Chapter 5
Midnight Confessions
In my midnight confessions
When I tell all the world that I love you
In my midnight confessions
When I say all the things that I want to
I love you…
There's another before me, you'll never be mine
I'm wasting my time
Trixie paid the cab driver, turned and looked up at the imposing stone building. She had been to the Wheelers’ penthouse apartment many times, but always accompanied by Jim or Honey, and she had no idea how to get past the doorman uninvited. She inhaled deeply and walked up to the entrance.
“Trixie Belden. I’m here to see the Wheelers in…”
“Wheeler. Are they expecting you?” The uniformed guard interrupted.
“Not exactly. I’m…They know me.”
He peered over his reading glasses and then picked up the phone on the wall beside the door. Trixie turned and stared back out onto Park Avenue, watching the traffic, hoping Honey or Jim would allow her to go up.
“Miss?”
Trixie darted through the doors before he could finish his sentence. When he didn’t follow her, she assumed that it was okay.
Honey was still in her pajamas and standing in the doorway of the Wheeler apartment when she stepped out of the elevator. Trixie jogged down the hallway and followed her friend through the spacious gallery and into the living room.
“I kind of expected you.” Honey turned and faced her. “I…I asked Dan not to tell…I…” She gasped and began crying. “I’m so embarrassed and…”
Trixie ran over and hugged her friend. “Dan didn’t break your confidence. He told me some things, but insisted that I needed to get details from you. And he only shared what little he did because he’s concerned. Oh, Honey…you never have to be embarrassed with me.”
They stood holding each other, Honey crying and Trixie comforting her for some time, until Trixie led her friend to a sofa. The two girls sat facing each other, cross-legged, while Honey shared what had occurred over the past ten days. When she got to her finding Chip in San Francisco, Trixie jumped up from the sofa, startling her friend.
“Trixie! What are you doing? You aren’t going to go after him are you?” Honey finally giggled. “I already went through the stage where I wanted to kick him in the…”
“I’ll hold him down while you do it,” Trixie offered weakly, as she sat back down and they both laughed.
“I’m sorry I deceived you, Trixie. I should have known…but I didn’t want to talk to anyone. About anything. Dan, ah, ran into me when I was, ah, really, ah, upset and refused to leave me alone.
“Dan told me you were drunk,” Trixie corrected her friend.
“Well…that was an accident…at least, it was a mistake, but Dan was sympathetic without doting and he provided just the kind of quiet company and unspoken support I needed. Sometimes we’d spend several hours together barely talking. He kept insisting I talk to you, but I…at first I didn’t want anyone to know and I needed time to accept it, I guess. So Dan hovered.” She laughed. “I was ready to talk…at least to you, when that creep called me again and I had a second meltdown.”
“You didn’t…”
“No, Trixie. I just shattered a phone and bottle of milk. But I didn’t want to face anyone and then Jim came home, so I left...I came here. I’m fine…well almost...but I will be fine.
“Speaking of Jim, he overheard you and Dan talking. He seems to think you were kissing and…oh, Trixie, he’s afraid he’s losing you. You need to talk to him, too. You weren’t really kissing Dan, were you?”
“Kissing? What a dope! By the way, where is he?” Trixie wasn’t convinced that Honey was coping as well as she claimed and she didn’t want to try to explain that Jim must have seen her give Dan a quick peck on the cheek.
“He should be here any minute. He went to get some breakfast. There’s plenty of food here, but neither of us wanted to cook and we do need milk and juice and stuff.” Honey glanced towards the front door. “Our parents are in London and all of the staff are off until Wednesday.”
Trixie nodded, but didn’t say anything. She was still concerned about her friend and, now, she was worried about why Jim was so jealous of Dan.
As if on cue, the door opened. Jim was struggling with grocery bags so Honey ran out into the foyer to help him.
“We have company,” she announced as she took one of the brown paper bags. “Oh, gee, the bottom is tearing.” She hurried into the kitchen.
Jim stepped into the living room. “Trixie?” Upon seeing her, he stared for a moment, then turned and headed towards the kitchen without saying anything further.
Trixie could only hear bits of the conversation in the kitchen, but it was obvious Jim was upset. She decided to let Jim and Honey finish their conversation. Finally, after what seemed forever to Trixie, it became quiet and he came in and sat across from her.
