The Gumshoes, Part One

Drafted into Duty

Author’s notes:

This story takes place after “Wasted Away in Strawberry Pop-ville.” If you haven’t read that, it might be a good idea. In that story, Trixie offered to help her former employer in Los Angeles with a case. She and Honey agreed to assist Keenan Investigations in their search for an informant. And that is where this story picks up… By the way, this story is a submission for Jixemitri CWP #3.

So, without further adieu, here is Part One of “The Gumshoes.”

Monday, November 8

Trixie Belden popped the last bite of her candy bar into her mouth, as she entered the administrative wing of Ten Acres Academy. Wiping her hands on her faded jeans, she smiled at Dessie Williams, the elderly lady who served as Jim’s personal secretary.

“Are you still here, Dessie?”

“It’s only 3:30, dear,” the secretary answered in an amused voice. “The school day isn’t officially over for the secretarial staff until 4:30. I still need to type these memos for Mr. Frayne.”

“Well, that boss man you’re working for is definitely a slave driver.” Trixie grinned, knowing in reality Dessie’s employer was a big pushover. “I’ll see if I can talk him into letting you go home early.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Beatrix.” Dessie laughed, enjoying the joke. “Everyone knows the top banana around here is a stickler for long hours and slave wages.”

“How about I distract him while you sneak away?” Trixie teased with a giggle. “Maybe I could throw a spitball at him while you climb out the window and make your getaway.”

Dessie pretended to mull over Trixie’s suggestion. “You know, that just might work, unless my arthritis acts up, that is. With my stiff joints, I’m not sure I can raise my stubby leg up to the windowsill.”

“Well, you give me five minutes alone with Mr. Frayne. I’ll make sure he’s distracted, then you call Mart in here,” Trixie suggested mischievously. “He’ll give you a boost if you get stuck.”

Dessie threw her silver head back and chuckled merrily. “I’m sure Mr. Belden would, especially if I bribed him with my homemade oatmeal raisin cookies.” She made a slight “tsk, tsk” sound with her tongue. “I don’t know how your precious mother has avoided having her hair turn as gray as mine. I’m not sure who got into more trouble when you were young, you or Mr. Belden.”

“My almost-twin and I were framed; the real instigator was always Doctor Belden,” Trixie said, her face the picture of innocence.

“Whatever you say, dear.”

“And as for Moms’ hair,” Trixie continued, her lips twitching in amusement, “Clairol does wonders. After some of the adventures my brothers and I had, Moms started buying her favorite shade in bulk. Of course, now that we’re older and wiser…”

Dessie chortled as she returned to her typing. “You don’t have any adventures?” she supplied.

“No, we just don’t get caught as much.”

“I have a feeling Mr. Frayne should start stocking up on Russet Rain in the Just For Men section,” the wise secretary commented wryly.

Trixie assumed a demure expression. “Why ever would you say that, Dessie?” she asked coyly. “I am the image of feminine propriety.”

The elderly lady pursed her lips and held up her fingers, which had formed the OK signal.

“I assume Mr. Russet Rain’s in there?” Trixie pointed toward the door leading to Jim’s office.

Dessie nodded her head and resumed typing. “Yes, I believe he is. He went to the school’s infirmary earlier this afternoon, but he returned a few minutes ago.”

“Really? Did Brian stop by?” Trixie questioned, curious why Jim was spending time in the “sick wing” of the academy.

“No, Mr. Frayne called Dr. Belden, but your brother couldn’t leave White Plains. Dr. Ferris agreed to come to the school in his absence,” Dessie explained.

“Jim called Brian to come to the school?” Trixie exclaimed in surprise. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been something contagious going around, and the nurse couldn’t handle it alone. She needed assistance, and Mr. Frayne thought it was best to call the doctor.”

“Let me guess… chicken pox? Or maybe mono?” Trixie suggested impishly. “I know Jim was having a hard keeping the older boys and girls separated.”

“It’s not the chicken pox or the ‘kissing disease’,” Dessie replied, a blush on her wrinkled cheeks. “Dr. Ferris said there’s a nasty flu bug going around. He’s been keeping a close eye on the children that are sick, because sometimes this strain of influenza turns into a bad sinus infection. Some of the students are quite ill.”

“Jeepers!” Trixie gasped. “Being sick at school would stink! Usually, when you’re sick, you get to stay home, but these poor kids don’t have a home to go home to.”

“That’s why Mr. Frayne’s been spending a lot of extra time in the infirmary,” Dessie told her with a smile. “He wants to give them some extra attention while they aren’t feeling well. The children are lucky to have someone as considerate as Mr. Frayne as their headmaster.”

“They sure are,” Trixie agreed, a totally sickening, lovelorn expression on her face. “Now I think I need to go and make sure Mr. Frayne is properly thanked for his sensitivity.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll buzz him and let him know you’re here. He’s been expecting you.” Dessie attempted to hide her grin. She picked up the phone on her desk and pushed the intercom button. “Mr. Frayne? You have a visitor that I’m sure you’ll want to see.”

“Send her in,” Jim’s voice sounded a bit muffled over the intercom. “And Dessie? You can go home, if you’d like.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Frayne? It’s the third time you’ve let me leave early this week.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I haven’t finished typing that memo yet,” Dessie admitted.

