Disclaimer: Unfortunately, none of these characters belong to me.

Sorry for the lack of updates lately. My computer had a huge brain fart and decided it wasn't going to work, and I've had a lot of schoolwork lately. Never fear, I am back!

(P.S. If any of my fellow writers, all of you exceptional by the way, have any ideas for some way to help me direct my story, please e-mail me! Thanks!)
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"It's so beautiful here," Sara said, as her, Warrick and Catherine got out of his Tahoe, "I mean, aside the police tape."

Grissom and Nick had taken on interviewing three people close to the family - a butler, a babysitter, and the gardener - all of whom were at the home when the family was murdered. Catherine, Sara, and Nick were sent to a 'beach' home the family had owned about an hour away from their home.

"I happen to think the police tape gives it personality," Warrick said, with a straight face putting his sunglasses on, "What?" he said, getting stares from Catherine and Sara, "Oh come on, don't tell me you've never heard of a joke!"

"No, we've heard of jokes," Catherine said, putting on her own sunglasses. "But, what you just said - not a joke. It was.. sad," she said, getting a laugh out of Sara.

They walked into the house, and into the foyer.

"Wow," Catherine said, propping the sunglasses up on her forehead.

"Double wow," Warrick said, taking off his sunglasses and placing them in his coat pocket. "This place is.. wow."

After about ten minutes, Sara broke the silence that remained as they admired the home.

"Come on you guys, time to work," Sara said, going upstairs and walking into the first bedroom. "But seriously, it couldn't be any prettier here," she said, as she stepped onto a deck, overlooking the man-made beach.

"Pretty nice place to get married, huh, Sar?" Warrick questioned, finally reveling in a chance to question Sara about her engagement.

"Warrick, we haven't been engaged for a week. Give it a little time," she said, walking back into the home and past Warrick. "I couldn't imagine decorating a house in leather and furniture imported from.." Sara said, as she looked at the engraving on an end table, "from Italy, and not even spending the entire year here. From what the grandfather said, they spent June and July, not even May or August, here and then they'd head back home for the rest of the year."

"I know. Too fancy for me. I need simple," he said, as he walked out of the first bedroom. "This one's a waste of our time, it's a guest room. Fancy, though."

"Yeah, I guess," she said, following Warrick into the second bedroom. "Wow, pretty fancy for a baby."

"Yeah. Go look in the closet. I think it's about the size of my kitchen and Lindsay's bedroom combined," Catherine said, emerging from the closet. "Anyway, they seemed to like their bedding. Each room, the comforter, sheets, pillow cases, even the dust ruffles - all personalized. See?" Catherine said, holding up a light pink blanket from the crib. In purple, loopy shaped letters read 'Sophia.'

"Sophia, huh? I didn't know the baby's name was Sophia," Sara said, touching the blanket.

"Yeah, the grandfather said she was named after his mother. Her great-grandmother," Warrick said, answering before Catherine could. "Geesh, I almost got lost in that closet. There's not a lot of clothes in there though."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Catherine said. "The master bedroom had a few pairs of underwear in the armoire and a bathing suit. And in the closet were only a pair of flip-flops and a wind-breaker jacket."

"Really? Well, there wasn't that many clothes in their regular home either," Sara said, remembering her observation when she had walked around the home. "So, if they weren't keeping their clothes here and they weren't keeping them at the other house, where were they keeping them?" Sara questioned.

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"Hello, Ms. Wackson," Grissom said, as he and Nick walked into the living room.

"Marjorie," she said, with a slight smile.

"Marjorie. I'm Gil Grissom, and this is Nick Stokes," he said, as Nick nodded his head. "You're Sophia's babysitter, is that correct?"

"I'm not thirteen anymore, Mr. Grissom. And I'm not a babysitter, either. Child-care giver," she corrected, squirming as she sat. Grissom took note of this, and looked at Nick.

"I'm sorry, Marjorie," Grissom apologized. "From what we've heard from Sophia's grandfather, you were with the child at the summer house when the rest of her family was killed?"

"Yes, that is correct, Mr. Grissom," she said, her Puerto Rican accent coming out the more she became nervous.

"Was anyone else at the summer home with you, Marjorie? A boyfriend, a friend?" Nick asked, looking at her intently.

"No, Mr. Stokes. I live by myself. No relationships. None whatsoever," she said, rubbing her right index finger over the back of her left thumb.

"OK, Marjorie. That's all we need, for now," Grissom said, not wanting to cross any boundaries before they had more information.

"Thank-you, Mr. Grissom. Mr. Stokes," she said, grabbing her purse and exiting the home.

"You don't think she did it, do you?" Nick questioned.

"I don't know, Nicky. I don't know."

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Shitty chapter, I know. Just read and review, please. Tell me what you would like to read.