You Can Get So Confused

You can get so confused
That you'll start in to race
Down long wiggling roads
At a break-necking pace.

 

Dr. Reuben Sinclair managed to surprise his newest patient from almost the beginning. Trixie knew he was reputed to be unconventional, but this latest homework assignment left her speechless for a moment.

“Dr. Sinclair, you’re sure about this? You actually want me to solve this mystery?” Trixie was incredulous; she couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly.

“Yes, that’s right. You have homework.” He made a notation in his book. “Investigating will help you work through the issues quicker than anything else you can do. You’ll need to email me daily reports, Ms. Belden.”

“Okay, but do you think you could give me a note for Captain Molinson?” she asked only half in jest. “He’s not going to believe me when I tell him its doctor’s orders.”

“He’ll believe you.”

Dr. Sinclair’s voice rang with an assurance that caused Trixie to lean back and relax slightly.

“You’re serious about sending you a daily investigation report?”

“What are you scared of, Miss Belden?” he asked bluntly. “I thought this was your profession. Don’t you want to figure it out?”

“Yes,” Trixie answered, after a slight hesitation.

“Then what’s the problem?”

She shrugged at first, not sure she knew the answer or if he really expected one. She finally spoke. “Investigating is hard when you can’t drive.”

He shook his head, “Don’t give me excuses! Why don’t you want to find the answers?”

She paused again before finally answering. “Everyone knows this is my fault, they’re just too nice not to say so. If I had only looked before I opened the door, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Trixie could feel the challenge in his voice as he told her again. “Remember, daily reports. Your excuses are just that, excuses.” He clicked his pen and stood to let her know they were finished.

 

 

“What do you mean, she’s washing her hair?” Jim couldn’t believe his ears. Every time he called, Trixie was unable to come to the phone.

Peter Belden sighed. “Exactly that. Helen is helping her wash her hair. I’m sure they’ll be finished shortly. She’ll call you back then.”

“But I have to leave for an appointment in fifteen minutes!” Jim exploded.

“Jim, I’m sorry you’re having trouble connecting with her, but the timing has just been off.”

“Pete, be honest with me, please. This isn’t the brush-off, is it?” Jim was afraid to hear the answer to his quiet question.

“Jim, I promise you. This isn’t the brush-off.” Peter’s voice was firm and confident.

Jim took a deep breath, “Okay, well if you don’t mind… tell her I’ll call her as soon as I get back home.”

“It’s fine with us if you would like to stop by and see her on your way home.” Peter suggested. “If you’re up to it, of course.”

Jim nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He listened as Peter relayed the message that Jim would call Trixie back when he returned from his appointment.

Hanging up the phone, Jim frowned as he stared at the gently crackling fire in the grate of the Manor House library. Once again, he thought long and hard about that day, but it was fruitless. He could remember noticing that Trixie’s apartment door was open a crack, but nothing beyond that. He lowered himself carefully onto one of the comfortable chairs, wincing when he bumped his injured thigh on the arm as he shifted to get comfortable. With his long frame extended towards the fire, he wondered once again about Dr. Stewart’s recommendation for his treatment. It was there that Matthew and Grace Wheeler found him.

“Son, are you ready to leave for your appointment?” Matthew asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Jim just managed to catch the flicker of anxiety between his parents and realized his lack of enthusiasm was going to generate questions.

Matthew spoke up. “We have a few minutes. Is something bothering you?”

Jim looked at his at his parents and then at the floor. “Dr. Stewart thinks hypnosis might be the answer for me.”

Matthew’s brow furrowed in concern as he responded. “I don’t know, Jim. This sounds radical to me, but hell, I’m no expert!”

Grace intervened then, “Jim, you’re a respected psychologist. Adolescents and teenagers might be your specialty, but you know what you’re doing. What do you think about Dr. Stewart’s suggestion?”

Jim shook his head, “Honestly? Dr. Stewart is a bit unconventional, but hypnosis is still not something I like to recommend.”

“Jim, did you talk to Brian about Dr. Stewart’s suggestion?” Matthew asked.

“No, Dad. I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

Jim shrugged again. “It’s hard to say. Don’t you think we should be leaving? I don’t want to be late.”

