Setting is around 2000, in Dallas, Texas. I started this story back in 2000-2001, and with the plot, I had to keep it in that time frame. I hope I get the technology right for that time. Things have changed a lot in the last 23-24 years.

"Welcome to La Via Roma," Calista Cantwell Harris told the couple that had just entered the dimly lit restaurant. "Do you have a reservation?" she asked, glancing at the list of names on the small podium at her side. The regular customers Callie knew. These were apparently first timers.

The middle-aged man smiled, his eyes sweeping over Callie's rounded, silk encased figure. "Yes. Colson. For seven o'clock, I believe."

Consulting the book, Callie found the name. "Ah, yes." Picking up two menus, she returned the smile. "If you'll follow me."

Several heads turned as Callie moved through the dining room- eyeing her dark curling hair and hourglass figure, but she ignored them, as she had ignored Mr. Colson's assessing glance. Placing the menus on a table, Callie stepped back to wait for Mr. Colson to seat his companion. "The special for this evening is Linguini in Marty's Special Clam Sauce," she informed the guests. "Your waitress will be Maria, and she'll be with you momentarily. Would you care for something from the bar while you're waiting?"

The words were burned into Callie's brain. Sometimes she thought she could recite them verbatim in her sleep she had said them so many times over the last year. Stopping by the bar, she told Joe, the bartender, that Table 6 needed a bourbon and water and a wine spritzer, before moving back to the lobby, her tired frown changing into a smile as she saw the petite red head standing there.

"Allie. What are you doing here?" Callie asked.

She and Alanna Vickers had been friends since kindergarten. Allie had always been a free spirit, unafraid to take a chance on anything. It had always amazed Callie, especially when they had been younger, since Callie's very minor heart murmur and an over protective mother had kept her from doing the things she had wanted to do.

"That's a fine thing to say to your oldest and dearest friend who only has your best interests at heart," Allie said, pretending to be hurt. "I wanted to tell you about this guy-"

"Allie!" Callie sighed in frustration. "No more dates."

Allie grinned. "Scaredy cat," she muttered. "Cal-li-ee Ca-n't," she sang softly, falling back on the old childhood taunt.

Callie's eyes narrowed as the front door opened to admit another party. "I'll deal with you later," she promised her friend as she smiled and moved to greet the familiar group. "Cecilia. How are you this evening?" she asked. Callie had known Cecilia Wittlebaum for five years, ever since then-Dallas Police Officer Callie Harris had taken a runaway teenage girl to the shelter where Cecilia occasionally volunteered.

The middle aged woman smiled a bit nervously at Callie, glancing first at her husband and then at her son. "Oh, you know me, Callie. I'm always fine. You remember my son, Neal, don't you?"

"Of course," Callie said, nodding toward the blonde haired, well-built young man who nodded back. "Hello."

"Mrs. Harris." Neal Wittlebaum's green eyes surveyed the restaurant's interior with interest. "You weren't kidding about redecorating, were you?"

"I'm surprised you noticed. It wasn't much, really."

Jonas Wittlebaum, slightly overweight and looking bored, sighed deeply. "I thought we came here to celebrate Neal's birthday, Cissy, not to discuss decorating."

Cecilia gave Callie an apologetic look, and Callie grabbed three menus. "If you'll follow me, please?" She led them to a table in the center of the room and waited for them to sit down before going into her spiel. "The special for the evening is Linguini in Marty's Special Clam Sauce," she told them, taking the opportunity to change it up a little, since she'd known Cecilia Wittlebaum for several years. "Your server will be Paul, and he'll be with you in a moment. Would you care for something to drink while you're waiting?"

Before either his wife or son could speak, Jonas declared, "Cissy will have a glass of white wine. Neal and I will have a beer. Draft."

Callie noticed the look on her friend's face, a look that all too clearly said that she didn’t want wine, but Cecilia remained typically silent as her gaze fell to the red linen table cloth before her.

Neal didn't seem too put out by his father's order as he looked around the dining room. "I like what you and your father did with the place, Mrs. Harris," he said.

"Make sure you tell my father that if he comes out before you leave," Callie suggested, a confiding smile on her face. "He wasn't too sure about doing away with the red-checked table cloths and the wine bottle candle holders."

"Do you think he will be out?" Neal asked, only to fall silent as his father spoke again.

"I thought we ordered some drinks?"

Callie gave Neal an affirmative nod, answering his question as she turned to his demanding father. "They're on their way, Mr. Wittlebaum. Paul?" she said, getting the young college student's attention. "I think the Wittlebaums are ready to order."

She stopped by the packed bar again, and then made her way back to the hostess station, where Allie was now sitting on the stool, examining her fingernails. Callie paused, glancing around the area, as if she'd forgotten something. Allie looked up at her. "What's wrong?"

Callie shook her head, looking around. "I thought someone else came in just behind the Wittlebaums."

"There was a group of people that came in," Allie stated. "I wasn't really paying attention. I think that they all went to the bar." She looked thoughtful. "A couple of them might have left, though."

"Probably saw how busy we are and didn’t want to wait." Callie nodded, dismissing it from her mind as she sighed deeply. "Okay. Tell me about this guy," Callie said. When she saw the triumphant grin on her friend's face, she held up a hand. "I haven't said I'd go out with him," she cautioned. "But it can't hurt to find out about him. And besides, I'm beginning to think it's the only way you'll leave me alone."

"His name is Brian. He's thirty-five, divorced. And he's a *doctor*." Allie ticked of the list on her fingers as she spoke.

"Where did you meet a doctor?" Callie asked.

"I had an appointment today-" Seeing Callie's look, she quickly explained. "We're changing insurance at work and they required it. Anyway, we met while I was there. He's agreed to meet you here for a drink tonight just before closing. Just to see if you hit it off."

"I thought you told me earlier that you had a date tonight?" Callie asked in an attempt to change the subject. "With your mystery man that you still refuse to introduce to me. I'm beginning to think he doesn’t exist."

"Oh, honey, he's real," Allie sighed. "Believe me. It's just that I'm not ready to announce it to the world at large, you know?" Allie's green eyes were serious, and Callie frowned again.

"You're sure he's not married?" Callie questioned, picking up on the only reason that she could think of for Allie not being forthcoming with her.

"Very sure. Don't you worry about me. I'm a big girl. Besides, you've got your own love life to be concerned about, my friend. And that's why I'm here, remember? Brian will be here at eleven." She slid from the stool and glanced toward the dining room, where Martin "Marty" Cantwell was moving among the guests, shaking hands and talking. "Looks like business is good tonight," she commented.

"Not bad, considering that this is the first night we've been open in two weeks," Callie agreed. They had taken the risk of closing to make some much-needed renovations to the twenty-year old restaurant. "It doesn't hurt that there's a convention starting at the Fairmont," Callie pointed out. Of course, that meant lots of new faces, and many without reservations, who were steered into the bar to wait for a table to open up.

"Marty certainly looks to be enjoying himself," Allie noted, nodding toward the tall gray-haired man wearing a western-cut suit and cowboy boots who was speaking to some regular customers across the dining room. He glanced up and gave them a wink and grin before going to toward the door that led back into the kitchen area.

"He's in his element," Callie agreed.

Allie gave Callie a smile as she moved toward the door. "I'll call later to see how things went tonight."

Callie shook her head, laughing softly as some more guests came in. Recognizing the first of them, Callie pasted on her welcoming smile once again. "Mr. Alderbazan. How are you this evening?"

