Part One: Jim
Saturday, September 25, 2004
With a deep sigh, Jim closed the book he had been studying and set it aside. It was Saturday afternoon and the weather outside his window was beautiful. To make matters worse, it seemed that he was the only person in the house who wanted to study. Strike that, he thought, I don’t want to be studying, either.
Elsewhere in the house, someone was having a friendly - but very loud - argument. Over the top, Trixie’s voice rose, torturing the old Beatles song, Yellow Submarine. Then, just as matters seemed unable to get worse, the phone started ringing.
The argument continued. So did the singing. Muttering under his breath, Jim went to answer the phone. Four, five, six… They’ll probably hang up before I get there. As he passed, he called to Trixie to be quiet. The last thing he needed was to try to have a serious conversation with that noise in the background. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. It was still ringing as he picked it up.
“Jim Frayne,” he said.
“Hello, Jim. It’s Margery Trask. I’m afraid that I’m calling with some bad news.”
For a moment, Jim’s heart froze inside him. Even without her words, Miss Trask’s tone of voice had told him that something was wrong. He found himself wondering who had died.
“We have had a call from Chris Riker,” she continued.
Is it Ben? Jim wondered. Matthew Wheeler’s sister, Caroline, had married Chris Riker. Jim had only met them a few times, but knew their son, Ben, reasonably well. Maybe he’s just in some kind of trouble.
“I’m afraid that Caroline has been in a car accident,” Miss Trask said. “She died on the way to the hospital.”
The receiver slowly slid out of Jim’s hand and onto the floor. Everything was blank. The next thing he remembered was hearing Trixie saying, “I’ll go and get her,” and returning shortly later with Honey. While his sister talked to Miss Trask, Trixie tugged hard at Jim’s arm, trying to get him to move.
The numbness began to recede and he found himself sitting on the sofa. Trixie was staring at him, with a worried expression on her face and a firm grip on his arm. He looked around and saw that the telephone receiver had been replaced - the conversation obviously over. Across the room, Honey was crying against Brian’s shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Trixie asked, sounding as if she had said the same words several times. He had no recollection of hearing them.
“I - I guess,” he said, uncertainly. “It’s just kind of a shock.”
“I didn’t know that you knew her that well,” she replied, still studying his face.
Jim shrugged, turning his face away. “I didn’t. It’s just…” He shrugged again. “It reminded me of something. Something that I didn’t want to remember.”
She released her grip on his arm and took his hand instead. “Let’s go to your room. I don’t think we’re needed here. Honey’s in good hands.” He did not protest and let himself be led away. The door closed behind them and Trixie pulled him onto the bed.
“I don’t think I can talk about it,” he said. He curled up next to her, resting his head on her shoulder, his arm across her waist. “I can’t explain it.”
“You don’t need to explain,” she said, her voice soft. She gently rubbed at his back until she felt him relax against her. “If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me.”
“Mmm,” he said, running his hand up her body. “In my bed.”
It was, perhaps, an hour later that Jim decided that he wanted to talk. His head was, once again, resting on Trixie’s shoulder. He shut his eyes, willing himself to be calm.
“I don’t think I ever told you,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, “that my mother died in a car accident.” He felt her stiffen slightly, before one of her hands started to gently rub his back. “Jonesy told me on the phone. I guess that was the day that I started hating him. He didn’t even have the decency to tell me in person.”
“Oh, Jim!” She wriggled, trying to get him to move, but he resisted. “I’m so sorry.”
“She was alone in the vehicle.” His voice sounded flat, emotionless. “It was a straight stretch of road; a dry, clear day. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the car. He told me that she’d done it on purpose, to kill herself.” Tears were running down his face, but his voice sounded cold. “I didn’t believe him, then. I still don’t believe it, now. It haunts me, though. Late at night, when I’m alone, I wonder, sometimes, whether he could have been right.”
“No,” said Trixie. “He’s wrong. Of course she didn’t. She loved you. She wouldn’t leave you that way.”
“That’s what I tell myself,” he replied. “It was just an accident.”
Trixie’s hand trailed up and down Jim’s back in a leisurely fashion and he pressed his face against her neck. He felt lethargic; reluctant to talk, or think, or act.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, a few minutes later.
“That the past is never over. It’s always ready to overwhelm you, whenever you think that you’re going to be okay.” He shivered. “I don’t think I want to go to sleep tonight.”
“Let me stay here,” Trixie said. “I’ll keep you company. No one needs to know.”
“Okay,” he whispered. “Maybe, just this once.” He tightened his arms around her, settling into an easy silence.
