Chapter 26 - What Fifty Said

(originally posted December 2, 2009)

The room was sparsely furnished—a small metal table with a chair on either side, another chair in one corner for the stenographer, and a small water cooler.  Several rows of bankers boxes stacked three and four high lined the far wall.  The room was well lit—dim rooms with one light shining forcefully into a suspect’s face were a cliché for television police dramas and anyway, there were no suspects here.

They set up operations where they could—a branch office, the local police department, a spare classroom at a school or university, sometimes even the homes of the people they were interviewing.

Today it was a storage room in the back of the local bank.  He’d be here off and on for several weeks, in all likelihood.  She had grown up here and most of the people on his list lived and worked here in this sleepy little town.  He didn’t complain about the accommodations.  He’d certainly worked in worse.  And he had already experienced the small town’s friendliness and the local hamburger joint, both of which would score favorably on his report, for all that would matter to his superiors.

A knock on the door was promptly answered and his first interviewee came into the room.  Professionally attired and looking very composed, the dark-haired, dark-eyed man sat down when directed and folded his hands neatly on top of the table.  It was obvious, not to mention convenient, to start with this man.

“Good morning.  My name is Eric C. Severset and this is my assistant, Catherine Muldosy.  Thank you for coming.”

“Not a problem,” their guest said with a relaxed smile.  “It was an easy commute.”

“Would you state your name for the record, please?”

“Peter Belden.”

“Occupation?”

“I’m the Vice President of Operations here, First National Bank of Sleepyside.”

“And your relation to the subject?” He glanced down at his file as if he needed to be reminded of why he was here.  “Beatrix Mangan?”

“She’s my daughter.”

“Could you describe her childhood for me?”

Peter Belden tilted his head slightly, curiously.  Clearly it seemed to him to be a very broad question.  “She had a pretty typical small town upbringing.  Are you interested in anything in particular?”

“Did she get into trouble a lot?”

The corners of his lips curled upward.  That was definitely a very broad question.

“Don’t all children?”

“I don’t mean at home, really.  I mean at school, with the law, that sort of thing.”

Peter Belden’s expression didn’t seem to change.  He still thought it was a broad question and he wasn’t the least startled by the inference that his daughter might have had trouble with the authorities growing up.

“My daughter grew up with two older brothers and was always a bit of a tomboy.  That probably caused her to get into more trouble than most girls but no, she never did anything to cause her to be suspended or arrested.”

“So she didn’t cause you and your wife any undue problems?”

There was that curling smile again.

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“Trixie, er … Beatrix Mangan was a pain in my rump roast throughout her teenage years,” the officer said gruffly.

“How so?”

He must have realized that his comment sounded harsh and was definitely unflattering to the subject in question.  His neck turned red, though he managed to keep his embarrassment from creeping any further up his face.

“She fancied herself a girl detective, always digging up mysteries to solve and usually causing more work for me and my men.  But I have to give her credit,” he added hastily and firmly.  “She had the brains to do it.  She solved a number of cases without any help from me.”

“So, how was she a…”  Eric glanced over his shoulder with a furtive wink to Cathy.  He could see her literally sucking her cheeks in to keep from laughing as she skimmed back over her transcript.

“‘Pain in my rump roast’,” she read off evenly for him, lowering her eyes to carefully study her keyboard before she could burst into laughter.

Turning back to the overweight, balding man before him, he asked, “How exactly was Beatrix Mangan a pain, Captain Molinson?”

“I don’t want to get her into any trouble,” the police officer hedged.

“You’re not.  We’re only looking for a complete picture of her so we can better understand her and place her properly in our organization.”

“Understand her?” he chortled.  “Good luck with that.”

“Oh, certainly, when she gets excited she’s sometimes difficult to understand.  Doubly so when she’s paired up with Honey.”

“That would be Honey Wheeler?”

“Honey Wheeler Belden,” the trim gray-haired woman corrected.  “She was Trixie’s best friend growing up and now she’s also her sister-in-law.”

“Do you think Beatrix Mangan has any trouble expressing herself?”

Miss Margery Trask seemed to ponder the question a moment before she smiled and said generously, “I’m not sure it’s her problem communicating as much as it is my problem understanding.  After all, she and Honey seem to understand one another perfectly.”

“Does she express herself any differently to people in authority, like yourself?  That is, as opposed to her friends?”

“I’d like to think that Trixie and all of the Bob-Whites consider me their friend.”

“Yes, but you were more of a chaperone or guardian to them at one time, were you not?”

“I was Honey’s governess until she grew too old for that sort of thing.  Then I became the estate manager for Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler.  But, yes, I often chaperoned the Bob-Whites when they took trips out of town.”

“The Bob-Whites?  That’s their club?”

“Yeah, the Bob-Whites of the Glen.”  Beatrix Mangan’s little brother said, almost longingly, Eric noticed.

“Are you a member?”

“Nah, too young.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“How old was your sister when she joined the club?”

“She didn’t join the club, she started the club.  She was thirteen.”

“That’s younger than fifteen.”  He knew he was being purposely obtuse but he enjoyed the way this young man handled himself.  He had curly blond hair and big blue eyes and looked like a younger, male version of the woman in his file photo.

The boy flushed and spread his hands to facilitate his explanation.  “Well, yeah.  I meant that when they started the club I was too young to join.  It’s just them—it’s not like the Boy Scouts or something where people can keep joining year after year.”

“I see.  So you say your sister started this club?  Would you say she’s a leader?”

Bobby Belden grinned.  “Do you mean is she bossy?  Yeah.”

“Did she take care of you when you were growing up?”

“Yeah.”

“What sort of things did she do?”

“Typical older sister stuff.  Read to me, helped me get ready for school, babysat me, that sort of thing.”

“Would you say she did a good job?”

He shrugged.  “I’m still alive.”

Eric wanted to smile but this could be a key interview considering the position Beatrix Mangan was hoping to get.  “What I mean is, your sister wants to take a position that would entail her being responsible for somebody else’s child, protecting that child from harm.”

“Trixie always protected me.  Always,” Bobby Belden stated adamantly.  This wasn’t just baby brother adoration.  He meant it with all his heart.

“From danger?”

“Well, yeah, of course.  What else?”

“What kind of danger?”

“A gang of thieves, two guys that mugged us to get an antique desk, kidnappers, a catamount…”

“She defended you from a wildcat?”

“Well … she would have, if we had actually seen it.”

“I hear your sister was willing to fight a wildcat to save your little brother.”

The older version of the teenage boy he had just interviewed chuckled.  “Yeah, well, that’s Trixie for you.”

“Reckless?”

“Fearless,” he corrected quickly.  “Bodacious, dauntless, intrepid, sanguine, doughty, valorous, indomitable.”

Eric wasn’t going to admit to this young man that he might have to look up some of those words later.  He just hoped Cathy had been able to transcribe them accurately.

“You don’t think facing a catamount is reckless?”

Mart Belden leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his blue eyes intense.  “Listen, Trix may have been reckless when she was a teenager but that’s just it—she was a teenager.  She’s grown up, she’s matured, she’s been through your training program … and she’s in love.”

“Being in love makes one less reckless?”

“Well, being in love makes you realize you have something—someone—to live for.  Not that she doesn’t love her family and friends but ... well, being in love is different, you know?”

“So now that she’s in love she thinks things through more often.”

“More often … yeah, that’s right.”

What was unsaid was as clear as the freckles across the young man’s cheeks.

“But not always?”

“Does anybody?”

“What sort of things has she done in, say, the past two or three years that you’d consider reckless?”

Mart Belden smiled at him and it was a smile filled with mischief.  “She got married in Atlantic City one week after she got engaged.”

“Sounds pretty reckless.”

“Yeah, but love … what’re you gonna do?”

Clearly, Mart Belden was a man in love himself.  It radiated from him.  He was a romantic.  Perhaps it gave him a rosy-tinted view of his sister’s spontaneity.

“Do you think she rushed into marriage?”

“Not at all.  She’s known Dan for seven or eight years.  They’d been dating for three.  Our parents have been happily married for more than a quarter of a century.  We know what true love is.  Trixie wouldn’t settle for less.”

“Less than true love?”

Mart Belden paused before replying earnestly, “Less of anything.”

Eric glanced down at his notes, still confused by the Atlantic City comment.  “My notes indicate she just got married three months ago.  That was in Atlantic City?”

“No, that was here in Sleepyside.  She and Dan kept their first wedding a secret until the official wedding.”

“Were they afraid of what people would think when they heard they got married so suddenly?”

“Trixie’s never afraid of what people will think.  No, they had a bet going on who could keep the secret the longest.  Dan and Trixie are both pretty competitive.”

“So who won the bet?”

“I’m not sure even they know the answer to that.  There was a lot of secret keeping going on this past year.”

“So, in other words, your sister is good at keeping secrets?”

Mart Belden’s boisterous laughter echoed through the small room.

“Well, she’s better at keeping secrets than I am.”  The woman blushed slightly, which only served to accentuate the lovely glow she had on her face.  “But that’s not saying much.”

“Beatrix Mangan was your … partner?”

“Well, sort of.  I mean, we were just kids.  We didn’t really have an agency or anything.  We always said we did—the Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency.  We wanted to open it for real after we finished college and then we would’ve been partners.”

