Chapter: 17
Microwaves and Burger Buckets
The more Honey thought about her partner's wild theory, the more silent she became.
And Trixie had been counting on her pretty friend to set her straight. She'd wanted Honey to tell her that she was out of her mind. That Cosmo Mc Naught and the Sinister Circle was only a book. And that crazy stuff like that didn't happen in real life.
Only so far, Honey hadn't. She'd just gotten terribly quiet and wanted to get back home.
Oh, Trixie knew the idea of aliens taking over the earth was truly frightening when you got right down to it. So she couldn't blame her friend for not wanting to discuss the matter. But at the same time, the conflicted teen was also well aware that the notion was pretty absurd. Surely Honey thought so too?
Nearing the stables, the two girls saw Bob-White station wagon whizzing their way.
"Where's Jim off too?" Trixie asked as the large dark blue car went on by without stopping.
Any other day, the outgoing boy would have pulled up and rolled down the window to say hello. And Trixie had to wonder if he hadn't because Brian and Mart were nowhere in sight. Jim wasn't the type to make trouble for her. Only he could have waved or blown the horn. Moms and Daddy surely wouldn't have minded that? Besides, they'd never have known.
"He and your father haven't had another argument, have they?" she went on with concern.
"Not that I know of," Honey replied from up in front. "But Jim's not himself today, Trixie. I hesitated to bring this up. But, when my brother stumbled in from Mr. Sanderson's this morning, he was acting awfully funny. Jim went straight to his room, and rather than get caught up on his sleep, he sat at his computer and began copying down all kinds of crazy symbols from off the screen."
"Were you spying on him?" Trixie asked with surprise. She agreed the young man's actions did indeed sound rather strange.
Honey brushed a buzzing horsefly off of Strawberry's glossy neck. Then she admitted that she'd gone up to ask Jim if he'd like Cook to fix him a little breakfast. "He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he wasn't even interested in eating, Trixie. Can you imagine that? And now, what with everything you've told me after reading Cosmo Mc Naught and the Sinister Circle, I'm scared out of my wits that Jim might be under some kind of alien mind control - or worse, that he's been replaced by a pod-person! You should have seen all that weird writing. And he was jotting things down so quickly it was almost as if he was possessed." Honey shuddered, and her friend did too.
"Surely you asked him what he was up to?" Trixie ventured, bringing Susie to a standstill. The girls were almost to the stable, and she didn't want Regan to overhear their conversation.
"I tried," Honey admitted with a frown. "But he said it was nothing important and that he didn't want to be bothered."
Trixie couldn't believe her ears. "He didn't?!" she exclaimed. "Why that doesn't sound like Jim at all. But now that you mention it, Honey, Brian wasn't behaving normally, either. And Mart didn't come home with him. Mr. Sanderson's supposed to drop him off later - at least according to Brian, he is," she added with a gulp.
"You don't think something happened to the boys at the farm last night, do you?" Honey ventured cautiously.
"Maybe?" her friend admitted while thinking on it.
Then after a moment, Trixie said firmly, "No! We are letting our imaginations get the better of us. And I refuse to let that dumb book turn me into another baked potato head! You were supposed to tell me was off my trolley, Honey Wheeler! Not jump on the crazy train along with me!?"
Honey giggled and nudged Strawberry on ahead. "I'm afraid we've been on that run-away ride ever since we encountered the U.F.O," she said. "But it's like you keep reminding me, Trixie. A good detective has to consider all possibilities - even if some of them are a little over the top. But I also agree that we're probably making mountains out of molehills. So what do you say, once we reach the house, we begin researching how people have hoaxed crop circles in the past? You're not due home for a little while yet. And it might help us keep our minds off of more disturbing angles."
Heading up the main staircase at Manor House, Trixie and Honey were nearly mowed over by Miss Trask, who was rushing down in a huff. Trixie had never seen her friend's governess in a dither before. And the startled young lady nearly lost her balance as the undone woman came to a halt and curtly asked the pair if they'd seen Celia.
