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...

This story started here.

Jan Sleet straightened up and quickly adjusted her tie as Marshall moved to open the door. This time it was a young man, maybe a year or two older than Ron and nearly as scruffy.

"Message from Stevie One," he said. "There's been a murder."

"Ah," the detective said, leaning forward. "Tell me."

"It's a guy who runs a pet store, the one down by the school. He was stabbed, in his store."

"Who found the body?"

"Stevie did. She was on patrol and she wondered why the light was on in the back room, since the store closed hours ago."

"Ah, good work, Stevie." She turned to Vinnie, who had moved away from the door to lean against one of the two desks. "Padre, I'm off to investigate. Would you like to come along? I'll introduce you to our local superhero."

He laughed. "It's an attractive offer, cara, but I am... Well, first I would like to know where I'm going to sleep tonight."

She waved a hand. "Oh, Marshall will arrange something while we're gone."

"I could come," Ron said.

Marshall shook his head. "You have a test tomorrow, and you have been putting off studying until the last possible minute. Which happens to be right now. Young–"

"Okay," she said quickly, going back to the chair where she'd been sitting before.

The great detective smiled as she adjusted her tie and quickly ran her fingers through her hair. "You see, padre: I need an assistant, and Ron needs her stern taskmaster. I'd say it was fate, except, of course, I don't believe in that sort of thing."

 
Jan lit a cigarette as she strode through the lobby. She was moving quickly, and as they reached the street Vinnie realized that, in his role as Marshall's replacement, he was going to be expected to keep up.

He had been half aware of a thunderstorm outside while he'd been eating his dinner, but he hadn't thought much about it since he hadn't imagined he'd be going out again until morning. The rain had let up now, but the sidewalks were still damp and the air was humid and close.

Walking with his daughter was a completely different experience than walking through U-town alone, because U-town's most well known citizen was also one of its most distinctive looking. There weren't as many people on the street as there had been before, but most of them noticed the great detective and some said hello or waved.

Jan Sleet was six feet tall, very thin (although not quite as skinny as she'd been in high school), with straight brown hair to her shoulders and large, horn-rimmed glasses. She wore a three-piece suit (today's was charcoal gray, with a white shirt and a dark blue tie) which had obviously been tailored to fit her.

She had a limp and walked with a cane, but she moved quickly and a couple of times she got a step or two ahead of him and had to slow down. His legs were as long as hers, but he was, he told himself, older, more tired, and definitely somewhat less enthusiastic.

Not that he minded accompanying her, but he wouldn't have minded a good night's sleep either.

"I am so glad you came, padre," she said after they had walked a couple of blocks. She dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out carefully with her toe, then she looped her free arm through his.

"How could I miss a chance to meet my granddaughter?"

She smiled and squeezed his arm. "She's had a difficult life. She was living on her own when we adopted her. Her parents – her birth parents – abandoned her."

"But you didn't adopt her because she needed help. You'd get her the help she needed, but that would be that."

She nodded sheepishly. "True. I got her out of a jam – she was accused of a murder – and she started calling us Mom and Dad. It could have been a joke, but I could tell Marshall was..." She gave Vinnie a sidelong glance. "He's not like us. He's always sort of wanted kids. Well, when he and I got together he assumed that kids weren't going to be part of our lives. But then he and Ron... they clicked, like two pieces of a plastic toy that were meant to snap together in a certain way. And then I... Well, there's the pet store."

The store was small (at least it appeared small from the street), dark, and not well labeled. Vinnie had noticed on his previous visit that you could usually tell the businesses that catered to tourists, which usually had big signs, from the ones that were mostly for locals, which were often labeled cryptically or not at all.

Two people stood outside the door. One was a woman in her thirties or so, wearing a poncho. Her jeans and sneakers were drenched.

The other woman was younger, and dressed entirely in black, and also soaking wet. No part of her was visible under a mask, vest, turtleneck, jeans, gloves, and boots.

Vinnie decided not to mention that he had already met Stevie One.

"You could have waited inside," Jan told the two women.

Stevie shrugged. "We didn't want to interfere with the crime scene, ma'am."

The detective held out her hand to the security volunteer. "Jan Sleet," she said, and the woman smiled, since the introduction was almost certainly unnecessary.

"I'm Pola. Do you need me for anything else? The runner who got the word to you was also supposed to go to the hospital, to let them know that there's a body here."