 

 

Trixie attempted to catch Jim before he left for his appointment, but ended up speaking to Celia, who promised to let Jim know she had returned his call. She stayed in the study for a few moments contemplating the telephone, before she picked it up and dialed a number. She was surprised to get Honey’s voice mail, but left a message. “Hi, Honey, it’s Trixie. Would you call me when you get a chance? I’m still at Crabapple Farm and … well, just call me okay?”

If I’m going to start investigating then I need some equipment. Trixie looked around her Dad’s study. I guess I could use Dad’s computer, I hate to ask him, though. There’s never a good computer nerd around when you need one!

She picked up the phone to make another call. When this call, too, clicked over into voicemail, Trixie’s impatience bubbled to the surface. In disgust, she left another message. “Doesn’t anyone answer the phone any more?” she muttered as she returned to the kitchen.

“That was a quick conversation,” Helen remarked.

Trixie shook her head, walking over to take the flatware from the drawer. She was through asking if she could help. She would set the table without asking. “Jim was gone, but I left a message. Honey and Liz were both out.”

“Matt told me Jim’s walking has improved over the last two days,” Peter joined the conversation. “He seems to think that Jim won’t have a permanent limp.”

“If it’s up to Jim, he won’t.” Trixie answered automatically, laying the forks and knives on the table with a force that clearly signaled her frustration to her parents. “That is the most stubborn man I have ever known.”

“Watch it, princess. I’ve heard your name in association with that trait before,” her father teased as he watched her fold the napkins with a vengeance.

“Humph! My obstinacy meter doesn’t even register when compared to Jim,” she sniffed. “If you had just seen him refusing to do anything Jones--” she stopped abruptly, remembering the beatings that resulted from the grit they both displayed that day to Jonesy. She couldn’t say another word, choking up as she stared at the pile of folded napkins.

“Oh, Princess! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Peter grabbed her good hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“Will I ever get over it?” Trixie’s voice was thick as she strove for control; her eyes blinked as she watched her parents exchange concerned looks.

Helen’s answer was gentle.

“Yes, sweetie, you’ll get over it. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, and you may always be a little different because of it, but you’ll come out of this a stronger person. You are such a fighter. Actually, all the Bob-Whites are fighters. None of you will let this get the best of you, especially Jim.”

Trixie nodded and looked at her Moms with an earnest expression. “I never lose fights,” she said with a quiet determination.

“Exactly! My money’s on you, sweetie.”

 

 

Matthew and Grace Wheeler felt far less sanguine about Jim’s recovery than Peter and Helen did about Trixie’s. Both parents were happy to be accompanying him to his late morning appointment with Dr. Anthony Stewart. They exchanged anxious glances when they saw Jim grimace before he walked into the office.

Matthew stood up in surprise when Jim reappeared from the office five minutes later, with a terse, “We can go now.”

“What’s going on?” Matthew demanded.

“I’m leaving and I’m going to find a different doctor,” Jim replied, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “This one isn’t going to work.”

“Jim, are you sure?” Grace had risen as well, and her tone was full of concern.

“Yes, Mother, I’m sure.” Jim’s reply was brusque.

“If you know what’s good for your stepson, you’ll convince him to listen to me,” Dr. Stewart spoke from his office door.

Matthew snorted, ignoring the look of warning from his wife. “He’s our son, not our stepson. Let’s go, Jim.”

Before anything else could be said, the three of them exited the office with dignity intact, although Matthew was clearly spoiling for a fight.

Moments later they were standing on the street, none of them sure how things had gotten to this point. Matthew called Tom, and asking him to pick them up at the corner café as soon as possible. The three of them ordered coffee and by unspoken consent, talked about the coming Christmas holidays and the boys at the school. When the Wheeler limo arrived, Matthew spoke in a clipped voice – “The penthouse, please, Tom. None of us are quite ready for the drive back to Sleepyside.”

Jim just nodded, and Grace Wheeler, with an anxious glance at his shuttered expression, simply picked up his hand and held it in her own.

