“Do you think we've punished Jack Ash enough?” Diana asked, flipping her raven hair over her shoulder as she drew Honey away from the Belden living room and the rest of the Bob-Whites. It was the night before the Mardi Gras party, and the Bob-Whites, minus Jim, were gathered at the cosy farm house.

Honey nodded emphatically as they ducked into the service porch off the kitchen. “After what happened to him in the change room, I don't have the heart to keep this charade going.”

“I wonder if we should tell Mart and Brian.”

“Tell us what?”

Diana jumped as Mart appeared at her side. “Mart!” she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart. “You scared me!”

He raised a sandy brow. “You've been scaring me plenty the last few weeks.”.

Brian nodded. “I've been fielding panicked phone calls night and day. 'Bri, I think Di is cheating on me! What should I do?'” Brian mimicked his brother's voice with a high falsetto.

Mart jabbed his brother in the ribs. “Yeah, right. Like you weren't worried about Honey being a little too nice to the new guy?”

“Oh, please!” Honey interrupted. “You're being ridiculous.”

“That's what I said,” Dan chimed in.

Di jumped a second time. “Geez! Make a little noise when you walk!”

“What are you guys doing?” Trixie called from the kitchen.

“We may as well go back to the living room,” Honey said with a nervous laugh, exchanging a look with Di.

Diana nodded. “And get comfortable. We've got quite the tale to tell!”

Twenty minutes later, the events of the past few weeks had been recounted. Honey slipped her hand into Brian's. “Still worried about how 'nice' I am?” she asked.

Brian stared at her, his dark eyes full of wonder. “I had no idea you could be so, so...devious!” He grinned. “I like it.”

Honey laughed, pleased with his reaction. “Really, it was mostly Di,” she protested.

Mart shook his head. “So, you're telling me that this whole time, you were just toying with him? To teach him a lesson?”

“And to teach you a lesson, too,” Di said, putting her hands on her hips. “You had the whole possessive cave-man routine down pat, you know. Complete with staking your territory.”

“I told you!” Trixie hooted. “You should have known better, Mart. Honestly. You know that Di wouldn't cheat on you!”

Mart hung his head in shame.

“So, this Jack Ash guy really sent you two the exact same note?” Brian asked, deflecting the attention from Mart.

“You should have seen it!” Trixie laughed, her face glowing with amusement. “Exactly the same! He probably mass-produces them!”

“And then the flow--” Honey clapped a hand over her mouth when she noticed Diana's glare of death.

“The flowers in my locker?” Trixie asked. “I mean, that's what I assumed when I saw them.”

“You knew?” Honey asked, then smacked her forehead. “Of course you knew. Otherwise we would have been running around, trying to solve the mystery of the flower-growing locker.”

“Flowers?” Mart questioned. “Is that why you looked so happy about the flowers? You were putting them in Trixie's locker?”

“You saw us?” Di asked.

“I thought you were stoked about getting flowers from some other guy,” Mart said. He tried to laugh at himself, but it was obvious that the incident had upset him.

Diana cuddled closer as she perched on the armrest of his chair. “Mart, he sent me pink roses. Trust me. You don't have competition.”

“Uh oh,” Brian commented. “I'm guessing you got flowers, too?” he asked Honey.

Honey waved a hand dismissively. “They were orange. And they weren't from you. I'd already forgotten about them.”

“Wait a minute,” Di interrupted. “Trixie, you didn't even consider the possibility that Nick or Ben might have sent you flowers?”

Trixie frowned. “Why would they do that?”

Everyone stared at Trixie.

“Well, Trixie,” Dan said slowly. “Sometimes, when a boy likes a girl...”

Trixie whacked him in the ribs. “Very funny, Dan Juan.”

“So, are you going to say yes to Nick? He's dying to come to the Mardi Gras masquerade with you,” Di cajoled.

“He just asked me to save a dance for him,” Trixie shrugged.

Di studied her, speculating.

“What?” Trixie demanded. “It's the truth!”

“Mmmm,” Di murmured, as an idea just sneaky enough to be worth entertaining entered her mind. Her scheming was interrupted by Mart's question.

