A/N: Please see disclaimers in first chapter. I'll be gone for most of the weekend at a family function. I'll try to update again on Sunday

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"Jacob Summers."

Glancing over his glasses at Sara, "And he is?"

"No idea." She glanced back down at the credit card receipt, "This just has his name, no shop name, no booth. Nothing." She looked up with a little grin, "I guess we're going to have to investigate."

"How glad am I, then, that I'm with such a good investigator?" He flashed a quick, satisfied smile, and without waiting for her response, he moved to the nearest booth. Sara stared after him a moment, not bothering to hide her surprise from his retreating back. After a moment she trailed after him, stepping past him to the next booth.

Finding out about Jacob Summers proved to require far fewer of their investigative skills than they had thought. Every other person they asked knew the man, at least by reputation. Finding him was much more difficult.

"Did," Grissom glanced at the name on the booth, "Ms. Woods have any idea where our elusive psychic might be?"

"When."

"When?"

"When he might be." She glanced up with a grin, "Two hours from now. He mentioned taking in a lecture." She glanced down at her notes, "Time, Space, and Thought... Journeys In Metaphysics." She shrugged, "Sounds interesting, actually."

"Mmmhmm, too bad we're on a case."

"Well," Sara paused for a moment, then laughed. "We'll just have to solve it in the next two hours, so we can take in that lecture then."

If only. Grissom gave a quick smile. "As interesting as that…lecture…sounds, I doubt even we can solve this in two hours. We have other vendors to question?"

Her eye quirked at the pause before the word lecture. She cleared her throat and nodded. "Two. 'Wiccan Ways' and 'Atlantis'. They should be in here somewhere." She looked around at the booths, stuck haphazardly here and there, with no apparent rhyme or reason to their placement. "Frustratingly unorganized."

Still bearing the half smile that had jumped to his lips when Sara laughed, he let his eyes follow hers. "You would have planned it differently?"

"Sure," stuffing her hands in her pockets she began to walk to the end of the row, "Services, like our missing Mr. Summers or Tarot readings, in one area, clothing in another, charms somewhere else, some plan with some semblance of order, so the visitors don't have to wander aimlessly until they find whatever they're looking for."

"Sometimes, the wandering is the best part."

At the quirk of her eyebrow Grissom continued, "For the vendors, at any rate. The harder it is for the customer to find what they need, the more time the vendors get to lure them in to something they might not need at all."

"Or," Sara continued softly after a moment, "Something they didn't even know they needed until they found it." Another shrug, "I suppose that way does have its benefits." The whispery quality left her voice as her eyes fell on a booth decorated with silk draperies. And there it is: Wiccan Ways."

"Ah…" Grissom cleared his throat, "Right. Wiccan Ways. After you."

Gracie Everheart was more than a little reluctant to cooperate with the pair of CSIs, and nothing about their badges or official introductions did anything to warm her to them. Sara's plea regarding justice for the victim met only with a shrug.

"Look," she sighed, running a frustrated hand through her hair, "If you don't cooperate we'll get a warrant, and about half a dozen cops here milling about this stand for the rest of the weekend. And," she went on, voice lifting, "Back at your real store too, until we solve this case. Do you know how long it takes to solve murders, sometimes? Years. How many of your customers are going to want to shop with uniforms milling about."

"You can't do that!"

"Watch me."

Gracie's eyes went to Grissom who just shrugged, his face blank. The proprietor's sputtering did nothing to bring about any expression from the man. His eyes flicked to Sara for a moment, standing with her arms crossed and brown eyes narrowed sharply at Gracie. The angry woman turned back to Grissom stammering. "She can't do that! Can she do that?"

Grissom shrugged again, "Watch her."

"Fine." Gracie turned sharply and tossed a leather bound ledger on the counter. "It's in there."

"Thank you," Sara took the ledger, flipping through the pages searching for Simons' name. "Was he alone, when he bought the….ah….Golden Bough?"

"Yes."

"Did you speak with him?"

"No. He knew exactly what he wanted, he wasn't here five minutes."

"How did he seem?"

"Excuse me?"

"How did he seem? Calm? Agitated? Happy?" Sara looked up from the book then, meeting the other woman's eyes. "Come on. You see people every day; you have to read them well to do such good business. So. How did Mr. Simons seem?"

Grissom hid a smile as he watched Sara deal with the reluctant witness. Her change in tone from hostile to complimentary seeming to open the woman's closed lips a bit. As Gracie puffed up, answering in full, he ducked his head to hide the flash of pride on his face.

When Gracie finally turned away, Grissom turned back to Sara, his mask of self-possession back on his face. "Golden Bough?"

Sara nodded, "And a silk bag, and silver bell." She glanced at Gracie's back, "He was afraid of something Grissom."

His brow furrowed, "How do you come to that conclusion?"

"Golden Bough, it's mistletoe. Mistletoe in a hand sewn bag is a charm of protection." Off his look she shrugged, "A friend of my mother gave me one once. And silver bells are thought to be protective as well. Evil spirits can't stand the ringing." Her lips lifted in a half-grin, "That one I read. Add to that his agitation, and the Ankh he bought. I'd say he was afraid of something."

Grissom grinned, "Very good Sara. Now we just need to find out what."