Guess Who’s Coming to Tea?

Trixie Belden bit back a yawn as she struggled to pay attention. By no stretch of the imagination was she an expert on etiquette, but Trixie had a feeling Emily Post would consider it impolite for her to fall asleep while her future mother-in-law was talking to her. She wasn’t tired, only bored out of her mind. When she began imagining she was listening to the adults in a Charlie Brown television special speak in their indiscernible voices, she decided it was time to buckle down and pay attention, no matter how painful that might prove to be.

Hoping that a change of position would enable her to stay awake, Trixie tried to cross her legs. That task proved to be easier said than done. Much to her chagrin, the form-fitting pencil skirt Honey had forced her to wear that morning made the feat slightly more daunting than she would have wagered. A poke on her elbow alerted Trixie to the fact that something was being said that she needed to hear.

“… have to pick up the pace a bit, since we’re already six months behind in planning,” her future mother-in-law was saying. “Not that we’re complaining, of course. We’re all delighted you two lovebirds are so anxious to wed, and frankly, I think the date you’ve chosen is perfect. In a way, July seventh was special for all of us. Matthew, Honey, and I were blessed by the first addition to our family on that day thirteen years ago, and it will be a privilege to welcome another member to the Wheeler clan this July seventh.”

The groom and the mother of the bride expressed their agreement, while the bride-to-be stifled the urge to wriggle around to get the feeling back in her butt cheeks.

“So, although we’re pleased you’ll be married so soon, some of our decisions will need to be made immediately,” Madeleine explained in her perfectly modulated tone.

“You’re absolutely right, Maddie,” Helen murmured, as she demurely sipped her tea. “Weddings take so long to plan. We have a lot of work to do.”

Jim casually leaned back against the wingchair in which he sat. The expensively tailored gray pinstriped suit that he wore gave the misleading impression he’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. “Whatever you say, Mother. I’m just the groom. Just tell me when to be there, and I’ll get to the church on time.”

“What do you think, Trixie?” Madeleine prompted. Judging by the earnest look in her wide hazel eyes, it appeared she genuinely wanted the event to be memorable for this couple.

Realizing she was expected to give a response, Trixie nodded enthusiastically. However, her attention was still focused on trying to figure out how to cross her right leg over her left knee— and keep it there— without ripping the seam of that blasted body-hugging skirt. Madeleine’s voice once again began to drone as Trixie concentrated on accomplishing her mission.

“…once you’ve decided what kind of wedding you want to have,” she vaguely heard Madeleine say. “I believe we’d be wise to hire a wedding coordinator. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of speaking with Feline Paulette, who comes highly recommended…”

Grimacing slightly, Trixie gripped the delicate handle of the bone china teacup more tightly in her hand, and then tried again to cross her legs. After a brief moment of triumph, the stiff fabric of the charcoal-gray skirt reclaimed its captive, and her right leg was once again restricted to the floor. She gasped as a few drops of tea splashed out of the cup and landed on her burgundy wrap sweater.

“… luckily Ms. Paulette has agreed to pencil us in, and has asked to meet with us next week at your earliest convenience, Trixie.” Madeleine seemed unaware of the troubles her son’s fiancée was experiencing and continued prattling off the items on her well-organized list. “My friends at the club have all assured me that Ms. Paulette is the crème de la crème of wedding coordinators. I have no reason to doubt that she’ll do a fabulous job. This is, after all, the wedding of the century.”

Trixie instinctively flinched as she heard the phrase “wedding of the century”. Things only got worse when her action caused her to spill a few more drops of tea on her shirt. Thankfully, her knight in shining armor was on duty, as usual. Jim discreetly passed his future bride the ever-present handkerchief from his jacket pocket. After mouthing a frantic “thank you”, Trixie used it to dab at the brown-colored stain on her top.

“She’ll help us with the bulk of our plans. For instance, picking out a cake, choosing the announcements, selecting a caterer…”

One side of Trixie’s mouth twitched determinedly as she made a final attempt to sit more comfortably. Bouncing her right foot against the floor in order to achieve a higher kick, she finally gained the momentum necessary to successfully hike her right leg back over the other knee. However, her jubilation was short-lived as the saucer, which had been balanced on her upper thighs, was catapulted upward by the taut fabric of her skirt. The small plate then shot up in the air, and Trixie squeezed her eyes shut and listened for the inevitable sound of shattering china. Once she heard the saucer hit the plush Oriental rug below her feet, she opened one wary eye. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that the priceless piece of dinnerware remained in one piece.

“Whoops,” she finally managed, her face distorted in a wince.

Madeleine paused briefly in her oration to examine the overturned saucer. A smile twitching at the corners of her lips, she motioned for the maid with a slender hand. “Monica, could you please take away this saucer and get Trixie a new one?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid hustled to do her employer’s bidding, stopping long enough to smile encouragingly at the obviously nervous bride-to-be.

“Where was I?” Madeleine peeked at her list, and then promptly resumed with the business at hand. “One thing Ms. Paulette did suggest was that we should have a black-and-white photograph taken immediately, which we could send to newspapers and use with the announcements when we proclaim the happy news to the rest of the world…”

Trixie, still uncomfortable in her current position, squirmed around, hoping to restore some feeling to her left buttock. A subtle clearing of the throat caused her to look up into in a pair of disparaging blue eyes.

Helen, keeping her withering gaze focused on her wiggling daughter, made a show of pointedly crossing her ankles in a comfortable, yet ladylike, position. She nodded at Trixie, her expression clearly conveying an unspoken order. Now you try it.

With a hint of a pout, Trixie did as her mother silently instructed. Much to her chagrin, the pins-and-needles sensation in the left region of her backside remained. In addition, she noticed that the torturous pantyhose enveloping the lower half of her body like sausage casings were rapidly slipping down below her hips, and at the current rate of slippage, they’d be pooling around her ankles next time she stood.

“…next thing Ms. Paulette recommended we do is settle upon the place for the ceremony and reception,” Madeleine remarked, unaware of Trixie’s life-or-death plight. “Since I’m assuming our guest list will be quite extensive, I’ve been thinking about…”

Pretending to scratch her hip, Trixie reached behind her and gave a yank upward. Thankfully, her fingertips grabbed on enough nylon to hitch the confounded pantyhose further up on her hipbone, where gravity’s pull wasn’t so strong. Another stern glare from her mother caused Trixie to resist any further tugging and start praying; the state of her L’eggs was now in the hands of the Almighty.

