Part One

 They said it was a suicide, but my instincts told me otherwise. There was a note, a motive, and the opportunity. But no corpse.

 My name is Antonia Brigatti. Some of my co-workers down at the station where I used to reside called me, Brigatti. I'm 34 years old and at the present time, single. I own no children, dog, bird, fish or cat. I hate cats! They make me sneeze, and I swear I can smell one from a mile away.

 What do I do for a living? Survive mainly. That is, ever since I decided to change professions. I'm a private investigator working for the City of Chicago.

 I first met Nancy Spiolie when she walked into my office one cold rainy evening last month. She told me that her brother was missing and that she wanted me to find him. Sounded simple enough, except, police reports stated that, according to the note that had been found in his home, he had committed suicide. Oddly, another note had been found taped to the bridge from where he had jumped.

 His body has never been found.

 I was just packing up my papers for the night, getting ready to leave my office.  It had rained all that day and I was cold, tired and hungry.  I was clicking off the last of the lights when the door to my office creaked open. It had grown dark out, and most of the lights in the building where my one-and a half room office is located had already been turned out or dimmed to their soft energy--saving glow. At that particular moment, I was wondering if one of my old cases had come back to pay me--and I don't mean in cash.

 My first instinct was to reach for my gun, which I keep in my desk drawer. But as luck would have it, I was five feet away on the opposite side of the desk, so I froze knowing that I had only a few choices.

 One- I could scream bloody murder and wind up looking like a complete idiot if it turned out to be only the night watchman doing his nightly rounds. Two- I could just try and tackle the son of  a.....well, you get my point, and ask questions later or three, simply fall back on my years of police training, and further assess the situation, after all, I hadn't been trained in self-defense just for the art of it.

 Option three sounded like the mature choice, so I waited, reaching for the metal baseball bat that I keep hidden behind the door. You know, just in case. I clutched the bat and held my breath as the door opened slowly.

 Her face appeared first, rained drenched and scared. "Hello? Anyone here?"

 Lowering the bat, I blew out a breath of relief when I saw her. "Can I  help you?"  I asked relaxing my grip.

 When she saw me, she also let out sigh of relief and stepped out of the shadows of the doorway clutching her coat nervously at the collar. "Yes...I'm looking for a T-Tony...Brigatti? I was told that I could find him here?"

 "That depends." I said, eyeing her cautiously. "Who are you?"

 "M-My name's Nancy...Nancy Spiolie."

 I studied her carefully for a moment. With this career that I had chosen, I  had learned that it wasn't too wise to give out my identity too quickly. So far, I had been shot at, shot and drugged. While I loved my job, I planned on sticking around a little while longer. Obviously, the woman was looking for a man.

 "I'm Toni," I answered, my instincts clueing me in that she was safe. She was also shivering. Replacing the bat behind the door, I crossed the room to my desk, pulled opened the drawer and took out the box of kleenex that I kept there.

 "What can I do for you?" I asked handing her the box.

 "I'm so relieved that you're a woman." She said, running a shaky hand through her wet hair. "I-I mean I thought you'd be a man, you know, with the name Tony and all. " She pulled out a tissue and wiped her hands. "Thanks."

 I smiled and held out my hand, "Toni.  That's ah...Toni with an 'i', Brigatti."

 She looked nervous as we shook. "I was hoping that you could help me." she said.

 I checked my watch. It was  8:00 p.m. I had already stayed later that I should have, catching up on some old police business and certainly didn't want to take on any new cases.

 "How did you find out about me?" I asked, curiously. I didn't advertise and took only special cases.

 "A detective Ar-Armstrong down at police headquarters recomended you. He said you were the best."

 Good old Paul, I sighed. "Well, I-I was just closing up for the night," I said, hoping she'd catch my drift.

 She stared at me for a moment, her eyes luminous with tears, then dropped her face into her hands, and began sobbing.

 Oh God. Not the tears. I groaned inwardly, feeling sorry for her. I drew in a tired breath, trying to ready myself for what I was about to do. Removing my coat, I offered her a seat and flicked the lights back on. I had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

  ~*~*~*~*~*

 Part 2

 I turned the key in the lock and let myself into my apartment.

 I hadn't eaten since that morning, and headed straight for the kitchen. Tossing my bag onto the sofa, I click on the radio sitting on the end table as I passed, immediately, soft music permeated the rooms.  I opened the refrigerator and took out the package of salami I had gotten from the deli across the street all the while thinking about the Spiolie woman who really had me stumped. It had been close to a year now since her brother's so-called suicide, but a lot of things just didn't add up. Most importantly, where was his body?

 Secondly, was my bread? I frowned, searching on top of the fridge until my hand located an almost-empty package of whole wheat bread. I untwisted the plastic, took out the last slice and tossed the empty bag into the garbage can. Laying the salami slice on the dry bread I rolled it up, grabbed a can of beer from the fridge, a napkin, then headed back into the living room flicking on the small tiffany lamp next to the sofa.

 With a sigh of relief, I plopped down on the sofa and kicked off my shoes then searched my pockets for the suicide note Nancy had given me.  I pulled it from my pant pocket unfolded it and began to read.

 Nancy,

 Forgive me for what I have done. I just find it impossible to go on living if I can't live it with the woman that I love. I can't continue on knowing that I don't have your blessings.  I told Heather about the argument that we had and she threatened to leave me if I allowed you to run my life. I can't live without her Nancy I just can't.  Heather won't answer any of my calls. Please tell her that I love her and to forgive me.

 Mike

 I folded the letter and pulled out the photo Nancy had given me of her brother.

 Mike Calibru. I whispered his name silently as I studied his picture.  He was a rather handsome young man -- tall, blonde hair'd, muscular. Nancy told me that, she had exhausted all of her resources trying to find him. She also told me that it was his girlfriend who had found the suicide note at his beach house. But a thorough search had been done of the house, turning up nothing. Not even a body from the mirky water below the bridge on State street where he supposedly had jumped. A second suicide note had been left attached to the bridge with the same message. While the police and everyone else ruled suicide, Nancy felt that something wasn't right, that there was something more. Her brother was young, rich. and had everything in the world to live for.

 I finished the sandwich, took a sip of the cold beer and settled back on the sofa, closing my eyes briefly to rest them. It seemed like only seconds before I heard a knock on the door. My eyes fluttered open and I glanced quickly over at the alarm clock. It was 11:00 pm. Who on earth would be calling at this hour?

 Rising from the sofa, I moved cautiously towards the door to take a peek out of the security hole.

 Hobson? What the hell was he doing here? And at this hour?

 I ran a hand quickly though my hair, dug into the pocket of my pantsuit and pulled out a mint. I stuck it into my mouth and chewed before asking casually, "Who is it?"

 "Gary."

 "Gary who?" I asked, blowing into the palm of my hand to check my breath. Minty fresh.

 "Gary. G-Gary Hobson."

 I unlatched the security lock and opened the door slightly to peek out.  He seemed taller than I remembered, yet still as handsome as the first time I'd laid eyes on him.

 "This is a...ahem, surprise," I commented doing a quick survey of him.  He was wearing his tan coat that I liked on him so much. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd just run his fingers through it. He looked uneasy standing there, rubbing the palm of his hands nervously together.

 "What can I do for you Hobson?" I asked, noting his fidgety demeanor.

 "I...I know that it's late, Brigatti, a-and I'm sorry to have bothered you," he said, his eyes surveying the fact that I was still fully dressed for such a late hour.  Still donning my pantsuit, and in stocking feet, I obviously wasn't dressed for bed.

 I arched a quizzical brow at him.

 "C-Can I come in f-for a moment?" he stammered.

 I blew out a sigh, moved back and pulled open the door. He stepped inside shoving his hands down into the pocket of his jeans. I took a quick look around outside before closing the door behind him.

 "I see you're still keeping up on current events," I commented eyeing the paper he always seemed to carry around with him, stuffed down into the back pocket of his jeans, the back of his coat draped partially over it.

 "Huh?  Oh, yeah," he said, reaching around to touch the paper.  "Look, Brigatti, I...I came over here tonight because I wanted to tell you something, a-and I thought it should be in person."

 I arched a suspicious brow at him, mentally hating myself for thinking he still looked good. What was it about him that made my heart do this crazy little flip-flop thing?

 "For such a late night call Hobson, this had better be good." I said, folding my arms across my chest.

 "Well...ahh..I ahh..."  He stammered, scratching the back of his head, and looking very uncomfortable.

 I uncrossed my arms to check my watch. "Well? The night isn't getting any younger Hobson. What is it!?"

 "Well, ahh--this."  He mumbled, and with an awkward motion, he reached over and pulled me into his arms. "Remember the first time I held you?"  He whispered against my ear, his breath sweet and warm.  I was taken totally by surprise as his lips moved around in search of mine. Reluctantly, I felt myself responding to him. Wrapped in tightly in his arms, somehow I felt safe and comforted.

 "Yes. I-I remember."  I whispered back, my heart thumping loudly in my chest. I had been held and kissed by Hobson once before almost kicking myself for enjoying it. Right now, I felt like a naive school girl with a crush. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I moistened my lips, anxiously awaiting his kiss, the heat from our bodies rising, his breath warm and intoxicating as he whispered against my lips....

 "Brigatti, I...I think I'm in love with you...."

 ... with you...

 ... with you...

 ....with you all day today!" The weatherman on the radio advised cheerfully. "Again, it's going to be a wet one, so keep those umbrellas with you. In other news......."

 I stirred and opened my eyes slowly. I had been dreaming. Raising my head slightly, I scanned the room then glanced down at my attire disappointed to find that I was still fully dressed, and on my living room sofa. I hated when I did that!

 The DJ, was going on and on about some Brittany Spears concert tickets and I reached over, quickly snapping off the radio then laid back again to stare numbly at the ceiling, pondering about the dream I'd just had. What's with this Hobson thing!? That did it. No more late-night salami sandwiches for me!

 The taste of salami and beer lingered in my mouth making me feel nauseous. I took another quick survey of my living room, my eyes settling on the window. Outside, the constant rainflow made drizzly patterns against the panes and I groaned. Another dreary day. But as much as I relished the thought of sleeping in, I knew that I had to get up.

 I rose from the couch and stumbled towards the bathroom to rinse out my mouth. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the letter the Spiolie woman had given me last night laying on the table and suddenly remembered that I had taken on another job.  Between that stupid dream and the Spiolie woman, I wasn't exactly sure where to start.  Spiolie of course was paying, and it wasn't chump change. The Hobson thing, I'd figure out later.

 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*

Part 3

 I took a quick shower and got dressed, snagging a cup of black coffee on my way out. I hopped into my little BMW (a little graduation gift from my father too many years ago to recall) and headed across town to the mall over on High Street,

 Nancy Spiolie had mentioned that Mike's girlfriend worked in a clothing store there, and I wanted to ask her a few quick questions before I made any moves on this case.

 The streets were still damp from the morning's down pour, and just like the weather man's prediction, the skies were gray, threatening more showers.  I took my time driving, cautious of the slippery roads. Twenty minutes later I was circling around the parking lot of the mall, surprised to find it already crowded.  What is it about rain that makes people want to spend money, I'll never know.

 Dispite the weatherman's warning, I had forgotten my umbrella, but luckily there was an empty space near the entrance.

 I parked the car and sat for a few moments, scanning quickly through my notes for the name of the woman and the clothing store where she  worked.

 Was it Hellen? Hazel?...Ah..Heather Langsford. Hum....Victoria's Secret. Should be interesting.  Flipping my note pad closed, I gabbed my bag, flipped the hood of my coat up and hurried into the mall.

 Inside, the place was bustling with early morning shoppers. Mothers pushing baby strollers browsed hurriedly, while out front of one of the record stores a few high school teens, playing hooky from school, jostled around while listening to the "latest sounds,"  I swear the vibrations of which made my teeth rattle. How they could bear to listen to that noise is beyond me. I shook my head and hurried past.

 Up ahead, an old couple paused to rest on a bench overlooking the huge water fountain in the center of the Mall. The aroma of popcorn, pizza, and Chinese food filled the air, reminding me that all I'd had was that morning was cup of black coffee.  I quickly located the store and went inside.

 Mannequins in colorful fall fashion greeted me cheerfully as I entered.  Dresses, pantsuits and hats in the hottest new trends adorned each one. Women's footwear of every style and color were on display while the latest style of Victoria's Secret lingerie begged for attention.

 I pretended to browse for a few minutes, not wanting to start off asking questions right away. As I worked my way towards the perfume, I spotted a tall blonde standing behind the glass counter. She was wearing one of those name tags that stuck out like a sore thumb. It simply read:  Heather. Assumeing it must be her, I wandered nonchalantly over and began tinkering around with a few of the sample bottles on the counter. After a few minutes of my clinking around, she looked up and smiled, flipping a long silky lock of hair over her shoulder, the glint from the hugemongous rock on her finger almost blinding me as she did so.

 "May I help you ?" she asked, the sound of her voice was like that of Angelica from the "Rugrats," only without the diaper issues. I have to admit, she looked like I would have expected someone named Heather would look. Hair, golden blonde, make-up and lipstick done perfectly, as if she'd spent all morning perfecting it. Blue liner rimmed blue eyes that were as big as the Baltic sea.

 "Heather? Heather Langsford?" I asked, wanting to be certain she was who I was looking for and I smiled extra wide, not wanting to intimidate her by looking, you know,  too serious. It didn't help, and only seemed to make matters worse.  Her expression changed to worry as she stared back at me.

 "H-How do you know my last name?"  she asked, looking nervously about, probably for my accomplice.

 I flashed my badge, "Toni Brigatti, private investigator. Could I ask you a few questions?"

 She looked faintly startled, "A private investigator? W-Who hired you?"

 Great! I didn't want to let on that Mike's sister had hired me, so I told a little white one.

 "A-An acquaintance, who was...very close to Mike,"  I answered, choosing my words carefully.

 She drew a nervous breath, looking around again. "Well I-I'm kind of busy right now."

 "It'll only take a minute," I flashed a smile. "You knew Mike Calibru, didn't you?"

 She hesitated a moment before answering. "Of course. Michael was my fiancee'."

 "And you were the one who found him that night he...died?" I asked, putting a twist on my words.

 "No..no. I... actually, it was a note that I found. A note!  Look, I've already told everything to the police."

 "So...there wasn't a body?" I asked, looking  down at my note pad as I scribbled.

 Behind me, the sound of squeaking wheels in serious need of some WD40 caught my attention. I could hear panting and struggling that suggested extreme effort and I turned around.  Two moving men were bringing in a dolly stacked high with boxes.  Across the front of the boxes read: Fragile! Heavy Equipment-Handle with Care.  The men were sweating profusely, leaving me to assume that the boxes were extremely heavy.  I paused in my questioning to step aside, allowing them room to pass. Jessica's expression flashed concern as she eyed the moving men with the oversized load.

