Chip sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Stella sat pouting from across the table from him and Gadget. "One more time, Stella." He twitched, trying to keep his temper from getting the better of time. "I'm going to ask you if you were arguing with Max yesterday."

"One more time, detective," she spoke through clenched teeth, "that's none of your business." She popped her chewing gum loudly, causing both Rangers to flinch with irritation.

Gadget decided to take a softer approach. "Um, Ms. Stella, we heard that you and Max were significant others at one point."

Stella sniffed haughtily. "Yeah. So?"

Gadget looked to Chip for advice; Stella wasn't taking the bait. Chip just threw her a telling glance. Gadget shifted in her seat and decided to use some tactics from one of Chip's favorite TV shows—"Paw and Order."

"Well," Gadget reasoned, "if Max was maybe trying to get you back, or was trying to ask you out, or . . . wait, I guess that's the same thing. Hm. Never mind. Anyway, maybe you had a reason to argue with Max. If you got into an argument, and something happened and it wasn't your fault and—"

Stella waved her hands in the air to stop Gadget's ramblings. "Ok, fine. Max and I talked. Maybe a little too loudly. But it was just a conversation, alright? Sheesh." She sighed dramatically and propped her head on one arm, staring at Chip with cold eyes.

Chip was finished with the tiptoeing around the issue. This questioning had gone on far too long for his taste. "Ok. We know that you lied about seeing Max arguing with another man. Stella—do you want to be a headliner here at the club?"

Gadget didn't think that Stella's eyes could get any fiercer, but she was surprised. Stella became a very different person than Chip had met earlier in the day. "I was promised an act," she hissed. "Max told me I was just as good as Clarice. I could sing that 'munk under the table and then some."

"Where is he, Stella?" Chip pressed. He was leaning forward, nearly over the table.

Gadget winced as Stella told Chip what he could do and where he could go. Chip just rolled his eyes.

"I think we're done here." Chip pushed himself away from the table, stood, and stalked out the door, leaving a very surprised suspect and partner. Gadget threw a glance toward the first shocked, then visibly smug waitress.

"Chip? Wait up!" Gadget hurriedly followed him outside of the club. She caught him by the hem of his jacket, slowing his gait. "What are we doing now?" Chip didn't answer her, but kept walking, his head slightly lowered. Finally, she yanked on the hem and turned him fully around. "What's going on?"

Chip's eyes were dull, disheartened. "I don't know if I can do this, Gadget."

"What are you talking about?"

"This stupid case!" Chip threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Clarice, Max, Stella—none of them are truly bad people. But they all have their motives." Gadget furrowed her brow in confusion as Chip continued. "Take Clarice—she's talented, beautiful . . . but she doesn't enjoy sharing the limelight. I don't even know Max—but he's obviously stubborn and a little too dedicated to Clarice. And," Chip added, "he seems to be a double talker if what Stella says is true." He sighed. "And frankly, I believe her. And that brings me to Stella. She's obnoxious, conniving, and maybe even talented. If anything, her looks will eventually get her somewhere. She thinks she's been promised something, but whatever it was, it was ripped out from under her." Chip gritted his teeth. "Part of me doesn't blame her for whatever she's done."

Gadget shook her head. "Chip, I know you're hurt. But we've got a job to do!" A twinge of uncomfortable pain seared her heart; she squashed it with her sensibilities. "Clarice is counting on us—she's a client. And what about Max? Who knows what Stella has done to him?" She felt herself tearing up.

Chip sighed. He saw the tears glittering and became very angry with himself; he knew she was right. With a defeated gaze, he turned back toward the club's entrance. It was going to be a long evening.

Three hours later, the tired pair trudged into headquarters. Zipper squeaked a number of questions, too fast for Chip to follow. "In a minute, Zip," he muttered. "Does Monty have any supper left?"

Zipper nodded enthusiastically. He led the two into the kitchen, hoping to hear details. Gadget and Chip sank gratefully into chairs around the table, hungrily eying the cheese chowder that Monty was scooping into bowls. Chip took two big bites before saying anything.

