A/N Sorry for the length of time between updates. Been working a lot this past week. I'm not an expert, by any means, in palmistry; all information contained herein is supplied by the internet. Disclaimers are still in the first chapter. Reviews very much appreciated.

Chapter 6

Grissom and Sara moved as quickly as they could from the Wiccan Ways booth, each acutely aware of the piercing stare of Gracie Everheart as they walked away. Grissom glanced at Sara, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "If looks could kill?"

Sara returned his grin, "We'd have been on Doc Robbins' table by mid afternoon." She glanced back, met Gracie's stare for a moment, and then turned back to Gil. "Interesting woman. Our Vic was still alive when he left her, by the time-stamps on his credit card receipts. You know, I'm still wondering why the killer left them on him."

Grissom's shoulder lifted in a shrug, "I guess we'll just have to ask him…or her…when we find them. We still have an hour till the lecture. What's left?"

"Atlantis." Sara turned around slowly, pausing as she faced a line of closely spaced booths. "I think I saw it before we came down this row," She glanced at him over her shoulder then took off in the direction she had indicated. Grissom let a full grin spread across his face as he jogged a few steps, chasing after Sara. He slowed his stride to match hers as he caught up, slipping one hand to the small of her back as they moved among the throng of people.

Sara pretended not to notice.

"Let's talk this through, so far. We know Mr. Simmons had reservations at this Con for months. He has an apartment off Stewart Avenue, where he was dumped, but not killed. No line on where he might have worked."

Grissom nodded, "But according to his neighbors, he did work. But they just don't' know where. Not in the casinos, no gaming card. Nothing Brass has been able to trace. Possibly paid in cash."

"Which he had no trouble spending, here." She glanced down at the receipts. "Quite pricey. Even that mass produced Ankh." She glanced around, then sighed. "We don't even have two thirds of your trinity. Victim. But no motive or crime scene."

"None of the neighbors noticed a body being moved into Mr. Simons' apartment."

"Middle of the day, most people are at work. Besides, his apartment was around back. Parking at the door." Sara gave a small shrug, "Easy enough for someone to throw his arm around your shoulder and drag you in, as if he's helping a drunken friend home. The concrete at the door isn't the best place to find drag marks."

"Your theory," Grissom paused, glancing at Sara, "That he was afraid of someone…"

"Or something…"

Blue eyes settled on brown, noting the glint that had been so long missing from them. "Something?"

"Well, we are at an Alternative Realities Convention." Sara laughed then, quickly and softly. "Sorry. Go on."

"Right. Someone," he emphasized the last syllable, "Though his neighbors deny any changes in his routine over the last few weeks. Said he seemed as pleasant as always. If he was afraid of someone, it might have been a recent development."

"Recent, as in the last two days, since the Con opened?" Off his nod, Sara glanced around the room, "Where does that leave us?"

"Right back to looking for that Atlantis booth."

"Which should be down this way, someplace." She led him down a side aisle, acutely aware of his hand still on her back. From time to time, she would catch him looking at her from her peripheral vision. She forced her eyes to scan the booths, and nothing else. "Wait." She stopped, turning around abruptly, causing Grissom's hand to slip around her waist to her stomach. He left it there for a moment, before letting his arm drop back to his side.

"There it is. The curtains are drawn around it. When we passed it before, they were open."

"You're sure this is it?"

Just as Sara was nodding the curtains opened, and a young woman stepped out, grinning broadly at the man behind her. Grissom and Sara lifted matching brows as the woman thanked the man profusely, before turning and rushing off into the crowd. The man then turned his attention to the CSIs. "Ah! Welcome, welcome to Atlantis. You'll want me to check your love lines? You're in luck. I'm running a two for one special for the Convention."

Sara glanced at Grissom who gave her an amused, lopsided grin. Shaking her head, she turned back to the booth's proprietor. "Excuse me?"

He gestured to their hands, "Your love lines. You're curious how long your relationship will last. Don't be embarrassed, all new Lovers have the same question. Come in, let Paulo answer it for you."

"Ah. N…no." Sara turned, again, to Grissom. He looked from the Palmist to Sara, one brow quirked in amusement. But he remained silent. Sighing, she turned back to the booth. "No. We're not here to have our palms read. I'm Sara Sidle, this is Gil Grissom. We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We're investigating a murder. We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. ah, Paulo."

The man's expression didn't alter, "Just Paulo, please. Come in, come in. I'm anxious to help in any way I can. I'll even give you a reading, on the house."

Sara turned to glare at the still silent Grissom, her lip twitching at the expression on his face. As a smile flitted across her face, he returned the action, one eye dropping in a half-wink. Gesturing to the curtained doorway with a slight bow, he waved her through. "Shall we?"

