Do You Want to Know a Secret?

Listen do you want to know a secret
Do you promise not to tell?

 

“I can’t believe you did this!” Trixie tossed the envelope on Honey’s desk and crossed her arms.

Honey cringed as she saw the logo of Ben’s law firm. “Ben wasn’t supposed to give you those. I made it clear to him that I planned to talk to you about the business first, but everyone has been so busy. I specifically asked him to messenger those documents to me at the penthouse.” She looked up at Trixie, saw the hurt on her face, and couldn’t stop the sudden welling of tears. “His secretary must have gotten confused. Please, Trixie. I do want to talk to you about the business, but not now.”

Trixie sat down with a thud in the chair facing Honey’s desk. “Trust me, no one was confused. Ben handed the package to me himself!” She paused as the implication behind that action sank into her mind. Ben deliberately gave me documents that Honey had asked him not to share. Why would he do that?

She stared hard at Honey and noticed the tears. Reaching across the desk, she grasped her best friend’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What’s wrong, Honey? Ever since you and Brian have been back in New York, everything seems off.”

Honey shook her head. “Trixie, nothing’s wrong. I just …” Her voice trailed off as she read Trixie’s facial expression. There was no point in lying to her closest friend. Trixie knew something was wrong, as surely as her own mother had known. “Everything’s wrong,” she whispered hoarsely as the tears broke through and made two trickles down her smooth cheeks. “Somehow I’ve messed up everything.”

“Oh, Honey!”

In an instant, Trixie moved around the desk, her arms encircling her dearest friend, hugging her tightly. For once, the thing to do was obvious. Honey was her best friend and even if it was hard, the right thing to do was to let her cry. Other than murmuring soothing words of comfort she said nothing, but never relaxed the reassuring arm around her shoulders. Minutes ticked by and when the sobs finally began to subside, she eased her hold on her friend slightly. Tilting her head, she studied the tear-stained face. “Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked quietly.

“No,” Honey shook her head emphatically. “Not now. Maybe later, after the fundraiser.”

Trixie nodded in understanding. “One question: Are you sick?”

“No! It’s nothing like that, I promise.”

“Okay, then. It can wait.” She placed her hands on either side of Honey’s face, forcing her to meet her eyes. “I’m going to drop it for now, but you need to know something.”

“What?” Honey sniffed.

“I met you before I met Jim. You met me before you met Brian. No matter what happens in my relationship with Jim, and whatever might happen in your relationship with Brian, nothing will change the fact that we are always going to be friends. Always.”

Honey wondered how Trixie knew that Brian was somehow at the heart of her problem, but she refused to go there right now. Before the conversation went any further, she had to ask one thing. “What if I hurt your brother? How will you feel about our friendship then?”

Trixie took a deep breath. “I’ll hurt too,” she acknowledged in complete honestly. “But Honey, sometimes we hurt the people we love without meaning to do so. We’re all human. We mess things up, we fail at our assignments, our jobs, our relationships.” She paused and gave Honey a meaningful look. “If that happens, we’ll find a way to work through it. You will always be my friend.”

Honey sniffed and nodded. “I love you, Trixie Belden.”

“I love you, too,” she smiled. “Now, if we’re not going to talk about what’s wrong in your life and I take it you don’t want to talk about those papers…” She paused and shot Honey a questioning look.

Honey nodded and sniffed again as she reached for her purse and a needed tissue.

“Then what did you want to talk about? Why don’t you want anyone to know that Harold woke up?”

Honey took a moment to blow her nose and then pulled out a compact. Trixie waited patiently, knowing this was not the time for pithy comments. Honey used the tissue to wipe her smeared eye make-up, but even a tear-stained face looked good on her. A few pats with the puff from her compact and she looked great. She slipped the powder into her purse and took a deep breath.

“Trix, someone tried to kill Harold. If they find out he’s awake, they may try again. He needs police protection.”

Trixie nodded slowly. “You’re right, I should’ve thought of that myself. Tammy can call the police and put in a request, they should send a guard down. Besides, isn’t he still in the intensive care unit. Don’t their own policies keep people from just walking in there?”

“Visitors are closely monitored,” Honey acknowledged. “But if someone wants him dead they probably aren’t going to show up as a visitor. They’ll find another way to get in. It would be easy to grab a lab coat and look like you know what you’re doing. Trust me, Trixie. If you show up and act like you belong there, no one questions you. I worked in a little medical conference room all afternoon the other day and not one person ever said a word to me about why I was there.”

“Okay, that makes sense. Did you tell Tammy to call the police?”

“First, let me tell you the rest. Harold woke up and he wanted to talk to me again. He told me there was a computer on his boat and to tell you that it had to do with money. He said you could figure it out.”

“A computer on the boat,” Trixie echoed. “I don’t think that ever came up until now.” She stood up. “Give me a moment.”

Trixie strode out of the room. As Honey heard the quick staccato of her steps, she sighed and pulled out her compact for another quick adjustment to her makeup. She carefully touched up a few spots, vowing to look her best despite lacking the opportunity for a complete do-over.

Trixie returned with Sean Barnes in tow, and after confirming they had been introduced previously, she asked him to get private security protection on Harold Langham.

“No problem, Boss,” he confirmed. “Anything else?”

“Have Freeman pull me all the police reports. I need to know if they confiscated a computer from his boat.”

Sean whistled. “That has to be it. That’s where it was all set up.”

Trixie nodded. “Yeah, not sure why we didn’t think of it before.”

“Is that all?”

“For now,” she replied with a dismissive nod. Sean nodded at Honey and pulled the door shut as he exited the room.

