Author’s note:

This story takes place after “Days of Auld Lang Syne” in my future universe. It’s time for Jim and Trixie to begin planning their wedding. However, Madeleine has news that will put a kink in their plans.

Saturday, January 8

Trixie Belden bit back a yawn as she struggled to pay attention. By no stretch of the imagination was she an expert on etiquette, but Trixie had a feeling Emily Post would consider it impolite for her to fall asleep while her future mother-in-law was talking to her. She wasn’t tired, only bored out of her mind. When she began imagining she was listening to the adults in a Charlie Brown television special speak in their indiscernible voices, she decided it was time to buckle down and pay attention, no matter how painful that might prove to be.

Hoping that a change of position would enable her to stay awake, Trixie tried to cross her legs. That task proved to be easier said than done. Much to her chagrin, the form-fitting pencil skirt Honey had forced her to wear that morning made the feat slightly more daunting than she would’ve wagered. A poke on her elbow alerted Trixie to the fact that something was being said that she needed to hear.

“… have to pick up the pace a bit, since we’re already six months behind in planning,” her future mother-in-law was saying. “Not that we’re complaining, of course. We’re all delighted you two lovebirds are so anxious to wed, and frankly, I think the date you’ve chosen is perfect. In a way, July seventh was special for all of us. Matthew, Honey, and I were blessed by the first addition to our family on that day thirteen years ago, and it will be a privilege to welcome another member to the Wheeler clan this July seventh.”

The groom and the mother of the bride expressed their agreement, while the bride-to-be stifled the urge to wriggle around to get the feeling back in her butt cheeks.

“So, although we’re pleased you’ll be married so soon, some of our decisions will need to be made immediately,” Madeleine explained in her perfectly modulated tone.

“You’re absolutely right, Maddie,” Helen murmured, as she demurely sipped her tea. “Weddings take so long to plan. We have a lot of work to do.”

Jim casually leaned back against the wingchair in which he sat. The expensively tailored gray pinstriped suit that he wore gave the misleading impression he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. “Whatever you say, Mother. I’m just the groom. Just tell me when to be there, and I’ll get to the church on time.”

“What do you think, Trixie?” Madeleine prompted. Judging by the earnest look in her wide hazel eyes, it appeared she genuinely wanted the event to be memorable for this couple.

Realizing she was expected to give a response, Trixie nodded enthusiastically. However, her attention was still focused on trying to figure out how to cross her right leg over her left knee— and keep it there— without ripping the seam of that blasted body-hugging skirt. Madeleine’s voice once again began to drone as Trixie concentrated on accomplishing her mission.

“…once you’ve decided what kind of wedding you want to have,” she vaguely heard Madeleine say. “I believe we’d be wise to hire a wedding coordinator. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of speaking with Felicia Paulette, who comes highly recommended…”

Grimacing slightly, Trixie gripped the delicate handle of the bone china teacup more tightly in her hand, and then tried again to cross her legs. After a brief moment of triumph, the stiff fabric of the charcoal-gray skirt reclaimed its captive, and her right leg was once again restricted to the floor. She gasped as a few drops of tea splashed out of the cup and landed on her burgundy wrap sweater.

“… luckily Ms. Paulette has agreed to pencil us in, and has asked to meet with us next week at your earliest convenience, Trixie.” Madeleine seemed unaware of the troubles her son’s fiancée was experiencing and continued prattling off the items on her well-organized list. “My friends at the club have all assured me that Ms. Paulette is the crème de la crème of wedding coordinators. I have no reason to doubt that she’ll do a fabulous job. This is, after all, the wedding of the century.”

Trixie instinctively flinched as she heard the phrase “wedding of the century”. Things only got worse when her action caused her to spill a few more drops of tea on her shirt. Thankfully, her knight in shining armor was on duty, as usual. Jim discreetly passed his blushing bride the ever-present handkerchief from his jacket pocket. After mouthing a frantic “thank you”, Trixie used it to dab at the brown-colored stain on her top.

“She’ll help us with the bulk of our plans. For instance, picking out a cake, choosing the announcements, selecting a caterer…”

One side of Trixie’s mouth twitched determinedly as she made a final attempt to sit more comfortably. Bouncing her right foot against the floor in order to achieve a higher kick, she finally gained the momentum necessary to successfully hike her right leg back over the other knee. However, her jubilation was short-lived as the saucer, which had been balanced on her upper thighs, was catapulted upward by the taut fabric of her skirt. The small plate then shot up in the air, and Trixie squeezed her eyes shut and listened for the inevitable sound of shattering china. Once she heard the saucer hit the plush Oriental rug below her feet, she opened one wary eye. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that the priceless piece of dinnerware remained in one piece.

“Whoops,” she finally managed, her face distorted in a wince.

Madeleine paused briefly in her oration to examine the overturned saucer. A smile twitching at the corners of her lips, she motioned for the maid with a slender hand. “Monica, could you please take away this saucer and get Trixie a new one?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid hustled to do her employer’s bidding, stopping long enough to smile encouragingly at the obviously nervous bride-to-be.

“Where was I?” Madeleine peeked at her list, and then promptly resumed with the business at hand. “One thing Ms. Paulette did suggest was that we should have a black-and-white photograph taken immediately, which we could send to newspapers and use with the announcements when we proclaim the happy news to the rest of the world…”

Trixie, still uncomfortable in her current position, squirmed around, hoping to restore some feeling to her left buttock. A subtle clearing of the throat caused her to look up into in a pair of disparaging blue eyes.

Helen, keeping her withering gaze focused on her wiggling daughter, made a show of pointedly crossing her ankles in a comfortable, yet ladylike, position. She nodded at Trixie, her expression clearly conveying an unspoken order. Now you try it.

With a hint of a pout, Trixie did as her mother silently instructed. Much to her chagrin, the pins-and-needles sensation in the left region of her backside remained. In addition, she noticed that the torturous pantyhose enveloping the lower half of her body like sausage casings were rapidly slipping down below her hips, and at the current rate of slippage, they’d be pooling around her ankles next time she stood.

“…next thing Ms. Paulette recommended we do is settle upon the place for the ceremony and reception,” Madeleine remarked, unaware of Trixie’s life-or-death plight. “Since I’m assuming our guest list will be quite extensive, I’ve been thinking about…”

Pretending to scratch her hip, Trixie reached behind her and gave a yank upward. Thankfully, her fingertips grabbed on enough nylon to hitch the confounded pantyhose further up on her hipbone, where gravity’s pull wasn’t so strong. Another stern glare from her mother caused Trixie to resist any further tugging and start praying; the state of her L’eggs was now in the hands of the Almighty.

“… Country Club, which would be happy to accommodate us,” Madeleine continued. She turned to fasten her large, expressive eyes on the happy couple. “Personally, I felt that would be a lovely spot for the reception. What do you think?”

Jim held up his hands in protest. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m just the groom. My job is to keep her happy.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the bride-to-be.

Madeleine smiled affectionately at the pair. “So Trixie, since keeping you happy is at the top of all our lists, what do you think about having the reception at the Country Club?”

“Uhhh…” Trixie stammered nervously, “I guess that’d be all right.”

“Of course, we don’t need to make any final decisions today,” Madeleine commented, sensing Trixie’s hesitancy. “Unless you have your heart set on something already, I’m sure Ms. Paulette could recommend a spot that will be perfect for us.”

“It might be good to listen to some of her suggestions,” Trixie murmured, very unsure of herself.

Madeleine nodded in understanding. Her perceptive gaze quickly picked up on her future daughter-in-law’s reluctance to speak her mind. She smiled warmly at the younger woman in an attempt to put her at ease. “Trixie dear, don’t be afraid to tell me what you really want. After all, this is your wedding, and you’ll only have one. We need to make it as perfect for you and Jim as possible.”

Trixie nervously twirled Jim’s favorite curl around her index finger. Strengthened by Madeleine’s earnest expression, she admitted, “Actually, there is one detail that’s important to me.” However, her explanation was interrupted by an audible pang of hunger. She winced as a second growling sound came from the general vicinity of her stomach.

“I’m anxious to hear your thoughts, dear,” Madeleine assured her with a warm smile. “But before we proceed, Monica, would you please bring in the refreshments?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The pretty maid nodded politely and then scurried off towards the kitchen.

Trixie breathed a sigh of relief, which was followed by another rumble from her empty stomach.

“Now, what were you saying, Trixie?” Madeleine prompted.

Trixie resisted the urge to squirm nervously in her seat as Jim’s adoptive mother studied her carefully. She was never comfortable being under such scrutiny, especially when her examiner was the epitome of grace and elegance. “I was thinking that since Jim and I are getting married on the anniversary of the day we met, that maybe the wedding could take place in the same spot.”

“The same spot?” Madeleine arched a honey-colored brow thoughtfully. “You mean the place where you first met?”

“Yes,” Trixie agreed, her sandy curls bobbing around her heart-shaped face.

“But Ten Acres burned down,” Helen pointed out. Her eyes narrowed in a confused manner as she pondered her daughter’s request. “That’s a lovely thought, dear, but how will you get married at James’ house?”

Trixie wrinkled her pert nose. “Well, not the exact same spot,” she clarified. “Uncle James’ living room obviously isn’t there anymore, and a boys’ bathroom is currently sitting where the living room used to be, and a roomful of urinals certainly wouldn’t be a good setting for a wedding. But the location I’ve chosen will be close enough to the place where we met.”

“And where exactly is that?” In spite of her current state of confusion, it appeared by Madeleine’s smile that she had all the patience in the world. “I’m afraid I’ve never mastered the art of Honey-speak, Trixie. Where exactly will the ceremony take place?”

“In the chapel of Ten Acres Academy,” Trixie explained.

Helen’s forehead furrowed thoughtfully. “I thought you’d always wanted to have your wedding in the backyard of Crabapple Farm.”

“I know, Moms,” Trixie answered gently, aware of the disappointment her mother was attempting to mask. “But once I saw the chapel at the school, I knew it was the perfect place for a wedding.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she imagined marrying the man she loved in the chapel that was so dear to both of them. However, her dreamy expression soon turned to worry when a response from her mother and future mother-in-law didn’t immediately come. She held her breath as she waited for their reaction. “You probably think that’s a really dumb idea, don’t you?”

Jim winked at his fiancée. “You already know what I think,” he told her encouragingly. “Besides—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just the groom,” Trixie interrupted. In spite of her teasing, she smiled at him thankfully. She then looked at the older women, desiring their approval.

Although Madeleine was smiling, she was also shaking her head, making her reaction unreadable. Trixie wasn’t sure if the head shaking was done in approval or disapproval, but she was anxious to find out.

“Trixie, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better idea,” Madeleine finally proclaimed. “Ten Acres’ chapel is so lovely, and I think it’s very romantic that you’ll be married where you met.”

“It would make a beautiful spot,” Helen agreed. “If it’s all right with the administrator at Ten Acres, it’s fine with me.”

Jim grinned broadly. “Although I’m just the groom, I have a little pull with the headmaster at the school, so I’m sure I can work something out.” He leaned over and kissed the top of Trixie’s curly head. “Shamus, I already told you that I think it’s the perfect spot. I’m glad you thought of it.”

“I only worry about all our guests fitting,” Madeleine remarked. “How many will the chapel hold, Jim?”

“About three hundred or three-fifty,” Jim answered with a shrug. “We designed it as big as a full-sized sanctuary, hoping the school would be bursting at the seams someday. Since Trixie and I don’t want our wedding to turn into a circus, there should be plenty of room for everyone we want to invite.”

“That’s fair enough,” Helen surmised. “I’m sure we can squeeze all the Belden and Johnson clans into our half of the chapel.”

“Yes,” Madeleine said, nodding, “if that’s where you lovebirds want to be married, then we’ll make it work. Besides, that’ll give me the perfect excuse not to invite half of Matthew’s business associates.” A positively wicked smile parted her lips and went all the way up to her sparkling amber-colored eyes.

Trixie couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Make sure you invite The Donald.”

“Of course he’ll be at the top of our list,” Madeleine said with only a touch of sarcasm. “Matthew would never forgive me if I didn’t invite his ol’ pal Donnie.”

Helen quirked a curious brow, but before anyone could offer an explanation, Monica returned with the tiered cart, laden with an assortment of attractively arranged finger foods.

Trixie watched with great interest as the young maid wheeled the cart in front of the sitting area. Hoping for a BLT or maybe a meatball hoagie, she studied the food on each level. To her dismay, the fancy delicacies displayed on silver platters and lacy doilies didn’t appear very substantial, much less edible. However, at this point, Trixie would’ve considered eating the linen napkins if it would keep her stomach from growling like an irate grizzly bear who’d just been woken up from his hibernation a month behind schedule.

After Monica handed her a china plate, Trixie hesitantly selected a few of the dainty sandwiches from the platter. Wondering briefly what the line between gluttony and polite was, she reasoned that since the crusts were missing from the bread, she could safely take three of the quarters without appearing too hoggish.

Next, she studied the mysterious items on the second platter. The base of the delicacy consisted of some sort of wafer-like thing. On top there was a mound of unfamiliar black balls (which resembled pellets from a BB gun or possibly a large rabbit), a sliver of olive, and a parsley sprig. If nothing else, the appetizer looked quite fancy. Not that that guaranteed it would be edible, of course… However, mustering her courage, she took a couple of the toast rounds and hoped for the best.

Finally, Trixie surveyed the third platter, which held little brown balls wrapped in bacon. The identity of the brown circular objects eluded her.

Well, she reasoned, if it’s wrapped in bacon, it has to be good. After all, like my almost-twin has always said, bacon makes everything better.

Tenuously, she picked a few of the mysterious things from the platter and placed them beside the other food items on her plate, hoping that the pitiful pile of appetizers would appease her pangs of hunger.

“Shall we continue our discussion now?” Madeleine asked once all her guests had filled their plates with various delicacies. “I believe we were going over the guest list.”

“More specifically, we were talking about keeping the guest list to a reasonable number,” Jim added, grinning broadly.

Helen laughed. “Don’t worry, Jim. We promise to keep the guest list as short as possible.”

“Yes, dear, we promise to hang only a few people from the ceiling fans,” Madeleine teased.

“That’s reassuring,” Jim cracked. “Isn’t it, Trix?”

