PERIL IN THE PARK

A Jamie Quinn Mystery

By

Barbara Venkataraman

PERIL IN THE PARK is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Barbara Venkataraman

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or parts thereof in any form whatsoever.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

For all of their support, advice and enthusiasm, I want to thank my "reader girls:" Janet, Jaya, Jodi, Joette, Leslie, Linda, Myra and Nanette.

Books by Barbara Venkataraman

Death by Didgeridoo (A Jamie Quinn Mystery)

The Case of the Killer Divorce (A Jamie Quinn Mystery)

A Trip to the Hardware Store

(Quirky Essays for Quirky People)

I'm Not Talking About You, Of Course

(Quirky Essays for Quirky People)

If You'd Just Listened To Me In The First Place

(Short Story)

The Fight for Magicallus

(Children's Fantasy Story)

                                                                                    Chapter 1

"You know how Floridians always say, 'We don't care how you did it in New York?'" Kip asked me, exasperated.

"Nobody actually says that," I joked, dropping bread in the toaster with one hand while I scrambled eggs with the other. "They just write it on bumper stickers."

"My point is--they don't care how I did it in California either." Kip laid his forehead on the edge of my kitchen table and stared dejectedly at the floor, deep in thought, or deep in denial, maybe both.

Only six months ago, Kip (who wasn't my boyfriend yet, well, actually he was still my ex-boyfriend--it's a little complicated) had moved here from California to take over as Director of Broward County Parks, and he was having a rough time of it. When he first started, it was all about org charts and flow charts, flora and fauna mapping (both indigenous and invasive), and employee morale boosters. Honestly, nobody could've been more gung-ho than Kip, but all that went out the window when he realized that he had bigger problems--like the Machiavellian politics of upper management. Instead of doing their jobs, park supervisors spent all their time sabotaging each other, while lower level employees spent their time complaining about supervisors. The only thing everyone agreed on was how much they hated the new director. So, in a way, Kip had brought them all together. Minus the morale boosting, of course.

Then the vandalism started, jumping from park to park with no obvious pattern. It seemed to be the handiwork of one person--a person who liked to leave snarky messages at the scene. The latest incident had occurred just two days earlier at Markham Park, in the southwest part of the county. Boy Scout troop number 256 had awoken from an overnight camping trip to find what looked like crop circles in a nearby field. Hoping to see aliens, they stampeded across the campground to check it out. When the first scouts arrived at the scene, they gave a whoop of excitement and soon laughter was rippling through the crowd of adolescent boys like the wave at a football game. Even the scoutmasters snickered at the message mowed into the field in twenty foot letters, as if written by a cranky giant. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to express himself and there was no mistaking the sentiment. As clear as the morning dew, the words, "Bite Me!" were etched in the grass for all to see.

"Jamie, do you know how long it will take for the grass to grow back?" Kip complained, after he'd told me about it. "I can't leave it like that."

"Hmmm, why don't you add some letters to change the message? Like, I don't know, how about, Bite…um, Bite...Mel…Gibson! That works. And who knows? Maybe it'll teach Mel Gibson to play nice." I snorted with laughter. I crack myself up sometimes.

Kip was only slightly amused. "Just what I need," he said, "a lawsuit from Mel Gibson. And my defense will be what--my lawyer girlfriend told me to do it? Who would believe that?"

"Anyone who knows me," I said, as I plunked our breakfast down on the table. I took a seat next to my hunky boyfriend (I know--I can't believe it either) and proceeded to drown my eggs in Tabasco. It's the one sure way to wake myself up because, let's face it, I'm not a morning person.

"How's your breakfast?" I asked, waiting for accolades.

"Great, but it's missing something," Kip gave me a half-smile as he buttered his toast.

"Not that again!" I groaned. "Don't say it, Kip."

"Where's the bacon?"

"Now, you've done it! You've hurt Mr. Paws' feelings," I chided.

Kip looked at me like I was crazy. "Why would your cat care about my missing bacon?"

I rolled my eyes. "You know he's best friends with Miss Saigon."

"Huh? Is that another one of your Broadway references?"

"No. Miss Saigon is the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig that lives next door. The cat adores her."

Kip laughed. "You can't make me feel guilty about eating bacon, Jamie. And you'll never convince me to become a vegetarian, either."

I jumped into his lap and started nuzzling his neck. "I can be very convincing, you know."

He pulled me close. "Really? And what are you trying to convince me to do right now?"

"Go in late to work…"

"I don't know," he murmured. "What would the boss say?"

I nibbled his ear. "You are the boss."

"Oh, that's right, I am," he said, and kissed me. "You smell delicious."

"I do, don't I?"

Kip scooped me up and started carrying me out of the kitchen. "Yes, you do. Almost as good as bacon."

Chapter 2

Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Jamie Quinn and I'm a family law attorney. I've lived in Hollywood, Florida my whole life (so far, anyway) and I share a house with a cantankerous cat that I inherited (along with the house) when my mom died of cancer a few years back. I used to have an ordinary life where nothing much ever happened; I went to work every day, hung out with friends, and watched way too much TV. After my mom died, I was in a fog for a long time, but then my autistic cousin Adam was accused of murdering his music teacher with a wind instrument called a didgeridoo and everything changed. Now my life is anything but boring, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Speaking of big changes, six months ago, I ran into my high school boyfriend, Kip Simons, at T.Y. Park where we both used to work. Kip had attended college out of state, returning to Florida a mere fifteen years later. Lucky for me, his first career in corporate America bombed, forcing him back to school where he pursued his true calling, forestry and park management. I like to think that he applied for his current job as Broward County Parks Director because he was secretly pining away for me.             

Then there's my father, Guillermo Franco. He was a mystery I thought I'd never solve--especially since my mother never talked about him and I had no idea who he was. After my mom died, I decided to look for him with nothing to go on but a name, which, as it turned out, wasn't even his real name. After a few false starts and a lot of help from my friends Duke and Grace, I had the happiest surprise of my life: I spoke with my dad for the first time. He was pretty surprised, considering he didn't even know he had a daughter, but he took the news very well. In fact, he was thrilled, as was his wife, Ana Maria, who lives in Miami and is working tirelessly to bring him here. My dad and I still haven't met in person because he's stuck in Nicaragua (after being exiled from Cuba), but we talk and Skype as often as we can, and try to catch up on a lifetime's worth of stories. He has more stories than I do, naturally, but his are dark and surreal, like the plot of a Russian novel (if it were set in Cuba). He says he likes my stories because I make him laugh, and because I remind him of my mother.

My parents met at a political rally when they were only twenty and soon after they joined the Cuban Dissident movement together. They thought they could change the world, but their dream of a free Cuba would simply remain a dream. In the end, their fight against injustice would accomplish nothing except for my dad being deported back to Cuba, my mom losing the love of her life, and me growing up without a father. They tried to make a difference and I admire them for that, even if it turned out pretty lousy all around. My dad had it the worst, of course, spending many years in jails and detention centers, and, when I asked him about it, he said something surprising. He said he'd rather be in jail than be in limbo, not knowing if he would ever be free again. For that reason, he didn't mind his current situation--waiting in Nicaragua for a visa that might never materialize-- because at least he had hope, he had a job, and he had the two of us, and that's saying a lot.

After we'd caught each other up on our lives, my dad and I started looking for a common interest to keep the conversation going. We found one that's practically universal, what with the internet, streaming videos and that gold standard of mediums, books. I'm talking about science fiction, the never-ending source of entertainment for people who like to spend time in alternate universes or exploring the galaxy without changing out of their pajamas. Our most recent conversation went like this:

"Hola Papi, did you ever finish watching 'The Matrix'? Wasn't it mind-blowing?"

"It was fascinating, but also disturbing. I liked it. I've often felt like my life was a bad dream and I might wake up somewhere else. Tell me, hija, which pill would you take, the red one or the blue one?"

"Hmmm, take the blue pill and the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want. That sounds more like me. What about you?"

"The red one, I'm afraid," he said. "I need to know how deep the rabbit hole goes. Age doesn't always bring wisdom, Jamie."

"So, if we were living in the Matrix right now, you would want to know?

He laughed. "Oh, yes! Maybe I'd learn I'm not really in this tiny apartamento in Managua, I'm sitting on the Boardwalk with you, eating ice cream and watching the people go by."

"I’d love that. Is mine a waffle cone with mint chip ice cream and chocolate sprinkles?"

"It is."

"Then count me in," I said.

My dad sighed. "I'm looking forward to the day when we can really do that."

"Me too. And when that day comes, the ice cream's on me."

Chapter 3

You'd think that after more than a decade of practicing law, I could get the timing down. I'm not talking about all the deadlines for discovery, mediation and trial prep--I have that under control, but I seem to have lost the knack for getting to court on time. It was Tuesday morning, I had a calendar call at 9:15, and what should have been a breezy morning was turning into anything but. Between ignoring my alarm clock and spending way too much time on my messy, impossible hair, I was so far behind schedule that I was stressing over which traffic lights were the longest and how I could avoid them. It wouldn't have been a problem had I been going to the Hollywood courthouse, but my hearing was at the main courthouse and downtown Fort Lauderdale was ten miles away.

It was already 9:06 by the time I parked my mini-cooper, so I started jogging the long block to the courthouse. I felt strangely off-balance, as if the sidewalk were uneven, and then I realized why--I was wearing two different shoes! Both were black, but one had a low heel and one was a flat. That's what happens when you’re running late, you can't even dress yourself. The line of people entering the courthouse was snaking out to the sidewalk. Damn it, I was going to be late!  I knew there was another entrance to the courthouse on the third floor of the parking garage, so I clomped my way over there. After waiting for an elevator that never arrived, I hit the stairs, first removing my mismatched shoes (I had another pair just like them at home), then running up two flights in my stocking feet. There was no one in line (thankfully), so I threw my file into the x-ray machine and walked briskly through the metal detector. For no reason at all, the machine beeped and I had to wait for the guard to wave her wand over me in a virtual frisk. Sweat was starting to seep into my newly dry-cleaned suit and I still had to get to the eighth floor. Why did I keep doing this to myself?

When I reached my destination, it was 9:25 and I was panting like I'd just finished a 5K. As I focused on simply trying to walk, it suddenly dawned on me that there was nobody there. Calendar calls are usually swarming with lawyers looking for trial dates, all of them asking for the latest possible date in hopes of a settlement, or possibly a miracle. Then I saw the note taped to the door. It said, 'Calendar Call canceled.' No explanation, no apologies. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I sat on the deserted bench in the hallway to take a much needed rest. They say comedy equals tragedy plus time and since it had already been ten minutes I decided to text my friend Grace and give her a good laugh. I'd known Grace since we were students at Nova Law where we'd bonded over marathon study sessions and Grace's crazy sense of humor. These days, Grace worked at a big securities firm on upscale Las Olas Boulevard where she kept her wit under wraps--well, most of the time, anyway. Although she usually couldn't take personal calls at work, she could always text, and that was fine with me.

Want to hear about the hottest new fashion trend? I texted.

Will it get me on the cover of Cosmo? I'd settle for Vogue.

More like The National Enquirer. Next to the story about women who married aliens.

Forget it, I can't afford the bad publicity. So, what'd you do this time?

Wore two different shoes to court. I looked really cool!

Lol!! How did you walk? Can't wait to see your picture in the courthouse gossip blog!

OMG, hope not! I didn't see anyone. I was at calendar call all by myself…

You just wanted some alone time?

Yeah, something like that. Hey, guess what the park vandal did this time?

Hmmm…Spray the picnic tables with WD-40?

That's gross! Maybe it's you, Grace--you're the park vandal!

Not me, but it could be one of my other personalities. I can't vouch for them. Okay, I give up, what did he do?

Mowed the words "Bite Me" into the grass at Markham Park.

Hilarious!! He may not be classy, but he does have style.

I'll introduce you--as soon as Kip figures out who it is, I texted.

Poor Kip, it didn't take him long to make enemies

It’s not him, it's the park system, it’s so messed up! That's why they brought in a director from the outside--they sure as hell couldn't promote anyone. I just hope Kip doesn't give up and quit.

Me too, Grace texted. Why don't you try to look for the park vandal? I bet Duke would help you.

That’s not a bad idea, and Duke loves that kind of stuff. He's the only P.I. around who thinks like a criminal. When he isn't too busy checking out the ladies, of course.

Of course.

Glad you're on my side, Gracie. You're the brains of this operation.

And you're the fashionista!

Chapter 4

After my wasted morning, I drove back to Hollywood, stopping at my favorite drive-through coffee shop on the way. It always gave me a lift to go there and the coffee was excellent, too. Most importantly, I didn't have to get out of the car.

"Mornin' sweetheart, how ya doing?"

Joey, a transplanted New Yorker in his late twenties, was so cheerful you'd think he had the best job in the world--or at least he thought he did. Although I knew he called all the girls 'sweetheart' (and all the guys 'buddy'), hearing it still made me feel special.

"Doing great, thanks. I'll have the usual--but can you make it a double? I need the caffeine."

As I waited, the whoosh of milk being steamed and the aroma of fresh-brewed espresso were a symphony for my senses. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes and savoring the moment.

Joey laughed when he saw me with my eyes shut. "You sure need that coffee, huh?" He handed me my latte along with the change, which I dropped in the tip jar.

"You know, Joey, you're the first person I've talked to today. Can you believe it?"

"I hear that a lot," he said with a grin. "I'm like the morning DJ. I help you wake up and face the world so you can get yourself off to work." Joey's enthusiasm was contagious; he was like a life coach and barista all rolled into one.

I smiled. "You keeping busy?"

"For sure. Everyone who works downtown comes through here, well, just the coffee drinkers, y'know, but I got commissioners, cops, teachers, doctors--you name it, they show up same time every day. I could set my watch by 'em. I've even started playing softball with some of them, we got a team going over at the park. You should come watch us sometime."

"Sounds like fun. I bet you hear some juicy gossip," I teased.

"You'd be shocked by the stuff I hear," he said, looking halfway serious. He gave me a conspirator's wink, pretending to zip his lips and toss away the key. Just then, a car pulled up behind me.

"See you next time, sweetheart." Joey said with a wave. "You have a good one."

I chuckled to myself as I drove away. No wonder Joey loves life, he thinks he's living in a spy novel! I'm sure everyone sees themselves as the hero (or anti-hero) of their own life, but if my life were a novel, I'd want it to be a big fat Dickens story. Not "Bleak House" or "The Old Curiosity Shop," mind you, they're way too dark (little Nell dies!) but something like "Nicholas Nickleby" or "David Copperfield" would do nicely. I'd want lots of interesting characters, bad guys who get what's coming to them and good people who wind up happy in the end.

Of course, another reason I don't like "Bleak House" is that it gives us lawyers a bad name; I mean, we're the villains in the story, for heaven's sake--as if our reputations weren't bad enough already. So, thanks for your help, Mr. Dickens, but we've got that covered.

I arrived at the office to find a stack of messages waiting for me. The first was from the judge's assistant informing me that calendar call had been canceled. Yeah, I figured that out already. There was a message from my vet about scheduling a check-up for Mr. Paws; a reminder about a charity lunch; a "courtesy call" from someone trying to sell me something; and a message from my accountant, Marvin, questioning why I took a "day spa" expense as a tax deduction (it wasn't for me, I swear). The rest were from clients, opposing counsel, and a potential new client, but nothing that couldn't wait. I finished my iced latte and turned on my computer to check the schedule for the afternoon.

Being a one-person operation has its disadvantages, to be sure. My officemates and I share a receptionist, but I don't have a secretary to schedule hearings, type pleadings, or deal with cranky clients. The worst part is that every crisis, real or imagined, is always my problem--and divorce clients have lots of crises, let me tell you. Take my client, Kathy Sue. She was a down-to-earth, middle-aged woman from North Carolina whose husband, Walter, wanted to trade her in for a younger model. Poor Kathy Sue was so shocked and hurt by Walter's infidelity that she lost the capacity to make a decision, and I mean any decision. She called me daily for advice. Her latest issue had to do with the marital home, where she was living, which was listed for sale. The judge had ordered Walter to maintain the yard until the house was sold, but Walter was too busy with his mid-life crisis (by that, I mean girlfriend) and he refused to do it. Kathy Sue called me up, all in a tizzy.

"Jamie, I don't know what to do! I'm supposed to be showing the house today to this sweet little couple who might want to buy it, but the yard looks awful! Walter hasn't mowed the lawn in weeks and it's a damn jungle! Now, I could mow the lawn, but if I did, then the judge would think I could do it all the time and that I don't need Walter to do it, but the truth is, Jamie, with my bad knees and that bursitis in my hip, I need him to mow the lawn!"

"Well--" I said.

"But, Jamie, if I don't mow the lawn, there's no way that couple is gonna buy this house--they won't even get out of the car! I swear to you, it looks like it's been condemned. There's probably rats running around out there, spreading diseases!"

"I'm sorry, Kathy Sue, I was distracted by the rats, what's your question again?"

"Should I mow the lawn, or shouldn't I?"

I sighed. "You want to sell the house, right?"

"Of course I do! I can't move back to North Carolina until it's sold."

"And nobody will buy it the way it looks now, right?"

"That's right."

"Then you should mow the lawn, Kathy Sue."

"But Jamie--"

"Here's what we'll do. I'll write to his attorney and tell him that if Walter doesn't start mowing the lawn, you're going to hire a yard service and the cost will come out of his share of the house. Does that work? "

"You bet. As soon as that cheap bastard hears he has to pay, he'll be right over. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go mow the damn lawn. Wish me luck!"

By the time I finished making decisions for my clients every day, (I mean helping them make decisions) my brain was so fried I couldn't even decide what to have for dinner. Sometimes I wished I could give each client a Magic 8 Ball to help them with their decision-making. But I knew what would happen. They'd just ask it, 'Should I call Jamie?' and the Magic 8 Ball would respond, 'Without a doubt.'

I was about to start returning calls when I got a text from Kip.

Really sorry, but I can't make it to dinner, he wrote. Tomorrow?

No prob. What's up?

I have a meeting.

For work?

Sort of.

Very mysterious…I texted

That's me, Mr. Mysterious.

Okay, Mr. M., call me later?

Depends. What will you be wearing?

You'll hv to call me to find out, I wrote.

Then we should Skype instead, Kip answered.

Trust issues? Lol

No, lust issues.

Sounds like a serious problem, I responded.

It is… he said.

I guess we'd better Skype then.

Excellent idea! Kip wrote.

Glad I thought of it, I answered.

Chapter 5

But Kip didn't Skype, and he didn't call either. As the night wore on, I went from feeling annoyed that he forgot, to angry that he blew me off, to afraid that he was lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere. I vacillated between worry and wounded pride until midnight, when worry finally got the best of me. While it was tempting to send my missing boyfriend a sarcastic text, like--Forget something? --I decided not to, on the off chance that he had a good excuse, or was actually in trouble. Instead, I opted for "What happened to you?" which could be interpreted as concerned OR pissed off. That way, I'd covered all my bases.

He texted back almost immediately, I'm sorry, Jamie. Work is out of control & there's other stuff going on. Talk tomorrow, PROMISE. Xo

Seriously--that was his excuse? How stressful could his job be that he couldn't call or even send a text? I mean, isn't that why people worked for the government, so they could leave at the stroke of 5:00? I didn't know what was going on, but I did know I'd totally lose it if I answered his text, so I didn't. I gave him the (virtual) silent treatment instead and hoped he'd notice.

