Chapter 34

This was not good, Grissom decided as he walked into his office that night. Catherine was already in there, settled in his chair and holding . . . uh-oh. She was holding the clothes Sara had left his house wearing that afternoon. Had she talked to Sara?

"Hello Gil." Catherine drew out his name, leaving no doubt that she knew something – or at least suspected. She lightly tossed the pile of clothes up and down, looking steadily at him.

"Evening, Cath." He tried to sound calm. "What have you, uh, got there?"

"Why Grissom, I do believe it's a pile of your underclothing. Strange, huh – how could THAT have ended up here in your office?"

He shrugged very deliberately. "You have as much idea as I do. Maybe I lent some clothes to one of the guys a while ago." That sounded plausible – maybe he could convince her.

Catherine smirked. "That's not what I think. Let's look at the facts, shall we?" Not giving Grissom a chance to tell her no, she continued, "Here we have a pair of what are apparently your boxers and one of your undershirts. When I came in, they were folded neatly on the seat of your desk chair. No note or anything. You want to know what deductions those facts led me to?"

"Not particularly, but you're probably going to tell me anyway. Can I at least have my chair back?"

She smiled. "In a minute. Now, first – the clothes were on your chair, essentially underneath your desk. That leads me to surmise that whoever put them there didn't want the office at large to know they had been wearing your clothes."

"Possibly. Or possibly they just didn't think leaving my underwear on top of my desk was polite."

"Touché," Catherine responded, "but I'm not done. There was no note with the clothing saying 'thank you for the loan' or anything. This tells me that it wasn't Nick who borrowed these clothes. Mr. Southern-Gentleman Stokes would always leave a thank-you for any loan."

"Maybe he forgot."

"Don't think so, Gil. When have you ever known Nick to forget his manners?" She nodded as Grissom shrugged. "Exactly. So, next deduction." She shook out his boxer shorts, holding them up for him to see. "See this rolled-over waistband? That means they were too long for whoever wore them. Warrick is four inches taller than you. He would have been trying to hike them in the other direction. Even Greg is the same height as you, though I can't imagine how he would ever end up wearing your clothes."

He could see where she was going with this. Grissom thought furiously, trying to come up with a way to head off her train of thought. "Catherine, I really don't think this is appropriate for . . ."

"Oh shut up. SOMEONE left a pile of your underwear in your office. I think that's a pretty serious offense if you don't know who it was – it means they stole your clothes. And you wouldn't want something like that to go unpunished, would you?"

He was screwed. He knew it. Damn, damn, damn. "Ok, Catherine. Finish. What great deductions have you drawn from my underwear?"

"Well, as I've already established, it wasn't Nick, Warrick, or Greg. The person had to be shorter than you, and they didn't want anyone else to know they'd borrowed your clothes. Know what that sounds like to me?" She raised her eyebrows. "A woman. And there are only two women in this place who could possibly, in the tiniest way, have the faintest excuse to borrow your clothes: me, or Sara. We both know it wasn't me. Guess where that leaves us?"

His only resort now was to try not to react to Catherine's words. "I don't know why Sara would possibly have my clothes, Catherine. You'd have more reason to borrow them than she would. How do I know that you didn't, and just don't want to admit it?"

"Because I haven't been in your house in weeks, let alone your bedroom, which I've never been in at all."

"Maybe they came from the extra clothing I keep in my locker. That particular shirt and shorts didn't have to come directly from my house."

Catherine gave him a predatory smile. "Well, we can solve that puzzle pretty easily, can't we? Go check your locker and see if your change of clothes is still there." She leaned back in the chair with a disgustingly superior look on her face.

She had him trapped but good. She obviously knew that his extra clothes were still in his locker. If he admitted that and claimed that no one had been in his bedroom to borrow his clothes, then she would probably announce to the world at large that someone had stolen Grissom's underwear. Catherine was nothing if not good at getting what she wanted.

"What do you want me to say, Catherine? For all you know it was an old flame of mine, dropping off things she borrowed long ago."

He was cut off by Catherine's unladylike snort. "The only flames you've had in the years I've known you are one," she held up one finger, "an anthropologist who is now married. Two," she held up another finger and said with a shudder, "a professional dominatrix who wouldn't be caught dead wearing underwear that didn't have leather and spikes. And three," she help up a third finger, "Sara. I've proved it two ways now, Grissom. Want to go for a third?"

He scowled. "No, Catherine, I don't. Think what you want about my clothes, but don't you dare start slandering Sara around the lab. Or anyone else," he belatedly added. "If I hear that this conversation has left my office, you're in deep shit, friend or no."

Catherine could only stare at him. He'd confirmed her suspicions, and with a vehemence that she'd rarely seen from calm Gil Grissom. "Sure Gil. You know I wouldn't do that." But, she added silently, she would corner Sara and find out what SHE had to say about all this.