I do not own Trixie Belden or make any profit from this story. This story is set in the same A/U as the tangled web trilog .

charaters- The Bob whites and their families

Jay Morgan- Baseball coach/ Manager

Simon Saunders- Jay's best friend and also Dan's father

Birthday blues

"Put the gun down", the harsh worlds rebounded into his fogged brain. '"I mean it, put it down", this time the words were accompanied by an audible click, a gun being primed to fire.

He found himself shaking as he came back into himself. His hands felt strange wet, yet warm. Looking down at them his brain froze again, red, sticky, no, that could not be blood. " Put the gun down, right now or you are dead", the order came again. Gun, that was stupid why would he even be near a gun. But his fogged brain seemed to tell him that his right hand felt heavy for a reason. Holy heck there really was a gun nestled in his palm. It looked very comfortable there like it belonged . His fingers felt suddenly nerveless causing the gun to slip from them and hit the ground with a crack. The sound joted him to full awareness. Panic began to set in as he noticed the police, 3 uniformed officers wearing body armour, plus 2 plain clothed ones who just wore vests. A big turn out, must be after some very dangerous person. So why was it that the weapons were pointed at him . He began to shake, these guys looked like they could shoot at any minute. "Get down on the ground", one of the plain clothed detectives shouted out. No surely this was not right, they were not talking to him. He found his voice, "I didn't do anything". Gosh it sounded barely audible like a squeak of a mouse cornered by cats and knowing the end was coming. "Shut up", that detective was obviously very serious, "get down on the ground now, slowly, I will not tell you again". He was very conscious of the cocked guns centring right upon his middle, it'd be a fatal shot if one of them pulled the trigger . His knees were the ones to go first collapsing slowly beneath him as he sunk down. "Hands behind your head, fingers interlaced", the order snapped out. He could barely even feel his arms and fingers responding. This was some awful dream.

Now he was down on the ground he saw somehing his brain had not registered before, a man lying nearby. His eyes were open and turned toward him. When they had stared without blinking for several minutes he felt coldness rise up. That caused him to look mosre closely. Nausea rose up into his throat as he saw the blood splattered all over the mans torso. He could see a round hole that was responsible for the blood from here, gun shot. Surely they didn't think that he... The sudden pain in the wrists and the force with which his hands were pulled back gave him firm belief that these officers did indeed think he was responsible. Cold hard plastic strips were pulled tightly around his wrists, restricting movement . Then came the horrible words that bore straight down to his soul, "you are under arrest for murder and atttempted robbery". Murder, robbery the words bore into his brain. It made him take extra stock of the glass fragments that sparkled upon the ground by the dead guy. He didn't have further time to think before he felt hands upon him. They pushed down hard against his body and began to touch. He felt his face begin to flame hotly as the hands intruded into spots that were very private. He had never been felt such an invasion of privacy before. Trying to squirm away from the hands just caused them to be rougher more intrusive . Just close your eyes, it'll soon be over he told himself as he forced stillness into his body. "No other weapons", a uniformed officer reported as the pressure of hands lifted . "Here's his wallet, should be ID in there".

Seconds later he was pulled upward off the ground and turned to face the man holding his wallet." I am detective Branston", the man told him. He began to take things out of his wallet while the other plain clothes detective wrote a description on a piece of paper. "Money, let's see, a whole twenty three dollars and fifty cents. I guess selling that stuff would have picked that total up a bit. Pity though you didn't quite pull it off", " ,Detective Branston noted. "I didn't try to take anything. Nor did I shoot that man", he thought he better get that straight right here and now. The detective just gave him a dismissive look, "yeah sure, so tha'ts why you had a gun in your hand and blood on you". After that not immediately relinguishing the weapon you are lucky you are still standing'", the growl was serious. Oh gosh this man did not believe him, nobody had ever not believed in what he'd said before. It both hurt and scared him. "Please, I didn't do it", he repeated. "I found him lying like that and went to help". Right oh, then explain the gun", the detective gave him a very sour look. Okay so he was probably used to people lying and making up stories. But when he thought about the gun his mind was a frightening blank. "I must have picked it up by accident", yes he decided that must be right. Guns were not familar to him so that was the only explanation he wanted to fit.

"Well your story is getting better but you can save it for the statement". Detectives Branstons partner had taken the wallet and was pulling out a long thin rectangle. Finally catching sight of the mans name badge, he saw the name Morris. "Ah what have we here", Morris was waving the rectangle. " A VIP pass. So thats how you must have gotten in here. Who'd you steal this from then", Morris taunted and as he reached out to shake him hard . The man was making a judgement based on the fatc that he didn't look like he could afford the pass. He was about to protest when he realised he was right. "The pass was a gift". He swallowed remembering what had brought him here. "Its my birthday today", he told them, "that was one of my gifts."

The detective looked interested ,"so you have an important friend then, ". I couldn't afford to buy one of these on my salary", he added. "Your friend is not going to be impressed about what you chose to do with that gift". "Morris looked over at his partner, "we better talk to this friend after we have finished with this guy". His spirits lifted a little at that his friend knew him, could vouch for him. "Yes and we also better notify the next of kin of our vic", Branston was bringing things back to the harsh reality. Flicking another galnce at the body he stuttered, "I hope he doesn't have kids". That comment seemed to make Morris mad and he gripped him hard around the colar. He suddenly felt like he was chocking, "you only thought about that now scum", Morris muttered at him. Scun, that was a horrible word, one to describe someone who had done something unforgivable. He glanced at the sightless eyes, murder was unforgivable. But he was not the one responsible.

"I am trying to tell you I didn't do it", this time he risked yelling back at them. "Yeah well tell the story to your lawyer". "Now come on, let's go to the station", Detective Branston pulled him forward. His feet were glued to the floor not wanting to move. This really could not be happening. "Move damn you", Branston growled pushing him quite forcefully forward. Finally he felt numb legs walk as he was escorted between the two plain clothes officers.

"You get one call when we arrive at the station", Detective Branston told him. One call ,with that he should make sure to contact a lawyer. Yet he knew he'd be dialling a totally different number.

30 minutes later...

She sat hunched over in a chair fingers lacing and unlacing . A quick glance at the clock revealed it was almost time for the others to come. Her hands shook and she felt sick.

Bang, the door flew open, happy laugher wafted through the house. They sounded like they had had fun, she was about to crush their day. When she did that she knew exactly how they would feel.

Footsteps came closer, laughter right in front of her. Then sudden silence, it was although everything in the whole world had stopped for a second. The others could see her and knew something was very wrong. Maybe it was the whiteness of her face, or the trail of tears that ran down her cheeks. All of a sudden they were gathered around her.

"What's wrong", one high anxious voice asked. Helen Bleden finally lifted her head and spluutered out the horrible truth, "your father has been arrested for murder".