Chapter 17

Mr. Handleman's Good News

"I know who Jake is!" Trixie cried as she leafed through the aged photo album which she'd removed from the attic. She held the crumbling black pages in front of Jim's face.

"Jeez! How many times do I have to tell you? Not while I'm driving," he warned her, pushing the album aside. "I'll look at the pictures at the hospital. What'd you find?"

"An old photo of two lanky little boys riding bareback on a mule," she replied, gleaming. "Two identical little boys."

Trixie had gotten Jim's interest. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the black and white pictures in her lap. "Jonesy has a twin brother!" he exclaimed with a start.

"That's right," Trixie replied. "I think we've finally pinpointed our ghost."

Jim decided Sheriff Baker should hear their news immediately, so he and Trixie made a detour through Cloverton on their way to the hospital. Fortunately, they caught up with the law officer before he'd left the filling station.

Walking into the service shop, the teenagers spotted the sheriff having an in-depth discussion with Smitty, the owner. Reading the anxiety on their faces, Sheriff Frank finished up his conversation, and then pulled the two Bob-Whites outside. As Jim explained what he and Trixie had discovered at the farm, Trixie produced the photo album and handed it over to the officer.

"Do you think you'll be able to catch Jonesy's brother?" she asked Sheriff Baker, as he sealed the album in an evidence bag, and jotted down a few more notes.

"Only a matter of time, " the serious man replied. "I'd forgotten ol' Samuel had more than one son. Jake left town when I was around ten or so. That would have made him sixteen or seventeen at the time. "

Jim was suddenly stricken with the realization that he and Jake had something in common. They'd both runaway at about the same age, and from the same home. It was a sobering thought. "He was probably the kind of kid I hope to help with my school for boys one day," the young man told the sheriff with a touch of ironic remorse. "Did Smitty happen to recognize him?"

"No, no," the sheriff said. Smitty's relatively new in town. I don't think he ever met any of the Joneses. He said the man with the pickup's name was Dart, and that he paid in cash. Not much help there, I'm afraid. But don't worry. There are still plenty of people, like Keebles, who should be able to provide some leads. However, Jim, may I give you a piece of advice? Though I admire your ambitions, and I don't want you to losing faith in them, be aware, not everyone can be saved. From my line of work, I learned the hard way. Some people don't want to be helped. Or can be helped. Just keep your guard up. I don't want to see you getting hurt."

He turned around to face Trixie. "Or you either," he said, shaking a warning finger at her.

Trixie gulped, feeling another lecture coming on. One she'd heard before and had vowed never to hear again.

"I know, I know," she sighed. "I promise I'll be more careful. I'll start going to the authorities anytime I suspect something underhanded is going on, and I won't keep anything from them. I also won't try to solve cases on my own."

"That's all well and good," Sheriff Baker replied. "But if you do keep getting mixed up in this sort of thing, and I imagine you will, may I suggest you learn to confide in the people around you. That includes not only your friends but also your parents and Miss Trask, too, Trixie. Just because you're willing to risk your neck to solve a mystery, it doesn't mean someone else is. Remember, your actions do affect others. If you had confided in Miss Trask, she might not be in the hospital right now. I suggest that you be completely open with her about everything that you've told me when you see her."

The officer's words hit Trixie hard. She'd already told him once that she'd tried to talk to Miss Trask. Only it did no good. Was Sheriff Baker's memory that short? It was all so frustrating. Didn't he understand? She'd begun by trying to do the right thing, but after a point, what was the use? Or was that just her excuse? Was she lying to herself now? Trixie thought long and hard on it, all the way to the hospital.

In summary, she decided she'd been selfish. And it wasn't the first time she'd put the lives of the people she cared about in jeopardy. But she hadn't done anything to make Jake come after them. If anything, she'd been trying to stop him. What was worse, it was all for naught. Jake was still on the run, and they hadn't found Mr. Handleman's stamp.

Jim had been lost in his own thoughts as they made the short trip across town. Pulling up in the hospital's visitor's lot, he asked Trixie how she felt about his idea to start up a special school for wayward youths. Was it naïve to believe he could make a difference in troubled kid's lives and be able to reach them before they reached a point of no return?

Trixie wasted no time in telling Jim she thought his dream was a noble one. Where would the world be without optimistic people with lofty goals? Even if Jim was only able to help one boy out of every six he took under his wing, wouldn't that one life make his job worthwhile? Sometimes, even when well-intentioned, adults were not always one hundred percent correct in their views. Besides, the Sheriff was only advising him to watch his back. Not give up on his vision.