“… Country Club, which would be happy to accommodate us,” Madeleine continued. She turned to fasten her large, expressive eyes on the happy couple. “Personally, I felt that would be a lovely spot for the reception. What do you think?”

Jim held up his hands in protest. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m just the groom. My job is to keep her happy.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the bride-to-be.

Madeleine smiled affectionately at the pair. “So Trixie, since keeping you happy is at the top of all our lists, what do you think about having the reception at the Country Club?”

“Uhhh…” Trixie stammered nervously, “I guess that’d be all right.”

“Of course, we don’t need to make any final decisions today,” Madeleine commented, sensing Trixie’s hesitancy. “Unless you have your heart set on something already, I’m sure Ms. Paulette could recommend a spot that will be perfect for us.”

“It might be good to listen to some of her suggestions,” Trixie murmured, very unsure of herself.

Madeleine nodded in understanding. Her perceptive gaze quickly picked up on her future daughter-in-law’s reluctance to speak her mind. She smiled warmly at the younger woman in an attempt to put her at ease. “Trixie dear, don’t be afraid to tell me what you really want. After all, this is your wedding, and you’ll only have one. We need to make it as perfect for you and Jim as possible.”

Trixie nervously twirled Jim’s favorite curl around her index finger. Strengthened by Madeleine’s earnest expression, she admitted, “Actually, there is one detail that’s important to me.” However, her explanation was interrupted by an audible pang of hunger. She winced as a second growling sound came from the general vicinity of her stomach.

“I’m anxious to hear your thoughts, dear,” Madeleine assured her with a warm smile. “But before we proceed, Monica, would you please bring in the refreshments?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The pretty maid nodded politely and then scurried off towards the kitchen.

Trixie breathed a sigh of relief, which was followed by another rumble from her empty stomach.

“Now, what were you saying, Trixie?” Madeleine prompted.

Trixie resisted the urge to squirm nervously in her seat as Jim’s adoptive mother studied her carefully. She was never comfortable being under such scrutiny, especially when her examiner was the epitome of grace and elegance. “I was thinking that since Jim and I are getting married on the anniversary of the day we met, that maybe the wedding could take place in the same spot.”

“The same spot?” Madeleine arched a honey-colored brow thoughtfully. “You mean the place where you first met?”

“Yes,” Trixie agreed, her sandy curls bobbing around her heart-shaped face.

“But Ten Acres burned down,” Helen pointed out. Her eyes narrowed in a confused manner as she pondered her daughter’s request. “That’s a lovely thought, dear, but how will you get married at James’ house?”

Trixie wrinkled her pert nose. “Well, not the exact same spot,” she clarified. “Uncle James’ living room obviously isn’t there anymore, and a boys’ bathroom is currently sitting where the living room used to be, and a roomful of urinals certainly wouldn’t be a good setting for a wedding. But the location I’ve chosen will be close enough to the place where we met.”

“And where exactly is that?” In spite of her current state of confusion, it appeared by Madeleine’s smile that she had all the patience in the world. “I’m afraid I’ve never mastered the art of Honey-speak, Trixie. Where exactly will the ceremony take place?”

“In the chapel of Ten Acres Academy,” Trixie explained.

Helen’s forehead furrowed thoughtfully. “I thought you’d always wanted to have your wedding in the backyard of Crabapple Farm.”

“I know, Moms,” Trixie answered gently, aware of the disappointment her mother was attempting to mask. “But once I saw the chapel at the school, I knew it was the perfect place for a wedding.” Her blue eyes sparkled as she imagined marrying the man she loved in the chapel that was so dear to both of them. However, her dreamy expression soon turned to worry when a response from her mother and future mother-in-law didn’t immediately come. She held her breath as she waited for their reaction. “You probably think that’s a really dumb idea, don’t you?”

Jim winked at his fiancée. “You already know what I think,” he told her encouragingly. “Besides—”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re just the groom,” Trixie interrupted. In spite of her teasing, she smiled at him thankfully. She then looked at the older women, desiring their approval.

Although Madeleine was smiling, she was also shaking her head, making her reaction unreadable. Trixie wasn’t sure if the head shaking was done in approval or disapproval, but she was anxious to find out.

“Trixie, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better idea,” Madeleine finally proclaimed. “Ten Acres’ chapel is so lovely, and I think it’s very romantic that you’ll be married where you met.”

“It would make a beautiful spot,” Helen agreed. “If it’s all right with the administrator at Ten Acres, it’s fine with me.”

Jim grinned broadly. “Although I’m just the groom, I have a little pull with the headmaster at the school, so I’m sure I can work something out.” He leaned over and kissed the top of Trixie’s curly head. “Shamus, I already told you that I think it’s the perfect spot. I’m glad you thought of it.”

“I only worry about all our guests fitting,” Madeleine remarked. “How many will the chapel hold, Jim?”

“About three hundred or three-fifty,” Jim answered with a shrug. “We designed it as big as a full-sized sanctuary, hoping the school would be bursting at the seams someday. Since Trixie and I don’t want our wedding to turn into a circus, there should be plenty of room for everyone we want to invite.”

“That’s fair enough,” Helen surmised. “I’m sure we can squeeze all the Belden and Johnson clans into our half of the chapel.”

“Yes,” Madeleine said, nodding, “if that’s where you lovebirds want to be married, then we’ll make it work. Besides, that’ll give me the perfect excuse not to invite half of Matthew’s business associates.” A positively wicked smile parted her lips and went all the way up to her sparkling amber-colored eyes.

Trixie couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Make sure you invite The Donald.”

“Of course he’ll be at the top of our list,” Madeleine said with only a touch of sarcasm. “Matthew would never forgive me if I didn’t invite his ol’ pal Donnie.”

Helen quirked a curious brow, but before anyone could offer an explanation, Monica returned with the tiered cart, laden with an assortment of attractively arranged finger foods.

Trixie watched with great interest as the young maid wheeled the cart in front of the sitting area. Hoping for a BLT or maybe a meatball hoagie, she studied the food on each level. To her dismay, the fancy delicacies displayed on silver platters and lacy doilies didn’t appear very substantial, much less edible. However, at this point, Trixie would’ve considered eating the linen napkins if it would keep her stomach from growling like an irate grizzly bear who’d just been woken up from his hibernation a month behind schedule.

