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The Mystery at Blackwater Falls Part Four Author’s notes: In Part Three, the Belden-Wheeler
Detective Agency attempted to figure out the meaning the mysterious numbers
they’d found on the Trail Guide. So far, they haven’t had any luck, but
Schoolgirl Shamuses, Inc. has no intentions of giving up on the case. Trixie
finds the resort’s van driver very suspicious, especially when she sees him
speaking to the man in the plaid shirt. Join the Bob-Whites now as they head
to Smoke Hole Caverns.
Trixie impatiently blew an errant
sandy curl out of her eyes as she waited for her turn to board the resort’s
van. For the millionth time in her life, she wished that she wasn’t so
curious. It’s not like I try to find mysteries, she mused with an
inward sigh. The boys would understand
that, though. They think I advertise in the personal columns for all these
mysterious adventures we accidentally find… “C’mon, Trixie!” a chorus of voices
called from inside the van, drawing the petite blonde out of her thoughts. Jim, ever the Boy Scout, had motioned
for her to board the van before him. As she climbed up the vehicle’s steps,
she kept one wary eye on Jonathan Darling, the bus driver. The lanky
Englishman was scribbling furiously in a tiny notebook which was propped
against the steering wheel. She was so consumed with spying on the mysterious
fellow that her right foot missed the top step. “Oomph!” Trixie
exclaimed as she landed in a sprawling heap in the aisle. English Jon looked
up from his writing and peered down at her, a concerned look on his weathered
face. “Are you injured, pet?” Her neck reddening,
Trixie merely shook her head. Before the driver could bend down to offer some
assistance, Jim had come behind her and wrapped his freckled hands around the
sandy blonde’s waist, pulling her upright. “Thanks,” she
mumbled. As she walked past the driver’s seat, English Jon hurriedly stuffed
the notebook into the pocket of his polo shirt. Although she was dying to
know what he had written, Trixie found a seat. Wanting to spy on the driver
without being too obvious, she chose one in the third row from the front,
close but not too close. “Scoot over,” Jim
said, gently nudging her arm with his knee. Her pride still
smarting from the spill she had taken, Trixie shook her head in reply.
However, Jim wouldn’t be deterred. Determined to claim the spot beside her,
he whispered, “I’m sitting here whether you like it or not, Trix. And until I
sit down, this bus isn’t moving.” “I’m not in the
mood for company,” Trixie warned, her cheeks flaming. “Especially smelly, bossy company.” “C’mon, Trix,” Jim
cajoled good-naturedly. “I couldn’t be that
stinky. Bossy, maybe; stinky, no. Now scoot over.” Trixie sighed
wearily. “Can’t you take a hint? I’m grumpy, and I don’t want company of any kind.” “That’s okay,” Jim
retorted, a crooked grin parting his lips. “I’m a big boy; I can handle your
grumpiness.” Trixie glanced
over at him. From her vantage point she had a spectacular view of his
washboard stomach, defined by the form-fitting hunter green t-shirt he wore.
She quickly averted her gaze from his muscular physique; she knew certainly
well that he was a big boy, but now wasn’t the time to study Jim’s chiseled
abs. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” she asked wryly. “Nope,” the
redhead replied cheerfully. Trixie exhaled noisily but slid closer to the window so he
could sit down beside her. “You do realize that you’re a real pain in the
butt?” “Yep,” Jim
answered in a tone just as cheerful as before. He planted a A voice from the
back of the van prohibited the pair from continuing their conversation. “Excuse me, English Jon,” Diana spoke
up, “but do you have a Band-Aid or something? I have a blister on my foot.” “Why yes, I do,”
the driver replied. He reached over to open the glove compartment and pulled
out a first-aid kit. He turned around and handed it to Jim. “Kindly pass this
back to Miss Taylor.” “Her name is Diana,” Trixie corrected
tersely. English Jon
grinned, not appearing insulted in the least. “Is it, now? Well, a
bus-driving bloke as myself rarely has time to learn
each of his passengers’ names. I have to improvise every now and again.” The jolly Brit glanced back at Di, who was allowing Brian,
in spite of his current state of smelliness, to come close enough to practice
his first-aid skills on her blistered foot. The bus driver turned back to
Trixie and winked. “And you may not agree, but in my humble opinion, your
Diana bears an uncanny resemblance to the great Elizabeth Taylor, what with
the ebony hair and violet eyes. So, as far as I’m concerned, henceforth she
shall be dubbed Miss Taylor.” Trixie merely
rolled her eyes in exasperation and shifted her attention to the view outside
the bus window. Much to her relief, Jonathan Darling began straightening the
contents of the glove box that had shifted when he removed the first-aid kit. Jim curiously
studied his favorite detective. “ Trixie remained
silent, only nodding in agreement. “I like how this
area isn’t commercialized,” Jim went on, shifting nervously in his seat.