Trixie’s curls bounced around her cheeks as she looked up from the mysterious items on her plate and turned her gaze to her mother. “Well, Moms, if you really need to hang Aunt Alicia from one of the ceiling fans, I promise not to turn it on,” she commented with a wicked grin. “Not on high speed, anyway…”

“How very kind of you, sweetheart,” Helen remarked dryly.

Trixie merely giggled as she picked up one of the sandwich quarters and took a bite. The smile was effectively wiped off of her face and was replaced with a snarl as she struggled to chew up the remainder of the food in her mouth without spewing it out on the priceless rug beneath her feet.

Trixie normally liked cucumbers; truly, she did. Cream cheese… utterly divine; as far as she was concerned, there was no better way to top a bagel. Mayonnaise was a veritable treat on the average sandwich; the more, the better. Green onions… her favorite guilty pleasures; those little slices of heaven were a delectable way to spoil one’s breath. However, there was no question in Trixie’s mind that it was a miscarriage of gourmet justice to mix all these ingredients together, slap them on quartered rye bread, and call it a “finger sandwich”.

In Trixie’s humble opinion, cucumber sandwiches bit the big one.

Obviously enjoying her appetizers, Madeleine daintily wiped the corners of her lips with her linen napkin. “We’ll discuss the seating arrangement later,” she said with a smile. “Have you discussed who’s going to be in the wedding party?”

“I asked Brian to be my best man,” Jim answered. A lopsided grin parted his generous lips. “He’s assured me that I made the right decision.”

“Of course you did!” Helen agreed enthusiastically with a wink. “There’s no better man for the job than my firstborn. Well, unless you’d asked my second or fourth born.”

“Speaking of your second-born son, Moms, I’ve asked Mart and Dan to be my ushers,” Jim continued.

Helen furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “What about Bobby? Aren’t you going to ask him to be in the wedding? I’d hate for you to leave him out.”

It didn’t take a private investigator to pick up on Helen’s wounded tone. Jim cleared his throat nervously. “You have a good point there. I’ll call Bobby this evening and ask him to be an usher.”

“A-hem?” Trixie narrowed her eyes and studied her fiancé critically. “I thought your job was to keep me happy.”

“True, but a wise man once told me that it’s always a good idea to keep your future in-laws happy, too,” Jim remarked with a sheepish grin. “Especially the female in-law.

Madeleine chuckled. “It sounds like you’ve been talking to Matthew. I believe my father gave him some similar advice before our wedding.”

After taking a long sip of her tea, Trixie replied, “Since Honey and Di are both my best friends, I asked Honey to be my maid of honor, and Di will be my matron of honor.”

“How nice,” Madeleine commented approvingly. She leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “By the way, Helen, something tells me we’ll be planning another wedding soon, now that Brian’s residency is over.”

Helen winked at her friend. “Something tells me you’re right.”

“Hello?” Trixie huffed in feigned annoyance. She played the “wounded” bit to the hilt, treating them all to an indignant sniff/toss of her curls combo. “Don’t you have enough wedding ceremonies to plan right now? Can’t you just focus on the Frayne-Belden union before you start thinking about the Belden-Wheeler one? For once, can’t I be the center of everyone’s universes?”

“Don’t worry, Trixie,” Madeleine assured her, her tone teasing. “We won’t skimp on any of the details regarding your big day.”

“I certainly hope not,” Trixie joked with a haughty lift of her chin. “Since I’m being forced to have this elaborate shindig instead of eloping, I demand to be treated like royalty.”

Madeleine pretended to bow in allegiance. “We’ll make sure that on July seventh, your every step will be taken upon rose petals, that the cake is made out of edible gold, and that every oyster on the buffet contains a pearl.”

“See that you do,” Trixie stated grandly. “And while you’re at it, change those rose petals to orchids.”

“Consider it done, Princess Trixie.” Madeleine made a notation on her pad of paper.

“Your side of the family will be footing the bill for those orchids, edible gold, and pearls, right?” Helen queried incredulously. She winked over at Jim. “Son, if you want to keep your mother-in-law happy, you’d better do something to keep this wedding from costing a million bucks.”

Jim made a show of gulping loudly as he looked first at Trixie, then at Helen, and finally back at Trixie. “I think for my own safety and well-being that I’m going to move a few states away while you ladies finish your planning. After all, I’m just—”

“…the groom,” the three women chorused.

“Now that we’ve established that Jim’s the groom, who are the rest of your attendants, Trixie?” Helen inquired, her blue eyes sparkling.

Trixie scrunched up her pert nose as she pondered her mother’s question. At this particular point in time, she’d given much more thought to the honeymoon rather than the actual ceremony, but that wasn’t something she planned to share with her mother or future mother-in-law. “Juliana will be visiting from Amsterdam, and she’s going to be my bridesmaid. I’m going to ask Tiffany Delanoy to be our flower girl, and Hans and Juliana’s son, Ruben, will be our ring bearer.”

Helen cocked her head pensively to one side and studied her daughter carefully. “Since Jim’s going to ask Bobby to be an usher, you’ll be short one bridesmaid.”

“Helen’s right,” Madeleine said. “You’ll need another attendant.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Trixie muttered unhappily. She leaned over to elbow him firmly in the gut. “You know, since your job description includes being just the groom, I think you could be replaced easily enough by a chimpanzee.”

“You have no idea how challenging my position as just the groom is,” Jim informed her with a disbelieving snort. “A lesser man would crumble under such pressure.”

Helen smirked at her daughter’s future husband. “Before you dig your hole any deeper, Jim, why don’t we help Trixie think of another candidate for her other bridesmaid?”

“Can’t we just have an uneven number of attendants and ushers?” Trixie groaned. “Is there some law that states everything has to be symmetrical?”

“If there isn’t, there should be,” Jim declared, skillfully dodging his fiancée’s icy glare. “Hey, Trix, why don’t you ask Barbara Hubbell?”

“I guess I could ask Barb,” Trixie said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen her for a few years, but I think Honey still keeps in touch with her.”

“I know! What about Hallie?” Helen suggested.

Feigning ignorance, Trixie scratched her chin. “Hallie? I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Halette Eleanor Belden?” Helen clipped brusquely. “Your first cousin?”

“What about her?” Trixie blinked her eyes innocently in her best Diana Lynch Belden impression.

“Since you need another bridesmaid, why don’t you ask her?” Helen asked with an impatient sigh.

Trixie shrugged her shoulders. “Heck, I wasn’t planning on even inviting Hallie to the wedding, much less asking her to be in it,” she retorted, keeping her attention focused on her plate.

“Beatrix Helen Belden, that isn’t very nice of you,” Helen scolded gently. “She is your only girl cousin.”

“Well, she didn’t ask me to be in her wedding,” Trixie retorted.

“Hallie hasn’t gotten married yet,” Helen reminded her with a touch of exasperation in her voice.

Tossing a scowl over her shoulder, Trixie maintained her stance. “That’s beside the point.”

“She is family,” Helen added. “Surely she ranks above a girl you haven’t seen for several years.”

“Yeah, but Knut and Cap are family, too.” Trixie snorted loudly, her chin elevated in her most defiant manner. “Do you want me to ask them to be bridesmaids?”

Helen merely leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and glared at her daughter in her most disapproving manner.

“Fine,” Trixie agreed. Judging by her loud, lengthy exhale, it was with great reluctance. “I’ll ask Hallie to be in the wedding, but I don’t have to like it. And she’d better shave under her arms, or I’m replacing with that bag lady that’s been hanging around Sleepyside.” She smirked over at Jim. “Some help you are. That chimpanzee’s looking better all the time.”

Lips twitching as she witnessed the exchange between the two equally stubborn Belden ladies, Madeleine marked a line through that item on her list.

Trixie, not nearly as amused as Madeleine Wheeler, rolled her eyes in exasperation and picked up one of the wafers with the black pellet-like things on it. Before she could think, she popped it into her mouth. Immediately, she realized the foolishness of her hasty action. She practically puked on the spot, an action she was sure would be frowned upon by Miss Manners. However, she came to a conclusion; those pellet-like things were rabbit poop!

Blissfully unaware of Trixie’s urge to regurgitate, Madeleine insisted upon discussing wedding details. “Trixie, when would it be convenient for you to begin the search for the dress? After all, that is the most important detail.”

Blinking back a few stinging tears caused by the rancid taste in her mouth, Trixie reluctantly swallowed the foul-tasting appetizer, and then choked out, “It is?”

Helen chuckled nervously. “Trixie, wearing a fancy dress for a few hours isn’t any reason to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Trixie insisted, waving her hand in front of her face in an effort to dry the moisture streaming down her cheeks. “I just… ummm… bit my tongue…”

Jim, who had been watching his fiancée struggle to ingest the caviar canapé, strategically covered his mouth with his hand so nobody would see his amused grin.

“Do you need something cold to drink?” Madeleine offered.

Trixie nodded her head vigorously. “A Coke would be good. And some extra napkins, if you have them.”

“Yes, miss,” Monica said, quickly heading into the next room to retrieve the items Trixie requested.

“I could get used to this servant stuff,” Trixie mumbled to herself.

“So, Trixie,” Madeleine began, “when will you begin searching for your gown? There are a few dress shops I can recommend; just tell them I sent you and they’ll treat you exceptionally well.”

Trixie nervously bit her lower lip. “I thought that… I mean… I sort of hoped that you could help me pick out my dress…”

“Traditionally, that isn’t something that the mother of the groom does, but I’d be thrilled to go with you when you pick out your gown, Trixie,” Madeleine told her, smiling with pleasure. “Would you like my help, or are you just asking me to be nice?”

Trixie nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I want your help! I haven’t been to any big society weddings, and although Jim and I aren’t planning something as huge as Charles and Diana’s, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you by picking out the wrong kind of dress.”

“Trixie, you could never embarrass us.” Madeleine’s eyes grew a bit misty as she looked over at the young woman. “I’m sure we’d be pleased with anything you’d choose.” She glanced over in Jim’s direction, and then turned back to Trixie and winked. “After all, you’ve already proven to us that you have excellent taste.”

“Still, I’d like for you to be there to approve whatever I pick out.” Trixie smiled shyly at the elegant lady. “Besides, it would be a good opportunity for us to get to know one another better.”

Madeleine beamed with happiness and nodded in agreement. “Yes, it would. So, when do you want to go, dear?”

“Umm... next Saturday?” Trixie proposed. “What do you think, Jim? Do we have any plans?”

“I’m just—”

“You’re just the groom, yeah, yeah,” Trixie interrupted hastily. “Well, I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think Saturday’s free. Is that okay with you?” She looked expectantly at her mother and Madeleine.

“Saturday’s fine with me,” Helen said. “Peter’s playing golf, and I believe Bobby’s going to a concert in Syracuse, so I have the whole day off.”

“Saturday works for me as well.” Madeleine, just as perceptive as her daughter, immediately noticed Trixie’s nervousness, and hoping to put her at ease, added, “Maybe we could ask Honey and Di if they’d like to come with us. They have such marvelous taste, and that would make our outing more fun for you, Trixie.”

“I’d like that,” Trixie agreed with a smile. “That way, Honey and Di could start getting ideas about the attendants’ gowns.”

“Why, Trixie.” Helen turned slightly in her chair and looked questioningly at her daughter. “You’re the bride. Aren’t you supposed to pick out all the dresses, even the ones for the bridesmaids?”

“I asked Honey and Di to pick them out,” Trixie replied with a shrug. “I’m not wearing one of them, so I really don’t care what they look like. Well, as long as they’re blue and ugly, that is; those are my only stipulations. I have to get Diana back for the purple monstrosity she made her bridesmaids wear, you know. I looked like Barney the Dinosaur in that god-awful thing.”

“Diana’s attendants’ gowns weren’t that bad, dear,” Helen said. She sighed a bit wistfully, and then added, “I was hoping we could pick out your bridesmaids’ dresses together. I already had some ideas…”

Hoping if her mouth was full she wouldn’t have to answer anymore questions, Trixie quickly picked up one of the weird-looking, bacon-covered balls and popped it into her mouth. It was a decision she would come to regret. The instant she bit into the appetizer, her lips puckered from the foul taste. She made a mental note to inform Mart that bacon couldn’t make everything better; there just wasn’t any hope for some food.

“Aren’t those bacon-wrapped water chestnuts divine?” Madeleine inquired, having noticed Trixie had just eaten one of them.

Trixie could think of several adjectives to describe the appetizer she’d just eaten; however, “divine” wasn’t one of them. She gratefully accepted the cold Coke and the extra napkins the maid handed her, and immediately put both to good use. After deciding the food she had in her mouth wasn’t fit for human consumption, she hastily spit it into one of the napkins. Grimacing, she took a hearty swig of cola in an attempt to rid her mouth of the foul taste the water chestnut left behind.

“Mrs. Wheeler, may I have a moment with you, ma’am?” Monica inquired politely.

Once Madeleine was deep in conversation with the maid, Trixie took that opportunity to rub one of the extra cloth napkins Monica had given her against her tongue, hoping that would help get off the bitter residue.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Apparently her taste buds had been forever seared by the revolting refreshments, and the noxious flavor would remain on her tongue for an eternity. No matter what she did, the unpleasant aftertaste of water chestnuts lingered.

Thankfully, Madeleine was too involved in her conversation with Monica to notice the horrible faces her future daughter-in-law was making. As Trixie fought the urge to gag, she noticed that she was currently receiving the “glare of death” from her mother, as well as the “smirk of bemusement” from her fiancé. She was tempted to stick her contaminated tongue out at both of them, but if she did, with her current luck, Madeleine would turn around and see.

Although she didn’t say a word, Helen’s instructions were crystal clear: Finish the food on your plate.

I don’t want to, and you can’t make me! was her daughter’s stubborn response.

The two obstinate women locked identical china blue eyes; neither appeared willing to budge an inch.

A standoff was avoided when Monica resumed her servant duties and Madeleine shifted her attention back to playing hostess. “Helen, did you have anything specific in mind for the mothers’ dresses? I was hoping that when we went out with Trixie and Honey this weekend, we could sneak in some time to look for our gowns.”

Immediately, Helen’s attention was diverted from the appetizers remaining on her daughter’s plate. “That sounds like fun,” she commented. The older women immediately began a discussion of sequins versus beading, lace versus elaborate embroidery, conservative versus frumpy, and understated elegance versus stark simplicity.

