The Mystery at Blackwater Falls

Part Four

Author’s notes:

In Part Three, the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency attempted to figure out the meaning the mysterious numbers they’d found on the Trail Guide. So far, they haven’t had any luck, but Schoolgirl Shamuses, Inc. has no intentions of giving up on the case. Trixie finds the resort’s van driver very suspicious, especially when she sees him speaking to the man in the plaid shirt. Join the Bob-Whites now as they head to Smoke Hole Caverns.

Trixie impatiently blew an errant sandy curl out of her eyes as she waited for her turn to board the resort’s van. For the millionth time in her life, she wished that she wasn’t so curious. It’s not like I try to find mysteries, she mused with an inward sigh. The boys would understand that, though. They think I advertise in the personal columns for all these mysterious adventures we accidentally find…

“C’mon, Trixie!” a chorus of voices called from inside the van, drawing the petite blonde out of her thoughts.

Jim, ever the Boy Scout, had motioned for her to board the van before him. As she climbed up the vehicle’s steps, she kept one wary eye on Jonathan Darling, the bus driver. The lanky Englishman was scribbling furiously in a tiny notebook which was propped against the steering wheel. She was so consumed with spying on the mysterious fellow that her right foot missed the top step.

“Oomph!” Trixie exclaimed as she landed in a sprawling heap in the aisle.

English Jon looked up from his writing and peered down at her, a concerned look on his weathered face. “Are you injured, pet?”

Her neck reddening, Trixie merely shook her head. Before the driver could bend down to offer some assistance, Jim had come behind her and wrapped his freckled hands around the sandy blonde’s waist, pulling her upright.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. As she walked past the driver’s seat, English Jon hurriedly stuffed the notebook into the pocket of his polo shirt. Although she was dying to know what he’d written, Trixie found a seat. Wanting to spy on the driver without being too obvious, she chose one in the third row from the front, close but not too close.

“Scoot over,” Jim said, gently nudging her arm with his knee.

Her pride still smarting from the spill she’d taken, Trixie shook her head in reply. However, Jim wouldn’t be deterred. Determined to claim the spot beside her, he whispered, “I’m sitting here whether you like it or not, Trix. And until I sit down, this bus isn’t moving.”

“I’m not in the mood for company,” she warned, her cheeks flaming. “Especially smelly, bossy company.”

“C’mon, Trix,” Jim coaxed. “I couldn’t be that stinky. Bossy, maybe; stinky, no. Now scoot over.”

Trixie sighed wearily. “Can’t you take a hint? I’m grumpy, and I don’t want company of any kind.”

“That’s okay,” he retorted, a crooked grin parting his lips. “I’m a big boy; I can handle your grumpiness.”

Trixie glanced over at him. From her vantage point she had a spectacular view of his washboard stomach, defined by the form-fitting hunter green T-shirt he wore. She quickly averted her gaze from his muscular physique; she knew certainly well that he was a big boy, but now wasn’t the time to study Jim’s chiseled abs.

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” she asked.

“Nope,” the redhead replied cheerfully.

Trixie exhaled noisily but slid closer to the window so he could sit down beside her. “You do realize that you’re a real pain in the butt?”

“Yep,” Jim answered in a tone just as cheerful as before. He planted a Cheshire grin on his face while he shifted around in the seat, making himself comfortable.

A voice from the back of the van prohibited the pair from continuing their conversation.

“Excuse me, English Jon,” Diana spoke up, “but do you have a Band-Aid or something? I have a blister on my foot.”

“Why yes, I do,” the driver replied. He reached over to open the glove compartment and pulled out a first-aid kit. He turned around and handed it to Jim. “Kindly pass this back to Miss Taylor.”

“Her name is Diana,” Trixie corrected tersely.

English Jon grinned, not appearing insulted in the least. “Is it, now? Well, a bus-driving bloke as myself rarely has time to learn each of his passengers’ names. I have to improvise every now and again.”

The jolly Brit glanced back at Di, who was allowing Brian, in spite of his current state of smelliness, to come close enough to practice his first-aid skills on her blistered foot. The bus driver turned back to Trixie and winked. “And you may not agree, but in my humble opinion, your Diana bears an uncanny resemblance to a young Elizabeth Taylor, what with the ebony hair and violet eyes. So, as far as I’m concerned, henceforth she shall be dubbed Miss Taylor.”

Trixie merely rolled her eyes in exasperation and shifted her attention to the view outside the bus window. Much to her relief, Jonathan Darling began straightening the contents of the glove box that had shifted when he removed the first-aid kit.

Jim curiously studied his favorite detective. “Blackwater Falls sure was pretty,” he commented nonchalantly in an effort to distract her from her troubles. “I think this is shaping up to be a fun trip.”

