Chapter Four
The sun had passed from overhead and was beginning its slow, steady descent toward the western horizon as Dan pulled into Trixie's driveway. She was waiting for him, leaning up against her Jeep. He started to open his door, then caught the incredulous, “Are you kidding me?” look she shot him as she walked around his Mustang to the passenger side.
“Were you seriously going to get out and open my door for me?” she asked as she slipped into her seat and reached for the belt.
“Well, yeah.” Dan shrugged one shoulder as he spoke. “I wasn't expecting you to go all angry feminist on me there, Freckles.”
“I can't believe you just said that,” she mumbled with a bemused chuckle. “It had nothing to do with feminism. It was just totally unnecessary. It's not like we're on a date, Cowboy.”
“Oh. Right. Guys can only be polite to girls they're dating. I'll make a note of that in my Female Logic for Dummies manuscript. If I ever get a chance to publish, I should make a fortune.” He shook his head and laughed. “And I saw that eye-roll, Chief. If you were still wearing that rubber band that was supposed to break you of the habit, I'd be snapping it hard right now.”
“Sometimes? A good eye-roll is the only appropriate response to your antics,” Trixie retorted. “Words aren't enough.”
Dan waited for a red Ford pickup to pass and then backed out the drive. He slowly drove the three blocks to Jameson-Banks Road, carefully navigating the narrow space available between cars parked on both sides of the street. Five minutes later, he was turning onto County Road 190 and able to pick up speed as they left both Sleepyside and its minor traffic behind.
“How'd the briefing go?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“About as well as I expected,” Trixie replied. “But I've officially put Holt on the arson and Denton on the Greyson assault and robbery.”
“Did you reassign partners?”
“No. I have Bear working as back-up to both and I've got Michaels and Garza assigned to start interviewing the customers who rented units at Randy's. I think these two cases are really one.”
“Yeah?” Dan cast her a curious look. “What's your theory?”
“I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say I have a complete theory yet,” Trixie said slowly. “More an idea. It seems too coincidental that the two events happened on the same day in such close proximity. I think the same two men who tied up the Greysons and stole their truck also set fire to the storage units. My guess is they stole something and used the truck for a getaway vehicle. The question is, did they steal something specific that they went after intentionally, or was this a crime of opportunity and they simply took anything of value they could find? The arson was merely their attempt to cover their tracks. I don't have any proof of any of this yet, but I'm hoping that if we can gather lists of items that were stored there from the renters, maybe something will come up. It's my intention to notify the pawn shops in the county and in Poughkeepsie and White Plains.”
“Well, as far as theories go... or ideas, if you insist, that's a pretty good one,” Dan told her. “It makes a lot of sense.”
“We should still keep an open mind, though,” she insisted, “in case whatever evidence we gather sends us in a different direction.”
“Of course,” Dan agreed, suppressing a grin. It never failed to amuse him when Trixie Belden of all people warned him about jumping to conclusions. “But as a working theor – idea, I still say it's a good one.”
“Meanwhile, I've been trying to decide exactly how to proceed with the Cold Lake case. I've come up with a list of people I'd like to talk to, but at this point, I don't know how many of them are still alive or how hard it will be to locate them.”
“You know, I was up pretty late thinking this whole Cold Lake murders thing out, and I gotta say again, Freckles, this one's got me worried.”
“Dan, I'm not-”
He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “I'm not going to suggest you abandon it. We already had that discussion yesterday. This is just me reminding you that we're going to have to progress with extreme caution. We really don't know what we're getting into.”
She didn't immediately reply. When he looked over at her, he saw that she was staring out the window, her expression blank. Finally, she glanced at him and flashed a quick, half-smile. “I appreciate the 'we' as opposed to 'you' there,” she said quietly.
Dan sighed at that. “Of course it's a 'we,' Trix. There’s no way I’d let you tackle something like this on your own.”
They reached Berre, a small, unincorporated hamlet that relied on Sleepyside for most of its municipal and government services, at shortly after three o'clock. With a population of less than a hundred, Berre's only notable, income-producing businesses consisted of a vegetable stand supplied by local farmers and the Cold Lake Campground. Most of the residents drove into Sleepyside or further for work each day. Following Route 190 around, Dan was soon pulling off onto the dirt lane that led to the camp's office-bait shop-convenience store.
“Have you ever been here?” Trixie asked him as he pulled up into a parking space.
“No. I lived in the middle of the Wheelers' preserve. What did I need a campground for?”
“Good point. Go see if this Murphy guy is available and ask him about the last time he got gas for the boats. I'm going to take a look around.”
As Dan let himself into the campground's store, Trixie walked down toward the lake. She passed a large wooden screen that faced several rows of bench seats made from split logs. She assumed it served to show movies at night, and was fairly certain it had been added sometime in the years since she'd last been to Cold Lake. There were about a dozen and a half young children running around the playground under the watchful eyes of a several parents, and beyond them, some preteens playing a game of volleyball. It all seemed so normal and safe. The horror that had taken place here decades before had faded from time and memory.
She stopped on the sandy beach, watching the campers who splashed around in the shallow waters along the shoreline. The heat of the afternoon was almost oppressive and Trixie envied the swimmers. For a moment, she gave serious consideration to removing her shoes and wading in.
Independence Day was less than a month away. She tried to picture Cold Lake in 1976. Was it as crowded as it was now? More so? She knew the Bicentennial had been a major celebration for the entire nation. How many parents had used up a few vacation days to take their families camping for the holiday? If the campground maintained records back far enough, she intended to search them thoroughly.
