Part One: Bobby
Saturday October 8, 2005
2:00 p.m.
“Who am I going with?” Bobby asked, as the group went their separate ways. “Am I going to the library, or the Manor House?”
“Neither,” replied his sister. “You’re staying here.”
Bobby was about to protest, when Jim told him, “You can come with us, if you hurry.”
He could see that Trixie was not pleased, but he ignored her and trailed along behind on the path up to the big house. She seemed determined to leave him behind, by walking faster than she knew he liked to walk. Once inside, and with the map in front of them, she ignored him completely.
“I don’t see anything there,” she murmured, leaning over so far that she blocked Bobby’s view. “I think, maybe, this map is too old.”
“It dates back well over a hundred years,” Jim agreed, pointing to something that Bobby could not see. “If Dad was here, he might be able to tell us more definitely. I just hope that the others have more luck at the library.”
“Do you see any clues at all?” She let out a sigh. “Maybe if we copy this map, we could compare it to a later one. Do you think you could do that?”
“Why don’t you just use your other map?” Bobby grumbled.
“What other map?” His sister barely even looked up, so preoccupied she was with her study.
“The one you left in the clubhouse.”
That caught her attention. “What map?” she repeated. “We didn’t leave a map of the Preserve in the clubhouse.”
“Yes you did.” Bobby scowled at her, wondering how she could ever have solved even one mystery, let alone dozens. “A photocopy of an old map, on about four pages. It was pushed into a crack in the storeroom.”
Trixie swooped on him, grasping his arm so hard that it hurt. “Where is it now? What did you do with it?”
He tried hard to keep the sudden fear from his face, but was sure that it showed through. “I – uh, I put it back.”
The next thing he knew, he was being dragged bodily down to the clubhouse and commanded to find the map. He set about poking through the messy piles that he and Todd had made. “I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” he muttered, while Trixie’s piercing glare threatened to fry the back of his head. He could just feel her staring at him. “I think I kind of shoved it in a hole.”
“Let me look,” she demanded, shoving him out of the way. A moment later, she pulled out the small roll of papers. “Is this it?”
Bobby nodded, but his sister seemed not to notice. She was busy unrolling the bundle and reassembling the map. “Just look at this! There is something else up there: a barn, I think. Do you think, maybe, there might be a hiding place there?”
“Possibly,” Jim admitted, though with rather less enthusiasm. “You’d think that someone would know that it was there, if there was.”
Trixie waved the objection away. “Not even Mr. Maypenny knows every inch of the Preserve. There could be anything there and no one would ever know. How do we find it, though? It looks like it’s a long way from the house.”
Jim frowned and leaned over the creased pages. He traced a finger over the lines there, tapping it on the spot. “This is a field,” he said. Bobby leaned closer, trying to see what Jim saw. “When the farm was in use, it would have been cleared. How long ago did the farm fall into disuse, do we know?”
“I’m not really sure,” Trixie conceded. “Maybe eighty years? Why?”
“I was thinking of a place I know,” he replied. “But if it was that long, there would be no trace by now.”
“What do you mean?” asked Bobby, feeling very confused.
Jim smiled at him. “You see, Bobby, if a field is left alone for long enough, the nearby trees will drop their seeds on it and saplings will grow up in it. After five or ten years, they would all still be small. In twenty years, some would be a fair size. After fifty, or a hundred years, you wouldn’t be able to tell it had ever been cleared. Some of the first trees would have died, making space for smaller ones, and different kinds of trees would have had time to mature.”
“So, about this place you know,” Trixie prompted, with growing impatience, “just say there’s a reason why the forest didn’t reclaim it at once; they let someone else used the field, or something. Where is it? Why aren’t we going there?”
“Aren’t we supposed to be meeting the others at Manor House around now?” Jim asked.
“Oh –” It seemed to Bobby that his sister was about to say something else, but stopped. “Bother! Hurry up! We’ll go and get them and then we can find Shari!”
Part Two: Brian
Saturday October 8, 2005
2:45 p.m.
“I’m here,” Brian announced, as he entered the library at Manor House. He was about to ask what he had missed when his mind supplied the fact that his friends were in the midst of a major disagreement. “What’s going on?”
“We should be going up there right away!” his sister cried, stamping her foot for emphasis. “We don’t have time to argue about where the right place is. We should just go and look where Jim thinks it is first, then, if he’s wrong, we can try Dan’s idea.”
