When we got back to the houseboat, we engaged in our second non-sexy shower business meeting. This time, however, we were naked. Being naked in the shower with Joe in his cop mode was a first. And it was twice in one day that I had been in the shower with Joe and his focus wasn't on me. When he handed me a towel and left me standing there, dripping in the tub with that stupid, disbelieving look on my face, I knew I was no longer the girlfriend. I was now the wife. The old ball and chain. We were truly married.

Thirty minutes later, we were downtown at the Trenton PD. Joe used to work with Tom Bell, who was still a homicide detective. We sat casually across from Bell in his office. Joe left out certain details like gold, tunnels, and a dead body, letting Bell assume we were just fishing for a client. Sometimes there was reward money for locating a missing person. Bell printed off a list for us and we made small talk for about ten minutes before saying goodbye.

We looked over the list while digging into our favorite Italian meatball subs at Pino's. Richie Biglow was tending bar. It was early and he didn't have any customers, so he brought three beers to our table and joined us. Richie was a member of my team from my bounty hunter days. His contribution was his gift of gab. As a bartender, people would talk to him, and he tended to hear things even before the infamous Burg grapevine.

Richie gave me a big smile as he sat down. "So, what are Trenton's newest PI's up to these days? Are you working a case?"

"Sort of," Joe mumbled around the meatball he was chewing.

"We're working on working on a case," I explained.

"Got nothing, eh?" Richie laughed.

"I'm working on it," Joe growled.

I took the list from Joe and handed it to Richie. "You want to help?" I asked.

"Sure." Richie rubbed his chin stubble as he looked thoughtfully up and down the list. "Well, if you're looking for easy money, you should check Stark Street for little Miss Moneybags here," he said, pointing to a photo of an aristocratic looking young lady, late teens, early 20's. "Margaret Stapleton. She's a bit of a coke head and she can afford to be one for a very long time," he said with an airy whistle. "I expect she's just holed up where no one can find her. When they do, they'll ship her off to rehab again, and then back to some European boarding school," he mused.

"You don't think she's been abducted?" I asked, surprised.

"If she were being held for ransom, the FBI would be involved already. Even if she were dead, smart guys would still ask for a ransom. No, whoever is hiding her is being paid to keep it quiet. I'm certain her parents would pay top dollar for her safe return, no questions asked."

"Good to know," I said, glancing over at Joe. He was just shaking his head in disgust as he reached for his beer.

"The not-so-easy money is on Judge Jack O'Brien. Missing Federal Court Judges tend to get noticed. He's probably dead, but no one has found the body. The wife wants him properly planted." Richie leaned closer to whisper, "because until he is, she can't claim the insurance money. She'll pay, dead or alive."

Joe snorted. "Some of the attorneys been here for a few rounds?" he asked.

"He was having an affair with the court stenographer," Richie explained. "She was pretty broken up about it."

My eyebrows shot up into my forehead. "Do you think the wife found out and killed him?"

"Nah," Richie shook his head. "I doubt the wife even cared. She has been involved with the next door neighbor for 10 years now."

Joe shook his head in disgust again. "That's just not right," he said, trying not to laugh.

"Not everyone is as happily married as you two," Richie said, winking at us as he got up to return to the bar. He finally had a customer. Joe and I just looked at each other.

"So, no Mob guys on the list," I said, shaking off the sudden tension in the air.

"None I know about, but something is up with the missing judge."

"The Irish were gangsters too. It could be O'Brien down there in the tunnel," I said.

"Could be," he said, finishing his beer.

"Gangsters need good lawyers and they buy off judges. Look what happened to Capone. All the laws he broke, and they got him on tax evasion."

"Maybe," Joe said, not committing one way or the other.

"So, what do we do now?" I asked.

"Priorities, Cupcake. We need money that isn't going to be held up waiting for forensic evidence. I'm not comfortable doing anything with the coins yet. I agree with Richie. We need to find Miss Margaret Stapleton.