“I’m sure that will keep until tomorrow. Frank may need you. Now, send in that pretty blonde girl, and go home before I change my mind.”

“Of course, Mr. Frayne. Thank you and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dessie pressed the button that ended the call, and shook her head. “That man is a dream to work for. He knows my husband Frank hasn’t been well, so he’s been insisting that I come into work late and leave early. You’re very a very lucky lady, dear.”

“I totally agree,” Trixie said, with a dreamy smile on her face. Soon that smile turned into an impish smirk. She opened the door leading to Jim’s office just a crack, then continued in a loud voice, “For a slave driver, that Mr. Frayne’s not half bad.” She giggled at Dessie’s gasp, then entered the “top banana’s” office and swiftly shut the door.

“Are you the administrator of this school?” she interrogated in a gruff voice.

Jim looked up from his computer and smirked. “Yee-es,” he answered nervously, playing along with her gag.

“Well, I’m a detective and I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you, Mr. Frayne. According to the gossip mill, you’re running a sweatshop here. I’m going to have to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Is this going to take long?” he asked innocently. “My fiancée is going to stop by later, and she might get mad if she sees you here.”

“In that case, I’d better frisk you now,” she teased with a saucy grin. “Wouldn’t wanna upset your little girlfriend.”

“No, you wouldn’t want to do that,” Jim warned in a serious tone. “She’s a feisty one. Very spunky. And jealous, too. She’s been known to put broads who’ve flirted with me in the slammer.”

Trixie giggled as she rolled Jim’s leather office chair away from the desk and climbed in his lap. “Awww, I’m not afraid of your little blonde bimbo. Mr. Frayne, before I begin this… interrogation… These walls are soundproof, aren’t they?”

After placing a kiss on her pert nose, Jim shook his head. “That’s why I sent Dess home. If there’s nobody out there, we won’t have to worry about making noise.”

“How sneaky of you!” Trixie snuggled closer to him. “So, tell me about this fiancée of yours? Do you think I can take her?”

“I don’t know,” Jim murmured, as if in deep thought. “She’s pretty tough. Maybe you should frisk me now before she gets here.”

“Anxious, are we?” Trixie replied in a husky voice.

Taking advantage of the fact that her lips were slightly parted, Jim leaned closer to her, and placed his mouth on hers. He buried his freckled hand in her curls as he kissed her gently.

Their tender kiss soon grew more intense as Jim’s tongue stroked hers. Soon, they tangled desperately, as if their very existence was dependent upon the other. Jim’s hand slid up the back of Trixie’s sweater and he caressed the soft flesh of her waist.

“I thought I was supposed to be frisking you, Mr. Frayne,” Trixie panted as their kiss ended, “not the other way around.”

Jim, who was currently nuzzling her slender neck, paused briefly. “I need to see if you’re carrying any concealed weapons.”

“Oh, Jim,” she murmured, raking her hands through his thick hair. Suddenly, she gasped and sat upright. She laid her right hand on his forehead. “Oh, Jim! You’re hot.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he whispered, his teeth gently nipping at her earlobe.

Trixie giggled and tried to squirm away. “That’s not what I meant. Your head is hot.”

“Which one?” he inquired innocently, his tongue tracing the sensitive part of her earlobe.

“James Winthrop Frayne the Second!” she scolded with an embarrassed giggle. “I can’t believe you said that!”

“What?” he asked, his face the picture of virtue. “Didn’t you say something about my… er, bed?”

“The hole you’re digging is getting deeper,” Trixie chided with a laugh.

“Or maybe it was… uhhh… ‘bread’.”

“Sure,” she said sarcastically, trying to conceal her amused expression. She jokingly whacked his shoulder with her hand. “I know what you said, Mr. Frayne. Now let’s start over. Your forehead is burning up!”

“I’m just hot and bothered,” he dismissed, trying to distract her by gently running the tips of his fingers along the base of her spine. “If you kiss me again, it will cool down.”

Trixie refused to be distracted. “Are you feeling okay?” She carefully studied his face, searching for any sign of illness.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, I’m fine. Maybe a little tired, but that’s to be expected. After all, I’ve been up all hours of the night checking on the students in the infirmary.”

“The sick students?” Trixie’s sandy brows rose in query.

“Yes, the si… Hey, wait a minute! I know where you’re going with this, but for your information, I’m not sick.”

“Then why does your head feel like a hotplate?” Trixie wiggled out of his grasp and quickly hopped off his lap.

Jim sighed in frustration and wearily massaged his temples with his fingers. “Because of my fiery passion for you?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got a fever,” she snorted, “but I have a feeling it’s viral rather than sexual.” She grabbed his hand and pulled on it to get him to stand up. “Come on, Mr. Frayne. It’s time for you to visit the nurse’s office.”

“I don’t wanna.” Jim could pout better than any of his kindergarten students.

“Now, don’t make me have to spank you, Jimmy,” Trixie threatened with a wicked grin.

“Is that a punishment or a bribe?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” she laughed. “Now, come on!” She yanked and yanked on his hand, but still his six-foot-two-inches of rock solid muscle would not budge. No matter how hard she jerked, her five-foot-two inches of softly feminine muscle could not stir him.

