Point of Origin: I was watching 'My Boyfriend is a Vampire' and once again found myself grinning like a fool when Vachon starts quoting from 'The Maltese Falcon'. The results were inevitable. Disclaimers: These characters are not mine and I admit to playing fast and loose with the FK continuum. If that condemns me in the eyes of the Fanfic Faeries, so be it. I stand by my convictions and my fictions. Permission given to archive at Mel's FK Fiction Page ==================================================================== The Maltese Raven Erika Wilson December 1998 ==================================================================== The moment she walked through the door, I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. This dame was trouble, with a capital 'T'. But that's okay. Me and trouble, we go way back. Since before the Rennaissance, as a matter of fact. My name is Knight, Nick Knight and I'm a private investigator. That means I get paid to find out the nasty little secrets that all the nice, respectable folk are desperately trying to keep hidden. This does not make me very popular. It doesn't make me rich, either, but it pays the bills. Well, most of the time. Some nights, after a few stiff belts of the good stuff, I find myself wondering why I'm still in this stinking racket. And then a magnum opus like this walks into my office and I remember why. She really was a piece of work. Da Vinci, maybe. Sashaying her way towards me in a black Dior suit of raw silk that molded itself to her curves the way a Masseratti hugs the road above Monte Carlo. Before I had a chance to remember the manners my poor, suffering mother had tried in vain to beat into me, she had taken a seat. She crossed her legs with that unmistakable sound of silk-clad thigh rubbing against silk-clad thigh and I was suddenly very glad to be the one sitting behind a desk. If you take my point. From a small, outrageously expensive designer handbag, she withdrew a card and a delicate handkerchief. She handed the card to me with a hand gloved in fine black mesh and I saw a glint of dark red nail polish at the tips of her fingers. She dabbed the handkerchief lightly against the corners of her eyes and I finally tore my stupefied gaze away from her exquisite features long enough to read the elegantly enscribed card. 'Janette et Charles DuCharme; antiquities, objets d'art'. I stood up immediately and held out my hand. "Madame DuCharme, of course. May I say how sorry I am for the recent loss of your husband?" See? I'm not always a complete and utter boor. She gripped my fingers briefly and nodded, blinking a little tearily. "Merci, Monsieur Knight. How very kind of you. I am also gratified that you seem to know who I am." I smiled wryly. "I do read the society pages every so often, Madame. And it wasn't so long ago that you and your husband were featured prominently on the front page. When you found that lost Vermeer and presented it to Queen Beatrice of the Netherlands, wasn't it?" Her full red lips tightened slightly and she pressed the handkerchief beneath her nose. "Ah yes, dear Charles." She sniffled. "His was such a noble and generous spirit." "Of course. Now, Madame DuCharme, I hope you won't think me rude, but what exactly brings a lady like you to a man like me at a time like this? I understand that the police have ruled your husband's death an accident, so it can't be about that? Can it?" "No, the matter I have come to see you about does not concern my husband's most unfortunate passing, not directly, anyway. It is related to some unfinished business he left behind." She leaned forward slightly to better get her message across and I experienced a keen appreciation for the firm clarity of her statements. "You see," she continued. "For several years now, he has been attempting to acquire a certain item of great personal interest. Just a few weeks ago, he managed to locate the item and a trusted courier was bringing it to him. It was only a few days before he would finally be able to realize his greatest wish that he... he..." Her chin began to tremble and she became too choked with grief to speak. I walked around to sit on the corner of the desk and took her hand in my own. "I'm terribly sorry, Madame," I said gently. "This must be so difficult for you. Is there anything I can get you? Water? Tea?" She looked up at me with her beautiful eyes like drowned beads of precious lapis and it felt as if my heart was being squeezed in my chest. "Something a little stronger, if you have it?" She asked with a tremulous smile. I nodded and stepped over to the file cabinet where I kept the *really* good stuff. I never use a glass myself, so the one I kept in there for emergencies was a bit dusty. I wiped it out with my cuff before turning back to her. I pulled the cork with my teeth and caught myself just in time before spitting it out onto the floor like I usually did. When I open a bottle, it generally doesn't need the cork again, if you get my meaning. "Here you go." I mumbled around the cork as I poured a modest amount into the glass and handed it to her. "So where is this 'treasured object' now?" She smiled thankfully as she took the drink. "I do not know. It and the trusted courier have apparently disappeared." She put the glass to her lips and knocked it back like a sailor. "That is very good. Could I have some more please?" And she handed the glass back. I spit out the cork. ===================================================================== The level in the bottle had diminished respectably before Madame DuCharme finally leaned back in her chair with a sigh, cradling the glass in her lap. Saving the last swallow for a special occasion, I guess. "You must think me something of a lush, Monsieur Knight, non?" She asked with a coquettish smile that revealed her celebrated dimples. I shook my head. "Drinking is one of the few things I take very seriously, Madame. You'll get no uninformed opinions from me on that subject." She lifted a darkly curved eyebrow. "Ahh, and what about your work, Monsieur? Do you take that as seriously as you do your drinking?" "I'm very serious about obtaining results." I shrugged. "My methods, well, they have been called anything from unconventional to downright sadistic. If that bothers you, you can thank me for the drink and walk away now." She finished off her drink and set the glass on my desk. "Your methods are no concern of mine. All I care about is resolving this issue with no complications and less public interest." "Ah," I nodded with a little smile. "I'm beginning to get it now. You came to me for help because this is the last place anyone would look for you. I'm flattered, Madame." She shrugged. "Take it however you like. I am prepared to pay you quite well for both your time and your discretion. Will you help me?" I looked her over, reminding myself that it wasn't polite to salivate in front of the customer; rich, beautiful, powerful, recently widowed and I knew there was more to her being here than a keen desire for obscurity. As I had said, this woman was trouble. Big time. I stood up with a big smile and stuck out my hand. "Madame DuCharme, you've got yourself an investigator." "I am sure it will be a most satisfactory arrangement." She murmured as she clasped my hand briefly, but firmly. Reaching into her purse once more, she pulled out a small photograph. "This is a picture of the courier who disappeared." I took the photo and raised my eyebrows at the striking man who stared back at me with unmistakable disdain. "Not exactly someone who blends into the crowd, is he?" I pulled out my notepad and started jotting some things down. "Late forties, short blond hair, blue eyes. About six-one, six-two?" "Six-three. His name is LaCroix. Lucien LaCroix." I whistled silently. "Hey, I've heard of this guy. Never seen a picture of him before though. He likes to stay in the shadows from what I understand." I eyed her narrowly. "He deals in the darker side of the art trade. How do you happen to know him?" "He is a very old friend of the family. I have always regarded him as something of an... Uncle." "So you don't think that he could have taken off on his own? Maybe he's got a sweet little side deal going on?" She shook her head firmly. "Never. He is completely trustworthy, at least when it comes to family. If he has disappeared, it is not of his own accord." "Okay, we'll go on the assumption of foul play." I wrote down a few more things. "Now the item he was transporting, what can you tell me about that?" "Nothing." I blinked in surprise. "Nothing? Madame DuCharme, please. If something has happened to your Unc... ah, Mr. LaCroix, I need to know what he was carrying at the time of his disappearance." "I am sorry, Monsieur Knight," she replied adamantly. "I cannot tell you. I would if I could, but you see, my husband kept everything about this particular acquisition quite to himself." She rubbed her gloved hands together in agitation. "It was almost... an obsession with him. He would tell me nothing about it, no matter how I teased and cajoled. He would only tell me that he had been searching for it all his life and I would understand when I saw it. He wanted it to be a surprise. He was so terribly excited those last few days. I suspect that it may very well have been this distracted state which led to his...his accident." "So you have no information about it at all?" I said somewhat incredulously. "What about its value?" She shook her head. "To my husband, it was beyond price, but I have no idea how much he paid for it. That was one of the things he insisted on keeping from me. I do not even know where he obtained the money. Our business and personal accounts are linked, but there were no major withdrawals from either account." "What about size? Do you even know how big it was?" She gave a little sound of exasperation. "Please, Monsieur Knight, I have told you everything I can. Find LaCroix--that is the only way this mystery will be solved. Here." She pulled out a scrap of paper and handed it to me. "This was in Charles' pocket when he... I think it may say where he was supposed to meet Monsieur LaCroix. That is all I have." I puzzled out the rough scrawl. "'M-10P Valletta P14'? Not much to work with, is it." She shrugged. "That is what you will be getting paid very well for, Monsieur. I hope you won't disappoint." She looked straight into my eyes and I felt myself leaning towards her without conscious volition while strange sensations zinged through my bloodstream. Our lips were only inches apart when the desk caught me up short. "I've had no complaints so far." I murmured, eyeing those luscious red curves hungrily. She chuckled throatily and closed that final distance between us. The touch of her mouth against mine seared like fire and then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her. I fell back into my chair and fumbled clumsily for the half-full bottle. See? I didn't need to save that cork after all. ===================================================================== I gripped the neck of the empty bottle and stared moodily at the message scrawled on the note Madame DuCharme had given me. It still made absolutely no sense and I felt the beginnings of a headache growing between my eyes. It was times like these that I truly missed my old partner. Sure, Donald Schanke had been loud, messy and abrasive, but somehow he could always cheer me up when no one else could. I thought about the last time I'd seen him at the airport and I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge just to hear his voice again. So I called him up. "Nickie boy!" He boomed. "So when are Myra and I going to get you down here to Arizona? You would not *believe* the climate. A few days on the golf course and we might actually see a little color in those pasty white cheeks of yours." "Now Schanke," I was already grinning at his infectious enthusiasm. "You know how I feel about daylight." Schanke snorted. "Man oh man do I ever. Nick Knight, the original night owl. Accept no substitute. But seriously Nick, this place is great. I feel like a new man. I've already lost thirty pounds and Myra..." His voice dropped into confiding tones. "...Well, now that there's less of me, *she* can't seem to get enough of me, if you catch my drift. It's like a second honeymoon. You've gotta try it." "Well, seeing as I haven't had a first honeymoon, I don't know how I could possibly appreciate it." I bit my tongue as I realized what I had said, but it was too late. "Say, that reminds me," Schanke picked up on my slip immediately. "When are you and Natalie going to come to your senses and do that walk down the aisle thing? It's not the Bataan death march, you know." "I know, Schanke, I know." I sighed inwardly. "It's just not the right time for either of us." "Right time, wrong time," Schanke scolded. "You guys keep putting it off and you'll end up with no time. Nobody lives forever, Knight. What's that saying? 'Carpe Emptor'?" "That means 'Seize the Buyer', Schank." I chuckled. "I think you mean 'Carpe Diem'." "Whatever. All I'm saying is don't let your life pass you by. That's why I had to get out of the rat race and remind myself of what's really important. Family, Nick, that's what's important. Not the job, not the money and *not* that bottle you keep in the file cabinet." I looked guiltily at the empty bottle I was still holding and slid it surreptitiously into the trash. "You hear what I'm saying Nick?" "Yeah, Schank. I hear you." "Ahhh, I don't mean to sound like your mother, Nick, but I worry about you. Myra too." "I know and I appreciate it, really I do. It's nice to know there are people out there who care what happens to me. Especially people like you and Myra. It means a lot to me." "Well, I'm glad. Oh, ah, say Nick, do you remember my niece Tracy?" "Sure, the gangly teen-ager with the blond pony tail, right?" Schanke chuckled. "Teen-ager no more and not so gangly either. The pony tail's long gone too. You really do lose track of the years, don't you, Nick?" "I guess I do, yeah. So what about Tracy?" "Well, she's been thinking about a career in law enforcement. She'll be in the city over vacation and I told her she could drop by the office and you'd show her the nuts and bolts of what you do." "Schank," I frowned doubtfully. "You know what the job is like. What are you trying to do, discourage her?" "You betcha. Her mother blames me for getting her interested in criminal investigation in the first place, so anything I can do to turn her on to something normal like fashion design or home decorating wins me big brownie points." "Oh yeah, I remember all those 'war stories' you used to tell her." I snorted. "No wonder she thinks our lives are full of glamour and excitement." "Okay, so I embellished a little bit. Geez, how was I to know the kid would turn me into her personal hero? I'm just glad my own kid doesn't feel that way." "It's good to be grateful for small favors." I agreed solemnly. "But look Schank, I'm involved in a touchy case right now, so it's not a good time to have a kid tagging along after me. Could you tell Tracy that I'll have to take a rain check on the criminology lesson?" "Ahhh, sorry partner," Schanke answered just as the door to the office swung open. "No can do. You're on your own. Hasta la bye-bye." A tall, slim woman with a stylish blond pageboy stood in the doorway grinning broadly. "Hi Uncle Nick. Remember me?" ===================================================================== "Were you talking to Uncle Donnie?" Tracy asked, striding across the room to lean over the desk and give me a kiss. "He told you I'd be coming by?" "Uh yeah, he did." I replied, returning her kiss a bit dazedly. "Boy Trace, you've ah... you've changed." She twirled around with a laugh, showing off her coral pink top, cream slacks and matching jacket. "No more flannels and courderoys, huh?" "Among other things." I remarked with an appreciative smile. "You're really all grown up, aren't you?" "And you haven't changed a bit." She patted my cheek. "If this is an example of what avoiding the sun can do for the complexion, sign me up for the nightshift." "Us fair-skinned types gotta stick together. We don't tan, we don't burn..." "...We implode!" Tracy joined in the familiar litany with a laugh. "Oh Uncle Nick, it's great to see you again. This is going to be so much fun. I can't wait to get started! Is this stuff from your current case?" She'd picked up my notebook and the papers from my desk before I could stop her. "Uh, Trace, I need to talk to you about that. I don't think this is--" "--'M-10P Valletta P14'? Oh, of course, the 'Valletta' at Pier 14 on Monday at 10:00PM." She looked at me with bright grey eyes. "But today is Tuesday. The 'Valletta' docked yesterday." For a moment I just stared at her, then I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and pushed her out of the office ahead of me. "B...but Uncle Nick, where are we going?" "The docks." We took my car, even though Tracy took me to task about the gas mileage. "It's short-sighted people like you, Uncle Nick, tooling around in your gas-guzzling, smog-belching dinosaurs that are leaving the world in such a mess. A mess that *my* generation is going to have to clean up." She told me, but I saw her smile as she stretched out her long legs and leaned back to enjoy the sight of the night sky overhead. "You make it sound like I'm not going to be around to reap the rewards of my decadent life-style, Trace. I'm not all that decrepit yet, am I?" She gave me a such a measuring look that I almost laughed. "No, of course not, Nick. You're the youngest of all Uncle Donnie's friends, but you still grew up in a different time, when the Earth's resources seemed unlimited and pollution wasn't something people had to worry about. It may not seem like a lot of time has passed, but there's been a huge shift in awareness and attitudes between your generation and mine. That's all I meant." I nodded thoughtfully. "That's a good way of putting it Trace." I thought about Schanke and smiled. "Maybe you should reconsider this law enforcement thing and go into environmental science instead." She shook her head vehemently. "Oh no, Nick, ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to be like Uncle Donny." Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "And like you." I sighed quietly and decided to let the job speak for itself. I could only hope that she wouldn't be too disappointed when she found out how dirty, difficult and downright boring private investigating could be. We pulled up outside the shipping office; the ambiance of which was reminiscent of the inner city's seedier alleyways. I left the car running. "You stay here, Trace. If any one bothers you, just run him over and I'll help you fill out all the paperwork later." She looked at me as if she hoped I was kidding, but she slid over into the driver's seat and kept glancing nervously into the mirrors. The fellow at the arrival's desk wasn't too helpful, but he did give me a list of the crew from the 'Valletta' and said that there'd been some trouble aboard, but he didn't know what kind. I decided to believe him. At least for now. While we were talking, I caught a glimpse of a young, scruffy-looking individual lurking in the background who seemed to be listening in on our conversation. I looked over to ask him what he found so fascinating, but he had disappeared. I chalked it up to my overly suspicious nature and decided to forget it. I should have remembered that I'd developed my suspicious nature for a reason--it was usually right. When I walked outside, that same fellow was leaning against the car, talking to Tracy. He straightened up when he saw me, flashed a smile at Tracy and melted into the shadows across the street. And when I say melted, I mean melted. The guy disappeared completely as if he'd been swallowed up. "Who was that?" I asked Tracy as she scooted over to let me in. She looked at me blankly for a moment, then she blinked rapidly as if finally seeing me. "Who?" Then she blushed. "Oh, him. The guy." "Yeah, 'the guy'." I mimicked, pulling back into traffic. "Who was he? What did he want?" She shrugged. "Nothing. He just stopped to see if I was in trouble and needed some help. I don't know who he was." "Just some young, dark, chivalrous stranger, huh?" The blush deepened. "Yeah, I guess so. He did say one thing, though, that I didn't understand." "And what was that?" "He said that you should 'check with your girlfriend, she has what you're looking for'. What did he mean by that, Nick? Nick!" She shrieked and grabbed onto the door handle as I swung the car around in the middle of the street and headed down the other way. "What did you do that for? You could get a ticket, or worse!" "Hang on." I told her through clenched teeth. "You're finally going to to meet my girlfriend." ===================================================================== Tracy frowned when she saw the sign in front of the building. "'Coroner's Office'?" She read. "That's the morgue, right? I thought you said we were going to see your girlfriend--what are we doing here?" "Natalie is a forensic pathologist." I explained, ushering her inside. "This is where she works." Tracy's eyes widened. "You mean she works with d..." She swallowed convulsively and turned an interesting shade of green. "Oh God." I looked her over. "Would you rather wait in the car again?" "N...no," she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. "This is something I'm going to have to get used to sooner or later." "Most people never really get used to it." I explained. "You just have to build up a kind of tolerance." We stepped through the double doors into Natalie's office/exam room and Natalie turned to greet us, a ketchup-laden hotdog in one hand and zip-locked bag full of diseased liver in the other. "Nick!" She said through a mouthful of hotdog. "Why didn't you say you'd be by tonight? I'd have let you buy me dinner." Tracy looked at the hotdog. She looked at the liver. Then she looked down at the liver's previous owner lying sprawled on a gurney and fled the room, one hand clapped over her mouth. Natalie looked at me and swallowed. "Was it something I said?" "I think it was something you ate." I told her as I walked over, plucked the hotdog from her hand and tossed it into the trash. Then I gestured at the liver. "Now if you do something with that, I think I might be able to get Tracy back in here and introduce the two of you." "Oh, sure, no problem." With a squishy thud, she dropped the bag back into the gaping cavity from whence it had been excavated and pulled a sheet over the gurney. Stripping the gloves from her hands she smiled at me. "Okay, I've cleaned up my room, now do I get dinner?" "Kiss first, then dinner." I told her. "Deal." And she turned her sweet face up for a kiss. Her lips tasted distinctly of ketchup. The door creaked open about an inch. "Ahhh, guys?" Tracy's voice wavered uncertainly. "You can come in now, Trace." I called out. "It's safe." Tracy entered, still looking a little pale, but the greenish tinge was gone. "Gee, I'm really sorry about that. I didn't think it would hit me so hard." "I wouldn't worry about it, Trace." I told her kindly. "It hits everyone that way the first few times." "Yeah, well, thanks." She stepped up with a smile that held a faint resemblance to her usual bright grin and offered her hand to Natalie. "Hi, I'm Tracy Vetter. Donald Schanke's niece?" Natalie gripped Tracy's hand firmly and I held back a smile as I saw Tracy flinch as she remembered where those hands hand quite recently been. She recovered gallantly, though and I gave her points for that. "Tracy, of course!" Natalie said with real pleasure. "I've heard about you from your Uncle, and even from this lug." She pointed at me. "So how is our beloved 'Donut Don' holding up in sunny Scottsdale?" "Really great. The life of a private security consultant really seems to suit him. He keeps trying to lure Nick down there. Says he needs a golfing buddy." "Golf!" Natalie almost choked on her laughter. "Now that'll be the day when I see Nick Knight slicing one into the rough." "You and me both, Nat." I smiled tightly. "Now before I take the two of you to dinner, there's a small piece of business to take care of." I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the photo that Madame DuCharme had given me. "An...ah... informant mentioned that you might know something about this man." Natalie examined the picture and her eyebrows disappeared up beneath her bangs. "Well, I certainly can't tell you who he is, but I do know where he is." "Where?" I asked, trying to disguise the urgency in my voice. "He's in the back. John Doe number 79; gunshot victim. They brought him in last night. Just follow me." Natalie told me and Tracy as she pulled open the door to the cold room. "Second row from the right, third drawer down. So tell me, did you know this guy?" "Only by reputation." I answered as I pulled the drawer out of the wall. He's part of the case I'm working on right now." Tracy remained near the door, but Natalie smiled and pushed her towards the plastic-shrouded figure. "C'mon Tracy, this one's not so bad. Shot in the back with a low caliber, no visible trauma from the front." I unzipped the bag and Tracy leaned in closer. The smell hit first and she gagged uncontrollably. Then I pulled the plastic away from the face and she moaned as she backed away, her mouth buried behind her hands. "Uh, Nat," I frowned at the significantly decomposed remains grinning up at me with a rictus smile. "Are you sure this is the right drawer? This guy looks like he's been dead since Woodstock." ===================================================================== "I don't understand it," Natalie flipped through her files. "Your guy should be in there. The very late Mr. Davis belongs in... number 15." She pulled out that drawer and growled in frustration when she saw that it was empty. "Wait Nat, what's that?" I leaned over and pulled a tag that had slipped between the glides. "'John Doe #79'. Well, he *was* here. Maybe he got tired of waiting and left?" Natalie shot me a dirty look. "What I want to know is who's been playing musical drawers with my patients? Mr. Doe's tag shouldn't have been in that drawer, with or without his toe." I shrugged and pushed both drawers shut. "I guess whoever snatched John Doe 79, moved another body into the empty drawer to confuse the fact that someone was missing. The toe tag ended up here by accident." "Well, whatever the case, I've got to report this and do a complete inventory. I'll have to take a rain check on that dinner, I'm afraid." "That's okay." I smiled thinly. "I don't think Tracy's in the mood, anyway." "I'm okay, really." Tracy replied, walking up to us with slow, careful strides. "So you're saying that this 'Lucien LaCroix' character was here, but now he's missing?" "LaCroix?" Natalie looked up from her files. "Our runaway stiff is the international black-market art dealer and notorious fencer of big-ticket items?" I frowned at her. "How do you know so much about it?" "I'm dating a detective. So sue me." I turned my frown on Tracy. "And how did you know his name?" Tracy looked at me innocently. "It was in your notes." I ground my teeth together. "All right, let's try to be systematic about this." I pulled out the picture again. "Nat, you're absolutely sure that this was your guy?" "The one who currently appears to be missing? Oh yeah, that's him all right." "Can I take a look at his file?" "I would love for you to take a look at his file, Nick. As would I. Unfortunately, it seems that Mr. LaCroix took all his paperwork with him when he relocated." "Great." I groaned. "What about back-up files?" Tracy chimed in. "I mean, don't you keep all this stuff on computers these days?" "Of course we do." Natalie replied a bit huffily. "Unfortunately, we've been a little busy--" "--And you didn't get around to entering his chart." Tracy sighed. "Okay Nat," I pulled out my notebook. "Just tell me what you remember. Maybe it'll give us something to go on." Natalie closed her eyes tightly. "John Doe #79, caucasian male, 6'3", mid to late forties. Discovered by a dock worker at 11PM Monday night behind a warehouse near pier 13. No money or ID. It appeared that that clothing had been searched and all pockets emptied. Cause of death, two shots in the back from a handgun, possibly a .22 at close range. Very little blood at the scene. First slug probably stopped the heart, cutting off the circulation." She opened her eyes. "And that's where it got strange, I took his temperature at the scene which was eighty-two degrees. That would put the TOD at more than twelve hours, but rigor hadn't set in yet. Really weird." Both me and Tracy frowned at this. "Nat, are you absolutely sure about that body temperature?" I asked. She glared at me stonily. I put my hands up immediately in surrender. "Of course you're sure. Sorry, reflex action." "But that wouldn't make any sense." Tracy chimed in. "Assuming that he was aboard the 'Valletta', she didn't dock until Monday at 10PM. That's only one hour 'til the body was found." "Unless he was killed while he was aboard and the body was dumped after she docked. How about it Nat?" I asked. "Weeeell, that would explain the lack of blood, but not the failure of rigor." Natalie agreed with some hesitation. "But I reviewed the scene myself and it really wasn't consistent with a dump. It's possible, I suppose, but given the evidence, I'd have to say that he died where he was found." "What if he wasn't actually on the 'Valletta' but was planning on meeting with one of her passengers or crew?" Tracy suggested with some enthusiasm. "And someone shot him before could make the rendezvous?" I shook my head. "If we're going by the note found in Charles DuCharme's pocket at the time of his death, Charles was supposed to meet LaCroix when the 'Valletta' docked. I don't think the time and place of the meeting was a coincidence. LaCroix had to have been aboard that boat." Tracy shook her head in bewilderment. "Wait, you mean LaCroix is the second person involved in all this who's been murdered?" "Well, not exactly. Charles DuCharme's death was ruled an accident." Natalie made a sour noise in the back of her throat and I looked at her suspiciously. "What? Don't tell me you disagreed with the official findings?" "Oh no, not at all." Natalie denied. "I would never disagree with an examination that I never had an opportunity to review." I frowned. "But you're regional supervisor. Aren't all suspected homicides supposed to--" "--Yup." Natalie interrupted. "But not that one. Oh, I stomped my little foot and made a helluva stink, but that file was sign, sealed and buried without me ever laying a finger on it." "So how'd the guy die?" Tracy butted in. "Was it really an accident?" Natalie opened her mouth, but I patted her gently on the cheek. "Better let me. You still sound a little too close to it." Natalie rolled her eyes, but stayed silent. "Thanks. The *official* line has it that Charles DuCharme, purveyor of fine arts and antiquities, accidentally shot himself while examining an antique pistol." "One shot," Natalie tsked. "Right through the heart. How lucky can you get?" ===================================================================== "All right," Natalie asked as we helped her inventory the occupants of the cold room against her files. "I've got a question for you." "What is it?" Gasped Tracy, transparent in her eagerness to take her mind off of what she was doing. "Who told you that your guy LaCroix had been brought here? Nobody at the scene knew who he was." "Nobody at the scene *admitted* to knowing who he was." I amended. "But you do have a point. I'd like to know a little bit more about our informant as well. If he knew where the body was then, maybe he knows where it is now." "You mean you think maybe *he* took it?" Tracy asked, slamming a drawer hurriedly on an unidentifiable burn victim. "I don't think that's very likely." Natalie and I exchanged a look. "And why not?" I asked pointedly. A faint blush suffused her cheeks and she shrugged. "I dunno, I just don't think it was him." "Know him that well, do you?" I drawled. "Of course not." She replied huffily. "I never saw him before today and then it was just for a few minutes." "Seems like he made quite an impression in those few minutes, though." I teased. "Was it the long hair and the leather jacket? Or maybe you're one of those girls who gets into that scruffy, unshaven look, huh?" "Who exactly are you talking about?" Natalie interrupted Tracy's impatient retort. "He sounds fascinating. Anyone I know? Or should get to know, maybe?" "Ah ah," I warned Natalie. "You behave. Even if you didn't already have a steady, he's Tracy's." "He is not." Insisted Tracy. "See," Natalie smirked at me. "She doesn't want him. Mine." "Oh no you don't." I told Natalie, pulling her against me, files and all. "You're all booked up through the next millennia, remember?" She looked up into my face with those huge, soft eyes and smiled. "Oh, darn, that's right. Sorry, must have slipped my mind." "We should do something about that memory of yours." I whispered, nuzzling at the hair tucked behind her ear. "It does need jogging every now and again." She laughed a little breathlessly. The pointed clearing of Tracy's throat halted us in mid-nuzzle. "I hate to break up a tender moment, guys." Tracy stated. "But all the drawers have been checked and everyone else seems to be where they're supposed to be. And as much as this place is starting to feel like home, it's damn cold in here and I'd really like to leave now." She reached out and patted one of the drawers. "No offense, Mr. Davis." "I'm sure he understands how you feel." Natalie told her. "He'd probably rather be anywhere else himself." With a smooth motion, she snaked her arm through mine. "So, big spender, I guess dinner is back on." "Just so long as it's not hotdogs." I heard Tracy mutter as we left the residents of the cold room to their own quiet reflections. Natalie wanted Mexican and Tracy wanted Chinese, so they split the longitudes and agreed on Italian. I, of course had no say in the matter. My presence was tolerated solely due to my credit card. It never occurred to me that the two ladies would actually hit it off, but over