This story started here.

"Do you think that it's true, as some people say, that most men fall asleep right after coitus and most women don't?"

Priscilla's eyes opened and she looked around, confused. Angel was standing beside the bed, holding a tall candle in a very fancy looking holder. The bedroom was dark except for the candlelight. There was no sign of Stephanie.

"I don't–"

"It is certainly true of Mr. Gerard and myself," Angel continued. Her voice was still somewhat dreamy. "He fell asleep a little while ago, and I lay there and started thinking. It occurred to me that I had perhaps been a little too casual about finding you in my bathroom last night." She looked at Priscilla for the first time. "May I sit down?"

Priscilla looked around for a chair, but Angel put the candlestick on the windowsill and sat on the narrow bed next to her. Priscilla had noticed that Angel's nightgown and robe were equally filmy, and she was seeing almost as much of the other woman's body as she had in the bathroom. Was this a pass? It didn't feel like one, but Priscilla was glad she was wearing particularly unattractive pajamas.

"First of all, do you know why Stephanie went out after she brought you here?"

"Yes," Priscilla said. "I mean–"

"So do I, so we don't need to be evasive about that. Are you and she a couple?"

"No!" Priscilla said. "Just because we–"

Angel turned, her eyes meeting Priscilla's, and suddenly Priscilla found that she couldn't speak.

"I am sorry," Angel said softly. "I intended no disrespect. Why did that question get you upset?"

"My stepmother," Priscilla started. "She... we don't get along. She thought I was a... that I was boy crazy. Then I cut my hair, just on an impulse, and she said, 'Oh my God, I knew it, you're a dyke!'" Priscilla felt her heart pounding. Why was she telling this woman all this? "That's when I knew I had to get out of there. I mean..."

Angel nodded and touched her forehead. "Relax," she whispered, and Priscilla did, sinking back on the bed. "I'm sorry," Angel said. "That's when you knew that she would be against you, no matter what you did."

Priscilla nodded.

"So, what did you do?"

"I decided to come to try to go to college here – in the city – and maybe I could live with Steph. And never go back home."

Angel smiled. "So, you're hoping to take up residence here. In my house."

"Well, I didn't know where she lived when..."

Angel smiled. "Go back to sleep," she said as she stood up, and the next thing Priscilla knew it was morning.

 
Priscilla came back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel and drying her hair. "No wonder you wanted to shower first," she said. "The hot water..."

She stopped as Stephanie held up her hand, pointing at the open door to the hall with her other hand. They heard the knock at the front door again, and then, a moment later, they heard the door open and Angel said, "Miss Sleet. This is becoming a regular occurrence. Is there a chance that this is a social call for a change?"

They couldn't hear Jan Sleet's reply, but a moment later they heard the front door close, and then footsteps going into the kitchen.

"Is this about Mr. Gerard again?" Angel asked, her voice cold. "I don't think I am in a mood to answer any more questions about him. Or anything else."

"I'm not here to ask questions," the detective said, and they heard a chair scrape on the floor. "I am here to say something, about my daughter."

There was a pause, then Angel said, "That grubby little urchin you've adopted? What does she have to do with me?"

"She had a visit in school yesterday, from a woman named Terry Nelson. She was pretending to be the new civics teacher, but that was a lie. This is very alarming, and it must not happen again."

There was a longer pause, and then Angel said in a quieter voice, "Why is this alarming, and, as I asked before, what does it have to do with me?"

The girls, who had tiptoed to the top of the stairs by then, heard another chair move, as if Angel had sat down also.

"This woman, Terry Nelson, has been known to... She is unstable, and–"

They heard a third woman's voice, deeper and more commanding than Angel's. "My sister is not dangerous. The only violence she has ever done was to herself, as you know. And, as you also know, she really is a teacher."

"Tammy," Jan said, her voice resigned.

Priscilla looked a question to Stephanie, who shook her head.

"The point," Jan said slowly, "is this. If Terry wants to see my daughter..." There was a long pause. "...her granddaughter, she would be more than welcome to come and have dinner with us. We would enjoy that. And if she wants to become a teacher... to really teach at our school, there's a process for that as well."

 
"Okay, what was that all about? Who is this Tammy woman?" She saw Stephanie's expression. "Stop making faces. I will add this to the growing list of secrets that I will carry to my grave. I..."

"This isn't a joke, Pris. If people learn who I am and where I live, I could be killed. I... I'm under a lot of pressure here, with running the store, and Mr. Drenkenson, and..."

The tears came, and Priscilla hugged her.

"I'm sorry," Priscilla said finally. "Here I'm hoping to come live with you, and all I can do is piss you off."

Stephanie looked up, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "What?"

"Never mind. Tell me about Tammy. I promise not to tell anybody."

"She is Angel. They're the same person. And I guess there's a Terry, too."

"So, she's crazy?" Priscilla whispered.

"I don't know." She smiled ruefully, wiping her eyes again. "Damn it, Pris. I'm a superhero, not a doctor."

Priscilla rolled her eyes. "Idiot."

"But she is apparently several different people, at least. And she is Jan Sleet's mother."

Priscilla digested this. "I guess they're not close."

"I think Jan's close with her father. He's here to visit her. Oh, I didn't tell you that. Professor Vinnie, who we ate dinner with last night? He's her father. Jan Sleet's father."

"The guy with the dog?" She grinned suddenly. "Did he get Daphne at your store?"

Stephanie laughed. "No, we don't sell that breed."

"Is everybody weird here? And don't tell me you're not." She gestured at the hooks along the wall where the parts of Stephanie's superhero costume were hanging up and drying.

"Yeah. Every one of us. You'll fit in fine. Come on, we should get going. I want to show you how to work the cash register before we open."

"Wait. What?"

 
Stephanie unlocked the door of the pet store, and three dogs ran up from the back of the store and surrounded her, barking and jumping up and down. Several puppies in cages started barking also.

She laughed as she squatted and petted the dogs. "Time for their walk, I'd say," she said. "You get to do that while I do the other cleaning up."

"I'm thinking of starting a union."

"Oh, come on. Would you rather be on poo patrol?"

"I don't know what that is, but I'm saying no."

Stephanie took a leash from a hook on the wall. It had one end for the person to hold, and several clips at the other end, which she started to attach to the dogs' collars.

"Do I get benefits at this job?"

Stephanie gestured at the paper bag on the counter, which contained two cups of coffee and two muffins.

"Breakfast is a benefit," she said.

"Well, it's not really..." She pointed at one of the animals Stephanie was attaching to the leash. "That's a cat."

"Oh, good. You'll work out well here."

Priscilla made a face. "You're walking a cat?"

Stephanie shrugged as she handed the end of the leash to her friend. "No, you're walking her. She likes it."