Although Trixie was still hungry, conversation was much more appealing than taking one more bite of the repulsive items on her plate. She looked over at her fiancé, who appeared to be deep in thought. Worried, she nudged him on the arm with her elbow. “Are you okay, Jim?” she whispered.

Startled, Jim gasped as he turned to face her. “What’d you say, Trix?”

“Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Jim smiled in an attempt to reassure her. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, babe; just the usual school stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Trixie asked doubtfully.

“Positive.” Jim nodded down at Trixie’s plate. “Hey, I thought you were hungry.”

Trixie snarled her lip at the appetizers. “I’d rather eat dirt.”

Jim stifled a chuckle. “Just leave them on your plate.”

“I can’t,” Trixie murmured, casting a pointed smirk in her mother’s direction. “She’s making me clean my plate.”

With a twinkle in his shamrock-colored eyes, Jim stretched out a long leg and used his toe to snag a potted plant which was positioned near the window. Once the houseplant was within his reach, he casually slid it beside Trixie’s chair. Winking, he nodded pointedly first in the direction of Trixie’s plate, and then towards the pot.

After making sure that their mothers were still talking, Trixie scrunched up her nose and then shook her head slightly.

Do it now, before your mom sees, Jim mouthed. It’s your only hope.

Trixie shook her head more adamantly, allowing her sunshine-colored ringlets to shake. She’ll know, she countered silently. She always does. Moms knows all.

No, she won’t. C’mon!

Trixie cast a mournful glance at the assortment of appetizers remaining on her plate (which suddenly seemed like an outrageous amount of food), and then a wistful one at the plant’s container. Her eyes full of regret, she shook her head a third time. I don’t want to kill your mom’s plant, and I think those chestnut things are toxic.

I’ll dig ‘em out tonight after everyone else goes to bed, Jim silently promised. Dump ‘em now!

Seizing the opportunity, Trixie dumped the contents of her plate into the potting soil, making sure to cover the evidence with the plant’s leaves. Much to her surprise, a shriveled lump, which was either a Brussels sprout or a tiny shrunken head, peeked out at her. In spite of her dilemma, Trixie’s curious nature caused her to wonder exactly when the vegetable had been left there and by whom.

Trixie had barely accomplished her mission when Helen and Madeleine concluded their discussion about mothers’ gowns. She daintily wiped the corners of her mouth with a clean napkin and proudly sat—ankles primly crossed—with her empty plate on her lap.

“That was excellent, Mrs. Wheeler,” she murmured in her most polite tone. “Thank you so much.”

Although Helen quirked a brow at her daughter’s now-empty dish, she didn’t say a word.

“You’re welcome, dear,” Madeleine replied warmly. “But since you’re almost my daughter, why don’t you call me something less formal? All my closest friends call me Maddie.”

“All right… Maddie.” Trixie smiled shyly as she let the name roll off her tongue. Thankfully, it came off much easier than the water chestnut had.

“Yes, Mother, that was wonderful,” Jim remarked. His expression quickly went from reserved to hopeful. “However, I assume there’s dessert?”

Madeleine chuckled. “Yes, Jim, I believe Cook made some of her famous lemon tea cookies, just for you.”

“Mmm… Those do sound good,” Trixie commented in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone. She had to swallow to keep the drool from dripping down her chin. Her paltry lunch of a partial quarter of a cucumber sandwich, a nibble of a caviar canapé, and half a bacon-wrapped water chestnut had done little to sate her hunger.

“Monica, could you please bring in the desserts now?” Madeleine requested.

“As you wish.” Monica dutifully pushed the cart back into the kitchen, and Trixie hoped she would return with it full of sugary fares.

“Before she brings dessert, why don’t we discuss the last item on my list?” Madeleine suggested. “Trixie, pardon me for bringing up this particular subject, but we really need to take care of this.”

Trixie nodded, wondering what on earth was about to be sprung upon her.

“Jim, as your father and I told you recently, the Woodwards had asked us not to notify the press that you’ve broken your engagement to Amanda,” Madeleine continued as tactfully as possible. “She took your breakup very hard, and her parents were afraid she’d be embarrassed, particularly since you asked Trixie to marry you the very next day. Normally, we wouldn’t have obliged such a request, but since Carlton Woodward donates so much money to your school, we thought it would be wise to compromise.”

Sensing Trixie’s immediate discomfort at the mention of Jim’s former fiancée, Madeleine added with a sly wink, “Just between us, the Woodwards have always been such sore losers. Amanda just didn’t want the entire Eastern seaboard to know that the best girl won.”

In spite of her uneasiness, Trixie had to grin. Her grin became even broader as Monica wheeled the cart laden with various types of tea cookies in front of her. Much to her relief, none of them appeared to contain weird things, such as fish eggs or water chestnuts. Throwing etiquette out the window, she selected several lemon tea cookies, along with a few Snickerdoodles and coconut macaroons.

Jim waved a hand to express his disinterest in the topic being discussed. “Frankly, Mother, I don’t care if you ever notify the press. As far as I’m concerned, the less the reporters know, the better. ‘Page Five’ can mind their own business.”

“That’s ‘Page Six’, son,” Madeleine corrected, lips twitching in amusement.

“Well, whatever number that gossip rag goes by, I’ll never understand why they’re so fascinated with our personal lives,” Jim remarked. “Aren’t there wars, famines, and pestilences for them to talk about?”

Madeleine sighed wearily. “Jim, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. America is enamored with money; therefore, they’re enamored with those who have money. And like it or not, your father has a bunch of it, and after the killing you made on Wall Street, so do you.”

“I’d give it all back just to be able to get married in peace,” Jim said with a roll of his eyes. “I hate—no, I take that back— I abhor the press.”

“Abhor,” Trixie repeated quietly as she licked a cookie crumb from her mouth. “That’s a good Mart word.”

Once again, Helen sent another glare in Trixie’s direction. Shhh!

“Jim, your father and I have always been careful to shield you and Honey from the public eye, especially when you were under eighteen,” Madeleine told him. “You have to admit that you haven’t had that many problems with the paparazzi, especially in Sleepyside.”

Jim nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”

“However, when you asked Amanda to marry you, you jumped headfirst into the spotlight.” Madeleine leaned forward in her chair and steepled her hands in a thoughtful pose. “The Woodwards love to be in the public eye, and when you were still engaged to Amanda, she spoke to several reporters about the upcoming ceremony. Why, I believe she was even interviewed for a magazine article or two. The gown Vera Wang was designing for her was even going to be featured in Bride magazine.”

“Yeah, I think she mentioned something about that,” Jim muttered guiltily.

“You think?” Madeleine prompted.

Jim shrugged his shoulders, a grimace replacing his usual easygoing grin. “The time I spent with Amanda is just a blur now. I guess my subconscious is trying to block it out, since it was all a big mistake.”

“You can say that again,” Helen murmured politely from behind her teacup.

Trixie giggled, but couldn’t resist poking her fiancé in the ribs with her elbow. “Finally, something we can all agree on.”

Jim smirked over at her, but wisely chose not to argue.

“Whether you want to deal with the press or not, eventually our publicist is going to have to make a statement that you’ve broken your engagement to Amanda and are planning to marry Trixie in July,” Madeleine continued in a stern voice.

“I know,” Jim mumbled. He looked expectantly at his adoptive mother. “How do you think the tabloids and the gossip columns will react to the news?”

Madeleine pursed her lips thoughtfully, carefully choosing her words. In the end, she decided to be honest. Gut-wrenchingly honest. “They’ll probably have a field day, Jim. I’m sure the paparazzi will circle like buzzards for a few days, salivating for a picture of your new fiancée. Frankly, I’m amazed they haven’t already found out about Trixie, especially after you were seen together at the Country Club’s New Year’s party. It’s a wonder we haven’t seen a picture of you two yet on the cover of Star.”

“Mother, I had no idea we were supposed to be keeping our relationship ‘hush-hush’,” Jim pointed out angrily. “Nobody told me about your arrangement with the Woodwards!”

“I’m not blaming you, Jim,” Madeleine said in a soothing tone. “Your father and I have already apologized to you for not telling you about our agreement with Carlton. It was very wrong of us, but what’s done is done, and unfortunately, now we have to deal with it.”

However, Jim’s redheaded temper couldn’t be abated that easily. “Mother, you should’ve known that Trixie and I weren’t going to stay under a rock until the wedding. Eventually somebody would see us!”

“I know,” Madeleine continued calmly, “but since you usually insist on keeping such a low profile, your father and I felt it wouldn’t be an issue. We completely forgot about the New Year’s party. And wouldn’t you know that that sleazy Bill Morgan would be there, trusty camera in hand?”

“Thank God that Mart saw the pictures Bill took of us kissing, and kept him from publishing them in the Sleepyside Sun,” Jim muttered.

“By the way, Mart asked me to remind you to bring that $500 in hush money that you owe him,” Trixie remarked. “Keeping Bill from publishing those photos didn’t come cheap.”

“Let’s just pray Mart got the negatives,” Madeleine commented. “It would be a disaster if he sold those pictures to a national publication. I’m sure Carlton would be livid.”

“Maddie, what happens if those photographs do get out?” Helen questioned, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

“If the press finds out that Jim broke up with Amanda to become engaged to Trixie, they’ll turn this into some sordid affair,” Madeleine told them honestly. “Ordinary men can break up with somebody and become engaged to someone else the next day without it making the news. However, when one of the rich and famous follows his heart, it’s a scandal worthy of a six-page spread in People magazine.”

Jim exhaled wearily and rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingers. “This is all my fault. I never should’ve asked Amanda to marry me. I have a feeling that I’m going to pay for that mistake for the rest of my life.”

“We’ll get through this, dear,” Madeleine said in a consoling manner. “Your happiness is what’s most important, and you never could’ve been happy with Amanda. Even if we have to endure being haggled by the media, we’ll get through this, and it will all be worth it in the end.”

“I’m sorry to involve you in such a mess, Trix.” Jim reached over and grabbed Trixie’s hand, lightly rubbing his thumb along her hand. “I know you’ve been dreading being dragged into the spotlight.”

“It’s okay,” Trixie told him, her voice unwavering. “I’m a big girl, Jim. I can handle a few sleazeballs with cameras. And you’re forgetting something.”

Jim gazed expectantly at her and was rewarded with a bright smile that made the dimples deepen on either side of Trixie’s mouth.

“I’m a licensed private investigator,” Trixie reminded him with a giggle. “Since I’m usually the one taking all the secretive pictures, I know all their dirty tricks.”

“True.” Jim finally relaxed long enough to laugh nervously. “Well, Mother, since my ‘fragile’ bride doesn’t seem to be afraid of the bloodthirsty wolves more commonly known as the media, when do we want to drop the bomb? As far as I’m concerned, the sooner, the better.”

“Last week I spoke with Amanda’s mother, Natasha, and I told her Matthew and I would like to host an engagement party late next month for you and Trixie,” Madeleine explained. “Natasha and I agreed it would be best if we made an announcement about you and Amanda around the first of February. Amanda’s planning a trip to France around that time, so she’ll be abroad for the resulting chaos. Hopefully the media won’t be able to find her.”

Being the honorable gentleman he was, Jim nodded. “That might help to spare her some embarrassment,” he remarked. “I’d like to do all I can to protect her feelings.”

“I agree,” Madeleine said. “A few weeks after we’ve announced you’re your wedding to Amanda has been called off, our publicist could officially go public with your intentions to marry Trixie. That should coincide nicely with our plans for the engagement party.”

Both the groom- and bride-to-be nodded in agreement, although neither looked particularly excited about the prospect of an “engagement party”.

“An engagement party sounds like a fabulous idea, Maddie!” Helen exclaimed. “What can I do to help?”

Jim sighed wearily and looked over at Trixie, who was happily munching on her fourth coconut macaroon.

At least someone’s taking this in stride, he thought to himself with a rueful smile. And just a couple of weeks ago, she was the one freaking out over the inevitable hoopla. Of course, I have a very different reason for being so apprehensive… Raking a slightly trembling hand through his hair, he shoved his troubling thoughts to the back of his mind.

Almost as if on cue, Celia entered the sitting room, cordless phone in hand. Now the estate manager, she had forsaken Ms. Trask’s matronly attire for more stylish suits; however, regardless of her attire, she performed her duties just as efficiently as Marge Trask had. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but a Jack Palmer is on the phone asking to speak—”

Before Celia could finish her sentence, Trixie excitedly jumped up from her seat and had grabbed the phone. “I’m going to take this upstairs, Jack! Hang on a minute while I get the extension in Jim’s study.”

Celia watched in bemusement as Trixie handed her back the receiver, and then, quick as a bolt of lightning, darted out of the sitting room. Celia had to stifle a chuckle as she witnessed Trixie’s “graceful” departure. Hindered once again by the blasted pencil skirt, Trixie had hitched up the hem to her thighs and continued her mission at break-neck speed, stopping only long enough to kick off her black kitten heels in the hallway.

Celia turned to Jim, a helpless expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Jim. Mr. Palmer asked to speak to you, but—”

“That’s okay, Celia,” Jim interrupted, getting up from his seat and following the exact path his fiancée had taken seconds before. His long legs quickly caught up to Trixie and he entered his study just as she had plopped down in the chair behind his desk, phone receiver tucked between her ear and shoulder.

“Jack Palmer!” she shrieked excitedly, making the redheaded man on the other line cringe with pain. “How in the heck did you track me down to the Manor House? You really are the best detective who ever lived!”

“Why, Jim, your voice certainly has gone up an octave or two since the last time we spoke,” came the reply thousands of miles away in Los Angeles.

“It’s me! Trixie!”

Jack chuckled good-naturedly. “Really? All this time I had absolutely no idea I was speaking to you, Detective. You really had me fooled.”

“Oh, you!” Trixie giggled in spite of herself. “How’d you know I was going to be here at Jim’s?”

“Excuse me?” Jack queried.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jack Palmer! You knew I was going to be here at Jim’s, and you called to wish us well as we plan our wedding!” she handily summed up for him.

“Well, of course I did!” Jack hedged, his voice hinting the confusion he was experiencing. “You figured it out, Detective. I have to admit, though, that I wasn’t positive you’d be here now, so I just got lucky.”

“You can’t fool me,” Trixie blustered. “You and Jim must’ve planned this call days ago.”