 "Excuse me,"  she said to me, rolling her eyes. Then with hands on hips, turned to address the two movers. "Sirs! Ex-Excuse me sirs! I really don't think that load is supposed to be brought  in through the store! This is a public place! Those boxes are supposed to be brought in through the back, you know, loading zone?!"

 One of the exhusted movers paused to wipe his forehead with a hanky he pulled from his pocket.  He and his partner were both sweating from the exertion of their task.

 "I know lady," he wheezed checking his watch, " but the loading door was closed and we're on tight schedule here. We really gotta to get this stuff delivered."

 Just then his beeper sounded. He pulled it out to take a look and glanced up. "Is there a phone around? I have an emergency call."

 Heather blew out a frustrated breath and pointed angrily towards the bathrooms a few feet away. "In the foyer there. Make it fast please and remove this stuff!"

 "Yeah,yeah." He groused.  "C'mon." Motioning to his partner both men walked away, leaving the heavy boxes, unattended and partially blocking the isle.

 Tapping my pen idly on my forehead, I waited patiently until the situation quieted down, hoping Heather would remember where we left off. Just in case she didn't, I refreshed her memory.  "So you didn't find his body?" I continued.

 She drew in an angry breath, and flashed me a look to match. "No, I didn't!  Look Miss..er...Biscotti--"

 "Brigatti."

 "Brigatti. O-Or what-*ever*!  I have work to do!"

 "Are you certain that Mike's dead? I mean, it's possible that he may have gone on vacation or something." I ignored her anger, scribbling as fast as I could.

 "Yes!" she exclaimed. " I-I mean, I haven't heard from him since the day before. He was very distraught about something, which I've already told to the police. He left a suicide note didn't he? "

 By now the Baltic sea was flashing storm warnings and I got the funny feeling she was beginning to be a little irritated with me.  I knew that it was time to move on.

 "I have to go!" she snapped and turned on her heels to leave but spun around suddenly to add, and I could tell that her heart wasn't in it,  "Have a nice day!"  With that, she stalked off in a huff, her yellow hair whipping the air behind her.

 Whew!  What a hothead! I thought, fanning myself with my notes. I blew out an exasperated breath and flipped my note pad closed, then turned to scan the store again. I didn't have enough information to make a case, and really needed to ask her a few more questions. However,  I valued my life and decided instead to check out a blouse I had spotted when I first walked in. I went over to take a look, stepping cautiously around the dolly with the oversized load.  I had been browsing for a  few minutes when a loud commotion of someone shouting drew my attention. The sound of footsteps racing hurridly down an aisle in my direction, their frantic tapping on the linoleum floor startling me badly enough that I reached for my gun.

 "Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" A man's voice was shouting.

 Before I knew it, I was carried to the floor just as the huge dolly the boxes were sitting on came barrelled down on us, taking down the clothing racks on every side.  The huge boxes had toppled forward, crushing everything in their path. The perfume counter that once stood crystal clear had been completely destroyed-- shattered glass and broken perfume bottles were everywhere. Some of the glass barely missed me as huge sheets went flying through the air.

 The sound of women and children screaming and crying as they ran for cover was all around us, making it nearly impossible to determine if there had been casualties. On the floor, strong arms still held me,  and it was a moment before I could registered what had happened.

 The pungent sweet smell of perfume from the shattered bottles filled the air, making me incredibly nauseous. Struggling to sit up, I worked frantically to un-bury myself from the many assortment of clothing and hangers that covered me.

 Finally free, I yanked out of the arms that held me and spun around quickly to behold my savior.

 I promptly wished I hadn't.

 "Hobson??"

 "Bri..gatti."

 "W-What the hell are you doing here?!" I snapped, feeling utterly foolish as I struggled to get up. Finally on my feet, I adjusted my clothing, brushing myself off all the while glaring down at him.

 >From the floor, Hobson looked sheepish, trying hard to come up with an answer. "I-I was just shopping," he finally sputtered. He too was covered with female clothing and was looking just as foolish as I was.

 I shot him an irritated look before turning to assess the damage caused by the heavy equipment, and suddenly remembered Heather. I scanned the store frantically, until I finally located her standing at another counter, being consoled by a fellow employee and felt relieved that she was safe. I noticed also accessing the damage, were the two movers and the store manager. The moving men's faces were beet red as they stood, nodding and scratching their heads trying to explain their situation.

 Ruffling a hand through my hair, I blew out a frustrated breath then turned to glare down at Hobson who was still on the floor.

 "Is this gift for a male or female?" I questioned, knowing that this wasn't the time or place.

 "Howzat?" he asked, looking up from his newspaper his expression totally befuddled. It was a simple enough question, and I was pissed. I suppose he could tell by my expression because I didn't need to ask again.

 "M-Male." he stammered quickly and obviously without thinking.  Both of us turned to do a slow scan of our surroundings. Womens' apparel was strewn all around us, mingled with shattered glass, stereo and tv equipment.  Female-clothing- covered boxes cluttered our line of vision and for a brief moment I forgot about the terrible mess and strived to make sense of Hobson's answer.

 Resolved to the fact that I may never understand Hobson, I blew out a frustrated breath, and reached down to gingerly remove from a pair of pink lace panties from his shoulder and dangled it in front of his face.

 "Male, huh?"

 *~*~*~* 

Part 4

 "I'll have the spinach salad." I told the waitress, closing  my menu.

 "A...And I'll have the hero sandwich a-and a cup of  coffee--black, please," Hobson mumbled. The waitress  winked at him, gathered our menus, and departed quickly.

 While the employees at Victoria's Secret scurried about  cleaning up the damaging mess and destruction the huge  boxes had caused, I persuaded Hobson to step over to the  little diner next door to answer a few questions for me. He  was reluctant of course, giving me some lame excuse about  having to be somewhere, but a quick flash of my badge  provided some additional persuasion and he went quietly. Both of us, it turns out, were hungry, and we decided to order  a small bite to eat while we "chatted".

 Staring at him sitting across from me, it just didn't  make any sense at all why he would be browsing  around in a clothing store for women.

 "A hero sandwich?" I shot him a look. Although, it was  quite possible that he could have been looking for a  little something for his...girlfriend.

 Hobson's face flushed slightly when he realized what he had ordered.  "I...I didn't mean anything by ordering that sandwich, Brigatti, " he  stammered, "I...I mean I--"

 " Thanks...for what you did back there." I said, cutting  him off quickly.

 He studied my face for a moment, nodding a silent, " You're welcome," before  glancing off cross the restaurant.

 I blew out a breath and checked my watch. You would have thought we had  ordered the whole menu--what on earth was taking that waitress so long?! I  thought, looking back towards the kitchen.

 "So, I see you're still on the job Brigatti." Hobson's voice interrupted my  thoughts and I turned back around to find him quietly watching me.

 "That's right." I said, eyeing him suspiciously. " Actually, I'm  ah, no longer on the force, but still work for the city of Chicago."

 He frowned, puzzled by my explanation. "So what exactly is your position now?  I mean, you went from Marshall to detective to...."

 "Private investigator," I interrupted. " I was up for a promotion  with the police department but turned it down."

 "Howzat?"

 I drew in a tired breath, wanting to explain myself more clearly. "I just had  a change in careers, Hobson. Decided I was tired of always having to prove  my-.....b  I paused, catching myself. What was I spilling my guts to him  for? It wasn't any of his business what I did with my life. Clearing my  throat, I changed the subject with as much grace as I could muster.  "I tell you, it was that lousy pizza."

 He eyed me skeptically for a moment, then smiled, looking off across  the restaurant again.

 "I don't think I've ever seen you order so much Hobson."  I commented, bringing the conversation back to him.

 " You wha--? " He turned back around.

 "Food? Big sandwich? " I reminded him tactfully.

 "Oh. I-I guess I was kind of hungry." He grinned, rubbing the back of his  neck.

 An uneasy silence followed, as we sat staring at one another, my eyes  focusing on the soft curve of his lower lip and I suddenly remembered the  kiss we'd shared in that stupid dream. Thank God it was only a dream! I  shuddered.

 "Y-You look good, Brigatti," he complimented hesitantly.

 I arched a skeptical brow at him. "Oh.. you think so huh?"

 He smiled, and dropped his head. "I-I just mean that...  well, I'm glad to see that..that you're doing okay." he  raised his head to look at me again.

 I studied him suspiciously, "Flattery will get you nowhere Hobson.  " I said, " And I still want to know why you were in that department store.  Preferably the truth."

 "Look...I already told you!"

 "It's a woman's lingerie store Hobson." I droned.

 "Didn't you just tell me that you were no longer on the  Chicago police force?" He scowled.

 Me and my big mouth. "Makes no difference to you,  Hobson." I said, leaning forward in my chair to glare  at him. "I still work FOR the police department of the City  of Chicago and right now, I have questions."

 "But I have nothing to do with your case!"

 He was right. Although I was still authorized to  make arrests, at the moment without an actual reason,  I had no authority what-so-ever. Luckily, he didn't know that.  I leaned back in my seat, both of us eyeing each other coldly. It had been a long time since I'd last seen him. It was after  the Harland diamond scam case backfired on me. That  whole set-up with the US government still pisses me off every  time I think about it, and Hobson hadn't made my job any easier.  He and that little jaded... Jade! And that so-called "date" we  had gone on afterward, ha! A complete disaster. I should  have known better than to take him up on that offer. After  everything that had gone on that week, I was still fuming that  whole evening.

 I studied him carefully, drumming my fingers impatiently on the checkered  table cloth. "Maybe you were the one who pushed those boxes over, Hobson."

 "Me?!!"

 "Yeah. Female underwear store. You-- bolting from out of nowhere...  suspiciously from the vicinity of those boxes."

 A dead silence.

 "Seems kind of suspicious to me Hobson."

 More silence and fidgeting.

 "So..." I drew in a breath, " You wanna tell me about it.?"

 "L-Look... Brigatti," he tried to reason with me, ruffling the back of his  hair. " If-If you must know, I...I was there to pick up a package  for a friend of mine."

 "A friend."

 "Yes. Th-This...friend of mine had ordered something for  his fiancC)e' a week ago and didn't think that he would  make it to the store in time to pick it up, so, being the  thoughtful friend that I am, I told him that I would pick it up  for him," he explained. Eyes blinking.

 "Oh yeah?" I asked, "And where is that package, Hobson?"

 "Huh?"

 "The package?"

 "I...I don't know." He shrugged innocently. "I-I mean, they  must have screwed up on the order o...or something  because it hadn't come in."

 More blinking.

 Another long silence followed as I sat in awe, glaring at this gentle  faced man. Who, with his squeaky-clean looks and southern charm, always  seemed be in the wrong place at the wrong time--who repeatedly found himself  in trouble because of it, and, whose nose I could have sworn had grown a few  inches long since he first began telling that big lie! Simply amazing.

 Although I have to admit, I liked how his lashes fluttered whenever he was  fibbing or how his mouth formed that delicious "Ob  when he tried to sound  convincing and right now he was looking especially sweet and my gut instinct  was telling me that THIS was a big one.

 "I'm not buying it, Hobson!" I snapped "Now either you're  going to tell me the truth or...or..." I stammered, trying to think  of some abstruction of justice charge I could bestowe upon him.  I couldn't think of any.

 "Or what?" Hobson asked, taking advantage of my  fluster.

 I stared at him trying to remember where I had heard those words before.  Suddenly I was back in my apartment staring into his cold frighten face. Having been accused of murder, Hobson had escaped from jail and was on the  run for his life. Seeking refuge, he had broken into my apartment and had  asked me to help him. But I had denied him that help.

 "Hobson! Stop!" I warned, and pulled my gun on him.

 Trapped and exhausted, Hobson had run out of options. A look of hopelessness  etched his face and with nowhere else to go, played his last card. Me.

 "Or what?" he whispered, testing me. Ignoring the gun, his eyes were focused  intently on me, the look on his face seemed almost suicidal and it gave me  the chills. But I held my position until he realized I wasn't going to help  him out. Dropping his head, he backed away slowly, and walked out, leaving me  alone and befuddled with my gun held steady at point blank range, my finger  still on the trigger. Hobson had called my bluff.

 With all of my years of police training, whether Hobson was guilty or not,  deep down inside, I knew that I couldn't turn him in that night, more or less  shoot him. I think he knew it too.

 The distant wail of a police siren broke me from my  reverie and I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. I  looked over at Hobson who was staring at me. I had forgotten  the question.

 I cleared my throat, "W-What did you say?"

 "Or what?" he repeated more irritably this time.

 I couldn't think of anything to say, so I said, "O...Or...I just might have  to take you out."

 I could not believe that I had said that! I certainly hadn't intended  for it to come out the way that it did. At that moment, the silence was so  thick, you could have cut it with a knife which we didn't have because it was  taking the waitress so long to return with our order!

 Hobson sat staring at me, his mouth slightly ajar, not sure what to make of  what he'd heard, or whether he had even heard correctly.

 "Is that an invitation o-or a threat." he finally asked, searching my face,  as if for some kind of sign.

 At that moment, the waitress appeared with our order.

 "Here you go," she smiled, plopping a plate with an over stuffed Hero  sandwich down on the table in front of Hobson, and a large salad in front of  me.

 Bout time, I thought, draping a napkin quickly across my lap. Actually, I was  quite relieved, knowing that the waitress's sudden appearance was a good  diversion from the question.

 We ate in silence. My mind, swarming with a zillion questions and thoughts of  with what had gone on that morning. Hobson's gaze had stirred something deep  within me and I wasn't so sure if I liked it. I did know that I had to get  back to the Spiolie case and that Hobson was just another distraction.

 After we ate, we stepped outside into the chill of the afternoon and headed  toward our respected cars. It was overcast, and had stopped raining. I  noticed that all during lunch, Hobson had seemed edgy and had been checking  that paper of his, as if he had someplace to be. What is it about him and  that paper?!

 As we crossed the parking lot, I thought about the statement I had made about  taking Hobson out, and felt like a total idiot. I still didn't believe the reason Hobson had given me as to why he was at  that store.

 "Take care." Hobson said, moving quickly towards his jeep. Stopping abruptly,  he turned back around to look at me. "Oh, ah.. what time shall I be ready?"  he asked, his green eyes twinkling.

 "Ready for what?" I questioned innocently as I got into  my car.

 He blinked. "W-Well, I thought you said that you  might have to take me out--"

 "That's right." I said, slamming the door shut then turned to  look up at him. "What'd you think I was talking about? A date? Ha!"

