Chapter Seven
“We can’t say she doesn’t have a motive. She handed it to us on a platter,” Dan noted as he settled into the desk chair of the room that had served as Craig Houghton’s study. Matthew Wheeler had been right. Speaking with Houghton’s assistant privately definitely gave them more to go on. Now, at least, they had names, some of which they recognised, and if the dead man had fallen foul of these people, the suspect list was longer.
With Honey Wheeler Houghton resting in her room, at her father’s insistence, Dan and Trixie were going over what they had so far— starting with the obvious suspect. The wife.
“Which could read as proof of her innocence. You notice how she kind of referred to him in the present tense?” Trixie said. “And she said when we divorced, not if. In her mind it was a done deal.”
“Well, it’s a moot point now,” Dan said. “Still, I’m leaning your way. She was pretty open, especially considering that daddy and her pal the lawyer were on hand.”
“You’re forgetting Di.”
“No, I’m not. But she’s your problem. She’s not dating my brother.”
“You don’t have a brother.”
“That’s true enough,” Dan acknowledged before getting back to business. “What do you think about Wheeler cancelling that meeting?”
“That he was tired, bored, had a headache, wanted an early night?” Trixie shrugged. “I do think that if he wanted to kill Craig Houghton, he has enough smarts and enough money to come up with a better plan.”
“He could have hired someone.”
Trixie shook her head, causing those sandy curls to bounce. “That’s one thing he said that I absolutely believe. He’d have made sure his daughter was miles away. I don’t see it.”
“Me either,” Dan admitted. “What about the assistant? He’s the only one who seems really upset.”
Trixie wrinkled her nose. “Hysterical type,” she said bluntly. “Could be genuine, could be fake and could be a big waste of time. Still, it’s something to look into. He’s given us names at least.”
“We need to look at the wife first, though. Her proximity, the divorce and statistics all demand it.”
Trixie chewed on the edge of her thumb, something she often did when mulling over facts in her head.
“Well…” Dan prompted, noticing the action.
“She seems open and candid—maybe that’s exactly how she wants to come across. I mean she claims she didn’t hear the gunshots.”
“Could have used some sort of silencer.” The idea had been floated and it was certainly possible.
“Her husband’s been cheating on her and god knows what else, and she’s all calm and cool, and let’s just get one of those amicable divorces?” Trixie was determined to be thorough. Just because Honey Wheeler Houghton came across as warm and ingenuous did not mean she hadn’t either killed her husband or had a hand in it.
“People get divorced every day, and they don’t usually kill one another,” Dan countered, playing devil’s advocate.
“But even with what we know, do you think this guy was going to settle for a three mil payout? To you and me it’s a hell of a lot of money, to someone connected to the Wheelers it’s practically spare change.”
“That’s a very good point. But you have to factor in the extra one-point-five she offered him.”
“Also a good point, but we can’t get away from the fact that she was here—in the house. And she found him. It still makes her our prime suspect, at least—”
“Well, you’re obviously an incompetent moron if that’s what you think.” A voice cut her off mid-sentence and both Trixie and Dan spun around to see a tall, broad shouldered redhead, standing in the doorway, green eyes blazing.
“We were having a private conversation!” Trixie snapped, not caring for either his expression or his comment. Was this the cousin Honey referred to? He looked enough like Matthew Wheeler to be related to him.
“Then you should have had it at your home, not at the home of a woman whose name you’re maligning.”
“We’re investigating a murder that took place in this very house. Sorry if we’re not observing the social niceties you rich folk are used to. Not all of us were brought up with silver spoons in our mouths.”
“Apparently you leap to conclusions in every aspect of your life.” The man’s green eyes narrowed even further. “I hope that’s not indicative of the kind of work you do as a police officer. Because we rich folk have connections, you know.”
Trixie opened her mouth for another retort, but Dan was too quick for her. He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Detective Dan Mangan and this is Trixie Belden. Sorry if we’ve upset you, Mr.…?”
“Frayne, Jim Frayne.” The redheaded man gave Dan’s hand a brief shake. “I’m a friend of the family, and I have business interests in Wheeler International.”
The almost-brother, Jim, Trixie thought, then a frown creased her brow. “Frayne, that’s an unusual name.”
“You’re a genealogy expert as well as a…detective,” he returned, making the last sound almost like a question.
“We had Fraynes for neighbours once,” Trixie said as memories and bits and pieces of information skated around in her mind.
“In White Plains?” Jim asked and there was a flicker of interest in his green eyes.
“Sleepyside,” Trixie replied.
“My great-uncle lived there,” Jim said flatly. “He died, from neglect, basically.”
Trixie’s flush deepened. “That must be him. My dad took him to hospital before he died,” she said. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yes, it was,” Jim said, and his expression softened a little. “Thank your father for me, will you?”
“Sure.” Trixie wondered how they’d got so off track. He was almost good looking when he wasn’t glaring. “Anyway, Mr. Frayne—”
“Anyway, Ms. Belden, you are way off course if you’ve fixed on Honey as your killer. She is one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve ever known.”
