 
White Crest

By Rod Mertes

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2006

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is completely coincidental. They were all born in the mind of the author.

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the hard work of this author.

CHAPTER ONE

NEW DIRECTIONS

The compact disc in Mackenzie Mason's dashboard was bellowing out the last notes of a soothing classical rhapsody, as she glided into the underground parking lot of her upscale Atlanta apartment complex. She skillfully maneuvered into her yellow numbered space, narrowly missing the concrete pillar immediately to her left. She looked at those stinking yellow numbers painted on the wall each time she parked and sometimes referred to herself as 3397 when alone and frustrated.

She had been parking there for the past three years and only slightly bumped the pillar one time. Number 3397 was always open and for the rent they were sucking out of her, it damn well better be. The last place she lived, parking was always a hit or miss situation. If she lucked out, she could park within spitting distance of her front door. If not, she had to walk nearly a block to get home.

Her position as a district sales manager required her to travel extensively and leasing, rather than buying, was almost a necessity. No leaves to rake, no lawn to mow and no problem if the sink leaked. Whenever there was a problem with her two bedroom unit, all she had to do was pick up the phone, dial maintenance, and the problem was resolved within twenty-four hours.

She completed the routine rapist scan of the parking area and perceived no imminent danger. Then she straightened her ruffled, shoulder length, brown hair and stepped out of her red company car. Mackenzie was greeted by the familiar smell of exhaust fumes and the burnt oil that tattooed the concrete. The incredibly hot, humid summer air kept all odors close to the ground, like a lid on a cooking pot. At times, the air was so thick it was difficult to breathe. Sometimes, because of the stagnant mass of putrid air, you didn't want to breathe.

When she was younger, and there were no emissions controls, she enjoyed the smell of gasoline exhaust. The new unleaded exhaust, however, was slightly revolting.

Mac, as she was known to friends, closed her car door and smoothed the fabric of her blue pin-stripe suit. There were never any wrinkles or bunching of the material anyone else would see or care about, but they were certainly there and Mac could see them. That was enough.

As she turned toward the elevator, she felt a tremendous blow to her stomach. The punch knocked the wind out of her and dropped her to her knees. She reflexively clutched her stomach with one hand and steadied herself on the concrete with the other. Moments later she vomited up what was left of the deli sandwich she ate at the mall before driving home. Burnt oil and soggy lettuce - what would Martha Stewart say?

Mac wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried to remember where she was and sort out what had just happened. Her brain demanded an immediate explanation and ordered the body to stand and take a defensive posture. She tried to comply with the order but only made it halfway. She fell back against her car door and slid slowly until her butt hit the pavement. It wasn't the best position to be in, but at the time it was the most comfortable.

When she regained her bearings, she saw a figure standing a couple of feet in front of her. She couldn't determine if it was a man or woman and at that point, couldn't think of a valid reason why it even mattered. It would be helpful to police at a later point, but her immediate concern was breathing and keeping the remaining contents of her stomach right where they were.

The figure was of medium build and dressed in black clothing, a black ski mask, and black sunglasses. It was standing erect, silent and motionless. For a crazy moment, she thought of the black monolith in the movie, 2001, A Space Odyssey. She was never quite positive as to what it represented. Unlike the monolith, she at least knew that the figure in front of her represented pain but to what measure was still unknown.

Mac worked her way to her feet cautiously, using her car to help steady her ascent. When she was fully upright, the figure stuck a hand in its pocket and held it there for a couple of minutes. Mac wasn't sure if the delay was meant to savor the fear in her eyes and enjoy the moment in a twisted way, or if it was merely waiting for her to recover enough to understand what was to follow.

The veins in Mac's neck were bulging and started to ache as they tried to keep up with all the blood her hypersonic heart was pumping. Her stomach was cramping and she wasn't sure how much longer her legs would able to support her. Fear had become her master.

Finally, the figure jerked its hand from its pocket and thrust it into Mac's face. She closed her eyes and wanted to scream, but the muscles in her throat were so stressed, she could barely breath. Instead, she clenched her teeth and meekly awaited the explosive sound of a gunshot. While she waited, she thought, Oh sweet Jesus, don't let me die, oh sweet Jesus, don't let me die. Then a vague thought crept in. Perhaps prayer might not be enough to handle the situation. Her father always told her to be true to her faith in her everyday life, but to rely on herself in times of stress or physical danger. "...you never know if the one you're praying to is listening", he'd explain. "By the time you figure out no one is listening, you could be in deep trouble."

Despite her father's advice, she found herself powerless to do anything but pray and wait for the next phase. It occurred to her that the figure had more than enough time to kill her. But there was nothing. She didn't die. There was no additional pain or attacks. There was no gunshot and in fact, there was no sound at all. She survived. Maybe someone was listening this time.

Mac squinted and saw the motionless figure still standing in front of her, with an arm extended straight out that stopped inches from her face. There was a small piece of paper in a gloved hand with some words printed in bold, black letters.

Mac opened her eyes fully and looked closer at the print. It read, "This time it's only paper. Next time it won't be. Next time you'll die. Nod if you understand."

Mac nodded and the figure crumpled the paper, and returned it to its pocket. The assailant turned and disappeared at a normal pace between some cars.

Mac exhaled deeply and realized it was over. She quickly unlocked her car, jumped into the driver's seat, and locked the door as she slammed it shut. If getting into a car and locking it were an Olympic event, she'd have taken the gold.

She put both hands on the steering wheel and cradled her head between them. A few tears dripped slowly to the floorboard like water running down a melting icicle.

Finally, she composed herself sufficiently to retrieve her cell phone and dial 911. She was immediately connected to a female operator.

"Relax, Sweetie, everything is all right now," chimed the operator in a monotone voice. "Don't worry, Sweetie, a police unit is on the way."

Mac hated to be called "Sweetie" by anyone; male or female. She thought it was a condescending word that should be reserved for children and not adult, female professionals.

Mac had composed herself by the time the police arrived, and was able to provide an accurate account of the assault. The two officers seemed indifferent and took few notes. One officer, who looked like he was still in his teens, handed her a business card with a case number, his name and telephone number. He scribbled something in his notebook, and without looking at Mac, said, "If anything else develops, blah, blah, blah... You can also call that number to get a copy of the police report."

Mac managed a half-smile, shoved the business card in her purse and headed for the elevator. The two officers returned to their car and watched until Mac made it safely into the elevator.

When she got to her fifth floor apartment, she took her shoes off and placed them neatly next to the others in her closet. She hung up her suit coat and loosened the buttons of her white blouse.

The apartment was a little over a thousand excellently planned and spacious square feet. It had a wide balcony and a steel entry door.

There were many nights she would sit on her balcony in a lounge chair and feast on the beauty offered by a small nearby lake. It didn't matter what season or time of day, the lake and chair combination were cherished aspects of her life that she used to combat her daily stress.

Mac always loved anything associated with water. As a child, she welcomed her bath time and would play in her backyard pool beyond exhaustion. It didn't matter if it was day or night, bugs or no bugs, or if it was warm or cold water. There were several occasions when the water in the pool was so cold, Mac's lips would turn blue. Even then she wouldn't get out voluntarily. She was a very determined child.

When she was seven, her father took her night fishing with him on an ocean pier in Florida. It was the beginning of her love affair with the sea. She discovered an uncommon peace, tranquility and bond with it. While other kids her age grew bored in minutes, she was content to sit back against the railing, breath in the salt air and stare at the stars. When she tired of the stars, she'd move under a pier light, open her paint box and create great works of art, (at least that's what her father called them), with charcoal pencils and oil paints. Hours would pass like minutes and she was always saddened when it was time to pack up and leave.

It had been many years since she had been back to her beloved saltwater friend. Time has a habit of going to the right while you're looking to the left. Before you can finish saying your ABCs, it has blown right by and you didn't even feel the breeze.

She walked by her telephone and noticed the message light flashing. Mac wanted to call someone and share the night's experience. She wanted to hear a friendly voice and have someone tell her in a soothing, reassuring voice that everything would be all right. She wanted to call someone and ask them to come rushing over and give her a warm embrace, but there was no one to call. There was no husband or boyfriend. The only friends she had were either business acquaintances or other district managers. How sincere would any of those people be? Certainly, none of them would race over and comfort her through the night.

Mac decided to have some red wine before making her dinner. In fact, the way her stomach felt, she was content to let the wine be her dinner. This time she poured a full eight ounce glass, instead of the usual half glass. She escorted the glass to the living room and sat back on her couch. She propped her feet up on the coffee table, took a sip of wine and tried to make sense of what had just happened to her in the parking lot. It was obvious that someone was angry as a hornet with a headache, but whom? And what the hell for?

It was inevitable, that as a results oriented district manager, with twenty-two retail stores, she had made some enemies along the way, but who could she have pissed enough to want her dead? Or, maybe they didn't really want her dead. Maybe they just wanted to scare the living crap out of her and keep her scared for awhile as a payback for something she had done somewhere in time.

Mac came up with two or three possibilities. She once fired a female manager in Chattanooga, Tennessee for working employees "off the clock" to save payroll and look good for evaluations. Good evaluations in line with company goals meant generous pay raises and substantial bonuses. Managers who ran efficient stores, while controlling their payroll, were ideal candidates for promotion as well.

Elaine Keller, the manager, would insist that certain employees punch the time cards after their shift ended, but continue to work without pay. Elaine would say anything to con the employees into helping her out. One of the employees saw through Elaine and complained to Mac. It took awhile, but Mac was able to verify that allegation and several others. She confronted Elaine and fired her without giving her a chance to change her ways. Elaine violated company policies, as well as state and federal labor laws. There were no excuses, no second chances. Elaine had to go.

The termination did not go well. Elaine reacted like a startled rattlesnake and made numerous verbal lunges at Mac that culminated with a line from an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie - "I'll be back!!"

Then there was Chad Nuxhall. He was the manager sent by Satan to run one of Mac's stores in Dunwoody, Georgia. Mac inherited him from the previous district manager. She would never had hired anyone like him. If you could mix genes from Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, and at least three other sadistic, cold hearted, narrow minded, egotistical bastards, then you'd have Chad Nuxhall. He was a liar, a thief and everything bad someone could be. Mac was sure he was skimming cash from the receipts and manipulating the books. He was such a great liar; he was able to pull the wool over most people's eyes. He was even successful with Mac for a short time. He slipped up one day when he got sick. Chad decided he was too ill to come in, so he tried calling his first assistant manager, but wasn't able to get in touch with her. He then called his second assistant manager and told her to open the store and take care of things until he could come in. However, the assistant ran into childcare problems and couldn't open the store on time. She panicked and called Mac, who cancelled her routine for the day and rushed to the mall. Once the assistant was able to cover the childcare issue, she came in to relieve Mac. On her way in, she stopped at the bank and picked up the deposit receipts from the previous night. The assistant took over store operations, while Mac remained in the office and completed the required daily paperwork. When she compared the deposit tickets to the day's receipts, she was surprised to see that no cash had been deposited. Then she looked at the register tape displaying the cash register total from the previous night. Chad was the closing manager and he should have deposited over eight hundred in cash. But he was clever and he knew that the bank didn't tally the check total prior to validating a deposit. It only verified the cash total and sent the checks to another department for verification, which could be days later. He could write any deposit total on the slip and no one would catch it. That way, his deposit total and his daily paperwork would always match and nothing would appear inappropriate. The corporate office had twelve people to sort through receipts from 1700 stores. It was such a mess and such a time delay, manipulating individual store receipts was actually quite easy.

Mac's confrontation with Chad and subsequent events got very ugly and nearly lead to his termination. He was placed on probation until the corporate asset protection people could pin something concrete on him. They didn't want to risk a lawsuit for wrongful termination.

Chad's anger and hatred for Mac soared like a thermometer dropped in boiling water. As you might guess, he made numerous, private threats against Mac. However, there were no witnesses and it was only her word against his.

There were several people who could have perpetrated the attack. Mac certainly couldn't rule out her ex-husband either. In many ways Frank was like a mirror. He read people well and reflected back what they wanted to see and hear. He also had a dark, blank side that reflected and yielded nothing, like the back side of a mirror that you don't usually see until it's broken. In reality he was a shallow, deceitful, greedy, and selfish bastard.

They met on a flight to Miami. She was on her way to a three-day sales meeting at her home office and he was going to attend an insurance seminar.

Frank was impeccably dressed and perfectly groomed. His nails were manicured and every hair on his head had an assigned place and was in that position.

They engaged in small talk during the entire flight and Mac found herself smiling as they did. She was impressed with how eloquently and intelligently he spoke. During the course of the conversation, it was decided that they would dine together on their first night in Miami. Such a plan meant that they would both have to feign illness to avoid corporately sponsored group dinner arrangements. Mac hated those company dinners because the food was always as bad as the people she was seated next to. She also hated listening to the boastful tales of managerial greatness each possessed.

Mac and Frank had a successful dinner. They both laughed and flirted with each other.

Afterwards, they had drinks at a local club and then took a walk in the cool, evening ocean air. Mac was delighted with everything about the encounter and knew Frank experienced the same emotions.

When their respective company meetings concluded, they continued to see each other on a regular basis. The two had dated a mere four months and decided their futures would be greatly enhanced spiritually, emotionally and financially, if they lived together. But Frank insisted that living together as a couple out of wedlock would be morally wrong, so they decided to get married. Frank's moral reservations once again put a huge smile on Mac's face and reinforced her positive feelings about him.

The marriage started out great and the two shared many happy, meaningful moments

together. But Frank re-directed the relationship and it crashed and burned after three years.

Mac was always a one-man woman who was perfectly satisfied with a routine, (and by some of their friend's standards, boring), lifestyle. Frank, however, was somewhat more ambitious and giving. Why limit him to only one woman and deprive other women of his charm, wit and greatness? Think of the good and happiness he could share with the female populous.

While Mac was gone on business trips or interstate store visits, Frank collected girlfriends like some men collect stamps or coins. They proved to be just as costly. He was a big spender and needed a constant cash flow to support his lifestyle.

Finally, after three years, Frank announced that he needed more space. He also needed more cash. Mac's income was too limited, so someone with greater earning potential would better suit his needs.

He left Mac and moved in with a girlfriend who had very deep pockets. She wasn't the prettiest woman he had ever met, but love is blind when it comes to money.

The divorce shifted Mac into an emotional tailspin. She was very trusting, and despite her many experiences in life, perhaps somewhat naïve. Mac always believed in tomorrow and that happiness would prevail. She had no clue that Frank's business trips were more geared to improving his girlfriend base and not his client base.

To make matters worse, he ran up over eighteen thousand dollars in credit card debt and siphoned every last penny from their joint savings. Her marriage was over, her emotions shattered and her future was smoldering in the remains of financial devastation.

Mac had to wait nearly a year to file for divorce, simply because she couldn't afford an attorney until then. She hadn't been involved in a relationship of any kind since the day Frank moved out.

The wine served its purpose, allowing Mac to slide back into a calmer, more controlled state of mind. Her shaking had faded away and her heartbeat returned to an acceptable rate. She had no particular reason to smile but she found herself smiling. Maybe it was because she survived another day.

Mac had become more critical over the past few years and smiling was an infrequent event. Some people said she had toughened up, while others merely thought her naïve, idealistic thoughts had given way to reality and she had grown up.

One of her friends walked up to her after the divorce and said, "Sorry to hear the bad news about you and Frank. Remember, honey, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Mac smiled and said, "My dad used to say, what doesn't kill you, doesn't make you any stronger...it just hurts like hell!"

Mac's friend offered a faint smile and quickly changed the subject. She asked Mac where she could find shoes at a decent price. The games we play, thought Mac. She often wondered why people say anything at all when you have a problem. It never helps and few people heed unsolicited advice or appreciate words of comfort. Oh well!

She put her empty wine glass on the kitchen counter and looked at the flashing red light on the answering machine. She rubbed her tender stomach and had a flashback of the attack. It had happened. Nothing could change that fact. It didn't kill her...and she certainly didn't feel any stronger. It was just like her dad had said, "It just hurts like hell!"

She tapped the machine and said, "You'll have to wait your turn. I'm taking a hot shower first."

She stood in the shower until the bathroom turned into a steam room and all the hot water was gone. Even in the heat of an Atlanta summer, she loved the soothing effects of a hot shower. Keeping her thermostat set at a very cool, sixty-four degrees enhanced the shower effect.

Mac stepped out of the shower, dried off, and slipped into her full-length bathrobe. It was one of the few things from Frank that she truly enjoyed.

She grabbed her day planner and went to meet the challenges offered by her answering machine. The first four calls were fairly routine. Then she listened to call number five.

Call number five was from her boss, Danny Fisher. She exhaled and pushed the play button.

"Hi, Mac. It's Dan. A situation has developed that we need to address. We really need to provide a proactive response. Don't bother to return this call, just plan to be in my office at two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. See you then."

Mac sighed and said, "It just gets better".

A proactive response to a situation was Dan's way of saying Mac was in the direct path of some hot shit rolling down a tall mountain.

Dan Fisher was a regional manager with a personality that was hung on swinging doors. He was a careful man who could be any person he needed to be for any situation. If the president of the company loved to drink straight whiskey, so did Dan.

Dan's motto was, "Look the best, wear the best, be the best!" He had all of his suits custom made by a high priced tailor in New York. He had five pair of custom made shoes, each pair costing as much as Mac's monthly rent. Mac could only guess about the rest of Dan's wardrobe.

He was attracted to Mac and occasionally engaged in cautious flirtation whenever they were "off the clock" and in a public setting. He never lost sight of the consequences he would face if she ever became offended by anything he did or said. It wasn't an issue of right or wrong with him. He just didn't want to face unemployment, embarrassment, and alimony.

Mac played back the remaining messages and after making the appropriate notes, poured another glass of wine. She paused for a second and tried to remember the last occasion that she consumed two glasses of wine in such a short time span. Then she realized she couldn't remember the last time she finished a single glass that big.

Her normally sharp focus had accumulated some rough edges. Another glass of wine would certainly make them rougher, but it seemed like the thing to do.

"I've had enough of this day," she said while gently rubbing her hand across her tender stomach.

Mac took the wine to her bedroom, set it on the nightstand next to her bed and turned on her reading light. Then she removed her robe and threw it over her wooden chest at the foot of the bed. She changed into an old, over-sized t-shirt and randomly grabbed a paperback from her bookshelf. She rendered a casual glance at her canvas and easel in the corner and thought, I'll get back to you! She had to have a clearer mind to tackle painting.

With book in hand, she turned off the main light and settled into her bed. Before long, the words lost their meaning and she was dozing. Mac let the book drop to the floor and pulled her comforter up. As she did, a muffled voice said, "Oh, Mac. My dear sweet, Mac."

Mac's eyes sprang open and she shot straight up. Mac was certain she saw a shadowy figure head toward her bedroom door. Fearing her attacker had returned, she scrambled out of bed and scooped up an industrial size can of pepper spray standing next to her glass of wine.

She entered stealth mode as she crept to the door. Her heart began racing again, but this time with a healthy blend of fear, anger and excitement. This time she was prepared to fight back. This time it would be on her terms.

"Time to board the payback train, jackass," she shouted angrily. Mac shook the contents of the can and said, "I'm ready to punch your ticket!"

She inspected her apartment with the skill of a commando; ready to blind her attacker at a moment's notice. All her skill and technique yielded was several dust bunnies and a dead bug that had been toast so long, its body crumbled when she flicked it.

Mac ended the search and destroy mission at her front door. It was very odd. Her deadbolt and chain hadn't been disturbed and were still secured from the inside. She overcame her puzzlement, breathed a sigh of relief and wiped a thin layer of sweat from her forehead.

"What a night," she exclaimed as she returned slowly to her bedroom. "I'm not doing the wine thing again; that's for sure." She recalled a line from one of her music CDs and recited it aloud, "...voices, voices....she heard voices," as she walked limply back to her bedroom. She couldn't remember the artist who recorded it, but the line echoed in her brain for several minutes.

Mac returned the pepper spray to its ready position and eased back into bed. She resumed her position under the comforter and replayed the events of the evening over and over in her head, until she finally drifted off to sleep.

Waking up the following morning was somewhat rough. The wine had induced a deeper than normal sleep. Luckily, the previous night's events had settled in a rear memory bank. She had a new day of challenges to face and she had a dreaded, "proactive" meeting with Dan.

After a quick shower and equally brief breakfast, she headed to the parking lot with a new sense of awareness and security consciousness. She wasn't panicky but rather more prepared then ever before. Mac upgraded her own terror alert level to high. That meant that she walked briskly, looking all around her as she walked. It also meant that she carried her back-up pepper spray at the ready, with one finger on the spray button.

As Mac drove to her home store which housed her office, she decided a hands free cell phone would be an additional asset. If she was attacked again, she could get an emergency call off immediately.

Hands free cell phone, thought Mac. She could remember going to a telephone store with her dad as a child and bugging him to get a cat-shaped telephone for the house. Any event or celebration that called for a gift, Mac would politely ask for anything cat or kitten related. She had a pink toothbrush in the shape of a cat, pajamas with several different breeds of cats on them, cat slippers, etc. Her favorite cat was an incredibly soft, stuffed animal that she slept with every night. She held on to that toy as if it were a priceless treasure and still had it tucked safely away in a storage box in her closet.

Mac made the trip to her office without incident and after completing her morning routine, decided to get some lunch before heading to her meeting with Dan at the regional office.

Since her terror alert was hovering at high, every person in the food court was subject to her scrutiny. She only excluded young children from observation.

Mac carried her tray to a table where she could keep her back to a wall. When she set her tray down, she realized she was so intent on her surroundings that she forgot napkins. The napkins on the condiment stand were less than thirty seconds away, but it was enough time for someone to walk by and drop an envelope on top of her hamburger.

She sat slowly and maneuvered the ominous, blank white envelope with all the care taught to her by television crime shows. Judging by the size and shape, Mac surmised that it was a greeting card of some kind.

Mac propped the envelope up and opened it with her plastic lunch knife. She held it by each side with her palms and shook it until the card slid out.

It was a pink pastel card with a dark red rose and two green leaves on the cover. The saying on the inside of the card read,

"Roses are red,

And this card is light pink,

I love you more now,

Than you'd ever think."

It had a bunch of x's and o's and was signed, "Distant Lover". There was a red heart with an arrow through it drawn under the signature.

Mac laid the card down and rendered an inconspicuous scan of the people in the food court. She didn't really expect to see anyone staring at her, but once again, her television shows indicated that many criminals like to linger around the crime scene to admire their work.

She didn't see any prime suspects, so she gingerly put the card in her briefcase; preserving the evidence as best as she could.

She finished her lunch and drove to the regional office without any further incident. When she pulled into the parking lot at the Ragsdale Office Complex, another car pulled in slowly behind her. When she stopped, it stopped.

Mac eased her car into a parking space, grabbed her cell phone and entered nine-one- one. She positioned her finger on the dial button and readied the pepper spray.

The driver of the other car rolled by, its male operator smiling devilishly as it did. Then he turned out of the parking lot and sped off.

"This crap is getting really old," said Mac anxiously.

The driver made no attempt to disguise his appearance, but Mac could not recall ever having seen him before. Mac was hoping the parking lot security camera caught the car and license plate.

When Mac entered the office building, she wasn't nearly as nervous or upset as she thought she should be. It was like her third trip to the dentist when she was young.

The first trip was absolutely terrifying. The second spawned some nervous moments, but by the third visit, Mac was a veteran and ready for anything the dentist could throw her way.

She walked the long, non-descript white corridor to the regional office and walked in with a smile.

"Good afternoon Nicole. How've you been?" asked Mac.

"Hi, Mac. Good as anyone can be. How about you?" replied Nicole without looking away from her computer.

"I've been better. How are the kids?" asked Mac knowing that it was a nearly required question but a dreaded question at the same time. Nicole Langston was a devoted, overly talkative mother, who loved to chat endlessly about her two children.

"They're fine. Thanks for asking. I'll let Dan know you're here," said Nicole, still maintaining her monitor trance.

Mac was surprised by Nicole's distant attitude and wasn't sure how to react. She hesitated a moment and said, "By the way, would you check with security and see if they have footage of parking lot C, row twelve, from about ten minutes ago? There was a suspicious car behind me and I'd like to see if they might have captured his plate."

"I'll see what I can do, Mac. You can go in now," said Nicole after pressing a small red button by her telephone.

"Thanks, Nicole," said Mac as she strolled toward Dan's office door.

When Mac walked into the office, Dan was sitting back in his black leather chair with a telephone pressed against his ear. The person on the other end was getting quite an earful about their weekly sales results.

He ignored Mac as she sat in his "electric chair". It was so named by visitors to his office because it was an incredibly uncomfortable, short, wooden chair placed directly in front of his desk. If you were in trouble, it felt like he could pull the switch any minute.

If you were a visiting vendor, you learned to make your pitch quickly and move on. Dan's time was important to him and he didn't like wasting it with "wordy" people. Dan wanted people to say what they mean and mean what they say. He didn't want to hear about social ills or the climbing price of crude oil. He could hear all of that on the news if he wanted to. It had no bearing on the business at hand.

Dan finished his call, hung up the phone and ran his hand over his thinning gray hair. Then he leaned forward and shuffled some papers on his desk until he uncovered a manila folder.

"Morning, Mac," said Dan automatically. "You had some very good numbers again last week. Your sales increases are still leading the region and you're third in the company."

Mac looked at Dan and smiled but Dan didn't notice. He was staring at the manila folder.

"Unfortunately, we have an issue here that's tarnishing the luster somewhat," said Dan as he handed the folder to Mac.

"Take a few minutes to review the contents while I get some coffee," he said as he rose and walked to his coffee maker. He returned to his desk and shuffled some more papers around on his desk. He reserved any further comment until Mac had finished reading the folder's contents.

Mac opened the folder and counted five different letters. Each was stapled to its accompanying envelope. Each was addressed to the corporate headquarters in Florida and forwarded to Dan.

Four of the letters were customer complaints alleging misconduct and mistreatment by Mac during customer disputes she had been dragged into at the store level during official visits. The fifth one was a graphically detailed love letter allegedly written by Mac to a male store manager.

Dan took a sip of coffee and watched silently as Mac read the letters. He liked Mac and was impressed with her performance but she was becoming poisonous to his career.

She finished reading the documents, closed the folder and handed them back to Dan.

Dan held his palm up like a crossing guard stopping traffic and said, "No those are yours. I already have copies in your personnel file."

Dan leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and said, "Comments?"

Mac looked him in the eyes and said, "You know it's all fabricated. I can't believe you would lend any credence to those pages of crap. It's obvious someone is out to get their 'pound of flesh'."

Dan maintained his expressionless stare and waited for Mac to continue. He had worked with Mac for a number of years and was often impressed with her professionalism in dealing with store personnel and customer issues.

"Come on, Dan. The incidents referred to in the complaint letters simply didn't happen. The letters contain similar phrases and were undoubtedly written by one individual."

Mac leaned to one side, smiled and said, "And the love letter. Please! Give me a break!! First of all I wouldn't type it. Nobody types something as personal as a love letter. And I never use words like 'love slave' and 'sweet lips' when I refer to someone. Furthermore, I guarantee you that I have never 'lusted' for any man's penis. I can't recall ever lusting for any part of a man's anatomy."

Mac looked out the window and watched a jet flying overhead. For a moment she wished she was on it heading for anywhere but where she was. She turned back to Dan and continued. "Greg Harris, the manager I supposedly wrote this to, is marginal at best. He's on ninety days probation and will probably be terminated. He thinks he's district manager material and that I'm being overly judgmental and holding him back."

"I assumed as much, Mac," said Dan as he reached forward and retrieved another manila folder. He handed it to Mac and asked, "What about this one?"

"Good grief! There's more?" asked Mac in disbelief.

She took the folder from Dan and opened it slowly. It was another letter supposedly written by her, only this time it was addressed to Steve Carter, the vice president of operations. The subject was Letter of Resignation. The body of the letter was a scathing review of company policies, direction and future. There were some harsh statements about the president and his executive staff. Additionally, there were some particularly ugly statements about Steve Carter.

The last sentence of the letter read, "In view of this intolerable work environment and widespread, upper management incompetence, I hereby tender my resignation to be effective immediately".

Mac closed the letter solemnly and said, "I really don't know what to say."

"Well, you could begin by saying you didn't write it," replied Dan.

Mac looked at Dan in disbelief. "Give me a break, Dan!! Of course I didn't write it! Anyone with a computer, printer and scanner could have written it. There is any number of store visit reports with my signature that someone could have used to scan or forge my name. You know damn well that if I had a problem with the company I'd share those thoughts with you before I'd document and send them to headquarters."

"I'd like to think so, Mac, but I still have to ask. You know I need to hear it in your own words. Whenever you think you really know someone, sometimes they end up doing something outrageous or bizarre. Then you sit back, gasp and tell everyone how shocked you are to hear about it."

Dan's voice was growing colder and Mac could feel him pulling away. She realized Dan was distancing himself from trouble. Her ship was sinking and he didn't want to be sucked down with her.

Mac looked at the expressionless face of a stranger. The man that she knew for years and had laughed with, traveled with and shared many personal feelings with was gone. She glanced out the window again and said, "What did corporate say about all of this?"

"Steve Carter nearly melted the phone in my ear. He's as rigid with company policies and guidelines as they come. He had human resources work up your severance package faster than you could spell his name," replied Dan.

Mac looked back at Dan and said, "Over these silly letters? I've never made waves with the company before. I've given this company my all. Whatever happened to loyalty? It's so unbelievable!"

"It wasn't just these letters, Mac. There were others that I don't have copies of. Letters that were sent to the assets protection people. They won't divulge the contents, or the exact number they received. They will only tell me that you've been under investigation for several months and that there have been allegations that you have been involved in theft of company funds and merchandise. I've also been informed that there is a possibility of a sexual harassment lawsuit somewhere around the corner. I have no idea how many other ugly word bugs you're dealing with right now."

Mac shook her head, leaned back and clasped her hands together in her lap. She stared out the window again, not really looking at anything in particular, but a cloud that looked like a huge dog caught her eye. She thought that this would be a logical time to cry. It was an excellent opportunity to let it all out and maybe even scream at Dan a little. Anyone in her position would certainly be depressed and frustrated enough to shed a few tears. And if she did cry, who could fault her? It would be understandable...expected. Dan was probably waiting for the explosion. She didn't cry or scream though. Not a single tear. Not a single utterance. She simply felt like an inflated balloon with a slow leak.

"Mac, I don't need to tell you that you've got damage control like the Titanic. I know you can rectify the situation and I also know it will take some time. I'll throw some water on Steve before his fire burns the forest down. He wants an immediate end to this. His only concern is company image going into the fourth quarter. A media leak of any kind could hurt us. You know that any bad publicity sends sales down the toilet."

"Okay, Dan. I'll take care of it. How much time can I have?" she asked.

"Let's start with two weeks. Do what you need to do. If it means hiring a private investigator, then that's what you'll have to do. It may be expensive, but think of the money you'll lose if this results in your termination."

Mac wanted to tell Dan about the attack from the previous night and get a little sympathy. She wanted someone to come in the room at the last minute with an urgent message saying the culprit has been apprehended and it's all over. But neither happened. Dan didn't want to hear more of Mac's bad news. He was separating himself from her. More bad news would simply drive the wedge deeper.

"Do you want me to arrange coverage for my district?" she asked.

"Put out a voice mail directing all emergency calls to my office. You should be able to handle the routine calls. I feel it would be best for all concerned if you made this a working vacation. Agreed?" said Dan.

Mac nodded and said, "Anything else, Dan?" She was hoping he'd crack a joke or share an amusing story with her like he always did after they covered matters of a serious nature. But not this time. All she got was a blank stare.

"That's enough, don't you think?" said Dan as he looked down at his desk and started shuffling more papers around.

Mac gathered her things and walked toward the office door. She put her hand on the doorknob, turned toward Dan and said, "My best to your wife."

Dan nodded and picked up his phone. "Nicole, get Steve for me." Then he swiveled his chair around, putting his back to Mac and stared out his window.

When Mac left Dan's office, she stopped and waited for Nicole to get off the phone. Then she looked at Nicole and said, "Did security have anything on the camera?"

"Just a blur," she replied. Truth be told, Nicole didn't even bother checking with security. Mac had fallen from grace and had already made a down payment on a one way ticket to Nicole's gone and forgotten list.

When Mac got home, she found a blank envelope taped to her door. She stuck it under her arm and went inside; throwing it on the drop-leaf table in her dining area. There were lots of phone calls to make, people to see and things to do. The envelope would wait.

Mac called all of her stores and provided the necessary information they would need in her absence. Her next priority was to find a good private investigator that could help her clean up the mess and put her life back in order, if that was actually possible.

How do you find a good private investigator? Where do you start? How do you know? thought Mac. She opened the phone book and decided to call whoever had the biggest advertisement. Surely, whoever had the biggest ad would be the most successful. Those advertisements are expensive.

She'd get their rates, credentials and terms, then check them out with the Better Business Bureau. You have to start somewhere, she thought. And I have to remember to ask for referrals.

She decided the place to start was the medicine cabinet and get something to take for her throbbing headache. The anxiety and wine of the previous day, blended slowly with a shitty night's sleep and stirred well with her chilly meeting with Dan, will always yield a headache supreme.

She read the dosage label and decided the pounding in her head warranted double the recommended dose. She looked wearily in the mirror, rubbed her head and said, "I'll spoil you with four tablets today and today only. I don't want you thinking I'll do this for you every time."

Mac took her pills and searched out the telephone book. She flipped through the pages and located the largest and nicest looking ad for private investigators.

"Breson Detective Agency. Agents on duty twenty-four hours," she read aloud. Mac gave them a call and made an appointment for the following morning. Then she called her apartment manager, Carrie Wiggins.

"Hi, Carrie, this is Mac."

"Good afternoon, Mac. How are you doing this wonderful afternoon?"

Mac liked Carrie. She was an outgoing, sincere and friendly manager. She always had a smile on her face. It didn't seem natural for anyone not on drugs to smile that much. There were days it drove Mac crazy. How anyone dealing with the public could smile so much was a mystery to her.

"That depends, Carrie. Would you like the truth or the standard, stock answer?"

"Judging by your response, I'd be better off going with the standard reply. If you need an ear though, I'm available."

"Thanks, Carrie. I appreciate it. I'm okay. I called because I'm leaving town for a couple of weeks on Friday, and I need someone to pick up my mail and keep an eye on my place. Will that be a problem?" asked Mac.

"Not at all. Just drop by the office, fill in the exact dates you'll be gone and sign the authorization form anytime before you leave. Anything else we can do for you?" asked

Carrie.

"No thanks. That should do it," said Mac. "I'll stop by sometime tomorrow."

"We'll see you tomorrow then, Mac," chimed Carrie. "If I'm not here, I'll make sure I leave a folder with all you need in it. That way anyone can help you."

"Great," replied Mac. "Catch ya' tomorrow."

Mac had never heard a smile on the telephone until she met Carrie. She wasn't even sure how it was possible to hear a smile, but Mac could hear Carrie smiling.

She finished up the last of her phone calls and prepared to pack. Her flight was still two days away, but the following day would be pretty full and she had to plan for two weeks.

There was a lot going on in her mind. Thousands of thoughts and details were swirling in her brain like vegetables in a blender. When she looked in her closet, she started daydreaming and couldn't remember what she was looking for. She knew she was going to Florida but fall was approaching and it would be cool at night. What was I looking for? Gotta' focus, she thought as she grabbed some plastic hangers with various blouses on them. She packed five blouses and decided to use t-shirts and other various casual items as fillers for the remaining days. She packed one dress and one suit, just in case. The rest of the time she would wear pants, sweaters, t-shirts and sweatshirts.

On her way to the dresser next to her paint easel, she planted a bare foot on the business end of a paint brush. "DAMN!!" shouted Mac. She picked up the brush and wanted to throw it through one of the sliding glass doors leading to her balcony. Instead, she gritted her teeth, lowered her cocked arm and took a deep breath. She gently put the brush back on its tray and counted out sufficient underwear for the trip.

Mac put everything in three suitcases and stacked them by her bedroom closet. She sat on the edge of her bed, went through a mental checklist and was satisfied that she had packed well. Her stomach reminded her of the hour and a glance at the clock verified that it was dinner time.

She rose and as she approached her bedroom door, she heard a faint, masculine voice say, "Don't forget the paints."

Mac spun around and saw no one. She was sure she heard the voice, or was she? She had been having problems concentrating and she rationalized that stress can be very disruptive. Perhaps she was simply thinking of packing the paints and didn't really hear anything except her subconscious speaking out. It was unsettling but manageable. At least it was just voices she heard and voices were easy to explain away. She wouldn't worry seriously until she started seeing people that weren't really there.

Mac looked around the room carefully and still didn't see anyone. She even managed a cautious peek under the bed. Nothing. Nothing at all. She was under extreme stress, her blood sugar was low, she was tired and there wasn't anyone in the room. Therefore, it was just my imagination, was her answer and motivating force to move on.

Gotta' get a grip, Mac, she thought as she marched to the kitchen.

Mac didn't feel like doing dishes so she only had a sandwich and diet drink. After dinner, she made a pot of coffee and took a cup to her living room. On the way, she picked up the mysterious envelope that was taped to her door.

She opened it with the same care used in the food court, figuring the best chance for fingerprints would lie on the paper inside the envelope. Mac remembered she had a pair of rubber gloves in the kitchen so she went and put them on before going any further with the envelope. She assumed the Breson Detective Agency would be equipped to examine the evidence and she wanted to give them every chance to look at untainted material.

She tore open the flap, unfolded the contents and revealed two typed pages of text. She took a sip of coffee and began reading.

"My dearest Mac. Ever since our first meeting when you tried to help me make a purchase, I realized what a treasure I had happened on. The warmth in your eyes, the glow around your shapely body and your lovely skin, convinced me ours was not a chance meeting. Destiny brought us together. I am convinced there is no such thing as chance. I know that someday we'll be together and spend many beautiful evenings in fond embrace. You will love the way I use my fingers to stimulate every part of your body; from your beautiful brown hair down to the tips of your toes."

There were several more paragraphs explaining what a terrific lover he was and the divine pleasure he would gladly provide, simply by using his tongue.

Mac knew she should be concerned, but she found herself shaking her head in disbelief and smiling. "Why do men think like that?" she said aloud as she took another sip of coffee.

Mac made it through the rest of the letter and saw that it was signed, "Distant Lover". Underneath was the same red heart with an arrow through it that was on the card in the food court.

"P.S. I think we should meet. I like the romance part of these secretive letters, however there is no substitute for human touch. I long to hold you in my arms. Why don't you pick a place you feel comfortable with and e-mail it to me at the address below? I promise you won't regret it!!"

Mac was glad he provided an e-mail address. It would be more evidence for the agency to follow-up on.

She folded the letter, returned it to its envelope and put the envelope in her briefcase. She scooped up her coffee and went to the balcony. She rested her arms on the railing and admired the moon's reflection on the lake. She took a sip of coffee, looked at the cup and recalled one of her managers asking how she could drink so much coffee, even on hot days. Mac replied, "Why not? A drink is a drink and the caffeine has never been an issue with me," was her reply.

Mac smiled as she recalled the conversation. It was with a new, young manager just out of college. The manager was bright and energetic. She was also still naïve and believed in several, popular urban myths.

Mac shifted her attention to the night sky and said, "I wish you could hear me, Dad. I wish you were here. Do you remember the time I was scared about being in the school play and we made a secret code no one else knew? You made it a point to be in the first row and never took your eyes off of me. You never stopped smiling either. When I looked at you, I remember you taking your index finger and touching your eye. Then you touched your heart and pointed to me. It made me feel secure and special. It took the edge off of my fear. I sure miss you, Dad," said Mac as she touched her finger to a teary eye, then her heart and finally pointed toward the sky.

Mac composed herself and sat in a deck chair next to the railing. She watched the tops of the moonlit trees brushing scattered clouds in the sky and listened to locusts chiming in the distance. All the while, she remembered the good days she had as a child with her father and pushed aside all of the recent, ugly events.

Her headache had finally gone away and she began to feel drowsy so she left the balcony and took a long, hot shower. Afterward, she dried her hair and went to bed. This time she decided against a book. This time, as she covered up, there were no voices. There were no shadowy figures. Just darkness, quiet and a peaceful sleep.

The following morning, she put on her blue, pin-stripe business suit. She ate a quick instant breakfast she picked up from the frozen food section at her supermarket and reviewed directions to the Breson Detective Agency. Then she double checked her briefcase and made sure she had the documents Dan had provided and the material from her "admirer". She knew the papers were in there, but she was always very thorough and left little to chance.

She snapped-up her briefcase and headed for the parking lot elevator; making a mental note to stop by Carrie's office on the way to the agency.

The elevator doors opened on the garage level like curtains on a stage in an empty theatre. An eerie quiet and stillness awaited her. Mac proceeded as if she were walking on ice. She moved slowly and cautiously to her car. She had one hand on her briefcase and the other on her cell phone; her thumb maintaining a holding pattern over the dial button.

By the time she got to her car, her palms were sweaty and her hands unsteady. She dropped her car keys and nearly suffered an anxiety attack. Her nervousness yielded several unsuccessful attempts to unlock her car door but once unlocked, she jumped in, slammed the door shut and locked it in record time. She exhaled deeply and collected herself. She reached her car without incident and felt silly when she considered her actions. If they ever make getting into your car an Olympic event, I'd never make it through the qualifying rounds! she thought as she looked at herself in the mirror and chuckled. Mac was so occupied with all-consuming thoughts, that she didn't realize what a beautiful day it was until she got to Carrie's office.

Mac entered the main office to the apartment complex and saw Carrie sitting at her glass desk. She was talking to someone on the phone, smiling and motioned for Mac to come over.

Mac sat in a very soft, bergere armchair in front of Carrie's desk and listened as Carrie was bitching to the owner of some landscape company. She was complaining and obviously angry about the quality of some recent work and sure enough, she did it with a smile. How in the world can someone still smile when they're angry, thought Mac.

When she finally finished the harangue, she looked at Mac, smiled from ear to ear and said, "What a great morning! How are you today, Mac?"

"I feel pretty good, Carrie. Much better than the other night." Mac explained the assault on her in the parking lot and offered her a copy of the policeman's business card with the case number on it.

Carrie sat motionless and for the first time Mac could remember, didn't smile. "I'm stunned, Mac. Why didn't you let me know right away? That is so horrible. I'll notify our security staff immediately."

"Thanks, Carrie. I don't mean to be short with you but I have an appointment to keep. So if you don't mind, I'd like to go ahead and sign the mail pick-up authorization."

Carrie nodded and handed Mac the necessary paperwork. Mac signed and returned them.

Carrie blinked her eyes several times, like she was coming out of a hypnotic trance, started smiling again and said, "So, you're leaving tomorrow for Florida?"

Mac gathered her things and said, "Yes. I have a two-o'clock flight."

"Do you need a ride?"

"No, I'm going to catch a cab. Thanks anyway."

"Well, if you change your mind, you have my number."

"I appreciate the offer and I'll definitely keep it in mind," said Mac as she headed for the door. Mac turned and looked back to see Carrie on the phone again. She was holding the copy of the policeman's business card as she talked.

Mac smiled and said, "You go, girl!!"

Mac drove for some time and had no problem finding the detective agency. The huge, gray business building was depressing looking. She had seen photos of prisons that looked more inviting.

The lobby wasn't much better. There was a cold, gray marble floor, with no plants or accent pieces to brighten the place up. The air conditioning was at full blast and it made her feel like she was walking through a meat locker.

Mac located the name of the detective agency on the lobby directory. It indicated that it was on the seventh floor. As she waited for the elevator, a woman walked over and stood next to Mac. The woman looked at Mac, smiled and said, "Are you going up?"

Mac returned the smile and nodded. What an idiot. They're on the ground floor. Where else can you go! There's not even a down button! Mac turned her head slightly and noticed the woman had blond hair. Oh my God!!! she thought as she smiled. Mac continued to smile but avoided eye contact as they boarded the elevator.

The elevator was between floors when the woman next to Mac sneezed. Mac heard a faint male voice say, "Bless you."

Mac twisted her body slightly to the left and then slowly to the right. She was startled and puzzled. The elevator was empty when they boarded and as far as Mac could tell, it still just had the two women on board.

Mac turned to the woman and said, "Did you hear that?"

"No," replied the woman as she sidestepped away from Mac without so much as casting a glance at her. Good grief, thought Mac as she continued to examine the elevator.

The elevator doors opened on the fifth floor and the woman scurried out, muttering something as she left.

Mac continued to the seventh floor and searched for suite seventy-one. Each door had a small black sign with white letters identifying the occupants. There was another small black square above that with the suite number. She was able to find the office rather quickly but thought it would be very difficult for people with limited vision. When she opened the door, she saw six desks. Three of them were empty and two were occupied by average looking women engaged in some form of computer work. A tall, thin man was standing in front of a sizable copy machine.

The woman closest to Mac ceased what she was doing, looked at Mac and said, "My guess is that you're Mackenzie Mason."

Mac raised her eyebrows and said, "Yes. I have an eleven o'clock appointment."

The woman came from behind the desk, extended her hand and said, "Welcome to Breson. My name is Donna Garrison. I'm the lead investigator who will be working your case, if you decide to go with us and we decide to accept your case. The investigator to my right is Marcia Labonte. The investigator at the copier is Robert Munford. There are two other operatives who work here, but they are out of town on assignments."

Mac smiled and nodded at each agent as they were introduced. She noticed that Donna was wearing black slacks with some type of hand gun holstered to the belt. Her white blouse had so much starch that it looked like the white cardboard Mac used as backing when she mailed pictures. And every hair on Donna's head was pulled tightly and perfectly back into a ponytail.

Donna had a beautiful face and exactly the right amount and kind of make-up to enhance that beauty. Mac assumed her beauty probably played a key role in getting information when others might not be able to. She also thought Donna would have a promising career in modeling if the detective job ever failed her.

"Have a seat there Miss Mason and I'll tell you a little about myself," said Donna as she gestured toward a chair with her hand. Donna returned to her chair and asked, "What name do you usually go by?"

"I prefer to be called Mac. My dad called me Mac as child and it just stuck with me."

Donna sat completely upright and continued. "Well, Mac, I went to Northern Illinois University, majored in Police Science and graduated in the top five of my class. I have been an investigator for seventeen years now. Four of those years were as a police homicide detective and the remainder has been spent as a private investigator. There aren't any investigators with Breson who have less than ten years of experience. We are not the best in the industry but we are ranked in the top fifty nationally. Our first consultation today is free. Thereafter we charge different rates according to the needs of the client. Our rates are competitive and we document every expense. We guarantee one hundred per-cent confidentiality. Any questions so far?"

"Not yet," replied Mac.

"Tell me a little about yourself and why you need our help," said Donna.

Mac went into great length about her failed marriage to Frank, her position and responsibilities as a district manager and the assorted problems she had with different managers. Then she elaborated on and almost relived the attack in the parking lot of her apartment. She paused to clear her throat.

"Would you like some water?" asked Donna.

"That would be great."

Donna spun around and walked briskly to a small white refrigerator sitting on a small table in the corner of the office. Minutes later she returned and handed Mac some bottled water, and opened one for herself.

"Would you like a cup or glass?"

"No thanks," said Mac.

"By the way...there's no charge for the water!" said Donna with a smile.

Mac chuckled slightly and continued. She told Donna about the letters to the corporate office, the ultimatum from her upper echelon, and her secret admirer. In fact, she spent forty-five minutes telling Donna everything except her bra size and the voices she had heard. It didn't seem to be the right time for that sort of information. Especially the voices.

By the time Mac had completed her narration, Donna had penned three pages of notes on a yellow, legal size notepad.

"After listening to your story, it's evident that we will need two investigators on this case. One to provide twenty-four hour surveillance and one to do background investigative work. We generally ask for a six hundred and fifty dollar retainer fee. Surveillance fees are fifty dollars an hour and thirty cents a mile, plus expenses. We'll need to run criminal record checks, phone record checks, etc. You're probably looking at ten thousand dollars for the first week alone. Now we could cut some of that off by limiting the surveillance if you desire."

Mac leaned forward, started rubbing her forehead and chuckled. She looked at Donna's puzzled face and said, "Damn! It just gets better and better!!"

"Are you financially equipped to handle these expenses?"

"Do I have a choice? "

"You could check with another agency," offered Donna.

Mac shook her head no and said, "I hope you have an installment plan."

"We can arrange a payment plan for you, financed over twenty-four months."

Mac sighed and said half-heartedly, "Looks like the main staple of my diet will be water and hotdogs!! Oh well, let's do it."

Mac was just starting to build her savings up again and had a little over eight thousand dollars in her account. She would have to dip into her company retirement plan or get a loan to pay the tab. She might even have to get a second job.

Donna started pulling out various forms for Mac to read, fill-in and sign. While Mac started the paperwork, Donna went to Marcia's desk and had a brief conversation with her. When she returned, she waited for Mac to look up and said, "Marcia and Robert will be working the case with me." Donna handed Mac three index cards. Each card had a small photo with typed information.

"Hang on to those cards, Mac. Each one has the photo of the investigator who will be working the case. It also has their regular contact and emergency telephone numbers."

Mac looked at the picture of Donna and then at Donna. "This actually looks like you."

Donna smiled and said, "We prepare new cards once every three months."

Mac completed the required paperwork, handed over copies of everything she had pertinent to the investigation and said, "What's next?"

"I'll need a check or credit card for the six hundred and fifty dollar retainer and then you can leave and get ready for your trip. One of us will catch up to you sometime tomorrow or Saturday."

"Any other questions?"

"Do you take blood as a form of payment?" asked Mac with a dry smile as she pulled a credit card from her wallet.

Donna returned the smile and said "Not yet!"

After everything was done, Donna walked Mac to the door, shook her hand and said, "Don't worry, Mac, we'll clean this mess up for you and get you back on track."

"I wonder," said Mac passively.

CHAPTER TWO

FLORIDA

The first thing that greeted Mac when she deplaned was the thick salt air. She loved it and missed it terribly. As a matter-of-fact, while she was on the plane, she was thinking of ways to relocate to Florida. Maybe after the crap blew over and things returned to some sense of normalcy, she could get a transfer there.

Mac located her luggage, grabbed a cab and headed directly to her parent's cottage on the beach. She was as excited as a child on Christmas day and smiled the whole way there.

There was a supermarket about a mile from the cottage and it occurred to her that she would need some items to hold her over until she could come back and do a proper shop.

"Driver, do you see that big, red, neon sign down the road on the right that says Get-N-Go?"

"Yeah."

"Would you pull in there and wait for me while I grab a few things?"

The cabbie looked down at the meter and said, "Hell, yeah!"

When Mac entered the store, she saw few changes since her last trip. It was the same store she and Billy went to as children. Mac's father would give her a few dollars and they would run to the store and buy as much saltwater taffy as they could afford.

She picked up the necessities, such as coffee, sugar, saltwater taffy, etc., and returned to the cab.

When she finally got to the cottage, the cabbie parked on a paved plateau behind Mac's cottage and said, "This is my second trip out here today. Odd don't you think?"

Mac rolled eyes and replied, "Sure is." The cabbie removed Mac's luggage from the trunk and said, "I wish I could afford a place on the beach!"

"It has its advantages," said Mac as she paid the cabbie, gathered her luggage and groceries and walked down the short path to her cottage. When she reached the end of the path, she paused to breathe in some salt air and savor the ocean view. She looked across the ocean and said, "I wish I could hug you!" She smiled, turned and entered the cottage. She closed the door softly and walked slowly around the living room, gently caressing different objects as she did.

As Mac was soaking everything in, she spotted a white sheet of paper taped to the corner cupboard that was next to the front door. It was a note from Floyd Robbins, the caretaker. It simply read, "Welcome home, Mac."

Floyd stopped by the cottage periodically and ran the water for an hour or so to keep the pipes flushed and did other maintenance as required.

Most of the natives rented their cottages out when they weren't living there but Mac couldn't do it. She wanted to preserve the place as it was when her parents were alive. Luckily, the property was paid for and there was enough money in the estate to pay utilities, upkeep, etc, for several more years. Selling the cottage was never an option for Mac, no matter how desperate the call for cash.

"It feels so good...it feels so right to be here," she said as she picked up her luggage.

She quickly unpacked and found that she couldn't stop smiling. And she couldn't wait to get back outside.

Mac put her empty suitcases in the bedroom closet, then turned and opened a window to air the room out. She looked passionately at the ocean and said, "Take me...I'm yours." She backed away from the window slowly, clutched the blue windbreaker she had laid on the bed and went outside. Mac stepped from the porch and smiled as she made her way slowly down what used to be a clearly defined path. There was a faded, short, white picket fence at the end of the path, with an open space where a gate once hung many years ago. Shifting sands laid claim to the bottom third of the fence and most of the path from the porch.

When she reached the fence, Mac paused and inhaled to the full capacity of her lungs. She exhaled gradually and headed for the incoming surf, pulling her windbreaker tight as she did.

It was getting late and the evening wind was brisk, drawing several tears from her weary eyes. She used the back of her hands to clear the tears so she could bring the descending sunset into focus. All the while, the September wind was slapping her hair around like dry strands on an old rag mop.

Mac approached the beach and gazed up at an ominous looking sky. She knew it wouldn't be long before a fall storm would come rolling in. She hoped it would be a serious kind of storm that demanded a soft light, (candlelight would be preferred), a warm blanket, a comfortable couch and a good book. The sound of a crackling fire, a howling wind and pelting rain would be the only companions necessary.

The incoming waves were higher and louder with each report. She smiled again because she loved it. She loved every bit of the ocean and the surrounding environment. When her parents bought the cottage more than twenty years earlier, it was one of the happiest days in her life.

The ocean was her psychiatrist, mother, father and child all rolled into one convenient package. It soothed the savage beast in her and helped her forget, or at least temporarily postpone, her everyday problems. It could be firm like an unyielding father or very demanding of her attention, like a young child. When she felt lonely and in need of a hug, the ocean embraced her like a mother and made her feel secure.

When she reached the beach, she kicked her sandals off and wiggled her toes in the cool, wet sand. She stared across the water and was totally consumed by the overwhelming beauty of the orange sunset, which had been graciously spared from the approaching stormfront. She looked at the storm clouds racing to catch the retreating sun and closed her eyes. For the first time in a long, long time, Mac felt at peace.

Mac smiled and moved back to some dry sand. She sat there for some time after the sun had set and soaked in the surrounding sights, sounds and rejuvenating salt air. The wind was building and there were impressive lightning streaks shooting through the clouds.

"Getting closer old friend. Thanks for the show. I suppose I ought to get back inside for awhile." Mac stood, brushed the sand off and carried her sandals back to the cottage.

She looked to her left and said, "That's odd." Mac eyed a light shining through the living room window of the cottage next door. Most residences along the beach were vacant by September first and it was already mid-September. The Fergusons, the people who owned the cottage next door, never stayed that late in the year.

It's probably just Floyd, she thought. Floyd was as reliable as the sunrise and had an ironclad memory. Once Floyd saw or read something, it was there for good.

Once inside, Mac made sure all the windows were closed tightly. She wasn't sure when the chimney had been cleaned last, so she opted for lighting the pilot light in the furnace instead.

No one had actually lived in the cottage for several months and memories of enormous, brown, water bugs sprinting across the forks and spoons, prompted her to wash the silverware. Mac dumped all the utensils in the kitchen sink and gazed out the window as she waited for the water to heat up. The light at the Ferguson place was still lit. Her first thought was to run next door and inquire. Perhaps Floyd was having some difficulties, or worse yet, was in physical danger. Maybe he had a heart attack. Maybe it wasn't Floyd. Maybe it was nothing at all. Mac decided to wait a little while longer.

Bob and Millie Ferguson, she thought. What memories. Mac had known the Fergusons for many years and was very fond of them both. They had been close friends and often socialized during their summer pilgrimage. Bob and Millie were very kind people and treated her as if she were their own child.

Mac always considered the journey as a wonderful escape to another world and cherished every second of it. She dreaded having to go home. Summer's end was a traumatic and tearful event to Mac. The vacation would reach its limit and Mac had to go home. Her mother would routinely say that all good things must come to an end. Mac hated hearing that. Who in their right mind would mandate such an asinine rule? When things are going well, why should they have to come to an end? It seemed like bad was allowed to continue endlessly.

It made about as much sense as someone saying you can't have your cake and eat it too. What the hell is the point of having a cake if you can't eat it? Even more troubling to her was that intelligent people believed in those idiotic sayings.

Mac passed her fingers through the water. It was getting warm, but wasn't quite hot enough for her.

Another light went on at the Fergusons. Well, if it's Floyd, at least he's moving around. What if it isn't Floyd? Mac looked down in the sink, then back out the window. "Doesn't matter," she said firmly. "Understand this, whoever you are I'm here to relax and get away from problems, not add to them."

Mac could use a bit of quality rest. She needed some down time as much as fish in the ocean required saltwater. Fourteen-hour days, six and sometimes seven-day work weeks were carving deep grooves into her soul. Mac had to do it. Not because it was a job requirement. She did it because there was only one way to do a job and that was the right way. She always felt if you were going to do anything at all, give it your best and go the extra mile if need be. And as a district manager there was always something or someone demanding her attention. It was her obligation to make sure every situation she encountered was handled correctly and completely. Mac was determined to have her cake and eat it too. It should be noted that there were many times she realized too much cake can give you indigestion.

Mac's peers scoffed at that approach and insisted she wasn't using her staff properly, or that she took her position way too seriously. They often abused their positions and padded their expense accounts. It didn't seem to bother them at all.

The new millennium snuck in and gave birth to new technology. It ushered in new and improved cell phones, which appropriately added an entirely new dimension to an already stress filled occupation. Wonderful, compact devices that prevent any place from being referred to as sanctuary. And Mac had two of them ringing constantly.

Mac put the stopper in the sink and squirted a green liquid soap into the hot water. She took another look through the window just in time to see yet another light go on and off at the Fergusons.

"Well, whoever is there...is there! A thief wouldn't run around turning lights on and off. Neither would a man lying on the floor dying from a heart attack. I'm on vacation and I'm going to do as little as possible. Dan said working vacation. He didn't say how much work. I'm going to mind my own business. IT"S NOT MY PROBLEM!! I need to lighten the load. That's what got me into this mess to begin with," she exclaimed.

Mac washed the silverware, a few cups and some plates. As she removed the stopper from the sink, she couldn't resist looking through the window one more time. No change noted!

She took one of the clean cups and pulled a packet of instant coffee from the grocery bag on the countertop. She filled the cup carefully and set it in the microwave.

Mac couldn't let go of the situation with the cottage next door. Her interest took yet another direction. What if the occupant wasn't temporary? What if the person was going to be there as long as she was and wanted to socialize every day? What if the Fergusons decided to stay on? Then they'd be upset that Mac didn't come over and say hello. She loved them dearly, but they had a tendency to be overly talkative and she was craving solitude. And if she went over to say hello and it wasn't the Fergusons, that would open another can of worms.

What if the neighbor turned out to be some rude, inconsiderate jerk that liked to party and play loud music all night? Then she'd have to have a confrontation, maybe even call the police, making it all too ugly for her to remain there.

Mac didn't know a damn thing about the person next door and it was already screwing up her first night back. Knock if off, Mac. RELAX!!

She watched as the seconds counted down to zero on the microwave and jammed her thumb against the release catch for the door, hitting it so hard that the cup wobbled and spilled some coffee.

"DAMN!" she exclaimed as she jerked a towel from the rack. After cleaning up the mess, she threw the towel against the grocery bag and stormed into the living room with what was left of her coffee. Mac snapped her head in the direction of the Ferguson place and shouted, "THANKS, JACKASS!!" Calm down, Mac...Calm down. Remember where you are. Remember the ocean.

She set her cup on the coffee table and picked up a small plastic bag from the Get-N-Go. It didn't have a wide selection of videos to choose from and most were five to ten years old, but it was something to watch and occupy her mind.

Mac turned on the television, picked a movie originally shot in the 1940's and stuck it in the VCR. The only thing she heard was a sad clicking sound coming from the VCR. She repeated the process with another movie and achieved the same result.

She sighed and said, "I don't believe this is happening. Although, it could be a good thing. Maybe the movies are horrible and now I don't have to sit through them!"

Mac bagged the movies and threw them on a nearby chair. "Maybe some other night," she said as she retrieved the remote to the television. Unfortunately, all she saw was a black screen with millions of white dots racing across. Wonderful static, but no picture.

"This is so wrong," she said with some disgust. "This is just not fair." She thought for a minute and then said, "No reason to be upset, Mac. You still have the new mystery novel you brought from Atlanta. You'll probably enjoy it more anyway."

She turned the television off, crossed her fingers and turned on the stereo. There was some momentary static, then music. She fiddled with the tuner until she found some soothing sounds. Mac was finally able to settle back on her couch and relax. She pulled a small throw over her feet and legs, picked up the novel and read the preface. She moved on to the first page and realized she couldn't remember what she had just read. Her mind kept drifting away to other thoughts.

Did she approve the payroll with modifications or was she just thinking about approving it? What about the receipt for lunch with one of her store managers...saved or lost? Worst of all, what about the jackass next door?

Mac picked up her coffee, took a sip and looked at the contents. She smiled and said, "Are you half empty, or half full? What a stupid question. Why do people waste so much time thinking up pseudo-intellectual crap like that? The real question; the only truly important question is, do you have enough to drink or not?"

The background music was assisting in rendering a much needed mental massage and she was starting to relax again. She set her book down and visually surveyed the room taking note of the collective memories it held.

She looked at the curtains and remembered the day her mother sewed them without any kind of pattern. Her mother tried to get Mac involved in sewing, but sewing was too boring to her. Mac much preferred to be playing in the surf or kicking a soccer ball across the sand.

Her mother's skill and creative abilities impressed Mac. She watched her mother sit at the sewing machine for hours on end, humming different songs and smiling all the while.

Mac never thought of her mother as much of an athlete and nearly fell over when she found a photo of her mother in a baseball uniform. It was not the traditional uniform of a male baseball player, but rather a uniform consisting of a shirt and skirt. It was the uniform of the All American Girls Professional Baseball League.

Her mother was part of a bold experiment that started in 1943 and lasted until 1954. She was an outfielder with a powerful throwing arm and could swing a mean bat. She was proud of her accomplishments during the year and one half she played but never spoke of it around the house.

Mac rose from the couch and walked over to the curtains. She ran her hand lovingly over the material and brought it close to her nose. She could still smell her father's pipe smoke in the fibers. She never knew the name of the pipe tobacco but it had a pleasant odor. It was a smell she became accustomed to and actually enjoyed. On one occasion she tried smoking her dad's pipe and nearly vomited. It was her first and only introduction to inhaling any form of tobacco smoke. She was baffled how anyone could enjoy such a taste. She was also confused as to how something could smell so good through her nose and be so awful through her mouth. It was the same smoke. It all ended up in the same place.

She turned to the family portrait hanging over the fireplace. Mac scrutinized the images of her mother and father. I sure do miss you guys. All good things must come to an end. Her eyes filled with water and a single tear ran down each cheek. Mac took a deep breath, exhaled and said, "Whew! It's definitely time to call it a day."

Mac was about to take the last sip of coffee, when she heard one of her cell phones ringing. She walked briskly to the kitchen table and answered it before the third ring.

"Hello," she said.

"Hi, Mac. It's Donna Garrison. Before you say anything, I want you to know that some of our phone conversations will be recorded. I will always tell you in advance which ones are. This is one of those phone calls. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"I was checking to see how you were doing. Anything new to report?"

"So far, so good. It's great to be back."

"That's wonderful. I also wanted to give you an update on the course of action we intend to follow during our investigation. We don't feel twenty-four hour surveillance is really called for at this point. We have decided a dusk to dawn strategy would be best for all concerned. Obviously, that's subject to change, based on the merits of the case. Are you in agreement?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Good. Marcia Labonte has a Saturday morning flight and should be at your place by lunchtime. I won't be there until Monday afternoon."

Mac opened her purse and pulled out the index cards that Donna had given her. She studied Marcia's face and made a mental note to enter all of the operative's cell numbers into her cell phone as soon as their conversation was over.

"Okay. Sounds good to me," replied Mac.

"By the way, Mac, we discovered an unpaid parking ticket during our preliminary research. It's about eight months old. Would you like us to pay that for you?"

"Wow, I forgot all about that. Yes, go ahead and pay it."

"We were looking at the weather reports. It appears you have some foul weather headed your way."

"It's drizzling outside now and the winds are rearranging everything that's not tied down. It's going to be a great show. I love storms."

"I enjoy a good storm myself. That's all I have for now. Make sure you follow sensible security measures and be sure to call if you need us for anything."

"Thanks, Donna. I'll do that. Catch ya' later."

"Good night, Mac."

After Mac entered the phone numbers, she got her cup and rinsed it out. She couldn't resist taking one last glimpse at the Ferguson place. No lights this time.

"That's more like it. Maybe it won't be so bad after all."

She went to the hallway and opened the front door. The drizzle had graduated to a proper downpour. The sight, sound and smell of the pouring rain was soothing. "You're so much better than any five-star movie!"

The gusting winds delivered intermittent sprays of water to her face and body. She shivered slightly, took one last deep breath, then closed and double-locked the door.

Her body was shifting to low gear and her mind was demanding pillow time. She felt like a wilting flower.

Mac went to her closet, undressed and hung up her clothes. She donned her robe and thought about taking a long hot shower. She was about to close the closet door when her eyes were drawn to the upper shelf. She saw a rectangular box resting next to the shoebox she used as a child to store her oil paints.

Her love for painting began when she was five years old. She started with watercolors and painted on anything she was allowed to have. Over the years she progressed to oil paints and canvas. Her interest in painting never waned and she occasionally fantasized about becoming a professional artist.

She reached up and pulled the box down. It appeared to be a jigsaw puzzle.

"I don't remember seeing you before," she said as she wiped off a thin layer of dust.

Mac looked at the puzzle scene on the cover. She saw a curving beach with white sand. It was bordered by hundreds of beautiful palm trees. There was a sailboat resting in the sand just before the palm trees. It was a beautiful craft that had a noticeable gouge in the bow.

There was a barefoot man of medium build sitting next to the boat. He was wearing a white shirt and pants that looked a little wrinkled, but clean. His arms were wrapped around his drawn-up legs and he seemed to be looking at the boat.

Mac tapped the box lightly and said, "Turn this way so I can see your face." Nothing happened. Then again, it was probably better for Mac's sanity that nothing did.

Judging by the man and his immediate surroundings, she guessed that the sailboat was about thirty feet long. Except for the gaping hole, the sailboat looked to be in relatively good shape. She had seen many similar sailboats on the ocean during the summer months, but had only made one cruise. The one time she went sailing, she loved it. Other opportunities would present themselves in later years, but there was always a time constraint or scheduling conflict.

The puzzle box depicted a totally serene environment. There were seagulls flying over calm blue ocean waters and a beautiful blue sky with a few scattered orphan clouds.

It reminded her of the honeymoon with Frank. They went to Barbados for a week and spent the majority of their time on the beach. Frank referred to the seagulls circling above them as vultures. It's hard to get more romantic than that, isn't it?

Mac cleared a spot on her dresser and opened it carefully. When she lifted the lid, she felt a puff of warm air against her face.

"Wow! What was that?"

She hesitated momentarily and then examined a couple of puzzle pieces. The pieces felt gritty, as if covered with a very, very fine layer of sand. As she dropped the pieces back into the box, she thought she heard a child's laughter somewhere in the distance.

Her first thought was the Ferguson place, (although Mac had the utmost admiration for children and even thought of having one or two herself, the noise they can generate when least desired is formidable. It would become a real stumbling block for her quest for peace and quiet).

Mac went to her bedroom window and looked at the still dark cottage next door. The winds seemed to be blowing even harder and a heavy rain was still pounding down.

"This could be really bad. A neighbor with an energetic child, running and laughing in a torrential rain while the parents slept. Good grief! What if there's more than one child?" groaned Mac as she returned to the puzzle. Mac replaced the box cover and said, "I think I'll tackle you tomorrow. I can't seem to focus on a book long enough, but I imagine I can handle you just fine."

She carried the box into the living room and dropped it on the coffee table. When it landed, she thought she saw the sailboat shift slightly in the sand. No way!! That couldn't happen, she thought. She attempted to recreate the same effect by lifting and dropping the box several times. Nothing else happened. She saw a drop of liquid next to the box and bent down to examine it more closely. She stuck her fingertip in it, swiped it slowly and put it in her mouth. It was coffee. She was relieved that it wasn't saltwater.

As an afterthought, she ran her hand across the table, checking for sand. Mac laughed and said, "Okay, girl. You're getting carried away here. You're too tired and too stressed." She looked at the puzzle picture again. She saw a small ridge of sand that ran about half the distance of the keel. The sailboat had definitely shifted.

Mac's heart raced slightly as she stood abruptly. There's a rational explanation for this. You know there is. Get a grip here, she thought.

"Wait a minute! I'm not positive the picture changed at all. I only looked at it briefly in the bedroom. The light wasn't as good and I'm tired. Whew...for a minute I had myself going."

Just then, she saw the clock on the fireplace mantel. "Shit. The stores have closed and I forgot to check my voice mail."

She rubbed her bottom lip with her finger, thought a minute and said, "It can wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow is Saturday anyway. The home office will be closed." Even though the home office would be closed, what if there was an emergency?

Mac looked around the house. She had a feeling that someone was watching her. The hell with the voice mail, how embarrassing would it be if someone heard her having a detailed conversation with herself?

"Screw it. It can...and it's going to wait until tomorrow. I'm on vacation, I'm exhausted and I'm going to bed." She double-checked all the locks on the doors and windows; a nightly ritual she performed regardless of where she was.

She turned off the lights in her path and shuffled into the bedroom. She was too tired to take a shower or brush her teeth. She threw her robe on the chest at the end of the bed and slid under the comforter that her mother made when Mac was twelve. She was glad that she could finally let go and relax.

It took some adjusting to get the pillow just right, but as soon as she did, she relinquished conscious control and began dozing. She was nearly asleep when she heard a familiar, soft masculine voice say, "Sleep well, Mac."

She opened her eyes sufficiently to see a shadowy figure in the doorway. The entrance was barely illuminated by a hallway nightlight revealing nothing more than a silhouette. She was more asleep than awake and paid little attention to the comment. She wasn't even sure if she was still awake.

"Thanks she replied automatically. "You too..." Seconds later she was sound asleep.

Mac slept until nine o'clock, well past her normal wake-up time of five-thirty. When she rolled over and looked at her alarm clock, she yelled, "Shit!!" and went into high gear, panic mode. She jumped out of bed and scrambled to find one of her cell phones. Better call right away and explain why I'm running late.

In her haste, she slammed a couple of toes into a chair leg. While hopping around in pain, she was able to get her bearings. She plopped on the couch and rubbed the injured toes. They throbbed, but there was no sign of blood or any permanent injury. The pain subsided and she smiled because she realized she didn't have to go anywhere. There was nothing to explain to anyone. She was on vacation and could do anything she wanted to do, or she could do nothing at all.

