*mild profanity

Author’s notes*

Okay, this may be a bit different than how you’ve pictured the BWGs all grown up. But this is my story and I’m sticking to it, at least for a little while. You know, you know, I’ve borrowed the BWGs from some mean old publisher, but I’m not getting a dime. Most characters are fictionalized, and I hope I’ve created them all in my head, but I absorb what I read, so I bow down prostrate to those fanfic authors who’ve gone before me and thank them profusely. Thanks especially to Cathy B, my "Valentino’s" buddy and fine, fine editor who also encouraged me to actually write a story about my grownup BWGs. Just so you know, there’s no sex written in this story, though it may be implied. There’s not too much in the way of cussing, either, but there is a little violence (again, mostly implied. I find the reader’s imagination will fill in more than I can illustrate through words.) And I solemnly SWEAR that I will finish this story in the near future. Happy reading…JPD

By JPD

Maddy peered at the street signs as she drove her rental through the heart of Lincoln, Nebraska. She was craving pizza – ever since an assignment in Chicago, where the local boys had introduced her to their version, she made it a habit to check out the pizza offerings of every new city. Sort of like that "Junk Food Junkie" guy that wrote for USAToday.

Maddy chuckled to herself. That guy (or was it a girl? she wondered) was a real hoot. Apparently, the paper was paying him to eat his way across America, and the world. But not the snobby food critic stuff like she grew up with in the New York Times – this fortunate person was getting to eat the true flavors of America – pizza, burgers & hot dogs – and seeing the world doing it. Last week he’d been in Thailand, she recalled, and had managed to find a good pizza place in Bangkok!

"Aha! There it is" she muttered and pulled in. Valentino’s read the sign; and she got there before the Junk Food Junkie, who’d never been wrong in Maddy’s opinion. The guys at the office here said this was the best pizza, ever. Maddy felt she would reserve her opinion until having some. Still, if it was as good as they said, she might have to even write a letter to Junk Food Junkie, so he could check it out. And suffer Nebraska, she thought with a snicker.

Still, what a job…getting paid to eat from one end of the world to another. Beats flying a desk, she thought with a sigh. She got out of her car and ventured into the restaurant. It was dark, and out of habit Maddy waited a second to let her eyes adjust before venturing further into the building. She finally approached the hostess desk. The girl looked up, expectantly peering around Maddy. "Just one," Maddy said a trifle brusquely. She got tired of people looking for some man to accompany her. She was alone and she liked it, she reminded herself. And she could’ve had company tonight. The guy who recommended Valentino’s to her, an inspector by the name of Marcus, had insinuated he’d be glad to show her the pizza parlor, and anything else, like her hotel room. But Maddy didn’t date others in the business, and she definitely didn’t date married men.

The hostess led her to a quiet corner, away from all the families and couples there that night. Maddy noticed there was another lone diner near her. A man with his back turned away from the other diners…suspicious, she thought unconsciously. When Maddy ate by herself in a restaurant, she always looked out into the room. Oh well, maybe he’s embarrassed by eating alone. She took a more leisurely survey of the room, checking windows and exits, again, by habit. Her eyes were drawn back to the man. He barely looked up as the waitress deposited a rather large pizza in front of him. The waitress turned and walked towards Maddy, obscuring her view for a moment.

"What can I get you to drink?" queried the perky college aged waitress. "God, I’d love a beer," Maddy thought. Aloud she said, "Iced tea, please." One of Maddy’s rules – no drinking on assignment, no drinking alone in a strange town. The last thing she needed was dull wits. But jeez, she really wanted a beer. As the waitress moved away, Maddy again studied the lone man. He looked to be scribbling furiously in a small notebook. "Weirdo" she thought, and began to peruse the menu.

The waitress returned with the iced tea, ready for her order, and Maddy said, "I hear the hamburger pizza is the best?" The waitress replied, "EVERYTHING here is good, I promise – except the Cheeto pizza." Maddy shuddered at the thought, "No thanks, just a small hamburger pizza. So, are you a college student?" she threw in casually. "Oh yes, I go to the U," replied the peppy blonde. "It’s here in town," she added. "We’re the Cornhuskers, you know." Maddy studied her – she looked just like a Nebraskan ought to – her nametag said "Cathy" and she looked open and friendly. Maddy decided to push a little more. "So what’s with the dude over there?"

"Oh him," Cathy replied with a laugh, "who knows? He was in here last night, ordered the buffet and I swear ate 12 pieces of pizza, plus lasagna and salad! Then he went for the taco bar and the dessert table. Tonight he comes in and I asked him if he wanted the buffet again and no, he orders two large pizzas – wants one immediately and another in an hour. Meanwhile, he’s writing in that little notebook of his every time I go by to check on him."

"So he’s not a regular," Maddy commented casually. "No, no," the friendly Cathy added. "I’ve never seen him before and I’m here all the time, especially in the summer. Plus, he has an accent – I can’t quite place it, but no, he’s not a real local." "Wonder what he’s writing about," Maddy probed. "Oh I have no idea – he just shuts it up real fast when he notices me. He’s a great tipper though, and kinda handsome, for an older guy." With that, Cathy walked away.

An older guy? Maddy thought quickly. Hmm, from the back, he didn’t look over forty. Maddy’s brain worked furiously, and then she stopped a moment, and for the second time she chuckled silently to herself. The waitress was probably about 19 or 20 – anyone out of college was probably an "older guy" to her. Still, Maddy’s suspicions were aroused and she wanted a good look at the man from the front. Though his backside certainly looked good, especially for a nut case.

Maddy drank her tea as fast as possible. Go to the restroom? No, that wouldn’t offer her a good glimpse of his face. She’d have to walk by and stare the whole time. Too obvious. Another young waitress came by with an iced tea pitcher. Mentally asking for forgiveness, Maddy managed to bump the girl’s arm just as she was finished refilling the glass. "Oh shoot," she shouted. But Maddy wasn’t paying attention – she was riveted on the weirdo, as she was calling him.

But her commotion worked – as the waitress was apologizing prolifically, and wiping up the spill, the weirdo turned and Maddy got a glimpse of his profile. He looked out of the corner of his eye and did a double take. Maddy almost fainted from the unexpected shock.

"Honey Wheeler?" he cried.

Trixie belted out the words to "Copacabana" as she drove along the Interstate in Philly. "It’s 4 a.m., do you know where your children are?" she said to herself with a giggle. "Shoot, I’m punch drunk." "AND A DRESS CUT DOWN TO THERE" Trixie shouted along with Barry, in effort to keep awake. "Two more miles, two more miles," she hummed in her head.

Finally, she pulled off at the correct exit and managed to maneuver her car into a parking spot at the Holiday Inn. Only 45 gosh-darned miles from her assignment, Trixie thought with disgust. "Stupid politicians," she muttered to herself, "stupid conventions…stupid teenaged daughters of stupid politicians staying out ‘til 3 a.m. drinking underage" she continued as she got out of the rental. She checked the lot, scanning for anything unusual, but all she saw were other rentals, belonging to the agency. She hated hotels with door access to the outside right from the room. A complete lack of security that people in her profession abhorred. But what choice did they have? All the rooms within at least 40 miles of the convention were taken by politicos and journalists – two of Trixie’s least-favorite breeds. So even the Secret Service agents had to sleep far away from their charges, in a low-rent district. Too far, in Trixie’s mind.

Trixie checked her room thoroughly for any signs of intrusion. Finding none, she locked up, took off her clothes and fell onto the bed, exhausted. Normally, she slept like a rock. This night, though, she was troubled by dreams of her own tumultuous teenage years and she tossed and turned.

"But Moms, can’t I stay out til after 9:30?" she cried. "No, Trixie dear, we really must insist that you be home by 9:15 on school nights," her mother replied. "But moms, Mart and Brian had a curfew of 10:30 when they were 17," she argued. "Trixie, your mother and I have discussed this, you will be in the house by 9:15 or face the consequences," her father added sternly. "It’s so unfair," she sobbed to herself later that night. "Just because I’m a girl, they won’t let me do anything!"

Trixie woke up to a pounding headache. No, wait, someone was pounding on her door. She looked groggily at the clock, ugh, 7:15 in the morning! Barely three hours of sleep. "Belden!" a voice shouted, muffled through the door. "Belden! I know you’re in there, your rig’s outside…c’mon open the door!"

"What is it, Wiggins?" she called. Trixie began looking for her clothes from the night before. They were scattered about. "C’mon Belden hurry up! The plans have changed," he shouted.

"Damn. Don’t they always?" she asked herself as she hurriedly threw on her wrinkled clothes and opened the door. "Hey!" Wiggins said, surprised at her appearance. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Darn girls – stayed out way later than they should, drinking, and party-hopping. Guess they enjoy the attention and didn’t want it to end. Their mother’s protection called about 2:30 and I guess gold ol’ mom read ‘em the riot act, because they finally went back to the room about 3."