“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be the other way around,” Honey disagreed. “I mean, I love Jim as my brother, and I can see that his idea is quite nice, all things considered, but if you consider that Dan and I actually found the place on the map and that Dan knows where one of the landmarks actually is, then I think we can consider his idea as better than Jim’s, since he’s only really guessing.”
“We’re both guessing,” Dan corrected. “I don’t see what the problem is. We can go to both of those places and she won’t be in either of them.”
Brian held up a hand for silence, as Trixie began to object, and received it. “May I see the maps?” he asked. Honey presented him with a rough sketch, while Trixie pointed to an old and delicate document.
“I have a place in mind,” Jim explained, in quiet tones, “where there aren’t any really massive, old trees. Dan knows a place where there’s a rock cut, which he thinks could be this old quarry.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Trouble is, neither of us knows the place the other is talking about.”
Brian took a few moments to think the matter through. Finally, he came to a conclusion. “You’re both talking about places that are quite close together, but you’re approaching the barn from opposite directions, aren’t you?” He waited while the other two men considered the idea. “Why don’t we split up? Some of us could try each approach and we can see if we meet up in the middle.”
“Why didn’t we think of that ourselves?” wondered Honey, giving him a wide smile. “That’s a perfectly perfect idea, Brian.”
He nodded his thanks and waited for the next hurdle.
Part Three: Trixie
Saturday October 8, 2005
2:50 p.m.
“Well, let’s go, then,” Trixie prompted, heading for the door.
“Don’t you think we might need to get some provisions, first?” Jim asked. He laid a restraining hand on her arm, and did not flinch at the look of frustration she threw at him.
Letting out a groan, she stopped in her tracks. “Why?” she wondered, aloud. “What could we possibly need?”
“Water, first aid equipment, food, maps and navigation equipment,” Brian listed.
“Some ropes might be handy,” Jim added. “You never know where we might end up. If we need to enter a cellar or something, there might be some climbing to be done.”
Trixie tried hard to curb her desire to just go and look. “We can’t possibly go around the Preserve with all that stuff,” she cried. “Please, let’s just get going.” She took a deep breath and conceded to herself that they were at least partly right. “Brian, you can get a first aid kit. Honey, you bring the water and some snacks. Jim, you’re in charge of maps–”
The telephone rang, interrupting her train of thought. She frowned, frustrated at the further delay, as Honey answered. Her next words caught Trixie’s full attention: “Oh, hi Mart. How is Di?” There was a pause, during which Honey made encouraging noises. She paused, to relay a message to the others: “They’re still at the hospital. The doctor did something to try to stop the contractions, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
Resuming the conversation, she urged Mart to continue. Suddenly, her expression changed. “He did?… No, not a word. … Of course, that makes perfect sense. Please thank Di for us and tell her that we’re thinking of her.” She said her goodbyes, before carefully replacing the receiver. To Trixie’s surprise, her best friend turned on her younger brother and demanded, “Why didn’t you tell us that Reddy was acting strangely?”
“What?” he squeaked. “How was I supposed to know that you were interested in that? Anyway, I did tell someone; I told Mart.”
“What do you mean, ‘acting strangely’?” Trixie asked, ignoring the last statement.
Bobby gulped. “Well, he was kind of running into the shrubbery, like he was looking for something.”
“Something like hamburger meat,” Honey suggested, with a lifted eyebrow. “Di thinks, maybe, that Reddy has been after the Midnight Marauder.”
“Margo Birch,” Trixie announced. “So that’s the other person in this partnership. That explains a whole lot. Frank Mitchell doesn’t have any grudge against me, as far as I know, but Margo Birch hates me for sure!” She was about to head for the door, ready to continue the hunt, when another thought occurred to her. “How many other things haven’t you mentioned?”
Bobby hung his head. “Dunno. Lots, I guess. The boys an’ me looked for clues for a long time. Most of it was just junk, or stuff that was like that for a long time. You know, like Mart’s old tennis shoes being in the boathouse.” She continued to stare at him, in the hope that it would prompt him to talk some more. The ploy worked. “We found some straw down near the mailbox, too. And strange little plastic things in the garden. Some of the trees up near Ten Acres have scratches on them.” She kept staring. “There were little metal filings near the clubhouse once, too. Oh, and candy wrappers behind Reddy’s doghouse. I think that’s about it. Except Regan’s shirt, of course.”