Mac went to the kitchen to find something to eat. She wasn't much of a cook. She relied on fast food and restaurants to handle that aspect of her life.

Her first instinct was to peek out the kitchen window at the Ferguson place. She smiled again because she didn't see any activity there. She was free to pursue breakfast without aggravation.

The coffee was always first on the morning agenda. If the manufacturer recommended three scoops per pot, Mac would use four. She often thought that she liked the smell of the brewing coffee more than the actual taste.

The next item on the menu was toast. She dropped two slices of white bread into the toaster and pushed the handle down. She was watching the coils turn a brilliant orange when she thought she heard a cough emanating from the living room.

Mac opened a kitchen drawer, pulled out a fondue fork and said, "All right jackass. You know I'm here and you're there. What's our next move?"

She stood motionless, holding a quivering fondue fork in a defensive manner. Her heart pounded so hard that the surging blood to her brain was beginning to give her a headache.

Several silent minutes passed with no activity of any kind. She inched closer to the kitchen door, stopped and said, "Come on hero. You want me, you have to come and get me. I'm warning you though, I play for keeps and I promise you'll have to work your ass off for anything you get. You'll probably get pretty bloody too."

There was a silent response, so she began to move cautiously toward the living room. Dusk to dawn surveillance, thought Mac. Well it's past dawn. We have some rethinking to do! If she could make it to a cell phone and bolt out the front door, she thought she'd be okay.

Mac examined the visible surroundings as she crept forward. The latch on the front door was still fastened and all the windows appeared to be locked and undamaged.

She felt a surge of confidence as she was finally able to retrieve a phone. She entered the numbers 911 and put her thumb on the green dial button, but didn't press it. I'll look around a little first. I don't want to call and appear to be a hysterical idiot if I'm just hearing things again.

Mac was a sharp contrast to many preconceived thoughts of women. She didn't feel it was necessary to always back away or run from fear. No matter what the battle, she would fight it. Of course, there was always a handy cell phone to call in the cavalry, if required.

She moved down the hallway and timidly turned the glass doorknob to the closet. Mac yanked the door open and jumped back, fondue fork at the ready. Nothing, except some sheets and a vacuum cleaner.

Mac entered the bedroom, thinking it would be her showdown. There was no where else for the intruder to hide. Her grip on the fork was so tight, that her knuckles turned a blotchy red and white. If her hands got any sweatier she'd most likely short out the cell phone.

Mac mustered all of her courage and looked under the bed first. She was in the habit of tackling the hardest job first, so that anything that followed would be something to look forward to. All people know that the space under one's bed houses the worst beasts and fears in the world. It is a sanctuary for evil and a breeding ground for monsters of all descriptions.

She lifted the burgundy bed skirt with great trepidation. Her anxiety level was at maximum load. The morning sun reflected just enough light to determine that the greatest threat to her was dust bunnies, just like in her apartment search.

Mac realized that she hadn't cleared the shower, another favorite hiding spot that

intruders loved. It, as well as the remaining two closets, was empty. To her absolute delight, all doors and windows were still locked from the inside and there was no intruder.

Once again, as in her apartment, she embarrassed herself as a result over an overactive imagination. She smiled widely and said, "If Daddy saw me running around here like a commando, he'd be smiling for days!!"

After two cups of black coffee and four slices of toast steeped in butter, (two of them cold and two warm), she took a long hot shower and got dressed.

She pulled on a turtleneck sweater that her mother handmade for her years ago and went outside. It was a cool and beautiful morning. Mac was surprised to see very little evidence of the previous night's storm. It was obviously more threatening than damaging.

Mac closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. She exhaled slowly, looked out over the ocean and said, "God, how I love this place. I wish I never had to leave."

Careful what you wish for, she thought as she opened her eyes and headed for the beach. It was another one of those expressions people use frequently. If you're wishing for something you really want, why be careful?

She decided to walk up the north stretch of the beach, past the Ferguson place, to the old fisherman's pier. Mac spent many glorious nights fishing on that pier with her father. He never took her freshwater fishing, because he considered it much too boring. A saltwater fisherman, even one just fishing off a pier, could always catch something with the right bait. And usually something different each time a cast was made. It was always a surprise when the line was reeled in and the catch hauled up.

Mac smiled as she remembered her first night on the pier with her father. She had just turned nine and was eager to use the new fishing rod and reel she had gotten for her birthday. Her father offered to bait the hook for her and only smiled when she adamantly refused. Mac wanted the whole fishing experience and was determined to do it herself.

She cast her line over the railing of the pier and heard the distinct plunk as the lead sinker hit the water. Mac got an immediate hit and yanked hard on the fishing pole, successfully setting the hook in the fish's mouth.

Mac reeled in the line and brought the fish to the pier by herself. Her dad showed her how to safely hold her prize and remove the hook. Once the catch was free, Mac said, "I want to hold the fish, Daddy."

Mac's father patiently demonstrated the safest way to handle the fish and then deliberately passed it to Mac's outstretched hands.

Mac tried to hold the fish with one hand, like her dad, but her hands were just too small and the fish too slimy. After dropping it a couple of times, she relented and used two hands. She brought it close to her face and had an eye-to-eye exchange. Its mouth kept opening and closing like it wanted to kiss her.

"Why is its mouth doing that, Daddy?" she asked curiously.

"It's trying to breath. They breath water like we breath air. Since it's out of water right now, that means it's also without air. Strange isn't it?"

Mac nodded. "What kind of fish is it?"

Her father smiled, bent down and looked at the fish. He then looked into Mac's eyes and said, "Well, Sweetheart, there's really only two kinds of fish. There are big fish and little fish. That's the only thing that matters when it comes to fishing."

An older man with a white scraggly beard standing next to Mac grunted and said, "It's a pigfish."

Mac turned and looked at the man and then at the fish. Then she crouched down and let the fish slide from hands and drop back into the ocean.

She stood and wiped her slimy hands on her blue shorts. Her father winced slightly and tossed her a rag.

"If you're gonna fish, yah need tah learn what they're called. It's a pigfish," repeated the bearded stranger.

Mac's father looked at her, winked and said, "WOW! Did you hear that splash? Let's move down there and see if we can catch him!"

The stranger mumbled something and spit over the railing, while Mac and her father gathered their gear and headed for the fictitious noise.

In the years that followed, Mac and her dad caught hundreds of fish. They kept some of the big fish and fried them on the grill at the cottage. They threw all of the little fish back so they could swim back to school and learn how to become big fish.

Mac passed in front of the Ferguson house and eyeballed a man looking out the living room window. She rendered a diplomatic wave, which was returned immediately.

"So, I do have a neighbor after all. He's probably going to be here the entire time I am. Great! Just freaking great!!" she said sarcastically as she continued to walk down the beach.

When she arrived at the concrete steps that led up to the fisherman's pier, she stopped and smiled. Mac had been there all those years ago when the concrete for the steps was first poured. Mac and Billy Mullins took a broken seashell and carved their initials as soon as the construction workers left.

The steps were all level and smooth and supported shiny, silver railings on either side. But time had also carved its initials on the steps. Level and smooth had been replaced with cracked and chipped. Shiny silver had become dull, reddish-brown rust.

Those were great days. Mac was ten and Billy, a boy from Wisconsin who had never seen the ocean before, was eleven. Billy was okay with water and had gone swimming in lakes, but was terrified of the ocean. He generally opted to remain safely on the beach.

Mac was understanding of his fear but still tried to coax him into the water several times. Billy did venture in from time to time but never deeper than his ankles. At that depth he still felt secure and close enough to dry land to make an immediate retreat.

She sat on the bottom step and let her thoughts drift back with a receding wave. She remembered the day Billy explained his fear of the ocean. It was a brutally hot and humid July afternoon. The sand on the beach was so hot, Mac and Billy thought it would melt and turn to glass. Most people worked up a righteous sweat just getting to the shore and welcomed the cooling rescue offered by the ocean.

It was Billy's last day of vacation. He and his family were driving back to Wisconsin the following morning and Mac wanted to get him into the deeper water just once before he left.

"Come on, Billy. I'll go in with you and hold your hand the whole time we're in the water," said Mac in a consoling voice.

"NO! How many times do I have to tell you I'm happy with the way things are? I don't need to go in your ocean for any reason," he replied angrily.

"It's your last day here. You don't know what you're missing. Go in one time and you'll never regret it," said Mac with a friendly smile.

"NO. I don't want to and I'm not going to do it just to make you happy," he said as he started moving further away from the water.

"Just try it once! I promise we won't go any deeper than your waist and I won't try to play any tricks on you," said Mac in an almost pleading voice.

"Look, Mac. I really like you a lot. I like you more than any other girl or person I know. Well, any person other than my mom and dad that is. I meant what I said and there is absolutely no way I'm going in the water. And that is that!!"

Mac's time with Billy was running out and she was getting frustrated. She admired everything about Billy and wanted him to experience as much of the fun and good things in life as possible.

"I don't get it, Billy. You told me that you go swimming in the community pool back home all the time, so I know you can swim."

"Yeah, but it's not the ocean. My grandfather warned me about the ocean and I'm not taking any chances."

"You can't be serious!!" exclaimed Mac in disbelief. "Millions, maybe even billions of people go into the ocean every day and nothing ever happens to them. Maybe some get attacked by sharks or drown accidentally, but that's very rare."

"It's not the sharks that bother me. It's not anything living...at least I don't think it's a living thing," said Billy reflectively.

"Then what is it?"

"It's the white wave, Mac. It scares the crap out of me."

"The white wave?? What in the world are you talking about? I've seen a white crest several times and it never bothered anyone," said Mac confidently.

"There's a giant white wave that comes from nowhere. It's as white as fresh snow and can be as tall as the biggest mountain ever heard of. It shows up when the sea is calm or when it's stormy. If you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, it gets you. I'm not sure what it does to you once it has you. I'm pretty sure you just die. All I know for sure is that I don't want it getting me."

"Who told you that crap?

"Grafer told me and it's not crap," said Billy defensively.

Mac snickered and said, "Who the heck is Grafer?"

"He happens to be my grandfather. My mom told me that when I was little, I couldn't say grandfather. It always came out as Grafer. The name kinda' stuck," explained Billy.

Grafer moved in with Billy's family after Billy's grandmother died. Grafer's health was failing and it was hard to get around and do most things. His grandfather lived a hard life and had been a whisky drinking, ordinary seaman since his early twenties. He spent much of his married life at sea, sailing on many different merchant ships to hundreds of different ports.

Billy's grandfather replayed many engaging tales from his collection of memories. Grafer always waited until Billy's bedtime to begin the narration. Some of the stories would lead to bad dreams and nightmares, which Billy's mother would handle while Grafer slept soundly.

Grafer would pull out his gold pocket watch, look at Billy and say, "Ready, Boy?"

Billy responded by running to his bed, jumping in and jerking his covers over his head.

"Ready, Grafer." Thus began the nightly ritual.

Grafer had to locate the lost boy through a process of trial and error, but was always successful. He would pull a chair next to the bed, light his white meerschaum pipe and begin the tale.

He delivered one story about a giant squid rising from the ocean depths and enwrapping its tentacles around a freighter. It subsequently dragged the ship and its crew under, destroying the ship and killing all aboard. Other episodes simply depicted horrible storms and his grandfather's larger than life heroics during them.

Billy listened intently to each yarn. Some made him feel uneasy and terrified. Others made him laugh and marvel at his grandfather's near super-human abilities. There was one story, however, that scared the shit out of him. It wasn't so much the content of the story. It wasn't so much the content that got to him, but the manner in which his grandfather relayed it.

Most of the sea stories Grafer passed along were repeated several times over the years. Each time they were told, Billy noted discrepancies from the previous time. The validity of each story was betrayed by a little twinkle in Grafer's eyes. At story's end, his grandfather would always smile and say, "The end."

There was that one story though. Grafer told it only once and had a very distant look in his eyes. No twinkle, no smile, no pipe and worst of all, no "The end," when the story was completed.

Grafer had a slight head cold and partnered with a bottle of whisky to ease the pain. He was too involved with the whisky when it came to story time and didn't realize all of what he was saying.

The story began with a ship he was sailing on off the coast of Australia. It was an old freighter with a hull full of cargo bound for Sydney. Once his ship had docked and unloaded the freight, the hull was refilled with containers bound for Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. They were about one hundred miles south of Sydney when they received word of another freighter in peril. The crew on the troubled freighter had been stricken with some sort of contagious tropical disease and wasn't allowed to dock anywhere until the disease was under control.

Rescue planes attempted to drop emergency supplies, but most of the drops were far wide of the ship. As a result, the supplies continued to drift away in prevailing currents. The captain of the stricken ship sent several SOS messages asking for assistance from any nearby vessels.

Grafer was in the middle of breakfast when the ship's loudspeaker came on. His captain announced that they were changing course to answer an SOS call. Their course alteration would only put them two hours behind schedule, which was certainly acceptable to all concerned.

Billy's grandfather stood on deck with several other seamen and watched for the quarantined ship. A forward lookout finally spotted it and final preparations were made to transfer supplies.

Several men on deck were distracted by a low pitch humming sound that enveloped the entire ship. Grafer recalled hearing a similar sound once before. It reminded him of the monstrous electric generators at Hoover Dam.

As the humming grew louder, Grafer and the other men felt a small vibration throughout their ship. It was a curious event, but they ignored it, went to the ship's railing and watched until the ailing vessel came into view.

They weren't standing there more than a couple of minutes, when a giant white wave appeared. The wave was at least two hundred feet tall and four times as wide as any ship Grafer had ever seen. It was racing toward the quarantined ship like a jet fighter on afterburners. The most bizarre thing was that the sea all around the wave remained perfectly calm.

The white wave reached the diseased ship and slammed it down like a person smashing a bug with a flyswatter. No one said anything. No one could say anything. Their movements, their thoughts and actions stopped as an overwhelming anxiety paralyzed them. All they could do was stand and watch as the attacked ship bobbed up and down violently like a toy in a bathtub.

There was no wake left in the path of the wave. That was very puzzling indeed, because even the smallest of rowboats leaves some form of a wake on the surface. The white wave left no evidence, except white, milky water that drained from every square inch on the ship.

When they eventually regained their composure, they made several attempts to contact the affected ship by radio. Their only reply was static.

Grafer's captain ordered his ship to move closer and comb the area for any survivors washed overboard. No immediate thought was given as to what they would do with any diseased crewmembers fished from the sea. Human curiosity was the driving force in control.

When Grafer's ship was as close as it could safely get, they were amazed to see no sign of life or death. There was no one aboard the ship and no bodies floating in the calm sea surrounding it.

Given the unusual nature of the events that had transpired, how could they just sit back and do nothing further? It was like driving past an automobile accident. Most people don't want to see blood and guts spilled all over the highway, but also can't resist looking at the carnage. The captain and his crew were no different, so the captain asked for volunteers.

Grafer and four other men stepped forward with a little hesitation. The captain instructed them not to touch anything or anyone. They were told to just go, observe and report.

The volunteers boarded a single, diesel-powered lifeboat and made their way over. When they boarded, they were shocked and a little frightened to see that everything was completely dry. As they made their way below decks, each level resulted in even more shocking results.

They observed the vessel being squashed by a giant wave, yet there was a steaming hot bowl of soup in the captain's cabin. Gas fires were still burning under simmering pots in the galley. A movie was playing on the television and hot water was spraying in the sink of sickbay.

An exhaustive search revealed more questions than answers. All decks were completely dry and all decks were completely void of any living thing.

Grafer met up with the other volunteers and slowly removed a two-way radio from his pocket. "Captain, the ship is deserted, except for us. With your permission would like to remove ourselves as well!"

"Very well. Return to the ship immediately," replied the captain.

Grafer acknowledged the captain's order and the volunteers returned to their ship. Although he returned to his daily routine, his thoughts were understandingly still aboard the mystery ship. They would remain there, off and on, for the rest of his life.

There was another incident of the same nature, which Grafer included that evening in his bedside tale of terror. The second incident happened about four years later.

Grafer was sailing on a different freighter, with a different captain. His ship was headed to a port in Miami, with a hull crammed full of cargo from China. Once again his ship picked up an SOS, but this time it was from a thirty-foot sailboat named Scooter. Whoever was on the radio was screaming that an uncontrollable fire was devouring the ship.

This time, Grafer's ship was only minutes away. The sea was calm and the crew could see pitch black smoke billowing on the horizon.

The freighter altered its parallel course and in no time, the ship was close enough for the crew to see the flames eating their way through Scooter's bow.

Men from Grafer's ship had already manned their lifeboats and were making preparations to be lowered over the side.

One of the men in Grafer's lifeboat shouted, "LOOK!" and pointed to a person holding something or someone in his arms. The figure stumbled backwards into what appeared to be a deck chair and fell against a railing. It didn't rise again.

The keel of Grafer's lifeboat had no sooner hit the water, when they heard a low pitch humming sound. He recognized the eerie generator sound immediately. It was the same sound he heard at the freighter near Australia. Exactly the same.

"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!" shouted a startled seaman as he fell backward and nearly out of the lifeboat.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" screamed another. All eyes turned in the direction of a giant white wave, racing at break-neck speed toward the dying yacht. It wasn't as large as the last one Grafer had seen, but it was tall and wide enough to consume the yacht.

The giant wave hammered down on Scooter like a sprung mousetrap. And as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. The same was true of the yacht. Scooter had vanished without a trace. No debris, no residual burning oil slick, no bodies...absolutely nothing. The surrounding sea remained calm and the sky was clear. There wasn't a single shred of evidence that anything or anyone had ever been there.

Grafer finished his story just that way, because he had drifted off to sleep in the chair next to Billy's bed.

Billy told Mac that he got out of bed and tried to awaken his grandfather, but couldn't. He kissed Grafer on the forehead, put a small blue blanket over him and went back to bed. Neither of them made mention of the white crest again. Billy was never sure if it was because Grafer didn't want to, or because he didn't remember telling Billy the story. Maybe, just maybe, Grafer wasn't suppose to tell anyone the story.

Billy relayed Grafer's tales to Mac with the same tone of voice and distant look his grandfather had done.

It took Mac some time to completely digest the story. She stared out at the ocean for a few minutes, turned to Billy and said, "Did your grandfather's nose get bigger as he told the story?"

"Very funny, Mac. He wasn't making it up. Not that story. I could feel that it was true. I can't explain why I believed him, because I don't know why. I just know I believed that particular story."

Mac waded into the surf, kicking saltwater as she walked. "I don't know, Billy. Sounds pretty unbelievable to me. Besides, if it really did happen, it was hundreds of miles out. We're perfectly safe here."

"What if there are small white waves that can come in and get you? Grafer said the second wave he saw was much smaller than the first. How much smaller can the wave be? Does it just go after boats, or can it be small enough to get me? Remember, it was more after the people than the boats. It could come in and get someone like me anytime it wants to."

Mac snickered and ventured out a little deeper. "You think maybe it could get someone as tall as me?"

"I'm not taking any chances, Mac. You can laugh, but there's no way I'm going to risk it," said Billy as he watched an incoming wave.

Mac smiled again as she recalled that day. She ran her fingers over the worn initials scratched into the concrete so many years before. She could almost see Billy standing by her side, relaying Grafer's white wave tale. She bent over and blew the sand from the initial grooves, smiled and said, "Those were the days. Great sun and summer fun."

Mac put her palms on the step, leaned backwards and stared blankly into the morning sky. "Where are you now, Billy Mullins? You always made me laugh and feel good. If only you knew how much I loved you. If only you knew how many times I have thought about you over the years." Mac bit her lower lip and said, "Truth be known, Billy Mullins, I've loved you since I met you."

When their first summer ended, Mac and Billy corresponded frequently. They each had photos of the other posted on their bedroom mirrors, but neither told the other.

By the end of their third summer together, they had shared their first kiss and had embraced fondly several times. They also spent several quiet evenings cuddling together on a blanket they stretched out over the cool sand. They would gather broken branches and driftwood for a beach fire and listen to the pounding surf as flames danced in the wind. Then they waited and watched the sunset in silence, embracing until the last ember of their fire turned cold.

There were a couple of nights that the heat of the moment lead to partial nudity, but they never engaged in intercourse.

Parting was horrible and Mac cried for days thereafter. Her first few weeks home saw her writing dozens of letters to Billy and calling at least once a week. She never developed an interest in other boys at her school. She even made a chart and posted it on her bedroom wall, counting down the number of days left until the next summer.

Then came the terrible fourth summer. She was heartbroken when she heard that Billy's parents had made other vacation arrangements. She didn't want to eat, or do anything. Trips to the pier with her father were fulfilling and helped get her mind off of Billy, but didn't satisfy the void in her heart.

Mac and Billy continued their friendship via letters after that fateful summer, but the calls stopped. As time wore on, the letters were replaced with new people and new priorities. Eventually, the letters were fewer and far between; until by the next summer, they had stopped altogether.

Years piled atop one another and the two never met or wrote again. Deep inside however, each maintained a small fire of passion for the other.

Mac sighed and said, "Oh, Billy. If only..."

She stood and looked up the flight of steps that lead to the old fishermen's pier. She could see the tail fin of a wooden fish mounted on the Cuda Shack. The original and existing owner, Shingo Hisamatsu, painted the fish a deep yellow and olive green. Shingo put a fresh coat on his giant barracuda every year in an attempt to defray the damaging effects of the salty air. Unfortunately, he neither did any repairs to it, nor did he bother to remove any of the previous coats of paint. As a result, it had so much paint that it lost its original shape and took on the appearance of a giant sea slug with fins.

The Cuda Shack was a combination bait shop and food stand. The food stand had a loyal clientele that loved the limited menu offered. Your choices were limited to grocery store hot dogs or hamburgers.

Mac enjoyed Shingo's company and made it a point to write on holidays and visit with him every time she came to the cottage. He always made Mac smile and feel good inside. Not so much by his wisdom, but more by his sincere interest he maintained in Mac and people in general. He had a remarkable understanding of life and a remarkably smooth way of dealing with most situations thrown his way. He was selective and didn't always use his time proven social skills. When he did however, he was mystical to Mac. He also made the best hot dogs and hamburgers Mac had ever tasted.

The instant she reached the top of the steps, an invisible cloud of "Cuda Gas" greeted her. "Cuda Gas" was the expression she and Billy used to describe the pleasant odors emanating from Shingo's kitchen. Shingo told them that he routed his exhaust fans to the front of his shop so he could use the smells as bait. Passing fishermen would be hooked and reeled in, just like their prey.

Mac opened the squeaky screen door and spotted Shingo scraping the 20 year old, black iron grill. She saw two middle-aged men sitting on Shingo's custom-made counter stools. The stools were all painted fire engine red, with red vinyl seat covers. He had eight tables that seated a maximum of four people each and two booths, each in front of its own large picture window.

One window had a terrific view of the ocean, while the other had a less glamorous view of the gate leading to the pier. He had all of the table chairs painted and covered to match the counter stools. He also had fire engine red table cloths and napkins on each table.

Mac walked up to the counter, pounded the countertop a couple of times and said, "Hey, you! What does someone have to do in this stinkin' joint to get some service?"

Shingo paused and without turning around he replied, "By walking up to the cook and giving him a warm hug and kiss!"

"The cook? Last time I heard, there wasn't anyone within five miles of this joint that could do that!!"

The two men at the counter barely looked at Mac or Shingo. They remained oblivious to the banter.

Shingo came from behind the counter, threw his arms around Mac, hugged her tightly and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Your turn," he said with a wide grin. "That is if you ever want to sample any of my fine cuisine!"

Mac returned the kiss, smiled and said, "It's so wonderful to see you again, Shingo. You never seem to age and you never seem to change. I've missed you, old friend!"

"First you say I've never aged, then you call me old friend. Which is it?" said Shingo with a mischievous smile.

"You know exactly what I mean." The two embraced again and two small tears welled in the corners of Mac's eyes.

Mac pulled away slowly, sniffled slightly and poked his belly. "Maybe you've changed a little. I don't believe you were that far along on my last visit. Been eating too much of your own cooking?"

"Some men explain it by saying they are simply building a shed over their best tool. Others blame it on gas or say they have severe water retention. I'm just getting fat. Pure and simple. I spend all my time here now and never get to do anything else. All I do is work."

"What happened to your cook?" asked Mac.

"You mean Jerry? I had to fire him just after your last visit. I haven't been able to find anyone worth a damn since then. I've had a few drifters who've only wanted a couple of days of work. No one wants to work full-time for the money I can afford to pay them. I might hire that guy staying at the Ferguson place. He came in just before closing last night, saw my help wanted sign and asked if he could work here for a couple of weeks.

I described the position and the wages involved and he was still interested. I told him to come back some time today for a brief orientation because I could use a break. Mac, I can't put my finger on it, but there's something wrong about that guy."

"Wrong how?" asked Mac.

"Well, first of all, I never knew the Fergusons to rent their place out during the off months. Secondly, the guy said he was a computer programmer who needed a break for awhile. He said he would work for food. Who takes a vacation to get away from work, and then takes a part-time job?"

"Some programmers endure tremendous stress. Maybe he just couldn't take it anymore and walked out."

"Maybe so. And he spent his extra money just to rent the Fergusons? Could be, I guess. I'm almost ready to walk out myself. He's coming at the right time. I just hope I don't regret it," said Shingo with a smile.

"Why did you have to fire Jerry?" asked Mac.

"The lousy bastard kicked Waldo," replied Shingo as he looked lovingly down at his sleeping dog. "I can tolerate hundreds of wrongdoings. Kicking my buddy will never be one of them."

"Why on earth did he kick the dog?" asked Mac with some concern.

"It doesn't matter. No one kicks Waldo...for any reason," said Shingo as he walked over and patted the dog on the head. He wiped his hands on his apron and said, "How long are you going to be down here?"

"I'm taking a two week, working vacation. I have to sort out some personal problems related to my job and get some rest."

"Can I scrounge something up for you, Mac?"

"No thanks. My stomach has steadfast rules against greasy hamburgers or hot dogs this early in the morning. It pains me just to watch someone eating that stuff so early in the day. A cup of coffee would be nice though."

"Doesn't seem to bother them," said Shingo as he looked at the two men sitting at his counter. "That's their second order. Don't forget, most guys who eat here in the morning are just coming off the pier after fishing all night. To them it's dinner."

"That's still no excuse to eat your food!!" laughed Mac.

Shingo feigned sadness and wiped away an imaginary tear, then went behind the counter. He poured some hot coffee into a cracked, beige coffee cup and slid it toward Mac.

"Here ya' go, Miss Mason. So, tell me who's lighting your fire these days?" Shingo pointed to Mac's ring finger and continued, "I see the vacancy sign is still lit."

Mac took a sip of coffee and sighed, "Give me a break!! You're so old fashioned. I date when I have the time. Truthfully, I have no interest in the extended warranty anymore. At least not now. Things might change somewhere down the road if all the pieces of the puzzle come together correctly. Right now there are too many missing pieces."

Mac raised her cup to take another sip and heard a very faint masculine voice say, "You forgot your paints, Mac." It was almost a whisper. She spun quickly to her left and then to her right. No one was there. She saw the empty stool at the end of the counter move slightly with no apparent cause.

Mac looked at Shingo almost pleadingly and said, "Please tell me you heard that!"

Shingo rubbed his chin and said, "You said you're missing too many pieces. I've heard every word you said, Mac."

"Not me, Shingo. I just heard a masculine voice tell me that I forgot my paints. You didn't hear that?!"

"Sorry, Mac," said Shingo as he shook his head no.

"I know I heard it, Shingo. Then I saw the stool move by itself."

Shingo smiled and said jokingly, "It's okay, Mac. It's probably just some wayward ghost looking for a good meal!"

Mac studied the eating area and sat quietly for a moment. Okay, you're the only one hearing the voice. That means it's you. What do you do next? Ignoring it hasn't helped. What do you do next?

"It seems more likely that they are ghosts of meals past who have come back to haunt you! Some of them probably think it was your cooking that did them in!" said Mac with a big grin.

Shingo laughed and said, "Hey, that's another way to make money. Maybe I should start selling insurance. I could offer life insurance as a side order!"

Mac chuckled and then said, "Shingo." Then she stopped, took a sip of coffee and stared down at the cup, rubbing her finger on the rim of the cup as she did. "Shingo, I've been hearing things. Well, actually not things, just a voice...a man's voice. It started in Atlanta and followed me here. Since I've been back at the cottage I've heard the voice a couple of times and I even heard a cough. It was a cough like my dad would get after smoking his pipe for awhile. No one else seems to be able to hear the voice. I have even seen his image, or at least the shadow of his image. I think I'm stripping my gears, Shingo."

Shingo stopped what he was doing, turned the heat down on the grill and moved to the counter just across from Mac. "What does this voice say?"

"So far it's just been a couple of words. Like just a few minutes ago. It never says the same thing. And it's always a soft voice, like a whisper. It's definitely a man's voice though."

"I wouldn't worry yet, Mac. There are millions of unexplained phenomena every day. Most have absolutely nothing to do with mental illness. It's more likely some anxiety associated with your fatigue and stress levels. Relax, don't do more work than is necessary and enjoy your vacation. I'll bet that after a couple of nights of sound sleep, those voices will go away," said Shingo in a fatherly way.

Mac looked into Shingo's understanding eyes. He was probably right. She was, by her own admission, stressed to the limit. A good long rest certainly couldn't do any harm.

Shingo took Mac's hand and caressed it tenderly. "Are you okay?"

Mac nodded. Shingo's mere presence was reassuring and calming. When she thought about it, Shingo was her best friend. In reality, he was probably her only real friend.

"I'll be all right, Shingo. Just don't wander off while I'm here!"

Shingo raised his right hand and said, "I promise."

Mac turned her attention to a collection of photographs on the wall opposite the counter. It had a huge green, wooden plank with yellow painted letters that said "Shingo's Hall of Fame," nailed to the wall above it. Shingo made it a practice to take a picture of any regular customer who had consumed 25 or more hamburgers or hot dogs. He also included close friends who made frequent stops, lucky fishermen with great catches and plain ordinary people he just took a liking to. He had each picture enlarged to five inches by seven inches and mounted them in identical, light brown picture frames. The wall would fill periodically and old photos were removed and stored in a series of photo albums.

Every square inch of the remaining walls was covered with thousands of assorted photos, but none of those were framed. There were so many photos, (in some places there were photos on top of photos), that no one was quite sure what the original wall covering was. Some guessed that it was wallpaper Shingo picked out and visitors covered to keep from vomiting.

The Hall of Fame was a special place of honor. Shingo reserved that wall for the elite. As such, they deserved special treatment. One of his regulars was a carpenter who custom made each of the fifty oak frames hanging on the wall. The only payment the carpenter asked for was free hamburgers and an occasional hot dog.

Mac moved to the wall and surveyed Shingo's collage. She smiled when she recognized a photo of her and Billy Mullins sitting at the booth with the ocean view. That was a monumentally sad day for the two of them.

It was the last day of their fourth and final summer together. They had planned on going to the movies and watching a science fiction thriller. Billy was slow to rise that morning and unusually quiet at breakfast.

His mother, Cassandra, sliced a grapefruit in half and put one of the halves on a plate. She sprinkled a teaspoon of sugar on it, looked at Billy and added a bonus teaspoon.

"Here you go, Sweetheart," she said as she placed the plate on the table in front of him. "What time are you going over to Mac's?"

"I'm not hungry, Mom. I guess I'll go now. Is that okay?" asked Billy as he pushed his plate back and stood next to the table.

Cassandra knew why her son was so morose and she also knew there was nothing she could do about. "Sure, Honey." She gave him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "You kids have fun."

"Thanks, Mom."

Mac and Billy were walking hand in hand to the Pinewood indoor theatre when Billy said, "Do you really want to see the movie today?"

"Not especially," replied Mac sadly.

"Want to go to the mound?" asked Billy.

"Okay."

The mound was a short, u-shaped section of eroded shoreline that rose about four feet above the adjacent beach. It was a little over a mile from any dwelling or beach going traffic.

When they arrived, neither said anything to the other. They sat on the sand with their backs against the wall of the mound. Mac kept looking down, drawing random lines in the sand. Billy looked blankly at the breakers slapping down, pushing the sea foam onto the beach.

Tears began to roll slowly down Mac's cheeks and drop to her red shorts. She sniffled and without looking up said, "I'm going to miss you, Billy. I'm going to miss you a whole lot."

Billy had been fighting his emotions since he awoke, but suddenly lost the battle. Tears ran freely. "Me...too," he said, barely being able to get the words out.

They finally looked at each other and embraced passionately. Billy ran his trembling fingers slowly through Mac's hair. Then their tear covered lips met. They lay in the sand and kissed while their passion grew. Billy slid his hand up Mac's t-shirt and began fondling her breast tenderly. Mac sat up, removed her t-shirt and Billy followed suit. She rolled on top of Billy and continued kissing him.

They rolled in the sand until their passion reached the boiling point. Mac stood and began to unzip her shorts.

"No, Mac," said Billy.

"It's okay, Billy. I'm ready now. I want you."

"I want you too, Mac. But not now. Not like this. It's not right"

Mac looked puzzled. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, Mac and that's the problem. Everything's right about you. It's going to be terrible when I leave. If we do it now and I have to go home, I'll go crazy missing you. It's not the way I really want it. You have no idea how unbelievably hard it is for me to stop. It's the way it has to be though."

Billy stood, wrapped his arms around Mac and whispered, "I love you, Mac. I always will."

"I love you too, Billy Mullins."

Billy stuck his hand into his pocket and produced a shell that he had cut and ground into the shape of a heart. He drilled a hole through the top and used a piece of white string for the necklace. He used red oil paint to inscribe the words, "My heart", in the center of the shell. He handed the heart to Mac and said, "Wherever you go, I'll be there."

Mac took the necklace, put it around her neck and hugged Billy tightly.

She remembered that day. She remembered how sad she felt and how painful it was to say goodbye. She remembered the warm sand on the beach and the afternoon at the Cuda Shack. But she couldn't remember what she did with the heart.

Mac pointed to the photo and said, "I'll never forget that day, Shingo. It was Billy's and my last day together. We were so in love. You know, I haven't seen him once since then."

Shingo walked over and stood next to Mac. "It was yours and Billy's last day together and my fifth anniversary. Remember? Food was on the house the entire day. As I recall though, you guys didn't eat much."

Mac just nodded as she glanced at the booth they sat in. Then it hit her. "Wait a minute, that was twenty years ago. That means this year is your twenty-fifth anniversary!!"

"Jackpot, Miss Mason!! But don't tell those guys. I got over giving food away many years ago. You're the only exception to the rule. Your money will never be good here. "

"Congratulations on the anniversary," said Mac as she gave Shingo a bear hug.

"Thanks, Mac. I'll probably be here until the day I die and I'll probably die standing up while I'm cleaning that damn grill!!"

The two laughed and looked at the grill. "That's a scary thought," said Mac.

Mac looked back at the booth and said, "Any idea of whatever happened to Billy?"

Shingo put his arm around Mac, smiled knowingly and said, "The stereo may be off, but I can still hear the music!"

"Billy came back here several times as an adult. Too bad you didn't spend more time here before your folks passed. You and Billy could have hooked up. You really belong here. Don't get me wrong, Mac. I really enjoy getting your cards and occasional letters, but they lack the pure magic of your presence."

"You're so sweet, Shingo." Mac looked down at the floor, then at Shingo. "I never had the spare time. I've been incredibly busy. It seems like I wake up on Monday morning and twenty minutes later it's Friday afternoon and I still have work to do from Thursday!"

"I'm proud of your commitment and all the truly commendable things you have accomplished so far. Life is always a trade-off. You can reach most realistic goals you set, if you maintain your focus and are willing to pay the price to obtain them. Once you make a decision to do something, you have an obligation to yourself to give it your all. That's what you did, so be proud that you have reached that plateau of achievement. I've never wanted more than the Cuda Shack. I never even dreamed of opening another one or franchising the name. This is my niche and I'm content."

"I'm glad you're happy. I'd be lost not having you around to talk to," Mac said with a sincere smile.

"Thanks, Mac."

"Don't get me wrong, Shingo. I'm proud of my accomplishments. I graduated at the top of my class in both high school and college. I've done extremely well in my professional life. However, no matter what I do, I still have an empty feeling; like I'm missing something."

Shingo looked at Mac thoughtfully and said, "Maybe it's not something you're missing. Maybe it's someone you're missing!"

"Maybe." Mac got her coffee from the counter, returned to Shingo and took a small sip. She looked at the photo of her and Billy again. Maybe, she thought. "You were telling me about Billy. How's he doing these days?"

"Billy and his daughter, Katherine, spent several summers here. One summer they missed seeing you by a mere eight hours. It was the closest your visits ever came. All of their other visits missed you by weeks."

"His daughter? How come you never told me he kept returning? Billy has a daughter? How many kids does he have? He's married?"

"Whoa! At my age you have to be careful with the shotgun questions! First of all, whenever he came to visit, the Shack was crazy. We had twice the business we could handle. If you will remember, your trips to the cottage were limited to a weekend here and there. And your time here at the Shack barely lasted more than a cup of coffee or two."

Mac raised her eyebrows, "Sorry, Shingo."

"I understand perfectly, Mac. I didn't think you were still interested in him." Shingo rubbed his chin while he tried to recall the remaining questions. "Need a hit on that coffee?"

"Sure," said Mac.

Shingo and Mac went back to the counter. Shingo freshened up Mac's coffee and said, "Billy, Katherine and I spent hours..." Shingo paused momentarily to emphasize the time period, then continued, "...talking and fishing on the pier. He was into construction and real estate. After awhile, he bought property no one wanted and successfully built high priced residential houses. He developed the land adjacent to the houses into a small shopping center. The properties did very well. Well enough to provide the venture capital to move ahead on other real estate projects he had in mind."

Shingo paused to answer the phone. "Hello, Cuda Shack. We don't sell pizza and we don't deliver." He hung up the phone and walked back shaking his head. "Billy married a beautiful woman. He met her at an advertising agency he was using to promote his housing developments. They built a five-bedroom home, with an in-ground pool and asphalt tennis court. I don't remember the town, but it was somewhere near Minneapolis."

"Damn!" exclaimed Mac. ""I guess the boy has done rather well for himself. It is so hard for me to picture him as a grown man with a daughter. Did you ever have a chance to visit the house?"

"I never had the right combination of time, staff and money to make it up there. Every time he stopped by, he brought new pictures of the house. He was forever making changes to it. The man was a genius with tools."

"You just did it again, Shingo. I don't ordinarily scrutinize your every word, but you said 'was' again, when you referred to Billy. Did something happen to him?"

Shingo looked fondly at the photo of Mac and Billy on the wall and continued somberly, "Billy was a great developer, an incredibly loving father and a dedicated husband. He was a brilliant investor with uncanny wisdom and timing. He dabbled in the stock market and turned a ten thousand dollar investment into a seven figure profit. He used some of the money to buy a custom built, thirty-foot sailboat. When it was completed, it was beautiful, easy to handle and very fast. Did you know that your dad sailed with Billy on the maiden voyage? Your dad brought a bottle of champagne to christen the boat, but the bottle wouldn't break so everybody there just decided to drink it!"

"I had no idea. My dad never mentioned it. I'm shocked to hear that Billy owned a sailboat. He used to be so paranoid of the sea."

"Somewhere along the line, he shed his skin of fear and cultivated a deep love for the ocean," said Shingo with some delight. "He was an accomplished sailor by the time Katherine came along. He started taking her out when she was a baby. They loved sailing together and spent as much time on the water as possible. They'd shove off and drop anchor wherever they thought the water looked right and fish for hours. Oddly enough, neither of them liked to eat fish!" Shingo smiled widely and said, "The only fish Billy would eat was tuna. Katherine didn't like any fish, but that girl could eat crab legs all day long!"

One of the men at the counter took advantage of Shingo's pause and said, "Hey, Shingo. Is our tab still good?"

"You guys are good to go. Need anything else?"

"No thanks, Shingo. Catch ya' on payday."

Shingo waved goodbye and checked Mac's coffee cup. "Billy and Katherine were a great team together. They sailed to Andros Island last year and had someone take a picture of them on the boat. They promised to send the photo to me so I could add it to the Hall of Fame. I waited and waited, but it never arrived. I got caught up in everyday life and simply forgot about it. Then a curious thing happened last Thursday, when you called me. I swear I wasn't off the phone with you more than ten minutes and the mailman walked in with a tattered photo envelope. Inside was a five-inch by seven-inch photo of Billy and Katherine, smiling and waving at me from the deck of their boat. The back of the photo was dated a little over a year ago. I sent it to the framer as soon as I got it, because I wanted it framed and hung before you left."

Shingo grabbed a clear plastic glass, scooped out some ice, ran some water in it and took a long drink. "Those two were something else. Billy was going to buy a sixty-foot yacht and sail the world with Katherine some summer. She was so excited. She'd come in here with an atlas and show me scores of places they were going to visit. And boy was she sharp! You could ask her about the places she pointed to and she could rattle off facts like you wouldn't believe."

He took another drink of water and looked out the front window of the Shack. His mood shifted radically. He became distant and his speech more deliberate. "Then one night about a year ago, probably right after they sent me the photo, I was scraping down the grill and happened to look up at the television. I saw a photo of Billy and Katherine being featured on the six o'clock news. I had the volume down too low, so I couldn't hear what the newscaster was saying about them. I stopped what I was doing and ran to turn the volume up. As I did, a Coast Guard official came to a podium and started reading from a sheet of paper. He said they were lost at sea and were planning to expand their search area at first light. I was really pissed-off when I realized my Coast Guard and emergency services scanners were unplugged. I disconnected everything in my office to make room for a computer, so I could stay in touch with you members of the modern world. Billy was going to help me set everything up when he returned."

Mac got teary eyed and said, "Any idea what happened?"

"I tried calling everyone I could think to call. I either got recorded messages, voice mail something, and busy signals. I got so damn frustrated!" Shingo clenched his fists and continued, "I called the police, even though I knew it was out of their jurisdiction, because I know a cop there. Remember Deputy Collins with the sheriff's department?"

"Vaguely. You mean that cop with the weird sense of humor that used to eat here all the time?"

"He still does and he still grosses me out when he drowns his hamburgers in ketchup and mustard. I called him and asked him for his help, even though I knew it was out of his jurisdiction. He thought highly of the two and was depressed when I told him they were missing. He promised to look into it and call me as soon as he found out anything."

Mac listened intently, but her eyes kept drifting back to the photo of them sitting in the booth. Billy and Katherine. He had a daughter. Was she tall or short? Did she have a captivating smile? What did she like to do for fun? She realized that from the way Shingo was talking, their future was grim at best.

"Deputy Collins called me first thing the following morning. I had only been open for about ten minutes. He said that Billy had planned to sail to the Florida Keys and then swing north. There was a yacht for sale in Cocoa Beach that he wanted to check out. Somewhere in the Straights of Florida, they got caught up in a wicked southeaster. It blew them off course and directly into the path of a schooner. The force of the storm caused the two boats to collide with tremendous force. There was little damage to speak of on the schooner, but witnesses said that Billy's boat was crippled. One witness said that Billy's mainmast was gone. Another person said the deck was nearly even with the surface of the water. The visibility was too poor to see if anyone was in the water."

"Then came the really strange part. The skipper and some crewmembers of the schooner said they heard a humming sound coming from the starboard side of the ship. They feared another vessel was approaching. When they reached the other side, the savage weather stopped and the ocean became dead calm. The humming sound got louder and suddenly, a giant white wave appeared out of nowhere and head straight for Billy's boat. As quickly as it appeared it was gone...and so was Billy's yacht," said Shino with teary eyes.

Mac's eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she whipped her head back to face Shingo.

"HOLY SHIT!!" exclaimed a flabbergasted Mac. "When we were kids, Billy told me a story about a giant white wave that roamed the ocean. He was scared to death of it. That's why he never went in the water."

"I'm not sure what the crew on board the schooner saw. There are thousands of things that happen on a daily basis that we don't understand and can't possibly comprehend. The only thing we can be sure of is that Billy and Katherine are gone. There hasn't been the tiniest trace of them since they disappeared last year," said Shingo as tried to hide his sniffle.

"That is so incredibly unbelievable!! When he told me the story of the wave I basically laughed at him. I was certain that it was something fabricated by his grandfather to entertain him." Mac turned away and looked blankly out the front door. "You know, Shingo," she said slowly, "One time after he told me the story, I splashed some saltwater on him and pretended I couldn't see him because the wave had gotten him. I wish I hadn't done it now. I wish I would have believed him."

Shingo patted Mac's hand softly and in a comforting voice said, "Let's say you believed his story. Would that have prevented him from getting caught in the storm? Would it have steered his yacht away from the schooner? Would it bring them back? It was a harmless gesture, Mac. Have no regrets for celebrating the fullness and wonder of childhood."

A man entered the Cuda Shack, walked to the counter and sat down. Shingo took note of his presence and said, "Be with you in a minute."

The stranger turned to Shingo, smiled and said, "Okay, thanks."

Mac nodded and looked into Shingo's eyes lovingly. "I'm lucky to have you as friend."

Shingo displayed an impish grin and said, "I know!!"

Mac took another sip of coffee and said, "Shingo, why is it every time you speak of Billy it is just Billy and Katherine? You have yet to say Billy and his family. What about his wife? What was she like? Didn't she like Florida?"

"There you go again with the shotgun questions. One of these times you're going to overload my brain. You'll be rattling off a hundred questions and all my hair will fall out right before your eyes!"

Mac chuckled and said, "Sorry, Shingo. It's an occupational hazard."

"Rebecca, Billy's former wife, possesses many different aspects of beauty. She maintains a flawless physical beauty and form. She is polite, charming and quite personable to those who meet her. Unfortunately, there is only room for one love in her life and that love is reserved for Rebecca alone," said Shingo with a glance at the stranger.

"When Billy and Rebecca first met, he was overwhelmed. Her presence intoxicated him and her personality came across as nearly perfect. He was amazed that such a woman could be attracted to him," stated Shingo.

Shingo looked at Mac and said, "Excuse me a minute. Let me see if that guy wants anything."

"Take your time. I have two weeks!"

Shingo approached the stranger and said, "Are you ready to order?"

"Not much of a choice on the menu, is there?"

"There's plenty for me," replied Shingo.

"I guess I'll just have a coffee and some of those donuts," said the stranger.

"Cream or sugar?" asked Shingo.

"Neither," he replied.

Shingo brought the man his coffee, pointed to the donuts and said, "Help yourself, they're 60 cents each."

Shingo walked back to Mac and continued. "Rebecca had rigid dating guidelines. The maximum contact allowed was kissing and holding hands. Living together and sex were prohibited until they were married. He thought he'd really found the catch of a lifetime. She dangled the carrot and he kept biting at it. It wasn't until the honeymoon that he realized he had landed in a spider's web and not a nice warm nest. They had intercourse that night and that night only. After that, Rebecca declared that sex was out. If that's all there was to it, he probably would have been able to handle it. But there was more."

Shingo sighed and took another drink of water. "You see, Mac, the whole time they were dating, Rebecca said anything and everything she thought Billy wanted to hear. If he liked the color green, then it was Rebecca's favorite color. If he wanted children then she wanted them too. After they got married, she laid out a new set of ground rules and stated emphatically that there would never be any children. Children were an unnecessary expense, loud, obnoxious and an entity sent by the devil to ruin women's figures. You know it only takes one time and as luck would have it, Rebecca got pregnant. She was horrified and told Billy she wanted to abort the fetus. I doubt she would have done that though. My guess is that it was an elaborate plan on her part. If she really didn't want a child she would have just aborted it. Everything was her way. Instead, she got in Billy's face and ragged on him. Billy begged and pleaded for her to keep the baby, but it fell on deaf ears."

"One night he became extremely distraught and called me. He said Rebecca only had two weeks left to make a decision about keeping the baby. He was at wits end and didn't know what to do. I simply told him to give her what she wants. She wanted money and status. One generally attracts the other, if you know what I mean. After he hung up with me, he made her a financial offer. He agreed to pay her two hundred thousand dollars a year and buy her a new car of her choosing, every year for a minimum of ten years. The agreement was conditional. She had to carry the baby to term and ensure she did everything she could to keep the baby healthy while in the womb. She also had to grant him total custody and give him a divorce the moment the child was delivered. She countered by saying that she also wanted their new four hundred thousand dollar house and 45 thousand in stocks. He agreed to her demands instantly and the deal was done. It was so sad, Mac. She was serious about children. When Katherine was born she refused to nurse or even hold her. She wanted nothing to do with Katherine. After the divorce was finalized, Rebecca never made contact with Katherine again. No birthday cards or Christmas cards and certainly never any presents. Absolutely nada," said Shingo angrily.

"What a cold-hearted bitch!" snapped Mac. "I'd love to give her my ex's phone number if I had it! The two really deserve each other's affections."

The man at the counter coughed a couple of times and looked in Shingo's direction. Shingo realized the coughing was feigned for his benefit but ignored the man and continued where he left off. "Quite honestly, Mac, the arrangement Billy made with Rebecca put a serious dent in his financial resources. It never bothered him though. He always said that Katherine was his only irreplaceable treasure. Her dividends dwarfed anything he had in his portfolio."

"It's sad that her mother was so selfish. There may come a day that she regrets it. Poor Katherine. I can't imagine growing up knowing that your mother hates you," said Mac unhappily.

"I think Billy handled it well, Mac." Shingo pulled Mac's cup toward him and said, "How about if I top this off for you?"

"No thanks, Shingo. I've got to go home and check my voice mail. I really should have done it before I came over here. One of the private investigators is due in today and she may be trying to reach me."

"Why don't you come back and do lunch? I want to hear more about the problems you had with that guy and your boss in Atlanta. You only gave me a brief overview when you called."

"Maybe. If I don't make today, then tomorrow for sure."

"Hmmmmm, tomorrow would be bad. I'm ordinarily closed on Sunday this time of year. I'll make an exception for you though. Just let me know when to be here."

"Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'd never ask you to open on your day off. Let's make it Monday," said Mac apologetically.

"Monday it is then. I might even break out some real hamburger. I think the horse meat I've been serving has freezer burn," said Shingo as he winked at Mac.

Mac walked behind the counter, gave Shingo a warm hug and said, "It's sure great seeing you again." She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek and headed for the Hall of Fame to get one last look. She rubbed her hand over the glass of the photo of her and Billy. Her focus then shifted a few photos over to one of her and her dad holding a stringer of fish. They were coming off the pier and taking their big catch bag for a fish fry. She stared longingly into the picture and said, "Let's go home, Dad. Mom's waiting."

Mac turned to the door and headed home.

The stranger watched as Mac left. He looked at Shingo and said, "Seems like a nice enough woman. She's very attractive too."

"Mac is a kind, warm and caring person. She walks around like a turtle hiding under its carapace sometimes, but when she sticks her head out, she can be very sweet. We've shared a wholesome relationship for over two decades," said Shingo as he brought the coffeepot over and filled the stranger's cup.

Shingo offered his hand in friendship and said, "By the way, my name is Shingo and my buddy over there goes by the name Waldo. I don't recall seeing you in here before. Are you new to the area?"

The stranger shook Shingo's hand and replied, "My name is Paul Porter. This is my first time to this area. I'll only be here long enough to catch a night's sleep and I'll be on the road again. I have a pretty tight schedule to keep."

Waldo woke up, stretched and started sniffing around. The hair on his back shot straight up and began barking uncontrollably at Paul.

"It's okay, Waldo," said Shingo soothingly. "Sorry about that, Paul. I don't know what his problem is. He's normally very friendly."

"No problem. I have that effect on people sometimes too. He doesn't bother me. Let me go ahead and settle with you and I'll be moving on."

Paul paid Shingo and headed for the door. He was just pulling the door open when Waldo charged and nipped him slightly on the calf.

Shingo bolted from behind the counter and grabbed Waldo around the neck. "It's okay, Waldo. Calm down." He looked at Paul and expected the worst. His first thought was lawsuit.

Paul simply smiled and said, "Nice meeting you, Shingo. You have a great dog there. I have to go now. I have things to pick up." Paul left and never looked back.

"What's with you, Waldo? If I ever get sued we'll both be eating dog food!"

Shingo looked at Waldo's bowl and said, "Speaking of which, I never gave you your breakfast, did I?" He fed Waldo and turned on the television that was mounted to the wall. Then he went behind the counter and started cleaning up. He finished wiping everything down and heard Waldo scratching to go outside. He let the dog out and was leaning against the counter watching television when Brian Caufield walked in.

"Pre-afternoon to you, Shingo," said Brian in an attempt to be humorous.

"It's a good thing you're a computer programmer and not a comedian. You would have to look for another career!" replied Shingo.

"I saw Mackenzie headed toward the pier this morning. Did she happen to stop in here?" asked Brian.

"Mackenzie? Oh, you mean Mac. What's it to you?"

"Just curious. She's one hot babe! I can tell that she has spirit. Once she gets to know me, we'll spend days together in bed. She just has to get to know me and know what a great lover I am. The greater the challenge, the greater the victory I always say."

Shingo returned Brian's banter with a stern look but refrained from commenting.

"How much do you know about her?" asked Brian.

"Did you just meet Mac or do you know her from somewhere?" asked Shingo.

"I've seen her around a few places in Atlanta. It's an amazing coincidence that we happen to be vacationing next to each other. Only difference is that I need to work a few hours a day or I won't eat. She doesn't have to. She has plenty of money. My vacation was a last minute, spur of the moment kind of thing. I needed a break from my job before I exploded."

Brian sat at the stool and said, "So what can you tell me about her?"

"I'm her friend, not her spokesman," replied Shingo as he opened the door and let Waldo back in.

"Can you at least tell me what she likes to do? What does she order when she comes in here? It was a real stroke of luck that you had an opening. Maybe you could give me some idea of what she likes in men," said Brian.

Shingo looked at Brian and then at Waldo. Brian reminded him of a dog in heat trying to hump a tree.

"You're a beer drinker," sighed Shingo.

"A what? A beer drinker?" said Brian.

"A beer drinker is a person who only wants the alcohol for the effects alcohol brings. Some like the taste, but what taste does it have? You need to learn how to be a drinker of fine wines. Take the time to learn everything about the beverage. Look at it before you smell it. Smell it before you taste it. Then savor the taste with slow, thoughtful sips. It will stay with you longer that way. Refine your taste, Brian, and you'll greatly improve your drink," stated Shingo in an authoritative voice.

"I hear ya', Shingo. Good advice," replied Brian patronizingly. Brian heard Shingo all right. It was a pity it didn't mesh with his agenda.

"Now, I have an opening for a grill attendant. It doesn't require much skill. You only have to cook hamburgers and hot dogs. It carries a collateral responsibility as well. You'll also have to keep the kitchen clean and wash some dishes. The position pays seven dollars an hour. I'll only need you about 10-15 hours a week, so it should give you eating money and leave you enough time to relax. Are you still interested?"

Brian chuckled and said, "Grill attendant? That title sounds more dignified. When I'm cleaning the kitchen, I guess my collateral title will be kitchen technician." Brian smirked and said, "I didn't want to break into any of my investments just for this Florida gambit.

Yah, I'm interested. I need the spending money."

Shingo eyed Brian suspiciously and said, "Okay. Is there any reason why you can't start Monday?"

"None whatsoever. Do you have a dress code here?"

Shingo scrutinized Brian's blue jeans and button-down, long sleeve shirt and smiled. "Not much of a dress code required for cooking and cleaning. What you're wearing will be fine. I'll provide an apron."

"What time on Monday?" asked Brian.

"Eight o'clock sharp. I'll need you to bring a driver's license and social security card."

"No problem, Sir. Eight it is. He shook Shingo's hand, walked pensively past Waldo and quickly out the door.

Waldo growled menacingly from his bed. He didn't bother to stand because Brian didn't pose a real threat, he just smelled bad. He wanted to remind Brian to watch his step while he was there.

CHAPTER THREE

THE INVESTIGATION

When Mac left the Cuda Shack, she decided to take a short walk on the pier. She wanted a few minutes to digest Shingo's report. Mac stopped at the end of the pier and rested her arms on the railing. She looked out over the ocean and saw several gulls circling around something floating on the surface. "Oh, Billy, what happened to you?" she sighed. She was saddened by the news of Billy and Katherine. She didn't feel a deep pain because they weren't real to her. Especially Katherine. It was like watching a tragedy on the evening news. You might get upset hearing about it, but since you didn't know the victims the incident soon becomes a distant memory. Their relationship had ended many years before and she never knew him as a man. The only thing that was real to her was the memory and she'd have that for as long as lived.

Mac looked at her wristwatch and decided to head back to the cottage. Halfway down the pier was a man dressed in blue overalls and wearing a black garrison cap. A subtle breeze blowing in Mac's direction carried the distinct smell of tobacco smoke. The man was leaving a trail of smoke clouds like a steam engine struggling to get up a hill. It smelled exactly like the tobacco her father used to smoke in his pipe.

Mac smiled as she thought of her dad and all the wonderful nights they spent on the pier fishing and listening to the magical sounds of the nighttime ocean.

When Mac reached the bottom of the concrete steps, she headed for the cottage and extended her right hand to a father that was only there in thought.

"Take my hand, Daddy. Let's go home. Mom's waiting," said Mac as she smiled warmly. For a split second, Mac thought she felt someone take her hand. It was only for a split second though.

When Mac got back to the cottage, she made a fresh pot of coffee and checked her voice mail. Two and one half cups and an hour later, she had taken care of all the messages pertaining to her job. The two remaining messages came from Marcia Labonte, with Bresons and Carrie, her apartment manager.

She called Carrie first. "Hey, Carrie, it's Mac. How's the weather back in Atlanta?"

"Hi, Mac. You just caught me. I was about to leave. My husband and I are driving to his brother's house in Tennessee. The weather here is wonderful, if you happen to love rain!"

Mac could hear Carrie smiling, as usual. "So, what's up?"

"I wanted to call and let you know that a man wearing a policeman's uniform was in here asking about you. Unfortunately, I wasn't in the office at the time and my assistant handled it."

"It was probably the officer who responded to my 911 call after the assault."

"It couldn't be, Mac. My assistant, Karl, said he was asking where you were because he had a warrant for your arrest. He told Karl that if he withheld the location of your whereabouts, he'd be arrested as an accomplice."

"What was the warrant for?" asked a concerned Mac.

"The cop told Karl you had been arrested, charged and released for shoplifting. He said a court date was scheduled and you failed to show up, so the cop was there to take you into custody."

"Must be a real old warrant. That last time I was guilty of shoplifting, I was nine and stole some bubble gum. My dad figured out where I got it and made me take it back," said Mac as she attempted to quell her apprehension.

"I didn't think it was legitimate, that's why I called you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to handle it, Mac."

"It's okay, Carrie. You can't be there all the time. Besides, it's not your responsibility to handle it for me," stated Mac as she reached for her notepad and pen. "Give the details so I can pass the information along to my private detective."

"He came in Friday afternoon at about three o'clock. I had just left to show some people an apartment. He walked straight to Karl and started badgering him. You know Karl. Authority really rattles his tree." Carrie paused briefly. "Hold on a second, Mac. My security guy is waving for me."

"Okay," said Mac. She felt a growing anxiety over the situation. So much for the relaxation part of the vacation. Maybe it's time for medical intervention. Maybe she should get some tranquilizers.

"I'm back. Sorry about that, Mac. My security chief just told me that your front door was found unlocked. Someone really knew what they were doing. The lock was picked and your computer was on. It doesn't look like anything obvious is missing and the place seems in good order. My security chief guarantees me that your apartment was locked when they checked it last night. I am so sorry, Mac. This looks very bad."

"Can you give me a description of the cop?"

Carrie provided a physical description of the guy and added that they had him on video surveillance tape.

"I've pulled the tape, Mac and have it in a very safe place. No one else here knows where I've hidden it. Let me know what you want me to do with it."

"I'll tell my private detective when she gets here. How long are you going to be at your brother-in-law's?"

"We won't be back until Tuesday morning."

Mac thought for a minute and said, "Would you do me favor, Carrie?"

"I'll try."

"Since you're not going to be back until Tuesday, would you mind dropping the video off at the Breson Detective Agency?"

"I don't mind at all Mac. Just give me directions and I'll go straight there as soon as I walk out the door."

"Thanks, Carrie. I really appreciate it." Mac provided the necessary directions, wished Carrie a safe trip and hung up. Then she dialed Marcia.

"Hello, is this Marcia Labonte?"

"Speaking."

"This is Mackenzie Mason. I'm returning your call."

"Hi, Mac. I called earlier to let you know that I should be arriving at your cottage between five and six tonight. I have room reservations and a car rental all lined up, so there's nothing for you to do. I had wanted to be there earlier, but my original flight was overbooked and then delayed because of bad weather."

"I'm looking forward to seeing you," stated Mac.

"Anything new to report since you've been there?"

Mac explained the incident that played out at her apartment and told her that Carrie would be dropping off the video.

"I'll relay the information to Donna. Anything else?"

"Not yet. I do have an unexpected neighbor, but we can discuss that when you get here."

"Okay," she replied. "Donna did some preliminary research, which I'll pass along when I get there. And Robert's out in the field tracking down leads."

"You guys sound like you're on top of things. I'll see you when you get here."

The two exchanged farewells and hung up. Mac turned her attention to the jigsaw puzzle sitting on her coffee table. When she first laid the puzzle on the table, the bow of the boat was pointing toward her front door. The box had somehow been turned and the bow was facing in the opposite direction toward the window. She was tired and certainly could have moved it or bumped it without knowing.

She squatted down and pulled the box closer to her. The edge of the box where the ocean was depicted was slightly damp. She wiped her fingers off on the edge of the couch and looked closer at the box. The man who was sitting on the beach had also changed positions. Instead of having just his head facing the boat, his whole body had turned to face the boat.

Her heart started racing. "Mac, it's stress and fatigue. Remember, stress and fatigue. Medical intervention is looking better and better every day."

She removed the cover and dumped the contents on the table. She started turning all the pieces over so she would be able to work the puzzle. As she was turning them, she felt the room getting warmer.

All of the pieces felt gritty and damp. She wiped her fingers once again and began to feel lightheaded. The air got even warmer and it was getting difficult to breath. The room became enveloped in darkness and she thought she had been trapped under a coal black storm cloud. She heard the sound of gulls coming from her hallway as the room grew even darker. So dark in fact that she could no longer see her hand just two inches away from her eyes. The heat became so intense, that she began to sweat. She felt dizzy and nauseous.

She stood and tried to feel her way to the door but lost her balance and fell back against the couch. That was the last thing she remembered before passing out.

The sound of someone knocking on the door pierced the dead silence of the room and woke her up. She sat upright and rubbed her eyes. The antique clock on the mantle indicated that it was six o'clock. Oh my God, I've been asleep for six hours, she thought.

It took her a couple of minutes to get her bearings. She tried to remember what had happened, all the while the knocking continued with more intensity.

"Just a minute," said a still confused Mac.

"Mac, are you okay?" shouted a female voice outside the door.

"I'm fine. I'll be right there."

Mac glanced down at the puzzle pieces on the table and then walked quickly to the door.

She looked through the peephole and saw Marcia standing impatiently.

Mac opened the door and said, "Hi, Marcia. Sorry to keep you waiting."

Marcia had a briefcase in one hand and rested the other on her holstered revolver. As soon as Mac opened the door, Marcia unbuttoned the strap securing the revolver and looked sharply to the right and then to the left. "Are you sure everything's all right?" she whispered.

"I'm positive. I dozed off on the couch and had a bad nightmare. I'd probably still be sleeping if you hadn't knocked."

Marcia fastened the button, set her briefcase on the floor and surveyed the room.

"How was the trip?" asked Mac.

"It was all right. Most people were getting pretty bored just sitting around waiting, but that's my job, so it didn't bother me much."

"Would you like something to drink?"

"A cup of coffee would be great. I understand you're a big coffee drinker," stated Marcia.

Mac smiled and said, "Some days I drink about ten cups of coffee and still sleep as sound as a rock."

Mac went into the kitchen and rinsed out the coffeepot, while Marcia looked for a place to set her briefcase. She saw a table somewhat behind the couch and said, "Mind if I use this table in here to set my briefcase on?"

Mac peeked her head around the kitchen door, looked and said, "That's fine. Believe it or not, that's our dining room! Although I can't ever remember eating a meal there."

In fact, it wasn't a room at all. It was a little seven-foot by seven-foot area, separated from the living room by an old buffet.

She started the coffee brewing while Marcia removed several folders and placed them neatly on the table.

Marcia came to kitchen and said, "I have to make a couple of calls and I'll be ready to go over our results." She looked in the kitchen, then added, "I appreciate a couple of spoons of sugar."

"Okay," replied Mac.

The coffee was ready and Marcia had completed her calls. The two sat at the table and maintained a semiformal atmosphere.

"I have some equipment in my car, and some more that should be arriving by special shipping any minute. I'll be installing most of it once we're done here. I'll be setting up infrared cameras and motion sensors around the perimeter of the cottage and surveillance and infrared cameras inside the cottage. Donna will be here Monday afternoon with our company van. All surveillance and equipment monitoring will be done in that van."

"As agreed upon by all parties, we will conduct a dust to dawn human surveillance. Donna and I will be doing the surveillance. We will take two hour shifts during the prescribed time frame. If it becomes necessary to extend the surveillance, we will each take four hours."

"Regular, non-monitored electronic surveillance will be maintained 24 hours a day. So, regardless if we're watching or not, the cameras will be. Any extra utility expenses incurred by the operation of our equipment will be your responsibility."

"Any questions so far?" asked Marcia.

Mac shook her head no. How much electricity could the cameras use? With her luck, the bill will be hundreds more. Why not? It keeps getting better.

"If you have no questions, I need you to sign here," said Marcia as she pointed to a line on a legal waiver form.

Marcia filed the form in her briefcase and slid a manila folder in its place. She opened the folder and said, "As far as the secret admirer goes, we see no immediate danger. He doesn't use any threatening words, so we will focus our attention on the other incidents first."

Marcia threw that file in her briefcase and brought over another.

"We did some preliminary searches on our prime suspects and your manager, Chad Nuxhall, has made it to the top of the list. This guy is a real gem. He has been treated successfully for sexually transmitted diseases eight times in the last eleven years. He was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon in Denver, Colorado eleven years ago. He thought his wife was having an affair, so he followed her one night and ended up breaking some guy's legs in a restaurant parking lot. Turns out she was just arranging a surprise birthday party for him at the restaurant and was saying goodbye to the assistant manager. He served nine months for that offense."

"That's all he served?" said Mac.

"We don't know the specifics of the case, but to answer your question...yes."

Marcia took a sip of coffee and continued. "One year later he was arrested again for assault and battery. He was standing in line waiting to enter a movie theatre and he thought some woman was cutting in. They exchanged words and he punched her, breaking her nose. He served thirty days for that offense. When he was released, his divorce was finalized and he moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania where he began working at a restaurant. From that time until about eight months ago, he has been arrested an additional seven times. He has served a total of five more years in prison and thirteen cumulative months in various jails along the eastern seaboard. Charges have been mainly assault and battery. He did have one assault with intent to kill, which was downgraded to simple assault. He was also arrested twice for DUI, indecent exposure, shoplifting and credit card fraud. In summary, Chad Nuxhall has spent over seven of the last eleven years incarcerated for one reason or another. Until he started working for you, he hasn't held a position with any company longer than nine months. His position as your manager is a new record for him. Doesn't your company have screening methods to avoid hiring someone like that?"

"I didn't hire him and I have no idea how he got hired. Job references don't always tell you everything you need to know about someone. You have to be careful that you don't violate their rights," replied Mac defensively.

Marcia slipped that folder into her briefcase and retrieved another. "As far as the letters to your home office go, we suspect strongly that Chad is behind them. Obviously, proving it will be the hard part. The documents were typed, so there's no handwriting to analyze, however, we are having them examined by a personality profiler next week."

Marcia adjusted her position in her chair and opened the final folder. "As far as the attack in your parking lot goes, we're drawing a complete blank. A person in your position meets hundreds of people and has an equal number of chances to garner their wrath. We are going to operate on the assumption that Chad had something to do with it. We want to bring in another investigator to tail him."

Cha-ching, thought Mac. More dollars. "You guys are the pros. I guess you know what you're doing."

"We're only going to do what we think is necessary for your situation. Money is not the driving force here, but it does take money to do the job thoroughly."

"I understand. I just wish it was someone else's money!"

"Robert is going to interview Chad and follow-up on some leads. I spoke to him while you were making coffee and he plans to review the apartment cop video first thing Monday morning. He'll also do a follow-up interview with the office staff. If he discovers any news of value, he'll give us a call."

"Now, tell me about your neighbor," said Marcia as she got her notepad out.

"The cottage next door is owned by friends of my family, Bob and Millie Ferguson. I've known them for over twenty years. They're a retired couple who enjoy living here during the summer months and travel home to Tempe, Arizona during the winter. They are wonderful people who cherish their cottage and treat it with the same kind of attention and love that some people give to a favorite car or other personal item. They pay a caretaker twice the going rate to make sure the cottage is always in perfect order when they're not here. In all the years I have known them, they have never allowed anyone other than themselves to live there. Yet someone moved in there the same day I arrived. There is something wrong about that."

"Do you know the caretaker?" asked Marcia.

"Yes. His name is Floyd Robbins. I have his phone number in my day planner if you want to give him a call."

"Yes, I would. If the Fergusons decided to lease their place, surely they would have notified him."

"It's possible, but not necessarily. They have been getting more and more forgetful in the latter years and Floyd knows that. Floyd may just assume they forgot to tell him."

"I'll call Robert and have him check it out. Anything else?"

"Not right now," Mac replied.

"There are a couple of basic ground rules I need to cover with you before I start setting up the equipment. During our dusk to dawn surveillance, we will need to know when you plan on leaving the perimeter so we can prepare to move with you. We have devised hand signals to facilitate the notification process. When you plan to exit the building, simply look at a camera and wave," said Marcia as she demonstrated. "When you're ready to go to bed, hold up one finger from either hand and count to three before turning off the lights. That will give us sufficient time to switch our inside cameras to infrared."

"If you feel that you're in danger at any time, simply pull on either ear lobe with your thumb and index finger like this, (Marcia demonstrated with both ears), and we'll respond within ninety seconds. We ask that you not wear earrings while under human surveillance to avoid any confusion. It would be embarrassing to come bursting in just to save you from an earring you were removing. Additionally, if someone is watching you when we make an unwarranted entry, it will blow our cover. Any questions?"

"No, I think I have it," said Mac trying not to sound like a smart ass.

"I'll be setting up two forms of surveillance equipment. The first installation will be overt. It will be a set of cameras easily detectable by anyone looking for them. It's kind of like locks. People use locks to keep honest people honest. If an intruder is just a nuisance, it is more than likely that the cameras will dissuade any further interaction with you."

"The second installation will be covertly placed inside the first one. The covert installation is utilized to detect the intruder who is hell-bent on getting to you. We will aggressively pursue anyone who reaches that point."

