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Nine
years later, in the Glimpses into
the Future Universe…
Monday, January 17th Detective
Beatrix Belden, bored with her current state of inactivity, noisily rattled
the latch to the glove box of the BMW sedan in which she was a passenger.
Growing disinterested with merely making noise, she began quickly opening and
shutting the box. A slender hand promptly reached over and slapped Trixie’s
wrist. “Stop that!”
Honey scolded, her twinkling hazel eyes belying her stern tone. “I can’t help
it,” Trixie muttered. She huffed noisily, making the curl in the middle of
her forehead blow into the air. “I’m bored. Really bored.” Honey returned
her hands to the ten-and-two position on the steering wheel. “That’s no
excuse to drive me crazy,” she
remarked. “But driving you crazy is so much fun.” Trixie’s voice
almost resembled a whine. “You should’ve let me drive. If we could’ve taken my car, I wouldn’t be bugging you
now.” “You don’t know where we’re going,” Honey
pointed out matter-of-factly. Trixie’s bottom
lip pooched out in a pout of six-year-old Bobby Belden proportions. “So? How
hard could it be to get to…?” She paused momentarily, her forehead furrowed
thoughtfully. “Hey, where are we
going again?” Honey giggled in
response. “You know, you like to complain about Brian always needing to be in
control, but you’re just as bad. Just sit back and enjoy the ride to
Schenectady, which incidentally is where we’re going for our meeting. I’ve
told you that a hundred times.” With a sigh of
impatience, Trixie tapped the Beemer’s onboard navigation system. “This rig has GPS, so forget Schenectady— I
could’ve found my way to Antarctica with this bad boy!” “Thank God you
won’t get the chance,” Honey mumbled. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Trixie retorted in a
superior tone. However, her attention quickly shifted to all the gizmos in
her best friend’s automobile. “Gee whiz, this car’s so loaded that there’s
probably a coffeemaker somewhere in here.” “Daddy knew I
didn’t like coffee, so he didn’t get that option,” Honey informed her
saucily. “But I like coffee,” Trixie pointed out.
“He should’ve gotten the coffeemaker for me.” “I’ll be sure and
tell him that the next time I graduate from college and he buys me a luxury
sedan.” Although Honey’s
gaze was focused on the road, Trixie stuck her tongue out at her anyway.
Sadly, Honey was concentrating so intently on navigating that she didn’t see.
Irked that a perfectly good childish gesture had gone to waste, Trixie
shifted her attention to the radio. She quickly flipped it on and immediately
began scanning for a new station. Honey glanced
over at her, one golden-brown eyebrow quirked. “You changed my station.” “I know, but I
don’t like that easy listening crap you have the nerve to call music,” Trixie
replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “But it’s my car.” “True, but
they’re my ears, and I don’t care
what the experts say: That stuff is not
easy to listen to,” Trixie argued. She grimaced as the radio found a country
station, and then hit the scan button again. A rock ballad from the early
nineties began playing. “Ooh, I loved this song,” she murmured as she started
singing along. However, her
serenade ended as the song abruptly switched back to the easy listening
station. “Hey!” Trixie exclaimed. “How’d you do that?” “How’d I do what?” Honey questioned, her face the
mask of innocence. “Change the
station!” Trixie cried impatiently. “Did you actually
see me reach over there and hit the
button?” Honey inquired. “Well, no, but I
know you did it somehow!” Honey giggled.
“Maybe there’s a glitch in the computer.” Trixie snorted as
she noticed the variety of controls on the steering wheel. “Or maybe someone switched the station by
hitting one of the fancy-schmancy buttons on her cockpit over there.” Honey grinned
over at her. “Maybe,” she answered coyly. “How about we compromise and just
turn it off?” “Works for me,”
Trixie agreed with a shrug. “Since you’re so
bored, why don’t you do the honors?” Honey suggested. Trixie reached
over and snapped off the radio. Once the music ceased, she looked outside and
thoughtfully studied the scenery. A moment or so later, she excitedly turned
back to her best friend and announced, “I need my own theme song!” “What?” Honey’s brow crinkled in utter
surprise. “I need my own
theme song,” Trixie repeated in an exasperated tone. “You know, like
superheroes have.” In spite of her
extensive training in etiquette, Honey allowed a snort to slip. “And just why
would you need a ‘theme song’?” Trixie scrunched
up her face, waved her hands, and made a noise of disbelief that sort of
sounded like “puh”. “To play when I chase crooks, of course!” she explained
as if it were the most logical bit of reasoning on earth. “Oh.” Honey
nodded thoughtfully and took a moment to ponder Trixie’s words. After a
dramatic pause, she continued. “Pray tell, who will play this ‘theme song’
while you are performing your daring deeds?” “My loyal
sidekick, duh!” “Mmm-hmmm.” Once
again, Honey nodded. “And I apologize for asking so many questions, but who
is this aforementioned ‘sidekick’?” “Why, the part of
Schoolgirl Shamus’ trusty sidekick is being played by none other than Honey Wheeler!”
Trixie announced gleefully. Her jubilation was stopped short as she noticed
her friend’s less than enthusiastic response, which came in the form of a
snarled lip. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like my idea?” “Well, what makes
you think I should be the
sidekick?” Honey demanded with a smirk. “Everyone knows that the superhero is
usually some wealthy, tortured soul who has the money to pay for all the
super gadgets, the pimped out car, and the secret lair. So, I think you should be my sidekick.” “But the theme
song was my idea,” Trixie argued.
