Chapter 9
Blowin' in the Wind
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
Sunday, August 14, 1967
Live from our newsroom in New York, it’s Walter Cronkite with the news…with Bernard Kalb reporting from Saigon…and Dan Rather in Washington, DC.
Good evening. U.S. Marines have begun a new operation in the Que Son Valley. The Senate Armed Services Committee has begun closed-door hearings concerning the influence of civilian advisors on military planning. An
anonymous source said that Defense Secretary McNamara testified that the
extensive and costly U.S. bombing campaign in Vietnam is failing to impact
North Vietnam's war making ability in South Vietnam and that nothing short of
"the virtual annihilation of North Vietnam and its people" through
bombing would ever succeed.
“I’m so sorry, Honey. I don’t want to ruin our vacation together.”
Honey drew the heavy draperies shut and turned to her mother who was lying in bed with a hand towel draped over her eyes. “It’s been a wonderful vacation, Mother. You haven’t ruined a thing.”
“It’s been years since I’ve had a migraine like this. I don’t know what brought it on.”
“The doctor said you’ve just done too much. You’re exhausted. Once you rest…”
“I hope so.” Madeleine was beginning to slur her words, confirming that the potent medication the hotel physician had prescribed was taking effect. Honey tiptoed out of her mother’s room and into the sitting area of their suite, pulling the connecting door shut behind her.
She and her mother had enjoyed an exhausting tour of Rome, Venice and the Tuscan region of Italy, before motoring along the Mediterranean coast of Italy, Monte Carlo, and France. Honey had been captivated by the art, architecture and breathtaking landscapes. She had never seen her mother more energized and happy.
Madeleine had complained of a headache when they were traveling over the winding roads leading to Monte Carlo, but they assumed it was motion sickness. It lingered all evening in Monte Carlo, but hadn’t interfered with enjoying the casino. Honey had never seen her mother laugh as hard as she did when an aging lothario propositioned both of them.
Madeleine had been unusually quiet on the ride to Cannes the next day, but didn’t say anything about feeling unwell until after they checked into their suite. In tears, she asked Honey to call for a doctor, who confirmed it was one of the debilitating migraines that had plagued the older woman since childhood. The doctor insisted that she should be able to join Honey on their adventures after a few days of rest and medication.
Honey stared out the window at the sunlight reflecting off the magnificent blue water of the Mediterranean. Wondering what she might do with her free time, she remembered her mother saying that their hotel was known for its proximity to wonderful cafes and boutiques. Honey had moaned then, sick of clothes shopping, but after noticing the women lazing around the hotel pool in scanty bikinis, she decided that she needed one, too.
She giggled as she grabbed her purse, deciding that she was going to buy a bikini that might get her arrested in Sleepyside but in Cannes…
“You’re absolutely positive.” Mart pulled Diana close and whispered in her ear.
“I’m sure, Mart. But I’m not taking any more chances.”
“I should have…I should never have…”
Diana shook her head. “Neither of us is to blame. We just…I wanted to as much as you did. I’m glad we had this scare so we’ll be more careful.”
Mart kissed her lightly on the lips, then scooted away and placed his arm across the back of the swing. They were sitting on the front porch of Crabapple Farm waiting for his ride back to camp. He knew they could be interrupted, so he kept his voice low. “I love you and want to spend my life with you, but…I have to admit I’m relieved.”
Diana giggled. “I’m going to the clinic in White Plains tomorrow and we won’t have to worry anymore.”
Mart sighed loudly. “I can’t believe you have to go to some clinic just to get pills.”
“It’s there, or a doctor in the city.”
Mart’s ride pulled into the driveway. He stood and grabbed his bag. “I’ll call tomorrow night.”
“You don’t have to. It’s just a check up.”
“I’m still calling.” Mart jumped off the porch and ran across the lawn to the waiting car, just as Trixie came out the front door.
“Hey! I didn’t get to say…” She called out to her brother.
“Bye, Trixie. Bye, Sweet Diana!”
Trixie sat down on the swing beside Diana. “So, are you going to tell me what you and my brother were just whispering about so intensely? Or even better, what have you two been whispering about the past few weekends?”
Honey stepped off the elevator and walked down the hallway leading out to the pool area, thankful that she had purchased the matching cover-up for her new itsy-bitsy teeny weenie...well it was yellow, if not a yellow polka-dot, bikini. She had started to go back to the room and change into a more modest two-piece several times, certain that she’d expose something that she shouldn’t. Her mother had been awake when she’d returned with her risqué purchase, and, without seeing it, had urged her to spend time getting as much sun as possible. Honey giggled at the thought that her mother didn’t realize just how much sun she would get in the skimpy yellow garment.
An attendant showed her to a free chaise and got her a towel and a glass of Perrier. Honey didn’t care for mineral water, but she recited silently, “When in France…”
She was dozing in the warm sun, when a deep baritone in an unmistakable New York accent cautioned, “You’re going to burn, if you don’t turn.”
She opened one eye slightly, pretending to be asleep, to see a very tall man standing over her. He had wild curly hair and a long thick mustache that failed to hide his handsome features.
“I can see you’re peeking! Your glasses are dark, but not dark enough to hide those beautiful eyes.” He sat on the chair beside her. “You are beautiful.”
Honey watched with one eye as he scanned her entire body. “Aller-en! Américain dégoûtant. Où est la piscine garçon?”
