Chapter 1

The bad news was that Fred was sleeping even worse than before and was consumed by guilt. More bad news followed with him going to his regular doctor and practically begging for something to help him sleep. His regular doctor, being at least as worried about potential litigation through the prescription of controlled substances as he was about the health of his patient, refused unless Fred went to a very expensive sleep clinic. The sleep clinic was, of course, not covered by Fred's insurance and Fred didn't have nearly enough money saved to afford it.

The good news was that he would have plenty to talk about during his next therapy session with Tim.

It was 4:50 AM and Fred was sitting on the edge of the bed where he had spent the last three hours rotating between sleeplessly tossing and turning or immediate vivid dreams and nightmares as soon as he drifted off. His exhaustion had long since reached the point where he spent most of his days nauseous with rubbery knees. He was just so tired. In every sense of the word.

He looked over his shoulder at the other side of the bed which had been empty through the weekend. He had spent Wednesday and Thursday of the previous week in one of the cheaper motels in Crystal Cove well back from the coast before sitting down with Daphne and getting her to agree to move back in with her parents in order to avoid any more damage to their joint bank account. Being who he was, he went through the mental list of why everything was his fault:

He had pulled the trigger and killed Frank Herring when it probably was not necessary.

He had been unable to get over the trauma from this event which had forced him to turn his emotional efforts inward and away from his wife.

With his emotions in turmoil, he had not been able to deal with the concept of having a child.

When Daphne had told him she was pregnant against his wishes, he had rejected both her and the child.

He was a monster.

But none of that changed the fact that he had to stand up, get showered and dressed, and get into the office. It was Monday morning and people (including Daphne) were relying on him for their paychecks. His right knee popped loudly as he stood, and he remembered the month on crutches after the nasty late hit his sophomore year of high school. The other team had gotten a fifteen-yard penalty, he got joint pain for the rest of his life. Life wasn't fair.

His lower back also wasn't happy but the doctor said that would probably go away when he started getting better sleep. That from the same doctor who refused to help him get better sleep. Thanks, Doc. He straightened up and bent backwards to try and get the kinks out and then trudged into the bathroom. This brought forth a myriad of aches and pains from the beating he had taken less than a week before from Alicia Clark – particularly in his kidneys. He had been checked out (insurance did pay for that) and there was no serious damage, just a lot of soreness and bruising.

Over the course of the last year with he and Daphne both having to get up and go into the office at the same time, he had gotten used to getting ready in the guest bath. He now felt like an interloper in the master bathroom. This was Daphne's domain: her sanctum sanctorum. Even after she removed what she considered her essentials, the majority of the items spread around the small room were hers. He leaned forward to examine the weekend stubble on his chin. One the of good things about being blond was that one had to look very close to see which hairs were blond and which were grey. He looked closely and saw that several hairs on his chin were grey. He started the hot water in the sink so that he could scrape them away.

Eye drops had become a part of his normal routine to try and remove some of the obvious redness. It didn't really matter since he was still sporting the raccoon black eyes from the beating. At least the bandages for his broken nose covered the dark circles All-in-all last week had not been a high point.

He arrived at the office well before sun-up, turned on the lights, and started the coffee brewing. They were getting low on coffee which Daphne usually handled. But she wasn't going to be in this week. He refused to finish that mental thought with if ever. Whatever happened in their marriage, she was too important to the team to lose. His emotions couldn't handle thinking about that right now. He went around the office and made a list of items of which they were getting short. A supply run would be necessary at lunch.

The clock hit 8:00 and there was no sign of Shaggy and Scooby. Velma had classes so she wouldn't be in until the afternoon but office hours were published as 8:00 to 5:00 and the guys should arrive on time. He felt the stirrings of his most reliable companion of the last few weeks – anger - which he repressed. There would be no angry confrontation with Shaggy over punctuality. Fred was in no position to chastise anyone over not obeying rules. Not after last week.

