Chapter Six

Shaggy and Scooby had been on good behavior at lunch and maintained it at the dinner table. But if you don't want a war, then you shouldn't claim that you have an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. You might as well slap Shaggy and Scooby in the face with a glove and drop it at their feet. Challenge accepted.

And the hotel kitchen staff knew they had been shamed the previous morning. Maybe they could have turned the other cheek with just the utter destruction of a week's worth of breakfast foods. But the request for to-go plates was taunting. This would not happen twice.

So, when the gang (without Velma) showed up just before 7:00 AM, the buffet tables were mounded with food. An audience had pulled their chairs close to see an unstoppable force against an uneatable object and the hotel had issued safety glasses to the front row. A blond woman in a white apron and a chef's hat stood in front of the table. When Shaggy stepped through the door, she locked eyes with him. He locked eyes back and walked slowly and directly up to her. She was a tall woman, only about four inches shorter than he but she was not cowed. Her chin almost touched Shaggy's Adam's apple as she held her ground.

"It's on." He said.

She didn't blink, "It's on." And she returned to the kitchen.

Shaggy and Scooby reconnoitered the battlefield. The bacon was right on the front corner. Inviting them to begin their attack there. That would be a rookie mistake. It was a trap. Right behind the bacon were the pancakes, waffles, toast, and hashbrowns. A quagmire of starch. Scooby started from the right end and Shaggy started from the left.

45 minutes later, Scooby was down and laying on the ground – his bloated stomach sticking up toward the sky. Four of the five kitchen and wait staff were exhausted and sitting against the wall. Shaggy looked down at the final bite of waffle smothered in butter and maple syrup on his plate. He stabbed it with his fork, slowly brought it to his mouth, stuffed it in, and chewed. But just as the morsel slid down his throat and impacted the internal traffic jam of food just inches below his mouth, the chef reappeared with one last pancake dangling from a serving fork. She saw the shocked look on his face and her exhausted eyes registered victory. But her first step out of the kitchen landed on a pat of melting butter on the floor and her feet slid out from under her. Her back and the pancake hit the floor at the same time. She lay there. Completely spent. She was not getting back up.

She tilted her head up from the floor, looked at Shaggy, and gave him a nod. He returned it. The mutual respect of worthy competitors.

It took almost an hour for Shaggy and Scooby to recover. This pushed back the departure time for the bus over thirty minutes which had Velma pacing up and down the aisle as she, Fred, and Daphne waited for the two to arrive. When that time arrived and Shaggy and Scooby walked out of the front door of the hotel and headed toward the bus, Velma jumped down from the bus and ran straight at Shaggy.

"Thirty minutes! We're almost thirty minutes late!" She was irate.

"Velma, I'm sorry. I know that being late triggers your anxieties."

"Yes! Being late triggers my anxieties. And you know that it triggers my anxieties. But do you care?"

"Of course, I care…"

"Do you care enough to not do something you want to do to avoid it?"

A part of Shaggy felt that he had just stumbled into a trap and anger tried to rise in response. But he pushed it back down. It was not a trap. Velma's reaction was an accurate description of his actions and intentions. The fault was completely on him. He opened his mouth to say something but he was looking at Velma's back as she strode purposefully back to the bus and got on.

Scooby followed her with his head down and his tail between his legs. Shaggy was right behind. Velma had gotten into her seat and was looking out the window and waiting for them to pass. Scooby stopped, placed his head down on the seat next to her, and whimpered as only a dog can. Velma didn't move but Scooby heard a soft sniff and she reached up to adjust her glasses. She never turned from the window. Scooby moved on to his seat.

Shaggy stopped and looked down at the back of her head, "You're right, Velma. I'm sorry."

She turned and looked straight ahead, "It's fine. Let's go." Her voice was husky but her face was dry.

Fred's voice came back from the front of the bus, "Let's go, Herbert."

The door closed and the bus began to move. The 60-minute trip was silent.

