Chapter Two
The words were unexpected. People did usually make that claim at some point, but if they didn’t babble it the moment the police walked through the door, it was rarely, in Trixie’s experience, this early on. Most of them appeared outraged or, at the least, surprised, to be considered a suspect—guilty or innocent. She wondered which one this woman was.
“Okay. Let’s get back, shall we?” Trixie had seen her fair share of crime scenes. She’d been a part of several murder investigations and knew that more often than not the murderer not only knew the victim— but was close to them. That, coupled with the fact that the woman who stood before her found the victim, made her a prime suspect. So why did the wife’s simple statement arouse feelings of sympathy? She must be getting soft. The woman who stood before her was a typical spoiled rich wife. And by the look of her she hadn’t done a day’s work in her pampered life.
“Belden,” Honey said suddenly, meeting the other woman’s steady blue gaze. “That’s your name, too. Are you married to the doctor?” The question came with a twinge of unexpected disappointment.
“God, no! He’s my brother.”
“He has kind eyes. And gentle hands.” Safe, familiar hands—maybe she was really was in shock.
“He’s available,” Trixie said, her ensuing expression revealing the remark was not planned. “We should go back, if you’re ready.”
Honey nodded. Her room called out to her, offering a sanctuary from the madness, but she was fairly certain she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Slowly, she led Trixie out of the room.
Back in the small sitting room Honey resumed her place on the sofa, curling her feet beneath her and clutching one of the small throw pillows.
“Can you tell us exactly what happened?” Dan asked, taking a seat opposite the woman.
Honey nodded. “Do you think I could have something to drink?”
Trixie’s sandy brows shot up. “It might be best to wait until after you’ve given us your statement,” she said.
“Why?” the other woman asked. “I can drink and answer questions at the same time.”
“Alcohol can cloud things.”
“Alcohol?” Honey frowned. “I was hoping for tea.”
“Tea?” Trixie repeated. “Tea?”
“Yes, tea. You make it with leaves and boiling water. I like mine with a dash of milk.”
Trixie didn’t need to see her brother’s face to know he was hiding a smile. She had a habit of jumping to conclusions. More often than not it panned out, but every now and again she took a leap in the wrong direction.
“Tea is probably a good idea,” Brian said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “If you tell me where the kitchen is, I can fix some.”
“You don’t need to go downstairs— everything you need is in the kitchenette opposite.” Honey watched as the tall, dark-haired man took several long strides to cross the room and the hall. She could see him, those gentle, long-fingered hands lifting the electric jug and filling it, opening the overhead cupboards, moving as if he belonged there--
“Mrs. Houghton? Honey?” Dan Mangan prodded.
“Sorry,” she said automatically.
“What can you tell us? What time did you arrive home?” Dan asked.
“Arrive?” Honey frowned. “I was here. Going over plans for a fundraiser.”
“What time did your husband get home?”
“I don’t know. I was listening to music while I was working. ”
“What made you check on your husband?” Trixie put in.
The other woman frowned. “I heard a car when I was changing the CD; a squeal of brakes in the drive. I went down to speak to my husband.”
“Because of a squeal of brakes?” Trixie asked, lifting one sandy brow. “That made you check up on your husband?”
“I wasn’t checking on him,” Honey corrected. “I went down to see who’d been here, to…” she trailed off.
“Mrs. Houghton?” Dan prompted.
Honey expelled her breath slowly and then shrugged those slender shoulders. “I’m not fond of some of my husband’s… associates. They come at all hours of the day and night and they make noise and they…is this important?”
“We’re just trying to get a clear picture,” Dan said smoothly.
“So you went down to speak to your husband and…?” Trixie asked.
“The door to the study was closed. I knocked and called out to him, but he didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer, I suppose. I thought he might have gone off with whoever it was, but I opened the door and then I saw him.”
“And you went to see if he was okay?” Dan was taking notes as he spoke, and he missed the look the slender woman threw his way.
“Even from the door I could see he wasn’t okay, but until I got closer I didn’t realize how bad it was. Didn’t know that he was dead.”
Trixie made a couple of notes of her own, feeling a grudging respect for this woman. She was tougher than she looked.