"Oh, painful," agreed Wiggins. Nobody on the team liked watching over the children of the nominees on either side. They were so unpredictable, and with their parents busy campaigning for the nation’s highest office, the dang kids were highly unsupervised. Protection was there for protection, not nanny duty. All the agents could do is follow the kids around. Till all hours of the night. "I sympathize with ya, kid. But just got word from D’Angelo that Bender’s wife went into premature labor. D’Angelo was sympathetic, for once, and Bender’s winging his way back to DC to hold her hand, leaving us short-handed for the doublemint assignment."

"Doublemint" was the moniker assigned to the candidate’s twin daughters. Trix was quite proud of it, since she thought of it herself. At least they were practically inseparable, which made protecting them a bit easier. "God, Wiggins, I barely got 3 hours of sleep. I can’t keep up with this, I’m getting old." Wiggins gave her a long once over, "I tell ya, kid (here Trix snickered, she was 28 but looked a lot younger, while Wiggins was only 32 but could pass for 40 easy) you look pretty young and healthy to me." He gave her a mock leer. Wiggins was all right, Trixie thought. Some of the other guys were jerks, especially to the females, but Greg Wiggins judged his colleagues by their ability, not their chromosomes. "Well, tell me the plan," Trixie sighed and sat down in one of the spartan room’s two hard chairs. Wiggins began to outline the changes in assignment. At least it was only one more full day.

Brian Belden slumped over his breakfast cereal, mechanically shoveling spoonfuls into his mouth. "6:15 a.m., good, I can eat, uh, pay bills, oh, damn, forgot to get the mail in." Brian looked quickly for his keys, then ran out the apartment door and down the steps, opening his mailbox. Two days’ worth was crammed in, as he recalled he hadn’t gotten the mail for at least that long. Funny how you forget to do things, even when you’re on autopilot, he thought humorlessly.

As he jogged back up the steps, he heard crying from his son’s bedroom. A little blonde head peeked at him as he opened the door. "Hi Benji! How are you?" Brian asked. The two-year old just stared at him. "It’s daddy, Benji." But Benji must’ve known, or gotten some comfort, Brian realized, as he’d stopped crying. That was a good sign. Another little head peeked around the door. Brian’s other son, Marty. Marty was an exact replica of Brian at five years old. "Good morning, Marty. Did your brother wake you up?" he asked. Marty nodded solemnly. "Well then, let’s get his diapers changed and get up and at ‘em. You hungry?" Marty nodded again. Brian quickly changed Benji and shepherded the boys out to the kitchen, where his half-eaten cereal remained. Brian got both boys fed, and changed into their clothes when a knock sounded on the door. "It’s probably Mrs. Morgan," he announced to them with forced cheerfulness.

Brian opened the door. "Good morning, Mrs. Morgan. The boys are already dressed and ready for the day. Do you think you might take them to the park?" Mrs. Morgan was a pleasant faced, plump older woman who watched the two Belden boys every day. "Oh, sure I think that’s a fine idea. Don’t you, Benji?" she asked. Benji just looked at her. Brian consulted his watch. "Dang, it’s already 8! I’m late again. I’ll just wash up real quick and then go."

Brian was back out into the tiny living room in 15 minutes, ready to begin another shift at the hospital. "It’s a shame the way they work you, young man!" Mrs. Morgan exclaimed. "With your grief and all, surely they could find someone to fill in, excuse you for a bit?" "Now, Mrs. Morgan, we’ve been over this," Brian said with a forced smile. "The sooner I get this requirement out of the way, the sooner the boys and I can settle somewhere far away, without the bad memories." Mrs. Morgan clucked sympathetically. If she only knew the truth, Brian thought to himself.

Brian returned home 13 hours later, weary from a long day at the hospital. He hated the ER, really, and would be glad when this rotation was over. Then he’d be free, free. Free to do what though? a little voice mocked him.

Mrs. Morgan met him at the door apologetically. "I’m afraid Benji got the better of me today, Dr. Belden. I had him on the changing table and he grabbed these letters here and, well, next thing you know, he had a little accident and you know what happens when little boys accidentally, well, I’m sorry but they’re all wet," she finished awkwardly as she handed them to him. Brian set them down on the hall table without even a glance.

"It’s okay, Mrs. Morgan. I shouldn’t’ve left them there. I was just in such a rush…where are the boys?"

"Oh, now, they were tired and I put the to bed before you got to see them tonight. I hope that’s okay?"

"Yes, yes, thanks. I really appreciate it. We’ll see you tomorrow?" Brian looked at her. Mrs. Morgan looked at him, expectantly. His brain was in a fog. She’s waiting for something, but what? After a few seconds of staring at her blankly, she finally said, "It’s Friday, Dr. Belden." He continued to look at her. "My payday?" she asked delicately. "Oh, yeah, right, sorry." Brian blushed. God, he was terrible at this. As much of a bitch as his wife had been, at least she took care of some things. He grabbed the checkbook and quickly wrote out a check. "It’s Friday today? July 28?" he asked her. She looked at him strangely. "Yes." "I’m free then! I’m free," he said, as it dawned on him. Today had been his last day of study in a long, long journey towards his dream of becoming a doctor, and he hadn’t even realized it. He graduated from college and med school years ago, but now-wow. As Mrs. Morgan left, Brian felt curiously deflated.

He’d worked so hard at this for so long and now it’s true. "I’m a doctor," he said to himself. Then out loud "I’m a doctor. Doctor Brian Belden, pediatric specialist." But, he had no job, nothing planned for after this. Oh, once when he was a teenager, he’d thought to become the "school doctor" for Jim Frayne’s proposed boy’s school. But that was when they were young and foolish and hadn’t realized that a boy’s school didn’t really need a full-time doctor in residence.

And Jim had given up the dream, for the most part, years ago. He followed his adopted father, Matthew Wheeler, into the world of high finance. And even though Jim was a year younger than Brian’s 31, he had made his first million on top of his inheritance, before finishing his freshman year of college at Harvard. Brian and Jim had lost touch many years ago – there was an occasional Christmas card, but it had nothing more than a signature on it. Brian assumed one of Jim’s secretaries made them all out and he just signed cards, not knowing whom they went to. All the BWGs had drifted, Brian wasn’t even sure how most of it had happened. They all picked different colleges, different majors, and all seven were so driven that they barely had time for school breaks in Sleepyside.

Brian checked in on the boys, and realized for their sakes’ he had to come up with a plan. He was hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, he thought a little bitterly, trying to accomplish his dream, and then he didn’t even know what the heck he was going to do, or how he was going to raise his family now that Charity was dead. Not that she was actually much of a help. It was quite a blessing that she died. Brian wasn’t a vengeful person by nature, but his strained relationship with Charity had reached a serendipitous end when she was killed in a hit-and-run accident.

Not knowing what else to do, he picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number. Crabapple Farm.

The phone rang insistently. "It’s 10:30 at night," Helen Belden thought resentfully. "If it’s another girl calling for Bobby, I’ve a mind to tell them off."

Peter laughed at his wife’s mutterings. "Really Helen, shouldn’t we be flattered that our boy is so popular?"

Helen blushed. "Sorry I didn’t realize I was talking aloud." She reached over and grabbed the phone off the nightstand. "Hello?"

"Moms? It’s me, Brian." she heard. "Brian!" Mrs. Belden exclaimed excitedly. "What’s going on? How are things? How are the boys?"

"Helen," Peter chided gently as he got up to get the cordless phone out of Bobby’s old room so he could listen in. "Hi son!" he intoned as he picked up.

"Uh, hi dad," replied Brian.

Helen immediately was concerned by his tone of voice, and the lateness of the call. "Brian, what is it? Is it the boys? Are they okay?" Peter frantically mimed to his wife to be quiet and let Brian speak.

"Yeah, yeah, the boys are fine, Moms. It’s me."

Helen went pale, imagining the worst. "Yes, what is it Brian?"

"I completed my work today. I’m done. Finished. I’m officially a doctor now." Brian said listlessly.

"Oh Brian that’s wonderful," said Helen. Peter motioned frantically at his wife again, shushing her. "Brian, you don’t sound that thrilled," he said. "Is there something we can help you with?"

"Gosh, Moms, Dad, I just, well, I never planned for after this moment. Here I am in St. Paul, finished, and I never even thought about, you know, getting a job that wasn’t sponsored through my medical school. Now I should be packing up but I don’t even have a job or any idea where we want to live or anything," Brian said in a rush.

"Oh Brian," said Helen. "Come home, come to Crabapple Farm. You know you’re always welcome here to stay as long as you want."