 There was dead silence as we stared silently at each other, the  Ha! still ringing in the air.

 Perplexed, Hobson slid a hand through his hair and looked off down the  street, before glancing back down at me. I had thrown him for another loop.

 I started the car, letting the engine idle as I studied his  face. "Think about it Hobson." I sighed irritably, rolling my eyes,

 "And...just stay... out of my way, will ya?"

 I gunned the engine before slipping the car into gear.  I pulled up slowly to the curb, giving the right-of-way to  passing traffic before I sped out onto the high-way. The guy was strange this was true, and he did seem  to show up in some of the most unlikely situations. Maybe he  had some kind of intuition a sixth sense or something.  Maybe he really was at that department store to pick up a gift  for a freind. Maybe I should have asked him out. Arrghh!  You're losing it, Brigatti! First stop, movie. Next stop,  nuthouse. Maybe not necessarily in that order, either.

 *~*~*~*~

 Chapter 5

 It was still early, only a quarter to One, so I decided to check  something out over at one of Mike's favorite hangouts.

 The night Nancy came into my office, she had mentioned  that one of Mike's favorite places was a pool hall over on the  other side of town. It was in a rather seedy section of downtown Chicago, and  considering the amount of money Mike was  worth, I was quite surprised that he would have chosen this  place as a favorite.

 I signaled, and made a right turn onto the expressway, easing  into the afternoon traffic. Minutes later, I pulled up across the  street from Hank's Pool Hall and sat for a moment, looking  around. It was an old neighborhood, and the buildings that  lined the streets were in great need of repair. The sidewalks  were slick from the rain and despite the sky threatening another downpour,  there was a craps game going on in front of the  steps of the building.

 Fully aware of the various situations I'd be faced with in this  wonderful profession I had chosen, I am always prepared. I  opened my glove compartment and took out a can of mace  that I kept there and placed it in my pocket. I checked  my gun, then slid it in my shoulder holster before stepping  out of the car and locking it behind me.

 I walked briskly across the street towards the pool hall  amidst a raucous flurry of whistles and cat-calls coming from  the scruffy-looking rabble occupying the sidewalk in front of the  building. As I got closer, I could hear them murmuring about  various attributes of my anatomy, some of which I will be forever  grateful that I didn' t know the meaning of. As I approached the  door, a lean man with dirty blond hair made eye contact with  me, then braced his booted foot against the opposite side  of the jamb, effectively blocking my entrance.

 "Hey baby," he said, looking me up and down like I was  wearing a sign that said, Pet me, I'm a whore. He had  long dirty blond hair that did nothing to hide his 10 o'clock  shadow. His breath that reeked of alcohol and God knows  what else. All in all, he had the appearance and general  aroma of landfill. I ran a hand inside my pocket and grasped  the can of mace.

 "What can I do for you, angel-face?" he asked, looking  around at his buddies who were egging him on.

 I had been on the police force for enough years to know  potential trouble, and I had enough dealings with gang  members and drug dealers to be well familiar with guys  of this type. I couldn't let them even think that I was afraid.  That was just the response he was hoping for. I  checked my watch and blew out an irritated breath. "Well, you can start by removing your foot." I said, returning  his glare.

 "Now why would I want to do that?" he teased, obviously  having a little fun with me as he turned to again check the  response of his buddies. We were, undisputedly, the center of attention.

 I flashed my badge. "I figure it like this. If you want it still attached to  your leg, then I suggest you move it."

 There's something about the way I can look at a person,  I have been told, that can be very intimidating, and I don't usually  have a problem in the lesser arts of persuasion. Whether this  is a curse or a blessing, I don't know. I suppose it's one of  many traits I had learned to simply survive.

 I kept my eye on lover-boy with the big foot in front of  me, all the while keeping check on the others with my  peripheral vision. I could feel the adrenaline pumping  through my veins as I readied to defend myself. Thank  God I worked out from time to time.

 Fortunately, my icy stare worked, and the creep lowered  his leg and stepped aside, holding up his hands in surrender.

 "Hey, be cool...be cool." He laughed, "Chill out,  Mama."

 "I'm not your Mama," I muttered, stalking past leaving  them to snicker and taunt one another.

 Inside, the air was smoky and the crowd sparse. Music was  blaring, and the sound of billiard balls smashing against  each other echoed loudly throughout the building. There were several pool tables in the center of the floor,  a jukebox and a couple of worn-out pinball machines  populated the rear wall. Along the right-hand wall, there  were a few tables and chairs, and onthe other side of the  room was the bar itself.

 Some of the men huddled around the pool tables paused from  their game to stare at me. Curious looks etched their faces,  as if wondering what business I had there. I did a quick  scan of the place, not quite knowing where to begin, and  decided to start with the tall, lean gentleman standing behind  the bar. Bartender, I supposed.

 Whistles followed me as I made my quickly towards him.  These guys really needed to get a life! Or a girl, I thought  wryly, although from the looks of most of them, that was not  even a remote possibility.

 I approached the bar and cleared my throat. The man  glanced up, and did a double-take when he saw me. He stopped  what he was working on and grinned extra wide, revealing a golden tooth in  front. I noticed that he was missing two bicuspids on each side.

 "What can I do for ya, doll-face?" he asked, giving me the  once-over. His eyes reminded me of two black beads rolling  around in one of those handheld games that used to come  as a Cracker Jack prize.

 "Did you know a Michael Calibru?" I started off quickly wanting  to get right to the point then get out. "I understand this is where he liked  to hang out."

 He considered for a moment, scratching his chin.  "Yeah, I knew Mike very well. Who are you?"

 I flashed my badge. "Brigatti. Private investigator. "Did you see  him anytime the day before he died?" I placed the badge  back into my pocket and pulling out my note pad.

 "Yeah, I seen him the night before. He looked really bummed  out, about what, I don't know. I think he was having some money  trouble and had a fight with his sister bout something."

 Just then, a tall thin black guy approached the bar and stood beside me. He  was wearing a pair of those mirrored sunglasses,  indoors as we were and dreadlocks. I ignored him.

 "You mean girlfriend?" I asked, focusing my attention on the  bartender.

 "No...his sister." the bartender, scratched his head  reflectively. "She told him that she was going to remove  him from the will or something. I...I don't know. I'm gonna  miss that dude."

 Surprised that Nancy hadn't mention that to me, I paused  in my questioning to jot down the information, letting him have his  second of mourning before I continued.

 "Did he say why she wanted to remove him from the will?"  I asked, glancing up from my notes.

 "Well," he said, scratching his head. "I think his sister threaten to  disinherit him if he ever got hitched. Yeah...she didn't want him to marry.  That was one of the reason he was so bummed out."

 "Really....?" I was surprised and paused in my writing to stare at him.  Again, I was taken off guard by this information and the fact that Nancy  hadn't mentioned it to me.

 So far, the guy with the mirrored shades hadn't moved and I  was concerned, thinking maybe he'd taken root standing in the spot  beside me. Behind those shades it was hard to tell.

 Irritated, I turned to look at him. "I'll be with you in a minute."  I said sarcastically. Shaking my head, I turned back to the bartender.  I searched through my notes and had exhausted all of my questions. "Well," I said snapping my note pad closed. "I suppose that's  all for now. You will stick around in case I need to ask you  some more questions, won't you?" I asked.

 "Anything for you, doll-face." He grinned. "Want my beeper  number?"

 "Ahh--that won't be necessary." I wrinkled my nose at him.

 "Thank you um---," I paused. I hadn't gotten his name.

 "Al Knight," he said, with another huge grin. "But my women call  me all night." he winked.

 I was wrong in my first assessment of him. There were exactly  four bicuspids missing on each side.

 "Nice." I murmured sliding my note pad back into my pocket,  again, touching the can of mace before looking back up at him. "Well, thank you---ahh...Al." I smiled, determined to leave  out the part about the all night. This guy was simply too much!

 I turned on my heel to leave, but stopped abruptly to cock  a cold eye at the guy standing next to me. I opened my  mouth to make a comment, but decided against it. He wasn't  worth the time.

 Closing my mouth, I shuddered, then walked out,  leaving a trail of cat calls and whistles behind me.

 *~*~*~*~*

 Part 6

 It was raining again, and the group that had been  standing around outside of the poolhall had disbursed.

 I pulled up the hood of my coat, shrugging deeper into  its protective warmth, and headed towards my car.  I had nearly reached it when someone shouted out,  "Detective!!"

 I turned around to see the guy who had blocked my entrance on the otherside  of the street. He was walking slowly backwards, his unwavering gaze fixed  firmly on me. He let the moment drag out and then nodded slightly and gave me  the peace sign. He let it hang in the air between us for just a moment, then  tugging the collar of his coat up around his neck, he turned back around and  walked briskly away.

 For some reason, I suppose I had earned his respect.

 Smiling smugly to myself, I unlocked my car door and crawled inside shaking  off the hood of my coat. Rain pelted the roof as I sat for a moment, waiting  for it to subside and I thought about what the bartender had told me. I  pulled out my notes to scan all of the information I'd collected so far. No  matter how much I stared at them, things just didn't add up. Two and two made  one.

 It was strange that Nancy never mentioned the argument with her brother, nor  the fact that she had threatened to remove him from the inheritance. This was  very important information, and for her to leave it out just didn't sit right  with me. I got the distinct feeling that Nancy may have been harboring  something from me.

 The rain turned to a drizzle, and I started the engine, flipping on the  wipers to clear my view. As pulled away, I felt a sudden need to talk to  Nancy again and since I was already out, I decided to pay her a little  visit.

 Driving through town, I realized that I didn't have Nancy's address. At a  stop light, I took advantage of the wait to search my glove compartment for  the card with her address, I'd tossed in last week. Fingering quickly through  papers I kept stacked neatly inside--insurance forms, maintenance  contracts--I quickly located the card and pulled it out.

 One twenty-five, Sunset Place.

 The light turned green, I slipped the car back into drive and pulled off,  easing onto the expressway.

 A half an hour later, I was cruising down a quiet street in an upscale  residential neighborhood, the kind where each prim little home has a lawn  that has been so pampered and well-manicured that each looks less like grass  and more like a soft green carpet. I slowed to a cruise, checking the names  of the streets which, instead of being given the expected names like "Oakb   and "Maple,b  were named according to various times of day--Moonlight  Drive,  Sunrise Lane, Twilight Circle. I turned down the next street, cruising slowly until a cluster of townhouses  came into view. One twenty-five Sunset Place. This  was it.

 I pulled up in front of a large townhouse, situated somewhat higher  than its neighbors, surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubbery and rose  bushes. I cut the engine and took a few minutes to look around before I got  out of the car and made my way carefully up the long walkway  that met with the front porch of the townhouse. I paused in front of the  large door then turned to look back. The view here was breath taking. The  rain had washed everything clean and the air smelled fresh, of roses and  jasmine.

 I drew in a deep breath then turned back around reaching up to press lightly  on the doorbell. The hollow musical tone it made echoed soothingly  throughout the house. A few minutes later, the door opened and a heavy-set  woman wearing an apron peered out. Her shiny black hair was swept up neatly  in a bun and held in place with a prim maid's cap. The cap itself was  enough  to convince me of her status.

 "May I help you? " she asked, with an accent that was undoubtedly Italian. I  smiled, and thought suddenly about my own mother.

 I cleared my throat. "Hi. Is Mrs. Spiolie home?"

 "Ah..who....is calling...please?"

 "Toni Brigatti."

 She stepped back, opening the door wider for me to enter, and I stepped  inside. The floor in the entrance hall shone like spilled honey as I  followed her through the open foyer, into a large living room. The plush  carpet here was immaculately white, and for a brief moment I felt as if I  should have wiped my feet before entering.

 "One momento please." She nodded and departed quickly through a large set of  french doors.

 Alone, I took a moment to survey the place. Everything was done in white,  From the huge ivory colored bookcase that graced one wall, to to the  expensive drapes, to plush thick carpeting that covered the floor. I thought  of home, without of course, the luxury of the maid.

 Out of the corner of my eye, a sudden movement caught my attention, and I  turned around just as Nancy and a tall, rather large fellow appeared, coming  from the same french doors of which the maid had departed. Their expression  was surprised, yet concerned.

 "Miss Brigatti," Nancy smiled. Looking at her, she seemed much smaller than when I had first met her. Maybe  it was because she was standing beside this giant of a man who accompanied  her.

 "Please...call me Toni, " I smiled politely, shaking her  hand.

 "Toni, this is Stanley, my husband," She said, introducing me to  the man who was with her. I had to crane my neck to look up at  him, and smiled as we shook hands, his hand engulfing mine with ease.

 "Nice to meet you," he intoned, his baritone voice appropriately matching his  stature. He was good looking in a rugged sort of way, with dark hair, graying  slightly on the sides, a strong jaw line, and sea green eyes that crinkled in  the corner when he smiled. I could tell that he was much older than Nancy, as  he towered over her pale form. He was darker than she, and carried the look  of one who must have spent a great deal of time in the sun.

 "Nice to meet you." I said, then looking around again, "You have  a lovely home." I commented.

 "Thank you," Nancy smiled. There was an uneasy moment of silence in which the  two of them stood eyeing me curiously, I'm sure wondering why the heck I was  there. I cleared my throat and got to the point.

 "Look, Nancy, I'm sorry to have stopped by without notice, but I really  needed to ask you a few more questions, and since I was out and about I  decided to drop by. I hope you don't mind." I also hoped she believed that  line, considering I was a good 45 minutes out of my way.

 "Not at all. Please come in," she said, motioning towards the plush white  sofa behind a smoky glass coffee table, the base of white marble, trimmed in  gold.

 "I'll only be a moment," I said and sank down. She and Stanley sat in the  loveseats across from me.

 "Could I get you something?" she offered, "Coffee...tea?"

 "No, I'm fine thank you." I drew in a deep breath and got to the  point. " Listen, Nancy, why didn't you tell me that your father  had placed you in charge of the estate?"

 She looked surprised, "I didn't tell you?"

 "Um...no." I said.

 "I'm sorry...it must have slipped my mind." She glanced briefly  at her husband and drew in a breath. "Yes, our father,  placed me in charge of the estate. But that was a long time ago."

 "The argument you had with your brother the night before his...disappearance?  You want to tell me about it?" I asked, pulling  out my note pad.

 "Oh...I didn't tell you did I?" She said.

 I said nothing, arching my eyebrow in anticipation.

 She closed her eyes tight, as if trying to erase the memory of something  dreadful. "I hate thinking about it. It was the last time I saw my brother  alive,Toni."

 "I understand." I said sympathetically.