“Can you describe exactly what you saw, exactly what you did?” Dan continued.
“Here’s your tea, Honey.” Brian appeared, carrying a china mug. He placed it on the low wooden end table that abutted the sofa.
“I didn’t hear you come back,” Honey said, looking up at him, a hint of a smile playing on her face. “You move quietly for a big man. Not that you’re fat or even heavy, in fact you’re quite slim, but athletic, not skinny. Still, you are tall. Not excessively—“ she broke off. “Sorry, I don’t usually babble like that around people I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Brian said, taking a seat beside her on the sofa.
“He’s always been like that,” Trixie put in. “Trust me, it’s an annoying habit in an overbearing big brother. He appears, without warning, at the most inconvenient times.”
“I always wanted a brother,” Honey said wistfully. “I do have Jim, though. He’s almost a brother, sort of, and Ben, he’s my cousin, but he’s a bit…Sorry, I’m doing it again.”
“I ramble, too, sometimes,” Trixie said with a sigh.
“Sometimes?” Brian repeated.
“Let’s just get to what happened this evening, shall we?” Dan glared at both Beldens. What the hell was wrong with them anyway?
Honey picked up the tea and took a sip. “It’s good,” she said, sounding a little surprised. “Nice and strong.”
“Feeling better, Mrs. Houghton?” Dan asked as she took another sip.
“Yes, thank you. Thank you for the tea, Doctor Belden.”
“Brian.”
“Brian.”
“Can we continue now?” Dan did his best to sound calm and unruffled.
“Of course.”
“What music were you listening to?” Trixie spoke before Dan could.
“Oh, Satie’s Gymnopaedies,” Honey replied.
“Nice,” Trixie said, though the name meant nothing to her.
“I find it thoughtful. It’s sort of like searching for something or waiting.”
“That’s a good description,” Brian, who did know the piece, said.
“So, you approached your husband, and then what?” Dan was beginning to think he’d strayed into the Twilight Zone.
“I saw the blood, and his eyes were open,” Honey’s voice was soft, but steady. “I felt for a pulse anyway. Instinct maybe? I mean from seeing things on television, not from having done it before.”
“And then…” Dan was surprised at the flicker of sympathy he was beginning to feel, but he was cop first and foremost, and killers had tried to manipulate him before. He needed to ask these questions before someone from this woman’s world turned up and put a stop to it. And if she were innocent, then getting the statement while everything was still fresh in her mind was important.
“I guess I panicked. I saw that he’d been shot or at least that’s what it looked like, and I started to wonder if maybe someone was still in the house.”
“Why would you think that?” Trixie asked as she stood and moved about the room, touching and straightening objects with her gloved hand.
“It happens, doesn’t it?” Honey turned her head in Brian’s direction rather than towards either of the police officers.
Brian hesitated a moment before responding. “I don’t think it was an unreasonable notion,” he said.
“So you came up here? Straight away?” Dan posed.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think about leaving the house? Going for help?” Trixie continued to move about. She’d felt the full force of the glare Dan threw at her and snapped back into investigative mode. They’d worked together long enough to have a rhythm
“I wasn’t dressed.” Honey’s brow wrinkled. “I didn’t have my car keys.”
“So you came back up here, to this room and called 911?” Dan shot back. He and Trixie often used this tactic. Each throwing questions at the suspect.
“Yes, and then I locked the door and waited for you to arrive.”
“Mrs. Houghton,” Trixie deliberately used the name. “Why do you have rooms up here, rather than on the main floor. Were you and your husband having problems?”
“What?” Honey looked from one person to the next.
“Was your marriage in trouble?” Dan demanded.
At that moment they heard the front door slammed, followed by voices, one angry and loud, their volume easily traversing the distance between ground and third floor. The voices continued, drew nearer. Dan rose from his seat, and Trixie moved towards the door, both had their hands resting on service weapons. Brian instinctively moved closer to Honey.
“What the hell is going on here? Honey, sweetheart, are you alright?” The man who strode into the room was big— around six-three, broad shouldered with greying red hair.
“I’m fine, Daddy, but Craig…Craig’s dead.”