“What changed your minds?”

“Well, I got engaged.”

“Being in love changes things,” Eric said and she nodded vigorously, a small, lovesick smile on her pretty face.  He glanced at his notes.  No, Madeleine Wheeler Belden was married to Beatrix’s other brother, not the one with his heart on his sleeve.

“I don’t know, though.  Maybe I just didn’t have the heart for it the way Trixie did.  I mean, I enjoyed solving mysteries but I enjoyed it because Trixie enjoyed it and she was my best friend.  I mean, she’s still my best friend, although she’s actually my sister-in-law now, too, although you’ve probably figured that out since my last name is Belden, right?  I guess I could’ve been one of her cousins but I’m not.  I’m married to her brother—well, she has three brothers.  Her older brother—actually, she has two older brothers.  I’m married to her oldest brother, Brian.  Anyway, Trixie was the one who got the idea for the detective agency and I agreed.  Except that I don’t agree anymore.  I mean, I might’ve agreed if Brian and I hadn’t gotten engaged.  Not that Brian wouldn’t have let me do it.  Trixie is his sister, after all.  But what I mean to say is my life plans just changed.  I do security for my father now.  It’s not at all like solving mysteries but that’s okay.  Actually, I haven’t done much for him since Matthew was born.  That’s my son, Brian’s and my son.  He’s named for my father … Matthew, that is, not Brian.  Anyway, I went my own way and Trixie went her own way.  Not that we drifted apart.  We’re family now and we’re closer than ever.  And I really think Trixie’s much happier for it—for going her own way I mean.  We would’ve been happy working together, but I think Trixie found something she wanted to do more and that she was really good at.  You know?”

He wasn’t sure he knew at all.  The woman seemed to be speaking English but it was hard to make heads or tails out of what she was trying to say.

“Are you trying to say that harum-scarum Belden girl is going to be a Secret Service agent?” the skinny old man asked in shocked indignation.  They were the first words out of his mouth after he was asked to sit down.

“First, please state your full name for the record.”

“Frank Lytell.  Francis Stephen Lytell.”  He leaned toward Cathy and said clearly, “That’s after the saint, so it’s a P-H, not a V.”

“And your occupation, sir?” Eric continued.

“I own and manage Lytell’s Grocery on Glen Road.  Been doing that for coming on forty years now.”

“And your relation to the subject?”

To this question, the old man snorted forcefully.  “Relation?  She’s no relation of mine.  I’d just as soon she steer clear of me.”

“My sources tell me she once uncovered a scheme to con you out of several thousand dollars.”

Frank Lytell sniffed grudgingly.  “I suppose that’s true.  I still think the police would’ve figured it out, though.”

“Did Beatrix Mangan frequent your store while she was growing up?”

“Too frequently.  Always asking for strawberry pop.  Only person within fifty miles who drank that revolting stuff and she still thought I should stock it personally, just for her.”

“So you could say she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to ask for it?”

“You could say that.  I’d say she was pushy.”

“Surely she must have some other good qualities you can think of.”

“Don’t you need to be aware of her flaws as well?” the old man countered, glaring over the tops of his spectacles at his interrogator.

“Of course,” Eric replied tolerantly.  Though they shouldn’t be biased in nature.

“I suppose she does have some good qualities,” Frank Lytell admitted grudgingly.

“Such as?”

“Well, she gave up a diamond ring some boy had given her so that I would hold onto a car for her brother.  Other than that whole soda pop thing, I’d say she can be pretty selfless when she wants to be.”

“Would you say your daughter is selfless or self-centered?”

The woman in front of him smiled enchantingly.  “Are you married, sir?”

“No, ma’am, though not for want of trying.”  Eric glanced out of the corner of his eye at Cathy and was pleased to see her squirm uncomfortably in her chair.

“No children?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, if you had children, particularly teenagers, you’d know the answer to that question is ‘Yes’.  I love my children very much but I won’t be so naïve as to sit here and tell you how perfect they are.”

It was clear how much she loved her children.  It shone in her bright blue eyes and her dimpled smile.  He figured this is what Beatrix Mangan would look like in 25 or 30 years, though he had to wonder how she’d fare as a doting housewife and mother.  It certainly suited Mrs. Helen Belden, though.

“So, how is she self-centered?  And how is she selfless?”

“Trixie often has a one-track mind when it comes to solving mysteries or working on projects.  Growing up, that could lead to some self-centered behavior.  She’d neglect her chores or ask to be let out of babysitting duties.  But to be fair, I always let her, so I suppose I’m partially to blame for it.  She knew I’d let her get away with it so she always asked.

“Then again, she was usually working on something to help out somebody else.  Even when it would benefit her it was usually to benefit, let’s say ‘the greater her’—her family, her club, her school, her community.  She wasn’t the kind of girl to raise money solely for her own desires, to buy new clothes or a stereo system or to go to the movies or things like that.  She contributed her allowance to the Bob-Whites.  Why, even the reward money she earned was given away to those in need.”

“That’s very commendable,” Eric said earnestly and was rewarded with another bright smile from Beatrix Mangan’s mother.  “Let’s go back to this neglecting of chores.  Did the household suffer for it?”

“Usually not.  She found time to make it up ... most of the time.  Of course, it was usually ‘lick and a promise’ cleaning.  She never liked to clean much.”

“Would you consider her an untidy person?  Disorganized?”

“Maybe when she was younger, but your program really helped her focus herself in many ways.” 

“Do you think it could have come simply from living on her own?”

“No,” Helen Belden said with another bewitching smile.  “I visited her when she was living on her own during college.  It took a lot of self-restraint on my part not to bring a mop and dustcloth with me when I came.  I’ve also visited her since she moved in with Dan and started the program in Georgia.  She’s become neat, tidy, organized.  Dan assures me it’s not him.”

“That would be Daniel Mangan, her husband?”

She nodded a proud mother-of-the-bride affirmation.

“Could you tell me a little bit about their relationship?”

“If it wasn’t for Trixie, I’m not sure where my nephew might’ve ended up.”

“Your nephew was involved in gang activities in New York City, is that correct?”

He must have looked inadvertently stern when he said it, because the red-haired man in front of him seemed to struggle with suppressing a defensive scowl before he spoke.

“It was only for a couple of years, before I gained partial custody of him and brought him out here to Sleepyside to live.  Trixie was really the one responsible for helping him turn his life around.”

Bill Regan leaned back in his chair and brought one booted foot up to rest across his denim-clad knee.  He stared down at it for a moment, then seemed to break out of his trance long enough to notice that his boots and the lower part of his jeans were covered in mud.  His face turning almost as red as his hair, he put his foot back down on the floor and inched his chair closer to the table.

“Listen, Mr. Severset, Danny’s a good kid.  He never did drugs.  He got out of the gang.  He worked hard in school to get good grades and got caught up with his age group in most of his subjects very quickly.  He completely cleaned his act up.  He’s a police officer now.  Do you think they’d let him do that if he was a bad character?”

“Mr. Regan, your nephew’s not on trial here.  Neither is his wife, for that matter.”

“Maybe not, but I know that anything suspicious could lead to her not getting this job.  I don’t want to see that happen, not after all she’s done for me and Danny.”

“We’re not concerned about Daniel.  His juvenile records were sealed and since it’s obvious he has turned over a new leaf—and as you mentioned, the New York State Police Academy accepted him into their program without reservation—we’ve taken no legal action to request that those records be unsealed.”

He seemed to relax then, though his green eyes still held a trace of worry.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit more about Beatrix—what she’s like, how she behaves.  How long have you known her?”

“About eight or nine years now, I guess.  I work for her best friend’s parents managing their stable.”

“Does Beatrix like horses?”

“Oh, yes.  She begged me to teach her to ride almost the minute she laid eyes on me.”

“She’s a go-getter?”

Bill Regan chuckled.  “Most definitely.”

“Would you describe her as a quick learner?”

“Yes.  You can’t teach the kind of instincts she has.”

“For riding?”

“Well, yes, but for most things.  That’s a good word to describe Trixie.  Instinctive.”

“What about when she fails at something?  Does she learn quickly under those kinds of circumstances?”

Another chuckle.  “Yes.  Not 24 hours after she got her first riding lesson, she was sneaking behind my back riding Jupiter.  That’s the boss’s horse—big, black, hot-blooded, powerful Thoroughbred.  He’s too much horse for a little thing like Trixie, certainly when she was a beginner.  Anyway, she lost control of him and got thrown.  She didn’t ever attempt to ride him again.”

“Do you think she was scared?”

“Nope.  I think she was smart.  She wasn’t afraid to get on a horse and over the years I’ve seen her handle some fairly spirited animals.  She’s not afraid ... she’s just smart enough to know her limits.”

“Does Beatrix Mangan have any issues with limits?”

“Do you mean knowing her own, or keeping within limits set for her?”

It was a fair question and he was interested in the responses to both.  The young man across from him seemed unduly tense.  He glanced down at his file for a reminder.  James Winthrop Frayne II, adopted son of Matthew and Madeleine Wheeler, brother to Honey Wheeler Belden ... ah, there it was, former boyfriend of Beatrix Belden Mangan.  He knew which option he wanted to pursue first.

