Part Five

In the last chapter, Mart found out that an article about Jim and Trixie was going to appear in the NY Post, along with a photo taken by Bill Morgan. Jim is still in the hospital.

St. Vincent’s Hospital

Brian Belden’s fingers drummed a catchy beat against the wall as he stood outside of Jim’s hospital room. The pungent smell of sterility, the constant beeping of monitors, the clatter of the nurse’s metal cart as it rolled through the hallway… He was in a familiar environment, yet he found himself in unfamiliar territory.

Amanda Woodward’s murder had done the impossible; it had shaken the usually unflappable Brian. As soon as he’d been able to get away from the clinic, he and Honey had driven into the city to visit Jim at St. Vincent’s. During the trip there, Honey had told him about Jim’s stalker. She had also dropped the bombshell about the upcoming article in the Post.

It was too much information to digest in such a short time, and he was sure to suffer a severe case of indigestion later.

The sight of his best friend― physically and emotionally damaged― left Brian unsettled. He was accustomed to treating people in the hospital, not sitting by helplessly, unable to offer any assistance. Furthermore, the patient he was unable to help wasn’t a stranger; it was his closest friend. Jim was weak and woozy, and his ruddy countenance a ghastly shade of gray. It just wasn’t right.

He and Honey hadn’t been there long when they’d been shooed out of the room by the shift nurse who had come to take Jim’s vitals. Now, as he waited in the hallway, Brian found himself fidgety and anxious. He hated doing nothing, but there was nothing he could do, besides drum his fingers. So that’s what he did. After all, he had to release his nervous energy somehow.

“Do you mind?” Honey’s usually modulated voice had taken on a hint of sharpness.

“Mind what?” Brian asked, still tapping out a steady beat.

“You’ve been using that wall as a bongo ever since we got out here. I’m sure your fingers could use a break.”

Brian paused his jam session to meet Honey’s withering gaze. He noticed that her lips were pursed, a sure sign that she was annoyed. He flashed her a mischievous grin. “No, I’m fine. I could do this all evening. But thanks for the concern.”

Honey rewarded him with a smirk of irritation mingled with amusement. “Then let me put this a less tactful way. If you don’t stop, I’m going to break every one of those fingers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock salute. He peeked into Jim’s room through the small window in the door. “Is it just me, or is that nurse taking forever?”

“It’s just you.”

Brian studied the nurse critically. “I hope she knows what she’s doing. She looks kind of young.”

“Hmm… I was just thinking that she looks about your age,” Honey informed him, an exasperated tone in her voice. Hoping to distract him, she asked, “Do you want to go grab a bite to eat?”

Brian shook his head. “No, I’m not hungry.” He sighed loudly, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t understand why she kicked us out.”

“Us? Think again, pal. We were not kicked out of Jim’s room. You were. I merely tagged along to keep you company. And to answer your question, maybe she kicked you out because she caught you looking at Jim’s chart.”

“I wasn’t looking at his chart.”

“Fair enough.” Honey intensified her gaze and sharpened her tone. “To be more accurate, you were studying that chart like Mart studies the menu before a big meal at a gourmet restaurant.”

“I was not,” Brian insisted.

“You were, too! And if that wasn’t bad enough, you wrote something on it.”

“I did not!”

Honey pointed a finger at him. “You did, too, Brian Belden, and you know it. I saw you! You took a pencil out of the drawer and changed something on that chart.”

“I give you my word of honor as a Bob-White that I didn’t change a single thing on that chart.” After a brief pause, he admitted, “I may have added something, but the rest is unedited. Even that misspelling on the middle of the page―”

“Brian! What did you do?”

“I just added a tiny note that recent medical studies have shown redheads are resistant to local anesthesia.”

Honey shook her head. “I don’t believe this.”

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true,” Brian insisted. “There was a study done at the University of Louisville I read about in the―”

“I don’t doubt the weird random medical fact,” Honey interrupted. “I can’t believe you had the gall to make a note of it on Jim’s chart!”

“It was in Jim’s best interest. As a natural redhead, he requires up to 20% more anesthesia than a brunette or blonde would.”

Honey threw up her hands in exasperation. “Why would he need anesthesia in the first place? He’s under observation! It isn’t as if he’s going to schedule an appendectomy while he’s here.”

“You never know. What if his stitches pop loose? He’s been messing with his bandages, you know. He isn’t supposed to do that.”

“Yes, I heard you tell Jim at least five or six times that he isn’t supposed to touch his bandages.”

“I had to repeat myself because he isn’t following doctor’s orders,” Brian snapped. “Those stitches are protecting the staples underneath, and if he rips them out, the staples will be exposed. And you don’t want to know what happens if he loses a staple…”

“No, frankly I don’t, so please don’t go there.”

“So if Jim has torn his stitches, they’ll need to be replaced ASAP. And don’t you want your brother to be comfortable when they sew him back up?”

“He survived the first round of stitches, so I don’t think it’ll be an issue,” she countered wryly.

“But he was in shock when he got those, so all that adrenaline numbed his pain.”

Honey rolled her eyes. She should’ve known better than to argue a medically-related topic with a doctor. “Okay, but you still shouldn’t have written on that chart. If you know about this redhead-anesthesia-thing, the doctors here probably do, too.”

“She misspelled ‘judgment’. She added an extra ‘e’! Do you know what that means?”

“She didn’t win the Scripps National Spelling Bee?”

“It means that anyone that would add an extra ‘e’ isn’t sitting around reading about recent medical findings. We’re just lucky she didn’t make her notes in text talk.”

“LOL,” Honey managed through a giggle.

Brian didn’t look amused. “This is serious. Jim’s life is on the line.”

“And you accuse Trixie of being dramatic,” she snickered. “Get a grip, Bri. Jim’s pretty tough. He could probably handle having his stitches replaced with no anesthesia at all. You’re nitpicking.”

“Hey, I’m only making sure they’re doing everything right. And it isn’t like I’m just some random Joe. I’m a doctor. I’m qualified, a whole lot more qualified than that candy striper in there.”

“She’s a registered nurse, Brian, not a teenager volunteering to bring magazines to patients.”

“She treated me like I got my medical license from a box of Cracker Jacks!”

Honey made a face. “Um, hello, pot? Didn’t you just call that kettle a candy striper?”

“Not to her face!”

“You might as well have. You were pretty rude to her.”

“All things considered, I think I was fair. It’s not like I pointed out her misspelling.”

“Oh my word,” Honey muttered. “You’re lucky she merely kicked you out of the room; she could’ve banned you from the whole hospital!”

“She let Al stay in there,” Brian pointed out huffily, hitching a thumb back in the direction of the burly bodyguard currently sprawled out in the chair beside Jim.

“I’m pretty sure the hospital staff has been given strict orders to allow Al in Jim’s room at all times.”

“Well, yeah, but...”

“But Al doesn’t steal Jim’s chart and write notes on it,” Honey chirped.

Brian glared down at her. “That horse is dead, Honey. I get it. I shouldn’t touch charts that don’t belong to my patients. I won’t do it again.”

She patted Brian’s arm in an effort to calm him. “It’s okay, Bri. She’s almost done. You can resume your obsessive hovering momentarily.”

“I hope she gave him his pain meds. I noticed in his chart that he hasn’t been taking them regularly.”

