JUNIOR YEAR: NEW BEGINNINGS
Summary: As sixteen year-old Trixie Belden starts her junior year in high school, she learns that life is full of new beginnings…and of course, new mysteries.
Disclaimer: All character names and trademarks associated with the Trixie Belden series are the intellectual property of Golden Books, Random House's Children Books and Random House, Inc. The following story is a work of fan fiction intended solely as an intellectual exercise without profit motive. No infringement of copyright is intended or should be implied.
Author's Note : This story takes place in this decade. Unfortunately, I do not know enough about the forties and fifties to write realistically about those time periods. I also need to disclose my shipping preference. I have always been and always will be a great fan of the Jim-Trixie ship. (Honestly, I never even dreamed of a romance between Dan and Trixie until I read other fans's stories.) In my perfect world, Trixie and Jim will always get together in the end…but this isn't a perfect world, is it? And this story is just beginning…
My sincerest and heartfelt thanks to fanpersonthingy! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Chapter One: A Surprise Offer
Peter Belden sat at a window table in the new café on Main Street. The owners were a young couple who had grown up in Sleepyside. After high school they had gone to culinary school in Atlanta. When they graduated, they had returned to their hometown to open their own business instead of seeking positions in upscale restaurants. The bank had given them the small business loan which had allowed them to renovate and open the café.
As the president of the bank, he felt that it was important to support the young couple's venture and, to be honest, the food was incredible. Today he had ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich which was served with homemade raspberry jam and potato crisps. The café also served two of his favorite drinks—flavored iced tea and gourmet coffee.
While he waited for his food to be served, he perused the local paper. The town council had unanimously appointed Richard Molinson as chief of police. His appointment was not unexpected. The former sergeant and detective was well-liked and respected by the community. In addition, he had a flawless record. It also didn't hurt that he was a local and people still remembered his days as point guard on Sleepyside Senior High School's basketball team.
Peter looked up as the bell on the café door rang. Speak of the devil, he thought when the police chief walked into the restaurant. Unlike his predecessor, he was not dressed in a suit. Instead, he wore the blues of a patrol officer. He greeted the other patrons warmly and then approached Peter's table.
Standing, Peter held out his hand and congratulated Molinson. When the man asked to join him, he nodded his assent and sat back down.
With a sigh, he asked, "What has Trixie done now, Chief?"
"Nothing that I know of. Of course, didn't she just get back from Idaho? Give her a few days," Molinson snorted. Then, watching Peter Belden intently, he continued, "Actually, I wanted to speak to you about Trixie."
A young waitress approached their table as the chief finished speaking and took his order. Peter waited patiently as she and the chief chatted. It was easy to see why so many people liked the law enforcement officer. He was warm, approachable and seemed genuinely interested in what everyone had to say. With a slight grin, he wondered if his daughter had ever seen this side of the man.
When the server left the table, Chief Molinson looked back at Peter, his expression serious.
"Chief Molinson," Peter began but stopped when the man held up his hand.
"First, I'd like for you to call me Rick," the chief stated. "I have a feeling that you and I are going to become well-acquainted over the next few years."
"If you'll call me Pete," he agreed and then, began again. "About Trixie…"
Once again, the law enforcement agent stopped him. "Please humor me and let speak first." He paused as the waitress came back and sat his coffee down in front of him. Patiently, he waited for her to refill Peter's cup and leave before he continued. "Your daughter is smart, savvy and has great instincts. She can analyze and put together evidence faster than most detectives on the police force."
The chief picked up his coffee and took a sip of it. It was hot and strong the way he liked it. "But she scares me to death. Trixie doesn't seem to consider the consequences of her actions, the danger that she puts herself and, sometimes, her friends in. I realize that she's just a young girl…" He took another drink before he continued, "…but she's a pretty, young girl whose investigations have pitted her against some of the most dangerous men and women that this town has ever seen."
The chief stopped again and stared off into space. His expression made Peter shift in discomfort. It was the look of a man remembering terrible things. With a shake of his head, the law enforcement officer cast aside the memories.
Looking back at Peter, Molinson continued in a rough but controlled tone. "I've seen things on this job. Things that are only hinted at on television and in the newspaper. Things that I wouldn't want other people to see. I don't want any of those things to happen to Trixie…"
Interrupting the chief, Peter stated brusquely, forcefully. "Nothing is going to happen to Trixie."