“Let’s talk about respecting limits.  Is that something she has a problem with?”

“Not anymore.”

“But she did?”

Reluctantly, he answered, “Yes, when she was younger.”

He noticed that Jim Frayne was clenching his fingers so tightly together that the knuckles were turning white.  Something about Beatrix’s disregard for limits must have upset him.

“Did this cause problems for you?”

“Trixie’s brother Brian and I were the oldest in our group.  We were constantly telling Trixie—and Honey—to stay out of dangerous situations, stop hunting up mysteries, let the police handle matters.”

“But she didn’t listen to you?”

“Rarely.”

“Did this disregard for your concern get her into any physical danger?”

“Yes, many times.”

“And this upset you because you were dating her?”

“It happened before we were dating and, yes, while we were dating.  I didn’t worry about her because she was my girlfriend.  I worried about her because she was foolish and thought she was invincible and because I lo—”  He broke off and brought his green-eyed gaze up to stare steadily at him.  “Because I care about her very much.  She’s one of my best friends, always will be.”

“Did it bother you when she decided to join the U.S. Treasury Department?”

He shrugged.  “We aren’t together anymore and anyway, Trixie does what she wants to do, so what does it matter?”

“You said you cared about her and that you two were still close friends.  Does it worry you that her job may require her to put her life in danger?”

His jawline stood out sharply as he spoke through clenched teeth.  “Of course it does.”

He wondered if Beatrix Mangan was aware that James Frayne was still in love with her.

“Oh, yes, Jim was quite in love with Trixie.”

The elegant woman seemed perfectly at home in the luxurious penthouse where Eric had come to speak with her.  He had needed a break from the monotony of his storage room interviews and wanted to treat Cathy to a night out on the town.  Now he was doubly glad they had come.  He had some difficulty picturing Madeleine Hart Wheeler sitting in a metal folding chair in the back room of a bank.

“From the moment they met?”

“Probably.  It was pretty evident in his eyes when I first met him.  He’s my adopted son, you know.”

He nodded his understanding.  “And was Beatrix in love with Jim?  From the moment they met?”

She took more care with this answer, thinking it over before speaking.  “I’m not sure.  She certainly was in awe of him, but she and my daughter were at that age where they’re just starting to be interested in boys and don’t quite feel ... alluring enough to attract them.”

“That awkward phase, eh?  Don’t they know that the boys feel the same way?”  He grinned at her before taking another sip of the rich, dark coffee she had offered him.

“Jim certainly did.  It was years before he got up the nerve to ask her out.” She stood and went to the mantle where she pulled down a framed photograph and handed it to him.  “He doesn’t like me to display this picture.  He thinks it’s unflattering.”

The boy in the picture was recognizable as the man he had recently interviewed in Sleepyside but primarily because of the green eyes.  His hair was a much brighter shade of red back then and he looked like a typical gangly teenage boy, uncertain of his body and unsure of his place in life.  Of course, he couldn’t fail to notice that the tension was still there.

“He hadn’t been with us long when we took that photo.  I keep it to remind myself how far he’s come.  Jim had lost both his parents, he’d been a runaway from an abusive stepfather, and then he was plunged into our lives without much introduction.  That would’ve been hard enough without having to live in a sprawling mansion where maids and cooks and chauffeurs waited on him hand and foot.  Outwardly he was confident, friendly, bright, cheerful, but he went through a lot before he truly adjusted.”

She waved her hand carelessly, then took the photo and placed it back on the mantle.  “But that’s neither here nor there.  You aren’t here to talk about Jim.  You want to talk about Trixie. And I can tell you that Trixie had a hard time believing Jim could find her attractive any more than he could believe she found him attractive.”

“Did she have low self-esteem issues?”

“It seems hard to believe now, doesn’t it?  She always had confidence in certain areas but her looks was not one of them.  I think part of it came from being a tomboy.  She had trouble adjusting to her blossoming womanhood, probably afraid of being teased by girls at school.  And my daughter and their other girlfriend, Diana, were different body types all together.  Taller, willowy, almost delicate.  It made Trixie feel—however incorrectly—that she was dumpy and unrefined and plain.  Jim felt he was awkward and redheaded and freckle-faced.  How could Trixie, or any young woman, find that attractive?”

Smiling at her, he answered, “You did.”

At that precise moment, Matthew Wheeler came in the front door, shedding his overcoat and shaking the snow out of his red-gold hair.

“That I did,” Madeleine Wheeler answered with a sly smile before going to greet her husband.

Eric watched the couple greet one another with affection and shot a fond glance at his stenographer.

“I see you found the place all right, Mr. Severset,” Matthew Wheeler said as he came over and thrust his hand out in greeting.  His voice was warm and booming, echoing through the spacious living room.

“Yes, sir.”

“Has Maddie told you all of Trixie’s finer points?  Has she left me to dispense the bad news?”

“Matthew,” Madeleine cautioned with a loving smile.  “I’ll go get some more coffee and leave you two men to chat.”

The tall, distinguished redhead loosened his tie as he sat down on the couch.  “What has Maddie been telling you?  I wouldn’t want to contradict her story, you know.”  He winked at Cathy.

Chagrined to see his assistant blushing at the attention, Eric immediately began questioning Matthew Wheeler.  “How long have you known Beatrix Mangan?”

Matthew Wheeler looked up, as if pondering the question.  “Nine, well a little more than nine years now. Amazing.”

“She’s close friends with your daughter?”

As the wealthy businessman nodded his affirmation, his guest got the sense that he was evaluating him, treating him like any other entrepreneur, corporate raider, or insufferable lawyer he dealt with on a daily basis.  No wonder he was so successful.  He was very cagey, without giving the appearance of having anything more than a friendly chitchat over a cup of coffee.

“Was she a good influence on your daughter?”

He accepted the refill Madeleine Wheeler brought him and thanked her.  She leaned over as she gave her husband his cup, whispering something in his ear that made him smile.  As she discretely disappeared from the room, Matthew Wheeler finally spoke.

“Let me begin by saying that I think the world of Trixie.  She changed my daughter’s life for the better and there is nothing ... nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“Including perjuring yourself?”

It was an empty threat and they both knew it.  This wasn’t a legal deposition and his opinions about Beatrix Mangan were just that, opinions.  What he said could certainly have an influence on their decisions but it wasn’t sworn testimony.

“Yes,” Matthew Wheeler said evenly, but his green eyes twinkled knowingly.  Continuing, he admitted, “Trixie involved my daughter in mysteries on a regular basis, some of them dangerous, more than one life threatening.  I assume you’re aware of their exploits in Missouri?”

Eric nodded but said nothing, not wishing to interrupt him.

“Trixie and Honey were kidnapped, held at gunpoint, tied up and left for dead on an abandoned riverboat.  When we found them, I will freely attest that it was the first time I wanted to throttle that young woman and forbid my daughter from ever seeing her again.”

“The first time?” Eric asked carefully.

“And not the last,” Matthew Wheeler returned.  “That said, my daughter went into these situations of her own free will ... usually.  Trixie’s resourcefulness and courage always got them out of those situations.  I believe they gave her invaluable experience for this stage of her life and her career.”

“It’s seems strange but at this stage of my life, and of my career, I’m actually more concerned about my sister than I was when we were younger.”

“Because you’re a new father?”

“Yes,” Dr. Brian Belden answered with a contented smile.  He automatically reached into his pocket for his wallet, then caught himself and flashed a sheepish grin.  “Sorry, force of habit.”

“Ms. Muldosy would probably love to see photos of your new baby after we’re through here,” Eric replied, giving his assistant a wink and a smile.

“Anyway, being a father has made me so much more aware of how you can worry about your loved ones.  And so has being a doctor.  I realize now just how much can go wrong.”

“You’re the oldest of the…” He quickly checked his notes.  “…Bob-Whites, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You must have felt a lot of responsibility.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you imparted any of that to your sister over the years?”

“God, I hope so!” Brian Belden exclaimed, chuckling in exasperation.  Becoming more serious, he added, “The thing about Trixie is that she prefers to be responsible for other people.  Some people call that being a meddler but she really cares about people.  She just wants to help, even if it means neglecting her own well-being.”

“I was just kind of blown away that she’d care so much about my well-being,” the young woman said softly and shyly.

“You don’t know Beatrix Mangan very well?”

“No.  Mostly through Dan and Brian.”

“Dr. Belden’s the one who thought you would have something positive to say in her behalf.  I hope you don’t mind me coming by on such short notice.”

India Meyrick shook her head, her golden-red waves bouncing with more confidence and cheerfulness than this girl seemed willing to offer.  “I don’t mind.”

As with Robert Belden, Eric was particularly interested in seeing how Beatrix Mangan related to this teenager.  She seemed to relate well to all age groups but this was the first person he’d interviewed who hadn’t seemingly known Beatrix all her life.

“So, how do you know Dan and his wife?”

Her face pinked up and she stared down at her hands, wringing them worriedly against one another.  She wouldn’t meet his gaze.  “Dan and Brian helped me out when ... when I was living on the streets.  I was a runaway.”

“For how long?”

“About three years.”

“And they helped reunite you with your family?”

“My mom, yeah.”

“So, how did Beatrix fit in?”