“Nice people commit murder, too,” Trixie declared, ignoring the look of amusement that crossed Dan’s face at her statement.
“Not this nice person.”
“You have any other ideas?” Trixie demanded.
“Plenty, but why should I do your job for you?”
“We’d appreciate any insights you might have, Mr. Frayne,” Dan said smoothly. “Whatever you may think that you overheard, we are still going through the evidence and looking at all the possibilities. One thing I think you would be aware of is that we can’t afford not to examine your friend as a suspect. It would be lousy police work, and it wouldn’t do her any favours in the long run.”
“I guess I can see that,” Jim conceded. “But you get used to people making assumptions based on the wealth—it ticks me off.”
“No kidding!” Trixie muttered.
“I’m not keen on assumptions full-stop,” he added. “I prefer intelligent reasoning.”
Seeing Dan out of the corner of her eye, Trixie bit her tongue.
“Well maybe you can give us some intelligent reasoning,” Dan said easily. “You say you’ve shared business interests with the Wheelers. Did you have occasion to work with the deceased.”
“Yes, I did,” Jim replied.
“How would you describe his work practices? His work ethic?”
Jim saw no reason to dissemble. “What work ethic?”
“Let’s start there, shall we?” Dan nodded towards the black leather sofa and chair. The three of them took their seats.
Ten minutes later, Jim Frayne stood and left the two detectives to whatever it was they were doing and went in search of his friend. He’d been on his way up to her rooms when he’d overheard the conversation that had set his blood to boil. Now, he was somewhat mollified, though the smart mouth with the sandy curls was still lodged firmly under his skin. Maybe they were considering every possibility and maybe they weren’t, but at least he’d given them something and someone other than Honey to think about. He ran up the stairs to the third floor and knocked on the living room door. There was no answer, so he opened the door to see if perhaps Honey was inside. The room was empty.
He tried the bedroom next and though he opened this door more cautiously, it didn’t take him long to establish that Honey was not there. Frowning, he made his way back downstairs, continuing on to ground level. Honey’s father had told him she was upstairs, so it was unlikely he had anything to add. Ford Gray had stumbled from the house distraught as he was arriving, so there was no joy there. He moved through to the conservatory, a room he knew Honey favoured.
“Oh, god, Jim! Thank goodness you’re here.”
He turned to see Cilla Worth, Wheeler International employee and Honey’s friend, standing before him.
“Where’s Honey?” he asked without preamble.
“She’s missing,” Cilla hissed, though they were alone so why she felt the need to lower her voice was a mystery. “Run off without a word. I think it’s all been too much for her.”
“Too much for whom?” A voice came from the doorway.
The two turned to see Dan Mangan and Trixie Belden standing in the doorway. Not so alone, after all.
“Honey. She’s not here. I’m so worried,” Cilla said, her eyes darting from side to side, almost as if she expected Honey to materialize from thin air.
“Have you checked the entire property?” Compared to the tiny apartment Dan had shared with his mother before she died, the Houghton estate, or maybe it was more accurately called, the Wheeler Estate—Honey’s family money had paid for it, after all—was an entire block in his old neighbourhood.
“We haven’t found her yet,” Jim said quite calmly.
“Couldn’t she have just gone for a walk?” Trixie asked.
“You don’t know what she’s like. She doesn’t cope well under pressure. She’s such a caring, trusting person. I never could understand why she studied criminology at college. She’s very sensitive,” Cilla continued, ignoring the restraining hand Jim placed upon her arm.
Trixie directed her gaze directly at the tall redhead. “Now, that’s what I might call a little on the suspicious side.”
Jim glared but didn’t respond and Trixie managed not to smirk.
“You would,” he said after only a moment’s hesitation. “Wrong again. My guess is you’re used to that.”
“I thought I was the reasonable one and you were the prejudiced cop!” Trixie said indignantly as the gates swung open and their car passed through them. After some further investigation, they had learned that Honey Wheeler Houghton had sent a text to her father, assuring him she just needed to get out of the house for a while, so the “missing wife of the victim” panic had all been for nothing. She and Dan had finished transferring the hard drive of Craig Houghton’s computer and finished with Jim Frayne, too.
“The role was too limiting,” Dan sighed, batting his dark lashes. “I needed to flex my muscles, to—”
“Oh, shut up! You could at least have jumped in when he started attacking me!”
“I was enjoying myself too much. I mean I wanted to see if he said anything useful.”
“Him?” Trixie snorted. “What a total hothead, talk about ornery, he…” she trailed off, eyeing her friend and partner suspiciously. “What’s that look for?”
“Something in my eye. It’s windy today,” Dan returned, not willing to risk life and limb by telling her the truth—two peas in a pod. This might turn out to be fun after all.
Diana Lynch frowned at her phone and, after a moment, typed a brief text and grabbed her purse from the drawer in her desk.
“I’m going out for a while, Trish,” she called to the inordinately efficient woman who served as an assistant to the three buyers based on that floor. In Diana’s opinion, Trish could probably do all of their jobs with one hand tied behind her back, but for some reason she preferred to remain in the background, offering advice and support and organising the offices within an inch of their lives.
