Blue Waltz

Chapter 2: Spinning in Circles

Sept. 2 Cont.

"Department of Children and Family. How may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm a teacher from South Canard Middle School, and I'd like to report a possible child abuse," the voice from the other line said.

Charity Loveatte reached for a new file, used to these kinds of phone calls. While teachers are often the ones who see the signs of child abuse first, most of these calls were false alarms. Either way, she had to make a file.

"May I have your name, M'am?" Charity asked, cradling the phone between her cheek and her shoulder as she wrote.

"Geneva Chickpea. I teach fourth grade."

"Mrs. Chickpea, my name is Charity Loveatte. I'm a social worker," Charity informed the teacher after she took down the contact information. "Please tell me about the child and what you have seen."

"Gosalyn Mallard is one of my students and…well, I'm not completely sure if I'm doing the right thing."

"Ma'm, I'm the supervisor of St Canard's DCF. I assure you that we will investigate thoroughly. We do not act unless we are absolutely certain the child is being abused or neglected. We have the best interest of the child at heart," Charity reassured the teacher. "Now, please tell me about Gosalyn."

"Well, it started out with a few discipline issues. She's been falling asleep in class, her grades are poor, and today, she got into a fight with another student," the teacher reported.

"Yes?" Charity said, asking for more. This was starting to sound like a false alarm, as were most of the calls she was given by teachers. It was true that discipline problems could be a sign of abuse, but that was usually the exception rather than the case.

Mrs. Chickpea heaved a sigh. "And she's has had a lot of bruises."

Charity's attention picked up. "Can you describe these bruises?"

"Just bruises on her arms and legs. Not anything special. Today she has two black eyes, although one she admitted was from the fight with the student," Mrs. Chickpea continued. "The thing is, Gosalyn is a very active and physical little girl. The first day I met her, she was hitting a hockey puck around the school yard. And because of that, I may not have called, but whenever I ask her where she got those bruises, she lies to me. I've been a teacher for sixteen years, and I know when a student is lying to me."

"Anything else?" Charity asked as she jotted down her shorthand notes. She would type them up later.

"She also seems to be afraid of her father. Our school has a no-fighting rule, and when the principal was going to suspend her, she looked genuinely afraid," Mrs. Chickpea reported. "The principal didn't suspend Gosalyn on my recommendation. If there was something going on at home, I didn't want to aggravate the situation."

"Have you talked to her parents?" Charity asked.

"No. Gosalyn says it's just her and her father. I've sent notes home and they always come back signed, but whenever I call, I always get the machine. And Mr. Mallard never calls me back," Mrs. Chickpea said. By the tone of her voice, Charity could imagine her beak as a thin line.

Charity rubbed her temple as she kept writing. This was sounding more and more like an actual case, unfortunately. She turned to her computer. "How do you spell her name?" As Mrs. Chickpea replied, Charity typed it in.

Surprisingly, Gosalyn was in the system. DCF had in the past year started transferring their records to digital, but it was slow going. New cases were in the system but old ones were either only listed with minimal information or still in the dozens of filing cabinets in their storage room. After glancing through the profile, Charity understood why Gosalyn was in the system. She had been adopted not that long ago, although only the bare minimum information was on the computer. A number was listed where her full file was in storage down in the basement.

Charity frowned at Gosalyn's profile, especially at what was recorded about the man who adopted her. There was a lot of missing information.

"Mrs. Chickpea, are you still there?" Charity asked over the phone.

"Yes."

"I have some contact information for Mr. Mallard in my system, but I'd like to confirm with you if what I have is correct," Charity said, then rattled off the phone number and address. When Mrs. Chickpea confirmed that they were correct, Charity asked a few more questions regarding Gosalyn's school record to see if it matched the file as well. Then she said good-bye to the teacher, promising that DCF would look into Gosalyn and Drake Mallard.

Once off the phone, Charity read what was on her computer's screen again. The information regarding Gosalyn's parentage, the reason for her adoption and anything about her past hadn't been recorded but must be in the physical file. If this did turn out to be a case of abuse, Charity would dig it out. But that wasn't what concerned her.

It was strange that a single man adopted her. It wasn't DCF's policy—or any orphanage—to let single men adopt or foster a child, that is, unless they knew the right people. If that was the case, this Drake Mallard was connected. But when Charity checked for any information on Drake Mallard outside of phone number and address, everything was completely blank. There was no background information, no employment history, schooling history, no records or indication of who he was.

The only other information that was available to her on the computer was a copy of the adoption certificate, which someone had carefully scanned in. The person who signed off on the adoption wasn't anyone from DCF, nor anyone she knew associated with DCF, and she had been working there for eight years.

Either someone made a mistake or this was above her paygrade.