"What your mother means, Brian, is that Sleepyside could certainly use a doctor of your caliber. With old Dr. Ferris retiring any day now, I’m sure he could be persuaded to take you on in his practice. Of course, you’ve got the pediatrics specialty, so maybe being a country doctor isn’t what you wanted?" Helen bounced up and down on the bed, smiling and blew a kiss to her husband for his clever quick thinking. Though Helen wanted nothing more than for Brian and her two grandsons to live in Sleepyside, she selfishly hadn’t thought of him wanting a job, needing a job.

"Really, Dr. Ferris is retiring?" Brian asked, trying to sound casually interested, when inside he was leaping out of his skin with excitement. This would be great. God, he missed Sleepyside-on-the-Hudson. When he left there at 17, he thought he never wanted to return. He’d had such dreams. They all had, but promised to keep in touch. And at first, he and Honey had carried on a long distance romance, but things got strained, Brian got stressed out from his college class overload and he just didn’t have time anymore for the BWGs or visits home. Things between he and Honey were terrible after that. As far as he knew, all the BWGs had cordial, friendly even, relationships, but from a distance.

But now, at 31, well, he couldn’t imagine a better place than Sleepyside for the boys. And besides, from what he heard, Honey wasn’t around Sleepyside any more than he was.

"Well, it hasn’t been announced yet," conceded Peter Belden, "but he’s getting on to his late 60s and will be ready for retirement. He’s been asking about you, your plans, sort of hinting around for the last year or so that he wouldn’t be opposed to some help, if it came in the form of one Brian Belden."

"Of course, you know Brian, that Dr. Ferris still does house calls and such. He doesn’t have much of the way in office help, or probably all the fancy equipment you’re used to, but still, it would be a good living," Helen said in a great rush. She wanted him to come home, but she didn’t want to convince him without letting him know how things were.

"Moms, Dad, really, I couldn’t think of a better opportunity. Do you suppose I could call him tonight, or is it too late? I can wait until the morning," Brian said.

"Wait till the morning, son," Peter advised. "Do you need his number?" he asked.

Brian laughed, relaxed as he hadn’t been for months. "Gleeps, Dad! As many times as we had to call him out to the house for Trixie and Bobby accidents? If he hasn’t changed it, I still have it memorized!"

Peter chuckled, too. "No Brian, not much has changed around Sleepyside. Dr. Ferris’ office is still on Main Street, with the same phone number he’s had since they went to seven digits!" With that, the elder Beldens signed off.

"Oh Peter, I’m so worried about him," Helen said. "I’ll be so glad if he comes home. Do you think you should call Dr. Ferris to convince him he needs took take on a partner?"

Peter smiled. "Helen, you underestimate your husband. I’ve been laying the groundwork for Brian to return for months. Ferris is primed and ready. He was eager, actually, to have someone like Brian to turn the practice over to. He didn’t want to see what he’s built up turned into a walk-in clinic or even an HMO-driven practice. He knows Brian and I think he’ll be turning cartwheels to get him."

The phone rang again. Helen and Peter stared at each other blankly. She shrugged and said, "It’s our night for calls." "Hello? Belden residence."

"Mrs. Belden? It’s Bill Regan. I just wanted to call you, let you know," he said raggedly.

"Bill, what is it?" she asked.

"God, this is tough, it’s Chief Molinson, he’s been shot, killed in the line of duty. I just heard from Tom Delanoy. I’ve been trying to reach you."

"Oh my god, Hallie?" Helen queried.

"As far as I know, she’s okay. Guess she was in the car. I just don’t know all the details, but regardless, I’m sure she’s pretty shaken up. They took her into town; Dr. Ferris has her at the hospital. Molinson was dead at the scene, so I guess the coroner, well, anyway, I’m sure they’ll be calling the state police, at the very least, on this one. But I thought you may want to let the kids know…" Regan trailed off, uncertainly.

Oh, gosh, the "kids" as Regan called them, were all in their late 20s and early 30s. Helen knew they’d be upset, and Hallie! her own niece. "Thanks, Bill, I’ll spread the word as best I can. If you hear anything, any time, please give me a call. Peter and I are on our way to Dr. Ferris’ right now."

Peter looked at Helen, concern in his eyes as she hung up for the second time that evening. "It’s Chief Molinson, Wendell," she said shockily. "Regan, Bill, says he was shot and killed in the line of duty. Hallie was with him, but Bill thinks she’s okay, at the hospital. We should go."

Peter and Helen began frantically pulling off their pajamas and throwing clothes on. This was so unexpected. Almost half of the BWGs ended up dealing with law enforcement, but the Beldens had thought Hallie the safest of all the "kids." Sleepyside was virtually criminal-free, largely thanks to Trixie’s efforts as a youngster. Hallie! They really hadn’t worried when she joined the local Sleepyside PD six years ago. It was Trixie, in the line of fire with the Secret Service that really scared him, Peter thought. Or even Honey – well, Maddy now – who worked for the Bureau of ATF – dealing with gun runners and arms dealers all over the globe. But neither of them had gotten a scratch in all this time, and now Hallie. Peter could barely think straight as he flicked open the garage door and hopped in the sedan, Helen beside him.

"She’s got to be all right," he said aloud. "Don’t worry sweetie, I’m sure she’s fine," Helen replied, and in her heart hoped she was right.

 

Chapter 5: This Sad, Sad Tune

Trix leaned her head against the window and looked out as the plane began its descent. It had been a short, harried trip from DC into New York. She had barely gotten into her Georgetown flat last night when she received the frantic call from Moms. Trixie shuddered and held her breath so it wouldn’t hitch. Man, this was awful. She collected her luggage and hopped a train to Sleepyside. Her thoughts shifted to yesterday afternoon.

The phone was ringing as Trixie opened the door to her flat. It smelled stale and empty – that was good in her business. She couldn’t detect that anyone had been in it while she was away, besides, her landlady, Mrs. Blankeneau, would’ve known if anyone had broken in. That woman was better than the FBI. She felt reasonably secure, so she grabbed the phone on what was probably the fifth ring.

"Belden here."

"Trixie?" came her mother’s wavery voice unexpectedly.

"Moms? What’s wrong?" Her parents usually waited for her to call, since her schedule was, well, elusive at best.

"Trixie you need to come home, right away. It’s Chief Molinson – he’s been shot."

Trix grabbed the phone even more tightly, and slumped down the wall onto the floor of her kitchen. No damn furniture in this place. "Shot?" she asked. "But he’s okay, right, he’s gonna make it?"

"No, Trixie, I’m sorry, I know how close you two were, but, he," Moms’ voice hitched here, "he died, probably instantly. The services are the day after tomorrow. I thought you’d want to know."

"Yeah, yeah Moms, thanks. I just…oh, God, Hallie? Hallie’s okay, right?"

"Yes, I mean, she was there, but uninjured, at least physically. But I think she needs to see you Trix. We all do, but I understand, your job…you just can’t pack up and leave…" Helen trailed off uncertainly.

"I’ll get the soonest flight out tomorrow and be at Crabapple Farm before dinner, I guarantee it." Trix stated emphatically.

"Oh it will mean so much to Jeannie and the boys to have you there, I know it Trixie."

"Yeah," she replied, her mind already racing ahead to the things she needed to deal with to take some time off. "I’ll get it straightened out at work and be there tomorrow. I’ll see you then. And Moms? I love you and daddy. You tell him, okay?"

"Sure Trix, he’s right here, I’ll tell him. Good bye." Helen hung up the phone and turned into Peter’s arms, crying.

Before she knew it, the train was pulling into Sleepyside station. Trixie gathered her things, and hailed a cab. Not knowing her exact arrival time, she felt it would be easier to grab a taxi rather than ask a family member to wait at the station. She started to give the driver the Crabapple Farm address, but instead said "654 Elm Street."

The cab driver looked at her through the rearview and said, "Isn’t that the Molinson residence?"

"Yeah," Trixie replied, but didn’t answer his unspoken questions. As he pulled up, she said, "Can you wait here, say 15 minutes? I’ll make it worth your while."

"Sure," the hack driver said. Molinson had been a swell guy – and if this lady was coming to pay her respects to the family, he guessed he could wait a few minutes, extra cash or not.

Trixie knocked on the front door of the charming Queen Anne house. It was opened by a woman with red-rimmed eyes, swollen from crying. "Becky." Trixie said. "I don’t know what to say, I am so sorry about your brother." Trixie gave her an awkward embrace.

"Oh, where are my manners. Come in, Trixie. Jeannie was hoping you’d make it." Becky Molinson Smith replied.

Trixie entered the family room, where there were Molinsons of every shape and size, along with half the police force, crowded around somberly. Jeannie Molinson jumped up when she saw Trixie. Her eyes brightened a little bit. "Trix, I’m so glad you made it in. We weren’t sure, with the campaign and all."

"Oh Jeannie, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world." "OH CRUD. What a stupid thing to say, Trixie!" she mentally slapped herself.

