Monty wiped a drop of cheese sauce from his moustache and thanked the bartender, who refilled the small glass. Zipper buzzed/squeaked disapproval. Monty shrugged.

"It's just a wee nip, lad. 'Twon't do no harm." He leaned heavily on the well kept bar, balancing gently on his stool. "So," he started, conversationally, to the barkeep, "when was the last time ya saw your boss?"

The medium sized rat, Morris by name, casually polished a glass. "Ah, I guess it was yesterday afternoon." He shrugged. "Ol' Max came in to sign a few checks, and then, he went to his favorite restaurant."

Zipper buzzed and gestured. "/Which one/"

Morris paused in his polishing to think. "Sergei's. It's in the alley next door. Real classy place, too."

Monty threw a few mouse-sized coins on the bar. "Thanks, mate." The bartender nodded in acknowledgement. Monty and Zipper nodded to each other, and headed toward Sergei's.

Chip stood poised with pen and notepad in hand, Clarice looking on expectantly. This was the last employee to be questioned, and Chip wanted to get it over with. "So, you say that he was a good employer?"

The petite gerbil waitress nodded and popped her chewing gum. "Oh, sure. Everybody loved Max!" She casually leaned against a table, giving Chip a wink. "And I'm Stella, by the way." She stuck her hand out for Chip to shake. He smiled weakly and complied.

"Ah, nice to meet you, Stella." He flipped a page on his notepad. "And there hadn't been any fights lately? No one was mad at him over something?"

Stella popped her gum thoughtfully, then nodded. "Well, there was this one guy . . . but it was nothing."

Clarice saw Chip's suspicion meter rise. "What was nothing?" he pressed.

Stella shrugged, just a little too nonchalantly. "Just some guy . . . can't remember his name, but he was wanting Max to partner up with him. Something about adding another singer or something." She shot a sickeningly sweet smile at Clarice. "Not that Max would replace you or anything."

Clarice gave her a withering glance. Chip mentally noted the exchange; envy was a strong emotion, and not something to be overlooked. If Stella wanted to be a headliner and had gotten a manager . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by Stella's obnoxious chewing gum. "Yes, well, if there's any chance that you remember the man's name, please let us know." He wrote the Rangers' e-mail address on a slip of notepad paper and handed it to Stella. He tipped his hat and tried to ignore Stella's parting wink. Something about her gave him the creeps. Chip could tell that Clarice was just oozing resentment of the lovely little gerbil, but he still felt a little uncomfortable speaking privately with her. He didn't know why he partnered with Clarice, except for the fact that Dale would obviously not want to work with her, and Monty and Zipper always worked so well together. He was mentally berating himself about why he didn't partner her with Gadget when she spoke.

"Chip? There's one more person you need to talk to about Max." She led him to a door adorned with a single gold star, the kind human children receive after a good grade. She opened it and ushered him in.

Chip walked in, in awe of the lush room. The Acorn Club had been remodeled since he had performed there, and this room was no exception. He had only been in this room once before, and there was simply no comparison to its former self. The walls were now lined with what had previously been a pink silk pillowcase. A large mirror edged with Christmas tree lights dominated one wall. A row of evening gowns lined another, some sequined, some simply chiffon, one or two silk. After firmly closing the door, Clarice curled up on a plush pink couch and motioned for Chip to join her. Reluctantly, he did so, but sat quite a distance away. He watched as she hugged her knees to her chest, almost childlike.

Clarice sighed deeply. "Max is my friend. Nothing more." Chip cocked an eyebrow, but allowed her to continue. "On the other hand, Max and Stella used to be . . . significant others." She grimaced.

Chip nodded, trying to be as professional as possible. "So you think she has something to do with his disappearance?" Clarice's worried eyes said everything. Although he was still having a difficult time trusting her, Chip could tell that Clarice was sincerely close to Max. Chip awkwardly patted Clarice's shoulder. "We'll find him."

She smiled softly. "Thank you." She looked away from Chip. "I hope this isn't too difficult for you."

Chip shifted awkwardly and adjusted his fedora. "Look, it's what we do." He gave her a tight smile before standing up and walking out of the room. Clarice opened her mouth as if to say something, but stopped herself. Hanging her head slightly, she followed him into the hall. Chip pulled a make-shift walkie-talkie from his jacket pocket and toggled the button. "Gadget?" he paged.

A crackle of static greeted his ears, then a perky female voice . . . but it was somehow a little strained. "Hi, Chip! How can I help you?"

"We got some information; I think Monty and Zipper got a clue, so they're off on their own. I figured we'd meet back at headquarters when you and Dale were finished."

"Sure! We'll be there in a jiff; the apartment search is done."

Chip smiled in satisfaction; he knew he could count on his comrades. "Alright; Clarice and I will start heading back in the Ranger Skate. I'm sure Monty and Zipper will fare alright."

He could almost hear Gadget's nod. "Good to hear, Chip; see you back at headquarters." The walkie-talkie chirped as Gadget terminated her end.

Chip pocketed the device and motioned for Clarice to follow him. They rode back to headquarters in silence, neither one even looking at each other. The silent tension heightened as Gadget and Dale joined them in the great room inside Ranger Headquarters.

Chip sank into the couch, intent on reviewing his notes. Clarice self-consciously took a seat at a side table near a window overlooking the park. Dale retreated somewhere into their home, most likely into the sanctuary of the room he shared with Chip. Gadget sat near Chip and handed him her painstaking notes about Max's apartment. He took them without looking up, a habit that Gadget always found slightly intimidating. When Chip took on a case, it was fairly typical for him to be obsessive about it; this would obviously be no exception.