“It’s so quiet and peaceful. I’ll bet it’d be really beautiful in the fall.”
He had raised a hand and was getting ready to place it on Trixie’s shoulder
just as Honey reached over the seat and handed him the first-aid kit. “Jim, can you pass
this back up to the front?” she asked. “Sure.” He handed
the white box up to the bus driver and turned his attention back to Trixie.
Over the years, he had practically made a hobby out of watching her, and it
was obvious to him that something was wrong with his special girl. Before he
could question her, an announcement was made from the front. “Are we all seated
and ready for departure?” English Jon questioned. A chorus of “yeses” came
from the back. “If you shall be so kind as to give me the name of our next
destination, we shall be off.” “Smoke Hole Caverns,” Dan called out. English Jon looked
up in his rearview mirror at Trixie. “Any objections, miss?” he teasingly
inquired, his brown eyes twinkling merrily. Trixie scowled,
making sure to keep her gaze fastened outside. “Fine with me.” English Jon
laughed heartily. “Then to Smoke Hole we shall go. Estimated time of arrival
is forty minutes.” After turning around to tip his golf hat teasingly at
Trixie, he shifted the bus into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. A loud
clearing-of-the-throat came from the middle of the vehicle. “Perchance is
there a victual venue in close proximity to the concavity to which we
sojourn?” “If Shakespeare
here is asking if it’s lunchtime,” Dan quipped, “then I second the motion.
I’m hungry, too.” English Jon
glanced at the clock on the dashboard of the bus. “It is almost time for It was quickly
decided that the group would stop for lunch on the way to Smoke Hole Caverns.
English Jon turned his attention to the winding road, while the quiet hum of
conversation filled the rest of the van. Trixie, usually
one of the chattiest Bob-Whites, leaned her forehead against the window as
she looked outside. Jim bumped his
elbow against her arm. “You okay?” “Yeah,” she
muttered sadly. She kept her focus on the quickly passing scenery so that she
didn’t have to look him in the eye. “Did you hurt your
knee when you fell earlier?” “I said I was okay,” she answered
testily. Jim leaned forward
in the seat to study Trixie’s face. “You don’t sound okay. You’re not crying, are you?” Trixie sighed
loudly as she turned to face Jim. “No, I’m not crying.” “Then why are you
looking out the window?” he prodded. “Maybe because I wanted to sit by myself
and don’t feel like talking to anyone.” Trixie exhaled noisily once more, her
face downcast with shame. She hadn’t meant to sound so snippy, but apparently
her words came out harsher than she intended. The obvious hurt she had seen
in Jim’s eyes stung her conscious, as well as her heart. “I’m sorry, Jim,”
she apologized softly, hooking her arm through his. “I sure am lousy company
today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Jim smiled and
patted her hand. “You’re not lousy company, Shamus. Everybody has a bad day
once in a while. Now tell me what’s bothering you.” Trixie wrinkled
her nose. “You aren’t going to accuse me of having PMS, are you?” “Of course not,”
he replied with a chuckle. “Now, talk to the Jim-meister.” “The ‘Jim-meister’?” Trixie repeated, giggling in spite of herself.
