September 26
The rank odor of the accumulated trash nearly overwhelmed Sergeant Jean Rand, Sleepyside PD, as she gingerly lifted the dumpster lid. She swallowed hard to keep from gagging. There, just as old Mary Bellows had claimed, was the hand. It stuck straight up out of the garbage, as if reaching for help that had never come. Jean took in the dirty skin, the peeling purple nail polish and the bloody fingers. She turned and nodded to her partner.
"Yeah," she muttered grimly. "We've got a body. Call the station and get the Doc out here now. And ask for Captain Molinson. He's gonna want to be here for this."
She watched as her young partner scurried back to the patrol car, obviously relieved that she hadn't asked him to help her with the dead girl. Jean stepped back two paces from the dumpster, checking to see if she had accidentally destroyed any evidence. She had been careful, but perhaps not careful enough. When Mary Bellows had flagged down their car fifteen minutes before, she had been disinclined to believe the woman's story. It had been highly evident that Mary was on another bender, never mind that it was barely past seven in the morning, and the idea that the town drunk had really discovered a body in the trash behind Hal's Pub had been ludicrous. But of course, the law required that they check it out, and now Jean frowned pensively at the dented brown dumpster, wondering who the hand belonged to. She would wait, though, until her captain and the county medical examiner arrived before attempting an excavation.
Kevin Lee slid out of the patrol car and approached her. "Captain Molinson is on his way. He says not to touch anything."
Jean just managed to keep from rolling her eyes.
Kevin shoved his hands in his pockets. "Who- who do you think it is?"
Jean shook her head. "We won't know until we dig her out." She took sympathy on the younger man. Only two weeks on the job and he was already faced with a possible murder. He looked nervous and scared. Sighing, she recommended he start roping off the area. Pretty soon the small alley would be crawling with police and other officials, and that would attract the usual crowd of curiosity seekers. As Kevin retrieved the yellow tape from the trunk, Jean squatted down to conduct an initial study of the ground surrounding the foul smelling dumpster. She tried not to inhale too deeply. She knew, soon enough, her nose would simply stop registering the awful scent, but in the meantime, she had no desire to make herself feel more nauseated than she already did.
The wail of sirens pierced the quiet of the early morning and Jean slowly stood, recognizing the terrible fact that the blaring horns disturbed more than the peace of the day. With the discovery of the body buried in the trash, the peace of the lives of every Sleepyside resident was about to be shattered as well.
~~~~~~~~~~
The assembly was called shortly after third period began. The students of Sleepyside Senior High School filed into the auditorium in a subdued manner, sensing from the saddened and worried expressions on their teachers' faces that something was wrong. They whispered to each other, passing fearful conjectures back and forth as they took their seats. Principal Stratton crossed the stage to the lectern and cleared his throat. It was evident to all of the student body that the older man was deeply distressed. He reached out to straighten the microphone with shaky hands.
"We... we have called you in here this morning to give you... to tell you that a great tragedy has befallen our community. A few hours ago the body of Caroline Martin was discovered in a trash dumpster on the east side of town. The police have informed me that she was a victim of a vicious killer, and they have asked that school be closed for the day. You are all to return to your own homes or the home of a friend. Most importantly, they want no one out and about, and no one is to be alone. The buses are right now collecting the children at the elementary school and will be available in approximately half an hour.
"Students, this is a terrible, terrible time for us all, and I want you to know that all of the faculty and staff here will be available to you. We will set up special counseling sessions, and... and..." He broke off, lifting a handkerchief to his face to wipe at the single tear that rolled down his cheek.
Seventeen-year-old Trixie Belden stared sightlessly at the stage, shock having left her numb. Beside her, her best friend Honey Wheeler was crying quietly, one hand clasped across her mouth, her face reflecting a cross of disbelief and horror. Trixie wanted to reach out to her, to offer her some kind of comfort, but she found she somehow couldn't move. Someone had murdered the homecoming queen. It was incomprehensible. Images of the pretty, popular teen flashed through Trixie's mind; Carrie leading the cheerleading squad at the state championship basketball game their junior year; Carrie smiling and waving as she accepted her crown at Homecoming; Carrie walking through the school halls with her regular crowd of followers. Suddenly, Trixie thought of another dear friend. Diana Lynch was also a varsity cheerleader and knew Carrie better than either Trixie or Honey did. Trixie hadn't seen Di all morning, and she wondered if perhaps the faculty had chosen to tell Carrie's closest friends about her death in private.
As the assembly closed, Trixie dutifully followed her peers back out into the hall, clutching her books tightly to her chest. Honey mumbled something about calling home and asking for someone to come into town to pick them up. Even though Honey's cherry red Firebird was parked out in the student lot, Trixie understood her friend's reluctance to drive. As Honey placed her call on her cell phone, Trixie walked slowly to her locker, lost in a morose fog. Around her, both the girls and boys of Sleepyside hugged and cried and struggled to understand the implications of Carrie's murder.
Trixie spoke to no one. She passed an open locker and paused with a frown. It was bare, except for one strange and entirely unexpected item. Trixie cocked her head and studied the stuffed and mounted partridge. It was propped up in the locker in a way that made it appear the bird was watching all that passed it. She glanced around, puzzled, but no one else was paying any attention to the odd sight. Finally, Trixie gave a mental shrug and moved on. On reaching her destination, she dialed her locker combination and swung open the metal door. Without thought, she shoved her textbook and folders into the already crammed space and removed the small brown paper bag that held her lunch. She wasn't hungry. In fact, her stomach churned queasily, but she hadn't wanted to leave the food to spoil. She tossed the bag carelessly into a nearby trash can and slammed her locker shut. She found Honey going through an almost identical routine at her own locker.
"Tom is going to be here shortly," Honey whispered. "He said he'd meet us by the north entrance."
Trixie nodded and they pushed their way through the milling students. A few of them attempted to talk with the girls, but they shook their heads and kept moving, having reached an unspoken agreement that they wanted only to get away.
As they waited on the wide stone steps for Tom to arrive in the Wheeler's luxurious Lincoln, Honey pleaded with Trixie to come with her to the Manor House. "I- I don't want to be alone. I mean, I know Miss Trask and Tom and Celia will be there, but...."
"I know," Trixie cut in softly. "I know. Just let me call Moms. I don't know what she's going to want me to do."
Mrs. Belden answered the phone on the second ring. Trixie knew right away that her mother had already heard the news. While Helen Belden's first instinct was to gather her children to her protective side, she understood Trixie's need to stay with her friend and consented to her daughter's request.
Ten minutes later, the girls were climbing into the car's back seat. Tom's usually cheerful face was drawn in concern. He refrained from his typical banter and they rode out to Glen Road in tense silence.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Ready to go?"
Trixie nodded, shivering slightly in the chill evening air. She hadn't expected the temperature to drop so quickly. She'd stayed at the Manor House long enough to have dinner and listen to the local nightly news broadcast. Now she wanted to go home, fall into bed, and maybe escape the complete awfulness of the day, at least for a few hours. She glanced at the tall man beside her. "Thank you for walking me home."
Regan regarded her soberly, his brow furrowed. "You didn't honestly think I was going to let you go alone, did you?" She looked so small and afraid. Regan clenched his fist. He hated to see her like this. She was usually so alive and vibrant.
