Carter Jankowski moved through the room, picking up various items of clothing before turning to look at the woman sitting at the desk typing on the keyboard. "We really need to talk about combining households," he said.

"Hmm?" she replied, clearly not listening as she concentrated on what she was writing.

Chuckling, Carter dropped the clothing into a pile near the bathroom door and moved over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind. "Never mind," he told her. "What's so interesting?" he asked, looking at the words as they appeared on the monitor. "Ah. Your report for the Oliver case."

"I told Mrs. Oliver that I would get it to her as soon as possible," she said, taking her hands from the keyboard to wrap them around his arms. "Do you need the computer?"

"No, I sent this week's column in this morning." He dropped a kiss onto her head. "And I can wait to work on the book." While it had been six months since the resolution of Jonas Wittlebaum's murder, Carter had been taking his time on the book that would begin with the death of his father and culminate in Steven Maricopa's suicide. The courts were still dealing with the fallout of the case even now, and he wanted all of the details set before he went too far with writing the book.

Callie started typing again. "I won't be much longer," she told him. "Maybe we should think about getting another computer."

He laughed, going over to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. "For someone who claims not to like working on a computer -"

"I'm getting used to it," she said. "I like being able to edit on the fly. I couldn't do that with a typewriter." Another few clicks, and then she said, "There. Done. Now to save it - and I'll read it over again tonight before I print it out and take it to Mrs. Oliver tomorrow." She pushed the chair back and stood up. "Are you ready to go get dinner?" she asked.

"In a minute," he said, pulling her into his arms for a kiss. "I've been wanting to do that for the last hour."

"I wish you had told me," Callie sighed, her arms around him. "I would have obliged." She kissed him this time. "With pleasure."

"I'll remember that for future reference. Come on. Let's go see what Marty's up to."

"Did you make a reservation this time?" she asked, grabbing her cellphone and putting it into her purse as he opened the sliding door.

"I called. Your dad told me that we didn't need a reservation - that he would make room for us - even if he had to put a table in the kitchen."

As they entered the restaurant, Maria started to slip off of the stool beside the podium. "Don't get up, Maria," Callie said, forestalling her movement.

"Callie. Hi, Carter," she said, waving toward the dining room. "We're busy tonight."

"So I see," Callie nodded. "Dad said that he'd find a spot for us if we came in -"

She pointed to a small table in the corner that most customers didn't seem to like. "How about that one?" she suggested.

"That'll be fine," Carter told her.

"You need menus?"

Callie looked at Carter, who shook his head. "I think we can manage without them."

"I'll send Paul over as soon as he finishes with Table Six."

They had barely sat down when Callie's cellphone began to ring, and she winced. "I'd better answer it," she told Carter. "Sorry. Sweet tea and spagetti with meatballs." Taking the phone out, she pressed the button. "This is Callie Harris, how can I help you?"

"Your agency was recommended by Cissy Wittlebaum," a male voice told her. "She gave me this number. I hope you *can* help me."

Callie reached into her purse to retrieve a pen and notepad. "Who am I speaking with?" she asked.

"My name is Derek Linden. I'm the Curator for Special Projects at the Carrington Art Gallery and Museum. I'm sure you've heard of it -"

The museum was world famous, but Callie simply said, "Of course, Mr. Linden. What seems to be the problem?"

"I don't really want to discuss it over the telephone. Is there any way you and your associate could come to the museum this evening?"

"This evening?"

"I'm the only one here, and I need to make sure that we're not overheard - it's of vital importance that no one else knows about this."

"We're about to have our dinner, Mr. Linden," Callie began.

"Oh, I can wait for you to get here. I have things I can do. When you do arrive, come to the back door of the building and call me back at this number. I'll let you in. Thank you, Mrs. Harris. You have no idea how much this means."

"We'll call as soon as we get there," Callie assured him, making a note of the number on the notepad before putting everything back into her purse.

"So where are we going after dinner?" Carter wanted to know.

"The Carrington Museum," she told him, and saw his surprised reaction. "Apparently the Curator for Special Projects has a problem that he needs us to help with." She picked up her glass of tea. "Cissy recommended us."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least," he told her. "Don't look now, but Marty's on his way over."

Callie, of course, turned to greet her father. "Dad."

He accepted her hug, grinning at Carter. "I hope the table is okay."

"It's fine," Callie assured him. "It's busy."

"There are several conventions in town," he told her. "I had Paul take flyers to all of the hotels in the
area and this is the result. It was Carter's idea," he said.

"Now you're in advertising?" she asked, giving Carter a look.

He shrugged. "I thought it might be a good idea that wouldn't hurt to try."

"Worked pretty well, I'd say," Marty told them. "I'd better hit a few more tables before going back into the kitchen. Don't be a stranger," he told Callie. "I miss seeing your smiling face."

Derek Linden was a middle-aged man with dyed black hair and a thin mustache above an equally thin lip. He greeted Callie and Carter at the back door to the prestigious museum. "Thank you for coming," he told them. "I've been fretting with how best to handle this problem."

"I'm Callie Harris," she told him. "This is my associate, Carter Jankowski." She glanced at Carter, still pleased with herself that she had finally stopped stumbling over the name.

"Mr. Jankowski. Please, let's go this way. We don't have much time before the night cleaning crew arrives. I'd like to get this settled before there's any chance of witnesses."

He led them into a room that he had to unlock before entering. "This is the storeroom for any special showings or projects that the museum is planning," he explained, waving his hand at a collection of paintings set up on easels nearby. "At the moment, we're getting ready to open a showing of paintings by Texas artists."

Callie studied the twelve paintings. "They're very good."

"Surely there are more than twelve Texas artists -" Carter said.

"Of course there are," Linden agreed. "But we looked for the top dozen who have already had successful showings of their work and who have sold at least one of those works for over $5000."

Callie was impressed. "You're saying that these paintings sold for over $5000 dollars?"

"Precisely, Mrs. Harris."

"What is the problem that you need our help with, Mr. Linden?" Carter asked.

"It's very complicated," he sighed, turning to a painting of a woman laying on a beach, horizontal to the water, one leg bent, her head back and an arm across her bare breasts as the sun rose over the ocean. "It involves this work - Belleza al Amanecer by Mateo Almanzo. It was painted on South Padre Island fifteen years ago."

"It's lovely."

"And, unfortunately, a forgery," Linden told them.

Callie's eyes widened. "It's a fake? How do you -"

"This is where the story becomes complicated," he sighed. "We received all of these paintings for the showing over a week ago. On the day the last canvas - this painting - was delivered and placed in this room - to which I have the only key - I had to take several days off due to a personal family matter. I only returned to work yesterday, and set out to get things in order for the showing. I contacted our staff appraiser to have him verify each one."

"And he found that this painting wasn't original?" Carter questioned.

"Yes. I was shocked. The canvas had to have been stolen from here - but there was no sign of anyone having gained access to the room while I was gone."

"Why did it have to be stolen from here?" Callie wanted to know. "What about the owners?"

Linden shook his head, taking a sheaf of papers from a nearby table. "Each painting was appraised by the owner before it was sent to us, Mrs. Harris." He took the top page and held it out to her. "As you can see, that appraiser found it to be authentic."

