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...

This story started here.

Jan Sleet pulled out her pocket watch. "It's been over forty-five minutes." She looked down. "Daphne, I would ask you if you thought she was really coming, but you wouldn't tell me, would you?"

Daphne looked up and barked.

"I didn't think so."

They were standing on the sidewalk in front of the pet store. The door opened and Stephanie poked her head out. "Hey, you guys," she said. "What's going on? Do you want to come in and visit?"

"Perhaps in a few minutes," Jan said. "We're waiting for somebody."

"Okay. I can make a cup of tea, if you have the time. I'd like to find out how things are going with the case." She smiled suddenly. "And if you're interested in some really cute kittens..."

Daphne's bark was emphatically negative. Stephanie laughed and went back inside the store as Vinnie said, "There she is."

This was starling in full regalia, as she was always depicted in posters. She was wearing a stained and worn fatigue jacket over a T-shirt and jeans, plus dark sunglasses. There was a gun belt across her hips, and she walked toward them slowly, with no expression and no indication that she even saw them.

Vinnie wondered if she was simply going to wipe them out. It seemed like a crazy thought, but of course she was known to be crazy.

"Pretty impressive, no?" came a raspy voice from behind them, and Vinnie and Jan jumped. They turned and saw Katherine, calmly lighting a cigarette. They turned back to the woman approaching them, who removed her sunglasses and smiled, revealing herself to be Pete.

Vinnie had half noticed that they looked a lot alike the day before – same height, both lean, similar hair color – but Pete had nailed her slow, ominous walk, and he'd obviously hacked off his long hair to look like hers.

Jan glanced back at Katherine and again at Pete as he put his glasses on. He was about to speak, but Jan nodded. "Well known, iconic, easy to recognize, and therefore easy to imitate. I get the point."

Pete unbuckled the gun belt and gave it to Katherine. "Having made the point," he said, "I think we'll go home. Professor?"

Vinnie handed over Daphne's leash, but she didn't seem to want to move from his side.

"Daphne!" Katherine said sharply, snapping her fingers.

Vinnie squatted and rubbed Daphne's head, then he leaned forward and whispered, "I'll come by tonight. Probably after dinner. If I'm invited, of course."

She licked his cheek and trotted off with Pete and Katherine.

Jan regarded her father. She sighed. "Words fail me," she said. "Which, as you know, doesn't happen very often." Vinnie shrugged. "Well, since you have become... attached to one of my suspects, I suppose I should bring you up to date on the case." She held up a finger. "With the understanding--"

"That whatever I learn goes no further. Of course."

 
A small bell rang when the door to the pet store opened, and Stephanie stepped out of the back room. "Hi," she said. "Give me a minute – I need to wash my hands."

They heard running water, and then she came back in. "It's really hard being behind the counter and doing everything else, too." She was wearing jeans and a tank top, and when she went behind the counter she pulled on a blue sweater. "This is the nicest top I own," she said, "and I'm trying to keep it clean so I'll look okay for the customers." She laughed. "Well, when they come in. I think I've taken it off and put it back on at least ten times so far today."

She ran her fingers through her short blonde hair, then she grimaced and quickly patted it back into place.

"Do you have a few minutes?" she asked. "Would you like some tea? I want to hear about the case, and I have a couple of questions, too."

Jan nodded. "We'd love some tea, thank you."

They went into the small office where Tom Drenkenson's body had been found. Stephanie put up water on the hot plate on top of the filing cabinet, and Jan took the desk chair. Stephanie leaned against the desk and Vinnie sat on a rather flimsy-looking folding chair.

"So," Jan said, "what are your questions? Let's start there."

"Well, I was wondering who's going to take over the store. I mean, I'm glad to handle things for now, but what's going to happen?"

"We don't know yet. As far as we've been able to learn, Mr. Drenkenson has no family in this area. We've written to his sister – she's the only close relative we've been able to locate – but she lives in Oklahoma and I would imagine she might not want to come here to run this store. So, you should be thinking about whether you'd like to take over."

"Me?"

Jan laughed. "Yes, you. Who else? You might need to pay some money to his family over time, something like that. Anyway, we don't know yet, but you should be thinking about whether you'd want it."

Stephanie leaned back, almost losing her balance. "Wow," she said. She looked around at the shabby little office. "I was not expecting this."

"Apparently. What was the other question?"

"Huh? Oh." She smiled. "I do have to ask what that scene was out on the street with starling. I saw some of it through the window."

"As you know, I put out a call to all the runners to find out if any of them saw anybody suspicious in the vicinity of the store at around the time of the murder. Well, somebody did come forward, and he said he saw starling."

Stephanie's eyes got wide – they could see her start to invent scenarios where starling had killed her boss.

"I went to see starling," Jan continued. "She lives with Pete, who was in the same band as Mr. Drenkenson." Stephanie's eyes got even wider. Her brain was obviously steaming ahead at full speed now. "The little vignette outside on the street was their demonstration that starling would have been easy to imitate."

The teapot whistled and Stephanie moved to make the tea. There were only two mugs – Mr. Drenkenson's and the one she had brought in for herself – so she decided she wouldn't have any. She didn't like tea that much anyway, but it was cheaper than buying soda every day.

Over her shoulder, she asked, "And what's with that girl who walks around like a dog? I've seen her a few times, when I'm out on patrol, but why did she go off with starling?"

There was a pause as she turned with the two steaming mugs.

"She lives with them, with Pete and Katherine," Jan said. "'Katherine' is starling's real name."

Stephanie gave them their tea and they thanked her. "I hope you don't want milk," she said. "We don't have a refrigerator." They assured her that this was fine, and they declined her offer of sugar.

Stephanie leaned against the desk again. "I have another question, but first I have to say that the dog girl gives me the willies. I mean, when I'm on patrol I see all sorts, and I try not to judge. My father used to say that our job was to stop crime, not to question how people live their lives." She smiled a rueful smile. "I think that's right, and, unlike him, I actually try to do that."

Vinnie laughed. "You must get a lot of practice here."

"Oh, I do. It's been an experience for a small-town girl, I can tell you."

Jan smiled. "Well, as the professor here can tell you, I was a small-town girl once myself. Have you met the Golden?"

"I don't think so."