“I’m glad you’re here, Trix. Honey really needs you. She refuses to tell me anything, but I’ve got a good idea what happened.” He turned and looked towards the kitchen, then lowered his voice. “I’m afraid to leave her alone, but I have to get back to Boston tonight. I have a call in to our parents, but…Do you think you can you stay with her?”
Trixie’s mouth fell open. She had hoped to resolve things with Honey and then head back to Sleepyside that same day. She had to be at work early the next morning. “I…I don’t know. I think she’s depressed but not that…” Trixie began to wonder if Honey had confided everything to her. “I have to be at work tomorrow. I can’t take off. Do you think she’ll go back to Sleepyside with me? Mart’s at camp, so it’s just me and Bobby. Moms would appreciate her company, too.”
“I don’t need to go back to Sleepyside, Trixie. You’ll have to explain to your mother and…” Honey walked in at that moment. “I I just want to…I don’t know what. I’m fine. I’ll be fine here.” The three argued for some time. Honey continued to resist at first, insisting she preferred to be alone, but finally proved no contest for Jim and Trixie. They all knew she really didn’t want to be alone.
After they prepared and ate a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, Jim called for Honey’s car and Honey went to her room to dress and pack. Both Jim and Trixie were too focused on Honey’s welfare to talk privately, except for a few whispered words while they cleaned up the kitchen. However, Trixie was able to reassure Jim that their relationship was still intact and she remained his special girl. They parted with a kiss and a promise from Jim to call when he heard from the Wheelers or got back to Boston, whichever came first.
“Dad and Bobby are checking out the new miniature golf course.” Helen shared as she handed Trixie a tuna salad sandwich. “Extra lettuce on yours, right Honey? I picked it before we left for church this morning.” She turned back around. “We’ll have tomatoes soon.”
“Why didn’t you go, too, Moms? We have discount coupons we didn’t use last night.” Trixie headed over to the table and set down her plate, then got a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator.
“It was just the boys doing their Sunday afternoon thing. They went with Ed, Larry and Terry Lynch. And I think they took your coupons.”
Helen handed Honey a plate and carried another over to the table for herself. She sat down with the two girls and waited for one of them to say something. When neither did, she asked if they had any special plans for the day.
Honey shook her head and Trixie responded. “We’re gonna hang out and gab. We haven’t done that in eons. And I want to be here when Jim calls.” She quickly took a bite of her sandwich.
She turned to Honey who was cramming food into her mouth and almost laughed. Helen Belden was nobody’s fool. She’d raised four children, three who were almost grown, and frequently called them on their mishaps and misdeeds. She often knew they were about to stray before they knew themselves. And she knew something was wrong within five minutes after Honey and Trixie had arrived that afternoon. Honey was obviously distressed and Trixie wasn’t ready to share the reason that Honey was staying at Crabapple Farm.
Family and friends were always welcome at Crabapple Farm and this was no exception. If Honey preferred to not enroll in summer school and stay with the Beldens while her parents were in Europe, she was welcome. Helen knew she’d learn the reason eventually. They ate in silence until the two younger women excused themselves in order to get Honey settled into Trixie’s room.
Jim called shortly after Peter and Bobby returned from their outing. Bobby was sharing all the details of their afternoon adventure and Peter stepped over to pick up the kitchen phone, but Trixie had grabbed the upstairs extension before the second ring. Helen explained to Peter that their daughter was waiting for a call from Jim.
“He was just here all weekend.” Peter shook his head. “Didn’t they talk enough then?”
“It’s Jim, dear. And it’s probably just to tell her he arrived in Boston safely.” Helen handed him a tall glass of iced tea and, seeing that Bobby was headed into the family room, motioned for him to follow her outside. Once on the patio she explained that Honey was staying with them and her suspicions that something was amiss.
“I thought Trixie had outgrown all her secrets and mysteries,” Peter moaned.
“It’s not another adventure, dear. I don’t know for sure what it is, but I’ll bet…well…Honey may be suffering from a broken heart. Trixie has made no secret of her dislike of that boyfriend Honey met at school. I heard her tell Mart recently that he was taking advantage of Honey’s sweet nature and the only reason Honey was staying in the city was to be near him. Frankly, I’m glad to see Trixie and Honey spending time together again.” Helen sat down in a chair, frowning as she sifted through the information in her head. “Yes. That’s probably it. She was planning to go to summer school and, suddenly, she’s not going to school and Trixie brings her out here. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Young love can be so melodramatic.”
