 
ASIDE OF MURDER

BRICK O'NEIL

Published by Brick ONeil and Lione Services at Smashwords.

Copyright 2010 Brick ONeil

I would like to dedicate this book to my Mother, Leota M. Henderson for all her love and support throughout her years; and to Stetson Elizondo for his unending input and dedication. Thank you very much.

The author holds all copyrights, ownership, rights and responsibilities to this work. This work is solely the author's; any similarities to any person, living, dead or fictional are purely coincidental and unintended.

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The little red purse was flung on the couch with such force that the clasp sprung open, money spilled over the cushions, and several pillows toppled onto the floor. Never before had she been humiliated like that. She wasn't prepared for the night, which annoyed her further. Not paying attention to where she was pacing, the tassels on the carpet caught on her three-inch heels and she stumbled forward, hitting her knee on the marble coffee table, catching herself with an elbow that shot another wave of pain through her body. Shelley roared like an injured lion, throwing her head back and shaking her mane.

Now, in addition to burning with rage, she would be nursing a welt on her elbow and a bruise on her kneecap. Kneeling on her good knee, she turned around, tore the shoes off and flung them down the hallway, only halfway listening to them ricochet off the walls. She stood up and brushed imaginary dirt off the red velvet dress that clung to her athletic body. She ran her hand through her long, thick blond hair, turned to the mirror absentmindedly on the mantle and studied her bright electric blue eyes.

Immediately she reprimanded herself for losing control like that. It was clients like Mr. Harold Askew that riddled her with longing to get out of the business. He should have been thrown in jail for the things he was asking her to do. Her boss would only tell her that she was no longer getting beat up by clients, robbed or raped and not paid. Remembering a previous conversation, she would only hear "you'll paint yourself up pretty, wear next to nothing, plaster a smile on your face and act like it is most wonderful and erotic thing you've ever been asked to perform. Understand?"

Her reflection looked as if it wanted to give her advice or some words of wisdom. She couldn't concentrate on any hidden meaning from the reflection. Gleaning nothing, Shelley did some facial exercises to rid herself of the unwanted tension and stress. She had learned that stress shows itself in the face, making one look older than their age. There was a race against time and Shelley vowed years ago she would win at any cost. Her slender hands and delicate fingers massaged her temples and scalp to ease the stress.

"Oh, I should have stayed in the D A's office." She would lament to her reflection often. She had been a Call Girl for ten years since leaving her job as a young lawyer in the District Attorney's office, where she had been for three years. Her boss found her as a juvenile wandering the streets and had felt sorry for her. She thought it was her luckiest day when he put her on the right track and back in school. Little did she know that her future boss was accepting bribes to throw cases in favor of criminals. Shelley found out all too late he had sold her out when she finished law school. She realized she had been woefully naive, looking at the world through rose-colored glasses when this opportunity came her way.

Whenever she got this worked up over her job, she would turn off the world, take a long, steamy bubble bath with incense, oils and votive candles, have a glass of Rose Petal Wine (her signature drink) and listen to the long, soothing effects of classical music or Jazz. She was massaging her scalp and rolling her neck to loosen up the muscles when the phone rang.

There was only one person she had expected to call at this point, so she resigned herself to answering the phone.

She turned and limped toward the Victorian phone on the hall table. Sitting in the wingback chair, she picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Shelley, glad you made it home. You were quite a hit!" It was her boss and he sounded absolutely ecstatic.

"Well," she purred, "I'm glad I was such a success and our client was happy." Her voice betraying the vile she felt toward her boss and the client. As she listened, she massaged her kneecap.

Her boss, not detecting the emotion behind the lie, went on talking. "He comes into town once a month or so, and has requested you to be available."

The only thing that kept her from screaming into the receiver was the thought of a couple grand for a few hours work.

"Oh, words cannot begin to explain how that excites me!" She faked enthusiasm and joy; just what her boss wanted to hear. They made a standing appointment then concluded the conversation. It took all of Shelley's self-control not to throw the phone through the window at the end of the hall. Besides, she liked this phone too much. She stared at the famous St. Louis Arch through her hall window and sighed. It was unlike her to be so easily cowed. "He'll get what's coming to him," She spat.

Thinking of the bath that awaited her, she got up and walked through her huge bedroom to the cavernous bathroom. She walked up the few wide steps to the gleaming white stone tub in the middle of the room. Turning the antique white ceramic handles, the water was just hot enough as she poured the scented bubble bath and oils into the steamy water. The aromatic scents wafted to the ceiling, filling the room. Next she lit some votive candles and incense surrounding the tub. Satisfied that the garden tub was filling, she walked over to the wine bottles in the small refrigerated cooler and selected a bottle from her stash of wine, a wine glass, and placed them on the shelf over the garden tub. Then she ambled over to the stereo, where she selected a handful of classical CD's and put them in the tray. The first sounds of a tinkling piano, then a deep bass cello followed, taking her thoughts away and replacing them with thoughts of a relaxing bath.

A few hours and a half-empty wine bottle later, she was relaxing in the living room reading the latest novel about a female detective in California and snuggling into a thick white terry cloth robe that covered her from head to toe when there was a knock at the door.

She was deciding whether or not to get up and answer the door when a female voice called out to her.

"Shelley? Are you there? It's Ann."

Ann was her best friend, colleague, and confidante. She roused herself to a standing position, put the book face down to save her place, and then shuffled and limped to the door.

She opened the door to a tall, athletic raven haired beauty that was staring at her with concern through her oriental onyx-like eyes, which were a beautiful contrast to hers. There was an unmistakable mystical air about her.

"I got worried about you when you didn't show up at the health club. You missed your training session."

"Want some Rose Petal Wine? I've opened a bottle." She turned, leaving the door open and hopped-lurched back to the couch.

Ann was left speechless. She came in, shut the door and watched Shelley. It wasn't like Shelley to miss a training session; they were great stress busters for her. There was an unmistakable scent of lavender and lilies in the air, and, seeing Shelley's wet hair, concluded that she had just spent a few hours in the tub to completely forget what had transpired earlier in the day. Normally, Shelley was rock-solid; unflinching in her job.

"What happened?" She asked as she clipped quickly to the richly covered couch and sat down with grace.

"That little pile of excrement happened."

"Ah, Mr. Askew," Ann nodded in sympathy and had a look of remembrance on her fine features, "well, the only good thing about him is you only have him once. No one ever has him twice."

"Until now." Shelley said without emotion.

"Oh." Ann whispered softly. Not knowing what to say or do, she accepted a glass of the wine, and changed the subject. "This is absolutely delightful, Shel, when did you get the new shipment?"

"The small vineyard I know sent my standing order last week. This helps whenever I feel overwhelmed."

Ann watched her best friend very closely, and surmised that there was something else bothering Shelley. Placing the glass on a coaster, she looked warily.

"What is going on with you today?"

Shelley looked at Ann with such bluntness that Ann looked slightly surprised, but said nothing.

"Is that why you missed our work-out session?"

Shelley nodded, sipped and stared wistfully at a print of her favorite painting. There a little girl with her back to the viewer, sitting in a field and staring at a house in the distance. How she envied the little girl, alone, a simple life, with no one to answer to but herself.

"I know that he can be lewd, but don't let him get to you, Shel. Just shrug it off." Ann was concerned for her friend.Never before had she seen Shelley bothered by a client.

Shelley put the glass on a coaster, and focused her gaze on Ann.

"It's not just Askew, Ann. Don't you ever get tired of the trade?"

Ann was shocked at the question. Never before had she seen anything get to Shelley. True, there were clients like Askew that made the job unbearable, but that was only for a few hours at most. It helped to think of this as just another career. She had learned that every job or career has its bad days, not just theirs.

"Shel, I've never heard you talk like this before. Just think of the money! You can make thousands a day!"

"Oh Ann, I have a comfortable life, but I've been doing this for ten years. Maybe it's time for a change."

Ann goggled at her friend, as she was seeing her for the first time.

"You want out? Are you thinking of returning to the District Attorney's office?"

"I don't know what I want." Shelley slumped back with an uncertain frown and sipped the aromatic wine.

Ann saw that the robe had slid of Shelley's leg and saw the bruised kneecap.

"Did Askew do that?" Ann said pointing.

"No," Shelley said with a bashful grin, "I was so angry when I came home I caught my heel on the carpet then fell into the coffee table".

They looked at each other, laughed and ended up embracing each other for support.

"Well, what are you going to do about Mr. Askew?" Ann asked, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"I was thinking of something a little Mexican...." Shelley had a mischievous look.

"You don't mean..." Ann suppressed a giggle.

"The old standby......" Shelley said with an air of nonchalance.

"Hot chili oil!" they screamed together, picked up their glasses, clinked, and howled with laughter.

Ann, sensing that Shelley needed a boost, cocked her head, and sat back in the plush couch.

"Do you remember when you first came on board?"

"Of course, like it was yesterday. We haven't been at this so long that I can't remember details." At that, Shelley raised her wine glass as if in a toast to Ann.

"You came in and we sized each other up one side and down the other. The boss man thought we would be instant enemies and rivals. Boy was he shocked when we became fast friends, right then and there!" Ann said with a soft chuckle, running her free hand through her long black hair, playing with a huge silver hoop earring that, somehow, didn't look garish against her slender neck.

"Do you remember during our off time, we usually gambled together downstairs in the casino? The boss would give us that large account to play with, seeing that we were inseparable."

"Of course he gave us that account to play with, we were free advertising for the agency. Speaking of which, do you want to head over to the casino for a little action?" Shelley looked at Ann, feeling much better about life in general, now that her friend picked up her sagging spirits off the floor.

"I'd love to Shel, but I've got to get going, I've got an appointment. We'll get together tomorrow; I think we both have the day off. We'll make a day of it."

"I know, first the gym; I've got to make up for missing today. Then shopping and lunch." Shelley saw Ann to the door; they clung to each other for a minute or so, and then Ann looked at Shelley to see if she were really all right. Shelley nodded to the unasked question and closed the door.

The next day, the sun shone bright and beautiful in the tree-lined avenue. Shelley felt better, now that yesterday was over with and ignored the stares, cat calls and wolf whistles that followed her everywhere she went. She walked the few blocks to the health club that she and Ann belonged. She gave her insincere smile and lilting laugh to the doorman, then to the receptionist and on to the locker-room.

Upon seeing Ann at her locker, she jogged over wearing a Cheshire-cat like grin.

"Well well, look who is back with the living!" Ann chided, throwing her head back and laughing with gusto, taking out her shoes.

"I feel fantastic!" Shelley replied opening her locker. "How was your appointment?"

"Boy, do I have a story to tell you! It's just what we were talking about last night." Ann winked at Shelley through her long eyelashes and blew her a kiss, not revealing anything more. "We'll talk over lunch."

It was a few hours later that Ann and Shelley were walking out of the health club and into shop after shop, linked arm in arm and heads tilted against each other, whispering in low tones as conspirators do against some cruel taskmaster. Women on the street would look at the two gorgeous, statuesque women with envy and every man would gaze at them as if to imprint them on their memory.

Their arms laden with bags and boxes, they stopped at their favorite little sidewalk café. The October day was calm and somewhat cool, but not enough for a jacket. The hostess sat them in a corner table out on the veranda, where they could see passersby going about their business, rich old women looking down their pinched noses and glossy cheeks from too many face lifts walking their equally pinched-nosed poodles and shihtzu's.

With their packages and bags surrounding them, they were sipping their water with slices of lemon, feeling the soft breeze against their skin. Shelley broke the comfortable silence.

"Ok, Ann, tell me about last night." Shelley asked, leaning in as to share some deep, dark secret.

Ann gave an indulgent smile that hinted she might have done something naughty. Putting down her glass, she let her gaze wander around the street, and back to the veranda. Shelley tapped her foot then rapped her knuckles on the table to hasten the conversation.

"Last night I realized my client was going to be a major horse's ass and give me attitude.Normally I can handle attitude, but he had just a little more than I like. So, when he began to get irritating with unreasonable demands, I utilized our little scheme.

"I talked him into getting tied to the legs of the bed with silk scarves. Then, I proceeded to work him up into a rather excitable state. During that time, I extracted a condom that I had filled with hot chili oil, and then placed back into its wrapper. The client was so distracted that he didn't notice the wrapper was already open. When the condom was placed, you could tell he experienced such immediate pain that he was screaming so loud I was afraid that security would burst in." Ann chortled with glee at the memory.

"When I 'encouraged' him to settle down, he agreed to whatever demands I made. He agreed to behave himself and to never mention this to our boss. The client was so humiliated and humbled that he readily agreed to whatever I said! Plus having to pay blackmail money to keep me quiet."

Shelley was having quiet conniptions, but suddenly looked at Ann.

"Why didn't you give old Askew the 'treatment'?"

"He's always two steps ahead of everyone else. He treats his pleasure just like his business: always thinking what the other person is up to. He wasn't worth getting even with. You probably found that out when you met him."

Shelley nodded, and leaned back in her chair, swirling the ice cubes around in the glass.

"What's that saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me? He's not getting that second chance." Shelley said with a determined look upon her face. Then, she looked at Ann and nodded, because she would see to it that Mr. Askew would have what's coming to him, relishing her next appointment. This was something she never tired of doing.

* * * * * * *

'Oh, she's here,' thought Shelley, glancing at the crystal clock on the mantle. There was a loud, fast knocking at her door. Before Shelley could get to the door, it sprang open suddenly and Ann burst in, smiling and humming "It's a wonderful day in the neighborhood". She placed her jacket across the arm of the chair next to the door.

"You're certainly in a good mood, Ann," replied Shelley in a sly voice.

"Why shouldn't I be? You're in a better frame of mind as well."

"It's been a few weeks since you've seen me. How was your vacation?"

"Oh!," sighed Ann in contentment as she plopped down on the rich fabric next to Shelley and smoothed out the light floral print sun dress that accentuated the curves in her body. Most women could not have pulled off a sun dress so late in the year, but Ann did.

"Glorious, superb, magnificent" Ann grinned at Shelley, twirling a thin silver chain necklace on her slender neck and crossing her long amber legs. Shelley did a double take and saw there was a diamond star pendant on the end of the necklace. She leaned over to get a better look.

"This is beautiful, Ann. Where did you get it?" Ann didn't say anything and continued to twirl the thin chain, humming.

"This has to be at least a full two karat diamond! Did you get that on vacation?"

"It was a gift from an admirer." Ann replied casually, sounding like she had avoided the question, and wasn't meeting Shelley's gaze.

Shelley allowed her gaze to drop from Ann's eyes, and then onto the diamond star pendant. Like a light bulb unexpectedly turned on behind her eyes, Shelley gasped and held her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with excitement and wonder.

"You're kidding!" Shelley gasped.

Ann continued to smile, looking as if nothing was out of the ordinary, except for the wide grin that played across her beautiful, caramel-colored face.

"It is beautiful, isn't it?" Ann questioned, with a look of fondness spread about her eyes onto the necklace.

"How did you get it?" Shelley asked her, her question having an entirely different meaning now.

"It arrived this morning by special delivery." She replied with a slight giggle.

"This certainly must have put him back a pretty penny." Shelley whistled under her breath. "Was there a note?"

"Just this" Ann dug a folded up paper from her small purse and handed it to Shelley.

The star that shone your eyes the night we met

Never before has anything been like

As the sparkle now that holds me yet

Please find this gem upon your neck so light

"Well, he gets points for rhyming." Shelley said with a grimace.

"That was a specific request of mine; he had to include a poem partially written in Iambic Pentameter." Ann quickly said, with a wicked smile.

Shelley raised her perfectly arched eyebrows at Ann with a smirk, "Iambic Pentameter?I'll have to remember that one. How did you get him to spring for such pretty bling?" Shelley said with a slight smile.

Ann rolled her eyes at the rhyme Shelley made, then took out a memory stick and waved it in Shelley's face.

"All he needed was a little motivation. This little stick had our entire encounter recorded, thanks to our technologically advanced friend." At that, she kissed the memory stick and placed it back in her purse.

Shelley folded the paper and handed it back to Ann.

"Have you decided about Askew, Shel?" Ann sat up straight and held Shelley's hand.

It was Shelley's turn to give a wicked smile and squeezed Ann's hand.

'OH Yes' was all the reply Ann needed, as she sat there thinking he was going to get more than the 'old standby'.

Later that night in the Casino's hotel, Shelley had spent some time getting the room ready for her client. Her boss demanded she meet with him on his monthly visit to St. Louis. When Shelley acquiesced to his request without so much as a quibble, he was delighted, as no one else in the agency was quite so quick to agree to a second time with Mr. Askew.

A few hours later Askew knocked on the door and entered when Shelley said seductively "Enter".

He opened the door and found all the lights out, save for candles of all sizes, lit around the suite. It would have been romantic, except for all the candles were black, which gave the room an eerie feeling, like there was going to be a ritual sacrifice. He was having trouble adjusting his eyes to the darkened room from the overly bright fluorescent lights in the hallway.

"Hello?" He asked in a small, tentative voice, entered the room and quietly shut the door. He could not see Shelley anywhere in the suite. There were black sheer fabric panels attached to the walls and there was a black bedspread on the bed with zebra striped pillows at the top of the bed. This was not what he had in mind for the evening and felt like he was walking right into a trap.

Right at that moment, he heard a movement behind him that made his heart pound fast in his chest and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Before he could turn around, he felt his right arm being twisted from behind, getting pinned to his back, as a hand appeared with a cloth and covered his nose and mouth. A feminine, steely voice whispered behind him.

"That's right....deep breaths......in....and out." He saw the room growing darker and darker until he saw nothing and felt nothing.

He didn't know how much time had passed since entering the room, nor could he see anything when he opened his eyes. At first he thought the candles had been blown out, but realized a blindfold had been placed around his eyes. He realized he was wrong when he could see a faint, hazy glow about the room from the bottom of the blindfold.

"What the hell is going on?!" He demanded. "Your boss is going to hear about this!" He lay there looking angrier than a hornets nest, practically foaming at the mouth. He tried to get up from the bed, tear off the blindfold all with the desire to smack the bitch around for this. With a thrill of terror, he realized that his arms and legs had been tied to the bed; he was completely vulnerable and completely naked.

After struggling for a few, futile minutes, he knew he was at the mercy of this woman he had humiliated so terribly their previous meeting. He strained in the silence to hear her walk around, and could hear nothing but the candles crackling their wick. The pounding in his chest was unbearable and his breathing was rapid and uneven. The blindfold was wet with perspiration, stinging his eyes. Twisting his wrists, he tried, in vain, to grab the fabric that held his wrists. It was then he heard a soft chuckle that held his heart in a vice-like grip.

He turned his head from where the sound came, but nothing more was heard.

"I know you're there! Damn you to hell Shelley!" He tried to yell vehemently, but sounded frail, more than anything else.

"You're scared, aren't you?" Shelley teased.

"I'll crucify you! You'll be nothing!" He was getting more and more desperate.

"Oh? Will you?" She said in a lilting voice from the other side of the bed. "I don't think you're in any position to be talking like that." She said with a singsong whisper in his left ear. The color of his face faded from a fire engine red to a ghostly, sick green.

He was silent for a few minutes as that last statement sunk in. There was no telling what this madwoman would do. He was truly at her mercy.

"What do you want?" He asked in a meek tone.

There was another soft chuckle and he felt a cat-o-nine tails trailing up from his feet, shins, thighs and stomach. The skin where the leather slid against instinctively shied away, giving himself and his fear away.

"Oh, it's not what you think." She whispered in his other ear now.

He started to shiver, not out of coldness, but out of fear.

"What are you going to......?" Before he could finish the sentence, he felt a hot, stinging sensation that ever-so-slowly ran up from his feet to his thighs.

"AGGHHH!" He made a noise that sounded like half-scream and half-strangle.

"What the hell are you doing?" He was hysterical with fright and pain.

"Did you notice the candles on your way in? They have an especially significant meaning. I brought them especially for you." She said in a gravelly voice that was fast and excited. Each time she tipped a black candle; hot wax splashed on his skin and excited her. There was a few moments silence while Shelley mumbled phrases under her breath to wait for the hot wax to harden. By this time, she saw that Askew was drenched in sweat and was spluttering incoherently. With lightening quick reflexes, she swung the cat-o-nine tails hard upon the dried wax, and Askew shrieked and tried to withdraw his leg. She was reveling in revenge and knew Askew wouldn't forget her anytime soon. She was already counting the money he would be sending.

* * * * * * *

Joan and Sue were walking down the sidewalk, their coat collars turned up against the strong blustery November wind. Joan, petite and slender, with brown hair and eyes, seemed to always wear business suits and an overcoat. When she got her first promotion and raise, she bought herself an amber ring that she played with when she was nervous or thinking about a case. Criminals always looked at Joan as a pushover because she was so small, which she used to her advantage on more than one occasion.

Sue, being average height and weight, with Auburn hair and green eyes, tended to dress in outlandish, sometimes garish, fashions and never apologized for it. She could get away with it, as Joan often pointed out, seeing Sue was an artist. Sue had majored in art history in college, whereas Joan majored in business. Sue was becoming a fast rising star in the local art scene.

All over the block, people were shielding their faces from the gusty cool wind with papers, briefcases or by turning their faces.

"I can't believe the wind is so strong today!" Yelled Sue.

"I know, but Omaha is on the open plains." Joan yelled back. "The restaurant is just up ahead."

They quickened their pace, struggled to open the door against the wind, and then fell inside. They quickly ran fingers through their hair to make themselves more presentable.

"Whew, didn't think we were going to get in." Joan said with a laugh, enjoying the aroma of Indian spices.

The hostess made her greeting, and then bade them to follow her. Piling in the booth after their coats, they ordered hot Indian tea and took a graceful, hand lettered menu each.

They perused the menu, and then ordered when the waiter brought their strong, aromatic sweetened tea.

"So, what's been going on with you lately? You've been driving all over the mid-west. You must be sick and tired of driving by now." Sue exclaimed, waving her arm in Joan's direction. The motion caused the sleeve of the flowered gauzy silk blouse to flutter after her arm.

"Don't you know it? Thank goodness the bank has company cars; otherwise I'd have to borrow yours and John's." Sue just shrugged, like it would not have been a bother. Joan paused to enjoy the aroma emanating from her mug. She had earned a promotion in the bank's internal investigative department, which meant long hours and driving all over the surrounding states.

Unbuttoning her business jacket, she watched as Sue removed a scarf from her neck, placing it atop her jacket. Joan and Sue had been friends for more than a decade, since they met in their college dorm room years before. They had an extraordinary relationship, and were closer than sisters. They forged and cultivated their friendship with care over the years.

"Have you seen today's paper?" She asked Joan with eagerness.

"The article about the abandoned warehouse in midtown? Yes, I read about it this morning and thought of you." Joan said with a smirk, because Sue talked about nothing else in the past few months. She knew that it was Sue's dream to own her own art gallery, to showcase up and coming talents who would not normally get space.

Sue leaned forward in excitement. "Yes, I called the owner, you know, from the article, and we have a meeting next week! Can you believe it? I may have my gallery by next November!" Sue was so excited that she didn't notice that the surrounding tables were watching her with sideways glances because she was talking so loud.

Joan smiled at Sue, knowing she was prone to be boisterous when she was excited.

"What does John think?" Joan already knew that John, Sue's husband, would be supportive of Sue, no matter what.

"You know John, he'll support whatever decision I make." Sue was smiling with warmth that had nothing to do with the hot Indian tea. "What about your trip? Did you find out anything?"

Sue noticed that Joan twirled the ring on her right hand with her thumb.

"Well, I found out that the thefts are more complicated that was previously thought."

"What do you mean?"

It was Joan's turn to lean in, but talked in a low tone. "It turns out it may be a collaborative effort between the store owners and the bank clerks."

Sue was wide-eyed about the thought of the night deposit thefts being planned. "What did the police say?"

"They asked me to continue the investigation privately, as their departments are small and don't have the personnel, time or money to continue on their own. Of course the bank approved my continued involvement; they are liable for the thefts if the clerks are involved. It occurred to the police that these thefts had co-conspirators, but couldn't prove it."

Sue was thoughtful for a moment, and then asked "what about videotape?"

"We thought of that, and the videotape mysteriously 'disappeared'."

"Can't the police hold or arrest the bank personnel?"

"Without proof? We would have lawyers down our throats faster than anything. We have to have proof first."

"I suppose." Sue said dejected. Sitting back, she began looking around the room; "People Watching" is what she called it. This greatly amused Joan, because the two of them did the same thing for entirely different reasons.

"See that woman along the wall, under the mosaic?" Sue whispered conspiratorially.

Joan was careful to look where Sue was angling her head and saw an elegant woman in a lightweight, Grey-tweed skirt and jacket ensemble talking to another elegant woman, dressed in a similar fashion. She was holding her mug of tea, with an extended pinky.

"Yes." Joan said, prompting Sue.

"She heads the city committee for planning and zoning."

"Really?" Joan said, taking another glance at the older woman. "Who is she talking to?"

"That's the owner of one of the new condominiums being built. She's trying to get approval for an additional five hundred units. 'Madam Chairwoman' is putting her through the ringer; she doesn't approve plans easily. She demands reports that prove what the builder/owner wants to do won't be a detriment to the surrounding community."

"So, she's the woman you have to convince that your gallery will be good for the area. It sounds like you've done your homework on her. She doesn't look like she's easily swayed."

"You wouldn't believe what people will do to get approval. She got one guy's application dismissed without even appearing before the committee when he tried to bribe her."

The waiter glided up to their table without a sound, balancing their plates on a wafer-thin tray putting a stop to their conversation.

All during their lunch, they discussed all the upcoming events that would be fun to attend: the sports games played at the newly constructed Quest Center Arena where some big name stars had performed the previous year, all the plays, musicals and orchestra/symphony recitals that were available.

They were having a great time, when across the room, under the mural, the second woman rose abruptly causing her tall glass of water to wobble on the table, menacing to topple over. Her face was livid, mouth strained in a thin, white line and eyes shooting daggers at 'Madam Chairwoman'.Apparently, she was not getting what she wanted, because she stormed out the restaurant with all eyes and mouths gaping after her.

'Madam Chairwoman' sat there unabashed and unconcerned, as if this was a mere inconvenience to her working day. She sipped her hot sweetened tea without a care in the world.

Sue was absolutely giddy with delight. "HA! Did you see that?"

"Yes, me and everyone else in the restaurant; she handled that poorly." Joan said, nodding after the woman who left in such a hurry.

"I bet she tried to strong-arm the Chairwoman, and it backfired." Sue said, thinking out loud more to herself than to Joan.

"Wouldn't she realize that would get her nowhere?"

Sue looked at Joan with wide amazed eyes, and then softened them with a look of pity. She touched Joan's arm with affection.

"Joan, you're a great investigator, researching and crunching all those numbers; but you've got a lot to learn about the intricacies of human emotion."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that woman is used to dealing with contractors, building inspectors, stock holders and the like. She has no subtlety. It's either her way or the highway. She's upset that she has to follow the rules. There'll be a complaint against 'Madam Chairwoman' now, but it won't go anywhere."

"I'll stick to crunching my numbers, Sue." Joan laughed.

They finished their lunch, got up to put on their coats when 'Madam Chairwoman' walked over to them and stopped in front of Sue.

"Mrs. Phillips, I look forward to meeting with you to discuss your proposal. Good Day." She said abruptly, as she stuck out her hand for Sue to shake. Sue said likewise, shook the elder woman's hand and looked after her, as did everyone in the restaurant.

Sue looked at Joan and shook her head slightly to discourage her from saying anything. They paid their bill then walked out into the blustery afternoon.

"What was that all about?" Joan asked with an astonished air.

"I don't know. I didn't realize she knew me well enough to come up to me like that. I sent in my application with the required reports. I guess she liked what she read and did some of her own research about me."

As they neared Sue's car, Sue asked Joan against the blustery afternoon wind if she wanted to come with her to a showing of a new artist at the library's downtown location, but Joan said she had to get back to work to crunch some more numbers, at which Sue laughed.

Back at the bank where Joan worked, there was a queue in front of Accounts Receivable. Joan stopped and saw about fifteen to twenty people crowded in the hallway, each talking in excited, hushed tones that sounded like a hive of buzzing bees. There were security guards just inside the doorway holding a frightened young woman who was near tears.

Joan approached the queue and saw a short, stocky man with a thick neck that worked in her department.

"Jackson, what's going on here?"

Jackson, whose nickname was 'bulldog', worked at the bank and happened to be Joan's boss. Joan just couldn't bring herself to call her boss a dog's name. He had a perpetual look of disbelief, as if anyone talking to him was not telling the truth. Furthering his overall aura of a bulldog he had the habit of standing with his hands on his hips and his legs shoulder-width apart. Another reason was his ability (some said stubbornness) to stay with an investigation no matter how long the suspects remained at large or elusive. He always got results but was so busy lately with administrative paperwork that he could not devote as much time to any single investigation.

"You haven't heard? Well, this morning it was brought to all the department heads' attention that there was a large discrepancy in some insurance funds that were in the young lady's care to input into the mainframe." Jackson said brusquely, nodding his head toward the two guard's location.

"No, I haven't heard. That's a shame." Joan went silent for a moment, trying to remember something. "Wasn't she just hired?"

He regarded Joan a moment, impressed she would remember a detail like that in such a large organization as theirs.

"I'm impressed Joan, not many keep up with details like that."

Joan, blushing slightly, nonetheless, kept her momentum and answered.

"It was in the newsletter." She said with a shrug.

"Anyway," Jackson continued, "she's in a lot of hot water now. It was found that she had an overseas account, with the intent of embezzling more money from investors. She had access to hundreds, if not thousands, of customer accounts. Pity."

Joan looked at the frightened young woman, and couldn't help but think that she was an unlikely suspect, let alone have the capacity to concoct such a sloppy plan of action.

"So what will happen to her now?" Joan asked, trying to control her investigative nature. This type of investigation was right up her alley, but she had the night deposit theft investigation to work on.

"Oh, she'll go to jail, more likely get arrested for embezzlement, fraud and the like. Was asked to look into this, but I have more on my plate right now than a simple embezzlement case." Jackson, indeed, did have a lot on his plate. He was the department head for Joan's division and responsible for the entire corporation's investigations. The large queue that had formed saw him walking down to Accounts Receivable earlier and knew that something was up, the way he was puffed up.

Knowing she couldn't just stand around, especially with her boss right there, she said goodbye and found her way back to her office on the third floor.

As she hung her coat on the gleaming steel coat rack just inside her door, she could not help but think about the conversation she just had with Jackson. It did not make sense. The young woman did indeed have access to account numbers; it was doubtful she really knew what they were about. She was a hired by a temporary agency the bank used to fill low-level positions on a short-term basis.

Joan paced her office for a few moments, absentmindedly turning the ring on her right hand with her thumb, when she thought of the overseas account that had been found and stopped pacing. How had the young woman opened an overseas account, with the intent to embezzle the money?

Seven floors above Joan sat Gerald Johnson with a hard look of concentration on his handsome face.

Gerald was a successful Executive Vice-President, for one of the largest national chain banks. In his early 40's, tall and still had a full head of luxurious thick blond hair with sparkling deep blue eyes. He had a unique position with the bank. After the bank merged twice in less than twenty-four months, he had received the responsibilities of several positions: One was loan manager for industries, second was overseer of finances for trusts funds, and the third was the account manager for insurance deposits, although his title was 'Senior Investment Banker'. It was not a position that he relished having, but used to his advantage.

He laughed softly to himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Congratulations old boy, you've done it again." He mused, hitting his palms on the arms of his leather covered chair. He strode to the mini-bar in his office, mixed a scotch and water and walked with cocky self-assurance toward the wall of windows in his office.

Swirling the amber liquid in the glass, he watched the November wind whip around the streets below. Someone had lost a newspaper, for it looked like hundreds of sheets were playing tag, running, falling behind and running again.

"Those will give city crews something to do." He said savagely.

"That young woman served her purpose; It was just a simple matter of creating an overseas shell account in the young woman's name, make the transfer and arrange files for someone to find on the mainframe, and creating some interference so none of this would point back to me." He drained the contents of the glass and continued to gaze out the window.

He had little, if any, regard for anyone or anything else, which he saw as tools or pawns to advance his own agenda. Of course, he knew how society expected him to act, or react, emotionally. He had the responses down to an art form, even if he didn't feel anything inside except a deep loathing for others and their lives.

Gerald walked back and refilled his glass. He had been with the bank since his mid-twenties and had a second career siphoning off funds from trust accounts, percentages from business loans, and insurance payments. He was skilled at hiding his actions because he knew all the tricks of the banking industry. No one was any the wiser about his actions and he was equally sure that no one would suspect him for the latest string of night deposit thefts in the surrounding states. He was aware, of course, that Jackson was too busy to look into the thefts himself and had pawned the investigations off onto one of the junior investigators. Plus, his boss was an inept, bungling fraud that had inherited the bank from his father.

As he stood at the windows, sipping another scotch and water, he marveled at how long he had been able to get away with all his scheming, blackmailing and embezzling. He had been able to fool the bank, police and his boss for about seventeen years. There were times when he had to frame 'unfortunate' bystanders, like the woman downstairs.

He recalled his college days, when he found out his business ethics professor was cheating on his wife with the department heads own wife.

Gerald was in his twenty's; full of vigor and of himself.

"Oh no, I forgot to hand in the business projections for the assignment. Well, I'll just sneak into the old professor's office and put it in with the others." He glanced at his watch and noticed that the office hours were about to end.

He ran up the stairs, two at a time, until he reached the third floor, where the professor's office was. He was walking down the hallway with a purposeful stride, when he heard something clatter in an adjacent staff room. Putting his ear up to the door, he heard hard and fast breathing.

"I wonder who that could be?" He glanced up and down the empty hallway, looked over his shoulder again to make sure he wouldn't get caught, pushed open the door, expecting to find two students making out in the teachers' staff room.

To his surprise, he found the two most unlikely suspects.

"Professor!" He exclaimed, and then looking on the conference table, was none other than the department head's wife.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" He drawled out in a malicious tone, leaning against the doorway.

"Gerald..." the professor stumbled off the table, pulling up his trousers and clumsily fastening them.

The woman had a look of pure astonishment and terror all at the same time.

"I thought you said the building was empty? Why didn't you lock the door? You stupid fool!" She spat out, sliding off the opposite side of the table, picking up her clothes haphazardly.

"You....but....I....." The professor gasped incoherently at Gerald and the woman.

"Yes, professor?" Gerald said in an expectant tone; a tone of feigned innocence.

The two were facing Gerald, quickly dressing, and glancing at each other in embarrassment and loathing, as each was blaming the other for their current situation.

"What DO we do now? Hmmm?" Gerald strode around the table so he was sitting at the head. He waved his arms at the two chairs to his left, inviting them to sit down. The woman looked disgusted at Gerald, for daring to impose his presence on them. The professor had a look of shock.

As the twosome sat down next to each other, Gerald chuckled. He clearly had the advantage and was enjoying seeing them squirm in their chairs. Suddenly he leaned over and coarsely whispered to them.

"Madam, does your husband.....his boss, know what you're up to?"

"That is none of your business, young man." She said with an authoritarian tone.

"Now, I wouldn't be so terse with me. I could easily go to your husband with this little discretion." Gerald enjoyed seeing the woman's face go from righteous indignation to fallen terror.

"What....what do you mean young man? A....Are you thre....threatening me?" She stammered and stumbled out the question.

"Why, yes, I suppose I am." Gerald said with an innocent grin. The woman plainly paled. He then turned to his professor, clucking his tongue.

"Tsk, tsk tsk, professor." He leaned back, gazing intently. "You've been a naughty boy." He shook his finger in the professor's face.

"Listen here, Mr. Johnson," the professor decided on a change of tact.

"Oh...Mr. Johnson....am I in trouble now" he spat.

"That's right. What do you think you're doing, skulking around the empty building? There's no reason for you to be here. Office hours are over."

"Oh, yes...and it looks like they'll be over for quite some time."

"What do you mean....what are you going to do?" The professor paled like his bosses wife.

Gerald turned to the woman first.

"Well, I'm a little broke this year, you see. I need some alternate type of income....so I can devote all my time to my studies." He leered at her, causing her to withdraw back from the table.

"What does that have to do with me?" She gaped at Gerald.

His demeanor changed instantly. His face was like stone; there was no trace of emotion.

"You're going to deposit $5000 a month into my account, without your husband knowing." He saw she was going to protest, but he cut her off.

"I don't care how you do it...sell your clothes...hock your jewelry...that's not my concern." He turned to the professor.

"If you really care about this whore, you can donate to the cause as well. Your wife won't know the difference. If she married a cad like you, she's as dull-witted as you.

"Now, I expect to receive perfect marks in all my work from now on, do you understand old man?" He leered at the professor.

"I...I...yes....I understand." Gerald turned to the woman, with a menacing face.

"Yes..of...of course you'll get what you want."

Gerald rose from the table, winked at the pair, left the room and laughed raucously down the hallway.

"I am untouchable!" he raised his glass to his reflection and smirked. He knew how to keep himself out of the limelight and how to frame others for his misdeeds, as he had been doing just that for his entire adult life. He took another fortifying swig of the amber liquid when he saw the young woman being led to a police car below. The two police officers appeared to be half-carrying and half-dragging her along. She was sobbing uncontrollably, which made Gerald raise his glass after her sagging figure.

* * * * * * *

CHAPTER TWO

Ann adjusted the volume on the mp3 player so she could hear the music above her breathing and cycling. She put her feet in the stirrups, held the handlebars and continued cycling.

'This feels wonderful' she told herself, 'getting all this frustration out, breathing in fresh oxygen.

'It's been twenty minutes. Where is Shel?' She was getting concerned about her best friend. Ever since she had agreed to meet with Askew a second time, her personality had changed, just a little bit.

When Shelley had called late yesterday afternoon asking where she could buy fifty black candles, Ann wondered what, or, more specifically, who she had planned on taking revenge on. There couldn't have been that much bad blood between Shelley and Askew.

It was true, that she turned her boss down when he requested her to meet with Askew again, and was surprised that Shelley agreed to meet him again. Although, when she saw Shelley after her first encounter with Askew, she had never seen her friend so down and depressed. Maybe that was the reason she talked about getting out of the business. She glanced at her watch again and began to grow more concerned by the minute.

The cycle was pushing furiously with Ann, when someone's hand startled her. She whipped around, ready to take someone down for daring to touch her.

"Shel!" Ann exclaimed, and drew her into a light hug. "I'm all sweaty, so don't' touch me. What in the world happened?"

Shelley pulled her blond ponytail tighter, adjusted her sports bra, and sat on the cycle next to Ann. Instead of answering, she just gave a non-committal grin.

"Don't know what you mean" was the only response Ann could wiggle out of Shelley.

Ann looked around to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied that no one was, she looked at Shelley and stated that they would talk later.

After their workout, they headed back to Ann's apartment, which was in a secluded section of the city.

Ann's apartment was really a two-story walk-up, with a facade of gleaming white limestone with light green and pink accents. All up and down the avenue were duplicates of the same building, each one made of white limestone with various colored accents. The reason they were all the same, was the neighborhood's exclusive status. Anyone wanting to move in or redecorate had to adhere to the rules and regulations regarding the outward appearance of their walk-up. If they wanted to live in that particular neighborhood, they had to pay for it.

Shelley followed Ann into the entryway where there were small two-foot high by three-foot wide benches along each sidewall. They hung up their coats on the gleaming brass coat holders on the wall that were lined up like soldiers. Shelley followed suit, sat down on the little bench that was covered in a red and gold fabric that had scenes of flame-throwing dragons flying around trees and a river. Shel took off her work-out shoes and put on slippers, so they wouldn't mar the bamboo floors.

The left their workout bags in the entryway and Shelley followed Ann through the darkened living room where she could barely make out the huge black oriental fans on the walls with their gold lettering. She knew there were black velvet covered divans and settees in the living room. They headed to kitchen, which was just behind the living room on the right. Ann reached the arched doorway and pushed the wide switch and the kitchen was bathed in a warm tawny light.

"Go ahead, have a seat." Ann indicated to the natural colored wicker chair that sat in front of the huge, ten-foot glass topped wicker table. Shelley sat in the plush light tan cushion and watched as Ann efficiently made tea. After just a few minutes, Ann joined Shelley at the table with a short, squat white teapot and two short white mugs without handles, and a basket of fruit filled Newton's on a wicker tray. Ann filled one of the mugs and placed it in front of Shelley, and then filled the remaining mug for herself.

"Here, Shel, this special blend of tea will help you think more clearly." Ann, apparently was curious about last night, Shelley thought. She didn't speak, but lifted the mug with both hands, got a whiff of the blend of tea, which, did clear her mind. She couldn't tell if it was the peppermint or the ginseng that was clearing her mind or something else. Tea wasn't her strong suit.

They were quiet for a few more minutes. Ann's eyes were wide-open, meeting Shelley's gaze, looking as if she were expecting a secret. Then her eyes narrowing, shining like gleaming beetles.

"Tell me what you did." She asked in a soft whisper, grinning widely.

"Askew had it coming; even you said he was a deplorable little man." Shelley said in a contented tone.

"Yes, he was. Shel, enough stalling, get to it!"

Shelley leaned back, giggling at Ann's impatience. Shelley clearly enjoyed stringing Ann along, in a good-natured way. She placed the mug down on the tray, leaned backward into a stretch and ran her fingers through her thick mane.

"Ok, ok, I'll stop prolonging the torture" Shelley winked, leaned forward and Ann blew her a raspberry.

"You know I went to the suite early, and you know I had black candles with another bag."

"Yes, I was wondering why you asked for the candles. You wouldn't need those unless..."

"Unless I really needed them, I know." Shelley cut off Ann in mid sentence. "There's a method to my madness.

"He arrived right on time, with that same damn smirk of his. You should have seen his face fall when he saw the suite!"

"Tell me what you did, Shel." Ann demanded, nearly causing her tea to splash out when she slammed the mug on the tray.

Shelley smiled with a smug air at Ann, and then continued.

"He didn't get what he expected, that's for sure. I had attached black fabric panels on all the walls, replaced the bedspread with a black one, and placed about fifty black candles all around the suite!" Shelley gushed excitedly.

"I bet he was shocked." Ann said with wide eyes.

"He stood at the door for a few minutes, clearly not expecting that. I could tell he was about to bolt, but he ended up shutting the door. Before he could turn around where I was hiding behind the door, I held one of his arms behind his back and with the other hand I put a cloth with chloroform covering his mouth and nose. He went out like a light!

"When he woke up, I stripped him, placed him on the bed, and tied to the legs of the bed. He was fighting and squirming like a madman." Shelley giggled.

"I wish I were there to see." Ann chortled, sipping her tea again, and refilling Shelley's mug.

"The pictures came out great! That's why I was late this morning." With that, Shelley walked back to the door where she had placed her bag and arrived back at the kitchen within minutes. "Here, take a glance." Then she picked up her mug again, contented.

"It sure was a great opportunity we found our friend." Ann said, "These turned out great, especially since the only light were those candles."

"By the time I was done, he was a quivering mass of jelly, ready to comply with anything I said." Shelley said decisively, with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"So, what did you ask for?" Ann asked, handing the pictures back. She was still wearing the diamond star pendant.

"The usual, stocks and bonds; I have amassed quite a fortune in these ten years." Shelley nodded at her own suggestion.

"I'm impressed with you, Shel. Now I wish I would have, too. Oh well, Diamonds never lose their value, do they?" This was more of a statement than a question.

"You know from the beginning our goals were to build our nest eggs up; one never knows what the future holds."

Now that Shelley had broached the subject, Ann was wondering if she should bring up Shelley's wanting to leave the agency. Just what were Shelly's future plans? Surely Shelley had a big enough nest egg by now?

"Shel, remember about a month ago, right after you had your first appointment with Askew? You said you wanted out of the agency. Did you mean it?"

Shelley put her mug down carefully, looked at Ann with questioning eyes, and then looked away, like she was searching for just the right thing to say.

"Ann, you know I can't keep doing this forever. There will come a day when I'll be too old, or will feel too old to continue. I've got to start thinking about my future now. I'm not sure what I want, but I know it's something with a little more security."

Ann was clearly blown away, for she sat back in her seat, her mouth gaped and her eyes were wide with wonder. Her hand made it halfway up to her mouth, when she thought better of it and laid it back down on the arm of the chair.

"Shel, I can't tell if I'm shocked or supportive. I guess I never thought about you wanting out, seriously. You've got a few accounts that make you a rich woman. Besides, you know I've got enough money for the both of us, in case something happens."

Shelley was very fond of her best friend, but couldn't depend on her for support in the coming years. It was true, that Ann was wealthy, mostly due to inheriting a small fortune from relatives whom she never knew, but were fond of her. They didn't know what she did for a living. Her parents had said she worked for an advertising company.

Ann couldn't help but to laugh. Shelley looked at her with confusion.

"My parents were so ashamed when they found out what I do; they told the relatives that I was in Advertising." Ann laughed raucously and Shelley joined her.

Shelley wiped the tears from her eyes, and then said, "Well, you kind of are in advertising" and snickered. Ann picked up a tea towel and snapped at the other woman's thigh, teasingly.

Shelley sobered for a minute, and then spoke.

"I know I want security, and I don't care how I get it." She said in a vaguely ruthless tone.

* * * * * * * *

"What a wonderful day!" Gerald exclaimed as he placed his alligator briefcase on the coffee table of his penthouse suite. He loved his freewheeling days, never having to answer to anyone or anything. Walking to the bar, he grabbed a glass and poured a measured amount of scotch into his glass and added some water.

He walked toward his bedroom in the back of the penthouse. It was decorated in a certainly masculine style. The walls were a dark mahogany, the floor was a hardwood stained to match. All the furniture was dark brown leather with gleaming brass nail studs running down their fronts. His bedroom had a huge sleigh bed almost big enough for his ego. Setting his glass on a coaster on top of the dresser, he changed into some ordinary slacks, a pullover and house shoes. Snatching the glass from the coaster, he headed back out to the living room.

"Ah!" he sighed with pleasure, leaning back in the couch, with his right arm across the back, and his left hand holding the glass.

"That's enough of that, time to make some calls." He opened his briefcase, pulled out a matching black alligator address book and searched for a number. When he found the number, he absent-mindedly ran his fingers through his hair and dialed the number.

"Hello, Bill. It's Gerald. How did it go?"

"Hello Gerald. It went fine. The insurance form was taken care of, just like we discussed. And, no, it won't lead back to you." Bill guffawed at the private joke.

Gerald chuckled, pleased, then continued.

"You know what to do next?"

"I do. There is some news you should know. That little investigator is still sniffing around the thefts."

"Let her. She can't possibly trace any of this to you or me."

"You mean you. It's still my agency that will take the fall."

"Have faith, Bill. You'll end up looking like an innocent pawn in this game. Besides, even if she did trace anything, I have a lawyer friend that moved here from St. Louis years ago that is our kind of man." Gerald stated in a matter of fact tone of voice that hinted at malice.

"I hope you're right. If you pull this off, I'll never doubt you again, Gerald."

"I'll take you up on that offer someday, Bill. You never know what promises lie ahead."