She turned around and looked back up the sloping grounds to the campsites themselves. The tent sites were to her right, a series of pads on one large circular drive. From where she stood, it appeared most of them were occupied. To her left were the cabins. There were seven in all, primitive one-room buildings that were little more than sheds. As she stared at them, she weighed various scenarios in her head. There were several possible ways the girls had gone into the cabin where they were found. The first was that for some reason they went inside willingly. Trixie could think of three variations on this idea alone. Perhaps they had followed their killer, trusting him enough to go inside with him. Or maybe they had gone into the cabin on their own and the killer had then discovered or met them there, or they had entered the building without knowing the killer was already inside. The next possibility was that they'd been taken inside against their wills. In this case, they would have been silenced in some way, either through some kind of gag or by virtue of being unconscious. And the third option was that they were already dead before they were abandoned in the building. Although the autopsy reports indicated the girls were found where they were murdered, Trixie wasn't ready to accept anything as fact. If some evidence was definitely planted, there was no saying what else might have been altered or fabricated.
She strolled up the open lawn toward the nearest cabin. A dark blue car was parked in front of it, and Trixie absently noted the Virginia license plate as she studied the structure. Like the tent sites, the cabins were all built along a circular dirt road. Arrows indicated the lane was strictly one way. Each cabin faced a large brick building in the center of the site that housed bathrooms and a laundry facility.
Trixie crossed the road and stopped. Which cabin was the cabin, she wondered. She let her gaze slowly move from one to the next, considering the differences in their locations and visibility from the office and the lake. Her cell phone buzzed and she frowned as she fished it from her back pocket.
“Where are you, Chief?” Dan asked as soon as she answered.
Trixie had known him long enough to detect a tone in his voice that indicated he was extremely annoyed, even though he was doing his best to cover it up. “By the cabins.”
“Stay there. I'll be right over.” He disconnected the call abruptly, leaving Trixie to wonder if she was somehow the object of his anger.
Dan appeared only a few minutes later, stalking up to her as she peered through the window of the cabin on the far side of the curved drive. “You'd better hope there's no one currently staying there,” he pointed out dryly.
“It's empty. I was just wondering exactly how much space is inside.” Trixie turned to look at him expectantly as she hopped lightly down off the tiny cabin porch. “What did you find out?”
“That it's a miracle we haven't had a big arson case before now.” Dan blew out a breath, his expression registering his disgust. “The jackass that runs this place actually keeps full gas cans in his office, which is beyond stupid to begin with, but even worse, he doesn't even lock the damn place up during the day. Anybody could walk in and steal those cans.”
“Ugh. Is that what happened? Is he missing his cans?”
“Of course,” Dan said with a humorless smile. “But he didn’t think to report it because he admits that cans have been stolen in the past, and he just replaces them when it happens. Idiot. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything I could actually bust him on, since it isn't illegal to be a moron.”
“Yeah,” Trixie agreed. “It's only illegal to store large quantities of gasoline, but nothing like what would be in a few cans. And if being stupid was a crime...”
“We'd need about a thousand more cells down at the station.” Dan surveyed the area. “Anything here help you?”
“I'm not sure. I think I just gave myself more questions. I would like to know which of these cabins is the one where the bodies were found.” She gestured around her. “That could be important. If it was one of the four over here on this side of the road, then it's possible the killer approached from the woods and wasn't ever seen by any of the other campers.”
“It wasn't any of these,” Dan told her. “I asked Murphy how long he'd been working here and he gave me the entire history of the campground. After the murders, the place shut down for several years because no one would stay here. The original owners sold it for a song in the early 80s. The second owners came in and did their best, but never really got it running, so they sold it in '87 to the current owners. And one of the first things the newest owners did was raze the cabin to the ground.” He pointed off into the distance. “It used to be over there, where the tennis court is now.”
Trixie slowly nodded. That went a long way to explaining the rather awkward placement of the single tennis court, sandwiched between two cabins on the west side of the circle. “Right. So… the cabin was in plain sight of anyone swimming in the lake or sunning on the shore.”
“And anyone going into the men’s side of the restrooms,” Dan said, with a nod toward the old building.
“How did he do it?” Trixie murmured, more to herself than Dan. “How did he get two girls into a cabin and strangle them without anyone noticing or hearing anything?” She pulled her hair up off her neck, grimacing at the sweaty dampness that coated her skin. “Did Murphy by any chance mention that there were any records dating back that far? Maybe even the names of people camping here for the holiday?”
“I asked,” Dan said flatly. “And the short answer is ‘no,’ though he did give me the contact information for the second owners. I don’t think we’ll be able to learn much from them, but I’ll give them a call anyway.”
“Okay. Follow up on that, and I’ll see what I can do about tracking down some of the other key players in all this.”
“And Senator Cleary? Have you decided how to handle him yet?”
“No. I have a big question mark next to his name right now. His involvement really does make this whole thing all that more difficult. Somehow, I can’t see me walking up and ringing his front bell and asking, ‘So, anyway, I was wondering if maybe you had something to do with the old Cold Lake killings?’ I can’t see that producing any good results, yeah? I guess I’ll have to jump off that bridge when I come to it.”
Dan smiled faintly at her word choice. “Just remember I’m the one who will be diving in after you.”
“You hungry?” she asked. “We could get an early dinner together somewhere.”
“I was going to call Uncle Liam and ask him if he wanted to split a pizza with me at my place, but you’re welcome to join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude on uncle-nephew time,” she said with a small shrug.
“Ah, c’mon, Freckles. At some point, you’re gonna figure out as far we’re concerned, you’re part of our family.” Dan cocked his head toward the front of the campground. “Let’s head back to Sleepyside and I’ll call Uncle Liam and let him tell you that you won’t be intruding.”
