Chapter: 2 Sir Isaac Newton, meet Sherlock Holmes

Mart Belden gave his sister a disgruntled flick to the side of her head, which caused her to yelp and give him a shove in return.

Trixie's middle brother knew precisely what she was thinking, and it only served to aggravate her further. The two were connected on some crazy wavelength, which at times shocked their friends and also the pair themselves.

"While pockmarking yonder garbage receptacle may temporarily alleviate your internal frustration, it will do little to lessen the plight of our community," he said dryly. "So may I suggest you concentrate on constructive rather than destructive outlets for your vexation? Say how our serviceable sister and brotherhood is to assure that the great Wheeler-dealer secures said real estate?"

Trixie filled her lungs with an intake of air and then let out her anger in one big puff. "I'm not the one who dented up that trash can with worm balls or broke out the garage window with a pop-fly," she reminded him with a sniff. "Do tell dear brother, when do you plan to do something constructive like replacing that window glass? Hmm? But to answer your question. My suggestion is that the Bob-Whites put tape over your big mouth before you go blowing the whistle."

Mart reached down, scooped up another acorn, and burned it into the sassy girl's side.

"Ouch!" Trixie cried, taking a lunge at the vengeful boy. "Why'd you do that?"

"Maybe because you don't know when to keep your own yap- trap shut," he spat back. "And if you must know Miss Smart Aleck, I promised Dad I'd fix that window just as soon as I get my next paycheck from Mr. Sanderson. Like everyone else in this club, I've been dumping every cent I make into the club treasury so we can cover the upcoming insurance bill on the Bob-White station wagon."

Before things got further out of hand, Brian stepped in between his quarreling siblings. The Bob-Whites had all been short-tempered in recent weeks. Not only because of the extreme heat but also because they'd been working tirelessly due to the looming insurance payment.

Mart had been toiling away on a neighboring farm while trying to juggle his chores at home with baseball practice. Brian and Jim, too, had taken side jobs. They were working as golf caddies at the Sleepy-side country club. And Dan, when he wasn't helping Mr. Maypenny on the game preserve, was doing landscaping work for Mr. Lynch.

Meanwhile, Trixie was trying to be a good sport about having to pick up her brothers' slack. The young men had too much on their plates, and she knew it. So, she'd taken over feeding the chickens and collecting the eggs for her middle brother and was getting pretty good at keeping the hedges around the house trimmed for her older one.

Of course, the resigned girl still had her workload to tend to. There was the vegetable garden to weed, a house to keep vacuumed and dusted, and a spoiled baby brother to watch. But sadly, her five-dollar a week allowance hardly made a dent in the B.W.G.'s massive bill.

So feeling desperate, Trixie, Honey, and Di had picked wild raspberries and made jam, which they were now selling at Mr. Lytell's country store. It went without saying that the penny-wise shopkeeper kept a good percentage of the profits from the sale of each jar, but at least the girls got something, and each cent counted.

"OK, you two, cool it!" Brian ordered. "The Bob-Whites have enough worries right now. Why we've hardly seen each other this summer, and this was supposed to be a friendly get-together. Let's not spoil Jim's big day by squabbling. I'm sure Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Brandio can reach some kind of agreement with International Pine. In the meantime, though, I think it's best if we all just butt out and keep quiet."

"Here, here," Dan agreed. "We don't certainly don't want to go upsetting the apple cart. Besides, I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been feeling pretty low lately, and that rocket launch really helped lift my spirits. I feel like celebrating!"

Jim let out a sad chuckle. "I had high hopes it would give us all a little boost," he admitted. "But I'm afraid my morale took a big nose dive with the Sky Sleuth. That touchdown was quite a letdown if you know what I mean."

Trixie wished Jim didn't have to be so hard on himself. Like when he said his father wouldn't have been impressed with the launch. Why nothing could have been further than the truth! But Trixie also had a hunch Jim had been talking about his real Dad, not Mr. Wheeler when he said it. And she often wondered if Jim's biological father had expected a lot from his son.

To hear Jim talk, the man had been a saint. And Mr. Frayne had passed on to Jim his love of the outdoors, the value of hard work, and the importance of helping others. And one thing was sure, Jim idolized his father.

Why everything the teenager did was with the intent to make his Dad proud and to be just like him. But in Trixie's eyes, Jim put too much pressure on himself to be perfect. And he sometimes needed someone more "flawed" to set him straight!

"A letdown?!" she exclaimed, with agitated disagreement. Trixie grabbed the remains of the rocket shaft and waved them in the startled boy's face. "Not to sound like Mart, but au contraire, Mr. Jim Frayne! I'm sorry this crumpled shell is about all that's left of your precious JF-16, but even you have to admit that crash was pretty exciting? Why if you were to ask Bobby, or Larry and Terry, I bet they'd tell you it was the "bestest" part!"