“Well, at least you didn’t call yourself ‘Uncle Jim’. That really creeped
me out.” “Why?” Jim’s
emerald gaze lingered longingly on her heart-shaped face. Trixie drew a
hesitant breath. Her pulse surged as she mustered a healthy helping of
courage. “Well, I guess I th---” Before she could
admit her feelings, she was interrupted by a squeal. A second later, an
object bonked Trixie on the head, landing in her lap. “Sorry, Trix,”
Honey apologized with a laugh. “Brian’s trying to sit by me so he can make me
smell his BO, so I hurled my camera case at him. I guess I missed.” Trixie rubbed the
top of her head, feigning injury. “Oy vey! I think I have a concussion.” Honey leaned over
the seat and snatched the case out of her friend’s lap. “At least I took my
camera out before I threw the case,” she pointed out with a saucy grin. “Yeah,” Trixie
agreed as her honey-haired friend sat back down in her seat. Once the shrieks
behind her resumed, Trixie looked back up at Jim. “So… what were we talking
about?” “Umm… I think I
just asked you what was wrong.” Jim’s voice quavered as he met her gaze. “Oh, yeah,” she
mumbled. Trixie curled her fists tightly in an attempt to squelch her
disappointment. After a sigh of resignation, she answered Jim’s earlier
question. “Somebody’s getting on my
nerves, and it’s making me grumpy.” “It’s not me, is
it?” Although she
wanted to admit that she was a
little annoyed with him for avoiding the subject of their “special”
relationship, Trixie shook her head. “No, it’s him.” She looked pointedly towards the front of the van. “English Jon?” Jim
exclaimed in disbelief. “Shhh!” Trixie hissed. “I don’t want him to hear you.” Jim tilted his
head closer to her, making sure to speak in a whisper. “He couldn’t hear you
over that noisy engine, Trix. So, what’d English Jon do to get on your bad
side?” “You mean you
haven’t noticed?” Trixie practically bellowed. “Shhh!” Jim mimicked. “I thought you didn’t want him to
hear.” With a rueful chuckle,
Trixie slugged his stomach with the back of her fist and stuck her tongue out
at him. “You haven’t noticed how he’s picking on me?” “He’s just teasing
you,” Jim said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But if it’s really bothering
you, I could ask him to stop.” “No.” Although her
voice was quiet, her tone was firm. “Are you sure?”
Jim lifted a skeptical ginger brow. “I could ju---” “No,” Trixie repeated icily. “I’ll
handle it my own way.” “I don’t think he’s trying to be mean, Trix,” Jim told her. “Some guys get a kick out of
teasing people. He probably knows he’s getting your goat, and is enjoying it.
If you pretend that his ribbing doesn’t bother you, I bet he’ll leave you
alone.” Trixie stared
straight ahead and kept her gaze focused on the back of English Jon’s head.
“Well, there’s something about him that I don’t like. He talks funny.” “You’re just
irritated because he speaks so properly. He probably reminds you of Mart.” “That’s not it,”
Trixie disagreed. She aimlessly twirled a curl around her index finger as she
pondered Jim’s comment. “It’s his accent.” Jim hooted with
laughter. “What do you expect? English Jon is from Trixie frowned as
she allowed the curl she was twirling to spring off her finger and then
absentmindedly rewound it. “His accent could
be phony, you know.” “He sounds exactly
like every other Englishman I’ve ever heard speak,” Jim observed. “Maybe he’s a good actor.” Jim smiled down at
her. “Shamus, you know I’d believe you if you said there was a shark in the “Maybe,” she
admitted softly. “But there’s something so… so… m---” “Mysterious about
him?” Jim supplied. Trixie nodded in response. He glanced towards the front
of the van. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.” Trixie bounced in
excitement, landing a few inches closer to the husky redhead beside her. “So
you think he could be a criminal, too?” Jim chuckled as he
placed a calming hand on her arm. “Settle down, Trix. I hate to burst your
bubble, but I don’t think he’s mysterious because he’s breaking the law. I
think something is troubling him. Maybe he needs our help.” “Really?” Trixie
wrinkled her freckled nose in surprise. “So you don’t think he’s a cat
burglar or maybe a drug dealer?” She gasped dramatically and clutched her
sandy curls. “Or maybe he’s a serial killer!” “Does everybody
you dislike have to be a thief, a
gun smuggler, a kid---” “All right,”
Trixie interrupted hastily. “You’ve made your point.” Jim gasped in
exaggerated surprise. “Are you actually admitting
I’m right?” “Don’t push your
luck,” she managed. She paused momentarily, her lips twitching with the
struggle of not saying something. Finally, the urge was too great. “Of
course, he could be a terrori---” Jim tilted his
head and looked at her through narrowed green eyes, hoping to stem her exuberance.
It must have worked because Trixie responded with a weary sigh. “Okay, I’m stopping,” she conceded. “For now. I’m not giving up for good, though. I’ll be keeping an
eagle eye on Mr. Darling, if that’s
his real name.” Jim was silent for
a moment, admiring the way Trixie’s china blue eyes brightened when she was
agitated, the way her curls shook when she was ranting, the way her flushed
cheeks accentuated her peaches and cream complexion. For an instant, his
hesitancy took a backseat to his heart. “Maybe you’d be better off keeping
your eyes on something else, Shamus.” Trixie’s golden
eyebrows drew together in a crease of puzzlement. “Like what?” “L-l-like the
beautiful scenery,” Jim stuttered, a red heat creeping up from his neck to
his earlobes. “Hey, look out there at that rock formation.” The two gazed out
the window in companionable silence. After several minutes, Trixie gently
poked Jim in the ribs to get his attention. When his emerald eyes were on
her, she smiled at him in her most becoming manner. “Jim?” “Yes?” “Please don’t ever
refer to yourself as ‘the Jim-meister’ again.”