“As a matter of fact―”

“So, how’s the crew in Los Angeles?” Trixie interjected before Jack could finish his sentence.

“Pretty good,” Jack answered, his voice expressing his amusement. He was quite used to being interrupted by the impetuous blonde. “We’ve all been really busy. The firm’s had a lot of exciting cases lately.”

“And how are you?” Trixie pried unapologetically. “Are you dating anyone?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I’ve been out a couple of times with someone,” Jack told her, laughing.

“What’s her name?” Trixie prompted.

Jack released a loud—most likely of the “annoyed” variety— breath. “Trixie, I’ve only gone out with her twice—”

“Her name, Mr. Palmer,” Trixie demanded. “You know how persistent I can be.”

“I most certainly do,” Jack muttered with a snort. “All right, Detective. Before you call in the C.I.A. to interrogate me, her name is Trish.”

Although he couldn’t see her, Trixie smiled smugly. “Now was that so difficult, Jack?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” he remarked wryly.

Thankfully for the auburn-haired detective, Trixie’s mind switched topics more rapidly than a jukebox changed songs. “So, how’re Ralph, George, and the rest of the guys?”

“They’re doing well,” Jack answered. “The flu’s been going around, but so far we’ve all gotten lucky.”

“And how’re Ralph’s sugar levels?” Trixie questioned, concern evident in her voice. “Is he still sticking to his diet?”

“Most of the time,” Jack replied. “Except when Tony makes one of his doughnut runs…”

Trixie sighed loudly into the mouthpiece. “So help me, Jackson Everett Palmer, if you let Ralph’s blood sugar levels get as high as they were before I came to California, I’ll come back there and kick your butt!”

“Calm down, Trixie,” Jack soothed. “Boss Man’s doing fine. Ever since his doctor put him on insulin—”

“He’s on insulin now?!” Trixie’s lips drew downward in a concerned frown. “When did that happen?”

“A few months ago.”

“And why didn’t anyone tell me?” she demanded.

“Because we knew you’d be doing exactly what you’re doing now,” Jack retorted.

“And what am I doing?”

“Freaking out unnecessarily,” was Jack’s even response.

Trixie lifted her chin in stubborn defiance. “Even if I am freaking out, it’s not unnecessarily.”

“Detective, things are under control,” Jack assured her. “Besides, even if something is amiss, what’re you going to do about it? Move back to Los Angeles so you can act as Ralph’s personal dietician?”

“No, but I might pop in for a visit,” she stated. “I’m sure I can schedule a few days off so I can stop by and make sure Ralph’s toeing the line.”

Jack hooted uproariously. “If anyone can make Boss Man toe the line, it’s you. You’re five-foot-two inches of pure terror, Detective. Speaking of which… Hey, have you used your stun gun on any frisky clients lately?”

“That’s not funny, Jack!” Trixie huffed angrily. “So help me, if I ever run into Brad Richardson again, he’d better be wearing a protective cup!”

“I’ll be sure and give him the message,” Jack said through chuckles.

“I can’t believe he’s still working at Keenan Investigations after the infamous stripper-gram incident,” she hissed.

“Well, since you left, none of the other women in the office appeal to Brad,” Jack informed her. “They’re all over sixty, wear polyester pantsuits, and are in the beginning stages of osteoporosis.”

“I don’t know about that; I wouldn’t leave that skirt-chaser alone with my Aunt Alicia,” Trixie muttered.

“How’s Sleepyside?” Jack inquired in an attempt to change the subject.

“Not as exciting as California, but I kind of like it that way,” she admitted. “However, although we’re not tracking down any dangerous drug dealers or mass murders, Honey and I are staying busy, too.”

“That’s good.”

“So, are you coming to the wedding?” Trixie asked brightly.

“Are you inviting me?”

“Of course!” Trixie told him. “Keep July seventh open. That’s the big day. But just don’t say anything to the press yet. We’re still keeping it hush-hush.”

“I didn’t realize you were keeping it hush-hush.”

“Well, I didn’t either, but apparently we are, which is okay with me because I really don’t want to be interviewed by Cindy Adams, especially if it’s over tea.”

“Will do,” Jack replied. He chuckled in amusement as he listened to her lengthy string of what she had once termed “Honey-speak”. “Hey, Trix, is the Professor handy? I’d better say hello to him before I have to take out a loan to pay my phone bill. Some of us aren’t marrying multi-millionaires, you know. As great a guy as Jim is, he’s not in my calling circle and this call’s costing me a bundle.”

“Sure thing,” Trixie said, laughing. “Take care of yourself, buddy.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

“Bye.” Trixie reached over the desk and handed the telephone to Jim. However, it appeared she had no intentions of moving from her cozy spot in his seat.

Covering the mouthpiece, Jim whispered, “Trix, you’d better go see what our mothers are up to. I’m afraid they’re downstairs turning our simple engagement party into a southern cotillion.”

“Gleeps! You’re probably right!” Trixie hurriedly hopped up from Jim’s chair, pausing long enough to cast an inquisitive glance back at him. “You’ll be down soon to help me, right?”

“Yeah, just give me five minutes,” Jim promised.

Then, as quickly as she had come into the room, Trixie exited. Jim watched her leave, cautiously not saying anything until he heard her footsteps pounding on the staircase.

“Okay, Jack. I’m alone. Thanks for returning my call so quickly.”

Jack chuckled. “Leave it to Detective to think I was calling her. I assume she still doesn’t know about our arrangement?”

“Not yet,” Jim admitted.

“When do you plan on telling her?”

“Uhh… about five minutes before I die?” Jim offered. He walked over to the open door of his study, closing it until it firmly latched, and then sat down behind his desk.

“Well, whenever you do tell her, I’m wagering you’ll die five minutes later,” Jack joked. “She’s going to be furious when she finds out you hired me instead of the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency.”

“Jack, you know why I couldn’t involve Trixie in this.”

“Sure, I know why, and you know why, and every other sane person in the entire world would understand why, but I don’t care how well you explain it to her, Trixie will never understand why.”

“She can be stubborn…”

“Stubborn?” Jack repeated with an incredulous snort. “That’s the understatement of the decade. She makes mules look cooperative.”

Jim laughed in spite of himself.

“You’re a much more patient man than I am, Professor,” Jack continued. “It’s a good thing I stepped aside and let you win because Trixie and I would’ve killed each other by now.”

“You know you only ‘stepped aside’ because you knew you’d lose,” Jim teased good-naturedly. “However, it is true that you and Trixie would’ve killed each other by now. Our friend Dan says something similar all the time. He and Trix never dated, but she’s kept him in a frenzied state ever since they met.”

Jack snickered. “Just what Trixie needs: yet another protective brother figure to make her life miserable. No wonder she ditched Sleepyside for the serene sanctuary of Los Angeles.”

“Well, Dan’s smarter than the rest of us,” Jim said. “While I’m lecturing, Brian’s hovering, Mart’s teasing, and Bobby’s tagging along, Dan’s discreetly following at a distance, poised to strike at a moment’s notice.”

“Sounds like somebody I’d be friends with,” Jack commented. “Is he the one on the NYPD?”

“He was until a few weeks ago,” Jim explained. “Dan just started working for the local police department here in Sleepyside.”

Never one to beat around the proverbial bush, Jack changed the course of the conversation back to its intended topic. “So, what happened, Jim? Did you get another one?”

Jim wrung his hands with worry, his lips set in a grim line. “Yeah.”

“Is it like the other ones?” Jack prompted.

“Pretty much.”

Almost three thousand miles away, Jack leaned back in his recliner and wearily rubbed his temples. “Jim, how soon can you get to California?”

“My Vice-Principal’s away for a couple of weeks, but since things are slow at the school right now, I might be able to come later this week,” Jim offered.

“Do you think you could get here sooner?”

“Do you think I need to?” Jim countered.

Jack squared his jaw, and then answered his friend as honestly as he could without senselessly alarming him. “Jim, I think I need to see those letters for myself, as soon as possible.”

Jim’s throat suddenly felt as dry as the Sahara Desert. “If you think it’s that important, I can be there by this evening, your time. Where do you want to meet?”

“I need to fill out some paperwork at the office, so why don’t we meet there?” Jack suggested. “You remember where it is?”

“Quite well,” Jim said, smirking.

“Okay, Professor. I’ll see you this evening. Have a safe flight.”

Once Jim heard the click signifying that Jack had broken the line, he called Bob Murphy’s office in the local jetport, which served all the small aircraft flying into Sleepyside. After a few rings, the Wheelers’ pilot answered.

“Bob Murphy here.”

“Bob, this is Jim. What’s the flying forecast?”

“No delays expected, Jim,” Bob answered. “The skies are perfect for flying.”

“Think you could get me to Los Angeles today?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the pilot told him. “How long will you be gone?”

Jim sighed as he raked a hand through his thick hair. “I’m not sure. It’ll depend on a few factors out of my control.”

“Do you need me to take care of getting you a rental car or finding you a hotel room?”

“No, I’ll handle that myself,” Jim replied, remembering the ordeal he’d endured with the car rental agency when he and Brian were working on the Montage case. “I’ll see you in about forty-five minutes.”

“If there’s nothing else—”

“Yeah, actually there is something else.” Jim cleared his throat, and then continued. “Can you ask one of your guys there at the airport to call me back a few minutes after you hang up?”

“Like who?”

“Just somebody whose voice the Manor House staff won’t recognize,” was Jim’s cryptic response. “Have him ask for me, and make sure he says it’s an emergency.”

“No problem,” Bob agreed. The seasoned pilot was smart enough not to ask questions.

“Thanks.” Jim hung up his phone, left his study, went downstairs, and had just poked his head through the sitting room doorway when he heard the telephone ring again. Even though he already knew it was for him, he reclaimed his seat and waited for Celia to give him the news that he had a phone call.

As expected, Celia reemerged, once again bearing the cordless phone. “Jim, I’m so sorry to bother you again, but someone needs to speak with you.”

Feigning annoyance, Jim sighed heavily. “Who is it?”

“I’m not sure, but he said it was an emergency,” Celia answered. “Do you want to take this in your study?”

Jim shook his head, his lips curled in a frown. “Nah, I’ll just take it here.”

Celia handed the cordless phone to Jim. She cast a discreet wink at Trixie as Jim made no secret of his annoyance.

“Yeah?” Jim greeted harshly.

“Umm… Mr. Frayne?” The voice on the other line seemed confused by Jim’s tone, and began questioning the orders he’d been given.

“What kind of emergency?” Jim blustered.

“This is Jim Frayne, right?”

“Can’t someone else take care of it?” Jim demanded.

“If this isn’t Jim Frayne, can you tell me how to get in touch with him?” the voice inquired hopefully. “I’m supposed to call him—”

“Don’t you realize how inconvenient this is for me?” Jim sounded truly exasperated. “I’m in the middle of making wedding plans.”

“Sir, Mr. Murphy told me to call Mr. Frayne, so I’m just doing my job,” the voice said in a plaintive tone.

“Fine.” Jim waved his hand in resignation. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’m not going to get fired, am—?”

Jim made a point of angrily hitting the end button on the phone for all to see. He shook his head apologetically at the ladies in the room. “I’m sorry, but there’s been an emergency with one of the school’s trustees. I have to get to the West Coast to handle some business.”

This is an emergency, I am one of the trustees, and I do have business on the West Coast, the honest Boy Scout silently reminded himself.

Trixie’s shoulders sagged wearily. “Jim! You can’t leave me here with…” Her eyes furtively darted to her mother and then to Madeleine before she hastily finished her statement. “…with all this wedding stuff to take care of.”

“We’re finished for the day, dear,” Madeleine assured her. “We’ve done all we can do until we have our first consultation with the wedding coordinator. Perhaps we could meet with Ms. Paulette on Thursday evening?”

“Yeah…” Trixie murmured, never taking her pleading eyes from Jim.

“Maybe I could give her a call,” Madeleine offered. “Monica, could you ask Celia for—”

“Mother, I hate to interrupt,” Jim cut in, “but I have to get to the Sleepyside Municipal Jetport, and I need Trixie to drive me there.”

“Oh, of course, Jim,” Madeleine said with a laugh. “I’m afraid I’m going to have a one-track mind until July.”

“I’m afraid of that, too,” Trixie mumbled under her breath, so low that nobody would hear her.

Jim, sensing his fiancée’s need for escape, took her by the hand and began leading her out of the room. “C’mon, Trix, and help me pack my overnight bag.”

Trixie quietly followed Jim out of the room, but once they were alone, she rose up on her tiptoes and enthusiastically threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she proclaimed as she showered his down-turned face with kisses. “I was going crazy in there.”

“I guessed as much,” Jim teased with a wink. The couple linked hands as they walked upstairs and made their way to his suite. Once there, Trixie sat at the foot of Jim’s bed while he pulled down his luggage from the top of his closet and laid it out on the bed.

Trixie’s eyebrows drew together in confusion as she peered into Jim’s open closet. “Gleeps, Jim, your closet’s neater than Brian’s, and that’s pretty doggone neat.”

Instead of voicing a response, Jim began placing items of clothing neatly into his carryon.

“Jeesh, it looks like everything in there’s organized by type of item, color, and season,” she commented in surprise. “I’ve never seen a closet so orderly, not even on those fruity decorating shows.”

Jim took a moment to cast an upraised ginger eyebrow in Trixie’s direction. “And does this closet bother you?”

“Frankly, it does frighten me a little,” she admitted with a saucy grin.

“Neatness frightens you?”

“No, but I am afraid that after we share a closet for six months, our marriage will end in divorce,” Trixie matter-of-factly stated. She leaned closer to her fiancée in a conspiratorial manner. “You may not know this, but my closet doesn’t look like yours. Mine looks kind of…”

“Messy?” Jim supplied.

Trixie wrinkled her nose. “Actually, I was going to say ‘like a war zone’, but you get the point.”

“Yes, I do,” Jim said, chuckling. “However, there’s no reason to worry. I had a strange feeling our closet organizational strategies might vary, so I asked the architect to put two walk-in closets in our master suite.”

“You’re a freakin’ genius.” Trixie looked admiringly at him. “You don’t have that doctor in front of your name for nothing.”

“Actually, I’m still working on my doctoral thesis, so I just have a Master’s,” Jim amended as he shut his small suitcase. “But thanks for the advanced degree.”