It wasn’t much later that they found themselves eating in silence. Jim picked at the light but delicious lunch his mother ordered for them. His preoccupation was obvious and she sat quietly, watching and waiting.

“Mother, I was wondering about something.”

“Yes, Jim, what is it?”

“Do you think Trixie is avoiding me?”

Grace was silent as she considered her answer. The thought had crossed her mind as well. Employing her usual tact, she gave a diplomatic response. “I don’t think she is purposely avoiding you.”

“I’ve got to let her know it’s my fault,” he said miserably. “I know how she is; she’s the most stubborn person on the planet. She’s going to insist she should have been watching for Jonesy to be released and protected me from him.”

“Yes, I suspect she is thinking it’s her fault.” Grace Wheeler sipped her tea. “All of you, Brian, Honey, Dan, and Trixie – you all want to take the blame. But the answer really is quite obvious.”

“The answer is -- it’s my fault. Dan told me, and I didn’t warn Trixie or Honey.”

“Jim, why are you so quick to accept the blame for this?” Matthew interjected with a question of his own. “You told me about Jonesy. If I recall correctly, it was the very evening Dan told you. Didn’t I tell you it was okay to wait?”

“Dad, this is not your fault!” Jim answered quickly.

“And it’s not yours either!” Matthew retorted more shortly than he intended. He sighed, and pushed his hand through his ruddy hair. He knew his son well. Jim would want to take the blame for what happened; he would almost need to take the blame.

“Jim, listen to me for a minute. It’s easy to feel guilty about the situation. Nevertheless, you are no more to blame than Pete Belden, Regan, Tom, or me. All of us knew. Is it Dan’s fault for not telling all the Bob-Whites? Maypenny just about saved your neck and he knew Jones was out of prison because Regan told him. Is it his fault?”

Matthew didn’t allow Jim an opportunity to respond as he continued his tirade. “What about my lawyer’s staff? They were paid to watch Jones’ parole hearings and they dropped the ball! Should we sue them for malpractice? Dammit, Jim. There is one person to blame for this and one person only -- and everyone knows who that is!”

“It’s me,” Jim said quietly.

“Hell, no it’s not you!” Matthew exploded as he jumped to his feet. “It’s that stinking, blood-sucking, scum-bag, sorry excuse for a man, Eugene Jones! If you could just stop with the…”

“Matthew!” Grace interrupted, with a sharp voice and a hand on her husband’s arm. “Your temper is getting away from you,” she said with a tone that Matthew recognized. He had gone too far.

“I’m sorry, Jim.” Matthew sat down, quite abject in his apology. He took a deep breath desperate for some way to make Jim understand.

“What if I told you that she knew?” Matthew said quietly. “What if I told you that Peter was worried about leaving town and told her so she could be watching? Would it still be your fault?”

“Peter told her?” he asked, leaning back in his seat. It was clear to Matthew that he had rattled Jim with that question.

“If Trixie knew Jonesy was out of prison and living in Westchester County, would it be your fault?” Matthew asked the question, looking at his hands instead of at Jim.

The silence between them grew uncomfortable. Matthew glanced up at his son, and saw the look of abject misery on his face. He steeled himself.

“Is it still your fault, Jim?” he pushed.

“He was my stepfather, if it wasn’t for me, he would have never come back to Sleepyside.” Jim answered in a low voice.

“If I had been doing my job, he would have never been able to come back to Sleepyside!” Matthew catapulted from his chair and began pacing. “Do you have any idea how much I worried about him bothering you later? How I paid those damn lawyers to let me know if he ever came up for parole, just to keep something like this from happening? It was my job to protect you from him, both of you. If you want to blame someone for it, Jim --then blame me. I failed you, Jim. What kind of father lets someone get to his son like that?”

“No!” Jim shouted, jerking himself up from his chair. “Hell, no!”

“Jim!” Grace interrupted her son, shaking her head.

Jim took a deep breath to as he shook his head ruefully before sitting back down. “I’m sorry, Mother.” He looked at her as he apologized for his outburst. “Dad, of course it’s not your fault.” More rationally, he continued, “Everything I have, everything I’ve accomplished with the school, is because of you.”