The young man laughed. “J'espère que je ne suis pas répugnant. Je suis David Meier.” He leaned forward and offered his hand. “Vous etres tres belle.” He sat back when she didn’t take his hand. “Je dois dire que votre Français est excellent, mais il y a une trace indubitable d'accent Américain.” He sighed. “S’il vous plait, acceptez mes excuses.”
Honey grabbed her cover-up and started to get up but when he leaned all the way back and opened the book he was carrying, she decided not to make a scene. She rationalized that if she were going to lie out at the pool exposing all of her body except a few square inches, she should expect stares if not boorish behavior. He’d been rude, but he backed off. She closed her eyes and was starting to doze off again when the pool attendant came up.
“Excisez-moi. Le Mademoiselle, voudrait-il une autre boisoon? Perrier?” He reached for her empty glass.
“Oui. Merci.”
“You like that stuff?”
Honey started to scowl at the man, but his wide grin was infectious. She then noticed that, not only did he have a very interesting face and a great smile, but he had a long, lean and very tan body. “Not really. But you know what they say.”
“Ah, the lady is American. Tell me, what do they say?” He sat up and faced her.
“When in France, do as the French do.” Honey laughed.
“And she has a smile just as beautiful as the rest of her.” He offered her his hand again. “Please, can we start over? I’m not usually as forward and rude as I was earlier. David Meier; New York, New York.”
“Honey Wheeler. Sleepy…I’m also from New York.” She took the proffered hand and shook it.
The two sat facing each other, talking for some time. Honey learned that David was the son of classical musicians, a Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Yale with a double major in English and music, and was a composer. In addition to scoring several television shows with a friend from Yale, he had produced several very-off-Broadway musicals. He’d been in Paris for business and a friend who had been in Cannes a few weeks earlier had encouraged David to take a brief detour before returning to New York.
Honey was purposely evasive when sharing information about herself. He was a stranger, and while he seemed sincere, she knew that Cannes was rampant with con-artists looking to charm young heiresses. She indicated that she had attended Barnard, suggesting she had already graduated and not that she was only a rising sophomore, and that she resided in New York with her parents and a brother who was in graduate school at Harvard. She was certain to let him know that she was traveling with her mother and that her father would be joining them. She conveniently failed to tell him that her father would be joining them in London the next week, and not immediately.
Con-man or sincere, she found David Meier totally charming and they sat talking for the rest of the afternoon, totally engrossed in each other. When they realized that most of the other bathers had left the pool area, David suggested they move to the poolside bar and Honey didn’t hesitate to accept. She grabbed her cover-up and started to put it on, but stopped when she saw that David was staring.
“Are you going so say something rude again?” Honey asked as she put it on.
“You are exquisite. You realize that, Honey? I could stare at you forever.”
She grabbed her bag and offered her arm, allowing him to lead her over to the bar.
“So, are you going to tell me?” Trixie prodded her friend. It wasn’t unusual for Diana and Mart to spend as much time together as possible, but they had been unusually secretive since the weekend of Dan’s send-off a month earlier. Trixie had repeatedly tried to convince herself it was none of her concern, but she was curious. “I confided in you about Dan and, and Jim…”
“We kinda had a scare,” Diana blurted out.
“Scare? What? Oh! As in…” Trixie scooted to the edge of the swing so she could reach the porch floor and stop its swaying. “Are you pregnant?”
“No! But…”
“But what? You thought you were?”
“Mart and I have been really careful and I’ve always been pretty regular. Then I was…your brother really went into panic mode when I was late. Well, to be honest, I was too. But…it was just that. I was late. It’s okay now, but I want to…I need too…Tomorrow, I’m going…I’m so nervous, but I have to. Do you think you can take a half day tomorrow?”
“Off work?”
Diana nodded.
“Of course I will if you need me; but why?”
“I’ve decided not to take any more chances. I got an appointment at that clinic in White Plains. You know--the one just for women. I’m going to get a prescription for the pill. It’s the only place that will prescribe them if you aren’t married. But they require that you also get an exam. I’m really…I feel so embarrassed. It would really help if I had someone with me.”
“Of course. But you don’t need to be embarrassed. Lots of people are on the pill and not just for birth control.”
“They are?”
“They’re just hormones. They can help if you have problems. I’ve been on them for over two years.”
“Trixie Belden! You’ve been taking birth control pills?”
Trixie laughed. “Not birth control. Hormones. Oh, Moms was adamant about that.” They both laughed. “You might remember that I was having serious problems with cramps. I didn’t talk about it much, but I also was very irregular. It got so bad that I was missing school when I did have my period, so Moms took me to Dr. Ferris. He referred me to Dr. Rosanelli, who had just opened his OB-GYN practice in Sleepyside. He suggested birth control pills, but wouldn’t prescribe them until I was eighteen. But my problems kept getting worse and Moms took me back and insisted he do something. I was seventeen. Even then, he and Moms sat down with me in his office and explained how they weren’t a license to be promiscuous. It was a real hoot, but I was too embarrassed to think so then.”
“So you’ve had…you know…a female exam?”
“Several. I was embarrassed the first time, but…Moms was really good about it all.”
Diana shook her head as she stared down at her feet. “It’s not something…could you see my mother taking me in to see Dr. Rosanelli? Or even to Dr. Ferris to discuss female anatomy?”
“Your mother has five children!”
“And I think we all were conceived by Immaculate Conception. You forget that my mother was raised by nuns. She’s very uptight about those things.”
“So you and Mart? You’ve had sex, but you’ve never had an exam? And you never really talked to your mother about…”
“I know. I know. But that’s all going to change tomorrow. Will you go with me?”
