Chapter Thirteen

Brian Belden was unaccustomed to emotional turmoil.  He was highly rational, organised and reasonable--except, it seemed, where it concerned a certain slender, very recently widowed woman. With her wide hazel eyes and the dark gold hair that he just knew felt every bit as good to touch as it did to look at, he was entranced. Trying to refocus, he glanced at his watch. Trixie had sent him a text asking him to meet her at the café. It was typical of her to be running late. 
He ordered coffee and a BLT and told himself he was being paranoid when people at a nearby table turned their heads to look at him, then lowered their voices and huddled close together. Just as the waitress brought his coffee and sandwich to the table, he caught sight of his sister hurrying towards him—and she wasn’t alone.
“Thanks for the heads up,” he snapped as Mart slid into the seat opposite. The sight of his younger brother reminded him that Mart should have let him know what was coming. After all, it was Mart’s damned paper.
“Sorry,” Mart said. “I had no idea until Trix called and filled me in.”
Brian’s dark brows drew together. “What about those final edition meetings you newspaper folk are always having?”
“Mm, former newspaper folk, in my case,” Mart returned, waving his hand at the passing waitress and pointing at his brother’s food. She nodded her head and smiled.
“How do you do that?” Brian asked, momentarily distracted.
“It’s a gift,” Mart said modestly. “Do you think I can turn it into some sort of revenue raising thing?”
“Why would you need to?” Brian demanded. “What happened?”
“He was fired,” Trixie answered instead. “Canned, given the flick, dismissed.”
“What?” Brian could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“Sad, but true,” Mart admitted. “Well, maybe not sad exactly.”
“Still, it’s hard to get ahead in life without a fulfilling career,” Trixie mused. “Perhaps the two of you could go into a lawn mowing, odd jobs business together?”
“She’s almost enjoying this.” Brian glared at her.
“Hey, that’s not true! But you have to admit it’s a little weird. One brother fired and the other suspended. The world’s gone all topsy-turvy. I’m the one with the good, steady job. The reliable one, the one you can count on.”
The Belden men had trouble suppressing the grins that sprang to their faces, and Mart spoke for them both. “Give it a rest, Trix. We men are suffering here.”
“Fine. Let me order some food and you two can swap sob stories.”
“Does yours have anything to do with a woman?” Mart demanded, shooting Brian a look.
“How did you know?”
“It’s always a woman, brother of mine.”
“Please hurry up with that order,” Trixie called to the waitress.  “This is not something a person can discuss on an empty stomach. And, speaking of women,” she added, turning to her brothers. “Someone had better call Moms. Maybe it should be me. I am the one with a career ahead of me. That probably comes with some responsibility.”
Both Mart and Brian rolled their eyes, but the latter spoke. “I’ll call Moms. I can’t even begin to imagine the garbled version she’d get if you called her.”


Minutes later, their sandwiches and coffees were delivered to the table,  Brian gratefully accepting a fresh cup of the dark, reviving brew. He wasn’t sure if there was enough caffeine in the world to clear his head, but he was willing to try.
“Oh, and when the time comes, bring the bill to me.” Trixie smiled up at the waitress. “My brothers are both unemployed. I have to take care of them.”
The girl looked puzzled but nodded and hurried off. 
“We are never going to live this down,” Brian groaned.
“Maybe not,” Mart admitted. “But in the spirit of our sister’s generosity, I’m ordering fries and a banana split. Maybe some pie.”
Brian grinned. “What an excellent idea
Trixie stuck her elbows on the table. “Me and my big mouth. When will I learn?”
Mart patted her on the back and grinned, too. “My guess is never, and that’s just fine with us.”