After Monica handed her a china plate, Trixie hesitantly selected a few of the dainty sandwiches from the platter. Wondering briefly what the line between gluttony and polite was, she reasoned that since the crusts were missing from the bread, she could safely take three of the quarters without appearing too hoggish.

Next, she studied the mysterious items on the second platter. The base of the delicacy consisted of some sort of wafer-like thing. On top there was a mound of unfamiliar black balls (which resembled pellets from a BB gun), a sliver of olive, and a parsley sprig. If nothing else, the appetizer looked quite fancy. Not that that guaranteed it would be edible, of course… However, mustering her courage, she took a couple of the toast rounds and hoped for the best.

Finally, Trixie surveyed the third platter, which held little brown balls wrapped in bacon. The identity of the brown circular objects eluded her. Well, she reasoned, if it’s wrapped in bacon, it has to be good. After all, like my almost-twin has always said, bacon makes everything better. Tenuously, she picked a few of the mysterious things from the platter and placed them beside the other food items on her plate, hoping that the pitiful pile of appetizers would appease her pangs of hunger.

“Shall we continue our discussion now?” Madeleine asked once all her guests had filled their plates with various delicacies. “I believe we were going over the guest list.”

“More specifically, we were talking about keeping the guest list to a reasonable number,” Jim added, grinning broadly.

Helen laughed. “Don’t worry, Jim. We promise to keep the guest list as short as possible.”

“Yes, dear, we promise to hang only a few people from the ceiling fans,” Madeleine teased.

“That’s reassuring,” Jim cracked. “Isn’t it, Trix?”

Trixie’s curls bounced around her cheeks as she looked up from the mysterious items on her plate and turned her gaze to her mother. “Well, Moms, if you really need to hang Aunt Alicia from one of the ceiling fans, I promise not to turn it on,” she commented with a wicked grin. “Not on high speed, anyway…”

“How very kind of you, sweetheart,” Helen remarked dryly.

Trixie merely giggled as she picked up one of the sandwich quarters and took a bite. The smile was effectively wiped off of her face and was replaced with a snarl as she struggled to chew up the remainder of the food in her mouth without spewing it out on the priceless rug beneath her feet.

Trixie normally liked cucumbers; truly, she did. Cream cheese… utterly divine; as far as she was concerned, there was no better way to top a bagel. Mayonnaise was a veritable treat on the average sandwich; the more, the better. Green onions… her favorite guilty pleasures; those little slices of heaven were a delectable way to spoil one’s breath. However, there was no question in Trixie’s mind that it was a miscarriage of gourmet justice to mix all these ingredients together, slap them on quartered rye bread, and call it a “finger sandwich”.

In Trixie’s humble opinion, cucumber sandwiches bit the big one.

Obviously enjoying her appetizers, Madeleine daintily wiped the corners of her lips with her linen napkin. “We’ll discuss the seating arrangement later,” she said with a smile. “Have you discussed who’s going to be in the wedding party?”

“I asked Brian to be my best man,” Jim answered. A lopsided grin parted his generous lips. “He’s assured me that I made the right decision.”

“Of course you did!” Helen agreed enthusiastically with a wink. “There’s no better man for the job than my firstborn. Well, unless you’d asked my second or fourth born.”

“Speaking of your second-born son, Moms, I’ve asked Mart and Dan to be my ushers,” Jim continued.

Helen furrowed her brow thoughtfully. “What about Bobby? Aren’t you going to ask him to be in the wedding? I’d hate for you to leave him out.”

It didn’t take a private investigator to pick up on Helen’s wounded tone. Jim cleared his throat nervously. “You have a good point there. I’ll call Bobby this evening and ask him to be an usher.”

“A-hem?” Trixie narrowed her eyes and studied her fiancé critically. “I thought your job was to keep me happy.”

“True, but a wise man once told me that it’s always a good idea to keep your future in-laws happy, too,” Jim remarked with a sheepish grin. “Especially the female in-law.

Madeleine chuckled. “It sounds like you’ve been talking to Matthew. I believe my father gave him some similar advice before our wedding.”

After taking a long sip of her tea, Trixie replied, “I’ve already asked Honey to be my maid of honor.”

“How nice,” Madeleine commented approvingly. She leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. “By the way, Helen, something tells me we’ll be planning another wedding soon, now that Brian’s residency is over.”

Helen winked at her friend. “Something tells me you’re right.”

“Hello?” Trixie huffed in feigned annoyance. She played the “wounded” bit to the hilt, treating them all to an indignant sniff/toss of her curls combo. “Don’t you have enough wedding ceremonies to plan right now? Can’t you just focus on the Frayne-Belden union before you start thinking about the Belden-Wheeler one? For once, can’t I be the center of everyone’s universes?”

“Don’t worry, Trixie,” Madeleine assured her, her tone teasing. “We won’t skimp on any of the details regarding your big day.”

“I certainly hope not,” Trixie joked with a haughty lift of her chin. “Since I’m being forced to have this elaborate shindig instead of eloping, I demand to be treated like royalty.”

Madeleine pretended to bow in allegiance. “We’ll make sure that on July seventh, your every step will be taken upon rose petals, that the cake is made out of edible gold, and that every oyster on the buffet contains a pearl.”

“See that you do,” Trixie stated grandly. “And while you’re at it, change those rose petals to orchids.”

“Consider it done, Princess Trixie.” Madeleine made a notation on her pad of paper.

“Your side of the family will be footing the bill for those orchids, edible gold, and pearls, right?” Helen queried incredulously. She winked over at Jim. “Son, if you want to keep your mother-in-law happy, you’d better do something to keep this wedding from costing a million bucks.”

Jim made a show of gulping loudly as he looked first at Trixie, then at Helen, and finally back at Trixie. “I think for my own safety and well-being that I’m going to move a few states away while you ladies finish your planning. After all, I’m just—”

“…the groom,” the three women chorused.

“Now that we’ve established that Jim’s the groom, who are the rest of your attendants, Trixie?” Helen inquired, her blue eyes sparkling.

Trixie scrunched up her pert nose as she pondered her mother’s question. At this particular point in time, she’d given much more thought to the honeymoon rather than the actual ceremony, but that wasn’t something she planned to share with her mother or future mother-in-law. “Since Honey and Di are both my best friends, I wanted Di to feel special too, so I’ve asked her to be my matron of honor. Juliana will be visiting from Amsterdam, and she’s going to be my bridesmaid. I’m going to ask Tiffany Delanoy to be our flower girl, and Hans and Juliana’s son, Ruben, will be our ring bearer.”

