Honoring Others

Part II

The next day, with the shop’s opening procedures out of the way, Trixie’s thoughts strayed back to the identity of the boy in the picture.  Suddenly, her phone rang, startling her out of her musings.

“Hi, Moms,” said Trixie after noting the caller ID.

“Trixie, I’ve been thinking.  Your Aunt Alicia fancies herself the family historian.  I’m going to give her a call later this morning and tell her about the photograph.  Maybe she’ll know something.”

“Moms!  That’d be great.”

“I’ll let you know what she has to say.”  Moms clicked off the call and Trixie slid her phone back into her pocket.

Feeling a sense of optimism flow through her, an energized Trixie tried to get tasks done around the shop but her continued preoccupation with the old photo kept interrupting her focus. Finally, after several unsuccessful attempts at balancing the sales ledger, Trixie pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Tad.

“Hi there!  How r u this morning?”

A few minutes later, Tad replied. “Fine.  But I’d be better if you had stopped by on your way to the shop.”

After promising to meet with Tad later that day, Trixie settled herself on the stool behind the front counter and, with immense self control, completed her sales ledger.  Then after opening a spreadsheet on the computer,  she  began adding the items Imogene had recently purchased for the shop. As she carefully logged each item, she kept an eye on the small clock next to her, wondering if it was too early to call the owner of the picture. Suddenly, she stopped when she saw the name Sam Walker written down in Imogene’s neat handwriting.  As Trixie read the notation, she realized the man’s family had given Imogene several items to sell on consignment.  

“Gleeps! I wonder if there’s anything else that might give me a clue.”

After making note of the items, Trixie hurried to the back room where new merchandise was prepped before being placed on the floor for sale. Trixie rummaged through a carton of knickknacks and a box of china that had come from Sam Walker but found nothing that could help with the identity of the child.  “He could have at least put a piece of paper in that old sugar bowl with a hint,” she grumbled. “I guess a phone call is still my best bet.”

Trixie clicked on her phone and prepared to make the call, then stopped.  

“No, I have a lot to ask this man.  I’m going to do it during my lunch break when I won’t be interrupted by customers or anybody else.”

Trixie made sure the number she had put in her phone the night before matched the one on Imogene’s records.  Then she got back to work, satisfied with her plan but frustrated by the slow movement of the hands on the clock.  The constant interruptions by customers eager to find their own treasures only added to Trixie’s annoyance.

“Oh, Trixie,” called out Imogene when she came into the shop a while later.

“Yes?”

“I’m just dying to know if you asked your mother about that picture.  Is it a relative of yours?”

While pulling her shop apron over her fluffy, strawberry blond hair, Imogene strode to the front desk, pausing only long enough to secure a few rhinestone scatter pins across the top of her apron. She finished her work attire by wrapping the apron strings around her plump waist then making a tidy bow in front.    

“No,” sighed Trixie.  “She’s going to check with my Aunt Alicia who’s more knowledgeable about the family tree.”

”I’m a bit disappointed.  I was hoping you’d have this little mystery all wrapped up by this morning.”

“You and me both.” Trixie shook her index finger at her boss.  “And don’t tell me this will help me develop patience because it won’t.”

Imogene threw up her hands. “I wouldn’t think of suggesting such a thing, my dear.  I know that you and patience have an estrangement that won’t be healed any time soon.”

Grinning, Trixie nodded her head.  “Exactly!”

After chatting a bit longer, Trixie went to the back of the shop where she kept herself busy by researching and writing up several evaluation reports for new pieces Imogene had recently procured.  When it finally came time for lunch, Trixie grabbed her bag from the back room, dashed out the front door and to the Sleepyside Metro Park. When she got there, she sought a bench that afforded her desired privacy and sat down. After taking a few deep calming breaths, she punched in Sam Walker’s phone number. With her foot rapidly tapping the concrete beneath her, Trixie waited.

With each passing ring, Trixie’s enthusiasm waned and a frown worked its way across her face.  When the phone rang for the sixth time, she was ready to disconnect the call, but before she could, a man answered the phone.

“Hello?  Hello?  Oh dagnabbit! How do I work this thing?”

“Hello,” Trixie spoke loudly into her phone.  “Can you hear me?”

Instead of a voice at the other end, Trixie heard some rustlings and mutterings and finally a loud clunk.  “Hello,” she shouted again.

“Oh, hello,” said a man at the other end.  “I guess I did answer this blasted thing after all.  I never can tell if I have or haven’t.”

“Yes, you answered it,” replied Trixie.

“Well, who is this and why are you calling me?"