I should explain that, up to that point, Kip had been the ideal boyfriend: considerate, romantic, fun, reliable (!). On our first date, he'd taken me horse-back riding at Tradewinds Park, patiently teaching me the basics of riding while we got reacquainted (we'd last seen each other in high school). I couldn't have been happier (or more surprised) when he asked me out again, especially after he realized that we are polar opposites: he's adventurous and athletic, always looking for an adrenaline rush, while I'm a homebody with a fear of heights and rats (among other things) who thinks a trip to Barnes and Noble is a fun time. In my defense, I like a good 'Happy Hour', too.

But this wasn't your typical romance. Kip was the newly-appointed Director of Parks and he needed to familiarize himself with each of the thirty-two parks and natural areas in Broward County, so that became our regular Saturday date. I soon found myself a tourist in my own town, and it was amazing! We used every mode of transportation available--bikes, boats, trams--and then we hiked until my feet begged for mercy, trekking through scrubland, swamp, hammocks and pine forests.

We tried everything the parks had to offer. We went water-skiing at Quiet Waters Park, rode an airboat at Everglades Holiday Park, skated at Brian Piccolo Park, and went skeet shooting at Markham Park. We went to the annual Chili Cook-Off, the petting zoo, and, my favorite, Butterfly World. We'd planned to go to the Renaissance Festival the following Saturday, but this wench wasn't sure she was still going. She was pretty mad.

It was one in the morning by then, which did nothing to improve my mood. Unlike most people, the later I stay up, the more awake I am; there's no point in trying to sleep; it's just how I'm wired. Unfortunately, I was too bleary-eyed to read a book and there was nothing on TV except reruns and infomercials, which are loud and annoying any time of day. At least I had company; I'm embarrassed to say that I've turned my cat into an insomniac, too. Whenever I'm awake, Mr. Paws is right there beside me and I don't think a warm bath or chamomile tea would do him any good. Lord knows, they've never worked for me.

With limited options, I turned on my computer, hoping to find something gossipy and light to read before I resorted to YouTube. Whenever I can't sleep, I look for old TV shows I used to watch with my mom when I was little because they always cheer me up. It's been three years since she died, but I still miss her so much.

I noticed a new e-mail which hadn't been there a half hour earlier. Since my e-mails go to my phone, I usually see them right away (yes, I'm a bit obsessive). Maybe the sender had insomnia, too, but more than likely it was spam. Unless I knew the source, I had no intention of downloading any attachments, clicking on any links, or wiring money out of the country to a 'friend' who'd been 'mugged'. New scams popped up every day, some aimed specifically at attorneys. Since every attorney in Florida is listed on the Bar website, our e-mail addresses are no secret. For that reason, most attorneys maintain two e-mail accounts, one for work and another for personal use, but I had only the one address to keep things simple.

I didn't recognize the e-mail address, which was a strange one. Instead of a name, there were just three letters: I-C-U@gmail.com. I wouldn't have opened it except for the subject matter, "Regarding Kip Simons". My stomach did a little flip, what was this about? I clicked on the e-mail and then sucked in my breath. There were photos pasted into the e-mail, photos I didn't know existed, all of me and Kip! There we were, petting a goat at the petting zoo, boarding the airboat at Everglades Holiday Park, and enjoying the Chili Cook-off, laughing and dancing to the band. What was going on here? This was freaking me out! I scrolled down to read the text below the pictures.

Hello Jamie. I have a message for your boyfriend. You tell him to back off! If he doesn't, bad things are going to happen. DO NOT GO TO THE POLICE.

Remember this, no matter where you go, I-C-U!

Holy crap!  My heart was racing and my hands were shaking and I had to fight for control of my body, just to calm myself down. Okay, I definitely wasn't mad at Kip anymore. He'd tried to tell me there was something going on, but this, this was beyond my comprehension. If we couldn't go to the police, I knew someone who could help us, but one thing was for sure--there was no way in hell I'd be getting any sleep!

Chapter 6

The first thing I did after that (besides hyperventilate) was forward the creepy e-mail to Kip with the subject line: READ THIS! CALL ME!! Then, I tagged it urgent (in case writing in all caps didn't get the point across) and sent it to Kip's personal e-mail. If I'd sent it to him at work, our e-mails would've become public records that anyone could read--even Mr. ICU! All he'd have to do was request a copy under the Sunshine Law. Not that it made a difference; he seemed to already know our every move.

Kip didn't respond, of course (why would he at two in the morning?), but I knew he'd see the message when he woke up. He always read the news online and checked his e-mail before going to work. Now, I just had to find a way to distract myself for the next four hours. I opened my craft closet where I had about a zillion unfinished projects ranging from cross-stitch to soap-making to tie-dyeing, a fad so out-of-date it was back in style. There were half-knitted sweaters for babies who were now in college; yarn to crochet afghans for the harsh Florida winters; and a basket of cake-decorating supplies for my short-lived baking career. As much as I'd tried, my frosting roses had always turned into gardenias--not to mention the five pounds I'd gained from eating my mistakes. There were boxes and boxes dedicated to scrapbooking, a hobby I'd intended to try (and spent a bucket of money on), but had never even started. Maybe I could sell the stuff on E-Bay to some other deluded person who would rather chronicle their life than actually live it.

I gave up and closed the closet door, my mind still reeling from the thought of being stalked and threatened. It made me wonder if I was being watched that very minute and I shuddered. Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get you; I'd heard that quote so many times, but now I got it. Boy, did I ever! Desperate for a distraction, I went on YouTube to look for a soothing guided meditation. I found a video that came with a warning: Please do not listen while driving or operating heavy machinery. They seemed so sure of themselves that I decided to give it a try. About thirty seconds in, I felt like throwing something at the computer. It was that annoying.

Then I found just what I needed: videos of my favorite comedians, Jim Gaffigan, Mike Birbiglia, and the late, great, Mitch Hedberg. Those guys always cracked me up. This is classic Mitch Hedberg: "I bought eight apples at the grocery store and the cashier asked me if I needed a bag. I said, 'No, man, I juggle!'" Or Jim Gaffigan explaining how cake is a true symbol of gluttony. "If you eat a whole pizza, people will say, 'Wow, you were hungry!' But if you eat a whole cake, they'll say, 'You got a problem!'"

Before I knew it, it was morning and my phone was ringing, well, not exactly ringing; it was playing Bach's Brandenburg Concerto #1 (my new ringtone).  It was so lively I almost jumped out of my skin. Poor Mr. Paws skidded right off my lap and onto the floor. I knew I should've gone with Concerto #2.

It was Kip calling, right on time.

"Oh my God, Jamie," he said, out of breath, "I just saw the e-mail! Do you want me to come over? Are you okay? I'm so sorry you got dragged into this, babe. I want to kill this guy for scaring you!" His voice was shaking with anger.

I felt surprisingly calm, probably because I'd had my buddies Jim, Mike, and Mitch telling me jokes all night, while Kip was still dealing with the initial shock. That was so four hours ago…

"I'm okay now--really, I am," I said, "but I'd love to know, what exactly have I been dragged into? What is going on, Kip? This is so bizarre!" I walked into the kitchen to feed the cat and make myself a cup of cinnamon tea. I put Kip on speaker and held the warm cup while I sipped from it. Ah, that was nice.

He paused, as if deciding what to tell me. "It's complicated, Jamie. There's so much going on at work, all of it bad. I don't know who sent that e-mail, or how he got those pictures, but I'm going to find out, I promise! Can you meet me for lunch so we can talk some more?"

"Sounds good, where?"

"There's an Indian buffet on University Drive, it's called Woodlands."

"Perfect, I'll see you at noon."

"Miss you, can't wait to see you, Ms. Quinn."

I smiled. "Can't wait to see you either, Mr. Simons."

I finished my tea, brushed my teeth and turned off the phone. After setting my alarm for a three hour nap, I wrapped myself up in my favorite quilt and fell into bed, my insomniac cat curled up beside me.

Chapter 7

I was a jittery, exhausted mess after my sleepless night, a zombie girl with burning eyes and a pounding headache (can zombies get headaches?). Miraculously though, after just a few hours of sleep, I felt restored to a fully-functioning person (as much as I ever was), and woke up starving. I don't know how many calories I'd burned being a nervous wreck, but it must've been a hell of a lot. Definitely not a diet I'd recommend.

It took me no time at all to get ready, a quick shower, a handful of cereal, and a glance at my e-mails (nothing urgent or scary this time, thankfully) and I was off to meet Kip. As anxious as I was to see him, I have to admit I was also looking forward to the Indian buffet. The forecast that Wednesday morning called for scattered showers, but the sky looked clear and sunny. It didn't matter to me either way since I had three umbrellas of various sizes rolling around in my car. This was south Florida, baby, where the dry season ain't exactly dry.

I was dressed in casual office attire, a royal blue pantsuit and comfortable shoes, as I planned to go to work after lunch. I knew if I didn't, my boss would fire me for being a slacker. Pretty embarrassing since I was the boss. To be honest, my lack of motivation was becoming a serious problem. It used to be that just the thought of having to work for someone else, chained to a desk all day, was enough to make me get the lead out, but not lately. (If you happen to be my client, don't worry, I'm definitely working on your case.)

Speaking of motivation, my attention was now focused like a laser on our creepy stalker. I found it odd that he'd go to so much trouble to intimidate me when all he wanted was for Kip to back off. Back off what? I wondered. And who was he--a Broward County employee? The park vandal? He knew how to send threatening e-mails, for sure, but what else was he capable of? As I pondered these and other questions, my phone beeped. It was a text from Kip asking if I'd pick him up and whether I had time to stop in. I answered yes to both. I'd never been to Kip's office and thought I could check out the staff while I was there. Maybe Mr. I-C-U actually worked with Kip--how else could he have tracked our every move? Maybe he just hacked into Kip's e-mail. Duh, Jamie! Well, it was still worth taking a look, and my 'boss' wouldn't mind if I came in a little late. Okay, she would mind, but she was used to it by now. With such low expectations, she couldn't be disappointed anymore.

Kip's office was wasn't too far from the restaurant, so instead of shooting straight up University Drive, I would have to detour a few blocks Pine Island Drive before looping back. The roads were busy with lunchtime traffic, but the lights stayed green and I made excellent time. It looked like I'd be early for a change.

I had no trouble finding the five-story building where Parks & Rec leased an office for their administration. Their other three hundred employees were dispersed throughout the county at the various parks, which made the department one of the largest and most challenging to manage. As Kip would say, it was no walk in the park.

The receptionist wasn't at her desk, so I let myself in. By contrast, whenever I went to the courthouse, I had to walk past armed deputies and go through a metal detector (with a possible frisk thrown in) but, at Kip's office, nobody even noticed me. The office was exactly what I expected: utilitarian and boring, with gray walls and gray furniture and an open floor plan divided into cubicles. There were two 'offices' that had doors against the far wall, but with three-quarter partitions that stopped short of the ceiling they couldn't be called real offices. The net effect was no privacy whatsoever; everyone could hear everything. Those modular walls were the worst concept in workplace design ever. I would know--I'd worked in an office like Kip's for about a year and whenever I needed to speak with my supervisor in private, we had to ride the elevator so we could talk. How crazy is that? I bet there's a "Dilbert" comic strip right on point. Probably more than one.

I assumed Kip's office was the largest and headed towards the back. The boss always gets a window with a view, everyone knows that. As I passed the first office, I read the name on the door: Quincy Graves, Assistant Director. I could see Quincy, himself, through the glass, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and pasty skin, as if he never went outside. Ironic, considering he worked for the Parks Division. Quincy wasn't exactly a snappy dresser, in his rumpled suit and thick black glasses (the old-fashioned kind, not Clark Kent cool), and he was talking on his cell phone.

I always try to give people the benefit of the doubt (really, I do), but there was something about Quincy Graves that instantly set me off. He looked so smug, so full of himself that I just wanted to slap him. Okay, I was a little on edge; I needed to keep walking.

When I reached the second door, the one with Kip's name on it, I peeked through the glass sidelight and my heart skipped a beat, but then, it always did that when I saw Kip. To me, he would forever be the tanned eighteen-year old lifeguard with the quick smile and tousled hair, my first love. Now, at thirty-five, he was still tan, still quick to smile (although not so much lately), and he still made me catch my breath. My hand was on the door about to walk in when I realized he was talking to someone outside my purview. If Kip was in a meeting, I didn't want to interrupt, so I decided to wait. After all, I was early. I saw he was seated at his desk, looking down at some papers and studying them intensely.

"Are you sure there's no mistake?" he asked in a muted voice, sounding stressed.

A young woman's voice answered so softly, I could barely hear her. "I'm afraid not. You need to take action, Kip."

Kip lowered his voice even further to almost a whisper, "But is this enough to bring him down? Benjamin Wolf isn't just any sleazy developer--he's got dirt on every pol in town. They're all afraid of him."

The woman came into view as she bent her head to point out something in the paperwork and I gasped. She was beautiful!  Of Asian descent, mid-twenties, with flawless skin, delicate features, and long, black, silky hair straight out of a shampoo commercial, she looked like a movie star. Her face was so close to Kip's she could've kissed him and while I'm not the jealous type, I did have the urge to give her a (gentle) shove as I (calmly) explained, "Hands off, he's taken!" Like I said, I was a little on edge.

"Don't worry," she said, "We found someone willing to work with us, so long as we keep his name out of it."

"Whatever it takes," Kip said, vehemently.

With that, the meeting was over. The woman walked towards the door and I took a few steps back so she wouldn't know I'd been listening. As she stepped into the hallway, we made eye contact. She flashed me a polite smile and walked away briskly. At the same time, Quincy Graves burst out of his door and almost knocked me over. He didn't apologize or even acknowledge me as he rushed off which only confirmed my initial assessment that he was an ass.

I walked into Kip's office and said, "Hey you, ready to go? I'm as hungry as a bear!"

When he saw me, Kip visibly relaxed, although I could still see some tension around his eyes. He smiled and gave me a hug. "A hibernating bear? Scary! We'd better feed you."

On our way out, we passed Quincy Graves' office and I said, "Your neighbor's a real prize, huh?"

Kip looked at me. "How do you know?"

"Because he practically ran me over in his rush to leave. My fault, I forgot to take off my invisibility cloak."

"He took off? Interesting…"

I felt like I deserved a little sympathy, but Kip looked strangely pleased by the news, so I let it go.

Once we'd reached the parking lot, he was back to normal. "You're going to love the buffet at Woodlands, Jamie. It's fantastic, everything is vegetarian."

"Yum! How did you find this place?"

Kip looked a bit flustered. "Um, I ate there last week with a co-worker, we had a lunch meeting."

"Oh? Who was that?" I asked, fairly sure I already knew.

"Jayashree Patel, the new liaison to the County Commission. She recently moved here from DC. You might've seen her leaving my office."

"Yeah, I saw her. If she just moved here, how did she know about the Indian restaurant?"

Kip chuckled. "Well, she's Indian, that's how."

Chapter 8

"Just 'cause she's Indian, doesn't mean she knows every Indian restaurant in town," I commented.

We had loaded up our plates and were sitting across from each other in a booth with a colorful silk curtain. I wanted to savor the spicy curry aroma filling my nostrils with its promise of complex and delectable flavors, but my gurgling stomach was yelling at me to hurry up and eat already, so I did. The savoring would have to wait for my second trip to the buffet.

"Sure, it does," Kip said. He handed me a naan from the bread basket on the table, then took one for himself. The naan looked like a large pita but, unlike pita, it was soft and chewy, warm and delicious. My lunch was incredibly good, or else I was simply ravenous. Cervantes was right; hunger really is the best sauce.

"So?" I asked, after taking my first hungry bites. "What's the story? Will photos of me stuffing my face today show up as blackmail tomorrow?" I surreptitiously studied the people at the other tables (I couldn't help myself), but nobody seemed interested in us. They were all busy talking and eating.

Kip put his fork down and reached over the table to take my hand, his warm brown eyes fixed on mine.

"I'm so sorry, Jamie. I know I keep saying it, but I mean it. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to bother you. My work issues are not your problem. I think we should call the police."

I squeezed his hand. "I'm not sure I agree.'Mr. I-C-U' promised something bad would happen if we did and, frankly, I believe him. Look, I have a friend named Duke Broussard who's a P.I. and I'm sure he'd help us. Why don't I ask him? We could go to the Renaissance Fair on Saturday like we planned, but have Duke on the lookout for anyone strange."

Kip burst out laughing. "Have you ever been to a Renaissance Festival? Everyone is strange! They call themselves 'larpers'--LARP is short for live action role play--and dress up in medieval costumes so they can pretend to be blacksmiths, magicians and knights. They are nerds in their natural habitat--like Trekkies at a Star Trek convention--only they speak Old English instead of Klingon."

I giggled. "What if the Trekkies went to the Renaissance Festival by mistake and asked for directions to the Star Trek Convention?"

"Would they ask in Klingon?"

"Of course," I answered.

"Then all hell would break loose! The Klingons would start swinging their make-believe weapons and the knights would fight back with their pretend swords. Someone might actually get hurt."

"I'd pay to see that," I said with a laugh.

"Me too," Kip's eyes crinkled with amusement. He stood up then and offered me his hand, as chivalrous as any knight (pretend or otherwise) and said, "Ready for dessert, milady?"

"I'm pretty full, I think I'll just have a bite of yours," I said.

Kip shook his head emphatically. "Oh no, we're not playing that game. You say you want a bite, but then you scarf down my whole dessert. I'll bring you a plate of your own."

I shrugged. "Have it your way. But I'll probably eat yours, too."

"Hmmm, we'll see about that," he countered as he made a beeline for the dessert table.

Kip still hadn't told me what was going on at work and I knew he wouldn't volunteer the information. Why couldn't he understand that his problems were my problems too? We were a team. I decided it was time for me to lawyer up. If Kip wanted to be treated like a hostile witness, then so be it. I'd give him my best F. Lee Bailey impression, with a little Lucille Ball thrown in for fun.

He plopped a silver dish and a spoon in front of me and sat down, giving me a sly grin. Holding a spoon in his right hand, he used his left hand to block me from his dessert. He never took his eyes off me as he took his first bite. Unlike me, Kip liked to eat slowly. He was the tortoise and I was the hare.

"Delicious!" he said, between bites. "Who would've thought dough balls soaking in sugar syrup could be this amazing? It needs a catchier name, though. 'Gulab jamun' doesn't do it justice."

I didn't say a word, just ate my dessert without looking up, it really was amazing. When I was sure Kip had relaxed his guard, I nonchalantly asked, "So, Kip, who wants you to back off? Do you think it's Benjamin Wolf?"

Kip was so startled he dropped his spoon, which clattered loudly off the side of his dish before hitting the floor. As he bent to retrieve it, I switched our desserts.

"What the hell, Jamie--?" he sputtered as he resurfaced. "What do you know about Benjamin Wolf?"

I answered his question with one of my own. "Do you think the park vandal is working for Wolf, or is the vandal on his own?" As I waited for an answer, I started on my second dessert, which promised to be even better than the first.

"Don't tell me you were listening at my door?" Kip asked, incredulous.

"Not on purpose," I said, pushing back. "It's not my fault if your office doesn't have walls."

Kip leaned in and lowered his voice. "Listen, Jamie, you can't say a word to anyone about Wolf, he's got eyes all over town and he's not a nice guy. Will you promise me that?"

"Of course," I whispered back. "But you need to tell me what's going on. I'm the one getting threatening e-mails, so I think I have a right to know."

Kip sighed. "Okay, but not here, and I can't tell you everything. Just wait until we're in the car."