Callie was perched on the stool at her post in the entry to the restaurant, resting her feet, when another couple arrived. Callie slipped gracefully off of the stool to greet them. "Good evening. Welcome to La Via Roma."

"We have a reservation for eight o'clock," the man told Callie in a brusque tone. "Davidson."

Callie consulted her call book, and nodded as she picked up to menus, making a mark in the book beside their name, along with a mark on the seating chart. "Your table is ready." Glancing at the next couple behind them, she smiled. "I'll be with you in a moment." To the Davidson party, she said, "Follow me, please." She led them through the already crowded dining room to a table with a "Reserved" placard on it. Picking up the placard, she smiled as the couple sat down.

"Thank you," the man said, and Callie realized she hadn't imagined the smell of alcohol emanating from him.

"The special tonight is Linguini in Marty's Special Clam Sauce. Your server will be Maria, and she'll be with you in a moment. Until then, may I get you something from the bar?" She looked at the woman, hoping that the man would decide not to partake.

After getting their order, she crossed the room again to enter the small lounge/bar area. Going to the bar, she told the bartender, "Joe, table twelve wants a wine spritzer and a draft."

"Spritzer and a draft," Joe nodded, in the middle of preparing a drink for someone else. "Any particular brand?"

"He said Miller."

"Gotcha."

"And you might tell Maria to keep an eye on the gentleman. His breath smells as if he might have gotten a head start with the booze."

"I'll give her the message," Joe promised.

As the hour grew later, fewer and fewer guests came through the door, giving Callie some time to touch some tables, making sure that all of the guests were happy with their service.

While she "worked the room" as her father liked to call it, she noticed that he had come out of the kitchen again and was moving toward the Wittlebaum table. Callie decided to join him, and got there in time to hear him saying, "Mr. Wittlebaum. Mrs. Wittlebaum." He nodded at the son. "Neal."

"Mr. Cantwell," Jonas said, shaking Marty's hand with a firm grip. "Dinner was excellent as always. A touch heavy on some of the spices-"

"Don't you listen to him, Mr. Cantwell," Cecilia insisted. "It was perfect. You're a wonderful chef," she gushed. "Jonas has just been having a bit of trouble with his stomach lately," she confided as Jonas frowned.

"No reason to tell the world about my stomach problems, Cissy," Jonas growled, but he placed a hand to his stomach, giving proof to his wife's words.

"I've got a new apprentice chef," Marty explained to Jonas, pretending to ignore the tension at the table. "It's possible he went a little heavy on the oregano," he admitted. "I've been trying to watch him, but you know how young people can be."

Jonas sent his son a look of disappointment. "Yes, I do."

The younger man ignored his father's obvious disapproval as he told Marty, "The clam sauce was wonderful, sir. As always. I'd love to be able to make it that well."

"It takes practice," Marty said. "I learned from one of the best chefs in Rome. I'd suggest that anyone who wants to become a chef study in Rome or Paris - or even London. For a while, anyway. I'd be glad to give you some addresses-"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Cantwell," Jonas said, interrupting the conversation with a dark tone as he glared at his son. "Neal's not going anywhere. His future is with me at the Import house."

Callie saw the sudden tension in Neal Wittlebaum's broad shoulders as his father spoke. The young man had been trying for months to convince his father to finance his study to become a chef- but the elder Wittlebaum refused to hear of any such thing. He believed- even in the face of Marty Cantwell's very masculine example- that chefs were "pansies".

Jonas glanced up at Callie, then back to Marty. "You don't know how lucky you are to have your child working with you willingly, Mr. Cantwell. To have her understand what it means to build something to pass on to her- or him," he said, his gaze locked on his son's bowed head. "Young people today just don't understand the value of such things."

Marty's hand tightened almost imperceptibly on Callie's shoulder. "I don't expect Callie to be here forever," he said. "One of these days, she'll-"

Jonas waved a hand imperiously. "Oh, I'm sure she'll decide to get married one of these days-"

Cecilia gasped audibly at her husband's words, and Callie felt herself go a bit pale. Neal's head snapped up, and his green eyes hardened in anger.

"Excuse me," Callie said in a soft voice and moved away, back toward the relative safety of the lobby as she heard her father's cool tones.

"If you'll excuse me, I have things to take care of in the kitchen. Neal. Cecilia. Mr. Wittlebaum."

Even from across the room, Callie could hear Cecilia's soft, chastising tone. "Jonas. How could you be so - insensitive?"

"What did I say?" Jonas asked.

"Forget it, Mother," Neal said, tossing his napkin onto the table and rising, not caring that he had become the center of attention in the dining room as conversation seemed to stop. "He can't understand. He'll never understand. He's a selfish, self-centered-"

"Neal!" Cecilia hissed in warning.

"Sit down, Neal," Jonas ordered, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Everyone's looking at you."

"I don't care," Neal declared. "I'm sorry, Mother," he apologized, moving to give her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Neal," Cecilia cried softly, obviously torn between her son and her angry husband, who sat beside her, his gaze locked on the softly flickering candle in the center of the table. "Please don't go. It's your birthday. We haven't even had dessert yet." Cecilia batted her eyes. "For me, Neal, please?"

Callie's attention was captured by the arrival of some guests, and she tried to put Jonas Wittlebaum's insensitive remark out of her mind. Moving across the dining room, she noted that Cecilia and Neal were talking quietly between themselves, while Jonas sat staring at the table. Lifting his hand to get Paul's attention, he said, "Check please?"

As Paul neared the table, bill in hand, Jonas flinched, and then doubled over with a groan of pain as he collapsed onto the floor.

"Jonas!" Cecilia screamed, and Callie jumped into action as her police training came to the fore.

She rushed to Jonas' side, checking his pulse with a hand to his neck before tilting his head back. "Someone call 911," she called out, and saw several people grab for their cell phones as Neal helped his distraught mother to a chair while they watched. Callie breathed into Jonas' mouth, and then started chest compressions, counting as she worked.

"The ambulance is on the way," someone told her.

Callie knew it was useless. There was no pulse, no heartbeat. But she kept doing CPR, just in case she was wrong. At no time did she look up at Cecilia, because her friend would have read the truth in Callie's dark eyes - that her husband was dead.

It seemed forever before someone relieved her. By that time, Callie's arms felt as if they were made of rubber. A hand slipped under her elbow to help her up, and she leaned against her father's side, watching as the paramedics worked.

Suddenly, it dawned on her that the previously full dining room was almost empty, and the sound of voices reached Callie's ears. Turning, she noticed two uniformed police officers guiding the customers to the exit, getting names and contact information as they did so. "What are you doing?" she asked the nearest one, who's name badge revealed his name to be "Officer G. Magret."

"Clearing the scene, ma'am," Magret told her.

"You've got no reason-"

"It's standard procedure, Callie," another officer said, and she looked around to find a familiar face. Pete Gardner smiled tightly. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Not in this case," Callie insisted. "In a shooting, perhaps, but not - " she fell silent as one of the paramedics spoke to Cecilia.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Cecilia collapsed into her son's arms, crying inconsolably. "There's nothing more we can do." He picked up his radio to call the coroner's office.

It was almost two hours after Jonas had collapsed before the coroner officially declared Jonas Wittlebaum dead of unknown causes and took the body to the morgue for an autopsy. Callie walked Neal and Cecilia to Jonas' white Cadillac, hearing Neal promise to stay with his mother that night. Callie promised to call them the next morning, and then watched as the car pulled onto the street. She had convinced her old friend Pete Gardner to get the media to back off earlier, and the last of them followed the white car from the parking lot. "Vultures," Callie muttered distastefully as she watched them vanish into the distance before returning to the nearly empty restaurant, where her father was sitting at a table, staring at the spot where Jonas' body had lain.