Miss Trask, dressed in her standard grey suit and matching stout oxfords, had forgone all of her usual accouterments, which had her looking ashen and severe. Normally the handsome woman would have brightened up her appearance with a colorful scarf, a hint of rouge, and a friendly welcoming smile. But this certainly wasn't the case today. Why this morning, even Miss Trask's sparkling blue eyes seemed more glassy and steely to Trixie.
"That girl! I don't know why I put up with her," Miss Trask icily snapped after Honey replied that she hadn't seen the pretty maid. "She was supposed to put fresh flowers in your mother's room, as well as change her bed linens this morning. If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her."
As the perturbed woman huffed on by, Trixie eased her tight grip on the hand railing. "What's gotten into her?" she gasped. "Why Miss Trask didn't even tell me hello?"
Honey let out a sigh and said, "Don't take it personally, Trixie. She's been that way since breakfast. At first, I thought Miss Trask was upset with me. The other day I got in a snit and told her that I didn't like the way she'd gone to Mr. Lytell behind my back to get him to sell our jam. It hurt her terribly, I'm afraid. You see, that horrible man had simply been fussing about the risk that he was taking, and Miss Trask offered to compensate him to show him how silly he was being. They were having dinner together, and she knew he'd never take her money."
"Oh, no," Trixie replied as the girls headed on up toward her friend's room. "Did the two of you make up?" Miss Trask and Mr. Lytell had been dating for a few months now, and neither girl understood the attraction between the two. Usually, the governess was so bright and sunny, and the shopkeeper was nothing more than a grumpy old curmudgeon.
"I thought so," Honey replied. "I mean, we hugged and laughed about it."
"Then it's got to be something else," Trixie said flatly. "Maybe Miss Trask doesn't feel well. She certainly didn't seem herself. You know, Honey, I know we agreed not to talk about the possibility, but…."
The theorizing teen's thought was suddenly cut short by Celia, who was hurrying out of Jim's bedroom toting his wastepaper basket. Nearly bumping into the two girls, the frantic maid gave them a quick apology before Honey advised Celia that Miss Trask wished to see her.
"Oh my heavens, what now?!" Celia moaned, clearly pushed beyond her limits. "I can't get one thing done before she heaps another on my plate. That crazy woman is driving me mad!"
Always one to sympathize, Honey replied sweetly, "Here, I'll empty that for you. You go find out what she wants, Celia. It'll be fine."
With an appreciative thank you, the bustling young woman handed over the trash can and then headed off toward the servants' stairs.
"That was sure nice of you," Trixie replied as Honey started rifling through the basket.
"Not really," the laughing girl replied. "This morning, I saw Jim balling up some of his notes. I want to show you some of those strange symbols. Here, take a look at this," she said, holding up a smoothed-out sheet of lined paper.
Peering over Honey's shoulder, Trixie marveled at the odd page of cryptograms, letters, and numerals. There were a few rough diagrams with arrows too, which left her scratching her head. All of it looked rather alien. And now, the worried girl began to wonder if otherworldly beings hadn't induced her red-headed friend's surprising interest in astrophysics, too.
Only before she could comment, Miss Trask came charging down the hall with an angry grimace on her face. Neither girl had heard her come back up the front stairs. And Honey quickly dropped the mysterious document into the plastic receptacle which she'd set down at her feet.
Catching eye of the brimming trash can, the now steaming older woman scooped it up in mid-stride and continued past the trembling pair as she cried loudly, "Celia, where are you hiding? I want to see you this instant. Do you hear me, young lady?!"
Honey grabbed Trixie's arm and pulled her off toward her room. Once they were safely inside, she shut the door and turned the lock. Miss Trask was certainly in a mood today!
"Gleeps, Honey," Trixie said, flopping back on her friend's bed. "Remind me not to get on her bad side. Poor Celia!"
Honey forced a smile as she went for the laptop sitting on her desk. "Once you leave, I'll see if I can't get Miss Trask to let up on her a little bit," she said. "I imagine the poor dear is in a tizzy about Mother and Daddy possibly coming home today. We still don't know when to expect them, you see. And Miss Trask isn't big on last-minute surprises."