"The APF has come in on our side. I talked to McDugell tonight, and they're going to hold Stella at their facility until she starts giving us answers."

"Ya mean she didn't tell you anything?" Monty was stunned. "Ya spent four hours with the shelia."

Gadget nodded, swallowing her bite. "I know. That's why we had to make the call to McDugell." She shook her head with disgust as she stirred her chowder. "I can't understand how people can be so . . . two-faced." Realizing what she had said, she tried not to blush, but she could tell her cheeks were rosy. Fortunately, Chip was too preoccupied with his belated dinner to notice her discomfort. He simply nodded his agreement as he scraped the bottom of his bowl.

"Thanks, Monty." He placed the empty bowl and utensils in the sink, gave Gadget, Monty, and Zipper a weak smile, then tiredly padded into the main living area.

As Chip entered the room, a distant, not unfamiliar sound found his ears. As though drawn by it, he followed the sound until he found the source. He finally lingered in the doorway of a little used room in Ranger Headquarters as he drank in the still well-known melodic tones. The song was recognizable, but much slower than he remembered.

"Love me or leave me, let me be lonely;

you won't believe me, and I love you only.

I'd rather be lonely than happy with someone else."

Chip hedged his way carefully into the room. The lights were dim, but they perfectly silhouetted the figure of Clarice. Her voice continued the song.

"You might find the night time, the right time for kissin',

but night time is my time for just reminiscin',

regrettin' instead of forgettin' with somebody else."

His fingers found the dusty piano keys as though they had never been parted. The soft, still-tuned chords joined with Clarice's clear soprano voice.

"There'll be no one unless that someone is you,

I intend to be independently blue.

I want your love, but I don't want to borrow,

to have it today, and to give it back tomorrow,

for my love is your love, there's no love for nobody else."

Chip allowed the final chord's notes to linger for a long moment. He spoke quietly, trying not to dispel the beauty of the moment. "Doris Day, 1955."

She nodded, a little embarrassed. "It's—it's one of my songs for my comeback at the Acorn Club." She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't have time to play anymore."

Chip smirked and swiped at the dust still clinging to the black and white keys. "I don't." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I haven't played that song in a very long time." His eyes were misty; he coughed a little to hide it. "The dust," he explained. He knew it sounded lame, but he was trying not to focus on the former love of his life singing a poignant love song that he used to play for her. He cleared his throat. "Well, I guess I'll let you get back to rehearsing." He stood, but she gently put a hand on his shoulder. A tender but firm push and Chip sat back down on the piano bench. She sat next to him, as far away as the length of the bench would allow.

"Play for me? Please?"

Chip sighed and rubbed his eyes. He began to play one of his favorite songs that had been recorded by so many famous artists . . . but he never thought that even one of them could capture it like Sinatra. He began to relax as his fingers found the notes and his voice blended in with the lyrics.

"When the sun is high
in the afternoon sky,
you can always find something to do.
But from dusk 'til dawn
as the clock ticks on,
something happens to you.

In the wee small hours of the morning,
while the whole wide world is fast asleep,
you lie awake and you think about the girl,
and never ever think of counting sheep.
When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,
you'd be hers if only she would call . . . .
In the wee small hours of the morning,
that's the time you miss her most of all."

The piano plaintively sang for a brief interlude before Chip's voice, slightly shaking, returned hauntingly.

"When your lonely heart has learned its lesson,
you'd be hers if only she would call . . . .
In the wee small hours of the morning,
that's the time you miss her most of all."

After the final note, Chip abruptly stood from the piano bench too quickly for Clarice to stop him. "I can't," he choked. He stepped back so she couldn't reach for him. "I can't," he kept repeating.

Clarice's eyes were sad, watery. "I'm sorry," she murmured. She simply kept her seat at the piano as Chip silently fled the room. Her tears splashed down onto the lower octave of the instrument, creating wet spots in the remaining dust.

In the hall, Gadget silently watched Chip hurry from the room and disappear into the recesses of headquarters. Gadget's head fell, tears trickling down her cheeks.