She knelt beside him. "Dad?"

"What just happened here, Callie?" he asked. "I was talking to the guy and the next minute he's lying on the floor, dead."

"You heard Cecilia. He was having problems with his stomach. Probably an ulcer. Or it could have been his heart. Any number of things. The coroner will do an autopsy and find out. Why don't you go on home? I'll stay here and get things closed up."

"You okay?" he asked, placing a hand over hers where it lay on his arm. "This probably isn't easy for you -"

"I didn't really know him very well," Callie said quickly, pretending to misunderstand his concern. "He was Cecilia's husband. That's how I thought of him. I doubt I spoke more than ten words to him in all the time I've known her." Callie felt his hand beneath her chin, lifting it so that she had to look him in the eye. "I'm okay, Dad," she promised. She gave him a pat on the back. "Go home. I'll call you tomorrow morning."

Marty nodded, looking tired. "Yeah." He managed a sideways grin. "I had a date this evening. But -"

Normally, Callie would have gently teased her long-widowed father about the identity of his latest lady-love. He seemed to have a new one every week. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it tonight. "I think you should go. It'll probably do you good to get out with someone else. Try to forget . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Marty looked thoughtful. "I don't feel much like being social tonight. But I think I will go home." He rose from the chair, pulling her to her feet as he did so. "You don't hang around too long yourself."

"Manuel's still here, isn't he?" she asked, referring to the dishwasher.

"I think so." He glanced around the dimly lit room. "Somewhere."

"I'll find him. Go on."

Callie closed her apartment door and kicked off her high heel shoes as she leaned against it with relief. Looking around the dark room, she felt herself beginning to relax a bit. The simply furnished room, with its slight art deco feel, was a very calming influence. Especially tonight.

And it had the most important attraction of all: it was quiet. No soft music playing the background, no rattle of silver or plates, no murmur of voices. Just blessed silence, she thought, flopping down onto the nearest chair, her head back, her dark eyes closed, enjoying the oasis of silence. Her thoughts turned to Cecilia, and how she must be feeling. Losing a husband wasn't easy. That was one thing that that Callie knew about only too well.

When the telephone rang, she grabbed it quickly, grateful for an opportunity to keep her mind from going places that she would prefer not to revisit. Removing her right earring, she put it on the nearby table. "Hello?"

"How are you?" Allie asked.

"This is a surprise," Callie responded, frowning. "I thought you'd still be on your date- or did you decide to spend the night alone for a change?" she asked, only half teasing.

"You make it sound like I never spend the night alone," Allie informed her. "I just wanted to check on you."

"Check on me?" Callie questioned. "Ah, my date for drinks with- what was his name? Brian? I forgot all about it -"

"Not about that," Allie said. "I heard what happened."

"You did?" Callie sat up, surprised. "How?"

"You've got to be kidding. One of Dallas' richest businessmen, a Vietnam War hero, drops dead in your father's restaurant and you don't think the local stations would think it was news?"

"It was on the news already?" Callie questioned. She had agreed to a very short interview by someone from Channel 8 while waiting for the coroner's wagon, but she hadn't thought it would have made the news so quickly. "What did they say?"

"Oh, the part with you was wonderful. Mentioned about how you were an ex-cop and then they dredged all that stuff up about Greg-" Callie put her hand over her face. "But they made you out to be the hero for starting CPR."

"For all the good it did," Callie sighed. "He's still dead. Any report about what caused it?"

"Not yet. But they expect a preliminary report by tomorrow morning. This isn't going to be good for Marty's business is it?" she asked.

"No. People dropping dead in your dining room tends to have a detrimental effect. And coming off that fact that we've only just reopened after the remodeling -- Well, it'll be cleared up once they find out it was an ulcer or a heart attack. Something simple."

"How's his wife doing?"

"Not well. Her son called their family doctor from the restaurant. He was sending something over for her. I'm going to call her tomorrow, see if there's anything I can do." Callie forced the memories away and asked. "About your date tonight-?"

Allie hesitated before answering, and then said, "I’m supposed to meet him, but I wanted to make sure you were all right. I know this must be hard on you- after all of that with Greg-"

"Yeah," Callie agreed quickly, cutting her friend's words of sympathy off abruptly. "I'm going to bed, Allie. It's been a long evening."

Callie held her breath, fearing that her friend would force the issue. But Allie's next words caused her to breathe again. "Okay. Get some sleep."

"I'll try," Callie promised, but she doubted it would happen.

Sure enough, Callie was up most of the night, unable to sleep after the events of the previous evening. She was dialing Cecilia's number as the early local news came on, and the reporter began to speak. Callie hung up the telephone to listen.

"In local news, long time Dallas businessman Jonas Wittlebaum, owner of Wittlebaum Imports/Exports, Limited, died last night while dining at La Via Roma restaurant with his family. A preliminary report by the County Coroner's office gives the cause of death as poisoning. Mr. Wittlebaum, a decorated veteran of the Vietnam War, is survived by his wife, Cecilia, who is well known for her work with runaway teens, and a son, Neal. Police have listed the death as a homicide and are investigating."

The television reporter continued, and the tape of Callie's interview was replayed, along with a shortened version of her own history with the Dallas Police Department.

The shrill ringing of the telephone, made Callie jump. She pressed the "mute" button on the remote as she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Callie, have you seen the news this morning?" Marty asked, sounding a little frazzled. That was unusual for the normally self-assured man, and it worried Callie even more.

"I was just watching it," she admitted.

"This could be bad for the restaurant."

"Why?" She knew the reasons, but also knew that her father needed to verbalize his fears.

Marty sighed deeply. "Callie, honey, anytime someone dies at a restaurant, it looks bad. Rumors can hurt a place faster than a whirlwind. Food poisoning- Did you know that I've already gotten three calls from reporters, asking about the last health inspection, mentioning the recent renovations? And I know it's wrong of me to be worried about that when a man's dead, but-"

"I think you're borrowing trouble, Dad," Callie said quietly. "Until we know what killed him-"

"That's why I was calling," Marty said. "I hate to ask, but, you still have a few connections with the Department, don't you?"

"One or two," Callie admitted, not sure she liked where her father was going with this. "Why?"

"I thought maybe you could make some calls, see if you can find out anything before they release it to the media. Just so that we can be prepared in case-."

"Dad, you weren't responsible. No one at the restaurant was responsible. Jonas was overweight, stressed out- maybe he had an ulcer that killed him. Or maybe he had a heart attack. He was the right age and fit the profile . . ." Callie said, her voice trailing off as she tried to convince Marty, hoping that she wouldn't have to do this. The idea of having anything to do with the Department was troubling.

"I wouldn't ask, honey, if it wasn't so important. You know how much being down those two weeks hurt. If we're down for any more time-"

Callie sighed this time. "Okay. I'll see what I can find out," she said at last, her gaze on the view beyond the kitchen window.

"I'm going down to the restaurant. If they try to get in-"

"If they have a warrant, let them in. We don't have anything to hide."

"Okay."

"I'll be down there as soon as I can. Stop worrying." She hung up the phone. And stood there for a long moment, dreading what she had to do now.

Going to the desk near the windows, Callie opened the desk drawer and pulled out a leather bound address book. Opening it with reluctance, she located a telephone number and was reaching for the extension nearby when it rang.

Grateful for the reprieve, Callie answered. "Hello?"

She could hear voices in the background, mixed in with someone sobbing inconsolably.

"Mrs. Harris?" Neal Wittlebaum asked.

