their eyes when they heard the sliding glass door slam, too. Bobby sat as quietly as possible on the bed. Trixie tried to look at him and see him for the first time. If she was walking down the street and saw this kid walking the other way, what would she think of him? Then it hit her. He wasn’t a kid. Bobby had grown into a man. A young man, sure, but a man nonetheless. He was an adult, and deserved to be treated like one.

She watched as Mart shifted his position against the window. "Well, Bobby," he began, "I’m just glad you’re okay. Let me say that, while I agree with what Brian said, I don’t much care for the way he said it."

"So you agree that Bobby should have called one of you men-types for help, rather than me?" Trixie asked, her tone deceptively mild.

Mart thrust a hand through his hair. It was cut so short, however, it barely moved out of place. "Yeah, I do. What’s the matter with that?"

Trixie didn’t move nor did she look at either of them. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Why should I mind it if my own brother is told he can’t rely on his only sister for help, especially when that’s how she makes her living? By helping people?"

Mart sighed. Bobby looked from his brother to his sister. "Yeah, Mart! That’s exactly why I called Trixie! Because she always gets me out of jams! Remember when I was six and I got bit by that snake? She’s the one who saved my life. She’s also the one who got Dan to free me from that cave-in when that catamount was on the preserve. I can think of lots of times Trixie got me out of trouble. Why shouldn’t she be the first one I call?"

Trixie smiled her thanks at her little brother. "I love you, too, Bobby," she said. "And I’m really glad you’re all right." She stood up. "I’m going to take a shower and clear my head. It’s been a long day and I’m starving. What say we get everyone together and get some dinner afterward?" She picked up her suitcase and carried it into the bathroom. "I won’t be long," she called as she shut the door. A moment later, they heard the shower start up.

Mart crossed to the bedroom door. "I’ll tell Di and the rest the dinner plans. Why don’t you get some rest and take a shower after Trix gets done?" He watched Bobby roll over, shut his eyes and promptly begin snoring. Mart smiled, remembering how he used to watch Bobby sleep in his crib as a baby. Where does the time go, he wondered, then opened the door.

He heard Diana’s voice. He didn’t want to intrude on her and her brothers, so he began to close the door. Then he heard what she was saying and listened, fascinated. "-but no one seemed interested in what I might be thinking about it all-" she was saying. He felt a painfully familiar ache in his chest as he listened to her story. When it was over, he summoned up his company smile and went in to confer about dinner.

*     *     *

Eleven floors below them, Dan and Jim clinked their glasses together in a toast. "Here’s to our success in finding the kids," Jim said.

"Here’s to never having to go through this again!" Dan laughed and drank a good third of his glass in a couple short swallows.

They sat a moment and took in the scenery. "So," Jim began. "Here we are." He set his beer down and leaned back in his chair.

"Yup." Dan agreed. "Here we are." They glanced at each other across the table.

"Pretty amazing, don’t you think?" Jim asked, a smile playing on his lips.

"Which part?" Dan took another huge swallow, then set the mug down.

"Two teenage boys, gone missing during Spring Break on Clearwater Beach, and Trixie comes along and finds them in less than 24 hours."

Dan laughed. "Nothing too amazing about that. Trixie’s always been that way."

"That’s the problem, too, isn’t it," Jim remarked. He idly played with the beer bottle, making rings on the table.

"How do you mean?" Dan glanced at Jim, curious.

"Well, sometimes she’s too impulsive for her own good. She just takes off on a moment’s notice whenever there’s a problem. Without any concern for her own safety." Jim kept staring at his bottle.

"I don’t agree. She always has a plan. Besides, she’s been doing this as long as I’ve known her and she’s always come out on top," Dan asserted. He finished his glass and the waitress hurried over with their second round.

"Yeah, but one of these times she may not and who will be there for her? Honey?" Jim laughed and refilled his glass.

"What’s wrong with Honey?" Dan asked, frowning.

"Nothing, really. But let’s face it. Honey may be good with people, but not some half-crazed lunatic in an alley." Jim took a large swallow of beer and glanced around to the other tables for some pretzels. A table near them had a large bowl of assorted nuts. He snagged it and set it on the table between them.

Dan grabbed a handful of nuts, popped them in his mouth and washed it all down with more beer. "You’re just saying that because she’s your sister. Besides, Trixie wouldn’t put herself in an alley unless she had a plan. That’s one of the things I like about her. If you need her, she’s always right there, with a plan."

"Yeah, well, wouldn’t it be nice to sometimes have her there without a plan?" Jim drank his beer down to an inch.

Dan set his empty glass on the table and shook his head in confusion. "What?"

"Oh, you know. Doesn’t she ever think about settling down and letting someone else chase after the bad guys?"

Their waitress appeared with a third round. Jim refilled his glass while Dan just twisted off the cap and drank from the bottle and chuckled, "Who, Trixie? If she ever hooked up with a guy, he’d better be willing to go along with her or he’ll be left home alone watching the cat."

"That’s my point. She ought to be home with the guy and the cat. Leave the PI work to the PI’s." Jim leaned forward on the table and gestured with the glass, emphasizing his point.

"But Trixie is a PI." Dan leaned back in his chair and emptied his bottle.

Jim sat up straighter. "Well, all I know is if I had a girlfriend like her I wouldn’t let her put herself in danger."

Dan threw his head back and laughed. "Right. I can see it now. The high point of your evening would be discussing the nutritional value of your cat food." He gestured with his half-empty bottle at Jim. "I tell you, if I had a girlfriend like Trixie, we’d be on some high-profile case, staking out some weirdo, scarfing down Wimpy’s burgers and shakes."

Jim finished off his glass and set it down with a hollow clunk. "Right. Until his buddies came up behind you and blew you two away. Then I’d be home with my girlfriend and a cat and you’d both be dead."

Dan leaned forward and set his bottle down. He grinned. "Yeah, but at least I wouldn’t be bored to death!"

They both laughed. The waitress brought their fourth round. Jim started to refill his glass, and saw that Dan had completely given up on his. Jim thought a moment, then emptied his glass and drank from the bottle, too. "But no, seriously, don’t you think Trixie would be better off with some stable guy who can look out for her and make sure she’s safe?"

"No," Dan said simply. "In case you haven’t noticed, Trixie’s not a little girl anymore. She’s a big girl who can take care of herself. The right guy for her would be someone willing to share her life, not control it."

Jim took a long pull off his bottle, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I wouldn’t control my girlfriend’s life."

Dan spit out his beer. "Your girlfriend?! What are you trying to tell me? You found somebody?"

"Um.. no, I’m just saying. If I had a girlfriend that took off on a moment’s notice, was running a PI agency and spent every second Tuesday in the woods with Jerry Vandershoot waiting for aliens, then I would make sure she’d rather be at home with me and the cat." Jim grinned and tipped his bottle in an imaginary toast.

Dan leaned back further in his chair and crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, if she were my girlfriend, I’d be doing all that with her and watching the damn cat!"

Jim shrugged. "Fine. Then the police would have to learn how to draw chalk outlines of cats, too."

Dan frowned. "What do you have against my girlfriend’s cat?"

Jim frowned. "It wouldn’t be your girlfriend’s cat! It would be my girlfriend’s cat! And it would be home safe eating its cat food!"

Dan sat up, took another long swallow of beer, and faced Jim. "Cats get bored, too, you know! I’d have our cat feasting on Wimpy burgers and having the time of its nine lives!" He gestured wildly with his bottle, ignoring a small splish! on the floor.

"Cats don’t eat Wimpy burgers!" Jim slammed his open palm on the table.

"Our cat does!" Dan slammed his open palm on the table.

"No it doesn’t! It eats cat food! In a bowl! At home! Where it’s safe!" Jim leaned forward, half rising out of his seat.

"Wimpy burgers out of a bag in the back seat of a car in the woods waiting for aliens and living it up!" Dan leaned forward and then stood up.

"Cat food in a bowl at home!" Jim stood.

"Wimpy burgers in the woods with aliens!" Dan shot back.

The two turned to see Trixie standing two feet away, eyeing them doubtfully. "What are you guys talking about?"

They both looked at each other. "Cats," they said in unison.

"Well, settle up your bill and come on. We’re all going to dinner at that place down the street." Resolving not to get in the middle of whatever she’d just walked into the middle of, Trixie turned on her heel and left the bar room.

*      *     *

The party of ten discovered that the Spanish diner down the street served excellent and tasty dishes, delicately seasoned and flavorful. They each found room for flan and coffee afterward. It was during dessert that Brian asked, "So, guys, tell us. How are you going to get back to class on Monday?"

Terry, Larry and Bobby glanced at each other. "Actually, we had kind of hoped you guys would help us out with that," Bobby answered. Terry and Larry nodded eagerly in agreement.

"Oh?" Brian replied. "How’s that?"

Bobby coughed and sipped some of his soda. "Well, we still have to come up with our rental BMW."

***A brief Spanish translation, for those who wish it:

A "Who are you, kid, and what do you want?"
B "Me call Terry."
C "What’s he saying?"
D Where is the house belonging to Pepe?
E "Is he sick? I don’t want to catch anything if he’s sick!"
F "He’s sick? Get him out of here! The Health Inspector’s coming any minute now and I don’t want a bad review!"
G "I don’t think he’s sick, but he’s clearly homeless. Look at him. He’s all messed up and he’s not even wearing any clothes."
H "Of course he is. He’s wearing girls’ happy-face boxer shorts!"
I "I think he’s hungry."
J "Should we give him some black beans and rice?"
K "No! We don’t pass out food to the homeless! You do that to one guy, and then they all want a hand out! Get out of here, you stupid bum! We don’t want you here! Thick, unappetizing rock-like substance people think people like at the holidays even though a mere bite of it can break teeth!"

Chapter 6

Unnamed Spanish Diner
Clearwater, Florida
About 30 seconds after Chapter 5

"What?"

"The BMW? Our rental car? We have to return it, you know," Bobby explained patiently.

A sense of doom swept the table. "You rented a BMW?" Dan asked. "For Spring Break?"

"It's the best," Larry replied.

"We got a good deal on it, too," Terry continued.

"Wait a minute! Why didn't you just use your own car?" Trixie asked.

Terry and Larry shared a guilty look. "It was being repainted," Larry answered.

"Why did it need to be repainted?" Diana questioned slowly.

"Well, the long story is that T-" Larry began, but Terry grabbed his brother's arm and stared beseechingly at him. Larry tried to ignore his brother, but failed. "-well, we got in an accident," he finished, mumbling.

"What?" Brian repeated. "An accident?" He straightened in his seat as storm clouds swept his brow. Honey placed her hand on his shoulder and he calmed a bit.

"Yeah, um. It wasn't our fault! Really! It was just some stupid old guy who was in the fast lane and wouldn't get out of our way. So we had to pass in the middle lane and, well, I didn't see the other car in the slow lane move into the middle lane, too, so, well. . . We had a bit of an accident," Larry clarified.

Trixie frowned. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but Mart beat her to it. "May I presume the erstwhile Master Robert was not present?"

Bobby slurped up his flan and grinned. "Nope. Not that time."

"That time?" Diana repeated. She shook her head. "Forget it. Just how much damage did you do?"

Larry thought a moment. "Only about $2500 worth. But don't worry. It'll all be fixed by the time school rolls around on Monday."

"Have you told Dad yet?" she asked.

"Heck, no! He would kill us if he found out! Besides, he never would have let us go on Spring Break if he knew!" Larry said.

"Terry," Diana began again, "you're not saying much. Why is that?" She focused her gaze on the younger twin, who almost squirmed in his seat from the sudden attention.

Terry sneaked a glance at everyone at the table, then heaved a sigh. "I was driving. Larry's just covering up for me. It was late and we were coming back from a party. Bobby wasn't there because he - why weren't you with us, Bobby?"

Bobby, his saucer halfway to his mouth to more completely slurp up the flan sauce, paused and grinned. "I was studying for midterms, remember?"

"'Studying'," Larry snickered. "Is that what Mary Elizabeth calls it, too?"

"Who's Mary Elizabeth?" Mart asked, then scowled. "Don't change the subject!"

"Were you drinking?" Brian asked sternly.

"Um. . ." The twins glanced at each other. "Well," Terry replied slowly. "Larry had a couple beers, but I only had one once I realized he had been drinking and I would have to drive back. It was really late, though, and I was in a hurry. You see, Larry was kind of not feeling well and, well, he kind of wasn't feeling well right then, so that's why I had to hurry and get to the side of the road and, well, that's when it all happened."

As his brother explained the circumstances of the accident, Larry studiously avoided meeting the alternately amused and aggrieved looks the others kept sending him. Instead, he slouched in his chair idly dragging his fork through his flan.

"So you were both drunk," Brian stated baldly.

"Brian, remember what we talked about," Honey murmured with a gentle pat on his arm. He glanced at her, took a deep breath, and nodded his head.

"Relax, Brian," Mart said cryptically, "it's not like you've never done anything thoughtless in your life. They just damaged their primary mode of transportation and assuredly received a decent scare in the process."

"There's still just one thing I don't understand," Trixie said. "You guys are only 18. How did you rent a car? You're not old enough."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked, puzzled. "How old do you have to be?"

"25. And they won't bend that rule for nobody. Trust me, I've tried."

Jim chuckled. "I'll bet you have."

Bobby ignored Jim's remark. He turned to Terry and Larry. "You guys got the car. If you have to be 25, how and why did they rent to you guys?"

The twins glanced at each other, nodded, then explained. "Mitzi."

Diana tossed her fork onto the table. "That does it. You got Mitzi involved, too? I can't believe it! She will do anything for you two, won't she? Anything."

Dan frowned. "Who's Mitzi?"

"Our dad's personal secretary. She's been working for him for years. She does everything for him. Arranges meetings, his dry cleaning, travel arrangements and car rentals. For his kids, too, apparently," Diana explained. "Or should I say, for his sweet, little, innocent baby boys!" She huffed and folded her arms. "Mitzi's always had a soft spot for them. My sisters and I could wait for days to talk to Daddy, but if Terry and Larry asked, she'd break up one of Dad's meetings with Bill Gates!"

"But I found the rental receipt and it showed that the car was rented by Lawrence Lynch-" as realization dawned, Trixie's tone changed, "-and that was all done over the phone, wasn't it. Mitzi just did for you what she always does for your father, didn't she?"

"Yeah. And that's why we really got to get the car back. Mitzi would just be crushed if we lost it, and Dad, well," Terry glanced at his brother.

"He'd kill us," Larry continued.

"So would I," Jim commented. "If you were my kids, that is. Using my secretary to get around requirements for a rental car while hiding the fact that your own car had been involved in a drunk driving accident would upset me. Heck. It bothers me now and I'm not related to either of you."

"So, you'll help us?" Terry asked.

"Note that we are asking for help," Larry said quietly, without looking at his sister.

Trixie noticed that all the BWG's kept shooting glances at her without saying a word. She heaved a sigh. Bobby just looked at her, his big blue eyes even bigger with worry. How could she let him down, especially after he stuck up for her earlier? She felt a headache form. "Guys, listen. Judging from what you've said, those girls stole the car. They probably came straight back here and cleaned out your hotel room. They checked out at 4 a.m. By noon yesterday, that car was probably stripped for parts or on a transport to South America. Either way, you're not going to see that car again. I'm sorry."

The three young men shared a worried look. Bobby appealed directly to his sister. "Please, Trixie. Please help us. If anyone can find the BMW, you can. In fact, we'll help you with your investigation. Just tell us what you want us to do and, believe me, we'll do it. We'll do anything to get that car back. And if it's really gone, well, then we’re pretty much sunk. But if there’s a chance, any chance at all that it hasn’t been stripped yet or shipped off to South America, then please, Trix. You’ve got to help us. Please!"

Trixie closed her eyes in a failing attempt to not be swayed by Bobby's baby blues. She took a deep breath. "Sorry, Bobby, but I’ll need to think about it. The chances of us finding out anything useful are slim to none. I'll let you know later on, okay?"

The three glanced mournfully at each other, then nodded in agreement.

"I think you should tell Daddy," Diana said gently. "You have to own up to your own mistakes." She leaned forward and stretched her arm across the table to touch Larry's hand. "It'll be okay. Mummy and Daddy are a lot more forgiving than they initially seem. Remember what I told you today? I told them all that years ago. I expected them to hit the roof, but they were really calm and wonderful about it. They love you. Trust that and it'll all be okay."

"That goes double for you, Bobby," Brian spoke up. "And although I think I should, I'm not going to say a word to Moms and Dad about this little incident. As far as they know, we just all decided to take an impromptu vacation. But they deserve to know the truth. You should tell them."

"You're not going to tell them?" Bobby asked, hopeful.

"Nope. You are," his brother replied.

Dan pushed back his chair from the table and stood. "We should get back to the hotel. It's late and I'll bet these guys would love to have a nice place to sleep, especially after last night."

"It wasn't so bad," Terry began.

"Better than the beach," Larry agreed.

Diana fought Jim for the check while the rest of them spilled out of the diner onto the street.

"How could you bring up last night?" Bobby moaned, starting to laugh. "I'll never get that musty smell out of my nose and I'll have nightmares for the rest of my life of all those other guys, snoring and talking in their sleep."

Dan smiled. "Don't worry, Bobby, the nightmares go away. But you'll never be able to forget the smell, I'm afraid. Once you've spent the night in jail, that stench stays with you forever."

Bobby frowned at him. "When were you ever in jail?"

Dan laughed. "Your parents did a great job of keeping you in the dark, didn't they? They could give lessons to the government." Bobby just stared at him, questioning. Dan smiled. "Walk with me. I'll tell you all about it." They started up the street toward the hotel.

A triumphant Diana exited the restaurant, followed by Jim. "Well! Who's up for a walk on the beach?" she asked.

Trixie, staring thoughtfully after Dan and Bobby, didn't answer. Honey, noticing her friend's mood, said, "Maybe Trixie and I should go back to the hotel to make plans to find the BMW."

Trixie shook her head. "That's okay, Honey. I've got some thinking to do, not exactly case-related. Why don't you guys go on ahead? By the time you get back to the hotel I'll have some ideas."

Jim took a step closer to her. "I'll walk back with you. I'm kind of tired myself."

Trixie smiled her agreement. "See the rest of you later," she told them, and she and Jim started back toward the hotel.

Honey smiled up at Brian. "Ready to go for that walk?"

Brian returned her warm look. "Let's go before everyone else decides to go, too." Honey giggled up at him, then took his arm. They crossed the street and headed between buildings toward the beach.

Diana smiled after them. "They are such a perfect couple!"

Mart shrugged. "I suppose so."

Diana sighed, her smile fading. "Whatever. I guess I'm going back to the hotel."

Mart watched her cross the street. He glanced at the twins, who stared back at him. "Do you two think you can get back to the hotel all right on your own?" They both nodded. Mart nodded. He checked the traffic, then crossed the street.

Terry and Larry watched as Mart hurried to catch up to their sister. "Hey, you ever hear what happened with those two?" Terry asked.

Larry shook his head. "Nope. You?"

"Nope."

Larry shrugged. "Guess it's just one of those mysteries, huh."

"Yeah, I guess." Terry glanced up and then down the street. "You want to go any where before we get back?"

"I am a bit too intimately familiar with this street," Larry said. "Let's just go back to the room."

"Larry?"

"What?"

"Do you remember the room number?"

Larry looked at Terry. Terry looked back. Without another word, they ran across the street, dodged the cruising cars, and raced to catch up with Mart and Diana.

*     *     *

The walk back to the hotel passed almost too quickly for Trixie's comfort. Jim, walking steadily beside her, let her alone with her thoughts. He seemed almost on the verge of speaking during the short elevator ride, but remained silent. As they approached the room, they could hear the television, and Dan and Bobby laughing within. Jim stopped her from opening the door.

"Trixie," he began. "I just want to say I'm real proud of the way you've handled this whole thing."

"Thanks, Jim," she smiled. "I appreciate that."

He glanced away. "However, don't you think it's better to call in the police? The kids have been robbed. A crime has been committed. It's the police's job to solve those kinds of crimes and find the criminals."

Trixie tried to breathe calmly. "Actually, Jim, that's one of the things Belden-Wheeler does just as well, even better, than the cops: solve crimes and find criminals."

"But you have to work in concert with the police, right?"

"Well, I'm not allowed to interfere with an ongoing investigation, sure. And if I have evidence about a crime I'm supposed to inform the cops, if the crime is being investigated by them, but I'm not restricted -"

Jim held up his hands. "So you agree. You have to work with the police. Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you considering taking on this case without calling in the local law enforcement? Couldn't you lose your license over something like this?"

Trixie tried harder to breathe more calmly. "Frankly, it isn't any of your business how I run my business and the only opinion I have to consider, other than my own, is Honey's, my business partner. Not my parents, not my friends, not even you." She half turned away from him and tried to control her temper. She felt the familiar warning signs of a full-blown, patented, Trixie Temper Tantrum begin, something she had been halfway successfully controlling most of her life.

Jim laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I don't mean to upset you and I'm probably saying this all wrong. I'm worried about you. You're very important to me. More than you know. I don't want anything bad to happen to you, because if it did, well, I don't know what I would do."

Trixie closed her eyes. She sensed Jim standing very close to her. She could feel the warm nearness of him and she became acutely aware they were alone in the hallway. She heard a burst of laughter from the room. Dan and Bobby were having a good time. An unbidden image of Dan and Bobby, walking up the street, the neon lights reflecting on Bobby's curls and Dan's glossy black hair, the frequent snatches of conversation that floated back on the warm sea breeze, rushed over her.

But Jim stood so close to her she could smell his aftershave. He gently pulled at her shoulders, turning her to face him. Scant inches from her, Jim leaned close. His green eyes, so dark in the dim hallway, almost gleamed at her. She fought a serious bout of trembling that threatened to overtake her nervous system.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he told her.

"What does that mean, exactly?" she asked him quietly. "You won't 'let'?"

Jim leaned in closer. With a fingertip, he touched her chin, raising it slightly. His lips parted in a soft, small smile. "Exactly that. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Ever. I promise."

Suddenly, he kissed her. His lips closed, came closer and then kissed her. It was unlike any kiss he'd ever given her before. Sweetly, his lips pressed against hers for a brief, fleeting moment. Then she opened her eyes and saw him staring back at her, a strange expression on his face.

Trixie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What was that for?" she asked him.

He swallowed, suddenly nervous. "Nothing," he answered quickly. "I mean, it was just... I wanted to kiss you. That's all. I'm sorry if I offended you or something-"

"No! No," Trixie hurried to explain. "I just wanted to know why, I guess, and why now."

His hands dropped from her shoulders to his sides. "Why is easy. It should be obvious. Why now, well, that's a bit more difficult to say. I just wanted to show you how important you are to me, Trixie."