Trixie remained silent, only nodding in agreement.

“I like how this area isn’t commercialized,” Jim went on, shifting nervously in his seat. “It’s so quiet and peaceful. I’ll bet it’d be really beautiful in the fall.” He’d raised a hand and was getting ready to place it on Trixie’s arm just as Honey reached over the seat and handed him the first-aid kit.

“Jim, can you pass this back up to the front?” she asked.

“Sure.” He handed the white box up to the bus driver and returned his attention to Trixie. Over the years, he’d practically made a hobby out of watching her, and it was obvious to him that something was wrong with his special girl. Before he could question her, an announcement was made from the front.

“Are we all seated and ready for departure?” English Jon questioned. A chorus of “yeses” came from the back. “If you shall be so kind as to give me the name of our next destination, we shall be off.”

“Smoke Hole Caverns,” Dan called out.

English Jon looked up in his rearview mirror at Trixie. “Any objections, miss?” he teasingly inquired, his brown eyes twinkling merrily.

Trixie scowled, making sure to keep her gaze fastened outside. “Fine with me.”

English Jon laughed heartily. “Then to Smoke Hole we shall go. Estimated time of arrival is approximately forty minutes.” After turning around to tip his golf hat teasingly at Trixie, he shifted the bus into drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

A loud clearing-of-the-throat came from the middle of the vehicle. “Perchance is there a victual venue in close proximity to the concavity to which we sojourn?”

“If Shakespeare here is asking if it’s lunchtime,” Dan quipped, “then I second the motion. I’m hungry, too.”

English Jon glanced at the clock on the dashboard of the bus. “It is almost time for noon tea. I know a quaint little diner called the Shawnee that’s on our way, if the rest of your party approves.”

It was quickly decided that the group would stop for lunch on the way to Smoke Hole Caverns.

“On our way out of the resort, I’ll stop at the other overlook so you can get another view of the waterfall,” English Jon announced.

True to his word, the bus driver pulled over to a wide spot in the road and let his passengers unload. The Bob-Whites walked over to the handicap-accessible overlook and admired a more distant view of Blackwater Falls.

View from the handicap-accessible overlook

Once everyone got back on the van, English Jon pulled back onto the main road. It didn’t take him long to exit the resort, allowing his passengers plenty of time to converse. It wasn’t long until the quiet hum of conversation filled the vehicle.

Trixie, usually one of the chattiest Bob-Whites, leaned her forehead against the window as she looked outside.

Jim bumped his elbow against her arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she muttered sadly. She kept her focus on the quickly passing scenery so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye.

“Did you hurt your knee when you fell earlier?”

“I said I was okay,” she answered testily.

Jim leaned forward in the seat to study Trixie’s face. “You don’t sound okay. You’re not crying, are you?”

Trixie sighed loudly as she turned to face Jim. “No, I’m not crying.”

“Then why are you looking out the window?” he prodded.

“Maybe because I wanted to sit by myself and don’t feel like talking to anyone.” Trixie exhaled noisily once more, her face downcast with shame. She hadn’t meant to sound so snippy, but apparently her words came out harsher than she intended. The obvious hurt she’d seen in Jim’s eyes stung her conscious, as well as her heart.

“I’m sorry, Jim,” she apologized softly, hooking her arm through his. “I sure am lousy company today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jim smiled and patted her hand. “You’re not lousy company, Shamus. Everybody has a bad day once in a while. Now tell me what’s bothering you.”

Trixie wrinkled her nose. “You aren’t going to accuse me of having PMS, are you?”

“Of course not,” he replied with a chuckle. “Now, talk to the Jim-meister.”

“The ‘Jim-meister’?” Trixie repeated, giggling in spite of herself. “Well, at least you didn’t call yourself ‘Uncle Jim’. That really creeped me out.”

“Why?” Jim’s emerald gaze lingered longingly on her dimpled mouth.

Trixie drew a hesitant breath. Her pulse surged as she mustered a healthy helping of courage. “Well, I guess I that I hoped—”

Before she could admit her feelings, she was interrupted by a squeal. A second later, an object bonked Trixie on the head, landing in her lap.

“Sorry, Trix,” Honey apologized with a laugh. “Brian’s trying to sit by me so he can make me smell his stinky pits, so I hurled my camera case at him. I guess I missed.”

Trixie rubbed the top of her head, feigning injury. “Oy vey! I think I have a concussion.”

Honey leaned over the seat and snatched the case out of her friend’s lap. “At least I took my camera out before I threw the case,” she pointed out with a saucy grin.

“Yeah,” Trixie agreed as her tawny-haired friend sat back down in her seat. Once the shrieks behind her resumed, Trixie looked back up at Jim. “So… what were we talking about?”