“Give up?” He could not hide his amusement as he watched her size-six shoes slip and slide on the slick linoleum floor as she exhausted all her strength in an attempt to pull him out of his chair.

“No!” she grunted, until finally her feet flew out from under her and she landed on her butt with a dignified splat. She watched in annoyance as Jim doubled over in laughter, chuckling until tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Sure, laugh all you want, Mr… Mr. Sickie,” she fumed with righteous indignation. “You won’t be laughing when… when… when you’re… sick…”

Her unconvincing speech only made him laugh harder, especially when he peeked at Trixie, who was still sitting in the floor with her knees raised, impatiently tapping her foot, and scowling at him.

With an indignant sniff and a toss of her sandy curls, Trixie stood to her feet. “Well, if my services aren’t needed here, th—”

“Wait, Trix.” Jim grabbed her hand, and somehow managed to assume a serious expression. “Don’t be mad.”

Trixie studied him carefully. “Are you coming with me to see the nurse?” She twisted her hand out of his grip and placed it behind her back, out of his reach.

“If I don’t, are you going to be mad at me?”

“What do you think?”

Jim sighed and slowly rose to his feet. “I think I’d better go see the nurse,” he muttered, much like a small boy whose mother had just scolded him.

Trixie giggled in delight and grabbed his hand. “You’re too easy.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Ms. Belden,” Jim lectured teasingly. “All I can say is that I hope I get some kind of reward for this.”

“If you’re a good boy and do exactly what the nice nurse says, maybe she’ll give you a sticker.” She patted his cheek in a patronizing manner.

“I’d rather have a sucker,” he pouted.

“All right, snookums. If you behave yourself and stick out your tongue only when asked, I’ll buy you a lollipop,” Trixie promised. “Just as long as you give me the first lick.”

He waggled his ginger brows mischievously. “I’ll be happy to give you a lick any place you want.”

All a twitter from the mental image, Trixie blushed and led her supple redhead to the infirmary.

Two days later, at Manor House…

Trixie poked her head through the door leading into Jim’s home office. He had transformed one of the spare second-floor bedrooms into a personal study for himself. Choosing to go with a masculine color scheme, he’d chosen to have the room painted a dark sage green color. A desk and several matching bookcases, crafted out of the same dark cherry wood as the ornate molding along the ceiling, lined the walls behind him. An expensive wall unit containing a plasma television, DVD player, and stereo system stood on the opposite wall. Against the eastern wall, there was a burgundy leather couch. And on that burgundy leather couch, Trixie found Jim.

“Are you awake?” she asked quietly.

“Uuuhhhhh,” Jim moaned pitifully. He waved his hand in her direction, motioning her over to his side.

Trixie stifled a giggle and waded through several wadded up tissues until she was next to the sofa. After kicking the used Kleenexes out of her path with a disdainful wrinkle of her pert nose, she knelt down beside Jim.

“How are you doing, sweetheart?” She placed her cool hand on his forehead. “You still feel pretty warm.”

“Uuuhhhhh,” he groaned, looking quite pathetic. “I’m siiiiick.”

“I know you are,” she agreed, unable to stifle her giggle any longer. “I have some good news, though. I just met with the architect who’s drawing up the plans for the house. He said the construction crew should be able to break ground in the spring.”

“Uuuuhhhh.” He attempted a smile.

“I also spoke with your mother about the plans for our engagement party. She’s anxious to get all the details worked out.” Trixie paused and tenderly brushed a lock of russet hair from his forehead. “Your parents seem really happy that we’re engaged. I’m glad they approve of me.”

As she stopped speaking, Jim’s eyelids slowly closed, his long ginger lashes casting a shadow on his slightly stubbled cheek. Running her fingers through his hair, she studied him carefully. “Are you awake, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes fluttered open as he grabbed her hand in his.

“Do you want me to leave so you can get some sleep?”

“Nuh-uh. Stay,” he requested pleadingly, his lower lip closely resembling a pout. “I don’t feel good.”

“Poor baby,” Trixie soothed, kissing his knuckles. “Have you been taking your medicine?”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded weakly. “Now kiss me here.” He pointed to his forehead with his free hand.

With a grin, she submitted to his request and kissed him on the forehead. “That better?”

“And here.” He pointed to his right cheek.

“Well, you’re kind of stubbly, but since I love you so much…” She leaned over and kissed his right cheek.

“And here.” He pointed to his left cheek.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want this one to get jealous, since I kissed the one on the right side.” She kissed his left cheek, as well.

“And here.” He pointed to his chin.

“My pleasure,” she murmured, admiring the sexy cleft in his chin.

“And here.” He pointed to his nose.

“If it makes it feel better,” she cooed in her best “baby talk” voice. After carefully checking for any stray nose goblins, she kissed the tip of his red nose.

“And here,” he added, his lopsided grin proving to Trixie that he was milking his pathetic state for all it was worth. He finally pointed to his mouth.

“No way! And get your germs?” she exclaimed in disbelief. “Ick! No can do!”

Jim’s lopsided grin turned into a pitiful pout. “If you love me, you’ll do it.”

With a saucy flip of her curls, Trixie quickly kissed the palm of her hand and applied it to his mouth. “Feel better?”