Giggling at the redhead’s insulted expression, Trixie scooched
down in the seat and rested her head on his broad shoulder, not even caring
about the smell emanating from under his arms.
The bus pulled
into a parking spot in front of a rustic-looking log cabin. If it hadn’t been
for the large sign, nobody would have known the building was a restaurant. On
either side of the entrance stood two tall bears carved out of large pine
logs which were turned upright. As the group walked to the front door, Brian
reached out and patted one. “Cool,” he
murmured appreciatively. “Somebody spent a lot of time on these.” Jim, an expert in
woodworking himself, nodded in agreement. “The craftsmanship is amazing.” “Let’s just hope
they don’t whittle the hamburgers out of cow trees,” Di teased. Mart patted his
empty stomach. “I’m so hungry that I don’t care if the hamburgers are made of
bark or cow; I’ll eat whatever they give me.” The Bob-Whites and
English Jon laughed as they walked inside. Although the outside of the
restaurant looked like something one would find in the mountain wilderness,
the interior was a typical diner. There were several wooden tables scattered
throughout the room, and pictures of country settings graced the wall. Simple
bouquets of freshly-picked daisies had been set in the middle of each table,
their sunny centers matching the cheery yellow tablecloths. Although the
restaurant wasn’t fancy, it was clean and comfortable; the overall effect was
cozy and inviting. Mart, anxious to appease his growling
stomach, led the way to a large table in the middle of the room, and the
group quickly found seats. It wasn’t long before a waitress brought them some
well-worn menus. Honey watched as the lanky Brit
claimed one of the two-person tables by the window. Feeling sorry for the bus
driver, the kindhearted girl impetuously called over to him. “English Jon,
why don’t you sit with us?” Trixie inhaled sharply
as she glared over at her best friend. She then looked up at Jim, who was
sitting across from her, as he nodded slightly in encouragement. “I wouldn’t want
to intrude,” English Jon insisted politely. Mart looked up
from the menu he had been intently studying. “You wouldn’t be intruding. In
fact, I would count it an honor to dine with such a fine wordsmith as you.” “And it’s not like
we don’t have room,” Di commented. “There’s an extra chair right here by me.” “Besides,” Dan added
with a broad grin, “if Mart bungles the English language too badly, it’d be
nice to have an expert who could correct him.” “What’s all this
talk about me ‘bungling’ the Anglo-Saxon lexicon?” Mart muttered under his
breath. “First my feminesque sibling, now my choice
hail-fellow. I’m truly taken aback by such slanderous invectors.” “Invectives,” Brian corrected, casting an
amused grin at his younger brother. He then turned his attention to Jonathan
Darling. “We really need your help here, English Jon. My specialty’s
medicine, not language. I just got lucky on that one.” English Jon looked
over at the group a bit longingly. “You young people wouldn’t want to spend
time with an ancient chap like me.” “Why, of course we
would!” A blush covered Diana’s high cheekbones as she realized she had
practically agreed that he was “an ancient chap”. “I mean, we’d love to eat
with you, and you aren’t ancient at all.” Honey nodded
eagerly. “You’re very interesting. We’d love to hear some stories about “Is that so? Well
then, you must be aware that a proper Englishman never passes up an
opportunity to talk about his homeland. Besides, a true etymologist must
vaunt his pedantry.” With a grin, Jonathan Darling rose a bit hesitantly and
joined the Bob-Whites. He pulled out the empty chair beside Di and sat down. A waitress came
over, and the group placed their orders. While they waited for their food,
English Jon told several lively stories about his native country. The rest of
the Bob-Whites listened attentively, but Trixie sat back and tried to find
any inconsistencies that might prove Jonathan was not really from “… so I slammed
the anchors on and hit me blooming head on the steering wheel just as we pranged our jam jars. The dimmock
jumped out of his banger and went totally hatstand
like a blithering barmcake! I tried to keep me
temper, but with him throwing such a benny, it was
quite the challenge. “I rumbled that the man was a blagger, just coining me for sauce, and that this
‘accident’ was a load of cack. The ol’ plank had a right cob-on when I refused to give even
a skerret of money to pay for the damage to his
crate’s bonnet, but that shed on wheels was totally clapped out and I knew he
was just trying to fiddle me. Frankly, I was feeling a bit cheesed off by the
nobber’s jiggery pokery,
and would sooner have someone knock ten bells out o’ me than have this muggins nab off with me dosh. “I found the situation ropey, so I
called a Bobby on me moby. The radgie
was daft as a bush and disappeared when the rozzer
came on the scene in his panda. The barmpot must’ve
bottled out for fear of being hauled off to the chokey,
and I was well chuffed at the turn of events, if I do say so meself!” The Bob-Whites howled as English Jon
finished his story. Even Trixie joined in the laughter, setting aside her
suspicions. Temporarily, of course. “British slang is
so much fun!” Honey exclaimed, wiping a tear away from the corner of her eye.