“Well, spending time with you and Regan has a lot more appeal than my plans for tomorrow evening,” she conceded ruefully.
“So you are going on Honey’s ‘Girls’ Night Out’?”
“Do I really have a choice?” she asked as they started across the grassy lawn that ran between the southern-most cabins and shoreline.
“No. Not really. I do appreciate that apparently I won’t be required to toss you in my trunk and drive you there, though. I wasn’t looking forward to being formally charged with abducting the Chief of Police, no matter how worthy Honey thinks the cause is.”
“Eh. I wouldn’t have pressed charges. Busted you down to weekend traffic patrol? Now that would’ve been a distinct possibility.”
“Ah. I’ll have to remember that as a potential threat for any time I screw something up or make you mad.”
“Wise man,” Trixie said, grinning.
As they reached Dan’s car, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. “Here. You call Uncle Liam. Tell him to meet us at my house at six, and we’ll stop and get a pizza with the works from Mario’s.”
She waved his phone away, instead pulling out her own. Regan answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Miss Fidget. What’s up?”
“Your nephew wants me to tell you to be at his place at six for pizza.”
“And my nephew is extending this invitation through you because…?”
“Because he’s invited me, too, and you’re supposed to tell me how you don’t mind me honing in on your family time.” She leaned up against the Mustang, using her free hand to shade her eyes from the bright sun as she took one last look around the campground.
There was a slight pause before Regan spoke again. “Seriously?” he asked finally.
“Yep. It’s okay, Captain Grumpy Pants. I’m not offended or anything. I told him I didn’t want to intrude. If you don’t want me there, just say so.”
She heard Regan’s heavy sigh before he spoke. “Trixie Belden,” he said quietly, “you may be a crack detective, but sometimes you really need to get a clue. I’ll see you both at six, all right? And tell Dan no anchovies this time. They ruin a perfectly good pizza.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie spent Friday morning in almost the exact same way as she’d spent the previous day, complete with another crank phone call. It began with a quick breakfast and a scanning of all the documents and papers the Chief had sent her. She devoted considerable time to studying the newspaper articles in particular, though she was already beginning to feel as if she had them memorized.
The phone call came at shortly before nine and the conversation was nearly identical to the one before. Trixie reported it to the station and pushed it from her mind. She simply had too many other things to worry about, not the least of which was her first press conference as acting chief, scheduled for that very afternoon.
As she was gathering up the clippings and placing them back in their folder, an advertisement on the flip side of the article detailing Morton Grody’s arrest caught her attention. She smiled slightly at the invitation for Sleepyside residents to attend the grand opening of Lytell’s Country Store. Her brows rose at the prices. A loaf of bread for thirty-five cents and a pound of sugar for only a quarter? She chuckled as she considered the possibility of purchasing an entire week’s worth of groceries for about twenty dollars or so.
Before leaving for the station, she took the time to go through her meager wardrobe and pick an outfit for the evening. She chose a short-sleeved, white peasant blouse with an embroidered leaf pattern along the neckline, dark blue jeans, and a pair of leather sandals. She knew, compared with the other women, she’d be very dressed down, but if she was going to be dragged into this against her will, she was planning to be decently comfortable clothing-wise, if nothing else. As she set these items aside, she suddenly remembered that her younger brother’s high school graduation was taking place the next day. She groaned out loud. She’d almost completely forgotten about it. She frowned at her one warm-weather dress suit and knew it would have to suffice, though it was several years old. With a sigh, she made a mental note to go shopping sometime in the near future. In her new position, she supposed she would need at least a few nicer outfits to wear on certain occasions, and the three dresses she rotated each Sunday for church were rather young and girly for a professional police chief.
The day proved to be just as challenging and draining as she’d expected. After enduring a tense meeting with her officers and squaring off with the local media, she escaped for an hour by visiting Crimper’s department store in search of a graduation gift for Bobby. While there, she purchased a pair of red leather pumps that caught her eye, but decided against the navy blue pants suit she tried on at the suggestion of the hovering sales clerk. It reminded her too much of her uniform.
Finally, she found herself back at home with a little over an hour before she was due to meet Honey and the others at the country club. She showered quickly and took the time to dry and style her hair, doing her best to tame the wild curls without resorting to the clip she typically used to pull it all back while she was working. By the time she had taken a stab at applying “evening out” makeup and dressed in her chosen outfit, it was almost six forty-five.
Her stomach rumbled and she frowned, realizing she’d never stopped to have dinner. It was too late for that now. She would have to get something at the theater concession stand. She grabbed the small leather purse she kept for the rare occasions she went out and transferred her essentials from her everyday handbag. She let herself out her back door, pulling it shut firmly so that the lock engaged.
The heat of the day was finally dissipating and a cooling breeze lifted her bangs from her forehead. She breathed deeply and told herself she was as ready as she would ever be, ruefully noting that she felt a bit like she was facing her third firing squad of the day. She’d survived her resentful department and the not-overly-friendly media hounds.
Now she had to get through a night out in McKayla’s company.
She drove up to Harrison Avenue and took the left-hand turn, cutting across a few blocks and avoiding Main Street before turning onto 1st Street to make her way to Glen Road. The night really was pleasant and so she left her window down, not really caring what it did to her sad attempt at a respectable hairdo.
She arrived at the club about two minutes after the appointed time. The young valet who stepped smartly forward and opened her door greeted her with a polite, “Good evening, Chief Belden.”
She offered him a tight smile. It was a surreal experience to be addressed by name from someone she had never, to her knowledge, met. She slipped from her seat and accepted the plastic token he held out for her.