Helen cocked her head pensively to one side and studied her daughter carefully. “Since Jim’s going to ask Bobby to be an usher, you’ll be short one bridesmaid.”

“Helen’s right,” Madeleine said. “You’ll need another attendant.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Trixie muttered unhappily. She leaned over to elbow him firmly in the gut. “You know, since your job description includes being just the groom, I think you could be replaced easily enough by a chimpanzee.”

“You have no idea how challenging my position as just the groom is,” Jim informed her with a disbelieving snort. “A lesser man would crumble under such pressure.”

Helen smirked at her daughter’s future husband. “Before you dig your hole any deeper, Jim, why don’t we help Trixie think of another candidate for her other bridesmaid?”

“Can’t we just have an uneven number of attendants and ushers?” Trixie groaned. “Is there some law that states everything has to be symmetrical?”

“If there isn’t, there should be,” Jim declared, skillfully dodging his fiancée’s icy glare. “Hey, Trix, why don’t you ask Barbara Hubbell?”

“I guess I could ask Barb,” Trixie said with a shrug. “I haven’t seen her for a few years, but I think Honey still keeps in touch with her.”

“I know! What about Hallie?” Helen suggested.

Feigning ignorance, Trixie scratched her chin. “Hallie? I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Halette Eleanor Belden?” Helen clipped brusquely. “Your first cousin?”

“What about her?” Trixie blinked her eyes innocently in her best Diana Lynch Belden impression.

“Since you need another bridesmaid, why don’t you ask her?” Helen asked with an impatient sigh.

Trixie shrugged her shoulders. “Heck, I wasn’t planning on even inviting Hallie to the wedding, much less asking her to be in it,” she retorted, keeping her attention focused on her plate.

“Beatrix Helen Belden, that isn’t very nice of you,” Helen scolded gently. “She is your only girl cousin.”

“Well, she didn’t ask me to be in her wedding,” Trixie retorted.

“Hallie hasn’t gotten married yet,” Helen reminded her with a touch of exasperation in her voice.

Tossing a scowl over her shoulder, Trixie maintained her stance. “That’s beside the point.”

“She is family,” Helen added. “Surely she ranks above a girl you haven’t seen for several years.”

“Yeah, but Knut and Cap are family, too.” Trixie snorted loudly, her chin elevated in her most defiant manner. “Do you want me to ask them to be bridesmaids?”

Helen merely leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and glared at her daughter in her most disapproving manner.

“Fine,” Trixie agreed. Judging by her loud, lengthy exhale, it was with great reluctance. “I’ll ask Hallie to be in the wedding, but I don’t have to like it.” She smirked over at Jim. “Some help you are. That chimpanzee’s looking better all the time.”

Lips twitching as she witnessed the exchange between the two equally stubborn Belden ladies, Madeleine marked a line through that item on her list.

Trixie, not nearly as amused as Madeleine Wheeler, rolled her eyes in exasperation and picked up one of the wafers with the black pellet-like things on it. Before she could think, she popped it into her mouth. Immediately, she realized the foolishness of her hasty action. She practically puked on the spot, an action she was sure would be frowned upon by Miss Manners.

Blissfully unaware of Trixie’s urge to regurgitate, Madeleine insisted upon discussing wedding details. “Trixie, when would it be convenient for you to begin the search for the dress? After all, that is the most important detail.”

Blinking back a few stinging tears caused by the rancid taste in her mouth, Trixie reluctantly swallowed the foul-tasting appetizer, and then choked out, “It is?”

Helen chuckled nervously. “Trixie, wearing a fancy dress for a few hours isn’t any reason to cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Trixie insisted, waving her hand in front of her face in an effort to dry the moisture streaming down her cheeks. “I just… ummm… bit my tongue…”

Jim, who had been watching his fiancée struggle to ingest the caviar canapé, strategically covered his mouth with his hand so nobody would see his amused grin.

“Do you need something cold to drink?” Madeleine offered.

Trixie nodded her head vigorously. “A Coke would be good. And some extra napkins, if you have them.”

“Yes, miss,” Monica said, quickly heading into the next room to retrieve the items Trixie requested.

“I could get used to this servant stuff,” Trixie mumbled to herself.

“So, Trixie,” Madeleine began, “when will you begin searching for your gown? There are a few dress shops I can recommend; just tell them I sent you and they’ll treat you exceptionally well.”

Trixie nervously bit her lower lip. “I thought that… I mean… I sort of hoped that you could help me pick out my dress…”

“Traditionally, that isn’t something that the mother of the groom does, but I’d be thrilled to go with you when you pick out your gown, Trixie,” Madeleine told her, smiling with pleasure. “Would you like my help, or are you just asking me to be nice?”

Trixie nodded enthusiastically. “Of course I want your help! I haven’t been to any big society weddings, and although Jim and I aren’t planning something as huge as Charles and Diana’s, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you by picking out the wrong kind of dress.”

“Trixie, you could never embarrass us.” Madeleine’s eyes grew a bit misty as she looked over at the young woman. “I’m sure we’d be pleased with anything you’d choose.” She glanced over in Jim’s direction, and then turned back to Trixie and winked. “After all, you’ve already proven to us that you have excellent taste.”

“Still, I’d like for you to be there to approve whatever I pick out.” Trixie smiled shyly at the elegant lady. “Besides, it would be a good opportunity for us to get to know one another better.”

Madeleine beamed with happiness and nodded in agreement. “Yes, it would. So, when do you want to go?”

“Umm... next Saturday?” Trixie proposed. “What do you think, Jim? Do we have any plans?”

“I’m jus—”

“You’re just the groom, yeah, yeah,” Trixie interrupted hastily. “Well, I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think Saturday’s free. Is that okay with you?” She looked expectantly at her mother and Madeleine.

“Saturday’s fine with me,” Helen said. “Peter’s playing golf, and I believe Bobby’s going to a concert in Syracuse, so I have the whole day off.”

“Saturday works for me as well.” Madeleine, just as perceptive as her daughter, immediately noticed Trixie’s nervousness, and hoping to put her at ease, added, “Maybe we could ask Honey if she’d like to come with us. She has such marvelous taste, and that would make our outing more fun for you, Trixie.”

“I’d like that,” Trixie agreed with a smile. “That way, Honey could start getting ideas about the attendants’ gowns.”