scampi and pasta primavera, that's exactly what happened. They swapped college stories, fudge recipes, familial fiascos and opinions on the most comfortable forms of lingerie. This last topic interested me somewhat, but all too quickly the discussion shifted back around to the disappearance of Mr. LaCroix and our mysterious informant. Natalie kept urging Tracy for details on the young man's dark charms, until Tracy pulled a notebook from her purse and did a series of quick sketches. "Wow." I exclaimed with some surprise as I watched Tracy's hand fly across the page. "You're really good at that." "Summer camp." She explained shortly. "Here y'go Nat. That's the guy." Natalie took the sheet and stared at it in disbelief. "I know this guy." She breathed slowly. "J.D. Valdez, he came in last week." Tracy frowned at her. "What, you mean he came in to identify someone?" "No," Natalie replied. "He came in as a case. Along with a sharp stick, about this big around." She picked up a hearty breadstick to demonstrate and Tracy swallowed with difficulty. "Stuck right through his chest." ===================================================================== "Please don't tell me that you lost this J.D. Valdez's body too?" Tracy almost wailed. "Of course not." Natalie replied firmly. "That sort of thing does *not* happen on a regular basis, believe me. No, his death was ruled an accident and his body was claimed by a young woman. A nightclub singer, I think. And yes," she continued looking first at Tracy and then at me. "I can get you her name. I might even have an address." She pulled a phone out of her purse and made a call back to her office. While she waited for someone to retrieve the file, she flagged down a waiter and requested the dessert menu. "Hey," she responded to my unspoken protest. "If I'm going to help you with this case, I'm going to need chocolate." "Um Nat," I tried to phrase my refusal delicately. "As much as I appreciate your offer, I just don't think--" "--That's okay," she broke in. "We'll do the thinking for you." She picked the most decadent and expensive dessert on the menu. "You don't need to trouble your pretty little head about anything." "Except the bill." I muttered sourly. "Except that." She agreed sweetly. "You see Tracy, they can be taught." The dessert was delivered; an immense tower of creamy chocolate-raspberry mousse torte and Natalie eyed it with delight. "Look Tracy, two spoons. Dig in." ***** The three of us stood outside the nightclub, looking up at the neon sign spelling out its name. "'The Pulse'?" Tracy eyed the place doubtfully. "This is where she works?" "That's what was written on the morgue claim form." Natalie replied. "C'mon, let's hope this isn't her night off." It wasn't. Nat spotted her immediately and pointed out the pouty blond singer grinding her way through a very graphic version of 'The Night in My Veins'. "You can close your mouth, Nick." Natalie elbowed me roughly. "I don't know how long her set is, but we should try and catch her when she goes offstage." "Hunh?" I replied eloquently, tearing my eyes away as the young woman did things to her microphone that I had only fantasized about. "Oh, yeah, sure." There was a small room to the side of the stage for the performers and we posted ourselves at the doorway. "Uh, Nat, maybe I should be the one to talk to her while you two wait at the bar." Nat eyed me suspiciously. "Why? Three's a crowd?" "In a manner of speaking, yes." "He's got a point, Natalie" Tracy agreed with some reluctance. "Two extra females hanging around probably won't encourage her to talk about her dead ex-boyfriend." "So you're planning on offering her a shoulder to cry on?" Nat remarked to me pointedly. "No no, I understand," she waved away my attempt to explain. "You're both absolutely right. But," she waved her finger in my face. "The next hunky guy we interview is mine. Now give me your credit card. I feel the need for a marguerita. C'mon Tracy, what are you? A daiquiri gal?" "Kahlua and cream, actually." With a silent sigh of relief I watched them go. Don't get me wrong, I love Nat and I was really beginning to like Tracy, but no matter how helpful they were, I still preferred working on my own. Even when Schanke and I were together, we understood eachother's strengths and how we complemented one another. He took the front, I went around back. It was a good system. I watched the lovely young singer finishing her number and grinned as I thought about how Schanke and I would have split this far from unpleasant task. He'd have complained that I always got to do the fun things while he got left behind to clean up the messes, and then I would ask him what Myra would say. That was usually enough to send him away grumbling about the unfairness of it all. The sound of applause and the changing of the music from live to tape pulled me from my reverie. The sultry singer sauntered towards me leisurely and I watched her eyes widen in appreciation when she saw me. I thought again how much I liked certain aspects of my job. "Ms. Ursula Bourbon?" I asked in my most courteous professional manner. "I was hoping we could speak together for a few moments." She fluttered her eyelashes coyly. "For you, tall, blond and snappily dressed, I can spare more than a few moments." She took my arm with a smile and led me into the dressing room. I deliberately refrained from glancing over at the bar, but I swore I could feel the heat of Nat's eyes burning right through the back of my jacket. Another good reason for working solo. "Now," she said, draping herself gracefully across a folding chair. "What's on your mind?" I pulled out another chair and straddled it. "My name's Nick Knight and I'm a private investigator. I understand that you were a friend of a J.D. Valdez, who passed away recently. Is this true?" The glow in her face dimmed and she turned to pull a tissue from a box on the makeup table. "Yeah, that's right." She whispered roughly. "The stupid idiot went and got himself killed last friday." She dabbed carefully at her eyes, trying to keep her thick mascara from running. "Oh, we hadn't been an item for a long time, but we stayed in touch. We kept tabs on each other." She looked up at me with an expression on her face that almost broke my heart. "He's been like a brother to me, y'know?" I reached out and touched her hand gently. "Do you have a recent picture of him?" "Uh yeah, sure." She rummaged through a large satchel on the floor and pulled out several glossy photos. "Promos for his band, 'The Conquistadors'. That's him in the middle, holding the bass. They were really good. It's going to take them a while to find another bass player like J.D." I stared at the picture, marveling at how accurate Tracy's depiction had been. Either she had an extraordinary eye for detail or Valdez had really made a strong impression on her. "Can I keep this?" I asked. "Sure, I got plenty. 'The Conquistadors' can't use them anymore." She blinked rapidly and pressed the tissue to her nose. "Thank you." I tucked the picture into my jacket. "Now, is there anything you can tell me about Mr. Valdez's activities during the weeks before his death? Did he do work outside the band?" She laughed a little brokenly. "Of course he did. What he earned with the band couldn't keep him in guitar picks. He did lots of things. Odd jobs and such. He was doing inventory at some big warehouse when it... happened. They say he fell off a ladder and... and landed on a broken broom handle or... or something." Her mascara was forgotten as her shoulders started to shake uncontrollably and she buried her face in her hands. I leaned in close and put my arm around her. "I... I'm sorry." She stammered. "It's just... it hasn't been very long since..." "Shhhh, it's all right, believe me." I pulled a few more tissues from the box and handed them to her. "I really appreciate your help on this. I just have one more question, if that's okay?" "Sure." She sniffled. "Can you tell me where he is now?" ===================================================================== I pushed open the gate to the old cemetary, fighting against the pull of the vines and creepers entwined thickly around the rusty metal bars. "Ugh." Tracy remarked as she kicked herself free from a tenacious patch of brambles. "Are you sure she said he was buried here? It doesn't look like anyone's been around since the turn of the century." "Certainly no one with a weed-wacker." Natalie added as she fought her own battle against the tenacious vines. "Ow, Nick, it's tangled in my hair." "I said you didn't have to come." I reminded them both as I tried to unwind a stubborn creeper from Natalie's thick hair. "Nope, sorry, this isn't coming out. I'm afraid you'll have stay here." "Nick!" Natalie stomped her foot and then winced as her snarled hair was pulled tight. "Here," Tracy offered. "Let me try. Nick, hold the flashlight." She struggled with tangle for a while and finally threw up her hands. "It's really stuck in there Nat. I don't think I can get it out without cutting your hair." "Oh," Natalie fumed. "Just let me do it." Reaching up, she felt along the vine and broke it off, leaving a mass of leaves and twigs in her hair. "I'll take care of it when I get home. Let's go." She stalked off for a few steps and turned around impatiently when Tracy and I didn't move. "Nick, c'mon, you're the one with the flashlight, remember?" "Yes ma'am." I replied, not trusting myself to say anything else with a straight face. "Hey," Tracy called out softly a few studiously silent moments later. "I think there's a fairly clear path over here." The path, which appeared to have received some desultory maintenance, led us up towards the old abandoned church. "There," I whispered, though there really wasn't any need to keep our voices down. "That looks like a fresh grave." We followed the beam of the flashlight to the mound of tumbled earth and stood around it, like a trio of belated mourners. There was no plaque or headstone to say who it might be. Tied to the top of a small metal rod stuck into the ground, a tag fluttered in the fitful breeze. "'Plot 1531'." Tracy read. "I guess the permanent marker is on order." She looked up at me. "So how do we know if he's in here?" I shrugged. "I know he's not in there. I just wanted to see if Ms. Bourbon's story checked out. She seemed genuine enough, but I wanted to make sure." "Make sure of what, exactly?" "That she wasn't involved in any of this." "Nick," Tracy said. "You're not making any sense. What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about theft, treachery and murder. Mr. Valdez here apparently knew too much and someone found out that he knew it, so in order to keep from being killed, he faked his own death." "Ohohoho no he didn't." Natalie scoffed. "That boy was dead when they wheeled him in and he was just as dead when they wheeled him out." "Who did the exam on him?" I asked her curiously. "Why I did... no, wait, I remember he came in at the end of my shift... I think." She paused with a puzzled frown on her face. "He came in on Friday... or was it Saturday? Because if it was Saturday, I would have been out... somewhere." "It's okay, Nat." I put a comforting arm around her as she struggled to piece together her jumbled memories. "I don't think you're supposed to remember." "What?" She blinked at me in surprise. "You mean someone made me forget?" "Looks that way." I sighed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Unless someone snaps their fingers and you start acting like a chicken, of course." "That's not funny." She said through clenched teeth as she pressed her fingers against her temples. "Someone's been messing around in my head and I don't *like* it." Tracy kicked at a clod of dirt. "So now what do we do?" "Nothing. It's time to go home." "B...but we haven't *done* anything!" Tracy protested. "Yes we have." I assured her. "We've found out that there is much more to this case than a missing courier and the disappearance of the item he was transporting. There are several people involved and some, if not all of them are very dangerous. That means I'm the only one who's going to take this any farther." I forestalled their objections. "I appreciate your help. There's no way I would have gotten this far so quickly without it, but your part stops here. Okay?" Natalie understood. She'd been with me long enough to know when it was time to fall back, but Tracy did not have her experience. "But--" Tracy continued. "--Listen to me Tracy," I caught her eyes with my own. "Your Uncle told me to show you around, give you a taste of what it's like to be an investigator. I've done that. *More* than that and I don't want you tagging along, causing me trouble." Okay, so I was harsh. But sometimes you have to be a little tough when you're trying to get an important point across. And there was no way in hell I was going to try and explain to Schanke how his beautiful niece got hurt because of me. She took it well, but I turned away quickly so I wouldn't have to see the way she looked at me. It wasn't as if I'd *asked* her to make me into some kind of hero, so I shouldn't be upset that she didn't see me that way any more. Right? ===================================================================== It was a silent ride to take Natalie back to her car. Once there, I took the keys from her and checked the back seat like the considerately paranoid boyfriend that I am. Once the formalities had been observed, she tipped her face up for a kiss. I knew she'd had scampi, heavily drenched in butter and garlic, but all I could taste was her; sweet, sparkling and heady, like the finest champagne. For a moment I wondered how she did that. Then she pressed herself tightly against me and I couldn't think about much of anything. "Oh Nick," she sighed as she pulled away slightly. "Try to be careful this time. I don't want to have to dig any more bullets out of you." I chuckled. "Don't worry, Nat. The moths put enough holes in my wardrobe without any help." I looked down at her and leered. "Though I hafta say that no one handles a pair of forceps like you do, baby." She pursed her lips and fluttered her eyelashes. "Oooh, you just love me for my instruments, don't you, big boy?" "No, I just love you." I touched my hand to her cheek tenderly. Then I ruined the moment with a wicked grin. "But now that you mention it, I bet I could think of a few good uses for that rib spreader you had out today." "Oh!" She exclaimed, slapping a hand against my chest. "Nasty man. How do you expect me to get any sleep with *that* image running through my head?" I pulled her close and buried my nose in her soft, silky hair. "Maybe I don't." I whispered throatily. She seemed to melt into me and I felt her heart pounding like a jackhammer. "Nick--" she protested weakly. "I know, I know." I whispered, trying to control my own trembling. "Neither the time, nor the place." "Sometimes I wonder if there will ever be a 'here and now'." She replied with a slight shading of bitterness. I took her face between my hands and kissed her nose. "Yes." I whispered. Then I kissed her forehead. "Yes." And finally her lips. "Yes." "All right." She laughed rather mistily. "I'm convinced. Now, don't you think you'd better get Tracy home? The poor girl must be exhausted." I shrugged. "College kid like her? I bet she's used to burning the midnight oil." Natalie slid into the seat of her car with a skeptical shake of her head. "If you say so, mister." Then she shot me a serious look. "I know why you said what you did to her, Nick, but it still hurt. Try to go easy on her, okay?" "Nat, if she wants to be in law enforcement, she's got to be tough. Shrinking violets don't last long on the streets." Nat just looked at me. "Okay." I exhaled, knowing this was one battle I was destined to lose. "I'll try to be a little more like jolly old Uncle Nick." "That's m'boy." She beamed approvingly and drove away. I walked back over to the Caddy and slid behind the wheel. I looked over at Tracy, prepared to apologize for being so rough on her and saw that Nat was right again. Tracy was fast asleep. ***** We pulled in front of Tracy's hotel and I shook her gently. "Trace, time to wake up." "Aww, Mom," she muttered, batting at my hand irritably. "'S vacation. Leave me alone." Then she twitched and blinked at me blearily. "Uncle Nick? What are you doing here?" "Well," I replied reasonably. "It *is* my car." "Oh." She eyed the steering wheel and the dashboard. "Right. Your car." She sat up unsteadily and peered through the windshield. "Are we there yet?" "We're parked in front of your hotel, if that's what you mean." I replied, getting out to open her door. "C'mon, it's past time for all good little girls to be in bed." "I'm not a little girl." She announced firmly as she stepped out of the car and promptly tripped on the curb. "Ooof!" I exclaimed, staggering theatrically as I caught her. "Nope, definitely not little." "Oh!" She frowned as she pushed me away. "Cut it out!" Then she caught sight of my face and started laughing. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be cranky. I guess I'm just more of a morning person." "There's nothing wrong with that." I said more seriously than I meant to. "I wish I could be more that way myself, sometimes." "Coffee is the trick." She informed me solemnly. "Drink early, drink often." "I'll take your suggestion under advisement." I told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Now let's get you inside. You look like you could use some extra beauty sleep." She wasn't too tired to give me a solid shove and stalk away with her nose in the air. It would have worked better if she'd remembered which way the door opened, though. ======================================================================= I woke up early, not much past noon. I get that way with a case sometimes, especially if there's a connection I should be seeing that I'm not. So I surrendered to the inevitable, poured myself a brimming mugful to chase away the last of the cobwebs and spread the case out on the table. With a deep sigh I looked at the heavily shuttered windows and thought about how many hours of daylight there were left before I could get back out onto the streets. I didn't like interviewing people over the phone, for one thing they had a nasty habit of hanging up on you. It was easier for them to lie, too. Schanke always said I could learn more by just watching someone's eyes than he could get from an hour of intense grilling. This was the point of investigating where I missed Schanke the most. Oh sure, he complained as loudly as ever that I always stuck him with the boring jobs, but provide him with a steady stream of greasy take-out food and he'd hunker down with the phone for hours. And while I might have a talent for in-person interviews, Schank was a master of the phone-schmooze. He knew every low-down trick to prevent the hangup and he wasn't afraid to use them. He said he'd learned his guerrilla tactics from Myra, when she was selling cosmetic products out of the house. She was promoted to executive vice-president, which is why they moved to the company's corporate headquarters in Arizona. And now Schanke spends his days on the golf course, if that gives you some idea of her ability. In a moment of guilty inspiration, I called Tracy. This would be the perfect opportunity to introduce Schanke's niece to a safer, if less glamorous side of detective work. Unfortunately, the desk clerk at the hotel informed me that Ms. Vetter was not in her room and had left no messages. She was probably down at one of the local coffee shops, so I left a message telling her to call me when she got in. I hoped she wasn't sulking about what I'd said to her last night. In retrospect maybe I was a bit harsh with her, but maybe an offer to let her help would put us back on better terms. True, this was simple background work. It was unlikely that we'd stumble across anything really significant. These people didn't have anything to hide. Well, nothing that I was interested in, anyway. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that everyone has something to hide. Since I didn't know how long Tracy was going to be out, I sighed and started pushing the buttons myself. Hours later, I leaned back in a huge stretch, hoping the that the cracking and popping sounds were coming from the couch instead of my joints. There was one call I was hesitating about making. I knew I should probably contact Madame DuCharme and let her know that her dear 'Uncle Lucien' had almost certainly been murdered. But I didn't know how to explain that someone had stolen the body from the city morgue along with all other evidence of the deed. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of paying her a condolence visit along with a bottle of liquid sympathy and the offer of a strong shoulder to cry on. I remembered how lovely her eyes had looked, shimmering with unshed tears, but then I envisioned another pair of eyes, a softer shade of blue and filled with suspicion. "Ahh Nat," I sighed, slouching back into the couch. "What are we going to do about this, eh?" As if on cue, the phone rang. "Nick, I think I've found something." Nat blurted out with no preamble. "I thought you at least were going to stay out of this one." I scolded, though I could feel my mouth quirk in a half-smile. "What, with a body snatched out from under my nose and another one gaining entry under false pretenses?" She retorted briskly. "Not on your life, buster. I'm into this one up to my elbows." "Yeah, okay I see your point." I admitted. "So what do you have? Something on our mobile murder victim?" She sighed. "No, I'm still short one corpus delicti, but I did some checking on Tracy's friend." "J.D. Valdez?" "Yeah, him. Well I looked into the building where the accident occurred and guess who rents inventory storage space in it?" The pieces clicked into place and I knew what had driven me out of bed so early. "Janette et Charles DuCharme." Her disappointment was palpable. "You knew?" "Not until just now," I assured her. "But it makes perfect sense. It means that all three murder attempts are connected." "Three? You mean...?" "Yes, this confirms it. Charles DuCharme was murdered." I checked my watch. "Nat, I'm going to run a few errands and then head for the office . You've been a huge help, but if you find out anything else--" "--I know, I know," she interrupted. "Everything gets handed over to you, no snooping around on my own. I hear, I obey." "You're the best Nat." "Yeah, but then what am I doing wasting time on a lug like you?" "Good question. I wish I knew." My reply sounded more serious than I intended. She answered with a raspberry. "And you such a hot detective. The klews are all right in front of you, Nick, maybe you should try putting them together some day." And she hung up. I listened to the dial tone for a bemused moment before punching in a familiar number. "'Flowers by Algernon'?" I asked. "I'd like to order a dozen roses for delivery." Yes Natalie, they can be taught. ===================================================================== I tried Tracy one more time, but she still hadn't returned. Muttering angrily about baby-sitters, I stomped out to the car and drove to her hotel. The desk clerk was of the quavering, twitchy sort and my investigator's license was enough to get him to open Tracy's room for me. Everything looked fine. Almost too fine, really, but Tracy had always been an obsessively neat kid, so the neurotically tidy state of the room didn't tell me anything, except that she hadn't rushed out. I grilled the clerk rather vehemently, but all he could say was that she had left around 1:00 and she had been wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She hadn't said anything about where she was going or when she'd be back. I paced around in frustration, but there just wasn't anything I could do. She hadn't been missing long enough to get the cops involved and all I had to go on was a bad feeling. And the case, of course. In an instant I knew that Tracy had gone off to do some investigating on her own. I called Natalie to let her know that something was up and then I snarled at the clerk to stay at his post until Ms. Vetter returned. He nodded feverishly and from the look on his face, I don't think he even considered the possibility of a bathroom break. Which was exactly how I wanted it. *If* Tracy came back, I wanted to know within moments of her arrival. Until then, all I could do was follow the leads I had and hope that at some point, our paths might cross. And one of those paths led straight to a fancy shop in the center of the high-rent district. There was no tinkling bell to announce my entrance, but I heard a faint clicking noise as I stepped through the doorway and felt the eye of at least one security camera upon me. Looking at the loot lining the aisle, I took a guess at the cost of her security system and then upped it by a factor of ten when I realized that all the *good* stuff was probably kept in the back. I started heading that way when my progress was stalled by a sharp-faced, sharp-dressed woman who looked ready to grab my ear and drag me to the principal's office. "May I help you, sir?" She asked sharply, the implication being that I must either be trying to steal something or looking for a restroom. Or both. Either way, it was her sworn duty to thwart me. "I've come to see Madame DuCharme." I explained shortly, preparing to brush past her. She covered my attempt like a basketball forward. "I'm sorry sir, no one sees Madame without an appointment." The unspoken statement hung in the air between us like the sword of damocles until I smiled at her humorlessly. "And I couldn't *possibly* have an appointment with Madame, could I?" She parried without effort. "Madame is already engaged this evening, sir. I suggest you call her secretary and see when she will be free to see you." It was a good pass attempt, but I was losing patience and decided to move the game onto my home court. I looked her straight in the eyes and smiled. "I have business with Madame. Step aside and let me pass." Her face went pale and she tried to swallow, but there seemed to be something wrong with her throat. She stared at me and moved stiffly out of the way. "Thank you." I nodded politely and pushed through the burgundy velvet curtains that led to the back. I paused for a moment, awed in spite of myself by the deep colors of the priceless carpets; the rich glow of rare woods and the almost painful glitter of precious metals and gems. Then Madame DuCharme materialized from the heart of this treasure trove and what remained of my breath was sucked out of my chest. She still wore her widow's black, but this high-necked velvet dress left her porcelain-white shoulders bare and did more to indicate the lushness of her figure than her state of mourning. Surely she hadn't been this beautiful when she was sitting in my shabby office drinking with me? If she had been, why was I feeling so shell-shocked now? It had to be the surroundings. Like a flawless pearl set among a pasha's ransom of rubies, emeralds and sapphires, she glowed with stolen fire. This was her proper element and I saw in her smile that she knew it quite well. "Monsieur Knight," she purred, rising to her tiptoes to greet me in the European style. "How pleasant a surprise." And if her lips happened to brush across mine as she moved to kiss my cheeks, well, the feeling would return to my fingers and toes eventually. "Bon soir, Madame." I replied, noting as if from a distance that my voice was two octaves lower than usual. She took my arm with tender familiarity and led me through the burgundy curtains back to the public area of the shop. "I had thought to drop by your office later this evening, but here you have saved me the trouble." A white envelope appeared in her hand, I had no idea from where, but it was fascinating to speculate. "As it happens, my Uncle has turned up, safe and sound and your services are no longer required." She glanced at me from under her lashes and I found myself pondering the interesting connotations of 'services'. "What about the object he was bringing to your husband?" For a moment I wondered who was speaking, until I realized it was me. She brushed away the object with a dismissive gesture. "It turned out to be nothing of great importance." She sighed ruefully. "The whole thing was no more than the overwrought fancies of a grief-stricken woman, I'm afraid." Her eyes glimmered with regret as she handed me the envelope. "But this should be fair recompense for your valuable time and effort. It is almost a shame that it all turned out to be a wild goose chase, non?" We were already on the sidewalk in front of the store when I stopped our forward progess. "And where is your Uncle now?" She blinked at the unexpected question and then smiled. "Ever the detective, eh?" She patted my hand as she slid her own arm free. "He has gone back to Europe, Monsieur. His flight left this afternoon." She drew my face down to her own and this time she did more than just brush her lips against mine. "Now," she whispered as her eyes smiled knowingly. "Do you have any more questions?" I shook my head. "Bon. Then I am afraid this must be a parting of our ways. Though perhaps our paths will cross again, someday. Au Revoir, Monsieur Knight." And the door clicked shut between us. I had to drive some distance before the fresh night air cleared my head of all the velvet and satin cobwebs. With a fatalistic shrug, I pulled over and opened the envelope. I felt my eyebrows shoot up involuntarily as soon as I finished counting the number of zeroes written on the check. And I felt pain, real honest pain as I tore up Madame DuCharme's extraordinarily generous pay off and dribbled the pieces behind me as I drove away. You see, Monsieur LaCroix had not gotten on a plane to Europe. Nor was he dead, if he ever had been. No, Monsieur LaCroix was lurking in the back room of Madame DuCharme's shop, unaware that I had caught a glimpse of his reflection in a large, gilt-framed mirror as he eavesdropped on our conversation. I hate it when people lie to me. It makes me suspicious that they haven't told me the truth about other things. Things that I really should know about. ===================================================================== With a heavy heart and empty wallet, I drove back to the office, wondering where I should go from here. I was in serious need of inspiration and there was a part of me that was trying very hard to convince me that a good stiff drink would help. It was a tempting prospect, but I'd spent enough nights looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle to know it doesn't work that way. The only thing I'd ever found down there were regrets. I stumped my way up the stairs, cataloging one regret for each step and realized that I was going to need a much longer staircase. Then I noticed that the door to my office was slightly ajar and the glumness melted away. Silently pulling out my gun, I crept down the hall and stood motionless by the door. The lights were off and there was no one moving around, but I could hear a faint, rhythmic sound. Someone was snoring. I clicked the safety back on and pushed open the door. I could make out the shape of someone leaning back in my chair with their feet on the desk. There was a faint but familiar aroma in the air and I felt my mouth curl into a smile. "Freeze!" I yelled sharply and turned on the light. Tracy's feet dropped to the floor with a resounding as she jerked forward. The wheeled chair scooted backwards and she was propelled into the well under the desk. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" She shrieked, sticking her hands up above the edge of the desk in an attitude of surrender. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." I growled menacingly. "Uncle Nick?" The top of a shiny blond head popped up, followed by a pair of enormous grey eyes. "Oh thank God it's you!" Then she saw the look on my face and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You did that on purpose, didn't you? You knew it was me all along!" I slipped the gun back in the holster and offered to help pull her up. "Not at first, no. But your shampoo gave you away." She eyed my hand suspiciously, but took it anyway. "My shampoo?" "Apricots." I smiled as I helped her back into the chair. "Not too many dangerous criminals use fruit-scented shampoo." I examined her closely and noticed how dirty and tired she looked. I felt a little guilty for scaring her and that made me angry. "Where have you been, anyway? Do you know how worried I was about you?" I started pacing agitatedly. "Did you even *think* about telling me where you were going? Your partner is supposed to *know* these things. Not to mention what Schanke would do to me if anything happened to you. But you didn't think about any of that, did you? You just took off on your own, hoping to crack this case all by yourself." I saw the tears start welling up in her eyes and that made me absolutely furious. "Well let me tell you something, Miss Nancy Drew, that kind of childish, idiotic grand-standing doesn't work here. Not with me!" I was towering over her by now and my expression must have been horrific. But she didn't back down. She wiped her tears away and stood up to look me in the eye. "I'm sorry!" She shouted right back. "You're right, it was stupid and childish and you can *bet your ass* that I'll never do it again. Now don't you want to hear what I found out?" I was somewhat taken aback. I stared at her, noting her flinty eye and the mulish set of her jaw. Right then she reminded me so much of her Uncle Donnie that I just had to smile. "One thing first. How did you get in here? I know I locked the door. Did Schanke give you his set of picks?" "Nope." She flipped something onto the desk. "His key." And then she told me about her day. ***** "I kept thinking about Mr. Valdez." She began, giving me a quelling look when I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise. "Oh come on, it's not like that. He's connected to this case and I knew that if I could find him, he'd be able to give us some answers." "All right, so your motives were purely case related." I allowed. "Absolutely. He talked to me once, so I figured he might be willing to do it again. I drove down to the docks where I'd seen him before, but no luck." She shrugged. "I didn't think he'd be wandering around in broad daylight if someone's trying to kill him, but it was a place to start." She looked at me pointedly. "The 'Valletta' is still docked, you know." "I know." I nodded sagely, though her comment reminded me of something I should look into fairly soon. "All right. Well, I decided to get a cup of coffee and think things over. Coffee always helps me do that. So there I was, sitting at this really cute little cafe overlooking the harbor when I suddenly realized where this guy might be." "Uh huh?" I replied blandly, though I was starting to get a tight feeling in my stomach. If she was disappointed by my lack of reaction, she didn't show it, but continued on enthusiastically. "It suddenly occurred to me that this Mr. Valdez was trying to find some answers too. I mean, why else would he have stuck around? Why eavesdrop on you and tell me about LaCroix? Why not just leave town and start another rock band somewhere?" She bounced out of the chair and started gesticulating with her hands. I leaned on the edge of the desk and watched, somewhat bemused. "But no, he didn't. He wanted to keep an eye on things here, to find out what was going on. To know why someone tried to kill him." Her eyes were glittering brightly and she looked as if she were conducting an orchestra. I braced for the crescendo. "And then boom!" She brought her hands together like a pair of cymbals. "I knew where he was." "Where?" I said tightly, trying to keep my arms folded so I wouldn't be tempted to shake it out of her. "Right where we went looking for him." She smiled. "Where he could see anyone who came by to check up on him." The pieces clicked together as they always seemed to. "The old church." I sighed. Tracy nodded. "But I found way more than I bargained for." ===================================================================== "When I got to the church," Tracy continued. "I saw that someone had been living there. It was all fixed up with candles and boxes of supplies. There was even a real bed, complete with blankets and pillows." I didn't say anything, but she saw my eyebrows rise and her eyes narrowed defensively. "Anyway, I thought I heard something upstairs, so went up to see if he was there." "And was he?" I prompted. The muscles in her jaw clenched. "At first I thought it was him. He was the same size and had the same long, black hair, but when I called out, he turned around and...and his eyes were glowing." She made a frustrated noise. "I know that sounds crazy, but that's what I saw. I started to back away, but the next thing I knew, he had grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. I never saw anyone move that fast before. It was almost as if he flew." Even though Tracy was sitting in front of me, obviously safe and perfectly sound, I felt fear for her washing through me. I clenched my fists together to keep from grabbing her shoulders and shaking her for putting herself in such danger. "Did he hurt you?" I asked with difficulty. "No," she shook her head. "Not really. He was very strong, but he wasn't trying to be violent. He just had this, urgent intensity about him, like he wanted something very badly. He kept asking me questions and glaring at me with those...those eyes." "Questions?" This surprised me. "What did he want to know?" She tossed her hands into the air. "I wish I knew! He spoke in some weird language I've never heard before." Suddenly I was reminded of something and I wondered if she'd managed to find one of the missing links to this case that had absolutely baffled me. "Can you remember any of the words?" I asked carefully. She nodded. "Yeah, he repeated the same phrases several times. 'Maypin soowa, vachon?' Was one of them. The other was, 'Koyway yana urpito! Moonani urpito!' He used the words 'urpito' and 'vachon' a lot." To my surprise, her eyes started to twinkle. "I don't know what an 'urpito' is," she told me. "But I did find out about the 'vachon' part." This time I couldn't help myself and grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "What?" I demanded. She pushed my hands away with a grin. "I'm getting there, don't worry. So, there I was getting my teeth rattled out my head as this guy grew more and more frustrated with me, when I heard the sound of a window breaking and with a sudden rush of air, I found myself lying on the floor, alone." He voice grew strangely quiet. "And then *he* was there, picking me up and half-carrying me outside. 'Come on' he said. 'I don't know how long that will hold him'. And he threw me onto his motorcycle and we roared away." "Who?" I insisted urgently. "Who took you out of there?" She looked at me as if surprised that I didn't somehow know. "Vachon, of course. I mean...Valdez, J.D. Valdez. He told me that his real name was Javier Vachon and that he'd been hired by Charles DuCharme to do some special research. When DuCharme died, Vachon was transferred to a warehouse down by the docks. That's where two men he'd never seen before tried to kill him." Her eyebrows drew together into a frown. "Actually, he said that they *did* kill him. He remembers one of the men holding him while the other speared him with a piece of wood and then he woke up in the morgue." She looked at me helplessly. "I know, it sounds crazy, but that's what he told me. Anyway, he decided that it would be better to stay dead for a while and try to find out what was going on. A few nights later, he was poking around DuCharme's warehouse when he saw those two same men kill LaCroix. They seemed to be looking for something and were very upset when they didn't find it on LaCroix. When they left, Vachon tried to follow, but since he *really* didn't want them to see him, for obvious reasons, he had to stay too far behind and lost them. "When he returned to the warehouse, the police were on the scene and he recognized the coroner from his stay at the morgue. He also knew about you and Natalie, which is how he knew to tell me about LaCroix when you were showing the picture around the shipping office." I remembered visiting Natalie at the morgue last weekend and then I recalled what we had been doing in the cold room at the time. "Oh no." I groaned, hoping that Valdez...Vachon, whatever his name was, hadn't told Tracy everything. No such luck. "Don't feel bad Uncle Nick," Tracy grinned as she patted my arm. "How were you supposed to know that one of the stiffs was a peeping Tom?" ==================================================================== "Okay," I said, rather awed by the amount of information Tracy's little misadventure had managed to glean. "But none of what you've told me says anything about the stranger in the church. Did Vachon know who he was?" "I'm sure he did." Tracy replied a little unhappily. "But it was something he wasn't going to tell me about. He told me about the two men and LaCroix and then dropped me off here. I know the other guy must be connected to all this, but I don't know how." I nodded. "I'm pretty sure he is too. While you were busy with your boyfriend, I was on the phone with the passengers and crew of the 'Valletta'." I ignored her sputtering denial that Vachon was her boyfriend and continued. "From what I was told, I think our mystery man was on that boat with LaCroix." Tracy's mouth dropped open. "Oh wow, are you sure?" I shrugged. "I can't be certain, of course, but several passengers described an encounter on the deck between a tall, pale gentleman and a young man with long dark hair. They appeared to be arguing, but no one could understand a word of what they were saying. The blond man walked away abruptly and that seemed to be the end of it." I raised my finger pointedly. "However, the steward later reported an apparent attempted burglary in one of the suites and the young man was not seen again. Not even when the ship disembarked." "But...where did he go?" Tracy asked. "It was a ship, where else could he go?" I replied matter-of-factly. "The water?" She gasped. "You mean, he went overboard?" "I think he was *tossed* overboard, by LaCroix when he found the young man searching his quarters." "But...but he was in the church! How could he possibly have made it to shore alive?" She sputtered. I tossed up my hands. "How many examples of people coming back from death have we heard on this case? The only dead man who seems to have stayed that way is Charles DuCharme and I'm tempted to dig him up to see if he's still there." "Miracles." She murmured. "You're talking about something that can work miracles." Her words struck at something deep within me, a dream of warmth and sunlight that I rarely allowed myself to imagine anymore. If anyone had a good use for a miracle, it was me. But that wasn't something I wanted to think about, it hurt too much and there were other, more pressing issues clamoring for my attention at the moment. I rubbed my hands across my eyes and sighed. "Well, whatever it is," I told Tracy. "It's missing and a lot of people seem to want it very badly." "If it can bring people back from the dead, I can see why it'd be in demand." She stated wryly. "Maybe," I muttered. "But I don't see the connections. How did all these people find out about this thing?" "Well, didn't it all start with Mr. DuCharme? Maybe we should work from there." Tracy suggested. I nodded. "Charles DuCharme was looking for something, something so special and so secret, he wouldn't even tell his wife about it." "Maybe...maybe that's what Vachon was helping DuCharme research? Maybe he knew something about whatever DuCharme was looking for?" I could feel that something was on the verge of clicking into place, but I needed more information. And I knew just where to get it. I grabbed Tracy's hand and pulled her towards the door. "Where are we going this time?" She stumbled as she tried to get an arm into her coat. "Back to the morgue. I need to look something up." "Just as long as you don't need to look *someone* up." She grumbled. *** Natalie was surprised, if pleased to see both of us still safe and sound. With a pang, I realized how much my earlier telephone had alarmed her. She had seen too much death not to know how easily it could come. To anyone. I had told Tracy my plan on the way over, so she sat down at Nat's computer to get started while I filled Nat in on the new developments. Before long, she was scribbling the pertinent factors of the case into her notebook. "Wait a second, wait a second," she waved a hand at me as she tried to keep up. "So what you're telling me is that Charles DuCharme hired J.D. Valdez--whose real name is Javier Vachon--to help him track down a mysterious treasure? And when DuCharme located it, he sent Janette DuCharme's 'Uncle LaCroix' to go pick it up. But while on the boat, LaCroix was accosted by this incomprehensible stranger who ended up ransacking LaCroix's room and was thrown overboard for his trouble. Then LaCroix, who must have heard about DuCharme's death by this time, disembarked and was killed by the same two men who had shishkabobbed Valdez--I mean--Vachon?" "Yes." I replied. Natalie frowned. "But then you went to Janette's store and saw LaCroix lurking in the shadows, right?" "Right." "So who's got this mysterious treasure?" She asked. "LaCroix didn't have it when he was killed and the stranger is apparently still looking for it, whatever 'it' is." "LaCroix had it with him on the boat." I stated. "That was the deal with DuCharme. All I can assume is that he hid it before he got ambushed." Natalie clucked her tongue against her teeth. "That doesn't leave him a lot of time or a lot of options to find a safe place for it." I nodded. "I'm thinking he left it on the boat. That would have been easier than trying to stash it around the docks." "So he could have gone back for it already, huh?" "Yeah," I acknowledged. "Though at the moment, I'm more concerned about Tracy's stranger and those two nameless killers. I don't like the idea of the three of them running around causing trouble." "So what's that got to do with my computer?" Natalie asked, glancing over at Tracy, who had her tongue stuck between her teeth as she scanned various search engines. "She's looking for a linguistics database." I explained. "The stranger told Tracy what he was looking for, we just need to know what language it was in." Fascinated, Natalie scooted next to Tracy and started making suggestions. I smiled to see the two heads--one gold, one brown--bent together in front of the glowing screen. Suddenly Tracy squealed and Natalie gave a shout of triumph. "Kechwa!" Tracy exclaimed. "Gedzunteit!" I responded. "No, you idiot!" Natalie pounded her fist into my stomach. "That's the language! It's spoken by natives of South America, specifically of Incan descent." "Bird." Tracy scanned the screen intently. "He was looking for a black bird." She looked at me in confusion. "Why does that sound so familiar?" Then my phone rang. ===================================================================== Both Natalie and Tracy watched me intently as I flipped open the phone and spoke to the party at the other end. "Knight here." I said. I was a little surprised by the identity of the caller, but I did my best not to express it. "Uh huh." I acknowledged. "I see. Yes, that would be a problem. No, the original terms are fine. I'll get started on it right away. Of course, I understand." I turned off the phone and tucked it back in my pocket. "Well?!" Tracy nearly exploded. "Who was that?!" "Hmmm?" I regarded her blandly. "Oh, that was Madame DuCharme. Apparently, her 'Uncle', who had supposedly returned to Europe, has gone missing once again. His last known destination was the docks. Madame wishes to re-hire me to locate him." "He went for the bird and someone waylaid him." Tracy breathed dramatically. "I wonder if it was the Inca or the two ruthless killers?" "You're forgetting about your young biker friend." I reminded her pointedly. "He has a stake in all this too, if you'll pardon the pun." I could tell she was about to launch into an emphatic defense of Vachon's virtue when Natalie spoke up. "Okay, so now we know a bit about what we're looking for and even some notion of its whereabouts, but we still have no idea what it really is. Why are all these people so anxious to get their hands on this 'bird'?" Tracy and I looked at each other almost guiltily. We had both accepted the idea that the 'black bird' had some sort of mystical power, but we were reluctant to bring up the possibility with Natalie. "We...I think it's probably a religious artifact that has great cultural significance." I began. "Yeah, with...uh...which some people may believe to have special... um... properties." Tracy added. Natalie eyed us with deep skepticism. "And where did the two of you get these ideas about this 'artifact'? We only just now found out what it was." Tracy and I locked eyes again. "Just...one of my usual hunches." I offered. "Yeah, me too." Tracy slid in behind. "I mean, that's the impression I got from...from the Inca...and Vachon too, of course." "Of course." Natalie agreed rather sharply. "Hey, I've got an idea, Nat." I suggested hastily. "Why don't you keep poking around the database and see what you can dig up about this Incan bird while Tracy and I go check out the 'Valletta'?" "Yeah," Tracy chimed in eagerly. "Maybe then we'll at least have some idea of *what* and maybe even *who* we're dealing with." "Before you get yourselves dealt with." Natalie replied sourly. "All right, I'll stay here and let you know if I find anything. But!" She stood up and poked her finger into my chest. "You'd better check in with me, you hear? I'm not going to sit here wringing my hands until dawn, wondering if something's happened to you!" I wrapped my hands around her fist and brought it to my lips. "No wringing please, your hands are going be busy typing and yes, I'll check back with you. Promise." I pulled her in close, smiling as she fought to remain stiff and unyielding and then melted against me in reluctant surrender. "All right then," she murmured into my shirt. She tipped her face up towards mine and I felt my heart clench at the sight of the tears glittering at the corners of her eyes. I kissed her gently on the forehead and the warm breath of her sigh brushed my chin. "Just be sure to watch each other's backs." She ordered. "'Cause if they wheel you in here, don't expect a particularly pleasant bedside manner." "Yes ma'am." Tracy saluted with a grin and I sealed the agreement with a more...personalized stamp. *** Aboard the 'Valletta', Tracy stared at empty niche in the paneled wall of the cabin while I poked through the jumbled wreckage of the room. "And this happened tonight?" I asked the crewmember who had led us to the scene. I think he assumed we were following up on the earlier visit by the official investigators and I saw no reason to disillusion him. "Yessir," he replied. "We did a review of this deck around six o'clock and nothing was amiss then." I frowned. "But all these are empty passenger cabins, does someone regularly come around and check inside each and every one of them?" "Nawsir," the