Chapter Six
"No one’s arresting anybody at the moment,” Trixie said. They were gathering information, and she hoped this woman wasn’t going to get in the way of that.
“What?” Honey twisted in her seat and looked up at the blond-haired woman, rather than at Trixie. “I said at first. Craig realised that the divorce would go ahead, and he might not have been happy, but he wasn’t overly angry anymore. I mean it wasn’t as if he’d be thrown out without a penny.”
“What would it have meant financially?” Dan asked.
“My son-in-law would not have been left a pauper, Detective,” Matthew Wheeler answered instead of his daughter. “At my insistence and overriding my daughter’s protests at the time, he signed an agreement to a settlement of three million dollars should the marriage end in divorce.”
“If he liked living an extravagant lifestyle, he might have wanted more,” Trixie suggested, though to her it was an absolute fortune.
Honey drew a deep breath, glanced at Diana, who nodded her dark head, and then Honey looked at her father entreatingly. “You’re rather good at this, Trixie.”
Trixie heard her name and figured she was out of the bad books at least.
“I agreed to give him an additional one point five million.”
“What?”
Matthew Wheeler and Cilla Worth spoke together. The former shocked, the latter despairing.
“It’s the money Grandfather Hart left me,” Honey said swiftly. “Not Wheeler money, Daddy.”
“I don’t care about that,” Matthew Wheeler said. “Why didn’t you tell me? If it means making you happy, I’d have given the louse more money, I’d have…” he trailed off as he realised what he’d said. Catching Dan’s eye, he shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m not pretending I was crazy about my son-in-law, but I didn’t need to kill him to get rid of him.”
It was a blunt statement, but to Trixie there was a ring of truth to it.
“Honestly!” Cilla shook her blond head. “You two are as bad as one another. Matthew, please, call in one of your own attorneys, but I beg you, stop handing them motives and opportunity on a plate!”
“Opportunity?” Trixie repeated.
Cilla flushed. “I didn’t mean anything,” she stammered.
“Ms. Worth is referring to the fact that I cancelled a scheduled meeting last night,” Matthew Wheeler said. “Meaning I might not have an alibi.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Honey cried. “Nobody could think you killed Craig.”
Both Dan and Trixie shifted in their seats and in spite of the situation, Honey’s father laughed.
“I think you might find there are some people in this world, even in this room, who think it’s a distinct possibility. I hope those people are smart enough to know that I would never expose you to this sort of situation. If I’d killed Craig, I would have made sure you were a long way away.”
It was exactly what Trixie had been thinking and blue eyes met green, reluctantly acknowledging this.
She opened her mouth to ask another question when footsteps running in the hall made them all turn their heads. A young man, early twenties, she estimated, burst into the room.
“Is it true? Is Craig dead?”
Honey was on her feet and moving towards him, her hand outstretched. “Ford. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d been called.”
“I tried,” Cilla said. “But didn’t want to leave a voice message.”
“I heard on the news,” Ford, who was slightly built and had fair hair that fell across his high forehead, shivered.
“Please sit down, Ford. Have the Batemans arrived yet?” Honey asked. “You need some tea or coffee.”
Her father shook his head. “They should be here shortly. But I suppose I could…”
“No, let me,” Diana offered. “I know where everything is.” She turned to Ford, her expression sympathetic. “Won’t be long.” She hurried off.
“It’s just so awful,” the young man whimpered to the room at large. “He was the most wonderful person—truly special, you know?”
“Actually,” Trixie replied before anyone else could speak. “We heard that he had some problems with some of his business associates.”
Ford Gray darted a quick look in Matthew Wheeler’s direction. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“We’ve heard that he’d got in with people outside of his usual contacts,” Dan offered diplomatically.
Another look.
Matthew Wheeler moved into the circle where the others were seated. “Perhaps, detectives, you might like to conduct your interviews in private. You mentioned wanting to examine my son-in-law's computer; why not use his study? If that’s alright with you, sweetheart?” he added, turning to his daughter.
Honey nodded. “That’s a good idea. Ford, we’ll bring up your tea. And perhaps some coffee for the detectives?”
Trixie nodded vigorously. Coffee. Caffeine. Just what her tired brain needed after the late night she’d had.
“That would be appreciated,” Dan answered for them both, and he and Trixie followed Ford Gray out of the room and up to the study.
