Chapter 10:
April Fools
"Honey, will you please wake up?" Trixie repeated, shaking her best friend's shoulder.
Honey let out a low moan, then rolled over to face the wall. "Go back to sleep, Trixie. It's the middle of the night," she complained.
"Wake up!" Trixie persisted.
She pulled the pillow out from under the uncooperative girl's head and Honey bolted up like a rocket.
"For Pete's sake, what is it?!" she cried angrily.
In the room across the hall, similar objections were being echoed.
"Frane, this had better be important," Dan grumbled, rolling off his cot. The groggy young man gave Brian a light flick on the side of his head. "Come on, Brian, if I have to get up, you have to get up."
Brian protested but eventually crawled out of his sleeping bag.
Though it took much ado, in the end, Trixie and Jim managed to persuade the Bob-Whites to gather their night gear, and join them in the sitting room, downstairs. None of the teens were particularly happy about it, especially since they hadn't been told why. But within a few minutes, the sleepy group was assembled and waiting for answers.
"Ok, what gives?" Brian was the first to ask, stifling a yawn. "You two look like you've seen a ghost or something."
Trixie let out a nervous laugh at her brother's choice of words. Now that she'd heard him say it, the notion sounded terribly ridiculous. "Well," she started slowly, "I guess maybe we have."
Dan let out an exasperated howl and flopped over on the rug. "Awe, come on," he said. "Don't tell me all that garbage Jim accused you of was true, Trixie? If I'd known that, I would have been upset with you myself. You don't really believe in ghosts, do you?"
Trixie wasn't sure how to respond. She'd found deceitful people had been behind most of the hauntings she'd run across. People like museum curator Alfred Dunham, who'd posed as the headless horseman to steal a rare vase from the Lynches. But there had also been the apparition of Sarah Sligo who'd warned her to beware at Lizgard House. To this day, Trixie was uncertain if she'd seen a real ghost, or if it had been part of the hoax concocted by Lewis Gregory in an attempt to commit insurance fraud.
"I don't know," she replied honestly. "But Jim and I saw Jonesy this evening."
"But he's dead!" Honey gasped.
"That's the point," Jim told her. "We couldn't have seen Jonesy, but we did."
Brian needed a more plausible explanation. "Couldn't it have been someone who looked like Jonesy?" he asked.
"Trixie thought it might have been the guy who's been following us in the red pickup," Jim admitted. "But we've sort of ruled that out. I think it's pretty unlikely he's got a raspy voice like Jonesy's."
Honey clutched her pillow tightly. "He's spoken to you?" she gasped.
Jim nodded.
'Well I don't like this one bit," Dan announced, getting up. "You two aren't being rational. I want to hear more, but I think we should get settled first."
In total agreement, Brian delegated Jim the job of lighting the kerosene lantern, while he and Dan went for more firewood. Meanwhile, the girls arranged the sleeping bags in a semi-circle in front of the fireplace. When done, they headed to the kitchen to dig up something to munch.
"I always feel like eating when I'm nervous," Trixie giggled, patting her middle, "it's no wonder I'm getting so fat."
"You aren't fat," Honey insisted. "But I understand how you feel, Trixie. I eat when I'm upset too. It's a terrible habit."
Trixie agreed, but it didn't stop her from grabbing a bag of pretzels as they headed back to check on the boys.
"Care for a snack?" she asked Jim, holding out the open bag.
"Not now," he grumbled as he wrestled with the uncooperative lantern. "What I need is another book of matches. This silly thing won't light."
Trixie sat down beside him and crossed her legs. "Forget about it," she said. "It isn't worth the frustration. The fire will give off plenty of light. I think Brian only suggested it to keep you from trying to go for wood again."
Jim let out an exasperated sigh. Pushing the lantern aside, he reached for a pretzel.
Once the fire was blazing, the B.W.G.s gathered around to hear the rest of Trixie and Jim's story. Trixie began by describing where and when they'd seen Jonesy. Then she passed around the onyx ring as Jim explained it's significance. As Dan handed it back to Trixie, Jim finished their account by repeating word for word, the threat he'd heard while loading the car. The startling confession brought mixed reactions from the Bob-Whites.
Brian was the first to respond. "Gleeps, Jim. Are you sure you weren't hearing things?" he asked hesitantly.
Jim's face dropped. "I knew you wouldn't believe me," he muttered. "You think I'm crazy, right?"