"Tell me why."

She watched his cheeks grow pink. "I wanted you to know how I felt about you. Maybe if you knew someone cared about you, me, for instance, then you'd take fewer risks with your life."

"I see," she said slowly, nodding. She felt suddenly colder and she wanted to be alone. The sound of the door opening caught their attention. She sensed Jim move suddenly apart from her as the door widened to show Dan, ice bucket in hand, smile on his face, standing in the doorway.

"Whoa!" he laughed. "Perfect timing! We were wondering what you were all up to. I'm getting ice and soda. Want some?" Still grinning, he looked at Trixie, then at Jim.

Trixie saw Jim stand straight and look Dan directly in the eye. Dan, still smiling, managed to exit the hotel room and pass in the hallway without touching either of them. "If you change your mind, I'm getting extras," he called out as he padded down the hall. Trixie noticed he was barefoot.

"Are you going in?" Jim asked her.

She nodded and preceded him into the room. Bobby lay sprawled on the carpet in front of the couch. He and Dan were apparently watching an old Jim Carrey movie. She greeted her brother, then headed onto the patio. When Jim moved to follow her, she shook her head and closed the glass door. She needed a lot of time alone to think, especially now.

Over the course of the next hour, Trixie alternately leaned on the railing overlooking the beach or sat on a patio chair staring up at the stars. She easily made her decision about the missing BMW. It was her love life that took the greater part of her attention and concern. What was she going to do?

All her life, had anyone asked, she would have said she had been in love with James Winthrop Frayne Wheeler. Ever since she first saw him rush out from the underbrush and soothe a frightened horse with the merest touch, in fact. For years, she lived for a kind word from him, an admiring glance. Those came often enough that she secretly expected he might one day tell her he wanted to share her life. However, with each glance and every kind word also seemed to come reprimands, warnings and admonishments. She sometimes felt she couldn't win with him.

And now he had kissed her.

It was a good kiss. The kind she had always thought it would be. Sweet. Sincere. Soothing. But something wasn’t quite right. Something wasn’t quite there.

Jim's kiss was supposed to be the end of the fairy tale. He kisses her, they get married, they live happily ever after. This was supposed to be what she wanted. Instead, there was this lingering doubt and uncertainty. What did she really want? Had she ever really thought about it or was she just following the script she had written for herself years ago? But fairy tales were not supposed to have two heroes. She was never supposed to meet Dan.

She watched as Brian and Honey, on the beach below, walked hand in hand through the moonlit surf, their shoes slung over Brian's shoulder, their jeans rolled up to their knees. She watched them laugh together. At one point, she watched them kiss and she wondered: can you tell if you're in love by the way you feel when he kisses you? How about the way you don't feel?

That was the worst part about Jim's kiss. Having experienced it, she wasn't sure she felt anything more for him than she ever did before.

She watched Mart and Di, sitting on a bench on the beach below, talking. She knew a little of what happened between them. They just 'fell out of love', was all Di would say, 'it wasn't meant to be', but, being a detective, Trixie had tried to ferret out more information. It broke her heart to discover her brother was lonely and aching for the girl sitting next to him, even if he would never admit it to a soul. She wondered: before, when they kissed, did they think it would last forever? Or was it a kiss that told them it was all over?

She watched Terry and Larry, chasing each other across the beach below, playing 'annoy your twin' with practiced ease. She wondered: how could one girl ever choose between two equally appealing choices? Or should she just let what was supposed to happen happen?

Maybe she should just break down and get herself a cat.

She remained on the patio, alone, until Honey finally came for her.

"Hey, Trixie. You all right?"

"Yeah, Honey. I'm fine. Is everyone back yet?" Trixie asked, refocusing on the case. Some time before, one of the guys had pulled the drapes shut, not wishing to bother her thinking with TV interference. Honey nodded. "Let's go over my thoughts and see if we're in agreement."

*     *     *

Bobby, Terry and Larry sat on the sofa against the wall, nervously awaiting Trixie and Honey's plan of action. Brian sat in the wing chair leaving Mart, Jim and Diana to take up the second sofa. Dan sat on the carpet, leaning against the entertainment center. Honey and Trixie returned from their conference on the patio.

Trixie addressed the trio on the sofa. "Bobby, you got any money on you?"

Bobby stood and began searching his pockets. "Yeah, Trix. How much do you need?" He pulled out the $40 left over from his panhandling.

"One dollar will do fine," she replied, snatching the bill from his fingers. She stuffed it in her pocket. "Thank you. Gentlemen, you've just hired yourself a Private Detective. Would you like to hold our first meeting here or in more secure surroundings?"

Brian looked up, startled. "What?!"

Jim just shook his head stiffly from side to side, clearly controlling his temper. Mart groaned.

Dan just threw his dark head back and laughed. "My God, Trixie! You're brilliant!"

"Why?" Bobby asked, still standing and holding his money. "What did I miss? What just happened?"

"You just hired your sister." At Bobby's bewildered look, Dan continued. "That means she works for you. She does whatever you tell her to do, and she's bound by confidentiality to keep anything you tell her secret. Even from your own family."

"Basically," Trixie agreed. "Look, Bobby, hiring me solves my basic dilemma: if and when to tell Moms and Dad. If you're my client, then, yes, I have to keep your confidences. Even from Moms and Dad. No matter what. From the Lynches, too. And, it frees me up ethically to do whatever I can to find the Beemer."

Bobby took a moment to absorb the information. Then he just nodded. "Cool." He sat down. "When do we start?"

"First, you have to decide if you want everyone to hear this or just me and Honey."

Terry and Larry thought a moment. Larry answered for them both. "If everyone agrees to the confidentiality thing, then they can stay." Bobby nodded in agreement.

Brian spoke first. "You will tell Moms and Dad everything when you get back to campus, right?"

Bobby took a deep breath. "Sure." He caught Brian's steady, steely eyed stare. "Yes. Just as soon as I can when this is all over. After all," he grinned, "why worry them if it isn't necessary?"

Brian surrendered. "Go ahead, then. But if this doesn't work out, you have to tell them or I will," he warned.

"I got it," Bobby said. "Message received loud and clear."

"Well! If that's all settled," Honey chirped, "then we can get down to business. You can start by telling us exactly what transpired between you guys and those girls. And we mean details. Word for word details. I'll just go get the laptop and we can begin!" She hurried into the other room and quickly returned with the laptop. She sat on the floor and opened the computer on the coffee table. A few quick clicks and she announced she was ready to start taking notes. Trixie took a deep breath and began her interrogation.

*     *     *

Trixie stared at the computer screen, willing the data upon it to make sense. She'd been reviewing her case notes for an hour already, looking for somewhere to begin her search. She'd already determined that the three girls in question used assumed names. She had done several searches for them and turned up zilch. Through some trial and error, she'd managed to hack into the registration records of the Ramada and discovered that the girls weren't registered there, at least under those names. The college the girls said they were from had no record of them, either. Neither were there DMV records or Social Security records - all of which she had been able to search through the phone lines via the computer back at the Sleepyside office.

Trixie bit her lip. If only they had a fingerprint of even one of the girls, then they could do a FBI search.

She had the VIN of the rental, the license plate, the color and the style, but that information wouldn't help her find the car.

She glanced at the clock. It was 2 a.m. Everyone but her had long since fallen asleep. Thankfully, the light from the computer and any intermittent keyboard noise wasn't keeping anyone awake. A thought occurred to her, but she needed to enlist Anne's help. Anne usually worked odd hours. She wouldn't mind a call.

Trixie dialed the number for the house Anne rented. No answer. Instead, she had to leave a message on the machine for Anne to return her call. She frowned. Where was Anne? It was a Wednesday! There wasn't anywhere in Sleepyside she could be at this time of night. She dialed Anne's cell phone. Maybe she was just out for a walk.

The cell phone rang five times before Anne answered sleepily, "This had better be important!"

"Um, Anne? It's Trixie."

"Huh? What?" Trixie heard the sound of something falling on a hardwood floor. "Trix, do you know what time it is?"

"Yeah. It's 2 a.m. Why aren't you home? I tried calling you there."

"You did? Wow. Okay. What do you need?"

Briefly, Trixie outlined the case. "I need you to download and cross-check all the police records for any similar crimes or incidents in my immediate area. I would do it, but to do this remotely with just an ordinary phone line would take forever. Could you go to the office and set it up for me?"

"Please tell me you don't need it started right now."

"Well, I'm currently running a web search for the girls' names, but since nothing will come up until morning, I guess it can wait until then." Trixie heard a second, deeper voice in the background. "Who's with you? Is that your dad?"

Anne giggled. "Definitely not! No! And don't worry about it, either. Morning is fine. It looks like I'll be getting up early anyway."

Trixie felt herself blush with the direction her thoughts were taking. "Anne! Who are you with? Is it someone I know?"

"Forget it! I'm wise to all your interrogation techniques. You're not getting squat out of me! I'll call you tomorrow when the program gets rolling, okay?"

"Okay. But you will tell me, you know!" Trixie wished her a good night, then hung up the phone. Another mystery, she thought cheerfully, but this one should prove to be more entertaining!

 

The Sands Hotel

Continental Breakfast Bar

8:45 a.m. EST

Trixie's cell phone rang twice before she could answer it. "It's Anne already," she announced after checking the Caller ID. "Hello? Hey, Anne! What've you got for me?"

As Trixie listened, with plenty of 'uh-huh's, 'I see's and 'no kidding!'s, the rest of the Bob-Whites and their auxiliary membership stuffed their faces with plenty of doughnuts, croissants and bagels. They waited patiently, mostly, for Trixie to finish her call. She had already briefed them on Anne's task, so they knew what the conversation would likely be about. She had left out the more salient details of her late-night phone call, however, except to Diana and Honey. Neither one of them had any clue as to the possible identity of Anne's companion.

"I thought she was interested in Dan," Diana had whispered earlier that morning in their room.

"So did I," Trixie shot Honey an accusing glare.

Honey just shrugged. "That's what she told me last Christmas! Honest! She hasn't even dated anyone in over a year, she said, because she was holding out for Dan. Really, the only guy I know she spends any time at all with is her dad and her cousin. But even that's not a whole lot. She spends most of her time, when she's not on the computer, riding and training Kingfisher for those dressage competitions."

They couldn't come up with a likely name, so they dropped it for the moment. Now, both Diana and Honey hoped that Anne would feel the need to spill the name of her boyfriend, so as to let them both out of their agony. They could tell by Trixie's expression, however, that the conversation was strictly business.

Trixie hung up the phone. "Okay, everybody listen." She glanced around the table. Everyone seemed receptive, so she began. "That was Anne. Apparently, for the past three years, there's been a mini crime spree around Spring Break time in the Clearwater-St. Pete area. The police have several incident reports of young college men found half nude, drunk or stoned, in semi-public places. The police filed the first reports as 'Disorderly Conduct' and regarded them as typical Spring Break incidents. After the first year, however, they began upgrading them in importance. The reports all have a few things in common. First, the guys in question all make dates with girls, they go out, have a great time and, before they can get back into their car, the girls give the guys something to drink or smoke, as the case may be. The guys pass out and, when they come to, their clothes, money, car, everything is missing. If they've got a hotel room, sometimes it's cleaned out, too."

"Wow!" Terry breathed. "That's just like what happened with us!"

Trixie nodded. "Yes, it is. And it implies, too, that this is a well-organized scam someone's pulling, year after year, with no threat of being caught."

"Why not?" Diana asked. "I mean, if it happens every year."

"Simple," Trixie explained. "The male ego." Ignoring the protesting grunts from around the table, she continued. "I doubt most of the cases ever got reported. I mean, what went through our guys' heads when they realized what happened? They were embarrassed and they didn't want anyone to find out, right? That's the makings of the perfect scam. Incorporate some element of embarrassment, and the victim will never come forward, allowing the con to get away."

"You mean those sweet girls were professional con artists?" Larry asked, incredulous.

Bobby frowned. "But, Trixie, that can't be! There's no way that those girls were older than us. You said they had been pulling this scam for the past three years. That would mean they started when they were 15."

"Well, I’ve done some thinking about that, too," Trixie admitted. "They must have had a male accomplice. Possibly a brother, father or uncle, or just a boyfriend. Someone had to pretend to be Terry Lynch to check out, right? Plus, there are very few female grifters out there who work in all-girl gangs. Of course, this could be an exception. There don’t appear to be any cases of women this happened to, so…" She gestured with her bagel. "I’m guessing these three got recruited by some mastermind who’s been running this scam for at least the past three years. Besides, teenage girls don’t usually have access to untraceable narcotics."

"Why do you say that?" Brian asked.

"Well, it’s also something I want you to tell me, Doctor Belden," Trixie replied. "Are there drugs that, in sufficient quantities, render an adult either unconscious or susceptible to suggestion, so that they would participate in such a crime, then ‘wake up’ later on, remembering little or nothing about the incident but otherwise have no lasting effects?"

Brian thought about it. "Sure, I guess. Any one of a dozen narcotics commonly available on the street could do the trick, if administered in the proper dosages. Of course, so could Nyquil, but how would you disguise the taste?" He buttered his croissant, still thinking. "There are some psychoactive drugs that are usually prescribed to violent psychotics to calm them down, but they’re pretty well controlled. They can be dangerous in even smaller dosages." He glanced at his sister. "Does that help?"

Trixie smiled. "I knew there was a reason Moms and Dad sent you to medical school!" She turned to Honey. "Okay, we’re looking for someone with medical knowledge and access to a pharmacy. I’m discounting the narcotics angle, mainly because cons rarely get messed up with street drugs since they attract too much attention."

Honey pointed out, "But narcotics are much easier to get hold of. A small amount of cocaine or heroin would do the trick, plus it’d be easier to get hold of and much cheaper to purchase. And, if the police stopped the cons, they wouldn’t be found with very much on them."

"But prescriptions can be forged," Trixie argued. "The cops wouldn’t look twice at a prescription for, say, Haldol."

"Look, either way," Dan interrupted, "the Master Criminal Du Jour must have some medical knowledge if he or she is able to prescribe for strangers just enough to get the job done without killing anyone. Whether they’re prescribing legal or illegal substances, well, we won’t know unless we drug test the kids. Right?"

Trixie sighed. "That will take some time, but you’re right. We should. Of course, the lab I use is back in New York and any results will take a few days for any accuracy. By then, searching for the cons would be a moot point, considering there’d be no one here to identify the girls."

"So what’s your plan?" Diana asked. "And how can we help?"

"Anne is emailing me the pertinent information she gathered from the police database. Hopefully I can establish some sort of pattern from the reports. From that, maybe I can determine if it’s the same girls, where they prefer to strike, who they target. Maybe we can find them. Maybe they do this every night," Trixie said.

"Remember what I told you the bartender told me?" Dan asked.

"About the guys being ‘rich enough it wouldn’t matter?" Trixie replied. At Dan’s nod, she continued. "Yeah, I remember. Hm. Maybe these girls have a conscience?"

*     *     *

Trixie and Honey spent the next several hours pouring over printouts of police reports, spreadsheets of crime statistics and maps of Tampa Bay. Diana had taken Bobby, Terry and Larry shopping for some new clothes. Mart and Brian tagged along. Jim and Dan both refused to leave the detectives alone, so they watched TV and read the local papers in the other room while the women proceeded with the investigation.

By two, Trixie and Honey thought they had made some important discoveries. First, there were definitely more than three girls participating in the scam. In fact, each police report described a completely different set of girls, with different names, ages and physical characteristics. The male victims in each case were likewise completely dissimilar. The only things the crimes had in common were the locations involved and the basic process of the robberies. That fact alone, that the crimes were the same though the people were different, told Trixie that a single person or group of persons was masterminding the crimes.

But how could they determine who that was?

"You know, Trixie," Honey mused, "something else strikes me as kind of interesting. Terry, Larry and Bobby were picked up on the beach. Last week, some guys made a report about some girls who picked them up at a club called Masquerade. Last year, incidents occurred at the Hurricane Lounge on St. Pete Beach, some place called Bar Tampa, and just down the road on Sand Key. Do you see what I mean?"

Trixie blinked at her friend. "You mean, there’s either a pickup on the beach or at some club?"

"Yeah. And since our guys were picked up on the beach. . ."

"Maybe there’s someone looking to pick someone up at a club!" Trixie finished her sentence. "It’s worth a shot, anyway. Where are Bar Tampa and Masquerade located?"

Honey brought a map of the City of Tampa over to Trixie. She indicated an area of pink highlight. "This is called Ybor City. Apparently, it’s an historical district that restricts traffic at night. There seem to be a lot of nightclubs and bars there."

"I remember seeing a pamphlet for it in the rental car place while I was ignoring Mart’s tour guide impersonation. I got the impression it’s a real Mecca for drunken revelry."

"Then I’m sure it’s the place for college kids to enjoy Spring Break. Don’t you think?" Honey smiled and refolded the map, leaving the pink area face-up.

"Do you think we’ll have much trouble getting the guys to go and set themselves up as bait?" Trixie wondered.

"Are you kidding? With the way they’ve been acting this trip, I’d be surprised if they didn’t order us to stay here in this hotel room!" Honey chuckled.

"You mean, here, ‘where it’s safe’?" Trixie smiled. "Yeah, apparently our safety has been of major importance lately."

Honey smiled knowingly. "You mean your safety has been of importance to my brother."

"You noticed that, did you?"

"I’m not blind. I also noticed that Dan hasn’t left you alone much lately, either. When are you going to tell me the truth about your little investigation into the other hotel room the night we arrived?"

Trixie avoided her best friend’s eyes. "It really didn’t mean anything."

Honey quickly sat next to Trixie on the bed. "Now you simply must tell me! What happened? What did Dan do?"

As briefly as possible, Trixie explained how the current occupants of the room had almost caught her and Dan, and how he had covered for their intrusion. "It was really good thinking, you know," she finished.

"!" Honey just gaped at her. "!" It took her several moments to close her mouth enough to form words. "Dan! Kissed! You! And you didn’t tell me until NOW??"

Trixie shrugged and tried to look contrite. "I’m sorry. I guess I’m trying to think of it as Pretext, you know? Not really real, sort of like a lie, but as long as it gets you the information you need, who cares. You know?"

Honey leaned in closer. "What was it like?"

"What?" Trixie had been afraid of this. Honey wanted details.

"Dan kissing you! What was it like?"

Trixie shook her head wearily. "It was alright, I guess. I was really surprised and I didn’t get to concentrate on it much because the other couple came into the room and broke it up. It’s not like I had time to prepare for it, either. He just picked me up and tossed me on the bed and started kissing me. At least with Jim I had an idea what he was going for –"

Honey grabbed Trixie’s arm. "Whoa! Hold on! ‘At least with Jim’? Jim kissed you, too?"

"Um. Yeah. Last night. Why?"

Honey fell flat on her back on the printouts on the bed, her arms outstretched, her mouth still open in shock. She lay for several moments without moving. Trixie sighed. She shoved at Honey’s legs. Finally, Honey rolled off the papers and sat up. Her mouth hadn’t quite closed, however, and she was moving her head slowly back and forth.

"Should I get you some water?" Trixie asked solicitously.

"No," Honey breathed, "no, thank you." She turned her huge hazel eyes to Trixie. "Both Dan and Jim kiss you in the space of two days and this is the first I hear about it? Two handsome men kiss you within two days of each other and all you can do is dismiss it like it doesn’t mean anything? You don’t go out on a single date since July 4^th of last year, and that was case related, and you don’t mention that Dan and Jim, two really great guys you’ve known since forever, have both kissed you? Aren’t I your very best friend anymore?"

Trixie felt terrible. Honey seemed genuinely hurt she hadn’t confided in her before now. She apologized. "I’m sorry, Honey. In my own defense I can only say that I got confused. I’m not used to being kissed. Period."

Honey sighed. "I know. I’ve been there. I didn’t tell you when Brian first kissed me until the day after. I guess it’s just something you want to hold onto yourself for a little while, before broadcasting it over the airwaves." She looked down at her feet. "So tell me. Whose kiss did you like better?"

Trixie stood and turned away from Honey. "Please don’t ask me to say, Honey. Okay?"

Since Trixie couldn’t see her, Honey allowed her disappointment to show on her face. Quietly, she said, "I think Dan has turned into a really wonderful man."

Trixie whirled around. "Jim has, too! You know I think so!"

Honey looked up at her. "I know that. And I know I’ve been pushing Dan on you lately. But I have always had this fantasy future of you and I, though, as double sisters-in-law. But it’s wrong to force your heart into a relationship for which it’s not prepared. If you don’t love Jim like that, it would be wrong to pursue a romance with him."

"Oh, Honey. I just wish it were that simple." Trixie felt tears welling in her eyes. They seemed to spill from the sudden tear in her heart. She sat wearily beside her very best friend in the whole world. She put her head in her hands and let herself cry. Only vaguely did she become aware of Honey’s arms around her, her hands stroking her hair, her voice murmuring to her.

"It’ll be all right, Trixie. Honest, it will. I promise."

Author’s Note: All right. I’ve made you laugh, I’ve made you cry. What’s left? Hmmm. How about some detective work, a few close calls and a night out on the town? It’s all contained in this little ditty I like to call:

The Spring Break Scam

Chapter 7

8:30 p.m.
Thursday
Ybor City
Tampa, Florida

If Trixie had bothered to pay attention to her brother Mart’s travel guide impersonation during the van ride to Ybor, she would have learned that this particular area of Tampa at one time produced more Cuban cigars than Cuba, had more citizens of Spanish descent than Miami (per capita) and that it was pronounced ‘E-bor’. She may also have been interested to know that Tampa was known for a thriving Latin American culture before the 50’s, when Miami became the playground for the rich and famous.

She would have known all that, had she been so bothered. But she was more interested in safely driving from the beach to Tampa, past Tampa’s downtown (at the sight of which Diana asked, "Excuse me? Did I miss it?") to La Setima, or Seventh Avenue, Ybor’s main drag.

They discovered that the police had already blocked off the avenue, as well as the access streets, to all motor vehicle traffic. Trixie debated whether to pay $7 to park in a lot, $5 to park in someone’s back yard or risk everything to park on the street for free. She paid the $7. It was a rental, after all.

The Gang of Ten spilled out of the van and stretched their arms and legs. They’d had to be creative to fit all of them safely in the van and none of them were looking forward to the long drive home at the end of the night. Still, they had arrived, and the electricity of the evening, the distant drumbeats, the shouts and laughter, all served to energize them, especially Terry, Larry and Bobby.

"Let’s get the lay of the land and something to eat," Jim recommended. "I’m starving."

"That’s a good idea. What’s anyone in the mood for?" Trixie asked. She was answered with nine different suggestions. She sighed. "Let’s just go into the first place we find and be happy with that, okay?"