“So, what are we going to do about this Jack Ash?” he asked, his voice grim, and his hold on his girlfriend tight.

“What do you mean, 'do'?” Honey asked, sending a nervous look to Brian.

Brian opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. Everyone turned to look at the acknowledged leader of the group. “I'm not normally one for revenge,” he said slowly.

“But?” Mart asked, his eyes lighting with enthusiasm as he sensed his brother's position.

“But I'd sure like to see this guy squirm a little,” he admitted.

“The ride in the back of the freezer truck wasn't enough?” Dan asked.

Brian shrugged. “That was good, but I didn't get to see it.”

“What about getting pummelled by the boys’ soccer team?” Honey asked.

“Again, I didn't get to watch,” Brian grinned.

Di tapped her finger tips on her leg. “We could always invite him to the masquerade,” she suggested.

When she finished outlining her idea, Honey and Trixie were in stitches, and Mart, Brian, and Dan were nodding.

“That works for me,” Brian said, still holding Honey securely.

“Midnight under the oak tree, then?”

After everyone agreed, Di folded her hands in her lap and turned her thoughts back to the plan that had been interrupted. She ran through her wardrobe in her mind, and then sized up Trixie's figure. Yes, her idea would work. If she could get Trixie to agree to it.

Madeleine stared at her husband, a doubtful expression on her perfectly made-up face. “Are you sure?”

Matthew Wheeler fixed his wife with a withering gaze, then sighed when it had absolutely no effect on her. “Yes, I'm sure. Dr. Donald MacPhearson is mature, smart, safe--”

“And boring!” Madeleine protested. “I want Marge to have fun, not endure a three-hour monologue about the benefits of regular gynaecological check-ups.”

Matthew shrugged. “Have you come up with anyone better?”

“No. And I'm pretty sure Elaine Lynch is up to something. She had a funny look on her face today when I mentioned the seating arrangements.”

Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose. “Madeleine, I swear this is more complicated than the last hostile take-over I led. Please, please give it up,” he pleaded.

“Never,” she declared. “Marge deserves a night off with a little male attention.”

“How do you know she won't like Dr. MacPhearson?” Matthew prodded, amusement in his eyes. “He does have a Scottish brogue, you know.”

Madeleine's eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes,” Matthew grinned. “He took a vacation to his motherland a year ago, and came back with an accent as a souvenir.”

“Why didn't you tell me? That will never do.” She snatched the seating arrangement chart and began drawing arrows furiously. After fifteen minutes of intense scribbling, she admitted defeat. “Marge is back at Richard Cox's table,” she groaned. She shook her pencil at her husband. “I'm holding you responsible if he puts his slimy hands on her.”

Matthew shook his head. “You do realize that we're talking about Marge, not Honey, right?”

Madeleine stared at him for a moment, and then began to laugh. “You're right, Matthew. Marge can take care of herself.” She thought of Richard and his wandering hands and shuddered. “I hope.”

Trixie's eyes danced with anticipation as she entered Diana's room and surveyed her two best friends in their masquerade costumes. “You look great!” she enthused.

“Someone's excited!” Honey teased.

Trixie turned to her best friend. “Any why not?” she demanded. “It's Mardi Gras! And it's a party!”

Honey and Di exchanged amused looks. “And?”

Trixie's cheeks reddened. “What do you mean?”

“You weren't this excited about the party a few days ago,” Di pointed out. “I distinctly remember you going on and on about how you couldn't possibly wear the costume Honey made for you.”

“But it's perfect!” Honey protested.

Trixie hugged her. “It's gorgeous, Honey. Thank you!” She practically sang the last words.

Di surveyed her narrowly. “You're up to something,” she accused.

Trixie raised an eyebrow. “Look who's talking, Miss Trap-a-boy-in-the-change room.”

“That was so much fun,” Di sighed in contentment, then exchanged high fives with Honey.

“I did feel bad about his nose, though,” Honey admitted.

Di snorted. “Jack's just lucky the boys' soccer team stuck to his upper body.”

“They probably didn't want to get too close to his legs while he was wearing that cheerleader skirt,” Honey agreed.