“No problem,” Trixie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So, are you all packed?”

“Almost,” Jim answered before disappearing into his large bathroom to gather the toiletries he’d need for his trip.

“Where exactly are you going on the West Coast?” she inquired curiously.

Jim paused briefly, and then called, “Los Angeles.”

Cocking her head to the side, Trixie mulled that bit of information for a moment, her detective’s mind putting all the pieces of the puzzle together. “Well, that’s a coincidence.”

“What’s a coincidence?”

“That Jack just called to talk to me, and a few minutes later you’re needed in California on business.” Trixie twirled a curl thoughtfully. “You have to admit, Jim, that that’s very ironic.”

“Mmm… yeah, I suppose it is,” Jim said from the other room, his voice lacking enthusiasm.

Trixie busied herself for a few minutes picking at a snag in her hose, but then she thought of another rabbit to chase. “Will you see him while you’re in L.A.?”

“See who?”

“Jack!” Trixie exclaimed wearily.

“What about him?”

“Oooh!” she groaned, clutching a fistful of sandy curls in exasperation. “Will you see Jack while you’re in California?”

“Maybe,” Jim hedged. He emerged from the bathroom, a small black leather toiletry case in hand, which he placed in a side pocket of his carryon bag.

“You’re not being much help,” Trixie told him with a roll of her eyes.

“Neither are you.” Jim flashed his lopsided grin at her. “I brought you up here to help me pack my overnight bag, not sit on my bed, yakking.”

Trixie rose from the bed and walked over to him, her hips swaying from side-to-side in her most provocative manner. “Gee, all this time I thought you brought me up here so you could have your evil way with me.” She snaked her arms around his neck and looked soulfully into his emerald eyes.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint you…” He leaned down and began placing a light trail of kisses down the nape of her neck and then back up again. His path ultimately led to the grand prize, a pair of pink, full lips that quivered as they waited for their turn.

Once they pulled apart, Trixie wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, clinging onto him as if her very life depended upon it. “Do you have to go, Jim?”

Jim exhaled heavily in regret. “I’m afraid I do, Shamus.”

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek along the fine fabric of Jim’s lapel.

He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet smell of her. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“When will you be back?”

“As soon as I can,” Jim murmured as he kissed the top of her curly head.

“Hey!” Trixie pulled away suddenly so she could slug him on the arm. “You might be gone Thursday, so you’ll be able to skip out on our meeting with the wedding coordinator.” She punched him again, and then added, “Lucky dog!”

Jim chuckled as he rubbed his throbbing bicep. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try to get back in time for our meeting with Ms. Paulette.”

“You’d better,” she hissed in her most threatening manner. Unfortunately, with her curls askew, lips swollen, and eyes still glazed, she was less than intimidating.

“It’ll be okay, Shamus,” he assured her. “Our mothers will be there. Just let them do all the work.”

Trixie released a labored sigh, her lips forming a perfect pout. “But I want you there.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much help when it comes to all this wedding crap,” Jim said with a laugh. “After all, I’m just the groom.”

“Yes, I believe I’ve heard that phrase a time or two today.” She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “So, when does the groom’s work begin?”

“On the honeymoon,” Jim deadpanned, barely managing to keep a straight face.

In spite of her current state of annoyance, Trixie couldn’t keep the impish sparkle out of her eyes. “You’d better be good, Frayne.”

“What was that you once said?” Jim scratched his chin thoughtfully, his mouth pursed and one eye squeezed shut. “Something about there not being anything worth doing that I couldn’t do and do awfully well?”

Trixie’s cheeks tinged a bright pink color as she recalled her words from several years earlier. “Well, I wasn’t talking about that…”

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased. “I’m on to you now, Beatrix Belden. Even as a teenager you were checking me out.”

“Oh, puuh-leaze!”

“You know it’s true.” Jim was obviously enjoying egging her on, judging by his evil, crooked grin. “That whole stakeout at Cobbett’s Island was just a clever ploy to get me into a pair of jeans two sizes too small for me. You wanted to check out the goods.”

Trixie graced him with a rather noisy snort. She reached down and picked up his carryon, hoping he wouldn’t notice her flaming cheeks. “Don’t you have a plane to catch, Frayne?”

Jim clicked his tongue as he confiscated the small suitcase and led the way out of the room. “Trying to change the subject?”

“I take back what I said earlier about missing you,” she informed him with an indignant sniff. However, that only made Jim chortle, which further incensed Trixie. When they stopped briefly in Jim’s study, she came out of her peeved state long enough to ask a question.

“Why are we in here?”

“I just need to grab my briefcase,” he answered.

Since Jim had his carryon, Trixie automatically reached for his maroon leather attaché case that was sitting by his desk. Before she picked it up by the handle, she tried to open it.

“What are you doing?” Jim demanded.

Trixie looked up at him, her already-wide eyes growing slightly larger as a result of his clipped tone. As a result, her own voice took on a wounded quality. “I’m just making sure the latch was closed. I didn’t want to dump out all the papers inside.”

Groaning, Jim put down his luggage and walked over to Trixie. He cupped her chin with the crook of his index finger and gently lifted her gaze upward. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Shamus. I know it’s no excuse, but I’m so worried about dealing with this emergency…”

“It’s not something that just popped up, is it?” she wisely surmised. “You’ve been worried about this for a while now.”

“You’re right.” Jim drew her close to his chest, hoping their close proximity would ease her hurt feelings and appease his concerns. “This has been brewing for a few weeks now.”

“You should’ve spoken to me about it. That’s what I’m here for.”

“With all that we’ve had going on, I didn’t want to bring it up,” he hedged. “Hopefully it will all be taken care of this week.”

“I hope so, my love,” Trixie murmured. She looked up at him, concerned about the worry she saw in his eyes. With the back of her hand, she tenderly brushed back a shock of red hair that had fallen on his forehead. “We’d better get you to the airport. The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be back.”

Jim nodded, and after placing a light kiss on her lips, he picked up his carryon and briefcase. With a reassuring smile, Trixie turned to lead the way out of the room.

“Shamus?”

She turned around, her china blue eyes full of wonder.

“Remember Cobbett’s Island?”

Trixie nodded.

“Just so you know, the only reason I agreed to go with you on that stakeout was to see you in Celia’s short skirt that you borrowed.”

Trixie licked her lips before allowing them to spread out in a secretive smile. “Well, just so you know, I really did want to see you in those tight jeans.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and sashayed out of the study.

Since it was a Saturday evening, the skyscraper which housed Keenan Investigations appeared deserted from the outside. Jim found the main entrance locked, and just when he was sure he had the wrong place, a helpful security officer came to the door. He opened it just a crack to ask Jim what he needed. After listening to Jim’s explanation that he had an appointment to see Jack Palmer, the guard first called Jack to verify Jim’s plans with him, and finally allowed Jim to come inside.

Jim went up a couple of floors in the elevator, and then walked down the familiar hallway leading to the offices of Keenan Investigations. However, instead of being greeted by a secretary, he found the business completely empty. The main entrance to the office was almost dark, but there was enough light for Jim to find Jack Palmer’s room. The door to the young detective’s personal office was already open. Just as Jim raised his fist to rap on the doorframe, the investigator’s instincts alerted him to the fact he wasn’t alone.

From his desk across the room, Jack Palmer looked up from his paperwork. The easy grin, which charmed so many unsuspecting victims, spread across the P.I.’s lips as he welcomed his newfound friend. Though the two had come to a reluctant mutual respect for one another after their initial meeting, they had formed an unlikely friendship after Jim’s last trip to California.

Jack smiled at the newcomer, a twinkle in his expressive hazel eyes. “Professor, good to see you!” He stood up and offered a hand in greeting.

Jim shook it heartily, locking eyes with his comrade. “Good to see you, too, Jack. Thanks for fitting me into your busy schedule.”

“Hey, that’s what friends are for.” Jack smirked as he appraised Jim’s pale gray suit, conservative maroon and silver tie, and crisp white dress shirt. “Don’t you own anything besides suits?”

“Huh?”

“Every single time I’ve ever seen you, you’ve been wearing a suit,” Jack explained with a wave in Jim’s direction. “Don’t you own any jeans?”

“For your information, I’ve got a pair of jeans in my suitcase,” Jim remarked teasingly. “Would you like me to change into them so I match you?” He pointed at the hunter green polo shirt and relaxed-fit jeans that the detective wore.

“No, that’s okay. We can coordinate our outfits tomorrow,” Jack said, assuming a slight lisp.

Although it appeared to be against his will, the grooves of Jim’s mouth deepened into a reluctant smile.

Jack’s hazel eyes were like magnifying glasses, studying the tiny details of Jim’s face that a less perceptive person might have missed. They immediately detected the worry lines around Jim’s eyes, the crease in his forehead caused from stress, and the bags under his eyes. It was obvious Jim was troubled.

Once Jack concluded his inspection, he sat back down, and then motioned to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit down and take a load off, Professor.”

Jim stiffly obeyed the request, making sure to keep his briefcase on his lap. Sensing his client’s nervous condition, Jack attempted to put him at ease.

“I’m assuming you checked that briefcase for stowaways,” Jack commented in an offhand manner.

“Stowaways?” Jim echoed, quirking a ginger brow in query.

Jack nodded, his greenish-brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’m expecting Trixie to jump out of that briefcase at any moment, demanding to know what’s going on. I’ve seen her squeeze into more compromising hiding places, you know. It’s a gift that’s served her well in our profession.”

The comment successfully decreased the tension in the room. Jim smiled, making a few of the lines around his eyes temporarily disappear. “To my knowledge, Trixie’s still in Sleepyside. Although I wouldn’t put it past her to sneak on the jet and hide in the bathroom…”

“I wouldn’t put it past her, either,” Jack agreed, chuckling. “Of course, Detective’s much too clever to hide in the bathroom; after all, you might look in there. I see her squirming into the baggage compartment under the plane. Or maybe strapping herself onto one of the wings...”

Jim laughed. “Yeah, I’d better call my pilot and make sure he checks for any sandy-blonde gremlins on board before he returns home.”

“So, how’d she take the news that you were coming to see me?”

“Well, she sort of doesn’t know,” Jim admitted with a wince. “I only told her I had to go to the West Coast.”

Jack snorted. “And you expect her to believe that, especially right after I just happened to give you a ring?”

“I had somebody call, pretending that there was an emergency with one of the school’s trustees,” Jim explained, squirming guiltily.

Jack whistled through his teeth. “I wasn’t aware you were allowed to lie under the Boy Scout code.”

“Technically, it wasn’t a lie,” Jim pointed out defensively. “I am one of the school’s trustees, and I am in the middle of an emergency.”

“Calm down, Professor. I’m just giving you a hard time.” Jack leaned back in his chair and casually propped his foot up on the edge of his desk. “However, I feel compelled to warn you that she’s going to kill you when she finds out what’s actually going on.”

“I’m hoping she’ll realize that I didn’t tell her for her own good,” Jim replied.

“Yeah, right,” Jack sniggered. “Pardon my skepticism, Professor, but when has Trixie ever realized something was for her own good, especially when it comes to solving a mystery?”

“Thanks for pointing that out, buddy,” Jim remarked dryly.

“I’m always happy to be of assistance,” Jack returned with a cocky grin. He laughed at Jim’s doleful expression. “Actually, I’m amazed Detective hasn’t figured out something’s wrong with you by now. She’s usually right on the ball about such things, so she must be slipping.”

“She’s not slipping,” Jim amended with a shake of his head. “She’s asked several times if something was bothering me. In fact, she mentioned that I looked worried earlier today. I just brushed it off to the things I’m usually worried about which, according to Trixie, is almost everything.” He had to chuckle ruefully at his statement.

Sensing his client was sufficiently relaxed, Jack decided it was time to get down to business. He sat upright in his chair and folded his hands on his desktop. “Well, enough with the chitchat. You didn’t fly across the country to talk about Trixie, although I’m sure she’s your favorite topic of conversation. Let me take a look at your fan mail collection.”

Jim frowned, his jaw set in determination. He unlocked his briefcase and pulled out several letters, each one stored inside a clear, protective sleeve, which he handed to Jack. As an afterthought, he pulled out the legal-sized manila envelopes and handed them to the detective as well.

“The letters are arranged in chronological order,” Jim explained, wearily rubbing his temples in a vain attempt to alleviate some of his stress. “The newest one arrived at the school this morning.”

Jack began reading the first missive Jim had received. “Are they always sent to the school?”

“Yeah.” Jim’s answer was accompanied by a curt nod. “They always arrive in those nondescript manila envelopes and are addressed to me personally.”

Jack peeked at one of the envelopes. “Pendleton Office Merchandise? Who’re they?”

“A school supply company that’s fictitious,” Jim told him. “According to the research I’ve done, Pendleton Office Merchandise doesn’t exist.”

“You’re becoming quite the amateur sleuth,” Jack remarked as he began reading the next missive.

Jim grinned broadly at his friend. “Well, I did track down Shannequa Montage, you know.”

Jack returned the grin, but refrained from making any comments about Jim’s gumshoe days. “Did you check out the return address?”

“Yeah, but as you’ll see when you look at the envelopes, the return address varies. The sender has mailed these letters out from various locations around New York, as well as from New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Connecticut.”

Jack nodded thoughtfully as he flipped through the letters encased in their vinyl sleeves and began skimming the next one. “Whoever it is, this person’s smart. If they’d used the same mailing address each time, it would’ve made them easier to track.” He rubbed his fingers against the clear covering on the letter he’d been reading. “I assume you put all your fan mail in these sleeves to keep them free from fingerprints, right?”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “Although I should probably warn you that the first letter I received probably has my fingerprints on it. I had no idea what I was pulling out of that manila envelope. When the second one came, I was prepared; I put on a pair of latex gloves before I opened it, and then I slid it into one of those clear things.”

“That’s good thinking,” Jack murmured. “By any chance did you take these letters to the local police station and have them dusted for prints?”

Jim shook his head, a guilty expression marring his features. “No, I haven’t.” He chuckled wryly. “Actually, this is kind of ironic.”

“What do you mean?” Jack prompted.

“When we were teenagers, I always lectured Trixie about going to talk to the authorities whenever she was on the trail of a mystery,” Jim explained. “Now that the shoe’s on the other foot, I understand why she didn’t.”

