The Mystery of the Missing Intern

Special Agent Jonathan Simms hung up the phone and turned to Trixie Belden Frayne, his 22-year old intern. "It’s confirmed. That is Penelope. They’ve informed Mrs. Waters," he said grimly.

Trixie paled and put down the file she was reading. "Oh Johnny! Is she…"

"I’m afraid so, kiddo. And from the looks of things, she was killed immediately, so don’t you go blaming yourself, or wondering what else you could have done. There was nothing more you could have done. An autopsy will have to confirm it, but I’d say the Professor only held her for a few hours before he…" the agent stopped. There was nothing more he could say.

"She was so young," Trixie moaned, tapping her pencil on the desk restlessly. "It’s just such a waste. Poor Mrs. Waters."

"Welcome to the FBI," Agent Simms said wryly. For three months, Trixie had been working as an intern at the White Plains Office, wanting practical experience before starting her own detective agency with her best friend, Honey Wheeler. It had been their dream since they were 13 years old. "Your work on this case was excellent, Trixie. First rate. We have Professor Ripkin in custody largely thanks to you."

"For all the good it did," Trixie lamented. "It doesn’t help Penelope."

"It helps Mrs. Waters, Trixie. Believe me. Having her daughter’s murderer in custody will help her with her grief. It just goes to show you, you never really know what people are capable of. Ripkin is a respected Professor who’s been with the University for years." Simms shook his head. "Don’t you dare think you didn’t do any good. Now that sicko can’t hurt anyone else."

It was a disturbing case. When the 20-year-old Penelope Waters didn’t come home, it was assumed that the troubled young woman with a history of running away as a juvenile simply cracked under the strain of college. But when her mother discovered Penelope’s torn and bloody blouse in the woods behind their house, the police began to take the case seriously, referring it to the FBI as a possible kidnapping case. Trixie worked closely with Mrs. Waters; the agents figured she would have an easier time talking to someone roughly the same age as her daughter. It was when Trixie went through Penelope’s schoolwork that she noticed the increasingly strange notes written on her papers by her English Professor…

"He was sick all right. I just wish she would have told someone about how he was acting," Trixie sighed. She could not get the image of the young girl, whose pictures were all over her mother’s house, out of her mind.

"That’s the trouble with some of these young women. They crave attention, even the wrong kind of attention. She was probably in love with the guy, that’s the worst part about it," Simms commented.

"Oh, that’s so awful," Trixie exclaimed, shaking her head, her blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders.

"Yeah," Simms agreed. "Must make you glad to be married."

Trixie smiled, feeling some of her sadness evaporate at the thought of her husband of six months, Jim Frayne. "Oh, I’m always glad about that, believe me!" she laughed.

"I don’t know…you’re awfully young to be tied down, kiddo. Don’t you want to sow your wild oats?" Simms countered, grinning wickedly.

"I never did like to sew!" Trixie joked. Then she grew serious. "And anyway, what could I do? I’ve loved the guy since I was 13 years old." Her blue eyes got a fond, faraway look in them.

"Thirteen, huh? How’d you guys meet?"

Trixie laughed. "As my baby brother would say, I ‘founded’ him!" She gave him the condensed version of finding Jim in the abandoned house and the events that led up to his adoption by the Wheeler family.

"Wow, that’s something else. Your first case!" Simms looked amused. "It’s almost 4:30. Why don’t you go home to dreamboat, there’s not much more to do tonight. We won’t get the autopsy report until tomorrow anyway."

"My brother and his wife are coming over for dinner. I could use the extra time," Trixie mused.

"That ought to cheer you up. Trix, take it from me, you can’t get too emotionally involved in these cases. Trixie started to protest and he cut her off. "I know, you do anyway. It’s just my standard speech I give to trainees." Simm’s face suddenly looked lined and tired. Penelope Waters had been so young and so beautiful…

"Come to dinner. Meet ‘dreamboat’," Trixie urged, seeing the depression in her mentor’s face.

"Some other time kiddo. Some other time. Now get lost before I change my mind."

