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This story was written for the 2003 Holiday Group
Writing Project at The Trixie Belden Homepage and for Circle Writing Project #9
at Jixemitri. Kudos to Marsha at Zap's
and Misty and Cathy at Jix (and others who were involved in the projects) for
getting things started. A very special
thanks to Shana for her excellent editing skills!! The perfect and very beautiful winter scene graphics are by Andy. This story is part of my Taking Chances
universe. Events and people that appear
here will make make more sense if you first read Taking Chances and
Homecoming. All stories in the Taking Chances universe are rated PG-13 for a bit of violence (it is Trixie, you know - gg), sexual inuendo (hey, there's good-looking guys in these stories!), and occasional profanity (and several red-heads with hot tempers). Except for Martina, Jamie, David, and Wallace,
the characters in this story now belong to Random House. I borrowed them without permission but I did
return them with no overdue fines owed.
I swear on a stack of my Trixie Deluxes that I've made no financial gain
from this story. By Diann Christmas
Eve, 11:00 p.m. The fire in
the fireplace had died down to a quiet flame, casting a warm glow on the bits
of cellophane, bows and ribbon, stray pieces of wrapping paper, empty plastic
bags, and the overturned tape dispenser that were scattered across the plush
forest green carpet in the Fraynes’ den.
The Christmas tree resplendent with its small twinkling lights,
ornaments with stories of their own, and gold garland stood watch like a mother
hen over her nest of brightly wrapped packages. The Holly Berry scented candle on the end table gave one final
flicker and then burned itself out as the last of the credits rolled for The
Sound of Music. Jim nuzzled
his face in Trixie’s hair just behind her right ear and gently crooned, “For
here you are, standing there loving me, whether or not you should.” Trixie turned
so that their foreheads and nosetips were touching and together, in hushed
voices, sang, “So somewhere in my youth or childhood, I must have done
something good.” For several
moments, the whirring sounds of the rewinding tape and tick of the
ever-watchful grandfather clock were the only sounds in the room. Jim reached
his arms around his beautiful bride of 10 years and pulled her gently onto his
lap. Trixie rested her head on Jim’s
chest and sighed contentedly, her eyes focused on the mesmerizing dance of
amber in the fireplace. “Trix, just
two months ago, when we thought we were losing you…when we had lost you for
those few horrible minutes….” Jim hesitated and began to rub her arms, touch
her hands, caress her cheeks as though it was the first and last time he’d ever
touch her. “It’s okay,
Jim. You don’t have to worry,” Trixie
replied in a comforting voice. “Dr. Holden
said I’m going to make a full recovery.” “I know, but
still, while I was sitting there in the hospital, I felt so helpless.” Jim paused and kissed Trixie on the crown of
her head. “Watching you struggle for
life, knowing that there wasn’t a friggin' thing I could do but sit there and
hold your hand and talk to you…..and pray.” “Brian said
that was the best thing you could have done.
He said you were giving me your strength when I had none of my own
left.” Trixie took Jim’s left hand and lovingly placed her lips on Jim’s gold
wedding band. “It was so
hard, so damned hard,” Jim choked out, not ashamed of the tears that trickled
down his cheeks. “I didn’t know what I
was going to do without you. Of course
I thought about the kids and worried that I’d never be able to give them the
kind of love and attention they’d always gotten from you. I was concerned for your parents and
brothers, seeing the anguish they were experiencing. But I also thought about all the little things that we’ve
shared. Things that probably wouldn’t
mean a hill of beans to anyone else.” “Like what?” “I thought
about when you were 8 months’ pregnant with Jamie and you were waddling around
Crimpers, imitating a penguin,” Jim said, smiling as he saw Trixie’s antics in
his mind’s eye. “I remembered when
Martina had a cold and I was feeding her those horrid baby food green
beans. When she sneezed and I wound up
with a face full of nasty green goo, you laughed yourself silly.” “Yeah, you
didn’t like it too much when I told you how color coordinated you were, with
your matching eyes and face.” Trixie
giggled until Jim playfully popped her on her hip. Trixie sat up
and pushed her hands against Jim’s chest. “Ouch, you big meanie!” she teased
him and then snuggled back against him.