“Aw, you can do better than that,” Jim pleaded, his emerald eyes looking quite puppy-doggish. “Give me a real kiss.”

“So you can give me your cooties, and I can get sick?” she snorted. “No thanks. You’re gonna have to take a rain check, sweetie.”

“Please?” In spite of the rippling muscles quite apparent through his sleeveless undershirt, Jim looked like a six-year-old boy pleading for a new set of Legos.

“As much as I’d love to exchange slobber with you and catch this horrible illness, I’m going to have to pass,” she replied in a motherly tone. “Honey and I have to leave on Friday for California to start on the Montage case. I can’t get sick.”

“You’d rather go to Los Angeles than kiss me?” Jim tried very hard to make his chin quiver.

“Of course not, honey.” She pulled the lightweight blanket around him, trying to avoid looking at the outline of his impressive pectoral muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “I promise to give you a big, wet sloppy kiss the minute you’re feeling better.”

“Is this how our marriage is going to be?” he asked dramatically, trying to look as pitiful as possible. “I thought you said you’d be with me for better or worse, for richer or poorer, for sickness or in health…”

“Nice try, Jim,” Trixie smiled, rubbing his arms. His strong, muscled forearms, which led up to his broad shoulders… She nervously cleared her throat. “I love you very much, sweetheart, but I’m sure you don’t want to give me your germs.”

“If you were sick, I’d kiss you.” He pushed away the blanket that she had carefully lain over him. “I wouldn’t mind getting sick, if it meant being close to the woman I love.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied absentmindedly as she admired his exposed abdomen. The bottom of his t-shirt had slightly risen, exposing a fine line of copper hair leading into his shorts.

I think that’s what’s called a treasure trail, she thought to herself.

Coughing once more and shaking her head to rid it of lustful thoughts, she pulled the blanket back up under Jim’s chin. “You’re going to get chilled, sweetie. You need to stay warm.”

“I am warm,” he complained, kicking the covers away. “In fact, I’m too warm. I’m hot!”

Trixie chewed on her lip as his t-shirt rode up higher. You sure are, she thought to herself.

As he wiggled around to get more comfortable, the waistband of his shorts seemed to get a bit lower. He propped up one leg, allowing his muscled thigh to be accentuated. The thin layer of copper hair on his thigh beckoned to her as she wondered where it led…

Waving her hand in front of her face in an effort to cool herself down, she murmured, “It is kind of hot in here…”

“I’m burning up,” he muttered. He grabbed her hand and held it against his stomach. “See?”

“Uh-huh,” Trixie agreed, rubbing his firm abdomen underneath his t-shirt. As if her hand had a mind of its own, it slid up his six-pack abs and began caressing his chest.

“Uhhh… Trixie,” Jim whispered in a husky voice, “You’re not helping me cool down.”

“Hmmm?”

“It’s getting hotter in here,” he informed her with a grin, the right corner of his lips a bit lower than the left.

“It sure is.” Not being able to resist, Trixie lowered her mouth to his and captured it in a searing kiss.

Several minutes later, due to a need for oxygen, the two pulled away. She looked down at him, her blue eyes sparkling and her lips slightly quivering.

“I thought I was too sick to kiss,” Jim teased, winding his favorite sandy curl around his index finger.

“You’re definitely too sick to kiss,” Trixie agreed, the sparkle in her eyes turning into an impish twinkle, “but on the other hand, you’re just too cute not to kiss…”

And to prove her point, she leaned down and did it again.

Friday, November 12

Brian Belden checked his watch as he walked down the hallway leading to Trixie and Honey’s apartment. He had just arrived in Sleepyside from White Plains. The Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency had been contracted to work on a case for Trixie’s former employer, Ralph Keenan, and Brian and Jim planned to take them out to breakfast before driving them to the airport.

He rang the bell, and to his surprise, the door was opened by a flustered Jim, who was holding a wet towel in his hands.

“Hey,” his redheaded friend greeted quickly, motioning him inside. “Watch out for that suitcase and c’mon in.”

Brian quirked a dark eyebrow at the chaos in the girls’ normally tidy apartment and neatly hung his jacket on the coat rack by the door. After picking up the suitcase and setting it out of his way, he entered the tiny living room.

“I’ll be right back. I need to uhhh…” Jim left his sentence hanging as he held up the soaked towels in his hands. He hurried to the bathroom.

Brian walked over to the couch to sit down. While gawking at the dirty cups and saucers cluttering the coffee table, he tripped on a wastebasket sitting in front of the sofa. Muttering a few choice words under his breath, he picked up the trashcan and carried it across the room. After placing it in its spot beside the small computer desk, he walked back over to the couch.

“The girls must’ve had a busy week. Too busy to even clean house,” he casually mentioned. A wadded up blanket lay on the sofa. With a deep exhale, he carefully folded it and neatly placed it on the arm of the couch.

“Uh-huh,” Jim agreed as he reentered the room, several more towels in his hands. He hustled back into the kitchen to finish his mystery task.

“Need some help?” Brian offered.

“I’ve got it,” Jim called from the kitchen.