As soon as he said the words, Peter doubted them. Even when his children had been toddlers, he had worried more about his daughter than his sons. Trixie had always been a curious child, exuberant, fearless and full of joy. Recently, her frequent forays into the world of mysteries and crime constantly worried him, concern and anxiety about his daughter's safety always on his mind.
"That's what you and I need to make sure of," the law enforcement officer's gaze met his. "In the past, your sons and her friends have always been there for Trixie. That won't always be the case."
Peter Belden's expression was grave. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think that Helen and I encourage her?" Frustrated, he ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "It's like she's a magnet for the mysterious."
"That's not it," Molinson smiled grimly and then he continued with reluctant admiration. "Trixie is more observant than any other teenager I've ever met. Hell, she's more observant than most adults I know. She has this uncanny ability to piece what she sees and hears together. Of course, I wouldn't tell her that and I wouldn't want you to either."
Peter nodded and then asked, "So what do we do?"
The other man picked up his cup and took a fortifying drink. As he carefully sat the coffee mug on the coaster, he looked at Peter. "I want her to come work for me."
Helen Belden stared at her husband in disbelief, her blue eyes wide. She had heard him wrong. He couldn't have said what she thought he had said. Glancing over at the bedroom window, she remembered that she had used ammonia and water to clean it today. Perhaps the chemicals had gone to her head…
"Could you repeat that, please?" she asked in a dubious tone.
"You heard me right," her husband said, his aggravation showing on his face. "I couldn't believe it either. The man is out of his mind. I can't believe that I was pleased when the town council hired him as chief of police."
Helen was silent. Although the idea of her daughter having access to so many "mysteries" seemed disastrous and incredibly dangerous, Trixie would also get to know the officers on the force. Hesitantly, she began, "Maybe it isn't such a bad idea…"
Peter echoed loudly, incredulously, as he paced back and forth across their bedroom floor. "Not a bad idea?" When Helen motioned to their bedroom door, he lowered his voice. "Trixie doesn't need any help finding trouble. She finds it well enough on her own."
"I thought you said that she wouldn't be working on any investigations," Helen said. "I thought you said that she would be cataloging old case files so that they can be transferred to the new archive facility."
"It's not a good idea," Peter stated firmly and then repeated himself, emphasizing each word. "Not. A. Good. Idea."
"But wouldn't she get to observe police investigative techniques? She'd also get to know the officers on the police force and perhaps when her next mystery comes along, she'd contact one of them instead of going off on her own. Besides, we did tell her that she could get a job."
"A job, darling. Not a one-way ticket to disaster." Finished pacing, he sat on the edge of their bed.
Helen sighed. "We haven't been able to stop her from getting involved in mysteries, Peter. You know that. However, we can make sure that she is better equipped to handle the situations she gets into."
Peter ignored her and asked thoughtfully, "Didn't Trixie say that Honey is going to work in the guidance counselors' office before and after school? And Diana—isn't she going to work at the Chamber of Commerce's information desk? Maybe I can get Trixie a job at the bank or at the library. The assistant librarian told me the other day that he thought Trixie was a well-mannered young lady…" He trailed off, thinking about the possibilities.
"Can you imagine Trixie working at the bank or the library?" Helen asked and then, she smiled slightly. "Besides, do you want the bank to be robbed? Or the library to burn down?"
"That isn't funny, Helen," Peter snapped angrily. Then, he saw the humor in the situation and looked up at her, his lips quirking slightly, "Not funny but both would be distinct possibilities if Trixie got a job at either place."
Helen sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. "Peter, you know we can't stop Trixie from getting involved in these things. We've tried. Since we can't stop her, maybe the best we can do is prepare her to deal with them."
"I just want her to be safe." His voice was gruff and mutinous, one hand rubbing his chest in a circular motion.
"I know, darling," She laid her head against his arm and he automatically put his arm around her shoulder. "Molinson's a good police officer. He's done this for a long time. He can teach her things that we can't. Things that can keep her safe when she's looking into one of her mysteries. Maybe he can get her in a self-defense class."
"Said he would," Peter mumbled against her soft hair.
"What?"