Biting her lip, she slowly brought her eyes up to meet his.  “I had gotten involved in...”

He frowned as she hesitated.  “Drugs?”

“No,” she responded hastily.  “I mean, yes.  Kind of.  But not taking them.  My ... boyfriend...”  She sighed and, seemingly resigning herself to the fact that there was no way to sugarcoat it, rushed on.  “I was a hooker and he was my pimp.  He got involved with these big-time drug dealers and he started forcing me to deliver for them.  These guys were seriously bad news and Dan and Brian wanted to get me out.  I wanted out by this time, too, but I was really scared of L.J. because he threatened to kill me.  And I knew these guys he was working for could come after Dan and Brian, and Brian’s wife and baby, too.  Trixie came up with this whole plan to get me out without ever having to worry about them coming after me.”

She stopped to catch her breath, holding his gaze with a courage he suspected she didn’t truly feel.  Her eyes were bright blue, not unlike Beatrix herself, though without the confidence and determination the young government agent displayed.

“Confident?  I’ll say!” the handsome young surgeon exclaimed.  “I watched her drive full speed straight at a girl she barely knew to fake a hit and run.  She had confidence in her skills and she had confidence that India would trust her not to kill her!”

Dr. Simon Drake was fairly excited but the other two people in the room managed to remain calm.  It was a wild tale but they had heard enough about Beatrix Mangan in the past few weeks that little surprised them anymore.

India Meyrick’s mother Bronwyn had relayed her impressions of Beatrix’s kindness and compassion in going out of her way to save an abandoned puppy in a rainstorm and her unflinching assistance during the dog’s surgery.

That story was rather mild compared to Beatrix’s other adventures.  The more Eric heard, the more he could understand why Helen Belden claimed all of her gray hairs were on account of her daughter.

A young woman from her high school, Loyola Kevins, had related Beatrix’s quick thinking and resourcefulness in escaping a car that had been plunged into the Hudson River.

Fay Franklin, another student, told how Beatrix saved her life from a potentially dangerous fire she had seen coming.

Nick Roberts spoke of Beatrix’s courage and tenacity in the face of grave danger, never giving up despite finding herself abducted by counterfeiters.

Gerald and Elizabeth Lynch relayed a similar story, when a criminal posing as Mrs. Lynch’s long-lost brother kidnapped both Beatrix and her brother Mart.  Again, her resourcefulness saved them when she figured out a way to attract the attention of a local police officer.

That officer, Steven “Spider” Webster, affirmed the story and also spoke of Beatrix’s kindness in helping his younger brother Tad find his place in life by giving him another chance.

A weekend trip to Chicago to visit with Tad Webster and his live-in girlfriend, Diana Lynch, another childhood friend of Beatrix’s, provided yet more insight into the adventurous young woman.

Diana gushed over her friend’s exposure of her fake uncle and how she subsequently helped her real uncle at his ranch in Arizona.  She called Beatrix a real “team player”, willing to help out wherever needed without worrying about her own troubles.  Her boyfriend said he’d never met a girl so unflinching in the face of danger, as when the two of them protected an elderly woman in Sleepyside from a break-in at her home.

Mrs. Vanderpoel concurred and also had some amusing and interesting tales from when Beatrix was younger, having known the Belden children all of their lives.

Tom Delanoy had known Trixie most of her life.  She had helped him find his dream job and his dream wife, and that was all anybody needed to know about Beatrix Mangan, he said.  She was a genie as far as he was concerned, granting him two of his most fervent life wishes.  He pointed out with a sly grin that she had nothing to do with the third however—his children.

They had even received an overseas phone call from James Frayne’s cousin, Juliana Vorwald, who fervently wanted to share her story of how Beatrix had quite literally saved her life by coming fearlessly over an unstable cliff to rescue her, not to mention helping her regain her memory and exposing the imposter in her place.

Eric turned his focus back to Dr. Drake as the blond man continued.  “If Trixie Mangan doesn’t have what it takes to be a Secret Service agent, then I’m a butcher and I might as well turn in my scalpel.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms as if the matter was decided.

“We’ve heard quite a bit about Beatrix Mangan from quite a few people, nearly all of them wildly positive about her and her abilities.  Surely, she must have some flaws, though, wouldn’t you agree?

“She’s quite loud and uncivilized at times,” claimed the Lynches’ butler, Harrison.

“She let Jim Frayne break up with her.  Pure foolishness,” said a very pretty blond girl from Iowa named Dorothy Murray, who had stopped by during her break from where she worked at the UN.

“She has no respect for the press.  If you ask me, she could use a few lessons in manners and respect for my work,” Paul Trent, a reporter for Sleepyside’s local paper, sniffed haughtily.

Eric was quite certain that a wariness of the press was a plus as far as guarding the First Daughter was concerned.

“I’ve never seen a girl so stubborn about behaving like a lady,” said her aunt, Alicia Johnson, quite wearily.  “Such a pretty girl, yet she refused to learn to tat, or to wear pretty dresses, or to simply act like a lady.  Now she’s going to work for the government wearing horribly mannish suits and shooting a gun.  It’s all very disappointing.”

“She pretended to be madly in love with me,” said Ben Riker with a grin.

Honey Wheeler Belden’s cousin was happy to teasingly point out this grave flaw in Beatrix’s character but he, like all the others Eric had interviewed, including Paul Trent, had far more positive things to say about her than negative.

“I grew up as an only child and quite frankly, I was spoiled.  I love my parents but they spoiled me badly, gave me everything I asked for or wanted or had a passing interest in.  As a kid, I never learned how to work hard for the things I wanted, much less work hard to help somebody else.”

“And Beatrix Mangan did?”

The quick, easy grin flashed again.  “Trust me, she worked really hard to convince her family she was swooning over me.  And she put herself through all the misery of acting like a girl just to help her brother out.  She’s a good kid, always was.”

“Do you think she provided a good example for you?”

“Actually, all the Bob-Whites did.  I only wish I had had more of a chance to hang around them.  It might’ve made a difference in my life.”

“You seem like you turned out all right.”

“Yeah, eventually.  But I’d be willing to bet Trixie and her friends had a lot of influence on a lot of young people.”

“She’s been such a good influence on Daniel, and he on her.”

The quiet, gruff old man looked uncomfortable in his surroundings and equally so in his suit and tie.  I should have told him he didn’t need to dress up for this interview.  “Dan came from a troubled background, is that correct?”

Edwin Maypenny nodded solemnly.  “Lost both his parents, ended up in a street gang doing God only knows what to survive.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“He told me some of it,” he conceded.  “But I’m not about to share it with you without his permission.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to betray his confidence,” Eric replied, containing his amused smile as best he could.  The man before him might be elderly and ill at ease at the moment but he certainly made no bones about his opinion.  “How did Beatrix Mangan positively influence your ward?”

“Just by example, I think.  Not that that young lady isn’t a bit ... harum-scarum is the word Frank Lytell likes to use.  But she grew up in a good, solid family with good values and it shows.  She works hard, helps others, speaks the truth, and takes responsibility for her decisions.  She makes things happen.”

“Like reuniting you with your nephew?”

Edwin Maypenny nodded, finally cracking a smile across his grizzled face.  “Because of Trixie’s belief that Lawrence Howard was an imposter, she uncovered the truth and reconnected me with my nephew, whom I hadn’t seen or spoken to in many years.”

Why does this quiet little hamlet seem to attract so many imposters? Eric thought with a wry grin before asking, “Do you think Beatrix is hasty in making judgments like that?”

“No, I do not,” Edwin Maypenny replied firmly.  “I think she takes action.  Maybe it isn’t always the best way for her to go about things, but she trusts her gut and if she sees something that isn’t quite right, she gets to the bottom of it.  She doesn’t pussyfoot around the matter for months on end with endless debates, like you government folk do.”

“The U.S. government will be very lucky to have my niece on their side,” said the dark-haired man with an easy grin.

“Why do you say that?”

Instead of answering the question directly, Andrew Belden leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, clasping his hands around his raised knee.  “I had dreams of working for the government once.  Silly, boyhood dreams of becoming a spy or something.  Guess I unconsciously passed on that desire to Trixie.”

Glancing at his notes, Eric asked, “You raise sheep in Iowa?”

“Very successfully, thanks in part to my niece.  She stopped some sheep thieves there many years ago.”

“So I’ve read.  How do you go from wanting to be a spy to raising sheep?”

Andrew Belden waved his hand carelessly.  “My father and grandfather farmed their own land on a smaller scale.  I’ve always enjoyed farming and it seemed a more responsible, practical occupation than being a spy.  I guess that’s why I think Trixie will be such a good agent.  When she gets a yen, she follows through.  She doesn’t let her dreams die for practical reasons.  She may have modified them, taken some different forks in the road, but the basic desire has been there for a long time.  She just needed to find the right outlet to channel that energy.”

“She originally wanted to be a private investigator.  She studied forensics for a period in college.  How do you know she’s found the right path this time?”

Andrew Belden smiled, looking very much like his older brother for a moment, like he had a piece of top secret information about Beatrix Mangan that he was about to pass along. 

“When something’s that strong in her heart you can see it in her eyes.”