“No, son, you’re wrong.” Matthew said shaking his head. “It’s because of you. You told me,” Matthew reminded him again. “I didn’t tell the girls, although I did tell your mother, Peter, and Tom. Regan told Mr. Maypenny. We discussed it, Jim. You said you remembered all of that.”

“Yes, I know. I just have to wonder… if I hadn’t waited to tell her, would she have been watching for him?”

“Perhaps. Do you want to tell me what happened with Dr. Stewart?”

“I told him what I remembered but he still pushed for the hypnotism.” Jim shrugged. “I knew it was wrong, so I told him it would be best if I found someone else.”

“You’ve remembered more?” Matthew was surprised he hadn’t picked up on this.

“Yes, I remember more,” Jim said quietly. “Little pieces keep coming back to me. Trixie was there, at her apartment but Jonesy had her ….” He swallowed, unable to say he had her tied up. “He was using her to get to me. I remember waking up and realizing I was at the clubhouse. I talked back to him about something, I’m not sure what, but he beat me for it.”

“Is that it?” Matthew asked.

Jim nodded. “I just can’t remember where Trixie was then.”

 

 

The phone rang at Crabapple farm and to the surprise of both Peter and Helen, Trixie leaped to answer it. They listened, unashamed, to Trixie’s side of the conversation and her request for help with the investigation.

“Well, I’m not going to be able to just drive all over the country,” she explained. “I was thinking if I could get my hands on a laptop to do some internet research, then I could assist Molinson’s team.”

“You will?” The question was a squeal of delight. “Thanks, Honey. I’ll see you tonight.”

Trixie hung the receiver up and turned to look at her parents. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Honey’s stopping by tonight when she gets home. She’s promised to bring me a laptop if she can get it set up this afternoon. She thinks our new office helper can take care of it. She’s going to bring me up to speed on the investigation.”

“If you’d like to start some checking this afternoon, you’re more than welcome to use my computer,” Peter Belden offered.

“Oh, Dad! You mean it?”

“Yes, of course. Have at it!”

She gave him a quick hug and with the single-minded purpose that was characteristic of Trixie on the trail of a mystery, she hurried to his study.

Her parents exchanged looks. “Did you ever think we would be excited that our daughter was involved in a mystery?” Peter asked his wife ruefully.

“No. But I take it you’re as pleased with this turn of events as I am,” Helen replied as she carried plates to the sink.

“Should we expect our oldest son and his wife for dinner?” he asked, taking his own plate to the sink. He deposited it on the counter before turning to encircle his wife’s waist with his arms.

“Yes, I’ll call and invite them.” Helen smiled. “Perhaps it’s time to invite a certain red-headed young man as well. Someone single, who might be interested in marrying our daughter.”

“You’re going to invite Regan?” Peter teased, nipping her ear with his teeth.

Helen laughed. “Our daughter is going to be distracted for a while. Just exactly what kind of banker’s hours are you keeping today?”

“No one questions the bank president’s schedule,” he murmured as he untied her apron. It was a well-practiced move of seduction and one that never failed to excite Helen.

“Race you upstairs,” she suggested in a husky voice.

“Last one on the bed gets to be in charge,” he agreed.

“Ready – set – go!”

The couple took off with a speed and agility that would have stunned their daughter, who was already deeply engrossed in making notes on her case.

***

“Will you have it ready before it’s time to leave?” Honey’s voice was filled with an unusual anxiety.

“Depends on what time you want to leave,” Jack Miller answered with the nonchalance of a twenty-two year old college graduate. He had already unpacked the laptop from the box and quickly loaded it with their standard office software. He was working to get the networking set up when Honey finally broke down and asked him the question. Grinning up at his boss, he replied, “If you can wait until four, it should be ready.”

“I was planning to leave at five,” she answered with a smile. “Thanks, Jack. Trixie is going to be thrilled.”

“Yeah, well I was beginning to wonder if your partner wasn’t just a figment of your imagination.” His fingers clicked over the compressed keyboard of the laptop with a practiced ease.

