Callie woke early the next morning and called Robbie. "I need more information," she told him.

"You're determined to get me in dutch with Piper, aren't you, Callie?" he said. "What's up?"

"I need to know the span of time over which Jonas Wittlebaum was given the poison that killed him."

She heard him flipping pages to find the information. "Three weeks. No less than that. Could have been a week longer, depending on the amount given."

"If he'd been given a larger dose -"

"It would have killed him much quicker, and there would have been neurological side effects with the increased dose. None of those were reported."

"Thank you, Robbie."

"Anytime."

Her next call was to the leasing agency for Carter's loft. "Mid-town Leasing," a woman answered.

"Oh, good. I was hoping that someone would be there this early," Callie said. "My name is Carla Jordan, and I'm doing a background check on a prospective employee. Carter Jan-kowski," she said. "According to his application, he rented a loft apartment -"

"Yes. Mr. Jankowski. Just a moment. Let me get his lease application." She returned a moment later. "Here we go. What do you need to know?"

Callie gave her the address. "Can you confirm that for me?"

"That's correct."

"When did he ask about a lease for the loft? We're trying to find out how long he's been in the Dallas area."

"He came in a week ago and filled out the application, and was approved that evening," the woman told her. "I believe he moved into the loft the next day."

"And his previous address?"

"Denver, Colorado. Do you need that address?"

"No, I have it. Thank you for your help."

Callie pulled up in front of Carter's building, finding him waiting on the sidewalk. He opened the door and got inside. "I wasn't sure you'd be here this morning," he told her.

"I wasn't either," was her reply, making note of the drink carrier in one hand and the sack and donuts and file folder secured with a rubber band in the other. He practically tossed the folder in her direction, and she caught it asking, "What's this?"

"Uncle Simon's letter," he told her, putting the coffee into the drink holders.

Glancing at the letter until a car honked, she looked up to see a police car pass by, and realized that she was in a no parking zone. "Oops. I'll look at it later." Pulling into traffic, she asked, "How long have you been in Dallas?"

"A week. I was here for a couple of weeks right after the accident for the funeral and to make sure Arturo could take over the business. Went back to Denver to set things in motion for me to move down here. That took over a month. Getting my condo there on the market and sold - packing my things - I got back here a week ago, closed on Art's mortgage buying the house and signed the lease on the loft. My books and other belongings were in storage until I did that. Why?"

"Can you prove it?"

"If I have to. I can show you my lease application - which, by the way, is for a full year - with and option to purchase if the building goes in that direction. Why would I do that if I had been going to kill someone?"

"Jonas was given the first dose of poison three weeks ago," she told him. "I need to know where you were at that time."

"In Denver. After we go find Billie, I'll be glad to show you any number of credit card receipts that will prove it."

Billie's address was a small motel just across the Trinity from downtown. The desk clerk in the office looked up as Callie and Carter entered, rolling his eyes. "Twenty dollars an hour," he told them, "in advance." He placed a sign in card on the counter before them.

Carter gave Callie a grin before telling the man, "We're not looking for a room."

"Then why're you here?" he wanted to know, looking up from the girly magazine in his hands.

"We need some information about one of your tenents," Callie said. "Billie Smith. In Room 9?"

The clerk squinted his eyes at them. "You cops?"

"No, but we could call them very easily," Callie told him.

"I don't ask my customers no questions, and without a warrant, I don't answer any questions about my customers. Long as they pay me for the room, I'm covered."

"Okay," Callie said, taking her cellphone from her purse. "Have it your way." She moved away from the counter.

"What's she doing?!" the clerk asked Carter.

"Probably calling the police," he said. "She used to be one herself. She was just talking about her friends in vice -"

"Okay, okay! What do you want to know about the girl?"

"Callie-?"

She turned around with a smile and said into the phone, "Nevermind. I think we're good." Returning it to her purse, she asked, "When did Billie Smith check in?"

The man was already digging in his card box and finally pulled out a card, slapping it onto the counter. "There you go. That's everything I know about her."

"She first took the room a little over three weeks ago," Carter said, reading the card. "When did she check out?" he asked.

"She hasn't," the clerk told them. "She's probably at work. Works at that little diner on -"

"Not anymore," Callie said. "She quit yesterday afternoon."

"That's strange," he said. "Yesterday was her pay day - she usually comes in bright and early the next morning to pay for another week -" He grabbed his keys. "If she left without telling me -"

Callie and Carter followed him down to the last room on the ground floor, waiting as he knocked several times without any response. Finally, he used his pass key to unlock the door. Opening it, he said, "Billie? You home?" He stepped into the room, and then stopped in his tracks at the sight of Billie Smith stretched out across the bed, wearing a filmy nightgown and nothing else. "Billie?" Callie moved over to place a hand to her neck, feeling for a pulse. "Is she -?" the clerk began to ask.

"She's dead," Callie told him. "Would you go over to the office and call the police from there? We'll stay here and make sure no one else comes in to disturb the evidence."

Clearly stunned, the clerk nodded and left the room. Carter moved closer, indicating Billie's body. "Can you tell how it happened?"

Callie pointed to a scarf on the floor beneath Billie's head. "Strangled, most likely. By someone that she knew, so she must have let her killer into the room."

"Whoever it was could have used a key -"

"No, most women in a motel alone will use the security chain. Even if her killer had had a key, that would prevented access. Billie let him in."