"Three of them, around fourteen years old, gold skin, gray eyes, blonde hair, they all look exactly alike?"

"Oh, sure, I've seen them on the street. Yeah, they're pretty odd. Are they brothers?"

"Two brothers and a sister, actually."

"Really? They all look the same."

"Once, by accident, I saw them... well, let's say that I saw enough to know for sure that one of them is a girl and the other two are boys." Stephanie started to blush. "Trust me, however odd they look on the street, they're much more peculiar to talk to."

"They look like they're aliens or something," Stephanie said.

"They may well be. I was investigating them once, and when I got a little too nosy one of them said, 'Mrs. O'Connor, you are seeking to understand more about this situation, and us, out of a general desire to understand the world, which we completely respect; however, when the phenomena under investigation are sentient, and are posing no provable risk to the community, we would suggest that the rights of the phenomena under investigation should outweigh the rights of the scientific investigator.'

"I had to admit that they were right, of course. And, in that spirit, and in the spirit of your father's words, we should probably talk about the case."

Which was, Vinnie thought, an elegant way of stopping Stephanie from getting back to her queasiness about Daphne. He appreciated that, though probably not as much as Jan thought he would. She might think it was icky to have her father involved with a suspect, and a suspect who lived her life as a dog at that, but he didn't see anything wrong with it (and in fact he was quite happy with how things were progressing).

 
After they had walked for two or three blocks, Daphne stopped and stood up. She unclipped her leash from her collar and Pete handed her the end he'd been holding. She coiled up the leash and stuck it into the back pocket of her jeans.

"I'm going to go for a run," she said. She gave each of them a peck on the cheek before trotting off.

Katherine smiled as Pete said, "She always knows, doesn't she?"

They started out again, bound for home. After a minute, Pete said, "I'm... I'm not ready..."

"I know," Katherine said, taking his hand. He squeezed her hand lightly, then left it up to her whether to hold on or let go. She held on as they walked.

"I don't think our little stunt really had a big effect," she said.

He laughed. "I know." He rubbed his remaining hair. "And now my head is cold." He shrugged a very Pete shrug. "We'll have to see what happens."

"Vinnie seems nice," Katherine observed after a moment.

"He does. I think Daph is quite taken with him." He paused. "I was really surprised to find out that you and he knew each other way back when."

She laughed. "So was I. And that was one of my favorite mugs, too."

Pete let the silence linger then, knowing that she had things she wanted to say, and that she would say them when she was ready. He squeezed her hand.

 
"Stephanie," the detective began, "did Mr. Drenkenson usually lock the door when the store closed? Did he lock the door that day? Was the door locked when you came in to check why the light was on when it was well past closing time?"

"He usually locked the door when it was time to close the store, but on Sunday I locked it when I left. He said he was going to stay for a few minutes – he was at his desk here – and he asked me to lock the door and turn out the lights out front when I left, so no customers would try to come in."

"Was this normal behavior? Did he often stay late?"

"Not often, but sometimes. When he had paperwork to do, and I know sometimes he had business reports which were due on Monday. So, it could have been that. Oh, and no, the door was... Hey wait. This means I'll need to do the reports–"

"We'll get to that later. Under the circumstances, I'm sure the delay won't be a problem. Was the door locked when you came back to investigate?"

"No, it wasn't."

The great detective smiled. "That's too bad. I was wondering if I'd have to figure out a fiendishly clever method for how the door got locked, since Mr. Drenkenson had his keys in his pocket." She leaned back in her chair. "This store has, as you know, only one door – the front door to the street. The windows in this room are high and small, so no one entered that way. That's also true in the storage room on the other side of that wall. The windows to the street are display windows, which don't open. So, it appears that whoever killed Mr. Drenkenson came in through the street door.

"As Vinnie can tell you, Stephanie, when I was growing up I often read mystery novels where a crafty killer would have lurked outside that window, waited for the ideal moment, thrown a knife with deadly accuracy, a skill perhaps learned during his circus days, and killed without ever entering the room.

"Well, I went out Sunday night and examined the ground under the window. It got very muddy in that sudden and intense rain earlier that evening, so it's impossible to tell if there were tracks from before that, but I have never, unfortunately, encountered a murder like the one I just described, and it would take some hard evidence to convince me that this is the one."

Stephanie looked about to speak, but the detective continued, "To anticipate your next comment, you are correct. The knife was not found in the room, so... I'll spare you a reconstruction of a fiendishly clever way that could have been accomplished if you'll both agree, at least tentatively, that Mr. Drenkenson admitted his killer to the store."

They nodded.

"To continue, there's no evidence that the lock was forced, and no sign of a struggle, so it doesn't seem that he was attacked out in the front of the store and then brought back here. So, if he let his murderer in and they came back here, after the store was closed, it would seem that they knew each other."

"Maybe the murderer threatened him, to get him to unlock the door," Stephanie suggested.

"Possible, but then we're looking for somebody with a gun. You can't force somebody to unlock a door and let you in by threatening him with a knife."

"starling has guns," Stephanie said.

"And she carries at least one knife, too, as I happen to know. Are you favoring starling as our murderer?"

Stephanie shrugged as Jan brought out her cigarette case and her lighter.

"I have no idea who did it, but I do have to point out that I could make a case against you that's at least as good as the one I could make against her. For one thing, you had a motive. You don't carry a gun but I know you are experienced with them, and in any case you wouldn't need a gun to get into the store since you have a key." She smiled at Stephanie's expression as she lit a cigarette. "I'm not accusing you, but I'm cautioning you to avoid deciding who you want to be the killer. Let the evidence lead you, not the other way around. I... I imagine you don't approve of starling."

Stephanie made a face. "She's a murderer!"

Jan nodded. "She is indeed. Many times over. But we are a nation of laws, as the phrase goes, and she has not murdered anybody here. She has killed, but only in self-defense, or in defense of Pete, her boyfriend."

Vinnie was watching the two women with great interest. It had been a long time since he'd seen his daughter conducting an investigation, and he was struck by how confident she was. He could tell she was completely aware of every spoken and unspoken nuance in the room, and he was pretty sure she had started to light a cigarette at the exact moment that she had Stephanie on the defensive, suggesting that she might be the killer, in order to make it awkward for Stephanie to object to her smoking. This was, of course, Stephanie's office now, but he knew the girl wasn't yet thinking of it that way.