"Why would you have it re-appraised if it was appraised before coming in?" Carter asked.

"Our insurance requires that any work of art be appraised on site," Linden explained, "no matter when the last appraisal had taken place."

Callie frowned. "Well, since your insurance -"

"That's another part of my problem," Linden interrupted. "During the time I was away from the office, our insurance for special projects lapsed -something about the wrong bank account, I'm not sure about that part."

"So the museum wasn't insured against theft -"

"From the moment this painting arrived until today," Linden confirmed. "The static exhibits are covered by a separate policy. We purchase a new policy for each special project," he explained. "What I would like for the two of you to do is find the original painting and get it back to the museum before the end of week."

"Have you spoken to the owners?" Callie asked.

Linden looked terrified at the idea. "Oh, no. I daren't do any such thing. If Mr. or Mrs. Donovan knew that we - that *I* had lost their painting - I've no doubt that they would file a lawsuit and the reputation of the museum would be in ruin. This *must* be handled with the *utmost* discretion. Now, I believe that I can convince my employers that I have contracted with your company to handle security oversight of the showing. That will give you access to the museum without question - and the ability to talk to the owners of the painting."

"Tell me, Mr. Linden," Callie said, "why would only one painting be stolen? If a thief somehow got in here and stole one, why wouldn't they take all of them?"

"I have no idea, Mrs. Harris. That's what I'm hiring you and Mr. Jankowski to find out."

"The problem I have, Mr. Linden, is that it would be very easy for someone to say that the painting was stolen on our watch," Callie pointed out.

"I will gladly write a statement that the painting was stolen before I hired your agency," Linden told her. "Will that be acceptable?" he asked, looking from one to the other.

"How do you want to handle this?" Callie asked Carter as they drove back toward the loft.

"With only a week to find the painting, we might have to divide and conquer. Which do you want? The owners or the museum?"

"The museum, I think. You're better at asking questions than I am."

"Oh, really?" he grinned. "If that's so, I have a question that I'd like to ask you."

"We weren't talking about me, we were talking about the Donovans," she reminded him.

"Look, Callie, I -"

"Would you rather work at the museum?" she asked.

"No, I'll go talk to Mr. and Mrs. Donovan," he told her. "First thing tomorrow morning."

Back at the loft, Carter went to take a shower while Callie said she was going to read the report on the Oliver case prior to printing it out. But as soon as she heard the water running, she grabbed her cellphone and dialed Allie's number.

"Allie, are you - busy?" Callie asked her friend.

"I'm never too busy to talk to you," Allie said. "How's life as a PI?"

"Well, we have a new case," she said. "But it's very hush hush. I can't discuss it."

"Wow. So why the call?"

"I need a reason to call my best friend?" Callie grinned as she heard Carter singing in the shower.

"No, but at this time of night, I tend to think you might. What's up? Trouble in happy land?"

"Everything's great, but - well, I think Carter's going to ask me to marry him again -"

"Well, you already know that I think you should say yes and marry him." She must have heard Callie's loud sigh as she continued. "Callie, sweetie, you're not cut out to just live with someone. Me, I'm fine with it, but you need stability. Someone you know is always going to be there."

"Until he's not," Callie said.

"Once again, Greg's death wasn't your fault - or his. And maybe it was supposed to happen so you could find Carter. Did you ever consider that? Can you honestly tell me that you haven't been happy since Carter's been part of your life?"

"Of course I'm happy. He's sweet and takes care of me."

"The man loves you, Callie. That's the important part. And I think you love him, too, if you'd just admit it."

Carter stopped singing, which meant he was almost finished. "I have to go. Thanks. Any news on your front?"

"I'm happy, too. How about meeting me for lunch tomorrow?"

"I'll try. I'll call you."

"Bye."

Callie hung up the phone just as the water stopped in the shower, glad that she had pulled the report up before talking to Allie. Glancing through it quickly, she sent it to the printer as Carter came out of the bathroom. "Almost done," she told him.

Barefoot, he walked over to the printer, waiting for it to finish. "You misspelled a word," he told her.

"What word?"

"Exemplary," he said. "It's two e's, one a, not one e and two a's."

"I know that," she told him, finding the word in the document. "How did I miss that?" she asked herself as she corrected it.

"Probably because you were talking to Allie on the phone."

"How did you -?"

"I got out of the shower to ask you something, and heard you talking, so I decided not to ask."

She winced. "Oh. Well, Allie called -"

"How's she doing?" he asked, taking the papers from the printer as he waited for the corrected version.

"I called her," Callie admitted, and Carter looked up with a knowing smile. "I needed to talk to her about - something."

He nodded, bringing the report to her. "Here you go."

Callie signed two copies, taking one and putting it into a folder. "I'll drop this by Mrs. Oliver's house on the way to the museum in the morning." Standing up, she said, "I'll go take my shower now."

"See? If you hadn't been on the phone, you wouldn't have to do that," Carter said.

"Tomorrow night," she said, pausing to give him a kiss.

Sitting down at the computer, Carter told her, "I'm going to write til you get finished." As she entered the bathroom, he called, "Or I might call Allie to talk about - something."

"You're funny," she told him, closing the door behind her.

****

Callie delivered the report to Mrs. Oliver and then drove to the Carrington. At the door, she told the young woman sitting at a desk that she had been hired by Mr. Linden to check security for a special project. Smiling, the well-dressed woman picked up the phone. "Mr. Linden? There's a Mrs. Harris here -" she paused and glanced up at Callie. "Yes, sir." Hanging up the phone, she said, "He said that you should go to the storeroom - down the hallway. It's the last doorway on the right."

"Thank you, Miss -"

"*Ms.* Jamison," she said.

As Callie moved down the hallway, she glanced back to see a man speaking to Ms. Jamison in a rather earnest fashion as the woman shook her head, waving him back to wherever he had been before approaching her.

"Oh, Mrs. Harris," Derek Linden said when she entered the storeroom. "I was thinking about calling to find out where you might be - where is your associate?"

"He's talking to Mrs. Donovan," she told the man.

"Oh, dear, oh dear," Linden said. "I do hope that he doesn't -"

"Trust me, Mr. Linden. Mr. Jankowski can be very discreet. He's going to speak to several of the owners of the paintings under the ruse of needing information for use in the exhibit from them about how they came to own their canvases, why they bought them, and how they feel when they look at them."

"Oh. I suppose that will be all right. It might even be something that I can incorporate into the showing."

Callie hid her smile as she asked, "Why don't you show me the room where the exhibit will be held and answer some questions about other museum employees?

"Which employees?" he wanted to know, leading her from the storeroom, pausing to lock it behind them.

She nodded toward the front desk. "Ms. Jamison for a start. How long has she worked here?"

"About a year, I think. Yes. She's a college student, studying art history, I believe."

"There was a man who went over to talk to her when I came toward the storeroom," Callie said. "He was wearing a dark blue blazer - dark brown hair -"

"That could be several people," Linden told her. "The blue blazer is part of the uniform for the men who work in the galleries. Most of them are quite taken with Ms. Jamison due to the fact that she's attractive."

"How difficult would it be for me to see the personnel files for museum?" Callie asked as they entered a small room with a skylight.