Since the previous receptionist had quit the previous week (after beating the crap out of him), he had to listen out for the phones and the bell on the front door which tingled at ten minutes after eight. Scooby came in and looked at Daphne's empty desk, "Is Raphne roming in rooday?"

Fred shook his head, "No, she's going to take the week off and work out some personal things."

"Raybe roo should rork on them rith her."

The familiar anger started to bubble up but Shaggy came in behind Scooby, "Scoob, maybe we should let Fred and Daphne take care of themselves."

"Rokay, rut roblems ron't solve themselves."

Shaggy leaned in, "Scoob, Utshay upay."

"Rhat? Roo know Rye rate it rhen roo speak rig ratin. It's hard enough to understand roo rormally."

Shaggy's mouth dropped open, "Say what? Hard enough to understand me?"

Fred recognized and appreciated the Laurel and Hardy routine the two were playing out for his benefit but had more pressing matters, "Shag, I'm on my fourth cup of coffee. Can you cover the phones for a minute while I take a break?"

"No problem, Fred. Take your time."

No sooner had Fred closed the bathroom door than the phone rang. He considered delaying things and heading back out but it was probably just a salesman. After taking care of business, he stepped out of the bathroom to find Shaggy waving at him while speaking into the phone, "Yes ma'am, I'll transfer you over to Fred Jones who is our manager of business development."

Manager of business development was a pretty cool title. He might keep it. Fred picked up the phone, "This is Fred."

"Mr. Jones, this is Marietta Parkinson, I am Mr. Emilio Zanzabar IV's personal attorney. He would be interested in engaging your firm for a family matter."

"Certainly, Ms. Parkinson, what is the nature of the matter?"

"Mr. Zanzabar would prefer to discuss that face-to-face and has asked me to set up a meeting with your team at his home."

"That's no problem. What's the address?"

"His home is in Kenilworth, Illinois."

"Kenilworth, Illinois? That makes a difference. When does he want to meet?"

Shaggy's head popped up at the mention of Kenilworth. He had gone to a cooking school for a few months in Chicago and had gotten a lay of the land. He held his hand up, rubbing the thumb and pointer fingers together in the hand gesture that meant 'money'.

At the other end of the line, the lawyer confirmed it, "Mr. Zanzabar can have a plane at the Crystal Cove airstrip in the morning to bring you to Chicago. After the meeting, it will return your team in time to be home for dinner. You will, of course, be paid for your time and any expenses. Would your team be able to make that schedule?"

"I believe that myself and Scooby Doo could make it but…"

"Mr. Zanzabar would like the entire team to be present."

"One of our team is on leave this week."

"That would be acceptable if the rest can make it."

"Just one moment…" He put the phone on hold, "Shag, Scoob, can you go with me to Chicago tomorrow – just for the day?"

"Shaggy looked and Scooby and shrugged, "I don't see why not?"

"How about Velma?"

"Her labs are cancelled tomorrow so she just has a TA session where she usually spends the period correcting what the TA gets wrong. Shouldn't be a problem."

Fred punched the button to take the phone off hold, "Ms. Parkinson, what time does the flight leave?"

"Anytime after 8:00 AM. At your convenience. Mr. Zanzabar appreciates your willingness to fit this into your schedule."

"It's no problem. We appreciate his interest in our firm."

Niceties swapped, the phone call ended.

Fred looked over at Shaggy, "Shag, have you ever been to the Crystal Cove airstrip?"

Shaggy shook his head, "No. I know where it is and I've driven by it but I've never really hung out with the type of people who have private jets."

"I guess we'll be hanging out with them tomorrow. Oh, and Shag… can you do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Can you maybe… give Daphne a call and ask if she could watch the office tomorrow?"

Shaggy's answer was immediate, "No way in hell. If you and Daphne are going to be able to work together through whatever is going on, you're going have to be able to talk with her yourself."

