Chapter: 14
A Brainstorm
"Shame, shame, shame!" Mart Belden chimed as he climbed into the Jalopy and wedged himself between Jim and his sister in the backseat. "Violating the regulations set forth already, are we? Dearest brother, how could you allow such fraternization?"
Behind the wheel, Brian threw up his hands in a surrender of guilt, and Trixie fumed, "Oh lay off, you big oaf!"
"Now, Beatrix," Mart scolded, enjoying his new assignment. "Remember, rule number one: no sitty-sitty. Rule number two: no touchy-touchy. Rule number three: ...hey, OUCH!"
Trixie had thrown her elbow sharply into the boy's ribs, hoping she could shut him up before he reached rule one-hundred and one.
Turning around and looking over the front seat with a grin on his face, Dan Mangan inquired, "What's with the rule book?"
"Well now…Mart began slowly, giving Trixie a wicked smile, "I would have thought someone would have enlightened you by now? Seems in the early morning hours of August…."
This time it was Brian who cut his brother off. "Trixie snuck out of the house late last night to talk to Jim, Dan," he explained, as the B.W.G.s left Mr. Sanderson's on their way to Mr. Lynch's office. "We don't why exactly, but the point is, Moms and Dad found out about it, and unfortunately, Mart and I are the ones who are being punished for her little indiscretion. We've been designated her babysitters."
Dan raised an eyebrow, not so much surprised that Trixie had slipped out of the house, but rather more curious what she'd been up to. He'd noticed earlier that her eyes had seemed a bit swollen but figured she'd just been upset over the mess at the clubhouse. Girls got that way. But now he realized the I.D. bracelet was gone too.
"Gotcha," he replied. "Was this before or after the break-in at the clubhouse?"
"During," Trixie jumped in before either of her brothers could come back with another wisecrack. "And would you believe I ran right past the dirty no-good so-and-sos?"
Full of frustration, she slammed a fist into her palm. "I kept thinking I heard voices," the upset teen went on to admit, "but chalked them up to my imagination. Only now, I figure Reddy must have heard them too. I have a hunch it was the hoodlums' car that roused us out of our sleep when it went up the road."
Dan raked back his hair with his fingers, and Trixie knew the boy well enough to know this meant he was uncomfortable with what he'd been told. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Trix," he said. "I think it's a good thing you didn't try to track down those noises you were hearing."
"That's right," Jim agreed. "I hate to think what could have happened to you if you'd tried confronting them. Some people get pretty ugly when cornered."
Trixie, who'd been squeezed up against the door, attempted to nudge her stocky brother over as her leg was starting to fall asleep. She was beginning to realize how much the Bob-Whites were going to miss their roomy station wagon. "I still wish I could have stopped them," she sighed. "I'm sorry, everybody."
"There's nothing for you to be sorry about," Honey said quite frankly. "Daddy's taking the blame for not having the property gated off and a better security system in place. When Miss Trask called him this morning, he told her to get estimates for having it done. Anyway, Daddy feels very bad about everything that's happened. So much so he's offered to pay for all repairs to the gatehouse and replace our sports equipment. But well…."
"I flatly told him no," Jim finished coldly. "And if any of you has a problem with that? We can discuss it. But my vote is still going to be no."
As an uncomfortable silence filled the car, Brian turned up the radio.
And after a bit, Dan said, "Mr. Maypenny's also supposed to have someone out this morning to put up a chain-link fence around the crop circle. At first, Mr. Wheeler asked him to cut down what's left of the corn, thinking if there's nothing for people to see, they'll stay away. But Mr. Maypenny told him, if he wanted it done, he'd have to find someone else to do it because of all that devil stuff. Only I guess Mr. Wheeler changed his mind because Mr. Brandio is interested in seeing the circle."
"Mr. Brandio's also pretty intrigued about the U.F.O. sighting we had Saturday night," Jim revealed. "Dad says Mr. Brandio thinks it's doubtful that there was any military craft in our area. He's got some inside sources that say it went off the radar."
It was then that Brian found himself stepping down on the car's brake pedal. He'd just made a left onto the main drag into town, and traffic had come to a complete standstill. Before the Jalopy got hemmed in by another vehicle, the skilled driver pulled a U-turn. The Jalopy's A.C. was struggling to keep up with the heat as it was, and if the aging car idled too long, Brian knew he'd have to turn off the cooling system, or the engine would overheat. He also didn't want to waste what precious gasoline was left in the tank.