Outside the sanctuary of his room, the house was beginning to get noisy again. It sounded to Jim like someone had decided to move the furniture. He groaned inwardly, wondering whose brainwave that was, and whether he would be able to recognise the place when they were finished. He was jolted to attention, as his name stood out of the stream of conversation from outside the door.
“…Jim lately?” he heard, in Honey’s voice. “Or Trixie? Oh, no! They must be-” There was a sharp rapping at the door. “Jim! Are you in there?”
“Should I be?” he asked.
“Make yourself presentable,” she said, sounding panicked. “Quickly! And, Trixie, get back to your room, however it is that you manage to do it, without using any of the doors. Right now! I mean it.” She moved away from the door, talking constantly to someone.
“She could have left that bit out,” Trixie said, with a frown, as she got out of the bed. “I don’t want everyone to know about that.”
“Too late now,” Jim replied. “She sounded pretty upset. I think we’d better do as we’re told.” From the front door, there was the sound of knocking, loud, even at the back of the house. “Maybe someone’s coming to see her.” A conversation began; the newcomer sounded angry or annoyed.
“This had better be good,” she grumbled, as she slipped back into her own room. The secret door clicked shut and Jim concealed his side by rearranging the clothes hangers. He could hear Trixie doing the same on her side, though with rather more force.
Quickly checking his appearance, and that of the room, Jim opened his bedroom door to find out what all the fuss was about. Brian’s door was shut, which suggested that he had barricaded himself inside. Approaching the front of the house, he could see that Mart’s and Dan’s doors were shut, too. He was about to step through the doorway into the girls’ side, when he heard a voice which filled his entire being with dread. No, he thought. Please don’t let it be…
“Yes, Aunt Vera,” said Honey, sounding terribly unhappy. “I do understand that, but Daddy-”
“Your father has no business letting you stay in such a place,” the old woman said, sounding just as sour as usual. “You will be coming with me. I will have no more arguments from you. Go, immediately, and pack an overnight bag.” Her footsteps, loud on the polished floor, approached the doorway where Jim stood. “Come here, young man,” she said, catching sight of him. “I have something to say to you, while Madeleine is packing.”
“Yes, Miss Carlton,” Jim said, his heart sinking. Matthew Wheeler’s maiden aunt had never said anything pleasant to him. He was quite sure that she was not about to start. Her bony hand gestured towards the middle of the floor, and Jim stood where she indicated.
“I came here,” she said, in soft, yet menacing, tones, “to ensure that Madeleine was coping with the sad news. What I found when I arrived was this disgraceful arrangement.” Jim said nothing. “I will not stand for this. You have been a bad influence on the girl, right from the moment she met you. No more. Madeleine will be coming with me and she will not return.”
The door to Honey’s room opened, and his sister emerged, bag in hand. He could tell that she had been crying, but there were no tears in her eyes now. She reminded him of a small child, frightened and slightly bewildered.
“Don’t just stand there, young man,” said Miss Carlton. “Bring her bag out to my car.”
Moving stiffly, his anger at her attitude almost overwhelming, Jim took the bag and followed the old woman out the front door. What they saw when they got there made Miss Carlton turn an ugly shade of red: at either end of her car, other cars were parked, far too close for her to manoeuvre out. In an instant, she bellowed at Jim to remove them.
Suppressing a grin, Jim set down the suitcase and retreated into the house. Now, who would have done this? he wondered. I bet it was Dan. A gentle tap on his door, however, gained no response and, on trying the handle, Jim found that it was locked. Mart’s room, which was opposite, was empty. Surely, not Brian? He made his way through the kitchen, stopping briefly to check the row of hooks where they all kept their keys, to the back of the house and tapped on the door.
“Brian?” he said, just above a whisper. “Are you in there?”
The door opened a crack. “What’s happening?”
“Did you put my car there?” Jim asked. There was a pause.
“No,” his friend eventually replied. “I put my car out there. Dan moved yours.”
“Can I have the keys?” Another longer pause.
“No, Jim. That would kind of defeat the purpose.”
“Brian.” His voice sounded a warning. There was another long pause.
“I gave them to Dan. He’s got both sets.”
“And where is Dan now?” The silence stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time.
“Outside somewhere, I think.”
“And what, may I ask, am I supposed to tell Miss Carlton?”
“That you can’t find them? I don’t know, Jim. You’ll think of something.”
Muttering under his breath, Jim turned towards his own room. Once inside, he spent the next few minutes pacing, trying to think of something to say when he returned. He thought, fleetingly, of the spare set of keys which he had entrusted to Honey. Would she want him to ask her for them? Somehow, he thought not.