"No." Trixie smiled weakly at him. "Of course not. But I'm sure Dad could've driven up here to get me. He probably would have preferred it, come to think of it."
The Wheelers' groom shrugged one shoulder. "You can call him back if you want." He hoped she wouldn't. He needed to talk with her. Preferably alone.
"That's okay. I think I'd like to walk."
They crossed the wide expanse of manicured lawn, heading for the well-worn path that wound through the outer edge of the game preserve and ended at the border of Crabapple Farm, the modest farmhouse Trixie called home. As they entered the woods, Regan clicked on the heavy-duty flashlight he carried easily in his right hand.
"Trixie, I want you to make me a promise, right here and now."
She knew without asking what that promise would be. "I- I can't."
Regan stopped, turning and taking her arm in a strong grip. "Yes. You can."
"Regan, how can I let-"
"Promise me right now you will not get involved, in any way, in the murder of Caroline Martin."
Trixie stared up at him. "I can't do that," she mumbled. "I liked Carrie. She didn't deserve to-"
"Trixie, either you make me this promise right now or I will convince your family to ship you off to your uncle's sheep farm on the first available flight."
Trixie's brows drew down. "How can you make me do this? You know how I feel...."
"Yeah. I do know how you feel. But I also know how your family and friends feel, too, and I can tell you, none of us would take it well if something happened to you."
"I'll be careful."
Regan snorted in disbelief. "You've never been careful about anything since the day I met you."
Trixie tried to draw back, stung by his comment.
"I've always admired your courage, Trixie," Regan continued. "Unfortunately, for all of your considerable boldness, you seem to be completely lacking in common sense. You can be such a little fool sometimes, and that scares me a great deal."
That did it. Trixie dropped her gaze, blinking back tears. Praise from Regan was a very rare thing, but criticism of this nature was practically unheard of, and it hurt her deeply. She didn't want him to know just how much it hurt, and she turned to move away from him.
Sensing he'd caused her genuine pain, Regan reached out and gently tugged her face upward with two fingers placed under her chin. "Now, don't do that," he admonished softly as he saw how close she had come to crying.
Trixie didn't want to break down in front of him. She wanted to glare at him with righteous indignation, or maybe fire back a witty, scathing retort, still hiding her vulnerability. Instead, the emotions she had bottled up since she'd first learned of Carrie's murder poured forth like water bursting through a cracked dam. Regan pulled her unresisting into a tight embrace and held her close as she sobbed uncontrollably. She was only vaguely aware of the soothing words he murmured while she clung to him, and she had no real idea of how much time had passed before she had finally cried herself out.
"This- this isn't supposed to happen here," she stammered unsteadily, not yet willing to leave the protectiveness of his arms. "We don't have crazy, knife wielding killers running around slashing up high school girls."
"I know."
"We- we- don't. Not in Sleepyside. It doesn't happen here."
Regan closed his eyes briefly. "Sweetheart, I'm afraid it happens everywhere nowadays." He reached up and tenderly stroked her shoulder length curls. "Why do you think I'm so frightened right now? Why do you think I want you to make me this promise?"
Trixie pushed away from him. "All right. I promise."
Regan wanted to look her in the eyes and see if she really meant it, but she kept her gaze averted.
"I need to get home. Moms and Dad will be worried."
With a deep sigh, Regan lifted the flashlight to illuminate the path. He took her small hand with his free one and linked their fingers. "Then let's get you home."
They walked the remainder of the way without another word.
~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie rolled over in bed and punched her pillow. She was exhausted, but sleep refused to come. Finally, with a sigh, she reached over and flipped on her bedside light. Her alarm clock glowed cold blue-green numbers, letting her know it was well past the witching hour. She slipped from under her covers and crossed her small bedroom to her scarred, antique writing table. A few minutes later her computer was up and running, screeching painfully as it searched for an on-line connection.
From:[email protected]
To:[email protected]
Subject: Ya there?
If you get this in the next five minutes... go to the chatroom please.
NightOwl12> Trix?
SchoolgirlShamus> Cute name. Didn't know if you'd be up this late.
NightOwl12> I'm working on a paper I've been putting off for weeks. And what are you doing up so late on a school night?
SchoolgirlShamus> Can't sleep. Thought I could. I'm so tired. But something awful happened here today.
NightOwl12> ???
SchoolgirlShamus> Carrie Martin was murdered.
NightOwl12> MURDERED????
SchoolgirlShamus> Somebody cut her up real bad and left her in a dumpster. I thought maybe you didn't know yet.
SchoolgirlShamus> Dan? You still there?
NightOwl12> I'm here. I'm just reeling. No, I didn't know.
SchoolgirlShamus> I'll bet Regan decided to wait 'til tomorrow to call you.
NightOwl12> SOMEBODY cut her up? As in they don't know who?
SchoolgirlShamus> No who, no why. Right now the cap'n thinks it's a random psycho thing. That's what he said on the news. Don't know if I believe that.
NightOwl12> Trix, please tell me you aren't involved in this.
SchoolgirlShamus> Like uncle, like nephew. I already promised Regan to stay Not Involved.
NightOwl12> Good.
NightOwl12> Okay, now it's my turn. Are YOU still there?
SchoolgirlShamus> Yeah.
NightOwl12> Are you okay?
SchoolgirlShamus> No.
NightOwl12> Trixie, I am very sorry.
SchoolgirlShamus> I'm scared. I hate being scared.
NightOwl12> I know. Honestly, I'm scared now, too.
SchoolgirlShamus> They canceled school for the rest of the week.
NightOwl12> Probably a good idea.
SchoolgirlShamus> And the Lynches went to Arizona.
NightOwl12> Another good idea. Don't suppose you'd consider going to see your Uncle Andrew?
SchoolgirlShamus> No. I'm scared, but I don't want to run away.
NightOwl12> There's no shame in running away from something like this.
SchoolgirlShamus> I still don't want to.
NightOwl12> I know.
SchoolgirlShamus> Are you still coming home this weekend?
NightOwl12> Even if I hadn't already planned it, I would now.
SchoolgirlShamus> Brian and Jim will be here, too. I know there's nothing anyone can do, but I still feel better knowing most of the Bob-Whites will be here.
NightOwl12> What about Mart?
SchoolgirlShamus> No. He wanted to, but Moms talked him out of it. It'd be a nine hour drive for him. That's a lot for only a weekend trip.
NightOwl12> You'd better make sure you have extra sheets ready, Trix. He'll show.
SchoolgirlShamus> Yeah, you're probably right.
NightOwl12> Trixie...
SchoolgirlShamus> Huh?
NightOwl12> Try to get some sleep, okay? Won't do you any good to worry yourself sick over this. And maybe Molinson is right; maybe it was just some random lunatic.
NightOwl12> Hello, Trix?
NightOwl12> Trixie???
SchoolgirlShamus> But that's more frightening than if she was killed for a reason! What if some loony attacked her and is still loose in Sleepyside looking for another victim? At least if she was killed by someone who knew her, for whatever awful reason, then there'd be less of a chance of it happening again!
Dan stared at his computer screen, completely unable to think of any sort of reply.