"I believe I can manage that. I'll have them for you by this afternoon. This is the room where we do the small special projects. The wires from the light fixtures on the wall all go to the hanger. Once turned on, if the painting is removed from the hanger, an alarm sounds."

"What about the skylight?" Callie asked.

"Each panel has a thin metal thread every six inches that is electrified and tied into the alarm system. Cut any one of them, and a silent alarm is activated which summons both the museum security guards and the police."

"Where is the cut off for the alarm systems?"

"In a room near the back door," he told her. "Mrs. Harris, you realize that the -" he looked around and lowered his voice before continuing, "that the painting is already missing - "

"Which is why I want to look at the personnel files, Mr. Linden," she told him. "You were gone, so possibly one of them somehow gained access to the storeroom and switched the original painting with the forgery. The rest of this is simply - window dressing since I'm *supposed* to be looking over your security measures, remember?"

"Of course. If you'll wait here, I'll go to our Personnel office to ask them to gather the information for you."

Carter drove up to the speaker at the end of the drive and pressed the button. "Hello?" a woman's voice said.

"My name is Carter Jankowski," he said. "Mr. Linden at the Carrington Museum asked me to drop by to get some information about your painting that they're about to show -"

"What sort of information?"

"Just - background information," he said. "I'm talking to all of the owners of the paintings included in the exhibit -"

"Come on up," she said, and the gates began to open.

He parked the car near the front door and grabbed his notebook, studying the white, columned mansion. While the Wittlebaum estate wasn't far from here, this house was far more ostentatious, he thought - something that was confirmed when a uniformed maid opened the door as he approached and ushered him into a marble-floored entry hall.

"Mrs. Donovan is out at the pool," she told him. "Follow me, please."

Penelope Donovan was *in* the pool, her arms resting on the edge as she watched them come out of the house. "Thank you, Rose," she told the maid. "That will be all for now."

Rose nodded and returned to the house, leaving Carter alone with her employer. "Forgive me for meeting you here, Mr - "

"Jankowski," he told her. "Carter Jankowski. And it's perfectly all right."

"I always begin my day with a swim," she told him, and Carter realized that he hadn't imagined the heavy southern accent that he'd heard over the speaker. Smiling, she moved over to the ladder, and pulled herself from the water - revealing that she wasn't wearing a bathing suit. She moved - glided, really - toward him, and Carter grabbed the silk robe hanging over the back of a chair, holding it as she slipped her arms into it. The silk clung to her wet body, giving her scant coverage, and she laughed. "I hope I didn't shock you, - Carter."

He smiled as she sat down in a chair beside a glass topped table and picked up a glass of what he assumed to be wine. "Not at all, Mrs. Donovan."

"Oh, please, considering that you've seen me in the - altogether - why don't you call me Penny? All of my friends do." She smiled, sitting back in her chair. "Would you care for some wine? It's from a little ol' winery right here in Texas."

"Not at the moment," Carter told her. "Maybe later. You have a very nice - house, Penny."

"Thank you. I was lucky to be able to keep it. Andrew tried his best to take it from me. He said that I didn't need such a big place after the divorce. But I simply reminded him that I love to have parties. You'll have to come to my next party. I'm sure you'd enjoy yourself."

"I'm sure I would," he told her. "But my partner might not agree."

"Your - partner?"

"She's a homebody, prefers to stay in."

"That's sad. But maybe you could convince her to join us? The more the merrier is what I always say." She punctuated the statement with a giggle.

"As much as I hate to do it, I have other people to meet - if I could get some background on when you and your husband bought the painting in question."

"Oh, well, I convinced Andrew to actually buy it ten years ago. But I'd wanted it for years before that. I'm the woman in the painting, after all."

"You're the woman on the beach?"

She smiled at his surprise. "Andrew and I used to spend our summers down in South Texas. If you were lucky, you could find an empty stretch of sand early in the morning, and I'd go out there and take off my clothes for a quick swim as the sun was rising. One day, when I was laying on the beach after swimming, I saw a man painting. When I moved, he told me not to, that he wasn't finished. Mateo was such a dear man. And *very* Latin." She waved a hand as if she were suddenly hot and grinned. "I told him later that it was a good thing that he wasn't able to paint what happened later. Andrew was jealous enough as it was."

"So your husband -"

"Ex-husband, dear," Penny corrected. "Oh yes, Andrew is quite aware that Mateo painted me in the nude. He was furious when I agreed to let the museum show it. He'd kept it locked away here at the house, where absolutely *no one* could see it. When I get it back, I'm going to hang it over the mantle in the living room for everyone who comes in to see." Stretching her legs out in front of her, she tilted her head back as she had on the beach that day and untied the robe, letting it fall open. "I just adore the feel of the sunlight on my skin," she purred.

Carter stood, closing the notepad. "Well, as I said, I do have other stops to make - I'm not sure how much of this we can use for the exhibit -"

"Use all of it," Penny told him. "I don't care who knows about it. I have nothing to be ashamed of -" she brought her head up and looked at him. "Don't you agree?"

When Mr. Linden returned with the personnel files, Callie was standing in the hallway, and pointed to the man talking to Ms. Jamison. "That's the man I wanted to ask about," she told him, leading him back into the exhibit room.

"Oh, let me see -" he flipped through the papers in his hand before handing one of them to her. "That's his file. Jerome has been working for the museum for five years. He mostly hangs and removes artwork - He'll likely help when it comes time to place the canvases for this exhibit." He held the paper out for her to take.

Callie studied the information. "I'll make some checks on these this afternoon," she said, taking the other papers from him. "And I'd like for information about your security company as well."

"You'll be -" he began as he turned to write a number on the back of a business card.

"Discretion is our watchword, Mr. Linden," she assured him. "Who should I ask for when I call this number?"

"Larry Kelso. It's his agency. Just tell him that I asked you for the audit."

"Larry Kelso," Callie repeated thoughtfully. "I'll call him as soon as I leave here," she said. After saying that she would be back later in the day, Callie took her leave. Sitting in her car, she called Allie, leaving a message on her friend's phone that she would meet her at Son Ching's for lunch. Then, taking out the card, she called information to get the address for Kelso Security Systems.

Starting the Jeep, she headed in that direction.

The building wasn't very big, but Callie could see several patrol cars parked in an area behind it with KSS painted on the doors. Inside, she found a blonde haired woman sitting at a desk. "May I help you?" she asked.

"I'd like to see Larry Kelso," Callie told her, not at all surprised by the buxom woman's presence. Larry had always liked blondes with ample measurements.

"Mr. Kelso is quite busy," she said. "May I tell him who wants to see him?"

"Tell him it's Callie Harris."

The woman glared at Callie as she used a pen to press the button on the intercom instead of her freshly manicured long nails. "Mr. Kelso, there's someone out here who wants to see you -"

"Who is it, Margie?" Larry asked.

"Callie Harris," Margie said.

Barely a second later, the door behind Margie was flung open and Larry Kelso appeared. "Callie?" He came over to take her hands. "I can't believe it!" Neither, apparently, could Margie, who was frowning in disapproval. "You look wonderful! How are you doing? I was really sorry to hear about Greg - And that you quit the force right after -"

"Same old Larry," Callie said, laughing over his comments about Greg and her quitting. "Talking a mile a minute. I still don't understand why you and Allie never got along."