Which only leaves one alternative, he decided, reluctantly. I’ll just have to tell her I can’t find them. Her reaction, when he did so, was enough to make him cringe. She had been rude to him many times before, but never quite so loudly, or in such a public manner. He found himself trailing after her as she re-entered the house, determined to find those keys at any cost.
“I don’t believe you even really looked,” she said, as they paused in the living room. “Whose cars are they?”
“One of them is mine,” Jim admitted, “and the other is Brian’s.”
“You should take better care of your property,” was the scathing reply. “Which room is Brian’s?”
Jim pointed the way and Miss Carlton strode in that direction. She rapped sharply on the door, before throwing it open. The room was empty. True to Brian’s character, it was also immaculately clean and neat. For the first time, the older woman faltered.
“Well, we can’t exactly go through his drawers,” she said, quietly. Her sharp tones returned with the next question. “Where is your room?” Taking a few steps to the right, Jim opened the door for her. She stepped inside and looked around, her distaste plainly showing on her face. “At least you keep it tidy,” she said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw a figure leave Brian’s room. “I don’t know if I looked on that shelf over there,” he said, pointing to the side of the room opposite the door. The figure - he thought it might be Dan - disappeared towards the front of the house. It seemed, however, that Miss Carlton’s patience had run out.
“I don’t have time for this. I demand that the vehicles be removed immediately!” she bellowed. “I will not stand for this!” Turning sharply, she started striding towards the front door.
Think! Think! Jim berated himself. “I wonder if Honey has a set of my keys,” he said, trying to make it sound as if it had only just occurred to him. “I think I might have given her a set at some stage.”
“You stupid boy,” the old woman said. “Why didn’t you say so before?”
He replied as mildly as he could, all the while trying to work out what to do next. He could only hope that, whatever plan the others were executing, he had given them enough time. How could he stop her from finding the right keys? He was sure that she would have no scruples about going through Honey’s belongings.
“I think she might keep them over here,” he said, leading the way to Honey’s desk. He opened the top drawer, pulled out a large bunch of keys and eyed them doubtfully. “I don’t think any of these are mine.”
“Try them,” she said, forcefully. “Every last one.”
Obediently, Jim took the keys out to his car and patiently tried the key to the clubhouse door, the key to the padlock on the boathouse, the key to the kitchen door at the Manor House, and a multitude of other keys for things back in Sleepyside. None of them, naturally, opened the door to his car. He was relieved, a few minutes later, to hear an interruption.
“Honey,” his girlfriend yelled, so loudly that he jumped. “Your father’s on the phone for you.”
“Tell him she is not available,” Miss Carlton boomed. “Get back in that car, Madeleine. And as for you,” she turned upon Trixie, “I cannot think of a more unsuitable type of friend -- come back here. I have not finished with you.”
A few minutes after the old woman disappeared into the house, Brian emerged, a set of keys swinging on his finger and a bemused expression on his face. “Catch,” he called, throwing Jim his own set. “Mission accomplished, I think. What say we move these cars?”
Honey’s Sleepyside keys went into his pocket, as Jim unlocked the driver’s door to his car. The engine to Brian’s car started, with a characteristic rumble. A few minutes later, both cars were back in their accustomed places.
Jim was slowly walking back towards the house when Miss Carlton emerged. Her face was red and her expression combined fury and frustration. She caught sight of him, near the corner of the house, and bent her steps in that direction.
“This is not over,” she said, her voice shaking. “Honey’s position is, and always has been, rather delicate. Something like this could seriously damage her future. I will not rest until that child is out of the reach of your influence. And if you, or that- that- girl dare show your faces at the funeral…” Words failed her and she turned sharply on her heels. The door to her car slammed shut and, within moments, she was gone.
The funeral, thought Jim, his insides having suddenly tied themselves in knots. I’ll have to go to the funeral. He almost ran back inside, stumbling as he made his way back into his room. It was empty. He slumped against the door and let his emotions overtake him.
Silence had finally descended on the house. Jim’s room was in darkness, its occupants contentedly curled up together. Soft sounds told Jim that his girlfriend was still awake and he determined that now would be a good time to talk.
“Trixie?” he asked.
“Mmm?”
“You’ll come to the funeral with me, won’t you?” To his own ears, his voice sounded small and lost. He felt her shift next to him, her face turning towards his. “You won’t make me go on my own.”
“Aunt Vera specifically forbade me to go,” she replied. “Did you want me to disobey her?”