"He said that he'd make her take self-defense classes as a part of the job."
"You're just venting, aren't you?" Helen looked over at her husband thoughtfully. "You've already decided, haven't you? You're going to let her take the job."
"Yes," he admitted with a sigh. "But I don't have to like it."
Trixie rushed down the steps, wondering why her mother asked her to come downstairs before her father left for work. Since school hadn't started yet, she knew it wasn't her grades. With a frown, she wondered if it were about her chores. Although she complained loudly, she had dusted, vacuumed and washed the breakfast dishes every day this summer.
"Well, almost every day," she said to herself and then, admitted, "Okay, okay. At least three days a week but I washed the towels and sheets on Thursdays."
Sighing, she realized that she had no idea why her parents wanted to speak to her.
'At least Mart and Bobby aren't awake yet,' Trixie comforted herself, speaking out loud again.
Slowing down at the bottom of the steps, she entered the kitchen at a more decorous pace. Her mother and father were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Their breakfast dishes were stacked neatly by the sink, waiting for her to rinse them and place them in the dish washer.
"Good morning, Moms. Good morning, Daddy," she said in a wary tone, her trepidation clearly displayed for her parents to see.
"Good morning, Trixie," her mother replied.
Her father smiled at her. "Morning, Princess. Please sit down."
Taking a deep breath, Trixie walked over to the kitchen table and took her usual seat. Her eyes were assessing as she looked at her parents. Usually when she was in trouble, her father's face was covered in a worried frown and her mother looked disappointed. Today, they both looked calm. Taking their expressions as a good sign, Trixie relaxed and picked up the pitcher of orange juice. She poured herself a glass and took a drink.
"Trixie, I had lunch with Rick Molinson yesterday," her father began. The frown was missing but his eyes were serious.
Slumping down in her chair, Trixie stifled a groan and immediately defended herself, "Daddy, I haven't done anything. We just got back from Uncle Andrew's. I haven't had time to get into trouble…"
Her parents looked at each other and started laughing.
"You haven't had time to get into trouble," Peter chuckled, repeating his daughter's words. "That's exactly what the chief said."
Trixie flushed, her face red with mortification. She sat her glass down and hid her face in her hands.
Helen Belden took pity on her daughter and continued, "Your father and I wanted to talk to you about getting a part-time job. We've decided that you can get a job on two conditions. First, you can't work more than twelve hours a week. Second, your grades cannot suffer. If you get anything less than a 'B', you will have to quit."
Groaning, Trixie asked, "A 'B'? Even in math?"
Peter Belden nodded. "I expect you to get a 'B' in Algebra II. If we need to hire a tutor for you, we will. However, you will be responsible for paying for half the cost."
Trixie nodded in agreement.
"Now, about the job..." her father began. "How would you feel about working at the bank? Jeannie Smith is going on maternity leave soon and we're going to need someone to clean the bank."
Her eyes widened with horror. "Clean? You want me to clean the bank?"
"Peter…" Helen said, narrowing her eyes at him for tormenting their daughter. "Your father is just joking, Trixie."
Laughing, Peter reached out ruffled his daughter's riotous curls. "Your mother is right. I think the library would be more your speed."
Compressing her lips, Trixie gazed steadily at her father. She loved the library and stopped by every week to check out the new mysteries and true crime stories; however, she knew she would hate working there.
"I'm still kidding, Trixie," he said and she relaxed. With a glance at his wife, he continued, "What about the police station? How would you feel about working there?"
Trixie snorted. "Sergeant Molinson—I mean, Chief Molinson—would never hire me."
"What if he would?" her mother asked.
Trixie looked from her mother to her father, her eyes beginning to sparkle with hope. "Are you serious? You think Molinson would hire me?"
"When I spoke with him yesterday, he told me that he was going to hire an intern to catalog the old files so that they could be transferred to the new archive facility. The job would be administrative in nature. You would not get to work on any investigations…"
"You're serious?" Trixie gasped, delight written across her face. "I get to work at the police station?"
Her parents glanced at each other and then, simultaneously, nodded at her.
Trixie sat for a moment in frozen silence, staring at her parents. Then, she jumped up and danced around the kitchen, chanting gleefully, "I get to work at the police station! I get to work at the police station!"