"Like the thief who arrives at the lock with bolt cutters," said Mac.

"Exactly. Our internal camera surveillance will cover about ninety-five percent of the house interior, including bathrooms." Marcia reached into her briefcase and removed a small, black device with a red button. "Whenever you need privacy, for any reason, aim this device at the camera you wish to disable and press the red button once. That will turn the camera off. If you wish to disable camera and sound, press the red button twice. When you're ready to reactivate the system, press the white button one time."

Mac looked at the device and thought, wave for bed...no, wave for leaving, one finger for bed, tug on ear is danger, one press to pee...good grief!!

"Do you have all of that?" asked Marcia.

"I think so. Let's see, one if by land, two if by sea..." replied Mac with a half smile.

"I'll review all of the procedures with you as many times as you think necessary, however, I ask that you not write them down. If you can read them, anyone can read them," stated Marcia flatly. She ignored Mac's remark as if it were never spoken.

"Thanks, Marcia, I've got it."

"All right then. It's going to take awhile to set everything up. I'll start with your bedroom and work my way out so I won't interfere with any planned nighttime activities."

"The only nighttime activities I have planned is a little sleep and a little haunting," said Mac with a smile.

"Haunting?" asked Marcia with a puzzled look.

"I seem to have a ghostly friend. Maybe your cameras will pick it up and give my sanity a pat on the back!"

Marcia turned to Mac and said matter-of-factly, "We'll find and apprehend or cause the apprehension of anyone or anything that's here without due authorization. And that's our guarantee."

"Or double my money back?" said Mac with an impish grin.

"Refunds are only granted under the provisions specified in the contractual agreements signed and agreed upon by all parties."

"Just kidding again, Marcia!" These guys really take their job seriously. But I guess they have to. Actually that's great for me. Hard on the checkbook, but great for me, she thought as she watched Marcia go out the front door.

Mac walked over to the jigsaw puzzle and stared at the puzzle pieces. She bit her lower lip and squatted down gingerly. She was almost afraid to touch them. She raised her hand and very, very gently pushed a piece with her fingertip Then jerked it away like she had just set off a mousetrap. The piece moved but nothing else happened.

She summoned forth her reserve of courage and gathered a handful of pieces in her hand. That wasn't so bad, she thought. She brought them to her nose and instantly smelled saltwater. She expected them to smell moldy and was pleasantly surprised that they didn't stink.

Mac turned all of the pieces face up and looked at the scene depicted on the box cover. "That's odd. This is the third time I've looked at you, (referring to the box cover), and I know that pier wasn't there before."

She looked more closely and could see a pier jutting into the ocean. There was a truck crane with a telescopic boom positioned near the pier. It had a log dangling from a chain and appeared to be affecting repairs.

Marcia entered with a box of equipment and said, "Saturday deliveries are expensive, but it's so much easier than trying to haul all this stuff here by ourselves."

"Would you do me a favor, Marcia?" asked Mac.

"If it's within my parameters to comply."

"Each time I look at this box cover, the scene is different. Since I've opened it, the man's head has turned, the boat has shifted in the sand and now there's a pier. I want a witness, especially a trained observer like you, so the next time the scene changes I'll have some verification that it's not just me."

Marcia took the box from Mac and studied it for a couple of minutes, then handed it back to Mac. She thought she'd have a little fun with Marcia, so she said, "Is the man wearing sunglasses or regular glasses?"

"No glasses of any kind," she snapped.

"Where is the crane?"

Marcia sighed and said, "At the beginning of a pier, holding a pylon perpendicular to the water."

"Wow, you are good!" said Mac. She looked at the box again trying to pick something obscure to nail Marcia with.

"Shit!" exclaimed Mac. "Was that house there when you looked at the box?"

"It appears to be a small cottage, with two side windows and a brick chimney. Yes, it was there. You know, Mac, this may be fun for you, but I do have a lot of work to do."

"Sure, I understand. I won't hinder you anymore," said a bewildered Mac as she walked back to the coffee table.

Marcia proceeded to install the bedroom cameras while Mac studied the puzzle. She sat and watched the picture on the box for thirty minutes and nothing changed. Maybe if I leave and come back...maybe that's when it will change again, she thought.

Mac walked down the hallway and said, "Just checking to see if you need any help."

Marcia was standing on a small stepladder, holding a screwdriver in her mouth and turning some wires. "No thanks," she mumbled.

"Okay," said Mac. She watched Marcia wind some bare wires together and then went back into the living room. She approached the puzzle box like a tiger stalking its prey.

"What's new this time!?!" she said nervously as she pounced on the cover.

Mac looked it over and saw no changes, so she walked briskly to Marcia and asked her to look at it.

"Well, do you see any changes?"

Marcia inspected the evidence and said, "No."

"Neither did I," said Mac.

Marcia went back to work as Mac returned to the living room. She probably thinks I'm a nut case. I wonder if Doc Belcher is still practicing medicine here? Wouldn't hurt to call him tomorrow. Wait a minute, tomorrow is Sunday. I keep forgetting. I'll call Monday...first thing.

Mac proceeded to lay the edges of the puzzle in place. She had two borders completed when Marcia entered the room.

"Do you have an extra house key?" asked Marcia.

"Yes, I do," replied Mac as she went into the kitchen. She opened a small drawer, removed the key and said, "Here you go."

"Thanks. I've completed the bedroom and bathroom set up. I want to get started on the outside installation while it's dark. I need the key so I can come and go through the night without disturbing you."

"If you need anything, don't feel like you have to ask. Make yourself at home and help yourself to anything you want. I don't have that much in here right now, but you're welcome to it. I'm going shopping tomorrow, so if there's anything you want me to pick up for you, let me know."

"I appreciate the offer. I might snag some more coffee but other than that, I'll be fine."

"You know, I don't think I've seen you smile once yet!" said Mac with a friendly smile.

"No, you haven't," replied Marcia as she collected her coffee and went outside.

"She reminds me of my former boss in a lot of ways," said Mac as she resumed work on the puzzle.

Mac completed the border of the puzzle and decided to yield to her growing hunger and acquire some food. She snacked on a little of this and a little of that. Once her needs had been satisfied, it was shower time. She tracked down the small camera remote and clicked the red button twice. When she was done in the bathroom, she clicked the white button once, just as she had been told. What she didn't realize is that there was no power to any of the cameras yet. Still, it was good practice.

She cleaned up the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee for Marcia. She looked out her window toward the Ferguson place and noted that her neighbor had all the lights off. There was only a dim glow coming from one room, as if lit by a television or computer monitor.

"Good boy. Make sure you keep it nice and quiet," said Mac as she dried her wet hands on a decorative kitchen towel.

She threw the towel on the drying dishes in the dish rack and returned to the living room. She had enough of the puzzle for one night and opted to sit on the couch and read. She picked up the novel she had started the night before and read uneventfully until she dozed off hours later.

Sometime during the night, Marcia covered Mac with a blanket, but let her sleep. She slept soundly while things were happening. Things like the stealthy installation of video cameras and microphones. Things like the midnight ocean massaging cool grains of sand. And silent, mysterious things in the dark, that we don't understand, can't comprehend or explain.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE NEIGHBOR

Mac woke the following morning with a terrible backache and wretched crick in her neck. Her body responded like a woman's body that had aged fifty years overnight.

"Wow, I hope I don't do that again. It was so much more comfortable when I was nine."

She went to the bathroom, splashed some water in her face and ran a brush through her hair. Then she went to her closet and said, "What to wear, hmmm." Mac was about to remove an outfit from a hanger when she remembered the cameras. "Where did I put the 'magic clicker'?"

She eventually found it, disabled the camera and got dressed. She reactivated the camera and made her way slowly to the kitchen for her morning coffee. "Damn, my back is killing me. Did you guys get me sleeping on the couch? I'll need proof for the insurance claim," she said jokingly as she looked up at the kitchen camera.

Mac looked out her kitchen window while the coffee was brewing and was delighted to see that it appeared to be a beautiful day. I wonder if Marcia's still here? she thought as she made her way to the living room bay window.

She didn't see any vehicles parked out front, so she assumed Marcia had left. Mac looked over her shoulder and noticed that the clock on the mantle indicated it was well past dawn. In fact, it was nearly ten o'clock. Mac was sleeping later and later. I could get used to the extra sleep, she thought.

When she gazed back out the window, she saw a little girl standing on the beach, just inches from her fence. She was staring at Mac and smiling. The little girl looked to be about eight or nine years old and had long blond hair that was dancing wildly in the wind.

Mac could feel cold air creeping through the glass, so she knew it was chilly outside. It surprised her that the girl was wearing a short sleeve, yellow t-shirt and matching yellow shorts. Crazy kid is probably barefoot too, she thought.

It puzzled Mac to see the little girl, but then again, if she was staying next door at the Ferguson's it would explain the child's voice she heard the night she arrived. Children should be in school though, unless they're just here for the weekend and are staying with the computer guy next door. Oh well, maybe she'll be quiet. Maybe she'll be as wonderful as I was when I was her age! thought Mac as she returned to the kitchen to make toast.

Wait a minute, I wasn't wonderful, I was perfect! she thought as she chuckled and poured a cup of coffee.

When she tossed the butter knife from the toast into the sink, she saw the little girl through her kitchen window. She was still standing in the same spot and still staring at Mac with a very warm and sincere smile. Curiosity yanked so hard that she couldn't resist. Mac donned a windbreaker and went outside to investigate.

Mac walked nonchalantly to the end of the path, noting that the little girl stared at her the entire distance. It was doubtful that she even blinked.

Mac stopped about four feet from the little girl and said, "Hello there. How are you doing today?"

The girl continued to smile, but remained silent.

Mac looked out over the ocean and then back at the girl. "My name is Mac. I live in the cottage behind me. What's your name?"

The girl turned at the waist and reached into a small patch of sea holly, still maintaining silence.

"Careful," cautioned Mac, "those leaves can really tear up your skin."

The girl produced a black book bag with yellow daisies and handed it to Mac.

Mac examined the girl's hands and arms and didn't see a single scratch. When Mac was ten, she unwittingly ran barefoot through some sea holly that her mother had planted and it tore the hell out of her feet and ankles.

Mac took the book bag and said, "You're one lucky girl. When I was your age I wasn't so lucky. Those plants tore me up." She opened the bag and saw a set of oil paints. "Are these yours? Do you like to paint? I love to paint whenever I have the time."

Mac was puzzled. All the little girl would do was smile and stare. "Would you like me to show you how to use these?" Mac looked at the girl and, "Okay. You can talk can't you?"

The little girl maintained her warm smile and unwavering eye contact, but still didn't speak. The wind was still slapping her bangs into her eyes, but the girl didn't blink.

Suddenly, the girl broke eye contact by looking sharply to her right. Then she turned and walked inland until she disappeared into a five foot high clump of pampas grass.

Mac glanced in the same direction as the girl and saw nothing, so she watched the girl until she was gone. "There was a day when I would think that what just happened was bizarre. I'm getting to the point now, where I talk to myself more and view the bizarre as normal. Yes, indeed, Mac. You are losing it!"

Mac turned to go back inside and saw a man approaching. "I wonder what surprises he'll bring. I don't see any book bags."

The man walked with a duck-like gait and waved as he approached. She wasn't sure if he was having trouble walking in the sand or if he just walked like a duck. It made her smile thinking about it.

He stopped a couple of feet in front of Mac, extended his hand and said, "Hi, neighbor. My name is Brian. I'm staying at the cottage next to you for awhile."

"I'm, Mackenzie," she said as she shook his hand.

"I saw you standing alone out here, so I thought I'd take advantage of the situation and try to get to know you better."

"Why?" asked Mac.

"Why do I want to get to know you better? Well, you're vacationing alone and I'm vacationing alone, so I thought I'd throw in some of my wit and wisdom to break up some of the aloneness. It's your lucky day!" said Brian trying to use his humor to break the ice.

"Oh, you're so perceptive and timely too. I was just about to waste my money on a classified advertisement in search of a buddy to break up my aloneness," said Mac

Mac looked everywhere for the little girl and saw no sign of her. Oddly enough, there were no footprints leading to or leaving the spot where the girl was just standing. Nor was there any impression in the sand where the girl was standing when Mac was talking to her. Although the girl's coming and going was indeed baffling, Mac still had the book bag and paint set. That was important. They were tangible, physical and unmistakable proof that the latest episode wasn't a hallucination.

Mac removed the paint set from the bag and looked it over. Meanwhile, Brian continued with his vain attempts at witty conversation. She ignored him and opened the lid carefully. None of the paint tubes had been opened yet. She also noticed that there were three unused brushes, a new looking palette knife and an unused paint palette. She smiled widely when she removed a box of artist's charcoal because it brought to mind an "artistic moment" from her childhood.

When Mac was eight years old, she read a book about the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's years of work painting scenes on the interior walls. There was a particular illustration of the great artist that depicted him painting angelic figures on the ceiling. She was amazed by his abilities and thought that it was a wonderful way to bring the walls to life. She was so impressed that she attempted to mimic his efforts.

She went into her bedroom and piled several orange crates, (free for the taking from the Cuda Shack), on her bed. Then she laid a board across the top of them and climbed up. She laid on her back and started sketching. It wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. Her back ached against the board and the blood rushed out of her arms, causing them to throb. She decided to add pillows atop the board to prop her up and solve the back problem. When she shifted to get a better angle, the crates came crashing down, crushing a lamp and several knickknacks in the immediate vicinity.

When her father heard the commotion, he came running in and stared in disbelief. Mac was okay physically, but feared the worst from her father.

"What in the world are you doing?" said her father in a stern voice.

Mac explained everything and was pleasantly surprised when her father built a small scaffold over her bed so she could finish the job safely. He reminded her that she had a responsibility to the family to make sure she did things in a safe manner and to get permission before attempting something so extreme. He also told her she had to do two weeks of extra household chores to work off the broken lamp debt.

The ceiling art remained for a number of years, but was removed the year that they thought they would have to sell the cottage. Luckily, they were able to work out their financial situation and keep the cottage.

Brian realized Mac wasn't paying much attention so he decided to shift his strategy before retreating in defeat. He saw her interest in the paint set and said, "I actually know quite a bit about art, (in reality, he knew very little and figured what he didn't know could be found quickly enough on the internet). I tried painting several years ago and just never got the hang of it. Nice set you have there. Were you about to paint something?"

"Not right now. Maybe later," replied Mac as she returned the contents of the box to their original positions and closed the lid. "Do you know of any children in the area?"

"No, I sure don't," he replied. Brian cleared his throat and said, "By the way, Mac, I'm throwing some steaks on the grill tonight. I'd love it if you'd join me for a very informal dinner."

"My name is Mackenzie. Only my friends call me Mac."

"Okay, Mackenzie. Would you like to come over for some charbroiled steak around seven o'clock?"

Mac sighed and said, "You said you know a lot about art. How much is a lot?"

"Ask me anything about the works of Monet, Picasso, or any of the greats," said Brian proudly.

"I'll make a deal with you. I'm going to ask you an art related question. If you can answer my question correctly, I'll come to your barbeque. If you can't, then you leave me alone."

"That's not a fair deal. You could ask something stupid like Renoir's shoe size," complained Brian.

"I won't make it that complicated. It will be very general in nature," stated Mac.

Brian looked at Mac and cocked his head to one side. "You sound pretty confident and I'll probably regret it, but I have to take the shot. All right, it's a deal."

"Good. What is Rembrandt's full name?" asked Mac with a smile.

Brian felt like a cartoon character that had been handed a red bomb with a short fuse and Mac just lit it. He was stumped and had no clue what the answer was.

"Looks like you got me on that one! I'll take a stab anyway. How about Wolfgang?...Klaus?"

Mac made a thumb down gesture and said, "Wrong answers, Bucko! And a deal is deal. Goodbye."

Mac tucked the paint set under her arm and turned to go back in her front door. She was turning the doorknob when she heard Brian say, "Would you at least tell me the answer?"

Mac opened the door and said, "No." She went inside and closed the door. She walked to the dining room table to set the paint set down and saw a huge pile of something hidden under a thin black cloth. "Hello! I didn't see you before I went outside."

She carefully lifted the cloth, like a man handling a dirty baby diaper and crouched down to peek in. She saw several red and green lights and what looked like the bottom of a television screen. Her discovery had to be investigated further, so she pulled the black cloth all the way up. It revealed a black and white monitor and no less than six video cassette recorders. The screen switched scenes every five seconds or so, like the one she had seen over the tellers at her bank.

Mac smiled as the image switched to the front yard and showed Brian still standing there. It occurred to her that one of the cameras probably picked up at least some of the little girl she encountered by her fence. Mac looked at the array and considered messing around with it to see if she could find the girl, but wisely changed her mind. She was paying her investigators a tidy sum to do that for her. An additional expense, such as video repair, or some other exotic problem she couldn't even fathom, was certainly not a welcome thought. She could wait.

Outside a frustrated Brian was trying to figure out his next move. Whatever he decided, he already knew he wasn't going to keep the deal. She's playing hard to get. The greater the challenge, the greater the victory, he thought.

Brian looked toward Mac's picture window, waved and said, "It's just a matter of clicking restart. See ya' on the reload."

When Brian returned to the Ferguson place, he saw a policeman waiting by the front door. He felt the blood rushing to his face and his mouth started getting dry.

Brian walked up the new steps to the porch, avoiding eye contact with the policeman.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Deputy Collins. I'm with the sheriff's department and I need a couple of minutes of your time."

"Okay," replied Brian nervously.

"Are you the current occupant of this dwelling?"

"Yes, sir."

Deputy Collins unbuttoned his shirt pocket and removed a small black notepad. He scribbled something in it and returned it to his pocket.

"Your name please," asked the deputy.

"My name is Brian Caufield," he said as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets.

"Do you own this residence?" asked the deputy, knowing full well that he didn't.

"No, I'm renting it for a couple of weeks from Robert and Mildred Ferguson."

"Do you have a rental agreement to support your statement, Mr. Caufield?"

"Yes, sir. It's inside. I'll be more than happy to get it for you." Brian fumbled in his pockets anxiously and finally produced several keys. Brian could feel the deputy's eyes following his every move. He took a deep breath, composed himself and unlocked the door.

As Brian opened the door, Deputy Collins said, "Mind if I come in with you and look around?"

"No problem. Come on in." Brian conquered his initial fear and felt a surge of confidence.

Deputy Collins rested his right palm on the grip of his service revolver and entered. He was delighted that Brian voluntarily invited him in. If he found any wrongdoing, then evidence collected would be admissible in a court of law even though no search warrant had been issued.

"I put my copy of the rental contract in a desk drawer over there," said Brian as he pointed to an old hickory desk in the living room.

"Go ahead," said the deputy.

Brian tried to ease the tension and gain some of the deputy's confidence with small talk. "How long have you lived in the area?"

Brian's focus had shifted just long enough for him to catch a telescope tripod with his foot. The tripod tipped over, sending the telescope into some Venetian blinds. The blinds came crashing down and slammed into the windowsill.

The startled deputy whipped his revolver out of its holster as fast as lightning. He scanned the area in search of a target.

Brian closed his eyes and stood perfectly still. "Please don't shoot," he said weakly.

The deputy realized that the emergency had subsided, so he holstered the revolver. He took his notepad out again and made a notation of the incident and the time it occurred.

"The contract please, Mr. Caufield. I would also like to see your driver's license," he said in a forceful voice.

"Yes, sir," responded Brian as he went to the desk and removed several pieces of paper.

"Here you go, sir."

The deputy looked at each document carefully and set them down occasionally to make entries in his notepad.

After examining everything, the deputy handed the papers back to Brian. "Everything appears to be in order. I noticed an unusual amendment releasing you from any liability for damages. I guess you lucked out on the broken telescope."

"Do you mind if I look in the other rooms?" asked the deputy.

"No, sir. I don't mind at all."

The deputy looked in all of the rooms and saw nothing out of order. He was surprised to see a computer and various pieces of sophisticated support hardware in a side bedroom.

"Mr. Caufield, would you come over here for a minute?"

Brian met up with the deputy in the hallway and said "Yes, sir?"

"It's interesting that you would bring all of this equipment with you while you're vacationing."

"Interesting? It's more like a ball and chain. I'm a computer programmer and I thought I'd take this chance to catch up on some projects I'm involved with."

"I understand you'll be working at the Cuda Shack while you're on vacation as well. Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Caufield, why would a man take a vacation and carry forward the very things a vacation is supposed to provide refuge from?"

Brian smiled and said, "From the outside, I guess it does appear strange. While I'm at my job, I'm always working on projects for other people...always turning their ideas into reality. I've had some ideas of my own that I really wanted to pursue and never had enough uninterrupted time to follow through. Now I do. I have no phones to answer and deadlines to meet. I can do what I want to do when I want to do it. As far as working at the Cuda Shack goes, it will give me food money while I'm here. I spent most of my extra money just renting this place."

"How did you select this particular cottage?" asked the deputy.

"I did a search on the internet and this place offered everything I was looking for and was within my budget."

Deputy Collins was a quick study with a keen eye for detail and uncanny sixth sense about people. He could look into most people's eyes and know when they were lying or trying to hide something. He served the police department for many years with a distinction that earned him the nickname "Sherlock". When he looked into Brian's eyes, he was relatively certain there was more to the story, he just didn't know what.

Deputy Collins moved toward the door and said, "Thanks for your cooperation. I'll be in touch."

"No problem," responded Brian as he ushered the deputy outside. When he closed the door, his shoulders dropped and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

Deputy Collins walked the short distance from the Fergusons to Mac's place. Mac came to the door and said, "Hello, what can I do for you?"

"My name is Deputy Collins. I'm with the sheriff's department. May I come in?"

"Sure, come on in. I've seen you several times before at the Cuda Shack but we've never been formally introduced. My name is Mac."

"I know who you are and I knew your parents very well. I've fished off the pier many times when you and your dad were there. My wife and oldest daughter even took sewing lessons from your mother. They were good people. Very caring, very sincere. I'm sorry about your loss."

"Thank you," said Mac softly. "Can I get you anything?"

"Not right now. I just wanted to check in with you and let you know the department will be adding your cottage to our patrol next week. I spoke with Marcia Labonte at great length this morning and she has briefed me on your situation. One of their investigators made numerous attempts to contact Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson in Tempe, but apparently their telephone line has been disconnected. They also spoke with Floyd and he has no knowledge of any rental arrangements. Floyd was able to provide them with their son's name and telephone number, but he is overseas spearheading a big construction project somewhere."

"Have you spoken with the guy next door yet? It is so unusual for Bob and Millie to rent their place out. There has to be some mistake," said Mac.

"I just came from there. Everything looks legitimate. We'll be keeping an eye on him though. Let me know if he or anyone else gives you any trouble. The surveillance Ms. Labonte has established appears to be well laid out. So that should help"

"I'll be sure to keep you posted of any events. Thanks."

"Well, Mac, I just wanted to touch bases with you and bring you into the loop." The deputy removed a card from his pocket and said, "Here's my direct line and cell number. Of course, you can always reach me or someone from the department by dialing 911."

The deputy turned and left. Mac watched him walk off toward the pier and then sat on her couch. A lot had been going on in her short time there. If the events that had already transpired were a harbinger of the remainder of her vacation, she was certainly going to have a full plate. If she only knew! The worst was yet to come.

Mac toyed with the idea of attempting to read the novel again, but got no further than the cover. She turned her attention to the television and said, "I need to get you fixed. I wonder if Dean still works at that repair shop on Apple Valley Drive."

She flipped through her mom's address book, found the number to the repair shop and was delighted when she called and heard Dean's voice on the other end. They discussed general events that had transpired and then set up a Monday afternoon repair appointment.

Dean owed Mac's dad some favors so he agreed to come out and look at the television set as a special favor to Mac. He trusted Mac not to say anything about his impending visit to her cottage because house calls were strictly prohibited. Even though the owner treated Dean like a son, he had no desire to be disowned.

"Well, I guess that just leaves you," she said as she looked at the jigsaw puzzle.

Mac went to the kitchen and got a fresh cup of coffee. She came back to the puzzle, put her cup on the table and then sat on the floor in front of the jigsaw puzzle.

When she first opened the puzzle, she assumed by the box's worn appearance that it had been around for some time. The pieces however, were very stiff and hard to snap together. She was sure it was the first time anyone had tried to work it.

Assembling the puzzle proved to be surprisingly relaxing. A gentle, pleasant feeling ran from her fingertips all the way up and over her entire body. It was soothing, comforting and created a sense of security. It reminded her of how she felt when she laid in her dad's lap as a child. She'd crawl into his lap after a hard day of play and smile as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. He'd start telling her a story he made up as he went but she was never awake to hear the ending.

The puzzle had the same effect. She soon began to feel as if she had taken a tranquilizer. She was riding on the horizon of relaxation without the benefit of any medication.

It proved to be too great a struggle to keep her eyes open, so she made the effortless transition from floor to couch and wrapped herself in her mother's comforter. As she dozed off, thoughts of work crept into her conscious mind. I feel like I've forgotten something or forgotten to call someone. It had been a long while since she went this long without a work related thought. Thoughts of work, dreams of work. Always the job. Always one more thing. Always the work, the work, the work.

Mac slept for several hours and woke with a ravenous appetite. She lay on the couch thinking about what she wanted to eat. She didn't feel like cooking and had even less desire to go out and get something.

Sitting up was a matter of mind over matter. She really wanted to keep sleeping or at least lying down, but she knew she'd never get to sleep at night. She got up, folded the comforter and draped it across the worn back rail and spindles of her mother's rocking chair.

When she went into the kitchen, she really didn't know what she wanted. She was more in a snacking mood than eating mood. She saw a can of mixed nuts, so she opened it and threw a handful into her mouth. She looked out the kitchen window again. Now the neighbor had a name. Shingo said he was a computer programmer. That would explain the strange glow she saw again. He was probably working.

Mac clutched her head. A nagging throb was blossoming into another full blown headache. It wouldn't hurt to call the doctor. It had been years since she'd been to one.

"What the hell. I'll call him," she said as she searched out her mother's address book.

It was still open to the page with the repair shop number. She turned a few pages, found the number and called Doctor Belcher.

"Hello, Mrs. Belcher?" asked Mac when a female voice answered.

"Yes it is. Who's calling please?" she asked.

"It's Mackenzie Mason, Mrs. Belcher. How have you been?"

"Oh, hi Mac. I've been just fine. It's good to hear your voice again. Are you calling from Atlanta or are you back in town?" asked Mrs. Belcher in her usual soft, comforting voice.

"I'm vacationing at the cottage for a couple of weeks. It's my first extended time off from work in years. I know it's Sunday and he's probably already had a full and hectic week, but is Doc Belcher around?"

There was a momentary silence, and then Mrs. Belcher replied in a more serious tone. "Well, Mac, he has had a very rough week. Do you have an emergency?"

"It's not really an emergency, Mrs. Belcher, but it is something of an urgent nature."

Silence, then a response, "I'll see if he can come to the phone. Hold on a minute."

While Mac was waiting, she looked around the living room and saw some cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. She started to feel stupid for calling the doctor and bothering him. Problems are just like those cobwebs. You either ignore them or you do something about them. Maybe she shouldn't have called. Maybe she should just move on and ignore the issues disrupting her life. Maybe they'll go away on their own. What if they don't?

"Hello, Mac. Emily tells me that you're back in town for a vacation. How long will you be here?" asked Doctor Belcher.

"A couple of weeks," she replied.

"You haven't spent that much time here in years. What brings you back?"

"I've encountered some personal problems at work and I think someone is intending to do me physical harm."

"That sounds serious. How can I help?"

"I think the combined stress is getting to me and wearing me down. I was reluctant to call because I know it's Sunday, but I keep seeing things no one else does and I periodically hear voices when there's no one around. I've started getting headaches like I've never had before."

"Tell me a little more about the voices and threat to your well-being."

Mac paced back and forth across the room as she explained the entire story to the doctor. She also explained how she was smitten with instant attacks of drowsiness. She looked out the bay window and saw a vehicle parked in front. At first she felt apprehensive. She was relieved considerably when she saw Marcia get out.

"Excuse me, Doc, one of the private investigators I was telling you about just got here."

"I'll hold, Mac."

Mac opened the door and let Marcia in. "Hi, Marcia. I'll just be a few more minutes. Make yourself at home."

Marcia nodded and Mac went into her bedroom to finish the call.

"Well, that's the story. What's the diagnosis, Doctor?"

"I don't believe you're experiencing a nervous breakdown, Mac. There are many things your body may be recommending to you, however, I don't think a straightjacket is one of them. Consider a major reduction in your caffeine intake. That much coffee only benefits coffee bean growers. You might also consider some informal socializing with friends to occupy your mind. You're a professional woman who's used to going full throttle and you've just slammed on the brakes. Even though it's only been a short period, withdrawal from any addictive behavior can be traumatic. In any case, I want you to stop by for a complete workup. Call my office on Monday and we'll get you taken care of."

Everything's happening on Monday. Why not? I have to meet with Shingo, Donna's coming to help with surveillance, I have to go grocery shopping, Dean is coming to fix the television and now the doctor. Good to have deadlines and stress again! Bring back the stress - a song title perhaps?

"Thanks for everything, Doctor. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night, Mac. Don't hesitate to call if things get worse."

"Good night," she replied.

Mac tracked down Marcia and said, "Did everything go all right with the installation?"

"Everything went as expected," replied Marcia as she went to the dining room table. "I ran a check of all surveillance apparatus and it looks good. I've had all cameras running and recording every minute. When Donna arrives tomorrow, I'll run a cable from here, (Marcia pointed to an open jack), out to the surveillance van. We'll maintain an internal and external coverage. How did everything go while I was gone?"

"Uneventful from a threat standpoint. I did have three visitors though. Would the cameras have picked up a person standing in front of my fence?" asked Mac.

"Yes. Would you like to run a replay?"

Marcia punched some buttons here and there. Mac watched as the images ran in reverse. She saw the cop and Brian walking backwards. Then she saw the book bag with big, beautiful daisies, yet there was no little girl. It appeared that Mac had simply produced the bag from the sea holly by herself.

"Stop it right there!" exclaimed Mac, nearly shouting.

Marcia complied immediately and stared intently at the monitor. "What is it, Mac?" she asked in a concerned voice.

Small tears formed in the corners of Mac's eyes. "Damn it! Why isn't the little girl on the screen? I guarantee you I saw a little girl with blond hair standing right by the sea holly. Yet there isn't anything on the tape. How can that be?"

Marcia moved closer to the monitor and nearly had her face pressed against the glass.

"I'm losing it, Marcia. I was hoping the monitor would add credence to my claims. The cameras were running and I have a new paint set. But it looks like I simply pulled it out of my ass. I swear to you that I got the paints as a gift from a little girl. How is that possible if no one is on the tape?"

Marcia continued to stare at the monitor. She stopped the tape, rewound it and played it again. This time, she pressed another button and it played the scene back frame by frame. She saw a faint shimmer, like a mirage you might see on the highway when the heat is rising and you think you see a lake. It was ever so slight.

Marcia played it again and again. Each time she saw the shimmer. It was only there for five or six frames. Nonetheless, it was still there.

"I wish I'd had the infrared running. We normally don't run infrared during the day."

"What are you talking about?" asked Mac as she wiped away the runaway tears.

"There are certain wavelengths of color not visible to the human eye. Just like certain frequencies of sound. I'm sure you realize that animals can perceive the higher pitches of sound that we can't. The same is true of color, but no one is sure if animals can see them. We're not sure how high or low these wavelengths travel. We do know that infrared can pick up some of them. Unfortunately, we don't run infrared during the day."

Marcia stopped the video where she saw the shimmer and pointed to it. "There is a little bit of a wavering image, perhaps a reflection, right here," said Marcia as she pointed with her index finger.

"I spoke with Robert about the shadows you saw. He suggested a rather bizarre explanation that's in line with what we're discussing now. Given that all people have different fingerprints, it is also possible to assume that no two human brains or bodies are exactly the same. It is therefore conceivable that some people are able to perceive more colors than others. Let's assume that when someone dies, there is a specific period of time that their body's electrical energy retains its physical, worldly form. Most of the population today wouldn't even notice because they can't perceive that wavelength of color. But what if you were different? What if you could pick up some of the colors no one else could? What if you never really died, but simply transformed your means of existence from air to electricity? What if these energy fields maintained some or all of the intelligence stored as electrical energy in the brain when the individual lived on oxygen and not pure energy? What if they were selective as to how and why they appeared? If all that were possible, it would certainly explain why a select few are able to witness apparitions, while others can't. Maybe they have to build up enough energy to appear to you and then can't sustain it for any length of time. It could be like a lightning bug on a dark night. Maybe they're always there, but we can't see them until they turn on the light. Consider the likelihood of the unlikely. Accept it as just that and move on."

Mac listened to Marcia's every word. Even if she was talking bullshit, at least she was being sincere and sympathetic to Mac's concerns. Who knows, maybe some it of was true. In any case, Mac no longer felt alone and isolated. The investigators were on her team all the way.

"Thanks for the pep talk. It's reassuring to know I'm not alone in all of this."

"I'll put a new tape in and send this one to Robert. Maybe he can make something out it," said Marcia as she removed the tape. She pulled a cardboard box from under the table and removed a padded envelope. She addressed it and said, "I'm going to run and mail this to Robert and I'll be right back. I'll set up my surveillance as soon as I return and won't meet with you again, unless you need me for something."

"Okay, Marcia. Drive carefully."

Mac watched Marcia drive away through her kitchen window and started snacking on the mixed nuts again. She turned her back to the window and tried to digest everything Marcia had just thrown her way. Marcia said apparitions. Apparition is a more formal way to say ghost. Do they really believe in ghosts or are they protecting their income and saying what they think I need to hear?

Mac was deep in thought when she heard someone knocking. She went into the living room and looked through the peephole of her front door. She saw Brian standing there, wearing a blue baseball hat with a scruffy team insignia. He was holding a white plate covered with aluminum foil.

She opened the front door to the extent the door chain would allow. Mac had hoped she'd seen the last of Brian.

"What in the world do you want?" she asked angrily.

"I know we made a deal and I lost. I had every intention of keeping my end of the bargain. I was practicing for my cooking debut tomorrow and made a few too many burgers and dogs," said Brian as he lifted the plate and waved it under Mac's nose.

"I don't like wasting food. You could really help me out if you'd take a couple off my hands."

Mac gave it some thought. She was hungry and didn't feel like cooking or going out. Maybe if she treated Brian like a trip to the dentist and got it out of the way, it wouldn't be so bad.

She smiled and said, "Up for another deal?"

"Another deal? Are you a lawyer or something? Please don't make it another art question. Trivia is not my strong suit." asked Brian jokingly.

"By the way, did you ever bother to find the answer to my question?"

"Actually, I didn't even try to. I figured the deal was over. No point in looking."

"Too bad! You could have earned a bonus point there, stud!"

"Oh well. What's your new deal?" he asked.

"I'll accept the meal and give you thirty minutes of my life. After which, you walk out my front door forever."

Thirty minutes...score!! thought Brian. "That's barely enough time to set the table and chew my food. How about sixty minutes?" asked Brian with a sheepish grin.

"This is a one time, hard as diamond offer. Thirty minutes and that's it. If the clock says thirty-one and you're still here, I dial 911," stated Mac firmly.

Brian looked at Mac and said reluctantly, "Man, that's a tough deal, but I accept."

Mac stepped aside to let him in. She looked around the beach for a little girl and saw no one. Then she led Brian to the kitchen and pointed to the LED clock on her microwave. "Your time starts now!"

Brian wanted to reply with a snappy comeback about feeling like he was on a game show after Mac said, "Your time starts now", but bit his lower lip and stopped himself.

He set the plate on the table, removed the foil quickly and sped to the refrigerator. As he opened the door, he smiled at Mac and said, "Can't afford to waste time asking where stuff is!"

Mac rolled her eyes, crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen door frame.

"What do you like on your burgers?" asked Brian.

"Everything, but all I have is mayonnaise and tomatoes."

"What about the dogs?"

Mac grimaced and said, "I don't do hot dogs. Not even in an emergency."

Brian grabbed what he could and rushed it to the table, ever mindful of the clock. He nearly dropped the plates in his haste.

Mac put her hand over a plate and said, "I'll take care of my own."

Brian quickly opened the bread wrapper and removed a single slice. He slapped some mayo on it, dropped a hot dog in the middle and folded it in half. One bite later and half of the dog was gone.

"Is the burger warm enough?" he asked as bread crumbs tumbled out of his mouth.

"It's fine. Sit down and slow down. You have plenty of time."

He gulped down the last of the hot dog and brought a quart bottle of cola from the refrigerator.

"Something to drink?" he asked as tiny chunks of meat and bread fell to the floor.

Mac winced at the sight and nodded.

After pouring two glasses of cola, Brian looked at the clock and saw that he had only used up seven minutes. "How am I doing with my time management so far?"

"Wonderful. Use your last twenty minutes wisely."

"Twenty-three minutes to be precise," said Brian as his eyes wandered to the newly mounted camera. "Do you have one of those in every room?" he said with a mischievous smile.

Mac followed his eyes and said, "Yes, but that is the only one in the house you'll ever see."

"I saw some outside as well. Are you afraid of something or someone?"

"Next question," replied Mac.

Brian already knew the answer to his next question, but he wanted to test Mac's sincerity and honesty. Her answer would tell him more than facts.

"Were you born and raised here in Florida?"

Mac swallowed a chunk of meat and replied. "I was born and raised in a one room log cabin in Lincoln, Nebraska. We had no electricity or running water. We were so poor we viewed cooked rat as a delicacy. Most of the time we had to eat them raw. Fire was a luxury because matches were expensive."

Brian smiled and leaned closer toward Mac. "I can't picture anyone as beautiful as you ever eating a rat. I picture you wearing an exquisite, strapless, black evening gown, dining at the most expensive restaurants there are. I see you drinking an expensive wine to wash it all down, followed by night of passionate lovemaking."

Mac rolled her eyes and swallowed her last bite. She wiped her mouth with a paper towel that was a bit rough on her lips and said, "How many hours a week will you be working for Shingo?"

"He said fifteen to twenty. Enough to pay for my food anyway."

"Shingo is a good man. He can be very sensitive and caring. He never went to college, but he is more intelligent and wise than most grads I know."

"Great to hear. I'm going to have plenty of time to learn more about him. Right now I find you more interesting." He was staring at Mac and his imagination started to wander.

He undressed her in his mind and pictured her waiting impatiently for him in bed. He would tease her a little and make her wait. Then he would use foreplay to bring her body to a full, drenching sweat.

His fantasy was shattered explosively, like window glass hit by a rock, when Mac cleared the table and said, "Eleven minutes left, Brian."

"Please tell me more about you. What do you like to do for fun? What's your favorite food?" pleaded Brian.

"There is no need for you to know anything about me. I'm being as civil to you as I possibly can, considering I have absolutely no desire to know you or have anything to do with you," said Mac in a monotone voice.

"We are currently neighbors. Temporary ones at that. Nothing more."

"To know me is to love me, Mackenzie. Besides, I know that when a woman says no, she doesn't always mean it. Some women like to play hard to get. There's no reason why our friendship can't move forward after our vacations are over. If you give me a chance, I'll show you that I'm an ardent lover, I'm relatively intelligent and I make a decent living."

"Is my face red now, Brian? It ought to be because you're starting to really piss me off! What does it take to get through to you?" said Mac forcefully

Brian rubbed his chin and wiggled uncomfortably in his chair. He was hurt. He didn't expect that kind of reaction.

Mac marched to the front door, jerked it open and said, "Time's up. Goodbye, Brian. And I most certainly mean goodbye in the strictest, unmistakably clearest and permanent sense! In other words, do not ever come back here again!"

Brian rose and for a minute he thought he was going to cry. "Sorry, Mackenzie. I misunderstood our relationship."

"Brian, we never had and never will have a relationship of any kind. Understood?"

Brian held his head low, like a scolded puppy. "Understood," he replied as he left. He walked back to the Ferguson place as if he were in a funeral procession.

Halfway between the two cottages he smiled wanly and said, "Bitch! I know what you need. You haven't had it in so long it's making you a cold and bitter bitch. You need a man to stir up your fires and melt the freakin' ice around your heart. And I'm the man to do the job. Oh, you bitch! We will definitely meet again and I won't be watching any freakin' clock either. I'll leave when I say it's time." He looked over his shoulder toward Mac's place and said, "We'll meet again, you bitch. When we do, we'll play by my rules. What do you think of that shit, huh?"

Brian went back inside his cottage and slammed the door like an angry child.

Marcia was sitting out in her rental and made notations of Brian's arrival and departure. She was able to hear the conversation inside the house and made general notes about it. Too bad she couldn't hear anything Brian said as he walked home.

Marcia ran into a guy like that once before. When she was done, the guy had a broken nose and spoke two octaves higher!

Mac went into the living room again and decided to give the television another try. When she pushed the power button, she got the same black screen as before. She thought about her neglected novel but it held no appeal. She looked over at the paint set and said, "Sorry, I'm not interested in you either." She moved closer to the jigsaw puzzle and said, "I guess that just leaves you."

Mac listened to music and worked the scenic puzzle. She paused several times for coffee, bathroom and stretch breaks; always returning to the puzzle. It started as just something to do, because she always had to be doing something.

When she was a child and even as a teenager, she found it impossible to sit still. She always had to be doing something. Most learning came easy to her. If she encountered a difficult subject, she hammered away at until she mastered it. Once mastered, she grew bored and was ready for a new challenge. She viewed obstacles as a competition to be won. However, she only competed against herself. She always had to beat her old standards, and set a new personal best record.

The puzzle surpassed something to do and was quickly becoming an obsession. She fitted, matched and snapped until there were only a handful of pieces remaining. She determined it was time to stop because all of the pieces were getting blurry. As she rubbed her eyes, a mental alarm went off. She looked at the clock and realized her stores had been closed for several hours and she hadn't checked her voice mail.

Mac always had at least a score of messages. Most were from managers and other district managers that she referred to as "fence riders". She called them that because they are the type of management that prefers to remain safely in the middle of the fence and let someone else get their hands dirty. She would tease them when she saw them by asking if their butts were sore from all the splinters. Then before they could respond, she'd answer for them by saying they couldn't possibly get splinters, because they were too good at covering their butts.

She finished with her voice mail, chugged down the last cup of coffee and returned to the puzzle. She was surprised she wasn't getting as drowsy working the puzzle as she was before.

She looked in her hand and there were only three pieces left. It was nearly midnight and she was surprisingly fresh. She put one piece in and heard a low frequency humming sound. After she put the second piece in, she thought she heard someone whispering her name somewhere behind her. She turned her head around and looked at the video monitor on the dining room table. The picture was rolling like someone turned the horizontal control out of whack, except there was no horizontal control.

The humming sound got louder, the screen went black and the red power button on the monitor turned off. Her mother's rocker swayed back and forth and she thought she saw a faint image of a person sitting there. Mac's freshness was beginning to spoil.

The room was getting warmer and warmer. The air was getting thicker and she found it increasingly harder to breath. Beads of sweat were forming on her forehead and her fingertips felt like they were being pounded with microscopic pins.

There was a strange tingling in the palm of her left hand. She held it front of her face and saw the last piece of the puzzle. Her sweaty palm secured it in place. She brought the piece closer and noticed an ever so slight rhythmic up and down motion. Almost like a heart beating.

The closet door in the hallway opened halfway and she could hear someone whistling in the direction of her parent's bedroom. It sounded like the same tune her father whistled when he was in a good mood.

Mac felt lightheaded as she peeled the last piece off of her palm and put it into place. The piece popped in and the humming got a little lower, like it was winding down. The image in the rocker became clearer and looked very much like her mother.

The image of her father emerged from the hallway. He walked into the living room and said, "Have you seen my fishing hat, Mary?"

The woman on the rocker was knitting something as she rocked. "It's in the hall closet where you always keep it."

"I looked there and I can't find it."

"Well, dear, if it's not there, then ask Mac. I think she was wearing it earlier."

Both images turned and stared at Mac in silence. That was the last thing she remembered before she passed out.

The next image Mac saw was Marcia's face.

"Can you hear me, Mac?" said Marcia. "Come on, Mac. I need to get you off the floor."

Marcia flipped the cold washcloth she had placed on Mac's head and said, "It's Marcia. Come back to me, Mac."

Mac opened her eyes lethargically and licked her lips. "I'm thirsty."

"I'll get you some ice water. I'll be right back."

"Thanks," sighed Mac as she sat up.

Marcia returned with the ice water and said, "What happened?"

Mac swallowed some ice water and replied, "Hell, you tell me."

"I was watching the remote monitor in my rental and everything looked normal. There was some interference and then nothing. My screen went black and I lost all power."

"Maybe the mayo I ate with dinner tonight was bad. I had the sweats, started hallucinating and then passed out."

"How do you feel now?" asked Marcia.

"Much better. Thanks for the assist."

"You're welcome," said Marcia as she walked to the dining room table. She looked at the wall outlet and said, "There's the problem. The cords to all of the power strips have been pulled out. We'll replace them with locking cords and outlets when Donna gets here tomorrow."

"How could they just come unplugged?" asked Mac.

Marcia bent over, plugged everything back in and powered up all of the equipment. She looked at Mac and said, "You were the only one in the house and your last fixed position was in front of the couch. If you can't move at the speed of light, then that means someone or something else removed the plugs. My official log entry will state that we powered down due to unknown causes. That's good enough for me right now, unless you have an alternative suggestion."

Mac took another drink of ice water, looked at the puzzle and said, "That works."

"Are you going to be all right?" asked Marcia.

"I'll be fine. I'm going to take a shower and get some sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Mac," said Marcia. She gave all the equipment a final inspection and returned to her surveillance.

"Goodnight," said Mac as Marcia went out the door. She looked down at the puzzle and then ran her hand over it softly. She felt no seams where the pieces had been joined together. "Remarkable! You sure don't see manufacturing like that anymore."

"What a night," she said as she rose. She stretched and looked around the room. The rocker was still and the house was silent.

Mac straightened things up and walked to the hallway. She put her finger on the light switch to the living room and said, "Goodnight everyone." She flipped the switch and went into the bathroom. She took a long, hot shower and crawled into bed.

Mac was dozing and suddenly had a feeling that she was being watched. Just before she rolled over, she decided to take one last peek at the doorway. Sure enough, the silhouette was there. This time it was a little more defined. There was a much sharper outline. She could see fingers instead of a dark object that could have been a hand.

"Did I forget to say goodnight to you? Sorry." She adjusted her covers, rolled over and said, "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, Mac," replied a whispering voice.

CHAPTER FIVE

ATLANTA

"Hello, Marcia?" said Donna Garrison as she was driving south on Interstate 95.

"Hi, Donna. What's up?"

"I decided to leave a few hours earlier than planned. I should be there before your shift ends. How are things going?"

"So far so good. She has a vacationing neighbor named Brian Caufield. His character is questionable and he's becoming a pest. I briefed the local deputy on the case and he conducted an informal interview at the man's residence. Brian's nervous about something, but it could be something as minor as an unpaid ticket somewhere. Brian is scheduled to commence part-time employment at a local food establishment tomorrow morning. The deputy has spoken with the owner of that establishment and requested a surreptitiously obtained sample of the Brian's fingerprints."

"I'll be going into the establishment immediately after my shift to effect pick up and transfer. The deputy will run the prints upon receipt. He will contact me as expediently as possible with the results," stated Marcia.

"Anything else?" asked Donna.

"We experienced one disconnect power down when the plugs were pulled. Other than that, it's been very smooth."

"I'll install the locking plugs and outlets as soon as I arrive. How's our client holding up?"

"She's still seeing things and talking to herself. She said goodnight to the house. I assume she saw something or someone. If there was something there, she's the only one who can see or hear it. I've got infrared running and I still show her as the only occupant."

"Keep me posted," said Donna. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Later," replied Marcia as she made some camera angle modifications.

The following day, Robert drove to Mac's apartment complex and sat with Carrie Wiggins, the apartment manager and Karl Stenson, the assistant manager. He brought his own video equipment to review the surveillance tape of Karl's encounter with the policeman.

"Good morning. My name is Robert Munford. I'm with the Breson Detective Agency," he said as he produced his credentials.

"Good morning," replied Carrie with a big smile. "How would you like to start?"

"Let's start with the video of the police questioning and we'll go from there."

Carrie smiled and said, "Why don't we go back to the employee break area? It'll be more private."

Robert nodded and followed Carrie around a corner and down a hallway to the break room.

When he entered, he lifted his small suitcase and carefully set it on a brown, six foot folding table. He opened it and looked around the room.

"What are you looking for?" asked Carrie.

"I need a plug," he replied.

Carrie moved a trashcan to one side, took the power cord from Robert and plugged it in.

He fiddled with the device inside the suitcase, produced a yellow notepad and said,

"What can you tell me about your visitor?"

"I can only relay what Karl told me and what's on the video. I'm afraid I can't be of much help. Would you like me to get Karl?"

"I'd appreciate it, thanks."

"Will you need me anymore?" asked Carrie.

Robert shook his head and pushed a button in his suitcase that caused a small monitor to rise. He inserted the video and pushed the play button. He adjusted the tracking until the tape ran smoothly and then waited for Karl to arrive.

He removed his windbreaker and draped it over the back of a folding chair. He tucked his white polo shirt in and waited for Karl.

When Karl arrived, Robert was facing the entry and leaning against the table with his arms folded.

Karl extended his hand meekly to meet Robert's and said, "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning. My name is Robert Munford. I'm an investigator with the Breson Detective Agency," he said as he once again produced his credentials. "Why don't you have a seat over here?" Robert pulled a chair back and Karl sat down.

Robert removed a portable tape recorder from his suitcase and said, "It's important that we operate using accurate information. I'll be taking notes but I'd also like to record our interview today if that's okay with you."

"That's fine," Karl replied.

"Could I please have your full name for the record?" asked Robert as he picked up a pen and began to write..

"It's Karl, um, Karl with a K, Anthony Stenson."

Robert proceeded to get Karl's address, phone number, etc., and then said, "Are you ready to view the tape with me?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will run the tape in sections and then pause it. I will ask you to describe different

things in each section," stated Robert as he pushed the play button.

Robert pushed fast forward until the policeman entered. When the cop stopped at Karl's desk, Robert paused the tape and picked up his pen. "What did the officer say to you when he first approached you?"

"He looked at my desk easel and said, 'So, you're the assistant manager. Where's the manager?'"

"I told him she had stepped out for a little while and offered my help. He said he had an arrest warrant for Mackenzie Mason and needed her apartment number. I told him she was out of town. Then he asked me where she went. I said somewhere in Florida. Then he got quiet for a couple of minutes."

Robert pushed play again. The tape ran for awhile and once again he paused it. "What about here?"

"That's when he started talking again. I think he was waiting for someone behind him to walk by."

"What did he say?"

"He told me he was going to give me three minutes to produce her address or he was going to arrest me for aiding and abetting a fugitive. He said Mackenzie had left town because she didn't want to appear in court on a shoplifting charge. I asked to see the warrant and he said I had two minutes left. He promised to throw me in a cell with a couple of guys that would use me like a woman all night long."

Robert pushed play again and ran the tape until the cop got a mere inch or two from Karl's face. Robert paused the tape and said, "And here?"

"He got real close and told me I'd have a hard time defending myself in the cell with two broken hands. The only reason I hesitated initially was because I was too scared to move. I forced myself to get up and get the address from Carrie's desk. He took the address and told me his unit would be watching for me on the highway. If I was so much as one mile over the limit, the officer that stopped me would have orders to bring me in to the station so I could spend the night in my special cell."

"Did he say anything else?"

"No," replied Karl.

"Did you notice any distinguishing marks or mannerisms that might help us identify him later?"

"I was so scared, I just kept staring at his face. When he got close, I did notice he had bad breath."

"I appreciate you sitting down with me. I have no further questions," said Robert as he turned the tape recorder off.

Karl left the room and Robert scrutinized the tape again. He paused it at one particular section just as the officer entered. He used a zoom function and was able to clearly see the badge number on the uniform. He scrolled down and was also able to identify a scar on the back of the cop's right hand.

Robert completed his investigation at the apartment complex and returned the tape to Carrie. He instructed her to hold on to it until an official from the Atlanta Police Department could analyze it.

She smiled, gave him a business card and suggested he return if he was ever in the market for an apartment.

Robert returned to his car and headed to the mall for his interview with Chad Nuxhall. Once he was on the highway, he reached into his windbreaker, removed a cell phone and entered a phone number.

The phone rang twice and a male voice on the other end said, "Hello."

"Hi, Jack. It's Bob Munford. How've you been?"

"I've been great. Whatcha' got for me?"

"I've got a situation that's going to involve your department. There's a guy after one of my clients that's posing as one of yours. He's wearing your uniform and badge 4512. My guess is that it's an authentic number. It's probably a little payback for the real cop who busted him. He's got a three inch scar on the back of his right hand. It runs from the knuckle of his ring finger, to his wrist. I'll be sending you an e-mail with his image."

"I have to respond to a call. I'll get with the guys and get back to ya'. Thanks for the info, Bob."

"Be safe, Jack."

Robert worked with Jack Maxwell for nearly ten years. The two had a great professional rapport and shared information on numerous cases. Occasionally they would get together and have a drink after hours but that was the extent of their socializing.

When Robert got to the mall, he opened his trunk and traded his windbreaker for a brown leather jacket. It was a specially equipped coat, complete with built in digital collar camera and cordless transmitter that could simultaneously record and send data back to his car. He also carried a shoulder bag with a regular tape recorder.

He tested his gear and entered the mall. As he was walking to Chad's store, a man came running directly at him, with two mall security guards in hot pursuit. Robert took a step to one side and strategically placed his right leg in front of the man's legs. The man tripped and went crashing head first into a mall directory sign.

Robert kept walking until he got to Chad's store. When he entered, he was greeted by a female salesperson. He produced his credentials and asked to speak to Chad.

"He's in the stockroom. Go on back," said the salesperson.

"Would you ask him to come out here please?" asked Robert. Entering the stockroom without permission could be viewed as trespassing, even though the salesperson told him it was all right.

The girl went behind the counter, said something into an intercom and returned.

"He's on his way out," she said as she left to greet a customer

Chad strolled out like he was young rooster in a full hen house.

"Did you need some help?" asked Chad.

"My name is Robert Munford. I'm a private investigator with the Breson Detective Agency. I wonder if I might have a few minutes in private with you."

Robert produced his credentials but Chad looked past Robert at an approaching man and shook his head slightly. Robert turned around in time to see a man wearing black pants and a black shirt carrying a briefcase. The man did an about-face back into the general traffic area before Robert could see his face.

"Yeah, come on back," Chad replied as he led Robert to the stockroom.

Once in the stockroom, Robert said, "My agency has been retained to investigate some issues pertaining to your district manager, Mackenzie Mason. I'll be taking notes and I'd like to record our conversation as well. Do you have any objections?"

"Knock yourself out," said Chad.

Robert turned on the tape recorder and asked Chad to provide his full name, etc. He had a gut feeling that urged him to take a calculated risk and try a bluff to test Chad's reaction. If he missed, it was just strike one. If he connected, it would be a home run.

"Miss Mason has been the victim of various assaults against her body as well as her character. We have been able to determine through investigative means, that some of the documents generated can be traced directly back to you."

Chad stared into Robert's eyes without blinking.

"Would you like to respond, Mr. Nuxhall?"

"Respond to what? Slander?"

"Are you suggesting that I'm slandering you?" asked Robert.

"Mr. Munford, you have a job to do. I understand. You can stand there all day and play some chicken-shit mind game if you want to, but you'll be playing by yourself. You see, I have a job to do as well, and I need to get back to it. Goodbye, Mr. Munford."

Chad left the stockroom and started working on a store clearance sale.

Home run, thought Robert. He turned off his tape recorder and left the stockroom. On his way out, he handed Chad a business card and said, "Anytime you want to talk, I'll listen."

Robert left Chad's store quickly with a smile on his face. He knew some of the cards Chad was holding and he knew how to make him show his whole hand.

When he was walking back to his car, he saw paramedics tending to the man who crashed into the mall directory. Robert barely noticed because he was focusing on another matter. He was focusing on the man in front of Chad's store. That man was carrying a briefcase in his right hand. When the man turned around, he turned to his left, exposing his right hand to Robert's camera. It's a long shot, but I'm feeling lucky today. What if the guy coming to see Chad is the same guy that was dressed as a cop? It would make sense if Chad was behind all of this. Maybe even the same man in Mac's parking lot.

Something in the man's gait when he walked away looked familiar to Robert. Was it a coincidence or a damn lucky break?

When Robert returned to his office, he compared images from his digital camera to the video images of the policeman at the apartment. They were approximately the same, but nothing conclusive. Then he zoomed in on the man's right hand. There was a distinct outline that was approximately the same length of the video man's scar but it was too fuzzy to be certain. Robert enhanced the video scar to the same dimensions of his digital picture. Then took it out of focus to a point of distortion nearly identical to that of the digital camera. He was certain the men were the same. And if he was right, he had a definite link to Chad. However, there wasn't enough evidence to go any further yet. He had to catch the two together or force Chad to make a mistake.

Chad was clever but so was the fox that ended up in the witch's cauldron.

Robert picked up his phone, called Donna and shared his findings with her.

"You have a copy of Chad's schedule don't you?" asked Donna.

"Yes and I plan to be on that guy like snot on a rag!"

"I wish you'd say something else. That sounds so gross to me!"

"I'll work on it," he replied insincerely. "How's the trip so far?"

"If I live to be a hundred and fifty, I'll never understand some things about people," said Donna in an agitated voice.

"Meaning?"

"People put themselves through strenuous workouts, don't smoke, try to eat right, try to live within the law and plan for retirement. They'd never consider homicide or suicide, yet when they get behind the wheel, they try their hardest to commit one or both. I'm doing seventy and cars are passing me like I'm parked on the side of the road. They cut in and out with mere inches of room to spare. I just don't get it."

"I know what you mean. Have a safe trip. I'll check in with you again tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Robert. Be careful."

He finished up some paperwork, ran some errands and drove to Chad's mall. He waited in the parking lot with binoculars until Chad's shift was over. When Chad finally left the mall, Robert watched him to his car, then drove closer and waited for Chad to leave.

Chad started his car and sped out of the parking lot. Robert tailed him everywhere he went. He followed closely because he wanted Chad to know he was behind him. He wanted to push Chad into an angry mistake.

Chad pulled into a gas station and drove up to a pump. He got out of his car, walked back to Robert and said, "What is your problem, man?"

"I don't have a problem. I'm in my own car, driving around on public streets. I just happen to be going your way."

"And I guess your tailgating is just an accident?"

"Precisely," replied Robert.

Chad turned to the gas pump, ran his credit card and lifted the gas nozzle out. He started pumping gas into his car, then yanked the nozzle out and sprayed gasoline on Robert's car hood.

He looked at Robert with an evil grin and said, "Oh, sorry, man. It was just an accident."

Robert didn't budge. He waited calmly for Chad's next move.

Chad filled his tank and put the nozzle back in its boot. He reached inside his car and grabbed a book of matches from the dashboard. Then he stuck an unfiltered cigarette in his mouth and lit a match.

"If I can throw it, you can catch it," said Chad as he threw the burning match toward Robert's car.

The fire died before it reached Robert's hood. He was relatively sure that it would but there's always that chance!

Chad laughed as he struck another match, lit his cigarette and jumped back in his car. He adjusted his rearview mirror, waved to Robert and drove home.

Robert followed him to an extremely expensive neighborhood. The houses on Chad's block started at $300,000. Robert knew his salary as a store manager couldn't support that kind of mortgage payment. He also had a good idea where the supplemental income was coming from.

He parked in front of Chad's house and watched for awhile. As he drove away, he saw Chad standing in a window. "Get used to it, Chad. I'll be back with the birds in a few hours."

CHAPTER SIX

THE PUZZLE

Monday morning started out with a bang. The television repairman, Dean, was supposed to stop by Mac's sometime in the afternoon. Instead he was there at seven o'clock in the morning, ringing the doorbell like it was his mission in life.

Mac flew out of bed and ran down the hallway. She stopped at the front door and shouted, "Will you lay off the damn bell? Let me throw some clothes on and I'll be right back." She hustled back to her bedroom, threw on some jeans, a white sweater and dashed into the bathroom. She splashed some cold water in her face, blotted it with a towel and returned to the front door.

She opened the door and said, "I thought you said you'd be here this afternoon."

"I would have been but old man Hankins needs me to help him install a satellite dish."

"You could have called and warned me," said Mac as she rubbed her sleepy eyes.

"You never had the house phone turned back on and I don't know your cell number," stated Dean.

Mac thought for a second and said, "The television is all yours. I'm going to grab some breakfast."

Dean walked over to the television and exclaimed, "This is the same set I sold your dad nine years ago. Unbelievable!"

He maneuvered the set out of the maple entertainment center and rested it on the floor. He jumped up quickly when he put his knee on the carpet. "Hey, Mac! Did you know that you have water on your living room carpet?"

"Hold on a minute, Dean. I can't hear a word you're saying." Mac was walking to the living room when she heard the doorbell again. "Good grief!" She looked at Dean and said, "I'll get to you in a minute."

Mac opened the door and saw Donna standing there.

"Good morning, Mac. Marcia told me you were up and about so I thought I'd change our plugs and outlets before I go to my motel."

"Marcia's still here?" asked Mac.

"She waited until I got here so she could show me where I'm going to be staying".

"You've got to be exhausted. Can't you come back later and change them out?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather change them out now. We don't want a power down at a critical moment of the surveillance. It's best to do it now."

Mac made a sweeping motion with her hand toward the dining room table and "Go at it!"

"I'm going to get the plugs and outlets and I'll be right back."

"I'll leave the door unlocked. Just walk back in when you're ready," said Mac.

She walked to where Dean was rubbing his soaked knee and said, "Now what are you complaining about?"

"Your carpet is soaked! Do you have a water leak somewhere?" asked Dean.

Mac went to her hands and knees and felt around the area Dean was standing in. She found two moderately moist spots on the floor. "I can only find two small damp spots here, Dean. The floor is not soaked, it's damp. Why don't you move the television over near the rocker and I'll get you a towel to dry your pants and the floor."

"No need to worry about my pants, Mac. They'll dry soon enough. I was more concerned about the water in the carpet."

"I'll take care of it, Dean. Thanks for pointing them out. I was drinking some water last night and probably spilled some without realizing it."

Mac went back into the kitchen and started brewing some coffee. She dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and heard the front door close.

Donna and Marcia came in with a small cardboard box and some tools. They switched the array of equipment off and proceeded with their modifications. Marcia unscrewed the cover plate over the outlet, while Donna used wire cutters to cut off the ends of the power cords.

Mac stuck her head around the corner and said, "Would you like me to cut the power?"

Marcia shook her head and said, "Thanks but that won't be necessary."

Mac watched as Marcia pulled the outlet from the junction box and said, "Isn't that a bit risky?"

"Not really," she replied.

"Don't you ever get shocked?" she inquired.

"Over the years, I've done it at least a hundred times and have only been shocked once."

Mac raised her eyebrows and said, "That's amazing." Then she returned to the kitchen to heed the call of her toaster. By the time she had finished buttering the bread, Donna and Marcia were finished and waving goodbye.

"See you tonight," said Marcia as she closed the door quietly.

Mac folded her toast in half and dunked it in her coffee. After consuming the first slice she went to the living room to check on Dean.

"How's it going?" she asked as she looked at the mantel clock.

"It's not good, Mac," said Dean as he removed his baseball cap and ran his hand through his hair. "I can fix it all right and it'll be good as new. Unfortunately, it'll be more expensive to fix it than to buy a brand new one". He put his hat back on and said, "Why don't you run down to Discount Denny's and get another set?"

"It's really that bad?"

Dean nodded.

"Would you do me a favor?" she asked. "Can you get rid of the dead television for me?"

"I'd be glad to."

"Thanks, Dean. How much do I owe you?"

"Let's say five bucks for gas and we'll call it even!"

"My luck's starting to change!" Mac went to her purse and came back with a ten dollar bill. "Here. Keep the change."

"Thanks, Mac."

Mac finished her last piece of toast while Dean packed up his tools and hauled the television off.

What was I going to do? Oh yeah, the wet carpet. How in the world did it get wet?

She went to the linen closet and got a dry towel. She grabbed an old one they used to use when they sat on the beach. She got down on her hands and knees and rubbed the area vigorously. The towel was picking up all the water very nicely. It was also removing some of the dirt and sand in the carpet fibers.

Mac completed the job and decided to check her voice mail. It was refreshing to call and discover a record low number of messages. Even more miraculous was the absence of any significant issues to resolve.

She stretched, got some coffee and went outside for a short stroll on the beach. She walked past the Ferguson place and saw no sign of Brian.

About halfway between her cottage and the pier, she saw Waldo running around in the sand. He was actively playing with a piece of driftwood. He would pick it up with his mouth, toss it a few inches in the air and lunge for it when it hit the sand.

"Hey, Waldo," she called.

Waldo stopped dead in his tracks and then looked toward Mac.

"Good morning, buddy!"

Mac squatted down and Waldo bolted straight toward her like a runaway train. When he reached Mac, he planted his two, sandy front paws onto her chest, sending Mac reeling backwards.

He dropped the driftwood on her waist and showed his excitement by standing on her chest and licking her face vigorously.

She rubbed him behind the ears and eased him off her chest slowly. "I'm happy to see you too, pal!" She laughed between licks and said, "Do you want to play? Are you lonely?"

She picked up the driftwood, stood and threw it as hard she could. "Go get it!"

She brushed the sand off of her clothes and smiled as she watched him tear down the beach. She marveled at how simple it was to make an animal happy and provide endless entertainment with just a stick. Too bad humans couldn't have the same joy with as little effort.

They repeated the process until Waldo was tired out. He brought the driftwood back one final time, dropped it by Mac's feet and lay on the sand with a thud.

Mac looked at the panting dog and said, "I'll play with you later, pal. I've got some things to do. You need to catch your breath anyway." She patted him on the head and walked away.

Mac returned home and called Doc Belcher. While she was on the phone, she noticed something on the coffee table that looked like crumbs. The secretary at the doctor's office told her she could see the doctor in about an hour. Mac thanked her, hung up and investigated the spot on the coffee table.

It looked very much like a handprint. She ran a finger through the crumbs and looked closely. The crumbs weren't crumbs at all. They were grains of sand. She turned her body and positioned her left hand so it would rest directly on top of the pattern. She discovered that when she had her hand in place, her feet were directly on top of the wet spots in the carpet Dean found earlier. It was like someone with wet, sandy hands had been leaning against the table, or used it to get their balance.

She jumped up and stared at the puzzle. Her heart started racing when she considered the possibilities. Either Dean had played a joke on her or someone with sandy palms and wet feet came out of the puzzle. It couldn't have been anyone else. She was the only one there. Any intruders would have been caught on tape. Any _human_ intruders that is.

She moved around to the other side of the table and ran her hand across the completed puzzle. There were no new images and no changes to the images already there. How could she explain the sand and wet carpet? Who could she tell? What would it matter if she told anyone anyway? Even if they believed her, what would that change? How would it help?

Mac wanted to yell at the puzzle but she was mindful of the cameras and had no desire to look as crazy as she felt.

A glance at her watch suggested it was time for her rendezvous with Doctor Belcher. She looked at the camera, waved and then laughed. "No one's watching anyway!"

When she arrived at the doctor's office, she checked in and waited. She picked up a tattered copy of a magazine the must have been read a thousand times and flipped through the pages. She wasn't paying much attention to the words because her mind was still hovering over the puzzle mystery.

They finally called her in and directed her to wait in another room. A nurse came in and took her temperature, blood pressure, pulse and weight. She opened Mac's chart, recorded her findings and dropped to the line that said, "Reason for visit." She looked up at Mac and said, "And why are you here to see the doctor today?"

"Well, I have all this extra insurance coverage I don't ever use and he told me he needed new golf clubs, so here I am."

The nurse wrote "personal" on the line and left the room.

The doctor discussed several personal issues with Mac and listened to the entire story of the past couple of weeks. After their lengthy discussion, he gave Mac a complete physical and pronounced her to be in good health.

After the examination the doctor made a notation in Mac's file and said, "You're in great physical health but I'm going to write a prescription for a mild tranquilizer to help you through the stress. Make sure you follow the directions and don't over medicate yourself."

"Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it."

"I'm going to be at the pier for a couple of hours tonight. Why don't you join me?"

he asked.

"Sounds wonderful. Any particular time?"

"I'll probably be up there around seven. Do you need me to bring any gear?"

"No thanks. I still have plenty at home."

The doctor handed Mac the prescription and moved on to the next patient.

After she left the doctor's office, she did a thorough grocery shop and went home. She knew better than to buy groceries when she was hungry but she did anyway. When she got home and started putting them away, she realized she had enough groceries for two people for two weeks.

She looked at all of the food and remembered her luncheon date with Shingo. She put the last of the load away and went over to the puzzle.

The puzzle was taking on a new meaning in her mind. She couldn't define the feeling, but her apprehension and anxiety were yielding to acceptance and understanding. It was no longer a cardboard box with numerous cardboard pieces. It was becoming a place and in a very strange sort of way, a companion.

She imagined herself lying on the warm sand, staring aimlessly into the beautiful blue sky and being serenaded by the incoming surf. She tapped the man in the scene and thought, you're lucky you don't have any bills to pay, phones to answer or job to anchor you down. If your boat didn't have a bunch of cracks and a gaping hole in the hull, you could sail the world. You could travel to exotic places and fish the seven seas. What you need is a carpenter. Oh well, time to go. We'll talk some more later.

Mac rose and was about to leave for Shingo's when the paint set caught her eye. She went over to the table picked it up and returned to the puzzle. Maybe you don't need a carpenter after all. Perhaps a painter will do just as well.

She set the paint set down next to the puzzle and left for Shingo's.

She was surprised to see Waldo waiting for her by her fence. He sprang to his feet and wagged his tail so hard, the entire rear half of his body swayed side to side with the beat.

Mac smiled as she bent over and rubbed his head. "I'm happy to see you too, Waldo." She located and picked up his stick. Waldo jumped against her waist in an effort to retrieve it. Mac threw the stick as hard as she could and watched Waldo tear down the beach in hot pursuit.

She jogged at a leisurely pace and pretended to be chasing him. He saw her coming and dropped the stick in the sand. He waited until she would get within a couple of feet and pick the stick up and run with it.

When they reached the steps, Waldo dropped the stick and escorted Mac to the Cuda Shack. Once inside, Mac walked to Shingo and said, "Well, I'm here. Where's my coffee?"

Waldo dropped his ears and tail and moped his way over to his water dish. He emptied the bowl and glanced sadly up at Mac. He scratched at his bed until it was just right and curled up into a comfortable position. Within minutes he was asleep.

Shingo came from around the counter and gave Mac a tender hug. He put his face next to Mac's and whispered, "Deputy Collins was just here and I sneaked him a water glass with Brian's fingerprints on it."

Shingo stepped back and said, "What would you like for lunch, Mac? Name it and it's on the house."