“You? Be disobedient?” he laughed quietly, tightening his arms around her waist. “She forbade me, too, but I think it would be more proper if I was there. So, you’ll come with me?”
“Of course, I will,” Trixie said, firmly. “In fact, we’re all going. Mr. Wheeler said that we should, and that he would deal with Aunt Vera.”
“Good,” Jim whispered. “With you beside me, I can face anything.”
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
It was a sombre group that gathered in the living room a few days later. They had decided to take only two vehicles, Jim’s and Di’s, and that they would all stay together. Honey had considered whether to sit in the family pew with her parents, but Jim had persuaded her that it was not necessary. The way he was feeling, he needed all the support he could get.
“Are we all ready?” Di asked, looking around the room. “Who wants to come with me? Mart? Dan?”
“Sounds good,” said Jim. The other three disappeared toward the front, where Diana had parked her car.
“Now, if you’ll hand over the keys,” said Brian, quietly, “we can be on our way.”
“I’m fine,” Jim replied, even though his hand was shaking as he locked the door.
“Just give me the keys, Jim,” his friend said, in a tone that was firm, but kind. “You can be ‘fine’ in the back.” Their eyes met for a long moment, before Jim gave in and handed them over.
“I am fine,” he muttered, as he climbed in. “Nothing wrong with me.”
Trixie smiled at him and took his hand. “Couldn’t do this if you were driving,” she whispered. She slid into the seat next to him and, after fastening her seatbelt, laid their entwined hands on her lap. “I’d rather have you here with me.”
“I wanted something to focus on,” he whispered back. “Something to keep my attention. I can’t think about where we’re going.”
“You really hate funerals, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he replied hotly, though his voice remained quiet. “If you’d- If you’d had the experiences that I’ve had, you’d hate them, too. Now, can we talk about something else?” His girlfriend nodded and, with a tact that he had not realised she possessed, kept up a stream of conversation for the rest of the journey.
The Bob-Whites seated themselves together, each falling into a reverent silence as they waited for the service to begin. At the front of the church, amongst masses of flowers, the casket stood, closed. Jim turned his face away, choosing to look at the gracefully arching beams which rose above the congregated people.
As he had expected, his mind would not remain in the here and now, no matter how he tried to force it to. Other funerals intruded on this one, blending together into a confusion of images and sounds.
‘The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not be in want.’
An old wooden church, its stained-glass windows shining in the morning sun. His mother holding his hand tightly as she sat beside him. An old woman on the opposite side of the church, crying into a lace handkerchief. His father’s whisper, ‘That’s your Great Aunt Isabella. One day, I’ll tell you about her.’ A solemn voice, intoning his grandfather’s name.
‘We are here, today, to lay to rest Thomas Joseph Frayne…’
‘He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul.’
A different church, a plainer one. The sound of rain being driven against windows of ordinary glass. His mother, this time, crying into a handkerchief. A man that he did not know telling stories that made no sense to him, stories far removed from the father he had known.
‘I will always remember Winthrop Frayne for the way he made other people sit up and take notice. His enthusiasm was contagious when he led a protest against the willful destruction of our native habitats…’
‘He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’
The chapel of a funeral home. A feeling of utter aloneness. Jonesy, his suit looking years old and far too small, shifting uncomfortably. Waves of revulsion, as the man that Jim was just beginning to hate delivered the eulogy.
‘Katie was the best wife I could ever have hoped for. She took great pride in making a nice home for us…’
‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and staff, they comfort me.’
He returned to the present, hearing the words with his ears, rather than in his mind. The twenty-third Psalm. To Jim, it was more of a reminder of grief and pain than of the comfort it was supposed to represent. His gaze was drawn to the coffin. Had Caroline Riker given God much thought while she was alive? Had she ever pondered eternity? Or, had it come as a shock, as she looked at it over the sleek bonnet of her Jaguar. It was an uncomfortable train of thought, and Jim pushed it away with ferocity.
A middle-aged man, with light brown hair and facial features reminiscent of Ben’s, rose to speak. Everything about him, from his well-tailored suit and immaculate shoes to the manner that he wore them, spoke of money. His even, pleasant voice began to sketch the life of a woman who had known only privilege from her earliest years.
Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat and started to look around. I should know some of these people’s names, he thought. Maybe I should try to remember some before I have to talk to them. Let’s see, there’s Dad’s brother, Edward, delivering the eulogy; his wife should be here somewhere - yes, there she is. Okay, Edward and Olivia Wheeler. Their kids? No. Must have left them in school. I guess they thought they were too young. Next, that woman over there. She looks familiar… Aunt someone… Edna? Gladys? Have to ask Honey. I think she’s the one who’s fighting with Aunt Vera. A shudder ran through him and his eyes involuntarily turned to Miss Carlton.