“Young love? They’re too young to be in love.”
“I was eighteen when I met you, nineteen when we…”
“That’s different. You were… I was…”
Helen laughed. “Young love, Peter. Don’t you remember? Oh, to be a June-bug in love. Was it Will Rogers who said, ‘It is better to be a young June-bug than an old bird of paradise.’?”
Peter stepped over and pulled her to him. “It was Mark Twain. And I’d like to show you some of this old bird’s paradise.” Molding her body into his, Helen whispered into his ear. “Young June-bug or old bird, I’d love to take you up on your offer.” She nibbled on his ear lobe. “Maybe…”
Peter interrupted his wife with a long, deep kiss, until she pulled away and giggled like a young June bug.
“Oh. God. Helen,” he moaned. “You’re still a spitfire. Think we can get them out of the house for a while?”
Helen turned and jogged into the house, while Peter tried to compose himself. After a few minutes he heard their Hi-Fi blasting one of Helen’s favorite soundtracks.
Tonight, tonight
It all began tonight
I saw you and the world went away
Tonight, tonight
There's only you tonight
Tonight, tonight
Won’t be just any night.
Honey napped most of the afternoon while Trixie picked strawberries, and then swept and hosed off the patio. Helen waited patiently for Trixie to provide an explanation for Honey’s visit. She was just about to ask outright, when Trixie came inside for a glass of ice water, but was interrupted by the phone. It was Diana and Trixie quickly suggested that she come over before rushing upstairs to get Honey.
“Saved by the bell,” Helen mumbled, as she dumped several potatoes into the sink. Her concern quickly lessened after Diana arrived and she could hear the three girls laughing upstairs. The sounds of their gaiety ended abruptly and the three trampled down the stairs.
“We’re going out, Moms. We won’t be here for dinner.” Trixie called as they rushed through the kitchen and out the back door. “We won’t be late. I have to work tomorrow!” Slam!
Helen watched as the three giggling girls happily climbed into Diana’s car and left. She hoped this meant that Honey was sufficiently over her boyfriend or whatever was bothering her to enjoy time with her friends. She looked down at the potatoes in the sink and began taking out some. “Three for dinner, again.” She began humming, Tonight, Tonight.
Diana had guessed what was wrong with Honey and asked as soon as she’d arrived at Crabapple Farm. But she was sensitive enough to not demand too many details and the three girls spent the evening avoiding any discussion of boys in general. They made their own visit to the miniature golf course and then ate at a new pizza parlor in White Plains. It was late when Diana dropped Trixie and Honey at Crabapple Farm and then left with a promise from Honey that she would come by the Historical Society the next day to visit Diana.
Bobby already was in bed and the elder Beldens were watching the closing credits of Bonanza, so the two girls bade a quick good night and went upstairs. Honey was already in bed and appeared to be asleep when Trixie returned to the room after a shower, so she quietly checked her alarm and went to bed.
Trixie tossed and turned most of the night, worrying about her friends. Honey was clearly depressed and needed help beyond Trixie’s ability to give. Dan was headed for the Marines and who knew what—and she was sure he’d never eat the soap she’d given him that morning. Brian had a new girlfriend and a new life that didn’t include his sister. Mart and Diana were passionately in love, but Trixie worried that they were too self-involved. Jim was still the most wonderful boy in the world and she adored him, but his insecurities were interfering with their relationship. He needed to understand that her loving him didn’t mean she had to sacrifice her own dreams.
She was dreaming of a lifetime of mystery, adventure and suspense when the alarm went off.
Trixie dressed as quietly as possible and left Honey sleeping in the adjacent twin bed. She joined her parents in the kitchen where they both were sitting at the table, reading sections of the morning paper. Her mother started to get up when she came in.
“Don’t, Moms. I’m going to have cold cereal with some of those strawberries we picked yesterday.” Trixie got the bottle of milk and a large covered bowl of sliced berries from the refrigerator and placed them on the table. Grabbing a box of Wheaties from the counter and a bowl from the cupboard, she sat down with her parents.
“Honey’s still asleep,”she offered as she shook some cereal into her bowl. “She is adamant she doesn’t want you to go to any trouble, Moms. She just didn’t want to stay alone in the city.”
“I can tell something is bothering her. Is there anything I can do?” Helen set down the paper.
“Moms…” Trixie started to tell her mother it was none of her business, but quickly reconsidered. “I can’t tell you, Moms. I promised.” She took a bite of cereal.