“Sorry, detective.” A young uniformed officer trailed in the man’s wake. “He insisted.”
Dan mentally counted to five. Had the whole of his department lost it? “You’re a police officer, an armed police officer. You couldn’t say no?”
“Is that some sort of a threat against my person, detective?” The man flicked his head around and even Dan saw the power in his green eyes.
“Not at all, sir. But this is the scene of a homicide and I’m sure you wouldn’t be happy if we just allowed anyone access?”
“Fair point. Now, I want two things—to be able to comfort my child and an explanation for what it is you are doing at this precise moment.”
Honey was on her feet now and moved towards her father. No one made any effort to keep them apart, and the slight woman was quickly enfolded in an embrace.
“I’m here now,” the man said. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He turned to Dan. “I’ve called the family physician. I trust you have no objections? My daughter has been through a traumatic experience.”
“None whatsoever,” Dan said evenly. “Our police surgeon has checked your daughter over, and she’s been perfectly cognizant. Now, if you have no objections, do you mind giving us your name? Just for the record.”
A look of surprise crossed the man’s face, but he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Matthew Wheeler,” he said. “My name is Matthew Wheeler. Now, whatever it was you were doing, it’s over. I’m taking Honey to her room.” He moved as he spoke, ushering his daughter out of the room before anyone could raise an objection.
“That went well,” Trixie said.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Dan fumed.
"He thinks he’s her father and he’s doing what any father would do—protecting his child.” Brian said a little sharply.
“I couldn’t stop him.” The young officer piped up.
The other three turned to look at him. They had all but forgotten he was there. “He was on the board of the school I went to. He owns the company my uncle works for. He’s…important.”
“Matthew Wheeler,” Brian said slowly. “That’s who she is.”
“Wheeler, as in Wheeler International, as in one of the ten richest men in the state?” Trixie demanded.
“The country,” Dan corrected automatically. “Holy hell. What have we got ourselves into?”
BH:MAIN NEXT
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Again, my thanks go to Dana—editor supreme. She not only refined and improved this story no end, but also loved it. She saves me, in more ways than one. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. Original characters belong to me, but are pointless without Trixie et al, so...No profit is being made from these scribblings.
“Okay. Let’s get back, shall we?” Trixie had seen her fair share of crime scenes. She’d been a part of several murder investigations and knew that more often than not the murderer not only knew the victim— but was close to them. That, coupled with the fact that the woman who stood before her found the victim, made her a prime suspect. So why did the wife’s simple statement arouse feelings of sympathy? She must be getting soft. The woman who stood before her was a typical spoiled rich wife. And by the look of her she hadn’t done a day’s work in her pampered life.
“Belden,” Honey said suddenly, meeting the other woman’s steady blue gaze. “That’s your name, too. Are you married to the doctor?” The question came with a twinge of unexpected disappointment.
“God, no! He’s my brother.”
“He has kind eyes. And gentle hands.” Safe, familiar hands—maybe she was really was in shock.
“He’s available,” Trixie said, her ensuing expression revealing the remark was not planned. “We should go back, if you’re ready.”
Honey nodded. Her room called out to her, offering a sanctuary from the madness, but she was fairly certain she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Slowly, she led Trixie out of the room.
Back in the small sitting room Honey resumed her place on the sofa, curling her feet beneath her and clutching one of the small throw pillows.
“Can you tell us exactly what happened?” Dan asked, taking a seat opposite the woman.
Honey nodded. “Do you think I could have something to drink?”
Trixie’s sandy brows shot up. “It might be best to wait until after you’ve given us your statement,” she said.
“Why?” the other woman asked. “I can drink and answer questions at the same time.”
“Alcohol can cloud things.”
“Alcohol?” Honey frowned. “I was hoping for tea.”
“Tea?” Trixie repeated. “Tea?”
“Yes, tea. You make it with leaves and boiling water. I like mine with a dash of milk.”
Trixie didn’t need to see her brother’s face to know he was hiding a smile. She had a habit of jumping to conclusions. More often than not it panned out, but every now and again she took a leap in the wrong direction.
“Tea is probably a good idea,” Brian said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “If you tell me where the kitchen is, I can fix some.”