 
"So," Stephanie said as they had their coffee and muffins, "what is the plan? Why do you get all evasive when I ask how long you're planning to be visiting?"

"Well..."

Stephanie sighed. "I always get nervous when you get weird. So, you want to go to college in the city, live with me, and work here. Right?"

"Um. Well, kind of." Stephanie just waited. "Okay, yes, pretty much that. I promise I won't reveal any of your secrets, or how weird your roommates are, or... anything like that. And I promise not to pester you about coming along with you when you go out superheroing."

"Don't worry. I don't think you're sidekick material. Well, I guess I should show you around the store. Come on."

 
Priscilla got up on her tiptoes and looked out the window of the office. "What's out there?"

Stephanie shrugged. "The back yard, obviously."

"Who does that belong to?"

"I'm not sure it 'belongs' to anybody." She looked out also. "Doesn't look like anybody is using it for anything." She sniffed. "Except garbage."

"How do you get back there?"

"Why would you want to? It's a mess, and it smells even worse."

"Well, I thought maybe we could..." She caught her friend's sudden frown. "What?"

Stephanie closed the window. "Come on."

She led Priscilla out the front door of the store, around to the side and down a garbage-strewn alley, and into the rear yard.

Priscilla's eyes widened and she held her hand over her nose and mouth. "That's–"

Stephanie pulled a bandanna out of her pocket. "Run inside and soak this in the sink. Then hand it to me out the window."

"But what–"

"Hurry up. I know what that smell is." She pointed at the low metal doors. "And it's coming from the basement. It may be a dead rat, but I doubt it. Hurry up. And get me the ring of keys that's hanging by the door to the bathroom."

 
to be continued...

This story started here.

Stephanie sighed as Vinnie and Daphne left. She considered closing the store early, but she really wanted to think everything through before she acted. And she needed to make some sales, too. That morning she'd received the weekly shipment of pet food, which she'd paid for in cash, so she was pretty broke.

It had been the first time she'd gone to the bridge in the early morning to get the deliveries alone. Standing around with all the other people from area shops and restaurants, she suddenly felt one step closer to owning the store.

She had to think about whether she should try to get some part-time help. How was she even supposed to figure out whether she could afford to hire somebody? But that was not the main area where she wished she had help.

She wished she had somebody to review cases with. When she was young, she'd seen her father talking things through with his deputies when he had questions. And, as she grew up, more and more often she had been included in those discussions as well.

Ordinarily, if she was really stuck she could go talk to Miss Sleet, but that wouldn't be possible now.

And sometimes she ran through cases with Angel, who was polite enough to listen and comment even when she obviously didn't care all that much.

But Stephanie definitely couldn't talk to Angel about this, because the thing that Stephanie knew, the thing that Vinnie had wanted to know but hadn't been able to figure out how to force her to reveal, was that Angel Valentine was actually Jan Sleet's mother.

So, if the case was too close to home for the great detective, well, it was pretty close to home for Stephanie, too.

But Stevie One was not going to risk letting a murderer go free just because it might be somebody she cared about. That was not how she had been raised and trained, and she had a responsibility as U-town's protector.

The rest of the afternoon was pretty busy as several of her steady customers came in for their pet food orders and other needs. They knew what day the shipments came in, and she'd pre-packed the orders for her regulars and lined them up neatly on the counter. As Mr. Drenkenson had always told her, it was great when somebody bought a kitten or a puppy, but the backbone of the business was the regular customers for supplies like pet food.

But then it was time to close, and as she turned off the lights and locked the store she realized how hungry she was. She knew she should get going on the case, but she still had no idea what to do, so a meal seemed like a good idea. If she went home and Larry and Angel were eating they would usually invite her to join them, but she needed to think everything through before she saw them.

She had some cash, but she didn't want to spend any more than she had to until she had a firmer handle on the store's finances, so she planned to go to her usual Chinese takeout place. It was tiny, in a small basement storefront, and Angel had said it was the most unhealthy looking place she'd ever seen. But the food was edible, at least by Stephanie's standards, and very cheap.

"Steph!"

Stephanie turned and stood motionless, the key still in her hand, surprised and amazed as her friend Priscilla ran up and hugged her.

After a moment, she hugged back.

"When... Why didn't..."

"When did I get here? This afternoon. Why didn't I call?"

"Because we don't have phones."

"How did I find you? I asked around when I got over the bridge. People told me to go to the hotel, and there was this weird bald kid there who told me to come here."

"Why–"

Priscilla shook her head. "I have a question for you. When can we eat, and when can I sit down? I've been walking for hours." She arched an eyebrow. "Unless you have plans for tonight? Like a date..."

Stephanie hugged her again. "You'd be a priority over any date I could have. Which I don't have anyway."

Priscilla grinned and whispered, "I don't imagine you have much time for dating, what with being a superhero and all." She pulled back and said, "So, where are we going to eat?"

Stephanie stood stock still, telling her suddenly-aching stomach that she trusted Pris completely, including about secrets even more important than this one.

"Uh," she said.

Priscilla waited (it would not be completely accurate to say that she waited "patiently").

Stephanie stood up straighter. "Okay," she said. "Dinner. I have a little cash, and I know a really nice place." She picked up Priscilla's suitcase. "I'm taking you to dinner."

Priscilla looked around. "I don't suppose there's a bus, or a cab, or something."

Stephanie shook her head. "That's not how we do things here. Come on – I can give you a pan to soak your feet later." She smiled. "And I can tell you how much I walk in an average night, when I'm doing that thing that we're not going to talk about at dinner."

Priscilla made a face. "You don't mean that you're not going to tell me–"

"At dinner. We are not going to talk about that in public. I'll tell you all about it later, when we're alone." She put down the suitcase and looked Priscilla in the eye. "That thing, that thing that you know – somehow – that has to remain a secret. You need to promise that, Pris."

Looking resigned, Priscilla extended her pinky. "Okay." Stephanie hooked her pinky around Priscilla's. "Pinky swear," Priscilla said.

Stephanie nodded and picked up the suitcase again. "The restaurant is this way. They have the best seafood."

Stephanie knew the very limited food options Priscilla had grown up with, and she thought it was better not to start her off with any of U-town's more exotic offerings. At least seafood would be something she'd heard of.

After they'd walked about half a block (Priscilla always got quiet for a few minutes when you forced her to get serious about anything), they turned to each other and said, "So, why did you cut your hair?"

They laughed.

"I'm the guest," Priscilla said, "So I should go first, but mine is sort of depressing, so you can go first."

"Well, mine is sort of depressing, too. When I ran away from home, I thought they'd be coming after me, looking for me, so I thought I'd better change my appearance." She sighed. "I was so scared they'd catch me and bring me home and force me to have the baby. But then I found out that nobody was even looking for me..."

