Notes: I should have remembered to say this last chapter, but the equation thing is from a Nancy Drew mystery, The Thirteenth Pearl. It wasn't my idea, though I wish it had been. XD;

Also, DANG! Runihura hasn't even really done anything yet. In the last couple of mysteries he's hovered in the background, waiting for his chance to take over the center stage. Now he finally has his chance, so if people will just be patient, things will quickly get a lot darker and Runihura will become more and more interesting. I'm certainly not retiring him yet. XD; I have big plans for the guy. If anyone doesn't like it or him, there's no reason why they have to continue reading the story.

Seto was feeling frustrated. The crowbar had carried fingerprints, much to his surprise, but when he had run the prints through the super computer's files, nothing had come of it. But how could that be? he yelled mentally, running a hand through his hair in vexation. His computer had connected with national and international fingerprint files. If the person existed, his or her prints should have been found somewhere! "This doesn't make sense!" he snapped aloud, glaring at the large computer screens.

"Well, don't blame me," the computer retorted, sounded ruffled. "I was lookin' everywhere. Maybe the guy's from the old days." She made an irritated beep as she displayed the Sorry, No Matches Found page for Seto to look at again. "According to all the evidence, he doesn't exist now."

Seto rolled his eyes. "Oh, so you're going to start on me with the hocus-pocus too?" he muttered. Of course by now he had been forced to accept that entities from ancient Egypt had chosen to help populate Domino City, but that didn't mean he had to be happy that his computer was now suggesting that it was one of them who had used the crowbar. Why couldn't it be a normal villain for once?

"You know it's possible," the computer said smoothly. "Don't get all nasty because it might be true."

Seto leaned back in his chair, growling low. "It doesn't even make sense," he retorted. "Why would any of them be at a theatre? What would they have to gain from it?"

"You got me," the computer replied. "What do you wanna do now?"

"It doesn't look like there is anything more we can do with this angle," Seto answered irritably.

"Big brother?"

Seto whirled at the sound of Mokuba's voice and found him standing in the doorway, rubbing his eye sleepily. The child's hair obviously hadn't been brushed yet, as the raven locks were going out every which way. He yawned, blinking at Seto and seeming confused as to why his brother was down in the super computer room this early in the morning.

"What is it?" Seto asked, slightly amused as he observed his brother.

"What's going on?" Mokuba returned, noticing the crowbar. "Did you find anything out?" He knew Seto wasn't happy about him continuing to work at the theatre after the incidents of yesterday, but he was hoping that Seto wouldn't decide that because of what happened to Alister, Mokuba wouldn't be able to go back. He had been enjoying his job and didn't want some strange, obsessed T.G. to ruin it all for him—nor did he want to see people getting hurt. Things were just settled down! he bemoaned silently. They had experienced over a month without criminal incidents. Was it too much to ask for more than that?

Seto shook his head. "Only that whoever was wielding the weapon isn't registered in America, Japan, or anywhere else," he grumbled.

"Unless we're just not able to access some of the records," the computer chimed in, "but that's not likely."

Mokuba groaned, sitting down on one of the other chairs. "So . . . what's gonna happen, Seto?" he asked finally. Are you gonna make me leave the theatre?

Seto shook his head. "I don't know yet," he growled, "but I don't like you being at the theatre. Possibly the light falling could have passed as an accident, but what happened to Alister was most definitely deliberate. That changes things."

"But Seto!" Mokuba protested. "This is the first time I've really had a job besides helping you at the company. And I mean, I like helping you and everything, but . . . I like doing other things too." He looked at his elder brother pleadingly. Seto could sometimes be overprotective, though Mokuba was mature enough to realize that this wasn't one of those times. But still, he didn't want to give up his job. He just didn't!