“Where are the girls? We need to leave soon if we want to get some breakfast,” Brian said with a scowl. “Unless we’re going to grab a biscuit through the McDonald’s drive-thru, and you know how I hate that. Do you realize what they put in their so-called ‘sausage’?”

Hearing no answer from Jim, Brian craned his neck into the apartment’s small kitchen. After clearing his throat, he repeated, “So uhhh… Where are they?”

Jim popped his head around the corner. “In their rooms, I think.”

“Are they still packing?”

“I think they’re getting dressed.” Jim returned to the kitchen.

“How much longer will they be?”

“I don’t know,” Jim called from the next room. “Shouldn’t be too much longer. What’s your hurry?”

“The hurry is that I’m hungry. Mart’s not the only Belden with a hearty appetite.”

“I’m sure they’ll be out any minute.” Jim carried another armful of wet towels to the bathroom.

“How long have they been in there?” Brian grumbled.

“I don’t know.” Jim returned to the living room and sat down in the chair across from Brian. He calmly rolled down the sleeves of his hunter green flannel shirt and buttoned the cuffs.

Brian rolled his eyes at his friend’s composed demeanor. “We’re going to be late. I hate being late. You know how I am about being on time.”

“I know how you are,” Jim answered, stifling a grin.

“I know what you’re thinking, but there’s nothing anal about being punctual,” Brian insisted defensively, looking at his watch for the hundredth time since he had arrived.

Jim assumed his best innocent expression. “I didn’t say a word.”

“The girls need to be at the airport in three hours. I want to make sure we have plenty of time to eat. I don’t like to be rushed during a meal. And you know how bad traffic can be around JFK,” Brian explained, his tone expressing his annoyance.

Jim sat back in his chair, amusing himself by timing how many minutes passed until Brian looked at his watch again.

Reaching his limit, Brian jumped up from the couch. “Do you want to bang on their doors, or should I?”

Just then, unintelligible mutterings echoed from the bedrooms on the opposite end of the apartment. Brian looked up to see his sister staggering into the living room. His mouth gaped in shock as he beheld her grand entrance.

“You look awful!” he exclaimed without thinking.

Her shoulder-length curls were damp from a recent washing. However, instead of hanging in their usual springy ringlets, they were frizzy. If that wasn’t bad enough, the right side of her hair was matted to her head, as if she had lain on it recently.

Trixie was not a fan of makeup, and usually wore only a little powder, mascara, and lip-gloss. However, today she had forsaken even those bare necessities. Her normally bright, blue eyes were sunken in, and the corners were filled with nasty “eye crunchies”.

One could never accuse Trixie of being a clotheshorse. Her preference was faded jeans and t-shirts, but while on assignments, she always looked professional. However, instead of her usual conservative black slacks and blazer, she was wearing a ratty sweatshirt and sweatpants. Definitely not the attire one would choose to wear on a business trip.

“I thought you were getting ready,” Brian reprimanded. “We need to leave ASAP, and you’re not even dressed.”

Trixie set her weak gaze upon her eldest brother. The only color in her ashen face was the bluish-purple bags under her eyes and the bright red of her chapped nose. If one looked closely, they could see that the skin around her nostrils was not only red, but also flaky and dry from repeated blowing and wiping. Mustering all the strength she had, she stuck out a sickly, white tongue at him.

A medical degree was not needed to discern that Trixie was sick.

“Are you OK, Trix?” Brian jumped up from the sofa and placed a concerned hand on his sister’s shoulder.

“Uuuhhhh,” she moaned, looking at him quite pitifully. “I’m siiiick.”

Brian quickly placed his hand on her forehead. “You’re burning up!”

Her knees growing wobbly and the room suddenly spinning, Trixie weakly clutched her brother’s lapels. “Help me,” she pleaded in a faint voice.

“Of course, Sis,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her. “You can always count on your big brother, Dr. Brian, to hel—”

“Brian?” Honey’s normal melodious voice had a certain raspy, desperate quality as she called to her boyfriend from down the hall. One look told Brian that Honey was just as ill as Trixie.

“Sweetheart!” he gasped. In his haste to go to Honey, Brian released his grip on his sister, and raced to his girlfriend’s side. Ignoring the thud of Trixie hitting the floor, he wrapped a strong arm around Honey’s slim shoulders.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, brushing a lock of honey-colored hair from her eyes.

“My throat hurts, I can’t breathe, I’ve coughed so much that my chest hurts, my head is pounding, the room is spinning, my body aches, and my ears feel like somebody is cleaning them with a butcher knife,” Honey answered with a pathetic look on her face.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the hall, Trixie lay in a heap on the floor. “Holp!” she groaned. “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”

Jim immediately was by her side. He scooped her up and carried her to the couch. Cradling her in his arms, he sat down and held her on his lap. Minutes later, with Brian’s assistance, Honey wobbled into the room. Spying a spot on the carpet unoccupied by furniture, Honey wiggled out of her boyfriend’s embrace and purposely crashed onto the floor.

Brian leaned down to help her up, but she waved him away.

“Leave me alone. I’m good,” she murmured, exhausted from her labors. “How much longer until we need to leave?”

“Leave?” Brian repeated in bemusement, clutching his dark hair and plopping down in the chair where Jim had been sitting earlier. “Are you crazy? You’re too sick to go to California. Why, you couldn’t even get dressed!” He motioned to Trixie’s badly coordinated sweatpants and sweatshirt combo.