They filed two by three onto the sidewalk toward Seventh. Trixie, more intent on filling her stomach, barely noticed the excited murmur of her friends as they pointed out interesting people on the streets and the curious window displays of the shops. However, when Honey tugged on her arm and pulled her to a stop, she obeyed.

As discreetly as possible, Honey gestured across the street to a strange white stone building. A pair of black wooden doors in the center of the façade gave no clue to the purpose of the building, nor did the pair of windows high above on the wall, which admitted only a glimpse of movement and light within. A small marquee, such as might be found at a movie theater, had been attached to the right of the doors. Hanging over the center of the doors, however, was a black, wrought iron sconce. A small fire burned inside the sconce, obviously gas lit, and revealed the cut pattern of the sconce: a five pointed star.

Trixie felt her eyebrows hit her hairline. "I have no clue what that might be," she told her friend, "but I sure hope it has nothing to do with our investigation."

"I hear you," Honey agreed. "Let’s just keep going, okay?"

The women pointed out the building to the others, each of whom privately decided to avoid the place at all costs. No BMW could be worth it.

The first restaurant they found was the Tampa Brewhouse. It seemed friendly enough, if a bit small, so they entered. The décor reminded Trixie of an English pub, but not completely. It lacked the aged feel. The bar ran the right wall. A few patrons had already been served their pints. A short row of tables ran the length of the bar, down the middle of the restaurant, and sported ashtrays. A double-row section of tables, accessed by three short steps, marked the non-smoking area. "Seat yourself," a bartender called to them. "Leo’ll be by to take your order in a bit."

The group nodded and headed to the higher section. They crowded, five and five, into two tables. Diana, Mart, the twins and Bobby shared one table; Trixie, Jim, Dan, Honey and Brian took the other across the aisle. After a brief moment to check out the menus already laid on the tables, their waiter appeared.

Leo, an almost flamboyantly cheerful Cuban immigrant, greeted them effusively. "Hello! Are you all together or did you all just happen to choose this night of all nights to come visit me?"

Trixie caught Honey’s eye and giggled. Brian answered on their behalf. "We’re all together, believe it or not."

"Well! Welcome to the Brewhouse. I am Leo, your server. Let me tell you about our specials tonight." He proceeded to describe three dishes in mouth-watering detail, then took their drink orders by memory. He returned in a few minutes and served each of them their soda, beer, iced tea and water accurately and without hesitation. He even remembered Honey’s extra lemon and Diana’s wedge of lime.

Amazed at Leo’s memory, Trixie tried to memorize the food orders as they were given to him, trying to determine if she still possessed her waitressing skills. She got lost when Terry and Larry switched their orders, ordered extra mushrooms on their burgers and then switched their orders back again.

Leo, however, didn’t miss a beat. After he served their dinners, repeating their orders and including each special instruction, Trixie decided to enlist the friendly man in their search. She asked Bobby to describe the three girls and then asked Leo if he remembered seeing them.

He thought a moment. "I think so. Did one of them wear her clothes a bit too tight and another have on these black fishnet stockings and impractical shoes?"

"Oh, we haven’t seen them tonight –" Trixie began.

Bobby interrupted. "That sounds just like them! You’ve seen them?"

Leo nodded. "About an hour ago. They were dressed to go clubbing. They seemed nervous about something, but not real anxious to get going, you know? They even ordered dessert. The cookie cheesecake and three forks."

They’re in Ybor tonight! Trixie thought quickly. What a stroke of luck! "Did they happen to say where they were going?"

Leo looked sad. "No, sorry. These girls weren’t friends of yours?"

"Not really. We’re looking for them, though. Why?"

"They weren’t nice girls, you know? I could tell."

All eyes briefly glanced at Terry, Larry and Bobby.

Trixie dug in her pocket and pulled out a business card. "Please, if they come back, or if you see them at all, call this number as soon as you can. It’s very important we find these girls as soon as possible." Leo took the card and promised he would look out for them. Trixie turned to her dinner, thoughtful.

The food was delicious. However, the group decided to forgo dessert until later. They definitely felt the need to walk off the calories. Trixie got their attention and reviewed their instructions.

"Okay, gang. Here’s the plan. We’re splitting up into three groups. Bobby, you’re with me. Terry, you’re with Mart and Di. Larry, you’re with Honey and Brian. Jim, Dan," she turned to them. "You can either both go with me and Bobby, or one of you can join one of the others. Your choice."

Without even a second thought, they answered in unison: "I’ll go with you."

Inwardly, Trixie groaned. All she needed was to get distracted tonight by her personal problems instead of focusing on the search for the bogus dates. She tried not to let on to her anguish. "That’s great. We’ve all got the same time and we all still have the cell phone numbers programmed. We all have the money Diana spotted us for cover charges and incidentals. Keep a record of your expenses so that Honey and I can make an accounting of it all. Did I leave anything out?"

Honey thought a moment. "Just what we discussed earlier tonight. We’re supposed to try and find the three girls. If we can, we’re to hold them and call Trixie or myself so that we can interrogate them. Otherwise, we’re to remain as anonymous as possible, observing. If the girls suspect something and run, or leave with anyone, one of the groups should follow them, keeping them in sight, while another one calls Trixie or myself. If necessary, we should call the police. I think that’s it."

Trixie nodded. "Any questions?"

Terry piped up. "Does this mean we can’t get a dance or two in if we find some really nice girl?" Larry must have kicked his brother under the table, because Terry glared at him.

Diana answered her brother. "Hopefully, we’ll be able to find these girls quickly and you’ll be able to spend the rest of your spring break uneventfully."

"That sounds boring," Terry muttered.

They paid their bill and left the restaurant. They continued toward Seventh Avenue. It wasn’t far. Then they stood on the street itself. They looked east. They looked west. They looked at each other.

"Okay, Shamus. Where do we start?" Mart asked, hands outstretched to emphasize the daunting task that lay before them.

Seventh Avenue had been completely shut off from motor traffic. At least a mile and a half of shops, bars and other buildings were now accessible solely by foot. Lots of feet. The statistics welled up in Trixie’s head. ‘Each Spring Break approximately 100,000 college-age students swell the beaches of Clearwater. Easily half of them will walk Seventh Avenue in Ybor City each evening, looking for fun and excitement.’

50,000 people.

She took a deep breath.

She only needed to find three blond girls, 18 years old. How hard could that really be?

She was about to find out.

*       *     *

Diana, Mart and Terry headed West. From their original vantage point, it appeared they had entered the avenue closer to that end of the street. Their goal was to make a sweep of that end. The others all headed east.

Terry kept up a running commentary on all the people they passed. "Wow! Did you see that? Two girls holding hands! Wow! Omigosh! Did you see that guy? He had on a dog collar! Hey, Di! How come you didn’t take us anywhere like this when you would baby-sit us?"

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Cause that family’s got their kids along." He pointed to a large family, laughing and joking together. Two women pushed identical strollers while a six-year-old boy sat on the asphalt and stared at the lights.

Diana just blinked at them. "I don’t understand it. When I was younger, we wouldn’t ever think of dragging kids out past their bedtime. Not ever."

"Really?" Mart remarked. "I’d have thought you’d approve such an undertaking. It being ‘fun’ for the kids, after all."

"It’s not fun to be overtired," Diana replied, controlling her voice. "Nor is it fun to be bored. Let’s try this place." She headed up to a likely looking club, showed her ID, paid the cover and disappeared into the dark warehouse.

Mart stared at the dim interior, dismayed by the persistent drum-and-bass that almost physically assaulted him there on the street. He sighed and followed her, Terry close behind. They paid their money and entered, to Mart’s mind, aural hell.

*     *     *

Brian, Honey and Terry progressed amicably down the southern side of the street, heading east. They took turns checking out each bar for the girls. An hour later, they had such an imposing collection of paper bracelets and hand stamps that bouncers took to stamping their inner arms.

"This is so cool!" Terry told them.

"What is?" Honey asked.

"We’re pub crawling!"

*     *     *

Trixie, Dan, Jim and Bobby headed along the northern side of Seventh. While Dan and Jim sometimes looked askance at the passers-by, Bobby and Trixie barely blinked. Trixie’s nonchalance derived from the fact that she’d seen worse and freakier on the streets of New York, where she did her PI apprenticeship. Bobby’s stemmed from his desire not to freak out in front of Dan or Jim (who were like brothers to him – even better, they never knew him when he used to wet his bed) or Trixie (who would never let him live it down if he did freak out).

So they passed drug dealers, prostitutes, teenage girls and middle-aged men, bikers, born-again Christians, street preachers and Satanists, S&M devotees, racists, puppeteers and tourists. Lots of tourists. They passed them all with nary a nudge nor a giggle. With each bar or restaurant they passed, Trixie entered with Bobby to look for the girls.

At Club Hedo, however, Bobby was denied entrance. "Sorry, but we’re 21 and over only," the bouncer informed them.

Trixie considered a moment. What were the chances that Bobby’s girls were over 21? Chances were better that the girls had fake ID’s. She produced her ID, paid $10, got her handstamp and entered. Jim and Dan, realizing one had to stay with Bobby in case he spotted the girls, quickly played Rock, Paper, Scissors. A moment later, Dan joined Trixie inside the club.

A second after that, he wished he’d stayed out on the sidewalk with Bobby. The interior of Club Hedo wasn’t much to look at. The bare walls were covered with black velvet paintings and over-exposed photographs of the gynecological variety. The main attraction appeared to be the rather enthusiastic performers upon the low center stage. Low-slung couches lined the walls so that the patrons could be comfortable while smoking their cigars, drinking their liquor and staring at the half-nude waitresses that tottered around the chairs and tables in 3-inch heels.

Determined to make this as brief and professional a visit as possible, Trixie ignored the gyrations of the women who danced on the tabletops and headed for the bathrooms. Dan, keeping his attention on Trixie’s blond curls as best as he could, followed. This was going to be a long night, he thought to himself.

Outside, Jim waited with Bobby, not very patiently. This trip wasn’t turning out the way he expected at all. Sure, they had located Bobby and the twins, and he was glad about that. But he had hoped to spend some time alone with Trixie, under the tropical moon perhaps, enjoying the sun and fun. Instead, Trixie took off chasing another mystery. Same as usual, she got the rest of her friends and family involved.

Jim did admire Trixie’s courage, bravery and intelligence. More than once he’d been impressed with her ability to come through in the clutch, put her own self-interest last and stand up for what was right. In truth, he admired her more and more every day that she put toward making her dreams reality.

The problem was that Trixie took risks, most times without carefully weighing all her options. More than once he’d been convinced she had a death wish, or was operating under some sort of Gypsy curse. He couldn’t seem to get her to slow down, take a breath and consider her future. Her future with him.

He’d blundered badly last night, he knew. He shouldn’t have kissed her. He saw the confusion in her face just afterward, when Dan opened the door and spoiled the mood. Mood. That was funny, he thought scornfully, what mood? He’d been lecturing her again, telling her everything she did wrong. Why did he always tell her what was wrong with her when there was so much more that was right with her? Why didn’t he ever compliment her when he had the chance?

"Hey, Jim, mind if I get a soda?" Bobby asked, breaking into his thoughts. He pointed to the next-door establishment, Cherry’s Restaurant.

"Sure. Make it quick, though. They shouldn’t be much longer," he answered. Every several yards along the wide sidewalk were large cement planters. Jim sat on the edge of one and waited for one of the trio to return.

*      *     * 

Mart felt sure his eardrums had begun to bleed. Diana, however, looked to be in her element, and perhaps she was. She had been recognized by one of the club managers, who then asked for her autograph and a picture. She took his business card instead and promised to send him a photo upon her return to London. She signed several cocktail napkins for the more sober customers, but when it became clear that the girls weren’t to be found, she agreed to leave. The manager promised to keep a lookout for the girls himself, and keep them there until Diana could return.

Mart could still feel the bass pulsing in his veins. He noticed his head nodding in time and had to force it to stop. Terry sort of danced along the sidewalk to the next club, but he was denied entrance. "21 and over only," they were told. Diana glanced at Mart.

"I guess you should go in," he told her. "I’ll stay here with Terry." Diana nodded, paid the cover and entered. Mart leaned against a cement planter with Terry, people watching.

After a moment, Terry asked casually, "Hey, Mart, mind if I ask you a question?"

Mart thought about it. "No. Go ahead."

"What’s the deal with you and Diana?"

Mart just looked at Terry, expressionless.

"Well? You said I could ask," Terry told him.

Mart nodded. "I didn’t say I’d answer you."

Terry huffed and looked away. "That is so cheesy."

"What?" Mart chuckled. "I don’t have to explain anything to you."

Terry glanced back at him. "Don’t you? You hurt my sister. I don’t know what you said or what you did, but you hurt her bad. I remember. For days afterward, all she did was hide in her room, play her CDs and cry." He frowned. "At least, I think she was crying. She didn’t come out much."

"She did, huh?" Mart kept his voice carefully neutral. He just didn’t feel comfortable discussing his personal life with one of Diana’s brothers. With anyone, actually.

"Yeah," Terry added, glumly. "Do you know, to this day I can still recite the words to ‘Heart-Shaped Box’? And that’s saying a lot. Kurt Cobain is not exactly known for his diction, you know?"

Mart frowned. ‘Heart-Shaped Box’? Why that song? He’d spent that time speeding up and down Louis Road blasting ‘Love Shack’ on his car stereo, himself.

They sat on the planter another moment or two in silence, then Terry, swept up in the anonymity of the enormous crowd, began belting out: And I swe-ar that I do-o-on’t have a gu-uhn. No I do-on’t have a gu-uhn…

 *      *      *

When Brian, Honey and Larry reached an ‘over-21’ club, Brian entered. There was no question about it. Even though Honey had experienced more of the seedier side of life, even though she had seen a dead body (while on a case in New York) before he had (in medical school), even though she had once prepared to go undercover in a strip club herself (Trixie instead solved the case in record time), Brian felt that, as a doctor, he would be more immune to any ill effects of such a place. He returned, slightly shaken, mostly blushing and more than usually protective of his fiancée.

It became clear to them as they bar-hopped that Ybor City had been set up to extract as much money as possible from the mostly college-age crowd. Every bar allowed 18-year-olds and up to enter, provided they kept on their particular color armbands and weren’t seen by the police drinking alcohol. The only clubs that restricted access were the strip clubs and nude bars. Otherwise, the three of them stuck close together.

As they pressed through the crowds, they asked several people about the three girls. They made sure to mention the word ‘reward’ often enough so that anyone eavesdropping would find incentive to help them.

Most of the alleys between the buildings were taken up with booths selling cigars, tattoos and radical ideas. Larry seemed quite interested in the tattoos. Honey asked him why.

"I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo to express my individuality," he answered.

"Oh," Honey nodded understandingly. "Just like everyone else."

*     *     *

By the time a disappointed Trixie and flushed-faced Dan returned from Club Hedo, and Bobby from Cherry’s, Jim had struck up a conversation with an attractive, if overly made-up, woman. He looked up as they approached.

"Hey, guys. This is Marlena," he introduced. "Marlena, this is Dan, Trixie and Bobby, the kid I was telling you about."

Marlena got up. She easily topped off at six and a half feet, though with her hair piled on top of her head, and her large spike heels, it was difficult to judge accurately. She wore a tight mini-dress sewn over with jet-black beads and black stockings. "This ain’t no kid, Jimmy. This is a man!" She smiled at Bobby and reached out her hand for him to take it. He blushed and shook her hand.

Trixie, suspicious of Marlena’s throaty voice, looked close without looking obvious, noticed a small Adam’s apple, and fought a sudden grin. "It’s nice to meet you, Marlena," she said, and shook ‘her’ hand as well. Marlena had a strong grip.

It wasn’t until Marlena took Dan’s hand and stared directly into his eyes that he caught on, too. "Did Jim tell you about the girls we’re looking for?" he asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable at Marlena’s bold stare.

Marlena released his hand and then fluffed her hair. "Oh, my, yes. And you know, I think I may have seen these girls. I was just telling Jimmy that, wasn’t I?" Jim nodded. "Hmm. I remember I was conducting some business at Empire, when three very rude girls bust in on me and my, um, appointment. Do you understand?" She looked closely at Trixie and Dan, who nodded. Bobby nodded as well, his expression matching theirs for its seriousness, though not for its comprehension.

Marlena continued. "Well, as you may well imagine, I wasn’t exactly in a position to notice them too clearly at first, or even go after them. They broke up my business meeting before I even got paid. Those girls knocked me out of $250!"

Trixie commiserated. "That’s terrible! What happened next?"

Marlena warmed to her tale. "They just said ‘excuse me’ in these prissy Georgia accents and ran past us. My, um, ‘appointment’ high-tailed it out of there without a thank you, much less the money we’d agreed on. I decided to go back onto the street to see if I could make up the difference and found this handsome young man sitting here all alone." She smiled at Jim, who flushed red in response.

"Which club was it again?" Dan asked, grinning at Jim’s discomfort.

"The Empire," Marlena replied. "It’s on this side of the street, about two blocks down. You can’t miss it. It’s got a Goth look and a show in the front window." She sighed. "I guess you don’t have time for me after all, do you, Jimmy?"

Jim stood and smiled apologetically. "No, I guess not. Thank you so much for your help, though."

Marlena smiled, showing all of her teeth. "Any time, Red. Any time at all." She took a business card out of her tiny purse and handed it to him. "That’s my personal number. Call me!"

Jim took the card and Marlena started to cross the street. She got to the curb when she turned, another business card in hand, and hurried back to them. "Here you go, too, Sweetheart," she said, handing the card to Dan. She winked at Bobby. "You call me in a couple of years, Blue Eyes. I prefer my men with a little seasoning." She leaned closed to Dan, only three inches shorter. "You don’t have to wait that long." She blew him a kiss, then disappeared into the crowd milling about in the street.

Trixie felt her eyebrows only slowly return to their normal positions. She allowed herself a moment of misery. That’s just great, she thought. Even transvestite prostitutes can’t make up their minds between Jim and Dan!

As they turned to leave, Bobby touched Trixie’s arm and whispered in her ear. "Hey, sis, was that-" he began.

"Yeah, Bobby, it was," she replied. "Let’s go." As they started up the street, Trixie noticed Bobby staring suspiciously at all the apparent females.

*     *     *

Mart, Diana and Terry soon returned to their starting point on Seventh Avenue. Intrigued by the art galleries and vintage clothing stores, Diana wanted to shop while they waited to go around again, but she knew better than to suggest such a thing. Mart and Terry’s behavior bothered her. Why was Terry singing that old Nirvana song earlier? And what caused that faraway expression on Mart’s face? It bothered her that she could no longer read him easily. Or maybe she just read too much pain in him she didn’t want to read him anymore.

A couple times, Terry thought he’d seen the girls in question, but each time proved to be a mistake. Still, he managed to get the email addresses of each ‘mistake’. Diana had to hand it to her brother. Despite the desperate circumstances, he could still charm blood from turnips, as their Uncle Monty might say.

Secretly, she kept her eye on Mart. She noticed that, despite the large number of girls and women who sauntered slowly past him, he didn’t seem interested. She had heard through Trixie and Honey that Mart was dating another Science teacher at his school, but only infrequently. She supposed they talked about all sorts of important things, like cloning, biochemical warfare, disease and suffering. She wondered if the teacher was pretty, and was surprised to realize she’d never bothered to find out the woman’s name. Of course, Diana had never ever heard of an attractive female Science teacher, so she supposed she was safe.

What did that mean, she asked herself. Why should she feel safe?

It couldn’t be that she was jealous, could it?

She was Diana Lynch! She had been nominated for two Golden Globes, was considered a lock for a nomination for this year’s Oscars (did Gwyneth Paltrow really have to get passed over last year?), was three times named one of People Magazine’s 25 Most Beautiful People. What did she have to be jealous about?

What, indeed, the rational part of her mind (and she did have one) replied.

What, indeed, except the notable lack of attention and interest of the smartest, handsomest, nicest man she’d ever met, in or out of Hollywood.

No, she had nothing to be jealous about.

*      *      *

Brian, Honey and Larry were almost to the end of the street when the cell phone rang. Honey answered it, listened carefully, nodded her head, said, "Got it!" and ended the phone call. "Trixie’s got a line on the three girls. Apparently a working girl saw them in a club on the other side of the street. Let’s go."

"Which club?" Brian asked as they hurried down the other side of Seventh Avenue.

"Empire," she replied.

"Oh, great," Brian muttered and glanced at Larry.

"What’s wrong?" Honey asked quietly.

"I noticed it on the way over here. It’s very, um," he searched for the word. "Dark."

"I’m sure it will be fine. After all, these places can’t afford to scare away their customers."

*      *      *

Trixie, Dan, Jim and Bobby reached Empire rather quickly. As they walked along the sidewalk, they ran into a huge crowd, just standing and staring at the building. "What’s going on?" Trixie asked.

Dan and Bobby, both taller than the rest of them, rose up on their feet and looked. "Near as I can tell," Dan told her, "we’re all looking at some girl getting her hair cut."

"What?" Trixie asked.

Bobby shrugged. "Yeah. That’s what it looks like. There’s a huge window, like in a department store, and it’s all covered in black paper and these weird pictures. Some guy in an Edward Scissorhands outfit is dancing around this girl strapped into a barber chair, cutting off her hair."

Trixie pictured the scene. For some reason, she couldn’t figure out the allure of watching some girl strapped into a chair getting her hair cut. But then, wasn’t she now a ‘ma’am’? She pushed through the crowd. "Come on," she told them. "We’ve got to get in there to find those girls."

The three guys followed her, ignoring the protests of the crowd as they temporarily obstructed their view. Trixie saw that a long line had formed outside the front entrance, waiting to get in. She joined the end of the line.

"I didn’t see anything that said 21 or over, so let’s all be sure to stay together," she instructed.

As they neared the entrance, they got a better view of the girl in the barber chair. Bobby grabbed Trixie’s shoulder. "That’s her! That’s Cindi! She was my date!"

Trixie looked more carefully at the girl. She didn’t quite resemble the picture she had in her head, but still, Bobby’s description matched. "Are you absolutely certain?"

"Positive! She was mine. Isn’t she hot?"

Trixie glanced up at her brother. "Please," she groused, then handed her ID to the bouncer. He glanced at it, gave her a blue wristband, and waved her toward the ticket booth. Trixie leaned in close to the glass. "How do I get on that stage?" she asked.

The cashier just shook her head. "Sorry, but Ed’s all full up for tonight. Maybe tomorrow or Saturday, okay?"

"No, that’s not what I mean," she said, and moved to the side to allow Bobby to pay. "I mean literally, how do I get on the stage? Isn’t there a door?"