"Neal. I was just about to call you. How's your mother?"

"Not well," he said. "The police are here, asking all kinds of questions- I think they think we had something to do with it, Mrs. Harris," he said. "Could you come over? I think having you here would help Mom."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Cecilia told him. "And don't worry. I'm sure they're questioning everyone. Are they certain he was poisoned?"

"That's what they're saying. Look, I have to go-"

"I'll be right there." Callie nearly slid the address book into the drawer, but the memory of her father's concern caused her to stop and open it again.

Very deliberately, she dialed a number, and waited for it to be answered. "Morgue."

Callie took a deep breath. "Hi, Robbie. It's Callie Harris."

"Callie?" She could hear Robbie Overton's surprise even through the telephone line. Robbie and Greg had been best friends. She'd shut him out just as she'd shut everyone else out after Greg's death. "I - uh - how are you? It's been a long time."

"Over a year," Callie agreed. "I'm - okay. You?"

"Can't complain. Course, you don't get many complaints working with stiffs all day," he chuckled, and Callie felt herself relax a little. Robbie's offbeat sense of humor had always had that effect on her. It had been one of the reasons that Greg had liked him so much. "What can I do for you?"

"I hate to do this, but - I was hoping you could get me some information about Jonas Wittlebaum, Robbie."

She showed her ID to the uniformed Highland Park officer at the gate of the Wittlebaum estate in that exclusive city. Jonas had bought it with his first million, just five years after his return from 'Nam. Callie remembered Cecilia telling her about that. He'd been the boy wonder. The man with the golden touch, using contacts he'd made while in South East Asia to build one of the most successful import houses in the state.

Neal came to greet her when she entered the house, having to show her ID to another Highland Park policeman. "Mrs. Harris. Thank goodness you're here."

"Where's your mother?"

He nodded toward the closed doors to the left. "In there with the police detective."

"Is your lawyer in there, too?"

"Yes. That's why it took them so long to start questioning us. We had to wait for Mr. Emerson to get here."

"What's the detective's name?" Callie asked, and then turned as the doors opened and the detective himself answered.

"Piper," he said, and Callie fought a frown. "Hello, Callie." Neal pushed past the detective to join his mother and their lawyer in the living room.

"George," she replied. George Piper had been one of Callie's biggest supporters - and her mentor - until she had - in his words- wimped out after Greg's death and run away. He'd let her know in no uncertain terms what he thought about quitters, especially ones with the talent she had shown for the work.

"You here in some kind of official capacity, Callie, or as a friend?" he asked.

"I'm a friend of Mrs. Wittlebaum's," she replied. "May I see her now?"

"Yeah- while we talk to the son here. But don't go too far. You're on my list, too."

"Me?" Callie questioned. "Why?"

"Wittlebaum died in your father's restaurant. You were a witness to whatever happened."

"Nothing happened. He collapsed," Callie explained. "He was upset about something -"

"So Mrs. Wittlebaum told us. But we still need to look around the restaurant- and talk to your father and anyone who was working last night."

"We'll cooperate, George. My father and I have nothing to hide."

George nodded. "I'll be heading that way once I finish up here. Mr. Wittlebaum?" he called, going to the door. "A moment, please? And you as well, Mr. Emerson," he added, referring to the elderly lawyer who followed Neal from the living room.

Callie entered the room, closing the doors behind her, and went to where Cecilia was sitting before the fire; a ragged scrap of fabric in her hands that had once been a linen handkerchief, Callie was sure. "Cecilia?" she said quietly, sitting down.

"Oh, Callie," Cecilia said, holding out her hand to Callie. "Thank you for coming. It's awful. Just awful. They think that *I* might have had something to do with killing Jonas. I would never have done anything to hurt him. He's the only man I ever loved."

Callie nodded, blinking back her own tears as her friend's words echoed her own not so long ago. "Cecilia, do you know of any enemies that Jonas might have had? A business rival, perhaps?"

"No. Jonas wasn't an easy man to deal with, but- he never mentioned anything about work. I suppose he thought I wouldn't understand it. But he had been- nervous lately. Like he was under a strain of some kind. He just said it was nothing and not to worry about it. That was so like him. Who would want to kill Jonas, Callie?" she asked.

"I don't know, Cecilia," Callie admitted. "But I’m going to find out."

Chapter 3

Callie's next stop was the two story warehouse building that housed the offices for Wittlebaum Imports/Exports Limited. The place seemed deserted, and Callie guessed that most everyone had been given the day off because of Jonas' sudden death.

She tapped once on the door to an office where a sad faced young woman sat at her desk, sniffing occasionally into a handkerchief. "Excuse me?"

The young woman looked up, startled to hear another voice, no doubt. "I'm sorry. We're closed for the day. Mr. Wittlebaum-"

"I know," Callie told her. "I'm a friend of Mrs. Wittlebaum's. I was hoping you could give me some answers to some questions?"

"I don’t know anything," the woman said. "Are you with the police?"

"No," Callie admitted, glancing at the nameplate on the desk, "I’m not, Miss Key. The police seem to think that Mrs. Wittlebaum or her son might have killed Mr. Wittlebaum. I don't agree with them."

"Oh, no. They couldn't have," Miss Key insisted, tearing up again. "That's impossible- Oh, oh, excuse me," she cried, running from the office in tears.

Callie took the opportunity to turn the appointment book that was lying on Miss Key's desk around to study it, but before she got past the nine am slot, she heard someone coming down the hallway and returned the book to where it had been.

The man who entered the office would have been extremely handsome- his square-jawed face and curly black hair framing a pair of incredible blue eyes- if it hadn't been for the broken nose that had healed poorly. It threw his features off just enough to make him seem even more unique. He seemed surprised to find her there, but recovered quickly. "I have a nine o'clock appointment with Mr. Wittlebaum," he told her, and Callie wondered why he had a wary expression on his face.

"I'm not-" she said, realizing that he thought she was Jonas' secretary. Glancing at the appointment book, she read the name. "Carter- Jan-" she hesitated over the name.

"Jankowski," he finished with a grin. "Don't worry about it. Lots of people have trouble with it. Is he here?"

"You haven't seen the news, have you?" Callie asked.

"No. I've been out of touch for a couple of days, getting settled into a new place- why?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Wittlebaum died last night."

"What? Jonas is- dead?"

"You knew him well?"

"I'd never met him," Carter told her. "I just found out that he- helped my folks put me through college. I wanted to thank him."

"Put you through college?"

"My father and Jonas Wittlebaum served together in 'Nam," he explained, still looking a bit shell shocked himself.

"I guess it'll be a big shock to your father, too, then."

Carter's face hardened slightly. "My father's dead, Miss-"

"It's Mrs.," she corrected. "Calista - Callie Harris."

He looked at her, then at the desk. "You don’t work here, do you?" he asked, picking up the name plate which had "Miss Key" emblazoned across its brass surface to show it to her.

"No. I'm a friend of Mrs. Wittlebaum's."

"If you knew Jonas was dead, why are you here?" He stopped, eyeing her curiously. "Are you a cop?"

"No. I'm just checking some things out for Cecilia," she explained. "Mrs. Wittlebaum." There was something vaguely familiar about him. Callie was certain she'd seen him somewhere before. "Have we met, Mr. Jan-"

"Make it Carter," he told her with a charming grin. "And I don't think so. I'd remember meeting you, I'm sure." He tilted his head in a way that made Callie think of a little boy considering a thought before asking a question. "Listen, I'm new in town- care to take pity on me and show me a good place to have some lunch?"