“You know Jim. He’s probably refused any pain pills they offered him. He’s too tough for his own good.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Brian snorted. “I remember when we were in college. He bruised some ribs while playing basketball with some of the guys. He was really hurting, but he refused to go to the doctor. He said he’d just tough it out.”

“How’d that work out?”

In spite of his current anxiety, Brian laughed. “Oh, he toughed it out, all right. I caught that rascal trying to wrap an elastic compression bandage around his ribcage.”

“By himself?”

Brian nodded. “Yep, by himself. I told him the only thing that compression bandage would do is limit his breathing and put him at risk for pneumonia. He argued for a minute or two that he’d wrapped up bruised ribs before with no complications.”

“Because of something Jonesy had done to him?” Honey asked with a wince.

“Most likely, but Jim didn’t say. Anyway, I finally convinced him to try my treatment method instead. I found him a couple of Tylenol and a frozen bag of peas for him to hold over his ribs. I made sure he was comfortable and then gave him some breathing exercises to do.”

“What did you do then?”

“There wasn’t much I could do, except keep an eye on him, and believe me, I watched him like a hawk. If he so much as coughed, I checked him out. He’s the most stubborn patient I’ve ever had. The toughest, too.”

“And you were worried about some stitches?” Honey scoffed.

“Yeah, good point,” he said with a rueful chuckle. His expression quickly grew serious. “Jim’s too independent, and I’m not just talking about his health. This never would’ve happened if he’d gone to the authorities when he first started getting those letters.”

Honey worried her lower lip. “Jim has a hard time asking for help. From stories I’ve heard about his childhood, he’s always been self-reliant, even as a little boy.”

“And Jonesy’s method of caring for him was beating him within an inch of his life,” Brian spat contemptuously. “If Jim hadn’t dressed his wounds, nobody else would’ve.”

“Jim’s self-reliance likely saved his life, but it scarred him. He’d rather die than admit he needs help.”

Brian nodded. “You don’t endure that kind of loss and abuse without it messing you up.”

“Mother and Daddy noticed some issues when Jim first came to live with us. I once overheard them discussing it. They talked about making him go to therapy, but nothing ever came of it.”

“You’ve got to wonder if things would’ve been different if Jim had gotten help when he came to Sleepyside.”

“I’m sure my parents are wondering the same thing,” Honey murmured.

“Are you going to tell him about the article in the Post?”

“No, Mart wanted to do it himself. He and Di are on their way here now.” A hint of a smile caused the corners of Honey’s lips to twitch. “Mart was tempted to let him find out for himself.”

“As payback for leaving us in the dark about the stalker?” Brian guessed.

Honey nodded. “Trixie convinced him that Jim needed to know. He’s endured enough shock. Mart agreed, but he insisted on being the one to tell him.”

“Good for Mart. Speaking of Trixie, how did she take the news? I’m sure she was fit to be tied.”

“Oddly enough, Trixie seemed numb to the whole thing,” Honey told him.

“Numb?”

“Yeah, she didn’t go postal or anything. She just gave this blank stare and remained calm. It was really weird.”

“And you’re complaining?” Brian teased. “If I know my sister, she’ll go postal soon enough. Enjoy the calmness while it lasts.”

Honey shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I can handle postal; I’m used to postal. But I can’t handle numb. It scares me.”

Brian took her hand and squeezed it. “Trixie’s going through a lot, Hon, but she’s resilient. She’ll bounce back soon enough. Before you know it, she’ll be back to normal, yammering at the police because they aren’t working quickly enough, and accusing half the state of New York of stalking Jim. She probably needs a little time to process it all.”

“I hope so,” Honey murmured. “I’ve never seen her like this before, not even when Jim and Amanda got engaged.”

“Like I said before, enjoy it while it lasts. Soon enough you won’t be able to keep her quiet.”

The door to Jim’s room opened, and the nurse emerged.

“You can go in now,” she told them, wheeling her metal tree of nurse tools behind her.

“How is he?” Honey asked, her voice tremulous.

The nurse smiled kindly at her. “He’s doing well. His vitals are good, and I convinced him to take some of his pain medicine. I think he realized the more he cooperates, the sooner he’ll go home.”

“What about his wound?” Brian demanded. “Jim’s been messing with it. I told him not to, but it’s like talking to a tree stump. He might have pulled a staple loose, so I hope you checked him out.”

The nurse’s smile melted into a frown. “I took a quick peek. Except for those bright green streaks coming out from the site, it was fine. You could hardly see the streaks, though. They were hidden under all the brain matter that was oozing out of the wound. I found an old bandage in the trash and wrapped it around his head. That ought to keep anything vital from leaking out.”

In a kneejerk response, Brian opened his mouth to protest. Thankfully he picked up on the nurse’s sarcasm and clamped it back shut.

“Mr. Frayne’s dressing wasn’t due to be changed until later, but I hate disturbing patients any more than necessary in the middle of the night, so I went ahead and changed it,” the nurse explained. “That’s what took so long. I thoroughly cleaned the site and applied more antiseptic. I could tell he’s been a bad boy by picking at his injury, so when I changed the bandage, I added some extra padding for protection.”

Tears shone in Honey’s hazel eyes. “Thank you.”

The nurse’s smile returned. “Mr. Frayne should be able to rest comfortably for the next several hours, but if he needs anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“We won’t,” Honey said.

“By the way…” The nurse regarded Brian coolly. “Thanks for the helpful little note on Mr. Frayne’s chart. I wrote a paper on the effects of the mutation of the Melanocortin-1 receptor gene in redheads back in 1992 for my high school AP biology class. I’m glad you doctors have finally figured out that there’s something to it.”

With a smug smile, she wheeled her rolling vital sign kit down the hall.

Thirty minutes later Brian had been caught up on the events of the past few months. He listened intently as Jim relayed his experiences and Honey gave the findings of the investigation thus far. Finally, he read the copies of the letters the stalker had sent. Once he finished the last one, he sat in silence, his brow furrowed.

“In your professional opinion as a doctor, what do you think?” Honey prompted.

Brian released a lengthy pent-up sigh before speaking. “As a doctor, I hope the hospital did a CT scan.”

“Why? Do you think Jim’s injury is worse than they thought?” Honey questioned, her eyes wide with fear.

“No, Jim needs his head examined for not going to the authorities sooner,” Brian countered. “He either has a serious mental deficiency or is too stubborn for his own good. I’m leaning towards the latter option, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Although neither Jim nor Honey laughed, Al chuckled.

“We’ve known for years that Jim’s stubborn as a mule,” Honey said impatiently. “It’s a redheaded curse. That’s why I’ll never end up with someone with red hair. They’re too frustrating.”

“Honey, I have a concussion, but my hearing is just fine,” Jim commented wryly.

“Sorry, big brother. I forgot you were here,” Honey teased. She turned to Brian. “On a more serious note, what do you think about the stalker? Do you have a diagnosis for us?”

Brian shrugged. “I’m a doctor, not a psychiatrist.”

“Yes, but you studied psychology,” she pointed out. “And didn’t you work at the mental hospital in White Plains?”

“Briefly,” Brian clarified. “I lasted only a few months at the Westchester Division. It was a tough place to work, and I wasn’t cut out for it.”

“Wasn’t Mr. Darnell a patient there?” Jim asked.

