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How Sweet It Is or Finding The End of the Rainbow

Chapter 1

"Sara! Are you awake?" The masculine voice seemed to rumble with assurance that she would give him the desired answer.

"Yes, sure. I'm awake. What's going on?" Sara answered before her eyes were open, managing, as she frequently did, to press 'answer' before the ring note sounded for longer than five seconds. She always gave the same answer and her supervisor never questioned her response. Even today—her first scheduled day off in ten days—she gave her standard answer, instantly waking from a deep sleep.

Keeping the phone pressed to her ear, she slowly rolled over in bed and snuggled against her husband. Gently, he pulled her into his arms, made a low humming sound, and placed a kiss on her forehead as she answered questions from the caller.

"Give me thirty minutes and I'll be ready," she said as she ended the call. She spread her hand across the chest of her waking spouse. "Sorry, dear, work calls. D.B. says they are slammed—six car pile-up involving a bunch of politicians, a home invasion with a death, two teenagers killed in a road rage, and day shift hasn't gone home yet—you know how it goes."

"When it rains it pours." Gil Grissom mumbled; he knew her work as well, having a long career in it until he walked into retirement and to another career. "I'll make coffee. Where are you going?"

Instead of getting out of bed, Sara snuggled closer, kissing his cheek. She sighed, "I so wanted four days off—maybe this will be quick. D.B. said its two older people. Maybe murder-suicide—a neighbor called it in and a deputy is on his way out there. West of Pahrump, in those hills off Sagebrush Road—D.B. is afraid he can't find the place—it's not on his GPS."

Grissom shifted so he could hold her closer and gave an amused chuckle. "That's a confusing area—driveways turn off driveways. Back to nature old hippies and survivalists." He moved his hands along her bare back. "Did you get any sleep?"

Sara nodded. "Good, after great sex sleep," she giggled. "I love having you home," she said as she placed a kiss near his ear.

For several long minutes, they remained in bed enjoying the warmth of each other. Grissom's mouth moved gently from her forehead to her cheek to her chin and finally to her mouth where his tender touch turned into a seriously intense passionate kiss. Pulling away, he whispered, "I'll make coffee before your boss has to wait at the curb while we…"

Sara laughed quietly as she placed her hands on either side of his face. "You can stay in bed. Dream of me for a while." As she pushed up from the bed, Grissom's hand caught her breast and caressed it, running a thumb over her nipple.

"I'll be here when you return," he said with a smile. "And I'll make coffee."

Twenty minutes later, Sara's phone chimed. Her supervisor was outside. With a brief kiss, running her fingers through his white curls, she left her husband standing in the kitchen. She could have sworn man and dog made the same poignant sound as she closed the door.

Settling into the seat, Sara appreciated D.B.'s thoughtfulness; he handed her warm bagels and a cup of coffee when she got into his vehicle. Both laughed.

"Husband must be home if you have a cup of coffee at this hour," he chuckled as she clicked her seatbelt.

"He is—for two or three weeks."

D.B. quickly drove out of the city, avoiding the massive back-up on the interstate by following Sara's directions, passing storage warehouses that seemed to sprout up overnight. He nodded toward a multi-storied building. "Do you ever wonder what people put in those places?"

"I try not to think about it—seen too many hoarders—so I try to keep my possessions to a minimum." She chewed on a bagel for a minute. "Years ago, we had a case—a bizarre one even for Vegas—where a charlatan used one of these places for doing surgery."

D.B. groaned.

"And there was another case of a teacher—photography teacher at one of the high schools—used one as a studio. She ended up killing herself after some of her students died—involved in hazing, if I remember correctly." She sighed. "There's been so many…"

"A time to live and a time to die," D.B. said quietly.

"When it's your time, it's your time."

A few minutes later, D.B. said, "I hate to pull you away when Dr. Grissom is home."

"He understands." Sara swallowed the last of her coffee from home and reached for the second cup. "We—we have a great marriage, just unconventional. Unlike you and your wife who have always lived together, Gil and I have not lived together for most of our married life." Quietly, she laughed. "Truth be told, I wish he would stay but I can't ask him to give up a life-long dream—and most of the time it works great." Sara stopped talking, took a sip of coffee, deciding she had revealed enough about her personal life.

"And sometimes you go with him—I really do appreciate your willingness to work."

Changing the direction of their conversation, Sara asked about the case.

D.B. related what he knew. "A neighbor called it in. Said the wrong lights were on—or off—and the horse was making noise. After finding a broken window, he used a flashlight to look into the house. Sounded like he was very upset—woman tied up on the floor and blood everywhere and he knew the man was dead. And that's all I know." He fumbled a hand inside his pocket. "Here are directions."

They passed landmarks and drove west of Pahrump on a twisting paved road. When both thought they had passed the turnoff and were lost, Sara spotted the reflective markings of a deputy's car.

"There he is!"

The man was leaning against the car and waved as they came to a stop.

"Sorry to be so long," D.B. told the deputy.

"My partner is at the house but I called for backup—it's bad." He shook his head, "I didn't touch anything and backed out as quickly as possible. But it's no murder-suicide, that I know."

The deputy got in his car, made a fast turn, and swung ahead of D.B. and Sara on a gravel driveway that soon became little more than a dirt path. Six or seven mailboxes later, the deputy's car turned again. The driveway consisted of parallel ruts several inches deep. After a mile they were there—two sandy-brown colored houses about two hundred yards apart. One had every light turned on; the other was dark except for one lighted window. Yellow tape had been stretched around the house and included most of what passed as a yard. As the two vehicles came to a stop, an old man came hurrying toward them.

Sara noticed he walked with a limp, as if one knee bothered him. As soon as the old man reached them, she knew something truly unpleasant had happened—the man's eyes shone with a horror that could not be imaginary.

"I opened the door—I opened the door and went inside! I had to do it—Janice was alive—I heard her moaning when I had the flashlight at the window." His words were rushed, agitated, and then he started to cry.

The deputy's partner was behind the old man and calmly placed an arm around the frail shoulders, directing the man back to his house. Sara glanced at the house as she and D.B. walked to the dark house and knew she saw the white nightgown of a woman inside the lighted house. She wondered if the old couple would ever sleep again in their own home.

Both of them snapped on gloves before they reached the door.

"It's carnage in there," the deputy said quietly.

D.B. nodded and indicated the man remain outside. He said to Sara, "Booties—keep from tracking in new stuff."

They used each other for support as they placed covers over shoes. At the same time, Sara took in their surroundings. A small kitchen painted green, neat, clean, the necessities of living for two people who needed little of the modern day appliances; the metal coffee pot was unplugged, a phone with a curled cord hung on the wall, an old black skillet on a green stove top.

The house smelled old, she thought. As D.B. pushed the door closed, the odor of rusty iron drifted up her nose. Blood, she thought, lots of blood in this small isolated house.

A/N: Thanks for reading!