Normally, she would have handed the case over to an underling. After all, as the supervisor of the department, she had a lot of things on her plate including assigning cases, payroll, scheduling, contacting judges and other personnel that work with DCF including the police, making sure everything was legal and that all paperwork was turned in with signatures and complete information. On top of that, she had her old cases where she kept track of foster parents and kids from before her promotion. She loved the pay raise when she became the supervisor, but she missed the case work, so she would take a case here or there, especially when she sensed one of her social workers was close to burning out.

But there was something about this case that she felt that she needed to be the one investigating. While a lot about it was familiar and practically text book, there were also a lot of unknown and weird variables. Gosalyn's case needed someone with experience.

Well, it didn't matter who this Drake Mallard was or who his friends were, Charity had a job to do. She picked up the phone and dialed the number.

"Hi, this is the home of Drake Mallard. Leave your message at the beep."

Charity shouldn't have been surprised to get the machine. If the teacher wasn't able to get a live body, she couldn't expect to be any luckier.

When the beep sounded, Charity spoke with the perfect level of friendliness and professionalism. "Hello, Mr. Mallard. I'm Charity Loveatte with the Department of Children and Family. I was hoping to be able to speak to you about your daughter, Gosalyn. It seems as if some information was lost when you adopted her."

It was a white lie. Sometimes, in certain situations, it was best to go in with an innocent excuse. If any abuse was taking place, she didn't want them on their guard to hide it.

"If you could call me back, I'd like to make an appointment to come talk to you in person," she continued, then gave her work number and office hours before hanging up.

Unfortunately, that was all she could do for right now. She had to give Mr. Mallard a chance to call her back. Now all she had to do was hurry up and wait.


The second Gosalyn got home, she checked to see if her dad was there. She found him in the kitchen with his current case spread out on the table. It had been weeks, and he still didn't know who was robbing warehouses. On top of that, the thief was getting bolder. Usually, only a couple of warehouses would be cleaned out a week, but now it was occurring every other night.

"What am I missing? What do all these things have in common?" Drake muttered to himself as he slowly scanned the photos with a magnifying glass.

"Hey, Dad?" Gosalyn called out cautiously. Her heart was thumping. If her dad was home, had he heard the message that Mrs. Chickpea had left.

"Oh, hey Gos," Drake said distractedly. A good sign.

"Have you had a good day?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Any phone calls?"

"Huh? I don't know. Could you check the machine?" Drake said, waving his hand to excuse his daughter.

Gosalyn grinned as she rushed to the phone. Luckily for her, Drake was obsessed with this case, and he hadn't even heard the phone ring. The answering machine's light was blinking, indicating a message had been left. She popped the top open, pulled out the tape and replaced it with a blank one.

She was totally going to get away with everything.

Just as she was about to race up to her room to dispose of the incriminating evidence, the phone rang. With muscles and nerves taut, she screamed before clamping her hands around her beak.

"Gosalyn, quit screaming and answer the phone, please," Drake yelled from the kitchen.

She snatched the phone up and said, "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was female and sounded skeptical. "Is this the home of Drake Mallard?"

"May I ask who is calling?" Gosalyn asked. It didn't sound like Mrs. Chickpea, which she was grateful for.

"My name is Cammy Diver. I'm responding to his profile from the dating service."

Gosalyn pumped her fist in triumph. Her day just got better. "That's so great. Da—er, I mean—Mr. Mallard has been expecting a call from the service. When can you come over and meet him?"

"Um…can I talk to him in person?"

"No," Gosalyn strained to keep her voice normal. "I mean—Mr. Mallard is very busy, but I can schedule your date."

"Really? You sound a little young to be a secretary," the voice on the other line said.

"Well, I'm not officially his secretary. I'm his daughter," Gosalyn said truthfully.

"Oh…" The voice didn't sound pleased.

Cursing her mistake, Gosalyn realized that women may not be open to dating a single parent. Hadn't she learned anything from TV? She had to work fast to make her father look good.

"That is to say, I'm not his real daughter. He's obviously too young to be my actual dad," Gosalyn wheeled and dealed. "He adopted me, saving me from a life on the streets by giving me a good home." More lies, but she was in too deep. She needed this date to happen.

"Oh…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that the last guy I dated lied on his profile," the woman said. "It turned out that he was still married. I'm sure your dad is a wonderful guy, but—"

"Let me assure you," Gosalyn interrupted, talking quickly, "that my dad has never been married, and he didn't lie about anything on the dating profile. He has very high morals." All true.

"Well…I guess it wouldn't hurt to meet him once," the woman said. "Where can we meet?"

"How about dinner here tomorrow at 6:30?" Gosalyn suggested. "That way you can meet me as well."

Again, the voice on the other line seemed reluctant about this idea, but Gosalyn pushed the sell harder. "You can't beat a home-cooked meal."

"Okay. What's the address?"