Once inside the medical center, the teens found the nurses behind the front desk curt, but informative. Having been directed to the third floor, Trixie and Jim opted to take the elevator up. Only Trixie soon wished they'd taken the stairs.

After being squeezed into a corner by a large group of people getting on at the second floor, she tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the ride to be over. It seemed to be taking forever, and the longer it took, the more trapped she felt. So when the button for level three lit up, and the door chimed open, the anxious young lady pushed her way forward with a series of "excuse me"s and "pardons" until she stepped off the lift with Jim.

Locating room 308, they found Miss Trask had been placed in a private wing of the critical care ward.

"Gleeps, what took you so long?" Dan asked as they announced their arrival. "Tom was about to drive out to the farm to check on you."

"Sorry we're late," Jim replied. "I decided we ought to board up the front window before we left. It looks like we're in for more rain."

Jim gave Miss Trask's hand a gentle pat in greeting. She looked frail and tired, but she was smiling. "How are you feeling?" he asked her quietly.

"I'm fine," she assured him softly. "Bumped and bruised a bit, but nothing's broken. I'm afraid the doctors want to keep me here until tomorrow afternoon, however."

"Sounds like a smart idea," Jim said, smiling back. "That was a nasty fall you took."

Miss Trask sighed as she used the control on the nightstand to raise the head of her bed. "The others tell me I may have been pushed?" she replied, her mood dipping. "Heavens, how I wish I listened to you when you tried to tell me someone was stalking us. When your father hears of this, it'll be my head for sure."

"There, there, Marg," Regan said, soothingly. "There's plenty of blame to go around. For the last couple of days, Mart's done nothing but beat his head against the wall, trying to get someone to believe that Jonesy might still be alive. Only no one wanted to hear it. Mr. Wheeler and I included. Why this knucklehead became such a pest, I think Mr. and Mrs. Belden sent him with Tom and me just to calm him down."

The Wheeler's groom gave Mart's closely shaven head a playful noogie, and in struggling to break free, the resisting lad bumped Mr. Handleman's chair.

"Gosh, I'm sorry!" Mart said, putting an abrupt end to the friendly horseplay. "I spilled your coffee, didn't I, Sir? Here, let me clean that up. I'll get you another cup."

As Mart scurried to mop up the black puddle on the floor, using tissues from a box on the nightstand, Mr. Handleman thanked him but passed on the refill. "I should be apologizing to everyone, too," the older man told the group. If Frank and I had believed what you kids were telling us, I'm sure Miss Trask would've too. It was just so far-fetched. And we honestly didn't find anything unusual when we went to investigate Monday night. I can't tell you how bad I feel about that."

Dan, who was seated nearby on the window ledge, laid a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Enough apologizing," he said. "We all made mistakes. But the person who's really to blame is that sleazy fink who's been harassing us. Boy-oh-boy, would I like to know who he is!"

Trixie scooted Dan over and plopped down beside him. "I think I can help with that," she said with a grin. "Are you ready for an earful?"


"Lord Almighty!" Miss Trask exclaimed as Trixie finished her account. "If the hospital didn't insist I stay another day for observation, we'd be on our way back to Sleepyside this evening."

Mr. Handleman didn't like the notion that Jake Jones had resurfaced any more than the governess did. "Why, if that scoundrel's on the loose, you kids aren't safe at the farm alone," he told them, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "James, I insist you and your friends spend the night with me. I'll scramble up another batch of eggs in the morning?" he tempted them with a smile.

"Gosh, I hate that we have to turn down that offer," Jim replied quickly. "But Sheriff Baker wants us to stay at the Shangri-La Motor Inn tonight. He's arranging to have a guard posted outside our rooms. Besides, Tom and Regan are with us, so we'd hardly be alone even if we did go back to the farm."

Miss Trask seemed somewhat relieved, but she still insisted that the moment the doctor signed her release papers, the teenagers were going home.

Trixie had been expecting as much. She considered pleading with Miss Trask to let them stay, but she knew better. Their chaperone had made the right decision, of course. "There goes my chance to find Mr. Handleman's stamp," she thought mournfully. "Maybe once Jake's apprehended, the Bob-Whites can come back and finish what we started." It was a hope that brightened Trixie's outlook. "It's not over until the fat lady sings," she giggled to herself.

It was then that a sweet young nurse came through the door carrying a tray of delicious smelling fare for Miss Trask. "Ready for a little dinner?" she asked her patient, as Brian helpfully swung the bedside table into place. "My name is Angela, and I'll be your night nurse. I do hope you're in the mood for a little meatloaf?"