"Maybe because we both like to talk," he said. "How's she doing?"

"You know Allie. She never changes. Can we talk, Larry?" she asked, glancing in Margie's direction.

"Sure." He guided her toward his office. "Hold my calls, Margie."

"*Sure*," Margie said, seeming to deliberately echo Callie. Larry paused, leaning over the desk.

"Hey, she's an old friend from the police force. Nothing like that. You know you're my only girl, baby."

"Some things never change," Callie said as he closed the door behind them.

"Right now, she *is* my only girl," he insisted, indicating a chair. "Have a seat. I'd like to hope that you're here looking for a job, but -"

"I had no idea that you had opened a security company until this morning," she told him, taking a business card from her purse and sliding it across the desk toward him.

"HJ Investigations," he read. "So you got your private ticket. Come to think about it, I do recall reading a story about you finding a murderer awhile back. So I'm going to guess this is about a case you're working on."

"It is. For Mr. Linden at the Carrington Museum."

"He told me that he was having our security measures audited by another company." He grinned. "Had no idea it would be you doing it. So what do you want to know?"

"I'd like a full rundown of how you're handling security for the museum to begin with."

"For the entire museum? Not just the special projects?"

"The whole thing," she confirmed. "Just humor me, Larry. I have my reasons."

He stood up and went to a file cabinet. "We keep these cabinets locked at night. I open them up when I get here."

"You have the only key?"

"There's one in a safety deposit box in case I lose mine, but that's it." He pulled out a folder. "Here it is." He sat down again, opening the file. "We have an armed officer on premises every day while the museum is open. After hours, there's an alarm system that is armed by the last person out of the building, and the building is physically checked every three hours - unless there's a special project, and then we have another guard in the exhibit room at the door, and the patrol is every hour."

"Are the patrols done on a set schedule, then?"

"We try not to, but sometimes it's inevitable. The patrol uses a clock to log their visit."

"Is there any way that someone could get into the building once the alarm is set?"

"Without setting it off and bringing both us and the police out?" He shook his head. "No. Not unless someone knew the code and had a key for one of the doors. And those aren't just given out like candy."

"I didn't think they were," she said.

"If I was a suspicious person, I'd think that maybe something was missing -"

"Just doing what I was hired to do," she told him. "You know that I can't -"

"You can't divulge a client's confidence," he finished. "Okay. I can take you to the security officers who have done the patrols -"

"Speaking of, have you made any new hires in the last week to two weeks?"

"Nope. I haven't hired anyone in six months. I trust all of my employees, Callie. They're good at their jobs. Most of them are ex-cops. They've all been thoroughly checked - no problems in their backgrounds."

"I'll take your word for it, then, Larry. And if I decide that I need to talk to any of them, I'll let you know."

He picked up the card again. "Okay, the H is you. Who is J?"

"Carter Jankowski. He's a writer who helped me with the Wittlebaum case. He already had a PI license in Colorado, and when I decided to go for mine, he agreed to go into business with me."

"Are you and he -?" Callie's smile gave him the answer, and he laughed. "I'm glad. I worried about you. You're not the type of woman who should be alone."

"Really?"

"Some women thrive on being single. Like your friend Allie. Alone, but not alone."

"I could say the same thing about a few men that I know," Callie told him.

"What about your partner - Carter?"

"No, I don't think he's like that. He was married several years ago. His wife died."

"See? You're perfect for each other. Me, I'm still looking for that perfect match. I'm sure Allie is, too."

"I'll ask her when we meet for lunch," she told him, standing up. "Well, I'll let you go so that you can get back to whatever you were doing before I arrived."

"Keep in touch," he said, opening the door for her. "And if you ever need a security company -"

"You'll be the first person I call," she promised, shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you, Margie," she told the receptionist. "Keep him in line."

"That's a full time job," Margie replied, still glaring at her boss as Callie left the office.

Glancing back through the glass door, she saw Larry lean over and place a kiss on Margie's lips. Callie grinned, shaking her head as she got into the Jeep and started the engine. While taking out her keys, she noticed a missed call on her phone and listened to Allie’s voicemail.

"Hey, it’s Allie. Can’t make lunch today. Mr. Johansen called a mandatory meeting. Sorry. Talk to you later."

Sighing, Callie turned toward the loft – hoping that Carter would be there so they could share lunch while discussing what each had found.

"Hi there!" Carter said as she entered the loft, getting up from the sofa to give her a kiss. "I thought you were having lunch with Allie?"

"She had a meeting and couldn’t get away. So you get to share lunch with me."

"I’ll get you a sandwich," he told her. "Did you find out anything this morning?" he asked as he worked in the kitchen.

She held up two file folders. "All kinds of things. How did your meeting go with Mrs. Donovan?"

"It was - interesting," he said with a grin. "You're *not* going to believe it."

While eating lunch, Callie listened as Carter recounted his visit with Penny Donovan. Once he finished, she laughed. "I don't doubt a word of it. You should have seen some of the things I used to see when I was working with the department. We got called one time to a house where the couple who lived there was fighting. When we arrived, we found them both naked as the day they were born. They were dedicated nudists, and he was jealous of her having talked to someone at the camp they had visited the day before. She insisted that he was a prude."

Carter chuckled. "At least Penny Donovan invited both of us to one of her parties," he told her.

"No thank you," Callie told him. "Of course, if you'd like to go -"

"Not without you," he said, concentrating on gathering the plates and other debris from lunch. "What did you find out?"

"Mr. Linden is terrified that someone's going to find out about the painting being missing. I'm not sure he trusts us to be properly discreet." She pulled out the personnel file. "The receptionist, a *Ms.* Jamison seemed very friendly with a worker named Jerome Billings. And Mr. Billings seemed very interested in my arrival. I'm going to check them both out this afternoon."

Carter studied the employee pages – complete with a photo. "The question is still if he - or anyone else - could have gotten into the storeroom and taken the original, replacing it with the copy."

"According to the security company, no. And Mr. Linden has the only key to that room other than one in his safety deposit box."

"What did you think of the security company?"

"Kelso Security Systems," Callie told him. "The owner is Larry Kelso. He was a good cop - got shafted big time and quit."

"You knew him?"

She nodded. "He was one of Greg's best friends. Larry and I shared a patrol car for almost a year after Greg and I were married. He and Allie went out a few times."

"How did he get shafted?"

Callie took a deep breath as she recalled the incident. "We were on a routine patrol when we were dispatched to a robbery at a liquor store. The store was dark when we got there - and Larry told me to go around back in case the thieves tried to escape that way. I was near the corner of the building when I heard two shots - Entering the back door, I found Larry standing over the dead body of a young man - there was no sign of a gun."

"You said you heard two shots -"

"Larry only fired once - after he was fired upon. The boy was barely eighteen."

"Ouch."

She nodded. "They didn't find the gun - or the bullet that the boy fired at Larry. The store owner said that he hadn't seen a gun - but that there *might* have been one in the boy's jacket. He was very nervous, and insisted that it was due to his having been robbed several times over the previous year. With no gun, and a dead boy, and only my testimony about hearing two shots, they gave Larry the option of being indicted or resigning."