“Until he was transferred, yes,” Brian answered. “When Mr. Lynch found out Roger Darnell was there, he had him moved to the New York City branch of New York Presbyterian so Roger could be cared for in the deluxe wing.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that,” Honey murmured. “Mr. Lynch tried to give Roger the best care possible, but he still committed suicide. It was so sad.”

“Who’s this Darnell guy?” Al inquired.

“A man Trixie and I helped as kids,” Honey explained. “We learned later that he was diagnosed with some severe mental issues. He refused to take his meds, so his wife had no choice but to admit him to the hospital.”

“She and the kids took his death really hard,” Jim commented.

“I wonder how they’re doing,” Honey mused. “I haven’t heard from them in ages.”

“I haven’t seen them since the funeral,” Jim said.

“The Lynches are still in contact with them,” Brian told them. “In fact, Carolyn spoke with Ann Darnell recently. She remarried last year. She and her new husband live in Rhode Island.”

“What about the kids?” Honey asked.

“Joeanne’s living in Portland and working as a graphic designer. Sally married a firefighter. They live in Brooklyn, I believe. DJ and Tracy are with their mom. DJ graduates high school this year, believe it or not, and Tracy’s a teenager.”

“Wow, time flies,” Jim remarked. “I’m glad they’re doing well.”

Brian nodded. “It took them a while, but they all seem to have moved on. I only wish Roger had taken the help he was offered. His life could’ve been completely different. Mental illness is a cruel disease, but there are ways to manage it.”

“Do you think Jim’s stalker is mentally ill?” Honey prodded.

“It’s likely,” Brian responded. “I’m no expert, but in my opinion, this stalker believes she’s in a real relationship with Jim and saw Amanda as competition.”

“So she whacked her?” Al supplied.

Brian nodded in affirmation.

“Do you think this stalker is someone Jim knows or a total stranger?” Honey asked.

“Either scenario is possible,” Brian said. “However, if I were to guess, I’d say it’s someone he knows. Some of the information she has couldn’t be acquired from merely reading articles about him. She mentioned personal things, like how he smells, and that’s something she only could’ve learned by being around him.”

“Good thinkin’, croaker,” Al said.

Honey giggled at Brian’s wounded expression.

“A croaker is a doctor,” Jim translated with a grin. He’d gotten quite proficient in Al-speak after spending so much time with his bodyguard.

“Hmmm…Interesting,” Brian murmured, committing that tidbit to memory. He quickly got back to the issue at hand. “Now that the police are involved, they’ll have profilers that can assess those letters. If they’d been notified sooner, maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jim muttered.

Brian shook his head in disbelief. “I still can’t wrap my head around this, Jim. If Trixie had pulled a stunt like this, you would’ve blown a gasket. When we were kids, you were the first one to tell her to go to the police. What were you thinking?”

“You aren’t the only one that’s studied psychology,” Jim pointed out. “I minored in it, and all the textbooks advise you to ignore rather than engage when dealing with stalkers.”

“I’m pretty sure that means to ignore the stalker, not the situation,” Brian retorted. “It’s definitely not advising you to ignore the police.”

Jim’s chin jutted out in a physical display of his stubbornness. “I did what I felt was best. Deep down, I always thought Amanda was stalking me. I’d already broken her heart. I didn’t want to send her to jail, too.”

“In other words, if it was Amanda, you thought you deserved to be harassed by her.”

Although he didn’t affirm Brian’s accusation, Jim didn’t deny it.

“Only it wasn’t Amanda,” Brian added quietly.

Jim nodded. “And now Amanda’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Brian agreed. “And unless you want Trixie to be next, you’ll tell the police everything, including the truth about your engagement to Amanda.”

“I can’t,” Jim insisted. “I made a promise to the Woodwards. It’s the least I could do…”

“You don’t owe them anything, Jim,” Brian said.

“It isn’t just that. It’s the best way to protect Trixie.”

Brian shook his head. “Jim―”

“Don’t you see?” he interrupted. “She’s safe as long as the stalker doesn’t know about her.”

“The police won’t tell anyone―”

“I can’t take that chance,” Jim asserted. “For now, my relationship with Trixie needs to remain secret.”

Honey and Brian exchanged a worried look but didn’t say anything. They’d let Mart burst Jim’s bubble later with the news about the article.

Brian stood up. “I’d better go. Mart and Di will be here soon.” He leaned down and placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Regardless of what happens next, I’m in your corner, my friend.”

“I know, and I appreciate it,” Jim said with a weak smile.

“I’ll walk you out.” Honey rose to her feet.

Brian waved her off. “Don’t bother. The media’s camped outside the hospital. You don’t need to deal with that.”

“I’ll just walk you to the elevator,” Honey insisted.

“Okay,” Brian said, shrugging. “Keep your eyes on our patient, Al. Don’t let him sneak off.”

“You can count on me,” Al promised. “That crazy skirt ain’t gonna get the chance to rub out Mr. Jim as long as I’m here.”

Brian and Honey left the room, closing the door behind them.

“I sure don’t envy Mart,” Brian muttered. “Jim isn’t going to like hearing about that article.”

“No, he isn’t.”

Brian stopped in midstride and looked down at Honey. He knew her well enough to sense she had something on her mind.

“So, what’s up?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You weren’t worried I’d get lost on my way to the elevator, so I assume you had another reason for walking me out. What’s on your mind?”

Honey paused before speaking. “Now’s not the time. We can talk about it later.”

“Now’s just as good a time as any.”

“No, it’s not important.”

“If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.” Brian gently tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “What’s going on, Hon?”

“It’s… it’s… it’s kind of awkward,” she stammered.

“C’mon, it can’t be any more awkward than breaking up with me.”

“No, I guess not,” Honey agreed with a nervous laugh. She took a deep breath before beginning. “Trixie and I went to the police station today.”

“Is Trixie in trouble?”

“No, nothing like that,” she assured him quickly. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I met someone there.”

“Who? Do the police have a suspect in custody?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Then who did you meet?” Brian prompted.

“A cop.”

“I guess that makes sense, considering you were in a police station.”

“His name is Max…Max Shepherd. Do you know him?”

Brian shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve been so busy at the clinic that I haven’t socialized much.”

“Oh. I met him today.”

“Yes, that’s what you said earlier,” Brian said, grinning. “And how did this meeting go?”

“Um, okay.”

“Just okay?”

Unshed tears brimmed in Honey’s eyes.

“Something tells me that this meeting went a little better than okay,” Brian remarked.

Honey’s tiny nod might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone other than Brian.

“Something tells me there were sparks between you and this Max,” he continued.

“Oh, Brian! I’m so sorry…”

A wistful smile edged Brian’s lips. “There’s no reason to be sorry, sweetheart. We broke up. You’re a beautiful, single woman. Men are going to want to date you. I’m glad you met someone you’re interested in.”

“But it’s too soon. I should’ve waited longer―”

Brian placed a long, tapered index finger on top of her lips to silence her. “Honey, we stayed together a lot longer than we should have. You deserve more than what I gave you. You’re overdue to find love, to be loved. As far as I’m concerned, it isn’t soon enough.”

“So you think I should go out with him?”

“I can’t answer that. Only you can. Do you want to go out with him?”

“Yes.”

“Then go out with him! What are you waiting for?”

A tear slipped out from between Honey’s gold-tipped lashes. “I guess I’m waiting for you to say it’s okay.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t need my permission,” Brian whispered. “But I do give you my blessing.”