“You can’t just take it away from me.” “Fine. How about
you find a theme song for you, and
I’ll find a different one for me?”
Honey suggested. “I think Daddy knows John Williams and Hans Zimmer…” “Oh, sure,” Trixie
spat. “You get the composer from ‘Star Wars’ and I have to write my own
crappy song. Like that’s fair!” Honey suddenly
began giggling madly. “I can’t believe we’re arguing over something as stupid
as a theme song.” “Me either,”
Trixie admitted with a rueful grin. “Our banter has sunk to an all-time low.
I just hope we get there soon before we start fighting over who gets to wear
what costume.” Honey reached
over and tapped a button on her onboard global-positioning system. “According
to the GPS, we’ll be at our first stop in less than thirty minutes.” Trixie’s eyes
took on a new sparkle as she admired the graphics on the GPS. Like a small
child left alone in the cockpit of the Concorde, she itched to try out the
many intriguing possibilities a slight twist of the knob could offer. “If you need to
stretch, we could get something to drink,” Honey proposed. “Do you want to
stop at a convenience store?” Too distracted by
the joystick on the console that operated the fancy navigation system to give
Honey an answer, Trixie finally gave into temptation and began fiddling with
the curious knob. However, instead of honing in on an area of the GPS screen,
she adjusted the BMW’s climate control. “Cool!” she
exclaimed enthusiastically. Groaning with
irritation, Honey cast her best friend a sidelong glare. “It is going to be ‘cool’ in here if you
don’t leave stuff alone.” She punched a few buttons on the steering wheel and
returned the temperature to its previous setting, which would ensure that the
vehicle’s interior maintained a constant temperature of seventy-two degrees
Fahrenheit. “You’re no fun,”
Trixie mumbled. She sat quietly for a moment, but then her attention was
drawn to the button that controlled the sunroof. “Hey, what’s this?” “Ah, ah, ah!” Honey
snapped her fingers. “If you push one more button, I’m going to pop the trunk
and stick you inside.” Trixie slunk down
in her leather seat, cringing as she gave her tawny-haired friend a mock
salute. “Yes, ma’am.” After a moment or so, she timidly raised her hand.
“Miss Wheeler, may I ask a question?” A smile wiggled
at the corners of Honey’s mouth as she gave a slight nod. “Yes, you may, Miss
Belden.” “How much longer
until we’re there?” She grinned sheepishly. “I kinda didn’t hear when you
told me earlier.” “Do you want to
know how much longer until we’re in Albany, or how much longer until we get
to Schenectady?” “Albany?” Trixie
repeated in disgust. “I thought our meeting was in Schenectady? Why do we
need to go to Albany?” “Trixie, please tell
me that you’re kidding. We talked about this before we left; don’t you ever listen to a single word I say?”
Honey heaved an exasperated sigh. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with
going to Albany last night.” “That’s when I
thought we wouldn’t have enough time to make any stops,” Trixie mumbled. “I
had big plans to make us late. I was going to spill coffee all over my desk,
accidentally wear two different shoes so I had to go home and change before
we left, leave the files in the cabinet so we would have to turn around and
come back to the office… whatever it took! But when we left today, I forgot
that I was supposed to procrastinate.” Honey smiled knowingly. “There’s only about twenty minutes
until we’re in Albany. We’re almost ready to get off I-87 North. It won’t be
long after that.” “That’s what you
said a half hour ago,” Trixie muttered, exhaling loudly. In case Honey didn’t
hear her, she turned her head and released another breath, only this time a
bit more exaggerated. “Having
problems?” Honey questioned, her carefully sculptured eyebrows arched in
speculation. “I know you
explained it all to me back in Sleepyside, but I just don’t know why we have
to stop in Albany on our way to the
interview at Schenectady,” Trixie complained. “What if we’re late and lose
the contract for this new case?” “We won’t be late, Trixie,” Honey assured
her, smiling. “The meeting with our client isn’t until “Well, why can’t
we stop in Albany on our way home?” Trixie suggested. “Are you hoping
I’ll forget?” Honey inquired cunningly. Trixie snorted in
disbelief. “Unlike me, you never
forget anything.” Suddenly, her lips parted in a sheepish grin. “Actually,
I’m hoping the shop you want to stop at will be closed by the time we get
there.” “A-ha!” Honey
exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew you
had something up your sleeve. However, I’m one step ahead of you. I called
ahead and the antique store closes at five, so we have to stop on the way up because I already know it won’t be
open on our way back.” “Curses,” Trixie
muttered under her breath, snapping her fingers. A smile played
languidly across Honey’s lips. “Okay, spill the beans, Trix. Are you trying
to avoid Albany… or shopping?” “Neither one of
them is among my favorite things,” Trixie admitted coyly. “But when you
combine the two, well, then the situation becomes totally unbearable.” Honey glanced
over at her curly-haired friend, a smirk marring her delicate features.
