Chapter Nine

“Thank god Brian’s back to himself today,” Trixie observed, as she and Dan spread out their notes in the conference room.  They’d grabbed lunch on the way back from Bluff House and had timed their return to the office perfectly to avoid their not-so-beloved Deputy Chief. “I spoke to him briefly, and he said he was getting together with what’s-her-name from last night.” She nodded her head in satisfaction as she poured coffee for them both.
“And this is relevant how?” Dan asked, sipping his coffee and comparing the bitter brew unfavourably to the coffee served at the Houghton mansion.
“Well, I don’t want my sensible brother mooning over a murder suspect.”
“I thought you thought she was innocent.” Sometimes keeping up with Belden logic was almost beyond Dan, especially when he was tired.
“I do, sort of. Even though I’d almost like to believe it was her just to stick it to that…man.”
“Very mature and professional,” Dan said with a grin.  Frankly, he found Trixie’s reaction to the husky redhead amusing. She was protesting way too much, and she did have a thing for redheads. That much he knew. After all, she’d dated his uncle for a while just after she graduated from college. Regan was almost ten years older and used to being in charge of his life and decisions, and the two had struggled to find equality in their relationship. In the end they’d split but luckily stayed friends.
“I don’t like being told how to do my job,” she said sulkily.
“No! Really?” Dan feigned shock and she kicked him under the table. “Don’t you think Mart and Brian would be pretty fierce if someone accused you of a crime?”
Trixie thought about this. “I guess he was just trying to protect his friend. She did say he was like a brother.” Trixie valued loyalty. Maybe Jim Frayne wasn’t a total jerk, she conceded grudgingly—though not aloud.
“What do you make of finding out she studied criminology?” Dan wasn’t sure if it meant anything or not.
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think. Looking at her, I’d have gone with romantic poetry or art history. If she really has studied criminology in depth, it kind of changes my opinion of her a bit. We can pull up her college transcripts, I guess.” Trixie pulled the computer closer. “Or see if it’s in the info Rachel already put together.” She acted as she spoke. “There.” She tapped the screen. “Two or three classes in her freshman and junior year—not enough to even begin to amount to a degree. There’s some psych, too, sociology and business and literature and history, so I was more or less on the right track. She ended up graduating from Brown with honours in business and history, which is kind of a weird combination if you ask me.”
“But not suspicious?”
“I don’t think she’d have learned enough to be plan a perfect murder, if that’s what you’re asking.” Trixie pushed herself away from the table and laptop and spun around in the chair. Movement helped her to think.
“Right, so I sent through those names Gray gave us. Let’s take a look at what Rachel came up with.” He pulled up the next computer screen.
“Well, we know at least one of them,” Trixie noted, rolling her chair closer.  Neil Richter was a guy with an unsavoury reputation and not someone Matthew Wheeler, who might be as rich as Croesus but whose financials were squeaky-clean, would do business with. 
“Richter’s careful though. Nothing ever sticks.”
“Maybe not,” Trixie allowed. “But he’s never had us on his case before, has he?”
“Excellent point. Poor guy. I almost feel sorry for him.”
 
Brian opened his eyes, feeling slightly disoriented. He was used to sleeping at strange hours—his job demanded it, but normally his body was in a rhythm. He knew his schedule and he wasn’t supposed to be sleeping now.  He turned his head and things fell into place.
Honey was curled on her side, their bodies almost, but not quite, touching. He couldn’t help himself, he moved closer and brushed her cheek with a light kiss. Eyelids fluttered and a smile curved her wide mouth.
“Brian,” she whispered and opened her eyes,
How could it be that that one word, that the uttering of his name could affect him so?
“Hi,” he said with a smile of his own.
“I fell asleep,” she said.
“Me, too.” He glanced at the clock on the night table. “But we only slept for an hour or so.”
“I usually feel funny if I fall asleep during the day,” Honey mused. “But I feel fine. Good, actually.”
“I was hoping for better than good, but good is okay, I guess.” Brian’s smile widened.