Trixie shook her head. “I can't believe you didn't cut me in on the action,” she said, then smiled mysteriously. “But that's not the only secret plan going on around here.”

“Trixie!” Honey exclaimed. “What are you up to?”

“Who said it was me?” the sandy-haired blonde teased. “Maybe I've discovered that the male Bob-Whites are up to some crazy shenanigans. Or maybe I know about the secret seeds you've planted about my costume.” She shook her finger at Honey. “I know that you told Ben what colour I'd be wearing tonight.”

Honey had the grace to blush. “I just thought--”

“It's okay, Hon,” Trixie assured her. “I've got everything under control.”

“What does that mean?” Honey asked, torn between frowning and laughing.

“You'll just have to wait and see,” Trixie told them with a mysterious smile.

Di smoothed the folds of her elaborate Elizabethan dress and gave her fussy hair style one last check. Securing her mask firmly, she asked, “Are you sure you don't want help getting into your costume, Trix?”

Trixie winked. “Nope. You two go on ahead and make sure everything is in place. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

Di gave Trixie a pointed look. “Are you sure you don't need help?”

“I've got it under control,” Trixie insisted.

“Your costume is in my closet,” Di reminded her, nodding in the direction of the spacious walk-in closet. “You'll find everything you need. Everything,” she repeated, her eyebrows waggling in a silent message.

“You know it!” Trixie said happily. “Now scoot! You two have door duty, don't you?”

After her two best friends left, Trixie threw open the closet door and removed her garment bag. The garment bag which Harrison had sneaked into Diana's closet. She giggled as she removed the costume that was neither the red siren's dress of Honey's creation, nor the black mime costume that Di had engineered.

Did Honey and Di really think they would get away with it? Trixie chortled. Ben was expecting her to wear red. Nick had been told to watch for a girl in black. She plucked the simple white dress from the bag and smiled happily. Tonight, she dressed for herself.

Marjorie Trask sighed in relief as Richard Cox turned his attention to one of the other guests at their table. As she patted her lips with a linen napkin, she met Madeleine Wheeler's gaze, and raised an eyebrow. Madeleine flashed her an apologetic grimace before Matthew directed his wife's attention to one of the many investors of the Fresh Start Riding Academy. Before Marge could do more than sigh, however, a bellowing laugh caught her attention, and she turned to greet the large man ambling toward her. For twenty tedious minutes she listened to the bray of an artificial Scottish brogue drone on. And on.

The evening certainly wasn't turning out to be the care-free lark that Madeleine had tempted her with. As novel as it was to be served outlandish meals on exquisite china, she would far rather be in the kitchen, directing the cook, caterers, wait staff, and fielding panicked questions. Instead, she was listening to the idle chatter of the bored upper crust of New York society. Chatter that she couldn't possibly join.

To top it off, her feet hurt.

A quiet voice disturbed her reverie. “Marge.”

She turned and saw Celia, a cordless phone in her outstretched hand. “There's a call for you.”

Marge raised her eyebrows, but Celia only shrugged. “He was quite insistent.”

Marge excused herself from the table and placed the phone to her ear. After listening for a moment, her eyes regained their customary sparkle. “I'll be right there,” she promised. “Try not to let them get too carried away.”

She returned the phone to an obviously curious Celia. “Please tell Mrs. Wheeler that I was called away,” she said. With an enigmatic smile, she swept out of the room, and out of the Manor House, stopping only to don a wrap and discard her to-die-for shoes and replace them with shoes that didn't make her think death might not be so bad.

Jack hurried up the steps to the Lynch Estate. After adjusting the headgear of his costume, he rapped firmly on the double door. His eyes widened when the door was opened by a tall, thin man in full black formal wear.

He stretched out his hand. “I'm here for Diana's masquerade party,” he said, trying to sound confident.

Jack resisted the urge to squirm as the prim man took his measure.

“Quite,” said the man Jack assumed was a butler. “Please go straight to the family room.”