“Just think; we used to call our meetings ‘bevvies’!”
Dan grinned
mischievously. “I can’t wait to go back to Sleepyside and tell Mr. Maypenny
that an ‘ax’ is a guitar.” “I’ll never say my teeth are ‘minty’ fresh ever again,” Di moaned, a grimace clouding
her pretty features. “Well, I still
think it’s cool that if I practiced medicine in A wicked smile
parted Mart’s lips. “It’ll definitely be fun calling Bobby a ‘blithering barmcake’. And if it’s not in the dictionary, Moms can’t
look it up and ground me when she finds out I’ve called the little twerp
something bad.” “Your mum will
skin me!” English Jon exclaimed mournfully. “Nah, I’ll just
convince Bobby that it means something really good,” Mart said
good-naturedly. “He’ll never know the difference. Part of the word is ‘cake’,
after all, and even Bobby agrees cake is good.” “I bet it’s hard having a conversation with your American
friends,” Jim said. “Even if you use words you both know, they mean something
totally different.” The bus driver
nodded thoughtfully. “Very true. I’ve found that it’s easier just to avoid
British slang altogether. It keeps me from saying something that would
embarrass either myself or the person to whom I’m
speaking. For instance, young ones, if you ever visit “Why not?” Honey
questioned, her delicate brow furrowed. The Brit narrowed
his eyes and nodded his head. “Just trust me on this one, pet.” Honey had to giggle
at his expression, but thankfully she didn’t press for an explanation. Trixie cleared her
throat. “So… uhhh… English Jon… Have you made lots of friends here?” Jim looked over
and cast a withering glance at the sandy blonde, which she pretended not to
notice. “Friends?” The bus
driver repeated, quirky a bushy gray brow. “What do you mean?” Trixie shrugged
her shoulders in a nonchalant manner. “I was just curious if you had made
lots of friends during your stay in “Oh, I’ve made a
few, I suppose,” English Jon answered. Abruptly, he stood to his feet and
walked off, muttering something about needing to wash his hands. “Well, that was odd,” Trixie commented, a
smug grin parting her lips. However, just then, the waitress brought over
their food, and the rest of the Bob-Whites were distracted as their plates
were placed in front of them. The rest of the BWGs
except for Jim, that is. “What trail are
you following, Belden?” he asked, his voice low. “None of your
beeswax, Frayne,” she retorted, taking a huge bite out of her club sandwich.
When the Englishman emerged from the restroom a minute later, both the
redhead and the blonde were watching him with renewed interest.
After a leisurely
lunch, the group traveled on to Smoke Hole Caverns. English Jon enjoyed a cup
of coffee at the snack stand while the Bob-Whites took the forty-five minute
tour through the cave. The large caverns, which contained several rooms, were
used by the Seneca Indians, both the
The young man
acting as their tour guide explained that the caverns got their name from the
Seneca Indian tribe who inhabited the entrance to the caves. There, they
started fires to cure the wild meat they caught. The smoke from the
slow-burning fires would billow out into the surrounding valley, happening so
frequently that the settlers named the area Smoke Hole Caverns. In the 1940s,
these caves were opened to the public to view and have been enjoyed by
tourists ever since. An old moonshine still, used by early
settlers to make corn whiskey, greeted visitors as they entered the caverns.
Their tour guide gave a full explanation of how the alcohol was made, and how
the fresh water streams in the caverns made Smoke Hole an ideal location for
the illegal activity. A trunk belonging to soldiers in the Civil War was placed
near the entrance, and the guide explained that the caves were occupied by
both sides fighting in the War Between the States. The Bob-Whites journeyed on into the
subterranean world, following a walkway cut out through the vast underground.