“Why, Trixie.” Helen turned slightly in her chair and looked questioningly at her daughter. “You’re the bride. Aren’t you supposed to pick out all the dresses, even the ones for the bridesmaids?”

“I asked Honey to pick them out,” Trixie replied with a shrug. “I’m not wearing one of them, so I really don’t care what they look like. Well, as long as they’re blue and ugly, that is; those are my only stipulations. I have to get Diana back for the purple monstrosity she made her bridesmaids wear, you know. I looked like Barney the Dinosaur in that god-awful thing.”

“Diana’s attendants’ gowns weren’t that bad, dear,” Helen said. She sighed a bit wistfully, and then added, “I was hoping we could pick out your bridesmaids’ dresses together. I already had some ideas…”

Hoping if her mouth was full she wouldn’t have to answer anymore questions, Trixie quickly picked up one of the weird-looking, bacon-covered balls and popped it into her mouth. It was a decision she would come to regret. The instant she bit into the appetizer, her lips puckered from the foul taste. She made a mental note to inform Mart that bacon couldn’t make everything better; there just wasn’t any hope for some food.

“Aren’t those bacon-wrapped water chestnuts divine?” Madeleine inquired, having noticed Trixie had just eaten one of them.

Trixie could think of several adjectives to describe the appetizer she’d just eaten; however, “divine” wasn’t one of them. She gratefully accepted the cold Coke and the extra napkins the maid handed her, and immediately put both to good use. After deciding the food she had in her mouth wasn’t fit for human consumption, she hastily spit it into one of the napkins. Grimacing, she took a hearty swig of cola in an attempt to rid her mouth of the foul taste the water chestnut left behind.

“Mrs. Wheeler, may I have a moment with you, ma’am?” Monica inquired politely.

Once Madeleine was deep in conversation with the maid, Trixie took that opportunity to rub one of the extra cloth napkins Monica had given her against her tongue, hoping that would help get off the bitter residue.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Apparently her taste buds had been forever seared by the revolting refreshments, and the noxious flavor would remain on her tongue for an eternity. No matter what she did, the unpleasant aftertaste of water chestnuts lingered.

Thankfully, Madeleine was too involved in her conversation with Monica to notice the horrible faces her future daughter-in-law was making. As Trixie fought the urge to gag, she noticed that she was currently receiving the “glare of death” from her mother, as well as the “smirk of bemusement” from her fiancé. She was tempted to stick her contaminated tongue out at both of them, but if she did, with her current luck, Madeleine would turn around and see.

Although she didn’t say a word, Helen’s instructions were crystal clear: Finish the food on your plate.

I don’t want to, and you can’t make me! was her daughter’s stubborn response.

The two obstinate women locked identical china blue eyes; neither appeared willing to budge an inch.

A standoff was avoided when Monica resumed her servant duties and Madeleine shifted her attention back to playing hostess. “Helen, did you have anything specific in mind for the mothers’ dresses? I was hoping that when we went out with Trixie and Honey this weekend, we could sneak in some time to look for our gowns.”

Immediately, Helen’s attention was diverted from the appetizers remaining on her daughter’s plate. “That sounds like fun,” she commented. The older women immediately began a discussion of sequins versus beading, lace versus elaborate embroidery, conservative versus frumpy, and understated elegance versus stark simplicity.

Although Trixie was still hungry, conversation was much more appealing than taking one more bite of the repulsive items on her plate. She looked over at her fiancé, who appeared to be deep in thought. Worried, she nudged him on the arm with her elbow. “Are you okay, Jim?” she whispered.

Startled, Jim gasped as he turned to face her. “What’d you say, Trix?”

“Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Jim smiled in an attempt to reassure her. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, babe; just the usual school stuff.”

“Are you sure?” Trixie asked doubtfully.

“Positive.” Jim nodded down at Trixie’s plate. “Hey, I thought you were hungry.”

Trixie snarled her lip at the appetizers. “I’d rather eat dirt.”

Jim stifled a chuckle. “Just leave them on your plate.”

“I can’t,” Trixie murmured, casting a pointed smirk in her mother’s direction. “She’s making me clean my plate.”

With a twinkle in his shamrock-colored eyes, Jim stretched out a long leg and used his toe to snag a potted plant which was positioned near the window. Once the houseplant was within his reach, he casually slid it beside Trixie’s chair. Winking, he nodded pointedly first in the direction of Trixie’s plate, and then towards the pot.

After making sure that their mothers were still talking, Trixie scrunched up her nose and then shook her head slightly.

Do it now, before your mom sees, Jim mouthed. It’s your only hope.

Trixie shook her head more adamantly, allowing her sunshine-colored ringlets to shake. She’ll know, she countered silently. She always does. Moms knows all.

No, she won’t. C’mon!

Trixie cast a mournful glance at the assortment of appetizers remaining on her plate (which suddenly seemed like an outrageous amount of food), and then a wistful one at the plant’s container. Her eyes full of regret, she shook her head a third time. I don’t want to kill your mom’s plant, and I think those chestnut things are toxic.

I’ll dig ‘em out tonight after everyone else goes to bed, Jim silently promised. Dump ‘em now!

Seizing the opportunity, Trixie dumped the contents of her plate into the potting soil, making sure to cover the evidence with the plant’s leaves. Much to her surprise, a shriveled lump, which was either a Brussels sprout or a tiny shrunken head, peeked out at her. In spite of her dilemma, Trixie’s curious nature caused her to wonder exactly when the vegetable had been left there and by whom.

Trixie had barely accomplished her mission when Helen and Madeleine concluded their discussion about mothers’ gowns. She daintily wiped the corners of her mouth with a clean napkin and proudly sat—ankles primly crossed—with her empty plate on her lap.

“That was excellent, Mrs. Wheeler,” she murmured in her most polite tone. “Thank you so much.”

Although Helen quirked a brow at her daughter’s now-empty dish, she didn’t say a word.

“You’re welcome, dear,” Madeleine replied warmly. “But since you’re almost my daughter, why don’t you call me something less formal? All my closest friends call me Maddie.”

“All right… Maddie.” Trixie smiled shyly as she let the name roll off her tongue. Thankfully, it came off much easier than the water chestnut had.

“Yes, Mother, that was wonderful,” Jim remarked. His expression quickly went from reserved to hopeful. “However, I assume there’s dessert?”

Madeleine chuckled. “Yes, Jim, I believe Cook made some of her famous lemon tea cookies, just for you.”