"And he resigned."

"Yeah. Greg wasn't happy about it. A year later, the store owner died from cancer - and his wife brought a letter in that he had written and put into a safety deposit box. The boy *did* have a gun - he used it during the robbery. When Larry went into that store, another robber was hiding behind the counter with a gun on the man - whispered to him to keep quiet. The boy had tossed the gun away after being shot - and his partner grabbed it and waited until the crowd began to gather to come out and hang around to make sure the old man kept quiet."

"Did they catch the partner?"

"They did. The old man knew him from the neighborhood. They offered Larry his job back, but he turned it down."

"I'm not sure I blame him."

"Greg didn't, either. It was right after that that I got my gold shield."

Carter reached out to take her hand in his. "Lots of memories from seeing him today, I guess."

"A few. Not all of them are bad, though. I learned a lot from him. And he saved my life more than once."

"Well, then, I'm grateful to him for that." He sighed. "I have an appointment to meet *Mr.* Donovan at his office and get his statement about the painting, so I need to go, but -"

"Go. I have research to do and verification of background checks - I'm fine. Really."

He grabbed a sports-jacket from the table, then stopped to give her another kiss. "Gino's for dinner tonight?" he suggested.

"I'll call and make the reservation," she told him, smiling. "Have fun."

"Uh huh," he grunted as he opened the door and then closed it behind him.

"I'm sure that I don't need to tell you, Mr. Jan-"

"Call me Carter," Carter said as Andrew Donovan paused, obviously not sure about the last name.

"I'm sure that I don't need to tell you that my wife is crazy," he declared, shaking his head. "That is one reason why I'm divorcing her."

"She made it sound as though the divorce was a fait accompli," Carter told him.

Donovan snorted in disgust. "She wishes. She thinks that I owe her all of my property and money instead of just half of it. And half is still more than -" he stopped. "I'm sorry. Penny tends to trigger my anger these days. Please, Mr. J-" He actually smiled. "Carter. Have a seat."

Andrew Carter was the head of a large architectural firm that had designed high-rise buildings all over the world. Raised in the Dallas area, he had chosen to keep his base of operations in the area, even after marrying a former Miss Alabama winner.

"Now, you said that you wanted to discuss how I came to purchase Mateo Almanzo's canvas 'Beauty at Sunrise', am I right?"
"Yes, sir. I'm collecting background material on all of the paintings that are to be shown by the Carrington -"

"I told her that I didn't want her to show that thing. I'm not even sure it was worth the money I paid for it. But when Penny insisted that she was the woman laying nude on that beach, I decided I had to keep everyone else from drooling over the damned thing, if no other reason. It was only after I purchased it that I finally met the artist himself. And what he told me -"

"You met Mateo Almanzo?"

"Yes. Less than a week after I bought the painting, I came home and found him with Penny - luckily for them both, there didn't seem to be anything going on, but - well, even he admitted that they had been lovers." He drew a deep breath, as though trying to calm down. "He also told me - privately - that it wasn't Penny on that beach, but another woman."

"Did he say who it was?"

"No. He said that he would rather that the public believe it was Penny if necessary. When I said I would tell Penny what he'd said, he laughed and said that she wouldn't believe me."

"And he died soon after that, I believe."

"If he died. He walked into the ocean at the place where he had painted his first and best work. His body was never recovered."

Back in his car, Carter read through the notes he'd just taken, including the fact that there had still been a photo of Penny on her soon-to-be ex-husband's desk. Donovan was still in love with her - but he wasn't happy about her infidelity and absolute joy in shocking people. Carter would have suspected him of having substituted the forgery for the real painting, but that wouldn't have done a thing - especially if Penny announced that she was the woman in the painting. There was more to all of this. Something he was missing.

Shaking his head, he went to meet with the owners of several other paintings - just to keep up the fiction that the museum was getting information from them all.

Callie, meanwhile, found out that Jerome Billings was from Brownsville, that he had come to Dallas a few months before going to work for the Carrington Museum. His employment application stated that he had worked at the university museum in that city.

The university confirmed that information, telling Callie that he had been an art history major, and had graduated with a degree in that field. "So why is he working as a laborer?" she wondered aloud. Mr. Billings had some questions to answer.

Ms. Jamison was still studying for her degree at a local college, so Callie didn't think there was any connection. Besides, if she was any judge, she didn't think the younger woman was smart enough to be involved in the theft of a painting. But she would talk to her tomorrow morning anyway, just in case the receptionist had hidden depths that Callie had somehow missed.

Carter returned and told her about his conversation with Andrew Donovan. "What time is our reservation at Gino's?" he asked, sitting down at the computer.

"Seven," she answered, watching as he typed something into the search bar. "What are you doing?"

"Seven," he said, glancing at his watch. "Good. I have time to find a number and make a call."

"A call to who?" she wanted to know. "The Brownsville Ledger?"

"I need the number of a contact that Uncle Simon told me about - he might know something about Almanzo's supposed suicide." He pulled up contact information and scanned it. "Ah. There it is." Taking out his notebook, he wrote a name and number.

Callie read over his shoulder. "Tony Garcia. He knew your uncle?"

"I don't think they ever met, but do you remember that story in Simon Says about the drug cartels in Mexico and the havoc they were creating at the Texas border?"

"I think so. It was a warning about what might happen if the cartels moved north."

"That's the one. He got some of the information from Garcia."

Callie's hands fell on his shoulders. "Will you be long?" she asked.

He grabbed her hand and looked up at her. "Hard to say. Why?"

"No reason," she said, bending over to give him a kiss. "It can wait."

Carter pushed the chair back and pulled her around him and into his lap. "You sure about that?" he asked. "The call can wait. You can't."

She put her arms around his neck. "We only have a week to find that painting," she reminded him. "And I *can* wait." But she kissed him again.

"Do you realize what today is?" he asked.

"Um, Tuesday?" she asked. When he shook his head, she told him the date. Another shake of the head.

"Six months ago, we solved the Wittlebaum case," he told her. "And -" he prompted.

Callie smiled. "We slept together," she told him.

Carter shook his head again before giving her another kiss. "We made love."

Taking a deep breath, Callie asked, "Has it been six months?"

"You know it has." He gave her a quick kiss. "Now, why don't you go put on your prettiest dress?" he suggested. "And once I make the call, I'll get ready and we'll celebrate six months of being together."

She smiled and nodded, sliding off of his legs and to her feet. "I'm going to take a quick shower," she told him, moving toward the bathroom.

"Don't use all the hot water," he told her. "I need to take one as well." He grabbed the phone and dialed Tony Garcia's number, only to be told that Garcia was out of the office for the rest of the day. Sighing, he hung up and started unbuttoning his shirt as he went toward the bathroom. Tapping on the door, he opened it, entering the small room.

"What about your call?" Callie asked, looking over the shower door.

"He's out for the day," he told her. "So I figured we'd just share the hot water after all," he told her, opening the door to join her.

"We need to talk," Carter told her as they finished dessert.

"About the case?" she asked, hearing the serious undertone in his voice.

"No." He leaned forward, reaching over to cover her hand with his. "Not about the case. About us."