“Was there anything else?” “Oh yeah. So
many things. I remembered how we always
looked for Christmas ornaments whenever we took a trip, and how your eyes
shined and you smiled so big whenever you’d find just the right one. Like the carved moose we found at the gift
shop in Steamboat Springs and the Cookie Monster ornament we got in Albany at
the New York State Museum gift shop after we saw the Sesame Street set there at
the museum. And I thought about how we
always watched The Sound of Music on Christmas Eve, knowing that I’d
have to burn the tape, or at least pack it away, if…well, if you…” Jim stopped, unable to complete the thought. Tears welling
in her own eyes, Trixie felt the need to change the tone of the conversation
before both of them dissolved into a quivering cryfest. She lifted her head and gave Jim a peck on
the tip of his nose. “Yeah, well, I
didn’t so now I guess you’re just stuck with me!” She then stood, gingerly
stretching her back and arms, and tugged at the sleeves of the brushed cotton
Victoria’s Secret cow print pajamas he’d...or rather Mrs. Moo Cow...had given
her for Christmas several years before. Jim grinned as
he too stood and stretched and then carefully wrapped his arms around her,
mindful of the gunshot injury to her upper body she had sustained in the
fall. He thought nothing in Heaven
could be as wonderful as holding Trixie, smelling the Sun-Kissed Raspberry
lotion she always used, feeling her soft hair lightly feather against his chin,
and knowing that she loved him. “Well,
darn, I guess I am. Guess that’s my
life sentence,” he said, rolling his eyes in mock despair. “That’s
right,” Trixie teasingly retorted. “A
life sentence with no chance of parole with me as your warden. How do you like that, big boy?” Jim stepped
back and grinned evilly at her. “Big
boy, huh? Well, just let me show you ‘big boy,” he replied, locking his hands
behind his head and waggling his hips from side to side. “Hmph, yeah,
right” Trixie shot back, giving him the once over, intimately knowing the
well-built man underneath the Levi jeans and Timberland sweatshirt. “Maybe later, if I decide to let you out of
your cell for a conjugal visit. But
only AFTER we get all this mess cleaned up, put the kids’ Santa stuff out, and
fill the stockings.” Jim groaned
and flared his nostrils at her.
“Sheesh, Ms. Warden, puttin’ me on a chain gang, are ya’?” “Yeah, that’s
right, Frayne, and I’ll be watching you.
Step out of line and I’ll have to flog you,” Trixie said, popping her
fist in the air, as though cracking a whip.
“And what’s more, you’ll like it!” “Oooooooooo. Anything you say, Ms. Warden, anything you
say!” Jim leered lasciviously at her.
He then turned serious. “Look,
Trixie, why don’t you sit down and let me do this. It’s just been two months and I don’t want you to overdo.” Trixie knelt
on the floor and starting putting the detritus from the last-minute gift
wrapping into one of the empty plastic bags. “I’m okay, really. I promise the second I start getting tired
or feel my chest hurting at all, I’ll quit. But I really need to do something; otherwise I’m going to set up
like cement and never get any strength back.” “Okay, but I’m
keeping my eye on you to make sure.” “Now who’s
acting all tough like Mr. Ranger?” “Watch it, Boo
Boo, or I’ll have to cuff you.” “And I’ll like
it!” Trixie winked and then turned back
to the matter at hand. “If you'll get
me the stockings and the bag of stocking stuffers, I’ll sit here do that while
you play Santa.” “Sounds good
to me,” Jim said but the serious tone had crept back into his voice. "Then why
don't you sound like it sounds good to you?" "Because
the creep that did this to you is still out there." "Jim,
please, we've.." Trixie started but was stopped by the shaking of Jim's head. "I know,
I know, but try as you might to tell me not to, I'll never, ever stop worrying
about you. It's not because I don't
trust you or I don't think you know what you're doing. It's because I love you more than anything
else in the world," Jim told her in undeniable terms. "I even love you more than Rudolph! So
there, Mrs. Claus, I've said it! Are you
happy?" He finished with a smile
and a sparkle in his green eyes. "Heh, I
guess you have!" Trixie replied, returning his smile. She extended her arm and pointed her index
finger toward the kitchen, which led to the stairs to the basement. "Now go get the stuff! I command
thee!" "Yes,
ma'am!" Jim saluted and made his way out of the den, tussling her hair as
he walked by. “Are the stocking
stuffers in the basement with Martina’s skis and Jamie’s sled?” “Yep, hanging
on the peg on the wall,” Trixie replied as she turned her head and admired the
long legs and tight butt as they strode toward the kitchen. I can’t wait to sit on Santa’s lap and
tell him what I want for Christmas, Trixie thought, knowing that the
tightening in her chest was not from her wounds but from good old-fashioned
lust. Trixie
gathered all the leftover wrapping supplies and placed them inside the oblong
white plastic container and snapped closed the blue cover. She then tossed the
trash-filled bag into the fire. As the
bag caught fire and blazed, Trixie’s mind wandered back to the dream she had in
the hospital about her grandmother. Was
it a dream or a near-death experience?
Trixie wondered, not for the first time since she had come home. A thud against the window sharply
brought Trixie out of her reverie. She
stared at the window as though, if she looked hard and long enough, she could
see through the closed Jacquard drapes and Venetian blinds behind them. Okay,
was that just the wind or was it her, sending me a sign? An eerie feeling
creeped on icy tiptoes down Trixie's spine.
