Disclaimer – As cool as it would be to be a member of Team Heller, it's evident I'm not. Therefore I don't own any part of the Mentalist TV series and am not making any money off these stories.

Happy First Day of Summer, Northern Hemisphere! Happy First Day of Winter, Southern Hemisphere! Ain't science wonderful?

Thanks to CRR for beta-reading! Can't wait for "I Remember You" to come out!

Chapter 26

After bringing the room to its bare-bone-basics, Patrick joined Teresa in the kitchen. He found her wiping down the inside of the cabinets.

"Finished in there," he said, taking an Oreo from the open container on the counter. "How are you doing here? Any wills?"

Her eyes followed the cookie as he lifted it to his lips.

"That's the last one," she said.

"Is it?" he asked, looking at it. "There had been six or seven in there this morning." He took a bite and offered her the rest. She opened her lips and leaned toward him.

For the briefest moment he was tempted to fill her mouth with his tongue. Very tempted. Instead he gave her the rest of the cookie.

"If you're done in here, we can go out and find someplace that sells boxes so we can pack this stuff."

She nodded, swallowing the last of the cookie. "Where are we going to find someplace open at 7:30 on a Saturday night?"

"One of those big-box hardware stores should be open. In California, they're open until 10, even on Saturday and Sunday."

Skeptical, Teresa arched her eyebrows as she put the cleaning rag in the bucket of soapy water.

"I'm pretty much done here. Let me change clothes and we'll go."

"You don't need to change."

She scoffed and looked him up and down. "I'm not going anywhere with you dressed like that if I'm dressed like this."

He glanced over her sweats and tee-shirt. "Oh, pshaw! You could be wearing a garbage bag and it would be perfect. Beautiful women can get away with wearing anything in public."

She blushed and diverted her eyes.

"But if it will make you feel better, I'll change clothes too."

Before she could react, he turned and headed to Tommy's room and his suitcase. When he returned, he was in his workout gear and running shoes.

It was fun to see her gawk at him. He'd been careful to never let his CBI colleagues see him in anything but a suit if he could help it. Somehow he felt he couldn't afford to lose any credibility with them. But seeing the shock in her eyes was priceless.

"Let's go," he said, holding out her coat that she borrowed from Annie's closet.

The GPS in the rental recommended the nearest hardware store as three miles away. It was open until ten.

"Do you memorize operating hours for every store you think you might ever go into?" she asked as they filled the back of the SUV with boxes, packing materials, rolls of tape, and marking pens. "A memory palace of retail stores? Or better, a mall instead of a memory palace."

"Ha, ha, clever." He closed the hatch and they went around, climbing in. "Do you remember the Hargrove case a few months ago? When we proved that the husband had staged the kidnapping of his wife and buried her in Dottev State Park like she was alive, although she was already dead by suffocation?"

"Yeah, we followed his purchase history back two months; we found proof he'd bought all the materials he used to build the wooden vault she…" Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. "No…wait…Van Pelt looked all that up."

He pressed his lips together but said nothing as he turned over the ignition.

"So, you told Van Pelt to examine his credit card purchases?"

"No, she did that as a matter of procedure. I merely asked Grace to look up the hours of the Home Depot near Dottev. Then I suggested that the purchase of wood and tar paper and that specific type of hose used as an air vent probably took place within the months of June, July or August, based on the manufacturing date on the wood. Also I subliminally suggested that she search for names of people who knew the victim."

"I don't believe you. My team is smart enough to seek out clues themselves."

"Under normal circumstances that case would have been a walk in the park for the team, but since the husband had a supposedly iron-clad alibi, they were affording him a lot of leeway."

"And his alibi fell apart when the coroner adjusted the time of death by at least five hours prior to her reported disappearance. An adjustment made because Cho insisted the time of death be re-examined after it was discovered the husband had made the Home Depot purchase."

"Yes. The husband was a very clever man who understood organic chemistry in a forensic application very well."

"Don't tell me you're suggesting that Cho didn't do—"

"No, of course not. I'm just saying—"

Something out the car window caught her attention. "Hey, I know that place! My cousin used to own it. Why don't we stop for a drink? I'm buying."