Trixie had been to the Sleepyside Country Club many times over the years, generally as a guest of either the Wheelers or Lynches. It prided itself on such lofty design standards as “traditional” and “classical,” and this was reflected in the dark wood paneled walls covered with enormous landscape oil paintings and tile floor protected by scattered Oriental rugs. Side tables with large floral arrangements flanked the doors to the inner sanctum.
As Trixie paused in the entryway, she was approached immediately by one of the managers. “Chief,” he said, his smile wide. “We’re glad to have you here tonight. I know you have friends who are expecting you, but would you have a moment to step inside my office and fill out a few papers?”
She stared at him uncertainly. “Do you need to file a report? Was something stolen?”
His smile widened to the point that Trixie thought it looked almost painful. “No, no. Nothing like that,” he assured her. “It’s about your complimentary membership.”
“Oh, Arnold,” Honey said, strolling up and stopping at Trixie’s side. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to ask Trixie to come in early for you. Could you maybe bring the papers out to our table for her?” She smiled sweetly as she made her request, and Trixie was extremely amused to watch the man bob his head rapidly in agreement. He hurried away and Honey slipped her arm through Trixie’s. “I’m so glad you came, Trix. Things have been crazy for all of us these past few weeks. We all need a night off. And you look darling, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Trixie looked back over her shoulder. “What did he mean by complimentary membership?”
Honey laughed easily. “Officially? He means the country club is extending you a membership as a thank you for your fine and dedicated service to our town and residents.”
“And unofficially?”
“He’s a savvy businessman who knows just how popular you are. You’ve become a local celebrity of sorts and he wants to be able to drop your name whenever it will benefit him. Now, come kick back and have a drink. It’s time to relax. Even McKayla’s agreed to forgo all wedding talk for the evening once she’s done conferring with the bartender about which wines she wants served at the reception.”
Trixie did relax somewhat as she saw that Diana and Ruthie were sitting at one of the dark wood tables in the bar area, while McKayla was off in a corner deep in conversation with a short, slender man she assumed was the bartender Honey had mentioned.
“You’re here!” Di exclaimed happily. “I really thought Honey was being too optimistic when she said you’d be coming.”
Trixie felt herself blush slightly. Had she become that bad of a friend? When was the last time she’d gotten together with the others? Her blush deepened as she realized she couldn’t remember an exact date, or even a specific month.
“Guess what!” Di continued as Trixie pulled out her seat. “I found a location for my store! And…” she paused dramatically, “…I’ve got the perfect name.”
“And that would be?”
“Candied Opinions!”
Trixie laughed at her enthusiasm. “That is so you,” she agreed, “but most people won’t get it.”
“That’s the point! It’s just strange enough that they’ll ask what it means and it’s something they won’t forget once they hear it. And I found a storefront on 1st Street, just past the Cameo.”
“Near the funeral home?” Trixie asked doubtfully. “And the pawn shop?”
“Oh, no! In the other direction. Closer to the hospital. Off Jameson-Banks. It’s that little shop that used to sell tobacco products and newspapers ages ago.”
Trixie could vaguely picture it in her mind. She supposed it would serve well as a place where Di could sell her unusual and unique jewelry designs, providing the place didn’t still reek of cigars and old cigarettes.
Ruthie waved a hand toward the bar. “Oy. We’ll never be able to get you a drink if McKayla doesn’t stop monopolizing the bartender.”
Honey winced and stood quickly. “That’s okay,” she said, her tone slightly too bright. “What do you want, Trix? I’ll go ask him to make it for you right now.”
Trixie shrugged. “A glass of white wine.”
“Oh, come on, Chief,” Ruthie urged cajolingly. “This is a girls’ night out, not a meeting of old ladies. You’re supposed to drink something fruity and fun. Not something your grandma would order.”
“My grandmother went off to her just rewards with a Cosmopolitan in one hand and a Virginia Slims in the other,” Trixie replied dryly. She glanced over at Honey. “Surprise me.”
Twenty minutes and two prickly pear margaritas later, Trixie realized just how much of a mistake it was to drink on an empty stomach. It wasn’t that she was feeling too tipsy to walk straight, though she knew she was in no condition to drive into town to the theater any time soon. That thought brought a frown to her face as she wondered what she was going to do about her Cherokee. She would have to figure out a discreet way to ask someone else to quietly fetch it for her. Regan would do that. She would call him and beg him for his help shortly. So that settled that issue easily enough.
No, her real problem was that she’d lost control of her tongue. Not that she’d ever really been known as someone who was circumspect in her speech to begin with. And the irony of it all should have been funny, really. She’d been dreading that she might slip up and say something awful to Jim’s fiancée. Somehow she’d avoided that pitfall, even when McKayla had rather slyly suggested that Trixie’s blouse had been chosen to disguise the fact that she’d gained a few pounds recently.
She was proud and glad that she’d remained civil in the face of McKayla’s sharp little digs. It was one tiny bright spot in her evening.
Unfortunately, it didn’t come close to making up for the unwise remark that had brought all four other women to complete, stunned silence. Trixie’s somewhat tired response to Di’s woeful comment about the lack of decent, eligible men in their small town had left them all staring at her in shock.
“What are you worried about?” she’d asked, sending her beautiful friend an exasperated look. “Just pull your head out of the sand and take a good look around, for crying out loud. Dan’s been waiting for literally years for you to realize he’s hopelessly in love with you.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said it. Given away Dan’s most closely guarded secret after all this time. “Oh, crap,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “He’s going to kill me.