"I guess I'll get the heart attack special with the works."

"That's cold, Mac," said Shingo as he prepared to get her coffee.

"Put a hold on the coffee, Shingo. Let me have a sweet tea instead."

Shingo felt Mac's forehead and said jokingly, "Are you okay?"

Mac smiled and said, "Yes, I'm fine."

Shingo got her the tea and said, "Anything new since I saw you last?"

"I'm still seeing ghosts and hearing things, other than that, no. I did go see Doc Belcher this morning. He said I'm great physically but he prescribed me some tranquilizers to help me through everything."

"Make sure you take them, Mac. It can't hurt. How's Doc Belcher doing these days? I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks."

"You'll see him tonight. We have a date to go pier fishing."

Brian was on his way to bus a table when he heard Mac mention that she had a date. When he got to the table, he picked up a fork and hesitated. He gritted his teeth and squeezed the fork until his knuckles were white. He put the fork prongs against the table and pushed angrily until there were small grooves in the table and the fork bent in half. He composed himself quickly and finished clearing the table.

Brian finished wiping down the table, grabbed the dirty dishes and returned to the kitchen. He stared at Mac on his way back and offered a polite, "Hello, Mackenzie. Did you come up here to see me today?"

Mac didn't acknowledge him and was happy that he kept walking without stopping to talk further.

"Hey, Brian, would you fry up a burger for Mac?"

Brian nodded and went to the freezer for a fresh patty. Shingo looked at Mac and said, "Why does he call you Mackenzie?"

"Long story, Shingo. So, how's the new help working out?"

"He's either done this before or he's a damn quick learner. I showed him where everything was and he dove right in. He's only made a couple of breakfast dogs and burgers but they were pretty good."

"There's not too many ways to mess up your menu, Shingo."

"Mac, please take the tranquilizers. You're cutting me to the core today," said Shingo with a huge grin.

Brian went to the order window and asked, "What goes on this burger?"

"Everything," replied Shingo.

"Everything it is," he said with an evil smirk. Brian fried the burger, dropped it on the floor and then placed it on a moldy bun he discovered earlier. He picked his nose and wiped his finger on the hot burger. He scooped up some mayonnaise that had a yellow crust on it and retrieved a drying slice of tomato from the trash. He ran out the back door and stuck his index finger in the grease pit and ran back inside. He smeared his greasy finger over the opposite bun. He tried to find some other disgusting thing to do but couldn't think of any. He found himself wishing he had to take a shit so he could wipe a little of that on there as well.

He set the order in the pick up window and rang the call bell.

Shingo took the plate and slid it over to Mac. She raised the hamburger to her mouth and was about to take a bite when she felt someone hit her elbow. The hamburger went flying to the floor behind the counter and splattered everywhere.

"Damn, Mac. If you didn't want it all you had to do was say so!" said Shingo sarcastically.

"Sorry! Someone hit my arm, Shingo. I'll clean it up."

Shingo looked around and said, "Really? It's just the three of us and Waldo, Mac."

Mac looked around the room and sure enough, no one else was there.

"I swear, Shingo. I felt someone hit my elbow," said Mac as she slid off her chair and started to help Shingo clean up the mess.

"It's all right, Mac. I'll fry up another."

"Brian, get the mop and swab this area where Mac dropped her burger, while I fry her another one."

Brian came from the kitchen and looked at the muck. Dropped it hell, it looked like it was fired from a cannon. The bun with mayonnaise was stuck to the grill and the other was resting by a box of straws. He was pissed that Mac hadn't even taken a single bite. He was further agitated that he had to clean it all up.

Shino selected a fresh patty and grilled it in the kitchen. He didn't like using the kitchen grill because it didn't feel right. There was no significant difference in the two, he just felt more comfortable using the front grill.

Mac ate the entire burger and was delighted with the taste. "That was great, Shingo. You really ought to think about going national."

"What can I say? I've got the touch!" said Shingo.

Mac wiped her mouth and said, "What do you think of ghosts?"

"I think they're okay!" he said with a big smile.

"I'm serious, Shingo. Do you believe they exist or not?"

"Of course they exist," he stated emphatically.

"How do you know?"

"I try not to complicate things too much. So, I look at nature and I look at what people do and what people make. Ghosts are nothing more than human energy in a holding pattern waiting for a new form of life. It's kind of like water. Nothing other than a space shuttle or rocket can escape the gravitational pull of earth. Therefore, we still have the same amount of water on earth as we did on day one. It's always being recycled."

Shingo took a plastic glass from a rack, filled it with water and took a drink. "When I swallow this, my body will use what it can and I'll eventually urinate the rest. When I sweat, it will squeeze the balance out and demand more water. When I urinate, it will go to the sewer and then to the treatment facility where it will be made ready to drink again. Water molecules will evaporate and remain in the clouds until certain forces come together and it rains. When you drink a glass of water, you're drinking recycled dinosaur urine! It's a never ending cycle."

"Thanks, Shingo. I'll never look at a glass of water the same way again!"

Shingo reached for the trash can and held it at angle so that Mac could see the contents.

"See that bun? It didn't start its existence as a bun. It started as a plant that went through several changes and finally ended as a bun. A plant died, a bun is born. Matter just keeps changing form, not existence. So, when someone dies, they change form, but not existence."

"I see your point," said Mac.

"I hope that helps."

"It's certainly given me more food for thought. That's twice you fed me today! And I'm hoping both servings are compliments of the owner!" she said with a warm smile.

"You'll always eat free here, Mac, regardless of the serving."

Mac reached for Shingo's hand and rubbed it lovingly. "You're a good friend. Thanks."

The display of friendship kept Brian's fires burning. He was jealous. That should be his hand she was rubbing. He was far more attractive and intelligent than Shingo. And all that crap about ghosts. That was kid's mumbo jumbo, reserved for a camping trip on a moonless night.

Shingo and Mac chatted about general local news, her job and the weather for over an hour, while Brian watched television.

Finally, three fishermen came in and wanted to place an order.

"You need to tend to your customers and I still have a few odds and ends to take care of. I'm going to head home. I'll stop in and say hi when Doctor Belcher and I go fishing tonight." She blew a kiss to Shingo and left.

When she got outside, there was a biting chill in the air and the sky was overcast. The winds were gusting and scattering sand inland. She looked out at the ocean and guessed that the waves were cresting at about two feet.

As soon as she got home, she brewed a new pot of coffee and turned the thermostat up. Once the coffee was ready, she poured a cup and planted herself on the floor in front of the jigsaw puzzle.

As she rubbed her hand over the surface of the puzzle, she began to feel very relaxed and at peace. Darkness crept in the room and enveloped everything but the puzzle and Mac. There was a comforting silence and a subtle smell of some type of pleasant perfume attached to the darkness.

She was no longer apprehensive about things. Instead she felt safe and secure. Just like she did when her mother rocked her as a little girl.

She slid the paint box in front of her and opened the lid. She removed the painter's palette and all of the bottles of paint. She examined each bottle and then selected a couple of colors that she thought would mix together and yield the correct color of the boat's hull.

The artist who created the puzzle picture was very skilled in color use. The entire puzzle scene was painstakingly detailed and employed vivid colors. Copying the color scheme of the boat was difficult because of the talent of the original artist. The boat depicted had realistic weathering changes and also correctly showed saltwater effects on the colors of the boat. She wondered why someone so talented would be painting jigsaw puzzles. It was incredibly authentic.

After several failed attempts, she was finally able to combine the right colors to achieve the perfect color match. She continued to mix, match and paint until she was finished. She used three different sizes of paintbrushes and made several corrections along the way but when she was done, it was beautiful. The newly re-painted yacht looked as good as it must have on the day it was launched.

As soon as the project was completed, the room brightened up again, like someone opening the eastern blinds on a sunny morning. Mac still had that warm, secure feeling. A feeling she hadn't experienced in many, many years. It was a crazy thought. A totally insane thought. But she felt loved when she touched the puzzle.

Mac leaned back against the couch and stared at the picture. How in the world can a bunch of pieces of cardboard love a human being? It could be time for that tranquilizer after all.

"Tranquilizer! Oh my God, I forgot Doc Belcher." She noted the time and realized she only had thirty minutes to get ready and meet the doctor at the pier. More time had slipped away than she thought. It only seemed like she was working on the puzzle for an hour or two. Somewhere along the line, five hours shot by.

She wiped up the few paint spots on the table, cleaned the paint brushes and got another cup of coffee. She returned to the puzzle and said, "You do good work, Mackenzie!"

She smiled as she looked at the man sitting on the beach and said, "Are you happy now? I think I did a great job. Just wait until you get the bill!"

Mac bent closer to the picture, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Hey, Pal! I just repaired your boat. The least you could do is lift your head and thank me!"

Mac didn't perceive any movement from the man but she did see something that concerned her. When she started work on the picture, the ocean was at least three inches away from the boat. Somehow, some way, in the time it took her to go to the kitchen and return with a fresh cup of coffee, the ocean had moved two inches closer to the boat.

"That can't possibly be," she said as she reached for the box cover. Unfortunately, that didn't help much because the scenes matched. There was no denying it. The puzzle was constantly changing. And if the puzzle was in fact changing, what's next? It no longer mattered how or why it was changing because there was no answer! Then again, if she were having a mental meltdown would she even know? Which would be worse - mental illness or supernatural intruders? Too many questions...no answers.

Mac stood, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her father used to say when you're faced with a problem, regardless of the nature, view it as nothing more than a pothole. Whatever it is, it's just meant to wake and shake. Slow down, evaluate but never stop.

"I must be manifesting an inner conflict which is trying to tell me something." Mac tapped the puzzle again and said, "You're just a pothole. I hope I understand quickly whatever it is I'm supposed to learn from you."

Mac knew that night fishing on the pier was usually a very cold experience this time of year so she planned accordingly.

Instead of simply waving to Marcia to let her know she was leaving, she went out and chatted with her for a few minutes. She didn't want Marcia to freeze her butt off on the pier.

Mac left her house wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, covered by a thick sweatshirt and sweatpants. She had a thick wool blanket stuck under her right arm and was holding a lawn chair in the other. She also had a tackle box, (complete with a Thermos of coffee), and fishing rod. She was good to go!

As she approached the pier she took in deep breaths of salt air. She never tired of saltwater fishing and never tired of the pier. It was a favorite to thousands of fishermen over the years. It was always well maintained and extended nearly a hundred feet further into the ocean than any surrounding pier.

When Mac reached the top of the stairs leading to the pier, she saw Doc Belcher leaning back on a bench in front of the Cuda Shack. He was smoking his pipe, one very similar to her father's and staring at a puddle on the pavement leading to the pier. He was wearing thick, warm clothing and his questionably lucky fishing hat.

"Evening, Doc."

"Good evening, Mac. I already have a pound of squid for us to use for bait, so I'm ready whenever you are."

"I'm ready!" she said as she felt her stomach rumbling. The puzzle took too much of her time and left no time to eat anything.

They looked at each other and started in silent agreement to end of the pier.

Doc Belcher wasn't in the greatest shape but he wasn't in bad shape either. He enjoyed reading and had read many hundreds of books. He also liked wood working and built a small workshop behind his house.

He never made it to spas and gyms because he never saw the necessity. He knew where his body stood medically and determined they would be better off without him.

They were happy to finally reach the end of the pier and wasted no time in setting up their lawn chairs. It was a long walk and they were both more than ready to sit down.

Doc Belcher and Mac leaned back in their chairs and cast their look over the ocean. The water splashing against the staunch wooden piles supporting the pier was very rhythmic and relaxing. No one on the pier was playing any form of music or carrying on in a belligerent manner. Talking was kept to a minimum and in a normal tone of voice.

Fishermen are a unique lot that generally adheres to the unwritten rules of the sport. They traditionally display a universal respect by preserving the peaceful atmosphere that accompanies fishing.

Doc Belcher leaned over and tapped the cold contents of his pipe bowl into the water below. He filled it with fresh tobacco and lit it. He crossed his legs and sat quietly as he puffed like the little steam engine that could.

Mac stood, rested her elbows on the guard rail of the pier and looked skyward. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could record the smells associated with a memory in the same manner you can record sights and sounds?"

The doctor nodded and looked upward in the opposite direction of Mac.

Mac shifted her attention to the reflected moonlight bobbling on the waves. "Doc, do you believe in the supernatural?"

"What aspect of the supernatural?"

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

The doctor rose and walked to his spinning rod and tackle box. He fed out some line and attached a one ounce, lead sinker.

Mac turned and faced the doctor. She leaned back against the guard rail and watched him prepare his fishing gear.

The doctor set his pipe down and pried the plastic lid from the tub of frozen bait. He removed a small squid and laid it on the pier. Then he took his boning knife out and sliced the squid into small narrow strips. He took a strip that was about as wide as a piece of cooked bacon, put it on a steel hook and cast his line about forty feet away from the pier. He sat back down in his chair, retrieved his pipe and looked at Mac. He took a couple of quick puffs and said, "We live in a world of constant discovery and wonder. Until recently, most scientists believed boiling water would kill most all living organisms on earth. Not too long ago, some undersea explorers stumbled upon thermal vents along a line of submerged volcanoes. Those vents were spewing toxic chemicals from the earth's core and heating the surrounding water to more than four times the boiling point of water. Yet life was flourishing all around them. There were crabs maneuvering vigorously through plants and organisms, in eight-hundred degree water. It was a startling find."

"That's amazing! Can you imagine catching one of them? You'd have to super heat it to cook it or just eat it raw. I wonder what they would taste like?"

"No idea but my guess is that they would taste awful," said Doc Belcher as he took his lighter and fired up his pipe again.

"I read that less than five percent of the ocean has ever been explored. Imagine what else they might find some day," said Mac.

Doc Belcher nodded and said, "They also found something else in the ocean that is astonishing. When they examined fifty grains of sand under an electron microscope, they found fossils on forty of them. Further examination of different types of sand from around the world yielded the same results. A microscopic animal attaches itself to sand and the sand serves as its taxi when it is moved around by ocean currents."

"Unbelievable! A fossil on a grain of sand. I wonder what it ate while it was alive? Whatever it was, it had to be incredibly small. Wouldn't that be wild if they found an even smaller fossil on top of the fossil?"

The doctor smiled and said, "Yes, but I certainly wouldn't be a bit surprised."

Mac looked at the doctor. He was getting on in years and should have retired some time ago. She could remember when his cheeks weren't so withdrawn and his eyes didn't require glasses. In all the time she knew him, he was genuinely kind but somewhat detached emotionally from people. It was probably an occupational necessity.

The only time Mac saw the doctor outside of his office, was on the pier when she went fishing. Doc Belcher reminded her of her father in many ways. The only major difference was her father's sensitivity. Her father shared his inner most thoughts and dreams with his family. He was also very empathetic and keenly aware of other's feelings. The only emotion he restricted was anger. He believed that anger only tore things apart. No matter how good an emotional repairman you are, there is always a scar left from the wound.

The doctor cleared his throat and said, "I was watching television a couple of nights ago and saw a science special. Scientists have discovered a new chain of molecules that can remember their shape."

"How do they remember their shape?" asked Mac.

"I don't recall the exact specifics but once they are molded into a particular form, they remember that form forever. Any alteration is reversed automatically by the chain of molecules. Of course, you can break them down chemically and rearrange them into a new form but that's the only way to alter them."

"Can you imagine if they built cars using those molecules? It would put the car repair people out of business. If you get into an accident, you could just sit back and wait until your car bends back into shape. Wouldn't that be great?"

"It's a little more complicated than that. You have to heat the materials to have them bend back. It might be good for the car owner but think of the people you'd be putting out of work. You wouldn't need as many insurance adjusters, body shops or new car dealers. You could just keep reusing the same car over and over. There could be some wonderful medical applications though. If someone broke a bone, they could have a rod made from those molecules inserted into it and it would never break again."

The doctor reeled his line in and checked the bait. It still looked good, so he cast in the same spot as the previous cast and said, "Relaying those discoveries to you is my way of answering your question, Mac. There are so many unknowns. So many things yet to be discovered. How many times through the years of mankind have we said something can't possibly happen or can't possibly be, yet new things are constantly happening all around us."

The doctor paused, took a few more puffs on his pipe and continued, "I neither believe nor disbelieve in ghosts. I'm still waiting for the test results to come back before I make a diagnosis."

Mac smiled. "When I was a kid, I used to watch all kinds of wild birds flying in the sky during the day but I never saw one asleep at night. I know they go somewhere at night and sleep, I just don't know where. There's a correlation to what we're talking about. We know they're out there sleeping and just can't see them. Maybe the same is true about ghosts."

The doctor was reaching for some bottled water, when his fishing rod bowed in half and was nearly jerked from his hand. He leaped from his chair, let some slack out to take the tension off and slowly started reeling it back in. Just when he thought he had everything under control, his fishing rod slapped hard against the rail and bent in half again. Once again, he let out some slack and tried to reel it back in. This time, however, whatever was on his hook decided enough was enough and headed for the open sea. Doc Belcher felt tremendous tension against the line and couldn't get the reel to turn. He straddled the rod between his legs and leaned backward. He put all of his weight against the rod and pulled back at the same time. He thought about cutting the line but deep inside he knew there was a chance to land his catch if it ever got tired of running.

The stress to the line finally proved to be too great and it snapped, sending the doctor flying backward over another fisherman's ice chest.

Mac rushed to the doctor's aid and offered a hand to help him up. At his age, broken bones from a fall, no matter how minor, are always a distinct possibility. "Are you okay?" she asked nervously.

"Damn it! That was the best hit I've had in years. I'm disappointed I wasn't able to land it." He stood next to Mac and brushed himself off. "My pride took a big hit. Other than that, I'm fine."

He looked casually around the pier to see how many other fishermen witnessed his acrobatics. Then he and Mac walked back to the scene of the short lived battle and gazed in the direction they assumed the fish was headed.

The doctor smiled and said, "It reminds me of a girl I dated while going to medical school. She came in, hit hard, took what I had to offer and left in a flurry!"

Mac chuckled slightly and said, "Well, it's still out there. Judging by the way it hit your bait, I'm guessing it's still hungry. Let's fix your gear and have another go at him."

"Maybe in a minute, Mac. I think I'll sit here awhile and savor the memory of the fight."

"All right, Doc. I'll give it a try then."

Mac prepared everything and cast her line in the same general area that the doctor had. When the sinker hit the water, an object in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She turned her head slightly and spotted the silhouette of a sailboat coming into view. The moonlight provided a slight image but no real detail.

"He's out kind of late," stated Mac.

"Yes he is," confirmed Doc Belcher.

"How come you never bought a boat, Doc?"

"Boats involve too much mental and physical labor. When I take the stethoscope off, I like to disengage my brain and body. I'm at the point in my life where I do all my sailing in a recliner," he replied.

As the boat sailed across the horizon, it edged slightly closer to the pier. It was illuminated much better and Mac was able to discern more detail.

"That yacht is so familiar." said Mac.

Her fishing rod began to knock intermittently against the rail. "Guess it's my turn. I don't think it's your fish though. It's too light of a hit."

Mac landed the fish quickly and easily. She swung her rod over the guard rail and let her fish drop to the deck. The doctor and Mac both looked at the fish and burst into laughter.

The owner of the ice chest that the doctor tried to compact, strolled over to investigate. When he saw that the fish was about as big as Mac's hand, he said, "What are you going to do with it?"

"Have it mounted first thing tomorrow!" she laughed.

The fisherman looked at her in disbelief and said, "You're going to do what?"

"Actually, I'm sending it home before anyone else can bear witness!!"

"Ya' mind if I use it as a bait fish?"

Mac removed the hook from the fish's mouth and said, "Here, knock yourself out."

"Thanks," he said as he took the fish and returned to his spot.

Mac baited her hook and made another fine cast. The doctor had fallen silent and sat staring motionlessly out at the sea.

She watched him for awhile and noticed that time between puffs on his pipe were growing longer and longer.

A wind started blowing across the pier, driving spikes of cold air through her clothing. She shivered and wrapped her blanket around her upper body. The doctor adjusted his position in the chair and wrapped himself as well.

She raised her hands to blow some warm breath into them and smiled. Even though she was shivering, she still loved being there.

Mac located the yacht and watched as it slipped further east and into the darkness of night and distance. She wasn't certain but it looked as if there was a figure on the stern waving in her direction. She squinted, but it didn't help. It was too dark and far away to tell.

Mac heard a soft clanking sound behind her so she glanced back at the doctor. His head was bent over as far as possible and his pipe had fallen to the deck.

"Oh shit!!" she murmured as she reached over and checked his pulse. "Be there," she said as she put her thumb to his wrist.

The doctor mumbled a bunch of incoherent words and leaned to his side. "Whew!" she exclaimed as she sighed deeply. He hadn't reached his rendezvous with the other side yet. "I'll take sleep over death any day!"

Mac arranged his blanket and let him rest. She made several more mediocre catches and sent them all back to school. Some were too small and others just weren't good eating.

The night air was becoming more aggressive and searching out victims to torment. She acknowledged the cold and decided to leave. She packed up all their gear and dumped the remaining bait into the ocean. Then she shook the doctor's arm tenderly and whispered, "Hey, Doc. It's time to go home."

The startled doctor jumped slightly and struggled to get his bearings. He rubbed his eyes and fought to keep them open.

"How are feeling, Doc?"

Doc Belcher stretched his arms and said, "Sorry, Mac. I didn't intend to doze off and leave you alone."

Mac opened her Thermos, looked at the doctor and said, "One for the road?"

"Sounds great," replied the doctor as he checked his Timex. He was still wearing the same windup watch that Emily gave him nearly twenty years ago.

"Did you have any luck while I was asleep?"

"I caught one as long as my arm that had to weigh at least 30 pounds. It took two of us to haul it up."

"Really?" exclaimed the doctor with sincere excitement.

"No, but I've always wanted to say that. Maybe some day I'll get a record catch and end up on Shingo's Hall of Fame. In all the years I've been fishing, I never caught a trophy fish."

"Nor have I," said the doctor as he took a rag and wiped out his empty cup.

"I really enjoyed our time together tonight. We'll have to come out again before I leave."

"Absolutely," he replied.

They packed up their things and walked to the beginning of the pier. Mac and the doctor embraced in a friendly hug and went their separate ways.

When Mac got home, she turned off the bathroom camera, took her shower and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her initial fear, denial and confusion was yielding to acceptance and longing. She was accepting the supernatural visitations as something real and no longer questioned her sanity. The visits had been brief and friendly and she needed more friendly things in her life.

She picked up her sterling silver hairbrush and began stroking her hair. The brush was a present from her mother on her tenth birthday. It had the name "Mack" engraved on the handle.

When her mother bought it she took the brush and matching silver mirror to an engraver. She was very specific on the engraving instructions but for some reason the engraver misspelled Mac. He realized his error and engraved the back of the mirror correctly. There was no way to buff the error out because the plating was too thin. He apologized for the mistake and offered to buy a new one. Unfortunately, the store that she bought it from was out of that particular style. Her mother gave the set to Mac and promised to buy another one as soon as the store got them back in but Mac was happy with that one and kept it.

She set the brush next to the sink and said, "I miss you, Dad. It's okay if you want to come and see me. I'm not afraid. I miss our chats. If you're lonely and want to talk awhile, I'll be here."

Mac finished in the bathroom and went to her bedroom to see if she could track down her silver mirror. She checked each drawer and saw nothing of interest until she opened the third drawer and saw the silver handle.

The mirror was sitting next to a small music box. It had a stained glass top, encased by a maple colored wood. Inside was a tiny carousel that was meticulously crafted and painted with subdued shades of pink and blue. It reminded Mac of the carousel she and her father rode on at their local shopping mall.

Mac's father gave the box to her on her twelfth Christmas. That was the Christmas that they decided to spend with relatives in Chicago. It was a cold Christmas with tons of white, glistening snow and ice. It was also the first time Mac ever skated. Her cousins took her to a local outdoor ice skating rink and rented some skates. Mac had a great time, even though she spent more time being sprawled out on the ice than standing upright on it. Afterward they went to a warming house on the edge of the rink, had some hot chocolate and engaged in idle chitchat with other skaters.

There were some last minute presents to gather so after the skating adventure, they all went to a shopping mall. Night had fallen and dozens of houses along the way had their Christmas decorations lit up. The red, green, yellow and blue lights looked spectacular against the snowy background.

When they got to the mall, Mac went into a small shop and was instantly drawn to a small music box with a carousel inside. She lifted the lid gingerly and listened as it played "Carousel in the Park". Her admiration of the box didn't go unnoticed, although her father made every attempt to make it look as if it did.

On that Christmas morning, Mac was thrilled to the core when she realized what it was. She played it so often that some were beginning to hate the tune and look for ways to disarm her.

Mac removed the music box and wound it up. Then she placed it atop her dresser and opened the lid. She sat on the edge of her bed, holding a picture of her parents and harmonized with the box until it stopped playing.

She closed the lid, put her bed shirt on and crawled under her covers. She rolled to her side, looked in the doorway and said, "Remember, I'm okay with things now. Goodnight."

A silhouette appeared in the doorway. This time the outline was sharper and more defined than ever before. A voice coming from the silhouette said, "Sweet dreams, Mac."

Mac pulled her covers up to her neck, fluffed her pillow and smiled. She didn't turn to see the image. She didn't need to anymore.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ATLANTA - PART II

When Robert left Chad's house, he waited several hours and returned to place a homing device on the underbody of Chad's car. He also picked the door lock and placed a tiny microphone inside the upholstery. Then he removed the dashboard air vent and positioned a tiny, wide angle camera. He repositioned everything and went home.

The following morning he waited several blocks from Chad's house and monitored his surveillance gear. As soon as he heard Chad's engine start and picked up motion on the car, he drove to Chad's house.

He arrived there driving a van disguised as a delivery truck. He put several boxes on a dolly, wheeled them to the front door and positioned them in front of the door lock. With the boxes hiding him from public view, he started to work on the lock.

Once inside, he located the house alarm system and temporarily disabled it. He carted all of the boxes in and opened the top one. Robert took out a black briefcase, set it on the floor and removed several remote bugging devices. Twenty minutes later, the job was done and Chad wouldn't be able to fart without Robert hearing it.

Robert packed everything back up and left the house, (with exception of the listening devices), in exactly the same manner in which he found it.

He returned to his vehicle and tried to determine Chad's location. Unfortunately, it looked like he had gone to work. Robert had hoped to get there before Chad so he could bug the store as well.

Robert decided to drive a distance half way between the mall and Chad's house and wait.

He was surprised to see the vehicle leaving just minutes after it arrived there. "The rat is on the move. Maybe he's looking for cheese," said Robert as he started his truck and moved in Chad's direction.

Robert caught up with the signal and spotted Chad's car as it passed him. Robert turned into a business parking lot, turned around and sped back out. He was only six cars behind Chad.

He dropped back a couple of more cars and followed Chad to an indoor movie theatre. It was featuring a child's matinee. Chad parked, went to the window and bought a ticket. Minutes later, he emerged from the theatre carrying a huge tub of popcorn. He walked briskly to his car, looked around and got inside. He sat there momentarily, opened his car door again and dropped the popcorn tub to the pavement. Then he drove off slowly and cautiously, like an elderly person on a Sunday drive.

Robert waited for Chad to get out of sight and then walked to the discarded popcorn container. The tub was large enough to hold a gallon of milk, yet there were only a couple of handfuls of popcorn on the pavement.

He picked the tub up, looked inside and said, "What else did you have inside beside popcorn?"

He threw the tub back down and returned to his truck. His cell phone started ringing as he turned the ignition key.

"Hello," he said.

"Hey, Bob, it's Jack."

"Mr. Maxwell. How are you doing this wonderful, bright and shiny day?"

"I have some feedback on badge 4512. Your hunch was right. It's an active badge and it belongs to Sergeant Harold Bosley. I showed him the pic you e-mailed me. The scar was the clincher. It belongs to a clever loser named Curtis Blanchard. He was busted a couple of times by Bosley. He nailed him once for armed robbery. He got him again a year or so later for possession with intent to sell. The second charge didn't stick so he was cut loose. That had him under surveillance because they suspected he was the trigger in a brutal double murder. Bosley got him again on a different charge, just when he was about to make a big score of some kind. Blanchard got three-to-five in the same prison with our Nuxhall guy. We've got a pretty mean team going if they're really working together."

"Thanks, Jack."

"Do you have anything else we can use to get these guys?" asked Jack.

"I've got some pins lined up. All I have to do is wait for Chad to knock them down," said Robert.

"We don't have enough to go to the judge with. I'll send you some help in a couple of days. All of the guys will be tied up on other stuff until then."

"Thanks again, Jack. I'll take any help I can get."

"Gotta go, Bob. Keep me posted if anything new turns up."

"You got it."

Robert saw that Chad was headed back to the mall. "Let's go see what our boy is up to," he said as he drove off.

When Robert got to the mall, he looked at the video he had recorded from Chad's car. He was hoping he would be able to see what was in the popcorn tub. It showed Chad brushing some popcorn out of the way and removing a medium sized, brown paper bag. He set it on the front passenger seat without opening it. Then it showed Chad picking it up and taking it with him as he got out of the car.

Did he take it to his store or did he meet someone in the parking lot? Maybe he gave it to someone in another store. Robert could only guess at this stage. He decided to go back into Chad's store and press some of Chad's buttons.

When he walked in, Chad was nowhere around. A young girl walked up to him and asked if she could help him with anything.

"Is your store manager in?"

"He stepped out for few minutes, is there something I can help you with?"

Robert produced his credentials and said, "I'm a private investigator and I need to see him on some personal business."

The girl became nervous and fidgety. Robert looked around the store and decided to roll the dice. He sized the girl up and watched as she clasped her hands together and fiddled with her fingers. He assumed she was hiding something and inexperienced enough to play into a bluff "Maybe you can help me. Your manager is involved in some serious issues strictly forbidden by the laws of this state. If you're involved in any way, or withhold information pertinent to this investigation, you will be charged equally under the law. If, however, you cooperate and assist me, you will be given favorable consideration."

The girl bit her lower lip and looked into the general mall area. She turned back to Robert and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. You know it and I know it."

"Look, mister, if I knew anything and told you, my life wouldn't be worth squat. Chad has a mean side and very bad temper. He really scares me."

"Why are you still working here then?"

"I'm good at what I do. Chad can leave the store at any time and I can handle any situation that comes up. I generate a lot of sales and ultimately make him look good."

She bit her lower lip again and glanced into the mall. "One night, after the store closed and he was doing the closing paperwork, I told him I was going to quit. He glared at me and said I wasn't allowed to quit. So, I told him again. I said I was serious. I wanted to leave and work somewhere else. He grabbed one of my breasts and said he would cut both of them off and send them to my parents in a gift box. He said he wasn't sure if he'd cut my ears off next or stick an ice pick in my eyes. He said he'd have to see what mood he was in at the time."

"Why didn't you go to the police?"

"And tell them what? If I told them what I just told you, my parents would be getting a gift box in the mail and I wouldn't be standing here talking to you."

"Is there anything at all you can tell me without incriminating yourself?"

"No. I have to go now. Chad will be back any minute," said the young girl as she walked away.

Robert walked the store for a few minutes and waited for Chad. The girl kept as much distance between him and her as possible.

He was looking at some clearance merchandise when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Robert turned around and saw Chad standing there, smiling.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Nuxhall," said Robert.

"Veronica tells me you've been harassing her and that you refuse to leave."

"She never mentioned leaving to me," he replied.

"Well, Mr. Munford, you're a private investigator so you should be familiar with the law. I'm asking you to leave my store, which is private property, and never return." Chad turned to the girl and waved for her to come over. She walked to Chad and stood to his side. She bit her lower lip and looked at Robert.

"Veronica, I've already asked Mr. Munford to leave my store. I'm going to ask him again, this time with you as a witness. Mr. Munford, leave my store immediately. Being a knowledgeable man, you realize that as long as you continue to stand there, you're guilty of criminal trespass. As such, I can have you arrested and thrown in jail. You have until I count three to leave. Then it's a 911 ticket out of here for you. Do I make myself clear enough for you?"

"Crystal clear," said Robert as he patted Chad on the shoulder.

"That's assault, Mr. Munford. Just another charge for you to explain."

"See you later, Mr. Nuxhall," said Robert as he walked out of the store.

"See me later? Hmmm. Maybe. You better be ready for me if I do see you later."

Chad suspected Robert was putting a full press on so he called a friend and asked if he could borrow his car. Once that was arranged, he called another friend and asked him to check his car out.

"Hey ya' Curtis. It's Chad. That private jackass I was telling you about is turning into a real nuisance. Come get my car and check it out. I'm guessing he probably has it bugged. Let's teach him a lesson. We'll talk later about the how, why, when and where."

"Consider it done," said Curtis as he hung up the phone and went to get Chad's car.

Curtis took the car to a garage frequented by local criminals. It was used to change vehicle identification numbers and make necessary alterations to stolen cars.

One of the mechanics "swept" it with an electronic detection device and quickly found all of Robert's plants.

Curtis phoned Chad with the results. "Hey, man, it's Curtis. The car was loaded all right. Wanna' do County Road 5?"

"Good idea. What time?" asked Chad.

"How about tonight around ten o'clock?"

"See ya' then," replied Chad.

Robert was listening to the conversation but wasn't quite sure what they were talking about. They may have been talking about dumping the car or maybe they were talking about some kind of meeting. Either way, he would be ready.

He exchanged his truck for a car and got a map of the area. County Road 5 was a long stretch of rural highway that joined two rural counties. It had very few stop signs and was lined on both sides with hundreds of pine trees.

Robert drove to the highway and traveled a few miles of it to size it up. It gave him a bad feeling but he had to play the hand out.

Chad left his house at twenty minutes until ten and headed in the general direction of the county road. Robert was close behind. He no longer had electronic tracking devices on the car so he had to maintain visual contact. Surveillance on a road with no streetlights and little other traffic would make his car stand out like a boil on a model's face.

They had been driving north on the road for about ten minutes when a new set of headlights appeared in Robert's rearview mirror. At first he thought it was a good thing. He would slow down and let the car behind him pass, thus putting another car between his and Chad's to help hide the surveillance. But when Robert slowed so did the car behind his. Maybe the person behind me is just a very cautious driver.

Chad stopped at one of the few stop signs and just sat there. Robert was at least forty car lengths behind and Chad didn't move. Robert noticed that the car in his mirror was closing the gap and had moved to maybe one or two car lengths behind him. Chad still hadn't moved.

Robert slowed down and so did the car in the rear. There were only two or three car lengths left and Robert would be playing tag with Chad's bumper. He took a look in the mirror and said, "I'm in a vice!"

He turned the steering wheel sharply to the right, drove a couple of feet and then sharply to left and held it until he completed a U-turn. He looked in his mirror as he drove away and saw both cars sitting at the stop sign. The cars remained stationary the entire time he was driving away, confirming several things in his mind. The immediate concern was being in a vice so he could neither drive ahead or in reverse. He would be trapped between the two vehicles and be at the mercy of the drivers. Another thing he confirmed was that these guys were playing for keeps. He decided that the prudent thing to do would be to back off somewhat and wait for Jack's cavalry to arrive and help him out.

Chad got out of his car when he saw that Robert had driven out of sight. Curtis followed suit and met Chad at his trunk.

"We've got to stop this shit before it gets worse," said Chad.

Curtis lit a cigarette and nodded.

"Get rid of the bitch and we get rid of this asshole. He'll keep dogging us as long as he's getting a check. If we keep buttin' heads, he'll end up bringing in the cops and then we're screwed."

"Stop the money and we stop him. You know how to get to the bitch's house, right?"

"Yep," replied Curtis without looking at Chad.

"Then leave tonight, track her down and make it slow and painful. Make the bitch regret the day she was born."

Curtis smiled and said, "Now we're getting to the really fun stuff."

"You have to leave tonight though. Don't forget, we have big business at the end of the week so it has to be done quickly. Don't contact me in any way until you're done and see me face-to-face in the mall. I'll keep a low profile and establish a rock solid alibi."

"It'll take me thirty minutes to get home, thirty minutes to pack and two or three hours to ice the bitch when I get there," said Curtis as he flicked his cigarette to the pavement.

"I'm just sorry I couldn't be there to share in the fun. Once we're sure the private dick is out of the picture, we're going to have to take care of Veronica. She's becoming a liability. I know she said something to Munford and she's going to have to pay for it."

"Will you let me do her before you mess up her body?" asked Curtis.

Chad nodded. "You can do her before and after. I don't give a shit."

Curtis smiled and said, "Now I'm motivated to get back in a real hurry."

The two smiled at one another and returned to their cars. They both drove off. Chad headed for home and Curtis was going to Florida.

When Robert returned to the office he set up a conference call with Donna and Marcia. He briefed them on the incidents of the night and suggested they upgrade the Florida surveillance to a 24-hour-watch.

"I have a feeling we stumbled into something much bigger than we imagined. These guys are serious and I'm guessing they're looking to end our interference...one way or another," said Robert in a solemn voice.

"I think we're all pretty much in agreement," said Donna. "I'll get authorization from Mac to extend the surveillance. You're pretty sure Curtis Blanchard is our man?"

"Chad seems to be the type of guy with a very limited inner circle. I doubt he would trust more than one guy. And I'm certain the guy coming to meet him in the mall was Blanchard." stated Robert.

"Has Jack e-mailed you a picture of the guy yet?" asked Donna.

"Not yet but I should have it by morning. I'll call you the moment I get it and send it to you."

"Have you been able to identify anyone else that may be associated with Chad?" asked Marcia.

"There's a girl named Veronica that works in his store that seems to have some knowledge of what's going on but fear has her vocal cords paralyzed."

"With this guy, the fear is probably justified. We'll have to see if there's a way to extract her from the situation safely," said Marcia.

"I'll work on a plan with Jack. Well, anything else?" asked Robert.

"Nothing here," replied Marcia.

"Nothing here," replied Donna.

They passed along their goodnights and hung up. Meanwhile, Curtis Blanchard was highballing down Interstate 95 and headed for Florida.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHANGES

Mac awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and liberated. She felt released from the pressure of the job and didn't think of her position as being the core of her existence anymore. She didn't know why she felt that way but was happy she did.

Instead of rushing to get dressed and throwing on anything that was handy, she made deliberate clothing choices and selected comfortable, loose fitting apparel.

Instead of gobbling her coffee and toast down and racing to check voice mail, she took her time and savored the tastes. She even took extra time to scramble some large brown eggs and ate them slowly.

After breakfast, she went to her mother's wooden porch swing with a cup of coffee and soaked in the morning view. The swing chains were rusting and creaked every time she moved it. The wooden slats were weather beaten and desperately needed some sanding and fresh paint.

The morning wind was tossing her hair around but it didn't seem to bother two seagulls circling in the sunrise. Mac smiled and said, "You guys wait just a minute and I'll be right back with a bonus."

She went to her refrigerator and removed a pound of bacon from the crisper. She got a steak knife and sliced the bacon strips in half. Then she went back outside and walked to the beach. She peeled a couple of strips off of the cardboard backing and said, "These are for you," and she tossed them to the gull on her left. "And these are for you," and tossed them to the gull on her right. She repeated the process until all of the bacon was gone. The gulls only missed catching a couple of strips. When she was done, she returned to the swing and the gulls landed on her beach to collect all the morsels they missed.

Mac used her legs to push herself back and forth with a slow cadence. She held her coffee cup in both hands and enjoyed the gulls' activities as she did.

When the cup was empty, she went back inside, got a refill and her notebook. She sat at her kitchen table, picked up her cell phone and concluded it was finally time to check voice mail and get it out of the way.

She had her cell phone and was prepared to enter the dark and sometimes menacing voice mail cave. In the past, it was always a nerve racking venture because she never knew exactly what to expect.

After entering her password, she was delighted to have a mere twenty messages to respond to. One Manager called to let Mac know she would be late opening her store Wednesday morning because someone stole her car from her driveway.

Another manager wanted to know if the company would buy funeral flowers for the stepmother of her former boyfriend.

Then Mac got to the last message. It was from her boss, Danny Fisher. He said he would be arriving tomorrow morning and wanted Mac to meet him at the airport. He provided the flight and arrival information but said nothing else.

"That can't be good," said Mac. She thought for a few minutes and drew upon years of experience. Her only conclusion was that she was about to be fired. Based on the content and tone of the call, it was the only possible answer. There wasn't any point in calling Danny to confirm her suspicions. If it was good news, he would have passed it along in the voice mail. All she could do was wait.

Mac sat at the table and contemplated the impact of her impending termination. The reason for termination wouldn't be important, how she reacted to it would be.

The cell phone chimed while she was in mid-thought. "Hello."

"Hey, Mac, it's Donna. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Pretty good, how about yourself?"

"Not too bad. Marcia and I just finished eating at the diner and we're about to catch a couple of hours sleep."

"How's the food there?" asked Mac.

"It's cooked well, the service is good and the prices are right."

"I'm sure there's more to this call than a cuisine report."

"First of all, I'd like you to know that this conversation is being recorded. Do you have any objections, Mac?"

"Of course not."

Donna stated the time, date, city, etc., and had Mac confirm her identity. Then she proceeded. "New information has surfaced as a result of our ongoing Atlanta investigation. Upon review of that information, we feel it's necessary to reevaluate our surveillance schedule. As such, we need your authorization to extend our surveillance monitoring to a twenty-four hour watch. Marcia and I will maintain alternating shifts, each being four hours long. We would like to begin our new schedule at noon today and continue it until resolution of the case. Do we have your okay to begin the new schedule?"

Why is it when you wake up and feel great, something has to always come along and screw it up? thought Mac as she saw more dollars being sucked out of her retirement account.

"You have my permission to expand your surveillance to a twenty-four hour schedule."

Donna turned off the tape recorder and said, "Don't worry, Mac. It will all turn out okay."

"Thanks, Donna. Do you need anything else from me?"

"Not right now, Mac. Marcia will be there at noon. Have a good day."

"You too," replied Mac as she hung up.

The familiar cha-ching. Once again, the dollars went sailing out the window like in a cartoon she saw as a child.

Mac checked her day planner and noted the rest of the day was free from any obligations so she decided to clean the attic. It wasn't really an attic in the strictest sense of the word. The space above the house was a mere four feet tall and only stretched for about one-third of the house and every square inch was used.

Mac's mother and father hated to throw anything away. Consequently any old item they no longer used ended up in the attic, regardless of the condition. Her dad had a box with old screws, nuts and bolts. He mainly focused on tools and mechanical parts. Her mother focused on anything. She had at least five old lampshades that she bought on sale and never used once.

Neither of them could pass up a bargain, whether they had a need for it or not. They would always say they were purchasing something as a future gift for someone, etc., and buy it. Then they would store it away, forget about it and buy something completely different when the significant event came up.

One time her father stopped at a yard sale and bought a tool but he had no idea what it was or what it was used for. He bought it because it looked "neat".

When Mac had to clean their Indiana house out after her parents died, it took three people almost six weeks to sort everything out. The majority went to local charities and the rest to cousins and other relatives.

Mac went to the hall closet and dragged out a six-foot, wooden ladder and propped it open under the attic entrance. She was on the third step and her head started pounding again. Undaunted by the pain, she forged ahead with her cleaning project. She shifted boxes around so she would have a place to sit. She felt that if she could just sit for awhile, the throbbing wouldn't be so intense. She was wrong. The pounding only got pro-gressively worse.

She lifted a couple of boxes and struggled back down the stairs. She let the boxes drop in the hallway and walked slowly to the kitchen, rubbing her forehead all the way. Her back was aching and her legs felt like she just ran the mile in world record time.

She rummaged through the cabinets until she found the new bottle of generic headache pills and took three of them. Mac sat on a kitchen chair with her head in her hands and waited for them to take effect. She waited ten minutes, then fifteen minutes and by thirty minutes, they still had no effect on the pain. She took three more and after another fifteen minutes, they finally had taken the edge off. She still had a tremendous pounding but it wasn't as debilitating.

After an hour, the headache was still in control so she took another two pills and retreated to the couch. The headache was at least ten times more painful than the ones she was getting in Atlanta. When she got them there, stress was her culprit, at least that's what she attributed them to.

A fellow district manager, Amy Jo Tanner, used to get severe migraine headaches. She had to take prescription medication and sit in a pitch black room for hours before they would go away. Mac hoped she wasn't in line for that future.

Mac napped for a couple of hours and the headache disappeared. She needed something stronger. Taking all of those pills couldn't be good for her kidneys or stomach. She definitely needed something stronger.

She went to her cell phone, scrolled down to Doc Belcher and called his office.

"Hello, this is Mackenzie Mason. I'm a patient of Doctor Belcher's and I was wondering if there was any way he could prescribe some medication for headaches without me coming in."

"Hold on a minute, Ms. Mason, while I check with the doctor."

The typical elevator music replaced the receptionist's voice for what seemed like an eternity. The music stopped and a husky female voice said, "Ms. Mason?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Doctor Belcher has an opening at two-thirty today. He'd like you to come in again before he prescribes anything."

Mac sighed and said, "All right. I'll be there. Thank you."

She returned to her attic adventure and felt sufficiently good enough to resume the box exodus. Mac opened each box and checked the contents before bringing them down and stacked them according to classification.

She finished about half of the attic and decided to take a break and grab some lunch.

Mac made a sandwich with sliced ham, plenty of sliced tomatoes, pickles, lettuce and mayonnaise. She had a glass of fresh ice tea to wash it down. When she was done, her brain begged for more but her stomach screamed for mercy.

After lunch she hauled six medium sized cardboard boxes of books out to her rental car so she could drop them off at the library. Kelli Vance, the librarian, was always excited to receive any contribution.

Kelli wasn't your typical image of a librarian. She was an incredibly beautiful woman in her fifties with two grown daughters. One of her daughters was in her third year of medical school and the other daughter was a pilot in the United States Navy.

When Kelli was in high school and college, she won numerous beauty and talent pageants. After college, she married a real estate broker, became an accomplished scuba diver and authored a cookbook. Kelli's husband was incredibly successful and she never needed to work to earn supplemental income. Staying at home all the time quickly got old and boring. She needed to find something to occupy her time without interfering with her family schedule.

Mac loaded the last box of books in her car and walked over to the surveillance van.

She tapped on the side door and when Marcia opened it she said, "Hi, Marcia. I'm going to drop these books off at the library and then go see Doctor Belcher. Are you planning on following me?"

"That won't be necessary, Mac. I've already installed a global tracking device on your car and I have a two-way voice activated microphone for you to wear. We're issuing the microphone and tracking your car as a precaution. If you have an attacker, nine times out of ten they won't bother you unless they already know where you're going. It's too easy for them to lose you and too easy to be seen by witnesses. That's why most attacks occur in and around your home or business. They learn your patterns and then pick the time and place which is best for them. We feel that if there is to be an assault on you, it will occur in or around your cottage or the Cuda Shack. An assailant could easily set-up an ambush and lay in waiting because he knows you will eventually go to both places."

"Makes sense," said Mac. She looked in the back of the van and saw an impressive array of electronic equipment. Marcia was sitting on a little, fold down chair that was attached to a wall of the van. There was a small table in front of her with a closed crossword puzzle book and pencil in between some pages to mark her spot.

"I guess you can get pretty bored sitting out here all day. It seems like a great way to catch up on your reading."

"We never read while we're on surveillance. We'll work crossword puzzles because they help pass the time and don't demand constant focus like a book does."

"How did you happen to get into the business, Marcia?"

"When I graduated from high school, I wasn't ready to go to college yet because I wasn't sure what career path I wanted to take. I decided to experiment with different jobs and see which one I felt most comfortable with and most happy with. I held a couple of part-time jobs while I was a senior in high school but working at the mall just wasn't appealing to me. I felt too restricted." Marcia removed a headset from around her neck and stepped from the van.

"I moved out of my parent's house, rented an apartment and took a night course on real estate, while I worked full-time at a pet store. I love animals, so I thought how ideal. I can work with animals and get paid too. Without a college degree, however, I found my promotions within the company would be extremely limited and I certainly didn't want to live on the pay I was making for the rest of my life. I finished the real estate course, got my realtor's license and tried selling real estate at night. I'd been showing houses for four months and only had one sale. Then one night, I was showing a vacant house to a guy and he tried to rape and rob me. He had a bogus driver's license and had been hitting realtor's all along the eastern seaboard. He used female realtors as his own personal ATM and sex machine." Marcia looked angrily out over the ocean as she remembered that night.

"When we went into the bathroom, I let him enter while I stood in the hall. He had a cell phone in his pocket and said it was vibrating and that he had to take the call. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled the cell phone out. When he did, his car keys came out with it and fell to the floor. When I bent down to pick them up, he grabbed my hair, yanked me into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. He started punching on me and trying to pull my clothes off. He had my slacks and underwear down to my ankles and was trying to cut them off with a hunting knife, when the police intervened. He had punched me so hard and so many times, I only vaguely knew what was going on."

"You were damn lucky. How did the police happen by?"

"The house had a silent alarm that I forgot to disable. The police normally don't respond too quickly when an ordinary alarm goes off because there are so many accidental reasons why it can happen. If they responded to all the false alarms, they'd never be anywhere else. I was lucky enough to be in a house with a motion detector that was being sold by a well connected city official."

"I think I'd give up selling real estate after that myself," said Mac.

"I didn't give up selling real estate. I still have my license and show houses from time to time for extra retirement income. After the attack, I took several self-defense courses and got a permit to carry a weapon. One of the courses was being taught by the man I married. He was a private detective who taught self-defense classes in between cases. We dated for almost two years while I took courses in Police Science. Then we decided it was time to have the state officially recognize our love for each other so we finally got married. That was twelve years ago. We joined with Breson shortly after our honeymoon and have been with them ever since."

"Do you guys have any children?"

"We both love children but have no desire to have any of our own at this point. We love our work too much and our work often keeps us away from home for extended periods of time. It wouldn't be fair to the children."

"Are you married to Robert?" asked Mac.

Marcia smiled and said, "No. I just work with Robert. My husband is working on a child abduction case. A high priced Atlanta attorney divorced his wife because she was into the party scene on a daily basis and had gotten strung-out on drugs. He got custody of their four year-old son and she was prohibited from seeing him. One night after the divorce, she sneaked into the attorney's house, stabbed him nine times and fled with the boy."

"He was stabbed nine times and lived?" said Mac in a shocked voice.

Marcia smiled and nearly laughed. "It's really not funny but she stabbed him in the feet and lower legs while he was sleeping. She thought the boy was sleeping with his dad and didn't want to get blood on the boy but he was down the hall in his own room. When she discovered the husband was alone, she ran down the hall screaming the boy's name. She found him and snatched him. My husband is tracking the wife down now."

"She stabbed the boy's father but didn't want to get blood on the boy? How about the mental side effects from the boy watching his mother stab his father? Good grief!!"

Marcia nodded and finally let out a little chuckle.

"I'll bet you guys get involved in some pretty interesting cases."

"Sometimes. Your case is interesting but it also has the potential of being very dangerous. The variety and test of my skills keeps me sharp and constantly interested in my profession. Occasionally we get a real challenging case with little information and ultimately crack it. All of my cases, though, are rewarding to me. We have to be constantly learning new techniques and new equipment. It keeps me sharp and interested in things. One of the fringe benefits is being able to see more of life and enjoy it more."

"You mean because of the travel?"

"The travel is definitely educational but being a trained observer, I notice more things on a daily basis than the average person. When I'm driving, I have a tendency to look at everything I pass. Most drivers get tunnel vision and barely focus on where they're going. As a result, they miss a lot of things."

"When I'm driving, I'm always thinking about what I have to do next or what I didn't get done."

"Well, I guess I better get going. Can I get you anything while I'm out and about?"

"No thanks. Let's test the microphone before you go," said Marcia as she went back inside the van.

"Go ahead, Mac. Say something in a normal voice and then say something in a whisper."

They successfully completed the equipment check and Mac walked up the hill behind the cottage to a patch of pavement where you could easily park three cars. They never had a garage, just a place to park your car.

She stuck her arm out of the open driver window and waved to Marcia when she drove up the hill leading to the access road. As she was driving away she looked in her rearview mirror and saw a little girl going into the front door of her cottage. Mac slammed on the brakes and threw the car in reverse. She drove in reverse all the way back down the hill with the skill of a professional stunt driver. She wasn't even aware she could do it.

She left the engine running, the car door open and bolted to her house. "Marcia!" she shouted. "Marcia...did you see her?"

Marcia heard Mac through the headset and scrambled out of the van. She drew her pistol and followed Mac into the house.

"What do you have, Mac?" said Marcia as she scanned the interior of the house.

"Didn't you see her?" asked Mac in an excited, panting voice.

"I didn't see anyone, Mac. Describe what you saw."

"It was the little girl dressed in yellow. When I first saw her, she was wearing a short sleeve, yellow t-shirt and matching yellow shorts. She was wearing the same outfit again as she entered my house. She gave me the paint set, remember?"

"I recall you telling me about her. There's no one here now. Let's check out the rest of the house."

The two searched but found no one. Mac went back to the open front door and said, "There she is!" said Mac as she pointed to the tall pampas grass. Marcia looked where Mac was pointing and saw no one.

Mac ran to the grass with Marcia close behind. "She went in here and she was carrying the same black book bag with yellow daisies on it."

They beat their way through the grass, going in and out several times. They found nothing. The only visible tracks around were those made by Mac and Marcia.

"I don't understand. How can she walk through the sand and not leave tracks? How can she walk through this grass without breaking any of the shafts?"

"Sorry, Mac. I didn't see anything that could leave any tracks."

"Let's check the cameras again."

"Okay, Mac."

Marcia rewound the exterior surveillance tape to the spot where Mac jumped from her car. There was a hairline distortion in the tape where the little girl was supposed to be but no child's body.

Then she switched to the interior tape and rewound it to the spot where they entered the house. Once again, there was a hairline distortion in front of the coffee table but no little girl. Marcia was about to stop the tape when she noticed something. "What the..."

She rewound the tape to the hairline distortion and stopped it. "I'll be damned. Look at that!!" she said as she rewound the tape.

Before she pressed the play button she said, "Mac, I want you to look very closely at this tape."

Marcia played the tape and said, "Look at the coffee table." The hairline distortion appeared by the table and then disappeared. ""Did you see that?" asked Marcia.

"The paint set vanished. It left when the hairline distortion left."

The two looked at each other in disbelief and ran into the house. Sure enough, the paint set was gone. Mac's eyes drifted over to the jigsaw puzzle. "Oh my, God!" she exclaimed as she crouched down in front of it. She leaned forward on her knees and ran her right hand over the surface of the puzzle. "Oh my, God!"

"What?" asked Marcia.

"The man and the yacht are gone!" said Mac.

"Gone? When we reviewed the tape the other day, we saw you painting the puzzle."

"I mixed the paints to match the color of the yacht to repair it. I didn't paint over it."

"You were exhausted, Mac. It's possible you painted over it accidentally."

"No. I know I didn't paint over it. I took great care in combining the colors to match the boat, not the surrounding beach. Look at the track left in the sand where the yacht was."

Marcia bent over and looked. She also noticed footprints in the sand leading to the boat. She pointed to the puzzle and said, "Isn't that where the man was sitting?"

"Yes!" Mac exclaimed. "See what I mean? It looks like the man stood, walked to the boat leaving those tracks and sailed it away."

"I have to admit, Mac. It's the strangest thing I've ever seen."

"You believe me now don't you?"

"I believe what I see and what I see is certainly questionable at this point."

Mac thought back and recalled a yacht passing her on the pier. It was out on the ocean right after she repaired the one in the puzzle. Was it possible the two were the same? She remembered saying something about it to Doc Belcher. He confirmed that he saw it. I wonder if he really saw it? she thought. Even if he did, it was just a yacht. It could have been anyone's yacht. It was the ocean after all and the ocean is full of boats. It didn't necessarily have to be a ghost yacht. So many questions. Always questions.

"What's going on here, Marcia?"

"If I knew the answer to that question, I'd more than likely have a different occupation."

Mac stared at the puzzle and thought about taking it apart but she was also curious where it was all going. It was like reading a book that was intriguing and scary. The scary parts make you have bad dreams so you think about putting it down. The intriguing aspect spurs your curiosity so you also want to find out how it ends. Isn't real life like that as well?

"Damn, I left my engine running. I'd better be going but I have to tell you, Marcia, this is really spooky."

"Agreed," said Marcia with some hidden reservation. She was a professional, trained to look past the slight of hand and see the secret of the trick. She encountered many people who tried to trick her over the years. All of those people had a motive with something to gain. What was Mac's motive if she was indeed attempting to deceive?

The tape did show Mac painting the puzzle but it never showed how much of it she painted. It was possible that Mac painted over the boat. Then again, what about the missing paint box? How could she explain that away? Marcia unknowingly took the doctor's approach to the unknown and reserved judgment until the test results returned.

Mac turned to the doorway and walked outside with Marcia close behind. She looked at the door as she closed it slowly. She could still see the puzzle clearly in her mind.

"Remember the microphone, Mac. It is voice activated and we will hear everything you say and every normal voice within four feet of you."

"Okay," said Mac distantly as she walked the slight incline to her car. When her body resumed a position behind the steering wheel, her mind was still focused on the little girl and the puzzle. She replayed the scene of the girl entering and then leaving the cottage, over and over again. She drove on autopilot and before long, found herself at the library.

She walked inside and was impressed with how well the interior was decorated. The walls were painted with semi gloss white and were adorned with numerous brightly colored paintings. There were several varieties of potted plants throughout the general reading area, adding many different shades of green. It was very brightly lit but didn't feel sanitary like a hospital. She was surprised to see a detection device standing by the exit. It didn't fit with the welcoming atmosphere.

She walked to a beige counter that stood approximately four feet tall and had two computers sitting on top. There was one at either end of the counter with a telephone in between. Mac smiled and shook her head slightly. Everywhere she went, there were computers. They were in stores, gas stations, cars and even bedrooms. Too bad she never bought stock in any of the computer companies when they first started.

A woman came from behind Mac and sat on a beige, rolling stool behind the counter. She looked at Mac and said, "Hello. How may I help you today?"

Mac looked at the woman and thought it was Kelli Vance but wasn't certain. The last time she saw her, Kelli had brown hair, brown eyes and wore subdued shades of makeup. The woman that greeted Mac had red hair, hazel eyes and bright red lipstick. Not the image of Kelli she remembered and not the typical image one conjures up when thinking of a librarian.

Mac looked at the desk easel on the counter with Kelli's name and title and asked, "Are you Kelli Vance?"

"Yes, I am," she responded. "How may I help you?"

It was amazing how hair dye, contact lenses and makeup can so totally alter a person's appearance, thought Mac.

"I'm Mackenzie Mason. You may not remember me but my parents were staunch supporters of the library."

"You're Shingo's friend, right?"

"Yes, he's a very good friend of mine."

"Shingo is probably the only regular visitor I have. So many people use the internet for research now. He's in here all the time."

"Yes, I know. He told me he loves to read the dictionary because it's a wonderfully condensed source of knowledge."

"What brings you to the library today?" asked Kelli.

"I'm here on vacation for a couple of weeks and was cleaning out my parent's attic. I came across several boxes of books that I thought you may want. Most of them are collected works of known authors but there are a few science and biology books in there as well."

"I'd love to look through them. Whatever I can't use here will be donated to either the local schools or one of the county family shelters."

"Great, I'll go get them," said Mac as she turned toward the door.

"You already have them? I'll give you a hand," said Kelli.

They lugged all of the boxes inside and stacked them behind Kelli's stool. "Give me a minute and I'll write you a donation receipt."

Kelli removed a form from a file drawer and began filling in the blanks. "It's M-A-C-K-E-N-Z-I-E?" asked Kelli as she printed the name on the form.

"Yes," replied Mac.

Kelli laid her pen atop the form and said, "It just hit me. You go by the nickname, Mac, don't you?"

Mac nodded.

"Are you the 'Mac' in the painting?" asked Kelli.

"What painting?" asked Mac in a curious voice.

Kelli rose from her stool and walked to a wall on the north side of the library. She reached over the back of a plush couch and unhooked an oil painting of a girl.

Mac walked over to look at it.

Kelli handed the painting to Mac and pointed to the title inked in at the bottom of the painting. The painting was simply entitled, "Mac".

It was a very accurate and incredibly detailed oil painting of Mac when she was thirteen. She was wearing a white t-shirt and red shorts. It was the same outfit she wore on the afternoon she and Billy said goodbye for the last time.

The artist captured the sadness in her eyes and used different, dark colors in the surrounding landscape to reflect the sullen mood of the afternoon. He painted the grass a flat dark green and made the sky overcast with dark gray clouds. The sand was painted a flat dark brown and the ocean to her left was dark blue. He had transformed an enclave of warmth and beauty into a cold, desolate chunk of beach.

Mac glanced down and looked to see if the artist signed it. The name, Billy Mullins, was autographed in silver in the lower right corner.

She was moved to the point of tears. A tear rolled down each cheek as she recalled the day they said goodbye. She remembered being in the throws of passion with a boy that had never been equaled. Billy was a sensitive, caring and deep feeling boy that may have moved to a corner but never left her heart. He was her first love and most likely the only male other than her father and Shingo that she ever really loved.

"Billy was quite an accomplished artist. All of the paintings on the north wall were painted by him and donated to the library," stated Kelli. The city didn't want to put any new money into us so he pitched in. He had an exhibit here one weekend to help draw attention to our budget crisis. The money he raised selling his paintings was given to us. The ones he didn't sell are there on the wall."

Mac continued to stare at the painting and said, "My painting must not have been too popular if it didn't sell."

"Strange thing about that painting. It wasn't at the exhibit and it wasn't in the group that we hung up after the exhibit. It was just there one day. It's received quite a bit of attention. Nearly everyone who comes in here admires it. Even young children eventually wander to that painting and just stare at it. You can't help but feel the emotion flowing from it. "

"I never knew he could paint. He never told me," said Mac.

"That's the first time it's been off the wall in all the years it's been hanging there."

"I'm impressed with his talent. It's so captivating. It's hard to look away from it," said Mac softly.

"Many people say the same thing. There's another odd thing about that one. It's the only painting we never have to dust. Our cleaning company has never had to dust that painting. They figure it's the painting's location. They think the air conditioning vent is positioned so that it continually blows the dust from it."

Mac watched as her first tear dropped from her cheek and landed on the canvas. Shortly thereafter, the second tear fell and landed a few inches from the first. Each tear was sucked into the painting, yet the surface was still dry. Mac looked at Kelli and said, "I don't believe it's the air conditioning."

"Whatever the case, it never needs dusting." Kelli surveyed the library and said, "Feel free to look at the painting as long as you wish. I have some other matters to attend to. If you need anything, give me a whisper!" said Kelli with smile.

Mac did an about-face and sank into the marshmallow like couch. The cushions were at least eight inches thick and had a very festive floral design. She wasn't sure if she kept staring at the painting because she liked it or because she was supposed to. She had a weird feeling that it was trying to tell her something.

Mac drifted back to her last summer with Billy. What a glorious time in her life. She spent nearly every day during that summer vacation with Billy. They held hands everywhere they went and sneaked kisses at every opportunity. Most of the kisses in public were very quick and consisted of simple pecks on the cheek or slight brushing of the lips. However, the nights on the beach with only the stars watching them were different. They would roll in the sand and kiss with boiling passion. Billy would slowly fondle Mac's developing breasts with great tenderness and then caress the rest of her chest with a very gentle touch. There were a couple of times she found herself wanting to get completely naked and go all the way but always stopped short. Both of them understood the consequences of casual sex and neither was ready to be a parent. They both displayed remarkable restraint and common sense for people so young.

The first week of that summer, she and Billy went bowling. They bowled nearly twelve games that day and went bowling several times during the course of the summer. She wasn't a good bowler and neither was Billy but he always ended up beating her. There were several times she was sure he messed up intentionally just to keep the scores close. He never boasted about any of his victories and often looked the other way after Mac screwed up a shot. She remembered the time she rolled five consecutive gutter balls. They both had a good laugh over it but he never teased her about it later. It would have been okay with her if he did. Just about anything Billy did was okay with her.

They spent a lot of time sunning themselves on the beach but very little time in the water because of Billy's concerns about it.

There was only one incident, in all of the summers they spent together, that could be considered an ink stain on a clean sheet. It too happened during their last summer together.

Billy and Mac stopped at a local food store to get a cold drink on a horribly hot day. They were walking from the refrigerated section with their drinks when Billy saw two boys shoving some candy bars into their fanny packs.

One of the boys turned to Billy and said, "What are you looking at, asshole?"

Billy stopped about two feet from the one that made the comment and looked him in the eyes. The boy was a good six inches taller and outweighed Billy by twenty-five or thirty pounds.

Mac tugged at Billy's hand and said, "Come on, Billy. Let's just go!"

Billy obliged her and walked away quietly. When they got to the counter, Billy told the manager what the two boys had done. The boys suspected that Billy would do something so when they saw him talking to the manager and the manager looking at them, they tore out of the store.

The manager chased after them for a short distance and gave up. He returned to the store and called the police.

Mac and Billy paid for their drinks and left with some trepidation. Mac looked at him outside the store and said, "I knew you couldn't leave without saying something but sometimes I sure wish you could just look the other way."

"What happens if I look the other way and see the same thing?"

Mac took Billy's hand and they started walking home. They traveled less than a block and were met by the two boys. The smaller of the two started taunting Mac while the bigger one pushed Billy around. Billy tolerated the abuse for about thirty seconds and lunged at the bigger boy with the first punch.

They were all involved in the fisticuffs at one point or another. Mac did her best but kept getting pushed away. At least they didn't punch her like they did Billy. The fight finally ended when Billy got knocked down one too many times and didn't get up again.

Billy got his licks in but he definitely got the worst end of the deal. Both of his lips were split, his nose was bleeding; he had a cut above his right eye and several small cuts on his jaw.

"Oh, my God! Are you okay, Billy?"

Billy sat slowly and said, "I love you more than anything, Mac, but do I look okay to you??"

Mac looked down at the ground and started crying. "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't mean it. I'll be fine." Billy licked the blood from his lip and said, "I know I said I was thirsty but I would have preferred something cold to drink!"

Mac threw her arms around him and held him tightly. She regained her composure and said, "Let's go down to the shore. The saltwater will help stop the bleeding and clean the wounds out."

"Okay," he replied as Mac helped him to his feet.

As they were walking to the water, Mac said, "I'm proud of the way you defended your honor but was it worth it?"

Billy nodded. "I did what I had to do at the store and with those two jerks. My grandfather used to tell me that if I say nothing and do nothing when I know I should, I'll end up being nothing." Billy felt his nose with his fingertips, smiled and said, "Maybe being nothing isn't so bad!"

Mac smiled, put her arm around Billy's waist and said, "I love you, Billy Mullins!"

Whenever extra money came their way, either from doing extra chores or simple gifts from the parents, they would go to the amusement park down the highway. If they couldn't talk their parents into a ride, they could always count on Shingo. His business was flourishing but he always found the time to break away and provide free chauffeur service.

One weekend, they went to the amusement park and after going on a variety of rides, they decided to try to win assorted prizes at some of the booths. Billy watched everyone play the games before he tried. He wanted to see what worked and what didn't work. There was one game where you tossed a coin and tried to have it land on a saucer. He saw one person after another fail. Each time they pitched their coin, it slid right off the saucer. He finally stepped up, put a little spit on his thumbnail and rubbed a dime in the spit. He took aim at a saucer close to the edge of the table and flicked his thumb. The dime hit the saucer, bounced and landed on a saucer behind it. The owner of the booth handed him a red plastic bracelet that couldn't have cost as much as his dime investment. Billy looked at the guy, pointed to a large, brown teddy bear and said, "What do I have to do to win that?"

The man pointed to a saucer on top of three boxes and said, "Land a coin on that one."

Billy smiled, presented the bracelet in cupped hands to Mac and said, "For my queen. A solid ruby bracelet, cut from a single giant stone. Such are the spoils of battle."

He winked at Mac and said, "Your turn."

Mac put some spit on her thumbnail, lathered a dime with it and flicked her thumb. The dime flew over the top saucer and landed on a man's head on the other side of the booth. She tried two more times and finally won another red bracelet.

"For you, Sir Knight. An equal reward for gallantry."

The two wandered around the park for several hours. They rode all the rides and ate like they hadn't been fed in days. They always had a great time when they were together, regardless of what they were doing.

When they decided to leave, they called Shingo and waited for him to break away from the Shack. They embraced most of the time they waited. Mac loved the feeling when she rested her head on Billy's shoulder. They would occasionally pull away from each other just enough to exchange a gentle kiss on the lips.

Shingo arrived at the designated rendezvous, picked them up and smiled as he looked in his rearview mirror and watched them cuddle.

When that summer ended, Billy wrote lengthy, weekly letters to Mac. They chronicled the daily events of his week and proclaimed his undying love for her.

Mac began to feel lightheaded and tore her attention from the painting to the general reading area of the library. It was filling with swirling dull white and gray clouds. The white floor tiles were fading and being replaced with wooden boards. The overhead fluorescent lights retracted to somewhere in the ceiling and were replaced with spotlights and rotating mirrored ball. The walls changed color from white to a dull blue and began moving outward. All of the bookshelves sank slowly into the wooden floor boards and were replaced by couples dancing. Weak background music became louder and the painting in Mac's hands disappeared. She found herself standing amidst the swirling clouds and people.

The environment looked familiar but she couldn't quite remember where she saw it. Then it hit her. It was the gymnasium of the local community center. They used to have a weekly summer dance there until it burned down. The cause of the fire was never determined and the insurance money was used elsewhere so it was never rebuilt.

She looked into the crowd of couples and spotted her mother and father dancing cheek to cheek. She smiled when she recalled how they loved to dance. When they were at home, they never missed dance night sponsored by a war veteran's group.

Then she noticed a young couple dancing. They looked to be teenagers. Their dancing moved them closer to Mac. The girl turned her face and looked in Mac's direction. Mac's jaw dropped when she realized it was actually her as a teenager and the boy holding her close was Billy. They moved to a position directly in front of Mac and moved their bodies together but weren't actually dancing. Neither could dance very well. It was more like a rocking from side to side than dancing.

Mac was close enough to the couple to listen in on their conversation. She heard Billy whispering in her ear. "I could look at you all day, Mac. I love the way your hair feels when I run my fingers through it. I love the feeling of your skin against mine whenever we touch. I love looking into your eyes and feeling the warmth surging from your heart. I guess I just love everything about you, Mac and I will for all of eternity."

Mac remembered that night. In fact, she dreamed of that night for years afterward. It was the summer farewell dance sponsored by the local businesses. It was always held the week before the majority of the summer vacationers left. The local businesses sponsored it as a way of saying thank you for their patronage.

Mac and Billy danced toward her parents and faded away. Then the rest of the couples faded and were replaced with the bookshelves. The entire process reversed itself until the library was back to normal.

She looked at Kelli pounding away at her computer keyboard and then at the painting she was holding once again.

She turned slowly, returned the painting to its position on the wall and headed for the exit. She waved goodbye to Kelli and went to her car.