"Yeah."

"Anyway, I kind of like it shorter. Easier to wash. What about you?"

Priscilla stopped, planted her hands on her hips, and said in her whiniest voice, "Are we there yet?"

"Don't you give me trouble now, young lady. We'll get there when we get there. What about your hair?"

"My stepmother... She decided I was a slut. Her word. It got pretty bad." Stephanie suddenly felt very guilty for not staying in better touch since she'd left home. "It got so bad that I told her that, yes, I do sleep with boys, but that's a lot better than sleeping with a married man."

Stephanie winced, both because of what had happened and because she could imagine her father's reaction if she'd ever said anything like that, to anybody.

Then she looked around and realized that they'd nearly walked past the restaurant, which didn't have a sign. "Hey, your poor aching feet can rest a while. Here we are."

Stephanie explained that the restaurant had several long tables, and people sat wherever they could. The ceiling had bare beams, with lanterns hanging here and there. The tables, the chairs, and the floor were made of rough-hewn, dark wood, thickly coated with varnish.

It was still fairly early in the evening, so there were some empty seats. In a couple of hours there would be a line out the door. Stephanie had been raised that dinner was always at 6:30pm sharp, so she was amazed at how late some people had dinner in U-town.

They started to move to a table which had some empty places at one end, but then they heard a loud bark from the other side of the room.

Eager to see Priscilla's reaction to Daphne, Stephanie said, "Oh, there are two friends of mine. Let's go sit with them."

She led Priscilla across the room to the table where Vinnie and Daphne sat. They were side by side, with two open seats opposite them.

"Professor," Stephanie said, "this is Priscilla. She's visiting from my home town. Pris, this is Professor..." She laughed. "You'd better just call him Vinnie. I can't pronounce his last name." Daphne barked, and Stephanie added, "And this is Daphne."

Vinnie half rose in his seat and held out his hand, so Priscilla shook it. Daphne barked again, and Vinnie said, "Let her smell your hand."

Priscilla looked like she wasn't sure whether this was a joke, but she leaned forward and held out her hand.

Stephanie made a mental note to mention to Priscilla later that both Vinnie and Daphne were obviously appreciating the view down the neck of Priscilla's sweater as she leaned toward them.

Stephanie and Priscilla were about the same height, but they were different in pretty much every way. Stephanie was blonde, with thin hair and blue eyes. Priscilla had full, dark hair (with red highlights – but Stephanie knew that was from henna) and brown eyes. Stephanie's body was lean and athletic, and Priscilla... well, as Stephanie's cousin Betty had said once, girls liked to say that Priscilla was fat, but boys didn't care. Boys, middle-aged college professors, and dogs, apparently.

Daphne sniffed Priscilla's hand and licked it.

"May we join you?" Priscilla asked, straightening up and smiling.

Vinnie gestured. "Please do."

They sat down, and Priscilla said, "So, where do you teach, professor? I'm here to look at colleges – and to visit Stephanie, of course."

Vinnie laughed. "I'm here on a visit, too, though my goal is the opposite of yours. I'm here to get away from college."

"He teaches in Italy," Stephanie explained, and Priscilla laughed.

"Well, I am trying to get away from home," she said, "but maybe not that far away."

A waiter came over and asked, "What'll you have?"

Priscilla looked confused, but Stephanie pointed at the chalkboard next to the door.

"That's it," she said. She turned to the waiter. "We'll both have cups of chowder, and I'll have the scallops."

Daphne barked, and Vinnie said, "She had the scallops, and I gather they were first rate."

Priscilla, who couldn't quite read the chalkboard without her glasses, said, "I'll have the scallops, too."

The waiter went away, and she said to Vinnie, "You've eaten already?"

He nodded. "We have." He seemed to stress the "we," and Priscilla took that as a hint that she should have addressed the question to Daphne as well. "We were just having another glass of wine before we go."

Priscilla looked around. "Can we get wine, too?"

Vinnie held up a hand. "It's our bottle, and it's good wine. Please have some."

He caught the waiter's eye and pointed two fingers at the table in front of the girls.

"Oh, thank you," Priscilla said as two wine glasses appeared.

Vinnie held up the bottle, but Stephanie put her hand over her glass. "None for me, thanks, professor. I have some things to do later." She saw that Priscilla might be about to say something clever, so she added, "I really need to get a handle on the store's finances, and I think it's probably not a good idea to do bookkeeping when you're drunk."

Vinnie nodded as he filled Priscilla's glass. "I imagine that's true." He split the remainder between his own glass and the small bowl in front of Daphne.

"So," he said, "it sounds like you're taking over the store. Will that be permanent?"

"Taking over the store?" Priscilla asked. She looked from Vinnie to Stephanie. "I don't understand."

"I'm sorry," Vinnie said, leaning forward, "did I bring up the wrong thing?"

Stephanie shook her head. "No, it's not like it's a secret. I was just enjoying a few minutes of not thinking about it." She turned to Priscilla and said, "My boss, Mr. Drenkenson, he was knifed to death in the store, night before last."

Priscilla's eyes were wide. "Oh, my God. Do they know who did it?"

Stephanie shook her head. "Not yet."

"Wow."

Priscilla drank some of her wine as the bowls of chowder arrived.

Stephanie dove right in, ignoring her friend's distraction. Vinnie smiled, sipping his wine.

Priscilla swallowed the wine, looked down, frowned at her chowder, cleared her throat, and picked up her spoon.

"It tastes even better if you actually eat it," Stephanie said after a moment.

Priscilla nodded slowly, dipping her spoon into the soup.

"Don't feel bad about Drenkenson," Daphne said. "He was a creep. He tried to force himself on Stephanie."

Priscilla's expression flickered between surprise that Daphne had spoken, shock at what she'd just learned, and sudden appreciation for the soup she had just put in her mouth.

Daphne smiled, looking pleased with herself, as she leaned forward to lap up some wine from her bowl.

 
"So, where do you live? And, most important, is it close?"

"I'm carrying the bag, what do you care?"

"You just do not care about my poor, aching feet."

"True, but you knew that already. Are you going to ask me about Daphne?"

"Probably, at some point, but there are a lot of other things that I'm more curious about."

"Like where you're going to sleep."

"And other things. Should I ask about Stevie One first, or about your boss getting murdered?"

"Well, let's take the bad one first. He was killed one night, in the store, long after closing. Jan Sleet has investigated–"

"Jan Sleet? Oh, my God. You've met her?"

"Uh, well, I've worked with her on a few cases, actually."

"Okay, now I'm impressed. I guess you've worked with her as Stevie One, right?"

"Yes."

"Does she know who you are?"

"Of course. I couldn't keep a secret from her. But how do you know?"