The cashier took Bobby’s money, then looked again at Trixie. "There’s a door. But you can’t go in there without permission, so don’t get any strange ideas!"

"I promise!" Trixie told her. "Thanks!" Dan and Jim paid their money, and they filed through the massive doors into the Empire.

The Empire was definitely a Goth club. Large, eerie pictures hung on the high black walls, glowing and slowly pulsing with the music. Trixie noticed that the pictures sort of rippled slowly, and realized they were just painted on clear plastic, stretched over rollers and backlit with throbbing neon. Throngs of wriggling bodies crowded the dance floor, a large square in the center of the room. Throngs of mostly men stood watching the mostly female dancers. Across from the entrance, a crowd of women danced on a stage. Two tall cages, easily accessible from the back, stood on black bases and were positioned on either side of the dance floor, opposite the stage. They were currently occupied by scantily clad dancing women.

Trixie ignored all that and went to find the door the cashier had mentioned. It wasn’t too difficult. A large man stood guarding it. She went up to him and smiled. "Hi!"

He grunted in response.

"Is this the way to the outside window?" she asked, aiming for a cheerful air. She glanced behind her and noticed the guys keeping their distance. Bobby stared wistfully at one of the girls in the cages. Dan and Jim kept their eyes on the bouncer.

"What if it is?"

Still undaunted, Trixie said, "Well, I think I recognize that girl in there. When she’s done, I want to be sure not to miss her. We’re old friends, you see." She smiled as guilelessly as she could remember Di ever smiling. Purposely, she widened her eyes.

The bouncer suddenly took notice of her. He shifted his position and nodded at her. "Sure, babe. You can wait right here. It won’t be long."

Trixie leaned against the wall, next to the bouncer. "Thanks a lot," she told him. Then, to make conversation, she asked, "is this a fun job?"

It was the right thing to say, for the man launched into a detailed analysis of the club scene in Ybor compared to the previous six Spring Breaks and something called Gasparilla, Guavaween and the Sant‘ Yago Night Parade. He complained about the quality of security personnel and the high turnover at some of the clubs, as well as the rampant drug use and the proliferation of raves. He was halfway to convincing her of the necessity of nude clubs when the door next to him opened, and Edward Scissorhands exited.

Trixie waited for the blond girl to follow, but she didn’t. Edward ignored the several fans who had gathered to pay homage and retreated through a door marked Employees Only. The crowd of fans threatened to rush the employee door, so the bouncer left his post to restrict their movements. Trixie took her opportunity to check out the window box.

She found herself in total darkness. She stretched out her hands. About a foot in front of her face she felt a curtain. She pushed at it, knowing there had to be an edge to pull back. When she found it, and dragged it to one side, the resulting glare of light and an excited roar caused her to hesitate. She allowed her eyes to adjust before stepping forward. When she did finally step forward, she found she had to stop.

The area had once been exactly what Bobby thought: a front store display window. A black barber chair dominated the front corner of a low platform. Trixie stood on that same platform staring through the windows at a large crowd of people, perhaps a hundred or so. They stared back at her, faces pressed against the glass, pointing, cheering, laughing, shouting, dancing, wriggling, jeering. Floodlights in the corners of the window shone directly at her, illuminating every curl of her hair, every freckle on her face, every inch of her body.

She had never felt more self-conscious in her life. Falling off the stage in her second grade pageant hadn’t caused so much commotion – or had so many witnesses.

She mentally shook herself. She had a job to do! The blonde was there somewhere. But where? She glanced around, forcing herself to ignore the crowd. They’d go away when they realized she wasn’t part of the entertainment. She quickly realized there was no way out of the window box except through the glass itself, and that required a key to open the panes. She knew that would be the only way to get the larger props on and off the stage. So where was the girl?

Frantic movement at the window caught her eye. She stared hard, trying to see past the glare of lights on the glass. It was Honey! She was trying to tell her something by mouthing it to her. Brian stood behind her and that meant that was Larry with them. She moved closer. "What?" she mouthed back.

Honey kept pointing behind Trixie. She turned and saw an alcove behind the platform, revealed when she pulled back the curtain. The blond girl had been changing into her street clothes. She stared up at Trixie. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"I’m Trixie Belden," she replied. "And I need to talk to you."

"Belden?" the girl repeated, then cursed. She grabbed her purse and bolted through the door.

Trixie leapt off the platform toward the door, but the door had slammed shut. She tried to open it, but it had locked when the girl closed it. "Hey!" she shouted as she pounded on the door. "I’m in here!" She paused, thinking. The bouncer only knew the blonde was still in here, so if she left and locked the door, he’d think everything was peachy and probably leave, too. He didn’t know Trixie had ducked in here when he wasn’t watching. Heck, she figured, Jim and Dan probably lost track of me, too, when that crowd of people covered for my little sneak.

But Honey and Brian know I’m in here! She hurried back to the glass. They were gone! She tried to peer past the edge of the window to the front entrance. Were Brian and Honey trying to get in to rescue her? She couldn’t tell. She tried pushing on the windows. Maybe one of the panes wasn’t shut or locked correctly and she could use that as an exit.

She tried panel after panel, finally ending up at the windows facing a large alley. She barely noticed the crowd now, intent as she was on her escape, beyond noticing that they had not yet dispersed. She glanced at the door. Maybe there was another show soon?

*     *     *

Honey and Brian pounded on the glass, shouting at Trixie, "Behind you! That’s one of them!" They watched helplessly as Trixie only came over to them, shouting what? at them. They pointed as urgently as they could. Trixie turned, the blond girl ran out, Trixie followed and then couldn’t get out the door.

"She must have locked it," Honey explained to Brian. "Come on. We have to get the manager to let her out."

Brian and Honey, dragging Larry behind them, hurried up to the bouncer nearest the cashier. "Please! You’ve got to help us! Our friend is trapped in the window!"

The bouncer merely looked at them and growled, "Get out of here, you morons! It’s just a freakin’ show. It ain’t real."

"We don’t mean that! Sir, please," Brian said, "that’s my sister up there and she can’t get out. The door’s locked."

The bouncer remained unimpressed. "Look, buddy. Every girl is somebody’s sister. You know what I’m saying?"

"How much for the three of us to get in?" Brian cut to the chase.

"You got to wait in line."

Brian held out $50. "How much to cut the line?"

The man took the money and waved them through. "Hey! Don’t forget your wristbands!" Larry grabbed the colored strips of paper and they pushed through the doorway into the club.

*      *     *

The stream of groupies that threatened to follow Edward Scissorhands through the employee entrance engulfed Jim, Dan and Bobby. The bouncer came to their assistance and as they thanked him, Jim asked, "Where did Trixie go?" The bouncer just shrugged.

Dan whirled around. "What?"

"Uh-oh," Bobby breathed. "I didn’t see her leave. And I don’t see my date anywhere, either."

Dan fought down a surge of panic. Don’t worry, Trixie knows what she’s doing. She probably saw an opportunity to track down the girl and took it. I would have done the same thing in her position. The question is, where is she?

Jim patted his pocket. "You got any change?" he asked.

The light bulb clicked on in Dan’s head. "To call Trixie’s cell?" He patted his pockets. "I’ve just got paper."

Bobby dug into his jeans. "I’ve got some. Where are there phones?"

"Outside, probably," Jim told them, taking the change. "There’s an exit over that way. Let’s go." He led them straight to the left wall of the club, the side that bordered the alley.

Once in the alley, they found three payphones in working order. Jim deposited the change and dialed Trixie’s number. He listened, heard it ringing, and waited.

*      *      *

Diana, Mart and Terry hurried up the street. They had asked several people for directions to the Empire club, and every one of them had said, "It’s just up the street a bit. Not far. You can’t miss it."

A large crowd of people all cheering and shouting at a window display slowed them down. Curious, Terry led them close to the window, on the alley side of the building. Mart pointed up at a large neon sign: Empire.

Diana shrieked. She saw Trixie inside the window, pushing on the glass like a mime in a park. "What’s she doing?" she asked.

Mart just ran his hand over his head. "I have no idea," he said. "Unless she’s finally gone insane."

Terry stared up at Trixie. "Wow. I never knew she was this cool!"

*     *     *

Absorbed in her task, Trixie barely noticed the alley on the other side of the glass. She did, however, catch sudden movement as a door opened into the alley and three girls rushed out, each of them blonde, one of them the girl Bobby had pointed out. I’ve flushed my prey, she thought. Now if I could only get free of this! She glanced around the stage. There had to be something she could use! Something that could get her out of here.

Of course, if Anne were here, she’d think of something involving the floodlights, the electricity, the cords and/or the scissors. Honey and Di would be rescued by some handsome security guard. None of the guys would have been caught at all.

But that was negative thinking. She was Beatrix Belden, Private Investigator, and there was a way out of every locked room.

Her eyes fell on a metal tripod. She looked at the glass. It wasn’t thick. She picked up the tripod, hefted it like a javelin, and threw it against a pane.

It shattered into a satisfying array of thousands of pieces.

Belatedly, she worried about possibly injuring the crowd beyond the glass, but they had seen her plan and scattered in terror. She vaulted through the empty pane and landed on the pavement. The girls had gone back down the street, so she took off after them.

*     *     *

"Hey! That’s them!" Bobby shouted, pointing to the three girls exiting the club into the alley. He hit Dan’s shoulder to draw his attention. The girls recognized Bobby, screamed, and took off running back down the street. Bobby ran after them. Dan, sighing, motioned to Jim he was going to follow as well. Jim, distressed that Trixie hadn’t answered yet, motioned for Dan to go ahead. He’d catch up.

Bobby easily kept pace with the girls. After all, he’d spent every winter of the past six years running wind sprints for his basketball team. If he couldn’t keep up with a bunch of girls, then he didn’t deserve that basketball scholarship. He knew Dan followed him, so he concentrated on keeping the girls in sight.

The girls kept looking back at him, which only slowed them down further. Exhausted, they rushed past a security guard into a large nightclub. Bobby tried to follow, but the guard stopped him.

"Sorry, son, but you don’t have a wristband." The bouncer gestured to the cashier. "Pay up first."

Bobby dug for more money, flashed his ID and took a wristband. "Did you see which way those girls went?"

The guard shook his head. "They had wristbands. That’s all I care about."

Dan caught up with Bobby then. He paid his cover and showed his ID, asking, "Is there a back way out of this place?"

The guard shook his head again. "No. Just for employees and performers."

"Is it easy to get to?" Dan asked, checking the long hallway behind the guard.

"Not unless you know where it is. This is a pretty discreet club, you know."

"Thanks," Dan told him, and he and Bobby hurried into the club.

*     *     *

Honey, Brian and Larry, arguing with the security guard, heard a loud crash! on the other side of the door. They stopped arguing, the guard produced a key and they entered the window display area. A large pane of glass had been blown out onto the street. A stunned crowd of people stared at the jagged edges of glass still locked into place by the window frame.

"I guess you were right. There was somebody still in here after all," the guard admitted. "The boss ain’t going to like this. No, sir. Not one bit."

He was still examining the damage when Honey, Brian and Larry jumped through the window into the alley. Larry glanced around, vaguely wondering why the receiver on the payphone hung off the hook. Brian and Honey, however, grabbed his arms and yelled, "Come on! After her!"

"How do you know where she went?" Larry asked.

"Listen!" Brian directed, and clearly, through all the shouting and laughter, the booming music and the press of people, Larry heard birdcalls. Bob, bobwhite! Bobwhite!

"Hey!" he said. "That’s a quail!"

"That’s Mart and Diana," Honey explained as she took off running. "They’re way ahead of us. Let’s go!"

*     *     *

"What’s she do—"

"Trixie! No!"

"Everyone! Duck!"

Mart tackled Diana into the crowd, shielding her from the flying shards of glass. When the noise subsided and the crowd seemed ready to reassert itself, Mart still held onto her warm body. She stared up at him, violet eyes questioning and hopeful.

It feels good to hold her again, even for an instant, his brain told him. She always smells so pretty. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Diana nodded, afraid to trust herself to speak. Mart had grown stronger in the past several years. She could tell he’d been working out; his muscles felt hard beneath his shirt. Something about the way blond hair curled above the neckline of his shirt distracted her from their immediate goal. He was speaking to her, asking if she were all right. She nodded. "I’m fine."

Terry grabbed them both. "Trixie’s taken off after the girls! Let’s go!"

Startled, Mart and Diana both whistled for help. Then, realizing no one could possibly hear them, they took off running after Terry.

*      *     *

Honey, Brian and Larry slowed to a stop in front of a large club. A bouncer stood guard just inside the doorway. "Excuse me, have you seen-" Brian began.

"They’re inside. Where’ve you been?" the guard replied.

Surprised, Brian paid for their covers. "You know who we’re looking for?" he asked the guard.

As he fastened their wristbands, the guard replied, "Sure I do. First three blonde chicks run past me. Then a tall blond kid and some good-looking black-haired guy come by, asking if there’s a back way out. I tell them it’s just for employees. This is a discreet place, you know? Then some blonde chick runs up and asks me the same thing, and if I’ve seen the other people. She gets in and the next thing some foxy redhead comes up and asks if I’ve seen a curly blonde chick, only he don’t say ‘chick’, he says ‘woman’, so I says ‘yeah, she’s inside’. So he goes in, too. Then some exact duplicate of this guy here shows up with a glamour girl and an Aryan, asking the same questions as you. So, yeah. I know what you’re talking about."

They thanked the guard profusely, then hurried past him down the long hallway. The guard just shook his head. "It must be the full moon, Charlie," he said to the cashier. "Don’t it bring out all the crazies."

Idly, the cashier picked up a rag and polished fingerprints off a clear acrylic frame, further revealing the posted message inside:

Attention Trax Patrons

This club is owned and operated by homosexuals and lesbians. If you are not comfortable or cannot behave properly in this environment, we ask that you refrain from entering. Thank you for your respect of others’ rights. The Management.

*      *     *

From the entrance lobby of Trax, there existed only a long hallway leading to the dark interior of the club. Bobby hurried down the carpeted hall, dimly aware that soundproofing had quickly muffled the street noises. After 15 feet or so, the hall turned and intersected another long hallway. Bobby stopped. He could go straight, right or left. He glanced down each corridor, but couldn’t see the blonde girls, or even any sign that three girls had just run through.

He turned left and hurried down a hall just as long as the one he’d just been in. He passed an opening to a bar and a dance floor, glanced in, and continued to the end of the hallway. He found another opening to the same dance floor, so he went in. He discovered he had just walked around the back of a bar, for as soon as he entered the light, a bartender called out to him, "Hey, man. What’ll you have?"

Bobby just shook his head at the guy. "Nothing, thanks. I’m looking for three blonde girls, real cute. Have you seen them?"

The bartender just stared at him. "Three blonde girls? Are we talking real girls here or what?"

"Yeah, real girls. You seen them or what?" Bobby didn’t see why the guy couldn’t give him a straight answer.

"I don’t exactly notice girls, you know?"

Bobby didn’t understand that at all. The bartender seemed to be a regular sort of guy, if a bit oddly dressed in his fishnet T-shirt and leather pants. He debated whether to press the issue with him when he saw Staci, the girl Larry had been paired with, staring in horror at him from the other side of the bar. "Hey, you!" he yelled, pointing at the terrified girl. His shout, however, barely registered above the driving rhythm that poured from the speakers surrounding the dance floor. The girl, however, saw Bobby’s expression and his finger quite easily. She set down her drink and took off, running through the dance floor to the backside of the building.

Bobby swore, apologized to the bartender for his language, and took off after her.

*     *     *

Dan saw Bobby turn left, so he went right. Five feet later, he entered a huge dance floor, packed with people. A distinct pounding took up residence in his head as he tried to see in the semi-darkness. He could see two bars on either side of the room, a raised platform to his right, a large video screen, several swinging colored lights above and lots and lots of dancers. He noticed a man-sized cage suspended from the ceiling. A young blond man dressed in a loincloth gyrated to the rhythm. He didn’t exactly see the girls. In fact, he didn’t exactly see any girls.

What was up with this place? he wondered. He carefully threaded through the crowd, trying not to get in anyone’s way. When a large, puffy man, a few inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier, grabbed his arms and pulled him up against his soft body, Dan realized what kind of club he was in.

"Sorry, man," Dan tried to explain, "but I play for the other team."

The puffy man just grinned sloppily at Dan. "You’re cute," he slurred at him. "I like you."

"That’s just great," Dan said again. "How nice for you. But I’m not interested. Really." He pulled the man’s large hands off his arms and stepped away.

The man grabbed Dan’s shoulder, forcing him to stop. "You don’t understand. I like you. Let’s dance."

Dan turned, his hands palm up to appear as non-threatening as possible. "I do understand. You like me. That’s great. The thing is, I’m straight. I like girls. In fact, I’m in here looking for three of them."

The man growled. "You lie! You can’t be straight! Why would you be here? Tell me that."

He still hadn’t let go of Dan’s shoulder. Dan tried to calm down. The guy was obviously drunk, probably lonely and definitely slow to understand simple English. He tried one more time to explain. Instead, the man just laid his other hand on Dan’s other shoulder and dragged him closer.

The situation had quickly spun out of control, Dan knew. While he was as open-minded as the next guy, he drew the line at actually dancing with another man. The time had come for him to be more firm in his denial. He looked directly into the other man’s eyes and said slowly, carefully and in as deep a voice as he could, "I’m not interested. Now let me go."

A sudden lull in the music made Dan’s turn-down attract the notice of several other patrons. A circle of interested bystanders began to form around Dan and the burly man, who still hadn’t let go of Dan’s shoulders. Dan took a deep breath and steadied himself. He figured, if he could face down catamounts, gunmen and stampedes, he could handle this one guy.

Then that one guy’s friends showed up.

*      *      *

Trixie saw Dan disappear into a large dance crowd. She thought she glimpsed Bobby down the left hall, so she went straight ahead. The hallway ended in a door. It wasn’t locked, so Trixie pulled it open and stepped through.

She found herself in a silent oasis. Crushed red velvet paper lined the walls of a smallish room. Cushions and overstuffed sofas done over in gold and blue satin had been grouped into small clusters. Incense burned in a censer suspended from the ceiling. The only light came from metal torches stuck into the wall. She heard a weird chirping from behind her. Realization hit suddenly and she opened her cell phone.

That’s odd, she thought. There’s no one there. Oh, well. Since she didn’t recognize the Caller ID, she hung up the phone and proceeded to search the gaudy room.

Trixie carefully stepped around the cushions and peeked under and into every sofa. She found no one and nothing except three more doors, identical to the first, each one in the center of a wall. She returned to the center of the room and thought. Which door should she open? She picked a likely one, opened it, and saw the hallway she’d just been in.

That’s odd, too, she thought. I’m positive that wasn’t the way I came in. Oh, well. She turned right around, crossed the room and went through the opposite door.

*      *      *

Jim stopped at the intersection. Which way did Trixie go? He saw several couples in the hall, completely oblivious to everything around them, so he knew they wouldn’t have seen her. Time was of the essence, he decided, so he turned left.

He hurried down the hall and took the first right. He stood beside a bar overlooking a large dance floor. A huge screen showed an old 80’s music video. At least two hundred people crowded the floor, bouncing in time to the music. He turned to the bartender.

"Excuse me. I’m looking for three girls who may have come through here. I wonder if-"

"Sorry, man. But like I told that other guy. I ain’t seen no one. Can I get you a drink?"

Jim glanced back down the hallway. "No, thanks. But what other guy are you talking about?"

The bartender smiled. "Tall, blond, muscular, but not too much. Cute smile. Great pair of jeans." He pointed at the dance floor. "He shouted at some chick and took off running that way."

Jim’s interest perked. "What woman? Was she curly blonde, too?"

The bartender shrugged. "She was blonde, but I wouldn’t call her curly. Can I ask you a question?"

Jim nodded. "Sure. Go ahead."

The bartender leaned over the bar, getting as close to Jim as he could. "Are you a natural redhead?"

*      *      *

When Terry, Di and Mart reached the intersection, they agreed to split up only long enough to check out the end of each hall and return to compare notes. Terry found a crowded bar and dance floor; Diana opened the door of a strange little red, gold and blue room; Mart found a crowded dance floor and a near-riot.

Mart whistled loudly back down the hall and Diana and Terry hurried toward him. "There’s a fight in here and I think I see Dan in the middle of it!"

Diana gasped. "We have to help him!" She could clearly make out Dan in the center of a swirling riot, duking it out with a man who easily outweighed him by 100 pounds.

Terry flexed his fists. He was kind of looking forward to his first fight with someone other than Larry.

*      *      *

Brian, Honey and Larry reached the intersection and decided to split up long enough to check out the end of each hall and return to compare notes. Larry found a crowded bar and dance floor, Honey opened the door of a strange little red, gold and blue room and Brian found a full-blown riot taking place. He easily spotted his brother’s distinctive blond crew cut, Dan’s black hair and Terry’s bloody nose. He grit his teeth and dove into the fray to save the day.

Honey and Larry met up in the hallway. "Where’s Brian?" Honey asked.

"I guess he found something," Larry replied. "Let’s check it out." They headed toward a pulsing mass of people and flying objects illuminated by swinging lights and a large video screen that, thanks to closed circuit TV, displayed all the action.

The two stared up at the screen. "Omigosh!" Honey cried. "That’s Brian! And there’s Mart!"

"I think I see Dan and my brother! What are they doing?"

*      *      *

"Hey! Stop that girl!" Bobby shouted, but no one paid him any attention. He followed the blonde girl he knew only as Staci to a long hallway behind the dance floor. A long line of people stood against one wall and as he passed them, he understood why. They were waiting on line for the bathroom.

Staci ran on ahead without looking back. She opened a door at the end of the hall and disappeared. Bobby followed her without a second thought.

Bobby found himself in a small red, gold and blue room. He barely had time to orient his eyes to the garish gloom when the door to his left opened and shut. Staci had disappeared again.

Bobby followed her out the other door and found himself in a different dance floor and in the midst of the largest fight he’d ever seen, not including TV or the movies.

*      *     *

"What did you say?" The burly man finally stepped back as his friends approached.

Dan swallowed hard. He had to be careful how he handled this. "I just said ‘thanks, but no thanks’. I’m not interested. Actually, I’m here-"

"Not interested, huh? What do you know about that?" The burly man’s small, but compactly built, friend stepped forward. "What’s wrong with my brother? You tell me. Why won’t you dance with him?"

Dan tried again. "Look, it’s nothing personal. Well, actually it is. I’m not gay. Really. I just came in here looking for some girls who-"

The smaller man hushed him. "Hold on there. You came in here looking for girls? And you don’t think you’re gay? You, my friend, are confused."

Dan fought down his panic. Why wasn’t he getting through to them? He tried another tack. "The girls are just friends of mine who got lost, is all. I need to find them."