"Him?" Carter questioned. "You're sure her killer was a man?"

"Most likely." She looked around the room. "We should probably wait for the police outside. They don't like it when they find someone inside a murder scene."

"Someone who's not a police officer, you mean?" The question was accompanied by a wry grin.

"Even an ex-cop isn't welcome," she agreed, leaving the door open as they exited back into the parking lot. "I just hope that I know whoever gets the call. It will make it a lot easier to -" She stopped as they watched a police car enter the motel parking area, followed by a coroner's wagon. Both vehicles came toward them as some of the room doors opened and other guests peered out, probably to find out where the police were heading.

Officer Mitch Delaporte got out of his car and shook his head. "What have you gotten yourself into this time, Callie?" he asked.

"Murder, I think," she told him. "We came to talk to the dead woman about her possible involvement in the Wittlebaum murder. When we entered with the desk clerk, we found her to be deceased."

"Let me go look and see what we've got and I'll talk to you again. Don't have to tell you not to go anywhere."

She and Carter moved close to the door as Mitch and his partner went into the room. "Did either of you touch anything in the room?" he asked when they came out.

"No. The clerk opened the door, as I'm sure he'll tell you."

"The clerk said her name was Billie Smith?"

"Yes," Carter told him. "He has her guest registration card in the office."

"And you are-?"

"Carter Jankowski. I'm helping Callie with her investigation -" He pulled his wallet out and gave his drivers license to Mitch. "It's a Colorado license," he said. "I've already applied for one here."

"You have a local address?" Mitch asked, writing the address that Carter gave him on his notepad. Mitch shook his head. "I heard that you were digging into this, Callie. Piper is *not* happy - and I don't think this is going to improve his mood."

"He's laser focused on Mrs. Wittlebaum or her son as the killer," Callie told him. "So I'm trying to find out who *did* kill him."

"And why do you think that woman in there had anything to do with it?"

Callie told him about the diner - and her theory that Wittlebaum might have been poisoned there, since he ate lunch there every day of the week. "She quit right after we went into that diner with Neal Wittlebaum."

"That's pretty thin," Mitch said as the desk clerk joined them.

"Here's the card from my files," he said, handing the card over. "Is this going to take much longer?" he asked. "I'm losing business with police cars and coroner's office cars in the parking lot."

"It's only one police car, Phil," Mitch told him. "And I'm sure they'll be back once we finish up."

Another car pulled into the lot, and Phil turned to start back toward the office - only to stop as the car continued on toward where they were standing. "At least this one's unmarked," he muttered, frowning.

"Here we go," Callie said quietly to Carter as George Piper leveraged himself from behind the wheel of the dark car, his eyes narrowing when he saw her. "Hello, George," she said.

"You're digging up dead hookers for the department now, Mrs. Harris?"

"She wasn't a - 'hooker'," Phil objected. "There was only one guy who ever came to see her. He was staying here until a couple of days ago.

"Really?" Callie said. "Who -"

"I'll ask the questions here, Mrs. Harris," Piper interrupted. He took the notes that Mitch had made and the card and looked them over. "You and your -friend -" Piper began, nodding in Carter's direction, "came here to talk to the deceased?"

"Yes."

"What about?"

"It should be in Mitch's - Off. Delaporte's notes, I believe. We think it's possible that she had something to do with the murder of Jonas Wittlebaum."

He studied the notes again, shaking his head. "Did she know Neal Wittlebaum or his mother?"

"She had probably met Neal," Callie confirmed. "She worked at the diner next to his father's warehouse, - where Mr. Wittlebaum ate lunch during the week and had coffee at *least* once or twice a day."

"So it's possible that Neal could have hired this girl to -"

Callie sighed with frustration. "Sgt. Piper, if you would just listen -" She stopped as Carter touched her arm, shaking his head.

Piper turned to Phil. "Who was the man that visited her?"

"He left a couple of days ago," Phil reminded the detective. "I wasn't sorry to see him go. Him and that motorcycle, making noise every time he came and went. So he -"

"He left *here*," Piper pointed out. "He could have stayed close until last night. What's his name?"

"Oh, El - something. Elmo -"

"Elmer?" Carter asked, and Phil nodded.

"Yeah. Elmer. I'd have to look at his card for his last name."

"Delaporte!"

"Yes Sergeant?"

"Go back to the office with Phil and get that card from him."

Piper's eyes narrowed again, but before he could say anything, the coroner's man appeared. "Can we take the body now?"

"Sure. How long's she been dead?"

"Pending autopsy, I'd say she died late last night - probably around midnight."

"Let me guess," Callie said, "she was strangled with that scarf on the floor next to the bed, right?"

"That's right." He turned to follow his assistant into the room.

Piper nodded, never taking his eyes off of Carter and Callie. "Okay, so who is this - Elmer?"

"He was the busboy/dishwasher at the same diner where Billie Smith has been working for the last three weeks, George," Callie informed him. "He quit the day after the murder, and she quit yesterday afternoon."

"You two get out of here before I decide to arrest you."

"For what?" she wanted to know.

"Interfering in a police investigation. Accessory after the fact. Hell, I don't know. But I'll find a reason if you're not out of here in the next five minutes. And stay out of my case, Harris!" he called as they moved toward Callie's Jeep.

"Someone has to find the truth, George," Callie called back, ignoring Carter's tug on her arm.