“Trixie, you know I rarely force you to accompany me shopping. But Daddy’s
birthday’s only a couple of weeks away, and I’ve looked all over the place
for this particular gift. It’s not my fault that the only antique shop around that has a complete set of golf clubs
from the early 1900’s is in Albany, and that Albany just happens to be on the
way to our meeting.” “And your dad has to have an old dilapidated set of
golf clubs for his birthday?” “Yes!” Honey
replied emphatically. “He’s so hard
to shop for.” “Billionaires are
like that,” Trixie remarked dryly. Honey chuckled.
“Anyway, whenever I get a lead about what he wants, I have to pounce. Last
week, he mentioned that he’s redoing his study in an old-fashioned golf theme,
so I’ve been looking around for an antique set of clubs ever since. It would
be the perfect gift!” “You’re so good
at finding those,” Trixie told her. “I’m horrible at picking out presents for
people.” “That’s because you wait until the last
minute to go shopping, and then scurry around like a chicken with its head
cut off buying whatever you can grab first,” Honey said with a cheeky grin. “Oh, sure, bring
that up,” Trixie retorted with a giggle. “I’m just saying
that if you put a little more time into it, you could come up with some
clever gifts yourself,” Honey soothed. “For instance, Jim loved the GPS unit
you got him for Christmas. That was a perfectly perfect present for him.” “Yes,” Trixie
agreed with a nod. “But someday I want to get him the kind of presents he gets me.” Honey wrinkled
her delicate nose. “I don’t think he’d like jewelry, Trixie. Neither he nor
Daddy is big on bracelets or necklaces or things like that. Maybe some nice
cufflinks…” “I’m not talking
about jewelry,” Trixie argued with a shake of her head. “I mean… I hope… Oh,
I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” She sighed deeply and raked a sturdy
hand through her mop of curls. “I guess I wish I could get him something
sentimental, like the stuff he gets for me.” “What do you
mean?” Trixie nervously
twisted the three-stone past, present, and future eternity ring that Jim had
gotten her for Christmas the month before. “Well, like this ring, for
instance. The ring’s beautiful, but it couldn’t even compare to the reason he
bought it for me.” Her golden eyebrows knitted together, trouble etched on
her face as she paused. “A silly GPS isn’t as good as that. I just wish I
could find something that would show how much I love him.” “Jim knows you love him, sweetie,” Honey
reassured her. “Yes, but it’s
nice to show someone how you feel
once in a while,” Trixie pointed out. “Very true,”
Honey agreed. “So, what’re you planning? Got anything specific in mind?” “I don’t know.”
Trixie chewed on a hangnail thoughtfully. “I’d like to find him something
special to give him at our engagement party. Especially since he’s been so
stressed out about those letters he’s been receiving.” Honey nodded
knowingly. “I think those letters have put us all on edge.” “No kidding,”
Trixie snapped. She released a remorseful sigh. “I’m sorry, Hon. I’m still
kind of mad that Jim tried to hide this from me.” “He thought he
was protecting you.” Trixie didn’t
say anything aloud; however, it was obvious by the exaggerated roll of her eyes
that she didn’t appreciate the sentiment. “Has he gotten
any new ones lately?” Honey prodded. “Yesterday,” was
Trixie’s terse response. Honey’s lips
clamped together in a thin line as she mulled Trixie’s revelation. When Jim
had returned from California the previous week, he’d talked to her about the
mysterious correspondence, and she’d been troubled ever since. In an attempt
to lighten the now-somber mood, she smiled brightly over at Trixie. “I think a
thoughtful gift expressing your love is just the thing Jim needs to take his
mind off this,” she remarked enthusiastically. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll
find the perfect gift today.” “In that old,
junky old antique store you’re dragging me to?” Trixie questioned, her tone
expressing her disbelief. “That sounds doubtful.” “You never know.
After all, it was the only shop in
our area that had antique golf clubs.” “And you’re sure
that this shop in Albany is the
only place that has them?” “I already told
you that it was,” Honey reminded her. “Well, they’d better be there,” Trixie remarked
sharply. Honey huffed
impatiently. “Oh, Trixie! This little detour isn’t going to kill you.” “You never know.”
Trixie tried her best to sound as ominous as possible. “You could be bringing me back in a body
bag.” “Well, at least
the trip home will be quieter,” Honey remarked dryly. Trixie assumed a
hopeful tone. “Couldn’t you come back later this week?” “I’m booked up
solid every other day. We have to
go now.” Honey turned on her blinker
and merged onto I-787 North. “So, why are
you so adamant about not going to Albany?” Trixie shrugged
her shoulders. “I don’t like Albany; you know that.” “But why?” Honey
prodded. “It makes zero sense.” Trixie sighed
wearily, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers. “It should be
obvious, Hon.” She lifted her chin defiantly as she looked over at the
driver. “And for that matter, Albany should make you feel weird, too.” Honey’s gaze
softened as a wave of realization swept over her. “Jonesy’s not here, sweetie,”
she murmured gently, reaching over to clasp her best friend’s hand. “He’s
locked away in prison, with a thousand guns ready to shoot him if he makes it
over the barbed wire.” “But it feels like he’s there anytime I
visit.” Trixie’s voice was so soft that Honey had to strain to hear it. “I
can’t explain it, but anytime I come to Albany, I’m so aware of his evil
vibes that I can barely stand it.” “Forget about
Jonesy, Trix,” Honey instructed. “He’s locked away, and hopefully the judge
has thrown away the key. He can’t hurt you, and most importantly, he can’t
hurt Jim.” “I know,” Trixie
whispered. A frown marred her sandy brow, and the lines of her mouth were
turned downward in a scowl. “I’m being silly, I suppose, but I can’t help it.