Trixie scooted over and hugged her friend. “Of course. But only if you promise me that it won’t be your last exam. And you’ll be very careful about taking those pills. One missed and…I know you and Mart will be great parents, but not for a long time. Okay?”
“Yes, Corporal? What is it?”
Jim stood in the doorway to the Major’s office, holding the papers the clerk had given him several days earlier. When he’d completed and attempted to return them to the clerk, he was told he would have to see the Major to make the request. “Sir.”
Seeing who it was, the Major nodded recognition. “Come in. I understand you’ve requested a transfer?”
“Yes, sir. I have the papers prepared to request a transfer to a Guard unit in Massachusetts and I was told that I had to meet with you personally before I could submit them, sir.”
“You’ve been accepted into another unit?”
“No, sir. I’m just now submitting the request. The…” Jim glanced back towards the doorway. “The Corporal said I had to see you before you will sign them.”
“You know that all Guard units have a long waiting list? We have over 500 for this unit, alone.”
“Yes, sir. I was aware that I might have to wait.”
“Why do you want the transfer, Corporal?”
“I’m attending school in Boston, sir. I’ve been driving down each weekend since June and…”
“What school?”
“Harvard, sir. Graduate studies in the School of Education.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” The Major’s disdain was obvious.
Jim didn’t respond. After four years at Columbia he was immune to snide remarks about his being a rich Ivy Leaguer.
“Maybe you should get your daddy to pull some strings for you.”
“Sir?”
“I keep seeing more and more of you rich boys whose daddies make a few phone calls so junior can waste my time in the Guard. How many did you bump from the waiting list to get in this unit, Corporal?”
“Sir, I didn’t…”
“Of course you didn’t. Go ahead and submit your request. I just heard that the Massachusetts 211th Field Artillery Battalion in Lexington might have some openings. You might try there.” He took the forms from Jim, signed them, and handed them back. “Dismissed, Corporal.”
Jim turned to leave and heard the Major mutter, “Good riddance, Harvard.”
Jim couldn’t deny that he’d joined the Guard so that he could attend graduate school and avoid regular military service. But no one, especially not his father, had intervened on his behalf. He hesitated at that thought. Or had he? He shook his head, ridding it of the thought that Matthew Wheeler might pull strings so that he would receive any favoritism. He would never shirk his duty and nor would his adoptive father allow him to do so. He stopped at the front desk, added the Lexington Guard unit in the appropriate places on the forms, and handed the completed paperwork to the clerk.
Jim headed out of the building and over to where he’d left his Jeep two weeks earlier. He hoped his request would be approved. There was no reason for him to come to New York on weekends and Lexington was significantly closer to his new home in Cambridge.
Honey giggled as she grabbed David’s arm and slid off the bar stool. “I’m afraid I had a bit too much to drink…I, oh my…” She stumbled and he caught her. “I really do need to call it an evening. My mother…” She grabbed her bag. “I must say, David, that I thoroughly enjoyed your company, but my mother…” She giggled again. “She’s waiting upstairs and…”
“I’ll walk you to your room.” David sounded concerned. “I didn’t realize… how many drinks did you have, Honey?”
The two were silent as Honey allowed David to escort her upstairs. She kissed him lightly and turned to unlock the door when he took her hand. He squeezed it before pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing her more passionately. Surprised, her first instinct was to return the kiss, but she quickly pulled away.
“David!”
“I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you down at the pool. I guess now I’d be wasting my breath to ask you what you’re doing tomorrow. “ He smiled weakly.
“I don’t know. My mother…” Honey looked towards the door and then back at her companion.
“I’ve been invited to a villa…some friends, well they’re not really friends but aquaintances, are staying further up the coast near Antibes and…well…would you like to go? They’re having a party of some sort tomorrow afternoon. I barely know these people but I don’t want to miss the opportunity to check out this villa, and…”
Honey laughed. After being so bold when he approached her at the pool, he was actually stammering and stuttering now. “Are you asking me out on a date?” she inquired.
“Date? I guess. Yeah, I guess I am.”
“I’m not sure what my mother has planned for tomorrow, but…why don’t you call me in the morning? You know how to get me?” She pointed to the room number on the door.
“Of course.” David gave her a chaste peck on the cheek. “I’ll call first thing.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it again before turning and heading up the hallway. “I’m in room 1134, if you need to call me,” he called out.
Honey opened the door and watched as he turned the corner. Suddenly a tame and pleasant vacation with her mother was becoming an exciting adventure with a handsome young man. She slipped inside, shut and locked the door, wondering what you wore to a house party on the French Riviera.
Recruit Daniel Mangan and the other members of his platoon were lined up, standing tall at their racks in their skivvies, when Dan was called into Sergeant Henke’s “palace,” a small room at the far end of the squad bay.
"Do you believe in the Virgin Mary?" the Sergeant barked at him.
Dan hesitated, knowing it had to be a trick question. Any answer might be wrong, and he knew the Sergeant would have a party if he reversed himself.The recruits were allowed to attend religious services in the faith of their choice, because religious services are specified in the beautiful, full-color brochures distributed to Mom and Dad back in hometown America. But the Sergeant had assured them that the Marine Corps must come before God and had disdainfully referred to Sunday services as a magic show.
"You little maggot," The Sergeant said, his fist punctuating each word in Dan’s stomach.
Dan continued to stand at attention, heels locked, eyes front, swallowing groans, trying not to flinch.