The inside of the booth was little more than three soft armchairs, vaguely Victorian in style, with brocade upholstery. They were set in a triangular grouping with one small table next to the biggest chair. Suspended from cables overhead was a tiffany type lamp, the only illumination within the purple draperies that were hanging on all sides. The table held a lock-box, and a card reader, both items incongruous in an otherwise ornate and old-fashioned setting.

"Sit, sit." Paulo gestured to the chairs, taking his own place in the biggest. He waited for the investigators to settle then reached for Sara's hand. He blinked as she snatched it back, turning to Grissom in time to see him stiffen beside the brunette "But your reading?"

"Ah," blushing Sara reached into the file on her lap, handing Paulo a picture of Clarence Simons instead. "Ah. No, thank you. We really just need to know if you remember this man."

"But, it's on the house." Paolo stared from Sara to Grissom before reluctantly taking the photo. "Ah. Yes, I remember him. Came in late on Thursday." He looked up with a sudden grin, "I'll tell you what. I'll answer your questions, if you let me give you a reading. You intrigue me." His eyes danced as he smiled at Sara.

It was Grissom who answered. "This is a murder investigation Paulo. Mr. Simmons is dead. Now, you can answer us here, or we can call the detectives, and you can answer us downtown."

"Ah, but Mr. Grissom, that will take much longer than a simple reading, won't it?"

Grissom opened his mouth to retort, but Sara cut him off. "It's all right Griss. I'll just let him look at my hand…." She held it out to Paulo, "All right then, go ahead."

"Sara…"

"This will be quicker than getting Brass to take him downtown. And we still have to meet with Mr. Summers."

Paulo beamed at the pair. "I'll tell you what, Mr. Grissom. I'll show you how to do it." He took Sara's hand in his, "Let me have your hands." He watched Grissom calmly until he held out both his hands, palm up. "Very good." He placed Sara's hand gently on top of Gil's. He smoothed Sara's hand gently, against it's sudden tension. "Relax Miss Sidle." He glanced up at the pair of CSIs, who were looking anywhere but at one another. "Now then, Mr. Grissom, do you see this line?" He pointed to curved line, running near Sara's thumb. "It's the life-line. Most people think that line indicates how long you'll live. It's really more about quality of life. Hmm. Very interesting."

It was Grissom who answered, "How…how so?"

"Ah. Well, Miss Sidle's lifeline has an unusual curve, indicating that she took a less-traveled path." He looked up, meeting first Sara's eyes, then Grissom's "Her path requires more work and endurance than others would imagine."

"Is uh," Sara swallowed, "Is that so?"

"Indeed. This," he pointed to another, "Is your line of Success. Others might call it your work line." His glanced turned again, to Grissom. "Do you see the cross hatches there? Her life is quite tied to her work, I would imagine."

Grissom glanced at Sara then, giving her a little smile as her eyes met his. "That's very interesting. Now, about our case?"

"Not quite. Do you see this line?" His finger traced a spot near her fingers, "Just there? See?" He gestured to Grissom's fingers, "It's very deep. Can you feel it?"

Grissom sighed, then lifted one finger to trace over Sara's palm. His breath caught for a moment, he studiously avoided Sara's gaze. "Yes. It's…ah…very deep."

"That's her love line." He grinned as the pair of investigators blinked simultaneously. "Your love line, Miss Sidle, is in a very slow process of change. You are becoming stronger at making wise decisions, and your romantic life will improve. Soon." He removed his own hands, watching as Grissom and Sara slowly disentangled theirs.

"Now then," he grinned, "You were asking about Mr. Simmons? He came in Thursday. Wanted to know about his Fate line. He was most curious about it. He wanted to know how it would effect his immediate future. He seemed most interested in that." Paulo sighed, "He had none."

Sara recovered from the palm-reading first. "No future?"

"No Fate line."

"And what did that mean?"

Paulo shrugged, "Usually it means someone who is very unsettled. No roots. No wings. Just…aimless. It upset him. He rushed out of here quite quickly. That was the last I saw of him."

Grissom stood, "Did he explain why he wanted this information?"

"No. He just…asked. He was…nervous. Restless. Came and went quickly. Look, as I said we don't have any way of measuring the length of life. I couldn't tell him he was about to be killed."

Sara stood then, too. "Thank you for your time. And the ah…reading." She handed him her card, "If you think of anything else, please call." She turned then, and yanked the curtains open, stepping back out into the crowd.

Grissom followed a moment later, "Sara…"

She turned with a wide grin plastered on her face, "Well, that confirms that our Vic was afraid of something." Unconsciously, she stroked the hand that had just been read. "Running from someone, maybe?"

"Sara…"

"Grissom," she interrupted, sliding her hand into her pocket, "It's almost time for that Metaphysics lecture. We need to find Mr. Summers." She turned then, and headed for the Conference rooms, leaving Grissom to chase after her, again.