"You don't believe that he would have arrested us, do you?" he asked once she started the engine.

"No, he was just bellowing in frustration. Thing is, he *knows* I'm right, but he's determined not to admit it."

"So what's *our* next move?" Carter asked.

"I wonder how Wayne will react to news of Billie's death - don't you?"

They went directly to the warehouse, and found Wayne in his office, looking over some paperwork. When Callie knocked, he looked up and sighed as he saw who it was, but waved them in as the telephone rang.

Picking it up, he said, "Hello?...Mrs. Wittlebaum -...N-no, ma'am, I can't do that-...Yes, I understand that, b-but I -..." his shoulders slumped in surrender. "I'll t-try...yes...Goodbye." Hanging up, he shook his head. "She just d-doesn't understand how this place runs. I know she says she practically runs that shelter, but there's a lot of d-difference between the two." He managed to smile. "It's my problem to figure out. What can I do for you today?"

"Billie Smith is dead," Callie said bluntly.

Wayne sat back in his chair, his mouth open in shock. "Wh-what?" His face had gone pale, and his shook his head. "B-Billie?"

"The desk clerk at her hotel said that you were there a few times to visit her," Carter said.

"Never!" Wayne insisted. "I didn't want to be seen in a place like that. We always met -" he stopped. "What happened to her?"

"Someone strangled her," Callie said, giving him a sympathetic look. "You liked her, didn't you?"

"If - If I hadn't been m-married," he said. "Who? Who would have d-done something like that?"

"The police might think you did it," Carter told him. "If they find out that you and she -"

"We n-never - I mean, we weren't ph-physically involved," he insisted.

"Did you know she quit her job yesterday?" Callie wanted to know, and Wayne nodded.

"Yeah. I'd been c-calling her since late last night. I wanted t-to tell her -"

"Tell her that you sent your wife to California last night?"

Carter's question caused Wayne to look at him. "How d-did you - She went to visit her f-father."

"Wayne," Callie said, waiting for him to look at her. "Did Billie or Elmer have anything to do with what happened to Mr. Wittlebaum?"

Wayne's eyes widened in fear. "How d-do you kn-know about Elmer?" He began to shake his head. "I'm n-not saying anything else."

"Then you can talk to the police," Callie told him.

Wayne got up and opened the office door, ushering them out in silence.

Once outside of the office, Callie said, "He is terrified of something."

"That could be his epitaph," Carter observed, watching Wayne through the windows into the office as he picked up the telephone and dialed. "I wonder who he's calling?"

"Probably *not* his wife," Callie said. "Why don't we go out to the car and wait? I have a feeling that Mr. Stapleton is going to take the rest of the day off."

"He did look a little peaked," Carter agreed, following her out of the warehouse.

Back in the car, Callie picked up the letter that she had put away earlier while Carter kept a watch for Wayne. "Do you know if he got the appointment?" she asked.

"No. I'm sure if he had, Simon's name would be in the appointment book -" He looked at her. "You sound as though you believe me."

"Well, if Billie was killed around midnight, I know where you were at that time last night, so I don't think you killed her." She glanced into the rear-view mirror. "I hope Wayne leaves soon. George Piper just parked in front of the diner."

"Speak of the devil," Carter told her, nodding toward the black Cadillac Eldorado that was pulling out of the warehouse parking lot. "That's his car."

Callie handed the letter back to Carter as she pulled away from the curb to follow the Cadillac. "He mentions investigating the other members of the platoon -"

"This letter was the first I'd heard of it. Until Mom died, I didn't even know what platoon I needed to look for. You're letting him get pretty far ahead -"

"It's easier to do during the day - you have to stay closer at night because it's harder to see." She gave him a sideways look. "Trust me. I know how to follow a car without being spotted."

"I never doubted *you* for a minute."

She ignored the implication that while she might have doubts about him, he had none where she was concerned. "He lives off of Forest," she noted. "Is this the way he went last night?"

Carter looked at street names, and then nodded. "I think so."

"Why did you decide to move to Dallas from Denver?"

"Denver was never home. I'd spent as much time here as I had anywhere else - and there was the construction company to consider. While Arturo is running it, I guess I feel as thought Mom and Pop would expect me to stick around."

"So what do you do? For a living, I mean. Obviously, you're not in construction."

"I did work with Pop in the summer," he told her. "I - That's his house," he said, "Third one on the right."

The white, two story house with a detached garage had a well manicured lawn with tall hedges on each side of the property, and even a jockey holding a lantern. "You're right," she said. "It's a nice place. A little big for just two people, though." She drove past the driveway.

"Where are you going?"

"To turn around so we can observe without him seeing -" Callie broke off, quickly turning the car into the first driveway and backing out to return to the Stapleton house. "Come on," she told Carter as she opened the door and headed across the lawn.

"Callie?" he said, following her. "What's wrong?"

"Didn't the desk clerk at Billie's motel say that Elmer rides a motorcycle?" she asked - drawing his attention to the motorcycle parked beside the garage where it was partially concealed behind a hedge.

As they neared the house, they could hear Wayne's terrified voice. "No, No, get away from me! I didn't talk! I didn't say anything that - No!!!"

The sound of a gunshot and something breaking made Callie tell Carter, "Stay down!" as the front door opened. Callie started toward the man who ran out, only to stop as Carter made a flying leap toward him. The man, who was wearing biking leathers, fired his gun again, and then ran away, pushing through the hedge and taking off. Callie saw Carter drop to the ground as the motorcycle's engine roared to life.

