Callie entered Gino's just before seven, having seen Carter's car in the parking lot. Looking around, she saw him sitting a booth, talking to the waitress, who Callie knew was also Gino's oldest daughter. "Here she is now," she heard him say, and the woman turned toward her with a smile.

"Callie. It's been awhile since we've seen you."

"Working at my father's restaurant means that I don't usually get to go to other places, Angela," Callie pointed out as she sat down across from Carter. "You know how that is."

"Oh, yeah. What did you want to drink?"

"Sweet tea, please."

"I'll be back in a minute."

Carter was wearing a dark suit - including a tie. "You clean up nicely," she told him, regretting her decision to wear slacks and a light sweater.

He grinned. "Just trying to overcome your stereotype of construction workers. We're not all jeans and tight tee-shirts."

"I never stereotyped -" she began to say as Carter lifted his eyebrows.

"Your surprise over my 'eclectic' book collection comes to mind," he pointed out, and Callie sighed.

"You're right. Forgive me. If you'd like, you might as well take off the tie."

"That's okay. I don't mind wearing it," he said as Angela returned with their drinks.

"Two teas," she said. "Ready to order?"

"Do you trust me?" Callie asked Carter.

"I'm in your hands," he told her, sitting back in the seat.

"One medium pizza with all the toppings," she said. "Anchovies?"

"Fine with me."

"You heard him, Angela."

"Shouldn't take too long," Angela nodded, picking up the menus as she left the table.

"You could have had a drink if you wanted," Callie told Carter. "I didn't want to drink any wine since I'm driving."

"No, I - I don't drink," he said. "How was business today? Did the ad in the paper help?"

"Lunch was better than last night," she told him. "All anyone last night wanted to do was ask questions about what happened. The lunch crowd is mostly people who work in the area. There were only a couple of questions today, and those were asking how it was affecting our business, really."

"I'm sure something else will come along soon to take people's minds off of the murder."

She smiled. "I said the same thing to Dad. He hasn't said anything, but I know he's a little concerned. We had just re-opened after being down two weeks for remodeling. Jonas' murder couldn't have come at a worse time."

"Murder is never convenient," he observed.

"No, it's not," she agreed, smiling as she saw Angela bringing out their pizza. "Here we go."

Angela set the two plates she had in one hand on the table, then put the wooden 'pan' with the pizza on it between them. "Enjoy," she said and left the table again.

Since the pizza was hot, they both decided to wait for it to cool, and Carter said, "I know now why you decided to leave the department."

Callie studied the water droplets on the outside of her glass. "Oh?"

"There was a sidebar story in the paper this morning," he told her. "I'm sure you saw it, too."

"I did. Listen, Carter -"

"You know, losing someone close to you isn't easy. I know from personal experience." She finally looked away from the glass, lifting her eyes to his face. "My wife. We got married during college," he said. When Callie didn't say anything, he sighed. "Liza became pregnant soon after graduation, and we were both delighted. But she started having problems - headaches, dizziness, weakness, and it only seemed to get worse as time went on. She was in her third trimester when she collapsed one day - and that's when I found out what was going on. Soon after she had discovered she was pregnant, Liza's doctor had diagnosed her with a brain tumor."

"I'm sorry," Callie whispered.

He didn't acknowledge her words as he continued to talk. "He had wanted to start treatment, but Liza had refused, because it would have meant ending the pregnancy early. She made him promise not to tell me about the tumor, and he had no choice but to agree. I was so - angry with her - for not telling me, for not giving me a chance to at least discuss it with her before it was too late." He shook his head. "All she would say was that she knew I would have insisted that she have the abortion and get treatment for the cancer - but she wanted to give our child a chance to live, too. She was determined that she would make it until the baby would survive - even if she didn't. God help me, I told her that I didn't care about the baby, that all I wanted was her - that we could have had another baby at some point - She never became angry, never argued with me about it."

"What happened?" Callie asked as he fell silent, although she had a feeling that she knew the answer to the question.

"She made it the full nine months," he said. "But by that time, she was totally bedridden and racked with nearly constant headaches. The doctors did an emergency c-section to take the baby." He smiled tightly. "A little boy." He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Liza - Liza didn't live long enough to hear that she had a son."

Callie blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. "And - the baby?"

"I - I was so *angry* that Liza hadn't included me in her decision - I refused to see him. I blamed him for her death, and didn't want anything to do with him. It didn't matter, though. He died less than twenty-four hours later. Her cancer - it had spread to his body."

"Oh no."

"I buried myself in a bottle for the next six months," he told her. "If it hadn't been for my mom and step-father and my uncle, I'd probably be dead by now. But they got me some help, and I slowly realized that the last thing Liza would have wanted me to do was crawl into a grave of my own making."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I know telling me had to be difficult for you."

"I've told it in various support groups," he said. "Telling it enough makes it a little easier to talk about it. Keeping it bottled up was what - well, that's what sent me to the bottle," he said with a grin.

"You can joke about it?"

"I'm not joking about Liza or our son's deaths, but about how healing it can be to talk about things that go deep."

Callie knew that he was hinting that she should talk to him about her own issues, but she still wasn't ready to go there. "I think the pizza's cooled down so we can eat now," she told him, picking up the piece on her plate. She was both relieved - and a little disappointed when he nodded and began to eat his own pizza.

"This is good," he said, laughing as a piece of pepperoni fell onto his tie. "See? If I'd taken it off, it would have landed on my shirt."

Callie nodded, laughing as well. "Oh, I talked to Jonas' accountant this morning."

"What did he have to say?"

"Nothing about that trust account," she told him. "Jonas was handling all of the accounting in-house when it would have been set up. While we were talking, I suddenly realized that I don't know your father's name -"

"It doesn't matter right now," Carter said, shaking his head. "There'll be time later to dig out the story behind Jonas setting up that trust fund. Right now, we need to find out who killed Mr. Wittlebaum."

Callie nodded, something niggling at her brain about his changing the subject, almost as though he didn't want her to know his birth father's name. She told him about how she had gotten the list of names from Jerome Phillips, and that she had spent most of the afternoon researching them. "I think we'll start looking around the warehouse tomorrow," she told him. "I'm sure that Neal can get us access to the financial records they have there, as well as personnel."

"Sounds like a good idea," he agreed.

They discussed the names she had researched until Callie realized they were getting ready to close for the night, and she looked at her watch. "Oh my. It's nearly ten. I hadn't realized it was so late."

"You know what they say," he said, "Time flies - and I don't know about you, but I've enjoyed the evening."

"It was nice," she told him as he paid the bill. "I should have paid, since you bought lunch -"

He smiled. "Next time." As they walked out to their cars, he told her, "I hope that there'll *be* a next time."

"We'll see."

They stopped at her Jeep, and he waited for her to take the keys from her purse. "Be careful driving home."

"You too," she said. "Thank you for dinner."

"My pleasure." He stood there until she pulled away, then turned toward his own car.