"I'm hoping to go to college over in the city, so I sent for information from all the ones that seemed good... and, you know, that I had a prayer of getting into."

"Because you're getting away from–"

"One thing at a time. One of the colleges – Schermerhorn – they included a copy of their school newspaper in the packet they sent me. I guess they have interns at your newspaper here, and one of them wrote a thing about you, about Stevie One. Including when she – you – first appeared, which wasn't that long after you left home. I knew you were coming here, and I just knew it was you."

"You... how did you know? Just from that?"

She laughed. "Who else could it possibly be?"

Stephanie laughed, too. "We're nearly there–" she began.

"Praise the Lord!"

"Shush. I need to tell you about Angel and Larry."

"Who?"

"The people I live with. I hope they're going to be okay with you staying for a few days... How long are you staying?"

"Uhhh... Well, so what about these Angel and Larry people?"

"Larry picked me up on the highway, hitchhiking, when I was coming here. We kind of hit it off–"

"Oh, my God–"

"No. Nothing like that. He's a grown man, an adult, and he's with Angel. He's training me. Weapons, unarmed fighting, everything."

"And how does he know so much–"

"Officially, I don't know."

"Unofficially? Wait a minute, you're living with a crook?"

"No. Let's not get into that. And Angel, I don't know that much about her."

"And what you do know, you're not going to tell me. Why did you even bring this up if you weren't going to tell me anything?"

"Here we are."

Priscilla stopped and looked at the shabby little building. "This is it?"

"It is. Home. Come on."

They went up the stairs to the front door and Stephanie let them in. "I don't know if they're home," she said as they went down the dark hallway. "We usually hang out in the kitchen. It's the warmest room in the..." Her voice trailed off as they turned the corner, saw that the kitchen was empty, and heard a guttural howl from upstairs.

"Ah," Stephanie said. "They're here." She caught Priscilla's look. "Angel is not quiet when they get going."

There was another bellow from upstairs. "I'll say," Priscilla said, looking up at the ceiling, her eyes wide.

"Come on," Stephanie said, motioning for Priscilla to follow her up the narrow stairs. They tiptoed up, though Stephanie knew that there was no chance they could possibly be heard over the rhythmic thumping and related noises from Angel's bedroom.

Stephanie pointed at the door to her bedroom and they went in. Priscilla looked around, frowning at Stephanie's meager furnishings. She pointed at Stephanie's bed and whispered, "I am not sharing that tiny bed with you. No wonder you can't get any dates."

Stephanie laughed. "You don't need to worry. You can have the bed. I'll bring up a couple of exercise mats from the basement later. I can sleep on those."

Priscilla sat on the bed and kicked off her sneakers. "I really need a shower, but I'm too tired. I'll have one in the morning." She lifted her suitcase up on the bed, opened it, and took out a toothbrush and toothpaste. "Where's the bathroom?"

Stephanie pointed. "Right across the hall."

Priscilla shuffled off in that direction as Stephanie started to remove her clothes. She noticed that there was a lull in the noise from the other bedroom.

She had the bottom half of her costume on and was smelling the armpits of her three tops, trying to figure out which was the cleanest (and making a mental note that she had to do laundry that night or in the morning) when Priscilla came back in with a dazed look on her face.

Stephanie frowned. "What's up?" she asked. She tossed two of the tops into a corner and pulled the other one on.

Priscilla grabbed her wrist and pulled her over so they were sitting next to each other on the bed.

"The weirdest thing just happened," she whispered, her mouth so close to Stephanie that the smell of toothpaste was almost overwhelming. "I was brushing my teeth, and looking around to see if there was any mouthwash, when the bathroom door opened and this woman came in. She just kind of drifted in, like she didn't even see me. She was completely naked, with white skin and white hair. Everywhere. She sort of glided over to the... toilet and sat down, then she noticed me and smiled.

"'Oh, hello dear,' she said. She held out her hand and said, 'I'm Angel.'

"I shook her hand, and then I had to spit before I could tell her who I was, but she just smiled and waited. I told her my name and I'm not even sure she heard the part about me being your friend. She just finished up and smiled, and as she left she squeezed my shoulder and said, 'So nice to have you here.'"

Stephanie chuckled. "At least she didn't throw you out."

"Is she on drugs?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so. She was probably just... you know. Relaxed."

"Satisfied."

"Yeah. At least for the moment." She caught Priscilla's expression. "And don't even start about me." She stood up and pulled on her mask. "I'm going out to help some people, and maybe kick some ass. Don't wait up."

 
to be continued...

This story started here.

Walking up the stairs to Pete and Katherine's apartment, Vinnie suddenly realized that this might be socially awkward. Henshaw and Pete had been in a band together, and he had just decked Henshaw. Well, maybe Pete and Katherine would be asleep, as they had been the night before when he and Daphne had got home.

He knocked at the door, lightly, hoping only Daphne would hear. There was a bark from inside (he was surprised to find himself smiling at the sound), but it was Katherine who opened the door. It was cooler that night, so she was dressed in more than underwear.

She smiled as he came in, nearly colliding with Daphne as she lunged forward to greet him. He squatted and rubbed her head, kissing her forehead, and she pressed her head against his.

"Vinnie," Katherine said as she moved to the big kitchen table. "Good to see you." She gestured at the stove. "There's coffee."

Vinnie went to the stove and poured himself a mug. He saw that Daphne's bowl was half full, so he topped it off and carried it over next to his chair. He sat, and Daphne lapped up some coffee and rested her chin on his thigh.

"Where's Pete?" he asked. Since the apartment (other than Daphne's room) had no walls, it was easy to tell Pete wasn't there. Then Vinnie noticed that the bass guitar case was missing also. "He got a gig?"

"No," Katherine said. "He's got an audition." She shook her head. "I think he thought that his old band, Kingdom Come, might put itself back together at some point. Tom's death, of course, ended that."

"I was under the impression that it had ended some time before that."

Daphne rolled her eyes, and Vinnie rubbed her head.

Katherine nodded. "It did. I guess Daphne may have told you about Jenny Owens and all that she brought with her." She finished her coffee. "Pete thinks he's not a good bass player, so he believes getting into KC was a fluke and he'll never get into that good a band again." She gave Vinnie a sidelong glance. "I'm not telling you anything I haven't said to him."

Daphne barked quietly.

"Then this is probably a good time to let you know that I had an altercation with Mr. Henshaw earlier this evening. I hope that isn't going to be an issue." He told the story, and he could tell from their expressions that this was fine with both of them.

Katherine laughed when he was done. "Serves him right. I never did like him. He's a good musician, I guess, but he's always trying to prove he's a tough guy. One time he stole a gun of mine while he was here. I got it back, but..." She made a face. "I thought of killing him, but Pete would have been upset.