Trixie left the building slowly, thinking about a young girl who was no more.

As she headed to her car for the trip home, suddenly she stopped. "Dang! I forgot the sour cream for the stroganoff!" she said aloud. She glanced at her watch and decided she had plenty of time to walk the block to the A&P rather than drive. 

"Should clear my head," she muttered to herself, walking briskly down the sidewalk and taking deep breaths.  In no time, she was at the market.. She walked past the carts and entered the store, heading straight to the dairy section. As she was reaching for the container of sour cream, she heard her name.

Turning around she almost gasped aloud to see the white, strained face of the woman standing before her. "Mrs. Waters. I’m so, so sorry about Penelope," Trixie said passionately, wondering what on earth she was doing in the grocery store at a time like this. She picked up the sour cream, holding it awkwardly, not sure what she should do next.  

"Thank you," Mrs. Waters answered strangely, her eyes haunted and bruised-looking. Trixie’s heart went out to her.

"Do you have someone you can stay with tonight? You shouldn’t be alone," Trixie said, concerned.

"Of course," Mrs. Waters replied. Trixie shivered. Something wasn’t right with her tone. "That is to say, I…" Mrs. Waters looked confused, her voice faltering. Suddenly, her voice sounding more normal, she said, "I wish you would come home with me for a bit. I could make you a cup of tea and thank you for all you did." Her eyes filled with tears and Trixie couldn’t bring herself to say no to the poor woman.

I am off an hour early, and she’s just lost her only daughter. How can I say no? "I’d love to, Mrs. Waters," Trixie replied. "Just let me buy this sour cream first." The two women walked to the checkout counter, where Trixie paid for her item. As they walked outside, Trixie said, "I’ll just get my car and I’ll meet…"

"Oh that won’t be necessary, dear. My car’s right here!" Mrs. Waters said brightly. Again, the pitch of her voice seemed skewed, the words splintering the air. Trixie hesitated. "You’re the only one who really cared about my Penny," Mrs. Waters said, her voice cracking. "It would mean so much to me…"

Trixie nodded and got into the car, a fairly nice Lexus with leather seats that felt cool and inviting. Mrs. Waters drove silently, her mouth trembling. Trixie cleared her throat. "I really do need to be back in an hour, Mrs. Walters. My husband and I are having people over for dinner and he’ll kill me if I’m late." As soon as the words left her lips she winced, but Mrs. Waters didn’t seem to notice the slip. They drove on in silence, the busy streets giving way to the lush wooded area, the most exclusive part of town.

"You know, I gave my daughter everything," Mrs. Waters said abruptly, her knuckles white on the wheel.

"I’m sure you did," Trixie replied gently. One cup and that’s it, Trixie thought, remembering John Simms’ advice about not getting emotionally involved. Why is it that I never listen to good advice?

Mrs. Waters pulled into a curved driveway and shut off the engine. "Now you come right inside!" she said brightly. Trixie followed her without a word, still unknowingly holding the sour cream, the receipt fluttering away. The older woman led her into a beautiful entryway with a dark, cherrywood table in front of a gilt mirror. She set down her purse and kept going, leading Trixie into a sumptuous living room, neat as a pin, carefully arranged.

"You do have a lovely home," Trixie murmured, wishing she were in her own modest home that was built near Jim’s school on Ten Acres, the land he inherited from his late uncle. She was horribly uncomfortable and regretting more and more that she had come here. She couldn’t say why.

"Have a seat. I’ll be right back with the tea," Mrs. Waters said. Trixie sat down, fidgeting. In a few minutes, Mrs. Waters came back carrying two china cups on a tray. "There! Milk and one sugar, just the way you like it!"

"Thank you," Trixie replied, taking a sip. The tea had an odd, dark  taste, and Trixie found herself wishing even harder that she had just gone straight home.

Mrs. Waters stared at her oddly. "Where have you been?" she asked quietly.

"Um, excuse me?" Trixie asked, a little guilty.  She hoped the older woman couldn't read minds.  She took another tiny taste of her tea.