Trixie shuddered and ran her hands through her hair. Stop it! You're freaking your own self
out. “ACK!” Trixie
screamed as a bag landed in her lap.
“Good heavens, Jim, you scared me to death! Don’t sneak up on me like
that!” Jim stood
there, Jamie’s candy-apple red sled propped against his leg and Martina’s skis
tucked under his arm, mouth open in surprise, staring at his wife. “I’m sorry if I startled you, Sweetie, but I
hardly sneaked in. The sled caught the
casing of the kitchen door and while I was trying to catch my balance, I
dropped the skis on the kitchen floor.
I was making enough noise to wake the dead and the kids.” Wake the
dead. What a coincidence he should use that phrase now.
“No, it’s me who’s sorry,” Trixie said apologetically, rubbing Jim’s leg
with her hand. “I had been thinking
about…well, things, and then there was a noise outside. I guess I was just zoned and didn’t hear
you.” She took a deep breath to clear
her thoughts. “So! Let’s speak not a
word and go straight to our work. I’ll
fill all the stockings and you turn with a jerk.” Jim grinned at
her take-off of the well-known Clement Moore poem. “As long as I don’t have to lay my finger inside of my nose, I’ll
be okay.” He placed the sled in front
of the tree and went to the stairs to make sure Jamie would see it as he came
down in the morning. “Are you sure we
don’t need to fix something to take to your mother’s house tomorrow?” Trixie shook
her head as she finished stuffing miniature candy bars and small bags of orange
slices into the stockings. “Nope, Mom
says that I get this year off; that she and Honey have things well under
control for the Belden Christmas Brunch.”
She reached for the cellophane-wrapped candy canes inside the bag. “I’m not sure if it’s because she’s
concerned about me or she’s afraid I’ll bring another sweet potato pie topped
with crushed candy canes like I concocted last year.” Jim was trying
to artfully arrange the skis in a crossed position against the wall, glad his
back was to Trixie so that she couldn’t see the gagging motion he was
making. “I’m sure she’s just concerned
about you, Trix. All of us are.” “Well, maybe
this is a better use for the candy canes.
What do you think?” Jim twisted
his head and laughed loudly at Trixie’s new earrings – a candy cane looped over
each ear. “Oh, those will definitely be
all the rage on the Paris catwalks next year.” “And will I,
Beatrix Belden Frayne, get any credit for this stunning new design? Noooooooo!”
She unhooked her “earrings” and placed one in each stocking. “There, Mr. Claus. Will you be ever so gallant and hang these stockings by the
chimney with care?” “Gallant, did
you say? Why, Gallant is my middle name.” Jim swaggered to where Trixie was
sitting and bowed. “I am your humble
servant, Madame Frayne.” Trixie batted
her eyes in response. “Oo-la-la,
Monsieur. Now, help me up and shove me
upstairs!”
Christmas
Day, 9:15 a.m. Christmas Day
had dawned clear but very cold. A
strong, biting wind had kicked up around 8:00 that morning and howled through
the woods and around the Frayne home.
Now it knifed through Trixie’s fleece jacket all the way to her bones as
she hurried back inside, after starting her Jeep and turning the heater wide
open. “BRRRRRRR!
It’s fa-reeeeezing out there! We’ll have snow until June! The Easter Bunny will
probably have to dig holes in the snow to hide Easter eggs,” Trixie announced
through clinched teeth as she slammed the door behind her. She walked hastily to the roaring fireplace,
as it burned unneeded boxes and the wrapping paper that been eagerly torn away to
expose the surprises hidden underneath, and snuggled next to Jim for warmth. “Fantastic!”
squealed Martina. “Just the perfect meteorological conditions to try my new skis!” “Meteorological
conditions?” Trixie sighed in exasperation, thinking about choking her
almost-twin for addicting her daughter to large words. “Martina, dear, most people just say …, oh
never mind. Anyway, we need to wax the
bottoms a bit before you can use them.” “Mom, can I
take my sled to Nana’s?” Jamie had been
totally enthralled with his sled, proclaiming it to be the best one anywhere,
even better than Mikey Webster’s sled that had won every contest the kids had
run in the park. He was sitting on it
now in front of the Christmas tree. Trixie felt a
tug at her heart, knowing that she wasn’t yet physically able to romp in the
snow with her son, especially since he’d be unable to make as many trips
uphill, dragging the sled, as he’d want to ride it downhill. She looked up at Jim, not knowing what to
say. “Sure, Jamie,
but don’t bug your Mom or anyone to take you riding on it, okay? I’ll go out with you right after I get to
Nana’s,” Jim assured him. Thank
you. I love you, Trixie mouthed to him silently. Jim lovingly
squeezed her shoulders in response. “But, Daddy,
why do you have to go to work today?