“You don’t need to go downstairs— everything you need is in the kitchenette opposite.” Honey watched as the tall, dark-haired man took several long strides to cross the room and the hall. She could see him, those gentle, long-fingered hands lifting the electric jug and filling it, opening the overhead cupboards, moving as if he belonged there--
“Mrs. Houghton? Honey?” Dan Mangan prodded.
“Sorry,” she said automatically.
“What can you tell us? What time did you arrive home?” Dan asked.
“Arrive?” Honey frowned. “I was here. Going over plans for a fundraiser.”
“What time did your husband get home?”
“I don’t know. I was listening to music while I was working. ”
“What made you check on your husband?” Trixie put in.
The other woman frowned. “I heard a car when I was changing the CD; a squeal of brakes in the drive. I went down to speak to my husband.”
“Because of a squeal of brakes?” Trixie asked, lifting one sandy brow. “That made you check up on your husband?”
“I wasn’t checking on him,” Honey corrected. “I went down to see who’d been here, to…” she trailed off.
“Mrs. Houghton?” Dan prompted.
Honey expelled her breath slowly and then shrugged those slender shoulders. “I’m not fond of some of my husband’s… associates. They come at all hours of the day and night and they make noise and they…is this important?”
“We’re just trying to get a clear picture,” Dan said smoothly.
“So you went down to speak to your husband and…?” Trixie asked.
“The door to the study was closed. I knocked and called out to him, but he didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer, I suppose. I thought he might have gone off with whoever it was, but I opened the door and then I saw him.”
“And you went to see if he was okay?” Dan was taking notes as he spoke, and he missed the look the slender woman threw his way.
“Even from the door I could see he wasn’t okay, but until I got closer I didn’t realize how bad it was. Didn’t know that he was dead.”
Trixie made a couple of notes of her own, feeling a grudging respect for this woman. She was tougher than she looked.
“Can you describe exactly what you saw, exactly what you did?” Dan continued.
“Here’s your tea, Honey.” Brian appeared, carrying a china mug. He placed it on the low wooden end table that abutted the sofa.
“I didn’t hear you come back,” Honey said, looking up at him, a hint of a smile playing on her face. “You move quietly for a big man. Not that you’re fat or even heavy, in fact you’re quite slim, but athletic, not skinny. Still, you are tall. Not excessively—“ she broke off. “Sorry, I don’t usually babble like that around people I don’t know.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Brian said, taking a seat beside her on the sofa.
“He’s always been like that,” Trixie put in. “Trust me, it’s an annoying habit in an overbearing big brother. He appears, without warning, at the most inconvenient times.”
“I always wanted a brother,” Honey said wistfully. “I do have Jim, though. He’s almost a brother, sort of, and Ben, he’s my cousin, but he’s a bit…Sorry, I’m doing it again.”
“I ramble, too, sometimes,” Trixie said with a sigh.
“Sometimes?” Brian repeated.
“Let’s just get to what happened this evening, shall we?” Dan glared at both Beldens. What the hell was wrong with them anyway?
Honey picked up the tea and took a sip. “It’s good,” she said, sounding a little surprised. “Nice and strong.”
“Feeling better, Mrs. Houghton?” Dan asked as she took another sip.
“Yes, thank you. Thank you for the tea, Doctor Belden.”
“Brian.”
“Brian.”
“Can we continue now?” Dan did his best to sound calm and unruffled.
“Of course.”
“What music were you listening to?” Trixie spoke before Dan could.
“Oh, Satie’s Gymnopaedies,” Honey replied.
“Nice,” Trixie said, though the name meant nothing to her.
“I find it thoughtful. It’s sort of like searching for something or waiting.”
“That’s a good description,” Brian, who did know the piece, said.
“So, you approached your husband, and then what?” Dan was beginning to think he’d strayed into the Twilight Zone.
“I saw the blood, and his eyes were open,” Honey’s voice was soft, but steady. “I felt for a pulse anyway. Instinct maybe? I mean from seeing things on television, not from having done it before.”