Gosalyn gave her the information before cheerfully saying goodbye. She did a little dance. With what's-her-face distracting her dad and the evidence safe from the discerning eyes of Drake Mallard, she was sure she was in the clear. If she could keep her toes in line for another two weeks, she would make it to hockey season.

"Gosalyn, I'm sorry," Drake said, walking out of the kitchen door. "You came home, and I was distracted. I need to be better about paying more attention to you, kiddo."

Spinning around, Gosalyn smiled, putting the answering machine tape into her pocket. "It's alright, Dad. You're so busy."

"Too busy. This crime spree is astonishing," Drake grumbled, running fingers through the feathers on his head. "Last night, a furniture store was robbed, but they only took the refrigerators. Almost one hundred of them. Refrigerators. Who needs that many refrigerators? And why not take the other appliances?"

"Gee, Dad, you sound stressed. Maybe you should take a night off and do something relaxing," Gosalyn suggested, rocking on her heels.

"I suppose even Darkwing Duck needs a little R&R to stay sharp. I wouldn't want to burn out," Drake mulled. "Let's go out tomorrow. How about pizza and a movie?"

Normally, Gosalyn would jump at this offer, but not today. "Actually, I was thinking that you should do something more social."

"Social?" Drake frowned.

"Yeah. You're always fighting crime and running after villains that you don't get to meet people your age."

"My age?" Drake repeated again, looking suspicious. "Okay, young lady, what are you up to? Lay it out on the table."

"It's just that I got a blind date for you," Gosalyn said quickly.

"A DATE?" Drake yelled. "What? How? Who?"

"Don't worry about it, Dad," Gosalyn soothed. "You just be ready by 6:30 tomorrow for dinner."

"You invited a complete stranger to our house?" Drake protested.

"No, no, no," Gosalyn said, shaking her head and preparing another lie. "She's not a complete stranger. She's a relative of…Honker's." She knew that she had made a mistake the moment it left her beak. Oh well, she was committed. "A distant cousin."

"On which side of the family?" Drake asked while eyeing his daughter.

"Binky's."

Drake looked as if he were considering it. Then he shook his hands. "Wait. Wait. I don't know about this, Gos. I shouldn't be dating women. What about Morgana?"

Gosalyn rolled her eyes. She should have known that Drake was still hung up on her. "You broke up, remember?"

"Not exactly," Drake said. "We're just on a break…for over six months…and she has moved to another dimension where I can't get ahold of her."

Either her dad was delusional or just hopeless.

"It's just a date, not a marriage proposal," Gosalyn joked. "Besides, this is a favor for the Muddlefoots."

Drake's frown deepened. That wasn't going to tip him in the right direction.

"And I'll clean the whole house in time for your date," Gosalyn bargained. "You won't even need to worry about dinner. Binky will be cooking." She inwardly winced. She needed to dial her mouth down before she said something she couldn't back up.

"Well…if you're going through all this trouble, then I'll go along with it," Drake gave in. "But it's not going anywhere. Morgana and I are going to get back together…eventually."

"Yeah, I know, Dad," Gosalyn assuaged. "Just don't forget. Tomorrow at 6:30."

Drake patted her head. "Where did you come up with the thought to get me a blind date?" he wondered.

Gosalyn put on her most angelic expression. "I'm just worried about you, Dad. I don't want you to be alone."

"Awww. Gos, I'm not alone. I have you and Launchpad," he said, taking her into his arms. "And right now, that's all I need."

Guilt welled up inside Gosalyn, especially as she caught a hint of sadness in his eyes. Perhaps he really was lonely even with a daughter and a best friend to keep him company. Was a girlfriend really that important?

She returned his hug before saying, "I'm going to go do my homework." And the funny thing was, she intended to do just that.

"You're really growing up, Gos. I'm proud of you," Drake said, returning to the kitchen and his work.

Even with the guilt working its way to the deepest part of her heart, she wasn't going back on her scheme. Only now, she hoped that something good would come from it. As much as she loved hockey, she would do almost anything to make her dad happy.

But she still loved hockey, and the scheme was going smoothly. She only had to make sure the house and her dad were ready in time for the blind date. And if she knew Drake Mallard, he would be hyper-fixated on this robbery case and could very well be in his Darkwing Duck costume when his date arrived if she didn't remind him.


Sept. 4

As the supervisor at DCF, Charity had a lot of duties. Friday morning always began with a weekly staff meeting, which she was able to keep as short as possible since she was in charge. There were some people who liked to gum up the meeting with meaningless complaints or social chatter, and Charity didn't feel the least bit guilty interrupting them and moving the subject to more useful topic.

After the meeting, she was bombarded by social workers who needed signatures and questions, and even a few that wanted to gossip and small talk despite knowing that Charity despised this while she was on the clock. She didn't get to her desk until half past ten, and when she did, she immediately checked her messages. As always, she had several, but not one from Mr. Mallard. She dialed his number, but again, it went to the answering machine. Once more, she left a short message.