Calling his mother was something Brian usually looked forward to, but this was an exception.  At least Mart was going to dig into who had snapped that picture of Honey and talked to the press. Was it one of his neighbours? One of the people whose groceries he carried or tires he changed? It would be pretty disappointing to discover that people he regarded as almost-friends would do something like that.
 After lunch with his siblings, he’d headed back to his apartment, knowing he needed his own space, his own things around him for this conversation.  He’d felt exposed in the café, and the weather, doing a brilliant job of reflecting his mood, was dreary, depressing, with a hint of an oncoming storm. Settling into his favourite chair, he dialled and waited. She picked up on the third ring and her bright greeting confirmed his suspicion that she had not seen the paper. He cut her off, unable to listen to his mother's praise of her smart, responsible oldest child. His testimony recently in a criminal trial had helped secure a conviction in a difficult case, and she was more than a little proud. 
“Moms, I have a bit of a problem. And you’re going to be very disappointed in me.”
There was a moment of silence and ,he knew without being there that she’d drawn a chair up to the kitchen table, maybe even poured herself a cup of coffee before doing so. “Go head, darling,” she said. 
It wasn’t as bad as he’d imagined.  He heard her draw a breath when he explained he was on suspension and another when he told her about Mart, but she was Moms and she rallied—fast.
“Well, I’m proud of my children for standing up for what they believe in. For standing by people they believe in.”
“That might be true of Mart, Moms, but I’m not sure you could say that about me.”
“Brian, how do you feel about this woman?”
He took a moment before responding. “I think I love her, Moms, but that’s crazy. We barely know each other—even taking into account meeting all those years ago. Her husband’s just died—been murdered. And I’m a part of the investigation into that murder. There’s no explanation for my behaviour.”
“No rational explanation,” she corrected gently.
He laughed ruefully. “That’s for sure. There’s just something about her. I trust her. I want her to know me. All of me.”
There it was, Helen thought. The very thing she knew she’d hear one day. Brian was smart, caring, capable, but for reasons she’d never quite understood, he’d protected his heart. Shared his thoughts and, she was certain, his body, but his heart, he’d somehow kept safe. Now it was exposed, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.
“It’s my fault Mart’s in this situation, too,” Brian said, typically trying to focus on something than his own feelings.
“I think that might be more to do with Diana than you,” Helen said wisely. “And Mart’s too good for that paper anyway.” She added with a decided sniff.
“That’s true.” Brian laughed again. They had the world’s best mother.
“So, what happens next? Have you talked to…Madeleine, isn’t it?”
“Honey, she calls herself Honey, and it suits her.” Brian said. “She’s not too happy with me, and I’m not positive she feels the same way.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Wow, Moms. No come home and hide, huh? Dive off the deep end, that’s your advice?”
“Yes it is!” Helen Belden returned. “And then you can come home and hide. Fried chicken for dinner.”
“Moms, if it goes okay, can I bring Honey home with me? If anyone needed a moms home cooked meal, it’s her.”
“Of course. I’d love to meet her. And Brian…”
“Yes.”
“You could never disappoint us. Never.”




She’d tried ignoring his calls and texts. She really had, but when Brian had sent one saying that as he was suspended and had a lot of time on his hands and potentially no professional future and he’d appreciate the chance to talk to her—in a small café, in a part of town one was unlikely to find the press or good food, if it came to that— she had caved. She’d told herself it was because she felt a sense of responsibility for his situation, but it had a lot more to do with what his sister had said. For reasons she couldn’t quite comprehend, Honey liked and trusted Trixie Belden, and Trixie seemed sure that Brian cared, really cared.
She wore simple clothes again, almost no make-up, her hair once again in the casual ponytail. It helped her to feel anonymous, and it also reminded her of their earlier encounter. 
He was waiting outside the café when she arrived. “You came,” he said.
 Honey gave her slender shoulders the slightest of shrugs, but when he moved towards her she didn’t back away. 
“I’m not an emotional coward,” Brian said harshly.  “I might be crazy, and I’m probably committing personal and professional suicide, but I’m crazy about you and I want you—any way I can get you.”
“You do?”
Brian nodded. “I want to make love to you over and over again, and I want to take long walks with you and sit by fires with you and take you to Crabapple Farm where my moms can finally feed you that fried chicken.”
“Fried chicken?” she repeated with a puzzled half-laugh.
“A small part of my first-ever fantasy about you.”
“I do like fried chicken,” Honey admitted with a grin.
“Then that settles that.” Brian wrapped his arms around her.  “I happen to know it’s on the menu for tonight’s dinner—mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy…”
“Sounds delicious. But how would you mother feel about you turning up with a complete stranger? And a murder suspect to boot?”
“My sister and Dan have made it clear that they don’t suspect you, and my mother will be delighted that I’m turning up with a woman whom I’m obviously besotted with.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever used that word about me.”
Brian dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ve never used it about anyone before this.”
“Are you sure you’re not some kind of masochist?” Honey asked, tilting her head to look at him. She liked the fact that he was tall and that even at five-seven she could look up at him.  “I said some pretty mean things to you. It’s weird ‘cause I almost never say anything mean—I’m always worried I’ll hurt someone’s feelings, and I like you, more than like you, so you’d think that would make me more careful, rather than more careless, if it’s careless. I just feel so much more around you, and it’s making me say what’s in my head instead of…” she trailed off. “That was rambling—even for me.”
“I like the way you ramble,” Brian said. “And maybe you feel like you can say whatever you’re thinking to me because you know it’s safe to do so.”
“Maybe,” Honey admitted, and the thought was slightly intoxicating. “Should I go home and change?”
“Change into what?” Brian asked with an expression so like his sister’s that he would have been surprised to see it on his face.
“A dress or something.”
Brian studied the jeans that hugged Honey’s slender form and the top that emphasized her small breasts then skimmed over her waist and hips. “Why? You look perfect just the way you are. And we Beldens don’t dress for dinner. Well, we don’t dress up for dinner,” he amended. “Clothes in general are kind of expected.”
Honey laughed. “Just as well. I don’t think I could concentrate on my fried chicken if you were naked.”
“Ditto.”  Brian reached out a hand and freed her hair, running his fingers through it.
“So dinner in Sleepyside then?” She smiled again.
“Where it all began.” 