“Umm… I think I just asked you what was wrong.” Jim’s voice quavered as he met her gaze.

“Oh, yeah,” she mumbled. Trixie curled her fists tightly in an attempt to squelch her disappointment. After a sigh of resignation, she answered Jim’s earlier question. “Somebody’s getting on my nerves, and it’s making me grumpy.”

“It’s not me, is it?”

Although she wanted to admit that she was a little annoyed with him for avoiding the subject of their “special” relationship, Trixie shook her head. “No, it’s him.” She looked pointedly towards the front of the van.

“English Jon?” Jim exclaimed in disbelief.

“Shhh!” Trixie hissed. “I don’t want him to hear you.”

Jim tilted his head closer to her, making sure to speak in a whisper. “He couldn’t hear you over that noisy engine, Trix. So, what’d English Jon do to get on your bad side?”

“You mean you haven’t noticed?” Trixie practically bellowed.

“Shhh!” Jim mimicked. “I thought you didn’t want him to hear.”

With a rueful chuckle, Trixie slugged his stomach with the back of her fist and stuck her tongue out at him. “You haven’t noticed how he’s picking on me?”

“He’s just teasing you,” Jim said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But if it’s really bothering you, I could ask him to stop.”

“No.” Although her voice was quiet, her tone was firm.

“Are you sure?” Jim lifted a skeptical ginger brow. “I could just—”

“No,” Trixie repeated icily. “I’ll handle it my own way.”

“I don’t think he’s trying to be mean, Trix,” Jim told her. “Some guys get a kick out of teasing people. He probably knows he’s getting your goat, and is enjoying it. If you pretend that his ribbing doesn’t bother you, I bet he’ll leave you alone.”

Trixie stared straight ahead and kept her gaze focused on the back of English Jon’s head. “Well, there’s something about him that I don’t like. He talks funny.”

“You’re just irritated because he speaks so properly. He probably reminds you of Mart.”

“That’s not it,” Trixie disagreed. She aimlessly twirled a curl around her index finger as she pondered Jim’s comment. “It’s his accent.”

Jim hooted with laughter. “What do you expect? English Jon is from Great Britain, Trix. He’s not going to have a southern drawl.”

Trixie frowned as she allowed the curl she was twirling to spring off her finger and then absentmindedly rewound it. “His accent could be phony, you know.”

“He sounds exactly like every other Englishman I’ve ever heard speak,” Jim observed.

“Maybe he’s a good actor.”

Jim smiled down at her. “Shamus, you know I’d believe you if you said there was a shark in the Hudson.” He grinned mischievously at her menacing glare. “But is it possible that since you don’t like English Jon, you’re just trying to find something suspicious about him?”

“Maybe,” she admitted softly. “But there’s something so… so… m—”

“Mysterious about him?” Jim supplied. Trixie nodded in response. He glanced towards the front of the van. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”

Trixie bounced in excitement, landing a few inches closer to the husky redhead beside her. “So you think he could be a criminal, too?”

Jim chuckled as he placed a calming hand on her arm. “Settle down, Trix. I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think he’s mysterious because he’s breaking the law. I think something’s troubling him. Maybe he needs our help.”

“Really?” Trixie wrinkled her freckled nose in surprise. “So you don’t think he’s a cat burglar or maybe a drug dealer?” She gasped dramatically and clutched her sandy curls. “He might even be a serial killer!”

“Does everybody you dislike have to be a thief, a gun smuggler, a kid—”

“All right,” Trixie interrupted hastily. “You’ve made your point.”

Jim gasped in exaggerated surprise. “Are you actually admitting I’m right?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she managed. She paused momentarily, her lips twitching with the struggle of not saying something. Finally, the urge was too great. “Of course, he could be a terrorist—”

Jim tilted his head and looked at her through narrowed green eyes, hoping to stem her exuberance. It must’ve worked because Trixie responded with a weary sigh.

“Okay, I’m stopping,” she conceded. “For now. I’m not giving up for good, though. I’ll be keeping an eagle eye on Mr. Darling, if that’s his real name.”

Jim was silent for a moment, admiring the way Trixie’s china blue eyes brightened when she was agitated, the way her curls shook when she was ranting, the way her flushed cheeks accentuated her peaches and cream complexion. For an instant, his hesitancy took a backseat to his heart. “Maybe you’d be better off keeping your eyes on something else, Shamus.”

Trixie’s golden eyebrows drew together in a crease of puzzlement. “Like what?”

“L-l-like the beautiful scenery,” Jim stuttered, a red heat creeping up from his neck to his earlobes. “Hey, look out there at that rock formation.”