Callie ran to the end of the driveway, trying to get a look at the license plate as people began to appear from the other houses. "Someone call the police!" she called out. "And an ambulance!"

Running back to the doorway, she knelt beside Carter. "Carter?" she asked, relieved when she was able to feel a pulse. There was a thin line of blood on his forehead where the bullet had grazed his head. "Dammit, I told you to get down, not try to play the hero!" she murmured.

"And if I'd done what you said, you'd be laying here, not me," he told her, finally opening his eyes. "Wayne?"

"I haven't gone inside yet," she told him.

"I'll be fine," he told her. "Go on and check on him. Maybe he's just - wounded."

"You just lay there," she told him. "Don't move."

"Yes, ma'am," he told her.

Callie approached the door with some trepidation. "Wayne?" she called out, entering the house. She could see what had once been an oak china cabinet laying on the floor through the doorway into the dining room. And on the other side of that, she found Wayne Stapleton. Moving cautiously, Callie picked her way through the debris, she knelt to see if there was any chance - even though he had a hole in his chest.

How in the world was she going to explain *this* to George Piper?

"Two bodies in one day," George Piper said, shaking his head as he looked at Callie and Carter. "Maybe I should just run you both in as a danger to the community."

"Carter's wounded," she pointed out.

"It's just a flesh wound," Carter insisted, and winced as Callie glared at him. "But my head *does* hurt a little," he added, touching the bandage on his head.

"That's because you're following this woman around town doing a job that she's no longer qualified to do," Piper pointed out. "You're dangerous, Callie."

"It wasn't her fault," Carter said, starting to stand up from the back of the ambulance, but Callie pushed him back down.

"You're hurt. Let me handle this." She went nose to nose with Piper. "Listen, I told you who killed him. I told you who shot Mr. Jan-Jan-"

"Jankowski," Carter interjected.

"I told you the license number of his bike! Now are you going to go find Elmer or not? He's killed two people, and I still say that it's tied into Jonas Wittlebaum's murder!"

"Are you finished?" Piper asked.

Callie took a deep breath. "It depends. Did you hear *any* of what I said?"

Suddenly Piper started to laugh, and Callie turned to look at Carter, while the uniformed officers were obviously confused. "I heard you, Callie," he said at last. "Oh my. I haven't laughed like that in ages. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said.

He turned to one of the uniformed officers. "Update the bolo on Elmer Bonner. Description, vehicle, wanted for two counts of homicide instead of one."

Callie backed off - slightly. "How did you -?"

"Phil gave us his guest card, remember? It had the last name and the license plate number on that motorcycle. Although I'm sure he'll ditch that as soon as possible."

Robbie came out of the house with Stapleton's body on gurney. "Single gunshot to the chest. Blew a hole in his heart. The injuries to his arm are from the cabinet being pulled down beside him. Poor guy never knew what hit him."

"He knew," Callie said. "He saw it coming."

"Was he married?" Robbie asked.

"His wife left last night to visit her father in California," she told him.

Robbie shook his head, then moved over to Carter. "You sure you're okay?"

Carter grinned. "I've had worse scratches. Thanks."

Piper shook his head. "If you two hadn't been here, we probably would have written this off as a simple robbery, complicated when Stapleton returned home early and was shot by the thief. So I can't really complain, can I? But I'm still not totally convinced about this having anything to do with Wittlebaum's murder, Callie."

"I know it's circumstantial, George," she told him. "But is what you have against his wife or son any better? You used to be able to see all sides in an investigation."

"I'm not saying that you're wrong, but I need more than just your gut feeling." He shook his head. "Go on. Get him someplace where he can rest. Even just being grazed can take a lot out of a person. Head wounds -"

Carter signed the paperwork stating that he was refusing transport to the hospital and stood up slowly as Callie came over to him. "Need help?" she asked.

"I'll be fine," he told her, but was just unsteady enough that she lifted his arm around her shoulders.

"My hero," she said.

"Give me a chance," he replied, letting her help him back to the Jeep and into the passenger side. Once she drove away from the house, he asked, "I really am okay. The only reason I acted the way I did was because you seemed to want Piper to think I wasn't."

"And you heard George. He's right: Any head wound can be dangerous. You did lose consciousness for a few seconds," she reminded him.

"Five at the most," he told her. "Look, I'll be fine."

"Would you please stop arguing with me?"

"Where are we going?" he wanted to know.

"I'd like to be the one to tell Cecilia and Neal about Wayne's death - but I don't know if it's a good idea for you -"

Carter sighed heavily. "Let's go. I think I can manage to keep from passing out until we've done that. We still need to look through all of Jonas' papers, remember? And I was wondering if there might be something in his safe?"

"Safe?"

"You don't think that there's a safe - either in the office or at the house?"

"You could be right. I hadn't thought to ask Cecilia about it." She glanced at him. "Are you sure you feel well enough to go with me to give them the news about Wayne, at least?"

"Quite sure," he told her.

She focused on the road again, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught him reach up to touch the bandage, wincing. "I saw that," she said, but she smiled. "You win. We'll go see Cecilia and Neal - and then we'll go find something for lunch."

Callie almost reconsidered her decision when Carter showed signs of being dizzy after getting out of the car. "Get back in and wait while I -"

He shook his head. "It'll pass," he told her, standing up. "See? Let's go."