She slid the keys in the ignition and leaned back against her car seat. She rubbed her temples with both hands and tried to figure out what she just experienced. It had to be a hallucination, otherwise Kelli would have said something about it. Whatever it was, the experience left her feeling warm inside. She was feeling exactly the way she did the night of the dance.

Kelli came running from the library, waving a piece of paper. Mac smiled when she remembered the receipt for the books. She rolled her window down and waited.

"I almost forgot to give this to you. Thanks again for the donation," said Kelli as she handed the receipt to Mac through the open window.

"No problem. If I find anymore I'm willing to part with, I'll let you know."

Kelli nodded and returned to the library.

Mac started the car and began humming the tune the band played the night of the farewell dance. She didn't know the name of it and couldn't remember a single word but the melody echoed in her head all the way to Doctor Belcher's office. It was the first time she had thought of the tune in years.

Mac checked in at the receptionist desk, sat down and picked out a magazine to read. None of them were very interesting so she selected the least boring one. Patient after patient went in. Most of them seemed to be elderly. She assumed many had been coming to him since they were her age.

Doctor Belcher graduated from medical school more than 30 years ago and completed his internship and residency in the Army. After completing a tour of duty in Vietnam, he returned to civilian life and started his practice in a small suite located in an old shopping center. That was back in the days when insurance companies still referred to him as doctor and not healthcare provider. The people who came to see him were his patients and not "the insured".

Doctor Belcher donated eight hours a week to indigent people of the community. Not because he felt sorry for them and not because he wanted publicity for being a Good Samaritan. He did it because they needed him. Nothing more. Nothing less.

His last move brought him to the big medical complex he was going to retire in. The same complex Mac was sitting in and trying valiantly to occupy her mind in.

She threw the magazine down and began sorting through the stack for an alternative means to control her boredom, when a nurse called her back to the doctor's examining room.

The nurse took her blood pressure, pulse, temperature and asked her to step on the scale to be weighed. She scribbled the data on a medical form and told Mac that the doctor would be with her in a few minutes.

Mac sat back on the examining table, cringing as she endured the hard sound of the stiff paper draped over it. She looked around the room and made a useless mental inventory of the contents. She fixed her gaze on a glass jar full of tongue depressors and then fiddled with her faux pearl necklace while she waited for Doc Belcher to arrive.

She turned as she heard the door open and smiled when the doctor finally entered the room.

"Hi, Mac," he said as he reflexively offered his hand.

She took it into hers and said, "Hi, Doc. I'm back!"

The doctor glanced at the notes in her folder from the previous visit and said, "What's giving you problems this time?"

"It's like this. I've been paying all this money into my medical insurance and thought you needed some new golf clubs so here I am!"

The doctor forced a weak smile and tried to appreciate the flimsy stab at humor.

Mac leaned forward, clasped her hands and said, "I'm still having the headaches, Doc, and they seem to be progressively worse each time. I'm sleeping more on a daily basis now than I have in the past year or so. I don't think they're from fatigue. I'm under a lot of stress but I'm always under a lot of stress."

Doctor Belcher looked her test results from the other day and said, "Let's get some tissue samples and x-rays. We'll get to the bottom of this before you leave today."

The doctor scrawled something on her chart and said, "A nurse will be by in a minute to give you instructions." He patted Mac on the shoulder softly and left the room.

"Okay, Doc," said Mac with some concern.

Mac occupied her time by twiddling her thumbs and thinking about her meeting with Danny the following day. I'll bet he'll be wearing that olive suit he just bought.

The nurse arrived with a hospital gown and asked Mac to change into it and go down the hall to room three.

Mac changed and spent the next forty-five minutes being radiated, stuck, probed and poked. A nurse met her back at her initial examining room and told her she could change back into her street clothes.

Mac waited patiently and developed a new understanding of the word eternity.

Doctor Belcher returned and looked unexpectedly grim. "We have the x-rays and test results, Mac. I called the radiologist upstairs and asked him to help me evaluate our findings. I'm afraid it's not good. We're in agreement that you have osteitis deformans. It is more commonly referred to as Paget's disease. What this means is that you have a relatively rare bone disease. It's not fatal but over time it can become very crippling. Come with me for a minute. I'd like you to meet Doctor Greg Stallings. He's been a radiologist for over twenty years and has seen everything there is to see."

Mac felt like she was in an airplane at thirty-thousand feet over the ocean and they just announced that it was out of gas...and no parachutes!

"Mackenzie Mason, meet Doctor Greg Stallings."

"Hello, Ms. Mason. I'm sorry we have to meet like this." Doctor Stallings removed an x-ray from a huge brown folder and snapped it into fluorescent fixture mounted to the wall. It was an x-ray of Mac's skull. He took a ball point pen, pointed to a spot and said, "You'll notice that there are patchy areas of thickening here in the frontal bone and here in the parietal. Very little is known about the cause of this disease and it is rarely found in women but it obviously does occur. It may involve all of your long bones or it may limit itself to a localized area. There is no way to know. The effected bones will bow and become deformed. Deafness may occur if the disease involves the ossicles and ear canal."

The doctor paused and looked impassively into Mac's tearing eyes.

Mac wiped at her tears and looked at Doctor Belcher pleadingly. "Is there a cure?"

"There is no known cure, Mac. Treatment with massive doses of calcium have helped somewhat. Other than that, we can prescribe analgesics for any discomfort that may accompany the disease," said Doctor Belcher compassionately.

"We have presented the worst case scenario here, Ms. Mason. The disease is so unpredictable. It may spread no further than these isolated areas. It could also remain dormant for years to come and then begin to spread to new areas of bone," said Doctor Stallings with a hint of hope in his voice.

"But if it gets worse, will my head actually get bigger?" she said trying to maintain her composure.

"It's possible that it will thicken and expand."

"And is also possible I may be totally crippled some day?"

"Yes, that's also possible."

"Was this disease responsible for my headaches?"

"It's highly probable. Headache is a common symptom."

"Mac, I know this is very hard news to hear. There is every possibility that the disease will remain isolated," said Doc Belcher.

"Ms. Mason, medical literature has only documented a handful of severe cases and they were limited to males. There is every reason for a positive approach."

Mac took a few baby steps toward Doctor Belcher and wrapped her arms around him. The three stood quietly for a few minutes, until Mac backed away.

"I'm better," she said with a sniffle. Doc Belcher reached over, plucked a tissue from a stainless steel table and handed it to Mac.

"Thanks for coming down, Greg," said Doc Belcher as he shook Doctor Stallings' hand.

Doctor Stallings shook Mac's hand, smiled sincerely at her and then scurried down the hall to the elevator.

"We'll monitor this very closely, Mac. I'll take care of you. I promise."

"Thanks, Doc. I won't end up looking like the Elephant Man, will I?"

The doctor chuckled and said, "My goodness, no!"

"Too bad. If I lose my job tomorrow, I could have made some extra money in the circus!"

The doctor frowned and said, "Did you ever get the tranquilizer prescription filled?"

"Not yet."

"Do you need some antidepressants to help you through this?"

"I may need them later. Right now I just need some time to absorb everything."

"I understand. I'll write you a prescription anyway and if you need it, you'll have it without having to make another trip here." The doctor looked into Mac's eyes and said, "It's an unpleasant diagnosis, Mac, but it's not hopeless. There is every reason to believe that you'll live a normal, productive and fulfilling life."

"You really think so, Doc, or are you just telling another fish story?"

"Yes, Mac. I really think so."

Doctor Belcher wrote the prescription for the antidepressant and a couple of other ones to cope with any new headaches and other related pains. He made some final notations in her chart and closed it.

"Here are your prescriptions. I suggest you go ahead and have them filled. That way if you need them, you'll have them." He handed her the prescriptions and then handed her a folder containing her chart. "Take as long as you like. Leave whenever you're ready. Give this to the receptionist on your way out."

"Thanks, Doc."

"You know to call me anytime, anyplace and anywhere if you need to talk or a shoulder to cry on."

Mac nodded. One of the things she liked about the doctor was the soothing tonality of his voice. It was always so reassuring and calming. She wondered how she really fit into the doctor's life. Was she truly someone he liked and respected or was she part of his emotional charity work?

She completed the necessary insurance documentation and left for home. Her drive was on autopilot because she was totally preoccupied by the results of her doctor visit. She didn't even remember the drive to the pharmacy. It was like she left the medical complex and all of a sudden she was having her prescriptions filled. I hope I don't turn into an elephant person.

When she arrived at home, thoughts of her illness were exchanged for something entirely new and unexpected. Midway down the hill she saw the little girl in yellow playing fetch with Waldo on the beach. Her initial astonishment quickly yielded to acceptance.

The little girl appeared to be experiencing great joy during her sandy activity. Waldo's motorized tail indicated that he shared the girl's feelings. Mac watched with a smile, until the girl noticed her. Mac waved and the little girl ran off. No sense in chasing after her. She wouldn't find anything. Besides, Mac no longer felt the need to identify her. Depression was flowing in like warm syrup and jamming the gears of happiness.

Mac walked to the surveillance van and knocked on the black side panel door.

Donna slid the door open and said, "Hi, Mac. Did your rental car give you any problems?"

"No problems," she replied flatly.

"It was all they had available in the price range we were looking for. So, how was your afternoon?"

"I've had better days." She unhooked the microphone and handed it to Donna. "I might be going to the Cuda Shack a little later. Should I wear it up there?"

"Anytime you leave the house from now on, we'll want you to wear it. If the threat level becomes elevated, we'll tail you as well." Donna handed the microphone back to Mac and said, "Why don't you keep this with you? If you leave, just remember to clip it back on."

Mac took it back and said, "If I forget to put it on, I'm sure you'll be close behind to remind me!"

"That's our job, Mac."

Mac looked down at the tiny, round button-like eavesdropping device and said somberly, "What if I don't want to wear this anymore? What if I said I don't want the surveillance anymore?"

"Well, Mac, you hired us so we're here at your discretion. Obviously, you can fire us at any time. Quite honestly, I'd be curious as to your motive though."

"I'm not sure it's all worth it anymore."

Donna clasped Mac's empty hand in a comforting manner and said, "I was with you in the doctor's office." Mac followed Donna's eyes to the microphone. "I'd be feeling pretty low right now as well. I also know that there's no magical words I can produce to ease your pain. The hurt will subside in time and you'll come back. Maybe not to where you were, but you're a strong person. You're a fighter. I know in my heart that things will work out for you. I don't know how, I just know they will."

Donna's response to Mac's situation was well-placed and sincere, but ineffective. Mac looked out across the ocean. Donna was right; there were no magical words to be said.

Mac looked back at Donna and said, "Thanks. I'll sleep on the surveillance thing and let you know sometime tomorrow. I think I'll take my pills and rest for awhile. I have to be up bright and early to meet with my boss."

Donna stepped from the van and rendered a caring hug. Mac smiled and went inside, while Donna returned to her equipment inside the van.

Mac doubled clicked on the remote device, shutting the sound and camera off in her bathroom. She riveted her eyes on the reflection of her head and began weeping. She slammed her fists on the countertop and yelled, "This can't be my destiny! It's not fair! What did I do to deserve all this crap?"

Mac turned her back to the mirror and looked at the ceiling. "What did I do to You, God? I followed all of Your stinking rules and where did it get me? My boss is probably going to fire me, some jerk wants me as his lover, you want to disfigure and cripple me and some asshole wants me dead for some dumb-ass reason I don't even know about. I played by Your rules!! You can't allow all this shit to keep happening to me!!" Tears were gushing like mountain springs running downhill after a tropical rainstorm as she dropped to her knees. She clenched her fists and anchored them to the countertop and her face was pressed against a cabinet door beneath the sink. "It's not fair. Someone lied to me about the rules! It's just not fair." Mac continued to weep until the well was dry and she could cry no more. She turned and sat with her back against the cabinet door. She looked skyward and said, "All right, Mr. God. Tell me what I have to do to get You off my back. You name it and I'll do it. Maybe if You spent less time picking on people like me, You'd have more time to go after the real scum of the earth and kick a little of their ass for a change. I'll tell You what...I'll be Your earthly human consultant and make sure You manage Your time here a little better."

Mac brought her legs up and put her head between her knees. Without lifting her head she said, "You know I'm sorry, God." Mac squeezed out a small chuckle. "Of course You know. You're God after all. I'm hurting inside and I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do. Please!"

"I'll tell you what, God. I'll go to church seven days a week and eat more healthy foods. I'll exercise more; drink less coffee and more water. I'll do all of that if you'll give me a break and ease off a little. I don't want much, God. All I ever wanted was a companion and a child or two to share my life with. Is that really asking so much? I never wanted fame or fortune. My needs are actually quite simple. So what do You think? Do we have a deal?"

Mac stood slowly, like a toy with dying batteries. She was drained, frustrated and directionless. Her only desire was to take her medication and sleep.

Mac shuffled down the hall, past the remaining attic boxes and into the kitchen. She nuked some old coffee and opened her tranquilizer bottle. "If one is good, then two are twice as good."

Mac swallowed the pills and looked at the Ferguson place through her kitchen window. The position of the sun indicated it was well before her bedtime but she had no desire to be anyplace else.

She skipped her shower and went back to her bedroom. She picked through a drawer and changed into soft pink, cotton pajamas. She bought them on a whim when she was looking for a new coat. She bent over, set the alarm clock and moved to the edge of the bed. Mac dropped on her bed like a heavy, wet rag falling to the floor. She curled-up into a fetal position and dragged a blue and white comforter over her body.

About fifteen minutes later, the silhouette appeared again. This time it was at the foot of her bed. It stood watchfully and whispered, "Oh, Mac. What happened to the smile on your lips, the joy in your eyes and the love in your heart?"

Mac had already fallen asleep and was unaware of the comment.

CHAPTER NINE

RELOCATION

Mac's alarm clock ordered her out of bed relentlessly for fifteen minutes before she acknowledged it and rolled out to greet the morning sun.

Her theory about two tranquilizers being twice as good may or may not have been accurate. However, one thing was certain. Two pills leave you considerably lethargic the morning after.

It took considerable effort to override the pressing desire to go back to bed but she was finally able to make her way to the bathroom. She stuck her head in the sink and ran cold water through her hair to wake up. Then she wrapped a towel around the wet hair and sauntered to the kitchen.

She started a fresh pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table with her chin in her hands while she waited for it to brew. When it was ready, she poured a cup and dropped two slices of bread in the toaster.

Mac finished her toast and headed back to her bedroom to get ready to meet Danny.

She put on her blue, pin stripe suit with a white blouse, brushed her hair and returned to the kitchen to find her travel mug.

She found the mug, filled it with coffee and left the house. She waved to whoever was in the surveillance van and was halfway up the hill to her rental car when she heard, "Mac. Don't forget the bug!"

The bug? Oh yeah, the microphone, she thought. She turned and saw Marcia walking toward her.

"Thanks, Marcia. I forgot."

"Going to meet the boss today?"

"I was headed for the airport when you stopped me."

Marcia fixed the bug on Mac's lapel, brushed a small strand of white lint off of her shoulder and said, "Good luck."

Mac nodded and continued up the hill. Marcia watched her until she started the car and drove to the access road. Curtis was also watching. He was sitting in some tall grass about a block down the beach and watched Mac and Marcia with a pair of high-powered binoculars.

Mac drove to the airport and went into the main terminal. She checked the flight status board and saw that Danny's flight was on schedule and due to arrive in fifteen minutes.

The uneasiness normally generated by one of his visits was absent. He would call and say he wanted to visit some of her stores and she would panic. But no longer. Even her reflection in a shop window displayed an expressionless face. There just wasn't anything there.

She looked around the terminal and noticed many things that went unnoticed before.

She saw a banner hanging above the crowd, swaying to and fro with the circulating air from the air conditioner. She watched as people passed under it without once looking at it. Somebody probably spent a lot of time making sure the wording was just right and the people who had to hang it, had to make sure it was suspended perfectly. Who knows what trouble they had to go through to get permission to hang it. And what about the cost? For what? No one even looked at it.

She admired the shine of the waxed floor and wondered if the maintenance people took pride in their work or if they just did it to bring home a paycheck.

Mac watched hundreds of people passing by and for the first time she saw people's faces. In the past they were just passing masses of varied shapes, sizes and colors.

She wondered why the policeman was leaning against a counter cleaning his fingernails and not walking among the people.

Mac turned her attention to a mass of passengers rushing into the terminal from a gate that had just deplaned its herd. Midway back in the crowd she saw Danny walking briskly toward her.

Mac made eye contact and watched him walk to meet her. He was dressed in his gray pin stripe suit and was wearing his brown, five hundred dollar New York shoes.

Danny was smiling as he finally reached Mac and said, "Hi, Mac. How's the vacation been?"

"You really don't care, so why are you asking?"

Danny shut the smile off quicker than a light goes out when you hit the switch. He looked to the right and to the left and said, "Is there a place we can sit down and grab a cup of coffee?"

"A cup of coffee? You don't need a ride to a hotel or motel?" she asked.

"I won't be staying long, Mac. I have a return flight that leaves in two hours."

"There's a fast food joint down the hall on our left."

"All right." Danny switched his briefcase to his other hand and turned in the direction indicated by Mac. He always walked at a brisk pace when he was going somewhere, but as soon as got where he was going, he took his time.

They stood in line silently, staring at the menu that neither was going to order from.

Danny and Mac stood side-by-side at the counter when Danny ordered two large coffees. Mac looked over at him and asked, "Dutch treat?"

"No, I've got it," he replied.

They got their coffee and walked to a table large enough to accommodate Danny's briefcase. He mixed his coffee, opened his briefcase and removed a pen from his suit coat.

He took a sip of his coffee and winced when he realized how incredibly hot it was.

Mac finally found a reason to smile. "A thick cloud of rising steam generally dictates caution to the drinker!"

Danny wiped his mouth and produced a white sheet of paper with some text typed on it. He handed it to Mac and said, "Read this and tell me what you think."

Mac held the paper in one hand and read. It was an e-mail addressed to Steve Carter, Vice President of Operations and Danny Fisher, Regional Sales Manager. It said, "Try to use your credit cards, asshole. Just thinking of you, Mac."

"I can assure you, Dan; I had nothing to do with this e-mail."

"Maybe not directly, Mac, but it's because of you that it was generated. It is because of you that neither Steve nor I can use our credit cards. The accounts have been frozen. The FBI has been notified and is hopefully straightening it all out for us. They say that a preliminary check of the records indicates that we've had our accounts hacked by someone who knows the ropes. Steve is so mad I'm surprised you didn't hear him all the way down here."

"I'd be pissed too," said Mac.

"Steve has decided that it would be best for all concerned to put you in a position where you could devote all of your time to clearing up the mess your personal life has become. With that in mind, he has prepared a generous severance package to be effective immediately upon signing. You knew this was coming, didn't you?" Dan handed Mac the several pages of documents and took another sip of coffee.

"I never really had much doubt. I've been in the business too long to miss the danger signs."

Mac started to read them and then stopped. She looked at Danny and said, "Did you ever name your dog?"

There were a couple of summertime burglaries in Dan's neighborhood a few years ago so he went to an animal shelter and picked out a puppy. He brought it home and put it in his backyard. It was about a half-acre of beautifully manicured grass, surrounded by a six-foot wooden fence. There was a small, in-ground swimming pool with a concrete patio and lawn furniture. Mac had been there once for a summer barbeque, but that was before the puppy arrived.

Dan fed and watered the dog on a regular basis but never played with it or bought it any toys. If it rained, the dog had to use the patio table as shelter. When winter came, his wife, Laura, made him buy a plastic, molded igloo for the dog but it had to be placed in the corner where it did minimal damage.

The dog was starved for affection and attention. Anytime guests would arrive for a barbeque or pool party, it would have to be chained in the corner. Otherwise, it would jump all over them, begging to be petted.

Danny viewed the animal in the same manner he viewed his electronic home alarm system and never bothered to give the dog a name.

"Laura calls him Lucky, because he's lucky to have a home," replied Dan coldly.

"Lucky. I wonder," said Mac as she resumed reading.

Mac completed the maze of legal double talk and said, "I thought you said it was a generous severance package. This is our standard deal."

"Exactly. Given events of late, it's generous of us to give you anything."

"Oh well, what you make on the popcorn, you lose on the peanuts. Somehow I don't hear the love in your voice, Dan," said Mac with a smile. Mac extended her open palm and said, "Are you going to let me use your pen or do I need to cut a finger off and sign it in blood?"

Danny frowned, "Knock off the crap, Mac. I supported you all the way, until this credit card crap came up. I was the one who talked Steve into giving you a working vacation to see if you could pull out of the dive. Be professional about this and just sign," he said as he handed her the pen.

"Be professional? What about all the years of dedication and devotion I gave the company? What about all the seventy and eighty hour weeks I put in while other district managers were home watching television or out playing golf with you? I'll sign the severance pack but don't you ever talk to me about professionalism." You can say a lot of things to Mac but one boundary you never cross is her dedication. She was beginning to crawl out from a deep, dark pit of depression. It is a pit we all have. It is full of demons who drink your self-esteem and marksmen who shoot out any light that may cast a ray of hope. It has slimy walls to prohibit you from getting any substantial grip and pulling yourself out.

Danny was definitely lowering the boom but when it hit its mark, it generated a bright spark from Mac, like a hammer glancing off a nail. He was throwing her a rope and didn't even know it.

Danny looked at his Rolex and slid the band around his wrist with his opposite hand.

"Take note that I want my retirement check sent to my Florida address. Once I pay off the private detective agency, which you suggested by the way, and all my outstanding bills, I might have enough left to buy a bag of coffee."

Danny reviewed the paperwork and was satisfied that she had completed the necessary parts. "I need the keys to the company car and I need to know where to pick it up."

Mac opened her purse and pushed some items around until she found them. "Here are the keys. The car is at my complex in Atlanta. Would you like me to give you directions?"

"That won't be necessary. Do you still have the same address listed on the emergency recall sheet?"

"Yes, it hasn't changed in years."

Danny removed another sheet with two credit card numbers. "I am instructing you to destroy the two credit cards listed on this form which were issued in your name. They have already been cancelled so you wouldn't be able to use them anyway. Nonetheless, I need you to sign here indicating you will destroy them immediately. Any attempt on your part to use them after you sign this form will constitute credit card fraud and you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

"Do I get to keep the diamond ring I just bought with one of them?"

"All charges made within the last thirty days will be examined by our auditing department. Any unauthorized expenses will be charged back to you. Your final check for unused sick and personal days will be held until all accounts in your name have been cleared by the auditing department."

"I was kidding, Danny. You know I was. I'm probably the only district manager that hasn't doctored their expense account. How about your expense account? Are you sure it could pass a close examination by auditing?"

Danny thought about what Mac had said. There were a few presents for his wife and a new golf club that had been "creatively maneuvered" as business expenses.

"I will also need your set of keys to the stores."

"They're at my cottage. You've probably already arranged to have the cores changed anyway."

"Of course I have. I still need you to ship them via overnight express to my office."

"What about my plaques?"

"You're what?"

"The plaques you presented to me at the national sales meetings. You gave me one for outstanding cost control, one for superior management performance and another for outstanding sales performance. Remember?"

"What about them?"

"Would you like those back as well? I could ship them overnight with the keys."

"Knock it off, Mac. You may not have a job right now but I do. I'm just doing what I have to do. You've been in my position before. You know it's nothing personal. It's just business."

Mac looked down at the forms and signed all of them very quickly. Mac tossed Danny's pen back to him and reached for her coffee. She took a sip and choked on it as it went down because she was startled by what she saw behind Danny's left shoulder. It was the little girl in yellow. She was just standing there and smiling at Mac.

"Hi there," said Mac warmly as she looked past him.

Danny whipped his head around in both directions and saw several people moving about but none of them seemed at all interested in their activities.

"Having fun with me, Mac?"

The girl darted from where she was standing and swatted at Dan's briefcase. It went flying off the table and landed upside down underneath the table next to them. Mac watched it land and when she turned to look back, the little girl was gone.

Danny also watched as his briefcase became airborne and said, "What the fu--."

"Way to go, kid!" said Mac as Danny bent over and started scooping things back into his briefcase.

"What kid? You saw who did that? Where did he go?"

"What makes you think it was a he?"

"Stop messing with me, Mac. If you saw some kid do this, then that means they're with an adult. We need to find the responsible adult. Actions like that deserve reprimand."

"You're absolutely right. I have a civic responsibility here. It was a little girl dressed in a yellow outfit. She looked to be eight, maybe nine years old. There's an airport cop over there by that ticket counter. Why don't you run over there and see if he can find her and bust her for illegal briefcase manipulation. Maybe he could nail her for hit and run. I'm thinking she ought to get maybe five to ten years for what she did."

"I hear ya', smart-ass. You'd be pissed too if this was your briefcase and you paid what I paid for it." He spotted a tear on a corner and said, "Damn little brat. See what she did?" He nursed the tear like it was a family member that had just been wounded in mortal combat. "Kids are only good for two things."

"And what would those two things be?" asked Mac.

"Nothing and nothing squared." Danny gathered the last of the contents and was about to close the briefcase with he saw a small, gray jewelry box. He picked it up, opened it and snapped it back shut. It was Mac's gold service ring. It had an oval cut ruby in the setting, with her name engraved on the inside of the band.

The company awarded prizes to employees based on a point system. Each employee was awarded points for sales performance, personnel turnover control, loss control, etc.

The way it was structured, it generally took up to five years to earn enough points to be awarded a prize as elegant and expensive as Mac's ring.

Danny opened the expandable file pouch in his briefcase and threw the ring in. He thought he had left it in his office. Either he neglected to remove it or his secretary, Nicole, put it in there thinking he forgot it. In any case, he was more determined than ever to send it back and make sure she didn't get it.

Mac's whole demeanor changed since the girl appeared. She felt uplifted and less depressed. Happy was still around the corner from her but at least she didn't feel as low as she did on the way to the airport.

"What was that? Another gift for your wife?"

"It's none of your damn business," said Danny as his cheeks turned an angry shade of red. "Did you sign everything?"

"Not everything. I wasn't around for the Magna Carta, the Declaration of Independence, the..."

"KNOCK IT OFF, MAC!!" shouted Danny. A few people from surrounding tables looked in their direction briefly and then returned to what they were doing.

He sorted Mac's copies from the mess and slid them to her.

"Why? Are you going to fire me if I don't behave? Oops, I forgot. Been there, done that!"

Danny slammed his briefcase shut and stormed away from Mac without uttering another word.

Mac rested her head on her left palm and watched him march away. She smiled as he groomed his hair while he walked. "And to think, I actually thought I was going to miss you!"

She pushed the papers together and folded them in half. As she did, something slid out and made a light clanking sound on the table. It was her ring. The same ring Danny closed back into the gray box and tried to bury in his briefcase.

Mac picked up the ring, read her name on the inside and admired the ruby. She pushed it onto the ring finger of her right hand. She smiled and said, "Perfect fit!"

Mac turned her attention to the table opposite of hers and saw an elderly gentleman with his hands clasped, just sitting and staring at her. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and dark blue tie. He had the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen. They were such a stark contrast to his light skin and shiny white hair. He wasn't eating or drinking anything and it didn't look like he was waiting for anyone.

Mac took her folded papers, stuffed them in her purse and got ready to leave. As she stood, the gentleman stood also and said, "Go with the bump. It's just a pothole."

Mac froze in her tracks and said, "Excuse me?"

The man smiled slightly, took a few steps away from Mac, then stopped and turned. "Go with the bump. It's just a pothole." He smiled again and merged with a group of people that was passing by.

Mac shook her head and said, "It is just a pothole. I'm good at what I do and I still know some people. This old dog still has a few tricks left in her!" She adjusted the strap on her shoulder purse and decided to leave the airport.

She had just exited the automated glass doors to her car when she saw two policemen helping an indigent man into their police car. He was soliciting people for their change and was loudly expressing his reluctance to leave. She saw that he was missing a leg above the knee and nearly all of his front teeth were either missing or black from rot. His hair was past his shoulders and all knotty. His face and ragged clothes were filthy.

As she watched the man struggling to remain outside of the car, a quote sprang to the forefront of her thoughts. "I cried because I had no shoes, until I saw a man that had no feet." She couldn't recall when or where she heard it but it helped her put recent events in her life into a better perspective. She looked to the sky and said, "Thank You!"

She drove home, parked her car and walked down to the van. She tapped on the van door and said, "Hello in there."

Marcia slid the door open and said, "Well?"

"You already know how it went," said Mac as she tapped the microphone.

"All I know is that you're okay. She knows how it went," said Marcia as she pointed to Donna who was pulling into Mac's parking area.

"Donna followed me!?"

"She listened in and followed you to make sure you were okay; off the clock, I might add."

"I'm not being charged for her time?"

"Not this time. The airport was out of range for the microphone. Donna followed you because you were feeling pretty low when you left. She was afraid you might lose your focus and run into some problems. And the airport parking lot is a good place for a random assault, should your attacker be in the area."

"Wow that was really sweet. I didn't see her once. Damn, anyone could have been following me and I wouldn't have known it!"

Donna joined the group and said, "Have you decided whether you want us to continue surveillance or not?"

"I think I can afford a couple of more days. By the way, thanks, Donna. Marcia told me that you're not charging me for the time," said Mac humbly.

"Every now and then I have a weak moment. Not very often though, so don't get used to it!" she announced hastily. Donna looked at Marcia and stated authoritatively, "I'm going back to the room. See you in a bit." She said goodbye to Mac and left.

"Donna is a damn good person, Mac. She's one of the best in the business. She can be very caring but she can also be very guarded and private."

"I understand."

"You seem much better now. You have a more positive sound in your voice and you don't look so sullen. Are you okay?"

"I'm better. There are a couple of issues I still have to deal with."

"Are you ever going to tell me how it went?" asked Marcia with sincere curiosity.

"It went as I expected it to go. I got fired in near record time. No small talk about how the world is doing, etc. Basically, just hello and goodbye."

"What are you going to do?"

"I was considering my possibilities all the way home. I think I'll go back to Atlanta, pack my things and bring them down here. While I'm there, I'll make a few calls and see if I can connect with any companies located here in Florida. I did some networking while I was gainfully employed and made a few good contacts. One of them may be able to help me find a position in this general area. I really love it here and hate the thought of leaving now that I really don't have to."

"How long do you think you'll be in Atlanta?"

"Probably not more than a day or two. Since I rented a furnished apartment, all I have to pack is my clothes, some knickknacks, a television, a computer and some dishes. I bought the bed and some other odds and ends pieces of furniture but nothing worth hauling back with me. Carrie Wiggins, my apartment manager, will either offer me a fair price for them or sell them for me."

"That's one hell of an apartment complex you live in."

"Yes, it is. I won't miss it though. This is where I belong and if at all possible, this is where I want to stay."

"Will you and Donna follow me back to Atlanta?"

"Sorry, no. We'll have to keep a presence here to preserve the security of your cottage and maintain the integrity of the equipment. We may not have to be 24 hours a day but we will have to keep a close eye on your place. Robert and another investigator will take over while you're there."

"Damn!!"

"Sorry, Mac. I know it will add some dollars to the total but that's the best way to go."

"Well, that's certainly a down side but that's not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about a vehicle. I was allowed to operate my company car for professional and personal use so I sold my old car years ago. Now I have to buy a damn car! When this is all over, I'll be lucky if I have enough money left to buy a cup of coffee!!"

"Like I said, we could cut our coverage here back a little. It could save you hundreds."

"I'll do whatever you think is best. You guys are the experts but I might just skip it when I go to Atlanta. I'll only be there a couple of days and most people think I'm here anyway."

"That may not be wise. If you will recall, your apartment was entered illegally and searched while you were here. You could wait until this all blows over before going back."

"I could but my rent is due in another two weeks and I can't see paying for another month if I won't be there."

"Will your lease get in the way?"

"I doubt it. With my assault in their parking lot and the bogus cop with Karl, my guess is that Carrie will welcome my departure. She likes things neat, clean and organized. IMAGE is everything to her and I'm splashing mud all over theirs."

"I'll talk it over with Donna and see what she suggests."

"Sounds good. I think I'll go inside and finish up some loose ends. Then I'm going to see Shingo for lunch. Would you like me to bring you something from the Shack?"

"No, thanks."

Mac looked at the van interior and said, "Don't have too much fun in there!"

"That's why we have seat belts! Sometimes it's more fun than we can handle so we have to lock ourselves down!!"

Marcia slid the van door shut as Mac walked around the van and went inside the house.

Mac looked around the interior of the cottage and said, "It feels so good to be here. I won't have to make many changes if I'm able to stay. I should be able to swing it. If I don't land something right away, I should still have enough money left to live here for quite awhile. The cottage is paid for. All I have to worry about is utilities and food. I don't see why I'd have any problems finding a position that will pay me enough for those expenses. I don't have to find an executive position and jump back into the stress and chaos. Maybe getting fired was really a good thing after all."

Mac looked at a camera and said, "I'm not losing it, I promise! I talk to myself all the time!"

She thought about going back into the attic and sorting some more things out but decided to rearrange the living room furniture first.

She pushed the couch, rocking chair, two end tables and a worn club chair against the walls. She put her hands on the coffee table and was getting ready to move it into the dining area when something in the jigsaw puzzle caught her eye. She saw the surf coming onto the beach and it appeared to be further inland than before. It was coming up the beach where the boat and man had been. Beyond that was a flat grassy area that led to rows and rows of palm trees. Between two of those palm trees was a small yellow stripe. She studied it for a couple of minutes and tried to make it out but it was too small.

Mac went to the corner cupboard quickly, looked through the bottom cabinet and found her mother's magnifying glass. She returned to the puzzle and studied it once more.

"Well, I'll be damned!" she exclaimed.

It was the little girl in the yellow outfit that had given her the paint set, had played with Waldo and knocked over Danny's briefcase. She was standing between two giant palm trees. She had one hand on the back of a tree and had the other hand in the air, as if she were waving toward the beach.

Mac looked at a camera and said, "Hey, Marcia. You really need to see this!! I'll meet you at the front door."

Mac dashed to the door, unlocked it and opened it. Then she ran back to the puzzle and located the girl again.

Marcia ran into the living room and said, "What'd you find?"

Marcia left in such a hurry, she still had her headset on. The cord from the headset was swaying to and fro like the pendulum in Mac's grandfather clock.

Mac was staring through the magnifier and said, "Here. Take this and focus it on the thin yellow line, right there." Mac handed the magnifying glass to Marcia and pointed exactly where she wanted Marcia to look.

Marcia moved the lens up and down until she had a clear image.

"What do you see?" asked Mac excitedly.

"I see a young girl standing between two palm trees. There's a huge black beetle on the trunk of one of them."

"The girl's wearing a yellow t-shirt and appears to be wearing matching yellow shorts. She has straight blond hair but I can't make out the color of her eyes. It seems she is waving to someone in the general beach area, although I can't see the object of her attention. Judging by her relative height in relationship to her surroundings, I would estimate that the black book bag with some type of yellow design is approximately two feet to her right. I can't make out the yellow design on the bag."

"You see a book bag!?"

Marcia removed a pen from her breast pocket and put the tip of the pen just below the bag. She handed Mac the magnifying glass and said, "Right there."

Mac looked at the book bag and smiled. "They're yellow daisies. That's the young girl I've been telling you about! I didn't imagine her."

Marcia stood and said, "I can see that you didn't imagine her but when you saw her outside, it could have been a manifestation of your imagination. When you worked on the puzzle, you were tired and it's possible you saw her subconsciously. As a form of release or even strong desire, you brought her from your subconscious to your conscious mind and visualized her as if she were real."

"Great hypothesis but you know you don't believe it!"

"I do my very best to base my decisions on fact and concrete evidence, Mac. Sometimes I entertain the impossible as possible but only as a last resort. I still think there are other conclusions to drawn."

"You sound just like Doc Belcher...waiting for the tests to come back."

Marcia smiled, "Like I said before, it's the strangest thing I've seen. Letting something go that you don't understand and moving to something else beats psychotherapy and is a whole lot cheaper!"

Mac took another close look with the magnifying glass and said, "I don't know how, why, when or where but she has definitely been out of that puzzle."

Marcia looked at the puzzle one more time and said, "I'll be in the van if you need me."

"Okay. See you later."

Marcia left as Mac began talking to the puzzle. "How do I get you to come out of there? Is it something I say or do that draws you out?"

Mac thought back to the airport and tried to remember what she was doing and saying when the girl showed up. She remembered that they were talking about her plaques and sending back the keys. She repeated as many key words as she could recall but nothing happened. She rubbed her finger gently over the girl's image and said, "Please come and stay long enough for me to talk to you. Can you hear me?"

Mac waited and waited but the girl didn't budge. I'll use reverse psychology, she thought. "Okay. I guess I'll finish rearranging the house. No sense fooling around with a bunch of pieces of painted cardboard. The whole thing is nothing more than my silly, childish imagination anyway."

Mac moved the couch closer to the fireplace and changed the angle of the club chair slightly but in the end, decided everything was just fine where it was originally.

She went back to the puzzle and saw that there were still no changes.

"Oh well, I suppose I'd better move on to the attic."

Mac dragged out the stepladder and climbed into the attic. It was at least twenty degrees colder than the living room. She went back down, put a light jacket on and returned to her mission.

She opened an old box that had probably been up there for at least ten years. It had a set of glass mixing bowls, an old hand crank egg beater, a pastry cutting wheel and various other kitchen utensils. She chuckled because it was the same exact box her mother bought at a yard sale. The stuff had never made it out of the box. It probably went straight to the attic as soon as her mother came home. She could certainly part company with those items.

She found various other items she had never seen before. There was an old modem that you had to actually stick the telephone handset into. She found a manual typewriter with no ribbon, a turntable with no arm and an eight millimeter movie camera that had crusty battery acid stuck to the handle.

She combined those items into one box and set it next to the attic entrance with the kitchen utensils.

After she moved a big stack of weights, which her father bought in case he ever decided to get back into shape, she determined that she no longer needed the jacket! She was warming up quickly. I think you guys need to go. I have no desire to build my biceps. Maybe I can con Shingo into hauling them down for me.

She was quickly learning that there was probably one of everything in the attic. It was like a mini-museum.

Then she found reason to pause. She had uncovered a box she had forgotten about. It was about the size of her microwave and contained her most favorite toys--her dolls. There were only four of them and she remembered wrapping them in aluminum foil to keep them "fresh" and form a protective barrier from bugs.

She took great care to safeguard her dolls and used towels her mother bought at a yard sale to cushion them.

She selected one of them randomly and peeled back the layers of silver foil to reveal her most cherished doll, Miss Julie. The twelve inch, cloth doll was clad in a pink dress that was hand sewn by Mac's mother. Chunks of the yarn hair had fallen out and made her look sickly. Flecks of color were missing from the painted eyes, enhancing the sickly appearance of the doll. The painted nose had disappeared completely but the doll still had a distinguishable smile.

She brought the doll to her chest and gave it a careful hug. "Poor Miss Julie," said Mac. "If I can fix a boat, I can fix you. I'll get some new yarn, some bright paints and maybe even a new dress. We'll have the joy back in those eyes in no time. What do you think ?"

Mac took the doll downstairs and put it on her dresser. "Rest here until I can fix you."

She spent the next few hours hauling boxes down and piling them on her front porch. She called a local charity, told them where they would be and planned to acknowledge her growing hunger by dining at Shingo's. Before leaving, she checked the puzzle one more time. Still no change. The girl hadn't budged.

Mac left the cottage, walked down to the van and tapped on the door. When it opened she said, "I'm going to do lunch at Shingo's. Would you like anything?"

"No thanks. Donna's coming by any minute for shift change. I appreciate the offer though," replied Marcia.

"I'm not sure when I'll be back but I still have the microphone."

"I'm going to grab a bite and take a nap. I'm not sure when I'll see you again. Be careful. Nobody knows where Curtis is and if he's our man, he's had plenty of time to get here," said Marcia.

"I'll be careful," said Mac as she turned and started walking down the beach toward the Cuda Shack.

About a block in the other direction, Curtis was still hiding in the tall grass, but he wasn't watching with the binoculars. He was sleeping on them.

Shingo was sweeping the floor when Mac entered the Cuda Shack. "Isn't that what you hired Brian for?" asked Mac.

He rested the broom against a table and gave Mac a hug and a smile. "Hey, Mac. How did it go with the boss this morning?"

"He came, he saw, he fired!"

"I'm so sorry. What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure yet. I really want to relocate here. I love it so much, I just can't think of any concrete reasons to ever leave again."

"Wow! That would be wonderful! It would be great to have you back on a permanent basis. Do you really think it's possible?"

"I did a lot of networking while I was employed and I'm thinking I might be able to get something close enough to make it happen. My biggest concern is that I'm unemployed now. That's a real negative factor with some companies. When you're employed and batting like a champion, everybody wants you. But when you get fired while batting like a champion, they assume you were doing something illegal and want no part of you. I'll give it my best shot anyway."

"Brian won't be here forever. You could always come to work for me."

Mac smiled and said, "Thanks, Shingo. You're a sweetheart."

"I'm serious, Mac. The only problem is that I couldn't afford to pay you very much."

"I'll keep it in the back of my mind. I won't totally rule it out."

Mac felt a sharp pain in her head and began rubbing her scalp with both hands.

"Are you okay?" Shingo asked sincerely.

"Yes and no. Do you have anything for a monster headache?"

Shingo thought briefly and said, "I have some prescription pain medication leftover from my trip to the dentist. I don't think I told you but I had a tooth pulled and ended up with a dry socket. It was the worst, nonstop pain I've ever had. It was absolutely horrible. I think I have a couple of pills left in the office. I'll be right back."

Mac sat at a table, lowered her head and continued to massage her scalp.

Shingo emerged from the office hurriedly and quickly poured a glass of water for Mac.

"Here you go, Mac. Try taking just one at first. If that doesn't help, go home and take the second one. If you take two of these, they put you out like that," he said as he snapped his fingers.

Mac swallowed the pill and continued rubbing.

"I'm going to finish sweeping and give the pill a chance to work. Can I get you anything else?"

Mac shook her head and said, "I'll be all right in a couple of minutes."

Shingo picked up the broom and continued where he left off. He got the dustpan, gathered the accumulated mess and dumped it in the backroom trashcan. When he came back out, Mac was returning to normal.

He looked at Mac and said, "Migraine?"

"No. It's a little worse."

Shingo walked to the table and saw the grim look on Mac's face. He pulled a chair out slowly and sat. "A little worse? How much worse?"

"I've been having headaches for several months. I used to think they were collateral damage from the stress and strain of my job. Then they became more frequent and harder to get rid of. I finally went to see Doc Belcher and he ran some tests. I have a bone disease that is relatively uncommon in women. Nonetheless, I have it and it has started in the bones of my skull. The bones are expanding and putting pressure on my brain, thus causing the headaches." Mac paused and rubbed her scalp a little more.

"Will you be okay?" he asked, hoping with all his heart she'd say yes. Shingo presented a strong, tough and sometimes even harsh exterior but he was a real softy on the inside. He never married and never had any children, but if he had, he would have loved to have a daughter like Mac.

He was close to getting married once. He met a woman, Roberta, who had been married and had two young children from a previous marriage.

Roberta left her husband after struggling and failing to help him get his violent temper under control. She drew the line in the relationship when his temper crossed into disciplining the children. She tolerated his yelling and wailing on her for four years but couldn't stand to see it happening to the children, so she left.

They dated for about nine months and Shingo found himself thinking of her just about every waking minute. They had occasional interruptions from the ex-husband but they were minor and never came between Shingo and Roberta.

Roberta was a woman of slight build and in sharp physical contrast with Shingo's stockier frame. He loved spending a quiet night with her on the couch and just snuggling.

They went just about everywhere together and finally moved in together to save money. The money that was being spent on Roberta's apartment went into a savings account for their honeymoon. They had thought about several different exotic places but hadn't selected one in particular.

He had an excellent rapport with her children and they responded well to his direction. He thoroughly enjoyed their company and both he and the children sucked up the love and attention they shared. He spent hundreds of dollars on toys and gadgets for them to play with and made sure they had proper clothing to wear. He was more their father in the few months he knew them, than their biological father was in four years.

Then one night he got a horrible call from Roberta's mother. Roberta had been working the late shift at a warehouse and stayed an extra hour to get a little authorized overtime. She was driving home at three in the morning when a drunk driver went left of center and crashed into her head-on. Roberta was airlifted to the hospital and received emergency surgery for severe head trauma but didn't make it out of the operating room.

Shingo was devastated. His loss was compounded when the children were put in the custody of the grandparents. Roberta's parents lived several hours away and Shingo tried to visit the children for a couple of months but the schedules were too conflicting. Time and distance took their toll and he lost all contact with the kids.

"The doctor isn't sure how advanced the disease will become or what bones it will ultimately involve. Only time will tell."

"Damn, when it rains it pours!" said Shingo.

"I had a crisis over all of it and ended up cussing God out. I was feeling so low about my life and wondering why God decided to leave me out of the good life part."

"I felt the same way when Roberta died and the kids were snatched away from me. Before I met her, my life was empty. Then she entered and it was like someone lighting a candle in a dark room. As suddenly as the light was lit, it was blown out again. I know I can trust you not to repeat this, Mac, but I cried for several days after she left."

The two held hands across the top of the table while looking caringly into each other's eyes.

"Are you better now?" asked Shingo softly.

"I'm better, but not good. It's frustrating to think that there are people out there breaking every law known to God and man without any repercussions. Many lead a much better life than me and never seem to have to pay for any wrongdoings. I could be driving along the highway, doing the speed limit, and throw a toothpick out of my window. With my luck, a police helicopter would just happen to be in the area and come swooping down and cite me for littering."

"I know what you mean," laughed Shingo as he nodded.

"With all the organized religions out there, each having their own deity to worship, which one do you think is right? Maybe we're looking to the wrong source for help."

"People have a habit of either trying to explain things in their life, or come up with some sort of justification to validate it. We can justify anything in our lives. Think about it for a minute. I can say, out of sight, out of mind. Based on that statement, when you leave, all thoughts of you should go with you."

"I agree," she responded.

"How about if I say, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Based on that statement, when you leave, I should be thinking of you all the more and missing you greatly. I should be anxiously awaiting your return."

"That's funny because I agree with that statement also."

"They're both statements based on identical situations, yet they are opposite one another. Which is actually true?"

"Good point, Shingo."

"I used to think about things like which religion is right and why things happen the way they do, Mac, but over the years I've only been able to come to one conclusion that works for me. Good things and bad things that happen in my life aren't a result of my lifestyle. They are things that just happen to keep our life cycle on earth continuous. Let's say a lightning bolt strikes a tree and catches it on fire. The tree burns and dies or maybe the bolt just splits a giant limb from it. The tree wasn't doing anything wrong. It wasn't evicting birds and squirrels and telling them to move on. It was just standing there, being a tree. It had nothing to do with right or wrong but that tree had to die, or part of it had to die to provide new life of some kind. We see the cycle of life in nature and transfer it to our human existence. The problem lies in defining it. People can't just accept the idea that things happen just because they happen. We have to have an explanation. If we can't explain something logically, we make something up that people will believe and accept. People need things to be understandable. Nature doesn't. Do you think a flower's bloom would be as beautiful if it had to worry about how it was going to get water and fresh nutrients to keep it alive?" Shingo looked at Mac questioningly and gave her an opportunity to digest what he was saying and answer.

"It's funny to think of a flower on tranquilizers!"

Shingo smiled and nodded. "I try to live within the laws of man, do my best to respect my neighbor and try to accept things as they are because that is the way they must be. The criminals have their role to play or they wouldn't exist. It's just as necessary to preserve their way of life as it ours, in order for life to progress as it should. I have no idea why things have to change so aggressively but I didn't make the planet or the rules. I just have to live by them. Things are what they have to be."

"I see your point, Shingo. I just wish there didn't have to be so much bad in the world."

"There's no peaceful way for a lion to track down its prey and kill it. They have no chefs to prepare it and no knives to cut the meat cleanly from the bone. All of their prey runs from the lion out of self-preservation, much the same way we run from our predators. We need good and bad to keep balance in the world. Can you imagine how many people would be on this planet right now if we had no wars? I wonder if we don't invite war as a means of keeping the population under control. I'll bet if we found the courage to implement birth control laws, we'd see a drastic decline in war. Subconsciously we know we can always reproduce to keep our species going. It's like going to a casino and betting a couple of hundred dollars. If we lose, it's not that big of a deal because we know we have more money at home in the bank. If you were going to be broke afterward, you might have been more reluctant to gamble it away. I think the same would be true about our species if we limited the number of people to be born. We would no longer have a need subconsciously to thin the herd and we no longer have an unlimited number of young to replace our fighting forces."

"I understand what you're saying, Shingo. I'm not sure I agree with it, but nonetheless, I do understand where you're coming from."

"You mentioned that you felt like God left you out of the good life picture. I don't mean to sound cruel and hurt your feelings, but I think you have been blessed with a wonderful life. You had very loving and caring parents, you never wanted for food, clothing or shelter. You have a great friend...me, and you have a wonderful place to live. Millions in this world have it tremendously worse, yet they seem content and some even seem to be happy."

"I was feeling sorry for myself. I know there have been many good things in my life. I just wanted them to last forever," said Mac.

"We all do, Mac. Life and what happens to you during your visit here on earth is solely up to you and what you want it to be. Your viewpoint and attitudes toward it are unique to you. It probably doesn't help you much but I've never found there to be one special, 'magic' answer to anything."

"Just talking to you helps, Shingo. It makes me feel less alone with my problems."

"I wish I could help more. Is the headache gone?"

"Nearly. There's still a slight throb."

"How about a super deluxe, Shingo Shack special?"

"What in the world is that?"

"No idea, I just made it up!" laughed Shingo.

Mac smiled and said, "If it has anything to do with a hamburger, I'm all for it."

"With sweet tea?"

"Now you're cooking, man."

Shingo patted Mac gently on the shoulder and started for the kitchen when a man entered the Shack.

"Afternoon, Shingo."

"Hey, Larry. How've you been?"

"Busy as hell. I finally made your frame for Billy and Katherine's photo." Larry Sullivan held up a rectangular shaped object wrapped in brown paper.

"Thanks, Larry," said Shingo as he went over and took the photo frame from Larry.

"What's the payment to be this time?"

"Well, I took today off and thought I'd try to get some fishing in. How about if I trade some of my labor for a frozen tub of squid?"

"Coming up," replied Shingo as he went to the kitchen. He went to his regular freezer first and retrieved a couple of hamburger patties and then to his bait freezer. He got Larry's bait and went back to the front.

"If I can throw it, you can catch it!" exclaimed Shingo as he tossed the squid to Larry.

Larry barely raised his hands in time and nearly ended up with frozen squid in his mouth.

"How about a warning shot next time!" quipped Larry.

Shingo smiled and unwrapped Mac's hamburger patties.

"Thanks, Shingo. I'll name my first fish today after you!"

"What a man! Thanks for the frame, Larry."

Larry turned and headed for the door. He looked at Mac like she was familiar to him but said nothing.

Shingo threw the patties on the grill and turned to Mac. "What else has been going on? Any more ghostly visits?"

"I've been experiencing a special relationship with a little girl that only wants to make herself known to me. In our first meeting, she left me a paint set. Then when I painted the boat on the jigsaw puzzle and it disappeared, she came and got her paints back."

"Whoa," said Shingo. "You painted a boat in a jigsaw puzzle and it disappeared? You need to slow down and bring me up to speed."

Mac went into great detail regarding the jigsaw puzzle, the man, the boat and the little girl. She mentioned the slight shimmer in Marcia's video tape and everything else that had been happening to her. She even mentioned the library incident.

"That's about everything up until now," she said.

Shingo put the finishing condiments on her hamburger and walked the plate over to her.

"Sounds like you've really had your hands full lately."

"That's like saying water's a little wet," said Mac.

"You need to do a thing or two outside of the box and get your mind off of those things."

"What did you have in mind," asked Mac.

"When was the last time you went bowling?"

"Good grief! I haven't been bowling in years and years," she said as she took a bite from her hamburger.

"Why don't you go bowling with Naomi and me tonight?"

"Naomi? I thought you said there wasn't anyone special in your life right now," said Mac with a mischievous smile.

"Yeah, her full name is Naomi Stanton. We're not linked romantically. She's a nice woman I met at the community college while I was taking a stained glass course. I was having problems scoring the glass without breaking it and she helped. We got to talking and found out she goes bowling every Wednesday night, just like me. Funny thing about it is that I was bowling the same nights she was and never saw her."

"Sounds like a destiny thing, Shingo. What's she like?"

"She has short blond hair, hazel eyes and the top of her head comes to my nose. She has an attractive face, a great smile and a terrific sense of humor. She's a waitress down at Hank's."

"That's cool, you're both in the food business, so when you marry her, she can come in and help you here!!" exclaimed Mac as she continued working on her patties.

"Wait just a minute, Ms. Mason. There'll be no more talk of marriage. We're just good friends right now. We haven't even gone on an official date yet. Marriage is so far down the road it's not even on the map!"

"I'm just kidding, Shingo."

"Well, what do you think? Does the head feel good enough to roll a few balls?" asked Shingo.

"Sure. It would be nice to have an uncomplicated evening of entertainment."

"We'll be up there around nine o'clock."

"I'll be there," said Mac as she took the last bite of her hamburger.

Mac was wiping her mouth with a napkin when Brian walked in. He looked in her direction and said, "Afternoon, Mackenzie."

Mac brought the straw in her ice tea to her lips and took a drink, making it a point to look down and not at Brian.

He frowned and gritted his teeth. Arrogant bitch, he thought. His face shifted gears and produced a smile when he turned to Shingo and said, "What's on the agenda for today, boss?"

"I've already swept the dining area. Grab the broom, sweep down the kitchen and haul the trash out. After that you have a bunch of dishes to wash."

"No problem, boss man!"

"Are the private detectives still watching out for you?" asked Shingo.

Mac pointed to the little microphone and said, "They can hear my every word."

Shingo raised his eyebrows and sat back in his chair. "Anyway to turn that thing off?"

"I have no control over it. I could take it off and put it somewhere but it has no on-off switch."

"Good thing I asked. I'd better be careful what I say from now on."

Mac chuckled and said, "I doubt you could ever say anything to me that would considered too threatening or too personal."

"So you and Naomi haven't been on an official date yet? Was she ever married? Is she about your age? Are you planning on dating her?"

"There you go again with the shotgun questions. When you string so that many questions together, I can barely remember them, let alone answer them."

"Sorry, Shingo. Was she ever married?"

"She was married for a few years but her husband left her because she couldn't have kids. She had her tubes tied years before the marriage and neglected to tell her husband before they got married. She tried to tell him several times but wanted to be with him so badly, the words just never came out. She's two years younger than me and we've discussed dating but our schedules are too conflicting right now."

"Have you guys kissed yet?"

"What kind of question is that?" replied Shingo as his face turned a little red.

"Just curious about the romance aspect," said Mac with a sly smile.

"I told you we weren't romantically linked yet. I'll let it go at that."

"Okay. I'll stop the interrogation," stated Mac.

Shingo looked into Mac's eyes and said, "Are you going to be okay financially?"

"It'll be tight but I should be able to manage for several months. My private detective bill will probably knock my socks off and I have to think about getting a car. I can't afford to keep driving a rental."

"I don't have much money tucked away but you're welcome to it if you ever need it," said Shingo sympathetically.

"I'm not good with charity but I appreciate the offer."

"It won't be charity. It'll be an interest free loan. Pay back whatever you borrow, when you can afford to pay it back," said Shingo, even though he would never ask her for the money to be returned.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love you, Shingo?"

"Yes, several times. And I love you too, Mac." Shingo held Mac's hands in his again and said, "I'll do anything I can for you. If it comes to the point where you need a place to stay, you can always call my home your home."

"Thanks, Shingo. Speaking of homes, when I get back to Atlanta, I'm going to check with my attorney and make sure you're still listed as beneficiary to the cottage. I'm also going to see about getting the cottage deeded into your name, just in case I have to face a bankruptcy scenario. I don't ever want to lose my parent's house."

"I'll make sure you never have to face that situation, Mac. Don't worry."

Brian had finished sweeping and came from the kitchen to get Mac's dirty dishes. He couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mac and Shingo. He grimaced when he saw them holding hands.

"You're a wonderful man. I'll make sure Naomi knows just how wonderful you are tonight at the bowling alley."

"Don't embarrass me, Mac."

"I won't, but I'll make sure she knows the Shingo I know and love."

Brian heard the part about the bowling alley and figured it would be his chance to get closer to Mac. He cringed when she expressed her love for Shingo. You'll get to know me and love me too, you bitch. All you need is a real man for a couple of hours to show you what real love is. I know what you need and I'm just the man to give it to you.

Brian picked up the dishes and returned to the kitchen. Mac waited for him to leave the room and said, "That pill you gave me is making me groggy. I think I'll go home and nap for awhile so I'm rested for tonight."

"Okay, Mac."

Mac was headed for the door when Waldo woke up. He yawned, stretched and walked slowly with waging tail to Mac. She saw him out of the corner of her eye and waited for him to reach her. She bent down and said, "Hi, Waldo. How you doing, buddy? Did you have a good sleep?"

She scratched his head and back while he tried to greet her with his slobbery tongue. She then patted him on the head, gave him a little kiss and said, "See you later!"

Waldo sat down and watched as Mac waved goodbye to Shingo and walked out the door. He turned around, took a few licks of water from his water bowl, went back to his bed and quickly drifted back to sleep.

As soon as Mac got home, she checked the jigsaw puzzle for any movement of the little girl. It remained unchanged.

She changed into her nightshirt and crawled under her comforter. She could barely keep her eyes open. She set her clock for eight to give her plenty of time to wake up and get ready. Seconds later she was in a deep sleep and if she had any visitors, she was unaware of them.

The alarm clock buzzed for ten minutes before she finally acknowledged it. She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Then she changed into jeans and a heavy, purple, turtleneck sweater. She brushed her hair and dug through her chest of drawers to find some socks to wear. She slipped on some sneakers and went to the living room to check the puzzle once more. When she realized that there had been no change, she rubbed the yellow spot and said, "How do I get you to come out of there? Why won't you tell me what this is all about?"

She was staring at the puzzle when she heard a knock at the door. "Give me some kind of clue," she said as she went to answer the door.

"Hi, Donna. What's up?"

"We heard that you're going to the bowling alley tonight. Every hour that passes increases the risk to your safety. I have a radio wave locater I'd like to put on you before you leave."

"Will I be broadcasting live?!" said Mac with a grin.

Donna took a bandage from her pocket and said, "I'd like you to put this patch on one of your shoulders. If anyone sees it and questions you about it, just tell them it's a required medication. If someone is trying to kill you, they may try to abduct you first. If they do, we'll be able to track them with the transmitter embedded in the bandage."

"Cool stuff, Donna. How far does it transmit?"

"It depends on the environment it is placed in but generally speaking, anywhere from one to five miles."

"I have so many electronic gizmos around me, I'm sure to draw lightning if it storms!"

"You never seem to take the threat against you very seriously," stated Donna.

"I experienced a single punch to the abdomen. Other than that, all I have to go on is what your operatives have observed and deduced. It doesn't always seem real to me. Going to the doctor and seeing the x-rays, that was real. Having my boss fly down here and fire me at an airport was real to me. All the money I'm spending on private detectives seems real to me. The girl I keep seeing probably isn't real but she seems real to me."

"Don't submerge yourself in denial, Mac. Face facts and be prepared. Let's hope you don't have to be attacked and killed to have it seem real to you," Donna said coldly.

Mac was initially offended by Donna's straightforwardness. Reality checks rarely announce themselves and when they hit you, they hit hard. She hired these people to help her but they were the only ones taking it seriously.

Mac raised the sleeve of her sweater and applied the patch. "Anything else I need to do before I go?"

"Not from a security standpoint," replied Donna.

Mac felt another headache coming on. She didn't want it to progress to a debilitating situation so she took a pain pill before leaving to meet Shingo and Naomi.

"The bowling alley is about a mile south of here. I should be in range of the microphone and transmitter. If they decide to move to another location, I'll be sure to pass it along in the microphone and allow you time to set up new surveillance."

Donna noted the change in Mac's voice and demeanor. She had gotten her point across. "Thank you, Mac. Please understand I'm here to protect you to the best of my ability. I hope you didn't take offense."

"I'm going to leave now. Are you coming out with me?"

Donna nodded and returned to the van. Mac grabbed her jacket and turned out the lights. It was a beautiful night and it wasn't that far so she started walking to the bowling alley.

Brian was watching from the Ferguson living room and when he saw Mac leave, he dashed out to join her.

"Hi, Mackenzie. On your way to the bowling alley?"

Mac sighed and said, "I thought you had to work tonight."

"Shingo doesn't trust me alone there yet so he closed early to go bowling. I had nothing to do so I thought I'd tag along."

"Oh boy, I know I'm thrilled," stated Mac with measured indifference.

"Are you a good bowler?" asked Brian in an attempt to generate a conversation.

"No."

"Do you bowl a lot?" he asked.

"No."

"What's your average?"

Mac sighed deeply and replied, "I don't have one."

"I've only been bowling three or four times. My high score was one fifty-seven. I never broke a hundred in the other games," he said.

Mac looked out toward the ocean and made no attempt to converse with Brian. Her pain medication was kicking in and the emerging headache was washed away.

"What kinds of music do you like, Mackenzie? I brought a bunch of music CDs to listen to while I was here. Would you like to come over, have some pizza and listen to CDs after bowling?"

"No!"

"Look, I'm just trying to be nice to you. You treat Waldo better than you treat me and he's a dog."

"You realize private detectives are watching me and my house, don't you?" asked Mac.

"I've seen them coming and going. I've also seen the cameras around your house."

Mac pulled at her sweater where the microphone was attached and said, "And you realize this is a microphone?"

Brian looked at it and said, "Okay...so?"

"Donna, keep the scope focused on the back of his head. If he says another word, pull the trigger."

Brian whipped his head around and looked anxiously in all directions. He didn't see anything or anyone but Mac had mentioned a scope. He didn't say another word until they got to the bowling alley.

Brian stepped ahead of Mac and opened one of the double doors for her but she used the other one instead. He looked back one more time and was certain Mac was just bluffing about the scope. He hesitated at the doorway, looked across the parking lot and said, "Okay, shoot!" He squinted, raised his shoulders and lowered his head just in case there was a shot. When he realized nothing happened, he smiled like the cat that ate the canary and went inside.

Mac had already been introduced to Naomi as Brian joined the group.

"Naomi, this is Brian Caufield. He's my part-time help."

Naomi shook Brian's hand, smiled and said, "How do you like working for Shingo?"

Brian knew the situation called for Naomi to make a remark like that and he was angry that he had to play such stupid social games. However, he was after the big prize, Mac, so he said, "He's a wonderful guy when he's not sleeping on the counter!"

Everyone had a good chuckle and then went to rent a lane.

The lane attendant assigned them a lane and rented shoes to Mac and Brian. Shingo and Naomi were regular bowlers and had their own shoes and bowling balls.

They sat at their lane and changed shoes. Shingo was the first one done and said, "Who wants a beer? I'll buy the first round but we'll bowl for the rest."

Everyone raised their hand so Shingo left for the drinks while the others prepared to bowl.

"Shingo said he's known you since you were a child," stated Naomi as she returned from setting her ball in the ball rack.

"Yes, we go way back. He's always been a wonderful friend to me. If he was younger and I was a little older, I'd be chasing him with a ring. He's going to make some lucky woman a wonderful catch. It's not that I think a woman needs a man to be happy and fulfilled but if a woman was in the market for a great partner, she couldn't do any better than Shingo."

Naomi laughed and said, "Yes, I agree. I can also see what a truly loyal friend you are!"

"Here comes Shingo now. I guess I'd better find a ball," said Mac. She wasn't done hyping Shingo but she also didn't want him to hear her doing it.

"Why don't you use mine?" said Naomi. "It's light enough for you and it's not all banged up like the house bowling balls.

"Let me see how it feels," said Mac as she went to the ball rack and lifted it. "The finger holes feel fine and you're right, it's not too heavy. Thanks."

"I use a fifteen pounder. That way it doesn't wear me out as fast. I tried using Shingo's ball one night and thought it was going to pull my arm out of the shoulder socket," stated Naomi.

"Where's Brian?" asked Shingo.

"He's way down there looking for a ball. Do we get any practice throws?" asked Mac as she stretched her arm and legs.

"They have a computer now that charges you by the frame. They've made significant changes since you've been bowling. It counts how many balls you roll, automatically keeps your score and displays it on the overhead screen." Shingo pointed to the huge monitors hanging above the bowling lanes. "At the end of the game, the attendant asks the computer how frames you bowled and how much you owe."

Shingo looked for Brian and saw him all the way down at the last lane. He was still trying to find a ball. "Why don't I start? Who wants to go next?"

Mac and Naomi looked at each other and said simultaneously, "You go." They both laughed and Naomi said, "Okay, I'll go next, then you and then Brian, if he ever gets back."

Shingo walked to the ball rack, took his bowling towel and wiped off his ball. He shuffled his feet back and forth a few times and held his hand over the vent in the ball rack.

Mac turned to Naomi and said casually, "I think I admire Shingo's warmth and wisdom the most." She paused and then continued, "Actually, his kindness, gentleness and sense of humor are also very admirable. It's unfair of me to say I just admire one aspect of his personality."

Shingo made his approach, stopped just short of the foul line and released the ball. It went about three fourths of the way down the lane and made a wicked hook to the left. Pins exploded in every direction but two somehow avoided his sweeping wrath. They stood like goal posts on a playing field and challenged Shingo's skills.

"Another wonderful thing is his generosity. He'd give you the tattoo off his back if could. He's also very forgiving and understanding. I remember one time when I was young, I came up to the diner and ordered an ice tea. After one swallow, it occurred to me that I forgot to tell him I wanted a sweet tea. Back in those days, restaurants and diners had glass sugar dispensers. Now they have 'packets'. Anyway, I attempted to use the sugar but the opening on the container was blocked shut from the humidity. I tried to turn the lid loose and clear the opening but it was turned too tight. I struggled and struggled but to no avail. I remembered seeing my mother tap the lid of a pickle jar on a table to loosen it. So I tapped the lid of the sugar dispenser on Shingo's counter. I tapped a little too hard and broke it. There was broken glass and sugar everywhere. I felt terrible and started to cry. Then Shingo came over and said, 'Thank you.' I was puzzled and asked him why he said that. He told me he was glad to see someone trying to sweeten the world instead of souring it. I helped him clean the mess up and he hasn't mentioned it once since then."

Shingo rolled his second ball down the lane and missed both pins. He smiled back at Naomi and Mac and said, "I did that for several reasons. First of all, I wanted a warm-up frame. Secondly, I didn't want to dazzle you too soon with my brilliant play and discourage you from bowling. Lastly and most importantly, I wanted to show you both what not to do in the same situation."

Naomi leaned over to Mac and whispered, "You buying any of that?"

"Not a word," replied Mac. "See what I mean? He's a great guy, isn't he?"

"I was sold on Shingo long ago, Mac. You can stop pitching!"

Mac smiled widely and said, "You're up, Naomi!"

Naomi rolled her first ball as Brian returned with his house ball. He put it on the rack and sat next to Mac. He looked in her direction and commented, "I didn't think I'd ever find a ball that was just right for me."

Mac sighed and watched as Naomi rolled her second ball and got a spare.

"Who's next," asked Brian. "Hey, Shingo, whose beer is whose?"

Shingo pointed to a cup and said, "That one is yours."

Mac got up and went to the ball rack. On her first roll, she garnered a perfect gutter ball.

"Hey, Mac. If your ball is going to the right, move to the right to compensate," Shingo advised.

Mac looked at Shingo and moved six inches to her right. She took aim and let go. Her second ball was slightly better but still captured the gutter.

Mac smiled at Shingo and Naomi and said, "Since Shingo shared some of his expertise on his first roll, I thought I'd reciprocate. I was merely showing you guys what not to do!"

Mac sat down and had a drink of her beer. She noticed that Brian had already finished half of his.

Brian bowled and managed to get the same split that Shingo got. He faired slightly better by getting one of the two pins left. When he came off the lane, he sat immediately to Mac's left and actually brushed against her leg with his.

Mac scooted next to Naomi and engaged in some small talk with her. Brian felt the familiar chill again. It reminded him of trying to hack into someone's computer without the password. He looked at Mac and thought, I'll get in somehow. There's always a backdoor. It's just a matter of time until I find yours, bitch.

About midway through the third game, Mac had consumed more than twice her normal alcoholic intake. Her pain pills enhanced the effects of the alcohol and she started getting dizzy and borderline drunk. Some people become loud and obnoxious when they're intoxicated but Mac always got quiet and reserved.

Shingo had never seen her drink that much before and he had never seen her drunk or even close to drunk so he didn't know what to look for.

In fact, they had so many beer frames, they all probably drank way too much beer.

"Come on, Mac. It's your turn," said Shingo with a huge smile. "You've got third place clinched."

"I'm not feeling well, Shingo. I don't want to finish the last game."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Mac nodded and said, "Positive. In fact, I think I'm going to head home. The night air might make me feel better."

Mac gathered her things, gave Shingo a kiss on the cheek and shook Naomi's hand. "Nice to meet you, Naomi."

"Likewise, Mac. Let's get together some day next week."

"We'll do lunch. Goodnight, all," said Mac. She turned and headed for the exit.

"Hey, Mac!" shouted Naomi. "You forgot to change your shoes."

Mac was slow to look down. She looked back at Naomi, pointed her index finger at her and said, "You're so right!"

Naomi leaned over to Shingo and said, "Do you think she's okay enough to walk home? She really seems out of it."

"I really don't know," he replied.

Mac returned to the bench, sat down and untied her bowling shoes. "Would you guys take care of these for me?"

"Sure thing, Mac." said Shingo. "Why don't we all call it a night and I can give you a ride home?"

"Nonsense. You guys are having fun and I don't want to rain on your parade. I'll be fine. I promise." She raised her hand to wave and turned, keeping her hand in the air until she was outside.

Donna was listening in on the conversation and decided it would be best to meet Mac near the Cuda Shack and walk her down the steps. Donna watched Mac take the pain medication and knew the side effects when they were mixed with alcohol. She didn't really want to leave the cottage unattended but she also didn't want Mac negotiating the many steps from the Shack to the beach. Besides, she could always review the video tapes before allowing Mac to go inside her house.

Donna strapped on her utility belt, a pair of binoculars, the remote tracking device and walked briskly toward the Cuda Shack. She still had her headset on and could listen to Mac's every word.

Back at the bowling alley, Naomi was still concerned. "We really ought to give her a ride or follow her home."

"You're right," said Shingo. "Let's call it a night."

"You guys stay put. Hell, I live next door to her and I have to go that way anyway," said Brian as he whipped off his bowling shoes and changed into his street shoes. "If you'll turn those in for me, I can leave right now and catch up with her. Goodnight, Naomi. It was a pleasure meeting you. Goodnight, Shingo. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Brian raced out the door and ran through the parking lot looking for Mac. He looked in the direction she should have been going and saw nothing. He looked in the opposite direction and saw what appeared to be a woman crossing the street and headed toward the beach. He was certain it was Mac and ran after her.