Gadget sat back into a crook of the blue couch. She drank in the details of one of her closest friends. Tension pulled at the corner of his brown eyes, and his hat was pulled low on his forehead. After Dale's revelation earlier in the day, she couldn't help but look at Chip differently. She mentally kicked herself for staring, but she couldn't pull her eyes away. Her concentration was interrupted by Monty and Zipper excitedly coming through the door.

Zipper shook the snow from his wings and buzzed too quickly for the others to understand. Monty chuckled and translated. "I think we've got a lead, mates," he said confidently.

Chip pushed his hat further back on his head. "What kind of lead?"

"'Member that waitress you were questionin'? Well, the maitre 'd at Sergei's spotted her yesterday talkin' to Max, real intense like."

"Were they arguing?" asked Chip, flipping back through his notes to find Stella's interview.

Zipper nodded and buzzed/squeaked an affirmative.

"So, what now?" Clarice shakily murmured.

Chip scribbled something on his notepad and looked around at the others with a wry smile. "We ask Stella what she's holding back."

Clarice had to admit this was the most pleased Chip had looked since she had returned. True, it was a frightening kind of pleased, the kind that one wouldn't like if the pleasure was directed toward him or her, but at least it appeared to be an honest smile. Clarice smirked, feeling a tinge of pleasure herself at imagining the Rangers interrogate the nubile gerbil.

"Alright; who wants to come with me to question Stella again?" Chip stood and adjusted his coat lapels.

Monty shrugged. "I'd go, mate, but methinks Zip an' me'd better get some grub started for tonight."

Chip nodded curtly, then looked around. "Where's Dale?"

"/In his room/" Zipper motioned. "/I think./"

"Hmm." Chip scratched his head with his pencil stub. "Gadget?"

Gadget began to say no, but changed her mind. "Uh, sure, Chip!" She retrieved her coat from the closet. She felt penetrating eyes on her back. Turning, she saw Clarice staring almost blankly at her. Gadget felt a cold chill of awkwardness trickle down her spine. "Um, Clarice? Would you like to join us?"

"No," Chip blurted out. The two women looked at him, both slightly surprised. "Er," he stuttered, his cheeks reddening, "I think Clarice would just keep Stella from talking. The jealousy factor," he added.

Clarice's face fell and she nodded solemnly. "Fine," she mumbled. "I'll just look over my songs while you're gone." She sat back down in her seat by the window, taking sheet music from her satchel and spreading it across the table. She lowered her head to hide her embarrassment from the whole situation. The rest of the team was silent as Chip and Gadget made their way to the Ranger Wing in the late afternoon light.

Once outside, Gadget sneaked a sidelong glance at Chip. He'd pulled his hat down low again, shielding himself from the February winds. His jaw was set firmly, his eyes glistening. She tried to keep a worried look from shadowing her own face, but was unsuccessful. Gadget put her mind to work on other tasks, such as starting the aircraft and making take off as smoothly as possible against the chilly gusts. Once in the air, she struggled with her own conflicting feelings. Should she ask him? As much as she wanted to discuss issues with the brooding chipmunk, her heart told her this was neither the time nor the place. Her attention was caught by the faint sound of Chip's voice over the noise of the engine.

"So I guess you know everything."

Gadget blushed, recalling Dale's confession. "Um, yeah." She hesitated a moment before continuing. "Actually, Clarice told us most of what happened."

Chip nodded, looking away. "I figured." His throat constricted, causing his words to sound hoarse.

Gadget adjusted her goggles, trying to decide if Chip wanted to talk or not. Chip's last words hung between them, seemingly waiting for more. Gadget just listened to the roar of the plane for a minute, growing more and more uncomfortable. Finally, she couldn't help it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She winced; her words sounded harsher than she wanted. She mentally kicked herself when she glanced over and saw Chip's eyes. /Us/ she chided herself/I meant to say us./

Chip stared at his hands, folded in his lap. He took a deep breath, pondering how to phrase his answer. "I—I guess I had decided it was over and done." He closed his eyes. "Have you ever been rejected?"

Gadget felt tears stinging her eyes from beneath her flight goggles. "No," she answered simply. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. "I haven't even been in a real relationship," she admitted. "I mean, I've been in relationships, but not a romantic relationship."

Chip's eyes were still closed. "I never thought I'd get over her, Gadget. Dale was the one who helped me through after . . . ." He trailed off, unable to finish his thought. "Anyway, two years later, we were hanging out with Plato, learning the tricks of the trade. I'd never thought about being a detective until then. And of course, we met Monty, and Zipper, and . . . you." He now opened his eyes and looked in her direction.

Gadget did her best to focus on flying and not meet his gaze. She nodded to acknowledge his answer to her. The pair was silent for a few moments more before Gadget dared to ask her next question.

"Are you over her?"

"What?"

Gadget felt even the tips of her ears burning. "Did you ever get over her?" She swallowed, trying to dispel the lump forming in her throat. "I mean, you said you thought you'd never . . . ." Gadget trailed off. "I'm sorry," she murmured, not even looking over to Chip.

"Don't be." Chip slumped in his seat, tears burning the back of his eyes. He had opened the door to this conversation. He felt distinctly ill at the question. Incapable of answering Gadget, he pushed the answer deep into his heart. After an uncomfortable silence, he finally cleared his throat. "So, do you think we should let Stella know we're on to her?"

Gadget quietly sighed with relief at the change of subject. The conversation lapsed into small talk about the case for the remainder of the short flight.