Taking a seat on the fluffy comforter next to her friend, Honey flipped open the computer and booted it up. Setting it on the bed so both girls could see, she then did a search on crop circle hoaxes. As the device's search engine brought up a long list of results, Honey clicked on the first one, which redirected the girls to a video on OurVision. The clip was entitled "Crop Circle Art 101" and had been produced by a couple of college students as a physics research project.
In the fifteen-minute documentary, the two young men, dressed in campy lab coats, showed their viewers step by step how they'd created a crop circle in a field of wheat using a global positioning system and a handheld device which they called a magnetron.
The boys, it turned out, had assembled the magnetron out parts taken from an old microwave oven, which they then went on to hook to a twelve-volt battery. When the radiation waves emitted from the contraption were directed at specific stalks of grain, the shafts would wilt over, creating the desired patterns in the field. The time-lapse video of the process was quite intriguing, and by the time it finished rolling, both Honey and Trixie were pretty impressed. They also felt more confident that perhaps the circle in the cornfield on the preserve had been created by humans.
"Golly, I'm sure glad I watched that," Honey remarked as she closed the page and turned off her machine. "The circle those students made was so elaborate, Trixie. It makes ours look more like child's play. And who would have thought you could create a ray gun out of an old microwave, like that? Why the video almost makes me want to give it a try."
Trixie laughed as she checked the time. "Me too," she admitted as she got up to leave, "And do you know what, Honey? I think I saw a rusty microwave sitting in Mr. Maypenny's shed. Maybe we could get him to make us one of those magnetron things. It'd be right up his alley and..."
The rambling girl suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. "Oh holy cow, Honey!" she cried, clutching her head. "What if Mr. Maypenny made the circle!"
Honey set aside the laptop and stared at her friend with disbelief. "But what reason would he have?" she mumbled.
Trixie didn't have to give it a thought. The answer just popped into her head. "My guess is he did it to keep International Pine from wanting the timber off the game preserve. If Mr. Maypenny were able convince Mr. Banks and Mr. Turner the area was cursed, and the devil was running around, I bet he thought they'd stay away."
"I don't know," Honey replied, chewing on her thumbnail. "Daddy told Mr. Banks and Mr. Turner he wouldn't sell them the timber."
"But Mr. Maypenny didn't know that at the time," Trixie objected. "Plus, he knew the field was there and had total access to it. Why I bet that crafty conniver even sent Dan out to repair the deer stand, knowing he'd see the circle and tell everyone all about it."
"That does make a lot of sense," Honey concurred. "But I still have my doubts that Mr. Maypenny would come up with such a way-out idea, Trixie."
Trixie folded her arms across her chest and said, "Well, I don't. And as far as I'm concerned, we've got our first reasonable suspect, Honey. And nothing you can say is going to make me change my mind!"
Moms met her daughter at the front door. She had changed into one of her sunny go-to-town dresses and swept up her golden tresses with a twist. Only right about now, Trixie's mother looked about ready to pull out her lovely hair.
"I told that boy twice to stop," she told her daughter with aggravation. "One more time, and I'd take that ridiculous clock radio away! He knows Brian is trying to sleep. Your little brother claims he's been bitten by the 'dancing bug' which makes 'a guy gotta shimmy'."
On the ceiling above her, Trixie could hear Bobby thumping about to the music Mart's favorite powerhouse-hit station was broadcasting, and she giggled. But then it got even funnier as the tone-deaf tyke started wailing along with the ruckus. "Uh-oh. It sounds to me like the singing spider must have got him too," she told her mother with a grin. "Maybe we should call an exterminator?"
But Mrs. Belden didn't find the joke funny. Giving her daughter a disapproving glare, Moms first tossed her straw handbag onto the entryway bench next to the phone bowl and then went stomping up the stairs. Moments later, the pounding free-for-all came to an abrupt stop, in the middle of a booming duet between Bobby and the Screaming Tigers of Toilet Water.
Storming back down while winding the power cord around the radio, Moms headed straight for the cellar. When she returned, minus the silenced annoyance, the satisfied woman slipped her cell phone into her purse.
"I'll keep this on should you need me," Trixie's mother told her. "You'll find a list of things for you to do on the kitchen table. And there are plenty of sliced tomatoes in the icebox to make sandwiches with for lunch."
