Chapter 12

During spring break, Bob took a trip to New York City for a few days. House wanted to know why she was going there, but she was evasive.

"I just have some things to do."

"What kind of things?"

"Business."

"What kind of business?"

"Aren't you the curious one? MY business."

"But…"

"Let it go, Greg."

"I could come with you. We could go to that cool jazz club and –"

"Not this trip."

No matter how he badgered her, she refused to tell him what it was about.

He complained to Wilson about it.

"She's right." Wilson told him. "It is none of your business."

House gave him a withering look. "Everything is my business."

"You think so, but unfortunately, the world doesn't agree."

"The world are idiots."

Wilson just shook his head. "She's a busy, complex woman. She's had a lot happen to her in the years since the two of you were together."

"Yeah, things she never told me about."

"Well, I'm sure there are things you didn't tell her."

"Nope. She knows everything."

"Oh, so you told her about faking cancer to get drugs?"

House didn't answer.

"And stealing my prescription pad to write your own?"

House stood up and headed for the door.

"And what about…"

"What are you, a human video recorder?" House said as he left his friend's office.

Wilson's points notwithstanding, House was still extremely curious as to what Bob was up to. When she returned, he started pumping her for information, which she deftly avoided.

"Did you catch a show?" he queried.

"No. It was business."

"Oh, see some sights?"

"I've seen the sights. It was business."

"Well, did you—"

"Greg, stop it. I told you I went there for business." No matter what he said, she cut him off. Which, of course, made him more determined to know.

A few days later, she was unavailable for dinner when House asked her. So House found himself staking out her office, following her home, then to a restaurant where he watched her greet a guy at the bar. The guy (who was very young – late twenties), kissed her on the cheek. He was wearing a black sports jacket and black button down shirt, no tie and carried a briefcase. There were a lot of smiles between them as they moved to a booth. About an hour and a half later, he saw them leave. They hugged outside the restaurant and parted ways.

House followed her home, but the guy never arrived. He drove home, still perplexed.

"She seemed to know him well." He told Wilson the next day. "But they didn't spend the night together."

"Oh, my God!" Wilson said.

"What?" House asked him.

"Nothing. I just assumed that was the response you wanted. House, let it go. If she wanted you to know, she'd tell you. You need to let it go."

"Hello, my name is Greg House. Nice to meet you."

"Fine, whatever. Go ahead, drive her crazy. Make her hate you. That'll make everything right."

House stared at his cane, thinking about it. He knew Wilson was right. He also knew that it was ludicrous for him to be this obsessed about what she was doing. But he couldn't control himself. He HAD to know. What was she doing? Who was the guy? Was she sleeping with him? And why did that question seem to bother him the most?

House had to find out what was going on. Since she didn't seem to want to tell him, he knew he had to take matters into his own hands. He knew her class schedule and that she had class all day on Wednesdays. He snuck out of the hospital at lunchtime and drove to her house. A few manipulations with her lock and he was inside.

He started a methodical search. No diary in the bedroom, darn it. That would have made things easier. Nothing else that was too incriminating, except for her bright pink vibrator in her night table drawer. He found himself fantasizing for a few minutes about her using that before he moved on to her bathroom. No condoms, no birth control. But then he remembered that she'd had her tubes tied after her miscarriage. But still, there should be condoms if she was sexually active?

The kitchen held nothing interesting to him. Because of her eating plan, she didn't keep many snacks in the house. He and Wilson always had to bring their own when they came over and take any leftovers with them. He did find some Weight Watchers Latte ice cream bars in the freezer, so he snagged one of them while he continued his search.

Her computer was in a small bedroom that she had turned into an office. He switched it on and tried a few combinations for her password, but was striking out, when he noticed a large manila envelope sitting on side of the desk. It was addressed to Bob, but since it was open, he decided to give it a peek.

Inside were dozens of letters. A few were opened, but most were still sealed. All of them were addressed to Ms Marlena Walters, c/o Radcliffe Publishing in New York.

This was even more perplexing. He pulled out one of the open letters from the packet and slipped it out of its envelope. The words written on it didn't help clear anything up.

'Dear Ms Walters,

I absolutely adored your last book! Sam and Jeff are my absolute favorites. Each book is absolutely better than the last one. You are the absolutely best writer ever. I am absolutely sure that I've never read anything better. I absolutely hope you write lots more books.

Absolutely wonderful!

Edna White'

House was absolutely sure that was the most annoying letter he'd ever read. But why did Bob have a letter from some moron talking about her favorite writer? He glanced at the other few open letters. They were all fan letters to 'Marlena Walters'.

Since he was having no luck with her computer, he decided to head back to work and do some research on his own.