Jan shook her head. "That would seem to be everything, thank you. Go home and dry off."

Pola laughed. "How did you know that's what I wanted to do?"

"One of those incredible feats of deduction that I'm so well known for." The woman trotted off, and Jan turned back to Stevie. "Before we go inside, Stevie, I'd like to introduce this distinguished gentleman–"

This time Vinnie could tell Stevie was smiling under her mask as she held out her hand. "It's good to see you again, sir," she said as he shook her hand. "I hope you found the hotel without any problems?"

Jan raised an eyebrow, so Vinnie gave her a quick recap of his earlier adventure. Under other circumstances, she might have chided him for going off on his own and getting lost, but right now her attention was elsewhere. She pointed at the door. "Let's go inside."

Stevie cocked her head. "So, I don't get to go home and dry off?"

"You wouldn't go home anyway. You're too dedicated, and it's early yet. As soon as you show me the body, I'm sure you'll go back out on patrol."

She nodded." You're probably right."

The store was dark, and the front room had a small counter with a cash register, a few couches and comfortable chairs, some small padded pens where animals could play, and rows of cages along two walls. A single light was burning near the display window, but it was darker in the back of the store and most of the animals seemed to be asleep.

Jan looked around. "Who's going to take care of the animals?" she asked. "Did he have family in the area?"

"I don't know about his family," Stevie said quickly, "but there's a girl who works here. She'll come in the morning, I guess, and she can take care of the animals, until somebody can work out something else." She gestured at a half-open door. "That's the office," she said.

 
Jan peered down at the body, which was lying on the floor of the shabby little office, near the very messy desk. "Stabbed to death, from the front, one wound," she said. "His nose was broken, it looks like, some time before his death." She looked up slowly, her expression blank. "I believe his name was Tom Drenkenson. Can you confirm that?"

"Uh, I think so, yes," she replied.

The detective's mouth quirked. "Thanks, Stevie. Why did you break his nose?"

The younger woman froze in place, then she made a gurgling sound and laughed. She reached for her mask, then she hesitated.

Jan smiled. "Professor Stiglianese is my father, and is therefore completely reliable and discreet."

Stevie laughed and pulled off her mask to reveal a teenage girl with short blonde hair (currently dripping wet). "How did you know?" she asked as she leaned back against the file cabinet.

"It was a guess, I admit." She held up a bony forefinger. "I tell you that as a fellow professional; it's not a word I like to use with civilians.

"As you know, I know who you are, your 'secret identity.' As you probably didn't know, I was aware that you have a job here, in this store. U-town looks like a city, but in many ways it's a small town, and in any case I'm very nosy.

"Your awkwardness in answering the question about the animals confirmed that you are the girl who will come here in the morning to take care of the feeding and so on."

Stevie grinned. "Okay, I get that part. How did you know I broke his nose?"

"As I say, that was a guess. There had been a complaint before about him making inappropriate suggestions to a young female employee. Nothing we were able to prove. But then I found out that you were working here, and I had a pretty good idea how you'd react if he tried anything like that with you. So, I see him with a broken nose, and I start to wonder."

Stevie nodded. "That was it. When I came in to work this morning, he told me to come in here, to his office, and he said I was doing very well, and he was thinking about giving me a raise." She made a face. "That made me feel good, since I have been working hard. Then he started to talk about how I could come to him if I ever needed help, or someone to talk to, and I couldn't figure out what he was talking about–"

"He thought you were in an abusive relationship."

Stevie's eyes widened. "I... Yeah. How did you know?"

The detective smiled. "You're a superhero, but you're not superhuman. Your nightly heroics have been known to end you up in the Emergency Room. He sees his young employee coming in with a black eye here, a bruise there, and so on, what else would he think? That's what I would think, if I didn't know better."

Stevie clenched up her shoulders and shook her head. "One moment it was like he was being fatherly, then the next minute he's trying to sit down with me in his lap. That's when I popped him."

"Then what happened? Did you quit and storm out?"

She shrugged. To Vinnie she looked like his students did when they were preparing to express an opinion which they knew was contrary to his.

"I told him I liked the job, which I do. And it took me a while to find it, so I'd rather not have to start again to find a new one. My father, back when we were speaking to each other, he raised me to be his deputy, so I don't know much about being a waitress or anything like that. And I like the animals. So, I told him that I'd forget the whole thing, but if it happened again I'd report him. He got quiet after that. I didn't know he'd been reported before, but I guess he did."