Gerald hung up the phone, proud of himself.

'That's going well.' He thought to himself. 'I can move on to the next scam.' He drained his glass, set it on a coaster next to the briefcase.

"I'm ready for the seminar tomorrow" He bragged to himself, gazing at a check that had an enormous sum made out to a woman's shelter in town. "This will throw everyone off my trail." He chuckled with glee, "And no one will guess this money came from the bank's own accounts!"

Looking back in the briefcase, he had to finish some trust fund records for work. After a few hours, he found he was finished and saw that it was still early, and rose from the couch.

"I'm ready for some entertainment." He announced to himself, and then proceeded to change for a night on the town.

After he changed, he picked up the phone and dialed the number for the doorman.

"Hello, this is Gerald Johnson, have my car ready. I'm going out."

A few minutes later, he was driving his navy blue BMW to the neighboring town for a night at his favorite place: the casinos.

"Here we are." He stated, as he licked his lips in anticipation of gaming.

He sat in the queue waiting for the valet's to park the cars ahead of him when he saw a blonde showing her wares just inside the VIP entrance.

"That piece will do just fine." He said in a coarse whisper, pulling up to the valet. He opened the car door and tossed the keys in one quick, smooth gesture and walked with purpose to the blonde who was glancing seductively at Gerald.

"Don't scratch the paint, just park it." He barked at the valet, who curtly nodded in Gerald's direction, but gave a scathing glance as he rounded the corner of the parking lot.

Gerald quickly forgot the valet as the door attendant opened the door. Upon seeing that the blonde was still free, he gazed at her, snapped his finger in her direction and she walked seductively toward him.

"What's your pleasure, handsome?" She said as she rubbed her hand on his chest.

He grabbed her forearm, gave her a stony expression that slightly frightened her.

"Don't ever touch me" he growled. "There might be some time for that later. Right now, I just need you to look pretty, smile that empty bleached head of yours and do what I say."

She was visibly scared, which gave Gerald a perverse pleasure. 'She's easily controlled.' He thought savagely.

"Now, you're going to take my arm," at which he held out an elbow for her to grab, "walk with me to the craps table, and do whatever I want. Do you understand?"

She only nodded, grabbed the crook of his arm, gave him a wide, dazzling smile and directed him to the table. They walked past the bouncers at the door, who nodded at a plate glass window on the second floor overlooking the tables. A few moments later, a thin, nervous looking fellow appeared next to Gerald from one of the corners of the room.

"Hello Mr. Johnson. I hope you find everything to your liking?" The man asked, running a hand over his thinning mousy brown hair and tugging at his perfectly knotted tie.

Gerald sneered at the man, glared at eye-level, and only vaguely nodded.

'What a simpering, cowering, trembling little man.' Gerald thought as he turned his back on the man, who by this time headed back to his corner chatting animatedly into a two-way radio. He could hear the nervous man peppering 'yes sir', 'of course sir' and 'no sir' into the radio.

Not even looking at the gorgeous creature on his arm, he said aloud "Get me a scotch" and the blond woman scampered away. Gerald turned to the plate glass window and held up five fingers and then a fist. He then turned and walked to the craps table second from the far end of the room.

Before he even approached the table, there were chips waiting for him and the blonde woman was smiling graciously at Gerald, holding a glass of scotch. He sat on the low barstool, took the drink from the woman, and nodded at the dealer, fully content.

"This is more like it. I swear, each time I come here, it's harder to find a good time. But that's all changing tonight. Right Blondie?" He chuckled, slapped the blonde on her backside, then grabbed her roughly around the waist and sat her on his lap. The blonde giggled appreciatively, gazing into Gerald's cold blue eyes.

"Of course, sweetie," she cooed.

* * * * * * *

"Sue? I'm home?" John yelled as he closed the door behind him. At that moment Sue came in the living room, causing the door to swing back and forth from the kitchen.

"How was your day, John?" She asked as she reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close to kiss. He hung up his hat and coat, and then followed Sue back to the kitchen.

"Fine, I spent the whole day reworking a design for this fidgety little client, who hasn't been happy with any design." He made an ugly face, which caused Sue to laugh.

"Why hasn't he been happy? Here, taste this sauce." She gave John a torn off piece of cheese bread with a rich looking tomato sauce that had a brilliant sheen.

"He keeps changing his mind." John said with his mouth full, reaching for a towel to wipe off some sauce from his chin. "He can't decide what he wants. The group he's with is rich enough to make any change they want, although normally I wouldn't be so accommodating. He and his firm keep hounding me about the 'Architectural Integrity' of the city, and insist that they want me. Is that from the show today?" He pointed to a small sculpture of a bluish-gray crown with white tips made of ceramic sitting on the counter.

"Yes, it's called 'Flames of Glory'. I saw it at the library's artist showcase and had to have it. I even got the artist to agree to a showing when I get the gallery!" Sue was so excited that she didn't notice she was waving a wooden spoon in excitement that was splashing tomato sauce all around her.

"Oh, do I have something to tell you!" She went right on talking, relating what had happened earlier in the day in the Indian restaurant.

"So, she came right up to you after the other woman left?"

"She did! I couldn't believe it. I didn't even know she knew who I was."

John looked at his wife with reproving glance, "Now Sue, you know you're getting to be known here for your art. You had that write-up in the paper last year and you received that award a few months ago. She's bound to know who you are."

"I know, but she's on the planning and zoning committee." Sue countered.

"You worked so hard on that report; it took you months to complete. I can't begin to say how proud of you I am." John picked up the sculpture "Flame of Glory" and turned it round and round. It really did look like live flames, although if he turned it, it looked like waves. He marveled at how skilled people could be at ceramics; at how his wife could recognize other artists and their works. Before they met, he didn't know the first thing about the art world. Art and Architecture were two different sides of the same coin. She opened up his eyes to so much.

"If I turn this around, it looks like waves, but when I turn it around again, its flames again. Why's it called 'Flame of Glory'?"

Sue smiled at John, reaching across the counter for the crown.

"It's about mythology, ancient beliefs, dichotomy of different worlds. Can you think of a mythological character this might represent?" She was sounding like she was conducting one of her seminars, 'Ceramics and The World around You'.

John thought for a moment, trying to remember classes he had in mythology in college.

"A crown......Zeus was a king, above the other gods.....the fire could represent his thunderbolts....dichotomy...hmm...Hera?"

"Very good, you were close. It was a king. Think of the trident. See how the flames arc in groups of three on the tip of each wave?"

"Oh, it's the underwater god, Neptune!" John exclaimed. "How clever!" He took the crown back and placed it on the counter again.

"That artist really is talented. I can't wait to get my gallery completed. He's going to be one of my first showings." Sue was trying to keep her enthusiasm under control, and was wiping tomato sauce spots from the counter and floor.

"Well, I'm going to get changed..." there was a knock at the door and John smiled and winked at Sue. "I'll bet that's Joan." With that, he left the kitchen and Sue could hear greetings exchanged and within moments the kitchen door swung open.

"Hello Joan. You didn't have to bring anything." Sue chided Joan in a scolding tone.

"I know we all like the fresh peach cobbler from the bakery, so I went by after work." Joan replied boldly. "Oh, the 'Flame of Glory', you got it after all," for Joan knew about the crown because Sue kept informing Joan all week about its beauty.

Just then John appeared in the kitchen and sat in one of the wooden bar stools as Joan was getting plates and silverware out of the cupboard and placing them at the counter in the kitchen. This was their usual informal affair. The conversation was light-hearted when the phone rang and Sue reached over the bowl of Italian Spaghetti to answer it on the wall.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Detective McIntire with the Omaha Police Department. My I speak to Joan please." Sue was taken aback, not only because the voice on the other end of the line was clipped and abrupt, but also because someone from the police department was calling for Joan at their place. She looked at Joan with a question in her eyes, and then handed the receiver to her, with John looking surprised.

"Hello, this is Joan." She said, with uncertainness in her voice.

"Hello, my name is Detective McIntire. Your supervisor, Bulldog, told me you would be at this location. Are you free to talk?"

"Y...yes, I am." Not understanding why she would be called at the Phillips residence instead of at her own place, she just listened to the man's voice, and wondered what it was about.

"I was asked to work in conjunction with you regarding the night deposit thefts from your bank locations in the surrounding states."

"Isn't that out of your jurisdiction?" John and Sue were looking at each other, not understanding what was going on.

"Yes, theoretically; however, we have reason to believe the thefts are being masterminded here in the city and carried out in your bank's branch locations."

The information was almost too much for Joan to take in. Masterminded in the city? How was that possible?

"No, it's between the store owners and bank clerks. I feel the storeowners are letting the clerks steal the deposits, so they file insurance claims. They split the deposits with the clerks and keep the insurance claims for themselves."

"What would you say if I told you we intercepted one of the insurance claims?"

Joan was speechless and looked at Sue. All Sue could do was squeeze Joan's hand in sympathy.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at eight o-clock detective." With that being said, Joan handed the phone back to Sue and shook her head, as if to clear the cobwebs.

"What was that all about?" John asked the two women as Sue hung up the phone.

"There have been a string of thefts in our branch locations throughout the bordering states, where storeowner's deposits are being stolen and no videotapes capture them. I thought it was set up between the storeowners and the bank clerks, but that detective told me there may be another party here in the city that is behind it. He says he has one of the store owners insurance claims that prove it." Joan stopped for a minute, twirling the ring on her right hand.

"Why would he call here?" Sue asked.

"Bulldog...I mean Jackson told him I would be here for dinner. I guess he had to reach me at once." Joan stopped to ponder what she just heard on the phone. "He must have just gotten that insurance paper. Well, this certainly puts a new spin on that night-deposit theft I was telling you about today, Sue."

With that out of the way, they continued their dinner.

The next morning Joan walked out the double glass doors of her condominium building and exchanged greetings with the security guard/doorman. The building was a brick four-story meatpacking warehouse from the previous century converted into condominiums years ago. She owned an apartment on the second floor, while Sue and her husband, John, owned one on the fourth floor. She walked across the cobblestone street towards the tiny grocery store where she bought her morning bagel or fruit and a newspaper. She noticed an older black man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the store.

An older couple, the Millers, owned the store and always had a kind word for anyone that came into their store. They had been at that location for what seemed like decades. Joan (and the neighborhood) realized nothing would be the same if something happened to them.

"Good morning Mr. Miller, how are you?"

The older man stopped sweeping to turn around to see who was greeting him. His weathered, wrinkled face changed into a wide, beaming smile that met with his eyes. He leaned the broom on the wall, brushed his aged hands on his apron and gathered Joan's hands, leading her into the store, whereby Joan heard the old cowbell clunking against the door.

"Mama! Mama! Look who it is! Joannie, we missed you, are you all right? Did you travel well?" Mr. Miller delved into Joan's chestnut-brown eyes with his own coconut-brown eyes. Joan studied the kind, warmth in his face; from his crow's feet, to the roadmap of lines that emanated from the corners of his mouth when he smiled.

Before Joan could answer, she heard a quick, soft, padding down the stairs in the back of the store, a swish of fabric as an older plus-sized, matronly black woman rounded the corner of the store room into the old-fashioned country-store that still had barrels of food for sale along the aisles, and old, weathered wooden shelving that made one feel welcome.

"JOANNIE! JOANNIE!" The older woman cried with delight as she gathered Joan up into a warm, embracing bear hug. Joan stared into the warm acorn-brown eyes and kissed Mrs. Miller on the cheek. She adored the Millers, who, in turn, absolutely loved her back. It wasn't just Joan they loved, but everyone who came into the store, which was why everyone was so fond of the Millers. There was, however, a special place in the Millers' heart for Joan and Sue.

They had been married for almost forty years and never had children. "God will place children in our lives, if it is meant to be." Mrs. Miller said to her husband after her third miscarriage in the early days of their marriage. In those days, there was nothing that could be done for troubled pregnancies like there could have been in today's world. Mrs. Miller was always pragmatic in everything she said and did. Either things 'were' or they 'were not'. Once she had a notion, her mind could not be changed. So, when Joan and Sue moved in across the street ten years ago, Mrs. Miller announced to Mr. Miller that their children had been found.

Mr. Miller did not think anything of it, even if they were adults, and Sue was already married. It felt like a natural arrangement to everyone.

The truth was Joan was grateful she had the Millers to look after her. She didn't have anyone in her life that was a parental figure; her own parents left her with an elderly Great Aunt who died when she was barely a teenager when they moved to Europe a few years before to fulfill dreams that did not include a child. After that, Joan ended up in foster home after foster home, and ended up shutting off her emotions. It was only when they met at college that Sue had gotten Joan to open up.

Mrs. Miller instantly caught the younger woman's plight when they first met. Both she and Sue had, what some called, a second sight into the human condition. Joan didn't believe in such things, but took what they said with a grain of salt. Mrs. Miller had a longing to place the girl protectively under her wing, to nurture and to guide.

"What adventures are you off to today, Joannie?" beamed Mrs. Miller, still holding on.

"Now now, Mama, let the poor girl go. It's not as if we haven't seen her for months," chided Mr. Miller as he led Joan to the mountain of fruit at the back of the store.

"Oh I know, Papa" she said with an exasperated tone as she playfully snapped the towel she was holding.

"I just got back yesterday from visiting our branch locations. Just last night at Sue and John's I got a phone call as we were sitting down for dinner! We missed you two, though."

"I know Joannie, but we had to let the night clerk have the night off. His little one was in a play at his school. We would have felt bad if he missed that."

"What was the phone call about?" Mr. Miller asked.

"It was a detective from the police department. He told me he had some information that would help my investigation, which really surprised me. Anyway, I'm meeting him in my office first thing this morning, so I had better get there."

"Well, off you go, then Joannie. We'll see you later." Mama Miller said. They beamed at Joan as she left the store to walk to work a few blocks away.

"Hello" Joan said when she whisked by the receptionist, the clock reading 7:54 AM on the wall behind her. She punched the elevator button several times, despite the fact it was already lit and there were several people waiting. The group was wishing each other good morning and prattling on about their respective day ahead. The elevator doors opened, everyone piled on and punched the button to their floors. Joan punched the button for the third floor and looked around the elevator, wondering if the detective was already waiting for her. Everyone was talking excitedly about a seminar the company was sponsoring that night to encourage "Commitment to the Community", but Joan wasn't going due to her workload.

The elevator was slow this morning, at least to Joan. She looked at the watch on her wrist, transferring the bag of fruit from her right hand to her left. The elevator doors opened to the second floor and a few people got out so the remaining people spread out a bit. The elevator jerked a moment, and then she felt the rush of the elevator taking off again. The doors opened, she said 'excuse me', and walked down the brightly lit gray carpeted hallway to her office. She kept glancing in the open aluminum doorways into offices to see who was in and who wasn't, when she heard someone.

"Joan! Joan!" It was her boss, Jackson.

"Hi Jackson, what is it?" She asked as she was shrugging off her overcoat, trying to rid her mind of the image of a bulldog as she stared at her boss.

"I took the liberty of signing you up for the 'Commitment to Community' seminar after work today. Now, don't look like that; everyone is going. It's sort of a mandatory meeting. Good PR." He rushed the last part, seeing that Joan was about to blow up at him. She was somewhat placated that everyone had to attend, so he patted her shoulder and walked off, calling after someone else who was ducking into the copy room.

Turning the corner to her office she had her overcoat draped over her arm holding the bag of fruit. Not paying attention that the light was already on, she placed her coat on the rack and was startled when she saw someone sitting across from her desk. Feeling territorial, she was irritated that he had helped himself to her office.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there." She said coolly. "You must be Detective McIntire." She noticed he was in his early forties, average height and build, with reddish brown hair and brown eyes. He had a military haircut, and when he stood to greet her, he was straight-backed and his arms were behind his back. Since she was so short, she had to look up to meet his gaze. She surmised that he had been in the military but never gave up the routine.

"Glad to meet you Ma'am." He was professional towards her, stuck out his hand and inclined his head slightly.

"Call me Joan, Detective, everyone does." She swept her arm toward the chair, indicating he should sit down. She didn't know what to think of this detective.

"Thank you, Joan." Even when he called her by her first name, it sounded formal coming from this Detective sitting before her.

"I apologize for catching you off guard last night. When I explained to your boss the significance, he said I should call you directly." When he finished speaking, he withdrew a photocopy from a file folder and laid it across the faux-walnut finish desk.

Joan picked up the paper and perused it for a few minutes.

"This says for 'thefts of deposit from daily sales' and under details is hand-written 'the sales clerks were making the deposit when they were robbed.' How did you obtain this? The Detective barely cracked a grin and motioned for her to continue.

"There's nothing new here, Detective McIntire. The police reports weren't made until the following afternoon, by the owners."

Detective McIntire's hard face broke into a full-fledged grin. "Why, do you suppose, they waited so long to report the thefts?" He leaned back into the chair, with an air of expectation.

"The store owners apparently lied about the whole thing. I couldn't figure out why" She also wondered why the video tape wasn't working each time a robbery occurred. It's odd that each and every videotape would stop working moments before robbery. Nevertheless, she felt she should make some sort of comment regarding the videotape before the detective did.

"If you're wondering why we didn't turn over the videotape to the police, there wasn't any. We make sure that each branch location has video feed to record such things. I just visited some out of state locations, and their tapes were fine. Someone didn't turn on the machine or put a tape in."

"Those little video tape machines aren't made for heavy-duty use, such as surveillance. The purchasing agent for the bank made a bulk investment from a small vendor whose main sales are home video markets." Joan took this as a hint that she wasn't a thorough investigator, although, her specialty was accounting errors, she was given a greater responsibility with this promotion.

"So, you're saying they went with the cheapest bid." Joan bristled at the detective.

"No, I'm not accusing you or the bank of not doing their job. There could be any number of reasons why those recorders didn't work."

"The thefts never occurred in the first place, and police reports weren't made until the following morning; that's why I visited each branch, asking why the main bank wasn't notified by either the store owners or the bank clerks right away. The store owners had asked the banks to file a claim with the bank's insurance companies." Joan repeated what she had learned during her investigation.

"That occurred to us as well, because the store owners made the police reports a few hours before they filed the private insurance claims."

"What private insurance claims? They can't file until an investigation is finished. This one is just beginning." Joan bristled once again at the detective.

"That's just it. There was a private insurance company listed on the police reports. That's how we received notice about it. After a few of the local police departments contacted my office questioning the validity of the insurance form, we had a hunch that it was an inside job."

"Why were they calling your office and not their own county police departments?"

"They noticed the insurance company is located here."

"What difference does that make?"

The detective smiled to himself at the young woman's brashness; she was taking this case personally. He would have to be tactful.

"Joan, this isn't personal. We have reason to believe the owners and some other parties are blackmailing the bank clerks. If we didn't have this insurance form, we never would have figured this out. The bank's insurance has turned over the investigation due to budget cuts. They don't have the personnel to send."

"Do you have any suspects yet?" She asked with a clipped tone, and her arms crossed.

"Not at this time, this brings me to why I called you."

"Yes?" She couldn't fathom why he was even here, since his department had figured out so much already.

"We believe someone here at the bank's home office is behind it all. It's too widespread." He stopped, took a deep breath and continued. "Would you be willing to work with me on this case?" Joan got the feeling he wasn't used to asking for help, on anything. Feeling somewhat mollified and realizing that this Detective wasn't blaming her, she agreed. She was impressed that he asked her.

"Certainly Detective, I'll provide whatever your office needs."

"Actually, I'm the only officer assigned to this case." She couldn't tell if he was bragging or being modest. Whatever the reason, she was glad for help on the assignment, herself. This case would be bigger than either of them imagined

At that, Detective McIntire rose so quickly that Joan was caught off guard.

"It's a pleasure meeting you Joan and I look forward to working with you." He extended his hand, shook and he left.

After the Detective left, Joan sat in staring at the empty chair opposite her, ruminating over what she was just told. Finally, after several minutes, she told herself she had enough to occupy her time, she pulled out a notebook with names and phone numbers on them of the store owners and decided to call and affirm what she had learned. There were about twelve local branch banks that she had investigated, and didn't appreciate looking like a newbie investigator to the detective.

"Hello, this is Joan from the bank......Yes, we talked last week.....I'm just confirming that you and/or the stores filed a private insurance claim against the deposit thefts just hours....." and there was a dial tone on the other end of the line.

"That's just what I expected." Joan replied to herself after eight such calls. "They hang up when I get to the insurance claims.Let's see what happens when I chat with the bank clerks."

"Hello this is Joan.....Yes I was just there last week......yes, I would like to speak to the clerk who was on duty when.....of course I'll hold...." She thought it odd that the person was so abrupt, when they were so friendly the week before.

"Miranda, this is Joan.....I'm fine, thank you......yes, I'm calling about the deposit thefts....you were the last to leave that day, correct?.........."

The phone calls went that way all afternoon, calling and reaffirming what she had learned about the video machines and police reports. The storeowners were less than enthusiastic, she found out. So was Miranda, as well as all the bank clerks, it turned out. Something was going on. All of a sudden, everyone was clamming up about the phony night deposit thefts.

"I can't believe those reports took so long to type out." She rubbed her neck to get the kinks out and noticed the time. The seminar was just twenty-five minutes away. She thought about skipping out, but Jackson had already collared her that morning, so there was no way she could get out of it.

"Oh well, its 'good PR'." She reminded herself. 'I'll have just enough time to finish this last section, and then I have to head down to the auditorium for the seminar.'

She finished typing up the last section of the report, shut her office down for the night and left. As she rounded the corner to the elevator, she caught Jackson puffing down the hallway.

"Good Joan, glad I caught you here. Headed downstairs, right?"

"Of course, Jackson, where else would I be headed?" She winked in a playful manner.

"Was just checking the floor, making sure no one slipped out or is in hiding out in the copy rom. No, I wouldn't be too happy about that."

Indeed, he wouldn't be too happy about that, she thought to herself. If he did realize someone bailed out on the seminar, even after being told about it by Jackson, they would be in a world of hurt. Now she was glad she decided to go; being on Jackson's bad side was not healthy.

They walked down the hallway towards the auditorium together when Jackson spoke.

"Oh Joan, glad that detective got a hold of you last night. Hope it wasn't an inconvenience for you." He said gruffly. Bulldog had a habit of talking in shortened, abrupt sentences. Sometimes without nouns or verbs.

"No, it was just at an informal dinner with friends anyway. You know about Sue, she's the one who's going to open the art gallery in midtown."

"That's right. Tough to open a business now, these days, wish her all the luck. Here we are." Jackson opened up the door for Joan and the walked in separate directions. Joan found a seat with some co-workers and Jackson walked to the front with the other department heads.

The seminar had the usual flair of an old fashioned tea party, where all the guests are old ladies talking about who has the best hairdresser. Joan was bored out of her mind, as were the people seated around her.She gazed around the auditorium and saw people with glassy stares, and some were having outright conversations of their own when the guest speaker was droning on about something particular, which Joan, as well as everyone else, had forgotten about by this point. She pushed up the sleeve of her business jacket to see that she had already endured forty-five minutes of droning from various people.

Suddenly, one of her co-workers elbowed her into the present moment and whispered.

"Hey Joan, do you know who that is speaking now?" Ellen quickly asked.

Joan focused her gaze on the podium and saw the tall handsome senior executive with blue eyes and blond hair.

"Yes, that's Mr. Johnson, one of our Senior Executives. He's a Senior Investment Banker. I think he has some other duties as well."

"Did you know he's single and available?" Ellen said in a singsong whisper. Joan smiled at her and shook her head.

"He's prattling on about how he's just given a HUGE amount of money to the women's shelter, as he says, 'it's our duty to help these unfortunate women in their time of need.'" Ellen was positively gushing, as if Mr. Johnson was her husband.

"Why Ellen, I do believe you like him." Joan smiled at Ellen and shook her finger at the blushing Ellen.

"Why not, Joan? He's handsome, athletic, muscular, and a successful businessman. Did you know he made Omaha's 'Most Eligible Bachelor' list for the fourth year in a row?"

"No, I didn't. He's quite a catch, it seems." Joan looked at Mr. Johnson casually.

After the seminar, which was mostly, a 'dog and pony show' in Joan's eyes, some of the media were there to photograph and interview those who donated to various causes, including Mr. Johnson. She would read all about it in next month's company newsletter, if not tomorrow's daily paper.

It was already dark when she finally went outside after going back to her office to pick up some files. The streets were full of cars zooming towards the new civic center, where some game was being played. Normally she enjoyed the fast pace of the downtown area, but tonight she just wanted some peace and quiet. She couldn't decide whether or not to stop by one of the taverns on the way home to pick up something to eat. She didn't feel like making anything, nor did she feel like fighting the crowds or standing there, waiting for her order.

"Oh, I'll just call for delivery." She told herself. Her arms were laden with the files from the night deposit thefts; along with that insurance sheet that detective McIntire gave her.

Soon she was in front of her building, and felt like dropping with fatigue. The doorman was standing in his pressed blue uniform and cap, and upon seeing Joan, opened the door for her. The faux marble floors and carpeted gray walls with their silver sconces shone like a welcome beacon.

"Hello Joan," the doorman said cheerfully, "you've got quite a load there. Do you want any help?"

"Oh thank you, but I've got it." She said abruptly. She was typically sensitive about looking like some wayward waif that needed rescuing. Thinking she may have been too abrupt, she turned back to the doorman who had resumed his post. She softened her tone,

"I'll be sending for some delivery. Would you call me when they get here?"

"Of course, madam." He said genially, tipping his hat.

"Thank you." She nodded and eyed the stairs, which she normally would have taken, but being as tired as she was she entered the waiting elevator.

The door opened to the first floor (the building named the floors as they do in European countries, where the first floor is actually the second, where people live. The actual first floor is the lobby or ground floor) where she saw a gleaming foot tall silver number one opposite the elevator. She walked wearily toward her apartment, got her key out and let herself in.

She piled the files, her briefcase and coat on the couch near the door, kicked her shoes off, and walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Before she could open the cupboard, there was a knock at the door, and then the sound of the doorbell. She groaned inwardly because she didn't feel like entertaining visitors tonight. She made her way back toward the door where someone was impatiently knocking again.

She opened the door, ready to explain she didn't want visitors when someone bustled past her, carrying a bag full of food, aromatic and sending her taste buds into overdrive.

"Joannie, Papa saw you trudging up the walk and knew you weren't feeling up to cooking. I couldn't live with myself if you had to order in food again. Why you don't just call me when you're going to be working late is beyond me. I'm just a phone call away, and you can very well see....." What Joan could very well see died away as Mama Miller walked purposefully toward Joan's kitchen, carrying the huge bag of dinner that Joan could not possibly eat in one sitting, talking all the way. She was still scolding Joan as she stood there holding the door.

Joan quickly closed the door and trailed after Mama Miller and the wonderful smelling food. Her stomach grumbled loudly at the promising aroma, prompting Joan to guess what Mrs. Miller brought her. 'Mama' often brought food to either Joan or Sue when they were working late.

"...And to think, that all this time you could have had a nourishing, healthy and balanced meal, if you'd only have called me." With that being said, Mama Miller opened her loving arms and beckoned Joan forward like a child. Joan smiled, walked into the welcoming arms and returned the embracing hug.

"What would I do without you? How did you know I was going to order takeout?"

"Papa saw you dragging yourself home down the sidewalk. I took it upon myself to see you ate well tonight. From what I saw on the couch, you're going to be working all night long." Mama Miller was unpacking a homemade shepherd's pie, with an entire loaf of homemade whole wheat bread and some fruit compote for dessert.

"You're entirely too good for me, Mama Miller." Joan exclaimed as she threw her arms around the elder woman and hugged her.

"Nonsense, child." Mama Miller admonished Joan, the corners of her mouth turning upward. "I've got to get back. You eat first, and then tackle that pile in the other room."

With that being said, the motherly woman kissed Joan on the cheek and left the apartment. Joan smiled after her, and sat down to eat.

Joan finished the whole pie and the homemade whole-wheat loaf, not realizing she was so hungry. She smiled at the memory of Mama Miller doting after her as she took the bowl of fruit compote into the living room where the files were waiting for her. She walked over to a switch on the wall and flipped it. A roaring fire blazed immediately, taking the chill off the fall evening.

She settled into the comfortable overstuffed chair by the fireplace, propped her feet up on the coffee table on top of some home magazines. The bowl was perched on her chest and ate with the spoon in one had, with the other hand holding the insurance form that Detective McIntire gave her. There was nothing special that she could see about the form, other than it was a secondary insurance form.

'Why would the store owners have their own deposit insurance if the deposits were being stolen?' She wondered to herself. 'Plus, they're going to be arrested for filing false insurance claims with the bank's insurance company and fraudulently filing with a private insurance company.

'One reason they would do that is for greed.' Joan pondered the dilemma some more as she returned to the kitchen to put the bowl in the sink and to get some water. She walked over to her patio doors next to the kitchen and looked out across the parking lot that was behind the building. There was a huge old tree right in the middle of the parking lot directly in line with her apartment. She loved to imagine Native Americans living on the open prairie along the Missouri River, just beyond the few blocks away. She could close her eyes and see entire settlements, teepees stretching across the land, the women and children cultivating the soil and the men bringing game home for dinner. Sometimes she felt as if they were still there, protecting the land.

She sighed aloud, putting the empty glass on the counter and returned to the living room where the files were waiting for her. She picked up the insurance form again; realizing she couldn't do anything with it that night, put it back in the file.

"Well, that insurance paper will have to wait until I can talk to Detective McIntire again."

She began reviewing the file of each branch location one by one, hoping something insignificant would leap out at her. The case just didn't make sense. If someone at the main bank was behind it, it would take a long time to ferret them out. She couldn't fathom anyone forcing so many people to go along with such an elaborate scheme.

Suddenly, Joan bolted upright, spilling the contents of the folder all over the floor. She began pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, stopping once in a while to warm her hands in front of the screen, as she absent-mindedly turned the amber ring. That one phrase was turning over in her mind: "an elaborate scheme."

She was immediately thrown back to the memory of the young woman that Jackson had arrested for embezzling insurance funds to an overseas account.

"I'm certain the young woman didn't have the knowledge or experience to concoct such an elaborate plan. Jackson doesn't have the time to perform a full investigation." Joan said aloud to herself, as she continued pacing, her mind racing a mile a minute. She raked both hands through her short hair and intertwined her fingers behind her head.

She was pretty sure that Jackson wouldn't allow her to reopen the case, let alone head that investigation by herself. She would have to ask the Detective she met earlier that day to help her on that investigation.

"I'm sure that these two investigations are connected!" She exclaimed as she hit a fist against her palm. She plopped back into the armchair, grabbed a pen and some paper and furiously wrote down her thoughts for both investigations and how she thought they could be connected.

About an hour later, she saw that it was well after 1:00 in the morning. She

realized she should get to bed because the next day was going to be a busy day.

CHAPTER THREE

The day was dark and overcast, matching Joan's mood. She didn't have time to stop by the Miller's store to return the empty dishes from last night. She was late already, having overslept, missing the alarm clock's ringing and had hurriedly dressed, grabbed her briefcase, the files and her umbrella.

'I hope I make it to work before the skies open up.' She thought when she glanced upward. She held the files under her left arm and grabbed her overcoat tighter together against the slightly bitter November wind. 'This wind is chilling, right to the bone' she shuddered to herself.

She was up until the wee hours of the morning reviewing the night deposit thefts and wasn't any closer to solving it. But she did think that the two investigations were connected somehow.

"I'd love to shove the final report under that Detective's nose that proves I'm a good investigator." She muttered to herself. At the bank it was coming close to the time for the bank's annual audit of its policies and procedures. Since she had a degree in business, she was asked to sit in on the review boards as a 'second pair of eyes', as Bulldog put it. It was a long, laborious procedure that was mind numbing, but she didn't have any choice. Bulldog nominated her for the position because he wanted her to become knowledgeable in as many areas of the bank as possible. The investigation would have to wait.

She arrived at her office with just a few minutes to spare when the skies opened up and the rain came down in sheets so hard she couldn't see two feet outside the window. Thanksgiving was just a week away and she hadn't even made plans with Sue, John or the Millers. She knew they would all be together this year, as always, and she loved it.

Having no family she could call her own, Sue would always invite her to her own parents' house over Thanksgiving and Christmas during their school days, but Joan wouldn't hear of it, so she spent the time doing extra reports for classes.

Staring out the window at the pouring rain, she thought back to one of those rare times she took Sue up on the offer to stay at her parents over Thanksgiving.

It was in their senior year in college and Joan was free during that Thanksgiving week, so Sue cornered her.

"Joan, you've got nothing to do here. You'll be all alone, staring at yet another book on 'Principles of Business Accounting' and your parents are still living somewhere in God-knows-where-Europe. My mom is beginning to think you don't like her." Sue had crossed her arms, her brows knit and was standing with her feet planted so Joan couldn't walk past her.

"Oh, all right Sue, I'll come home with you!" Joan laughed, because Sue rarely got mad. "Just stop looking at me like that; you look like Oscar the grouch!"

Sue couldn't help laughing at herself. Even though they were seniors in college, they still loved to watch Sesame Street during their lunch hour.

"I'm going to start packing your bag before you can change your mind." Sue began running around the dorm room, throwing clothes, make-up and underwear in a duffle bag. Before Joan knew what hit her, they were half way to Sue's parent's house and singing the latest tunes along with the radio.

"What time are we going to get there?" Joan asked, checking her watch, hoping they would get there before dark.

"It's just another hour and a half. If it's after dark, daddy will have the yard light on."

There was a comfortable silence as they drove mile after mile, and soon Joan was asleep. Some bright lights woke her up and she saw they were at a well-lit gas station and Sue was just coming back from inside the store, carrying two big sodas from the fountain and a big bag of Doritos.

"Hello sleepy head!" Sue stated brightly, as she handed one of the sodas to Joan.

"Where are we?" Joan asked rather sleepily, as she stretched inside the car and grabbed the soda.

"We're about forty-five minutes away. I really needed a caffeine boost and figured you could use one too." Sue then took a fortifying swig of soda.

"Sorry about falling asleep, I just couldn't stay awake. I guess I'm more tired than I thought." She stated as she stifled a yawn.

"That's ok; you've been working nonstop studying, writing and doing all those accounting sheets. That would drive me nuts!"

Joan smiled at Sue. They couldn't have been any less alike. Joan was a Business major with a minor in administration.

"What about you, coming back to the room, covered head to toe in that white dust? You scared that poor freshman last week!" Joan laughed at the memory, and Sue shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, she shouldn't have screamed like that. She knows I'm into ceramics." Sue was going for a degree in Art, with an emphasis in Ceramics.

"It didn't help that you crept up on her and startled her, moaning that you wanted her heart." Joan giggled.

They laughed and talked and sang the rest of the way. It was a cherished memory.

There was a rap at her door that brought her out of her reverie. She turned her back to the window to see Bulldog standing there, smiling.

"Hello Joan, did you like the seminar last night?" He asked, beaming at her. Usually when he beamed like that, it meant he was up to something. It was usually something she didn't like.

"Yes, it was informative. Those donations were impressive. You were right; it is absolutely great PR for the bank." She replied warily.

"Glad you feel that way, Joan, because I've signed the department up to help serve Thanksgiving meals at the food bank on Thanksgiving morning. Shouldn't take more than a few hours. The response will be great, there's a great need in the city.

Joan was stunned.

"I thought they already had enough volunteers and only so much food. What are we going to do?"

Bulldog had his hands on his hips and was rocking back and forth like an excited schoolboy with a secret.

"The department made a donation to the food bank for an extra five hundred meals! We're going to be handing out bags of Thanksgiving turkeys and all the trimmings. Everyone's excited around here!" He was positively beaming.

Usually, 'everyone's excited around here', meant HE was excited. Anyone who didn't share his enthusiasm usually received the unwanted assignments for a month as a punishment. Joan thought about making an excuse, but immediately felt guilty thinking people going hungry when she would be sharing a sumptuous meal with her friends. She let out a more audible sigh than she meant, but Bulldog went right on talking.

"Great, great Joan, I knew I could count on you!" He bellowed with laughter and went to the next office. Usually, department heads held meetings and made one announcement, but he found out he received better results and cooperation when he cornered people and stared them right in the eye. Typically he railroaded anyone's objections with an "I'm glad we had this talk, I'll see you there" sort of announcement.

Joan knew she wouldn't be doing much of anything that night anyway; probably just reviewing cases or files from work.

Joan saw the time and thought she had better join the committee to start the annual audit, which typically took about a week. The only good thing was, was they would be done in time for Thanksgiving.

At that moment the phone rang, startling her.

"This is Joan." She said in a hurried voice.

"Joan, this is Sue. Can you come over for dinner?"

"Oh, hi Sue" Joan said in a more personable tone, "No, it's the bank's annual policy and procedure review, so I'll be busy all week, morning till night."

"Ok, I just wanted to ask. We're having the Mama and Papa Miller over, so it'll be a grand old time. I'll leave leftovers in your fridge."

"Thanks Sue, I've really got to go. Bye." Joan hung up the phone, grabbed some files off her desk and jogged to the conference room where the meeting would take place.

Sue hung up the phone at her small studio where she painted, threw, and glazed her pottery. There was a kiln used by the co-operative she joined, so she had shelves and shelves of pottery and artwork in various phases. She gazed out the small window on the end of the room at some old men hobbling down the walk, sharing an umbrella, chatting animatedly about the Mayor's new initiative on gangs in the city.

Sighing, she walked back to the display table and picked up "Flames of Glory" she had bought.

'The artist really is brilliant', she mused to herself. She was in the midst of sketching the piece so she could paint it on an empty canvas when there was a knock at the door. She turned around, somewhat shocked, and then looked pleased.

"JOHN!" She exclaimed, dropping the charcoal and running over to the door.

"What on earth are you doing here?" She asked.

They gave each other a peck on the cheek, and Sue escorted John in.

"I had some unexpected time for lunch, and wondered if you wanted to join me." He stated matter-of-factly, shaking the umbrella away from the drawing.

"Of course I'll join you. There isn't anything I have to finish right now, so you caught me at a good time. Just let me change out of this smock, ok?"

A few minutes later she emerged from a back room. "That didn't take long." John said, slightly amused.

"What's so funny? You think I always take so long to get ready?"

They raced out to the parking lot to avoid getting drenched, John opened the car door for Sue and they were on their way.

"Where are we going for lunch?" She asked as they drove out of the parking lot.

"It's a small bistro on the other side of the square." He stated as they drove up to a little out-of-the way bistro on the south side of downtown. John pulled into the parking lot, escorted Sue as they walked inside. A hostess immediately seated them before the early lunch crowd arrived.

"So," Sue said, after their drinks arrived, "what's the occasion?"

John allowed a smile to creep upon his face that reached the crinkle of his eyes.

"Remember that fidgety little client I told you about a few weeks ago?"

"Of course I remember. Has something happened?"

"You could say that." He replied noncommittally, swirling the ice in his glass.

"Do I have to drag it out of you?" Sue said exasperatedly.

"No," John replied, laughing. "He finally narrowed his choice between three of my designs. Now he has to return to Toulouse, France to show his committee the designs so they can make a final choice."

"John! That's wonderful! It's an overseas project?"

"Yes, it's a moderate-sized firm that wants a design that will fit their 'New Millennium' philosophy; yet keep the Architectural Integrity of the city." He rolled his eyes dramatically for Sue's benefit, which caused her to laugh.

"OH, that's great!" Sue said, and now knew why his architectural firm chose him for the particular client; it was because he had doctorates in both architecture and communications. He was the most logical choice.

"What happens now?" She asked.

"He's already given a deposit for the project. Next he show's the designs to the committee, and they ask for changes."

"More changes?" Sue laughed. "They'll keep you busy for months!" She exclaimed.

"Exactly. This brings me to my second bit of news."

"Oh?" Sue said with trepidation.

"I might have to travel overseas occasionally, to meet with the committee. It's easier for me to travel than for the entire committee. This project will keep me busy for about another year."

"I see." Sue said, not wanting to dampen the festive mood. "Well, we'll have to celebrate all we can when you're here." She smiled, and raised her glass to her husband.

* * * * * * *

Shelley had just finished her bath and was relaxing in front of the roaring fire in her terry cloth robe when the doorbell rang. She peered out the peephole, smiled warmly and opened the door.

"Ann, what a wonderful surprise, please, come in." She stepped aside and Ann walked through.

"I hope I'm not here at a bad time." Ann stated, but threw her coat and purse on the chair and sat regally on the couch.

"Nonsense. You know you're always welcome." Replied Shelley as she poured a glass of Rose Petal Wine for Ann and refreshed her own glass.

"What brings you by?" Shelley asked.

Ann graciously accepted the glass, took a sip and placed it on the marble coffee table.

"Shelley, I'm concerned for you." Ann stated with knit eyebrows.

"What? Why are concerned for me?" Shelley asked with her eyebrows arched toward her flaxen hair.

"There's a rumor going around that Askew's been complaining about you to the boss."

Whatever Shelley could have done, Ann was clearly not expecting an uproarious gale of laughter. Ann had a clear look of concern, so Shelley reached over and grasped her friend's hand.

"Ann, I don't know where you've heard this rumor, but suffice it to say, Askew is in no position whatsoever to be complaining about anything regarding me."

"What do you mean? Surely, you didn't..."

"No," Shelley interrupted, "I just know he's in no shape to complain. Where did you hear the rumor?"

"Some of the other girls came to me and said the boss was asking why Askew stopped his appointments."

Shelley looked at Ann quizzically, took a sip of rose wine, and gave a knowing smirk.

"The other girls? Ann, I'm surprised that you believe anything they say."

"Normally I wouldn't, but I was afraid for you. The boss doesn't question any of our appointments."

"Ann, I firmly believe the girls are jealous that I'm the only one that has kept the monthly appointments with Askew. Remember, I have ways." Shelley winked. "Besides, like you said, the boss wouldn't go to another girl, questioning someone else's appointments. Those girls are just pushing your buttons, seeing if you'd react."

Relaxing back into the plush couch, Ann was visibly relieved.

"I had to ask. There's no way I would let anything happen to you."

"And I love you for it, Ann." She leaned over and they hugged.

"So, did you receive the stocks and bonds like you asked?"

"Follow me." Shelley intoned, walking to her bedroom. They stopped and Shelley indicated to Ann to sit on the bed while she walked behind the white cotton-denim couch that matched the white cotton fabric across the king-sized four poster bed.

Ann knew that there was a safe behind the couch that Shelley kept an emergency stash of cash. Shelley pulled out a huge manila folder, walked over to the bed, and handed it to Ann.

Opening the folder, there were four stock certificates in several well-known nationwide companies. Clearly, Shelley was looking out for her future.

"Shelley, this is great. Is this all that you will have?"

"No, I'll receive two shares in two companies each month that Askew and I meet. I have four now; two for the first meeting and two for the last meeting. That's in addition to what I charge for each session. I just haven't had time to place them in my account at the bank." Shelley stated as she ran her fingers through her hair, as if it wasn't something of great importance.

"Impressive Shelley; just make sure that Askew doesn't get tired of getting blackmailed and turn you over to the boss and the police."

"If he does, I'll just be forced to hand over those pictures and a certain video tape to his wife and business partners." Shelley said grimly. "He knows better than that. He has too much to lose if his wife gets a hold of any of this." She said, waving the pictures and a small digital video tape. "He has a good time whenever we meet. It's just not what he was expecting."

Ann looked at her friend, impressed at the savvy, albeit shady, way she had in handling Askew.

"I hope none of your tactics backfire on you one of these days." Ann said warningly.

"Come on Ann, we've been doing this for years now. Nothing has happened yet, and nothing will. Where is this nervousness from? You've got a fortune in diamonds and rare gems yourself."

"I'm nervous because you've never taken it to this level before." She waved to the folder of stock certificates, remembering Shelley's vow to get out of the business.

They were quiet for a few moments, when Shelley suddenly stood up.

"Hey, our wine is getting warm. Let's head back to the living room and watch a movie." They left the bedroom, arm in arm and strode purposefully toward the living room.

The next week, Joan was sitting in the crowded conference room, stifling another yawn after the committee was going over yet another rulebook on policies. She rose, walked to the small buffet table, intending to grab a soda and a doughnut. Thinking twice about the health benefits, or lack thereof, she withdrew her hand and grabbed a bottle of pomegranate juice and a granola bar. She looked out the wall of windows, across the hall through the open door of the office and out the office's window. Night had fallen, and Joan imagined that life had fast-forwarded several eons since the committee began reviewing the rulebooks. She rolled her neck, ran her fingers through her hair and turned back toward the table where she was expected to give her input.

They were just about ready to give a vote when there was a knock on the door, startling everyone. All eyes were on the door when it opened and a very embarrassed Detective McIntire waved to the group.

Joan couldn't have been more startled. She looked after the Detective after giving her vote to another committee member, went into the hallway and closed the door.

"Let's continue this in my office." She said abruptly.

It was a silent and uncomfortable walk down the hallway for both of them. They walked several feet apart, nearly walking on opposite sides of the hallway. If Joan hadn't been so embarrassed, she would have realized that Sue would have thought the situation funny.

"What are you doing here?" Joan rounded on the Detective when they entered her office.

Taken aback, the detective merely looked at Joan for a moment, and then responded.

"I'm following up on the night deposit thefts, to see if you've found out anything."

Joan softened slightly, but not feeling warmly towards the detective, motioned him to sit in the chair while she sat behind her desk.

"I re-read all the reports, and that insurance form, last week, but gleaned nothing new." She replied icily.

"I've made an appointment tomorrow with the insurance agent who made the policy. I was wondering if you wanted to interview him with me."

Joan was surprised by the question. She twirled the amber ring on her hand, quickly thinking of what could be gleaned from this insurance agent. Finally, she agreed to meet him at the agent's office at two o'clock the following afternoon.

Suddenly, Joan sat up straight.

"Why haven't you talked to him the past week?"

"Well, I called your office and was told you were busy the next week, so I waited. I called yesterday and got a hold of your boss. He stated that you could be free the next day to interview the agent. He knew you wanted to get this case solved as quickly as I did."

"Oh" Was Joan's only response. She didn't know what to say, except 'thank you', and 'see you tomorrow'. She couldn't tell, but she thought the detective was smiling when he left her office.

The next day at Two o'clock Joan arrived at the insurance agent's office to find the Detective already there, waiting for her in his car.

He got out of his Chevy Lumina easily and bounded for Joan's company car. She looked over and saw the Lumina was tan, but when she got out, it looked more like a burgundy.

"Hello Detective. That's a pretty car you have. What color is it?"

"Hello Joan, glad you could make it. I'll have to thank Bulldog for letting you out of the committee." Detective McIntire laughed casually, watching Joan visibly wince at the mention of 'Bulldog'. "That's a special paint job. The official color is 'pewter', but it changes in the light."

"That would come in handy for investigations." Joan said thoughtfully, and the detective looked at her and nodded.

He held out his arm in a sweeping gesture and said, "Shall we?"

They walked into the gray stone building through the shadowed glass and into the small lobby where they saw a billboard with stick-it letters with names and suite numbers. On the fourth floor was "Better Insurance Co." so they turned to the stairs and started climbing.