This place just gives me the willies.” “A lot of very
nice people live in Albany, Trixie. You can’t judge the whole city because of
one bad apple that’s not even living there now.” “I said I know.” There was a touch of
irritation in Trixie’s voice. She sighed deeply, removing her hand from
Honey’s clasp and then burying it in the mass of ringlets at the base of her
neck. Wounded by
Trixie’s tone, Honey’s chin began trembling. “I’m only trying to help. It’s
not like you to be creeped out just because we’re visiting a place where a
criminal we once tangled with used to live. Why, you’d have to move away from
Sleepyside, and—” “I know, Honey.” Although Trixie’s words
were clipped, they were not nearly as harsh-sounding. “There’s just a feeling
of doom that comes over me anytime we get near this place. And no, I can’t
explain it. I know it’s crazy, but
it’s how I feel, and I can’t help it.” She took a deep breath, and then
added, “I just have to buck up and get over it.” “I’m sorry.”
Honey reached over and patted her friend’s arm. “I’ll be as quick as I can in
there, okay? In and out.” “All right,”
Trixie said. She plastered a smile on her face and tried to sound upbeat.
“After all, if I’ve faced down gun smugglers, kidnappers, and deranged maniacs,
then I can deal with some bad vibes.” “And I still
think you’ll find something for Jim in the antique shop.” Trixie wrinkled
her nose, her mood lightening considerably. “I don’t think Jim would be
bowled over by a musty old set of golf clubs.” “Then maybe you
could find him an antique bowling ball,” Honey teased with a wink. “Jim doesn’t bowl
either, you silly goose,” Trixie chuckled. “But maybe I could find him an old
Boy Scout manual.” Honey laughed as
she turned onto “Probably,”
Trixie agreed. The grooves of her mouth deepened into a sentimental smile. In
a world where true integrity was a rare treasure, she found Jim’s
honorable-all-over-the-place quality more charming than she could ever
express. “Maybe you could
find him an old compass,” Honey suggested. “You know how he loves old camping
memorabilia.” “He already has a
compass.” Trixie glanced over at the driver’s side, a wicked smile making her
look very mischievous indeed. “A really biiiig
compass.” Her positively evil laugh made it clear the innuendo was on
purpose. “Trixie!” Honey
moaned, desperately wishing she could release the steering wheel and cover
her ears. “It’s very long
and hard,” Trixie added. She was giggling so profusely by this time that she
was starting to wheeze. “And it always points north.” Honey barely kept
from rear-ending the Ford Escape in front of her. “Trixie! You’re going to
make me wreck! Stop with the euphemisms!” “They’re not euphemisms,” Trixie howled, wiping
a tear trickling down her cheek. “Jim does
have a really big compass…” “Stop!” Honey
shrieked. “I thought you and Jim were waiting until you got married! How do
you know so much about his compass?!” “He… he… he showed
it… to me!” Trixie gasped in between hoots. Honey inhaled
sharply, and she shifted nervously in the BMW’s leather seat. “Trixie Belden!
I believe you’ve just given me too much information!” Exhausted from
laughter, Trixie wearily leaned against the passenger’s side window. “But I’m
talking about a real compass, Hon. I swear!” Honey quirked a
golden-brown eyebrow and peeked over at her friend. “An honest-to-goodness
compass that tells direction and everything?” “Of course I’m talking about a real compass!”
Trixie managed through her chuckles. “What’d you think I was talking about?” “You know what I thought you were talking about,” Honey
muttered, her eyebrows drawn downward. “I said it always pointed north,” Trixie
pointed out defensively. Honey sighed in
exasperation. “I thought that was just your clever way of saying that he
doesn’t need Viagra…” “No!” Trixie
insisted. “I’m talking about the old Gurley compass Mr. Maypenny gave him, an
old compass that has a real magnetic needle that really points north. Mr.
Maypenny told Jim that it was used by surveyors in the late 1800’s.” “I’m still not
sure if I can believe you or not, so please don’t talk about compasses in the
antique shop,” Honey warned with a stern glare. “I won’t,” Trixie
promised. She finally managed to maintain a straight face. “Don’t worry, Hon.
I’ll find something to do to keep me occupied. I won’t embarrass you… too much, that is.” “Just don’t break
anything,” Honey warned with mock severity. “Shops like this enforce the ‘you
break it, you buy it’ policy.” Trixie gave a
loud, indignant huff, but Honey accepted the gesture graciously, merely
laughing as she turned right onto “Grandpa’s
Attic?” Trixie gave a hearty snort. “If it’s like Grandpa Johnson’s attic,
then everything inside’s going to be covered with dust and spider webs, and
all the furniture will be missing a leg.” Honey tossed
Trixie a withering glance as she put a few quarters in the meter. “Lucky for
me I’m not buying a table.” The pair made
their way inside the quaint little business. An elderly man, who looked
almost as ancient as most of the wares in his store, was fastidiously
brushing a feather duster against the many lamps which were displayed near
the front of the shop. “Welcome to
Grandpa’s Attic,” he greeted cheerfully. He temporarily ceased his dusting to
push up the old-fashioned wire-rimmed bifocals which were perched on the end
of his nose. “How can I help you young ladies today?” “Hello. My name’s
Honey Wheeler and I called earlier about the golf clubs. Do you still have
them?” “As a matter of
fact, we do,” the storekeeper replied politely. “In fact, we have three sets. One comes all the way from
Scotland.” “Great!” Honey
exclaimed. The old gentleman
hobbled over to Honey and placed one gnarled set of fingertips on her right
shoulder blade and, with the other hand holding the feather duster, he
pointed to a room to the left. “Through the doorway there, in the very back,
you’ll see the section of treadle sewing machines. Beside them, the golf
clubs are propped against the wall.” “Thank you so
much,” Honey told him. “Just holler if
you need any help,” he said as Honey walked into the next room. With a
congenial smile, he turned to Trixie. “And what can I do for you, miss?
