Chapter Six: A Shocking Discovery

Jim inserted the key in the lock of the apartment and stood back to allow Trixie to enter.
        “Honey, Brian, we’re back,” she called cheerily. There was no reply, and Trixie turned to face Jim. “Where can they be?”
         Jim shrugged. “I guess maybe Honey and Brian have gone to drop off our assignments.”
        Trixie nodded as she flung her purse and jacket down on a chair. “Or else they’ve collapsed from all that slaving in the kitchen.” They chuckled, and Jim reached for a light switch; the afternoon had gradually grown overcast and now, a little after half past five, the living room was in shadows.

        A strange acrid smell pervaded the air, and the two exchanged worried glances and hurried through to the kitchen. What they saw made them stop in their tracks. The back door was ajar; a pot on the stove held unrecognisable charred remains, a chair was overturned, and all manner of food was spread across the bench and table. Jim picked up a dish-towel and lifted the pot, gingerly depositing it in the sink. He turned off the hot plate and turned to face Trixie, whose pale face reflected her concern.
        “What could have happened?” she breathed hoarsely.
        Jim shook his head. “I don’t know, Trix, but it doesn’t look good.”
        “No matter what happened, neither Honey nor Brian would just run out leaving the back door open and something burning on the stove. Mart and me maybe, but Honey and Brian, never.” Trixie tried but failed to keep the quaver out of her voice.
        “I tend to agree,” Jim replied, striving to keep his own tone even.
        “Okay,” Trixie continued, “so what do we do now? Talk to the neighbours, call the police, what?”
        Jim frowned. “That’s my first instinct, Trix, but I don’t know how seriously they’d take us.”
        Trixie started to protest but stopped herself and took a deep breath. “So, we take a few minutes, we look at the possibilities, but we don’t panic, right?”
        “Right.” Jim managed a weak smile and patted Trixie’s arm. “Let’s go sit in the living room; it doesn’t look as though it’s been disturbed and we probably shouldn’t touch anything in here.” He glanced ruefully at the pot he had placed in the sink. “Anything else, I mean.”

        The two sat side by side on the sofa and Trixie began, “Alright, let’s consider what might have happened, what the police might say if we do call them.”
        “They’d say there might have been some kind of accident, say Honey or Brian burnt or cut themselves in the kitchen and had to go to the hospital,” Jim offered.
         “Fine,” Trixie responded briskly. “If that had happened, they would have left a note and they would have turned off the stove.”
        “You and I know that,” Jim returned. “We know that Brian and Honey wouldn’t have panicked over something like that. It may be a little harder to convince the authorities.”
        “Well, what about these?” she waved Brian’s keys, which they had found on the small table by the front door. “They wouldn’t have gone off without these.”
        Jim nodded. “That’s true, Trix.”

        Trixie pressed her lips together, endeavouring to keep her mounting worry at bay. “Also, there would be evidence. If either one of them had been hurt, they would have phoned for help. We can check that by hitting redial on the phone. They would have at least dressed, or tended to the injury in some basic way. Practically the first thing Brian showed Honey and I when we arrived was your first aid kit, and since Honey took that course a while ago, she’s pretty much taken Brian’s place at home tending to the Bob-Whites’, and especially Bobby’s, wounds.”
        Jim gave Trixie’s shoulder a squeeze. “You know, Trix, they are really valid points,” he said admiringly. “You are going to make one terrific detective.”
        Trixie managed a weak smile. “Thanks, but I just know something terrible has happened, Jim. I just know it.”
        Jim stood up abruptly. “I’m going to check on the first aid kit. You hit redial on the phone. Then we’ll call the police.”