During the drive home, Callie went back over his story about his wife and infant son. She wondered if she would ever be able to talk about her own history the way he seemed to be able to do. At least she hadn't sought solace in a bottle, Callie thought.

But was refusing to talk about it any better? she asked herself.

The telephone was ringing when she entered the apartment, and Callie rushed to grab it. "Hello?"

"There you are!" Allie declared. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to stay out all night. Then I reminded myself that it was you, not me. You're not the one who spends the night with a guy on a first date."

"And neither should you. And it wasn't a date."

"What's life without a little danger?" Allie asked, and Callie could imagine the grin that was probably on her friend's face. "Whatever you say."

"How did you know I was on a - having dinner with someone?" Callie said, hoping that her slip wouldn't be noticed.

"Uh huh. Marty told me about it."

"When did you talk to Dad?"

"Oh, well, I called the restaurant to talk to you, and Maria told me that you'd taken the evening off, so I tried your cellphone -"

"I didn't take it with me," Callie said.

"Really? You go out with a guy for the first time and didn't take your cell in case things went south? And you accuse *me* of living dangerously. Anyway, there was no answer at the apartment, I called the restaurant again and asked for Marty. That's when he told me about your - *dinner* with - what was his name?"

"Carter," Callie told her.

"I'll be right over."

"Don't you have a date with your mystery man?"

"I do," Allie said. "But I'm meeting him later. I want details, woman!"

Allie brought a bottle of wine and two glasses with her, pouring one for each of them. "Now, spill. I know his name is Carter, and Marty said he's helping you investigate Jonas Wittlebaum's murder. What else is there?"

Callie told her friend what she knew about Carter, how they'd met, his apartment and all of the books, and about his wife and son. "He's really nice," Callie said. "But I can't help but think that I've seen him before we met in Jonas' office.

"I'm sure it will come to you, but I'm just glad that you agreed to have dinner with someone who *you* chose. I don't think that's happened since -"

"Since Greg," Callie finished, nodding. "I know."

"Well, I'd love to stay and talk about Carter, but I need to go get ready for my *date*."

"Are you sure you need to be driving? You had two glasses -"

"I'll take a cab. I probably won't be home tonight anyway."

"Oh, Allie," Callie sighed. "But I'll give you this much - this mystery man's lasted longer than most of them have. Is it, serious, perhaps?"

Allie lifted her shoulders as she stood up. "Who knows? You want me to leave the bottle?"

"No, take it with you."

"Night!" she called out as she opened the door. "Pleasant dreams," she added, a big grin on her face.

"Oh, you -" Callie picked up a pillow from the sofa and tossed it, hitting the door as it closed.

Carter was waiting with donuts and coffee the next morning when she picked him up in front of his apartments. "I wasn't sure you'd had breakfast," he told her, "So I went across the street and picked this up. I hope glazed are okay. And the coffee's black -"

"Both are fine," she assured him. "I'd say thank you, but I get the idea that you're stereotyping me because I used to be a police officer."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Carter replied, but he was smiling. "Oh, I understand. Cops -donuts and coffee. The thought never crossed my mind," he insisted.

"Uh huh," she nodded, reaching over to pick up one of the donuts with a napkin. "And if I believe that -"

"Well, there's this bridge in Brooklyn -"

Callie laughed with him as she put the car back into gear and pulled into traffic.

"I enjoyed yesterday evening," he told her.

"So did I."

"Good." Callie glanced over at him, and he grinned. "That bodes well for another not-date," he explained.

Miss Key was back at her desk this morning, not crying this time, but definitely looking more than a little frazzled, Callie thought. From inside Jonas' office, they could hear voices raised in a less than civil discussion. "Miss Key, I'm not sure you remember me -"

"You were here the day after Mr. Wittlebaum died," the secretary recalled, nodding. Wincing as the volume of the voices grew louder. "I'm sorry, Mrs -"

"Harris," Callie supplied, indicating Carter. "And this is Mr. J-"

"Jankowski," he said.

"You had an appointment with him that same morning."

"He arrived while you were down the hall," Callie explained. She thought she recognized Neal's voice through the closed door, but wasn't able to place the other one - though it was clearly a woman speaking. "Is Neal Wittenbaum available -?"

"He's in there," she told them, pointing toward the office. "And so is his mother."

"Cecilia's here?" Callie asked, and crossed to the door, opening it without knocking.

"There is no reason for you to be here, Mother!" Neal was saying as they turned and saw Callie and Carter in the doorway.

"Callie!" Cecilia said, rising from the chair behind the desk to cross the room and take Callie's hand. "Hello, Mr. -"

"Carter," he reminded her. "Carter Jankowsi. But call me Carter."

"Of course. I don't believe you've met my son. Neal, this is Carter. His father served with Jonas in Vietnam."

Neal shook Carter's hand before telling Callie, "I've been trying to talk Mother into going home. Maybe you can talk some sense into her."

"Well -" Callie began, but Cecilia interrupted.

"And I've told you, Neal, that I have just as much right as you do to be here. Everyone thinks that I'm incapable of running a business, Callie, but I've been running the shelter for over ten years! This place can't be that much more difficult. And since Neal has plans to study cooking in Europe -"

"I told you that I'm not sure about that now, Mother," Neal said.

Carter closed the office door behind him as the two continued to argue. "When? I haven't heard you say that. That's all you've talked about for the last two years!"

"Excuse me," Callie jumped in, causing mother and son to stop arguing momentarily and look at her again. "We need to get some information so that we can try to find out who killed Jonas."

"Of course, dear," Cecilia said, sitting down again, looking very comfortable in her late husband's chair. "How can we help?"

"Yes," Neal echoed. "How can we help?"

But before they could answer the question, the intercom buzzed, and Cecilia flipped the switch. "Yes, Miss King?"

"There's a Sgt. Piper out here that wants to talk to you, Mrs. Wittlebaum," the secretary said.

"Oh dear," Cecilia sighed. "What should I do, Callie?" she said, and then the door opened again as George Piper entered the room.

"Hello, George," Callie said, smiling at his angry frown as he glanced in her direction.

"I'll get to you in a minute," he said, turning toward Cecilia. "I have a few questions that I need answered, Mrs. Wittlebaum."

"You need to call your lawyer, Cecilia," Callie said, only to have Piper glare at her again.

"I'm going to ask, even if I don't get an answer," he said. "We have a report, Mrs. Wittlebaum that you were seen with a young man several times over the last few weeks. Were you having an affair with him?"

Cecilia gasped. "An - How dare you! I would never have had an affair!"

Callie glanced at Carter, trying not to laugh at the older woman's shocked anger as George Piper waved his hand in frustration. "Okay, okay. As for you -" he finally targeted Callie again. "You have no business involving yourself in this case, even on an unofficial basis." To the Wittlebaums, he said, "I'll be back once we track down that young man and find out exactly what was going on."

Carter closed the door again as Piper stormed back out, and Cecilia began to cry. Neal knelt beside the chair, murmuring.

"It's okay, Mother. It's okay."