“Is this Sam Walker?” asked Trixie.

“Yes.  And who is this?”

“My name is Trixie Belden.  I work at Ingram’s Antiques.”

“Where?”

“Ingram’s Antiques.  It’s an antique shop in downtown Sleepyside.  You brought in some items so we could sell them for you.”

“I did?”

Trixie sighed impatiently.  “At least your daughter did.  And she also brought in some old photographs.”

“She did?”

“Yes.  Don’t you remember?”

“What’s your name again?”

Trixie rolled her eyes and repeated the information she had just given the man. She waited,  again hearing faint rustlings at the other end.  

“Hello?” Trixie said.  “Are you still there?”

“Dagnabbit!” said Sam.  “My darned battery in my hearing aid just went out.  You’ll have to call me back later.”

Trixie heard a click, then her phone beeped, indicating the call was over.

“Well, that was a freakin’ waste of time,” muttered a frustrated Trixie.  “I was so sure I was going to learn something.”

Trixie dug through her bag and pulled out a sandwich she had made the night before. Chomping down on the peanut butter and crabapple jam concoction, she pondered her next move. When her lunch break was over, Trixie returned to the shop, intent on stopping by Sam Walker’s house as soon as she got off work.

After clocking out that afternoon, Trixie set her plan in motion.  Within a few minutes, she pulled up in front of a large, colonial house that was surrounded by neatly trimmed bushes. Two large trees that held empty flower planters on their lower limbs balanced out the front yard.

“Hmm,” she said as she peered up through her car’s windshield.  “I hope I have more luck in person than I did on the phone.”

Trixie stepped out of her car and proceeded up the curvy brick walk to the front door.   After ringing the bell, she stepped back and waited. She was about to ring the bell again when she heard slight stirrings inside the house.  As the door slowly opened, Trixie pasted a smile on her face.

“Yes?” asked an elderly man wearing large glasses. His bald head reflected the late day sun.

“Are you Sam Walker?” asked Trixie.

“Who wants to know?”

“Me.”

“And you are?”

“I’m Trixie Belden and I work at Ingram’s Antiques.  Are you Mr. Walker?”

“Yes.  Yes I am.”

Trixie sighed in relief. “Good.  Because I’d like to ask you some questions about a bunch of photographs your daughter gave the antique shop to sell.”

“What photographs?”

Trixie fidgeted impatiently.  “My boss, Imogene Ingrams, received a box that had come from your attic.  In it were several old pictures.”

“Oh, that.  My daughter and my cleaning lady cleaned out my attic for me.  I didn’t see everything they found, but I think most of it was junk.”

“So you don’t know anything about the pictures that were in your attic?  Don’t you think that’s kinda strange?”  Recognizing how rude she sounded, Trixie bit her lip, but was unable stop herself in her quest to learn more about the picture.

“Look, Miss,  do you have any idea of the amount of stuff my wife managed to squirrel away in this house?” Sam Walker slapped his hands on his hips.

“If I could talk to her, that might help.”

“You can try.  But she passed two years ago.”

Trixie winced.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  I really would have loved to have had her help. Are you sure you don’t know anything about the pictures?”

Sam Walker opened his door wider and invited Trixie in.  “Let me show you something.”

Muttering softly to himself, he led Trixie to the dining room where a big table, covered with various sized boxes, baskets and plastic bins stood.  Storage totes were stacked up like building blocks against a garishly bright blue and green wallpaper.

“This is only a small portion of the stuff she collected over the course of our marriage.  I don’t even know what’s in these boxes,” he said, his disgust evident in his tone.

Trixie gingerly poked at some boxes and noted the jottings that were scribbled on the outside of them.  “This one says ‘Important papers.’”

“Yeh?  Take a look at the important papers.” Sam opened the box and pulled out several handfuls of expired coupons.  “Real important,” he said sarcastically.

Trixie looked around, flabbergasted.  “I don’t know what to say. “

“You say you're interested in a photo?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There was an old picture of a very young boy who looked exactly like me or my brother.  There was a name on the back of it, Johnny. Because the child in the picture looks so much like me, I’m wondering if he is some relation my family may have lost track of. Do you know the photo I’m talking about?”

Sam Walker shook his head, then shuffled out of the room.  Trixie stood still, not sure if she should follow him or not.  In the man’s absence, she peeked into a few more boxes, but saw nothing that looked very interesting.  She quickly closed a box when she heard approaching footsteps.

Pushing an old utility cart, Sam wheeled a large carton into the room. “Here. Maybe this will help.”