 She hesitated to glance down at her hands. "Well, first of all, I think you  should know about our father."

 I listened carefully. Her tone, her expression, all seemed to change when she  mentioned her father and I waited patiently.

 "Father," she began, with obvious distaste, her eyes narrowing as though just  saying the word repulsed her. "Let me rephrase that. Enrico Calibru wasn't my biological father."

 "Wait a minute" I cut in, wanting to make sure I was hearing clearly as this  was also new information. "You and Mike have different fathers?"

 "Yes." She nodded and drew in a breath to explain. " I was ten when mother  met Enrico Calibru while vacationing in Hawaii. My mother was surprised to  find out that he was very wealthy. They began dating and fell in love. My  mother soon discovered that she was pregnant with my brother. Before the baby  was was born they were married. After I became an adult, I was placed me in  charge of the estate. But my being in charge was only temporary."

 "What do you mean?" I frowned, still not sure where she was going.

 "Mike, by blood, of course, is actually the sole beneficiary of the estate.  After our mother's death, Enrico felt that Mike should get the bulk of the  money--actually all of the money--when he came of age, or when he married,  after which, Mike would be fully in charge of the estate. Until then, the  money was frozen. I was given a limited amount. " She sighed, looking  around. "This townhouse is all that I have. The whole estate--everything  else is Mike's and Mike's alone. It was in the will. It was what...father..  wanted before he died and there was nothing anyone could do about it."

 "I see," I nodded.

 Nancy glanced over at her husband who smiled, grasping her  hand to comfort her. Drawing in a deep breath, Nancy continued.  "After Mike turned 21, he never talked about what was stipulated in the will  and had even discussed splitting everything with me. But then he met and  began dating that...that woman."

 "You mean Heather?"

 "Yes. He change after that. "

 "In what way?"

 "Well, he just wasn't the same anymore. H-He started talking  about taking these expensive trips--African safaris, trips  to China and Japan, the Caribbean, and so forth. Toni, he  even mentioned sailing around the world for god sakes!"

 Sounded good to me. "So what happened the night of the argument?"  I asked.

 At that moment, Stanley rose to his feet to retrieve a box of tissues  from the table and held it out to her. She pulled out a few and blew her nose  before going on.

 "Well, Mike came by to tell me that he was getting married. We  argued about it and I told him that he was making a foolish choice. I really  voiced my concerns to him. I didn't want to see him hurt,  so I threatened to disinherit him if he married her."

 An uneasy silence followed as the words she spoke  hung heavy in the air and Nancy looked up from  her wadded tissue.

 "The woman's a real gold digger," she added quietly.

 "So you thought that if you disinherited Mike...."

 "I couldn't, Toni," she cut in quickly. "I only wanted him  to think that I could. I know that he would have found out  eventually."

 Surprise by all of the information, I raised my eyebrows. I could certainly  understand Nancy's concern about her brother's well being, but what she was  telling me didn't seem to affect her at all. Wasn't she aware of  how it all made her appear? I glanced over at Stanley who met my gaze and he  shrugged slightly.

 Nancy seemed to sense my concern and looked at me. "I loved my brother dearly  Toni." she whispered and lowered her gaze.

 "Mike was in love," Stanley chimed in, coming to his wife's aid. " No matter  what we told him, or how we tried to advise him, he wouldn't listen."

 "I see," I nodded again.

 Silence.

 "Tell me, the bridge where Mike supposedly jumped from....  the water has been searched, right?" I asked.

 "Yes, repeatedly. Nothing was ever found." Stanley said.

 Nancy looked up at me. "He wouldn't have taken his own life,  Toni." He had too much to live for."

 She seemed pretty adamant about that fact and for  obvious reasons. I looked around once more, taking  in the beauty of the place. With Mike's wealth, he certainly  had a lot to live for, I agreed.

 "Well," I sighed, rising from my seat. "I guess that's all for now."

 "Toni? You have to find him," Nancy pleaded as she  rose to her feet.

 I stared at her for a moment, her face flushed, her eyes pleading  and I suddenly felt a twinge of discomfort. Was I chasing a  dead man?

 "I'll do what I can," I said tucking away my notes. We walked back through  the foyer to the door, and I turned around to look at her.

 "Call me if you think of anything else, okay?"

 "I will," she said softly.

 I glanced at the two of them, said goodbye and stepped out into the chilled  air of the afternoon. As I made my way back down the long winding steps to my  car, I couldn't help but think how much this whole case was beginning to  stink. rose bushes or not. Right now, I was tired and needed time to think.  I climbed into my car and pulled off, headed towards home.

  *~*~*~*~*~

 Part 7

 "Winslow, Brigatti " I said into the speaker phone.

 Having just stepped out of a shower, I had dialed  Winslow's number and was seated on my bed  wrapped in a large bath towel while buffering my hair  dry with another.

 I had worked with Winslow when I was on the police force.  He had just been transferred to my department about a  year before I left. Ever since he had helped me out in the  Scanlon murder case involving Hobson's frame up, I had  grown...fond of him, in a distant sort of way. I owe him, a fact  that I will never admit in public.

 After I left the police department, I would call on him from  time to time to help me out with a case. I trusted him to get  the information that I needed and right now, with this case,  I felt that I could use his help.

 "Hey beautiful. It's been a while. Miss me?" his voice  echoed from the speaker phone.

 "How'd you guess." I said, tossing my head forward  to buffer the back of my hair with the towel. "And ah,  you can cool it with the flattery bit."

 "Hey, can't blame a guy for trying." He chuckled.

 I was glad Winslow couldn't see my smile. Although he  could be quite irritating at times, I blamed it on his youth.  It didn't help matters that he had a crush on me--at least,  according to the rumors that were circling around in the  office when I was there. It might have been amusing  had there not been rumors about me and Hobson too.  I had handled the situation with grace and maturity  simply ignoring their taunts and teasing, while in rreality,  I wanted to punch somebody out.

 "What's up?" Winslow asked eagerly.

 "Feel like making a little extra cash?" I got up and crossed the  room to my closet and rolled it back. Removing my favorite red  satin nightgown, I slipped it on over head, letting the towel  I was wrapped in drop to the floor.

 "I could always use some extra spending money."  he chuckled.

 " Well, I'm working on a case here that involves  some serious money. One of the key players seems  a little shady to me and I was wondering if you would  check her out for me. You know, keep tabs on her for  a day. See where she goes, what she does--who, she  does. That kind of thing."

 " She?" Winslow's voice took on a renewed sense of  interest, and I paused to stare down at the phone.

 "Yeah. That should make your job a little easier to  bear, you think?" I rolled my eyes.

 "Aw..you got me all wrong Toni." He chuckled, "But Gimme  whatcha got."

 "Well, it's quite possible that this guy may have  been murdered so that a lot of money could be collected.  I'm not certain, but I want you to check out his fiancee  or "ex" fiancee for me. Her name's Heather Langsford  and she lives over on Shoreline Drive."

 A sudden pause on the other end of the line led me to  believe that we had lost the connection and I tapped the  phone. "Winslow, you still there?"

 "Yep. Just making sure I got everything written down.  So you feel this guy may have been killed and that  his fiancee may have something to do with it?"

 "Or someone else," I added quickly. "It's just a guess and  there's still a few other characters out there that I want to  check out before I draw any conclusions."

 "I'm on it," Winslow answered.

 "You got my number, right?"

 I could hear a rustling movement on the other end of  the line. I imagined he was probably fumbling through  the many bits of paper in his pockets for my number.

 "Got it right here," he said.

 "Let me know if you come up with anything interesting.  I'm have to make a few runs tomorrow, but I'll keep in  touch. "

 "You got it."

 There was a click and Winslow was gone. I hung up the  receiver. With a sigh, I reached over and grabbed my brush  from the nightstand and gave my hair, a few brisk strokes.  Still damp from the shower, my hair had grown past my  shoulder now, which was much too long for my taste. I had  been seriously letting my best freind Ariana give me one of  those short funky cuts she's so famous for. She had been  begging me for months. But to tell you the truth, I wasn't up to  being her guinea pig.

 Laying the brush aside, I sat for a few moments thinking  about the Spiolie's. Enrico Calibru had really done a job  on Nancy by removing her from the inheritance. I suppose  that could be enough to set somebody off. But Nancy didn't  seem like the type. Other wise, why would she come to me  for help?

 With a sigh, I rose from the bed and slipped on the satin red  bath robe that matched the gown, then poured myself a glass  of white wine. Settling down on the plush windowseat in front  of my bedroom window I peered up into the sky. It had stopped  raining and the night was falling fast. Everything had taken on  a bluish hue. In a few minutes it would be completely black,  brought to life by the twinkling lights from the street lights and traffic  below.

 I loved the city, even with all of its problems and mysteries.  But, somewhere out there was Mike Calibru... or his killer and  it was up to me to find them.

 *~*~*~*~*~

 Part 8

 Someone was crying again.

 In hopes to block out the sound, I scrunched up my face  and rolled over, plopping two fingers in my mouth for  comfort. It didn't help.

 There is was again. It wasn't the sound of a cry that  would come from another child, but from someone older.  Much, much older.

 My eyes fluttered open and I blinked, peering through  the darkness of my room until my vision finally adjusted  to it's surroundings. The sobbing, although faint could  still be heard.

 I climbed out of bed and in my bare feet, padded to the door  and took a peek out into the hallway, trying to locate  the sound. It was coming from my daddy's bedroom. Poor  daddy. Maybe he needed another one of my hugs to make  him feel better. I missed mommy too.

 It was dark and creepy in the hallway as I walked slowly towards  his room, the sobbing getting louder as I got closer. I hesitated  outside of his bedroom door for just a moment before reaching  up to turn the knob slowly. I opened the door a small crack  and took a peek inside. It was dark inside of the room, but I  could see my daddy sitting on his bed, his strong frame  silhouetted against the white moonlit curtains of his window.  He was holding something up to his head.

 ((BANG!!!))

 Bolting straight up bed, my heart was pounding hard,  sweat beaded my face as I gasped to catch my breath.  It was a moment before I discovered that, I had been dreaming.  At that moment, the phone rang and I reached over quickly  fumbling for the receiver.

 "H-Hello." I whispered hoarsely, my mouth dry.

 "Antonia"

 My mind was still fuzzy as I tried to place the voice.

 "Antonia...you there?"

 It was Frank, my adoptive father.

 "Dad?" I said, clearing my throat.

 "Hey, how ya doing." he chuckled.

 "You in Chicago?" I frowned, puzzled for such an  early morning call, yet trying hide my nervous tone.

 "No-no, I'm still here in New York. What's wrong, your  voice sounds shaky. You all right?"

 With the covers crumpled around me, my heart was still  racing as I squinted at my alarm clock, the green digital  numbers illuminating the darkened room. It was 5:00 AM. I drew in a breath. " Dad, it's 5 O'clock in the morning." I  informed him, feeling slightly ticked because of the dream  and the early morning wake up call.

 "Sorry Hot Shot." he apologized with a chuckle.

 Hot Shot. A name, Frank had labeled, me when I was  small, probably because of my fiery temper. After I joined the  police department, the name seemed appropriate, according to  Frank anyway, and stuck with me. My excellent marksmanship  didn't help my situation.

 "Antonia? You still there?"

 Leaning back against the headboard, I ran a hand through  my hair, damp with sweat." Y-Yeah...I-I'm still here. " I sputtered. I had forgotten that Frank was an avid fisherman and was used  to getting up before the crack of dawn. For years he would wake  me early to go along with him down to the lake. Not wanting to  disappoint him, I went. I really hated fishing. Tangled lines.  Waiting in one spot just to get a nibble. Dishearten to discover  that-that nibble, was actually an old boot someone had lost. Such a waste of  time to me. I had no patience for it. Which might explain  my current dislike for any fish of any kind.

 "I'm sorry to call you so early in the morning honey, but it's  hard trying to catch up with you."

 "It's fine...really." I assured him, " But dad,... you could leave a  message on my answering machine if you can't reach me."  I explained.

 "I know, but I don't like talking into those blasted things.  you know that. "

 "Okay...okay, " I sighed in resignation, making a mental  note to scratch answering maching off of my Christmas list.

 "Dad...w-was there something that you wanted to tell me?  Is everything okay?"

 He hesitated for a moment, "Well..yeah honey, everything's  fine. Look, your mother and I are taking a cruise in a couple of  days and we just wanted to know if you wanted to tag along.  with us. You've been working pretty hard these past couple  of months and we decided that you needed a vacation," he  chuckled,

 "YOU decided huh? " I smiled, scratching my head, my heart  beginning to finally settle down. Frank could have been a  comedian too. I drew in a breath, knowing that once again,  I would have to disappoint them.

 "I can't make it." I said simply.

 Silence.

 "That's it? You can't make it?"

 "I-I'm sort of tied up with a case right now."

 "Speaking of case," he said, a tone of deprivation in his voice.  " is there something you forgot to tell us?"

 I searched my memory bank trying hard to think of what  he could possibly be referring to. He refreshed my memory.

 "Your new position?"

 "Ohh," I nodded, feeling suddenly guilty. I hadn't yet told them  about my career change. Leaning my head back against my  head board, I apologized. "I-I'm sorry, I was going to tell you  and--how did you find out about that anyway?"

 "So, you're no longer on the police force?" he asked, ignoring  my inquiry.

 "No...well kind of. I work independently now along with the police.  I was hired to work special forces. I'm licensed by the state of  Illinois." I answered hoping he'd be satisfied with that answer.

 There was another long silence while he processed  the information.

 "So what exactly is it that you do?" he asked.

 "Well, actually, it's no different really than what I did as a  police officer. I just work alone."

 "Your mother and I worry about you Antonia."

 " I'm fine, really."

 "So do you work homicide cases too?"

 "Yes."

 "Antonia...I-I don't know. " I could see him shaking his head.

 "Dad!" I emphasized loudly to get his attention. " It's no  different from what I did when I was on the police force."

 Silence.

 "But at least you then had the support of the police  department backing you up." he finally spoke.

 "I-I still do. " I assured him softly " I'm okay..really. I-I can handle  myself."

 Silence.

 "You always were an independent young lady." he murmured  softly.

 I nodded. He was right. There's something quite sobering  about being an only child left alone. To witness what I  had at such a young age, yes, I had grown up fast.

 "So how's mom?" I asked, changing the subject.

 "Doing fine... still sleeping. She's going to be upset  when she finds out that I talked to you without waking her  up." he chuckled, "Give her a call will you?"

 "I will." I promised.

 "You sure you can't make it?" he asked in a last attempt  to get me to change my mind and I smiled wistfully.

 " I'm sure.  Maybe when I'm done with this case huh?"

 Silence.