Jeannie smiled, knowing what Trixie meant, even if others in the room were looking slightly askance. "Trixie, I wondered if we could talk in the kitchen for a moment?" she asked.

"Sure Jeannie."

As they drew into the kitchen, Jeannie shooed a few people out and sat down at the table, grabbing Trixie’s hands in her own. "Trixie, I have a big favor to ask you," Jeannie began.

"Mrs. Molinson, you don’t even have to ask, whatever it is, the answer’s yes." Trixie stammered.

"Trixie Belden! impulsive as always. You don’t even know what I want," she giggled. "And quit calling me Mrs. Molinson!"

"Jeez, I didn’t realize I had," Trixie admitted sheepishly.

"I want you to give the eulogy at Wendell’s funeral tomorrow." Trixie’s eyes bulged a little.

"Really? Me? But surely Spider Webster, or…" Trixie stopped lamely as Jeannie’s eyes brimmed.

"Oh Trixie, if you don’t want to, that’s fine."

"No, no, I’ll do it! It’s just that, well, I thought maybe someone on the force or a family member?"

"No," Jeannie replied, "there are many friends, family members, and colleagues, but you and he, well, you had a relationship with him as long as almost anyone else in town!"

Back in the cab, Trixie didn’t exactly regret her agreement, but she wondered if she were up to the task. Being asked to deliver a eulogy, wow, that was something, to try to sum up your feelings or relationship with someone out loud and in public. By the time the cab reached Crabapple Farm, Trixie had relaxed slightly about the prospect. She paid off the taxi and stood in the driveway, gazing at her childhood home. The front doors, the patio, Reddy’s house that she couldn’t see but knew it was still there though Reddy was long gone and another dog had taken over. She didn’t even remember the new dog’s name.

Suddenly the front door burst open and Moms came rushing down the stairs. "Oh Trixie! We’re so glad to see you" she said, and then began crying, hard. Trixie looked at her mom in surprise, and then realized it had been 16 months since she’d seen her and probably two years since she’d been to Sleepyside, and that had been on the fly. A wave of nostalgia and longing swept over her as they hugged, and she made a vow to come back more often.

Trixie’s father came out to help haul in the luggage. "What do you have in this duffel, bricks?" he teased.

"Nope, six months worth of mail, actually! My landlady collects it for me and then dumped it all on me last night."

"Six months?" exclaimed Moms.

"Yeah," Trixie admitted, "I’m hardly ever at that apartment. Just a place to crash on the occasional trip into DC. I barely have furniture there."

"But, but, how do you pay your bills? If you don’t collect your mail regularly?" Mr. Belden sputtered.

"Bills?" Trixie scoffed. "My accountant pays them."

"Your ‘accountant’? Government pay must be pretty good then." Just then, Bobby Belden met them in the hall, and took Trixie’s things out of their hands. Bobby had turned into a handsome, cheerful blonde, with muscles. Trixie was continually amazed at this each time she saw him.

"Trust me dad, Trixie doesn’t make a ton of money, but her accountant pays attention to her bills and investments and her retirement portfolio, and I’d say she has a healthy financial outlook for a 28 year old single female."

Helen and Peter stared at Bobby in amazement. Trixie smiled. "Well, you did send him to college to get a degree, right dad? And I must say, he’s the best accountant I’ve ever had, though now that he’s passed his CPA, he’s probably going to start charging his charter account higher fees?"

Bobby smiled. "Nope, Trix, you’re on the family plan. Since you trusted in me first, I swear, I won’t raise my rates, at least until you get married and there’s some real money to manage."

Trixie laughed and said, "Then I won’t worry!"

That evening over dinner, Trixie relaxed and caught up with her parents, who filled her in on the details of the shooting.

"All I really know, Trixie," began her father, "is that it was Hallie’s beat, patrolling out near here – Louis Road. For some reason, Molinson was riding with her. Hallie says the engine was making a funny noise and so they pulled over. Molinson got out of the car, Hallie reached over to pop the hood and as she was ducking down, gunfire started. She radioed it in, but the car was being peppered with bullets. Molinson couldn’t get back in the car and he died, pretty quickly. He was a sitting duck - he had a few shots in him, though I don’t believe they’re publicizing the details."

"No leads?" she asked.

"Not that I’m aware of," replied her father. "Hallie’s pretty shaken up, but she didn’t want to stay here. She’s at her place."

At Trixie’s blank look, Helen said, "She and Bobby are renting one of those renovated warehouse apartments, down by the bank."

"You mean where we had the antique show?"

"Yes," her father answered. "The bank finally decided to renovate them – the company that was most recently using them moved out, and housing this close to the city is something of a premium, so to attract younger people to Sleepyside, we turned them into apartments. Instant cash flow – and headaches, really – for the bank, and an attractive, reasonable apartment for the younger up and coming Sleepyside crowd."

Helen added, "We felt that Hallie was okay with Bobby there. They’re really quite close, good friends, in fact." Trixie was surprised by this information, and vowed again to keep in closer touch with family and friends.

The next morning, Trixie got up early, as was her habit, and went for a jog. As she returned to the house, she was surprised to see not only her older brother Mart at the table, but also Brian.

"What are you guys doing here?" she cried and rounded the table to give them both hugs.

"Ah, Trixie, shouldn’t you put some clothes on?" asked Mart as he eyed her black jogging bra and tiny jogging shorts. Trixie gave them a dirty look as Brian nodded his head in agreement.

"These are clothes, you morons. And if it were some other female, you’d be a bit more appreciative."

"Well I should hope so!" retorted Mart. "But as you are not ‘some other female’ please, spare your brothers?"

"We’ll talk later, you idiots. I’m going to take a shower. I need to be at the church early. I take it you two are coming?" Trixie asked.

"That’s why I’m here," confirmed Mart. When Brian didn’t say anything, Trixie turned back on the stairs to look at him, and lifted a brow expectantly. Both were avoiding looking at her, uncomfortable with her jogging attire.

Brian finally said, "Well, I’m glad, er, sort of, that my timing here allows me to attend the funeral, but I’m really here, well, I’ve moved home."

Trixie looked at Brian in amazement. "Are my nephews here?" Brian nodded his head yes. "Yippee! That should be entertainment for a few days while I’m here. I can’t wait to see them."

She looked at Brian a bit more closely, noting the lines of fatigue around his eyes. "You look awful, are you okay?"

Brian nodded his head, then said, "Well, I’m better, and I will be okay, now that I’m home." Trixie gave him a smile and jogged lightly up the stairs.

 

Chapter 6: I’ll Be Missing You

Captain Molinson was Catholic. Trixie hadn’t realized, or hadn’t really known, but in retrospect, she realized the "Molinson" was an Irish name. As the priest celebrated Mass, Trixie mimicked the movements of Molinson family members, standing, kneeling, sitting, while in her head, she rehearsed her speech. Trixie sat near the front, directly behind the family. While people had been arriving, she hadn’t really paid attention to who was there or not there. She knew that law enforcement would be out in droves, if not at the service, then for the procession to the burial site. Most of them wouldn’t even have known Molinson personally, it was just that way with cops.

There would probably be quite a few piranha reporters out there, picking over the grieving, looking for quotes. Trixie then realized that she hadn’t given any more thought to the circumstances of Molinson’s death, still trying to come to grips with the death itself, and she began to wonder how the investigation was proceeding. It was out of her jurisdiction, she told herself. But she knew well enough that she would grill Spider Webster as soon as was decent, and would offer her resources to help track down the killer.

When it was time for the eulogy, the priest said her name and nodded at her. Trixie snapped out of her reverie, and made her way to the podium on the altar, past Captain Molinson’s casket. She stopped briefly to look down at it, touched the casket for courage, climbed up the steps, and turned to see literally hundreds of faces staring back at her. She cleared her throat nervously.

"Wow. I guess some of you may be surprised to see me up here – Trixie Belden, onetime arch nemesis of then-Sergeant Molinson." (At this the crowd laughed, slightly nervously. Trixie made eye contact with his widow, Jeannie, who nodded encouragingly.)

"Anyway, when Jeannie asked me to deliver a eulogy, I was slightly bewildered, but honored. Because no matter the circumstance, it’s an honor to be asked to help sum up a person’s life. And I thought, where do I begin? How do you sum up a person’s life? Obviously, most of us here knew Captain Molinson in one capacity or another, but how can I put perspective on him so that everyone here would understand? I thought I’d just give you a history, tell you what kind of man I knew as Captain Molinson."