“And then…” Dan was surprised at the flicker of sympathy he was beginning to feel, but he was cop first and foremost, and killers had tried to manipulate him before. He needed to ask these questions before someone from this woman’s world turned up and put a stop to it. And if she were innocent, then getting the statement while everything was still fresh in her mind was important.
“I guess I panicked. I saw that he’d been shot or at least that’s what it looked like, and I started to wonder if maybe someone was still in the house.”
“Why would you think that?” Trixie asked as she stood and moved about the room, touching and straightening objects with her gloved hand.
“It happens, doesn’t it?” Honey turned her head in Brian’s direction rather than towards either of the police officers.
Brian hesitated a moment before responding. “I don’t think it was an unreasonable notion,” he said.
“So you came up here? Straight away?” Dan posed.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t think about leaving the house? Going for help?” Trixie continued to move about. She’d felt the full force of the glare Dan threw at her and snapped back into investigative mode. They’d worked together long enough to have a rhythm
“I wasn’t dressed.” Honey’s brow wrinkled. “I didn’t have my car keys.”
“So you came back up here, to this room and called 911?” Dan shot back. He and Trixie often used this tactic. Each throwing questions at the suspect.
“Yes, and then I locked the door and waited for you to arrive.”
“Mrs. Houghton,” Trixie deliberately used the name. “Why do you have rooms up here, rather than on the main floor. Were you and your husband having problems?”
“What?” Honey looked from one person to the next.
“Was your marriage in trouble?” Dan demanded.
At that moment they heard the front door slammed, followed by voices, one angry and loud, their volume easily traversing the distance between ground and third floor. The voices continued, drew nearer. Dan rose from his seat, and Trixie moved towards the door, both had their hands resting on service weapons. Brian instinctively moved closer to Honey.
“What the hell is going on here? Honey, sweetheart, are you alright?” The man who strode into the room was big— around six-three, broad shouldered with greying red hair.
“I’m fine, Daddy, but Craig…Craig’s dead.”
“Sorry, detective.” A young uniformed officer trailed in the man’s wake. “He insisted.”
Dan mentally counted to five. Had the whole of his department lost it? “You’re a police officer, an armed police officer. You couldn’t say no?”
“Is that some sort of a threat against my person, detective?” The man flicked his head around and even Dan saw the power in his green eyes.
“Not at all, sir. But this is the scene of a homicide and I’m sure you wouldn’t be happy if we just allowed anyone access?”
“Fair point. Now, I want two things—to be able to comfort my child and an explanation for what it is you are doing at this precise moment.”
Honey was on her feet now and moved towards her father. No one made any effort to keep them apart, and the slight woman was quickly enfolded in an embrace.
“I’m here now,” the man said. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He turned to Dan. “I’ve called the family physician. I trust you have no objections? My daughter has been through a traumatic experience.”
“None whatsoever,” Dan said evenly. “Our police surgeon has checked your daughter over, and she’s been perfectly cognizant. Now, if you have no objections, do you mind giving us your name? Just for the record.”
A look of surprise crossed the man’s face, but he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Matthew Wheeler,” he said. “My name is Matthew Wheeler. Now, whatever it was you were doing, it’s over. I’m taking Honey to her room.” He moved as he spoke, ushering his daughter out of the room before anyone could raise an objection.
“That went well,” Trixie said.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Dan fumed.
"He thinks he’s her father and he’s doing what any father would do—protecting his child.” Brian said a little sharply.
“I couldn’t stop him.” The young officer piped up.
The other three turned to look at him. They had all but forgotten he was there. “He was on the board of the school I went to. He owns the company my uncle works for. He’s…important.”
“Matthew Wheeler,” Brian said slowly. “That’s who she is.”
“Wheeler, as in Wheeler International, as in one of the ten richest men in the state?” Trixie demanded.
“The country,” Dan corrected automatically. “Holy hell. What have we got ourselves into?”
BH:MAIN NEXT
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Again, my thanks go to Dana—editor supreme. She not only refined and improved this story no end, but also loved it. She saves me, in more ways than one. Trixie Belden et al belong to Random House and not to me. Original characters belong to me, but are pointless without Trixie et al, so...No profit is being made from these scribblings.