It’s Christmas!” “Jamie, honey,
Daddy’s not going to the school to work.
He’s going to see the boys,” Trixie gently reminded him. “We’ve talked about this before. Remember?
Those boys don’t have a home or a mother and father like you and Martina
do. That’s why they live at Daddy’s
school. And even though he’s not their
father, your dad is the closest thing to a father they have and they would be
really sad not to see him on Christmas.”
She walked over and sat close to her son. Jamie hung his
head and put his pudgy little hands between his knees. “I know, Mom, but he’s
my real Dad, and I don’t want him to leave us,” Jamie said quietly. “And he’s a
super dad, at that. We just have to
share him for a little while. Okey dokey, kiddo?!?” Trixie said
enthusiastically, holding out her hand, palm up. Jamie’s face
brightened as he slapped Trixie’s palm with his own. “Okey dokey, Mom-o!” Trixie smiled
at Jim as he mouthed to her, Thank you and I love you too. “Well, then,
get your coats on and let’s get going!!” Trixie said. “So, I’ll see
you about 2:00?” Trixie asked Jim, as they hustled the kids to her Jeep. “Yeah,
something like that,” Jim said as he loaded the gifts, sled and skis into the
back and closed the hatch door. "I
know I drew Mart's name, but tell me again what I got for him, or rather what
you got for me to give to him." Trixie laughed
at her husband that could repeat verbatim every word uttered in his school on
any given day but had trouble grasping some domestic matters. Trixie spoke in long, drawn-out
syllables. "Okay, I'm going to say
this very slowly. You're giving him the
three-piece Craftsman drill set he's been drooling over in the Sears catalog. Got it?" He faked a
puzzled look for a minute and pulled her toward him. “Yeah, I got it. By the
way, thank you again for my new ski suit.
I really do like it. I'll be the
envy of all the other skiers when we go to Vermont in February.” “I’m glad you
like it. Maybe you’ll model it for me
later?" she asked with mischievous eyes and raised eyebrows. “Right after
you model all three of your new sweaters for me.” “Just the
sweaters and nothing else?” “Sounds good
to me.” “Shall we seal
the deal with the kiss, Mr. Frayne?” “Absolutely,
Mrs. Frayne.” As their lips
meet, the sounds of “EWWWWWWWWW” and snickering could be heard from inside the
car. Jim and Trixie
rolled their eyes in unison and then stepped away. They called "I love you" and "Be careful" to
each other as Jim waved goodbye and headed for his Expedition. Just as Trixie reached for her door handle,
another blast of wind barreled in from the North. Through its howl she heard Trixiieeeeeeeee. She turned
towards Jim’s car and yelled, “What?” He looked back
at her and shouted back, “What what?” “Didn’t you
just call me?” “Nope, sure
didn’t.” Trixie shook
her head as she climbed in. Odd, I
could have sworn I heard him calling me. Trixie turned
the heater’s fan down two notches and adjusted her rear-view mirror. She glanced back and saw that Jamie had not
secured his seatbelt. “Hey, you, buckle
up!” “But, Mom,
we’re just going down the road a little way to Nana and Granddad’s house. How come I have to put this stupid seatbelt
on?” Jamie grumbled. Before Trixie
could respond, Martina jumped in with her own explanation. “Because last night Blitzen went beserk and
broke away from the sleigh. Now he’s
running rampant in the Game Preserve.
He might come flying across the road at anytime and run smack into our
car!” Martina emphasized this with a loud clap of her hands. She leaned toward Jamie and started speaking
with an intense voice. “And then our
car will go out of control! We’ll roll over and over and wind up in a
ditch! We’ll be buried in the snow and
no one will be able to find us!” “MOM!” cried
Jamie. “Make her stop!” Trixie
couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s wild imagination but chastised her
anyway. “Martina, that’s enough. Jamie, buckle your seatbelt so we can go
exchange gifts at Nana’s.”
Crabapple
Farm, 12:15 p.m. Trixie sat in
the white glider on the screened-in back porch of her childhood home, grateful
for the peacefulness and even more appreciative of the hills and trees
surrounding the hollow that protected Crabapple Farm from the frigid wind that
was swirling madly on the hilltops.
Even so, it was still cold enough that she pulled up her coat hood over
her head and ears, wore her gloves, and wrapped herself in the quilted coverlet
that she had plucked from the back of the sofa. She raised the blue stoneware mug she held in her hands to her
lips and took a sip of the heated apple cider, pausing over the mug to let the
steam warm her cheeks. The blanket of
sparkling, pristine snow that covered the yard and topped the crabapple trees,
Reddy's gravestone, and the roof of the chicken coop gave Trixie a sense of
serenity and soothed her frayed nerves.