"Alright, and I'm sorry I upset you, but you've been carrying the weight of the world all by yourself and I want to help. I love you, you know that, right?"

He gave me a little smile. "I'm not so sure you do."

"But I do want to help--wait, you think I don't love you? Why would you think that?"

Kip made a face at me. "Because you stole my dessert!"

Chapter 9

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked. We were still parked in front of the restaurant and I'd turned on the AC, but we weren't going anywhere until I got some answers. You could say it was a hostage situation.

Kip sighed. "Look, Jamie, I told you what I know. Benjamin Wolf's been running this town for years. He's behind every big project built in Broward County because Wolf Construction makes big campaign contributions. His latest project is the Sapphire Sky Tower and it's a political hot potato. Not only would it be the tallest building in the area, it would also destroy a sensitive wetland area. So, to answer your question, he's not the park vandal, it's not his style. If Wolf wanted my attention, he wouldn't be that subtle."

I had to laugh. "Mowing 'Bite Me!' into the grass is subtle?"

"For Benjamin Wolf, it is."

"Okay, so he's not the park vandal, but he has to be Mr. I-C-U, right? Who else would want you to back off'?"

Kip's shoulders slumped. "A lot of people want me to back off, too many to count. I'm about ready to give up on the Parks Division, it's impossible to fix."

I really felt for him, he looked so beaten down. I squeezed his hand. "Babe, if you're unhappy, why don't you just quit? It isn't worth it. You don't need to prove anything to anyone, especially now that Wolf is sending threatening e-mails."

Kip shook his head. "I don't believe Wolf sent that e-mail, he's not the type. He's more like the school bully demanding your lunch money."

"So, what's the plan?"

Kip didn't answer right away; he just stared out the window. When he turned around, the look he gave me was so intense I thought he was mad at me.

"I'm not sure if this makes sense, Jamie, but I have to see this thing through. I already chalked up one failure in California and I can't go through that again. It's the fear of failure, it's killing me."

I had tears in my eyes. "How can you think this is your fault, Kip? Nobody could fix this! I want to help, please let me help."

He took a deep breath. "Alright, I accept. I think bringing your P.I. friend on board is a good idea. Maybe he can figure out who sent that e-mail, or who the park vandal is--but I have to deal with Benjamin Wolf on my own. Deal?" He gave me a little smile and held out his right hand.

I shook it firmly. "Deal!"

"Renaissance Festival on Saturday?"

"I'll expect you on a white horse," I said.

Kip grinned. "Only if you dress like Lady Godiva."

Chapter 10

After dropping Kip back at his office, it was time for me to get to work. First thing on my list was to call the only P.I. whose office was a bar stool at "The Big Easy", my former client and the president of his own fan club, Marmaduke Broussard, III, a/k/a Duke. With his shoulder-length brown hair, shark tooth necklace and alligator boots, Duke looked more like a pirate than a P.I. to me, but then, I wasn't sure what a P.I. was supposed to look like. To say he had a way with the ladies didn't begin to cover it but, for him, it was both a blessing and a curse. It's also how we met. No, we didn't date (that's never going to happen), he was my client. I handled Duke's extremely messy divorce from Wife Number Three, Candy Broussard (she kept the name 'Broussard' just to piss him off). Candy was so furious when she caught him cheating on her that she reported him to the IRS, the Better Business Bureau, the P.I. licensing board, the newspapers, and Angie's List. She trashed him all over Facebook and Twitter, too, but the coup de grace was when she bought a billboard on I-95 to tell the world what she thought of him. It was a big mess, but, with my help, Duke was able to save his P.I. license and stop all the madness by paying a large (but not unreasonable) sum of alimony. It's always about the money--except when it's not. That's when a sincere apology goes a long way.

A year later, my cousin Adam was accused of murder and I had to call in the favor Duke forgot he owed me. By working together we were able to keep Adam out of jail and we've been friends ever since--at least I think we're friends. Maybe he just sticks around so I'll introduce him to the ‘hot lady lawyers’, as he calls them. It's a definite possibility.

I set my phone on hands-free so I could talk while I drove to my office. Although it had been a while, I still had Duke on speed-dial; he was number six. His number used to be four, but then I found my Dad and started dating Kip at about the same time, so Duke got bumped.  It was the perfect time to talk since I was stuck in traffic, waiting for a long train to inch its way down the track.

He answered on the first ring.

“Dang, Jamie, where ya been hiding? I thought you’d run off with your park ranger and were living in the woods somewhere. What do they call that? Livin’ off the grid.”

“Hello to you, too," I said with a laugh. "Phone works both ways, and mine didn't ring once. And not because I'm living off the grid, either.”

Duke chuckled. "You got me there, counselor. What can I say? I've been a little busy."

"Yeah, I bet. Not working, I imagine. Who is she? Hope she's not a bimbo like the last one--what was her name?"

"You mean Lulubelle? She wasn't real smart, but that girl had 'personality', if you catch my drift."

I sighed. "Duke, everybody catches your drift, you're about as subtle as a tsunami--no offense."

"None taken, Darlin'." He laughed. "So, what's the story? You got some work for me, or is this just a social call?"

"I've been meaning to call and catch up," I said, feeling bad that I hadn't, "but I do have some work for you. It's personal stuff. No favors though, I'm a paying customer."

"Hell, no! I'd much rather have you owe me a favor. It's just a matter of time before I find myself in some nasty jail cell with no idea how I got there and a guy named Bubba standing over me licking his lips. I'll need you to get me out, girl!"

I burst out laughing. "I'm having fun picturing that! Look, we'll settle up later, okay? Here's what's been going on."

I told him about the park vandal and his annoying pranks and finished up with Mr. I-C-U's threatening e-mail. Duke whistled through his teeth.

"That vandal is something else--I'd like to buy him a drink for being so damn funny. As for the other one, I'd like to kick his ass!  There's no way it's the same guy. Tell me what you need me to do."

I felt better already. Duke's investigative techniques were unorthodox and (occasionally) illegal, but he always got the job done. And if I didn't know exactly how he did it, I'd have plausible deniability. At least that's what I told myself.

"Duke, you're the best! Do you think you can trace the e-mail from I-C-U?"

"Maybe, I got this techie who can break into anything--"

"Don't need to know, don't want to know."

He laughed. "I hear ya. What else?"

"Well, what are you doing on Saturday?"

Chapter 11

Duke had never been to the Renaissance Festival before, didn't even know it existed. Hard to believe considering it was an annual event that featured his two favorite things, alcohol and comely maidens. To be honest, though, the beer was expensive and the whole thing was super-geeky. It was like high school when the cool kids wouldn't have been caught dead hanging out at the chess club or playing Dungeons and Dragons. And how else would you describe the Renaissance Festival? It was a humongous game of D & D for 'grown-ups'.

Although I-C-U had already revealed that he'd been stalking us the past few weeks, Duke thought he might still be at it. His plan was to walk around the Ren-Fest and check out anyone suspicious. At a festival filled with jugglers, fire-eaters, mud wrestlers, jousters, apothecaries, magicians, knife-throwers, performing dogs, musicians, and yes, chess players, there was no reason for anyone to pay attention to Kip and me, we would be the most boring people there.

I had one final question for Duke. "How in the world will you be able to work with so many let's call them 'distractions' everywhere?"

"I'm a professional, Darlin', that's how."

"A professional party boy, maybe…"

I hung up with Duke just as I arrived at my office where I proceeded to spend an uneventful afternoon playing catch-up--scheduling mediations, setting hearings and exchanging e-mails with an attorney about settling a case. I definitely made a dent in the pile which allowed me to shake off some of the guilt I'd been carrying around. It felt so good that I wondered why I kept procrastinating to the point of paralysis. After dreading a project for a week, when I finally took care of it I'd realize it wasn't so terrible. All that dread for nothing.

I was packing up for the day when I got an e-mail from Ana Maria, my dad's wife. She was forwarding a letter about my dad's immigration status. I felt my stomach knot up with nerves and excitement. The three of us had been waiting for a decision from INS for a while, but my dad and Ana Maria had been waiting two years, ever since they'd gotten married. The way they'd met wasn't exactly romantic and was certainly strange enough to give any immigration agent pause. When my dad was being held in detention at Guantanamo Bay, Ana Maria had been stationed there as a translator and they had fallen in love. They married in Nicaragua, after he was exiled there. Because Ana Maria was an American citizen, she was entitled to apply for a visa for her new husband, which she did, but since they had never lived together, it was difficult to prove they had a legitimate marriage. Throw in the fact that my dad had been deported from the States thirty-five years earlier for political reasons and you can understand why we were worried. If we didn't get a decision soon, Ana Maria and I were planning to go to Nicaragua for a visit. I'd already lost so much time with my dad; I didn't want to lose any more.\Aside from the attachment, the e-mail contained only one word, "¡Esperanza!" Hope. That sounded promising, but when I opened the attachment, all I could see was that the application was still pending. I was so disappointed that I almost missed the last sentence: "You may expect a decision within a week." A week! That was a reason to hope--as long as I didn't let despair sneak in. I was well aware that if the application were denied, we didn't have a back-up plan. There was no point in dwelling on it. In my experience, worrying never changed anything, except maybe the color of my hair.

I e-mailed Ana Maria just two words, "Fingers crossed!" and then locked up my office to go home. I had a cranky cat to feed and a lot of sleep to catch up on.  

Chapter 12

Before I knew it, it was Saturday and time to head out to the Ren-Fest. Kip had stayed over Friday night as we had plans to go out, but he was so tired from his rough week that we opted for quality couch time instead, complete with take-out from China Star and a movie. Well, I watched the movie and Kip fell asleep with his head on my lap about two minutes in. He didn't miss much, just your basic chick flick (or is it a rom-com?). I've already forgotten the name of it.

I woke up feeling jumpy and nervous, which isn't the best way to start a fun-filled day with your favorite guy, but I don't like crowds (they rank right behind rats on my list of phobias) and I was feeling a bit queasy besides. I couldn't blame my malaise on General Tso's Tofu I'm afraid; the truth is I was worried about running into our stalker. How could I possibly enjoy myself under those circumstances? If I was concerned that it would be a less-than-fantastic day, then that made one of us because, while I was moping around being 'Debbie Downer', Kip was practically bouncing off the walls.

"What do you want to do first, Jamie?" he asked, smearing cream cheese on his bagel with real enthusiasm. Kip mashed the bagel halves together before taking a loud crunchy bite. "There's music, mud wrestling, jousting…Would you mind checking the schedule online? I don't want to miss the good stuff!"

With his hair sticking up all over creation and an excited grin on his face, Kip looked like a kid going to the County Fair, his pockets stuffed with enough money for all the rides and a big cotton candy. He was so adorable, I had to smile. I felt my shoulders release their tension and the rest of my body follow suit. As usual, I'd been overreacting. What could possibly happen at a crowded fair? Duke would be there for moral support and Broward Sheriff's officers had been hired to provide security, 'to thwart any evil-doers of the realm keen on mischief-making or mayhem'.

I snuck up behind Kip's chair and when he reached for another bagel, I pushed the plate out of reach.

"Hey--can't a guy get some breakfast around here? Not sure I like this hotel."

I kissed the top of his head. "It's time to get thee to the Renaissance Festival, anon."

He turned around in his chair to give me a squeeze. "Hip Hip Huzzah to that!"

***

We arrived just as the Festival was opening for the day so it wasn't difficult to park. The difficulty came later in trying to reach the gate. At least fifty protesters waving placards were walking around in circles shouting something we couldn't hear. A couple of cops were standing off to the side just watching.

I turned to Kip, "What the heck is going on?"

Undaunted, he didn't break stride as we approached the gate. "That's PETA. They always show up at the festival to protest, it's no big deal."

I was confused. "The animal rights activists? But why are they protesting here?"

"Read the posters and find out. If you want to know more," Kip said with a chuckle, "I'm sure they'd love to chat with you."

With his arm around my shoulders, he steered me through the crowd as my head swiveled back and forth reading the signs

"Stop animal abuse!"

"Shackles hurt!"

"Free the Elephant!"

"Wait a sec," I said. "There's an elephant?"

Kip nodded. "Yup. And tomorrow there's going to be a camel."

I was confused. "But…why?"

"You'll see," he said.

"You're being vague and unhelpful. Don't camels spit?"

He laughed. "Only the rude ones."

The ticket booth was located in a small but impressive castle with a pair of matching turrets. In front of the faux wooden doors were two knights on horseback each clad in bright colors to match their noble steed. They greeted us with a flourish saying, "Good day to you, Sir, and to you, Milady." I had to admit, that was a nice touch. Once we were inside, Kip picked up a schedule of events and paid our admission to a girl with pointed ears and beautiful gossamer wings. I couldn't imagine how she dressed the rest of the year.

"So, what do you think?" Kip asked with a grand sweep of his arm, the proud ringmaster showing off his star performers.

I looked around in amazement. I'd been to all kinds of festivals before: art festivals, seafood festivals, Cajun festivals, Jazz Festivals, Blues Festivals, Scottish Festivals, Irish Festivals, Oktoberfest, The Garlic Festival (with its memorable garlic ice cream), and Christmas on Las Olas, but I'd never seen anything like this. The park had been divided into stages and booths and enormous tented areas complete with colorful banners and archaic signposts. There was the Falconer Area, the Mud Pit, the Globe Stage, the Enchanted Forest, the Minstrel Hall and the Pirate Ship. Quirky little shops (shoppes) in the Village Market area sold candles and magic tricks, musical instruments of all kinds, lotions and potions, mythical beasts blown from delicate glass, leather goods, metal art, costumes, fairy wings, woodcraft, weaponry, and 'things for your castle'. You could have your face painted, your ears elongated or your hair styled like the fairy queen. You could take lessons in fencing, lute-playing, even dragon-slaying. In addition to the typical festival fare, there were roasted turkey legs and mead, a drink made from fermented honey.

"Guess what I'm having for lunch," Kip said.

I shook my head. "Not happening, buddy.

You are not eating chocolate-covered bacon while I'm around. Not if you ever want another kiss from me."

Kip laughed and pointed to a sign off in the distance that said 'Ride the Royal Elephant'. He nudged me with his elbow, "Hey Jamie, how about it? Want to go for a little ride?"

"Ha! That's a good one. But you can go if you want and I'll take your picture."

He shook his head in mock despair. "At this rate, you'll never have any interesting stories to tell your grandchildren."             

"At least I'll live long enough to have grandchildren," I said, smugly.

I glanced at my watch, wondering where Duke was; he said he'd meet us by the entrance. Just then, someone tapped me on the shoulder and I whirled around to find myself face to face with a pirate dressed all in black. I stumbled backwards with a startled squeak. Don't think for a minute that I'd forgotten about our stalker.

"Jeez, Jamie," a familiar voice admonished me. "You act like you've never seen a pirate before."

"Duke?"

I took in the black boots and fake sword, the puffy pants and equally puffy shirt with a sash tied around the waist. There was stubble on his face and a bandanna on his head that was knotted in the back, his brown hair hanging in a ponytail. He looked good.

"Of course it's me, Darlin', who else is it gonna be?" He snickered.

"Well, how did I know you'd be coming in costume? Oh sorry, Kip, this is Duke. Duke, meet Kip."

Kip shook Duke's hand enthusiastically, while Duke appeared to be sizing Kip up.

"We really appreciate you helping us out," Kip said. "Jamie tells me you're an awesome P.I. A great friend, too," he added.

I punched my boyfriend lightly on the shoulder.  "Don't lie to the man. I never said any of that." I grinned at Duke. "What's with the pirate outfit, Blackbeard?"

"I told you, Ms. Esquire," he said, "I'm a professional. I got to blend into the crowd and become part of the scenery, so I can catch the bastard that's followin' you two around."

"Excellent!" I said, "Later on, you can enter the 'best dressed pirate' contest. It's at 2:00."

"I might just do that," Duke laughed. "But first, I'll buy myself a tankard of ale."

"I'm sure you can find a pirate wench to drink it with," I added.

Duke laughed. Kip was watching us curiously--as if he'd never seen two smartasses in one place before.

Suddenly serious, Duke said, "Okay, I'll be close by, but don’t pay any attention to me. If you don't see me for a while, it means I'm following a lead. Or hittin' the head, or whatever." He laughed. "I'll check in from time to time, so try to act normal. Or just do the best you can," he said, with a nod in my direction. Then he was gone.

Kip laughed and shook his head. "That guy is somethin' else, what a character! He seems pretty protective of you."

"What can I say? Rescuing damsels in distress is his thing and probably why he became a P.I. in the first place. Duke's like the brother I never had, the one who was always in trouble, you know, the black sheep."

Kip took my hand and we started walking towards the shops. "A brother, huh?"

"More like a distant cousin," I said, smiling.

The weather was perfect, the Ren-Fest looked like fun, and Kip and I were spending the day together. What could be better than that? I wasn't nervous anymore. I-C-U's threat seemed ethereal, comprised of nothing, its dark promise collapsing under the sun's bright scrutiny.

Several hours passed quickly. The falconer impressed us with his falcon's tricks; Christophe the Insulter told Kip that even his dog hates him; and we enjoyed a jousting match between battling knights that kicked up a lot of sand and drew cheers from the crowd. There were artists and dancers and musicians and magicians, even a sword-swallower, we didn't have time to see it all. Half the entertainment was in watching the crowd, since most of the people were in costume--and not all of the costumes were G-rated. As Kip put it, he saw more cleavage that day than the average park ranger hopes to see in a lifetime.

As we ate lunch at "The Fat Friar's," I could see the elephant off in the distance. It certainly looked tame enough; there were two kids riding it. The elephant was shackled on one leg (PETA did warn us) as the attendant walked him around and around in a circle. My thoughts were interrupted by a hand reaching into my basket of fries.

"Dang Jamie, why didn't you tell me about this place before?"

Duke was busy shoveling fries, my fries, into his mouth as fast as he could. He was reaching for more when I slapped his wrist.

"Hey," I said, goofing around, "No news, no fries.

Kip laughed and offered Duke his.

"Girl, who said I don't have news? I got plenty. In fact, I've cracked this case wide open."

"Says the man in the pirate costume. What did you find, Duke?" I asked.

"It's not a what, it's a who," he answered coyly.

"Who did you find?" Kip leaned across the table, his eyes fixed on Duke.

"Nobody special. Just the guy who's been following you all over town." 

Chapter 13

I sat there for a minute, speechless. Duke had done it, he'd found Mr. I-C-U! I owed him big time.

"His name is Malcolm," Duke said, nonchalantly. "Malcolm Armstrong. He wanted me to tell you it was nothin' personal."

"Nothing personal?" I was fuming.

Kip spoke up. "Threatening someone's girlfriend isn't personal? Is he nuts?"

"Now hold your horses, you two. I never said Malcolm threatened you, I said he followed you. Sure, he took those pictures--but that's all he did."

"Are you saying he's not I-C-U?" Kip asked.

"Nah, he's a P.I. like me. He doesn't even know who hired him. He got all his instructions by e-mail and text and the money was deposited right into his account. When I told him his pictures were being used to commit a crime, that he could go to jail, he flipped out, said he was through. Then he texted somebody and took off."

I felt stupid. It had never occurred to me that I-C-U would hire someone to stalk us. In my imagination, a criminal mastermind had been lurking around every corner, setting traps for us, laughing diabolically the whole time. Instead, it was just a guy like Duke trying to make a few extra bucks.

Kip was frowning. "What's the next step? Good work, by the way."