From the dynamics of the conversation, it felt like Jan Sleet was much older than the young superhero, but Stephanie seemed to be around eighteen, so the real age gap was more like seven years. Of course Jan's imperious demeanor and her three-piece suit added to the feeling of disparity (plus the fact that she towered over the younger woman), but part of it was also that Stephanie had apparently been raised to be respectful to authority. Vinnie had raised his daughter to be suspicious of authority, and never to respect anybody simply because they had a title.

"As far as motive goes," he put in, "my sources tell me that there was some bad blood in the band that Pete and Mr. Drenkenson belonged to. That could have provided a motive for Katherine."

"Have your sources told you the details of this bad blood?"

"No."

"Well, I've spoken to Fifteen, who, in addition to being our aide, is friends with Pete and starling, and he was a roadie for Kingdom Come when it was a going concern. So, I know a little more about the bad blood.

"There was a woman named Jennifer Owens, who was Mr. Drenkenson's girlfriend when the band was formed, and there was a man named Philip Henshaw, who was also in the band. He sang and wrote the songs and played guitar." She frowned at Vinnie. "Does that happen – two guitar players in the same band?"

"It's very common. One plays more chords and the other melodies. Rhythm and lead."

"Ah, thank you. Anyway, Miss Owens quickly changed her allegiance to Mr. Henshaw, who is apparently quite a bit more charismatic than Mr. Drenkenson was. This caused some of the bad blood, as you can imagine."

Stephanie shrugged. "I'm not seeing a motive for anybody to kill Mr. Drenkenson. Not from this."

"Exactly. Drenkenson could have been angry enough to kill Henshaw, or Owens, but not the other way around. Based on what we know now."

"What happened to Jenny? Where is she?"

"She left town, by all accounts, after she stabbed Mr. Henshaw."

"Wait a minute," Stephanie said. "He's dead – the charismatic one?"

"Oh, no. It was a drunken altercation, in a club called The Quarter, during what turned out to be the last performance by the band Kingdom Come. She stabbed him on stage with a broken beer bottle. Reportedly she left town later that night, possibly to avoid reprisals by Mr. Henshaw's many friends and supporters." She caught Stephanie's eye. "For example, the Jinx were big fans of his."

Stephanie's eyes widened. "Yeah, that makes sense." She grinned briefly. "I'm always very polite to them when I'm on patrol." She paused and then she frowned. "I'm still not seeing how this helps."

"I don't think it does, except in a negative way. But I'm sure there are things we don't know yet, or some connection we're not seeing in what we do know."

She turned to Stephanie. "I have to let you know that I'm also looking at Larry Gerard." Stephanie started to protest. "I spoke to Angel Valentine this morning, and she explained how out of character it would have been for him to step in to defend you, and also he's reportedly out of town, but he does have to be considered."

 
to be continued...

This story started here.

"So, Daphne seemed to really enjoy your company," Marshall said with a grin.

Vinnie yawned. "I'll appreciate it tremendously if you don't share that observation with your employer, my daughter. But I imagine you probably will."

"Being a detective's assistant is a sacred trust."

"That makes me feel so much better. Why are we walking so fast?"

"I want to get back to the hotel. It's nearly time to walk Ron to school."

"You walk her to school? Isn't she a little old for that?"

Marshall laughed. "Don't tell her. No, it started because I wanted to make sure she was actually going. We made her go to school after we adopted her – after some time of her not attending school at all. Then she sort of let me know that she enjoyed our walks, so we kept on with it. She lived a sort of feral life for a while before we adopted her, so she tends to look for structure, as long as she can get it without admitting that she wants it. Do you want to come along?"

Vinnie sighed. "I'd love to. That is why I'm here, after all, but I'm going to take a nap. Perhaps we can have a nice family dinner tonight or something." He frowned. "You're walking Ron to school now? Is it a half day or something?"

"No. She delivers the mail in the mornings." He looked ahead and spotted Ron sitting on the steps of the hotel. She had her arms folded and was looking disgruntled.

"Apparently I'm late," Marshall said. "I'll see you tonight." He trotted up the stairs toward his daughter.

Vinnie made his way to the room he'd been assigned, and he barely had time to wonder why Ron delivered the mail before he fell asleep.

 
"Padre? Are you decent?"

Vinnie opened his eyes. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He looked around the room. Apparently he'd fallen into bed and into sleep without turning off the lights or removing his shoes.

"Well, are you decent?"

He saw his daughter peering owlishly into the room.

"Why don't you ask if I'm awake?" he demanded.

She smiled, stepping into the room. "I'm perfectly willing to wake you up, but I wouldn't want to burst in on you if you were en deshabille."

Marshall came in after her and closed the door.

Jan smiled brightly. "Or, of course, if you were playing 'fetch,' so to speak, with Daphne the dog."

Vinnie regarded Marshall unhappily.

"So, padre," the great detective continued, "we wanted to bring you up to date on the case. Marshall has told me all about your home care excursion this morning. I gather you didn't see any flickers of guilt when they found out about the murder."

"No, though Marshall told me afterward that nobody ever gets caught that way. How about you?"

"Ah," she said, looking pleased with herself. "I went to where Stephanie lives."

"You think she did it?" Vinnie asked. "U-town's 'superhero'?"

She smiled. "No, not really, although nobody is innocent until somebody is proven guilty. And stop making quotation marks with your fingers. She is our superhero, and we're very lucky to have her.

"No, I went because there's a man who she lives with who is... shall we say, no stranger to violence. Since Mr. Drenkenson made an unwanted and inappropriate pass at her, it's possible this Larry Gerard retaliated."

"Is he her boyfriend?"

"Oh, no. He's in a relationship with the woman who owns the house where they live. Her name is Angel Valentine."

Vinnie shook his head. "That name is rather improbable, even for U-town."

Marshall laughed. "This from the man who spent the morning visiting starling, and fending off the amorous advances of Daphne the dog."

There was a knock at the door before Jan could comment on this, at least verbally. She said, "I'll get it. I'm expecting..."

She opened the door, and she stood there for a moment, looking perplexed. Vinnie and Marshall heard a woman's voice say, "Woof."

"Padre," Jan said slowly, "I think this might be for you."