He looked at the tavern she pointed to. The South had its honky-tonk; Chicago had its corner bar, complete with a "Packaged Goods" announcement on the sign that advertised "Old Style" beer. It reminded him of traveling with his father as a youth. But like many moments involving time with his dad, that which he once viewed with smug pride for cleverness, he now knew to be shameful and – in some instances – even criminal.

But Teresa needed to relax and blow off some steam. Beer and music might do some good. Maybe they could even shoot pool together. It could be fun.

Besides, it got her out of the mindset of having to defend her team. He loved her bulldog loyalty and felt uncomfortable for putting her in that mode.

"Okay, that sounds good. Maybe at the pool table we could hustle free rounds of drinks."

To his surprise, that drew an admiring glance from her. He pulled into the first available parking spot.

His childhood memories flooded back as they entered the door. Despite the smoking ban on the books for so many years in Chicago, the place still smelled the way he remembered such places to smell. Slightly of unemptied ashtray, slightly of disintegrating linoleum, slightly of stale beer. And yet…there were good feelings associated with it. The karnie kids gathered around the bowling machine, trying to scam each other out of their spending money. The older kids practicing their trick shots on the pool table, helping each other save money by catching the balls before they disappeared into the pockets. The adults talking business or complaining about the new contacts for established jobs. Occasionally a small group would break into song to accompany the juke box.

Now the bowling machine was replaced with a basketball machine and the juke box was a karaoke machine. The crowd was all strictly over twenty-one; no bar owner wanted to lose his liquor license or pay the hefty bribe to an alderman in order to keep it. Still, there was a pool table with a couple of tall tables nearby. Being a Saturday night, the ancillary bar was open.

Patrick gestured towards an available table in the pool room, knowing he wouldn't be heard over the karaoke singer.

After they removed their coats and settled on stools, Teresa leaned closer to talk in his ear over the bad singing and the clack of billiard balls. "This place hasn't changed much since Andrew owned it."

"What?" He'd heard her just fine, but he couldn't resist having her close.

"It's still the same," she said, gesturing.

He nodded and leaned toward her. She smelled like Annie's floral shampoo instead of her usual delicious citrusy vanilla. "What do you want to drink?"

"I'm buying," she insisted.

"What?" he said again, making her lean into him.

"You just gave Daniel thirty thousand dollars. The least I can do is buy you a scotch."

He watched her lips as she spoke, tempting in their soft pinkness. Oh, so tempting!

"Fine. Jameson's neat, if they have it." Interesting that she remembered he drank scotch. Of course, after knowing each other eleven years…

Patrick watched her walk toward the bar, skirting around a somewhat rough-looking character bending over his cue-stick to make his shot. His attention shifted to the pool player because the reddened black eyes stopped to watch Teresa after she excused herself to him. Out of work construction worker. Bricklayer, perhaps? Can't lay brick walls in cold November. A hundred ninety-one, maybe one eighty-nine pounds. Had a fight with the girlfriend. Shoots pool for drinks because he can't afford to buy them.

The bricklayer glanced at Patrick as if feeling his scrutinizing stare and did a double take before huffing his chest. Insecure with his masculinity. Probably abuses women in compensation.

"Keep an eye on her," Patrick advised him. "She shot a man dead with a Glock a couple of months ago and walked away scot-free. Scot-free. Not even cuffed when taken by the police for questioning. And it wasn't the first person she's killed."

A tell of fear came to the bricklayer's eyes, a slight widening of the lids as his pupils constricted. His pool game opponent told him to get back to the game so he looked away.

Patrick smiled to himself. Lisbon would kill him if she knew.

Taking a few quarters out of his pocket, he stacked them on the pool table to get in line for the next game. Then he listened to the new karaoke singer as he glanced at the people in the bar. Better singer; that helped some, although "Here You Come Again" could only be done justice by Dolly Parton, not some half-drunken woman with a Chicago accent. The song selections seemed to be Country Music of the 1970s, since the previous song was "Take This Job and Shove It". His mind ran through the strange lists stored in his head; top country song of 1970 "Rose Garden" by Lynn Anderson; 1971 was topped by "When You're Hot, You're Hot" by Jerry Reed…

And let's see, 1972 and 1973 are hard to recall but 1974 was –

He froze with inspiration as his thought raced ahead to the next known fact. Perfect, perfect, perfect! It was the perfect song for the occasion!

When Teresa came back, he held up one finger and looked at her significantly. "I'll be right back."

To be continued...