Duke beamed at the compliment. "I was thinkin' we should--"

Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of people screaming and shouting. A huge commotion had broken out on the far side of the festival--something was going on with the elephant!

"I'd better check it out." Kip was already on his feet, running in that direction.

I stopped a man walking by with his two kids in tow.

"Excuse me," I said, "Do you know what's going on?"

"Someone said the elephant went berserk!" he said. The kids nodded their heads excitedly.

Duke and I exchanged a look. "Well, come on," he said. "I don't want to miss an elephant goin' berserk."

Two BSO deputies ran past us, their walkie-talkies blaring, and a siren shrilled off in the distance. Suddenly, there was an ear-piercing scream from a wooded area to the left of us.

"I changed my mind," Duke said. "We're going that way.

"We had to push our way through throngs of medieval onlookers and disoriented fairies. Whereas before it had been entertaining to people-watch, now it was just surreal, like a Fellini film. Once we reached the trees, we stopped because there was a body sprawled on the ground. He was African-American, in his mid-twenties, and his lips had a bluish tinge to them. He was definitely dead. The young woman who had discovered him was standing there crying, her hand over her mouth. People were starting to gather around.

"Dammit!" Duke said, shaking his head sadly.

"Do you know him?" I whispered, unnerved in the presence of death.

"Yeah, that's Malcolm."

Chapter 14

"Oh my God! I-C-U killed him!" I screamed. "This is bad, this is really bad."

My hands were shaking and I was headed for a total breakdown when I suddenly found myself pulled into a familiar embrace, a soothing voice in my ear.

"Calm down, Jamie, everything's going to be okay. Just breathe."

"But, Kip, it's I-C-U, he killed this poor guy, this is Malcolm! And that psycho is still out there, what are we going to do?"

"First of all," Kip said, "We don't know that he killed Malcolm, we don't even know if this was a murder. It could've been an accident, a heart attack, even a suicide--who knows? We need more information. Duke, what do you think? Help me out here."

Duke scratched his stubbly chin.

"Hard to say what happened. There's no blood or wounds that I can see, no blood on the ground either, but that don't mean nothin', he could've been stabbed in the back or have a gunshot wound somewhere. See how his lips are blue? He wasn't getting enough oxygen, but there's no mark on his neck so he wasn't strangled.

"Impressive, Duke," I said, "Did you learn all that in P.I. school?"

Duke shook his head. "There's no P.I. school, Jamie. And if there was, I would've been the one skipping class. I just watch a hell of a lot of TV, that's all."

"Everybody back up, paramedics coming through," an authoritative voice behind me commanded. We did as we were told, except for Kip, who moved in closer and tapped the lead paramedic, a burly redhead, on the shoulder.

"I'm the parks director, Kip Simons, and I'll need a copy of the medical examiner's report. My boss already got the okay for it."

The redhead rolled his eyes at bureaucracy in general and Kip in particular and then said, "Whatever, man. Give me your card and I'll take care of it."

After he'd fished a business card out of his wallet and handed it over, Kip told us what he knew about Taj, the elephant.

"The trainer was taking a smoke break while Taj rested between rides when he heard Taj start trumpeting. He raced over to her, but she was so agitated that she was rearing up and trying to break free. It took a long time to settle her down. He said that if she hadn't been chained up, she would've stampeded for sure. The only witness is a PETA guy named Francis who was hiding in the bushes taking notes. I know the guy, he's a real whacko, calls himself 'St. Francis' because he thinks he's the patron saint of animals. It's not clear yet if he's a witness or the person responsible, but he's been going nuts, carrying on and threatening to sue everybody. The cops are taking him in for questioning and my boss wants me to be there. He said the commissioners are canceling the Ren-Fest until we know what happened, which stinks. This is my new favorite place and now I have to shut it down."

He turned to me. "Sorry, Jamie, this isn't the date I had planned."

"I know," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "It's alright. The first half was really fun and I'm trying not to think about the second half. You go to the police station; I'm sure Duke will give me a ride home."

The police were taking a statement from the crying woman as the crowd started to disperse. Kip gave me a quick kiss and then he took off.

"What a weird day," I said, turning to Duke. "Can I bum a ride home?"

"No, you can't," Duke said with a half-smile.

"And why not, pray tell?"

"Because someone owes someone else a tankard of ale."

"I guess we'll have to sort it out at The Big Easy," I said, happy for the company. It was no wonder Duke was everyone's favorite drinking buddy.

Chapter 15

"It's always Mardi Gras at The Big Easy, this is Brendan, how may I help you?"

The bartender was multi-tasking by pouring our beers and answering the phone.

"Sure, he's right here." Brendan said, handing the phone to Duke. "It's your girlfriend. She says you're not picking up your cell. Hey man, if I'm gonna be your secretary, I need a raise," he joked. Duke rolled his eyes at that.

"Hey Darlin'. Yeah, sorry, I turned it off when I was on the job. Yup, now I'm havin' a beer with Jamie. You're coming here? Okay, see you later. Me too, alright, bye."

He gave the phone back to Brendan and took a fortifying swig of beer.

"Well, you're in for a treat," he said, with a wry smile.

"So I gathered," I said. "Remember the first time I met you here, about two years ago? One of your girlfriends showed up and slapped you right across the face." I laughed. "She put some elbow into it, too, didn't she? Ah, good times."

"Yeah, well, different girlfriend," Duke said. "This one's got her act together. She's smart and she really gets me, that woman practically knows what I'm thinkin'."

I sipped my Abita, which was nice and cold. "Is that a good thing? Just kidding, she sounds like a keeper. So don't screw it up."

Duke grinned sheepishly. Maybe he'd finally found a woman who could rein him in, a woman who wouldn't attack his character on a giant billboard overlooking I-95 (even if he deserved it). I sure hoped so.

"How did you meet?" I asked, "And please don't say a strip club."

Duke squirmed in his bar stool. "Uh, well, we know each other from a long time ago."

"I'm going to assume you sang together in the church choir and that's why you don't want to tell me. Oh look, there's Kip. Hope you don't mind, I texted him that we'd be here."

Duke signaled for another beer. "Course I don't mind, I like that guy. And I want to hear the news for myself. Poor Malcolm, what a damn shame!"

Kip slid onto the barstool next to me. The bar was empty except for us; it wouldn't get busy until nine when the band started playing.

"Hey babe, you look like you could use a drink," I said. He did look pretty frazzled.

"I'll second that," he said, eyeing my beer. After Brendan had taken care of his three best customers, Kip settled in to tell us what he'd learned.

"It came as no surprise to me to hear that 'St. Francis' has frequent flyer status at the police station. They haul him in at least once a month for public nuisance, resisting arrest, and trespassing, but they always let him go eventually. This time's different though because of the possible homicide and because he's their only witness. He didn't want to cooperate at first, but the cops told him that if he refused to give a statement, they'd charge him with obstruction of justice. They were afraid he'd plead the fifth and refuse to talk."

I had to interrupt. "But why would he do that, just to be difficult? They don't think he had anything to do with Malcolm's death, right? And why would he hurt the elephant he was trying to protect? That's crazy."

"Now, hang on a minute, Jamie," Duke said. "Even if he wouldn't hurt the elephant, he might've provoked it to cause a scene so they'd take her out of the festival. That's what those PETA people want."

Kip drank his beer while the two of us debated. When we finally shut up, he put his beer down.

"You know how when we watch a movie, you always ask a million questions about what's going on?" He asked me.

"Yeah," I answered.

"What do I always say?" He gave me a half-smile.

"Just wait and you'll find out. Okay, fine, I get it."

"Not that I can answer all of your questions," he said, "St. Francis wasn't that helpful. Mostly, he was just ranting about animal abuse and how nothing had better happen to that elephant or there will be hell to pay. He said he was there by the elephant because PETA keeps someone on site at all times to report abuse, like prodding with a bull hook. He was busy taking notes when a man dressed like a jester pushed past him and pointed something at Taj. Francis heard a clicking noise and then saw a flash like lightning. That's when he realized the man had tasered Taj! He can't identify the guy except to say he was average height and had pale hands."

Duke whistled. "Why the hell would anyone taser an elephant? That's some kinda sick bastard."

I asked, "Do you think it's the park vandal, Kip?"

Kip shook his head. "The vandal has done a lot of damage in the past few months, but he's more like a practical joker. He's never harmed an animal or a person."

"So, what about Malcolm? Where does he fit in?" Duke asked.

"We don't know yet, Francis swore he knew nothing about Malcolm. He says he never left his post by the elephant. We'll have to wait for the medical examiner's report to find out if it's a homicide."

I shook my head. "Someone tasers an elephant and another guy ends up dead around the same time, they have to be connected."

"You'd think so," Duke agreed.

Just then, I saw someone walk into the bar, someone I knew but definitely did not want to talk to. You could say there was bad blood between us. That's the trouble with living in Hollywood--it's so small that you can't avoid running into people you know. I was sure this wouldn't end well.

"Don't look now, Duke," I said quietly, trying to be discreet, "but someone from your past just walked in. You might want to sneak out the back before things get ugly."

He looked up, even though I'd told him not to, and jumped off his barstool. I thought he was taking my advice and hitting the road, but no, he was walking right towards her, his archenemy, the woman he'd scorned, the one who would stop at nothing in her quest to take him down. When the two of them walked over to us, I was dumbstruck, and when Duke put his arm around her, I almost fell right off my stool.

"Kip," he said, "I'd like you to meet my girlfriend, Candy Broussard."             

Chapter 16

"Nice to meet you, Candy," Kip said, warmly. "Did I hear that right--your last name is Broussard?"

"Sure is." Candy beamed down at Duke from atop her three inch stilettos. "I kept my ex's name. He wasn't real happy about it at the time, but he got over it."

"You two…were married?" Kip asked, trying to absorb this information.

I thought my head was going to explode. I couldn't stand there another minute and watch her make a fool of Duke--again. Without saying a word I walked off, escaping to the ladies' room which, luckily, had just been cleaned. Of all the women in the world, why did Duke have to take up with her? They'd had such a nasty divorce and when it was over, the only one still standing was Candy. She'd left with most of Duke's money and a large chunk of his self-respect. What more could she possibly want from him? I know pay-backs are hell, but shouldn't they end at some point? How was I supposed to go out there and play nice? I didn't need this headache; I already had enough going on with a potentially murderous stalker; a boyfriend teetering on the edge of depression; a dead P.I.; a park vandal; and a long-lost father trying to get the hell out of Nicaragua.

When I heard someone open the door to the bathroom, I ducked into a stall. The clicking heels stopped right in front of my door. I recognized her red stilettos.

"This one's taken," I said in a terse voice.

"You got a problem with me, Jamie? You jealous or something?"

I flung open the door, furious. "What is wrong with you, Candy Broussard? Why can't you just leave him alone already?"

"I knew that would get you to open the door," she said, smugly.

I glared at her. In the three years since we'd crossed paths, she had transformed into a new and improved version of herself, Candy 2.0. I guess having money agreed with her. Instead of the bleached blonde hair she used to flaunt, she now had professional highlights and while she still wore a lot of make-up, she had toned that down, too. Her clothes were stylish and expensive and her overall look was sophisticated. At least she was dressing her age now and leaving her cleavage to the imagination.

"Duke said you'd be like this," she said, glaring back at me, arms crossed, exuding major attitude.

"Be like what?" I demanded, my voice escalating. "Horrified that you'd wormed your way back into his life? You bet I am! You hate his guts, and the whole world knows it, thanks to your prolific advertising campaign. What kind of sick game are you playing?"

"How dare you!" She was shouting now, too, her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flaring. "I'm not the one who was cheating! Did you forget that? Of course I was angry and I did some things I'm not proud of, but it's none of your goddam business."

I took a deep breath and brought it down a notch. Several notches. "You're right, it's none of my business, but, you said it yourself, he cheated on you. So, why come back?"

"It's still none of your goddam business, but, if you must know, he said he's changed."

I looked down at the floor. I was about to say something I'd regret, but I said it anyway. "Has it occurred to you that maybe he's just wired that way? Not saying he's a cheater, but maybe he's not good at…monogamy."

She looked me in the eyes, giving me an icy blue stare. "He said he changed because of you. He's never had a woman friend before, not in all the years I've known him. And that's why I believed him."

Then she stormed out of the bathroom, leaving me to gape at my own reflection.

Chapter 17

In my mind, Candy had always been greedy and opportunistic, the vengeful ex-wife, the villain of the story. In the real world though, it's rarely that simple, especially in a divorce situation. Someone had been standing in the way of Duke's happiness that day and it turned out to be me. As much as I hadn't wanted to face Candy before the bathroom incident, it was ten times worse afterwards. Unfortunately, I didn't have a rock to crawl under so I went back to the bar, humbled and contrite.

I could feel the tension in the air. Kip and Duke looked wary and skittish, like men do when their girlfriends have just had a screaming match in the ladies' room. Candy had her back to me, ordering a drink. I tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

"Candy, I just want to say I'm sorry. I was way out of line. Can we start over?"

She gave me an appraising look, arching one perfect eyebrow.

"You can start by buying me a drink, and I'll see how I feel after that."

She smiled and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then I turned on Duke.

"Thanks for the heads up, buddy. This whole thing could've blown up in your face and it would've served you right."

Duke laughed nervously. "I wasn't worried. I knew you two would work it out."

Kip almost choked on his beer. "You were terrified, Duke, just admit it." He turned to me. "You should've seen his face when Candy followed you into the bathroom, it was classic!"

Picturing that did make me laugh. "You took the cowardly way out, Duke. I mean, seriously, am I really that scary?"

For a second, nobody said anything and then Candy chimed in, "You do have your moments."

Kip raised his glass in a toast, "To Jamie, the scariest lawyer we know!"

Then we all clinked glasses, even me.

***

At the end of the night, after Candy had gone, we got back on topic if only for a moment. Duke said he was going to work the Malcolm angle by tracking down the money deposited in Malcolm's account and by tracing the e-mails and texts he'd received. Everyone agreed that the park vandal was not a priority. So what if he lined up picnic tables to spell out, "You suck!"--at least he wasn't killing anybody.

Kip said he was going to meet with his boss and the county commissioners on Monday. One commissioner in particular, an old-timer named Dillard Williams ('Dilly' to his friends), was being difficult. If Dilly had his way, not only would the Ren-Fest be closed down, but also half the parks. He was as pro-development as they come and complained that the parks were a waste of the most valuable land in Broward County.

Since I didn't have an assignment, I made up my own. I said I would call costume shops to see if anyone had bought or rented a jester costume and I'd also research where to buy a Taser locally. Of course I realized that anything could be ordered online (the more likely scenario), but I figured I'd check anyway. I also had another plan in mind which was probably dangerous and definitely insane, so I kept that one to myself.

Chapter 18

I told Kip that I planned to clean my house and run errands on Sunday, which was only partially true. I also planned to do other stuff. By eight a.m., I was already at my computer and on my second cup of coffee, quite an accomplishment by my standards, but I was on a mission, determined to help Kip, search for Malcolm's killer, and save the world from evil jesters.

Thankfully, Francis from PETA had provided the police with a detailed description of the jester costume, he'd even drawn a picture which Kip had texted to me. I found the costume online right away, it was sold by Party City; only the mask was different. The Party City version had a grinning skull mask (a Halloween jester?), but our jester wore a Mardi Gras mask of purple, green and yellow. Easier to blend in at the Ren-Fest that way, I imagined. There was a Party City close by that was open on Sunday and I thought about stopping in, maybe someone there would remember a mismatched jester. But, when I considered that there were three other Party City stores in the area and that the costume was also available online, I changed my mind and decided to call instead.

On to the next thing, the Taser. I learned that it's as easy to buy a Taser as it is to buy a gun, that is to say, very easy, 'shockingly' easy (sorry, I couldn't resist). You don't need a license and there's no registry to worry about and, yes, you can buy one online. Taser devices are not considered firearms and can be legally carried (concealed or open) without a permit in 45 states.

The Taser uses electrical current to disrupt voluntary control of muscles. The electrodes produce a spark that heats the air and the heated air produces that clicking sound, the same way thunder is produced by lightning. Although Tasers were supposed to be an alternative to lethal force, they have killed a fair number of people. Amnesty International reports 500 deaths from Tasers as of 2012. Some of the victims had pre-existing conditions which made them vulnerable, but others were young and healthy. A Taser kills by interrupting a person's heart rhythm; it is also agonizingly painful to be tasered. In other words, nobody grits their teeth and sucks it up when they're tasered, they scream like crazy. If you don't believe me, watch the videos on YouTube. After I finished my research, I was no closer to understanding why a person would want to taser an elephant. Mean and sadistic was still my best guess.

It was time for the crazy part of my plan, a scheme as dangerous as it was irresistible. I swear I wasn't drunk when I thought of it, but it had occurred to me that Malcolm's death posed a big problem for I-C-U. Even if I-C-U hadn't killed Malcolm (and I didn't believe that for a minute), he still had to be worried that someone could connect them. If he was starting to feel the pressure, then the only logical thing to do was to crank it up. If this was a game of chess, then I was tired of being his pawn.

I created a new e-mail account with a user name I thought I-C-U would appreciate. I knew that sending an email to his Gmail account would point right back to me even if it came from an unknown account, but I didn't care. I had no other way to get his attention. Before I could chicken out, I typed the message and pushed send.

TO:  I-C-U@Gmail.com

FROM: DeadEndJob@Gmail.com

RE: The Untimely Demise of Malcolm Armstrong

Opening for Private Investigator

Seeking P.I. for undercover investigative work.Must own camera, love of nature a plus. Better hurry, people are dying to get this job.

Your move, I thought.

Chapter 19

I didn't tell anyone what I'd done as I wasn't sure I'd actually done anything. Maybe I-C-U didn't use that account anymore. Maybe he changed accounts the way other people changed their clothes. Maybe I was overanalyzing the situation. It was hard for me to think like a stalker, especially since I'd so recently been the stalkee. All I knew was that, as a hobby, stalking was much more stressful than cake decorating or cross-stitch had ever been.

I sat there staring at my computer as if it were about to explode; then I walked away. To hell with I-C-U! It was a beautiful day and I planned to enjoy it. I put on my bathing suit, grabbed a towel and drove to Hollywood Beach where I swam in the warm Atlantic, squished wet sand beneath my toes and let the soft breeze caress my face. After my swim, I took a long walk down the Broadwalk, drinking lemonade and smiling at everyone as if I didn't have a care in the world. I understood why Kip loved being outside so much; nature had a way of putting things in perspective.

I rinsed off at the outdoor spigot and then crunched my way across the sandy parking lot to my car. Beach time had been exactly what I needed and a far better choice than cleaning my house. As I was driving home, my cell rang. It was Duke.

"Hey," I said, "You calling to apologize for your little ambush last night?"

"Course not, Darlin'. You already forgave me, don't you remember?" He laughed.

"I must've been drunk if I did that," I said. "Anyway, I'm through interfering with your love life. I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I'm not worried," he said. "If things go bad, I know the best lawyer in town and I've got her on speed dial."

It was my turn to laugh. "I thought I knew all the lawyers in town. You'll have to introduce me to this wonder woman someday. So, what are you up to?"

"I've been working and wanted to give you an update."

I felt that lovely beach feeling disappear. It didn't seem quite fair since I was still in my bathing suit, covered with sand.

"Wow, working on a Sunday. What did you find out?" I asked.

He sighed. "Not as much as I'd hoped. I couldn't trace the text messages Malcolm got because they came from a burner phone. My tech guy is still trying to trace the e-mails, but I did learn somethin' interesting."

"What's that?"