Jim snatched back the hollow tube and bonked his curly-haired friend over the head with it. "Swell," he said. "Next time, I'll remember to keep my eyes open. Now I'm sorry I missed it," he added sarcastically.

Di giggled and pulled out her cellphone. "Then let me play it back for you," she teased. "I caught the whole thing on video, and…."

But before the pretty girl could bring up the display, Trixie rushed in and stopped her.

"Don't let Moms see you with that!" she gasped in a warning. "You know the rules, Di. When you're at Crabapple Farm, all phones go into the bowl on the table."

Di shook her head at the ridiculousness and pulled away. "I don't know why you Belden's insist on living in the Dark Ages," she groaned. "But if you must know, Trixie, I asked your mother for permission to record the liftoff."

Turning on the mobile device, Di ran the clip for Jim.

When it had finished playing, the young man was somewhat in awe. "Golly," he said, "the Sky Sleuth must have gone a lot higher than I thought. It made quite an impact when it hit the ground. I guess it was pretty exciting, wasn't it?"

"See, we told you," Trixie said smugly. "And I bet the rocket would have gone even higher if the air wasn't so thick with humidity."

Jim smiled and tipped the bill of his fervent friend's ball cap.

"Guess the guys, and I will be tutoring you in science, as well as mathematics this year, won't we?" he chuckled. "Despite the way it feels when we breathe, cold, dry air is actually denser than hot moist air," the informed young man went on. "Today's weather was ideal for a rocket launch."

Trixie looked as if she had her doubts, and Mart scoffed. "Sir Isaac Newton, she's not," he told Jim. "You may have greater luck elucidating, should you set her under yonder tree and let an apple knock some sense into her. Perhaps then, she would have a greater appreciation for the fruits of knowledge," he went on to suggest.

Now Trixie was really confused, not to mention a bit miffed at her brother's insult to her intelligence. Sure, she hadn't done two years in one at school as Jim had. Nor did she pull straight "A"s like Brian. Or even have the encyclopedia of knowledge that Mart did. But Trixie wasn't a bad student, exactly. She did pretty well if a subject held her attention. But Math and Science rarely did, and she had to admit that the boys were good about giving her a hand when she needed it.

"Sorry, I'm no rocket scientist, like you brainiacs," she said. "But would one of you mind telling me who Sir Isaac Newton is?"

Brian's face twisted into a one-sided smirk, and he replied, "He was a 17th-century mathematician and physicist, Trix. He's sometimes called the father of modern science. It's said he came up with the theory of gravity when an apple fell on his head. I'd think you'd remember that much from elementary school? "

Trixie did seem to recall something of the sort. And so did Diana, who'd been in her class. But the darker-haired young lady apparently had her facts scrambled.

"I thought that was William Tell?" Di replied innocently, causing the boys to laugh.

Honey came to the reddening girl's rescue. "William Tell is the folk hero who shot an apple off his son's head with an arrow," she corrected her nicely. "There's a very famous opera by Rossini based on the legend. I might have made the same mistake myself, Di, if Mother hadn't taken me to New York City to see it. I'll never forget that night, either. The weather was terrible, and we'd left our umbrellas at home, you see. And Mother, of course, had just spent three hours and a small fortune having her hair done. But by the time we reached the door, it was in total ruin. Her hair, not the door, mind you… and…."

Suddenly, Dan got a puckish gleam in his eye. "Oh dear, don't you just hate it when that happens?" he interrupted, addressing the boys in a matronly voice. "The same thing happened to me when I went to the Big Apple to see William Tell. Mind you, it was raining that night too. And it was so bad that Granny Smith and Johnathan had to wear their McIntoshes to the big Gala. Can you imagine such a thing?"

The first to catch on, Mart replied, with a feminine bat of his hand, "Why I'd rather be poked with a stick and dipped in caramel."

And while the male members of the B.W.G.s snickered at the girls' expense, he went on, "However, while I do love a Delicious piece of gossip, all of this talk of "malus domestica" has my mouth-watering. Pray tell, when do we eat? I hear Ma-ma has baked apple pies for dessert."

Despite all the teasing, Trixie couldn't help laughing. Mrs. Belden had indeed made apple pies to top off dinner. It was so good to have all of the Bob-Whites together again! Maybe things weren't so bleak after all!

"Moms said we'd dish things up around four," she replied, glancing down at her watch. "Daddy didn't want to stand over a hot grill, so she mixed up some chicken salad to make sandwiches. Everything's ready and in the icebox. But that's still an hour away. Which should give you comedians plenty of time to collect the little boys, as well as the rest of Jim's rocket pieces. I may be wrong, but if you can find the section with the nose cone, you might be able to solve the mystery of the un-opening parachute."