“Fine, Diana. Just don’t forget that meeting at four-fifteen.”
“I won’t, thanks.” A glance out of her fourth floor window told her she would need both the light wool coat and umbrella she’d brought in with her. She hurried downstairs, using the stairs rather than the elevator. She had no desire to run into any co-workers curious about Craig Houghton’s murder.
Once outside, she opened her umbrella and made her way to the café where they’d agreed to meet.
It was located in a side street, its bright lights, white tiled floor and red-faux leather booths, all a contrast to the gray of the afternoon.
Mart was there—waiting.
Approaching the table, she dropped the umbrella into the stand nearby and slipped out of the dark charcoal coat. She took a seat and met Mart’s blue gaze steadily.
“Well, here I am,” she said.
“I’ve ordered you a skinny latte and a chicken and prawn salad, seeing you said you wouldn’t have long and hadn’t eaten.”
Diana couldn’t help but smile. Mart was trying to get into her good books, but it was typical of him to use food to do it.
“Thanks,” she said. “So long as the price for my lunch doesn’t include betraying my friend.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that when we spoke this morning,” Mart protested. “All I asked was for some insight, some…” he trailed off. “I can see how it might come across as being callous about your friend’s predicament.”
“No one could accuse you of being blind or stupid, but that’s still nice to hear.”
“It’s a big story, Di, and I am a reporter. It’s my job to report the news and, like it or not, it is news.”
Although a part of Diana would have liked Mart to throw himself at her feet and swear off the story altogether, another part of her respected his honesty.
“I concede all of those points, but I won’t be used to gain access to either information or Honey. She’s too important to me.”
“I know that,” Mart said simply. “I know she’s a good friend.”
“She’s my best friend,” Diana corrected. “You remember how lost I was when we became rich. I didn’t know how to handle it. My first couple of weeks at that school were a nightmare—even worse than being in Sleepyside, but then Honey came back. She’d been to Paris with her mother and grandmother and didn’t start the term with the rest of us.
“The funny thing was, some of the girls who were making me feel awful seemed all set to turn on her. You know, I didn’t fit in Sleepyside anymore, but at that school I was even more out of my depth. They were all so—composed and knowing—and comfortable with their wealth. Anyway, they were busy having their fun—making a big deal about my new money and how I didn’t know all the right things to do, and Honey just leapt up and told them off.” A half-smile crossed her face at the memory.
“You just be quiet, Lally Shimmington,” Honey cried, hazel eyes blazing. “The only reason you don’t like Diana is because she’s ten times prettier than you’ll ever be, she’s funny and she does the most beautiful drawings. You were Miss Wells’ pet and now she’s paying attention to Diana and you’re just plain jealous.”
The watching girls were stunned into silence.
“What would you know, Wheeler?” Lally said when she finally found her tongue. To have one of her favourite targets stand up to her twice in one day was obviously too much for her.
“Well according to most of my grades, a lot more than you do,” Honey retorted, and several girls sniggered at this.
“This school says its nurturing and a place for young women to grow and flourish,” Honey was quoting directly from the Briar Hall brochure. “I’m pretty sure they can’t use you as an advertisement. You know,” she added, “my grandmother knows yours—some Daughters of the Revolution committee your grandmother’s applying to. I wonder if she knows how her granddaughter behaves towards new students.”
Lally’s pale brown eyes had narrowed at this.
“You know what they say about bullies don’t you?” Honey continued, though some of her anger had abated. “They’re more scared than anyone. Now stay away from us or else!”
“She took me by the arm and led me away,” Diana said, having relayed the story to Mart. He knew a little of her trouble adjusting to her family’s new-found wealth, but these were details she had not shared. “Of course, once we were clear of them, she got a little shaky and confessed she’d never done anything like that before. Told me how Lally and her gang had always made her feel inadequate, miserable, but that standing up for me was a whole lot easier than standing up for herself.” Diana smiled again, remembering how Honey had been almost more surprised than she had at what had happened. “It did the trick though. We weren’t exactly voted most popular, but after that, the girls tended to leave us alone. We joined the drama club together. Most of the girls in it were from a different year and they thought I was funny and Honey was sweet, and so good with a needle—you should have seen what she did with their costumes.
“Anyway, we found our place together, and even managed to get our rooms reassigned. She helped me realise I could still be me, Di, and that while I needed to come to terms with the money, it didn’t have to define me. And she told me I was the best friend she’d ever had. So, you see—”
“I get it,” Mart returned, squeezing her hand across the table. He still felt guilty that he and his siblings had not seen how much pain Diana had been in after her change in circumstances. “I don’t want you to do anything, and I promise I won’t write anything spurious, exploitive or opprobrious.”
“Or comprehendible by a normal person either?” Diana demanded with an involuntary grin.
“Bad,” Mart amended.
Their order arrived and Diana took several sips of her latte and sampled her salad before speaking again.
“That sounds reasonable,” she said.
“It might help you to know that Brian thinks she’s innocent.” Mart took a bite of his hamburger and wisely said nothing when Diana snagged one of his fries from his plate.