"I’ve been waiting and waiting. You didn’t come home and I worried. You know how I worry." Mrs. Waters’ eyes were like black saucers, the flesh under them white.

Trixie set down her tea. "Mrs. Waters, I think I should call someone," she began, then stopped, frightened at the slurry sound of her voice, her head suddenly feeling thick.

"You won’t leave again, will you dear? Will you?" Mrs. Waters was shaking, her voice high.

Trixie was, by now, thoroughly frightened. "I…I have to leave," she mumbled, trying to stand. There was something wrong with her legs. Mrs. Waters was fading, fading…Jim! was Trixie’s last coherent thought before she slumped down onto the chintz sofa, the sour cream rolling onto the floor from her nerveless fingers.

Mrs. Waters picked up Trixie’s limp hand. "No you aren’t leaving again. Aren’t leaving again, my darling girl," she crooned, stroking Trixie’s arm with trembling fingertips.

Jim, hearing a car’s engine, looked out the window expectantly, but it was not his wife’s jaunty Honda Civic, but rather his sister and brother-in-law’s BMW, a wedding gift from his parents. 

"Doctors don’t drive pickup trucks!" they had joked when Brian's expression turned reluctant.

 "Teachers do!" Jim had replied, wanting to lighten the moment.  Apparently, they remembered his remark, giving he and Trixie a fully loaded Chevrolet Tahoe for their wedding gift. But Trixie hated driving it, clinging to the car she had bought in college. 

Jim opened the front door and stepped out on the porch as Brian and Honey got out of their car.

"Hey Jim, it’s stroganoff time! Where’s Trixie?" Honey called, pushing her long, light brown hair back from her face. "Are we early?"

"No you’re not early. And I don’t know where Trixie is. She isn’t home yet." Jim replied.

"She didn’t call?" Brian asked, picking up his brother-in-law’s concern.

"No, and I’m really starting to get worried. It’s 7:00, and she’s usually home by 6:00," Jim said.

"Maybe she’s just working late," Honey suggested.

"I tried calling her, but I just keep getting her voicemail. She’s not there."

"Try calling her boss, what’s-his-name, John somebody," Brian suggested.

Jim smiled. "Of course! He’d know where she is. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before." He opened the door and beckoned them inside. "Come on in, help yourselves to whatever you want to drink." He flipped open the address book by the phone, and dialed.

"Simms," a gruff voice answered.

"Hi, this is Jim Frayne, Trixie’s…"

"Ah, it’s dreamboat!" the voice said cheerily.

Dreamboat?! "Um, uh I’m trying to track down Trixie. Is she working on something?" Jim said, a little thrown by the dreamboat remark.

"No, she’s not working. In fact, she left over 2 hours ago," Simms replied.

"Oh my God," Jim said quietly. Even with heavy traffic White Plains was only a half an hour drive at worst. Brian and Honey came to stand by him, alerted by his tone that something was wrong.

"I wouldn’t be too worried. She probably had errands to run and lost track of the time."

Jim shook his head. "It just isn’t like her. And she knew her brother and his wife were coming over."

"Yeah, she did mention something about a dinner, come to think of it. I was glad because we got some disturbing news tonight on the case she’s been working on. I thought good company would cheer her up." Simms said.

"What kind of news?"

The FBI agent sighed. "What the hell, it’ll be in all the papers tomorrow anyway. They found the body of that girl who’s been missing."

Jim turned white. "Do you know who did it?" he asked, suddenly frightened. What if he went after Trixie? Honey gasped at the terrible sound of his voice.

"They caught him, they caught him—he’s behind bars," Simms said quickly, picking up Jim’s thoughts over the phone.

"Thank God," Jim breathed, relaxing a little. "I had the worst thoughts in my mind."

"Well you can dismiss that thought," Simms said. "He’ll never hurt anyone again. Listen buddy, I’m sure she’ll show up any second, apologizing like crazy."

"You may be right. Sorry to bother you."

"No bother." The phone abruptly went dead. Jim remembered Trixie saying he was a man of few words. He hung up the phone slowly.