This was the young man’s home territory and he immediately headed for a black metal chair set before a narrow black desk positioned at a right angle from Houghton’s.
“We might be more comfortable over here,” Dan suggested, and he and Trixie took their seats on the leather sofa.
Ford nodded and meekly sat in the matching chair. His skin was stretched over his fine features, his blue eyes protruding slightly. Hands twisted in his lap.
The door opened and Diana Lynch entered, carrying a tray containing the promised refreshments.
She deposited it on the gleaming coffee table with a nod.
“Thanks so much, Di,” Trixie said. “We know it’s hard to have us here.”
Diana gave her the faintest hint of a smile of acknowledgment and left without comment.
Dan turned to the young man opposite. “Now, let’s talk about those rumours.”
“Vicious lies from people jealous of his talents,” Ford cried. “He was human, of course, and made mistakes like the rest of us. The way people reacted.”
“Why don’t you tell us about it?” Dan said encouragingly.
“Anything to help,” Ford said, and proceeded to spill his guts.
“Are you alright?” Diana handed Honey a cup of tea, her violet eyes filled with concern. “I mean, obviously you’re not, given what’s happened, but apart from that…” she trailed off seeing the look in Cilla’s blue eyes. “You know what I mean,” she finished.
Honey took the tea and felt the reassuring touch of her friend’s hand pressing her own.
“I do, Di, and thanks. I’m shaken and upset and I feel awful for Craig, but in spite of all that, I am okay.” The funny thing was, it was true, and she loved her friend for somehow knowing this. And she was relieved Diana was back from her buying trip. Facing this without her would have been perfectly awful.
Cilla dropped into the empty seat next to the sofa the other two shared. “You won’t be unless you start being more careful with the police. Honestly, Honey. You have a working knowledge of the law even if you didn’t pursue it as a career. You should know better.”
“But I don’t have anything to hide!” Honey protested. At least her head felt clearer this morning. In fact she felt more like her old self than she had in ages. Did that say something about her? Something horrible?
“I know that,” Cilla said quickly. “We both do, but the police will be under pressure to close this case and close it quickly. It’s always like that when the victim is high profile. And if they could pin this on you—it’s a career maker.”
“They didn’t strike me as those sorts of people.” Honey frowned.
“They wouldn’t. You are still kind of naïve. Back me up here, Diana.”
Di sported a frown of her own. “Maybe Honey does like to see the best in people, but I’m not sure she’s wrong in this case. One thing I can tell you is that Trixie Belden is more interested in getting to the truth than in climbing any kind of ladder.”
“Oh, that’s right. You know her, don’t you?”
“Not really. I did years and years ago. I’m dating her brother, but we haven’t been going out that long and I haven’t spent much time with the rest of the family.”
“So you know Brian, the doctor, too?” Honey said, wondering if it was inappropriate to ask.
“I haven’t seen him more than a couple of times since Mart and I got together, but the Beldens are actually…” Diana trailed off again. “We probably have more important things to discuss right now.”
“At least consider keeping some details to yourself,” Cilla implored, turning her attention back to Honey. “And get a good criminal attorney. That’s a smart move, no matter how the police play it.”
Honey nodded, more to put an end to the topic of conversation than anything else. She took an appreciative sip of her tea—Diana made the best tea—vaguely aware that her thoughts were straying towards a certain handsome dark-haired doctor rather than the man she’d shared her bed and life with for the past four years—the man who only hours earlier had been shot to death in her very own home.
Some time later, Honey took a deep breath. She had to get away. Diana, at her insistence, had headed into work where deadlines loomed. None of the other people in Bluff House were restful company. Honey pulled her hair into a ponytail and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Did she look like a killer? Like a grieving woman? A spoiled little rich girl? In some ways that was the favoured view of the papers. A spoiled woman, used to getting her own way. Pampered, privileged. Some of the articles were so focused on that that her guilt or innocence seemed almost incidental. She moved a little closer to the pale image before her. An image made paler by the glare of the light. Were they right? Or was she just lost and unfocused? Adrift in the world—unanchored.
The smallest of smiles played on her lips. You couldn’t be adrift if you were anchored, so maybe that went without saying or without thinking. Her professors at college had told her she had an analytical mind, an ability to look beneath the surface and create links between thoughts and behaviours. She didn’t want to lose that now, did she? They’d seemed surprised of course. People were always surprised when there was more to her than recognising precious gems or organising fundraising events or knowing which fork to use.