"You make me want to vomit, scumbag. You goddamn heathen. You better sound off that you love the Virgin Mary or I'm going to stomp your guts out." Sergeant Henke’s face was about one inch from Dan’s left ear. "You do love the Virgin Mary, don't you, Private Girly-Man? Speak!"
"SIR, YES, SIR! I LOVE THE VIRGIN MARY, SIR." I’m an effing Catholic, Dan thought to himself as he waited to be ordered into the head. The shower stall was where the Sergeant took the recruits he wanted to hurt. Almost every day recruits were marched into the head with the Sergeant and, because the deck in the shower stall is wet, they accidentally fell down.
"What did you say?"
"SIR, RECRUIT MANGAN SAID, 'YES, SIR!' SIR!"
"Have you seen the light? The white light? The great light? The guiding light--do you have the vision?"
White light? Dan was confused. Was he talking about his religious beliefs or the Corps? "SIR, AYE-AYE, SIR!"
"You can give your heart to Jesus but your ass belongs to the Corps, Private." Dan didn’t respond to that piece of information.
"Who's your squad leader, scumbag?"
"SIR, THE PRIVATE'S SQUAD LEADER IS RECRUIT CARTER, SIR!"
"Carter, front and center." He yelled out the door.
Carter ran down the center of the squad bay and snapped to attention in front of the Sergeant. "AYE-AYE, SIR!"
"Carter, you're fired. Recruit Girly-Man is promoted to squad leader."
Carter hesitated. "AYE-AYE, SIR!"
"Go!”
Carter did an about-face and ran back down the squad bay, snapping to attention in front of his rack.
Dan hesitated, then spoke, "SIR, THE RECRUIT REQUESTS PERMISSION TO SPEAK TO THE DRILL INSTRUCTOR!"
"Speak."
"SIR, THE RECRUIT DOES NOT WANT TO BE A SQUAD LEADER, SIR!"
The Sergeant put his fists on his hips and sighed. "Nobody wants to lead, maggot, but somebody has to. You got the brains; you got the balls, so you get the job. The Marine Corps is not a mob like the Army. Marines die--that's what we're here for--but the Marine Corps will live forever, because every Marine is a leader when he has to be."
The Sergeant strutted back out into the squad bay. "Okay, ladies!"
Dan jogged back to his rack and froze, waiting for the Sergeant to snap out his last order of the day.
"Prepare to mount....Ready...MOUNT!" The recruits quickly climbed into their racks and laid on their backs, at attention, and recited the so-called prayer taught to them by the Sergeant.
I am a United States Marine Corps recruit. I serve in the forces which guard my country and my way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense, so help me God...GUNG HO! GUNG HO! GUNG HO!
“Goodnight, Chesty Puller.”
Honey stood in front of the long mirror, staring at her reflection. She glanced over her shoulder at the rear and, seeing no obvious flaws, she decided to buy her second scandalously tiny bikini in two days. As he’d promised, David had called that morning to invite her to spend the day with him. While Madeleine had seemed somewhat better, she was still in bed, so Honey had quickly agreed to his plans to drive to the party at a villa. He’d arranged to borrow a car and would meet her in the hotel lobby. He told her to be sure to bring a swimsuit since the villa had a private beach, as well as a pool.
Honey quickly took off the suit and put her skirt and blouse back on. She stepped out of the dressing room and headed across the boutique, then hesitated when she saw a dress she had tried on the day before. Despite the sales clerk’s insistence that it was perfect for her, she feared then that it was too daring. But she felt very daring now. “Why not?” she thought as she grabbed the dress. Who knew when she’d have another opportunity to make a man’s eyes pop?
Honey saw David waiting when she came through the hotel lobby, but she stood and pretended to keep looking, enjoying the heads turning to stare at the statuesque young woman in a white sundress and long silk multi-colored scarf. David hadn’t recognized her at first, but once he did, he ran over to her.
“My gosh, Honey,” he gasped as he took the small bag she carried. “You are…that dress…”
Honey offered her arm and allowed him to lead her outside and over to a small two-seat, red sports car. “Is this your car?” She stopped suddenly. “This is just like…is this yours?”
“It’s not mine. I borrowed it from my friend. Rich got a ride out to the villa and…” He stopped mid-sentence. Honey was running around the car looking at it.
“This is exactly like the one Elizabeth Taylor drove in BUtterfield 8!” she exclaimed. I LOVED that movie and I LOVED her car. I’ve never seen one up close before!” She rubbed her hand across the passenger door. “It is a Sunbeam, isn’t it?” She turned to David, who was now laughing.
“Yes, it is. I’d offer to let you drive, but it’s not mine and the roads…Maybe after we get to the party, you can ask…”
“Oh, no! I wasn’t suggesting…I just...
David opened the door and she got in. He jogged around to the other side, dropped her bag behind the seat and got in. “Do you have something to cover your hair?”
Honey took the scarf from around her neck and covered her hair, as he started up the car. “This is such fun!” she called out as he pulled away.
The two laughed and made small talk as David maneuvered the small car over the winding road from Cannes to Antibes. Honey was surprised when he slowed and turned into a steep and narrow drive. “We’re here already? I thought Cap d’Antibes was further.”
David laughed. “It’s no more than fourteen kilometers. That’s…what is it? Eight, nine miles?”
“I have no idea.” Honey laughed as he parked behind a Citroen. She waited while David came around and opened the car door for her. “I’m…Will I be out of place? This place is…”
“The people are renting it for the summer. He’s a big producer in New York and his wife…well, I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard she’s…she’s young and…” He winked at Honey as he offered his arm.