“Oh, Brian…” Crying in earnest now, Honey laid her head on his shoulder.

“Madeleine Grace Wheeler, you’re the sweetest, most tender-hearted person I’ve ever met. You deserve the stars and moon, but I couldn’t get them for you. Find someone who can.”

“I-I-I wish it could’ve been you.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he murmured as he stroked her hair.

Once her tears had subsided, Honey pulled away. “You’re going to make some lucky girl very happy one day.”

“Hey, don’t go marrying me off,” he said with feigned sternness. “I haven’t even had a chance to sow my wild oats now that I’m footloose and fancy-free.”

Honey snickered. “You? Sow wild oats? Puh-lease!”

“I’ll have you know that I’m Sleepyside’s most eligible bachelor.”

“Oh, really? Did Dan elope and forget to tell me?” she teased.

“I take back what I said about you being the sweetest, most tender-hearted person I know,” Brian muttered. “For your information, missy, doctors are higher up the food chain than cops. It’s a well-known fact that most women dream of snagging a doctor.”

“Is that so?”

“Go ask any random female. I dare you. She’ll tell you that if she had her choice between a doctor and a cop, she’d choose the doctor.” Brian grinned as he considered the situation with Honey. “Well, I guess there are a few exceptions to that rule…”

Honey returned the smile. “No, you’re right, Brian. Right this minute I could give the names of a dozen single women in Sleepyside that would kill to go out with you.”

“Only a dozen?” Brian looked disappointed. “I was hoping for at least twenty.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she laughed, playfully swatting him on the shoulder. As she admired his classically handsome features, she admitted to herself that the number probably was closer to two dozen. And that didn’t include the married ones…

“You know, I could set you up with someone, if you’d like,” Honey offered. “We could always double date.”

“Uh, thanks, but no thanks.”

Her cheeks turned a bright crimson. “Omigosh, I wasn’t thinking! It never even occurred to me that you might be uncomfortable going on a double date with me and someone else. I’m so sorry, Brian. If I fix you up, I promise Max and me won’t be anywhere near.”

“It isn’t that, Honey. It might be kind of fun to go on a double date sometime. Weird, but fun…”

“And I don’t have to fix you up,” she sputtered. “I mean, you’re Sleepyside’s most eligible bachelor. You said it yourself. You could don’t need my help getting a date.”

“It’s not that either.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m not ready,” Brian explained. “I don’t have time for a relationship right now. I see patients all day at the clinic, and I spend most evenings there, getting it organized. On my days off, I help out at the ER. And that doesn’t include all that I do at Jim’s school.”

“So you’re too busy to date?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, just don’t make a habit of it,” Honey cautioned. “There’s no reason to maintain that bachelor status all your life.”

“Once everything calms down, I’ll find someone. I just need a little order first.”

Honey smiled. She knew what a fan Brian was of order.

“You, on the other hand, have no excuse. If you like this Max fellow, go out with him.”

“I wish I got this kind of support from the rest of your family,” she giggled.

“Surely Mart doesn’t object.”

“To be honest, I don’t know what Mart thinks, but Trixie has made her position abundantly clear.”

Brian quirked a dark brow. “She doesn’t approve of him, eh?”

“That’s putting it mildly. She can’t stand him. Of course, she’ll never like anyone that isn’t you or Dan.”

Although Brian was surprised that his sister was trying to fix up Honey with Dan, he didn’t say it. “Well, if Trixie doesn’t like Max, then I think you should marry him, even if he smells like goat cheese and has the IQ of a hay bale.”

“I’ll be sure and tell her you said that,” Honey promised with a wink.

“Seriously, Hon, go out with anyone you want. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

With a parting wave, he slipped inside the empty elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor. He felt a deep sense of symbolism as the doors closed, separating him and Honey. The smile on his face was wistful as the elevator began its downward descent. His little Honey was moving on.

Maybe someday he’d do the same.

The next morning…

Trixie rubbed her eyes as she stared at her computer screen. Stifling a yawn, she tried to no avail to make sense of the blurred characters.

“I need caffeine,” she muttered, trudging to the coffeepot. She poured herself another cup, added a generous amount of cream and sugar, and took a sip. She hoped the magical brew would wake her up in spite of her lack of sleep.

It didn’t.

She stumbled back to her desk and plopped down in her chair, nearly missing it and landing on the floor. For a brief second, she wished that she had landed on the floor. Then she could’ve curled up and taken a nap.

Fighting exhaustion, she took another swig of coffee and brought up another file on her computer. She wished she’d gone home and gotten some sleep instead of going to the agency.

“Who am I kidding?” She allowed her head to rest atop her crossed arms. “I wouldn’t have slept. I would’ve tossed and turned all night, worrying about Jim and that stupid article.”

Her eyes gave up the fight to remain open. Her breathing became even, and all her anxiety faded in the background as sleep overcame her. The jangling of the telephone right beside her ear jarred her awake. She nearly knocked over her coffee in her haste to answer it.

“Yeah?” she snapped into the receiver.

“Good morning to you, too, Sunshine.”

“Name one good thing about it, Jack.”

“At this very moment, you’re speaking to one of the sexiest men alive?” he suggested.

Trixie’s retort wouldn’t have been permitted in a PG-rated movie.

Thankfully Jack knew her well enough that it didn’t bother him. “Do I need to remind you that it’s five-thirty in the morning here on the west coast? If anyone has an excuse to be grumpy, it’s me. Yet here I am, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, granting you the privilege of conversing with a devastatingly handsome and intelligent detective such as myself.”

“It’s no wonder we broke up,” Trixie mumbled. “You’re the most annoying man that ever lived.”

Jack chuckled. “And you’re just as congenial and charming as ever. Why on earth did I ever let you go?”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you’re really kicking yourself right now. Just think where you’d be if you would’ve hung onto me. And you’d better not counter with some smart aleck remark about Jim being in the hospital.”

“I wouldn’t dream of bringing up such a touchy subject,” he assured her. “So, should I blame your foul mood on a lack of sleep or an unfortunate development in the case?”

“Both. It was impossible to sleep after I heard the latest. So I gave up around two in the morning and came to work.”

Jack’s tone became oddly serious. “Is Jim all right? He hasn’t suffered a setback, has he?”

“No, nothing like that. Jim’s fine. He was feeling a lot better by yesterday evening and was champing at the bit to come home. If all goes as expected, he should be released sometime this morning. He’s planning to drop by the agency as soon as he gets to Sleepyside.”

“That’s a relief. By the tone of your voice, I was worried he’d gotten worse.”

Trixie picked up a pencil and began doodling angry faces on her notepad. “Well, Jim may be improving, but the situation here isn’t. It’s gotten worse. A lot worse.”

“You know I hate it when you drag stuff out,” Jack groaned, his patience dwindling. “Just spit it out so we can get things moving.”

“But that’s the problem! Moving forward is impossible. We’re never going to wrap up this case. While we’re spinning our wheels, those two jerks with the NYPD are scrambling to find evidence that Jim murdered Amanda. Meanwhile the real killer is probably hatching some plan to shoot Jim as soon as he’s released from the hospital. The situation is hopeless!” Overcome with an emotionally toxic mixture of frustration and exhaustion, Trixie’s voice cracked as she concluded her rant.

“Didn’t you learn anything from working with me? Whenever we put our heads together, nothing’s hopeless.”

