Part One: Honey
Saturday October 8, 2005
8:00 a.m.
“Trixie!” Honey called, as she trailed behind her best friend towards the telephone. “Wait for me, please!”
Trixie raced ahead, intent on getting information from Honey’s father and oblivious to the confusion she was causing. Just as they reached the instrument, the impetuous blonde stopped short.
“What am I going to say to him?” she demanded. “Why am I doing this? You should be the one to ask!”
“But I don’t know what I’m asking for,” Honey wailed. “Please, Trixie, slow down a minute and explain what’s happening.”
There was a moment when Honey thought her friend would explode with impatience. “But I explained already: it’s all about businesses and jobs and properties and inheritances. We need to know the names of all the people your Dad has bought land from since he moved to Sleepyside and, if he can get it, we need a copy of Jim’s great-uncle’s will. When we have all that, figuring out who’s responsible should be a snap.”
Slowly, Honey nodded. “So, I’m asking for a list of landowners, and a copy of the will,” she clarified. “Okay, I can do that.” She picked up the phone and dialled the familiar number. From the corner of her eye, she could see her friend hop from one foot to the other, desperate to know the outcome. Honey took her time, despite the not-so-subtle hints from her best friend. Finally, the conversation ended. “He’s sending me a list, and a map – and the will,” she explained at once. “There’s too much information to read out over the phone and, anyway, he’d have to look it up first, of course.”
She could see the supreme effort that Trixie put into suppressing a groan and took pity. “He did say that he’d send it by messenger, since he has someone coming this way in not much more than an hour anyway and we do have some other leads to follow up, don’t we?”
“Of course!” Trixie bounced back to her usual state of energy. “There’s the whole inheritance angle. I didn’t see it at first, but whoever this is, knew a whole lot about my grandfather’s will. I didn’t even know any of that stuff! Maybe their knowing that there was something to know is a clue.”
“You mean, they were somehow connected with your family at the time your grandfather died?” she asked.
Trixie nodded. “That, or they were in Sleepyside. You know what the rumour mill is like. I bet everyone in town knew that Dad and his brothers had effectively been disinherited.” Another thought occurred to her. “I guess that means we’re looking for an older person, not someone our own age.”
“And their accomplices,” Honey added. “The guy who’s been impersonating Jim since the first guy got killed can’t be too old, otherwise he’d never be able to get away with it. The same for the girl who’s been impersonating you – Morgan.”
Her friend waved that aspect away. “They’re not so important. Look at the way the dead guy just got replaced, as if he didn’t matter at all. If we want all this stuff to stop, we need to catch the ringleader.” She sighed. “I just wish we had the papers your Dad is getting us. Maybe we should call him back and tell him we’ll come and get them? Only, then we’d probably need to get back here so we can be around to catch whoever it is.”
“Let’s wait,” Honey replied, after a moment’s thought. “If we go to Sleepyside and then have to come back here, it will take twice as long as if we just wait. Let’s spend the hour going over our suspects again, so we’ll know right away if one of them is on Daddy’s list.”
Trixie sighed. “But Hon,” she whined, “I know every name on that list like it was my own.”
“Okay, then, what was the middle initial of the man who ran the counterfeiting ring out of the house on Old Telegraph Road?”
“R?” Trixie guessed. Seeing her friend’s expression, she took another guess. “D. Definitely, it was D.”
“For ‘Oliver’?” Honey raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Trix. It’ll fill in the time.”
“Oh, okay,” Trixie agreed with a sigh. “But that courier had better hurry!”
Part Two: Mart
Saturday October 8, 2005
9:30 a.m.
A commotion was beginning in the house and Mart wandered in that general direction, motivated by idle curiosity. A courier was standing at the door, apparently having delivered a small, flat parcel. Jim was signing a document on a clipboard, while Trixie made off with the goods. Mart watched as the scene unfolded.
“It’s here!” his sister cried, in excitement. “Oh, Honey! It’s here. Come and help me read it.”
Mart frowned. “What, pray tell, is so supremely difficult that it takes two of you to discern its meaning?”