“Regan’s shirt?” Honey asked.
“Yeah,” Bobby replied. “He lost it on the bike path and we should’ve known it was his, since it had his name on it, but we didn’t notice. He wouldn’t tell us how he lost it.”
The five Bob-Whites shared a look, but let the matter pass. Honey, clearly, was struggling not to laugh. In an attempt to steer her mind back to the matter at hand, Trixie turned her back.
“Most of that doesn’t matter at all,” she muttered, trying to concentrate on the case and to forget about this intriguing little aside. “Metal filings are interesting. I wonder what they could have been doing there? You didn’t keep any, by any chance?”
Bobby shook his head. “I put some in my pocket, but Moms threw them out.”
“We don’t have time for that now,” Trixie decided, after a moment. “First, let’s go and get Shari. The metal shavings were probably just from whenever it was they broke into the clubhouse.” She was heading for the door before it occurred to her that they still had not finalised their plan. “So, does everyone know what they’re finding? We’ll meet in the driveway in ten minutes and drive up to Mr. Maypenny’s place. Then, Jim and I will go to the old field and head east; Honey and Dan can go to the old quarry and head west. Brian, you can go either way.”
“I’ll go to the quarry,” he decided. “That seems clear enough. Let’s get moving.”
“What about me?” Bobby demanded. “Which way am I going?”
“Home!” Trixie yelled. “There’s no way you’re coming with us this time.”
The group split, racing off in different directions to gather their provisions. After an uneventful trip to the former gamekeeper’s house, Trixie and Jim headed out into the Preserve. Trixie tried to keep them to a brisk pace, but met with resistance from her boyfriend.
“Steady,” he cautioned. “We’ve got a way to go, yet. Don’t use all of your energy at once.”
“But, Jim,” she cried, barely able to contain herself. “I just know I’m right this time. We need to get out there and rescue her.”
“We will,” he assured her. “Just be a little bit patient – even if it does go against your nature.”
With a rueful grin, she followed his lead. They left the main trail near the ruins of the house, passing close by them on their way. A sudden gust of wind howled, sending shivers up Trixie’s spine.
“It sounds almost ghostly,” she whispered, almost ashamed to say the words aloud. “I wonder if that’s where the legend of the haunting came from.”
“Could be,” Jim agreed, with a nod. “Somewhere nearby, there might be some sort of natural opening, such as a small cave, which magnifies the sound of the wind when it blows in a particular direction. It certainly sounds unearthly.”
They heard the eerie sound twice more before the ruins disappeared behind them. A few minutes later, Jim’s pace slowed and he began to take careful notice of their surroundings. When he was satisfied that they were in the right area, they left the path and walked on for some time.
“This is the place,” Jim told her in low tones. “Do you see what I meant?”
“You’re right,” said Trixie, in surprise. “The really big, old granddaddy trees just stop and there’s only these middle-sized and smaller trees. I never would have noticed if you hadn’t pointed it out.”
Jim shrugged. “Sometimes, the trees have a story to tell, too.”
Conversation drew to a halt as they made their way east. Up ahead, a pair of massive old spruces marked the edge of the former field. Without a word, the pair slowed and began to crouch down.
“Can you see something over there?” Trixie whispered, pointing. “I thought I saw something move.”
Jim nodded, his eyes fixed on that point. Moving stealthily, they crept closer. Trixie could just make out the form of a man, stooping over a shadowy spot. Nearby, a woman was waiting, impatience and nervousness radiating from her every move. They were talking softly, the woman’s grating tone carrying to the listeners, though her words were lost.
“Just two of them,” Trixie whispered to Jim, in a voice so quiet as to be barely audible. “I think we can take them.”
He shook his head and began to move closer still. Up ahead, a hidden trapdoor opened and the woman disappeared beneath it. The man leaned down to hand her something. Trixie squirmed with regret: that would have been the perfect opportunity, had they been close enough. Still, they edged closer. A head and upper torso reappeared through the opening.
“You’d better drag her out here and leave her somewhere for the old man to find,” the woman whined, now loud enough for Trixie to hear. “I told you already: this is going too far. She doesn’t have anything to do with your old grudge and we’re taking a huge risk in keeping her here.”
Trixie felt that the voice was familiar, but the face, with its deeply etched lines and bitter expression, did not seem to match. She shifted to and fro, trying to get a better view. Meanwhile, the man replied, “So, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t let that stand in the way of my plan. She can stay here a few days more, until I’m ready.”