As Moms hurried out the door and then slid into her shiny yellow car, Trixie headed to the kitchen to check out that list.
First on the agenda was collecting the eggs, and the put upon teenager groaned. Mart still hadn't returned from the farm, and he'd likely be too tired to tackle the chore once he got home. So that made the job hers.
Of course, Trixie was dragging herself, only Moms didn't know that, and she only had herself to blame. The bone-weary teen had chosen to stay up late reading when she knew very well she shouldn't. So off to the chicken coop the resigned girl went, figuring this was to be her punishment.
But as Trixie set about the habitual chore, her sleep-deprived mind came under attack by an onslaught of unanswered questions. Was Mart OK? Would he be coming home? And what about Jim's bizarre behavior? If 'They' had taken control over her special friend's mind, what would she do? What could she do? There had to be some way to break the evil signal? Did Mr. Lytell and his gruesome buddies have the right idea by wearing tinfoil hats? And what on earth was wrong with Miss Trask? Or had this morning's grim governess been a pod-person replacement? Surely Mr. Maypenny was of sound mind? He seemed OK when she and Honey had spoken to him? But would a sane person use a magnetron ray gun to create crop circles in the dead of night? Darn that Cosmo Mc Naught! If it weren't for him, why…
As if sensing his name had been called, Cosmo Mc Belden stuck his head through the hen house door and remarked, "Hey addle-brain, didn't you hear me summoning you?"
Trixie jumped with a start, causing the chickens to squawk and take flight. "If I had, do you think I would have just have dropped that egg?" she returned testily. "So tell me. What can I do for you, your highness? Your chores, not enough?"
Mart gave his sister a lopsided grin. "How about whipping up your prince of a brother a sumptuous repast before he fades from undernourishment? Say a fresh spinach frittata, with aged prosciutto, and Asiago cheese," he suggested.
Trixie hated to admit it, but she was glad to see Mart home and acting normally – well, normal for him, anyway. But that didn't mean she wasn't tempted to throw the basket of eggs at the nudnick. "Sure, give me just a minute, and I'll scrape the gooey mess up from off the floor and scramble it for you. Sound yummy enough? If not, there's Zucchini bread on the counter. Feel free to help yourself, oh great one. "
After giving his sister his usual brotherly flick to the side of her head, the hungry boy headed off to the house.
At about one fifteen, Trixie was dusting off the furniture in the living room when she spied Mart headed toward the front door with his camera hanging around his neck. He was also carrying his duffel bag, so she assumed her brother was off to baseball practice. Mart had slept right through lunch, and she now felt guilty about not having fixed him breakfast.
"Wait up a sec and slap together a PBJ for you," she called out. "It's a bit early for practice, isn't it?"
"I'm not on my way to practice," Mart hollered back, "And you can skip the sandwich."
"Now, wait just a minute!" Trixie's alarm bells sounded. "Mart, passing up food? That's not normal. Didn't Honey say Jim had done the same thing?"
Rushing into the entryway, the thrown girl asked, "Then where are you going?" Her brother hadn't volunteered the information.
"Out," he said, being intentionally vague. Then, as a car horn blew out front, the anxious boy left in a rush, explaining that his ride was waiting.
Only Trixie wasn't going to be left behind. She suspected Jim had come to pick Mart up. Coach had told her red-headed friend that he could play in Friday night's game if practice went well today. Maybe the boys planned to make a stop for supplies to start fixing up the clubhouse before they were due at the ballpark?
If so, it wouldn't hurt to go say hi to Jim, would it? Her brother would be there. And Trixie wanted to see for herself how Jim was behaving.
But as she stepped out the door, Trixie was struck with an acute case of the collywobbles. The flashy car idling in the driveway didn't belong to the Bob-Whites of the Glen. But instead to that no-good reporter Paul Trent! And Mart despised Paul Trent!
However, that didn't seem to be stopping her middle brother from tossing his gym bag into the man's front seat and then crawling in beside it.
As Mart rode off with the shady reporter, Trixie tried to get a grip on reality. This couldn't be real?
"It's just a dream," she told herself over and over again. "Just a dream. And before long, I'll wake up and be laughing about it."
Only heading back into the house, the foggy girl's "dream" was about to get nuttier.