She dearly loved her family, she truly did, but they were all about to
get on her last nerve by treating her like she was some kind of invalid. Sit down, Trixie, and let me get your
plate for you. Trixie, let me refill
your glass for you. Now, dear, don't
fret over helping with the dishes.
Trixie shook the bad thoughts out of her mind, knowing that every
helpful gesture was just a way for them to show their love and concern for her. She took
another sip of the warm, comforting liquid, holding it in her mouth to savor
the hint of cinnamon and nutmeg that Moms always added to her special Christmas
brew before letting it slide down her throat.
It was so good to see Diana again.
I wished she didn't live so far away. We probably will see even less of
her once she becomes Mrs. Wallace Wilborne Searcy the Fourth. What a name! I guess he was okay, but they really didn't seem like a couple
totally in love and planning a huge wedding.
Oh well, I guess I should give the poor boy a chance. I wonder how Mart felt about seeing her, or
rather seeing her with Wallace. Maybe
later on, if we're alone, I can ask him. Trixie heard
the creaking of the back door opening and turned her head to see who was coming
out. It as if their almost-twin radar
was working, as she saw Mart peaking around the screen door. "Hey,
Trix. Would you mind a little
company?" "Hey,
Bro! I was just thinking about
you. Come on out and sit with me,"
Trixie invited, patting the empty seat next to her. Mart grabbed
his insulated corduroy jacket off one of the coat hooks on the wall just inside
the door and slid it on as he made his way across the Colonial blue porch to
join Trixie on the glider. He pulled a
New York Giants knit hat from one pocket and pulled it over his blond
crewcut. From the other pocket he
fished out a pair of well-worn gloves and slipped his hands inside of
them. He stretched out his legs, leaned
back, and extended his arm across the back of the glider. He massaged the back of Trixie's neck with
his strong fingers. Hmmmmm, that
feels so good," Trixie purred and closed her eyes. "I know
you're going to hate to hear this for the bazillionth time, but how are you
doing, Sis?" Trixie
straightened and turned to face him.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to bite your head off. However, if it had been anyone but you,
there'd be another Headless Horseman in Sleepy Hollow." Mart grinned
and patted her on the head. "Glad
to hear it. I've grown rather attached
to this old cranium." Trixie propped
her elbow on the back of the seat and leaned her head against her hand. "Honestly, Mart, overall I'm doing
fine. There are times when I suddenly feel like the rug has been pulled out
from under me and I have to rest.
Occasionally I'll feel a tightening or a sharp pain in my chest, but Dr.
Holden said those were to be expected while I'm still healing." She shrugged her shoulders. "Other than that, I'm really
okay." "Have the
police made any headway into finding out who did it?" Mart inquired. "No,
there wasn't much to go on. They
couldn't find any forensic evidence that they could link to a suspect. The woods were carpeted with fallen leaves
which made finding any useful footprints next to impossible." Again, Trixie shrugged. "There was nothing unusual about the
bullet Dr. Holden dug out of me, and, without a suspect weapon, there's no
ballistics tests." "But
surely they know it was David Jancowsky.
Aren't they following him or anything?" Trixie rubbed
her forehead and shook her head. "You, me, and everyone here think it was him, but I don't
know what's in the minds of the investigators.
I try not to think about it at all.
If I did, I'd go crazy." Mart let out a
long breath and crossed his arms across his chest, sticking his hands between
his arms and body for additional warmth.
"Yeah, I can see where that would be totally frustrating." Trixie settled
back as well. "So how are you and
Belinda doing?" "I think
as of last weekend, she is history," Mart said. "How
come, if I may be so bold to ask?" "You may
be so bold, Mrs. Frayne," Mart replied.
"Let's just say we found that only were we not two peas in a pod,
we were gardens apart. Would you
believe, she did not like my yard Santa?!" Trixie raised
her head and looked at Mart. "Oh
geez, the one with the flashing sign that says 'Santa comes but once a year'?
That may actually show some good sense on her part!" Mart sniffed
in disdain. "Hmph. Furthermore,
she did not assimilate the meaning of when I said that Santa and I had nothing
in common." "Oh my
gosh, you didn't say that!" Trixie chortled. Mart laughed
with her but then turned somber again.
"Besides that, she was getting a little too serious. Too much talk of picket fences and
biological clocks." "Ahhhhh,
Big Bro's not ready to settle down, I take it," Trixie observed. Mart shook his
head and then turned to look at Trixie.
"No, it's not that I'm not ready to settle down. It's that I'm not willing to settle." "Settle?"