She followed him into the building and into Jonas' office, where Miss Key's eyes widened upon seeing the bandage on Carter's head. "Oh my. What happened to you?"

"I had a disagreement with a biker," he told her with a half grin. "I'm fine."

"Are Mrs. Wittlebaum and Neal in the office?" Callie asked.

"They're in the warehouse," she told them. "Mr. Stapleton took the rest of the day off, and Neal decided to go take over from him - and Mrs. W. insisted that she would go as well."

"It'll calm down before long," Carter assured the frazzled looking secretary. "Oh - I was wondering - how far back do your appointment books go?"

"A year. Mr. W. was a stickler for keeping them, even though I couldn't see any reason to keep them past a month, at least. Why?"

"Could you look and see if a Mr. Simon Tate had an appointment with Mr. Wittlebaum prior to six months ago?"

She made a note. "Simon Tate."

"And it's likely that the appointment wasn't kept."

"Why not?"

"Mr. Tate died six months ago," Callie told her, taking Carter's arm to steer him toward the door. "Let's go find Cecilia, shall we?"

"I'll call you later to see if you found anything," Carter told Miss Key as they left the office. "I told you that I have more at stake here than just Jonas' murder -"

"Or the murders of Billie or Wayne?" she asked.

"Yes. It's possible that it all ties together. I don't know how, yet, but it's possible, isn't it?"

"Of course it's possible," she agreed. "Right now, however -" she began as she pushed the door into the warehouse open, "we need to talk to -"

"Carter!" Cecilia said, coming toward them. "What on earth happened to you?"

"That's part of what we're here to tell you, Cecilia," Callie said, looking around. "Where is Neal?"

"On the loading dock. He's shipping out a crate that I told him wasn't due to go out yet - I don't know how Jonas ever thought that young man could ever take over this business. He has *no* idea about what's going on." She turned toward the dock area. "Neal! Someone please tell my son that I need him over here! Neal!"

Neal appeared, taking a pair of reading glasses off. "What is it, Mother?" He paused as he saw who else was there. "Callie. Carter. What happened -?"

"Why don't we all go into Wayne's office?" Callie suggested. "There's something that we need to tell you."

"Oh dear," Cecilia sighed. "More bad news? I don't know that I can handle much more."

"Come on, Mother," Neal said, guiding her into Wayne's office and turning on the light. Cecilia sat down in the chair behind the desk, looking up expectantly.

"What reason did Neal Stapleton give for taking the day off?" Callie asked.

"Personal reasons," Neal answered. "Said that a friend of his had died. Wasn't that the truth?"

"Did you know Billie, Neal?"

"Billie?" He looked confused. "There's a waitress at the diner -"

"That's her," Carter nodded.

"I didn't really know her. Usually she worked the counter, and Sheila worked the tables."

"Who usually filled coffee orders?" Callie wanted to know.

"Billie. Sheila would come back and turn an order into the kitchen, and Billie would take care of the drinks. Why?"

"Billie quit yesterday afternoon," Callie said.

"Yeah, Sheila told me that today. Said her boss was fit to be tied that both Billie and the dishwasher/busboy had quit over the space of a few days. Neither one had been working that long, either."

"Excuse me," Cecilia interrupted, "but what does this have to do with Wayne taking the day off work because of a friend's death?"

"Billie was murdered last night, Cecilia," Callie explained.

"Oh my."

Neal put a hand on his mother's shoulder as he asked, "Who killed her?"

"Right now, it looks like the busboy from the diner," Carter told him. "Elmer Bonner."

"What does this have to do with Wayne?" Neal asked.

Callie and Carter exchanged a look before Callie took a deep breath and answered the question. "Because Bonner shot and killed Wayne less than an hour ago. And he shot at Carter was he was leaving."

"Wayne is - dead?" Cecilia gasped, clearly upset. "Neal? Oh, Neal!"

"I'm sure the police will be here before long to talk to you -"

"I can't," Cecilia insisted, shaking her head. "I can't face the police again right now. Oh poor Wayne. His wife. Was Linda -"

"She left last night to visit her father in California," Carter told the distraught woman. "Did you know her well?"

"Not - not really."

Neal found a box of tissues and handed one to his mother. "Linda wasn't from Dallas - she never took to the city. She's from California. I guess I should try to find a number there to call her and tell her -"

"Why don't you take Cecilia home and we'll look?" Carter suggested. "Do you have someone here that you can put in charge while you're gone?"

"I guess I could ask Ryan -" He bent down to say, "I'll be back in a minute, Mother." She nodded, blowing her nose loudly as he left the office.

"First Jonas, and now Wayne. What's going on, Callie?" Cecilia asked.

"I wish I knew, Cecilia. But I think that Sgt. Piper has finally accepted that someone other than you or Neal could have killed Jonas."

"And it only took Wayne and that girl being killed for that," Cecilia said. "I told him we were innocent - oh Wayne. I don't know how we're going to keep this place going without him."

"Okay," Neal said, returning to the office. "Ryan will take any calls - Callie, could you please let Miss Key know to contact him if necessary? I'll call a meeting when I get back and let everyone know about Wayne."

"Of course." She moved around to help him get Cecilia to her feet and help her out of the office. To Carter, she said "I'll be right back."

"Don't be too long," he told her. "I'm not sure we should be here for very long."