Blowing out a lungful of air, she began the task of returning as many phone calls as she could before she had to run down to the courthouse at noon. If there was something she liked about her job, it was that she was never bored. There was always something for her to do, somewhere for her to go, and some emergency waiting around every corner.

Soon, the clock's short hand was nearly touching the number five, and the employees of DCF were winding down, organizing their desks and getting in one last phone call. Good-nights were exchanged as the office slowly emptied during quitting time, but Charity remained in her seat, always preferring to get a few more things done while the building was quiet.

On top of a pile of files, a sticky note called to her with Drake Mallard's phone number on it. With her fingers crossed, she decided to give him one more chance.

To her surprise, the phone rang a few times before it was picked up.

"Hello?" a little girl's voice answered.

"Hello, may I speak to Mr. Mallard?"

"Who may I ask is calling?"
"My name is Charity Loveatte. I'm with the Department of—"

"Sorry, we're not interested," the girl said.

Charity flinched as she imagined the phone on the other line slamming into the cradle. Not to be outdone, she dialed again.

"Hello?" the girl's voice answered again.

"Please, do not hang up on me. It is very important I get a hold of Mr. Mallard. Is he home?" Charity said in a stern voice.

"He can't talk now. Call back tomorrow."

Again, the phone went dead.

When Charity dialed the number a third time, a mechanical voice told her that the number was no longer in service. The little girl on the other end was no doubt Gosalyn, and her behavior was certainly suspicious. Determined to find out what was going on in that household, Charity gathered her keys, purse and a few papers, jotting down the home address of the Mallard family from her computer before turning it off.

One way or another, she was going to talk to Mr. Mallard today.


Gosalyn unplugged the phone from the wall. Whoever that weirdo lady was, she wasn't calling back tonight. There would be no distractions.

It was bad enough that when she came back from school, her dad was sleeping on the couch, bruised and bloody and still in his costume. Whichever villain he had to duel while she was at school had done a number on him. But that was no excuse to cancel his date. Gosalyn quickly brewed some coffee and sent Launchpad and her dad upstairs to clean up and put on something special.

Meanwhile, she cleaned up the house. Yes, that was correct. She cleaned. On purpose.

It had been during her rushed cleaning job that that woman called. Twice. Whatever she wanted—probably some sort of scam—it could wait. No distractions. No interruptions.

At six o' clock, she rushed over to the Muddlefoots's, checking with Binky about dinner. It hadn't been hard to ask the canary to cater; the sweet woman even declined Gosalyn's offer to pay for the meal. "I always make too much anyway," Binky had said.

As Gosalyn burst into the kitchen, the wonderful smells made her hungry.

"Everything is turning out fine, Gosalyn dear," Binky said, turning on the oven light to show the pot roast and vegetables covered in a glaze. "I also have a fruit salad and garlic bread for your side dishes. And I've made a special apple crisp for dessert. I was thinking that I'll send everything over with Honker on my nice dishes."

"You didn't have to do all that, Mrs. Muddlefoot," Gosalyn said, touched by the lengths her neighbor had gone through for just a simple favor.

"It's nothing, sweetie. You and your father have been wonderful friends to us. It's the least I can do," Binky replied.

In a moment of spontaneous emotions, Gosalyn hugged Binky around her legs. Since leaving the orphanage, Mrs. Muddlefoot was the closest thing she had to a mother figure, and she hadn't realized how much she appreciated the canary. "Thank you," she said before breaking the embrace.

"Gosalyn, you've been such a dear friend to my Honker that sometimes I feel as if you're part of the family," Binky said, patting Gosalyn's head. "If you need anything, you know you can come to me."

"Yeah," Gosalyn said, feeling lucky to have such great neighbors. Oh, her dad might gripe and grumble about the Muddlefoots, but most of his words were just bluster. They couldn't have asked for better people to live next to them.

Rushing back home, she pushed the vacuum around until her dad descended the stairs, cleaned up and wearing his usual sweater vest over a button up.

"Oh, no you don't," she yelled, pushing him back up the stairs. "Put on something nice."

"This is nice," Drake protested.

"Nicer," Gosalyn insisted.

Launchpad came down next in a suit and tie, which Gosalyn was surprised that he owned. He always preferred to wear casual clothing. But since he was acting as both server and bar tender—which he said he had previous experience several years ago—it was good he wasn't wearing his usual bomber jacket and scarf.

And eventually Drake came back downstairs, tugging at a tie around his neck and fiddling with the buttons of a sports jacket. "There. Now how do I look?"

"Perfect," Gosalyn announced.

There was a knock at the kitchen door.

"Stay here. I'll get it," Gosalyn shouted before her dad could react. She raced to the door and threw it open.

Honker and his mom were on the other side, their hands filled with food and dishes.

"I'll put the roast in your oven to keep warm," Binky said, bustling in as she always did. "You two go set the table."