"What was he talking about, Cecilia?" Callie asked, taking a tissue from the desk and handing it across to Neal for his mother.

"He's talking about Ben," Neal told them.

"Were you having an affair, Mrs. Wittlebaum?" Carter asked.

"Oh, no, no no," she said, shaking her head after blowing her nose. "I could never have done that to Jonas."

"Mother wasn't having an affair with anyone," Neal confirmed.

"Ben," Callie mused. "I've heard the name -" she looked at Neal. "You've mentioned him - when you and your mother came into the restaurant for lunch one day - isn't he your trainer at that Gym -?"

"I have seen him a few times," Cecilia finally admitted, "but it was *because* of Neal. Ben - Ben's trying to help me understand -" She looked up at Neal as her voice trailed off.

Carter frowned. "Understand what?"

It was Neal who answered. "That I'm gay. Ben and I are - involved."

"You know that Ben would have a very good motive to kill your father, Neal," Callie pointed out. "With him gone, you'd be able to come out of the closet - and he would be that much closer to your share of his estate."

"Ben's not like that," Neal insisted. "Besides, he never met Father. So he couldn't have poisoned him."

"If you say so," Callie replied. "But we should talk to him - before Sgt. Piper does."

"I'm going to take Mother home," Neal told them. "I'll be back -"

"I don't need to go home," Cecilia insisted, blowing her nose again.

"Now, Mother. This has all been a shock - you can come back tomorrow."

Callie led Carter over to the file cabinets. "We might as well start looking around," she told him in a quiet voice, trying to ignore the ongoing argument behind them. Carter opened a file cabinet while Callie picked up the calendar from the desk and flipped back a few pages, seeing a notation "S.M" several times. There was no mention of those initials or any name matching them on Jonas' copy of the appointment book. Going over to Carter, she told him what she'd found, and saw him frown slightly. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he told her. "Guess it's just - going through a dead man's personal papers."

"Maybe SM is an employee," Callie suggested, turning back to the Wittlebaums. "Neal?"

"Yes?" he said, seemed relieved to have a reason to stop arguing.

"I hate to interrupt, but - would you be able to introduce us to some of the department heads? Personnel, financial, warehouse -"

"Wayne Stapleton handles just about all of those jobs," Neal informed her. "I suppose I can introduce you - I'll take you home when I get back, Mother."

"And I told you that I don't need to go home," she said. "Thank you, Callie and - Carter? - for being so helpful."

Callie stopped on her way to the door. "Do either of you know any employee with the initials 'S.M."?

Cecilia shook her head, and Neal looked thoughtful before doing the same thing. "No, but we can stop by personnel on the way to shipping and receiving. That's where Wayne spends most of his time."

They were almost to the personnel office when a bookish little man with dark-rimmed glasses came out of the office, stopping to push his glasses back up his nose with a finger as Neal called out. "Wayne!"

"H-Hello, N-Neal," stammered, peering at Callie and Carter through the thick lenses of his glasses. His white shirt looked as though he had been sleeping in it for several days, and even with a pocket protector, there was a faint ink-stain at the bottom of the pocket.

"Wayne Stapleton, this is Callie Harris, and Carter Jankowski. They're trying to find out who killed my father." Callie saw Carter's smirk at Neal's being able to say his name after having heard it just once, and rolled her eyes in response.

"Oh," Wayne said, shaking their hands while slowly trying to edge away from them. He focused on Callie. "You're a c-cop?"

"I used to be," she told him. "Mr. Stapleton," she began, "off the top of your head, do you know if any of the company's employees have the initials SM?"

"SM?" He repeated, and Callie saw his eyes widen behind those lenses. "N-No," he stammered again. "You m-might check in p-personnel. Excuse me, I need to get d-downstairs."

"Nervous isn't he?" Carter noted as he and Callie watched the man scurry away down the hall.

"He's always been a little nervous," Neal said, leading them into the personnel office, to a file cabinet in the corner. "The employee records are in this drawer," he told them, opening it and flipping through some files before shaking his head. "Sorry. None have those initials."

"Can we get a copy of recent telephone calls?" Carter wanted to know.

"Sure."

"They don't go directly to the accountant?" Callie asked.

"No. They come in here and then we send a copy to the accounting firm. My father always wanted to look them over and make sure none of the employees were making long distance calls from the warehouse."

"So if he found a call that he hadn't made, he would track down the employee and require them to pay for the call," Carter said.

"That's right." He closed the file cabinet. "They're kept in one of file cabinets in the main office - how about a cup of coffee before we go back?"

"Thinking that your mom might decide she's ready to go home if you delay your return?" Callie asked with a knowing grin.

"More like I don't want to deal with her at the moment," he explained. "There's a little diner just around the corner."

The diner was actually a *very* small diner, with a lunch counter and booths across from it on the outside wall. Neal led them to a booth away from the door, and on the way they were stopped by several people who told the young man how sorry they had been to hear about his father's untimely death. The waitresses came over to take their order, also expressing her condolences before leaving the table.

"Sorry about that," he told them.

"I take it that Jonas was a regular customer here," Carter said.

Neal nodded. "He loved the place - ate lunch here every day, and came here for coffee several times a day. Even sent Miss Key over to get coffee for him," he said as yet another customer stopped by the table. Alone again, he lowered his voice. "About Ben -" The waitress brought their coffees, and Neal sighed, waiting for her to leave them alone. "I'm sure he didn't have anything to do with this. Ben's a big guy, but he's a teddy-bear -" he broke off as someone else came over.

Over Neal's shoulder, Callie saw Wayne Stapleton enter the shop and go to the counter, perching on a stool as another waitress brought him a cup of coffee with a welcoming smile. They talked for a moment, and the girl shook her head. Wayne frowned, as if her answer troubled him, and looked around. His eyes widened in surprise upon seeing Callie, Carter and Neal. He left the shop without finishing his coffee.

"What's wrong?" Neal asked as he saw Callie was distracted by something, but turned to late to see the man leaving.

"Wayne Stapleton was just here," Carter explained. "He asked the waitress something, and when he saw that we were here, he took off."

Callie rose from the table and went to the counter, asking the waitress, "Excuse me, What did that gentleman ask you?"

She looked at Neal before answering. "What's going on?"

"Just answer their question, please."

"He wanted to know about a guy who works here as a sometime cook/busboy/dishwasher."

"Elmer?" Neal asked, and she nodded.

"Yeah. But he didn't show up for work today - or yesterday, either."

"Thank you," Callie told her. "Neal, how much do you know about Wayne?"

"All I know is that he's worked at the warehouse for around ten years. I don't know anything about his personal life. We don't socialize much. I'd suggest you ask Wayne himself."

While Neal paid for the coffee, Carter pulled Callie outside to say, "We need to talk to Ben before your police detective friend finds him."

"Piper wasn't -" she started to say, then nodded. "You're right. I know where the gym is. Let me -" she stopped as Neal came out of the diner. "Neal, we have to talk to someone - we'll be back at the warehouse this afternoon, if that's okay."