"We made sure he knew," Jan said.

"I was going to offer to check his nose for him, but then I decided that was a bad idea. So, I left."

Jan frowned. "What's that?" she asked, pointing at something in between the desk and the filing cabinet.

It was black, about four feet high, maybe a foot and a half deep, and three or four inches thick, the exact width of the space between the desk and the cabinet.

"It's a case for an electric guitar or a bass or something," Stevie said, "or at least some kind of musical instrument."

"A guitar, I'd say," Vinnie said. He slid it out and laid it on the floor. The case had "Kingdom Come" stenciled on both sides.

"Please open it up," the detective said, leaning over to watch.

He opened the two catches and lifted the lid. "Strat," he said, running his finger along a couple of places where the varnish was worn.

"I didn't realize you kept up with such things, padre, now that you're all respectable."

He laughed. "I don't, but this is somewhat of a classic." He looked up. "It's definitely older than either of you." He closed the case and said, "This would be worth some money. So, I guess we can rule out robbery?"

The minute he said it, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut. Fortunately, his daughter believed in showing respect toward one's parents, most of the time, so she turned to Stevie and said, "I suppose we should eliminate that possibility – that there was a robber who just didn't happen to know the value of vintage musical instruments. Was anything stolen?"

Stevie frowned and looked around the office. "There's nothing... What would anybody steal?" After a moment's thought, she pulled out the top drawer of the filing cabinet and reached into the back, taking out a small manila envelope. She opened it and showed them the money – about ten or twelve bills. "That's the petty cash. There isn't anything else. The cash register wasn't touched – I checked that when I came in before." She returned the money and closed the drawer. "Do you need me for anything else?"

The great detective shook her head. "Not right now. I will want to question you more, I'm sure, but I want to examine the physical evidence first." She pulled out her cigarette case and slipped a cigarette between her lips. As she closed the case, Stevie suddenly leaned forward and tapped it with her forefinger.

"You know," she said quickly, "those are really bad for you."

She leaned back, as if expecting to be yelled at for this impertinent behavior.

Jan smiled gently. "My one vice. And there are reputable scientists who assert that it improves brain activity." Her smile grew impish. "I have been offered exorbitant amounts of money to advertise one or another brand of cigarettes – although never the brand that I actually smoke – and I have always declined. I am, I know, thought highly of by some young women, and I'm not comfortable that tobacco companies would use that regard to sell more cigarettes."

She shrugged. "That is perhaps not an entirely logical distinction, but it's one that fits with my idea of myself as a person."

Stevie looked relieved that she hadn't been yelled at, but Vinnie was sure that she'd realize eventually that the detective hadn't really replied to her comment.

"Thanks, Stevie," Jan said as the young superhero pulled her mask back on. "Good work in spotting that the light was on."

"All in a night's work, ma'am." She turned to Vinnie. "Good to meet you again, sir. Take care."

 
The professor and the detective strolled back toward the hotel. Vinnie wondered how late it was. He'd taken a nap on one of the sofas while Jan had searched the office, and then he'd realized that he'd forgotten to set his wristwatch to local time. He tried to do the math in his head, but he was too tired. At least the sky was still dark.

"Padre?"

He looked up. "Yes, cara?"

"The last time you were here, you used to enjoy going to the hospital to do volunteer work with Marshall, didn't you?"

"Well, I went that one time–"

"Exactly. He's going tomorrow morning – this morning, his regular Monday shift – and you can go with him. You'll enjoy that."

She gave him a dazzling smile and squeezed his arm. He didn't bother to ask any questions.

 
to be continued...

Vinnie Stiglianese got out of the cab at the base of the large, unmarked bridge. It was a pleasant evening and the city sidewalks were crowded with people. He took his suitcase out of the trunk and then the cab edged back into traffic and moved away.

His flight had been delayed and he was about three hours later than he'd planned. He smiled. Being late was purely theoretical, of course, since nobody knew he was coming. Well, he'd wanted his visit to be a surprise, but the person he was going to visit was extremely difficult to deceive. He couldn't see how she would have found out, but...

He was suddenly aware that he was hungry, but he decided to wait to eat until he was across the bridge. It was a cliché that food on the U-town side of the river was almost always both better and cheaper than what you could find in the city, but, as he occasionally reminded his students, clichés become clichés for a reason.