Gosalyn took the salad and plate of bread from Binky, and she and Honker took everything into the dining room.

"Is the young lady here? Oh, I'd love to meet her," Binky said as she set out some flute glasses and candles.

"No, but I'll tell you all about it tomorrow," Gosalyn said, pushing them back to the kitchen door, remembering that she could not let Drake and Binky talk about this date. If her dad found out that she lied about his date being Binky's cousin, he might find out what else she had been lying about.

"Gosalyn," Drake called.

The young duckling turned around, expecting to be lectured, but instead she found Drake looking at the dining room with an odd look.

"Yeah Dad?"

"This is…Did you do all this?" He asked, circling the room. "And the house is all cleaned too."

"Yes," Gosalyn responded.

He gathered her up into a hug. "Thank you, Gos. It would be nice if you were this helpful every day, but it means a lot to me that you went through all this trouble."

"Yeah," Gosalyn said softly. Darn you, guilt, she thought. Let me enjoy this moment.

Then the doorbell rang.

"That's her," Gosalyn called out, wiggling from the embrace. She rushed to the end table near the front door and grabbed a bouquet of flowers she had gathered from a number of neighbor's yards and tied with a ribbon.

"She's a bit early," Drake said, looking at the clock.

"Answer the door and give her these, Dad," Gosalyn said, pushing Drake forward.

Drake shot her a wry smile before taking a deep breath. How long had it been since he went on a first day? He realized that he felt a little nervous, his palms a little sweaty. Was he this nervous when he finally asked Morgana on a date?

He opened the door, trying hard not to frown as the woman on his doorstep was nothing like what he expected.

"Is this the residence of Drake Mallard?" The woman was a black-masked, blue lovebird with her hair tied back in a tight bun. She was looking through a pair of glasses at a paper on a clipboard. She wore a simple, light pink blouse and black slacks.

"Uh, yes. Come on in," Drake said, fixing a smile on his beak. She may not be what he expected, but she was pretty in a librarian kind of way. By her clothes and demeanor, she seemed the stern, stiff type.

The lovebird looked surprised to be asked in and did so tentatively.

Drake turned around and hissed at his daughter. "Binky's cousin?"

"A very distant cousin?" Gosalyn said with a shrug.

"Hi, my name is Charity Loveatte," the lovebird introduced herself and held out her hand. As Drake shook it, she said, "I've been trying to contact you, but was only able to talk to your daughter." The woman's eyes found Gosalyn behind Drake and she smiled warmly.

"Oh, yes. She told me all about it. I think she's more excited about you being here than I am," Drake said, laughing a little.

Charity blinked, looking confused. "Really?" She took off her glasses and put them in her bag. "I'm a little surprised. For a while, I thought something strange was going on since I could only get ahold of your daughter." Again, she looked at Gosalyn. "I'm very glad to finally meet you."

As the lovebird shook hands with the duckling and asked a few polite questions, Drake's opinion of his blind date rose. A lot of adults often overlooked or ignored children, and in the past, Drake had stopped dating a few girls for this reason. Not to mention, now that she had those large glasses off, he could see her warm, brown eyes better.

"Dad, the flowers," Gosalyn hissed, elbowing him in the side.

"Oh, right. These are for you," he said, handing out the bouquet.

Charity gave them a dubious look. "I'm afraid I can't accept them. My job doesn't allow it."

Drake looked down at the flowers, feeling as if they were wilting from being rejected. What kind of job doesn't allow a woman to accept flowers? "Well, then how about we sit down and talk for a while." He gestured into the living room.

Charity smiled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said, taking the lead. Just as she was about to sit in one of the arm chairs that was part of the secret passage way to Darkwing's lair, Drake dashed in front of her.

"Why not sit on the couch? It's far more comfortable," he said with a disarming grin.

Frowning uneasily, Charity did as requested, taking the middle cushion. When Drake sat right next to her, she scooted away as politely as she could. "You have a lovely home," Charity said conversationally although her tone sounded a bit nervous.

"Thank you," Drake said.

Launchpad then entered the room, guided by Gosalyn pushing him from behind. In his suit and combed down hair, he looked quite dapper. A white towel was draped over one of his arms. "May I get the lady something to drink?"

Charity looked flummoxed by the offer. "Uh…some water would be fine."

"The same," Drake told his friend, and Launchpad exited the room.

"You have a butler?" Charity asked.

Drake laughed nervously, wishing he had that water right then to drink. "Actually, he's my best friend. I think my daughter put him up to it."

Charity blinked rapidly as if trying to process the information before fiddling with her clipboard. "Gosalyn seems to be such an interesting little girl. I'm afraid that I don't know the details of her adoption."

"Oh, you don't want to talk about me," Gosalyn said from her place just outside of the living room. "In fact, why don't I leave you two alone and go…clean my room." She made to move toward the stairs when Charity called out.