~~~~~~~~~~
September 27
"Did you finish your breakfast?"
"Yes, Moms." Trixie regarded her mother expectantly.
"Well, then, I guess it's all right. But you aren't going up there alone. I'll drive you, but I don't want to wake Bobby up yet. You'll just have to wait a while."
Trixie dropped down on the sofa, considering her options. "Okay, Moms."
Mrs. Belden frowned at her daughter. "Sweetie, did you even call Honey and find out if she was up to having a visitor?"
Trixie blinked. "No. Do you really think I need to?"
Her mother shrugged. "I realize you are her best friend, but...."
The ringing phone cut her off. Trixie grabbed for the receiver.
"'Lo?"
"Hey, Trix. It's me. I was wondering if you wanted to come up here and, I don't know, hang out for the day."
"Exactly what I was planning.”
Honey chuckled softly. "Great minds and all that. When can you get up here?"
Trixie shot her mother a knowing look. "I'm working on that right now."
"Good! There's something going on."
"Yeah, you could say that," Trixie replied pointedly. "Someone killed Carrie."
"No, I mean something else. Jim called real early this morning and said he was coming home today instead of waiting for the weekend. He said he had something important to tell us. He should be here by lunch."
"Did he sound upset?"
"I don't know. Daddy took the call and he won't say a thing. Get here soon, Trix. If it's something bad, I'm sure he'll want you here, too."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Hi."
"Hey. What's up?"
"Um. I called to ask you for a favor."
"Okay. As long as you aren't trying to scam your way out of taking care of the horses...."
Trixie suddenly smiled. "Like you'd ever let me get away with that."
Reflecting silently that he'd let her get away with a lot more than she ever supposed, Regan answered with a non-committal grunt.
"Do you think you could come down here and get me? Moms won't let me walk up there by myself and I'd like to go see Honey."
"Give me twenty minutes. I need to check Lady's bandage first."
"Thanks, Regan."
"No problem, Trixie."
Regan was as good as his word. Trixie heard his knock on the kitchen door precisely twenty minutes later. She called a good-bye up the stairs to her mother and joined the groom out on the back terrace.
"How are you feeling?" Regan asked quietly, noting the dark circles under her eyes and unnatural paleness of her complexion.
"Stunned. Confused. Upset."
Regan nodded. "I imagine that's pretty normal."
"I didn't sleep. And when I did, I had awful dreams."
"I'll bet that's pretty normal, too."
"I'm sorry I kinda fell apart on you last night."
"Don't be."
They walked side by side up the trail toward the Manor House.
"I had some pretty hairy dreams myself," Regan remarked quietly. "Mostly about you."
"Me?"
"Yeah. I know you promised you'd stay out of this nightmare, but things just always seem to happen to you." Regan shrugged both shoulders. "Anyway, I kept dreaming you were in trouble and I couldn't find you and time was running out."
Trixie shuddered. "Nice."
"So, make me that promise again, Trix."
"I promise to stay out of this nightmare," Trixie recited flatly.
Regan glanced at her. "Sweetheart, I just want you to stay safe."
"I know. And I appreciate that. I do."
Regan sighed. "You know, you could still go visit your uncle."
"Is that a threat?" Trixie demanded.
"A threat?" Regan echoed, confused.
"Yesterday, you said if I didn't promise you I wouldn't investigate Carrie's murder, you'd convince my parents to ship me to Iowa."
"Oh. No. It's not a threat. Just a suggestion from someone who is really worried about you. Terrified, to be wholly honest."
"Seriously. Whatever I do, I will be careful. Notice I called you just to walk me a very short distance to my next door neighbor's house."
"I believe that was your mother's stricture," Regan pointed out.
"True. But I wouldn't have gone alone anyway. I don't want to get dead, no matter what you might think."
It was Regan's turn to shudder. He didn't even want to consider it.
~~~~~~~~~~
"I thought we'd never be left alone," Honey whispered in exasperation. "So, did you get the riot act about not trying to investigate Carrie's murder?"
Trixie rolled her eyes and took another sip of her soup. "Yeah. From Regan. From Moms and Dad. Even Dan threw in his two cents."
"Oh! You talked to Dan then?"
"Chat room. Told him what happened. He said he'll definitely be here this weekend."
"Trixie, I don't know about you, but I barely slept last night. And I couldn't stop crying, either."
"Well, I was up most of the night, but I think I cried myself out on my way home with Regan."
Honey eyed her friend with raised brows. "Oh, dear. Poor Regan. He probably didn't know what to do."
Trixie shook her head, her expression slightly puzzled as she remembered the previous evening. "Uh, no. Actually, he was... very comforting."
"Wait. Regan? Our Regan? Billy Goat Gruff Regan?"
Trixie giggled quietly. "Honey! He'd be crushed if he knew you called him that."
"Me? Hello, Trix? You made it up!"
"Yeah, but he'd expect me to call him something like that. You, however, are the Princess of Tactdom. You do not call people names."
Honey puffed out a breath. "Not vocally, anyway. But seriously, whatdya mean 'comforting'?"
"He just, uh, hugged me and let me cry." Suddenly Trixie felt herself blushing. She could almost feel Regan's hand gently stroking her hair, and hear his soft whispers. Honey was regarding her strangely and Trixie dropped her gaze to her bowl. She was sure her friend was about to quiz her further, but then the sound of the front door opening and people talking out in the foyer stopped her.
"That's got to be Jim," Honey surmised. "Come on."
Jim was just setting down his duffel bag as Honey hurried up to give him a hug. She broke off mid-stride as she realized her brother was not alone. A tall, striking young woman stood at his side.
"Um, hello," Honey murmured with a polite yet uncertain smile.
Trixie knew something was wrong. It wasn't just the appearance of an unknown girl. It was the fact that Jim was studiously avoiding looking in her direction.
Five minutes later the Wheeler family, plus Trixie, was assembled in the den, at Jim's request. After a brief time of "freshening up," Jim and his companion joined them.
"Mom, Dad, Honey," Jim began. He took a deep breath. "Trixie," he added, his voice catching slightly. "This is Cynthia. My wife."
The room erupted in chaos. Trixie watched the commotion with a curious detachment, before silently rising and slipping away. She wandered back to the kitchen and reclaimed her place at the breakfast table. Maybe her soup wouldn't be too cold.
~~~~~~~~~~
He pulled his car in behind the restaurant, using the cover of the massive waste bins to hide his vehicle from view. He glanced at his watch. Wimpy's would be opening up for their lunch crowd shortly. He didn't have much time.
Breaking in was fairly simple. Wimpy's had next to nothing by way of security. A little work with a screwdriver and the alley door popped right open, giving him direct kitchen access. He hauled his industrial strength garbage bag behind him, dragging it across the cold cement floor. Choosing the closest freezer to the exit, he set to work. Just a few minutes later, his bag was empty and the freezer was full. He smiled in satisfaction. Careful to cover his tracks, he let himself out just moments before the fry-order cook arrived.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Honey is extremely upset. She's up in her room, but she says you can join her if you want."
Trixie shook her head. "Um, no, thank you. I'd, uh, I think I'd like to go take Susie out for awhile."
Miss Trask pursed her lips. "I don't object to that, Trixie, but only if Regan can accompany you. Remember, we may still have a killer running around."
