Several
hours later, a tired group filed into the warm kitchen at Crabapple Farm.
One look at their faces was all Helen Belden needed, and she was
filling the table with fresh milk, homemade cookies, hot coffee, and any
other snacks and beverages she could find.
She always believed good food could sooth your soul; she also knew
feeding other calmed hers.
They
had come in two cars, Di and Dan riding with Tad, while Trixie and
Mart rode with Spider in Molinson’s patrol car.
The Bob-White station wagon had to be left at the police station as
evidence, and it needed to be cleaned before anyone wanted to ride in it,
anyway.
The
teenagers sat around the table, quietly munching, while Wendell Molinson
and Spider Webster brought Peter and Helen up to date.
Trixie stared vacantly into space, not eating or drinking anything.
She finally asked if she could go lay down, and her parents agreed.
As
Trixie headed up the stairs, the phone rang.
She ignored it and kept going.
She went first to the bathroom.
When she was finished there, she walked slowly to her room.
As she approached the closed door, she wondered vaguely who’d
closed it. She was sure
she’d left it open that morning.
As
she turned the handle, Mart reached the top step and called her name.
As she pushed open the door, she turned her head and leaned back to
answer him. That slight
movement saved her life.
The
sound of wind whipping by her ear was loud.
The sound of the arrow hitting the wood of her doorframe was
louder. Louder still was her
scream.
As
Trixie headed up the stairs, the phone rang.
She ignored it and kept going.
Peter answered it.
“Crabapple
Farm.”
“Hello,
Mr. Belden. It’s Honey,”
the cheerful voice said. “Jim
and Brian were apparently up too late last night.
They needed a nap before dinner, so I was hoping to have a chance
to talk to Trixie while I waited for them to return to the land of the
living. Brian told me I
should call her.”
Peter
hesitated. Then he said to Mart, “Go upstairs and tell your sister
Honey is on the phone. Ask
her if she wants to talk to her.”
Mart
nodded and headed up the stairs.
Peter
turned back to the phone. “Honey,
she just went upstairs to lie down, but she’s not asleep yet.
Mart went up to see if she’s up to talking.
If she says no, don’t take it personally.
It’s been a very long and difficult day.”
Honey’s
brow furrowed. “Has
something else happened, Mr. Belden?”
“There
have been three separate incidents today.”
“Three?”
Honey screeched.
Trixie
screamed. They could hear it all the way in Boston.
Wendell
and Spider shot up the stairs. Peter
dropped the phone and ran after them.
Dan
picked up the phone. “Honey?”
“Dan,
what was that?” Honey cried.
Brian
and Jim had jumped up from the couches where they were napping.
They stood close enough to Honey that they could hear Dan.
“I
have no idea,” Dan replied. “I
just have three words to say: Bob-Whites.
Home. NOW!”
That
was all they needed to hear. They
hung up the phone and rushed to Sleepyside.
As
Trixie headed up the stairs, the phone rang.
She ignored it and kept going.
Peter answered it.
“Crabapple
Farm.”
“Hello,
Mr. Belden. It’s Honey,”
the cheerful voice said. “Jim
and Brian were apparently up too late last night.
They needed a nap before dinner, so I was hoping to have a chance
to talk to Trixie while I waited for them to return to the land of the
living. Brian told me to
call.”
Peter
hesitated. Then he said to Mart, “Go upstairs and tell your sister
Honey is on the phone. Ask
her if she wants to talk to her.”
Mart
nodded and headed up the stairs.
As
he reached the top of the stairs, Mart watched Trixie walking back to her
room from the bathroom. She
looked so tired, so scared, and so beaten.
This was so unlike Trixie. By
this point she should be mad, and determined to stop this creep.
But then again, she wasn’t used to being the target.
Trixie
liked to solve a good mystery. But
more than that, she liked to help people.
She thrived on it. Helping
other people solve their problems was her greatest joy.
And she never thought of herself.
Maybe that was the problem – the person who needed help was
Trixie, and she never thought of herself.
She didn’t know how to reach out in this case, because there
wasn’t someone around her that needed her to help them.
He
would have to convince her that she needed to help someone else by getting
this case solved. Molinson,
maybe. It was worth a shot.
As
she turned the handle on her bedroom door, Mart called her name.
As she pushed open the door, she turned her head and leaned back to
answer him. That slight
movement saved her life.
The
sound of wind whipping by her ear was loud.