“‘You can see it in her eyes.’  That’s what this Mr. Appleton said, sort of.  Except that he said—and I’m quoting him here,” Eric said to Cathy with conspiratorial grin, “‘You could see that she had the heart of a secret agent from the starlight sparkle in her cerulean blue eyes whenever the patriotic topic of American duty came across the table.  In that, she is very much like the famous Ms. Radcliffe.’  Who is Ms. Radcliffe?”

“Lucy Radcliffe,” Cathy replied, shifting closer to peer over his shoulder at his notes.  “You spoke to Marvin Appleton?  The writer?  And you didn’t let me in on it?”  She slapped him affectionately on the shoulder.

“Again, who’s Lucy Radcliffe?”

“She’s a fictional spy.  Marvin Appleton writes her novels.  You didn’t know that when you spoke to him?”

“It was a telephone interview, which is why you didn’t know about it.  And the way Mr. Appleton spoke, I thought Lucy Radcliffe was a real person.”

“To many young girls, she was.  Beatrix Mangan is a lucky woman.  I always wanted to be Lucy Radcliffe,” Cathy said with a longing sigh.

“Is that how you ended up working with me?”

“Yes.  Nobody told me working for the Secret Service was actually boring.”

“Sorry, but we can’t all be Mata Hari.  And I’m not insulted, in case you were wondering.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and returned to her seat as their next interviewee came in.

The young woman who entered was tall and dark, with long, straight black hair that fell almost to her waist.  She was light-boned almost to the point of fragility but carried herself in a graceful, somewhat haughty manner that made him think of Disney’s version of Pocahontas.  She seemed to be the polar opposite of her small, tough, vivacious cousin.

“Ms. Peslier,” he greeted and gestured to the chair in front of him.  “Eric Severset.  Thank you for coming.”

“Belden,” she corrected firmly.  “I’m divorced.”

“My apologies.”  He made a notation on his checklist.  “I don’t mean to be blunt but I was told you’d be a good person to discuss Beatrix Mangan’s, shall we say, lesser qualities.  Do you two not get along?”

Hallie Belden smiled sardonically and still managed to look like refined royalty.  “Better than we used to.  It’s not that we dislike each other.  It’s just that we’re something of oil and water despite being blood-related.”

“So, what can you tell me about Beatrix’s flaws?”  He smiled kindly to show he understood her feelings.  He and his brother never got along despite their steadfast loyalty to one another.

“Honestly, I’m not sure her ‘flaws’ are as bad as I might make them seem.  Maybe they’re just things that rub me the wrong way.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one,” he said, gently waving his hand to encourage her to continue.

“Well, she’s definitely outgoing and friendly but at 5:00 a.m. before I’ve had my coffee, I’d like to take a mallet to her head.”

He thought he heard Cathy snickering behind him but didn’t look back to confirm.

“And everybody lauds her for her persistence and dedication, but when she’s prying into something you’d rather not share, it’s a little aggravating.”

“Do you think Beatrix is intrusive?”

Hallie Belden sighed.  “No, not really.  It just annoys me because I tend to not want to talk about things the way she does.  It probably annoys Jim too, and maybe even Dan sometimes.  But I have noticed over the years how she’s really fine-tuned that sense.  She has this uncanny ability to know when somebody really wants to talk but is afraid to, and when somebody seriously doesn’t want to talk about their problems.  She hasn’t bugged me about my divorce, not too much anyway, and I know she still cares about me and why I’m hurting.  She’s found a good balance.  It’s probably Honey’s influence.”

The ability to sense those kinds of things would be very helpful for an agent working closely with the First Daughter.  It was nice to get such a candid opinion from someone not afraid to admit that she didn’t always get along with Sleepyside’s favorite daughter.

“We both like to tease that we’re our parents’ favorite daughter,” Sally Drake said with a pretty smile.

“You have all brothers, too?”

“Yes, four of them.  Actually, Trixie and I have more in common than you might think, more than Mart probably wants to admit,” she said with a laugh. 

“Such as?”

“Well, Trixie and I also both share a love of mystery and adventure.  I’m just a history teacher, nothing as exciting as Trixie’s life, but when she was here she sparked my interest in solving mysteries.  It’s really quite infectious.”

Eric had to agree.  Sally Drake was his last appointment here in Indian Lake.  He had spoken with Renee Wallace, an attractive, quiet young woman whose only common interest with Beatrix was the fact that she was also an ex-girlfriend of James Frayne’s.  She had almost tearfully relayed how Beatrix and her friends had proven her long-dead mother innocent of a twenty-year-old unsolved murder.  She would forever be grateful to her for that.  Her father, Walter, had concurred and added that Beatrix Mangan was convincing in persuading him to help with the investigation he had been reluctant to see started.  He was as grateful as his daughter and impressed by Beatrix’s doggedness.

And the captivating and commanding Caroline Foster had, like Ms. Drake, used the word “infectious” to describe Agent Mangan.  When she was around, lively Sally Drake was even more animated, always humorous Mart was even funnier, and even her brooding boss James Frayne became more relaxed and easy-going.

“Anybody who can get Jim to relax and smile that gorgeous smile of his deserves the Congressional Medal of Honor,” Joanne Darnell said frankly.  “Trixie probably deserves a box of them for all she’s done for him.”

“James Frayne didn’t say much about that.”

“That’s because he doesn’t like to talk about his troubles,” she said with a frown.  “He’d prefer to keep them bottled up inside him until he falls apart and has to come crawling to me to put him back together.”

“You’ve known Beatrix Mangan about as long as you’ve known Mr. Frayne?”

She was a spunky, no holds barred sort of girl and snorted at the formality.  “I can’t believe she lets people call her Beatrix.  Used to be you had a death wish if you called her that.  But yeah, we all met that same summer.  Jim rescued me when I’d run away from my family and then Trixie pretty much put us all back together again and solved a mystery or two along the way.”

Eric read from his notes, “She tracked down James Frayne to inform him of his inheritance, rescued him from an abusive stepfather and got him adopted by the Wheelers, reunited you with your family, got two trailer thieves behind bars and rescued one of their carjacking victims, and cleared your father of similar charges, all in a week’s time.”

Joanne chuckled.  “Yeah, Trixie was multi-tasking before any corporate types started tossing around their favorite catchphrase.”

“Do you think she’s good at it?  Handles it well?”

With a smug grin, she answered, “Almost as well as I do.”

On a man, the arrogance would’ve been irritating but on this little pixie it was charming and somewhat amusing.  She was openly flirting with him, a man almost twice her age.  Without turning around, he knew Cathy wasn’t nearly as amused as he was.

“And how well is that?” he asked.

“Well, I’m juggling a job and a full-time class schedule, working towards a dual degree in law and political science and maintaining a near 4.0 average.  I had a summer internship in Albany this year and last year I took summer classes to try and get ahead of the game and get into law school a year early.”

“Impressive.  Maybe we’ll get you to work for us someday.”

“There’s no money in government work,” she scoffed.  “That’s the difference between me and Trixie.  She’s altruistic.”

“You both seem to be goal-oriented.  Tell me,” he continued, with a slight twinkle in his eye that he was glad Cathy couldn’t see, “how do you think Beatrix Mangan manages to accomplish all her noble humanitarian goals?”

“I’m not sure she sleeps,” the officer sitting across from him said.

Eric wasn’t at all sure if he was kidding or serious, so he offered him a half-smile and a raised eyebrow in a silent request for him to elaborate.

“She’s very driven, always has to keep active whether in work or play.  I’d call her an ADD child but she’s too focused for that.  Dan says she keeps him on his toes, and I assume he’s talking about more than just the—well, more than their—”  Aidan O’Callaghan didn’t seem particularly embarrassed, just trying to maintain good manners in the businesslike atmosphere.

“Their private life?” Eric suggested. 

The officer nodded and flashed a quick grin.  “Their marriage is very, very healthy.”

“Do you think having a spouse in law enforcement can cause stress in a marriage?”

The stocky, dark-haired man bobbed his head thoughtfully as he pondered the question.  Finally, he said, “It can.  It did for my parents but they’ve still managed to stay together some forty years.  But then, Dan and Trixie are both in law enforcement, so it’s probably easier on them.  They know about the pressures of the job, the dangers, the crappy hours and working conditions.”

“Do you think that mutual understanding makes it easier for them to share what’s going on in their jobs with each other?”

“Probably.”  He paused before asking, “Do you think Trixie would have issues keeping confidentiality?  Because I don’t think she would.  She’s very respectful of people’s privacy.”

“And you know this from personal experience?”

He nodded.  “I’d trust her with my secrets the same way I’d trust my partner with my life.”

She wasn’t merely his stenographer.  Cathy was his partner, in business and in life.  He valued her opinion and asked for it now as they drove back to Sleepyside.

“So, do you think she’s White House material?”

“You’re worried because she seems so Mary Sue-ish, right?” Cathy asked.

“Merrysooish?  What the heck does that mean?”

She laughed as she thumbed through his CD collection, looking for something they’d both enjoy listening to.  “A Mary Sue is a paragon of virtue and the bane of fanfiction readers everywhere.  She’s got an IQ off the charts, she’s stunningly beautiful, adored by everyone, completely flawless in every way.”