The house at which they arrived was nice but not opulent. It was around 2,500 square feet and looked to be an older split foyer but it was very well maintained as were the homes of all the neighbors. It was in a middle to upper middle-class neighborhood and it looked odd for a bus to pull up and park on the street in front of it. The bus was large, comfortable, and a very logical choice. But, for some reason, parking it in a suburban neighborhood felt like an elementary school field trip.

The gang walked up to the front door which had an old-fashioned doorbell. They pressed it and heard the chimes echoing through the house.

After hearing some footsteps from inside, they watched the door open and a woman in her mid-forties glared out at them. She didn't reek of alcohol, but she smelled of it. She was dressed in clothing that looked appropriate for landscaping in the yard. It was a nice day for it. She was a petite woman of about Velma's height although – like most people – she was a little heavier than Velma. But all in all, she would be said to be aging gracefully.

"You're the people who work for Clive."

Daphne made first contact, "Yes, ma'am. He is paying us to help your son."

"That's why you're standing here. If you hadn't told me that on the phone, I'd be calling the cops right now. And you brought a dog." She looked at Scooby.

Scooby stood up on his hind two legs, "Res, they brought a rog."

The woman's mouth dropped open, "Oh, it's you." She rechecked every one of their faces as if comparing them against a memory.

"Can we come in?"

Hanna Timberlake stared at them for five empty seconds before turning her back, "Sure." And she walked into the house. They followed. She gestured into a relatively large living room and they entered and took seats on a 3-person sofa and the matching chair. There was a more formal chair which Hanna took. "I would offer you something but I'm not happy you're here and I don't want you to stay."

Daphne tried a smile which half worked, "We're fine."

"Now, is my son in some kind of trouble and how can I help him?"

"When was the last time you spoke with your son?"

"No. You are going to give me an answer to my question first or this is done. Is my son in some kind of trouble."

Daphne thought through what they were allowed to say, "He might be suffering some mental issues. Our job is to figure out whether they are natural or created. And the best way for you to help him is to answer our questions so that we can do our job."

"Fine. Ask."

"When was the last time you spoke with your son?"

"Three years ago."

The woman must have misunderstood the question, "I mean spoke with your son in any way. On the phone, texting, any kind of communication."

"Three years ago."

"That's a long time."

"Yes. It is."

"Do you mind telling us why it's been so long?"

"First, I need to explain something. This house is paid for by Clive. The bills are paid for by Clive. The food I eat and my entire lifestyle is paid for by Clive. I work as a freelance editor for some local magazines which pays next to nothing."

Fred was taken aback, "Wow! Can I get your lawyer's name?" This, of course, drew an amazingly hostile look from Daphne.

Hanna continued, "You don't want my lawyer's name. She was awful. What I had was a husband who wanted very badly for me to sign an NDA covering everything that occurred during our marriage. I signed it. That is what you need to know before you start asking me questions."

No words were spoken among the team but a lifetime of working together made them unnecessary. When Daphne was startled or confused by new information, she deferred to Velma to pick up the ball and run with it.

Velma took over, "This NDA covers everything that occurred between the date on your marriage license to the date on your divorce decree?"

"No, the date on the front end was about six months before we got married which was somewhat before we started dating seriously. The end date is the divorce decree. Yes."

"Therefore, you can answer questions – including questions about Clive and your relationship with him that occurred outside of those dates?"

"Correct."

"How about Robin? Same stipulation and same dates?"

"Yes. Everything about Robin is considered to be within the marriage. Same dates."

Fred watched Velma with his usual admiration. This was when she was at her finest. The NDA was an obstacle that turned this questioning into a puzzle to be solved. And Velma was the best puzzle solver alive. He once again realized how much he missed all of this. He saw the look on her face that meant she was figuring things out.

"Did you know Clive before the start date of the NDA?"

"Yes, I did. We both worked at the local CBS affiliate. He was a producer and I was a copy writer."

"Did you work closely together?"

"Sometimes. It was on a project-by-project basis. Sometimes I worked with Clive and sometimes with one of the other producers."

"What did you think of him?"

"I thought he was weird and a complete jerk."

"But you found him attractive?"