Helen Belden had seen photographs of the woman who sat opposite her at the table in the Crabapple Farm kitchen, but there was little resemblance between the polished, exquisitely dressed images that graced the occasional pages of magazines and papers and the girl who was preparing green beans to go with their dinner. Honey had wanted to help. Had been eager to. 
Watching her guest, Helen thought she looked younger than her twenty-nine years. Her face was bare of make-up, save a touch of lip gloss, and the dark gold hair that earned her her nickname fell loosely about her shoulders.  It wasn’t hard to see what Brian saw in her.
Helen loved all of her children; her only desire for them was a happy healthy life. She never pried into their personal relationships, but naturally she was interested. Of all of them, only Bobby, the youngest, had a steady girlfriend who’d been around longer than a few months. Of course, Mart’s relationship with Diana Lynch seemed to be serious and for that she was grateful. Mart might be good with words and spend a lot of his time making jokes, but he had a tender heart and needed someone who appreciated that tenderness. Helen had liked Diana as a child and was enjoying getting to know the woman she’d become.
   Trixie—a smile crossed her face as she considered her only daughter. Tomboy Trixie—impulsive, headstrong, she’d never had a lot time for romance, but her mother knew that one day a man would come into Trixie’s life and take her by surprise and then, Helen suspected, it would be a very different story.
And Brian—her first-born—the dark-haired, dark-eyed son who most resembled his father. Brian had always been focused, set goals and worked hard to achieve them. College, medical school, they’d come first. And he was dedicated to his work even now. She knew he’d dated. Occasionally names would come up, and either Brian himself or his siblings would make reference to a woman in his life. But they’d never lasted and since leaving home he’d rarely brought them to family dinners or functions. 
And he had never called her to ask if he could bring one home before. Honey, he’d used her name— said it like a caress— was apparently special. He had asked to bring her to dinner because she really needed one of his  moms’ home cooked meal. Helen’s heart had swelled a little at his words.
They’d arrived early, hand in hand, entering via the farm’s rear door, and as soon as Helen saw her son’s face she knew he’d fallen—hard.
Fortunately, Honey seemed to have done a little falling of her own. Her wide, lovely hazel eyes lit up every time she looked at Brian and when she said his name…Helen wondered if she should be concerned instead of vaguely pleased.  She knew about the case. Knew that both of her children were involved, three of them if you counted Mart.
“Is that enough, Mrs. Belden?” Honey asked, gesturing towards the mound of beans.
“That’s perfect, thank you, dear.”
“It’s so good of you to let me intrude on your dinner with Brian. He told me you try to have dinner together once a week.” She could see why. Crabapple Farm reminded her of Caer Cottage. It had that same cosy, welcoming feel. From its white frame exterior, with its paned windows to the scrubbed pine table and pale cabinets in the kitchen, it was a home and not just a house.
“You’re very welcome to join us, Honey, and you are most certainly not an intrusion. We don’t manage to get together every week, but I’m a selfish woman, and I like to see my children—even if they are all grown up now.”
Honey smiled. On the way to Sleepyside, Brian had talked about his parents, about growing up in Sleepyside. There had been chores and responsibilities without an endless amount of money or possessions, but it sounded wonderful to her, and from Brian’s description, a large part of it was due to the woman who sat opposite her.
“What else can I do to help?” Honey’s day-to-day life rarely gave her the chance to help out in the kitchen. There were two nights a week when the Batemans did not prepare the evening meal—she’d wanted more nights, but Craig had insisted on the help and as Honey knew the couple counted on their salaries and preferred earning them to a handout, she’d acquiesced.  More often than not on the nights when the Batemans weren’t at Bluff House, they dined at restaurants or went to functions. Honey knew she should feel privileged, but she just wanted to live like a normal person—if there was such a thing.
Growing up, there had been a barrage of servants, and most of them seemed to find her presence in “their” kitchen an imposition. Her mother avoided most things domestic, and her grandmother had so many staff, Honey could barely keep track of them. Over the years, and with Diana and Mrs. Lynch’s help, she’d learned a few things, but the simple task of preparing a meal for a family was still something of a novelty.
“Would you like to make the gravy? Brian loves gravy on his fried chicken.”
“Me, too,” Honey confessed. “I might need a little guidance, though.” How silly and incompetent did that sound?
“ I’ve made apple pie for dessert so that 's all done,” Helen said with a smile. “I’ll talk you through the gravy while I’m whipping the cream.”