“Brian does, does he?” Diana looked thoughtful. Honey had mentioned that Trixie’s brother, the doctor, had been to the house the previous evening. Maybe that meant more than she’d realised. She hadn’t had a chance to explain her history with the family and their connection to Sleepyside—not in any detail.
“Apparently, he’s quite taken with your friend.” Mart had spoken to his brother early that morning and his sister less than an hour before his meeting with Diana and they’d both made reference to it, albeit in different ways.
“Well, Brian’s always been the smartest Belden,” Diana said blithely.
“Ouch.”
Diana laughed at his discomfit. “He at least tried to see if I was okay all those years ago in Sleepyside. Admittedly I got all tongue tied and awkward and more than a bit weird, but at least he noticed I was unhappy.”
“Fine. Brian, as always, wins the best Belden award,” Mart grumbled.
“He’s not the one I’m dating,” Di reminded him, violet eyes twinkling.
“That’s a good point. Of course, maybe you just have lousy taste.”
“I’ll have you know I have exquisite taste. My job demands it,” his girlfriend retorted good-naturedly.
“Can’t argue with that.” Mart smiled as she took another fry. Sometimes, when he looked back at their childhood, he thought he might have always had a crush on Diana Lynch.
“She is innocent, Mart. I would stake my life on it. Craig’s changed a lot from the guy I met years ago and from when they first dated and not in good ways.”
Mart studied her for a moment over the top of his hamburger bun. Slowly he lowered his food to his plate. “Well, I believe in you and in Brian, and you both believe in her. So what do you say to this keen minded investigative reporter and this talented, creative business woman putting their heads together and coming up with a more viable suspect?”
Diana beamed at him. “I say that idea sounds as if we need to spend a lot more time together, starting with tonight—all night.”
Mart gave a happy sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, Mart,” he said happily. “There is a god.”
Brian held out his hand and pulled Honey to her feet. After he’d ascertained that she was okay, he bent down and gathered up her things, slipping them back into the purse.
“You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” he said. “And maybe a towel.”
Honey put her hand to her dripping ponytail, knowing she looked like a mess. “Coffee would be great,” she replied. “Do you know a place nearby?”
“Very,” Brian nodded at a building across the street. “That’s where I live. And the coffee is good, trust me.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
She let him take her arm and together they headed for Brian’s apartment.
Honey wasn’t surprised to discover that the compact apartment was neat and tidy, yet welcoming. There was a comfortable coffee-coloured sofa and chair in the living room, along with end tables with simple modern lamps, and bookcases ran all along one wall.
“Take a seat,” Brian said. “I’ll get the coffee going.”
Honey removed her wet and now slightly dirty coat and laid it over her arm.
“Here, let me take that. I forgot you were just about wet through.” Brian hung the coat on a hook by the door. “The bathroom’s that one,” he added, nodding at a door to her left. “Clean towel on the shelf and yell if you need to borrow something to wear. It’ll swim on you, but at least it’ll be clean and dry.”
It didn’t take her long to dry off the worst of it. She freed her hair and rubbed it vigorously, gingerly removing her torn jeans. Thankfully, the lightweight sweater she wore came half way down her thighs. Hanging the jeans over the towel rail, where she imagined they might dry, she returned to the living room.
Brian had removed his own jacket and she could see him through the open door, arranging mugs on a tray. She sank down onto the sofa and, as she suspected, it was comfortable. As she waited she studied his bookshelves. There were numerous medical tomes and textbooks as expected, but there were a lot of novels, too. Classics like Huckleberry Finn and On the Road sat alongside Kathy Reichs and Patricia Cornwell—research, no doubt. She smiled when she saw Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde and The Time Machine; so there was an imaginative side to Brian, after all.
“Here we go,” the object of her thoughts said, depositing a small tray on one of the wooden end tables.
“Brownies, too?” she said with a smile.
“Does it sound impossibly lame when I tell you my mom made them?”
“I think it sounds sweet,” Honey said. “She doesn’t live here, does she?” Cute was when a mother made her thirty-something son brownies to take home with him after a family dinner, not when said man lived in such a small space with said mother.
“What?” Brian spluttered his mouthful of coffee and reached for napkin. “Of course not. She and my dad still live in the house we grew up in, in Sleepyside.”
“Sleepyside?” Honey knew that name, from long ago, from a promise of something never realised. Was this what Diana had wanted to talk to her about when she’d mentioned Brian’s name? Not that she’d told even her about that day, not in any detail.
“It’s not far from here, so you might have heard of it I guess.”
“I went there once, years ago, just for a few hours,” Honey said slowly, knowing the nostalgia she felt could be heard in her voice. “I’d almost forgotten. It was summer, and I played on the common.”
Brian’s expression altered, and he leaned forward.
“And you were wearing a yellow and white dress,” Brian continued softly. “And just like today you fell and hurt yourself.”
Their eyes met and fragments of memory, precious and long buried, struggled to the surface.
BH:MAIN NEXT
Author's notes: Endless thanks to Dana, who puts up with my grammatical regression with grace and style. She also tweaks and tugs and improves my scribing no end. Trixie Belden et al belongs to Random ouse and not to me. No profit is being made form these scribblings.