“And don’t you remember why you urged Trixie to talk to the police?” Jack questioned, one auburn eyebrow cocked. “It was good advice, Jim.”

Jim shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know about that. Sleepyside’s old police sergeant turned out to be nutty as a fruitcake.”

In spite of his desire to get to the bottom of these letters, the private investigator in Jack refused to ignore his piqued curiosity. “What happened to him?” he couldn’t resist asking.

“Sgt. Molinson grew so jealous of Trixie’s penchant for solving crimes that he hatched a plan to kidnap her and throw her into the Hudson,” Jim responded. “He’s now a resident at Bellevue Mental Institution.”

Jack struggled to hold back the smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “So, now we know it is possible for Detective to officially drive someone crazy.” He rubbed his hand along his mouth in an attempt to wipe away the mischievous grin. “I’m sorry. My incorrigible nature is showing itself. Pray tell, how did Trixie foil his evil plan?”

“Actually, it was Trixie’s youngest brother,” Jim told him. “Bobby hid under Trixie’s bed, and when Molinson came to get her, the little imp tied the would-be kidnapper’s shoelaces together and then slapped a set of handcuffs on him. Whenever he tried to get away, Bobby banged him on the head with a frying pan, which he reportedly enjoyed doing.” He chuckled, and then added, “Bobby’s always been a sadistic kid.”

Jack laughed heartily. “I’d love to meet Mart and Bobby. If they’re anything like Trixie and Brian, they’d be a hoot.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jim muttered, remembering all the shenanigans the Belden kids had been involved in through the years. “Trixie’s sort of like Angela Lansbury’s character on ‘Murder, She Wrote’. Wherever Trixie goes on vacation, somebody usually winds up dead.”

“Well, I’ve been accused of the same thing myself,” Jack admitted with a snort. “Seriously, Jim, I assume that the current police chief in Sleepyside is trustworthy. You should’ve talked to him and asked him to run the prints on their database.”

“I couldn’t,” Jim insisted, his chin edging its way up stubbornly. “Trixie’s in and out of that police station so much that she’d be sure to get wind of this. I absolutely refuse to involve the cops. Besides, I don’t want this to be leaked to the press.”

“What about that friend of yours?” Jack suggested. “Dan? Couldn’t you talk to him?”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t want to involve Dan in this, either. I can’t risk this getting back to Trixie, and he might accidentally let something slip.”

“You sure are a stubborn ol’ goat,” Jack remarked.

“So I’ve been told,” Jim stated, almost proud of the fact.

Jack took a deep breath and then tackled a subject he really didn’t want to broach. “Jim, I know you mean well in keeping this from Trixie,” he began carefully. “Before I read these letters, I was willing to trust your judgment. However, after seeing them for myself, I have to wonder if you’re making the right decision.”

“Jack, I’m paying you to be my private investigator, not my mentor,” Jim told him. “Personally, I think I’m doing the right thing, and that’s all that matters.”

“Even more than Trixie’s safety?” Jack challenged.

“You haven’t been listening to me,” Jim snapped. “The whole point of keeping Trixie from finding out about these letters is to keep her safe! She’s too snoopy for her own good. I don’t want her to end up in the morgue because she had to investigate some stupid letters.”

Jack sighed heavily, dreading the task before him. “Jim, I definitely agree that Trixie shouldn’t work on this case. Since she’s involved with you, it’s only prudent that you hire a detective who can look at things objectively. However, Trixie’s a smart girl, and she has some of the best instincts in the business. Her input could be invaluable.”

“I don’t want her to find out about these letters, and that’s final!” Jim insisted angrily.

“I don’t think that’s wise, Jim,” Jack maintained. “You and I both know that Trixie will find out you’ve been getting these. The sooner you tell her, the better off you’ll be. I’d be honest with her; tell her about the letters, but insist that I handle the case.”

“And you expect Trixie to stand by idly while you solve this mystery without her assistance?” Jim snorted. “Buddy, you don’t know Trixie half as well as you think you do.”

Jack pursed his lips, refusing to take the bait offered to him. He bit back the response he’d almost blurted out, and instead chose a new route. “Yes, Trixie’s the snoopiest person I’ve ever met, outside of me and my immediate family, of course. Yes, Trixie bolts into a new mystery as impulsively as a flash of lightning. And yes, she’s almost as stubborn as you are.”

Jack fastened his hazel gaze on his target and then continued. “But you’re forgetting that Trixie is a professional. She’ll be the first one to tell you that I’ve been in this business longer than she has, and because of that, I’m far more seasoned. In spite of her initial curiosity, she’ll let me handle the case because she knows I can do it, and the most important thing to her will be your safety. She’ll probably butt in once or twice, and may even figure it out before I do, but she’ll let me be in control.”

“Trust me, I don’t doubt the fact that Trixie could figure out who’s been sending me these letters,” Jim retorted. “I know she could do it. I have all the confidence of the world in her.”

“Then why don’t you—”

“Because I don’t want her to end up dead!” Jim interrupted, emphasizing his words with a loud slap on the desk. “Haven’t you been reading these letters?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing!” Jim’s bright green eyes crackled with intensity. “The letters are getting more threatening, and the last two mentioned my ‘fiancée’ specifically.”

“All the more reason for you to talk to her about what’s going on!” Jack shouted. “If Trixie’s being threatened too, she needs to know!”

Jim took a deep cleansing breath in an attempt to release some of his pent-up rage. Finally, he looked over at his comrade, his eyes pleading with Jack to understand his position. “If Trixie finds out about these letters, she will investigate; she won’t be able to help herself. Normally, I’d be a bit hesitant about that, but I’d eventually accept it. However, this case is different.”

“How?”

“Whoever’s sending these knows me, and therefore, knows Trixie,” Jim admitted in a desperate tone. “That said, I can’t help but wonder if this is the ultimate cat-and-mouse game.”

“What do you mean?” Jack urged.

“What if someone is sending these letters, knowing Trixie’s a detective,” Jim offered. “He assumes she’ll follow the clues to find him, and is actually waiting for her to be delivered into his hands so he can get revenge.”

“On her or you?”

“Either,” was Jim’s brusque reply. “Kill me or kill Trixie; either one would be the death of me.”

Jack nodded. If there was one thing of which the young detective was sure, it was that Jim Frayne loved Trixie Belden, and that her death would indeed be his undoing. “Do you really think these letters could be a ploy to get to Trixie?”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” Jim rasped. “It’s kept me up more than one night.”

“Don’t you get it, Jim?” Jack locked eyes with Jim, pleading with the other man to understand his logic. “If you’re worried that this person really is after Trixie, you have to tell her for her own safety! Keeping her in the dark is just putting her at risk!”

“I don’t know…” Jim shook his head in confusion.

“Trust me, Jim,” Jack pleaded. “I know you mean well, but by not telling Trixie about this psycho, you’re just endangering her! If you warn her, then she can be prepared. Detective’s a big girl; she can take care of herself. As someone who’s been whacked in the gut by her a time or two, I can vouch for that right hook of hers.”

In spite of the weight of this situation bearing down on his shoulders, Jim had to smile ruefully. “I suppose that’s true…”

“I’ll tell you something else that’s true,” Jack stated matter-of-factly. “If someone does come after Trixie and you didn’t warn her, you’re going to have two forces of nature to reckon with: One, Trixie’s destructive wrath, and two, your overwhelming guilt. Neither one’s going to be fun. And there’s another thing to consider: What if this psycho succeeds?”

Jim gasped loudly, and then shook his head back and forth. “I can’t think about that,” he barely choked out.

“If you’re determined not to give Trixie a heads-up, then maybe you’d better start thinking about it,” Jack warned. “If something happens to Trixie and you had the power to warn her—”

“Okay!” Jim interrupted loudly. Judging by the tortured expression on his face, Jack had made his point. “I give up! I’m wrong; you’re right! Is that what you want to hear?”

“No,” was Jack’s quiet response. “I want to hear that you’re going to be up front with Trixie about this situation. I want you to protect her by trusting her. Can you do that for me, Jim?”

“I’ll try,” Jim managed through the lump in his throat. “I honestly thought I was doing the right thing by not telling her…”

“I know,” Jack murmured. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You did what you thought was best.”

“God, I don’t know how I can be so stupid!” Jim’s face was contorted in sheer agony as he lapsed further into self-destruct mode. “I’ve lost so many people that I love that I couldn’t handle losing her, too. I was trying so hard to protect her that I couldn’t see that I was actually hurting her.”

Jack had heard enough about Jim’s background from Trixie that he was able to read between the lines. He reached over his desk and placed a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “It’s okay, Jim. There hasn’t been any irreparable damage done. When you get home, show Detective these letters and tell her to stay on her toes. Instead of beating yourself up now, let’s focus on figuring out who’s sending you these letters. All right?”

Jim nodded and set his jaw with a new resolve. “Let’s catch this guy.”

Jack had been drumming a pencil against his notepad, but suddenly stopped as something Jim said triggered a thought. “Earlier you used the word ‘he’, and just now you called the perpetrator a ‘guy’. Did you refer to the culprit as a hypothetical male, or did you have someone specific in mind?”

“I have someone specific in mind,” Jim managed through gritted teeth.

“Care to share it with the rest of the class, Professor?” Jack prompted.

“Jacobson Jones.”

Jack inhaled sharply as he watched Jim’s pained expression as he said the name. Though the name meant nothing to Jack, the mere utterance of it appeared to be as agonizing to Jim as chewing on broken glass. “Who’s Jacobson Jones?”

“The man who deceived my mother and tried to kill me.”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat; he’d heard about Jim’s stepfather from Trixie a few times. “Oh.”

“Oh is right,” Jim managed, his tone bitter.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Jack snickered. “What kind of a name is Jacobson anyway?”

“The ironic kind,” Jim clipped. “From what I gleaned from Jonesy’s drunken ramblings, his mother had had an affair with some guy by the last name of Jacobs. Jacobs was actually Jonesy’s father, not John Jones, Senior. The old man was apparently a sarcastic SOB, who christened Jonesy Jacobson, or Jacob’s son, at birth. And so were the beginnings of my stepfather’s evil, twisted life.”

“What a start,” Jack muttered under his breath. “It’s no wonder he turned out like he did. With the astronomical number of whacked-out parents in the world today, it’s no wonder so many kids are messed up.”

“Just another reason to keep the doors of Ten Acres Academy open,” Jim remarked. “We’re doing all we can to salvage as many as we can.”

“Amen to that, brother,” Jack said with a nod. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, why do you suspect that your stepfather’s behind these letters?”

“Nobody hates me more than Jacobson Jones,” was Jim’s simple reply.

Jack cleared his throat nervously. “I thought Trixie told me that your stepfather was incarcerated at Attica.”

“He is,” Jim agreed. “But I wouldn’t put anything past Jonesy. He’s always had a long reach; I’m sure prison hasn’t changed that, only given him more connections.”

“I’ll add Jacobson Jones to the top of our suspect list.” Jack made a notation at the top of his notes. “Before you go back to Sleepyside, I’ll get the names of the rest of the enemies you and Trixie have made through the years. After you talk to Trixie, I’ll call her and see if she can offer any more leads.”

Jim made a clicking sound with his tongue as he appraised Jack’s legal-sized pad. “You’re going to need more paper, my friend.”

“I’ve got a whole drawer full of these,” Jack assured him with a wink. “Think that’ll be enough?”

“If you write small.” Jim drew a hesitant breath and assumed a serious expression. “What’s the bottom line, Jack? How concerned should I be about these letters?”

Jack’s response was blunt and to the point. “To answer your question: Very. Not only are the letters coming more frequently, the tone is changing. The writer’s slowly growing more hostile towards you. Whether he or she is seeking revenge on you or Trixie, I think the threat’s real and needs to be dealt with.”

Jim nodded as he slowly digested that piece of disturbing information. “What do you suggest we do first?”

“As we talked about earlier, the first thing you need to do when you get back home is warn Trixie,” Jack reiterated. “It might be a good idea to tell Honey also. According to the info I’ve gleaned from Trixie, your sister doesn’t miss much. She’d be an incredible asset to us.”

“I can do that,” Jim agreed. “But what are we going to do now?”

“We need to narrow down our suspect list,” Jack explained. “We have three angles to pursue: personal, business, or random. As you proposed earlier, these correspondences could be from someone who has a grudge against you or Trixie personally. It could be one of the criminals from your past, a scorned love interest, or just someone who doesn’t like you. Additionally, it could be an enemy you’ve made in the business world, Jim. Someone at Wheeler Enterprises, someone at the school, someone you met in college… The list could grow quite long.”

“What about the third option?” Jim questioned, his voice raspy. “Random, I think it was.”

Jack shrugged his broad shoulders. “It could be some random nut who doesn’t know you from Adam. Perhaps she read an article about you in the newspaper, has decided you’re her soul mate, and this is her way of pursuing you.”

“You said ‘she’.” Jim cocked one incredulous, ginger eyebrow. “You think it’s a woman?”

“I can’t say that for sure,” Jack sputtered, holding out his hands in resignation. “I don’t have any evidence, but judging the perpetrator’s wording, the font used on the mailing addresses, and the particular style of words clipped from magazines forming the letter, I’m guessing the writer was female. But I could be wrong.”

He paused momentarily, and then inquired, “By any chance has Trixie made any enemies of the feminine variety through the years?”

“A few,” Jim replied. “I can think of three or four in particular.”

Jack nodded, and added something to his notes. After a deep sigh, he looked hard at Jim. “I hate to bring this up, but weren’t you engaged to somebody else before you asked Trixie to marry you?”

“Well, yeah,” Jim answered with a shrug. “But what does that have to do with this?”

“Have you considered the possibility that maybe your former fiancée’s angry because you jilted her?” Jack proposed, his tone careful.

“You think that Amanda Woodward is behind these letters?” Jim chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “That’s ludicrous!”

“I just said it was a possibility,” Jack clarified.

“Don’t you know who the Woodwards are?” Jim asked with a snort. “They’re one of the wealthiest families in the United States.”

“Rich people go bonkers, too, Jim,” Jack said matter-of-factly. “Money may pay the bills, but it doesn’t keep you sane. Quite the contrary, oftentimes. And if she was devastated by your breakup, she could’ve been driven over the edge.”