Trixie was so hyped up that she barely noticed his interjection. “Two heads are better than one, especially when one of them belongs to Honey.” Papers, by now, were spread right across the dining room table and the two were busy examining them. Despite his feigned distaste, Mart leaned over to take a closer look.
“Spencer… Vanderheidenbeck… Lytell… I don’t know about this, Trixie. None of these seem suspicious to me, even Mr. Lytell, and he’s more suspicious of us than we are of him.” Honey traced a slender finger down the list. “The only strange one is the First Sleepyside Bank. Why would a bank own land?”
“Bank?” Mart saw his sister’s eyes widen. His jaw dropped open.
“Yes, right here,” Honey continued, not noticing that the two Beldens were staring at each other in dismay. “Two entries together which say the land was purchased from the bank where your father works. I think that’s these two parcels here, with boundaries on Ten Acres; one of them has a boundary with Crabapple Farm.”
“But that means… The bank… It’s all connected.” Mart struggled to form coherent sentences, but Trixie ignored his agitation.
“Exactly,” she replied. “I told you that you don’t know everything.” A moment later, she stamped her foot. “But now we have to find out how the bank acquired them. I guess it must have been a defaulted loan, but how do we tell for sure?”
Mart strode towards the telephone and made a call. “Moms,” he greeted, when it was answered. As quickly as he could, without being rude, he asked to speak to his father. “Dad, I need to know about some land near Crabapple Farm. From our border back and along the border with Ten Acres. Mr. Wheeler says he bought it from the bank. Can you tell us who owned it before that?”
“You mean the Mitchell land,” Peter replied, without the slightest delay. “The last of the Mitchells to hold it was Frank. None of them had lived there for a generation or two; I believe there was originally a house there, but it was nothing but a ruin when I was a boy. I doubt you’d be able to find it at all these days.”
Mart scrawled the name and a few notes on a piece of paper for his sister to read. She was almost bouncing with impatience, but he put the next question without reference to her. “So, if he didn’t live there, where did he live? Was he from Sleepyside?”
“Oh, yes,” his father replied. “He grew up in town, in a house that stood where the fire station is today. He was a few grades behind me at school, but I knew him slightly, of course. He married a local girl and they stayed in Sleepyside, but the marriage didn’t last. I believe he stayed in town until around the time you started grade school.”
Trixie was fidgeting and trying to catch his attention. “Ask him how long the bank owned the land.”
“I can’t tell you that,” Peter announced, without the question having to be repeated. He had evidently heard it directly from his daughter’s lips. “That’s not a matter of public knowledge.”
“Okay, then,” Trixie persisted, unfazed, “What happened to the house where the fire station is? Did they sell it? Were they renting? Is there any of his family still in town?”
There was a pause and Mart got the idea that his father was carefully choosing his words. “I don’t believe there are any Mitchells left in Sleepyside. Frank’s parents died in a house fire and he had no siblings; no cousins that I knew of. The house was completely destroyed. There was a fair amount of public outcry about the lack of fire fighting equipment available at the time. The city purchased the site from the estate and built a new fire station there. Frank was already grown up and married by then. I seem to remember that his wife left him soon afterwards. It was a terribly tragic situation.”
“How about the relationship between us and the Mitchells?” Trixie asked.
This time, the pause stretched out to the point where Mart wondered if his father would answer at all. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “You could say that there was something of a falling out between myself and Frank. He was unhappy about losing his land.”
“Anything else you want to ask?” Mart asked his sister. Thoughtfully, she shook her head. “Okay, that seems to be it. Thanks, Dad. I’ll see you later.”
“Tell me!” Trixie demanded, before the receiver was even in its cradle. With an economy of words that would have surprised many of his acquaintances, Mart recounted the facts his father had provided. He waited while his sister digested the information.
“It all fits,” she announced, after a pause. “Frank Mitchell is behind this. He has a grudge against Mr. Wheeler, for buying his land, and against Dad because he worked at the Bank.”
Honey’s voice broke into her musings. While soft, there was a note of underlying excitement in the voice, which caused the other two to glance at her sharply. “Look at this,” she murmured. A wad of papers, opened to the final page, lay in front of their friend. One manicured nail indicated the place.