Seto sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I know," he replied. Mokuba was growing up, though he didn't always want to acknowledge it. "But there are other theatres, Mokuba. This one isn't safe right now." And he was highly annoyed. KaibaCorp had purchased the theatre a while back, only because it was part of a bigger property deal that Seto had been interested in. But since they now owned the theatre, Seto knew that KaibaCorp could wind up taking the heat for the disasters that were going on. He needed to get to the bottom of this, for more reasons than one.

Mokuba sighed too. "Yeah," he said slowly, "only . . . I was really having fun with The Phantom of the Opera play. I was telling Marik and Bakura all about it just yesterday." He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. "If we find out who's doing this, Seto, then couldn't I keep working there?"

"Oh, we will find out, Mokuba," Seto replied. "It's just a matter of when." He frowned at the No Matches Found screen on the computer. "And how."

Yugi, Joey, Tristan, and Téa found themselves back at the theatre around ten that morning. Gerald was not in a good mood when they arrived. He was in his office, glaring at the latest note he had received from T.G. When Andrea showed the four teens into the office, Gerald immediately looked up and held the note out.

"Look at this!" he cried. "Whoever T.G. is, he already found out about the investigation!" His eyes flashed angrily.

"What do you mean, Mr. Richards?" Yugi asked worriedly as Joey grabbed the note and looked it over. Upon seeing the Brooklyn boy frown darkly, the short boy gave him a concerned, violet-eyed gaze. "What does it say?"

"It says that he doesn't appreciate bein' investigated like this and that it's best if it stops before someone isn't just 'only injured'!" Joey replied indignantly. "Basically, it sounds like a death threat!" He let Tristan take the note when he wanted a better look. Then the blonde teenager glowered around the office, wondering if it was possible for the Phantom to hear them talking in there. Though, he did remember that they had also been discussing things backstage. Someone could have easily overheard them then.

"That's exactly what it is!" Gerald retorted. "And Mike hasn't regained consciousness yet. They think he has a bad concussion!" That news didn't help his mood any. He had wanted Mike to be able to tell them something concrete on what had happened, but it didn't look as though that would be happening for a while.

Téa sighed, not liking how this was going at all. "Are there any possible suspects?" she asked now.

"Not really," Gerald growled, "at least—none that make sense. It could be someone in the cast or crew, even, but why would they do it? We've all been quite pleased with the choice of performing The Phantom of the Opera." He frowned, mulling things over in his mind. Now that he thought of it, there was possibly one logical suspect or so. "It might be someone at the other theatre," he announced then. "They've always hated us down here, especially since KaibaCorp bought the property. Yes," he exclaimed now, becoming certain in this thought, "it must be Sigmund!" He stood up, banging his hand on the desk. "He wants to ruin me, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind blighting the Kaiba Corporation as well!"

Four amazed teens blinked at him. "But why?" Yugi wanted to know then. "What did you—or KaibaCorp—do to him!" Poor
Kaiba, he thought to himself. It seems like he always has some enemy or another! Gosh, I wonder if that's what always happens when you're a multimillionaire CEO. . . .

"My theatre is more successful than his and always has been," Gerald answered. "As for Kaiba's company, I don't know why he hates that, but he does. Maybe it's just because Kaiba owns half the city." He threw his hands in the air. "But we've been rivals for years. It would be just like him to pull some annoying stunt like this! He would probably think he was being extremely amusing. Well, I don't find it amusing in the least!"

Tristan sighed, supposing that he should be grateful for any lead, instead of feeling the frustration over the new mystery to solve. But ever since Yugi found the Millennium Puzzle, our lives have never been peaceful! he bemoaned. And Tristan hadn't even met Yugi until there had been the Puzzle, so pretty much for the entire length of time that they had been friends, there had been weird things transpiring. Tristan had no hope of things ever being different, but that didn't mean he wouldn't complain every now and then. "So basically you want us to go there and check things out," he said finally, after attempting to put a lid on his simmering vexation.

"At least some of you," Gerald told him. "Miss Gardner's already working here and she'll make a great Meg, so she should stay. Why don't you and the blonde go?" he suggested, looking from Tristan to Joey.