"I know."
"And I think you should rest for awhile first."
"I'm not tired."
"You're completely drained, dear."
"Yeah."
"I'll tell you what. You go stretch out on the sofa and I'll call the stable and see if Regan can go riding with you at two. All right? I'll even walk you over there myself."
Trixie really just wanted to get out of the house and away from the muffled shouts and stunned and angry faces, but she knew Miss Trask was right. She did need some rest. She dragged herself down the hall and into the now deserted den.
She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until she felt Miss Trask's gentle shake to wake her.
"Trixie, do you want to get up now or would you rather sleep some more?"
Trixie sat up, rubbing her eyes. "No. No. I'll get up. Is it time to go riding?"
Miss Trask winced. "No. I'm sorry, dear. I just couldn't bring myself to wake you. It's a quarter after five."
Trixie glanced at the mantel clock, surprised.
"Please don't be angry. I really think you needed the sleep."
"I- I guess I did."
"Regan called ten minutes ago. He said the horses have all been exercised but he could use some help cleaning up."
Trixie felt a wry grin tug at her lips. "I don't get my ride but I still get to polish the tack?"
"You don't have to go."
"Sure I do." Trixie climbed to her feet. "And I'm sure, any other day, you'd be pointing out how many times Regan has let me go as soon as I got back from a ride and how much work I've caused him."
"Well, he does work hard for you kids."
Trixie held up her hands. "I know. I know. That's why I'm going."
"I should probably also tell you that Jim said he wanted to talk to you once you woke up. I told him I thought it was a bad idea and that he should wait until you felt like speaking with him. I'll leave it up to you."
Trixie didn't have to think about it for very long. "Sneak me to the stable? Please?"
Miss Trask smiled conspiratorially. "I can do that."
~~~~~~~~~~
The late afternoon was clear and cool, a typical, beautiful fall day. But a pall hung over the small town of Sleepyside. No one passing on the streets smiled or waved and people hurried along with slumped shoulders and downcast heads.
Wendell Molinson surveyed the few walkers as they went about their business. It bothered him a great deal to think any one of these people could be a killer. Or maybe none of them. Suppressing the urge to groan, he pushed open the door to his favorite restaurant and stepped inside.
"Hello, Millie."
"Afternoon, Captain."
"I'd like a cup of coffee to start." Wendell sank wearily down on a stool.
Millie smiled flirtatiously before moving down the counter to fill his order.
The doorbell jingled as someone else entered the diner. Captain Molinson glanced over his shoulder and sighed. Another damn reporter. Now why doesn't he get lost like I told them all yesterday, Wendell wondered. Just as he considered getting up and going over to the newspaperman, a huge disturbance from the kitchen caught his attention.
The cook was screaming, her wails loud enough to make the captain wish he could dive for cover. Instead he scurried around the counter, shouting to be heard. "What's the emergency?"
The kitchen, he discovered, was a mess. If it looked like this normally, what a health code violation! He'd have to... he snapped his attention back and focused on the hysterical short order cook. The woman was flailing about and shrieking about one of her freezers. Sudden, icy dread fell over the captain. Oh, God, please no. Not again. Rushing ahead, he forced himself to at least appear unafraid. He skidded to a halt in front of the open freezer and stared.
It was filled with bats. Dead bats. Wendell grimaced in disgust. The reporter leaned around him and stared at the bat grave for a moment. "Interesting way you folks have of dealing with unwanted rodents," he drawled dryly.
Wendell ignored him temporarily. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called the station. "Get the Animal Protective Services on the horn. Send someone to Wimpy's for disposal of multiple dead bats." There was a slight pause as he listened. "I don't know how many, dammit, and I don't intend to stand here and count them. Probably fifty."
He hung up the phone and glared at the cook. "When was the last time you opened this freezer?"
"Y-yesterday. Around lunchtime. I w-was getting out s-some ground beef."
The soft whir of advancing camera film brought Captain Molinson's attention back to the man behind him. "Who the hell said you could come back here?" he roared, scowling fiercely and moving to block the view.
Ten minutes later, as he was still dealing with the freezer full of frozen rodents, he got the call he'd been dreading for the entire day and praying would never come.
"Captain, this is Sergeant Rand. We have another body."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you all right?"
Trixie shrugged.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"There really isn't anything to say." She picked up the currycomb and set to work. "I, um, I hope he's happy."
Regan frowned slightly. "It was a rotten thing to do."
Trixie glanced over at him. "No, it wasn't. I mean, not really."
"Trixie, your boyfriend of two years just came home from school with a wife."
"Uh, huh."
"I'm confused. Aren't you angry? Or upset? Or hurt?"
Trixie smiled ruefully. "Do you want me to be?"
"Of course not! But, I..." he trailed off helplessly.
"You want to know why I'm not."
"Yes."
Trixie nodded. "I am."
"Oh." Regan rubbed his eyes. "Did I mention I was confused?"
"Regan, I am angry. I am upset. I am hurt. You would think, if nothing else, he would have told me in private, beforehand, instead of breaking this on me in front of his entire family. But I know Jim well enough to know he wasn't trying to hurt me. He just didn't know what to do or how to handle the situation."
Regan shook his head. "He should have told you in private."
"Well, I don't think he was expecting me to be up here today."
"You gonna keep making excuses for him?"
"I'm not making excuses," Trixie snapped. She shot him a decidedly cool glance. "Maybe you should mind your own business."
"Ummmm, hmmmm. Sorry." Regan stepped back into Jupiter's stall. He'd been prepared to commiserate with her, to offer his sympathy, but she clearly didn't want it, and he figured it would be best, in that case, to simply leave her alone as she requested.
A quarter of an hour later, he heard her quietly approach.
"I'm sorry," she murmured in a small voice. "I didn't mean to bite your head off."
Regan looked over at her, understanding in his deep green eyes. "I know, sweetheart."
"I'm just trying to... assimilate an awful lot."
He smiled slightly at that.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
"Okay."
"When you and Joan broke up, how did you feel?"
He slowly hung Jupiter's bit from its peg, using the action to give himself time to frame an answer. "I felt a lot of things. Regret, sadness...."
"Did you...." Trixie hesitated, swallowing heavily. "Did you feel any relief?"
Regan glanced at her expressionlessly before letting himself out of the stall and shutting the door behind him. He reached for the sweater she'd left on an old stool and helped her slip it on. "Are you sending me home?" she asked in confusion and surprise.
"Nope." He turned and grabbed his own jacket. "I'm taking you for a walk."
Trixie blinked, then slowly smiled. "I'm not a dog, Regan."
He flashed her an answering grin as he slid his arms into his jacket sleeves. "You are most definitely not a dog, Trixie," he agreed. "Granted, I'm basing this on very limited experience, but it seems to me we do our best talking while traipsing through the forest."
"Traipsing?" Trixie echoed, laughing at his word choice. "Look at you, sliding into the Mart-speak. Do we really traipse?"
"Oh, we traipse all the time. We are great traipsers. In fact, I would go so far as to say we're the very best traipsers in this entire county."
"O-okay then," Trixie stuttered, choking back even more laughter. "Lead on. L-Let's go traipse."