Callie nodded, aware that he didn't want George Piper to find them at the warehouse - and especially not in Wayne's office. She saw Neal and his mother out to his car, and then went back inside to tell Miss Key that Cecilia had needed to go home, and that Neal would be right back, and to contact Ryan if she needed someone official. After that, she returned to Wayne's office, finding Carter sitting in the desk chair going through the drawers.

"Find anything?" she asked.

He held up a small book. "An address book."

Callie took it, flipping through it. "It would help if we knew his wife's maiden name," she said. "Anything else?"

"Not so far."

"We'd better get out of here. I'm sure that Piper will be here as soon as he finishes up at headquarters. I just hope that Neal is back before he gets here. I'm sure we'll be able to come back tomorrow and look more closely - here and in Jonas' office."

He closed the drawers, putting the address book back deep inside the top drawer. "Let's go, then." As he stood up, he swayed. "Whoa."

"Carter?" Callie questioned, coming around the desk to take his arm.

"I just stood up too fast," he told her. "I'm okay."

"Why don't we go out the warehouse door?" she suggested. "I'll bring the Jeep around to get you."

"Probably a good idea with Piper being close by," he agreed, leading the way through the warehouse to the door leading out to the parking/loading areas. "I can make it to the car," he told her, but Callie shook her head, indicating a low brick wall.

"Sit here and wait," she ordered. "I won't be a minute."

"Callie -"

"Another word, and I'll take you to the nearest ER." He lifted his hand to pantomime zipping his lips and smiled. "That's better."

She got to the corner of the building and looked around to discover there was no police car - marked or unmarked parked in front, so she moved quickly to unlock the Jeep and get inside, grateful that she had parked it in the right direction so as to be able to turn into the loading area. Parking, she came around as he started to get up. "Stop." When he opened his mouth, she said, "I think the nearest Emergency Room is Parkland -"

Once he was in the vehicle, and they were on the street, he said, "Anyone ever told you that you're bossy?"

"One or two," she replied, chuckling softly. "Now, let's go get something to eat - We'll take it back to my place -"

"My place," he corrected. "I have to show you those receipts that prove that I was in Denver three weeks ago, remember?"

"That won't be necessary," she said.

"I think it is. I don't want you to be suspicious of me. Besides, I'll rest better at my loft than in your apartment."

"I'll call Dad from there and let him know that I won't be at work - I hope Maria -"

"I don't want you to miss another night of work because of me. I know the signs of a concussion, I think I can take care of myself -"

"You're arguing with me again," she warned him. "Do you like fast food?"

"It would appear that I'm in your hands."

Callie grinned. "So you are."

"After we eat, I'll look into changing that bandage," Callie said as he opened the door into his loft and stepped back to let her enter first.

Carter closed the door, setting the lock. "And what if I don't have any first aid supplies at hand?"

"Do you?" she asked, looking at the small dining table that was covered with folders and papers.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Just stack all that to one side," he told her about the table. "Or we can eat here in the living area instead."

Callie looked at the table again before going to the sofa and putting the sacks containing the food onto the coffee table. "Good idea."

"Every now and then I do have one," he told her. "You said a bottle of water would be okay?"

"Sure. You sit down. I'll get it."

"Grab two," he said as she went to the refrigerator and opened it.

"You don't have much in here," she said as she looked inside.

"Not much less than you do in yours," he pointed out.

"That reminds me, I still need to call Dad -" she remembered as she took out the burgers and fries. "Ketchup?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"No thanks. You're not going to tell Marty about -" he touched the bandage.

"Your playing the hero?" she asked. "I'm not sure that I'll have any choice, when I tell him why I have to have Maria take over for me tonight -"

"He wasn't expecting you to work lunch?"

"No, I asked Maria to do it before I left last night. Before she told me that you'd been there before. I knew we had to go talk to Billie, and had planned on searching the files at the warehouse all day. How's your burger?"

"Not bad. I'm not a huge fan of fast food, but -"

"Same here. I'm spoiled to Dad's cooking, so I tend to be a little picky these days. But I used to get these when I was with the department." Carter nodded at her comment. "So, you were going to tell me what you do for a living when you're not helping build houses."

"My head's starting to hurt," he told her.

"How convenient. So how about those receipts you told me about? Or is your head hurting too much -"

Carter stood up slowly and went over to the dining room table, moving folders around until he found the one he was looking for. Picking it up, he brought it back over to her, holding it out. "I keep each month's receipts in a folder. That's last month's folder," he explained, picking up the debris from lunch and stuffing it into one of the paper bags while Callie flipped through the papers.

"What's this?" she asked, holding up a strip of paper.

Returning from throwing out the trash, Carter said, "What?"

"It looks like a stub for a paycheck - from a newspaper syndicate."

"I forgot that was in the folder," Carter sighed. "Or maybe I didn't. Maybe subconsciously I wanted you to find out," he muttered, sitting down again.

"Find out - what?"

"Well, I told you that Uncle Simon had a syndicated newspaper column -"

"Simon Says," she nodded.

"Jonas wasn't the only one who helped pay for my schooling," he told her. "Uncle Simon did as well. He never married - and never had any children, so he figured I was his only shot at immortality, I guess."

"Why didn't he get married?"

"He said that his work was too dangerous. I spent my summers here with Mom and Pop, and the rest of the year I was going to an exclusive school in New York, then to college. While I was college, I worked as an intern as Uncle Simon's assistant, learning the ropes, as it were."