He got to his feet, went to the door, and saw Daphne. She was standing upright (on her hind legs, as he thought of it), smiling, and holding a very small bouquet of flowers. "For you," she said. He took them, wishing there weren't any witnesses to this. At least Ron wasn't there.

"They're very nice," he said, trying to remember the last time anybody had given him flowers.

She smiled again. "I understand you're a visitor here in U-town, professor, and I thought you might like to see some of the sights this evening."

She was still wearing her black sweatshirt and jeans, but she'd added a bright yellow scarf which partly covered her dog collar. Her hair was brushed, and she seemed to be wearing a little makeup. Standing up, she was taller than he would have expected, maybe taller than either Pete or Katherine.

"Well," he said, suddenly afraid that he'd been looking at her body in a way that she might resent. "Last night, when I got here, I had my heart set on seafood, at a place I remembered from my last visit, and I never made it–"

"Down by the docks, no name, long tables, three items on the menu?"

He laughed and nodded as Jan took the flowers from his hand. "I'll put these in water," she murmured. "We won't wait up."

 
"How long are you visiting us?" Daphne asked as they walked through the hotel lobby.

"I haven't decided. I wanted to..." His voice trailed off as she preceded him through the revolving door. He found himself noticing her tight black jeans (tighter, he thought, than the ones she'd been wearing that morning), and the fact that her leash was hanging out of her back pocket. He had a momentary image of himself walking her like a dog, but when they were on the sidewalk she remained upright and circled her arm through his.

"So," she said, "how long are you visiting us, professor?"

"That's not entirely worked out. A couple of weeks at least."

She squeezed his arm and barked. He thought to himself that this was going to be an interesting evening.

 
"So," Daphne said after they had ordered and each had a bottle of beer. "Shall I comment on how I'm surprised you're drinking beer rather than wine, being Italian and all, or should I tell you what I'm not going to talk about?"

Vinnie frowned as he sipped his beer. "I'm afraid you've lost me." He smiled. "And I'm not Italian, I mean, I'm a citizen now, but I was born here. In the United States, I mean."

She smiled. "I'll explain what I meant. There's been a murder – a member of Pete's band was killed, right? And, as your daughter the detective will soon find out, if she hasn't already, there was some bad blood between various members of the band. And, of course, Pete lives with Katherine, who has killed a lot of people."

"And you're not going to talk about this... but you are talking about it. As I said, I'm confused."

A waiter came and put two cups of chowder on the table in front of them, each with a little plastic packet of fish-shaped crackers.

"The chowder is, in many ways, the best thing," she said reverently.

He nodded. "I remember. And the rest was pretty great, too." He blew on a spoonful of the thick soup. "But you were explaining something to me."

"It will occur to the great detective, at some point, that Katherine may have done this. So, I should probably be pumping you for information, trying to learn what I can to protect my family. But I'm not going to."

And, Vinnie thought to himself, I'm not going to ask you why you live your life as a dog. I'm sure that's the first thing every young man asks you on a date, so I'm not going to even mention it.

* * * *

"You haven't asked about me being a dog," Daphne observed. She licked his cheek.

He held her close. "No, I haven't."

She nuzzled even closer and sniffed all around his face. "Hmph," she said. "As a dog, I should be offended."

He frowned at her, though he could barely see her in the dark bedroom. "Offended?"

She was obviously barely able to contain her laughter. She leaned in close and whispered, "Your face smells entirely of pussy."

Vinnie laughed and rubbed his face on hers.

 
Vinnie woke up, and again he wondered where he was. He was lying on a mattress on the floor, naked, and something was tugging on his wrist and growling. The bedclothes were scattered around the floor of the small, nearly empty room.

He lifted his head and saw Daphne, on all fours, dressed in a black T-shirt and skimpy black underwear. She had his wrist between her teeth, but when she saw that he was awake she stopped growling and sat quietly, allowing him to hear the voices from the next room.

He recognized the flutey and mannered voice of his daughter. From her tone, it sounded like this wasn't a social call.

Okay, this was awkward. Vinnie had gone out to dinner with a woman he'd just met, a woman who lived her life as a dog. Now he'd spent the night with her, and her roommates were apparently involved in a murder that his daughter was investigating.

Well, there was no point in trying to hide his presence from the great detective, but he really didn't want to put yesterday's clothes on again without taking a shower first. "Do you have a robe I can wear?" he whispered.

She scampered across to a pile of clothes and grabbed the corner of a shabby robe in her teeth, dragging it over to where he was sitting. He stood up and slipped on the robe, even more aware of exactly how badly they both needed a shower.

Jan Sleet, having offered her condolences on the loss of Pete's friend and band-mate, and having accepted the offer of a cup of coffee, sat down at the big, round table and lit a cigarette. Pete and Katherine lit up also.

She looked at the table and then at the door to the hall, and then back at the table. "I do have to ask how you ever got this table in here." She ducked her head to look at the underside. "I can't see how it would come apart easily, and it's far too big to fit up the stairs or through the doorway."

"It was here when I moved in," Pete said. "As far as we can figure, it must have been built here in the apartment. But I doubt if you came here this morning to investigate our table."

The bedroom door opened and Vinnie and Daphne came out.

"Good morning, padre," Jan said. "I've been stalling, waiting for you to appear. Under the circumstances, you should probably hear this." Daphne barked. "And good morning to you, Daphne."

Pete had already poured a mug of coffee for Vinnie (which told Vinnie that he and Daphne had been all too audible the night before), and Daphne trotted over to her bowl as Vinnie sat down, wishing the robe he was wearing was a bit longer. He picked up the mug and said "Thank you" before he sipped.

"As you all know, Tom Drenkenson was knifed to death in his store on Sunday night," Jan began, and Vinnie, who had witnessed scenes like this before, suddenly wondered if she had solved the case already. He didn't think so – Marshall would have been there, and maybe some form of security...

He almost lost the thread of what she was saying, distracted first by his own thoughts and then by the sight of Daphne, who had lapped up some of her coffee and was now regarding him, her head cocked to the side. She was behind Jan, so the detective couldn't see her, and she seemed to be wondering whether it would be appropriate to come over to Vinnie, with his daughter there and a murder investigation apparently on the agenda. Vinnie tilted his head, indicating the patch of floor next to him, and Daphne padded over and sat there, leaning against his leg.