“Hey, look!” She pointed to the athlete on the Wheaties box, trying to change the subject. “Raymond Berry from the Baltimore Colts! You need to save this for Bobby.” Trixie had no idea who Raymond Berry was, but Bobby had recently declared he was a fan of the Colts.
“Don’t change the subject, Trixie.”
“Well, you might hear from the Wheelers sometime today.”
“It’s it serious?” Helen’s tone caused Peter to put down his section of the paper and pay attention.
“I don’t know. Jim and I just thought they should know that she’s been weepy and…I can’t say more, Moms. I promised. I’d tell you if I thought…“
“I understand. I’ll have a nice breakfast for Honey when she comes down and see if she’d like to help me make strawberry jam.“
“That’s a great idea. She’ll love that.” Trixie perked up. Honey always enjoyed homemaking chores that Trixie would do anything to avoid.
“But if we don’t hear from her parents by the time you get home this evening, I’m calling them. If I can’t get through to them, I have Margery Trask’s number.”
“Miss Trask? Oh, no Moms! Please! Honey will not want you to involve her. Please! If she shows up here…”
“She’s in Aspen. She took her sister with her so they could enjoy a working holiday. I’m sure she’d come back if necessary, but I’m more interested in getting through to the Wheelers.”
“It’s okay to keep trying to reach her parents. She knows that Jim has already tried, but…just please don’t involve anyone else.”
“I’m not promising anything.”
By the tone of her mother’s voice, Trixie knew the discussion was over. She rinsed her glass and cereal bowl and went upstairs to brush her teeth. She just hoped that a day with her mother would provide the diversion that Honey needed.
The day passed quickly for Trixie. The boxes she’d found in the courthouse basement had been moved and stacked in a back room of the police station and she’d been asked to catalog them. Of course, no one had given her any direction on what or how to catalog them, so she spent the entire day reading through individual folders, noting what was in each, then trying to sort them into piles. While it was difficult for her to accept this as “real police work” she knew it had to be something necessary for an investigation and she was fascinated by the contents of the files.
The files were related to several unsolved murders from over a decade earlier and they included official documents such as autopsy reports, crime scene photographs, typed and handwritten notes and reports, as well as non-official documents such as newspaper clippings. In the process of examining them, Trixie determined that they were related to four nude or partially-clothed bodies of young women that had been found either floating in or along the banks of Sparta Creek, over a two year period. In one newspaper article, she read that all of the victims were what the reporter called party girls who worked on Hawthorne Street or in the surrounding neighborhood.
Staring at a particularly shocking black and white photograph of one young woman, Trixie recalled her first excursion onto Hawthorne Street, when she was thirteen and investigating one of her first mysteries.
She had left Main Street and turned into a narrow, winding alley, lined on both sides by rickety two story houses. People were sitting on the stoops and sagging porches, staring curiously as she walked by. Despite it being early November, the women were dressed in scanty, brightly colored dresses, covered with thin shawls. A few men shuffled along as if their feet hurt. Suddenly the narrow alley ended and before her was a long straight street. The buildings were no worse than those in the alley, but there was something evil about them. There wasn’t a solitary soul in sight, but Trixie sensed that people were watching her from behind the filthy windows of those buildings. She had forced herself to keep moving and realized that she was shuffling along just as the men in the alley behind her had shuffled.
She had shuddered when she stepped out from the alley, just as she did when she stared at the photograph. Trixie realized that the women she’d encountered in that alley off Hawthorne Street six years ago were—she chuckled at the thought—party girls—like the one in the photograph. Trixie grabbed another folder, this one filled with more newspaper clippings, and began reading.
“Belden? What are you doing back here? ”
Trixie dropped the folder onto the table and looked up. “Captain Molinson?”
“What has you so engrossed?” The police captain walked around the table and picked up an article. “What this? Oh! Oh, yes. The Sparta Stripper.”
“Sparta Stripper?” Trixie hadn’t seen that moniker in anything she’d read so far. “Sparta? Oh! I guess…the bodies were found in Sparta Creek and they were…”
“The dead girls all worked the neighborhood,” Captain Molinson mumbled as he picked up a photograph. “Sparta was even seedier than Hawthorne Street back then.” He referred to the oldest neighborhood of Sleepyside, which had recently benefitted from gentrification because of its proximity to the commuter train station.