Honey slapped his arm playfully. “Are you asking me to stroke your ego?”
“I’d prefer you stroke something else, but if my ego is the only thing your willing to indulge, then…”
The slap was just a little harder this time.
“Ow.”
“Serves you right,” Honey scolded, surprised by how easy it was to tease him. “Does that sort of thing work with all of your women?”
“I’m not exactly running a harem!” Brian protested.
“You’re not exactly running a monastery either, are you?”
“There’s no one serious,” Brian said.
“I don’t have any right to question you about your love life,” Honey observed quite seriously.
“You’re in my bed and we just made love. It might entitle you to a question or two. Ask away.”
“Have you ever been in love? Really in love?”
“I don’t think so. Not completely in love.” Their eyes met. “Infatuated, yes. In like, definitely. In lust, yes.” It surprised him that he wanted to be honest with her. “When I was in college, I imagined I was in love, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Me either,” Honey confessed. “I mean I’m not sure about completely in love either. I fell for my first boyfriend pretty hard, but I think…know I held some part of me back. And I loved Craig, I did, but in a lot of ways I think we both fell in love with the idea of one another, rather than the actual person.” She gave a light laugh.  “This is probably a funny conversation to be having, given the circumstances. Not very sexy, huh?”
“You’d be surprised.” Brian pulled her close. “I find everything about you impossibly sexy.”
“That is not something I’m used to hearing.” Honey nestled against him, inhaling his scent, wondering how she could have failed to recognise him. She’d never felt so drawn to anyone in her life. And she could see in his eyes that he meant what he said.
“You should get used to it.”
“I’m really glad I fell down at your feet today,” Honey said.
“Me, too. Now, would you like some more coffee, or tea?”
“Tea would nice,” Honey said. She watched him slip out of bed; he moved with a lithe sort of grace. He was naked and he was beautiful.
Realising that she needed to at least consider going home, she slid out of bed, found her underwear and sweater and then made her way to the bathroom to collect her jeans. They were dry now, and she barely noticed the scrape on her knee as she pulled them on.
She could hear Brian in the kitchen and smiled at the simple, familiar sound of tea being prepared.
“Any chance of another brownie with that tea?” she called cheekily.
As she spoke there was a knock at the door.
Brian came hurrying out, stopping to smile at her as he reached the door and opened it.
“Hi there, handsome.” A curvy redhead of medium height was in the hallway. “I’m all ready for our date,” she said with a smile.
Brian blinked at her, then slowly turned his head to meet Honey’s steady, almost blank gaze.
“Who’s that?” The woman asked, frowning. “I don’t do threesomes.”
“No-one,” Honey returned, reaching for her coat. She pushed past Brian and grabbed her purse from the sofa end table.  “Thanks for the chat,” she said coolly.
“Honey, wait.” Brian reached for her, but she eluded him and strode past Karen without a backwards glance.
 
 
“What is it? What’s happened?” Diana took Honey’s hand in hers and ushered her into the office. She nodded at the questioning look on Trish’s face. Honey looked like she needed a stiff drink, but Trish’s English tea would have to do.
It was after five, her meeting had been cancelled at the last minute, and she’d been thinking about calling it quits for the day. Diana sent up a silent prayer that she’d kept working. She pulled her friend down onto the small sofa that sat along one wall in her office. She knew both sides of the woman who sat before her—the beautifully turned out heiress, business woman and philanthropist, and the casual, natural girl who was happiest having dinner with a close friend or curled up in a chair reading one of her favourite cosy mysteries. But rarely was she dishevelled and flushed like was now.
Honey worried at her little finger, a sure sign—not that one was needed—that she was troubled.
A minute later, Trish entered carrying a tray with teapot, cups and saucers, even a tiny matching jug for milk all set upon it. She placed it on the low coffee table and poured tea into both cups. “There are some ginger cookies, too,” she said, smiling down at Honey kindly. “You make sure you eat one.”
Honey nodded absentmindedly but did manage a smile in return.
Diana waited until her friend had taken several sips of tea and nibbled on a cookie.