He looked at each of them. "You're going to talk to Ben, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you rather we do it than wait for the police to find him, Neal?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Neal agreed.

"Neal," Callie said, "Please don't call him and let him know that we're coming. We need to talk to him without any input from you."

He sighed, and then nodded. "I understand. I'll see you later. It will give me a chance to convince Mother that she needs to go home."

As he walked away, Carter spoke softly. "Want to bet that she's still there when we get back?" he asked Callie.

"Oh, she will be," Callie told him, pulling her cell phone out of her purse. "I need to call and make sure that Maria can take care of the lunch crowd again today. Excuse me."

Carter leaned on the side of the Jeep while she made the call, waiting patiently. When she hung up, he asked, "All set?"

"She'll be there for lunch, but she has to work the dining room tonight, so I'll have to be there for the dinner run," she explained as she returned the phone to her bag.

"I didn't know you had a cell phone."

She unlocked the vehicle's passenger door, smiling. "I don't always carry it. I didn't have it last night, and my friend was upset that she couldn't find me, so I thought it might be a good idea to put it into my purse."

"I always forget to charge mine," he told her as she got into the drivers' side. "So it's either plugged into my car or at the apartment."

"I don't mind it when people can't reach me sometimes," she confessed, pulling out into traffic.

"You can accomplish that by just turning it off," Carter suggested. "Where is this gym?"

"North of downtown," she told him. "They're trying to build up that area. Goldie's Gym used to be a massage parlour - among other things."

"Wow."

"The place ended up closed down by the police, and the building was sold to Roger Golden. He used to play pro football, and went into bodybuilding after he retired."

"I remember him. Vaguely."

"Goldie was his nickname when he was playing because of his blonde hair." She turned onto a side street, then into a parking lot. "He's attracted some upscale clientele because of his notoriety. People like being connected to a 'celebrity', even if that celebrity barely fits that description."

Inside the gym, Callie asked the young woman at the desk if Ben was working - and when she said yes, Callie asked if they could talk to him for a moment.

"Let me see if he's busy," the woman said, coming from behind the counter to reveal her skin-tight leotard as she moved gracefully into the gym area.

Callie saw Carter's gaze follow her, and laughed softly, drawing his attention back to her. "Down boy," she said.

"Just appreciating the view," he told her.

When the young woman returned, she was followed by a burly, muscle-bound young man with brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a pair of jogging shorts and a tight tee-shirt with the gym's logo across the chest. "You wanted to talk to me?" he said.

"If you're Ben," Callie said, smiling as she realized that he was checking Carter out and almost ignoring her. "You are, aren't you?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Ben Tragar," he told her. "What's this about?"

"Is there somewhere that we can talk privately?" Carter asked.

Ben indicated a small conversation area in the far corner of the reception area. "Over there?"

After they all sat down, Callie said, "I'm Callie Harris. And this is Carter Jankowsy."

"Jankowski," Carter corrected.

"Nice to meet you," Ben said, finally smiling at Callie's problem with pronouncing the name. "But I still have to ask: what's this about?"

"We're investigating Jonas Wittlebaum's murder, Ben," Callie told him. Ben's eyes widened in surprise and fear.

"Look, I don't know -"

"You do know Neal Wittlebaum, don't you?" Carter asked.

"Yes, but -"

"Exactly what is your - relationship?" he asked, and Callie sat back, listening.

"Well, we - we're - friends," Ben told Carter. Carter sat there, looking at him, and Ben seemed even more nervous. "Good friends." He looked around. "Hey, man, I like my job. If people find out -"

"We understand," Callie reassured Ben. "Did you ever meet Neal's father?"

"No," he told them. "Look, Neal was terrified that his old man would find out about - that Neal's -" he looked around again, lowering his voice to a whisper, "gay."

"You're sure that you didn't find a way to kill Neal's father so that he could come out of the closet and he would be rich?" Carter asked, in a voice that was just loud enough to cause Ben to look around again.

"What we're curious about, Ben," Callie said, "is that I've heard Neal mention that you want to open your own place. That takes money. The police would -"

"You're not the police?" Ben asked.

"No," Callie admitted. "We're friends of Mrs. Wittlebaum. She asked us to look into this on her behalf. You don't have to talk to us, Ben," she told him, "but it can't hurt."

"Look, Neal did promise me money - but he was going to have to wait until he was able to tell his father about - well, about us, and things had calmed down at bit."

"Now you won't have to wait, will you, Ben?" Carter pointed out.

Ben glared at Carter and rose to his feet, his attitude not all the same as it had been only a few minutes ago. "Look, I have to get back to work. I have a client due to arrive soon."

"Good cop, bad cop doesn't always work," Callie told Carter as they left the gym. "That *is* what you were trying to do in there, right?"

He grinned. "Oh, I don't know. I don't think he likes me." He paused, looking toward the parking lot. "Speaking of people who don't like someone -" he muttered, and Callie lifted her head and followed his gaze.

"Hello, Callie," George Piper said, but his tone wasn't in the least friendly. "Two years without seeing you, and now I don't seem to be able to turn around without running into you. Let me guess: you've been talking to Ben Tragar." He seemed to finally notice Carter. "And who are you?"

"Carter Jankowski, Sergeant. I'm helping Callie with her investigation."

"Why?" he demanded to know.

"My late father served with Mr. Wittlebaum in Vietnam," Carter explained.

Piper was apparently satisfied with the answer, and returned his attention to Callie. "You need to be careful, becoming involved in police business, Mrs. Harris. You've already proven that you don't have the stomach for it." And with that, he continued on toward the entrance to the gym.

Callie drew a deep breath, turning and moving back toward where she had parked the Jeep, with Carter right behind her. Once inside, he waited for her to turn the key before saying, "Why don't we find a place to have a bite to eat?"

Having been thinking about George Piper's accusation, Callie only halfway heard his question. "What? Oh, I - I can offer coffee and sandwiches at my place - it's just around the corner."

"How could I possibly resist such a gracious invitation?" Carter said, and Callie found herself with a slight smile at his response.

Callie placed the sandwiches on the table, along with the two cups of coffee. "Sorry it's not more," she apologized. "Since I eat at the restaurant, I don't keep a lot of things here."

"This is fine," he assured her. Looking around the apartment, he said, "It's a nice place. Have you lived here long?"

"No. Around 18 months. I was living with my dad after - after I left the force. But after six months I realized that I was 'cramping his style', and decided to give him back his privacy."

"I doubt he felt the same way."

"Oh, he said he didn't mind my being there, but well, he has a very - active social life, for want of a better term."

Carter grinned. "Lots of girlfriends?"

Callie returned his grin. "*Girl*friends is the right term. Most of his dates are women my age or just a little older. He never dated until after I was grown, and he's still very young at heart. Sometimes I think he's in his second boyhood," she confided, and they both laughed.

"You don't resent his dating young women?"

"No. As long as he's happy, I'm happy for him."

"What did Sgt. Piper mean about your not having the stomach for police work?" he asked.

