Let's just be safe and say I own nothing in the following pages. Not even the words, I think. Webster does, or whoever writes the Dictionary.

4

Eames pulled up to Mercy Phelps's house at five in the afternoon to find the place glowing welcomingly, but no room as bright as her greenhouse. They saw her puttering around the plants dressed in head-to-toe blue jeans with a dog snoozing at her feet and a cat trying to catch her attention on the table.

As they approached, the detectives would occasionally see a flutter of movement above her head. "That's where she keeps her lovebirds," said Eames. "I wondered about that. Didn't see them last time."

She rapped lightly on the door to catch Mercy's attention. Surprised, she set down her pruning sheers and checked the ceiling to see where her birds were before letting them in. "Hey guys. This is a treat." She grinned and closed the door behind them. "What do you want?"

"A warrant," answered Eames honestly.

"This is beautiful," said Goren, entirely too large for the greenhouse. "Did you build this yourself?"

"Yes I did," she said with pride. "I tucked out of work early today to tend to my deprived little plants. But enough wasting your time. What's your evidence?"

Quickly as they could, they went over their story and emphasized the important parts. "Wow," said Mercy when it was over. She let down her ponytail and put up another one to get her flyaway strands out of her eyes. "So what do you have against St. Claire?"

"Well he didn't do it for money. There's no unaccounted for purchases coming from either Knowles or Buhler. Coworkers say Knowles was at the play until late, and Buhler's credit cards were used at the time of the murder. St. Claire's security tapes are being looked over right now."

"He'll be on there," Mercy guaranteed.

"He should be on there," corrected Goren, leaning down to pet Tiny, the fluffy St. Bernard.

"You shouldn't do that Bobby, she's been abused; she doesn't like men…" Mercy trailed off, unable to believe her eyes. Tiny rolled over on her back and wagged her tail, her tongue lolling off to the side as Goren rubbed her belly.

"That's a good girl," cooed Goren as a bird landed on Mercy's shoulder. He continued buttering up to the beast for a moment, then stood and sniffed a flower right by his head. "This one's pretty," he said. "Hibiscus?"

Mercy nodded, disturbing the lovebird who had taken residency by her ear. "My favorite. I saw a golden one when I was a kid and fell in love. Yellow isn't a popular color on the East Coast so I haven't been able to find any golden ones up here."

Eames watched him nod the way he does when he was making a mental note. She suspected Mercy would be getting a gift someday. In a pot.

"Anyway, it's a stretch, but I'll see what I can do. Come on in. I made cookies today."

Goren straightened. "Cookies? What kind?"

Eames rolled her eyes. "Excuse him. Two hollow legs and they're each a mile long."

"That's fine," said Mercy with a grin. "I like his legs. And I made my cookies for sharing."

Mercy's house was comfortable, hospitable and educated, but guarded. It felt like it was wrapping its arms around you, trying to make you feel welcome while it wore a suit of armor. Just like Mercy. Too jaded to let anyone in without a thorough once-over.

She waved her arm over the cookies cooling on the rack and picked up the phone to call a friendly judge. Goren waited politely for Eames to take the first so he didn't come off as a moocher. Once she'd succumb to the delicious aroma, he snatched one up and savored every gooey morsel.

"Bottom line?" asked Mercy in response to the judge's question. She looked at the detectives and grinned. "Bobby Goren and Alex Eames have a feeling about this guy." There was a pause. Then, "Yes sir. Thank you, sir." She hung up. "You can pick up your warrant tomorrow."

Alex smiled through a mouthful of chocolate chip. "That was fast."

Mercy shrugged. "Pussy-footing gets you nowhere."

Bobby leaned back in his chair in the kitchen table and loosened his tie, confident the work day was all-but over. "Don't get too comfortable," said Alex. "We've still got paperwork back at the Plaza." He groaned and reached for another cookie.

Mercy got one for herself and shooed a Siamese cat off the cabinet, its ID tags jingling when it landed on the floor. The dogs dozed in the living room while somewhere in the house a guinea pig made happy little bubble noises. Every creature in her house had another one or two of its own kind to keep it company—except Mercy. Alex sighed mysteriously to herself.

"So tell me more about the case," said Mercy, pouring herself a cup of milk. She offered some to Bobby and Alex. "This is one of the more interesting situations I've heard in a long time."

"You should've seen Rose and Blessing today," said Alex. "They probably haven't seen a penis in years. They miss it. It shows."

"Amen," said Mercy, taking a seat. Tiny came up and set her head in Bobby's lap; he absent-mindedly stroked her head.

"Something doesn't fit," he said, rubbing Tiny's ears. "I don't know—one of those feelings. I'll feel better when we get a look at his apartment tomorrow."

Mercy grinned, watching her dog pant happily on his knee. "Animals like you," she remarked. "That's a good sign. It tells me I should trust you, too."

"I never got along with Boomer," said Alex. "What does that tell you?"

"That you stepped on his ears too much," quipped Mercy with a straight face.

Alex grunted. "He lays his head down and they go everywhere. It's not my fault."

"They make such horrible noises, don't they?" said Bobby. "Basset hounds. When you step on them."

"Yes they do. Do you like hound dogs, Bobby?"

He nodded. "Anyway, that reminds me—were you in the Park last Friday?"

"Yeah," she said. "I thought I saw you there. You should really cut back on those hot dogs. Bad for you."

"So are pretzels the size of your head and king-sized root beer floats."

She chuckled. "Touché. Alex, what have you been up to?"

She shrugged. "Working, living and loving."

"Oh, that's nice," said Mercy, pulling a muscle rather than rolling her eyes. "Would you guys like to stay for dinner?"

Alex started to respond but the ringing of her cell phone cut her off. "Can't," said Eames apologetically. "Duty calls."

"Serve and protect," said Mercy understandingly. "That's all right. I didn't want you here anyway, I was just being polite."

"Thanks," said Eames, answering the phone.

When she wasn't looking, Mercy grabbed a paper bag and filled it with a handful or two of cookies. "A few for the road," she whispered to Goren, winking.

He smiled broadly and put them in his pocket. Maybe he'd share if Eames was nice to him. He became aware of a large, wet spot on his thigh where Tiny's head had been. Upon looking down, he discovered an enormous puddle of drool on his nice black slacks.

Mercy chuckled apologetically and handed him a few paper towels. "You've been slobbered."

He smiled benignly and did his best to dry himself off.

"Thanks for all your help," said Alex, hanging up. "See you Monday."

"Ditto," said Mercy, holding the door open for them.

"I expect you to share those cookies," said Eames when they were both securely in the car. He whimpered and pulled the bag out, offering her the first one, like a true gentleman.

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