"Don't tell me," Callie said, shaking her head.

"After college, I worked for several newspapers, on various beats, but mostly the crime beat. Uncle Simon always told me that it was all arranged that when he died, I would take over his contract, keeping the Simon Says column alive."

"You told me that you studied architecture," she reminded him.

"I did. I minored in architecture. But I majored in journalism."

"A newspaperman," Callie sighed with what she knew was barely concealed disgust. "I'm working with a reporter. Wow."

"You said you read the column. Haven't you noticed that of late it's been less dark? Pointing out some of the good things that happen and not just revealing murder and mayhem and scandal?"

"You're going to write about this -"

"The case? Probably, once it's all settled. But the focus will be the death of a soldier in Vietnam and its fallout. I'll have to get a little creative when it comes to the soldier's background - I can't risk revealing that he was my father - or that Uncle Simon was his brother."

"Why?"

"Uncle Simon never used his real name when he was gathering information for a story - for security reasons. Some of the people that he exposed might have retaliated against him if they had known who he was."

She nodded. "The photo they use in the paper for the column is just a shadow," Callie recalled.

"The only reason I can think of for him using his real name to get an appointment with Jonas was that he was going after a personal story - not something for publication. And there was the fact that my dad's name wasn't Tate - so it wasn't likely that anyone would connect them unless he chose to reveal that connection. So. Now you know - and I have to ask you not to tell anyone else. When people ask, I usually tell them I'm a writer - or an architect, even though I never followed through and got my certification."

"Trust me, the very *last* thing that I want to have to tell anyone is that I'm working with a *reporter* - I still can't believe it myself."

"That's investigative journalist, thank you. And I've never interfered with the authorities in a case - I wouldn't. That's not my job. The closest I've come is here, working with you -"

"And *I'm* the one who's been interfering," she said. "Okay. But the first inkling I have that you're trying to get some kind of a scoop on the competition -"

"What competition?" he asked. "It's a syndicated column. In 90% of the papers in the country - and a couple overseas as well. The local papers might cover bits and pieces, but I'll be the one that puts them all together in one story. I might even get an entire book out of this one," he told her. "All the twists and turns this thing is taking -"

"Where's your first aid kit?" she asked.

"In the bathroom. I'll get it."

"As a reporter, you should be able to get information about Jonas' platoon, right?" she asked.

"If I wanted to involve a local paper, yes. I do have a contact at the Pentagon," he confirmed as he returned with the plastic box. "But I really didn't have any information about what platoon that might be until Jonas was killed. That's one of the things I had planned on asking him when I met him." Callie began unwrapping the gauze around his head. "We don't need that back on, do we? I have a couple of adhesive pads in the box that should work just as well. Or even butterflies -"

"Let me look at it and we'll decide," she told him, carefully lifting the gauze pad that covered the actual wound.

"Ouch," he said.

"Sorry. It stuck to the wound - if I had some sterile water -"

"Just take it off," he said.

"It might start to bleed again -"

"You're going to cover it up anyway," he told her.

Callie winced as she pulled the pad away. "It's not too bad," she told him. "I'm surprised they didn't insist on taking you in for stitches."

"They wanted to, but I said it would be fine. Is it bleeding?"

"Not really. "I think the butterflies might be okay - but if you go to bed, we might want to replace them with a bandage."

"So, am I forgiven for being a reporter?" he asked as she closed the first aid kit.

"You mean an 'investigative journalist'?" and they both laughed at the comment. "For the moment. I need to call Dad - and Allie, I guess. If I don't, she's liable to start trying to track me down again."

"You've really known her since you were in kindergarten?"

"Oh yes. I always envied her ability to do whatever she wanted to do without apology. I think we were a real odd couple."

"That's a comment that begs for an explanation," he told her. "But I'll let you make your calls before I ask." She took her cell phone out of her purse, and Carter stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"Over here to the computer," he told her. "I might as well type in a few notes and give you at least a little privacy."

"Notes?"

"For when I do finally write the article. Or the book."

"I vote for the book," she said, watching as he moved away to the desk and turned on the computer.

"Callie," Marty said when he answered his cellphone. "You know better than to call - is everything okay?"

"It's after one, Dad," she told him. "And everything is fine - well, except for Carter's head."

"His head? What happened?"

She found herself smiling at how concerned he sounded, and turned back to look at Carter. "Oh, he had a slight accident -"

"Tell me, honey. What happened?"

"I'll tell you later, Dad," she promised. "But the upshot is that I don't want to leave him alone because he might have a concussion, so -"

"So you need Maria to stand in for you again tonight."

"Is that a problem?"

"No. I'll just call Donna in to work. She's been wanting more hours anyway."

"Sorry, Dad -"

"Hey, did I complain? You just be careful. And tell Carter I said to be more careful as well."

"I will. Love you."

"Love you more. Bye."

Callie hung up the phone, glancing at her watch. "Allie is probably back at work by now." She dialed that number, telling Carter, "I'll leave her a voicemail letting her know where I am and that I'll talk to her later."

Once that was done, Callie wandered over to where Carter was typing on a keyboard. "Do you mind if I -?" she started to ask, trying not to hover.

"Be my guest. You can double check that I got the details right. I'm about done, anyway." After a minute, he closed the file and turned to look at her. "Okay, about you and Allie -"

"We lived on the same block. Allie and Callie. She started that, by the way. Thought it was cute, and it stuck. Mom always said that my name was Calista, *not* Callie."