Trixie asked. "As in ….." "As in
settle for anything less than what I know I want." Trixie felt
like he was referring to his relationship with Diana and used the opportunity
to broach the subject. "Now it's
my turn to ask you something," Trixie said. "Fire
away, old girl." "How was
it, seeing Diana today? Or rather, more
to the point, how did you feel about seeing Diana with Wallace today?" Mart stared
out across the yard, his eyes seeming to follow a jack rabbit as it hopped
across the snow-covered lawn, but his mind was far back in time. It was a full minute before he spoke. "I won't pull any punches with you,
Trix. It was hard. You know I never stopped loving her." Trixie's heart ached for her
brother. He was always Mart the Clown
or taking on the Alfred E. Neumann persona of "What? Me Worry?" She couldn't remember the last time he
seemed to be this close to tears.
"I know that she loved you as well. So why did you break up then?" "When we
were all kids in high school, the center of our universe was right here in
Sleepyside. Yeah, we traveled a lot and
had some really cool adventures, but basically we were just small-town
teenagers. Then we headed to college
and a whole new world opened up to Di.
Her love of art mushroomed and studying the works of famous artists
became her passion. Whenever we'd see
each other during holidays or on the occasional weekend, all she could talk
about was the quiet but strong eloquence of Gauguin's sculptures or the bold
lines and colors of Van Gogh or the incredible detail shown in works by
Tissot." Mart gave a small sad
smile. "She wanted…. no, it was
more than that. She needed
Paris, and all I had to offer her was a few acres in rural Westchester
County. Plain and simple, I loved her
enough to let her go." Tears streamed
down Trixie's face. "Oh Mart, I've
never heard anything so beautiful."
She reached over and gave him a long, heartfelt hug. When she sat back, she wiped her eyes with
the back of her gloved hand. "You
know she's not entirely happy with Wallace.
You can tell by just watching them.
It's like they both had a checklist of traits they wanted in a mate and
each met the other's paper criteria.
They might be genuinely fond of each other, but they're not truly in
love." Mart ruffled
her hair and said, "Is that Trixie the Detective or Trixie the Loyal Kid
Sister talking? Hmmm? I'm just fooling
with ya', Sis. I really do appreciate
your concern though. Say, speaking of
Trixie the Detective, I was wondering if you were missing your work." "This is
going to surprise the heck out of you, but, no, actually right now I
don't," Trixie responded. She
readjusted her blanket, tucking it tighter under her chin. "After I started hatching spawnlings, Honey
and I were pretty much running the agency on a part-time basis anyway. A wife-cheater here or a fraudulent
disability claim there and that was about it. "Speaking
of spawnlings, are my two about to drive poor Moms mad? I just kinda' left 'em with her." "Everything
was fine right before I came out here.
Jamie was helping Moms re-arrange all the ornaments on the tree so that
the one he made in school was front and center," Mart reported with a
grin. "Martina was upstairs
helping Honey give Cameron a bath." "Oh,
lord," Trixie moaned, rolling her eyes.
"She's probably up there instructing Honey in words of five or more
syllables on how to properly bathe an infant." Mart whistled
and pretended to inspect the ceiling of the porch. "Hmm, don't you think we need to repaint the porch?" Trixie elbowed
him, evoking a loud OUF from her brother.
"Don't act all innocent, like you don't know what I'm talking
about!" "What?
Who me?" Mart pointed at himself and then broke down and laughed. "Hey, what can I say? She takes after her Uncle Mart. Speaking of Cameron, he was one cute kid in
his little Santa outfit." Trixie nodded
in agreement. "Absolutely. You know, when he was first born, I thought
he was the spitting image of Brian. But
now that he's gotten several months older and growing like a weed, his eyes and
hair have both lightened and his face has gotten more slender. He looks more like Honey than Brian
now." Trixie
suddenly jumped up out of the swing, sending her mug spinning across the floor
and dropping the blanket to her feet.
"Oh shoot! I'd almost forgotten!
I promised Martina that I'd get the wax from the clubhouse and put some
on the bottom of her skis." "Hey,
I'll be glad to do it for you," Mart offered. "Horrors,
no!" laughed Trixie. "I want
my daughter to be able to glide on the snow, not have skis slick enough to
scream down the slopes like Picabo Street!" Mart again
pulled his Mr. Innocent act. "Who
me? Sheesh! No respect, I tell
you. No respect."
Trixie poked
her head into her old room that had been transformed into a room for the
grandkids. Martina was sitting at the
art desk, concentrating on getting something painted exactly right. "Hey,
sweetie, Uncle Mart said you helped Aunt Honey give Cameron his bath.