“Okay,” Diana said, once the door was closed again. “Let’s have it.”
Honey removed her coat and ran her hand over the torn patch on her jeans.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Diana asked, concerned.
Honey nodded. “I tripped and fell because I was running, just like that other time—only that was a hot summer’s day.”
“What other time?” Di was beginning to wonder if her friend had hit her head when she fell.
“I can’t believe I didn’t put it together. It’s odd, don’t you think?”
“What didn’t you put together? What’s odd?” Diana asked feeling more and more confused.
“You know I mentioned when we first met that I’d been to Sleepyside once.”
“Of course.” The dark-haired woman smiled at the memory. “It made us both feel as if meeting one another was meant to be.”
“It was. I know that,” Honey said. “But I met someone else that day. A boy. A sweet, handsome boy.”
“We have those in Sleepyside?” Di teased, then her expression altered as the pieces of the puzzle began to fit together. “Are you telling me you met Brian all those years ago?”
Honey nodded again. “I’d forgotten, well, not about the actual day, but I didn’t recognise him, I guess, and he didn’t recognise me.”
“And now you realise,” Diana said slowly, knowing there was more.
“He kissed me that day. Just a little kiss, but it was my first and it made me feel special.”
“Okay.” Di was trying to imagine Brian, the serious, reserved teenager she’d known in Sleepyside kissing a girl he’d just met.
“And today we had sex,” Honey finished.  “It was really good.” She picked up her cup and took another sip of her tea. “Amazing, actually.” Until his girlfriend showed up.
Diana sat for a moment then stood and crossed to the built-in buffet on the opposite wall. She opened one of the doors and pulled out a bottle of brandy. “This definitely requires more than tea.” 
 
Jim Frayne pushed the button for the elevator and thought about the conversation he’d just had. He wasn’t at all sure the man had bought his line, but he’d known he had to try. He’d owed it to Honey and to Matt, and with Honey taking off to get away from all the scrutiny he needed to do something to keep busy. They were like family to him and they were going through hell. It hadn’t taken any time to check the address on his phone, make his way downtown to the recently revamped office building and check out the man who worked there.  The doors opened and he stepped back as he realised the compartment wasn’t empty.
“What are you doing here?”
Trixie Belden, detective—all five-foot-three or so of her stood before him.
“Good afternoon to you, detective,” he said, stepping past her and into the now empty elevator.
Dan Mangan, who’d exited with the sandy haired spitfire, stepped back inside and motioned for Trixie to do likewise. He pressed several buttons and the car began to move.
“Well?” Trixie demanded.
“Well what?” Jim returned, trying to ignore the spark of attraction he felt. Hot- headed women were a pain in the butt, surely he knew that.
“You have some explaining to do,” Trixie said, blue eyes narrowed.
“What would you like explained? Language acquisition theory? The nutritional value of local flora? I have a fairly eclectic collection of knowledge. You might want to be more specific. Or do you need me to explain the meaning of eclectic?”
“Please!” Trixie glared. “My brother Mart would eat you for breakfast!”
“Hold it—enough. I am not going to play verbal ping-pong with you two,” Dan snapped. “Mr. Frayne, we really do need to know why you’re here.” He flicked his gaze in his partner’s direction. “Trix, shut up!”
Trixie reluctantly held her tongue.
“I was visiting someone,” Jim said, not particularly helpfully.
“Kind of worked that out,” Dan returned easily.  “Can I ask who?”
“Neil Richter.”
“I knew it!” Trixie declared.
“Can we add psychic to your endless list of talents then?” Jim asked.
“Have you met with him before?” Dan asked, unwilling to be drawn into their nonsense.
“Maybe, once or twice, but only casually. I don’t know him”
“So, why are you here, today?” Trixie now sounded more curious than combative and Jim’s expression shifted from irritated to wary.
“If I’m honest—and I always prefer to be—I imagine it’s for the same reason you are. I started going over some of Craig’s recent activities and came up with Richter’s name.”
“And decided to do a little detective work of your own?” Dan queried.