Jack couldn’t hear Trixie’s garbled response, but he thought he’d caught the four-letter word she’d used earlier. “Do you remember Cody?” he asked.

In spite of the grim circumstances, Trixie smiled as she thought of the missing six-year-old boy that she and Jack had found. “Of course I do.”

“And do you remember what that detective with the LAPD said?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say, Belden?” Jack prompted.

“He said that Cody had been missing for over a year and there was no hope of finding him alive.”

“That’s right. And what did you tell him?”

Trixie released a ragged sigh. She hated being on the receiving end of a lecture, especially when she deserved it. “I don’t remember.”

“Yeah, right! You have the memory of an elephant. Let’s try this again. What did you tell that arrogant douche bag when he said there wasn’t any hope of finding Cody alive?”

“I told him that there might not be any hope of him finding Cody, but thankfully for Cody and his family, I didn’t give up so easily.”

“And?” When she failed to response, Jack pressed harder. “And what else?”

“Has anyone told you recently that you suck? Because you do. You suck, Jack Palmer. You suck the most of anyone in the history of Suckdom, and I can’t stand you.”

Jack chuckled. “Resistance is futile, Belden. I can play this game all day. What else did you say?”

“All right! You win! I told him that nothing was hopeless as long as I was there because my specialty was finding lost hope. There! Are you happy?”

“I don’t know. That depends. Do you still think this case is hopeless?”

“No,” she mumbled without any enthusiasm.

“What was that? The connection must be bad. I couldn’t hear you.”

“No!” she yelled into the receiver at the top of her lungs. She chuckled as she heard the sound of a crash on the other end of the line. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that she’d caused Jack to drop his phone. That hadn’t been her intention, but she was pleased with the unexpected result. She gave him enough time to get back on the line before speaking. “Did you hear me that time? I can talk a little louder if you need me to.”

“On the contrary, it’s a physical impossibility for you to speak any louder unless you plan on screaming into a microphone,” Jack said dryly. “Which you may need to do if you want me to hear the rest of this conversation. I think you ruptured my eardrum.”

“Aw, quit being a whiny butt, and man up, Palmer.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You don’t have blood trickling down your cheek.”

“No, but I do have something else.”

“I hope it isn’t a megaphone,” he muttered. “Dang, girl, for someone so pint-sized, you’ve got lungs the size of Utah.”

“Since I’m feeling charitable, I’m going to let that short remark slide. Would you like to know what I do have?”

“I hope it’s one of those earpieces that you see advertised on all those late night infomercials. You know, the one that gives you supersonic hearing and lets you hear whispering from across the room? Without a medical miracle, my career as a professional eavesdropper is over.”

“Jack Palmer, would you shut your pie hole long enough for me to thank you?”

“For what?”

She resisted the urge to comment on his sudden ability to hear and instead followed through with her earlier intention to give credit where credit was due.

“For reminding me that nothing is hopeless as long as I don’t give up.”

“That’s right, and Trixie Belden always gets her man,” Jack quipped. “Or, in this case, woe-man.”

“Especially when she has the best partner in the whole world.”

“Aw, thanks, Detective. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me.”

“I was actually referring to Honey, but I guess you’re okay, too. For someone that sucks, that is.”

“Stop! You’re going to make my head swell. I’m unworthy of such lavish praise!”

Trixie laughed, and it felt good. The exchange of lighthearted banter with Jack hadn’t garnered additional information, but it had buoyed her spirits. For that she was grateful. It was shot in the arm she needed to get her back on track.

“Did you receive the latest box of evidence?” she asked.

“Yeah, Bob got it here late last night. That Wheeler jet sure comes in handy.”

“Everything was there? The cake topper and both the notes?”

“Got ‘em,” Jack affirmed. “I’ve already sent the notes off to be analyzed. I’ll check around to see where that cake topper came from, how common it is, and how many were sold. With any luck, it won’t be a popular item.”

“And the surveillance from the hospital was in the box as well?”

“It sure was. I’ve watched it twice already. It was a cinematic delight, a real nail biter. I can’t help but wonder if there’ll be a sequel.”

Trixie chuckled. “I hope not. Sequels are never as good as the originals.”

“I beg to differ. Ignorant Vengeance was just as good as Ignorant Vendetta, and Ignorant Velocity: Bloodier Vengeance at Warp Speed was possibly the best one in the whole trilogy.”

“That’s not saying much.”

Jack gave a loud caveman grunt. “Me like Ignorant movies. Me the Dragon’s biggest fan.”

“No, Jack, you’re Cade Pesina’s only fan,” she giggled. “The rest of his fan club ditched him after he starred in that reality cop show and gave that frail old lady a parking ticket.”

“The Dragon is the best meter maid that ever lived! Granny had that ticket coming, and at least he autographed it for her.”

“Although I’m sure you could talk about your precious action hero all day, we have bigger fish to fry. What did you think of the footage? I know it was grainy, but hopefully you’ll notice something we didn’t.”

“Yeah, it was pretty fuzzy. I made a copy of it and sent it to Trish. If anyone can clean it up, it’s her. She’s the best. Hopefully after she works her magic, Jim will recognize her.”

Trixie sat upright in her chair. “Would this magical Trish be the same Trish that you’ve been dating?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with―”

“It is!” she interjected. “How are things with the magical Trish?”

“That’s really none of your―”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s none of my business,” Trixie finished hastily. “You should know by now that I never mind my own business or else I’d be out of business. So, how long have you been with Trish? Over a month, right? I mean, I know you told me that you broke up for a day or two but then you got back together, so you’ve technically been dating for over a month. That’s some record for you.”

“I looked at the crime scene on Google Earth and noticed there are several banks nearby,” Jack said, ignoring the bait Trixie had dangled in front of him. “I’m sure the cops will be getting any photos captured by the ATM surveillance cameras. We should get copies of those, too.”

“Great idea. Hey, speaking of great ideas, I have one, too. Maybe the magical Trish can clean up those for us as well. I’ve heard she’s very good.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Yes, that was the plan. If you can get me those pictures from the ATM, I’ll see if Trish has time to help us out.”

“Oh, I’m sure that she’ll be able to squeeze you in. To her schedule, I mean.” Trixie giggled like a sixth-grade boy that had just heard his first dirty joke.

“If you can get those photos, I’m sure I can get Trish to help us. Do you think you could convince those nice homicide detectives to share?”

“Nice isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe those so-called detectives!” Trixie bristled. “I have a ton of respect for the NYPD, but those two buffoons aren’t fit to scoop up the poop left behind by the ten-foot cops!”

“I’m not sure which fact is more shocking― the fact that you have policemen that tall or the fact that you let them crap in the street. You do things a lot differently on the east coast.”

“You are such a moron, Jack Palmer. Our cops don’t poop in the road!”

“Neither do ours. It’s a good thing, because with all the smog, someone could step right in it, and the LAPD has a hard enough time already cleaning up their―”

“Jack Palmer, where did you get a dumb idea like that?”

If Trixie were talking to Jack in person, she would see an expression of smug satisfaction on the redhead’s face. He’d gotten Trixie’s mind off of Trish and onto something else, and she hadn’t even realized it.

“From you,” he replied innocently. “You just said there were ten-foot-tall cops that defecate in the road.”

“That’s what we call the horses our officers in the mounted unit ride,” Trixie hissed. “Are you really that stupid?”