The two gazed out the window in companionable silence. After several minutes, Trixie gently poked Jim in the ribs to get his attention. When his emerald eyes were on her, she smiled at him in her most becoming manner. “Jim?”

“Yes?”

“Please don’t ever refer to yourself as ‘the Jim-meister’ again.” Giggling at the redhead’s insulted expression, Trixie scooched down in the seat and rested her head on his broad shoulder, not even caring about the smell emanating from under his arms.

The van pulled into a parking spot in front of a rustic-looking log cabin. If it hadn’t been for the large sign, nobody would have known the building was a restaurant. On either side of the entrance stood two tall bears carved out of large pine logs which were turned upright. As the group walked to the front door, Brian reached out and patted one.

“Cool,” he murmured appreciatively. “Somebody spent a lot of time on these.”

Jim, an expert in woodworking himself, nodded in agreement. “The craftsmanship is amazing.”

“Let’s just hope they don’t whittle the hamburgers out of cow trees,” Di teased.

Mart patted his empty stomach. “I’m so hungry that I don’t care if the hamburgers are made of bark or cow; I’ll eat whatever they give me.”

The Bob-Whites and English Jon laughed as they walked inside. Although the outside of the restaurant looked like something one would find in the mountain wilderness, the interior was a typical diner. There were several tables situated throughout the room, and pictures of country settings graced the wall. Simple bouquets of freshly-picked daisies had been set in the middle of each table, their sunny centers matching the cheery yellow tablecloths. Although the restaurant wasn’t fancy, it was clean and comfortable; the overall effect was cozy and inviting.

Mart, anxious to appease his growling stomach, led the way to a large table in the middle of the room, and the group quickly found seats. It wasn’t long before a waitress brought them some well-worn menus.

Honey watched as the lanky Brit claimed one of the two-person tables by the window. Feeling sorry for the bus driver, the kindhearted girl impetuously called over to him. “English Jon, why don’t you sit with us?”

Trixie inhaled sharply as she glared over at her best friend. She then looked up at Jim, who was sitting across from her, as he nodded slightly in encouragement.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” English Jon insisted politely.

Mart looked up from the menu he had been intently studying. “You wouldn’t be intruding. In fact, I would count it an honor to dine with such a fine wordsmith as you.”

“And it’s not like we don’t have room,” Di commented. “There’s an extra chair right here by me.”

“Besides,” Dan added with a broad grin, “if Mart bungles the English language too badly, it’d be nice to have an expert who could correct him.”

“What’s all this talk about me ‘bungling’ the Anglo-Saxon lexicon?” Mart muttered under his breath. “First my feminesque sibling, now my choice hail-fellow. I’m truly taken aback by such slanderous invectors.”

“Invectives,” Brian corrected, casting an amused grin at his younger brother. He then turned his attention to Jonathan Darling. “We really need your help here, English Jon. My specialty’s medicine, not language. I just got lucky on that one.”

English Jon looked over at the group a bit longingly. “You young people wouldn’t want to spend time with an ancient chap like me.”

“Why, of course we would!” A blush covered Diana’s high cheekbones as she realized she had practically agreed that he was “an ancient chap”. “I mean, we’d love to eat with you, and you aren’t ancient at all.”

Honey nodded eagerly. “You’re very interesting. We’d love to hear some stories about Great Britain. My family is from there, you know.”

“Is that so? Well then, you must be aware that a proper Englishman never passes up an opportunity to talk about his homeland. Besides, a true etymologist must vaunt his pedantry.” With a grin, Jonathan Darling rose a bit hesitantly and joined the Bob-Whites. He pulled out the empty chair beside Di and sat down.

A waitress came over, and the group placed their orders. While they waited for their food, English Jon told several lively stories about his native country. The rest of the Bob-Whites listened attentively, but Trixie sat back and tried to find any inconsistencies that might prove Jonathan wasn’t really from England. However, much to her disappointment, everything about the mysterious bus driver seemed genuine. She took a sip of her cola as the Brit concluded his latest tale.

“… so I slammed the anchors on and hit me blooming head on the steering wheel just as we pranged our jam jars. The dimmock jumped out of his banger and went totally hatstand like a blithering barmcake! I tried to keep me temper, but with him throwing such a benny, it was quite the challenge.

“I rumbled that the man was a blagger, just coining me for sauce, and that this ‘accident’ was a load of cack. The ol’ plank had a right cob-on when I refused to give even a skerret of money to pay for the damage to his crate’s bonnet, but that shed on wheels was totally clapped out and I knew he was just trying to fiddle me. Frankly, I was feeling a bit cheesed off by the nobber’s jiggery pokery, and would sooner have someone knock ten bells out o’ me than have this muggins nab off with me dosh.