They opened the door to a small hallway painted gray to match the outside color and there was an Astroturf-like carpet underneath their feet. The door to "Better Insurance Co." was just down the hallway from the stairwell. Detective McIntire and Joan stood outside the door, looking at each other.

"Clearly, this isn't one of our fair city's better agents." McIntire said ruefully to Joan.

Joan looked up at McIntire. "Let's get this over with." McIntire knocked and opened the door. A harried, white haired receptionist was behind a small student metal desk, pushing wisps of fly-away hair back behind her ears in a fruitless effort to look more put together than she was. She took off a pair of reading glasses that were attached to a gold-chain necklace around her neck, letting them fall to her chest. Joan saw the woman was wearing an out of date polyester suit with a stained white blouse.

"Hello, may I help you?" She croaked in a small, child-like voice as she stood up. Joan looked on the desk at the piles of files and loose papers strewn about, and saw an old electric typewriter with a form still being filled in attached by a stand to the desk. The old woman's joints and knuckles were bigger than normal, indicating she had arthritis of some sort, and that the typewriter looked about as old as she did.

"Yes, my name is Detective McIntire, I'm with the Omaha Police Department and this is Joan with the National bank. I made an appointment with your boss for today at 2 pm."

The woman looked like she couldn't remember to tie her own shoelaces, let alone appointments and schedules. She looked down at her desk, moved some piles of paperwork and retrieved an appointment book and thumbed through it. As she moved one pile, her nameplate became visible, revealing she was 'Harriet Brown'.

"Oh yes, here you are. Two pm, and you're prompt. Bill likes people to be on time."

"Mr. Belcher? Is he here?" McIntire asked.

"Oh yes, he's here. He's on the phone right now, but if you would like, please have a seat." The old woman indicated some seats to the side of her desk, next to an aquarium that had assorted colored fish swimming around a see-through castle and fake seaweed.

"If you would like some coffee, I can make some?" She asked brightly. Joan doubted the woman could finish making a pot before the meeting was over.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Brown" Joan replied sweetly. The old woman nodded her head, sat back down and continued to type. Soon the pair heard the clickety-clack of the typewriter. Apparently, her arthritis wasn't so bad that she couldn't type.

About ten minutes later, Bill Belcher emerged from a door at the end of the office. Joan appraised his appearance and silently thought he must have been a used-car salesman before becoming an insurance agent. 'How apropos', she thought derisively.

"Hello, hello, hello!" He said a bit too loudly and lively. He darted forward, enveloped Detective McIntire's hand in both of his and shook vigorously, then did the same with Joan's. Joan instinctively withdrew her hand when he let go and wiped it on the inside of her overcoat pocket. "Call me Bill. Come in, come in Detective." He gestured to the open door and he followed them inside.

"What brings you by?" He asked as he eyed Joan, indicating she should sit on the yellowed plastic chair opposite his desk.

"This does, actually." Detective McIntire brought out the file he had and withdrew the insurance form he obtained and thrust it on the desk. "What can you tell me about it?"

Bill picked up the form, glanced at it but gave no indication that he knew what it was about. He set it back down on the desk and smiled slightly.

"It appears to be a claim form for a missing bank deposit." He replied, smoothly, as if it were a line he had spoken a thousand times before.

"That's exactly what it is. What I'm asking is do you know the policy?" McIntire asked just as smoothly.

"The policy? Certainly I do. The owner had called a few months ago asking for a policy for protection against theft."

"He just happened to ask for a policy for theft, and then a few months later, he sends in a claim?"

"Well, you know how the world is nowadays. It's a wonder more businesses aren't robbed." He said as he smoothed his hair and gave a wide, capped smile.

'It was no wonder he was an insurance salesman', McIntire thought. 'He's like a vulture, preying on businesses worst fear.'

"So they just called you out of the blue, is that it?" McIntire asked.

The insurance salesman shrugged, gave a flashing smile and folded his hands on the desk in front of him.

"How many of these policies have you sold, Mr. Belcher?" Joan asked with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Belcher's brilliant white smile faltered for just half a second, but it was long enough for both Joan and McIntire to notice.

"I get a lot of inquiries about different policies each day. I've got a few policies right now that cover theft." He replied quickly, flashing that white smile again as he gave a hand gesture like a gun and playfully shot at Joan. Clearly this man thought he was winning them over.

"Have you had any other claims of this nature within the past few weeks, Mr. Belcher?" Asked McIntire.

The man slowly moved his vacant smile from Joan to McIntire, obviously not remembering that McIntire was even in the room, or at the very least, was not happy that the detective was still there.

He slowly shook his head from side to side. "No, not yet; I never know when claims are going to come in. I leave that to Mrs. Brown. Bless her, she's forgetful at times, but she does get the job done."

"If you receive any more, let me know as soon as possible." McIntire demanded as he gave his card to Mr. Belcher.

"Of course, of course; the minute another claim comes in; I will let you know, Detective. You too, Joan." He held out his hand for them to shake, and then they left the office.

"Good bye Mrs. Brown." Joan stated and the old woman looked up at her from over the reading glasses as she pushed another wisp of hair behind her ears.

When they were out of the building and between the cars, McIntire turned to Joan.

"What did you think of our Mr. Belcher?" McIntire asked Joan.

"I've never felt more like taking a shower than I do at this moment." Joan stated emphatically, at which the Detective smiled.

"Did you see his face drop when I asked if there were more claims since the one?" The Detective asked.

"I saw that. Something more is going on than a simple fraudulent claim. Listen, I had a hunch last night. Tell me what you think.

"Last month there was a young woman who was arrested at the bank for embezzling funds from some insurance accounts and sending the money overseas. I thought that was too complicated of a scheme for her to think of on her own. It just didn't fit; a young woman, with no banking experience, employed at a temporary agency for eight dollars an hour? How in the world would she have had access to open an overseas account, let alone direct the funds there? Then all this happens? How anyone could be forcing so many people to go along with such an elaborate scheme? Store owners and bank clerks?

"That's when it hit me. Two elaborate schemes! They're connected, I know it!"

The Detective looked off into space for a few moments, and then glanced at Joan like it was the first time he was seeing her.

"Two elaborate schemes? So, you think the young woman was framed and that the store owners and bank clerks are being somehow coerced into faking the thefts? This would have to be someone clever enough not to get caught. This is an idea worth pursuing." He nodded at Joan.

He was silent for a few more minutes, pausing to fold his arms in front of his chest. Joan stood there, twirling the amber ring in her closed fist at her side.

"I can't think of anyone at the bank who could be doing this, and I can't just start investigating people."

"No, of course you can't. Let's just keep this between the two of us. For now, let's just see where this investigation takes us." He paused to look at his watch; Joan saw it was a military timepiece. "I've got to get back to the station to write this report."

"I've got to get back to the bank as well. I've still got to sign off on some new policies the committee came up with." Joan turned to leave, when she suddenly found herself turning around.

"Tomorrow morning the department is volunteering at the Food Bank, handing out Thanksgiving baskets. I've been invited at my girlfriend's house for a big Thanksgiving Feast late in the afternoon. If you want, come on by. There'll be others there too and there'll be plenty of food."

The Detective was taken aback for a few moments, but quickly regained his composure.

"I'd love to come by, Joan" was his only response. She watched as he got in his car and drove off. Joan climbed back into the company car and stared at herself in the review mirror.

* * * * * * *

"Ugh." Joan stated simply. She reached over eight inches and hit the snooze button. Again. Then, the shrill ringing of the phone rudely finished waking her up, reminding her of a myna bird.

"Who can that be?" Joan slurred with sleep still in her voice. "Seven forty-five? Ugh...I'm late." She reached over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" She asked.

"Hello Joan, its Sue. What are you still doing here? You're supposed to be at the Food Drive handing out Thanksgiving Baskets." Sue said reprovingly.

"I know. I was up late writing reports. I told Bulld...uhm...Jackson I would be late yesterday after I came back from meeting the insurance man with Detective McIntire."

"You better get a move on!"

"Ok ok. I'm up! I'll see you this afternoon." Joan said, laughing.

Joan laid in bed staring up at the ceiling, then over to the side, looking out the window. "Oh, I might as well get up and get going." She sighed.

A half-hour later Joan was at the Food Bank, where the whole department was there unloading a huge semi-truck full of food in the back of the building and making baskets to hand out in the front. She was looking out for the event coordinator when she heard a familiar voice calling her name.

"Joan! Joan! Over here!" It was Ellen, and she was carrying a clipboard with a tablet and pen in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other. Joan smiled, waved and walked over to Ellen. She had a huge pair of pink earmuffs and a tufted, glossy pink coat to match.

"Happy Thanksgiving! Are they keeping you busy, Ellen?" Joan mused.

"Boy, are they! The turnout was great! Bulldog knows how to motivate." Ellen whispered in Joan's ear with a chuckle, prodding Joan with her elbow and a wink.

"Yes, doesn't he?" Joan smirked."Where do you want me, Ellen?"

Ellen flipped several pages and nodded to herself.

"How about you help hand out the food baskets. We'll be here about a half-hour longer than we thought, because the Senior Executives donated more food to the cause."

"Really? The Senior Executives parted with money? Even your Mr. Johnson?" Joan chided the deeply blushing Ellen.

"JOAN!" Ellen pretended to be embarrassed, when it was common knowledge that she had a mild crush, even though she was in her fifty's and had two grown children; her daughter working in town and her son finishing his senior year in college at the University of Washington in Seattle.

"Ok, I'll knock it off. Where is the meet and greet at?" Joan asked, rewrapping her overcoat tighter and then taking off when Ellen pointed to an open door at the front of the building of the Food Bank.

"Hello everyone! Happy Thanksgiving!" Joan heard a resounding chorus of 'Happy Thanksgiving' back. She hung her coat with the others behind a counter. Soon she was in the back of the building sorting food on shelves and distributing it to those who called out various items they needed. The hours flew by, and Joan saw hundreds of people lining up for their Thanksgiving basket. It was an arduous task, but she felt better because others would now have at least a great feast today. At the end of the time, Bulldog appeared and stated that the food drive was a huge success, and the city (as well as the Bankers Association) would be talking about this for weeks to come. He gave a speech on how proud he was of the department and by two pm, everyone had gone home to start their own celebration.

Joan felt good about herself and was glad Bulldog had cornered her to help out with the Food Drive. She saw so many happy and excited little faces of children that reminded her of when she was a child. Had she been so excited to see a turkey like these children? The single mothers wore a mask of relief, realizing that their children would be fed another day shook Joan to her core. She knew she at least had a bed to sleep in and food to eat when she was in foster care. These children had their mothers, or fathers, but rarely saw them because the parent was working two full-time jobs just to pay the rent and get food on the table. She could barely remember her mother baking the huge Thanksgiving turkey dinner, and her father cutting the turkey with the ceremonial knife handed down to him from his father. The memory came easier this time than in years past.

Who had the better childhood, Joan pondered to herself while walking back to the condominium building where Sue and John, the Millers, and possibly, Detective McIntire were surrounding the kitchen, cutting, chopping, and laughing. Now these mothers, fathers and children would be in their kitchens, cutting, chopping and laughing together, she was certain these children were having the better childhood.

A few blocks later, Joan arrived at her building, wished the doorman a Happy Thanksgiving after exchanging a small conversation. She was so excited that she bounded up the stairs two at a time. An astounding feat, as Joan's legs were so short. Soon, she burst on the fourth floor and jogged to Sue and John's apartment.

"Hello? Happy Thanksgiving!" Joan yelled out to the whole place.

The table in the dining area had the extension and the golden wood had been polished and was gleaming like a field of wheat. There were six matching chairs with white muslin fabric cushions seated around the circular table. The table had been belonged to John's mother. There was a wide floral bouquet in the center of the table with orange and white flowers with sprigs of green and white baby's breath. It was breathtaking, matching Sue's china laid out on the table, waiting to be laden with food and prayed over.

At once, Mama and Papa Miller burst through the revolving kitchen doors, followed by John and Sue. Joan immediately felt comforted by the smiling, familiar faces. Sue hung up Joan's overcoat and Mama Miller was thrusting a mug of hot apple cider into her cold hands while Papa Miller was shepherding Joan into the kitchen.

"Mmmm....this smells wonderful!" Joan exclaimed as she could smell the turkey roasting, the sweet potatoes and saw acorn squash on the counter being prepared.

"How was the crowd, Joannie?" Mama Miller prodded, beaming over at Joan.

"It was invigorating, seeing all those children, reminded me what is the most important about this holiday. Having family around, sharing a meal."

Everyone raised their mugs to Joan in salute when the phone rang. John answered, looked slightly surprised, and grinned.

"He is? Really?" He looked straight at Joan. "Ok then, send him up."

"You have a visitor coming up to join us, Joan." John said, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

"Who is it John?" Sue asked, not understanding who it could be.

"It's someone Joan invited yesterday." John was enjoying seeing the confusion on Joan's face turn suddenly to a knowing, embarrassed look.

"Oh look Papa, Joannie is blushing!" Mama Miller said, in a teasing voice to her husband.

"We had just finished interviewing someone for the case we're on and I invited him for Thanksgiving dinner." Joan said straightforwardly. Right then the doorbell rang and everyone piled out of the kitchen, Joan last. John answered the door to a tall man with a military bearing.

"Hello, you must be Mr. Phillips. I'm Detective McIntire; I've been working with Joan." He extended his hand; John shook it and invited him in. He was wondering who all these people were and if he, indeed, interrupted a family affair.

"Hello, call me John. This is my wife, Sue, and the Millers; they own the grocery store across the street." Joan walked through the small gathering to the Detective to take his coat.

"Thank you for coming, Detective. I wasn't sure if you would make it or not." Joan had, by this time, regained her composure. She hung up the coat and saw he was carrying a package.

"Mrs. Phillips, sorry to barge in your family gathering, but as Joan invited me, I felt it was ok to come.I brought a pecan pie. I hope that is all right." If he was nervous, Joan could not tell. He was cool as a cucumber. It was years of military training and being able to read other people that allowed McIntire the ability to appear at ease.

"Welcome to our little Thanksgiving, Detective. It's perfectly all right, your bringing the pie. It will make a wonderful addition to the dessert table." Sue stated in a perfectly straightforward manner, relieving the Detective of the pie. Sue disappeared into the kitchen and Mama Miller snaked her arm through Joan's and led her to the kitchen, while John and Papa Miller steered the Detective towards the mini-bar and the football game playing in the living room.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Sue placed the pie on the kitchen counter and Mama Miller sat Joan on one of the bar stools.

"Joannie! Is that the detective that Sue was telling us about?" Mama Miller was asking excitedly.

Joan looked candidly at Sue, "What did you tell them?"

"All I said was a gentleman called here last month asking for you to discuss a case you were working on, that's all." Sue said defensively.

"He's the detective I've been assigned to work with regarding the night deposit thefts." Joan said to the elderly woman.

"He's very handsome." The older woman chided, clearly enjoying the sight of Joan blushing.

"Yes, I suppose he is. But, we're working on the case together, that's all." Joan hurriedly said.

"If that's all, why did you invite him?" Sue prompted, with a grin.

"It just came out yesterday after we made a visit regarding the case. He didn't mention any plans for the holiday, so I asked and he accepted, but I really didn't think he would!" Joan simply stated.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, John mixed a drink for Detective McIntire, Papa Miller and himself.They sat in the living room and were watching the football game, chatting about news and events that going on in the city.

After a half-hour, John decided he liked the Detective. He found that he was easy to be around and didn't put on airs. He could tell that Papa Miller liked the Detective as well. Soon, Dinner was ready and everyone helped carry course after course to the sideboard that Sue picked up at a flea market and had refurbished. It wasn't valuable, but it shone brightly under the platters and bowls of food. Soon everyone had filled their plates with Turkey and the various side dishes and was seated at the table, conversing.

"Tell us about yourself, Detective." Mama Miller prodded, which gained a smile from Sue. Immediately everyone quieted down to listen.

"Certainly, Mrs. Miller," to which the older woman interrupted, "Heavens, Detective, Mrs. Miller was Papa's mother. Call me Mama!"

"Well, Mama, I've been a detective with the police force for ten years. Before that, I was in the Air Force for twenty years, when I retired. My last assignment was at the base here in town. I liked the city, so I decided to stay and work for the police department. After high school I attended college and received my degree in political science. Believe me; I've utilized that more than I care to remember during my twenty years in Military service." He laughed jovially, and everyone joined in.

"It must have been exciting, traveling all over the world, Detective." Sue said.

"I've been a lot places, Sue. I've found out that people are pretty much the same all over. They all want peace and stability." He explained. "Traveling every three or four years got old after awhile. I put in for a desk job so I could start putting down some roots. When I was assigned to the base here, I bought a house so I'd have somewhere to call my own."

"That's mighty smart of you, Detective." Papa Miller said with a gleam in his eye. "Where do you live?" He asked.

"I live in the north central district. One thing I like about this town, is I can be anywhere in fifteen to twenty minutes. Everything is accessible." At which everyone readily agreed.

"You'll find this is a peaceful neighborhood, Detective. Not much happens around here." John said and the others seated around the table nodded in agreement.

"Glad to hear it. I'll give the compliments to the squad that patrols this area."

The rest of the evening went along smoothly, leaving everyone in a jovial mood.

* * * * * * *

"Ah, what a great weekend!" Gerald exclaimed, leaning back in his overstuffed leather chair reveling in the blur of gambling, sex and drinking. Since he didn't have any family, he spent each holiday at the casino, which had taken great care to see to his every whim, Which he took for granted. If he didn't have good enough time, he would always threaten to go to another casino.

"That blonde was a good piece." He ruthlessly laughed. "All they want is money. They're all the same. Not a brain in their bleached heads." He rose abruptly and headed over to the liquor cabinet in his home office and poured himself a Scotch, neat.

Walking over to the wall of windows, he gazed out over the city, looking at nothing in particular. The phone rang and he glared at it, and then walked fast over to his desk to answer it.

"Johonson...hello Bill, what's up?"

"Gerald. Guess who paid me a visit last week?"

"I've no idea." Gerald said unconcerned.

"It was that Detective with the police and that nosy little investigator with your bank. They were asking questions about the insurance." Bill explained in a rushed tone.

"Were they?" Gerald sat bolt upright, fully concentrating now. "How did they get a hold of one of the forms?"

"I guess one of the retailers kept a copy. Should we send a message to the others?"

"No.....not yet...they know not to cooperate with the police. It might have been a fluke." Gerald went silent for a few moments, and then spoke. "What kind of questions were they asking?"

"Just general question, like 'Did I know what the form was about?' and 'What do I know about the policy?' Of course I gave generic answers: nothing specific; just like we discussed." Bill's voice was smooth as silk, which caused Gerald to smile.

"Good. So far that little investigator isn't finding anything out. She's as stupid as she is small. We have nothing to fear from her. I've been keeping my eye on her since that bastard, Bulldog, put her on the case. I'd love to neuter the old boy. Last week she was in policy and procedural meetings, so she didn't have time to delve any deeper." Gerald's voice became very quiet, as if he were speaking from the shadows.

"What if she or that Detective comes snooping around again?"

"Give them the run around. You're a salesman, do what you do." He said with a smirk in his voice.

"I know just what to do." Bill replied his own voice full of confidence once again. "Oh, by the way, brilliant the way you gave that check for the woman's shelter."

Gerald's face broke out into a wide, malicious grin. "Why thank you Bill. That's quite a compliment coming from you. It was one of my more brilliant moves, if I do say so myself."

"Any more 'brilliant moves' coming?" Bill inquired.

"You'll be the first to know."

* * * * * * *

"Shel, what have you been up to? Did you have a good Thanksgiving?" Ann asked as she walked up to the exercycle Shelley was using. Ann was watching Shelley's reflection in the mirror, which was outlined in Christmas lights.

Shelley stopped when she heard Ann's voice from two machines away. She took the towel off the handlebars and wiped her face, arms and hands.

"It was nothing out of the ordinary; I fixed myself some turkey cutlets in a cranberry-chutney sauce.Other than that, just work and exercise. You've been busy too, lately I've noticed. What did you do over Thanksgiving?"

"I went home for a few days. The plane ride was monotonous, but seeing my family was great." Ann said with a huge smile.

"They're speaking to you again?"

"Of course, since I've been an honorable advertising executive, they've all welcomed me with open arms." Ann said with a giggle.

"And I bet the diamond earrings didn't hurt, either?"

"Women are the same all over, Shel." Ann replied with a wink. "Anyway, the holiday is over, and it's back to work. You were all by yourself for the whole week?"

"It felt great, Ann. Although I did miss you, I went to the riverboat casino and took a cruise down the mighty Mississippi! It was a great way to spend a few days."

"I'm surprised, Shel, you traveling the Mississippi again? I thought you had put that behind you." Ann asked, thoroughly surprised.

"I've overcome my demons." Was all Shelley said.

She grew up in the south where her father abandoned her and her mother when she was a young girl. Her mother had dropped out of high school when she became pregnant with Shelley. Her father married her mother, but cared little about them. In fact, he resented the fact he had a family to take care of. Oftentimes, he would leave for days at a time, spending all his paycheck on booze and women. Her mother felt she had no recourse but to turn to prostitution to provide for her and her little girl, having no education and no prospects.

Shelley saw her mother bring men home at all hours of the day and night. In her bedroom late at night, she could hear the knocking and grunting in the very next room. It had frightened her, but as time went on, she learned to ignore it. When her mother began drinking and gambling away her earnings, Shelley decided it was time she left home for good. So, at fifteen, she left her home in the deep south and headed north, following the Mississippi river, where she ended up in St. Louis, working for the crooked District Attorney as an office assistant, then going to college and law school. Shelley couldn't believe how naïve she had been at fifteen. He must have had long-term plans for her since the beginning.

Ann noticed that Shelley had withdrawn and had surmised that she was thinking of her past. Ann didn't want Shelley to become morose, so she continued the conversation.

"I'm glad you had a good time. I bet the views were great."

"It was beautiful. I never appreciated the beauty before. I had a great time; there was a lot of gambling available, of course." Shelley raised her bottle of water and Ann returned the salute.

At the end of their workout session, they headed over to the mall, where they returned to "The Giving Tree" each year to take a name off the branches to sponsor a family, so that that family would have a good Christmas.

"Look at this family, Ann." Shelley inquired as she pointed out one of the hand scrawled cards.

Ann peered over Shelley's shoulder to get a better view, and read the card out loud. "Single mother with two children; boy, age seven, girl, age five. Mother works two full-time jobs, but makes only enough to pay basic bills. Only asks for one gift for each child. Boy likes roller blading and video games, girl likes dolls and video pets." This looks like the type of family you like to sponsor, Shel.

"You're right, Ann," she confessed and snatched the card from the tree. "What about you, have you found your family yet?"

"Yes," Ann smiled and handed the card over.

"Elderly Asian grandmother raising her infant and teenage grandsons would like assistance with the Holiday feast." Shelley stood there staring at the card, not believing the elderly woman asked for so little.

"I can't believe this is all she asked for!" Shelley blurted at Ann. Ann just smiled back.

"She probably is in need of a great many things, but is too proud to ask for anything more." She finished while she tucked the card in her small clutch and checked the flawless lipstick on her full lips in the small mirror she carried.

"Naturally we'll go overboard buying them a complete Holiday, with presents and a feast to boot?" Shelley inquired with a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Naturally." Ann stated and offered her arm to Shelley, and they strode through the mall singing Christmas Carols, oblivious to the stares of passersby.

After a few hours and several packages later, the two friends were enjoying their lowfat vanilla lattes in a small cozy cottage-like cafe somehere in the mall comparing gifts, laughing and carrying on when Shelley's cell phone began its melodic tone. Shelley sat back in her seat, pushed her hair out of her face and flipped up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Shelley, you marvelous, marvelous woman! You've done something magical to our friend, Mr. Askew. Whenever he's in town, he calls and asks politely if you're available. Whatever it is that you're doing, keep it up! He's never been this compliant."

It was their boss. Shelley looked at Ann with quizzical eye, clearly confused. She made some small talk for a few minutes, and pushed the end call button.

"What on earth was that about, Shel? Never before have I seen you so confused." Ann finished with a light, lilting laugh.

"The boss just called to congratulate me on my handling of Askew." Shelley and Ann shared a silent stare and began laughing loudly, much to the proprietress' watchful glare.

Having been silenced by the glare, they sat back and enjoyed the seemingly untoward attitude of a Mr. Harold Askew.Ann was watching Shelley and thinking of their conversations the past couple of months.

"Shelley, have you thought about returning to the law profession?" Ann asked like a blunt sword when she used her friends' full name.

"I've been mulling several things around, but that hasn't been one of them," Shelley started, "at times I regret leaving the office. If it weren't for that ADA, I would still be in Law. I regret that I was so naïve, but that was so long ago."

"But have you thought of returning to the court room?" Ann asked doggedly.

"It would take overwhelming special circumstances to make me ever want to return to law."

"Who knows what the future holds, Shel."

CHAPTER FOUR

Sue was pacing in front of the ornately decorated ten-foot blue Douglas fir Christmas tree for the fifteenth time, when Joan tossed the dog-eared magazine she had been thumbing through in a fit of restlessness.

"Sue, what is bothering you today? You're pacing and hand wringing is making me nervous!" Joan said, exasperated.

"I can't help it Joan. This meeting with Madam Chairwoman has to go smoothly!" Sue was almost in tears.

"Come with me, Sue." Joan took Sue by the hand and led her into the lounge in the woman's restroom where there was a smaller, five foot Christmas tree decorated with Victorian era ornamentation

"There's no one in here, Sue, so you can sit, relax and unwind a little. The committee can't see you like this. You've got all you need. The report is right here; they have the application and preliminary report you did months ago. This is all but a formality. Remember when 'Madam Chairwoman' came up to you at that Indian restaurant in the square? She all but guaranteed you'd get your green light."

"Of course you're right, Joan. I'm just being silly." Sue said wiping her neck and wrists with a damp cloth Joan retrieved for her.

"You're not being silly, Sue. This is an important meeting, but I have a good feeling about it."

"Thank you again for taking time off work to be here with me." Sue looked absolutely grateful.

"You're welcome, for the fiftieth time." Joan gave Sue a reassuring smile. "Everything is going to be ok!"

A few hours later, Joan and Sue were sitting and relaxing in the underground French Café in the historic downtown district.

"Didn't I tell you that it was going to go well?" Joan chided Sue good naturedly.

Sue let herself sit back in the white cloth covered chair, sipping her white wine in celebration. She gave Joan a look that said 'You were right', at which they laughed.

"So, when is your appointment with the loan officer?"

"I've got four weeks to meet with the loan officer. Until then, I'm going to revel in my success."

"Did you notice that developer come in on your hearing?"

"What developer?" Sue sat up, interested.

"That one we saw in the Indian Café a few months ago."

"Oh the one that tried to bribe Madam Chairwoman? I noticed she slipped in. She was probably trying to get dirt on someone." Sue said, winking at Joan.

"What on earth for? I thought she gave up on developing those extra units."

"The rumor is she's trying to get Madam Chairwoman kicked off the committee. She was hoping there would have been something underhanded in my approval." Sue shook her head, laughing.

"You should be careful, Sue. That woman looks hell bent on doing something. She is livid you are approved."

"What could she do? I've already got the warehouse, I've got approval for the gallery from planning and zoning, the neighborhood is behind me, now all I've got left to do is get the loan. That meeting is already set up. Besides, she has nothing to gain from getting in my way.

"Anyway, let's order and celebrate!" Sue brightened.

"Yes, lets.It's too bad John couldn't be here to help celebrate. I know he had to run to France to see what that committee wanted to do to his designs. Why can't they do that by teleconference?"

"He said it had something to do with 'eye contact' and 'business etiquette'; whatever that means."

"You can call him tonight, Sue. Here comes the waiter with our order."

Joan sighed in relative contempt at the files on her desk. She wasn't gaining any perspective or insight reading and re-reading the paperwork for the fraud investigation. It had been a few weeks since she was able to get back into the investigation.

"What are these blasted papers trying to tell me?" Joan whispered gravelly.

"Talking out loud to oneself is the first sign of senility," someone said from her doorway. Joan looked up to see Ellen leaning against the door jamb, her arms crossed and wearing a smirk.

"Oh hello Ellen. I'm just trying to gain some insight on this case. What's up?"

Ellen entered the office, made herself at home by sitting down in the first chair in front of Joan's desk. Joan watched with amusement as Ellen began kicking her stylish flats off and placing her hose-covered feet on the corner of the desk.

"Nothing much; it's the annual kiss-up-to-the-big-boss day." Ellen said casually, flinging a birthday card across Joan's desk.

Joan picked it up, smiling and read it. It was for the bank's owner/manager, David Davidson III. No one had any respect for him.

Mr. David Davidson III had inherited the bank through his father, Mr. David Davidson II, who had built the bank from the ground up with his father, the original Mr. David Davidson. They started out as one of the first lending institutions in Omaha and soon became the biggest and best. When the mega-banks were buying out the smaller, family owned banks, Davidson III was dazzled with the lucrative offers they made. Davidson II had a head for business, but knew his son was an abysmal failure in the business world, as evidenced by his mediocre grades in Business School. Thankfully he had passed on by the time his son inherited the business. He had hoped that his son would grow into it as time went on.

The employees under Davidson III knew their boss knew absolutely nothing about the world of higher finances. Oftentimes, he would berate secretaries and janitors for apparently small infractions. This was the only way that Davidson could puff himself up. He would bluster his way through staff meetings, conversations with investors or customers. It was apparent that his only salvation was the offer to buy the bank. Even at that time, the entire bank loathed Mr. Davidson, as he would remind everyone to call him.

"I need respect that I deserve. And all you should know who your superior is, and don't you ever forget it." He would harass anyone who would dare look him in the eyes. Every time someone would look at him, he would get an uneasy feeling, as if they could read his thoughts that even he felt he was an absolute fraud. What he didn't know was that every employee was making fun of him behind his back.They even said behind his back "Oh Davey..." after the Claymation children's show from decades ago.

Looking at his reflection in the glass wall opposite him, his appearance gave off a slightly unkempt look. Rather obese and short with derelict hair, he disgusted himself. Remembering his father and grandfather, they looked the part of bankers. Tall, slender and a smart haircut, they were the epitome of wisdom and resourcefulness. Personally, he felt he looked the part of a warthog; a stupid, fat warthog at that.

There were piles of computer printouts that made Davidson feel inadequate because he didn't know how to read them, and he was too embarrassed to ask for help.

He sat at his desk with three printouts spread across his deep and wide desk. He looked like a little child who had just gotten caught sitting behind his father's desk.

He reached for his coffee, gulping the rest of the sweet black liquid. He swiveled his chair around, refilled his cup from the coffee table behind him, and then swiveled back around to his desk. Opening the drawer on his right, he grabbed for a candy bar, but missed and found he was holding a box of staples. He threw the staples back and picked up the candy bar he was aiming for.

Through the open door he heard a cacophony of voices, ringing phones and busy printers. There were his employees, all busy. He just knew they were all mocking him behind his back.

The truth was, he knew just enough about the banking industry to get him by, but not enough to be successful about it. This frustrated him greatly, and further lowered his self-esteem. Thinking, while he was eating the candy bar with one hand and holding the pre-sweetened coffee with the other, he realized he had to do something drastic to make himself look good in front of his employees. With a light bulb suddenly going off in his head, he put the candy bar and cup down, went on the company's mainframe and searched for upcoming accounts.

After browsing for a few minutes, he came across a simple business loan application for an Art Gallery.

"Hmm...This looks simple to me. No reason I can't handle this application personally." He boasted to himself as he pressed the intercom on his desk.

"Yes, Mr. Davidson?" A pleasant voice sounded from the call box.

"Mrs. Torello, I would like to handle the Art Gallery appointment personally. Would you make the necessary arrangements for later in the week?"

"Certainly, Mr. Davidson."

Satisfied that he was going to handle the application himself, he picked up the candy bar and cup of coffee and began to eat with greed.

* * * * * * *

"Thanks for coming Christmas shopping with us, Mama Miller!" Sue exclaimed happily.

"It is nothing, child. I appreciate you thinking of me." Mama Miller smiled at her girls.

They were bumping into people right and left, the mall was so crowded.

"We don't seem to be making headway." Sue laughed.

"I feel like a salmon swimming upstream!" Joan chuckled. "Oh, excuse me." Joan had bumped into someone.

"Joan!" One little voice stammered, and Joan peered around her many bags to see who it was.

"Mrs. Brown? What a surprise to see you here!" It was the insurance man's secretary, who again, looked like she couldn't find the way out of the mall, even if she was standing right in front of the exit doors. Her hair was escaping the bobby pins and she was tucking loose hair behind her ears in vain.

"Tis the season, isn't it?" She answered brightly, looking with wide eyes at Sue and Mrs. Miller.

"Mama Miller, Sue this is Mrs. Brown. She's the secretary for that insurance man, Mr. Belcher." Greetings were made all around.

"It was such a pleasure seeing you at the office, my dear. You must call me Harriet. I must be off; lots to buy." The three watched as she toddled off merrily.

"Words fail to explain Harriet fully" was all Sue commented. "Although, there may be more than meets the eye" to which Mama Miller nodded.

"There's always more beneath the surface." Mama Miller stated again as she pushed a path through the bustling crowd. Joan put her hand on the older woman's shoulder as she noticed a chocolate store right across the way.

"How about a nice cup of hot chocolate?" Joan asked the two other women, at which they agreed heartily.

Receiving their large fortifying cups of the hot chocolate, they found a table in the front of the chocolate store in the mall, where they could see passersby. They sat their packages down all around them, enjoying the moment.

"So, Joannie, any news on that fraud case?" Mama Miller asked, taking an interest.

"Nothing whatsoever; the case stalls right with that slimy insurance guy, Mr. Belcher." Joan stopped to sip her chocolate. "Detective McIntire and I are going to take it up again after the New Year."

"I know you will solve it, Joannie." Mama Miller stated, as she patted Joan's free hand.

"And what about you, Susie? Did you meet with the loan officer at the bank?"

Sue glanced sideways at Joan, who smiled behind her cup as Sue smirked behind hers.

"I had an appointment at the bank with a loan officer, but it was changed."

"Oh, so you won't meet until after New Years as well?"

"No, I met with someone." Sue said, as if she were giving some bad news. Joan looked at Sue, and giggled.

Mama Miller looked at the two girls and was about ready to ask for an explanation when Joan spoke up.

"She met with the bank's president/owner/manager, David Davidson III."

"The owner...my goodness...Susie, you must have rated well then." Mama Miller positively beamed.

"It wasn't that so much I think, as the owner was trying to prove a point." Sue said.

Joan crouched over slightly and whispered to Mama Miller: "He's really ineffectual in the banking industry. It's a trade secret that everyone talks about behind his back."

"Then what's he doing in the bank, let alone handling important papers?" Mama Miller asked in a scornful tone.

Sue giggled this time.

"He's the third generation owner, but he sold the bank to one of the large nationwide chains. Joan told me he's 'put up with' if he doesn't do any actual work. He wanted to show the bank and the industry he could actually do something."

"Did he process your loan, Susie?" Mama Miller asked with concern.

"He was filling in the last line of the form after we had met for about three hours. It was then he realized he had the form for a housing loan." Joan and Sue guffawed loudly, causing several tables and the clerk to frown at them.

"Now girls, shush." Mama Miller chastised them half-heartedly, and then became concerned again. "So, you didn't get the business loan?"

Joan calmed herself down enough so she could answer the question for Sue.

"When Davidson realized what he had done, he yelled at his secretary for handing him the wrong form then pushed Sue onto the loan officer she had an appointment with in the first place."

"Oh my" was the only response Mama Miller could give, trying to hide a corner of her mouth from turning up.

They were enjoying the ambience of the chocolate store, people smiling, carrying packages with them. Once in awhile, they saw a baby dressed as a little snowman or as an elf for pictures with Santa in another part of the mall. Sue saw one mother who dressed her quadruplets as reindeer that prompted her memory.

"Did you see those little reindeer?" Sue gushed. "That reminds me, are you both ready for "The Nutcracker" tomorrow night?"

"Is that tomorrow?" Joan asked with surprise in her voice, looking at Mama Miller, who feigned ignorance.

"Very funny you two" Sue replied, throwing each a fake glare. "The Nutcracker" was Sue's favorite Christmastime play and made everyone go with her each year. Joan remembered the first time Sue dragged her to see the play in college, and she ended up enjoying it. So it was an annual ritual for everyone in Sue's circle of friends.

"Yes, Papa and I are looking forward to seeing it, Susie." The elder woman said, patting Sue's arm.

"John and I are looking forward to it. We made reservations weeks ago."

"I know Sue; you pestered me and wouldn't leave my apartment until you saw me make reservations too." Joan laughed good-naturedly as she began looking in one of her many shopping bags. "Speaking of which, there's a flyer in this bag about the play. Did you two get one as well?"

"We didn't buy anything from that store" Sue replied as she looked at the bag Joan was holding.

Mama Miller was enjoying the repartee, when she noticed the time.

"Girls, I hate to rush, but I've got to get back to the store. Papa's all alone, you know."

They finished their hot chocolate, gathered up their bags and left the store.

The next night the small group of five was across the Missouri River to the theater in a Council Bluffs community college. The theater department put on the play annually and was usually a great hit.

"Papa, aren't all the little girls adorable." Mama Miller was gushing as she saw a gaggle of little girls in their white tights with ruffles running by.

"Where did John get to?" Joan asked as she searched the crowded mezzanine.

"He went to get us play books." She answered unconcernedly, watchful of the crowd. Soon the group saw John, a head above the crowd, with another gentleman walking beside him.

"Guess who I found wandering the galley?" John said gaily.

"Detective, how wonderful to see you again!" Exclaimed Sue as Mama and Papa. Miller watched.

"Thank you, Mrs. Phillips. It's a pleasure meeting you again." He extended his hand to everyone in turn.

"I asked if he was meeting anyone, he said 'no', so I invited him to sit with us." John beamed, and the detective blushed, slightly, not used to anyone making a fuss over him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way", Mama Miller stated emphatically, taking McIntire's arm and steering him into the theater.

When Joan was alone with Sue for a moment, she asked Sue with her eyes if she had anything to do with the Detective being there.Sue's reply was a quick shake of her head no. They followed the troop into the theater and found their seats in the middle of the auditorium, Mama and Papa Miller seated in the middle of the row, John and Sue, and then Joan and the Detective at the end of the row.

"Detective, I'm a little surprised to see you here." Joan stated.

"This is the first time I've seen this play." He smiled at Joan, and Sue, who was listening eagerly. Sue jumped in the conversation, spilling her enthusiasm about the play, the history and characters when Joan gasped unexpectedly, gazing up into the VIP balcony.

"What is it Joan?" Sue asked with concern.

"Detective, look up there!" She inclined her head up towards the balcony.

Joan was twirling her amber ring, when she looked at Sue as if she had figured out the answer to a riddle.

"Who is Belcher talking to?" Det. McIntire asked.

"That's Gerald Johnson, one of the senior executives at the bank."

"What does Johnson do at the bank, Joan?"

"He's in charge of a couple areas; loan manager for industries, oversees trust funds and is manager for insurance deposits." Joan finished the sentence with a slow, drawling sudden burst of understanding.

"Maybe they just happened to purchase tickets for the same night." He stated more for their four friends benefit than Joan's.

"You're probably right, Detective." Joan quickly agreed, but there was something niggling at her that she couldn't quite put her finger on. "How did you get that insurance form?"

He looked at her with surprise for a second, but composed himself quickly. "It came in the mail, no return address but with an Omaha postmark." The four others were listening intently, not saying anything, but interested in the flow of the conversation. Occasionally they would catch a glance at the Bank executive, the woman on his arm, Belcher and the attractive brunette woman next to him, who wasn't dressed quite as gaudy as the blonde.

Sue noticed that Joan was still twirling the amber ring and the Detective was grim-faced with a clenched jaw as they were both eyeing the balcony with suspicion.

"Insurance deposits...I wonder..." was all Joan said as the lights flashed quickly twice then dimmed.

It was mid-December and Sue was in her studio working and remembering the play she and her friends had seen a few nights before when a knock on her door brought her out of her revelry.

"John!" Sue dropped the paint brushes in her hands, turned around and pushed the hair from her eyes, leaving blue and white paint running across her forehead.

"Thought I'd surprise my favorite girl" John exclaimed with enthusiasm as he bounded toward Sue in two steps.

The met in the middle of Sue's studio, where she had been consigned for an eight by ten foot mural/painting of the sand hills of western Nebraska for a rehabilitation organization. The organization had leased an historical home that had been renovated and needed a painting for the entrance hall. Sue had been highly recommended and praised by the local art guild, of which she was a member.

"Why didn't you call or let me know you were coming? I've been so lonely without you."

"You know I'd never leave you if I could help it. I wanted to surprise you!"

"I'm glad you're here, but I can't leave right now." Sue indicated her dusty, paint-spattered painter's attire.

"That's why I brought this!" John raised a picnic basket in one hand and a tablecloth in the other.

"I asked the restaurant to prepare a picnic lunch for two." John had a mischievous smile about his face as he spread the tablecloth on the wide-open floor. Sue sat down on one corner where John had indicated a place setting for her.

Sue savored the moment, glancing around at the thoughtful picnic which her husband had gone to so much trouble. As John was reaching into the picnic basket bringing forth meats, vegetables and pastas, Sue giggled at the enormous spread. Then, Sue gasped.

"Champagne, John!" Her eyes were wide with wonder and she leaned forward for a kiss.

"We're celebrating." He announced with flair as he kissed her back.

"What are we celebrating? Did the committee come to a decision? Did you get a promotion or raise?" Sue asked as she cocked her head to one side and smiled enigmatically.

"No promotion or raise so far, but the committee did decide to narrow their choice between two designs. But that isn't what we're celebrating. We're celebrating being together." He gave a boyish grin as he poured her a glass of champagne, and then himself a glass.

"I'll celebrate that." Sue took a sip. "So now you've got to work on the two remaining designs, I'm guessing?" She accepted a plate of the offerings John gave her, which gave off a delectable aroma.

"You've got it. I'll be working overtime the next few months, so we'll be seeing little of each other. The committee wants to start building within the next six to nine months."

Sue sighed resignedly. "I guess we're going to be busy the next few months. This painting has to be done before spring. The rehabilitation group wants it for their grand opening." She pointed to the painting.

John gazed at the huge canvas. It was sketched out in pencil or charcoal and Sue had started painting the sky, which accounted for the blue and white paint on her forehead.

"Well, we'll have to make the most of the times we do have together. So, tell me what has been going on around here? Tell me about the interviews for your gallery."

"I was a nervous wreck while waiting to interview with the planning and zoning committee. I don't know what I would have done without Joan! She saw that woman developer sneak in and warned me that she could be up to no good. I'm not worried though. I don't have anything she could want."

"I'm glad Joan was there for you, at any rate." John stopped to take a bite to eat.

"Should you be working late here by yourself so much?" He asked.

"John, I'm alright. I've been here for years, and nothing has happened. We all look out for each other." She said as she waved her hand to indicate the artist's cooperative.

He laughed and rocked backward a little bit, feeling like an old mother hen. "I'm just watching out for you, since I'll be busy." He was silent for a few moments, "Maybe I should bring my drafting table here to work with you."

Sue smiled at him. "John, I can't picture you here amidst all this dust, fumes and noise. You'll be happier in your office or at home."

He sighed as he looked into her eyes and smiled back. "You're right, of course. We'll be apart for a little while, that's all. I love you." They leaned forward and kissed tenderly.

* * * * * * *

"Mrs. Torello, I'll be headed down to St. Louis for a few days. I've got a fire to put out down there. There's a large trust fund that needs some attention and the branch down there isn't familiar with the laws governing it. Make the necessary arrangements."

Gerald hung up the phone and walked from behind his desk towards the mini bar. He was absentmindedly watching the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season in the downtown area, glad he wasn't among all those people. He took a drink from his glass and walked casually back to his desk.

"St. Louis." He said in a dreading tone to himself as he sat back down. The phone rang again bringing him back.

"Johnson." He said.

"Did you happen to see who was at the theater last night staring right up at us?" A voice on the other end of the line hissed in contempt.

"Belcher? What on earth are you babbling on about?"

"Last night, at the theater, in the general audience below us. Don't tell me you didn't notice them?"

"Sorry, I was a bit distracted by the blonde piece on my arm. I thought you would be distracted by the nice piece you had." He spat out. "Who was it that has you in such a dither?"

"It was those two nosy detectives that came to see me. I had a hell of a time getting rid of them when the came to my office. This will just get them in deeper. What are you going to do about it?"

Gerald was stumped for a minute, but then he burst out laughing in wave after wave.

"You're upset about that wisp of a gal and that old coot detective? You're more yellow than I thought, Bill. They're nothing. We just happen to be two men enjoying a night out. They've got nothing to tie us together."

"I hope you're right, because they were staring right up at us. I hope they didn't put two and two together about this insurance scam we have, or it'll be your neck, not mine."

"Don't worry, Bill, I'll take care of that little gal here at the bank. First, I've got business out of town that needs taken care of."

"I hope you're on the level, Johnson." Then there was a slam on the other end of the line.

Gerald gripped his glass of scotch so hard that it slipped out of his hand and spilled out over his desk.

"GODDAMMIT!" He bellowed as the liquid was dripping off his desk and onto his expensive slacks.

"I'll see to that woman right now." He was seething with anger at the impetuous woman who would be the undoing of all his schemes, if he didn't take care of her.

He walked quickly to the closet by the door of his office and removed a towel, and then rushed back and sopped up the scotch and threw the towel in the trashcan. Next he went through some business cards, picked one with a crooked smile and dialed.

"Hello?" a voice wavered.

"Hello, Johnson here. I need to pick up that favor you owe me."

"Yeah, what?"

"You need to take care of a pest..." they then continued discussing the plans in secret.

About an hour later, Gerald was pleased with himself as he was flying over the plaid countryside below him. Within the next few days, Joan would be quite unavailable in the near future.

The plane landed without incident and Gerald took a taxi to the Hotel near the gambling boat on the Mississippi. He checked into the master suite, made an appointment and waited.

When Shelley entered the hotel room a short time later, Gerald's eyes shone with lust, his heart beat rapidly in his chest, and he started to sweat. Standing there was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen: a beautiful blonde, with ice blue eyes that had a coldness that matched his own. She was in her early thirty's, slender, wearing a skin-tight cream-colored dress, low cut just above her navel with a high slit on the front about mid-thigh.

The dress sparkled when the light hit; Shelley knew it accentuated her body and made her face shine even brighter. Her thick, blonde hair cascaded down the open back of her dress and a single diamond star cluster necklace nestled between her bosoms. She slightly tilted her leg so he could see a side view, where the three-inch heels gave her the legs of a goddess. She knew she had a beautiful smile that made men melt.

Right then he knew he had to have her, whatever the cost. This would be a weekend he would never forget. He would just "rent" her whenever he was in town.