So, mapping out an alternative course, unrecognized by most current-day G.P.S. systems, ole Cap'n Brian sailed his beloved ship 'n crew around the horn and past International Pine.
Out front of the soon-to-be-defunct factory, the real-estate agency's massive billboard overshadowed the scattering of cars remaining in the parking lot. People were still reporting for work, though Mr. Banks had cut their hours nearly in half. And it was clear from the building's smokeless industrial chimney that he'd also shut down production.
"When are you expecting your parents and Mr. Brandio to fly in?" Brian asked Honey as he flipped on the car's signal, taking a right down Elm and into Sleepyside via the residential side streets.
"Sometime in the next few days," she replied softly. "They're not sure yet. Mother says Mr. Brandio may fly in separately to avoid raising suspicions."
Nearing downtown, the Bob-Whites encountered yet another bottleneck of day-trippers.
"Take the next alley," Dan told Brian, pointing up ahead. "It'll bring us in behind Burn's Hardware, which closed its doors after Mega Mart opened. "There used to be employee parking behind it, and if we're lucky, we can jump ship there. Mr. Lynch's office is only a block or two away."
Following the young man's tip, Trixie's brother slowly navigated the Jalopy down the narrow cobbled accessway. Many of the two-story brick buildings flanking the car, dated back to the seventeen hundreds, and were on Sleepyside's map of historic places. But as the B.W.G.s crept past them, the young detective made a startling discovery. Most had been covered with graffiti, similar to that the teenagers had found on their clubhouse. And for the first time, Trixie had to wonder if she'd prematurely blamed Miles Murdock for something he hadn't done.
Mr. Lynch's office was located in the old Miller's Feed and Seed building. The renovated loft had been modernly equipped with such things as high-tech computers and state-of-the-art printers. But the designer had tastefully blended them in with the building's original brickwork and the occupant's choice of Mission Style fixtures and furnishings.
When the Bob-Whites arrived, Mr. Lynch's secretary escorted them to an adjoining conference room, which overlooked the currently bustling town.
"I'll tell Mr. Lynch you're here," Miss Slater said with a smile. "Please make yourselves comfortable at the table."
Rather than sit down immediately, Trixie and her friends wandered over to the line of tall windows to take in the office's million-dollar view of Sleepyside.
City Park, located at the center of town just beyond them, was overflowing with tourists. And this was exciting to see. But the piles of trash, littering the grounds and public streets certainly weren't a thrill to behold. And they angered the environmentally friendly B.W.G.s. True, all of the scattered garbage receptacles within sight were overflowing and needed emptying. Still, visitors could have packed out their trash if they had to.
Just as upsetting was how neglectful parents were letting their wild-eyed children climb on the bronze statues in the park. Little ones were playing in the fountain, as well, which was considered to be a no-no. The formal rose garden, too, had been trampled and looked worse off than Mr. Lytell's petunia bed had after Trixie had taken a tumble in it.
"If this keeps up, Sleepyside's going to need to do something to contain the crowds," Brian remarked with a sad shake of his head.
"My thoughts exactly," Mr. Lynch bellowed as he entered the room, followed by Mr. Belden. "Please sit down," he told the youngsters. "Connie will be in shortly with drinks."
As Trixie prepared to pull out the chair next to Jim's, she noticed the sour look on her father's face and instead moved to the opposite side of the table and plopped herself down next to Mart.
"I suppose you're all wondering why I asked you here today," their host began, opening the meeting.
"It has crossed our minds," Jim said with a grin.
"Does it have anything to do with Di leaving our club, Sir?" Brian asked. "Jim and I didn't say those awful things she thinks we did if that's what you'd like to know? "
"And we unequivocally wish for her return," Mart added. "She's missed immensely, Mr. Lynch."
As Miss Slater came in and proceeded to pass out bottles of water, as well as note pads and pens to everyone, Mr. Lynch smiled.
"I'll be sure to tell her, Martin," he said. "And it is my hope that one day Diana will decide to rejoin the Bob-Whites. I can't say I approve of her new group of friends. Money often doesn't buy you genuine companions, you see. It's a lesson that I'm afraid my daughter and her mother are in the painful process of learning. But I think, given time, they'll come around."
