*****Author's notes*****

Thank you to the great writer Sue Shay for beta-reading and insights! I recommend all of Sue's work, and in particular the "Reds and Blues" collection of short pieces was an inspiration for this story.

I do not own the TV show The Mentalist. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only. I get no compensation from it.

*****It's a Mystery*****

Everyone had just arrived at work when Teresa Lisbon walked into the bullpen.

"We gotta go. We just caught a murder Alton Bluff State Park. It's at a campsite three miles off the road," she said.

Cho, Rigsby, and Van Pelt immediately pulled their gear together and headed toward the elevator. On the other hand, Patrick Jane remained motionless on the couch. Lisbon walked over to stand above him.

"Come on, Jane. Let's go."

"Nay, I think I'll stay here."

"Jane!"

"If you need me Lisbon, I'll be at the other end of the cell phone. You can do quite well without me."

"What's the real reason you won't come?"

"If Brook Brothers made hiking shoes, I'd go. But they don't so I'm not."

With a look of disgust Lisbon turned and left Jane alone.

After a short nap, Jane awoke to…nothing. Silence hung over the bullpen, and there was little noise elsewhere on the floor. He began to regret staying at CBI but he quickly shoved that thought away. Surely there was something to occupy his time.

Walking around the bullpen he looked for anything to fight off boredom. Nothing stood out until his eyes came to rest on Cho's desk. There sat the latest book he was reading, something called Murder at Bleak Bluff.

Jane usually admired Cho's taste in reading; many a time in recent weeks Jane had "borrowed" some book that he had left on his desk. Really he had meant to return all those books. Really he did. They were all sitting in a pile up in Jane's attic lair. Besides, if Cho missed the books he could guess where they were and retrieve them. At least that's what Jane told himself as he picked up yet another book off Cho's desk and wandered upstairs.

Once in the attic, Jane opened Murder at Bleak Bluff to the first page:

"Inspector Evercrisp arrived at the Bleak Bluff Inn amid the worst gale to hit the coast in years."

Jane's first reaction was "meh" but he kept reading.

"Lady Hawthorne kissed him with a passion that knew no bounds."

How many times had Jane read something trite like that? Too many times to remember. Why was Cho reading this book? It seemed so beneath Cho's intellect. Still, there was nothing better to do.

"Evercrisp struggled to free himself from the hands of his masked assailant as the pressure applied to his throat squeezed the breath out of him."

Well, the story was getting a little better. At least there was some action.

A buzz signaled a text message from Van Pelt on Jane's phone: "Need a consult on position of body - 8 feet above ground in tree!"

Now that's interesting, Jane thought as he felt a tinge of regret again that he didn't go out with the team. Still, the book was getting good and he didn't want to put it down. He'd get back to Van Pelt when he reached a stopping point.

"With a pivot of his body, Evercrisp dodged the thug then watched as the man toppled over the cliff and crashed lifeless on the rocks below."

Well, this Evercrisp fellow was a mix of sleuth, seducer, and scrapper all in one overwritten package. Yet Jane gave the writer credit. The story, as silly as it was, had him hooked.

"When Evercrisp emptied the bucket from the well, the bloody knife tumbled out on the ground."

The murder weapon in the well? Ha! How could the weapon still be bloody if it had been left in the water for three days? Plot hole! Yet, yet - the story did have its charms. It was a harmless way to pass the time with no one around.

Another buzz signaled another text message, this time from Rigsby: "Need a consult on weapon used - crossbow!"

Huh! That tinge of regret returned full force. Jane was not about to admit any guilty feelings to anyone else, but missing out on a real mystery - remote crime scene, bizarre position of the body, ancient murder weapon - began to eat at him. He would get back to Rigsby and Van Pelt soon enough; he was just pages from the end of Cho's book and it wouldn't take long. He justified it to himself - if something at the crime scene was really, really important Lisbon would call him. He would answer for her. The others could wait just a little longer for him to get to the end of the book.

"Evercrisp eyed the three men in front of him - the gardner Gallworth, the butler Hedgesmythe, and the lawyer Farnham. 'One of you killed Squire Nevels, and the one who did is…'"

Despite the plot holes, the book had kept Jane turning pages all morning long. Of course the butler could have done it, but having Hedgesmythe commit the murder would be too cliche. Yet he did have motive. On the other hand, the story had portrayed Gallworth as the kindly, loyal employee who put up with Nevels' antics for years - just the kind of character to snap one day in the heat of anger. Then there was the lawyer. Nevels had uncovered Farnham's deceit on the land deal. Who dunnit? Jane had no idea.

Jane had reached the bottom of page 225, the next-to-last page. It felt kind of stiff and unnatural, but that probably came from the age of the book. With relish he flipped the page then recoiled in horror. A thin layer of liquid paper coated all of page 226. Scrawled across it were five words: "Don't steal my stuff, Jane."

****Author's notes*****

Thank you for reading the story, and I look forward to hearing from you.