"Meatloaf!" Mart whooped, his mouth-watering. "Not favorably disposed? On no occasion! Why Miss Trask, should you find you have no appetite for this succulent conglomeration, I'll gladly…"

"You'll have to excuse my brother," Brian said, interrupting his sibling, "We're not sure if he's a human dictionary or a human garbage can. Mart, please let Miss Trask, and her food, be."

Angela laughed as she refilled Miss Trask's drink and set out a cup of medicine. She was as friendly as she was attentive, nothing like the brusque ladies operating the window in the lobby.

"I have a brother at home, too," the chatty nurse revealed. "He's also got a big appetite. But in your brother's defense, I imagine you're all ready for something to eat? Why don't you head down to the cafeteria? I think this pretty lady here could probably use a little peace and quiet while she dines?"

Taking Angela's hint, the B.W.G.s and their friends sought out the hospital's dining hall. To Mart's delight, meatloaf was their plate of the day. It came served with piping hot sides of mashed potatoes and green beans, and while it may not have been one of Mrs. Belden's blue-ribbon platters, everyone agreed it sounded mighty tasty and placed an order for the dish.


Later on, over a dessert of tart cherry pie, Trixie asked Mr. Handleman what he knew about Jake Jones. The shop keeper had consented to be the Bob-White's guest for dinner since their plans at the farm had fallen through. And though the cafeteria was crowded and noisy, and he had to raise his voice to be heard over the din, Mr. Handleman didn't disappoint.

Jake, he revealed, had pretty much gone from diapers to the juvenile detention center. At the wee age of six, the child had been caught stealing comic books from the 5 & Dime. When he turned ten, the boy was apprehended in the act of shooting people's windows out using a BB gun. And things only went downhill from there. By the time he was sixteen, the young Mr. Jones had been involved in three car thefts and two burglaries.

The last Mr. Handleman knew, Jake had enlisted in the Army with the help of a local pastor. And rumor had it, he did well for a time, advancing rapidly in the ranks of the Special Forces as a demolitions expert. That is until trouble caught up with the officer again, resulting in his court-martial. Where Jake Jones went from there, was anyone's guess, but Mr. Handleman had always suspected it was to prison.

"Jake would have fit in well with the Cowhands," Dan remarked, finishing his second piece of the pie. "Sure glad Uncle Bill got me out of that gang when he did. Having good friends like the Bob-Whites can really change a guy's life. I guess Jake wasn't so lucky. We were told he split home at seventeen. Any idea what the final straw was, Mr. Handleman?"

The shopkeeper chuckled, but not in delight. "Would you believe his father caught him going through his wallet and put a bullet in the boy's leg? After that, Samuel tossed Jake out of the house and told him never to come back."

"What a terrible family!" Honey exclaimed, re-folding her table napkin and tucking it under her plate of half-eaten pie. "Where was the boys' mother during this?"

Mr. handleman shook his head sadly. "She ran off when the twins were three," he replied. "She was a wild one; she was."

"I guess we're fortunate to have people who love us," Trixie remarked, feeling a pang of homesickness. She missed her parents. And even her little brother, Bobby. But as anxious as she was to see her family, Trixie still wished Miss Trask wasn't so set on going home. She knew she could find 's missing stamp if only she had time.

"When's Miss Trask expected to be released tomorrow?" she asked her group of friends.

"Not until 3:00," Tom replied, waiving down their waitress for the check. "I'm worried we'll hit rush hour traffic, and that's the last thing I want to do pulling a trailer. Is there some reason you're asking?"

Trixie glanced at Mr. Handleman, feeling rather foolish. "Mr. Handleman," she said, sitting up straight, "remember when Honey told you that Bob-White's planned to search the farm for your 1886 Washington commemorative stamp? Well we'd hoped if we could find it, it might ease a few of your money woes. You see, Honey and I checked the library, and that particular issue could be worth $25,000. Only we haven't been able to locate it yet, and now we have to go home."

The older man's eye's filled with tears, but his pride kept them from spilling. He squeezed Trixie's hand and said, "Now don't you go worrying about me. You worry about getting home safely. I don't have much hope that a silly stamp will ever be recovered. But things have a way of working themselves out. John and I had a long talk this afternoon. He's offered time and time again to invest a little of his hard-earned savings into the business, and I've always turned him down. Only this time, he approached me with a new offer. We're going to go into partnership. His future father-in-law has gifted him enough money to buy half the business as a wedding present. I think it will be a good move for both of us. John has a number of fresh ideas, and he is a real go-getter. Why he's already looked into the cost of printing a catalog, so we start a small mail-order trade on the side."