Shelley saw this man standing next to the bed as she walked in the hotel suite.She saw that he was a tall good-looking gentleman, with blond hair and blue eyes, and very well built. Gerald was dressed in a tailor made, expensive, three-piece suit, with alligator shoes and a matching belt. She surmised he would have matching wallet and money clip. She knew he was rich, by the diamond ring and diamond encrusted watch he was sporting. There was something different in the man's eyes and demeanor. Something set him apart. She recognized an icy coldness that meant business. There would be no time for pleasantries, for each had a job to do. But, she thought this man has potential.

As soon as she let him undress her with his eyes, she closed the door, sauntered over to the bed, hips undulating in rhythm to where he stood as if rooted to the floor. She saw that his breathing was shallow and erratic and his pupils were wide as the iris. Her practiced, seductive smile overcame him, and she knew he was hooked.

A few hours later she escorted him to the craps table, where he kept swaying back and forth, and when he walked back to the room, he walked in a zigzag line. Shelley had to help him walk back to the room, as he was too uncoordinated. They were talking, making love and gambling all night long. Shelley saw to it that his glass was full of his favorite drink, scotch and water.

Shelley always met her clients at the hotel next to the casino, partly because she was higher up on the ladder of success, and partly because she loved gambling herself. This client had 'rented' her for the entire weekend, as he was in St. Louis on business, so she knew she would make a pretty penny. She made sure that he had an excellent time.

She wouldn't give him 'the treatment', because she felt he could be her ticket out.

* * * * * * *

It was the Friday before Christmas early in the morning and Joan was excited about the up-coming holiday. There would be all of her friends spending the holidays together. She thought for a minute about her parents, wondering where they would be. England? Italy? They never contacted her, and she resented them for abandoning her. She remembered being twelve or thirteen when they announced they were going to visit some elderly Great Aunt that Joan had never met before.

"Joan, come along. Don't dawdle and don't forget your bag." Her mother took a hold of Joan's hand, more to keep her from running away than out of affection. Her father had two huge suitcases filled with Joan's clothing. "It's just for a little while, Joan, so no crying." Her father had ordered of her.

After a few pleasantries with the Great Aunt, who had a scowling, fierce face that glared at her mother and father, they retired to the kitchen, leaving Joan in the huge farmhouse living room where there was a distinct smell of mildew and wet leaves. She ached to return back home, but knew it was useless to ask, beg. Soon she heard her mother's shrilly voice: "Can't take her with us! She'd be an obstacle!"

Her father stormed out of the kitchen, glared a moment down at Joan, with her mother trailing behind, sobbing into a handkerchief.

"...doesn't know what a hardship it is..."then her mother whipped past her without as much as a goodbye.

Normally she didn't give them the time of day, but seeing that it was Christmas, Joan couldn't help herself. She could remember the holidays before that fateful Christmas so long ago, and was grateful that Sue had dragged her to her own parent's house for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, but it wasn't the same. She remembered the car doors slamming before they drove off, leaving her behind.

She heard the slam again, but it didn't sound right.

"Joan! Hello?"

"Oh, Jackson. I'm so sorry!" Bulldog had been knocking on her door, trying to gain her attention. Joan rose to her feet apologizing over and over again.

"It's ok Joan, you looked a million miles away with an unhappy memory. Sorry to interrupt. But I've got to ask a favor." He looked slightly embarrassed, but walked in and sat down across from her.

She sat back down, not knowing what to say at first, and then decided to ask about the favor.

"What do you need, Jackson?"

"There's an emergency in one of our rural branch locations. Don't know exactly what the problem is, but they need you right away. Take one of the company cars; you'll be gone all day. It's about a three and a half hour drive one way, so I'll see you Monday." He started to leave, but turned back and looked at Joan. "If you ever need to talk, I'm always available." He said, turned and walked away.

Joan was still halfway in her daydream when she realized she had her opportunity to get out of the office. She requisitioned a car, and left for the branch office.

Soon she was driving to the northeast corner of Nebraska. The drive was soothing, somehow. There wasn't traffic to fight, just endless vistas of empty fields that once held corn, soybean and a myriad of other products Joan couldn't name. There was plenty of time to mull over the things that she had pushed to the innermost reaches of her mind. For some reason, it bothered her that her parents were not around this year, and that thought bothered her. She would talk to Sue when she got back home tonight.

She arrived just outside of the small town where the branch was located. She would have to call the number that Bulldog gave her and ask for the location from the person who had called it in.

"Hello? This is Joan from the main office. I was told there was a problem at this branch."

The person at the other end of the line sounded odd, Joan thought. The man's voice was a little bit too rough to be a banker, but chided herself for thinking it. He had said it wasn't a problem at the current location, but they needed someone to look at a building they were thinking of relocating too due to expansion.

'That sounds like a reasonable request', Joan thought. 'Jackson wouldn't have sent me if he didn't think I was capable of making a decision like this', as she made her way to the location.

She did think it unusual that a bank's investigator was asked to handle real estate, although it was more likely she was sent to look into security issues.

"This looks like an old dairy farm..." Joan said aloud to no one in particular. She saw a rather large, bulky, muscular man standing outside of a black sedan with tinted windows waiting for her. She had an uneasy feeling, but had to go ahead, as Bulldog had asked her personally. She reached across the seat, grabbed her purse, slung it over her shoulder and stepped out of her car into the chilly December wind.

"Hello there, I'm Joan, from the main office." She said as she walked towards the man, extending her hand.

"Hello, I'm the real estate agent, and the bank manager asked me to meet you here." He smiled, shaking her hand and indicating to her to walk into the building.

"What are we doing here? This looks like an old dairy farm."

"The bank is buying this property and turning it into a strip mall. Turn this way, I'll show you the walk-in freezer we're thinking of turning into the vault. I think you'll like it."

"This would take a lot of work to rehab, but it's quirky enough to draw plenty of businesses." They walked through several large, vacant offices to the back where the freezer was. It was an old fashioned type from the forties or fifties. "Is this it?"She asked and could see her breath in the repressed cold of the building.

She walked just inside and saw a large metal box with an insulated door that had a small window in it. She was just going to turn around and ask if they were going to keep the genre of the building when she felt like something had smacked into the back her head, her field of vision went black and she felt herself falling down, unable to stop.

"Oh God...," Joan opened her eyes to pitch black and brought her hand the back of her head. It felt like an ostrich-egg was hatching right on the top of her skull. She sat up and stretched her arms all around, for she remembered that there was a wall not more than two feet to her left. She felt the wall and crawled and scooted until she sat against it.

"The bastard must have cold-cocked me." Her brain was still spinning from the impact, and she felt nauseas. She tried to order her brain to think straight. Her purse was still across her shoulder, so the man thought it would be useless to her. In spite of the splitting headache, she laughed. She grabbed her phone, but there was no signal, so Joan surmised the old freezer must be lead lined to keep in the cold.

First she put a small flashlight standing upright to light the old walk-in freezer. Next she brought out a small rectangular object that fit in the palm of her hand. From a side of the object, she drew out a small saw. She remembered when Sue gave it to her on her last birthday, saying although it wasn't a diamond, it was a girl's second-best friend.

"God bless you, Sue!" Joan shouted, then immediately regretted shouting like that with such a splitting headache in the small, enclosed space.

Joan walked over to the door, peered into the crack where the door was. Since the building was so old, the doors were starting to lose their fit. She saw where the bolt had latched, so she started cutting away the aluminum siding inside the freezer. After quite a long time, she had cut a sizable piece away, and had worked the latch free, and the door swung open. She ran back, gathered up her things, and bolted out into the dark parking lot, where her car was nowhere to be found.

"I'm guessing someone didn't want me found; I was lured out here on a Friday." Glancing at her cell phone, it was already after ten pm.

"He was alone, so he probably pushed my car out of view, in case anyone drove by." She swung the beam from the flashlight right to left, in a sweeping motion and found the car tracks and followed them behind the building. One glance at her car, and she noticed something was wrong, for her car was leaning off to the back corner. Upon further examination, she found out why.

"THAT BASTARD!" He had slashed the rear right tire. Now she had to change the tire after escaping the walk-in freezer. She held the cell phone out and found it had a signal.

"Hello? Sue?" Joan could barely contain herself from shouting.

"Joan? Thank God you called! Bulldog phoned me because you never called or showed up after you left work. He called the branch you were supposed to be at, but they didn't know what he was talking about. What happened? We've all been worried sick about you!" Sue was sounding as frantic as Joan felt.

"I was led out here on purpose. Someone didn't want me found. Call everyone and tell them I'm alright. I'll be back in a few hours." Joan hung up, gritted her teeth, and changed the tire.

Bone tired, Joan slouched up the stairs from the basement garage to the lobby of her condominium building, where she was bombarded by questions by the doorman.

"Miss Joan! The police were looking for you! They said you were missing." He was beside himself with worry; Joan saw he was truthful in his feelings. "Everyone is waiting in your apartment."

"Thank you for your concern." She gave him a warm smile and a pat on his shoulder. He carried her overcoat and purse for her to the elevator. Tires as she was, the elevator was a welcome sight. He put her on it, and as the door was closing she heard him on the phone as his voice trailed off.

"...Yes, that's right, she's on her way up now.....looks like she's been through..."

The door opened to about six or ten faces, sick with worry, in the hallway who ushered her into her own apartment.

"Let her through, let her through!" she heard Mama Miller's voice say and felt a protective arm around her shoulders steering her onto the sofa in the living room and a hot mug of chamomile scented tea thrust in her hands. After a fortifying sip, she relaxed a bit, and noticed who exactly was staring at her with concern. There was Sue and John, Mama and Papa Miller, and to her surprise were Bulldog and his wife, and Ellen. Standing off to one side with the most concerted face, was Detective McIntire.

Mama Miller sat to her left and Sue sat to her right. The others brought chairs from her dinette set and situated themselves around her.

"Oh Joannie, you have a knot the size of a goose egg on the back of your head!" Mama Miller cried to her. At once, Papa Miller disappeared to the kitchen and moments later Joan found Mama Miller holding a towel wrapped around ice cubes in a zip-lock freezer bag against the knot. John came from the bathroom with some pills for her headache. Ellen looked at Bulldog, and then at Joan.

"When you didn't call to let us know you arrived at the bank, I called the manager there. We knew something was wrong when he said he didn't call to ask you to drive up. I went right to Bulldog, who called the police." Ellen said, wringing her hands.

"Knew something wasn't right." He mumbled in rhythm to the rocking back and forth motion from the heels to the ball of his feet and stared at a spot on the floor. "Saw you working with McIntire before; he'd want to know about you, seeing as you're on a case together." Bulldog tried to look as if he wasn't worried one single bit that Joan had been gone, and failed miserably.

Finally, everyone settled down after McIntire waved his hands to shush the group and waited for Joan to explain what had happened.

"OK, Joan, start from the beginning." McIntire said.

"The beginning? Everything feels like a lifetime ago.It was a setup; someone wanted me out of the way." Everyone exchanged worried glances, but didn't say anything.

"What happened first, Joan?" McIntire asked.

"Jackson came and told me that the branch needed me. I naturally thought they had information about the night deposit fraud case, so I left immediately."

"Never should have let you go, Joan. I apologize." Bulldog said, still looking at the floor.

"You had no way of knowing what was going to happen." McIntire replied, trying to soothe the man's conscience.

"I arrived just outside of town when I realized I didn't know where I was supposed to meet them. I called the number that Jackson gave me and spoke to an unusual sounding man. He told me to meet him at an abandoned dairy farm outside of town. I arrived and there was another car already there. It belonged to a man, but he didn't look like one of our employees. He told me he was a real estate agent, and the bank was looking for expansion capabilities, plus there might be a mini-mall built on the site. I said it might be quirky enough to draw customers. He led me through several offices to an old walk-in freezer where he said it was going to be made into a vault, and that I would like it. Next thing I know, I was knocked out from behind."

"What happened next?" McIntire prodded. "How did you get out?"

"I woke up a few hours later, I guess, and saw I had been locked inside."

Mama Miller and Ellen gasped simultaneously and shot Joan a commiserating look, and everyone else looked sorrowful for Joan.

"I put the flashlight on the floor to give light, found the multi-purpose gadget Sue gave me my last birthday and cut out a part of the aluminum siding inside to pop the lock."

"Oh Thank GOD I gave that to you Joan!" Sue exclaimed. "Who knew it would come in so handy?"

"I praised your thoughtfulness, Sue. You are a lifesaver!"

"I knew Joannie was resourceful!" Papa Miller beamed at Joan while puffing his chest out with pride.

McIntire smiled at the elderly couple, and nodded at Joan to continue.

"I ran outside to find my car gone, but it had been pushed behind the building. I called Sue to let her know I was ok. The rest you know."

"Did you get the number of the license plate?" McIntire asked.

"No, but it was a black sedan with darkly tinted windows. I didn't think I'd have to get the number down. Somehow, I don't think he was a real estate agent." She said darkly.

"I'll have a guard posted outside the building, in case something else happens, but I don't think anything will tonight. Whoever it was doesn't know you've escaped. Let's keep this a secret for the weekend, ok everyone?" He asked the room, in general.

"I won't tell anyone," Ellen said, "but I've got to get going. The grandkids are with the neighbors." She picked up her coat and purse, hugged Joan over Sue's lap and left.

"We've got to get going as well, but we won't tell anyone." Bulldog said and his wife nodded beside him. Joan looked at the woman closer and saw she was about as stocky as Jackson, but didn't resemble a bulldog like her husband as she halfway expected. She looked more like a crow; with deep and dark penetrating eyes that took in everything around her. Joan suspected not much got by Mrs. Jackson. "Bulldog and I will be checking in, Mama Miller." Mrs. Jackson stated. More like a command, than a comment. Joan flinched as she heard Mrs. Jackson call her husband 'Bulldog'. They each nodded brusquely at Joan and left. Joan was also surprised to hear the wife call Mrs. Miller "Mama".

"Mama, I'm going to go back home and get some things, we'll take care of Joannie with the Phillips's, Detective." With that being said, Papa Miller retreated hastily so he could return quicker. John said he had to return to some work in his apartment, but if they needed anything, just call.

Now it was just Mama Miller and Sue on either side of Joan, plainly giving Detective McIntire a penetrating gaze. Realizing that he was being politely asked to leave by the two women guarding Joan, he bid them goodnight and stated he would ask the local sheriff's department to go out to the abandoned dairy farm to look for clues and tell the doorman not to relate that Joan was back.

"Joannie, put that empty mug down. Sue and I will pamper and stay with you all night."

Without much to say, Joan let herself be taken care of. They drew a nice hot bubble bath for her, took in a CD player with soothing music, candles, three glasses and a bottle of wine to share.

* * * * * * *

Gerald never had such a good weekend, now that the nosy little busybody was taken care of. He had a beautiful woman all to himself and all the gambling he wanted. He looked at the form sleeping next to him on the bed and chuckled aloud.

"What's so funny?" Shelley purred at him through sleepy eyes as she turned to face him.

He sat up in bed, looked at her with cold, calculating eyes.

"Some business back home I was thinking about; nothing that concerns you."

"Now that we're both awake, what do you feel like doing? How about another go around? The weekend ends with the business day tomorrow." She ran her hand up and down his chest lightly.

"Mmmm....I like the way you think." He leered down at her and took her hungrily.

The next day, Shelley was at home feeling quite pleased with herself. Ann was coming over for lunch and she was just finishing the last touches on the entrée. The doorbell rang and she left the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello Ann!"

"Shel, hi" They leaned forward and gave a little hug, and Ann followed Shelley into the kitchen. Ann deposited her jacket and purse on the chair near the door.

"Congratulations on the weekend, everyone was biting with jealousy." Ann sneaked a carrot stick from the appetizer tray and smiled at Shelley.

"He was pleased so much he made a standing reservation for me whenever he returned to town." She replied as she set the plates and dishes on the small two-person table in the kitchen.

"So, what happened?" Ann asked as she poured them some iced tea.

"We spent the entire weekend gambling and making love. Nothing romantic, I don't think he gets that far, emotionally." Shelley stated as she munched on a whole wheat bread stick, trying to soak up some leftover balsamic vinegar and olive oil from the small salad bowl

"He was an ass, in other words? Did you give him 'the treatment?"

"No. I don't think he's like anyone else I've had before. He's gives off a different vibe."

"Are you scared of him Shel?" Ann asked with big eyes as she ate the last of the small side salad.

"Nonsense. I think he's got what I want." She smiled with a shifty glance.

"What are you up to?" Ann quizzed, leaning forward as she took a sip of tea through the narrow straw. "Are you going to get him for stocks, bonds?"

"No, I'm talking long term. By the way, thanks for letting me borrow that diamond necklace. It was the tip of the iceberg with the costume I had on." They often referred to their working clothes as 'costumes', because they wouldn't get caught dead outside of work in them. They weren't embarrassed about their chosen field of employment, but felt discretion was the better part of valor.

Shelley rose from the table to take the salad plates to the counter and returned with their entrée of salmon steaks with a carrot and celery sauté for the vegetable and a mixture of wild and brown rice to even out the meal.

"Anytime. You still haven't answered my question, Shel. What are you up to?"

"I think this guy is the answer I've been waiting for. Remember what we talked about last summer?" Shelley cocked her head.

"You mean, leaving? And you're certain this guy will take you? Aren't you jumping the gun?" Ann was astounded.

"I don't mean I'm leaving tomorrow, Ann." Shelley stopped to take a bite of salmon. "I feel he's the one. He'll never know what hit him."

"Well," Ann sat back, contemplating. "What's your plan of action?"

"I'm going to meet up with him whenever he's in town. Our contact will help me with my plan." Shelley slammed the glass of iced tea, pushed her plate to the side, leaned toward Ann. "This goes beyond anything we've tried before."

"What are you talking about, Shel?" Ann had never heard or seen Shelley act this way before. There was a look that Ann had never seen before: A cold, calculating gaze that slightly unnerved her. "Anyway, our gifts at the Annual Giving Tree were a huge success." Ann stated more to change the subject.

"Yes, did you receive the pictures when our gifts were delivered?"

"Of course," Ann answered, retrieving the pictures from her purse, and exchanging them with Shelleys.

"Oh, look at the tiny baby!" Shelley cooed at the Asian grandmother holding her tiny infant grandson swaddled in one of the new outfits Ann had bought. "The Grandmother is crying!"

"Yes, I was told she received more than she could have ever imagined." Ann said with a smile that reached her eyes. "This mother has such relief in her eyes. It was truly good of you to catch up her back electric bills. What made you think of that?"

Shelley bristled for just a moment before taking a sip of her vanilla latte before answering. Ann could see Shelley bracing herself before reaching back into the inner recesses of her mind to answer the question. It was a painful childhood for Shelley to remember.

"When daddy left, momma didn't have any money, and therefore stopped caring. There was no electric, no food, no nothing in the house. She really didn't care herself what happened; she just didn't want any more responsibility." Shelley looked past Ann at nothing in particular, rose with such abruptness that Ann had to steady her tea. Shelly wisked the empty dinner plates into the sink, rinsed them off without glancing up.

"And that's when you decided to leave, right?" Ann offered an explanation. Even though they discussed Shelley's childhood and background in the past, it was always fresh and painful ground for Shelley to talk about. She had never come to terms with her mother abandoning her mentally and emotionally.

She saw Shelley's shoulders shrug with indifference that betrayed the hurt look in her eyes. "I suppose." She returned to the table with a fresh pitcher of tea that had crushed mint leaves swirling in the dark amber liquid, much like Shelley's crushed childhood swirling in the inner recesses of her mind.

"Have you heard anything from or about your mother since you left?" Ann's question broke the silence like fine bone china.

Shelley regarded the question before answering, "I've tried to keep tabs on her, but lost track. She really wasn't the type to keep up with correspondence."

"What about your dad? Did you keep tabs on him?" Ann's asked in earnest.

"I found out that he was stabbed in a barroom brawl years ago, which was no big loss to me. He received what he dealt."

"What was it like, leaving home to fend for yourself?"

"It was rough. Of course I ended up on the streets, just like my mother after all." Shelley gave a mirthless chuckle, shook her head that caused her hair to shimmer under the light. "Then that ADA found me, and the rest is history." She stopped to take a sip. "God, I was so naïve."

"So your law license was revoked, huh?"

"No, he couldn't pull that off. As far as I know, I'm still on the books."

CHAPTER FIVE

"It was good of Jackson to give me the week off, but I could have gone in these three days. After all, the Christmas weekend starts on Thursday." Joan lamented, feeling restless. She began to rearrange Christmas ornaments on her nine foot tall Christmas tree. She had gotten it on sale at the end of the season last year. Although it was an artificial tree, it was full and lush.

"It's for your own good, Joan. It was good of the bank to start the holiday two days early." Sue admonished her, as she would a precocious three year old. Sue had brought a large sketchbook and easel that hid her completely behind a kitchen chair in the living room. She was going to stay with Joan until Detective McIntire gave the green light for Joan to be by herself.

"What are you working on, anyway?"

Sue's head appeared sideways from behind the sketchpad. "I'm re-working a sketch of the Sand Hills in the panhandle." She pointed a finger toward a large canvas next to the door, which was holding down some plastic drop cloths so she could start painting. "My goal is to finish this painting before the spring thaw. I'll paint in the kitchen so it'll be easier to clean."

Joan had to smile despite the house arrest. "This reminds me of when we shared that studio apartment after college." Joan laughed at the memory of half of the studio covered in drop cloths with paint spattering them and the walls, the smell of turpentine in the air. The other half was strewn about with books on business principles and accounting theory. Never mind what the bathroom looked like.

Sue smiled at Joan appreciatively. "I seem to remember that Christmas you tried to bake pumpkin pies, and they came out so thick that they glued our teeth together!" Joan threw a small pillow behind the pad, and they both roared with laughter.

Joan settled down and thought about what happened last Friday. She didn't think about it all weekend, but now that it was Monday, she couldn't think about anything else. Sue must have been thinking the same thing. Her voice drifted from behind the easel.

"Who do you think was behind the attack?"

"I've been trying to guess. The only suspect I can think of is someone behind the night deposit fraud or that developer."

Sue laughed, despite everything. "That developer? You mean the one that tried to have Madame Chairwoman fired?" Sue's eyes appeared over the pad, with eyebrows clear up into her forehead.

"Yes, she was dead-set against you getting approved. She saw us together before your interview. She was muttering something about 'getting even' when she stormed out."

"Joan, that is about as far-fetched as anything I've ever heard! Yes, she can act like a spoiled little child, but as far as revenge?"

"Sue, she did lose out on a one hundred sixteen million dollar contract with the city. She's blaming everyone but herself."

"A hundred sixteen million dollars, huh?" Sue was silent for a moment. "That is a pretty big motive. Ok, so she saw you with me. Are you saying she had you followed and she set you up?"

"I don't know. I wish I had taken down the number of that black sedan Friday. I just can't think straight. Something is missing." Joan looked at her computer in the corner.

"When is Ellen going to email or fax me some work to do?"

"Don't be so exasperated. She'll get to it." Sue got up from the chair and went into the kitchen. "Do you want some tea?" She yelled into the living room.

"Sure." Joan got up and walked slowly by the sketchpad to admire Sue's work, and then continued into the kitchen and sat in one of the stainless steel barstools. Sue was futzing around the kitchen, putting on a kettle of water to boil, taking out two sturdy mugs and a container of mint tea bags. This routine somehow felt comfortable and relaxing to Joan. "I'm lucky to have such good friends around me. It makes up for other areas of life."

Sue knew about Joan's parents, but never broached the subject, unless Joan did first.

"Oh?" Sue tried to sound unconcerned.

"Do you ever miss your mom and dad?" Sue's parents died of old age, but remained close to their only child throughout their lives. Joan envied their closeness, even though they included Joan in their family.

"Sure I do. That's only natural, Joan. Do you ever miss yours?" Sue eyed Joan, though wary about the subject.

"I was thinking about them Friday, before I left work." Sue saw that Joan was conflicted.

"That's natural, too, Joan. It is the Christmas Holiday after all, being with family. Haven't they ever contacted you?"

"No, nothing; I don't expect anything, really. I don't even know where they are now, or even if they're still alive."

Joan was silent again, pondering what she had just said. "Anyway, enough about that. What are your plans? Are you meeting John for lunch or dinner?"

"No, he's at work meeting with the company attorneys. It was something about a copyright infringement on one of his designs. The attorneys wanted to litigate, but John told them to ask the other company about it first. He said he wouldn't want to get hit with a lawsuit right before Christmas."

"John has too much faith in human kindness." Joan mused as she accepted a mug of mint tea from Sue.

There was a knock at the door followed by the doorbell that disrupted their conversation. Joan left for the living room and Sue came out after her.

"It's Detective McIntire." Joan stated without surprise as she opened up the door.

"Hello Detective, please come in. You know Sue, of course." He came in, nodded at Sue as Joan closed the door.

"Sue. Joan, the sheriff's department combed the area, but found nothing. However, I thought about what we saw that night at the theater."

"Yes, Detective?" Joan replied, not knowing where the conversation was leading.

"I've had time to think about that young woman who was arrested early in the fall. You're right, Joan, I think she is the key to what is happening now, somehow."

"Really?" Joan had much the same thought, but didn't say anything. "Please, come in Detective."

"Would you like some tea?" Sue offered.

"No, Sue, thank you anyway" he replied as he sat on the stuffed chair as Joan and Sue sat on the couch.

"I agree; it is unusual that a temporary employee would be behind such a huge scheme to bilk an insurance account, let alone siphon it off into an overseas account." Joan stated.

"Could you have the accounts she was working on pulled for us to investigate?"

"I don't know. Jackson took me off the case, saying it is too dangerous for me, and is taking it up again. He is confident she's behind it."

"I could get a subpoena, but it would take until after the holiday. I can't access her right now; she's in federal custody, as you well know."

"A subpoena would be better, Detective. Only Jackson and Ellen know I'm even out of the freezer. If I order those records, it might tip off whoever is behind it." Joan was silent, pondering possible scenarios, when she spoke up again."Detective, we discussed that the night deposit thefts and her arrest was linked."

"Yes, Joan, we did. Didn't you say that the bank executive at that play was over insurance accounts?"

"That is one of his functions. Certainly he would cover his track's better than that." Joan thought of something. "Someone could be framing him."

Gerald wandered around his expansive penthouse suite, watching the cold December sky. It was Christmas Eve and he had just given a large check to the United Way with money that belonged to investors from a science foundation. Of course, he had led others to believe it was a magnanimous financial and social gesture on his behalf. There was talk of naming him 'Executive of the Year' at the bank.

"No one is any the wiser." He chuckled, staring off into the fireplace, and then picking up the tongs, rearranged the logs on the grate. Using his foot, he pushed the screen back into place before settling back into his favorite patent brown leather chair.

Feeling sure of himself, he picked up the phone and dialed his contact again.

"Hello?" A dark voice said.

"Hello, this is Johnson. Did you take care of that little problem?" He asked ominously.

"Just like you asked. It's locked away tighter than a drum. Even the vehicle was pushed back behind the building. No one saw a thing." There was a slight chuckle from the man. In the background, Gerald could hear someone screaming out in agony, followed by dull thuds and then silence.

"I'd like you to go back and check. I want to be sure she's out of commission for awhile, even though it's been a few days. I want proof."

"Sure, anything you want, man. That's gonna cost extra."

Gerald clenched his teeth. "Extra? Why? You want me to pay you to make sure you did the job right?"

"That's a special service." The voice seethed.

"Whatever you want. Just do it. Tonight."Gerald ordered the man, and then slammed the phone down.

"DAMN!" He got up irritably, paced back and forth for a few minutes, and finally sat back down. There was nothing he could do now, except wait. It was an hour later when the phone rang.

"Hello"

"I've got some bad news."

"What is it?" Gerald spat out, nervous; wondering what the news could possibly be.

"She escaped."

"How the hell did she get out? Did you lock her in?

"She cut the siding off the inside near the lock."

Gerald never knew one woman who could get under his skin, and who he wanted out of his way so badly.

"GODDAMMIT! I PAID YOU TO EITHER KILL HER OR GET RID OF HER!" He stood abruptly, threw his glass of scotch across the living room and it shattered against the door. He calmed himself, somewhat so he could continue the conversation.

"Now I can't do anything for awhile because it would look suspicious. I can't have anything point to me." He pondered the situation, to no avail. "Sit tight. I'll have to think out how to handle this situation."

After he hung up, he sat down again, put his head in his hands, and then ran his fingers through his thick hair. He let out a sigh of defeat, and let himself lay back against the plush leather.

* * * * * * *

Bright and early Christmas morning, Joan woke up to Christmas songs playing on the radio. One of the soft rock stations played Christmas songs from Thanksgiving to Christmas, and the apartment was sounding like the Omaha Symphony was in her living room. There was a definite aroma of cinnamon, allspice, pumpkin pie spice and sage wafting under the door of her bedroom. Smiling, she got up, put on her robe and ventured out into the living room.

She found that the few presents under her tree duplicated exponentially, overnight. They reached the three bottom branches of the tree, some two feet off the floor, and spread out at least three feet all the way around. She saw various tags saying 'To Sue', 'To Papa', 'To my darling John', and so on, which brought a smile to her face. She also saw 'To Joan, From Bulldog and the Mrs.', 'From Ellen, with love' and many more to her from people she didn't know. The week had been wonderful, on a leave of absence, thanks to Bulldog (and no doubt after some prodding from Mrs. Jackson). She glanced at the clock, and saw it was already 10:00 am.

She followed the laughing, cheerful voices into the open kitchen, where Joan's smoky glass table glistened with polished silverware, stemmed chunky glassware, her gilded stoneware china and a large, colorful bouquet as the centerpiece (which she saw bore a large signature from her boss on the card).

"Oh, this is absolutely beautiful!" Joan exclaimed at Mama Miller and Sue as they were just finishing a rousing chorus of "Good King Wenceslas", up to their elbows in mashed pumpkin flesh.

"Joannie! Did we wake you?" Mama Miller was wiping her arms on a towel that had been tucked into her apron as she came round the long kitchen island.

"No, I decided to get up. This looks wonderful!I forgot I even had those." She said, as she picked up a thick-stemmed chunky water glass. "The table looks great, Mama!" Joan exclaimed as she hugged fiercely.

"It was nothing. We decided to have Christmas here, since we had Thanksgiving up at Susie's." Mama Miller was herding Joan, and she found herself sitting at one of her own barstools, once again. Sue set a mug of steaming hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick still twirling about in it.

"What time did you two get up? Where did all those presents come from?" Joan asked.

"We got up at the crack of dawn, Joan. These pies aren't going to make themselves!" Sue smiled over at Joan.

"The presents are from all of us, and some well-wishers have been stopping by all morning." Mama Miller stated in her matter-of-fact tone.

"Joan, you should have seen Ellen's little grandkids. They hand-made you some gifts, Ellen winked, so she may have 'helped'." Sue was gushing to Joan about how adorable the toddlers were. Joan noticed that Sue was mentioning babies and kids more often these days, ever since the four tiny reindeer at the Mall.

"Sue, are you and John trying to have a baby?" Joan asked, clearly excited. Mama Miller stopped stirring the batch of pumpkin pie and held onto the wooden spoon to hear Sue's answer.

Sue smiled indulgently, and then set down her piecrust she was working on. "We're trying, but nothing is happening yet. I thought you two would have noticed when we were at the mall, shopping."

"Just like I said, there's always something beneath the surface!" She exclaimed, triumphantly as she waved the large wooden spoon around in victory.

"Why, Sue, I didn't know you wanted children!" Joan had thought she knew everything about her best friend. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"John and I wanted to wait until we had something specific to tell everyone. I'm sorry I didn't confide in you Joan." Sue held out a hand in apology.

"That's ok Sue. That's really between you and John. I'm just happy for you two. You're going to be wonderful parents someday." Joan gave Sue's hand a gentle squeeze.

Mama Miller appeared at Sue's shoulder and gave Sue a warm, gentle, motherly embrace and 'All in time, child.'

Just then the doorbell rang, Joan jumped up to answer it and the two other women continued stirring, mixing and baking, all the while singing along with the songs on the radio.

John was at the door with a hearty 'Merry Christmas' and holding a huge side dish for the meal later on in the day. He kissed Joan on the cheek, asked how she was, and then went to the kitchen to see what all the singing and joyful sound was all about. Joan leaned on the doorway and watched the three thoroughly enjoy themselves. Not even five minutes later the doorbell rang again and Joan announced she would answer it. It was doubtful the doorbell could have been heard over the boisterous singing and clanging of pots, pans and spoons against bowls. She trotted to the door, full of the Christmas spirit, humming along with 'We Three Kings' and found Papa Miller wearing a Santa Hat at a jaunty angle and carrying a huge box of various breads, cookies and snacks.

"Merry Christmas, Papa! Let me get that for you." She reached out to take the box from the elder gentleman.

"Nonsense. I'm not so old that I can't carry good tidings and cheer." He said as he brushed to the side of Joan. She placed her hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek; he blushed slightly and continued on his way.

Joan closed the door when the phone rang and Sue yelled over the happy din that she would answer the phone.

All of a sudden the talking, laughter and music stopped and Sue's voice was in such a low whisper that Joan knew something was wrong. She rushed into the kitchen to find four solemn faces staring at her with their hands stopped in mid-air in whatever they had been doing.

"What's wrong?" Joan asked, full of concern. "Did something bad happen?"

"There's a call for you," Sue whispered, as if she were letting an awful secret spill from her lips.

"From overseas, child," Mama Miller added, in an equally strange, low whisper. John and Papa Miller said nothing, but the looks on their face were equally unnerving. Joan couldn't distinguish what the looks meant; it was a combination of concern and pity. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine who could be on the phone at that moment in time to cause this much distraction from her friends.

She took the phone with some trepidation and held it to her chest. She was all at once curious and frightened.

"Hello?" Joan ventured, the phone felt awkward, like an obstacle.

"Hello? Is this Joan?" A small, scared feminine voice tentatively answered. The voice wasn't one she could place, but it rang familiar somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind.

"Yes, this is she. Who is this? Do I know you?" Her friends' faces grew tighter and more concerned. Each one was leaning forward, anxious for Joan's reaction.

"Yes, Joan, you know me." The voice sounded tiny; hurt and wounded.

Joan was silent, wracking her brain, matching the voice against faces that were running in her mind. When Joan didn't answer, the voice on the other end started to speak, but wavered.

"I'm......this is......It's your mother," the voice stated plaintively.

Joan's face blanched into a nothingness of emotion. There was no anger, no sorrow; the emotion went deeper than that. There was no name for how Joan felt at that particular moment in time. Instantly Joan felt four pairs of hands lead her to a chair in the living room and saw her friends seated around her, but she couldn't register what was happening. She looked into the nearest face. Mama Miller was there, looking at Joan with love, devotion and trepidation.

'It should be Mama Miller's voice on the phone' Joan thought.

"You don't have to talk to her, Joan." Sue was whispering to her, with her hand extended, to take the phone away. Joan was tempted to hand over the burden to Sue, but she knew this was hers to bear. Sooner or later, she would have to deal with this.

'What could I say to this woman? I didn't even know she was alive.' Joan thought, bitterly.

"You're still alive?" Was the only thing Joan could say, as it was the only thing that entered her mind.

"Yes, we're alive. We've kept track of you." The voice said, hoping to hear more.

"Why have you bothered? I haven't missed you." Joan was past hurt and past anger. It was more of a statement, rather than anything else. Mama Miller held onto her other hand and gave a gentle squeeze. Joan gazed deep into the older woman's eyes, and drew upon her love for the right words.

"Do you want me to hang up, Joan?"

"No. It's all right. You just caught me by surprise, that's all. Where are you?"

"We're living in southern France, outside of Toulouse. The countryside is beautiful and very healthful."

"So your husband is with you?" Joan was asking any question that would come forward and propel her into the conversation. She wasn't even paying attention to the answers.

"He's here. Do you want to say hello?" There was a sound of scuffling over the phone.

"Hello, Joan? I've longed to hear your voice many times." An older masculine voice answered the unsaid question.

"I'm here. How are you feeling?" Joan asked, her mind a complete blank.

"I'm feeling fine. The countryside here is peaceful and gives us a healthy lifestyle."

"Yes, your wife said that already. I'm glad you're both happy and healthy. I've got to go." Joan was feeling sick to her stomach, like she had come down with twenty-hour flu.

"Alright, we understand. Would it be alright if we called again sometime?" His voice was almost pleading, like a child.

"Yes." Joan whispered absent mindedly as she pushed the button to hang up the phone.

Mama Miller took the phone and handed it to Sue.

"Are you alright, child?" Mama Miller asked most anxiously, with a comforting arm around the young woman's sagging shoulders. She could feel Joan shaking, and then felt Joan's head sag against her bosom, her body bereft of movement. "shhhh....i'm here" Mama Miller intoned, performing soothing and calming motions.

Papa Miller and John had busied themselves, bringing steaming mugs for everyone made of an herbal calming tea, made with chamomile and rosehips, and a small shoulder blanket to cover Joan. They sat with Joan for a long time, with Mama Miller rocking and soothing Joan, until Joan stopped shaking.

Mama Miller then put a gentle hand under Joan's chin and raised her head until they were at eye level.

"That was quite a shock, right child?" she asked in a gentle, even voice.

"Yes." Joan felt herself answering. She had no questions, no answers. Her mind was a complete blank; numb, as if she had been given an anesthetic by the dentist. Joan just noticed there was a mug of tea in her hand, so she took a long sip and felt the fog lift, just a bit.

"That was my parents!" She exclaimed in a small voice, surprised at what she heard herself say. "They're alive and living in the south of France, near Toulouse."

"How do you feel?" She asked gently.

"Like the world fell out from underneath me." Joan's mind was starting to keep up. "What made them call me now?"

"Only they can answer that question. They've extended an olive branch." Papa Miller offered sagely.

"If I hadn't been caught off guard, I would have said some really unpleasant things. You two are my parents."

Joan announced, suddenly aware of the other four people sitting around her, with worried faces.

"I'm glad you were all here. I couldn't have faced them on my own. I'm feeling better," she announced. Now that the crisis was over, she wanted desperately to continue with the holiday spirit.

"Truly, I'm better now." Joan said brightly, if slightly forced. "Let's continue!" She rose, taking Mama Miller's hand and leading her into the kitchen, with the others following close behind.

Mama Miller sensing the younger woman wanted the moment to pass quickly, turned the radio on again, began singing along with 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'. Sue began stuffing the turkey that Papa Miller had underneath the snacks and cookies. He and John were peeling potatoes, carrots, celery and sweet potatoes for various side dishes. Joan stood beside Mama Miller and helped her assemble pumpkin pies, smiling to herself.

* * * * * * *

Gerald was called back to St. Louis a couple of days after Christmas because the bank had screwed up the trust fund account that he set up. Since he had to go anyway, he booked his suite for two weeks, deciding to spend some vacation time near the casino on the waterfront. After working on the account with the bank's manager, he went back to his hotel suite and he found the card in his wallet for the call girl service and set up an appointment with Shelley to be at his beck and call for the two weeks he was there.

On Gerald's last day in St. Louis, on New Year's Eve, Shelley was still biting her tongue. She had been at his beck and call during his entire two weeks. If she didn't have some long term plans laid out, she would have subjected Gerald to the treatment she and Ann were so fond of.

Shelley laughed at all his stupid jokes, rubbed up against him like a friendly cat, stood by him at the craps tables and cooed at his ability as a player. It was late into the night when Gerald was feeling pretty good; the alcohol began to wear down on his guard. She started asking him questions about his life, his job and his background. In a drunken stupor, Gerald began babbling to Shelley about the more boring aspects of his job, his clients, and his overbearing boss. She couldn't believe how time seemed to stall when this egotistical boor droned on and on.

'It is just a matter of time when he says something incriminating' thought Shelley to herself. She made it a habit of listening to each man she entertained, so she could squeeze more money out of them after their encounter, so either by blackmail or bribery, she had built up a nice nest egg for herself.

Right at the stroke of midnight, he was bragging about stealing money from different accounts at work, and of his siphoning off funds from the trust fund there in town, because he felt he could trust her. BINGO! The moment that she was waiting for finally arrived.

She leaned forward and whispered into his ear "Happy New Year!"

She waited about a month after Gerald had left town before contacting him. Shelley picked up the phone, looked at the business card, dialed the number for a Mr. Gerald Johnson, and smiled smugly to herself.

"Gerald Johnson."

"Well, hello Mr. Gerald Johnson. This is Shelley, from St. Louis, do you remember me?"

The other end of the line was uncomfortable and silent, when Gerald coughed, then said "why yes, I've been thinking about you. What can I do for you?"

"I thought we could get together later tonight. I'll be in Omaha for the week on business."

Gerald at first was horrified, what could she want? But immediately couldn't help but smile to himself. 'If I play this right, she'll be mine in a couple hours; no matter what her business is here in town.'

"Tonight is great for me. I'll meet you up at your hotel at seven pm, and then we can go to the casino."

They exchanged information, and then hung up.

That night, as Shelley was waiting for Gerald to show up, she became very conceited with herself. 'If I play this right, I'll have him eating out of my hand.'

Gerald drove up in his BMW and met Shelley in the reception room of the hotel. He thought she was in town to see to it that he had a good time. Realistically, he didn't care why she was in town. Just the thought that she would be his in a few hours made this meeting worthwhile. He would simply bide his time until then. He took her to an exclusive restaurant in the casino.

As they were being seated, the waiter arrived, and Gerald ordered dinner, appetizers and drinks. Shelley removed her wrap and was careful to let Gerald to see her bare shoulders under the spaghetti straps holding onto the 'barely-there' dress she bought specially for the occasion. It was an elegant, if short, midnight blue dress that accentuated her legs. They were seated, enjoying drinks and appetizers, when Shelley crossed and uncrossed her legs in plain view and made certain to lean forward so her cleavage could be seen.

"What brings you into town, Shelley?" asked Gerald, not really paying attention to the flow of the conversation.

"You do, actually" announced Shelley "I have a proposition for you." She looked directly into his eyes and saw that they snapped up from her legs to her eyes. There was a look in her eyes that Gerald could not understand.

"Oh?" said Gerald warily. "What is that?"

Shelly took a deep breath, shook her blonde mane, displayed a gracious smile, then steeled herself, and started talking.

"Do you remember when we met at...?"

"Yes." Answered Gerald curtly, for he didn't want the entire room aware of how they indeed met. "That was hundreds of miles from here." He said in a gruff whisper. He didn't understand why she was bringing up where they met. Looking around, he wanted to see if anyone was paying attention.

"Anyway, it's a pleasure seeing you again."

"I had hoped you would say that, Gerald." Shelley pulled out a five by seven envelope from her purse and shoved it over in front of Gerald. "I think you'll enjoy these pictures I had made from our last meeting."

Gerald didn't like how she emphasized 'last meeting', and was aware that something was amiss.

'She came prepared for something' he thought. He met her gaze, and thought he saw a certain hungry glaze in her eyes that had nothing to do with food or entertainment. He opened the envelope, pulled out the contents, and gave an audible gasp of horror. They were pictures of him and Shelley in a very compromising position. Not that in and of itself was shocking, but there were transcripts of their conversation, in its entirety, from the whole weekend; conversations of his stealing from various investor accounts.

He looked at her, and now she had a look of triumph in her eyes, and was licking her lips like an animal of prey.

"What the hell are these?" whispered Gerald through gritted teeth.

"Insurance, Gerald." Her voice was dead calm, and she held a steady gaze.

"Insurance for what?"

"Do you remember those two days when we first met?" Gerald numbly nodded. "Well, after I saw your diamond encrusted ring and watch and Alligator shoes, you peaked my interest. Then you said you were an investment banker. So I called a friend of mine who is just simply a whiz with a camera and listening devices.

I had our conversations and outings recorded at New Years Eve and you told me of certain indiscretions at your bank. What you have there is my insurance for getting me out of this lifestyle. You're going to make me a lady." She looked over the silver candlesticks and champagne at him with a look of triumph.

"You can't be serious?" He gave a polite little laugh, but inside himself, he knew he had been taken. He wondered how many thousands she was going to blackmail him for. "How much do you want?"

Shelley gave a throaty laugh. "What do I want? How much? I want a lifetime, Gerald Johnson. I want a better station in life, and you're my ticket.Of course, I'll help you out, socially; after all, it's in my best interest as well."

'She can't be serious' Gerald thought to himself. 'She wants me to marry her?' He thought of stretching out his time, to give himself time to think of a plan. After all, he was embezzling millions from his company; he could outsmart a simple call girl. He looked at the envelope in front of himself, and thought of a plan.

Shelley saw the wheels turning in his head and said, "Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't. There are copies of everything in that envelope. If we aren't married in two weeks, those copies will be sent to every one of your associates and business partners. You'll lose everything."

For a moment, Gerald was dumbfounded. He knew he would have to abide by the rules that she had set forth. Gerald had always tried to make the best of each situation.

"Alright, if I have to marry you, you're going to be my wife in every sense of the word."

She cocked her head and just looked at him with amusement.

Gerald's eyes shone with lust at Shelley, allowing his gaze to linger on her breasts, then on to her thighs. "If you don't make yourself available to me, I'll just have to send your business card to the right people."

"My business card?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes, I always save cards of the best"; before Gerald could finish the sentence, Shelley cut him off with a look of disgust on her face.

They saw the look of resignation in each other's eyes, and immediately had an understanding, but couldn't foresee the possible consequences of their actions. She smiled warmly at him, turned to the waiter who just announced that dinner was ready.

When they married, all of Gerald's friends were shocked. No one knew he had a steady girlfriend, let alone a fiancée. Neither the bride nor the groom would elucidate on their backgrounds when asked. By nature, he was private and secretive, so it would stand to reason his wife would be the same. They looked like the perfect couple: beautiful, tall, blond and athletic. Their marriage looked to be the epitome of happiness and success.

Gerald and Shelley returned from their honeymoon in Hawaii in early March. They had been married on Valentine's Day, which became the unexpected social event of the year. The rich wives of important businessmen in town came to inspect the new and unusual woman. Anyone that could get Mr. Gerald Johnson to the alter had to be one special lady.

The social events section of the newspaper covered every aspect of the huge, flashy display of the wedding; from the details of the gown to the matching napkins and flowers of the reception.

Shelley pulled off her scheme with aplomb. Neither the rich social network of wives figured out her background, no matter how much they asked. Gerald's boss became enamored with Shelley, hinting that big things were on the horizon for Gerald now that he was a 'family man'. Gerald couldn't help think that maybe this wasn't such a bad arrangement after all.

The last vestiges of winter were still grasping onto the Nebraska landscape as Gerald walked around his office gazing out the window. People were still bundled up against the cold, whipping wind, but early spring flowers were boldly pushing their way through the hard earth. Things were looking up he finally thought. He was just thinking of his next big move when it struck him. He grinned to his reflection in the window, headed over to his desk and sat down. This one would pay off in the very long term.

He picked up the phone again, waiting a moment to relish the scheme and then dialed.

"Hello, Bill? I've got a plan."

* * * * * * *

"Detective, I haven't heard from you since Christmas." Joan chided the detective, who, she decided, looked worse for the wear. He met her in the hallway and led her back to his office.

"Yes, and I apologize. We've had a busy time since then. There has been a rash of burglaries in the northwest section of Omaha and a couple of shootings in the northeast section. None of us have been getting any sleep here at the department." The weary detective said under his breath as he nodded to the chair in front of his desk that was piled high with papers, memo's, faxes and, oddly, three women's purses.