Trixie leaned over and read aloud, “‘In the case that James Winthrop Frayne II should predecease me, I bequeath all that I possess to Francis Holden Mitchell…’ Frank is sometimes short for Francis, isn’t it? It must be the same man! He’s the alternative heir to the Frayne estate, too. Your Dad, my Dad and Jim? This just has to be it!”
“There’s still a matter of proving it,” Mart corrected. “Just because the man has a motive doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”
His sister waved away the technicality as if it were an irritating insect. “The police can deal with proof. Right now, we need to go and get Shari. I know where she is, and this time I’m certain.”
From the doorway came a faint sound. Instinctively, Mart turned towards it. Leaning against the frame stood his wife, one hand curved protectively against her protruding belly. From the expression on her face, he knew instantly that something was wrong.
“Mart?” she asked, in pleading tones. “Can you take me to the hospital? I think it’s time.”
Part Three: Helen
Saturday October 8, 2005
10:30 a.m.
“Helen! How lovely to see you! Oh, and is this your darling little one?” The voice dripped syrup, inciting in Helen a desire to turn and run.
“Hi Libby,” she replied, suppressing all thoughts of escape. “Yes, this is Nicola.”
Sleepyside’s biggest gossip continued her assault. “Such an unusual name. You have such a talent for that.” She leaned closer, nearly suffocating Helen with her perfume. “You know, I was just thinking of you the other day. I was speaking to Marge Trask and she mentioned the Delanoys, which reminded me, of course, of the little whisper I heard that Celia was seen visiting a certain doctor recently. I thought, perhaps, there might be the pitter patter of little feet sometime soon.” A raised eyebrow indicated that Helen was supposed to supply the rest of the details.
I don’t play that game, her victim thought. That ‘certain doctor’ happens to be a gynaecologist as well as an obstetrician. Which capacity Celia saw him in really is none of anyone else’s business. Aloud, she said in her blandest tones, “Really. I had no idea.”
Libby, however, was a pro. “Of course, they do say there’s no smoke without fire. As I said to Blanche Davis, it’s high time that those two started thinking of such things. It doesn’t pay to leave it too late. You did know that Blanche is living in Sleepyside, again, didn’t you?”
“I did hear something like that,” Helen admitted. She was not remotely interested in the gossip, though the mention of the name recalled to her mind the rumour she had heard previously about the same woman. Her mind wandered to the situation of the previous bank president and his indiscretion, leaving Libby to chatter away, unheeded.
“…and, so I said to Margaret, ‘Helen Belden is sure to know. I’ll ask, the next time I see her.’”
Helen jolted to attention, knowing that she had missed something important. Libby was looking at her expectantly and she was forced to murmur, “I’m sorry, Libby, I think I must have misunderstood you. Exactly what am I supposed to know?”
“Whether it’s true that the old Mitchell house is about to be rebuilt,” the other woman repeated. “Word is that the site is being cleared, ready for the new building. It’s so close to your quaint little place that I was sure you would have heard.”
Random pieces of information flitted through Helen’s mind, as she tried to decide what to say. The initial thought was that this was the first she had heard of the matter. To the best of her knowledge, she had never been anywhere near the ruin; she was not even certain that it was near her home. In all the years she had lived at Crabapple Farm, she had never given the place a thought. To her, Frank Mitchell and his ex-wife, Blanche Davis, were people from the town, far removed from her own circle of friends and nothing, really, to do with the place where she lived.
“I really couldn’t say,” she admitted, finally. “Not as far as I know.”
A brief look of dissatisfaction flickered on Libby Carter’s face. “Never mind,” she replied, her quick mind turning to other matters. “Perhaps you had heard about the little incident in the grocery store the other day…”
Part Four: Jim
Saturday, October 8, 2005
6:00 a.m.
The sound of the telephone was loud in the early morning stillness. Jim, who happened to be passing at that moment, picked it up halfway through the second ring and uttered a quiet greeting.
“Jim?” he heard his father ask. “I’m glad I caught you. We have a problem.”
With a sinking heart, Jim leant against the telephone table. “An enquiry?” His mind began to run through the actions he would have to take, liquidating assets, consulting lawyers and putting contingencies in place.