The smile was replaced by a frown. Maybe there was something to all the speculation. Hadn’t she known her marriage was over for months—longer even? Why had she stayed? If she’d taken a stand, taken action sooner, maybe none of this would be happening. The throbbing behind her temples increased. How could she feel trapped, crowded in this enormous house? For a moment her thoughts drifted to the stone and frame cottage she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. A place that had felt like a home from the moment she’d walked through the door. A place that for a few brief moments in time, she’d believed was going to be her home.
That was another pointless path for her mind to wander down. Enough, she scolded. The last thing you need to do is sit around feeling sorry for yourself. I wish Diana were here now; I find her easier to talk to than anyone.
But Diana was working—in the city. But she would probably have taken care of the most urgent of her business by now, so what was there to stop her from going to the city, finding her friend and talking? How about—reporters at the gate, your father pacing downstairs, a couple of Wheeler International employees who were doing who knew what, the Batemans—the husband and wife team who came into the house four days a week for general duties—Ford Gray, Craig’s personal assistant, and two Westchester County detectives in her husband’s study?
So, what, she thought rebelliously. I don’t owe any of them an explanation. All I need to do is tell one of them I’m going out and then slip away. Not through the main gates. She knew she’d never do that without facing a barrage of cameras and questions. But there was a walkway through to the neighbouring property, and those neighbours were in the Bahamas.
Fifteen minutes later, wearing jeans and a long, light-weight trench coat, Honey exited her neighbours’ property and walked briskly down the road towards the bus stop. The outfit she’d chosen was relatively anonymous, and the sunglasses perched on her nose were large enough to offer her identity some protection, but not so large that they screamed disguise. With any luck no one would recognise her; after all, she rarely graced the covers or even the pages of magazines and when she did she was always dressed for a formal occasion—hair up, make-up skillfully applied, designer gown. That woman looked nothing like this one.
The bright morning had clouded over, and there was a crisp breeze in the air. The afternoon’s greyness suited her mood and she increased her pace, longing to make good her escape. She didn’t have long to wait before a bus glided into the stop, and she boarded and paid her fare. The driver barely glanced at her and his passengers were even less interested. Most had their cells out and were texting or browsing websites. Relieved, she took her seat, turned her head to gaze out of the window and settled back as mansions flew by, replaced by gracious homes, which in turn were replaced by simpler frame houses. Bluff Point was a relatively affluent community, though Honey conceded that her neighbourhood was rather more affluent than the rest of it. But like many other towns within an hour of White Plains, it had grown, establishing its own infrastructure, businesses and services.
Naturally, the bus route did not drop her anywhere near the up-market department store where Diana worked, but Honey almost relished the chance to walk—it helped clear her head. The temperature had dropped further and the cloud cover had increased, making her grateful for the trench coat she wore. As she walked, she realised it had been ages since she’d spent any real time downtown. Her life over the past couple of years had shrunk; maybe now she could explore the things she’d always wanted to. Funny if the very nature of Craig’s death brought that possibility to life.
So busy was she running over the future in her mind that she didn’t notice the wind pick up, didn’t realise the sky had darkened even more. When the rain began to fall, she was surprised. When it turned into a deluge, she started to run. Her cell phone rang and she fumbled for it in her purse—an automatic response, but as she hit the answer button, her booted heel caught on the pavement; phone, purse and woman all went flying. Honey landed hard, feeling the impact through the denim of her jeans. It hurt and she blinked back a couple of tears. Her gaze fell on the contents of her purse—scattered and strewn before her—a symbol of her life at that moment in time. She winced as she saw she’d torn her jeans and grazed the palm of her hand as she fell, and began to gather her belongings.
“Are you okay? I saw you falling, but couldn’t get to you…” The man trailed off and Honey looked up to meet dark, dark eyes as she stared into the face of Doctor Brian Belden.