Then his attention snapped back to his daughter's words.

"One of the runners came forward last night, in answer to our question, and he said that he had seen somebody near the pet store at around the time Mr. Drenkenson was stabbed. He said it was starling."

There was a moment of silence. Katherine did not react visibly, in fact she did not move or change expression, but Vinnie felt his chest get tight and the atmosphere in the room became very different.

Because Katherine, this lean woman with the level stare and the scars, was starling, who had killed a lot of people in her life. She was apparently not armed at the moment (she was dressed in a T-shirt and underwear), but he was sure there were weapons in the room somewhere and he knew she had killed people with her bare hands, too.

Why had Jan not brought Marshall today? Was it because she was so cocky that she thought she could handle this by herself, or was it because she wanted to protect him?

Vinnie suddenly realized that his hand was on Daphne's shoulder and he was holding her to him. Which was probably not appropriate, but nobody was looking at them anyway.

"I wasn't there," Katherine said quietly. "I was here. All evening."

"Alone?"

Daphne got to her feet and said, "Pete was out, but I was here all night. We made dinner and listened to the radio. We didn't go out."

Jan looked as if she was debating asking whether Daphne would tell a lie for Katherine, but Pete spoke first.

"We'd like to meet you there, in front of the pet store, in around half an hour. There's something I want to show you."

Jan frowned, obviously wondering what this meant. She nodded slowly. "That would be fine." She took her cane and got to her feet. "I'll see you then. Thank you for the coffee."

She left, and Katherine exchanged a quick glance with Pete. "Vinnie," she said, "I'm sorry to be rude, but I'm afraid you need to leave, too."

"After you get dressed, obviously," Pete added.

This was pretty definite, so Vinnie turned to go to Daphne's room, but then he turned back. "I think I'll go catch up with Jan. Can you tell me how to get to the pet store from here? I was there before, but–"

"I'll draw you a map," Pete said, but Daphne scrambled into her room and trotted back with her leash in her mouth.

"Or, of course, Daphne could show you," Pete said, smiling.

 
to be continued...

This story started here.

Angel Valentine sat at her kitchen table and sipped her tea. It was late, but she wasn't tired. The small, shabby kitchen was chilly, and she was wearing a heavy robe over her sheer nightgown.

People often commented that she didn't look like she belonged here, but this house was hers, the first house she had ever owned, and she felt very comfortable here.

When her lover, Larry, was away, she would sometimes wait up for Stephanie to come in from her nightly patrols. Not that she thought that one night the young superhero might not come home (she didn't allow herself to think that), but it was interesting to hear about her various adventures, including the many nights when she had nothing more to do than give tourists directions.

Angel sipped her tea and looked at the newspaper. The U-town paper was, she thought, the world's most ambitious small-town newspaper.

It had a minuscule budget, no photographs, and writers and editors with widely divergent amounts of talent and skill.

But they tried to cover the world. With indifferent success, to be sure, but the ambition itself made it enjoyable to read.

She heard the back door open. Stephanie always went in and out that way when she was in costume, to preserve her secret identity. She poked her head into the kitchen, pulling off her mask.

"Hi," she said.

"Welcome home. Was it awful out? I heard the rain and I thought about you."

"Pretty bad. I'm soaked through."

"Come and have some tea. It will warm you up."

"I'd love to, but I have got to get out of this costume and take a bath. I feel all itchy from being wet for so long."

Angel smiled. "Go on up and get ready for your bath. I'll make some hot chocolate and bring it to you."

Stephanie smiled. "That will be great, thanks. And I do have some stories to tell you."

Angel prepared the hot chocolate and carried it upstairs. She had been taking her time, because she knew that Stephanie was very modest. This way, she could get herself safely into the tub before Angel appeared.

She knocked on the half-open door to the bathroom. "Okay to come in?"

Stephanie laughed. "Am I as bad as all that? Come on in." Angel nudged the door open with her toe. The room was steamy, but it was pleasantly warm compared to the rest of the house.

Stephanie was in the bathtub, and she'd pulled the shower curtain around for modesty. Angel put one mug on the edge of the tub and she sat on the toilet, placing the other mug on the laundry hamper. "So," she said, "you had an exciting evening?"

Stephanie sighed. "Yes. I was feeling pretty good about it, but now that I have the chance to think... There was a murder, and I was working with Jan Sleet." She glanced over for a reaction, but Angel was impassive, sipping her hot chocolate. "She was really excited, looking for clues and all, and it was interesting, but as I walked home I started thinking..."

She was quite low in the tub, and all Angel could see was the top of her head and her hand that held the mug. But her brow was definitely furrowed.

"Miss Sleet is a noted amateur detective," Angel observed after a moment. "To be blunt, if there aren't any mysteries for her to solve, then she's not that. You were brought up to be a sheriff in a small town. Your identity doesn't depend on there being crime – and in fact you're judged a success if there isn't any."

Stephanie laughed. "You've thought this through a lot more than I have."

"One of the advantages of being older and wiser, child."

Stephanie snorted, spilling a little hot chocolate into the bathwater. "Gee, thanks," she said. "So, let me tell you about the case."

She raised herself up a little bit in the water hoping it wasn't too obvious that she was watching Angel's reactions.

Which were, as usual, almost impossible to read.

The older woman was tall and slender, with pale skin and long, silver hair. Stephanie had never seen her wear any item of clothing that wasn't white. As far as Stephanie could tell, she never wore makeup, and she never wore jewelry. And her face, which was beautiful, never gave very much away.

By the time Stephanie was done with her story, they had both finished their hot chocolate, the bathwater was lukewarm, and Angel was looking thoughtful.

"So," she said slowly, "do they have any suspects? Other than you, I mean?"

Stephanie sighed. "I've been telling myself that I'm not really a suspect, but of course I am." She was trying to figure out how to ask Angel to leave so she could get out of the tub without making a spectacle of herself, but then Angel stood and picked up the empty mugs.

"I know what Larry would say," she said. She shifted into a faultless imitation of her lover's laconic growl. "'The kid sucks with knives. She'd never kill anybody with a knife.'"