“I’m dressed,” Honey argued. After a brief coughing fit, she pointed to her slightly more professional-looking chocolate-brown stretch slacks and gold tunic. “I even showered.”

“I’m dressed, too,” Trixie croaked, her voice raspy from the phlegm in her throat.

Brian studied her from head to toe with a critical eye. “I’m not exactly ‘up’ on the rules of fashion, but I think it might be considered a ‘fashion don’t’ to wear a blue Yankees sweatshirt with pea green sweatpants.”

“Well, they may not match, but at least they don’t stink,” Trixie answered indignantly. “And for your information, I sort of showered.”

Brian quirked a dark brow. “Sort of showered?”

“The faucet-hose-thingy in the kitchen sink counts!” she insisted, her sniff not indignant for once. She sniffed purely to prohibit her runny nose from becoming a drippy nose.

“You took a shower in the kitchen?” Brian asked with a roll of his brown eyes. “That was a stupid idea, Trix. You probably got water all over the kitchen floor, and if it isn’t mopped up properly, the floor will rot and...”

“And it’s not your problem,” Trixie interrupted in exasperation before blowing her nose loudly.

“Here’s a novel idea,” Brian stated sarcastically. “Next time, why don’t you take a shower in the bathroom?”

“I was too weak to get in the tub.” Trixie’s voice had a certain whiny quality that Brian hadn’t heard her use since she wanted a horse.

“The mess has already been cleaned up,” Jim informed them. Noticing Brian’s protective streak kicking in, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, Big Brother. Trixie was fully dressed when I arrived. I was mopping up the water around the sink when you got here.”

“And I got dressed all by myself,” Trixie declared proudly. She blew her nose again in the Kleenex she held in her hand. Every square millimeter of the tissue had been used, so she searched for the wastebasket that she had placed beside the couch earlier. After looking for several minutes, she finally gave up, and with a shrug, tossed the wadded up Kleenex over her shoulder.

Brian stared at the used tissue lying in the floor, trying to resist the urge to pick it up.

“You look fine, Trix,” Jim assured her as he brushed a curl out of her eyes.

“It did feel good to change my clothes,” Trixie admitted. “I’d been wearing Jim’s old Giants jersey and those other sweatpants all week, and they weren’t very fresh.”

Jim nodded in agreement. “You were getting kind of rank, baby.” He quickly kissed the tip of Trixie’s bright red nose to soothe any feathers he may have ruffled.

“I didn’t smell me.” Trixie attempted an indignant sniff, but her nasal cavity was too stopped up.

“I couldn’t smell her, either,” Honey agreed loyally, trying to raise herself up to speak. Finding that action too strenuous, she lay on the carpet, and pointed her finger in Jim’s general direction.

“At this point in time, neither one of you can smell anything,” Jim snorted. “And no amount of Vick’s Vapor Rub is going to change that fact, no matter how much of the junk you glob on your throat.”

“Don’t you like my new perfume?” Trixie’s giggle soon turned into a dry cough.

Shielding his face from any germs, Jim patiently waited to speak until her coughing fit was over. “Baby, as much as I love you, promise me you won’t wear that concoction on our wedding day. Believe me, those soothing menthol, camphor, and eucalyptus-scented fumes are no aphrodisiac.”

Wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, Trixie remarked with a grin, “You know you want me.”

“What time is it?” The whiny quality of Honey’s voice almost convinced Brian he was back in the pediatric ward of the hospital.

“Almost eight,” Brian answered. “Why?” Unable to tolerate it any longer, he stood and walked over to the tissue Trixie had tossed haphazardly into the floor. Picking it up by the corner, he carried it to the wastebasket beside the desk. After pitching it, he went into the kitchen to thoroughly wash his hands.

“We need to leave,” Honey murmured wearily. “We should be at the airport by 10:30. And if you guys want breakfast, we’d better go. Brian’s getting grumpy.”

Trixie nodded weakly. “I guess you’re right, Hon. We can sleep in the back of Jim’s Suburban while they eat. There’s enough room to put a coffin or two back there, so we should be comfortable.”

“We’re not quite corpses, yet,” Honey commented, raising slightly so she could grasp her stomach as she coughed.

“You’re not going to Los Angeles.” Brian’s statement was met by three icy stares.

“Not going?” Trixie repeated in disbelief. “Brian, you don’t understand; we have to go.”

“No, Trixie,” he countered in his best I’m-a-professional-doctor voice, “you don’t understand. You and Honey have fevers, assorted aches and pains, phlegm, as well as mutant, alien-colored mucous dripping out of your noses. You’re in no condition to travel.”

“Mutant alien-colored mucous?” Honey repeated with a woozy-sounding giggle. “Is that the actual term they used in medical school?”

Stifling a smile, Brian shook his head. “I’m serious, you two. You both are much too sick to travel.”

“And what is Ralph supposed to do?” Trixie attempted to raise her voice, but found it to be impossible. Clearing her throat, she continued, “I’ve already promised him that we would help. All his other detectives are busy, and this is a high priority case. If Honey and I don’t do it, nobody else can.”