Callie put down her half-eaten sandwich. "It's a long story," she told him. "And not very flattering to me, I think." She stood up and moved over to sit on the sofa.

Carter came over and sat just out of reach. "Why don't you let me decide that?" he asked.

"After college, I decided that I wanted to do something to help people, and on an impulse took the test to become a police officer. I passed, and entered the academy. After graduating, I was assigned to a patrol car, as most probationers are, and met Greg. He was just past his first year, and we started seeing each other."

"Don't most police departments frown on that?"

"We managed to get around it by being assigned to different precincts so we didn't interact. And it worked. We got married six months after we met. Greg loved being a street cop. He told me that he'd be happy if he never had to move to an office - that his patrol car was his office."

"But you wanted more," Carter guessed, and Callie nodded.

"The first chance I had to take the detective's exam, I passed it. Greg wasn't happy. He started talking -" she glanced at Carter, then at her hands again. "About wanting to start a family. Said that since I was in an office job now, it would be a good time. But I wasn't finished, I wanted to move up to sergeant, and then maybe to be a lieutenant -" She sighed. "When I got to the top of the promotion list, the city decided to hold a big ceremony to mark the fact that I was the youngest female officer to make detective in such a short time on the job. There were officers lined up -"

"Greg wasn't one of them, was he?"

"No. I found out later that he had requested a duty assignment that morning that put him into a patrol car instead of being there to witness my promotion." Her eyes closed. "At the moment they were celebrating *me*, Greg and his partner were walking into an armed robbery at a convenience store. They were both killed." She lifted a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I resigned from the force a week later, after the funerals."

"Why? It doesn't sound to me that their deaths were in any way your fault. Even if you'd still been a street cop, you wouldn't have been there with Greg. And from what I just heard, Greg died doing what he loved doing: being a cop. What happened to the man who shot them?"

"Greg shot him before he died," she said.

Carter had moved closer to her, and Callie hadn't even noticed. Now, she lifted her head to find him close. "It wasn't your fault," he said again. "You need to stop beating yourself up and start living your life." He leaned closer, and Callie found herself moving toward him -

Riiing! Riiing! Riiiinnnggg!

Callie pulled away, torn between regret and relief as she rose from the sofa and moved to the door, seeing Carter sit back on the sofa in obvious frustration. Opening the door, Callie was totally unprepared for Allie's entrance into the room.

"I left some papers at home," she explained, "and decided to come get them during my lunch hour. I saw your Jeep in the garage and wanted to know how the investigation is -" her voice trailed off as Carter slowly rose from the sofa, running his fingers through his hair. "Oh, should I apologize for interrupting a little afternoon delight?" she asked Callie.

"Too early for that," Carter replied. "Maybe a little lunchtime gratification?"

Callie rolled her eyes, but Allie laughed, moving toward Carter. "I'm Alanna Vickers. Callie's best friend. You can call me Allie."

"And I'm Carter Jankowski," he told her. "Callie's investigative partner."

Allie dropped into the arm chair, leaving Callie no choice but to sit on the sofa. "Don't you have to get back to work?" Callie asked.

"I have time yet," Allie said, waving away her concern. "So, you're the hunk that Callie told me about last night."

"Hunk?" Carter questioned, looking at Callie with some amusement.

"I never used that word," Callie insisted.

"You should have," Allie told her. "Callie's a bit - inhibited. Always has been. We've known each other since we were in preschool."

"And even back then, you were drooling over the cute boys," Callie said.

"And all of them were looking at *you*," Allie insisted. "I had so many dates in high school with boys who wanted to find out how to get closer to Callie," she told Carter. "Went steady with a few of them by telling them it would make her jealous. By the time they realized it wasn't working, they were perfectly happy being with me, of course."

"Oh, I've no doubt of that," Carter said, laughing.

"Oooh, Callie, he's a keeper!" Allie declared. "He laughs at my jokes!"

Callie stood and reached out to grab her friend's hand, pulling her to her feet. "Okay, time for you to go, my friend. By the time you come down from orbit, it will be time for you to start work again."

"Nice to meet you, Carter!" Allie called out, wiggling the fingers of her free hand in his direction.

"Nice to meet you, as well," he replied, standing up.

"Goodbye, Allie," Callie said in a firm tone as she practically shoved the woman out and closed the door again. "I'm sorry, Carter," she said, "Allie can be a little crazy sometimes." She turned back toward the sofa, only to find him standing in front of her.

"I don't mind," he told her. "I liked her." He moved closer, and Callie froze for a moment, knowing that he was going to kiss her if she didn't move.

She side-stepped away from him. "I need to clean this mess up so we can get back over to the warehouse to interview Wayne before I have to go to work," she told him as she grabbed their plates and cups from the table. "And I have to get my things so I can change at the restaurant."

"Let me put those into the dishwasher while you go get your things together," Carter offered, gently taking the plates and cups from her hands.

"Thank you," she said before escaping into the bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it, trying to gather her senses. What on earth was she doing, almost letting a man kiss her that way, after only knowing him a few days? She was *not* Allie, after all. She finally put it down to feeling vulnerable after having told him about Greg.

It wasn't the first time she'd been told it hadn't been her fault. Allie, Marty, even George Piper - all of her friends and former co-workers had said as much.

Maybe one day she would be able to believe them.

Back at the warehouse, they went directly to the loading/unloading dock, finding Wayne overseeing the unpacking of a crate of what appeared to be fine porcelain objects. He had shed his dark suit jacket and his shirt sleeves were rolled halfway up his arms as he checked items off of the clipboard in his hands. He looked up and saw them there, and nearly dropped the clipboard.

"Hello, Mr. Stapleton," Callie said. "I'm sorry we surprised you."

"Wh-What? You didn't- Is there something else I can do for you?"

"We were hoping you might have remembered who SM might be," Carter said, peering into the crate.

"I'm s-sorry, but, no. I have n-no idea who it could be."

"Callie, dear! Carter! I didn't know you'd come back!"

Callie and Carter exchanged a smile as they turned to greet Cecilia. "We needed to look around a little more," Callie explained as Cecilia looked into the crate.

"Why are you unpacking these items, Wayne?" she asked.

"Neal told me that we needed to unpack to check for breakage before shipping it out tomorrow," he explained, pushing his glasses up again with his finger.

"Nonsense! The client is expecting this ASAP. Repack everything and ship it out this afternoon."

"But, Mrs. Wittlebaum," Wayne began, only to break off as Cecilia turned and looked across the room where an employee was lifting what looked to be a very expensive Oriental vase out of a crate.

"You there!" she called out, rushing over to the man. Startled, he nearly dropped the item. "Oh my! You simply *must* be more careful! Do you have any idea how much that vase is worth? It's irreplaceable!"

Wayne sighed heavily and told the man who had been helping him unpack the crate, "You heard her, p-put everything back. I'll see if I can't find the shipping label for the client."

Carter gave him a sympathetic smile. "It must be difficult, working for Mrs. Wittlebaum and Neal, not knowing which one to listen to. Not like the old days when it was just Mr. Wittlebaum in charge."