“I think we’ve proven that Beatrix Mangan is not flawless.”

“No, but she’s very much loved by a lot of people.  Seriously, have you ever had so many interviews for one agent?”

“No,” he admitted.  “But I’ve never interviewed an agent for First Family duty either, so I may be going a little overboard on the vetting process.”

“You’re doing your job thoroughly, Eric.  There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I like her.”

“So do I.  So will Agent Butterfield and so will President Bartlet.”

“You speak as if you know them personally,” he teased.

“No, I just trust your instincts and I’ve listened to all the interviews, same as you.  Beatrix Mangan is smart and trustworthy with good instincts and a great work ethic.  She’ll pass inspection with flying colors.  She really is a real-life Lucy Radcliffe and I wish I could tell her so myself.”

“Well, we’ve still got two more appointments in Sleepyside before we go back to Washington but not until tomorrow.  Can I treat you to dinner?”

“At the burger joint?” Her tone was skeptical—a lady shouldn’t be treated to greasy burgers on a date—but he could tell by the look in her eyes that she was looking forward to it as much as he was.

“Yeah, I’ll even get you a milkshake and then maybe we can check out that Cameo movie theater afterwards.  Live the small town life for one night.”

Holiday lights lit up the small town that evening, putting smiles on their faces as they drove slowly through town toward Wimpy’s.  They had both grown up in small Midwestern towns and even though they lived in the nation’s capital and spent most of their time in big cities, they appreciated and enjoyed the atmosphere little hamlets like Sleepyside offered.

He parked the car, coming over to her side to open the door for her and taking her hand as they walked into the diner.  The man behind the counter gave them a friendly greeting, as if they were old friends.  The diner was busy this Friday evening, so they took two stools at the counter and gave Mike their order.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Mike teased as he brought them their drinks.

“One more day and then we’ll have to leave your fair town,” Eric said, stirring a packet of sugar into his iced tea.

“Seems like you’ve talked to just about everybody in Sleepyside about Trixie,” Mike noted with a grin.  “Our hometown girl is famous.”

“We haven’t talked to you yet,” Cathy said.  “Do you know her well?”

As Mike nodded and began chatting easily with Cathy, Eric glanced at her fondly.  She could do his job in a heartbeat if she wanted to, but she claimed she was content being the one to record all the interviews, quietly sitting in the corner and typing away.  If they both did the same job, they’d end up going their separate ways and even though she had gently turned down his numerous proposals to make their relationship legal and permanent, he knew she was in it for the long run.  He had yet to figure out what she had against marriage but he was glad she was in his life.

“Those Bob-Whites practically lived here at Wimpy’s,” Mike was saying.  “Always respectful, always helpful.  They were always like a family but Trixie’s definitely the leader.  Without her, they’d be like … well, they’d be like burger fixings without any meat.”

Cathy laughed at Mike’s silly metaphor and asked him more questions about Trixie, not prying, not formally interviewing him, but procuring information just the same as her partner had these past few weeks.

Eric sat back and appreciated the show while he enjoyed his burger and onion rings.  He didn’t need a Beatrix Mangan or a Lucy Radcliffe or even a Mary Sue.  He had his own perfect woman right here.

Mike walked away to attend to another customer.  Cathy turned and smiled, snitching the pickle from his plate and crunching it enthusiastically.

“You know, I was going to give you an A+ for your interview,” Eric said with an exaggerated sigh, “but that little stunt just dropped you to a B–.”

She crinkled her nose at him in a way that made him desperately want to lean over and kiss her.  Instead, he lowered his voice and said, “I can think of a way you can earn some extra credit though.”  She blushed and he laughed and said, “Don’t worry, Miss Muldosy, I’m sure you’ll get a very good grade.”

“Trixie’s grades were basically average,” stated Principal Stratton as he reviewed his former student’s file for them.  “She struggled with a few classes, did well in others, could’ve done better overall if she’d applied herself.”

“Do you think she had any serious problems with her schoolwork or learning processes?”

Principal Stratton closed the file and leaned back in his chair.  “Not at all,” he answered.  “She simply found other things more interesting than her Algebra and English classes.  I believe her grades improved significantly when she went to college and was able to start picking the types of classes she wanted to take.”

“Did she participate in extra-curricular activities in high school?”

“Perhaps not as much as other students.  She and the other members of her club lived outside of town so it was more difficult for them to keep active in school activities.  Yet, she still managed to do her part.  In fact, I was most impressed with her enthusiasm for helping out even when it didn’t directly affect her—the bike-a-thon the Bob-Whites held to benefit the art department, for example.”

“So she was willing to pitch in wherever there was a need?”

“Absolutely.”

“How about crowded or chaotic situations?  I’m sure you’ve experienced those many times over the years.  Was Beatrix ever involved in them?”

“You mean things like pep rallies, football games, assemblies?  She certainly wasn’t a rabble rouser, if that’s what you’re getting at, but she definitely knows how to handle herself.”  He smiled slyly and added, “She could disappear into a crowd rather quickly, but if order or direction was called for, you’d be amazed how she could make that tiny body of hers a force to contend with—like a small dog that thinks it’s bigger than it is, only not nearly as annoying.”

“She wasn’t afraid to take charge or to stand up against forces that seemed beyond her capabilities?”

“Never.  I don’t think Trixie knows what ‘beyond her capabilities’ means.  Even in the subjects she struggled with, she never gave up.  She asked for help when she needed it, kept plugging away and ended up doing well … even in Algebra,” he concluded with a chuckle.

“Never liked math myself,” Eric responded with an understanding grin.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Cathy said dryly as they took a break before their final interview.

“What does?”

“Your dislike for math.  You know, if it wasn’t for me, I’m afraid your bank account would be in the red far more often than not.”

“If it wasn’t for you, Cath, my life would be in the red far more often than not.”

With a pleased expression and an alluring pinking to her cheeks, she changed the subject.  “Why did you save this interview for last?  I assume it had nothing to do with scheduling.”

“He’s the biggest presence in her life, probably knows her better than anybody.”

“Better than her parents or her brothers or her best friend?”

“Cathy, I know everything about you, things I’m pretty sure your sisters don’t know, and things I’m quite certain your parents don’t know.  I love my family, but being in love with someone is completely different, as Mart Belden so succinctly pointed out.”

They’d worked together, traveled together, and slept together for many years.  He’d even playfully asked her to marry him more than once.  But never had he so freely and genuinely admitted that he truly did love her.  He completely missed the words coming out of his mouth and he completely missed the way her blue-gray eyes snapped toward him and misted over at his unintentional admission of love for her. 

“Daniel Mangan’s life will be the one most affected by this stage of her career,” he went on.  “Working for the Secret Service is stressful and demanding.  It requires a lot of dedication and can take you away from your loved ones for long periods of time—not just physically, either.  You can live in the same house and feel isolated from those you love.  It’s not by accident that assignments like this are limited to three or four years at most.  A lot of agents struggle to maintain normalcy in their non-working hours.  You know the agency’s unofficial motto: If the Secret Service wanted you to have a family, they’d have issued you one.”

After a quiet moment to reflect, Cathy said in a hushed voice, “I know that working protective duties is way more stressful than what we do, but maybe now you understand why I keep saying no to you.  It’s not because I don’t love you, Eric.”

He turned to stare at her in tender amazement.  He felt a lump in his throat and watched as she swallowed the one in hers.  He opened his mouth to speak just as there was a knock on the door.  They spoke silently to one another for a moment and then he cleared his throat and called out, “Come in.”

The tall, lean man with the mesmerizing dark eyes elicited a quiet, “Wow,” from Cathy.  Eric turned and fondly made a face at her before reaching out a hand to greet their final interviewee.  “Officer Mangan, thank you for coming.”

“Dan, please.”  He took off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair before sitting down, giving Cathy an excellent view first of his rear end and then as he turned around, his chest, abs, and biceps, all prominently displayed underneath the form-fitting black t-shirt.

“Dan, we’re at the end of what has been a long, eye-opening, and rather rewarding few weeks for us.  Your wife is a remarkable woman.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.”  Dan Mangan’s smile was subtle and charming and Eric found himself unconsciously shifting his chair over in hopes that he’d block Cathy’s view of the handsome young man.

“We’ve learned a lot about what Beatrix was like growing up, her academics, her work ethic, her personality, her thought processes, and so on.  I think I’m more interested in hearing what you think about her career choice and how this might affect your marriage.”

“I don’t think any marriage is without its ups and downs,” Dan began.  “But I think it’ll help that I’m in law enforcement, too.  We understand each other and we understand the jobs we do.”

“Do you worry about your wife when she’s in the field?”

“Sure,” he admitted easily.  “I know she can take care of herself and I know she’s well trained, but I love her.  I’d worry about her if she was going off to work in an office on the fiftieth floor of some skyscraper.  Maybe her elevator would crash, maybe she’d get hit by a cab on her way to work, maybe some mugger would try and get her on the subway.”

“But she knows how to defend herself against a mugger.”

Dan smiled broadly.  “Yeah, but would a mugger know how to defend himself against her?  I seriously doubt it.”

“So you worry, but…”

“I don’t let it fester.  She loves what she does and it makes her happy and that makes me happy.”  Sobering a little, he added, “Life is uncertain.  I learned that a long time ago.  You can’t waste it worrying about what might be.  As long as she’s trained and prepared and alert, I let go of the worries.”