The air in the caverns, a constant nippy fifty-six degrees, was a welcome
respite from the humid eighties outside. Amazing formations filled the
three-story cavern. As they went across the walkway over the Artesian Spring,
helectites defied gravity and grew sideways along
the walls of the cave. Soda straw stalactites hung from the ceiling in
abundance throughout the cavern. As they walked across the Crystal Cave Coral
Pool, found in only one other cave in the world, they saw golden trout
swimming in the subterranean pool. Trixie and Honey exchanged an amused smile
as the guide explained that the fish could go blind if the park didn’t bring
light into the cave a certain amount of time each day. In the “Room of a Million Stalactites”,
the Bob-Whites saw the second highest ceiling of any cavern in the eastern
United States, which towered 274 feet above the ground. A perfect column, a
rare cave treat, stood in one room and, according to the tour guide, was
considered a “phenomenal beauty” by naturalists and speleologists alike. The glistening White Alaskan Glacier
seemed almost supernatural, the Queen’s Canopy was awe-inspiring, and the
Flowstone Dome was simply amazing. The flowstone, a primitive water fountain
of sorts, was formed by water seeping out from the contorted walls of the
cavern and flowing down the sides. It resembled a huge rock that had been
molded on a giant potter’s wheel, and out of the top, a stream of fresh water
bubbled from a hole. Although the formation was continually growing, the
group was able to sample a drink of the pure water flowing from the rock
since the natural oils on their hands would be washed away. The water was
surprisingly cold, and its taste rivaled anything Perrier could bottle.
The pièce de résistance of Smoke Hole
Cavern was the world’s largest ribbon stalactite. It was a huge limestone
formation, which weighed in at approximately two-and-a-half tons and measured
13 by 16 feet. Once they
finished touring the cavern and the wildlife museum, the Bob-Whites gathered
at the snack stand for a cold drink.
“Well, I can finally say I’ve been
spelunking,” Dan announced with a satisfied grin. “And you weren’t even afraid of
climbing the ladder to the second level,” Honey teased with a wink. Dan raised a fist in a threatening
manner, making all the girls giggle madly. They were well aware of Dan’s
protective streak towards each of them and knew he was joking. “What did you think about the
caverns, Di?” Mart asked, remembering that Diana hadn’t been able to go to
the Missouri Ozarks with them. “The formations were absolutely
beautiful, and the tour was a lot of fun,” the ebony-haired beauty answered.
However, her delicate features were quickly distorted into a grimace. “Well,
except for the bats.” Di concluded her statement with a frightened shiver. “Aw, those bats wouldn’t hurt you,
Di,” Jim told her. “They were more afraid of you than you were of them.” “I doubt that,” Trixie commented
under her breath. An evil smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she
remembered Di’s hysterical screams when several bats flew past them out of
the cave during the tour. Poor Di had dropped to the ground, her arms
covering her silky blue-black tresses as she cried for help, until Mart finally
assured her that the coast was clear and free from furry, winged creatures. “It’s not funny, Trixie.” Di raised
her chin proudly, her violet eyes sparking with indignation. “I heard the
bats’ high-pitched shrieks as they were preparing to attack.” “Di, sweetie, those high-pitched
shrieks were coming from you,” Dan pointed out gently, patting her arm in a
consoling manner. “Oh,” was Di’s thoughtful response. A
rueful grin parted her full lips. “No wonder they sounded so close.” Mart put an arm around Di’s shapely
form, looking down at her admiringly. “Never fear, fair Diana. Though the
others may scoff, Sir Martin is always here to rescue you from airborne
mammals.” “My hero,” Di gushed dramatically,
clasping her hands under her chin. Amused by Mart and Di’s antics, the
rest of the group laughed at the playful pair. Mart obviously adored the
ground Di walked on, and Di seemed only too happy to bask in the middle
Belden boy’s presence. “I hate to break this up, but it’s Trixie rolled her sapphire blue eyes
in exasperation. “Do you have to
have a schedule, Bri?” “Yes,” her oldest brother replied
sternly. He glared over at her, one brow cocked in a studious manner. “Do you
have a problem with being organized?” “We’re on vacation, Bri,” Trixie pointed out with a weary sigh. “We’re not supposed to be organized.” “A well-planned itinerary is the best
kind,” Brian maintained stubbornly, much to the girls’ amusement. “You do realize that you aren’t going to get a Bucky
Beaver Badge for making us follow a schedule, don’t you?” Di inquired, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. Brian exhaled loudly to voice his
exasperation. “You batty girls have no respect for a meticulously prepared
vacation. If it were up to you, we’d spend this whole week dazed and
confused.” “And what’s wrong with that?” Honey
questioned with a giggle. “Well, my only suggestion would be
that we have dinner sooner or later,” Mart interjected. “Preferably sooner
rather than later.” “As usual, Mart’s thinking with his
stomach,” Di teased with a wink to the stocky blond. “We’re supposed to meet Miss Trask in
the restaurant at “Do we have time to visit the other
cave?” Honey asked. “Or would we rather do that another day?” “Let’s do it another day.” With a
wiggle of her nose, Trixie suggested casually, “Maybe we could just hang around
the lodge until dinner.” “We could do that,” Jim agreed,
nodding. “Actually, I saw a flyer for a tracking demonstration that they’re
having at the resort’s Diana wrinkled her eyebrows
inquisitively. “What kind of tracks?” “Animal tracks,” Jim answered.