"Mr. W. wasn't that easy to work for, either," Wayne told him. "B-but at least he trusted his employees t-to do their jobs without looking over their sh-shoulders all the t-time. Mrs. W and Neal have been down here on and off all day, watching. Neal barely came down here when his father was around."

"Does it make you nervous, Mr. Stapleton, having someone watch you?"

"No - no more than it does m-most people," he told her, promptly dropping his pen to the floor.

Callie picked it up and held it out. "Here you go. Tell Mrs. Wittlebaum that we're going back upstairs for a few minutes, please."

He took the pen and nodded, his focus wholly on the clipboard again.

"He's a nervous one, isn't he?" Carter said as they walked down the hallway.

"I have to wonder if that's the way he's always been or something new."

"Where are we going now?" he asked.

"Back to personnel to look at his file," she explained. In the small office, she dug out the file. "Here we go," she said, opening the folder. "Neal was right. He's been working here for ten years. Started out in the warehouse and was promoted two years later by Jonas."

"Married for the last five years," Carter read. "Nothing here about deductions for children. Middle management, adequate salary and benefits."

"Very good salary if Jonas' reputation for pinching pennies was true," Callie nodded.

"Or maybe Jonas realized that he needed to pay him well since Wayne was wearing so many different hats."

"You're back," Neal said. "I wondered why there was a light on in here. I was coming back from lunch -"

"With Ben?" Carter asked, and Neal nodded.

"Yeah. He was pretty upset."

"We tried not to upset him," Callie insisted, knowing that wasn't entirely the truth.

"Oh, he wasn't upset about talking to you two - it was Sgt. Piper. He didn't want to tell the Sergeant that he and I are anything more than friends -"

"He shouldn't lie to the police, Neal," Callie said. "It's never a good idea."

"I know. But he didn't have to. Piper only asked about how he knew Mother. If they were having an affair, things like that."

"What did Ben tell him?"

"The truth. That they were acquaintances, had gone to lunch a few times to discuss common interests. Said they were discussing getting some of the girls from the shelter into the gym to help them gain self-confidence. And they *did* talk about that."

"Neal," Carter said, "is it worth your mother possibly being charged with murder to protect your and Ben's secret?"

"Ben's afraid he'll lose his job," Neal explained. "Mr. Golden doesn't like scandal - even the fact that he's seeing a client away from the gym could get him fired, much less finding out that he's gay."

"The question is still a valid one," Callie pointed out. "You might need to talk to Ben about that."

Neal nodded in agreement. "I will."

"Where is Wayne Stapleton's office, Neal?" Carter wanted to know.

"Shipping and Receiving," Neal told him. "In the corner furthest from the docks. I guess Mother went home for lunch and hasn't come back -"

"She was in Shipping and Receiving when we were there a few minutes ago," Callie informed him. "Talking to one of the workers about almost breaking a vase when she told him to be careful."

"Oh my. Excuse me. I'd better go unruffle some feathers before everyone quits."

"Very smooth," Carter said as Neal disappeared around the corner.

"I think they'll make a good diversion," she explained. "And if *you* can keep Wayne Stapleton occupied -"

"While you do what, exactly?" he asked.

"While I get into his office and look around," she told him.

Cecilia and Neal were arguing near the dock area when they entered the room, and most of the employees were gathered outside, so not to be accused of eavesdropping on a discussion between their employers, even though neither party was being at all quiet.

Wayne Stapleton was hovering near the crate that he had been told to repack, and Carter joined him, moving around to keep his focus away from the direction of the office while Callie sidled toward that office. Opening the door, she slipped inside.

There was a framed photo of Wayne and a very attractive woman smiling into the camera. There was nothing on the desk - except for a notepad with indentations on it, as if someone had written on the pad with a heavy hand. Callie glanced at the windows that looked out into the warehouse, and saw Carter still talking to Wayne - and she could hear the ongoing battle between Cecilia and Neal.

She found a pencil and ran the side of the lead across the notepad, revealing just two letters. SM. Ripping the sheet from the pad, she stuffed it into her purse, then noticed Wayne's suit jacket over the back of his desk chair. The fabric was very good - and she took a peek at the label, shaking her head as she recognized the name of a well known - and expensive - tailor shop.

Carter and Wayne were closer to the office, so Callie quietly opened the door and exited, joining the two men as Neal and Cecilia approached as well. Smiling widely, she told them, "We're going to have to go. I have to work this evening." She practically pulled Carter out of the warehouse as Neal asked Wayne why the crate wasn't unpacked yet.

"I take it you found something?" Carter asked as Callie finally slowed down.

"How about this?" she asked, showing him the paper with the initials on it. "He'd written that on a notepad, and tore the page off, but I could see the indentations. SM. And he told us that he didn't know anything about it."

"And he could have written them down after we first talked to him," Carter pointed out.

She then told him that the suit Wayne was wearing probably cost more than most people's monthly paychecks. "I don't understand why he's wearing a wrinkled shirt with it, but -"

"Maybe so that people won't notice it's an expensive suit," Carter said. "He could be writing them off on his taxes," he told her.

"Maybe," she nodded. "Listen, would you be willing to keep an eye on Wayne this evening? Do you think you could follow someone without being seen?"

"I think I can manage," he told her. "But why?"

"I'm playing a huge hunch. Wayne's too nervous. I'll have to make some calls and see if I can't get access to his bank accounts tomorrow, but how about this for a theory? What if Wayne's been stealing items from the shipments and going into business for himself? Then Jonas found out about it and Wayne killed him to keep him from going to the police."

Carter looked doubtful. "I don't see Wayne as a killer. He's too nervous."

"So he hired someone to do it," she told him. "The diner!" she declared, grabbing his arm to pull him in that direction.

"You're going to be late for work," he told her.

"I have time," she replied, pushing the door of the diner open and looking around for the young woman who had waited on them earlier. The cook was in the kitchen and looked through the opening to see them.

"Have a seat and I'll be out to get your order," he yelled.

"We just need some information," Callie called back.

"I got no time for information," the man said, but he came from the kitchen, wiping his hands. "I'm short handed. Now what's this about?"

"We're looking for a waitress that was here this morning," Carter explained. "Medium height, brown hair -"

"Billie," he said, almost snarling the name. "She quit."

"Quit?" Callie asked.

"Walked off the job around lunch time. Said I could send her final check to her. Don't know what this world is coming to," he muttered in disgust. "My other girl had to go pick up her kid from school. So til she gets back, I'm on my own."

"So you have Billie's address?" Callie asked.

"Of course I do, but - who are you?"

"We're investigating a murder, sir, and think she might have been a witness to the crime," Callie told him in her best detective's voice.

"On the level? I'll get her address," he said, disappearing into the kitchen again.

"Callie -" Carter said, but she waved him off and shook her head as the man returned with a piece of paper and held it out to her.

"Thank you, Mr. -"

"Donovan," he told her. "Riley Donovan."