With Honey Wheeler Houghton resting in her room, at her father’s insistence, Dan and Trixie were going over what they had so far— starting with the obvious suspect. The wife.
“Which could read as proof of her innocence. You notice how she kind of referred to him in the present tense?” Trixie said. “And she said when we divorced, not if. In her mind it was a done deal.”
“Well, it’s a moot point now,” Dan said. “Still, I’m leaning your way. She was pretty open, especially considering that daddy and her pal the lawyer were on hand.”
“You’re forgetting Di.”
“No, I’m not. But she’s your problem. She’s not dating my brother.”
“You don’t have a brother.”
“That’s true enough,” Dan acknowledged before getting back to business. “What do you think about Wheeler cancelling that meeting?”
“That he was tired, bored, had a headache, wanted an early night?” Trixie shrugged. “I do think that if he wanted to kill Craig Houghton, he has enough smarts and enough money to come up with a better plan.”
“He could have hired someone.”
Trixie shook her head, causing those sandy curls to bounce. “That’s one thing he said that I absolutely believe. He’d have made sure his daughter was miles away. I don’t see it.”
“Me either,” Dan admitted. “What about the assistant? He’s the only one who seems really upset.”
Trixie wrinkled her nose. “Hysterical type,” she said bluntly. “Could be genuine, could be fake and could be a big waste of time. Still, it’s something to look into. He’s given us names at least.”
“We need to look at the wife first, though. Her proximity, the divorce and statistics all demand it.”
Trixie chewed on the edge of her thumb, something she often did when mulling over facts in her head.
“Well…” Dan prompted, noticing the action.
“She seems open and candid—maybe that’s exactly how she wants to come across. I mean she claims she didn’t hear the gunshots.”
“Could have used some sort of silencer.” The idea had been floated and it was certainly possible.
“Her husband’s been cheating on her and god knows what else, and she’s all calm and cool, and let’s just get one of those amicable divorces?” Trixie was determined to be thorough. Just because Honey Wheeler Houghton came across as warm and ingenuous did not mean she hadn’t either killed her husband or had a hand in it.
“People get divorced every day, and they don’t usually kill one another,” Dan countered, playing devil’s advocate.
“But even with what we know, do you think this guy was going to settle for a three mil payout? To you and me it’s a hell of a lot of money, to someone connected to the Wheelers it’s practically spare change.”
“That’s a very good point. But you have to factor in the extra one-point-five she offered him.”
“Also a good point, but we can’t get away from the fact that she was here—in the house. And she found him. It still makes her our prime suspect, at least—”
“Well, you’re obviously an incompetent moron if that’s what you think.” A voice cut her off mid-sentence and both Trixie and Dan spun around to see a tall, broad shouldered redhead, standing in the doorway, green eyes blazing.
“We were having a private conversation!” Trixie snapped, not caring for either his expression or his comment. Was this the cousin Honey referred to? He looked enough like Matthew Wheeler to be related to him.
“Then you should have had it at your home, not at the home of a woman whose name you’re maligning.”
“We’re investigating a murder that took place in this very house. Sorry if we’re not observing the social niceties you rich folk are used to. Not all of us were brought up with silver spoons in our mouths.”
“Apparently you leap to conclusions in every aspect of your life.” The man’s green eyes narrowed even further. “I hope that’s not indicative of the kind of work you do as a police officer. Because we rich folk have connections, you know.”
Trixie opened her mouth for another retort, but Dan was too quick for her. He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Detective Dan Mangan and this is Trixie Belden. Sorry if we’ve upset you, Mr.…?”
“Frayne, Jim Frayne.” The redheaded man gave Dan’s hand a brief shake. “I’m a friend of the family, and I have business interests in Wheeler International.”
The almost-brother, Jim, Trixie thought, then a frown creased her brow. “Frayne, that’s an unusual name.”
“You’re a genealogy expert as well as a…detective,” he returned, making the last sound almost like a question.
“We had Fraynes for neighbours once,” Trixie said as memories and bits and pieces of information skated around in her mind.
“In White Plains?” Jim asked and there was a flicker of interest in his green eyes.
“Sleepyside,” Trixie replied.
“My great-uncle lived there,” Jim said flatly. “He died, from neglect, basically.”
Trixie’s flush deepened. “That must be him. My dad took him to hospital before he died,” she said. “That was a long time ago.”
“Yes, it was,” Jim said, and his expression softened a little. “Thank your father for me, will you?”
“Sure.” Trixie wondered how they’d got so off track. He was almost good looking when he wasn’t glaring. “Anyway, Mr. Frayne—”
“Anyway, Ms. Belden, you are way off course if you’ve fixed on Honey as your killer. She is one of the sweetest, kindest people I’ve ever known.”
“Nice people commit murder, too,” Trixie declared, ignoring the look of amusement that crossed Dan’s face at her statement.
“Not this nice person.”
“You have any other ideas?” Trixie demanded.
“Plenty, but why should I do your job for you?”