Dan realized that Jim had taken Brian's question to much to heart. They were all exhausted and prone to overreacting. "Look, Jim, we're your friends. If you say you heard Jonesy, then you did. But that doesn't make what you've told us any easier to swallow. I, for one, don't believe there's anything paranormal going on." He scrunched up his pillow and rolled on his side, trying to get more comfortable on the wooden floor.
"What if Jonesy's not dead?" Dan continued. "There was some question to the identities of the victims of the fire, wasn't there? Maybe the coroner made a mistake, and Jonesy actually escaped."
"I wondered the same thing when Mr. Lytel asked us on Sunday if Jonesy had been in town," Trixie jumped in.
Jim shook his head. "The officials matched Jonesy's dental records," he said.
Honey had become too quiet. She'd snuggled deep into her sleeping bag, and Trixie wondered for a moment if she'd fallen asleep. Only Honey wasn't asleep. In fact, she was pondering whether she'd ever sleep again. Peeping out from the safety of her nest, she confessed, "I feel like I'm in the middle of that horror movie Trixie and I watched Friday night. Only it's Jonesy that's risen from his grave and won't rest until we're all dead. Here we are stranded, with no phone, like sitting ducks. I know it's silly, but a part of me wants to blockade all of the doors and windows. Please tell me we are going to go home as soon as the roads reopen?"
Something in Honey's plea spurred Trixie's spirit. "Oh, Honey, this isn't like that silly movie at all," she refuted loudly. "Jim and I did agree that we could be in danger, and we need to be more careful and stick together. That's why we called you all down here. But I seriously doubt Jonesy, his ghost, or whoever it is we're dealing with, intends to eat us for breakfast! They probably want us off the farm. And who's to say, even if we went home, they wouldn't just follow us?!"
Trixie's outburst froze the Bob-Whites.
"Oh, stop staring at me!" she spouted, tossing her pillow into their midst.
Brian grabbed the pillow and threw it back at her, but Trixie saw it coming and ducked. Hitting Dan squarely in the face, the startled young man caught it instinctively and came up swinging. Suddenly, with the tension broken, the Bob-Whites found themselves in the middle of a rip-roaring pillow fight.
"Whop!" Jim cried, slamming his pillow into his sister's side. "I'm warning you, bring up zombies again, and there's more where that came from!"
Honey fell back, laughing. "Oh, really, dear brother? Then take this! You'll be a zombie before I'm through with you." Closing her eyes, Honey swung her pillow forcefully, but a sudden crash popped them back open with a start. "Did I break something?" she asked with worry.
"That sounded like it came from outside," Brian replied, hushing everyone down.
Jim reached for his sneakers. "We'd better take a look," he said. "Girls, stay here with Dan. Brian, you're with me. I think I saw my old baseball bat in the hall closet. Would you mind getting it?"
Despite being ordered to remain put, Trixie got up to go with them. "I'll get it," she volunteered. "I'm not staying behind this time. I'm going with you."
Jim pulled her aside. "Please, Trixie, stay here with Honey," he begged. "She's putting up a good front, but I'm still worried about her. I think she'd do better if you were here."
When Trixie didn't immediately relent, he angled his head so he could look into her pretty blue eyes. "If not for me, then for Honey?" he implored.
When Jim put it that way, Trixie knew her only choice was to stay behind. As much as she wanted to be a part of the excitement, she couldn't be so selfish. Honey was her best friend, after all. As the boys headed out to investigate, she reached for the bag of pretzels.
When Jim and Brian returned a short time later, even under the low light conditions, Trixie could see Jim's face was fire-red.
"You left the bedroom window open," he told the girls, slamming the door shut with unnecessary force. "Everything that'd been on top of the nightstand is now in shambles on the front walkway. The lamp, the pictures, even Mother's clock. I'll have to deal with the mess in the morning. Right now, I'm just too tired."
Trixie and Honey both gasped. Each knew how much the clock had meant to Jim. They'd been careful when they cleaned not to damage it.
"But I shut the window when it started to rain," Trixie insisted.
"And I locked and double-checked it before bed," Honey maintained.
Brian leaned the baseball bat in a corner and then joined Jim, who was warming up in front of the fire. "Well, it's open now," he informed them in all seriousness.
Trixie stamped her foot indignantly. "I'll have you know, even if we had left the window open, and we didn't, those things couldn't have fallen out without some help. Someone or something must have bumped the table they were on. Even then, they should've just fallen over. Everything but the lamp sat below the window ledge. No, I don't buy it. That was a pretty good crash we heard, and that tells me they went out the window with some force."