“If all our former flames are considered suspects, then we’ll have to add you to the list,” Jim stated flatly. He crossed his arms and stubbornly began to stare down the redhead sitting across from him. “After all, you were jilted by Trixie.”

“As previously stated, technically I broke up with her to pave the way for you,” Jack amended good-naturedly. “But if you want to add me to the suspect list, that’s fine with me.”

Jim exhaled loudly and raked a hand through this thick, russet hair. “I don’t think you sent those letters any more than I think Amanda sent them! I just want to find out who is mailing them and make them stop, and you’ll be wasting our time focusing on her.”

“We’ll figure this out, Professor,” Jack said in a consoling tone. “However, to do that, we need to investigate all the various angles, even the ones we feel are farfetched.”

“All right,” Jim agreed, albeit reluctantly. “Do whatever you think is best. After you get a list of suspects, what do you plan to do?”

“I have a friend down at the police precinct,” Jack told him.

“Would that friend be Officer Christina Redding?” Jim inquired with an impish grin.

“No, it would not.” In spite of his brusque tone, Jack returned Jim’s grin. “Your favorite undercover cop tried to impound my car after our ‘date’ ended badly. But I digress…”

Jim laughed, but didn’t say anything.

“I have a friend down at the police precinct,” Jack repeated. “We’ll take your letters down there first thing in the morning and see if they can find any prints. Maybe if we’re lucky, they can get a DNA sample from the stamps. If we find out anything, we can compare it to our suspect list. Several of the people on that list will be in the system.”

“What then?”

“While the police are gathering any potential forensic evidence, we can go through the list of potential suspects and see where each one is now,” Jack replied. “I’ll find out who’s still in prison, who’s been paroled, and where they live now if they’ve been released.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Sensing his friend’s obvious apprehension, Jack reached across the desk and placed a comforting hand on Jim’s arm. “You have my word that I’ll find out who’s doing this. I won’t let him—or her— hurt you or Trixie.”

Jim swallowed the large lump in his throat and nodded. “What should I do in the meantime?”

“Have you hired security guards like we discussed before?”

“Not yet,” Jim admitted. “But I’ve given it some thought.”

“I’d quit thinking and start hiring,” Jack instructed. “ASAP.”

“As my private investigator, do you think that’s the best decision?”

“No, as your friend I think that’s the best decision,” Jack proclaimed. He smiled in an attempt to take the edge of his words. “You may want to hire a few guards for the school, as well as a personal bodyguard for yourself. If you’d like, I could suggest a few companies that provide such services.”

“Wheeler Enterprises employs several guards, so I’ll check with Dad about getting some for the school,” Jim said.

“And you’ll see about hiring protection for yourself?” Jack prodded.

“I have someone in mind who I think would be perfect for the job,” was Jim’s evasive answer.

“I’m glad to see you aren’t being stubborn about this,” Jack commented. “Kinda surprised, too.”

“What can I say? I’m a regular mystery,” Jim remarked with a laugh. “Maybe that’s why Trixie’s so enamored with me.”

Jack shared the laugh, but then grew serious. “Jim, I do have one other suggestion.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you remember when you were here in November, working on the Montage case?” Jim nodded in reply, and then Jack continued. “I asked you if you had any teaching positions open…”

Jim steepled his hands thoughtfully. “What’d you have in mind?”

Three days later, Trixie sat at her desk at the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency. The sandy blonde chewed on her pencil as she mulled over several photographs she’d recently taken for a new case. She was studying the pictures so intently that the sudden jangling of the telephone caused her to jump out of her chair.

After digging through a pile of paperwork covering her desk in search of the phone, she successfully located the receiver and held it up to her ear, tucking it in the crook of her neck. “Good afternoon. This is the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency, Detective Beatrix Belden speaking. How may I help you?”

“Yeah, this is Joe Bob Jenkins from the mechanic’s shop down the street,” a vaguely familiar voice greeted. “I’d like to file one of them there missing person’s reports.”

“The police usually handle that, sir,” Trixie told him politely.

“I’d just as soon talk to you,” Joe Bob answered, his Southern drawl thick. “Them there po-lice done arrested me three times this month. They sez I was drinkin’ and drivin’, but as I tried to tell them fellers, I only drunk six or seven beers and one or two shots. That ain’t nuthin’.”

“Go on with your missing person’s complaint, sir,” Trixie said. What a fruit loop! she thought with a roll of her eyes. Who is this guy?

“Like I done told ya, I’d like to report a missing person,” Joe Bob repeated. “The missing person’s named Beauregard, and he’s about two foot tall, has black hair, one blue eye and one brown, and is purt’n near seven—I guess that’d be forty-nine in his years—”

“Excuse me, sir, but is Beauregard a dog?”

“Well, yeah, but don’t you find dogs, too? I done did hear about how you hunted up Ms. Martin’s tomcat…”

A smile played languidly along Trixie’s lips as the pieces of the puzzle came together. She leaned back in her hair and folded her arms smugly. “By any chance do you have an alias, Mr. Jenkins? James Winthrop Frayne the Second, perhaps?”

A guilty chuckle came from the connection. “Guilty as charged. How’d you know it was me?”

“You keep forgetting that I am a schoolgirl shamus,” she remarked lightly. “Or a moll dick, if you prefer.”

“As long as I live, I could never forget that.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, lying about your identity and filing a false missing person’s report,” Trixie scolded. “That’s a felony, you know. I should make a citizen’s arrest this very minute.”

“How about you come to the airport and slap some handcuffs on me?”

That perked up Trixie immediately, causing her to sit upright in her chair. “Does this mean you’re on your way home?”

“Sure does,” he informed her happily. “We’re in the air, even as we speak.”

“Is Bob flying you home, or are you flying commercial?”

“Bob picked me up in the Gulfstream,” Jim explained. “We should be landing at the Sleepyside jetport in a couple hours.”

Trixie squealed in delight. “Thank God you made it home before Thursday! Your mother’s been driving me batty all week. I swear, she’s more hyper than Bobby was after a chocolate-eating binge on Easter morning.”

“That bad, huh?” Jim asked with a chuckle.

“You have no idea,” she snorted. “I have to go up there for dinner tonight. We have swatches to go over, whatever those are.”

“I believe they’re fabric samples, Trix,” Jim informed her.

“Eh, whatever.” Trixie shrugged, her voice evidencing her lack of concern. “So, what time do I need to be at the airport?”

“Five o’clock would be fine.”

“I’ll be there with bells on!” she promised.

“Where will those bells be?”

“You’ll have to shake me and see,” she replied coyly. “I can’t wait to see you, Jim.”

“I can’t wait to see you either, Shamus.”

“Well, I guess I’ll—”

“Hey, Trixie…” Jim interjected.

“Yeah?”

“Before you come to the airport, can you stop by Manor House and trade your Civic for my Suburban?”

“Sure,” she agreed. “But why do you want me to bring the Suburban? You didn’t bring home a bunch of illegal aliens, did you?”

“Just one.” Jim’s tone was quite mysterious.

“Seriously?”

“Just bring the Suburban.”

Trixie exhaled noisily, releasing a mere fraction of her impatience. “Who are you—”

“Be at the airport at five, and all your questions will be answered,” Jim interrupted hastily. “Sorry, babe, but I gotta go. See you in a couple hours.”

“All right,” Trixie agreed reluctantly. “I love you, Jim.”

“Love you, too.”

At ten till five, Trixie drummed her fingers impatiently on the large steering wheel of Jim’s GMC Suburban. Although she had a penchant for typically arriving at destinations ten minutes late, her insatiable curiosity had gotten the best of her; she’d gotten to the jetport fifteen minutes early. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was also quite eager to be reunited with her fiancé.

At five o’clock on the dot, she watched from the parking area as the Wheelers’ silver jet skidded to a stop on the tarmac. While the crew attended to the aircraft, Trixie craned her neck for any glimpse of the mysterious tagalong. She had a good idea who would be accompanying Jim, and was anxious to see if her hunch was correct.

However, nothing could’ve prepared her for the shock that awaited her when the passengers stepped off the jet and onto the runway.

A regular titan of a man, clad in a black leather jacket and well-worn blue jeans, hovered near her fiancé, causing Trixie to stop dead in her tracks and cock one sandy brow in utter amazement. Since she had expected Jack Palmer to be the mysterious “stowaway”, she was taken aback by the stranger with Jim. She wondered briefly if Jack had donned some sort of crazy disguise, but unless he had packed a good fifty pounds on his lean, muscular form, Jack couldn’t possibly be the giant-sized biker.

Further ruminations ceased as her handsome redhead cast a lopsided grin in her direction and tossed his hand up in greeting, quite effectively beckoning her over to his side. Trixie got out of the Suburban to meet them, but before she got to Jim, the burly man stepped in front of him. She watched as Jim leaned over and whispered something to his would-be protector, and the hulk of a man stepped aside to allow her passage. Momentarily shoving her curiosity to the back burner, she jumped eagerly into her fiancé’s waiting arms and found herself enveloped in a security like she’d never known. Anything amiss in her world was suddenly righted as Jim’s strong arms wound about her tightly, like a mighty bulwark encircling a castle.

“I missed you, Shamus,” he murmured huskily.

“I missed you, too,” she whispered.

Jim set her on the ground slowly, but their eye contact never wavered. Oddly, Trixie was so content to bask in his emerald gaze that all thoughts of learning the stranger’s identity vanished, and for the first time in all her twenty-five years, she forgot about a mystery.

Until she heard someone with a smoker’s rasp clear his throat behind her, that is.

Sufficiently distracted from her lovesick mooning, Trixie yanked on Jim’s arm and silently mouthed, Who in the heck is that?

Jim pulled away slightly, still keeping one arm around Trixie’s waist. After nervously clearing his throat, he motioned to the newcomer. “Trixie, I’d like you to meet Al Spurgeon. I’ve hired Al to act as head of security for Ten Acres. Al, this is my fiancée, Trixie Belden.”

The big, burly man stepped closer to the couple and stuck out his meaty paw, which Trixie tenuously clasped. “It’s a pleasure to meetcha, Miss Trixie,” he greeted. The deep timbre of his voice would have made Barry White envious. He looked over at his new employer and grinned broadly. “She sure is a looker, Mr. Jim. It’s no wonder you’re so dizzy over her.”

Trixie blushed with pleasure as she shook hands with him. In spite of his slightly frightening appearance, she instantly had a good feeling about the pony-tailed, leather-clad man. “Why, thank you, Mr. Spurgeon.”

“Call me Al,” the man insisted. “Nobody’s called me ‘mister’ for a long time; if you start talkin’ to me that way, I might not know you’re spittin’ at me. I ain’t no one that rates, like a lip, or a head doctor, or a croaker.”

“All right… Al,” she agreed with a giggle.

“And Miss Trixie?” Al seemed almost embarrassed as he shoved his huge hands into the pockets of his jeans. “About you bein’ a dish? I just call it like I see it.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say,” Trixie replied, her eyes sparkling as a result of his praise. Although she normally writhed in embarrassment whenever she was paid a compliment, Al’s tone was so genuine that she was able to accept his comments gracefully.

Al nodded towards the jet. “Mr. Jim, I’ll get our bags and load ‘em up in the bucket, if you’d like,” he offered. “Where’re we parked?”

“We’re in the big gray Suburban over there,” Trixie answered, pointing over at the large SUV.

Al whistled through his teeth as he appraised the luxury vehicle. “Hey, that ain’t no bucket! Nice ride, boss. I rode in the back of a Suburban once, and it was somethin’ else. We’re talkin’ major berries.”

“Did you have a friend who owned one?” Trixie inquired politely.

“Friend… acquaintance… mobster…” Al shrugged his gargantuan shoulders. “No Neck Vinnie was a lotta things to a lotta people, but I guess you’d call him my friend. Well, until he and two of his button men tied me up and threw me in the back of his Suburban, that is. But hey, at least those droppers didn’t pop me. Me and No Neck kinda had a fallin’ out after that…”

As hard as she tried, Trixie couldn’t stifle the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was Al’s earnest expression, his childlike honesty, or his nonchalant attitude about being roughed up by mobsters, but for whatever reason, she found his words extremely amusing. Thankfully, Al was laughing right along with her.

“Is it locked?” Al asked. “ ’Cuz although I know how to jimmy the lock, I’d rather not do that again. Three strikes and you’re out, if you know what I’m sayin’. I don’t need the hammer and saws to send me over.”

Trixie tossed the big, burly man the keys in her hand. As he caught them in the air, his jacket sleeve pulled up slightly, revealing several tattoos.

“I’ll have everything ready in a coupla minutes,” he promised, hustling to the load their suitcases into the back of the SUV.

Trixie watched with interest as Al went to work; if nothing else, he was certainly a go-getter. “Interesting choice for the position of head of security,” she commented to Jim.

“Don’t you like him?”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but yeah, actually I do,” she said with a snort. “If I met Al on the street, I’d be scared to death of him, but after spending a few minutes with him, I can’t help but like him. I think he’ll be a perfect fit at Ten Acres.”

Jim quirked a single brow to express his utter amazement. “I can’t believe it. I was positive you’d start a ‘he’s mysterious’ campaign the moment you laid eyes on Al.”

“I have to admit that he is mysterious, like most bikers are,” Trixie confessed. “And although I should be asking if you checked to see if he had a record before you hired him, I find myself wanting to go give him a bear hug. Even though he looks like he could rip my head off, I think he’s a big softie at heart.”

“That’s just because he said you’re pretty,” Jim teased with a wink.

“Hey, is it my fault that he has excellent taste in women?” She assumed an angelic expression. “Seriously, as surprising as it may sound, I get a good feeling about him. I’m not tempted the slightest bit tempted to go to the police station so I can investigate his past.”

“Good, because if you did that, you might change your mind,” he said in an offhand manner.

Trixie’s curiosity was officially piqued. “What’d he do?”

“He served ten years for stealing cars,” Jim announced with a grin.

“Yet you ask him to work at your school as a security guard,” she snickered. “Well, Jim Frayne, you’re full of surprises. Some morning, you may wake up to find yourself Suburban-less, and you’ll be the one who’s surprised.”

“I’m not worried that Al’s going to steal my SUV,” Jim assured her with a chuckle.

“Do you think he’d prefer your mother’s Cadillac?” Trixie asked tartly. “Or maybe your father’s Jag?”