“I found the situation ropey, so I called a Bobby on me moby. The radgie was daft as a bush and disappeared when the rozzer came on the scene in his panda. The barmpot must’ve bottled out for fear of being hauled off to the chokey, and I was well chuffed at the turn of events, if I do say so meself!”

The Bob-Whites howled as English Jon finished his story. Even Trixie joined in the laughter, setting aside her suspicions. Temporarily, of course.

“British slang is so much fun!” Honey exclaimed, wiping a tear away from the corner of her eye. “Just think; we used to call our meetings ‘bevvies’!”

Dan grinned mischievously. “I can’t wait to go back to Sleepyside and tell Mr. Maypenny that an ‘ax’ is a guitar.”

“And I’ll never say my teeth are ‘minty’ fresh ever again,” Di moaned, a grimace clouding her pretty features.

“Well, I still think it’s cool that if I practiced medicine in England, I could write out prescriptions for beans,” Brian commented, chuckling.

A wicked smile parted Mart’s lips. “It’ll definitely be fun calling Bobby a ‘blithering barmcake’. And if it’s not in the dictionary, Moms can’t look it up and ground me when she finds out I’ve called the little twerp something bad.”

“Your mum will skin me!” English Jon exclaimed mournfully.

“Nah, I’ll just convince Bobby that it means something really good,” Mart said good-naturedly. “He’ll never know the difference. Part of the word is ‘cake’, after all, and even Bobby agrees cake is good.”

“I’ll bet it’s hard having a conversation with your American friends,” Jim said. “Even if you use words you both know, they mean something totally different.”

The bus driver nodded thoughtfully. “Very true. I’ve found that it’s easier just to avoid British slang altogether. It keeps me from saying something that would embarrass either myself or the person to whom I’m speaking. For instance, young ones, if you ever visit England and have one of those bags Americans wear around their waists, please don’t refer to them as ‘fanny packs’.”

“Why not?” Honey questioned, her delicate brow furrowed.

The Brit narrowed his eyes and nodded his head. “Just trust me on this one, pet.”

Honey had to giggle at his expression, but thankfully she didn’t press for an explanation.

Trixie cleared her throat. “So… uhhh… English Jon… Have you made lots of friends here?”

Jim looked over and cast a withering glance at the sandy blonde, which she pretended not to notice.

“Friends?” The bus driver repeated, quirky a bushy gray brow. “What do you mean?”

Trixie shrugged her shoulders in a nonchalant manner. “I was just curious if you had made lots of friends during your stay in America.”

“Oh, I’ve made a few, I suppose,” English Jon answered. Abruptly, he stood to his feet and walked off, muttering something about needing to wash his hands.

“Well, that was odd,” Trixie commented, a smug grin parting her lips. However, just then, the waitress brought over their food, and the rest of the Bob-Whites were distracted as their plates were placed in front of them. The rest of the BWGs except for Jim, that is.

“What trail are you following, Belden?” he asked, his voice low.

“None of your beeswax, Frayne,” she retorted, taking a huge bite out of her club sandwich. When the Englishman emerged from the restroom a minute later, both the redhead and the blonde were watching him with renewed interest.

After a leisurely lunch, the group traveled on to Smoke Hole Caverns. English Jon enjoyed a cup of coffee at the snack stand while the Bob-Whites took the forty-five minute tour through the cave. The large caverns, which contained several rooms, were used by the Seneca Indians, both the Union and Confederate troops during the Civil War, and settlers who were making moonshine during Prohibition. The large size of the caves, as well as its secluded setting, made it an ideal hiding place for each of these groups.

The young man acting as their tour guide explained that the caverns got their name from the Seneca Indian tribe who inhabited the entrance to the caves. There, they built fires to cure the wild meat they caught. The smoke from the slow-burning fires would billow out into the surrounding valley, happening so frequently that the settlers named the area Smoke Hole Caverns. In the 1940s, these caves were opened to the public to view and have been enjoyed by tourists ever since.

An old moonshine still, used by early settlers to make corn whiskey, greeted visitors as they entered the caverns. Their tour guide gave a full explanation of how the alcohol was made, and how the fresh water streams in the caverns made Smoke Hole an ideal location for the illegal activity. A trunk belonging to soldiers in the Civil War was placed near the entrance, and the guide explained that the caves were occupied by both sides fighting in the War Between the States.

The Bob-Whites journeyed on into the subterranean world, following a walkway cut out through the vast underground. The air in the caverns, a constant nippy fifty-six degrees, was a welcome respite from the humid temperatures outside.

Amazing formations filled the three-story cavern. As they went across the walkway over the Artesian Spring, helectites defied gravity and grew sideways along the walls of the cave. Soda straw stalactites hung from the ceiling in abundance throughout the cavern. As they walked across the Crystal Cave Coral Pool, found in only one other cave in the world, they saw golden trout swimming in the subterranean pool. Trixie and Honey exchanged an amused smile as the guide explained that the fish could go blind if the park didn’t bring light into the cave a certain amount of time each day.