“What’s that?” Trixie stared at the dirty box apprehensively.

“Journals.”

“Journals?”

“Yes.  My wife, Amy, kept journals.  They’re not all that interesting, unless you want to know what one neighbor said about another.  But these are the oldest ones she had.  If those old photos belonged to her, you might find something about it in one of them.”

Curling her lip slightly, Trixie looked at the large, bulging box.  Somehow, reading all those journals in hopes of finding some nugget of information didn’t seem very exciting. When she looked back at Sam Walker, she saw that he was waiting for her response.  

“Well, do you want them or not?”

“Yes.  That is, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Mind?  I’m just happy to get something else out of this house.  You’re doing me a big favor.”

“Okay.  Um, I guess I’ll take this box and get out of your way.”

Trixie hoisted the box up and stepped carefully to the front hall. Seeing that Mr. Walker had opened the door and was waiting, she stepped through it, then turned.

“Thanks again, Mr. Walker.  I’ll bring them back to you when I’m done.”

“Nope.  They’re yours now.  Happy reading!”  

Trixie shifted the large carton.  “By the way, did you used to live out near the nature preserve?”

Sam Walker squinted into the sunlight.  “Sure did.  When I was a boy, my family owned a farm out that way. Blasted cold walk into town, that’s for sure.”

Sam Walker gave a brief wave, then closed the door.  Trixie, staggering under the weight of the box, struggled as she walked down the sidewalk until she finally dropped the carton in front of her.  Grabbing hold of one side, she lugged the it to her car where, after several attempts, successfully heaved it into her trunk.  Brushing her hands together, she got back into the driver’s seat.

“Whew!  That was an interesting. At least I can tell my Dad he was right about the connection to his sledding hill.”

Trixie sat for a few seconds, weighing options about what to do next.  Finally, she decided to head over to the Community Center where she could get in a quick workout before Tad got off work. “Although I’m pretty sure nothing could beat hauling that ginormous box to the car,” she thought ruefully as she rubbed her sore arm muscles.  

***************

When the main doors of the Community Center swished open,  Tad looked up and smiled as Trixie bounded through them.

“Hey you,” he said.

“Hey, yourself,” responded Trixie. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“I went to see Sam Walker today, you know, the original owner of those old pictures.  He didn’t know anything about any photos but he did give me a box of old journals that his wife kept.  He said I could read through them to see if I could learn anything.”

Tad chuckled.  “Read through a box of journals? And I bet you you were hoping that he would invite you in, look at you, and provide you with all the answers to your questions, right?”

“Well, that or something close to it.” Trixie paused briefly, then laughed.  “Yeh, that is pretty unrealistic.”

“So what are you doing here?” asked Tad.

Trixie attempted to bat her eyelashes and tried to act coquettish, but quickly gave up.  “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Always and forever.” Tad kissed the tip of Trixie’s nose.  

“Good.  I thought maybe a workout would help get rid of some of my tension or ease my aching muscles.”

“Huh?”

“I lugged all those stupid journals to my car.”  Grimacing, Trixie flexed her sore arms. “On second thought, maybe a yoga workout would be better although I don’t think I have the patience to hold a pose for longer than ten seconds.”

“I could give you a quick massage.”  Tad waggled his eyebrows.

“Later.”  

Tad bowed slightly.  “Go. A yoga class starts in a few minutes.   And don’t mind if I spend some of my time watching you, okay?”

“Okay,” answered Trixie over her shoulder as she walked away. “This may be the fastest yoga class ever.  See ya later.”

“Aye-aye.” Tad gave a mock salute then disappeared into his office.

 

Feeling refreshed and somewhat calmer after her workout, Trixie waited for Tad to clock out then the two went to Wimpy’s where they were able to grab a booth in a quiet corner.

After getting their drinks and placing the rest of their order, Tad took Trixie’s hand.   “So, when are you going to start reading the journals?”

“If I could, I’d be reading them now. On the other hand,” she wrinkled her nose and sighed, “it’s a lot of reading somebody else’s squiggly handwriting. But if that’s the only way to solve this mystery, then that’s what I’m going to have to do” She paused and looked out the window.   “I’m really hoping I find some good information in one of the journals.  But I could also find out who said what about whom.”

Tad’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Trixie sighed loudly. “It  seems Sam's wife wrote down a lot of the neighborhood gossip in her journals.”

“Oh, joy!” Tad rolled his eyes as he took a long sip of his drink.

Trixie’s fist pounded the aged formica table.  “But I’ll work through it.  I have to find out something about that little boy in the photo.” Her eyes registered her determination. “So Webster, are you going to help me with this mystery?”