Stephanie laughed as Angel left the room. She got out of the tub, suddenly very cold, and quickly wrapped herself up in a towel. She'd made a joke out of it, but she was really worried about being accused of murdering her boss. She'd had nightmares as a young girl about being accused of things that she hadn't done.

She zipped across the hall, turned off her bedroom light, and dived under the covers.

What really scared her, which she would never have admitted to Angel (and certainly not to Larry), was she might have to give up being Stevie One. In comic books, sometimes the superheroes were not friendly with the police, or people even thought they were criminals, but she didn't want to work that way.

Well, she supposed she would continue that way, if she had to, but she knew there was no way she'd be able to escape Jan Sleet. She had always been in awe of the detective, but even so she had been shocked that it had taken her less than a minute to figure out that Stephanie had broken Mr. Drenkenson's nose.

 
Jan Sleet approached Angel Valentine's house. She had been there before, and she told herself that it was silly to be nervous about this. Marshall had sensed that she wanted to do this by herself and had begged off, saying that he had a meeting he had to go to.

She climbed the three stone steps to the front stoop and rang the bell. After a moment, the door opened and Angel looked at her. The foyer was one step up from the outside landing, so Angel was looking down on the detective, though the two women were almost exactly the same height.

Angel was wearing a white blouse with a wide collar, with a white leather vest over it, and white slacks. The detective was wearing a dark charcoal pinstripe suit.

"Miss Sleet," Angel said. "If you're looking for Mr. Gerard or Stephanie, they're both out."

"No, Miss Valentine, I'm here to see you. May I come in?" Angel moved aside and the detective used her cane to get up onto the high step. "Stephanie is at the pet store, of course," Jan said, "taking care of things in the absence of the owner, who was murdered last night. Larry Gerard is, from what I understand, out of town."

Angel smiled as she led the detective down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. "I am sorry, Miss Sleet, if I sounded brusque. I gather from what Stephanie told me last night that she is a suspect in this murder, and I will admit that I feel somewhat protective toward her."

"Understandable. And, in my experience, when there's been a murder, people don't always view my arrival with unalloyed pleasure."

They entered the small kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?" Angel asked.

The detective nodded. She used her cane to lower herself into one of the chairs. "I would love some, thank you. I take it black."

As Angel poured the coffee, she asked, "Would it appear suspicious if I asked why you're here?"

Jan shook her head, smiling. "It would be more likely to appear suspicious if you didn't. Thank you," she added as Angel placed a mug and an ashtray in front of her. Angel took her own mug to the other side of the table and sat down.

Jan sipped her coffee and brought out her cigarette case. "I am here to ask about Larry Gerard."

"Who is, as you said, out of town. Why are you asking about him?"

"To be blunt, he is not unfamiliar with the tools of violence, and it seems that he regards our young friend in a (shall we say) fatherly way–"

Angel frowned. "I do hope you are not implying–"

Jan looked apologetic. "Miss Valentine, I am actually trying very carefully to avoid implying anything. But it is curiously difficult to talk about a relationship – even an entirely appropriate relationship – between an older man and a teenage girl without it sounding like something sordid is being suggested."

Angel laughed suddenly. "It is, isn't it? What do you want to know?"

"I'd most like to get some verifiable idea of where Mr. Gerard is. Or where he was yesterday."

"I don't know. He said he would be gone for a few days. I'm not a wife – I don't pry."

"I..." the detective began, but then she stopped. She smiled. "Well done. As a wife, I was about to protest what you just said, but of course I am also someone who pries. Which I was doing long before I even thought of getting married. Anyway, do you know when he is scheduled to return?"

"Today or tomorrow, I believe. However, I am wondering why you're asking these questions. Do you really think Larry murdered Stephanie's boss, a man who, as far as I know, he has never even met?"

"It is unlikely, but in the early stages of an investigation I don't like to rule anything out. It is possible that Mr. Gerard, enraged by Mr. Drenkenson's treatment of Stephanie, decided to act."

Angel smiled, sipping her coffee. "You seem to be thinking of a Larry Gerard who is substantially more chivalrous than the one who lives here."

"Wouldn't he step in to defend Stephanie if she needed it?"

"If she was in immediate danger of losing her life? Yes, I think he probably would, but that is not the scenario you're describing." She looked up, with a direct glance which gave the idea that she had made a decision to talk about something that she wasn't sure should be revealed.

"He's been training her, since she arrived here in U-town. As you say... he has some expertise with weapons and hand-to-hand combat. His idea of helping Stephanie is to train her and make her stronger, not to protect her himself. That isn't... It's not how he deals with things."

"Would he take up weapons to protect you?"

Her expression was blank, but Jan had the idea she was suppressing a smile. "I imagine he might, but it's difficult to imagine a situation in which he would have to."

 
to be continued...

This story started here.

Daphne the dog woke up and looked around. It was still dark out, and she was cold. She had a little scrap of quilt over her but that was all, and of course there was no heat in the apartment. She was tempted to yank the covers away from Dan (she was almost certain that was his name), but then he'd undoubtedly wake up and that was the last thing she wanted.

She heard a noise from the other room and she got up and padded to the door, inching it open. The bare wood floor was cold, even colder than the air. There was a little light in the other room, which was much larger and served as kitchen, dining room, living room, and bedroom for her two roommates.

Daphne saw that Katherine was sleeping under the window. She usually moved over there when she was feeling tense and needed to sleep by herself. Pete was sitting on the edge of his mattress, on the far side of the room, and scratching his chest. He didn't seem to see Daphne, but she knew he couldn't see much without his glasses.

 
Pete opened his eyes and squinted up at the window. It was still dark. His glasses were on the windowsill where he always left them, but he didn't put them on.

He felt around behind him on the mattress but he was alone. He didn't take it personally when Katherine moved to the other side of the room to sleep. He knew it was for his protection. However, he thought, smiling, sometimes you have to stick your neck out.

He got to his feet, wrapped in the sleeping bag he used as a blanket, and shuffled quickly across the cold, wooden floor to the small mat where Katherine was sleeping.

He lay down behind her and put his arm around her middle. His hand ended up under the covers, pressed against her bare stomach, and her hand came around and covered his. He could tell from the way she held his hand that the two messages were: "It's nice to have you here with me," and "Let's keep that hand where it is -- I'm not in the mood for it to start wandering around."