Jim merely rolled his eyes at her.

Trixie hooted uproariously as she witnessed his reaction. “Relax, Jim. In spite of my suspicious reputation, I don’t really think he’s going to rob you blind. But you have to admit that it’s kind of funny that you’ve hired a refugee from the Hell’s Angels to be the head of security at your school.”

“Well, if you think about it, Al’s perfect for the job,” Jim said thoughtfully. “A lot of the kids who pass through Ten Acres have been in trouble with the law at some point. If they ever think prison will be a piece of cake, I’ll send them over for a talk with Al. He’ll let them know what it’s like to serve hard time.”

“And if that doesn’t work, he can always scare the crap out of them,” Trixie added with a giggle.

Jim’s lips twitched as he struggled to maintain a straight face. “That method may be a bit unconventional, but yes, I’m sure it could work.”

“Before Al gets back, I have to ask.” Trixie looked seriously at her fiancé, and then asked, “Where on earth did you find this guy?”

“I met him when I was working on the Montage case,” Jim explained, grinning ruefully. “He was a bartender in a drag queen hangout Brian and I staked out.”

“He was not!” Trixie exclaimed.

“He was,” Jim affirmed. “Because of his record, that was the only place that would hire him, and as you can probably tell by the looks of him, he was miserable there. I felt bad for him, so I offered him a job back in November. I only wish I could’ve gotten him out of there sooner.”

Trixie smiled affectionately at him, and then leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Frayne, God help us if our kids ever ask if they can bring home a stray puppy. You never could resist helping a soul in need, and I think you’re getting worse in your old age. We’re going to have quite a collection of strays.”

“What can I say?” Jim shrugged his shoulders, a crooked grin parting his lips. “We stray mutts have to stick together.”

“You’ll never be a stray again,” she murmured, caressing his cheek with the palm of her hand.

“I’m one of the lucky ones,” he remarked. “To whom much is given, much is required. I’ve been given a lot, and now it’s my turn to give back. Ten Acres Academy is all about second chances, Trix. Al deserves a second chance, and if I don’t give him one then I’m no better than the people who want to throw my students away.”

“Then let’s give him a second chance,” she said with an encouraging smile. “Your judgment’s usually right, Jim. I trust you.”

“Thanks, Shamus.” Jim leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. As he brushed back a curl that had been blown out of place, he noticed her innocent, trusting expression, and was reminded of his promise to Jack. “Later on, I need to talk to you, sweetheart.”

Trixie looked down at him, her blue eyes round with wonder. “What about? It sounds like it’s something important.”

“It is,” Jim admitted. “It’s about my trip to California and what’s been worrying me.”

“Uh-oh,” she whispered. “You’re not going to break up with me, are you?”

“Of course not, sweetheart!” Jim enveloped Trixie in a sheltering embrace, clutching his hands in the curls at the nape of her neck. “You couldn’t get rid of me that easily if you tried. You’re stuck with me forever, till death do we part.”

“Good,” she murmured happily. “As long as we’re together, we can handle whatever problems crop up.”

“You’re right,” Jim agreed, placing a kiss on Trixie’s forehead as he pulled away. Further conversation ceased as Al approached the couple.

“Sorry that took so long, Mr. Jim,” Al apologized. “One of the guys workin’ on the runway thought I was glommin’ your crate. It took some convincin’ but he finally left me alone.”

“No problem, Al.” Jim made a sweeping motion towards the parking area. “Now let’s get you settled at the school.”

“Ooh! I almost forgot!” Trixie slapped her forehead. “I told your mom that I was picking you up at the airport, so she’s expecting you to be there for dinner, too.”

“All right,” Jim said. “We can drop Al off at the dorms, then—”

“Umm… She’s kinda expecting him, too,” Trixie admitted hesitantly.

Jim quirked a leery ginger brow. “She is?”

Trixie bobbed her head up and down. “Yeah, when you told me you were bringing someone home with you, I sort of assumed it was going to be Jack Palmer, so I mentioned it to your mother, who insisted on inviting your guest to dinner, too.” By the end of her hasty explanation, she was gasping for breath.

“Why’d you think I was bringing home Jack Palmer?” Jim asked.

“I dunno,” Trixie honestly replied. “It seemed like a good theory at the time…”

“We’ll just have to call Mother and explain,” Jim responded. “I’m sure after our long trip, Al doesn’t want to have dinner with my parents.”

“It don’t matter to me, Mr. Jim,” Al jumped in. “How bad could chewin’ with your parents be? I mean, it ain’t like we’d be havin’ supper at the White House.”

Trixie covered her mouth with her hand so Al wouldn’t hear her snicker.

“Well, if you don’t mind having dinner with a bunch of strangers, you’re more than welcome to eat at Manor House,” Jim replied, giving his new employee a friendly thump on the back.

“As long as it ain’t no hash house, I ain’t too particular,” Al told them with a grin.

“You’re safe as long as Cook didn’t make cucumber sandwiches and caviar canapés.” Trixie scrunched up her entire face as she recalled the food served at tea the previous Saturday.

“Sounds fancy,” Al remarked, his weathered forehead creased with worry.

“It’s not really that bad,” Jim was saying, contradicting Trixie’s emphatic nodding.

“I’d hate to embarrass you, Mr. Jim,” Al said. He self-consciously stroked his thick, graying beard. “I ain’t much to look at. I look like a regular skid rogue. I was gonna go into town first thing tomorrow for a shave and a haircut.”

Before Jim could answer, Trixie hooked her arm through Al’s. “You look fine. Although Jim’s adoptive parents live in a fancy house and talk like English professors, they’re really nice. Just be yourself and everything will be all right.”

“I don’t know…”

“It’ll be fun,” she promised. As they made their way to the Suburban, Trixie and Al walked arm-in-arm. “I was just as scared as you the first time I ate at Manor House. And believe me, if they didn’t kick out my brother, Bobby, they won’t throw you out. Just sit by me and I’ll help you.”

“Will they gimme more than one fork?” Al questioned nervously.

“Probably,” Trixie answered. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure you use the right one. And as long as you don’t take somebody else’s, it’ll be okay.”

Jim grinned in amusement as he listened to the banter between the unlikely confidants. He had a feeling dinner at Manor House would be interesting.

“Now, here are a few tips,” Trixie continued. “When you’re at the table, cross your ankles—not your legs— primly. Don’t blow your nose on the linen napkins, and I’m sure you know not to eat with your elbows on the table. And most importantly of all, if you see some brown balls wrapped in bacon, don’t eat them! But if you do get something you don’t like, the Wheelers always have a houseplant or two in the corner of the room…”

The End

Credits:

Huge thank you’s going out to my lovely editing team! Let’s have three cheers for Kaye, Trish, and Steph H! Each of these three wonderful ladies had something crucial to contribute to this story; without their invaluable help, I would’ve failed miserably in my quest to provide a decent story.

I hope you all understand what I meant by the Charlie Brown comment. As a child, I was always amused by the adults indiscernible, “Wah-wah-wah-wah…” I couldn’t resist adding that line to my story. *g*

For the benefit of Steph H, a pencil skirt is a body-hugging skirt that hits right below the knee. They are very smart and stylish, but very difficult to move around in. Kitten heels are usually about one-inch tall, and although the heels are stubbier than stilettos, they aren’t “clunky”. I’ve found kitten heels to be quite comfortable, and I think even Trixie could wear them without killing herself.

L’eggs are a popular brand of pantyhose.

Jim’s phrase, “I’m just the groom” was Damon’s mantra throughout our wedding planning. Apparently, it’s a popular cop-out muttered by several grooms-to-be throughout the ages.

Just about every one of the private schools I’ve visited or heard about has had a chapel. I decided long ago that Trixie and Jim would get married at Ten Acres Academy, and when I heard my SIL talk about the chapel at the military academy where she used to teach, I knew Trixie and Jim HAD to get married in the chapel at Jim’s school.

The teasing comments about The Donald can be explained in my story, “It May Be Winter Outside”.

Several people love cucumber sandwiches, caviar canapés, and bacon-wrapped water chestnuts; however, I am not one of those people. Opinions may vary, but I can’t see Trixie being a big fan of “fancy” food. I tried water chestnuts at Damon’s company Christmas dinner this past winter, and my reaction was similar to Trixie’s. *g*

By the way, according to one of my editors, Trixie would’ve had to come in contact with caviar before now. Although she was probably correct, I couldn’t bear the thought of throwing out my “black pellets” description. So, as far as I’m concerned, Trixie had never been served caviar before. That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it. *pout*

Halette is a French name which means “Little Hal”, which IMCO was a perfectly perfect name for Harold Belden’s daughter.

For the record, one can flip Brussels sprouts a good distance. As a child, I used to flip them behind a freezer in our dining room. It was much better than eating them. *veg* When my dad moved out that freezer years later, I asked specifically about the Brussels sprouts. Strangely, they had disappeared…

“Page Six” is an actual gossip column featured in the New York Post, and Cindy Adams contributes frequently to that column

Bill Morgan, Jane’s older brother, was a canon character who was photographer for the school newspaper, so I felt it was logical for him to eventually become the photographer for the Sleepyside Sun.

“Let’s Start the New Year Right” chronicles the kiss which Bill Morgan apparently took a picture of. Thank goodness Mart also works as a journalist with the Sleepyside Sun.

Jack’s current love interest was purposely named “Trish” as a loving nod to his biggest fan, who just recently signed on to edit for me. Trish, I hope you enjoy your cameo at The Cameo!

In case you haven’t noticed, Jack enjoys bestowing pet names on those he cares about. Yes, this is part of a grander scheme, which I hope to eventually reveal.

The details of the infamous “stripper-gram incident” can be found in the story, “Wasted Away Again in Strawberry Pop-Ville”.

For those who are surprised by Jim and Jack’s friendship, in “The Gumshoes” the two declared a truce of sorts and became friends. Their relationship purposely echoes Win Frayne and Matthew Wheeler’s friendship.

I decided to give Sleepyside a small jetport which could easily service small aircraft, including private jets. I believe it’s something that Matthew Wheeler would want the town to have, and when Matthew Wheeler wants something, he usually gets it.

For more details about Jim’s closet fetish, read “My Boy”.

Damon is actually responsible for the part about Trixie wanting to see Jim in those jeans that were two sizes too small for him. Apparently, he picked up my copy of Mystery on Cobbett’s Island and wouldn’t you know that he’d flip it open to that spot? He found Trixie’s idea very suspicious, and is positive she had sinister motives. I really couldn’t offer any argument, but since this “theory” intrigued me so, I decided to include it in my story.

Lest you doubt Jack Palmer’s prowess for noticing details, Jim has actually been in a suit every time he’s met Jack. Maybe that’s because Jim is the administrator of a school, or perhaps wearing a suit is second nature to him since he’s a businessman. Or maybe it’s just because I adore a man in a suit. *g*

Curious about what happened with Sgt. Molinson? In case you are, be sure to visit The Cameo and rent a copy of “Saccharine Sweet Revenge”. That should tell you all you need to know.

Angela Lansbury did indeed star in a show called “Murder, She Wrote”. In that show, she plays an older author who just happens upon a mystery everyplace she goes. I adore that show, and while I was watching one day, I couldn’t help but notice the similarities between Trixie and Jessica Fletcher. And of course I couldn’t resist pointing out those similarities in my story… *veg*

Jonesy… the villain we all love to hate. I believe Jonesy didn’t have a happy beginning, although that’s no excuse for the way he treated Jim. For more background on him, tune into “Keeping Up with the Joneses”. And by the way, now everyone knows why I gave Jacobson Jones such an unusual name.

Christina Redding was an undercover cop in “The Gumshoes” that Jim thought was a man dressed up as a woman. Officer Redding was quite insulted by that and arrested Jim and Brian for solicitation of a prostitute. Jack had agreed to go out with her if she’d drop the charges.

I’m sure someone out there is questioning Jim’s judgment in asking an ex-con to work at Ten Acres. However, I felt that it seemed like a very “Jimmish” thing to do. If it makes you feel any better, Al’s character is based upon a very dear friend of ours. David is a huge giant of a man who used to have long hair and a long beard, dressed in typical biker garb, and was covered with all sorts of tattoos which would’ve offended most of polite society. Not only was he scary to look at, he was scary! He was the vice president of one of the largest biker organizations in the world, and was a wanted man. Not only did the law have several warrants on him, there was a contract put out on him by one of his rival gangs. Thankfully, God is a merciful God, and David was arrested before he was killed. He went to prison, where he met a preacher who told him of God’s love and grace. David asked the Lord to be his savior and it wasn’t just to impress the judge. He became a new person, inside and out, and was willing to serve his time because he’d done the crimes. However, at his sentencing, the judge was so surprised by the visible change in David that he actually sentenced him to go tell others what (or rather who) had changed his life. Several years later, David is still doing that. He’s now an evangelist, and we count him as a very dear friend. If you met him now, you’d never guess that he’d once been a criminal. The character of Al is a loving tribute to him.

“No Neck Vinnie” is not to be confused with the mobster Vinnie in Steph H’s story, “Nothing to Lose”. Apparently, Vinnie is a good name for members of the mob, so I apologize in advance to any mild-mannered men out there by that moniker. It is possible that No Neck Vinnie left Los Angeles and moved to New York City or vice-versa, but our details are sketchy at this time. While casting for the role of Mobster #1, I asked Vinnie specifically about his past, to which he replied, “I could tell you, but then I’d hafta kill you.” Needless to say, I dropped the subject and hired him on the spot.

One of my editors tried to explain to me how exiting a private jet would work; however, by the second time I came to the final edits for that part of the story (I fixed it once in the first final edits, but those disappeared), I was so confused that I decided just to apologize to all those who have ridden on private jets for getting that detail wrong in my story. That discrepancy is all my own doing and can’t be blamed on any of my wonderful editors.

I thought long and hard how to end this story. I considered several options, but when I happened upon the idea of having this story come full circle, I felt in my heart that that was how I should go. I adored the thought of Trixie taking the burly Al under her wing. Her guiding him through the fancy dinner party was sort of like the blind leading the blind, which amused me greatly. I’m sure the Wheelers’ reaction to seeing Al for the first time was priceless, although I’m also sure that they were very gracious. I know there’s a story there, and who knows; maybe someday someone will share it with me.