"She’s not there," he said unnecessarily.

"What was all that stuff about catching someone? You scared us to death!" Honey asked, her eyes wide.

"They found Penelope Waters’ body today. That’s the case that Trixie’s been helping with, so I thought…" Jim broke off, not wanting to think about it.  

"But they caught the guy." Brian said, wanting to be reassured.

"Yeah," Jim replied. "But we still have the same problem. Where is Trixie?" The three of them stared at one another.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Honey said, chewing on her lower lip.

"So do I," Jim replied grimly. The phone rang, startling the group. Jim swiftly picked it up. "Trix?" he said.

"It’s John Simms. Trixie’s car is still in the parking garage. Still locked," the agent said bluntly.

"What!?" Jim said. Now he knew something was wrong, he could feel it in his gut.

"Come down here. Let’s figure out our next move," Simms said, tensely. He was very fond of his young intern—she was like the daughter he never had.

"We’ll be right there," Jim replied, hanging up the phone. He turned to the others. "Her car’s still there." He said simply.

Brian blanched. "Something must have happened to her," he said, his voice sick. The three of them rushed out of the house, piling in Brian’s car. What had started as a pleasant evening was fast eroding into a nightmare.

Special Agent Simms met the group at the deserted front desk. There was something about the dark-haired man, his hair peppered with gray, that Jim instantly trusted. Trixie was crazy about him, often telling Jim that she was learning more working with him than she learned in four years at college.

"Come with me, kids," he said, heading into the stairwell. Jim was glad he didn’t waste time with pleasantries and introductions. They followed his rapid ascent, their footsteps loud on the metal stairs. He led them into a room with several desks and sank down into one well-worn chair. "Sit down. We need to talk strategy," He said, picking up a notebook from his desk.

"Sir, we’ll do whatever it takes to find my sister," Brian said, sitting across from the older man.

"Call me John. We all need to start making phone calls, lots of phone calls. We need to call everyone Trixie knows to rule out the possibility that she went to someone’s house."

"Shouldn’t we call the police?" Jim asked, worry like a cold fist in his stomach. He sank into a chair, absently picking up and putting down the items on the desk. He suddenly realized he was sitting at Trixie’s desk when he saw the picture of the two of them on their porch swing. Where are you? he thought, gazing at the blonde smiling face in the photo.

John nodded. "We’ll get to that. They’ll argue that a person has to be missing for at least 24 hours, but I’m sure we can get around that."  His expression made it clear that he would stand for no less.

"Do you really think she went to someone’s house?" Honey asked doubtfully. "Why would she leave her car behind?"

"We can’t know what happened. What if someone drove up and needed her help? You know Trixie. She’d go."

The three smiled a little at that. Yes, she would go. For the next several hours they called everyone they could think of. Having the FBI’s ability to trace numbers was especially helpful in some cases. But the answer was always the same. No, they hadn’t heard from her. No, they hadn’t seen her. Jim could feel panic looming, and forced it down; panicking would accomplish nothing.

"All we’ve done is scare everyone Trixie has ever known!" Honey wailed, tears welling in her hazel eyes. It had taken all her persuasive skills to keep Trixie’s parents from storming the FBI Office. Instead, the family was going to gather at Ten Acres and wait for news.

"I’m calling the police," Jim said grimly, picking up the phone and dialing. He was transferred to the missing persons department, who promptly gave him the spiel about someone having to be missing for 24 hours.

"I know, but…" The dispassionate voice interrupted him again to tell him that it wasn’t unusual for someone’s wife to take a little ‘vacation’ from their marriage. Did he think he was the first husband to have his wife take off?

Jim was so furious that he couldn’t speak for a second. Calm down. Calling this guy what he is isn’t going to speed up anything, and we’re running out of time. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, clenching his fist, fighting for control. "I’m sure you’ve heard this kind of thing before. But I can assure you that’s not what’s going on here. Her life may be in danger." He listened some more and shook his head, handing the phone over to John. "I’m not getting anywhere with this guy. He isn’t taking it seriously," he said angrily. He couldn’t believe the police actually thought Trixie had just casually decided to leave him. He was no expert on happiness, but the past six months had been so incredible…he glanced at Trixie’s desk calendar and felt his heart constrict. Trixie had doodled "Trixie + Jim" and drawn a heart around it that very day.