"Hey, I've got a name," the brown-eyed boy said in irritation. "Why dontcha try usin' it!" He didn't care much for Gerald or his attitude. But that didn't mean he would balk at solving the case. He knew it was important that T.G. be caught before people wound up seriously hurt . . . or worse. But as far as he was concerned, he agreed with Marik's words that they wouldn't be helping for Gerald's sake.

"Names, names, what's in a name?" Gerald muttered in reply.

Serenity sighed to herself, sitting down on the pink comforter that was spread over her bed. She had found Joey gone upon coming back from running errands with their mother. And she was afraid that he had gone off to solve another mystery, though his note had merely said that he was at a theatre. Serenity knew that Joey had little interest in the stage. She was certain that he had gone to the theatre where Mokuba had been nearly harmed the day before, in an attempt to find out what had happened. There was no other logical reason for Joey to visit such a place.

"You're always going off doing some dangerous thing, Joey," she said sadly, running her hand over the quilt's soft material. "I wish you wouldn't. . . . At least," she mused upon reflection, "I wish I could come along more often. I'd feel more at peace if I could be right with you and know what was happening to you. . . ." She laid back across the mattress. "But then . . . I know why I can't."

She knew that Joey was only protecting her and that he didn't want her to be hurt, but it was still frustrating. She wasn't a child any longer. Indeed, she was growing up into quite the intelligent, resourceful young woman. She had been sheltered for most of her life by their mother, sometimes making her seem younger than her actual age, but she really wasn't as absurd as some people tried to make her out to be. She had to wish that Joey would more often see her as more than a child. "I just want to help you, big brother," she whispered. "I want to be there for you more."

She looked up when her mother called her to the phone. It seemed that Duke had some free time and that he wondered if Serenity would like to join him for lunch. And, after a bit of thoughtful pondering, she agreed. She liked Duke, though not as anything more than a friend. She suspected that his feelings for her ran a bit deeper, though he hadn't ever said anything to that effect.

It wasn't really a surprise when Raphael called Paulette about the marks on Liu's paw and Paulette couldn't tell him anything about how they'd gotten there. According to her, Liu had already been tattooed when she had been returned to them by her prior owners. When Paulette and her husband discovered the marks and tried to contact the people to ask about them, they found that those people had vanished completely. Raphael hung up the phone with a frown, watching Liu as she perched on the back of a chair and blinked lazily at him.

"What happened to you?" Raphael muttered, sitting down and reaching over to pet the cat. He, frankly, had started to wonder if the numbers were some sort of important code for something. And as Liu hopped down onto his lap and continued her happy purring, Raphael suddenly thought he recalled what the numbers had been. He had been too tired before to let it really register, but now he was wide awake. Quickly he raised the feline's left paw to look. Sure enough, printed on her paw pad were the numbers 9, 4, and 13. Raphael's frown darkened.

"Twice in one day?" The blonde raised an eyebrow, pondering over this oddity. Did it have any connection with the death threat Alister had received? It seemed too much of a coincidence. But why would someone print numbers that could spell a death threat on an innocent cat's paw? Surely there must be another meaning. Raphael just wished he could figure out what it might be.

Liu simply purred on, placing her front paws on Raphael's chest and looking highly contented. Raphael shook his head slowly, admittedly amused by the beautiful cat. She seemed to be happiest when she was with people, unlike many of her kind.

The near-silence was abruptly shattered by the sounds of an argument coming from the kitchen. Raphael groaned, hearing Valon's voice raising in volume and anger as he started to accuse Alister of being too silent and of having some new enemy that was sending him a death threat. "You never tell us anything!" the Australian yelled. "And then you just go off and get in trouble! You're always getting in some kinda trouble!"

Alister grunted. "Actually, isn't that rather a hypocritical statement?" he observed. He could think of many times when he and Raphael had needed to come to Valon's rescue.