"We can and I will but it's just a little soon. If you could make this one call…"

"Nope. Not happening."

"Screw you very much, Shag."

"I love you, too, Fred."

Fred took a breath and started dialing immediately. The longer he waited, the harder it would get. It rang twice before Daphne answered, "Freddy?" The hopeful tone in her voice simultaneously made him feel guilty and annoyed.

"Yeah Daphne, it's me." He had rehearsed the words in his head and spit them all out like a machine gun, "We just got a call from a potential client who wants to meet with the entire team tomorrow in Chicago. He's okay with you not being there but I was wondering if you would be able to man the office and catch the phones. We should be back by early evening so Wednesday will be back to normal."

The hopeful tone dropped from her voice, "Oh… Sure. No problem. What's the job?"

"We don't know. It's all mysterious so far. Their lawyer just called and said that they wanted to meet with us all about a potential job for the whole team and they'll have a private plane waiting for us tomorrow morning."

She tried to lighten the mood, "Goodness. A mystery. You hate those, huh?"

He forced himself to smile even though she couldn't see his face, "It's nice to have something to focus on." As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew they were wrong. But there was no going back.

The light mood, spun, crashed, and burned, "I understand. I'll be in the office tomorrow. Please let me know how the meeting turns out."

"I will. Thanks." The phone call ended, and he replayed everything he had said. It all seemed fine, and it all seemed wrong. This was going to be confusing.

An e-mail arrived later in the day from Marietta Parkinson, Attorney-at-Law telling him that someone would be waiting for The Gang at 0745 at the Bermann Aviation Hanger at the Crystal Cove airstrip. This prompted a flurry of activity making calls and rearranging schedules to fit the impromptu loss of a day in the midst of what had already been planned to be a full week.

When Velma got in around 2:00 in the afternoon, she was pleased with the news since it saved her having to drive all of the way to school just to sit for an hour in a TA session which was an utter waste of her time. She called and told the TA that she would not be there. The TA was slow to press the 'off' button on his phone and Velma heard the quiet "Thank God" at the other end before the call died. Her eyes twinkled slightly as they did when she found something funny.

To be on the safe side, they each packed a travel bag with a change of clothes and Shaggy and Scooby packed a full suitcase full of snacks for the flight. They would restock before the flight back. They all awoke on the following morning to overcast grey skies and a light rain. Luckily, it was not quite cold enough for the rain to freeze but definitely cold enough for the humidity to make Fred's knees ache. He arrived at the airstrip at about 7:30 and drove past three hangers until he saw the one with Bermann Aviation painted in large ornate blue letters on the side. The words were underlined and the line ended in a star. They were not super ritzy graphics but the logo was simple and professional.

As he waited in his car for Velma, Shaggy, and Scooby to arrive, Fred checked his reflection in the mirror. He had removed the bandages from his nose the night before and the new lump where the cartilage met the bone appeared to be permanent. The bruising was fading a little but still very noticeable around his eyes and nose. It felt like he had a stopped-up nose when he tried to breathe deeply.

If it were just Shaggy and Scooby, he would have called to make sure they were on their way. But Velma's anxieties would goad them to arrive early and this was proven when their car pulled into the parking lot and they pulled up next to him. His phone chimed as he was climbing out of the car, it was a text from Daphne, I'm at the office. Good luck today.

He typed back, Thanks, as Shaggy struggled the large suitcase out of their trunk.

He faked a big smile, "Morning Gang, everybody ready?"

Shaggy replied groggily, "I assume we can sleep on the plane."

Velma looked up at Fred, "We're all set. Shaggy had a chef not show up last night at the restaurant and he had work until about 5 hours ago."

Shaggy dragged up next to them, "And it's not like I'm a friend of morning on my best days."

Inside the hanger was a small office with a counter and some plastic seats. As soon as they opened the door, a woman of about forty stood from one of the chairs, "Mr. Jones?"