The agent took the phone. "This is Special Agent John Simms of the FBI. Put your supervisor on." His voice was steely. A few clipped sentences later, John hung up the phone. "They’re putting an all points bulletin out."

Jim was relieved. Finally something was happening. "Now what? I have to do something. I can’t stand just sitting around," he said passionately. Brian and Honey echoed his sentiment.

"I know how frustrating this is. But you need to go home and rest. I’ve alerted some agents, and the police are on the job now too. You won’t be any good to her if you collapse from exhaustion." John’s voice was firm, but sympathetic.

The three reluctantly agreed, thanking the Agent for everything he was doing.

"We’ll find her, I promise you that," John said, his eyes firm. After they left he rubbed his eyes tiredly; he wasn’t really sure at all. Where are you, kiddo? he thought, leaving the office himself.

Chapter 5

As Jim, Brian and Honey pulled up the drive, several people poured out of the house, gathering on the porch. Their faces fell when they didn’t spot Trixie.

"What’s going on?" Mrs. Belden, Trixie’s mother, asked rushing up to the car, her face pale and strained. Jim got out of the car and hugged his mother-in-law.

"I don’t know. She just didn’t come home. Her car is still in the parking garage, so she didn’t drive herself somewhere. It just doesn’t make any sense!" His voice was anguished.

"Did you call the police?" Mart, Trixie’s "almost twin" brother asked, his face pale. Jim’s adopted parents flanked him.

"Of course. At first they wanted to wait 24 hours, but Trixie’s boss took care of that, thank God," Jim replied.

"Let’s go in the house. You all must be starved," Mrs. Belden said anxiously. Not one to bear sitting around either, she had made a pile of sandwiches for everyone, desperate to burn off her nervous energy.

For the first time Jim became aware that he was weak with hunger, and knew Brian and Honey must be too. "That’s a good idea," he said tiredly. He walked up the porch steps, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, welcoming the strength of his father’s arm around his shoulder. It was a sober, worried group that entered the normally happy home of Jim and Trixie Frayne.

She’s been missing for hours and hours. Where in God’s name can she be? Jim thought, overcome with fear. He knew he couldn’t count on getting any sleep that night.

*     *     *

Trixie slowly opened her eyes, completely disoriented. It was pitch black and her head ached miserably. "Where am I?" she groaned aloud. Everything was so fuzzy and there was a loud whine in her ears, making it hard to think. Suddenly she remembered and her whole body jerked with shock. She strained to listen, to see, slowly becoming aware that her hands were tied behind her back and that she was lying on them. When she tried to rise, she discovered that her feet were also tied together, as well as tied to the end of the cot she was lying on. Her heart pounded with fear, and she took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Panic is the enemy, she reminded herself. Her eyes were slowly becoming adjusted to the dark, the moonlight helping, shining through the one window. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was in the Bob-White clubhouse, she thought, noting that she was being held in a little wooden cabin. Obviously I’m not at Mrs. Waters’ anymore. Where can I be? she puzzled. Then she remembered something Mrs. Waters had told her during one of their interviews.

"Penelope was always running off into the woods to be alone. She had her secret clubhouse as she called it. Really it was just an old hunting cabin that was never torn down. You probably think the idea of a secret clubhouse is rather silly," Mrs. Waters had said, trying to smile. Trixie had smiled back, saying that no, she didn’t find the idea silly at all, as a matter of fact…

"I must be in Penelope’s clubhouse," Trixie said aloud. She shivered. What was Mrs. Waters planning on doing with her? That she was mentally ill was apparent; Trixie would never forget the look in Mrs. Waters’ eyes before she passed out. Suddenly she stiffened as she heard the sound of the door creaking open. An involuntary moan of fright escaped her as footsteps made their way to her.

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