The smaller man ignored his explanation. "I think you’re in here to stir up trouble, is what I think. What do you think, Vinnie?"

Apparently, Vinnie was the burly man. Dan tried to diffuse the situation with denials, but the small guy just clamped a hand on his shoulder as he turned to face Vinnie.

"Yeah, Paul, I think he’s trouble," Vinnie growled.

Ah. So the smaller man was Paul. Dan watched as Paul turned to grin up at him. He watched as Paul’s left fist shot directly and firmly into his stomach. He bent over, surprised by the sudden solidity of the punch. He paused only a moment before allowing his street-born instincts to surface. He clenched his hands together and swung up at Paul’s chin, like batting at a fly ball. Paul’s head snapped up and his eyes closed. Paul fell onto his back on the dance floor. Paul was out cold.

Dan looked up at Vinnie. Things were getting worse.

*     *     *

Mart sailed into the crowd, ready for anything. He felt pumped, like nothing could harm him, like Schwarzenegger on a good day. Of course, he’d never actually been in a fight before. At least, not since high school and those didn’t really count since he had never fought alone.

Of course, he wasn’t fighting alone here, either. He was defending his best friend, currently being held tight by two mean looking guys while a huge, almost burly, man pummeled him.

Mart tapped the burly man on the shoulder. "Care to dance?" he asked. As the man turned in surprise, Mart kneed the man in the groin then, when he doubled over, took aim and punched the man in the throat. Trixie had mentioned the neck as a vulnerable spot, and Brian had confirmed it, so he wasn’t surprised when the burly man began choking, almost unable to stand.

Terry made it only halfway through the crowd before a muscular man in a black T-shirt grabbed him. "Hold it right there!" a loud voice commanded. Terry struggled and the man lightly punched him in the nose. Terry stopped struggling and surrendered.

*     *     *

Trixie found herself on one end of a large dance floor. A huge screen opposite her showed an old 80’s music video. At least two hundred people crowded the floor, bouncing in time to the music. She saw a bar to her left and a doorway to the right marked ‘Restrooms’. Just as a flash of red alerted her to Jim’s presence at the bar, she heard running footsteps in the other direction. She turned and saw Bobby run by the open doorway. She followed Bobby.

He had gone back into the red, gold and blue room, she saw, but then she lost track of him. Did he go back to the hallway, back to the dance floor or through door #4? She opened the door back to the dance floor and glanced around. She didn’t see Jim at the bar. She opened the door leading to the entrance. It was packed with people all moving to the left. She opened the remaining door.

She found herself in a second dance floor, done in an entirely different theme as the previous one. This one had a large video screen that showed the action on the dance floor itself, the music was much more modern and techno, and the people, instead of dancing, were fighting. A lot.

Trixie stared up at the view screen. After a moment of confusion, she began to make out the various players. To her dismay, she saw Mart trading punches with a man three times his size. She saw Brian backhand another guy, then turn to tend to an injured Terry or Larry. She couldn’t tell which at this distance. She saw Honey execute a perfect sidekick to that same guy, who finally fell down. She saw a flash of red in the center of the melee and knew it was Jim.

But where were Dan, Diana, Bobby and the other twin? She kept scanning the screen, torn between her desire to jump into the middle of the brawl or keep searching for the girls.

Then someone turned on the house lights flooding the dance floor with a florescent non-glare. Slowly, the rioting stopped. A voice came on the loudspeaker, admonishing the crowd for their actions. Security guards began picking people up off the floor and pushing them out an emergency exit into the alley. Trixie saw Dan, then, standing in the center of the former riot, wiping blood off his face. She felt her heart nearly stop.

As fast as she could, Trixie hurried through the thinning crowd. As she neared him, she called out, "Dan! Dan!" He glanced up. For a brief moment he seemed angry, then his expression immediately softened.

Trixie ran straight into his arms. "Are you okay? I just got here and saw the end of it. Are you hurt? We should have Brian check you out, just to be sure. Are you bleeding? I’m sure the bartender has ice-"

Dan laughed gently and held her closer to him. "I’m fine, Trixie. Really, I am. I don’t know whose blood this is exactly, but I think it’s from some guy named Vinnie." She made as if to pull away from him, so he let his knees buckle a little and she quickly hugged him again. He smiled into her blonde curls. Despite everything that had happened that night, she still managed to smell good. He wondered why that was.

Trixie finally pulled back from Dan, amazed at how natural it had seemed to run into his arms and how comforting it had been to be there. Where had the impulse come from? But that was a thought for later, she reminded herself. She was working on a case, after all, and those girls were here somewhere. Weren’t they?

A ragged voice from behind Trixie said, "Humph. Maybe you aren’t gay after all."

Trixie turned in surprise to see a towering, burly man, nursing a black eye and a bloody nose. She heard Dan laugh wearily. He extended his right hand toward the other man while slipping his left arm around her shoulders, drawing her in closer to himself. The burly man looked at Dan’s hand, then shook it reluctantly.

"Ah, hell. I’m sorry. I drank too much and that always makes me edgy. I should have just taken you at your word that you didn’t want to dance. My brother gets on my case about it, but he always sticks up for me anyway."

"I understand," Dan replied graciously. "I just didn’t seem able to make you understand. But no hard feelings."

Vinnie nodded. "Hey, you said you were looking for some blondes. Is this one?" He pointed to Trixie.

Dan, his arm still around Trixie, looked into her blue eyes willing her to read his mind. "No," Dan told him distractedly, "not… right… now…". After all, he was helping Trixie on a case and those girls were here somewhere. He proceeded to give a description of the girls that included their current attire.

Vinnie thought a moment, then shook his head. "No. I don’t think I saw them. But I don’t really go girl-watching, you know?" Vinnie shrugged, then turned and walked toward his brother, slowly waking up on the floor.

Trixie turned to Dan. "You’ve been busy making friends, I see."

Dan grinned. "Just the temporary kind, I hope. I don’t really look forward to seeing any of these people again."

"Why not?" Trixie asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Because the only thing I want to remember about tonight is you, running right into my arms," he whispered, his voice husky.

Trixie stared up into his dark eyes, mesmerized by a light dancing within the black pupils. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry, and felt her head tilt back to more closely align with Dan’s face. His lips – why hadn’t she ever noticed how sensual his lips were before? – parted slightly and they almost made contact when a voice broke their concentration.

"Dan! That was some fight, wasn’t it! Did you see the way I took out that big guy?" Mart slapped Dan on the back, a huge grin on his face.

Trixie looked in horror at Mart: two black eyes and a bruised jaw. "What happened to you?"

Mart threw back his head and howled. "Woo-hoo! I had fun!"

*     *     *

In the DJ booth, Diana argued with the manager. "I told you! Don’t throw out my friends and I won’t spread this story around. Now, that’s all of them. Help us find these three girls and I’ll even pay for all damages – even though it’s none of my doing. You can’t beat that."

"Fine, fine, Ms. Lynch. You’ve got a deal," the manager sighed. "Don’t worry about damages. This place is pretty indestructible. And those brothers are known for their temper. The bartender should have cut them off at midnight."

They shook hands on the deal and the manager lead Diana back onto the floor. A moment later, she had joined her friends, all nine of them, in the center of the dance floor. The lights dimmed and the music returned to its former pump.

Amid all the confusion and noise, both aural and visual, Trixie managed to get everyone back into the tiny room. Once there, she sank onto a particularly garish sofa. "Okay, gang. What do we got?"

Bobby spoke up. "I saw Staci and followed her through here and back onto the floor. I lost track of her then."

Terry spoke up. "I saw Cindi, Bobby’s girl, almost get tossed outside with the rioters, but she snuck back in. I saw her head toward the bathrooms. I would have followed, but…" he gestured to indicate he had decided to join the rest of the group instead.

"I saw Missi, Terry’s girl, hanging out by the bar. She didn’t look sober. Some guy slugged me, then, and I kind of lost track of her," Larry managed. He had been slugged in the mouth and his lips were swollen. Brian handed him a pack of ice wrapped in a napkin.

"So they’re still here," Honey summarized. "That’s good. I wonder why? Are they meeting someone here or are they hoping to hide from someone here?"

"You mean, why have they stayed," Jim clarified. "They ran in here because we were after them. If they wanted to avoid us alone, they would have left the club the first chance they got." He carefully wiped his face clean of sweat and beer. At one point, someone had smashed a beer glass over his head. He could feel a goose egg growing on his scalp.

The Gang of Ten thought in silence. Trixie shoved the whole thing around in her head. They were so close! If only the girls would just stay in one spot so she could corner them and get some answers! She laid her head back against the red sofa. If only life could be so easy that the girls would just walk into their little room and say,

"Excuse me, but-"

Trixie’s eyes flashed open. Someone had just opened the door to the riot/dance floor. She looked up at the blonde in the doorway, who stared horrified back at her. "That’s her!" she shouted and leaped after the girl.

The Bob-Whites, collapsed on the sofas and cushions and aching for a soft bed, galvanized into action. There was no way there were not going to get their hands on those girls!

Trixie, Jim, Honey and Terry hurried out the door onto the riot/dance floor. Brian, Bobby, Mart and Larry went out the door into the main hall, hoping to head the girls off if they tried to go that way. Diana and Dan remained behind.

Dan, his ribs aching more than he’d let on to Brian, stayed slumped on a sofa. Diana, about to follow after Mart, instead stayed to keep him company. "I’m sure they’ll bring the girls back here at one point," she told him. "Does it hurt real bad?"

Dan grimaced. "I’ll be okay. I know from previous experience they’re not cracked or broken. I just think they’re bruised. Still hurts, though."

They waited, chatting amiably about the difference between real fights and staged ones, for several minutes. Then the door in the back of the room opened and Missi entered. She saw Diana and Dan, murmured, "Excuse me!" and backed out of the room.

Diana and Dan glanced at each other. "How did she get there?" they said in unison.

Diana stood. "You stay. I’ll go get her and bring her back." Mustering a determined expression, Diana opened the back door.

*      *     *

Trixie, Jim, Honey and Terry saw Staci, Missi and Cindi regroup, then split up. Cindi ran toward the front hallway, Missi toward the exit door on the other side of the dance floor and Staci toward the rear of the dance floor.

Trixie and Jim raced after Staci. The blonde easily ran through the drunken mob and found another door. She didn’t hesitate but opened it and ran through, disappearing inside.

Trixie reached the door and opened it, too. It was one end of a long row of bathroom stalls. Several stalls still had doors on them; they were all closed. Carefully, Trixie peeked under each closed stall and into each open one. More than once she had to beg pardon for accidentally peeking in on someone hoping for a little privacy.

Jim hesitated to enter the bathroom. It was clearly a women’s restroom. There wasn’t a urinal in sight. Weren’t there laws about him going into one? Then he saw a stall open and a man came out of it, glanced at Jim and then headed to the sinks. Trixie had made it almost to the end of the row of stalls when he decided to forgo the niceties of life and catch up with her.

The crowd of people smoking, drinking and applying makeup at the sink convinced Jim it was a unisex bathroom. In fact, most of the women here were men. He followed Trixie’s lead out the restroom door and down a long hallway. It was slow going, for Staci could have hid anywhere. She could have run past all these people. She could be camouflaging herself. He sure hoped Trixie had a plan.

Trixie thought wildly. Where the heck is this Staci person? What, did she just fly out of here? She pushed past people she knew couldn’t be Staci; they were too tall, too short or not the right ethnic group. She focussed on every blonde she could find. There were a lot of those.

*     *     *

Honey took off after Missi, easily catching up with her before the younger girl reached the Exit doors. "Excuse me, but you’re wanted for questioning!" Honey grabbed the girl’s arm and yanked her away from the doors.

Missi looked terrified. She began to cry, "Please! Don’t hurt me! I didn’t want to do it! He made me! He had pictures and-and- I didn’t have any choice! Please! You’ve got to believe me!"

Honey relaxed her grip. She had a soft spot for repentance. "I do believe you," she told her. "I just need you to answer some questions. You’re only in trouble if you run away from us again. Now come with me." Honey took the girl firmly back toward the gaudy room.

Missi let Honey take her almost to the door, then she jammed her heel onto Honey’s ankle, pushed the taller woman away from her and then bolted toward the back of the club.

*     *     *

Cindi, running for her life, made it to the hallway just in time to see the Brian, Bobby, Mart and Larry heading straight toward her. She screamed, lowered her head and charged like a bull straight through them.

She made it to the middle of the other dance floor before she stopped screaming.

*      *     *

Diana, cautiously walking down the long, dark hallway, tried to figure out where Missi had gone off to. Had she gone into one of these restrooms? Had she gone to the end of the hall and onto the other dance floor? Stuck in thought, she waited at the first restroom opening. She asked a young guy leaning casually against the door jamb if he’d seen a young blonde girl run past.

Slightly interested in the question, the guy answered. "Yeah. Just before you came out of that room, she did. She nearly knocked me down, you know? But then she ran through the restroom. There’s a door on that end, you know."

Diana smiled her thanks. "I really appreciate your help!"

"No problem," the guy smiled back. "Any time." He watched as Diana hurried through the bathroom toward the other door. Then he turned to a young blonde girl hiding behind him. "I want my money now."

Missi wordlessly handed him a wad of cash, then headed back down the hall, toward the small room.

*     *     *

Trixie and Jim reached the disco-themed dance floor. Finding a nearby chair, Trixie jumped on top to survey the crowd. Near the door leading to the small room, she saw Staci, staring directly at her. The girl looked angry. Trixie prepared to show her ‘angry’.

"She’s over there," she told Jim. "Let’s go!" She leaped off the chair into the crowd. Jim grit his teeth and followed her.

By the time they reached the middle of the dance floor, they found a screaming blonde heading directly for them. Before they could process the girl’s identity, she saw them, she stopped screaming for a moment, then continued as before, screaming and running right through the crowd.

"Go after that one! I’ll get this one," Jim instructed Trixie. He turned and ran after Cindi.

Trixie reached the door to the little room, opened it, and found no one there. She shut the door and faced the disco room.

*     *     *

Brian, Bobby, Mart and Larry regrouped and took after Cindi. They followed her into the Disco room, but lost her briefly in the crowd. Considering the girl screamed like a Banshee, losing her spoke volumes about that group’s tracking abilities.

Brian and Bobby, the tallest and fastest runners, headed directly after Cindi’s last known trajectory. Mart and Larry took off in opposite directions, in case Cindi managed to double back.

Looking for Cindi, Larry almost didn’t recognize Staci heading straight for him. He spread his arms to catch her. Without hesitating, Staci jammed her foot up between Larry’s legs. When he collapsed on the floor, she stepped over him and went down the hall.

Mart made around the dance floor to the hallway leading to the restrooms. He saw Brian standing in the center of the crowd. Their eyes met and Brian shrugged. Mart turned toward the hallway and almost collided with Jim. "Hey! Where are you going?"

Jim scowled. "Didn’t you see Cindi come this way?"

"Yeah," Mart agreed. "But then she disappeared. But I thought she was going the other way."

"There’s another entrance to this hallway. I followed Cindi through that one to this one." He thrust a hand through his hair and wiped sweat off his brow. "At least, I thought I did."

"Well, let’s be sure to stick together," Mart suggested. "Maybe we’ll have better luck."

"I must’ve missed something," Jim sighed. "Let’s go back down the hallway toward that ugly little room and see if we can find something."

*      *     *

His ribs ached. His head ached. His knuckles ached. Dan was in serious pain. But he smiled, remembering the look in Trixie’s eyes when he almost got to kiss her. It would have been a serious kiss, too, not like in the hotel room, when he’d been hoping to attract the attention of that other couple.

His eyes closed. At least that didn’t hurt.

The door to the long hallway opened and a sudden breeze rushed past him. He opened his eyes, startled to find the girl Diana had just gone after, entering the room. "Hey!" he called out. "You’re the-"

As he tried to stand, Missi callously shoved him back against the couch. He groaned in renewed pain as Missi just kept on walking straight out the front door.

No way was he going to let that girl get the best of him! He managed to pull himself upright and take off after her.

An instant after he closed the door behind him, the door to the disco room opened, Trixie peeked in, and then the door shut again.

*      *      *

When Diana reached the riot room, she suspected she might have been tricked. She asked several more people where Missi had gone, and no one had seen her at all. She headed back toward the small room, moving along the wall to the next connecting door.

*      *      *

Missi reached the main hallway just in time to see Staci coming at her. "I couldn’t find you!" she panted. "Where have you been?"

Staci shouted back, "I’ve been looking for you! Now where’s Cindi?"

They looked up the hallway and down the hallway. "I don’t know!" Missi cried. "I lost her in that other room!"

"Oh, great! Here they come again! What do they want with us?" Staci moaned, pointing over her friend’s shoulder as Brian, Terry and limping Larry appeared several yards away in the same hallway.

Missi grabbed her friend and pushed her back toward the little room.

The door opened in front of them and a very angry and achy Dan stormed out at them. The girls shrieked and headed toward the riot room.

*      *      *

As they passed the entrance to the strange little room, Terry said to his brother, "Hey, man. You must be dying. Why don’t you go rest on one of the couches?" Larry nodded and hobbled off to recuperate.

Terry and Brian hurried after Missi and Staci.

*       *      * 

Bobby found Trixie guarding the door into the sofa room. "Have you seen Cindi come by here?" he asked her.

"Yeah. She went that way and Jim took off after her." She indicated the direction. "I’m trying to decide which is better. Remaining here where I can see more or choosing a path and following it."

Bobby blinked at her. "Uh-huh. Well. Um. I don’t know." From his vantage point, several inches above his sister’s, he could see Mart talking with Jim. Then they turned and disappeared into the long hallway that led to the bathrooms.

"When in doubt, stick it out," Bobby said.

The corner of Trixie’s mouth quirked upward. "Okay," she agreed. "We stick it out here. Apparently, everybody comes through here eventually anyway."

*      *     *

Diana found the door back into the small room. She opened it and discovered not Dan lying in pain, but her brother Larry. She hurried over to him. "Larry! What happened?" she asked.

Larry, curled up in a fetal position, just opened his eyes in response. "I got hurt, Di. Hurt bad. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?"

*      *      *

After Honey got charley horsed, fell on the floor and got kicked by a drunk, a handsome security guard suddenly appeared to help her up. "Are you all right, miss?"

Honey smiled up at her Good Samaritan. "I’ll be fine, thanks."

She let him help her to a group of chairs loosely surrounding several tables. He pulled one aside and helped her into it, then kneeled in front of her. "I’ve got some EMT training. Do you mind if I –" he gestured at her calf.

"Please. Go right ahead," she told him. He picked up her foot gently and untied her sneaker, slipping it off easily.

"Does that hurt?" he asked her, concern radiating from his huge blue eyes.

"Not much," she replied. He is so cute! she thought. What a shame he’s gay! Of course, even if he weren’t I’m spoken for. But still, he is so cute!

The young man carefully worked his hands up Honey’s calf, on the outside of her jeans, gently massaging the muscle. Beads of sweat burst on Honey’s upper lip as he managed to find the sore muscle. She tried not to jerk her leg away from him, but it was difficult.

He looked up at her. "Whoa, take it easy. I’m sorry. I guess I found the spot, huh?" He grinned.

For a moment, Honey took in the man’s blue eyes, his dark brown hair, his tanned skin, his gentle manner and his incredibly broad shoulders and thought, Brian who? But only for a moment.

As he massaged her calf muscle, easing the ache, he asked her, "how long are you in town for?"

"Just a few days," she replied, keeping her attention on her hurt leg.

"Where are you from originally?"

"Well, I was born in Manhattan, but I live in Upstate New York, along the Hudson, actually."

"No kidding! My brother once dated a guy from White Plains. Ever hear of it?"

"Wow! That’s like two hours or so from Sleepyside. That’s where I live."

"Small world." He smiled up at her again. "My brother is the head bartender here. He works on the other side, though. He’s the one who got me this job." He slipped her shoe back on her foot, then leaned forward conspiratorially. "Don’t tell my boss, but I’m not gay."

Honey felt her heart twist with sudden, unexpected temptation. She leaned closer to the man’s ear and whispered, "If you don’t tell him I’m engaged, okay?"

The man jerked backward, all apologies. "I didn’t realize, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-"

Honey almost laughed. "It’s okay. Really. My friends and my fiancée are in that little room over there. Could you help me get there?"

"No problem." He stood and helped her out of the chair. When she tried to put weight on her leg, it almost buckled out from under her. "I’ll carry you in there," the man told her. "My name’s Brian, by the way."

Honey did laugh then. "This is a small world. My fiancé’s name is Brian, too!"

*      *      *

Diana jumped up when the door to the riot room slammed open and Missi and Staci rushed in. "Hey! Stop right there!" she shouted, but the girls just rushed across the room to the opposite door.

They opened it and found Bobby and Trixie, equally startled, standing guard just outside. Missi and Staci turned toward the door to the bathroom hallway, but Jim and Mart burst through, each hand wrapped tight around Cindi’s wrists. They turned again to the door they just came through, but Brian and Terry stood there fuming. The girls edged backward to the front door. Slowly, Staci put her hand on the knob and twisted it, carefully watching as the entire group of people started moving steadily toward her. The knob stopped twisting, the lock released from the catch and the door began to swing toward her. Staci backed out through the doorway, pulling Missi along with her, then she ran into something big, hard and unyielding. She looked up. It was Dan.

 

 

 

Chapter 8

1:45 a.m., Friday Morning
that odd little red, blue and gold room at Trax

"You may as well tell us what’s going on. There’s really no point in keeping it all a secret any longer."

"Why?" the girl known only as Missi growled up at Trixie. "You’re not the police. Why should we tell you anything?"

Trixie narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice. She could be intimidating when she wanted to be, despite what any of the guys thought. She leaned over the gaudy couch and stared down at the younger woman. "I’m not the police. That’s why you should tell me. The police have procedure and rules to follow. I don’t."

Missi glared up at her distrustfully. Next to her on the sofa, Staci moaned in distress while Cindi just stared at her shoes. "Come on, guys," Staci pleaded, "let’s just confess. Maybe they’ll understand. Maybe they can help us out."

"No way!" Missi shot back. "No way am I going to trust these Yankees for nothing!"

Staci groaned. "Gosh, Miss, does everything have to be about that war? I mean, get over it already! We lost and that’s that! The South ain’t going to rise again and these nice folks ain’t the ones who killed your great-great-grandfather at Gettysburg, okay?"

So, Trixie thought, Missi is a Civil War buff. Wish I could think of a way to use that. Aloud she said, "You can trust us. We just want to get to the bottom of what happened to Bobby, Terry and Larry. Now, I’m assuming by your statements earlier that you were coerced into stealing their things and their car. If that’s true, then all we really want is the name and address of whoever it was who convinced you to do it. Can you help us out?"