"No. Not at all. I didn't really think about it much."

"Do you remember at all what happened on the last day before the date that the NDA comes into effect?"

"Yes. Vividly. I went into the station director's office and he physically chased me around his desk. I came running out and ran into Clive. He seemed to immediately know what was happening and told me to run into his office. I did and I heard Clive tell the station director that I had gone in the opposite direction."

"Did you then have a conversation with Clive?"

"Yes. But nothing of consequence was discussed. I really just caught my breath. I was sure that I was going to be fired."

"And the next day, the NDA comes into effect?"

"That is correct." Hanna looked disappointed as if she were expecting another more important question that was not asked. But Velma didn't know what that question was. Which was frustrating.

But she carried on, "When you got divorced, Clive got custody of Rob?"

"No. We had joint custody."

"Were there disagreements over Rob?"

"Yes. Constantly."

"Which ones stand out?"

"One. One stands out. When Robby was three – this was right at one year after the divorce – Clive comes to me and tells me that he wants Robby to see a psychiatrist. He said he didn't think Robby was developing at a normal rate. My baby was three years old! He walked, he talked, he ran, he laughed, he played with other kids, he sang songs. It made no sense. I forbade it."

"And how did Clive react to that?"

"He did it, anyway. So, I went to court to try and stop him."

"And how did that go?"

"How do you think? He threw tons of money and high-priced lawyers at me. I couldn't keep up. And then he lied and said that it was therapy only, no medication. But you didn't see my baby. Robby wasn't the same. He was glassy-eyed and sometimes his speech would slur. That never happened before."

"Do you remember the name of the psychiatrist?"

"I never saw the psychiatrist! The lawyers made sure of that! In the end, the court said that the treatment was in Robby's best interest and said that they wouldn't stop Clive."

"What did you do then?"

"What could I do. It was over. Clive won."

"Do you still have joint custody?"

"No. Clive has sole custody."

"How did you lose joint custody?"

"He petitioned the court."

"Clive petitioned the court?"

"No. Robby petitioned the court."

Daphne gasped. Even though Velma had little talent at reading emotions, the pain on this woman's face could be seen from space. She wanted to stop the questioning and just leave the poor woman alone but there was a mystery and at the heart of this mystery was a young boy.

"When did this happen?"

"Three years ago."

"What reasons did Robby give for this?"

"He said that I wasn't his real mother…" There was a pause filled with a soft choking sob, "…anyway."

"Do you know what he meant by that?"

"He was adopted."

"So, Clive isn't his biological father."

Hanna nodded, "That is correct."

"Why did you choose adoption?"

"I can't answer that question."

"Did you have fertility issues?"

"I can't answer that question."

Velma thought for a moment, "Do you have any fertility issues?"

"None that I know of."

Velma knew that Hanna was leading her to a truth that she wanted known. She took another pause and mentally crafted her next two questions.

"Does Clive have any fertility issues?"

The answer came out clear and steady, "I would not know."

Velma nodded. She knew what Hanna was trying to tell her and asked the final question, "Does Clive enjoy sex?"

Hanna let out a long exhale and answered, "I would not know."

During the wordless moment that followed this answer, Velma's mind focused on the question that Hanna had clearly wanted her to ask about the day before the NDA period. She came up blank. Going over and over the clues provided by the rest of the conversation gave her nothing. She looked for Hanna's face but it was pointed down into her lap.

Without looking up, Hanna spoke, "He's my son. Tell me if breaking the NDA will help him and I will do it gladly. I will tell you everything."

Daphne answered, "We're not there, yet, Hanna. But if we believe that it will help your son, we will ask that of you."

Hanna nodded.

Daphne stood, stepped over, and dropped to one knee in front of the woman. She reached out and took Hanna's hand and held it. Velma watched this and focused on the hand, wondering how the woman would react to this unrequested physical contact. The hand neither returned Daphne's squeeze nor jerked away. It lay lifeless in Daphne's grasp until Daphne let it go and it fell back into Hanna's lap. The gang all rose and silently exited the room. Hanna made no move to stand with them.