The light turned green, and he picked up his suitcase and made his way across the street. Quite a few people crossed when he did, and some of them were also taking the bridge into U-town.

The bridge had no signs, but everybody knew where it went. It was blocked for vehicles at the U-town end, so there were no cars or trucks going over.

There was a stiff breeze coming off the water as he walked up the incline. He thought of stopping and getting a scarf out of his suitcase, but then he remembered that he hadn't packed one. He tried to travel light when he went to U-town, because he knew he'd be carrying his suitcase a lot.

He stopped at the highest point of the bridge and turned around to look back at the city. It was a dark night, so the city lights were at their most impressive.

This was Vinnie's third trip to U-town.

The first trip had been just a few days after the Founding. He'd traveled with almost no luggage then, having rushed to the airport and booked a seat on the first available flight from Italy as soon as he'd heard the news.

This was half because history was being made, as he told his students later to explain his sudden absence, and half because it was his daughter who was making it. (Of course, yes, she was just one of many, but people do make allowances for a proud father.)

That time it had been odd crossing the bridge, because there had been no electricity in U-town. It had been like walking down a hill into a huge, bottomless pit.

He picked up his suitcase and quickly moved to the side as he heard a motor behind him. The other people on the roadway moved aside without even looking around.

When the taxi was past him, he picked up his suitcase and started to walk down the incline toward U-town.

His second visit had been special, because that had been so that he could attend, and participate in, his daughter's wedding.

He still remembered the letter she had written to him.

Dear Professor Stiglianese,

It is with a heavy heart that I take up my pen to write this letter. It is my sad duty to inform you that your daughter, Jan Sleet (the intrepid gal reporter and world-famous amateur sleuth), has abandoned her life of chaste and selfless devotion to her vocation and is now quite openly living in sin with a somewhat older (although quite attractive) man.

The shame is bad enough, of course, but what's even worse is that the man is an employee (Marshall, her loyal assistant). So, not only is this situation an affront to the laws of the Almighty, there may also be trouble with the Labor Board.

Many of the fine, upstanding citizens of U-town have urged her to get married, of course, but she won't hear of it until her dear, sweet, sainted father is here to give her away.

Please come at your earliest convenience to rescue your daughter from a life of sin.

A shotgun is not required, but formal attire is. There will be photographers.

From a friend.

 
About a half hour later, Vinnie stopped, sighed, and looked around. He'd been trying to find a seafood restaurant that he remembered from his last visit, but somehow he'd got turned around and now he was lost.

There was almost nobody on the street. The buildings in this area were all warehouses and factories, apparently deserted at night. He wished he'd asked somebody for directions.

Too much wool-gathering and not enough attention to his surroundings. U-town wasn't that large, but it was still possible to get lost in it. Particularly if you weren't a native, and it was night, and you were lost in your thoughts.

"Drop the bag," said a soft voice behind him. "Tourist."

Vinnie held his breath, then he let it out slowly as he lowered his suitcase to the sidewalk.

He stood motionless. He was ready to reach for the knife in his trouser pocket, but his hand wasn't going to move until he knew more about who was behind him, how many there were, and how they were armed.

He'd had the knife since high school. It had been years since he'd pulled it out, now that he was a respectable college professor rather than a small-town tough guy, but it was sharp, oiled, and ready.

"Wallet," the same soft voice said as Vinnie heard the suitcase slide away from him.

The voice had sounded nearer than before, which indicated that it might be just one man, who had to get closer in order to take the suitcase.

Vinnie didn't care about the suitcase, but he was reluctant to give up his wallet. Maybe if he stepped forward, turned, and pulled the knife quickly enough–

*CRACK*

He heard a blow, a sharp exhalation of breath, and a piercing whistle all at the same moment, and he quickly executed his plan. A step forward, a quick turn, a flick of his wrist, and the knife was in his hand and open.

There was a man, young and well dressed, lying on the sidewalk. He was gasping and holding his right arm. His right hand was limp, and there was a knife a few inches from it. The girl standing over him kicked the knife away and holstered the stick she'd been holding.

Vinnie had been told about Stevie One, or he would have been even more surprised to have been rescued by a teenage girl, masked, dressed entirely in black, and armed with two small billy clubs.