Captain Molinson dropped the photograph and looked at Trixie, then at the photos spread out on the table. “They have you looking at these? What do they think they’re doing?” He pointed to the boxes of files on the floor and file folders stacked on the table and sat in the chair next to Trixie. “Do they have you looking at all that?” Trixie remained silent, figuring the answer to Molinson’s question was somewhat obvious.
“Belden.” He pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “Trixie. I’m not sure you should be seeing, reading…this is…These women were…”
“Prostitutes. Hookers. Streetwalkers. Whores. Or would you prefer,” She pointed to the one file. “As the one reporter, what was his name—Vestal--wrote in his article, party girls?” Trixie laughed. “And I did notice that most of the photos show them nude or partially undressed.” She shook her head in mock disgust. “Shocking.
“I found these files in the Courthouse on Thursday and now I’m trying to organize them for Detective Bailey. This is incredible stuff! And they gave the perp a name? While I’ll admit some of the photographs are...well, so far I’ve been fascinated with the detective reports and news clippings. I’ll get to the photographs later.” Trixie sat back in her chair. “And you should read some of the interview notes. What a hoot!”
Wendell Molinson sat with his mouth hanging open. He’d been appalled to find a young woman, even one as adventuresome as Trixie, exposed to such ghastly information and he was certain that she’d been given the assignment as a prank—a way to shock and have some fun with the young female intern that the chief has forced them to support. He was surprised that Trixie was excited about the gruesome files.
“What did Bailey tell you to do with these files?”
“Bailey? He just said to “catalog” them, without elaborating. The files were stored in no order whatsoever and the boxes just had dates on the outside. Right now I’m documenting what each folder contains. Once I complete that, I’ll try to find some way to organize it all.” Trixie pointed to the different stacks on the table. “Did they ever catch this guy?”
Wendell shook his head. “Never. Five girls in 22 months.”
“Five? I’ve only seen files on four so far!” Trixie interjected.
“Four were definitely by the same person. There was a fifth found during the same time period, but in a different area of town...I’m sure the files for that girl are in these boxes, too. But four or five, the murders stopped, and we got no clues or any more murders until…” He stopped mid-sentence.
“Has there been a new one? Is that why Bailey needs these?” Trixie could barely sit still. Maybe this was a real investigation. “Of course! That’s why Bailey needs these old files. Is there a new murder? Wait! I know! I saw the headline in the paper. The body they found over by Martin’s Marsh! Was she a prostitute, too?”
“You shouldn’t even be involved in any of this, Trixie. It’s still…sensitive. I could beat Bailey for giving this to you. To answer your questions, they found the remains of a young woman in Martin’s Marsh. They are just now starting construction on that access road they were so anxious to build five or six years ago. There are some similarities, but after more than a decade...” He shrugged. “We’re grabbing at straws to think it’s the same person, so I don’t want you spreading this.” He stood up.
“When I urged the Chief to hire you this summer, I wanted to give you an opportunity to see police work first hand. It can be tedious and it’s nothing like what you see on television, or what you saw in any of your schoolgirl escapades, for that matter. Going through these files is a perfect example of what you’d really do as a detective, in a police department or as a private investigator, especially since you’re a woman. But I’m not certain a young girl should be going through these kinds of reports. What do I say to your father if he asks me about your working with these photographs or about the kinds of things you’re reading in the reports?”
Trixie became angry, especially at the police woman-young girl statement. After college, she planned to be a real police officer and, someday, a private investigator. She was not going to be some file clerk for her male co-workers. “My father isn’t working here. I am! And since I’m over eighteen, he has nothing to say about it, period! So far I haven’t read or seen anything in these that I don’t already know about. I’m perfectly capable of looking at nude photos of women or even men! I don’t need your protection or your interference! If you interfere...I’ll...I’ll...”
“No, Trixie. I won’t interfere,” Molinson sighed. “But, please, be careful.”
Trixie turned her back to the Captain and picked up a newspaper clipping. “Sure, Captain. Don’t want me to get any paper cuts, do you?” she asked with a sniff and toss of her curls.
Trixie fumed the rest of the afternoon, unable to focus on the files in front of her. She was absolutely certain that she was capable of being an excellent police officer and was tired of people being concerned because she was a girl. At nineteen, she was no longer a girl, but a woman. And a woman could be just as good a police officer as a man. She knew her life experiences were limited in some areas, but she had solved far more crimes and mysteries than many police men with decades of experience, and nothing was going to stop her from solving more!