In the “Room of a Million Stalactites”, the Bob-Whites saw the second highest ceiling of any cavern in the eastern United States, which towered 274 feet above the ground. A perfect column, a rare cave treat, stood in one room and, according to the tour guide, was considered a “phenomenal beauty” by naturalists and speleologists alike.

The glistening White Alaskan Glacier seemed almost supernatural, the Queen’s Canopy was awe-inspiring, and the Flowstone Dome was simply amazing. The flowstone, a primitive water fountain of sorts, was formed by water seeping out from the contorted walls of the cavern and flowing down the sides. It resembled a huge rock that had been molded on a giant potter’s wheel, and out of the top, a stream of fresh water bubbled from a hole. Although the formation was continually growing, the group was able to sample a drink of the pure water flowing from the rock since the natural oils on their hands would be washed away. The water was surprisingly cold, and its taste rivaled anything Perrier could bottle.

One of the formations in Smoke Hole Caverns

The pièce de résistance of Smoke Hole Cavern was the world’s largest ribbon stalactite. It was a huge limestone formation, which weighed in at approximately two-and-a-half tons and measured 13 by 16 feet.

Just a tiny shot of the world’s largest ribbon stalactite in Smoke Hole Caverns.

Once they finished touring the cavern and the wildlife museum, the Bob-Whites gathered at the snack stand for a cold drink.

“Well, I can finally say I’ve been spelunking,” Dan announced with a satisfied grin.

“And you weren’t even afraid of climbing the ladder to the second level,” Honey teased with a wink.

Dan raised a fist in a threatening manner, making all the girls giggle madly. They were well aware of Dan’s protective streak towards each of them and knew he was joking.

“What did you think about the caverns, Di?” Mart asked, remembering that Diana hadn’t been able to go to the Missouri Ozarks with them.

“The formations were absolutely beautiful, and the tour was a lot of fun,” the ebony-haired beauty answered. However, her delicate features were quickly distorted into a grimace. “Well, except for the bats.” Di concluded her statement with a frightened shiver.

“Aw, those bats wouldn’t hurt you, Di,” Jim told her. “They were more afraid of you than you were of them.”

“I doubt that,” Trixie commented under her breath. An evil smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she remembered Di’s hysterical screams when several bats flew past them out of the cave during the tour. Poor Di had dropped to the ground, her arms covering her silky blue-black tresses as she cried for help, until Mart finally assured her that the coast was clear and free from furry, winged creatures.

“It’s not funny, Trixie.” Di raised her chin proudly, her violet eyes sparking with indignation. “I heard the bats’ high-pitched shrieks as they were preparing to attack.”

“Di, sweetie, those high-pitched shrieks were coming from you,” Dan pointed out gently, patting her arm in a consoling manner.

“Oh,” was Di’s thoughtful response. A rueful grin parted her full lips. “No wonder they sounded so close.”

Mart put an arm around Di’s shapely form, looking down at her admiringly. “Never fear, fair Diana. Though the others may scoff, Sir Martin is always here to rescue you from airborne mammals.”

“My hero,” Di gushed dramatically, clasping her hands under her chin.

Amused by Mart and Di’s antics, the rest of the group laughed at the playful pair. Mart obviously adored the ground Di walked on, and Di seemed only too happy to bask in the middle Belden boy’s presence.

“I hate to break this up, but it’s three o’clock,” Brian commented after a quick peek at his watch. “Shouldn’t we get moving if we want to do something else?”

Trixie rolled her sapphire blue eyes in exasperation. “Do you have to have a schedule, Bri?”

“Yes,” her oldest brother replied sternly. He glared over at her, one brow cocked in a studious manner. “Do you have a problem with being organized?”

“We’re on vacation, Bri,” Trixie pointed out with a weary sigh. “We’re not supposed to be organized.”

“A well-planned itinerary is the best kind,” Brian maintained stubbornly, much to the girls’ amusement. “In fact, it should be the only kind of itinerary.”

“You do realize that you aren’t going to get a Bucky Beaver Badge for making us follow a schedule, don’t you?” Di inquired, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.

Brian exhaled loudly to voice his exasperation. “You batty girls have no respect for a meticulously prepared vacation. If it were up to you, we’d spend this whole week dazed and confused.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Honey questioned with a giggle.

“Well, my only suggestion would be that we have dinner sooner or later,” Mart interjected. “Preferably sooner rather than later.”

“As usual, Mart’s thinking with his stomach,” Di teased with a wink to the stocky blond.