 "Best shot in Chicago." he whispered softly to no one in  particularly and I smiled. There was tone of pride in his voice.

 "That's right." I assured him confidently.

 He said, "Talk to you later."

 "See you when you get back." I promised.

 There was a long pause before the phone clicked in  my ear. With that, he was gone. Unconciously, I held on to  the receiver, in my mind savoring the last bit of contact  with him. But the electronic voice of the operator informing  me that if I would like to place a call, to please hang up and  try again, broke me from my reverie and I slowly hung up. I was ten when Frank and Rosata Valardi adopted me.  They were an older couple in their late forties, living very  comfortably and never had children of their own. They felt that  a child would complete their lives and were actually looking to  adopt a baby boy. But Frank told me that it was and my piercing  dark eyes and coal black hair that drew them to me. Little did they  know that there was a bite to go along with the look. After having  lived in a foster home for a part of my life, I had built up a wall of  protection. After what my father did, I was afraid to ever get so  close to some one that I would be left alone again.

 But the Valardi's dealt with me, spoiling me rotten, at least, as much  as I would allowed them to. After I turned ninteen, I packed up my  little BMW I had received from them as a graduation gift, and moved  out on my own. Frank and Rosata were good parents, actually, they were  excellent parents and I could never repay them for the life they gave back to  me. But there was a independent streak that ran deep  in me. I needed to do things for myself.

 I slid down into the warmth of my covers, trying hard to remember  my real mother. Aside from a few pictures, and what my father  had told me I didn't remember much. Apparently, she had been  killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. My father who was  driving at the time had survived the accident, but never got  over her death. Although it wasn't his fault, he blamed himself. As the years faded, so did my memories of my mother. My  father raised me the best he knew how and I loved him very much.  I was happy. Just me and my dad. I thought that he was happy  too. I was wrong. That night, at the tender age of eight, I got to  see first hand just how unhappy he really was. I had witnessed  it all.

 Over the years, I learned the art of pushing it all aside,  building up a wall of defense and mistrust, learning not to  depend on anyone but myself.

 Still shaky from the dream, I was unable to go back to sleep.  I got up and showered, got dressed and headed over to my office,  wanting to pour myself into my work. That's the good thing about  being in this profession. You get to concentrate on other people's  problems, while shoving your own under a rug for a while.  Speaking of problems, there were still a few things that I wanted  to take care before I made any more moves on the Spiolie  case. I hadn't checked out Mike's apartment as of yet, and  with Nancy's approval that would be one of the first things  on my agenda for the day.

  *~*~*~*~*~*~

 Part 9

 There are a few small businesses in the same complex  where my small office is located. One, is a printing supplies  store that I use if I need to make copies of different  documents and contracts. It's also where I buy some of  my office supplies. The other is a small Subway Sandwich  shop, which is, fortunately for me, a convenient way to  grab a bite to eat or a cup of coffee on the way to my  office.

 I parked in a space right in front, paid for a cup of coffee  from the sandwich shop and walked over to my office a  few feet away. Turning my key in the lock, I let myself in. I hadn't been there in a while and it was stuffy inside.  Leaving the door open, I set my purse and coffee down on  my desk and moved towards the small window behind it and  pushed it open letting in fresh air. Over on my desk, the red  message light on my answering machine was blinking like  crazy. I tapped the rewind button, peeled the top from my  coffee to stir it just as Gaunther, the mailman for the building  peeked his head inside of the doorway.

 "Morning, Miss Brigatti." he smiled, shyly.

 "Morning, Gaunther," I greeted cheerfully. "Got any mail for me  today? I only want the good stuff."

 Gaunter was the silent type--didn't say much but had a  nice kindly face. He rummaged through the pile in his  arms, pulled out a small stack of letter and handed them  to me.

 "There's more behind the door." he said, pulling back the door  to reveal a small trail of letters that had spilled over onto the  floor from my outside mail box.

 I eyed the stack of letters on the floor disheartedly, then  glanced back up at him.

 "Gee, thanks Gunth." I smirked, plopping down in my  chair, coffee in one hand, letters in the other. It was going  to take a while to sort through that pile on the floor, and I was  getting tired just thinking about it. They were mostly  advertisements, I kept reminding myself.

 Gaunther grinned, tipped his hat, and left, leaving me with  a handful of letters and the beeping sound of my answering  machine kicking in.

 ((Beep!))

 "Hi Toni," a female voice sang cheerfully. It was my best freind  Ariana.

 "Just keeping in touch with you. Well, I know how you feel  about blind dates, but pleease, Toni, give this one a chance.  My boy-friend has a friend who's just dying to meet--"

 Before the message was completed, I reached over  quickly fast-forwarding to the next message and rolled my  eyes. I'll have to start looking for a *new* best freind, I sighed. Ariana meant well, but she was constantly trying to fix me  up. The last time I had given in and gone out with her  friend-of-a-friend, who was a doctor, he had proven to  have more a surgeon's skill with his hands, and was hell-bent  on showing me. After I got through with him, he probably  needed his own surgeon. Jerk!

 ((Beep)) The sound of the answering machine kicked in again.

 "Hey, Toni. Winslow. Look, I had some spare time today  and decided to do a little trace on our friend Heather." Taking a sip of coffee, I leaned forward in my chair,  eager to hear what Winslow had come up. Winslow continued, "Apparently, she's been in close  contact with someone down in Mexico. Her phone  records indicate that she's made quite a few calls to  this number. Got a pen handy? 1-212- 995-8764." I opened my desk drawer and pulled out a pen, quickly  scribbling down the number as Winslow read it off. "Seems as if our friend is into motorcycles too. But Toni,  here's the clincher...."

 I held my cup in mid of another sip, waiting for whatever  it was Winslow had to say.

 "I checked with her job and apparently, she's quitting. She's  already given her six weeks notice and from what I understand,  she's leaving as soon as next month. Apparently, she  purchased two one-way plane tickets to...guess where?  Switzerland. Strange isn't it? Well, let me know if there's  anything else you need. I'll keep in touch."

 Click!

 Surprised at what Winslow had just revealed, I leaned back  in my chair. Heather was definately hiding something.  But what? And who was she contacting down in Mexico?  The motorcycle trip was also a surprise, and now two  one-way plane tickets to Switzerland? Little Heather was full of  surprises. I had many questions and didn't know where to  start. I thought about Mike's place and felt an urgent need to  go through it, but I had to get permission from Nancy first to  take a look around inside. Maybe there was something the  police had missed.

 I reached over and picked up the phone to dial her number.

 By now I had the damn thing memorized.

 There were a few rings before the phone picked up.

 "Spiolie residence," a female voice answered.

 "Yes, um, may I speak with Nancy please?"

 "Who's calling?" the voice asked politely.

 "Toni Brigatti," I said.

 There was a rustling sound before Nancy's voice came on.

 "Hello?"

 "Hi Nancy...Toni again. Look, I was just wondering if  I could take a look around inside of Michael's beach  house?"

 "Sure. But I think the police have already gone over it...."

 "I know," I said, " But I'd like to take another look around, you  know, to kind of check things out for myself."

 "Well...sure. No problem. Everything is just as it was. I haven't  had any cleaning done or anything. Too painful...you know."

 I nodded, even though I knew she couldn't see me. "Yeah, I understand."

 "So when would you like to see it?"

 I checked my watch. "Is this morning okay?"

 "Sure...wait a sec..." It sounded as if she had placed her  hand over the receiver to talk to someone. The voices were  too muffled to really make out anything. There was another  slight rustle and then her voice came back over.

 "You know Toni, I'm kind of busy at the moment, but my  husband Stanley said that he would be more than happy  to let you in."

 "Great," I said, remembering how sweet Stanley was.

 "You got the address?" she asked.

 "I think so," I said fishing through the pile of papers on  my desk until I brought out a piece of paper with Mike's  address on it.

 "1701 Beach Terrace?" I asked.

 "That's it. How long will it take you to get over there?" I checked my watch again. "Umm...about a half hour?"

 "Okay, Stanley will be waiting out front."

 "Okay thanks."

 "Bye."

 "Bye."

 I hung up the phone and checked my watch. It was 10:00 am.  I could make it there by 10:30. I wasn't sure what I expected  to find at Mike's apartment, but you just never know. I've had  cases where the smallest little piece of thread or strand of  hair in a murder investigation broke the case. I should only  hope that I could find something, anything, that would let  me know whether or not Michael had killed himself, was or  if he had been murdered.

 I downed the rest of my coffee quickly and stood,  grabbing my purse from my desk. Removing my 24  magnum from my desk drawer, I checked to make sure  I had enough ammo before sliding it into my purse.  I then lowered the window, making sure to lock it before  heading out the door, locking it behind me too.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~

 Part 10

 The morning was overcast, traffic, heavy, as  I hit the expressway, headed south east of Chicago.  It was a good 45 minutes drive out to the beach. Due  to the morning commute and the rain, it had taken me  much longer to get there than I had expected.

 Stanley Spiolie was waiting for me when I arrived.  I could see his tall muscular frame leaning against his  car, his arms folded across his chest. He glanced over  in my direction as I pulled up across the road in front  of the house. Smiling that charismatic smile of his,  he rose from his recline, straightening his pant leg as  he proceeded towards my car.

 I got out of the car, grabbing the pouch that I carry with  me when I do my investigating work, and my flash light  from the glove compartment and walked across the road  to meet him.

 "Ms Brigatt," he greeted smiling, "So nice to see  you again."

 I noticed that he was dressed more casually  this time in jeans, a green sweater and brown heavy  coat. The green sweater set off the green flecks in  his eyes.

 "Please, call me Toni." I said.

 "Toni," he smiled, his large gloved hand engulfing my  small one as we shook. There was a strong grip behind  his shake, his muscular arms were evident beneath his  coat sleeve that he had lifted many a jackhammer in his day. We stood a moment, observing the little bungalow  which was surrounded by the over hanging branches  of a Weeping willow tree.

 "Very nice." I commented looking around. I had always  wanted a place near the beach.

 "Mike sure loved it here," Stanley smiled. "It's not much,  but it was his home and he spent a lot of his time out  here."

 He motioned forward, and we started towards the house,  the sound of our shoes crunching on the gravel path  of the road.

 When we got to the house, Stanley paused suddenly, then  bent down to pull some weeds that had sprouted up  alongside of the house and I stopped to wait for him.

 "Sorry for such short notice." I apologized, watching  as he pulled up a few more of the prickly dandelions  before tossing them to the side.

 "It's no problem." he assured me. " I haven't been  out here since ---" he hesitated for a moment, "well, you  know. Anyway, I'm glad that you got me out here. I hate  to see the place go to ruins."

 I followed him up a flight of steps to the door. From  his belt, he unhooked a large ring that looked as though  it held a thousand keys rattling around on it. Fingering  quickly through them, he found the appropriate key,  slipped it into the lock and we inside.

 It was deathly cold inside of the house, having stood  empty for months since the police's last search. Looking around, the house appeared much larger than  I had expected. A large fireplace of black and white stone,  covered part of one wall. In the center of the room was  a black leather sofa which gave the place a masculine  feel. In front of the sofa was a black glass table, particles  of dust covered the top. The wet bar in the corner of the  room was the perfect touch for the neatly arranged,  bachelor pad. A sliding glass door in front of the couch led  out to the deck, over looking the beach.

 I knew that the police and forensic had already done  a thorough search of the house and had gone over everything.  The coffee table where Heather found the suicide note had been  cleared of any papers and taken in by the homicide detectives.

 As promised, I got started, beginning with the small  kitchenette off to my left. I did a quick search of  everything, windows, cupboards, sink, and found  nothing of importance.

 I followed the smoky gray carpeting that led down a  small hall space and branched off into other rooms of the  bungalow. To the left were two rooms and across the hall  from them, a bathroom.

 Right above the base board of the carpet, something  drew my attention. Red smudges of some type and I  crouched down to take a closer look. Blood? If so, how  did forensic miss it?

 I removed a plastic evidence bag that I kept in my  pouch, a cotton swab, and did a quick swipe of the area  collecting what I could of the strange substance onto the  swab and then sealed it tightly before tucking it into my pouch. "'Tedious work for a such a young lady like yourself?"  Stanley commented as he bent to examine the frame  of the front door.

 Unaware that Stanley had been watching, I turned to look up  at him. His back was to me and he was examining the  frame of the front door.

 "It can be challenging at times" I said, "but I like what I do." I rose to my feet and stood for a moment, watching him  fiddle around with the jams of the door. It certainly  appeared that Stanley was the hands on type of guy, always  fixing things. I cleared my throat to get his attention and he  turned around to look at me.

 "Sorry." He said, sheepishly, rising to his feet.

 I smiled, " It's okay, I just wouldn't want to disturb what  may be left of any evidence..ah... you understand."

 "Yes...yes I do," he nodded. "Maybe I should  wait outside?"

 "It's really not necessary" I said. "I'll only be a few  minutes."

 "I'll.. just...wait out here... out of your way." he said,  motioning towards the balcony. Fishing into his shirt  pocket for his cigarettes he stepped outside onto the  deck. Watching him, I could see what Nancy found  special about him. This big giant, so gentle. Nancy  was fortunate to have him looking after her.

 I drew in a breath, then proceeded towards the first room  on the left taking a peek inside. It was a bedroom small  in size, yet roomy enough to accommodate a king sized bed  and a chest of drawers comfortably. I walked over to the  closet and rolled it back. A few pieces of men clothing hung  inside. I knelt to search the closet space and along the  metal track at the base of the door then rose pushing aside  the shirts to check the back of the closet. I shone my flashlight  around inside. Nothing.

 I moved towards the large chifferobe and pulled open  the drawers, checking them one by one. They too were  empty. Closing it up, I stepped back out into the hallway  to check the other room. I assumed it had been used as  Mike's office. The large desk drew my attention first. I  knew that the police had probably taken everything that  may have been of interest, but I wanted to check it anyway.  It was one of those old antique type, the kind with the roll  back cover. I opened it up to find it completely empty.

 Why wasn't I surprised.

 Stanley had grown quiet out on the balcony. I shut the  cover and stepped back out into the hallway to check  on him, curious to see what he had found to occupy  his time. He was seated on a chair puffing contentedly  away on cigarette, his head leaned back against the  wall while he did a visual inspection of the overhanging  vines that ran along the porch. Good. He seemed relaxed.

 "So how many rooms in this place?" I called out, trying  to make conversation. I removed a pair of gloves from  my pouch slipped it on, then went back into the room to  check the window behind the desk.

 "Well, if you count the john... five." he called back. I parted the curtain and ran the gloved hand carefully  along the windowsill hopefully collecting something, any  thing that might be useful. There are times when, even  the tinest piece of evidence, a bit of thread, a strand of  hair is what breaks a case.