man answered. "While she's sitting empty, we just pass through the corridor, checking that everything is secure and locked up tight." Tracy turned around. "So what made you look in here?" He gave her an appreciative look that brought a faint bit of color to her cheeks. "T'door was open and it was like you see it. So we called the authorities. Didn't know what to make of it. Nothin' seems to be missing, only tossed around a bit, so it's not likely anything will be done." "What about this?" Tracy tried to ignore the man's frankly admiring stare and pointed to the missing wall panel. "Why is this space here?" "Just part of the bulkhead, Miss. Whoever did this must have pried off that piece of the wall." The crewman shrugged. "Can't imagine why." Having finished with my tour of the room, I looked at the gap in the paneling and felt around inside. Something was caught beneath one of the metal studs, so I gently pried it loose and slipped it into my pocket. "Well, I guess that's all we can do here for now." I took Tracy's elbow and propelled her towards the door. "If anything else 'unusual' happens while you're in port, I'd appreciate it if you could give us a call." I handed him a business card with a bit of incentive folded beneath it. He pocketed the money and looked at the card. "Well now, that might depend on which of you answers the phones." His leer was becoming more obvious, as was Tracy's blush and I hustled her out before she said something to antagonize our new friend. Once back on dry land, I released her and watched as she stomped out her frustration. "Ooooh," she exclaimed through clenched teeth. "I hate when men do that. It makes me feel so...so..." "Objectified?" I offered helpfully. Tracy tipped her head and looked at me thoughtfully. "Maybe Natalie is right," she mused. "You *can* be taught." "Well," I answered, striding back towards the car. "Going with the assumption that I can, what about you? Tell me what you thought about that scene." "It looked pretty clear to me." She replied, sliding into the passenger seat. "LaCroix went back for the bird, someone followed to see where he hid it, there's a struggle in the room and the winner takes the bird and does away with the loser. Since LaCroix is still missing, I'm assuming that he lost." "Hmmmm," I tapped my thumbs against the steering wheel. "That's one possibility. There are a few problems with it, though." "Yeah? Like what?" Her tone was very prickly and I looked over with a grin. "First, there was no evidence of a struggle in that room and second, someone else took the bird before LaCroix got there." ===================================================================== Before Tracy could pick up her jaw and start cross-examining me, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the scraps of paper I'd removed from the niche in the cabin wall. "Here," I told her. "Tell me what you make of that. I'm going to check in with Nat." Blithely ignoring Tracy's loud of exasperation, I punched in Natalie's number. I was surprised when it took her several moments answer. Given her anxiety when we left, I'd have expected her to pounce at the first ring. "Coroner's Office, Dr. Lambert speaking." "Hi Nat, it's Nick." "Nick, how nice to hear from you." I frowned at the flatness of her tone. "Um...well, I just called to let you know that we're fine. No bird, no LaCroix, but I have a few ideas. How about you? Come across anything interesting?" She hesitated briefly. "You could say that. I wasn't having much luck finding anything on the computer and then I got a visitor." "A visitor?" I didn't like the sound of that at all. "Yeah, he's been very helpful. Hang on a sec, I think he wants to talk to you." "Hey, Knight," A husky male voice came on the line. "Tracy left her notebook at my place. She wasn't in your office, so I came here." The sound of squealing tires ripped through the night as I stomped my foot on the gas. "Nick!" Tracy protested as she barely kept the wind from whipping the scraps of paper from her hand. "What do you think you're doing?" "Stay right there." I growled at Vachon. "And if you so much as--" "--Look, it's okay." Vachon interrupted. "I think we're all on the same side here. I wasn't sure at first, but I've been doing some poking around and you seem to be on the level." "I'm so glad you approve." I snarled. "I wish I could say the same. Let me talk to Nat." Tracy looked over with a worried frown. "Who's there? Who're you talking to?" "Nick," Natalie came back on the phone. "Don't worry, everything's fine. I'll see you when you get here and we can talk everything through, okay? 'Bye now." And she hung up. I stared at the silent phone furiously. "Nick, what's up?" Tracy tugged at my arm urgently. "You just went through two stop signs and a red light. Who were you talking to? Is there someone at the morgue with Natalie?" I tossed the phone onto the seat and tried to pay more attention to the road. "Your boyfriend's looking for you. Apparently you dropped your notebook during your visit." Her face went white and then bright red. "Vachon?" She squeaked. "He's looking for me?" Her eyebrows drew together. "And I've told you, he's not my boyfriend." "Well I sure as hell wish I knew whose friend he was!" I shouted as I watched another stop sign zip by. Finally I was able to calm myself down enough to cease being a danger to myself and others and looked over at Tracy. She was rather tense, going by her white lips and whiter knuckles. "Sorry Tracy," I mumbled, slowing the car until I was somewhat in the vicinity of the speed limit. "It's just...I don't like getting Nat involved in this stuff. I give her enough trouble as it is, she doesn't need any extra thrills in her life right now." "It's okay, Nick." Tracy answered, relaxing her grip on the door handle slightly. "I understand. And I know it's probably not good enough, but I really don't think you need to worry about Vachon. He's helped us with the case and he saved me from the Inca. He's a good guy, I'm sure of it." I didn't feel like arguing with her on the point, so I changed the subject. "So what about those bits of paper? Do they tell you anything?" She frowned at the scraps between her fingers. "Not a whole lot, no. They look like pieces from a newspaper, but it's not in any language I know. The alphabet's normal, but the words sound...I dunno, like Arabic, or maybe Hebrew, with some Scandinavian thrown in just to confuse the issue." Then she made a small sound and I looked over curiously. She seemed caught in the middle of a particularly intense thought. "'Valletta'," she murmured. "Of course, how obvious can it be?" "Not obvious enough," I growled. "Do you feel like sharing?" "Hunh?" She looked at me blankly. "Oh, right. Well, the ship's name is 'Valletta'." Now I was the one looking blank. "The capital of Malta?" She prompted, waving the scraps under my nose. "These must have been torn from a Maltese Newspaper." "And since few people bother to hide newspapers behind the panelling of a ship's cabin--" "--The bird must have been wrapped in it." Tracy finished for me, somewhat smugly. I hated to pop her happy little balloon, but she had to learn sometime. "Which tells us nothing." As predicted, her face fell. "Why not?" "We need to know where the bird went, not where it's been." I explained. "I was hoping the thief would have left something behind to klew us in on his identity." Tracy's eyes narrowed and I knew what was coming. "That's right, you have some weird theory about who took the bird, don't you?" Just then we arrived at the morgue and I eluded Tracy's questions by vaulting neatly out of the car and running up the steps to the building. I figured that she would be nice enough turn off the car and take the keys while I started interrogating her boyfriend. That gave me about a minute. Good thing I'm efficient. ===================================================================== Vachon was leaning over Nat's shoulder, pointing at something on the computer screen when I burst through the door. He didn't even have time to straighten up before I had him against the wall with my hand around his throat. I had seen how his long hair had been brushing Nat's cheek and my grip tightened. "All right Vachon, or Valdez, or whatever the hell your name is, start talking." Vachon made a gurgling noise. "Nick!" Natalie protested urgently, as she tugged on my elbow. "He can't talk if he can't breathe." I knew better, but I allowed Nat to pull my arm away and pinned the dark young man against the wall with my stare instead. "You heard the lady," I growled. "Take a breath and when you exhale, there'd better be words coming out." Just then Tracy flew into the room. "Nick! Don't even think about--" she stopped when she saw the look on my face, but her jaw got that mulish slant to it and she quickly put herself between me and Vachon. "He's here to help, Nick." She told me firmly. "So just calm down and hear what he has to tell us." I was outnumbered and Vachon knew it. A grin creased his darkly stubbled cheeks and it took all of my control not to wipe it off. Instead I backed away and pushed a chair towards him. "Sit." I ordered. "Talk." He flipped the chair around and straddled it, resting his arms along the top. "Where would you like me to start?" He inquired civilly. "Start with the bird and keep going from there until told to stop." I snapped, letting him know that his scruffy charm wasn't working on me. He leaned back, straightening out his arms and I noted irritably how Tracy eyed the muscles flexing along his bared forearms. "The bird," He nodded. "Yeah, that's where everything started..." His husky voice grew deeper and his brown eyes lost focus as he thought back. "Some years ago, A friend and I were wandering around one of the less-explored areas of Peru when we stumbled across an isolated tribe that traced their origins back to an ancient Incan priest-cult. They were very hospitable and we stayed with them for quite a while. Eventually, though, it was time for us to move on. They sent us off with many gifts, but it wasn't until we'd returned to civilization that I found out my friend had also 'helped himself' to one of their most sacred artifacts." "The black bird." Tracy breathed. Vachon slanted a appreciative glance at her. "A raven. It's actually a solid silver statue, but so tarnished, it looked black. My friend spent days polishing it to its original shine. I tried to convince him to give it back, but he adamantly refused. He's very stubborn, so I didn't push the issue. Some time later he headed off on his own and I completely forgot about the bird. "Several months ago, in need of some extra cash, I started doing odd-jobs for Charles DuCharme. He was always sending me out to pick up old books and manuscripts that he would pour over for weeks at a time. One day I caught a glimpse of his notes and I realized that he was looking for the raven statue. "I told him that I might be able to help him find it and he got really excited. I didn't know why. Sure the statue was silver, but compared to some of the other stuff DuCharme had gathering dust in his warehouses, it was hardly more than a nice little trinket. He wanted it, though, so I tracked down my old friend and asked him about the statue. "He'd sold it years before, probably for a new pair of pants, he's that kind of guy, but he remembered who had bought it. With this information, we were able to trace the bird to Malta. DuCharme was ecstatic and sent a trusted representative to buy the bird and bring it back." "If it was so important," I asked suspiciously. "Why didn't he go himself?" Vachon shrugged. "I'm not sure. I know he wanted to keep the bird a secret from his wife, so maybe he couldn't think up a way to sneak off to Malta without her knowing why." "But she knew something was up." Tracy pointed out. "Otherwise she wouldn't have hired Nick to find the missing courier." I smiled sourly. "Madame DuCharme told me that LaCroix was a 'close friend of the family'. I wouldn't be surprised she and LaCroix were in contact without Charles' knowledge." "You got me." Vachon offered. "I never met either of 'em. Anyway, that's when things started falling apart. DuCharme got a bullet in the heart and two goons tried to make me into a parasol. If that wasn't enough, the High Priest from the Peruvian village managed to track me down." He jerked his chin at Tracy. "You've met him." "The Inca from the church!" She exclaimed. "So all he wants is to get his bird back?" "Maybe," Vachon grimaced. "But as far as he knows, I stole the damn thing, so I don't intend to stand still and ask him if revenge is included in his travel plans." He looked up at me, eyes wide and guileless. "Is that what you wanted to know?" "Just one more thing." I prompted. "Your friend the thief. Where is he now?" "Oh." He let out his breath softly and I was surprised to see honest sadness in his expression. "He's dead." I eyed him narrowly, wondering if he really didn't understand what had been going on. "Are you sure about that?" I asked. ===================================================================== Vachon's eyes sparked dangerously. "Yeah, I'm sure. He died in my arms and then I buried him. You'd better believe I'm sure." I glanced up at Tracy and raised my eyebrows. Her eyes grew wide as she picked up on my implication. Damn but the girl was quick. "Ohhh," she breathed out unsteadily. "You think *he* took the statue from the ship!" Vachon's eyes flicked from Tracy to me and back again. "What are you talking about? He's dead. I told you that. He's not taking anything from anywhere anymore." "No," Tracy said, leaning towards him eagerly. "You don't understand. The bird...the statue has some kind of power. If you've had it in your possession, or maybe just touched it, you can... come back... or something." She looked up at me, asking for help, but I just shook my head. She was on her own with this. I could feel Natalie's eyes on me and I wasn't about to reveal my fanciful notions in front of her. Vachon responded with a short laugh. "C'mon, be serious. You're saying that statue can bring people back from the dead? Yeah, sure, right." Tracy flushed, but her mouth remained in a determined line. Vachon's mocking expression faded. "You *are* serious, aren't you?" "How did you survive your attack?" Tracy responded sharply. "How did LaCroix, for that matter? Why is everyone so anxious to get their hands on a statue that really isn't worth all that much?" Vachon just stared at her, unblinking, as he tried to process what she was saying. Then with an abruptness that sent his chair clattering to the floor, he moved. The door was swinging shut behind him before any of us could respond. Tracy was the first to run after him. I started to follow, but hesitated, looking back at Nat with concern. "Go go go." She flicked her fingers at me impatiently. "You've got your job, I've got mine. Right?" "Right." I agreed, flashing her a look that I hope conveyed everything I was feeling for her just then, and slammed through the door. I was too late. I had forgotten that Tracy still had my keys. I heard the roar of a motorcycle as it disappeared around a corner and watched my car swing wildly across traffic to follow. I cringed helplessly as an oncoming car blared its horn when it was forced to swerve, but no sound of grinding metal followed. Tracy got the car under control and roared off in pursuit. Fuming, I reviewed my options. It didn't take long to decide that I was down to one. I couldn't allow Tracy to go this alone. I owed Schanke too much for that. Spitting curses from between my teeth, I darted into the shadow of the building and took to the air. It might have been a nice night for flying, but I didn't notice. I was trying to locate my quarry by the sound of Vachon's motorcycle, but the noise was distorted as it was funneled up through the buildings and I had a hard time getting a fix on it. By the time I saw the familiar pattern of my own tail lights, I realized where Vachon was going. Cutting across several blocks, I landed in a deserted alley, settled my windblown hair and cut to the front of the line to the 'Pulse' nightclub. My investigator's license was sufficient to impress the doorman and once inside, I attempted to blend into the crowd. I watched the door for several minutes before I realized they must've come in through the back. Pushing my way around the stage, I slipped unobtrusively into the dressing room. To my great relief, Tracy was there with the keys to my car clenched in her fist. Her face was stiff and white, as if she were struggling with some difficult emotion. Puzzled, I followed the direction of her gaze and saw what she was struggling against. Ursula, barely dressed in fragile whisps of black silk was locked in a passionate embrace with Vachon. He didn't seem to be minding it too much at all. Then with a sudden shove against his chest, she pushed herself away and smacked him soundly across the cheek. "What the hell are you doing here?" She shrieked. "You're dead!" He grinned apologetically and shrugged. "I got better?" Far be it from me to interrupt a tender moment, but I took my chances and crossed