Did you enjoy it?" Martina dipped
her brush into the open jar of red paint and carefully dabbed at a spot on her
white construction paper. "Yes, I
did! He was so cute, splashing his feet
in the water. She and Uncle Brian are
in Nana and Granddad's room taking a nap with him right now." "That was
awfully nice of you to help," Trixie praised her. "Are you ready to go to the clubhouse
and see about your skis?" Martina
stroked her brush twice more before looking up. "I'm almost finished with my painting of our Christmas
tree. Aunt Honey said that she'd take
it home to hang in Cameron's room, so I really want it to look just right. Can I finish it first, please, Mom?" Trixie smiled
warmly at her beautiful young daughter.
"Yes, of course, finish your picture. I'm going to head on over and get the heater cranked up. Maybe by the time you're finished, the
clubhouse will nice and toasty." "Thanks,
Mom! You're the best!" Her big smile was all the thanks Trixie needed. "Get Nana
to help bundle you up warmly, okay? And you be very, very careful walking
across the snow. You know that it can
be very dangerous 'cause you can't always see the slick spots or know where
there might be a hole in the ground or a covered up rock. Can you bring your
skis by yourself?" Martina threw
up her hands in exasperation.
"Mother! I'm not a baby!
I'm eight years old you know," she informed her mother, her
strawberry-blond curls bouncing to emphasize each word. "I know
I'm an ancient old woman but I do believe I can remember how old you are, so
let's not get too smart-alecky," Trixie scolded. "Oh, by the way, do you know where your brother is?" "He and
Uncle Bobby are in Uncle Bobby's room.
They're supposed to be watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas,
but I think they're having some kind of contest to see who can make the most
repulsive noises." She rolled her
eyes in disgust and shook her head.
"Boys!" Trixie sighed
and wondered how her parents made it through with their sanity while trying to
raise the four of them.
Trixie bent
down and retrieved the key from underneath the mat at the clubhouse door, or
what was left of the mat anyway. It
looked like time, weather, and a few dozen squirrels had taken their toll as
once bright green "Welcome" now looked more like "Velcon"
in a shade that could only be described as dirty moss. Between the clumsiness of having on gloves
and the fact that her hands were practically numb, she had to struggle to get
the lock opened. "I'm
wondering why we even bother to lock this place. It's not like it'd take a genius to find the key," Trixie
grumbled as the lock finally released its hold on the door. But the door seemed
to be permanently moored to its casing. Trixie shoved
on the door with her foot until, with a great deal of creaking and moaning, the
door finally nudged open. Trixie
stepped across the threshold and it was like stepping into a sub-zero meat
locker. "Holy smokes! And I
thought it was cold outside," Trixie called out and quickly pushed the
door shut. She stood on a chair so that
she could turn the light bulb firmly into the socket. She prayed that the wiring hadn't deteriorated and the light and
the heater would actually work. She
tugged on the light chain and got her first wish answered. Yes! One
down, one to go,
Trixie thought as the light bulb came to life.
She carefully climbed down from the chair and made her way over to the
space heater. She inspected it for
frayed wires and disintegrated coils.
Surprisingly, she found none and carried it to the back storage area. After locating
an electrical outlet closest to the shelves where their ski equipment was stored,
she plugged in the heater and turned the knob to "high." Poor old thing. I know how you feel, Trixie sympathized with the metal heater
while it sputtered and rattled as its coils slowly but surely turned orange and
the fan began to puff out a little warmth into the arctic-like room. She squatted
and started poking through the bottom shelf.
She reached for a set of ice skate pom-poms that had faded from red to a
sickly pink. They jingled as she picked
them up. Oh, yeah, these were the
ones we wore for the Ice Carnival. My
gosh, that was ages ago! I'm surprised
they are still here. She shook them
in a rhythmic pattern and sang out loud, "Rockin' around … the Christmas
tree … at the Christmas party hop." She heard the
door to the clubhouse creak open.
"Hey, sweetie, I'm in here.
Come on back!" "Mistletoe
hung where you can see…." and she suddenly stopped. Instead of seeing a new pair of pink and
yellow Barbie galoshes, she saw a pair of black half-laced canvas high-tops. She quickly looked up the torn jeans to the
black suede jacket to the multi-pierced ear and the black hair with the
bleach-blond spiked tips. Her heart
stopped and her mouth dried. David
Jancowsky. In that split
second of recognition, Jancowsky's black-tinted lips spread into an evil sneer
as his foot connected with her breastbone. Trixie fell
back, striking her head on the cold concrete floor. Hot pain streaked through her upper body and head. She started to cry out in pain, but he
clamped his hand over her mouth to quiet her. "Well,
now, I might not have finished you off in October, but I'm here to do it
now," he said in a menacing voice as he pulled a knife from his
pocket. "Now, I'll tell you what,
I'm going to move my hand from your mouth.