BH: MAIN NEXT
Author's Notes: My continued, heartfelt thanks to Dana who edits and edifies and always makes me feel somehow worthy. Thanks also to all who read. Your responses so often touch my heart and I am forever grateful. Bluff Point is a completely made up town, though I did consult a map of the area to place it. Police procedures are just what I want them to be. Trixie Belden et al remain the property of Random House. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
“What?” Honey twisted in her seat and looked up at the blond-haired woman, rather than at Trixie. “I said at first. Craig realised that the divorce would go ahead, and he might not have been happy, but he wasn’t overly angry anymore. I mean it wasn’t as if he’d be thrown out without a penny.”
“What would it have meant financially?” Dan asked.
“My son-in-law would not have been left a pauper, Detective,” Matthew Wheeler answered instead of his daughter. “At my insistence and overriding my daughter’s protests at the time, he signed an agreement to a settlement of three million dollars should the marriage end in divorce.”
“If he liked living an extravagant lifestyle, he might have wanted more,” Trixie suggested, though to her it was an absolute fortune.
Honey drew a deep breath, glanced at Diana, who nodded her dark head, and then Honey looked at her father entreatingly. “You’re rather good at this, Trixie.”
Trixie heard her name and figured she was out of the bad books at least.
“I agreed to give him an additional one point five million.”
“What?”
Matthew Wheeler and Cilla Worth spoke together. The former shocked, the latter despairing.
“It’s the money Grandfather Hart left me,” Honey said swiftly. “Not Wheeler money, Daddy.”
“I don’t care about that,” Matthew Wheeler said. “Why didn’t you tell me? If it means making you happy, I’d have given the louse more money, I’d have…” he trailed off as he realised what he’d said. Catching Dan’s eye, he shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m not pretending I was crazy about my son-in-law, but I didn’t need to kill him to get rid of him.”
It was a blunt statement, but to Trixie there was a ring of truth to it.
“Honestly!” Cilla shook her blond head. “You two are as bad as one another. Matthew, please, call in one of your own attorneys, but I beg you, stop handing them motives and opportunity on a plate!”
“Opportunity?” Trixie repeated.
Cilla flushed. “I didn’t mean anything,” she stammered.
“Ms. Worth is referring to the fact that I cancelled a scheduled meeting last night,” Matthew Wheeler said. “Meaning I might not have an alibi.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Honey cried. “Nobody could think you killed Craig.”
Both Dan and Trixie shifted in their seats and in spite of the situation, Honey’s father laughed.
“I think you might find there are some people in this world, even in this room, who think it’s a distinct possibility. I hope those people are smart enough to know that I would never expose you to this sort of situation. If I’d killed Craig, I would have made sure you were a long way away.”
It was exactly what Trixie had been thinking and blue eyes met green, reluctantly acknowledging this.
She opened her mouth to ask another question when footsteps running in the hall made them all turn their heads. A young man, early twenties, she estimated, burst into the room.
“Is it true? Is Craig dead?”
Honey was on her feet and moving towards him, her hand outstretched. “Ford. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d been called.”
“I tried,” Cilla said. “But didn’t want to leave a voice message.”
“I heard on the news,” Ford, who was slightly built and had fair hair that fell across his high forehead, shivered.
“Please sit down, Ford. Have the Batemans arrived yet?” Honey asked. “You need some tea or coffee.”
Her father shook his head. “They should be here shortly. But I suppose I could…”
“No, let me,” Diana offered. “I know where everything is.” She turned to Ford, her expression sympathetic. “Won’t be long.” She hurried off.
“It’s just so awful,” the young man whimpered to the room at large. “He was the most wonderful person—truly special, you know?”
“Actually,” Trixie replied before anyone else could speak. “We heard that he had some problems with some of his business associates.”
Ford Gray darted a quick look in Matthew Wheeler’s direction. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“We’ve heard that he’d got in with people outside of his usual contacts,” Dan offered diplomatically.
Another look.
Matthew Wheeler moved into the circle where the others were seated. “Perhaps, detectives, you might like to conduct your interviews in private. You mentioned wanting to examine my son-in-law's computer; why not use his study? If that’s alright with you, sweetheart?” he added, turning to his daughter.
Honey nodded. “That’s a good idea. Ford, we’ll bring up your tea. And perhaps some coffee for the detectives?”
Trixie nodded vigorously. Coffee. Caffeine. Just what her tired brain needed after the late night she’d had.
“That would be appreciated,” Dan answered for them both, and he and Trixie followed Ford Gray out of the room and up to the study.
This was the young man’s home territory and he immediately headed for a black metal chair set before a narrow black desk positioned at a right angle from Houghton’s.