Fred's head jerked around at the sound of his name, "That's me."

She stepped forward with her hand extended, "I'm Natalie Reinhold, a pilot with Zanzabar Holdings. We've finished pre-flight and are ready for you to board at your leisure."

He looked at the others, "I guess our leisure is now."

She smiled, "Super, then as soon as you're on board and comfortable, we'll be on our way."

She led them out the door and onto the apron, where a plane waited. The wind was cold and wet and hit them in the face which forced them to keep their faces down until they had climbed the exterior stairs into the fuselage. The aircraft was larger than Fred had anticipated and, as they entered, they saw that it was laid out more like a home than a passenger aircraft. There were some normal airplane-style seats but there were also two tables with chairs around them, a video viewing area with a big screen television on the wall, and a combination bar/kitchenette.

The pilot turned to them and gestured at a younger man with a similar uniform, "This is Greg Anderson, my co-pilot. He'll help you get settled in while I do the things I do in the cockpit." Another smile and she was headed up to the front.

Greg's eyes surveyed the four passengers and settled on Scooby, "And you're Scooby Doo?"

"Res, rhat's ree."

"To be honest, I never thought you really existed."

"Rye had rye doubts arout roo, too." Another one of Scooby's standard lines.

Greg laughed and stood up straight to address the group as a whole, "The aircraft is pretty simple. You have to be in the seats with seatbelts during take-off and landing. I'll come back after take-off to tell you when you can get up and will come back again when it is time to get belted in for landing. The bathroom is just behind the galley. It is very small and cramped so I wouldn't recommend any efforts at joining the mile-high club." He stopped to smile at his own joke.

Shaggy joined in, "I'm too tired."

Fred responded, "I'm not interested."

Then Scooby, "And Rye'm a dog." Greg assumed this was a joke. But The Gang had been with Scooby through the last few weeks and detected the edge of bitterness in his voice.

Velma, being the only woman, chose to not reply at all.

Greg finished up, "We don't have a flight attendant but the galley has snacks and drinks."

Both Shaggy and Scooby perked up, "Snacks!"

Greg smiled again, "Yes, feel free to help yourself as soon as we complete take-off.

The rest of the flight went smoothly. Oddly, Velma fell asleep and Shaggy stayed awake but he took advantage of the waking hours to assist Scooby in wiping out the food in the galley. When the flight landed at Chicago Executive Airport, the temperature was about five degrees colder but the skies were clear and blue. They left their luggage on the plane and exited to find a large van waiting on the tarmac. The van was situated less than 100 feet from the plane and the detectives scurried slightly in the cold.

The drive from the airport to Kenilworth was a little under 30 minutes before they turned right onto Sheridan Road and could see Lake Michigan off to the left between the large estates which backed to the water. After another minute, they turned left into a private drive which made its way about 100 yards to a turnaround in front of an 8,000 square foot stone house which sat almost directly on the water.

The driver let them off and then pulled around the house and out of sight. The front door had a video doorbell and when they pressed the button there was no noise from inside. Instead, a voice called out from a hidden speaker, "Are you the party from Scooby Doo Investigations?"

Fred looked up, trying to place the source of the voice, "Yes. That's us."

"One moment, please."

The door was opened by a woman of about Velma's height but about twenty years older and twenty pounds heavier. She was wearing an expensive business suit and a no-nonsense attitude, "Mr. Jones? I'm Marietta Parkinson. We spoke on the phone. I'm Mr. Zanzabar's personal attorney. Please follow me."

Fred waited for her to extend her hand for him to shake. When she turned and started walking into the house, he figured it wasn't coming, "Yes ma'am." The Gang followed her through the house to a large sunroom with a window wall looking out over the lake. Even on a cold day, there were some sailboats out and the sunlight glinted off the water. It was a beautiful scene. Fred's first thought on entering the room was how much Daphne would love it. He pushed back the wave of melancholy that threatened to wash over him.