He poured two cups of coffee from the old, stained percolator, added some cream and substitute sugar to one and just cream to the other. He handed the first to Joan as he walked slowly around his desk and let gravity pull him into his chair with a loud 'pop' and a small cloud of dust rose from the aging chair.

"You look terrible, Detective." Joan commented. The detective's shirt was wrinkled and untucked, and his normally pressed and creased pants sported a coffee stain on his right thigh. "Have you been sleeping here?"

He gave a mirthless chuckle and replied. "Yes, we all have. There's been too much activity going around and so many personnel are home sick with some new flu going around.

"I've been thinking about that young woman we discussed last year. That subpoena came through, so we can access those records from the bank.

He noticed Joan's face became taut and thought he detected fear. "Don't worry, Joan, Bulldog doesn't know you are involved." Joan flinched.

"Speaking of Jackson," she emphasized "he's moved that night deposit fraud case to the cold case files. The trail leads to a dead end."

"Have you had any more incidents happen?" He became all too serious all of a sudden.

"No, nothing since that abandoned dairy farm. It's unusual, too. Why did the attacks suddenly stop?" She asked and looking deep in thought for a moment.

"Maybe whoever is behind it has decided to lay low. They have noticed we're not working the case as vigorous as it has been." Joan looked at the detective across from her and matched his serious expression.

"I still can't help thinking of that developer that is jealous of Sue." Joan stated at last.

McIntire looked at Joan, taking in each word and then sat back and gazed off into nowhere.

Finally he looked at Joan again. "What's her story?"

"She was livid! She lost out on a one hundred sixteen million dollar contract. She even tried to get the chairwoman fired from the committee for turning down her application. As she left Sue's hearing, She was muttering something about 'getting even' when she stormed out."

"You think she was behind the incident at the Dairy Farm?"

"I think it is a distinct possibility, but the timing is stronger for the night deposit investigation. Either one could have led to the incident."

The Detective remained silent for a moment, staring out the glass that separated his office from the rest of the department. "It's been my experience that criminals become lax if they think no one is watching."

"I've been monitoring the mainframe for any unusual activity, but nothing has shown up." Joan added to change the direction of the conversation, noting what McIntire would say.

"I didn't think anything would just yet. Has there been any unusual activity around the bank? Perhaps personally?"

"Not with me," Joan said with a hint of sarcasm, "but that executive you saw at the play last year got married last month."

Detective McIntire smiled for the first time at Joan since her visit but it was gone within seconds. Joan thought he must not have much to smile about on the job or in his personal life. All she knew was he had a military background before joining the police force. She did know that, like her, his job was his whole life.

"I did see the big to-do in the papers about it. I've heard that no one knew he was even dating or had a fiancée."

"Why detective, I had no idea you followed the society pages!" Joan said with mock seriousness.

The Detective was about to comment when someone knocked on the glass window and motioned for him to come out.

"Sorry Joan, I've got to see what this is about." He jumped up and within a few steps was out the door and standing over someone's desk in the center of the room. She rose from the chair and followed him out the door to see what was going on.

Detective McIntire was listening on a phone as the officer who knocked on the window was listening on another line.

"Could you repeat that again, Warden?" The officer asked politely but firmly and Joan could see his knuckles were turning white as he gripped the phone tighter.

'So, something has happened at the prison?' Joan thought in her investigative mode as she walked to the desk in the center of the room.

"How could that have happened?" McIntire demanded in a forced polite tone and snapped a pencil in two he had picked up from the desk.

The whole police department became silent and someone in the corner pointed one of the junior officers to a closed room on the other side and continued listening on another extension. The junior officer hurried to the room and there could be hear something being moved and crashed about.

Whatever had happened was something major, to cause the entire department this much concern. A few minutes later, McIntire said a forced 'thank you for calling' that implied a less-than-impressed attitude. Without looking at her, he grabbed her by her coat sleeve, pointed another officer in the direction of the room the previous officer had entered and dragged her into the room. The officer hurried to the room, where Joan heard more bangs and bumps.

Detective McIntire pulled her into the room and Joan saw it was a medium sized room that was half full of what looked like boxes full of files and spreadsheets on top of a large table in the middle of the room. The officers were putting together a large blackboard in front of the table rather hastily in order to escape from their supervisor, who was obviously in a rather bad mood.

McIntire was still hanging on to Joan's coat sleeve absentmindedly or maybe to prevent her from leaving. He was yelling at the two officers loudly and gesturing wildly with both hands until he realized he still had her sleeve. He dropped it without looking at her so he could get closer to the men. Evidently he thought he could do a better job because he shoved the two from the room, snarling at them. They made a hasty exit as McIntire put the blackboard together and Joan watched politely.

It was only then that he made eye contact with her and gestured toward the chair nearest to her as he sat down opposite her.

"Is this all the paperwork concerning that young woman?" Joan asked in awe of the boxes and boxes stacked around the room. She opened the one nearest her and pulled out a statement that had the contents of the box.

"This is it. It's taken months, going through the proper channels, but we finally got it." He replied in a forced polite tone.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get them for you, Detective." Joan said in sympathy.

"No, it's all right Joan." He looked like he just remembered something and shot Joan a sudden look of concern. "Do you have to get back to work?"

"No, when Jackson found out it was you; he told me that this case was my number one priority."

"Oh, I thought you didn't want Bulldog knowing you were involved in the case."

"I guess he figures that since my life has been threatened, I'd want to be personally involved. To tell you the truth, I do want to get to the bottom of this case. So, I'm to report here every day and check in with Jackson periodically with what's going on." Joan replied triumphantly.

The detective looked stricken for a fraction of a second, but his face broke out into a huge, wide grin. He leaned back in the chair stretched his arms out in front of him and then rotated them up and behind his head, looking like a backward leaning sculpture of 'The Thinker'.

"Well, well." He chuckled and continued to grin. "You realize that I'll work you harder than you've ever worked before? This is much different than investigations at the bank."

His grin was infectious and before long Joan had her very own Cheshire grin.

Her grin vanished when she remembered the phone call earlier that upset the detective.

"By the way, Detective, what was that phone call that made you so upset?"

"That was the warden at the federal penitentiary." She saw his grin fade away and in its place grew a frown that emphasized the lines in his forehead and around his eyes. He drew a deep breath, let his arms fall on the sides of the chair and lowered his eyes to meet her gaze.

"What did he have to say?" she asked in a wary tone.

"That young woman," he said nodding to the boxes on the table "has vanished from her cell."

After the day of wading through one of the many boxes of papers that the young woman had been working on, Joan was glad to see her building appear as it came into view. Papa Miller was turning the vegetables around in the boxes so they would appeal to passersby.

"Good evening Joan." Papa Miller smiled at her from down the street.

"Good evening, Papa." She said, crossing the cobblestone street so she could converse with the older man easier. The doorman from her building sighted her at the grocers and waved at her.

"Have a good day with your Detective?" He gave a slight smile.

Joan gave a hearty laugh and set her attaché case down on the spring squash that the Millers ordered. "We're working on that night deposit fraud case still. I just spent the day going through very boring bank records."

"Do you want mama to bring you over something to eat?" He asked his voice full of concern.

"No, John and Sue have already invited me up for dinner. This is the first free night we've all had since Christmas, really. Aren't you coming?"

"No, mama and I have plans already at the church potluck. We've had dinner with Susie and John several times since then. You've been buried in your work for months Joannie. Mama was about to call your boss and get after him for working you so hard. You better be off, tell Susie hello for us." He gave Joan a quick, warm embrace then returned to restacking the vegetables.

She crossed the stone street again and felt the uneven surface of the road match how she felt about the fraud case. A sudden warm breeze cut through the slight chill in the air. She gazed at the huge cement planter in front of her building and saw that there were some early spring flowers; yellow ones and little purple ones. She stopped and wondered how much she had been missing because of work.

CHAPTER SIX

Dust particles were dancing and twisting in the shaft of sunlight through the crack in the curtains. Gerald blinked several times, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, stretched as he gave a little groan and put his arms behind his head. He saw his wife, Shelley, lying with her back toward him, and watched her slow, deep, even breathing for a few minutes, resisting the urge to smother her with his pillow. He could not believe their little arrangement had lasted six months. She, of course, wanted to throw a huge party (at the insistence of the society circle consisting of the rich wives in town.) 'Any excuse to waste money', he thought.

He had been wondering how he had let himself be talked into buying such an extravagant house as well as an extravagant lifestyle.

"Just think of the social statement it will make," he remembered her saying.

They were living beyond their means, but he could not get her to see that. She was always buying a new outfit, and had a closet the size of a small bedroom. Of course, it was full of clothes by the best designers. And he knew she would want to throw an extravagant and lavish party for the social elite, for their wedding party that night.

It would be more of a social obligation and show-off in his eyes, than a celebration (not that he would have wanted to, at any rate).

As Gerald lay there, he began wondering what he was going to do. He knew he should get up and start his day, because he needed to get to work early. Turning away from Shelley, he looked around the bedroom. The room was painted antique white. The king size sleigh bed had white sheets, comforter and pillows. There were black and white photos on the walls and the bedroom furniture was white wicker. He flipped his legs off the side of the bed and felt the thick white carpet between his toes. He got up and walked into the spacious bathroom, done in white as well; the centerpiece was a white stone tub with steps leading up to it and there was a wine cooler stocked with wine made from Rose Petals, of which he had never heard before.

Downstairs, he swept a look across the living room as he went on his way to work and just shook his head. He stopped to look at their wedding picture. She was wearing a skin-tight white lace dress; he was in a standard tuxedo, both with huge smiles plastered on their face. The picture could fool anyone who didn't know them.

The extravagance was overwhelming. The living room suite was made of an expensive fabric that Gerald couldn't remember. Looking from the entrance of the room, it looked like a giant "H", two huge sofas facing each other with a long coffee table between them, the fabric was something like brushed cotton, but much thicker, and done in off-white, slightly darker than the walls. The walls were painted eggshell, with wainscoting around the top. Pictures lined the walls like a showing at a gallery, complete with statues in opposite corners, in different stages of undress around the room. "Art." Shelley had called them, and that was the end of the discussion.

There was a huge ornate fireplace in the corner of the living room. Across the room in the other corner was a desk that Shelley commissioned. It looked like a giant "V" in the corner; like a giant pair vampire's teeth poised to drain his life of his youthful appearance and his bank account of his money. Each side was six feet end to corner and four or five feet deep, made of oak, and finely polished. There were four-foot shelves on top of the desk, so that when one sat down, they were looking up at them. She called it her planning center, where the phone and her address book were, as were books on art, entertaining, fine wine and a calendar of events that were highlighted.

Normally, a 'planning center' like this was kept out of sight, lest anyone visiting could see it. Shelley liked to show off, as was evident just looking at their home, cars, and clothes. Gerald missed his bachelor days, not because he could date anyone he chose (a small part, to be sure), but because his former place wasn't showy as this home was. This was a home of excess, as Gerald often said. He strolled over to the bar and rested a hand on the decanter of Scotch, but thought better of it. Underneath the bar was Shelley's store of the same Rose Petal Wine. Thoroughly disgusted, he left for the day.

A few hours later, Shelley woke upbeat, despite the fact that Gerald wouldn't come back into the bedroom to kiss her goodbye. He would leave through the door leading to the hallway from the bathroom, then down the stairs and through the kitchen door to the garage. This didn't bother her, for she smiled smugly to herself, feeling that she had it made.

Rising from the bed, she walked into the spacious bathroom and sat down at her makeup counter. She reached for her brush and hair-conditioning lotion her hairdresser recommended and began the morning ritual of brushing and conditioning her hair. Smiling so smugly, she could not help but think life could not be any sweeter.

She had landed a wealthy man, who was taking care of her. Sure, it took some scheming on her part, but she felt justified.

"He needs me," Shelley told herself. "If it wasn't for me, smiling and nodding at the right times at those stupid social functions of his, he wouldn't have gotten that big fat raise. Gerald is so lucky to have me; he just doesn't see it yet."

She stopped brushing her hair and stared at her reflection. She had come a long way since she first arrived at St. Louis. Although she abhorred the thought of turning into her mother, she began standing on street corners trying to look seductive for the cars driving by so late at night. She loathed men for what they had done to her mother, to her.

She went from being a young urchin starting out a life as a street walker, when the ADA found her and placed her back on track She reminisced about her conversation with Ann about her whole past some months before. She had been absurdly naïve when she realized her boss had taken her under his wing with the intention of sleeping with him. She refused to return to her old ways for him and told him so. He, in return, had tricked her into becoming a call girl, and sold her to her new boss.Her new 'boss' told her he could provide her safety, a better clientele and better money than she could have on her own. "You should be thanking the ADA."

He was true to his word. Seeing her potential, he took her under his wing, and eventually she was the top call girl in the business before she left.

After dressing for the day, Shelley left the upstairs master bedroom to the spacious kitchen on the first floor. There were dirty dishes left in the sink from the breakfast Gerald had eaten. As she began fixing her breakfast, the housekeeper, Maria Tilden, knocked on the door to the kitchen and walked in upon seeing Shelley. They greeted each other warmly as friends do. Maria told Shelley to sit down at the breakfast table and she would finish making her breakfast. Shelley told her to make enough for herself as well.

Maria couldn't believe she found such a good boss to work for. Shelley Johnson was a great boss. She didn't treat her like an underling, as many of the socialites do, Maria thought. Her time here was pleasant, even enjoyable. When her boss was here, she oftentimes sat and gossiped about the other women in Shelley's circle. Maria didn't feel like she was betraying her other bosses. They were 'uptight and overbearing', according to Shelley.

'This woman came from nothing and made a life for herself', thought Maria. When Maria had finished cleaning the kitchen and mopping the floor, Shelley bade her to join her at the breakfast table where coffee was warming in an insulated cozy. The kitchen was all oak, and shone beautifully when polished. The floor was a warm butternut color made of tile. Maria looked at the refrigerator that had an oak façade that shone like the cabinets. The breakfast table was made out of oak as well, and had matching chairs with armrests. The kitchen looked every bit refined as Shelley Johnson, according to Maria. Shelley arose and stated she had last minute details about the party that night she needed to finish.

Sitting at her large custom-made desk in the corner of the living room, Shelley was making final preparations for their six-month anniversary party that night. She had just finished confirming RSVP's so she could give a final estimate for the caterer. Their spacious home was perfect for entertaining. It had a large, open floor plan that opened up outside to the large patio. There were decorators already setting up tables, flower arrangements and lights to illuminate the patio, being directed by an ever watchful Maria.

Shelley reminisced how she had won the fight to hire a maid. She had insisted that they get a live-in housekeeper, because "all high-society ladies have one." Gerald was furious, stating that she was anything but "high society". Often he used his only weapon against her. He had only married her because she "looked the part" as a wife of an investment banker, plus he had been blackmailed.

It was at that point that she slapped him and said, "Don't push me Gerald." He gave in, stating that they did need a housekeeper, because it was obvious that she was inept at keeping a clean house. He gave her instructions to find a housekeeper for two days a week.

After a few hours of working at her desk, Shelley announced that she had a meeting soon. Whistling as she walked out the door to the garage, Maria looked after her boss with awe and affection. She could not help but to wonder how this wonderful woman kept so down to earth when she had so many riches. When she finished cleaning the downstairs kitchen, breakfast and living area, Maria walked up the stairs to the master bedroom to gather the dirty clothes, linens and towels to wash.

The shrill ringing of the phone brought Shelley out of her reverie in an instant. She grabbed at the phone next to the door and brusquely answered.

"Hello?"

"Shelley, its Ann, am I calling at a bad time?"

"Ann! It's wonderful to hear your voice again. I was just thinking of you! I thought I'd never hear from you again. How's life back in old St. Louie?"

"I wouldn't know, Shel, I've been back home in Asia." Ann said with a touch of regret.

"What are you doing back there? I thought you said you'd never go back home. What happened?"

"My parents. In a nutshell, daddy was killed in a freak car accident followed by mom having a stroke due to the stress. She asked me to come back home to take care of her. I couldn't say no, so, here I am. How's your new husband?"

Shelley shrugged her shoulders when she answered. "Oh, he's kept his end of the bargain. There's no romance, but I didn't think there would be. We keep each other in line." She answered with a hollow laugh.

"It sounds like you regret your decision." Ann said cautiously.

"No, I don't regret my decision at all. It's just been boring. There's no excitement. All there is to do is endless charity meetings, charity luncheons, attending charity events at the country club here. I miss our get-togethers."

It was Ann's turn to laugh with a hollow tone. "It's the same here. There's no excitement out here in the province where mom lives." The line was filled with an empty void, and then Ann broke the silence.

"Think we can get our old jobs back?" She asked half seriously, half not.

"I don't think there's even a chance." Shelley answered remotely. "Well, I've got to get going on some errands. The Society Wives Club cornered me into throwing a six-month anniversary party, so I've got to get some things done."

"Ok, I'll let you go. I have to go anyway, mom is calling for something. We both have to live with the choices we've made, Shel. Maybe we'll meet again." Then Ann hung up.

Shelley stared at the received for quite some time, pondering Ann's last words.

Gerald was doing some reminiscing on his own. Even in college, he had his choice of women to date and always managed to juggle girlfriends who knew nothing about each other. He always thought he would get the upper hand in any situation.

Looking at the confident, clean-cut young man from the outside, he always maintained his perfect GPA, and was successful in his extra-curricular activities. No one realized that he could be underhanded to get what he wanted. He often remembered catching his professors in the midst of indiscretions that he used to his advantage. He continued to utilize his charms throughout his adult life, to charm and disarm, at the same time. But Shelley was the one person he couldn't charm, blackmail or intimidate. He had met his match.

Over the past few weeks, Gerald began paying attention to the whereabouts of his wife. He felt that his wife wasn't being entirely truthful with him. Just as he had gotten home early one afternoon, one of her friends called to find out why she wasn't at a meeting. This had happened several times in the past few weeks, and he was getting suspicious. Whenever he asked Shelley about it, she would say that she had forgotten, double booked meetings and forgotten to cancel. He knew that Shelley wasn't telling him everything. He just didn't know what she was keeping from him. He studied when she was going to society meetings, whom she was visiting, and where she was going, but there never was anything untoward.

Gerald remembered he would be hearing from the contractors regarding the loan for a new office complex.He was being pressured by Davidson, the bank manager to approve the loan, because it would look good for the bank's public image. There was the constant bickering between the contractors who bid for the loans and him. They always wanted more approval for a loan than what they qualified for. This latest company was no exception.

It was true, that the office complex would be one of the most technologically sound, but there were few contracts or leases for office space that had been signed.

Gerald was sitting at his desk in his office when he heard his boss calling out his name, and he didn't sound happy.

"Johnson! Johnson! I want a word with you."

Davidson opened up the office door, and let himself in; knowing full well he didn't understand the loan. He entered, slammed the door behind him, and then slammed some papers on Gerald's desk.

"Do you care to explain why the loan wasn't approved for 'Builders Amalgamated'?"

"Mr. Davidson, the loan application didn't meet the specifications, there haven't been any leases for office space signed and there isn't enough backing to secure the loan."

"My father built this bank from one building and now it is a major corporation. He taught me everything about the banking business, and I know a good loan when I see one. I know the contractor personally, and if he says he will get the backing, then he will get it. I want to see this loan approved by 2:30 this afternoon.Besides, do you know how much publicity this will bring the bank?We will have our name as the lending institution on the billboard. As cars drive by, they will think 'If this bank is willing to back the financing for this building, then they are good enough to have my business'. I want those potential customers, do you understand?"

"Yes sir. You will have the approved papers by 2:30 this afternoon."

Gerald knew it was useless to argue with Mr. Davidson. He watched as his boss left, and thought, 'that bastard doesn't know anything about lending. He doesn't understand the checks and balances that a loan has to go through. He just inherited this bank through his father's hard work.' But he knew he had better approve the loan, or his job would be in jeopardy.

As he was reading the loan papers, he began to formulate a plan so big, that no one would find it out.

Gerald turned to face the window of his office, overlooking downtown. 'Brilliant!' he chuckled to himself. 'No one will ever know what happened, and no one will ever see this coming.' He picked up the phone and dialed an acquaintance that owed him a favor. "Hello Bill, this is Gerald. I need a huge favor, and you're the only one who can do it." Gerald smiled.

Feeling quite smug with himself, Gerald arrived home early that afternoon and saw that the preparations had been finished. If it had been anyone else's party, Gerald would have been impressed. The house was empty, so he decided to relax in the living room. Pouring himself a scotch and water, he loosened his tie, kicked his shoes off, sat down and put his feet up on the coffee table.

That evening at home he was massaging his legs that were sore from a squash match in which he and his partner had won by a narrow margin. He got up again and walked over to Shelley's corner desk. Lying open was her appointment book. He never gave it a moment's notice before, but there was an entry highlighted for that afternoon. He thought nothing of it, seeing it was their anniversary, thinking it was an appointment at the hairdressers.

What made him look twice was the time was blocked out for seven hours, from ten am to five pm. He stared at it for a few minutes and remembered all of her missed appointments from the past few weeks. Reminiscing about earlier in the day at work about Shelley missing appointments for different charities and ladies groups, he felt his stomach drop.

He knew where he had to start; at the address book Shelley kept by the phone. Every place he called said the same thing; no one knew where Shelley was. Gerald began to get a sneaking suspicion that she had become bored with marriage and turned to her old profession. How ironic he would think that on their anniversary. None of the call-girl services in town had heard of anyone matching Shelley's description.

'Well,' he thought, 'she isn't selling her body.'

Pouring himself another scotch, he started pacing the living room.

"A woman like that doesn't change just because her social status has changed," he thought to himself. So he got into his car and drove through the most questionable parts of town. Her car wasn't at any of the places he could think of. He sat in his car and remembered that when he met her, they went down to the casinos to have a little fun.

His hands shaking with rage and fear, he drove to the next town where the casinos were. Sitting in the parking lot, he thought he saw a BMW convertible matching his BMW coupe sedan; he thought: "no mistaking it was Shelley's". His mind instantly dropped into a sea of red, blistering hate that felt further than rage. He could hardly think straight. His mind was in turmoil as the stresses from the past six months came bubbling over the surface. Davidson's pushing the loan, Joan and the Detective forcing him to remain low on the fraud scam he and Bill had devised, and now Shelley reverted back to her old ways.

He almost fell out of the car in his haste to race into the casino and drag Shelley out by her blonde hair, but thought the better of it. His mind, blurred from too many Scotch's, thought of a plan. He stumbled over his own feet toward his car and tried to calm himself. The key kept missing the lock and scratching the car, further infuriating him.

Finally he heard a familiar click and jerked open the car door. He flung himself inside and slammed the door. He thought to himself that this is the way she repays him.

"I bought her the house, the clothes, the cars; everything she had ever wanted. She had been true to her word, that she showed up at all the social functions from work, smiling and nodding at the right times. She even makes love to me." He half growled and half whispered. "Hell, she makes love to anyone!"

He just couldn't believe that she had lied about going to the casinos and sleeping around on him. He would be publicly humiliated. This time she wouldn't get the opportunity to threaten him again. She had gone too far.

"So, this is where all my money had been going. She wasn't at those meetings, hadn't double booked, or simply forgot. The reason the department stores have been calling is all my money is going down the drain. This is the absolute limit! I am sick and tired of that woman." A wicked smile came over him, twisting his face into a grotesque mask, he decided to bide his time. Shelley would get what was coming to her.

With just a half-hour to spare, Gerald arrived home before Shelley, never letting on that he knew her secret. He sat down in the kitchen with a scotch and water, waiting for her. Guests would be arriving in an hour or so for cocktails. They would just have enough time to advise Maria to greet the caterers and make last minute arrangements and changes. He heard the squeal of a tire, a slam of a door, and then the kitchen door opened.

Gerald grinned broadly to himself, raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. He reveled in the moment, and told himself 'no one would have thought she was selling herself just hours before her anniversary party.'

"You're home early." She said without any emotion even though there was a warm, embracing smile on her face.

"Yes, I had to finish some paperwork on a loan that was requested, then decided to come home early to my darling wife."

He arose from the warm, butternut colored table that embraced none of the warmth beheld between the two of them. Shelley closed the kitchen door carefully, as thinking furiously as what to say or do next. Before she knew it, Gerald was next to her gently grasping her arm, drawing her to him. They lightly brushed lips in greeting with Shelley's eyes open wide.

"I came home early to spend time with you."

"Have you been waiting long?"

"No, I just arrived a few moments before you." He was studying her face intently, as though he knew, and dared her to respond. "Where have you been?"

Taken aback with the question, she answered after a few moments silence.

"I had some appointments in town; the hairdressers, manicurist's salon, the seamstress' shop, last minute details about the party. Plus I forgot to pick up the gifts for the guests." She responded holding up several shopping bags.

He smiled warmly at Shelley, and then raised his empty glass to her, silently asking if she wanted any. She smiled back and nodded and set the bags down on the entry table next to the door. Following him into the living room, she threw her overcoat over the couch, never taking her eyes off of him.

His back was to her, so he didn't see the questioning face she had for him. She was thinking of what could have gotten into her husband, not knowing he what he had been doing.

Taking the glass from her husband, she murmured thank you.

"Maria is doing a wonderful job with the caterers and planners" said Gerald, walking around Shelley and gesturing toward the open patio door.

"Yes she is" agreed Shelley. "She's been planning this with me for months. In fact," Shelley said with a laugh, "She may know more about this party than either of us."

There was a deep, mirthless, almost scoffing chuckle from Gerald. "To be sure" he said, looking directly into her pupils, almost reading her mind.

Feeling uncomfortable from his gaze, she lightly took his arm and led him to the back patio to see the decorations wondering what had gotten into him. From there, they headed upstairs to get ready to greet guests.

The party was in full swing, with hundreds of guests filing in, roaming the huge back patio and down stairs. There was a small woodwind quintet playing in a corner of the back patio, various couples dancing in the open area. Others were milling about admiring the art and furnishings inside the living room. Gerald was chatting with acquaintances while making drinks and Shelley was laughing among some of her acquaintances next to her desk. Neither had close, personal friendships due to their backgrounds, although they fooled their counterparts into thinking they were close personal friends.

Shelley had been having a wonderful time. Not only had she laid Maria with the monumental task of planning the party, she was free to do what she pleased. Finding Gerald home was shocking, but she felt she handled it well. She still felt uneasy about his gaze.

Waving her hair behind her, she casually glanced at Gerald and found him boring right into her skull. Somewhat taken aback, she ignored the look. He waved slightly and smiled, raising his glass. His eyes crinkled in an almost eerie way at her, and all his teeth shone when he smiled at her, like a shark. Raising his glass in greeting, he was seething inside.

The quintet began playing the anniversary waltz and the guests began chanting for the couple to dance together. They smiled, walked out the patio door and began a slow waltz.

While they were dancing, the guests crowded around, gazing at the seemingly happy couple, giving them room to maneuver.

"Happy anniversary" murmured Gerald in Shelley's ear, while his touch felt ice-cold the second he held her.

The next day Shelley said she had errands all over town and would not be home until late. Gerald mentioned he would be at the office all day, until dark. They each were vying to rid themselves of the other for the day.

Mid afternoon, Gerald came home with arms laden with bags and bulky items.

"Shelley? You home?" There was no response and Gerald had an evil look of revenge on his face, and went up to the bedroom. He had gone to St. Joseph, Missouri, a small town two hours south of Omaha to buy the material he needed. He had to make this look like a break-in for robbery. At a hardware store, he bought an axe, duct tape, and some heavy-duty rope. Hiding in the closet, he put the duct tape and the rope next to him, held the axe and waited.

An hour later, Shelley entered the unusually quiet home. As she looked around, she noticed that Maria had done a superb job cleaning, as she always had done. She also noticed that Gerald wasn't home yet. His car wasn't in the garage, nor was his briefcase on the table. He usually came home after she did, giving her just enough time to change clothes when she got home from the casino. She was still wondering what the reason could be for Gerald demanding to know where she was all afternoon the day before, and why was she going through so much money. Secretly, she was gambling and adding the money to her private stash that she had in another bank in town.

'Better get upstairs and change clothes and add the money to my safe' thought Shelley.

She walked through the kitchen to the stairs behind the living room, and upstairs to the bedroom. She opened the safe behind the sofa, added the money, closed the safe, and then turned towards the closet. "I must have nearly $140,000 by now" Shelley said out loud.

In the closet, Gerald's eyes became red with anger, and he no longer was thinking rationally and his gaze lost its focus. His mind blurred. The axe was gripped with a steady hand that slightly frightened even himself. He saw Shelley reach for the closet door; he steadied the axe handle, ready to swing sideways. He saw the closet door open and with her blouse in her hand ready to hang it up and her shoes in the other hand, ready to put back in their box. He saw the look of horror in her face and he felt the blood rushing to his head and eyes. There, standing without a moment's notice, was Shelley, her mouth open in a scream, but never got the chance.

After what felt like driving for hours, Gerald pulled over at a roadside rest area and saw on the map that he was near the Wyoming border. Turning off the car's ignition and pulling the key out, he looked down. His shirt had a thick layer of crusted blood that clung uncomfortably to his skin. Opening the door, the air hit him in the face; it was so cool and sweet and fresh that he couldn't help inhaling lungful after lungful. Never had air tasted so sweet.

Walking to his luggage in the trunk to get a fresh shirt, he was congratulating himself for a job well done. He thought to himself 'not only have I gotten rid of that albatross of a wife, I have her money, and I have millions just waiting for me in the overseas bank from skimming accounts.' Getting back in the car, the other people at the rest area thought they heard the person in the BMW laughing very loudly and inappropriately.

* * * * * * *

The police department was roping off the two story contemporary house, after the cleaning lady found a pool of blood in the kitchen and had called the police. Upon arrival, the police found a pool of blood in the kitchen and another in the bedroom in front of the closet. In the pool of blood in the kitchen they found Mrs. Johnson's car keys, according to Maria, the cleaning lady. They found in the bedroom the main crime scene, with blood in front of and all over the closet, but no apparent murder weapon.They did find a trail of blood leading from the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen where the bigger pool of blood was. What they didn't find was Mrs. Johnson. The police had tried to contact her husband, Gerald Johnson, a well-known member of the community, but his office stated he would be out of town for the next three days.

The police questioned Maria, who explained she came into the house two times a week for housekeeping, on Mondays, and Thursdays. It seemed that the crime was committed between twelve and twenty-four hours prior, according to the preliminary report done at the scene.

Detective McIntire was in charge of this investigation unit and he was trying to ascertain what was going on. He walked up the sidewalk leading up to the double wooden doors, noting the perfectly manicured lawn, and the BMW convertible in the driveway. The officer at the scene briefed him as to what was going on.

"It seems Mrs. Johnson had arrived home and went up to the bedroom. She had taken off her shoes and blouse then opened up the closet door where she was attacked. Whoever it was, was waiting for her there. The attacker then rifled through the house, taking anything of value. There was an open safe behind the sofa in the bedroom, emptied.

"She lost quite a bit of blood in the bedroom then crawled downstairs to the kitchen with some type of wound that was bleeding profusely. The cleaning lady was gathering the laundry when she found the pools of blood in the kitchen and bedroom", the officer continued, "We haven't been able to locate Mr. or Mrs. Gerald Johnson yet."

"Thank you officer, I appreciate it," said Det. McIntire. He was looking off into the distance, when he looked at the officer. "Since there was a large amount of blood, did you find any fingerprints or footprints?"

"No sir, nothing; whoever perpetrated this planned it ahead of time. He or she took the time to erase any evidence they were here."

"Ok, keep trying to locate the husband. Contact his office again and see if they can contact him. Could Mrs. Johnson have survived, losing that much blood?" Det. McIntire asked the medical examiner who had just exited the house taking off some plastic gloves.

"No sir, not with that much blood loss. She would have lost consciousness by the time she crawled downstairs. Whoever killed her must have taken the body and dumped it," replied the officer.

In the background the cleaning lady was asking if she could go home, as this was very upsetting to her. She was saying that she and Mrs. Johnson were close friends, and that they routinely sat and talked, often gossiping about different society ladies. The officer said it was all right to go, but to please stay in town, if they needed her, she could answer further questions. Det. McIntire watched as Ms. Tilden walked down the walk to her car.

After six long months of constant harassment, humiliation and utter loathing, he finally was free. No more excessive spending; no more excuses or threats. Rolling the windows down and his sleeves up, he felt freer than he had felt in such a long time. The excitement and exhilaration filled his lungs, as was the fresh country air. He belted out tune after tune, and alternated screaming 'I'm free!' until his eyes was crying.

It was late in the afternoon on a Saturday, and the interstate was empty. He realized he was tired and noticed he was developing 'highway hypnosis'. He knew over-the-road drivers had to be aware of this phenomenon. Scarcely three cars had passed him the past two hours and there was no diversion for his eyes, only miles and miles of cornfields. He stopped in Cheyenne to fill up the gas tank and stretch his legs. Across the interstate, he saw there was a local restaurant and realized he was starving, not having eaten since the morning the day before.

He was sitting in the restaurant that was attached to a hotel and ordered dinner. The restaurant had typical café décor. The floor was an old, chipped yellow tile; the walls were brown. Hanging from the ceiling were lamps alternating red and yellow above the booths along the walls. The tables were covered with red and white-checkered tablecloths, and each place setting had silverware wrapped up like burritos in white cloth napkins. There were windows all around the front and sides, where Gerald could see the interstate. He then noticed a few of the tables were occupied. An elderly couple was seated in the center of the room, wearing old, outdated clothing: The man in bib-overalls, the woman in a cotton/polyester blend with curled white hair. He could tell they were country folk that did not pay attention to fashion. The couple did not talk to each other, let alone look at each other.

'That could have been Shelley and me. 'God forbid.' Gerald said to himself.

There were a few middle aged couples in the restaurant, sitting with an empty table between each of the couples. They, at least, were chatting animatedly. All of them were enjoying the diner's special that night, chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and gravy, with either peas or green beans. Every once in a while he heard one of then men or women laugh. He disliked that he envied their close relationships.

His waitress kept coming over to refill his coffee when she made the rounds to the tables. All through dinner Gerald couldn't help chuckling at his brilliant plan, but there was one more move he needed to make. Killing his wife and getting rid of the evidence was the first part; now he would contact Bill for the second half of his scheme. Gerald had his wife's savings of $140,000, but wanted more. There was never a worry of getting caught; he was skilled of evading law enforcement, evidenced from his youth.

The day before, he faxed an extension for the trip to the bank that a customer needed him for the next few months, so he was unobtainable. Having already done that, he retired to his room and called Bill.

"Hello, Bill Belcher."

"Bill, it's your old friend, Gerald." He said smoothly without a trace of fear.

"My God, Bill. I wish you could have told me what your plan was. Jesus Christ!"

Gerald laughed out loud with a little too much gusto. "Bill, I do believe you're letting this get to you. Did you get the insurance claim for Shelley's life insurance policy?"

"I did, and the check is waiting for you. Where do you want me to send it?" Bill sounded more like his old self, now that he and Gerald were in the midst of a crime.

"Send by electronic funds transfer to my account overseas. I've left instructions to have your fee sent to your account over there."

Bill started laughing with gusto now that Gerald was talking money. "Leave it to you, Gerald, to think of all the details. Don't worry about things on this end. Neither the cops nor that little investigator, Joan, are following up on the fraud scam. They've let it drop."

"I told you she was as stupid as she was short."

Later that night, Gerald was sitting on a total net worth of $166 million dollars; he had worked hard at skimming the different accounts he oversaw, taking half of the 'Builders Amalgamated' loan he was forced to push through, his wife's insurance policies, and her secret saving. The world was his playground.

Back in Omaha, Mr. Davidson was frantically trying to placate several account holders. There were discrepancies on their accounts that could not be solved. Plus, two more executives quit. With his elbows upon his desk he ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, knocking his thick glasses askew. He groaned with resoluteness that he knew he did not know what to do. He wished his father were there to guide him.

He rose from his chair and walked over to the door. His secretary, upon seeing him, asked if there was something he wanted. He replied, curtly, 'no' and returned to his chair and began studying the computer screen again.

There was knocking on his doorframe and he looked up from his computer, feeling harassed. He saw a policeman standing erect with a piercing gaze that he found uncomfortable.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Davidson, my name is Detective McIntire with the Omaha police. You're looking well. I was wondering if you've heard from Mr. Johnson yet."

Davidson regarded the haughty detective for a moment, and then replied.

"No, we haven't heard from him in the past week. He left a fax saying he was needed at the job site for another month, and he would get back to us then. I haven't heard from him since then, as I told the officer who questioned me. What do you want, I'm very busy." He sniped.

Det. McIntire smiled at Mr. Davidson as he walked in and shut the door. Det. McIntire stood at Davidson's desk, leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial voice "It looks like your partner in crime has flown the coop."

Mr. Davidson looked at the Det. stupidly, and said, "I don't know what you mean, 'partner'?"

"We received an anonymous tip stating that you were partners with Mr. Johnson in embezzling millions of dollars from a loan to Builders Amalgamated to an overseas bank. When Mr. Johnson was safely away, you would split the money from the loan with him"

Mr. Davidson was speechless, and knew he couldn't bluster his way out of this with the Det. He was still trying to absorb what was just said to him, when he said "where's your proof?"

"Ah, I'm glad you asked." The Detective said pulling some papers from his pocket and placing them under Davidson's nose, with his head cocked to one side, asking if the paperwork looked familiar.

"Of course, I demanded that Johnson push through the loan for them. The paperwork was approved, right before he left. The loan should have gotten through by now."

"Part of the loan came through, you mean" smiled the Det., showing a copy of an approved loan with an amendment attached. "The owner of 'Builders Amalgamated' received roughly half of the approved amount. Attached, from you, is an amendment stating your fee for processing the loan is $30.5 million dollars. Further, it was written that you and Johnson were to split the fee right down the middle."

Mr. Davidson was pale, and the Det. knew he had him.

"Do I look as stupid as to blatantly skim over $30 million dollars, and then split it with a missing employee who was head of that division?"

"Yes, you do." replied Det. McIntire as he led Mr. Davidson down the hall with two policemen holding onto his arms, in handcuffs, reading him his rights. Mr. Davidson could be heard babbling all the way down the hall, and heads were poking out of doorways to watch as Mr. Davidson was being led down the hall. Employees were looking at each other, nodding and winking.

Someone was heard to say, "Oh Davey...", and one could hear the buzzing of excited chatter. Deep down, Mr. Davidson knew that his career was over, even if he knew he was innocent of the embezzlement charges.

* * * * * *

Quarter to five in the morning, there was a knock at the door. The persistent knocking woke her up, and for a brief moment, she did not know where she was. Groggy with sleep, Joan slowly looked around the room. She was in a four poster bed that looked familiar. Through half-closed eyes, she saw prints of pressed leaves and flowers in black frames on the walls. There were several large pieces of furniture around the room that matched the bed; an armoire opposite the bed, against the side wall was an eight-drawer dresser with large mirror, and bedside tables with statues in the recess on the bottom.

It was then she realized she was in her own condo, and the furnishings had been bought by Sue and Mama Miller from an estate sale in town, plus there was someone at her door. She gazed out the open bedroom window to look at the early morning summer breeze blowing through the huge tree in the parking lot.

Grumpily, she wondered who would be disturbing her at this hour, seeing she just got home in the wee hours of the morning. As the knocking grew louder, she whispered hoarsely, "I'm coming", only to realize that whoever it was couldn't hear her from the back of the apartment where her bedroom was. She threw the covers off and slipped into her robe and slippers. She made her way down the hall, into the living room and peered out of the small window of the door.

"What in the world are you doing here at this hour, and why didn't you use your key?" asked Joan as she opened up the door to let Sue in.

"I didn't want to burst in while you were sleeping, lest you think I was a burglar. John called from Europe with the most exciting news that you'll never guess what it is!" she exclaimed all in one breath. She threw her coat and hat on a chair in the living room and stared at Joan.

"Come into the kitchen, and I'll put on some hot water for tea." Joan said, smiling at Sue's impatience. Sue followed Joan through the living room, where she stopped to admire the frieze above the mantelpiece and the various statues and paintings among the walls. She admired Joan's confidence in letting her decorate her place after the holidays. The furniture was a great find for Joan's place, a late present from all her friends.

"I knew you wouldn't be going into work for a few hours, so I took a chance and just came down." Sue yelled through the open breezeway into the kitchen, where she heard Joan puttering around getting hot water going and cups for the tea. She entered the stainless steel kitchen and thought again how efficient it looked, and then sat at the kitchen island on one of the stainless steel cushioned barstools. She began playing with the pepper grinder, watching Joan.

"So, are you going to tell me the good news? What did John call to tell you all the way from Europe?"

"He called to tell me that they are starting construction on his design! That means he'll be traveling back and forth to oversee the construction."

"No wonder you're excited. This means he'll be here for the Grand Opening?"Joan asked as she was filling the cups with some herbal tea to relax them. She handed a cup to Sue and sat down beside her.

"Thanks" said Sue, as she smelled the aroma, then sipped, "Yes, John is getting a huge raise and a bonus for securing the construction contract. It's rare for the architect to actually be involved with the construction. Now, John is going to be involved in the gallery. Thanks for getting me in touch with 'Builders Amalgamated'. Construction can begin in a few weeks, I imagine. Oh, I almost forgot! I've got another benefactor who wishes to remain anonymous!" Sue stopped to take another sip, and then continued.

"Aren't you going to tell me about how your trip went in Seattle? Did you submit your final report on the suspected fraud at your bank?" Sue typically talked non-stop when she was excited, Joan remembered back last Fall when they had that conversation at the Indian Café.

"You're welcome, and you can stop thanking me, Sue. That investigation is still on hold. If you remember, the young woman we wanted to question and investigate disappeared from her cell. The warden is in all sorts of hot water. Plus, that banker's wife, Shelley Johnson, disappeared from her home and is assumed murdered. You remember reading about it in the paper?" Sue nodded assent, listening with rapt attention.

"Anyway, Detective McIntire found it odd that the now missing banker would continue to be gone on business after his wife was murdered. This case is complicated. It's going to take awhile to unravel. I'm still going through files from the fraud case." Joan stopped to enjoy the aroma of her tea, and then sip the hot contents with care before continuing.

"I've made a preliminary report from those files, and the board was shocked that two of the senior executives, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Davidson were behind it. The bank wouldn't have realized that it was happening unless they slipped up. As for the Seattle trip, it was great! I met the division president, and some of the board. They caught me up on the case up there. I think I'll like it."

"I still can't believe it. You're really traveling to Seattle. I'm going to miss you. When do you leave? How long will you stay each trip?" Sue was quiet for a few moments, lost in thought. She asked another question before Joan could answer the previous two. "What was the slip-up that they made?"

"It was such an elementary mistake, one of them left a routing number for an overseas bank account, but the board couldn't find where it came from. It took me a couple of days of nonstop research to uncover the falsified books, made up of dummy accounts where they hid the stocks and money overseas. It was so complicated. What I can tell you is that Mr. Johnson and Mr. Davidson certainly was busy, skimming off the accounts for years. I found the overseas account, but it had been emptied. Mr. Davidson keeps denying everything." Joan looked at Sue, and knew what she was thinking.

"Since it was considered corporate fraud, defrauding investors, and falsifying books, it's now a federal case. He's been in federal custody since last week. And Mr. Davidson still won't say where Mr. Johnson is."

"That's amazing!" exclaimed Sue "Isn't the penalty going to be huge fines and a lengthy prison sentence? I guess that developer is off the suspect list, now that Davidson was indicted in that fraud scheme from last year." Sue added dejectedly.

"Don't be so quick to dismiss her, Sue. That case is still open, but Davidson's lawyer might get him an easier sentence on a technicality. Johnson and Davidson are slick. I can't believe that you're going to finally get your gallery, Sue." Joan said, deftly changing the subject. "I'm so excited for you! It's a good thing that you have a new benefactor for the gallery.

"As for the Seattle case, I won't be leaving for another month. I'll be there a few days every month. I can do my investigating from here. The Seattle office has to get my office ready, and the company is going to find a hotel suite for me, so I don't have to be schlepping all around trying to find a place."

"It all sounds so intriguing. I should be going." Sue announced looking at the stainless steel clock on the wall. "I've got a lot of paper work to do and meetings to get ready for. Will you be home later tonight?"

"I should be, although, I have plenty of meetings and paper work myself." Joan gave a little laugh. "I'll be sending out a lot of reports because of those two executives plus working with Det. McIntire. I also have to finish some projects, but I should be home about seven tonight."

Sue shook her head, remembering Joan rarely sat still for long. She rinsed out her cup and put it in the sink, and then followed Joan out to the living room. Joan gave Sue her coat and hat. They said their goodbyes, and Joan leaned against the door, thinking of all that had happened, the board coming to her to ask her to investigate some suspicious activity on one account. Joan was excited when the board commended her on discovering the fraud. For her efforts, she was rewarded with a promotion that would oversee the investigations at the Seattle office, taking some of the load off of Bulldog. Joan sighed with content, and then began to get ready for the day.

* * * * * * *

"Well, it's our little Joannie, good morning to you. I'm fine, how was your trip?"

Joan had to give a little laugh, for Mama and Papa Miller had been calling her their 'little Joannie' ever since she moved in across the street ten or eleven years ago.

"The trip was great. I met with some company representatives and toured Seattle. I think this is going to be a great promotion for me."

"We'll miss you terribly around here, Joannie." Papa Miller said, wiping his brow with the corner of his apron, the summer's humidity already thick "But, we're awfully glad that you got that promotion. We know that you worked pretty hard for it. I remember all those meals that Mother took you when she thought you weren't going to eat because you were working so hard."

Joan couldn't help but to smile at Papa Miller, and nodded her head; for Mama Miller indeed had brought her meals frequently when she was working on a particularly big case.

"Is Mama inside?" Joan asked.

"Yes, she's stocking the coffee supplies. She's expecting you, Joannie." It always amazed her when they were expecting her, no matter what time of day. They seemed to know when Joan, or Sue for that matter, needed them.

"Ok, thank you Papa." Then Joan entered the store where the familiar little cowbell attached to the door clunked whenever someone entered or exited. Joan loved that there was still an old fashioned store where a cowbell was used instead of an electronic chime. Joan would miss coming in here every morning when she was away.

"Mama?" Joan called out and the older black woman appeared from the back where she was carrying coffee cups and lids for the coffee area.

"Oh my goodness! It's our little Joannie, back from Seattle!" Cried Mama Miller affectionately, put the supplies on the counter, then ran over to Joan with wide open arms and gave her a great big hug that took Joan's breath away.

"How was your trip? Did you find everything out?"

Joan, returned the woman's hug, and then replied: "The trip was great. Yes, I met with the company representatives, and then I received a tour of Seattle."

"Good, good" replied Mama Miller. "Did you hear about Sue? She's finally going to get that gallery."

"Yes, she told me this morning, in fact. She must have had the doorman call her when I got home. She let me get some sleep, then came down at quarter to five this morning." Joan said with a laugh.