Honey leaped from the table and hugged Mr. Handleman over the back of his chair. "How wonderfully wonderful for you!" she cried happily. "I'm sure the money will be rolling in, in no time!"

Outside the cafeteria window, a beautiful silvery moon shone above the horizon. Now and then, a wandering cloud slipped over its glowing silhouette, but it no longer looked like rain. Finishing his dessert, Mr. Handleman announced that he needed to be getting home. He thanked the Bob-Whites for the lovely dinner and then told them that if he didn't have an opportunity to see them again, to be sure they kept in touch. Waving goodbye, he disappeared into the dinner crowd.

"I'm sure happy for Mr. Handleman," Trixie told her friends, as they strolled back down the hall to tell Miss Trask goodnight. "Still, I wish we could find his stamp. Wouldn't that be the icing on the cake? You don't think Miss Trask would let us go back to the farm in the morning to give it one final shot, do you, Regan? I mean, what could happen with both you and Tom along?"


Only Miss Trask's answer was a definite no. She understood why Trixie wanted to look for the stamp. She even applauded her for her good intentions. But it was the governess's opinion that the farm was too risky of a place for the B.W.G.s to be if Jake Jones wanted the stamp as well.

"I don't enjoy being strict," she told the dejected group of teenagers, "but I phoned your parents while you were at dinner, and they agree, you should not be allowed to go back to the farm. When I'm released tomorrow, we will stop long enough to pack our gear, and then we will 'hit the road,' as you like to say."

Trixie slumped into the chair by the bed, deflated. "Can we stay if Sheriff Baker apprehends Jake tonight?" she asked, suspecting the answer would still be no.

"I might consider it," Miss Trask replied, giving Trixie a smidgen of hope. "Mr. Jones made a shambles of the house today. If the sheriff catches him, I don't see where your mother and father would object to letting you stay to tidy things up. But I wouldn't count on that happening, Trixie."

Miss Trask didn't like playing the heavy. She loved each of the children as if they were her own. "I do have some good news I think you'll like," she added on a happier note. "Your parents have consented to let you go to Circus World in the morning. Of course you must promise to be careful, and stick with Tom and Regain, but they feel you will be safe. It's quite unlikely Mr. Jones will attempt anything in a crowd of people. Plus the park is gated, and it will be manned with plenty of security guards. Mind you, this is contingent on Sheriff Baker's approval. Mr. Wheeler will contact him this evening to discuss the matter. But wouldn't that be more fun than sitting around in a musty hotel room waiting on me?"

An excited group of Bob-Whites whooped and danced about the room. Why the idea even appealed to their newly elected chaperones, Tom and Regan, who were already laying bets on who would outshoot who at the arcade.

"I take it that means you'd like to go?" Miss Trask chuckled, glad to see everyone was enthused by her suggestion.

"Of course, it does!" Dan exclaimed, doing a jig. "Miss Trask, you're an angel!"

The sudden uproar drew the night nurse in from the hall. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to quiet down," Angela said, straightening Miss Trask's blankets. She refilled the water pitcher on the nightstand and then reminded the B.W.G.s that visiting hours would be over in five minutes.

"I think that's our cue to leave," Jim said, helping his sister on with her sweater. "Miss Trask, do try to get some rest. We'll call you when we reach the motel. Angela, take good care of her, won't you?"

As Angela assured him she would, the Bob-Whites made their goodbyes.


Reaching the Shangri-La Motor in, which sat on the outskirts of town, Brian pulled the Belden station wagon under the motel's striped awning, and Trixie jumped out. The one-level building was dated, but the lawns were well-manicured, which gave her hope their rooms would be clean. Honey, who'd ridden over with Jim, was standing nearby. Her first impression was that the establishment was a bit run down, yet she welcomed the opportunity to get a good night's sleep away from the farm.

Waiting in the unloading zone with Mart, Dan, and Tom, as Brian, Jim, and Regan went inside to check-in, the girls familiarized themselves with the motel's layout. It was a simple plan, with a wing of rooms off of each side of the main lobby, forming a U- shape around a small covered pool. Thankfully, there were parking spaces directly in front of each room, which was comforting, since the lot was not brightly lit.

Returning from the office, Brian tossed Trixie a large diamond-shaped key fob. The girls would be spending the night in room three. The boys, Tom, and Regan, would be in the adjacent rooms once they finished parking the cars.