Which was okay with Pete.

 
Daphne closed the door and quickly pulled on underwear and a T-shirt. Then, still padding along on all fours, she moved quietly into the larger room (pulling the bedroom door closed behind her as quietly as she could) and went to where Pete was now snuggled up behind Katherine. Squeezing herself onto the mat, too, with some difficulty, she put her arm around Pete and barked quietly.

 
"Hey, can I get in on this?"

Daphne had been nearly asleep when she heard Dan's leering voice. She opened one eye and saw him standing in the bedroom door, grinning as he looked at the three people squeezed onto the small bed. She felt her shoulders slump. She'd been hoping he'd just magically vanish somehow, but she reminded herself that it was pretty obvious there was nothing magical about this guy.

Katherine raised her head and frowned over her shoulder at Dan. Then she stood up slowly, naked, her revolver in her hand, asking, "Get in on what?"

Dan's eyes widened, first at the revolver and then at the woman holding it as he recognized her. Katherine lay down again as the apartment door slammed shut behind him.

"It's a little cold out there for him to be running around just wrapped in a sheet," Pete said thoughtfully. "Should we throw his clothes out the window for him or something?"

Daphne barked her most emphatically negative bark.

As Katherine lay down again, she had a momentary thought that it didn't make a lot of sense for the three of them to stay squeezed onto this narrow pad when there was a perfectly good mattress just on the other side of the room, but she was feeling very comfortable. The tension that had made her move across the room in the first place was gone.

It had been a long time since she'd shared a bed with anybody, and it had taken time to get used to it with Pete (and sometimes with Daphne as well), but right now she had no desire to move.

 
Marshall regarded his father-in-law. "Vinnie, if you don't mind my saying so, you look like you'd rather have stayed in bed."

Vinnie yawned. They had reached a corner and he stopped to look both ways before he stepped off the curb, but of course there weren't any cars.

"I was reminded last night – a few hours ago, really – and in no uncertain terms, how much I enjoy doing volunteer work at the hospital with you."

"Ah, so my employer has an ulterior motive."

Vinnie was used to how Marshall referred to his wife, the great detective, as his employer. Vinnie knew that some people took this as a joke, or interpreted it as a complaint, but Vinnie had always just taken it as a simple statement of fact.

"I wonder if this is related to the home care I'm doing these days," Marshall said as they crossed the street.

"Home care?" Vinnie asked. "I thought you usually worked in the hospital."

"Usually. But there's a patient who's recovering from a bad beating, and she can't be admitted to the hospital. And none of the other volunteers want to go to her place."

Vinnie shook his head. "You're hinting around, but I imagine that eventually you'll break down and tell me why this patient is so..." He waved his hand and yawned again.

"It's starling. And you really don't have to go if you don't want to."

starling had limited her murder sprees to the United States, as far as Vinnie knew, but she was known around the world. He had a variety of mixed feelings about meeting her, but all he said was, "She got into a fight with somebody? Who would dare pick a fight with her?"

"A couple of guys. Long story, but it helped Jan solve a mystery, so we felt somewhat obligated."

"I assume she's less homicidal these days, or you wouldn't let her walk around loose."

Marshall chuckled. "People laugh sometimes when I tell them this, and I do understand why, but the fact is that she's in therapy."

"And I gather it's working."

"It seems so. We don't broadcast that she's here, and she lives very quietly."

 
Vinnie and Marshall climbed the flights of narrow stairs in the ancient tenement, and Marshall knocked on the apartment door. They had stopped at the hospital on the way so Marshall could pick up the supplies he needed.

There was a pause, during which Vinnie was tempted to ask why someone had spray painted "Living in desperate circumstances" on the door, but then he heard a loud bark from inside.

He wondered what kind of dog a notorious mass murderer would have as a pet. Something fierce and formidable, probably. The bark had definitely sounded like a dog of some size.

After another moment, they heard the little peephole in the door click open as somebody checked them out. There was another bark, and then the door opened.

The man facing them was small, maybe five-seven, and thin. He had longish light brown hair and wore glasses, along with tattered jeans and a faded T-shirt.

"Marshall," he said. "Come on in."

Vinnie heard Marshall introducing him to the man, who was named Pete, as they stepped into the apartment, but he was distracted by the woman at Pete's side. She had short blonde hair, and she wore a black sweatshirt and black jeans. And a leather collar. She was on all fours, and she was regarding him thoughtfully, her head cocked to one side.

She barked, and Pete, who clearly understood the reason for Vinnie's discombobulation, said, "Daphne, this is Vinnie, Marshall's father. Vinnie, hold out your hand."

Well, it would have been rude not to, so he held out his hand for Daphne. She leaned forward, sniffing it suspiciously, as he tried to think through all the reasons that his daughter might have wanted to set this up to happen in this way.

Then Daphne licked his hand and padded around to sit by his side, resting her head against his hip.

"Father-in-law," he clarified belatedly. He stopped himself from reaching down to stroke her hair.

Marshall moved to the kitchen table, presumably to get ready for starling's examination, and they heard a toilet flush. A small door opened in the kitchen area and starling came out.

Vinnie had been a little uneasy about meeting such a notorious person, but he was distracted by the fact that she was naked except for a ripped and faded T-shirt, and the sling that supported her injured arm.

She was older than Pete, probably in her early forties, with dirty blonde hair that looked like she hacked off a chunk whenever it got in her way, and a lean body that bore quite a few scars, some obviously not recent.

Vinnie had never seen an adult so entirely unconcerned about being almost naked in front of a stranger. There were a few people who walked around U-town in the nude, but they were apparently making a statement of some sort, and this wasn't that.

Pete gestured. "Katherine, this is Vinnie. He came with Marshall."

She was carrying a mug in her good hand, but she transferred it to her other hand so she could greet Vinnie. Then, as she looked up at him, her eyes got wide and she dropped the mug, coffee splashing on the floor.

"Vinnie?" she demanded as the others looked at her in surprise.

Vinnie hadn't known how he'd handle this, if it should happen.

He had always wondered if the lunatic woman he read about in the newspapers was really the same "Starling" he had known when they were teenagers. The photographs, usually grainy images from security cameras or blurry amateur snapshots, had never been clear enough for him to be sure.