"I would, but- I have to go. Mr. Wittlebaum- Jonas died in my father's restaurant, and the police wanted to talk to everyone about what happened." She turned to go. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Jan- Carter." She left, only to find him at her side again.

"What did happen?" he asked. "Heart attack?"

"He was murdered."

"You're kidding. By who?"

"The police seem to think his wife or his son."

"But you don't think they did it," Carter said. "I can tell. If you thought they had, you wouldn't have been here looking for clues."

"No, I don't think Cecilia or Neal did it," she admitted as they came out onto the street.

"Is there anyway I can help?" Carter offered. "I mean, I owed Jonas a lot. If it hadn't been for him helping after my father died, -" Callie hesitated. "I really want to help, Mrs. Harris."

"Callie," she told him. "What do you do for a living?"

"Construction," he said quickly. "Building houses, things like that," he explained. "My mom died in a car wreck two months ago," he told her. "She and my step-father were killed instantly. That's how I found out about Jonas having helped after they died. He set up a scholarship fund and investments for me. I never knew where the money came from-" he broke off, his blue eyes serious. "I really do want to help find out who killed him, - Callie."

Callie glanced at her watch. "Okay." She pulled a card from her purse and handed it to him. "Write your address and phone number on that. I'll pick you up and we can discuss our next step."

Carter pulled a pen from inside his sport jacket and did as she asked, then handed it back to her.
Callie glanced at the address. Not bad. He was living in one of the old downtown warehouses that had recently been converted to lofts. While they weren't too upscale, they weren't bad, either. "I'll call you when I finish at the restaurant and let you know I’m on the way."

He nodded. "I'll be waiting," he promised, then moved toward a white Ford Taurus that had seen better days.

Callie waved at him as she unlocked her Jeep Cherokee, and then went back to the restaurant. Not bad, she told herself. Not bad at all. Too bad she wasn't looking for any involvement at the moment.

The restaurant looked like a crime scene when Callie entered. There were uniforms everywhere, it seemed to her. At least she didn't have to show her ID to get in. The officer on the door was an old friend from her days on the force. "Hey, Callie," he said. "How are you doing?"

"Not bad, Mitch," she told him. He'd been her first partner when she'd left the academy. Looking around, she added. "Could be better at the moment, though."

"Yeah," he agreed, following her gaze. "Piper wasn't happy when you weren't here, either."

"He'll get over it," Callie said. "I'm here now."

"You'd better go on in. He's been putting your dad through the wringer."

Callie passed through the dining room, pausing to comfort one of the waitresses who was crying, and nodding at several officers she remembered from when she'd been with the department. Entering the kitchen, she found her father face to face with George Piper- which would have been funny, considering that while Marty Cantwell was almost six foot tall and George Piper barely reached 5'6" and was heavy from riding a desk, if it wasn't that Marty was obviously furious.

"What are you trying to imply, Detective?" he was asking. "I didn't kill Jonas Wittlebaum. I barely knew the man!"

"What's going on here?" Callie asked, joining her father to confront the Piper.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Mrs. Harris," Piper told her. "Maybe you can explain to your father how a murder investigation works."

"It doesn’t require you to badger witnesses, Detective," Callie informed him hotly.

"Speaking of witnesses, what exactly did you see last night, Mrs. Harris?" Piper asked.

"I've already told the officers last night. I'm sure you read their reports. The Wittlebaums arrived at seven-fifteen. They were seated, had their meal."

"No one else was at the table?"

"Joe, the bartender, Maria, their waitress- who, by the way, I noticed that you have already interrogated, since she's crying- Dad and myself. Joe's been here for ten years. Maria's been here for six months. And neither Dad nor I had any reason to want to poison Jonas Wittlebaum. You're barking up the wrong tree, Piper," she declared.

Piper's cell phone began to ring, and he stepped back, pulling out the antenna. "Hello? . . . Uh huh," he glanced at Callie and Marty. "You're sure? . . . Okay . . . Yeah . . . See you later . . . Get me a search warrant for the Wittlebaum house, then." He glanced at his wristwatch. "Ten minutes . . . Bye." He turned off the phone, and put it into his pocket before looking at Callie. "Seems that Wittlebaum was slowly poisoned. So it was just plain bad luck that he chose to expire in your dining room."

"Thank goodness," Marty said. "At least that's cleared up. Will you get your men out of my restaurant then, Detective? I've got to try and salvage what little business I might still have." Having said that, he turned and went into his office, closing the door behind him.

Callie indicated the way to the door into the dining room, and George Piper sighed heavily before moving in that direction, with Callie right behind. "Let's go," he called to the policemen and women in the room. "Nothing for us here."

Callie saw Mitch smirk before he turned to go through the door, and she knew that George Piper had likely seen it as well as she said, "George, Cecilia and Neal didn't kill him."

"What makes you say that? Mrs. Wittlebaum and her son are due to inherit a sizeable fortune because of her husband's death."

"I know her. She's a sweet woman who loved her husband. I think you need to look elsewhere."

He turned to look at her. "Are you trying to tell me how to do my job, Mrs. Harris?" he asked.

"Of course not. But -"

"Listen, you're not a cop anymore, so let us do our job and you do - whatever it is you do now." He sighed, seeming to realize he might have been too harsh. "Look, Callie, I'm sorry. But - you have to realize that Greg and Mike's deaths weren't your fault. You were too good a cop to bury yourself in this restaurant."

As he turned to leave, Callie watched him. He'd just given her a reason to keep looking into Jonas Wittlebaum's death. She knew all too well how the department tended to treat this kind of case. They were convinced that the victim's family had all the motive to commit the crime, and wouldn't look elsewhere unless they had hard evidence to force their attention in another direction.

It was going to be up to her - and her new-found "helper"- to find that evidence.

Maria came over to her. "Are we really going to open for lunch, Callie?" she asked, her eyes still red.

"I need to talk to Dad and find out what he wants to do. I'm sure he'll say yes, but I think it would be better to wait and open for the evening crowd."

She wasn't surprised to find her father standing in front of the double door refrigerator, probably making a mental list of what ingredients he was going to need. "Hey," she said, moving over to take his arm in hers before resting her head on his shoulder. "You okay?"

"You know I am," Marty said. "How about you? All this involvement with the police can't be easy for you."

"I'm a survivor," she reminded him. "Like my old man." He chuckled and shook his head. "About opening for lunch, Dad -"

"I'd already decided to wait and open tonight," he told her. "The only ones who would come in today would be the ghouls out to see where it happened. That will probably happen tonight, too, but -"

"Then I'll go let the dining room staff know that they can go home until later."

"Care to take pity on your doddering father and have lunch with him?" he asked. "I think there's still some chicken fettucini in the fridge."

"I would, but I have some things to take care of."

"Such as?"

Callie drew a deep breath before telling him, "Cecilia has asked me to see if I can't find out who killed Jonas." She saw his reaction immediately.

"Do you think that's a good idea, honey? I know you were one of the best cops on the force, but it's been two years since you did anything like that -"

"I couldn't tell her no, Dad," Callie told him. "Jonas Wittlebaum might have been a class A jerk to everyone, but his wife loved him. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to help clear her."

Callie found a parking space before the building where Carter had his apartment, pausing on the sidewalk to admire the change in what had been an abandoned warehouse into a block of modern apartments. Inside, she discovered that the original freight elevator had been modernized, but some of the doors into the apartments were heavy sliding metal doors. If it wasn't for the lighting, one would think the building was still being used for storage.