The meal was delicious, and Brian’s father, who greatly resembled his son, or, Honey supposed, the other way around to be accurate, was friendly and funny. To her surprise, she found she was really hungry and even asked for a third piece of chicken and a second serve of mashed potatoes.
“I think this might be the best food I’ve ever tasted, Mrs. Belden,” she enthused.
“Oh, Honey, that’s very kind of you, but I’m sure you’ve eaten in some of the best restaurants in New York, possibly all over the world.” Brian’s mother’s blushed and looked for a moment very like her daughter.
 “That’s what they tell me,” Honey admitted frankly. “But I’ve never enjoyed a meal as much as this one.”
“Told you Moms was the best cook ever,” Brian said proudly. He’d watched Honey, out of the corner of his eye, at first,  happy that his mother seemed to like her, and delighted to see her eating so well. As the evening progressed, he stopped hiding his interest—he couldn’t help himself. Having her there, in his home, with his family, just felt so good—so right.
“I think you de-aggerated— if there is such a thing that’s the opposite to exaggerate?” Honey mused.
“Like underestimated or underplayed,” Brian suggested with a grin.
Honey wrinkled her nose. “Don’t go all verbally technical on me. You know what I mean. Your mom should open her own restaurant.”
“Do you have a location in mind?” Brian asked.
“My kitchen?” Honey suggested hopefully and they all laughed.
The apple pie was almost as successful as the fried chicken. When they were done, Honey insisted on helping with the dishes and Helen left her guest in the kitchen with her oldest son.


“Do we have trouble on our hands?” Peter Belden asked his wife as they settled into their usual after dinner spots, coffees in hand.
“Maybe, a little, but we’ll get though it.”
“She’s not what I expected.”
“Is that a good or a bad thing?” Helen smiled at her husband.
Peter laughed softly. “I can see why she’s got under his skin.”
“It’s more than that, I think.”
“I think so, too.”
“And?”
“I think we can be glad we still have two fully employed children and that one of them happens to be a very savvy detective.”
“I agree.” Helen raised her coffee cup and her husband returned the gesture. Beldens stuck together and it worked every time.

BH:MAIN                                                                                                                                                            NEXT                                                                                                                                                    

Author's notes: I am so grateful to my friend and editor, Dana, She works so hard to make my stories better and I love her dearly. Jix and Trix remain two of my favourite things. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random house and not to me. No profit is being made form the scribblings.