"Both of my girls are growing up." Mama Miller cried, wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron.

Joan smiled at the older lady and went to get her fruit and newspaper, and walked up to the counter, paid for her purchases, then walked out and down the street, waving at Papa Miller. Joan loved this time of the morning, when the world was still and quiet. The street was deserted, shopkeepers were opening their doors, there was a cool summer breeze, and above the shops, were people rising and getting ready for their day as well.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As Gerald sped down the highway he couldn't help but to congratulate himself again. He was giddy with delight, for he had made all the necessary arrangements to cover his tracks. It took some underhandedness on his part, but he finally had the insurance check in his possession. Bill understood that he couldn't take the chance of anyone he was working with know he had that much money. Now he had a little less than one hundred forty thousand dollars on him and a deposit for five point five million dollars in his overseas account that already had over one hundred sixty million dollars. His head was spinning from all the possibilities.

"I can disappear forever." He crowed to himself. "No one will ever find me or mess with me ever again." He felt invincible.

He felt he was home free. Feeling like he was on such a high, he didn't stop driving for three days until he was in California. Once there, he found a town outside of Sacramento and stopped in a little motel that didn't ask too many questions.

'This one certainly won't make AAA's best list. No one will ever suspect me being here.' He chuckled.

The first thing he realized was he had to get rid of his BMW for a vehicle that was less noticeable. Before he could do anything about it, he was more concerned about looking so conspicuous, still wearing his dress clothes after so long. There were some jeans he found in his suitcase and a t-shirt that didn't give anything away about him. In the bathroom mirror he saw someone that could easily blend into a crowd.

"But, what if the police have already sent out my pictures? Well, I'll think of something later." He decided to slick back his hair to darken it a little bit. Now he felt comfortable in asking around for leads to get rid of his car.

It took several hundred-dollar bills, but he finally found out where to "trade" his BMW for something less noticeable. He opted for a dark maroon Chevrolet Grand Am that in no way looked like it belonged to a former investment banker. He laughed at the ludicrous sight. He opened the door and sat in the musty compartment. It was a four-door model with a huge steering wheel. The seats were like new, as was the dashboard, although it looked like it could use a good cleaning. It had sat for a few months because the previous owner was an elderly man who had died months before.

Somehow, Gerald felt at ease with the new car, like they belonged together. The first place he took the car was to a full-service car wash and asked for a full-detailed cleaning.

Back at the motel, he got out of the Grand Am, stretched his legs, ran his fingers through his hair, and chuckled at his good fortune.

He got to his room and settled down for a long deserved rest. The next day, he decided he needed to change his appearance. He went shopping for some new clothes, some hair dye, colored contacts and some over the counter eyeglasses.

This began his transformation. When he was through, he looked in the mirror to gauge the results. Looking back at him was someone unrecognizable. Instead of three-piece designer suits and alligator shoes, he was wearing a pair of old jeans, flannel shirt, and sneakers that he found in used clothing stores. Gone was the blond hair and blue eyes. In their place were brown hair and brown eyes, and black framed glasses. He now sported a close shaven beard, also brown.

"No one would recognize me," he said out loud to his reflection.He suddenly realized that he needed a new passport to travel across the border into Mexico. He went straight into Los Angeles and started asking around, discreetly, where he could get new identification. Thousands of dollars later, his transformation now complete, Wayne Hart started driving south, feeling very self-confident.

He passed the border with ease, staying on his course to Eastern Mexico where there was Omaha's sister city, Xalapa. He could stay as long as he wanted to, and no one would be suspicious. He loved the irony of his choice out of all the places he could have gone. When he arrived at the destination, he found that a new high-class motel had just been built, more to his liking.A doorman opened up the door for Wayne and tipped his hat and smiled. Wayne smiled back with a casual air and entered the lobby. "Lobby" was more of an understatement.

He stopped for a few moments to take in the surroundings. The floor was carpeted in a thick, luxurious red that his feet sank into. The walls were red ochre to compliment the carpet, and gold wainscoting abounded the cavernous lobby. About the walls were expensive paintings and prints under glass and lighted notches in the walls that held an occasional rare urn or small vase. Wayne stepped closer to the notches in the walls and noticed the items were found in an excavation in the Mexican interior. Settees with matching wing back chairs were grouped near a window next to the door.

There was even a casino in the hotel itself, something new for the city.

'This is getting better and better.' He mused to himself. Several huge arches with heavy glass doors divided the hotel from the casino. The casino itself was full to capacity with tourists from around the globe; he could hear the dealers cry out, the jangling of slot machines and a multitude of voices wafted out. "I could get lost here forever."

Whistling a tune, he confidently walked to the concierge and checked in, using his new identity. A bellhop carried his luggage and followed Wayne into the mirrored walls of the elevator. He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair and winked at himself.

In his room, he was surveying his surroundings, and smiled to himself.

'This is the life,' he thought to himself, 'down here I'm just another rich tourist, and no one would be the wiser.' He realized the bellhop was still there, so he tipped him and closed the door.

The suite was decorated in the same vein as the lobby. There was a dark maroon carpet on the floor with maroon walls, but without the gold wainscoting. Expensive prints and paintings graced the walls. There was a mini bar to the left of the door, and across from the door there was a wall of glass that overlooked the beach. On the right wall were a settee and two wing-back chairs and a huge red marbled coffee table.

Opposite the furniture was a king size bed and a couple of tables with lamps made by local artists on them. He just noticed a full-length mirror on a pedestal in the room that was about five or six feet from the bed. It was a gorgeous dark wood that had intricate carvings around the frame that captivated him. Spying the mini-bar, he poured himself a scotch and water and began to unpack. All the clothes he bought were for cooler weather and he realized he needed some warm weather clothes.

Between the bed and the wall of windows was a desk that had a jack for Internet service. He knew he could keep track of what was going on back in Omaha by reading the newspaper online. He called the concierge and asked where he could find electronics and clothing stores.

Pouring himself another scotch and water he chuckled to himself and said to no one in particular: "Did Shelley honestly think I didn't know about that safe? I knew she was in the habit of saving money from her early days." He took a swig of the amber liquid and continued his tirade. "This worked out perfectly! Not only do I have some pocket change, I have a whole vault load of cash waiting for me in an offshore account." He mentally patted himself again on the back for the years of skimming accounts, tricking Mr. Davidson, and being able to elude law enforcement so easily.

After a few hours of shopping and having paid extra for all his purchases to be delivered, he came back to his hotel room. Even before he walked into his room, his mouth was watering for a drink and his hands were shaking. Thinking back on the shopping expedition, he saw a tall blonde woman that reminded him of Shelley. The sight of the strange woman unnerved him. He made a beeline for the bar in his room, trying to convince himself he was just exhausted from traveling.

Soon a double scotch was in one hand, the other propping him up on the bar. There was a knock at the door that caused him to jump, splashing some of the drink on his shirt. He cussed and slammed his drink causing more to spill on the bar.He grabbed a towel and dabbed at the wet spot with one hand and opened up the door with the other. There was the same bellhop that had carried his luggage up. This time, there was a cart full of boxes and bags that found themselves in his room.

Wayne tipped the bellhop; before he put his new clothes away he sat on one of the wing back chairs with a new drink in hand and relaxed.

"Shelley is dead. She's not following me. I made sure of that." He babbled to himself to ease his conscience. He sobered some at that comforting thought and changed his attention to the pile before him.

'True, they're not the finer clothes I'm used to," he said eyeing the bags of clothes, "but I'll blend in more easily'.

After he put away all the clothes he bought, he set up his new notebook computer to see what was happening back in Omaha. He found the Omaha World-Herald online and began searching for any leads that may lead to him, when a big headline from weeks ago came blaring out at him. BANK PRESIDENT ARRESTED FOR EMBEZZLEMENT AND FRAUD, with a subheading that this was the largest case in the city's history. Then he read that he was wanted for questioning in the case.

He then saw his and Mr. Davidson's pictures right below the headline. His stomach dropped to his groin. His skin was clammy, his vision was blurred and he was shaking. Wayne took a fortifying swig of scotch and water to regain his composure. He felt two emotions. First he was shocked to see his own picture; the second was anger.

"I had it all planned out that Davidson was going to take the fall?" he cried out loud to himself. "Who in the hell found that I was linked? Maybe they're just grasping at straws."

He read the article and found out that that bastard, Detective McIntire, had suspected him and talked to Joan about the embezzlement. Further down in the article, he read that Det. McIntire and Joan found discrepancies in the books. It seemed that Joan was good at researching problems after all. She wasn't as stupid as she was short. This was something he didn't expect.

He sat back in his chair and looked out the window.

'I had it all planned that Davidson was taking the fall for the embezzlement and skimming of the accounts. I also had it planned that I wouldn't be back in the office for a few months, to take the heat off of me regarding Shelley's murder.' He went back to the article, and continued reading. "We have no reason to believe he is, in fact, involved in any wrongdoing at this point. We just want to question him." Said the Det. to the reporter. "Mr. Johnson is unavailable for comment in regards to this case. The bank investigator has been working closely with police, and from her end, she has stated that Mr. Johnson has been away on location for business." Wayne read between the lines that he was just as much a suspect as Mr. Davidson was, all because of Joan and the Detective.

'Wanted for questioning'? Wayne was livid! 'How dare she snoop into my private business?" His mind was just reeling.

Wayne tried to think rationally, but his mind was clouded with rage; the same rage he had when he killed Shelley. He turned and picked up the phone and dialed, waited for an answer.

"Hello?" A low gruff voice demanded on the other end of the line.

"Hello, Black, Hart here, I've got a job for you."

"Didn't expect to hear from you again. What do you want?"

"I've got a couple jobs for you. I don't care how it's done. I need some people scared, back in town."

"Sure, but it's gonna cost you more cause its long distance."

Wayne's eyes were dark and ominous and had a wide and evil grin. He worked out the details watching his reflection in the mirror.

"It sure pays to be an anonymous benefactor." He said to his reflection, and gave a maniacal laugh after he hung up the phone.

* * * * * * *

Sue came downstairs, knocked three times on the door, and then let herself into Joan's apartment with the key Joan had given her and into the kitchen. She was humming a light tune as she saw Joan sitting on one of the stainless steel bar stools, poring over several huge files in front of her.

"You look exactly like you did in college, cramming for a final in four hours" laughed Sue with bemusement.

Joan turned around and smiled "Well, in a way, I kind of am. Did John get back all right?

"Yeah, he did, though he was worn out from the long flight. Did you see in the paper where Shelley Johnson's funeral is on hold due to no body? Isn't that terrible?"

"Glad John made it back alright." Joan paused for a moment putting a paper down. "I saw that article. It is too bad. You know the society wives said they knew nothing about her background; not even if she had any family."

"That's terrible, no one to mourn over her? I wonder what her background is." Sue mused out loud, and promptly chastised herself and Joan. "Listen to us, gossiping about the dead! Anyway, what are you looking at?"

"This is the new file in the Seattle office that the board wants me to look at. It sure is a mess. It looks like one of the interns was handed this application and wasn't told how to do it. The intern inadvertently skipped several laws in processing the application, now the bank up there has a lawsuit on its hands. The supervisor is in so much hot water, and I haven't even filed a preliminary report," said Joan.

"Well, this should make you feel better. I get to start work on my gallery this week!" Exclaimed Sue, as she walked around the island to fix some hot apple cider for the two of them. The summer day started out as a cold one, as spring wanted to hang on a few more weeks.

Joan was halfway through stretching as Sue told her. She looked at Sue with astonished eyes and said, "Sue! That's wonderful! When did you find out?"

"This afternoon."

"I know how much you've been looking forward to this. Now you get to start lining up artists for exhibits and artists-in-residence. It looks like your anonymous benefactor has really come through. Did you say that they have been keeping track, but won't tell you anything about themselves?"

"Yes, there is a trust fund set up for the gallery, and I've been told it's by a recluse, but that's all I know. I send the gallery newsletter to the trust fund, as well as the other investors-slash-benefactors, but like all the anonymous benefactors, he or she won't give out their address."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth!"

"I've learned not to," said Sue with a mirthful chuckle, "I'm sending out invitations for the grand opening in a few weeks. I know that's rushing it, but I want the opening to be on time. The bank took its sweet time in approving all the paperwork. I swear they wanted everything written in my blood! I'll be working on the opening with the crew. I want to be involved"

Joan laughed and said, "Yes, banks are like that. But it'll all be worth it in the end."

"Hey, do you want to come over tomorrow and see the inside space? I think you can visualize what it's going to be like."

Joan accepted a cup of cider from Sue and said "Oh I would love to see it, but I've got to leave for Seattle first thing in the morning. I've got a meeting with the board up there at 10:00 am tomorrow. I'll be back by the end of the week. I've got to interview that intern and supervisor, as well as the customer who is filing the complaint."

"Oh," sighed Sue, dejectedly, "Well, the gallery will still be there when you get back. Hopefully, some of the walls will be up. Then you'll get a better appreciation of what the space will feel like."

"I'd like that very much, Sue. Then I could help you with something. After I get back I shouldn't be this busy. I just wanted to get a jumpstart on this case. It's nothing like the embezzlement case here. It feels like the case here is never going to end."

"Is what I read in the paper true? That Johnson may have been working with that unpleasant Mr. Davidson directly on loans? Remember, I had the misfortune of meeting that Davidson character when I first approached your bank. I know you work in another division, but its bosses like him that give banks a bad name. It was as if he didn't have any idea what banking was about."

"That about sums up old Davidson. He insisted that everyone call him 'Mr. Davidson', to give himself an air of superiority. I tell you, we all had more respect for the janitor than for him. He only inherited the business, and resented everyone who knew more about banking thank him."

"Well, I don't envy you one little bit for all the investigating you've done on these cases. Anyway, I've got to meet the foreman at the gallery, to go over some final details. I'm late as it is. See you later, Joan."

Joan watched as Sue took the cups to the sink to rinse them out, then walked out the kitchen, and heard the front living room door close. She turned back around and began to absorb the files in front of her.

Sue drove up to the huge warehouse with pride. This was what she had dreamed about all those years ago in college. She had been a junior in college when she interned at the Joslyn Art Museum and saw how the museum drew the crowds; how it gave people pleasure, hope. She wanted to be the one to bring art to people; help them gain an appreciation for different cultures, styles and mediums. A gallery was what came to mind. That way, she could showcase different artists and help sell their works.

'This is going to be all mine. Finally, all my dreams will come true!' thought Sue. She parked her car in the empty lot and walked to the front of the building. She peered in the huge, open double doors and called out to the foreman.

"Hello? Is anybody here?" She could hear her voice echo off the high ceiling and bounce around the huge entry.

"How you doing, Sue" came a booming voice from behind some crates marked drywall about 50 feet from her. She jumped with a start. "Didn't mean to scare you there."

"Not at all, I guess you startled me a bit. Have I kept you waiting?"

"No, I had to count these boxes anyway. They were just delivered." He said patting the nearest box of drywall. "I was just on my way out; I didn't think you'd be here this late."

"John is still at work, so I thought I'd put some time in here as well."

The foreman gave a hearty laugh and stated he admired her work ethic. They found somewhere to sit down and went over the blueprints and the final details that Sue wanted placed, and what she wanted changed around. The darkness had crept upon them. It was an hour later that the foreman stated that he had to go, that it had been a long day already. Sue thanked him for his time, and said she was going to stay for a little while.

As Sue watched the foreman leave, she locked the door behind him. She turned around and looked at the twenty-five foot high entry, the oversized doorway that led to the gallery. She walked around the gallery, looking at the markings for walls. She tried to imagine what it would look like with the antique white walls, soft inset lights, paintings, sculptures on the walls and on pedestals, with soft spotlights on them. She was lost in thought when she heard something drop in the floor above her, then a shuffling sound. She knew that there were several broken windows, but didn't think anything about it.

"It must just the wind or an animal foraging for food after a long winter's rest. No matter, I'll have animal control come over first thing in the morning."

She walked to the back of the warehouse to the stairs, and began her ascent. She got halfway to the top of the stairs, saw it was dark, and thought 'how strange...I thought that the electricity was working in the whole building. Well, this whole place will be in tip top shape soon."

She descended the stairs and found a huge flashlight that was left from the construction crew. She then returned to the stairs and up to the landing at the top. She walked off of the landing and swung the flashlight left. She heard a shuffle when the light caught something in its beam. Her heart began to race. 'Someone IS here with me!' She thought with a sudden flash of fear.

"WHO"S THERE?" screamed Sue. She hung on to the railing and swung the flashlight around the upper room; she caught someone dressed entirely in black. She saw a raised arm with a black club at the end racing towards her head. She started to scream, but it never left her throat.

Joan was absorbed in the files in front of her, taking copious notes. She didn't her the phone until the fourth or fifth ring. Silently cursing the interruption, she picked up the kitchen extension.

"Hello?" she said curtly

"Hello, Joan, this is Bob from the bank. Sorry to call so late, but I knew you'd be up reviewing those files."

Joan smiled, because her coworkers knew she was a workaholic, and would be reviewing files until she arrived in Seattle on the case. "Yes, Bob, what is it?"

"We just got a call from the Seattle location and there was an emergency with the case, and they need you ASAP! I've arranged a flight for you tonight at midnight. Your ticket is waiting for you at the counter."

"Now? You've got to be joking?"

"No, I'm not. You're flight leaves in an hour and a half. I've sent a cab for you.It should be there in about twenty minutes." With that, he hung up. With nothing else to argue, Joan gathered up her paperwork, stuffed them into her briefcase, and went to the bedroom to get ready and pack. As Joan was getting ready, someone was watching from the back of the complex behind the huge old tree, up at her bedroom window. The person was swinging a black, heavy club from one hand and flicking a smoked cigarette from the other.

A few hours later, she was on her flight reviewing files again; she was beginning to regret leaving home. She couldn't help feeling she should be back in Omaha.

Back at the condo, John was getting home late from endless meetings, and calling out for Sue.

"Sue? Sue! You home?"

When there was no answer, John thought 'She must be still down at Joan's. I swear, those two must have been separated at birth.' He chucked to himself and left for Joan's apartment. After knocking for about ten minutes, he realized that neither Sue nor Joan were inside. He began to worry where Sue was. He knew that Joan must have left for Seattle on an earlier flight, so Sue must still be at the gallery. He briefly calmed himself with the knowledge that Sue was at the gallery this late with some detail work.

When John arrived at the warehouse, it was pitch black inside. His insides grew nervous like jelly. He walked to the door and saw it was open a fraction and immediately rushed inside calling for Sue. He shoved the door open and jogged inside the cavernous main room where there were demarcations on the floor where low walls would be. He saw a light beaming from the second floor landing, with a hand dangling in front of it. He ran up the stairs, two at a time and fell on his knees to where Sue's body hung limp haphazardly on the landing.

"Sue! Sue!" cried John with anguish, his heart in his throat. He felt for a pulse and found a faint one. He then looked at her head and saw a cut on the left side, just above the ear. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it hard.

"If you can hear me, squeeze my hand, honey."

Sue tried to open her eyes, but they felt like lead and her arms and legs felt like jelly. She managed to flicker a finger in John's hand, and he cried with relief. He then called 911.

Within ten minutes, the police, a fire truck, and an ambulance arrived at the warehouse gallery. Det. McIntire arrived five minutes before the others. He had gotten to think of Sue and John as good friends by now. Det. McIntire raced inside the open door and called out for anyone. When he heard John's answer on the second floor landing, he saw the flashlight waving from side to side. He raced up to the second floor landing and met John and Sue, still on the floor.

"John, what happened?"

"When Sue didn't' come home, I came down here to look for her, and found her like this."

"We'll let the ambulance take her to the hospital and then I'll look around."

"Hey, don't I get a say in whether or not I go to the hospital?" Asked Sue.

"No." The Det. and John answered together. Sue had a look of resignation, and let the emergency medical technicians look her over and start an IV. They then left for the hospital, and John could hear the ambulance screaming away. John was about to leave behind the ambulance, when the Det. took John's elbow.

"Here, John, look at this." The Det. was pointing toward the second floor wall behind where Sue lie. John looked back over his shoulder from the stairs with the Det. still holding his elbow. Above where Sue had been lying, written in red paint was the message: STOP THE INVESTIGATION. John looked horrified and shot a glance at the Det.The Det. looked at John then said, "I know...look right below."

Right below the message was another: OR ELSE.

John came back from the hospital where Sue was going to stay overnight for observation. He sighed with relief, as Sue only had a mild concussion. He nodded at the doorman who asked where Sue was. John stated that Sue was taken to the hospital because she was attacked at the gallery. The doorman was shocked and hoped that Sue was all right. John asked if he had seen Joan. The doorman said that Joan had left early for Seattle a few hours early due to an emergency, and would he tell John and Sue goodbye for her.

Walking up to his place he stopped by Joan's to see if all looked all right. He stopped at her floor, seeing everything was all right, left for his apartment for a good nights sleep.

* * * * * * *

The phone rang just as Wayne was getting in from a night of gambling and partying. Wayne reached for the phone, out of breath, "hello?"

"All is taken care of." Said a dark and mysterious voice in Wayne's ear.

"Did you take care of that little problem?" Asked Wayne grimly, for he didn't want anyone nosing around his business.

"Everything you asked for."

Wayne felt he could breathe easier. He was having the time of his life, his wife was dead, he had over $170 million dollars, he effectively scared that gallery owner, to whom he was an 'anonymous' benefactor, and who was a friend of that nosy little investigator from his former bank. Feeling justified, Wayne took a shower then slept the whole day.

Wayne opened his eyes when he heard a rapping at his door. He groggily looked at the time and moaned when it read six pm. He got up and opened up the door to a chipper looking bellhop, who was holding an envelope. Wayne took the envelope as the bellhop said, "It came in today's mail." The bellhop tipped his hat as Wayne gave him a tip, then left.

Wayne closed the door then opened up the drapes, letting in the last remains of the setting sun, added some ice to a glass, and then poured himself some water. He sat down on the sofa in his suite and looked at the envelope. No return address, stamped from Washington D.C. 'Well, it could have come from anywhere," muttered Wayne to himself. He opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. He sharply took in a breath as he saw what the letter said.

Georgie porgie puddin' -n- pie, kissed the girls

and made them cry. Did you honestly think you'd

get away with murder? I've got my eye on you,

Gerald, or I should say Wayne. You're a pretty

easy guy to track, you're getting careless, you know.

I'm going to enjoy watching you squirm, as I and the

police get closer to you. Circling closer and closer. Scared yet?

There's nowhere to run.

And, I know all about the attack on the gallery and

that attack on the bank investigator last year. Don't bother trying

your contact in California: he's already dead.

He didn't recognize the handwriting, but his own hands were shaking badly. "There's no way that anyone could have tied Shelley's murder to me. What does this letter mean; don't bother trying to contact that goon, that he's already dead?" Wayne said aloud to himself. He looked wildly around the room, then out the window. He grabbed for the phone and dialed his contact in California, but a Sheriff's deputy answered instead, sounding grim.

"Deputy Sheriff speaking, who's this?"

"A friend of Black's, is he there?" Wayne asked, his voice shaking.

"No, he was killed in a drug deal gone bad. What's your name?"

Wayne slammed down the receiver. His eyes were wild with fear.

"No, I'm not going to get afraid. This is just a coincidence."

Wayne began pacing back and forth in the suite. He thought of calling the front desk, but remembered the bellhop said it had come in that morning's mail; the front desk wouldn't know where it had come from. He stopped in his tracks and thought that someone was just playing tricks on him.

'But who would know about my plans?' Wayne said to himself as he stared out the window.

* * * * * * *

Joan got off the plane to a waiting taxi, to her hotel suite. She just closed the door to her suite, when there was a knock right behind her. She turned around and opened the door and it was the bellboy with her luggage. She tipped the bellboy, who brought her luggage in, tipped his hat and left.

"They sure thought of everything. The office must certainly want me here bad enough to do all this for me." Joan said out loud to her luggage. She looked around the suite and saw there was an adjoining room, which was the bedroom. She was standing in a living room suite, which included a couch, placed in the middle of the room and a large, comfortable chair in the corner, with tables and lamps around the furniture. There was a refrigerator and sink that looked like a mini-bar. She saw on the counter, a large floral bouquet with a card from the company.

"This is beautiful, though too bad I won't be spending enough time here to enjoy it." She looked at her watch, and it was three am. Her flight had been uneventful, and she even had time to review most of the file. 'I still have time to get in four or five hours sleep today' Joan thought to herself. Joan quickly unpacked her luggage in to the bureau and closet. She next went to the little kitchen and made herself some relaxing tea to unwind, then went to bed.

Early the next morning, she roused herself from the comfortable bed, took a shower and dressed. She ordered breakfast then found the number for the local office and picked up the phone. She spoke to the office and made several appointments for research purposes and background material that wasn't in the file. She also made several appointments around town for the next few days.

"...OK, see you soon.......No, I'll call a cab. That way I'll have time for notes or reviewing paper." She hung up the receiver and called a cab to take her to the local branch office. She headed out the door when she heard the phone ring. Joan decided to ignore the ringing phone so she could get started on the rest of her day.

* * * * * * *

The day after Sue's attack, Det. McIntire was inspecting the gallery for any more clues. He talked with the foreman from the night before, but he had nothing new to say. The Det. looked at his watch and decided to leave, because he wanted to get to the hospital to see Sue.

"Hello Sue, up for a visitor?"

He entered Sue's room, to see John there, and Mama Miller, having a disapproving look on her face.

"Hello Detective," said Mama Miller in a very curt clip. "I hope you won't keep my Susie long, she needs her rest."

Det. McIntire looked at the older woman and could appreciate her concern. "No ma'am. I just need to ask Sue a few questions. Sue, what can you tell me about what happened at the gallery?" asked the Det.

"Not much more than I already told you. I met with the foreman at the gallery. We went over the blueprints with changes to some details I wanted. After a few hours, the foreman left, I wanted to look around the gallery to see what had been done. I grabbed one of the flashlights and looked around the ground floor. I then heard something on the second, but thought it was a squirrel or some other animal, because the windows aren't boarded up yet."

"What kind of noise was it, Sue?"

"It sounded like...something dropping.Now that I think about it, it was loud for a small animal like a squirrel. It was more like a heavy object dropping. I also heard shuffling, but thought it was the wind."

"Ok, what happened next?"

"Well, I started up the stairs to the second floor.I got up to the landing and my flashlight swung left. I heard a shuffle when the light caught something in its beam; it was someone dressed entirely in black. All I remember next is a large club screaming toward my head."

"Did you get a look at the person's face?"

"No, my flashlight got up to the shirt, sorry."

'That's ok Sue," said the Det., 'It sounds like we're dealing with a pro.' He thought to himself.

Mama Miller was fluffing Sue's pillow and pulling up the sheet to her shoulders. Sue thought she caught the Det. and John looking oddly at each other. "Ok, what aren't you telling me?"

The Det. looked at Sue, and thought she deserved to know what was going on. "There was a message."

"A message? You mean written somewhere? What did it say?"

"It said 'Stop the investigation'" the Det. hesitated for a moment, then said "'or else.'"

Mama Miller gasped sharply, putting one hand to her mouth, then the other around Sue's head as if for protection.

* * * * * * *

Wayne had decided to get his mind off of the strange letter and go get ready to go down to the casino to play craps or poker; maybe he would see one of the shows. The strange letter was weighing like a heavy weight on his mind. He felt guilty for a moment. The letter had brought Shelley's last moments on earth to the forefront of his mind. He had a hazy memory of the horrified look on her face, the axe hitting sideways on the side of her skull. 'True, she wasn't the best wife, but she served her purpose' Wayne told himself.

He didn't remember anything after that until he arrived at the rest area. He remembered piling the axe, rope and the body into the trunk, wrapped up in a blanket. He vaguely thought he had dumped them all somewhere, but couldn't remember where. 'Did I get rid of the body?' All of a sudden, he wasn't sure. 'Even if they do find the body, there's no way it can be tied to me, after all, I was away on business.' Wayne let out a hearty laugh at the stupidity Shelley had in thinking that she could get away with blackmailing him forever.

He stepped out of the shower, dried off, and put his new clothes on. He was buttoning up his shirt and walking over to the floor length mirror to admire himself, he looked down and saw a smudge on his shoe. He was in front of the mirror but knelt down to clean his shoe. When he was finished, he looked up in the mirror; his eyes got as big as walnuts and he fell over backward.

He was sprawled out, with his legs out in front of him, and he was propped up on his elbows. His breathing became fast and shallow, his heart felt it would burst through his chest, and his mouth was open in a scream, but no sound came out. His mind was paralyzed with fear, he couldn't think. In the mirror was a ghostly, transparent image, dressed in white, with blood staining the garment. The head was smashed in on one side, and there was an outstretched arm, with a bloody hand pointed right at Wayne. He shook his head in disbelief. But, in the few seconds the image appeared, he blinked, and it was gone. He propped up against the bed, still sitting on the floor, he grabbed for the towel, and wiped his face.

* * * * * * *

The Detective's phone was ringing just as he had come in from investigating a break-in at a pawnshop. He raced to his desk and reached over the piles of paperwork.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Det. McIntire? It's John. Sue was released a few days ago and she wanted to check up on Joan's place, since she had a key. We think you'd better come right over."

"Ok, I'm on my way over." He wondered what could have happened.

For the second time, Det. McIntire had an investigation that had something to do with Joan. 'It's no coincidence." He thought grimly. 'Just as that fraud from the bank hit the paper, Sue is attacked at the gallery, then Joan's apartment gets broken into.' He walked up the stairs to Joan's apartment and saw a few policemen talking to John in front of Joan's open door.

"Hello boys, what do we have here?"

"John here found the door open. He was checking up on Joan's place on the way to his" replied one of the younger policemen.

"Look for suspects inside," the Det. told the policeman, "see if Joan's still inside.

After the two policemen went inside, John said, "Do you realize that Joan left for Seattle three days ago?"

"Yes," replied Det. McIntire

"Someone went to a lot of trouble to break into Joan's." John interjected, "She's on the second floor."

Det. McIntire only nodded and was about to say something when one of the junior policemen came out and said: "Det. McIntire, I think you'd better come inside and see this for yourself."

John looked at the Det. and the Det. nodded his head for John to follow him inside. The walked in and saw that the place had been torn apart. The sofa and chair cushions had been cut open and the stuffing strewn about the apartment. The paintings were rent apart, the statues smashed against the floors and walls. In the fireplace were pictures and mementoes from Joan's various trips, still burning. The same was for each room in the place. In the dining room, the patio door lock had been broken open, and the railing was bent outward.

"He came in from the patio" stated the Det. They watched as one of the junior officers returned to looking throughout the apartment. There was a knock at the door, and one of the officers said that it was an officer to take fingerprints of the doors and off of the paintings. He left to let the third officer in.

"You think it's the same person that broke into the gallery, the same person?" asked John incredulously.

"Yes, and it's a message for Joan to stop interfering."

"Naturally, Joan will want to find this person and stop him from doing any other damage."

"Naturally" said the Det. "I don't think Joan will take kindly to her friends getting hurt, so she'll work that much harder at the investigation."

"I can't believe it" exclaimed Sue.

"I find it quite a coincidence myself." He gave John a steady gaze.

Joan was rushing into the hotel suite to change clothes for a dinner meeting with a former employee of the bank's branch in Seattle when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Joan? This is Det. McIntire. Have I caught you at a good time?"

Joan hesitated a few seconds, because she didn't want to encourage a conversation right now, but she knew that the Det. would not have called if it wasn't important.

"Of course Det. McIntire, what can I do for you?"

"I hope your business trip has been a productive one. I'm afraid that I have some rather bad news for you. Can you come back home immediately?"

"Come back? Det. McIntire, I still have a few days worth of investigating up here. You, of all people, know how important it is to follow up on leads."

"Yes, and that is what I'm doing right now. Were you aware that Sue was attacked in her gallery a few days ago? She didn't want to worry you and have you cut your business trip short."

"Oh No!" cried Joan. "No, I wasn't aware that Sue was attacked. Is she ok?"

"She's back home right now, and has John and the Millers to take care of her. There's more."

"More? What else could there be?"

"Yesterday, your apartment was broken into, and the damage was extensive."

Joan let out a little laugh. "My apartment is on the second floor of a secure building. No one gets in unless it's from the front door."

"The person didn't come in from the front; they came in from your patio."

"From.......are you certain?" Joan couldn't absorb what the Det. was telling her.

"John was checking up on your apartment. Can you come back home?"

"I'll be on the next flight."

Joan called the Seattle office and explained that she would have to cut her trip short. The office understood, so Joan called the airport and made reservations back to Omaha. She packed her bags and called for a bellhop to take them down to the waiting taxi service from the airport.

A few hours later, she arrived back in Omaha and was on her way home. She walked up the pavement to the doors of the building, pulling her overcoat around her, despite the summer heat. The doorman made his greeting upon seeing Joan.

"How is Sue?" She asked him.

"She's fine; had to stay overnight in the hospital for observation. The Detective is at your place. He's been waiting for you."

"Thank you." Then Joan was racing up the stairs, as there was a group of people waiting for the elevator. Joan didn't feel like waiting, or talking. She had a sudden adrenaline rush and the stairs were a great outlet. She opened the door from the stairwell and saw the crisscrossing police tape across her door.

'What happened here?' thought Joan to herself. 'And what on earth could have happened from the ground to the second floor?'

She stopped outside her own door, unsure if she should knock or just go in. All of a sudden, the door burst open, and there was Det. McIntire, with a phone in one hand and beckoning her inside with the other. Nothing could have prepared her for the devastation. It looked like a giant knife had attacked her apartment, ripping everything to shreds. There was everything on the floor imaginable: stuffing, plaster, stone, concrete, ashes, canvas and bits of broken dishes.

The Detective looked at Joan as she gaped around the chaos that was once a showplace. The look on her face was pure, abject, terror. He could tell she was having a difficult time absorbing what she was seeing.

"Joan?" Probed the Detective gently. "The doorman just called to say you were on your way up. He was concerned about you."

She dropped her briefcase and started walking through the living room to the kitchen. The Detective didn't stop her, but he was watching her very thoughtfully. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen and saw that all the cupboard doors were open and empty.

"That would account for all the broken dishes in the living room." She walked around the center island and saw that those cupboard doors were open as well. She glanced sideways and saw that her patio door was open.

"Is that how they got in?" She asked.

"Yes" answered the Detective. "John came down to check on your place and found it like this. He immediately called me."

"How is Sue? Is she alright?" Joan was speaking as if through a haze.

"Yes, she's fine. The hospital kept her overnight just as a precaution. John and Sue are upstairs and would like us to come up." Detective McIntire thought he better get Joan out of there soon, as she was repeating herself. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her from the kitchen, through the living room and out the door to the elevator. As they were leaving, he asked one of the officers to secure her briefcase.

In the elevator Det. McIntire turned Joan to face him and realized she wasn't seeing him. He kept his arms around her and led her to John and Sue's apartment. He knocked and John answered the door. As they entered, John shook the Detective's hand and they began chatting in hushed tones. Joan was standing alone when she felt a flurry of activity rushing toward her and a pair of arms hugging her fiercely.

"Oh my little Joannie!" Cried Mama Miller. The older woman led Joan through Sue's apartment towards the kitchen. Joan felt herself being sat down in a comfortable padded chair and saw a steaming mug of aromatic tea placed in front of her. She then began to get her wits about her and saw two very anxious faces staring back at her. Sue was studying Joan's face intently and Mama Miller was dabbing her eyes with the ever-present apron tied around her waist.

"First Susie, then Joannie. What am I going to do?" Lamented Mama Miller, watching first Sue, then Joan. She got up to busy herself in the kitchen to make dinner.

Joan looked around to get her bearings, saw she was in Sue's home. The table had the extension in it and had a golden aura from the blond wood. There were two extra chairs; the exact same autumn colored plush cotton fabric covered them that covered the rest of them. She saw the kitchen where Mama Miller was taking food out of the refrigerator and cupboards to make something for everyone. The area was designed and decorated in a surprising homey feel, considering that Sue liked such funky artwork.

"Mama's been by my side since the attack in the gallery." Sue said, looking with affection at the back of Matronly woman's head. "Both she and Papa have been taking turns with me. They've been a Godsend. Mama was at the hospital with me from the moment that I was admitted."

Joan remembered that the Miller's made Sue and her promise to have someone contact them if anything ever happened to them. Joan began running her finger around the top of the steaming mug of tea.

"I can't believe you were attacked in the gallery. Was someone waiting for you?"

"It was odd. I was with the foreman to discuss final plans for the gallery, then he left and I remained to look around. I heard what I thought was a small animal in the second floor loft. I went up with a flashlight. I got up there, and realized I wasn't alone, by the time I saw someone, I was knocked out. When I came to, John was kneeling over me."

"What does Det. McIntire think about it?"

"He has some theory, but naturally he isn't sharing them as of yet. He did tell us that there was a message scrawled on one of the walls."

Joan looked shocked. "A message? So it's someone you know?"

Mama Miller stopped puttering around to hear what Sue was going to say.

Sue looked at the two other women, sipped her tea, and then shrugged her shoulders. "The Detective asked if we knew anyone who would want to harm me. We couldn't think of anyone who would have a grudge against us. The Detective and John both thought the message was strange. It said 'stop the investigation, or else.'I'm certainly not investigating anyone."

Mama Miller turned to face the two women seated a few yards away, drew herself up and stated emphatically, shaking the wooden spoon in her right hand "That's right. There's no one who would have a grudge against any of you." She turned around again, as if that simply ended the argument and returned to cooking.

"The Detective did tell us that it was highly suspicious that your apartment was vandalized the same day as the gallery. He thinks that they might be related."

"Well, someone sure went through quite a bit of trouble of breaking into my place, seeing that it's on the second floor." Said Joan, not quite believing it herself.

"The officers found some of your patio railings bent outward, so they think that someone threw a hook at your patio and shimmied up a rope." Said Sue.

Just then, Det. McIntire and John came into the kitchen, and the three women looked over at the two entering gentleman. Mama Miller got two more cups out and poured tea.

"How are you Joan? You received quite a shock." Said the Detective.

Joan had an appreciative smile on her face as the Det. sat next to her. Sue looked at John as he sat on a chair next to her.

"I'm better, thank you. The apartment was a shock. It's unbelievable that someone would go to those lengths just to trash my place. Is it true that you believe that the same person attacked Sue's gallery broke into my place?"

Det. McIntire took a deep breath, and then said "It may or may not be the same individual doing the deeds, but yes, I believe that the same person is behind them."

Joan looked thoughtfully at Det. McIntire as if he were an analytical problem to be solved. "That message scrawled on the wall has something more to do than Sue's gallery. It's from someone who feels that an investigation is getting too close to him or her. What's the link?"

"Who had knowledge of Sue's gallery being under construction and your job at the bank? Who had motive?" Asked the Det.

"The first question is everyone at the bank and John's employer. The second would have to be someone who had inside information and held a grudge to go to these lengths."

The Detective looked at Joan, and then stated, "What about that embezzlement case, the one with the bank president and the investment manager?"

"Davidson is already in custody, and Johnson is still away."

"Isn't it odd he hasn't come home when his wife was murdered?" Asked Mama Miller, clearly holding Gerald in disdain for his uncouth behavior towards his late wife.

"There was a doctor's note saying he was admitted to an exclusive hospital, under sedation because of the shock." Joan announced to the group, in general.

"Has anyone verified that Johnson is actually admitted to this exclusive hospital? And, what do we know about Mrs. Johnson? What's her background?" Asked Det. McIntire. Sue looked knowingly at Joan, as she had asked the very same question days earlier.

"We have the paperwork and faxes from the customer that Johnson was going to be there for a few months. There is absolutely no information on Shelley Johnson anywhere."

A smile came across the Detective's face. "Isn't it time that someone researched the whereabouts of a certain Mr. Johnson and the background of his late wife?"

Then, Joan smiled too.

* * * * * * *

It had been a few hours since Wayne had seen the image of his wife, with blood all over her. He couldn't get over the look in her eyes and the accusatory finger pointing at him. Then, slowly, he wiped his face with the towel and sat on the end of the bed.

'Was it real?' Wayne asked himself. 'I must be going crazy.' He tried to rationalize what he saw with, what he believed to be, reality. Without realizing it, he stood up and walked over to the wet bar in his room and poured himself another scotch and water and downed it immediately. It was clear that the image had disturbed him. His glass empty, he poured himself another and walked over to the window. With his hand trembling, he downed the drink on one gulp.

"It's just my imagination catching up with me." He said, almost shouting to the group of birds flying in front of him, trying to convince himself. "She deserved what she got."

He turned slightly and looked sideways across the room the floor length mirror, afraid if he looked at it straight on, he might see the grizzly image again.

He stood there and turned his head slightly toward the mirror to get a better view. Sweat was soaking his shirt underneath the jacket, and beading down his forehead. His breathing was fast and shallow, and his heart felt as if it would pound out of his chest. He put his free hand on top of his chest to try to contain his heart. He couldn't see anything in the mirror, so he turned full face. Just as he faced the mirror there was a loud thump from the hallway that caused him to jump in terror. The sound reminded him of the sound of the axe hitting the side of Shelley's head. He then stumbled backward onto the edge of the bed, and sat down. He glanced at the wet-bar again and was stunned once again into silence.

There on the bar was a bottle of Rose Petal Wine. He ran grabbed the bottle and simultaneously threw it and the bottle, shattering the mirror while screaming at the top of his lungs.

* * * * * *

The next day, Joan went to the bank to call the company that Gerald was supposed to be tied up with. After spending several hours talking to people, she determined that neither the bank nor the customer were aware that Mr. Johnson was supposed to be at their location.

She picked up the phone, dialed, and said "I've got some information for you. Are you free?"

Detective McIntire was surprised that Joan had information so quickly. "Sure, I was just finishing up some paperwork on another case." They settled on a café to meet.

Later that afternoon, Det. McIntire and Joan seated and had a late lunch, and were discussing trivialities over coffee. When their plates were taken away, they were ready to discuss the business at hand.

"You won't believe what I found out." Joan said to the Det. "Neither the bank nor the client knew that Gerald was supposed to be at their location for a few months, let alone admitted to some exclusive hospital."

"So, it looks like Johnson was buying himself some time. He's already got a head start on us. I thought it was strange that he couldn't be disturbed for a few months."

"It's not unnatural for some of the executives to be gone for weeks, even months at a time and not want to be disturbed. Usually they are at conferences or treating clients or potential clients with kid gloves."

"Does anyone know where Johnson was last?" asked Det. McIntire.

"No one. He left a bogus address and phone number where he would be at the next few months. No one had a reason to contact him, since he was just 'wanted for questioning'."

"Now, we want him for questioning, not only in the embezzlement case, but also for Mrs. Johnson's murder." Det. McIntire looked thoughtful for a few minutes.

"If your next question is if I found any information about Shelley Johnson, the answer is no. Nothing. Its as if she never existed before marrying Gerald."

The Detective allowed a small smile emerge on his hard face. "I found a small piece of information on Shelley Johnson. I talked to the D.A., and he did some research for me about her. Apparently she worked for the D.A.'s office in St. Louis some years ago."

"I didn't think there would be any records."

"In this case, there was a scandal that involved the D.A. at the time, in which Shelley Johnson had to leave her job as an assistant to the D.A."

"Where does her trail lead after that? And what happened to the D.A.?" Joan asked, leaning forward.

"To her murder," he stated. Upon seeing Joan's dejected face, he continued. "Where she was after that is of no consequence. She turns up marrying Mr. Johnson and ends up dead." He paused to take a drink from his glass. "As far as the D.A., he just disappeared. No one knew where he went after that."

He changed the subject so they wouldn't continue down a dead-end path. "I find it is quite a coincidence that the last interview we did for the paper on the embezzlement case was just before the break-ins at the gallery and at your place."

Joan looked at him with suspicious eyes. "Are you thinking of another article to try to draw him out?"

A huge grin spread out over the Det.'s face. "Great minds think alike."

CHAPTER EIGHT

After a few hours at the casino had calmed Wayne's nerves, he chuckled at his cleverness for winning a huge sum of money. He left the elevator and walked down the hallway to his room, got out his passkey and entered his room.

"I've made nearly what Shelley saved. Plus, I haven't even touched my millions."

He was in a good mood again whistling a happy-go-lucky tune. He took off his jacket and flung it carelessly on the bed. Even the incident earlier didn't have him as spooked anymore. He saw that the hotel had cleaned up the broken glass and replaced the mirror.

"It's about time I checked up on what's going on back home." He walked over to his laptop and typed the address to the paper. He searched for any stories that related to him. As it was searching, he walked over to the bar and poured himself another drink. He ambled to the window like someone without a care in the world. He heard the computer ding; telling him it had finished searching. He sat down and scanned the few headlines that had been brought up.

One headline caught his eye and made that familiar rage well up inside of him.

MISSING BANK EXECUTIVE LINKED TO THEFT, MURDER. He read the article and saw that he was wanted not only for the embezzlement, but also in connection to Shelley's murder. He stood up with such violence, that his chair tumbled over backward. He couldn't believe his eyes. Right there, he was a suspect once again.

"How does she do it?" He whispered to himself. He stared at the picture of himself next to the article and remembered what Joan looked like. "I'm going to have to give her a better warning to stay away from me." He mind was fogged over with uncontained rage. He began pacing the floor like a caged lion, muttering to himself.

"WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS!" roared Wayne, as if Joan could hear him from the next room. He walked over and poured himself another drink, not really paying attention. He didn't see that he had sloshed the contents of the bottle all over the bar.

He downed the drink in one gulp and calmed himself somewhat. He could control his anger better now that he had a drink. He began thinking like an executive that had a major decision to make. "I'll have to get a new contact first of all." He said, as if he had just dictated to a secretary. He finished the drink, glanced over at the computer screen and gritted his teeth. Finding his wallet, he thumbed through some numbers that were scrawled on bits of paper until he plucked one out. Wayne picked up the receiver and dialed the number.

"Hello? I'm a friend of Black's. Sorry for your loss; I have a job for someone."

A malevolent grin spread out across his face when he finished with his conversation. He began to laugh at his own cleverness, thinking that no one will ever see this coming.

* * * * * * *

A couple of weeks later in the early fall, Sue and John had the Millers, Det. McIntire and Joan over for dinner. The main reason was to gather together all their friends, mainly, in appreciation. Sue was feeling no lasting effects after her ordeal at the gallery, and Joan's place was cleaned up, repaired and refurnished with the Estate Sale of the Johnson's. Mama Miller was like a drill instructor in the kitchen with Joan and Sue, Papa Miller John and the Detective, all talking amongst themselves.

"Joan dear, how has your work in Seattle been?" inquired Mama Miller.

"Therapeutic, mostly. I've gotten a lot of work done on the case up there. I've interviewed everyone involved and researched all possible trails. It was more extensive than the bosses even realized. Thank you for overseeing the renovation of my place."

"I already told you, Joannie, that I am more than happy to help you and Susie out."

Joan and Sue grinned at each other, over their work, at Mama Miller calling them the affectionate nicknames.

"All I had to do was make sure that the workers fixed the damage and be there for the delivery of the replaced furniture, dishes and what-nots. Very nice of you, Detective, to let Susie buy the furniture and pretties from the Johnson Estate."