"It is typical of him to make himself the hero of the story by talking about his 'friend' Tom when they couldn't stand each other. But I am happy you hit him, like that time with Lauren."

Vinnie laughed. "It was kind of similar at that." He looked down at Daphne. "That was in a bar, in the town where I lived, many, many years ago. This woman made a joke about starling..." His voice trailed off.

Katherine smiled. "You can call me that. It's okay."

"Lauren made a nasty joke about starling and Alex, who were friends, and starling tripped her so she went flying, and I poured a beer on her head. So, similar, except that this time I did the knocking down and then Ron dumped a plate of salad."

"I knew I liked her."

Daphne barked a question.

"Alex was my friend," Vinnie said. "Then she was Jan's mother, a little later."

* * * *

Vinnie looked up at the ceiling. It was barely visible in the light from a streetlight. He had a thought, and he was having a tough time getting rid of it.

Daphne was asleep, pressed against his side with her arm across his stomach. She was snoring quietly, and drooling into his armpit, but that wasn't what was making it difficult for him to get back to sleep.

Well, if he was right, his daughter would react in a specific way, and probably soon. If not, then she wouldn't. That was simple. So, why was he still awake?

"What is it?" Daphne murmured. "Getting restless already?"

"No, nothing like that." He squeezed her. "A thought came to me, and it's not a really happy one, but I have a possible idea about who killed Tom Drenkenson."

She opened her eyes and raised her head to look at him in the gloom. "Really?" she whispered. "I didn't realize there were two detectives in the family."

"That's just it. If I've figured this out, then she will, too, if she hasn't already, and then she'll react in a very particular way. If she doesn't, then I'm wrong."

She rested her chin on his chest, still looking at him. "Want to talk about it?"

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

She shrugged. "If it's enough to get you all wound up like this, then yes."

 
When he was done, she let out a deep sigh. "That's cutting pretty close to home," she breathed.

He nodded. "Exactly."

She sighed. "So, how are you going to test this theory of yours?"

"Well, I think we should go..." He smiled. "I mean I should go–"

"No," she said. "We can go. I can be Doctor Watson." He frowned, about to protest, but she continued, "I'll show you. Watson had many good doggy qualities, you know. Loyal, helpful, fearless–"

"I'm sure you'll make a fine Watson. I'm more dubious about my ability to hold up my end."

"Well," she murmured, putting her head down and closing her eyes, "you lead and I'll follow. There are advantages..." Her voice trailed off and she barked quietly as she snuggled up against him.

Vinnie was already regretting the idea of trying to solve this mystery himself. Even if his idea was correct (no, especially if it was correct), he couldn't imagine the process was going to be pleasant.

 
Vinnie sighed as they walked slowly down the hotel steps. Marshall had told him pretty much what he had expected to hear, but Vinnie had hoped, until the last minute, that he would turn out to be wrong.

He slowed and stood motionless at the bottom of the steps. Daphne leaned against his leg. He looked down and saw that her expression was sad. He leaned over and rubbed her head. "I can go home," she whispered, "if you don't... if I'm not going to be helpful."

He squatted and took her hand (which rested limply in his, like a dog's paw). "I am very happy you're here," he said. "But I do... there are two things I need. Besides my Watson, of course."

She looked quizzical.

"A private place to talk. Where I'm absolutely sure nobody can overhear. And... there's someone whose advice I want to get. Stephanie, the girl who works at the pet store Drenkenson owned."

Daphne was obviously puzzled by this, but she shrugged and turned to face the street that would take them to the pet store. When Vinnie didn't start walking immediately, she raised one hand and pointed in that direction.

"Thanks," he said. "Let's go."

As they approached the pet store, Vinnie slowed. "I need to talk to Stephanie alone for a minute. Wait here."

He dropped her leash and stepped toward the door, but she moved with him.

"Daphne, stay!" he said. She looked up, expressionless, but again she stepped forward when he did.

He looked at her for a moment, then he picked up her leash and looped it around a fire hydrant.

She reached up and took it off again.

Vinnie burst out laughing and squatted, bringing her to him and holding her. She licked his cheek and whispered, "So, go on in already. What are you waiting for?"

He laughed again and kissed her. "I'll be right back."

 
A few minutes later, Vinnie, Daphne, and Stephanie were together in the small office. Stephanie sat at the desk, and Vinnie sat in the other chair. Daphne curled up on the floor. She was enjoying watching Stephanie pretend not to look at her.

"I need to explain this," Vinnie said, "and it may take a while."

Stephanie shrugged. "There's a bell that will ring if a customer comes in. Other than that, I'm all yours."

"The thing that occurred to me last night," Vinnie began, "was that Pete and Katherine's little demonstration in the street yesterday meant something, but it left one big question unanswered. Yes, starling is easy to impersonate, and Daphne here has given her an alibi for that night, which I believe. And, as far as we can figure out, Katherine didn't have any motive.

"But starling was seen in this area, which means that either she was here or somebody was impersonating her. Daphne tells me that it's very unlikely that anybody was just walking around dressed as her. People put on starling costumes sometimes for parades or parties, but not just to walk around. Too much chance you'd get shot. She has a lot of enemies.

"So, who was it? Pete was able to pull it off, but a big man like Henshaw? Ridiculous. Larry Gerard? Marshall has described him and that's even more ridiculous. Jenny Owens, if she's still around somewhere? That's possible, but then I had another thought.

"Alex – Jan's mother – she and Katherine were friends, very briefly and very intensely, and they were known for dressing up like each other. Jan tries not to talk to me about Alex, but from what she doesn't say I've always had the idea that Alex is here somewhere in U-town. I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I decided to test it. If I'd thought of this, Jan would, too, and how would she react? She wouldn't be able to deal with suspecting her own mother, and she'd drop the investigation, or at least put it on the far back burner."

He sighed. "So, first thing this morning we went to see her. We ran into Marshall, and he said that she was in meetings all day. When we saw him, she was in a meeting about sanitation." He shook his head. "The lengths to which she will go, under normal circumstances, to avoid meetings about sanitation are a running joke with people who know her. But today? Apparently not."

"Hang on," Stephanie said. "I'm okay with..." She shook her head. "Isn't it pretty far-fetched to assume that your ex-wife knew..." Her voice trailed off and she suddenly looked upset. "How did you know?" she asked.

There was an awkward moment of silence, then Vinnie said, "I'm not clever enough to fake you out. I have no idea what you're talking about."

Stephanie looked at him for a moment, then she said, "Well, to continue my question–"

"Wait a minute," Vinnie protested. "You can't just–"

"Ignore what I just said? Actually, I can."

Vinnie made a rueful and inarticulate noise.