"I first met him when he was a uni – that’s a uniform patrol officer. He came to my rescue when I barged in on a famous pickpocket, then only a few weeks later, he saved my brother Mart and myself when we were being kidnapped while trying to expose a con man. Over the course of my high school career, he and I met – though some would say ‘clashed’ – several times over cases. Most of the time I’ll just say we didn’t always see eye to eye. Eventually, I came to understand some of his attitude toward me. I was a young, impetuous female with a knack for attracting trouble. I’ll never forget when he first asked me to help him on a case. This one involved some stolen social security checks. When Sergeant Molinson asked for my help, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather. After that, I tried to think before I acted, and to call him when I knew I was in over my head. Pretty soon, I saw him not as a "cop" who was out to get me, but as a caring, humane person, especially when we worked together to reunite two young parents and their boys." Trixie paused here, trying to overcome the lump in her throat.

"My sophomore year, I knew he was human when he married his lovely wife Jeannie and then their three boys were born in short order. I admired how he balanced his personal life and his professional career. By the end of my junior year, I was having some doubts about the wisdom of trying to open a detective agency in the small town of Sleepyside – I knew I needed some real world, professional experience. I basically hounded Molinson until he found a part-time job for me at the station. There I worked at very menial chores, and against all rules, he let me sit in on some briefings, see the paperwork involved – he wanted me to have a well-rounded picture of life in a stationhouse, and boy, cleaning out jail cells gave it to me!" (Trixie stopped again as officers chuckled appreciatively at this statement).

"I knew then what I wanted to do with my life and I have Captain Molinson to thank for it. He steered me in the right direction. After college, when it came time for me to apply to the Academy, he helped me fill out forms. I didn’t ask him to write a recommendation, because I didn’t want him to feel obligated. Imagine my surprise when I was being interviewed at the Academy and found out that he sent a three-page letter of recommendation, clinching my acceptance. I didn’t ask him to do it – apparently I didn’t have to. He was a quiet man, who did the things that needed to get done without fanfare. He didn’t need thanks or praise or big headlines in the Sleepyside Sun to cut out for a scrapbook. He taught by example - a man devoted to this town, the community, his family, and the kids who lived here. I don’t even know how many times I heard him taking the time to talk to the young kids in this town, gently pushing them along the right path."

"Last year, he and Jeannie were in DC for a few days with the kids, and we met for lunch. Dougie, his oldest, asked me why I always called his dad Captain Molinson, since I call everyone else by their first name. I told Dougie that it’s my sign of respect for his dad, because his dad was a great guy. He did a lot for me as a kid, and so to me, he would always be an officer I could look up to: "Captain Molinson," even though he’d been bumped up to Chief. Captain Molinson had the kind of career and record every law enforcement officer should envy – he got his man, was loved by his community, and respected by all. For you in law enforcement, remember his example, stand tall and proud about your jobs and know that there are people who look up to you, who appreciate the risks you take every day. Captain Molinson died for those principles, died keeping this town safe."

"There’s nothing I can say that will make us feel a lot better today. Funerals are really for the living in many ways, especially to say good-bye. Jeannie, Dougie, Wendell Junior, Tommy, and all of the family, thank you for sharing Wendell Molinson with us. We are all better off for having known him. Captain Molinson, I salute you. May God bless you." Trixie ended on a whisper, choking back tears. She stood erect, away from the podium saluting at his casket. The officers in the pews all stood up to salute Wendell Molinson, holding for a full minute. Trixie walked down the steps, down the aisle, and stopped to hug Jeannie and the boys, who were crying loudly. She continued blindly down the aisle, stupidly, really, not seeing because of the tears. A hand jerked her into the pew. It was Mart. Her almost-twin knew how painful this had been for her. He put his arm around her shoulder and pressed her face into his chest as she quietly cried.

The service was quickly concluded. Trixie remembered none of it. As she walked outside with her family, several officers came up to shake her hand. She recognized quite a few of Sleepyside’s tiny force, and finally spotted her cousin Hallie. It had been a year since Hallie’s last visit to DC.

The two women hugged and Hallie said, "Trixie, walk with us. It’s the tradition you know." Because of the town’s small size and the proximity of the cemetery, police officers would walk behind the hearse to the burial. Trixie felt another tug on her arm, and looked into the eyes of her best friend, Honey Wheeler. Honey wordlessly hugged her. They put on their shades and waited for the pallbearers to bring the casket out for Molinson’s final journey.

 

Chapter 7: Endings, Beginnings?

After the burial, the Beldens headed for home. There was to be a buffet lunch in the church basement, but Trixie didn’t feel up to it, and neither did the family, including Hallie.

In the minivan on the way back to the farm, Trixie said casually to her parents, "Did you notice Honey? I had no idea she’d be there." Her mother turned back to look at Trixie, but made no comment.

Trixie looked slightly to her left, to judge Brian’s reaction. His face was set in grim lines. "I thought she looked really good, didn’t you Mart?"

"Yeah," Mart agreed. "But I saw her not too long ago, and she looked fabulous then."

Trixie rounded on Mart. "Not too long ago, what does that mean?"

"Uh, just in passing you know, we saw each other," he flushed guiltily. Trixie knew he was hiding something, but she let it slide. She didn’t want to distress Brian too much, just make him a bit uncomfortable.

The Beldens ate lunch as a family, but it was an unusually somber gathering. No one had much to say, and it didn’t seem appropriate to chatter exuberantly about their lives, which was the typical Belden mealtime tradition. After lunch, the Beldens dispersed around the house, most of them wanting solitude for thinking. Brian settled into his old room and started to get his boys settled into Bobby’s old room, which was near his parents’.

Helen stood in the doorway watching Brian explain to Marty and Benji that this was their new house, with grams and grampy Belden, and that daddy had a new job, but that grams would be watching them during the day. The boys were still shy, and wary of their new surroundings. They really barely knew their grandparents, Brian having lived so far away during their short lives. Like Trixie, Brian had stayed away from Sleepyside after leaving for college. Mart was really the closest, with his job in New York City. He came home more often, teasing his younger brother on weekends and helping his father with the farm chores. All of her children were "good kids" but the three oldest, none of them were quite as happy as Helen wanted. She didn’t know why, but her maternal duty seemed to cry that she find out and remedy that, if possible.

Bobby came bounding up the stairs, like an overgrown puppy sometimes, more than a "mature" man about town of 22. "Hey boys! Do you want to go with Uncle Bobby, Uncle Mart and Aunt Trixie for some swimming?"

His nephews stared at him. "I guess that’s a yes?" Bobby said with a look to Brian.

"Sure," Brian said, "I think that’s a great idea. Let me find your suits."

"They don’t need suits, Brian, just some old shorts will do. Looks like a lot of unpacking for you to do," Bobby teased with a grin, "so I guess you won’t be going?"

At this, Marty and Benji edged closer to their father. Helen said, "Brian, let me unpack for the boys and you go on up to the Wheelers’ too."

Twenty minutes later, the motley group headed up the old path to Manor House. "A little overgrown, isn’t it?" Trixie commented.

"I’ll say," agreed Mart. "When’s the last time we were up here?"

"You know," Bobby answered, "the Lynch twins and I used the clubhouse all through high school, with Mr. Wheeler’s permission, of course, but there was only one of me trudging up and down the path. You couldn’t expect me to keep it as well-beaten as you three, plus Jim and Honey coming down to the farm."

At Trixie’s request, the Beldens detoured to the stable, to find there were no horses in the stalls. Tom Delanoy popped around the corner. "Sheesh, you startled me," exclaimed Trixie.

"Never thought I’d sneak up on the famous agent Belden," Tom said with a smile.

"Where are the horses?" Brian asked.

Tom looked slightly crestfallen. "Well, with no one here – I mean, you kids gone and all, Mr. Wheeler sold off the horses a couple of years ago. He and Mrs. Wheeler are hardly ever here, either. Celia and I took over the garage apartments, and Regan went to work at Tomlinson’s."

"What? He did? Did you guys know this?" asked Trixie. Brian shook his head no, but Bobby and Mart both looked a little guilty, judging by their flushed faces.

"How come no one tells me anything?" she said. Brian looked at Mart and Trixie and saw his own guilt reflected on their faces. It appeared they really had lost touch.

"I just found out a few weeks ago myself," Mart defended.

"Hey, no one asked me about the Wheelers’ stables…it was always, ‘Bobby, are you doing your homework?’ ‘Bobby are you dating anyone?’ Not, ‘What’s going on around Glen Road?’"

As always the one to avoid unpleasantries among his siblings, Brian asked Tom, "So what’s Regan doing at Tomlinsons?"

Tom was a dark-haired, handsome and friendly man in his late thirties, and well used to the Beldens’ inquisitiveness. He scratched his head. "I forget how you guys aren’t really around anymore, except Bobby. Well, you know, Mr. Tomlinson passed away actually about five years ago – about the same time Mr. Wheeler decided to let the horses go. Just so happens that Regan hired on there to work at the school."

"I am completely lost by this explanation, I confess it! Tom, speak English, please," Trixie stated.