“We’re supposed to meet Miss Trask in the restaurant at Blackwater Falls at seven o’clock,” Jim said. “So that gives us a few hours to waste.”

“Do we have time to visit the other cave?” Honey asked. “Or would we rather do that on another day?”

“Let’s save it for another day.” With a wiggle of her nose, Trixie suggested casually, “Maybe we could just hang around the lodge until dinner.”

“We could do that,” Jim agreed, nodding. “Actually, I saw a flyer for a tracking demonstration that they’re having at the resort’s Nature Center that I’d like to go to.”

Diana wrinkled her eyebrows inquisitively. “What kind of tracks?”

“Animal tracks,” Jim answered. Grinning, he couldn’t resist adding, “Don’t worry, Di. I don’t think there will be any bats there.”

Di stuck out her tongue in response.

“According to the flyer I picked up, the resort’s naturalist is going to talk about the animals that are native to this area,” Jim continued. “It sounds really interesting.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Honey murmured, her tone less than enthusiastic.

“Methinks our testosterone-challenged constituents find your cerebration somewhat less than adductive,” Mart remarked dryly.

“I’ll tell you what.” Di smiled at the boys in her most bewitching manner, a clue that she was planning to use her womanly wiles to get what she wanted. “How ‘bout we trade you an hour in Smoke Hole’s gift shop for an hour in the Nature Center, watching the tracking demonstration?”

Brian cocked his head pensively. “So, sixty minutes of looking at dust collectors in exchange for sixty minutes of nature instruction? What do you think, men?”

“Sounds good to me,” Dan agreed with a shrug. “Although I doubt this naturalist dude could teach me something that Mr. Maypenny hasn’t already. If Mr. M doesn’t know it, then it just isn’t worth teaching.”

“I suppose it would be all right,” Honey consented a bit tenuously. “As long as you promise not to complain if we spend a half hour trying to decide which scented candle we prefer.”

“I don’t care,” Jim said, his nose scrunched in repugnance, “as long as you don’t buy one of the girly-smelling ones and burn it around us. After talking to you in your room one night, I smelled like lilacs.”

Honey giggled prettily. “Smelling like flowers would be better than smelling like sweat.”

“Yeah, maybe we’ll stock up on candles and burn them whenever you start reeking,” Trixie suggested with a saucy grin.

Di turned to Mart, her violet eyes sparkling as they did anytime she looked at him. “What do you think, Mart? Can you suffer through an hour of shopping?”

Mart stepped back and then bowed graciously in the ebony-haired beauty’s direction. “If it means bringing pleasure to the beauteous Diana, then I gladly consent.”

From her perch on the stool at the counter, Trixie gave a loud gag. “Oh, puuuh-leaze! Spare us the fawning, Mart. We all know that you’d go without food for a week if Di asked you to.”

The pigment of Mart’s skin from his neck and on up to the roots of his sand-colored hair tinged a bright pink shade, just like his almost-twin’s cheeks were prone to do. Although he was rarely at a loss for words, this was one of those times.

“Well, it sounds like we’re all in agreement then,” Jim said, interrupting the awkward moment. “Let’s look around at all the neat stuff they have here.”

“C’mon, Romeo,” Dan teased, slapping Mart heartily on the back. “We might as well check out the West Virginia gag gift section. When we were buying our tickets for the cave tour, I saw some really cool things that Mr. M would get a kick out of.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jim replied. “While the girls sniff candles, I’ll buy some hillbilly bubble bath for Mother.”

Honey’s wide eyes grew a bit larger as she wondered what “hillbilly bubble bath” was and what her refined mother would think about such a gift. “Dare I ask what hillbillies use for bubble bath?”

“Just go over there and look at those quilted purses,” Brian instructed in a patronizing tone. A smile tugging at his lips, he reached over and patted Honey’s tawny-colored head. “And when you’re finished there, I saw some jewelry you might like to see. But whatever you do, pay no attention to us.”

“What’ve you gotten us into, Di?” Honey questioned disparagingly as the pair wandered away in search of interesting souvenirs. Brian, Mart, and Dan walked away as well, Mart muttering something about buying his father a hillbilly briefcase.

Jim’s emerald gaze followed his friends into the main part of the gift shop. However, it wasn’t long until his eyes returned to their usual resting spot, which was upon his perky blonde co-president who was still sitting on her stool at the snack bar.

Her china blue eyes were fixed upon a sign on the wall, but it was obvious that her attention was elsewhere. Every so often, she blinked slowly, her thick sandy lashes casting a shadow on her delicate cheekbones. Her teeth bit gently into her pink lower lip, as they often did when she was thinking. Her nose, pert and freckled, wrinkled thoughtfully and twitched intermittently as her thoughts shifted to something else. Her right index finger aimlessly twirled a golden curl round and round.

