Author's note: Okay, either can't space paragraphs for tits, or I just don't know how to work this site. Either way, I'll probably make this fanfic available on other sites, where it'd be easier to read.

Hank spent breakfast time searching the office frantically. Where's the Death Note? he wondered. Dang it!

Enter Peggy, clad in lime-green sleeveless shirt and blue shorts. A rather plain, aged purse clung from the strap on her shoulder.

"Something the matter, Hank?" Peggy asked.

After some hesitation, Hank responded, "Uh, have you seen a black notebook around here?"

"N-No..."

The notebook. What was so important about that stupid old thing? Peggy thought. Why was Hank so desperate for it? Well, that sounded like a great mystery for a well-read, intelligent, and beautiful woman such as herself.

"It's a very important book. I need it for work."

"I haven't seen it," Peggy said stiffly. "I'm going to work now. See ya later."

"I'll ask Bobby..."

Peggy made a quick dash outside, and to the car. She slammed the car door shut, then gave her purse a tight squeeze. Se could feel the notebook inside.

Dale examined several papers on his desk: each paper had a person's name on it. Underneath the names were scribbles of why Dale thought the person was a suspect. (Except for Bill's page - his page merely had a somewhat drawing of a muscular Dale punching him in the face.) An excerpt from Dale's twisted and disturbed mind:

Luanne Leanne Platter Clyneshmitt

She must be smarter than she appears. She disliked Cotton Hill for his cheeky approach to her. May have killed Khan to appease Uncle Hank. May have killed M.F. Thatherton to frame Uncle Hank?

Consider her deadly. Also, ask her how to spell her married name.

His top suspects were still Peggy, Bill, and the president of the United States. It seemed to be a safe bet that the government was behind all these deaths somehow.

"Surely you have narrowed down your list of suspects?" Watari asked him.

"Weeell," Dale said in a long moan. "I think Bobby's clear. But if he tries anything funny, Joseph will kick his ass."

"Moshi moshi," Ryuzaki said. "Umi yami no kaze, nii-san."

"You sound like a weird monkey when you talk, you know that?"

"He asked why Hank Hill wan't a suspect," Watari said."He's mentioned in Luanne's and Peggy's profiles, and has a direct connection to one of the deceased persons."

Dale scribbled something down in a dark red notebook, mumbling, "nii...san, which means 'Why isn't Hank a suspect?' I assume 'Yami' is Japanese for 'Hank.'"

After a moment, Dale placed the notebook on his desk and said to the men, "Hank's a good guy. And although he's a little overbearing and naggy, he wouldn't kill anyone. Besides, it'd probably conflict with some weird propane business or something. If I asked, he'd probably just go on about clean-burning fuel."

"Puropane?" Ryuzaki asked.

"Strickland Propane's where Hank works," Dale said tersely. "Don't tell him, but I get charcoal for my grill. I have to drive out of town so he won't find out."

Watari and Ryuzaki exchanged glances.

Meanwhile, Peggy was parked in her personal parking space at the real estate office. She decided she would go into work in a few minutes, after doing some research.

These are some stupid rules, Peggy thought as she examined the notebook. The 'rules' of the Death Note were written within the first few pages of the notebook. It seems there's not a lot of room for creative or ironic deaths. Maybe I can find a way around these rules...

No. What was the thinking? She could never kill anyone...Well, she probably could. She wouldn't, but she would have the ability to kill someone to defend herself or her family. All those years on the ranch did her body good. She thought she still had the behind of a twenty-year-old, but that was neither here nor there.

"Maybe I'll write one name here," she said to herself. "Just to test it out. I mean, I doubt this notebook is real...But who?"

There was a loud, rhythmic ringing noise. Peggy dropped the book on her lap and let out a squeal in her surprise. After taking a deep breath, she searched her purse for the source of the noise. She flipped opened the cell phone and said, "Yello?"

"Peggy!" Mihn said. "Khan is going to be buried in a gold-plated coffin! I bet your husband will probably make you your own coffin or something, silly hillbilly."

Peggy now had a an idea of what to write.