Jim shrugged his broad shoulders. “I figured you’d stumble across him eventually and wanted to put some feelers out for information. Again, I think he might tell me more than he’ll tell you.”
“You might have a point,” Trixie admitted, nobly ignoring both the stumble and the eventually.
Red brows shot up in surprise. “I might?”
“Yes, it’s possible. Anything is possible,” Trixie returned tartly, though there was a sparkle in her blue eyes now.  She admired people who thought things through and took matters in their own hands.
Jim grinned and it transformed his face. “Does that mean you’re looking at someone other than Honey now?”
“Always have been,” Trixie said. “I’ve pretty much been sure it wasn’t her right from the beginning.”
Now those red brows came together in a puzzled frown. “So why were you saying all those things?”
Trixie rolled her eyes. “I’m a cop. I need proof I’m right. I can’t just say, well, shucks—she seems like a real sweetheart or my brother likes her, it can’t be her.”
Jim digested this for a moment. “So, you were just gathering evidence and…wait, your brother likes her?”
Trixie opened her mouth to respond, but Dan held his hand up. “We need to get back up there, Trix. Any chance you’d be willing to share details of your conversation with us, Mr. Frayne?”
“There’s a bar across the street. I can wait there for you, if you like,” Jim offered.
“We’ll meet you when we’re through,” Trixie offered. “Oh, wait, don’t you have to be back at the station to meet Carter, Dan?”
Dan nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“Guess it’s just you and me then,” Jim said, looking down at Trixie.
“Sure, I can do that,” Trixie said. “Dan can take the car and I can grab a cab.”
“I can run you wherever you need to go when we’re done,” Jim said and Trixie shrugged and nodded.
The elevator arrived at the lobby and with a nod of his own, Jim left.
Dan thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the elevator wall. If he didn’t think it would earn him a smack in the end, he would have whistled or smiled smugly. Instead, he merely pushed the button for Richter’s floor, so that the elevator could make its return trip.
 
Neil Richter brought one particular word to Trixie’s mind and it was a word she didn’t have a lot of affection for—slick. He was lean, around five-nine, with perfectly styled dark hair, light gray eyes and impossibly even teeth. He waved the two detectives to a small chrome and glass table surrounded by modern, and what proved to be uncomfortable, chairs. Trixie wriggled in hers, wondering why people ever bought furniture that failed to meet its primary function, but then maybe she was missing something.
The office suited the man—all black and gray and metal and glass—floor to ceiling windows. In feel it was not unlike Craig Houghton’s office, through Trixie suspected Houghton’s artwork was worth a hell of a lot more than the stuff in this room.
Richter played with the silver cufflinks on the cuffs of his undoubtedly expensive suit and the look he threw them would not have been out of place at memorial service. “I’m shocked,” he said. “Horrified, really, to hear about Craig’s death. What a world we live in.”
“We’re talking to his friends and associates,” Dan said. “Obviously we’re looking at all of his recent connections, actions, dealings. We’re trying to establish if he had any issues with anyone.”
“You don’t think it was one of these desperate drug addicts or a robbery gone bad?” Richter looked surprised.
“We haven’t ruled anything out at this point in time,” Dan gave the company line.
“But we’re looking a little closer to home,” Trixie added, right on cue. “A stranger doesn’t seem to be the most likely explanation—statistics alone tell us that much.”
Richter shifted in his seat at this.  “I suppose you know the marriage was in trouble,” he sighed as he spoke. “I’m afraid Craig found his wife a little cold, removed? Of course, you know her circumstance. The Wheelers are powerful people, used to getting their own way. People rarely cross a family like that. Oh…” He looked from Trixie to Dan. “I wasn’t suggesting anything or pointing fingers.”
“Of course not,” Trixie said brightly.  You were just innocently wrapping a rope around Honey’s neck—nice.
“So, what was the nature of your dealings with Mr. Houghton?” Dan flipped open his notebook.
“He was interested in growing the business, you understand. Looking outside the box. Wheeler International is a very successful company, but there are always opportunities for a man with vision. I have a broad portfolio, and he and I were investigating the possibility of a joint venture—entertainment based.”