She turned to face him, and her right hand fell to one of her sticks. The holsters were low on her thighs, the ideal position for her to pull her weapons out quickly.

"The knife is not necessary now, sir," she said firmly. "Please put it away."

He closed the knife and returned it to his pocket. "I didn't know the cavalry was about to arrive. Thanks, Stevie."

Her mask covered her entire head, so he couldn't tell if she was reacting to being addressed by name. She held out her hand and he shook it. "You appear to be a visitor, sir," she said. "Are you lost?"

He laughed. "Is it that obvious?"

She seemed to smile. "Where are you trying to go?"

"To the hotel. My daughter lives there."

"You're pretty far off course."

"Oh, I knew that. I was looking for a seafood restaurant that I remembered from my last visit."

Before she could respond, two young security volunteers appeared at the corner and ran over to them.

Stevie One turned to face them. "What took you so long?" she asked.

"We were helping a guy who'd fallen off his bicycle. He–"

"You should probably have split up when you heard the whistle. This gentleman was about to have to defend himself when I got here." She gestured at the robber, still lying motionless and clutching his arm. He looked like he could have got to his feet and tried to run, but what would have been the point? "Get him up and take him to the hospital."

She turned back to Vinnie. "Do you know the name of the restaurant?"

He sighed. "I think right now I'll settle for the hotel. I can eat there. Can you point me in the right direction, please?"

 
It was fairly late in the evening by the time Vinnie arrived at the hotel, so the selection in the dining room was pretty limited, but he was very hungry by then so he didn't care.

The hotel dining room had always seemed to him to be a microcosm of U-town. The food was prepared by volunteers of varying skill, but it was nutritious and, technically, free. Well, people were asked to pay, and people like him who were obviously tourists were encouraged more strongly, but nobody was sent away hungry. Even the hotel itself wasn't a real hotel, although it had been one in the past. Now it was just a place where people stayed, including the administrators who ran U-town.

Vinnie paid for his food willingly, of course, though the macaroni & cheese and succotash he was eating was a few steps down from the seafood dinner he'd been anticipating.

He ate quickly, both because he was hungry and because it was getting late to appear unexpectedly at his daughter's door.

When she'd been a teenager, her sleep patterns had been, to say the least, unpredictable. He remembered more than once awakening in the middle of the night to hear her slipping in from some midnight excursion. When he asked where she'd been, she'd only say "investigating."

When he talked to other parents in their small town, their teenagers were always getting caught having sex under the pier, or drinking on top of the dunes. He was reasonably sure that his gawky, bookish daughter wasn't engaged in those sorts of pursuits. Or, if she was, she was smart enough not to get caught.

But now she had responsibilities in the U-town government, so she had apparently adopted sleeping hours which were at least somewhat closer to normal. Except when there was a mystery to solve, of course.

As he ate, he took out the most recent letter he had received from his daughter.

Dearest Padre.

Please come visit us at your earliest convenience, to meet your granddaughter. She is twelve years old, foulmouthed, ill-tempered, occasionally violent, and absolutely wonderful.

I can't imagine that you would, but when you do meet her, please do not attempt any sort of embrace. She will resist, probably forcefully and profanely, and it will start things off on the wrong foot. I speak from experience, since I was unable to conceal my fondness for her early on, and now she always regards me with suspicion, as if in trepidation that I might, without warning, pull her to me and hug her.

Marshall, of course, struck exactly the right note from the first, so she is devoted to him. Once, during a crisis, she even got into his lap so he could hold her. I saw this with my own eyes, but I'm still not sure I believe it.

Come as soon as you can, but only when it's convenient. She's not going anywhere.

JS

 
This was extraordinary.

That his daughter had become an internationally famous amateur detective was to have been expected, since she had set her mind on that goal when she was around fourteen. That she had helped found a small country was not all that surprising. That she had got married had been somewhat unexpected, but Vinnie had never really believed her protests that her commitments to journalism and detective work precluded romance.

But that she had adopted a child was amazing. He smiled as he picked up his tray to bring his dirty dishes back to the kitchen. After all, Janice (as he still thought of her) had come from parents who hadn't wanted children either.

 
In the third floor hallway, after a ride in a rather rickety elevator, he approached the door and wondered again whether this would be a surprise.

He knocked briskly. A stentorian voice from inside demanded, "What the fuck?"