Back in California, Jack grinned. “Oops. Guess I am. Anyway, about those ATM pix…”

“You’ll have better luck finding a cop pooping in the street than I’ll have convincing the NYPD to share those pictures. How did two out-of-shape morons like that make the force anyway? All I can say is that New York must be hard up for help. The city should’ve made the ten-foot cops the homicide detectives and let those two buffoons carry around the mounted officers. Those idiots probably won’t even be able to find their way back to those banks, and even if they do, they’re too big and important to help a lowly PI. You know, I don’t think those pompous jerks liked me very well.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Jack remarked drolly. “I’m sure you’re right, though, so it might be better if you let your partner there do the convincing. From everything you told me about Honey, she’s a little more…diplomatic than you.”

“If anybody can do it, it’s Honey. She could sweet-talk the devil into buying an electric blanket. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“Speaking of fingers, that reminds me. I’ve been thinking a lot about that print you lifted off the keypad at Ten Acres.”

Trixie sat up in her seat. “I thought that fingerprint was a dead-end. Your friend ran it through AFIS and didn’t get any hits.”

“True, but AFIS isn’t the only fingerprint database out there. There are other systems―”

“Are you talking about the database each state keeps?”

“Exactly. We could start in New York and then work our way to surrounding states.”

“That would be like finding a needle in a haystack,” Trixie commented.

“When it’s the only needle you’ve got, you put in the extra effort to find it.”

Trixie tapped her pencil on the desk. “I don’t know, Jack. It sounds like a huge waste of time. Maybe we should give up on the print and focus on the footage from the hospital.”

“I’m not going to lie; it would be time-consuming, but it might just pay off. Every state has countless sets of fingerprints that they don’t turn into AFIS. Maybe our stalker got arrested for shoplifting or something stupid like that but didn’t serve any time.”

“And maybe our stalker was a perfect angel until she killed Amanda.”

“That’s possible, but it isn’t likely,” Jack argued. “Murder is rarely the first law someone breaks.”

Deep in thought, Trixie wound a curl around the pencil she’d been using as a drumstick. “Okay, you’ve got a point there. Let’s say our stalker is pulled over for a DUI. That’s a common misdemeanor.”

“First-time offense, no property damage, no injuries,” Jack conjectured. “She’s arrested, taken to the station, and booked. She cops a plea, pays a fine, and maybe attends a class or two. That’s it. She’s free to go nuts and send creepy letters to anyone she wants.”

“But even though she didn’t serve time, she was still booked, so her fingerprints would be in a system somewhere.”

“Bingo!”

“We’ve just got to find the right system, which, if we work on it at least twelve hours a day, could take only a hundred years or so.”

“Your optimism is so refreshing,” Jack teased.

Trixie threw her pencil on the desk and crossed her arms in front of her. “I used to be an optimist, but then I started working on this case.”

“So now you’re a pessimist?”

“No, Jack, I’m a realist, and the reality is our chance of matching the print from Ten Acres to a print that may or may not exist in the database of some unknown police station is slim to none.”

“Those prints exist,” Jack insisted hotly. “Think about it, Trixie. This stalker has gone to extreme lengths not to leave any fingerprints. All the evidence we’ve analyzed so far has been clean as a whistle. Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s just super careful.”

“Or maybe she knows her prints are on file somewhere.”

Trixie snorted. “Yeah, I guess it’s a possibility, but it’s a lot more likely that she’s a paranoid whack job. You know the type…The government’s out to get her, she’s being framed by aliens, the real shooter was on a grassy knoll, blah blah blah…”

“You’re right; she probably is paranoid. She’s obviously suffering from delusions, and paranoia usually goes hand in hand with delusions.”

“Of course I’m right. I almost always am. Trust me; it’s a waste of time.”

Jack released a pent-up breath. “Your instincts are usually spot-on, Detective, but in this case I’ve got to disagree. My gut’s telling me that this lead is worth pursuing.”

“It probably is, but how are we supposed to check every single set of prints in every single database in every single state? There are only three of us working on this.”

“You and Honey start in New York. Between the two of you, I’m sure you have several contacts that will help you with the search.”

“Yeah, we do,” she conceded. “If we hit a wall, I’m sure Dan can help. He knows officers from all over the state. He’s itching to get involved with the case anyway.”

“Good thinking. Meanwhile, I’m going to call in a few favors from people I knew back in my days with the F.B.I. I’ll hit up the New Englanders first and then work my way to surrounding states.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Correction, my dear. It sounds like a brilliant plan.”

Trixie snorted. “No offense, but if I were you, I’d wait to see if it works before I started patting myself on the back. You wouldn’t want to mess up your rotator cuff for nothing.”

“Good point. I’d hate to do anything to ruin my racquetball game. I’ve been kicking Brad Richardson’s tail every Thursday for the past two years; I don’t want to do anything to damage my perfect record.”

“Brad Richardson, ew.” There was no love lost between Trixie and her former coworker.

Jack chuckled. “How about we change the subject to something more pleasant before you start foaming at the mouth?”

“How do you know I’m going to foam at the mouth?”

“Because you always get a little rabid when you talk about Brad.”

“True,” Trixie admitted.

“Hey, do you have that number for me?”

“What number?”

“The number of the person that called Jim and told him to go to the murder scene.”

“Sorry, I haven’t slept much lately.” Trixie sifted through the pile of papers on her desk until she found the correct one. “Found it. It’s 718-555-6458.”

“Got it. I’ll put a trace on it and see what I can find out.”

“I’m sure you won’t learn much.”

“Tsk, tsk, Detective,” Jack chided. “Don’t you have any confidence in my investigatory abilities?”

“I don’t doubt your skills, Jack. But you know as well as I do that that phone isn’t going to provide any leads. Think about it. Do you seriously believe it’s possible she picked up her home phone or even her personal cell and called Jim? After all the precautions she’s taken, do you think she’d be that dumb?”

“No, she’s not going to screw up now. She’s too good. It’s safe to say that she made that call from a burner phone.”

“And who cares if we can learn where the cell phone was purchased?” Trixie muttered. “We already have surveillance footage of the stalker. Even if we find out where she bought that phone and get video of her buying it, she probably hid her identity.”

“I’m sure she did.”

“So what do you expect to find out?”

“Nothing monumental, but hopefully we’ll glean a few clues,” Jack replied. “Even if that call was made from a burner, there’s no such thing as an untraceable call, contrary to what all the conspiracy theorists out there would like to believe.” contrary to what all the anarchists out there would like to believeup her home phone and call Jim? After all the precautions s

“Calls made on burners are usually transmitted over existing networks,” he continued. “So while the stalker didn’t reveal her personal info to get that phone, we can still trace where that call came from by tracking the signals being emitted by the prepaid cell.”

“You can?”

“Mobile virtual network operators―or MVNO’s for short―provide the cell service for the majority of prepaid phones,” Jack explained. “They buy space in bulk on existing networks and resell it cheap. So if your burner operates on T-Mobile’s network, for example, chances are good that T-Mobile’s turning in that data to the government.”

“Bummer for the stalker, but bully for us,” Trixie commented.

“Exactly. Also, we may be able to determine her current location by comparing the burner’s communication with cell towers. And, if she has a regular cell phone, there’s always the chance that she had it nearby when she placed the call on the disposable one. Even if that contract phone is off, it’s still communicating with cell towers.”

“And you have access to someone that can do these traces?”