And she had actually believed that Captain Molinson supported her. There was no reason she shouldn’t be going through these files.
She got up from the table shortly before her normal quitting time of 5:00, grabbed her purse and lunch box, and headed out through the squad room without speaking to anyone.
She was so angry she stripped gears on Brian’s jalopy three times heading up the hill from downtown Sleepyside, but she didn’t care. If she left the transmission on the side of the road, she’d walk back and forth to work the rest of the summer. Nothing was going to keep her from becoming a police officer.
She was still seething when she parked the Rambler in its usual spot beside her mother’s Country Squire station wagon. When she entered the kitchen it was empty and dinner hadn’t been started, so she stepped back onto the service porch to confirm that the station wagon was there.
“Moms?” She called as she walked back through the kitchen. “Moms?” she called up the back stairway. Hearing nothing, she turned to check the front rooms of the house and saw her mother sitting on the patio with Madeleine Wheeler. She started to call out, but when she heard Mrs. Wheeler say something about counseling, she stopped to listen.
“I’m not sure it’s that serious, Maddie.” Helen reassured the other woman. “The girls seemed their normal selves yesterday and she and I had a lovely time this morning.”
Trixie heard her mother say something about a broken heart and she heard nothing of Mrs. Wheeler’s response.
“Oh, I think that’s perfect.” Helen said excitedly. “A change of scenery might be exactly what she needs. If she still seems…” she stopped when she saw Trixie standing at the patio doors. “Trixie! Come join Mrs. Wheeler and me for some lemonade.”
Trixie came out onto the patio, greeted Mrs. Wheeler and hugged her mother before pouring a glass of lemonade for herself. “Where’s Honey?” She sat down at the table.
“She’s at the museum with Diana. I expect her back any time.” Moms glanced at her watch. “Mrs. Wheeler wants Honey to join her in London and then take a short tour of the Continent. What do you think?”
Trixie sipped some lemonade and looked from one mother to the other, wondering what to share. “I think Honey should decide.” Realizing how rude that must sound, she quickly apologized. “She does have too much free time to...”
“Mourn over Chip?” Mrs. Wheeler offered. “Honey has always been sensitive. While I liked Chip, I’ve been concerned that they were too involved. I’m certain she’s pining over that boy.” Mrs. Wheeler leaned forward and took her hand. “Your mother told me you don’t want to break a promise and I understand. But, just tell me, Trixie, please. Is my little girl okay?”
Seeing the look of concern on Mrs. Wheeler’s face, Trixie swallowed a lump in her throat. “I don’t think she needs to sit around feeling sorry for herself. I think if she has something to do—to get her through this rough spot—she’ll be fine. But you can’t force her to go to Europe.”
“Would you like to come, too? You still have your passport from the last trip, don’t you? I’m thinking we’ll tour several cities. See museums and shop. Maybe even stay on the Riviera for a few days. I know it would be more fun…”
“Thank you,” Trixie interrupted. “I wish I could, but I have this job. It’s an internship with the Sleepyside Police.”
Mrs. Wheeler smiled, but shook her head. She couldn’t imagine anyone preferring an office job over a tour of Europe.
Honey arrived shortly after Trixie and didn’t act surprised to see her mother. While she wasn’t enthusiastic, she did agree to a short vacation. Trixie assumed that her friend agreed because she didn’t want to argue and not necessarily because she wanted to go, although Trixie thought it might be good for Honey and her mother to spend some time together.
Mrs. Wheeler wanted to head back to the city that evening, Trixie and Honey went upstairs to get Honey’s things.
“Are you sure?” Trixie sat on one of the twin beds and watched as her friend placed her suitcase on the other bed and began filling it.
“Sure about what?” Honey stuffed a book into the side of the bag. “That I want to spend the summer with my mother? About going to Europe? That I’m done with Chip Lloyd? That I should pretend everything is okay when it’s not?”
She sat down on the bed facing Trixie. “It’s all such a mess. I don’t want to sit around feeling sorry for myself.” She looked up at her friend. “I’m not sure I want to go to Europe with my mother, but I am not going to spend my entire summer break pining over Charles Wilson Lloyd the Third. THAT’s for certain!”
“Europe can be fun,” Trixie offered weakly. “Your mother can be…”
“She’s not Moms Belden.” Honey cut her off.