Looking for anything in particular?” “Not really,”
Trixie answered with a shrug. “I’m with her.” “Well, you might
as well take a gander around my store while your friend picks out her golf
clubs.” He pushed up his glasses again, and then stared hard at Trixie,
almost as if he were scrutinizing what sort of items might interest her. “You
a reader, little lady?” Trixie’s
straw-colored eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Actually, I collect the different
editions of a children’s series, but you’ve probably never heard of it. Lucy
Rad—” “Lucy Radcliffe,
by Marvin Appleton?” the old man interrupted with a grin. “We get a few of
those from time to time. They’re snapped up pretty quick, especially those
last five or six.” “Do you have any
now?” Trixie asked hopefully. The shopkeeper
scratched his head thoughtfully. “I could be wrong, which I usually am
according to my wife, but I think there may be a Lucy or two over there in
that bookshelf beside the glass display cases where the valuables are kept.” “Thanks!” In her
haste to find the Lucy books, she ran right smack dab into a tall hat
stand. Thankfully, she quickly righted
it before it could crash onto the table where all the breakable lamps were
sitting. Ignoring the old man’s amused smirk, with as much dignity as she
could muster, Trixie turned on her heel and made a beeline for the books. There were
several bookshelves spread around the main room of the antique store;
however, Trixie ignored those and headed straight toward the cases the
storekeeper had pointed out. She flipped through the many hardbound editions
in search of her treasure. “Nancy… Nancy…
yuck… Nancy… give me a break… Hardy Boys… Nancy… puke… and yes!”
Triumphantly, Trixie snatched a hardback Lucy from the bookshelf. Practically
drooling, she handled the book as if she had the original writings of
Shakespeare in her possession. “First Edition,
1948, The Secret of the Palace,”
she murmured, her china blue eyes wide with shock. “Good condition, only
slight wear to the dark green cover, binding tight and straight, no dust
jacket but I’ll live...” Closing her eyes
tightly, she turned the book over to where the price sticker was. Breathing a
quick prayer, she warily opened one eye, and then the other. “Yes!” she
whooped delightedly. “Twenty bucks! We have a winner! Come to mama, you
precious little Lucy, you!” She turned
towards the cash register at the front of the shop, but stopped suddenly in
her tracks. “I’ve got to show this to Honey first!” In her haste to share
her find with her best friend, as she turned back around, Trixie practically
knocked over a crystal flower vase sitting on the display case. Luckily, she
caught it as it precariously wobbled about, threatening to fall and shatter
into a million tiny pieces at any moment. Sheepishly glancing back at the old
man, she saw that he’d resumed his dusting and not seen her clumsiness.
Wincing, she set the delicate glassware back up on its former spot upon the
display case. A glimmer of gold
caught her eye, causing her to whirl her head around again to the case.
Though Trixie wasn’t one to notice jewelry, a particular set of rings had
commanded her attention. Inhaling sharply, she laid down her Lucy and leaned
in to closer inspect the rings. “I don’t believe it,”
she gasped, fortunate to make any kind of sound. “It can’t be…” “Is there something
you’d like to see, miss?” The shopkeeper had finished his dusting and had
begun making the rounds to his customers. “Umm… yeah,” Trixie stammered,
her heart pounding loudly in her chest. “Can I see those two rings right
there in the corner, please?” The old man dug a key
ring out of the pocket of his baggy trousers. He walked behind the glass
display cabinet and with the tiniest key on the ring, unlocked the sliding
door. He fumbled around until his gnarled hands reached the two rings in
question. “These?” he asked,
furrowing his shaggy brows. Trixie nodded, eager
to get a closer look. The shopkeeper dropped the pieces of jewelry into her open
hands. “Be careful with
those,” he instructed. “They’re very precious.” “You have no idea,”
she muttered under her breath. She exhaled loudly as she inspected the two
round objects in her grasp. “You probably can’t
tell it by looking at them, but those are a set of Irish wedding bands.” “I know!” Trixie gave
the man a rueful grin. “I mean, I heard about Irish wedding rings once, and thought these were some.” Willing her hands to
quit shaking, she held the gold rings in her palm while she inspected them.
The larger ring was crafted out of both yellow and white gold. The outer
perimeter of the band was made of the yellow gold. There were several raised
symbols in the white gold along the thick band, which Trixie assumed were
Celtic symbols. But what caught her attention most were the unique family
crests which were spaced after every marking; more importantly, she was
almost positive she knew to which
family that crest belonged. These
can’t be Win and Katie’s
rings, she thought to herself. Why,
if Jonesy brought them in here, they would’ve had to sit in that display case
for over ten years, and what are the chances of that? She held the rings
up for a closer examination. The smaller ring had a
similar look to the other one, but instead of shields and symbols, knot-work
of white gold twined around the middle of the band. Trixie gasped when she
saw the delicate engraving on the inside… K.L.V. …that binds our
hearts.