"I tracked down the money deposited in Malcolm's account."

"And…?" I could tell he was enjoying the moment.

"You're not gonna believe it, Jamie."

"Well, are you ever going to tell me?"

"The money came from Broward County," he said.

"Broward County what?"

"Broward County government, Jamie, like the county, itself."

I was becoming more confused by the minute. "Do you mean someone hacked into their bank account and stole the money?"

"Nope. Malcolm Armstrong was being paid by the county. He worked for them."

Chapter 20

"So, then he lied to you," I said, flatly.

"No, he didn't," Duke answered.

Maybe I'd been in the sun too long, but Duke wasn't making any sense. I was still driving on U.S. 1, stuck behind a car of Canadian snowbirds taking a leisurely Sunday drive. I was dying to get home and jump in the shower; the dried sand was starting to itch.

"But he told you he didn't know who hired him," I replied. "Look, you don't have to stick up for him just because he's a P.I., Duke. People lie all the time. You said so, yourself."

"And I stand by my words, Jamie, but our boy Malcolm didn't have a clue. The money came from Broward County alright, but it was routed through a bunch of other accounts to look like travel expenses. Someone covered their tracks pretty damn good and it's gonna take me a while to sort it out."

"Now I get it," I said, and then added, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive."

If a degree in English Lit was good for anything, it was for quoting Sir Walter Scott. And making obscure literary references was a great party trick--if you ever got invited to a party, that is.

"Don't go gettin' all Shakespearean on me," Duke said. "I think that Renaissance Festival must've affected your brain."

"Oh, Duke," I teased, "That wasn't Shakespeare, but if you want some Shakespeare, here's a quote you can relate to: 'The course of true love never did run smooth’."

He groaned. "Time to say good-bye, Ms. Esquire."

"Thanks for everything, Duke, you're the bomb!"

"Course I am," he said. "Assumin' that's a good thing."

***

At home, fresh from a shower with my hair wrapped in a towel, I analyzed this new information. It seemed logical to think that if I-C-U had hired Malcolm and paid him with Broward County's money then I-C-U probably worked for the county. Who else would want Kip to 'back off' if not a county employee? But I-C-U would have to be high-ranking, or at least work in payroll, to pull off such a complex accounting trick. I was betting he was a person of authority, a true megalomaniac. Hiring a P.I. to spy on a fellow employee and then making the county pay for it took some serious chutzpah. Add in Malcolm's suspicious death and you were looking at a potential sociopath--a sociopath that I was trying to antagonize, for some reason. Wary but curious, I checked my e-mail for a response from I-C-U but there was nothing, no bounce-backs either. I was relieved and also oddly disappointed.

I had a decision to make--should I tell Kip what I'd learned? On the one hand, he was in the best position to snoop around from inside the system. On the other hand, he would probably tip I-C-U off by investigating. Surely, someone as smart as I-C-U would have safeguards in place. Telling Kip to look for I-C-U would be like telling the babysitter the call is coming from inside the house. You just know it won't end well. Waiting a few days seemed like a prudent course of action. Call me selfish, but I didn't want my boyfriend confronting a sociopath.

It was time to finish my assignment, so I called all four Party City stores, but nobody remembered an unusual jester. As one clerk explained it, ‘Ma’am, this is South Florida, we see strange people every day’.

Chapter 21

It was Monday morning and I had an uncontested divorce scheduled at the courthouse. The hearing was short, but bittersweet. It's the rare client who doesn't get choked up when their old life is officially pronounced over and, because it's poignant and sad, it always makes me a little emotional, too. Witnessing this milestone in another person's life is a big responsibility, not to be taken lightly. That's why, if I had my way, I'd do nothing but adoptions every day, snapping pictures of each newly-minted family with a smile on my face that never faded. But that was just wishful thinking on my part.

I was working through lunch, catching up on paperwork (not real paper, we had to e-file now) when the receptionist buzzed to say I had a visitor, a Ms. Ana Maria Suarez. There was exactly one reason for Ana Maria to be there--she'd received a letter from Immigration. Instinctively, I felt like it had to be good news, why else would she drive across town on her lunch hour? Then again, if it were bad news, she would want to tell me in person. She knew how I'd been searching for my father since I was a kid. And now a piece of paper (real paper) posed the only barrier to my happiness. I braced myself for the worst and then ushered in the kindest woman on the planet. Although it felt like I'd known Ana Maria forever, it had actually been less than a year.

A petite woman with wavy blonde hair and a broad smile, Ana Maria had felt like family right from the start. I suppose she was my step-mother but since my parents had never married, that didn't seem quite right. She was more like a surrogate mother, always ready with an encouraging word or a hug if I needed one. My own mother would've loved her.

We kissed once on each cheek, a custom I'd found awkward at first, but now I thought it was sweet. It was impossible to read her mood; I saw no wild elation, no dark depression either. She was as calm and serene as ever. What was up with that?

"Hola, cariño," she said with a little smile. "I'm so happy you're here. I took a chance."

"What a nice surprise! I'm glad you did," I said. We sat down in the wingback chairs in front of my desk. "So, any news?"

Her brow furrowed and my heart skipped a beat. She pulled a sealed letter from her oversized bag.

"I thought we should find out about your papi together."

I was clutching the arms of my chair the way I did when the dentist drilled my teeth. I jumped up and walked over to the window where I looked outside, but nothing registered. There was so much nervous energy coursing through my body that sparks would be flying off my skin soon.

Without turning around, I said, "You should open it, Ana Maria."

"Don't you want to do it, Jamie?"

"I can't," I said, my voice shaking.

I heard her rip it open and then only silence. I was afraid to look at her, but tears were already streaming down my face. I knew what it said.

Slowly, I turned towards Ana Maria.

She looked up from the letter. "Our petition was denied, mi amor."

Chapter 22

Why wasn't Ana Maria crying? She must've seen the confusion on my tear-streaked face.

"Jamie," she said gently, "Your father and I were expecting this, so we made a plan."

"What kind of plan could possibly fix this--?" I was going to say 'crushing disappointment', but I stopped myself.

Ana Maria walked over to the window and put her arms around me while I sobbed into her shoulder for several minutes. Then my inner voice said, Jamie, it's time to get a grip. So I did.

"I'm sorry I slobbered all over your work clothes," I said wanly, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

Ana Maria gave me a half-smile as she stroked my hair. "It's going to be okay, hija, you'll see."

"What's your plan, then?" I asked, trying to sound more positive than I felt.

"I am moving to Nicaragua."

"What? But you can't be serious--" I backed away to study her face. She meant it.

"Not forever. Just as long as it takes to prove we have a true marriage. Then I can reapply for a visa for Guillermo."

I was feeling a bit shaky so I sat down again. There was a fog rolling through my brain and I couldn't think straight.

"How do you know that's why it was denied? What if it was for political reasons? Then your plan won't work no matter how long you stay in Nicaragua."

Ana Maria sat down next to me and took my hand in hers. Her eyes told me everything. I understood then that she had no choice, he was her husband and she wanted to be with him--even if she had to live in Nicaragua.

"When are you going?" I asked, breaking the silence between us.

"In six months. I want to help the shelter find a new director and I have a lot to do: sell my house, my furniture…" her voice cracked and her eyes grew misty.

"I'll help any way I can," I said. "And I'll go with you to Managua to settle you in. I need to see the old man, anyway." I said with a little smile. It was all I could muster.

Her face lit up with pleasure. "Thank-you, Jamie! And don't lose faith; I know we will all be together one day. I feel it in my heart."

I wasn't feeling it, myself, but I also wasn't ready to give up. I had six months to work on this problem--probably less if I wanted to keep Ana Maria from quitting her job and selling her house. Suddenly, I couldn't wait for Ana Maria to leave. I needed to call Grace and start brainstorming.

Chapter 23

I wished I could tell Grace what was going on with I-C-U, the lunatic jester, and poor, dead Malcolm--but I'd promised Kip I wouldn't discuss the situation with anyone except Duke. Speaking of Duke, I would've loved to tell Grace about the return of the one and only Candy Broussard, she of the famous billboard, but I couldn't do that either. After Candy's stunning revelation in the ladies' room, I already felt mean-spirited enough.

Anyway, none of that mattered at the moment because I needed to focus on my father's problem. Everything else was just a distraction.

I texted Grace: S.O.S. Re: INS! Can we talk?

After five minutes with no response, I put my phone down. As soon as I did, it rang. Grace to the rescue!

"Sounds like bad news," she said when I picked up.

"The worst, Gracie."

"That damn INS! What do they have against happy families?"

I briefed her on Ana Maria's plan to expatriate. After commiserating she asked, "Did they give a reason?"

"No, they did not."

"Well, there's your first problem," Grace said.

"Tell me about it. How can we find out why it was denied?" I asked.

"I can call my friend Greg in D.C. He's got connections at the State Department. He's the one who helped us locate your dad in the first place."

"That's why I love you," I said,

"Because I have friends in high places?" She laughed.

It felt like we were in law school again, working on a project together. I could hear computer keys clacking on her end of the phone and mine were clacking, too. The best thing about doing legal research was that it was now online, all of it. The next time you walk into a lawyer's office and see a wall full of books, know that they are just for show; you couldn't give those books away. In fact, ten years ago, Broward County built a big, beautiful library in the main courthouse and stocked it with every legal journal, treatise and case reporter series imaginable--right before everything went digital. I wish I had the money they spent on that boondoggle.

"I'm trying not to freak out," I said, "But if the petition was denied for political reasons, then there's no hope, right?" I'd just clicked on the INS website and was trying to navigate my way through it.

"I wouldn't say no hope…" Grace said.

"I don't want to think about that," I said, hastily. "Let's assume it was the marriage thing. From what I can see on the website, there's an appeal process for when a petition's been denied. You can also ask for a rehearing."

"Doesn't sound like the best way to go." Grace said. "Ana Maria's way is probably faster than that. Wait!" She sounded excited. "I think I found something."

"What is it?" I felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.

"I'm reading…okay, it looks like maybe you could petition for your dad. Hold on, there are three categories: legitimate children, legitimated children and illegitimate. Forget about the first one, but maybe you could be 'legitimated'."

"You mean, my dad could acknowledge me? Or do you mean I could sue him for paternity?" I snickered at that. Who better than a family law attorney to file a paternity action? It turned out I had the ideal education for suing my own father.

"Oh, that's disappointing," Grace said. "You had to be legitimated before your eighteenth birthday."

"Well," I said, "I'm not legitimate and I'm not legitimated, that leaves illegitimate, right? Sounds like me."

"Jamie, that won't work either," Grace said softly. "Your dad would have to be listed on your birth certificate."

"I guess it's possible," I said, "I don't remember ever seeing my birth certificate."

"That’s not enough. There has to be evidence that an emotional or financial bond existed between you and your father before you reached the age of twenty-one."

"There's my journal," I said. "When I was a kid, I used to write letters to my dad and tell him about my day, and what I was thinking. But there's nothing from him to me, no financial assistance either. I can't hold it against him; he didn't know I existed."

Grace sighed. I could almost picture her at her desk, flipping her dark hair off her shoulders and pushing her glasses up when she was done reading.

"If your parents weren't married, I think you're out of luck, my friend."

"I will never call anyone a bastard again," I said, with feeling.

"I can't promise the same," Grace said, laughing. "But I will call my friend Greg for you."

Chapter 24

If knowledge is power, then knowing why my dad's petition was denied would make me feel more powerful, or at least not as powerless. If nothing else, it was a step in the right direction. I just needed to be patient, which was clearly not my forte.

After I finished talking to Grace, I wrote some letters and then decided to knock off for the day. I hoped a jog through T.Y. Park would clear my buzzing head. My brain felt like a school bus full of rowdy kids, pushing, fighting, stealing each other's lunches--I don't know what the hell they were doing in there, but I wanted them to shut up and give me some peace. I guess that's why I don't drive a school bus.

I've found that physical exhaustion quells stress. Being stressed requires a high level of energy, energy which is no longer available to you after a heavy work-out. Just ask your pounding heart and burning lungs, they'll tell you all about it.

After my run, I drove the few blocks home, took a shower and threw a frozen dinner in the microwave. I fed the insistent Mr. Paws his smelly cat food while I held my nose. All was quiet--I hadn't heard from I-C-U, which was fine with me, but I also hadn't heard from Kip, which was less fine. I knew that he'd had a meeting with his boss about the Ren-Fest craziness and I was anxious to hear how it went. I called his cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Where was he?

I planted myself on the sofa to watch Jeopardy, followed by a re-run of Monk, and then turned off the TV. There were three things I still needed to do: order my birth certificate from the department of vital statistics; print a passport application, and call my dad via Skype. It was getting late, but Managua was two hours behind. To my relief, my dad had already spoken with Ana Maria, so we talked about the logistics of her move and my upcoming visit. I could tell he was putting on a good show for my sake and I tried to do the same for him, but I couldn't and, for the second time that day, I dissolved into a puddle of tears. After that, we did our best to comfort each other and then said good-night. I was getting ready for bed when Kip texted me.

Too late to come over? He asked.

It's okay, I replied. I'm still up.

Good, because I'm on your front porch.

I opened the door and there he was. His expression said it all.

"No offense, but you look like hell," I remarked. "Get in here, already."

"No offense," he said, "But you don't look so great either."

He came in and gave me a quick hug and then looked at me more intently.

"Hey babe--have you been crying?"

"Yeah, I just found out today that my dad's visa was denied."

"Oh, man! That's terrible." He pulled me close and I snuggled against his chest, one of the advantages of having a tall boyfriend.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked, concerned.

"No, Kip, I really don’t," I said. "I'm all talked out."

A look of relief crossed his face; I could see he already had enough on his mind. I took his hand and sat on the sofa, pulling him down with me.

"Why don't you tell me about your day, instead?" I suggested. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"I wouldn't say no to a drink." He sank into the sofa cushions and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"Lemonade, or something stronger?" I called out from the kitchen.

"Lemonade's great, but if your hand slipped and splashed some vodka in it, I wouldn't send it back."

I set Kip's drink on top of a coaster, put a bowl of pretzels next to it and then sat down next to him.

"I'm ready," I said. "Tell me everything. How was your meeting?"

He took a big sip of his drink. "That really hits the spot, thanks for the drink."

"Quit stalling, I know all your tricks."

"Okay, here goes. I was supposed to have a meeting with my boss about the Ren-Fest, but it never happened."

"No meeting?"

"Oh yeah, there was a meeting alright, but not the one I thought we were having. This was more like an ambush. You wouldn't believe the pressure I'm under, Jamie. I don't know what to do." Kip looked worn out.

I wished I knew how to help him. Then it dawned on me what was really going on. I-C-U was behind this and he wasn't playing chess.

No, he was making his puppets dance.

Chapter 25

I'm not a crazy conspiracy theorist, I swear, but I could see a pattern emerging.

"Start at the beginning," I said. "And we'll figure this out together."

"If you say so," Kip sprawled across the sofa, his legs on my lap. "But I think you're being a tad optimistic."

I laughed. "Don't get too comfortable there, mister. If you fall asleep in the middle of your story, I will wake you up."

Kip pretended to doze off, so I pinched his thigh right through his jeans.

"Ow!'

"See? That's what happens," I said.

"Okay, I get it, stay awake."

Then, as if in a trance, he proceeded to tell me about his morning, how he'd been called into his boss's office and soon found himself under attack from all sides.

"But who was there besides your boss?" I asked.

"Commissioner Dilly Williams, Quincy Graves, Benjamin Wolf, and his son Daniel."

"Wait, doesn't Quincy work for you? Who invited him?"

Kip snorted. "Quincy acts like I work for him. He was Assistant Director for ten years before I got there, so when the Director retired, he assumed he'd get the job. But then they hired me, and he's been making my life miserable ever since."

"Can't you fire him?"

"Not that easy." Kip sighed. "You've clearly never worked for the government. Quincy is currently suing the County for not giving him the Director position."

I was flabbergasted. "He's working there and suing them at the same time?"

"Yup."

"What's the basis of his lawsuit?" I couldn't imagine what he was alleging. He certainly wasn't a minority with that pasty white skin.

"Age discrimination," Kip replied, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was saying either.

"Wow! You work in bizarro-land, you've got to get out of there!"

"No kidding," Kip said.

"So, what's the deal with your boss? Whose side is he on?"

"Ronald Lang? Basically a good guy, but he's about to retire and doesn't want trouble. He's beyond caring about the politics, the employees, any of it. He just wants to keep his head down and count the days 'til he's out of there."

"So, who called the meeting if it wasn't your boss?" I asked.

"The man who is everyone's boss--the commissioner. We serve at the pleasure of the nine commissioners, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

I only had a vague notion of how our local government operated. Embarrassing, but true.

"And whose pleasure was being served by having Benjamin Wolf there?" I asked with a smirk.

Kip sat up suddenly, a look of disgust on his handsome face. It was like a dark cloud on a sunny day.

"Gross, Jamie! You wouldn't say that if you knew him. The man is so obnoxious it's hard to even be in the same room. The commissioner brought him--but he didn't look happy about it, either."

I refilled our drinks, minus the vodka this time, and sat down in the leather recliner facing Kip.

"Now for the million dollar question," I said, "What was the meeting about?"

"Definitely not the Ren-Fest…" he trailed off, staring into space. The silence grew. Mr. Paws nestled by Kip's feet and dozed off.

"You don't seem comfortable talking about this," I said.

"I'm not."

"Alright then," I stood up and yawned. "I'm off to bed."

"Wha-at?" Kip stammered.

"You'll tell me when you're ready. I've had a rough day and I'm going to bed. You coming?"

"Wait, don't go yet. I need to get this off my chest."

He gave me a look that said 'please' so I sat back down, the recliner still warm from my last visit.

"The commissioners meet next Friday," Kip began, "to vote on the Sapphire Sky project. Four of them plan to vote yes and four of them plan to vote no."

"That's only eight."

"Correct. The ninth one is on the fence. Commissioner Millicent St. Joseph said she will base her decision on my recommendation."

"You get to decide if a skyscraper gets built? How does that work?"

Kip looked pained. "I'm the Parks Director. I report on how the wetlands will be affected by the project and then I make a recommendation."

"Isn't that a no-brainer?" I asked. "The wetlands win." Then something clicked in my brain. "They didn't call a meeting to find out what you'd say. They want you to change your mind."

Kip nodded wordlessly.

"Did they threaten you?" Now I was pissed off.

"Not right away," he said. "First, they told me how much revenue the project would generate for the county. Then, Wolf promised to buy other wetland property to donate to the county if I cooperated. When that didn't work, he started yelling about suing for breach of contract while Dilly whined about how much a lawsuit would cost and how that money could be used for jobs and schools and protecting little children. Finally, Dilly said I'd better do it if I valued my job. Quincy was practically licking his lips at that part."

"Well, do you?" I asked.

"What?"

"Value your job," I answered.

"Not anymore," he said, shaking his head ruefully.

"Then it's settled. You'll save the wetlands and then look for a new job."

"You mean a new career, don't you?"

"Ah, I see the problem…" I shifted to the sofa and laid my head on Kip's shoulder. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I told them I'd think about it," he said. "They gave me until Wednesday."

"I never realized how many decisions were made behind closed doors," I remarked, "And how the vote is just for show."

"Your democracy at work," Kip said, with more than a little sarcasm.

"It's your democracy, too, babe." I kissed him on the cheek. "Why don't we turn in? Like my mom used to say, everything looks better in the morning. And if you want, I can show you what else happens behind closed doors."