For coming down the stairs was none other Brain Belden. But was it Brian? Yes, he was neatly dressed in his pressed khaki shorts and starched-neck polo for work. But it seemed the ole cap'n had decided to forgo the razor today. And his heavy five o'clock shadow had him looking more like the scourge Black Beard.
Taking two deep sniffs, his sister also noticed no fresh ocean breeze blowing in the scruffy bloke's wake. And she shook her head in an attempt to wake up.
"OK, so what did you do with my brother?" Trixie asked as Brian pushed on past, not intending to answer.
"Later," he said with a grimace as he headed out the door.
As Reddy trotted up, hoping to follow Brian out, Trixie said, "Well now, Boy, how do you plan to flabbergast me today? By standing on your hind legs and performing the Nutcracker Suite? That does sound about right for this festive occasion, doesn't it?"
But the un-listening dog merely scratched at the screen, so his placated mistress laughed and set her pet free.
Only now, Trixie had been reduced to talking to herself. And she made the suggestion that she ought to go check up on Bobby.
But knocking on the little boy's door, which he hardly ever kept closed, his big sister, got no answer. So opening it up just a crack, she peeked in and then let out a gasp! Horrifyingly, Bobby's hind torso was sticking out from under his bed and didn't appear to be moving.
"Bob? Are you all right?" the creeped-out girl ventured nervously.
To Trixie's relief, however, the young man's toes started wiggling, and soon he'd shimmied out with a rumpled activity book in hand.
"What are you doing?" his sister asked him as she stepped into the room.
"Cleanin'," he said. "And your botherings me. So goes away!"
Trixie's eyes nearly popped. Jim had told Honey she'd been bothering him too! What was going on?
"Did Moms ask you to pick up your room?" she asked the disturbed child.
"Nope," he said shortly. "I just wants to do it." Bobby laid his book on his desk and then added firmly, "I thoughts I asked yous to go?"
As Trixie cautiously backed out of the room, the spooky child grinned, liking his power, and then shut the door behind her.
Heading straight for her room, Trixie frantically grabbed the tinfoil hat from off the top of her bookcase. She'd been saving it as a souvenir from the family's violet alien party. Only now she put it on, and then after sliding her lucky coin into her pocket, she headed for the cellar to retrieve Brian's clock radio.
The ill-lit basement was not one of the quivering girl's favorite places on a good day. So she didn't dawdle as she dug through the decades of clutter until she found where her mother had stashed the seized device. Then, Trixie scurried back to her bedroom with the radio in hand, where she quickly plugged it in and turned up the volume.
Now, lying back on her bed, the frightened teen did her best to focus on the melodic lyrics pouring out from the speaker. Hopefully, they would help clear her mind of the awful paranoia which was currently gripping it.
And almost instantly, Trixie began to calm down. But was it the music that was making her feel better? Or rather the silly shiny chapeau which was cradling her curls? Either way, the two gave her a sense of security and the realization that she could battle this unknown enemy. And slowly, but surely, the exhausted girl drifted off to sleep.
When Trixie awoke, it was nearly four o'clock. She snapped off the radio and set her tinfoil hat down next to it. Making a beeline for the landing, she noticed Bob's bedroom door was again open, and the little boy was playing quietly on the floor with his plastic spacemen.
Expecting Moms to be home, Trixie headed for the kitchen. But found it was empty, as was her mother's parking space inside the garage. And that was worrisome.
So picking up the phone, the concerned girl tried dialing her mother's number. But the cell phone rang unanswered, and it transferred her call to voicemail. Leaving Moms a brief message, Trixie then hung up and wondered what to do next.
Thinking maybe she should start something for dinner, the antsy teen was poking around in the pantry when the telephone on the kitchen wall started ringing. Thinking it was Moms returning her call, Trixie dashed to answer and was alarmed when a gruff voice came over the line asking to speak to Mart.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid he's not in," Trixie replied, unaware of to whom she was speaking. "May I take a message?"
"Yes," the snarling man replied. "When you see him, tell Mr. Know-it-all that even all-stars need their practice. And you can also tell that young man that if he is not here soon, I'll bench him and let Miles take his place tomorrow night."