"It was my pleasure, Mama Miller. There was no special handling, I Just notified Sue when the sale was going to take place is all."

"I think that my place looks better than before. The paint you picked out is much better than what I had before. It's a much more relaxing hue." Exclaimed Joan.

"And it is a great background for the art pieces that replaced the ones Joan had before." Piped in Sue, in appreciation for all that the older woman had done for her and Joan.

"Sue and I wish that there was some way we could express our gratitude for all the help that you and Papa Miller have done for us." Exclaimed Joan.

"Just seeing you two here is thanks enough. Now, Susie, the chicken is roasting in the oven, I think Joannie has the salad done, and the vegetables are simmering on the stove. Shall we reconvene in the living room?"

The group left the kitchen, grabbed the teapot and sat in the comfy, huge sectional couch, laughing and joking around.

"What's this?" asked Sue.

John looked at his wife and smiled, beckoning her to join him. She sat with John; the Millers were seated together; that left Joan and Det. McIntire to sit next to each other. They smiled warmly at each other.

"We were just discussing one of the local plays here. I was telling them what happened when that actor missed his cue." Said John.

Sue started laughing, and explained to the other two women. "The husband was supposed to mention his wife, but just stared out into the audience, and the inspector was supposed to ask him 'why doesn't she say she's your wife'. But, when the husband just sat there for about four minutes, smiling stupidly, the inspector said 'why doesn't she say she's your husband'. The whole audience just guffawed, and the inspector wanted to hit the husband!"

"Now I wish I was here to see it like you asked me, Sue." Joan said, chuckling with amusement. "There wasn't anything remotely funny about researching that case in Seattle. Too bad it ended last week."

"The same theater is putting on another play next week. They alternate three plays throughout the fall. That one ended last week, but the other two will go on for another few weeks."

Mama Miller reached for the large teapot that had aromatic peppermint and clove steam emanating from the spout. She touched up everyone's mug, smiling and clucking about, making sure everyone was happy.

"Mother, that smells wonderful." Said Papa Miller, beaming over at his wife.

"Thank you papa. This was a special blend Joannie had."

Det. McIntire and Joan smiled at the way that the Miller's were so affectionate with each other. After talking and enjoying each other's company, the group got up as the timer on the oven went off. The men offered to take the food to the table, as the women had already set the table. John and Sue had a large oak table that gleamed golden like a field of wheat in the sparkling sunshine. There were six chairs surrounding the table and six place sittings with exquisite place settings that looked far more formal than Sue had said was 'just casual elegance'. At first glance, the table looked out of place with the contemporary art and paintings around the rest of the home.

After the meal was brought to the table and everyone was seated, someone exclaimed that it looked like a meal fit for a king. Everyone was enjoying the meal, discussing various dishes and gossip around town. All needed this time to unwind and relax, given what had been happening with all their lives. Ever since Joan had gotten involved in the embezzlement case, and now Mrs. Shelley Johnson's murder, there was a silent tension. Joan and Det. McIntire were apprehensive about what Gerald Johnson might do, now that they leaked the story to the paper, about Gerald's involvement with the embezzlement and linking him to Shelley's murder, finally.

In the background, John had put on some soothing music in which the group could enjoy dinner. The food, music and company were enjoyable, indeed. Joan related to the group that her parents had called again, after nearly a year to tell her they saw that John was heading up the construction on a new building that just happened to be in their town. They were asking if it would be ok if they met with him. Upon seeing that Joan was ok with the phone call, they all stated it would be wonderful for John to meet with them.

Changing the subject, Mama Miller was in the middle of a story about one of their delivery drivers who had gotten lost at the airport when they first heard a deafening explosion, then a split second later, felt the aftershock.

The explosion surprised everyone; each person was just frozen in their seat, when the aftershock threw each of them off their chairs and onto the floor. Det. McIntire was the first to get off the floor and to the window a split second later. John and Sue were helping the Millers off the floor, when Joan ran to the window beside the Det.

"OH MY GOD!" Cried Joan, as she put her hands up to her mouth.

"I can't believe it." Whispered Det. McIntire. Before he could tell John and Sue to get the Millers away from the window, everyone was looking outside. Mama Miller gave an audible gasp, and Papa Miller put his arms around his wife protectively, too stunned to speak. "Joan, may I go to your apartment." Detective McIntire barely whispered.

Joan was about to say yes, when Papa Miller, finally composed himself, looked at the Det. and said it was all right, that he could conduct his business here at John and Sue's place. Sue nodded that it was ok.

Det. McIntire left the window and sat down nearest the telephone and dialed the police station. As he was waiting for the police station to answer, he marveled that the construction manager placed shockproof windows in the condominiums.

"This is Det. McIntire, you had better send someone down, Miller's Grocery just exploded. I'm going down to do some crowd control." With that, the Det. hung up the phone after giving directions and told everyone else to stay there. The Millers were visibly upset, and Mama Miller said to the group "thank the good Lord that no one was in the store."

Det. McIntire looked at her questioningly and she stated "We closed the store so we could enjoy tonight with everyone. We couldn't ask the employees to stay there alone while we were over here enjoying ourselves." He nodded and left for the scene across the street.

Det. McIntire rushed down the stairs and into the lobby where a crowd from the building's tenants were gathering. He flashed his badge and told everyone to stay put. He jogged over to the doorman and slowed down to talk to him.

"Hello, did you see anyone or any suspicious activity before the store exploded?"

The doorman had an ashen complexion, as he was gaping at what was once Miller's Grocery. He turned his head as if it was full of lead. It was a couple of moments when he answered the Detective's question.

"No, there wasn't any activity inside. It was empty, doors locked and no one inside. There were people walking up and down the walks, like they usually do."

"Ok, thanks." The Det. shook the man's hand and bolted out the door toward the growing crowd. Once outside and in front of the shell of the building, he turned around toward the crowd and told them to disperse that it was dangerous for them to be there.

Then he turned back to the building and thought something didn't look right. He looked up and down the walk, then out into the street. He didn't see any debris. By that time, some police cars were approaching. He asked one of the cars to go to the back and see if there was anything of importance. Then, he asked them to radio him if they saw any debris in the street.

He was lost in thought, when he felt someone run up to him. He turned and saw Joan standing next to him, with a serious expression on her face. Turning to her, he was going to tell her to go back into the building.

"I wanted to come out, to see if there was anything I could do." As she was explaining her presence to the Det., she was inspecting the building and looking around the perimeter. "Something doesn't look right about this." She pointedly said.

The Det. was impressed that she would notice this objectively, since it was obvious that she loved the Millers about as much as they loved her, and Sue, for that matter.

"This was an implosion, not an explosion." Joan said in a matter-of-fact manner. Joan looked at the Det. looking at her. "You're surprised I knew that? I watch the news too." He raised his eyebrows, with clear admiration in his eyes.

"Yes, I was just noticing that. This was intended to bring down just the Miller's store. None of the other buildings that surround this one was even harmed. Someone knew what they were doing."

"But who would want to destroy the Miller's store? They don't have any enemies."

"I don't know, but it's another coincidence that is too suspicious."

Just as he was about to say something else, a policeman came running up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, to draw his attention.

"Sir, I think you should come around the back."

"What is it?"

"We found something of interest."

"On my way." He was about to tell Joan to go back to John and Sue's place, when she got a stubborn look on her face. Instead, Det. McIntire cocked his head for Joan to follow him.

When the got to the back of the store, they saw one of the policemen standing over, what looked like a lump in the street, and the other guarding the back door to the store, which was blown wide open. The Det. looked at the open door, and walked over to it, as it was closer from where he and Joan were standing.

"Was it open like this when you came around?" He asked the policeman.

"Yes sir. We didn't touch anything. You can see the lock was shot out." He said, pointing to the hole in the doorknob.

Joan looked at the doorknob, and gave an involuntary shiver. 'It was amazing that no one was here. Whoever came, intended not to leave any witnesses.'

As if the Detective was reading her mind, he said, "Thank God the Millers were over having dinner. Whoever shot this lock was a professional."

The other policeman heard what the Det. said, and spoke to the trio, "Speaking of which, I think we have him here."

Joan and the Det. looked over at the lump, then at each other. As the Det. was approaching the body, he looked back at Joan, who was one step behind him. He thought, 'well, she's come this far, she might as well see everything. I know she won't tell anyone.'

They approached the body with caution. The person was a man lying on the ground, dressed in black, with a blank, vacant stare in his eyes. Right in the middle of his forehead, was a piece of metal. It had blown directly into his skull, and a puddle of blood was forming.

"Any ID?" asked the Det.

"We haven't touched they body. It looks like a crime scene, so we didn't want to disturb anything."

"Ok. He might not have any on him. Did you find the gun?"

"No, if he brought a gun, he either left it inside and it was destroyed in the implosion."

"Hmmm. A professional bomber? Just to blow up the Miller's store." The Detective looked over at Joan, who was taking everything in, with interest. She nodded in assent.

"There's nothing we can do until this crime scene is sifted through."

The policeman's radio crackled from under his jacket. "Detective? The crime scene investigators are here, and they want to talk to you."

"Ok, be right there." He turned to the policemen and told them 'good job', and walked Joan back to the front of the building. He updated the complement of officers, and then left with Joan back to John and Sue's place.

As they opened up the door, there were four eager faces at the door, waiting for answers as to what may have happened. Sue already had some soothing tea in the Miller's hands, as well as enough for the rest of them.

"What happened, Detective?" asked John.

Det. McIntire looked around, and then took a deep breath, before beginning to speak. But before he could explain, Mama Miller was asking questions, out of worry.

"Was it an electrical short? Did we leave the gas on? Thank goodness no one was there."

"No, it wasn't an electrical short, nor was it the gas. This was done on purpose. Someone meant to cause this to happen." He didn't mention that they may have that certain someone right now, and knew that Joan wouldn't say either.

Papa Miller spoke with incredulity in his voice. "Meant for it to happen? What does that mean?"

"That means, someone wanted your store to implode." Said the Det. again.

"Implode?" John asked.

"Yes, whoever was behind this, only wanted the Miller's store destroyed. None of the surrounding buildings were damaged." Explained Det. McIntire.

"Who would want to destroy our store? We have no enemies. That was our home. We lived above the store for Thirty years. Now, everything is gone" Cried Mama Miller.

Joan went to the other side of Papa Miller, and put her arms around his shoulders. Then, Sue said that Papa and Mama Miller would be living with her and John and John said he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * * * * * *

The next day, Joan went down to the police station. Det. McIntire looked up to see who was sitting at the chair opposite his desk. Joan was there with two cups of fresh coffee, from Mama Miller.

"She brought it to my place this morning, saying she knew I wouldn't be making myself coffee." Joan smiled, and offered one of the cups over the desk.

"I bet you're wondering who our mystery guest was last night behind the store."

"And I'd bet you're psychic." Chided Joan.

The Det. took the cup from Joan and asked her to thank Mama Miller for him.

"We got the prints back just a few minutes ago. He's got a record from quite a few states. He's a hired man. Anything from theft, kidnapping, mugging, armed robbery and..."

Before he could finish, Joan said, "bombing?"

Det. McIntire nodded his head. "He's not a pleasant fellow. He's from California, so he's traveled all the way to the Midwest just to bomb a small, family owned grocery store."

"Quite a long way to travel, indeed." Joan sipped her coffee. "Who could have hired him? And why was he killed?"

"The coroner found a key in his pocket last night. So the boys went to the motel it belonged to, and found this in his room, with the makings for a bomb."

Joan took the paper, read it and had a look of shock, like she couldn't believe what she had just read.

On the paper was written directions to Omaha, from California, and instructions to blow up the Miller's store that was hastily taken down by the bomber from whoever hired him.

"We traced where the directions originated from, and they're from an area known for his type. And, get this: someone in his neighborhood was found murdered a few weeks before. You'll never guess what they found in that guy's house."

"I give up. What did they find?"

"Instructions for breaking into the gallery as well as your apartment. You know what that leads to?" Asked Det. McIntire.

Wayne was inside his suite overlooking the crowded beach, watching the tourists enjoy the late fall sun, feeling quite smug. Not only had he gotten back at Joan and everyone else, he was certain that no one would be able to pin all of these crimes on him. He was chuckling to himself that he had adequately covered his tracks when there was a knock at his door. He swaggered to the door, reveling in his own cleverness. It was the bellhop with his breakfast. After tipping the bellhop, he brought the cart over to the table and sat down. He reached over one of the covered dishes and placed it on the table.

'Joan and that pesky Detective should be receiving their prize any day now' Wayne was confirming to himself. He was becoming careless and cocky, feeling that he was invincible.

He eyed the telephone on the desk that was opposite of the bed. "He should be taking care of business that should have been settled long ago." Wayne had been so full of rage and contempt, that all he was able to think about was getting even with all those who he felt had wronged him. "And to think I was against Shelley hiring that maid in the first place" he said with a sardonic tone.

The bellhop heard caustic laughter emanating from the suite down the hall, where he had just delivered breakfast.

* * * * * * *

It was early in the fall, about two months later everyone had settled into a routine. The Millers were living with John and Sue, overseeing the rebuilding of their store. Sue was working every day at her gallery, hoping that it would be finished in time for the grand opening. She had been forced to delay the opening due to all the ongoing tragedy. John had hired a security guard to watch over Sue, everywhere she went. Sue was grateful that John loved her as much to hire a personal bodyguard.

The reason that John had hired Sue a bodyguard was because he would be in Europe, to oversee the new project for his designs. He had a hand in its conception, since he was senior engineer, and had better communication and relations with the buyer. Sue knew that John would be in Europe for several months, and that the project was an important one. She didn't mind the bodyguard. Plus, she had the Millers staying with her, which she was extremely grateful.

Joan had been traveling back and forth from Omaha to Seattle, working on the two different investigations. She welcomed the rapid pace that her life gave her. It didn't give her time to reflect on what had been happening the past weeks. "What a crazy life it's been. Thank goodness that all that craziness has settled down," She told herself one morning on a flight to Seattle. She shook the feeling off, and began reviewing interview notes for this second ongoing investigation.

Det. McIntire had been busy with a rash of break-ins at a subdivision on the west side of town. Being the lead investigator, it was his responsibility to direct the department in finding facts in the various cases. He leaned back in his chair one morning to ponder what had been happening in the lives of people he knew. There had been a sudden onslaught of activity, and then just as sudden it just stopped.

"Activity like that doesn't just stop. And people like Johnson don't stop cold turkey." Det. McIntire was talking out loud to himself. "What are you up to, Mr. Gerald Johnson?" It bothered him that nothing else had happened lately, of which he was grateful. He couldn't bear to see anything else happen to the group of people he had become close to, in spite of trying to distance himself. He was in deep thought when he heard a knock at his door, which brought him back into the present rather abruptly.

He turned around to face the door and saw two policemen with a look that the Det. could not place. He beckoned them to come in, and to his surprise, right behind them was the new chief of police.

"Detective, I'm sorry to have to say this," the chief had a plaintive look on his face "but you're going to have to come with us."

"What is this about?" said the Det., getting up to his feet, at which the two policemen had gathered on each side of him and held an arm to subdue him. Det. McIntire could not believe what was happening, right in his own office. He looked with questioning eyes at the Chief.

"I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but we have to place you under arrest."

Det. McIntire was listening but not comprehending right away. "Under arrest? For what?"

The Chief hesitated briefly before looking the Det. directly in the eyes "For the murder of Maria Tilden, the Johnson's housekeeper."

All the Det. could do was stare at the Chief with a gaped mouth, words frozen somewhere deep in his throat. He could feel himself being led down the hallway, unable to do or say anything.

Joan departed the plane at the Seattle airport and was driving to the bank's office. She got out of the car and saw two police cars. "I hope the bank wasn't robbed," she thought to herself. She was walking inside the bank to go to the manager's office, when she saw four policemen walk toward her.

"Good morning officers. Was the bank robbed?"

"No, the bank was not robbed. We're here to place you under arrest for the murder of Maria Tilden."

Joan was thunderstruck, not believing what she was hearing. "Maria Tilden? I don't know who that is."

The policeman that had been talking to her looked at her pointedly and said "Maria Tilden, the Johnson's housekeeper. Her body was found early this morning in the Omaha landfill. You are being escorted back to face murder charges."

Late that night Joan found herself in a holding room of the Omaha police department, too much in shock. She was being held for murder charges, that much she was told. No one had bothered to tell her what else was going on. The door opened and saw that an officer escorted Det. McIntire. He only shook his head when he saw that Joan was going to burst out questioning him. Behind him was the Chief. The officer left the room and the two men sat down, with Det. McIntire beside Joan.

"I hated to bring you both in for questioning, but I wanted to see both of you. We don't have much time." The chief was explaining to them.

"Chief, what is going on?" The Lt was saying carefully. "You know that neither Joan nor I had anything to do with that housekeeper's death."

"Why do you think that either of us had anything to do with this?" Asked Joan with an incredulous lilt in her voice.

"I believe this was a setup. We've received several an anonymous tips. One, which put both of you at the landfill where her body was found." The Chief was hesitant to go on, but ploughed through anyway. "Buried under some garbage, was evidence."

"What evidence?" demanded Joan. The Det. looked at the chief with expectation.

"A statue from Joan's apartment was discovered with blood on it, that match the damage done to her skull; along with a personal handgun, registered to you, Det. McIntire that matched the bullets found in Ms. Tilden's head and chest"

Both Joan and the Det. were speechless. Neither could believe what they were hearing. What was more was that they were brought in for questioning. They looked at each other with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

At last, Detective McIntire said, "Are you saying that Ms. Tilden was hit with a statue belonging to Joan, then shot with my personal handgun?"

"I know that this is a lot to take in, but you have to realize there are steps we have to take. Your friends are waiting outside. We had to ask them where Joan was, and they told us she was in Seattle. The District Attorney was afraid she was a flight risk, being that close to the Canadian border."

"So you had me escorted back to Omaha? I felt like wanted felon with the police handcuffed to me." Replied Joan.

The Chief looked at Joan with a careful gaze, appraising her statement. "I understand what you're saying, Joan. I have to follow this case by the book. The public has to know we aren't allowing personal feelings affect this investigation."

"What is going to happen now?" asked the Det.

The Chief looked at Det. McIntire, then asked them both "are either of you missing the aforementioned merchandise?"

"As you know, my apartment was broken into several months ago. I just naturally thought that everything was smashed in the break-in. I didn't report anything missing. The insurance company has a list of what I had. That list was given to the department for the investigation."

"I know your apartment was broken into, leaving everything broken. However, a statue that had a registration number was found with the body. A bronze statue of Venus, about twelve inches high."

"Yes, I had that statue; however I donated it to an auction for a benefit. It was stolen last week before the auction took place." Explained Joan.

"Before you ask, Chief, yes, I have a personal handgun, in a bank safety deposit box. It should still be there."

"We took the liberty to check with the bank, and they say you checked it out the day before yesterday. They sent over a copy of the surveillance tape, but whoever checked it out, was wearing a hat, so the face was obscured."

"Chief, I didn't take my gun out of that deposit box, and I know that Joan donated that statue for the benefit. In fact, Sue was the one who organized the benefit, to take place at the grand opening of her gallery."

Before the Chief could respond, Joan was explaining over again the list of events that happened, and put a hand up to silence her. "I realize that you both have been investigating that missing bank executive, along with his wife's murder. I'm also aware of the Miller's building exploding, Joan and the break-ins at the gallery and your apartment. This recent death is too coincidental to take seriously, Det. McIntire."

"What was the other tip?" McIntire asked.

"We received a note the day after we found Maria Tilden's body explaining that you and Joan may be blamed and to look closer at the husband. Now, do either of you know someone who would frame you for murder?"

Both Joan and Det. McIntire looked the Chief square in the eyes, and responded together "Yes."

Back at Sue's apartment, Joan and Det. McIntire were allowing Mama Miller to cluck over them like an overprotective mother hen.

"...still can't believe they thought you two could have..." the rest of Mrs. Miller's indignation died away when she retreated to the kitchen

"John called from Europe. He couldn't believe the police department seriously thought you two could have murdered that maid." Sue replied openly.

"Thank you Sue." Joan reached out to her best friend and confidant. Sue grasped her friend's hand, gave a gentle squeeze, and then joined Mama Miller in the kitchen.

"What are you two going to do now?" asked Pap Miller.

Detective was about to answer, when Mama Miller entered the dining room, carrying a simple dinner of minestrone soup and returned with a garden fresh salad.

"We're not going to do anything. The paper wants to go ahead with a story, linking Gerald Johnson to this newest murder." Stated the Detective.

"What will that accomplish?" asked Sue.

"We're hoping it will draw out Johnson, or at least his accomplices." Said Joan.

"I wonder where that second tip came from clearing you and Joannie, Detective?" Papa Miller asked

"It seems we have someone on our side who wishes to remain anonymous." Joan interjected, tiring of the whole affair.

"That poor maid" lamented Mama Miller, with a hand placed aside her face. "Why are all these terrible things happening?"

"Because," intoned the Det., leaning over to emphasize his next statement "we're getting close."

* * * * * * *

Wayne congratulated himself on framing Joan and the Det. for Ms. Tilden's murder. He hadn't bothered checking the paper online to determine if it had been a successful hit or not. He felt confident that his contact had been following the two around for a couple of months now, and had made his move. He was imagining the looks on Joan's and the Detective's face on the charge of murder and conspiracy to commit murder. Through Sue's Gallery Newsletter, he found out about the charity auction to be held at the gallery, and told the hit man to find something of Joan's to use for the murder. 'It certainly paid to be an anonymous benefactor', Wayne told himself once again.

The hit-man relayed that accessing the Detective's personal handgun from the safety deposit box had been easier than he thought. The clerk at the bank was a new hire, so he did not follow all the directions to opening the bank's safety deposit vault. He was trying to impress the Detective from the police department, that the bank was treating him with care. The clerk did think it was odd that the Detective was wearing a dress hat in the middle of the day, pulled so low over his head, plus wearing reflective sunglasses.

'His was not the position to question', he thought to himself.

Wayne was playing in the craps table and enjoying himself. The waitresses were all sending him free drinks, flirting with him. He was feeling invincible, when out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a tall blond woman wearing a white jacket and pants, in rather high heels walking directly toward him. His heart skipped a beat because he thought for a split second that it looked like Shelley once more. He spun around to face the woman directly right as a luggage cart piled high went between him and the elegant woman.As the cart passed the woman was nowhere to be found. He gaped at the space where the woman was just standing and saw on the floor between a few rows of slot machines, an earring that looked as if it belonged to Shelley. He blinked his eyes against the sweat that was beading down his forehead.

He heard the dealer repeat his question if he wanted in the game. Gerald shook his head no, gathered his winnings and stumbled toward the earring. He bent over and picked up the earring, turning it over, and read 'SJ' initialed on the back. His hand was visibly shaking.

"It couldn't be," he whispered to himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he whipped around. Facing him was the tall blond in the white suit.

He looked her directly in the eyes, the same color eyes that Shelley had, same hairstyle but definitely not Shelley. He opened his mouth to speak when he heard "you'll never get away with it."

He was ashen faced, as he asked, "Pardon me?"

The tall blond looked perplexed as she repeated, "Thank God you've found it." She held out her hand and said, "I'm always losing that earring. I've put my initials on the back of both, in case someone turns them in."

"What is your name?" he asked with blunt force, leaning toward her.

The woman was taken back with the man, who looked like he was about ready to crawl right out of his skin. "Sarah Jamison, are you feeling alright?"

"Yes...thank you" he said a million miles away and handed the earring back. She was staring at him as he tripped over a purse that was set on the floor by an older Japanese woman who was playing at a nearby slot machine. He turned toward the older lady to apologize to her when she snapped at him to watch his step.

Wayne explained that he was returning an earring to the lady right beside him, when the older lady looked to his right and left, then said there was no one there. Gerald spun around to where Sarah Jamison was just standing, but found nothing but empty space. He was frantic by now. He grabbed a scotch and water off a tray that a waitress was carrying and walked with a fast pace to the front desk of the hotel. He asked the front desk clerk if a Sarah Jamison was checked in to the hotel, but the clerk said there was no Jamison at the hotel.

Wayne gasped a thank you to the clerk, and then stumbled like a drunken man toward the elevator. Everyone in the lobby and casino were watching him, someone muttered it was sad to see a person who couldn't handle their alcohol.

In the elevator Wayne was breathing in short, punctuated gasps. He was watching his reflection in the mirrored walls. He looked at the ashen faced, rumpled man with vacant eyes staring back at him. The reflection had a wanting gaze, fearful of the answer.

"THAT WASN'T HER!" he yelled at the reflection, embarrassed that he had gotten so shaken in the first place. He tilted his head back and finished the rest of the alcohol. As he set the glass down on the floor, the elevator came to a sudden lurch, which told him it had stopped. The lights flickered ominously, and then went out. He looked at his reflection, red with the emergency light glowing with an eerie presence. He grasped for the emergency phone and opened up the hatch. What he saw was that the cord had been severed. He began shaking and reached for the bars on the walls of the elevator. His hands were slippery because he had produced copious amounts of sweat.

Wayne was trying to formulate a plan through his alcohol-induced mind. It felt as if he had a thick sludge of gray matter in his skull instead of a mind. He didn't have a clear thought, and was feeling dizzy. He slumped downward as his hands slipped off of the bar, then hit his already numbed head against it. His hands felt as if they were four times as big and as clumsy. He put his aching head in his hands. From somewhere up toward the ceiling came a peal of laughter that mocked at him.

His autonomic nervous system jerked his head up from his hands just in time to see his crumpled reflection in the eerie red glow in the mirror opposite him. Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of white light that caused him to wince from the pain. There opposite him, instead of his own reflection, was Shelley's bloody and bruised ghost laughing at him with the most malevolent glare. His mouth could not comprehend that his brain was telling him to scream, shout or make any noise whatsoever. The unscrupulous visage pointed a bloody and scabbed arm towards his direction. Wayne could faintly hear Shelley's accusing voice.

"Yoooouuuuu muuurrdderrreerr" The eyes were wide, almost popping out of the bashed in skull. It was all that Wayne could do to keep an eye on the terrifying reflection. "I'vvvveeee gggoooottt aaaa ssspppeecciiaall ppllaaccee ffoorr yyoouu, WAYNE!"

With another sudden jerk, the elevator opened up on his floor. He wrenched his eyes off his own reflection; the red emergency light now gone, replaced by the normal soft white glow above him. He looked out the elevator door to see two couples staring at him with open mouths. One of the gentleman finally asked Wayne if he was ok. He stared stupidly at the man, wondering if he should say anything.

"The elevator stopped between floors and the emergency lights came on. The phone had been cut; I couldn't call the management." Wayne was talking fast, hoping the people would believe him. He didn't mention that he had seen his dead wife's ghost, accusing him of murder. The gentleman who spoke to him walked in the elevator, helped Wayne off the floor, and then looked in the emergency phone hatch.

"The phone is in perfect working order." The gentleman looked at Gerald with confusion. Wayne snapped the phone out of the man's hand: the phone cord was intact and in perfect working order, just as the gentleman had said.

Wayne stumbled out of the elevator toward his room and heard the ladies make comments about seeing hallucinations after binge drinking.

Back in his room, Wayne was so shaken that he fell in a lump in the middle of the floor.

"What is going on?" He stated to himself. "Maybe I am drinking too much."

He got up off of the floor and walked over to the bar. Instinctively, he reached for the scotch, but thought better. Instead, he filled the glass with ice and water. He began pacing the floor, not quite thinking clearly. He walked over to the window and watched the setting sun.

"I need to see what is going on back home."

While he was waiting for the online paper from home, he forced his thoughts back to his plan of framing Joan and that Detective for Maria Tilden's murder. The computer beeped at him and he saw that the headline now read "Missing bank executive, Gerald Johnson, thought to be linked to former maid's murder INVESTIGATORS QUESTIONED"

He skimmed the article and was livid. "They talked their way out of the murder? That's impossible....I hired a professional to make the hit. How in the world did I get linked to it?" He was blubbering way like a madman.

This news, in addition to seeing Shelley's ghost, not once but twice plus the bottle of Rose Petal Wine had Wayne thinking so irrational at that moment that he could think of nothing else but to get away from Mexico, to escape the unavoidable disaster that was looming at him from all directions. His computer beeped at him again, telling him he received some electronic mail.He opened the message; it was Sue's newsletter (which he had routed through several different servers so no one could find him). In it, he saw that her husband, John, was in France for several months on business. The newsletter went on about the gallery opening, different artists who would be present and who would be showcased at the opening.

Wayne smiled wickedly at himself, running his fingers through his thick brown hair; for he knew he would be making a trip.

Wayne departed the plane in France, happy to be out of Mexico with all the madness behind him. He felt confidant going through airport security that no one had recognized him. After all the pains he had taken to change his appearance, short of surgery: he was vainglorious. He was so carefree that he flirted without shame with everyone who he came across, from the ticket clerk, to the bellhop at the hotel at which he stayed.

After checking in his hotel in Toulouse, France without incident, he set up his laptop to do some research. The last hit man was more professional than all the others he had hired.

"At least he didn't get himself killed. The others probably got careless and started bragging in town. Only locals get bragging rights, the others should have known that." Wayne thought that this was the only logical explanation. Besides, he could not take the risk of this being tied to him. It was easier for him to take care of this job himself, and less expensive.

"By the time that the officials on both sides of the Atlantic realized this was tied to trouble in the United States, I will be long gone." Wayne crowed to himself.

John stretched out in the king size bed at the hotel. He felt bad leaving Sue and his friends back in Omaha.

"There is so much going on, so much pain and tragedy. How could one person be so evil?" said John out loud to himself. "Well, the sooner I take care of business here, the sooner I can get back home to help Sue deal with all of this madness."

He reached for the phone and called for room service to bring him breakfast then got up to clean up and get dressed for the day.

* * * * * * *

Sue got up earlier than she expected, so she turned off the alarm before it could scream at her. There were beautiful aroma's wafting through the apartment and smiled to herself, because she knew that the Millers were up and making breakfast. She smiled and shook her head, got up, put her favorite pink bathrobe on and went into the dining room.

"Well, mother, look who finally got up." Chided Papa Miller, looking at Sue.

"Oh papa, leave my little Susie alone. She had a busy day yesterday." At that, Mama Miller bustled over to Susie with open arms and surrounded Sue with unconditional love.

Sue was smiling with affection at the two older people, grateful they were there for her. They, in turn, were grateful she and John had opened their home to them after their store and home blew up a few months before. Sue gave an extra little hug, and then broke away to sit down at the table, guiding Mama Miller to do the same.

"How is the construction coming along Papa?" asked Sue.

"It is coming along nicely. The permits are all in place and the exterior is finally finished. The electronic surveillance equipment is due to be put in any day now. We want to thank you for helping us design a better floor plan."

"Yes Susie, this plan is better. Those mirrors in the corners are a great idea.

We can keep an eye on the whole store." Added Mama Miller.

Just then there was a knock on the door and Joan walked in. She was carrying a mug full of hot-spiced cider and a basket of croissants wrapped up in a towel.

"Hello everyone. I've brought hot croissants and orange marmalade." Joan said with good cheer just as the telephone rang.

"Hello?" Sue answered.

"Sue, it's McIntire. Is Joan around by any chance?"

"Why Detective, you must be psychic, she just arrived," Joan, it's Detective McIntire."

Joan handed the basket in exchange for the phone. "Hello Detective. I didn't expect to hear from you. Is everything alright?" She inquired.

"We just received some great news by mail. It's another anonymous tip: Omaha postmark, no return address, no signature."

"Well don't' drag it out, tell me what it is!" Joan intoned as the others were listening and wondering what was going on.

Detective McIntire laughed and then went on. "It's a note that suggests we look into that insurance salesman's bank accounts and financial records."

"Bill Belcher? That's a name we hadn't heard from in awhile. It's odd we would get that in the midst of all these crimes relating to Gerald's investigation." They said their goodbyes and made plans to get in touch.

Mama Miller got up from the table, took the basket away from Joan and led her to the table.

"Ah, little Joannie, welcome. What are you drinking?" Asked Papa Miller.

"Some hot-spiced cider. It's a little chilly with fall coming, and this is best to warm me up."

Joan sat down with the others, and they had a great time conversing about the Miller's new store, Sue's gallery, John's business in Europe, the weather, anything they could think of.

"Oh Joan, are you still coming over next week for dinner? We've invited the Detective over too and he said he would love to come."

"Yes, I've still planned on coming over for next week. I don't have to be in Seattle until after the New Year. I've wrapped up the investigation and there isn't any more to do just yet, except for the annual review of the 'Policies and Procedures" manual."

Mama Miller put both hands on her face and had a joyous expression. "Oh, both of my girls will be here! Did you hear that papa? Det. McIntire too, the only one missing is John, of course. But he will be here in spirit, Susie."

John finished his breakfast and the paper provided by the hotel. He looked at his watch and left for a meeting with the people in charge of the project. The clerk at the desk waved hello to John and the doorman tipped his hat as he opened the door. John waved back at the desk clerk and nodded hello to the doorman and left for the meeting.

Across the street was Wayne, discreetly watching John as he left the hotel. He had found out where John was staying, pretending that he was one of the people he was to meet that morning. He had narrowed down the likeliest hotels that John would stay and called each of them. There was no plan just yet, so he thought he would watch John for a while. The handsome businessman would be in Europe for quite some time, so Wayne didn't feel rushed into making a decision.

"Mistakes are made when fools rush in." Wayne told himself. "No one knows I'm here, and that gives me the advantage." He spat out his gum and a nearby French woman scowled at him. As the woman walked by, she hissed "American Trash." Wayne reached into the pocket of his sport jacket, pulled out a taser gun and gave the woman such a huge jolt that she fell down in a convulsive manner. Never looking back, he walked with a nonchalant air, whistling a tune. Meanwhile several bystanders rushed to the woman's aid, forgetting the tall dark haired stranger.

After a week, Wayne had followed John everywhere and began to discern a routine. John would leave the hotel early to go to the construction site. There, Wayne could see a modern, handsome building emerging from the steel and iron framework. John could be seen with blueprints in one hand and a cell phone in another. After work, he would have dinner with a group of people that he worked with on the building, and occasionally with an older American couple.

Later that evening in his own hotel room a few blocks from John's, Wayne began to mentally formulate a plan. He had the choice of following him to the construction site and waiting until John was alone, follow him to the restaurant where he ate dinner or follow him back to the hotel after dinner. He ordered room service, trying to limit his own contact with people, lest he be recognized. Spinning around in the chair in front of the desk, Wayne clapped his hands in triumph while he jumped up.

He reveled in his brilliant scheme.

"I just wish I were there when our favorite little gallery owner gets the phone call." Wayne said to the scotch and water with a smooth flair. He just took a swig of the drink, when his computer beeped at him with an urgent message. He turned around to face the computer screen and punched the enter button. His eyes got as big as dinner plates. He dropped the glass, pulled the chair out and sat down. On the screen was his face from the elevator in the hotel in Mexico with a look of abject terror in his brown eyes. There was an axe stuck in the side of his head and a message that said, "You're next."

"Oh my God!" whispered Wayne. "That's from the hotel elevator."

His mind was reeling a mile a minute. All he could do was sit there, watching the ax hit the side of his head again and again. He looked at the return address, but it was blank. He shook his head, deleted the message, and shouted at the computer "YOU'RE NOT GETTING TO ME! YOU'RE NOT REAL!" In the back of his mind, he could swear he heard that same mocking laughter he had heard in the hotel elevator back in Mexico.

Wayne shook his head, downed another drink, grabbed his jacket, and then left the hotel. Walking as fast as he could to put as much distance as possible between himself and the scare he just received, he found himself standing in front of the construction site.

He quieted himself best he could, then hid behind a dumpster. The walls were up and the roof was being built, proof that John was exerting as much pressure to finish the project. While Wayne stood fast and watched inside the shadows of the building, he heard something crashing inside. He froze and listened with all his might, and saw a large shadow in the evening sunset. He crept along the side of the building, holding the taser gun with one hand and a length of pipe with the other.

CHAPTER NINE

Inside the building, John was checking some figures against the lines of the building. He wanted to make sure the contractor had gotten the alignment perfect, or else the visual element would not work. He looked up briefly when he thought he heard someone walking down the road in front of the building. He set down his blueprints and his phone, and then carefully walked toward the door. Along the way he tripped over some aluminum siding, cursing the setting sun.

He stopped for a moment, and then walked to the side of the door. Looking out, all he could see was the dumpster, a huge mound of dirt and a pile of various pipes around the ground. He shrugged his shoulder and turned back around and started back to where he left the blueprints. As he took his first step, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up, feeling electric. Raising his arm to his head, he felt an electric shock on left side, under his raised arm. All went black.

When he woke up, he realized he was bound, unable to move. The left side of his body felt like it had been burned. He forced open his eyes and saw movement in the shadows. His heart stopped, thinking he was getting robbed. He felt for his phone, and then realized he left it on the table. Right then he heard a voice so low, it was almost imperceptible. It sounded as if it had come from hell itself.

"Looking for this, John? You were mighty careless leaving this so far away. Then again, you were careless working here all alone, where anyone could just drop in."

John squinted, trying to see who was talking, but just saw a tall shadow, waving his phone in the shadow.He involuntarily shivered when the voice said'Anyone'.John was trying to perceive what was going on.

"They'll never suspect this, John. Why, I bet even Joan and the good old Detective won't be able to solve this one. I almost feel sorry for you." The voice was part mocking, part malevolent. Whichever part was greater, John saw that either was going to be bad for him. He looked around in vain, but saw no other soul, other than the demented person in the shadows. His heart began to race and he was sweating a thousand deaths. Whatever this person had in mind, he knew he wasn't getting out of it.

Whoever this was, evidently knew his friends back in the United States, and definitely did not like them.

"Of course, I said almost, didn't I John. I'm being rude, aren't I? You must know me or know of me. I'm the one that's been behind all the unpleasantness. With you gone, no one will ever bother or mock me again. I'll be in complete peace."

All at once, John knew who this was. His mind recoiled with horror! He knew this was the missing bank executive that Joan and the Detective were investigating. So, this was the man behind all those murders. John wasn't the type to be afraid or cower in fear. He boldly faced his attacker, who hid in the shadows.

"They'll find you out, Johnson. When they do, you'll face the electric chair. You've been committing Federal Crimes, partner. WHY DON'T YOU FACE ME YOU COWARD?" John yelled to the dark shadow.

The shadow stood still and hit the pipe against the aluminum sheets, causing them to fly across the room and make an incredible din. The shadow moved slowly toward John, swinging the pipe in the air. At the last moment of his life, John saw the demented face of Gerald Johnson.

Out in the deserted courtyard there were an elderly American couple crouched in fear as they heard John being bludgeoned to death. In their haste to flee and notify the authorities, one of them stumbled over a pipe that lay in their darkened path.

* * * * * * *

At Sue and John's apartment, everyone had gathered for a dinner among friends. Papa and Mama Miller had the table set for six people, two for them, one for Joan, one for Det. McIntire, one for Sue, and one for John 'Lest we forget him', as Mama Miller was fond of saying. Sue, Joan and Mama Miller were in the kitchen getting the food ready for the table, and the Det. and Papa Miller were helping carry out the food.

They sat down at the table and engaged in lighthearted conversation. The Millers were discussing the new coffee island they were having installed, Det. McIntire was telling of the break in the rash of burglaries that had occurred the past spring, and Joan was extolling the virtues of having nothing to do, having finished the annual policy review, at which everyone laughed. The phone rang, interrupting their repast. Mama Miller made sitting motions with her hands at everyone and answered the phone.

"Hello.....yes, this is the Phillips residence......yes, she is here....," covering the mouthpiece, Mama Miller whispered to the group in general "it's the police in France calling for you, Susie."

Sue immediately got a pang in the pit of her stomach, which felt like had fallen to the soles of her feet. She sprang up from her chair and took the phone in two giant steps. Mama Miller sent a grave look to her husband, which Joan and Det. McIntire could not help but to see.

"Hello?.....Yes, this is Sue Phillips.....Yes, that is my husband....." At that last confirmation, Sue was visibly shaken, wondering what had happened and had grasped a hold of Mama Miller's arm for strength and support.

"What?....." Sue said, as if she were told something unbelievable. "WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING.......?" Sue's voice grew louder and louder until she was screaming and lost all feeling in her legs. Papa Miller rushed over to help his wife put Sue on the couch; Joan rushed to be by her best friend's side, while Det. McIntire grabbed the phone to ask what was going on.

"Hello...This is Det. McIntire of the Omaha Police Department......yes, I personally know John Phillips...he was what? When? How?...What did it say?...Who were the witnesses?...yes, I do know them...yes, I believe I know who did it...I appreciate your candor Inspector...we'll talk more later...you too, good bye." With that, Det. McIntire hung up the phone. He picked up the receiver and called for a doctor that he knew that made house calls.

The group was looking expectantly at Det. McIntire, except for Sue who had her head in Mama Miller's lap and Joan held her hand, petting it affectionately.

"The Dr. will be here shortly" was all Det. McIntire had said. Everyone knew that he would not say anything else until the Dr. had arrived.

About fifteen minutes later the Dr. had arrived, gave Sue a tranquilizer to calm her nerves and left, so that Det. McIntire felt it appropriate enough to give the news. Mama Miller and Joan came back from Sue's bedroom quietly shut the door and sat down on the couch next to Papa Miller.

"That was the French Inspector. John's body was found six hours ago at the construction site he was overseeing." Some witnesses in the area called the police." At that moment, Mama Miller gave a barely audible gasp, and put her hand over her mouth and all Joan could do was stare open mouthed at the Det.

"The witnesses were found sometime after the attack and told the authorities what they saw. He was only identifiable by his wallet."

"Det. McIntire," Papa Miller said gruffly, "that makes it sound like no one could identify John by his face."

"Yes, that is exactly what that means. Where his face should be was a pulpy mess and a pipe was lying next to him."

"My God, who would do such a thing to John? To anyone?" Joan said breathlessly.

After a few moments silence, Joan asked, "I wonder who witnessed the attack?"

"Thank God they weren't seen." Said Papa Miller, silently hoping they really weren't.

Mama Miller steeled herself and said "What did it say?"

"What?" responded the Det.

"That's what you said, 'What did it say'?"

Det. McIntire was stirred that this grandmotherly woman could have heard that while tending to Sue's emotional and physical needs.

"There was a note scrawled on the wall, 'stop the investigation...'"

Before Det. McIntire could finish the warning, Joan finished it for him.

"or else" She looked wide-eyed at Det. McIntire and was about to say something when Papa Miller said "just like the note that was written on the wall at Susie's gallery."

* * * * * * *

A few days later, Joan came into Det. McIntire's office, in a subdued kind of mood. She saw that the Det. was in pretty much the same mood. He looked up, smiled and pointed to a chair.

"So what's new?" Joan asked.

"I was just about to ask you the very same question. How is Sue?"

"She is being sedated around the clock since she got that call. This is so surreal. We were having a great dinner together only a few days ago. Why did Johnson decide to pull this off now?"

"That's got to be tough on Sue. Especially with that much damage. Does she know yet? When is the body being flown back?

"Sue doesn't know much of anything outside of her bedroom and the Millers. The officials are holding the body pending a full investigation. It might take weeks. Months, is more like. France and the United States embassy have their dual investigations, Johnson is wanted on federal crimes here and national crimes in Mexico, it looks like it's going to be weeks just to cut through the red tape of three different governments."

"At least Sue won't have to see John's body yet. I'm guessing the Dr. will wean Sue off of the sedatives slowly, to give her time to grieve." Joan nodded.

"To answer the second question you had, Johnson had time to plan this. He must have seen that neither you nor I were being held in the murder of Maria Tilden."

"How do you get that?"

"Just think, when the paper printed the story that you and I were held for questioning, but then released because of the federal investigation involving Johnson and that he may have had ties to the murder, he must have lost his mind. We didn't hear anything more out of him nor did we have anymore unusual happenings here."

"That sounds plausible. When I was investigating him for the bank fraud, he was clever to hide his tracks, but not clever enough as to leave a thread of evidence to point to Davidson." Joan paused for a moment to think. "Each time he has been quiet for a few months, something big has happened. That would stand to reason that he had been planning this for quite some time."

Det. McIntire smiled at the way Joan's mind worked. He was about ready to say something when an officer knocked on the door and said there was something he should see. He beckoned the Det. to follow him. Det. McIntire left the room and said he would be right back. About fifteen minutes later he stuck his head inside his office and said "you'd better come."

Joan rose from the chair, confused what this was about, half afraid that another body had been found and she would be incriminated again. Instead, she was led into the familiar room, what looked like command central, with a huge board on the wall with what looked like an advanced geometry problem on it, boxes with initials, lines, triangles, equal signs, crossed lines. She looked politely at Det. McIntire.

"This Joan is the Johnson investigation."

"It looks complicated."

"It is. It's taken these officers the past few months to piece all the actions together, and actions that we've attributed to Johnson."

Joan walked closer to the large board and saw a line that said 'witnesses' in the middle with arrows drawn to a point at the top of the problem

"Witnesses? What is that about?"

Det. McIntire looked at Joan, then at one of the officers. "Would you explain what that means? She headed the Johnson investigation at the bank."

The officer looked at his superior, who nodded, then at Joan.

"There were several witnesses who called our hotline after the paper published a few of those stories about Johnson."

Joan looked confused.

The officer looked at Joan, then at Det. McIntire. "Apparently, there were some people at a rest area on the west side of the state that remember a man in a BMW behaving rather obnoxiously."

"Really?" asked Joan, who looked at Det. McIntire, who smiled briefly.

"Yes Ma'am. They saw the articles and remembered the pictures of him as well as his car."

"Why would they remember a man from last spring, even if he behaved poorly?"

"Because," interjected Det. McIntire, "he was wearing bloody clothes at the time" and then he broke into a wide grin, at which Joan smiled back.

She saw an overseas paper and audibly gasped. She grabbed the paper, staring at the headlines and the pictures of her parents. The headline screamed: "Elderly American Couple Missing - witnesses to murder"

Joan and the Detective had gathered back at the Phillips' apartment where the Millers were waiting for them. The Detective had briefed the Millers on the newest finding in the investigation.

"So this ties that horrible Johnson man to the very beginning, where Sue was first attacked. He must have had a hand in everything. I can't believe anyone would go to those lengths, just for money!" Exclaimed Mama Miller, while Papa put his arm around him with affection and for protection. "Joan, what are you holding?"

Joan looked at Mama Miller with an undetermined gaze and handed the older woman the foreign press clipping.

"Joan, this could be your parents!"

"We have to be careful not to make assumptions. We know for a fact that he and Davidson embezzled funds from the bank. We know for a fact that Johnson left town under the guise of attending business, leaving himself several months' leeway that supposedly he could not be reached." Stated Detective McIntire.

"Is there any more news on what he has been doing since disappearing last spring?" Joan asked, trying to rid her mind and conflicting emotions regarding her parents.

"As a matter of fact, yes there is. Just this morning we received some anonymous information that Johnson was holed up in Mexico and in California somewhere. We sent some investigators to follow up on it at that little town in Northern California, where those two hit men came from."