It hadn't occurred to Vinnie that they might have company. Maybe he was interrupting some sort of important meeting. Well, it was too late to back out now.

There was a quick, muffled conversation, then Marshall opened the door.

Seeing Vinnie, Marshall held the door halfway open and said, "I'm afraid it is really rather late for this. I'm sure these reports are important, but I doubt she's going to read them tonight." Vinnie heard a chair creak as Marshall winked. "In the morning she has..."

Long, slender fingers appeared and pulled the door all the way open. "It is late," the great detective said, "and I think you'll find... Padre!"

Her cane fell to the carpet, and she fell into his arms.

After a few moments, during which she made various sounds which, under other circumstances, she herself would have condemned as childish, Vinnie stuck out his right hand.

"Marshall," he said. "It's good to see you."

Marshall nodded and shook his hand. "It's good to see you, too, Vinnie." He turned to the girl who was watching this with a very suspicious eye from the other side of the small room. "Ron, please come here. There's someone you should meet."

She stood up and crossed the room slowly. She was small, with unruly hair, a pug nose, and freckles. Her expression said that Vinnie might be a lot bigger than she was, but she'd take him on in a minute if he was hurting her mother.

Marshall put his arm around her narrow shoulders and said, "Ron, this is your grandfather."

"Fuck!" she blurted out, and he was surprised that the booming voice he'd heard through the door had been hers. She froze, as if having trouble processing this unexpected information. Then she carefully wiped her hand on her jeans and stuck it out. "Sir," she said, looking very serious.

As Vinnie shook her hand, there was another knock at the door.

 
to be continued...

This story started here.

When my employer emerged from the bathroom, trailing clouds of steam, I reported, briefly, on my conversations with the sheriff and the reporter. She listened politely.

I did not mention my final visitor on the deck.

* * *

The back deck of the inn was pleasant, now that I had it to myself. I listened to two cars start up and drive off.

I drank some coffee, wondering if I'd have any assignments today. The cold breeze was a reminder that winter was now very close.

Mostly I was thinking about breakfast.

The kitchen door opened and a woman's voice, not Mrs. Jessup's and not my employer's, said my name.

I rose and turned, and I saw Miss Tamara Nelson, Esq. She was wearing a cream-colored trench coat and a pair of dark slacks. She had a teacup in her hand.

She motioned for me to resume my seat. "Ms. Nelson," I said as I gestured for her to join me, but she demurred.

"'Miss Nelson,' please," she said as she placed her cup on the glass table and sat down. "I am proudly unmarried." She sipped her tea. "Is Jan going to do anything about the Deacon case?"

I shrugged, "I don't think so."

She looked down into her teacup. "Does that bother you?"

I shook my head. "I-"

"That's not your role. I understand." She looked up, her eyes twinkling.

I laughed. "I do draw a salary, but my job description doesn't say I can't have opinions."

"Do you occasionally express those opinions, in the course of your typical working day?"

"I may take the Fifth on that-"

She rapped her spoon briskly on the glass-topped table. "Overruled. Please answer the question."

I was beginning to enjoy this. I leaned back in my chair.

"To be honest, my biggest concern, in very general terms, is getting paid. Getting her paid, of course, which results in, among many other things, me getting paid. That's my main concern – keeping the firm functioning."

"Is that challenging?" She was keeping a smile at bay.

I shrugged. She waited, and then she smiled as she let the question drop.

"I saw the sheriff and Kate Lane driving off a few minutes ago. I imagine they might have been here to 'grill' you about the Deacon case?"

I shrugged. "There was no intense questioning, since I have no information that the sheriff doesn't have, and I have no reason to give any information to Miss Lane."

She nodded, waiting to see if I would say more before she spoke.

"By the way," she said casually, "just in case you were wondering, I try to stay away from trials where sanity is an issue. The Crier will, I'm sure, have an article tomorrow saying that Julie Deacon is a 'sociopath' or a 'psychopath' or some other sensationalist and unscientific term which carries no legal weight. It's... It's messy, or it can be."

She finished her tea.

"So, therefore, in case you were wondering, it is not a problem that you and I are having this conversation now, and it's not a problem that I was present when your employer and the sheriff were discussing the case two days ago.

"Just in case you were wondering."

She stood up. "This was pleasant," she said. She left her cup and saucer on the table, and, after a brisk knock on the kitchen door, she re-entered the inn.

 
The End