Jack nodded and strode past the man as confidently as he could in the ridiculous costume he had been instructed to wear. But, he reminded himself, he had been instructed by Diana. And he would do a lot more than wear a humiliating costume if it meant he had a chance with her. He stifled a groan as he recalled the indignities he had already suffered in pursuit of the raven-haired beauty. His backside tingled as he remembered the frost-bite-inducing trip in the refrigerated truck. Involuntarily, he reached to touch his still tender nose. Tonight will be different, he promised himself. Tonight, nothing would stop him from doing his best to lure Diana away from Mart. He began to smirk, certain of his success.

Following the noise of the crowd, Jack entered the family room. The room was packed wall-to-wall with people, all in full costume. For a moment, Jack felt a wave of panic. How would he possibly recognize anybody? He was just starting to put names to faces at Sleepyside Junior-Senior High, but he seriously doubted he would be able to recognize any of the masked guests.

On the upside, it was possible that no one would recognize him. He cringed, remembering how he had become acquainted with the boys' soccer team. The idea of identity-concealing costumes suddenly became much more appealing.

He glanced at his wrist-watch. Three hours until midnight. He made his way to the buffet table and helped himself liberally to the fancy food. Leaning against the wall, he studied the costumed guests. A predatory grin was his only outward show of emotion.

It was only right, he told himself, seeing as how Diana had instructed him to come in a wolf costume.

Trixie giggled as Nick made a theatrically low bow in front of her.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

Trixie placed her hand in his. “Of course, Nick. I did promise, you know.”

Nick held her gently as they began to sway to the music. “Well, sure, but...”

“But you were expecting me in a different costume?” Trixie asked, a mischievous grin on her face.

“Maybe,” Nick agreed. “But, I have to admit, you look beautiful in white.”

Trixie smiled happily. “Thank you, Nick.”

They continued to dance until Ben Riker tapped Nick on his shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” Ben asked.

Nick reluctantly dropped his hands from Trixie's waist. “Of course not.” He paused before turning away. “I'll see you after school on Monday?” he asked.

Trixie nodded. “Until the algebra makes sense,” she agreed. “Thank you, Nick.”

Ben swept her away, leading with ease born of years of lessons. “I'm many things, but colour-blind is not one of them,” he joked. Grazing his hand over her short-capped sleeve, he commented, “That's an unusual shade of red.”

Trixie flushed and bit her lip.

“It's okay, Trix,” Ben said, leaning close to her. “Red's not really your colour, is it?”

“Not other than my face,” Trixie muttered.

Ben lifted her chin. “That's always been one of my favourite features,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye. “You don't hide any of your emotions.” He studied her thoughtfully. “And, right now, I can tell that you have something up your sleeve.”

Trixie smiled mysteriously. “Maybe I do,” she said. “Since everyone else has been making crazy plans without my help, I decided I needed a turn.”

Ben grimaced. “Tell me you aren't taking down a criminal by yourself tonight.”

“Nope, no criminals.”

She paused. “At least, not tonight.”

Unable to resist, she added, “That I know of.” Trixie laughed at Ben's chagrined expression.

As the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs chimed, Trixie disengaged herself from Ben's increasingly protective hold. “I have to go,” she told him.

Ben raised a brow. “You're an hour early, Cinderella. Isn't the witching hour midnight?”

“Not tonight. And there's no way I'm leaving one of these shoes behind.” Trixie waggled her bright green heels and smiled happily. “Thanks for the dance, Ben.”

She tripped gaily across the dance floor, and Ben watched as a tall, husky man costumed in a formal suit and mask took her arm and led her to the deserted terrace. As they disappeared from view, Ben smiled and shook his head. Trixie was obviously happy with whoever had whisked her away.

Jack Ash nervously made his way towards the front door. It was almost midnight, and he had strict instructions to be under the tall oak tree. He rubbed his sweaty hands on his costume, once again cursing the diabolically hot fabric. The wolf fur had been unpleasantly warm before the party began, and had only grown worse in the crowded room. The cool night air was a relief.

I can't wait to get out of this costume, he thought. He licked his lips as he imagined Diana Lynch helping him out of it. He hadn't seen anyone dressed as Little Red Riding Hood at the party, but he could hope...

He found the tree easily and peered through the inky blackness, looking for Diana, but couldn't see anyone. He settled his back against the tree and prepared to wait.