The color in Jim's cheeks grew brighter as the truth sank in, and he reached for the fireplace poker. "If someone's upstairs, he's not going to get away," he growled.
Brain held back his friend. "If you go, we all go," he insisted. "It will be safer if we stay in a group."
When everyone agreed, including Honey, Jim relented.
Going for the ball-bat, Brian directed Honey to grab a flashlight, as Dan snuck into the kitchen for a couple of sturdy broomsticks. When Mr. Mangan came back, Trixie also noticed there was a knife handle protruding from the pocket of his bathrobe. As he handed her a broom, the young man tapped his pocket to show her he had it, and Trixie nodded her head with approval.
Armed and ready, Jim instructed the boys to close in around the girls. He and Brian would lead the way, as Dan brought up the rear.
Quietly, the wary group crept up the staircase and into the bedroom at the top of the steps. At first glance, the vacated sleeping quarters appeared empty. However, it soon became evident that someone unwelcome had been there.
"It looks like Trixie guessed right," Dan whispered, pointing to the dressing table sitting against the far wall. "Somebody definitely wants us out of here."
The word "LEAVE" was scrawled in monstrous red letters across the mirror. Moving slowly, Honey went for a closer look. She would have grown faint at the sight of blood, but this wasn't blood. Running her finger across the glass, she revealed, "Lipstick? But it isn't my shade or Trixie's. And heaven knows Miss Trask's wouldn't wear anything so garish."
Trixie tiptoed to join her friend. Rummaging through the drawers of the vanity, she found nothing that might have been used to leave the message. "Do you think we are dealing with a woman?" she asked Honey softly.
Honey shrugged her shoulders and then flashed her light around all corners of the room to see if anything else looked amiss. Other than the open window and empty nightstand, she concluded that everything else seemed to be in its place.
Whistling to get her attention, Dan motioned Honey toward the bed to her right. Slowly, he bent down and ran his broom underneath the frame. Feeling nothing, he had his female friend double-check with the flashlight, as Trixie repeated his action on the opposite side of the room.
"No one under here," Honey confirmed with a whisper.
"Or under here," Trixie echoed back.
Brian and Jim hadn't found anyone hiding in the closet, either, so the Bob-Whites expanded their search to the rooms down the hall, before concluding unsuccessfully in the attic.
"I just don't get it," Brian exclaimed, clearly perplexed. "How did someone get out without our seeing them?"
"Or better yet, how did they get in?" Dan added.
Trixie wracked her brain. She was overly tired, and it just didn't want to function correctly. She almost suggested the teens head to the kitchen to boil water for some of Miss Trask's instant coffee, but if truth be known, she feared the strong drink might worsen her jitters.
"Could they have used a ladder?" she wondered aloud, as the weary group headed back to the girl's room for one final look around.
"Only an extension ladder would reach this high," Jim replied. "And I don't recall seeing Jonesy's in the barn. Besides, I think we would have heard or seen something if so."
"Jonesy's ghost could have simply materialized," Honey piped up nervously.
The wind, howling through the open window, slapped the Venetian blinds against the sill, causing the young people to jump.
"I'm canceling this trip," Jim announced abruptly. He forcefully shut the window, and then made sure it was locked good and tight. His mind was made up, but that didn't stop Trixie from trying to change it.
"And do just what he wants?" she said. "Sorry, Jim, but I don't think that's smart. Someone has a very good reason for wanting us off of this farm, and we'd better find out what it is before we leave."
Jim rubbed the back of his neck. Not only did he feel responsible for everyone's safety, but also for their happiness. Didn't Trixie understand his predicament?
"That's better left to the sheriff," he decided firmly. "I want everyone packed up and ready to leave when Miss Trask pulls in the drive."
Trixie was aghast. "Surely, you don't plan to go to the authorities with our ghost story about Jonesy?" she continued to argue. "They'll laugh us right out of the administration building."
Dan hated to admit it, but he had to agree. It would require more than a little circumstantial evidence before the sheriff would take the Bob-Whites seriously. He voiced his opinion to stay.
Jim let out a long sigh. He needed the view of his most sensible friend. "Brian, what are your thoughts?" he asked. "Honey's already expressed a desire to head home."
Brian took his time before answering. He didn't always look at things as black and white as Jim did. Or as cynically as Dan tended too. In his mind, there was still a middle ground, and it paid to be optimistic.