A shortish man of about fifty wearing white pants and a pastel shirt awaited them at the end of the room alongside a slightly taller and younger man of about half that age. The facial resemblance tagged them immediately as father and son. The older man was bald on top with a greying fringe around the side of his skull. Contrasting to the greying hair on his head was a short white beard. The younger man had a well-groomed thick main of almost black hair.

The elder stepped forward with his hand extended, "Mr. Jones, I am Emilio Zanzabar IV. It is I, who on my son's recommendation, is wishing to discuss retaining your services." He spoke with the very slight accent of the bi-lingual native-born American.

The younger spoke with no accent, "And, for those you who might be mathematically challenged, I am Emilio Zanzabar V. I was a huge fan of your show back in the day and have been reading articles about some of your recent cases. When this all came up, you seemed like a perfect fit."

Fred smiled, "Excuse me but… when what came up? We are needing to catch up a little."

Zanzabar IV returned the smile, "Of course, please have a seat and we will explain. First, can I offer you anything?"

Shaggy's hand went up, "A coffee with lots of milk and sugar would be great."

"A latte perhaps?"

Shaggy nodded, "A latte would be glorious. Lots of sugar."

A young woman entered the room in a traditional back and white maid's outfit.

Zanzabar IV looked at the rest of The Gang, "Anyone else?"

With his most cultured voice, Scooby requested, "Might roo have Scooby Snacks?"

The younger Salazar joined the conversation, "Like I said, I was a fan of the show. We have plenty of Scooby Snacks."

Shaggy was fully alert, "Define plenty."

"We laid in 25 boxes."

Shaggy turned to the Great Dane in the room, "Scooby what do you think of 25 boxes. Is that plenty?"

"Rye scoff at renty-rive roxes."

"As do I, sir, as do I." Shaggy turned back to the younger Salazar, "If you could be so good as to tell us where these 25 boxes are so that we might scoff at them directly."

Salazar V laughed, "This is so cool see in person." He turned to his father, "Dad, I'm going with Shaggy and Scooby to the kitchen."

Salazar IV smiled and then looked at the maid, "Margaret, it appears that the situation has taken care of itself. Thank you.

The young woman nodded, "No problem, sir." She left along with Shaggy, Scooby, and Number V in search of a filled pantry.

This left four people in the room. The elder Salazar queried, "Is there any problem with our conducting our business with Mr. Doo and Mr. Rogers not present?"

Velma answered this one, "None. They prefer it that way."

"Excellent, then I'll launch right in. My financial portfolio and that of my son are tied up in the family business which my father controls. We have no problem with this arrangement because, as you can see around you, my father is a decent and generous man and my family and I live an extremely wealthy and pampered lifestyle. But we are concerned that my father may be losing his faculties…"

The lawyer spoke for the first time, "Mr. Salazar. That is a statement that is unproven and we have to be careful about throwing it around."

"Of course. Let me rephrase. My father believes in ghosts."

Velma's eyes rolled, "You had it right the first time."

Salazar continued, "It's not an unusual story. Since my mother's death two years ago, my father has been seeking to prove the existence of an afterlife. In this pursuit, he has spent a large sum from the family assets in hiring and evaluating people who specialize in finding ghosts. My son and I, of course, believe that this money is being wasted. Extensive conversations and negotiations have yielded an agreement that he will provide his preferred ghost hunting company and we will provide the skeptics and we will send the two groups on a case selected by the ghost hunters. The ghost hunters will attempt to prove that there is a ghost and the skeptics will attempt to prove the opposite.

"If a ghost is not disproven, we will support his future efforts to confirm the existence of a spiritual realm. If it is disproven, he will stop the efforts immediately."

Velma leaned forward in her chair, "Wait. All of the cloak-and-dagger about a debunking job? Your son says that he watched the old show. We had about ten debunking episodes. Just show those to your father and save yourself a lot of money."