Lunch was very subdued. No jokes. No gastronomic gymnastics from Shaggy and Scooby. No research updates. Herbert sat alone at another table at the restaurant doing a crossword puzzle. Velma thought that she wouldn't have pegged him as a crossword person. She felt embarrassed now about her earlier outburst at Shaggy. He was who he was and punishing him for it at this point was senseless. Her thoughts drifted into an odd unplanned daydream where she took the $30,000, paid all of her debts, hung out a sign on the front of the store that said 'All Books Free," and left. It would leave her mother and father owning a building with no tenant and, if this were a daydream, she would pay them an extra one or two months of rent to cover things until they could get a replacement. But she didn't have enough money to do that and have anything left over with which to start a new life. It was that thought that made her realize this wasn't a daydream, it was a plan.

Even more than her parents, the people at this table were her anchor to Crystal Cove. And the anchor cable was all but cut. If she were ever to have a hope at happiness, she needed to set sail.

After lunch, they headed back to the CBS Building for their afternoon interviews and braced themselves for seeing Clive. Seeing him was a little more uncomfortable after what they had just heard but they nodded and smiled and followed him from the elevator. He took them back to the same conference room where they had met two nights earlier. Four people were already seated and waiting.

Clive stepped into the room, "I'll make some introductions. Everyone, of course, knows Velma, Fred, Daphne, Shaggy, and Scooby. As you requested, I have lined up the people who report directly to me here. My co-workers who have been kind enough to join us are Joan Van Dark, Yvonne Dautolo, Carolyn Smith, and Jim… uh… John… Martin. Sorry, John, I went spacey there for a second. These four have been working with me for several years and probably know as much about the work side of me as anyone. I have asked them to be completely open and honest."

Joan was the woman they had met two nights before on the fourth floor. She volunteered, "I really don't know what we're going to say. Clive's great. We've worked together for about ten years. We get along great."

Clive smiled, "They probably will feel better about the information they get when I'm not here, so I'll leave you to it." And he left, closing the door softly behind him.

The gang took seats around the table. Scooby hated chairs, especially the kind that swiveled and leaned back as they were hard for him to get into but he figured that he would be left out of this conversation if he did not climb into one. He sat directly across from Joan Van Dark who stared at him almost without blinking.

Fred started, "We are working for Clive trying to help him figure out a mystery and so we are needing to understand what he is like to work with; what the organizational structure is around here; kind of who does what and how everything fits together. Any opening thoughts?"

The four employees looked at each other silently and Yvonne shrugged.

"Maybe this will help." Velma placed her hands on the tabletop. "Clive used to executive produce our show. We worked with him. We worked closely with him."

Another few seconds of silence was broken by Carolyn, "Then you know."

When nothing followed, Daphne prodded, "Know what?"

Yvonne answered, "That Clive is Satan."

John spoke for the first time, "Not literally. I mean, at one time Satan was an angel."

Carolyn finished the thought, "Clive was always an asshat."

Joan still looked at Scooby, "Hello."

Scooby looked back, "Rerro."

Joan beamed, "I just can't get over it." She looked up at the faces all looking at her, "Oh, yeah. Clive's awful. The worst."

Another silence ensued. So, Fred prodded, "How is he the worst?"

Which was greeted by another silence.

Daphne primed the pump this time, "When we worked with Clive, every decision he made was horrible and the only thing he seemed really concerned about was how to make my and Velma's skirts as short as possible and still get by the censors."

Velma went with it, "Did you ever see me run in the old shows? I have my shoulders way back and am having to kick my legs out? That's because my skirt was so short and uncomfortable that if I ran normally my underwear would hang out the bottom. So, there I was, actually running from someone who wanted to hurt or maybe even kill us, and I had to worry about a wardrobe malfunction."

John responded, "There are stories about Clive."

Yvonne looked at him, "What do you mean stories? There are realities about Clive."

"Such as?" It was Daphne.

Yvonne suddenly realized that she was sitting across the table from someone who was working for Clive but they could all see the resolve in her face, "Such as inappropriate contact, inappropriate conversation, inappropriate humor. Just about anything which you could put the work 'inappropriate' in front of, he did."