Kip gave me a tired smile and we called it a night.

Chapter 26

It wasn't until the next morning as we were downing our double espressos that it occurred to me.

"Hey Kip, you said Benjamin Wolf's son was at the meeting, what was he doing that whole time?"

"Oh yeah, Daniel, I almost forgot he was there. He's so nondescript, he kind of fades into the woodwork. He looks like an accountant with his wire-rim glasses, but he's a weird dude. It was almost like he was studying us--like he was the scientist and we were the bugs. Even when his father was yelling and cursing, he showed no reaction, just sat there taking notes."

"Can you blame him?" I asked as I peeled a banana and sliced it into a bowl. "With Benjamin Wolf as a father, he must hear screaming every day. Or maybe Daniel doesn't hear any of it, maybe he's deaf! Wouldn't that be a lucky break?"

"You always manage to look at the bright side, don't you?" Kip laughed.

"Are you laughing with me or at me?" I asked, holding a piece of buttered toast directly over his head.

"Definitely with you," he said, ducking out of reach. "Did I say with? I meant to say at."

I laughed. "I'm glad you're in a good mood, big improvement over last night."

"Well, why the hell not?" Kip said. "I decided I'm taking the day off and if they don't like it, they can fire me. I don't care anymore."

"That's the spirit!" I said. "Calling in sick, like a real government employee. What are you going to do, something fun?"

"Yup. I'm going to the--" Kip was interrupted by a text coming in and he stopped to read it. He looked upset.

"So much for that, I have to go in. Work emergency." He quickly finished his breakfast and stood up to leave.

"But wait!" I said, nonplussed. "What's going on?"

"Sorry, can't talk about it," He gave me a quick kiss and headed for the door

"Who sent the text? At least tell me that."

He turned around. "It was Jayashree."

"Are you sure there isn't something going on between you two?" I blurted out, only half-joking.

Kip turned around and pulled me into his arms. Then he kissed me, seriously kissed me, like people do at the airport when they don't want to let each other go.

"Jamie," he said, before he walked out the door. "You've never been more wrong about anything in your life."

And then he was gone.

Chapter 27

I was relieved, perplexed, and worried. I hadn't really believed Jayashree Patel was a rival, but she did make me feel insecure. Maybe it stemmed from my fear of abandonment, from believing for so long that my dad had ditched me. Nah, I just didn't like beautiful girls hanging around my boyfriend. End of story.

I wished I knew what was going on with Kip. One minute, refusing to go to work, the next, racing to get there. If this was about the upcoming vote (which made sense, since Jayashree was liaison to the commissioners), then why all the secrecy? And who was I-C-U? Was it Benjamin Wolf? Commissioner Williams? Someone else? Kip said he didn't think it was Wolf and I didn't think it was Commissioner Williams (he seemed more like a toady than a blackmailer to me). It couldn't be Kip's boss because he didn't give a damn about anything. Whoever he was, I-C-U had to be furious with Kip for not 'backing off', so why hadn't we heard from him?

In other news, Kip had told me the park vandal was still at it, pulling pranks and leaving snide messages. The guy may have been crazy, but he did make me laugh. And while I appreciated his humor, I also admired his sense of purpose. As Kip said, you always knew where you stood with him.

I had a hearing at the main courthouse that morning and needed to get going. It wasn't complicated stuff and I'd already reviewed the file, but it was a hassle to schlep over there. Now that we had e-filing, I hoped our next step in the march towards technology was eliminating our physical presence altogether. I wanted to appear in court virtually. Think of the effect on global warming if attorneys and clients all over the country stopped driving to court every day. I thought I should work on that, maybe start a petition or form a committee…

I was dashing out the door when Duke called. I fumbled with the phone while I tried to lock my front door and ended up dropping my purse, spilling the contents far and wide. I told Duke to hang on while I scooped everything up, cursing my klutziness. I finally got myself together and started the car.

"Hey Duke, sorry about that," I said.

"Sounds like you're having a rough morning, Darlin'."

"You don't know the half of it," I said, and then proceeded to tell him about my dad's visa denial. I wished I could tell him about everything else.

"Tough break, Jamie, sorry to hear it. Keep me posted, would ya?"

"Thanks, Duke. What's going on with you?"

I was merging onto I-95 and had to pay attention. Morning rush hour was survival of the fittest, like a cage match fought in separate cages.

"Lots of stuff to tell you. I may have a lead on the park vandal. Seems there's a group of people Kip fired right after he became director. I think it's one of them."

"Great! How did you find them?"

"Through the wonder of social media. These folks started a Facebook group called 'I Hate Kip Simons' where they share their tales of woe."

I laughed. "Isn't it amazing what people will put out there? They spill their guts to the world and then worry about the government spying on them."

"They'd be better off buying a diary, that's for sure." Duke chuckled.

"How will you figure out who it is?" I asked.

"Oh, you know, a little surveillance, a little checking the GPS on their phones--"

"Stop! Don't need to know how."

"You did ask," Duke said, innocently.

"Changed my mind. Any other news? Anything about Malcolm?" I was almost at the courthouse.

Duke's mood went from playful to somber. "Yeah, I got to see the M.E.'s report."

"You did? How?"

"Medical examiner's a friend of mine. We go fishin' together."

"What did he find?" I shuddered at the memory of discovering Malcolm's body.

"Results were inconclusive, he died of heart failure. No wounds, no poison, his heart just stopped working."

"Did he have a heart condition?" I was about to walk into the courthouse where I would have to turn off my phone.

"Doesn't seem like he did." Duke answered.

"I still think he was murdered," I said.

"You got that right," Duke sounded angry. "And I'm gonna catch the bastard who did it."

"I know you will," I said.

After we said good-bye, I thought about the bastard who killed Malcolm and how the meaning of bastard had gotten so bastardized.

***

On my drive home, I stopped at "Mocha Joe's." Good coffee and good cheer was just what I needed. I pulled up to the window expecting to see Joey's smiling face, but a woman in her mid-twenties poked her head out instead.

"Mornin', Miss, what can I get for you?"

"Um, an iced coffee, two sugars, skim milk, please."

After she brought me my coffee, I asked, "Where's Joey today?"

My question caused an immediate reaction in that her bottom lip started quivering with emotion.

"He's in the hospital. He had a bad accident yesterday."

"Oh my God! What happened? If you don't mind my asking…"

She looked around as if someone could be listening, but there were no cars behind me; it was just the two of us.

"He was playing softball at the park with all those hot shots," she said in a low voice, "And someone pitched a ball right into his face. It shattered his cheekbone! He had to have surgery and the doctor put a metal plate in in his face. He's a mess!" She started sobbing.

Poor Joey! I didn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry, are you his wife?"

"No, I'm his sister, Trina."

"Trina, I've been coming here for years and I think Joey is the greatest. Would you please give him my best? My name is Jamie."

Her eyes grew big. "You're Jamie? I have a message for you. Wait here."

She left the window and came back with a scrap of paper in her hand.

"When they were wheeling Joey into surgery, he kept mumbling something, so I wrote it down. He said, 'Tell Jamie...river…grass…the boat, it's the boat!'"

"What does it mean?" I asked. "Are you sure that message is for me?"

"I don't know anything, but I figured since your name is Jamie…" She reached over and patted my hand, as if I were the one who needed comforting.

"I'll give him your best wishes," she said.

"Please do that," I wiped a tear from my eye and drove away.             

Chapter 28

I was afraid I was losing my mind. Was it possible that Malcolm had died of natural causes, that Joey was the victim of a tragic accident, and that I-C-U was a figment of my imagination? If not, then there were evil forces at work. How had my life turned into a Marvel comic book? And when was the superhero going to make an appearance? Now would be a good time.

I thought about Joey's message. What did it mean? Was he delirious? Was it even for me? I couldn't figure it out, so I stopped trying. I'd never imagined that I would find work relaxing, but spending the morning on other people's problems was just what I needed. At 11:30, I tried to reach Kip, but got his voicemail. I left a message telling him what I'd learned from Duke and asking him to call. I was really worried about him. In twenty-four hours, he had to make a decision: throw away his career or sell out. I knew which one he'd choose and it broke my heart.

I answered my e-mails, including one from Ana Maria about having a garage sale. I told her I'd be there to help. There was no harm in her having a garage sale so long as she didn't quit her job any time soon. About the time I started thinking I needed a break, Grace called to invite me to lunch. I swear she's telepathic.

We met at Pho Vi, the new Vietnamese restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard, which was a no-frills place with sparse décor, six tables and a counter. It wasn't busy when we arrived, so the waitress had time to go over the menu with us at great length. Our ignorance of Vietnamese cuisine didn't faze her a bit. In the end, Grace ordered vermicelli and I opted for tofu spring rolls with peanut sauce.

"So, James, you seem a little out of it," Grace commented, as we waited for our food. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I think the news about my dad threw me for a loop and, on top of that, Kip is having a crisis I'm trying to help him with. It's a lot at once."

Then our food arrived, steamy and aromatic. Naturally, we had to stop talking so we could appraise it, relish it, and give it a try. Everything was delicious and the lime soda instantly became my new favorite drink. Pho Vi was a vegetarian's delight. If I were a yelper I would yelp about it.

I glanced over at Grace. Her long black hair was knotted in a loose bun in the back with a few stray hairs around her face. It was a new look for her, but I liked it. And while I'd always admired Grace's beautifully tailored suits, I couldn't understand how she could walk in those heels. My feet hurt just looking at them.

"Well, the good news is--" she began.

"Yes, please give me some good news, Gracie," I interrupted.

She laughed. "Not too antsy, are you? I was about to tell you I spoke with my friend Greg at the State Department. He said he can find out why your dad's visa was denied and he's happy to do it."

I sighed with relief. "That's excellent news, thank-you for doing that. When will he have an answer?"

"He didn't think it would take long, but I'll let you know as soon as I hear from him. Okay?"

"Okay. And as a thank-you, lunch is my treat," I said.

Grace rolled her eyes. "Had I known that, we'd be eating at Café de Paris, sipping champagne and eating escargot."

I made a face. "Ick, you know I don't eat snails, woman."

"I know," she said, "That means more for me."

I was signing the credit card slip when I saw Grace waving at someone behind me.

"You know everyone who is anyone, don't you?" I joked.

Grace looked puzzled. "I thought he was someone you knew. He was staring at you and when I looked over, he waved. So I waved back."

I looked over my shoulder, but didn't see anyone.

"He's gone now," she said.

"What did he look like?" I asked.

"I didn't get a good look at him, to be honest. He was average-looking, business clothes. One thing I remember, he was wearing wire-rim glasses."

Chapter 29

I couldn't believe it, how dare he try to intimidate me! Benjamin Wolf had sent his son Daniel to spy on me, follow me, harass me. I believe there's a special place in hell for bullies like him. I was livid, but somehow managed to keep it together until Grace left. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.

I took a stroll up Hollywood Boulevard on the look-out for Mr. Wire-Rim Glasses. I didn't know what I'd say if I found him, but I pictured myself walking up to him, yanking his glasses off his face and grinding them under my heel. Problem was I had no idea what Daniel Wolf looked like. With my luck, I'd attack some innocent bystander whose only mistake was choosing the wrong eyewear. Suddenly, I understood what was really going on. Benjamin Wolf wasn't trying to intimidate me; he was using me to get to Kip! Wolf wanted to show Kip that he could threaten his girlfriend any time he wanted. My first instinct was to call Kip and warn him, but then I thought--what would be the point? Kip's mind was made up and I would only be adding to his stress. I was so tired of having these debates with myself. It was giving me a headache.

I went back to work to finish up the day. Although my lunch break had been ruined, I'd learned something about Benjamin Wolf--he was desperate. Not that it mattered. If Kip was willing to sacrifice his job and career to do the right thing, then there was nothing Wolf could do to stop him. But, with Sapphire Sky on the line, I knew he wasn't going to give up.

I was sitting at my desk staring out the window when I got a text from Duke.

I think I know who the park vandal is--that little weasel is going down!

I laughed out loud, leave it to Duke! If he wasn't a full-fledged superhero, he was at least a sidekick.

Duke, you're amazing!! Who is it?

"Not yet, Ms Esq. I have to check it out first.

Mr. P.I., you've earned yourself not one, but two midnight calls from jail.

I reckon Bubba will be sorely disappointed.

I'm sure he'll manage somehow.

After Duke said he had to go, I decided to call Kip with the news. While it hardly mattered who the park vandal was in the scheme of things, I still thought he'd like to know that Duke was close to finding him. I dialed his cell and a woman answered.

"Kip Simons' phone."

"Um, hello? May I speak with Kip please?"

"I'm sorry, he is unavailable. May I take a message?"

Unavailable? What was that about? "Who is this?" I asked.

"Jayashree Patel."

"I don't mean to be rude, Jayashree," I said, "but why are you answering Kip's phone?"

"He asked me to," she replied. "Who is calling?"

Something snapped in my brain. "Look, you have Kip's phone in your hand, so you know who I am, my picture and name pop up when I call. Why are we playing this game?"

I have to hand it to her, she never lost her cool.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken," she said. "While what I presume is your photo shows up, your name does not. If I knew your name, I wouldn't be asking for it."

I felt like I was talking to a robot. "If my name doesn't show up, then whose does?"

"It's not a name," she said, pausing for an instant, "it's the word 'Babe' followed by two heart emoticons. Would you like me to call you Babe?"

Chapter 30

Did I feel like an idiot? You bet. Did I wish I could stop picking fights with people? No doubt about it. You'd think that after my bathroom brawl with Candy Broussard, I'd have learned to shut my mouth, but it turned out to be a steep learning curve. In this case, not only was Jayashree Patel a total stranger, she was the one person who could tell me what Kip was up to--and I had to go and blow it.

"Listen, Jayashree," I said, "I'm sorry I was so rude just now. I had a rough day and I took it out on you. Please forgive me."

She laughed with amusement. "No worries, apology accepted, Miss…?

Oh, yeah, maybe I should tell her my name already. "Jamie, I'm Jamie Quinn. Can you please tell me where I can find Kip?"

"I'm afraid he's unavailable right now, Jamie."

"But where is he?" I pressed her.

"He's out in the field on assignment. I mean, he's working on a big project, but I'll be sure to tell him you called."

That was an odd choice of words, I thought, 'on assignment'. Maybe that's just how they talk in DC. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

Jayashree sounded impatient. "He may not be able to return your call until tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow?" I echoed in surprise. "One last question--is Kip okay?"

"No need to worry, he's fine." She hesitated and then added, "It's all going to be fine."

After we'd hung up, I wondered what was going to be fine and how she could possibly know.

***

I'd just finished washing my dinner dishes when the doorbell rang.  I opened the door to find Sandy, my next-door neighbor, standing on the front porch. We were always 'borrowing' ingredients from each other when we couldn't be bothered to run to the store. Her requests were the normal stuff, like an egg or a stick of butter, while mine belonged in a culinary scavenger hunt and ranged from dill weed to horseradish. I invited her in.

"Hey neighbor," I said. "How's it going?"

"Fine, Jamie, how about you?"

"Oh, busy, crazy, you know. What can I get you? My pantry is your pantry, but if you're making my favorite cookies, I'll expect one when you're done." I laughed.

She looked troubled. "No cookies today. Actually, I'm here because I'm taking up a collection for Jose Torres, to help with the funeral expenses."

"Who's Jose Torres? Was he a neighbor?"

"Sorry, I thought you'd heard about it. Yesterday, the Hendersons hired a young guy named Jose Torres to trim their trees. The poor man hit an electrical wire and was killed. Such a tragedy! His family doesn't have much money, so we're trying to help them out."

"That's horrible!" I said. "How did I miss hearing about that?"

Sandy shook her head. "You weren't home. We had police and a fire truck and an ambulance here. The paramedics tried to revive him, but he was dead before he hit the ground. The electricity stopped his heart and he was gone."

"That's really bad news," I said. "Let me get my purse, I'm glad to help out.”

When Sandy had gone, I thought about a young man struck down in the prime of his life whose heart had suddenly stopped, and I realized something I'd known all along. I knew what had killed Malcolm Armstrong.

Chapter 31

The elephant had been a distraction, a commotion improvised by the killer to cover his crime. He was counting on the noise from the crowd, the panic caused by a raging elephant, to drown out Malcolm's screams of agony. He knew it wouldn't be a quiet death. First, he'd texted Malcolm to meet him by the trees, maybe by promising to pay him, and then he attacked Taj. After that, he waited at the designated place, his weapon fully charged. As soon as Malcolm walked through the trees, the killer had tasered him again and again, until his heart finally gave out. Like Jose Torres, Malcolm never had a chance.

But who was this killer? A man in a jester costume with pale hands, that was all I knew. I wished I could talk to Kip, but it seemed he wasn't available. That guy had some explaining to do when I finally got a hold of him. In the meantime, there was someone else who would love to know what happened to Malcolm.

"I know what killed him," I said, as soon as Duke answered the phone.

"And I know who paid him," he answered, not to be outdone.

"You do? That's great! Who was it?"

"You go first," Duke answered.

"I would argue with you, but I know how stubborn you are," I said, "So, I'll just tell you. He was tasered to death. The elephant was tasered first in order to rile up the crowd."

Duke whistled. "Makes perfect sense. Girl, you are one smart lawyer!"

"Then why aren't I rich?" I laughed. "Now, it's your turn."

"I won't bore you with how much time I spent following the trail of money through half a dozen accounts. Or how brilliant I was in figuring out who approved the charges…"

"I already know you're brilliant, tell me who did it already."

"It was the commissioner himself." Duke said, triumphantly.

"No way!"

"I don't make mistakes, Darlin'."

I grabbed my tablet off the kitchen table and quickly pulled up the website for the county commissioners.

"He may have paid the money to hire Malcolm, but he didn't do the tasering," I said.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I'm looking at a picture of him. The killer had pale hands--Dilly Williams is black."

"Well, I'll be damned…who else could've done it?"

I entertained the idea that it might've been Benjamin Wolf, but quickly decided against it. By all accounts, he wasn't the type to get his hands dirty.

"Quincy Graves?" I suggested.

"Why do you think it's him?"

"He's pasty white, for one thing. He hates Kip for another. He'd do anything to make Kip look bad."

"Even murder somebody?" Duke wasn't buying it.

"Yeah, I don't know. You have any better ideas?"

"Not at the moment, but I'll let you know when I do. And I'm gonna nail that little park vandal while I'm at it!"

I laughed. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

"You bet I am! I haven't had this much fun in ages." Then, in a more serious tone, he added, "I owe it to Malcolm, Jamie. Us P.I.s have to look out for each other."

"I understand. And I appreciate everything you're doing, Duke."

"Don't thank me yet," he said, "I'm just gettin' started."

Chapter 32

Before we hung up, Duke remembered to ask about my dad. I told him there was no news yet, maybe soon.

I didn't sleep much that night (hardly unusual), but the little sleep I did get was riddled with nightmares. It turns out that analyzing a possible murder right before bedtime is not conducive to restful sleep. I'd have to remember that for next time. Also, having a missing boyfriend didn't help matters--although he wasn't really missing, just AWOL.

It was Wednesday, D-Day (Decision Day) for Kip. I was tempted to text or call him, but I was afraid Jayashree still had his phone. What was up with that? I was looking at my phone, wondering how anyone could stand to be so disconnected when it rang. Kip!

"Morning, Sunshine," he said. "Hope you weren't worried about me. I'm in the middle of a project, so I can't talk too long. Everything okay?"

"The number you have reached has been disconnected." I said in a toneless voice.