The sun had passed from overhead and was beginning its slow, steady descent toward the western horizon as Dan pulled into Trixie's driveway. She was waiting for him, leaning up against her Jeep. He started to open his door, then caught the incredulous, “Are you kidding me?” look she shot him as she walked around his Mustang to the passenger side.
“Were you seriously going to get out and open my door for me?” she asked as she slipped into her seat and reached for the belt.
“Well, yeah.” Dan shrugged one shoulder as he spoke. “I wasn't expecting you to go all angry feminist on me there, Freckles.”
“I can't believe you just said that,” she mumbled with a bemused chuckle. “It had nothing to do with feminism. It was just totally unnecessary. It's not like we're on a date, Cowboy.”
“Oh. Right. Guys can only be polite to girls they're dating. I'll make a note of that in my Female Logic for Dummies manuscript. If I ever get a chance to publish, I should make a fortune.” He shook his head and laughed. “And I saw that eye-roll, Chief. If you were still wearing that rubber band that was supposed to break you of the habit, I'd be snapping it hard right now.”
“Sometimes? A good eye-roll is the only appropriate response to your antics,” Trixie retorted. “Words aren't enough.”
Dan waited for a red Ford pickup to pass and then backed out the drive. He slowly drove the three blocks to Jameson-Banks Road, carefully navigating the narrow space available between cars parked on both sides of the street. Five minutes later, he was turning onto County Road 190 and able to pick up speed as they left both Sleepyside and its minor traffic behind.
“How'd the briefing go?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“About as well as I expected,” Trixie replied. “But I've officially put Holt on the arson and Denton on the Greyson assault and robbery.”
“Did you reassign partners?”
“No. I have Bear working as back-up to both and I've got Michaels and Garza assigned to start interviewing the customers who rented units at Randy's. I think these two cases are really one.”
“Yeah?” Dan cast her a curious look. “What's your theory?”
“I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say I have a complete theory yet,” Trixie said slowly. “More an idea. It seems too coincidental that the two events happened on the same day in such close proximity. I think the same two men who tied up the Greysons and stole their truck also set fire to the storage units. My guess is they stole something and used the truck for a getaway vehicle. The question is, did they steal something specific that they went after intentionally, or was this a crime of opportunity and they simply took anything of value they could find? The arson was merely their attempt to cover their tracks. I don't have any proof of any of this yet, but I'm hoping that if we can gather lists of items that were stored there from the renters, maybe something will come up. It's my intention to notify the pawn shops in the county and in Poughkeepsie and White Plains.”
“Well, as far as theories go... or ideas, if you insist, that's a pretty good one,” Dan told her. “It makes a lot of sense.”
“We should still keep an open mind, though,” she insisted, “in case whatever evidence we gather sends us in a different direction.”
“Of course,” Dan agreed, suppressing a grin. It never failed to amuse him when Trixie Belden of all people warned him about jumping to conclusions. “But as a working theor – idea, I still say it's a good one.”
“Meanwhile, I've been trying to decide exactly how to proceed with the Cold Lake case. I've come up with a list of people I'd like to talk to, but at this point, I don't know how many of them are still alive or how hard it will be to locate them.”
“You know, I was up pretty late thinking this whole Cold Lake murders thing out, and I gotta say again, Freckles, this one's got me worried.”
“Dan, I'm not-”
He held up a hand to forestall her protest. “I'm not going to suggest you abandon it. We already had that discussion yesterday. This is just me reminding you that we're going to have to progress with extreme caution. We really don't know what we're getting into.”
She didn't immediately reply. When he looked over at her, he saw that she was staring out the window, her expression blank. Finally, she glanced at him and flashed a quick, half-smile. “I appreciate the 'we' as opposed to 'you' there,” she said quietly.
Dan sighed at that. “Of course it's a 'we,' Trix. There’s no way I’d let you tackle something like this on your own.”
They reached Berre, a small, unincorporated hamlet that relied on Sleepyside for most of its municipal and government services, at shortly after three o'clock. With a population of less than a hundred, Berre's only notable, income-producing businesses consisted of a vegetable stand supplied by local farmers and the Cold Lake Campground. Most of the residents drove into Sleepyside or further for work each day. Following Route 190 around, Dan was soon pulling off onto the dirt lane that led to the camp's office-bait shop-convenience store.
“Have you ever been here?” Trixie asked him as he pulled up into a parking space.
“No. I lived in the middle of the Wheelers' preserve. What did I need a campground for?”
“Good point. Go see if this Murphy guy is available and ask him about the last time he got gas for the boats. I'm going to take a look around.”
As Dan let himself into the campground's store, Trixie walked down toward the lake. She passed a large wooden screen that faced several rows of bench seats made from split logs. She assumed it served to show movies at night, and was fairly certain it had been added sometime in the years since she'd last been to Cold Lake. There were about a dozen and a half young children running around the playground under the watchful eyes of a several parents, and beyond them, some preteens playing a game of volleyball. It all seemed so normal and safe. The horror that had taken place here decades before had faded from time and memory.
She stopped on the sandy beach, watching the campers who splashed around in the shallow waters along the shoreline. The heat of the afternoon was almost oppressive and Trixie envied the swimmers. For a moment, she gave serious consideration to removing her shoes and wading in.
Independence Day was less than a month away. She tried to picture Cold Lake in 1976. Was it as crowded as it was now? More so? She knew the Bicentennial had been a major celebration for the entire nation. How many parents had used up a few vacation days to take their families camping for the holiday? If the campground maintained records back far enough, she intended to search them thoroughly.