"Wait, I'd actually would like to talk to you a little more, Gosalyn."

"You would?"

Charity smiled. "Yes. After our phone call, I'd like to get to know you a little better. How is school going for you? Do you like it?"

"It's okay," Gosalyn said, scuffing her shoe against the carpet.

"Are you doing well in you classes? What are you learning?" Charity's voice was kind but didn't raise her pitch like some adults do when talking to children. It was almost as if she were talking to another adult, to an equal.

Gosalyn approached, sitting on the coffee table. "It's alright. I didn't like my teacher at first, but she's not so bad. Oh, and I can't wait to try out for the hockey team. It's coming up really soon."

"Gosalyn's a great hockey player," Drake said, and he rubbed the back of his head as if counting the bumps to prove the force of her shot. "This is the first year she's old enough to join a team."

"That's great," Charity said. "With that red hair, I bet you're a spit fire on the ice."

"Keen gear, I am," Gosalyn said before realizing that—while she was enjoying the attention—the point of this date wasn't for her to show off. "But as awesome as I am, I'm not as rad as my dad. He's the absolute coolest, right dad?"

"Oh…uh…I don't know about…rad, but I…I'm a…" And that's when Drake realized he had nothing to say. Everything about his life was so intertwined in his alter ego. No social life. Whatever interests and hobbies he had were forgotten for this conversation's sake. His mind was blank.

Gosalyn was giving him a look as if to say, "Way to go, Dad. Don't embarrass me."

"Why don't you tell me about your job," Charity suggested. "What is it exactly that you do?"

"Well I…I kind of…It's kind of like…" Drake floundered, trying to pick a lie that was not only believable, but one he could answer any follow up questions.

"He's a security guard," Gosalyn easily supplied. "He works nights."

Drake jumped in, thankful for his daughter's quick thinking although he'll have to talk about her lying after this date was over. "Yeah, a security guard. My mind just went blank for a moment." He grinned abashedly.

"Really? Then that means you're home during the day?" Charity clarified.

"Uh…yeah," Drake said, although he thought it was an odd thing to say.

"And who takes care of Gosalyn while you're at work?" Charity asked, her expression expectant.

"Well…she's pretty capable of taking care of herself," Drake said while rubbing Gosalyn's head.

"So you leave her alone all night?" Charity asked with a frown.

"Yes…I mean, no," Drake changed his answer. "What I mean is the Muddlefoots are right next door. Gos is over there enough, and if she needs help, she usually knows how to contact me." At this last bit, he gave his daughter a knowing look.

"Hmmmm," Charity hummed, not looking pleased. "Which company do you work for?"

Okay, this was sounding more like an interrogation rather than a date. But then again, the lady seemed a little odd from the start. Perhaps she just didn't have the greatest communication skills. At least she was trying.

Before Drake could come up with a lie, Gosalyn broke in for another save.

"You should eat dinner before the food gets cold," Gosalyn suggested.

"That sounds like a great idea," Drake said, jumping to his feet.

Charity was on her feet, putting away her clipboard and papers. "I apologize. I came when you were about to eat. Perhaps I could schedule another time to talk to you," Charity said.

Leave it to Binky Muddlefoot to have this strange of a cousin.

"You're not going to eat with us?" Gosalyn asked. She was frowning more out of the fact that her effort of getting Binky to cook and cleaning up the house would be for nothing, which is exactly where this date seemed to be going.

"I don't think that it would be appropriate for me to join you," Charity said to Gosalyn.

"It wouldn't?" Drake asked, confused.

Charity also looked confused. "Well, I think so. I don't know. In all my experience, I've never been invited to eat dinner."

No wonder she's been acting weird, Drake thought. It sounds as if she's only been on bad dates.

"How about we continue talking in the dining room where we happen to have food," Drake offered with a smile. "So you can decide there whether or not you want to eat.

Charity's gave him a warm smile and followed him through the house, pausing to look at the photos hung on the wall. With a gentle touch, Charity rubbed away a smudge on one of the photos. "Perhaps this was a mistake," she said softly to herself. When she looked down, Gosalyn was looking at the photos as well. "It looks like you have a loving home," the lovebird said to the duckling.

"Yep, the best," Gosalyn said with a nod.

Drake was waiting for them in the dining room, standing next to a chair, which he pulled out for Charity. When she sat down, he pushed it in for her. Not long after they both sat down, Launchpad came in with fancy water glasses, ice and a slice of lemon floating in the liquid.

"Are you sure I can't get you something else to drink?" Launchpad asked. "I make a mean Manhattan."

Charity gave him a wary look before saying politely, "No, thank you though. Water is fine."

"Same for me," Drake said, taking a sip of his water. He knew just how mean of a Manhattan Launchpad could mix up, but that would have to wait. He didn't want to imbibe while his date was abstaining, not to mention, he would be heading to work later that night.