“If she dies…”
With a jolt, Trixie knew what was going on. That’s Margo Birch! she thought. She looks so… old and horrible. A shudder ran through her. I don’t ever want to be thrown in jail, if that’s what it does to you!
“She won’t die,” the man contradicted, roughly. “She’s fine. Just give her the food and water and let’s go.”
Margo stood her ground. “She’s just lying there; she can’t look after herself any more. Leaving her alone here, even with food and water, is almost the same as if you’d killed her with your own hands.”
“I don’t have time for this,” he replied, shoving Margo down into the hole. “If you want her looked after, you can do it yourself. I’ll send the police a postcard from the Bahamas when I’m done and they can come and get you then.”
The door slammed shut and the man was in the process of locking it down when he was assailed by a flying body. Dan threw punch after punch into the stricken form, even when the man stopped resisting.
Trixie and Jim both scrambled through the undergrowth towards the scene, meeting Brian and Honey along the way. The two men struggled to restrain both Dan and the stranger.
“Stop it, will you?” Jim cried, as he held on to Dan’s right arm. “He’s not fighting any more. You can stop.”
“I don’t want to,” Dan admitted, with a scowl. He shook off Jim’s restraining arm and turned towards the trap door, which Honey had thoughtfully secured by the simple process of sitting on it. A thrill of fear ran through Trixie as she saw the look of fury on his face.
“Margo’s in there,” she reminded him, though her voice shook. “We need to catch her, too.”
“Let me at her,” Dan demanded. He tried to set Honey aside, but she resisted.
“She defended Shari, remember,” Trixie heard her whisper. “She’s not as bad as him. Please, don’t hurt her.”
Trixie watched Dan’s back as he digested Honey’s words. Something about his stance shifted slightly, becoming less threatening. Wordlessly, Honey stood aside. Trixie held her breath as the trapdoor was lifted, but nothing happened at first. Dan lowered himself through the opening and disappeared from sight.
Impatiently, Trixie peered over the edge into the gloom. “It’s a kind of root cellar, I guess,” she muttered, ducking and weaving in an attempt to see more. “Where did they go?” Unable to contain herself any longer, she followed her friend. As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she made out his form, kneeling over his girlfriend. Their enemy knelt beside him.
“Is she okay?” Trixie asked, causing both to look up sharply.
“She seems kind of sleepy,” Dan replied, in a shaky voice. “She won’t wake up properly.”
“Carry her out, then,” she told him. “Let’s get her to the hospital.” She paused and looked at the other woman. “Ms. Birch? Will you come quietly? I think you’d better turn yourself in.”
There was the harsh sound of expelled breath. “I never wanted this,” Margo insisted. “I told him this was a mistake. Don’t blame me for this.”
Trixie took a calming breath before replying. “There were other things that you were responsible for, though, weren’t there? Morgan. The so-called accidents at my work. The arson attempt at our house.”
In a flash of movement, the other woman tried to make a run for it. Without meaning to, Trixie let out a shout and started stumbling after her in the low and rough-floored space. She tripped, smearing dust over her clothes and face, righted herself and scrambled up through the opening and into the brilliant daylight. Blinking, she sought her quarry, only to find her already caught in Brian’s arms. A short distance away, Frank Mitchell was already secured in the ropes they had brought.
“That was close,” she breathed, turning back to the hole. She could hear Dan shuffling as he tried to carry Shari clear. The low roof meant that not even Trixie could stand fully upright. While her friends worked at restraining the captive, she meant to help with the rescue. “Let me take some of her weight,” she offered, wrapping her arms around the limp form. “I can stand straighter than you can.”
“I’m fine,” he disagreed. “You go ahead and make sure I’m not taking her out of the frying pan and into the fire.”
Trixie ignored him and kept holding on. She guided them out into the entryway, peeking out to check the situation before they emerged. Both captives were well away from the opening now, a sullen look on Margo Birch’s face and one of impotent fury on Frank Mitchell’s.
“Is she okay?” Honey asked, her voice filled with concern. “Can she walk?”
Neither of the pair replied. Dan stretched as he stood upright. Trixie scrambled up in order to help him out of the hole. That accomplished, he seemed ready to walk miles through the Preserve with Shari in his arms. Every so often, she let out a soft groan, or a whimper.