She turned around and looked back up the sloping grounds to the campsites themselves. The tent sites were to her right, a series of pads on one large circular drive. From where she stood, it appeared most of them were occupied. To her left were the cabins. There were seven in all, primitive one-room buildings that were little more than sheds. As she stared at them, she weighed various scenarios in her head. There were several possible ways the girls had gone into the cabin where they were found. The first was that for some reason they went inside willingly. Trixie could think of three variations on this idea alone. Perhaps they had followed their killer, trusting him enough to go inside with him. Or maybe they had gone into the cabin on their own and the killer had then discovered or met them there, or they had entered the building without knowing the killer was already inside. The next possibility was that they'd been taken inside against their wills. In this case, they would have been silenced in some way, either through some kind of gag or by virtue of being unconscious. And the third option was that they were already dead before they were abandoned in the building. Although the autopsy reports indicated the girls were found where they were murdered, Trixie wasn't ready to accept anything as fact. If some evidence was definitely planted, there was no saying what else might have been altered or fabricated.
She strolled up the open lawn toward the nearest cabin. A dark blue car was parked in front of it, and Trixie absently noted the Virginia license plate as she studied the structure. Like the tent sites, the cabins were all built along a circular dirt road. Arrows indicated the lane was strictly one way. Each cabin faced a large brick building in the center of the site that housed bathrooms and a laundry facility.
Trixie crossed the road and stopped. Which cabin was the cabin, she wondered. She let her gaze slowly move from one to the next, considering the differences in their locations and visibility from the office and the lake. Her cell phone buzzed and she frowned as she fished it from her back pocket.
“Where are you, Chief?” Dan asked as soon as she answered.
Trixie had known him long enough to detect a tone in his voice that indicated he was extremely annoyed, even though he was doing his best to cover it up. “By the cabins.”
“Stay there. I'll be right over.” He disconnected the call abruptly, leaving Trixie to wonder if she was somehow the object of his anger.
Dan appeared only a few minutes later, stalking up to her as she peered through the window of the cabin on the far side of the curved drive. “You'd better hope there's no one currently staying there,” he pointed out dryly.
“It's empty. I was just wondering exactly how much space is inside.” Trixie turned to look at him expectantly as she hopped lightly down off the tiny cabin porch. “What did you find out?”
“That it's a miracle we haven't had a big arson case before now.” Dan blew out a breath, his expression registering his disgust. “The jackass that runs this place actually keeps full gas cans in his office, which is beyond stupid to begin with, but even worse, he doesn't even lock the damn place up during the day. Anybody could walk in and steal those cans.”
“Ugh. Is that what happened? Is he missing his cans?”
“Of course,” Dan said with a humorless smile. “But he didn’t think to report it because he admits that cans have been stolen in the past, and he just replaces them when it happens. Idiot. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anything I could actually bust him on, since it isn't illegal to be a moron.”
“Yeah,” Trixie agreed. “It's only illegal to store large quantities of gasoline, but nothing like what would be in a few cans. And if being stupid was a crime...”
“We'd need about a thousand more cells down at the station.” Dan surveyed the area. “Anything here help you?”
“I'm not sure. I think I just gave myself more questions. I would like to know which of these cabins is the one where the bodies were found.” She gestured around her. “That could be important. If it was one of the four over here on this side of the road, then it's possible the killer approached from the woods and wasn't ever seen by any of the other campers.”
“It wasn't any of these,” Dan told her. “I asked Murphy how long he'd been working here and he gave me the entire history of the campground. After the murders, the place shut down for several years because no one would stay here. The original owners sold it for a song in the early 80s. The second owners came in and did their best, but never really got it running, so they sold it in '87 to the current owners. And one of the first things the newest owners did was raze the cabin to the ground.” He pointed off into the distance. “It used to be over there, where the tennis court is now.”
Trixie slowly nodded. That went a long way to explaining the rather awkward placement of the single tennis court, sandwiched between two cabins on the west side of the circle. “Right. So… the cabin was in plain sight of anyone swimming in the lake or sunning on the shore.”
“And anyone going into the men’s side of the restrooms,” Dan said, with a nod toward the old building.
“How did he do it?” Trixie murmured, more to herself than Dan. “How did he get two girls into a cabin and strangle them without anyone noticing or hearing anything?” She pulled her hair up off her neck, grimacing at the sweaty dampness that coated her skin. “Did Murphy by any chance mention that there were any records dating back that far? Maybe even the names of people camping here for the holiday?”
“I asked,” Dan said flatly. “And the short answer is ‘no,’ though he did give me the contact information for the second owners. I don’t think we’ll be able to learn much from them, but I’ll give them a call anyway.”
“Okay. Follow up on that, and I’ll see what I can do about tracking down some of the other key players in all this.”
“And Senator Cleary? Have you decided how to handle him yet?”
“No. I have a big question mark next to his name right now. His involvement really does make this whole thing all that more difficult. Somehow, I can’t see me walking up and ringing his front bell and asking, ‘So, anyway, I was wondering if maybe you had something to do with the old Cold Lake killings?’ I can’t see that producing any good results, yeah? I guess I’ll have to jump off that bridge when I come to it.”
Dan smiled faintly at her word choice. “Just remember I’m the one who will be diving in after you.”
“You hungry?” she asked. “We could get an early dinner together somewhere.”
“I was going to call Uncle Liam and ask him if he wanted to split a pizza with me at my place, but you’re welcome to join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude on uncle-nephew time,” she said with a small shrug.
“Ah, c’mon, Freckles. At some point, you’re gonna figure out as far we’re concerned, you’re part of our family.” Dan cocked his head toward the front of the campground. “Let’s head back to Sleepyside and I’ll call Uncle Liam and let him tell you that you won’t be intruding.”