Gosalyn came in, having disappeared into the kitchen earlier, and returned with plates filled with fruit salad, pork roast, vegetables and a slice of garlic bread. "Bon appetite," she said in a terrible French accent.

"Uh, aren't you going to eat with us?" Charity asked as Gosalyn headed to the kitchen.

"I'll just leave the two of you alone," Gosalyn said with a smile. "I'll eat later after the adults have eaten."

"Do you always eat after your father?" Charity asked, eyeing the flames dancing at the end of the candles.

"Only when he has company over," Gosalyn said, rushing away.

Drake laughed nervously. "She's kidding. We eat as a family all the time. She, I and Launchpad." He shoved a forkful of fruit in his mouth.

"Oh, I thought you said Launchpad is your best friend. Is he related to you? Or to Gosalyn?" Charity asked.

"Naw, he's my roommate," Drake said once he swallowed.

Charity raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you had a roommate." She frowned.

Drake felt the familiar feeling that there was something about the conversation that he was missing. "I'm sorry? I should have mentioned it earlier? Is there something wrong?" He was getting a little tired of being polite to this woman. He didn't want to lose his temper, but some of the things she was saying bordered on rude.

"Well, usually this would make things more complicated, especially with your situation, that is, unless Launchpad is your 'partner'."

"Partner?" Drake repeated, uncertain what she meant. Yes, Launchpad was his partner, but the only way she would know that is if she knew he was Darkwing Duck. He felt tense, but the woman's words didn't match up with that fact.

"If that's the case, then I can overlook it. Do Gosalyn and Launchpad get along?"

Drake's head spun. This conversation was bouncing around too much for him. What kind of date did Gosalyn get him into?

"Launchpad is practically part of the family," Drake replied. "In fact, they have more in common with each other than with me."

Charity's face brightened. "That's wonderful to hear." For the first time, she picked up her fork and stabbed a carrot. She had done this almost unconsciously, but as she chewed, her face changed to bliss. "Oh!" She put a hand over her mouth, talking around the mouthful. "This is really good. Did you make this?"

"No, Mrs. Muddle—I mean Binky—did. Have you not had her cooking before?" Drake asked.

Charity shook her head. "It's been a long time since I've had a home-cooked meal. Usually I end up working late and ordering take-out or microwaving a meal." She quickly ate several more bites, savoring each forkful.

This sounded more like a date. With a chance to learn about this puzzling woman, Drake asked, "What is it you do? Your job?"

Charity's eyes locked on him then darted around as if there were others in the room. "I thought that was obvious."

Drake felt like he had just asked a stupid question. Rather than press, he acted sheepish to save face. "Right. Yes. Silly me."

"Mr. Mallard, I will be—"

"Call me Drake," he interrupted.

"Uh, I'm not certain that in light of the circumstances that I can be that formal," Charity said.

Drake laughed. So it was back to the Twilight Zone. The weirdness of this date was comparable to several he had with Morgana. "Under what circumstances would it be appropriate to use my first name? We're not exactly in a Jane Austin novel."

Charity's face twisted. "Oh, please. Do not mention those books. I just finished reading Pride and Prejudice, and I just don't see the point of it."

"What? It's a classic," Drake defended.

"I'll admit, Sense and Sensibility wasn't half bad, but don't pull that 'It's a classic' bit on Mansfield Park. That story just went on and on and on," Charity complained with a shake of her head. "There was just so much gossiping and back-biting, and the characters were so infuriating."

"You obviously missed the point," Drake said, feeling more in his element. He always prided himself as being well-read, and although he had his favorites, he had made it a point to brush up on as many classics as he could while he was in high school and college. Surprisingly, he had enjoyed some of Jane Austin's novels. "Her novels were to show the irony of the time period and social classes of the Regency era. And while the stuffy gossip and snobbery was realistic, it was also intended to be a satire to critique the British land gentry."

Charity's eyes widened in astonishment. "Mr. Mallard, you aren't what I expected."

"Neither are you, Ms. Loveatte," Drake said, addressing her similarly. "I never thought I would find a woman who disliked Jane Austen." Drake tilted his head.

"And I never thought I'd find a man who defended her." Charity smirked. Even though her plate was only half emptied, she pushed it away. "It seems I came here with ill-conceived ideas, and it is refreshing to find that my instincts were wrong."

Just when he was enjoying himself with some playful banter, it was ruined with more riddles. Ill-conceived? Her instincts were wrong? Just what kind of dates had she gone through in the past to become this jaded?

"I have a few more questions and concerns to be addressed, but I think we can put this whole thing to bed tonight," Charity said, clasping her hands.

"We can? Wait! Bed?! Aren't you moving a little too fast?" Drake asked, his voice cracking.

"I would have thought you'd want this over with as quickly as possible," Charity said, riffling through her purse.