Honey stood next to Trixie during the interrogation, remaining silent as Trixie preferred. Honey’s role during questioning was to listen for weakness and inconsistency, ask a pertinent question if it occurred to her, and help Trixie judge the veracity of their witness. If necessary, Honey might take over the conversation, depending on how much soft-soap the person required before proffering information. If these girls were Southern belles, her wealthy background just might be the ticket.

The others hung back, resting and watching and waiting. The twins and Bobby sat directly opposite the three girls, alternately angry and disappointed, but otherwise completely silent. Brian, Dan, Jim and Mart guarded the doors, keeping the clubbers outside. Diana just watched her friends at work, amazed at how professional and confident they sounded. They’ve really grown up! she thought to herself. I feel like a kid in comparison.

Trixie still waited for a reply – any reply. Missi had clammed up, angry at Staci’s comment. Staci apparently regretted her harsh words. Her gaze failed to even reach Trixie’s knees. Cindi, however, still stared at her knees. Trixie noticed the girl had started to cry. She continued to direct her comments to Missi, but meant them for Cindi’s ears and her conscience.

"Look, we can help you out with the police. After all, if you were forced into this, then it’s not really your fault and I’m sure that the police will understand. If you don’t cooperate with us, then we’ll have to call the cops ourselves and say that we’ve caught the people responsible. You’ll be charged, then, and the police won’t care that somebody made you do it. They won’t care that you didn’t have a choice in the matter. They won’t care that you don’t have a record. That you come from a nice family or that you didn’t mean any harm." Trixie paused to let that sink in. "You know, maybe prison won’t be so bad."

Cindi glanced up at Trixie. "Prison?" she repeated.

Bingo! Trixie thought. "Yeah, prison. People who steal go to prison. Especially women. Even more especially, women who don’t have any information the cops might be more interested in, like the identity of the ringleader or the crime boss. Women usually don’t have any information to trade for a plea bargain or a lighter sentence, so they get sent to prison."

Honey said softly, "Don’t forget the narcotics."

Trixie snapped her fingers and smiled at her friend. "That’s right! There were drugs involved!"

Cindy became much more alert and interested. "So?"

"Well, when there’s drugs involved, then you’re talking about mandatory sentencing. You slipped drugs to three unsuspecting young men, you know. And didn’t I hear that Florida’s got that statute regarding selling drugs in school zones? Well, there’s a pre-school the next block over from that alleyway. That’s a mandatory 1 year in prison. Combined with Grand Theft Auto for taking the car, you’re looking at 5-10 in a state prison. Minimum," Trixie stated matter-of-factly. "Thanks, Honey, for reminding me about the narcotics. I’ll be sure to tell the police when they arrive."

"Don’t forget the civil suit," Honey added. "Mr. Lynch isn’t going to like what these girls did to humiliate his only sons."

Trixie exaggerated her nod. "That’s very true. Maybe you’ve heard of Ted Lynch? Fifteen years ago they called him the Luckiest Man on Wall Street. Now they simply call him a Genius. He picked up Microsoft stock when it was just a few dollars a share. Now he and Bill Gates swap email. You think such an important man would let three girls get the best of his sons without throwing in a little civil suit? Pain & suffering aside, a decent lawyer will be able to make any jury see how your little stunt has psychologically crippled these young, good looking boys. What chance do you have to defend yourself against all that?"

Cindi, her mouth open in complete horror, looked from Honey to Trixie to Staci and Missi, then to everyone else in the room. "I got no chance!" she wailed, tears dripping from her eyes. "No chance at all! I’m not rich like them! They’ll hang me out to dry!"

Missi hissed at her, "Shut up! She’s just trying to scare you! They got nothing on us! Nothing! It’s just their word against ours! No witnesses, remember? We’re in the clear!"

Trixie grinned. She’d been waiting for this. "Actually, Missi, there was a witness. That ‘deserted alley’ wasn’t so deserted. A homeless man lived there and he witnessed the entire incident. I spoke to him not more than two days ago. He gave a perfect description of the three of you, right down to the shoes you were wearing. He thought he had a front row seat for a kink-fest, but when you three just left the guys on the pavement, he knew something else was up."

"There wasn’t any homeless guy!" Missi snapped. "You’re making him up! We checked that alley! It was deserted."

"Yeah, it was," Trixie agreed. "When you checked it. But he came back when you gave the guys the drugs. He saw everything."

"Oh, yeah? Then what’s his name?" Missi demanded.

"Tom Delanoy."

Trixie just said the first name that came to mind. She knew Tom, the Wheeler’s chauffeur, wouldn’t mind being used this way. He’d always enjoyed being a part of her mystery-solving adventures. She just hoped no one else in the room would react and give her away. Luckily, no one did.

Missi visibly deflated. By this time, tears had welled up in Staci’s eyes and Cindi was well on her way to hyperventilation.

"What are we going to do?" Staci cried. "He’s going to ruin us! There’ll be such a scandal. We’ll never survive it. Never!"

Honey stepped forward, knelt and laid a hand on Staci’s knee. She gazed up at the teenager with a sympathetic air. "Who will ruin you? What scandal? Tell us and we can help you. I promise. It will all be all right."

Cindi, a hopeless mess by now, could only brokenly urge her friend to ‘tell them everything.’ Missi, stunned mute and missing her earlier bravado, waved a hand half-heartedly in defeat. Staci took a long shuddering breath, and confessed.

"It’s like this. Missi, Cindi and I are friends at nursing school in Rome."

"Georgia," Cindi clarified, sniffling.

"Right. Rome, Georgia. Anyway, we came down to Tampa for Spring Break. It’s only eight hours, so we figured we could drive it no problem. We got down here, though, and our car overheated. I don’t know why. We took it to the first garage we could find and the mechanic told us there were all sorts of problems with the car, including something called the ‘idler arm’, and if it weren’t fixed, the wheel would just go flying off in the middle of the ROAD!"

At this last, borderline hysterical comment, the room erupted in laughter. "He told you what?" Mart asked. "That the wheel would fly off?"

"Yeah," Staci nodded, uneasy with the ridicule. "So what?"

Mart smiled broadly. "Have you ever seen that happen?"

Staci thought a moment. "No."

"That’s because it can’t happen! There are too many parts designed to prevent that from happening. That mechanic sure saw you coming."

"Mart!" Diana scolded him. "That’s enough! You have no idea how frightening it is for a woman to go talk to a mechanic, let alone when she’s hours from home in a strange city! I think they were very brave." She smiled encouragingly at Staci to continue.

Staci took another shuddering breath and continued. "So we left the car there, but we didn’t have a way to get to the hotel. So that’s when this really nice guy offered to give us a ride."

"Only, he wasn’t so very nice," Cindi sniffed. "He didn’t take us to the beach."

"No, he didn’t!" Staci continued. "He took us to this little bungalow somewhere in this really old section of town. He said he needed to get some things and we were welcome to wait in his living room. So we did and that’s when the mechanic showed up! We were really surprised. I mean, he was supposed to be working on our car, but there he was, just letting himself in."

Cindi added, "He gave me the creeps."

Staci nodded. "Then the guy came out of his kitchen with a pitcher full of sweet tea. He gave us some to drink and we did. The next thing we know, we’re waking up in this guy’s bed the next morning!" She couldn’t control her growing hysteria. Honey patted her knee and murmured sympathetically. Cindi put her arm around her friend to comfort her, but she couldn’t speak, either.

Trixie heard the room grow quiet. Whatever that man had done to them, he had drugged them to do it. But what? What could be so terrible?

Missi finally spoke. "He said he slipped us something called a ‘roofie’. It was in the tea. He took pictures and a videotape of us with him and that other guy. He showed us the tape that morning and said that the only way to keep that tape off the Internet or the street or from going to every single one of our parents’ neighbors was to do exactly what he said for us to do. He said he’d been doing this for years and no one had ever gotten busted for it. It was perfectly safe as long as we did exactly what he said. We thought about it and decided to go along. So we did. And now we’re here."

Trixie allowed the story to sink in. "So this guy is the one who planned everything?" They nodded. "He gave you the drugs to give to the guys?" They nodded. "How did he know you wouldn’t go to the police or just skip town?"

"He said he’d keep tabs on us the entire time. He put tracking devices in us and said he was going to follow us wherever we went until we’d done what he wanted," Missi replied.

"I’m sorry, but he put a tracking device in you?" Trixie frowned. "How? Where?"

In unison, each girl held up her left arm, palm facing out. Tiny identical adhesive bandages decorated each girl’s arm an inch below her wrist.

Trixie just stared. "I’m sorry. I’m not sure I’m following this. He injected you with something?"

Staci nodded. "Uh-huh. Just like on X-Files. He put a microchip in each of us so he would know where we were at all times. He said he would keep tabs on us through his GSP on his computer and he’d know if we ever went near the police. Besides, he said he could hack into the police database and if we filed a report, the videotape would automatically go on the Net and to our neighbors back home."

"Wait a minute!" Brian interrupted. "Excuse me, but can you show me the injection site?" He stepped forward, a grin playing on his lips.

"It’s okay," Honey explained to Staci. "He’s a doctor."

"Why do people say that?" Missi wondered rhetorically. "Being a doctor automatically gives him special privileges and rights?"

"Rule number one of Nursing School," Brian quipped. "Now, let me see that arm." He knelt in front of Staci and took her hand, turning it over. With a swift pull, he ripped the bandage off her skin. She barely flinched. Brian examined the small cut on Staci’s arm. He prodded at the skin. He looked as closely as he could. Finally, he stood. "Sorry, ladies, but there’s nothing under there. In fact, it looks as if it was done with an razor blade. Actually, an X-Acto knife, but I’m not an expert."

"What!?" Missi exclaimed, ripping off her bandage and examining her own arm. "I don’t believe it!"

Honey said sympathetically. "I’m sorry you were tricked."

Mart, still leaning against the door to the disco room, remarked, "If you’d had any common sense, you’d have realized that The X-Files, while highly entertaining, is just a TV show. And it’s a GPS*, by the way."

"Well, they do it on Discovery Channel, too! To alligators and elephants and sharks and lions and all sorts of animals! And I’m a nursing student. What do I need to know about GPS’s?" Cindi defended her friends. Mart just shook his head.

"Ignore him. He thinks he knows everything," Trixie recommended. "Now, did he bug you in any way?"

"Yeah," Missi cracked. "His existence bugs us."

"You know what I mean," Trixie calmly replied. "Don’t you?"

Staci shook her head. "No, he just used the ‘tracking devices’. We were never sure, though, that he wasn’t watching us. Especially when we left the motel."

"So you aren’t actually staying somewhere on the beach?" That would explain her inability to find the girls listed on any registration list.

"Not on the beach, no. Just some fleabag motel a block or so from this guy’s house."

"So how’d you get around?" Trixie questioned.

"With our car. The mechanic fixed it and then this guy, he put a sort of modified lo-jack system in it," Missi replied, then said to Mart, "and don’t you start telling me that doesn’t exist! My daddy got one put in his Mercedes last year." Mart just ignored her.

"It’s parked in a lot a little ways from here," Cindi offered.

"How do you know there’s a tracking device in the car itself?" Trixie asked. "And why would he track the car and the three of you? It doesn’t make sense."

"Well, we know it’s not exactly a tracking device. We’ve seen it. It’s a black box and inside there’s some computer parts and it blinks. Every so often it beeps," Staci explained. "If we try to double-cross him, or if he feels we’ve been holding out, he can explode it. If we try to leave, if we remove it, it will go off, or so he tells us." She cast Mart an uncertain look. "He said he’ll take it out when we’ve done everything he wants. I think that’s why the box is in the car."

"What more does he want?" Honey asked, bewildered. "And why couldn’t you take someone else’s car?"

"That would be stealing!" Cindi replied, a bit shocked at the suggestion. "We weren’t doing this because we wanted to, but because we had to!"

Missi just rubbed her hand over her face in exhaustion and sighed. "Since we did so well with these guys, he wants us to steal from somebody else. That’s what we’re doing out here. Looking for another sucker."

"You know, you haven’t mentioned this guy’s name or address," Trixie prompted.

"He said his name was Jose, but he doesn’t look a bit Hispanic," Missi remarked dryly. "I think I heard the other guy, the mechanic, call him Joe."

"What’s the mechanic’s name?"

"Sean something or other. He talked real funny," Cindi giggled.

Trixie felt they were finally getting somewhere. Now they could concentrate on nailing the creeps. "How’s that?"

"He kept saying things like, ‘what aboot the girls’ or ‘I’m going oot’."

"Oh. He’s Canadian." Trixie thought hard. "How does he get in contact with you? Do you report in or something?"

Missi shook her head. "No, he calls us at the motel. He doesn’t want us to be able to find him, I guess. Once or twice he just showed up at the beach. I think he’s been following us around, but I haven’t seen him tonight."

Trixie nodded, thoughts swirling through the organized chaos of her brain. How should she get the girls to give up Joe and Sean? Several ways presented themselves to her, but only one would be the best way to go.

*     *     *

Since last call was 2:30 a.m., the group decided to leave Trax and head back to the hotel for some rest. They’d make plans in the morning to bust Sean and Joe. The girls, however, were worried that, if they didn’t show up at their motel, Joe or Sean would come after them. To solve their little dilemma, and to keep the girls in their sight, Trixie decided to locate the tracking device in the girls’ car.

"You know," she explained as the group left Trax, "I really don’t anticipate this being an actual working device, much less a bomb. Those are way too easily traced."

The group quickly made their way to the parking lot where the girls’ car was parked. Luckily, it was just half a block from the van. Trixie unlocked the car and, without much hesitation, removed the box. It wasn’t locked. There was a hinged lid, but otherwise, nothing to indicate the contents. In fact, the box was remarkably light. Carefully, she placed it on the concrete. As slowly as she could, she lifted the lid, ignoring the muttered protests of the people around her. She barely glanced up. "Come on, guys, be serious. For it to know it was out of the car, it would have to be hooked up to it in some way. It’s not. It can’t be activated by movement, since it’s in a vehicle and the roads around here are so terrible. Therefore, it’s not a bomb."

As it turned out, the tracking device was nothing more than a small, metal box with a piece of a computer panel inside. A single AA battery, hooked up to a small LED display, provided enough power to let the LED blink slowly. A sound-activated key chain chirruped every time it registered a certain sound frequency. Trixie had to laugh when she saw it. "It’s running out of power. I’m tempted to get a battery out of my purse and recharge it."

Cindi turned to Honey and asked, "Won’t that let him know we’re on to him? If we tamper with it, I mean, won’t it send a signal back to him that we’re not where we’re supposed to be?"

Honey smiled. "Cindi, I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem. You see," she pointed into the box. "This doesn’t do anything except light up and beep. There’s nothing in here that could possibly transmit your coordinates to anything."

"You mean, that creep lied to us AGAIN? He can’t really track us wherever we go?" Missi fairly roared with displeasure.

Trixie nodded. "Sounds like he really did a number on you girls. Are you sure that was really you three on the videotape?" Horrified, the girls shot each other the same look. "Don’t tell me," Trixie groaned, "You didn’t actually view the videotape, did you."

They shook their heads. "No," Staci admitted. "He just held up a videotape with our names on it and told us what was on it. We didn’t really want to see it, either. That would have been too gross!"

Cindi, however, turned hopeful. "Does that mean that there’s nothing for our parents to see?"

Missi fairly snarled in her fury. "That’s right, Cin. What’s more, we robbed three really nice guys for no good reason at all."

"Besides," Diana offered, "if it’s any comfort, it’s really hard to film a sex scene, even with experienced actors. I doubt there would have been all that much for you to worry about even if there had been a camera running."

"How would you know?" Missi asked, her eyes suspicious.

"Diana’s a famous movie star," Honey beamed.

"I knew I’d seen you somewhere before!" Cindi gushed. "You were in Avalon, weren’t you! You were Guinevere! Omigod, that’s like my favorite movie!"

Diana smiled. "You should read the book. It’s much better."

Cindi would have continued to gush had not Mart suggested they get a move on back to civilization. The parking lot was well on its way to desertion.

"Where to, then?" Missi asked. "Are we your prisoners now?"

"Not at all," Trixie replied. "But you must admit it’s safer to stay with us. You’ll be going back to our hotel room. It’s getting a bit crowded, but at least you’ll know you’re safe. We’ll take your car back to your motel, get your things, leaving enough to fool Joe and Sean in case they check on you visually, put Call Forwarding from your motel phone to my cell for when they try to call, then go back to The Sands and get some rest and a shower." Trixie ticked the items off on her fingers. "Have I left anything out?"

"No," Honey replied, "except exactly where we’re going to put everyone once we get there."

As the thirteen of them started discussing directions to the motel, Brian casually edged close to Dan and then led him a bit away from their friends. Since Dan wasn’t participating in the group discussion, they were soon out of immediate earshot of the group. Casually, Brian inquired, "So, Dan. When were you going to tell me about your bruised ribs?"

Dan shot him a surprised look. "How’d you know?"

Brian shrugged. "I saw the beating you were taking, I examined you afterward and I noticed you didn’t take part in our little wild goose chase earlier. It’s very unlike you to not help Trixie in her investigations."

Suddenly on guard, Dan replied as neutrally as possible. "Oh?"

"I figure the ribs aren’t broken, or you’d have more trouble breathing. They’re not cracked, or you’d be in more obvious pain. They must, therefore, be bruised," Brian continued steadily. "I could prescribe a pain medication for you, if you want."

"Oh, no. That’s okay," Dan replied. "I’ll be fine."

"If you say so, but if I know Trixie, she’ll be upset to learn that she may have injured you herself."

Dan glanced at Brian in surprise. He faced Brian directly. "How do you mean?"

Brian grinned. "I saw that frantic tear across the dance floor and that bear hug she gave you. I’ve been the recipient of my sister’s bear hugs before. They’re strong enough to crack ribs on a healthy man, let alone one who’s just gone ten rounds with Holyfield." His expression turned more serious and he drew himself up to his full height. "I saw everything."

Dan stood straighter in return, ignoring the pain in his ribs. Neutrally again, he replied, "Oh?"

"Hurt my sister and I’ll not only break your ribs, I’ll remove them. I’m a doctor. I know how. Got it?" Brian held the calm, threatening gaze for a moment longer, then grinned, relenting. "Relax, Dan. You’re one of my best friends." He laid a hand on his shoulder. "Treat my sister right and I might even dance at your wedding." He turned and rejoined the group piling into the van, leaving Dan alone.

Wedding? Dan repeated to himself. Wedding? They hadn’t even dated yet! Trixie called to him to hurry up, so he hastened to fit himself into the incredibly overcrowded van.

*     *     *

The next morning found twelve exhausted people crammed into one hotel room, and one Trixie Belden. "Come on, people!" she urged. "We’ve got things to do and bad guys to get!"

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, Diana stumbled toward the phone. "I’ve got to call London," she told no one in particular. "I won’t be back until Sunday, now." She dialed a long series of numbers and waited.

While she was on the phone, Trixie reviewed her list of things to do.

Make contact with Joe and/or Sean.

Investigate Joe’s bungalow.

Arrest Joe and Sean.

That was it. Simple.

*     *     *

Belden-Wheeler treated everyone to a room service brunch. Trixie didn’t want the girls to have too much opportunity to flee. She sent Bobby and the twins down to have fun on the beach. Mart and Diana volunteered to chaperone them. Trixie noticed that her brother and her famous friend seemed to be avoiding looking at each other, but she’d have to save that mystery for another time. While Jim, Dan and Brian channel-surfed and the girls busied themselves in the bathroom, Trixie and Honey sunned themselves on the balcony and discussed the case.

"Do you really think this Joe guy is going to call?"

"Of course I do. He’s going to want a report."

Honey nodded. "I suppose so. Can you believe he’s still got the BMW?"

Trixie shook her head in amazement. "I know! When the girls told us Sean was a mechanic, I was sure they’d have stripped it for parts by now! But with Joe still driving it - ! What a stroke of luck!"

Honey laughed. "I can’t believe it, either. But it fits, you know? I mean, here’s a guy who can make three nursing students believe that a simple metal box is a GPS*, that a blank video contains embarrassing information and that their car wheels will fly off at a moment’s notice!"

"Tell me the truth, Honey. We were never that gullible or that young, right?"

Honey thought a moment, her hazel eyes sparkling merrily. "No, I don’t think so."

"Yeah, we were always pretty savvy," Trixie said seriously. She sneaked a look at Honey, who was sneaking a look at her, and they both burst out laughing.

*     *     *

Room 1106
1:10 p.m.

"Oh my God. It’s ringing. What do I do?"

"Answer it, you idiot! Just pretend like nothing’s wrong!"

"You answer it, then!"

"Fine. Give me the phone."

Missi snatched the cell phone away from Cindi and answered the call. "Hello?" She flushed red. "Yeah, we’re okay. I was just in the, um, bathroom. Is that all right with you?" She listened. "Wait a minute! We’ve played straight with you! You can’t just leave us with that thing in our car! Yeah? Well, I’ve got something to say about that videotape-!"

Trixie and Honey, listening carefully to both ends of the conversation via their portable phone tap, shook their heads and mouthed No!

Missi glared at them, then continued, "You’d better not have made any copies of it or we’re going straight to the police! To hell with your threats! I’m tired of you!" She listened, growing pale now despite her angry outburst. A more subdued Missi hung up the phone a moment later.

"Well?" Cindi asked, breathless. Missi indicated that Trixie could fill them all in.

"He wants to meet them at 5 this afternoon, in a diner near the motel. When they hand over their latest haul, he says he’ll give them the tape."

"What about that box?" Staci asked. "Isn’t he going to want that back for the next sucker?"

"Apparently, that guy Sean is going to be there, too, to help him ‘remove it’," Honey supplied.

"Wow. It’s going to be over soon," Cindi smiled, completely relieved.

"Well, I hope you have a plan!" Missi barked at Trixie.

Honey grinned. "Trixie always has a plan."

*      *     *

Fortunately Missi, despite her bad humor, had an excellent memory. She led them directly to Joe’s house, a bungalow deep in the area of Tampa called Seminole Heights. While architecturally attractive, the area was clearly a much older section of town. As such, it had a decrepit, almost decaying feel. Joe’s house didn’t differ all that much from his neighbors, except for the shiny new BMW in the driveway.

They didn’t stop then, however. Instead, the detectives returned the men and the girls to the motel, there to wait upon Trixie and Honey’s return. (Bobby, Diana and the twins remained out from underfoot at the Sands.) They would then, or so the PI’s hoped, have enough evidence to charge Joe and Sean with more than simple extortion - and make it stick. Since they only told the guys that they were going to do some light surveillance and nothing illegal or dangerous ("We’d lose our licenses, after all!" Honey explained), they agreed that the women could go alone to the bungalow.