"Us?" she repeated, staring at the nearly empty pie plate before her.

"Us. As in you and me. We need to make some decisions - such as were we're going to live. We've been spending most of the time at the loft - so much that the last time we went to your condo, -"

She finally looked up at him with a grin. "I don't think Mr. Grenshaw will make that mistake again. He was very embarrassed when he found out that you were my boyfriend and not someone up trying to sneak into the building."

"The point is, we need to stay in one place or the other. It doesn't matter to me, really. As long as we can find a place for my books, I'm good. And I'm sure you'd be more comfortable at your place -"

"Not really. And I'm not sure that we could put enough bookshelves in the condo for your books."

"You'd have more privacy at the condo," he told her.

"Who says I want privacy?"

"Callie, I'm talking about our moving in together - and once you stop running from any hint of the question - maybe getting married."

"It's only been six months."

"And how long did you tell me you knew Greg before you married him?"

Her gaze fell again. "Six months," she confirmed.

The waitress appeared, asking if they wanted anything else, and Carter said no, then paid the bill. "I think we need to finish this at home," he told Callie, standing up and holding out his hand to her.

She took his hand and let him pull her to her feet before they left the restaurant.

Carter closed the sliding door, fastening the locks, as Callie wandered over to the sofa and sat down. The drive back to the loft had been quiet, with only cursory conversation about traffic and the weather, as though they both knew any other conversation would take them down an uncertain path.

Joining Callie, Carter said, "I know that you have some reservations about marriage because of the trouble with Greg just before his death -"

"Carter -"

He lifted his hand. "Let me finish, please. I won't pretend to understand why Greg reacted the way he did to your promotion - but I'd like to think I would have been proud of what you had accomplished, and I would have been there to support you that day instead of halfway across town. That choice was what got him killed - not your success." He finally took her hand, lifting her face to look at her. "After Lana died, I resigned myself to never finding anyone else that I could love that much. I was determined to devote myself to my career and follow in Uncle Simon's footsteps. Then I met you. And I realized that all of my plans had suddenly been thrown into total disarray. What I'm trying to say is that I'm in love with you."

"May I talk now?" she asked.

"Please," he told her with a soft laugh.

"Like you, after Greg died and I resigned from the police department, I had decided that I never wanted to get that close to anyone again. That I would live my life working for my dad, spending time with Allie - and be content with that. I know now that I was just - marking time until the next phase of my life. I think that began the day I met you in Jonas Wittlebaum's office. I - I do think that I'm in love with you, too. But - I need just a *little* more time. I hope you understand."

"As long as you're not saying 'never in a million years', I'll survive," was his reply. "But that still leaves us with the question of where -"

She reached over and touched his cheek. "Here," she told him. "The lease is almost up on my condo - so it makes sense. Now that we've finished our conversation -" she moved closer and kissed him. "Let's get to the good stuff, shall we?"

"Anything you say, love," he told her, pressing her back onto the sofa.

"You're Simon Tate's nephew?" Tony Garcia said, and Carter clearly heard the uncertainty.

"Yes. Carter Jankowski. I've taken over the column."

"So why call my office number? Simon had my private number -"

"I have it as well, but I wasn't sure that you would answer a call from an unknown caller. This isn't strictly a newspaper matter - I need some information about a suicide that took place off of South Padre Island around ten years ago for an investigation I'm doing."

"That statement begs further explanation, but I'll let it pass for now. What suicide?"

"Mateo Almanzo."

"The artist? That was a can of worms. His best known work had just been sold for an outrageous sum of money when he left a note on the beach with his clothing and left footprints leading into the surf."

"His body was never found, right?"

"Not a sign," Tony confirmed. "Let me pull it up on the computer. Okay, here we go. Yes, the body was never found, which is unusual. The tide should have brought it back to the shore at some point further down the coast."

"What happened to his other paintings?" Carter asked.

"You know as well as I do what happens when a painter dies - or appears to die. The price of all of his remaining canvases skyrocketed. The Donovans were lucky to have bought Belleza al Amanecer when they did. It's worth at least twice what they paid for it."

"Who got the money from the sale of his work?"

"His wife got the money - minus gallery/agent commissions, of course."

Carter frowned. "Almanzo was married?"

"Margarite. They were separated at the time that he went missing, but still legally married."

"Margarite Almanzo," Carter said, writing the name down.

"You know, this story would be a good one for the column - artist having affair with another woman apparently commits suicide, leaving his wife a widow who inherits the windfall from his paintings."

"I might consider it," Carter told him. "After I finish what I'm doing now - you wouldn't happen to know how I could contact Mrs. Almanzo, would you?"

"Well, it says here that she was going to move back to Matamoros after the funeral. Let me see if I can find Almanzo's agent's name - you ready?"

"Shoot." Carter wrote the name and number down. "Thanks. And I promise to explain what's going on when I can."

"Heck, I was used to Simon's questions. Sometimes they made sense, sometimes they didn't. But the man was good at what he did. And I might as well say that I've been impressed with what you've done with the column since he died. Cold cases and uplifting stories are better for the way the newspaper business is heading."

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

"Next time, use my private line - I'll make note of your number so I'll know who it is. Good luck with whatever it is that you're doing."

"Thanks."

Carter hung up and dialed the number for the artist's agency that handled Mateo's work to try and get some kind of contact information for Mrs. Almanzo.

Callie yawned as she entered the front door of the Carrington. She hadn't gotten much sleep, but she was in too good of a mood to let it get her down. Giving the receptionist a huge smile, she said "Good morning, Miss - forgive me - Ms. Jamison." She corrected herself as the younger woman opened her mouth to object. Callie paused and braced her hands on the desk, lowering her voice. "Tell you what - why don't I just call you by your first name and we start over? Mine's Callie."

Ms. Jamison stared at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Inez," she said at last. "But everyone here calls me Ms. Jamison."

"Well, then perhaps we'll start something new," Callie suggested. "Why don't we have lunch together? I'm sure we'll find out that we have more in common than you think we do."

"I have plans," Inez told her. When Callie shrugged, the woman said, "Maybe, tomorrow? If - if you're still here then."

"Oh, I'll be around until the Texas artists showing opens, at least. Tomorrow it is, then. Is Mr. Linden in his office?"

"I believe that he's in the special projects gallery."

"Thank you," Callie replied, making silent note of Jerome Billings standing in the opening to the main gallery, covertly watching them talk. At the door into the smaller gallery, she stopped and glanced back to watch as Billings crossed over to Inez's desk to talk to her in a quiet voice. Continuing into the gallery, she found Derek Linden making notes in a small book as he went from one spot to the other along the wall. "Good morning, Mr. Linden," she said, surprised when he jumped. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"I'm just nervous," he told her. "All of this - uncertainty about -" he glanced toward the still open doorway and lowered his voice, "are you making *any* progress?"

"A little. What are you doing?"

"Trying to decide the best place for each painting," he explained. "I had thought to place them in alphabetical order, but when I look at them in the store room, I realize that it would place a still life next to a modern art - the two clash terribly. Did you speak to Mr. and Mrs. Donovan?" he wanted to know.

"Mr. Jankowski spoke to them," she confirmed. "Mrs. Donovan told him a most - interesting story about the painting."