Holding her
breath, she looked at the inside of the bigger band. W.J.F. Blest be the tie… “Oh, whoa,” Trixie
rasped, her voice trembling almost as much as her hands. “Blest be the tie
that binds our hearts.” Alarmed by his
customer’s wide, frightened eyes, raspy breathing, and ashen complexion, the
old man put a wrinkled hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, young lady?
You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “I think I have.”
Trixie clutched the rings to her heart as she tried to regulate her
breathing. The shopkeeper gripped
her shoulder a bit more tightly, obviously afraid she was going to faint. “Do
you need to sit down, miss?” She hastily shook her
head. “I’m fine. It’s just…” She blew out a long breath of air, and then
turned her gaze to the old man, her blue eyes staring intently at him. “What do you think of those rings?” the man
inquired, interrupting her musing. “Pretty, aren’t they? They’re kind of
expensive, as you can see by the price tag, but I assure you they’re worth
it. I had ‘em appraised, and the amount I’m asking is very modest,
considering.” Trixie hadn’t even
looked at the price tag. If these were
Jim’s parents’ rings, she would pay any amount for them, even if she had to
sell a kidney to do so. Of course, when she did take a gander at the combined $1,000 price, she decided she
needed to be positive of the origin of the rings before purchasing them.
“What do you know about these rings, sir?” “Well, the gentleman’s
ring is a traditional Celtic warrior ring and the ladies is—” “An infinity knot,”
Trixie interrupted impatiently. “More specifically, what do you know about
these particular rings? When did
they arrive at your shop, and how did they get here? Is there any way to find
out that information?” “Sure is,” the old man
replied congenially. He held out a hand to her. “May I see the rings for a
moment?” Trixie nodded as she
handed the treasures back to their owner. He held out the man’s
ring and pointed to a sticker that was attached to a string wrapped around
the band. “See these numbers here, beside the price?” Once again, Trixie
nodded. “That’s the date when the rings were brought into the shop. November
eighth, thirteen years ago.” Trixie rocked back and
forth, reeling from that revelation. “Jim’s mom died thirteen years ago on
September twentieth,” she said, mostly to herself as she digested that piece
of news. “Jonesy must’ve brought them in a couple of weeks after her
passing.” “What was that?” “Oh, sorry,” Trixie
mumbled a bit louder. “I was just talking to myself.” She cleared her throat,
and then asked, “Do you usually keep such nice jewelry in the shop for that
long? It seems kind of unusual for such beautiful rings to stay here for so
many years without being sold.” “It is,” the man agreed, once again pushing
his bifocals up farther on his nose. “Several people have looked at these
rings, but the words engraved inside the bands have deterred them. Potential
buyers fear since this couple’s no longer together that the wedding bands
would bring them bad luck.” “They didn’t…” She
pursed her lips thoughtfully, and then continued. “Maybe they didn’t split up.
The former owners could’ve died, you know.” “Yes, but that
wouldn’t make that couple very lucky either,” he pointed out, smiling wryly. “True, but some people
might not be bothered by that.” The elderly shopkeeper
just shrugged. “Since the rings are so different, I’m
surprised you didn’t split them up and sell them separately,” Trixie
commented. “No,” he said
adamantly. “I can’t explain it really, but I’ve always felt strongly that
they should remain a set. After all, if someone bought the lady’s ring, they
might not understand why the words ‘that binds our hearts’ are engraved
inside the band. I decided I’d rather wait until the right buyer came along
and sell them together.” His shaggy brows
raised suddenly, and then lowered just as quickly into a skeptical
expression. “You aren’t looking to break up the set, are you?” “Definitely not,”
Trixie assured him. “I agree with you that these rings belong together. I’m
sure Win… I’m sure the owners would want it that way.” “So, would these be
for you, or perhaps be given as a gift?” the store owner inquired. His
businesslike tone kept him from sounding
too nosy. “Well, I guess they’d
be both,” she answered with a shrug. “I mean, I’d wear the small ring, and my
fiancé would wear the bigger one.” In spite of the
gentleman’s desire to make a hefty sale, his kind nature couldn’t allow him
to take advantage of anyone, especially such a pretty young lady. “Shouldn’t
you show your fiancé the rings before you buy them? I’d hate for you to spend
all that money on jewelry he doesn’t like. With tax, those are going to set
you back well over a thousand dollars.” “If they are what I think they are, he’ll love them,” she
replied softly. “But first I need to make sure that I’m right.” Although the
storekeeper looked thoroughly puzzled, he didn’t press for an explanation. Trixie’s eyebrows drew
together at the bridge of her pert nose as she pondered her options. “I don’t
suppose there’s any way to find out who sold you these rings, is there?” The old man shook his
head. “Actually, I do have that
information on my computer. I keep that sort of thing on file, on the off
chance that a thief brings something in. If the police find stolen goods in
my shop, I can point them in the direction of the crooks, which I’ve actually
done a time or two. I insist on seeing two IDs whenever someone brings
something in to sell.” He paused momentarily,
and then added in a reluctant tone, “But I’m afraid that I can’t give that
information to you. I couldn’t risk having you contact the previous owner.” “I understand.” Trixie
was surprised by how disappointed she felt, so disappointed, in fact, that
she had to blink back a few tears. “I guess I wouldn’t want you to give my name to a complete stranger. It’s
just that I think those rings
belong to my fiancé’s parents, so I was curious who brought them to your
shop.” “Why don’t you just
ask them?” the shopkeeper asked with a shrug. “They died several
years ago when Jim— that’s my fiancé— was just a boy,” she explained. “I know
they had rings similar to this, and their initials match the ones engraved in
the bands, but that’s a lot of money to spend on a guess. I suppose I’d like
a little more proof before I buy them.” “Would your fiancé
have been the one that brought them here?” Trixie shook her head.
