I must apologize again. But I'm home now and should be able to post much more regularly.

Thanks for your wonderful comments, and for reading my story. I have the best readers in the world.

Chapter 25. The Search for Sinclair

Lunchtime, House sat down heavily across from Cameron at their table at Mo's. "We're not getting anywhere!" he exclaimed. "No one seems to know what happened to Ian Sinclair."

She studied him for a short time. "You're not one to give up so easily. You've only talked to a few people about him so far."

"And who else, pray tell, should I tackle next?"

Cameron had an impish smile on her face, one House rarely saw. "His aunt."

Slowly, as the idea percolated through his brain among all his other thoughts, House began to smile too. "Now that's one of the reasons I keep you around."

"As long as it's only one of many." She put a hand on his arm and leaned toward him.

"Guess that means I'll be heading to Snow Hill tomorrow."

She shrugged. "You should show your face at the hospital once in a while."

"Good point. I'll go visit our friend Thornton at St. David's. He has an eye for the ladies, probably already chatted up Mrs. Brewer."

Her eyes automatically went skyward. "Brewster."

"Yeah, that's what I said, Brewster."

"So you think Thornton will introduce you to her. If he's even met her."

"He'll do anything for me. Especially if I bring him more cookies." The gleam in his eyes brightened at the thought.

She laughed. "I wish I could go with you, but tell him I'll come visit another time."

"Exchanging one old geezer for another?"

"You're not an old geezer." Her mouth twisted into a smirk. "Not yet."

He couldn't suppress a guffaw. "So, what's for lunch?"

"I'm having a turkey sandwich." She caught Linda's eye and they placed their orders.

#

That evening, Rachel waited until her grandmother was asleep before she began exploring. She still couldn't get into Pamela's bedroom, but there were a few other places she could look for clues. She started with the small sitting room on the second floor between two of the bedrooms. Twice her grandmother told her not to bother trying to clean it, that the woman who came to vacuum and do the heavy cleaning would see to it on Thursday. Rachel took that to mean she shouldn't enter the room, so enter it she did.

It was small indeed, holding a loveseat and one chair with a lamp table between. There was nothing on the table except the lamp attached to it, so Rachel examined first the loveseat and then the chair. She lifted the two red brocade cushions of the first but there was nothing under them. Something white was stuck between the cushion and the side of the dark blue chair, however. With slim fingers she was able to fish it out.

It was a receipt for a porcelain figurine that cost three hundred and twenty-five dollars, and the company name at the top was the shop owned by Ian 's aunt, Phyllis Brewster. Her grandmother had many figurines in a display case in the sitting room. She wondered which of them was worth that much.

The date on the receipt was April tenth of that year, so it was a recent purchase, after Ian Sinclair took over the shop. Rachel tucked it in her jeans pocket and continued looking. Nothing else showed up and after a half hour, she gave up.

She still had to get into her grandmother's room. She almost wished her grandmother would take a turn for the worse so Rachel would have to bring her things in bed, and also wouldn't be leaving the next day. But she couldn't bring herself to wish for that. Her grandmother had suffered enough and it was good she was feeling better.

Perhaps if Rachel offered to bring something to her anyway. She knocked on the door to her grandmother's bedroom. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she called. "Perhaps some hot cocoa?"

After a pause her grandmother replied. "No dear. I'm fine. I was reading a book, and will be going to sleep shortly. I'll see you in the morning." It was definitely a dismissal.

"Sleep well." Rachel walked away from the door deep in thought. She returned to the kitchen to make sure everything was cleaned and put away for the night, and locked the front and back door. She looked at the figurines in the cabinet, wondering which was recently added, before she went back upstairs, this time turning left to her room. She went to bed feeling like she was a failure at the investigator business.

#

The following morning, after breakfast, House drove south to Snow Hill. He stopped at the hospital to put in an appearance. A couple of the staff he passed asked, "Do you still work here?" but he didn't bother to answer. There were three piles of files on his desk, each topped by a note in Heather Jacobs' neat handwriting. One said 'highly interesting', while the others were either 'possibles' or 'boring'. The first pile was the shortest, of course. He smiled, tossing the other two piles in his 'out' bin for return to Meisner's secretary. He'd go through the interesting pile later.