Trixie’s unforeseen absence had impelled Honey to bring Jack on without waiting for her partner’s approval. After conferring with Liz, Honey had made him an offer and he started immediately, fielding calls and handling routine computer inquiries. The only drawback was that Trixie and Jack had yet to meet each other.

“She’s real. Now that she’s ready to do some work, you can probably expect her to task you with some routine stuff. I’ll talk to her tonight, let her know your email address, all that. Maybe next time she’s in town, she could stop by to meet you.”

“Sure,” Jack answered. “This is easy, you know. You can quit worrying.”

Honey smiled again, and reluctantly returned to her office, leaving the computer set-up in good hands. She picked up the phone and called Brian.

“Hi, darling. Do you think you can get away for dinner tonight?”

 

 

Jim hadn’t been so impressed since his tenure at graduate school. Dr. Julia Honeycutt was amazing. Her steel-gray hair belied the youthful twinkle and smile she shared with her newest patient.

“It’s quite simple, Dr. Frayne. If you want me to call you Jim, then you will have to agree to call me Julia. Otherwise, we will remain Dr. Frayne and Dr. Honeycutt.”

He didn’t dare admit it to her, but his initial problem with Dr. Stewart had been solely tied to his ego. Dr. Stewart refused to acknowledge Jim’s own credentials in psychology and their common vocation.

“A professional courtesy?” he asked her, curious about the logic behind her approach with him.

“Precisely. Now what’s it going to be?”

“Julia, I think that you and I are going to make an awesome team.” He smiled as he leaned back, beginning to relax for the first time that day.

It was nearly the end of the session when Julia sighed and leaned back.

“Jim, you’re not going to be happy with me about his next bit,” she admitted to him with obvious reluctance.

“Why?”

“You’re fairly anxious to get back to work, back to your school?” It was more of a question than a statement.

“Yes, it’s a busy time of year for us. Our first Christmas Program is only days away and I’m still searching for additional staff so we can be prepared to take on more students at the first of the year.”

“I want to rerun some of your tests,” she said quietly studying his face.

“For psychiatric evaluation?” Jim’s voice reflected his shock and concern.

“No, I want to run some tests on your head injury. I’m not satisfied that this memory loss isn’t more from the concussion you suffered than any post-trauma stress.”

“When?”

“The CT can be scheduled first thing tomorrow. I’d like you to be evaluated by a neurologist as well. Probably could have that scheduled tomorrow afternoon if I get lucky. I have this funny feeling your father will make sure that I get lucky.” A wry grin quirked at the corners of her mouth as she spoke. “If you can do these tests tomorrow we can see about getting you back to work much quicker.” Dr. Honeycutt stepped around the desk to check her appointment book, frowning momentarily. “When is that Christmas program that’s so important to you?”

When Jim answered, she nodded. “With those tests completed and reviewed, I’m thinking we can have you back to school in just a couple of days.

“It can’t be any sooner?” he pushed.

“I can’t stop you from going back to the school, Jim. I can only tell you that I advise against it until we see what’s going on inside that head of yours. It’s very possible the concussion was more severe than first diagnosed. Too many of your symptoms suggest a more serious head injury.”

“What symptoms?” Jim was confused. “My only symptom of a head injury is this lingering headache, but that’s typical of a mild concussion.”

“Oh, let’s see -- severe headaches, irritability, restlessness, and unusual behavior.” Dr. Honeycutt counted on her fingers as she listed the symptoms she had noted.

“What do you mean unusual behavior?” he demanded.

“Do you usually lose your temper with a professional colleague and storm out of their office?” she asked. “Your parents have spoken to me as well, you know.”

“That’s because no one will tell me what happened!” Jim protested. “If I could just see Trixie, if they would just tell me what happened, everything would be okay.”

“Let’s make a deal, Jim. You be at the lab tomorrow morning at six, and stay for a neurologist evaluation tomorrow afternoon. Then you can go home and see your Trixie. I take it she’s someone pretty special?”

Jim smiled a genuine and heartfelt smile. “If you only knew.”

“We’ll schedule another appointment after I review all your test results and you can tell me if seeing your special girl helped or not. Then we can discuss remembering what happened.”

Jim was quiet. The offer was appealing. He finally nodded. “Deal.”