“We might be more comfortable over here,” Dan suggested, and he and Trixie took their seats on the leather sofa.
Ford nodded and meekly sat in the matching chair. His skin was stretched over his fine features, his blue eyes protruding slightly. Hands twisted in his lap.
The door opened and Diana Lynch entered, carrying a tray containing the promised refreshments.
She deposited it on the gleaming coffee table with a nod.
“Thanks so much, Di,” Trixie said. “We know it’s hard to have us here.”
Diana gave her the faintest hint of a smile of acknowledgment and left without comment.
Dan turned to the young man opposite. “Now, let’s talk about those rumours.”
“Vicious lies from people jealous of his talents,” Ford cried. “He was human, of course, and made mistakes like the rest of us. The way people reacted.”
“Why don’t you tell us about it?” Dan said encouragingly.
“Anything to help,” Ford said, and proceeded to spill his guts.
“Are you alright?” Diana handed Honey a cup of tea, her violet eyes filled with concern. “I mean, obviously you’re not, given what’s happened, but apart from that…” she trailed off seeing the look in Cilla’s blue eyes. “You know what I mean,” she finished.
Honey took the tea and felt the reassuring touch of her friend’s hand pressing her own.
“I do, Di, and thanks. I’m shaken and upset and I feel awful for Craig, but in spite of all that, I am okay.” The funny thing was, it was true, and she loved her friend for somehow knowing this. And she was relieved Diana was back from her buying trip. Facing this without her would have been perfectly awful.
Cilla dropped into the empty seat next to the sofa the other two shared. “You won’t be unless you start being more careful with the police. Honestly, Honey. You have a working knowledge of the law even if you didn’t pursue it as a career. You should know better.”
“But I don’t have anything to hide!” Honey protested. At least her head felt clearer this morning. In fact she felt more like her old self than she had in ages. Did that say something about her? Something horrible?
“I know that,” Cilla said quickly. “We both do, but the police will be under pressure to close this case and close it quickly. It’s always like that when the victim is high profile. And if they could pin this on you—it’s a career maker.”
“They didn’t strike me as those sorts of people.” Honey frowned.
“They wouldn’t. You are still kind of naïve. Back me up here, Diana.”
Di sported a frown of her own. “Maybe Honey does like to see the best in people, but I’m not sure she’s wrong in this case. One thing I can tell you is that Trixie Belden is more interested in getting to the truth than in climbing any kind of ladder.”
“Oh, that’s right. You know her, don’t you?”
“Not really. I did years and years ago. I’m dating her brother, but we haven’t been going out that long and I haven’t spent much time with the rest of the family.”
“So you know Brian, the doctor, too?” Honey said, wondering if it was inappropriate to ask.
“I haven’t seen him more than a couple of times since Mart and I got together, but the Beldens are actually…” Diana trailed off again. “We probably have more important things to discuss right now.”
“At least consider keeping some details to yourself,” Cilla implored, turning her attention back to Honey. “And get a good criminal attorney. That’s a smart move, no matter how the police play it.”
Honey nodded, more to put an end to the topic of conversation than anything else. She took an appreciative sip of her tea—Diana made the best tea—vaguely aware that her thoughts were straying towards a certain handsome dark-haired doctor rather than the man she’d shared her bed and life with for the past four years—the man who only hours earlier had been shot to death in her very own home.
Some time later, Honey took a deep breath. She had to get away. Diana, at her insistence, had headed into work where deadlines loomed. None of the other people in Bluff House were restful company. Honey pulled her hair into a ponytail and studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Did she look like a killer? Like a grieving woman? A spoiled little rich girl? In some ways that was the favoured view of the papers. A spoiled woman, used to getting her own way. Pampered, privileged. Some of the articles were so focused on that that her guilt or innocence seemed almost incidental. She moved a little closer to the pale image before her. An image made paler by the glare of the light. Were they right? Or was she just lost and unfocused? Adrift in the world—unanchored.
The smallest of smiles played on her lips. You couldn’t be adrift if you were anchored, so maybe that went without saying or without thinking. Her professors at college had told her she had an analytical mind, an ability to look beneath the surface and create links between thoughts and behaviours. She didn’t want to lose that now, did she? They’d seemed surprised of course. People were always surprised when there was more to her than recognising precious gems or organising fundraising events or knowing which fork to use.