"How long has Billie worked here, Mr. Donovan?" Carter asked.

"Less than a month," Donovan answered.

"Thank you again," Callie said as she and Carter left the shop and went toward her Jeep.

"Piper's right," Carter told her.

"Piper? About what?"

"You're still a good cop."

She smiled and unlocked the passenger door, then went around to the driver side and got in. "We need to check out Billie's apartment -" A muted ringing started, and Callie sighed. "My cellphone," she told him, taking it out and glancing at the screen before answering. "Hi, Dad."

"Are you coming to work tonight, honey, or should I make plans to work the front and the kitchen?"

"I'm on my way," she told him. Ending the call, she grimaced. "I think he's upset with me. We'll have to go talk to Billie tomorrow morning. I'll drop you off at your place and then head on to the restaurant. Are you sure you'll be able to tail Wayne Stapleton?"

"I think so. I'll get my car and head back over to the warehouse as soon as we get to my apartment."

Business was better for the dinner run, Callie decided as yet another regular customer was seated. Watching her father as he touched the tables, she smiled and waited for him to finish before approaching him. "Looks like they're coming back," she noted.

"Looks like," he nodded. "I'll be glad when something else happens to take people's minds off of Wittlebaum's death. Anymore reservations on the books?"

"At least three more," she told him.

"Then you'd better get back to your post."

"You mean my perch, don't you?" she asked with a grin as she turned back toward the entry as the doors opened and more customers came in.

It was almost closing time when Carter entered the restaurant. Callie frowned when she saw him. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "Don't tell me you lost -"

"No, I didn't lose him," he told her. "He's back at his house, and the car's in the garage. I don't think he's planning on going out again tonight. I followed him home - and he lives in a nice place. Not as nice as the Wittlebaums, but still - And he's driving a brand-new Cadillac."

"Did he go anywhere?"

"He and I guess it was his wife came out of the house with a pile of suitcases that they put into the car, then he drove her to the airport."

"Love or the big airport?" Callie asked.

"DFW," he clarified. "I followed them into the American terminal - watched as he put her on a plane for California. You should have seen the size of the diamond on her finger," he said. "I got the impression that he'd just given it to her - she kept looking at it."

The doors opened again, and Callie told him, "Why don't you go into the bar and wait for us to close and we'll talk about it."

"Uh - well, okay," he said after some hesitation, leaving Callie to turn to the newcomers.

"Are you still open?" the man asked.

"Yes sir," she confirmed. "We close at eleven."

He looked at his watch, then at his companions. "Is the kitchen still open?" one of them asked.

"Yes, it is."

"Then we'll stay, since we're here."

Callie picked up four menus. "Follow me." Seating them, she said, "Maria will be your waitress. Can I get you something from the bar until she gets here?"

"Four beers," one of the men told her.

"Draft okay?" she asked, and they nodded. "Coming up." Going into the bar, she waved at Carter, who was sitting at the end of the bar with a cup of coffee in front of him. "Four beers for table 9, Joe."

Smiling at Carter again, she crossed the dining room to enter the kitchen. "Four more just came in, Dad," she told Marty.

One of the cooks sighed and shook his head. "Don't they know what time we close?"

"You know that we serve until closing time, Leon," Marty reminded him. "Even if they come in with only ten minutes to spare."

"I still say it's disrespectful to go into a place when you know it's going to close soon."

"Maybe, but right now, we're not turning anyone away," Marty stated. "If you don't agree with that -"

Leon backed off, lifting his hands. "Just expressing my opinion, boss."

"You can go ahead and lock the doors, Callie. We'll let the customers still here out as they leave."

Maria came in with the order for Table 9, then told Callie, "The hunk is back."

"Hunk? What hunk?

"Oh, I guess I haven't told you about him. There was a real hunk sitting at the corner table of the bar the night Mr. Wittlebaum died. You know the table I mean. The one where it's real dark and can't really see anything? But this guy was hard to miss, if you get my meaning. A real 'el diablo de los ojos azules'. Dark and dangerous-looking, you know?"

"Maria, you're not supposed be checking out the custom- ers," Callie said, suddenly hearing the part about blue eyes. "Where is he?" she asked the waitress.

Smirking at Callie's apparent interest after starting to take her to task, Maria said, "Sitting at the bar, talking to Joe."

Callie left the kitchen and went to the entrance to the bar, looking around.

The only person at the bar with Joe - was Carter Jankowski.

Callie stepped back before either man could see her and went through to the entry, where she locked the front doors, turning the "Open" sign off automatically as her mind worked at warp speed.

It finally made sense, in a way. How he just "happened" to be at Jonas' office the morning after the murder. The way he had charmed her into letting him help with the investigation. She moved back toward the bar, and this time Carter saw her, lifting his cup in her direction in a silent toast.

Callie smiled her best smile as she joined him at the bar. "I'm going to be tied up here pretty late helping clean up," she told him. "Why don't we meet tomorrow and discuss what happened this evening?"

His disappointment seemed genuine, but Callie was still suspicious. "Oh. I hoped we could find a place to have a late dinner."

"I'm really tired - I guess I'm not used to doing police work anymore. There's a lot more to it than I remembered."

"If you're sure -"

Callie was about to lead him out to the door when Marty appeared. "Callie, honey -" he paused. He nodded at Carter, and for some reason held out his hand. "I'm Martin Cantwell."

"Carter Jankowski," Carter said, shaking the offered hand. "You're Callie's father."

"I am," Marty confirmed, putting his arm around Callie's shoulders. "And I guess you're the man she *didn't* have a date with last night. Why don't you come into the kitchen so we can talk while I start cleaning up?"

"Carter has to leave," Callie said, "So that we 'can' close up," but Marty shook his head.

"He can stay and help," he said, looking at Carter. "If you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"Do you know how to cook?"

"Enough to stay alive," Carter told him with a grin.

"Sounds like Callie," Marty replied. "Her best dish is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." They were at the kitchen doors when her father turned back to say, "Callie, honey, you have customers wanting out -"

Callie stopped and sighed as she turned back toward the doors. "Sorry about that," she told the customers as she unlocked the door and let them out. She would have gone into the kitchen, but there were still a few tables that were still occupied, so she started removing tablecloths in an effort to keep her mind off of her problems.

When she finally locked the doors behind the party of four who had come in late, Callie turned off the lights and passed through the dining room to enter the kitchen at last. Carter was decked out in an apron and wiping down a counter. He looked up and gave her a smile when he saw her.

"Having a good time?" she asked.

"Yeah," he told her as Marty spoke up.

"Didn't even have to tell him to use a sanitizer on the counters. He asked where it was."

"Nothing like building a house, is it?" Callie asked, picking up the night's order slips from the box where they were placed once an order had left the kitchen.

"Nope," Carter confirmed.

"You know, I've been wondering. How is it that you've been able to take so much time off the job?"

"My stepfather left me the business - but I asked the foreman to run it for me," he explained. "Didn't I mention that?"

"No," she said. "You didn't."