“Hold on,” Brian told him, as he seemed about to set off. “Let me look at her, first.” He made a quick examination, talking to Shari all the while in gentle tones, and was apparently satisfied with what he saw. “Let’s get her to Maypenny’s,” he suggested.
Over an hour later, the group was gathered in the waiting room at Sleepyside Hospital. News had just reached them that the prognosis for Shari was good. She was badly dehydrated, and suffered from a few cuts and scrapes, but was otherwise unharmed. They were just beginning to celebrate together when they were interrupted by Sergeant Molinson.
“You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady,” he announced, addressing himself to Trixie. “It’s all very good going around rescuing damsels in distress and capturing bad guys, but there is such a thing as evidence, you know.”
Trixie looked him up and down. “I know,” she admitted, “and I also know that you won’t have too much trouble finding it.” She smiled. “Besides, I haven’t done all of your work for you. There’s one more accomplice to catch – Jim’s second impostor. I think his name is Michael King and that he’s possibly the brother of Andrew King. And, if you’re quick, you can still capture a murderer.”
“What’s that?” he asked, visibly coming to attention. “What murderer?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking,” said Trixie, “and I can’t see that either Margo Birch or Frank Mitchell could, or would want to have killed Andrew King. Why should they? Margo could have stopped the arson attempt just by telling him to stop. Frank, as far as I can tell, didn’t know anything about it until long afterwards and, even if he had, he wouldn’t have wanted it to stop. So, there must be another player.”
“And who do you suggest that might be?” His voice held an element of sarcasm, but it was almost drowned out by an underlying respect.
“Frank Mitchell’s ex-wife,” she stated, with a nod.
The sergeant frowned. “What? Blanche Davis? But why?”
Trixie shrugged. “She wanted to stop his plan. I guess she hates him that much.”
“You mean, she respects the Beldens too much to let him have his way,” her mother corrected. She had entered without her daughter’s notice. “Trixie, I told you earlier that your father testified against Frank Mitchell in court. What I didn’t say was that the case involved certain financial transactions that Frank had made and that, as an indirect result of the suit, Frank lost his business, but Blanche was saved from bankruptcy.
“To make matters worse, we had a debt to Frank at the time.” She sighed. “You see, when we first moved to Crabapple Farm, your grandfather had fixed things so that we had no money for upkeep and the buildings were in poor repair. All that your father inherited from him was the land and the buildings on it, and a small amount of furniture and household goods, none of them really good enough to sell. Money was tight, but the roof leaked, and the house needed to be painted, and there had been no real maintenance on the place for years, so we borrowed a small amount from the Mitchells to make the most urgent repairs. We’d been slowly repaying them when they were killed in the fire. We had tried to make arrangements with the executor of the will, but Frank had objected. So, at the time of the court case, we owed him money, but he refused to take any payments from us.
“You can imagine that he was angry with your father for siding with Blanche, as Frank saw it. Then, when we found out that his locksmith’s business was in financial difficulties because of the law suit, we tried to repay the loan again, but he refused to take our money.”
“Locksmith?” Trixie asked, with a light going on in her head. “So that’s how he was getting into all of the buildings. I’m glad we decided not to get into the summerhouse; we might have destroyed valuable evidence!”
“And it’s no wonder we had trouble with this case,” Honey added. “It’s all so mixed up!”
“I just knew there was more than one mystery,” Trixie crowed. “We just had everything divided up wrong.” She counted the points out on her fingers. “My Dad lost his job because of Frank Mitchell’s plan, but he got it back because his ex-wife disagreed; Morgan pretended to be me and there were accidents at my work in Sleepyside and Winter Rock because of Margo Birch’s plan; Frank Mitchell had someone pretend to be Jim; his ex-wife was the one who stopped him, but then Mitchell got another impersonator to take his place. He also bribed people in Mr. Wheeler’s company to spy and forge and sabotage, but Mr. Wheeler’s other employees stopped all of that. All of the other things just follow from one or other of those.”
“More recent events at Dad’s company, too,” Jim added. “I spoke to Dad a short time ago and he told me that they’ve discovered who was responsible for the trouble. He’s been going under an assumed name, but it seems fairly clear that the chief of security at Dad’s company for the last two years has been Frank Mitchell. For a while there, Dad thought that the business was in real trouble – and that he, personally, might have gotten into financial difficulties. It all links up – my impostor, and Trixie’s, were drawing on the experience of someone who had been successfully living by a name other than his own.”