“A bimbo?”
David laughed heartily. “I said I’ve never met her. We’ll wait to make judgment. But Rich…Rich is my friend. We’ve collaborated on work before. Rich has met both of them and he’s insistent that if we’re ever going to get anyone to back a musical for us, we need to take every opportunity to schmooze. Who knows who might be at this party? And I couldn’t miss the opportunity to come with someone as…as exquisite as you, Honey Wheeler.”
“It’s easy to see why you’re a song writer, David. You do have a way with words.” Honey laughed as he rapped on the door.
“I only write the music. Rich is the lyricist.”
A maid opened the door. “Monsieur Meier et Mademoiselle Wheeler.” David offered as she stepped back and opened it wider so they could enter.
Honey stepped into an impressive entry.
“I don’t believe my eyes!” A tall blonde hurried across the gallery, her heels clicking against the marble floor. “Honey? Honey Wheeler? Is it really you?”
Trixie walked into the meeting room and took a seat in the back corner. This wasn’t the first department briefing she’d attended and she felt confident that, like the others, she’d be treated as if she were invisible. She waited for the police officers to come in and fill the other seats. A few nodded in her direction, but most were oblivious to her presence. Word had gotten out about her work on the Sparta Stripper, but she still was treated with suspicion and, too often, as a poor joke. Despite Captain Molinson’s encouragement and support over the summer, there still was no room for a woman at the Sleepyside police department; except for the two secretaries, of course. While she’d been little more than a third secretary all summer, at least she had been allowed to review case files and sit in on meetings regarding the Sparta Stripper.
The Sparta Stripper. Maybe that was why the Chief had called this meeting. Why else would he want her to be present? Trixie sat up in the chair, hoping they had a break in her…she corrected herself…the case.
The Captain entered the room, followed by the Chief and an unfamiliar man in a suit that appeared too large. The Captain sat in the front row, while the other two men remained standing. The room quickly quieted and the Chief began by introducing the gentlemen as Deputy Assistant Commissioner Klewe from the London Metropolitan Police Services.
“Most of you yokels know that as Scotland Yard.” The Captain paused to allow for the expected laughter before he continued. “Some of you may know that our intern,” he nodded towards Trixie, “who discovered unusual coincidences between a series of old murders in Sleepyside and those described in an article in the London Sun-Times. Commissioner Klewe’s office has been in charge of the investigation of the London crimes and he is here to see if we have anything that might assist them. Some of you may be familiar with the Sleepyside crimes—several unsolved murders of four nude or partially-clothed bodies of young women who had been found either floating in or along the banks of Sparta Creek. They lasted over a two year period, with the last body found almost ten years ago. It appeared that they were all committed by the same perp that someone dubbed the Sparta Stripper. Earlier this summer a body was found in Martin’s Marsh that may or may not be related. The London police have been baffled over the past few years by a series of remarkably similar murders and we’re going to see if they could be related.
“The Commissioner will be here for the next few days. He’ll be working closely with Detectives Bailey and Spencer, but I expect each and every one of you to assist in whatever way you are asked and to make him as comfortable and welcome as possible.” He turned to his guest. “Would you like to say anything, Commissioner Klewe?”
After Commissioner Klewe shared that he looked forward to working with them, they were dismissed. Trixie was waiting to file out when the Chief called her over.
“Everett, this is the intern who first discovered the possible connection, Beatrix Belden.” Commissioner Klewe looked surprised to see that it was a young woman. “Miss Belden,” he quickly recovered and shook her proffered hand. “Could you tell me how you…”
“It really was luck, Commissioner. I happened to see the composite sketch in a recent edition of the London paper and saw incredible similarities to a sketch in our files. After searching a few other London papers for articles about the crimes, I saw the similarities, so I shared what I’d found with the Captain.” Trixie nodded at Captain Molinson.
“I wanted to know more about the crimes than just similarities in appearance, but I’m just an intern.” Trixie clarified. “I was surprised at what I found, but I also know that the papers can exaggerate and they never have all the…
”She did some terrific research, just using old newspapers.” Captain Molinson interrupted.
“Yes, I suppose.” Commissioner Klewe turned to the Chief, dismissing both Trixie and the Captain. “Are we to meet with those inspectors now?”
“Rude, don’t you think?” Captain Molinson commented once the Chief and Commissioner Klewe were out of the room. “Klewe. Can you believe that is really his name?” They both laughed. “Don’t pay heed to his behavior. You’ve really impressed the Chief, you know.”
Trixie shook her head. “Do you think…?”
“He’s not ready to hire a woman as a regular officer. But we have an opening in dispatch and he’d like you to take it.”
“I have school.”
“Let me finish, Trixie. It’s part-time. No benefits; just an hourly wage, but considerably more than the minimum wage you’re making now. You’ll get paid $1.80 per hour to start and it will be increased to $1.98 once you complete training; twenty hours each week. You’d be working Saturdays 4:00 pm to 4:00 am, and Sundays 4:00 pm to midnight. Our calls are covered by the county between midnight and 6:00 am on Mondays.”
“Real police work? Are you kidding? When do I start?” Trixie could barely stand still for her excitement.
“Wait! You need to understand that it’s not real police work. The dispatcher is a critical part of our work, but you can NOT get involved in the action…no matter what you might hear over the radio or how tempting it might be. You would be providing a critical lifeline to those in the field and I think it would be a great opportunity for you to see how things operate—much better than you’ve been able to see this summer. It’s also imperative that you stay awake and alert over night, no matter how slow things might be. Do you think you could handle that? Working all night and then going to school? It won’t give you much opportunity for…for a social life.”