Ten minutes later, Jack had had enough of nature. And since there was no moon, he could see very little more than he had when he arrived. To make matters worse, he could hear...something. Voices? Animals? He had no idea, but his heart skipped a beat every time the leaves in the tree above him rustled.

Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. Why would anyone else be outside? And it's only natural that some animals would be out. There's nothing to worry about.

He jumped as he heard the unmistakable crunch of footsteps in the freshly fallen leaves. “Diana?” he whispered, but his voice didn't carry, and there was no response.

The footsteps grew closer, and Jack knew that he wasn't hearing the dainty step of Diana in her costume, but the tread of a much heavier person, probably wearing boots. He shrank back against the tree, hoping that it would conceal him.

The creepy factor rose a notch when he heard the person begin to whistle. Jack strained his ears, trying to place the elusive tune. And then it came together. In one instant, he recognized the tune from Peter and the Wolf, and saw the outline of a gun in the man's hands.

He looked down at his wolf costume and paled. It couldn't be. Surely not. Who could possibly mistake him for a wolf? Then again, strange things had been happening ever since he moved to Sleepyside. It couldn't possibly be normal to get locked in a refrigerated truck. And getting trapped in a girls change room which just happened to be used by boys while he just happened to be wearing a cheerleader uniform? Definitely not normal. And now he was out in the middle of nowhere. In a wolf costume! Who knew what was normal here! Jack's body stiffened. He wanted to run, but couldn't seem to get his legs to work. And the hunter was making straight for him.

A quiet voice broke the stillness. “I see you.”

Jack tried to keep his eyes from bugging out, not wanting the hunter to see the whites of his eyes.

“We don't much care for wolves in the hen house in these parts,” the voice warned him, and the figure levelled the gun at him.

Jack's legs regained the power of motion, and he sprinted away, his wolf costume curtailing his movements. He heard heavy footsteps behind him, and he forced an extra burst of speed, only to trip on the exposed root of a tree.

“Please don't shoot!” he yelped, cowering in fear and covering his eyes.

“You'll leave the young ladies alone?” the deep voice questioned.

“Yes! Yes! Anything you say! Just don't shoot!” Jack begged.

Jack's eyes flew open as the yard was suddenly bathed in brilliant light. Floodlights all over the yard snapped on, and he was almost blinded. For a moment, there was absolute silence.

Then...

“Nice going, Jack Ash!”

A shadowy figure emerged from behind a tree and pulled him to his feet. He looked up into the clear blue eyes of Mart Belden. Beside him stood a much taller, much darker young man.

“I'm Brian Belden,” the dark man said. “Honey's boyfriend.”

Jack gulped.

“I've heard a lot about you,” Brian continued.

Jack tried to scramble away, but suddenly, the yard was filled with people, and he realized that they must have been hiding behind trees the entire time.

“How's it going, Jack?” Dan asked, flinging an arm around him and drawing him back to the crowd. “I'd like you to meet Mr. Maypenny.”

Jack found himself face to face with the man who had hunted him. And he wasn't smiling.

Mr. Maypenny leaned in close. “The gun wasn't loaded. This time.”

Jack nodded, his teeth knocking together so loudly he was certain he'd need dental work. His gaze darted to the small cluster of girls slowly edging nearer. “Hi, Di, Honey,” he muttered, glad that the dark night hid his flaming face. He sighed as he realized that Di and Honey weren't the only people close by.

Their curly-haired friend stood close by, her hand tucked firmly in the arm of a husky young man he was sure he'd never seen before. For the first time, Jack noticed the expressions on the girls' faces, and swallowed hard. Before he had time to think, Honey and Di were in his face.

Up close and personal, Diana Lynch was positively terrifying. “No more flowers. No more notes.” She poked a finger in his chest. “And no more leers. Got it?”

Jack nodded hard, and then squirmed as Honey moved in.

“Because next time we won't be quite so nice about it,” Honey informed him in a voice both sweet and menacing.

Suddenly, the strange events of the last few weeks made sense. He'd been played!

Diana nodded. “Next time, we might actually have to get serious about discouraging you,” she said, her violet eyes wide. “And I don't think any of us want that.”