Have to keep out of her way, he vowed. I guess those women behind her were Caroline’s friends. Their grief is about as real as the one on the end’s boobs. Does she really think that’s attractive? His eyes strayed until he found another familiar face. Oh, that must be another great aunt. Honey will really have to help me on them; they all look the same to me. Now, who is that man? He doesn’t look familiar, and he’s somehow out of place. Maybe a reporter. I’d better avoid him, unless Honey can tell me who he is.
The service drew to a close and Jim found himself outside. To his enormous relief, Honey stayed close by and ensured, with characteristic tact, that he always knew exactly to whom he was talking. He was beginning to feel that the ordeal was over when his father approached.
“You know the way to the house, don’t you?” he asked Jim. “Or, do you want to follow us?” The sick feeling returned to Jim’s stomach and he could find no words to answer. Trixie came to his rescue.
“We were going to get back to Winter Rock,” she said, squeezing Jim’s arm in an inconspicuous manner. “We didn’t really think that our presence…” She trailed off uncertainly as Ben approached.
“You are coming back to the house, aren’t you?” he asked. “You’re all welcome.”
“Of course, if you want us,” Honey said, not looking at her brother.
“Great,” Ben replied, giving them a half-hearted smile. “I need some measure of ‘normal’ right now.” Jim plastered an understanding expression on his face and gritted his teeth against the turmoil he felt within.
Whenever he entered the Riker house, Jim felt as if he had spent the last few years living in a quaint country home. While Madeleine Wheeler had decorated tastefully, without flaunting her financial position, her sister-in-law had taken a different approach. This was not a home, it was a showpiece.
Smartly dressed wait staff passed out drinks and canapés from silver trays, while all around the room Caroline’s friends shamelessly engaged in politely disguised power struggles and forgot all about her.
“This makes me sick,” Jim whispered to Honey and Trixie, as they huddled together in one corner. “Half these people don’t care that she’s dead.”
“I know,” his sister whispered back. “And have you seen the woman in the deep green dress? The one with…” She gestured several inches in front of her chest. Jim nodded, remembering the woman he had seen in the church. “I just saw her with Uncle Chris and I think she was trying to - well, I mean she said that she was offering her condolences,” she said, and her voice dropped even further, “but I don’t think that’s what she was really offering.”
A hand touched Honey’s shoulder lightly, making her jump violently. “Sorry,” her father said, joining the little circle. “Are you all right, Honey? I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Fine,” she said, sheepishly.
“Jim, could we have a quiet word?” Matthew Wheeler continued. “If you’ll excuse us, we won’t be a moment.”
“Something wrong, Dad?” Jim asked, after they had stepped into a nearby room.
“I’m not sure, just yet. This arrived at the house shortly after we left for the funeral.” He handed over a thick envelope, heavily marked with such labels as: ‘PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL,’ and ‘URGENT.’ “Miss Trask took one look at it and made sure it was here when we arrived. Take a look.”
Opening the flap, Jim slid out a wad of documents, photographs and diagrams. On top of the pile was a letter. He quickly skimmed it and looked up at his father in shock.
“Industrial espionage?” he asked. “And sabotage? On a potentially large scale. If this is true…”
“It could mean the end of the company,” Matthew finished. “If this is true, then someone is trying to put me out of business - or worse. Of course, I’m going to have to investigate further. I just wanted you to know that this has come up. It’s too early to tell whether this is a personal grudge or a professional one…”
“You want me to be careful,” Jim stated.
“Watchful, too. I’ll keep you up to date.” He paused, carefully returning the documentation to its envelope. “But don’t mention this to your mother or Honey just yet. I’ll tell them when I’ve had a chance to assess the situation.”
As Matthew opened the door, Trixie came into view. “Finished?” she asked, taking Jim’s arm. “Ben’s got another room down the hall and he wants us to go there.” She turned to his father. “Nice to see you, Mr. Wheeler.”
“You okay?” she whispered to Jim, as they walked. “You look kind of shaken up.”
“Tell you later,” he replied. After all, he thought, Dad never told me I couldn’t tell Trixie.
“I’ve got things to tell you, too,” she said, her hand on the door handle, “when we get home.” She swung the door open, revealing a comfortable family room. Their friends and siblings were already there, snacking on vegetables and dip, delicate-looking hot savouries and platters of fresh fruit. Some of Ben’s other friends and relatives were there, too.