“We’d appreciate any insights you might have, Mr. Frayne,” Dan said smoothly. “Whatever you may think that you overheard, we are still going through the evidence and looking at all the possibilities. One thing I think you would be aware of is that we can’t afford not to examine your friend as a suspect. It would be lousy police work, and it wouldn’t do her any favours in the long run.”
“I guess I can see that,” Jim conceded. “But you get used to people making assumptions based on the wealth—it ticks me off.”
“No kidding!” Trixie muttered.
“I’m not keen on assumptions full-stop,” he added. “I prefer intelligent reasoning.”
Seeing Dan out of the corner of her eye, Trixie bit her tongue.
“Well maybe you can give us some intelligent reasoning,” Dan said easily. “You say you’ve shared business interests with the Wheelers. Did you have occasion to work with the deceased.”
“Yes, I did,” Jim replied.
“How would you describe his work practices? His work ethic?”
Jim saw no reason to dissemble. “What work ethic?”
“Let’s start there, shall we?” Dan nodded towards the black leather sofa and chair. The three of them took their seats.
Ten minutes later, Jim Frayne stood and left the two detectives to whatever it was they were doing and went in search of his friend. He’d been on his way up to her rooms when he’d overheard the conversation that had set his blood to boil. Now, he was somewhat mollified, though the smart mouth with the sandy curls was still lodged firmly under his skin. Maybe they were considering every possibility and maybe they weren’t, but at least he’d given them something and someone other than Honey to think about. He ran up the stairs to the third floor and knocked on the living room door. There was no answer, so he opened the door to see if perhaps Honey was inside. The room was empty.
He tried the bedroom next and though he opened this door more cautiously, it didn’t take him long to establish that Honey was not there. Frowning, he made his way back downstairs, continuing on to ground level. Honey’s father had told him she was upstairs, so it was unlikely he had anything to add. Ford Gray had stumbled from the house distraught as he was arriving, so there was no joy there. He moved through to the conservatory, a room he knew Honey favoured.
“Oh, god, Jim! Thank goodness you’re here.”
He turned to see Cilla Worth, Wheeler International employee and Honey’s friend, standing before him.
“Where’s Honey?” he asked without preamble.
“She’s missing,” Cilla hissed, though they were alone so why she felt the need to lower her voice was a mystery. “Run off without a word. I think it’s all been too much for her.”
“Too much for whom?” A voice came from the doorway.
The two turned to see Dan Mangan and Trixie Belden standing in the doorway. Not so alone, after all.
“Honey. She’s not here. I’m so worried,” Cilla said, her eyes darting from side to side, almost as if she expected Honey to materialize from thin air.
“Have you checked the entire property?” Compared to the tiny apartment Dan had shared with his mother before she died, the Houghton estate, or maybe it was more accurately called, the Wheeler Estate—Honey’s family money had paid for it, after all—was an entire block in his old neighbourhood.
“We haven’t found her yet,” Jim said quite calmly.
“Couldn’t she have just gone for a walk?” Trixie asked.
“You don’t know what she’s like. She doesn’t cope well under pressure. She’s such a caring, trusting person. I never could understand why she studied criminology at college. She’s very sensitive,” Cilla continued, ignoring the restraining hand Jim placed upon her arm.
Trixie directed her gaze directly at the tall redhead. “Now, that’s what I might call a little on the suspicious side.”
Jim glared but didn’t respond and Trixie managed not to smirk.
“You would,” he said after only a moment’s hesitation. “Wrong again. My guess is you’re used to that.”
“I thought I was the reasonable one and you were the prejudiced cop!” Trixie said indignantly as the gates swung open and their car passed through them. After some further investigation, they had learned that Honey Wheeler Houghton had sent a text to her father, assuring him she just needed to get out of the house for a while, so the “missing wife of the victim” panic had all been for nothing. She and Dan had finished transferring the hard drive of Craig Houghton’s computer and finished with Jim Frayne, too.
“The role was too limiting,” Dan sighed, batting his dark lashes. “I needed to flex my muscles, to—”
“Oh, shut up! You could at least have jumped in when he started attacking me!”
“I was enjoying myself too much. I mean I wanted to see if he said anything useful.”
“Him?” Trixie snorted. “What a total hothead, talk about ornery, he…” she trailed off, eyeing her friend and partner suspiciously. “What’s that look for?”
“Something in my eye. It’s windy today,” Dan returned, not willing to risk life and limb by telling her the truth—two peas in a pod. This might turn out to be fun after all.
Diana Lynch frowned at her phone and, after a moment, typed a brief text and grabbed her purse from the drawer in her desk.
“I’m going out for a while, Trish,” she called to the inordinately efficient woman who served as an assistant to the three buyers based on that floor. In Diana’s opinion, Trish could probably do all of their jobs with one hand tied behind her back, but for some reason she preferred to remain in the background, offering advice and support and organising the offices within an inch of their lives.
“Fine, Diana. Just don’t forget that meeting at four-fifteen.”