The rank odor of the accumulated trash nearly overwhelmed Sergeant Jean Rand, Sleepyside PD, as she gingerly lifted the dumpster lid. She swallowed hard to keep from gagging. There, just as old Mary Bellows had claimed, was the hand. It stuck straight up out of the garbage, as if reaching for help that had never come. Jean took in the dirty skin, the peeling purple nail polish and the bloody fingers. She turned and nodded to her partner.
"Yeah," she muttered grimly. "We've got a body. Call the station and get the Doc out here now. And ask for Captain Molinson. He's gonna want to be here for this."
She watched as her young partner scurried back to the patrol car, obviously relieved that she hadn't asked him to help her with the dead girl. Jean stepped back two paces from the dumpster, checking to see if she had accidentally destroyed any evidence. She had been careful, but perhaps not careful enough. When Mary Bellows had flagged down their car fifteen minutes before, she had been disinclined to believe the woman's story. It had been highly evident that Mary was on another bender, never mind that it was barely past seven in the morning, and the idea that the town drunk had really discovered a body in the trash behind Hal's Pub had been ludicrous. But of course, the law required that they check it out, and now Jean frowned pensively at the dented brown dumpster, wondering who the hand belonged to. She would wait, though, until her captain and the county medical examiner arrived before attempting an excavation.
Kevin Lee slid out of the patrol car and approached her. "Captain Molinson is on his way. He says not to touch anything."
Jean just managed to keep from rolling her eyes.
Kevin shoved his hands in his pockets. "Who- who do you think it is?"
Jean shook her head. "We won't know until we dig her out." She took sympathy on the younger man. Only two weeks on the job and he was already faced with a possible murder. He looked nervous and scared. Sighing, she recommended he start roping off the area. Pretty soon the small alley would be crawling with police and other officials, and that would attract the usual crowd of curiosity seekers. As Kevin retrieved the yellow tape from the trunk, Jean squatted down to conduct an initial study of the ground surrounding the foul smelling dumpster. She tried not to inhale too deeply. She knew, soon enough, her nose would simply stop registering the awful scent, but in the meantime, she had no desire to make herself feel more nauseated than she already did.
The wail of sirens pierced the quiet of the early morning and Jean slowly stood, recognizing the terrible fact that the blaring horns disturbed more than the peace of the day. With the discovery of the body buried in the trash, the peace of the lives of every Sleepyside resident was about to be shattered as well.
~~~~~~~~~~
The assembly was called shortly after third period began. The students of Sleepyside Senior High School filed into the auditorium in a subdued manner, sensing from the saddened and worried expressions on their teachers' faces that something was wrong. They whispered to each other, passing fearful conjectures back and forth as they took their seats. Principal Stratton crossed the stage to the lectern and cleared his throat. It was evident to all of the student body that the older man was deeply distressed. He reached out to straighten the microphone with shaky hands.
"We... we have called you in here this morning to give you... to tell you that a great tragedy has befallen our community. A few hours ago the body of Caroline Martin was discovered in a trash dumpster on the east side of town. The police have informed me that she was a victim of a vicious killer, and they have asked that school be closed for the day. You are all to return to your own homes or the home of a friend. Most importantly, they want no one out and about, and no one is to be alone. The buses are right now collecting the children at the elementary school and will be available in approximately half an hour.
"Students, this is a terrible, terrible time for us all, and I want you to know that all of the faculty and staff here will be available to you. We will set up special counseling sessions, and... and..." He broke off, lifting a handkerchief to his face to wipe at the single tear that rolled down his cheek.
Seventeen-year-old Trixie Belden stared sightlessly at the stage, shock having left her numb. Beside her, her best friend Honey Wheeler was crying quietly, one hand clasped across her mouth, her face reflecting a cross of disbelief and horror. Trixie wanted to reach out to her, to offer her some kind of comfort, but she found she somehow couldn't move. Someone had murdered the homecoming queen. It was incomprehensible. Images of the pretty, popular teen flashed through Trixie's mind; Carrie leading the cheerleading squad at the state championship basketball game their junior year; Carrie smiling and waving as she accepted her crown at Homecoming; Carrie walking through the school halls with her regular crowd of followers. Suddenly, Trixie thought of another dear friend. Diana Lynch was also a varsity cheerleader and knew Carrie better than either Trixie or Honey did. Trixie hadn't seen Di all morning, and she wondered if perhaps the faculty had chosen to tell Carrie's closest friends about her death in private.
As the assembly closed, Trixie dutifully followed her peers back out into the hall, clutching her books tightly to her chest. Honey mumbled something about calling home and asking for someone to come into town to pick them up. Even though Honey's cherry red Firebird was parked out in the student lot, Trixie understood her friend's reluctance to drive. As Honey placed her call on her cell phone, Trixie walked slowly to her locker, lost in a morose fog. Around her, both the girls and boys of Sleepyside hugged and cried and struggled to understand the implications of Carrie's murder.
Trixie spoke to no one. She passed an open locker and paused with a frown. It was bare, except for one strange and entirely unexpected item. Trixie cocked her head and studied the stuffed and mounted partridge. It was propped up in the locker in a way that made it appear the bird was watching all that passed it. She glanced around, puzzled, but no one else was paying any attention to the odd sight. Finally, Trixie gave a mental shrug and moved on. On reaching her destination, she dialed her locker combination and swung open the metal door. Without thought, she shoved her textbook and folders into the already crammed space and removed the small brown paper bag that held her lunch. She wasn't hungry. In fact, her stomach churned queasily, but she hadn't wanted to leave the food to spoil. She tossed the bag carelessly into a nearby trash can and slammed her locker shut. She found Honey going through an almost identical routine at her own locker.
"Tom is going to be here shortly," Honey whispered. "He said he'd meet us by the north entrance."
Trixie nodded and they pushed their way through the milling students. A few of them attempted to talk with the girls, but they shook their heads and kept moving, having reached an unspoken agreement that they wanted only to get away.
As they waited on the wide stone steps for Tom to arrive in the Wheeler's luxurious Lincoln, Honey pleaded with Trixie to come with her to the Manor House. "I- I don't want to be alone. I mean, I know Miss Trask and Tom and Celia will be there, but...."
"I know," Trixie cut in softly. "I know. Just let me call Moms. I don't know what she's going to want me to do."
Mrs. Belden answered the phone on the second ring. Trixie knew right away that her mother had already heard the news. While Helen Belden's first instinct was to gather her children to her protective side, she understood Trixie's need to stay with her friend and consented to her daughter's request.
Ten minutes later, the girls were climbing into the car's back seat. Tom's usually cheerful face was drawn in concern. He refrained from his typical banter and they rode out to Glen Road in tense silence.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Ready to go?"
Trixie nodded, shivering slightly in the chill evening air. She hadn't expected the temperature to drop so quickly. She'd stayed at the Manor House long enough to have dinner and listen to the local nightly news broadcast. Now she wanted to go home, fall into bed, and maybe escape the complete awfulness of the day, at least for a few hours. She glanced at the tall man beside her. "Thank you for walking me home."
Regan regarded her soberly, his brow furrowed. "You didn't honestly think I was going to let you go alone, did you?" She looked so small and afraid. Regan clenched his fist. He hated to see her like this. She was usually so alive and vibrant.