"I don't feel comfortable letting Brian take her home," said Shingo as he bent over and removed his bowling shoes. "She has live surveillance to assist her but I still have a bad feeling about him."

"Follow them, Shingo. I'll take care of things here," said Naomi.

Shingo stood and felt a little dizzy. "I think I should have skipped that last beer!" he said as he grabbed the scoring table to keep his balance.

Donna looked through her binoculars toward the bowling alley and then back at the cottage. She was surprised that there was no sign of Mac. She should have been well within range of the high-powered lenses.

The reason Donna couldn't see Mac was because Mac was headed in the opposite direction. She was going past the Lansdale Motel and was off the beaten path to a parcel of beach rarely traveled by the normal visitor. It was a huge chunk of beach that shared a border with a natural wildlife preserve. The state still owned it and as such, any real property development was strictly prohibited.

Mac was returning to a section the locals called Horseshoe Mound. It was the u-shaped mound that she and Billy spent their last day together. It was the only place Mac felt genuine love and warmth. She never again felt the same degree of compassion and tenderness they shared that day. Not even when she was married.

She climbed into the mound, leaned against the back wall and planted her palms in the cool sand. She looked out over the ocean, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The incoming surf slapped the shore with the same rhythmic cadence that it did on their last day together.

Mac leaned forward and removed her shoes and socks. She burrowed her toes into the sand, closed her eyes and drifted back to that last day with Billy. She missed the way he gently brought his soft, full lips to hers and kissed her in a smooth flowing, sensuous manner. She missed his confident smile and captivating eyes. She ached to be in his embrace and feel as safe and secure as if she was wrapped in a cocoon of love.

A biting wind rode the surf inland, but Mac didn't feel it. The medication and beer helped bring her to a storage center of memories. There was no lock on the mental door this time. Hidden yesterdays were back in the limelight and running hand in hand with emotional pain.

She thought back to the hours they spent on the beach and hungered for the sound of his voice. She longed to hear him talk enthusiastically of his lofty goals and adventuresome dreams. She'd settle for any conversation with him but she knew that it was impossible. Billy was gone and never coming back. Never coming back; what a devastating, totally depressing thought.

Mac slid to her back and stared at the stars. Billy used to call them night lights for the angels. I never should have let you slip out of my life. I should have done whatever was necessary but I didn't. I let you float out to sea like a piece of driftwood. Now you're gone. You're gone forever and there's nothing I can do about it. She brought her forearm across her eyes and wept.

Just then, Brian jumped onto the sand next to Mac. She heard the thud of his landing and opened her blurry eyes. "Is that you, Billy?" she said in a sobbing voice.

Brian knelt down, brought his hand to Mac's face and covered her eyes. "Shhh. Yes, it's Billy. Close your eyes, my love."

Mac kept her eyes closed, raised her arms and embraced Brian. "You've come back to me, Billy! I wished on a star that you'd come back to me and my wish came true!" she said as she brought him closer.

"Yes, I've come back. I heard your wish. I love you, Mac," he said as he kissed her on the lips. "I love you, I need you and I want you...now!"

Brian ran his hand up Mac's sweater and started massaging her breast.

"I'm ready, Billy."

Donna heard the conversation and said, "Billy, my ass!!" She looked at the direction finder and said, "Where are you, Mac?" She thought for a minute and realized that if she heard the surf in the background, Mac was probably on the beach. She flew back down the steps and sprinted up the beach. She looked at the direction finder as she ran and saw the distance closing between her and the green dot on the small screen.

Brian helped Mac get her sweater and bra off in no time but he was struggling with her jeans. Mac stood and said, "I'll do it, Billy."

Brian started unbuttoning his shirt and said, "I want you so badly!"

"And I want you, Billy. I've always wanted you. I've always loved you."

Donna looked at the direction finder and saw that she still had at least another mile to go. Her adrenalin kicked in and instead of slowing down, she ran ever faster.

Shingo was walking up and down the street trying to find either Brian or Mac. When he got to the top of the hill overlooking Mac's house, he had a clear view and should have been able to see one of them. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Naomi.

"I can't find them!" he said in a panicky voice.

"I'm getting in the car now. Should we call the police?" suggested Naomi.

"I'm going to check with the surveillance people first," he replied.

"Where do you want me to go?" she asked.

"Why don't you drive south and see if you see anything."

"Call me after you check with the security people," said Naomi as she floored it.

"You do the same if you see anything," said Shingo as he hung up his phone and ran down the hill.

Mac was having a hard time getting her jeans off. They were tight and her eye-hand coordination was diminished. Her hands kept slipping from the fabric and she paused a couple of times to rub her eyes.

"Let me help you," said Brian when it looked like she was going to fall asleep standing up.

Mac shook her head and said, "I've got it, honey."

Brian was completely naked and holding her shoulders to help keep her steady. "You're so beautiful," he said as she finally got her jeans off and dropped to her knees. Brian eased her to her back and admired Mac's naked body on the beach.

Donna had finally gotten to within fifty feet of Brian and Mac. She dropped the direction finder and unfastened her stun baton from the utility belt while running at top speed. She gripped it tightly in her right hand and pushed the power button with her thumb.

Brian stood at Mac's feet and said, "I'm going to give you a night to remember!"

Donna came charging directly at Brian and said, "Hey, asshole. That's my line!"

She stopped two feet short of Brian, bent over and put her hands on her knees. She had to pause momentarily and catch her breath.

Brian brought his hand up, made a fist and said confidently, "And how do you plan to do that?"

Donna slapped the stun baton against Brian's testicles and sent 600,000 volts of electricity surging through his body. Brian dropped like a rock and went into spasms on the sand.

"Just like that, stud!" Donna was catching her breath and slowly coming back to normal. She smiled as she watched Brian flopping around on the sand like a fish out of water.

She waited until the spasms died down and then put a set of handcuffs on his wrists and ankles. "Brian Caufield, I'm placing you under citizen's arrest." Once he was secured, she went to Mac, who had fallen asleep and missed the whole thing.

Donna shook the sand from Mac's jeans and attempted to wake her. "Hi, Mac. Time to go home. Let's get you dressed."

Mac opened her eyes slightly and mumbled, "Time...to...go home?"

"Yes, Mac," replied Donna as she fastened Mac's bra. She helped Mac with the rest of her clothes and when Mac was completely dressed, Donna called Deputy Collins.

"Collins here."

"Hey, deputy. Donna Garrison with Breson Detective Agency. I was with Marcia Labonte when you stopped by Mackenzie Mason's house. We only talked for a few minutes. Do you recall our meeting?"

"I sure do. How can I help you?"

I've got a hot dog and some scrambled eggs to go!"

The deputy chuckled and said, "Where's the pick up?"

"We're in a u-shaped mound on the beach, about a mile south of the bowling alley."

"Are you in the Horseshoe?"

"Could be, I'm not sure."

"I have a pretty good idea where you might be. I'm on my way."

Shingo got to the security van and banged on the door. He heard no reply so he tried to look through the darkened windows. He was worried and thought his hunch was right. If the surveillance person was gone or disabled, something was terribly wrong.

He called Naomi again and said, "No one's here at the van. I see some tracks in the sand heading south. I'm going to follow them."

"Be careful, Shingo."

Shingo followed the tracks to the steps and noticed that the spacing between the footprints doubled. It quickly occurred to him that the space doubled because the person making them started running. He began running but at a much slower pace than the owner of the tracks.

Naomi pulled over to the side of the road and called Shingo.

He stopped running and answered the call while panting. "Hello."

Naomi heard the panting and was alarmed. "Shingo, are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I was running and I'm a little winded. Did you find anything?"

"I'm at the end of the road, literally. The gate to the wildlife preserve is still closed and locked. There's no sign of anyone. I'm going down to Horseshoe Mound and look around."

"I'm headed in the same direction. I'll meet you there," said Shingo.

Shingo didn't have any running left in him. The most he could muster was a jog, which was quickly downgraded to a fast walk.

Deputy Collins came barreling down the highway with lights and siren going all the way. He saw Naomi's car and assumed it was Donna's. He parked behind it and ran to Horseshoe Mound.

Naomi saw a small yellow light moving back and forth and followed it to the source. It led directly to Horseshoe Mound. When she arrived, she saw Donna holding a flashlight in her hand. Donna pushed the power button on her baton and said, "And who would you be?"

"My name is Naomi Stanton. I'm a friend of Mac's. Is she all right?" queried Naomi as she looked at Mac

Donna hadn't met Naomi before but she recognized the voice and name from Mac's conversations at the bowling alley. "She's tired. Other than that, she's fine."

Naomi looked at Brian. He was face down in the sand and still bound securely. "I guess there's a good reason why he's naked."

"Actually, no. It's a bad reason why he's naked. He was about to rape Mac," stated Donna.

Naomi went to Mac and asked, "How are you holding up?"

"I just want to go to bed," she replied.

Shingo arrived just in time to hear Donna's remark. He looked at Brian with contempt and thought about kicking him. "Why don't you give me a minute or two with him alone," urged Shingo.

"Can't do it. Mac's already been through enough. I don't want to have to arrest her good friend as well."

"Looks like a party here!" said Deputy Collins when he arrived. "What kind of charges are we looking at, Donna?"

"I'll start with assault and attempted rape. I've probably got a couple of other things I can hit him with but I'll sort all of that out at the station.

Donna released the handcuffs around Brian's ankles and stuck the cuffs back in her utility belt. She picked his pants up and handed them to the deputy.

The deputy helped Brian get his pants back on and then switched Donna's handcuffs on Brian's wrists with his. He handed them to her and said, "I'll meet you at the station. Let's go, Mr. Caufield."

"What about my clothes?" asked Brian in a shaky voice.

"Don't worry Mr. Caufield. They've got a brand-new orange outfit waiting for you just a few minutes down the road."

"I'll be down as soon as I can get in touch with my partner and arrange for continued surveillance here."

"It's a miracle you got here when you did!" Naomi said to Donna.

"Yes, it all worked out very well indeed."

Shingo shook Donna's hand, gave her a pat on the shoulder and said, "Naomi's car is up on the street. We'll drive Mac back to her house because I'm not sure she can make the walk," said Shingo as he put his arm across Mac's shoulders.

"Okay," said Donna, "I'm going to walk back because I dropped an expensive piece of equipment along the way and I need it back!"

They guided Mac to the west and helped her to the top of the mound. Naomi took one of her hands while Shingo took the other. Once they were back in the grassy area, Shingo put his right arm across Mac's shoulders again and walked her carefully back to Naomi's car.

While Naomi was helping Mac, something in the sand caught her eye. She picked up the heart shaped object and brushed the sand from the surface. One side was definitely the back of some kind of seashell. The other side was white and had the words, "My Heart", painted in red. It had a small hole with a white string through it and appeared to be a necklace.

Naomi caught up to Shingo and Mac and said, "Look what I found. Some kid must have lost it here."

Shingo stopped and took the necklace from her hand. He examined it closely and smiled. "It's Mac's. Billy gave this to her years ago. She must have been wearing it tonight and lost it in the scuffle."

"How sweet. I sure wish I had a boyfriend that liked me enough to make me a necklace!" said Naomi in a little girl like voice.

"Do you now?" said Shingo as he handed the necklace back to Naomi. "Why don't you tuck that in her pocket? I would, but her pants are real tight and I, uh, uh..."

Naomi rolled the string around the heart and inserted it into Mac's right front pocket.

"Yes, I'd like something sweet like that. I'm not too old for that, am I?" asked Naomi sympathetically.

"Too old? Nah, you're just right! Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a store bought necklace?"

"Only if you made it!"

They got to Naomi's car and drove Mac home. They went inside and Naomi helped her change out of her clothes.

Naomi came out of the bedroom and said, "She's asleep. I think she was gone before I pulled the comforter all the way up."

Shingo went into Mac's bedroom, adjusted the comforter around the back of her neck and kissed her on the forehead.

"Do you think one of us should sit with her tonight?" asked Naomi with a concerned look on her face.

"She'll be all right. She has her guardian angel out front that can do a much better job than either one of us!!" stated Shingo as he rubbed his hand across his bulging abdomen.

Naomi realized Shingo was right and felt more at ease. She looked into Shingo's eyes lovingly and smoothed back his hair with her fingers.

"Thanks for everything tonight, Naomi," said Shingo as he gave her a little kiss on the lips.

She hugged Shingo and said, "You're welcome. I hope you don't think this is one of those incidents that helps lead to an intimate rendezvous."

"The thought had crossed my mind. I guess it would be inappropriate for me to say something like, your place or mine?"

"How about my place?" she responded. "I need a shower."

Shingo kissed her lips again and then pulled back abruptly.

"What's wrong?" she inquired.

Shingo used his eyes to direct her attention to a camera mounted in the living room. "I'm not much of an exhibitionist!"

Shingo and Naomi left Mac's and drove to Naomi's house.

A short time later, Marcia arrived to relieve Donna. It worked out well for Marcia because it was the beginning of her shift anyway. Donna, on the other hand, would be at the police station filling out forms instead of sleeping.

"How fast do you think you ran the two miles there?" asked Marcia.

"The first one was a little slow. I'm guessing around six minutes. The second was much faster and I think it was around five minutes." Donna and Marcia ran on a daily basis and often informally competed against one another.

"You still have it, lady!" said Marcia as she patted Donna on the back.

"I'm just glad it was packed sand. Running on the soft, loose stuff wears you out in a heartbeat," said a wide-eyed Donna.

"Go ahead and take a couple of extra hours to rest. I'm good to go for some time yet and you still have to go to the police station before you can get any sleep."

"Are you sure you don't mind? I could really use it."

"You'd do the same for me. Now go, so you can get done and get some rest."

Donna thanked Marcia and drove to the police station.

CHAPTER TEN

THE HACKER

Donna arrived at the police station and was impressed with its quaint, old-fashioned exterior. It was clearly a newer building that was built to reflect the stereotypical police station of the late 1920's.

The inside was neat, clean and had freshly painted white walls. She saw six new desks that were evenly spaced from each other. Each had a new computer sitting on top. Three of the desks were occupied by well-groomed, uniformed police officers. Two of them were busy doing something on the computer and the third was speaking with someone on the telephone.

She walked to a female police officer who was entering data from a stack of paperwork and said, "Excuse me. I'm looking for Deputy Collins."

The officer stopped typing and picked up a small transceiver. "Your name please?"

"Donna Garrison. I'm here about a citizen's arrest I made."

The officer held the device to her mouth and said, "414 to 361."

"414 go ahead."

"Bradley, there's a Donna Garrison to see you."

"Be right there."

"He's coming," said the officer indifferently.

Donna looked around the station and was impressed with its orderliness. She was surprised to see a giant, potted cactus growing in a corner.

"Hi, Donna," said a deep voice behind her.

Donna turned slowly and saw Deputy Collins approaching her at a quick pace. Each time she saw his strikingly handsome, six-foot tall chiseled body, she had a moment of excitement. If his hair was only a little longer, he'd be a perfect hunk. However, his short haircut and confident swagger reminded her of a Marine Corps drill instructor and it quickly put the excitement to rest.

"What do you think of our new 'digs'?"

"Pretty impressive. I'm glad I don't have to pay your county taxes!" said Donna.

"None of this was bought with county taxes. We used money from drug busts to remodel our station. We also built four new playgrounds, a community center and established a vocational program for high school dropouts."

"They tried that in some other communities but for some reason it hasn't worked as well for them," stated Donna.

"My guess is that it's a result of limited involvement. When there are only a handful of people coordinating expenditures, mismanagement and corruption seep in. We established 'The Group of Twelve'. It consists of twelve ordinary, non-governmental citizens who administer all funds seized from illegal activities. They meet in committee and develop plans to use confiscated monies. Their plans are published in the newspaper and are totally open to public scrutiny. We also created an emergency assistance fund, to help families that have found themselves in a bind for whatever reason."

"Outstanding concept. How come no one else knows about it?" asked Donna.

"That's a good question. We're making no attempt to keep it secret. Why don't you come over here and have a seat at my desk?" said the deputy as he ushered her to a desk in the rear. "I'm going to let you sit in my chair once I bring up the booking screen. Take as much time as you need to fill in the blanks and write your report. I'd be as detailed as possible because our boy is going to be transferred to federal jurisdiction in the morning. Your charges will be scrutinized by the federal prosecutor but the case may not come to trial for a couple of years. The more detailed you are now, the easier it will be for you to recall it when it comes to trial."

"What do the feds want with him?"

"Do you remember the fingerprints Shingo helped us get?"

"I wasn't here for that but I was briefed on it," she replied.

"We e-mailed them to the National Fingerprint File and requested a non-priority search. They finally e-mailed us back this morning with the results. Since it wasn't listed as a priority, the mail wasn't opened until the shift change tonight at six. I didn't see the printed copy until I brought him back here."

"So, what's the story?" asked Donna.

"His name isn't Brian Caufield. It's not even close. His real name is Kenny Taylor. He's been arrested on six misdemeanors and two felonies. The feds have been trying to track him down for some unauthorized computer invasions."

"In other words, he's a hacker?"

Deputy Collins nodded. "Apparently, he's a damn good one too. He tapped into some ATM's at a bank in Kentucky and somehow got PIN numbers on several hundred people. He spent two days going to every ATM he could find and hitting them for one to three hundred dollars per PIN. He took the money and left town before the bank even knew what hit them. I downloaded his records if you want to look through them."

"Has he said anything since you brought him in?" she asked.

"No. They're sending a federal interrogator to speak with him in the morning. He'll probably try to cut a deal since he's facing his third felony."

"What about his counsel?" asked Donna.

"The public defender will meet with Taylor before the prosecutor does."

"This situation is taking on a whole new life!" exclaimed Donna.

"It appears so. I have to go back on patrol in a few minutes. Follow the prompts on the screen and you should have no problems. Any of the other officers here can lend an assist should you need it."

"Thanks, Deputy."

The deputy put his hat on and left the police station. Donna spent forty-five minutes completing her report. She picked up a copy of Kenny's arrest record and then left for her motel room. As she was driving down the highway, she saw a set of headlights in her mirror that duplicated her every move. Her first thought was that the deputy was following her, so at the next traffic light she came to, she made a U-turn and headed back toward the headlights. She could see a single male driver in a civilian car and it certainly wasn't the deputy.

Donna used her cell phone to call the deputy. "Hey deputy, it's Donna Garrison. I seem to have grown a tail and it's very unbecoming on me!"

"Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm headed north on Highway 29 and I just passed Holland Street."

The deputy hesitated for a minute and then said, "Keep going north. You'll hit a traffic light at Juniper Street in about five miles. Go west on Juniper for about two blocks. There's a gas station there. Pull into that gas station. I'll be there with two other units and we'll cut that tail off."

The headlights kept an equal distance until just after her phone call with Deputy Collins. Then they started closing in. It was like a spider crawling down its web with fangs out and legs raised; ready to finalize the prey's demise.

The traffic light would be the web that stopped Donna. She saw the green switch to red and thought about running it. She had mere seconds to debate with her subconscious and conscious mind. She tended to be a risk taker with a sponge like curiosity. If she ran the light, he might not follow. If she stopped he could have sped by. Too many things to think about and not enough time to rationally fight it out.

The headlights behind did the exact opposite of Donna and sped up. The headlights switched lanes abruptly and pulled immediately next to her. She lunged reflexively to her right side as the report from a gun echoed in her ears. She felt something hammer against her upper arm and then felt her chest getting wet from a warm liquid. She next heard an engine racing and tires squealing. The seat belt prevented her from being flat on the front seat like she wanted to be.

She stayed put and listened for the car to return. She sensed movement in her car and quickly used her right hand to slam the gear shift into park. Her car jerked to a halt in the middle of the intersection. She heard her engine idling and watched as tiny raindrops started to roll like tears down her windshield.

It reminded of her of a lonely night in her college dormitory. She shared the room with two other girls who were very socially active. They each had a bed next to a wall but Donna's was against a window. She had been playing volleyball in the college gymnasium and slammed to the wooden floor on her left arm. She hyper extended a muscle and the doctor told her she would need six months to recover. Her roommates knew of Donna's injury but elected to go to a frat party, leaving Donna to fend for herself.

That night she went to bed with her arm wrapped tightly and rested on her right side. It rained that night as well and Donna watched the raindrops hit her windowpanes until she fell asleep.

The warm liquid was rolling across her chest and pooling in the car seat. Donna knew it was blood and she also knew her assailant could return at any moment.

The perpetrator turned off his headlights for a short distance and continued speeding north. He reached over to his open glove compartment and turned off the squawking police band scanner. He looked in his mirror and saw nothing but darkness. Then he said, "Curtis, you devil. You're so good at what you do. One down and two to go." He thought for a minute and then said with clarification, "One down and two to go... here. I still have plenty of fun waiting for me back in Atlanta!"

Deputy Collins looked at his watch and knew that Donna should have reached the gas station already. He looked at a patrol car parked behind a trash receptacle and picked up his radio. "She should have been here by now. I'm going to hop onto 29 and see if I can track her down."

The other officer acknowledged his call as Deputy Collins drove away. He quickly drove the two blocks and saw Donna's car parked in the middle of the intersection. He parked his vehicle, drew his weapon and approached her with caution.

He cleared the area, assessed the situation and called for an ambulance. "Help is on the way. You're going to be okay."

Donna licked her lips and said, "Thanks." She started to sit up and the deputy verbally halted her.

"It's better to stay where you are until the paramedics arrive," cautioned the deputy.

Donna licked her lips again and said, "Send the cavalry north. They're looking for a lone, white male operator, driving a dark, two-door car."

The deputy passed the information along to the other two patrol cars and watched as they sped north.

"Can you see the wound?" asked Donna.

"I can see what looks like a point of entry," he replied.

"How bad?" she asked calmly.

The deputy shined his light on her arm again. He scanned it and her entire body. Then he followed his light throughout the rest of the car interior. He brought his light back to her left arm, the back of her neck and then to the passenger window.

"It looks like the bullet entered just above your left elbow, traveled along the bone and exited from your left shoulder area. It looks like it grazed the back of your neck and left through the passenger window."

"Don't follow a trajectory from this vantage point. I was parked at the traffic light when I took the hit. The bullet will be somewhere east of there," said Donna with the composure of someone discussing a lost baseball.

The deputy looked south and said, "The ambulance is almost here, Donna. We'll have those leaks plugged in no time! Hang tough for another minute or two."

Donna licked her lips and managed a weak smile. She continued to watch the rain streaming down her windshield and waited for the paramedics.

Deputy Collins stayed with Donna until the paramedics arrived and started working on her. "These guys are the best in the business, Donna. You're in great hands now," he said as he walked to his patrol car. He opened the trunk and removed a roll of yellow crime scene tape. He cordoned off the entire area and waited for the detectives to arrive and take control of the investigation.

The deputy's sergeant reached the site and approached him. "What do we have?"

"There was a lone, female private detective driving north on Highway 29 en route to a motel that she was staying at. She was being followed by a lone, Caucasian male driver in a dark, two-door car. She called me requesting assistance and was en route to a rendezvous I established, when she stopped at this traffic light. The car following her pulled along side at the light while she was stopped and discharged a single bullet. My preliminary evaluation is that she attempted to lunge to her right side and held her left arm up like this." The deputy raised his left arm and lowered his head. "The seat belt restrained her movement and the bullet struck here, and exited here." He used his index finger to point to the probable path of the bullet on his arm. "On the way out, it creased the back of her neck and then traveled out the passenger window."

"Is she one of the PIs involved with the Taylor arrest?" asked the sergeant.

"She's the one who made the apprehension and arrest."

"I hope she doesn't have to use the ten grand reward money for hospital bills," said the sergeant.

The deputy shook his head and said, "I completely forgot about the reward. I'll tell her tomorrow."

"That should brighten her day," said the sergeant. "Wait here until the detectives arrive and then write your report. I'll have Jacobi resume your patrol." The sergeant returned to his patrol car and drove away.

The detectives made their appearance and after his briefing, Deputy Collins returned to the station and wrote his report. By the time he was done, his shift had ended and he went home for the night.

The following morning, a federal interrogator arrived to begin his questioning of Kenny Taylor, also known as Brian Caufield.

Jailers brought Kenny to an interrogation room where the prosecutor and his public defender were waiting.

"Good morning, Mr. Taylor," said the prosecutor as Brian/Kenny was shaking the hand of his defender.

"I understand you've already discussed your situation with counsel and have been advised of your rights?"

Kenny looked at his lawyer and whispered something in his ear. The lawyer whispered back and then said, "He's been advised of his right to counsel but still hasn't been advised of all charges being filed against him."

"I hope you have a lot of ink in your pen, counselor. Our preliminary charge sheet will specify nineteen criminal offenses, each having multiple counts, involving five different states. Some of the offenses committed were misdemeanors but we also have a considerable number of felonies. Most of them will be dealing with computer crimes. The federal government is coming down hard on computer crime. We're losing a minimum of $300 billion a year due to computer crimes of one form or another. There's probably even more being scammed out there that we don't know about. Your client has done as much damage to our economy as a terrorist with a bomb."

He gave the public defender and Kenny a moment to digest his comments and then continued. "The sheriff's department is executing a search warrant of the residence he has been occupying the past few days. The results of the search could lead to even more charges."

The public defender whispered something in Kenny's ear. Kenny appeared to be thinking and then whispered something back. The lawyer turned to the interrogator and asked, "What are the five states?"

"California, Texas, Tennessee, Georgia and Florida. Who knows, it could be more tomorrow."

"Where will he be tried first?" Kenny's attorney inquired.

"Once we determine which charges will take precedence, we may keep him here or extradite him elsewhere. California wants him real bad for over thirteen offenses and they have the third strike policy there. Your client is going away for a long, long, long time."

"May I?" asked the defender as he reached for the charge sheet in front of the interrogator. He and Kenny reviewed the sheet. All the color in Kenny's face drained away and he took on a ghostly appearance. The two whispered back and forth like two kids sharing secrets in the playground.

"Are you prepared to offer a deal of any kind?" quizzed the defender.

"A deal? Perhaps. It would be very, very conditional though. I'll give you twenty-four hours. By then we'll have the preliminary charge sheet prepared and we can take it from there."

The public defender nodded, rose and shook the interrogator's hand. The public defender buttoned his brown, single-breasted suit coat and avoided eye contact with Kenny as the federal interrogator left the room. He scratched the back of his head and without looking at Kenny said, "You're in the deepest kind of shit there is. I don't remember ever seeing a case tried like yours before and I've reviewed thousands of cases. If they achieve successful prosecution on all those charges, I guarantee you that you've breathed your last breath of free air. Even with a deal, you'll be lucky to get less than one hundred and fifty years."

Kenny lowered his head and stared blankly at the table in front of him.

His lawyer lifted the charge sheet up and read some of the charges aloud. "Income tax evasion, interstate flight to avoid prosecution, credit card fraud, attempted rape, internet fraud, identity theft. Were you trying to break every law ever enacted?" He shook his head and read a few more, "Assault and battery, trade secret theft, insurance fraud. You don't need a lawyer, you need one hell of a prayer and a big ladder to climb out of the hole you dug ." The lawyer sat down, rubbed his chin and said, "I don't know. Maybe we can get them to drop a few charges. Do you have anything to trade?"

Kenny kept staring at the table and mumbled, "Trade?"

"Do you know of any other computer hackers that you could tell them about?"

"No," he mumbled.

"Man, there's not going to be much to deal with. You're coming to the table with no money and asking to play. Don't be surprised if they don't let you in the game."

Kenny raised his head slightly and said, "I might have something to trade but I want to think about it for awhile. I'll let you know in the morning."

"I hope it's good. Remember, the fed is the dealer and he's holding some powerful cards."

The public defender gathered his things and said, "Jailer."

The jailer came, opened the door and the defender left. Another jailer come from the hallway and the two of them escorted Kenny back to his cell.

Meanwhile, Marcia was on the phone with Deputy Collins. He was at the hospital and had just left Donna's room.

"How'd the surgery go?" asked Marcia in a worried voice.

"The surgeons were able to repair some of the damage but Donna will only have about twenty percent of her arm's normal function. When the bullet entered her arm, it took a sizeable chunk of her elbow and shoulder. At this stage, she won't be able to bend her arm at all. They think that future surgeries will be able to restore some motion but they said it's too early to tell."

Marcia got misty-eyed and paused to collect herself. "How much would you charge to cover me here for a couple of hours? I'd like to see her for a couple of minutes and get something to eat."

"As long as it's only for a couple of hours, I can sit in for you at no charge. I like you guys all right but I do have a job and other priorities."

"Understood. Thanks," said Marcia sincerely.

"I'll be there in about thirty minutes," he said and then hung up.

Marcia called the Atlanta office and got Robert just as he was entering the door.

"Hi, Robert. It's Marcia. We have a situation here."

She explained everything that had happened and expressed her concerns about how things were escalating.

"I'm going to call the team in. We'll be down there on the next flight, regardless of cost. Have someone meet us at the airport that knows exactly how to get there so we don't waste any time. Don't suspend coverage though."

"I'll work something out. I'm going to see Donna as soon as the deputy arrives."

"What hospital is she in?"

"She's in Freemont General but it'll be easier to reach her on her cell."

"All right. We'll be there as quickly as we can. I'll call with flight information so you arrange to have someone meet us."

"Talk to you later, Robert," said Marcia as she closed her cell phone.

Hunting season was open for Curtis and he wanted to bag his limit so he could get back to the fun and money in Atlanta. He wasted no time getting back on the road and tracking his prey.

He noticed that he was low on gas, so he pulled into a small, twenty-four hour gasoline and food mart. It was the kind of shop and puke you see on every other corner in every other town.

He filled his tank with a stolen credit card and went inside to get a snack and a drink. Curtis rarely ate breakfast because he felt it slowed him down too much. He walked around the assorted food racks, picked out a few candy bars and went to the refrigerated section to select a drink. He stopped to try on a pair of sunglasses displayed on a spinner rack. He looked in the display mirror he said, "Curtis, you handsome devil!" Then something caught his eye. An attractive, teenage looking girl with red hair stepped from behind the counter. He licked his lips and said, "Now that's what I call breakfast!"

He walked to the refrigerator door, opened it, lifted a red fruit drink in a glass container and let it fall to floor. Glass and juice splattered everywhere. The girl heard the breaking glass and nonchalantly strolled back to Curtis to investigate. She looked at him and said jokingly, "I ought to make you clean it up."

He smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Get me a mop."

The girl laughed and said, "Yeah, right!"

"I have a better idea, why don't we go in the back room and party," he said as he produced a small plastic bag with a white substance packed inside.

She eyeballed his black shoes, black slacks, blue shirt and black leather jacket. His hands were hard looking with multiple old scar ridges. His hair was combed but it looked dirty to her somehow. She could deal with that aspect of him. When she got to his eyes, it was another story. The eyes were different. They were dark brown but looked black and evil. It was like the eyes could exist without a body. They were the kind of eyes that could summon your soul and leave nothing but the flesh in their wake. Eyes that could paralyze every muscle in your body; freezing you where you stood while the owner decided what he wanted to do with his prey. They made her feel nervous and frightened. The longer she looked at his fixed gaze, the more nervous she felt and the more frightened she became. She wanted to ask him to put the open sunglasses resting on his head over his eyes to shield her from those eyes.

"I'm not in the mood to party." Her mouth was getting dry and she had a hard time getting the words out. Her smart-ass attitude met its match and forfeited. She didn't feel cool anymore. The only thing she felt was a mounting, all-consuming fear.

"How about a little mood music then!" said Curtis as he dropped the candy bars, made a fist and drove it into her jaw. He heard her jawbone shatter as she sailed backward toward the stockroom door, as easily as a rag doll being thrown by an angry child.

"Nothing like the music of breaking bones to get you in the mood."

Curtis looked around the store and made a quick glance out the front window. Seeing no one around, he walked to the girl, grabbed her by her red hair and dragged her into the stockroom. He opened the plastic bag, brought the white powder to his nose and snorted some of the contents. He closed the bag tightly and returned it to his pocket.

"Momma always said too much candy will spoil anyone's appetite and I sure don't want to spoil my breakfast," he said as he took a hunting knife from a sheath tucked in the back of his pants. He cut the unconscious girl's clothes from her and raped her. She regained consciousness toward the end of the rape and began to weep. The tears mixed with the blood that was seeping from her mouth and pooled on the floor.

"Tears of joy always warm my heart," he said sadistically. Curtis looked at the blood and said, "I do so wish I could be a neater person! Kind of looks like the other mess I made out there. The big difference... and the best difference is that it's about to get much, much messier. "

He pulled his pants up, adjusted his clothing and kneeled back down to the girl. He kissed her on the forehead, put one hand over her mouth and plunged his knife into her chest repeatedly with the other hand until she closed her eyes for the final time. He used a piece of her white blouse to wipe the blood from his knife, casually held it up and said, "It's actually quite decorative. Hmmm, maybe there's a profitable hobby in this! Something to think about! Goodbye, sweetheart," he said as he stood and left.

When he left the stockroom, he saw a frustrated customer standing at the register area, looking in every direction for someone to help him. Curtis marched straight at the man and stabbed him five times in the abdomen. "Damn! I'm getting a good workout this morning," he said as he wiped his knife on the man's shirt. He looked at the wet blood and said, "Yes, I think we're talking hobby here. The next time I need to bring a jar and save some blood to work with later. I could be known as 'Curtis, Genius Knife Artist'. No one would have to know where I got the blood!" he said as he went to the exit.

Curtis had his hand on the front door when he stopped and snapped his fingers. "Damn, I almost forgot dessert!" He ran to the snack aisle, shoved some candy bars into his pocket and hustled to his car. He started the engine and drove away slowly toward Mac's house.

"I've got to get out of here before these assholes make me break a sweat and ruin my clothes!"

Curtis had savagely ended two lives and severely damaged another, while Mac was just stirring in her bed. Once again, she was very slow to rise and get moving. She didn't like the groggy, lethargic feeling and decided not to take any more medication of any kind unless she found she could no longer bear the pain or discomfort. If she did take some, she would certainly never mix them with any form of alcohol again.

Mac had to satisfy her curiosity before she did anything else, so she headed for the jigsaw puzzle. She went to the coffee table and looked closely at it. "Hmmm. No change. That's a first. Twenty-four hours and no change. Maybe it's over."

She completed the breakfast routine and reflexively searched for a cell phone to check voice mail. She quickly realized there wouldn't be any voice mail. It was a good feeling not to have to deal with bullshit first thing in the morning but it was also an empty feeling. It created a whole new void she would have to fill.

Mac went to her bedroom closet and was pushing hangers on the rod to the side when she heard a whisper. She couldn't quite make it out, so she said, "What did you say? I couldn't hear you."

She sensed a warm, reassuring presence. It made her feel as secure as if she were in her father's lap, being held snuggly while they watched television.

The voice whispered once again. "I love you, Mac."

"Who loves me?"

The reassuring presence dissipated and Mac felt alone.

"Who loves me?" Mac turned from her closet and looked around the room.

She slammed her closet door and said in a loud, frustrated voice, "I'm getting tired of this whispering shit! Why the games? Why don't you stay and talk to me?"

She waited in a sea of silence. The only sound she heard was her own thoughts. She sighed deeply, opened her closet door again and picked out some clothes.

Mac changed from her bed clothes and went outside. She was greeted by a brilliant blue sky and an insignificant breeze as she made her way to the surveillance van.

She knocked on the sliding door and smiled when she saw Marcia step outside.

"Good morning, Marcia. I must have had a heck of a night last night. I don't even remember coming home. I've learned my lesson though. I'll never mix medications with alcohol again!"

"Good decision," replied Marcia in a monotone voice. "Do you remember getting ready for bed?"

Mac's eyes shifted from side to side as she tried in vain to recall that event. "Damn, now that you ask, I can't remember any part of going to bed. Why, did I look like an idiot or something on tape?"

"You have no recollection of last night after leaving the bowling alley?" asked Marcia.

"I vaguely remember leaving. After that, there's nothing. Did I make a fool of myself?"

"No, but we did have a good bit of excitement." Marcia provided Mac with a play-by-play account of what transpired.

Mac laughed when she heard about Brian/Kenny's scrambled eggs. "I feel embarrassed but I'm thankful Donna was there for me. I'd like to thank her. When does her shift start?"

"She won't be coming back here. She was shot last night," stated Marcia.

Mac gasped and brought her hands to her face and covered her mouth with her fingers. "Shot? Why? Oh my, God! How bad?"

"She was being followed. When she stopped at a traffic light, a man shot her. She lunged to her side and took the bullet in her arm. She'll be okay but she'll lose some of the use in her left arm."

"Why on earth did he shoot her?"

"Everyone's asking that question. It's possible it was a random attack. Maybe it was some crazy bastard looking for kicks. We're still early into the investigation but we're taking no chances and we'll be operating under the assumption it's associated with you."

"Where is she now?"

"She's recovering from surgery at Freemont General. I'll give you her cell number if you'd like to call her."

"I'd rather go see her in person."

"That's fine but you're going to have to wait until the team gets here. In view of all that has happened, we don't want you traveling anywhere alone."

"The team?" inquired Mac.

"The team is the remaining three investigators in Atlanta. They'll put everything they are doing on hold and join us here. They won't leave until your case is resolved or until they apprehend the shooter. If the shooter is involved in your case and they apprehend him, it may very well close your case."

"What if they don't find him?"

"If he's involved in your case, he'll be back. If he comes back, the team will be waiting."

"When will they be here?" asked Mac in a tense voice.

"My guess is sometime this evening. They'll be on the first flight they can get. Don't worry, Mac. We'll be footing the tab for their tickets."

Mac wasn't thinking about the tickets. She was thinking about Donna. She had been shot and she could've been killed. Everything was getting more and more real to her. Kenny couldn't have been involved because he was at the gray bar café and would be for some time to come. Obviously, someone else was deeply involved.

"I don't understand. If someone was after me, why wouldn't he just try to kill me? Why would he go after Donna?"

"He could've been observing us and wanted to thin the herd, so to speak, thereby increasing his odds at hitting his target. He could have had something personal against Donna from another case she worked and followed her here. He may have thought Donna was you. It's also possible he likes his work too much and just wanted some extra excitement. It's hard to say why he did what he did."

Marcia looked Mac in the eyes and said, "Does it really matter why he shot her? What matters is that we get him and stop it from ever happening again."

"I was planning on flying back to Atlanta to square away some loose ends, do some networking for new employment here and pack my things at my apartment," said Mac already knowing Marcia's response.

"No can do, Mac. The pot is about ready to boil. We take it off the burner now and it will cool down and we'll have to start all over. Do you realize the time and money that will be involved? We need to stay the course we've charted and be prepared for anything the next few days."

Mac knew it was the right decision. "Oh well. Since I was going to book a flight with less than seven days notice, it was going to cost me over two thousand dollars for a ticket anyway. I can wait."

"We don't want you going any further than the Cuda Shack from now on. Are you going to be able to live with that?" asked Marcia.

"My house is the trap and I'm the bait, right?"

Marcia nodded.

"If that's the way it has to be, that's the way it has to be," said Mac with a shallow sigh.

"If we can keep a tight noose around you, it will frustrate any would-be assassins. The frustration will lead to impatience and the impatience will lead to mistakes. The mistakes will lead the team straight to him."

Mac smiled and said, "And the team will lead him to the gray bar café!"

"Maybe. If he's lucky."

Mac decided it was best not to delve into Marcia's last response any deeper. It was one of those situations where the less you know, the better.

"Maybe I can get Shingo to rent some movies for me. I've got a brand new television, complete with DVD player just sitting inside gathering dust. I may as well get some use out of it. It's going to get pretty boring here," complained Mac.

"My guess is that death is more boring!" said Marcia.

"No...it's not!" whispered a voice.

Mac stared at Marcia waiting to see if she made any comment. Marcia stared at Mac waiting for the same response.

"You heard it...didn't you?" asked Mac with a big grin.

"I heard something. It could have been..."

Mac didn't let her finish. "Bullshit. You heard the voice and you understood what it said. You can try to rationalize it until the moon actually turns to cheese and it still won't work. It won't work because there's no rational answer and you damn well know it!!"

"Let's say I accept it as a voice. What should my or your, next step be? What do you think it all means?"

"I wish I knew. It's the not knowing part that is so frustrating. I am excited that someone beside me finally heard it. You don't know how good it feels. At least I know I'm not hallucinating."

"Doesn't it seem odd that you were the only one that could hear it until now? Why not before? I realize you have no answers but it's my number one question if you're ever involved in an actual conversation," said Marcia.

"I'll keep it in mind," Mac responded.

"Come out, come out whoever you are!!" chanted Marcia as she looked around the van.

They both waited anxiously and when nothing happened, they laughed in nervous harmony.

"I guess I'll go and do laundry." Mac looked at Marcia and then to the sea and said, "Well, come on if your coming. That is, of course, unless you prefer Marcia's company."

She smiled at Marcia, went back inside and started gathering up the dirty laundry.

She took the clothes past the electronic array on her dining room table and went through a door to the laundry room. It wasn't much more than a walk-in closet that contained a washing machine, electric dryer and scant shelving which held little more than detergent and fabric softener. She turned the clothes right side out and tossed them in the washing machine as it filled with soap and water. She filled it with clothes and closed the lid. Mac continued sorting the clothes, checking all the pockets and creating a mound for the next load, while the washer churned away. She grabbed the jeans from the previous night and felt something foreign when she checked the right front pocket. She pulled the object out and gasped. Her heart began racing and she began breathing hard. She was so excited the veins in her neck began to throb from the pressure of the surging blood. It was the shell necklace Billy gave to her on their last day together. She had lost track of it years ago and assumed it was a victim of time. Yet, from all appearances, it still looked as fresh, neat and clean as the day it was given to her. She raised her hand over her open mouth and said, "Oh, my God!"

Mac ran out to the van and banged on the door. Marcia opened it quickly and nearly blurted excitedly, "What happened?"

"Look what I found!" exclaimed Mac as she held up the necklace.

Marcia was a little exasperated because she though Mac had a real situation to deal with. "Mac, it's only a trinket. It's not like you found a string of pearls."

Mac shook her head and said, "It's more valuable than a string of pearls to me. It was handmade by my first boyfriend, Billy Mullins. I thought it was lost and gone forever. I had it in Atlanta for years and simply lost track of it. The next thing I know it's in my jeans in Florida. I wore those jeans in Atlanta and washed them before I came down here so I know it wasn't in them all along."

"How do you think it got into your pocket?"

"It's Billy, Marcia. He's here! He's the voice I've been hearing. The necklace is his way of announcing that he's back!!"

"If it's so important for him to let you know he's here, why doesn't he tell you, instead of just whispering a couple of words?"

Mac climbed down a few steps on the ladder of euphoria when Marcia said that. You're right though. If it was Billy, why not approach me and say, "Hello, Mac. It's the ghost of Billy Mullins. I'm back from wherever I was. I love you and....and...and what? Mac's enthusiasm waned even more when she considered the fact that he was dead. My dead boyfriend is trying to contact me. Good grief! How desperate am I? I can't have a relationship with a ghost I can see or touch! Especially one that says less than ten words all day! Mac...what in the world are you thinking.

"He probably doesn't say more than he does because he knows we can never be together. Maybe I did lose the necklace somewhere and he was kind enough to return it."

"Maybe he's been assigned as your guardian angel," suggested Marcia.

"Maybe," sighed Mac as she closed her hand over the necklace and went back inside.

Mac finished sorting the clothes, went to her bedroom and put the necklace on the white doily across the top of her dresser. She read the inscription on the shell once more and said, "I don't understand. I just don't understand any of this." Then she realized something was missing. It was her favorite doll, Miss Julie. The once beautiful doll in her once beautiful pink dress that held Mac's hand and keep her safe hundreds of dark and scary nights. The doll that was more a companion than a toy had disappeared. Mac looked everywhere in her room but to no avail. She looked in the bathroom, down the hallway, in her closet and then finally found it sitting on the coffee table next to the jigsaw puzzle.

"How in the world did you get in here?" she asked, knowing that an answer from the doll would likely clinch her reservation in a psychiatric ward. She picked the doll up and brought it to her face like she was holding a real baby.

"Maybe I can get someone to run to the store for me and get you some more yarn hair," stated Mac as she smoothed the doll's "hair" back.

She took the doll back to her dresser and placed it so that its back was to the mirror. In doing so, she saw the reflection of the back of the doll's dress and clearly saw scattered granules of sand.

She left Miss Julie sitting against the mirror and returned to the coffee table. There was a small sampling of sand next to the edge of the puzzle where the doll was resting. The little girl in the puzzle seemed to be in the same spot so how did Miss Julie get from the dresser to the living room? How did she get sand on her back? Just two more questions to file in the unknown zone. The questions were piling higher and higher. There was no indication that any answers would be forthcoming to lighten the load. She wondered how high they would climb before they toppled. What would happen when they did?

It reminded her of an open book test she once took in school. There were ten questions and all the answers were in the book in front of her. Yet, when time was up, she still hadn't been able to find the answers to two of the questions. She was hoping all the "ghostly" events had answers and they just had to be found but she knew how her track record was with obvious answers. The thought occurred to her that the answers would be more obscure and she'd spend the rest of her life trying to figure it all out. I'll have a ghost married to my shadow the rest of my life. What a thought!

Mac wiped the sand from the table, returned to her bedroom and this time she looked past Miss Julie and eyed her own reflection in the mirror. "What if it turns out that this ghost is just a friend of Billy's who likes me like Brian, I mean Kenny, did. Great! A ghost stalker!"

Mac turned her attention back to Miss Julie, picked her up and looked in the general direction the dolls should be. "But what if it is Billy, or even my dad? What does it all mean?" She put Miss Julie back, smiled at the doll and said, "I really didn't expect an answer from you right away but I wanted you to be at least thinking about it."

There was going to be a lot of down time ahead of her so she went to her briefcase for a notepad to create an action list for the remainder of the week.

The first thing on her list was to call Shingo and fill him in on current events. She picked up her cell phone, scrolled down to number twelve and entered the number.

"Cuda Shack," answered Shingo.

"Hi, Shingo," she said solemnly.

"Uh oh. You don't sound good, Mac. What's wrong?"

"Donna was shot in the arm. She's had surgery and is recovering at the hospital. The detective agency is sending in the troops to help with surveillance. I heard a ghost again, only this time Marcia heard him too." Mac paused, let out a short sigh and said, "Strange shit keeps happening in my house. I can't get away from it all because I'm grounded now. The furthest I can travel until all this blows over is the Shack. How's that for a start?"

"Why don't you come for lunch and we'll talk."

"Okay," replied Mac.

Shingo was empathetic and thought of a way to ease the burden. "Hang up and call me back immediately."

"Why?" asked Mac.

"Come on, Mac. Humor me. Just hang up, call me back and tell me you want to come here for lunch."

"All right!" she said as she complied and redialed.

Shingo grabbed the handset from his wall phone and said, "Hello, you have the world famous Cuda Shack. How may I direct your call?"

Mac smiled and said, "I want to come there for lunch."

"Please hold while I connect you with reservations." Shingo hummed some background music, pretending to put Mac on hold.

"Hello. Maitre d' speaking. How may I help you?" said Shingo with a lame French accent.

"I'd like to come there for lunch," replied Mac, still smiling.

"How many in your party?"

"Just myself," said Mac.

"I have a table for two opening in one hour. Your name please."

"Sarah Flanagan," she replied jokingly.

"I'm terribly sorry; Ms. Flanagan has been banned from this establishment."

"How about Mackenzie Mason?"

"Table for two for Ms. Mackenzie Mason in one hour. May I be of any further assistance Ms. Mason?"

"No, thank you. Is there a dress code there?" she asked.

"Absolutely! No one who is wearing any formal clothing will be served!"

"What about tipping? Is that included in the check?"

"Absolutely! A straight fifteen percent is automatically added," said Shingo, still struggling with a weak French accent.

"Thank you. I guess I'll see you in an hour!"

"Goodbye, Ms. Mason. I look forward to your arrival."

Mac hung up and chuckled. Shingo put her in a much better mood but then again, he usually did. There were several occasions when the anxiety related to her position got out-of-control and she needed reassurance. She could always talk to Shingo and he made things better. He never judged and rarely offered advice but he had a way of redirecting her thoughts to a point where she could cope more easily.

Next on the agenda was Larry Summers, her attorney in Atlanta. She called his office and after a short wait was connected to him.

"Hey, Larry. It's Mackenzie Mason. Do you have the time for a few questions?"

"I may not have the answers but I have the time, Mac," he replied with a smile. "Fire away."

"You handled the deed transfer from my parent's name to my name when they passed away and you handled my divorce. You also prepared a will for me about five or six years ago, do you remember?"

"It all sounds familiar and I certainly recognize your name. Let me pull your file," replied the attorney as he put Mac on hold.

Larry Summers was a young, bright attorney who specialized in real estate law but would handle other cases as the need arose. He was a kind and understanding man outside of the courtroom but a vicious viper once he went through the courtroom doors.

Mac found him quite by chance. She needed a divorce attorney and asked some business associates if they knew any good lawyers. They all referred her to expensive law firms that billed you just for saying hello. Then one day she was making a store visit and in the course of the visit, helped a customer with a sale. They chatted for awhile and he gave her his business card.

He had a thriving practice but never flaunted his prosperity. He neither acted humble nor arrogant and Mac admired that down-to-earth personality trait in people.

"I have your file, Mac. What are your questions?"

"I wanted to make sure that Shingo Hisamatsu is still listed as my main beneficiary."

Larry flipped through the file and said, "Yes, he is."

"I'd also like to go ahead and have my cottage in Florida deeded over to him."

"I can do that," said Larry.

"Do I need to sign anything?" asked Mac.

"I still have your power of attorney on file so I won't need you here. It would be better for you to review the documents involved though."

"I have some unfinished business here in Florida and as soon as I wrap it up, I'll stop in."

Mac provided her attorney with her new cell phone number and hung up. She still had some time before going to Shingo's so she decided to clean out her briefcase. Since she didn't have a job anymore, there was no need to keep anything associated with it.

After throwing away old files and documents pertaining to her job, she looked at her cell phone and began deleting manager's phone numbers and store telephone numbers. She was a little surprised that none of her managers tried to call her after being fired. She really thought April Maxwell would call. April always seemed friendly and sincerely interested in Mac as a person. Mac determined that it was probably nothing more than April being political and sucking up to the boss. Oh well, she thought. I guess I really only have one friend after all.

Mac wanted to work on the Miss Julie restoration and she still had to finish cleaning the attic. She debated momentarily and decided the attic could wait awhile.

She got her box of acrylics from her closet and returned to the living room. She turned her stereo on and tuned it to a classical music channel. She cleared a small spot on the edge of the coffee table and set out her paints.

Her eyes wandered to the jigsaw puzzle and she noticed that the orange truck crane with the log shifted position and the log seemed lower. Additionally, she thought she saw a man standing at the beginning of the pier that wasn't there before. He was facing the crane and may have been watching the workmen lowering the log into place. In any case, it was the first time she had seen him in the puzzle. She was no longer startled by new puzzle observations. She had accepted them as commonplace and moved on with whatever she was doing.

She opened the tubes and squeezed some paint onto an old palette. There was a little crust at the opening of the tubes but once cleared away, they were fine and still usable.

Mac opted to make the doll's eyes a light blue and the eyebrows a dirty blonde. She would eventually get some beige yarn to serve as the dirty blonde hair.

She completed the face and made a fresh pot of coffee. She poured a cup and returned to her project. She took great care to detail the hands and feet, making sure the finger and toenails were accurately painted. She even drew small lines to indicate where the fingers should separate, if there were any, and lines to indicate where knuckles should be on the cloth hands.

The doll was completed and set on her dresser to dry. The hour had passed so she went to Shingo's for lunch.

She told Marcia where she was going and headed for the Cuda Shack. On the way, she reflected on how her life had shifted gears. She had gone from living ninety miles an hour to a mere ten. There were no more hectic schedules, no nagging telephone calls, no ass to kiss anymore and no feeling that she belonged to anything anymore. It was like walking into a huge ballroom with no furniture. It was grand but empty. She had a lot of life experiences but she no longer had a need to apply any of those experiences.

When she arrived at the Shack, her best friend, Shingo, was waiting at the door. He was wearing a black, clip-on bowtie attached flimsily to his t-shirt, a white apron, wrinkled khaki pants and had a white towel folded neatly over his right forearm.

"Hello, madam. How may I help you?" said Shingo, trying to speak with a French accent again.

Mac smiled and played along. "Yes, I have reservations for lunch."

"Really? And how many are there in your party?"

"Just myself," she replied with an impish grin.

"What name is the reservation listed under?" he asked.

"Mackenzie Mason."

Shingo turned the pages of his receipt book and said, "Ah, yes. I see it here."

He looked around the empty restaurant and said, "I have reserved the finest table in the house for you. My name is Pierre and I will be serving you the finest cuisine the state of Florida has to offer."

Shingo escorted Mac to the only table without gum on the bottom and pulled her chair out for her. After seating her, he came around to the front of the table and said, "May I suggest we begin your meal with some of our world renown vintage coffee?"

"Which one would you recommend?" asked Mac.

"I strongly recommend the Caffeine de Shingo. It is a house blend of freshly ground coffee beans that we have imported from two counties to our east."

"Hmmmm. Sounds inviting. I'll try some of that for sure but I'd also like a sweet tea chaser."

"Excellent selection, Ms. Mason. Would you care for any appetizers?"

"No, thank you. Any suggestions for the main entrée?" asked Mac with a reserved smile.

"We serve the very best freshly steamed Dogs de Hot. Or, if you prefer, our world class chef will grill our imported, freshly ground beef to your exact specifications. Naturally, both entrées are steeped in fresh condiments of your choosing."

Mac smiled at Shingo and said, "I'll take the ground beef, Pierre. Make sure it is well- done but I don't want a briquette. Smother it with the works and slap on a bunch of mayo."

Shingo pretended to make some notations on his receipt book and left for the kitchen. Mac stared at the place setting and smiled. Shingo had set out a mismatched dinnerware ensemble. She had a white ceramic plate, with a beige saucer to be used as a bread plate and a coffee cup resting on an off-white, chipped saucer that was somewhat smaller than it should be for the cup resting on it.

He had a lit, tall, yellow candle that already had half its size resting in the drip pan of the candle holder.

Shingo returned with the coffeepot in hand and poured a small amount in her cup for her to sample.

Mac savored the aroma, then swirled it a little. She smelled it again and finally took a sip. "Outstanding blend, Pierre."

"Thank you, madam. It is one of our best years."

She put the cup down and Shingo filled it to the top. "The chef is preparing your meal as we speak. Your wait will be minimal, Ms. Mason!" Shingo set the coffeepot on the table and went to the kitchen.

"Thank you, Pierre," she said as she watched him walk away.

A few minutes later he returned with Mac's hamburger and it was delicious. She thought about having another one but decided to wait for her brain to catch up with her stomach. She didn't want to overdo it.

"Would you care to view our dessert menu, madam?"

"No, thank you, Pierre. Just bring me the check please."

"Very well, madam."

Shingo gathered the dirty dinnerware, save the coffee cup and went to the kitchen.

He returned with a sheet of white paper, marked with a huge red check. He passed it to Mac and said, "You will note that our prices are very competitive...and the gratuity has in fact been added!"

Mac put the paper on the table and gave Shingo a warm hug. "Thanks for a fantastic lunch."

They separated from their embrace and Mac sat back down. "Mind if I join you?" asked Shingo.

"Like you have to ask?" she said.

Shingo got another coffee cup, filled it and sat down at Mac's table. "I've developed a new line and I want to test it out."

"A new line?" quizzed Mac.

"Yeah. Ask me to donate a ham to the next charity auction," said Shingo with a devious smile.

"All right. Shingo, I have a charity auction coming up on the fifth. We need some local merchants to help us with the buffet. Would you mind donating a ham for the event?"

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a ham!!" he replied and burst into laughter.

Mac thought it was amusing but not hilarious, like Shingo did, and merely chuckled.

"I've been waiting to use that line for months!!!" said Shingo as he calmed down.

"I'm ever so lucky! Got any more?"

"Not right now," said Shingo as he tapped his head, "but I'm working on it!"

"Don't work too hard!" laughed Mac.

"Ouch!" Shingo feigned hurt feelings and a sniffle.

Mac took a sip of her coffee and said, "Off the subject, but you'll never guess what I found."

"A lucky penny, a diamond ring, a chunk of meteor from Venus, a...."

Mac held her hand up like a traffic cop and said, "Stop! I found the heart necklace that Billy Mullins gave me all those years ago."

"I know. Naomi put it in your pants pocket last night. She found it in the sand after your confrontation with Brian, I mean, Kenny. She thought some kid lost it and I told her it was yours. I figured it came off in the scuffle."

Mac was speechless. Her jaw dropped as she broke her stare at Shingo to look out the front window.

"What's wrong?" inquired Shingo.

"I lost track of the necklace years ago. I didn't have a clue where it was. I looked for it for awhile but with each new day come new priorities. In time, I totally forgot about it. Then when I was doing the laundry this morning, I found it in my jeans pocket and thought Billy put it there."

"No, like I said, Naomi put it there after she found it in the sand."

"How in the world did it get in Horseshoe Mound? It had to be Billy! I didn't bring it with me from Atlanta and I haven't been to the Mound in forever. Even if I had it and dropped it there years ago, it would be long buried by now. And then at the van, Marcia was talking about my confinement and said my death would be more boring than confinement. A soft, whispery voice said it wouldn't. We both heard it so unless someone is playing an extremely elaborate joke, it has to be Billy's ghost. At first I wasn't sure. I thought it might be my dad because I've had paranormal experiences suggesting it might be him. But, when you said the necklace was at Horseshoe Mound, it clinched it for me. Billy was the only other person that knew it was given to me there and understood the significance."

Shingo contemplated while Mac took a slow sip of coffee. He rubbed his chin and said, "Let's assume you're correct. Let's say there are ghosts who possess the same faculties the living possess, except actual substance. Wouldn't it be possible for any ghost to know about the necklace and put it there, including your father? Or, your mother even?"

"Come on, Shingo. You know I don't have an answer."

"I'm not looking for an answer. I'm simply trying to think this thing through. I guess your hypothesis is valid but I'm a little confused. If it is Billy, why all the mystery? Why doesn't he just come forward?"

"Marcia said basically the same thing. This is all driving me nuts!!" exclaimed Mac as she rested her elbows on the table and brought her hands up to cover her face.

Shingo took a sip of coffee and looked at Mac. "I wish I had some answers for you."

He reached across the table and gently caressed her forearm. He had run out of witticisms and tricks. He didn't know how else to help her.

Shingo was looking at Mac with her head in her hands and a male voice whispered, "The pier..."

Mac's head shot up and Shingo jumped straight out of his chair like a spring-loaded toy.

"That's the voice!!" said an excited Mac. "Now you've heard it too!!"

"No denying it, Mac. I heard it. It wasn't very loud but it still shot through my head like a bomb blast."

"The voice said 'The pier'. Let's go," said Mac as she stood and yanked Shingo's arm toward the front door like a tow truck.

Shingo jammed his hand in his pocket quickly and said, "Let me at least take the time to lock the door!"

Once locked, the two made haste to the end of the pier. Along the way, Mac said, "What do you think it means?"

"Maybe he's ready to meet you."

"I'm nervous, Shingo. Only Billy knew about Horseshoe Mound and it's been a man's voice all along. What do I say to him? What if I can't see him? How will I know if it's him I'm really talking to?"

"Sorry, Mac. I can only remember the first two questions. You start by saying hello. My feeling is that once you are actually engaged in a conversation and you exchange memories, etc., you'll know if it's him or not."

"That was actually question one and three. You skipped number two. What if I can't see him? If he's coming back into my life, I don't think I could be content to have a relationship with an invisible entity. That'd be like having an imaginary friend no one else could see."

"That's a tough one all right. Obviously, you guys could be great friends but I don't see it going any further than that."

"Maybe I'll get out on the pier and he'll tell me how to make him appear or something."

"Anything's possible, Mac."

"Do you think we're supposed to go all the way out to the end?" asked Mac.

"Hold it, Mac," said Shingo as he stopped abruptly. "What if I'm not supposed to go with you? What if he sees me and decides not to show?"

"But he spoke in front of you," she replied.

"It still may have been intended for you alone. What if he said it because he trusted me and figured I'd stay at the Shack?"

"You could be right, I suppose."

"I'm going to head back. You keep going and let me know if anything happens," said Shingo.

The second he unlocked the door, his telephone rang. When he answered it, he instantly recognized Marcia's voice.

"Hey, Shingo. It's Marcia Labonte."

"Hi, Marcia."

"The guys were able to get emergency seating but they had to come on two different flights. Robert will be on the first flight. Dennis and Mario will be flying forty-five minutes after that on another airline. Is Naomi still willing to meet the team at the airport?"

"She's good to go as soon as you give her the word."

"Great. Let's plan on her being there at three this afternoon. She knows to bring them straight here, right?"

"Yes. That hasn't changed, has it?"

"No. The team will meet me here at the van. They'll familiarize themselves with the layout and then form a plan of action. Robert has already gotten permission to speak with Kenny at the jail. He'll need a ride there as soon as the briefing here is done. Do you think Naomi would mind dropping him off? Understand, we'll be paying for her mileage and her time as well. We're not asking for any favors."

"I don't think she'll object, but I still want to ask her first. How are the other two going to get around while they're here?" asked Shingo, hoping they didn't expect Naomi to continue her chauffeur duties for an indefinite period of time.

"They'll each rent a car at the airport and follow Robert and Naomi back here. Once Robert has completed his interview with Kenny, Mario and Dennis will commence implementation of any plans formulated, while Robert arranges for food and lodging."

"Just tell me what you guys want and I'll deliver it to you," he said sincerely.

"That'd be great, Shingo. Will you allow us to run a tab? It would be a whole lot easier to pay for everything all at once."

Shingo's instinct was to answer immediately and say he'd be happy to do it for nothing. He put skid chains on his tongue and thought before replying this time. Feeding four people, who knows how many hamburgers/hotdogs for who knows how many days and nights could be rather expensive. Moreover, he'd have to leave the Shack and possibly suffer an additional revenue loss because of it.

"A tab will be fine. We'll settle when this whole mess is resolved."

"Thanks, Shingo."

"No problem. I'll give Naomi a call after I'm off the phone with you. I'll have her meet your team at three and mention the trip to the jail. If there's any sort of objection, I'll let you know. Otherwise consider it a done deal so we don't have to keep calling back and forth."

"Before I let you go, there is one other matter."

"What's that?" he inquired.

"How far out on the pier is Mac planning to go and how long is she intending to stay there?"

"I believe she's walking to the end. We both heard the voice speak and our understanding is that it wants her to go to the pier. She's testing out the theory."

"It's not good for her to be out there. There are way too many ways for someone to get at her. Someone on the shore with a high-power rifle or someone passing by on a pleasure boat would have no difficulty in getting several clear rounds off. I'd advise her to make haste off the pier. The voice will have to wait."

"I see your point. I'll call Naomi and then go get Mac."

"Talk to you later, Shingo."

Shingo next called Naomi and relayed the details of his conversation with Marcia. "You really don't mind doing this for them?" he asked.

"Not really. It will actually be quite profitable for me."

"I guess, but what if you run into a situation like Donna did? I don't want you to get shot too."

"I could get shot, stabbed or carjacked coming home from the grocery store, Shingo. The only difference now is that I'm helping out one of your friends. The private investigators could easily call a taxicab service, but they're unpredictable and may not be available when the guys need them."

"Just be careful, Naomi."

"I think it's sweet that you're concerned, but I'll be just fine. Don't worry!"

"I'll try not to," he replied reluctantly.

"I'll call you every step of the way and give you updates. Will that help any?"

"Yes, thank you, dear," he said smiling.

"I'm going to take a shower and get ready. I have an errand to run before I go to the airport. I'll call you as soon as I leave to pick them up, okay?" she asked kindly.

"Okay," he replied. He locked the door once again and walked briskly toward Mac.

Mac passed two fishermen near the middle of the pier but was alone by the time she reached the end of it. She paced anxiously from side to side, calling Billy's name in a normal voice. Unfortunately, the only conversation she had was with the waves as they bathed the pilings.

She ran her hands across the smooth, wooden guardrail as she ventured to the corner of the pier. A westerly breeze blew her hair back and filled an orange windsock suspended on a high pole above. A television news helicopter with a huge, red, number five painted on the side raced across the skyline, while a white sailboat with a blue mainsail sliced through the water underneath. She waited and watched, but there was no indication that Billy was anywhere near.

"Talk to me, Billy. Tell me what you meant," she pleaded. "And if it's not you, Billy, then please, tell me who you are."

Shingo had come within earshot of Mac's plea and was relatively confident her statements would remain unheeded. He also knew that there were compelling reasons to be where she was. He just wished some form of resolution could be achieved and Mac could move on, either way.

"Were you able to make contact of any kind, Mac?" he asked in a sensitive tone.

"Nothing, Shingo."

"I was thinking about what the voice said as I walked out here. He just said, 'The pier'. It almost sounded like an incomplete sentence. Perhaps he was trying to warn you about something associated with the pier. What if he was saying, 'The pier is dangerous', and was cut short for some reason? It might have even been the end of a sentence. What if he was saying 'Stay away from the pier'? Don't you think that's possible?"

Mac raised her eyebrows and said, "Yeah, I guess so."

Shingo raised his right arm and put it across Mac's shoulders. "How about another cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

He started walking her back to the Cuda Shack and being mindful of Marcia's warning, looked all around for possible assailants. His observations would have little impact on the effects achieved with a rifle but if another assault occurred like the one at Horseshoe Mound, he would be prepared.

Shingo was a man of good humor and even temper. His humor was never at the expense of someone's feelings. He felt that making fun of a person or cracking a joke designed to insult someone was crueler than a physical attack. Physical pain is more readily absorbed and healed. Mental pain can linger for years and in some cases, a lifetime.

His view on physical violence was just as restrained. It took a lot of abuse for him to cast reason aside and succumb to violent behavior. He possessed tremendous self-control and ruled his emotions, instead of them ruling him. There was one occasion that he made an exception to his rule. It was a very dark day in his past and he lived every day from that point on, ensuring it would never happen again.

He was a husky seventeen year old and his sister was a frail twelve year old. She was born with one leg three inches shorter than the other and walked with a awkward looking limp that provoked many stares.

The two of them were very close and equally felt the pain delivered to her as a result of the teasing and taunting generated by classmates. Kids on their block excluded her from neighborhood activities and would often throw water balloons or raw eggs at her as she rode by on her bicycle.

There were many nights she would cry herself to sleep. Shingo spent a good many nights having the same tearful experience but he shared his pain with no one.

Shingo walked his sister home from school on a daily basis and helped her with her homework any night she asked. He had to curtail that practice when he took a part-time job in a grocery store after school. The store was in the opposite direction of their house and his schedule there wouldn't allow enough time for him to walk her home and be at work on time.

She was walking home one spring day and two teenage boys, who routinely harassed her, ran up from behind and dumped a bucket of dog shit on her head. They pushed her to the ground and maneuvered the bucket sufficiently to ensure that it was ground into her hair and face.

Nearby children who witnessed the event did nothing to help. Instead they laughed and made barking sounds.

The incident pushed Shingo close to the edge. He confronted the boys after they were given a warning by the police and guaranteed them his full wrath if anything even close to that ever happened again.

The boys laughed in his face and dismissed him as a fool.

Several months went by with only minor, routine cackling and general harassment. Kids continued to bark as she passed them. To avoid the confrontations and humiliation, she retreated indoors and rarely went outside after school. Shingo and his parents finally coaxed her to go back out and play. They said it would be good for her to confront and defeat her fears. Slowly but surely, his sister gathered the wherewithal to once again venture out. There were some isolated incidents but she overcame them and expanded her field of play.

Then one day, while she was riding her bike on a warm summer day, the two boys pounced on her and dragged her into an abandoned house at the end of Clark Road. They took turns sodomizing her, punching her and kicking her.

They were both apprehended and served time in a juvenile detention center until they were eighteen. All the while, Shingo counted the days until their release.

They had been out for almost six months when Shingo determined that they were in the right place at the right time.

The boys stole a case of beer, drove to Beaver Lake and used surrounding twigs and branches to build a robust fire. They were supposed to meet some girls there and have a private party but Shingo got there before the girls did.

He donned a ski mask, put on his gray work gloves, tucked a baseball bat under his arm and sneaked through the woods until he was about twenty feet in back of the boys. Then he sprinted as quietly as possible up to them and started pummeling their arms and legs with the bat. When he was certain he had broken all four arms and legs, he dropped his bat, went to their pickup truck, removed the battery and returned to the boys. He took a couple of minutes to watch them as they were screaming in pain and begging for help.

Then he sat on the chest of the first boy, removed the caps on the battery and poured half of the contents into the boy's eyes. He next went to the second boy and repeated the process. Afterward, he stood, dropped the battery and retrieved his bat. He looked at them once more and then walked away slowly. He had dispensed his justice but he didn't do it to feel better. He did it because it had to be done.

By the time the boys received medical help, they were blinded permanently. After two years of rehabilitation, one boy was still left with permanent leg damage to his right leg, and walked with a noticeable limp. The other boy sustained such extreme damage to his left arm, he could no longer bend it.

He was ashamed of humanity and its collective ability to be so cruel. He always felt the world could be such a wondrous place if people would only use half of what they spend on destroying things, to build things. Shingo always thought that the human race had such potential but most people he met would rather cause pain. People working together for a better world...what a foolish dream.

There were some that suspected Shingo but no charges were ever filed and he never told anyone he was responsible.

When Shingo unlocked the door at the Shack, the intrusion alarmed Waldo and he jumped to his paws. He saw that it was Shingo and Mac and he raced to greet them.

Waldo wagged his tail so hard; three-fourths of his body shook with it. Mac scratched his head and back while Shingo walked to a glass jar, removed a round dog biscuit and said, "Waldo! Bonus!"

The dog darted to Shingo, jumped against his chest and nearly toppled him. "Waldo, sit!"

The dog sat down and Shingo put the biscuit in his own mouth and held it with his teeth. Then he bent over and waited for the dog to get his treat. Waldo leaned forward slowly, removed the biscuit with the precise skill of a neurosurgeon and never touched any part of Shingo's face.

"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Mac. "Those are dog biscuits? I thought they were cookies. Do you remember the two men that were eating here on the day I arrived?"

"Not really," admitted Shingo.

"One of them snuck two of them on his way out."

Shingo laughed. "That explains a lot! Poor Waldo. I wonder how many other times that's happened? I cut him back on his treats because I thought I was giving him too many."

They had a good laugh and then Shingo said, "What are you going to do the rest of the day?"

"I was bringing old stuff down from the attic and sorting through the boxes, when I found my favorite doll. She's in disrepair so I'll probably go back and finish what mending I can."