But Mart answered before Tom could. "In words of one syllable, or thereabouts, mine twin, Mr. Tomlinson passed away, Mr. Wheeler sold his stables, Regan went to work at Tomlinson’s, but not for the Tomlinsons, for one James Winthrop Frayne, II."

Brian now, too, was staring at Mart and Tom, with a puzzled look on his face. Bobby laughed. "You guys are so out of it. Jim decided against building his school at Ten Acres – new construction wasn’t a very cost-effective measure when the Tomlinson place, just a mile or so away, became available, with all its outbuildings and the big house. Jim snapped it up and turned it into the ‘Winthrop Frayne Boys’ Camp’. At the same time, he offered Regan the job of Camp Director/Chief Horse Manager."

"Jim actually opened his school?" Trixie asked weakly.

"No," interjected Mart, "not really, I mean, he doesn’t run a school – it’s a summer camp, with some projects during the fall, for boys from orphanages or foster homes, or even from juvie homes, and Jim isn’t there above one day a week in the summertime. Regan really runs it, Jim just sponsors it, gets the funding and stuff."

"How do you know all this, Mr. Brains Belden? And why didn’t you tell us?"

Tom, sensing it was time for a tactical retreat, said, "I think I hear Celia calling me. The boathouse is open, and since you all have towels and beach stuff, I guess you’ll be at the lake? The others are already there."

"Others? Why do I feel like I have no idea what’s what any more?" Trixie grouched. Maybe that’s why she hardly ever came back to Sleepyside. Too much history, or too much family. Everyone seemed to delight in confusing her. At work, though, she was comfortable, well respected, even feared by the rookies, she thought with a smile. She knew the lingo, knew how to do her job well, but when she got to Sleepyside, she sometimes felt like she was trapped inside her 14-year-old self, still bumbling, fumbling, and tripping over her tongue. When will I ever learn? she wondered as she vowed to get out of town as fast as decently possible.

As they went out to the lake, Trixie saw that there were actually a lot of people there. When she saw a very familiar red head push Honey off the float in the middle, Trixie froze in shock. What was Jim Frayne doing here? she wondered. Last she’d heard, he was in Hong Kong, helping guide Wheeler International’s businesses through the tricky transition from British to Chinese rule. If he was at the funeral, she’d been too out of it to notice. Nice detective you are! she thought.

Brian, standing slightly behind Trixie, heard a familiar squeal and looked just in time to see Honey unceremoniously dumped into the water by her brother. "Damn, I didn’t expect this. I thought she’d be long gone on one of her assignments by now."

Hallie was already stretched out on one of the deck chairs, catching some sun. Trixie realized that she must have come up here right after lunching at Crabapple Farm. Dan Mangan was even there. The only one missing from the old gang was Di Lynch. Trixie voiced this aloud, and then heard, "Did someone call my name?" As one, the Beldens turned, and there stood Diana Lynch in the doorway of the boathouse. The darling of daytime drama was wearing a skimpy lavender bikini and Brian whistled.

"Thanks, darling, I’ll even autograph a picture for you later," she teased. "And who are these fine and handsome young gentlemen?"

By now, the whole crowd had walked up. Brian realized none of them had met his children. For all he knew, Honey didn’t even know he had children or that he was no longer married. "Guys, this is Marty, my oldest, and Benji, my youngest. Marty, Benji, these are daddy’s very best friends in the whole world." And with that, Brian realized it was true. They’d drifted apart since he and Jim left for college 14 years ago, but they were still probably his best friends, even if he hadn’t been one to them. He’d reflected on this quite a bit through the 20-hour drive from St. Paul to Sleepyside over the past two nights. He couldn’t believe the stupid things he’d done, that they’d all done, and vowed to make more of an effort to check in with his friends, to be there for them, in their good times and bad times.

Honey had mouthed a silent "O" as Brian introduced the boys. She knelt down next to them and said, "Hi. I’m Maddy. I hope you guys are going to be around for awhile so you can come up and swim with me while I’m here?" Brian realized she was probably asking the question of him, as much as the boys.

"I think that’s a great idea, boys." Brian said. He had really messed up the one time he and Honey had seen each other in the last 14 years and he was bound and determined to make it up.

Trixie turned to Diana Lynch, who was still a beautiful violet-eyed woman with dark hair. "God, Di, you look fantastic! How do you do it?"

"Pretty easy with your own personal trainer, chef, masseuse and lord knows what else," Mart said under his breath. Only Trixie and Di heard him, Trixie ignored him in embarrassment and Di gave him a fulminating look.

Di turned slightly, edging Mart out to the fringe of the group. "Thanks Trix, but I hardly look like I could kick someone’s ass with one hand tied behind my back, and trust me, you and Honey are both beautiful, and I also pity the fools who try to put unwanted moves on you!"

Trixie blushed and Honey laughed. "Don’t think we let the men who ask us out forget it." Honey replied. With this unwelcome thought, Brian decided to shed his t-shirt and helped his boys with theirs and they waded out to the lake. Trixie figured she may as well strip down outside so she wouldn’t miss any conversation. She had put her bikini on at the house, not sure if the boathouse would be available. As she removed her shirt, she heard a loud gasp. She froze, and then tried to pull her shirt back down.

"No, don’t," whispered Jim hoarsely. "Trixie, what happened? My God! That’s a terrible scar."

Trixie’s face and neck were completely red with embarrassment. How could she have forgotten her horrible scar? At Jim’s gasp, the members of the group who had dispersed came back out to where the women were standing.

"Let me see," demanded Brian. He walked around behind Trixie and let out a long low whistle. "Damn, that’s gotta be 40 stitches, Trix. What DID happen? Looks like someone cut you with a serrated knife."

"Oh leave her alone!" exclaimed Honey. "It happened years ago, and obviously it’s healed now." Honey alone knew the real story, and she always stuck up for Trixie.

Trixie took a deep breath and said, "No, no, it’s okay – I just forgot about it – it DID happen a long time ago – five years. No lasting damage, except for an ugly scar. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all."

"Moms and Dad never breathed a word of it to me, like always," said Bobby. "Just because I’m the youngest, they think I can’t handle stuff." He edged over to get a better look, and winced. It was awful and puckered, and had turned white with age.

"Moms and Dad didn’t breathe a word to anyone, that I can tell, did they Trix?" asked Mart. "Because they don’t know, do they Trix?" he concluded.

Darn near-twin! Trixie thought. "No, Moms and Dad don’t know, and I don’t really want them to find out. They’ll worry after the fact, and I swear, it’s not a big deal. It didn’t get that close to my spinal cord and healed ok." Trixie took her shorts off, too. "That’s it guys, freak show’s over, back in the water, okay?"

Sensing Trixie’s reluctance to discuss what was probably a work-related injury, the group drifted back to the water, with many curious and searching looks back in her direction. As she bent to untie her tennies, Jim’s hand touched her shoulder. Trixie looked up to see that his face was still white and pale.

"You’re sure it’s okay?" he asked. "I mean, I worry about you, too, Trixie. You’ve always been one of my best friends, and to think of you in some hospital with a knife cut, well, it scares me that you could die and we’d never even know it."

Trixie continued to look at Jim, searching his face. His touch on her arm, well, his hand was still on her arm, and it was disturbing. More disturbing than it should be. She’d told herself innumerable times that she was over her teenage crush on Jim Frayne. But how come you still compare every man to him? whispered a tiny voice inside her head.

"Jim, really, for every dangerous situation, which are really rare, we have thousands of man hours in planning. It’s usually not dangerous at all. The scar is a result of a fluke, nothing more."

Jim’s hand was still on Trixie’s shoulder. He was unconsciously rubbing his fingers over the joint, almost stroking. Trixie gulped. It was now or never, time to take the bull by the horns so to speak. Jim had always been slow when it came to women, Trixie knew.

After a deep breath to steady her nerves – I wasn’t this nervous on my first presidential detail, she thought – she blurted out loud, "D’ya’wannahavedinnertonightjustyouandme?"

Jim stopped rubbing her shoulder. Trixie had her head sort of down, where he couldn’t look into her eyes. Surely, she didn’t just say what he thought? It must be his own longings tricking him into hearing things. "I’m sorry, what did you just say, Trixie?" he asked.

Keeping her head down, Trixie repeated, "D’ya’wannahavedinnertonightjustus?"

This time, Jim was a little surer that what he heard was what he’d been dreaming of for years. "Did you just ask me to have dinner with you?"

Trixie bit her lip. Oh this was a bad idea, she knew it, but she thought she’d gotten braver over the years, at least in some aspects of her life, but maybe not with men. Not that there’d been any men – they all paled in comparison to Jim Frayne and she figured if she couldn’t have the best, she wouldn’t just settle. But despite all the fond glances and hand squeezes over the years, Jim had never asked her out – they’d gone to dances and parties, with the whole gang there, but Trixie knew that wasn’t the same and she was sick of standing in line while the rest of the world rode the Ferris wheel.