"Indeed?"

"She told Carter that she's the woman on the beach."

"Oh my goodness. Perhaps she had it stolen -"

"No, she's perfectly fine with it being shown - and with everyone knowing about her connection to the artist." She paced across the gallery. "Did you ever meet Mateo Almanzo?"

"Once. At a showing of his work in Houston a few months before his death."

"Ten years ago, then."

"Yes. He got his start by selling paintings of people in parks around south Texas. I'm sure you've seen something similar - an artist, working on a real work, is asked by an onlooker if they can do a painting or a sketch of that person. Most of the time, the work isn't very good. But since his death some of those works have been sold for upwards of $5000."

"You have no doubts that he really is dead?"

Linden turned to look at her. "Of course he is. He wouldn't have stayed out of the limelight if he were alive." He shook his head. "Mateo enjoyed being the focus of everyone's attention. Especially the attention of the ladies. His name was linked to a good many wealthy women who became his - patrons," he finished, his tone one of distaste for what he was implying.

"So the woman on the beach could have been any one of those - patrons," Callie mused.

"I thought you said that Mrs. Donovan -"

"I said that she *believes* that she is - but her husband said that Mateo told him that it wasn't Penny, that it was someone else. He refused to say who the woman was, and said that it was fine with *him* if everyone thought it was Penny Donovan."

"Goodness. Yes, I suppose it could be any number of women - but from what I remember hearing, Mrs. Donovan was one of his earliest patrons, around the time that he said he had painted Belleza al Amanecer."

"I doubt we'll ever know the truth, since he's dead."

"You're probably right. There's not enough detail in the painting to identify the woman."

"I suppose it's the detective in me - wanting to solve a mystery," she said. "Mr. Linden, do all of the helpers in the galleries have a degree in art?"

"I think a few of them do - art or art history. They're all looking to move up one day, I think."

"Take your job, you mean?" Callie questioned.

He sighed heavily. "That might happen sooner rather than later if you don't find that painting."

"I see. Well, I suppose that means Jerome Billings working as a laborer isn't unusual," she told him.

"He does much more than hang paintings and set artwork in the statuary wing. Do you think that- perhaps - he might have stolen the painting in the hope that it would be discovered and he could take my position?" Linden questioned, sounding slightly paranoid.

"Oh, I don't -"

"He's very bright. And he's the only one who's been here long enough to be able to handle the job."

"Mr. Linden," Callie said, trying again to slow down his slide into full-blown paranoia.

"He watches me, you know. I've seen him -"

Callie placed a hand on his arm to force him to focus on her face. "Mr. Linden. I don't know that Mr. Billings has anything to do with the theft. I have no proof -"

"Of course," he nodded, looking ashamed of his outburst. "Forgive me. This has me more than a little rattled."

"It's going to be okay, Mr. Linden," she assured him. "Why don't you go wash your face and take a few moments to regain control? And then I think I'd like to see the painting itself again, if that's okay."

"I'll be right back," he told her, and left the room, leaving Callie to wander around, studying the walls.

There were lights over the places where the paintings would hang, with a connector from each one that would be fastened to the painting as Mr. Linden had explained the previous day. She reached up to touch one of the connectors when a voice cautioned, "I wouldn't do that."

Callie turned to see Jerome Billings standing in the doorway. "Why not?"

"The bulb in that fixture burned out and hasn't been replaced," he explained, coming further into the room. "It could still be on, and if you touched that connector, it would give you a nasty shock - and probably set off the alarm for the room."

"I would have thought that the bulb would have been replaced immediately," she said.

"We knew that the gallery was going to be empty, so we decided to wait." He held out his hand. "Jerome Billings."

"Callie Harris," she told him, shaking his hand.

She watched as he reached up to turn the switch on the fixture. "There. Now it's safe to examine. I heard you were here to audit security for the showing."

"You heard correctly," she told him.

"Kelso Security has been handling our security. Is there a problem?"

Callie smiled. "No. Mr. Linden just wanted an extra layer of security for the exhibit. You'll have to ask him about his reasons."

"He seems a bit nervous lately, so I think I'll pass on that," Jerome told her as Mr. Linden returned.

Seeing who was with Callie, his face hardened slightly. "I thought you were working in the main gallery today, Jerome?"

"He happened by and stopped me from electrocuting myself," Callie told him as she crossed the gallery. "I'll explain later. Shall we go to the storage room?"

Callie stood staring at the painting, taking in every detail on the canvas, glad that she had taken that semester of art appreciation in college to fill in her hours. The focus of the work was clearly the woman, laying back in the sand. Her right arm was raised over her head, while her left arm was across her breasts, effectively covering them from view. Her dark hair was spread out on the sand, and her left leg was bent at the knee in a pretense of modesty. Just above her, the sun was perched on the distant horizon, casting a bright glow back toward the woman, as though it might be reaching out to touch such beauty.

"I'm still not sure why you wanted to look at it again," Mr. Linden said. "There's absolutely nothing there to give a hint as to the woman's identity. As for the location - it's well known that the artist chose that exact spot to take his final walk into the sea - at sunset, by the way."

"Really?" Callie questioned. "So he came full circle, in way. Starting his career with a sunrise, and ending it with a sunset."

"I hadn't considered it that way," Mr. Linden replied, looking thoughtful. "But you're right. Rather - poetic, wasn't it?"

Something finally caught Callie's eye as she continued to look at the painting, and she moved closer. "Do you have a magnifying glass or -"

"I believe there's one in this cabinet," he told her, moving to retrieve the item. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

"There's a boat at sea. A sail boat, I believe." She stepped back, handing the glass to him.

"There is. Funny how I've never noticed before."

"Most people wouldn't - all they see is the woman on the beach and the sun." She took the glass again and examined the small object. "Looks like it's red and white with red sails."

"That's very unusual. I'm not much of a sailor, but I'm not sure that I've ever seen a sailboat with that color scheme." He shook his head. "Do you think it could have something to do with the case?" He paced away from the painting. "Do you realize that the showing begins on Monday? That's only four days and we still have no idea where the original painting is! The publicity for the opening has already gone out - without this painting we'll be crucified in the media! And *I* will be out of a job!"

Callie maintained her calm exterior in the face of his agitation as she turned to look at him. "Mr. Linden, you gave us six days. It's only been two. Trust us. We'll find your missing masterpiece."

Callie waved at Allie as she entered the restaurant. "Sorry," she apologized. "I couldn't get away from the client," she told her friend. Mr. Linden had suffered another meltdown right after Allie sent the text asking to meet up for lunch, and Callie had found herself trying yet again to calm him down.

"And I'm sorry about yesterday," Allie replied. "I was all set to leave when I got that darned memo. I barely had time to send you that text.

"Any problems?"

"No. It turned out that he was promoting someone and wanted to make sure everyone knew about it ASAP. The thing is, most of us already knew about the promotion before the meeting," Allie declared. "The office grapevine is faster than a computer!"

"Who got promoted?"

Allie grinned. "You are looking at the newest assistant to the Accounting manager."

"You? Wow! I'm so glad for you!"