“What about the surveillance?” Brian asked. “Who was responsible for that?”
“I think it was mostly for Frank Mitchell,” Trixie replied, “though, some may have been Margo Birch’s – my impostor spying on Crabapple Farm, for instance. Bobby found her hair clip in the garden, I think she was the one watching from the summerhouse; she left footprints and candy wrappers in places where they shouldn’t be; Hallie even saw glints of light off someone’s binoculars on Christmas morning! That, most likely, was Morgan. And, I think someone was keeping an eye on us in Winter Rock, from the place where Dan and Shari went the day she disappeared. I kept thinking there must be something about the place that we weren’t seeing.”
A frown crossed Honey’s face as she tried to remember. “A good view of our house? But that doesn’t explain why they kidnapped her, does it?”
Trixie’s eyes shone as she revealed the answer. “It’s all quite simple, really. Margo Birch had decided to repeat the arson attempt on our house on the exact day that Dan and Shari walked to the top of the cliff. They interrupted someone who was watching our house and, while they were there, they also disturbed some piece of equipment that the watcher needed.”
“A cell phone?” asked Dan. “I’d forgotten, but when we got there, there was a cell phone sitting on that big rock. We couldn’t see anyone else around, so Shari thought we’d take it with us.”
“That would be it,” Trixie agreed. “The paint thinner that Jim found wasn’t from the other attempt, way back near the beginning of the case; it was new. They couldn’t use the same spot as before, so they chose the cliff-top to watch from. They were going to wait until they knew that no one was in my room and then they would pour in the paint thinner.” She turned to Brian. “Would a spark be enough to ignite it? Maybe a small burst of static?”
“I think so,” he replied. “Given the right circumstances.”
“Then, that would explain why my computer has been giving me shocks,” she decided. “They could use the cell phone to send an email, which would cause the spark to set the fire. So, when Dan and Shari left the cliff-top with the cell phone, the watcher – I think it was Morgan – followed them back and waited for Dan to go home. Then, she knocked on Shari’s door, tricked her into going somewhere, and handed her over to Margo Birch, who handed her over to Frank Mitchell.”
Honey let out a groan. “I thought, almost, that I understood exactly what had happened, but now I’m more confused than ever. Whose plan was all of this? I thought that Frank Mitchell didn’t know about the arson attempt.”
“He didn’t. Not the first attempt.” Trixie stopped and thought about the best way to express the situation. “Frank Mitchell had a plan to get back at all of the people who had cost him his land: your father, my father and Jim. He wanted them to lose their land, too. He recruited Margo Birch to help him with part of the plan, which he couldn’t do himself. That was his big mistake. She really wanted to get back at me for getting her sent to jail. She added to the plan, with some ways of getting back at me, some of which Frank Mitchell later adopted, when parts of his plan went wrong.”
“And, meanwhile, Frank’s ex-wife finds out that he’s seeking revenge against the people she’s most grateful to and she decides to stop him?” Honey asked. “Well, I think that’s all perfectly clear. I’m so glad we’ve solved this case. Why don’t you go and arrest her now, Sergeant Molinson?”
The police sergeant shook his head and strode off, grumbling all the way.
Part Four: Diana
Saturday October 8, 2005
9:00 p.m.
“I can’t understand why I can’t reach anyone,” Mart muttered, as he stared at the telephone. “Why doesn’t anyone tell us what’s happening?” He picked up the receiver and dialled a number. Di watched the change spread across his face as the call was evidently answered. “Dad! What’s going on?… Not yet, but she’s still having contractions. They want to keep her here for monitoring. What’s going on?” The conversation continued, with a series of encouragements and exclamations from Mart’s end.
Di shut her eyes and tried to block out Mart’s voice as he chatted to his father. After a while, the tone of the conversation changed and she deduced that someone else had taken over. She felt his gentle hand on her arm. “Trixie wanted to let you know that everything’s finished – and that you were right about the Midnight Marauder. They’ve caught Frank Mitchell, and Margo Birch; Shari is going to be fine. She even said that Sergeant Molinson listened to her when she told him who was responsible for everything else.”
The characteristic tightening told Di that another contraction was beginning. She watched the numbers on the fetal monitor rise as the pain began. Her husband, apparently, had not noticed. He did notice her silence and continued, “She just doesn’t want you to feel left out.”
“Left out?” Di gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t care! Tell her, don’t call us, we’ll call you.”
