Thanks for all the reviews and commentary, folks. (And if you have any interest in Buffy, take a look at my Buffyfic as well.) We're still deep in Mars vs. Mars. There will be stray dialogue sightings.

And to those who are wondering: I am writing them this quickly. Call it inspiration.

Disclaimer: Rob Thomas owns 'em. I don't. Alas.

X X X X X

I wound up getting into a heated discussion with dad on the merits of Mr. Rooks as a history teacher and Carrie Bishop as the nosiest person in Neptune High, but he wouldn't give up working the case against him.

"Fine," I said grumpily, "You can answer your own phone."

Right then is when Vanessa Mencken walked in, so I used the power of my death-ray eyes to burn a hole in his door and went out and sat next to her on the couch.

"What do you need?" she asked.

"As many details as you can give me," I said.

And she cooperated. It was more or less the story Logan had told, only she gave me a few more details. The date of the party (June 25, 2005.) The day that Lynn had supposedly caught them in bed together. (The following Wednesday, having come home from Europe a day early.) The number of times they did it. (Like I'm going to tell you, though apparently it was at least once a day.) She told me where they had sex (the Echolls' poolhouse).

When she began to tell me about Aaron's bedroom skills I held up my hands. "Skip that," I said.

"But you said you wanted details. And with your reputation --"

"Skip it," I said more loudly, restraining my "smart remark" urge with all my might. Here I am pretending to help her, and I get insults. I suppose I should have expected nothing different from your typical '09er, but still --

Vanessa shrugged. "Your loss. He was really talented. Anyway, after that first night, Lynn insisted on watching every time; by the following Saturday I was creeped out enough that I told him I was done and took off."

"Did anyone else see any of this?"

"I'm sure a lot of people saw me at Logan's party," she said. "As for the rest of it -- no. But I can tell you where you can get the proof."

"Where?"

"The Echolls' poolhouse. One night I noticed something in the ceiling and went took a closer look. Veronica, he had the place wired for video. I looked around and there was a wire leading into the wall. Find the recordings and find your proof."

X X X X X

That was pretty much it; I told her to let me know if she came up with anything else. That Aaron Echolls liked to watch himself should have come as a surprise, but didn't. Human nature being what it is, the only thing that did surprise me is that no one else seemed to have noticed it.

In the meantime, I had other things to do. I hustled down to the nearest supermarket and picked up every tabloid that mentioned Aaron Echolls' love life, then I went to the library and copied a few back issues of "more respectable" publications. This gave me the names of nine of his bedmates. I also checked to see if Vanessa's story about Aaron Echolls' movie having gone on break at that point checked out. I found out in Variety that it di; one of his co-stars had suddenly developed appendicitis and those were the only scenes the movie had left to shoot.

I read through the stories in the tabloids and magazines. Not a single one brought up Lynn Echolls as more than Aaron Echolls' wife, usually with the adjective "long-suffering" attached.

Then I called the Echolls' attorney.

"Ms. Mars?" a clipped voice came over the phone. "I'm Hiram Dashiell. The younger Mr. Echolls told me to expect your call and to cooperate, if possible. How can I help you?"

"I understand that you've been the point man dealing with people claiming to have slept with the late Aaron Echolls."

"This is true, Ms. Mars."

"Can I get a list of these people? I realize settlement amounts are sealed, but --"

"The only settlements we've made have been with those women who were underage at the time. Everyone else has been invited to go to the tabloids and do their worst. Some clearly have; many, apparently, have not."

This was a surprise. "Why --"

"Why wouldn't we settle? Once we explained to them that Mr. Echolls had done nothing illegal and had gotten none of them pregnant, most of them went away. Certainly, some of them said that Mr. Echolls had made promises of marriage, but given his track record --"

"No one would believe it," I said. While Aaron Echolls had been married twice, he'd divorced his first wife before he'd married Lynn. And no one WOULD believe it, other than maybe as a cynical ploy to get the women into bed. I had a thought. "How many underage women were there? I don't want their names, just the number."

"Four," Mr. Dashiell said. Well, no help there; a man who'll sleep with four underage women will certainly sleep with another. In any event, I wasn't trying to prove Aaron Echolls innocent, but Lynn Echolls.

"In their conversations," I asked, "Did any of them mention Mrs. Echolls?"

"Only tangentially."

"Never as a participant? Or an observer?"

"Never." He sounded offended

"Could I have that list?"

He sent it by fax. This gave me a total of 21 women to try and track down. I went over to the computer and got to work.

X X X X X

That night and the next day, sandwiched around a visit to Mr. Rooks' house to get some information from him about his relationship with Carrie, I called all the women I could find. I hadn't been able to locate three of them. One was a big-name Hollywood actress herself by this point and I couldn't get to the person to get to the person to get to her press secretary. Three more simply told me to get lost if I wasn't going to pay them anything.

The other ones were more cooperative. "Hi, is this Aileen Sparrow?" I said, typically. "My name's Kate Severance and I'm with the Neptune Gazette. We're doing a story on another woman who claims to have had an affair with the late Aaron Echolls and we were wondering if you could provide some information for us."

By the time of the fifth iteration of the same "No, Lynn Echolls had nothing to do with any of it" response, I could have performed the conversations in my sleep. I finished out the calls in case any of them decided to vary the pattern. No such luck. None of them had even so much as seen her.

Then, after another argument with my father about Carrie Bishop and Mr. Rooks -- he actually believed that diary of hers meant something -- I called Logan.

"Machiavelli!" he said. "How's it going?"

I explained what I'd found about the other women his father had slept with. He said, "That's not bad, but that's not going to stop her from making the claim."

"Might be helpful if it gets to court."

"If it gets to court, I've failed. Anyway, that's not what I'm paying you for."

"I hope your amnesia is cured soon."

"Huh?"

"You're not paying me."

"I am paying you with the pleasure of my company and conversation."

I laughed. "Like I said, you're not paying me."

He laughed too. "Point, Mars."

"Two other things," I said. "First, I need to get into your poolhouse." I explained why.

"I can work that," he said. "What's the other other thing?"

I took adeep breath. "I need to talk to your mother."