        A few minutes later, after they had determined that the first aid kit had not been used and Honey and Brian had not phoned for help, Jim put the phone back in its cradle after calling the police. “Well, I don’t know how convinced they are, but the police are going to send someone over to talk to us.”
        Trixie sighed. “That’s something, I guess. I wish I could talk to Moms though. I know they were moving around a lot and…” Trixie’s parents had taken Bobby out of school and were on a week’s vacation visiting family. Dan had been staying with Mart for company.
        “And you don’t think we should alarm the other Bob-Whites or the rest of our families until we’ve spoken to the police,” Jim finished for her.
        “I’m just so worried, Jim. And I hate just sitting here waiting. I want to do something.”
        Jim gave Trixie’s shoulders another reassuring squeeze. “I know how you feel, Trix, but they did say they’d be right over and they asked us not to touch anything.” He rubbed his forehead distractedly. “I just don’t understand that phone number,” Jim said, referring to the number Trixie had found via redial. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
        “Well, we were there this morning. Maybe Brian or Honey left something at Rhumba’s and rang to check?” Trixie suggested. Trixie had dialled the number and, when it was eventually answered, spoken to a puzzled patron at the café who explained she’d called the pay phone located at the rear of the premises.
        “Maybe,” Jim mused “but…”
        “But why wouldn’t they call the café itself rather than the pay phone, and how would they know the number for the public phone anyhow?” Trixie finished. “You’re right, they couldn’t possibly have known that.”
        “I suppose it could have been a misdial, but at this point in time I’m not too inclined to believe in coincidences.” 
        Jim’s grim tone was reflected in his face, and Trixie took one of his strong hands in hers. Jim was doing his best to remain calm and in control, but she knew that he was every bit as upset and worried as she was.
         “Actually,” he continued, “I think that’s one of the reasons the police took me seriously. Even they seemed to think it was kind of odd that a public phone had been called, especially considering that most of them are disabled for incoming calls these days.”

