Author's Note: If you missed the first 300 words of the previous chapter, go back and give it a reread; I forgot to include it when I originally uploaded it.
X X X X X
"Okay," I said. "Sit down. Calm down. Did you see the guy do anything suspicious? Suspicious making you come to me, I mean. Because if he was suspicious by your standards, you would have Slain him already."
"Don't think I haven't thought of it," Buffy said. "But no, I haven't seen him do anything suspicious. Because I haven't seen him, period."
"Then how do you know about him? Did your Mom tell you?" Going through the motions. My favorite Sunnydale sport.
She snorted. "Right. Mom didn't tell me anything. No, I heard about it from Xander, who heard about it from Willow, who heard about it from Devon, who heard about it from 'some hot blonde chick,' direct quote. I did another patrol on the way home, beat the living hell out of two vampires who probably didn't deserve quite the beating I gave them, and then confronted Mom about five seconds after I walked in the front door."
"Okay," I said, relieved that the trail had gone through Devon, for whom "hot blonde chick" was a description of about half the people he'd talked to last night, and also relieved that Buffy hadn't pushed it any further. "What's got you so upset about this?" Then, realizing that I didn't want a pissed Buffy storming off, added quickly, "That she didn't tell you about it?" I knew it was more than that; it wasn't one of Buffy's prettier character traits, that she, at least up until the third season, didn't seem to think her mother should be dating anyone. That anger she expressed in Earshot when she read her mother's mind and saw her and Giles having sex wasn't just the typical teenage horror at the concept of their parents having sex.
And yes, I know, "Physician, heal thyself," but I like to think I've matured somewhat in the last two years. I'm perfectly fine with the concept of Keith Mars dating and having sex. Just as soon as I move out.
"Yeah," Buffy said unconvincingly. "That's it. That she didn't want me to meet the guy makes me think there's some reason she doesn't want me to meet him."
"Okay," I said. "Did you get any information out of your mother or did you just yell at her?"
She glared at me; a "whose side are you on" glare, I know it well, having gotten it from most of the people I know, in Neptune or Sunnydale, at some time or other. "It would be pretty dumb of me to be able to not tell you anything."
An awkward silence followed.
"Well?"
"So I'm dumb," she said. "His name is Ted and he's a wonderful man. At least according to Mom." Buffy's tone indicated she wouldn't have believed her mother if she'd told her that Ted was short for Theodore.
I rolled my eyes. "Well, there can't be more than twenty thousand or so Teds in the state of California. I'll do some research and get back to you sometime in August."
Sighing, Buffy said, "Okay. I get it. You need more information."
"Yes. I do." After a second, I added, "Go back and talk to your Mom about him. The more you give me, the more I can look up." Going through the motions could be damned aggravating. I could tell Buffy all about Ted Buchanan, computer guru, food drugger, killer robot, except that if I did that, I'd lose my bet with the Adversary.
I couldn't even do any official research until she gave me the go-ahead.
Remember what I almost said about plans coming together?
Forget it. The plan's nowhere close to together yet.
I shouldn't take that out on Buffy, though. "The sooner you get me the information I need --" I said tentatively.
"Yeah, I know," Buffy said. "Sorry. Shouldn't have come over here without being able to tell you something. I'll get back to you as soon as I can." She sighed. "I don't have a whole lot I can pay you, though --"
I laughed. "Pay me. Right. Buffy, you saved me from a psychotic vampire. This? On the house. Don't worry about it."
She smiled slightly. "Okay. I won't. Thanks."
"What are fellow SOB's for?"
She left, and I got back to my breakfast, and the process of figuring out what to do with my suddenly open morning.
X X X X X
Answer: Nothing.
And no, that doesn't mean I sat on the floor in a lotus position. But I didn't do homework, try to work out a lesson plan, or try to influence the future.
I finished my breakfast; I watched TV; I read a book; I played with Backup, who was grateful for the attention.
I got a nice long bath.
And then, after a couple of blissful hours of doing absolutely nothing, I started doing something again.
X X X X X
First, I called down to the magic shop; Rae answered, and was amenable to my "guided tour" lesson plan for tomorrow. "Sheila should already know more about this than your other friend," she said.
"Yeah, but I haven't noticed her doing a lot of spells that need material components," I said. "No obscure herbs, eyes of newt, or even sand."