Trixie suddenly felt bad about some of the awful things she'd been thinking about Di lately. Only what if they were true? Mr. Lynch made it sound like her friend might still be adjusting to her family's wealth. Trixie had thought Di had gotten over all that. But what if she hadn't? Of course, it wouldn't excuse the kind of behavior that destroyed other people's property. Still, the vacillating teenager made a mental note to try calling Di when she got home. Even if Trixie had to leave a message, Diana would know she was thinking of her.
"So why did you ask us here, Mr. Lynch?" she asked, after opening her drink and taking a sip.
The portly gentleman laughed and went over to the large whiteboard sitting on a tripod next to the table. Taking a dry erase red marker, he wrote the word "BRAINSTORM" in bold capital letters across the top of it.
"Trixie, my dear, the town council and I would like to pick your brains," Mr. Lynch revealed. "As you all know, Sleepyside has recently been gifted with a marvelous untapped resource. Namely, U.F.O. Mania, which has come to us in the form of an unidentified aircraft sighting and a mysterious crop circle.
There is a fortune to be had on the streets below us if the town plays its cards right and acts quickly before the excitement dies down. The potential is there to draw in thousands of tourists for years to come. And this could mean our community's salvation.
However, to do this, we'll need a grand plan of attack, and well, also little investment of money and effort, let say. And that's where the Bob-Whites come in."
Brian, who'd been listening intently, said, "I'm afraid time and money are something we've been short of ourselves lately, Sir. But if you're looking for ideas on how to capitalize off the crowds and keep them entertained, I'm sure the gangs got plenty of those."
"That is precisely what Mr. Lynch is asking for," Mr. Belden told his son and his friends. "You see, the town council held an emergency meeting this morning to discuss the matter but were unable to come up with anything fresh on which they could agree. The kinds of ideas being tossed around the table were primarily the same old thing. Parades, fireworks, nothing of substance. That's when Mr. Lynch suggested the council take a recess to seek the advice of experts in the field." Peter Belden grinned through his mustache. "Sleepyside needs the help of The Bob-Whites of the Glen," he finished quite simply.
"Why we'd be honored to help!" Honey exclaimed excitedly, receiving nods of agreement from her club-mates.
Returning to his whiteboard, Mr. Lynch boomed, "Fine, Fine! Shall we begin then? I want to start with an old-fashioned brainstorming session." Under the word "brainstorm," the savvy businessman then wrote the phrase, "Sky's the Limit".
"For the next fifteen minutes, I'd like each of you to jot your ideas independently," he went on. "No notion is too wild or too costly. When time is up, we will discuss and expand on your thoughts, then finish by consolidating the best into a proposal for the town council and mayor. Any questions?"
"So money's not an issue?" Dan asked. "I thought Sleepyside was pretty much broke?"
"Well, Dan," Mr. Lynch went on to explain. "Sometimes, to make money, you have to spend money. And I am willing to back this investment. This town made me the man I am today, and it's about time I squared things up. That doesn't mean it'll be a free ride. To pull off a plan of this magnitude will require a lot of volunteer work and public participation. But my pocket is brimming, and Mr. Belden has agreed to be my personal financial adviser through the process."
As Trixie's father nodded, Mr. Lynch asked if anyone else had anything, and when they didn't, he asked Mr. Belden to set his watch and then put the teenagers to work.
After scribbling down a few ideas, Trixie chewed on the end of her pen and peeked over at Jim sitting across from her. He looked very intent and entirely lost in thought. She, on the other hand, was having difficulty concentrating. Oh, it was fun to have a new project, alright. It was just the timing of it, she supposed.
Unconsciously, the saddened girl put down her pen and reached for the bare spot on her wrist. The bracelet had felt so clumsy when she'd first started wearing it. But now it felt even stranger not having it there.
Sensing Trixie was watching him; Jim glanced up and noticed there were clouds again building in her pretty blue eyes. But the wink he cast her for reassurance was returned instead by Mr. Belden, who gave the boy a disapproving shake of his head.
Letting out an audible moan, Trixie did her best to get back to work. If Brian and Mart's ribbing didn't make Jim flee for the hills, Daddy surely would with his overbearing protectiveness. And she'd been worried about Mr. Wheeler running Jim off. Maybe it was written in the stars? Perhaps, one day, the most wonderful boy in the world would be gone from her life forever.