“Jim’s father died when Jim was ten. His mother remarried shortly after, but
then she passed away a few years later.” “Didn’t Jim’s
stepfather give him the rings after the boy’s mother died?” This was now more
than a potential sale to the old man; this was an interesting story. “Unfortunately not.”
Trixie took a deep breath before continuing. “Jim’s stepfather was a very
cruel, greedy man. I’m sure he brought those rings in here and sold them, not
caring that they’d be precious to Jim.” She gave a cynical laugh. “In fact,
Jonesy was so nasty that Jim’s attachment to the rings would’ve made him want
to sell them even more. He hated Jim so much…” She allowed her words to trail
off, unwilling to travel down that unpleasant path at this moment;
considering Jim’s desire for privacy, she’d already said too much as it was. The kindly old man
seemed to read between the lines, understanding there was much more to
Jonesy’s cruelty than greed. “What happened to your Jim?” Trixie’s pinched
features visibly relaxed. “He ran away to the town where I live in search of
his great-uncle. Unfortunately, his Uncle James had just passed away. Jim was
finally adopted by my best friend’s family when he was fifteen. Now he runs
an academy for troubled children, and we’re getting married this July.” The storekeeper nodded
his head, an admiring expression on his wrinkled face. “I’m just not sure
what to do,” Trixie said, mostly thinking out loud to herself. “I’m almost
positive those rings belonged to Win and Katie, but I’d hate to spend over a
thousand bucks on them if they aren’t. Not to mention how disappointed Jim
would be if they don’t belong to
his parents. I’d rather waste $1,000 than disappoint him like that…” “Excuse me,” the
elderly gentleman interrupted, holding up an index finger. “Did you say a few
minutes ago that your Jim’s stepfather’s last name was Jonesy?” “Well, actually it was
Jones. Jim just called him Jonesy.” “I’ll tell you what
I’ll do.” He smiled congenially at the young lady before him. “How about I check
my files, and if the man who brought the rings into the shop had the last
name Jones, I’ll let you know?” A broad grin spread
over Trixie’s face, deepening the dimples positioned on either side of her
mouth. “That sounds great. Thanks so much, Mr…” “Mr. Coombs,” he
replied as he made his way over to the desk area behind the cash register.
Much to Trixie’s surprise, his gnarled fingers flew over the yellowed keys of
his ancient computer at lightning speed. Mere seconds later, he looked up at
her, a wide smile on his face. “Is Jones’ first name Jacobson?” “Yes,” Trixie squeaked
out. She was so ecstatic that her wide blue eyes welled with tears. If she
wasn’t mistaken, she thought she may have even seen the storekeeper’s eyes
grow misty. “Yes, it is!” “Well, I suppose my
only question will be: Cash, check, or credit card?” Mr. Coombs teased,
obviously happy that he was able to deliver the news his customer wanted. “It may be a little of
each,” she answered with a coy grin. “I wasn’t expecting to spend that much
today, but even if the price tag was ten
thousand bucks, it’d be worth it.” “I wish I’d known that
before I wrote the original prices on there,” he joked as he turned to the
cash register. “Oh, wait!” Trixie
raced back to the display case to retrieve her Lucy book, skidding slightly
as she hurried back to pay for her selected items. “If my friend sees this,
she’ll take it from me,” she panted as she handed The Secret of the Palace to the storekeeper. Mr. Coombs stifled a grin
as he added the book to the tally. He’d already wrapped the rings and put
them in a little bag, which Trixie stuffed in her purse. He was just giving
Trixie her grand total as Honey reemerged back into the main showroom,
lugging a large golf bag laden with various clubs behind her. Honey, just having seen the book on the
counter, stopped in her tracks when she heard the amount. “Over one thousand dollars for a Lucy?