She shrugged. "You can't force me, you shouldn't threaten me, and you can't run to Miss Sleet to figure it out because, according to your own theory, she's dropped the case. And besides, she already knows."

He sighed. "Okay, what's your question?"

"You're basing a lot on two people who liked to dress up like each other twenty years ago. So, let's assume that Miss Sleet has dropped the case, and because it was hitting too close to home. Who would she do that for?"

"Well, me, I suppose, but I couldn't impersonate starling."

Stephanie shook her head. "starling is a murderer. She says she wasn't there, but I don't believe anything she says – not without a witness."

Daphne raised her head and growled, baring her teeth.

"A reliable and unbiased witness," Stephanie said, continuing to look at Vinnie.

Daphne stuck out her tongue and put her head down again.

"But I don't suspect you," Stephanie said. She shrugged. "No motive. Which also goes for Marshall and Ron. And I don't think starling did it, because Miss Sleet wouldn't want to protect her."

"So, you're sort of back to Alex." Vinnie frowned. "I wonder if Jan would lie to protect you. She thinks very highly of you."

"If she thinks highly of me, it's because... I'm not the sort of person who's going to go around murdering people."

Daphne looked up and barked a question. Vinnie reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

"That makes sense," he admitted.

 
"Well," Vinnie said as they walked along, "at least my daughter will be happy."

Daphne barked.

"She'd have been upset if we'd been able to solve it without her. Not that..."

His voice trailed off as they turned a corner and Daphne suddenly started to pull against her leash, straining toward the stone arch across the street which led to a park.

Vinnie allowed himself to be pulled across the street and into the park, which was small -- two small city blocks, with several paved paths lined with benches, trees, and grass, and a small playground at the far end.

He felt another tug, and he turned to see Daphne standing up and unclipping the leash from her collar. He handed his end of the leash to her, which seemed to be the appropriate thing to do, and she rolled it up and stuck it into her back pocket.

She took his hand. "I hope you like ice cream," she said, leading him toward the playground.

 
A few minutes later, sitting on a bench, back at the far end of the park from the playground, they licked their cones. Daphne had persuaded him to try the papaya/mango/coconut flavor, which was surprisingly tasty.

She sat with one arm around his shoulders, smiling. "It was funny that Stephanie jumped to the conclusion that Alex was your ex-wife, just because you guys had a kid together."

He nodded, licking up a bit of melting ice cream before it could fall on his hand.

"Alex and I were friends, and we were parents, but we weren't married, and I never even thought of us as lovers. We just..." He caught her eye. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but sex can be much more enjoyable than a lot of other activities."

She nodded seriously. "That's a very cogent observation, professor."

"And we were friends, and we were young and horny, and we weren't having a lot of luck with any other prospects in our small town."

"And she got pregnant."

"Yes, and I was prepared to do my part."

"But you ended up doing both parts."

He shrugged. "That was okay. It was... It was easier than if she'd been there, to be honest, and she left so quickly that Janice had no memories of her. She'd have left eventually, so..." He shrugged again and ate some more ice cream.

"So," he continued after a moment, "just in case you were wondering, my curiosity about Alex was simply to find out whether she's involved in this case. No other reason."

Daphne nodded slowly, chewing and swallowing her cone. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and Vinnie wondered if this was the time that she would start talking about herself, at least a little.

But then he realized that her eyes were closed, and those pursed lips were moving inexorably in the direction of his face.

It had been quite a while since he'd necked on a park bench. And, as they kissed, he reflected that, although he was pretty sure he wouldn't get anywhere asking nosy questions, he really did want to figure out this odd woman.

After a few minutes, he considered pointing out that she was really too big to be a lap dog, but he decided against it.

 
to be continued...

This story started here.

"Dad?" Ron said as they walked to school.

"Yes?"

"I thought Grandpa was coming here to U-town to spend time with me."

Marshall nodded. "That was the idea. I'm sure he'll get around to it, but you know how things get when your mother has a case."

"He's helping her?"

"Yes, I think he's doing some investigation. You know, related to the murder."

"Oh. Okay."

 
After he dropped Ron off, as he was walking back to the hotel, Marshall was hailed from across the street.

"O'Connor!"

He turned, and it took him a second to recognize Larry Gerard.

"Hold up a minute," Larry said as he trotted across the street. He stuck out his hand and they shook. "So, how's the little woman?"

Marshall laughed. "She doesn't often get called that."

Larry clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. I'll buy you a beer."

 
Ron went to her regular classroom for her literature class, but there was a note on the door that the teacher was sick and the class was cancelled.

Ron frowned, not because she was especially upset about missing literature, but because there was a boy in the class who wanted to be friends with her. She knew that if he showed up and found out that they both had a free period, he'd want to hang out with her.

She quickly looked both ways and made for the staircase. She raced up to the next floor and went into the room where her next class was scheduled to be. It was empty, and she closed the door and went to her usual seat.

Well, she was here so she guessed she might as well finish the reading that was due today.

 
Larry led Marshall a couple of blocks away to a ratty and unlabeled bar. They were greeted as soon as they came in, so Larry was clearly a regular. He gestured Marshall to a booth near the back and called to the bartender, "This is Marshall. He's investigating me for something, for his boss, but he doesn't want me to know that. I'm going to get him drunk and find out what's going on."

When they were seated, Larry grinned. He looked about as Marshall remembered him, handsome, with slicked-back dark hair, sideburns, and a mustache.

"So," he said as the mugs of beer arrived and the bartender made a gesture as if he was wiping the rough wooden table. "I understand there's been a murder, at the pet store where Stephanie works. Has your boss figured it out yet?"

"Not yet, as far as I know."

"How'd he die?"

"Stabbed, in the store, after it was closed for the night."

"The door locked?"

Marshall was starting to get an idea about what the other man was getting at, but he didn't react visibly except to shrug. "I don't know," he said.

 
The door opened and Ron's head jerked up, but it was a grownup, someone she didn't know. She turned back to her reading, but the woman said, "Excuse me, what class is scheduled in this room next?"

"Civics. Why?"

The woman smiled. "Because I'm your new teacher."

Ron frowned. "Since when?"

She came and sat next to Ron. "Since today. My name is Miss Nelson. I'm afraid your regular teacher had to go out of town suddenly – some sort of family emergency." She paused, but Ron didn't react. "I was hoping someone would be here a little early, so I could find out where you are in the curriculum. Have you been a student here long?"

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, a while. My parents make me go." She made a face. "It's okay. I'm only here in the afternoons anyway."

"Only in the afternoon? Why is that?"

"I deliver the mail in the morning. I pick it up at the bridge and then I bring it to the hotel, for Vicki and my mother and father and the others. The important mail."

"You deliver the mail? Isn't there a post office or something? Why do they make you do it?"

Definitely a teacher. She didn't understand anything.