“Good you could join us,” Ben said, looking up. “Drinks are over here. Help yourselves to everything.”
“Nice set-up you’ve got here,” Jim commented, as he poured drinks for Trixie and himself. “A lot more comfortable than the other room.”
“I’m just glad to get away from the Piranhas,” Ben replied, grimacing. “The head Piranha, in particular.”
Honey, who was sitting next to Ben, rushed to explain, “The woman in the green dress. We noticed her, ahem, before.”
“Man-eaters,” Ben added, with a shudder. “Just watch, Jim. I’ll have a stepmother within two years and it’s a sure bet that it will be her.” The two men shared a look. “We should catch up sometime,” Ben continued. “I’ll give you a call sometime and we can maybe see a game. I’ve got Knicks season tickets, if you’re interested.”
“Sounds good,” Jim replied, and fell silent. He felt nothing but relief when Honey skillfully turned the conversation to other matters.
The time came for them to return home. Gradually, the group gathered near the door, shifting uncomfortably. Honey gave her cousin a hug and they made their farewells. The collective sigh of relief was almost audible as the massive front door closed behind them.
“See you at home,” Di called, as her carload separated from Jim’s. “We’ll be making a stop on the way, so expect us when you see us.” There was a chorus of goodbyes.
“Keys, please,” Jim said to Brian, as they approached his car. “I’ll drive.”
“You sure?” his friend asked, holding onto the offending item.
“I’m fine,” Jim replied, his voice quiet but firm. “Really.” Brian tossed them to him and he caught them deftly. “Thanks. For everything.”
Early hours of Wednesday, October 6, 2004
Tap, tap, tap-tap. Tap-tap, tap, tap.
Jim rolled over and looked at the clock. Two fifty-three. There was something about that noise; something that he should remember. Trixie’s signal, he remembered suddenly. She wants me to open the secret door. Some time ago, the two had agreed on a method of letting the other know when they wanted the door opened. But why was Trixie making their secret signal at two fifty-three in the morning? He dragged himself out of bed to find out.
“It’s about time,” she said, whispering, as she came into view. “What were you doing?”
“Sleeping. For hours. What do you want, Trixie?” His tone implied the words, ‘and it had better be good.’
“I’ve got something to show you,” she said, confusion creasing her brow. “And, it’s not that late, is it?”
“It’s almost three in the morning,” he replied, heavily.
She waved that small fact away and drew him further into her room, her face filled with characteristic enthusiasm. The room was dim, lit only by the monitor of the second-hand computer she used for her assignments. He could tell that she was up to something, but what? And why did she feel it necessary to wake him?
“Ta-dah!” she cried, waving her hands in front of the computer screen.
His eyebrows drew together. “What am I looking at?”
“My new web site,” she said, slightly impatient. “Doesn’t it look great?”
“‘Trixie’s John and Lucy Page’,” he read. “Who are John and Lucy? And, why do you have their page?”
“Jim!” she cried, utterly outraged. “How can you ask that? It’s about Lucy Radcliffe and John Frampton. They belong together, like - um - Mart and cheeseburgers, or tuna casserole and baked potatoes, or…”
“Ice cream and chilli sauce?” He shrank back at her angry reaction. “Okay. Sorry. I get the idea.”
“So, what do you think?”
“It’s, um, very nice?” he said, uncertainly. “What, exactly, is it for?”
“It’s for posting stories about John and Lucy,” she replied, as if it was completely obvious. “My friend, Rachel, is writing this really good one where Lucy gets kidnapped by a gun runner, but he makes it look as if it was Grosvenor and-”
“I’ll look at it tomorrow,” he interrupted, stepping back through the secret door. “Goodnight, Trixie.” He was too tired to even notice her frown.
Thursday, October 7, 2004
When he arrived home from class the following day, it was to find a cryptic note on his door, in Honey’s handwriting.
‘Jim,’ it said,
‘Univ. Hosp. Casualty. ASAP.
‘H.
‘P.S. It’s not too serious.’
Thanks for making my heart stop, Hon, he thought, as he made his way back to the car. And you could at least have said who was hurt. Images of Trixie in peril ran through his head. Unfortunately, they were all too plentiful and easily brought to mind.
It took only a few minutes to drive to the hospital. He pulled into the first parking space he came across and ran through the lot to the main entrance. His sister was apparently waiting for him, as she called a greeting right away.
“You’re finally here,” she said, smiling. “They’ve taken him upstairs to a room and Trixie’s waiting there with him.”