"So, he was sexually aggressive?"

Yvonne paused and thought a moment, "It wasn't really sexual. It was like…"

"Creepy." Joan finished.

"Way creepy." Carolyn confirmed.

"Creepy how?"

Yvonne retook the narrative, "It was really just that he seemed fixated on how we looked. How we dressed, our make-up…"

They were taking turns now. Joan spoke, "One thing that might have been sexual was the skirt thing. If you weren't wearing a skirt, he would say you should be."

Carolyn's turn, "And if you were wearing one, he would say it should be shorter."

"That we can identify with." Velma broke in.

Yvonne again, "He once said to me that a woman's knees were nature's most perfect creation and that all fashion should accentuate them. How weird is that?"

"He once grabbed my hand to point out that I had chipped fingernail polish."

"He used to actually grab my skirt and pull it up a couple of inches and say 'see, doesn't that just look better.'"

"Oh, he did stuff like that all the time."

Fred asked, "Why didn't you report him to HR?"

The three women stared at Fred like he had just blown a snot bubble.

Daphne shook her head, "Forgive him ladies. He's a man."

Yvonne's eyes bore into Fred, "Even today, I would have to have ironclad proof like a video or a recording of behavior that could not possibly be interpreted any way other than predatory. But this was years ago. If I made an accusation like that against an executive back then, my job description would be changed to every humiliating and demeaning thing they could give me to make me quit. And I'm not talking about here. I'm talking about everywhere."

Fred realized that he had just become 'them.' "Sorry."

Carolyn continued, "But, with Clive, it didn't feel predatory. It felt like being back in junior high and your girlfriend giving you fashion tips. Which somehow made it even creepier."

Joan looked away from studying Scooby, "And that wasn't really the weirdest thing."

"How so?"

"Well. One time I was having a little problem with a co-worker…"

"Danny?" Yvonne interjected.

Joan shrugged.

Carolyn shook her head, "Poor Danny was so pathetic."

Joan was now embroiled in the side discussion, "He was… troubled."

"I'm still good with pathetic."

Joan shrugged again.

John sat silently, apparently very uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.

Daphne nudged Joan back on track, "You were saying about Clive?"

"Oh right. Well, I was having trouble with… Danny. And I went to Clive to get some help with the situation. He told me that I might be having workplace relational issues and that I should go to a psychiatrist. That seemed odd and like overkill. So, I chose to resolve the issue on my own."

Carolyn leaned in as if telling a secret, "She kneed Danny in the groin on the elevator. The door opened up and he fell right out on the floor in the lobby."

Yvonne was nodding, "It was fabulous."

Joan was blushing slightly, "Well, the issue was resolved."

Carolyn smiled, "Knee means no."

John was clearly wishing that he could fade into the wall.

Yvonne turned suddenly serious, "But we're the survivors."

Daphne matched her serious tone, "What do you mean?"

"I think that John is the only male that Clive has hired since I've been here. Everyone else has been female and in their twenties. There have been some – I don't know, two or three, maybe – that started and were doing fine and then after a few months they were gone. We were told they had quit without notice."

Joan leaned over and looked at the others, "Like Shelly."

Carolyn nodded, "And she was acting real strange right before she left."

Velma spoke, "Maybe like Danny or someone else was bothering her?"

Carolyn agreed, "It had that vibe to it. Yeah."

Ideas began to formulate in Velma's mind, "And if she went to Clive, he would recommend psychiatry?"

This statement was greeted with a silence.

Velma looked at Joan, "When he recommended psychiatry to you, did he recommend a specific doctor?"

"Yes. I remember him giving me a card. It was a few years ago."

"Can you remember the name?"

"Um."

"Did it start with a T?"

"No, I think an S. Simmons? No! Sampson. Like the Bible story. It was Sampson. I kept bumping into that card in my desk until I finally threw it away."

Velma looked at the others, "Did he recommend Dr. Sampson to any other of you?"