“I won’t, thanks.” A glance out of her fourth floor window told her she would need both the light wool coat and umbrella she’d brought in with her. She hurried downstairs, using the stairs rather than the elevator. She had no desire to run into any co-workers curious about Craig Houghton’s murder.
Once outside, she opened her umbrella and made her way to the café where they’d agreed to meet.
It was located in a side street, its bright lights, white tiled floor and red-faux leather booths, all a contrast to the gray of the afternoon.
Mart was there—waiting.
Approaching the table, she dropped the umbrella into the stand nearby and slipped out of the dark charcoal coat. She took a seat and met Mart’s blue gaze steadily.
“Well, here I am,” she said.
“I’ve ordered you a skinny latte and a chicken and prawn salad, seeing you said you wouldn’t have long and hadn’t eaten.”
Diana couldn’t help but smile. Mart was trying to get into her good books, but it was typical of him to use food to do it.
“Thanks,” she said. “So long as the price for my lunch doesn’t include betraying my friend.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that when we spoke this morning,” Mart protested. “All I asked was for some insight, some…” he trailed off. “I can see how it might come across as being callous about your friend’s predicament.”
“No one could accuse you of being blind or stupid, but that’s still nice to hear.”
“It’s a big story, Di, and I am a reporter. It’s my job to report the news and, like it or not, it is news.”
Although a part of Diana would have liked Mart to throw himself at her feet and swear off the story altogether, another part of her respected his honesty.
“I concede all of those points, but I won’t be used to gain access to either information or Honey. She’s too important to me.”
“I know that,” Mart said simply. “I know she’s a good friend.”
“She’s my best friend,” Diana corrected. “You remember how lost I was when we became rich. I didn’t know how to handle it. My first couple of weeks at that school were a nightmare—even worse than being in Sleepyside, but then Honey came back. She’d been to Paris with her mother and grandmother and didn’t start the term with the rest of us.
“The funny thing was, some of the girls who were making me feel awful seemed all set to turn on her. You know, I didn’t fit in Sleepyside anymore, but at that school I was even more out of my depth. They were all so—composed and knowing—and comfortable with their wealth. Anyway, they were busy having their fun—making a big deal about my new money and how I didn’t know all the right things to do, and Honey just leapt up and told them off.” A half-smile crossed her face at the memory.
“You just be quiet, Lally Shimmington,” Honey cried, hazel eyes blazing. “The only reason you don’t like Diana is because she’s ten times prettier than you’ll ever be, she’s funny and she does the most beautiful drawings. You were Miss Wells’ pet and now she’s paying attention to Diana and you’re just plain jealous.”
The watching girls were stunned into silence.
“What would you know, Wheeler?” Lally said when she finally found her tongue. To have one of her favourite targets stand up to her twice in one day was obviously too much for her.
“Well according to most of my grades, a lot more than you do,” Honey retorted, and several girls sniggered at this.
“This school says its nurturing and a place for young women to grow and flourish,” Honey was quoting directly from the Briar Hall brochure. “I’m pretty sure they can’t use you as an advertisement. You know,” she added, “my grandmother knows yours—some Daughters of the Revolution committee your grandmother’s applying to. I wonder if she knows how her granddaughter behaves towards new students.”
Lally’s pale brown eyes had narrowed at this.
“You know what they say about bullies don’t you?” Honey continued, though some of her anger had abated. “They’re more scared than anyone. Now stay away from us or else!”
“She took me by the arm and led me away,” Diana said, having relayed the story to Mart. He knew a little of her trouble adjusting to her family’s new-found wealth, but these were details she had not shared. “Of course, once we were clear of them, she got a little shaky and confessed she’d never done anything like that before. Told me how Lally and her gang had always made her feel inadequate, miserable, but that standing up for me was a whole lot easier than standing up for herself.” Diana smiled again, remembering how Honey had been almost more surprised than she had at what had happened. “It did the trick though. We weren’t exactly voted most popular, but after that, the girls tended to leave us alone. We joined the drama club together. Most of the girls in it were from a different year and they thought I was funny and Honey was sweet, and so good with a needle—you should have seen what she did with their costumes.
“Anyway, we found our place together, and even managed to get our rooms reassigned. She helped me realise I could still be me, Di, and that while I needed to come to terms with the money, it didn’t have to define me. And she told me I was the best friend she’d ever had. So, you see—”
“I get it,” Mart returned, squeezing her hand across the table. He still felt guilty that he and his siblings had not seen how much pain Diana had been in after her change in circumstances. “I don’t want you to do anything, and I promise I won’t write anything spurious, exploitive or opprobrious.”
“Or comprehendible by a normal person either?” Diana demanded with an involuntary grin.
“Bad,” Mart amended.
Their order arrived and Diana took several sips of her latte and sampled her salad before speaking again.
“That sounds reasonable,” she said.
“It might help you to know that Brian thinks she’s innocent.” Mart took a bite of his hamburger and wisely said nothing when Diana snagged one of his fries from his plate.
“Brian does, does he?” Diana looked thoughtful. Honey had mentioned that Trixie’s brother, the doctor, had been to the house the previous evening. Maybe that meant more than she’d realised. She hadn’t had a chance to explain her history with the family and their connection to Sleepyside—not in any detail.