He didn't stop to speak to his team before heading out for his visit with Thornton. The only stop he made was at the bakery for the cookies the old man liked so much on their previous visits. House had to admit he liked them, too. Maybe Thornton would share.

Thornton was in his room. He grinned when he saw House, and especially the white box in his hand. "Good to see you, Sonny." Only someone ninety-one years old would think of House as 'Sonny'.

"Good to see you, too. How are they treating you lately?"

"Better since you were here and convinced 'em it was alright to take me outside now and again. How are you and your little lady?"

"We're doing fine. Having a house built in Shelby. And she's running for the town board."

"Do tell!"

"She said 'hello' and she'll visit you when she can." House started his probing. "I guess there are quite a few people from Shelby living here now."

"Sure are. Met a couple of 'em."

Just the opening he needed. "Don't tell me you've got a lady friend of your own," House teased.

Thornton chuckled. "Not for lack of trying."

"Oh, come now. What woman wouldn't want a charmer like you?"

"Do you really think so?" The old man adjusted the collar of his shirt and smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Well, there is this one lady. She's a charmer, too." Thornton tapped House's chest with a finger. "And she's from that town, Shelby. She's been here a little longer than I have. But, House, sometimes when I talk to her, she doesn't seem to know who I am."

"It's probably Alzheimers."

"Oh. That's too bad. I've heard people with that forget everything and everyone, huh?"

I nodded. "What's the lovely lady's name?" House thought it would be too much of a coincidence if it was Ian's aunt.

"Mrs. Brewster, Mrs. Phyllis Brewster. Don't you just love that name?"

"Brewster?"

Thornton chuckled. "No, silly. Phyllis of course."

"Maybe you'd like to introduce me to her. I'd love to meet your Phyllis."

"Well, she's not MY Phyllis. Not yet." He managed to get himself off his bed with the help of a walker.

House pointed at it. "When did you start using that?"

He grinned. "Gotta be more mobile here." Slowly, and not very steadily he took a few steps toward the door. As he did, he gained stability.

"I see what you mean." House followed him down the hallway. It was hard to slow his long steps to match Thornton's shuffles, but he made the effort. "Where are we going?"

"Phyllis likes it outside, too. We're going to the patio you took me to last time."

When they finally made it through the door, the patio seemed to be empty but Thornton went directly to a corner, shielded by some large shrubs. "Good afternoon, Phyllis."

A feeble voice asked, "Do I know you?"

"It's me. George. George Thornton. I brought a friend to meet you." He motioned for House to come forward. "This here's Dr. House. Nice young fella. Visits me when he can, but he's a busy man."

Mrs. Brewster sat on a bench with a walker parked nearby. Her white hair curled softly around her wizened face. Her blue eyes weren't very clear but her cheeks had a touch of color. She'd been a pretty woman, and still had an attractive face.

"Thornton tells me you're from Shelby."

She peered at him through narrowed eyes. "Do I know you?"

"No. I moved to Shelby after you came here." House studied her for signs of all of her ailments.

Phyllis looked around. "It's lovely here. Like my garden."

House thought about the unkempt backyard at her house. It wasn't so lovely now.

"The people in Shelby say they miss you. There isn't another shop like yours used to be."

"Oh. My shop." Her attention seemed to wander, but then she looked at him again. "Yes. Is Ian doing well?"

House avoided answering. "Has your nephew come to visit you?"

"Do you know him? Such a fine looking boy."

"I never met him." House needed another direction to go, since she obviously had no idea Ian was no longer in Shelby. "Is he your only living relative?"

"Well, there is that sister of his. Inez. Fancies herself an artist." Phyllis grimaced. "Splashing paint on a canvas is not art!"

"Does she live in Maryland?" House hoped it wouldn't be too hard to find an artist named Inez Sinclair, and that she knew something about her brother's whereabouts.

"Maryland?"

"This state," Thornton chimed in. "Does she live near here, this niece of yours?"

Phyllis' eyes narrowed. "I haven't seen her in years, not since her wedding."

House scowled. "She's married? Do you know her married name?"

"Whose name?" she asked.

"Inez."

"Oh." She rested her cheek against her palm. "Inez. She was a pretty girl. I remember when she visited me and I showed her my garden. I have such a beautiful garden." She was beginning to repeat herself.

House compressed his lips. He'd gotten all he could from Phyllis Brewster, at least for this trip.