If you don't scream or try to get away, no one else will be hurt. But if you make any trouble, then I'll just
have a little fun with your pretty little girl before getting rid of her
too." He made several quick upward
stabbing motions, leaving no doubt as to what he intended to do. Martina! Oh
my God, she'll be down here at any moment! I've got to get this lunatic away
from here as quickly as I can. Trixie began to shake from
not only the cold air that was blasting through the door he had left open, but
from raw fear for she knew she had no choice but to do as he said. She nodded her head in agreement. "Okay,
good. Now roll over so I can tie your
hands behind your back, and then we're going to take a little walk." Trixie hadn't
given up on trying to get out of the situation safely but did as she was
told. She tried to speak in a voice
that belied her sheer terror. "You
aren't going to get away with this, you know.
Jim is going to be here at any minute." Jancowsky placed the knifetip on the nape of her neck. "Don't play me for a fool, Belden," he growled. "Jim's not even supposed to get to your
parents' house for another," he glanced quickly at his watch, "for another
30 minutes or so. By the time he gets
in and does all that kissy-huggy crap, it'll be at least 45 minutes before he ever
notices that you're not there." Trixie's felt
her hopes quickly fleeting but still tried to keep courage in her voice. "Oh yeah, what makes you say that? How do you know that he's not on his way
here right now?" "Oh
please, give me a little credit," he said as he began winding the heavy
cord around her wrists. "I've been
watching you since early this morning.
I saw you come out of your house about 9:15 and start your car. I really had an ache to snatch you then but
I knew Mr. He-Man Protector would come out looking for you if you were gone too
long. I then heard him tell you he
wouldn't be here until 2:00. I knew if
I just tagged along and waited, I'd get my chance, and boy did you make it
easy." Satisfied that
her wrists were secure, he roughly rolled her to her back. "Now, like I said, we're going for a
little walk where you're gonna' meet with a real unfortunate accident. By the time anyone finds you, or what's left
of you after the coyotes and catamounts get ahold of you, I'll be long gone." "David,
please, don't do this," Trixie began to try to reason with him. "Shut up!
Just shut the hell up!" He yelled
and grabbed an old musty rag from the shelf and stuffed into Trixie's mouth. "WHAT ARE
YOU DOING TO MY MOTHER?" a voice from behind Jancowsky screamed. He whirled in
surprise to see an enraged eight-year-old swinging a pair of brand new skis
straight toward his face. It was the
last thing he'd remember for an hour or so.
Once again, the Belden household was in a state of bedlam. A crowd of people had, it seemed in an instance, gathered in the Beldens' living room. Police cars and an ambulance out front with lights flashing, the phone ringing, the police radios crackling as information was transmitted, and everyone talking at once.. "Brian, send the ambulance back to the hospital. I'm not hurt. I don't need to be checked out." "My
sister's a real hero! She really gave
that guy a whack on the head.
POW!" "Will
someone go make sure I turned the oven off?" "My God!
Will this nightmare ever end?" "Come on,
Diana. We need to get away from this
mess. How would it look if our names
were in the news, linked to these Belden people?" Smack! "What
exactly happened?" "Trixie,
here's some hot tea for you." Trixie shook her head and managed to get Jim by the hand so that they could get out of the middle of the pandemonium. Jim held her
back for just a moment. "Trixie,
baby, are you sure you're okay? And
what about Martina? I nearly died when
I heard what had happened." Trixie
surprised herself by her own calmness and even more surprised that Jim's
comment did not make her angry. Maybe
I'm mellowing in my old age. How about
that. "Yes, my love. Both Martina and I are okay. Really." She put her arms around him and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Well, if
you're sure," he said, the anxiety not quite leaving his face. "Yeah,
I'm sure. What I'm also sure of is that
we'd better go rescue someone from the table.
I'm not sure if that someone is Martina or Molinson!" Jim chuckled
and followed her to the table. As they
sat, they heard Martina finishing her statement. "….and I
swung my skis with such a velocity that when they impacted his head, it
rendered him unconscious." Molinson
nodded and then peered over her head at Trixie. "Hey, Belden, are you sure this is your kid?" Trixie held up
her hands in frustration. "What
can I say?" Molinson
looked back at Martina and asked, "So what are you going to be when you
grow up? A ballerina or maybe a
princess?" Martina
studied on the question for a minute and then responded. "Actually I had given serious
consideration to perhaps becoming a Professor of English at Harvard University,
but I think after today's events I've changed my mind. I think that I should like to become a law
enforcement investigator who studies the forensic evidence that leads to the
apprehension of the perpetrators of criminal activities." Jim and Trixie
sucked in the breaths and then each, for totally different reasons, began
moaning, "No! No! No! I can't take anymore!" Molinson
chuckled loudly. "What goes
around, comes around, Belden! See you later." The End |