Grinning, he couldn’t resist adding, “Don’t worry, Di. I don’t think there
will be any bats there.” Di stuck out her tongue in response. “According to the flyer I picked up,
the resort’s naturalist is going to talk about the animals that are native to
this area,” Jim continued. “It sounds really interesting.” “Mmm-hmm,”
Honey murmured, her tone less than enthusiastic. “Methinks our testosterone-challenged
constituents find your cerebration somewhat less than adductive,” Mart
remarked dryly. “I’ll tell you what.” Di smiled at
the boys in her most bewitching manner, a clue that she was planning to use
her womanly wiles. “How ‘bout we trade you an hour in Smoke Hole’s gift shop
for an hour in the Brian cocked his head pensively. “So,
sixty minutes of looking at dust collectors in exchange for sixty minutes of
nature instruction? What do you think, men?” “Sounds good to me,” Dan agreed with a
shrug. “Although I doubt this naturalist dude could teach me something that
Mr. Maypenny hasn’t already. If Mr. M doesn’t know it, then it just isn’t
worth teaching.” “I suppose it would be all right,”
Honey consented a bit tenuously. “As long as you promise not to complain if
we spend a half hour trying to decide which scented candle we prefer.” “I don’t care,” Jim said, his nose scrunched in repugnance, “as long as you don’t buy one of the
girly-smelling ones and burn it around us. After talking to you in your room
one night, I smelled like lilacs.” Honey giggled prettily. “That would
be better than smelling like sweat.” “Yeah, maybe we’ll stock up on
candles and burn them whenever you start reeking,” Trixie suggested with a
saucy grin. Di turned to Mart, her violet eyes
sparkling as they did anytime she looked at the middle Belden boy. “What do
you think, Mart? Can you suffer through an hour of shopping?” Mart stepped back and then bowed
graciously in the ebony-haired beauty’s direction. “If it means bringing
pleasure to the beauteous Diana, then I gladly consent.” From her perch on the stool at the
counter, Trixie gave a loud gag. “Oh, puh-lease!
Spare us the fawning, Mart. We all know that you’d go without food for a week
if Di asked you to.” The pigment of Mart’s skin from his
neck and on up to the roots of his sand-colored hair tinged a bright pink
shade, just like his almost-twin’s cheeks were prone to do. Although he was
rarely at a loss for words, this was one of those times. “Well, it sounds like we’re all in
agreement then,” Jim said, interrupting the awkward moment. “Let’s look
around at all the neat stuff they have here.” “C’mon, Romeo,” Dan teased, slapping
Mart heartily on the back. “We might as well check out the “Sounds good to me,” Jim replied.
“While the girls sniff candles, I’ll buy some hillbilly bubble bath for
Mother.” Honey’s wide eyes grew a bit larger
as she wondered what “hillbilly bubble bath” was and what her refined mother
would think about such a gift. “Dare I ask what hillbillies use for bubble
bath?” “Just go over there and look at those
quilted purses,” Brian instructed in a patronizing tone. A smile tugging at
his lips, he reached over and patted Honey’s tawny-colored head. “And when
you’re finished there, I saw some jewelry you might like to see. But whatever
you do, pay no attention to us.” “What have you gotten us into, Di?” Honey
questioned disparagingly as the pair wandered away in search of interesting
souvenirs. Brian, Mart, and Dan walked away as well, Mart muttering something
about buying his father a hillbilly briefcase. Jim’s emerald gaze followed his
friends into the main part of the gift shop. However, it wasn’t long until
his eyes returned to their usual resting spot, which was upon his perky
blonde co-president who was still sitting on her stool at the snack bar. Her china blue eyes were fixed upon a
sign on the wall, but it was obvious that her attention was elsewhere. Every
so often, she blinked slowly, her thick sandy lashes casting a shadow on her
delicate cheekbones. Her teeth bit gently into her pink lower lip, as they
often did when she was thinking. Her nose, pert and freckled, wrinkled
thoughtfully and twitched intermittently as her thoughts shifted to something
else. Her right index finger aimlessly twirled a golden curl round and round.