The sound of the arrow hitting the wood of her doorframe was
louder. Louder still was her
scream.
Mart
ran forward and yanked her back. He
held her tight while he stared at the large arrow sticking out of the
wood. Hanging from it was a
sign: DIE, SNOOPER
Wendell,
Spider and Peter came tearing up the stairs to see what happened.
Mart motioned toward the arrow.
He stepped back out of their way, and pulled Trixie across the hall
to his room.
Mart
moved to his bed and sat down, never releasing his hold on Trixie.
She was shaking like a leaf and her breath was coming in short,
fast gasps. He spoke quietly,
soothingly, rubbing her back. Her
breathing slowed to a normal rate, but was quickly followed by
heart-wrenching sobs.
He
sat against the headboard, one knee hanging off the bed and the other leg
extended straight. She sat
sideways, feet on the floor, leaning against his chest.
He cradled her to him, while she buried her face in his shirt and
cried.
He
could hear the others moving about beyond the room.
No doubt they were searching her room, looking for clues.
He didn’t care. He
didn’t need to know right now what had happened.
All he knew was that his baby sister was crying, and she needed
him.
He
held her, trying to soothe away her sobs, for what felt like hours.
Finally, she cried herself to sleep.
Once
he was sure she was asleep, he relaxed a little.
She needed sleep; it would do her good.
He didn’t want her to be alone, though.
He was afraid that if he left her alone, some other crazy thing
would happen. After all, this lunatic could clearly get into the house.
He also didn’t want her to wake up alone and frightened.
Besides, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had nightmares.
He knew he would.
With
a deep sigh, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
Soon he was sleeping as well, arms wrapped tightly around his
sister.
The
house had been in total chaos for hours.
Wendell Molinson and Spider Webster had investigated Trixie’s
room. A crossbow had been
rigged to shoot if the door was opened.
They were both off-duty, and Spider actually worked for the White
Plains Police Department, not Sleepyside, so they had called in backup.
The two men, plus the three officers who answered their call, had
scoured the house and grounds. They
looked everywhere, seeking anything at all that would give them a clue,
but they came up empty-handed. The
five police officers were thoroughly frustrated.
Equally
as frustrated were Peter and Helen Belden.
They had been home all day. The
farthest they had gone had been to the chicken coop, and they had never
gone out together. One of
them had been in the house at all times all day.
Somehow, this lunatic had gotten past them, and had been sneaking
around their house right under their noses.
Diana
had taken charge of Bobby. He
had been vaguely aware of what was going on, and they obviously could not
hide his sister’s screams from him.
Di had suggested he go back to her house, but he refused.
He was adamant that, as a “Belden man,” he had to stay and
defend his sister.
Dan
and Tad prowled restlessly. They
helped the police look, they helped the Beldens try to figure out how and
when this stalker had entered the house, they helped Di occupy Bobby.
The entire time, their thoughts were on the events of the day. This had moved way beyond a sick prank. This last shot had been deadly.
It
was time to call a spade a spade: the shot of the crossbow was attempted
murder.
Three
hours after the shot heard round the northeast, Jim Frayne whipped his
mother’s car into the driveway at Crabapple Farm.
The long drive had frazzled his nerves, and the fact that he was
pulling in behind three police cars did nothing to make him feel better.
Brian,
Honey and Maddie jumped from the car before Jim had finished putting it in
park. The four ran to the
front door. Brian was in the
lead, and it was his house, so he simply threw open the door and ran in.
Not
a good idea.
The
five police officers were in the living room.
They were stressed and on edge.
The front door crashing opened startled them, and they reacted as
they were trained to do: all
five pulled their weapons.
Helen
Belden ran in from the kitchen to find her oldest son looking scared to
death, nose-to-nose with five service revolvers, all cocked and ready to
fire.
That
was simply the last straw.
“Enough!”
she screamed. “Get those
guns out of my house!” She
proceeded to rant and rave about guns, police, intruders, the inability to
feel safe in her own home, threats on her daughter’s life, and anything
else that came to her mind for a full ten minutes.
During
those ten long minutes, the officers holstered their weapons.
They looked apologetically at Brian before Molinson and the three
uniformed officers left the building to confer by the cars.
Brian sank weakly into the nearest chair. Honey, Jim and Maddie came in from the front door and joined
Brian in the living room. Dan,
Tad and Di entered the room from the rear of the house and joined them as
well. When Peter finally
calmed his wife’s hysteria enough to pull her from the room towards the
kitchen he nodded to Spider, giving him the job of filling in the Boston
contingent. Left standing
alone in the middle of the room, Spider took a deep breath and turned
toward the four anxious faces.