"Don't be mad, I couldn't help it, I swear! I heard you had a nice chat with Jayashree." He laughed.

"If you're going to fall off the radar, then you're not allowed to make fun of me when you come back. It's one or the other, buddy."

"Okay, sorry. Want to know what I've decided?"

"I'm dying to know!"

"I've decided to do…nothing,"

"Huh?" I was confused.

"They want an answer, but I'm not going to give them one. They can draw their own conclusions," he said.

"Good for you! But what did you decide?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Then he started singing the first line of 'If You Don't Know Me By Now', by Simply Red. He was in good spirits.

"Why are you so happy?" I asked. "Aren't you about to lose your job and career?"

"Let's just say things are looking up. I can't tell you about it until it's over, but I promise I will then."

"I don't like all these secrets." I said, sulking. "I thought we had a relationship based on honesty and trust, one where you agreed to answer all of my questions--even when we're in the middle of a movie theater. What happened to that Kip?"

Kip covered the phone so he could talk to someone. When he came back, he said, "That Kip is still here. Listen, Jamie, I have to go, but don't worry, babe. Everything's going to be fine."

As I put the phone down, I thought: That's the same thing Jayashree said. Something strange was going on and I wished I knew what. I hadn't had the chance to tell Kip about Malcolm, how I was convinced that I-C-U had murdered him. If I'd thought I-C-U was dangerous before, now I was sure of it. I called Kip back and got his voicemail, so I left a message.

Hey again, I forgot to tell you something--Duke traced the money back to Dilly Williams. He's the one who paid Malcolm to spy on us! Duke and I think Malcolm was murdered, but not by Dilly. Whoever the killer is, he's still out there. Please, please be careful. Love you.

I thought about calling the police, but what would I tell them? Malcolm's autopsy had been inconclusive so, as far as the police were concerned, he'd died of natural causes. As for Dilly Williams hiring a P.I. to spy on the Parks Director, at best that was misappropriation of government funds, a white collar crime. Even if I showed them I-C-U's threatening e-mail, it wouldn't make a difference. To them, it would look like just another rant from a crazy person. What we needed was proof. If Duke could trace the e-mail I-C-U had sent me, or the text messages someone had sent to Malcolm, then we might have something. We might have enough to take I-C-U down.

Chapter 33

I had a mediation scheduled for that morning. Mediation is an informal meeting of the parties, their attorneys, and a court-appointed mediator for the purpose of having a settlement conference. All parties in family cases are required to mediate before trial; in other words, they have to at least try to work it out before going to court. In this case, I was the mediator, other times, I'm there as the attorney. For family attorneys, it's a game of musical chairs, moving from the attorney chair to the mediator chair and then back again.

Since I was the mediator that day, I didn't have a horse in the race. In my opening speech, I always explain the rules and do my best to assure the parties that I'm neutral, like Switzerland. If they don't crack a smile at that, I know it's going to be a rough session.

It's funny how I can fight like a dog for my own clients, but when I mediate, I am completely impartial. Somehow I'm able to rise above the squabbling and see both sides, see how their erratic behavior is motivated by anger, guilt, or a sense of betrayal. I understand that when they refuse to split up the DVD collection or walk away from the crystal chandelier; they are simply lashing out. And, just when I think there's no way these parties will ever agree on anything, they do. It's a small miracle each time it happens. If I can't do adoptions every day, then I’ll settle for doing mediations.

I was tired after four hours of mediating. Although I've never done manual labor, I can tell you that using your brain for four hours straight can also be exhausting. After I'd ushered everyone out of my office and wished them luck and a happy life, I sat down to eat a quick bite and return some calls. I saw that I had two missed calls from Grace, which pushed her to the top of the list.

"Hey Gracie, what's up?"

"Hey J, I have some news about your dad…"

I could tell by her voice that it wasn't what I wanted to hear.

"I guess I'm ready," I said. "Just tell me--was it because of his deportation?"

"No, it wasn't," she answered.

That seemed like good news to me.

"I knew it!" I said. "I knew INS wouldn't believe they had a legitimate marriage. It's so unfair! Just because they haven't lived together--"

"Jamie, stop," Grace interrupted. "That's not it either."

"Then, what's the problem?" It felt like my brain was slogging through molasses. I didn't think there were any other possibilities.

"Your dad and Ana Maria don't have a legitimate marriage."

"But, that's what I said…"

"It's not what you think," she said, patiently.

"Then why isn't their marriage legitimate?"

"Because your dad is already married."

Chapter 34

"What you're saying makes no sense," I said, trying to stay calm. "It has to be a mistake, a different Guillermo Franco."

"It's not a mistake, Jamie," Grace said, sympathetically. "I checked. Look, I know it's a shock--"

"You're wrong! There's no way he's married, it's impossible." I started crying.

Grace tried to calm me down.

"Sometimes people don't live up to our expectations, Jamie. It doesn't mean they're bad."

"It does in this case," I said bitterly. "He lied to me and he lied to poor Ana Maria. He wanted that Green Card and he didn't care who got hurt in the process."

"I think you're being too hard on him," Grace said.

"Who is he married to?" I demanded.

"I couldn't get her name, but I'm working on it. I'm sorry, Jamie, I know this is tough. Do you want me to come over tonight and keep you company?"

"No, I'll be okay. Sorry to be such a high-maintenance friend."

Grace gave a little laugh. "We're all high-maintenance some time. Just don't make a habit of it, alright? I'm too busy to start looking for a new BFF."

"Alright," I said, sniffling. "Thanks for everything, Gracie. You're the best."

"You, too. Now, go home and relax. I'll call you tomorrow."

We said good-bye and I walked into the small kitchen next door to grab a coke from the fridge. I returned to my office where I sat down in a client chair, pressed the icy can against my throbbing head and closed my eyes.

I didn't know what to do, I couldn't deal with this. It wasn't my place to tell Ana Maria, but didn't she deserve to know? And if I didn't tell her, who would? The thought of confronting my father was too much to even think about. Everything was falling apart. I wished I lived in an alternate universe where daughters could find their lost fathers and they didn't turn out to be con men. I have no idea how long I sat there in a funk, numb and disappointed, but when I heard people closing up the office to go home, I started gathering my things. I was reaching down to get my purse from the bottom drawer when I sensed someone standing in front of my desk. I was feeling so low at that point I couldn't have cared less who it was; had it been I-C-U in the flesh, I wouldn't have reacted.

I raised my head to find myself gazing into the warmest brown eyes I've ever seen, watching a sweet smile play on perfect lips. He held out his hand to me and I took it.

"I heard what happened," he said. "Grace called me. I'm here to take you home and administer some emergency TLC."

"Kip," I said, "I love you."

"And I love you, babe."

***

"I didn't know you could cook," I said from my perch on the recliner. I took a sip of pinot grigio and reclined all the way back.

"Don't get too excited," Kip said, bustling around in my kitchen. "I'm only making an omelet. But we could call it a 'frittata' if that sounds more gourmet to you."

"Call it what you will, it smells divine."

"So, do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"Not so much."

"Maybe it will help. Okay, I'll start the ball rolling," Kip brought silverware and plates from the kitchen and set the table. "What if it's a mistake? It's possible, right?"

I groaned. "Are we really doing this? I was just starting to relax."

"You're the boss," Kip said, "But maybe you should cut the guy some slack. He's had a life that you can't even begin to imagine."

I righted my recliner and sat up straight. "And that means he's allowed to ruin other people's lives? Like poor Ana Maria?"

"Maybe he forgot he's married," Kip said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes. "Sure, that's it, he forgot. How about you? Did you get married and forget?"

"We'll never know, will we?" he teased.

"Why not?"

"Because I forgot about it!" Kip laughed out loud. Then he rang a little bell he had found on my bookshelf. "Dinner is served, Madame."

I walked over to him carrying a sofa pillow and I swatted him with it.

"That's for forgetting that you're married," I said, giggling.             

He picked up the pillow and swatted me back.

"That's for not reminding me," he said.

As we ate our delicious dinner, he said, "You know, I read somewhere that holding a grudge is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."

"So, what are you saying? That I should pretend everything's okay? I can't do it, Kip."

"No, that's not what I meant. I think you should talk to him, clear the air, or you'll be miserable. And do it soon. That's my advice."

I leaned over and kissed him. "Thanks, Dr. Phil. You're probably right. I should talk to him about it. I'm not sure what I'll say…"

"How about saying--hey, remember that time you got married?"

That cracked me up. It felt good to laugh after all the tension.

"You're a nut! Thanks for the wonderful dinner and the pep talk."

"No charge, it's on the house," he said.

We cleared the table and I started on the dishes. Kip went out to his car to get the presentation he was working on for Friday's commission meeting. He brought in my mail when he came back.

"Kip, did anyone try to contact you today about your decision?"

"Only a dozen calls from Dilly Williams, but I didn't return any of them."             

I shook my head admiringly. "You're something else!"

Kip set his laptop on my kitchen table, then picked up one of the envelopes he'd brought in.

"This looks official," he said. "It's from the Bureau of Vital Statistics."

"That's my birth certificate." I said, loading the dishwasher. "Would you mind opening it and reading it to me?'

"Sure. Wow! Will you look at that?"

"What?" I said.

"You were a big baby! Eight pounds!" He started laughing.

"You're a liar! My weight's not on there. Is it?"

He shook his head and smiled.

"Well then, would you mind telling me what it says under 'father'?" I asked.

"It says, 'Guillermo Franco'. What did you expect it to say?"

"I wasn't sure. You know what that means, don't you?"

"What's that?" Kip answered.

I took a deep breath. "It means that whoever he is and whatever he's done, I'm stuck with him."

Kip came over and gave me a hug. "Looks that way to me, too."

Chapter 35

I awoke Thursday morning with a sense of dread that I couldn't put my finger on. After all, I was cozily ensconced in bed with my sleepy boyfriend on one side and my overweight cat on the other; I should've been happy. Then I remembered--my dad was a bigamist and I planned to call him out for it. I pulled the covers over my head hoping to spend a few more minutes in denial, but no luck. I decided to start the coffee instead.

I let Kip sleep in because he'd stayed up well past one o'clock working on his presentation. I still didn't get how he planned to save his job, but soon all would be revealed, or at least that's what he kept telling me. I was about to throw some breakfast together when I heard Kip grumbling from the bedroom.

"Why didn't you wake me up, Jamie? Now, I'm going to be late."

"Sorry! You looked tired."

The sound of the bathroom door slamming was his response. Five minutes later, he rushed into the kitchen, grabbed his laptop, gave me a peck on the cheek and ran out the door.

"Bye to you, too," I said to myself.

As much as I tended to procrastinate when it came to my work, I knew I couldn't do the same with my dad, not if I ever wanted any peace of mind. Kip was right--it wasn't healthy to bottle up my anger. I was trying to decide whether to call my dad by phone or by Skype. On the one hand, I could hide my feelings better on the phone; on the other hand, so could he, and I wanted to see his face. After all the years I'd spent as an attorney, I could read faces pretty well, even those micro expressions that most people missed. In other words, I knew a liar when I saw one.

Although it was very early, Nicaragua-time, I didn't care. It was now or never. My father answered the Skype call after one ring. He looked the same as ever, curly white hair and bushy eyebrows framing a weathered, but pleasant face.

"Hola mi hija, is everything okay?"

I hadn't thought about what I was going to say.

"Hi Dad, sorry to call so early, but…"

"What's wrong? Are you ill? Is it Ana Maria?"

The concern on his face was genuine; I didn't need special skills to see that.

"We're both fine, I didn't mean to worry you, but I found out why your visa was denied and I wanted to talk to you about it."

"Of course, please, I want to know what happened," he said.

"I'm not sure how to say this…"

"You can tell me anything, Jamie. I hope you know that."

I realized I was holding my breath and let it go. "Alright, here's the problem. Your visa was denied because your marriage to Ana Maria isn't legitimate, you're not really married."

I studied his face for a reaction, but saw only surprise and anger registered there, no guilt or deception.

"What do you mean by that?" He said. "I have a marriage license issued in Managua that says we are married."

He fished around in a drawer behind him and pulled out a piece of paper which he held up to the camera.

"See? It is signed by the proper official and dated two years ago. Why are they doing this to us? If they want to deny my visa, they have that right, but they shouldn't tell lies!"

There was no doubt that he was furious and outraged. It was time to go for broke.

"Dad, they said that you can't be married to Ana Maria because you are already married to someone else."

His anger evaporated, replaced by bewilderment.

"Jamie, they are wrong," he said. 'I am not married to anyone but Ana Maria. Think about it, did this supposed marriage take place in the U.S.? I haven't lived there since I was twenty-one, right before I was deported. I was with your mother then, there was no one else."

Of course! The only marriage INS would pick up on would have to have taken place here. And my dad didn't live here; he hadn't lived here for more than thirty years. I felt stupid for not realizing that on my own, but I was also relieved, so relieved.

"Oh, Dad, you're right, it has to be a mistake. I'm sorry, I should've known. Don't worry--I'll get to the bottom of this."

"Please do that for me," he said. "This must be corrected. Will you do one more thing for me, hija?"

"Anything you need."

"Please don't tell Ana Maria about this, I don't want to worry her. She has enough worries already."

"I won't, Papi." I said. "I promise."

***

I immediately texted Grace to tell her why my dad couldn't possibly be a bigamist. She congratulated me and apologized for putting me through that, for not figuring it out, herself. Two smart lawyers and we'd both missed the obvious; maybe we weren't as smart as we thought. She said she'd try to get a copy of the marriage certificate.

As I drove the short distance to work, I blasted the radio with songs from the 70's, 80's, 90's, and today, singing along when I knew the words and faking it when I didn't. I was in a great mood when I arrived at my office and could hardly believe I was the same person who, just the day before, had thought her world was crashing down around her. Nothing could spoil my good mood, not even when Duke called to say he had traced the e-mails sent to Malcolm. They had come through a shell company in which Benjamin Wolf's company was the majority shareholder. That seemed to point to Benjamin Wolf as I-C-U, but it still didn't feel right to me. Wolf was too loud and blustery, not the type to lie in wait and murder someone, but I supposed he could've hired someone to do it. I told Duke I wanted to talk to Kip before we went to the police and he agreed. It turned out I wasn't the only one in a great mood, Duke finally had the name of the park vandal (it was Jordan Ryder) and had plans to track him down.

The day flew by and it was three o'clock before I knew it. When my cell rang, I didn't recognize the number.

"Hello."

"Is this Jamie?" A female voice inquired, she sounded familiar.

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Jayashree Patel. I'm sorry to bother you, but do you know where Kip is?"

I started laughing. "Good one, Jayashree. Are we taking turns now asking each other where Kip is?"

"No, I'm not playing a joke," she said. "Honestly, I don't know where he is and I'm quite concerned."

I felt my pulse race, and beads of sweat broke out on my upper lip. "Why are you concerned? Did you try his cell?"

"His cell is turned off. Jamie, we need your help, can we meet?"

"I'll meet you wherever you say. What do you mean 'we'?"

"I can't tell you over the phone. Meet me in fifteen minutes on Hollywood Circle by the bandstand."

"I'll be there," I said and hung up.

I was walking out the door when my phone buzzed with an e-mail. I don't know what made me look at it, force of habit, but my heart almost stopped when I read it. I finally had my reply.

TO:  DeadEndJob@Gmail.com

FROM:  I-C-U@Gmail.com

RE: New Job Listing

Opening for Parks Director

Seeking applicants for Director of Broward County Parks. Must be able to follow orders. Independent thinkers need not apply. Vacancy created by unexplained disappearance of current director.                             

Chapter 36

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, I-C-U has Kip!! I couldn't breathe! I took off my shoes and ran from my office all the way to Hollywood Circle three blocks away. I saw Jayashree sitting on a bench and sprinted over to her. Without a word, I handed her my phone so she could read the e-mail from I-C-U. She looked grim and motioned for me to sit.

"But we don't have time for this, we have to go!" I was frantic.

"We don't know where to look yet, just give me three minutes of your time, Jamie."

I sat down and Jayashree launched into her explanation, talking fast and expecting me to keep up.

"For the past year, the Attorney General's office has suspected that certain Broward County elected officials were guilty of corruption and graft, but he had no hard evidence. He decided to set up a sting operation by enlisting a high-ranking county employee. When Kip was hired, they recruited him and he agreed to help."

"What did he have to do?" I asked.

"He had to wear a wire whenever he met with Benjamin Wolf or individual commissioners. We believed that Wolf was bribing certain commissioners, not just donating to their campaigns. We also set up a trap for Quincy Graves to determine if he was working for Wolf."

"Was that the day I overheard you talking to Kip in his office?" I interrupted. "The day Quincy almost ran me over?"

"Yes," she said. "He took the bait and passed the false information on to Wolf."

"What's your role in this? Do you work for the Attorney General?"

"No, I work for a different agency. I'm on assignment from DC."

"DC? Wait, are you FBI?"

She nodded and then continued. "Our team managed to catch one commissioner accepting a bribe, but then made no further progress. We needed to come up with an alternate way to force their hand, so we had Kip refuse to 'play ball' on the Sapphire Sky Tower project. Now it looks like we pushed too hard. Someone really doesn't want Kip at that meeting tomorrow."

"So, where is he?" I demanded. "Do you have any idea?"

She shook her head. "At 2:30, he got a call about a park emergency he said he had to take care of. He told his assistant the park was twenty-five minutes from the office. Since we had been tracking the GPS on his phone and car at all times, we weren't concerned, but twenty minutes ago they were both disabled."

I was about to have a nervous breakdown, I swear. I told her about I-C-U as fast as I could get the words out--how he'd hired a P.I. named Malcolm Armstrong to spy on us and then murdered Malcolm at the Ren-Fest while disguised as a jester. I told her about the first e-mail he'd sent me warning Kip to back off. I told her how the e-mails sent to Malcolm came from one of Wolf's companies and how the money used to pay Malcolm came from county funds authorized by Commissioner Dilly Williams. She nodded at the mention of Dilly's name. I was sure he was the one taking bribes.

"Do you think Benjamin Wolf is I-C-U? Does he have Kip?" I asked.

Jayashree shook her head again. They were watching Wolf so they knew he was currently in his office downtown. She told me she had tried to compile a list of all parks within a twenty-five minute drive of Kip's office, but there were too many.

I was racking my brain, trying to come up with something, anything, but all I could think of was how Kip refused to play ball....play ball, why was that stuck in my brain? Who did I know who played ball? Joey did, Joey the coffee guy whose face had been smashed with a softball, probably by I-C-U. He had left me a message! I rummaged through my purse until I found the scrap of paper his sister had given me. It said: river grass the boat it's the boat. What if he was referring to a park with a river? Think Jamie! I wrote down all the parks we had ever been to and all the ones I knew the names of. River and grass, river…River of grass was another name for the Everglades!! Kip and I had been to Everglades Holiday Park; we had ridden the airboat there. I quickly googled it and found it was exactly twenty-five minutes from Kip's office. Jayashree agreed that it was our best bet so we took off in her car. She drove like a maniac, but we made it there in one piece and drove straight to the airboat rental area.

We got out and Jayashree motioned for me to be quiet and follow her. We walked past a small building that housed the bathrooms. As we rounded the corner I heard someone hiss at me in a low voice.

"Jamie, over here."

Jayashree moved quickly, sneaking up behind the person and drawing her gun all in one smooth motion.

"Who the hell are you?" asked an indignant voice I knew all too well.

I came around the corner and said, "Duke! What are you doing here?"