She pressed the doorbell next to the sliding door into Carter's apartment. "Come in!" he called out, and Callie was surprised that the heavy door moved more easily than she had expected it to. Inside, there was no sign of Carter, but he called out again from the raised platform at the back of the room that was closed off by a heavy white curtain. "Just finishing getting dressed. Make yourself comfortable," he said.

"It's not a good idea to tell someone to come in if you don't know who's ringing the doorbell," she called back, looking at the bookshelves along the wall of the raised area - bookshelves that rose to at least three foot above that raised floor. Curious, Callie looked into some of the boxes sitting beside the shelves.

"I knew it was you," he told her. "I saw your car on the street," he told her, coming from behind the curtain to come down the metal stairway, noticing her fascination with the boxes. "Ah. You've found my weakness," he said, grinning as she examined the books that he had already placed on the shelves.

"You have a very eclectic collection of books," she noted, trying not to notice that the small blue checks on his sport shirt perfectly matched his blue eyes.

"And this isn't all of them," he told her. "I have the rest in storage."

"Oh my." There were books of fiction, and architecture, history, biographies, poetry. Callie shook her head, seeing the computer monitor sitting on a desk. "Even a computer."

"I'm still learning how to use that," he told her. "Shall we go to lunch?"

"I'd like to go talk to Cecilia Wittlebaum again if you don't mind," she said. "We can get something to eat after that."

"Something else has happened, hasn't it?" he asked, sliding the door open for her.

She told him about the coroner's report that Jonas had been slowly poisoned. "The police were trying to get a search warrant to try and find something at the Wittlebaum house. I'm sure that Cecilia will want to see me after that - besides, it will give you a chance to talk to her about Jonas having helped your parents."

"Callie," Cecilia sighed, sounding relieved to see her. "The police just left - they had the nerve to say that I'm a *suspect* in Jonas' death," she said, clearly outraged, before noticing that Callie wasn't alone. "I'm sorry," she apologized.

"Cecilia Wittlebaum, this is Carter -" she paused, trying to remember how to say the name, but Carter grinned.

"Jankowski," he supplied.

"Carter is helping me with my investigation," Callie told her friend. "He was supposed to have a meeting with Jonas this morning at the warehouse."

"Oh. About the import business? I don't know much about that, I'm afraid."

"No, it was about his time in the Army in Vietnam," Carter explained. "He served with my father."

Cecilia sighed. "I know even less about that. Jonas never really talked about his time in the Army, especially the time he spent overseas."

"That's pretty normal for a lot of the men who were over there," Carter nodded.

"There's a photo on the mantle -" Cecilia said, pointing to a framed snapshot, and Carter moved toward the mantle, scanning the various photographs before indicating one of them. "Yes, that's the one. It's the only one I remember ever seeing of Jonas and his unit."

Callie watched as Carter scanned the picture. "Are there names -?" he asked.

"I have no idea. I've never seen it out of the frame. Surely your father has a copy -"

"He didn't come home," Carter told her.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. "So many didn't. Jonas always said he was one of the lucky ones. We were married soon after he returned and his enlistment was up. I wanted him to wear his uniform at the ceremony, but he refused to consider it. Told me that that part of his life was over and done."

"But he used the connections that he made there to make a million dollars," Carter pointed out.

Callie started to object to the question, but Cecilia's smile made her keep silent. "It wasn't *just* his connections, you know," she confided. "My father gave us a rather sizable gift that Jonas put into establishing the import/export business." She sighed. "I was so young when we married - I'd been sheltered, went to an all girl school. I know that it's hard for people who knew Jonas to believe, but I loved him." She reached over to take Callie's hand. "I'm sure you understand, Callie."

Callie saw Carter turn and look in her direction as she nodded. "Yes, Cecilia, I do." Hoping to change the subject, Callie told her, "Carter told me that Jonas set up a trust fund for him so that he could go to college - do you know anything about that?"

Cecilia looked at Carter, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I don't. But that was so like Jonas. He was forever doing things like that and no one knew anything about it. He was the one who helped set up the shelter downtown." She looked at Carter. "Did Callie tell you how we met?"

"Not yet," Carter replied, still studying the photo.

"I was working late one evening at the shelter for runaway teenage girls and Callie brought a girl in that she and her partner had found sleeping on the street. She looked so smart in her police uniform, and seemed so concerned about the girls that we took in. I managed to convince her to donate some of her time to helping us - but we haven't seen her at the shelter in some time. Not since -"

Callie interrupted her friend. "Excuse me, Cecilia, but - did the police find anything when they served the search warrant?"

"Oh, not that I know of. There was nothing to find. But they did take some of his medications to examine. I must say, Callie, that I am not at all impressed by that detective -"

"Piper," Callie said. "He can be a little gruff, but he's very good at his job, Cecilia. Are you sure there's nothing more you can tell me?"

"No. Did you go by Jonas' office this morning as you said you would?"

"I did. That's where I met Carter - when he arrived for his meeting with Jonas. I didn't have much time to look around, however."

"I'll make sure that the employees know you'll be around. That's where Neal is, at the office. I'm sure whatever happened to Jonas has something to do with the business. Don't you?"

"So you were a cop," Carter said as they pulled away from the house.

"Yes. I was." Her tone made it clear that she had nothing further to say on that subject, and Callie was relieved when Carter seemed to pick up on her attitude.

"Do you think that whatever happened to Jonas Wittlebaum has to do with his business?"

"It seems the most likely answer," Callie told him. "If you cross Cecilia and their son off the list."

"What's the son like?"

"Neal's hard to describe. He's young - Jonas and Cecilia thought they would never have any children, and then - wham! - they had a son."

"He's spoiled, then?"

"Not really. Well, again, it's hard to describe. His mother tends to over-mother, if you understand that." Carter nodded. "Jonas, however - he never seemed to understand that Neal isn't a mirror image of himself. He insisted that Neal would follow his footsteps and run the Import/Export business."

"And what does Neal want to do?"

"He's been leaning toward studying to be a chef."

"I'm sure that his father loved that idea," Carter said, laughing. "What's on the agenda for tomorrow morning's sleuthing?"

"I'll probably talk to some of my contacts at the department and see if there's anything they know that I don't. And I'll probably ask Cecilia for permission to talk to Jonas' accountant. He might be able to shed some light on that trust account he set up for you, as well. I'll call if I manage to see him." Carter nodded. "Any preferences about lunch?" she asked.

"Surprise me," he told her.

"Do you like Chinese food?"

"Love it."

"Then I know just the place," she told him.

"This might become my go to place for lunch," Carter said as they finished their meal.

"You said that you were new in town," Callie said. "Where did your mom and step-father live?"

"Here in the Dallas area," he told her.

"But *you're* not from here."

"No," he told her. "But I spent my summers here - it's complicated."

Callie decided not to delve further down that rabbit hole. "I thought you told me that you do construction work. Where did -"

"I worked for my step-father when I was in town," he explained. "He had a construction company in Pleasant Grove. I sold their house there to the guy who's running the company now a week ago, and decided to move into that loft. No reason for me to keep a three bedroom split-level, even if it did have a pool."

"Did your step-father build the house?"

Carter nodded. "He did. It was one of the first houses he built when he started the company. He used it as a model home until he built a few more."

"How old were you when your mother remarried?"

"Ten. We were down here visiting my dad's father when they met."

"You weren't living here at the time?"

"No. We were living up north, with my mom's family."

"So what do you do when you're not doing construction work?"

"I studied architecture in college," he told her. "Enough about me. I get the idea that you're a native."

"Born and bred," she said proudly.

"Does your mother work at the restaurant, too?"