 I worked fast collecting all that I needed and turned from  the window. Pulling off the glove I placed it carefully into  a separate plastic bag and sealed the top.

 "So, Stanley, what kind of work do you do?"  I asked stepping back out into the hallway.

 He peered over in my direction through the opened  glass door. "I own a small construction business. But  believe me, nothing quite as interesting as what you  do." He chuckled.

 "You think this is interesting?" I asked, raising an eye  brow at him. "You should see me up late some nights,  going over note, examining and reexamining the  evidence I've collected. And writing up my report is  the worst." I said, and he laughed.

 I smiled and crossed to the small bathroom across the hall  and took a peek inside. Cute. In theme with it's beach like  surrounding. A surf board hung against the side of the wall.  Double sinks in the shape of seashells?? Seashell soap  dishes sat on the marble counter top and the toilet, you got it.  The seat was also shaped like a seashell. Oh brother!  Must have been Heather's little touch, I smirked and walked  over to check the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside  were two used tooth brushes, a used tube of tooth paste and a  bottle of aspirin. I closed the cabinet then squatted down to  check below the sink. Cleaning supplies, sponges, plunger.  Nothing of interest.

 Dusting off my hands, I rose from the floor and moved  towards the shower. The curtains were drawn haphazardly  together and I paused. (immediately reminded of that Psycho  movie, the old one, with Janet Leigh), envisioning a knife  welding lunatic slashing out at me from behind the curtain.  This is silly! I thought and quickly yanked the curtain aside,  surprised to find dangling from a long twisted rope, a hunk  of soap and I let out an unexpected laugh. I always hated  those things!

 My sudden out burst provoked a curious inquiry from Stanley  and he called out from the balcony, "You okay in there?"

 Feeling slightly foolish, I answered, "Just fine."

 Actually, I really did need help. The men in the white coat  kind.

 I took a quick look around. Shower gel and shampoo  bottles sat in one of those bottle holder thingamajigs  a used wash cloth hung around the neck of the shower head.  I reached over to touch the soap on a rope. Although it  wasn't wet, it was slightly sticky to the touch. Strange. I  felt the towel, which wasn't completely dry. I thought that  too was strange considering no one had been there  since Mike's disappearance.

 I turned from the shower and walked back out into the  living room and joined Stanley out on the balcony where  he stood gazing out towards the water. Upon hearing my  steps, he turned around.

 "Find anything of significance?" he asked.

 Looking round, I drew in a deep peaceful breath  "Yeah." I said, " That I am going to have to start  saving up my lunch money to buy myself a place  like this."

 He chuckled.

 "So how long have you been in this...profession?" he asked.

 "Since going solo? About a year and a half." I answered,  tilting my face towards the sky. Up above, seagulls were  circling about, their wings, spread wide,as they sailed  effortlessly towards the shore, then back out towards the  water again.

 "It's quite relaxing isn't it?" Stanley said.

 "Yes it is." I sighed, gathering my coat at the collar to  shield against the wind.

 Both of us grew quiet again enjoying the tranquility of the  moment. The beach, the water, the waves, and personally.  I could have stood there all day just enjoying the view,  but I knew that I had to get back to the business at hand.

 "So, tell me about Mike." I said abruptly, turning to face  him.

 He seemed surprised by the unexpectedness of my  questionand turned to look at me. I suppose he felt  that we had already gone over that whole subject  with Nancy at their home the other day. If he thought it,  he didn't let on.

 He looked thoughtful as he dug into his coat pocket and  pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. Thumping one  out, he placed it between his lips before answering.

 "Mike was a good man, young, impressionable. And he  was in love. After Nancy said that she was going to  remove him from the will he lost it I suppose. I-I don't know."

 "Did he know that he was to inherit *all* of the money after  he married?" I asked

 "Yes, he knew. But knowing Mike, he loved his sister  and would have done right by her. "

 I arched a curious eyebrow. "Meaning?"

 "Well, Mike felt bad about what his father did, guilty  somehow. He didn't want to exclude Nancy from the  inheritance. He was really down to earth. He could  have bought an expensive home to live in, but he  preferred to live a simple life. This place was the first  place he ever purchased."

 "Really?"

 "Yeah. I guess you could say it was his first big invest-  ment." he smiled liting the cigarette

 I smiled.

 "Mike loved his sister Toni. He would have thought  nothing of splitting his wealth with her. It's how Mike was.  Nancy was afraid though. She was suspicious of Heather  and was afraid that she might---" he hesitated.

 "Somehow persuade him to keep it?" I ventured.

 He glanced at me briefly, "Or squander it all away." I stared at him for a moment thinking about what he had  just said. Just then a gust of wind swept through. The  whishing sound of waves splashing hard the against the  rocks drew our attention. I held my hair away from my  face as we turned around and watched silently until the  water was calm again.

 Over head, skies were dark, promising another down pour  and I pulled my coat tighter around me for warmth.

 "I worry about Nancy though." Stanley continued,  his voice sounding faint in the wind beside me.

 I turned to look at him. "Why is that?"

 "It's really tearing her apart. I mean, she still believes  Mike may be alive somehow and can't deal with the fact  that....he's gone."

 "Do you think he's alive." I asked, "I mean...the notes  and all. What do you think happened to him?"

 "Personally?" he paused briefly to look at me. "I think  it's a great possibility that Mike did indeed take his life.  He was heartbroken when Nancy expressed her disapproval  of Heather. She was the love of his life."

 "But Nancy seems very certain that he's alive." I frowned,  perplexed that the two of them could be so divided on  the issue.

 "I know...I-I mean, I don't know." he shrugged running a  hand over his face. He drew in a tired breath then glanced  over at me. " That's why hired you."

 I studied his face for a moment, feeling suddenly pressured  to work a miracle. " I'll do my best." I said.

 Fishing in his pocket for his lighter, something white fluttered  out onto the deck and I glanced down. Laying beside Stanley's  size 14's was a 3x4 index card and I bent to pick it up.

 Easy Rider.

 "You into bikes?" I asked handing him the card. He seemed embarrassed. A flush rose up to cover his

 face as he reached over, taking the card. "Yes...yes I  am. It's a..ahh motorcycle club that I belong too." He  said, slipping the card back into his pocket. "Thanks."

 "Easy Rider huh?" I teased.

 "My only vise besides these." he confessed with a grin,  holding up a partially finished cigarette and we laughed.

 "Was Mike into motorcycles too?" I asked.

 "No. He wasn't into anything of that sort. I tried to get  him to buy one, but it just wasn't his thing I guess.  Nancy despises it. You know, afraid of our being hurt."

 I smiled remembering the very first time I had ridden on one.  My first highschool boyfriend used to take me out for a spin  on his, much to Frank's and Rosette's dismay. But I was  hooked after that and could actually ride a pretty mean bike  if I must say so myself. Later on after I joined the academy,  Frank used to tease me about it saying that it was probably  the reason I had become a cop.

 "Do you take many motorcycle road trips?" I asked.

 "Actually, not as many as I would like." Stanley chuckled.  "It's not Nancy's idea of fun."

 I drew in another breath, taking one last look around  before stepping back from the railing of the porch.  "Well...I suppose I'm through."

 "So soon?" Stanley kidded, taking one last drag  from his cigarette. Dropped it on to the ground, he  pressed it out with the toe of his boot.

 I checked to make sure that I had everything I had brought  with me, and we stepped inside. I thought about the soap  and wash cloth, and turned to Stanley who was busy locking  the glass door to the balcony.

 "Has anyone used this bungalow or been up here since  the police?" I asked.

 Stanley turned to me and thought about the question. "Not  as far as I know." he finally answered, shaking his head.  "I mean, the place has been locked up ever since the  police did their search. Why do you ask?"

 I shrugged, shaking my head, "No reason."

 Taking a last survey of my supplies, and everything accounted  for, I looked up at him. "Ready?"

 "Ready when you are little lady."

 He opened the door we stepped outside into the brisk air.  My search had only taken about thirty minutes. Stanley  had been very cooperative and accommodating. Nice man.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~

 Chapter 11

 I pulled up in front of Mcginty's, shut off the engine  and sat for a moment wondering what the *hell*  I was doing there.

 I could not believe Hobson had mistaken my  threat as an invitation for a date. Nevertheless he  had looked so vulnerable standing there when I  pulled off from the cafe that morning, I started  thinking.... maybe I had been a little rude to him.  Okay, I' ll admit, that I had been just down right  nasty and decided it wouldn't hurt to drop by to  give him a decent 'thank you,' after all, he had saved  my life at that department store. While I was out,  I suppose it wouldn't hurt to see if maybe he would  like to take in a movie sometime, and for me to even  *consider* asking a man out was simply something  I did *not* do.

 I checked my watch. It was still early, only a quarter  to two. I had already taken the samples of the red  splotches down to the lab at the police station to be  tested. While there, I had gone through some of the old  police reports that were filed the night the police had searched  Mike's house. I found nothing in the documents that mentioned  or even suggested foul play. Actually, forensic had ruled  their findings of Mike's bungalow " Clean as a Whistle,"  and until the test results of the splotches came back from the  lab, I would just have to wait to see what developed.

 With some spare time on my hands, I had gone home,  taken a shower and somehow ended up here, in front  of Mcginty's.

 With a gloved hand, I reached up to pulled down  the sun visor and checked my face in the mirror.  Not bad, I thought, giving my hair a quick finger  comb. Hobson should be so lucky! Feeling  foolish and vain for having done this in public  I quickly pushed the visor back into place.  Hobson had me acting like this?

 Blowing out a nervous breath, I got out of the car  and hurried inside, praying that Hobson's cat  had been replaced with a stuffed one.

 Inside of the bar, the smell of freshly baked pizza,  pretzels and beer filled the air. At one of the counters, a few of the customers had  gathered around, beer mugs in hand, their faces tilted  upward as they watched an afternoon football game  on the television mounted on the wall.

 The place still looked good and despite the rainy weather,  there was a nice crowd out. Hobson was doing all right  for himself.

 I did a quick scan of the bar and spotted Marissa,  his business partner seated alone at a table  next to the office. Sitting erect with her head held high,  she was reading something and seemed completely  absorbed as her fingers moved quickly over document. Peeling off my gloves, I made my way quickly towards her  table and was about to offer a greeting when her fingers  stopped suddenly and she tilted her head slightly. Staring  straight ahead, a slow grin spread across her face.

 "Brigatti." she smiled.

 My mouth hung open. "How did you---?" I started, then shook  my head, dismissing the question. She too must have a sixth  sense or something.

 "H-How are you Marissa?" I asked instead, looking down to  check my watch.

 "Just fine," she smiled,. "A-And it was by your walk."

 I glanced back up. "Excuse me?"

 "In answer to your first question? I-I could tell that it was you,  by the sound of your---" she swallowed. "Walk"

 I stared at her for a moment. The woman simply amazed me,  although I wasn't sure if what she had just revealed was a  compliment or not.

 Looking at her, I could see why Gary valued their friendship.  Despite her blindness, she was a very intelligent woman  and a great asset to him and the business. She was also  rather attractive.

 She was smartly dressed in a crisp white blouse and  black skirt. Her skin was a shiny smooth, the color of  deep chocolate. Her hair, she wore in a different style  every time I saw her. Today it was braided in tiny braids,  the sides draped comfortably up behind her ear and  hung to her shoulders.

 Her sightless eyes wavered slightly as she stared  past me, but I could detect the wheels of her mind  turning, probably pondering the reason for my unexpected  call.

 "Hobson around?" I asked, tucking my gloves into my  pocket.

 "G-Gary?" she seemed surprised. " Well ah...he's --ahh---."

 "It's okay I know where it is...thanks. " I said, and without  hesitation, walked briskly past her through the office door.  I had been upstairs enough times to know the  way to Hobson's loft. I didn't need directions.

 As I rounded the two desks, I almost expected to see  him asleep on the sofa as I passed it. I shook my  head and headed quickly up the stairs in back.

 All was quiet at the top of the stairs. No sign of that  cat, thank goodness! Stopping in front of the door  I held my breath, before lifting a fist hesitantly to knock.  No answer.

 I checked my watch, thinking if Hobson didn't  answer this time, I would leave. I waited a few minutes  longer, then tapped again.

 Through the blurry glass window of the door, I could  make out a figure moving towards me. The sound of  the latch clicked and the door opened slightly.

 Standing before me, dripping wet and clutching a towel  around her petite frame, was a woman. A very pretty  woman at that.

 Like a cold fist hitting me in the heart, I was stunned, and  should have known that Hobson wouldn't be any different! "I-I'm sorry, I thought you were Marissa." the woman  apologized, stepping back from the opening of the  doorway.

 I felt my face flush. Whether it was from embarrassment,  or anger I don't know, but I tried hard to reason the  situation thinking, either this woman had just gotten out of the  shower, she and Hobson had just gotten out of the  shower, or Hobson had a big hole in his roof, rain  was pouring in and the two of them had gotten  drenched trying to catch the drops in buckets!

 I was a fool for coming here!

 Trying to gain composure, I cleared my throat,  and mustered up a strong, "Hi", all the while trying not to  look passed her wet shoulder for that dirty,  no good, two timing--- !

 "You looking for Gary?" she asked, interrupting my silent  barrage.

 I stared at her for a moment conjuring up a mental  picture of Hobson still in the shower? Or would he be  in the bedroom by now?

 I shook my head to clear it of the thought. "M-Maybe I  came at a bad time," I said.

 "Gary's not here at the moment." she said, smoothing  back a wet strand of hair from her face. " I-I mean  he wasn't here when I got here this morning."

 I remembered I hadn't introduced myself and stuck out  a hand. "Brigatti. Ahh...private investigator." I said, adding  the investigator part in hopes of making this visit look like  a business one.

 As we shook, I observed the fact that she was wrapped in,  I assume, one of Hobson's towel and she seemed just about  as uncomfortable as I was.

 She followed my gaze, glancing down at the towel and her  cheeks tinted slightly. "G-Gary and I are...old friends." she  said, adjusting the towel. " I'm here on business. I-I mean  in Chicago on business, and realized I had forgotten  all of my credit card and cash. I needed a place to  freshen up so I stopped by Gary's to sort of borrow  his... shower."

 Realizing that she had probably given out more information  than was necessary, she bit her lip and quickly then introduced  herself. " My name's Meredith. W-Would you like to come in  and wait for him?"

 "No..thanks," I said dryly, feeling the heat rise to my face again.  I stared at her.