He
quickly outlined the events of the day for the new arrivals.
Dan and Tad jumped in now and then to add details.
By the time they related the crossbow incident, Honey was white as
a sheet and Jim’s face was as red as his hair.
Brian
had gotten past his own scare, and was now frantically worried about his
sister. He leaned forward and
asked, “Where is Trixie now?”
Dan
and Tad looked at each other, puzzled.
They were just realizing that they hadn’t seen her since she’d
screamed.
For
the first time, Diana spoke. “She’s
asleep.”
All
eyes turned to her. She
looked around the room, eyes twinkling.
“After I got Bobby to sleep a little while ago, I stopped by
Mart’s room,” she explained. “I
knew Mart had taken her in there to calm her down and get her out of the
way. They were both asleep,
so I didn’t want to disturb them. However,
they were curled up on Mart’s bed and they were just so cute together.
Mart’s camera was sitting there on his desk, and I just
couldn’t resist taking their picture.
It’s going to make a great negotiating tool the next time they
have one of their huge blowouts.”
Dan
grinned wickedly. “You mean
blackmail weapon.”
Di
returned the grin and shrugged. “Same
diff.”
Brian
stood, saying, “I’m going to go check on her myself,” and headed
upstairs.
Maddie
went to find Helen and Peter.
Honey
and Jim started asking more detailed questions, now that they had the
general idea of what had been happening.
Brian
entered the room as quietly as possible.
Di was right – they really did look cute together.
Mart was still mostly sitting, leaning back against the headboard. Trixie was curled up into a little ball, snuggled tightly
against her brother’s chest, his strong arms wrapped protectively around
her.
Brian
pulled the chair from the desk and sat on it backwards, arms resting on
the back. He laid his head on
his arms and watched them sleep. He
smiled softly, remembering them napping together when they were toddlers.
Was it really so long ago?
Brian
enjoyed this picture of Mart with Trixie.
For all his teasing, this was the true expression of Mart’s
feelings for her – loving and protective.
God help the person behind this insanity if Mart got to them first.
It
had been such a long day. Brian
had been up very late last night talking to Trixie on the phone, then up
early this morning for breakfast with Honey and Mrs. Wheeler.
The tense rush home because some psycho was trying to kill his
sister was emotionally exhausting. He
hadn’t realized how tired he was until now.
He couldn’t even get up and walk across the room to his bed. He simply laid his head on his arms and dozed off sitting up
in the chair.
Peter
Belden had taken charge of his household.
Madeleine had gone home to Manor House.
Honey and Diana had been packed off to sleep in the downstairs
guest room. Helen had been sent to bed.
Spider and Wendell were taking turns standing guard outside,
insisting on sleeping in the squad car when it was their turn to rest so
they could be immediately on hand if the other needed them.
Dan, Jim and Tad were given bedding and told to camp out in the
living room.
Peter
knew the boys planned on taking turns standing guard.
He also knew this was his house, and his family.
He would stand guard the first shift.
He restlessly prowled around the first floor, first checking on the
boys in the living room, then on the girls in the guest room, then on the
men outside. Finally he sat
at the kitchen table and mulled over the day.
There
was something bothering him about this whole scenario.
He sat there, drumming his fingers on the table, trying to figure
out what was bothering him. Obviously,
the whole situation should bother the heck out of him.
But that wasn’t it. He
just couldn’t seem to put his finger on it.
He
went over everything he knew, point by point.
He thought about everything he’d seen, and everything he’d
heard. He remembered each
expression on each person’s face. And then he knew. His
fingers stopped their drumming and he sat bolt upright.
Trixie’s
tears.
Trixie
rarely cried. She was
emotional and sensitive, but she hated to be weak.
Often tears would well up in those big blue eyes, but she would
fight them back and get mad instead.
She would run away before she’d let anyone see her cry.
How
many times today had she cried? How
many times had she just stood or sat there, crying her eyes out, and let
someone comfort her?
There
was more to this than just the stalker.
There was something wrong with how she was handling the whole
thing. She hadn’t looked
for clues, tried to solve the puzzle herself, or argued with Molinson.
Worst
of all, she hadn’t gotten mad.
She’d
just cried.
Something
was wrong with his little girl.
Now
if they could only keep her alive long enough to figure out what that was.