"True," Rae said. "Still, she's at least read about them."
"Speaking of novice witches," I asked, "How's Willow doing?"
"She's got the meditation part down pat, but otherwise, not much. She has been practicing a little bit of telekinesis, but so far she's having trouble lifting anything heavier than a pencil."
Good. "Good," I said. "I was hoping she'd go slowly.
"I remember," Rae said. "Still, at this rate, she'll be able to create witchfire sometime around her fortieth birthday."
"Better to go slow," I said. "We don't want her barreling towards having more power than she can handle."
"With great power comes great responsibility?" Rae said wryly.
"Something like that, Uncle Ben," I said. "Sheila appears to get that, or at least not to be particularly prone to enticements to more power."
"Which is good. By the way, you might want to warn her."
"Warn her about what?" I asked.
"There's this wizard who hangs around Sunnydale, looking for young witches to corrupt."
Damn it to hell. Rack was in town. "You mean, turns them into bad guys?"
"No; he turns them into magic junkies. His name's Rack; he's the equivalent of a pusher. He feeds them spells, for pay, that get them high on their magic. I don't think he'd be interested in Willow, but someone like Sheila would be right up his alley. They need to stay away from him. Sheila particularly."
Yeah, damn right they do. As soon as I'm done with Ted, I am going to make sure Rack is taken down.
"Thanks for the warning." I wondered if Amy had met him yet. I wondered if it would make a difference, if she hadn't.
And no, I'm not going to get back on my high horse about how season 6 Willow wasn't an addict, and how anyone who thought she was, including the characters, was reading it wrong. That's not relevant right now. Whether Willow was an addict or not, Rack was sure as hell a pusher.
"I'll definitely pass it on – or do you think maybe the Slayer should --?"
"Might be a good idea," she said. "Anyway, I'll things set up for you and your friends tomorrow."
"Thanks," I said somewhat absently, and hung up.
See, Veronica? This is what happens when you take time off.
X X X X X
I was still thinking things over when I got another phone call:
Buffy, this time. And now, she had information on Ted:
Ted Buchanan. Computer wizard. He and Joyce met when . . . but I knew all this stuff already.
The difference was, now I could do something about it.
"Okay," I said when Buffy was done. "Thanks. That should be plenty."
"She wants me to meet him," Buffy said, sounding as though she'd rather meet Vampire bin Laden. "I want you to be there. Mom said I could bring friends."
"When and where?" I asked.
"This afternoon, around 4. The new miniature golf course."
"It's open?" I asked.
"It's open. Can you make it?"
I nodded my head. "I can make it," I said, and hoped that they wouldn't mention that I'd met Ted before.
"Cool. See you there. And Veronica?'
"Yes?"
"Thanks."
There was a lot of emotion invested in that thanks, particularly for someone who just thought the concept of her mom dating was icky icky gross.
"Anytime," I said, and hung up.
First things first: Whatever baked goods Ted brought with him, I was allergic. Even if it was just sugar cookies. This situation did not call for happy Veronica.
(Would that more situations did.)
In the meantime: There was research to be done.
I'd just fired up my computer when I remembered that Ted was a computer expert. I didn't know if he had something capable of tracing people looking for him, but if he did, I sure as hell didn't want him tracing the search directly back to me.
That also left out the computer lab at the high school, because even if he couldn't trace me, directly, he'd get suspicious about Buffy, anyway, and the one at the office was out for obvious reasons.
Still not a problem.
Time for another trip to the Sunnydale Public Library.
I almost invited Willow to come with me – who better to try to keep out a computer expert, in this timeline, anyway? – but decided that the longer the Scooby Gang was kept out of this, the better. Sure, Buffy had probably already vented to them, but better to keep them away from Ted and his happy pastries as long as possible, also.
The library would give me anonymity, long enough.
And if that wasn't enough, I also had my fake id collection, which included, yes, a fake library card, although I couldn't say it was for just such an emergency, because, honestly, who can foresee an emergency like this?
So, time to break out the wig, short skirt, and high heels; enough to change my appearance, not enough that it looked like I was trying to look inconspicuous. (Nothing stands out more than someone doing his damnedest not to stand out.)
I got a call from Dad while I was getting ready; he hadn't found Abel Koontz's prostitute pal yet, but he was damned close.
Good. Very good. Get Abel Koontz out and then we can start working on getting Aaron Echolls in.