 In town on business. Right. Kind of friends? I'll bet!  And kind of borrowed his shower? What the *hell* was that  supposed to mean?? And no, I wouldn't like to come in!  I was so mad, I could have slugged somebody! Hobson  preferably. I swallowed hard, knowing that I needed to get  grip. I mean, why the heck did I care who Hobson shared  soap with!

 She looked disturbed. "Did you say, private investigator?"

 "That's right." I said rather smugly. "Look, tell Hobson  that I stopped by and that there has been a... change in ... plans."

 "Plans?" she asked, wiping a drop of water  from her eye.

 I had hit a nerve.

 "Ahh....confidential " I wrinkled my nose at her and  my eyes dropped to the towel again. "Maybe you should  put something on that. Wouldn't want you to catch  cold."

 I flashed a quick smile, turned on my heel and stalked off.  It seemed to take forever to get down the flight of stairs  I was so mad. Why the hell did I come here? If Hobson  was seeing someone then, why would he lead me on?

 Everything was a haze as I made my way through the  office and out to the bar. Marissa was merely a blur as  I passed her on my way out.

 "Thanks huh?" I called to her over my shoulder trying  to sound nonchalant as I stormed out of the bar. I jumped  into my car, started the engine and sped off, the sound of  my tires screeching as I headed towards home.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~

 Part 12

 I spent the next couple of days going between  my apartment and the office, making calls, checking  my notes while waiting for the test results on the  marks to come back from the lab. I had also gotten  some time in at the shooting range. Keeping brushed  up on my marksmanship is a must in this profession,  aside from jogging and...well other ways I've too  much class to talk about, it's also a great way to get rid  of some pinned up hostility.

 During one of those two days, I had been invited to  have dinner with the Spiolie's at their lovely home  and got to know the two of them a little better. Not  wanting to upset them, I didn't mention that I suspected  someone may have been using Mike's house, *since* his disappearance. The lab  results may shed some light on  things.

 I got to know a little bit more about Stanley's small con-  struction company, 'Spiolie Construction,' which was  currently building out of town and that Stanley had  taken a trip last summer to Jamaica on business to  promote the little company.

 The Spiloie's were such a loving couple, I could see  just how much Stanley adored Nancy. He was very  caring towards her and for her peace of mind, he  wanted to see this whole thing through.

 Why is it that all of the good men are taken?

 At that moment the thought of Hobson crossed my mind  and I shuddered, causing the stack of letters to slide  from my lap onto the floor.

 Cursing silently, I crouched down to gather them up.  As I slid the letters into a pile, I thought about the  towel woman in Hobson's apartment, wondering if  that was his type.

 I questioned myself about what it was, I was  feeling for the man, since he and I have nothing  in common. I'm bold and straight forward, he' s secretive,  kind of shy. I hate cats, he has one. I' m with law enforce-  ment, he runs from it. Absolutely nothing in common. I had no  reason for going over to his apartment in the first place  and what ever extra curricular activity he chose to do in  his spare time, was his business!

 The telephone rang suddenly, and I scrambled up quickly  to answer it. It was Winslow informing me that the test  results of the splotches had come back from the lab, which  was a *very* good thing, because I was just contemplating  on marching back over to the bar to shoot Hobson!

 Stacking what was left of the unopened letters on  my desk, I grabbed my coat and hurried out the door.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~

 Part 13

 When I got to the lab, Winslow was already there  and so was Jim Kerpinsky the lab technician. Both  men had their heads down, pouring over some  documents on the desk in front of them. They  glanced up as I entered the lab.

 "Brigatti." Jim smile, peering over the top of his  spectacles.

 "Hey Jim, Winslow." I greeted both men.

 "Brigatti." Winslow greeted, with a jerk of his chin, his  blue eyes crinkling slightly in the corners. He seemed  about as anxious as I was about the information.

 Sliding a lock of hair behind my ear, I arched an  eyebrow with curious impatience, looking from one to  the other. "So, what do we have?"

 Drawing a deep breath, Winslow took the initiative.  "Well, the results of the red marks...splotch... shows  something very interesting." he handed me the forms  and I took them then began scanning through them carefully.

 There was a lot of information talking about aluminum  bauxite, sodium silicate solution, carbide lime and gypsum  tailings.... whatever that heck that was. Scientific technical  sounding terms and names I hadn't heard since chemistry  during my college days. The word bauxite did seemed to  ring a bell with me though and I glanced up at Jim for  clarification. "Aluminum bauxite?"

 "It's a a mineral found in a certain type of dirt use mainly  in construction." Jim said, removing his glasses

 "Construction?"

 "Yeah. Bauxite waste or red mud, another term for it."  He rose from his chair and walked over to a large  clear medical cabinet pulling it open. He reached in  and removed a clear tube marked, 'Bauxite' and handed  it to me. I examined the strange looking substance inside  of the glass tubing and glanced back up at him.

 "That's it?" I raised a brow in surprise. "Plain old  dirt?"

 "Well, that depends on how you want to look at it."  Jim chuckled. "Actually, according to some experts,  it can be very useful in the construction industry. It  can be manufactured into bricks or blocks for building  without using the energy firing process normally  used to make clay bricks, making it a lot cheaper to  manufacture and purchase. Using bauxite and other  wastes to make these building material can have many  possible advantages in the very near future."

 I stared at him for a moment, trying to let the information  sink in.

 "So, Mr. Spiolie's a contractor. It's a possibility that  maybe he's experimenting with that idea." I said.

 "I thought about that too." Winslow cut in, "And I did  some checking and apparently, there's no construction  company using that type of dirt in Chicago or anywhere  in Illinois."

 "Are you sure?"

 "Very sure."

 Great. "So how would this substance get into Mikes  apartment?" I wondered out loud. "I mean, where  would it have come from?"

 Jim shrugged, replacing his glasses. "Well... actually,  there are numerous ways it could have gotten in there.  I mean....some people collect dirt, or it may have  even been brought back on someone's shoes, tires..."

 "Shoes?" I glanced up from the forms.

 "It's possible" Jim shrugged in confirmation.

 "Is this type of dirt found in Jamaica?"

 "Now that you ask. Yes. The Jamaica Institute has  been experimenting with the process for years, but  because of lack of funding, it was put on hold and  nothing else really became of it."

 I turned to look at Winslow who in turn, looked up  from the paper at me.

 "So in the future, housing may be more affordable, and a  lot cheaper to buy just by using this process."

 "Some people think so." Jim added.

 Risque' investment...but that might explain Stanley's  business trip to Jamaica. I looked over at Jim. "Thanks." By the time I got home, it was late. I let myself in not  bothering to turn on the light, and simply ignored the  flashing red light from the answering machine and plopped  down on my bed. There was just too much information  swirling around in my head right now, and I had  developed a headache.

 If Stanley hadn't made any visits to Mike's bungalow  since Mike's disappearance, then how the hell did  the dirt get there? Unless of course, Mr. Spiloie was  lying. But why would he lie about something like that? The light on my answering machine was getting to be  annoying. I reached over and tapped the playback  button, then began to undress.

 ((Beep))!

 "Brigatti...th-this is Gary."

 I pause in removing my top to listen.

 "Marrisa said that you came by a couple of days ago..  Sorry I-I missed you. Oh, and you probably met Meredith ...  an old friend of mine. A-Anyway, I was just returning your  call, even though your call was made by foot."

 He let out a nervous laugh and I could just picture him  running a hand through his hair.

 "Ahh...anyway, I'm not quite clear why you came by.  Marissa wasn't sure...she said you didn't say, and  my friend Meredith, left me a note saying that it seemed  important. But if it's about my being at that store, well..  well I-I already told you! A-Anyway, I have to make a  quick run tonight, but I'll call you back tomorrow.  Well..talk to you then...er, take care."

 There was a click and he was gone. I sat there seething  quietly for a moment. Of course he wasn't going  to admit that he was on the other side of that door with  his so called friend, Miss Merrymaker! He's not that dumb! I resumed my undressing, pulling my sweater off over  my head with a vengeance, tossing it into the closet. I  pulled off my boots one at a time, slamming them into  the closet one by one. Hobson only made my  headache worse!

 The answering machine beep again interrupting my  private charade. It was Winslow.

 "Hey Toni....Winslow. Look....I got some information that  thought you might find interesting. Right after you left  the lab this evening, I made a few more calls and found  out that back in June, Heather had taken a little trip.  And guess where? Jamaica. Seems she belongs to some  type of motorcycle club too, the name slips my mind at  the moment. Our little Heather it seems is a motorcycle  mama" He chuckled, then continued, "Anyway, I thought  that was an interesting tidbit. She just doesn't look the  type you know? "

 I was stunned by what Winslow had just revealed.  So Heather belonged to a motorcycle club too? I  remembered that Stanley had mentioned that  Mike had no interest what so ever in motorcycles so  it was kind of odd that Heather had gone on a road trip,  but with whom?

 My head was pounding. I rubbed my temples  trying to ease some of the pressure. I was thinking too  hard and laid back across my bed.

 I suddenly remembered the phone number in Mexico,  Winslow had left on my answering machine the other  day. I got up and pulled out my note pad. I switched  on the night light then flipped through the tablet until I  found the number. I needed to see who was on the  other end of that number. I dialed the number and let  the number ring for a few minutes and was about to hang  up when an operator came on the line.

 "Operator in Mexico. The party you are trying to contact is  no longer at that service and there is no new number."

 Why was I not surprised.

 I hung up the phone flipped off the light and laid back  again. But it was useless trying to sleep. The thought of  Heather and Stanley taking a trip to Jamaica and both  having an interest in motorcycles was simply blowing  my mind. The similarities were just too close for comfort.  And then there was the plane tickets to Switzerland. What  was little Heather up to?

 I got a sudden urge to take a little drive out to the  Spiolie construction site. I was fully aware that Winslow  had said that there were no companies using any red dirt  in Chicago or Ilinois, but I needed to check things out for  myself. I couldn't sleep anyway and felt the drive would  do me some good.

 I got up and slipped on a pair of jeans then pull on my  sweater and boots. I unlocked my dresser drawer,  where I keep some of my guns, then slid out the case  where I store my little .22 caliber. Although it's low on  the power scale, it can be deadly at close range. I strapped  it onto my leg, then pulled my pant leg down to cover it.  I then removed my Glock .9mm automatic, and checked it for ammo, then slid it  into my belt holster, pulling my sweater  down over it. I had considered my 45 magnum, which would  drop anything that moved, but in this case, the Glock .9mm  would certainly do the job....if needed. I pulled on my coat,  grabbed my keys and headed out the door.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~

 Part 14

 I took the highway heading north. It was drizzling now and  traffic was sparse as I drove. It was an hour later when  I finally pulled onto the gravel road, next to the construction  site. The night I had dinner with the Spiolie's at their home,  Nancy had given me the address of where Stanley's company  was currently building.

 Not wanting to draw attention to the car, I cruised along  slowly with only my parks lights on and would have turned  them out completely, but not knowing the grounds, the  thought of ending up sitting in a ditch for the rest of the night  just didn't appeal to me.

 I pulled up to a stop beside a large elm, cut the engine  and turned off the lights. Running a hand along my pant  leg, I felt for the small .22mm I had strapped there earlier  making sure it was secure, then removed the.9mm I had  slid down in my belt holster, checked it again then quickly  slid it back into place. Gabbing my binoculars I stepped  out of the car, closing the door quietly behind me then  stood for a few minutes looking around. A chain linked  fence ran for miles along the construction site, separating it  from from the highway. Posted about were warning signs  threatening a $300.00 dollar fine if anyone was caught  trespassing.

 I drew in a tired breath and glanced up. The skies were  dark with gray swirls of patchy fog. It had stopped raining  for the time being and I knew that if I was going to be  doing any snooping around tonight, I had better hurry. Removing my gloves from my coat pocket I quickly  tugged them on while peering through the fence into  the shadowy darkness. The air was damp, and smelled of  tar and wet concrete. Draping the binoculars around my  neck I swung beneath the chain link fence onto the construction  site and started walking my steps illuminated by the light of  the moon, what little there was of it. I didn't have a clue  where I was headed or what I would find on the grounds.  I was fully aware that Winslow had said no company was  using any Bauxite in Chicago. But being the stubborn woman  that I am, I needed to see for myself what type of building  material Stanley Spiolie *was* working with.

 The night air was brittle, stinging my nose and cheeks  as I walked, mentally kicking myself for having not  worn my scarf. I quickened my stride, passing up stacks  of boards and planks, rolls of iron pipes, mounds of gravel  and dirt the massive work trucks had shoveled to the side,  clearing a passage way into the site. The night was deathly  quiet, brought to life only by an occassional car passing  along the highway that ran parallel to the site and the crunching  sound my boots made on the gravel road.

 I must have walked a good quarter of a mile when I rounded  a slight bend. In the distance, I could see a soft yellow  light glowing. As I approached a large office trailer came  into view, nestled back amongst a group of trees. Several  of the muddy work trucks were parked haphazardly  about out front.

 I slowed down good distance away from the trailer  and approached with caution. Moving behind a small  diesel, I was close enough to hear the muffled conversation  going on inside. I assumed they were some of the  workers camping out for the night. Careful to stay out of  the lighting, I knelt down taking a careful look around. There were two vehicles parked on the side of the trailer.  One of them I recognized as Stanley's company truck with  the name 'Spiolie Construction,' spelled out in huge white  letters on the side. The other I didn't recognize, but it was a  sharp looking electric blue, Mercedes Benz convertible.  Cute.

 I turned my attention back to the trailer peering through  the partially opened window. There were four figures  moving about inside. Two were sitting, the other two  were pacing the floor restlessly. One of them I assumed  was female, because of the long blond hair flowed  every time she moved, unless of course Fabio was out  making a late night publicity call. I pulled the binoculars  up to focus in an get a better look and was surprised  by what I saw. One of the figures pacing the floor,  was Heather! If my suspicions were correct, the tall fellow  pacing the floor with her would almost have to be Stanley.  I panned the binoculars over slowly to focus on the man.  Bingo. Just as I had suspected. Stanley Spiolie.  I couldn't tell the identity of the two men who were sitting,  their faces were turned away from me, but both of them  had their hands tied behind their backs and there seemed  to be a heated conversation going on between one of  them and Heather.

 A few words were exchanged between them, then  Heather shaking her blond mane seductively, pranced  over to where Stanley was and he reached for her.

 They kissed passionately, sending the man she had  been arguing with into angry fits of convulsions as he  struggled hard to free himself. I withdrew the binoculars  quickly to compose myself. What the *hell* was going  on here?

 Replacing the binoculars, I panned about the trailer,  and zoomed in again on the irate man who had been  arguing with Heather. He turned abruptly and I was  able to see his face more clearly. Startled, my mouth  dropped open in surprise. It was the man in the photo!  Nancy's missing brother Mike Calibru! His looked angry,  his eyes full of fire as he sat glaring at Stanley.