“Well, spending time with you and Regan has a lot more appeal than my plans for tomorrow evening,” she conceded ruefully.
“So you are going on Honey’s ‘Girls’ Night Out’?”
“Do I really have a choice?” she asked as they started across the grassy lawn that ran between the southern-most cabins and shoreline.
“No. Not really. I do appreciate that apparently I won’t be required to toss you in my trunk and drive you there, though. I wasn’t looking forward to being formally charged with abducting the Chief of Police, no matter how worthy Honey thinks the cause is.”
“Eh. I wouldn’t have pressed charges. Busted you down to weekend traffic patrol? Now that would’ve been a distinct possibility.”
“Ah. I’ll have to remember that as a potential threat for any time I screw something up or make you mad.”
“Wise man,” Trixie said, grinning.
As they reached Dan’s car, he dug his cell phone out of his pocket. “Here. You call Uncle Liam. Tell him to meet us at my house at six, and we’ll stop and get a pizza with the works from Mario’s.”
She waved his phone away, instead pulling out her own. Regan answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Miss Fidget. What’s up?”
“Your nephew wants me to tell you to be at his place at six for pizza.”
“And my nephew is extending this invitation through you because…?”
“Because he’s invited me, too, and you’re supposed to tell me how you don’t mind me honing in on your family time.” She leaned up against the Mustang, using her free hand to shade her eyes from the bright sun as she took one last look around the campground.
There was a slight pause before Regan spoke again. “Seriously?” he asked finally.
“Yep. It’s okay, Captain Grumpy Pants. I’m not offended or anything. I told him I didn’t want to intrude. If you don’t want me there, just say so.”
She heard Regan’s heavy sigh before he spoke. “Trixie Belden,” he said quietly, “you may be a crack detective, but sometimes you really need to get a clue. I’ll see you both at six, all right? And tell Dan no anchovies this time. They ruin a perfectly good pizza.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Trixie spent Friday morning in almost the exact same way as she’d spent the previous day, complete with another crank phone call. It began with a quick breakfast and a scanning of all the documents and papers the Chief had sent her. She devoted considerable time to studying the newspaper articles in particular, though she was already beginning to feel as if she had them memorized.
The phone call came at shortly before nine and the conversation was nearly identical to the one before. Trixie reported it to the station and pushed it from her mind. She simply had too many other things to worry about, not the least of which was her first press conference as acting chief, scheduled for that very afternoon.
As she was gathering up the clippings and placing them back in their folder, an advertisement on the flip side of the article detailing Morton Grody’s arrest caught her attention. She smiled slightly at the invitation for Sleepyside residents to attend the grand opening of Lytell’s Country Store. Her brows rose at the prices. A loaf of bread for thirty-five cents and a pound of sugar for only a quarter? She chuckled as she considered the possibility of purchasing an entire week’s worth of groceries for about twenty dollars or so.
Before leaving for the station, she took the time to go through her meager wardrobe and pick an outfit for the evening. She chose a short-sleeved, white peasant blouse with an embroidered leaf pattern along the neckline, dark blue jeans, and a pair of leather sandals. She knew, compared with the other women, she’d be very dressed down, but if she was going to be dragged into this against her will, she was planning to be decently comfortable clothing-wise, if nothing else. As she set these items aside, she suddenly remembered that her younger brother’s high school graduation was taking place the next day. She groaned out loud. She’d almost completely forgotten about it. She frowned at her one warm-weather dress suit and knew it would have to suffice, though it was several years old. With a sigh, she made a mental note to go shopping sometime in the near future. In her new position, she supposed she would need at least a few nicer outfits to wear on certain occasions, and the three dresses she rotated each Sunday for church were rather young and girly for a professional police chief.
The day proved to be just as challenging and draining as she’d expected. After enduring a tense meeting with her officers and squaring off with the local media, she escaped for an hour by visiting Crimper’s department store in search of a graduation gift for Bobby. While there, she purchased a pair of red leather pumps that caught her eye, but decided against the navy blue pants suit she tried on at the suggestion of the hovering sales clerk. It reminded her too much of her uniform.
Finally, she found herself back at home with a little over an hour before she was due to meet Honey and the others at the country club. She showered quickly and took the time to dry and style her hair, doing her best to tame the wild curls without resorting to the clip she typically used to pull it all back while she was working. By the time she had taken a stab at applying “evening out” makeup and dressed in her chosen outfit, it was almost six forty-five.
Her stomach rumbled and she frowned, realizing she’d never stopped to have dinner. It was too late for that now. She would have to get something at the theater concession stand. She grabbed the small leather purse she kept for the rare occasions she went out and transferred her essentials from her everyday handbag. She let herself out her back door, pulling it shut firmly so that the lock engaged.
The heat of the day was finally dissipating and a cooling breeze lifted her bangs from her forehead. She breathed deeply and told herself she was as ready as she would ever be, ruefully noting that she felt a bit like she was facing her third firing squad of the day. She’d survived her resentful department and the not-overly-friendly media hounds.
Now she had to get through a night out in McKayla’s company.
She drove up to Harrison Avenue and took the left-hand turn, cutting across a few blocks and avoiding Main Street before turning onto 1st Street to make her way to Glen Road. The night really was pleasant and so she left her window down, not really caring what it did to her sad attempt at a respectable hairdo.
She arrived at the club about two minutes after the appointed time. The young valet who stepped smartly forward and opened her door greeted her with a polite, “Good evening, Chief Belden.”
She offered him a tight smile. It was a surreal experience to be addressed by name from someone she had never, to her knowledge, met. She slipped from her seat and accepted the plastic token he held out for her.