“Are we going to check out the boat?”

“In a minute,” Trixie confirmed. “There’s more you need to know right now.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like the fact that I’m still working undercover for the CIB on a case involving a terrorist organization,” Trixie replied.

Honey gave an inelegant snort. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m the only one who figured that out.”

Raising her eyebrows, Trixie tilted her head to one side. “And that your cousin Ben Riker is involved somehow … and not in a good way.”

“Ben?” Honey asked in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Come on. I’ll tell you the rest on the way to the boat.”

 

 

A few pieces of police tape fluttered in the wind. While the local law enforcement officials were seldom diligent about cleaning up former crime scenes, the management of the yacht club would normally have whisked away any sign of a police incident from their premises. The stylish woman wondered why they missed this particular mooring, not knowing that the manager was on an extended vacation. When he returned his staff would be raked over the coals for their oversight.

She sighed and glanced at her watch as a couple approached, too involved in each other to see her—she hoped. It seemed to take forever for them to pass by her, but she forced herself to wait until they disappeared from sight. It wouldn't do at all to be seen boarding Langham's boat. Fortunately, she'd already avoided any security cameras in the area. It wasn't her style to return to the scene of the crime, but she couldn't believe the police had been stupid enough to leave the computer. That piece of information had guaranteed her return to the yacht.

Once the potential witnesses were out of sight, she scanned her surroundings again. When all was clear, she strode confidently to The Lillibet and boarded the craft. Her stylish boating attire, including deck shoes, regatta-themed sportswear, and hair pushed under a natty boating cap, ensured she would fit into the setting; no one would raise an eyebrow if they did see her. She made her way quickly to the main salon, pulling on latex gloves.

At the built-in workstation, the slim laptop sat in plain sight on its surface. She calculated the size and shape of the device and decided it would fit in her designer duffle bag with no problem. She could take it, with its associated cables, and be gone before anyone realized she'd been there. Technically, she wasn't even breaking and entering on the yacht. Harold Langham had given her a key shortly after he purchased the boat. She had just crawled under the sleek workstation to unplug the power cord when she heard voices. One sounded almost familiar. She paused. It couldn't be ... could it? Cursing silently, she contemplated the best place to hide. Pushed the plug back into the outlet, she slipped into the adjoining hall. For now, the captain's cabin would have to suffice.

 

 

“Do you always do this much walking?” Honey asked.

The Belden-Wheeler Agency was in Midtown, simply and solely to be close to Trixie's apartment and to give them all the opportunity to move quickly in either direction around Manhattan. Like most New Yorkers, Trixie thought nothing of walking ten blocks to get somewhere.

“Yes, this is pretty typical,” Trixie replied as they approached the entrance to the North Cove Marina. “We could've taken the subway, but sometimes there's such a long wait for trains on this line that it’s just not worth the wait. Should we plan to take a cab back?” She glanced at Honey's shoes and noticed the high, stylish heels. Normally, she'd already have noticed Honey towering over her, but since her own footwear was similarly designed; their height difference was no more than usual. Trixie had become accustomed to hoofing it around New York in high heels. Honey was not.

“We'll see,” Honey was non-committal. “Do you know which boat is his?”

“The Lillibet,” Trixie said pointing. “It’s just down this way and on the left. Do you see the one with the blue trim? That’s Harold’s yacht.”

Honey squinted and then nodded. It was a beautiful spring day and the weather made her fleetingly wish that she and Trixie were here for fun, rather than an investigation. An excursion around the harbor in one of these lovely boats would help her forget about everything: fundraisers, cousins, mysteries, even her situation with Jed. Not that she was going to even think about that today. As they approached the boat, Honey was pulled up short when Trixie grabbed her arm.

“Someone’s on that boat!” she hissed. “Look. You can see the door to the cabins is cracked.”

Honey’s eyes immediately focused on the door Trixie indicated. She scanned the surrounding area to see if there were other signs, but the water was still. No ripples or movements could be detected in the surrounding water. But with a boat this large, Honey suspected it would take more weight than a single person could add to make a noticeable difference. “It could have been left open by the police, or the management. Just look around, they haven’t even cleaned up all the crime scene tape. Someone should have already taken care of this. I’m surprised the neighboring boat owners haven’t complained.”

“As much as a slip costs here, you’d think so,” Trixie replied. “But you can’t live on a boat at this dock, so if they haven’t been out on their boat since Harold was shot …” She shrugged rather than finish her sentence. But her hand moved to her designer handbag and slipped inside until her fingers curled around the familiar stock of her service piece. “Stay here, Honey,” she answered. “Are you wearing a watch?”

“Yes, but I’m going with you. What if …”

Trixie revealed the gun in her purse to her friend. “Please, Honey. I need you to stay here. If you hear me yelling, or a shot being fired, or if I’m not back in five minutes, then you need to call 9-1-1. Do you understand?”

“Do I start timing right now?”

“Start counting as soon as I’m out of your sight,” Trixie said. “Can you do this?”

“No problem, Trix. But don’t take any chances.”

“This is different, Honey. We’re trained for this. Both of us. We’re not fourteen year old girls dealing with gun runners on the Mississippi. We can do this.”

“This is much worse, Trixie. I know you love this, but I never wanted to be the kind of detective that needed a gun.”

Trixie grinned. “Don’t worry, Honey. That’s why you have me.” She turned and slipped off the high heels. They were fine most of the time, but not when stealth was part of the situation. She quietly moved off the boat and disappeared from Honey’s sight.

Honey glanced at the watch and bit her lip, starting the five-minute countdown.