Jim, almost hypnotized by the
spinning curl, finally broke out of the spell and cleared his throat.
Trixie’s gaze remained fixed on the wall, and she clearly was in another
world, most likely a mystery-centric one. After a loud gulp, he choked out,
“Trix?” With a leisurely blink of her eyes,
Trixie tilted her face towards him. “Yes?” “Aren’t you going to look at stuff
with the other girls?” “I will in a minute,” she responded
thoughtfully. “I was just thinking about something.” “English Jon?” Jim queried. Trixie lowered her gaze to the floor,
bracing herself for the forthcoming lecture. However, much to her surprise,
no lecture came. “I know you’re anxious to bug him for
information. That’s why I suggested that we go to the lecture at the Trixie raised a skeptical sandy brow.
“How does going to a nature lecture help me solve this mystery?” “I thought it’d be a good opportunity
for you to talk to English Jon alone,” Jim said with a shrug. “While the rest
of us are in the “That’s a great idea, Jim!” she
exclaimed, her bright blue eyes blazing with excitement. Suddenly, her
expression darkened as her train of thought shifted. “But why do you want to
help me solve a mystery?” “Because you care about mysteries,
and I care about you,” Jim answered, his voice
husky. As he realized what he’d admitted, his ruddy complexion brightened a
crimson color and he hastily added, “Well, as a friend, I mean. All the Bob-Whites care about each
other.” “Thanks, Jim.” She hopped down from
her stool and stood in front of the redhead. Looking up at him through
lowered lashes, she whispered, “I care about you, too… as a friend.” His breath caught as he took in her
smile. Nothing made him happier than to know he had pleased his special girl.
“How about we go check out those hillbilly flashlights?” he suggested with a
grin. “Sounds good to me,” Trixie agreed
happily, hooking her arm through his. She smiled happily as the pair walked
into the main part of the gift shop. Even if she didn’t find out why the man
in the flannel shirt wanted the brochures, or what was so mysterious about
English Jon, she’d have several lovely memories of their trip. But she really wanted to solve those
mysteries.
Credits: As always, I’d like to begin
by sending out a huge thank you to my lovely editors, Steph
H and Mal. You ladies are absolutely wonderful. Thanks for all your help. The “shark in the The “Uncle Jim” comment also
came from the books, although I can’t remember off the top of my head which
one. That Pod Jim comment is responsible for more Trixie/Dan fans than any
other and deserves to be made fun of. :p The English Jon’s speech full of
British slang can be translated as such: “…so I slammed on the brakes and hit my stinkin’ head on the steering wheel just as our cars
smacked together. The idiot jumped out of his clunker and went totally
berserk like a crazy moron! I tried to hold my temper, but with him throwing
such a fit, it was quite the challenge. “I deduced that the man was trying to con
me for money to buy booze with, and that this ‘accident’ was a load of bull.
The dummy pitched a fit when I refused to give even a dime to pay for the
damage to the hood of his car, but that hunk of junk was worn out and I knew
he was just trying to rip me off. Frankly, I was sick of getting the
runaround, and would rather be punched in the nose than have this con man cheat me out of my money. “I found the situation suspicious, so I
called the police on my cell phone. The dimwit was as dumb as a barrel of
hair and disappeared when the cop drove up in his police car. The numbskull must’ve
been afraid that he’d be arrested if he was caught trying to rip me off, so
he took off, and I was pleased at the turn of events, if I do say so
myself!” Bevvies are alcoholic drinks. “Minty”
means scruffy or dirty. A “blithering barmcake” can be translated as a bloody moron. In Parts of the description of
Smoke Hole Caverns were taken from their web site
and brochures. It’s a lovely place; visit there if you can! Hillbilly bubble bath is a
packet of pinto beans which are to be eaten a few hours prior to one’s bath.
You can guess where the “bubbles” come from. A hillbilly briefcase is a
pair of men’s underwear with the leg holes sewn up to prohibit anything from
falling out of the “brief” case. Clas-sy! A hillbilly flashlight is a
block of wood with one kitchen match sticking out the end of it. You’re just
up Poop Creek without a paddle when yer match burns
out. :D Home | Universe Page | E-Mail The Cameo |