Brian crossed his arms and stared at Trixie through narrowed dark eyes. “OK. Let’s say you arrive in California, without the pilot dropping you off at the nearest hospital before quarantining the plane. What are you going to do in Los Angeles? Sleep on park benches in between stake-outs?”

“I’m sure we’ll feel better after we get there,” Honey replied defiantly, fighting the urge to sneeze. Finally, the pressure built up until it could not be stifled any longer, and a delicate, high-pitched KER-CHOO came from the direction of the floor.

“How are you going to discreetly tail your informant?” Brian asked. “Trixie reeks to high heaven of Vick’s Vapor Rub, and that sneeze of Honey’s is high-pitched enough to shatter glass. You may as well forget about using the element of surprise.”

“We’ll manage,” Trixie argued, although it was obvious that she didn’t speak with conviction.

“You’re going to have to cancel,” Brian insisted. “Stay in bed, drink plenty of fluids, take your antibiotics, and wait until you feel better to tackle this project.”

“Ralph needs the information this weekend!” Trixie crossed her arms as she scowled at her brother. “It’s now or never. If we don’t do it, they’ll lose the case, as well as a future client.”

“Can somebody else fill in?” Brian suggested. “Maybe that Jack guy?”

Trixie shook her head. “Jack can’t go. He can assist from the office, but he’s worked in that particular area a lot. Ralph is afraid that if he’s recognized, one of the locals might tip off our informant before we can get the information we need.”

“Surely somebody else can do it,” Jim commented. However, after dodging his fiancée’s fiery glare, he added, “But I’m sure you and Honey are quite capable of handling this. So let’s go. Where do you want to go for breakfast, Brian?”

He stood to his feet and aided Trixie to hers. After making sure she wasn’t going to fall, he walked over to Honey and offered her his hand to help her up. Noticing that Trixie was wobbling a bit, he left Honey to steady Trixie. However, once Trixie was stable, Honey began staggering and clutching the air around her, as if that might keep her from falling. Finally, he secured Trixie under one arm, and firmly wrapped the other one around Honey.

“OK,” he announced in a chipper voice. “Where do we want to eat?”

“We’re not going anyplace!” Brian yelled.

“We’re going to California!” Trixie insisted as loudly as her raspy voice would allow.

“We need to drive them to the airport!” Jim argued.

“Stop screaming!” Honey whined, covering her ears with her hands. She squirmed out of Jim’s clutches and curled up on the couch. “My head hurts.”

“See!” Brian pointed to Honey. “They aren’t able to go.”

“But we have to,” Honey moaned. “Ralph is counting on us!”

“We have a responsibility,” Trixie lamented, wiggling out of Jim’s grasp as well, and curling up on the other end of the sofa. “We can’t just leave Ralph hanging.”

“You’re too sick,” Brian ordered.

“We’ll be OK,” Trixie stubbornly persisted.

“There’s nobody else wh—”

“Brian and I can go!” Jim yelled loudly, interrupting Honey.

The once noisy room was suddenly silent, as three pairs of eyes fell on Jim.

After several minutes, Brian finally questioned incredulously, “What did you say?”

“I said that we could go,” Jim repeated. “We can work on the case.”

Trixie’s chin hit the floor as she stared at her husband-to-be. “Are you serious, Jim?”

Setting his jaw in determination, he replied, “Yeah, Brian and I can go to Los Angeles and get the information Ralph needs.”

In spite of their extremely ill conditions, both Trixie and Honey heartily laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

“What?” Jim asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t get it. What’s so funny?”

“Y-y-you and Bri-i-i-ian…” Honey gasped. “S-s-solving a ca-case!”

“What’s so funny about that?” Brian inquired, insulted by how amused Honey and Trixie were by Jim’s suggestion.

“You’re not detectives,” Trixie howled, her discomfort temporarily forgotten. “You don’t know the first thing about tracking suspects or finding clues or solving mysteries.”

Jim appeared quite hurt at her lack of confidence in him. “You don’t give us enough credit. We’re smart guys. We have several years of education under our belts. I think we’d be good at detective work. After all, I figured out Dick the Dip was a bad guy.”

Trixie snorted successfully this time. “Yeah, but only after he knocked you out and tied you up. That kind of gave it away.”

Jim’s lips pressed together tightly as everyone laughed. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best example to give… Through clenched teeth, he replied, “Well, I think we could do it.”

“No offense, Jim, but you’ve never solved a case by yourself,” Honey told him. “It may look easy, but it’s not something that you can just stumble through. Trixie and I went to college and studied under seasoned investigators to become professional detectives.”

“I know, but Brian and I studied under the best detectives in the world— Schoolgirl Shamuses, Inc,” Jim said earnestly.

As Trixie and Honey blushed from his praise, Brian nodded in admiration. “One point for Jim,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m impressed.”

“I guess you have helped us with several cases. Jim, do you really think you could get the info that Ralph needs?” Trixie ran a hand through her messy sandy curls. After a moment of deep reflection, she continued, “You know, maybe it’s the desperation talking, but sending Jim and Brian might not be a bad idea.”