“Do you think she worries about you?  Working on the streets of New York?”

“I’m sure she does but Trixie and I both focus on work when we’re working.  When we come home, then we focus on each other.”

“Do you have plans to have a family?”

Dan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion.  “Is that relevant to her getting the job?”

“Could be.”

“We plan on having children, yes.  But we’re still young and we’re both pretty career-oriented right now.  Kids can wait.  I know the statistics, Mr. Severset.  I know she won’t be doing this job forever.”

“Does she know that?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sounded a bit defensive and Eric immediately raised his hands up in a pacifying gesture.  “From all reports, Agent Mangan is a tenacious, very driven go-getter.  How will she react when she’s moved out of this job—arguably one of the most high-profile in the business—and goes back to working boring Treasury cases behind a desk?”

Dan Mangan relaxed a little, or perhaps slumped in grudging defeat, and said, “She’ll probably hate it.  But honestly, wouldn’t anybody in that kind of situation?  How do you think President Bartlet will feel when he’s moved out of his job and goes back to New Hampshire for a life of quiet retirement?

“Look, Trixie and I have talked a lot about this.  We talked about it when Washburn first mentioned the possibility to her.  We talked about it when she was told these interviews would be getting underway.  She knows the pros and cons, she knows all that the job entails and she’s still interested, very interested.  There’s a light in her eyes when she talks about it and it has nothing to do with the prestige or where it might get her in life.  It’s the job that she wants.

“And when it’s all over, she’ll have to adjust … so will I.  The way I had to adjust to my new life here in Sleepyside, the way we both had to adjust to growing up and living on our own, and the way we had to adjust to being a married couple instead of merely two independent people.  And when we’ve adjusted, we’ll start a new phase of our life, maybe start our family.  People have to adjust and switch gears in their lives all the time.  Maybe this’ll be a bigger change than most people have to deal with but we’re up to it, both of us.  You won’t be sorry if you give Trixie this job and neither will I.  I’ll support her one hundred percent because I love her.”

Eric swore he heard Cathy swooning behind him.  Could a guy be a Mary Sue?  Dan Mangan certainly appeared to be a paragon of virtue, adored by all, completely flawless in every way, and he was sure Cathy would be happy to describe him as stunningly beautiful.  He had to get this guy out of here.

He shut the file folder in front of him and stood, thrusting his hand out to signify the abrupt end of the interview.  “Thank you for coming, Officer Mangan.  I’ll take this all into account in my report.”

“When will she hear something?”

“I couldn’t say.  Once I file my report, I’m afraid it’s out of my hands.  It’ll be up to Agent Butterfield and the President at that point.”

Beatrix Mangan was an exceptional woman and he couldn’t fault this man for his devotion and love for her.  He had a pretty exceptional woman himself.  Smiling, he said, “A few weeks.  Maybe it’ll be an early Christmas gift for her.”

“For us both,” Dan assured him with a grin, shaking his hand firmly and nodding politely to Cathy as he grabbed his jacket and left the room.

He used at least as much care as he did with international treaties and arms deals.  This was, after all, his daughter they were discussing.  And though he seemed to be heavily focused on the file in front of him, his always-sharp ears wouldn’t miss a word that was being relayed to him.

“She finished in the top ten in her class and one of the finest agents—male or female—that I’ve ever seen at that young age.”

“Mmm…” he murmured noncommittally.

“She’s certainly not without her flaws but in many ways her particular weaknesses make her an even stronger candidate.”

Here, he raised his head and peered over the tops of his glasses at John Washburn with raised eyebrows.  “How so?”

Director Washburn was good at what he did and his ability to pick out talented young agents for special detail was uncanny, but it was hard for him to explain how he did it, how his gut feelings translated into hard facts.  Explaining it to the President of the United States was even tougher.  He shifted subtly from foot to foot as he gathered his thoughts and tried to untie his tongue.

“Mr. President, Agent Mangan can be impulsive and sometimes she speaks or acts without thinking, but having someone that straightforward can be a plus in this situation.  She’ll learn as she goes.”

“I’m not sure I want someone learning on the job as far as my daughter is concerned.”

“No, sir, of course not.  I only meant that having instincts like hers is a good thing as far as protective duty goes.  Act now and worry about any fallout later.  The main thing is protecting your subject.  Agent Mangan doesn’t hesitate when it comes to potential suspects or danger.  She takes the bull by the horns and if she makes the wrong call, she deals with it.  Frankly, I’d rather an agent make the wrong call and have to apologize for it than to hesitate and make a far graver mistake.”

President Bartlet dropped his eyes back to the folder in front of him.  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such an abundance of affidavits.  Did your man feel an overwhelming need to justify your selection?”

John Washburn tightened his jaw, straightened his spine, pulled back his shoulders and said smartly, “No, sir.  I stand by my opinion regardless of what you read there.”

“Well then, Agent Mangan seems to have quite a number of people on her side.”

“Yes, sir.  As I said, she’s special.”

He pulled out the photo from the file and gazed into the bright eyes of Beatrix Belden Mangan.  “But young.”

“Yes, sir.  I feel it’s to her advantage, and to Zoey’s.  She’ll blend in and your daughter won’t feel quite so … watched over.  But she will be.  Mangan misses little.”

President Bartlet turned his head slightly to the third man in the Oval Office.  “Ron?”

Agent Ron Butterfield stepped forward.  His face, so full of character, showed little expression. His years with the Secret Service had taught him to react internally rather than outwardly.  But when he was enthusiastic or at least approving, as he was now, he had his “tells”—the almost imperceptible twitching of his mustache, grown solely to hide the smile that perpetually tried to creep across his face; the way his eyebrows drew together toward his nose in intense concentration; and as President Bartlet shifted his gaze downward he would see the slight tapping of Butterfield’s ring finger against his leg.

Agent Butterfield cleared his throat slightly and said in a brisk, even voice, “I agree with John.  She’s young, she’s inexperienced, but she makes up for it in many ways … many good ways.  She could have passed her weapons qualifications with one hand tied behind her back, and in her brief field assignments, she’s been a vital part of her team.”

Bartlet flipped back a few pages.  “I seem to recall reading about an incident in Beijing…”

John Washburn covered up the chortle that tried to escape his lips with a cough.  He couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eyes though.

“John?”

“Mr. President, it was her impulsiveness, but she did not act alone in her … escapade.  Two other agents, with far more field experience, were involved as well.  No harm was done—”

“Except to a large and very expensive chandelier, which I expect I’ll get billed for,” Bartlet said sternly, but the twinkle in his light brown eyes gave him away.

“Yes, sir.”  He stared intently at the great seal on the carpet at his feet, unable to hold the President’s gaze for fear of breaking helplessly into laughter.

“Hmm … well, I suppose being at the mercy of a father who has the Armed Forces at his beck and call will be suitable punishment for those hijinks.”  He pulled a page out of the file and brought it closer to his face as if he couldn’t believe what he was reading.  “She has a math phobia?”

“With all due respect, Mr. President, she won’t be hired to tutor your daughter in mathematics,” Butterfield pointed out.  His mustache twitching impishly once again, he added, “Or to help you devise your secret plan to fight inflation.”

A low rumble of muffled laughter drifted out from behind the massive Resolute desk.  “Josh Lyman will be sorry to hear that.  He could use all the help he can get.”

President Bartlet’s Deputy Chief of Staff had recently thrown himself from the frying pan of his own cockiness into the fire of the White House Press Corps’ wrath.  They had taken great pleasure in taking him down several pegs by deliberately twisting his words into such a snarl that he had somehow given the public the idea that President Bartlet now had a secret plan to fight inflation.

“Agent Mangan passed all the tests,” Ron Butterfield continued.  “Drug screening, polygraph, psychological profile, even her written essays were solid.”

“But we didn’t give her a math test, did we?  Why don’t you test agents’ math skills, anyway?  What if they’re in a shoot-out and need to know how many bullets they have left?  Real life isn’t like an old western, you know.”

Director Washburn opened his mouth to speak, but Butterfield stopped him with an almost imperceptible shake of his head and a gentle roll of his eyes.

“Agent Butterfield, you didn’t just roll your eyes at me, did you?” the President asked, never looking up from his intense perusal of Beatrix Mangan’s file.

“No sir, Mr. President,” Ron replied swiftly and emphatically, hiding his small smile behind his bushy mustache.

“I have a Nobel Prize in Economics!  Having someone with a math deficiency in my employ would be like Michelangelo hiring a bunch of finger-painting rugrats to work on the Sistine Chapel.”

Ron Butterfield didn’t have to say a word this time.  Before he could even raise an eyebrow, or determine if that would be appropriate or not, Bartlet was recalling his comparison.

“All right, all right, I’m no Michelangelo.  I’ll grant you that.”  He exhaled slowly and flipped backwards through the file, stopping at the top page to carefully study the photo of Beatrix Mangan once again.  Finally, he raised his head, took a moment to stare each man squarely in the eye, then closed the file.  “All right.  What’s next?”