“Of course I do. You should know by now, Detective, that my resources are limitless. I’ve made connections everywhere I’ve worked.”

“Connections?” Trixie snickered. “Don’t you mean love connections?”

“A love connection got me this job.”

“Touché. Who knew that being a serial dater would prove so beneficial?”

Jack chuckled. “I’m just thankful most of my breakups have been civil. If I had a string of vindictive exes, my career would be in a shambles.”

“Yes, you certainly are a charming devil… emphasis on the devil. Let’s hope you can work your magic on your old NSA girlfriend.”

“Oh, I can work my magic. No worries about that.”

Trixie’s grin was rueful. She had no doubt the NSA agent would be putty in Jack’s hand, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’ll be too busy worrying that burner is the one untraceable phone in existence.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. The only way a call isn’t traceable is if you use two tin cans connected by a piece of string.”

“Humph, with our luck, that’s what the stalker did,” Trixie groused.

“Cheer up, Detective. Before you know it, the stalker will be in custody, the murder will be solved, and you’ll be free to plan your wedding in peace.”

“Plan my wedding in peace?” Trixie repeated. “At this point, that’s never going to happen. Jim and I will be celebrating our golden anniversary before anyone knows we’re married.”

“With Amanda dead, I’d think Jim would be free to come clean about their relationship and announce his engagement to you.”

“Yeah, you’d think that, but unfortunately that isn’t how it’s going to work now that Amanda’s parents are involved.”

“Uh-oh,” Jack muttered. “What haven’t you told me?”

“Carlton and Natasha Woodward paid Jim a visit in the hospital. They asked him to keep on pretending he and Amanda were still getting married to preserve her memory.”

“How is continuing with that farce of an engagement supposed to preserve her memory?”

“I don’t know. I guess they’re afraid their snooty friends will make fun of her and they don’t want that to happen.”

Jack chuckled. “With friends like that, who needs enemies?”

“Tell me about it.”

“Surely Jim never agreed to that.” When Trixie didn’t immediately confirm his statement, Jack demanded, “Jim didn’t agree to that, did he?”

“He did.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! Jim was dying to come clean. He couldn’t wait to announce his engagement to you. Did the Woodwards threaten him?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Trixie told him. “I wouldn’t put it past them, though. However, my guess would be that they laid a massive guilt trip on him.”

“But why would he agree to something so stupid? Doesn’t he realize that he’s going to be questioned by the police? As Amanda’s significant other, he’s going to be the number one suspect. He’d do himself a huge favor by telling the police he was no longer engaged to her. By continuing with this farce, he’s just going to incriminate himself worse.”

“I know.”

“He isn’t going to lie to the police, is he? Surely he’ll tell them the truth. I mean, Jim’s good at a lot of things, but lying isn’t one of them.”

“Jim’s already spoken with the police.”

“Good grief,” Jack mumbled. “I can’t imagine that went well. Are they hauling him off to jail for lying to the authorities as soon as he gets out of the hospital?”

“According to what I heard, Jim didn’t lie, exactly. He evaded the truth a little, but he didn’t outright lie.”

“Oh, well, that’s makes it completely fine,” Jack said sarcastically.

“You’ll be happy to know that he did tell the detectives about the stalker.”

“No, I would’ve been happy if he’d told them about the stalker as soon as he got the first letter.”

“Still, it’s a start. He told them that he had hired you to investigate and that Honey and I were helping, too.”

“Did the police ask for my number?”

“Well, no, but―”

“Have they asked you or Honey to hand over any information?”

Trixie shook her head. “No, but―”

“Then I wouldn’t get too excited until they do. Obviously they aren’t taking the stalker angle very seriously. They probably think Jim just pulled that out of the air as a way to divert their murder investigation.”

“Now who’s the pessimist?”

“Sorry, Trixie. I’m just being honest. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“Actually there is,” she answered. “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that my dream of being a cover girl has finally come true.”

“You seriously dreamed of being a cover girl?”

“No, not really, but the important thing is that yours truly landed on the cover of the Post.”

“Oh, boy. This can’t be good. Do I even want to know what the bad news is?”

“No, not really,” Trixie repeated. “Now for the bad news. The article that accompanies the picture will likely cement Jim’s number one position on the list of suspects.”

Jack whistled under his breath. “No wonder you were in such a crappy mood when I called.”

“You ought to pick up a copy on your way into the office. That way, I can autograph it for you when you come to Sleepyside.”

“Oh, hooray,” Jack said weakly. “Who wrote the article?”

“Some putz here in Sleepyside by the name of Paul Trent. He’s been a thorn in my side for years.”

“Was there any truth to this article?”

“Like most sensational stories, it was mix of truth and fiction. I don’t want to give it all away.”

“Yes, I’d hate to miss out on all the surprises.”

“Speaking of surprises, here’s another one for you. Apparently Amanda had told her wedding planner that she was going to break up with Jim because he was cheating on her.”

“What?” Jack exclaimed. “Where did you hear that?”

“Jim heard it from the homicide detectives that were interviewing him. If they were telling the truth, Amanda was setting Jim up.”

“She was going to talk to the press before he did and make him look like a two-timing jerk.”

“Yeah, that’s what we were thinking.”

“Wow, she was a real piece of work.”

“I told you she was a real witch with a capital B,” Trixie reminded him hotly.

“Yeah, but I always thought you were just jealous of her.”

Trixie rolled her eyes and ignored that remark. “That’s everything on my end. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“Actually, there’s one more item I need to go over with you. Since I thought you needed a boost, I saved the best for last. I noticed something on one of the background checks I did on Jim’s staff. I don’t know if it’s pertinent to the case, but it’s interesting nonetheless.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense! What did you find out?”

“Do you remember Michael Murray?”

“The head dorm monitor at the school!” Trixie thundered. “Did you find a connection between him and someone named Dot? I knew as soon as Ten Acres was broken into that Michael was involved! How is he connected to Dot?”

“Trixie, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never found any connection to a Dot or a Dottie or even a Dorothy. Should I have? I could have missed something. Stranger things have happened.”

“No, you didn’t miss anything. It was only a suspicion. What did you learn?”

“Almost everything that you and Honey found out during your initial background check was accurate,” Jack informed her. “He was born in Virginia. His father was a career Army man, so the Murrays moved around a lot from one military base to another. When Michael was a junior in high school, his dad was assigned to Fort Hamilton, so they relocated to Brooklyn.

“Michael worked the usual kinds of jobs as a teenager… a cook at McDonald’s, a cashier at 7-Eleven, a busboy at an Italian restaurant,” he went on. “He began working as an orderly at the Payne Whitney Clinic, which is a mental health facility with New York Presbyterian. In the evenings, he took classes at a community college to become a nursing assistant. Once he graduated, he became an N.A. at Payne. He was there over ten years.”

“Okay, so where’s the discrepancy?” Trixie prompted. “That’s the same info we found.”

“Patience, Detective. I’m getting to it. As I was saying, Michael worked at the mental hospital for over a decade, when all of a sudden, he quit and moved to Ossipee, New Hampshire. He got a job in a nursing home and worked there for a couple years until he returned to New York. At that time he applied for the position at Ten Acres, and that is where the trouble begins.”

“Finally,” Trixie muttered.

“As you know, every potential employee at Ten Acres has to fill out an extensive application packet. Everything about Michael had checked out so far, but I went through that packet with a fine tooth comb. It all checked out, except for the letter of recommendation he’d gotten from Lynn Holcomb, the director of the mental health clinic in New York.”