Salazar smiled, "We have certainly tried that. The fact that my father could not argue with your methodology is the reason that you are here. Since he does not know how the cases presented in your show were selected, he needs further evidence."

Fred looked at Velma. Leave it to her to try and talk a prospective client out of a case, "Honestly, that is a perfectly reasonable statement. While we know that our cases on the show were not hand-picked, you just have our word for it."

"So, you will take the case?"

Fred mused just a moment, "We, of course, have to work out the details for payment, schedule, etc. But, in principle, I see no reason why we wouldn't."

Someday Velma would no longer be Velma. But until then, "Except for the fact that we don't chase ghosts anymore. We are a licensed private investigation firm that is in business…"

Fred cut her off, "Exactly! We are in business. And, as a business, we are open to new clients and meeting their needs. This client needs for us to debunk a ghost hunter. As long as the details can be worked out, we will debunk a ghost hunter."

Velma was caught in a quandary. She did not want to do yet another ghost hunter debunking. That was too much like the old days and there were a lot of bad memories about the old days. But, even more, she did not want to get drawn into business decisions. That was painfully boring and tedious. Debunking a ghost was a one-off, getting involved with Fred's business stuff was forever. It was a lesser-of-evils scenario, "Fred, I defer to your judgement regarding business decisions."

Fred looked back to Salazar, "Then I guess it's down to final negotiations."

"For that, I will leave you in the capable hands of Marietta. If you don't mind, I have some other business to attend." He shook both Fred and Velma's hands and left the room.

Velma stood, "Since what you are about to do will bore me to tears, do you mind if I step out and try and find the kitchen where I will no doubt find Shaggy and Scooby?"

Fred glanced up, "No problem, Vel. I'll find you when it's time to go."

Marietta had a notepad out and got right to business, "How soon can you be ready?"

Fred had pulled his electronic tablet from his backpack and was feverishly pulling up files, "As Velma said, this type of work is no longer a part of our business model and there will be extensive retooling costs."

"Such as?"

He found what he was looking for, "Such as $12,225 for updating and repairs for the custom van which we used for our mysteries."

"And you have a written estimate from a garage for this work?"

He turned his tablet toward her, "Here it is." He always kept it and checked back with his mechanic for just such a situation as this. He had used the same mechanic since he was in high school and the only person in the world who knew the Mystery Machine better than Fred was Malcolm. The quote had 'Malcolm's Motors' written across the top and was itemized in detail. Fred and Malcolm had worked on the list over several beers after work years before and got together regularly to update it. It was a labor of love to them both. They had grown up together and both had been in their teens when Fred had asked for Malcolm's help working on the beat-up van he had just bought. The publicity Malcolm had gotten from being the official mechanic for the Mystery Machine had been what gave a young mechanic his own shop.

She glanced at it, "How long will this take?"

"With Malcolm and I working together, we could have it done by the end of the week-end."

She nodded, "To avoid any delays, we will reimburse this on a time and materials basis and put the ceiling at $15,000."

"Agreed."

"So, you believe that you will be able to start out from your home on Monday morning by road."

"Yes ma'am."

"And this will be your entire team."

That would include Daphne. Fred paused, "Does it have to be the entire crew?"

"According to Mr. Salazar V, that is non-negotiable. He says that the television show indicated that each member of your team had specific strengths and there was little redundancy."

Fred nodded, "That is correct. Yes. We can mobilize the whole team by Monday." He would find a way to make things work with Daphne.

"Excellent, now let's discuss your hourly rates…" The conversation continued for a little over an hour until all items were agreed. There was little negotiation and the lawyer pushed back on none of the rates. She just appeared to be trying to get everything clearly defined. At the end, she pressed a button on her computer and Fred heard a whirring from a hidden printer. She pulled out the documents and signed them on behalf of Mr. Zalazar before handing them to Fred who signed as an officer of Scooby Doo Investigations, a Division of Mystery Inc. They signed three copies. She stapled each and handed one to Fred, keeping the other two.