As Jim looked to the other boys with a cocked eyebrow, Trixie added, "Only don't bother asking this detective to help solve that puzzle. She'd probably suggest something silly like humidity caused the plastic to stick. Undoubtedly your esteemed mathematician has a theory to dispute that theory, too," she finished with a sniff.

Only from the look on Jim's face, Trixie had a hunch she was on to something. And so did the grin on Honey's. "Well, how do you like them apples?" she giggled to herself. "Maybe the ole' schoolgirl shamus is not so dense, after all, hmm? Sir Isaac Newton, meet Sherlock Holmes."

"Coming, Watson?" she called to Honey.

After the boys and girls parted ways, Trixie delegated Honey and Diana the task of laying out picnic blankets under the maple trees nearest to the patio. Meanwhile, she sauntered over to refill Reddy's near-empty bowl with fresh cool water from the well pump.

Reddy, the Belden's normally rambunctious Irish Setter, was sprawled lazily away from the sun on his own blanket. But Patch, Jim's springer spaniel puppy, was tugging at the edges of the fleece pad, trying to entice the older dog to play. The two scoundrels were constant companions and would likely have been up to mischief if the afternoon wasn't drawing to a sultry end.

Rejoining her friends, Trixie took the lead from Reddy and stretched out for a quick rest before it was time to help with supper. Looking up at the hazy but cloudless sky, she wondered how long it would be before they got more rain. Moms was worried, if it weren't soon, the cistern would go dry. And Daddy had been warning the family about the dangers of wildfires. This was another reason he hadn't wanted to use the grill. The county hadn't banned the use of BBQs yet, but they had placed restrictions on campfires and fireworks.

Jim even had to get a special permit to launch his model rocket. And he'd been turned down twice because of windy and dry conditions. Thankfully, however, there'd been a brief pop-up shower the night before, and the winds had died down, or the local fire department might have canceled today's launch too.

That would have been terribly disappointing – especially for Jim. But of all of the Bob-Whites, the red-headed young man was especially keen on the hazards of fire since he had nearly perished in the one which had destroyed Ten Acres. And he'd made sure he had a couple of buckets of water handy and a cleared area for his launch.

Fortunately, though, the lift-off hadn't sparked any fires, and Jim had set the still-full buckets by the garden gate, so Trixie could use them in the morning when she watered. This time of year, water was a precious commodity, and not a drop was to be wasted.

Even so, just thinking about them left the sticky young lady tempted to pour one bucket over her head and drink the other one dry.

"Either of you thirsty?" she asked her girlfriends, who were lounging nearby, chatting idly about some new boy that Di had met at the country club.

Trixie had been trying her best to ignore the conversation. Mart was among Diana's many admirers, and well…it just made Trixie feel like a traitor to listen to her friend rattle on about someone else.

"We've got lemonade and ice tea in the glass dispensers on the table under the awning," she went on, interrupting the two again when she didn't get a reply. "And bottles of water and juice-boxes in the cooler."

"A tall glass of ice tea does sound heavenly," Honey admitted, pulling her hair back into a small ponytail. "Only I'm afraid if I stood up to get it, I'd melt right back down into a puddle of squishy goo."

Trixie giggled. She knew it was hot if her pretty friend was feeling the heat. Honey was a summer person and was usually as fresh as a daisy, even on the steamiest of days.

Trixie, however, was already counting the days until fall arrived. Not that she was looking forward to school restarting. Trixie was actually dreading it. But oh, how she loved those crisp autumn mornings! Why just thinking about them spurred her back to life!

"I bring you one," she volunteered, jumping up. "Water for you, Di?" Diana was always watching her figure and tended to avoid anything sweetened.

"Oh, that would be wonderful," Diana replied gratefully.

As Trixie bounded off on her errand, Jim's Springer spaniel was quick on her heels, hoping he'd finally found a playmate.

Coming to a stop at the table, Trixie winced in pain as the eager pup jumped up, scratching her bare legs. "Down, Patch," she scolded, causing the little Birddog to drop to his haunches. He was still wriggling, barely under control, and Trixie knew that at any moment, the naughty little devil could spring back into action and knock everything off the buffet. "Good boy," she encouraged him, patting his head. "Now go find your master. And tell him you need your nails trimmed."

When her newfound friend failed to budge, the frustrated teenager hollered for help. "Jim, please call Patch, won't you?" she begged.

Glancing up from the field, Jim circled his thumb and index finger between lips and whistled for his beloved pet. Patch, despite having been given hours of training, still had a mind of his own. And though the puppy's ears perked up, he cocked his head in Trixie's direction as if to ask, "do I have to?"

As she laughed, Trixie told the disobedient boy to go on, or there'd be no treats at bedtime, which seemed to be the magic command. For the glossy brown and white springer dashed off, leaving her to sigh with relief.