“I remember that letter. It was pretty standard. We didn’t notice any red flags when we read it.”

“It was a run-of-the-mill letter. His former employer hadn’t gone overboard with her praise for him, so nobody would assume it was phony. There was nothing suspicious about its content, but something told me there was something weird about it. So I did a little digging.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense! What did you find?” Trixie urged.

“Lynn Holcomb was indeed the director of the mental health facility where Michael worked, but she couldn’t have signed that letter. It was dated for February 19th, but Ms. Holcomb was in Stowe on a skiing trip at that time.”

“Maybe she wrote it and signed it while she was on vacation. She could’ve faxed it to Michael because he was in a hurry. As I recall, there was a deadline for sending Jim applications because he wanted to start interviewing applicants before the end of the month. Michael’s application barely arrived in time for him to be considered for the position.”

“That may have explained it, but according to an article I read online, Lynn Holcomb was skiing with a group of friends, and she and one other person got trapped in an avalanche on February 16th of that same year. She was considered missing until February 27th when her body was found. At that time, she was declared dead.”

“She couldn’t have written that letter!”

“Nope, not less she wrote it under 20-feet of snow.”

“That letter was a fake!”

“Definitely,” Jack affirmed. “I called the facility and spoke with the new director. He verified everything I found online.”

“So Michael never worked there?”

“No, he worked there. The new director checked the personnel files, and Michael worked there exactly when he said he did. However, there was a note in Michael’s file. Apparently he was going to be fired, so he went ahead and quit.”

“Did the director say why?”

“No, it wasn’t in the file, and the new director wasn’t there when it happened. He said he’d ask some of the staff that were there and get back to me if he found out anything.”

“I still can’t believe that it was Michael! I knew as soon as Ten Acres was broken into that he’d had something to do with it. I just knew it! And I’ll just bet there’s a connection to Dot―”

“Hold on, Trixie,” Jack cautioned. “All we know is that his letter of recommendation was forged. There could be a simple explanation.”

“Such as?”

“Such as time was running out for Michael to turn in his application, he was getting desperate, so he wrote a fake letter of recommendation and signed his former boss’s name to it.”

“Well, how are we supposed to know?”

“You and Honey will ask him when you question him.”

“Oh, you’d better believe we’ll ask him. I also plan on asking him if he has any cousins in Iowa by the name of Dot.”

“Who is this Dot person, and why do you hate her so much?”

Trixie gave a sniff of indignation. “I’d tell you, but you’d only accuse me of being jealous of her.”

“Fair enough,” Jack chuckled, recalling their discussion about Amanda. He made a mental note just to ask Jim about it later.

“And don’t you even think about asking J―” A loud knock at the door interrupted her. “Oh! That must be Jim now. Honey was going to drop him off after he was released from the hospital. The agency technically isn’t open yet, so I left the door locked.”

“Okay. Make sure you give Professor a stern talking to for making that agreement with the Woodwards. He deserves a good whack on the head, but considering his recent injury, I’ll give him a pass.”

“Tell you what. I’ll wait till the bandages come off, and then I’ll give him that whack for you.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“And Jack?” There was a second knock at the door, this time louder. “I didn’t mean it when I said you completely suck.”

“Yeah, I love you, too, Detective. Talk to you later.”

Trixie hung up the phone and practically skipped to the door. Her fingers trembling slightly, she turned the deadbolt, twisted the knob, and pushed open the door. She couldn’t wait to jump into Jim’s arms!

“Welcome―” Overcome with shock, Trixie left the “back” unsaid. The smile on her face faded. Instead of Jim, the two homicide detectives from the NYPD stood opposite her. Her thoughts immediately went to Jim, and fear gripped her soul. Had the stalker hurt him?

“My, my, what an enthusiastic greeting,” Charlie Weirton said, his tone sarcastic. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were expecting someone else.”

“I was,” Trixie informed him brusquely.

Bennie Rodriguez grinned at her. “Anyone we know?”

“Detectives, it’s nice of you to stop by, but I’m very busy,” she said, forcing herself to remain calm. She was desperate to know if Jim was okay, but if she asked about him, it would be obvious why. “Is there anything I can help you with? If not, I really do need to get back to work…”

“As a matter of fact, there is something you can do for us,” Bennie told her. “You can get your coat and come for a little ride with us.”

“We need to ask you some questions,” Charlie elaborated.

Trixie swallowed back the lump that had risen in her throat. “Like I said, I’m kind of busy here. Can it wait?”

“No, it can’t,” Charlie answered.

“Can’t you question me here?”

Bennie smirked at her. “We’d rather ask these questions in a more official setting. So get your coat and c’mon. We’re busy, too, only we have real detective work to do.”

“Fine.” Trixie went back inside to get her coat and purse. When her back was turned to the detectives, she sent Honey a quick text to let her know where she’d be.

“Hurry up, sweetheart,” Bennie warned. “We’ve got places to be, things to do, suspects to arrest.”

Trixie scowled. Only a few people were allowed to call her sweetheart, and Bennie Rodriguez wasn’t one of them. “I’m trying to find my keys,” she said, digging through her purse. “I have to lock up.”

Charlie rolled his eyes. “I’ll never understand why women carry those big purses. They can’t ever find anything in them.”

Trixie bit her tongue and resisted the urge to stab Charlie in the neck with her newly found keys. She locked the front door of the agency and then looked up at the detectives. “Okay, I’m ready when you are.”

Feeling a bit like a prisoner headed for the gallows, she followed them to their car and climbed into the backseat. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would’ve been safer with the stalker.

Thank you so much to the lovely ladies that edited for me, Steph H and Kaye. I don’t know what I’d do without them!

Even though my Honey and Brian have broken up, they still have a close relationship. One of my editors comments about Honey being “inelegant” around him. That’s the exact effect I was going for. They’re comfortable enough around one another to be themselves. So why’d they break up? I don’t know, but they insisted that’s how it was supposed to be, and I’ve learned never to argue with the stars of my stories.

Lest any of you think I was too hard on Brian, his character is written with love. I’m a big believer in birth order influencing personality, and Brian is very much a firstborn child. As another firstborn, I can relate. It sucks being so OCD.

Yes, most hospitals’ charts are computerized. I don’t care. For the purpose of this story, St. Vincent’s charts are recorded on paper. So there!

The University of Louisville did indeed do a study on redheads needing more anesthesia. Cool, huh?

Did you like that throwback candy striper reference? One of my editors caught it. Yay!

The Darnells were mentioned in Red Trailer Mystery. Only Joeanne and Sally were named, so the names provided were my own. The sex of the youngest Darnell child wasn’t given, so I gave the baby a unisex name.

The “Ignorant” movies (as well as Jack’s love for them!) starring Cade Pesina were mentioned in “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg.” There’s something about them that make Jack talk like a caveman.

Trish, Jack’s current girlfriend, is based on Jix’s own beloved Trish. I have it on good authority that Jack loves filming scenes with her.

Apparently, New Yorkers do refer to the horses with the mounted unit as ten-foot cops. I thought that was cool.

Brad Richardson has been mentioned in several stories. He works with Jack at the PI firm Trixie worked at while in Los Angeles.

Michael Murray was mentioned in “Things That Go Bump in the Morning.”