“Captain, I have no social life. All my friends are…I’ll be alone in Sleepyside the entire school year. This could be…this is…it’s perfectly perfect!”
Dan’s platoon had marched over eight miles in full pack and gear through the swamps for an overnight bivouac. He had been dreading this test of survival skills and endurance, but was pleasantly surprised that he was barely sore when they were ordered to stop and make camp near the area of the Ribbon Creek Massacre, where six recruits drowned during a disciplinary night march in 1956.
Once the tents were pitched, they were put through a series of survival skills that simulated conditions they might endure in Vietnam. To date, Dan had excelled at almost every test and challenge and he was determined to do the same in this most important test of instincts, as well as skills. Running track and cross country for three seasons in high school and spending countless hours chopping firewood and doing chores for Mr. Maypenny had ensured that he was in excellent physical condition when he arrived at Paris Island; although he still had to build even more stamina and upper body strength to meet the standards set by the Drill Instructors over the past several weeks. He had earned a CWS 1, the highest level of water skills, qualified as an Expert in marksmanship on the rifle range, aced all of his written tests, and been named Squad Leader.
But Dan knew the Senior DI had him in the crosshairs, perhaps because he had excelled, but more likely to ensure that Dan understood team work and humility. The Sergeant didn’t know how his experiences as a member of the Bob-Whites in Sleepyside had guaranteed that he maintained those assets, as well.
It was starting to get dark when the Sergeant ordered Dan to climb a willow tree. Currently the best marksmen in his squad, he was told he had to prove he was worthy of that honor and act as a sniper. Fearing the thin tree wouldn’t support him, Dan hesitated, but the Sergeant bellowed out a string of profanities, ordering him to climb up and shoot at members of the platoon. Dan began climbing, certain the tree would never hold his weight and, settling on the sturdiest limb he could find, looked to see if he could find other recruits hiding in the dense underbrush. The Sergeant ordered that if he saw a recruit well enough to name him, the recruit would be dead.
The platoon began to “attack”, crawling through the muck and thick underbrush. Dan spotted a face and yelled, "HAMER!" and Hamer fell down, pretending to be dead. He then yelled, “SIMPSON!” and Simpson fell down.
The rest of the platoon scattered as Dan scanned the underbrush for others. Finally, he saw a face peeping through a shadow. He had just started to open his mouth when the sagging branch cracked and he fell, landing flat on his back on the sandy ground below.
A recruit they called Cowboy stood over him. "Bang, bang, you're dead, Mangan," he pointed his gun at Dan and then laughed.
The Sergeant stepped up and stared down at Dan, who tried to catch his breath and explain that the limb broke. "You can't talk, sniper. You are dead. Private Cowboy just took your life."
The Sergeant then promoted Cowboy to squad leader and ordered him to lead the squad as they waded through the marsh in close formation, chanting:
Hey, Marine, have you heard?
Hey, Marine...
L.B.J. has passed the word.
Hey, Marine...
Say good-bye to Dad and Mom.
Hey, Marine...
You're gonna die in Viet Nam.
Hey, Marine, yeah!
“Bitsy.” Honey cringed as the young woman stepped forward and offered an air kiss.
“How are you, Honey? Imagine seeing you here? Why, you fell off the edge of the earth after…”
Bitsy looked at David and smiled. “You’re David Meier, aren’t you? Rich’s friend?” She offered her hand and David shook it, despite her obviously expecting him to kiss it. “How did you ever meet the meek little Honey Wheeler? She’s always been afraid of her own shadow.” Bitsy shook her head in mock disbelief.
“Well, please, come in, both of you.” Bitsy turned and motioned them to follow her. “There’s plenty to eat and drink. A few are enjoying the pool or the beach.” She stopped and turned. “If I recall, you were quite the swimmer, weren’t you, Honey? Or are you afraid of that too, now? Well, we do enjoy the water here, but I think most of us…well, you’ll see. You do need to check out the beach.”
“David, I do hope you’ll play for us sometime this afternoon. Bill is just dying to hear some of your work. You’ll have to excuse me. We’re expecting a houseful and I’m using temporary help. What a nightmare! There’s the bar. Ta…” Bitsy walked away as she pointed to a bar set up on the patio.
David laughed heartily. “So, you know Betsy?”
“Her name’s Bitsy, not Betsy,” Honey corrected.
David laughed even harder. “So tell me, how do you know the young Mrs. Stanley?”
Honey tried to smile, but couldn’t. Bitsy Stanley, nee Willingham, had been two years ahead of her in boarding school and had been one of her worst tormentors, especially after she’d become ill. Even if Bitsy had grown past her days as a bully, there was no way Honey would be able to relax and enjoy the afternoon. “Boarding school. She was…we…”
“You were certainly right about the bimbo part…but I’d have a few other choice words to describe her too. I take it you weren’t friends.”
Honey shook her head. “She…I was meek little Honey back then…but…I...”
“You grew up to be a real knock-out. And the last thing I would call you is meek.” David squeezed her arm lightly. “Don’t worry. If it gets too uncomfortable…”
“David?” They were interrupted by a pleasant young couple and older, balding man. “We were beginning to fear you weren’t coming.” The young woman hugged him.