I don't think I'd ever been happier to see anyone in my life. I turned to Jayashree and said, "Can you please stop pointing your gun at my friend?"

Jayashree put the gun away and Duke took a good look at her. He’d probably never seen a gorgeous Indian FBI agent before. I knew I hadn't. Duke, who was crouching on the ground, looked up at me in confusion.

"You want to know what I'm doing here? I'm following the park vandal, like I told you I would. The question is--what are you doing here? And who's the lady with the itchy trigger finger?"

I told him she was FBI, that Kip had gone missing and that we thought I-C-U had set a trap for him, tricking him into coming to the park.

"It can't be a coincidence," Duke muttered.

"What can't?" Jayashree asked.

"I'm here, you're here--the park vandal must be involved in all this."

It made sense, but still brought us no closer to finding Kip.

"We need to get over to the airboats," I said. "There's nowhere else to hide in this park."

And it was true. The river of grass stretched for miles in every direction; the only trees were occasional tall palms that provided no shade or cover at all. The three of us ducked low and made our way cautiously towards the docked boats, stopping behind the closest one on the end. To our surprise, there was a girl standing on the boat looking into the distance through a pair of high-powered binoculars. She was a strange mix of Goth and Biker Chick. I couldn't tell what look she was going for with her bizarre tattoos, multiple face piercings and purple hair cut short and spiky. She clearly knew we were there, but took her time turning around. When she finally did, she looked directly at Duke.

"Hey Dufus, why are you following me?"

Chapter 37

"Following you?" Duke sputtered. "I'm not--wait a minute--don't tell me you're Jordan Ryder?"

"Yup," Goth Girl said, "that's me.

"You're the park vandal?" Duke stared at her in disbelief.

"I prefer the term 'performance artist'," she said, needling him.

Jayashree was all business. "I have to ask you what you're doing here."

"This is my park. I come here every day to watch the birds," Jordan said, without a hint of sarcasm.

"How is this your park?" Duke asked.

"I used to run it. Yeah, I worked here for a year and a half--until I got fired by that D-bag, Kip Simons." She wore a look of disdain.

"What are you looking at now?" I asked. "Birds?"

She sized me up, deciding whether to answer. "Someone's trying to steal a boat over there," she said, pointing. "But they won't get far."

She went back to looking through her binoculars.

My heart was racing so fast I thought I'd have a heart attack. Was Kip over there?

"Why won't they get far?" I asked.

"Because I siphoned off all the gas," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Listen, Jordan," I said, "I think my boyfriend is on that boat with a killer. Can you help us? Please?"

I was trying to hold it together, but I just kept picturing Malcolm sprawled on the ground, tasered to death. If I wanted this girl's help, I couldn't tell her it was Kip I was looking for--not with the way she felt about him. I knew she had vandalized at least a dozen parks to in his honor. But, when she didn't respond to my question, I wondered if she'd heard me. I was so rattled by that point that I wasn't sure if I'd said it aloud or just thought I had. A minute later, Jordan put down the binoculars and started digging through a graffitied backpack at her feet. Her tufted violet hair, rustling in the wind, seemed to take on a life of its own, like some exotic sea creature. She pulled a black baseball cap out of the backpack and stuck it on her head, effectively covering all of the purple; it was as if the creature had dived into the murky ocean. She then pulled out a can of bug spray and an unopened can of soda, both of which she shoved into the pockets of her windbreaker. She stood up and turned to face us.

"Okay, I'm in," she said, "but we're doing this my way." Then she looked at me. "Sorry, not you, you're in meltdown."

Then she handed the boat key to Duke and whispered something in his ear. He nodded.

"I can do that," he said. "I always wanted to try one of these babies."

She pulled Jayashree aside and they had a discussion out of my hearing. I saw Jayashree nodding her head in agreement. Then, to my surprise, Jordan jumped off the boat and started walking away, towards the farthest boat.

"Please tell me what's happening!" I said.

Duke was staring at his watch. "You'll find out in three minutes, Darlin'. Just hang in there."

Once Jordan had reached her destination, I grabbed the binoculars to see what was going on. I saw her talking to someone on the boat, as if she were asking directions. Suddenly, she jumped on the boat and threw the can of soda on the deck, where it exploded. Then she sprayed bug spray into the man's eyes and I saw him fall to his knees. At that same moment, Duke started the airboat engine, which was unbelievably noisy, and headed towards the other boat. The last time I'd been on an airboat was with Kip and I'd been wearing ear protection; luckily, we didn't have far to go. Duke pulled up next to the other boat where a man, who was a stranger to me, was doubled over, rubbing his eyes and screaming in pain. I saw Jordan bent over someone lying prone on the deck. She checked his pulse and motioned for me to come over. Duke cut the motor so that Jayashree and I could jump on board. Jayashree pulled her gun on the groaning man and I rushed over to Jordan. Behind her, silent and unmoving, lay Kip.

Chapter 38

Please be alright please be alright, I chanted silently as I knelt beside him. I touched his face, he felt warm and his color was good. He was breathing normally, just unconscious. He started to stir and I kissed his forehead. Oh, thank God…

"You didn't tell me your boyfriend is Kip Simons," Jordan said, in an accusing tone.

"Would you have helped me?" I asked.

"Maybe," she laughed, "If it meant I got to kick this guy's ass," she said, pointing behind her. She bent down and picked up something shiny.

"Do these belong to lover boy?" She held up a pair of wire-rim glasses.

I gasped. Jayashree and Duke understood immediately.

"This man is Daniel Wolf. He's also I-C-U," Jayashree said.

"You're the bastard who killed Malcolm!" Duke snarled, giving him a sharp kick in the side. "Why did you do it?"

Wolf's response was to give him a contemptuous look. Then he spat on Duke's shoes. It looked like Duke might kick him again, but he didn't. I think Duke was afraid that once he got started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Jayashree told Wolf to empty his pockets; since she was aiming a gun at him, he complied. I watched him, studying his face, but saw nothing remarkable there, no clue to indicate that he was a psychopath. From his thinning hair to his weak chin to his average build, he looked so normal, so ordinary. I think that was the most frightening thing of all--at least in my nightmares, the monsters looked like monsters.

Wolf started to pull a Taser out of his pocket--I recognized it from my research--but Jayashree ordered him to freeze. She had Duke remove the weapon instead, just in case Wolf was crazy enough to try to taser her. I'm not sure why Wolf had spared Kip from Malcolm's fate. Maybe he only wanted to keep Kip from going to the commission meeting. Or maybe he'd planned to drown Kip in the river and make it look like an accident…

I heard a police siren in the distance. Although I hadn't seen her do it, Jayashree must've called them. When Jordan heard the noise, she quickly moved toward the other airboat, the one that had gas.

"You need to stay and answer some questions," Jayashree said to her.

"Like hell I do!" she answered. "You want to arrest me."

"Wait!" Jayashree said. "Before you do something drastic, like spray us all with bug spray, I have a question for you."

Curiosity got the best of her and she stopped. "What is it?"

"You have some remarkable skills," Jayashree said, "have you ever considered a career with the FBI?"

Jordan was taken aback. "You're trying to trick me. You think I'm the park vandal."

"Even if that were true," Jayashree said, "and I'm sure it's not, your actions today would more than make up for any silly pranks you may or may not have pulled. Besides," she said, "I like your style."

Then she smiled at Goth Girl a/k/a Jordan, a/k/a the artist formerly known as 'Park Vandal'.

Jordan decided to stay.

Chapter 39

Kip woke up just as the paramedics arrived.

"Hey babe, what did I miss?" he asked, still groggy.

"You're awake!" I squealed. "Welcome back, sweetie. Let's see, what did you miss? Well, we caught I-C-U, ID'd the park vandal, taught Duke how to drive an airboat, and I met my first FBI agent. So, just a typical day."

"Sorry I missed it. I guess I really needed a nap. I don't know what happened to me."

Duke walked over to us. "How ya feelin', man? You must've been tasered."

I shook my head. "Nope, tasering immobilizes you, but it doesn't knock you out.  This was something else."

Jayashree came over to us. Wolf had been taken away by then.

"Hey Kip," she said, "sorry we lost track of you, but you shouldn't have gone off on your own. You Americans all think you're Bruce Willis in 'Die Hard', why is that?"

Kip laughed. "Yeah, I screwed up. I thought it was the park vandal again. Where is he, by the way? I've got to meet him."

"Typical chauvinist," Jordan said, from the opposite side of the boat, where she'd been watching us. "Anything clever or inspired, then a man must've done it."

"Whoa!" Kip was clearly not expecting a pierced, tattooed girl with purple hair to be standing there. 'Who are you?"

"Perfect!" She said, walking over to us. "You ruin my life and you don't even know who I am. I'm Jordan Ryder and I used to run this park, until you fired me."

Kip looked puzzled. "I didn't fire you. It must've been your supervisor--although I'm sure he blamed me for it."

"Yes, she did blame you," Jordan replied. "I shouldn't have believed her; she lied about everything all the time. Okay, I guess you're forgiven." Then she laughed and we could see that her tongue was pierced, too.

"Jordan saved your life," I pointed out. "It turns out that superheroes always wear bright colors, that way they're easy to recognize."

Kip smiled and thanked her. Just then, an officer walked over to Jayashree and handed her a plastic bag marked as evidence.

"Look what was in Wolf's car," she said. "It's a bottle of chloroform. And this was under the seat."

I recognized it immediately. It was a purple and green Mardi Gras mask, purchased at Party City and last worn by an evil jester with pale hands.

***

Two days later, I was sitting in Kip's office and he was filling me in on the latest.

"Okay," I said. "I get that Daniel Wolf hired Malcolm to spy on us, but how did he convince Dilly Williams to embezzle the money to pay for it?"

"By pretending to be his father," Kip said. "Dilly was one of the commissioners taking bribes, so he did anything Benjamin Wolf told him to. All Daniel had to do was convince Dilly that Benjamin had ordered it."

"Wasn't Benjamin in on it?"

"No, he had no idea his son was a psychopath. Benjamin was bribing Dilly Williams and two other commissioners, but he claims he didn't know what Daniel was up to. He thought Daniel was just a book-smart geek. All Benjamin ever wanted was for Daniel to 'man up' so he could take over the business someday."

"The lesson is, be careful what you wish for," I said.

"You're not kidding."

I had another question. "What was Quincy's role in this?" I knew there was a reason I'd instantly despised him.

"Quincy was working for Benjamin and had been for years. Quincy was his man on the inside. Benjamin had promised him the director's job, my job, when the previous director retired, but then the Attorney General and the FBI got involved and the county was told to choose an outsider. Of course, Benjamin didn't know about the sting operation."

"What will happen with Sapphire Sky Tower now?"

Kip smiled broadly. "It's been rejected. The wetlands will remain in their natural state. All that work I did on my report was for nothing."

I nodded. "See? I told you it was a big waste of time. And what about the Ren-Fest, is it back on?"

Kip nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, it's on, baby! But with one small, actually large difference."

"What?"

"No elephant," he said. "Taj's trainer said he won't be bringing her back here again."

"PETA must be happy."

"Oh yeah," Kip said, "And 'St. Joseph' is taking all the credit for it. So, with the Ren-Fest back on, it looks like I'll be getting that chocolate-covered bacon after all."

"You're dreaming," I said.  "But don't worry, I'll think of some way to make it up to you."

And then I kissed him to seal the deal.

Chapter 40

"I solved the mystery," Grace said, when I picked up the phone a few hours later.

After what I'd just been through with Kip, her choice of words struck me as funny and I laughed.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I'll tell you later," I said. "What mystery did you solve?"

"How many are there, Jamie? You know, your dad?"

"Sorry, of course! I can't wait to hear what you found out." I said.

"Do you want the good news, or the really good news?" Grace was excited.

"However you want to tell me," I said. I was getting excited, too.

"Okay, here's the first part: INS did make a mistake: your dad is legally married to Ana Maria."

"That's great!"

"But the INS mistake hasn't been fixed yet."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"INS still believes your dad is married to his first wife."

"Wha-at? What first wife are you talking about? He said he's only been married once."

"He's wrong." Grace said, smugly.

"He's lying?"

"No, just wrong. The reason he's legally married to Ana Maria now is that his first wife died about a year before he married Ana Maria. INS is unaware of that death and that's why they believe his current marriage isn't legal."

"But Grace," I said, starting to pace around my office. "He hasn't lived in the States for over thirty years, remember? When would he have gotten married?"

"I'll give you a hint. Before he left."

"You're killing me, Gracie! Please tell me what you're talking about."

"Alright, I won't torture you anymore," she said with a laugh. "Here's what happened. The month before your dad was deported he went to Texas to attend a rally. He'd been in the country on a student visa, but since he had dropped out of school, his visa was invalid. That was a problem if he wanted to stay in the country, but the good old State of Texas had a solution. Thirty-five years ago, it was legal in Texas to get married by proxy, meaning one of the people didn't even have to be there. The missing person could just fill out the paperwork, have it notarized and mail it in."

"You mean, you could get married 'in absentia'?" I was confused.

"Yup. And that's exactly what he did. His girlfriend was nice enough to help him out. Even though she was still in Florida…"

"My mother?"

"Yes Ma'am. Your father married Susan Quinn thirty-five years ago."

"Oh my God! This is impossible! This is fantastic! How does he not know he married my mother?"

"Not sure," Grace said. "It may not have been his idea. I mean, maybe the political leaders arranged it for him. And your mother clearly didn't know either. Yes, she signed the form, but I bet she never saw the marriage certificate. She must've assumed it didn't go through."

"I can't wait to tell him!"

Then I thought of something that squelched my euphoria.

"But this doesn't fix the problem," I said.

"What do you mean? Of course it fixes the problem, Jamie."

"No it doesn't. Even after we tell INS that my mom died, they'll probably deny the visa anyway. My dad and Ana Maria have never lived together."

"Oh, I guess you're right," Grace said, deflated. "Too bad your dad isn't listed on your birth certificate."

"But he is listed," I said. "I got a copy in the mail the other day."             

Grace shrieked. "That means you're legitimate, Jamie! Congratulations, it's a baby girl! YOU can apply for your dad's visa! All you need is your birth certificate and a copy of your parents' marriage certificate. Which I just happen to have."

Chapter 41

It was that time again, time to take Duke out for dinner as a thank-you for all his help. It's not that I didn't enjoy our dinners, because I did, I just wished he'd let me pay him for his detective work. To make matters worse, he wouldn't agree to go anywhere 'fancy'; he wanted down home cookin', as he put it. That's how we ended up at Catfish Dewey's for 'all you can eat shrimp' night. Or, in my case, 'all you can't eat shrimp'. I didn't mind because they had the best hush puppies in town (maybe the only hush puppies in town), as well as stuffed jalapeno peppers and fried mushrooms. Basically, anything that might've been healthy to start with, they felt the need to bread and fry. They couldn't help themselves.

"I do have one request," I said to Duke once we were seated in the booth.

"What's that, Darlin'?"

"Can you not order the frog legs? I think I'd have to get up and leave…"

Duke thought that was hilarious. "And how do you feel about gator?"

"Uh, the same--totally grossed out."

"Then which of God's creatures don't offend you?" He was still laughing pretty hard.

"I don't know, I guess it's silly to draw the line at one thing and not the other--but, seriously, no frog legs."

The waitress brought our beers and a bowl of hush puppies and we dug in.

"I do miss the hoedowns they used to have here," Duke said, wistfully. He was leaning against the wall of the booth, one booted foot on the seat, totally at ease.

"Yeah, I'm sure that added to the ambience," I said, trying to imagine all that hootin' and hollerin' while people tried to eat their dinners.

Duke's expression turned serious then and he raised his glass, "To Malcolm."

I clinked glasses with him. "To Malcolm."

Duke looked over at me, amused. "You know, there's never a dull moment hanging around you. How do you get mixed up in so much murder and mayhem all the time? Your cousin, your client, your boyfriend--you sure know how to pick 'em, girl!" He laughed.

"I don’t get it, either," I admitted. "But, just to clarify, I didn't pick my cousin. My family came as a package deal."

"Well, at this rate, you might as well be a criminal attorney," Duke joked.

"Never gonna happen. So, will you going back to the Ren-Fest?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, I thought I'd take Candy there. She'd like it."

"If you both dress up as pirates, I'll need a picture!" I teased, taking a sip of beer. "How are things going for you two? If you don't mind me asking."

Duke looked thoughtful. "Great, except…"

"I'm listening."

"She's talking about getting married again. Jamie, I'm just not the marrying kind."

I almost snorted beer through my nose, I was laughing so hard.

"Duke--if you're not the marrying kind, I don't know who is! You've been married three times, you must like getting married, right?"

"Wrong. Well, I like gettin' married, but I hate gettin' divorced, and somehow one always leads to the other."

"I don't know what to tell you, Duke. Just be honest with her," I said.

"Yeah, that's good advice. How are you and the park ranger doing? If you don't mind me asking." He gave me a knowing grin.

I rolled my eyes. "Same old Duke! Kip's doing great and life is back to normal, whatever that is. He's been embroiled in this park mess since the day he started as director. I'm not sure how he'll manage without a park vandal, corrupt commissioners and a homicidal maniac on the loose. He might get bored."

"Not with you around, I'll wager."

I was touched and flattered until Duke finished his thought.

"You’ll always find trouble, if it doesn't find you first."

I gave him the stink eye. "Oh, just be quiet and eat your frog legs."

Chapter 42

"Papi, have you ever been to Texas?"

My father looked at me curiously. Our Skype connection was a good one this time. He could've been sitting in my kitchen, drinking coffee with me that Sunday morning.

" Sí, but it was so many years ago. Why do you ask?"

I was enjoying this little game. "Did anything, um, unusual happen there?"

"As I remember, there was a problem with my visa and I had to do some paperwork."

"Did that paperwork include an application for a marriage license?" I asked.

"My leader in the movement talked about doing some kind of pretend marriage so I could stay. I signed some papers, but nothing happened," he said, clearly puzzled by my questions.

"What if I told you something did happen? What if I told you that you got married that day?" I couldn't stop smiling.

"Dios mio!" He jumped up from his chair. "Married? Who did I marry? This is terrible!"

"Dad," I said, "You can relax. It's not terrible, it’s wonderful. You married mom. You did it by proxy, which means she didn't have to be there. She just had to sign the papers and send them to you. How about that?"

He looked so shocked, it worried me. I wasn't trying to give the man a heart attack. For several minutes, he sat there not saying a word, just staring at the floor, lost in thought. Finally, he looked up.

"Is this true, Jamie?"

I nodded.

"Did your mother know we were married?"

I shook my head.

He hesitated. "Am I married to Ana Maria now?"

I nodded again.

He smiled broadly. "This is wonderful! Although it doesn't change anything, it still makes me happy to know I married your mother when I had the chance. Thank-you for that gift, hija," he said, with tears in his eyes.

"But I haven't given you the gift yet!" I laughed. "Since I am now your legitimate daughter, I can apply for your visa. What do you say to that, Papi?"

The tears were flowing freely now, for both of us. Then I asked, "Did Ana Maria tell you to buy something special at the grocery store?"

He nodded.

"If you go get it now, I will, too," I said.

When we had both returned to our seats, we were holding the same thing, an ice cream cone with a scoop of ice cream.

"What flavor is yours?" I asked.

"Chocolate. Is yours mint chip?" He was grinning like a little kid.

"Yup. Are you ready?"

He nodded again.

"Okay," I said. "1, 2, 3, go!"

So, that's how I finally got to have ice cream with my dad. Next time, I'm buying.