They shook their heads. Yvonne said, "As if I would ever go to Clive with a problem."

Fred gave it a few seconds to see if any more information came up on this line of questioning. There was nothing so he started the next line, "I'm going to ask a question which is extremely obvious and you're going to know exactly what I'm getting at. But here it comes. If Clive were gone tomorrow. Say, he quit and his job was open. Who would get it?"

John finally had a topic on which he could talk, "Probably some executive's nephew or some MBA transfer from another division. None of us is going to get it."

"Why not?"

"In any large corporation, there are the people who do the work and then the people who take credit for it. There is a shortage of people who actually get work done. They don't get promoted because they are harder to replace. So, the management and executive positions go to people who can't actually do the work themselves. Those slots require connections more than ability. No one in this room is in line for Clive's job."

Nods all around. Consensus.

I think that about does it. Anyone have anything to add?

Yvonne was standing, "Did we mention that Clive is Satan?"

"Yes," Daphne smiled, "I think we have that in our notes."

Joan was back to looking at Scooby, "What's your name?"

Scooby looked questioningly back, "Ron't you know?"

"I do. I just want to hear you talk."

Scooby stood and took on a faraway look, "Ro be or rot to be. Rat is the question. Rether tis nobler in mind to ruffer the slings and arrows of outrageous rortune or to rake arms against a sea of roubles and, by thus opposing, end them."

Joan was moonie-eyed, "That is so amazing."

And the four workers made their way out the door.

Shaggy looked at Scooby, "What was that, Scoob? From a fortune cookie?"

Scooby put his paw on Shaggy's shoulder and slowly shook his head, "Raggy, we need to rork on your rowledge of riterature."

"As long as it's the literature of fine cookbooks, I'm your man."

As soon as the four employees left the room, Velma looked at Daphne, "Daphne, do you have Hanna Timberlake's phone number?"

Daphne supplied it and Velma made the call.

"Hello?"

"Hello Hanna, this is Velma Dinkley. We met earlier?"

"Of course. How can I help?"

"Can I ask you two more questions?"

"Certainly."

"On the day before the start date of your NDA period, - when you had the problem with the station director - did Clive make any recommendations to you regarding how to handle such a workplace difficulty?"

There was a long pause before Hanna answered, "Not at that time. No."

"If I ask you if he ever made such a recommendation what would your answer be?"

Another long pause, "I would answer that I cannot answer that question."

Velma's turn for a pause, "Okay. Thank you. That helps."

She hung up and then stared into space like she used to do when things were coming together.

Fred recognized the look, "Velma do you have it almost figured out?"

She shook her head, "No. But the little bit that I do understand makes me feel like when we do figure it all out…" her voice dropped to a whisper, "…we're not going to like it."

Shaggy and Scooby looked at each other. To this point nothing in this mystery had evoked the fear they remembered from their previous forays but they now felt the familiar shiver go up their spines.

"Like, Velma, do you think you could be a little more ominous? I don't think that was quite cryptic enough."

"Reah, 'ryptic."

Velma almost smiled, "I think I'll say this before Daphne does. We need to go back to the hotel and nail some things down. We're close.

The bus ride back to the hotel was quiet but it was not the uncomfortable quiet of the rest of the trip. It was the quiet of the gang puzzling through what they had learned and trying to piece it all together. Every so often, Fred or Daphne would turn around and ask Velma a question or postulate an idea. A short discussion would ensue which would run aground on information still needed.

They moved into Daphne and Fred's hotel room and the thoughtful quiet continued into the afternoon for Fred, Velma, Scooby, and Shaggy with it being Daphne's turn to be making phone call after phone call after phone call. Daphne's voice was normally professional but hints of frustration would creep in from time to time which she quickly got under control. She was using connections and cajoling information out of the system. This was her special talent. More so than her people skills and ability to read non-verbal clues. She could reach into the most bureaucratic system in the world – the local, state, and federal government – and she could pull out information. And that she did. Her voice suddenly rose slightly in excitement.