“Of course. We make quite a team.  I’ll be Bert and you be Nan.”

“Huh?”

“Ned to your Nancy.”

Trixie scowled.  “Now you’re being ridiculous. First of all, Bert and Nan are twins, so that’s just icky.  Second, I do not ever read Nancy Drew. Ever.  I read Lucy Radcliffe.”

“Oh, that’s right.  So, I’ll be Desi to your Lucy.”

“Desi?” Trixie smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand then shook her head in mock disgust.

“Wilbur?”

“Wait!  Does that make me Mr. Ed?”

Tad shook his head.  “No.  I was thinking more along the lines of Charlotte’s Web. But now that you mention it, you are a cute little filly.”

Trixie rolled her eyes.  “You’re really pushing it, Tad. I just have one question for you, though.  How do you know about Bert and Nan and Nancy and Ned?” She smirked questioningly at her dinner companion.

Tad pursed his lips together.  “Belden, do you think you’re the only one who reads mysteries?”

Trixie’s eyes widened.  “You read Nancy Drew?  Since when?  And why have I never known about this incredible personality flaw?”

Tad chuckled.  “My mom read the Bobbsey Twins and Nancy Drew when she was young.  And being the packrat that she was, she kept all her old books on a shelf in our basement.  I remember one summer I hadn’t gotten any reading books from the library, so she made me read some of her old books.”

Trixie gave Tad  stern look.  “Child’s play, Tad.  Compared to my Lucy, those juvenile mysteries are just child’s play.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You better!”

Tad nodded. “Got it.  So, how many journals are there?”

“A ton.”

Tad gave Trixie a dubious look. “Really?”

“Or maybe 25, which felt like a ton to me when I carried them to my car.”

“Do you want to start working through them tomorrow night?”

“At the very latest.”  Lost in thought, Trixie folded and refolded her straw wrapper.

The arrival of their food interrupted Trixie and Tad’s musings.  Hungry from their busy day, the two dug into the hot burgers and crisp french fries, making frequent use of the pools of ketchup they had squirted onto their plates.

“Okay,” said Tad as they exited the diner a short time later.  “Tomorrow night, we’ll grab a pizza, go to my place, then hunker down with the journals.  Our goal is to work through several of them.  How does that sound?”

“Delicious,” answered Trixie.  “In the meantime, I’ll chase down a few more leads I’m working on.”

After a stroll through the quiet streets of Sleepyside, the two kissed goodnight then went their separate ways.

**********

Back in her apartment,  Trixie threw herself onto her cushiony couch and dialed Crabapple Farm. “Moms!  Moms! Did you talk to Aunt Alicia today?”

“Trixie.  Stop yelling.  I can hear you just fine.  Let me tell you what she said.”

“Okay.  Shoot.”

“Aunt Alicia said she would get out all her family lineage graphs and check them. However, she says she’s right in the middle of making a wedding ring quilt and she is up against time, so she has to finish that first.”

“Ooh,” Trixie groaned, chewing at the cuticle on her thumb.   “I wish she’d had some information for me.”

“Trixie, we’re both extremely curious about the boy in the photo, but let’s be honest.  It’s not a life or death situation.”

“I know,” grumbled Trixie as she toed out of her shoes and stacked her feet on her coffee table.

“You’re disappointed but, in the meantime, you can try to talk to Sam Walker.”

Trixie perked up.  “I did.  I went to his house today.  He didn’t know anything about the photo but thought that his wife might.  Unfortunately, she passed away a few years ago so I couldn’t discuss anything with her.  Fortunately, she did keep a daily journal.  He gave me a whole box of them to read. I’m crossing my fingers that there’s a clue in one of them that will tell me something.”

“There, see.  You work your angle while we wait for Alicia to finish her quilt and get back to us.”

“Is that your best offer, Moms?”

“Yes, and a piece of apple pie. I’ll drop if off to you tomorrow.”

“Way to sweeten the deal, Moms.”  Smiling, Trixie ended the call then went in search of some ice cream that she knew was stashed in the back of her freezer.

 

********************

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Author's notes: A very special thank you to my sister, Judith, who edited this story for me.  Her encouragement kept me going.  Also, thank you to Vivian for her patience. Picture by me!

Charlotte’s Web - a children’s novel written by E. B. White and published in 1952.

Bobbsey Twins - collection of 72 books that were published between 1904 through 1979 about a family with two sets of twins.

Nancy Drew - a fictional detective created by publisher Edward Stratemeyer.  First published in 1930.

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