"No." Trixie smiled weakly at him. "Of course not. But I'm sure Dad could've driven up here to get me. He probably would have preferred it, come to think of it."
The Wheelers' groom shrugged one shoulder. "You can call him back if you want." He hoped she wouldn't. He needed to talk with her. Preferably alone.
"That's okay. I think I'd like to walk."
They crossed the wide expanse of manicured lawn, heading for the well-worn path that wound through the outer edge of the game preserve and ended at the border of Crabapple Farm, the modest farmhouse Trixie called home. As they entered the woods, Regan clicked on the heavy-duty flashlight he carried easily in his right hand.
"Trixie, I want you to make me a promise, right here and now."
She knew without asking what that promise would be. "I- I can't."
Regan stopped, turning and taking her arm in a strong grip. "Yes. You can."
"Regan, how can I let-"
"Promise me right now you will not get involved, in any way, in the murder of Caroline Martin."
Trixie stared up at him. "I can't do that," she mumbled. "I liked Carrie. She didn't deserve to-"
"Trixie, either you make me this promise right now or I will convince your family to ship you off to your uncle's sheep farm on the first available flight."
Trixie's brows drew down. "How can you make me do this? You know how I feel...."
"Yeah. I do know how you feel. But I also know how your family and friends feel, too, and I can tell you, none of us would take it well if something happened to you."
"I'll be careful."
Regan snorted in disbelief. "You've never been careful about anything since the day I met you."
Trixie tried to draw back, stung by his comment.
"I've always admired your courage, Trixie," Regan continued. "Unfortunately, for all of your considerable boldness, you seem to be completely lacking in common sense. You can be such a little fool sometimes, and that scares me a great deal."
That did it. Trixie dropped her gaze, blinking back tears. Praise from Regan was a very rare thing, but criticism of this nature was practically unheard of, and it hurt her deeply. She didn't want him to know just how much it hurt, and she turned to move away from him.
Sensing he'd caused her genuine pain, Regan reached out and gently tugged her face upward with two fingers placed under her chin. "Now, don't do that," he admonished softly as he saw how close she had come to crying.
Trixie didn't want to break down in front of him. She wanted to glare at him with righteous indignation, or maybe fire back a witty, scathing retort, still hiding her vulnerability. Instead, the emotions she had bottled up since she'd first learned of Carrie's murder poured forth like water bursting through a cracked dam. Regan pulled her unresisting into a tight embrace and held her close as she sobbed uncontrollably. She was only vaguely aware of the soothing words he murmured while she clung to him, and she had no real idea of how much time had passed before she had finally cried herself out.
"This- this isn't supposed to happen here," she stammered unsteadily, not yet willing to leave the protectiveness of his arms. "We don't have crazy, knife wielding killers running around slashing up high school girls."
"I know."
"We- we- don't. Not in Sleepyside. It doesn't happen here."
Regan closed his eyes briefly. "Sweetheart, I'm afraid it happens everywhere nowadays." He reached up and tenderly stroked her shoulder length curls. "Why do you think I'm so frightened right now? Why do you think I want you to make me this promise?"
Trixie pushed away from him. "All right. I promise."
Regan wanted to look her in the eyes and see if she really meant it, but she kept her gaze averted.
"I need to get home. Moms and Dad will be worried."
With a deep sigh, Regan lifted the flashlight to illuminate the path. He took her small hand with his free one and linked their fingers. "Then let's get you home."
They walked the remainder of the way without another word.
~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie rolled over in bed and punched her pillow. She was exhausted, but sleep refused to come. Finally, with a sigh, she reached over and flipped on her bedside light. Her alarm clock glowed cold blue-green numbers, letting her know it was well past the witching hour. She slipped from under her covers and crossed her small bedroom to her scarred, antique writing table. A few minutes later her computer was up and running, screeching painfully as it searched for an on-line connection.
From:[email protected]
To:[email protected]
Subject: Ya there?
If you get this in the next five minutes... go to the chatroom please.
NightOwl12> Trix?
SchoolgirlShamus> Cute name. Didn't know if you'd be up this late.
NightOwl12> I'm working on a paper I've been putting off for weeks. And what are you doing up so late on a school night?
SchoolgirlShamus> Can't sleep. Thought I could. I'm so tired. But something awful happened here today.
NightOwl12> ???
SchoolgirlShamus> Carrie Martin was murdered.
NightOwl12> MURDERED????
SchoolgirlShamus> Somebody cut her up real bad and left her in a dumpster. I thought maybe you didn't know yet.
SchoolgirlShamus> Dan? You still there?
NightOwl12> I'm here. I'm just reeling. No, I didn't know.
SchoolgirlShamus> I'll bet Regan decided to wait 'til tomorrow to call you.
NightOwl12> SOMEBODY cut her up? As in they don't know who?
SchoolgirlShamus> No who, no why. Right now the cap'n thinks it's a random psycho thing. That's what he said on the news. Don't know if I believe that.
NightOwl12> Trix, please tell me you aren't involved in this.
SchoolgirlShamus> Like uncle, like nephew. I already promised Regan to stay Not Involved.
NightOwl12> Good.
NightOwl12> Okay, now it's my turn. Are YOU still there?
SchoolgirlShamus> Yeah.
NightOwl12> Are you okay?
SchoolgirlShamus> No.
NightOwl12> Trixie, I am very sorry.
SchoolgirlShamus> I'm scared. I hate being scared.
NightOwl12> I know. Honestly, I'm scared now, too.
SchoolgirlShamus> They canceled school for the rest of the week.
NightOwl12> Probably a good idea.
SchoolgirlShamus> And the Lynches went to Arizona.
NightOwl12> Another good idea. Don't suppose you'd consider going to see your Uncle Andrew?
SchoolgirlShamus> No. I'm scared, but I don't want to run away.
NightOwl12> There's no shame in running away from something like this.
SchoolgirlShamus> I still don't want to.
NightOwl12> I know.
SchoolgirlShamus> Are you still coming home this weekend?
NightOwl12> Even if I hadn't already planned it, I would now.
SchoolgirlShamus> Brian and Jim will be here, too. I know there's nothing anyone can do, but I still feel better knowing most of the Bob-Whites will be here.
NightOwl12> What about Mart?
SchoolgirlShamus> No. He wanted to, but Moms talked him out of it. It'd be a nine hour drive for him. That's a lot for only a weekend trip.
NightOwl12> You'd better make sure you have extra sheets ready, Trix. He'll show.
SchoolgirlShamus> Yeah, you're probably right.
NightOwl12> Trixie...
SchoolgirlShamus> Huh?
NightOwl12> Try to get some sleep, okay? Won't do you any good to worry yourself sick over this. And maybe Molinson is right; maybe it was just some random lunatic.
NightOwl12> Hello, Trix?
NightOwl12> Trixie???
SchoolgirlShamus> But that's more frightening than if she was killed for a reason! What if some loony attacked her and is still loose in Sleepyside looking for another victim? At least if she was killed by someone who knew her, for whatever awful reason, then there'd be less of a chance of it happening again!
Dan stared at his computer screen, completely unable to think of any sort of reply.
~~~~~~~~~~
September 27
"Did you finish your breakfast?"