“This is Honey; Honey Wheeler.” David interrupted. “Honey, this shady looking character is my friend and lyricist, Rich Black and his wife, Barbara.” He hesitated before introducing the older man.
“Bill Stanley.” He offered his hand to David and then to Honey. “I hear that you already know Bitsy?”
“Yes. We went to school…”
“David, he interrupted. “Bitsy is absolutely insistent that you play the piano this afternoon and I understand you and Rich have some wonderful original work…I’d love to hear some of it. Would you mind?”
It might have been phrased as a question, but it was not a request. David nodded to Honey, as he and Rich were led away.
“I’m sorry he has to leave you alone, Honey.” Barbara watched as the three men walked away. “He may not be a household name, but Bill Stanley is one of the most prominent producers on Broadway. Rich and David can’t miss this opportunity to have him hear some of their work.”
“David said something about that. I…I certainly understand.” Honey looked around, wondering what she should do. After speaking politely to Barbara for a while, she made her way over to the bar. She was thirsty and knew it wouldn’t hurt to have a cocktail if she were going to be dealing with Bitsy. At least Bitsy’s Briar Hall roommate, Alexis Hershey, wasn’t here, too. Alexis was a bigger bully than Bitsy.
Waiting at the bar, Honey overheard a lady order a Long Island Iced Tea. She didn’t have a clue what that might be, but decided iced tea would be refreshing and she ordered the same.
Bitsy Willingham had always been at the top of the list of people from boarding school she hoped to never see again. Her anticipation of a fun afternoon with a congenial and handsome young man had been destroyed. She took the tall glass from the bartender and took a sip, thinking that, perhaps, Bitsy had gotten exactly what she deserved. Bill Stanley seemed nice enough and he definitely had money. But he was fat, and… She choked on the potent drink and looked around to see if anyone noticed. The drink tasted awful, but, unfamiliar with the taste of hard liquor, she tried small sips until she got used to the taste. Heaven forbid if she appeared unsophisticated in front of Bitsy Willingham Stanley.
Honey made small talk with other guests while enjoying the piano music wafting from the house, and eventually allowed a young man to get her a second drink. She continued to take small sips while exploring the area
There were a few people sunbathing around the pool, but most of the guests coming from the pool house went through a gate in the stone wall surrounding the pool area and down some stairs. Curious about where the stairs headed, Honey walked past the pool house and towards the gate.
“Could you imagine my shock? Of all people; little Miss Milquetoast, Honey Wheeler.”
Bitsy was in the pool house talking to someone. Honey stopped and listened.
“Honey Wheeler? I would have thought she’d be dead or locked away in some asylum by now. Why, she was scared of everything. And she was starving herself to death in school! Is she married? Or did she tag along with her mother? The Harts are well-known along the…”
“She came in with David Meier. You know the song writer? I wonder how she met someone as hot as him.”
“Hot? How can you say that? I think…with a name like Meier, he must be a JEW!”
Bitsy laughed. “I didn’t think of that. Imagine! The daughter of Madeleine Hart Wheeler with a Jew? I can’t wait to tell my mother.”
“I hope you managed one of your terrific put-downs. She always pretended to be shy but I think she just thought she was too good to be around the rest of us. My mother always said the Harts…”
“Oh, I’ll come up with something! I did encourage her to swim!”
The other woman laughed. “Do you really think she would?”
“Who knows?” There was some whispering and then Bitsy laughed cruelly. “Are you ready?”
Afraid she might be seen if she walked back past the pool house, Honey opened the gate and headed down steep stairs that wrapped around the rear of the pool house and down the rocky cliffs to a small beach area. She stopped suddenly when she came around the corner and saw the people sunning on the beach.
Trixie had teased her about the topless beaches, but hadn’t said anything about nude beaches. These people were completely nude! Honey turned and started to head back up the stairs when she saw Bitsy and another woman coming down. While they both wore short robes, it was obvious they had nothing on underneath. Seeing her, they waved excitedly and hurried down the steps.
Honey immediately recognized Bitsy’s roommate from Briar Hall and tried to summon the strength to face her two former antagonists. Bitsy offered another air kiss. “Honey, you remember Alexis, don’t you? From Briar Hall?”
Honey nodded. “How are you Alexis? Are you on holiday, too?”
“I’m here with my fiancé. You might know him.” She named a man that Honey knew to be a business associate of her father’s.
“Of course. If you’ll excuse me, I was just heading back up….ah, David….”
Bitsy immediately blocked her way. “Please, Honey, you must join us on the beach.”
Honey pulled away. “My things…I have a bag up in…” She looked up the stairs, hoping someone would come down and interrupt them.
“Now, what would you need that you don’t already have? We have plenty of lotions and one of the maids will bring you a towel or anything else you might want.”
“You can see that you don’t need a suit,” Alexis added. “Honey, you aren’t going to get all prudish on us, are you?” She turned and walked over to where there were several empty chairs. “We’re all friends here. We have nothing to hide.” She set the magazine she carried on the chair and took off her robe.
Honey stood frozen, feeling as if she were twelve again. “I’m…I’m…I can’t join you.” She hurried back up the stairs.
She opened the gate and ran right into David. “Honey!” I was looking for you. I hope…Are you okay?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her inside the walled patio. “You look…”
Honey smiled weakly. “I…I’m fine.” She looked back over her shoulder. “I…I’m just a little winded from climbing the steps.”
The gate opened and Honey quickly pulled David to her and kissed him. “Your piano playing was…” She whispered before molding her body into his and kissing him again. Surprised by her sudden passion David gladly responded.