"Nobody makes me do it. It's what I do."

"And what do you study? I've read about the school here and it sounds quite innovative, if you're a fan of unstructured learning environments. This is my first day of actually teaching here, though, so I want to learn all I can before the class starts."

"Well, they change the classes around all the time. I used to take history. We were learning about slavery. Then they changed the schedule, so now I'm taking civics instead. History is in the morning now. Civics is like history, but it's the history of U-town.

"I only went to one class so far for civics. One girl said that my dad wasn't as important in the government as the others, as my mother and Vicki and them. So I busted her in the nose and she had to go to the nurse." Miss Nelson frowned disapprovingly and Ron shrugged. "She only said it to bother me, to see what I'd say. Well, she found out."

 
"Let me ask you a question, O'Connor. I've seen you around town with that kid of yours. She looks like a tough little brat. She get into a lot of fights?"

Marshall shrugged. "Some."

"When she does get into a fight, do you jump in and help her?"

"No, of course not."

Larry leaned forward. "Why not?"

"Because she can usually handle it by herself."

"And if she can't? And if she gets a black eye or a bloody nose?"

"Well, there's probably a lesson in there for her to learn."

"And when would you step in? If there was a chance she'd get seriously hurt, right?"

"Of course."

"So, let me ask you this. Do you think there was any chance that skinny bastard at the pet store could have really hurt Stevie One?"

 
"Well," Miss Nelson said judiciously, "not to take anything away from your father, but your mother is a fairly extraordinary woman. She–"

The door opened and Molly, the regular civics teacher, came in. Miss Nelson stood up and said, "Excuse me, Ron. I'll see you again soon."

She slipped by Molly and left the room.

"Who was that?" Molly asked as she moved to her desk.

"Fuck if I know," Ron said, turning back to her reading.

 
"And if she had done it, she wouldn't have used a knife," Larry said, leaning forward and tapping the table with his finger. "Remember, her old man was training her to be a cop. Cops don't fight with knives – they don't learn how. They learn how to defend themselves against knives, but not how to use them."

He shook his head as the bartender brought two more beers.

"I tried to get her to carry something besides those sticks of hers, but she won't do it."

Marshall shrugged. "She seems to do pretty well with them."

"So far, yeah."

 
"So, padre," Jan said as they walked back to the hotel, "is tonight the night you're going to spend some time with your family?"

Vinnie laughed. "That's my plan, cara."

She smiled. "I hope Ron is there."

"You don't eat together? As a family?"

"Oh, padre, you're so traditional." She caught his expression. "Well, whatever your expectations about parents and children, I'm sure we don't fit. For a long time we didn't even know where she slept."

"I notice she's got a mouth on her."

"She does indeed."

"I can't remember the last time I ever heard you curse, or Marshall. You don't try to..."

"No, never. And we've had some complaints from her teachers – and the U-town school is not exactly strict – but we've told them that we're fine with it."

She pulled out her case and got out a cigarette, placed it between her lips, and lit it, all one-handed (since her other hand was busy with her cane). Vinnie was impressed with the dexterity of her long fingers, notwithstanding the fact that he knew this was the sort of thing that she practiced in front of her mirror.

"There are two reasons," she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "One is that it was clear she was expecting it. She sees how we are, how we talk, how we dress, and she was waiting for us to pressure her to be more like us. Which we never do. She doesn't need to be like us – that is not a condition of her being our daughter or of our loving her, and we want to make that clear."

She smiled. "We are quite strict in some ways, but about things that really matter. She has to go to school, she has to study, and she has to work at it. She has to tell us the truth. We're trying to curb her tendency to get into fights, but without ever telling her that all fights are wrong. She knows her parents covered a war, and it was a war which we thought was completely justified."

Vinnie gestured at the side street they were passing, where there was a large crater in the middle of the pavement.

She laughed. "Yes, that, too. We've left some of those unfilled, to remind everybody. We had to fight to get here, and we will probably need to fight again, sooner or later."

"And there's no point in shielding her from that fact."

"Her or anybody, but especially her." She drew deeply on her cigarette and threw it away. He knew how rare it was for her to get so passionate.

What he wanted to say, as always, was: "You remind me of your mother," but what he actually said was: "What's the other reason?"

Passionate or not, of course she remembered exactly where they'd been in the conversation. "We feel we've adopted somebody from a different culture, a different world, and we want to honor her native tongue and her native customs. She shouldn't have to give them up just because she's with us now."

 
Larry was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a beer. It seemed that Stephanie was in the clear for the killing, but he planned to keep an eye on things as they developed. Marshall was obviously pretty canny – he'd have to be sharp to work for Jan Sleet – so he could have been holding something back.

He snorted a laugh as he lit a cigarette and looked at the newspaper he'd picked up in the city. To the best of his knowledge he'd never fathered any kids, so it struck him funny that he'd ended up acting like a father to a girl who liked to dress up in a costume and stop crimes.

He'd stayed in a cheap motel on his trip, and he'd watched television to kill time. (He missed TV when he was home, but Angel wouldn't have one in the house.)

He'd fallen asleep with the TV on, and he'd dreamed that they were characters in a sitcom, the three of them. The gruff dad who didn't seem to have a definite job, the gorgeous mother who always had impeccable hair and spotless clothing, even when she was doing housework, and the tomboy daughter who got into various kinds of scrapes while pursuing her very ambitious dreams.

He heard the front door open, and he thought for a moment that it might be Angel, but the footsteps were wrong. Shit.

The most common adjective used to describe Tammy Nelson was "striking." She was tall and slender, dressed, as usual, in a three-piece suit. Larry would have said the suit was yellow, but he was sure that the tailor had come up with some fancier name for the color. And he was sure a tailor had been involved – the suit fit her very well. Whatever the color was called, it did seem that it had been chosen to go with her long, wavy hair, which was strawberry blonde. (He'd made the mistake of saying she was a redhead once, and she'd quickly corrected him.)

"Mr. Gerard, good afternoon," she began, putting down her briefcase. "I understand–"

He extended his leg under the table and nudged the chair opposite him with his toe. "Have a seat, doll."

"I..." She hesitated, then she pulled out the chair and sat down, moving her briefcase until it was beside her.

"Cup of joe?" he asked gesturing at the stove, where there was obviously no coffee brewing.

Larry found Tammy annoying – just the fact of her existence more than anything she did – and he dealt with this by always acting differently than she seemed to want. If she was professional and formal, he got friendly and relaxed. If she acted like they were friends, which they weren't, then he became severe.

"No coffee," she said. "Thank you. No, I am here because I understand you may require legal representation–"

"That's bull," he said. He sighed as he stubbed out his cigarette. "I appreciate the offer, doll, but I'm not... Nobody thinks I did it. And I didn't, if you're wondering."