“Mmm… Those do sound good,” Trixie commented in what she hoped was a nonchalant tone. She had to swallow to keep the drool from dripping down her chin. Her paltry lunch of a partial quarter of a cucumber sandwich, a nibble of a caviar canapé, and half a bacon-wrapped water chestnut had done little to sate her hunger.

“Monica, could you please bring in the desserts now?” Madeleine requested.

“As you wish.” Monica dutifully pushed the cart back into the kitchen, and Trixie hoped she would return with it full of sugary fares.

“Before she brings dessert, why don’t we discuss the last item on my list?” Madeleine suggested. “Trixie, pardon me for bringing up this particular subject, but we really need to take care of this.”

Trixie nodded, wondering what on earth was about to be sprung upon her.

“Jim, as your father and I told you recently, the Woodwards had asked us not to notify the press that you’ve broken your engagement to Amanda,” Madeleine continued as tactfully as possible. “She took your breakup very hard, and her parents were afraid she’d be embarrassed, particularly since you asked Trixie to marry you the very next day. Normally, we wouldn’t have obliged such a request, but since Carlton Woodward donates so much money to your school, we thought it would be wise to compromise.”

Sensing Trixie’s immediate discomfort at the mention of Jim’s former fiancée, Madeleine added with a sly wink, “Just between us, the Woodwards have always been such sore losers. Amanda just didn’t want the entire Eastern seaboard to know that the best girl won.”

In spite of her uneasiness, Trixie had to grin. Her grin became even broader as Monica wheeled the cart laden with various types of tea cookies in front of her. Much to her relief, none of them appeared to contain weird things, such as fish eggs or water chestnuts. Throwing etiquette out the window, she selected several lemon tea cookies, along with a few Snickerdoodles and coconut macaroons.

Jim waved a hand to express his disinterest in the topic being discussed. “Frankly, Mother, I don’t care if you ever notify the press. As far as I’m concerned, the less the reporters know, the better. ‘Page Five’ can mind their own business.”

“That’s ‘Page Six’, son,” Madeleine corrected, lips twitching in amusement.

“Well, whatever number that gossip rag goes by, I’ll never understand why they’re so fascinated with our personal lives,” Jim remarked. “Aren’t there wars, famines, and pestilences for them to talk about?”

Madeleine sighed wearily. “Jim, we’ve talked about this a hundred times. America is enamored with money; therefore, they’re enamored with those who have money. And like it or not, your father has a bunch of it, and after the killing you made on Wall Street, so do you.”

“I’d give it all back just to be able to get married in peace,” Jim said with a roll of his eyes. “I hate—no, I take that back— I abhor the press.”

“Abhor,” Trixie repeated quietly as she licked a cookie crumb from her mouth. “That’s a good Mart word.”

Once again, Helen sent another glare in Trixie’s direction. Shhh!

“Jim, your father and I have always been careful to shield you and Honey from the public eye, especially when you were under eighteen,” Madeleine told him. “You have to admit that you haven’t had that many problems with the paparazzi, especially in Sleepyside.”

Jim nodded. “I suppose that’s true.”

“However, when you asked Amanda to marry you, you jumped headfirst into the spotlight.” Madeleine leaned forward in her chair and steepled her hands in a thoughtful pose. “The Woodwards love to be in the public eye, and when you were still engaged to Amanda, she spoke to several reporters about the upcoming ceremony. Why, I believe she was even interviewed for a magazine article or two. The gown Vera Wang was designing for her was even going to be featured in Bride magazine.”

“Yeah, I think she mentioned something about that,” Jim muttered guiltily.

“You think?” Madeleine prompted.

Jim shrugged his shoulders, a grimace replacing his usual easygoing grin. “The time I spent with Amanda is just a blur now. I guess my subconscious is trying to block it out, since it was all a big mistake.”

“You can say that again,” Helen murmured politely from behind her teacup.

Trixie giggled, but couldn’t resist poking her fiancé in the ribs with her elbow. “Finally, something we can all agree on.”

Jim smirked over at her, but wisely chose not to argue.

“Whether you want to deal with the press or not, eventually our publicist is going to have to make a statement that you’ve broken your engagement to Amanda and are planning to marry Trixie in July,” Madeleine continued in a stern voice.

“I know,” Jim mumbled. He looked expectantly at his adoptive mother. “How do you think the tabloids and the gossip columns will react to the news?”

Madeleine pursed her lips thoughtfully, carefully choosing her words. In the end, she decided to be honest. Gut-wrenchingly honest. “They’ll probably have a field day, Jim. I’m sure the paparazzi will circle like buzzards for a few days, salivating for a picture of your new fiancée. Frankly, I’m amazed they haven’t already found out about Trixie, especially after you were seen together at the Country Club’s New Year’s party.”

“Mother, I had no idea we were supposed to be keeping our relationship ‘hush-hush’,” Jim pointed out angrily. “Nobody told me about your arrangement with the Woodwards!”

“I’m not blaming you, Jim,” Madeleine said in a soothing tone. “Your father and I have already apologized to you for not telling you about our agreement with Carlton. It was very wrong of us, but what’s done is done, and unfortunately, now we have to deal with it.”

However, Jim’s redheaded temper couldn’t be abated that easily. “Mother, you should’ve known that Trixie and I weren’t going to stay under a rock until the wedding. Eventually somebody would see us!”

“I know,” Madeleine continued calmly, “but since you usually insist on keeping such a low profile, your father and I felt it wouldn’t be an issue. We completely forgot about the New Year’s party. And wouldn’t you know that that sleazy Bill Morgan would be there, trusty camera in hand?”

“Thank God that Mart saw the pictures Bill took of us kissing, and kept him from publishing them in the Sleepyside Sun,” Jim muttered.

“By the way, Mart asked me to remind you to bring that $500 in hush money that you owe him,” Trixie remarked. “Keeping Bill from publishing those photos didn’t come cheap.”

“Let’s just pray Mart got the negatives,” Madeleine commented. “It would be a disaster if he sold those pictures to a national publication. I’m sure Carlton would be livid.”

“Maddie, what happens if those photographs do get out?” Helen questioned, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

“If the press finds out that Jim broke up with Amanda to become engaged to Trixie, they’ll turn this into some sordid affair,” Madeleine told them honestly. “Ordinary men can break up with somebody and become engaged to someone else the next day without it making the news. However, when one of the rich and famous follows his heart, it’s a scandal worthy of a six-page spread in People magazine.”