“Him?” he asked. “Who’s been hurt, Honey? Your note didn’t say.”
“Oops, sorry,” she said. “It’s Trixie’s boss, Mr. Porter.”
“Trixie’s boss? Why-”
“A bookcase fell on him,” she explained. “Just like Mr. Bridgeman.”
“Must be an occupational hazard,” he muttered, following her up the stairs. “Why am I here?”
“This time, there’s a witness,” she said, turning to him. “This definitely wasn’t an accident and it looks like the other one wasn’t, either.”
I don’t like this, he thought, as they continued upstairs. There’s something going on here and I’ve got a bad feeling that this is only the beginning.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
By some strange coincidence, most of the occupants of the share house finished early on Thursdays that semester. On this particular Thursday, a noisy gathering had formed in the living room on the male side of the house. Jim arrived home at quarter past three to find everyone except Brian engaged in an afternoon snack.
“I hope you saved some for me,” he quipped, dropping onto the sofa near his girlfriend. “And I could do with a drink.”
“Poor baby,” Di said, tossing him a raisin from the packet lying on the counter. “Will that keep you from expiring until you can make your own way to the kitchen?”
“My dear Miss Lynch,” he began, only to be interrupted by Mart.
“I think you’ll find, James,” he said, in a pompous voice, “that she is, in fact, my dear Miss Lynch.”
“We’ve noticed,” his sister said, dryly. “Now, will you get on with the story?” She turned to Jim. “My dear brother was attempting to tell us what he did this morning. If anyone could understand him, that is.”
“Hey! I resemble that remark,” Mart called, only to be pelted with raisins from all sides. “Thank you, fans. I will now recommence my tale from the outset, for James’s benefit. This antemeridian, whilst perambulating in the vicinity of the bibliotheque, I encountered an avian creature behaving in a most perplexing manner. To all appearances, it was attempting a daring entrance into the hallowed halls of that fine establishment. The guardian, however, repeatedly foiled its every attempt. Finally, I could contain myself no longer and asked, ‘Pray, tell me, why does this feathered vertebrate desire to enter here?’ She replied, ‘It wishes to consume bibliophiles.’”
“You mean,” said Jim, after a long pause, “‘Why did the bird go to the library?’”
“Why?” asked Honey, suspiciously.
“It wished to consume bibliophiles,” repeated Mart.
“Bookworms,” Jim translated.
There was a loud chorus of groans, led chiefly by Trixie. “It should have started with you,” she said.
“His vocabulary would’ve given it a tummy ache,” Di added, setting the group laughing. “But I love you anyway, Mart.”
As the laughter died down, they heard the sound of a key in the lock. The door swung open, revealing an unfamiliar man in a dark suit. Behind him, a young couple stood. From their faces, it could be seen that they were surprised and uncomfortable.
“I’m terribly sorry,” the suited man said to them. “The property is supposed to be vacant.”
“May I help you with something?” Jim asked, walking towards the man. His voice held a dangerous edge, though his words were polite enough.
The man in the suit held out some identification. “I am Preston Highfield, with Winter Rock First Real Estate,” he said. “And you, by all appearances, have ignored the eviction notice that your landlord has sent.”
“There was no eviction notice,” Jim replied. “Where did you get that key?”
“I have the owner’s assurances that the notice has been delivered,” said the other man. “Now, please get out of our way.”
“No,” said Jim, drawing himself up to his full height. By this time, the whole group had joined him. “You have no right to enter this property.”
“I’m sorry, young man,” the agent said, officiously. “You and your friends will have to get out of our way. The owner has listed the property for immediate sale.”
“I am the owner,” Jim said, his face reddened and his voice heavy. “And I think you have some explaining to do.”
Part Two: Peter
Thursday, September 23, 2004
An inviting smell greeted Peter at the door and he went inside with a spring in his step. “Mmm,” he said, giving his wife a hug. “Is that roast lamb I smell? You must be in a good mood.”
“Just hungry,” she replied, blushing. “Moving is hungry work.”
“And we’re going to eat all of this?” he asked, taking a peek. “Helen, there’s enough for an army here.”
“I just can’t seem to help it,” she said, with a sigh. “It just seems wrong to only be cooking for two. The smaller piece just… didn’t look like enough.”
She’s feeling guilty, he thought, scanning her face. She’s probably going to pack herself up and go back to Sleepyside. A moment of panic seized him. What can I do to stop her?