Jim, almost hypnotized by the spinning curl, finally broke out of the spell and cleared his throat. Trixie’s gaze remained fixed on the wall, and she clearly was in another world, most likely a mystery-centric one.

After a loud gulp, he choked out, “Trix?”

With a leisurely blink of her eyes, Trixie tilted her face towards him. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to look at stuff with the other girls?”

“I will in a minute,” she responded thoughtfully. “I was just thinking about something.”

“English Jon?” Jim queried.

Trixie lowered her gaze to the floor, bracing herself for the forthcoming lecture. However, much to her surprise, no lecture came.

“I know you’re anxious to bug him for information. That’s why I suggested that we go to the lecture at the Nature Center.” Jim grinned sheepishly. “Not that I mind listening to the park’s naturalist talk about something I’m really interested in, mind you.”

Trixie raised a skeptical sandy brow. “How does going to a nature lecture help me solve this mystery?”

“I thought it’d be a good opportunity for you to talk to English Jon alone,” Jim said with a shrug. “While the rest of us are in the Nature Center, you could wander out to the van and begin a conversation with him.”

“That’s a great idea, Jim!” she exclaimed, her bright blue eyes blazing with excitement. Suddenly, her expression darkened as her train of thought shifted. “But why do you want to help me solve a mystery?”

“Because you care about mysteries, and I care about you,” Jim answered, his voice husky. As he realized what he’d admitted, his ruddy complexion brightened a crimson color and he hastily added, “Well, as a friend, I mean. All the Bob-Whites care about each other.”

“Thanks, Jim.” She hopped down from her stool and stood in front of the redhead. Looking up at him through lowered lashes, she whispered, “I care about you, too… as a friend.”

His breath caught as he took in her smile. Nothing made him happier than to know he had pleased his special girl. “How about we go check out those hillbilly flashlights?” he suggested with a grin.

“Sounds good to me,” Trixie agreed happily, hooking her arm through his. She smiled happily as the pair walked into the main part of the gift shop. Even if she didn’t find out why the man in the flannel shirt wanted the brochures, or what was so mysterious about English Jon, she’d have several lovely memories of their trip.

But she really wanted to solve those mysteries.

Credits:

As always, I’d like to begin by sending out a huge thank you to my lovely editors, Steph H and Mal. You ladies are absolutely wonderful. Thanks for all your help.

The “shark in the Hudson” comment was, of course, a reference to The Hudson River Mystery.

The “Uncle Jim” comment also came from the books, although I can’t remember off the top of my head which one. That Pod Jim comment is responsible for more Trixie/Dan fans than any other and deserves to be made fun of. :p

The Shawnee is a real restaurant, and I tried to describe it as accurately as possible.

English Jon’s speech full of British slang can be translated as such:

“…so I slammed on the brakes and hit my stinkin’ head on the steering wheel just as our cars smacked together. The idiot jumped out of his clunker and went totally berserk like a crazy moron! I tried to hold my temper, but with him throwing such a fit, it was quite the challenge.

“I deduced that the man was trying to con me for money to buy booze with, and that this ‘accident’ was a load of bull. The dummy pitched a fit when I refused to give even a dime to pay for the damage to the hood of his car, but that hunk of junk was worn out and I knew he was just trying to rip me off. Frankly, I was sick of getting the runaround, and would rather be punched in the nose than have this con man cheat me out of my money.

“I found the situation suspicious, so I called the police on my cell phone. The dimwit was as dumb as a barrel of hair and disappeared when the cop drove up in his police car. The numbskull must’ve been afraid that he’d be arrested if he was caught trying to rip me off, so he took off, and I was pleased at the turn of events, if I do say so myself!”

Bevvies are British slang for alcoholic drinks.

“Minty” means scruffy or dirty.

A “blithering barmcake” can be translated as a bloody moron.

In England, Australia, and maybe New Zealand, a fanny doesn’t refer to your backside; it’s talking about your frontside. So if you visit those countries, don’t call that little pouch your “fanny pack”.

Parts of the description of Smoke Hole Caverns were taken from their web site and brochures. It’s a lovely place; visit there if you can! Sadly, the gift shop burned down in 2009, and I don’t know if it has been rebuilt or not. L

Hillbilly bubble bath is a packet of pinto beans which are to be eaten a few hours prior to one’s bath. You can guess where the “bubbles” come from.

A hillbilly briefcase is a pair of men’s underwear with the leg holes sewn up to prohibit anything from falling out of the “brief” case. Clas-SY!

A hillbilly flashlight is a block of wood with one kitchen match sticking out the end of it. You’re just up Poop Creek without a paddle when yer match burns out. =D