Jim exhaled wearily and rubbed his throbbing temples with his fingers. “This is all my fault. I never should’ve asked Amanda to marry me. I have a feeling that I’m going to pay for that mistake for the rest of my life.”

“We’ll get through this, dear,” Madeleine said in a consoling manner. “Your happiness is what’s most important, and you never could’ve been happy with Amanda. Even if we have to endure being haggled by the media, we’ll get through this, and it will all be worth it in the end.”

“I’m sorry to involve you in such a mess, Trix.” Jim reached over and grabbed Trixie’s hand, lightly rubbing his thumb along her hand. “I know you’ve been dreading being dragged into the spotlight.”

“It’s okay,” Trixie told him, her voice unwavering. “I’m a big girl, Jim. I can handle a few sleazeballs with cameras. And you’re forgetting something.”

Jim gazed expectantly at her and was rewarded with a bright smile that made the dimples deepen on either side of Trixie’s mouth.

“I’m a licensed private investigator,” Trixie reminded him with a giggle. “Since I’m usually the one taking all the secretive pictures, I know all their dirty tricks.”

“True.” Jim finally relaxed long enough to laugh nervously. “Well, Mother, since my ‘fragile’ bride doesn’t seem to be afraid of the bloodthirsty wolves more commonly known as the media, when do we want to drop the bomb? As far as I’m concerned, the sooner, the better.”

“Last week I spoke with Amanda’s mother, Natasha, and I told her Matthew and I would like to host an engagement party late next month for you and Trixie,” Madeleine explained. “Natasha and I agreed it would be best if we made an announcement about you and Amanda around the first of February. Amanda’s planning a trip to France around that time, so she’ll be abroad for the resulting chaos. Hopefully the media won’t be able to find her.”

Being the honorable gentleman he was, Jim nodded. “That might help to spare her some embarrassment,” he remarked. “I’d like to do all I can to protect her feelings.”

“I agree,” Madeleine said. “A few weeks after we’ve announced you’re your wedding to Amanda has been called off, our publicist could officially go public with your intentions to marry Trixie. That should coincide nicely with our plans for the engagement party.”

Both the groom- and bride-to-be nodded in agreement, although neither looked particularly excited about the prospect of an “engagement party”.

“An engagement party sounds like a fabulous idea, Maddie!” Helen exclaimed. “What can I do to help?”

Jim sighed wearily and looked over at Trixie, who was happily munching on her fourth coconut macaroon.

At least someone’s taking this in stride, he thought to himself with a rueful smile. And just a couple of weeks ago, she was the one freaking out over the inevitable hoopla. Of course, I have a very different reason for being so apprehensive… Raking a slightly trembling hand through his hair, he shoved his troubling thoughts to the back of his mind.

Almost as if on cue, Celia entered the sitting room, cordless phone in hand. Now the estate manager, she had forsaken Ms. Trask’s matronly attire for more stylish suits; however, regardless of her attire, she performed her duties just as efficiently as Marge Trask had. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but a Jack Palmer is on the phone asking to speak—”

Before Celia could finish her sentence, Trixie excitedly jumped up from her seat and had grabbed the phone. “I’m going to take this upstairs, Jack! Hang on a minute while I get the extension in Jim’s study.”

Celia watched in bemusement as Trixie handed her back the receiver, and then, quick as a bolt of lightning, darted out of the sitting room. Celia had to stifle a chuckle as she witnessed Trixie’s “graceful” departure. Hindered once again by the blasted pencil skirt, Trixie had hitched up the hem to her thighs and continued her mission at break-neck speed, stopping only long enough to kick off her black kitten heels in the hallway.

Celia turned to Jim, a helpless expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Jim. Mr. Palmer asked to speak to you, bu—”

“That’s okay, Celia,” Jim interrupted, getting up from his seat and following the exact path his fiancée had taken seconds before. His long legs quickly caught up to Trixie and he entered his study just as she had plopped down in the chair behind his desk, phone receiver tucked between her ear and shoulder.

“Jack Palmer!” she shrieked excitedly, making the redheaded man on the other line cringe with pain. “How in the heck did you track me down to the Manor House? You really are the best detective who ever lived!”

“Why, Jim, your voice certainly has gone up an octave or two since the last time we spoke,” came the reply thousands of miles away in Los Angeles.

“It’s me! Trixie!”

Jack chuckled good-naturedly. “Really? All this time I had absolutely no idea I was speaking to you, Detective. You really had me fooled.”

“Oh, you!” Trixie giggled in spite of herself. “How’d you know I was going to be here at Jim’s?”

“Excuse me?” Jack queried.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jack Palmer! You knew I was going to be here at Jim’s, and you called to wish us well as we plan our wedding!” she handily summed up for him.

“Well, of course I did!” Jack hedged, his voice hinting the confusion he was experiencing. “You figured it out, Detective. I have to admit, though, that I wasn’t positive you’d be here now, so I just got lucky.”

“You can’t fool me,” Trixie blustered. “You and Jim must’ve planned this call days ago.”

“As a matter of fac―”

“So, how’s the crew in Los Angeles?” Trixie interjected before Jack could finish his sentence.

“Pretty good,” Jack answered, his voice expressing his amusement. He was quite used to being interrupted by the impetuous blonde. “We’ve all been really busy. The firm’s had a lot of exciting cases lately.”

“And how are you?” Trixie pried unapologetically. “Are you dating anyone?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I’ve been out a couple of times with someone,” Jack told her, laughing.

“What’s her name?” Trixie prompted.

Jack released a loud—most likely of the “annoyed” variety— breath. “Trixie, I’ve only gone out with her twice—”

“Her name, Mr. Palmer,” Trixie demanded. “You know how persistent I can be.”

“I most certainly do,” Jack muttered with a snort. “All right, Detective. Before you call in the C.I.A. to interrogate me, her name is Trish.”

Although he couldn’t see her, Trixie smiled smugly. “Now was that so difficult, Jack?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” he remarked wryly.

Thankfully for the auburn-haired detective, Trixie’s mind switched topics more rapidly than a jukebox changed songs. “So, how’re Ralph, George, and the rest of the guys?”

“They’re doing well,” Jack answered. “The flu’s been going around, but so far we’ve all gotten lucky.”

“And how’re Ralph’s sugar levels?” Trixie questioned, concern evident in her voice. “Is he still sticking to his diet?”