“Not yet,” Matthew replied. “I’ve had a call from someone in the company that I trust. He’s of the opinion that things are moving fast. Someone overrode the security system last night – someone in a position of high authority. I think I see which way things are going to fall, but I’m making some other plans, just in case. There are some documents that I’d like you to have on hand in the worst-case scenario. Can I send them by courier this morning?”
His tension easing slightly, Jim responded, “Sure. Anything else I can do?”
“One thing,” Matthew answered. “I’ve transferred some money to your bank account, enough to keep us out of trouble for a while, at least. You’ve got a safe at the house, there, haven’t you? Can you withdraw the cash and keep it in the safe in case we need it?”
“Is that all?” Jim heard the relief in his own voice and knew his father would hear it, too. “I’ll do that this morning. Let me know if there’s anything you need later.”
“Thanks, Jim. I’ll have the package arrive at your place in a few hours’ time.”
Saturday October 8, 2005
9:30 a.m.
“Right now, we need to go and get Shari,” Trixie announced. “I know where she is, and this time I’m certain.”
From the doorway came a faint sound. Jim thought nothing of it until he saw the change in Mart’s expression. Turning, he saw Diana leaning against the door frame, one hand curved protectively against her protruding belly.
“Mart?” she asked, in pleading tones. “Can you take me to the hospital? I think it’s time.”
“Urk!” said Mart, looking this way and that. “It’s too early. It can’t be time, already! They need to stay in there another couple of weeks! What do I do? Should I call the doctor? Where’s your bag?”
Honey took him gently by the arm and guided him away. Jim’s attention strayed from Mart, who he knew was in good hands, to his very agitated girlfriend. She seemed torn between her brother’s situation and the mystery at hand.
“What do we do now?” she asked. “I can’t just go and search for Shari when Di is getting ready to have the babies! And what about Dan? Where is he?”
“He was already out when I got up this morning,” Jim conceded. “I think he’s been searching, too.”
Behind him, a throat was cleared. He turned to find Ben, looking rather sheepish. “Sorry. No one answered the door, so I just let myself in. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course it is, Ben,” Jim assured, in as natural a voice as he could manage. “We’re just kind of preoccupied at the moment.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Ben continued. “I think I know where Dan is. This morning, they’ve got dogs out searching.” He seemed embarrassed, which Jim felt was unlike his usual self. “Uh, they’re dogs that are trained to find, uh… human remains. I think Dan’s out watching to see if they, uh, find any.”
Jim nodded, slowly. Inside, his heart skipped a beat. Intellectually, he had known for some time that the chances of finding Shari alive after such a delay were slim. He did not want to contemplate the alternative.
“Where are they searching?” Trixie asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Ben shrugged. “I kind of got the idea that they were going along the bottom of the cliffs, and the area along the top.”
Trixie waved this revelation away. “I looked there already, ages ago. She isn’t there and, anyway, she isn’t dead..” She turned to Jim and he took hope in her expression. “I’m sure I’m right this time, but what should we do? I really don’t want to leave now, what with Di and everything.”
“They’re safely off to the hospital,” Honey announced, approaching from behind Trixie and making her jump. “I’m sure it will be hours before anything happens, in fact, it may just be a false alarm, and I’m sure that we could phone them for an update whenever we have the chance. Why don’t we go ahead to Sleepyside and find Shari?”
Jim shook his head in bewilderment. “Who said anything about Sleepyside?” he asked.
His sister gave him a quizzical look. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? We’re going to search the Preserve, in the area between Crabapple Farm, Ten Acres and Mr. Maypenny’s land. If we talk to Trixie’s father again, maybe he can narrow it down a bit more. So, what are we waiting for?”
“What about Dan?” Trixie asked. “Shouldn’t he be with us?”
Honey’s face fell. “But where is he?” she asked. “We can’t wait; she might be in danger.”
Jim thought for a moment of the package he had received from the courier, while Trixie and Honey had been preoccupied with their own receipt, and his father’s earlier request. If he stayed behind, he could take a trip to the bank and help the investigation at the same time.
“You two go ahead,” he suggested. “I’ll find him and bring him with me. Brian, are you coming? And what about you, Ben?”
“Not me,” Ben replied, at once. “I just dropped by to see if I could borrow a vegetable peeler.”