“How many shots of Nyquil have you consumed in the past hour?” Brian asked in surprise. “Jim, you may have illusions, or rather delusions, of grandeur, but I have no problem realizing my limitations. I’m a highly skilled physician, and you’re an excellent school administrator. However, I think we make much better safety-lecturers than detectives.”

“I don’t know, Bri.” Trixie scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I have taken one too many doses of Theraflu, but this might actually work.”

“Time out.” Brian groaned as he rubbed the beginnings of a headache along his temples. “Jim, have you had any recent blows to the head with a large, blunt object? This is crazy! We’ll end up in jail.”

“What else can we do?” Jim pointed out determinedly. “Send them to California with the bubonic plague?”

“Listen, my friend. You’re still in the ‘new couple’ phase of your relationship,” Brian told him wisely. “You’re delusional. You’re still doing crazy things, like opening her car door, calling her every five minutes, whispering ‘I love you’ at the top of every hour… Believe me; in a year or two, you’ll come to realize this idea wasn’t nearly as good as you thought it was.”

“Can you think of a better solution?” Trixie challenged.

“Not offhand, but perhaps if we keep thinking, we’ll come up with something,” Brian said, his tone full of unfounded confidence.

“Maybe Dan could go,” Honey suggested, after blowing her nose daintily. “Or Mart. He’s always had that ‘detective instinct’.”

Brian pursed his lips, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “You think Mart would be a better investigator than me?” He clearly looked hurt.

“Well, Mart’s just more… inquisitive.” Honey attempted to soothe Brian’s wounded ego, but with her next words, she only injured it further. “You know, as crazy as it sounds, I bet Bobby would do a good job…”

“Bobby?!” Brian repeated, her words a slap in his face. “My brother, Bobby?! “The kid who brushed his teeth with Monistat 7?”

“He only did that twice,” Trixie commented. “Besides that was a long time ago. He’s eighteen-years-old, Bri. He’s in college now.”

“He spent last weekend toilet papering the dean’s house,” Brian informed them harshly.

“But he didn’t get caught!” Trixie pointed out.

“Amazingly enough,” Brian muttered under his breath. “Especially since Larry Lynch yelled, ‘We’re out of toilet paper!’ at the top of his lungs.”

“Well, that makes Bobby’s getaway even more spectacular,” Jim pointed out.

“I think Bobby’s the man for the job,” Honey replied with a haughty lift of her chin.

Brian doubled over and groaned. “You might as well have kicked me in the groin, Honey. I can’t believe you think Bobby would be a better investigator than me.”

“You don’t want to go anyway,” Honey muttered, resting her aching head in her hands.

“I mean, I can understand sending Dan,” Brian rattled on. “He’s a policeman for the NYPD. But Mart and… and…” he swallowed deeply then continued, “Bobby?”

“I can call Bobby and see if he’d like to go with me,” Jim suggested, studying Brian’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. “He hasn’t left the house yet for class; I could still catch him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind skipping his classes today; he does it on a regular basis anyway. Or maybe I could tell his professors I’m taking him on a field trip…”

“You’d actually take Bobby instead of me?” Brian was overcome with absolute horror.

“Well, since you don’t want to go…”

Brian stalked over to the coat rack and removed his jacket with a hasty yank. “Trixie, you call Ralph Keenan and make sure it’s legal for Jim and me to work on this case. Honey, you gather the information we’ll need for the trip. Jim, we need to pack and get back here, ASAP! We’ve got a plane to catch.”

His speech now complete, he stalked out the front door.

“We’ll be back,” Jim grinned. And with a wink and a nod, he followed his best friend out of the apartment.

An hour later…

The door to Trixie and Honey’s apartment dramatically flung open. The girls looked up and gawked as Jim and Brian made their grand entrance. The men strutted into the living room, their proud strides demanding respect.

Jim was dressed in an expensively cut dark olive green suit. He had a tan trench coat draped over his arm. Brian wore a conservative double-breasted navy blue suit. With his left hand, he flung a black trench coat over his shoulder. Both men were wearing old-fashioned fedoras, the brim carefully tilted over one eye.

Trixie and Honey stifled giggles as they watched the “gumshoes’ ” theatrical entrance.

Jim swaggered over to Trixie and gallantly tipped his hat at her. “Ma’am.”

“Sergeant Friday,” she greeted as seriously as possible.

“Hel’o, Sweed’art,” he murmured in a husky tone. “What’s a classy dame like you doin’ in a joint like this?”

Brian sniffed deeply and wrapped his right arm around Honey’s slim shoulders. “How ‘bout me an’ you go getta cuppa java after me and my pal solve this case, Dollface?”

“Where on earth did you get that hat?” Honey tittered, covering her mouth.

“I could tell ya, but then I’d hafta kill ya,” Brian winked. “And whatta waste that’d be, Gorgeous.”

“I think they’re Dad’s,” Trixie stifled her laugh with a cough. “They belonged to Grandpa Belden.”

“Not to change the subject, Blondie, but we’ve gotta case to work on,” Jim said gruffly. “We want the facts, ma’am, nuthin’ but the facts. Lives could be in danger while we’re standin’ here waggin’ our jaws. Me an’ my partner got clues to find, people to follow, information to get. So let’s getta move on, Babycakes.”

Unable to hold her laughter back any more, Trixie doubled over, chuckling until tears streamed