Valon hit the table with a fist. "You're gonna wind up kicking the bucket one of these times!" he retorted. "And where the heck will that leave me and Raph!"

"Without me," Alister replied flatly.

"Yeah!" Valon exclaimed. "And we don't wanna wind up without you! Don't you get it!"

Raphael shook his head. Valon was such an emotional person, but he loved his friends very much. He didn't want anything bad to happen to either of them. Raphael knew that often, when Valon and Alister started arguing, it was when one was upset and worried about the other. But that didn't make their arguing any less frustrating to listen to at times.

"Don't worry," Alister was saying now. "I won't wind up dying." He stood up, walking across the kitchen to check on the eggs that were cooking.

"'Don't worry,'" Valon muttered in response. "'Don't worry,' he says. Don't worry after he tangles with Mafia dons and gets death threats. Ha!"

Alister stiffened slightly at the mention of Mafia dons. Del Vinci was still a sensitive subject around him, one that he didn't like to discuss. It was over a month and he was still trying to sort out his confused feelings over what had taken place at Del Vinci's skyscraper. He still didn't have any concrete answers on why he had chosen to do what he had. He wished he did understand it. But though he had spent many hours soul-searching, it still didn't make sense to him. Del Vinci had deserved to die for his cruel actions, and Alister could have ensured that it happened. But instead he had fired the bullets into the floor and dropped the gun. He wasn't certain that he would ever understand it.

"So . . . this is the Desert Star Theatre?" Joey blinked as he pulled up in his jalopy next to a slightly rundown building that was across town from the theatre he and Tristan had just come from. It didn't look like the most inviting place to visit. No wonder the other theatre gets more business, the Brooklyn boy thought to himself.

"That's what the sign says," Tristan replied, and then frowned. "I guess. . . ." He blinked at the missing letters on the marquee. Instead of Desert Star Theatre, it seemed that they were proudly being welcomed to the "Dsrt Str Thatr."

Joey sighed as he turned off the engine and started to climb out. "I hope this won't take too long," he muttered, wondering exactly what their cover was going to be and how they would go about trying to glean information. He didn't voice his pondering, but Tristan was obviously thinking about the same thing.

"I guess we could pretend to be reporters for the school paper," the hazel-eyed boy mused as they headed for the entrance. "If this Sigmund guy really has a grudge against Richards, he'd probably jump at the chance to make his rival look bad." And that seemed a more logical cover than trying to get jobs at the theatre. Sigmund would more likely talk to reporters about his woes rather than just a couple of kids looking for work. Besides, he didn't really want to try working there, and he could see that Joey felt the same.

The inside of the building wasn't much more desirable than the outside. The walls were old and yellowed, the paint peeling and cracks visible in the ceiling. The furniture that was around looked old and worn. Some of the chairs even sported tears and rips. Joey shook his head, reminded too much of his old neighborhood.

The bored receptionist directed them down a bare corridor to Sigmund's office once they gave their names and made-up reason for coming. Apparently she didn't think they would have any reason for lying, so she didn't bother asking for any sort of proof that they really worked for the school paper. Once they were out of earshot, both boys breathed sighs of relief.

Sigmund looked up as soon as they approached. He was an older man with graying hair and glasses. When he was informed by Joey of who they were, he immediately leaped out of his chair and glared suspiciously at them both. "You're both spies!" he declared. "Richards sent you here to spy on me!"

"Now that's not it at all!" Tristan retorted in frustration. "We're just reporters trying to get a good story about the two main theatres in town." He glanced at Joey, hoping that he would take it from here.

"That's right," Joey chimed in. "So . . . it's true then that you don't like Gerald Richards?" Though, who could blame you?

"'Don't like him'!" Sigmund cried hotly. "I loathe him! I despise him! But do you know what else?" He barreled right on, stunning both Joey and Tristan. "He feels just the same—or more so! He actually sent me a death threat once!"