On the short drive to the house, Honey remarked, "You know, it’s kind of odd asking permission to do our jobs."

Trixie shrugged, avoiding a U-Haul truck that suddenly switched lanes directly in front of her. "They sure give out licenses to anybody, don’t they!" she snarled, irritated at the careless driver. To Honey, she said, "I know. But I guess I’ve gotten used to asking the guys permission to do things. I think of it more as a formality now than anything else. Plus it soothes their fragile egos to think we’d respect their wishes and stay out of it."

Honey laughed. "If they only knew what you really thought of them! Brian, of course, holds himself responsible for everyone’s safety. I don’t think that will ever really change."

"Wait until you two start having kids."

Honey blushed. "I can’t wait! I want kids so bad sometimes. It’s a real primitive urge. I can’t explain it. It’s like a calling." She regarded her friend carefully. "Don’t you want kids someday?"

"I haven’t really thought about it. I suppose so. I mean, I don’t really daydream about it. Mostly I see myself with cats." She shook her head, frankly bewildered by her own thoughts.

Honey had to drop the conversational thread, for they had just reached the turn onto Joe’s street. She resolved to pick it up later, however. The cat thing bothered her. Trixie had always been more of a dog person.

Parking the van a few doors down the street from the small house, Trixie hoped the vehicle didn’t stick out too badly in the neighborhood of iron-barred windows and BEWARE OF DOG signs. "Sure was a good thing the girls remembered how to get here," Honey remarked drily. "How many times have we driven around and around a neighborhood, looking for a particular roof design or rose bush because that’s all the client remembered?"

Trixie grinned. "Yeah, and how many times were their descriptions accurate? Zero." She gestured at the small, nondescript Florida style house. "Still, this is clearly the house. And, it’s got the BMW in the driveway."

"That is a dead giveaway," Honey agreed. "How are you going to get our quarry out of the house?"

Trixie grinned. "Just wait." She got her cell phone and turned it on. Pressing a few buttons, she brought up the Caller ID list. "Ha!" she cried. "He didn’t bother to use Callblock. Memorize this number: 555-4726." Paging through her menu of options, Trixie called Directory Assistance. A few more moments passed and she had Honey memorize a different set of digits. Paging through her on-screen phone book, she dialed a familiar number.

*     *     *

The phone rang suddenly overhead, startling Anne. Her head jerked up in response and it slammed against the underside of the desk, where she had been crouching, working on the Belden-Wheeler computer system. She cursed loudly and rubbed the painful spot with one hand while the other groped about on the desk to find the receiver. She pulled it off the cradle and tugged it down to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Anne. It’s me."

"Trixie!" Startled again, Anne bumped her head again onto the desk. She cursed a second time, then forced herself to sit more comfortably and safely on the floor. "What’s up?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I’m fine. You?"

"We’re great. Listen. I need you to do a little ID search for me."

"Wait a minute. Hold on. Let me get so I can use the computer." Anne set the phone down on top of the desk and then crawled out from the kneespace. She glanced at all the computer parts laid out on the floor. She put the phone on speaker. "So! Have you been enjoying the dry weather?"

"Anne?" Trixie asked.

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing?"

Anne grimaced. "I’m hooking the computer up. Why?"

"What did you do to my computer, Anne?"

"I’m just upgrading it a little. Don’t worry." Anne hastily connected the necessary wires as she talked. Putting computers together had long been second nature to her, so she barely had to think about it. It was like her hands knew what to do better than her brain. When the last connector had been tugged into place, she switched on the main power. "It’ll be up in a sec," she told Trixie.

"How did you get it in the case so fast?" Trixie asked.

"It’s not exactly in the case," Anne admitted. "But the computer’s up, so what do you want me to do?"

"Okay," Trixie said slowly. "We’ll talk about it later. Go into the phonebook CD and look for this number." She paused a moment, and Anne heard Honey in the background recite a seven digit number.

Inputting the digits even as Trixie repeated ‘813-555-4726’, remembering to include the area code for Hillsborough County, Anne watched the monitor and smiled. Her upgrades were working better than she had hoped. A brief moment later Anne had the answer. "Okay. I’ve got that registered to a Joseph Minor, at 4782 Seminole Run Boulevard, Tampa, Florida. You need anything else?"

"Yeah. See if you can run a quick trace on him. Use that program you created to find out his SSN, then pull his credit."

"Coming up," Anne replied, and set the necessary programs into play. While the program was running, she caught Trixie up on the happenings around Sleepyside. "Actually, you only missed a gullywasher, as my Dad called it. We had a pretty bad storm and your parent’s gardens flooded. Luckily, your mom hadn’t put in the new veggies yet. The clubhouse is still holding up, thank goodness. Other than the usual leaks in your office whenever it rains, nothing else comes to mind." A beep sounded from the computer, signaling the end of the search. "Got it. His credit report lists the First Bank of Tampa." She gave Trixie the information. "You ready for that phone number?" Trixie was, so Anne relayed the number. "Anything else?"

"No, that should be fine. Thanks. We’ll call you tonight when this whole thing is settled. Try not to work on our stuff all day, okay? I know you have your own business to see to."

Anne shrugged. "I’m way ahead of schedule on all that. But thanks. I’ll talk to you later, then. Bye!" She waited for Trixie to reply, then she closed the line. She quickly exited all the running programs and shut the computer down. She returned to her task of upgrading the computers, oblivious to a familiar voice in the outer room.

"Anne? Are you here?"

For the third time in twenty minutes, Anne slammed her head into the underside of the desk. "Ouch!" she groaned. "I’m in here." When she heard him enter the back office, she glanced up and smiled, absurdly happy just to see him. "Hey, stranger!"

He grinned slyly in return. "Why don’t you come out from under that desk and greet me properly?"

She felt herself blush slightly, but she complied. After enjoying a soul-searing kiss, she asked him, "I’m starving. Where are we going for dinner?"

"I was thinking of take-out back to my place. We could light a fire and see where that leads."

"Sounds great. Let me get my keys and lock up."

"Was that Trixie on the phone?"

"Yeah. I didn’t tell them anything, by the way."

"Ashamed of me?"

"Not in the slightest! It’s just, well, it’s not the sort of news you tell someone over the phone."

"Couldn’t they guess? I mean, they know you were with someone the other night."

"You know, I’m kind of wondering if they could guess."

"I have an idea," he said, holding the front door open for her. "Why don’t we see how long it takes them to figure it out?" As she put the key in the lock, he continued. "I say it’ll be Honey who’ll figure it out first, in 24 hours."

Anne laughed. "I say Dan in ten minutes. What do you want if you win?"

He leaned close to her ear and whispered a very personal reward. Anne blushed, feeling her knees weaken. "Sounds like I’ll be the winner either way," she whispered.

He kissed her again, holding her tight against him, enjoying the feel of her. "I certainly hope so!"

*      *      *

"Mr. Minor? Joseph Minor?"

"Yeah? Who’s this?"

"Mr. Minor, this is Ms. Stokowski at First Bank of Tampa. It’s about your account."

"My account? But I don’t have an account with you."

"Sir, our records indicate to the contrary. Do you reside at 4782 Seminole Run Boulevard, Tampa?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, sir, that is the information we have on this account."

"Oh, yeah, well, I guess I do have one. So?"

"Well, sir, we have in our office a young woman cashing out your account. Now, the paperwork is in order and the withdrawal is proceeding. This is just a courtesy call to discover your reasons for closing your account. We do not wish to lose any of our valued customers. Is there something I can do to keep you as a customer of the First Bank of Tampa?

"What! @#&#!!"

"Really, sir. There is no need for that kind of language. I merely wish to have something to put down for my records as to the reason for the account closing."

"I don’t want the account closed! They’re thieves! They’re taking my money! Don’t let them. Stop them!"

"Well, sir, I would, except that, as I said, the paperwork is in order. I’ll need you to come down to the branch immediately if you want to keep your account open and active."

"I can’t. I’ve got an appointment."

"I’m sorry, sir, but it would have to be as soon as possible. I have no reason to deny the account close unless you come down here. I’m sorry, but you will have to come down here to help us straighten this out."

"**#(%!!"

"As I said before, sir, there is no-"

"I’ll be there, *@%#!"

"Soon, I hope? The branch closes at 4 p.m."

"Ten minutes, all right?"

"Thank you, sir. We look forward to your arrival. In the meantime I’ll stall the transaction. Would you like me to put a call in to the police?"

"No! I’ll be right there! Don’t let them have a dime! And don’t call the police! I can handle it once I get there."

"Very well, sir. We’ll be expecting you."

Trixie stared at her partner in awe. "You are getting way too good at that," she marveled.

Honey flipped her long hair over her shoulder with an air of studied indifference, shutting off the cell phone. "It’s a gift."

"Do you think he bought it?"

"Oh, yeah. He’ll be there."

They sat in the van and waited. And waited. Less than two minutes passed before a young man, about 22-25 years old, exited the front door and headed for the BMW. He clicked the remote access and opened the driver’s side door and got in. A moment passed, the man rolled down the windows and threw the car into a swift reverse. Without a second look, he backed the luxury vehicle into the street and took off down the road, away from Trixie and Honey’s position.

Honey unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door. Trixie turned to her in surprise. "What’s that look for, Miss Belden?" Honey asked. "You were planning to case the joint, weren’t you?"

Trixie had to smile to hear Honey’s cultured voice using street slang. She nodded. "Yeah, that was the general idea. Let’s go."

They got out of the van and walked casually up the road to the bungalow. On closer inspection, Trixie could see the well-defined areas of crab grass and ant hills that had been allowed to grow through the yard. Whatever else his faults, Joe Minor didn’t do yard work. Trixie walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. She heard it echo inside the house, but no one answered. She banged on the door while Honey peeked through the curtains.

"There’s no one there, Trix. Try the door."

Trixie grabbed the door and twisted the knob. It didn’t move. "Darn it! I’d hoped he hadn’t locked it."

"Let’s go around back," Honey suggested.

Trixie followed her around to the back of the small dwelling. They discovered a back yard full of old car parts, wooden beams and plastic mildewed child-size wading pool. Honey glanced distastefully at the junk. "Do you have any idea the sort of diseases a person can pick up from rusted metal?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Dr. Belden," Trixie said dryly, turning away from the trashed back yard. "We’ve hit pay dirt. Look. An open door." Trixie pointed to a sliding glass door, open barely an inch. "Let’s go."

Honey brushed her hands of imaginary dirt and then followed Trixie into the house.

The bungalow, as they quickly realized, only had four rooms: kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and living/dining room. In the bedroom, as soon as they opened the closet, they found an old camcorder and a box of videotapes. "Check this out, Honey!" Trixie exclaimed. "The camcorder is a Betamax, believe it or not. Practically an antique."

Honey chuckled. "What do you know. These tapes are all VHS!"

Trixie regarded her friend bemusedly. "Why do I feel I should have been able to guess that already?"

Honey shrugged her thin shoulders. "I know. Absolutely nothing about this guy would give anyone with a lick of common sense a single moment of concern. Yet he’s able to get who knows how many women to fall for his little scheme every single year."

"The mark of a good con," Trixie said. "He preys on the trusting and the innocent." She frowned at the box. "You see anything in there that would indicate those might be the tapes the girls saw?"

Honey nodded. "Yeah, there’s a whole stack of stickers and several markers."

"Let’s keep looking. There’s nothing against the law about using outdated technology." Trixie stood up to search the rest of the closet. Several stacks of men’s magazine’s later, she came to the conclusion that there was nothing in the closet to really help them. In the bathroom, however, Honey found their evidence. She called Trixie in to show her the medicine cabinet.

"Look. Bottles of sleeping pills, all prescribed to Marian Minor. Here’s a prescription pad, too, stolen from some doctor in Orlando," Honey announced. "Now, if we could just find some better evidence linking him to the girls, then we-"

"Then you what, exactly?"

The menacing click of a semiautomatic echoed in the tiled room.

Chapter 9

A bungalow in Seminole Heights, Tampa
Immediately after Chapter 8

Trixie and Honey froze instantly. They stared at the mirror over the sink and saw a tall man with thinning blond hair pointing a gun at them. He frowned. "Well, go on, sweetie. Then you what?"

Through the mirror, Honey shot Trixie a startled look. Trixie frowned slightly and shook her head in reply. The man saw the exchange, however, and began moving the gun back and forth. "Hey! I’m talking here! Then you what? Then you WHAT?"

Trixie shrugged. "Then we put you away for fraud and extortion, as well as illegally prescribing controlled substances, kidnapping, and now, attempted murder."

The man laughed. "Oh, yeah. Right. You’re not cops! Do you think I’m stupid or something?"

"How do you know we’re not the police?" Trixie asked. She kept her eyes on the man’s face.

He stopped laughing. Realization swept his face. "I guess I don’t." As if it were planned, Honey and Trixie both shrugged. "Um. Aren’t you?" he asked hopefully. They remained silent, so he stepped into the bathroom right behind them. "Well, then. Body search!" He moved behind Trixie on the left. He laid the gun in his left hand across Trixie’s back, searching her with his right.

Trixie grimaced as the man felt her up. "Come on. It should be obvious I’m not hiding anything in this outfit," she said, referring to her jeans and cotton shirt.

The man just grinned at her over her shoulder. "So what? This is fun!" He turned toward Honey. "Your turn!"

Trixie watched him maneuver behind Honey, noticed the tub and tiled wall, then waited. When the man laid his gun flat across Honey’s back and began to search, she made her move. Bracing herself on the counter and the wall behind her, she drew her right leg up and, summoning all her strength and will, kicked him in his side, just below his rib cage, as hard as she could, knocking him off balance.

It all happened as if it were in slow motion. The man hung onto Honey, his left hand still holding the gun, his right grabbing around her waist. Honey lost her balance and fell against him, knocking him further off his feet. As he fell, his thighs struck the edge of the tub, forcing his knees to bend. His butt slammed into the bottom of the tub and his head struck the tiled wall. His right hand still held tight to Honey, so she landed on his lap, but was protected from hitting the tub or tile. His left hand, however, still held the gun. The shock of hitting his head on the tile, however, caused him to pull the trigger.

The sound echoed sharply in the small room. Trixie jumped, eyes shut involuntarily. Upon opening them, she immediately saw a huge gaping hole in the tile just beside the man’s left ear. Honey stared, panting, up at her. "You want to help me off this guy?" she growled.

Trixie hurried forward and pulled her friend out of the tub. They turned to see if their attacker was hurt by the gunshot. "I don’t see any blood on him," Trixie remarked. "Just some powder burns from the gun going off."

"Then why is he just laying there?" Honey asked, shaking her head.

"I think he fainted. Are you hurt?"

"No," Honey replied. "I think I lost some hearing though. That went off pretty close to me, you know."

Trixie nodded sympathetically. "Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m sure your hearing will return in an hour or two."

"What do you want to do with this guy now?"

Trixie stepped forward and eased the gun away from the man’s nerveless fingers. "Question him, of course." With a practiced move, she unloaded the gun and placed it on the counter next to her. She then turned on the shower. When he came to suddenly, his spastic attempt to get himself out of the tub resulted only in him sitting more securely inside it. She turned of the shower. He lay there wet and stared sullenly.

"Who are you?" Trixie demanded.

He didn’t respond.

"What’s your name?" Honey asked.

Still no response.

Trixie sighed. She took the gun off the counter and pointed it at him. "Are you going to talk or am I going to have to shoot?"

His sullenness turned to fear. "Don’t shoot me! I didn’t do nothing! I swear! Don’t shoot!"

"Fine," Trixie said, lowering the gun. "So who are you?"

"My name’s Sean Carnegie. No relation," he added.

"I didn’t think so," Honey replied.

Trixie continued. "So you’re Sean the mechanic?" At his nod, she continued. "You’re Joe’s accomplice. His partner in crime."

Sean shook his head. "No way! I didn’t do nothing! You got to believe me!"

"Why?" Honey asked. "We know you’ve already lied to three young women about their car."

"Who?"

"Three girls named Missi, Cindi and Staci. Who else?"

"Oh, them. I didn’t lie. I repaired their car. That’s all."

"You told them their wheels would go flying off if they didn’t fix their idler arm!" Trixie informed him.

Even though he was fairly well braced into the tub, Sean managed to shrug. "So? I have to make a living. And that wasn’t exactly a lie. It could happen. It just never does."

"You know, Honey, I really hate mechanics who prey on women. Who lie to them because they think they can get away with it, that women couldn’t possibly understand how or why a car works. And now that I’ve found such a mechanic, I think I’m going to make him pay for all the mechanics out there who treat women like idiots." Trixie aimed the gun directly at Sean’s head. Terrified, he began to whimper.

Honey laid a hand on Trixie’s shoulder. "But if he can help us nail his pal Joe," she said, "maybe he could redeem himself."

Hope soared in Sean’s eyes. "Yeah! I could do that!"

"You would?" Trixie asked, skeptically.

"Yeah! I would!"

"No, I don’t think so. We’ve already established you’re a dishonest mechanic. Why should we believe a word you say about anything?" Trixie aimed for Sean’s heart, then trained the gun lower.

"No! Please! Don’t!" Sean squealed and tried to cross his legs and protect his most valued asset.

"Look at that, Honey. That’s men for you," she scoffed. "Facing death and he’s worried about his manhood. If I were you, I’d worry about cooperating."

"Ask me a question! I’ll tell you everything! I swear! Please!"

Honey appeared to think hard about it. "You know, Trix. I think we should let him talk."

"What?" Trixie said angrily.

"Yeah. Let this one talk," urged Honey.

"Then can we shoot him?"

"No, Trixie! I won’t let you shoot this one, too! Then the Organization would really get upset."

Trixie appeared to consider it. "Maybe you’re right." She lowered the gun. "All right, Seanie-boy. Talk."

"What ‘organization’?" Sean asked, his voice trembling.

"The organization we belong to, of course," Honey offered. "We help people who have been victimized by unauthorized lowlifes such as yourself. We’re sort of a ‘Revenge Squad’, wouldn’t you agree?"

Trixie grinned without humor. "I’d say we specialize more in unauthorized criminal activity, but, yeah. We’ve been known to wreak a little vengeance now and again." Sean stared up at them, wide-eyed and petrified. Trixie waved the gun around a little. "So talk!" she ordered.

"Okay, it’s like this," Sean began hastily. "Last year I moved down here from Toronto and I meet this guy Joe down in Ybor. We become friends and he tells me that he’s got this sweet scam he pulls on out of towners. He gets girls to come to his house, he drugs them with sleeping pills and when they wake up, he tells them he’s got embarrassing photos or videotape of them doing really nasty things. He says he’ll send the tapes to their parents, their friends, their neighbors and their minister if they don’t do what he wants, which is to go pick up some guys, give them some pills and take their clothes, money and whatever else they can get. They bring it all back here and then Joe destroys the tape for them. He’s said he’s been doing this for the past six years."

Six years? Trixie repeated to herself. The police only had records going back three years! Aloud, she asked, "What does he do about girls who go to the cops?"

"They don’t go. Joe says most girls are afraid of the cops, or of the cops finding out what they did. He tells them no one would believe the tapes weren’t made without their cooperation and there’s nothing to link him to them anyway."

"And there really isn’t, is there? Because nothing actually happens and nothing is caught on tape."

"Right! So there’s no evidence, no crime. As far as Joe knows, see, the girls steal from guys all the time. It’s a perfect setup!"

"Until now, that is," Trixie told him. "You realize you’re going to tell the cops exactly what you just told us. Honey; call the local boys in blue. Tell them we’ve got the answer to six years’ worth of unsolved crimes here."

Honey nodded and stepped out of the bathroom to use the phone she’d noticed in Joe’s living room. While informing the police secretary of the pertinent information, she heard a scrape of tires on the driveway outside. Glancing out the window, she saw Joe get out of the BMW and head for the front door. Honey called urgently, "Trixie! Joe’s back!" She told the police to hurry and positioned herself beside the front door.

When Joe opened the door, he was met with a solid kick right into his solar plexus. He almost flew out the door and landed on his front stoop, stunned and gasping for air. Honey, still on the phone, continued to update the police. Trixie joined her in the doorway, the gun still in her hand.

"Are they coming?" she asked, breathless. Joe barely moved, so stunned was he by the sudden, unexpected blow. Trixie kicked at his feet. He lifted his head, looked at her, then groaned and laid it back down on the concrete.

"Is he all right?" Honey asked.

"He’ll live," Trixie told her. "You know, your getting really good at that."

"Practice makes perfectly perfect," Honey chirped. "Help me get him inside."

Between the two of them, they easily managed to get Joe, a smaller-than-average man, inside and onto his couch. Trixie trained the gun on him, but he still couldn’t catch his breath, so he wasn’t much of a threat.

"What’d you do with Sean?" Honey asked.

Trixie grinned. "I pistol-whipped him." At Honey’s surprised look, Trixie grinned. "Well, I’ve always wanted to do it, and here was my opportunity." Honey’s surprise turned to suspicion. "I just hit him once, across the temple. Honest."

They stood guard over Joe until the police arrived. Four squad cars pulled onto the lawn and eight officers approached the open door. Trixie and Honey pulled out their ID’s, turned over the gun and the ammunition and explained everything. Sean, coming to in the bathroom, caved after the police mentioned deportation, and cooperated fully. Joe demanded to speak to his lawyer.

On the lawn outside, Trixie conferred with Detective Martinez, the officer in charge of the investigation. "So, although the girls did rob my clients, they were acting under duress. They’re willing to cooperate fully as long as no charges are brought against them. I told them the police would more likely be lenient if they did, so please don’t make me a liar."

Detective Martinez smiled at her. "No problem, Ms. Belden. I’ve been hunting this con artist for five years now."

Trixie frowned. "Five years? But there’s only records of these cases going back three!"

He told her, "Well, that’s not exactly true. We’ve only been reclassifying them for the past three. But I’ve been aware of this going back to when I walked a beat."

"Well, then you should probably know that Joe told Sean he’d been working this scam for six years. I’m sure there are a lot more cases you could clear than you think."

He smiled. "Thanks. I mean that. You know, a lot of the guys on the job don’t like private eyes. They think they’re the only ones who should be empowered to investigate crimes or take down bad guys. Me, though, I think cops should take more advantage of PI’s and their ability to focus on one case at a time and avoid the bureaucracy that comes with police work."

Touched, Trixie smiled back. "Thanks. I really appreciate that. I wish the cops in Sleepyside took that attitude. It’d make my life easier!"

"Are you staying in town much longer?" he asked neutrally.

"No, we need to get back to New York. I was only down here to help my brother. Strictly a business trip, you know. It’s a beautiful old city, though. There are a lot of interesting things to see and do. Despite the traffic, that is."