over to where Tracy was trying to make like a piece of furniture. I didn't have to worry, Vachon and Ursula were oblivious to everything except their own unfounded assumptions. I held out my hand and Tracy had the sense to look abashed as she returned my keys. "Sorry about taking off like that." She mumbled. "I guess I wasn't thinking." "Oh no," I replied. "You were thinking all right." I glanced over at Vachon who was now tenderly cradling the distraught Ursula. "You just weren't using your head to do it." My phone chose that moment to ring and I turned away to answer it. The voice was unfamiliar, but the message was crystal clear and did not require an answer on my part. Either I delivered the bird within the next few hours, or both Janette DuCharme and Lucien LaCroix would end up sporting matching toe tags in adjoining pull-out drawers. Preserving a tender moment was no longer one of my priorities. ===================================================================== "All right kids." I interjected. "We've just run out of time. Vachon," I nodded at him. "Find out about your light-fingered friend and let's get moving." Vachon eased Ursula away gently, but kept an arm around her shoulders. "What's happened?" He asked sharply. "The other players have put their cards on the table. Now it's our turn to call, or raise and try to bluff our way through. Either way, I'd rather have an ace up my sleeve when I force their hand." He raised an eyebrow at my colorful use of metaphor, but he murmured a question into Ursula's ear and I saw her puzzled expression as she nodded and whispered back. Satisfied, I turned to Tracy. "Okay Trace, this is definitely where you get off." She opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her short. "No. I want you back at the morgue with Natalie. These men are dangerous and utterly ruthless. You're not ready yet." I think it was the 'yet' that did it. She knew she was green as a willow switch, but the idea that someday she'd be ready, allowed her to acquiesce. "All right Uncle Nick." She agreed with barely a trace of reluctance. "I'll take a cab back to the morgue." Her expression grew fierce. "But you'd better check in regularly or I swear, I'm coming out to look for you." She looked about as threatening as a freshly weaned kitten, but I held back a smile. "Deal. Just give us a few hours before you decide to charge to our rescue, okay?" "Two hours, no more." She stated firmly as she headed for the door. Her hand touched the knob and she hesitated. "I only wish...it would have been nice to see the statue. To know if it really...you know--" She shrugged self-depracatingly and the door clicked softly behind her. "--I know." I whispered. "And who knows? Maybe you'll get a chance after all." "Knight?" Vachon called out from the other doorway. "I thought we were in a hurry?" "Coming." I tossed a robe to Ursula on my way out. "Here, you look a little cold." I think that was the first time she realized how little she was wearing. "Back to the docks." Vachon answered my question as he fired up his motorcycle grimly. "You follow me." The docks were coming to seem like a second home to me, but the section that Vachon led me to were in need of some renovations. Like by a tidal wave, maybe. Vachon pulled up in front of an ancient warehouse. I parked the car, got out and ran a skeptical eye over the structure that seemed to be leaning towards us at a dangerous angle. I don't know what was kept in there, but it had better be waterproof. And rat proof, I added, when a large rodent propped himself up to glare at the trespassers. "Is the lady of the house in?" I asked it politely. The whiskers twitched dismissively. "Shhh!" Vachon hushed me. "My friend has a tendency to be skittish. If he knows I brought someone with me, he might bolt." "All right." I agreed. "You go first then." Again he showed his talent for melting into the shadows completely. I listened for a moment, but I could hear nothing of his passage. I shook my head in admiration. The boy was good. Real good. But that didn't mean I had to feel like trusting him. I made my way around the warehouse to look for another entrance. And a good thing I did, too. No sooner had I spied a door hanging slightly askew, then a ragged figure burst through. He was hugging something to his chest and looking back over his shoulder which caused him to plow right into me. "Why hello!" I greeted him with a broad smile. "You must be Vachon's friend. It really is a pleasure to meet you!" I tightened my grip as he recovered from his surprise and tried to squirm out of my hold. "Nope," I told him, grimacing at the feel of his dirt-encrusted clothes against me. "I'm afraid you can't go just yet. You see, you have something I need." "Screed!" Vachon finally showed up, regarding me with surprise. "It's all right. We're not going to hurt you." Screed's struggles did not diminish at the comforting words of his friend. "S'mine!" He insisted. "Oi found hit first!" "You stole it." I reminded him. "Twice." He gave me a look that was one part dirt and two parts sneer. "Wot? Aintcha niver 'eard ov 'finders keepers, loosers weepers', mate?" "Well then," I pushed him back into Vachon's arms and pulled the bundle free from his grasp. "I'm afraid you'll be shedding a few tears yourself." I pulled the rags free. "Because look what I've found here." The statue gleamed with liquid brilliance in the lights from the harbor and the moonlight that filtered down through the clouds. He must have been polishing it ever since he 'found' it again. It...dazzled me as I held it in my hands, and I wondered if Tracy was right. I was in possession of the bird and it seemed like anything could happen now. And almost certainly would. ===================================================================== "Bring him back inside." I instructed Vachon as I moved past them towards the rickety door. "I want to know if he kept the original wrappings." Vachon snorted in amusement as he muscled his reluctant friend along to follow. When I entered Screed's 'nest', I understood the source of his mirth. His friend was a packrat of the highest order. Looking at the heaps and piles that constituted his hoard, I wouldn't have been surprised to find Jimmy Hoffa and Amelia Earhardt preserved beneath adjoining strata. I grimaced distastefully. Even if I felt inclined to paw through the place with my bare hands, there was no way I was going to be able to find what I was looking for without Screed's willing assistance. I bounced the statue in my hands thoughtfully. "All right, Screed." I offered. "I need this bird and the newspaper it came in--" My voice rose over his querulous complaints. "--But, that doesn't mean I'm not willing to compensate you for the items, as well as your time and invaluable assistance in this matter." The slightly bulging eyes in their mask of grime gleamed with pleased avarice. "Hit'll cost ya." I shrugged. "Expenses incurred during the progress of an investigation are billed to my client." His expression changed to one of suspicious uncertainty. "Wot's that?" "It means," Vachon told him, releasing his grip until his arm rested companionably across his friend's shoulder. "That *he* won't be paying you, his client will." "Ah," Screed nodded. "So 'ow rich is this client o' yours?" I smiled, thinking how Screed would react to Madame DuCharme's own glittering treasure hoard. "Very." He cocked his head towards Vachon. "Wot say you, V-man? 'S'is bloke onna level, then?" Vachon eyed me with thoughtful consideration, though I could see the smile lurking behind his bland expression. "He seems trustworthy enough, Screed. Why don't we give him the benefit of the doubt?" "Eh," Grunted Screed. "Not hexactly me style. I likes t'see the green afore I come clean. If'n ye know wot I mean." The clean part of his statement left me somewhat skeptical, but I tried to look relatively sincere. "All I can give you now is my word. You will be well paid for your help." "Ah," he shrugged. "Wot th'ell? Wot's life wivout a bit o' risk, I ask ye? S'like ridin' th' Teacups at Dizzyworld all day, 'stead o' th' Pirates o' th' Carry-bean." I had no idea what he was talking about, but we seemed to have reached an agreement, since he scurried over to the nearest pile and started digging through it. "'Ey," he chortled. "Lookee 'ere. I'd'a thought to make 'em a pair o' bookends, but then I nivver 'ad enny books." He held up a squat little statue, very similar to the one I held, except his was a dull black and appeared to be some sort of hawk, or falcon instead of a raven. It looked strangely familiar, and I tried to remember where I'd seen it before. "Ah, not worth ennything ennyways. S'not even shiny." He snorted as he tossed it negligently aside. Vachon intercepted its path before it could hit the ground and looked at it curiously. "Pretty neat." He remarked. Then his brow furrowed and he held it up next to the raven statue. "You know, Knight," he observed quietly. "Wrapped up, you really couldn't tell the difference between them." "'Ere it is!" Screed proclaimed, waving a tattered roll of newspaper over his head. I reckonize th'squigglies all over hit!" I looked at the two statues, weighing the risks and benefits for a long moment. Making my decision, I re-wrapped the raven in the scrap of cloth and nodded to Vachon, who took the newspaper from Screed. "All right, we'll go with your play. Let's see if we end up with a first down, or a sack." In agreement, we both stepped gingerly through Screed's domain to where the vehicles were parked. I noticed that Screed was following us. "That's okay, Screed." I told him. "We can handle it from here." "Nah, I don' wanna play no cops'n'robbers, wiv you 'n Tonto, 'ere. I jes wanna collek my reward, s'all." He informed me archly. S'not that I don' trust ya," He added hurriedly. "but I've got me innerests to protek, dontcha know?" I looked at the spotless interior of my car, looked back at Screed and winced painfully. I leaned over towards Vachon. "I don't suppose he'd be willing to ride in the trunk?" I whispered. Vachon smiled. "That's okay, Knight. He can ride with me. Here." He handed me the other statue and steered Screed towards the motorcycle. I found myself thinking surprisingly charitable thoughts about Tracy's new boyfriend as I slipped behind the wheel and headed uptown. ================================================================ I pulled over a few blocks from Madame DuCharme's shop and waved Vachon up alongside. "I want you to stay here as backup." I told him. "In case anything goes wrong." He nodded. "Right. Screed'n I'll hang around outside and look inconspicuous." I raised my eyebrows doubtfully and he grinned. "We're good at it. Trust me." He replied. "You just watch out for yourself." He rubbed his chest as illustration. "Those goons don't play around." I nodded in acknowledgment and drove on. Before I got to the store, I stuck the real bird under the passenger seat and placed the fake one wrapped in the Maltese newspaper on the seat itself. The sign on the door said CLOSED, but when I tried the knob, it wasn't locked. I guess I was expected. The front room was dark and empty and nobody came to impede my progress towards the back where the dark red curtains dangled lifelessly. Stepping through the curtains, I was grabbed and thrown roughly into a chair. It was made out of wicker and shaped like a peacock's tail. It squeaked as I settled myself and took a look at my welcoming committee. Madame DuCharme had rushed to my side and was clinging to my arm in a very touching manner. She had apparently finished with her mourning period and was wearing a deep red sheath dress of embroidered silk. It was cut in the style of a cheong sam with high slits up the sides. Our respective angles gave me an excellent view of her smooth white legs and I smiled at her. She smiled back tremulously, with tears swimming in the dark lapis pools of her eyes. LaCroix stood next to her, eyeing me with a curious blend of interest and indifference. I got the feeling that he wasn't particularly impressed with me, but I wasn't important enough for it to matter. Across from the three of us stood the man who must have thrown me into the chair. He was very nondescript, dressed in a plain gray suit with no expression at all on his pasty features. His eyes were dull, almost dead and he was pointing a gun at me. I crossed my legs and looked at him inquiringly. "Can I help you with something?" He growled inarticulately and LaCroix shifted to face me more directly. "You seem to have forgotten something." His voice was smooth and at the same time, harsh. Like silk wrapped around barbed wire. "He does not approve of forgetfulness." The man in gray stepped forward, whipped the gun across my face in casual fashion and moved back. "As you see." LaCroix commented. I adjusted the angle of my jaw gingerly. "Ease off, chuckles." I grated irritably. "I haven't forgotten anything, but keep knocking my head around like that and you might just affect my memory. I might have what you want, but I need some answers first." "No!" Janette exclaimed. "Monsieur Knight... Nicholas--" Her voice caressed my name like a promise. "You do not understand the danger of what you ask. Give them what they want." She touched my cheek softly. "I do not wish to see you hurt." I stroked her hand gently. "I'm sorry, honey, I always have to know who I'm dealing with. It's an idiosyncrasy of mine and I'm afraid I'm just too old to change." "And not likely to get much older, It seems." LaCroix remarked sardonically. "But perhaps it will suffice for you to know that our 'friend' here is a representative of those who believe in maintaining the 'status quo'. He paused for a thoughtful moment. "At any cost, I might add." I touched my chin again gingerly. "Yeah, I've heard about some of their work." I looked at the front of his immaculate suit as if checking for bullet holes. "While you had the opportunity to experience it first hand." I raised my eyes to his and slid a sharp edge into my voice. "Is that why you decided to throw in with them? You didn't want to get involved in a bidding war when the stakes got too high?" Janette gripped my arm in surprise, her sharp red nails digging deeply into my flesh. "Nicholas! What are you saying? We are the victims here, just as you!" I slid my hand under hers, prying her fingers open and bringing it up to my mouth for a kiss. "Sorry sweetheart, but you don't strike me as anyone's victim. Not even of your barely departed husband, Charles." She pulled her hand away with a hiss and backed towards LaCroix. "What do you know of it?" Her eyes were flashing with golden sparks and she looked even more beautiful, if such a thing were possible. My heart leapt towards her, even though I knew she would only devour it with sharp-toothed delight. But then, what a way to go. I pulled myself together with effort and tried to affect a pose of unconcern. "I know that on the night of his death, Charles finally broke down and told you what he was bringing you. He thought you would be glad. He thought he would be granting you your fondest wish, that the two of you could finally be together. But you didn't see it that way, did you?" "He wanted me to become mortal!" She raged at me and I felt exultation as my faint suspicion about the bird's power was confirmed. "I had offered him eternity and he...he chose instead to try and drag me down to his level! For his sake, he said, to allow myself to become like him. To choose death!" "And so you did." I said softly. "His." I shook my head sadly. "You never wanted the bird. You only hired me to find your Uncle. At least the first time. But he found his own way home and you paid me off. You were perfectly willing for the goons to have their bird, as long as they let you and LaCroix go. "But when he returned to the ship to collect the payment for your freedom--" "--It was gone." LaCroix hissed furiously. "I tore the room apart in my rage, but there was no trace of the thief." With some effort he regained his icy poise. "It was Janette who thought of using you to track down the statue." "And the threatening phone call? That was you, wasn't it?" He shrugged. "It was thought that you might need additional incentive. Janette believed that you had developed certain...protective...feelings towards her and would thus find the statue and bring it to her without asking awkward questions." He regarded Janette dispassionately. "It appears that you were...misjudged. You asked too many of the wrong questions and you know too many of the right answers." The goon stepped closer and pointed the gun at my heart. I laughed in his face. ===================================================================== "Pray, restrain your mirth." LaCroix responded dryly. "You may believe yourself immune to our friend's 'special' projectiles, but I assure you, it is not a pleasant experience, whatever the outcome." I shook my head. "It's not that. I just don't see how you expect to get the statue by shooting me." "Ah, but you see, he has no intention of shooting *you*," LaCroix explained. "Unless, of course, you attempt something foolish." A feeling of cold dread