        An uneasy silence fell, and the two teenagers sat motionless, side by side, as the remaining afternoon light died away, leaving in its place a deep inky night.
        After what seemed, at least to Jim and Trixie, an eternity, a sharp knock was heard at the front door. Jim reached it in seconds, yanking it open to reveal two men. The older of the two brandished his badge. “Jim Frayne?” he queried. Jim nodded and stood back to admit them.
        “I’m Sergeant Ryder, and this is Officer Hamilton.” The man who spoke was in his late forties; he had a short, stocky build, with close cropped grey hair and a craggy but kindly face. His associate was around thirty; tall, slim and muscular, he was fair-haired with cool, appraising blue eyes.
         “Thank you for coming, sir,” Jim said. “This is Trixie Belden.” The Sergeant returned Trixie’s greeting and gestured for the young people to sit down.
        “So, why don’t you fill me in with some basic details. We don’t normally assume foul play in cases such as these, but you raised some interesting points on the telephone.”
        “Plus, it’s been a quiet day,” Officer Hamilton spoke for the first time. Trixie thought she could hear a note of discord in his voice, and she bristled imperceptibly.
        Jim faced the older policeman squarely. “What would you like to know?”
        “Let’s have a look at the area concerned.”
        The four proceeded to the kitchen, where both policemen donned plastic gloves before examining the open door and the general disorder. They exchanged meaningful glances and Officer Hamilton turned to the anxious teenagers. “What makes you think this isn’t the result of some argument between your friends that may have got out of hand?”
        “That’s impossible!” Trixie exploded. “Honey and Brian never argue. You don’t understand. You don’t know anything about them.” Her blue eyes filled with angry tears and she turned to Jim imploringly.
        “Trixie’s right. I think it’s fair to say we know our friends and family pretty well. Believe me, that is not what happened here.” He spoke quietly but there was no mistaking the steely resolve that underpinned his remark. “But there’s something here that suggests an altercation or you wouldn’t ask me that question.”
         The Sergeant nodded and pointed to a small brownish stain on the edge of the refrigerator.
         “Unless we’re very much mistaken, that’s a bloodstain and there is another, here on the floor.”
         Trixie gave an involuntary gasp, and he hastily added, “I don’t think from what we’re seeing that it necessarily indicates a serious injury, but it is something we need to get tested. I’m sorry, son, about the other, but it is a question we had to ask. Let’s start with the full names and descriptions of your missing friends. You said on the phone that it was sister and your college roommate.”
        “My brother Brian,” Trixie interposed.
        “Fine.” The Sergeant indicated for his colleague to take notes.  “And what’s your sister’s first name, Jim?”
        “Honey, I mean Madeleine,” Jim replied.
        “So, Brian Belden and Madeleine Frayne; ages, physical descriptions?”
        “No!” Trixie and Jim exclaimed together and Jim hurried on, “Sorry, sir, I guess I’m not thinking all that clearly. My sister’s family adopted me a few years ago, and I kept my name; her name is Wheeler, Madeleine Wheeler.”
        The younger man scribbled dutifully, but Sergeant Ryder moved closer to Jim. “Matthew Wheeler’s daughter?” he demanded.
        Jim stepped back in surprise. “Yes, that’s right, but how do you know my dad?” he broke off, obviously confused.
        The Sergeant placed a hand lightly on the teenager’s shoulder. “Matthew Wheeler’s name is pretty well known around this town, son.” He motioned for them to take a seat, and the group gathered around the kitchen table. “About eighteen years ago our town was in pretty bad shape,” he continued. “One family had pretty much employed the largest percent of the workforce and had done so for around sixty years.”
        “What does that have to do with Mr. Wheeler?” Trixie asked
        “I’m getting to that,” the officer responded with a small smile. “Anyway, the Campbells were really the power here, but Bruce Campbell, who was head of the family at that time, lacked his father and grandfather’s ability to relate to his employees. Plus, he was reckless and led an extremely lavish lifestyle.”
        “I remember them,” the younger policeman interjected. “My kid brother went to grade school with one of the kids, but the Campbell kid was pulled out and sent to some swanky private school. He used to come back home for vacations, but after they lost all their money, I guess they ended up settling somewhere else.”
        Ryder nodded. “I’m not sure what happened to the family, but Campbell made some very bad investments and then got into trouble with the IRS. Matthew Wheeler came in, bought the company pretty cheap, and set about rebuilding it. As a matter of a fact, I believe it was his first really big success. The company dealt with electronic components. He was able to land a government defence contract, and within two years the company and the town were back on their feet.”
        “What about the Campbell family?” Trixie’s tone showed definite signs of interest.
        “It was very unfortunate,” Sergeant Ryder admitted. “Bruce Campbell claimed he’d been ripped off, cheated, then, about eighteen months after the sale, his car went off a bridge and he was killed. He’d been drinking, and it was declared an accident. It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. He’d been involved in several serious accidents—only he usually bought his way out of trouble. This time he wasn’t so lucky. His family were away at the time and they never returned.”
        “Not a very nice story.” Jim regarded the officers seriously. “Do you think this may have something to do with my sister’s disappearance?”
        The Sergeant did not answer immediately. Finally, he spoke. “I think it is far too early to leap to any conclusions, Jim, but it is something we have to consider. At the very least, your sister’s identity makes me more inclined to treat this as a possible kidnapping.” He turned to his colleague. “Get CSI down here to take a sample of that blood and dust for prints. Do you happen to know your friends’ blood types?”
        Jim nodded. “They’re all listed, sir. Brian and I both carry cards as we’re blood donors. We keep a full record of the date and time of our donations in the file drawer.” He moved into the living room and returned a moment later and handed the Sergeant a manila folder.
        Trixie couldn’t prevent the thought that her brother and Jim gave new meaning to the word organized from crossing her mind. She quickly pushed it aside, angry at its trivial nature.
        The sergeant gave the list a cursory glance. “Thanks, Jim, and about your sister?” he prodded gently.
        Trixie’s eyes widened, and she looked from the small stain to Jim and back to the stain again.
        Jim nodded and reached for his wallet. “I keep Honey’s details on my next of kin contact,” he said, handing a card to the Sergeant, who passed it and the folder to his younger colleague.
        “Now,” the older man said, “let’s get some more detailed information.”
        Carefully, Jim and Trixie described their friends and Jim took a small, framed photo and handed it to them. “That’s Honey and Brian,” he said. “It was taken at Brian’s high school graduation several months ago.”
        The sergeant nodded his approval. “This is really valuable. You’d be surprised how few people can be this detailed at such a time.”
        Even Trixie couldn’t manage to respond to the compliment. Instead she took a deep breath and exchanged meaningful looks with Jim.
        “There’s something else.”
        “What’s that, young lady?” Sergeant Ryder met Trixie’s gaze, kindly.
        “Last night, when we got home, someone tried to grab Honey in the car park outside.”
        “And you didn’t think to mention this until now?” Officer Hamilton made no attempt to disguise his annoyance and the older man placed a restraining hand upon his colleague’s arm.
        “Let, her finish, Simon.”
        “I’m sorry!” Trixie snapped. “I guess I thought you’d have noticed from the names.”
        “What are you taking about?” Hamilton sounded more baffled than angry now
        “We reported the incident to the police, this morning. Or at least Honey and Brian did. Not that anyone was very interested.”
        “Make a call to the station, Simon. Get a hold of that report.” Sergeant Ryder leaned toward the two teenagers. “I can’t imagine your opinion of us is too high, just at the moment.”
        Jim tightened his grip on Trixie’s hand. “We just want our friends found, Sergeant. And we don’t really blame the police for not paying too much attention to what happened last night.”
        “But it has to be connected, doesn’t it?” Trixie interposed.
        “Another coincidence? I think you’re probably right,” the Sergeant conceded.
        “To be honest, sir, Trixie was the only one who really took it seriously,” Jim admitted. “I’ve had enough experience to know I should have listened to her. She has great instincts.”
        “I wasn’t really sure,” Trixie protested. “And I didn’t even think of someone coming after Honey. Not here.”
        “Can you take me through what happened? Just briefly.” The Sergeant regarded Trixie and Jim expectantly.
        Jim nodded, and Trixie began. “We got home from the restaurant around nine o’clock. We’d just come inside when Honey realised she’d left her purse in the car.
        She ran out to get it and within a few seconds we heard her scream.”
        “What happened then?” the Sergeant prodded gently.
        “We all ran out to the car park and saw that some of Jim and Brian’s friends were standing with Honey.”
        The policeman hooked a brow in Jim’s direction. “And these friends of yours, who exactly were they?”
        “Mick Andrews and Kyle Waters, they have an apartment on the other side of the building. And Jeff Corelli, it was his parents’ restaurant we’d been to for dinner.”
      “Does he live in the complex too?” Officer Hamilton had rejoined the group and his expression no longer held any trace of derision.
        “No,” Jim replied. “He lives with his parents.”
        “Do you know why he was here? Were all three together?” the officer leaned forward as he spoke and Trixie and Jim exchanged glances.
        “We didn’t really ask,” Trixie said.
        “We were just glad that Honey was okay. It didn’t occur to us to start…you know—” Jim broke off.
        “Interrogating your friends?” the sergeant gave a small smile. “Quite natural. Still, I think Officer Hamilton’s raised an interesting point. Perhaps you could just give me the boys’ apartment number and the address of the restaurant? Now, is there anything else we should know?”
         Trixie looked at Jim, her eyes almost pleading. He hesitated before nodding. “It may be nothing,” she said. “But we, or at least I, have noticed someone hanging around since Honey and I arrived in town.”
        “Hanging around?” Officer Hamilton repeated.
        “He was on the bus we travelled here on,” Trixie continued. “And then I thought I saw him outside the apartment block that same night and the next day, too.”
        “Did you see this man, too?” Sergeant Ryder turned to Jim.
        Jim shook his head. “No, sir. But Trixie seemed sure, and my sister noticed him on at least one of those occasions.”
        “Can you describe him?” the sergeant asked Trixie.
        “I can try,” she admitted. “Apart from that first day on the bus, I kept seeing him out of the corner of my eye, if you know what I mean.” She closed her eyes for a moment, mentally assembling the different images in her memory. “I’d say he was in his late twenties, average build–similar to Brian, my brother.”
        “Around six feet tall, athletic build,” Jim put in.
        “He had brown hair, sort of collar length and a bit messy, ordinary features— though small and narrow, rather than heavy and big, if you know what I mean, and blue eyes,” Trixie added, recalling the cold look she’d seen in them.
        “That’s not bad at all, but it’s hard without having someone to compare it to,” Hamilton said as he scribbled.
        “It’s a lot more than we had,” the older man added.
   