He hesitated, and she stood up. "Give me a penny," she said as she went to the refrigerator.

He went through his pockets and came up with a nickel, which he slid across the table to her. She popped the top of her beer can and sat down again, reversing the chair and straddling the back.

Larry made a mental note that he was going to have to figure out a new tactic for dealing with her.

She picked up the nickel and he said, "So, now I'm paying you to drink my beer?"

She made a face at the can in her hand. "You really should. This stuff is hideous. No, you're hiring me with that nickel, so this conversation is now privileged communication." She tossed the nickel into the air, grabbed it, and then opened her hand to show him that the coin had vanished. "What's on your mind?"

Larry reflected that, whatever he thought about Tammy Nelson personally, he'd heard it from more than one source that she was a very good lawyer – "frighteningly good," one person had said.

He finished his beer and went to the refrigerator for another one.

"It's not me that I'm worried about," he began.

 
"So," Jan said to Ron, "how was school today?"

Ron shrugged. "It was okay."

Marshall scooped up some mashed potatoes and swirled them in his gravy. He was glad Vinnie hadn't offered his opinion of this food, given how many really first class restaurants there were in U-town. Ron liked to eat in the hotel dining room, though, where there were never any surprises.

"Did you have your civics class again?" Jan asked.

"Hopefully without violence this time," Marshall added.

Jan laughed. "Please don't misuse the word 'hopefully' in front of you-know-who. We need to set a good example."

They all laughed, except for Ron – Vinnie wasn't sure she ever laughed.

"Literature was canceled," she said after the grownup hilarity had died down. "What's-her-name was sick." She looked up from her baked beans. "Something weird happened after that. I was in the room for the civics class, before everybody else, and this woman came in." She ate another spoonful. "She was dressed real nice, and she said she was a teacher. She said she was the substitute, that Molly was out, and then she asked me a bunch of questions. You know, not weird, but just about school and stuff." She shrugged. "But then, Molly came in and Miss Nelson jumped up and split. I have no fucking idea..." Her voice trailed off as she recognized the looks that were going back and forth between her parents. "Fuck, what?" she demanded.

"What did Miss Nelson look like?" Marshall asked.

"Let me guess," Vinnie said. "She murdered Thomas Drenkenson? Maybe she..."

They were ignoring him, so he stopped.

"Kind of tall," Ron said slowly. "Her hair was..." She gestured at the level of her shoulder. "To there. Kind of light colored, but not blonde-blonde. She wore a sweater thing, like tan color, and pants. Not jeans, but real pants. Brown... light brown boots, like leather but soft-looking. She had the boots inside her pants, so I don't know how high they went." She gestured at her calf. "She was wearing glasses."

Jan nodded. "That's very good, Ron. Did you know she was suspicious, is that why you were studying her?"

Ron shrugged and ate another mouthful of baked beans. Vinnie guessed this was what happened when you were being raised by a detective and her assistant. Then she looked up. "She called me 'Ron' when she left, but I didn't tell her my name."

"Ron," Marshall said slowly, "if you see her again, please let us know right away." The glances between Marshall and Jan were going hot and heavy by this point, and Vinnie had to restrain himself from smiling. The eye contact was almost comical, but it was obvious that the situation was serious. He had the idea they were silently debating whether to warn Ron that this woman was dangerous.

Marshall nodded finally. "Just let us know."

Ron nodded and picked up one of her hot dogs with her fingers, biting off about half of it. She caught her father's expression.

"Hot dog," she explained, her mouth still full.

"A hot dog with a bun is one thing," Marshall said. He looked like he was wondering whether this was worth pursuing when there was a murmur from the area of the door.

The hotel dining room was pretty big, with probably around fifty tables and booths, and at the moment it was about half full. A man was limping in, and he was attracting quite a bit of attention. He was tall and gaunt, with long, dark, curly hair and a hawk-like face. He wore all black, with a long black coat.

"Miss Sleet," he said, his expression stern, "we need to talk."

"Mister Henshaw," she said, wiping her mouth, "I am having dinner with my family, and I do have regular office hours. You may come tomorrow–"

"I demand to know what you're doing about the murder of my friend Tom Drenkenson!"

She turned to face him. "I am investigating it, and, when I have solved it, the appropriate people will be informed. Since you are a suspect yourself–"

"Don't threaten me," he said. He gestured with the head of his cane, rather closer to her face than Vinnie liked, but she slammed her fist on the table.

"No," she said firmly, "I appreciate your possible grief, but that does not entitle you to–"

He poked her shoulder. "I demand–"

Ron looked ready to climb over the table and attack this guy, but Vinnie could tell that Marshall was holding her arm under the table to keep her under control. Marshall wouldn't interfere without a signal from his boss, who liked it when suspects got upset and might possibly reveal something useful.

However, as Vinnie reflected, there were advantages to not being on the payroll.

He stood up. "Mr. Henshaw," he said firmly.

Henshaw turned, "Look, this doesn't–"

Vinnie drew back and punched him in the stomach, as hard as he could. Henshaw dropped his cane and stumbled backwards, falling on his rear end. As he looked up, startled, a small figure zipped around Vinnie and dumped a plate of salad on his head.

Vinnie had his knife out by then. "Come on, pegleg," he said softly. "In here or outside, whichever you want."

Henshaw got to his feet, angrily wiping the salad off his head. He addressed the detective. "This is outrageous!" he said. "Are you going–"

"I agree," she said. "Completely outrageous. Please come to my office in the morning. I'll have the paperwork ready for you to file a complaint. Good evening."

The great detective had not finished her salad, but she wiped her mouth and dropped her napkin on her plate as Henshaw stalked out.

"Padre, I..." She sighed. "We'll talk later. And Ron, I'm sure your father will have some improving things to say to you at some point about the importance of resolving conflicts without resorting to fisticuffs." She turned to Marshall. "You and I need to talk." He came around and pulled back her chair.

As they left, Ron ate the remainder of her hot dog and blotted up the rest of her baked beans with a piece of bread.

"Where did you get the knife?" she asked.

"No knives for you," he said. "That's what your father would say, if he were here, though I'm sure he'd use more words." She started to speak, but he shook his head. "No. No knives."

She looked miffed, but not too seriously.

"Actually," he said thoughtfully, eating some of his corn, "dumping that salad on his head was the smartest thing you could have done. He looked to me like a guy who thought he was tough but didn't get into a lot of fights. For a guy like that, to get knocked down and to get back up and fight could be a badge of honor. But the salad made him look silly, and he wasn't going to come back from that." He looked up and caught her expression. "Plus, of course, it got you out of having to eat it."

Her reaction wasn't a smile, exactly, but it was in that general neighborhood.

 
to be continued...