"Oh. I thought I had. Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I told you that I'm tired," she reminded him with a tad more sharpness than was probably necessary.

"Sorry." He continued wiping the counter off as she went toward the office.

"Dad?"

He looked up from the telephone, holding up his hand. "Yeah, I'll see you later." He grinned at the phone. "We'll see about that." He hung up the phone. "What?" he asked Callie.

"You have a date," she said, and his grin widened. Shaking her head, Callie said, "I'm going to head out - Here are the night's tickets."

"Okay, honey. I like your young man, for what it's worth."

"He's not my young man," she reminded him. "We're just working together."

"Whatever you say. But if you want my advice, I'd keep him close by. Looks like someone who could take care of himself. And you."

"Since when have I needed to be 'taken care of', Dad?" she asked.

"More times than you care to admit," was his answer as he rose from the desk and gave her a hug. "Taking him with you?"

"No. I'm going to go home to bed." Deciding that it might be a good idea to keep Carter close to keep an eye on him, she paused on her way through the kitchen. "I'm sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow morning. Why don't we meet at the same time and see if we can't find Billie?"

"Sure. I'll bring the donuts and coffee again," he told her.

Entering her apartment, Callie kicked off her shoes and tossed her purse onto the table, feeling totally drained. Discovering that Carter wasn't what he appeared to be had left her shocked. And angry. And - even though she hated to admit it - disappointed.

She had trusted him with more than she had any man since Greg's death - and found herself wondering if his story about his wife and son hadn't just been made up to gain her sympathy. Before meeting him tomorrow morning, she decided to make some telephone calls, trying to find out more about him.

Callie hesitated over the telephone, wanting to call Allie, but knowing that her friend was likely busy, she went into the bedroom, removing her dress on the way. All she wanted was to take a quick shower and jump into bed. Not that she really thought she was going to get any sleep.

As she was about to turn on the water in the shower, the doorbell began to ring, so Callie grabbed a robe from the door and tied it before going to peer through the peephole. Seeing Carter standing in the hallway, she considered ignoring him, but then he knocked on the door - loudly. Worried that her neighbors might hear, Callie opened the door. "Carter -"

"We need to talk," he told her. "Can I come in?"

"Tomorrow -"

"No, tonight. Please?" When she still hesitated, he said, "I need to explain some things. I won't be able to sleep unless I do."

Sighing, Callie stepped back so that he could enter the apartment. "Come in."

He glanced at her attire, but chose not to comment on it, and Callie wondered if letting him in had been a good idea. "I could tell by the way you were acting at the restaurant - you figured out where you'd seen me before, didn't you?"

"I wouldn't have if the waitress hadn't pointed you out as having been there that night," she confirmed. "I thought someone had come in right after the Wittlebaums, and Allie told me that they had gone into the bar. I guess she wasn't paying attention, or she might have recognized you."

"She was studying her fingernails," he said. "There was a small group that I simply followed into the bar. It would have looked like I was with them, even though I wasn't."

Callie put the space of the sofa between them as he talked. "You said something about an explanation," she reminded him.

"I didn't tell you everything that first day. My father did serve with Jonas, but he died there in 'Nam. The Army told my mother that he'd been killed by the Vietcong, but the truth is that he was killed by 'friendly fire'. Someone threw a live grenade into his quarters."

"Oh my. How terrible. Did they find out who killed him?"

"No. None of the other members of his platoon claimed to know anything about it, understandably. Jonas' letter to my mother said that he wanted to help with finances for my future. That he remembered how Nick, my dad, had been so excited when he'd gotten the notification about my birth. He had left for Vietnam a week after they were married." He sat down in the arm chair. "I knew about the trust fund, of course, but nothing else until - six months ago when my uncle died."

"Your uncle."

"He was my dad's stepbrother. Ten years older than Dad - practically raised Dad after their mom died of a heart attack. He was an investigative reporter - had his own column, in fact. When he died, I found an envelope in his safety deposit box with a letter, telling me that he had been asking questions about my father's death, that his next step was to attack the link at what he considered to be its weakest point: Jonas Wittlebaum."

"He was trying to find out who killed your father," Callie realized. "What was your uncle's name?" she asked.

"Simon Tate. You've probably read his syndicated column. Simon Says..."

"I read it - That man uncovered all kinds of corruption and murders -"

"He was good. Probably one of the best in the business," he agreed.

"How did he die?"

"A car accident, strangely enough," he answered. "His car went through a guardrail and over an embankment out in California."

"That happens," she said.

"Not when the driver is already dead before the crash," Carter informed her. "I managed to talk the county coroner into keeping that part quiet," he said. "I didn't even tell my mom - and then she and Ski had their accident -"

"You don't think -" Callie began, sitting down on the sofa.

"No, that was an accident, I'm sure of it. But it was after her death that I found out that it was Jonas who set up the trust fund."

"So you decided to talk to Jonas about your father's death?" Callie prompted, returning the conversation to the reason for his visit before it got further side-tracked.

"Yes."

"Jonas would have recognized your name -"

"Jankowski was my stepfather's name," he reminded her. "Dad's was Robertson. So he wouldn't have made the connection."

"How did you come to be at the restaurant that night?" she wanted to know.

"I was curious about Jonas, and drove by his house that night, saw the family pulling out, and decided to follow them. That lead to the restaurant. Joe will tell you that I paid for my coffee and left before Jonas died. That waitress - Maria - she saw me leaving. I really didn't know about his death until I got to his office that morning and you told me about it." He looked at her. "I didn't kill him, Callie. I hope you believe that."

"I'm not sure what I believe at the moment," she told him. "This whole story is so - fantastic -"

"You're welcome to check any part of it out," he told her. He stood up and went to the door, pausing as he turned the knob. "I'll go now and let you get some rest. But I will tell you this: if you decide that you don't trust me enough to let me help you on this, I'm still going to find out who killed Jonas - and my father. Good night."

Callie sat there for a few minutes after he left, stunned by an overload of information. She finally went over and locked the door again, setting the security chain before turning toward the bedroom once more.

This time it was the telephone that got her attention. "Hello?" she answered with a tinge of anger in case it was Carter calling for some reason. But Allie's voice caused her to wince with remorse.

Wow," Allie said. "You sound angry and I haven't even said anything yet."

"Sorry, it's been a long, aggravating evening."

"What's going on?"

Callie sat down again, telling Allie about everything that had happened, starting with finding out that Carter had been in the restaurant the night that Jonas had died, and ending with his assurance that he wasn't a killer. "I just wish I could believe that," Callie told her. "What if he did it and has been using me to stay one step ahead of the investigation?"

"Well, *I* don't think he's a killer," Allie told her. "Think about this - if he was the killer, why is he still here? For that matter, why would he have rented an expensive loft apartment when a motel would have been more practical?"

"Allie -"

"Callie, you have great instincts.Trust them. How long did it take to poison Jonas?"

"I'm not sure -"

"Find out. And then find out how long Carter's been in Dallas. That should tell you whether or not he had the opportunity to commit the murder."

To Part 3