"What was your mother like?"

"She was quiet, a homebody. And *very* protective. Allie says overprotective. I had a very minor heart murmur when I was little, and Mom was terrified for me to do anything that could hurt me. So she wouldn't let me go out and play with the other kids. No swings, no running, you get the idea."

"Sounds frustrating," he told her.

"All I know is that I wanted to be able to go play with my friends. Allie would come over and we would play board games and dress up, nice, quiet things. Then one day, Mom was gone." She sighed. "A heart attack."

"So it was just you and your dad."

"And Allie. Her father died not long after Mom. Cancer."

"I'm surprised that Marty and Allie's mom never -"

"They didn't like each other very much from what I remember."

"Wait - a heart murmur - but you became a cop -?"

"I outgrew it, apparently. By the time I was ten, the doctor said that I could do whatever I wanted to do. But I still tended to be quiet, and hang back instead of joining in."

"How come I think that Allie didn't let that happen?"

"Because she didn't. She came up with a little taunt to get me to join in things."

"What?"

Callie grinned. "Well, my name was Callie Cantwell - so she would sing 'Cal-li-e ca-n't'."

Carter laughed. "And did it work?"

"More often than not," Callie nodded.

Carter finally insisted that Callie leave around ten. "It's been almost twelve hours. I think that if I was going to suffer any ill effects from this wound, it would have already happened."

She had only left long enough to get something for their dinner. Now, she looked at him, with a hint of surprise. "You don't want me to stay the night?"

"Only if you really want to - but it's not necessary." He gave her a flirtatious grin. "And only if you're willing to share my bed."

"Carter -"

"I know. I was joking," he told her. "Halfway, anyway. But I understand. Until this case is over, it's probably not a good idea for us to -"

"And after?"

"That will be up to you," he said. "Thank you for hanging out with me, making sure I was okay."

"Well, in a way, your being hurt *was* my fault. If I hadn't agreed to let you help, if you hadn't been trying to play the hero -"

"If I hadn't been trying to keep him from shooting you," he told her. "That's why I did it, you know," he said, taking her hand.

Callie's eyes fell from his to their hands, then back up to look at him. "Thank you." When he didn't release her hand, she gently pulled it away, turning to pick up her purse. "If you need anything during the night - call me."

"I will. But I'm sure I'll be fine. See you in the morning." He unlocked and pulled the door open for her to leave.

"I'll get the donuts and coffee," she told him.

"I was beginning to think you were going to stay with him all night." Allie's voice startled Callie as she unlocked her door.

"Oh, Allie! Why don't you let a person know when you're lying in wait?"

"I saw you pull into the parking lot," Allie said, entering the apartment once it was open. "And I wanted to talk to you. Your message wasn't very long - did you find out about the handsome Carter Jankowski's whereabouts when the poisoning took place?"

"He was in Denver," Callie said, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "You want one?"

"No, thanks. I'm going out later, so I still need to get dressed - How did he hurt his head?"

Callie told her about how the two of them had found Billie Smith dead, and then going to Wayne's house to question him further - only to be there when his killer was trying to get away. "Carter tried to stop the man, and ended up with a graze along his forehead, which meant a possible concussion."

"Wow. Two bodies? Please tell me that the police detective who handled them wasn't -"

"It was. George Piper himself."

"Ouch. I bet he wasn't happy to see you there."

"You'd win the bet," Callie nodded, dropping onto the sofa.

"So - did you find out anything else about Carter? If he's not in the construction business, what does he do?"

"He's a - writer," she said. It was the truth, after all.

"A writer? What's he write? Mystery novels? Romance? Oh, I know, he writes for one of those tabloids about aliens kidnapping people."

Callie laughed. "No. Technical stuff, mostly. For various corporations."

"I guess the explains how he has the time to follow you around to help find out who killed Jonas Wittlebaum."

"After today, Piper had to admit that I could be right about someone else being the killer."

"That's a good thing. Does that mean that you're done trying to prove that Cecilia and her son are innocent?"

"Not really. I don't want to just drop it."

"You're enjoying it, aren't you? Being a detective again, I mean."

"I suppose I am," Callie had to admit. "To tell the truth, I get a little bored working at the restaurant - please don't tell Dad that I said that if you see him. He'd be hurt if he knew."

"You're not giving him enough credit," Allie said. "I think he'd be happy that you're doing something that you enjoy. Would ever consider - going back to the department?"

"No, I don't think so. There are too many memories."

"What would it take for you to become a private detective, then?"

"Oh, no. Me? A private detective? They're - just barely above, say, reporters."

"It would be a way for you to keep investigating crime - and you could help your dad out between cases. You'd be making a difference, which is why you originally said you were going to become a cop." She stood up. "I have to go get ready for my date," she said. "Think about what I said, Callie. You should at least consider it."

"Allie, I can't -"

She grinned, turning toward the door as she sang, "Cal-li-e ca-an't." Opening the door, she said, "Good night."

"Enjoy your date."

The grin turned into a sexy smile. "Oh, I will, trust me."

Once the door closed behind her friend, Callie sat there, thinking about what she had said. A private detective, she mused, shaking her head. "Nope," said said aloud, standing up and going to lock the door before turning off the lights and going to bed.

To Part 4