"There's no reason I can't run Honey back to Sleepyside as soon as the roads reopen," he finally said. "I'd only be gone a day. I feel like we came here with a job to do, and I'd like to see it through. But I do feel, we, or at least you and Miss Trask, should report some of the things that have been going on to the local authorities, Jim."
Jim had a lot to chew over, but Honey made his decision easier.
"If you all plan to stay, I will, too," she conceded. "That doesn't mean I'm not apprehensive, mind you. But the more I think about it, the more I tend to believe we're dealing with a vagrant. He's probably trying to scare us away so he can continue living here."
Honey paused for a moment, as she formulated a theory. "My guess is, he snuck inside when we went out to see what exploded," she went on. "Then he hid the attic until he felt it was safe to come out. That's when he wrote on the vanity mirror and pushed the clock out the window as sort of a diversion. When we marched up to see what was going on in Jim's mother's room, he was already waiting in another room for his chance to slip down the stairs unnoticed. Or at least something like that."
Trixie bit her lip as she thought it over. Honey's hypothesis made a lot of sense. But there were still some holes in it. She wondered if friend would have reached the same conclusion if she'd been there when Jim went to the woodpile. But no matter, none of the Bob-White had come up with a better explanation, so she let it go.
Jim decided to do the same.
"Let's face it, Trix," he said. "It couldn't have been Jonesy we saw. It must have been our imaginations getting the better of us. Honey, I'll talk to the sheriff as soon as it's possible."
"So, we're staying?" Trixie ventured cautiously.
Jim nodded. "But I think it'd be best if we spend the rest of the night at Mr. Handleman's just in case someone's still in the house," he said. "Tomorrow we'll give everything another go-over. Everyone agreeable?"
Everyone was, so the Bob-Whites packed their gear into the station wagon and headed next door.
A few minutes later, Jim pulled up alongside his neighbor's garden shed, turned off the car's engine, and instructed everyone to grab their things. The house, which sat a few meters away, was ablaze with lights, and all of the parking spaces in front, filled with cars. To the B.W.G.s relief, it appeared Mr. Handleman and his lodge buddies, were still up playing cards.
Crowding onto the old stone porch, the young people huddled together under the eaves trying their best to stay warm and dry as Jim knocked on the door. It took several wraps before an unfamiliar face answered.
"Sorry, kids, there is no slumber party here," the tall gentleman announced without opening the screen.
Trixie saw Mr. Handleman pop his head around the corner.
"Let them in, Frank. These are the youngsters I was telling you about," the older man said.
"Not the famous Bob-Whites?" The man named Frank snickered. "Let me guess. The one giving me the evil eye is the little girl detective, am I right?"
Trixie continued to glare up at the lanky man, but he refused to make eye contact with her. Could it be he felt intimidated by a 14-year-old girl? The notion was absurd, but it left Trixie the feeling a bit smug.
Brian chuckled, recognizing the look. If he didn't speak up, chances were good that his little sister might very well say something she'd later regret. "Right as rain," he jumped in. "And let me warn you, that keen eye of hers has led to the arrest of some pretty shady characters. So if you've got anything to hide, may I suggest you come clean before she gets her hands on you, too?"
When Frank's smirk widened, Dan decided Brian needed a little backup. "That's right," he said in Trixie's defense. "Trixie's solved cases that the police had given up. So don't think you are safe for a minute."
Trixie appreciated their under-handed compliments, but Frank still smiled dubiously.
"Perhaps you saw her picture in the New York Times?" Jim interjected, turning the degree of seriousness up a notch. "Trixie made headlines recently when she returned a million-dollar diamond to the authorities after uncovering a notorious smuggling ring."
Frank's jaw dropped as he looked the young detective straight in the face. It was a long discerning look, and this time it was Trixie who wanted to glance away. He extended his hand in an apology. "I should have recognized you," he said. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Belden. I'm Sheriff Baker."
Trixie shook hands with the sheriff, and also the two other gentlemen who'd followed Mr. Handleman in from the dining room. As she finished, each of the remaining Bob-Whites followed suit, making introductions. When done, Mr. Handleman inquired if there'd been trouble next door.
Jim began with a simple "yes," and then methodically detailed the shocking incidents which had taken place at the farm. The adults listened intently until he mentioned the word "ghost," and then Trixie thought their sides were going to split open with laughter.
"Your brother can't say I didn't warn him," she whispered to Honey as the young man stammered to finish his account.
