Holy Crap!
By Diana
Trixie, Mart, and Jim skulked off Main Street in the direction of Hawthorne, trying to remain unseen. The Wheeler's gardener was two blocks ahead of them, carrying a package he'd picked up at the Manor House back door from Cook.
“Remind me again why we're following Hansen and how you talked me into this crazy goose chase,” Jim said in a low voice, sending Trixie a stern look.
“Because my intrepid sibling decided that Hansen was mysterious, and we determined to accompany her to the colorful, but ignominious, sector of town to make sure she remains unscathed.”
Trixie rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, brother 'o mine.”
She took a deep breath. “Hansen is mysterious. In case you've forgotten, I've seen him sneaking away from the kitchen and the stables with packages tucked beneath his arm, looking carefully around like he's afraid someone will see him.”
“Hansen is not mysterious,” Jim said. “He's nice to everyone, visits the horses, feeds the ducks at the lake, goes above and beyond the call of duty by helping Regan and Tom, and our grounds have never looked better.”
Trixie adored Jim, but he really lacked imagination at times.
She poked his arm. “And I've also seen him walking to Hawthorne Street.”
“I prefer not to think about how you know that, Trixie,” Jim said, his voice definitely taking on an edge.
Hansen continued down the street, whistling as he walked, even though he was heading into the dicey neighborhood surrounding Hawthorne Street.
“Yeah, Hansen looks like a real criminal, Trix,” Mart teased. “Whistling like that, and did you notice the sneaky way he's not looking around to see if he's being followed?”
Trixie narrowed her eyes, and Jim snorted out a laugh.
“Look, he just turned left on Hawthorne,” Trixie whispered. “Just being there is suspicious in my book.”
The group slowly approached Hawthorne, trying to look nonchalant, even though they knew they stood out like sore thumbs. The sidewalks were dingy and littered with trash. People sat outside decrepit apartment buildings on stoops, and, with hollow eyes, watched the world go by.
Then Trixie noticed Hansen open a rusty, wrought iron gate set in a waist-high stucco wall surrounding the side of a building. His body began to disappear as he walked down a staircase. They continued to watch from behind a large truck until a few minutes later when Hansen came back up, minus the package, and left.
“We've got to see what's down there! Maybe Cook is passing stolen items from your house, Jim, and Hansen is fencing them.”
Jim rubbed his hand over his face. “If we don't go with you now, you'll come back alone, won't you?”
Trixie tried to look ashamed and embarrassed when she said, “Well. . .,” but couldn't quite manage it.
“Ok, let's go.”
They walked down the street and entered the gate. Trixie looked down the stairs at the garbage and leaves gathered at the bottom.
“I'll go first.”
“No, you won't,” Jim said firmly. “You'll go second, and Mart'll go last.”
Trixie knew from the set look on Jim's face that she'd lost this battle before it even started. Pick your battles, she reminded herself.
They crept quietly down the stairs. The door at the bottom was ajar and Jim stopped.
“Open the door, Jim.” Trixie gave him a little nudge.
“That's breaking and entering,” he whispered.
“The door's open,” Mart whispered back. “So technically, we'd only be entering said premises, not breaking into them.”
Jim sighed, pushed the door open, and the trio stepped inside. The space was large and dim, the only light coming from a small, high window. A whimpering noise came from a few feet away.
Trixie pushed ahead of Jim and Mart to check out the noise, and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a pile of tiny black and white puppies squirming on top of a blanket.
“Look, aren't they cute?”
Jim knelt down and fingered the blanket. “That's the old saddle blanket Regan was going to throw away.” He pointed to some food scraps in a bowl nearby. “And that looks like leftovers from last night's dinner.”
Mart grinned at the puppies, who were now settling down to sleep. “There's your mystery, Trix. A nice guy who likes animals.”
“I don't even care that I'm wrong. These puppies are so cute!” She reached down to run her finger over the sleek fur of the baby on top of the pile, and a low growl came from the other side of the room.
“Uh, oh,” Jim said. “I think mama is none too pleased we're messing with her babies. Let's get out of here.”
He slowly backed away from the puppies, pulling Trixie with him. Before they could get to the door, however, the large black dog lunged at them. The trio turned and ran as fast as they could out the door and up the stairs, the protective mother on their heels. They didn't have time to go the other side of the enclosure at the top of the stairs and bother with the gate, so they dived over the wall. Trixie heard fabric rip as she took off running.
They ran across the street and down the sidewalk, finally stopping when they could no longer hear the dog barking.
Trixie gulped air and pushed her hair off her sweaty forehead. She chanced a look at Jim. His face was red, and he looked like he was about to explode.
“So, Jim,” Mart said, looking down at the torn hem of his jeans, “next time Trixie thinks someone appears mysterious, how should we prevent another debacle of this sort?”
“Well,” Jim said, stroking his chin, his face relaxing inch by inch, “we could enlist Regan to make her groom all the horses and clean all the tack until she's too tired to do anything about said mysterious person.”
“No, no,” Mart responded, “not devious enough. How about we handcuff her to Bobby until such time she is completely spiritless and brain-dead.”
“Not bad. Not bad.” Jim held up a finger. “I have an idea. We could tell Sergeant Molinson she's trying to interfere in police business. He'll then lecture her, and possibly lock her in a cell.”
“You're a devious one, James. But I say we. . .”
Trixie turned on her heel and stomped down the street, not caring to hear what else the boys had to say.
Jim and Mart ran after her, laughing their fool heads off.
“Where are you going?” Mart called. “You haven't heard our best ideas yet!”