But as Mr. Belden slipped out the door to take a call, Jim removed a piece of paper from his notepad and carefully folded it into a small triangle. Then, with a flick of his finger, he sent the origami football flying Trixie's way.
Snagging it with a grin, Trixie was preparing to "punt" it back when the boy across from her shook his head and motioned for her to open it.
Unfolding the paper under the table in her lap, being careful that Mart didn't see, the surprised teen found that her special friend had written her a message. And as she read it, Trixie's face twisted with confusion.
"Shamus," the note began, "They can take away the bracelet, but you still have something of mine they can never take away. Jim"
Trixie had to wonder what that "something" was. True, she still had Jim's Great Aunt's ring in the safety deposit box at the bank. But Moms and Daddy could just as easily make her give that back. But other than that…
Then as the notion hit her, the freckled girl's cheeks began to redden. Was it possible? No, it couldn't be? Had Jim meant his heart?
As her father came back into the room, Trixie fumbled frantically to fold back up her precious secret and stash it away in her pocket alongside her lucky coin. There was still something to be said about pen and paper. Girls like Diana could keep their smiley-faced emojis and intangible texts. Trixie had something she would treasure for the rest of her life.
"Times up," Mr. Belden announced. "Shall we see what you've come up with?"
With renewed vigor, Trixie volunteered to go first as Mr. Lynch retook his spot at the whiteboard.
"I think we should stock all of the stores in town with souvenirs," she said. "There should be T-shirts with pictures of the crop circle and U.F.O. on them. Buttons and bumper stickers with catchy slogans like, 'They' were in Sleepyside, and so Was I'. Everybody buys that kind of stuff, and it provides free advertisement for the town. Nick Robert's father does that type of printing in his trophy shop, too. I bet he and his son would love to help, Mr. Lynch."
As Mr. Lynch smiled and wrote down "souvenirs", Honey said, "I like that idea! The shops should carry a selection of space-themed toys for the children, too. Like flashing ray guns, flying saucers, and glow-in-the-dark necklaces. I also thought it'd be fun to have an ongoing street fair and farmers' market in City Park. Sleepyside is full of local artisans and gardeners. They could set up booths to sell their pottery, paintings, wood crafts, and whatever extra produce they have on hand. It would have been an ideal way to sell our jam if the jars hadn't gotten broken."
"Bravo!" Mart exclaimed as Mr. Lynch added 'street fair' to the list. "And if I may, I'd like to expand on this notion by including entertainment and refreshments to the festivities. Who does not enjoy music, mime, and mockery? Let alone frankfurters, foodstuffs, and frappes? Of course, advertisement is a must. An event schedule could be run in the Sleepyside Sun as well posted on the community's homepage. Flyers could also be handed out on the street and posted in assorted emporium windows. In reality, there are numerous other outlets out there just waiting to be tapped. These include, but should not be limited to, radio and television. Such a shame we can't get the cast of Way Beyond to investigate our unexplainable occurrences."
"What's Way Beyond?" Mr. Lynch asked before jotting it down.
"It's a weekly television show, Sir," Jim replied. "It's one of Mart's and my favorites. They have a team of investigators that explore mysteries from around the world. Stuff like alien encounters and ghost sightings."
"Sergio Zabatino hosts it," Mart added.
Mr. Belden raised an eyebrow which Mr. Lynch mirrored.
"That can't be the same Sergio Zabatino we went to high school with, could it?" Trixie's father asked his friend and associate.
"It wouldn't surprise me," Mr. Lynch bellowed with laughter. "Sounds right up Serg's alley. He always did dream of being a big Hollywood producer. Have you ever told the kids about Drag Strip Drac, Pete?"
Trixie took another sip of her water, then repeated, "Drag Strip Drac?"
Mr. Belden rolled his eyes.
"In her younger days, your mother was quite the actress," Mr. Lynch told the intrigued girl. "Quite a driver too, but that's another story. Anyway, Sergio and your uncle Andrew used to pal around, and they made a movie with that title, staring your mother for the Senior Frolics. Your father had a small cameo too, and…."
"That's enough, Phil," Mr. Belden said smiling. "The kids aren't interested in ancient history."
"Oh, but Daddy, you're wrong," Trixie cried. "Please, won't you go on, Mr. Lynch?"
The grinning executive was very tempted, but the town council would be reconvening at two pm, and there was still plenty of work to do before then.