“I need to get to work,” Brian added, “but I might join you later.”
“That’s settled, then,” said Trixie, as Honey dropped the peeler into Ben’s hands. “Let’s go, gang!”
“One more thing,” Jim added, even as the others were headed for the door. “Don’t you think you should tell the police?”
He watched, with inward amusement, the indecision on his girlfriend’s face. Finally, she admitted, “You’re right, Jim. I’ll make the call.”
Saturday October 8, 2005
9:50 a.m.
Trixie and Honey were already on the road when Jim was ready to leave. He had delayed long enough to discover that the officer in charge of the investigation thought Trixie’s theory far-fetched in the extreme. Shaking his head at the string of epithets she had applied to the man, he set off for the bank.
A short time later, he withdrew the amount and returned to the house, feeling a little nervous handling such a large sum. He took a few glances over his shoulder as he entered the house and secured the money in the safe. The door clanged shut and he locked it, double checking that it was properly engaged before leaving the house.
Now, to find Dan, Jim thought, returning to the car and starting toward the area where he thought the searchers might be. This might be harder than I thought. He found an area, near the bottom of the cliffs, where a number of vehicles were parked and pulled in behind the last of them. After walking for a few minutes, he came to an open area. At its furthest extent, he made out a brooding figure leaning against a tree and set off in that direction.
“What’s happening?” he asked, quietly, once he was in earshot. “Have they found anything?”
Dan shook his head. “I don’t know whether to be happy or sad about it, either.”
Jim worded his next statement with care. “Trixie has an idea that Sleepyside is the place to be looking – somewhere in the Preserve. She and Honey have gone ahead to get some extra information and we were wondering if you would like to join us in the search.”
“Yeah, sure.” Dan’s mouth twisted into an ironic smile. “Anything would be better than hanging around here.”
Part Five: Peter
Saturday October 8, 2005
11:00 a.m.
The screen door slammed against the side of the house as it opened. Peter raised his eyes from his paper, ready to chastise his youngest son for the misdemeanour, only to be confronted by his older daughter. Her best friend trailed along behind, apparently embarrassed by Trixie’s exuberance, but eager to be involved in whatever was going on.
“Sweetheart,” he chided, gently.
“Sorry, Dad,” she replied with a grin. “We need to know something right away and I’m kind of in a hurry. You told Mart that you used to go to the ruins of the Mitchell place when you were a kid. Can you show us where they are, please? Now?”
Peter drew a breath and considered the matter. It had been at least twenty years since he had been there. The ill-used path that he and his brothers had followed had long been reclaimed by the wilderness. By now, he expected, no trace of it would be visible.
“I doubt that I would be able to,” he decided. “The best I could do is give you a rough idea of where it was.” He rose, selected a piece of paper and pencil from next to the telephone, then returned to his chair. “If Crabapple Farm is here, Ten Acres is here and Mr. Maypenny’s property is here, this irregular shape between the properties was the Mitchell land.” He paused, trying to remember exactly where the once-familiar landmarks were. “The schoolhouse is about here – on the Mitchell land, you see – and the house was a couple of hundred yards away.”
“They had a school on their own land?” Honey asked, a frown creasing her forehead.
He nodded. “From what my grandfather told me, there was a time when a township started to develop around here. You know that Brom and Mr. Maypenny live in that area; there used to be a few other houses, as well. The citizens thought it best to educate their children where they lived, rather than send them on a long journey into town. It was too far to walk and too expensive to use horses and carts. The Mitchells supplied the land; the people banded together and built a schoolhouse on it and together they paid for a tutor. They kept that up until the school bus started running, I think.”
“So, why aren’t the other houses there now?” Honey wondered, while Trixie fidgeted to get moving. “And, if we find the ruin of a house, how will we know that we have the right one?”
Peter smiled at his daughter’s impatience. “Most of them were just little shacks. Families grew up and moved away; some people moved into town. The Mitchell house was abandoned long before the school closed. Local legend had it that the place was haunted and that’s what frightened them away. I think the old gentleman saw which way the wind was blowing and decided to move first.”
Trixie, by now, was almost jumping from one foot to the other. “So, how will we know, Dad?” she asked.