"How's your weekend?" he asked.
"Buffy's mom's dating someone. Buffy doesn't approve, so she asked me to check him out."
"Do you think she has any reason to be concerned?"
"Not really," I lied, "But if it'll make her feel better, I've got no problems running the background check."
"Okay. Doesn't sound dangerous." Oh, Dad, you have no idea.
I made light of it. "If it is, then I'm doing it wrong."
"Or you're looking up a mob boss," Dad said. "Sweetie? If it turns out he's a mob moss? Stop looking stuff up."
"I will," I said. "Good luck on the hooker hunt."
I hung up and headed to the library, parking a couple of blocks away, just to satisfy my paranoia that no one on the street would recognize the car, know it was mine, and wonder who the tallerish brunette chick is getting into it.
So: Research time.
The one suspicious thing I remembered about Ted Buchanan, suspicious apart from the "drug-happy killer robot" thing, of course, is that he had four previous wives and had married the first one in 1957; and you would have thought someone would have brought up, "Hey, Dude, you don't look old enough to remember the Second World War," but maybe they just assumed he was well-preserved for his age, so that wasn't a smoking gun, just a suspicious point.
Still, he'd gotten married four times and had never gotten divorced. That? Should have raised flags. Should have raised enough flags for a second UN. Even in Sunnydale. Maybe Ted did Mayor Wilkins' computer work, or something. Because even if Ted Buchanan's first four wives had simply run away from him (which would have said something all by itself), he'd need to get a divorce –
Or have her declared dead. I knew what to look for now
Hacker girl, I wasn't, but I didn't need to be. My computer research didn't show me much more than the name of Ted's company and a few pixilated pictures; he hadn't shown up in any suspicious news stories in the last ten years, not even a wedding, so apparently his previous wives' disappearances had come before 1987, not to mention the marriages themselves.
Still, my research wasn't stalled. One of the good things you learn from having a PI for a dad is that not all sources of information are computerized, not even in the 21st century, never mind nearly a decade earlier.
Judicious and prolonged searching through Lexis-Nexis, microfilm, and the library's actual archive of copies of the Sunnydale Press going back over fifty years took a couple of hours, but was well rewarded.
About a dozen photocopies and printouts later, and I was ready to go.
In the half hour I had between the time I got home and the time I had to leave for miniature golf, I called Sheila (and tried to call Willow) to warn them about Rack.
"Shit, manhunter," Sheila said. "Before I met you that would've sounded like fun. Now, it doesn't."
I think she was kidding. "Would you rather--?"
"'mnot dumb. Course not," she said. "And it doesn't really sound fun. Rae doesn't like it, you don't like it, I don't like it."
"Cool. Talk to you later."
Willow wasn't home.
And, given the typical Mars luck, that meant she and Xander were at or near the miniature golf course, just waiting to gulp down some of Ted's yummy pastries.
Speaking of: My stomach grumbled. I gulped down another bowl of cereal, took Backup for a five-minute walk -- he knew when we had time to run and play, and when we didn't -- fed him, apologized to him, and took off.
I got to the miniature golf course; everyone was waiting by Joyce Summers' SUV.
And by everyone, I meant everyone: Joyce. Ted. Buffy. Xander. Willow.
Big picnic basket o'pastries and cookies, from which Joyce, Xander and Willow were cheerfully eating. Buffy not, fortunately, but still --
Why couldn't I be wrong about these things, every once in a while? Sometimes I swear the universe runs as though designed to show me that, no matter how pessimistic I am about the way things are going, things could and will be worse.
I walked up; everyone said hello.
"Want a cookie?" Ted asked.
"Try one, Veronica," Willow said enthusiastically. "They're really good!"
"I'm not hungry right now -- I had a big snack right before I came here," I said.
Xander said, between bites, "Mmmm. You don't know what you're missing. Mrs. Summers, if you don't marry this man, I will."
Ted laughed; Buffy glowered; Joyce, Xander and Willow didn't notice.
It was okay. Soon enough Buffy would have a much happier look on her face.
I'd found the smoking gun we both needed.
See, it was barely possible for Ted to have gotten married for the first time forty years ago, if he married young and was exceptionally well-preserved.
What wasn't possible was for Ted to have looked the same in 1957 as he does today.
But he does in his wedding announcement . . . .