Whoa, baby! Did you find the supposedly nonexistent number forty?” “I didn’t pay over a
grand for a book,” Trixie told her, giggling. “Most of the bill was for
these, and they’re worth every penny.” She dug the bag out of her satchel and
pulled out the rings. Beaming, she handed them to her friend and waited for
her approval. “You spent over a
thousand bucks on… jewelry?” Honey
clutched her heart dramatically. “Who are you, and where’s the real Trixie
Belden?” Trixie smirked over at
her, purposely ignoring the chuckling shopkeeper behind them. “If you’d
really look at the rings, you’d see
why they’re so valuable.” Honey wrinkled her
nose as she scooped them up out of Trixie’s grip and studied them
closely. Her expression of disapproval
remained in place, until she peered at the inside of the bands. At that
point, her reproach slowly evolved into absolute shock. With a gasp, she
whirled her gaze upward, her enormous hazel eyes even wider than usual. “Oh…
my… gawd… Did these belong to Jim’s birth parents?” “Yep.” Honey shook her head
in utter amazement. “I can’t believe it.” “Told ya it was money
well spent,” Trixie said tartly. “What do you think?” “I think Jim’s going
to flip,” Honey murmured, still too surprised to expound further. “You wanted
to find a romantic gift, and you did it.” A clearing of the
throat made both the women turn their heads around to the old man behind the
counter. “I hate to interrupt you, but you still haven’t paid me yet, miss.” “Sorry,” Trixie
apologized, smiling ruefully. “I have less than $900 in available credit, so
I’ll have to make up the difference with cash.” She flipped open her wallet
and pulled out a wad of bills, carefully plucking out a few twenties which
were greatly outnumbered by their one-dollar counterparts. After handing the
man the $60 cash, she looked back inside her purse and pulled out her checkbook.
She quickly scrawled out a check for $200, handed it to the man, and then
returned to her wallet for her credit card. “How much do I still owe you?” The shopkeeper
patiently gave her the amended total as Trixie pulled her credit card out of
her wallet. With a nervous giggle,
she handed him her MasterCard. “Just put the rest on this.” “Yes, ma’am,” the
shopkeeper replied, zipping the card through an old-fashioned scanner. With a gleeful grin,
she turned to her best friend. “Lucy book… $20. Wedding bands… $1,000.” She
paused dramatically and then added, “Returning Win and Katie’s rings to the
most wonderful boy in the world… priceless.” “Priceless,” Honey
agreed, her eyes welling with tears as she imagined her adoptive brother’s
face when he received this gift. Trixie reached over
and squeezed her friend’s arm. “And it’s all because of you. Thanks for
forcing me to come here. If it hadn’t been for you…” Honey shook her head.
“No, Trix, even though I dragged you here kicking and screaming, I can’t take
credit for your find. Fate led you to those rings, just like it led you to
Jim twelve years ago.” “Why, it’s the ‘tie
that binds’,” the shopkeeper murmured. “Those rings tie your fiancé’s past to
his future.” Both the girls looked at
him in surprise, since they had been in their own little world. Trixie
recovered first. “The tie that binds.
Why, I suppose it is,” she agreed with a broad grin. Mr. Coombs quickly
rang up Honey’s clubs, and in no time the detectives were preparing to continue
their journey to Schenectady. As Honey loaded her father’s clubs into the
trunk, Trixie took the rings out of the bag and admired how they sparkled in
the natural light. A particularly bright ray of sun caught on the gold,
drawing her attention upward. Blinking her eyes,
Trixie peered towards Heaven. The sunbeam seemed to sparkle a bit brighter as
it danced on the white gold markings. She smiled as she traced the circular
outline of Katje’s ring. Without a doubt, she knew that the rings’ previous owners
were pleased with her purchase.
First and
foremost, I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to CathyP for creating
Jix, as well as to each one of the administrators, moderators, authors, and
members who make it the lovely place it is. Happy Seventh Anniversary,
Jixemitri! May you have many, many more! Second, I would
be remiss if I didn’t thank my stalwart editors: Trish, Kaye, and Steph H.
Each of you offered wonderful insight and worked to make this story better.
Thank you all so much! Hugs to each of you. {{{HUGS}}} Be sure to read
the sequel to this story, “Jimmy’s Smile”. In case you’re
curious, here are pictures of Win and Katie’s (now Jim and Trixie’s) rings…
This story gave
us a hint to all of Jim’s inner turmoil, adding another piece to the puzzle
why he’s so fraught with issues. Is it any wonder that the boy’s messed up? I enjoyed
writing the scene between Trixie and Honey in the car. In fact, I think I
enjoyed it TOO much. My banter HAS taken an all-time new low. *snort* One of my
editors mentioned that an episode of Ally McBeal mentioned her wanting her
own theme song. Just so Aleta doesn’t arrest me for plagiarism, I have never
once watched an episode of Ally McBeal, Girl Scout honor! The idea was based
on the fact that I DO have my own theme song. *sniffs proudly* Damon wrote it
for me years ago and said I could use it when I have my own talk show. Too
bad that’s never happened. I guess you have to be famous or something to have
other famous people want to talk to you… John Williams
and Hans Zimmer are both famous composers who often do music for movies. Susan, I
mentioned the compass! Where’s my treat? Trixie’s First
Edition of The Secret of the Palace is a blatant tongue-in-cheek
reference to The Secret of the Mansion. Jim’s mother
died the same day as my mother… September twentieth. Yes, that was on
purpose. Yes, you may be
thinking that it was a bit coincidental that Trixie found Win and Katje’s
rings, but hey, I’m a firm believer in the hand of God. I know He’s watching
us and there are no such things as “coincidences”. Everything happens for a
purpose, so I firmly believe that He wanted Jim to have those rings back, so
He led Honey to that particular shop, knowing she would drag Trixie there,
kicking and screaming. In the first drafts of this story, Trixie found
Katje’s rocking chair, but then I decided to make it be Win and Katje’s
wedding rings. I know they would be very precious to Jim, who has far too few
mementoes of his beloved parents.
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