began to trickle through my veins. "And why do you think I might do that?" I asked tightly. "Sometimes it is difficult to predict what a man may do when his most cherished possessions are threatened with destruction." He raised his hand languidly and I watched in horror as Tracy and Natalie were pushed roughly through a doorway into the room. Their hands were tied behind them and a second cold-faced goon held a gun pointed at their backs. A snarl exploded from my throat as I lunged from the chair, but my forward progress was checked by the unmistakable sound of two hammers being drawn back. I stood, trembling with a mixture of fury and fear. "It appears that he does have a 'protective' streak after all." LaCroix remarked to Janette. "Even if your charms failed to arouse it." She sneered at us both and examined the two bound women with a dangerous glitter in her eyes. "He is weak." She spat, twining her fingers in Nat's hair and pulling her head around. "To prefer this tasteless mortal fare, over me." Nat's face was pale and tight, but her mouth curved into a half-smile. "Don't feel too bad, toots." She told Janette sweetly. "I'm sure there's still plenty of men out there who like 'em cheap and tawdry." Janette yanked Nat's head back with a shrill exclamation of outrage, but LaCroix snapped his fingers impatiently. "No!" He ordered, staring at Janette until she reluctantly released Natalie and moved aside. "This is irrelevant." He turned to me. "Sir, we require the statue. There will be no more prevaricating. Where is it?" I looked at Tracy and Natalie in mute anguish. I was completely outflanked and we all knew it. Tracy managed to shrug and Nat smiled, both trusting me to do the right thing. I wish I was more certain as to what that would turn out to be. "What guarantee do I have that they'll be safe?" I growled harshly. LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Come now, Mr. Knight. They are mortals. There is no safety inherent in that fragile state from one moment to the next. Surely you realize that?" I gnashed my teeth in frustration with his snotty insouciance. "I just want to know that if I get you the bird, you won't harm them." He moved closer and his ice-blue eyes stared into mine. "The only assurance you have is that if you do not produce the statue, they will not survive. Is that clear?" I looked into his face and saw only truth in his words. "It's in my car." I ground out with difficulty. "Under the passenger seat. I can get it." The goon covering me grunted a negative and motioned Natalie to move next to me. When she did so, he jerked his head at his counterpart, who untied Tracy's hands and pushed her out through the curtains towards the front door. "I hope you chose to favor discretion over valor." LaCroix murmured. "For your young friend's sake." We all waited breathlessly, counting the moments of heavy silence until the curtain was pushed aside and Tracy and her escort returned. Cradled in her arms was an oblong bundle wrapped in tattered newspaper. With a great effort I restrained my exclamation of dismay. It was the wrong statue. As indicated, Tracy stood the bundle on a table and with trembling fingers, pulled away the newspapers. But before the last bit fell away, she grabbed the base of the heavy statue and swung it around, smashing it into the hand that held the gun pointing at her. Taken by surprise, the goon was still able to get off a shot, but it went wild, smashing into a chandelier with the sound of shattering crystal. Janette screamed and it seemed as if that were the signal for all hell to break loose. I caught a glimpse of Vachon exploding through the curtains before I saw the other goon aim and fire at the nearest target. "Natalie!" I roared and threw myself in front of her, praying that I would be in time. Agony crashed through my chest and the world went dark. ===================================================================== Then there was no pain and the world grew light. I stood up and stared at the desolate landscape that surrounded me on all sides. I saw something in the distance that drew my attention and I hurried towards it. There was a door, standing unsupported in the middle of nowhere and it was closed. I remembered that there was someplace very important that I needed to get back to and I pounded on the rough wooden surface in frustration. "That is not your way." A voice remonstrated softly. I spun around in surprise. A strange figure shrouded in darkness approached me. When it stood only a few feet away, I realized that it was a woman wearing a cloak of black feathers and a headdress in the form of a bird with glittering eyes and a long, heavy beak. She was extraordinarily beautiful. "You are of the jaguar people," she recited in a liquid voice. "Touched by the power of the Raven god. You now have the choice." One arm swung open, revealing a familiar, comforting darkness, studded with stars and constellations that I immediately recognized. "You may remain a creature of night, eternal and inviolate, or--" The other arm swung wide and I flinched at the fierce brightness that blazed forth. "--you may return to the world of the sun, to suffer pain and eventual death." I could not even look at the golden light and stared instead at the darkness. It called to me, reaching out to something inside of me that longed to return to it. I had taken a step towards it when something stopped me. A memory. A name. "Natalie." I breathed and turned hesitantly towards the blinding light. I could feel the heat from where I stood and I knew how much it would hurt to be touched by such searing brightness. I felt that dark part of me urging me back, fighting to turn me away from the light. But I knew which way I had to go and this time, finally, I was able to defeat the darkness inside of me. It was not a painless victory, however. As I flung myself into the light, I felt it howl in rage and terror, raking at me with claws of acid until it was at last torn away and cast into oblivion. For an instant I knew the exultation of freedom. So much of myself that had been buried beneath the darkness sprang forth and I felt whole again for the first time in countless years. Then the pain crashed through me again and I groaned feebly as I struggled to raise eyelids that felt weighted down. "He's coming around. Thank God." Someone cried. The voice was familiar, but it sounded thick with emotion. "Nat?" I tried to ask, but nothing seemed to want to come out. I tried clearing my throat, but a sharp stabbing pain caused me to choke on my breath. "Nick, it's okay." Reassuring fingers brushed through my hair. "You're going to be all right." I looked up and saw a series of pale, blurry ovals. I blinked a few times and the ovals resolved into faces. Nat's was closest, leaning over me with a smile, though there was concern in her eyes. Tracy seemed to be struggling with several emotions at once, though relief won out as she reached over to grip my hand. Vachon peered down quizzically from his perch on an antique bureau. "Not feeling quite yourself, huh Knight?" He asked with an ironic twist to his mouth. "Actually," I managed to croak. "I feel more like myself now than I have for a very long time." I inhaled experimentally and though the pain in my chest made me wince, it was becoming more bearable. "Help me sit up, won't you?" Nat made a sound that might have been the beginning of a protest, but she pressed her lips together and eased me upwards as Tracy pulled gingerly on my arms. I had to grit my teeth during the process, but once I was up, leaning against Nat's warm support, I felt much better. I looked down at my chest and saw the livid bruise just to the left of my breast bone. "What happened?" I asked, trying to remember past a series of strange, unearthly images. "You got shot." Natalie told me bluntly. "A wood-tipped bullet pierced your heart." She picked up a pair of narrow gold chopsticks and a small ceramic bowl to show me the small bit of shrapnel. "I dug it out of your chest with these." I glanced guiltily at Tracy, whose eyes were sparkling brightly. "Uh, Trace--" I began, but she interrupted me with a burst of laughter. "Oh Uncle Nick," she chortled. "You don't really think nobody else knew what you were? Uncle Donny *is* a detective. And a darn good one, too." I felt as if the air had been sucked out of my chest. Again. "You... he... you both knew I was a...a--" "--A vampire?" She grinned. "It's okay, Uncle Nick. You can say it." "But...but why didn't either of you ever say anything?" I stammered. She shrugged. "You didn't seem to want to talk about it. We both figured that you'd tell us when you wanted to." My head began to throb. It was a very unfamiliar and very unpleasant sensation. I put my hand to my temple and groaned. "Can I get you something, Knight?" Vachon asked with excessive solicitude. "Some of those...whatchamacallums? Oh yeah, some aspirin?" "No," I replied firmly. "Thank you. All I want now is for someone to please tell me what happened after I got shot. Where is everyone?" "I believe I can answer for two of them, those... defilers... of the jaguar spirit." The solemn-faced young man had appeared so silently, even Vachon looked startled at his presence. I pushed myself to my feet and nearly fell as the earth rocked violently beneath me. "Who are you?" I managed to gasp, hanging onto the edge of a table for dear life. "Nick, that's the Inca!" Tracy hissed into my ear. "He helped us take down those two awful men." She shuddered at what must have been a terrifying memory of being kidnapped by those cold-eyed monsters. The Inca nodded in agreement. "They have been... removed. They will not return." He indicated the pouch slung at his side which bulged with a familiar oblong shape. "And now that I have what I came for, I too, may return to my people." He glanced at Vachon measuringly. "Farewell, brother. It was good to fight at your side." Vachon held out his hand and the Inca gripped it firmly. "Yeah, it was a nice change from the last time." He replied with a wicked gleam in his eye. "And hey, if I'm ever in your neck of the jungle again, I'll be sure--" "--To give it a wide berth." The Inca finished for him with stern insistence. And he was gone, without even a flicker of velvet curtain to mark his passing. ===================================================================== "All right." I sighed after a long moment of astonished silence. "What about LaCroix and Madame DuCharme? Have they been 'removed' as well?" Vachon chuckled. "Not at all. They weren't deemed quite as 'defiling to the jaguar spirit' as the other two. They're out front." His grin grew wider. "Screed's watching 'em." "This I have got to see." I told him. I took a few wobbling steps away from my table support before Natalie slid under my arm to steady me. It felt good to have her there. It felt... right. I touched my lips to her temple and she looked up at me with eyes filled with hope, worry, and an unflinching determination. "It's all right, Nat." I assured her. "Everything's going to be all right now." "Not until I get you into bed, mister." She growled at me and I squeezed her with a rough chuckle. She jabbed me lightly with her elbow and I gasped in pain. "You've got broken ribs, you idiot." She hissed. "Your soft tissue had time to heal before... before your... reversion, but not your bones. You need bedrest." "Yes doctor." I agreed meekly. "As soon as we're finished here, I'm all yours." I nuzzled the soft waves of her hair and breathed lightly into her ear. "For as long as you want me." I smiled as I felt her slight shiver of response, but we both wanted to see this finished so we could move on with the rest of our lives. For the moment, however, it was challenging enough for the two of us to try and maneuver around the clutter of the store. I hissed as my foot struck something heavy and quite solid. "Here, let me get that." Tracy offered, picking up a black, oblong shape. "Hey! Isn't this...?" She frowned at the black statue that she had used to disarm the first goon. I smiled at her confusion. "That belongs to Vachon's friend. I was planning on pulling a bait and switch with it, but when you and Nat got dragged into it, I decided it would be best to give them the real raven statue." I frowned at the memory. "How did you end up with the fake, anyway? I told you to look *under* the seat of the car." "The Inca got there first." Vachon chimed in. "He must have been following us all along. When you left the statue in the car, he saw his chance and took the real bird. Screed and I went after him and that's when we all saw Tracy come out to the car with that goon pushing his gun into her back." His voice became hard with remembered fury. "That was enough for us to call for a cease-fire and form an alliance just in time to crash your party and save the day." His good humor restored, he held the curtain open for us with a flourish. The scene that met my eyes caused me to laugh until tears of pain warned me to stop. Screed was lounging behind the costume jewelry counter with a gun held in one lax hand as he used the other to paw through a pile of glittering rhinestone and glass ornaments. He was already wearing several necklaces, countless bracelets and numerous brooches. And while tiaras are not for everyone, he carried off the look with remarkable success. LaCroix and Janette sat stiffly across the counter from him, fuming visibly. He was not nearly as distracted as he appeared, for when either of them shifted position, the gun pointed unerringly at them until they subsided. I saw Janette's eyes widen as I approached, but she did not dare make a move until I pried the gun gently from Screed's grip. "Thanks, Screed." I told him. "I'll take it from here." Janette immediately stood up and motioned violently at Screed. "Get this... this... *person* out of my shop!" She demanded shrilly. I shook my head sympathetically. "Sorry Madame, he did some work for me on this case and now he's collecting his fee." I motioned to Tracy to put the bird statue down on the counter. "Here y'go, Screed. It turned out to be very useful after all." He examined the statue critically. "Awww, lookee here, it's all scratched up, it is. That'll cost ya extra." He picked at a spot on the head where the dull black paint appeared to be flaking off. "Sorry." Tracy apologized. "That must be where it struck the gun." Suddenly Screed's dour expression lightened. "Coo, wot's this? S'all bright 'n' shiny underneath!" Screed was right. Beneath the small patch of paint he had scraped away, the bird shone with the unmistakable color of pure gold and a flawless ruby eye gleamed at our astonishment. I heard Janette's sudden intake of breath. "LaCroix!" She gasped urgently. "That statue! It must be--" "--The Maltese Falcon." He purred richly. "Lost to the world for centuries, only to fall into our hands like a ripe peach." "'Ere now!" Screed protested. "S'mine!" He regarded the statue fondly. "An' it looks to clean up right purty, too. Don' know that I'm of a mind t'sell." He informed them primly, though the calculating gleam in his eye gave the lie to his statement. She sidled up to him and gave him her very *best* smile. "Monsieur ...Screed, is it?" She tapped the statue with a red-lacquered nail. "I'm sure we can come to a... satisfactory arrangement. Don't you agree, Monsieur LaCroix?" LaCroix stepped up. "Absolutely." He exhaled huskily and the three of them shut the rest of us away as if we didn't exist. "Well," I ventured to remark. "Looks like that's it." I tossed the gun to Vachon, who slipped it smoothly into his pocket. "So," I asked him. "How would you feel about helping Tracy here with the business while I recuperate?" His eyebrows lifted slightly while Tracy's mouth flopped open. "Uncle Nick!" She exclaimed. "Do you really mean that?!" I shrugged. "Sure. I'm going to need to train someone to take over anyway." I looked at Nat and brushed my hand across her cheek. "Since I'm planning on settling down and finding a less... exciting occupation." Tracy looked from me to Natalie and back again and a big grin spread across her face. "Oh wow, that's great! Wait'll I tell Uncle Donny!" She froze suddenly and turned hesitantly towards Vachon. "Uhhh, Vachon, is that okay with you? I mean, becoming a detective and working with me?" She asked uncertainly. He looked her over measuringly, lingering rather too long on her legs and then tossed his arm over her shoulder. "You know, Tracy," he told her in a strangely slurred voice. "'I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.'" "Now why does that sound so familiar?" I heard Tracy ask as they walked out the door together. Grinning broadly, Natalie and I followed. End of 'The Maltese Raven' ==================================================================== The Management thanks you for your patronage and asks that you place all unpopped popcorn kernels, squashed jujubes and well-gummed gummy bears into the appropriately marked receptacles as you leave the theatre. Please come again soon. ==================================================================== Ungummed gummy-bears, M&M's and charitable reviews to: Erika