“Most of the time,” Jack replied. “Except when Tony makes one of his doughnut runs…”

Trixie sighed loudly into the mouthpiece. “So help me, Jackson Everett Palmer, if you let Ralph’s blood sugar levels get as high as they were before I came to California, I’ll come back there and kick your butt!”

“Calm down, Trixie,” Jack soothed. “Boss Man’s doing fine. Ever since his doctor put him on insulin—”

“He’s on insulin now?!” Trixie’s lips drew downward in a concerned frown. “When did that happen?”

“A few months ago.”

“And why didn’t anyone tell me?” she demanded.

“Because we knew you’d be doing exactly what you’re doing now,” Jack retorted.

“And what am I doing?”

“Freaking out unnecessarily,” was Jack’s even response.

Trixie lifted her chin in stubborn defiance. “Even if I am freaking out, it’s not unnecessarily.”

“Detective, things are under control,” Jack assured her. “Besides, even if something is amiss, what’re you going to do about it? Move back to Los Angeles so you can act as Ralph’s personal dietician?”

“No, but I might pop in for a visit,” she stated. “I’m sure I can schedule a few days off so I can stop by and make sure Ralph’s toeing the line.”

Jack hooted uproariously. “If anyone can make Boss Man toe the line, it’s you. You’re five-foot-two inches of pure terror, Detective. Speaking of which… Hey, have you used your stun gun on any frisky clients lately?”

“That’s not funny, Jack!” Trixie huffed angrily. “So help me, if I ever run into Brad Richardson again, he’d better be wearing a protective cup!”

“I’ll be sure and give him the message,” Jack said through chuckles.

“I can’t believe he’s still working at Keenan Investigations after the infamous stripper-gram incident,” she hissed.

“Well, since you left, none of the other women in the office appeal to Brad,” Jack informed her. “They’re all over sixty, wear polyester pantsuits, and are in the beginning stages of osteoporosis.”

“I don’t know about that; I wouldn’t leave that skirt-chaser alone with my Aunt Alicia,” Trixie muttered.

“How’s Sleepyside?” Jack inquired in an attempt to change the subject.

“Not as exciting as California, but I kind of like it that way,” she admitted. “However, although we’re not tracking down any dangerous drug dealers or mass murders, Honey and I are staying busy, too.”

“That’s good.”

“So, are you coming to the wedding?” Trixie asked brightly.

“Are you inviting me?”

“Of course!” Trixie told him. “Keep July seventh open. That’s the big day. But just don’t say anything to the press yet. We’re still keeping it hush-hush.”

“I didn’t realize you were keeping it hush-hush.”

“Well, I didn’t either, but apparently we are, which is okay with me because I really don’t want to be interviewed by Cindy Adams, especially if it’s over tea.”

“Will do,” Jack replied. He chuckled in amusement as he listened to her lengthy string of what she had once termed “Honey-speak”. “Hey, Trix, is the Professor handy? I’d better say hello to him before I have to take out a loan to pay my phone bill. Some of us aren’t marrying multi-millionaires, you know. As great a guy as Jim is, he’s not in my calling circle and this call’s costing me a bundle.”

“Sure thing,” Trixie said, laughing. “Take care of yourself, buddy.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

“Bye.” Trixie reached over the desk and handed the telephone to Jim. However, it appeared she had no intentions of moving from her cozy spot in his seat.

Covering the mouthpiece, Jim whispered, “Trix, you’d better go see what our mothers are up to. I’m afraid they’re downstairs turning our simple engagement party into a southern cotillion.”

“Gleeps! You’re probably right!” Trixie hurriedly hopped up from Jim’s chair, pausing long enough to cast an inquisitive glance back at him. “You’ll be down soon to help me, right?”

“Yeah, just give me five minutes,” Jim promised.

Then, as quickly as she had come into the room, Trixie exited. Jim watched her leave, cautiously not saying anything until he heard her footsteps pounding on the staircase.

“Okay, Jack. I’m alone. Thanks for returning my call so quickly.”

Jack chuckled. “Leave it to Detective to think I was calling her. I assume she still doesn’t know about our arrangement?”

“Not yet,” Jim admitted.

“When do you plan on telling her?”

“Uhh… about five minutes before I die?” Jim offered. He walked over to the open door of his study, closing it until it firmly latched, and then sat down behind his desk.

“Well, whenever you do tell her, I’m wagering you’ll die five minutes later,” Jack joked. “She’s going to be furious when she finds out you hired me instead of the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency.”

“Jack, you know why I couldn’t involve Trixie in this.”

“Sure, I know why, and you know why, and every other sane person in the entire world would understand why, but I don’t care how well you explain it to her, Trixie will never understand why.”

“She can be stubborn…”

“Stubborn?” Jack repeated with an incredulous snort. “That’s the understatement of the decade. She makes mules look cooperative.”

Jim laughed in spite of himself.

“You’re a much more patient man than I am, Professor,” Jack continued. “It’s a good thing I stepped aside and let you win because Trixie and I would’ve killed each other by now.”

“You know you only ‘stepped aside’ because you knew you’d lose,” Jim teased good-naturedly. “However, it is true that you and Trixie would’ve killed each other by now. Our friend Dan says something similar all the time. He and Trix never dated, but she’s kept him in a frenzied state ever since they met.”

Jack snickered. “Just what Trixie needs: yet another protective brother figure to make her life miserable. No wonder she ditched Sleepyside for the serene sanctuary of Los Angeles.”

“Well, Dan’s smarter than the rest of us,” Jim said. “While I’m lecturing, Brian’s hovering, Mart’s teasing, and Bobby’s tagging along, Dan’s discreetly following at a distance, poised to strike at a moment’s notice.”

“Sounds like somebody I’d be friends with,” Jack commented. “Is he the one on the NYPD?”

“He was until a few weeks ago,” Jim explained. “Dan just started working for the local police department here in Sleepyside.”

Never one to beat around the proverbial bush, Jack changed the course of the conversation back to its intended topic. “So, what happened, Jim? Did you get another one?”

Jim wrung his hands with worry, his lips set in a grim line. “Yeah.”

“Is it like the other ones?” Jack prompted.

“Pretty much.”

Almost three thousand miles away, Jack leaned back in his recliner and wearily rubbed his temples. “Jim, how soon can you get to California?”

“My Vice-Principal’s away for a couple of weeks, but since things are slow