Jim gently put his index finger under her chin and raised her head so he could look into her gorgeous blue eyes. "Wow, Trixie, I’m stunned." Trixie moaned to herself, oh the humiliation! He searched her eyes with his green ones. "But I’d have to say, what took you so long to ask me? I’d love to!" He read the surprise and delight there, before she masked it.

"Wow, great. I’ll pick you up then. Six o’clock? Is that a good time?"

"Six is fine."

"Oh, wait, where are you staying?" she asked, flustered.

Jim smiled to know that he was still able to cause her to be nervous, after all these years. "I’m at the Manor House. Didn’t you know Dad and Mother gave it to Honey and me? They rarely come here now that we’ve grown."

"You don’t stay at the camp?"

"No, I’ve found my presence there overnight has a tendency to overwhelm the staff, except for Regan, and the boys get pretty hyper. And neither Honey nor I come here much either, to be honest. I hardly have time to spend the night. But when your mom called about Molinson, and she said that you’d all be here, I cleared my schedule so I could stay here as long as I needed."

"We’re getting some weird looks from the peanut gallery," Trixie commented, "so I guess we better join them in the water."

"Sure," said Jim casually. Inside, he was ecstatic. Why hadn’t he ever looked her up before now? He knew that over the years, he’d thought of her often, consciously and unconsciously comparing every woman to her. He tried to tell himself that he was carrying a picture of a 15 year old girl in his heart, and that she couldn’t still be so great that grown women would pale in comparison, but having seen her today and heard the eulogy this morning, he knew that he’d been right to wait, to have the genuine article if possible. And besides, he also knew that Trixie wasn’t after his money. Most of the women who asked him out, and when you were as wealthy as he was, women weren’t shy, still expected him to pick them up, in his limo if not the Ferrari, thank you very much! and pay for everything too. But knowing Trixie, she’d borrow someone’s car and insist on paying for dinner, since she did the asking. Really, she was as honorable as they come. And he liked that about her.

The afternoon passed enjoyably for the most part. The few times Trixie tried to broach the subject of Molinson’s death, Hallie evaded her questions until she finally snapped and said, "I don’t want to talk about it now!" and stormed over to her deck chair, laying face down. Trixie also noticed something else odd. Whenever her brothers thought they weren’t being observed, they shot glances at their old prom dates, Honey and Di. Even better, Honey and Di shot those same glances back when Brian and Mart weren’t looking. Once, she caught Jim’s eyes on her, and he gave her a sensual little smile that sent shivers up her back. Maybe she needed to brush up on her flirting. And maybe her brothers needed to get some of her gumption, and do something rather than throw fond and longing glances!

Dan kept mostly to himself; he was also evading questions - about his law practice and life in New York City. Trixie couldn’t decide if his glances over at Hallie meant anything special, since everyone was concerned about her and kept checking on her.

At four o’clock, Trixie called a halt to the Beldens’ fun. "I’m going home guys. Are you coming or should I see you later? Moms will be starting dinner soon." Mart threw her a pleading look. She knew what that meant, he wanted her to suggest everyone come to Crabapple Farm for dinner. But she wasn’t 15 any more! She had a date, by golly, and it was going to be alone, not with her family avidly watching. She gave Mart a slightly sweet and mischievous smile, mouthed the word "no" and headed down the path.

"Wait Trix. Let me walk with you part way," called Jim. He hoped he didn’t sound too eager. Jim jogged up to her, and as soon as they moved out of sight of everyone else, he grabbed her hand. Trixie was stunned, this was an interesting development. Jim decided if Trixie could be brave and risk rejection, so could he. I’m 31, he told himself, and tired of watching the world go by, I need to take more risks in my personal life. I lay millions down on financial transactions, so how can I be chicken with a woman I’ve lusted after for years? Before they broke out of the tree line, Jim pulled Trixie behind a particularly large fir for privacy.

Deciding "now or never" he circled his arms around her, leaned down, and kissed her for all he was worth. Surprised, Trixie opened her mouth to sputter, and Jim took advantage. Pleasant minutes later, Jim said, "Well gorgeous, I’d better get you home so we can get ready for our date. I’m really looking forward to it, Trixie. I think this could be a new beginning for us. For all of us. I hope I’m not moving too fast, or reading too much into your asking me out?"

Hah, moving too fast my butt! Trixie thought. I don’t think knowing someone half your life before kissing them is moving any faster than molasses in winter time. Trixie shook her blonde curls "no." "I’ll be by for you in a little bit, okay?"

Jim gave her a quick peck on the cheek and a little push towards the farmhouse. "See ya, princess." Trixie floated home, while Jim practically two-stepped back up the path to the Manor House, by-passing the lake.

When Trixie got home, she noticed her brothers had already gotten there. "How’d we pass you up?" asked Bobby. Brian and Mart’s eyes narrowed at this, suspicion churning.

"Jim had a question for me, that’s all," lied Trixie without batting an eye. One good thing about undercover work – you learned to lie like a pro. She was sure her brothers didn’t believe her, but it wasn’t any of their business, was it?

Author’s note: I owe all my editing to the "Cathys" B & P – thanks so much, ladies for all your encouragement and nit-picks. I hope I haven’t made any mistakes, but if I have, they’re all mine! I hope that everyone’s enjoying the story. This is just two chapters to tide you over – though I love my husband, he seems to want to use the computer too! But I’m trying to finish quickly J

 

Chapter 8: Takin’ Care of Business

Trixie roared up the driveway to Manor House promptly at six. It’d been a bit of a song and dance to get out of the family dinner Moms had planned without anyone the wiser for her plans. She had to pay Bobby $50 cash to "rent" his Prelude for the evening, too. She should’ve told him to major in education instead of econ/finance!

Jim was at the side porch, waiting for her. He didn’t want to appear too anxious, but he’d been sitting there almost a half an hour. He’d told Honey he had a business dinner. A complete fabrication. He felt slightly guilty, but figured Honey’d find out the truth if things went well, and she’d forgive him. Before Trixie could get out, he hopped in the passenger seat.

"The adjustment’s under the seat. I think you’re taller than most of Bobby’s passengers. Isn’t this a great car? It’s a 2000! I have always wanted a brand new car, and a sports car would be so cool…" Jim silenced Trixie by pulling her close for a quick kiss.

"Wow! What was that for?"

"To shut you up, princess. You were babbling like a brook. Don’t be nervous. We’ve known each other forever and I won’t bite. Unless you want me to?" he said with a smile.

This caused Trixie to blush. She wasn’t a prude or anything, but, well, she had virtually no experience this sort of thing – courtship, dating, whatever, and didn’t exactly know how to proceed. Most of the time, even after careful vetting, she managed to date some slimes who were after one thing and she wasn’t giving any out. Sometimes, knowing her profession was a turn off for men, but others wanted to "get the best of her" thinking that just because they were men, it gave them a superiority. She delighted in proving those wrong. But how did she act with a man she knew to be honorable, interesting, and sexy as hell? Act natural, she said under her breath.

Jim heard her, and said, "I’m sorry Trix. I am moving too fast, aren’t I? It’s just in my mind we’ve had a relationship for so many years…we’ve known so much about each other. But you know I’d never hurt you, at least, I hope I never hurt you."

"Jim, you’re right, it’s funny, but I’ve had this conversation with you before, in my head – I always wondered what our first date would be like, if we’d ever have one, and suddenly, the real thing is here and I’m confused and nervous, and well, this may seem sudden, but absolutely sure I’m crazy about you. I’m too old to play games. So there it is, out in the open."

Just then, Trixie noticed the shades in Honey’s old room fluttering. "Uh oh, we’d better get moving, looks like someone’s checking up on us!" With that, she put the car in gear and backed down the drive.

"Can we go to Wimpy’s, assuming it’s still there?" Trixie asked nervously. She worried she’d given too much away, since Jim hadn’t really responded to her earlier declaration.

Jim laughed. "Wimpy’s! I’d love to. I’d say that it’s the perfectly perfect place for our first official date."

Trixie and Jim sat in Wimpy’s for two quick hours, talking, reminiscing and catching up with each other’s lives. They knew some things, having had Honey as a go-between. But even Honey and Trixie barely had time to keep up with each other. Jim wanted to bring up Trixie’s scar, since that was something Honey hadn’t told him about, but he decided that he couldn’t learn all her secrets in one night.

Finally, Jim said, "Well, I think we’ve taken up this table for long enough. How about a walk through town to work off some of those chocolate milkshakes and fries?"

Trixie, not wanting the night to end, agreed. They wandered aimlessly, and finally ended up on a bench near City Hall, staring up at Hoppy the Weathervane. "Hi Hoppy," they softly called.