"Maybe another time, Trixie," he said.
It wasn't the answer the disappointed girl had been hoping for, and she was still curious to know if the Sergio Zabatino of Way Beyond had once lived in Sleepyside. If so, he might be willing to help out his hometown. "Jim," she said, "doesn't Way Beyond have a website? Maybe Mr. Lynch wouldn't mind if you pulled it up on your phone? Aren't you the least bit curious if it's your old friend Daddy?"
As Trixie's father caved in, Jim pulled up the internet page on his device and then got up and showed Mr. Belden the image on the screen. "That's Sergio," he said.
"Well, I'll be," Mr. Belden chuckled. "That's him, alright. A little heavier maybe, but he's still got that ridiculous shock of black hair."
As Mr. Lynch squeezed in to take a look, he asked Jim to see if there was any contact information for the show. Once the young man had found it, Mr. Lynch had him email it to his address. He would try to reach out to the producer, and maybe, just perhaps, Sergio would remember him.
But with the clock ticking, Mr. Lynch needed to get on with the show. "Brian," he said, "I see a lot of notes there. What have you got for us?"
Brian laughed as he pushed back his chair and ran down his list of neatly bulleted ideas. "To be honest, Sir, I'm on the same page as the others," he admitted. "But there are a few less exciting things I think we should look at. Personally, I believe a first aide booth would be a good idea. And we'll need to bring in plenty of portable Dotty's Pottys. As well as enlist volunteers to pick up trash."
"Great ideas, Brian," Mr. Lynch said as he added each one to the board. "Anything else?" he asked the young people.
"Sleepyside also needs to beef up security," Dan replied. "Spider certainly can't keep up with the crowds. But I've got another idea, which has more to do with the crop circle. What if Mr. Wheeler let the volunteer fire department set up their hook and ladder truck on the edges of the field? For a small donation, the firemen could take people up in the basket so they could get a look at the circle from above. I know the pattern in the corn won't last forever, but might as well make hay while the sun shines," he added with a laugh. "Maybe someone could even convince Mr. Maypenny into giving guided tours of the circle. Sightseers would get a kick out of his mowing devil story. If we charged admission, proceeds could go to the town?"
Jim patted Dan on the back. "I hadn't thought about that," he chuckled. "I did think about Mr. Masterson selling hot air balloon rides over the circle, though. He frequently takes people up at balloon festivals and participates in night-glows. Maybe he could convince some of the members in his ballooning club to join him for a show in Sleepyside? It might even become an annual event. I also wondered if we might convince one of the military branches to give us a flyover. U.F.O. enthusiasts would love that. And now that I think about it, Mr. Brandio used to be a member of the Navy's Red Guardians, and he might still have some pull with them. Their flight squadron's spectacular aerial displays are known to draw people by the thousands."
"Oh, Jim! I'm sure Mr. Brandio would love to help!" Honey chimed, making a note to herself to ask. "Especially now that he plans to become a part of our community by buying the International Pine buildings."
Mr. Lynch stopped in the middle of writing "air show" and recapped his dry erase marker. The look on his face was one of great surprise, and Honey's hand flew to her mouth with alarm. Mr. Belden also appeared somewhat startled, but not nearly as much as the Bob-Whites did. Their pretty friend had just spilled the beans, and there was no way of putting them back in the bag.
"I take it this is the same Mr. Brandio whose business partner's with your father?" Mr. Lynch asked Honey, who was avoiding his eyes. Then, glancing at Mr. Belden, he added, "I wonder what Matt's cooking up now?"
When Mr. Belden alluded that he didn't know, Jim decided to inform the two men before they began inquiring about town.
"And that's why we weren't supposed to tell anyone, Sir. Dad doesn't want to jeopardize the purchase," he said in conclusion.
"So please, Mr. Lynch, Mr. Belden, please, please don't tell anyone what we've told you," Honey begged, nearly ready to cry.
"There there now," Mr. Lynch replied, tapping the worrying girl's hand. "Peter and I won't tell a soul. And there may just be a way I can relieve some of your father's concerns and further our goals at the same time."
Handing the meeting over to Trixie's father, Mr. Lynch left the room. When he came back, he was smiling like a cat that'd just swallowed a canary.
"Peter," he barked. "I want to buy the Pine complexes. Today. Call the agent. Make an offer. Tell them I'll pay full price. I want the deal signed and done by five!"