They were both a little awkward about this reunion – they hadn't known each other for very long, all those years ago, and they had not been close – but then Vinnie threw his arms wide and she stepped forward to hug him, nearly slipping in the spilled coffee.

In that very brief moment, for it was just a quick hug, Vinnie knew many things. It felt as though, just for an instant, he was the great detective instead of his daughter.

He knew that Jan had remembered his stories about the time he'd been with her mother, and that there had been a woman who called herself "Starling," and Jan had sent Vinnie here to see her.

He knew Pete was regarding this unexpected reunion with a grin, as if his lover (and Vinnie suddenly knew that this was their relationship) didn't often have these moments of unexpected pleasure.

He knew that starling's T-shirt, which he hadn't really noticed before (and certainly not because his attention had been focused on the shape of her breasts under it), was so washed and worn that the band logo on it was nearly faded away, but it was still possible to tell that it said "Kingdom Come." As did the bass guitar case leaning in the corner. As had the guitar case he'd seen in the pet store the night before, the one which had belonged to the murdered man.

Maybe this was why he was really here, and his reunion with the reformed lunatic killer who he had known over twenty years ago was just a bonus.

And, as he and starling released each other and she stepped back, smiling and brushing her hair back from her eyes, he knew that Daphne was still leaning against his hip, and now she'd snaked her hand up the leg of his slacks and was softly stroking his bare calf.

Vinnie gently freed his leg as Marshall moved toward the large kitchen table and said, "Katherine, we should make sure not to forget to do your exam. Mona would never let me live it down."

She nodded and went across the room to a pile of clothes on a trunk. "Let me just put on some pants."

Marshall did not comment on the fact that she'd never been so modest when he'd done the earlier home care visits.

Marshall had moved the subject of discussion to the medical exam (and unintentionally to pants) to give himself a moment to think. If starling ("Katherine," he reminded himself) had known Vinnie that long ago, he had a sudden hunch that she might have also known Jan's mother. He didn't know how sore a subject that might be with Vinnie these days, but even a moment's reprieve didn't give him a way to keep it from coming up.

Pete gestured at the stove. "Would anybody like coffee?"

Daphne barked, and Vinnie said, "Yes, desperately." He smiled. "If it's not too much trouble."

Pete laughed and went to the stove. "No trouble at all."

"I just got in last night, and I'm still pretty jet-lagged."

Vinnie sat down on one of the mismatched kitchen chairs, which creaked but didn't seem about to collapse. Katherine came back to the table, wearing underwear and a less revealing T-shirt. She sat down to pull her pants on.

Marshall had noted that Vinnie had mentioned his jet lag but not that he had been up most of the night on a murder investigation. He thought about this as he took the bandage off Katherine's arm.

It was nearly healed, and her other injuries were better, so he thought this had to be the end of the home care visits.

His employer had viewed this process as a great way for her to satisfy her curiosity about the home life of the lunatic murderer, her musician boyfriend, and their "dog," and she had been frustrated so far because all Marshall had been able to report was that they were, as he put it, quite odd but surprisingly wholesome.

Ah, he thought. Pete was a musician. Jan had mentioned that the murdered pet-store owner had been a musician. Was there a connection...

Pete poured coffee into four mugs and brought them to the table. Daphne sat next to Vinnie's chair and barked. Pete pointed to the food and water bowls on the floor by the sink. "Your coffee is right there, where it always is."

She barked again.

Pete chuckled and brought the bowl over to Vinnie's chair. She lapped up some coffee, then she leaned against Vinnie's leg.

"She likes you," Pete said.

Vinnie looked down. Daphne was resting her chin on his thigh, gazing up at him with large brown eyes. The quirk of her lips conveyed a very human message. She was going to keep at this until he played along, and she was enjoying watching him resist.

Well, just because you are a tourist doesn't mean you have to act like one. When not in Rome...

Vinnie stroked Daphne's hair, saying to Pete, "She's a fine looking animal. Did you raise her from a puppy?"

Marshall, as the assistant of an internationally renowned amateur detective, could keep a straight face under almost any circumstances, but Vinnie noticed that this was apparently putting a strain on even his abilities.

Pete shook his head. "Oh, no. A former roommate found her, as a stray, and brought her home. He's gone, but she stayed with us."

Having won her victory, Daphne padded over to Pete. He scratched her head, and she curled up at his feet.

Katherine sipped her coffee. "So, Vinnie, should I ask if you're in touch with Alex?"

He smiled and shrugged. "It's fine to ask, but the answer is no. We're not in touch. She... Well, you remember how she was. Motherhood didn't... It wasn't for her."

Katherine frowned. "You guys had a kid?"

Vinnie laughed. "Somehow, for some reason, I expected you to know that."

Pete laughed as he lit a cigarette. "Just because his daughter is a great detective doesn't mean he is."

Katherine started to say something, but then she stopped. "Wait a minute," she said. "I was so surprised to see you that I didn't make the connection. 'Father-in-law.' Jan Sleet is your daughter? You and Alex?"

"Yes. Raised by me."

"Damn." Her shoulders slumped a little. "Do you know what this means?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"It means I'm old."

"Oh, no, wait until you hear why I'm here for this visit. I'm here to meet my... granddaughter." He said it with a spooky voice, as if the whole idea was frightening. "So, you're not the only one who's old. I reassure myself with two thoughts. One: Alex and I were ridiculously young when Jan was born, and two: she's adopted. My granddaughter, I mean."

"Ron," Pete said.

Katherine nodded. "We've met her."

There was a knock on the door, and Pete went to answer it. As before, he looked out the peephole, turning to nod to Katherine before opening the door.

It was Fifteen, who Vinnie had met before. He looked as he usually did – shaved head, ratty T-shirt, and cutoff jeans – but he seemed unusually subdued.

He was about to address Pete and Katherine, but then he saw Vinnie.

"Vincenzo," he said seriously, "io sono qui con cattive notizie, ma è bello vederti." He turned to Pete. "I'm afraid I have bad news. Tom was killed last night."

Marshall, out of habit, watched their faces as they absorbed this news, but as usual he didn't learn anything useful. He'd never seen a case solved by springing a surprise fact on a group of people and watching their faces, but you always think that this will be the time when it works.

 
to be continued...