"Doesn't mean a huge increase in salary, but I do get my own office. I won't have to do the day to day accounting work - a lot of this job is double-checking on things for Mr. Devonshire, making sure he has the paperwork necessary for any scheduled meetings."

"Sounds a little like secretarial work - and you hate that."

"I'll manage. Mr. Devonshire is next in line for Mr. Johanson's chair - and if I do a good job -"

"Then you'll move up into *his* chair."

"Precisely." The waitress came and took their order, leaving the two old friends alone again. "So, how's the PI business going?"

"Busy. Oh, I ran into an old friend of yours yesterday."

"Really? Who?"

"Larry Kelso."

Allie laughed, shaking her head. "Wow. Now *that's* a name that brings back a few memories. What's he doing these days?"

"He opened a security firm. Kelso Security Solutions. But he hasn't changed. His current 'friend' is his receptionist."

"Let me guess: she's a blonde with big boobs and a small brain, right?"

"Well, I didn't talk to her long enough to find out about the brain, but the other two are right on target," Callie said, laughing.

"Larry is one of those guys who will never grow up. Even during the time we were seeing each other, he would flirt with *every* other woman when we went out. And I was sitting right there!"

"You flirt -"

"Not if I'm with a guy that I'm dating," Allie insisted. "Unless I'm bored to tears, and then I just don't go out with that guy again and move on to someone else. But as a rule, I don't flirt with every man in the place."

"Are you still seeing your mystery man?" Callie asked.

Allie shrugged. "We took a break - but I called him yesterday, and we're going out tonight."

"To celebrate the promotion?"

Allie nodded. "And how is life in Happy Land?"

"He proposed last night-"

"And what did you say?"

"I - asked for a little more time."

"Oh, Callie," Allie said, shaking her head. "You're hopeless! You have a handsome guy who loves you - he does love you, doesn't he?"

"He told me he does.

"A handsome guy who loves you, and you ask him to wait."

"And what would you have done?"

"Oh, heavens, don't go by what I would do. I am by no means a good example for you to follow. But if I were *you*, dearie, I'd have grabbed that man and found the first preacher or justice of the peace or anyone who could marry us." She paused as the waitress returned with their food before she continued. "So what's the problem? Do you love him?"

"I think I do."

"Callie -"

"It's only been six months," she insisted.

"And you married Greg after six months," Allie reminded her.

"Carter reminded me of that, too."

"Callie, trust me, this man is perfect for you. Do *not* let him get away. Or are you too chicken to take another chance at being happy?"

"I *am* happy," Callie insisted.

"Cal-li-e-e Ca-ant," Allie sang softly.

"You're not going to push me into this," Callie said, picking up her fork. "But - I'll think about it." She started to eat, ignoring Allie's grin.

Allie walked Callie back to the Jeep, since it was close to where she had parked her own car. "You have a note on the windshield," she told Callie, starting to reach for it before Callie stopped her.

"I'll get it." Allie backed off, looking surprised. "Sometimes people will leave a note on a car trying to get the driver to pause long enough to come over and carjack the vehicle. Or worse," she explained. "Would you walk around the car and make sure no one hit it and left a note?" While Allie did that, Callie opened the note and scanned it quickly before closing it again and looking around the area.

Allie returned, shaking her head. "I can't see so much as a ding. Did you read it?"

"It's about the case we're working on," Callie told her. "Just some information from someone who wanted to remain anonymous."

"Ah. Well, I have to get back to the office. Thanks for buying lunch."

"Next time, you're buying," Callie said. "You're the one making big bucks now," she laughed.

"Okay, you're on."

"Enjoy your date tonight. Tell your mystery man I said hello."

"I will. Bye!"

Callie unlocked the door of the Jeep and got inside. Starting the engine, she opened the note again and read it more slowly.

"Drop the case. The showing must take place as scheduled. No one will be hurt."

Glancing around the area where the car was parked, Callie decided she should discuss the note with Carter.

She took the long way to the loft, wanting to make sure she wasn't followed home by whoever had left the note for her. She even drove around the block twice just to be sure before parking beside the Taurus under the covered parking beside the building.

Carter was at the desk and got up when she entered the loft. "This is a surprise," he told her, meeting her halfway to the door. Callie threw her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss before he could say anything else, and he pulled back to look at her. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but what brought this on?"

"You don't think I'm crazy for asking for more time, do you?"

"Well," he mused, "Maybe a little," he teased, smiling, then, seeing the look on her face, he said, "Of course not. It's an important decision, and I want you to be sure before you make it. Who said you're crazy?"

"Allie," she told him. "She said I should have said yes -"

"I think your friend and I need to have a talk," he murmured, refusing to let her go when she would have moved away. "Callie, I'm not going to pressure you. I told you that I can wait, and I can. As long as you're still part of my life, I'm happy." He gave her another kiss. "Now, do you want to hear what I found out this morning?" he asked.

"I do. But you might want to look at this first," she told him, pulling the note from her pocket.

"Drop the case," he read aloud. "The showing must take place as scheduled. No one will be hurt." He looked at her. "Where did you get this?"

"It was on the Jeep when I came out of the restaurant after lunch. Apparently someone followed me from the museum to the restaurant and left it while I was inside. I can't decide if whoever it was meant it as a threat or -"

"I don't think so," he said. "If it had been a threat, it would have read something like: The showing must take place as scheduled. Drop the case and no one will be hurt. Or maybe you won't be hurt. The way it's written - or typed - it's like no one will be hurt if the showing takes place."

"Doesn't look like it was typed on a typewriter -"

"No, it was printed by a dot matrix printer. Most businesses have them these days. Like the one we have," he told her, nodding toward the printer next to the desk.

"I was going to suggest that," she told him. "What did you find out?"

"Well, Mateo Almanzo was married."

Callie's eyes widened in surprise. "He was?"

"They were separated when he died - or supposedly died - and she reportedly moved back to Matamoros. I have a call in to Mateo's agent to see if he can get me more information about how to contact her. He hasn't spoken to her directly since right after Mateo's death. He's been depositing the money from the sale of paintings directly into a bank account in Brownsville for the past five years."

"Interesting," Callie mused. "Mateo supposedly commits suicide, and then his wife disappears into Mexico."

"Did you find out anything new?"

"Well, I'm having lunch tomorrow with Ms. Jamison. Inez," she clarified. "And I spoke to Jerome Billings." She told him about the conversation - and the fact that Mr. Linden was convinced that Billings could be looking to take over his job. "Poor Mr. Linden kept suffering attacks of paranoia and hyperventilating because of it."

"I do think we're going to have a hard time convincing Mr. Linden to allow the showing to happen."

"I think it would be best to wait until the weekend to tell him - just in case we manage to solve it before Monday. I did notice a detail on the painting that I'd missed before."

"What's that?"

"Well, it probably doesn't mean anything, but - there's a red and white sailboat with red sails to the far left side." She went to her purse and pulled out two pictures. "I asked Mr. Linden to take a photo using a Polaroid of that area of the painting, and then of the full painting."

"I doubt it means anything," he told her, and Callie reached out to take the photo back, but Carter kept looking at it, refusing to let it go.

"What's wrong?"

"I saw a photograph of a sailboat just like that one recently."

"You did? Where?"

"In Andrew Donovan's office," he told her.

To Part 2