“Never mind,” he said, pushing the panic down. “I like it cold, too. It’ll make a nice lunch for tomorrow.” His heart sank at her reaction: a downcast look and gentle nod. All of a sudden, it was too much to bear. “Please, don’t go,” he said, the words coming out despite his intention to say nothing.
“What?”
“You want to go back. To Sleepyside. To Bobby. It’s written all over your face. And I’m - I’m asking you to stay here with me.”
“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” she said, so quietly that he could hardly hear her. “I miss the kids, and the noise they make, and their friends being around all of the time. It’s been so long since we were alone that I’ve forgotten what to do.”
“We never had a long time alone, anyway,” he replied. “Five and a half months of marriage before Brian arrived. Not long enough to really know each other. And now…” He rubbed her stomach. “I think we’re destined to never be alone for long. We’ll be a little old couple in our eighties, and still be surrounded by kids - grandkids, or great-grandkids, by then.”
Helen laughed, momentarily. “Probably,” she said. “If our kids are half as careless as we seem to have been, we’ll have dozens by then. Oh, Peter,” she said, turning wistful all over again, “how am I going to get through the next few months?”
“The same way we did it the first time,” he replied. “One day at a time, remember?”
She smiled, nodding. “This is rather like the first time, isn’t it? Moving into a new place; trying to make a home for ourselves.” The smile faded. “And your father’s disapproval hanging over our heads.”
“Put it out of your mind,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “There’s nothing more that we can do about it now. We just have to trust our kids to do the right thing.”
“Sometimes, I wish you’d just challenged the will in court, right after he died,” his wife said, turning away. “It was terribly childish of your father to want to punish you and your brothers for things that were really none of his business. Nothing good has ever come of that horrible document. And heaven knows what Mart is up to. Peter, I’m certain that he got the copy of it with a particular purpose in mind and I shudder to think what it is.”
“You don’t think-” Please, don’t let it be that, he thought, unable to say, or even think the words. I don’t think I could take it, if it was that.
“What?” she asked, gently. She must have been able to see the fear in his face.
“Well, he’s not looking for a loophole, is he? I mean, against- something he’s already done?” His stomach was tying itself in knots and he was sure that she could tell. “Something that would disqualify him?”
“I don’t think he’d drop out of college,” Helen said, her face unnaturally innocent. “He enjoys it too much. Or, did you mean something else?”
Peter scowled. “You know very well what I meant.” Her eyebrow rose in enquiry. “A baby, Helen. I’m far too young to be a grandfather and he’s not responsible enough to be a father.”
“Would it be so bad?” she asked, obviously suppressing a smile. “Our little one would have a playmate. Besides, he’s just as responsible as you were when you and I got ourselves into a very similar situation.” He felt the blood draining from his face and his mouth went dry. It must have shown, because her expression softened and when she spoke her voice held a note of compassion. “I certainly hope it isn’t that. I’m not ready for grandchildren, either.”
At least now I know what’s really worrying her, he thought, as his wife continued to prepare their meal. And, it’s the same thing that worries me.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
At the sound of footsteps, Peter put down the screwdriver he was holding and turned to see his wife approach. It was late in the day and the compound was already secured for the night, so there should have been no one else around.
“Telephone,” she called, as soon as she saw him. “Don Taylor.”
His eyebrows rose sharply in surprise. He and Don had started at the bank together almost twenty years ago. In the recent shake-up, he had not only retained his position, but was given a promotion. Peter hastened into the house to take the call.
“Don, is that you?” he asked, after taking up the receiver. “It’s Peter Belden speaking.”
“Good to hear your voice,” his friend said, sounding very pleased. “How have you been?” The next few minutes were taken up with the exchange of news.
“Was there something I can do for you?” Peter asked, as the flow of conversation slowed.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I need to talk to you, confidentially,” Don said, slowly. “In person, if possible, and in secret, if we can arrange it.”
“Of course,” Peter replied. “Are you able to come to Poughkeepsie? I can’t make it back to Sleepyside-”
“Away from Sleepyside would be much better, I think,” the other man said, sounding grave. “And I’d like it to be soon. Are you free tomorrow evening?”
“Tomorrow it is. Come for dinner, and bring Rosemary.”
“Shouldn’t you clear that with Helen first?” Don asked, with a sudden laugh. “Rose would kill me if I invited guests at such short notice.”
“I’ll let you in on my wife’s guilty secret,” Peter said. “She never learned to cook for two. We’d love to have you both.”
“Thank you,” his friend replied. “And keep your chin up. Things at home may not be as bad as they seem.”
I wonder what he meant by that, Peter mused as he ended the conversation. Not ‘as bad as they seem.’