"Well, I'll admit that I wasn't the most thrilled about it, but I didn't think the night was going that badly." Drake found himself ranting as his flustered thoughts attempted to align back to the logical path.

"I'd like to have the name, number and address of your place of employment. I'll also need some details about your background for my records."

"Huh?"

"Oh, and who Gosalyn's pediatrician is. I'll need access to her medical recent medical records. You understand, right?"

"Wait a minute!" Drake shouted, standing up. "Now I'm really lost. I get that the point of this is to get to know each other, but I think this is going a little too far. You seem like a nice girl, but I don't think this is going to work out."

Charity stood as well, her eyes fierce. "Mr. Mallard, I'm not sure if you're taking the situation seriously enough. As I explained in my message that I received a call that was wholly disconcerting at the least. While I understand that you may feel like I am infringing on your privacy, but I would think you would be willing to do what it takes for your daughter."

"Disconcerting? Are you saying—What are you saying?" Drake wanted to pull out his feathers. He had had conversations with Quackerjack that made more sense than this. "What does any of this have to do with Gosalyn?"

It was Charity's turn to look taken aback. "Mr. Mallard, why do you think I'm here? I'm checking up on Gosalyn's welfare."

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Gosalyn shouted, racing from the kitchen to the front room.

"Her welfare?" Drake repeated. "What does our date have to do with Gosalyn's welfare?"

"Date?" Charity asked, her upper lip twisting upward.

"Uh-oh," Gosalyn's voice said from the other room. "Uh…Dad, there's been a small mistake…about your date."

"Oh, dear," Charity said, lowering her head as she caught on the quickest.

Gosalyn entered the kitchen with a hangdog look, followed by a long-legged, female duck in a low-necked blouse and a pencil skirt. As she walked, her hooped earrings and feathery, blonde hair bounced as well as other parts of her anatomy. "Hey, I thought you said he wasn't married. Or is this someone else from the agency? Kind of bold scheduling two dates in one night."

"Oh, dear," Charity said again, hand over her beak. "I'm afraid there's been a big misunderstanding. I assumed you knew who I was when you invited me in, but I was mistaken. Mr. Mallard, I'm from the Department of Children and Family."

Drake paled.

"Oh, you're the lady that kept calling," Gosalyn said, looking disappointed. "What kind of scam are you running, coming to our house? How did you know where we lived?"

Drake walked around the table and stood behind his daughter. "Gosalyn, she's not running a scam. She's a social worker," he said.

Gosalyn gasped, her eyes widening. At the orphanage, she hadn't had much contact with social workers. In her grandfather's will, he had clear instructions that Gosalyn wasn't to be put in a foster home but rather taken care of in an orphanage until a family could adopt her. A few of the children in the orphanage had told her about social workers and a few horror stories about being passed around from one foster home to another. Not once, had she connected the title of "Department of Children and Family" to social workers.

She had messed up big time.

"It appears that my presence has been misconstrued and therefore, I'll make a hasty exit," Charity said, her head bowed contritely. She pulled out a business care from her purse. "Please call my office on Monday, and we can schedule a time to talk about your daughter. Again, I'm very sorry for the misunderstanding."

"Thank you," Drake said absently and took the card, dazed, barely aware as the lovebird retreated out of his house. He was reviewing the previous conversation in his head, picking up the subtle hints that something was very wrong with his "date," and not because she was strange.

It wasn't until later that he wished he had asked the social worker to stay and answer his questions, but it was too late.

"What was that all about?" the female duck asked, pointing a thumb behind her.

"I'm sorry. What is your name?" Drake asked, shaking off his bewilderment.

"Cammie Diver."

"Cammie, look, you're probably a sweet girl, but I'm afraid we're having a little family crisis right now," Drake said. "Can I call you a cab or something?"

"I brought my own car," Cammie said, looking irate.

"Again, I'm sorry for the trouble," Drake said, pushing the woman gently toward the door. "If you want, we can reschedule. You have my number."

As Cammie was shown the door, she muttered, "I don't care what my mother says. I'm going to find my dates at bars from now on."

As soon as the door shut, Drake turned sharply to his daughter, hands on his hips. "Gosalyn!"

"Oh, look at the time, Dad." She yawned. "I think it's time for me to god to bed."

"Wait a minute there, missy. I think I deserve an explanation. Especially why I didn't get any messages from a social worker and why Binky's 'cousin' came from an agency."

Gosalyn sighed. "You might want to sit down. This is going to be a long story," she told him.

Launchpad walked in, carrying a plate heaped with food. "Hey, what's going on? Did your date leave or something?" He took a bite and continued talking through the mouthful. "I don't know about you, but I liked her. Are you going on a second date?"

(Author's notes: Thank you for reading. I will be updating on Thursdays. If I am unable to post on a Thursday, it will be mentioned in an author's note at the end of the chapter.)