"Yes, Moms." Trixie regarded her mother expectantly.
"Well, then, I guess it's all right. But you aren't going up there alone. I'll drive you, but I don't want to wake Bobby up yet. You'll just have to wait a while."
Trixie dropped down on the sofa, considering her options. "Okay, Moms."
Mrs. Belden frowned at her daughter. "Sweetie, did you even call Honey and find out if she was up to having a visitor?"
Trixie blinked. "No. Do you really think I need to?"
Her mother shrugged. "I realize you are her best friend, but...."
The ringing phone cut her off. Trixie grabbed for the receiver.
"'Lo?"
"Hey, Trix. It's me. I was wondering if you wanted to come up here and, I don't know, hang out for the day."
"Exactly what I was planning.”
Honey chuckled softly. "Great minds and all that. When can you get up here?"
Trixie shot her mother a knowing look. "I'm working on that right now."
"Good! There's something going on."
"Yeah, you could say that," Trixie replied pointedly. "Someone killed Carrie."
"No, I mean something else. Jim called real early this morning and said he was coming home today instead of waiting for the weekend. He said he had something important to tell us. He should be here by lunch."
"Did he sound upset?"
"I don't know. Daddy took the call and he won't say a thing. Get here soon, Trix. If it's something bad, I'm sure he'll want you here, too."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Hi."
"Hey. What's up?"
"Um. I called to ask you for a favor."
"Okay. As long as you aren't trying to scam your way out of taking care of the horses...."
Trixie suddenly smiled. "Like you'd ever let me get away with that."
Reflecting silently that he'd let her get away with a lot more than she ever supposed, Regan answered with a non-committal grunt.
"Do you think you could come down here and get me? Moms won't let me walk up there by myself and I'd like to go see Honey."
"Give me twenty minutes. I need to check Lady's bandage first."
"Thanks, Regan."
"No problem, Trixie."
Regan was as good as his word. Trixie heard his knock on the kitchen door precisely twenty minutes later. She called a good-bye up the stairs to her mother and joined the groom out on the back terrace.
"How are you feeling?" Regan asked quietly, noting the dark circles under her eyes and unnatural paleness of her complexion.
"Stunned. Confused. Upset."
Regan nodded. "I imagine that's pretty normal."
"I didn't sleep. And when I did, I had awful dreams."
"I'll bet that's pretty normal, too."
"I'm sorry I kinda fell apart on you last night."
"Don't be."
They walked side by side up the trail toward the Manor House.
"I had some pretty hairy dreams myself," Regan remarked quietly. "Mostly about you."
"Me?"
"Yeah. I know you promised you'd stay out of this nightmare, but things just always seem to happen to you." Regan shrugged both shoulders. "Anyway, I kept dreaming you were in trouble and I couldn't find you and time was running out."
Trixie shuddered. "Nice."
"So, make me that promise again, Trix."
"I promise to stay out of this nightmare," Trixie recited flatly.
Regan glanced at her. "Sweetheart, I just want you to stay safe."
"I know. And I appreciate that. I do."
Regan sighed. "You know, you could still go visit your uncle."
"Is that a threat?" Trixie demanded.
"A threat?" Regan echoed, confused.
"Yesterday, you said if I didn't promise you I wouldn't investigate Carrie's murder, you'd convince my parents to ship me to Iowa."
"Oh. No. It's not a threat. Just a suggestion from someone who is really worried about you. Terrified, to be wholly honest."
"Seriously. Whatever I do, I will be careful. Notice I called you just to walk me a very short distance to my next door neighbor's house."
"I believe that was your mother's stricture," Regan pointed out.
"True. But I wouldn't have gone alone anyway. I don't want to get dead, no matter what you might think."
It was Regan's turn to shudder. He didn't even want to consider it.
~~~~~~~~~~
"I thought we'd never be left alone," Honey whispered in exasperation. "So, did you get the riot act about not trying to investigate Carrie's murder?"
Trixie rolled her eyes and took another sip of her soup. "Yeah. From Regan. From Moms and Dad. Even Dan threw in his two cents."
"Oh! You talked to Dan then?"
"Chat room. Told him what happened. He said he'll definitely be here this weekend."
"Trixie, I don't know about you, but I barely slept last night. And I couldn't stop crying, either."
"Well, I was up most of the night, but I think I cried myself out on my way home with Regan."
Honey eyed her friend with raised brows. "Oh, dear. Poor Regan. He probably didn't know what to do."
Trixie shook her head, her expression slightly puzzled as she remembered the previous evening. "Uh, no. Actually, he was... very comforting."
"Wait. Regan? Our Regan? Billy Goat Gruff Regan?"
Trixie giggled quietly. "Honey! He'd be crushed if he knew you called him that."
"Me? Hello, Trix? You made it up!"
"Yeah, but he'd expect me to call him something like that. You, however, are the Princess of Tactdom. You do not call people names."
Honey puffed out a breath. "Not vocally, anyway. But seriously, whatdya mean 'comforting'?"
"He just, uh, hugged me and let me cry." Suddenly Trixie felt herself blushing. She could almost feel Regan's hand gently stroking her hair, and hear his soft whispers. Honey was regarding her strangely and Trixie dropped her gaze to her bowl. She was sure her friend was about to quiz her further, but then the sound of the front door opening and people talking out in the foyer stopped her.
"That's got to be Jim," Honey surmised. "Come on."
Jim was just setting down his duffel bag as Honey hurried up to give him a hug. She broke off mid-stride as she realized her brother was not alone. A tall, striking young woman stood at his side.
"Um, hello," Honey murmured with a polite yet uncertain smile.
Trixie knew something was wrong. It wasn't just the appearance of an unknown girl. It was the fact that Jim was studiously avoiding looking in her direction.
Five minutes later the Wheeler family, plus Trixie, was assembled in the den, at Jim's request. After a brief time of "freshening up," Jim and his companion joined them.
"Mom, Dad, Honey," Jim began. He took a deep breath. "Trixie," he added, his voice catching slightly. "This is Cynthia. My wife."
The room erupted in chaos. Trixie watched the commotion with a curious detachment, before silently rising and slipping away. She wandered back to the kitchen and reclaimed her place at the breakfast table. Maybe her soup wouldn't be too cold.
~~~~~~~~~~
He pulled his car in behind the restaurant, using the cover of the massive waste bins to hide his vehicle from view. He glanced at his watch. Wimpy's would be opening up for their lunch crowd shortly. He didn't have much time.
Breaking in was fairly simple. Wimpy's had next to nothing by way of security. A little work with a screwdriver and the alley door popped right open, giving him direct kitchen access. He hauled his industrial strength garbage bag behind him, dragging it across the cold cement floor. Choosing the closest freezer to the exit, he set to work. Just a few minutes later, his bag was empty and the freezer was full. He smiled in satisfaction. Careful to cover his tracks, he let himself out just moments before the fry-order cook arrived.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Honey is extremely upset. She's up in her room, but she says you can join her if you want."
Trixie shook her head. "Um, no, thank you. I'd, uh, I think I'd like to go take Susie out for awhile."
Miss Trask pursed her lips. "I don't object to that, Trixie, but only if Regan can accompany you. Remember, we may still have a killer running around."