Only Trixie's salvation proved to be Jim's headache.

For Patch's eagle eye quickly zeroed in on the elusive parachute, which was dangling from a branch of a nearby bush. Making a sudden detour, the racing tracker lunged at his target and then ran triumphantly into the woods behind the garage, with his catch flapping from his salivating jowls.

And Trixie winced. Even from this distance, she could recognize the irritation on Jim's face. The young man was known to have a quick temper, which occasionally flared, sparking a bit of trouble. But Jim usually cooled off pretty fast once he got his head about him. Only in this heat, chilling proved difficult.

Again whistling, Jim hoped to lure Patch back. But when the pup didn't return, his master waved him off angrily. It was just too hot to give chase.

"And so the mystery continues," Dan joked as he joined Trixie at the drink table. "This has sure been fun today," he went on to say. "Even Jim and Honey's 'bad' news turned out to be pretty 'good' news, don't you think? I mean, in the long run, I think Sleepyside will be better off when International Pine leaves town."

Trixie sighed as she filled a tall plastic glass with homebrewed mint tea. "You're probably right," she replied. "Still, it's going to be pretty hard on the families who find themselves jobless. I sure do hope Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Brandio can work a deal quickly."

Off to the side of the teens, seated at the umbrella-topped patio table, Mrs. Belden and Mrs. Lynch laughed gaily, causing Trixie to thank her lucky stars again that the Bob-Whites and their families would not be directly affected by the closure.

"Sounds like your mother and Mrs. Lynch are having a good time too," Dan noted, smiling.

"Maybe too good of a time," Trixie replied, catching an earful of the women's conversation. The mildly annoyed girl had acute hearing, which was an asset when it came to detective work. But it had its downsides too. Sometimes she picked up on things she wished she hadn't - like now.

"I think you'll be surprised how easily it washes out," she heard her mother say. "Just be sure you shake out the garments before you blot the stains with rubbing alcohol."

At the ladies'' feet, Diana's little twin sisters were drawing with colored chalk and had somehow managed to get more on their matching floral pinafores than they had on the patio pavers.

"Of course, a good stain remover spray will remove any leftover residue," the more experienced lady went on. "I used to buy it by the gallon when Trixie was that age. The minute I put her in a dress, why that child would find the nearest mud puddle. That is if she kept it on long enough to find one," she added with a sigh.

As Mrs. Lynch twittered, Mrs. Belden went on, "Did I ever tell you about the garden club incident, Phoebe?"

Trixie's eyes bulged with horror. "Oh no!" she gasped silently. "Not the garden club incident! Moms promised she'd never tell another living soul!"

But when the brightly dressed woman beside her mother shook her head no, Moms proceeded to do just that.

"It started as a lovely mother-daughter luncheon," Mrs. Belden said. "I'd sewn Trixie the most adorable little sundress with a matching hat in the shape of a tulip. She looked like a fairy princess. Only during dessert, the sprinkler system kicked on, and what did my impish child do? Why she stripped down to her bloomers and ran dancing through the water! I've never been so embarrassed, Phoebs. No one could catch her, and she wouldn't stop giggling."

Next to Trixie, someone else couldn't stop giggling. Dan Mangan. Apparently, his senses were pretty sharp too.

"Oh Helen, she didn't?" Mrs. Lynch said, laughing at her fellow mother's plight. "Though I really shouldn't be surprised. Your little Trixie has always been a spirited child, now hasn't she? And you should really count yourself lucky," she went on to add, after taking a leisurely sip of her drink. "At least you don't have to hob-nob with the country club set, Helen. The local Paparazzi would have a field day with your skinned knee tom-boy in her baseball cap and what-not. Why my Diana was simply devastated when the Sleepyside Sun ran pictures of her in the same tennis dress two weeks in a row in the society pages. It took five new outfits just to get the shammed girl back on the courts. Of course, the journalists all love taking pictures of my beautiful baby. She's so photogenic and mature, you know."

Trixie felt like gagging. Diana? Mature? The girl who had teen magazine pin-ups on her wall and whose favorite nail polish shade was called 'Bubble Gum'?

But the nauseated girl's musings were again interrupted by Moms.

"I suppose you're right, Phoebe," she admitted with a resigned chuckle. "Having four boys and no money does have it's bright side."

Trixie overdrew the glass she was filling with tea.

"Four boys?!" her mind exploded. "Wasn't the 'garden club incident' humiliating enough?! Who was this woman? It couldn't be Moms! And since when did Mrs. Lynch become such a snob?! Di's mother used to be so down to earth. Why she'd make the girls macaroni and cheese at lunchtime, and still be in her bathrobe. These women had to be evil impostures! There was no other explanation!"