Honey turned to her friend. “Well, that's not quite true. I wouldn't mind another shot. We didn't get to use all the plans we cooked up. I still have that hair removal kit...”

With an agonized yelp, Jack took off running. The sound of laughter followed him, but didn't slow him down. All that mattered was finding the safety of his own home, crawling under his bed, and not coming out for a long time. If ever.

Trixie snickered as she watched Brian and Mart walk Di and Honey back to the house. “That was almost too much fun,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling.

Tucking her arm in his, Jim guided her across the uneven ground. “I can't believe you talked Mr. Maypenny into hunting him down,” he said, watching as Miss Trask joined the “hunter”.

“Dan convinced him,” Trixie replied with a shrug. “I don't think either of them have much tolerance for idiots. And it's not as if the gun was loaded.”

Trixie's steps slowed as she heard her words echoed only a few feet away from her. Mr. Maypenny and Miss Trask were standing under the tall oak tree. Her eyes grew wide. “Is Miss Trask giving Mr. Maypenny a lecture?” she wondered.

“Mr. Maypenny can handle himself.” Jim steered her away from the adults and toward the lawn swing. Trixie bit her lip as Jim pulled her down beside him and set the swing in motion.

“I would have sent an orchid to the farm today,” Jim said, “but I was afraid your family would ask too many questions.”

Trixie smiled. “That's okay. I didn't expect flowers. In fact, I didn't expect you.”

It was too dark to tell for sure, but Trixie thought she saw a flush creep up Jim's face.

“Yeah. About that...” Jim stumbled over his words.

“I'm really glad you came,” Trixie admitted. “It's just not a party without you here.” She bit her lip, worried that she'd said too much. Maybe Jim's sweet phone call the previous day hadn't meant as much as she thought...

“I'm glad I came, too,” Jim replied. He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Somebody had to keep Ben and Nick at arms' length.”

Trixie giggled. “I can do that myself, you know.” She paused. “As long as I have a reason.” Suddenly, she had to know. Biting her lip, she asked, “Do I have a reason, Jim?”

Jim's green eyes darkened. “As long as I have anything to say about it, you do.”

He drew her chip up, even as he leaned down. Brushing his lips against hers, he murmured, “Happy Mardi Gras, Trixie.”

Marge stared at the man in front of her. “You threatened him with a gun?” she asked.

Mr. Maypenny looked at the weapon in his hands. “Is this a trick question?”

“You threatened him with a gun!”

“It wasn't loaded,” he pointed out.

Before she could stop it, a chuckle escaped her lips. And then, to her horror, a giggle. Seconds later, the stress of the dinner party and the Bob-Whites' antics caught up to her, and her shoulders shook with laughter. “Well, as long as it wasn't loaded,” she finally managed.

“That's what I said.” Mr. Maypenny offered her his arm, and they turned to the Lynch Estate. They both stared at the silhouette in the doorway. “So, Harrison called you for back-up?”

Marge nodded. “I probably should have been here to begin with,” she said, thinking of the house filled with teenagers.

“Everyone deserves a night off,” Mr. Maypenny reminded her.

“That would explain why you and I are outside at midnight in the cold,” Marge laughed.

“The cold?” Mr. Maypenny asked. “It's not cold if you're dressed for the weather.” He stopped, looking at Marge's fancy dinner dress. He shrugged out of his jacked and settled it on her shoulders. “The kids are fine,” he assured her. “You need to get warmed up.”

Marge nodded, her teeth beginning to chatter. “I should be heading back.” She turned toward the Manor House, steeling herself to return to the tedious dinner party. And, even though she was wearing her sensible oxfords, her feet refused to move.

“Of course, my cabin is closer than the Manor House,” Mr. Maypenny reminded her. “And there's a fire burning.”

Marge turned to him, a speculative look in her eye. “That's true,” she agreed.

He offered her an arm. “That's a very pretty dress you're wearing. I've always been partial to red,” he said.

Marge briefly considered explaining the difference between red and copper. “Yes. I like it, too. And I think a few minutes in front of a fire sounds delightful.”

She took his arm, blue eyes twinkling.