"So, Johnson hired someone to commit the crimes, hoping nothing would tie back to him." Joan said.

"Yes. Our investigator received an anonymous tip that a man matching Johnson's description left town with a new identity, heading south."

"It's obvious that he was keeping track of things back here somehow." Interjected Mama Miller.

Papa Miller, Joan and the Detective stared at Mama Miller, surprised that she had said anything. She jutted her chin out and continued.

"It stands to reason. He left, then Sue's gallery gets broken into, Joan's apartment gets broken into, from the ground to the second floor, mind you, our store gets blown up, their maid gets killed, then poor John. Not to mention your parents Joan."

"Did you ever look into that insurance man's insurance records" Joan inquired of the detective, straining to ignore the nagging feeling that her parents were dead; taken from her before she could get to know them.

"That was a great informant, Joan," Detective McIntire began, "he received a huge infusion of cash in his account at the bank. When we brought him in, he blubbered away that the money was supposed to be transferred to an overseas account, and then his hotshot lawyer from Missouri shows up, halting the questioning."

"At least you got a partial confession." Mama Miller stated.

"That will be thrown out in court." McIntire looked sympathetic at her, then remembered what she had just said before. "But you're right about Johnson, Mama Miller. What we've got to figure out, is how he is making those plans how he knows what is going on here, and how he knew about John going to Europe."

"How about we start with the benefactors from the gallery?" Came a voice from the hallway, which sounded half asleep, and thousands of miles away. The group spun around to see Sue half standing, half grasping the doorframe of the bedroom for support. In her hand was a manila folder.

* * * * * * *

Wayne was giddy as a child that had gotten away with something. His room was littered with empty bottles of scotch and food containers that were strewn around the room. He soared among the clouds with the birds.

"Nothing can stop me now. I am invincible." Wayne spun around the room in little circles, imitating a dance with an unseen partner. He sunk down in the chair in front of the desk.

"Nothing can take me away from this." His arms were spread to insinuate his freedom, his own cleverness.

"I might as well see what is going on back home." He giggled, thinking to himself that all those who opposed him were sobbing uncontrollably, at a loss, unable to think of what to do next.

The computer was turned on and the page to the Omaha paper had come up. He looked around the paper to see if anything had been written about John Phillips murder. He spun the chair around, and when he saw the computer screen, all expression left his face, his arms dropped down to his side, and he was mouthing what he was reading.

"...unknown body was found this morning badly decomposed on the bank of the Platte River...dressed in black....only two possessions found...key chain traced back to Maria Tilden...instructions from wanted fugitive, Gerald Johnson...Det. McIntire, the detective in charge said in a statement...referenced the initial bank investigator, Joan...

What is going on? How in the world did he die? I thought that he returned back to California? And why was all that being printed in the paper?"

Wayne stared at the story, with a link from his name to the other articles revealing every detail that he had been involved in (or at least suspected to have been involved in.) Thinking more serious on the ramifications of what he just read, someone was killing the hit men he hired and planting evidence that would lead back to him. His mind could not take in all he was reading. 'Three dead hit men from the same California town? How stupid could I have been?' Wayne thought to himself. 'The police will send investigators back there, they will blab...' He could not finish the train of thought.

Jumping up, he bolted over to the bar and made himself another scotch and water with haste. The liquid swirled in the cup, mesmerizing Wayne in the process. He had to clear his mind.

"I need to clear out of here, pronto." He announced to the room in general.

"It's those two busybodies, ruining my plans. I'll teach them to mind their own business." He said through gritted teeth. "I'll teach you to mock me, DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!" Wayne had worked himself to a frenzy, and then threw the glass with all his might at the wall.

* * * * * * *

Joan was in her apartment waiting for the others to come down. It was decided that Joan's place was better to continue wading through all of the benefactor's files. Sue was allowing herself to fade into a depression. Being surrounded by memories and reminders of John in her own place was too much, even for a strong woman like Sue. The Miller's suggested that Sue and Det. McIntire take the files down to Joan's, while they put away John's things for the time being. Sue thought that it was a great idea. She didn't realize how much she was sinking into despair. Maybe she would heal faster if she didn't have so many of John's things around the apartment.

"There might be a better place for them", she said without further comment.

There was a knock at the door, so Joan crossed her living room to peak through the peephole. She smiled then opened the door for Sue and the Det. They walked in, arms laden with boxes of files.

"I didn't realize how many people were involved in the gallery. John handled that side. Since he was the main benefactor, I didn't' give it much thought."

"He must have been knocking on many doors to get this many." Replied Joan.

"Where do you want these, Joan?" Asked Det. McIntire.

Joan pointed to the living room, where she had been clearing space for them all to work. Det. McIntire walked in and placed his boxes on the floor in front of the glass and iron coffee table and Sue did the same. There was a sofa next to the wall, then a love seat making a "L" to the right, then two large easy-chairs completing a "U". There were matching glass and iron end tables with table lamps that were iron, but bulbous in the center.

"This is great Joan. I can't even tell the place was ransacked earlier in the year."

Joan gave a loving look at her dearest friend, and replied that Sue did a marvelous job redecorating the place.

"Sue asked me what I wanted this time, and I said that I did not want a reminder of what happened. Thank you for pointing me in the direction of that new electronic/digital security monitoring system. Det." Said Joan.

"It was nothing, Joan. I didn't want to see you getting broken into again, nor did I want to see you getting hurt."

At once, she had a pang of hurt, guilt and sickness that comes with bad news. Joan saw her friend's face and suggested they sit down while she gets some coffee, because they were going to be up late reviewing files.

As Joan went into the kitchen, Sue and Det. McIntire sat down and started to open boxes. Just then, the Millers knocked on the door and came in.

"Ah, here we are. Where's Joannie?" Asked Mama Miller.

"She's in the kitchen getting some coffee for us." Replied Sue. Mama Miller smiled with love at Sue, and then announced that she would help Joan in the kitchen.

Papa Miller sighed, then said "Mama isn't happy unless she's bustling around in someone's kitchen." The other's laughed, then started to browse the files.

In the kitchen, Joan saw Mama Miller enter and smiled at her.

"Do you think Sue will be alright?" Joan asked the motherly woman she loved.

"Susie will be fine, in time. The hurt is fresh in her mind. That's why Papa and I took down John's plaques, awards and diplomas. We left one picture of them; their wedding photo."

"Isn't it surreal? I mean, John was just here, and now he's gone. I can't believe it. It's good that you and Papa are staying with her, even though your living quarters are finished above the store."

"Well, we have plenty of time to move back, but Susie needs us now." At that, Mama Miller set her jaw, wiped her tears with a napkin and started looking for something to serve with the coffee. "What do you have here, Joannie?"

"I've been spending so much time up at Sue's that I haven't had time to shop. I think I have some finger foods in the pantry against the wall there." For the next fifteen minutes, Joan and Mama Miller were filling bowls, plates and mugs.

Finally, they finished, gathered the snacks and coffee and returned to the living room. They joined the others and started browsing files too.

"How should we separate these files, Sue?" Asked Det. McIntire.

"I think John had them separated by donation amount, then known and unknown benefactors."

"What do you mean, known and unknown benefactors, Sue?" Asked Papa Miller.

"Well you and Mama are known benefactors, so you would have a plain folder. Unknown benefactors would be in green folders. In the upper right hand corner, there is a colored circular sticker, coded for which donation amount." Explained Sue.

"How about we divide these files up between known and unknown. If someone is keeping track of your and John's whereabouts, they wouldn't take a chance that you would discover that they're a known benefactor. That would be too easy to hunt them down. If we concentrate on the unknown benefactors, that would shorten our suspect list." Said Det. McIntire. So the group spent the next several hours separating the benefactors by known and unknown status. At the end there was about a box full of unknown benefactors.

"Lets take a break, what does everyone say?" Asked Joan. Everyone got up to stretch and walk around the apartment for a few minutes. Joan and Mama Miller gathered up the empty plates, bowls, mugs and coffee pot. The rest followed them into the kitchen and stood at the center-cooking island that had barstools on the other end.

"Wow, I didn't realize there were this many people who wanted to remain anonymous." Exclaimed Sue.

"It's going to take a long time to find out who they are, right Detective? Asked Papa Miller.

"It depends on how they were set up. Some are set up as a trust fund through a bank or attorney. We may have to get warrants to open them up."

"I know from working at the bank that it even a warrant will not deliver who the person or person's are." Said Joan.

"We already suspect that Gerald Johnson person is behind all of this, why do we have to spend all this time hunting for him, like a snake?" Asked Mama Miller.

Sue turned to the older woman with kindness, and explained. "If we don't find an actual link to Johnson, we can't prove he's behind all of it; right now its just conjecture on our part. Even the Detective's investigation is based mostly on circumstantial evidence and witness testimony. We need something in black and white tying him to at least one crime."

"What about his wife's murder?" Asked Papa Miller.

"Since there was no body found and no weapon found, all we could do is place Johnson on top of the suspect list." Said the Det.

Joan suddenly had a peculiar thought: 'There was no body!?' but chose not to say anything yet.

"But you found those weapons for the maid's murder, right?" Said Mama Miller.

"Yes, but those had the Det.'s and my fingerprints on them. We were let out of jail, but we still have a trial date. It will be thrown out, but we have to go through the courts to clear ourselves." Explained Joan to the Millers, who were beginning to comprehend what was going on.

"Oh that's right mama." Said Papa Miller, looking apologetically from the Det. and Joan.

"This is so confusing." Mama Miller cried emphatically, putting her head in her hands. "All I want to do is get that awful man behind bars, so he won't hurt anyone else we love."

Everyone helped wash and put away the plates and bowls while Joan made a fresh pot of coffee, then a pot of herbal tea. They returned to the living room to tackle the rest of the files. Suddenly Sue giggled, and then laughed. Each member of the group feared for Sue's emotional sanity and gazed at each other helplessly.

* * * * * * *

Wayne looked around the hotel room haphazardly, with a wild gaze in his eyes.

"Now, did I get everything? I don't want to leave any clues around. How did those busybodies find out I was involved? How do I even get connected to these events that are happening half a world away? It's that damn investigator, Joan. She's turned everyone's attention to me. Damn her." Wayne was seething. His vision was clouding over with a familiar red haze. He didn't think clearly. His phone rang and the hotel clerk announced his taxi was ready.

On the way to the airport, he was sullen, like a darkness that falls before a storm hits with an unimaginable fury. Soon they arrived at the airport. He thanked the driver, gathered his luggage with the help of a porter, and marched with determination into the airport. He barely spoke to the clerk when picking his ticket, checking his luggage or to the security guards at their checkpoints. He attempted to calm himself so he would not make himself look obvious.

Succeeding, he silently patted himself on the back and walked to his gate to wait for his plane. He looked at the monitors and found his flight was not due back for another few hours, so he had time to kill. He looked in his carry on which housed his laptop, a change of clothes, toiletries and a notebook that had a list of people. Three of the names at the top of the list were crossed off with little skull and crossbones drawn in the left hand margin. He grimaced at the list, turned the page and looked at the list. Various names were crossed out or had checkmarks next to them; two had skull and crossbones in its margin. They read John Phillips and Maria Tilden. The names that had checkmarks on them were Mr. Miller, Mrs. Miller, Sue Phillips and Joan (Investigator). He tapped the list with his pen several times, then put a star next to Joan, with a skull and crossbones in the margin.

Pleased with himself, he got up and stretched, walked to where the café's and restaurants were. He realized all he had the past few days was fast food and now craved a real meal. Wayne surveyed the choices and decided on one. He walked in, sat down in the dimly lit restaurant. This was a good place to lay low, he thought.

The ambience was low key, there were about fifty or seventy five tables, the walls were made of brown stones (perceived to be from a quarry), the floor was brown tweed with red flecks, and the ceiling was pressed tin, with a walnut veneer. There was recessed lighting in the ceiling and candles at each table. The walls had various paintings, pictures and plates, each with spotlights on them. There were a few tables occupied, but clustered.

He looked at his own table. It had layered tablecloths; the first layer was mocha linen, and the top layer was tan linen, with silverware wrapped in mocha linen cloth. The chairs were black metal with black velvet cushions. A waiter brought him a glass of water in a crystal glass and a menu. First he ordered a scotch and water then his entrée. After a few minutes, the waiter returned with his scotch and water, then left.

Wayne drank from the glass, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders down his legs, then into the floor. He looked around for the restroom and thought how much better he would feel if he washed his face. As he walked back to the table, he glanced out of the plate glass windows faced inside the terminal. He stood there for a minute watching people walk by, seemingly looking back at him. Then he realized it was a one-way mirror; they could not see him. He gave a slight laugh and turned to head back to his table.

At once he froze. He saw a tall, blond haired woman with high heels, wearing a lightweight wool skirt and cream-colored blouse. His mind immediately spun faster than he could think. She walked by his table and he could swear he saw her wave her hand over his glass. 'OH MY GOD! It's Shelley!' His inner voice screamed. He shook the thought out of his mind, grabbed a nearby empty chair and sat down. His hands were shaking slightly. He wiped his forehead and looked again. The woman was nowhere to be seen. Rising, he hurriedly walked back to his table and sat down. He picked up his glass and peered into it. There was no powder or discoloration in the amber liquid.

Snapping his head to attention, he tried to casually glance around the restaurant. There was a bar at the wall, where he saw the blond woman again. He rose and walked with a fast clip toward her. He spun her around and demanded, "Why are you following me? First you play mind games with me in Mexico, then here in France? What is with you?" By then he was talking in a very loud voice.

The woman, taken aback, looked at the man, threw his hand from her shoulder, and said she didn't know what he was talking about. Wayne took a hard look at her, and then realized she was neither Shelley nor the woman from Mexico, Sarah Jaimison. Right then the bartender asked if she was all right, if the man was bothering her. She smiled and replied she was ok. The bartender looked at Wayne, and walked off.

"I apologize for my abrupt behavior. May I buy you a drink? Miss...?"

"Apology accepted. And yes, I'll have another white wine. It's Miss Jensen, Sheila Jensen."

Wayne smiled at her, but his insides were turning to jelly. He realized her initials were SJ. The bartender came over; he bought her a drink and returned to his table. 'Maybe I am reading too much into things. There's no way any of this could be related.' He thought to himself. He situated himself at his table, looked at his carry on bag to verify it was there and finished his drink. The waiter brought him another scotch and water, which Wayne said he didn't order.

"The young woman at the bar sent this to you." The waiter gave an enigmatic smile.

"Thank you. Tell the woman thanks for me, please."

"She has already left." With that, the waiter removed himself from Wayne's table. At that remark, Wayne looked down at the second drink and smiled at himself. "This is all nonsense anyway." The waiter returned to the table with his entrée.

After dinner, Wayne left the restaurant and the disturbing moment behind him. He was feeling better than when he came. The bag was feeling heavy on his right arm, so he shifted it to his left. The alcohol was wearing his guard down, so he walked at a more leisurely pace. The window displays were eye-catching, and the people held his interest. This amused him for quite some time, but he became weary. Noticing the time, he had about a half-hour until his flight.

"I should get back to my gate." He said to his watch. Tapping the watches face, he then turned and started to walk toward his gate. His gaze was sweeping right to left, taking in all the sights, when suddenly his gait stopped and time froze. Not more than twenty feet in front of him he saw a cleaned up vision of Shelley, there was no blood, no axe and no maniacal laughter. She was holding up a newspaper, defiant and walking slowly toward him. The headline screamed out at him in two-inch high block letters:

MISSING BANK EXECUTIVE, GERALD JOHNSON, AKA WAYNE HART, GIVEN LIFE SENTENCE IN WIFE'S MURDER.

Wayne didn't know which was more grim: the headline or the vision of his late wife. Time unfroze, and people were walking past the transparent apparition, not paying attention to what he felt was right in front of him. He felt a chill run down his spine and goose bumps cover every inch of his body. He felt cold, yet knew he was sweating profusely; his clothes were sticking to his skin. Standing there, he didn't know what to do. The apparition walked toward his location, waving the newspaper at him, with an unspoken accusation.

All of a sudden, Wayne could not catch his breath. He knew he must do something to stop the vision from advancing on his position, from notifying the surrounding people of what he had done. All reason left his clouded mind. With each step, he felt bolder than the one before, until he was within arms reach. He reared his arm back with the intent to hit her on the side of her face. As he brought his fist out and toward her face, he yelled, "YOU'RE DEAD! STOP FOLLOWING ME! YOU WERE A LOUSY WIFE, YOU DESERVED TO GET KILLED" With all his might, he finished the arc of his arm, landing on the back of the head of the gentleman walking in front of him. Shelley was nowhere to be found.

The gentleman turned around and knocked Wayne off his feet onto his backside. He was sprawled out, not thinking clearly. "YOU BITCH! I'LL GET YOU! YOU JUST WAIT!" Gerald sprang onto his feet and ran in the direction to his gate. He turned behind him and saw Shelley chasing him with the newspaper, swinging it back and forth with the same look he saw in his hotel room in Mexico. "I KILLED YOU ONCE, YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING WHORE, I CAN DO IT AGAIN!"

Wayne was knocking and bulldozing people down that were in his way. All around him people were dropping their jaws in shock, amazement, and horror. The police were talking to the man that Wayne hit, taking his statement, but Wayne was nowhere to be found. By the time that the police had finished taking his statement, Wayne ducked into a restroom about fifty yards down and changed his clothes.

* * * * * * *

Sue looked at four concerned faces, then announced:"This benefactor has an address in Mexico," and kept giggling.Joan and Detective McIntire looked at each other in wide-eyed amazement. The Millers, who were afraid for Sue's sanity, suggested calling it a night and escorted Sue back up to the upstairs apartment. Det. McIntire announced he wasn't tired, so he would head back to his office. Joan felt somewhat revived by cleaning up the dishes and straightening up the living room. She put the three boxes of files by the door and smiled. Their first solid lead! She couldn't help wondering if her parents were ok. Returning to the kitchen, she grabbed for her favorite tea mug and commenced to make some herbal tea for herself.

She walked over to the patio door and looked up at the new alarm system. She smiled, wanly, feeling safe and secure.

'I'm lucky to have so many people who care about me.' She thought to herself.

Her thoughts were rambling around, trying to make sense of what was going on.

"Gerald fled Omaha to California. People in Western Nebraska on the way see him at that rest area. We know he received a new identity then fled south to Mexico. Then he followed John (poor John) to Europe and killed him. What did Gerald do with Shelley's body? What is his next step? I wish I knew what he was up to. Are my parents really dead?" She couldn't help thinking they didn't deserve to die, despite everything. Not feeling the least bit sleepy, she decided to head over to the police department to visit with Detective McIntire.

At that very moment Det. McIntire was reviewing the information that resembled a complex geometry problem. He was thinking the very same thing.

'What was Johnson up to? We need proof that he is behind all this. The circumstantial evidence needs to pile up against him.' The coffee pot was alluring to his senses, so he walked over to refill his mug to find Joan walking toward his office.

"Couldn't sleep either, I see?" Detective McIntire said as Joan walked into his office wearing a jumpsuit with sneakers.

"Still sleeping here in your clothes?" She noted he still had on the same slacks and shirt but now were wrinkled.

"I was just wondering what Gerald was up to. Thanks to Sue, we now know his alias, Wayne Hart, and he was in France recently. What was he up to in between?"

Joan was about to respond when she heard the short clipping of high heels on linoleum. She and Detective McIntire looked out into the main room and saw walking toward them a statuesque blonde woman with startling blue eyes that were cold and meant business. She was wearing a business suit of dark blue light weight wool and her hair was pulled up in a bun at the back of her neck. The two just stared at her not recognizing her at first.

"May I help you, miss?" Detective McIntire inquired.

The woman glanced at him with a wry grin on her immaculate face, and then turned to Joan.

"Good Morning Detective McIntire, Joan." The woman stated in an authoritative voice as she extended her hand to the Detective.

Joan's eyes widened, her jaw dropped open and she finally found her voice.

"Oh my God! Shelley Johnson!" Joan blurted out before she could help herself.

McIntire stared at Joan as if she were mad, and turned his attention to the woman standing before him. He slowly rose to his feet, walked around the desk as if in a daze and took the woman's extended hand.

"As I live and breathe. Well damn woman, you're supposed to be dead!" He sputtered, completely forgetting his military training that, at all other times, covered his surprise.

Shelley shook Detective McIntire's hand, smiled and nodded at Joan as she shook her hand in turn. After shaking her hand, he retrieved a chair from the outer office for her.

The Detective returned with the chair and both sat down; Joan and the Detective stared, dumbfounded, waiting for Shelley to start talking.

"I'll bet you two are wondering what is going on?" She asked with a hint of a smile.

When the two didn't say anything, she continued. "I've been busy the past year. I had to continue to let the public think I was dead so I could keep an eye out for Gerald and continue to investigate him. I've been keeping track of him the past year. I know everything he's been up to, including embezzlement, kidnapping, murder, not mine, of course, among other things.

"He's committed national crimes in both Mexico and France that will bode very badly for him. I haven't come forward until I knew he would be coming back to Omaha, voluntarily, to face all these charges. I have a deal to make, Detective." She announced and paused to give the two stunned people time to take in what was going on.

"What kind of deal, Mrs. Johnson?" Detective McIntire asked, recovering enough to continue with the conversation. Joan was still amazed to find the woman she thought was dead for the past year.

"Call me Shel, or Ms. Johnson if you prefer. I want you to talk to the District Attorney into letting me help prosecute Gerald."

Detective McIntire was once again, stunned, but continued.

"Help prosecute? I can see where you would want to get revenge, but I just can't ask the D.A. to let you in on the case. First of all, you're not qualified."

"Actually, Detective, remember that lunch we had a few months ago? You told me she was an assistant to the District Attorney in St. Louis. She is qualified to assist in this investigation. In fact," Joan sat up straight and stared at Shelley, "you have an exclusive insight to what Gerald was up to. You've been investigating him the past year, following him. I bet you were the one to plant that account number for me to find last year to that overseas account!"

"I always knew you were a smart cookie Joan. I knew if you had a nudge, you'd know to look in his direction. He's been a slippery criminal, but I've stuck to him."

"How did you get away from him at your house last year? There was an awful lot of blood loss." Detective McIntire asked.

"That was a fluke, Detective. One thing I've learned about my husband is he can only take so much stress, and then he goes into a fugue state. He isn't aware of his surroundings and is more susceptible to suggestions. When I came home that day, I opened up the closet door to find him standing there holding the axe; just standing there with the most loathsome look on his face. I realized what he was up to, so I took advantage of it. That blood came from my account at the Red Cross. I had to sneak in to get it and I didn't have much time."

"What do you mean, took advantage?" McIntire asked.

"I planted the axe in his car, blood in the house, his bloody clothes, and gave the suggestion that he had killed me, dumped my body and had driven west. At the rest stop, he took it from there." She announced.

"This is all too much to take in."

"Well, Ms. Johnson, what do you want to do now?"

"I would like you to talk to the District Attorney later today." She answered, smiling fully.

Later that day, Detective McIntire, Joan and Shelley met with the District Attorney. At first the D.A. didn't want Shelley involved, but relented after hearing her background.

In the D.A.'s office, they continued discussing the case and what Shelley had learned.

"Do you remember each time there was an article in the paper after each break-in and murder? The paper attributed them to Johnson?" Shelley asked.

"Yes, because each had direct ties to him one way or another. He has tried to cover his tracks, but failed, why?" Joan asked.

"We received a fax from a hotel in Mexico. During my research, I talked to the manager. There was a guest named Wayne Hart. The manager thought he behaved suspiciously his last day. He left his car behind, and guess where it was registered?"

"California or rather, Sacramento, California. The same town where those hit men was from." Detective McIntire announced.

"Very good Detective! The Sacramento detectives found the lot where the car was bought. It was registered in the name of Gerald Johnson." Shelley continued.

"You're joking!" Gasped Joan.

"When they realized the name change wasn't legal, they started looking into it. Not only that, it seems Mr. Hart, alias Mr. Johnson, did not realize the hotel kept track of where each guest went on the internet. They keep track for any illegal or terrorist activities. He made many visits to our hometown newspaper. Plus, you'll never guess what else he received while he was there." Shelley looked positively alive, Joan thought, getting the goods on her husband.

"I can't imagine." Joan replied, finishing her tea and shaking her head. This was almost too much to take in.

"The hotel found several of Sue's gallery newsletters on their mainframe. Plus, they found a copy printed from Johnson's email account. He circled the article where John was returning to Europe to oversee the project."

"Oh my GOD! He really was behind everything. Poor Sue! He was in such a hurry that he didn't cover his tracks like he did the embezzlement at the bank; which you led me to, Shelley." Joan nodded her head to Shelley, who nodded back.

"He must have been rattled by killing, you, Shelley, as well as Maria, ordering all those catastrophes to happen." McIntire said to the group, thinking aloud.

"So, we now have motive and opportunity. But, you're right he must have been rattled. He certainly didn't cover his tracks like he did at the bank. He's becoming careless, sloppy. The pressure is getting to him. He's going to make a mistake, and soon." The D.A. said at last, looking up from his note taking.

They were going over the information again and again, when the telephone rang in the District Attorney's office. He answered it and handed it to Detective McIntire. Joan followed the one-sided conversation and then returned to the evidence at hand. About fifteen minutes later, Det. McIntire was grinning ear to ear.

"That must have been awfully good news to cause a grin like that."

"That phone call was from the French police. They had an incident at their airport. A man had a mental breakdown of some sort; he started punching people, running through the airport yelling at thin air, but disappeared soon after."

"Do you think it was Johnson? If so, how do they know?"

"I can answer that question, Joan. I had to come back here to Omaha as soon as I knew that Gerald was going to head back here. I had to come before him to let you know what was going on, and to warn you. Gerald now thinks that you're to blame, Joan, for all his misfortune. He saw your name attached to the articles and is going to come gunning for you."

Detective McIntire nodded in agreement and spoke. "The French Police searched the airport and found some paper in a restroom not far from where the scene happened. On the paper were some plans and an address."

"What plans, and how does the address tie into all this?" Joan spread out her arms as to encompass the room.

"Plans that were made to kill you and me. The address was yours, Joan. Don't worry; we'll be ready for him. I already have a plan in place."

Her eyes first got big as dinner plates, then narrowed down to determined slivers. She said, "He can try. We'll be waiting for him. Did they find him on his flight over?"

"No, he wasn't on the flight he booked, but they are still looking for him at the airport. They think he didn't have time to switch flight plans."

"Johnson is a determined customer. When he wants something, he usually gets it. When did this happen?" The District Attorney added.

"The incident happened yesterday, about twenty four or so hours ago." Shelley answered.

Joan was lost in thought for a few minutes, and then looked at the Det.

"The flight over is about ten hours, give or take. He might already have arrived in New York and taken a flight to a surrounding state, then rented a car."

"Sounds fair. He's like a caged animal, ready to strike out if he feels threatened in any way. There's something else. I didn't know when the right time would be to tell you, but you may have already guessed. Your parents were found unconscious in an abandoned root cellar near John's building. They're alive, but were beaten and left to starve."

"I'm sorry, Joan, I didn't know anything about it." Shelley said to Joan, completely sorrowful.

CHAPTER TEN

Joan raced home with the number for the hospital that Det. McIntire gave her.

In the darkness of her living room, she held the phone close to her heart. The conflicting emotions she felt were rolling in her stomach until she decided to get it over with and call them. She had two goals: first, to determine if they would be all right, and second to finally confront them.

She turned on a lamp and dialed the overseas number with nervous, trembling hands.

"Hello?" A faint, tired, word out masculine voice asked.

Joan hesitated momentarily before answering.

"Hello, Dad? It's Joan." 'Dad' felt strange, almost alien in her mouth. She couldn't believe she was actually talking to the man who had abandoned her so many years before.

"Joan? Is that really you?" She thought she detected a quiver of emotion on the other side of the phone.

"Yes, I heard what happened to you and mom. I just wanted to call to tell you I'm sorry you got involved in this mess." She found herself asking before she could stop herself. "Why were you and mom there, anyway?"

"Oh, Joan," he answered in a heavy voice, "we thought it was a way to get to know you better. If we knew what your friends were like, we'd get some insight into you. We had dinner several times with your friend, and we liked him tremendously."

"You know about John?" She asked, forgetting that she had already known that information.

"Of course, Joan. We've been keeping track of you." He sounded even more tired and distant now. Or was it weariness she detected? She couldn't tell. Maybe there was more to their story than she knew.

"Do you need to go?" She asked, not wanting to tire him out even more, but at the same time wanted to keep the flow of the conversation. Maybe she'd even get answers.

"No, talking helps. Don't you have questions for me?"

"Yes...Yes." She hesitated for a minute, but decided to go ahead. "Why did you and mom abandon me as a child? Didn't you love me?" She blurted out the question that had caused so much hurt and pain. She wanted answers, but had prepared herself for the worst.

"Oh, Joan." He sounded even wearier than before. "We didn't abandon you. We had to leave, but couldn't take you." He stopped suddenly, his voice quaking with emotion and Joan listened with rapt attention.

"Your mother had a disease that was only being treated here, in France. We couldn't be the kind of parents we should have been. The treatment worked, but by the time we contacted your mother's Aunt, she had died and the foster care system took you away. They wouldn't release any information about you to us. We were charged with child abandonment. We couldn't come back." He was talking rapidly, his voice was strangled with sobs and Joan found her face wet with tears.

Gone was a lifetime of anger: A lifetime of betrayal, of abandonment. In its place was understanding, forgiveness and even love.

She remembered Mama Miller's sage advice: "They've extended an olive branch."

* * * * * * *

Wayne congratulated himself for finding another flight to the United States. There was another flight leaving in the next gate so he simply switched flights.

'It'll be hours before they discover I've left Europe.' He said to himself.

Sitting in the first class seat, he picked up his carry-on bag and dug through the contents for his plans. Shuffling the contents around, he began to panic.

"Where are the plans? I had them in here. I remember seeing them when I changed clothes in the restroom." Shuddering when he uttered this last statement, he realized they must have fallen out when he took the extra clothes out of the bag.

"That means they have all my information, my plans, Joan's address. How stupid could I have been? No matter. Those imbeciles won't know what hit 'em."

Wayne was so cocksure of himself that he didn't realize the chain of evidence he had left for the Det. and Joan to find back in Nebraska, California, Mexico and France. By this time, he was still one step ahead of the investigation, and he knew it.

After the long flight, he took a detour from international airport in New York to Minneapolis, Minnesota. From there he rented a car to drive back to Omaha, Nebraska. All the while, he remained focused on his goal: to kill Joan for what he felt was her fault. She was the one behind all his misfortune. If she hadn't been investigating him in the first place, he would be off Scot-free. She alone found the overseas account that held his millions. She and she alone stood between him and freedom. The more he thought about how close he was to a carefree life, the angrier he got.

Since he had left Omaha last year he had been under constant pressure. He felt the scrutiny of the police everywhere he went. Taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair, he laughed out loud that he let himself believe that Shelley's ghost was haunting him.

"But this last vision was so realistic. Never before has that witch chased me like that. It must be from mental exhaustion." Tried as he might, he just couldn't get himself to believe it was as simple as that. There had been too many times he had seen her: First in his room at the hotel in Mexico, then the elevator, those two women who resembled Shelley (uncanny that they had her initials to boot), then the airport in France. He shook his head and continued to drive south.

After hours of driving he pulled over at a rest stop outside of Omaha. As he pulled in, he noticed it was deserted, save for the caretaker's car parked at the very end of the lot and a few semis on the other side of the divide in the parking lot.

"Not much longer now until Joan gets what's coming to her. After all the warnings I sent her this past year, she still didn't learn her lesson. I'll get that detective from the police station too." Wayne was smiling to himself and whistling a tune as he headed for the restroom.

Walking back to his car, he decided to get something to drink and headed for the vending machines. He made his choice then turned around and walked back to the car. What he saw next almost made him drop his drink. There, not more than twenty feet from his car was a fog surrounding his car. He at first thought it was fog rolling in for the night, then noticed that there was no other fog in the area, only around his car. Chills ran up and down his spine that made him shiver involuntarily; his knees to buckle slightly. There was something different about the fog. He stared at it as one would a grisly automobile accident.

Then it hit him; the fog wasn't a white or gray fog, it was luminescent. Plus, it swirled about, engulfing the car. There was something that forbade Wayne from coming any closer. He looked around, every hair on his body standing at attention; there was no other person around. The semis were gone, as was the caretaker's car. Time and space seemed to dissolve around him. His feet felt like lead, his body as if moving through jello. Slowly he made his way to the car.

When he was within arms length the strange fog disappeared so suddenly that he yelled out in surprise. He put the key in the door to unlock it, he looked around and everything came back into focus, the semis, the caretaker's car, everything. It was only then when he got inside that he saw what was lying in the passenger's seat: A bloody axe.

First he screamed and tried to back away, but the enclosed space made the scream echo in his head and the door held him in place. He calmed himself, lest he draw any unwanted attention. He looked around, and there was no sight of another person. No other cars, no one hiding behind the buildings, the vending machines. No sign of life from the semis. The hair on his neck could not have been any stiffer.

Not believing what he was seeing, he stretched out his hand toward the axe.

"It couldn't be." He spoke with a barely audible whisper. His index touched the tip of the handle. It was solid. "How..." He couldn't even bring himself to finish the sentence. He shook his head, put it in his hands, grabbed the soda can and drew it across his face, to cool himself. Suddenly, he straightened up with a steely look in his eyes. "Things happen for a reason. This was a gift, so I could finish off Joan. Nothing is real." He began laughing wildly, tilting his head back, drawing in more air, and laughing as he drove off.

It was still a couple of hours before dawn and neither Det. McIntire nor Joan had gotten any sleep. Together with Shelley, they had put together a timeline for Gerald during the past twenty-four hours, and surmised that he was either on his way back to Omaha, or already there. They knew he was planning to kill Joan and Det. McIntire. The Detective sent Sue and the Millers over to the Miller's home above the store. He suggested the leave town for a few days, but they wouldn't hear of it. They plainly stated they would not leave Joan or him. Papa Miller said he wanted a 'front row seat'. Since they would not leave, he ordered a police unit over to guard them, in case Johnson or another hit man tried to harm them again.

Sue called Joan as soon as she and the Millers were safe and sound at their home above the store. Sue put the phone on the loudspeaker so the Millers could hear about the evening's happenings in its entirety. The Millers could not believe what had happened since going to bed the night before, and were equally stunned to hear that Shelley Johnson was, in fact, still alive.

Sue surmised they were on the right track about Johnson being one of her anonymous benefactors and Joan confirmed that Johnson had several of Sue's newsletters in his hotel room in Mexico. Mama Miller had asked since Mexico and France knew that Johnson was Wayne Hart, why didn't they arrest him then. Sue explained that the Mexican and French police didn't know it was Johnson until he had already fled, leaving behind evidence and clues as to his real identity.

Papa Miller could not believe that (that so-and-so) Johnson had been allowed to escape so many times, but was glad to hear the police were waiting for him here at home, and that he would have such a lengthy prison sentence that he wouldn't bother anyone else again. Mama Miller asked if Joan would be coming to their home since Johnson was back in town to kill her. Joan replied no, that police would surround her and the older woman told her to be safe and not to take any chances.

At last Gerald drove over the Missouri River into Omaha. His eyes were wide with a mixture of fright and revenge. His only thought was to kill Joan and the Detective.

"They have got to pay." He kept telling himself. His right hand was constantly reaching over to the passenger seat to verify the axe was real.

What was real?

* * * * * * *

Finally back in Omaha, Gerald decided to park several blocks away from Joan's building. Although it was only a half-hour from dawn, it was still dark out. He half ran and half walked, carrying the bloody axe across his chest. Finally, he saw Joan's building and several police cars around the building. He was trying to decide what to do about the police when the police suddenly started their cars and left. Through an open window he heard dispatch repeat of a burglary in progress and ordered all available cars to the location. One by one, the cars left. The last police car had their windows down as well and he heard that his rental car had been found, under the name of his alias, Wayne Hart, suspect Gerald Johnson.

"Well, well, well, aren't they industrious?That should throw them off my trail for a while. Joan is unprotected. I can finally pay her my regards." Just how he expected to get past the doorman was just a minor matter to the now fully crazed man in the parking lot behind the building. No one was watching the building now. He hid behind some old tree that provided some cover from the building. He sat on his haunches and patted himself on the back, at his own cleverness.

From behind him he heard a swift wind tear through the tree, although it was a still night. He sprang to his feet, readied his axe and spun around, eager to meet his intruder. To his amazement, there was no one there. The tree behind him was silent. He cocked his head to listen to footsteps or any noise that may warn him. The only sound he heard was his own breathing and his own heartbeat.

Between two giant branches directly ahead of him, he saw a faint glow, like a firefly, although it was too late in the season. He studied it for a few minutes and walked tentatively toward it. Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of red light that blinded him momentarily. He dropped the axe and shielded his eyes. When he dropped his arms and refocused his eyes, he could not believe what he was seeing. He gaped in stunned disbelief. Too stunned to scream, he could only form a scream with his open mouth. His flesh and skin felt like heat and ice all at once, his heart stopped, and his lungs no longer took in oxygen.

Right before his eyes was Shelley. She looked as if he could reach out and feel her, but was afraid. There was a familiar luminescent glow about her, and her gaze...He could not determine what her gaze meant. It was the same look in the hotel elevator in Mexico. Malevolent. Searing. He heard that familiar peal of laughter, mocking him.

He fell to his knees, then backward, resting on his feet. She glided several feet toward him, and all he could do was whimper.

"So, you thought you could get rid of me, right Gerald? Or is it Wayne now?" There was another peal of laughter that set his heart to stone.

"No, you're not real, not here...I killed you." He reached for the axe and held it in front of him. "I killed you with this."

"Did you, Gerald? What is real?" There was a venomous look in here eyes.

"You couldn't have survived. Your skull was crushed." He looked at her head and saw that it was still intact. She tilted her head back and crowed with delight at seeing Gerald struggle to comprehend what was going on. She leveled her gaze on him again, and he squirmed.

"Yes, my skull was crushed. If I were alive," she hissed at him.

"What?" Was all Gerald could breathe out of his mouth, he could not believe what he was hearing. By this time, all reason and sense had left him. He stood up to face her. "I killed you, you filthy whore. Why are you doing this to me?"

She leaned forward so her face was only inches from his. "Because, you left me to die Gerald. I can't forgive that. I had to haunt you, make you remember, make your life hell." She hissed the last word right in Gerald's ear. He suddenly reached up with a balled up fist and hit her. He yelled in fright when his hand hit the tree trunk, badly cutting and bruising his hand. Gerald jumped back several feet. He looked up with horror. Shelley only smiled at him from a few feet farther back.

"Something wrong, dearest?" she said sweetly.

"You're alive! You're here! You're real!" He screamed. His mind was reeling.

"What's real?" She repeated

"It was all a set up. What happened?" He said to himself more than to Shelley.

"I had to haunt you, Gerald. Do you remember when I first came to town and we had dinner? I handed you that envelope?"

His mind tried to think back that far and could not remember. There was a maniacal laughter that brought him back to his senses.

"I said '...I called a friend of mine who is just simply a whiz with a camera and listening devices, I had our conversations and outings recorded...' don't you remember Gerald? Did you think I was so stupid as to have my only savings in the safe in the bedroom? My God Gerald and you embezzled millions from the bank."

"You followed me to Mexico. That was you in the elevator in that hotel."

"Mexico, France, the airport.... you are so gullible." She replied with another fit of laughter. "Since I had money at my disposal, I could pay handsomely." Shelley regarded the shell of a man before her, and with a wicked, sickening sweet smile, leaned forward.

"Gerald, darling, you really should cut down on that Scotch."

"You poisoned my Scotch! You killed those hit men I hired." Gerald could only say with contempt.

"No, I never personally or remotely, had them killed. I had nothing to do with it. They were just foolhardy. Or you've made another enemy. Anyway, I had every movement you made trailed. You really were sloppy. You didn't cover your tracks nearly as well as you did at the bank. That investigator, Joan, really is a sharp woman." She sneered.

"You....you planted evidence that would lead back to me....you planted my account number so she would find it."

She laid her finger along her nose and winked. She circled Gerald so she was between him and the building, behind the trees.

"Last but not least, it looks like you'll be going down for my attempted murder, embezzlement, coercion to commit a felony, Maria Tilden's murder, and John Phillips', in all, two murders and multiple felonies?" She kept circling him, repeating the same sentence over and over again, with the same ruthless laughter he had heard before. She quieted down and looked at him again. "That's in addition to the charges for embezzlement, fraud and kidnapping. Don't worry, that little gal that you made disappear from her cell last year is safe and sound. The police finally found her. And she is stunning, Gerald. She'll be able to testify against you in court." She gave another caustic laugh that rattled his bones.

By this time, Gerald was seething with a red-hot anger. He couldn't see straight, he was so livid.

"You're not really here, you bitch. I killed you. You're nothing but my imagination running wild" He couldn't help but to wonder if what this vision was telling the truth.

His head hurt now, from lack of sleep, too much alcohol and too much stress. He rubbed his forehead then looked at the glowing, glowering vision.

"What about those women, Sarah Jaimison and Sheila Jensen. Were they working for you, too?

"Surprisingly, no. They were just coincidences which I took advantage. A stroke of genius, I knew if you were pushed hard enough, you would be seeing connections everywhere. You just needed a gentle nudge now and then. Anyway, that is what I would do, if I were alive." She leered at him and he couldn't focus anymore.

He stumbled around, not believing what his senses were telling him. She couldn't be real.

"I should have known you were behind all this. I just have to make sure you're really dead this time." He rushed at her with all his might and started swinging the axe back and forth, closing his eyes all the while.

After several minutes, he heard sirens blaring out at him from all sides. He stopped swinging, dropped the axe and opened up his eyes to see the Police surrounding him with their weapons drawn. Directly in front of him were Joan and Detective McIntire. Gerald was seething with red-hot anger again.

"On your knees, Gerald." He could hear the Det. saying, but didn't register what he was saying.

He looked blankly at the man, who had a service revolver pointed at him and started to rush forward. He heard several blasts from all around him and fell down, writhing in pain. Judging from the pain in his body, he was hit in his shoulder, left hand and left knee. Looking up, he saw the Det. kneeling beside him on one side and Joan on the other.

"She's alive! Shelley's alive! I really didn't' kill her!" He was ranting to the two faces above him.

"Yes, we know..." Det. McIntire admitted through a grim smile.

"No, that's not possible. She was here." He began muttering incoherently, driven completely mad. "She was right here, right in front of this tree. I killed her right here. I hit her with my fist just before." He was blubbering...why didn't they believe me? He thought.

Joan and the Det. turned toward the tree, and then turned back to Gerald. "The only marks on the tree are marks you made with that axe."

"That couldn't be. I just killed her! Look at the axe!" He was getting excited now and was restrained by several officers.

"Johnson, the axe is here, you had it with you."

He stared in disbelief at Det. McIntire and Joan. "I hit her with my hand."

Joan looked at his hand and said, "You've bruised and scraped your hand when you apparently hit the tree." She looked at him in bewilderment and disgust.

He looked down and saw his hand was pretty badly scraped and bleeding. He craned his head and saw some blood on the tree behind him.

"This can't be happening. She's alive, I tell you, and she's alive. I really didn't kill her last spring, but I did tonight. She haunted me in Mexico, in France.... I saw her at the airport. She's really alive!" By the end he was screaming with all his might at whoever might listen to him.

* * * * * * *

During the trial Shelley was right beside the District Attorney, aiding his case against Gerald and Bill, the insurance salesman. When she first walked into court she found out that Gerald and Bill's attorney was her old boss back in St. Louis, the crooked District Attorney, now a crooked defense attorney. It was his fault that she landed as a Call Girl in the first place.

The Ex-District Attorney wanted her off the case due to conflict of interest, but the judge stated that Shelley's and the ex-D.A.'s history was so long ago that it wasn't a problem in this case.

The list of people testifying against the pair were the initial fraud case store owners and bank clerks who testified that Gerald and Bill had hired goons to threaten them into stealing the deposits and filing two separate claims. One witness that surprised Joan was Harriet Brown. She admitted she had sent two documents to Detective McIntire anonymously and put the flyer for "The Nutcracker" in Joan's shopping bag the year before for Joan to find. She wanted to make sure that she knew that Bill knew Gerald.

Even Mr. David Davidson III testified against Gerald and had to admit he knew nothing about what Gerald was up to. Due to his testimony, his reputation would never recuperate enough for him to be president of the bank anymore. All charges against him were eventually dropped, as were the charges of murder against Detective McIntire and Joan.

Shelley gave such damaging testimony against Gerald, that he received additional time on his sentence, in addition to time he would be serving in Mexico and France. She even flustered her old boss enough that he couldn't look her in the eyes anymore. The publicity garnered during the trial placed Shelley directly in the public spotlight. Her background became household news all over the nation, and her name became famous (or infamous, as the case may be). She captured the imagination of the nation: former Assistant District Attorney turned Call Girl, turned Investigator.

The Miller's store had a grand opening and was a success. There even was that old cowbell that rang whenever the door opened. The whole neighborhood showed up out of respect for the much-loved couple. Det. McIntire was given a commendation and a raise for bringing in Gerald Johnson. Joan was given a promotion as well at the bank, and given an award by the Omaha Police Department for helping solve the case.

Sue opened up her gallery, on time. It felt as if the whole city arrived for the grand opening. The auction went well and attendance was more than she had anticipated. She was given a standing ovation before and after her speech at the opening ceremonies.

In her speech, she thanked the community for their support, but especially for her family and friends. She motioned for The Millers to stand up for recognition (at which they were embarrassed, and Mama Miller was continuously dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and Papa Miller had one arm around his wife and the other waving awkwardly to the crowd.) She then thanked her best friend for standing up for her during the time of crises, and blew Joan a kiss. Finally, Sue thanked the Omaha Police Department, especially Detective McIntire, for tirelessly devoting much of his personal time toward solving the case. There were murmurs of assent at this comment.

At the conclusion of her speech, she welcomed everyone to The Phillips Gallery, and bade everyone to go to the permanent 'John Phillips exhibition' that showcased her late husband's architectural designs and awards.

Joan walked beside her friend and noticed for the first time. Sue's belly was slightly rounded.

About the author:

Currently living in Seattle, Washington with my two cats, Bobcat and Bootstrap, where I've been blogging and writing with my writing business, www.LioneServices.com.

In my first novel, Aside of Murder, I use Nebraska towns and landmarks throughout to give the reader and characters believability, heart and realism. The Novel takes us across different countries, from Mexico to France then back to the United States. Another character is from Asia itself! Readers across the globe will see that my books are for everyone. My Masters degree was received in Rehabilitation Counseling which has brought another dimension to my writing that I wouldn't have otherwise known.

I am currently busy writing my second novel, The Bamboo Killer, which includes some familiar characters and takes us into the mind of a serial killer bent on a wild psychological trail.

Writing Aside of Murder has been a rewarding experience that has taught me so much. It is my hope that the reader comes to know and love the characters as I have.

Connect with Me Online:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/LioneServices

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