"No, Mom died when I was six," she answered.

"Sorry."

"It was a long time ago. It's just been me and Dad since then. He had just opened his first restaurant, so I grew up in the business. I was taking orders when I was ten. And working the cash register when I was fifteen."

"But you left to become a police officer."

"And I came back."

"Why?"

Although she was surprised by his directness, Callie shrugged. "I had my reasons." She was relieved when Carter chose not to pursue the answer. Glancing at her watch, she said, "I have to go home and get ready for work tonight."

He reached over and grabbed the ticket for her meal. "I've got it."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to." He paid the bill as Callie waited by the door, then followed her out to her car. "I had a good time," he told her. "Would you have dinner with me?"

"I can't tonight. I have to work," she reminded him quickly.

"Then tomorrow night. Surely there's someone else who can do what you do."

"I'm the hostess," she told him. "Yes, I could ask Maria, she's filled in for me when I wasn't able to be there -"

"What time should I pick you up?" he wanted to know.

"Carter, I -"

"Then you can pick me up. Or we can meet at the restaurant. Once I figure out which one that will be," he added with a grin.

"Gino's Pizza Parlor on Commerce," Callie told him. "I'll meet you there at seven."

"Then it's a date," he said.

"No, it's dinner," she clarified.

Carter's grin widened. "Whatever you say."

Back at home, Callie took a shower and dressed in a dark blue satin dress for work. Sometimes she felt a little like she was getting ready to go out undercover when she glanced in the mirror. All she needed tonight was a faux fur stole, fishnet stockings and a couple of strings of fake pearls around her neck. Not that she had ever dressed that way for a real vice stake out - most of those had only required a tight mico-miniskirt or pants and a crop top with heels tall enough to give most people a nosebleed. If she was honest, Callie had to admit that there were some things she missed about being a police officer. But Callie did *not* miss those days.

Now, she dressed this way because her father wanted to set a standard for the restaurant - what he called 'high-class chic'. So she slipped on the black high heels and examined her reflection again.

She had deliberately suggested Gino's for dinner tomorrow night because it was low key and didn't require its patrons to dress up. Blue jeans or a skirt were acceptable attire. While Carter had been wearing a sport jacket for his meeting with Jonas, Callie thought he probably preferred to dress-down.

There was definitely more to his story than he'd relayed so far, she decided. But, again, if she were honest, she hadn't been very forthcoming about her own past, either.

But there were some things that Callie didn't discuss with anyone other than family - or best friends. Telling Allie about Carter wasn't something that Callie was looking forward to.

She knew exactly how her friend would react: she would over-react to the news that Callie had agreed to have dinner with a man. Allie would ask a million questions, and insist on meeting Carter J- Callie shook her head. She couldn't even pronounce the man's last name mentally.

Somehow, she was going to have to convince Allie that he was just someone with whom Callie was investigating Jonas Wittlebaum's murder - and nothing more.

Callie sighed as she watched the front door, grateful to have a stool to perch on instead of standing in the high-heels she was wearing. She really needed to talk to her father about letting her wear something else.

When the door finally opened, she gracefully stood, smiling at the four people who approached. "Welcome to La Via Roma," she told them. "Do you have a reservation?"

The group exchanged glances as one of them, a young man, spoke for them. "Well, no, we don't, but we were in the area and thought maybe you could fit us in somewhere?" He glanced into the dining room. "Doesn't look like you're very busy."

They weren't, Callie admitted to herself as she pretended to scan the reservations list. "It's still early," she told him. "I do think that I can fit you in, however." Grabbing four menus, she said, "This way, please," and led them across the room to a table, where she placed the menus. "Would you like something from the bar while you wait for your server?"

"Four beers," the young man told her.

"Do you have any identification?" Callie asked, and all four pulled out their drivers' licenses to confirm their ages. "Thank you," she told them. "Your server will be Paul. He'll be right with you."

As she would have moved off, one of the girls asked, "This isn't the table where that guy died is it?"

Callie had already heard the question - or one like it - several times. "No, that was another table. Excuse me."

She went to the bar and gave Joe their order, going to where Maria was waiting on a drink refill for one of her tables. "How's it going?" she asked.

"Slow. All any of them seem to want to talk about is Mr. Wittlebaum's death."

"I know. Hey, is there any reason why you can't fill in for me tomorrow night?"

"As hostess? Sure, I can do it. If we're going to be this slow, especially." She grinned. "You have a date?"

"I'm having dinner with a friend," Callie explained. "I'll make sure Dad knows that you'll be here instead of me - and find out if he wants to call someone else in as another waitress."

Maria picked up the tray with the now filled glasses, nodding. "No problem. I enjoy doing it. Gives me a chance to dress up a little, you know?"

****

"Ghouls," Marty muttered as he locked the doors after the last customers left. "I put a half-page ad in tomorrow's paper to let people know that we're open - and that we had nothing to do with Jonas' death," he told Callie as they moved toward the kitchen while the waitstaff took care of changing tablecloths and vacuuming the floors.

"Probably a good idea," Callie agreed. "It can't hurt. About tomorrow, Dad - I'll be here for the lunch run, but I'll be taking the evening off. I asked Maria to work for me, if that's okay."

"Of course it's okay. She's done it before," he said, watching as the busboys finished with the dishes from the dining room and started the cooking utensils. "I might call Dan in just in case we have enough business and need him. If we don't, he can help in the kitchen with prepping for Friday. Does your needing the night off have to do with your helping Cecilia Wittlebaum?"

"In a way. I have someone helping me with the investigation. His father served with Jonas in Vietnam, and he came here to talk to Jonas about that. We met at Jonas' office."

"He?" Marty questioned, grinning.

"His name is Carter Jan-something or other. I can't pronounce the name. We're just working together."

"What's he do?"

"Construction. His late stepfather had a construction company in Pleasant Grove. He says he studied architecture in college. He's more Allie's type than mine, I think. Seems like a free-spirit. He lives in one of those new lofts downtown, and has a huge collection of books." She knew she was talking too fast, but she tended to do that when she was defensive or nervous. And her father knew that.

Marty still grinned. "I'm not expecting anything, honey, but it's been two years since Greg died. It's time you moved on. And not necessarily with someone that Allie set you up with."

"You never met any of the men she 'set me up with'," she told him. "They were all nice guys - except that most of them seemed to be put off when they found out that I used to be a cop."

"Their loss," he told her, kissing her forehead. "Why don't you go on? I'll finish things up here."

"You don't have a date tonight?"

"Why do you seem to think I have a date every night? I do need a *little* downtime."

This time it was Callie who grinned. "Uh huh. Sure you do. Tell whoever it is I said hello."

Callie woke the next morning and decided to call Cecilia about the accountant before breakfast, but her friend was still asleep, according to the young maid who answered the phone, so Callie arranged to visit her around ten.

The next call was to Robbie Overton at the coroner's office to confirm the type of poison that had been used to kill Jonas. Robbie told her that it was a rare poison, odorless and tasteless. "If you put it into something, say coffee or tea, you won't really know that it's even there," he said. "From the stomach contents, it's likely that Mr. Wittlebaum's last ingestion of the poison was several hours before he had his last meal."

"Thank you, Robbie," Callie told him.

"Not that I don't enjoy talking to you, but - why all of the interest in this case - other than the fact that the gentleman died in your dad's restaurant?"

"I'm working for Mrs.Wittlebaum," she explained. "She's an old friend, and I don't want to see her railroaded for something that I don't think she did."