        Long after the officers had left, Trixie and Jim once again sat, side by side, on the sofa, hands firmly clasped. It was late and the boys’ apartment was lit by a corner lamp.
        “The Bob-Whites will be here some time tomorrow.” Jim did his best to sound reassuring.
        “I wish we’d been able to contact Moms and Dad,” Trixie said.
        Jim gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “I know, Trix. I would have liked to talk to my dad too. Mart and Regan will keep trying”
        “It’s really happened,” Trixie said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Honey’s really been kidnapped. It’s something she’s always been afraid of.”
        Jim tightened his grip on her hand. “Honey hasn’t given kidnapping a single thought for ages, Trix. Thanks to you she’s been living a perfectly normal life.”
        “But maybe that meant she wasn’t being careful. After last night I should have—”
        “You did everything you could,” Jim cut in.
        “Do you think it was silly to mention the man on the bus?”
        Jim shook his head. “Not after what happened. Maybe if we’d tried to see him, too, things would be different. If anyone’s to be blame it’s me. I should have listened to you. Should have trusted your instincts.”
        “Oh, Jim, it’s not your fault. I just hope that wherever they are, they’re together.”  

            MBW:MAIN                                                                                                                                                                                                               NEXT

Author's notes: My thanks again to Dana for her editing skills, insights and willingness to deal with my continuing punctuation issues. Any remaining errors  and inconsistencies are all my own.
Word count: 3390
    Disclaimer: Trixie et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.