“Entertainment?” Trixie asked, any number of unpleasant images rolling through her mind.
“A club or two,” Richter answered. “High-end meeting places for professional and socially connected people.”
That let her out, thank god. Trixie thought. She’d never understood what people saw in those places.
            Both she and Dan were practiced poker-face players during interviews—literally. It was one of the things they used to do in their own time during training and both knew that when they chose, their expressions were neutral, unreadable. But Richter was no fool. He didn’t need to see doubt or disapproval to know it was there.
            “I can show you all the paperwork, detectives. You can check out one of them for yourselves, if you like—completely legitimate. It only opened a few weeks ago, but already we’re drawing crowds, turning people away. Craig was happy with what he saw and ready to go into partnership.”
            With whose money? Trixie wondered. She couldn’t see either Matthew Wheeler or his daughter backing something like that. She and Dan had been over Wheeler International Holdings and it was not their style at all.
            “Let’s see what you have,” Dan said pleasantly. “And a list of all your recent meetings with Mr. Houghton. Dates, times, who was there. We really do appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Richter. Not all citizens are so willing to help.”
           
Dan headed down to the M.E.’s office, pizza in hand. He was a guy who lived up to his bargains. Eloise Carter’s cubby-hole of an office was in darkness, and he moved along the corridor to the break room she, Brian and the rest of the staff shared. Sure enough, the light was on and Eloise was foraging in the refrigerator.
“Someone order a pizza?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb. 
She spun around to face him. “That pizza better not have pineapple on it,” she threatened.
“The trouble with you, Carter, is that you have no sense of adventure.”
“The trouble with you, Mangan, is that you have no sense at all!”
Dan grinned and dropped the pizza on the table. “Pepperoni, peppers and onion—hope you don’t have a hot date tonight.”
“Fat chance,” she retorted, then, seeing the look in his dark gray eyes, added, “some hard-ass public servant insisted I work back tonight—no overtime, no thank you—go figure.”
“Hey, I consider this pizza to be both payment and thank you!”
“Cheapskate. No wonder women rarely hang around for long.” 
“I’ll have you know women line up for my attentions. I can be very romantic. Want a demonstration?”
“Please! And spoil my appetite?”
Dan dropped into a chair, grinning, and Eloise joined him clutching two bottles of beer.
“We are both technically off duty, aren’t we?” she queried.
“We certainly are.” Dan knocked the top off his bottle and took a swig. “So,” he said, flipping open the pizza box, “is this report worth the enormous effort I’ve gone to?”
Eloise grabbed a slice of pizza and pushed the manila folder across the table. “The enormous effort of calling into Joe’s and picking up a meal in a box?”
“You don’t have to eat it.”
“Funny man.” Eloise took a bite and made appreciative noises. “There are a couple of interesting things, actually.”
Dan scanned the report. “No trace of cocaine, heroin, no amphetamines full-stop.” He continued reading. “Alcohol, but not an excessive amount, but that’s no surprise. It was around eight-thirty, nine in the evening. He probably had a drink with dinner or a scotch while he was working or doing whatever it was he was doing, and…”A frown wrinkled his brow. “Barbiturates—quite a significant amount.”
“Significant enough to make him drowsy or affect his reflexes, that’s for sure.”
“The sort of thing someone might have put in his drink?” Dan suggested.
“That’s your field, but yeah, that would be my guess. A drink with someone he trusted or at least felt comfortable with and…”
“And that points to one thing and one thing only.” Dan’s gaze locked with hers and the two dark heads nodded.
“Pre-meditated murder,” Eloise said, raising her beer bottle. “And that means someone with access.”
Dan nodded again. She was right. And it put Honey Wheeler Houghton right back in the centre of their investigation again.

BH Main                                                                                                                            NEXT

Author's notes: Just when I'm ready to give up altogether, I get my chapters back from the world's best editor, Dana, who fixes, refines and reminds me how much I love these characters and this community. Thank you. 
Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. No profit is being made from these scribblings.