“Wow!” He finally pulled away. “What prompted that?”
Checking to make sure that Alexis and Bitsy were nowhere around, Honey stepped away. “I…don’t know. I’m sorry. That was…”
David pulled her close again. “I wish…I can’t leave yet.” He pushed a lock of hair back from her face and kissed her.
Honey pulled away. “Later? Yes, later. Of course. Meanwhile, could you get me a drink? A Long Island Iced Tea would be nice.
Thursday, August 25, 1967
Live from our newsroom in Washington,
it’s Walter Cronkite with the news…Dan Rather reporting from Arlington,
Virginia, and Bernard Kalb reporting from Saigon.
Good evening. American Nazi
Party leader, George Lincoln Rockwell has been assassinated. Rockwell was
leaving a Laundromat near Party Headquarters when he was shot and killed by a
rooftop sniper.
A major air battle has taken place between the
Vietnam People's Air Force (VPAF) and the United States Air Force (USAF). The
air battle took place over the skies of North Vietnam as part of what military
leaders have dubbed Operation Rolling Thunder.
“RISE AND SHINE, MAGGOTS!”
Dan sat up and tried to open his eyes, but was blinded by the bright, overhead lighting.
“Out of those racks, maggots.”
The recruits grabbed their rifles and stood beside their racks, waiting to see what torture they would face. The Sergeant ordered them to run double-time around the squad bay in their skivvies. He then ordered them to grab their crotches with their left hand and weapons in their right hands, chanting: This is my rifle, this is my gun; one is for fighting and one is for fun.
He next ordered them to turn and run double-time in the opposite direction, this time chanting, I don't want no teen-aged queen; all I want is my M-14.
After what seemed an eternity, he ordered them to stand at attention at their racks again.
“Let’s hear it, maggots!” the Sergeant bellowed.
Dan shouldered his rifle and joined the other recruits in reciting:
This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My rifle is my best friend.
My rifle and I know that what counts in this
war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burse, nor the smoke we make.
We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit.
My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my
life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its
strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will ever
guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my
legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my rifle clean
and ready. We will become a part of each other. We will.
Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and
I are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the
saviors of my life.
So be it, until victory is America’s and there
is no enemy.
Diana turned off Glen Road, drove through the gated entrance and up the driveway towards Manor House. Once Honey returned to New York, she’d gone directly to Sleepyside, anxious to see her friends and share all that had happened in Europe. Once she’d slept off her exhaustion from jet lag and the long trans-Atlantic flight, she’d called Trixie and Diana to invite them to a sleep-over, just like they’d enjoyed so many times over the years.
Honey and Trixie came running down the steps as she pulled into the parking area on the side of the house. She was literally pulled from the car by her friends.
The three girls jumped up and down, hugging each other and talking excitedly. “How was France? Did you get the job? Did you get the card I sent? When’s Mart coming home? I can’t wait to show you…When are you...”
Diana grabbed a small bag from her car and followed her friends into the house. They first went up to Honey’s room where they finally calmed down. Trixie was sprawled on her stomach on one of the beds while Honey showed Diana some of the new designer outfits hanging in her closet.
“Are you going to spend the entire evening looking at clothes?” Trixie moaned.
Diana sat on the other bed facing Trixie and Honey leaned against a dresser. “So, have you heard from Dan?” Honey asked.
Trixie sat up and hung her legs over the side of the bed. “I haven’t told you about my new job. I start next week; a twelve hour shift on Saturdays and eight on Sundays. As a dispatcher! Molinson said I won’t be leaving the radio room but I’ll still be…Isn’t that neat?”
Honey looked over and raised her eyebrows inquisitively at Diana, who mouthed, “Later.”
“Mart comes home for good on Tuesday.” Diana tried to change the subject. She knew that Trixie would tell Honey about Jim and Dan and her resolution to stay away from all men, but she also knew that Trixie needed to talk about it when she was ready.
“I swear; the time he spends at camp gets longer and longer each summer. But once he’s home, we have two whole weeks free until we go back to school. At least he does. I’ll still be working part-time at the museum and then I have to go back a week before him, but I’m really hoping he will go up to Ithaca when I do. Can you believe that we’re all sophomores this year? And Mart is a junior! Wizened old upper classmen! Where does the time go?”
Honey laughed at how obvious it was that Diana was trying to steer the conversation away from Trixie’s summer experiences.
“There are a whole lot of munchies in the pantry downstairs. Why don’t we change into our pajamas and go foraging?”
She pulled a pair of baby doll pajamas from a drawer and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Diana and Trixie glanced at each other. The girls had never been bashful about changing in front of each other.
Honey came out of the bathroom just as they were pulling their pajamas out of their bags. “Ready? She leaned over to pull her slippers out from under the bed. “I am starved.”
“Honey?” Diana leaned over to look more closely at Honey’s back. “I didn’t realize what a great tan you have. “Did you get that on the Riviera?” She looked more closely. “You don’t have any tan lines!”
Honey quickly stood up and backed away. “My mother had a migraine attack when we were in Cannes and I spent most of my time on the beach.”
“What kind of swimsuit did you wear?” Diana stepped closer. “Honey, your chest…your boobs are blistered. Is that sun burn?
“You didn’t go to one of those topless beaches, did you?” Trixie asked.
“Did you?” Diana gasped. “Did you go topless?”
Honey opened the door to the hallway. “I’ll tell you all about Cannes when Trixie tells me about Dan. But I want to eat first.”
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