He thought for a moment. “You’re looking for little more than the foundations of a house around the same size as ours. There were big fireplaces at either end. The last time I was there, the chimneys had fallen, but you could still recognise the hearths. You should look out for broken brickwork, which would tell you that you were close.”
“Thanks, Dad,” his daughter called, snatching up the rough map he had drawn. “I’ll explain everything when we get back.”
“Sweetheart?” he called, just as she reached the door. “Before I forget again, Mr. Bridgeman gave me a diamond bracelet which he thought was yours. I put it in the safe deposit box.”
A look of confusion crossed her face, followed by one of enlightenment. “I bet it belonged to my impostor,” she decided. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Dad. She would only have pawned it, anyway, but you’ll probably have to hand it in as evidence when we solve the case.”
Peter stared at his daughter’s retreating back, jaw slack and completely unable to come up with a suitable response.
Part Six: Dan
Saturday October 8, 2005
11:45 a.m.
When Jim and Dan arrived in Sleepyside, the first order of business was to determine the girls’ current location. A quick stop at Crabapple Farm furnished the information and the two men headed for Mr. Maypenny’s cabin, as the best centre for operations. The old man saw them approach and waved a greeting.
“Have you seen Trixie and Honey in the last hour?” Jim enquired, when they were closer. “They’re supposed to be looking for the ruins of the Mitchell house.”
Mr. Maypenny shook his head. “They haven’t been here,” he replied. The retired gamekeeper was still recovering from a long illness and seldom strayed far from home. “Would you like some help in finding them?”
“The girls, or the ruins?” Dan asked, with a sudden grin.
“Either.” He let out a chuckle. “Though, the ruins would be easier; they haven’t moved in longer than I can remember.”
The old man led the way towards the old schoolhouse, passing it and following a faintly marked path into the thickly-wooded area behind it. A short time later, they stopped. “Can’t be too far, now,” he told them, bending down to examine something on the ground. “Stranger’s been here lately, too.” He held out the object for their inspection. It was the butt of a cigar.
Dan pointed to something visible through the trees. “I think we’ve found our other objective,” he commented. A female voice cried, “Damn!” confirming the theory.
“Let’s see if they’ve found anything,” said Jim, setting off in that direction. He passed through a small thicket, emerging on the other side into a small clear area, with one small tree in the middle. The ground was littered with broken bricks and other debris. “Any luck?” he asked, when Trixie looked up. She must have been the one he had heard, as she was busy brushing gravel from a grazed knee.
“Well, we found the right place easily enough,” Honey answered, when her best friend did not. “It’s just that we can’t find anywhere here that she might be. There’s a pile of big beams across the stairs going down into the cellar and there’s not really anything else left!”
Dan sank onto a brick pier, from what must have originally been the front porch. The little glimmer of hope, which had arisen from hearing about Trixie’s theory, spluttered and died. He shut down tight any emotional response, unwilling to go down that path in such a public arena. “I guess that’s it, then. I think I’ll be heading back to Winter Rock.”
“No, please, Dan,” Trixie called, scrambling towards him. “I just know I’m on the right track this time. It all adds up. I’ve just got to find the right place and I know it’s got to be around here somewhere.”
Honey approached, at a more dignified pace. “You know this area, don’t you, Dan? Maybe you could help us.”
He let out a sigh. “Okay. I’ll help search for a while. Somehow, I don’t think it’ll do any good, but I’ll help anyway.”
Saturday October 8, 2005
1:30 p.m.
It was a weary group that returned to Crabapple Farm for a late lunch and a chance to regroup. Dan was grateful to Mrs. Belden for the care and attention she put into the meal, making sure that each of her guests had enough to eat and drink.
The conversation turned to speculation on what they should do next. Trixie, for one, was still firmly convinced that she was on the right track. Dan did not share her view, but had run out of energy for disagreeing. He let himself be taken along with the others, neither adding to nor contradicting their ideas and theories.
“Maybe we should have tried to search the cellars,” said Trixie, while munching on a thick sandwich. “Those beams could be just camouflage.”
“I don’t think so,” Honey disagreed. “You know we tried to move them, and couldn’t. Anyway, they were kind of set in, as if they’d been there for years.”