“Apparently, he’s quite taken with your friend.” Mart had spoken to his brother early that morning and his sister less than an hour before his meeting with Diana and they’d both made reference to it, albeit in different ways.
“Well, Brian’s always been the smartest Belden,” Diana said blithely.
“Ouch.”
Diana laughed at his discomfit. “He at least tried to see if I was okay all those years ago in Sleepyside. Admittedly I got all tongue tied and awkward and more than a bit weird, but at least he noticed I was unhappy.”
“Fine. Brian, as always, wins the best Belden award,” Mart grumbled.
“He’s not the one I’m dating,” Di reminded him, violet eyes twinkling.
“That’s a good point. Of course, maybe you just have lousy taste.”
“I’ll have you know I have exquisite taste. My job demands it,” his girlfriend retorted good-naturedly.
“Can’t argue with that.” Mart smiled as she took another fry. Sometimes, when he looked back at their childhood, he thought he might have always had a crush on Diana Lynch.
“She is innocent, Mart. I would stake my life on it. Craig’s changed a lot from the guy I met years ago and from when they first dated and not in good ways.”
Mart studied her for a moment over the top of his hamburger bun. Slowly he lowered his food to his plate. “Well, I believe in you and in Brian, and you both believe in her. So what do you say to this keen minded investigative reporter and this talented, creative business woman putting their heads together and coming up with a more viable suspect?”
Diana beamed at him. “I say that idea sounds as if we need to spend a lot more time together, starting with tonight—all night.”
Mart gave a happy sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Yes, Mart,” he said happily. “There is a god.”
Brian held out his hand and pulled Honey to her feet. After he’d ascertained that she was okay, he bent down and gathered up her things, slipping them back into the purse.
“You look like you could use a cup of coffee,” he said. “And maybe a towel.”
Honey put her hand to her dripping ponytail, knowing she looked like a mess. “Coffee would be great,” she replied. “Do you know a place nearby?”
“Very,” Brian nodded at a building across the street. “That’s where I live. And the coffee is good, trust me.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
She let him take her arm and together they headed for Brian’s apartment.
Honey wasn’t surprised to discover that the compact apartment was neat and tidy, yet welcoming. There was a comfortable coffee-coloured sofa and chair in the living room, along with end tables with simple modern lamps, and bookcases ran all along one wall.
“Take a seat,” Brian said. “I’ll get the coffee going.”
Honey removed her wet and now slightly dirty coat and laid it over her arm.
“Here, let me take that. I forgot you were just about wet through.” Brian hung the coat on a hook by the door. “The bathroom’s that one,” he added, nodding at a door to her left. “Clean towel on the shelf and yell if you need to borrow something to wear. It’ll swim on you, but at least it’ll be clean and dry.”
It didn’t take her long to dry off the worst of it. She freed her hair and rubbed it vigorously, gingerly removing her torn jeans. Thankfully, the lightweight sweater she wore came half way down her thighs. Hanging the jeans over the towel rail, where she imagined they might dry, she returned to the living room.
Brian had removed his own jacket and she could see him through the open door, arranging mugs on a tray. She sank down onto the sofa and, as she suspected, it was comfortable. As she waited she studied his bookshelves. There were numerous medical tomes and textbooks as expected, but there were a lot of novels, too. Classics like Huckleberry Finn and On the Road sat alongside Kathy Reichs and Patricia Cornwell—research, no doubt. She smiled when she saw Dr. Jekyll and Mr.Hyde and The Time Machine; so there was an imaginative side to Brian, after all.
“Here we go,” the object of her thoughts said, depositing a small tray on one of the wooden end tables.
“Brownies, too?” she said with a smile.
“Does it sound impossibly lame when I tell you my mom made them?”
“I think it sounds sweet,” Honey said. “She doesn’t live here, does she?” Cute was when a mother made her thirty-something son brownies to take home with him after a family dinner, not when said man lived in such a small space with said mother.
“What?” Brian spluttered his mouthful of coffee and reached for napkin. “Of course not. She and my dad still live in the house we grew up in, in Sleepyside.”
“Sleepyside?” Honey knew that name, from long ago, from a promise of something never realised. Was this what Diana had wanted to talk to her about when she’d mentioned Brian’s name? Not that she’d told even her about that day, not in any detail.
“It’s not far from here, so you might have heard of it I guess.”
“I went there once, years ago, just for a few hours,” Honey said slowly, knowing the nostalgia she felt could be heard in her voice. “I’d almost forgotten. It was summer, and I played on the common.”
Brian’s expression altered, and he leaned forward.
“And you were wearing a yellow and white dress,” Brian continued softly. “And just like today you fell and hurt yourself.”
Their eyes met and fragments of memory, precious and long buried, struggled to the surface.
BH:MAIN NEXT
Author's notes: Endless thanks to Dana, who puts up with my grammatical regression with grace and style. She also tweaks and tugs and improves my scribing no end. Trixie Belden et al belongs to Random ouse and not to me. No profit is being made form these scribblings.