"I know."
"And I think you should rest for awhile first."
"I'm not tired."
"You're completely drained, dear."
"Yeah."
"I'll tell you what. You go stretch out on the sofa and I'll call the stable and see if Regan can go riding with you at two. All right? I'll even walk you over there myself."
Trixie really just wanted to get out of the house and away from the muffled shouts and stunned and angry faces, but she knew Miss Trask was right. She did need some rest. She dragged herself down the hall and into the now deserted den.
She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep until she felt Miss Trask's gentle shake to wake her.
"Trixie, do you want to get up now or would you rather sleep some more?"
Trixie sat up, rubbing her eyes. "No. No. I'll get up. Is it time to go riding?"
Miss Trask winced. "No. I'm sorry, dear. I just couldn't bring myself to wake you. It's a quarter after five."
Trixie glanced at the mantel clock, surprised.
"Please don't be angry. I really think you needed the sleep."
"I- I guess I did."
"Regan called ten minutes ago. He said the horses have all been exercised but he could use some help cleaning up."
Trixie felt a wry grin tug at her lips. "I don't get my ride but I still get to polish the tack?"
"You don't have to go."
"Sure I do." Trixie climbed to her feet. "And I'm sure, any other day, you'd be pointing out how many times Regan has let me go as soon as I got back from a ride and how much work I've caused him."
"Well, he does work hard for you kids."
Trixie held up her hands. "I know. I know. That's why I'm going."
"I should probably also tell you that Jim said he wanted to talk to you once you woke up. I told him I thought it was a bad idea and that he should wait until you felt like speaking with him. I'll leave it up to you."
Trixie didn't have to think about it for very long. "Sneak me to the stable? Please?"
Miss Trask smiled conspiratorially. "I can do that."
~~~~~~~~~~
The late afternoon was clear and cool, a typical, beautiful fall day. But a pall hung over the small town of Sleepyside. No one passing on the streets smiled or waved and people hurried along with slumped shoulders and downcast heads.
Wendell Molinson surveyed the few walkers as they went about their business. It bothered him a great deal to think any one of these people could be a killer. Or maybe none of them. Suppressing the urge to groan, he pushed open the door to his favorite restaurant and stepped inside.
"Hello, Millie."
"Afternoon, Captain."
"I'd like a cup of coffee to start." Wendell sank wearily down on a stool.
Millie smiled flirtatiously before moving down the counter to fill his order.
The doorbell jingled as someone else entered the diner. Captain Molinson glanced over his shoulder and sighed. Another damn reporter. Now why doesn't he get lost like I told them all yesterday, Wendell wondered. Just as he considered getting up and going over to the newspaperman, a huge disturbance from the kitchen caught his attention.
The cook was screaming, her wails loud enough to make the captain wish he could dive for cover. Instead he scurried around the counter, shouting to be heard. "What's the emergency?"
The kitchen, he discovered, was a mess. If it looked like this normally, what a health code violation! He'd have to... he snapped his attention back and focused on the hysterical short order cook. The woman was flailing about and shrieking about one of her freezers. Sudden, icy dread fell over the captain. Oh, God, please no. Not again. Rushing ahead, he forced himself to at least appear unafraid. He skidded to a halt in front of the open freezer and stared.
It was filled with bats. Dead bats. Wendell grimaced in disgust. The reporter leaned around him and stared at the bat grave for a moment. "Interesting way you folks have of dealing with unwanted rodents," he drawled dryly.
Wendell ignored him temporarily. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called the station. "Get the Animal Protective Services on the horn. Send someone to Wimpy's for disposal of multiple dead bats." There was a slight pause as he listened. "I don't know how many, dammit, and I don't intend to stand here and count them. Probably fifty."
He hung up the phone and glared at the cook. "When was the last time you opened this freezer?"
"Y-yesterday. Around lunchtime. I w-was getting out s-some ground beef."
The soft whir of advancing camera film brought Captain Molinson's attention back to the man behind him. "Who the hell said you could come back here?" he roared, scowling fiercely and moving to block the view.
Ten minutes later, as he was still dealing with the freezer full of frozen rodents, he got the call he'd been dreading for the entire day and praying would never come.
"Captain, this is Sergeant Rand. We have another body."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you all right?"
Trixie shrugged.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"There really isn't anything to say." She picked up the currycomb and set to work. "I, um, I hope he's happy."
Regan frowned slightly. "It was a rotten thing to do."
Trixie glanced over at him. "No, it wasn't. I mean, not really."
"Trixie, your boyfriend of two years just came home from school with a wife."
"Uh, huh."
"I'm confused. Aren't you angry? Or upset? Or hurt?"
Trixie smiled ruefully. "Do you want me to be?"
"Of course not! But, I..." he trailed off helplessly.
"You want to know why I'm not."
"Yes."
Trixie nodded. "I am."
"Oh." Regan rubbed his eyes. "Did I mention I was confused?"
"Regan, I am angry. I am upset. I am hurt. You would think, if nothing else, he would have told me in private, beforehand, instead of breaking this on me in front of his entire family. But I know Jim well enough to know he wasn't trying to hurt me. He just didn't know what to do or how to handle the situation."
Regan shook his head. "He should have told you in private."
"Well, I don't think he was expecting me to be up here today."
"You gonna keep making excuses for him?"
"I'm not making excuses," Trixie snapped. She shot him a decidedly cool glance. "Maybe you should mind your own business."
"Ummmm, hmmmm. Sorry." Regan stepped back into Jupiter's stall. He'd been prepared to commiserate with her, to offer his sympathy, but she clearly didn't want it, and he figured it would be best, in that case, to simply leave her alone as she requested.
A quarter of an hour later, he heard her quietly approach.
"I'm sorry," she murmured in a small voice. "I didn't mean to bite your head off."
Regan looked over at her, understanding in his deep green eyes. "I know, sweetheart."
"I'm just trying to... assimilate an awful lot."
He smiled slightly at that.
"Can I ask you something personal?"
"Okay."
"When you and Joan broke up, how did you feel?"
He slowly hung Jupiter's bit from its peg, using the action to give himself time to frame an answer. "I felt a lot of things. Regret, sadness...."
"Did you...." Trixie hesitated, swallowing heavily. "Did you feel any relief?"
Regan glanced at her expressionlessly before letting himself out of the stall and shutting the door behind him. He reached for the sweater she'd left on an old stool and helped her slip it on. "Are you sending me home?" she asked in confusion and surprise.
"Nope." He turned and grabbed his own jacket. "I'm taking you for a walk."
Trixie blinked, then slowly smiled. "I'm not a dog, Regan."
He flashed her an answering grin as he slid his arms into his jacket sleeves. "You are most definitely not a dog, Trixie," he agreed. "Granted, I'm basing this on very limited experience, but it seems to me we do our best talking while traipsing through the forest."
"Traipsing?" Trixie echoed, laughing at his word choice. "Look at you, sliding into the Mart-speak. Do we really traipse?"
"Oh, we traipse all the time. We are great traipsers. In fact, I would go so far as to say we're the very best traipsers in this entire county."
"O-okay then," Trixie stuttered, choking back even more laughter. "Lead on. L-Let's go traipse."