 

 

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Author's Notes

Chapter 26 (13,067 words)

This was the one story I started and completed during JixeWriMo 2009.  So thanks to all for the encouragement and prodding and pushing and nagging and whining and… *g*

Just in case you wondered, or started trying to figure it out yourself, the Interviewer’s name, Eric C. Severset, is an anagram of Secret Service, and his assistant’s name, Catherine Muldosy is an anagram of Homeland Security (which now oversees the Secret Service, once a part of the U.S. Treasury Department prior to 9/11).  Just my lame little attempt at being witty and mysterious.

The interview process here is completely fabricated from my own imagination.  Yes, the Secret Service does do extensive background checks, interviews, drug and polygraph testing, psychological profiles, and even written essays, but I used my own literary license as to how and to what extent, and any similarity to actual procedure is purely coincidental (and I’d frankly be pretty shocked, too *g*).

I figured after all these years of dealing with Trixie, Sergeant Molinson deserved a promotion.  Hence, he is now Captain Molinson in this uni.

Bobby refers to books #17, #7, #21, and #8, in that order, as occasions when Trixie protected him.

Mart’s reference to Trixie’s “reckless” behavior occurred in RNT Chapter 13-Once By the Atlantic, which is also when she and Dan made their bet (Mart discovered their secret in RNT Chapter 20-The Secret Sits, Part 10).  Their more formal wedding can be read about in RNT Chapter 23-Blue Butterfly Day.

Mr. Lytell’s given name is my creation, though I know Frank has been used before.  It just seems to fit him well.  He’s a very frank guy. *g*  The con mentioned in his interview, as well as Trixie’s strawberry pop obsession, appeared in #34.  And her “selfless deed” that Mr. Lytell reluctantly recalled was in #5.

Dan came to live with his uncle in #8, after a vaguely described life in a NYC gang.  Depending on the severity of his crimes, his juvenile records may or may not have been sealed and it should be noted (though literary license totally rocks) that any admission into law enforcement work, government work, and/or a state academy could get those records unsealed and/or be grounds for refusal of admittance or employment.

Trixie learned to ride in #1 and also experienced her first (and as far as we know, last) riding adventure on Jupiter in that book.

Madeleine Wheeler first met her future son in #2.  Her reflections on Jim’s and Trixie’s feelings for each other are my own.  I read the books when I was Trixie’s age and never read into the romance because I was barely interested in boys at that age.  It was hard for me to imagine a tomboy like Trixie getting starry-eyed in that way at that age.  Of course, I have a hard time imagining a 15-year-old boy interested in a 13-year-old tomboy, too, but that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish.

Several writers have (much better than I ever could) addressed Jim’s adjustment issues after he was adopted.  While I can understand how that wouldn’t be interesting, or in some versions appropriate, for young readers, I never could buy the idea (even as a kid) that Jim could just drop into the Wheeler family without any problems whatsoever (other than one brief comment about not liking to be called “rich” in #3).

Matthew Wheeler’s remembrance of one of Trixie and Honey’s more dangerous adventures is from #15.  Ruth thinks Trixie got a bum rap on that one. *g* 

India’s story (also touched on by Dr. Simon Drake) was told in RNT Chapter 25-The Runaway.  Other off-screen interviews involved:  India’s mother Bronwyn (first seen in RNT Chapter 14-On Our Sympathy With the Under Dog), Loyola Kevins (#28), Fay Franklin (#32), Nick Roberts (#20), Gerald and Elizabeth Lynch (unnamed in canon, discussing #4), Spider Webster (his given name is my creation, discussing #7), Tad Webster and Diana Lynch (discussing #4, #6, and #7), Mrs. Vanderpoel (recurring canon character), Tom Delanoy (recurring canon character), and Juliana Vorwald (#17 and #18).

Her “detractors” included: Harrison (the Lynches’ butler, first seen in #4 and who probably gave Trixie a better report regarding #26), Dot Murray (#9), Paul Trent (recurring canon character), Alicia Johnson (never actually seen, but mentioned in a few books), and Ben Riker (first appearing in #2 and telling about the “yen for Ben” story from #5).

Edwin Maypenny’s first name is my creation.  His remembrance of being reunited with his nephew came in #31, when Lawrence Howard posed as David Maypenny until Trixie uncovered the truth.

Andrew Belden first appeared in #9 and again in #11.  Canon never gives any indication he wanted to be a spy, but Dana and Mary and I did *G* in our Jixaversary Group Story in 2009, entitled Trask.  Miss Trask.

Trixie and the other Bob-Whites met Marvin Appleton (fictional author of the fictional Lucy Radcliffe and Cosmo McNaught books) in #27.

Hallie was divorced from her French husband Julian Peslier in RNT Chapter 15-The Courage to be New.  Their marriage was very short-lived, but the details have yet to be revealed.  She appeared in canon in #17 and #25 and she and Trixie didn’t get along (particularly in #17).

The Indian Lake contingent are all my original characters: Sally Drake (first introduced in RNT Chapterette 6B-Blueberries) who has four older brothers who enjoy tormenting Mart, Renee Wallace (Jim’s former girlfriend who discussed the mystery from RNT Chapter 20-The Secret Sits), her father Wally who runs Indian Lake’s version of Wimpy’s, and Caroline Foster, Jim’s personal secretary/assistant at the Winthrop School for Boys.

Joanne Darnell relates her adventure with Jim, Trixie, and Honey from #2, the only book she appears in.

Aidan O’Callaghan made his first (very brief) appearance in RNT Chapter 9-Meeting and Passing, later in RNT Chapter 26-October, and he appeared again RNT Chapter 25-The Runaway.  He and Dan graduated from the New York State Police Academy together.

Wimpy’s counterman Mike appeared in #7 and Principal Stratton made his first appearance in #7.  He references the bike-a-thon the Bob-Whites organized in #20.

I found the Secret Service’s unofficial motto (If the Secret Service wanted you to have a family, they’d have issued you one) in a book I read about the Secret Service.  Tough job.

Director Washburn first appeared in RNT Chapter 20-The Secret Sits, Part 9.  He is my creation, but Agent Ron Butterfield, Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman, President Josiah “Jed” Bartlet, and his youngest daughter (of three) Zoey, are all characters from The West Wing and belong to Aaron Sorkin, NBC, Warner Brothers, or somebody.  They are used here without permission but with much love and respect.  President Bartlet does have a Nobel Prize in Economics, which I believe was displayed (at least in one episode) in the Roosevelt Room at the White House.

Josh Lyman’s “secret plan to fight inflation” didn’t actually occur on The West Wing until mid-February of 2000 (Season 1), in the episode “Celestial Navigation”.  But after much agonizing, and consulting with my fellow Wingnut, Annette, I decided to leave it in.  It wasn’t an incident that was at all time specific, so I took a little leeway there, mainly because it was just so dang funny!

I even found an excerpt on You Tube of the fallout meeting with President Bartlet.  It’s about a minute and a half, if you’re interested. Last time I watched it, there were over 70,000 views … quite possibly several hundred of those are mine.  Seriously, I start laughing just thinking about the clip!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=21UELSDw3_Y

You can link to “Josh’s Press Nightmare” (a slightly longer piece) to see how it all came about (and witness Allison Janney's comedic brilliance).

Will we see Cathy and Eric again?  I certainly hope so, though I must admit, I’m not sure how or in what context.  They weren’t intended to even get names, then Cathy got her first name, then they started taking over my story with their little love affair subplot.  I kind of like them, so maybe they’ll retire to Sleepyside or something once Eric convinces Cathy to marry him. *g*

And just because I would be the kind of person who would count, and then drive myself crazy if I didn’t come up with fifty...here’s the fifty from What Fifty Said:

Peter Belden, Captain Molinson, Margery Trask, Bobby Belden, Mart Belden, Honey Wheeler Belden, Frank Lytell, Helen Belden, Bill Regan, Jim Frayne, Madeline Wheeler, Matthew Wheeler, Brian Belden, India Meyrick, Simon Drake, Bronwyn Meyrick, Loyola Kevins, Fay Franklin, Nick Roberts, Gerald Lynch, Elizabeth Lynch, Spider Webster, Tad Webster, Diana Lynch, Mrs. Vanderpoel, Tom Delanoy, Juliana Vorwald, Harrison, Dot Murray, Paul Trent, Alicia Johnson, Ben Riker, Edwin Maypenny, Andrew Belden, Marvin Appleton, Hallie Belden, Sally Drake, Renee Wallace, Wally Wallace, Caroline Foster, Joanne Darnell, Aidan O’Callaghan, Eric Severset, Catherine Muldosy, Mike, Principal Stratton, Dan Mangan, John Washburn, Ron Butterfield, and President Josiah Bartlet.

I struggled somewhat to find a neat closure for this story and watching The West Wing (which I was doing in preparation for my upcoming West Wing crossover story) did it for me.  Of course!  One of Bartlet’s trademark phrases was “What’s next?”  He's made up his mind, the subject is closed, and he's ready to move on.  They were the final words of the pilot episode and were used several other times by Bartlet as well.

Background is from Absolute Background Textures Archive and the scene divider is from Microsoft Clip Art.

Sheesh, for a story with no real plot (Thank you, JixeWriMo 2009!), this is an awful lot of Author’s Notes! (over 1,500 words worth!)