Eventually, Jim asked, "So, what are we going to do about the Molinson situation?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are we going to do? We’ve got to figure out who did it. Was it random? On purpose? I think it’s time to call the BWGs back into action. And between the seven of us, plus Hallie, we should be able to figure it out. I’m surprised you haven’t been chomping at the bit on this one."

"Yeah." Trixie sighed. "I have been thinking about it, but at first I guess I was just thinking through my grief – not really ‘How’d this happen, who did this thing?’ but just trying to cope with the fact that my mentor was dead. I’ve only been here one full day, and so much has already happened."

"It sure has," Jim agreed with a shy grin.

"Not that, silly! I mean, just the funeral, composing the eulogy, trying to reconnect with my family, that sort of thing. It’s hard to come home, and I guess I was putting myself first and I really should be concentrating on helping Spider figure this whole thing out."

"Trixie, I don’t think that’s selfish – I think it’s natural. We’re all carrying around a lot of baggage, and if you’re not in touch with yourself, emotionally, you won’t be able to work on this case."

"Thanks, Jim. I should know I can always count on you."

Jim took Trixie’s hands in his, and echoed, "Always, Trixie, is a long time, and you can always count on me. Don’t forget it." He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. "I might be ready to go home, if you’ll come home with me and stay awhile."

 

 

Chapter 9: Que Sera, Sera

Trixie returned from her early morning jog with a sense of déjà vu. Both her older brothers were again sitting at the breakfast table, though with her nephews this time. Neither wanted to see her in her shorts and jogging bra, either, which is probably why they hadn’t noticed the scar on her back last time – too busy trying to not look at her.

"Out late, weren’t you, Beatrix?" asked Mart pompously.

"MYOB, brother dear," Trixie replied as she rummaged through the fridge looking for juice.

"Late?" said Brian, "I thought you were going out jogging at five a.m., but maybe you were just coming in? Where were you?"

"Um, let me repeat: MYOB, big brothers and remember, little pitchers?" she said with a significant look at her young nephews. "And if you want to start grilling me, remember, I am now a fully fledged and well versed interrogation expert for the Secret Service, and I know that neither of you would last ten minutes under my skillful questioning."

Both Brian and Mart looked down at their bowls at this reminder, and finished eating their cereal. Neither of them wanted an interrogation on their personal lives, Trixie realized, so she vowed to get each one alone for questioning at her earliest opportunity. But that wasn’t as important as the Molinson case and she needed the entire group in on this. United, they’d find the killer. Divided, who knew?

"Listen up, boys. We need to have an emergency meeting at the clubhouse. Regarding the Molinson case."

"Uh, Trixie, you know, the BWGs have been out of action since you girls graduated from high school." Brian said. He looked at Mart, who raised an eyebrow. They were adults now, and the BWGs were kid stuff.

"We’ve just been pursuing other things. It’s time to reform and take on a case. I have things to share with you all, but I don’t want to do it right here. We’ll meet in an hour, 10 a.m., at the clubhouse. If you’re not there, that’s okay. I need to know who’s in and who’s out." With that, Trixie went up to her room to shower and change, and gather her thoughts.

Mart and Brian exchanged glances, and rolled their eyes. "You going?" queried Mart.

"I guess," replied Brian. "If Moms will look after the boys."

Just then, Bobby bounded in. "Hey bros! Whaaaasssup? Have you got the scoop from Trixie? Are she and Jim an item now or what?"

"Huh? What are you talking about Bobby?" asked Mart, a little perplexed.

"You mean I know something and you two don’t? Gee, where have I heard this record before?"

Bobby did an impromptu drum roll with his hands on the kitchen table, to the delight of Marty and Benji. "Trixie had a date last night," dum dum dum, "with Jim."

"Yeah, so you say, AND?" Brian prompted.

"Well, Hallie and I went to the Cameo to catch the Alfred Hitchcock flick. And you two didn’t want to go! I admit, it was a good one, but even better, after the show, another show, for free. We drove by Hoppy to say goodnight, and what do we see? But our only sister in a heavy lip lock with one James Winthrop Frayne! And since she borrowed my car last night, and said it was important, then, I see her with Jim, well you get the picture, right?"

"No, Bobby, spell it out a little more plainly for the nephews why don’t you?" Mart said dryly.

"Hey, you complain when I don’t tell you stuff, then you get all sarcastic when I do. From now on, I’m keeping information to myself. Marty, Benji, do you guys want to go play with Whitey?" Whitey was the ‘new’ dog. [In a fit of pique at age ten, Bobby had decided that all future dogs in the Belden household would get names that conformed to their color. Whitey was a very light colored Golden Retriever, not another Irish Setter.]

Meanwhile, after showering, Trixie dressed and rummaged through the meager belongings she had brought with her. As an agent, she’d learned to travel light, and bring dark pantsuits. Without thinking, Trixie had hardly packed anything casual. She found a pair of cut offs in her duffel and then rummaged through her other bag, looking for a logbook.

All agents were trained to record their actions in a logbook. Trixie hadn’t opened hers since being home, but typically while working on a case, agents noted in shorthand the time of day and any observations or actions. At first, she thought it was a silly idea, but now she couldn’t imagine working on a case without it. Patterns really become apparent, clues seem to just appear in that thing. It’s almost magic, she thought. And besides, during a trial, an agent’s logbook is considered nearly 100% proof of actions at specific times and really helps the prosecution.

After sliding a t-shirt over her head, but leaving it untucked, Trixie finally gave up the search and dumped out her duffel that had been loaded with mail accumulation. She pawed through the pile on the bed, looking for the small memo-sized black leather pad. Almost like a Sherlock Holmes pad, she said to herself as she looked. Not finding it, she started to glance at her mail. She started a "junk mail" pile, which was most of it. Near the end of sorting, she picked out an envelope.

It was crumply and dirty with smudges all over it. She looked at the postmark…July 1, 2000; New York City’s Main Post Office was the cancellation mark.

 

Wonder who sent me a letter from NYC, she said to herself as she opened it. For some reason, this one made her instincts quiver – it stood out from the mostly junk pile, probably because it was in a normal, white envelope, albeit a dirty one. Trixie unfolded the piece of notebook paper, and gasped at what she read. In cut-outs from a newspaper, were pasted the words

I’ll get you all one by one first your brother and then your lover take heed before I strike again

Trixie reexamined the envelope, looking for more clues, and the notebook paper. It looked fairly standard which meant hard to identify, though maybe not impossible. The newspaper would be easier. She held it up to the light from her window, trying to see from the other side of the newspaper letters, checking for anything that would indicate what paper the letters were cut from. But she knew it was futile. If she were back in DC, at the lab, then there’d be a chance. Should she let the other BWGs know about this? Trixie glanced at her clock. She rummaged through her luggage one last time, finally found her notebook stuck in a sock, grabbed it and a pen, and took off for the clubhouse. She hoped Jim would be there. He’d promised to get the key from Honey and to air it out.

As Trixie made her way up, she ran over the letter in her head. But it didn’t make sense, did it? Trixie asked herself. She’d only gotten herself a lover last night, so who was this letter for? Trixie lost herself in memories of the previous night’s activities with Jim at the Manor House. They’d tried to be super quiet since Honey was also in the house. She wasn’t sure she was ready to share her new relationship with Jim to the whole world.

Jim was outside the clubhouse waiting for Trixie. When she saw him, she ran the last few yards and jumped into his arms, surprising him. He caught her with a grin and began his new favorite activity – at least the one he could do in public – and kissed her lavishly.

"Oh excuse me," Honey said from the door of the clubhouse. "I didn’t realize this would be a private meeting."

"Us either," said Mart as he and Brian approached from the direction of the game preserve. Dan, Diana and Hallie came from direction of the driveway. "What’s going on?" asked Diana.

"Apparently a lot more than we’ve been led to believe," commented Honey, slightly hurt.

"Oh Honey, it’s not like that. It’s just…" Trixie stopped as all the BWGs looked at her disbelievingly. "Well, we’re uh, dating now. Boyfriend and girlfriend, you know?"

"Boyfriend and girlfriend?" Dan said. "At our age? You must be joking. Guess you guys are afraid to use the "L" word?"

Hallie giggled, "Bobby and I spotted them last night, PDA in the town square! I’m sure everyone in Sleepyside knows by now!"

Trixie and Jim let the ribbing continue for a few minutes. Trixie was at least glad that Hallie’s spirits were a little better. Originally, she and Jim wanted to keep from their friends the sudden turn to seriousness that their relationship had taken, but Trixie knew when a tactical regroup was necessary, so she let them tease, hoping they’d get it out of their systems and then leave her and Jim alone.

Jim finally took charge of ending the ribbing, and ordered, "Okay, okay, seriously, now, we have things to discuss. Everyone in the clubhouse!"

"Sir, yes sir!" replied Dan cheekily as they all trooped in.

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