"What needs to be done?" he asked.

"She's an old rag doll that needs a new everything, from her face to her clothes. I'll be able to do everything but the hair. I need a skein of beige yarn from the Handy Mart, but since I'm restricted in my movements, it'll have to wait."

"Maybe not," said Shingo. "Naomi has to pass Handy Mart on her way to the airport and she has to bring the private investigators to your place after she picks them up. I could ask her to stop there on the way."

"I don't want to be a bother," said Mac sincerely.

"Having her drive to the airport and back is more of a bother than making a quick stop along the way. She's going to call before she leaves and I'll ask her then. Do you want or need anything beside the yarn?"

"Not that I can think of. Eventually, I'll have to make another trip to the grocery store and I'm not about to ask anyone to do that for me," she said firmly.

"When you run out of food, just come here," offered Shingo.

"I can't keep mooching off of you."

"What makes you think you'll be mooching?" said Shingo as he smiled and produced his receipt book.

"Fair enough!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

KENNY

Curtis tuned the radio in his car to one of the local rock stations and had it cranked loud enough to make his rearview mirror dance to the music. He was moving like a roadrunner on speed when he looked ahead and saw a car parked along the side of the road. He took a bite of his stolen candy bar, checked his speedometer and saw the needle wavering between ninety and ninety-five.

"Whoa, baby. Let's drop it down a notch or two," he said as he took his foot off the gas and pumped the brakes.

He couldn't afford the attention a speeding ticket would bring him. He coasted past the parked car still doing seventy. Luckily for him, it was merely a disabled passenger car and not a police car shooting radar. The near miss made him smile. He usually paid for every miscalculation or oversight. But not that time. He interpreted his good fortune as a sign of smooth sailing ahead.

Curtis was the type of man that never hoped for the best. He always expected the hammer to drop on him and it routinely did. His childhood was wrought with violence and lack of direction. He was the son of an exotic dancer, born as a result of casual sex and substance abuse.

He spent most of his youth as a latchkey kid, preparing his own meals and fending for himself. His mother showed him how to use the coin-operated, washing machines and dryers in their apartment complex and periodically left him change to do their laundry. There were many days he wore dirty clothes to school because he had no quarters to wash them. The clothes he did wear were limited in number. He had two pair of pants, three shirts and two pair of shoes.

His scholastic performance was above average but hidden from those around him. The children in his classes teased him about his mother, his clothes and his overall physical appearance. The negative attention overshadowed academic achievements to a point where he soon recognized that negative behavior was more readily acceptable. It also garnered more respect and fear than good grades and proper conduct.

He started going to the weight room at his complex and lifted for hours. He eventually built his body muscle and attracted the attention of the middle school football coach. He also got notice from one of his mother's numerous lovers. He considered the options and accepted the boyfriend's offer.

The boyfriend introduced Curtis to pot when he was twelve and then employed Curtis as a drug runner. Curtis made good money doing the boyfriend's dirty work and made enough money to buy anything he wanted. Instead of having four shirts to last him a week, he had four shirts to wear on any given day.

By the time Curtis was fourteen, he was paying for sex from women that associated with his mother and could buy anything else he fancied. He bought his mother a new car which she had for a couple of months and then said it was stolen. Some time after the car went missing, Curtis learned from local drug dealers that his mother had traded the car for drugs.

Also, by the time he was fourteen, he had been stabbed twice, arrested once and had a bullet go clean through his right leg, just above the knee. He had no tolerance or understanding for anyone who messed with him and was lightning quick to respond to any situation with his fists.

One day he was entering his sophomore English class and heard a boy sitting at a desk refer to Curtis' mother as a whore. Curtis wasn't melodramatic and didn't challenge the boy's statement. He didn't get in the boy's face and order him to apologize. In fact, Curtis didn't react at all initially and some of his classmates doubted he even heard the statement. But he heard it all right. Curtis walked to the boy deliberately and started pounding the boy's head with non-stop punches. By the time teachers and classmates were able to pull him off, Curtis had broken the boy's nose, knocked out eight teeth and fractured the boy's jaw in several places.

The school principal demanded a conference with Curtis and his mother. At that particular time, he had no idea where his mother was, so he hired a hooker to pose as her. She flirted with the principal and begged for mercy for her "son". The principal was unaffected by the display and handed down the maximum punishment. Curtis was suspended from school for two weeks and allowed to return on probation status only.

His drug business was established and attending high school proved to be a nuisance so he became a dropout at age sixteen. He was driving cars and motorcycles illegally and the envy of most of the kids that stayed in school. From time to time he would sample his product and get high with associates, ( he had no friends ). He had several attractive women that he could "have" any time he wanted. They didn't really want him and some didn't know his name. They knew what they wanted and they knew how to get it from Curtis.

The following year, he crossed the final boundary and killed his first man. It was a man ten years older than him who had just moved into the area and wanted Curtis' territory. It was lucrative turf and sought after by many but few wanted to actually go toe to toe with Curtis. They set a meeting up to arrange a truce but neither had truce on their mind.

The new man was already at the meeting site when Curtis arrived. Curtis was followed by two additional cars, each with four men inside barely out of their teens. They were from all parts of the country and only knew each other slightly. Each man had an automatic assault rifle, some with scopes. There were three additional men in Curtis' vehicle and all were equally armed.

When Curtis got out of his car, he walked confidently toward the new guy and offered his hand in friendship. The entourage that accompanied Curtis also exited their vehicles and took offensive positions. They outnumbered the opposing force by two to one.

Curtis took the man's extended hand with his right hand and put a vice-like grip on it. He simultaneously removed a 9mm automatic pistol from underneath the jacket he was wearing and shot the man twice in the face. Curtis' men opened fire at exactly the same time Curtis did. The new man and two of his bodyguards were dead. Not one of Curtis' men was hit in the melee.

Curtis thought he would feel some remorse or regret after the incident but he didn't feel anything. He was simply taking care of business and the business at hand that day was death.

In the years that followed, his drug business moved as his clientele moved, died or were arrested. In time, his massive entourage dwindled to just himself and one other guy, who was never around when Curtis wanted him. He got desperate to rebuild his business and in his desperation, he also became a little more careless.

He laid the groundwork for a super drug buy that would re-establish his foothold. Unfortunately, it was a federal, undercover sting operation that bought him some time in the gray bar café.

He was paroled and combined forces with another drug dealer. He murdered two people unquestioningly, simply based on orders from his new boss. It went well at first with the new boss but Curtis thought things were moving too slowly so he branched out on his own.

Once again, he was busted and sent back to the gray bar café, where he met his newest partner, Chad Nuxhall.

Curtis finished his candy bar and tossed the paper wrapper out of the window. He knew he was getting close to the exit he wanted, so he slowed even more.

He turned down an old, unpaved road and crept along until he was certain his car was no longer in view from passing cars on the highway. Then he went to his trunk, removed a duffle bag and a high-power rifle. He took some military, camouflage clothing from the bag and changed his clothes. He applied some grease paint to his face and put on a green, knit hat. Next he strapped a holster with a 9mm pistol and two extra clips to his waist. Finally, he grabbed the strap on his high-power binoculars and slung them around his neck. He packed his street clothes in the duffle bag and threw everything he didn't need back into the trunk and closed it.

He made his way through some pine trees to an area of heavy brush. He squatted, brought the binoculars to his eyes and played with the focus until he could see Mac's cottage clearly. Then he brought his rifle to his shoulder and adjusted the focus on the scope until it too displayed the cottage clearly.

After he was sure everything was good to go, he sat and waited. Certainly nothing as glorious or glamorous as his life as a big drug dealer, but he was absolutely sure that his former lifestyle was just a few bullets away.

He was throwing his hunting knife into the ground trying to stick it into a passing, black beetle when he noted activity at Mac's place. He brought his binoculars up and saw a woman and three men walking down the hill from Mac's parking area. He saw three added vehicles in the parking area that weren't there when he arrived. The three men headed for the van and the woman went to Mac's front door.

"Hi, Mac," said Naomi as Mac opened the front door.

Mac looked at Naomi's outstretched hand and saw two skeins of yarn. One was a weak yellow and the other light beige.

"I wasn't sure which one would look best on your doll and since they were so cheap, I got you both of them."

"Thanks, Naomi. I really appreciate it. How much do I owe you?"

Naomi smiled and said, "I appreciate you asking but you don't owe me anything. I haven't had this much excitement in my life in years. I feel like I owe you!"

"Would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee?" asked Mac.

"I should have time for one. The guys are meeting with Marcia and will probably be awhile. When they're through talking, I have to drive Robert to the jail so he can talk to Kenny before he's extradited."

"Any idea where he's going?" asked Mac as she went to the kitchen and prepared Naomi's coffee.

Naomi followed Mac into the kitchen and sat at the table. "I was talking with the guys on the way back and they weren't sure. It seems there are plenty of people anxious to talk to him."

"Cream or sugar?" inquired Mac.

"Both," Naomi replied.

Mac put a clean teaspoon next to the sugar bowl and asked, "Is powdered cream okay?"

"That's fine."

Mac and Naomi engaged in idle chat in the kitchen while the private investigators formulated their plan of attack in the surveillance van.

The team theorized that by keeping Mac secluded, no assassin would be able to execute an ambush. If someone wanted to get her, they would either have to attempt a frontal assault, which would be unlikely but could happen if the aggressor became impatient, or wait in hiding until a clean shot could be made. They viewed the surrounding terrain and calculated that the greatest threat would come from the north beach.

The initial plan called for Robert to conduct the interview and glean as much information from Kenny as possible. His appearance and intervention in Mac's life was too closely intertwined with everything else going on. There was a strong possibility he was linked to everything somehow. It would be Robert's task to determine how.

Curtis brought his rifle to his shoulder and looked at the van through the scope. He thought about picking them off as they left the van but he would probably only get one or two and they weren't his primary target. He brought the rifle to his right and focused on the front porch. Maybe Mac would come out onto the porch where he could get a clear shot. From his vantage point, he couldn't even see the front door. He would have to wait for Mac to exit the house.

Curtis preferred to go in, do his job and get out. He didn't like melodrama and long drawn out events. He had murdered seven people in his life and all but one was a quick, in and out thing. He enjoyed torture but did that more as a pleasure activity and not as a business affair. The one exception was extremely brutal, cold and torturous.

He had just gotten out of prison for the first time and was struggling to get his drug business established again. He ran into a woman that had an addiction so strong, she needed something every six hours or she entered into a desperate withdrawal. She prostituted her body, robbed people, shoplifted and anything else she needed to do to maintain the habit.

She was busted one afternoon trying to rob an undercover cop and agreed to participate in a sting operation and help bust a couple of local drug dealers. Curtis got wind of the plan through a connection he had and kidnapped the woman from her apartment while she slept.

He taped her mouth and body in duct tape and drove to an abandoned warehouse. He stripped her body, raped her and began the torture. He used a lighter, a pair of pliers, a hammer and a knife. He made her suffer for more than eight hours. The eight hours proved to be more than her body could take and her life finally slipped away. He stuffed her body in the trunk of a stolen car and drove it to a parking lot of one of the local police precinct stations. He left the lid of the trunk unlocked and walked away casually.

The Breson detective team assumed that a would-be assassin would attack from the north and probably use a high-power rifle. They calculated the maximum range of such a weapon and decided to start five-hundred yards further than the range and work their way south, toward Mac's cottage. They would use a zigzag searching pattern to ensure maximum effort. Dennis and Mario, both former members of military special operations units, would conduct the initial sweeps, while Robert pursued the interview with Kenny. Robert would use a zigzag search from south to north as a failsafe measure, after the interview.

The investigative team, save Marcia, left the van. Robert went to Mac's door to get Naomi, while Dennis and Mario went to their rental cars. They decided to change clothing once they were in the field, just in case someone was observing their activities. No sense in sending any extra warnings.

Robert and Naomi drove to the police station and Dennis and Mario headed down the highway and prepared to start their sweep.

Dennis had the lead car and when the mileage on the odometer registered the proper distance, he pulled off the road. Mario pulled right in behind him. A third car with two unknown male passengers sailed on past. The two men stared at Mario as they went by.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say we were being followed," stated Mario.

"Something to consider," replied Dennis.

Dennis was a twenty-year man in the Army Rangers. He was a short man and earned the nickname "Junior" from his comrades while on active duty. Before he retired from active duty, he had participated in many covert operations all across the globe.

Mario was a former police detective who had eight years on the force. He began to feel too frustrated with the system and angry with the apathetic public he served. He figured he'd better get into something else before his frustration began to interfere with his duties as a cop.

They changed into camouflage gear, just like Curtis, and did a radio check with Marcia.

Mario walked back to the edge of the highway and looked to the north. He saw a car that had pulled off to the side of the road, about a half mile down the road.

"I've got a bad feeling about that guy," said Mario in a concerned voice.

Dennis joined him and looked down the road through his binoculars. "I can't tell if someone is sitting in the car or not. The headrests are blocking my field of vision."

"Could it be our assassin?" thought Mario.

"It's possible. It could also be his backup team. Let's make our forward sweep and secure the area. We'll check the car out on each upswing of the zigzag."

They began their search slowly and methodically through the brush, while Robert entered the jail and prepared to meet Kenny.

Robert was escorted to an interview room with a small, steel table and two chairs.

He doodled on his notepad as he waited for Kenny's arrival.

Kenny was finally brought to the room and had a distant look in his eyes. His short stint behind bars gave him plenty of time to reflect on his activities and the grim possibility that he would never breathe free air again.

He thought he had become too good at what he did to ever be caught. There were a few computer hackers as good as him, but none better, and very few that had amassed the equipment he had. He spent as much time and money on computer-related paraphernalia as some people do on cars, precious gems or coins.

There was no computer problem too daunting for him to tackle and defeat. He was smug and arrogant. He was as confident as a cat in a bush ready to pounce on a lame bird in front of him. The past and present had been good to him most of the time. When it wasn't, he learned from his mistakes and eliminated the flaws. Sometimes, however, the future waits with an pie pan filled with all of your missed mistakes and heaves it mightily into your face. The impact can be devastating, as in Kenny's case.

Kenny had the opportunity to call his mother and advise her of his fate. She cried sparingly while on the phone but wept profusely after she was off the phone.

By her own admission, she spoiled their only child to extremes and allowed him many indulgences. Kenny just had to say the word and it was his. Even though his family was slightly above middle class status, he wanted for nothing. She also empowered her son years before it became a popular idea among psychologists and rarely told him what to do.

He did exceptionally well throughout all of his school years and as a reward, was exempted from any household chores.

He had the opportunity to speak with his father, but his father had no desire to speak with him. When Kenny's father heard of his son's arrest and probable future, he went to his backyard, sat in a lawn chair and lit a cigarette. He looked at the spot where Kenny used to stand as his dad pitched plastic balls to him. He relived the run-downs he got into as he tried to tag Kenny out after hitting the ball. Most times he could have actually tagged his son with the ball, but it was more rewarding to miss and watch his son laugh.

He looked at the six-foot, wooden fence his son threw a football over when he and the neighborhood children were playing in their backyard. Kenny thought the ball was gone forever until his dad saved the day by climbing over and rescuing it.

Then he looked at the grill and picnic table where they ate scores of summer barbeques and remembered how much Kenny loved the coleslaw his aunt used to make. A few feet from the picnic table was the tree Kenny climbed and fell from.

His father relived all of those childhood events and more. He extinguished his cigarette and wept privately for several minutes. It wasn't a minor brush with the law like previous times. There was hope for the future then. Not any longer though. The boy that was so full of fun, wonder and laughter, would never be coming home again. Kenny's dad still loved his son dearly. He didn't talk to Kenny because he had disowned him, he didn't talk to Kenny because it was all too painful for him to get any words out.

Robert turned on his cassette tape recorder and said. "Testing, testing, testing." He rewound the tape, played it back and adjusted the volume. Then he stood and said, "Kenny Taylor?"

"Yes," responded the solemn prisoner.

"I would like to begin by informing you that our conversation will be recorded. For the record, you have been advised by your counsel that anything you say can be used against you in future legal proceedings. Is that correct?"

Kenny nodded and replied, "Yes, it is."

"You were also advised that your counsel could be present during this interview and that you declined his presence. Is that also correct?"

Once again, Kenny nodded and replied, "Yes, that is correct as well."

"My name is Robert Munford. I'm with the Breson Detective Agency. We are a private detective agency home-based in Atlanta, Georgia. We have been retained by and are currently investigating a case for, Mackenzie Mason. Are you familiar with Ms. Mason?"

"Yes, I am."

"When and how did you come to know and involve yourself with Ms. Mason?" asked Robert.

Kenny shifted positions and brought his handcuffed hands to rest on the table. His orange, prison jumpsuit was stiff and scratchy.

"If I help you with your investigation, will it warrant consideration for a lesser sentence?"

"There are a lot of factors involved, Kenny. If you provide information instrumental in us solving this case, it could. If you provide information leading to the arrest of a person or persons involved in a federal crime, it could weigh heavily."

"What do you think my chances are of getting some of the federal charges dropped?" asked Kenny in a low key voice.

"I would have to say they aren't so good, unless you deliver a dynamite package of information related to a federal case."

Kenny considered Robert's replies and began, "It all started several months ago."

Robert interrupted and asked, "Approximately what month?"

Kenny looked up at the ceiling and said, "I guess it was around April or May. It was sometime before my cousin got out of school, so I know it was before June."

"Thank you. Proceed, please."

"I was running an online auction scam out of an apartment in California. I would track down photos of different items, post them on the auction site and solicit bids."

"But you never actually had the items offered for sale, is that correct?"

"That's correct. I was soliciting bids on pictures only. The people bidding didn't know that though"

"How many auctions did you run that way?" asked Robert.

"I would list over 150 items on a Monday and have them end on a Friday. I could have established a phony credit card payment program, but it was too time-consuming. I instructed the winning bidder to send cash, check or money order to me, saying I was too small yet to get a credit card program."

"How did you cash the checks?"

"That was incredibly easy. I created several bogus identities and opened accounts in four different banks. I had a different identity for each bank. I'd keep the account open for two, maybe three weeks and then close it. I'd then use the identity from that closed account to open an account at another bank that I already had an account, which I'd eventually close and use at yet another bank."

"Didn't any of the tellers recognize you as being one of your other identities? What I mean is, if a teller knew you as John Smith and you started coming in as John Doe, didn't that raise some eyebrows?"

"Never happened. Whenever I opened a new account, it was always at a different branch. Sometimes I didn't bother to close an old account. It just depended. It also got confusing at times, trying to keep the right name with the right bank. I actually had to make a chart to avoid confusion."

"When they sent their payment and you didn't deliver, didn't they complain?"

"Some did. I was amazed by how easy it was to keep them at bay with lame excuses. The check people were the easiest. I'd tell them I had to wait fifteen days for their check to clear and that I'd ship their merchandise within seven days of the check clearing. Money orders and cash were sweet, but they were also the pushiest people. They'd complain to the auction site but it didn't matter. I'd simply change identities and start all over. It was so easy for anyone really good with a computer, that it's laughable. I'd get notification that I was banned from the site, but so what? I'd just create a new identity. There are too many people bidding on too many things for those guys to keep track of it all. They say they know what's going on and do a great job of policing the auctions but it's a load of bullshit."

"Did you make a lot of money?" asked Robert.

"It depended. I'd always look for the hottest item on the auction site and list it as if I had one to sell. On a good week, I'd average close to a thousand dollars, all of which was clearly tax-free."

"Did you meet Ms. Mason through one of your auctions or did you meet her in California?"

"Neither. Things were getting uncomfortable in California, so I decided to leave for awhile and vacation with my cousin in Atlanta, Georgia. We were never really close and quite honestly, I never liked him much."

"Why go visit with him then?" inquired Robert.

"I needed fresh, virgin territory to exploit. I prefer the cities and states with milder climates and I had already worn out my welcome in Florida so I selected Georgia. I was new to the area and needed a place to stay until I could learn my way around. I figured to stay in Georgia for about a year and either move back to California or just north to the Virginia area."

"You selected Atlanta because you had a place to stay?"

"That's correct. Like I said, I never liked my cousin but he was handy so I asked if I could stay with him awhile and he agreed, conditionally. He said there may come a time while I was staying with him that I could do him a favor or two. If I did, I could stay as long as I wanted and it would pay me well."

"You understand we'll have to verify that statement with your cousin?"

"I understand," stated Kenny.

"What's your cousin's name?"

"Chad Nuxhall. Do you need his address too?"

Robert had been taking notes as Kenny spoke, but dropped his pen and looked straight at Kenny when he mentioned his cousin's name. Robert regained his focus and said, "I won't need his address at this time. Please continue."

"I really don't fit into the regular nine-to-five world so I started messing around with my computer. I hacked into a computer online, got some guy's credit card number and electronically embedded his number into some blank cards I had. I went shopping at the mall where my cousin works and stopped in to show him the booty I had gathered from my new card. It blew his mind! While I was in his store, this woman came in and Chad said it was his boss. I looked at her and thought she was drop-dead beautiful. Chad said she was 'busting his chops' over petty shit and he wanted to get even with her. He said I would be perfect for what he had in mind. She walked toward us, saw my shopping bags and asked me if I was finding everything I needed. She had no clue that Chad and I knew each other. When I put her body and soothing voice together, I was hooked. I wanted her badly. I wanted her so bad from the minute I saw her, that I couldn't think of anything else. It was like when I was a kid and wanted a new toy I saw. I'd pester my mother until I got it. I always got my way with my parents and I could almost always con people with some new scam. She was one of the elite few I couldn't sway to my way of thinking."

Kenny paused and asked Robert if he could get the guard to bring him some water. Robert asked the guard but was told he would have to wait. The guard wasn't allowed to bring anything to the prisoner while in the interview room.

"I guess I'll make it," said Kenny.

"When Chad pointed his boss out to you, did he provide her name as well?" Robert wanted to make sure Mac's name was clearly on the record.

"Not right away. When he met me at his house later that night, he said he wanted me to help him get rid of his boss, Mackenzie Mason. Would you like to hear something funny?" asked Kenny.

"Sure," Robert replied with only a slight tone of curiosity.

"I went to another mall after I left my cousin's store and saw a woman's purse sitting on a table in the food court. I ran up to her and I screamed as loud as I could. It startled her so badly she fell off her chair. While everyone was watching her bury her head in her arms on the floor, I grabbed her purse, dropped it in an empty shopping bag and calmly walked out the front door of the mall. Then I went to another mall and used her credit cards to buy a new computer, digital camera and some DVDs. Here's the really funny part. The credit cards had her photo on all three cards that I used. Not one person even looked at the photo and no one ever compared signatures!! People are so stupid and careless. Salespeople don't care because it's not their credit card, their store or their company. What they don't realize is that every business and credit card company in the world passes their losses on to the consumer with higher prices. Those people keep hurting themselves with higher prices on everything and don't even know it! Every time I pass a hot card and the clerk takes it with a smile, I laugh my ass off inside!!"

Robert smirked and then asked, "How did Chad want you to get even with Mackenzie Mason?"

"He wanted me to hack into her home computer while she was online checking her e-mail and install key logger software on her hard drive. That way, everything she typed on her computer would be recorded in a secret cache for me to retrieve at a later time."

"You were able to record everything she typed, whether she was online or not?" he asked.

"Everything. I can't believe you never heard of key logger. Are you new at your job?"

"We're not discussing me now. Would you explain how it works?"

"Some people call it spyware, adware or what it really is, a virus. You can send and install it in seconds. You can hack their address book to find out known users, encrypt it in a bogus e-mail and then they open it because they think a friend sent it. There are many ways to gain access to someone's hard drive. If you know what you're doing, you can get by all those bogus security measures those internet clowns write. If you do it right, it is never detected and the only way to get rid of it is to dump the hard drive and start all over."

"You installed the key logger software on Ms. Mason's hard drive, then what?"

"If it was typed on her computer, I saw every word, whether it was a message she sent via e-mail, or just some off-line memo she was preparing for her stores. I always knew when she was coming to Chad's store and when she ordered a surprise audit. I'd pass that information along to Chad so that he would always have the upper hand."

Kenny cleared his throat and was clearly excited and enthusiastic as he explained his prowess. He was definitely more upbeat than when Robert first entered the room. It was as if he was bursting at the seams to get it out and brag to someone about his skills.

Kenny clasped his hands, scooted closer to the table and continued. "She used to sign on at least twice a day to check her e-mail. The moment she was online, her computer transmitted data to my computer. I was always signed on to the internet, no matter where I was, and I never signed off, unless there was a power failure or I moved to a new place. That way my computer was constantly receiving and storing data from computers around the country and the world."

"Is that how you found out where Ms. Mason was going when she left Atlanta to come here?"

"Yes. I got her driver's license number, her social security number and apartment key from her purse while she was at Chad's store one day. I could have hacked that information but it would have taken me longer. Besides, I couldn't hack her apartment key so I got the numbers when I got the key."

"How were you able to gain access to her purse without her knowing it?" asked Robert.

"Chad arranged for me to slip into his stockroom while she was there. He kept her distracted while I removed the key. I took the key to a department store in the mall, had two copies made and put it back onto the key ring in less than thirty minutes. She never suspected a thing."

"How did you use her social security and driver's license numbers to your benefit?"

asked Robert, even though he already had a pretty good idea. He still had to ask to keep the record accurate.

"Are you kidding? You really are a novice, aren't you?" laughed Kenny.

"Please just answer the question."

Kenny smiled and said, "Once you have those two numbers, you own that person. You can do anything you want because you become that person with those numbers. I got a copy of her birth certificate and I read every traffic violation she had since she got her driver's license. I knew her blood type, what medications she was on, how many times she had been married. Man, I owned her. I knew her better than she knew herself! I was able to track the public records and find out that she owned the cottage in Florida. I even read a copy of the will her parents left, bequeathing her the property. Once I knew that she owned that property, it was a simple matter to check local online records and find out who owned adjacent properties. Once I determined that the Fergusons owned the place next to Mackenzie's, it was a simple matter to track them to their permanent residence in Arizona. Once I had that established, I hacked into the phone lines in Tempe, Arizona and told their computers that the Fergusons were delinquent in their payment and ordered them to disconnect their phone line. With their phone line disabled, I was temporarily free to move in next to Mackenzie without anyone being able to call and check with the Fergusons to see if it was okay. I honestly figured I'd be sleeping with Mackenzie long before anyone decided to check anything out."

"You used your spyware to obtain her flight information to Florida?" asked Robert.

"Yeah, that was cool too. I booked a flight minutes after she did. She had used her boss' credit card months earlier for a business-related expense. She recorded that number on her electronic expense voucher." Kenny started laughing and shaking his head from side to side. He stopped and with a smile still on his face, continued, "I used his credit card number to book a flight that left two hours before Mackenzie's. Then I charged about 100 memberships to different porn sites to his account and had them send assorted porn crap to his home, his office and the corporate office. I was even able to get the vice president's credit card number and did the same thing to him. I even charged long distance calls to overseas porn sites to the vice president's card!" Kenny started laughing again.

"If you admired Ms. Mason so much, didn't you consider the effects all of those actions would have on her?" inquired Robert.

"They couldn't have ever linked it back to her. I love screwing with those corporate assholes. They're constantly screwing the 'little guy'. Have you ever been in a department store at Christmas? All of the 'worker bees' are humping it into the wee hours of the night, while the corporate guys are sitting back in the custom-made recliners, having a mixed drink in front of their custom-made fireplaces. I viewed it as a little payback."

"You said you made copies of her apartment key. What did you need them for?"

"Chad said he wanted one. He didn't know it, but I actually made two copies and kept one for myself. I wanted to sneak into her apartment while she was sleeping and...watch her."

"And did you...watch her?"

"I couldn't get in. She had two damn security chains on the door."

"Why did Chad want a key to her apartment?"

Kenny shrugged and looked at the floor.

"The tape recorder doesn't record gestures, Kenny. I need a verbal response."

Kenny looked back at Robert slowly. The excitement in his eyes had vanished and he looked more solemn than he did when he first started the interview.

"You gotta understand, Chad did his own thing, for his own reasons. I never had that much to do with what Chad had going on."

"You're being evasive, Kenny. I need some direct answers. What did Chad have going on?"

Kenny knew that if he continued, he would be crossing a threshold he hadn't crossed before. He also knew that he had to swing at every pitch or he would certainly be out of the game.

"Chad had expensive taste and liked the best of everything. Some of the things he got were stolen, but things like his house took real cash and he wasn't making the kind of money he needed at the mall. Not directly anyway."

"How did he make it?" asked Robert, hoping for the "goods" on Chad.

"He used to have a couple of managers from other stores helping him but I'm not sure if he still does. He also had one close associate; I think his name is Curtis, helping him. Anyway, he considered selling drugs and reaping the high-profit margin. He ruled that out because of the tough competition, the heavy police involvement, the informant risk. With his record, he'd be facing hard jail time if caught. He considered burglary but that was too slow-paced. It involved finding people to sell the stolen property to and very low-profit margin. Then one day, a customer came in his store and gave him a counterfeit twenty. Chad saw that the guy had a whole wad of them in his pocket, so the likelihood of the customer being an innocent victim of circumstances was pretty unlikely. Chad hooked up with the guy and got some other managers in the mall to help with the distribution and laundering. I helped some but in a very limited capacity."

Robert thought back and recalled Chad getting a brown bag from a bag of popcorn. He assumed it was an open and shut case of drug distribution.

Chad Nuxhall was a counterfeiter?" asked Robert.

"He wasn't the counterfeiter. He was the main distributor though. I never met the main man or heard his name mentioned."

"What else?" pushed Robert.

"That's about it. He stole cash from his daily sales to use as buy money for more counterfeit currency. He hated spending his own cash on anything or anyone other than himself."

"You were going to tell me about the key to Mackenzie's apartment and what he planned on doing with it."

"Chad was going to send someone into her apartment some night and mess her up. He wanted her out of the way. I'm not sure of all the reasons why but he hated her. My guess is that she stumbled on something wrong with the company books. He was amateurish sometimes. He lacked my refined skills!" said Kenny with a smile you could almost feel.

"Do you know who was behind the secret admirer letters?"

"That was me. Did you happen to read any of them? I even wrote some poetry," said Kenny, still smiling.

"Sorry, I missed the poetry part. What about the derogatory letters sent to Mackenzie's corporate headquarters that were intended to look as though she had written them?"

"Letters to the corporate office? I have no knowledge of any letters of any kind, other than my love letters," replied Kenny.

"If you were so captivated by her, how could you allow Chad to threaten her well-being?"

"It was a business thing. Chad was just going to rough her up a little and scare her into quitting. The beating part didn't bother me. Some women like it when you show them who's boss. Other women need it to knock some sense into them or bring them down a peg or two. There are lots of women out there running wild and need a real man to rise to the task of taming them. My dad would slap my mom around a couple of times when she needed it and I never heard her complain. I think she was grateful."

Robert stared at him in disbelief but reserved his personal views on Kenny's comments for another time, another day, another place.

"I think that will do it for me, Kenny. Is there anything else you'd care to add?"

Kenny shook his head and said, "Not now. I want to save some of the big stuff for a substantial deal with the feds. I've been considering my options while sitting in my cell. I think I could express my experiences in great detail and write a blockbuster book or movie. Play your cards right and I'll let you play yourself in the movie. What do you think?"

"I'll get back to you. This concludes our interview," replied Robert. He turned off the tape recorder, packed his things and called for the jailers.

Two robust men in prison guard uniforms came in, searched Kenny and escorted him back down the hall to his cell. Another jailer escorted Robert to the exit.

When Robert got outside, he saw a fast food restaurant across the street and decided to grab a bite to eat. While he was downing some greasy French fries, his thoughts drifted to his youngest boy, Ron. It was Ron's last year in high school and as soon as he graduated and went to college, Robert and his wife were going to relocate to Ireland. Robert discussed their retirement plans with Ron, his daughter, Melinda, (a lawyer practicing corporate law in Chicago) and his other son, Scott, (a geologist with a major oil company in California) and they all supported the idea.

Robert's wife, Anna Lee, was born and raised in the small town of Macroom, Ireland. Over the years, Robert and his family had made several trips back to Ireland to visit her family. They all loved Ireland and longed to settle on some open land that had been bequeathed to them by Anna Lee's grandfather when Ron was six.

Ron was the only one of Robert's children that wanted to join them when he was out of school. He planned on being a veterinarian and establishing a small practice in Cork, Ireland. His daughter, Melinda, had two children and was married to a dentist. They had firm roots in Chicago and had no intention of moving. Robert's other son, Scott, was a bachelor who loved anything associated with sports and California provided the perfect playground for him.

Robert was doing some mental calculations and determined he could help Ron with undergraduate school, but then he'd be on his own with the graduate courses. If he planned it right, he'd have enough money left to buy a small fishing boat and take short trips out of Cork Harbour.

Robert was washing his fries down with a diet soft drink when he noticed a large man three tables away from him, grabbing his own throat with both hands. A woman sitting across from the man screamed that the guy was choking. Some guy with a baseball cap appeared from nowhere, threw the man to the floor and began CPR.

Robert set his drink down, shook his head and thought, what a moron! He quickly ran to the guy on the floor and noticed that his lips were turning blue. Robert yanked the would-be rescuer from the choking man and stood the man upright. He stood in back of the choking man, put his arms around the man's waist and performed the Heimlich maneuver. Robert repeated the process four times before a glob of hamburger meat shot out and landed in the screaming woman's lap.

The rescued man plopped back onto his seat behind the table and began gasping for air like a man who had just run a marathon. Robert saw that the choking victim would recover and since he had completed his lunch, he decided to leave. He was waiting for a cab to take him to the motel Marcia was staying at, when something Kenny said in the interview lit a light bulb in his head. He could write a book of his life as a private detective! He could make Mac's case chapter twelve. He was thinking of that number because she fell right in the middle of his most interesting cases.

Mac wasn't aware that her case was swirling among Robert's literary thoughts. The only thing she was aware of was the remaining mess in the attic. She wanted to tackle the attic while she still had the energy and desire. Miss Julie's makeover could wait until she was ready to call it quits on the sorting.

She was plowing through a stack of boxes until she got to the one with her high school yearbooks. She removed the one from her junior year and brought to her nose. It had a unique odor. It was a combination musty/inky sort of smell, unlike any of the other books mixed in.

She leaned back against the boxes she had shoved to one side and rendered a fingertip caress over the embossed horse on the dusty blue, yearbook cover. What memories and secrets those pages held. Some were bad but most of them made her smile or laugh. Just feeling the cover and looking at the Franklin High mascot, brought a warm smile to her face.

Mac hadn't thought of her high school in years. She wasn't able to attend her ten-year class reunion and wasn't invited to the fifteenth. She hadn't ventured home to the small town of Franklin, Indiana since her best friend threw her a farewell party. What a party!

Mac wanted to explore different lifestyle options, so she took a two-year break from the strict regimen of school. She tried her hand at various part-time jobs and quickly learned that she needed to advance her skills or she'd be filling menial positions the rest of her life. She didn't find the positions degrading; she found them monotonous and incredibly boring. She had to reach higher so she applied to dozens of colleges and was finally accepted at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia.

When she told her best friend, Blaise Stanifer, she was devastated. The two sat in Mac's bedroom and cried for nearly thirty minutes.

Blaise was a short, stocky, smile-a-minute girl that most people enjoyed being around. Not everyone liked Blaise though. Some were downright shitty to her and cut her to the core with remarks they generated regarding her weight.

She met Blaise during a softball game in her freshman year at Franklin High. The girls had suited-up in their gym clothes and went to the neglected baseball field to play a game of softball. The field was never adequately maintained because school funding was nonexistent and school officials had to count on volunteers for erratic maintenance. Consequently, the students, (male and female alike), had to contend with high grass, missing bases and standing pools of water and mud.

Mac came to bat and on the first pitch, she swung so hard that she spun around and knocked the catcher's mask off of Blaise's face and sent her backward into the umpire.

The incident started a dialogue between the two and they sowed a relationship that grew into a wholesome, sharing and caring friendship that lasted until Mac left for college.

The two of them went everywhere together. Their favorite activity was roller skating at the Franklin Roller Rink. Being able to build up speed and go rocketing by less adept skaters was exhilarating and liberating. The hours they skated seemed to pass like minutes.

They also loved to go the movies at the new, downtown, indoor theatre. The plush, red seats and huge, wide screen was larger than life, making them feel like they were actually in the movie itself. They watched every type of movie released and sometimes reenacted select scenes when they returned home.

They both loved music and often harmonized to favorite tunes that were played repeatedly on Mac's cassette tape recorder. Blaise had a beautiful voice and sang in the school choir throughout high school. Blaise's music teacher would feature her by letting her sing a cappella during school assemblies and concerts. Blaise's performances were always followed by thunderous applause. There were times Mac was jealous of Blaise's vocal abilities and attention she received as a result but those times were brief and infrequent. The main reason she was jealous was because she tried to sing but singing didn't want to try Mac. She never developed a voice anyone would want to listen to for more than a minute or two.

Mac flipped through the pages and came to a segment depicting moments captured from the junior prom. They wanted to experience everything high school had to offer but since neither of them had a date, they went together. They were nervous at first but soon realized that there were a few other girls and even a couple of guys that did the same thing.

Mac chuckled slightly when she recalled an incident that she wished had made it to the yearbook. Blaise was sitting on a chair when Donny Hanson came along and sat next to her. He was a tall, skinny guy from her algebra class that believed in the saying, "If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit".

The two began a conversation that ended abruptly when Blaise slapped him in the face and cut his lip. Mac saw the incident and ran to Blaise's defense.

"My, God, Blaise, your face is red as red can be. What happened?"

"We were talking about different stuff and Donny asked me what I wanted to do after high school. I told him I wanted to open a discount furniture chain that sold real quality furniture at low, low prices so that even poor people could have nice things in their houses as well. Beauty, comfort and style shouldn't always be reserved for the rich and famous. Donny laughed at me and said I was stupid, so I slapped him."

The two looked at Donny and then at each other and started laughing. Mr. Tanner, one of the school chaperones, came over to investigate and spoke kindly to them. He was always a very understanding math teacher and applied those same skills to his official dance duties. Mac thought she saw Mr. Tanner suppressing a slight smile as he listened. After hearing both sides of the incident, they were each given a warning and allowed to return to the dance festivities. Donny and Blaise avoided each other the rest of the evening and for the rest of the school year. The following year however, the two went to their senior prom together. Two years after they graduated, about the same time Mac went to college, they got married. Mac was her maid of honor and cried during most of the church ceremony. The last thing she heard, Donny and Blaise had a daughter they named Lucille. They named her after Donny's grandmother who passed away one month before they wed.

Mac closed the book and thought about Blaise. How could their relationship have drifted apart after they were so close? It was like her and Billy and she loved Billy like no other. Time and distance have no mercy.

After this whole mess is over, I'm going to make it a point to track Blaise down. I wonder if she had any other children? I wonder if she's still married? I wonder if she's still alive?, she thought. Mac shot off a round of shotgun questions, only this time there was no one to hear and respond to them.

She was about to open another box when she heard something downstairs. She moved to the attic edge and listened for a minute. She heard music. Moreover, it was "Carousel in the Park".

Mac scrambled down the ladder and into her bedroom. She looked in disbelief as she saw that someone had raised the lid of her music box. It was playing the familiar melody while little skating figures twirled on the ice. She initially panicked, remembering a scene she had seen once in a movie. A woman was under federal protection because she was a witness to a crime committed by members of an organized crime gang. Somehow, a hit-man found her and snuck into the house. The woman heard a music box playing and when she walked into the room where the music was emanating from, she found her bodyguard sitting on the floor in a pool of blood.

Mac was certain she would round the corner and find Marcia in the living room, dead in a pool of blood.

She left her bedroom and tiptoed down the hallway. She peeked around the corner to the living room entrance but saw only furniture. Mac looked at her cell phone on the counter in the kitchen and then at the hallway camera and said, "Marcia, if you're in the van and everything is fine, call my cell phone, let it ring once and hang up."

Less than a minute later, Mac's cell phone rang once and stopped. She looked at the camera and said, "Thanks! I'll explain later." Get a grip here, Mac, she thought.

Then something on the coffee table caught her eye. She moved closer and looked over the top of the chair to see more clearly. It was Miss Julie. The last time she saw Miss Julie was on her dresser. It had moved back to the coffee table again.

Mac went over, lifted Miss Julie gently and carried her back to the dresser in her room. Mac closed the lid of the silent music box and stared at both of them. She straightened Miss Julie's leg and said, "You both know what's going on. Too bad neither of you can talk."

"Not here, anyway," came a whispered reply.

Mac was startled by the unexpected response and fell backward to the edge of her bed. Her heart started racing and her eyes were as wide as saucers. The combination of anxiety and excitement she was experiencing was clearly overwhelming.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed. "Say something else, Miss Julie."

Mac waited and waited but there was no further comment from the doll. "What's next? More importantly, when do I get some stinking answers?? Someone needs to start talking on a regular basis here!! This stuff is beyond getting old...it's downright ancient!!"

Mac lifted the doll from her dresser and said, "Come on, Miss Julie. How about it? I'd tell you!"

After some time, she finally calmed down and it occurred to Mac that the doll would talk no more. She put the doll back against the mirror and said, "I'm going to get a cup of coffee. If you decide to change your mind, you know where to find me."

Mac went to the kitchen, poured a cup of cold coffee from the pot, nuked it in her microwave and called Shingo.

"Hey, Shingo."

"Hi, Mac. I was just getting ready to call you. I wanted to know what to bring you for lunch."

"How about if I make you some lunch here, instead?" Mac knew that the Cuda Shack didn't receive much lunchtime traffic during this time of year and wanted to repay Shingo in a small way for all his generosity.

Shingo looked around the empty Shack and said, "I could probably come over for a quick bite. What's on the menu?"

"How about a ham sandwich with lettuce, tomato and mayo? You can wash it down with the beverage of your choice."

"I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. What choice of beverages do I have?" asked Shingo.

"Water, ice tea or coffee," replied Mac.

"Start making some water, I'm on the way!"

Mac chuckled and said, "I'll brew some of the house's finest."

When Shingo arrived, Mac had the sandwich prepared and setting on a plate next to a tall glass of water with several ice cubes.

She met him at the door and exchanged a warm hug with him. "Did you have any trouble finding the place?" she asked with a smile.

He laughed and said, "No, I was just here the other day."

Mac thought momentarily and said, "That's right, you were! Come on in and have a seat. I know you don't want to be gone too long."

Shingo went into the kitchen and sat at the table. He looked at the solitary plate and asked, "Aren't you having anything?"

"I will later. I'm not very hungry right now."

Shingo took a few bites of his sandwich, washed them down with a drink of water and asked, "Have you spoken with Donna?"

"Yes. She's going to be in the hospital here for two or three more days and then her husband will drive her home to recuperate. Her doctors told her that she would have a couple more surgeries ahead of her. She'll probably never regain full use of the arm though. It bothers me that I may have been the cause of it."

"You weren't the cause. She was doing her job. A job she knew could be dangerous. The person who shot her was the cause of the injury."

"I know, but I feel responsible."

"I'll say it just one last time, Mac. The guy who shot her was responsible. I understand your sympathy but there's no need to complicate your life with unnecessary guilt. I'm not trying to be cold about all of what has happened, just realistic," stated Shingo as he looked at Mac sincerely.

"Thanks, Shingo. I'm always thanking you for something!"

Shingo smiled and looked at Mac. "That's what friends are for."

He took another bite of his sandwich and commented, "This is delicious!"

"It's not too hard to make a ham sandwich!" she laughed.

"Any more news from your ghosts?" he asked.

"Yes! There's been a new development in that field. My doll, Miss Julie, has decided to make her feelings known. I've been putting her on my dresser but she doesn't seem to want to stay there. I keep finding her by the jigsaw puzzle in the living room."

"Do you think she's walking there, or is someone putting her there?" asked Shingo.

"No clue but when I found her there again a little while ago, I was frustrated and asked her for some answers. I even lamented that it was too bad she couldn't talk and tell me how she was able to do it. To my shock, she implied that she could talk but not here. I don't know if she meant not in my bedroom, my house or what. Maybe she meant not in the house because of all the cameras."

Shingo gave it some thought and said, "Maybe she meant not in this world. If we're dealing with ghosts, maybe it has something to do with the afterlife."

"Maybe. It's driving me crazy though, Shingo. I get a word here, a shadow there. I have no idea how, why or who. It's the not knowing part that is hardest for me to deal with. Of course, the voices are a little tough to deal with too."

"When this mess blows over, we can spend some more time together and see if we can hash it out. Maybe we could call in some paranormal experts to help," he suggested.

"Shingo, when this is all over, I won't be able to afford any additional experts, except ones who deal with bankruptcy. I'll be pretty much broke."

"I'm sure there's someone out there willing to look into this sort of matter for no charge."

"Well, I'll worry about that aspect later." Mac saw that Shingo had finished his sandwich and said, "Would you like another?"

"No, thanks. I'd better be headed back. The customers are probably lined up around the building by now. You know how hungry crowds can be!" laughed Shingo.

Mac walked him to the door, gave him a hug and said goodbye. When she turned around, she expected to see Miss Julie back at the coffee table, but she wasn't. A quick check of the bedroom revealed that she was right where Mac had left her.

"Are you hungry too, Miss Julie? What would you like? How about some nice, new yarn?"

Mac took Miss Julie into the living room and sat with her on the couch. She got the skein of yarn that Naomi had purchased for her, a knitting needle, a ruler and a pair of scissors. She measured and cut about twenty, nine-inch lengths of yarn to start with. She removed what little "hair" Miss Julie had left and used the knitting needle to insert the new strands. She held the doll up and said, "You're getting more beautiful by the minute. Twenty more strands and I think you'll be done."

Mac finished the hair and received notification from her brain that a headache was coming on. She took some medication and sat back on the couch. She pulled the comforter up to her shoulders and had a thought, just as she was comfortable. She got up, put the made-over Miss Julie back on her dresser and said, "I'm going to rest for a little bit. When I wake up, you better still be where I left you!"

Mac returned to the couch, sat back and adjusted the comforter once more. She closed her eyes and within minutes, was sound asleep.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ATLANTA - PART III

Robert registered himself, Dennis and Mario at the same motel the women were staying. He went to his room, unpacked and made a phone call to Detective Jack Maxwell in Atlanta.

The phone rang three times and a voice said, "Maxwell."

Detective Jack Maxwell was a handsome man with a perfectly formed face. Perfectly formed except for the severely deformed nose he acquired as a result of a short boxing stint while serving in the United States Navy. He was dazed in the fifth round of a match aboard a ship in the Pacific and dropped his guard long enough for his opponent to connect with a wicked right. The blow flattened his nose and sent Maxwell into unconsciousness. The medical staff aboard the ship did what they could but the nose really needed surgical repair to reshape it. Since there was no doctor aboard that ship, he had to wait until they reached a facility that had one. They could have flown him to another ship with a doctor, but a broken nose wasn't deemed a medical evacuation emergency. By the time he was able to be seen by a doctor, the nose had set and Maxwell was content to live with it.

"Hey, Jack, it's Bob. I'm in Florida doing some follow-up on the Mason case we've been working on. There have been a few new wrinkles."

"Such as?" asked Jack.

"Looks like I'm going to have to turn our boy Nuxhall over to you and the Secret Service."

"Secret Service? What's the guy into?" queried Jack.

"We have his cousin in custody down here. He's being held on a score of different federal charges. During the course of an interview with me, he alleged that Chad Nuxhall is fencing counterfeit currency throughout the Atlanta area."

"We've gotten several memos on that from the Secret Service. Apparently, bogus bills are turning up everywhere. They'll be pleased as punch to get the info. I'll give Special Agent Marston a call as soon as I'm off the phone with you. How's the case going for you?"

"Touch-and-go, I guess. Do you remember Donna Garrison?" asked Robert.

"She's your office manager, isn't she?" responded the detective.

"Yeah. She took a bullet in her left arm. It could be coincidental but my gut feeling says it's Curtis Blanchard."

"Is she going to be all right?"

"She'll recover from the gunshot but she'll have some physical limitations," stated Robert.

"That sucks!"

"Yes, it does. We've got the whole team down here trying to wrap this up."

"Wish I could help, but you're a little out of my jurisdiction now!" stated the detective. He was sincere in his comment because they worked together in an unofficial capacity occasionally and he admired all of the members of the Breson Detective Agency.

"I'll keep you posted if anything new develops here. Catch ya' later," said Robert as he hung up.

Detective Maxwell immediately called the Secret Service and asked for Special Agent Marston. He briefed the agent on the known facts of the case and offered his assistance.

"Do you happen to have any of the serial numbers from the bills?" asked the special agent.

"No serial numbers, just point of origin and the two names I gave you," replied Jack.

"Thanks, detective. I'll be in touch."

Special Agent Marston had a reverent devotion to his job and clamped onto a case like a pit bull locking onto the leg of a trespasser.

The special agent wasn't off the phone with detective Maxwell for more than thirty seconds when he was on the phone again mobilizing the stagnant task force that had been working the counterfeit case.

"I want Bravo Team to find where this guy lives, get a search warrant and check every speck of dust in his place. Delta Team will mount-up and canvass the mall with me. I'm going to keep Charlie Team in ready reserve to swing with the pendulum. All right, gentlemen, let's motivate."

Special Agent Marston and two other agents in the office with him ran to the parking lot and congregated around two, black, government cars. One agent popped the trunk of one of the vehicles and distributed body armor to the others. He unlocked three, small, automatic, submachine guns and handed them out as well. The agents donned their protective gear, radio headsets, locked and loaded their weapons and jumped into the two cars. They sped to the mall and walked at a near run to Chad's store.

Special Agent Marston went to a salesperson at the front of the store, while one agent went to the rear of the store and the third agent stood point at the entrance.

Agent Marston produced his credentials and asked her where Chad was.

The frightened salesperson told the agent that Chad had already left for the day.

Special Agent Marston produced a two-way radio from his black, trench coat and said, "Delta One to Bravo One."

"Go ahead, Delta One," came the crystal clear response.

"The bird is on the fly. Drop back ten and wait for the ball to land."

"Roger, Delta One. Dropping back ten."

Marston looked at the girl's name badge and asked, "What is your position here, LaSondra?"

The girl appeared shocked that the agent knew her name, then smiled and put her hand over the name badge when she figured it out. "I'm just a part-time salesperson. I'm trying to save some extra money for a new car."

Agent Marston looked the girl over and thought that she didn't look old enough to drive. "How long have you worked here?"

"I started last year. I was hired by the former manager just before she quit and they put Mr. Nuxhall in here."

"Who's currently in charge of the store?" he asked.

"Melody Sanchez, the assistant manager."

"Where is Ms. Sanchez at the moment?"

"She told me was getting something to eat and that she'd be right back."

Agent Marston looked at his watch and said, "Little early for dinner, isn't it?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders and said, "She's the boss. She can do whatever she wants."

The other three members of Delta Team arrived with a search warrant and greeted Agent Marston. He assigned two of them to the stockroom office and sent the third to stand point with the agent already there.

Agent Marston told LaSondra to stay near him and point out the assistant manager as soon as she entered the store.

"What if a customer comes in and needs some help?" she asked politely.

"Pay no attention to the customers," he replied indifferently. "Are you nervous?" he asked.

"Hell, no! This is thrilling! I hope the bitch gets what she has coming to her."

Agent Marston took a renewed interest in the girl. He removed a small notepad from his breast pocket and began to write. "What exactly do you think she has coming to her?"

"Everyone that works here knows that she's been screwing the manager and getting special treatment. I think our other assistant manager is jealous of Melody's special treatment," replied the teenager.

"What kind of special treatment does she get?"

"She clocks in and disappears for hours. She still gets paid and isn't even here. Sometimes the manager clocks her in and she hasn't even been in the mall, let alone the store."

"How often does that happen?" he asked.

"At least once a week," she replied.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about Mr. Nuxhall or Ms. Sanchez?"

"I'm pretty sure Melody does drugs of some kind. My guess is that she does favors for Mr. Nuxhall to earn extra money for them."

"Why do you think she does drugs?"

"One night, after my shift, I was going to a party and went into the bathroom to change my clothes. Mr. Nuxhall and Melody probably thought I'd already left for the night. Anyway, when I came out, I saw Melody stuffing a wad of cash into her purse. You don't need that kind of money to buy a cup of coffee!" said the girl nonchalantly. "Another girl that works here stopped in one night, when she wasn't scheduled, to tell Mr. Nuxhall that she needed some time off. When she entered the stockroom, Melody was giving Mr. Nuxhall oral sex. Come on, man, put all that together. The bitch has to be hooked on something. Mr. Nuxhall is the last guy on earth I'd consider doing that for, unless I absolutely, positively had to! Even then I'd still think twice."

"Did you ever see either Mr. Nuxhall or Ms. Sanchez hand large sums of cash to anyone else?"

"Nope."

"Were you ever asked to do Mr. Nuxhall any favors?" asked the agent.

"Nah. He hardly even talks to me. I rarely work with him either. He always schedules me to work with Melody. He probably does that 'cause he's aware that I know how everything works here and with Melody out of the store a lot, he's confident things will still run smoothly."

"Do many people, other than employees, come and go from your stockroom?" asked agent Marston.

"Not anymore. They used to be in there all the time," replied the girl.

"How long ago did they stop?"

"Managers from other stores in the mall used to come and go in our stockroom as much as they did in their own. It stopped when we got the new district manager. She was tough as dried out gum."

"What's the district manager's name?" he queried.

"I'm not sure who it is now. I don't even know if we have one. The old one just got canned."

The agent sighed silently and asked, "What was the former district manager's name?"

"Mackenzie Mason. She was hard as nails and followed the rules. It didn't always set well with Mr. Nuxhall."

"Why not?"

"The company would want us to put sale merchandise in particular spots and he didn't always agree so he put it wherever he thought it would sell best. She'd come in and continually make him change it. The moment she left, he'd give her the finger and then he'd put it right back where he wanted it to be. I don't think they ever liked each other."

"That's quite possible," offered the agent.

"Can I tell you something confidentially? What I mean is, I'll tell you something but I don't want Mr. Nuxhall to know that I told you," said LaSondra as she inched closer to the agent.

"I can only base my response on the information you provide. If you say something that can be used against him in a formal legal proceeding, I may not be able to withhold that material. It would be obstruction of justice and as such, I could be subject to formal legal repercussions as a result."

LaSondra looked at him speculatively and then said, "Never mind."

"I might add, the same law applies to you. If it's determined at a later time that you were aware of criminal activity and withheld first-hand knowledge of said criminal wrongdoing, you too could be subject to formal legal repercussions. You may even face incarceration as a result of those proceedings."

"Damn! In that case, I'll go ahead and tell you after all."

Agent Marston began to write again.

"One summer morning when I was out of school, Ms. Mason came to our store and made her routine store visit. She had a checklist she used to make sure we were doing what the company wanted. On that particular morning, she burned us really bad. Mr. Nuxhall was furious and when Ms. Mason went to lunch, he took a box cutter and stormed out of the store. I thought he was going to cut her up but he didn't. He slashed her two back tires instead."

"How do you know?" quizzed the agent.

"He came back into the store laughing and told me what he did. He also told me to never repeat it, or else!"

"Did you ever tell anyone else?"

LaSondra laughed and said, "You know how it is. You have to pass sh..., er, uh...stuff like that along. I told everyone but Ms. Mason. Everyone I told had a good laugh when they heard it."

"I take it Ms. Mason wasn't very well liked here," commented agent Marston.

LaSondra reflected momentarily and responded, "She wasn't really bad. She was just strict, like a parent. You know what I mean?"

Agent Marston smiled and replied, "Yes, I guess I do."

LaSondra yanked the agent's arm and said, "That's her! That's Melody!"

"The one wearing a beige blouse and black slacks?"

"Yep. That's Melody."

The agent put the microphone from his headset to his mouth and said, "Vigilance, gentlemen."

The agents in front of the store focused all of their attention on agent Marston as he approached the incoming assistant manager.

He stopped in front of her, read her name and title on the name badge she was wearing and said, "Hello. My name is Jules Marston." He produced his credentials and continued, "I'm a special agent with the United States Secret Service. I need to ask you some questions."

He hesitated intentionally, hoping to provoke a reaction.

Melody's shoulders plunged like a balloon popping and all the blood drained from her face, leaving a sickly, ashen hue.

Agent Marston turned so that he was standing to her side. He put his hand to the small of her back, intending to guide her to the stockroom and said, "Would you come with me please?"

Melody's chin dropped and tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

As they started toward the stockroom, her gait was little more than a shuffle. They were about halfway back into the store when panic struck her and she bolted toward the entrance.

The two agents standing point were able to stop her just before she was able to leave. Agent Marston joined the two agents and removed a card from his card case. "You have a right..." He continued reading to the end and asked her if she understood her rights. Melody acknowledged that she understood them and added that she didn't want a lawyer yet.

She looked tearfully into agent Marston's eyes and said, " All of my life, people have used me like a rug. They've wiped their feet on me and treated me worse than their dog. I've always done what was asked of me, even when I didn't want to. And what did I ever get for my efforts? Nothing but a hard kick in the ass or a slap in the face. Men have dated me just to use my body and then left me with nothing, except bad memories. I've been in trouble before and never gotten a fair shake. If I cooperate fully, I want a deal. I want to walk with no strings."

"That's a tall order to fill. You know I can't guarantee anything until I know what's going on," stated Marston.

"Sure you can. You know it and I know it. I can give you a slam-dunk case but I walk, free and clear."

"Let's go to the back and talk."

All three agents escorted Melody to the stockroom. Agent Marston called for a female agent to join them at the mall. Whenever practical, they are required to have a female agent present with a female suspect before the interrogation could begin.

Once she was in the stockroom, the two point agents returned to their positions at the store entrance. Agent Marston made some telephone calls while one of the agents assigned to the stockroom stood guard at the door.

"I need to make a telephone call," stated Melody emphatically.

"In just a minute, Ms. Sanchez," offered agent Marston. He was on the telephone with the agents of Bravo Team attempting to get an update. He was informed that they had a search warrant for the premises and that it would be executed when Chad arrived.

Agent Marston spoke briefly with the agent guarding the stockroom door, while the third agent sorted through the store files.

Melody sat on some boxes filled with new merchandise that had just been delivered. She crossed her legs and looked left and right anxiously. "When are we going to get this started!?" she said in a firm, nearly demanding voice.

None of the agents paid her any heed. Melody switched legs but kept them crossed. She began staring at the unlit exit sign over the stockroom door. Whenever someone glanced in her direction, she looked away quickly.

Melody looked at the agent going through the office files and said, "Hey, you! I have to use the bathroom!"

The agent continued to examine daily reports and without missing a beat, he replied flatly, "You'll just have to wait."

"You guys are crossing my line here. If you want to deal, you better make it quick before I change my mind."

Melody's beige blouse was getting darker and wetter under her arms. She found it increasingly difficult to sit still. She remembered her last bitter confrontation with the law. She had been at a party, had a few drinks and a joint or two. She was driving home and was stopped for being fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit. The policeman who stopped her asked to see her driver's license and registration. Melody shoved her hand clumsily into her purse, grabbed her wallet and whipped it out. When she did, the fold in the wallet snagged the tip of a loose joint and sent it flying onto her dashboard. She was cited for speeding, driving with an expired driver's license and an expired license tag.

After she signed the citations, she was arrested for simple possession. She had to spend five hellish days in jail before making bail. Her sister had to drive eight hours and ended up missing two days of work when she drove down and bailed Melody out. Her sister also promised that she'd never do it again. Those five days produced a new and committed Melody. She swore she would do whatever it took to remain on the outside looking in.

When she went before the judge, he reviewed her charges, her misdemeanor past and gave her three months probation. She felt reprieved and born again. There was no way she ever wanted to see an inmate named Flo again. Flo had special initiations for new prisoners that were especially humiliating and extremely painful.

Melody called her sister crying with joy and appreciation for her sister's unconditional love, kindness and understanding. She swore to stay out of trouble and pay back every dime her sister had ever spent on her. Melody's sister had some reservations about the whole new image she was promising but extended Melody the benefit of the doubt. Privately, her sister didn't give Melody more than six months.

Sure enough, eight months after her probation ended, she joined with old, bad habits again. Melody spent several of the following years drifting into the path of every storm that approached. It was sheer luck that steered her clear during those tormented times. This time it looked as though good fortune had turned its back on Melody, laughed and sped away. She was about to be sucked into the twisting, and mangling guts of a hurricane of grief.

The thought of going to jail for years terrified her. Fear crept over her body and wrapped it in a million, paralyzing arms. The longer she had to wait, the more time she had to think. The more she thought, the tighter the arms became. Anxiety was her new boss and it made it difficult for her to breathe. Her mouth and throat were feeling like someone had patted them dry with a paper towel. She tried to lick her lips and moisten them but all oral fluid had evaporated.

Melody shot up and shouted, "I need something to drink!!"

Agent Marston looked around the stockroom, saw a water fountain and gestured to it with his hand.

Melody took a sip of water and began to pace from wall to wall. She'd stop after a couple of passes, take another drink of water and start pacing again. Each time she turned and faced the dark exit sign, she'd glance up at it. None of the agents took note of her interest in it.

I can't go to jail,. I'm not going to jail. Not for Chad. Not for anyone. Not now. Not ever, thought Melody. She recited those words over and over in her mind. It became a mantra of sorts. She would do what she had to do. It didn't matter. She wasn't going to jail, no matter what.

Melody was on the verge of wearing away a path in the stockroom floor tile when another agent joined the group in the stockroom. The agent walked up to Melody and said, "Hello. My name is Janel Burmeister. I'm a special agent with the United States Secret Service. I'll be conducting an interview with you this afternoon. It is my understanding that you have been informed of your rights and have declined counsel at this time."

"Yes, that's true," Melody replied.

Agent Burmeister asked the agent in the office to move. He moved his pile of daily sales reports to a stack of boxes and continued his review. The agent then plugged her reel-to-reel tape recorder in and prepared to take notes. "Ms. Sanchez, would you please have a seat here?"

Melody walked to the manager's office and sat on a brown, metal folding chair.

"Ms. Sanchez, please state your full name."

Routine questions regarding her full name, date of birth, time of employment, etc., followed one after another. With the basics out of the way, the agent began to chew on the meat of the situation. "Ms. Sanchez, when did you first meet Mr. Nuxhall?"

"Before I answer, I want to know if you have the authority to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" asked Janel.

"I'll give you Nuxhall and five others if I get immunity."

"How will you give us Mr. Nuxhall?"

"Counterfeiting. I'll give you the whole operation, but I have to walk."

"Give us a few minutes, Ms. Sanchez."

Agent Burmeister conferred with Agent Marston by the stockroom door. Agent Marston made a call on his cell phone and spoke with the federal prosecutors office. He made two other phone calls and discussed them with Agent Burmeister.

"The best deal we are prepared to offer at this time is one to five years in a minimum- security prison. Chances are you'll only serve a year, maybe two. We might be able to sweeten the deal at a later date but it is too early in the investigation to make any guarantees."

"What if I don't cooperate?"

"If we determine you were a key player in a counterfeit ring, you could get twenty years or more, depending on the circumstances of the case."

Melody wanted to scream when she heard she could be facing twenty years but she didn't. She wanted to cry and tear out of the room but she couldn't. She felt as trapped as the night her alcoholic "stepfather" held her down in her bedroom and raped her while he was drunk. She was only fourteen and she couldn't get away or cry then either. Melody's father fell from a telephone pole he was working on and died. Her mother was a lonely woman who worked two jobs to make ends meet and made a bad choice in her new boyfriend. The man that raped her wasn't really her stepfather. He wasn't even married to her mother, but that's what her mother wanted Melody to call him.

One year, maybe two. Maybe we can sweeten the deal later....or I can serve twenty years!! What a choice!! I can't do jail time. I just can't!!

"All right. I'll give you most of it then. Give me immunity and you'll get it all."

"We'll see," replied agent Burmeister. "When did you first meet Mr. Nuxhall?"

"I met him nearly two years ago."

"What were the circumstances of that meeting?"

"I met him in a bar," she answered.

"Was it an arranged meeting or a chance encounter?"

"It was a chance encounter."

"What did you do when you met him?" asked the agent.

Agent Marston moved to the office doorway and began to listen in. He had the microphone to his headset pushed back and held a radio transceiver in his right hand.

"I was unemployed and looking to make some rent money as an escort. I flirted with him and we went on a date."

"Where did you go on that date?" asked the agent.

Melody looked at the agent, and then looked at the filing cabinet. She thought for a moment and looked back at the agent. "We went to a motel, made love and he gave me a fifty. He said there was more where that came from if I wanted to do 'little favors' for him."

"Did you do favors for him?" the agent asked.

"Yes, from time to time when I needed the cash," replied Melody.

"What kind of favors did you fulfill?"

"Mainly shoplifting. He knew a couple of good 'fences' to get rid of anything we lifted and it paid okay. Not great, but enough to live on."

"What was your role in the shoplifting venture?"

"Most of the time I would serve as the decoy. I would wear a low-cut blouse and no bra. I'd also wear a short skirt and no underwear. I would distract salesmen in jewelry departments and electronics departments, while Chad would pocket what he wanted. A couple of times I'd wear a maternity top and shove a colander underneath. Then we'd go into stores as a married couple and pack merchandise into my colander."

"Where you ever apprehended?" asked the agent.

"I wasn't but Chad was once. I did the manager a sexual favor and he let Chad go."

"Tell me about the counterfeiting," said the agent.

"Chad's parole agent told him that he had to find a regular job and stick with it or he'd be in violation of his parole and have to go back to jail. We took a break from shoplifting after he was caught and moved in together to save on expenses. He took several part-time jobs but couldn't get along with some of his bosses. He has a bad temper and would argue about things he shouldn't and get fired."

Melody paused and said, "I need a drink."

Agent Burmeister looked at the water fountain and said, "Go ahead."

Melody returned and continued. "I started working as an independent escort again and Chad managed the money. That man can spend some money. He always likes the best of everything. Especially food. Anyway, one night I was working as an escort and I met the district manager of this store. He was complaining how hard it was to find good people and I told him about Chad. I offered him some 'freebies' if he'd hire Chad as one of his managers and he did. Then Chad hired me as his assistant and gave me the maximum allowable salary for the position. Nobody here knew we were living together, because it was against company policy and Chad had to be careful not to lose his job. We were making okay money and I started thinking that maybe I could be like a regular person and just work here in the store. You know, maybe we could be like a real couple or something and I could quit the escort business. Chad was angry at first and said he'd think about it. In the meantime, I had to stick with the escort job so we could continue to live in a manner that pleased him."

Melody cleared her throat and looked distant for a moment. She really wanted to live like a "regular" person. She was tired of the escort business, the shoplifting, etc. She used to watch women pushing strollers in the mall and fantasize about having a child. If she could only get out of this mess and start over one more time. She had truly learned her lesson.

"One day a man came into the store and tried to pass some counterfeit currency. Chad busted him but instead of turning him over to the cops, he invited him to our house for dinner. They talked for hours and finally made a deal. Alonzo would bring the bogus bucks from Florida and drop them off at different theatres in town. Nobody watches who comes and goes from theatres. If you're seen constantly going in and out, they just think you're a movie fanatic or something."

"What's Alonzo's last name?" inquired the agent.

"You never ask last names and they are never offered. I doubt Alonzo is his real name anyway. He doesn't know it but I have a couple of digital pictures of him in the new camera Chad stole for me."

"Where's that camera located?"

"It's in a coat pocket, hanging in my closet at home."

"The counterfeit money is left at theatres, then what?" asked the agent.

"Then different guys from all over were ordered to come in on specific days and times. They'd hook up with the popcorn man and leave. Chad would get his money and bring it back to the mall. Then he made deals with other managers sold it to them. They would launder it by giving it to customers as change, shopping throughout town or depositing it as part of the daily sales receipts. Bank tellers at our bank rarely examined any cash we deposited, for two main reasons. The first reason was because they had to deal with so many deposits and cash coming in from the mall, they just counted it and passed it along. The second reason was because they assumed we already checked the validity of the currency and verified that it was real. We hardly ever deposited cash from the store though. We were always able to move it with ease throughout town. Besides, Chad would keep all the cash for himself, so he could buy more counterfeit money."

"Are you able to provide an estimate of how much counterfeit currency Chad handled and in what kind of time frame?"

"Chad funneled between ten and fifty thousand a week in counterfeit money. Some he'd keep and some he'd sell. We'd probably cleared fifteen to twenty thousand a week. We had a great operation running when we had the old district manager. He rarely came to our store and when he did, he didn't want to check the books, he just wanted me to get on my knees and service him. Then we got the new district manager, Ms. Mason. She was tough and it looked like she was going to fire Chad so it got a little scary here for awhile. I'd never seen Chad so happy as I did the day she was fired."

"What happened to all of the money?" asked agent Burmeister.

"It was spent everywhere. We paid cash for our house and just about everything else. We have a couple thousand hidden in the house and we have a bunch in a safety deposit box at the Thrifty Bank on Walnut Street."

"Is there any counterfeit currency in the house?"

"Yes," replied Melody succinctly.

"Approximately how much counterfeit currency do you have in your residence right now?"

"Probably close to sixty thousand. We always had to buy an allotment whether we wanted to or not. We're a little behind on pushing some of it right now."

"What are the names and places of employment of the other store managers involved?"

Melody provided a complete list that satisfied the agent's request. She also provided the exact times each made their pickup, including Chad. She knew where Alonzo lived but withheld that information as a bargaining chip to "sweeten" the deal at a later date. She was savvy enough to know they wanted the whole spider and not just the legs. She was banking on the thought that Alonzo would be her get out of jail card.

Agent Marston left the doorway and called in Charlie Team. He made some phone calls and within the hour, there would be over 100 federal and local law enforcement officers in the mall. They would canvass the stores and round-up as many suspects as possible.

"Look, I gave you what you wanted. Can I go to the bathroom now?"

Agent Burmeister turned off the tape recorder and said, "All right. I have to clear it first though."

The agent went into the store bathroom and searched for any weapons or objects that could be used as weapons and allowed Melody to go in.

Melody had just put her hand on the doorknob when members of Charlie Team rushed through the stockroom door. "Who's got the map of the mall?" asked Agent Marston in an excited voice.

Agent Burmeister watched as Melody closed and locked the bathroom door, then she started to rewind the interview tape and make a label for the tape box.

Melody closed the lid to the toilet, snatched the trash can and set it upside down on the toilet lid. She climbed onto the toilet, put her right hand against the wall to balance herself and lifted her right foot to the top of the trash can. Once she was stable, Melody crouched, lifted her left foot and set it quietly on the sink. When she stood upright, she was high enough to push the white ceiling tile from its aluminum frame and stick her head and shoulders into the open space.

Chad realized his counterfeiting efforts were risky and since most of his illegal activity emanated from his store, he decided it would be prudent to have an escape hatch. He used a food sealer to vacuum pack a change of clothing for himself and Melody. He also stashed some "getaway" cash in between the clothing so it would be hidden from view in case anyone stumbled on it. Alongside of the vacuum packs was an ordinary, black, trash bag with two pairs of sunglasses, an empty purse, a hat for Melody and a hat for Chad. He also included a facial hair kit, complete with beard, moustache and wide sideburns.