“There could be another way in.” Trixie heaved a sigh. “If we could get the equipment, maybe we could clear away some of the rubbish. Then, at least, we could find if there’s anywhere there to hide a person.”
“It’s strange that you say that,” Mrs. Belden added, “since someone was asking me something like that just this morning.”
“What did they want to know, Moms?” Trixie’s ears almost visibly pricked up. “And who was it who wanted to know?”
“Oh, just one of the gossipy ladies. She asked me whether the old Mitchell house was being rebuilt, since she heard that the site was being cleared. I told her that I hadn’t heard anything of the kind.” Dan admired the way that she avoided the second question, without making it obvious.
“Rebuilt?” Trixie asked, frowning. “Why would she think you’d know if it was being rebuilt? I thought you hardly knew the Mitchells, that they moved away from here a few generations back. Is there something about all this I don’t know?”
Dan watched as Mrs. Belden’s eyes strayed to her husband’s face. “Yes, Trixie,” she admitted. “But it has nothing to do with the Mitchell land and really has no bearing on whether we would know what was happening there. Your father made an enemy of Frank Mitchell a long time ago, by supporting his ex-wife’s version of events in the matter of a civil suit. Your father was the key witness; without him, there was no way that the case would have gone the way it did. Frank seemed to think that your father should not have testified, since their families had been neighbours for so long and his parents had helped us when we first moved to Crabapple Farm.”
There was a long moment while Trixie digested this information. Finally, she said, “Dad, do you know of any other buildings on the Mitchell land?”
“What?” Mr. Belden had obviously been expecting something else. “Other buildings? Not as such. I believe it was once a farm, though. Perhaps there was a barn, or some other kind of outbuilding. Why do you ask?”
“Because now I’m positive that I’m right. She’s definitely up there. We just need to find her.” She stopped to think for a minute. “I wonder where we could find an old map of the area.”
“The library?” Honey suggested.
Bobby, who had been largely forgotten in the excitement piped up, “Mr. Wheeler has an old map. He lent it to Todd’s Dad to help him find his way around the Preserve.”
“How old?” asked his sister. “Are we talking five years?”
“Really old,” Bobby insisted. “All dirty-looking and cracked.”
“Maybe some of us could check the library and some could try to see that map,” Honey suggested. “Between the two, we might be able to find something out.”
“Great idea, Hon,” cried Trixie. “You and Dan can go to the library. Jim and I will go up to Manor House and look at the map there. Meet you at Manor House at – what do you think? – half past two?”
Saturday October 8, 2005
2:15 p.m.
Dan fidgeted in the stillness of the Sleepyside Library and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Across the room, Honey was enquiring at the desk for any old records they might hold. The librarian nodded and disappeared through a doorway into the section of the building which was not open to the public. A few minutes later, she returned with a large, flat folder. Dan could see, as he approached, that the map it contained was very old.
“Just look at this!” whispered Honey, her voice filled with awe. “It must be over a hundred years old.” Her finger hovered above the surface as she tried to find some sort of recognisable landmark. “Here – there’s the Mitchell house.”
“I guess those must be the farm buildings, then,” Dan replied. He felt silly whispering, since there was no one else anywhere in sight, but it did not seem right to talk in a normal voice. “Any clue to how we find them?”
“Maybe we could find one of these other landmarks,” Honey suggested. “Then, we could try to find the right place from there.”
An image appeared in Dan’s mind, of a place in the Preserve that he had sometimes visited. He gently traced a finger across the old map to where a small quarry was marked. “I think I know this place,” he told Honey. “There’s kind of a rocky place, and it looks like part of the hill was hacked out. I never knew what it was, before.”
“I bet that’s it, then,” she replied, in an excited squeak. “Let’s get back to Manor House, so we can get the others and go up there!”
Dan shook his head. “We need to copy this,” he decided. “Can we get a photocopy?”
Honey considered the fragile document. “I don’t think so. It would hang over the edge of the copier and it might be damaged. I guess we’ll have to draw a copy.” Heaving a little sigh, she produced a pencil and notepad from her purse and started on a small reproduction. “I’ll be as quick as I can,” she promised. “We don’t have any time to lose!”