"You know that I shouldn't be talking to you at all, don't you? If Sgt. Piper finds out -"

"Then the problem's solved: just don't tell him. I certainly won't," was her reply.

"My lips are sealed. Don't be a stranger."

Hanging up the phone, Callie went to the front door and opened it, smiling when she saw the newspaper laying on the floor. The manager's son was the building's 'paperboy', delivering papers to all of the subscribers in the building. She barely glanced at the paper, simply placed it onto the small dining table as she cut a grapefruit and poured a cup of coffee before returning to the table. Laying the paper out, Callie sighed as she saw the headline near the top of the page.

"Jonas Wittlebaum Murdered," it read, and was followed by the subheading: "Police pursuing leads in the poisoning death of local businessman". She scanned the article, including the re-hash of his death at La Via Roma and Callie's attempt to keep Jonas alive. There was a small notation at that point. "See story page three."

Callie quickly turned to that page and closed her eyes as they lost focus when she saw the photographs included in the story about her time with the Police Department and the tragic death of her husband. She finally opened her eyes again and stared at the photograph of Greg. It was the 'official' photo from the Department - and the one of her, also in uniform, and below that the convenience store where Greg and his partner had been shot when they walked into an armed robbery.

The story was an updated version of the original story, ending with the fact that Callie was no longer with the Dallas Police Department and was now working with her father at his restaurant.

And on the opposite page, Marty's half-page ad about that restaurant being open for business.

"To our loyal patrons, the unfortunate passing of Jonas Wittlebaum in our restaurant was an unforeseen circumstance. Our condolences to Mrs. Wittlebaum and her son for their loss of husband and father. We are now open our regular hours, from 11 am to 3 pm for lunch, and 5 pm to 11 pm, Saturdays until midnight, for dinner. Reservations suggested but not required. We look forward to serving you soon."

"Classy, Dad," Callie murmured to herself. She had no doubt there would still be a few sightseers come in asking questions, but as soon as something else happened to take the spotlight from the Wittlebaum murder, that would end.

The telephone rang, and Callie went to answer it, reading the front page article now. "Hello?" she said.

"Callie, dear, Tilly told me that you called," Cecilia said without preamble. "I'm simply not up to seeing anyone - there are still news people camped out down the street just waiting to pounce the moment I appear. Was there something you needed?"

"I understand, Cecilia," Callie said. "All I wanted was for you to call Jonas' accountant and find out if he would be willing to talk to me about the company finances."

"I suppose I can do that. So you do think his death is somehow involved with the company."

"I'm just running down leads, Cecilia," Callie clarified. "And I told Carter that I would try to find out what the accountant knew about the money that he sent to Carter's family."

"He seemed to be a very nice young man," Cecilia told her. "You made a lovely couple."

"We barely know each other, Cecilia," Callie said quickly, hoping to head off any speculation. "We're only working together because he feels that he owes something to Jonas."

"I've already spoken to the police, Mrs. Harris," Jerome Phillips told Callie as he ushered her into his office.

"I'm working for Mrs. Wittlebaum," she told the accountant. "Not the police."

"Very well, Mrs. Wittlebaum told me to give you carte blanche, so what would you like to know?"

"Well, first, I'd like to find out what you know about a trust fund that Mr. Wittlebaum set up several years ago -"

Phillips shook his head, lifting his hand to stop her. "I was only his accountant for the last ten years. So if it was before that -"

"It was," she confirmed. "Do you know what accounting firm he used before yours?"

"I'm sure it's in somewhere in our records." He picked up the telephone. "Muriel, would you mind bringing the Wittlebaum file in, please? Thank you." He hung up the phone. "Now, while we're waiting, would you like a cup of coffee or a drink?"

Callie watched as he rose and went to the small bar, where a coffee maker sat as well. "No, thank you. Can you tell me if Mr. Wittlebaum was involved in anything that might have resulted in someone wanting him dead?"

"I'll tell you what I told the police: No. Mr. Wittlebaum worked with several west coast importers and exporters, and a large part of his business involved foreign companies, mostly from the South Pacific and Asia. Taiwan, Japan, the Phillipines."

Muriel knocked and entered the office, handing her employer a file folder. "Thank you, Muriel," he said. Bringing the cup of coffee that he'd poured for himself - that included a large dollop of what appeared to be whiskey - back to his desk, Phillips opened the folder and studied it. "According to this, Mr. Wittlebaum had been handling his own accounting in-house at his company before hiring Phillips, Manning and Ross. So any records prior to that should be there - if they still exist."

"Thank you," she told him. "About the last few years, Mr. Phillips, were there any regular payments into or out of Mr. Wittlebaum's accounts that seemed - unusual?"

"That goes back into the earlier question, I should think, don't you agree?"

"I suppose you're right," she told him, standing up. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Phillips." She turned to open the door, then paused and turned back to him. "Would you be able to get me a list of the names of the companies and people who sent and received money from Mr. Wittlebaum and his company?"

Phillips, who had been about to take a drink of coffee, froze and looked at her. "I - think so. Just the names? Not the amounts?"

"I think that I can find that information in other places," she told him with a smile.

"It might take a bit of time -"

"I can wait," she assured him.

Phillips took a deep breath as he stood up. "If you'll have a seat again, I'll go and get Muriel to collect the information for you. Excuse me."

Callie gracefully returned to her seat, smiling as she found herself alone in the office. Glancing at the telephone on the desk, she saw the light go on for an external line, which probably meant Phillips was using another phone in the office to call someone about her visit - and her request. She considered listening in, but decided that it was probably too risky, and stayed seated.

It was nearly half an hour later that Mr. Phillips returned, with a computer printout in his hand, which he held out to her. "There you go."

Taking the paper, Callie glanced at it before rising to her feet. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Phillips. I'll sure but to tell Mrs. Wittlebaum and her son how cooperative you've been. Have a nice day."

Inside the elevator, Callie studied the names on the sheet. Most of them seemed to be companies located on the West coast or overseas. There were some local businesses, but those were few and far between.

Glancing at her watch, she realized that she needed to get ready for the lunch run at the restaurant.

Lunch was a little better - the clientele was different during the day. Most of them worked locally, and the atmosphere was lighter. Callie usually wore a business suit, and she was glad to see that it was mostly regular customers who came in the door.

Surprisingly, very few asked the questions that the previous evening's customers asked. "I misjudged them," Callie told her father once the doors were locked after lunch. "I thought they would be asking questions again."

"They didn't?" he asked.

"Oh, one or two asked, but dropped it quickly. Would you mind if I used your computer for a few minutes?"

Marty's dark brows lifted in surprise. "I thought you swore you'd never use that thing."

"I have some research that I need to do," she told him.

"Go ahead. Do you need your old man to show you how to use it?"

"I know how to use it, I just don't like to use it," she told him as he chuckled. "Thanks."

She was got logged in to the internet and started searching for the non-local names - deciding that she could find the locals using the telephone book to save some time. The numbers for the West Coast businesses were easy to find - but she had to really dig for the ones overseas. And even then, she wasn't sure they were the *right* numbers.

"You about done, kiddo?" Marty's question surprised Callie, who jumped.

"Oh, Dad," she said, looking up at him. "Do you need to do some work in here?"

"Not really, but you might want to get going if you're going on that date this evening."

"I told you that it's not a *date*," she insisted, glancing at her watch. "Oh wow. I didn't realize how late it was. I have to get home and take a shower and change -" she saw Marty's grin and stopped talking as she logged off the computer and gathered her things.

"Have fun tonight," he said as she left the office.

"It's not a date!" she called back, ignoring the laughter that followed her out of the kitchen.

To Part 2