 "How could you do this to Nancy! You-You bas--" he stopped  abruptly and shot Heather a look. "H-How could you do  this to me Heather? I loved you!" he shouted.

 Biting her lip, Heather dropped her head. "I'm sorry  Mike...really I am. But you see...I-I never really loved you. "

 "But we were married for God's sake!" Mike shouted.

 I arched a brow. Married?

 Heather held up a small hand, flashing the huge rock on her  finger, the one I noticed she was wearing when I first met  her in the department store. "Now I'll be a rich widow thank  you very much." she laughed, wiggling her fingers in front  of his face. Mike began to struggle again.

 The man sitting beside Mike was shifting restlessly on his  seat then broke in quickly as if trying to defuse the situation.  "Look..ah..." he stammered, " Ah....w-why don't the two of  you just..ah..just let him go? Nobody's been hurt."."

 Puzzled, I lowered the binaculors. That stutter, that slight  southern drawl. I frowned. Why did I know that voice? I replaced the binlars quickly just in time to see Stanley  rush across the trailer, and with a swift back hand, smack the  man across the face, knocking him out his chair. I was able  to get a real good look at the man now. It was Hobson! What  the hell was going on?

 Rubbing his knuckles, Stanley glanced suspiciously over  at Heather, "You sure you don't know him?" he asked.

 "I told you I've never seen him before in my life! " Heather  snapped.

 His gaze still fixed on her, Stanley pulled a gun from  his coat pocket and held it on the two men. "Well, now  we have two to get rid of!" he scoffed.

 Rolling her eyes, Heather blew out an exasperated breath  and stalked over to stand above Hobson on the floor.

 "Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?" she  snapped.

 That was what I was wondering!

 Looking around I spotted one of the dump trucks much  closer to the trailer and in a crouch position, made a move  towards, then slid on my stomach beneath it. From  where I was I could now see and hear much better what was  going on.

 "So what now?" Mike was asking, "Kill me?"

 "You're already dead, remember? " Heather laughed, "You  commited suicide. We're just making it legal."

 Mike, looking puzzled, stopped struggling to stare up at her.  "But our honeymoon in Mexico! That meant nothing to you!"

 "I had to do whatever it took" Heather glanced over at  Stanley to catch his reaction. Stanley looking nervous  and upset walked away.

 "You had this planned all along didn't you? " Mike shouted  "Y-You had this sick plot planned all along, to marry me  and then kill me. And all for my money ? How could you--!  I was willing to give you everything!"

 So where did Hobson fit into this cozy little pictured? I  wondered. Turning my attention back to Hobson,  he was still on th floor struggling to sit up. His lip, cut  in the corner was bleeding, his face was swollen on the  side, and I grimaced at the sight hating to see him hurt,  feeling foolish for even caring. I drew in a frustrated breath.  Dammit Hobson!

 By now Hobson had managed to sit up. Breathing heavily  he struggled to speak. "L-Look..." he sputtered,  "I-I called the cops before I came. Why don't you just let us  go be-before someone really gets hurt, huh?"

 The sharp snapping of a twig sounded suddenly from  behind me and my stomach lurched. I had been so  ingrossed in what was going on inside of the trailer, I had  taken my eyes off of Stanley. I had the sickening feeling  that I wasn't alone.

 My eyes searched frantically about for Stanley's tall frame  inside of the trailer. He wasn't there.

 On my stomach, I was not in a good position to easily  retrieve my gun. Before I could complete the thought,  someone grabbed me roughly by the ankles and began  pulling me out from beneath the truck.

 Grasping onto an iron axle beneath the truck, I held  on as tight as I could, but the smoothness of my gloves  made it difficult for me to hold my grip and with a violent  force, I was yanked out, my chin scrubbing hard against  the rough gravel of the ground. I rolled over quickly onto  my back and found myself staring up into the startled face  of Stanley Spiolie his tall frame silhouetted against the  night sky.

 Looking puzzled, he stood looking down at me, scratching  his head. "Toni?"

 "Stanley." I sputtered, clearing my throat, dabbing at my  bleeding chin with the back of my hand. What else was  there to say. I was busted.

 Running a hand nervously over his face, he glanced over  at the trailer window, then back down at me. "H-How  much did you hear?"

 " Not much. " I lied, wrinkling my nose at him all the while  hoping he hadn't discovered my gun strapped to my leg.

 "You shouldn't have come here." he said, looking nervously  around. His voice had taken on an edgy husky tone and I  didn't like the sound of it. My eyes dropped to his large  calloused hands clutching his .32 .

 "You shouldn't have been snooping around." he was  glaring at me now. His expression had changed.

 "You're right. " I said. I checked my watch and drew in  a tired breath. "Actually, it is rather late, and past my  bed time, so if you don't mind----" I made a move to get  up but he pushed me back down with bottom of his boots.

 "Ooh no you don't," he said, shaking his head, looking  as if he didn't know exactly what to do with me. He glanced  back over towards the trailer again. "S-So you saw  Michael?"

 I didn't answer, my mind was racing while trying to plan my  escape.

 " You know I can't let you go now." he sadly, shaking his  head and apparently, he had grown fond of me too.

 " Oohh Toni. Sweet Toni. You know, I rather liked you"  he whispered running a hand through his hair. "But you know  waayy too much."

 I had grown fond of him too, but it wouldn't be the first time I  had been disappointed, or the last. My eyes were fixed  to his large calloused hands that was fidgeting nervously  with his gun.

 " Hey, I was only doing my job. Remember?" I said,  trying to stall. " This is what you hired me for, right?"  Me and my big mouth. He reached down suddenly.  and grabbed me by my hair and began pulling me up  towards him. My scalp felt on fire as I slapped and tugged at  his fingers. His face was close enough to mine that I could  smell his breath. With the palm of my hand, I hit him hard,  with a quick upward thrush to his nose and he released me  instantly, roaring out in pain. Staggering back he clutched  at his face as I fell backward onto the ground.

 With a hit like that, I knew I had broken his nose. I also  knew that I couldn't allow him to get complete hold of  me again. I was no match for a man of his size.

 I scrambled to get up, but he was on me again, towering  over me, blood spurting all over his face and shirt. He was  shouting obscenities at me now. Words I didn't even know  existed.

 "You bitch!" he finally spewed, grabbing me by my left  leg with hands that had power of a vice grip. With my  right leg, I drew back my knee and with all the force that  I could muster, gave him a quick sharp thrush with the heel my  foot, connecting squarely with his family jewels, and I'm  not talking rubies here. The cry he let out sounded something  like a cross between an angry elephant and one of those  flying winged dinosaurs back in the prehistoric days,  again, I was immediately released.

 While Stanley held and pampered himself, I was able to  scramble away, up an embankment of some sort and into  the darkness, heading deliberately away from the trailer.  I ran until I stumbled upon what looked like a huge graveyard  for some of the huge construction trucks locked down for  the night. I quickly ducked behind one of those large Caterpillar  trucks, the kind with the huge iron jaws, then slumped down  on my spine pressing my head back against it to catch my  breath. I was panting hard, my chest felt like it was on fire  and so did my face. Remembering the cut, I carefully touched  the area feeling along my jaw where the flesh had been torn.  Blood covered my fingers. Great! Remembering my guns, I  check frantically, patting my leg where I had strapped my little  .22mm. It wasn't there. I panicked, feeling both legs. Where  the hell was my gun!? Realizing that I must have lost it when  I gave Stanley that kick. I quickly removed the .9mm from  my holster, cocked it, then slumped back against the truck  to rest. I clenched my eyes tight and waited thinking about  everything I had heard. So, Mike Calibru *was* alive. Nancy  had been right in her suspicions all long. What she didn't  know was that her loving husband was in on a plot to get  rid of her brother permanently. And Hobson! Arrghh! The  very name sent an angry surge throughout every nerve in  my body. Things were beginning to make sense to me now.  He was was at that department store to see Heather.  But she had played him like a fiddle. A second fiddle at  that. Serves him right!

 Things had gotten a little too quiet out there. I knew that  Stanley wasn't going to let me off that easy and let me go.  I knew too much. He'd have to kill me too.

 By the light of the moon I glanced at my watch. It was  2:00 am. Where the hell was he? Panic beginning to stir.  I leaned forward, peering through the darkness, trying to  figure out where I was. I must have been somewhere up high  I could see the head lights from the traffic on the freeway  below and was feeling very uncomfortable about it. I turned  to look back down the path that I had come. Surely Stanley  knew this construction grounds like the back of his hand.  I wondered about the fate of Hobson and Mike and had  hoped to steer Stanley away from them and the trailer.  Swallowing hard I held my breath listening for footsteps. In the distance, the sound of an engine starting up caught  my attention, and I strained my ears, trying to locate it's  direction. It wasn't necessary. I could see Stanley's truck  cruising slowly in my direction it headlights on high-beams.  as rays from a flashlight panned about from it, sweeping  the grounds. I moved back quickly, pressing my head  firmly back against the truck. I could feel panic beginning  to stir and my survival instincts kicking in. I could hear the  sound of my heart thumping as I waited.

 Ironically, the truck came to a stop just a few feet ahead  of the diesel I was hidden behind, and I froze not wanting  to draw attention to any movement. Stanley had probably  traced my steps in the dirt. Smart.

 There was the sound of a car door opening and closing  and then the sounds of boots shuffling slowly in my  direction.

 "Toni!" I heard him call out my name.

 "C'mon Toni!" he pleaded sweetly.

 That's Brigatti to you! Creep! I muttered to myself.

 "Toni, I know you're out here somewhere! Come on  out. Lets talk!"

 About what? The weather? I inched back a little hoping  the headlight from the truck hadn't caught me. I slid beneath  the truck, the huge tires shielding me. From the angle I was  in, I could see Heather seated in the truck on the passenger  side. She was crying her face flushed and scared. I noticed  some movement from the back of the truck and figured  Hobson and Michael must have been in back. How badly  hurt, I didn't know. Heather had totally lost it now and was  crying uncontrollably. The Baltic sea had finally erupted.  God how I just wanted to tell her to shut up! But the sudden  movement again of Stanley's boots caught my attention  again. They were moving closer now and I my breath as they  came to an abrupt stop just in back of me. I was certain he  had discovered me. I could hear him breathingas he stood  looking around.

 " I ' ll let you go Toni, just come out and maybe we  can arrange some financial deal. Remember that  little beach house that you were talking about! "

 His voice loomed loudly right above me. I held my gun tight, but needed a good position and  a good aim. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted  a rock about the size of a small golf ball and waited  until he called out my name again then took advantage  of the noise and slid my hand over to grab it.

 " You're a very clever lady Toni! " he complimented,  " But it's no use. Come on out and lets talk! "

 When Frank would take me fishing, he taught me how  to flick a rock with the precise precision so that it skipped  beautifully along the top of the water. In the position that  I was in, it was vital that I didn't make a sound and that  the rock didn't hit the bottom of the truck.

 Taking aim and with one smooth motion I slung the rock  so that it whisked smoothly past his legs, landing in the  brush behind him. Stanley spun around quickly and  fired his weapon into the darkness, I took advantage of  his distraction and darted out from behind the truck, rolling  over quickly, the bullets from Stanley's gun just missing  me as he spun back around and fired. I landed in a  crouched position on one knee with my gun pointed  squarely up at his face. "Hold it!" I shouted.

 Caught off guard, he froze.

 "Toss your gun into that pile of gravel!" I ordered  sharply, my gaze burning into his.

 His expression was startled, his eyes reminding me of a  deer trapped in on coming headlights. For a long moment  our eyes locked and from the looks of things, I had really done  a job on him. His nose was bleeding profusely and slightly  off center. The and the front of his pants were also  bloodied. It'll probably be a long time before he ever  used that thing again.

 "Drop it Stanley!" I ordered again, "Now!"

 In the back ground, Heather had completely lost it only  now she was egging Stanley to just go ahead and shoot me.  With how she was carrying on, and the noise she was making  I was tempted to shoot her instead, just to put us all out of  our misery. Sheessh!

 "Believe me Stanley-" I panted out another warning,  "I know how to use this thing!"

 By now heart was pumping so hard, I thought it would  burst through my chest. All of my police training had  come full force and I was more than willing to do whatever  I had to do to survive. Stanley's mannerism was edgy, his  eyes burning into mine while he, I suppose, pondered my  ability. He held a sick grin on his face as he clutched his  gun. Now either this guy didn't believe me or he was just  plain foolish, I don't know, but whatever the reason, he made  his move and I made mine.

 *~*~*~*~*~*~

 Epilogue 15

 It has been a month since the Mike Calibur's suicide  case was solved and it was a long while before Nancy  could accept the fact that her husband had cheated on her,  and with her brother's fiancee' no less. Her only consolation  was the fact that her brother was alive. Much to everyone's  surprise, Mike and Heather had run off to Mexico and had  gotten married, which would explain that huge rock I had  noticed on her finger when I first met her. It was Mike she  had been contacting down in Mexico. In about a month, all  of Mike's estate would have been hers.

 After Mikes murder, she and Stanley had planned to run off to Switzerland  together to continue with Stanley's little construction  company, building cheap housing and furthering his wealth.  Stanley was lucky that it was his gun I was aiming for and  not him. I could easily have blown him away. He would stand  trial for the murder plot and lovely Heather was going to spend  a long time painting her nails in jail for her participation in this  whole thing. Mike of course, was going to have to answer to  charges that he faked his own death. What some people will  do for love!

 Hobson had taken a pretty bad beating. With one eye  blackened, and through swollen lips he tried to explain his  situation, that his jeep had broken down which is why he  was there that night. He said that the phone call he had  made was to contact the police to report that his car had  broken down. Anybody who believes that story, well, I  have some swamp land to sell them. It's funny how his  jeep seemed to start up just fine when we got ready to leave.  There may have been some truth to his little story though,  because not long after I had things pretty much under control,  Winslow appeared suddenly with back up.

 I never did find out why there was a naked woman in Hobson's  apartment. Not that it was any of my business. I didn't asked.  He really pisses me off!

 I was paid a hefty sum of money for the Spiolie case and I'm  still thinking about saving up to buy myself that little beach  house over looking the beach. In the back of my mind, I know  that I have another matter that needs to be dealt with, and it  would be foolish to put it off much longer. I was thinking about  maybe taking some time off to check out this little bed and  breakfast place over in New York City. I hear the hospitality there  is quite warming. Maybe do some cooking, a little fishing.....

 Arrghhh!


 The End ~~ * 
 

Email the author: Candi30938@aol.com
 

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