"Mr. Salazar III's ghost hunters will be contacting you directly before Monday to give you the location for the chosen… hunt, I suppose. As a group, they go by the unfortunate name of Fantastic Phantasms. Beyond that, they are well spoken and intelligent. The leader of the group is Hugo Miller and he will most likely be the one contacting you. If you have not heard from him by Saturday night, I will text you his contact information."

"Thank you."

"I believe that concludes our business. The driver and the van are at your disposal for the remainder of the day and the aircraft is waiting at your leisure although they have a preference that you depart no later than 4:00 PM. There are several good restaurants in the area in the area and you are welcome to take a walk along the beach. It's been a pleasure doing business with you." She held out her hand.

Fred shook it, "Thank you. And you, as well."

Now it was Fred's turn to find the kitchen which only took a couple of minutes. The Salazars had a cook. And the cook enjoyed people who enjoyed food. And she especially enjoyed people who enjoyed lots of food. When Fred found them, Velma was in the process of getting jealous as she was watching the old adage 'the way to a man's heart is through his stomach' coming to full fruition before her eyes. Shaggy and the cook had gone to the same culinary school in Chicago and knew some of the same people. They were swapping stories and playing a game of guess-the-spice where she would cook something and hide a hint of spice in it. Shaggy was 9 out of 10. None of the food being cooked was wasted. Shaggy and Scooby ate it all.

When Fred entered, Velma turned to him, "Please, in the name of everything that is decent and holy, tell me that we can go now."

Fred nodded. Velma braced against the counter and hopped down off the stool. She had promised herself that she would not do anything cliché like a jealous girlfriend. But when she saw her fiancé exchanging telephone numbers with the woman so they could keep in touch, all bets were off. She stepped next to Shaggy and put her hands around his arm with the left one on top to show the engagement ring. She looked at the cook, "Do you have any good recipes for a wedding cake?"

Shaggy looked down at her, "I thought you and your mother had that all picked out."

Velma put on her best smile, "You know my mother. She's afraid that I'm not making enough decisions. It would make her day if I found a different recipe for the cake."

Velma was extremely satisfied at the flicker of disappointment she saw on the other woman's face. But then the cook's face lit up, "As a matter of fact, I do! Let me print it out. I won a contest with it when I was still in school and no one has asked me to make a wedding cake since. I'd be thrilled if someone tried it out. Within a minute the recipe including photographs had been printed and handed to Velma. The pictures were pretty awesome. The thing about her mother had just been a cover to get the fact that Shaggy was engaged into the conversation but that didn't make it untrue. If she turned up with a recipe for her wedding cake, it might get her mother off her back. At least, for a little while.

"This looks really good. I really would like to use it, if you don't mind."

"Like I said, I'd be thrilled."

"Shaggy will keep your contact information and we'll send you pictures."

"That would be great. There's nothing I enjoy more than talking to another foodie. And, if you ever open one of your restaurants in the Chicagoland area, I would love to audition for head chef."

Shaggy grimaced slightly, "After my last experience with rapid expansion, I'm moving pretty slowly this go round. But I have your information, and after what I saw and tasted today I would definitely want to talk with you. And I still think you cheated with the blend of cumin and nutmeg."

She smiled, "If you aint cheatin', ya' aint tryin'"

Velma was now feeling guilty for her earlier jealousy and held out her hand, "It was nice meeting you and thanks for the recipe."

The taller woman shook it with gusto, "No problem. Maybe it'll put a little meat on your bones. You're just a little wisp of a thing."

Scooby giggled, "A rittle risp of a thing. He-he-he-he-he."

Fred looked around the room. Given the state of the kitchen and Shaggy and Scooby's distended stomachs, a stop for lunch would not be necessary, "Let's head back to Crystal Cove, gang."