Trixie sat silently, recognizing how lucky she was to have parents like Helen and Peter Belden. “Your mother just wants you to be happy. She invited me,” she finally offered.
Honey had stood back up and was throwing things into the suitcase. “Would you like to come?” There was no mistaking the wistfulness in her voice.
“My job at the PD…well it might be…”
Honey shut the lid, latched the lock and turned to face her friend. “You need that job. I need…I need a change of scenery. Trixie, I’ll be fine. You’re right. Maybe I will enjoy myself. If we go to Paris, I can practice my French.” She paused. “Yes. I’ll work on my French!” She grabbed her bag and headed out into the hallway and down the stairs.
“Mother! Can we go to Paris?” Honey called out, using the French pronunciation for the City of Lights. “Je voudrais aller à Paris!”
Madeleine Wheeler was declining Helen Belden’s offer to stay for dinner when the girls came downstairs. They quickly loaded Honey’s suitcase, as well as several jars of the strawberry jam Honey helped make that morning, into the trunk of the Mustang. After a long hug, Honey promised Trixie that she would write, before getting behind the wheel and driving off with her mother.
Trixie stood and watched the bright yellow car spin gravel as it turned onto Glen Road. Her shoulders sagged as she offered a silent prayer for her friend.
“Honey will be okay. ” Helen put an arm around her daughter. “A broken heart can be so painful, but I think this may be a perfect opportunity for the two of them to bond. Maddie is a much better mother than you give her credit for. She loves Honey just as much as I love you.”
They were still standing in the driveway when Peter and Bobby pulled in a few minutes later. Bobby had spent the day with a friend in town, and his father picked him up on the way home from his job at the First National Bank of Sleepyside.
“Moms! What’s for dinner? Coach Collyer said we have to be in the dugout thirty minutes before game time and Dad was late! Is my uniform clean?” Bobby ran past them and into the house.
“I’m sorry. The Board Chairman walked in just as I was leaving and kept me. Bobby needs to eat and change.”
“Oh my goodness! I completely forgot the time!” Moms glanced at her watch. “I haven’t even started...I guess...” She turned and rushed into the house behind Bobby.
“Honey and her mother just left, Dad. She hasn’t started anything.” Trixie turned and started to follow her mother.
“Have you kids tried that new place on the bypass? The one with the 15 cent burgers?” Peter asked. “Are they any good?”
“Greasy Macs?” Trixie laughed. “They’re okay, I guess, but they aren’t as good as Wimpy’s.”
“It’s right on the way to Gerlach Field. We’ll grab something there.” Peter rushed past Trixie and into the house. “Helen, no need...”
Trixie stood, staring in disbelief. Her parents rarely ate at Wimpy’s. She couldn’t imagine them going to McDonalds, where you had to eat in the car. With a shrug, she followed her dad inside, singing the jingle, “Only forty-seven cents for a three-course meal.”
Trixie declined to go for burgers and to the game, hoping to enjoy some quiet time alone after the emotional roller coaster she’d been riding the past week. She took a long shower before changing into shorts and a cotton shirt and went back downstairs to find something to eat. She made a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk, and was heading towards the den when she noticed a large opened package on the dining room table and went over to investigate what it was.
She set down the plate and glass and looked inside the box. It held several porcelain birds, each wrapped in newspaper. As she unwrapped each one and lined them on the table, she realized that they must have been a gift to her mother from Mrs. Wheeler.
She was admiring the delicate details of each figurine when she noticed the headline on one piece of newspaper.
Is this man the REAL Jack the Stripper?
She straightened out the crumpled paper and, seeing that it was a recent edition of the London Sun-Times, she read the opening paragraphs of the article.
Much like the original Jack the Ripper, Jack the Stripper's savage
rampage claimed the lives of eight young women, horrifying the nation. He
targeted lone prostitutes, strangled them, stripped them naked, and then
knocked their teeth out for souvenirs.
In spite of a massive police hunt, the sadist behind the
"Hammersmith Nude Murders" was never caught.
Staring up at her from the newspaper was a police composite sketch almost identical to one she had seen in the files at work.
Trixie continued reading, amazed at the similarities between the crimes described in the news article and what she’d been reading in the old case files. She got to the end of what was written on that page and saw it was continued.
“Crap!” She said aloud as she sat down and began straightening out each of the other sheets of newspaper until she found the page that had the rest of the article. She began reading the rest of the story.