The smile was replaced by a frown. Maybe there was something to all the speculation. Hadn’t she known her marriage was over for months—longer even? Why had she stayed? If she’d taken a stand, taken action sooner, maybe none of this would be happening. The throbbing behind her temples increased. How could she feel trapped, crowded in this enormous house? For a moment her thoughts drifted to the stone and frame cottage she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. A place that had felt like a home from the moment she’d walked through the door. A place that for a few brief moments in time, she’d believed was going to be her home.
That was another pointless path for her mind to wander down. Enough, she scolded. The last thing you need to do is sit around feeling sorry for yourself. I wish Diana were here now; I find her easier to talk to than anyone.
But Diana was working—in the city. But she would probably have taken care of the most urgent of her business by now, so what was there to stop her from going to the city, finding her friend and talking? How about—reporters at the gate, your father pacing downstairs, a couple of Wheeler International employees who were doing who knew what, the Batemans—the husband and wife team who came into the house four days a week for general duties—Ford Gray, Craig’s personal assistant, and two Westchester County detectives in her husband’s study?
So, what, she thought rebelliously. I don’t owe any of them an explanation. All I need to do is tell one of them I’m going out and then slip away. Not through the main gates. She knew she’d never do that without facing a barrage of cameras and questions. But there was a walkway through to the neighbouring property, and those neighbours were in the Bahamas.
Fifteen minutes later, wearing jeans and a long, light-weight trench coat, Honey exited her neighbours’ property and walked briskly down the road towards the bus stop. The outfit she’d chosen was relatively anonymous, and the sunglasses perched on her nose were large enough to offer her identity some protection, but not so large that they screamed disguise. With any luck no one would recognise her; after all, she rarely graced the covers or even the pages of magazines and when she did she was always dressed for a formal occasion—hair up, make-up skillfully applied, designer gown. That woman looked nothing like this one.
The bright morning had clouded over, and there was a crisp breeze in the air. The afternoon’s greyness suited her mood and she increased her pace, longing to make good her escape. She didn’t have long to wait before a bus glided into the stop, and she boarded and paid her fare. The driver barely glanced at her and his passengers were even less interested. Most had their cells out and were texting or browsing websites. Relieved, she took her seat, turned her head to gaze out of the window and settled back as mansions flew by, replaced by gracious homes, which in turn were replaced by simpler frame houses. Bluff Point was a relatively affluent community, though Honey conceded that her neighbourhood was rather more affluent than the rest of it. But like many other towns within an hour of White Plains, it had grown, establishing its own infrastructure, businesses and services.
Naturally, the bus route did not drop her anywhere near the up-market department store where Diana worked, but Honey almost relished the chance to walk—it helped clear her head. The temperature had dropped further and the cloud cover had increased, making her grateful for the trench coat she wore. As she walked, she realised it had been ages since she’d spent any real time downtown. Her life over the past couple of years had shrunk; maybe now she could explore the things she’d always wanted to. Funny if the very nature of Craig’s death brought that possibility to life.
So busy was she running over the future in her mind that she didn’t notice the wind pick up, didn’t realise the sky had darkened even more. When the rain began to fall, she was surprised. When it turned into a deluge, she started to run. Her cell phone rang and she fumbled for it in her purse—an automatic response, but as she hit the answer button, her booted heel caught on the pavement; phone, purse and woman all went flying. Honey landed hard, feeling the impact through the denim of her jeans. It hurt and she blinked back a couple of tears. Her gaze fell on the contents of her purse—scattered and strewn before her—a symbol of her life at that moment in time. She winced as she saw she’d torn her jeans and grazed the palm of her hand as she fell, and began to gather her belongings.
“Are you okay? I saw you falling, but couldn’t get to you…” The man trailed off and Honey looked up to meet dark, dark eyes as she stared into the face of Doctor Brian Belden.
BH: MAIN NEXT
Author's Notes: My continued, heartfelt thanks to Dana who edits and edifies and always makes me feel somehow worthy. Thanks also to all who read. Your responses so often touch my heart and I am forever grateful. Bluff Point is a completely made up town, though I did consult a map of the area to place it. Police procedures are just what I want them to be. Trixie Belden et al remain the property of Random House. No profit is being made from these scribblings.