She heard Mart say, “Gotta go,” and the receiver was replaced. He took up the tennis ball, with which he had been massaging her back, and resumed his ministrations. His whole attention now focussed on her, but Diana barely noticed.
Monday, October 10, 2005
“Are they really both asleep?” Di asked, in a whisper. “I’m not sure that I dare to check.”
“They’re both asleep,” Mart confirmed. He sank down onto the edge of the narrow bed next to his wife.
The twins had arrived safely the previous morning and had spent some time in the special care nursery for observation. Once the doctor was satisfied, they had been moved to Di’s room, so that she could begin to care for them herself. Visiting hours were just beginning and Di was expecting an onslaught.
The door opened and Trixie peeked through. “Can we come in?” she asked, in barely more than a whisper.
“How many of you are there?” Mart queried, trying to see around the partly closed door.
“Lots,” she replied, with a big grin. The door swung back, revealing the rest of their club, plus Shari. She held tight to Dan’s hand, as if afraid to let him go.
Di smiled at her friends. “You’ll have to be quiet because they’re both asleep, but I think you’ll all fit.” The group shuffled and tip-toed, trying to find space in the tiny room. Kisses were bestowed on Di and she noticed Mart receiving some as well, along with some hearty hand-shakes. In their cots, her two little bundles of joy slept on, oblivious to the attention they were receiving.
The visitors handed over gifts that they had brought, including a basket of small presents for Di. She smiled as she sorted through it, noting the thoughtfulness of most of the choices, and taking the time to sniff the pleasant scents of the hand cream and matching soap she found. Her smile turned to an expression of perplexity as she drew out a pair of glittery, lavender objects, which turned out to be the kind of small, hand-held weights that she had seen others use while walking or jogging. Di noticed the nervous look on Honey’s face and thanked the group nicely for their gift.
“They’re okay, aren’t they?” Honey babbled, nonetheless. “It’s just that I heard that walking was good for getting back into shape after having a baby, and I knew that you would want to do that, and they were in your colour and I thought that the glitter made them kind of pretty, and I can take them back if they’re not right and get something else instead, like, maybe, a book?”
“They’re fine, Honey,” Di assured. Brian and Jim both moved a little away, while Dan took up a conversation with Shari and Trixie collared her almost-twin. “I like them; really.”
“Are you sure?” She dropped her voice and glanced at the male members of their club. “They told me I shouldn’t have put them in there. They said that sort of thing was too personal. I just thought they were cute and that you’d enjoy using them. I could just imagine you with glittery, lavender exercise equipment, looking absolutely stunning while you kept in shape.”
Di could not help but giggle. “Who do you think I am? Princess Supple Bling Bling? I’m sorry, but I seem to have left my tiara at home.” To her relief, Honey joined her laughter.
“You do have some bling, though,” Honey teased, pointing to her friend’s left hand.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Di asked, admiring the sparkle of diamonds in her eternity ring. It was probably against hospital policy for her to be wearing it, but she had decided that she did not care. A moment later, she wrenched her mind away from her newest piece of jewelry and turned back to her friend. “You were trying to change the subject,” she scolded.
“Was I?” Honey tried to look innocent, but failed.
Di reached out an arm to pull her friend into a hug. “Seriously, I don’t think there’s any such thing as ‘too personal’ between us. And, if the detective thing doesn’t work out, I think you’d have a stellar future running a professional personalised gift service.”
Gratitude shone on Honey’s face at the compliment. Their conversation faltered, however, as several of the group considered their duty done and retired to the corridor. In one corner, Trixie was suffering a bout of teasing from Mart. He had taken a fluffy yellow chicken from the extensive collection of teddy bears, rabbits, frogs and other wildly assorted animals and placed in on her head.
“Her name was Trixie, she was a showgirl,” he sang, badly. “With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress … I think we might just stop now. That will be useful for you when you join the dance troupe. It suits you much better than the image conjured up by the song. In fact, you may want to invest in an entire chicken suit.”
“Will they ever stop that?” Di wondered, with a giggle. “Sometimes, I don’t know how they stand each other.”
“I hope they don’t stop,” Honey disagreed. “I like that they have that closeness.” Her gaze took in the sleeping babies and her eyes misted over.
“They’re just beautiful,” she said, with a wistful sigh. “You’re so lucky, Di.”
Di took a moment to glance around her room, at her husband and her two sons. “I am.”
The End!