Trixie had been to the Sleepyside Country Club many times over the years, generally as a guest of either the Wheelers or Lynches. It prided itself on such lofty design standards as “traditional” and “classical,” and this was reflected in the dark wood paneled walls covered with enormous landscape oil paintings and tile floor protected by scattered Oriental rugs. Side tables with large floral arrangements flanked the doors to the inner sanctum.
As Trixie paused in the entryway, she was approached immediately by one of the managers. “Chief,” he said, his smile wide. “We’re glad to have you here tonight. I know you have friends who are expecting you, but would you have a moment to step inside my office and fill out a few papers?”
She stared at him uncertainly. “Do you need to file a report? Was something stolen?”
His smile widened to the point that Trixie thought it looked almost painful. “No, no. Nothing like that,” he assured her. “It’s about your complimentary membership.”
“Oh, Arnold,” Honey said, strolling up and stopping at Trixie’s side. “I’m so sorry. I forgot to ask Trixie to come in early for you. Could you maybe bring the papers out to our table for her?” She smiled sweetly as she made her request, and Trixie was extremely amused to watch the man bob his head rapidly in agreement. He hurried away and Honey slipped her arm through Trixie’s. “I’m so glad you came, Trix. Things have been crazy for all of us these past few weeks. We all need a night off. And you look darling, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Trixie looked back over her shoulder. “What did he mean by complimentary membership?”
Honey laughed easily. “Officially? He means the country club is extending you a membership as a thank you for your fine and dedicated service to our town and residents.”
“And unofficially?”
“He’s a savvy businessman who knows just how popular you are. You’ve become a local celebrity of sorts and he wants to be able to drop your name whenever it will benefit him. Now, come kick back and have a drink. It’s time to relax. Even McKayla’s agreed to forgo all wedding talk for the evening once she’s done conferring with the bartender about which wines she wants served at the reception.”
Trixie did relax somewhat as she saw that Diana and Ruthie were sitting at one of the dark wood tables in the bar area, while McKayla was off in a corner deep in conversation with a short, slender man she assumed was the bartender Honey had mentioned.
“You’re here!” Di exclaimed happily. “I really thought Honey was being too optimistic when she said you’d be coming.”
Trixie felt herself blush slightly. Had she become that bad of a friend? When was the last time she’d gotten together with the others? Her blush deepened as she realized she couldn’t remember an exact date, or even a specific month.
“Guess what!” Di continued as Trixie pulled out her seat. “I found a location for my store! And…” she paused dramatically, “…I’ve got the perfect name.”
“And that would be?”
“Candied Opinions!”
Trixie laughed at her enthusiasm. “That is so you,” she agreed, “but most people won’t get it.”
“That’s the point! It’s just strange enough that they’ll ask what it means and it’s something they won’t forget once they hear it. And I found a storefront on 1st Street, just past the Cameo.”
“Near the funeral home?” Trixie asked doubtfully. “And the pawn shop?”
“Oh, no! In the other direction. Closer to the hospital. Off Jameson-Banks. It’s that little shop that used to sell tobacco products and newspapers ages ago.”
Trixie could vaguely picture it in her mind. She supposed it would serve well as a place where Di could sell her unusual and unique jewelry designs, providing the place didn’t still reek of cigars and old cigarettes.
Ruthie waved a hand toward the bar. “Oy. We’ll never be able to get you a drink if McKayla doesn’t stop monopolizing the bartender.”
Honey winced and stood quickly. “That’s okay,” she said, her tone slightly too bright. “What do you want, Trix? I’ll go ask him to make it for you right now.”
Trixie shrugged. “A glass of white wine.”
“Oh, come on, Chief,” Ruthie urged cajolingly. “This is a girls’ night out, not a meeting of old ladies. You’re supposed to drink something fruity and fun. Not something your grandma would order.”
“My grandmother went off to her just rewards with a Cosmopolitan in one hand and a Virginia Slims in the other,” Trixie replied dryly. She glanced over at Honey. “Surprise me.”
Twenty minutes and two prickly pear margaritas later, Trixie realized just how much of a mistake it was to drink on an empty stomach. It wasn’t that she was feeling too tipsy to walk straight, though she knew she was in no condition to drive into town to the theater any time soon. That thought brought a frown to her face as she wondered what she was going to do about her Cherokee. She would have to figure out a discreet way to ask someone else to quietly fetch it for her. Regan would do that. She would call him and beg him for his help shortly. So that settled that issue easily enough.
No, her real problem was that she’d lost control of her tongue. Not that she’d ever really been known as someone who was circumspect in her speech to begin with. And the irony of it all should have been funny, really. She’d been dreading that she might slip up and say something awful to Jim’s fiancée. Somehow she’d avoided that pitfall, even when McKayla had rather slyly suggested that Trixie’s blouse had been chosen to disguise the fact that she’d gained a few pounds recently.
She was proud and glad that she’d remained civil in the face of McKayla’s sharp little digs. It was one tiny bright spot in her evening.
Unfortunately, it didn’t come close to making up for the unwise remark that had brought all four other women to complete, stunned silence. Trixie’s somewhat tired response to Di’s woeful comment about the lack of decent, eligible men in their small town had left them all staring at her in shock.
“What are you worried about?” she’d asked, sending her beautiful friend an exasperated look. “Just pull your head out of the sand and take a good look around, for crying out loud. Dan’s been waiting for literally years for you to realize he’s hopelessly in love with you.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said it. Given away Dan’s most closely guarded secret after all this time. “Oh, crap,” she whispered, swallowing hard. “He’s going to kill me.