He laughed knowingly. "Well, Ms. Belden, if you ever decide to come down here again and enjoy some sun and fun, call me, okay? I’d be happy to show you around, be your personal tour guide, treat you to dinner somewhere really nice."

Trixie cocked her head at him. He’s really cute, she thought. "That sounds great," she told him. "If I ever do come back here, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, if you need anything from me regarding this case, you do have my card."

"It’s right here," he told her, patting his left breast pocket.

Honey joined them. "They’re finally here," she told Trixie, pointing to a fifth police cruiser. As they watched, the officers opened the back doors, allowing Missi, Cindi and Staci to disembark.

"Those are the girls who can help you," Trixie informed Detective Martinez. He thanked her and Honey, then went to question the women. Trixie and Honey waited as a sixth police cruiser pulled up. After a moment, Brian and Jim joined them on the lawn.

"So what happened?" Brian asked.

"Oh, nothing much," Honey replied, giving him a hug. "We just found the bad guys and held them until the police came."

Brian chuckled. "Held them with what?"

As officers led Sean out in cuffs, she said, "Well, Trixie kicked that guy into the bathtub, took his gun and threatened to shoot him if he didn’t cooperate." She indicated the frightened Canadian. "Then I dropped Joe as he returned home."

"’Dropped’ him?" Jim repeated. "Dropped him how?"

"With a kick to his plexus," she told him. "Works every time."

Brian smiled down into his fiancée’s eyes. "You’re amazing, you know that? When I met you, you were this tiny little thing, all skin and bones. Now look at you. You’re a blonde Xena." He leaned to whisper in her ear.

Trixie saw her brother whisper and then Honey blush scarlet. Drawing attention away from them, she briefly outlined the chain of events for Jim’s benefit "So you see, we were never in any real danger."

"Unless the guys decided to test your promise to shoot them, that is!" Jim argued. "If they had resisted, what were you going to do? How could you have defended yourself? You should have had one of us along. Going in there by yourselves was both brainless and foolhardy."

Trixie stared levelly at him. You know, Jim, I’ve had just about enough of your condescending attitude! The mere fact that you think I can’t handle myself is just proof that you don’t think much of me at all. I can’t spend my life hoping to live up to your expectations of me, always wondering if I’m taking a risk by getting out of bed in the morning! I really care about you, but I can’t spend my life with a man who obviously thinks so little of me. Taking a deep breath, Trixie said, "You know, Jim, I’ve had just about-"

"Trixie! You’re all right!" Dan ran toward her. In one smooth movement, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground, swinging her in a wide circle. He set her down again and smiled into her baby blues. "I’m so glad!" he said softly, grinning in relief. He glanced up at Honey and Brian. "You, too, Honey!"

Mart, strolling slowly across the lawn with a thoughtful expression, joined them then. "Yeah, it’s great you’re both all right." He tossed a set of keys into the air. "You know, Dan, you should have let me drive the girls’ car here. You left the engine running and in gear. If I hadn’t acted quickly, you would have rear-ended the cruiser over there."

Sheepish, Dan thanked Mart for his quick thinking. "Sorry about that. I guess I was just relieved to see that nobody got hurt." His arm still around Trixie’s shoulders, he suggested, "Why don’t we discuss it over dinner? I’m starved but I don’t want to miss any of the juicy details!"

"Sounds good," Brian agreed. "If the police don’t need anything more, let’s go."

*     *      *

6:25 p.m.
Rooftop, Hurricane Seafood Lounge
St. Pete Beach, Florida

"That is the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen," marveled Diana, raising her Diet Coke in a toast to the heavens.

"Here, here!" Mart agreed.

"You’re not even looking at it!" Diana chided him.

"I can see it perfectly," he told her. "It’s reflected in your eyes."

Diana covered her grin with another sip of soda. "You’re silly."

"No, you can say it."

"Say what?"

"Tell me the truth. I’m an idiot for ever letting you go."

Shocked, Diana stared at him. "I don’t believe you mean that."

Mart shifted in his chair to face her. "Of course I mean that. Don’t you know how I feel about you? How I’ve always felt about you?"

Diana glanced up, making sure the others were out of earshot. Brian and Honey leaned against the railing at the far side of the rooftop bar. Trixie, she knew was on the beach below with the twins, Bobby, Jim and Dan. Quietly, she turned to Mart. "Don’t go there, Mart. Please."

Confusion swirled in his blue eyes. "Why?"

Sighing, she leaned closer to him. "I’ve been dating a man I met on the set of ‘Avalon’, Thomas Thorne. He played Mordred. He’s really a very nice man and a talented actor. We’ve been together for almost a year. We’ve kept it out of the tabloids as best we could, so no one knows about it."

Mart looked back at the sunset. The sun had just begun to hit the horizon. He watched as the photons bombarded the smog and pollution of the Florida atmosphere, creating vibrant orange, red and purple streaks in the few clouds. "Do you love him?"

Diana didn’t want to answer him, but she didn’t want to lie, either. "Yes. And he loves me. We want to get married after I finish ‘As You Like It’ in June. I want to wait until after Honey & Brian get married, though."

"Then I guess congratulations are in order," he said, standing abruptly. "I’m ready for a refill. How about you?"

"No, I’m fine," she told him.

"I can see that," he replied, and left to refill his glass.

*     *     *

Brian had barely let Honey out of his sight since that afternoon. "I still can’t believe you managed to take down that guy Joe."

"It’s not so surprising. He was a little guy, after all." Honey snuggled closer to him. The wind off the Gulf of Mexico was surprisingly cool and at their present altitude, about three stories up, the wind hit them rather hard.

"It’s beautiful down here, isn’t it?"

Honey nodded. "It certainly is." She watched the sun hit the horizon, entranced by the molten ball of orange and the red-streaked clouds.

"You know it’s only beautiful because you’re with me," he said.

Honey smiled appreciatively. "Keep it up, Doctor, and you’ll have to marry me."

"That’s exactly my plan." He leaned closer to her and whispered, "I can’t wait for our wedding night."

Honey tried to control her blush. "I know, and I’m glad you understand why I want to. It will be a really meaningful and special night for both of us."

"Will you be upset if I admit to a having some rather interesting dreams about you?"

Honey failed to control her blush. She buried her head on Brian’s chest. His strong arms embraced her and he kissed her on top of her head. Her arms slipped around his waist and she wriggled herself closer to him. After a moment, she glanced up at him. "Will you be upset if I admit to having a few dreams of my own about you?"

He answered her with a hot kiss. "Not at all, Miss Wheeler," he murmured. "As long as you tell me what they are, so I can make your dreams come true."

"Oh, Brian!"

*     *     *

Below them, on the beach, Trixie sat on the sea wall with her brother Bobby. "You know, since they’ve impounded the BMW, you’ll be coming back with us, so you may as well tell Moms and Dad the truth in person as soon as you can."

Bobby sighed. "I know, Trixie. I just don’t want to disappoint them, you know?"

"Only too well. But you have to realize that they love you just as much as Mart or Brian or me. And no matter how many times I screwed up, or they yelled at Mart or Brian, they always, absolutely always, were fair about it. They’ll listen to everything before deciding if they’re going to punish you."

"What do you think they’ll do?" Bobby asked, worriedly.

Trixie shrugged. "I don’t honestly know. But you have another problem."

"What’s that?"

Trixie grinned. "My fee. Expect a bill to arrive next week, along with a care package."

"My fee?" Bobby repeated, a bit shocked. "You’re my sister! What good is having a sister for a PI if she’s going to charge me for every little thing!"

Trixie stared in surprise. "Come on, Bobby! I’m trying to run a business here! Let me make a little to live on, okay?"

"Is it okay if I make Terry and Larry come up with some?"

His expression was so woeful, Trixie had to laugh. "They’re getting billed, too. Which means they’ll have to explain the expense to their father. But I’m confident Mr. Lynch will come up with enough cash to cover the twins’ part. But for you, I can work out a deal."

"Yeah? What?"

Bobby seemed interested, so she continued. "Well, I haven’t consulted Honey on this, but I don’t think she’ll mind. When she goes on her honeymoon, I’ll need some help in the office. It would be part-time, answering phones, filing, doing some routine checks and stuff like that. Do that while she’s away and I’ll mark your bill paid in full."

"Will I get to wear a gun?"

"No."

"Can I spy on people?"

"No."

"Can I run checks on my professors?"

"So you can blackmail them for better grades? No."

Bobby thought about it, then agreed. "Sounds like a good plan. I’ll do it as long as it doesn’t interfere with my summer job at the movie theater."

"Deal."

They sat silent for a moment. Terry and Larry stood joking with each other several feet away. Trixie watched as a stunning woman in a string bikini strut along the sidewalk past them. The twins stared at her as she passed, then hurried after her, saying, "Hey, babe! Double your pleasure, double your fun?"

The bikini-clad woman turned, stared up and down the twins, then said something, inaudible to Trixie or Bobby. Terry and Larry, shocked at whatever she’d proposed, glanced toward Bobby and mouthed ‘Help us!’

Bobby started moaning. "Oh, no. Now they’ve done it. I’d better go see what’s wrong."

Trixie watched as her brother caught up with his friends.

"I guess you’re alone now?"

Trixie glanced up to see Jim standing a little ways away from her. "Yeah, I guess so. Have a seat."

Jim sat next to her on the seawall. They watched the sunset for a while, then Jim turned to her. "I want to apologize for my outburst earlier this afternoon."

"That’s okay, Jim. I’ve heard it all before."

"Ouch. I guess I deserved that."

Trixie resolved not to make any more cheap shots. He deserved better. "Sorry."

"No, I really do deserve it. I’ve got this bad habit of trying to tell you how to run your life. I’ve done it ever since we met at Ten Acres. I told you not to get involved, not to try to find me, not to do all sorts of things that seemed dangerous but actually worked out pretty well. I guess I’m an idiot for worrying."

"No, not at all. It’s nice to know people care about your safety, and would be sad if you died or something."

"That’s just it, Trixie. I don’t want you to get hurt. I especially don’t want you to get killed. My problem is that I don’t know how to tell you that without getting upset."

Trixie frowned. "I don’t understand."

He took a deep breath. "I’ve got some confessions of my own to make, if you want to hear them."

"Go on." He began to speak. She kept her eyes on him, hoping to get more information from his body language than his words could tell her. What she ‘read’ was that he was being painfully honest, almost bearing his soul to her, in an effort to make her understand. She didn’t interrupt and she didn’t look away.

This is what he told her:

"To get a degree in social work and psychiatry, we were required to undergo counseling ourselves. It was supposed to get us to understand from a patient’s point of view the whole process of analysis, as well as to understand our reasons for wanting to help people. Was it just to absolve our own guilt, was it a God complex, were we emotionally ready to handle other people’s problems, that sort of thing. Well, I found out some things about myself that I’m still having trouble dealing with.

"The first thing, the most important thing, is that I’m still angry with my mother. I know it’s wrong and pointless, seeing as how she was just doing what she thought she had to, but I hated her for it. For a while anyway. I didn’t know it and I didn’t let myself feel it until I was in therapy. But it explains a lot.

"I should probably say why I was so angry. I guess, I was angry that my Dad died. It was all of a sudden, and since he didn’t leave any insurance or money to cover expenses, we were pretty much at the whim of fate. A guy who said he was a friend of Dad’s offered to marry Mom to keep a roof over our head. He also convinced her, although I doubt it took much convincing that a boy of eleven needed a man around the house. My mom didn’t know what to do, so she married him. Of course, that was Jonesey.

"He was okay in the beginning. But I was still grieving my father’s loss and pretty much blind to what my mother was going through. I remember Jonesey finding a letter from school about some ‘Father-Son’ picnic or something and throwing a fit because I told him he couldn’t go. ‘You’re not my father!’ I remember screaming at him. ‘You’re father’s dead!’ he yelled back. ‘If he was half the man you think he was, he’d never have left you or your mother alone!’

"Well, that was too much. I swung at him, trying to knock his head off. I missed, but he didn’t. That was the first time he ever hit me, but it wasn’t the last. He convinced my mom that he needed to ‘discipline’ me. When she protested, he hit her, too. She didn’t protest much after that. She died because Jonesey, in a drunken fit, knocked her through the front window. When the police questioned me, I told them about Jonesey, but he somehow twisted everything around and told the cops my mom was a drunk who tripped and fell.

"How I hated him!

"Left alone, he got worse. He’d make me work on our little farm from dawn to after midnight. I’d wake up, tied to my bed for days so he could go whoring around town and know I couldn’t leave. That was when I realized he’d kill me one day. I had to get out. I got my stuff and headed out for Sleepyside and never looked back.

"But I still carried around this anger. I was furious that someone I cared about, someone I loved, would willingly put herself in danger day after day. And every time after that, whenever someone I cared about did the same thing, I just saw my mother, losing her life because she didn’t have the common sense to walk away from a dangerous situation.

"I guess it’s obvious why I’m telling you this. The truth is, I really care about you, Trixie. A lot. I don’t want to see you get hurt. It’d be like losing my mother and father all over again, but worse, because I feel I can warn you in time and save you, if you’d just listen to me. Please, Trixie. Give up this mad dream you have and let me take care of you! I promise you, you’ll lack for nothing. Not money, not security, not love."

Trembling, tears spilling down her cheeks, Trixie put her arm around Jim and pulled him into an awkward embrace. "Oh, Jim! I’m so sorry!" She buried her head in the crook of his neck and wept briefly.

Jim held her close, eyes shut tight. She sniffled, then pulled away.

"I didn’t realize that’s why you were always yelling at me to be more careful. You’ve scolded me and lectured me for years. I had really grown tired of it. I was going to tell you off today, but then Dan came up and, well, I kind of forgot what I was going to say."

Jim stiffened beside her. "Let’s not bring him up, okay? I just want to talk about us. Now that you know where I’m coming from, can’t you see that I only have your best interests at heart?"

"Jim, I know you care for me, or at least, you think you do. But I think it would be a mistake for us to get together. You’ll never be comfortable with my work and I’ll never be happy without it," Trixie tried to explain. "I’ve helped too many people. Who knows how many more will need my services? I haven’t had my PI license a year yet, and Honey’s put her life into the business as well. Do I just say, ‘sorry! Can’t help you! It’s too dangerous’? I can’t do that. I can’t not help someone who needs me. Especially if it involves risk. What sort of person would I be if I only helped people when it was safe or convenient for me to do so? How could I live with myself if I did that?" Jim turned and looked miserably at her. "If I retreated to a so-called ‘safer’ life, I wouldn’t be the Trixie you say you care about. I’d be someone else."

Jim started to nod, sorrowful understanding lighting his moody green eyes. "You’d become my mother: doing what you’re told is the safer option, but you’d still be putting yourself in danger. Only, in your case, the danger would be losing your self."

"Jim! I am so sorry I can’t love you the way you deserve!" Trixie whispered hoarsely. "But there is a woman out there who needs someone to be strong for her, to protect her from the bad guys, to love her the way only you can. When you find her, and you will find her, promise me you won’t hesitate to make her your own, okay?"

Tears in eyes, Jim could barely speak. "I will, Trixie. I promise. But I can’t promise to stop caring about you or worrying about you."

Grinning through her own tears, Trixie replied, "Well, I should hope not! The day ever comes that you don’t yell at me for taking risks is the day the moon falls from it’s orbit!"

Their laughter carried easily on the constant Gulf breeze to the bottom floor of the Hurricane. There, sitting on a park bench by himself, Dan watched the sun set. As the huge orange blob descended past the horizon, casting red and violet streaks through the clouds, he thought carefully. He hadn’t heard much of what Jim and Trixie discussed. When he came downstairs to take a walk on the beach and think, he saw them sitting together. Not wanting to disturb them, he sat behind them. When Trixie leaned over to give Jim a hug, Dan fought back his jealousy.

Jim’s a good man, Dan thought, and if he makes Trixie happy, then that’s all that matters. He grew hopeful, however, when he heard Jim say he couldn’t promise not to care about her. Hmm. That doesn’t sound like she returns his feelings. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean she cares for me instead, but it does leave the field wide open. I have an idea…

His cell phone rang, startling him. He answered quickly, "Hello?"

"Dan? It’s Bill."

"Hey, Uncle! What’s up?"

"Not much, exactly. I need you to do me a favor."

"What do I get?" Dan grinned. "And make it good. You sound like you’re planning something."

Regan laughed. "I am. I need you, as soon as you get off the plane, to tell Anne something."

Dan frowned. "What?"

"Well, I should probably ask you first. Are you planning now or in the future to ever date her again?"

"Who, Anne? I’m not crazy! We’d kill each other inside of five minutes! We’re terrific friends and I don’t wish anything terrible to happen to her, but as far as I’m concerned, it was a mistake for us to date in the first place."

"Good! I’m glad."

"Why?"

"Because I’m dating her."

Dan stood up. "You what?" He paused, catching his breath. "You want to tell me that again?"

Regan laughed again. "Yeah. We’re dating. We’re, um, really serious about each other. Have been for years, in fact, though it’s only been since Wednesday that we did anything about it, if you know what I mean."

Dan knew exactly what his uncle meant. His eyes closed and he sat back down. "This is too weird. You’re my uncle and you’re dating my ex-girlfriend."

"More than that," Regan’s voice turned serious. "I love her and I’m hoping one day to marry her."

"Wait a minute. I can’t get my head around that one. Anne’s going to be my Aunt?"

"Not right away. We’re not even officially engaged yet. But I’ve asked and she’s said yes, but we’ve decided to wait until we’ve got used to being together. As you’ve just pointed out, there are a lot of tangled relationships to figure out."

"No kidding! Wow!" Dan swallowed hard. "I can’t get over this! Wait until I tell everyone!"

"No! Don’t do that. That will only tip her off."

"Does this have something to do with your favor?"

"Yeah. Here’s the deal. You have ten minutes from the time the plane lands to ‘suddenly figure out’ that we’re dating. Got that? Ten minutes. Delay for even a second longer and she wins the bet."

Dan chuckled. "No problem. I got you. Ten minutes. What does she get if she wins?"

"That’s not for you to know. But if she loses, she cleans out the stables every day for a week."

"Ewww. That’s not the bet a man makes with the woman he’s in love with."

"Hey! If I lose, I have to learn how to use that damned computer! You tell me which is worse!"

Dan laughed again. "Hey, this is costing a fortune. But before you hang up, let me tell you this. I’m really happy for you. Even though Anne and I are terrible together, something tells me that you two were made for each other. I wish I’d seen it years ago. I could have pushed you two together."

Regan sighed. "Well, it was kind of nice the way it did happen. But thanks for your blessing. I appreciate it. Oh. Can I assume the great Trixie Belden has prevailed over the bad guys yet again?"

A slow smile spread across Dan’s lips as he watched the woman in question. Jim had stood up on the seawall and was walking away, leaving her alone. "Trixie’s done more than that, Bill. But I’ll tell you all the details when we get back, probably tomorrow. I’ll see you then and don’t worry! I won’t let you down!" He turned off the phone and stood as Jim passed by. He nodded to him and asked, "Everything okay?"

Jim smiled. "We’re friends, right?"

Startled, Dan nodded. "Of course. Why?"

Jim indicated Trixie with a nod of his head. "I know how you feel about her. If she’s willing to pursue a relationship with you, then I wish you the best of luck. I mean that. As long as you put her happiness first, all right? She’s incredibly important to me and I won’t see her hurt for anything." He held out his hand.

Dan shook Jim’s hand. "I understand, Jim. No problem. But you don’t have to worry. My intentions, as they used to say, are honorable."

Jim nodded, then glanced away for a moment, hiding his expression. When he looked back, Dan saw Jim’s misery. Hoarsely, Jim said, "I envy you."

Dan didn’t know how to respond, so he just bowed his head in acceptance and let Jim walk away. When Jim had disappeared into the lower restaurant, Dan went to the sea wall and sat next to Trixie. "This seat taken?" he asked.

Trixie brushed a final tear from her eyes and grinned at him. "Actually, I was saving it for you."

"Then tonight is my lucky night," Dan grinned back.

"We’ll see," Trixie allowed, then hopped off the sea wall onto the beach and began walking toward the surf. She got about ten feet before she turned and called to him. "Hey! Aren’t you coming with me?"

Dan jumped off the seawall and hurried after her. "I’d follow you anywhere, Trixie Belden."

Side by side, they walked along the rushing surf as the final rays of a brilliant sunset gave way to a thick blanket of stars.

The End

Author’s Note: There was a prologue. Of COURSE there has to be an epilogue!

The Spring Break Scam

Epilogue

"So, he just sits up there?"

"Yup."

"And what do you do?"

"When the aliens come, I take their pictures. That’s what the camcorder is for."

"I see. And when they don’t?"

"In the morning, he comes back down." <munch, munch>

"Uh-huh." <munch, munch, slurp, swallow> "Why isn’t he wearing any clothes?"

"I’ve never asked."

"At least he had the decency to undress after he got up in the deer stand."

"I’ll say." <slurp, swallow>

"So you just sit out here and wait?"

"Yup."

"Tell me why you do this again?"

"His checks clear."

"I see."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

"While I appreciate the takeout, I’m kind of curious. What’s the deal with the kitten?"

"This little guy?"

"Me-ow! Miaou!"

"Yeah, this little cutie."

<cough> "Well, he’s a gift. To keep you company when Honey moves out of your apartment. I thought you might name him Dr. Watson."

"That’s so sweet! Remind me to thank you. Hello, Dr. Watson. Are you hungry?"

"Miau."

"I think he likes my hamburger."

"Ha! I thought he might."

"What’s so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, then tell me this. Why a cat?"

"Well, Miss Belden, it’s a long story."

"Well, Mr. Mangan, I’ve got all night."

The End

I mean it.

Trixie Belden Fan Fiction

*Global Positioning System. A sophisticated tracking device using computers and orbiting satellites

Author’s Note: The Hurricane Seafood Lounge, mentioned in the second part of this chapter, is located at the tip of St. Pete Beach (actually, a key, or tiny island, off the coast of the peninsula that forms Tampa Bay. Check a map.) and is a really popular place to watch the sun set. The restaurant is actually a converted house right on the sand. The top floor originally had a deck, but it’s now given over to a bar, where people pay for a special view of the sunset. It’s really worth it! (On your next trip to Tampa, don’t hesitate to go early and get a good seat!) The second floor is a fancier restaurant and the bottom floor is kind of a beach-y place. Very tourist and very cheap. It’s open to the beach-goers, you see, so there’s plenty of ‘ambiance’ (mostly sand and salt air). But the food is pretty good. And there’s plenty of picnic tables and benches outside for those in swimsuits to sit and eat, too. But that’s all for the end of the story.