Pushing Honey down the sidewalk toward their room, Trixie noticed a vehicle from the sheriff's department hidden in the shadows behind the trash dumpster. She didn't see an officer but knew there had to be one close-by.

Unlocking and opening their door, the girls were greeted by a blast of hot air. Hurrying to the air conditioner, Honey turned the nob to high. The room was stifling, and it would be a few minutes before the noisy old machine would be able to overtake the heat. So to make things breathable, Trixie pulled back the shades and opened the window for a bit.

Outside, a tall neon sign, in the shape of a pink flamingo, welcomed its guests. Dangling from its beak, a silhouetted fish blinked on and off "no vacancy."

"No vacancy? That'll be the day," Honey moaned, fanning her face with a tourist brochure she'd found on the bureau.

Trixie giggled. "I can't decide which is worse, the bright tropical print on the drapes, or our view of the pool."

Honey sank onto the nearest of the two double beds. "The best view is from the door," she told her friend. "Did you see the deputy that Sheriff Baker sent to keep an eye on us? He's a real dream."

Trixie had been so worried about cooling things down she hadn't seen the officer come up. "Dreamy, huh? You're beginning to sound like Di, Honey Wheeler. You better not let Brian hear you say that."

"Like I care what Brian thinks?" Honey sniffed. "Didn't you see the way he was following Miss Trask's nurse around like a spoiled little puppy? Why it was almost embarrassing, Trixie."

Trixie had noticed, but she suspected her brother's motives were more professional than they were personal. "Do I detect a little jealousy?" she laughed, moving toward the door. Standing on her tiptoes, the curious young lady tried to peer through the peephole. "I'm afraid I can't see your friend from here," she said. "I'll need an excuse to step outside. Would you like a bag of chips or a candy bar from the office?"

"I'm not really hungry after that big dinner," Honey admitted, "but I could use a cold drink. Let's make a run to the ice machine. I'll grab the bucket."

Tucking the room key into her pocket, Trixie opened the door, but it wasn't the handsome deputy who caught her eye. Grasping Honey's sleeve, she pointed to the side street running behind the motel. There, under a tree, idled the rusty tan Maverick.

"Oh no! Jake's followed us!" Honey shrieked, realizing too late what she'd done.

The B.W.G.s guard, who'd been relaxing in an Adirondack chair a few feet away, jumped to attention and pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. As he did, the dilapidated car revved it's engine and sped out of view.

"Aren't you going after him?!" Honey cried, as the burly blonde officer quieted his two-way radio and then proceeded to straighten his uniform.

"My job's to watch you, kids," he told her calmly. As he prepared to retake his seat, Trixie wished she could have pulled the chair out from under him.

"But he's getting away!" she objected, losing her cool. "Do you plan just to sit there and do nothing?"

Inside the motel, the others from Sleepyside must have heard the commotion, for they burst from their rooms, wondering what on earth was going on.

"We saw Jonesy's brother," Honey told Jim, who'd been the first to emerge.

"And our so-called security guard let him escape," Trixie added angrily.

The boys were enraged, but the deputy-at- hand seemed unconcerned, which only made them hotter.

"Hey man," Dan snarled, getting up in the smug man's face," I don't know what Sheriff Baker told you, but that creep is out to get our friend, here."

The security guard tossed his head arrogantly, which nearly earned him a blow to the midsection. Fortunately, Dan's uncle Regan saw the punch coming and pulled his nephew aside.

"Getting tossed in jail for assaulting an officer isn't going to stop Jake," he told Dan firmly.

Dan growled something inaudible under his breath, but he did back down when warned.

"That's better," Deputy Lewis rebuffed coldly. "Listen, kids, and listen good. I'm only following orders. I've contacted dispatch, and they've sent someone after that car. Now, I want you all to get back to your rooms. I'll let you know if something comes up."


At around 11:30 that evening, Sheriff Baker's officer knocked on the girl's door. Honey was already asleep, so Trixie opened the hatch just enough to speak with him without unhooking the chain. "Do you have an update?" she asked anxiously.

Officer Lewis nodded. "Word's out, the Maverick flipped and rolled during a high-speed chase with one of our men," he said. "The assailant was able to escape, and has fled on foot. He's considered to be on the run and dangerous, so the Sheriff said to remind you, if you see Jake Jones again, you are to alert us immediately."

Trixie frowned as she shut the door and flipped the deadbolt. "A lot of good that does," she thought to herself. She looked at Honey and decided there was no reason to wake her friend to give her the sorry news. Besides, maybe by morning, Sheriff Baker would have Jonesy's brother in custody.