Trixie gulped. The stern warning had come from Coach Jackson.
"I didn't know Miles had healed up enough to play?" she remarked bravely.
"Yeah, yeah, never better," the irritated coach replied. "And forget I called. Here comes your brother now. Martin!" the man bellowed so loudly that he almost blew out Trixie's eardrums. "You're late. I want to talk with you, young man."
As Coach Jackson hung up on her, Trixie shook her head. Boy, was she ever glad she didn't play on the Comets! And then, returning the receiver to its cradle, the teenager heard a car come up the drive. Glancing out the window, she was washed over by a sense of relief. Moms was home. So Trixie went to slip on her shoes so she could help unload the groceries.
Only at the garage, Trixie hadn't been prepared for what was awaiting her.
As Moms' popped open the trunk of her car, the stunned girl found it stuffed beyond capacity with Mega-Mart bags! And not only that, but the entire back seat was full of them too! Apparently, her mother's staunch refusal to shop at Mega Mart had gone out the window somewhere along the ride.
"Gleeps, Moms, what'd you do? Buy out the whole store?" Trixie gasped. "By the way, I tried calling you a bit ago? Didn't you get my message?"
Moms laughed happily and waved her daughter off. "I must have been driving. Or maybe I couldn't hear the phone ringing in the store," she replied. "Is everything thing alright, dear?"
Trixie harrumphed. That was debatable. "Yeah, I was just worried about you," she said. "It's almost dinner time, you know? I thought maybe I should get something going. "
Moms grinned. "Well, I've taken care of supper too!" she said in a sing-song voice. "I've brought home a surprise. Take a peek in the front seat," she coaxed.
Mrs. Belden's suspicious daughter was almost afraid to look through the window. And when she did, she let out an eek. On the passenger-side floorboard sat two huge Burger Buckets! And nestled between them was a carrier full of soda pop!"
Now the alarmed teenager was certain there was something wrong. The Beldens never splurge on fast food - let alone soda. Mom's believed in healthy home-cooked meals. And she kept a very tight budget.
So it was with a shiver that Trixie opened the car door, at her mother's prompting, to take the food into the house. But before the overburdened girl made it out of the garage, her father pulled up in the family's station wagon.
As he got out of the car and strolled the ladies' way, Trixie worried what Daddy was going to say when he found out that Moms had gone on a shopping spree at Mega-Mart and Burger Bucket.
But as Mr. Belden grew closer, his face drew up in a beaming smile. "My, that smells good!" he remarked as he poked his nose into one of the paper buckets his daughter was toting.
"Today was Burger Bucket's grand opening," Moms told her husband as she came over and gave him a little squeeze. "They were offering a special two-for-one deal, and I just couldn't pass it up. And just look, what else I got, Peter," she added, handing Daddy the mile-long Mega Mart receipt.
Trixie took a step back. "Here it comes," she thought. "Daddy's going to go ballistic when he sees how much Moms has spent."
Only to her surprise, Mr. Belden started laughing. "Well now, this I like!" he told his wife as he gave her a peck on the cheek. "Here, let me help you with those bags. Then, if you don't mind, dear, I think I'll take my dinner to the den and eat while I work."
"Of course, I don't mind," Mrs. Belden replied, quite out of character. Moms normally insisted the family eat together at the table.
"Oh, and Trixie, sweetheart," her mother added nicely. "When you go in, would you please place your older brothers' food in the refrigerator? I'll pop it in the microwave when they get home, and it'll taste as good as it did when it was hot off the griddle."
Trixie nearly fainted. Nuke it?! Moms?! The woman who wouldn't even heat a cup of coffee in the microwave? Nope. She could see her mother making a magnetron out of her microwave before she used it to warm up food.
This ghoulish couple, who were exchanging icky grins in the driveway, were either not her parents, or they were under some kind of sinister influence. And Trixie didn't know what to do. So the petrified girl took the Burger Buckets into the house. She was suddenly in baked potato mood and craving another Cosmo Mc Naught guitar-smashing jam session. Hopefully the lucky coin in her pocket was still working, and pod-person Moms would allow her distressed daughter to eat in her room.