"That's it, Todd. That's got to be it. No. No, I understand that. But this might just be enough. Thank you so much. I owe you one."

Daphne ended the call, stood, and poked Shaggy in the chest with her index finger. Hard.

"Ow!"

"Sometimes a cloud is just a cloud, huh? And sometimes a cloud is a tornado!" She poked him again.

Fred thought he better rescue Shaggy before he got poked again, "What have you got, Daph?"

"I've got two things. First, about Tabatha Strickland. Tabatha Strickland was, indeed, born in San Diego, California 47 years ago. She was the daughter of a sailor and a local San Diego girl. When the sailor left the Navy one year later, he took his bride and their little girl back to his home in Culver City, Utah. Where Tabatha Strickland died at the age of one."

Fred jumped in, "She pulled a Day of the Jackal."

"Exactly. It wouldn't work today but 29 years ago? It worked."

Shaggy actually raised his hand, "I'll be the dumb one and ask, what exactly did she do?"

Daphne answered, "She found the records of someone who was about the same age as she was but had died at an early age and then requested their birth certificate from the state and then used that birth certificate to get all of her other IDs and created a new identity."

"And that works?"

"Not so well anymore. We now have to get social security numbers when we're five but that didn't start until after 1986. So, a woman in her mid-teens in the nineties applying for a social security number would have been perfectly normal. And all she needed was the birth certificate which was very easy to get back then. Just send in the name and the money and they send you the certificate. Once you have a social security number and a birth certificate, you get a passport, and then you can get anything."

"And that doesn't work anymore?"

"No. Since we now get our social security numbers at the age of five, if someone in their teens requests a new one, then it raises red flags. And, since the internet, it has become really easy to check for death certificates."

Shaggy realized he was playing Watson to Daphne's Holmes but figured he would keep playing along, "So, if she isn't Tabatha Strickland, then who is she?"

"That was the hard part. On a hunch, I started researching juvenile court records from 30 to 35 years ago. Those are not on the internet and I had to call all of my old contacts at the state. I gave them search words and had them search their intranet. One of the search words was 'Matthews'. And the files are, of course, sealed but I got them to give me the names of the defendants. One of them… 31 years ago… was named… Marsha Matthews. And Marsha Matthews birth certificate lists her father as Wayne Matthews and her mother as Edna Freemont. Clive's birth certificate lists his father as Wayne Matthews and his mother as Susan Decatur. And yes, I just confirmed, it's the same Wayne Matthews."

She turned back to Shaggy, "So, in your face, Mister cloud-is-just-a-cloud!"

Velma could almost hear the 'click' in her brain as this huge piece of the puzzle fell into place. The 'how' was almost there. But why?

"I got something, too. Not as big as Daphne's." Fred stood as Daphne returned to her seat. "I know who the fake priest is. His name is Nick Farrell and he is an actor."

Velma felt like she was really close. Maybe, if she could just spend some time by herself, she could put everything together and make some sense of why this all would be done.

"Guys, I think I'm going to go to my room for a while and think things through."

"No!" Fred yelled.

Daphne jumped, "Freddy? What's wrong?"

Shaggy had jumped into Scooby's arms and was getting back down to the floor, "Yeah, dude, that was a bit of an overreaction."

"Sorry, Velma. I… It… You see…" Fred was not a great liar and also pretty bad at concealing anything from his friends. "Velma, I'm sorry. It's just something that the fake priest said. After we had talked about Rob, he wanted to talk about you. He told me that of all of us, you were the one that most appeared to be wrestling with a demon and that I shouldn't let you pull away from the group."

A sickening feeling began to creep into Velma's stomach.

"That's odd." It was Daphne. "After I finished talking about Rob, Tabatha wanted to talk about Velma, too. She said the exact opposite. She said that we should push Velma out of the group."

Velma now felt the bile beginning to rise.

Shaggy took his turn, "Robby wanted to talk about Velma, too. Nobody else. Just Velma. He was worried that he had upset you."

"Oh my God."

Everyone turned in reaction to Velma's exclamation.

"I think I've solved the mystery."

And then she threw up. Violently.