“I do not believe this!” She said. “This is...WOW! OH WOW!” She jumped up and started singing and dancing. “It's delightful, it's delicious, it's delectable, it's mysterious! It's dilemma, it's de limit, it's deluxe, it's mee-sterious!”
“What has you so excited?” Trixie jumped as Dan came in from the kitchen.
“Dan! You’re back! So early?” Trixie stopped dancing abruptly.
“It’s not that early, Trixie. It’s almost nine o’clock. I had the option to stay over tonight, but I wanted to...How’s Honey? And why are you dancing around?”
Trixie sat back down and pointed to the chair beside her. “On her way to Europe.”
“She’s WHAT?” Dan sat down. “What the hell?”
Trixie explained what had occurred over the past two days, concluding with her imitation of Honey speaking French to her mother.
Dan chuckled. “Good thing you aren’t going with them, Trix. Your French stinks.”
“You took French, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. Someone told me all the smart and sexy girls took it so...” He pointed to the uneaten sandwich. “I’m starved, Trix. Would you share?”
“I don’t know if I should share with you. I took Spanish in High School. What does that make me?” Trixie asked as she held up the plate so he could take a half.
Dan hesitated, because he knew that Trixie was much more than sexy. “That was before I knew anyone in Sleepyside. I would have taken Spanish if I’d known you’d be in the classes.” He grabbed the sandwich and took a bite. “Mmmm...your mother makes the best peanut butter sandwiches.”
“I made it.” Trixie responded coyly. “That was a good recovery, by the way,” she added before she took a bite from the other half.
The two friends sat eating in silence for a few moments. Dan finished his and took a long drink from the glass of milk. “What’s all this?” He pointed to the newspapers spread out on the table.
“This is why I was dancing when you walked in. You’re not going to believe what I found!” Trixie explained what she’d been working on at the police department and the similarities to the murders in London. “Do you think I should take this article to work?” She finished.
“I’m...” Dan scanned the article. “You said the picture is a ringer?”
“As far as I can tell.”
“Well, first, I’d compare this to the picture in the files at work, as well as the details of the two sets of crimes, just to be sure. If they’re as similar as you say, you have to tell someone. Go to Molinson first. He’ll...”
“He’ll tell me not to strain my little girly self.” Trixie slumped in the chair and crossed her arms. “Male chauvinist...”
“What’d he do, Trix?” Dan had seen firsthand that many of their classmates in Criminal Justice at the Community College and even a few instructors resented her presence in the program.
“He thinks the files I’m sorting through are too gruesome for a girl!”
Dan scooted his chair over and placed a hand on Trixie’s shoulder. “I know you don’t want to hear this but you have got to grow a thick skin about stuff like that if you want to be a police woman. I know what you can do and you won’t get it from me, but others...”
“Police officer!” She corrected indignantly. “And hopefully, detective! I don’t want to be called out as a girl, or even woman! I want respect. R.E.S.P.E.C.T.” Trixie settled down and smiled. “And I know what you’re saying, Dan, but I thought Molinson was…”
“He’s known you since you were thirteen, Trix. He knows what you can do.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.” Trixie interrupted. “I want to know what happened in Albany. Did you eat the soap?”
Dan laughed and sat back up straight. “No. I didn’t. And I seem to have passed everything, so I was sworn in. It’s official.”
“When…” Trixie didn’t want to say the words. “How long?”
“They’ll send official notice, but they told me to prepare to head to Parris Island on July 10th.” Dan waited for the explosion, but there was none.
Trixie sat in silence, staring across the room while processing what he had said.
Trixie finally looked at Dan. “The tenth? Less than two weeks.”
Dan stood up. “I requested that I go in as soon as possible. I didn’t want to wait around, Trix.” He was going to leave, but seeing the tears in Trixie’s eyes, he hesitated.
“Trix, it’ll be okay. I’m in good shape...all that work for Maypenny and running cross-country and track in high school and...”
“You can’t run faster than bullets.” Trixie sobbed.
“I can try.” Dan laughed nervously. When Trixie didn’t respond, he spread his arms wide. “Come here, Freckles.”
Trixie stood, stepped into Dan’s arms and wrapped hers around his waist. Dan pulled her close. “I think I’ve cried more the past two weeks than the entire rest of my life,” she mumbled, as she rested her head on his chest. “I need you, Dan.”
“And I need you.”
 |
|