But as Jim wrapped things up, Trixie realized Sheriff Baker was reaching for a holster, which was hanging on a peg behind the door.
"Come on, fellas," the older man said sobering. "If we're dealing with a derelict, it's probably wise we run him off before somebody gets hurt."
Mr. Handleman, who was slipping on his jacket, hadn't stopped chuckling. "What are you bringing your gun for, Frank?" he asked. "Don't you know bullets go right through spooks?"
As the older group of men smiled at the Bob-Whites expense, they followed their host out the door, leaving the weary teens to make themselves at home.
Only Trixie had difficulty winding down. "I still can't believe Mr. Handleman didn't take us seriously!" she sputtered to Jim as the minutes slowly ticked away. "Wasn't he the one who warned us there'd been vandalism around here, lately?"
It was Jim's turn to grin. "Come now, Trix. You said no one would ever believe our story, that they'd laugh. Even so, Mr. Handleman and his friends went to check things out, didn't they? Mr. Handleman's a good man. And he's been through a lot. I'm glad to see he hasn't lost his sense of humor."
"Why's that?" Honey inquired, nosing in their conversation.
Before replying, Jim led his friends into the family room and sat down on the overstuffed sofa. Looking about, he noted that little had changed since the last time he'd visited, and he smiled. The room may have been cluttered with collectibles, but it had a homey, welcoming feel, and he let himself relax.
"Mrs. Handleman had to be institutionalized a couple of years ago," he explained once everyone was comfortable. "She has Alzheimer's disease. Her medical bills make it difficult for Mr. Handleman to make ends meet. But that isn't the toughest part. I imagine that comes each week when he goes in to visit her, and she no longer recognizes him. Before Mrs. Handleman's condition required she be placed in a home, Mother used to sit with her, and help with small things like cleaning while Mr. Handleman ran the shop. But then Mother took ill. She still sent me over occasionally with meals," Jim added, choking up. "And Mr. Handleman and I would talk a bit. But when Mother passed away, Jonesy put an end to it."
Trixie suddenly became very aware there were still so many things she didn't know about Jim. She had to wonder if she'd ever earn enough of his trust that he'd fully open up to her about his past. Maybe a good start would be to trust Jim more. And not think the worst of people. If Jim thought Mr. Handleman was a good man, then he was, plain and simple.
But as Trixie did her best to adjust her attitude, Mr. Handleman and his friends returned. "Did you find anyone?" she called out eagerly.
Only no one replied. Sheriff "Frank" acted as if he hadn't heard, and hung his gun back on the peg behind the door. "I just can't believe it," he mumbled, shaking his head. "The bullets went right through him."
"What?!" Trixie exploded, springing to her feet. "Did you say the bullets went right through him?"
"That's what he said," Mr. Handleman answered, as the startled B.W.G.'s gathered 'round. "There we were. Upstairs in the bedroom. When all of a sudden, out of the blue, he materialized …right in front of us."
"Who-ooo?" Honey stuttered, hugging Brian's arm.
"Jonesy!" came a bark from behind teens, making the young people jump.
"And he just stood there laughing at us," the sheriff continued before the Bob-White's had time to recover. "And I couldn't take it! So I pulled out my gun and plugged him over and over again."
"But his laughter only became more hysterical," Mr. Handleman broke in. "Then just as suddenly as he'd appeared, he vanished. But on the mirror, two new words dripped a bloody crimson warning."
The Bob-Whites didn't move.
"What were they?" Jim ventured nervously.
"April Fools!" Mr. Handleman and his buddies cried in unison, before breaking down in a gale of laughter.
Trixie grabbed Dan's wrist and looked at the date on his watch. Sure enough, it was April first. "That was a dirty trick!" she fumed, feeling silly for having been taken in by the mens'story. She scolded herself for being so gullible.
"Now, you know how we felt when we went over to the farm and found no shattered clock, no writing on the mirror, and no indication of an intruder." Mr. Handleman chuckled. "You really had us going there for a bit. Jonesy's ghost. Now there's a good one!"
Only the B.W.G.s believed the elderly gentleman was still teasing them.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I think this prank's gone far enough," Dan said in a manner which was firm yet polite. He was speaking not only for himself, but his friends, as the older man led the teens back into the family room where their sleeping bags awaited.
Mr. Handleman sighed. "So do I," he agreed. "So let's call a truce. You kids need to get some shut-eye." He turned out the lights, bid them "goodnight", and then headed toward the dining room to finish his game of cards.