He had two, knotted ropes suspended from the steel ceiling joists to pull themselves into the ceiling. Chad knew that there was only plasterboard separating all stores in the mall so he cut a hole in the one for his store and then cut an identical hole in the plasterboard to the adjacent store. Once in the ceiling of the store next to his, he put a hook into their stockroom ceiling tile, attached a string to the hook and threw it over the top of another ceiling joist. That way, all they had to do was pull the string, lift the tile and drop into their neighbor's stockroom. The whole escape process took a little over three minutes.

After Melody stuck her head into the ceiling, she clamped onto the knotted rope, pulled herself into the ceiling and went through the hole to the next store. She turned around, reached back through the hole, retrieved both vacuum packs and the trash bag with the hats. She yanked the string attached to the ceiling tile next door and jumped to their stockroom floor. She figured time was of the essence and if anyone was back there, she would just give them the cash in Chad's clothing to buy their silence.

Lady Luck must have given her a last kiss on the forehead, because no one was back there and everything was going smoothly. Melody ripped open her vacuum pack, pulled her blouse over head, removed her slacks and slid into a full-length, black dress. She put on the hat, sunglasses and then ripped open Chad's vacuum pack. She stuffed the cash from both packs into her purse and scattered Chad's clothes on the floor to make it appear as if there were two people involved. She ran to the door and left the stockroom like she owned the place. She got a few looks from the store staff but no one said or did anything. They would occasionally have customers unwittingly wander into their stockroom so they weren't really startled or suspicious.

Melody exited the store and headed straight for the hallway leading to the delivery entrance. Melody was outside of the mall within seven minutes of closing the bathroom door in her stockroom and had $10,000 in legitimate currency to continue her escape.

Agent Burmeister rewound her tape, placed it in a box, labeled it and put it in her briefcase. She made a call on her cell phone, all the while keeping an eye on the bathroom door. There was a lot of commotion in Chad's stockroom, with agents coming and going. After Janel got off her phone, it occurred to her that Melody had been in the bathroom an awfully long time. She went to the door, knocked and said, "Ms. Sanchez, I believe you've been in there long enough to take care of anything you needed to take care of. Time to come out." The agent waited a minute or so and tried the doorknob. It was still locked so she banged on the door and said, "Ms. Sanchez, you're trying my patience!"

Agent Marston became aware of the banging on the door and offered assistance. He lunged against the door with his shoulder and tried kicking it with his foot. Both efforts were met with failure. He summoned another nearby agent to help him and together they still couldn't get the door open.

Agent Marston looked at the doorknob, then turned to the agent helping him and said, "See if there's a key to this door in the office." There was indeed a key. In fact, there were two keys. One was on Melody's key chain and the other was on Chad's.

The agent made a quick search of the office and found nothing. Marston thought about shooting the doorknob open but there were a lot of people running around that could be in harm's way if there was an errant ricochet. He also didn't want to risk injuring his star witness. He looked at the expressionless agent next to him and instructed him to run to the car and get the portable battering ram from their car.

Agent Marston received an incoming call as the agent left for the car. He instructed agent Burmeister to stand in front of the bathroom door until the other agent returned. A full ten minutes later, the breathless agent returned with the battering ram and together with agent Marston, they broke the bathroom door and gained entrance.

They expected to find a cowering, frightened assistant manager curled in a corner. As soon as the embarrassed agents put everything together, they issued an all-points bulletin and ordered all forms of public transportation to be stopped and searched.

When Melody left the mall, she thought about getting on a waiting city bus but changed her mind and hitched a ride with a truck driver hauling furniture. He offered to take her anywhere she wanted to go, if she would just do him one little "favor".

Chad was dining in an exclusive Atlanta restaurant with an investment advisor of questionable scruples and had no idea of the frenzied activity taking place at the mall. He wanted to maneuver his capital gains from the counterfeiting business into real property in the Caribbean and retire there within three years. The man he was preparing to do business with was instrumental in Chad achieving his goal.

Chad swallowed some red wine and said, "I've got the money for your 'commission' and the deposit on the land. Once I've actually seen the land you'll have the rest. I won't have the money to start building the house until next spring. I won't have any problem with the deed, will I?"

"Not a bit. The paperwork will all be legal and in accordance with international law. I'll just be cutting through a lot of red tape and formalities. You'll have something in ninety days that would take an ordinary customer a year or longer to obtain. Don't concern yourself with details. I haven't failed a client yet and I'm not about to start. All you need to worry about is how big your mansion will be and what kind of view you want for the master bedroom."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Chad as he raised his wine glass to toast the advisor. The clink of the glasses was punctuated by a buzzing sound coming from Chad's cell phone.

Chad removed the phone from an inside pocket of his custom-made blue pin stripe suit and noted the number of the caller.

"I've got to take this call. I'll be right back," said Chad as he rose from the table and headed toward the restaurant entrance.

"Hello," he said as he went to the parking lot. It was a call from one of the managers working in the mall that was heavily involved in Chad's counterfeit ring. Any conversation with that manager was best kept private.

"Chad?" asked the caller.

"Of course, Asshole. Who else would be at this number?"

"Man, you better motor on out. The mall is full of feds and locals. Your store looks like a cop beehive."

"Shit!!" blurted an angry Chad. "Where the hell are you?"

"I was coming back from the bank and saw a blue army swarming into my store. Then I saw another group going into Darrell's and Yolanda's store. You sure as shit don't need to be an Einstein to put it altogether."

"Thanks, man," said Chad as he slapped his phone shut and returned it to his suit. He rubbed his chin and tried to determine his best course of action. There was no sense going home. With a full-scale raid going down, they'd be certain to have his house targeted. He had the deposit money for his Caribbean adventure in his trunk and he had an acquaintance in Alabama that would provide shelter. All Chad had to do was get there.

He ran to his car and sped off toward the highway. He was smiling as he drove because he had beaten the authorities once again. He had a passing thought about Melody and believing she had most likely been arrested, said, "Sorry about your luck, baby!"

Chad decided to take a shortcut to the interstate and sped through residential streets. He was barreling over one residential road when he saw a dog limping down the middle of the road. The dog heard the approaching car, turned toward Chad and began to angle out of Chad's path. Chad put his hand to his mouth, like he had a microphone and said, "Dog, this is the tower. You are cleared for takeoff on runway six!" Seconds later he swerved toward the animal, slammed into it and sent its broken body rocketing through the air. The impact shattered his right front headlight and severely dented his right fender.

"Houston, we have liftoff!" said Chad as the animal disappeared from sight.

Once he made it to the interstate, he called his friend in Alabama and made meeting arrangements. Chad explained that he would only be there for a couple of weeks and he expected to be back on his feet in no time. He also promised to take very good care of him financially.

Sunset was upon him and darkness rolled progressively over the land slowly, like a water drop sliding down the side of a glass. He turned his headlights on and it occurred to him that he'd be driving with only one light. He didn't want to chance being stopped for the infraction so he decided to move over to the right lane, get off at the next major exit and attempt to track down a new light. While transitioning, he hit a pothole that was big and deep enough to be a well. The impact knocked his lucky leprechaun from the dashboard to somewhere underneath the passenger seat.

He bent slightly and felt around for it with his right hand. At the same time, an elderly woman returning home from a beauty salon treatment was cruising up the entrance ramp. With Chad's right front headlight out and her weak night vision, she didn't see Chad's car. She hit the gas intending to accelerate and merge with oncoming traffic. Instead, she plowed into Chad's passenger door. The impact sent Chad's car careening into two other cars. That collision ultimately caused his car to crash into the concrete barrier separating the eight lanes of highway, flip and land on its side with his roof facing oncoming vehicles. He thought he heard tires screeching and he was correct. Unfortunately for Chad, it was the last time he was going to be correct. The sound he heard was an eighteen-wheeler trying to stop his rig before hammering Chad's car. It was too little, too late for both of them. The truck impacted on Chad's car roof and crushed it like an empty soda can. Chad was killed instantly.

Detective Maxwell got wind of the fatality a few hours after it occurred and called Robert Munsford in Florida.

"Hey, Robert. It's Jack."

"Hey, man, what's up?" replied Robert.

I've got good news and bad news. First the good news. Our counterfeiter won't be hassling your client anymore. Fact is, he won't be hassling anyone ever again. He was involved in a fatal automobile accident a couple of hours ago. It was quite a mess from what I understand. The EMT guys said they had to pick parts of him up with a spoon and spatula!"

"How in the world did they ID him if he was squished? Is there any possibility that he switched bodies?"

"His prints were still liftable. Don't worry, it's really Nuxhall."

"What's the bad news?" queried Robert.

"Well, if I understood you correctly over the past few days, you had three main bad guys involved in your case. This takes care of number two, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Once your team flushes out number three, your case will be closed and you'll be out of a job."

"That's true but I've been thinking about retiring anyway. Even if I don't the agency has several other cases in the wings."

"Retirement at your age?!" exclaimed Jack.

"I said retire, Jack. I didn't say join the geriatric club!"

"I know, buddy. I was just messing with you. I've got another call. Don't forget to look me up when you get back to town," requested Jack.

"Gotcha'," replied Robert.

As soon as Robert was off the phone with Jack, he called Marcia, who in turn called Mac to let her know the good news.

Mac had mixed emotions when she heard that Chad was dead. She was pleased that her negative involvement with him was over but she wasn't happy that he was dead.

"Have you considered calling your former employer and bringing him up to speed on the case? Once he realizes you were an innocent victim of circumstances, he may offer you your job back," said Marcia.

"My relationship with them is over forever. They might understand, but they'll never forgive."

Marcia saw a figure coming into view on one of the outside surveillance cameras and said, "I just spotted Shingo. He's carrying two, large paper bags. Either he's taking out the trash or it's dinnertime."

Mac laughed and said, "With Shingo's cooking, is there a difference?"

"I find his food to be quite tasteful," said Marcia.

"I do too. I was just trying to laugh about something for a change."

"I hear ya'," replied Marcia.

Shingo knocked on the van door and presented Marcia with one of the bags. "I brought enough for you and Robert. He'll be here soon, won't he?"

Marcia nodded and sniffed the contents. "Wow! This smells great."

"I made something off the menu for a change. There's corn on the cob with butter and salt packets. A baked potato with sour cream and chives already mixed in and a pork chop cooked to perfection."

"How about if I eat both of them and tell Robert you forgot him?" laughed Marcia.

Shingo smiled and said, "If you're still hungry when you're done, swing by the Shack and I'll make you some more."

"This will be fine, Shingo. I appreciate the gesture though. Is the other bag for Mac?"

"Yes. I hope she hasn't already made anything."

"She hasn't," replied Marcia.

Shingo took two drinks from the other bag and gave them to Marcia. He adjusted the remaining contents, turned toward Mac's and said, "Enjoy!"

Marcia removed the paper plate and plastic dinnerware from her bag and was laying the food out when she heard a voice on her headset.

"Raven One to base," said Mario.

"Base, go ahead," Marcia replied.

"Initiating final sweep of target area. Will continue fifteen minute check-in intervals unless engaged."

"Copy, Raven One," she replied.

Dennis and Mario were approaching the section of terrain they believed Curtis was actually hiding. If they didn't find him there, then one of the two men would stay in that area and maintain it, so that Curtis wouldn't be able to penetrate it later. Securing the perimeter around Mac's house and eliminating the only practical sniper position would force Curtis into the open and make it much easier for the team to apprehend him.

Dennis was moving east and Mario was maneuvering to the west when Dennis spotted a slight, unnatural movement in some brush. He made a clicking sound with his tongue into the headset and alerted Mario. They had established a sound code prior to setting out on their search, so they could direct each other's movements without having to speak and jeopardize their location.

Mario stopped and awaited the next signal. Dennis made a few more sounds and Mario began moving slowly in a southerly direction.

Dennis brought his binoculars up and scanned the area. He saw a man resting in a prone position about twenty feet in front of him. He figured Mario would be coming into view anytime and waited. Dennis looked to the south and could see the surveillance van parked in front of Mac's house. Curtis was almost exactly where the team predicted he would be.

Dennis heard a clicking sound in his headset and swung his head to his left. He brought his binoculars back up and located Mario. They both had Curtis in their field of view and began closing the noose around him.

Dennis and Mario were so stealthy that Curtis didn't realize they were there until they were literally on top of him. He struggled to get free but he was no match for the two men. Curtis earned a broken nose and some bruises for his efforts but nothing else.

Curtis was brought to his feet by the pair and said, "You guys won't get much from robbing me. I only have a few bucks in my wallet and no credit cards. It's hardly worth your effort."

"You know we aren't here to rip you off," said Mario as he collected Curtis' rifle, hunting knife and other paraphernalia.

Dennis handcuffed Curtis' hands behind his back and said, "We're placing you under citizen's arrest."

"For what!?" exclaimed Curtis.

"Well, attempted murder, to start with."

"Bullshit!! You guys can't prove a thing. When my lawyer gets through with you, you'll be lucky to be cleaning garbage cans for a living," boasted a confident Curtis.

Mario held up the rifle and said, "And what were you planning to use this for?"

"I was out hunting," he replied.

"Wrong answer," said Mario.

Dennis read Curtis his rights, turned to Mario and said, "Do you have everything?"

"I think so. I marked the spot with the red flag so we can come back if need be."

Curtis felt blood running from his nose over his lips and asked, "Would one of you guys wipe this shit off of my mouth and nose? I'm having a helluva' time breathing."

"Too bad, Asshole." Dennis yanked Curtis' arm and said, "Let's go."

Mario spoke into his headset and said, "Hey, Marcia. We got the son of a bitch!"

Robert was opening the van door when the announcement came over the radio. Marcia had a mouthful of baked potato and couldn't respond immediately but held her thumb up to Robert and handed him the headset.

"Raven One, this is base. Say again your last, over."

"Hey, buddy. It's Mario. We just bagged Curtis and are headed back to the highway to transport. How about calling the locals so they can prepare his suite at the gray bar café?"

"Damn! Great job, guys. I'll take care of the call. Everyone okay?"

"Everyone who counts is fine. I think Dennis broke a fingernail in the scuffle!" Mario looked at Dennis, who was looking back with a frown and just smiled.

"Our bad guy in Atlanta is deceased so that puts a wrap on the case. Yet another great resolution for the agency record books."

"You expected anything less? Hey, how did the dude in Atlanta cash in?" asked Mario.

"He was crushed in a car accident while trying to avoid apprehension," replied Robert.

Mario smiled and said, "Chad in a can! Catchy phrase and proper ending for the asshole."

"Marcia and I will shut things down here. I think we can wait until tomorrow to start packing our gear and gathering all the surveillance equipment. Why don't we meet you guys at the hospital after you transport and we can share the good news with Donna?"

"Good idea," replied Mario. "When are they going to cut her loose from there?"

"The hospital is going to keep her one more day and then her husband is planning on driving her home."

"Wish we could have nailed this guy before she got hit," said Mario in a somber voice.

"I hear ya'," said Robert.

"All right, man. I'll give you guys a call just as soon as we trade bracelets with the locals. Raven One out."

Marcia wiped her mouth with a napkin and started pushing all the buttons and switches on her equipment to the off position. She removed her headset, wrapped the cord around the earpieces, smiled and said, "I'm glad this is over. I was getting blisters on my butt."

"You want to tell Mac the good news?" asked Robert.

"Let's both go," said Marcia as she stepped from the van.

The two walked to Mac's front door and knocked softly. When Mac opened it and saw the two standing there, she first thought something had happened to Shingo or to another team member.

"Hey guys. I sure didn't expect to see both of you. Has something happened?"

"We have some good news to share with you," stated Marcia.

"Well, I'm always in the mood for good news!"

Marcia walked to Mac's dining room table and shut off all the monitoring equipment. She turned to Mac with a serious face, paused momentarily to build suspense, smiled and said, "They've captured Curtis. He was hiding in some brush, almost exactly where we thought he would be. They're taking him to the local police department for processing."

"That's not good news...that's great news!" exclaimed Mac with a smile. She gave Marcia a hug and simply shook Robert's hand.

"The feds have tied him into the big counterfeiting scheme and are building a case against him in Atlanta. He won't be bothering anyone for quite awhile," added Robert.

Mac suddenly had a sinking feeling. "It's going to seem empty with you guys and all of this equipment gone."

Marcia had been on a prior case that required close surveillance for several weeks. The client in that case bonded with Marcia and had a similar emotional response when her case was terminated. Marcia and the client remained in contact for a few months and then went their separate ways. The investigators always have to maintain a certain distance from their client or risk recurring emotional pain. "There's no reason why we can't keep in touch," stated Marcia.

"Yeah, we'll do that. No need to give you my address and phone number!" mused Mac.

Marcia looked at Robert and the two smiled.

"When are you going to gather all of your gear?" asked Mac.

"First thing in the morning. We're going to meet the rest of the team at the hospital and visit Donna tonight. Would you like to join us?" asked Robert.

"Yes, I would. I owe her a lot. I actually owe all of you guys more than I can say or ever repay," said Mac as a single tear formed in the corner of her right eye.

Robert saw the tear and felt the weight of the emotion. He smiled, put his hand on Mac's shoulder and said, "Really? Just wait until you get the bill! It'll take the whole team just to carry it in!!"

Mac wiped the tear away with her finger and laughed. She shifted gears and said, "Would you guys like some coffee or something?"

"No thanks. We're going to put a wrap on things here and head to the hospital. Do you want to ride with us or drive your own car, Mac?" asked Marcia.

"I think I'll take my car," said Mac. She thought for a minute and said, "Good grief. I almost forgot. I still have to get a car. I can't wait to get my rental car bill!"

"All right, Mac. We'll see you there." Robert and Marcia smiled and left through the door.

Mac looked at the closed door, then at the silent equipment in her dining room. It was going to be very different from that point on. No job. No more panicky phone calls from frantic managers. No more e-mails begging for more payroll. And no more surveillance. Just peace, quiet and solitude.

Marcia got into Robert's rental car and closed the door. She looked over at Robert as he slid in behind the steering wheel and said, "It'll take some adjusting but I think she'll be fine."

"I agree," he replied.

Dennis and Mario were pushing brush to the side and at times, nearly dragging Curtis to their car.

"You know, I think it would have been better if we had only taken one car," said Dennis.

"And if we had taken one car, we would have needed two and then we'd have been wishing we would have brought both of them," replied Mario.

"You're right. I wonder why it always works that way?" responded Dennis.

"Because you're both idiots, that's why," interjected Curtis.

Mario spun around and slapped Curtis' face with the back of his hand, looked toward Dennis and said, "What do you feel like eating tonight?"

"I saw a steakhouse on the way from the airport. Why don't we try there?" Mario replied.

"Sounds good. I could go for beef right about now. Are we caravanning our rentals back to Atlanta?" asked Dennis.

"Robert's going to turn the cars in here and rent an SUV. Two of us will ride in it and two will ride in the surveillance van. It'll save us a ton on air fare," stated Mario.

They got to their rentals and loaded Curtis into the back seat of Mario's car. Dennis looked at Mario and said, "You want to drive?"

"Doesn't matter. Let's flip for it," suggested Mario.

"Okay," said Dennis as they yanked Curtis out of the back seat. Dennis unlocked one wrist from the handcuffs so that Curtis' arms hung free.

"Is this where I try to escape and get shot?" said Curtis flippantly.

Dennis pushed Curtis to the ground and grabbed his right wrist and ankle. Mario grabbed the left wrist and ankle. They lifted Curtis from the ground and started swinging him back and forth. Dennis looked at Mario and said, "On three. Remember to call it in the air!"

"One, two, three!" counted Dennis. They let Curtis go and watched as he somersaulted through the air. "Heads," shouted Mario.

Curtis cleared the tops of some infant pine trees and landed on his butt. "Damn!" exclaimed Mario. "It's tails! You win. Why do I always lose?"

The two walked over, fastened Curtis' handcuffs again and brought him back to the car. Mario pushed Curtis into the back seat and stepped aside to let Dennis get in back with him.

Dennis handed Mario his pistol, combat knife and handcuff keys and got in next to Curtis. He tied a piece of rope around Curtis' arm and tugged. Curtis wasn't going anywhere.

"What's the big deal about who drives?" asked Curtis.

"This is a regular car so one of us has to ride in back with you to make sure you don't try to escape while we're driving. If you make one false move, I get to beat the crap out of you. The one in back has all the fun."

"Won't be much fun if I puke all over you!" said Curtis with a smile.

Dennis laughed and said, "Wanna' bet?"

Mario loaded the trunk with their gear, their evidence and gave one last look around. Satisfied that he had loaded everything, he got in and started the car. He backed the car up and turned it around, driving slowly back to the highway. He looked ahead and saw several civilian cars parked on the shoulder of the road. He stopped the car, clicked the safety off of his pistol and set it in his lap. Without turning he said, "We have company ahead."

Mario edged their car closer to the highway and saw men swarming everywhere.

Three men appeared in his rearview mirror and were pointing automatic rifles at them. Seconds later, the entire car was surrounded by men dressed in various civilian garb and each was brandishing automatic rifles. Mario threw his pistol to the floorboard and exclaimed, "This ain't the Little Big Horn and I'm sure as hell not Custer!"

A burly man dressed in a sport shirt, black slacks and a windbreaker approached Mario's window. He lit a cigar, took a few puffs and said, "Evening, gentlemen."

Mario nodded but remained silent.

"You're hard working, honest and intelligent men. I'm sure you're looking forward to a nice dinner, warm shower and uneventful trip home to your families. Am I right?" asked the stranger.

Mario nodded and said, "Yes, all of that sounds really good."

"Then all I need to make that happen is three things. The first thing I need is your ignition key and the ignition key to the other car parked over there," said the man, pointing with his eyes.

Mario turned the car off, handed him the ignition key, fished in his pocket, retrieved the other key and handed it to the man as well.

"The second thing I need is your cell phones. I know that you have one in your pocket and your friend has one in the trunk." The burly man tossed the car keys to a man standing next to him and nodded. The man ran to the trunk, searched through everything and removed the other cell phone. He also removed all the weapons he could find.

Mario handed the man his cell phone. The stranger took the phone and gestured toward Mario's pistol.

"You don't see any need for that, do you?"

Mario shook his head, bent over and picked it up gingerly with his thumb and index finger. He stuck it out the window and another man ran up and snatched it quickly.

"That just leaves us with the third and final thing and this will all be over." The stranger raised his hand and three of the men surrounding the car ran forward, opened the back door and yanked Curtis out. They dragged him kicking and cursing to another car on the highway. The three men got inside that car and sped off with Curtis.

"The only reason you guys are still alive is because of that man sitting in the back seat. I'll extend a courtesy to you that I ordinarily wouldn't waste my time on and explain why you lost your prisoner. Curtis made a few transactions with me that involved considerable dollars. Unfortunately for him, the money he used to conclude those transactions was counterfeit. That, obviously, is unacceptable." The burly stranger looked at Dennis in the back seat and said, "We are even."

The man began walking away at a brisk pace. As he did, he raised his hand over his head and waved it in a circular motion. All of his men lowered their weapons, returned to their waiting vehicles and sped off.

"That was weird!" said Mario as he sighed deeply. "I didn't think we were going to walk away from this one. What did he mean when he said we're alive because of you?"

"Beats the hell out of me but I'm glad I did whatever I did."

What Dennis didn't know, what he couldn't know, was that he was being repaid for an act of kindness and heroism stemming from a case that he was on four years earlier.

Dennis was conducting surveillance on a man suspected of insurance fraud. The man supposedly injured his back and was no longer able to work. He was suing his former employer and collecting thousands from his insurance company. The former employer hired the agency to investigate and Dennis was assigned to the case.

One summer day, Dennis was videotaping the man coming and going from his house. The man just parked his pickup truck in his driveway and was about to unload a new dishwasher, when a woman came tearing down the street screaming. Her hair was disheveled and looked like she had just finished a round of tag-team wrestling. Her white blouse was torn, the pieces being held firmly to her chest by fresh blood gushing from open wounds. Her skirt had blood splatters that ran to her legs and bare feet. A short distance behind the woman was a raging man with a bloody butcher knife. He was shouting obscenities at her and ordering her to stop.

Dennis saw a woman walking a dog and thought the woman might help. Instead, she stooped down, picked up the dog and ran in the opposite direction. A man watering his front yard dropped the hose and ran inside his house. Another man washing his car ran into his garage and slammed the garage door.

Dennis cursed and jumped from the van. In the process, his foot caught a leg on the tripod being used to videotape his suspect and it fell over. He glanced at the disabled camera, then at the man unloading the dishwasher and ran to the woman's aid. He tackled her assailant and after a brief struggle, was finally able to subdue and handcuff him to a chain hanging from a fire hydrant.

He sustained a couple of bruises and a cut to his foreman but was otherwise okay. The woman wasn't as lucky. She collapsed a few feet down the road and was bleeding profusely from multiple stab wounds and lacerations from the butcher knife. Two of the cuts were actually life-threatening. Dennis stopped the bleeding and rather than wait for an ambulance, he rushed her to the hospital in the surveillance van.

The woman was rushed into surgery and was officially dead twice, before they were able to stabilize her. She eventually recovered fully and testified against her jealous husband in court. Seems the husband thought she was cheating, got into an argument with her and totally lost control. His temper earned him enough points to get ten years of free room and board at the gray bar motel. The woman was the burly man's younger sister.

"I'm really pissed about losing my gun," said Mario. "I just had those new custom grips put on. They weren't even broken in yet."

The two got out of the car and looked up and down the highway. Dennis felt his pocket and said, "Damn!"

"What now?" asked Mario.

"I feel naked without my cell phone. Five years ago, I never thought I'd own one. Now I feel lost without it!"

Mario shook his head and said, "We won't get anywhere just standing here."

"Why don't we cut back through the brush, go to Mac's house and call the team. It's not that far a walk," suggested Dennis.

Mario agreed and they started walking. "You know what sucks?" asked Mario.

"What?" replied Dennis.

"We declined insurance and towing on the rentals. They're either going to be towed or we'll have to break into them and hot-wire them. No matter what we do, it's going to cost some change," stated Mario.

"Well, maybe the cigar man will bring us our keys back," said Dennis.

"Shit, I hope not!" laughed Mario.

They laughed and exchanged small talk along the way and reached the clearing in time to see Mac getting into her car and driving off.

"If you would've walked faster, we could have caught up with her before she left," said Mario.

"Me? I was slowing down to keep pace with you!" replied Dennis.

"Let's try the restaurant on the pier. It's sure to have a phone," said Mario.

When they reached the Cuda Shack, the smell stimulated their empty stomachs. "Hell, we might as well eat since we're here," stated Mario.

"Might as well. I'll give Robert a call and explain what happened. He's in charge of the rentals anyway. Order me a burger with the works, would ya'?" requested Dennis.

Dennis walked to the pay phone by the restrooms, felt around in his pockets and soon realized he had no change. He reached for his wallet and remembered it was still locked in the trunk with the rest of their personal belongings.

"Hey, Mario", shouted Dennis. "I need some change!"

Mario nodded, went to the counter and asked Shingo if he could get change for the pay phone.

"No problem," replied Shingo as he extended his open palm to receive Mario's money.

Mario repeated Dennis' actions and he too realized what Dennis did.

"We seem to be out of funds at the moment. Is there any way you could advance us enough change to make a local call?" asked Mario.

"No," said Shingo. "Just use my phone over on that wall."

"Thanks, mister." Mario waved for Dennis to come back and said, "This gentleman said we could use his phone. It's over there."

Dennis followed Mario's eyes to the phone and when he reached it, he said, "Damn. I can't think of Robert's or Marcia's cell numbers. I'm used to scrolling down my menu and hitting enter. Do you have any idea what they are?"

Mario thought for a minute and shook his head. "Now what?"

Shingo recognized Robert and Marcia's names and asked, "Are you guys with the detective agency that's working the Mackenzie Mason case?"

"Yes, we are. We've, uh, become separated from our transportation and need to contact either Robert Munsford or Marcia Labonte."

"Why not just walk down to the surveillance van in front of Mac's house. One of the two should be there," said Shingo.

"Not anymore. That's the problem. Everyone, including Ms. Mason, is meeting at the hospital to visit with one of our wounded teammates," stated Mario.

"Everyone? Who's watching Mac's house?" asked Shingo in a worried voice.

"No one. The case is closed. We rounded up the last of the bad guys tonight."

Shingo smiled wide, like he was in a smiling contest and then stopped abruptly. "Let me call Mac first and verify it," he said suspiciously. Those two guys could have been the assassins for all Shingo knew.

Shingo stayed at the counter and decided to use the old push button phone next to the potato chip rack. He put his left hand on the handle of a baseball bat under the cash register and dialed Mac's cell phone with the right one. Within two rings, he heard a soft, familiar, "Hello."

Shingo switched hands on the baseball bat and tightened his grip. "Hey, Mac. It's Shingo. There are two guys standing in front of me that say they're with your detective agency and that your case is closed."

"They're correct, Shingo. It's probably Dennis and Mario. I don't know what they're doing there already. They're supposed to be on their way to the jail with a prisoner."

Shingo removed his hand from the bat and recalled the one guy calling the other guy Mario. "That's fantastic, Mac!! You have no idea how happy that news makes me feel!! That's cause for celebration!!" He looked at the two men standing in front of him and said, "Hold on just a second, Mac."

Shingo put the phone to his chest, looked at Mario and said, "I assume your name is Mario." Mario nodded and then Shingo looked at the man standing next to him and said, "And your name is?"

"My name is Dennis. I'd show you ID but it's, uh, misplaced as well."

Shingo put the phone to his ear again and continued. "Sorry, Mac. Are you on your way to see Donna?"

"Yes. I'm meeting Robert and Marcia there."

"Well, Dennis and Mario need to get in touch with them," stated Shingo.

"I'll ask one of them to call the Shack when I get to the hospital. Is it all right if I come over tomorrow at lunchtime and explain all the details? It's a very long story."

"Of course it's all right!" replied Shingo in an excited voice. "I'll talk to you later."

"Goodbye, my friend," said Mac in a relaxed, warm voice.

Shingo hung the phone up and said, "Mac's meeting your friends at the hospital and will have one of them call here when she sees them."

"Thanks, mister," said Dennis.

"My name is Shingo," he said as he shook their hands. "I already know your names!"

Shingo rubbed his hands together and said, "I'll bet you guys are 'burger men'."

"Yes, sir, that's correct. Unfortunately, like I said, we're strapped for cash right now," reminded Mario as his stomach growled.

"I'll put it on your tab. I'm guessing you could each handle two burgers, some fries and a drink. Am I right?"

They both smiled and said yes.

Shingo threw four patties on the grill, served them the drinks they requested and said, "You have no idea how happy I am for Mac. I've known her since she was just a kid."

He flipped the burgers and walked hurriedly to his picture gallery. He removed one of Mac that he took during her first summer there and brought it to Dennis and Mario. "I know you don't care, but I'm going to share this with you anyway. This is what she looked like when I first met her."

He handed the photo to Dennis and Mario, who briefly glanced at it and set it on the counter, while Shingo ran to flip the burgers and drain the simmering fries. He was right, they really didn't care. They could barely remember what she looked like as an adult.

Shingo beamed as he told them of his first meeting with Mac and what a wonderful person she was. Then he fixed the burgers with condiments of their choosing, dumped two mounds of fries on separate plates and served the works to the grateful men.

Shingo sized the two men up and thought about introducing one of them to Mac as a date but then changed his mind. He tried matchmaking with her once before. She went out with the guy that Shingo had selected but it was only to humor Shingo. She had absolutely zero interest in the man.

"Enjoy, gentlemen," said Shingo as he picked up the photo of Mac. "If you need anything, just ask."

As he was returning the photo to the wall, he heard a whispering voice say, "Tell her goodbye."

Shingo slammed on the brakes and was so startled, he nearly dropped the photo. He looked at it and then the area immediately around him. He collected himself and put the picture back in its original position. He looked at Dennis and Mario and when he was certain they weren't looking, he said, "Tell who goodbye? Do you mean I should tell Mac goodbye?"

He was answered with silence and the solitude of his own thoughts. "Is something going to happen to me? Is that why I need to say goodbye?"

"Hey, Shingo. When you get a chance, would you mind getting me some more water?"asked Mario.

Shingo looked at Mac's picture and without turning replied, "Yeah...sure thing...I'll be right there."

"No hurry," said Mario.

"Is something going to happen to Mac?"

Shingo returned to the counter answerless and filled Mario's glass. "Did you want some more ice tea?" he asked Dennis.

"That would be great. Thanks."

Shingo filled Dennis' glass and said, "Is there any chance someone else could be out there trying to hurt Mac?"

"I guess anything's possible, although our intelligence doesn't indicate any further threat. Why do you ask?" said Dennis.

"Just a feeling. Could you have missed something or someone?"

"All of our suspects have been accounted for. You can check with Robert or Marcia when they call. They have more details of the case than we do. Besides, if they thought a serious threat was still present, they wouldn't have terminated surveillance. I wouldn't worry."

"I suppose you're right," said Shingo as he started analyzing the whisper he had heard.

What if the investigators missed someone? Mac was in the open once again and with the team leaving the next day, she would be a simple target.

What if the comment was directed at him and he was about to meet his end? Maybe someone associated with the case would seek revenge and not only target Mac but himself and Naomi as well.

Shingo walked to his front door and looked up at the sky. It was like in the movies when the bad guy walks up to his intended victim and says, "Say goodbye, sucker!!" The comment was meant for him. Otherwise, why was he told to say goodbye. Maybe he was going to meet his end and it had nothing to do with the case at all. Maybe it was just his time to go and some friendly ghost wanted to warn him.

Shingo was going back and forth with the comment and was about to ask Dennis and Mario what their opinion was, when Shingo's phone rang.

When he answered it, he heard Marcia's voice. He handed the phone to Mario when he noticed that Dennis had a mouthful of food. "Tell her I want to talk to her when you're done," said Shingo softly.

Mario nodded, took the phone and explained what happened with Curtis. Shingo couldn't help but hear and his concern for Mac's welfare escalated. Curtis was still out there somewhere and as such, could still be considered a threat.

Mario finished the conversation with Marcia and handed the phone to Shingo. "Hey, Marcia, it's Shingo. I just have a couple of quick questions and I'll let you go. Is there any possibility that Curtis or another associate of his could still pose a threat to Mac's safety?"

"I doubt very seriously if Curtis is still alive, Shingo. I'm nearly positive his body will show up in a day or so. The guys that kidnapped him want to make an example of him and they need his body to be found in order for that to happen. Even if his corpse doesn't show up, he's a dead man and won't be a threat to anyone ever again," said Marcia.

"What about friends seeking revenge?" asked Shingo in a concerned voice.

"People like Curtis rarely have any friends. He had one business associate that he socialized with and that associate is dead. His counterfeit ring has been dismantled and most members involved in a major way have been apprehended. There are some 'bit players' still out there but they're hiding under rocks right now and trying to be invisible," she said.

Shingo turned his back to Dennis and Mario and moved as far away from the counter as the phone cord would allow and then whispered, "The ghost spoke to me a few minutes ago. Don't tell Mac but it told me to say goodbye to her. Now do you understand my concern?"

"Yes, I do, Shingo. Your apprehension is justified but I'm at a loss for advice. All I can tell you is that we have no intelligence that warrants our continued presence here. The voice could have meant something entirely different or nothing at all. So far it's just been a frustrating nuisance...like now!" she exclaimed.

"You're probably right," said Shingo. "Would you mind putting Mac on before you hang up?"

"Sure thing. Everything will work out okay, Shingo. Take care of yourself. Here's Mac."

"Hey, Shingo. What's up?" asked Mac.

"I was wondering if you were planning on dining here tonight."

"I'll skip tonight, Shingo. We're all going to a steakhouse they saw on the way in from the airport. I think they're talking about the Wine Garden."

"Well, please be careful," requested Shingo in a compassionate voice.

"I will."

"Goodbye, Mac," said Shingo.

"Goodbye, Shingo. See you tomorrow," Mac replied.

Shingo hung up and thought, I hope so. And by the way, Mac...I love you.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ATLANTA - PART IV

Robert stopped at a hobby store on the way to the hospital and bought a roll of purple ribbon, some purple spray paint and a flat, wooden heart appliqué. Marcia and Robert used the purple paint to spray the heart and borrowed some hospital adhesive tape to attach a piece of purple ribbon to it. When they entered Donna's semi-private room, Marcia stood at the side of Donna's bed and gave an impromptu speech regarding heroism. When she had finished her accolades, Robert draped the purple heart around Donna's neck. Donna held the heart up, smiled and said, "This is the best award I've ever received."

Robert looked at Marcia and said, "Some people will do anything to get attention and time off!"

They all had a good laugh that was cut short because the lady in the bed next to Donna said the sound was annoying.

Mac visited with Donna for about an hour and mostly listened to Robert, Marcia and Donna talk about old cases, which they referred to as "war stories", and close calls. Several of the investigators had been chased with baseball bats, some had been involved in physical altercations and one received minor stab wounds but Donna was the first one ever shot. They also discussed a couple of pending cases that would have to be addressed almost immediately upon return.

The professional conversation was winding down and little more "shop" talk was being offered. Donna looked at Mac and said, "I'm sure all this chit-chat is about exciting to listen to as a tax consultant reading off numbers."

"Actually, I found it quite interesting," replied Mac.

"Now that the case is over, have you given much thought about what your next step might be?" asked Donna sincerely.

"After I pay your bill, I plan on buying a new cup!" stated Mac.

Donna looked puzzled and asked, "A new cup?"

"Yeah, a new cup so I can stand on street corners to beg for change!!"

The group laughed quietly in unison, each glancing at the lady in the next bed as they did.

"Seriously, do you have anything in mind?" asked Donna.

"I love this area so much, I've decided to stay and try to find something within commuting distance of the cottage. I still know some people down here with other companies that may have something available."

"Have you ever considered work as a private investigator?" asked Donna.

"Not really. I watched you guys in action and it all seems challenging, interesting and exciting. And Lord knows, it certainly pays well but I don't think it's for me."

"Well, if there's anything any of us can ever do for you, don't hesitate to call." Robert and Marcia looked at Mac and nodded in agreement. "I don't just mean professionally. If you need help with anything, such as personal references, a shoulder to cry on, etc., call us. We all like you, Mac." clarified Donna.

"Dennis and Mario are great guys that would do anything for someone in a bind. They have strong backs and make great movers too!" added Robert.

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate your kindness and I'll definitely keep it in mind."

Mac began to feel a familiar throb and knew a headache was speeding straight toward her. She rubbed her forehead and said, "I'm think I'm going to call it a night. I'm starting to get one of my headaches and my medication is at home."

"Robert and I will take care of the external surveillance equipment in the morning. If you could give me a call on my cell phone when you're up and about, I'd appreciate it. Here's the number," said Marcia as she wrote her cell number on a page from her pocket notepad.

"I'll get up early so you can get the inside stuff and get out of here. I know you're all anxious to get home," offered Mac.

"There's no need to get up any earlier than you ordinarily would. Mario and Dennis will also help and we'll have everything done in no time," said Robert.

"Okay, guys, see you tomorrow," said Mac as she acknowledged Robert and Marcia. Then she walked to Donna's bedside. She looked at her with admiration, bent over, gave Donna a careful hug and said in a sincere voice, "Thanks again for everything you've done. Take care of yourself. Stay well. Be happy. And please stay safe!!"

"You too, Mac," replied Donna.

Mac left the room, went to the elevator and pressed the down button. She was waiting for the elevator to respond to her beckoning when she heard the habitual, whispering voice say, "The pier."

"Explain it or leave me alone! I'm tired of your empty, cryptic messages." Mac moved her eyes left and right, looking to see if anyone had heard her. To her relief, there wasn't anyone within earshot.

Mac went home, took some pain medication, crawled under her favorite comforter and went to sleep. She made it an early morning the following day and after dressing, brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She peeked out the kitchen window and watched as Robert and Marcia rolled some black, camera cables.

She poured a cup of coffee, threw on a sweater and stepped out on her front porch. A trail of steam rose from her cup and mingled with the morning air. She savored a sip as if it were the finest brew, from the finest coffee beans ever grown. Then she stepped off the porch and made her way slowly to the busy investigators. When she reached the end of her sidewalk, she put her hand on her broken gate and said, "Do you guys do fence work?"

Robert chuckled and said, "It has seen better days, that's for sure."

"Do you mind if Mario and Dennis get started inside?" asked Marcia.

Mac shook her head and watched as the waiting men smiled and then went inside her house to start the disassembly.

"We should be out of here by lunchtime, Mac. The weatherman is predicting a thunderstorm for this evening. We'd like to be as close to home as possible when it hits."

"I don't blame you. I hate driving in the rain myself," said Mac.

"By the way, just as a word of caution, we were informed that Chad's assistant manager, Melody Sanchez, escaped from federal authorities in Atlanta. You know her, don't you?" asked Marcia.

"I know who she is. We never talked much. She was rarely around the store when I made my visits. Does someone consider her a threat?"

"Not at this time. She is not considered dangerous but you should be aware that she is out there somewhere. My guess is that her main efforts will be directed in avoiding apprehension. If you happen to run into her, call your local authorities. They received her profile sheet and photo last night while we were at the hospital visiting Donna," said Marcia.

Melody hadn't gone far. She merely fled to an adjacent county. She had to pick something up that she left behind before her final travel arrangements could be considered. Her travel itinerary would take her across the United States via rental cars using counterfeit identification. She wasn't going to take any major forms of public transportation where her identification would be under close scrutiny. Slow and easy, just like the tortoise.

She planned to vacation awhile in California, then drive back to Texas, cross into Mexico and eventually make her way to a South American country. She would select one that was sympathetic to international fugitives and receptive to American currency.

Melody's ultimate destination was Europe. She had never been there before and hadn't decided on a specific country but what she read in magazines and saw on the television appealed to her sense of adventure. She was tired of doing "little favors" for people. She wanted to meet a regular man, get married and have a regular life. But there was that one last thing she needed to do before any of those dreams had a chance at real life.

Melody took a combination of public buses and taxis back to the mall where she was formerly employed. Her first stop at the mall was at a hair salon. She had her hair cut short and changed the color from sandy blonde to auburn.

Next, she went to a clothing store and bought a woman's business suit. From there she went to an exclusive luggage store and bought a briefcase. Her next stop was her old store. She passed a store on the way that had mirror panels in their display window. She stopped momentarily and nearly didn't recognize herself. She was satisfied with the transformation and continued her journey. Melody approached her old store slowly and was surprised to see that it was open for business. There was no manager, assistant manager and no morning part-timers to run the store that she was aware of.

She entered cautiously and saw an unfamiliar woman wearing a store name badge. The woman noted Melody's professional attire, approached her and asked if she needed any help. Melody hesitated and then said, "Hi! My name is Sandy Calloway. I'm one of your best customers. I shop here all of the time. You're new here, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. I'm only here temporarily. The store is experiencing a management transition and I was asked to help provide sales coverage for a few days."

"Management transition? Please don't tell me that my favorite manager has left!"

"Do you mean Chad Nuxhall?" asked the woman.

"Yes. He was always so sweet and helpful. He's the only reason I shop in this store."

"Mr. Nuxhall won't be returning, ma'am."

"Why not?" asked Melody, displaying a concerned look.

"I'm probably not the one who should be telling you. My district manager went to the food court for some coffee. He'll be back in a few minutes. I think he should be the one to tell you."

Melody didn't want to wait for the district manager. She couldn't wait. She had to get to the stockroom by herself. Melody clasped the woman's wrist firmly and said, "It's something bad, isn't it?"

Melody looked into the saleswoman's eyes and got a gut feeling that the woman was starting to weaken.

"Well, it's not good," replied the woman.

"Oh, my God! My husband and I have even been to his house on Chester Street for dinner. Please, please, tell me!" exclaimed Melody.

"I really shouldn't say this, Ms. Calloway, but you'll find out sooner or later anyway. Mr. Nuxhall was involved in an automobile accident and passed away."

Melody thought back to a time when she and her mother were living with a man in Duluth, Georgia. It was a nice house with an attached garage, in a quiet neighborhood. Melody was eleven and there were no other children in the neighborhood for Melody to play with so she got quite lonely. Her mother bought her a kitten for companionship and the two became quite close.

One day, the kitten wandered out the open door to the garage and found a piece of twine to play with. When her mother's boyfriend went to the garage and started his car, it startled the kitten. It ran and hid behind the rear tire and had its head squashed when he backed out. Melody was riding her bike up the driveway and saw the aftermath. She screamed and cried for over an hour. Her mother found a replacement kitten but Melody never developed the same bond with the new one.

Melody called upon the memory of the dead kitten and used it to evoke an emotional response and started to cry.

"I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you such heartbreaking news, Ms. Calloway."

Melody wiped her eyes with her index finger and looked at the mascara on her fingertip. "I must look a mess! Would you mind if I used your bathroom to fix my face and collect myself? I have to be at a business meeting in thirty minutes and I don't want to look unprofessional."

"I understand completely," said the saleswoman. "Take your time."

"Thanks. I really appreciate it. I won't be a minute," said Melody.

"Do you know where it is?" asked the woman.

"Yes, thank you. Mr. Nuxhall is...I mean was kind enough to let me use it on previous occasions. I promise I'll be right back."

Melody walked briskly to the stockroom and wasted no time opening a brown folding chair resting against a wall. She placed it directly under the unlit stockroom exit sign, and stepped up. She slid the exit sign out of the slots and exposed a hole in the wall, where a light and wires should have been. Chad used to place a battery operated night light in there whenever Mac made a store visit because one of the things on her checklist was to make sure all exit signs were lit.

Melody reached into the hole and felt for a rope attached to a wall stud. Once she found it, she pulled carefully until she saw a white, plastic, trash bag. She grabbed it and pulled it from the hole as quickly and safely as possible. Once she had the bag out, she slid the exit sign back into the appropriate slots, folded the chair and put it back against the wall. Then she snatched the bag from the floor and dashed into the bathroom with her briefcase. She hadn't closed the door for more than two minutes, when she heard someone coming into the stockroom. She sat on the toilet and opened the bag to reveal the contents.

When Melody was being interviewed by the Secret Service she wasn't entirely truthful. Chad and Melody had accumulated quite a bit of laundered, clean cash. Chad didn't want it in a bank account or safety deposit box because his access would be limited. He didn't want to keep it at home because he could lose it very easily as a result of a robbery or natural disaster. The perfect place was in his store, in a wall, where no one would ever think to look.

Melody didn't take any time to admire the $670,000. She just packed it quickly in her briefcase and shut it, making sure the clasps were locked. She wadded the plastic bag, put into the trash can and then straightened her clothing. Melody wiped the smeared mascara and opened the bathroom door.

The new district manager was standing in the office, occupying himself with busy work until Melody was done.

He walked over, introduced himself and said, "I understand you are one of our most valued guests."

"Yes, that's true. I shop in here so much I've thought about putting in a change of address card!" she responded.

"I can understand your grief. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance? And I mean anything at all. Just name it," offered the district manager.

Melody brushed out some nonexistent wrinkles in her suit and looked at her watch.

"I'm running way behind right now. I have an important business meeting to attend. Would you please give me one of your business cards so that I can let your headquarters know how helpful you and the salesperson out front have been?"

"Certainly," he replied as he smiled and produced a card from a small, black, card case.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" asked Melody.

"I, uh...could be I suppose."

"That would be wonderful. It would give me a little more time to get to know you," said Melody with a warm smile. "I really have to run now. I'll see you tomorrow!"

Melody opened the stockroom door and left the store. She went to the pay phones by the restrooms to call a cab and realized she had no change to make a call. She slipped into the bathroom, closed a stall door and removed several hundred dollar bills from her briefcase. She folded them carefully and dropped them into her suit pocket. Then she went to the food court to get change.

She went to the steak sandwich shop and was told it is against company policy to give change. An average looking young man with a little boy along his side was waiting for his steak sandwich order when he heard her dilemma. He asked what she needed the change for.

"I need to make a call and all I have is a hundred," said a frustrated Melody.

The girl at the cash register interrupted them and told the man that his order was ready. Just before the man and boy took their sandwiches, the man stuck his hand in his pocket, turned to Melody and said, "I can't break that but I have enough change to make a call. Here you go." She was shocked by the gesture and watched silently as the man and child walked to a table.

Melody clutched the change in her hand and went to their table. She dropped a hundred dollar bill on the man's napkin and said, "You're the first person that's ever given me money for nothing. Thanks. Do whatever you want with the money."

She hurried to the pay phone and didn't even look back to see the man's reaction. She called a cab and arranged to have it meet her at the mall entrance in 30 minutes. After she got off the phone, she went to a card store, bought a box of stationery and returned to the food court to write a letter. She detailed the actual events that transpired in the counterfeiting ring, including drop schedules, meeting places, codes, passwords and names of people who helped launder the money. She also listed the names and locations of the ring leaders in Florida and one international connection. She finished the letter in the cab and asked the driver to take her to the post office.

When they arrived at the post office, Melody produced another hundred and showed it to the driver. "I may be a few minutes. Will you wait for me?"

"You bet!" he blurted.

Melody tracked down a phone book and wrote the address for the Secret Service on the front of the envelope. She stood in line and sent the envelope via registered mail. She ran out the door to the waiting cab and said, "Take me to the car rental place on Buford Highway."

Melody started to breath much easier when she finally arrived at the rental place. She gave the driver a hundred and instructed him to keep the change. She produced another set of counterfeit identification papers that indicated her name was Gary Willington. The man writing her rental agreement looked at the documents and then at Melody.

Melody sensed the man's concern and said, "What? You have a problem with transsexuals? Do I stare at you because you're straight?"

"No ma'am...er, I mean, sir."

"Then get over it and either rent me a car or tell me you don't have one and I'll be on my way. On my way to my attorney to sue the living shit out of you, your company and everyone you'll ever know for the next fifty years!!" The man sighed, filled out the necessary paperwork and escorted Melody to her car. She knew that federal authorities would be looking for a woman to rent a car, not a man. Chad and Melody were a lot of things but stupid wasn't one of them.

Melody got behind the steering wheel, adjusted it and started the engine. She drove out of the rental place and began the rest of her life...as a regular woman.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE PIER

Robert, Marcia and the rest had completed the packing by early afternoon. They were unwavering in their professionalism and left Mac's house nearly cleaner than when they arrived.

Mac traded hugs and well wishes with them and waved as they drove up the hill to the highway. She watched until their vehicles were out of sight and then turned her attention to the southeastern sky. Black and gray clouds were a harbinger of the new storm that was gathering strength and due to hit landfall after dark. Cool ocean breezes were picking up speed and bullying the defenseless beaches and surrounding brush.

She went back inside her cottage and heated a cup of coffee in the microwave. The house felt so empty with all the equipment and investigators gone. Mac stood in her living room and listened as the wind searched out every open crack and whistled at her.

She looked to a corner where a camera was once mounted and went through the series of hand signals Marcia taught her when they were first mounted. She smiled at her actions and took a sip of coffee.

She turned her attention to the coffee table and recalled that it had been awhile since she had checked on the puzzle. She sat on her couch, held her cup in both hands and gazed into the puzzle. She was amazed to see that the little girl was gone.

"Where have you gone to now?" Mac asked of the mute puzzle.

Mac rose and opened her front door. She surveyed the area, expecting to see evidence of the girl somewhere nearby but saw and heard nothing. She thought a minute then hurried to her bedroom. Miss Julie was no longer on her dresser. Mac smiled and finally put two and two together. The little girl was leaving the puzzle and playing with the doll.

"I guess Miss Julie has found a new mother!" said Mac with a pleased smile.

Mac thought about all the things that still needed to be done around the house, her daunting task of finding a new job and the dreaded ordeal of buying a car. None of those thoughts held any appeal so she put them all off and resolved to go see Shingo instead.

She went to the kitchen, rinsed out her cup and gathered her windbreaker from the back of the couch. She suddenly caught a wisp of smoke. It smelled like her father's pipe tobacco. She looked around the living room and saw his favorite pipe resting on a small table standing next to his beloved recliner.

She ran to the pipe and examined it. The pipe bowl was cold and empty but there was a strong trace of the smoke still around the chair.

"Daddy?" asked Mac of the empty room. "Please talk to me if you're here." She waited and then said, "If you can't talk, then please find some way to indicate that it's you."

Mac toured the rest of the house slowly and stealthily as she searched for any indication of her father's presence. She returned to the living room and was disappointed in the fruitless search.

Mac sighed deeply and said, "This is so frustrating. Am I going to spend the rest of my life being taunted by whispers, smells and strange events? You aren't being very fair. In fact, you're being downright cruel. I'll say this one last time. Either come forward and talk to me or leave me alone. If anything else happens, I'm going to ignore it and continue doing whatever it is I'm doing. Do you understand me!!??"

Mac waited again and only heard wind whistling through a space under her front door.

"Good, now that we have that out of the way, I'm going to the Cuda Shack. I'm going to eat lunch and visit with a real friend. One who doesn't play tricks on me, or tease me and actually answers me when I talk to him."

Mac slipped on her windbreaker and slammed the front door as she left. She gave her house an angry look and started for the Shack.

Halfway up the beach she was met by an invigorated Waldo. He was excited to see her and jumped all over her, wiping his wet, sandy paws on her jacket and slacks. Mac smiled and searched for a stick to toss. She found a piece of driftwood and threw it as far as she could. She loved watching the dog dig his rear paws into the sand and tear after the stick. Waldo overran the stick the first time but circled around immediately, bit into it and ran full speed back to Mac. She continued to throw the stick until Waldo was too tired to run it back. On her last throw, he was reduced to a quick gait, rather than a run. When he caught up to the stick, he bit into it, let it fall back out of his mouth and dropped his weary body to the sand. Mac went to the panting dog, sat next to him and rubbed his head.

"Let's go see Shingo and get you some fresh water."

Mac rose and was accompanied to the Cuda Shack by an exhausted, slow-moving Waldo. He more dragged his feet than lifted them.

"We need to talk to your buddy about your exercise program, Waldo. I wore you out way too soon. Maybe you're getting too many treats."

Waldo's ears perked up and his tail wagged in a rhythmic beat like a hairy metronome when Mac said treats. He whipped his head up and searched out Mac's eyes. Chasing sticks and eating treats were what Waldo lived for but Shingo was lacking in the chasing stick department.

"Oops. I think I accidentally said the magic word, didn't I? I'll see what I can do about it when we get to the Shack."

As soon as they entered the Cuda Shack, Waldo went straight to his water dish and slobbered down the remaining contents. Mac went to the "cookie jar" and snagged a couple of treats for him.

"Here you go, pal," she said as she tossed them to him. Mac smiled as Waldo apparently swallowed them after only a couple of bites.

Mac saw Deputy Collins huddled with Shingo near the cash register and from the serious look on their faces, they weren't talking about who was going to the World Series.

"Hey, Mac," said Shingo.

Deputy Collins turned around, smiled and said, "Afternoon, Mac."

"Deputy Collins was just telling me that there is absolutely no more concern about Curtis Blanchard. His body was discovered a couple of hours ago."

"Where did they find it?" asked Mac of the deputy.

"A man was jogging on the beach this morning and found it."

"Marcia said it wouldn't take too long to surface," said Mac.

"I have to get back on patrol. I just wanted to let you guys know what was going on. At least you know he's not out there somewhere waiting."

"Thanks. I appreciate it," said Mac.

The deputy went to the door, waved and returned to his police car.

Shingo waved and said, "Catch ya' later. Stay safe." Then he smiled at Mac and said, "I'll bet you could go for some coffee right about now."

"I can always go for a coffee." Mac glanced at Waldo, who was scratching his bed to get it just right. Once he had it exactly right, he curled up, yawned once and closed his eyes. She looked back at Shingo and said, "Did they find the body far from here?"

Shingo brought Mac a steaming cup of coffee and replied, "It was down near the Grady Hotel. From the deputy's account, Curtis did not have a very pleasant end."

"Really? What do you mean?"

"Curtis was buried up to his neck in sand, with gray tape across his mouth. They buried him right near the water's edge, so he would drown slowly when the tide came in. When the jogger found him, crabs had already started peeling bits of flesh from his face. I guess if you live hard, sometimes you die hard too."

"You should have waited until dinner time to tell me that story," said Mac.

"Why?"

"It would have killed my appetite and helped me cut back on all the food I've been eating lately. I think I've gained at least two or three pounds since I've been here."

Shingo looked at Mac's slim, trim figure and laughed. "Maybe we should start you on an emergency diet!"

"Do I really look that bad?" asked Mac.

"Of course not. You look great. I was just kidding."

"I just remembered something," said Mac.

"What's that?"

"Did you ever hang the photo of Billy and Katherine that you had framed?" asked Mac.

"You haven't seen it yet?"

Mac shook her head. "Your friend brought it in when I was here but I never saw it unwrapped."

Shingo came from behind the counter and said, "Follow me, my dear!"

Just then, a man wearing an orange hardhat and carrying a clipboard walked into the Shack. He shook Shingo's hand and said, "We finished the final inspection of the pier and it looks good to go for tomorrow."

"I'm glad you were able to hold off the replacement until now. Having that monster crane in front of my shop and being closed during tourist season would have killed me. What time do you think you'll be here?"

"We'd like to get started at sunrise. The storm should be long gone by then and we'll have the rest of the day to finish."

"All right," said Shingo.

The man turned around, headed for the door and said, "See you tomorrow."

"Something's wrong with the pier?" asked Mac.

"One of the pilings has been cracked for a couple of years. Each year the crack gets longer and wider. The inspectors have determined that the crack is reaching its breaking point so they're going to replace it."

Mac thought for a minute and said, "That's so weird. There's a crane in my puzzle with a piling dangling from a chain. The small shop behind it could even be the Cuda Shack."

"That is weird," commented Shingo. He took Mac's upper arm gently and said, "Let me show you the picture before we get distracted again."

Shingo escorted Mac to his photo collection and pointed to his newest addition. "Billy and Katherine were lost at sea shortly after that photo was taken."

Mac looked at the photo, jerked it from the wall and held it close to her face. "Holy shit!!" she exclaimed. Mac's blood pressure shot through the roof. Her heart began pumping blood at super speeds and she started to feel light-headed. The little girl was wearing yellow shorts and a yellow top. She had blonde hair and was toting a black, book bag with a doll's head sticking out of the top. The mystery girl that had delivered her a paint set, had played with Waldo and was probably the one taking Miss Julie, was Billy's daughter, Katherine.

"Shingo, this is the little girl I've been seeing. I don't know how or why but I guarantee you it's the exact same girl that's been hanging around me since I've been here!"

Shingo took the photo from Mac and examined it. "You're positive?" he asked.

"I'm as sure of that fact as I am that you're standing next to me right now! How's that possible?"

"If I knew the answer to that question, I'd be a rich man in many ways!" stated Shingo.

Mac took the photo back from Shingo and stared in continued disbelief. "I'll bet Katherine lost her doll at sea and was looking for a new one. That's why she borrowed mine."

"At this point, Mac, I'm willing to believe just about anything. I can't feel the same excitement you're feeling, since I haven't had the benefit of sharing your experiences. I am extremely interested though."

"You knew Katherine, didn't you?" asked Mac.

"Yes. She was a wonderful girl with a voracious reading appetite. She was wise, kind and thoughtful beyond her years," recalled Shingo fondly. "She always had a free smile and was rightfully cautious of strangers. Every time she came into the Shack, she filled the room with happiness. I've thought of her many times and missed her terribly. I wish she would have come to see me as well."

"My God, Shingo. What's next?"

Shingo thought for a moment and said, "Did you ever see that movie where this woman buys a house near the sea and a dead sea captain moves in with her? Maybe Billy, Katherine and your parents will move in with you!"

Mac was overcoming her initial shock and calming down. She thought of the possibility of having ghosts living in her house and said, "House guests like those should be low-maintenance, wouldn't you think?"

Shingo smiled and said, "I would think so!"

Mac put the picture back, got her coffee from the counter and sat at a table. Shingo pulled a chair opposite of her and joined her.

"Now that all the excitement is over, I feel kind of empty." said Mac. "Somehow I thought I'd feel better inside once I found out who the mystery girl was but I don't. Now that I know she's a ghost, it only adds to the emptiness."

Shingo extended his hand across the table and said, "I know I'm not much help to you, but I'll always be here for you Mac."

"Don't say that, Shingo. You're my best friend. I don't ever want you to think that I don't realize how important you are. I've always counted on you in times of crisis and there have been many times you've pulled me through some rough water. You're always there when I need you." Mac rose from her chair, walked to the other side of the table and put her arms around him while he sat. She kissed him softly on the cheek and said, "You're my forever friend. Never forget that!"

"Thanks, Mac."

She returned to her seat, brought her cup to her lips and took a sip of the cold coffee. "Hmmm, nothing like cold coffee to stir the spirit. Is the port warmer still on?"

"It should be. Let me get that for you," offered Shingo. He poured some warm coffee in her cup and brought it back. Mac sat and looked at Shingo and the two enjoyed a few quiet moments together. She finished her coffee and walked to the big window overlooking the ocean.

The lights from the pier shown down on the ocean surface and highlighted erratic, choppy waves and foamy caps. She could hear the wind buffeting the window, struggling in vain to enter the restaurant. "You know, Shingo...I love it so." Then Mac remembered what the voice had twice told her. It said, "The pier" and Mac seemed to finally have an understanding of what it meant. She walked to Shingo and said, "I've been so confined lately, I need to stretch my legs a bit. I think I'll take a walk out on the pier for a few minutes and take in some salt air."

"Would you like some company?" he asked kindly.

"Not this time." She put her arms around him and said, "I don't think I ever told you before but I love you, Shingo. I think I always have."

Shingo's eyes began to burn and it took all of his focus to suppress a copious flow of tears. He put his arms around Mac and said, "I love you, too!"

The wind was slapping everything around and blowing things away that were too weak to resist. Mac pulled away and walked out his door. The wind caught the door and slammed it shut. Waldo heard the disturbance and sprang to his feet. He produced a mild "woof" and began sniffing the air. Something outside caught his attention and he ran to the door Mac used to go to the pier. Waldo scratched at the base and cried to get out.

"It's okay, buddy. It's going to storm out there and it's just the wind," said Shingo in a calming voice.

Waldo jumped up and rested his paws on the windowsill. He looked directly at Mac and watched her walk further out onto the pier, until she was no longer in sight. Then he went to the table where she was sitting and curled up against her chair.

Mac put her hands on the guardrail at the end of the pier and took a deep breath as the wind sprayed a fine mist of saltwater on her face. She turned her back to the ocean and glanced back at the Cuda Shack. She could see the lights on inside but couldn't tell if Shingo was watching or not. Mac closed her eyes and wiped some of the saltwater from her face. When she opened them she saw the little girl in yellow walking toward her. She was carrying her book bag in one hand and holding Miss Julie against her chest in the other.

"Hello, Katherine," said Mac in a kind, happy voice when the girl stopped in front her.

"Hello, Miss Mason," said Katherine.

Mac looked at Miss Julie under Katherine's arm and bent down to her. "I guess you already know her name."

"Yes, ma'am. I know she wasn't mine to take but I tried to ask you if I could borrow her to play with but you couldn't hear me," said Katherine as she offered the doll to Mac.

"It's a funny thing because I don't play with dolls anymore. I only repaired her so I could find a new mommy for her." Mac eased the doll back under Katherine's arm and said, "You keep her. You'll make a fine mommy."

"Thank you Miss Mason," said Katherine as she adjusted the doll and smiled.

"I'd prefer it if you called me Mac. All my friends do."

"Are you sure it's okay?"

"I'm sure. What would you like me to call you?" asked Mac with a smile.

"I prefer Katherine. My dad has some nicknames for me but I still prefer Katherine."

Mac held her hand out and said, "Well, Katherine, it's a real pleasure to finally meet you. I can't wait to see your dad again. We were good friends a long time ago."

Katherine shook Mac's hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you too. My dad talks about you all the time. I know he's wanted to see you for a long time."

"Yeah? I've missed him a lot. I didn't realize how much until recently. I've got a lot of things to tell him."

"He said the same thing about you. You two can talk on the boat. He should be here soon."

"I thought so," said Mac.

The sea became strangely calm and Mac could hear a low humming sound coming from somewhere out in the ocean. The pier vibrated slightly as the sound became louder and louder.

Mac stood, took Katherine's hand and faced the open sea. She turned her head and looked back at the Cuda Shack one last time and said, "Goodbye, dear friend. You'll be just fine...I promise." She looked at Katherine and smiled as she heard the sound of gushing water coming at her. Mac looked to the sea and continued to smile as a giant, white wave rose to an unbelievable height and then came crashing over her and Katherine. Seconds later, Mac, Katherine and the wave were gone.

Shingo had been watching through the window and although he couldn't see her, he knew Mac was somewhere at the end of the pier. When he saw the giant, white crest slam the pier, he feared the worst and ran out to check on her safety.

He ran as fast as he could to the end of the pier and found no trace of Mac. He was shocked to see that there was no damage to the pier. A giant wave like he just saw should have crushed the end of the pier but everything was as it should be. The lights were still intact and lit and a small wooden bench was exactly where a fisherman kept it. Even the windsock continued to sway to and fro in the wind.

He ran back to the Cuda Shack in a panic, called the emergency rescue squad and explained what he had just witnessed. They were somewhat concerned about weather conditions but wasted no time in launching full scale rescue efforts nonetheless. Shingo made another trip out to the end of the pier and watched as three rescue boats searched back and forth with huge searchlights and nets. Unfortunately, they found no trace of Mac and had to cease operations when the full brunt of the storm hit.

Shingo made the long trek back to the Cuda Shack and closed the exterior storm shutters on his windows. He bolted all of the doors shut and prepared to wait out the storm. He knew there was nothing else to be done. If they were lucky, Mac's body would wash ashore and they would be able to give a proper burial. If not, he would arrange some kind of memorial service for her.

Shingo turned off all of the lights, sat on the floor with his back against the dining counter and openly wept. Waldo crept over to him and offered a few affection licks to Shingo's cheek. The he curled beside him and rested his jaw on Shingo's right leg. Waldo's eyes tracked the tears dropping from Shingo's face, to his waist. The dog whimpered a few times, obviously sharing Shingo's rare display of painful emotion.

Shingo patted Waldo's head and said, "It's okay, buddy. I'm a little sad right now. I lost my best human friend and it hurts so bad I can barely stand it." Shingo wept on and off until the storm passed about an hour later. Waldo didn't budge the entire time.

Shingo went to his kitchen, turned on the light and rinsed his face with cold water. Then he went outside and began one more pilgrimage to the end of the pier. Waldo put his paws on the table where Mac had been sitting and picked up her coffee cup with his teeth. He pushed the door to the pier open with his paw and caught up to his buddy.

Shingo's pace was more of a shuffle and it took him four times longer than normal to reach the end guard rail. When he got there, he rested his elbows on the wooden rail and stared into the darkness.

Waldo stopped to Shingo's right and looked up at his buddy, still holding Mac's cup with his teeth. When Shingo glanced at Waldo, the dog wagged his tail, stuck his head through the opening in the railing and dropped Mac's cup into the ocean.

"She forgot her cup, didn't she? We both know how much she loved her coffee."

Waldo sat next to Shingo and shared his gaze seaward. Suddenly, Waldo cocked his head to left and to the right. He stood on all fours, wagged his tail and expelled a couple of friendly barks.

"There's nothing out there, pal. It's just the wind," said Shingo as he patted Waldo's head. Waldo continued to stand on all fours, wag his tail and maintain a fixed stare at a point about 100 feet in front of them. He was looking at something Shingo couldn't see and no matter how hard he looked, would never be able to see. Waldo was staring at two figures on a yacht. One of them was Billy and the other one was Mac. They were standing on the starboard side of Billy's yacht, each with an arm around the other's waist.

Mac looked to the end of the pier and waved to her father, who was standing to Shingo's left and had his arm around Shingo's shoulders.

She turned to Billy and said, "Will Shingo ever be able to see or hear me?"

"Someday, perhaps," replied Billy with a smile.

"Will he be okay?" asked Mac.

"He'll hurt for awhile but your dad and Naomi will help him through it. After we sail the seven seas on earth, I'll teach you how to surf some 600 foot waves on a planet two galaxies that way," said Billy as he pointed to the sky."

"Sounds exciting. Has Katherine tried it yet?" asked Mac.

"Are you kidding? She's a natural!" Billy looked to the east and said, "Time to weigh anchor and get underway."

Billy moved to the anchor chain and before he started pulling it up he said, "Remember when you painted my boat and then complained because I didn't thank you? Well I did thank you but you just couldn't hear me."

"Sorry, I didn't understand any of it then," said Mac.

"By the way, I know Rembrandt's full name but I'm curious why you selected it. Care to share that with me?" said Billy with a questioning look.

Mac chuckled, "Whenever we refer to a great composer or artist, we always use his last name. Like Bach, Strauss, Monet or Picasso. For some odd reason, everyone refers to Rembrandt by his first name. I selected his name because of that oddity."

"Gotcha'," he replied.

Katherine came from below decks with Miss Julie under her arm and said, "Are we ready yet, Daddy?"

"We'll be leaving just as soon as I get this anchor up." A couple of minutes later, Billy walked to Katherine, caressed her hair and said, "Okay, Sweet Pea. Latch onto the wheel and take us out!"

Seconds later, they were gone. Waldo's tail stopped wagging and he finally sat down next to Shingo.

Shingo glanced down at Waldo and said, "Let's go home, Pal."

Mac's father disappeared as Shingo and Waldo ambled back to the Cuda Shack. They were nearly back to the Shack when Shingo spotted someone walking on the beach. He went to the railing and shouted, "Is that you, Floyd?"

The man on the beach stopped, turned and looked to the pier. He waved and shouted back, "Hey, Shingo. Yeah, it's me. I'm just locking up."

"Have a good night and stay safe," said Shingo as he and Waldo lethargically continued to the Shack.

Floyd walked up to the Ferguson's front door, checked the doorknob and then went to Mac's house. He walked inside, looked around and located the puzzle box. Then he went to Mac's coffee table and carefully swept all of the pieces into the box; making certain he hadn't missed any. He tucked the puzzle box under his arm and carried it with him until he completed his security check.

He made sure all the windows were locked, turned off each inside light and went outside. He locked the front door, turned and stood smiling on her porch. He paused to listen to the waves caressing the sandy beach and inhaled as much of the saltwater air as his lungs would allow. "I'll miss that smell. I'll miss all of this. I know of nothing else that can sedate the senses and massage men's souls as effectively as the ocean." He brought the puzzle from under his arm and smiled as he directed his eyes to the changing cover picture. "Have you ever been to Mississippi?"

Floyd strolled to the beach and turned northwest into the cool darkness, while a little girl's faint laughter echoed to shore on the back of unseen, meekly behaving waves.

THE END

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

Thanks!

Rod Mertes

Discover other titles by Rod Mertes:

Blue Castaway

Lightning In The Western Sky
