Devon was bringing lunch: two cheeseburgers plus fries for Michael, yogurt for Melissa, and a sandwich for himself. Like Michael, he was concerned about Melissa. The first surgery on her hip had gone well. Dr. Wesley was confident that she would no longer need the leg brace she had worn since she was ten. And after all the surgeries were done, Melisa would probably not even need a crutch, either. She might even have full use of her hip again.

It had been a week since the surgery, and she had another week of bed rest before Dr. Wesley would let her put weight on the hip. And then she would start PT to prepare for the next surgery. For the past week since the surgery, Devon had visited his goddaughter every day. He agreed with Michael's assessment that she both was bored and had no appetite. Hopefully, he and Michael could address both problems today.

Just as he reached the room in medical where Melissa was, a file folder hit the wall near the door, scattering papers all over the floor. Melissa was in the bed, and Michael was sprawled in the chair next to her

"You're not listening to me," screamed Melissa. She spotted Devon, and wailed, "Uncle Devon, make him listen."

Devon put down the food on the table, and then picked up the papers from the floor. Otherwise, he was planning to stay out of whatever was going on between Melissa and her guardian. Just as he would have had it been Wilton instead of Michael.

"Melissa," said Michael good-naturedly, "I know you are bored and frustrated being stuck in that bed for two weeks. But all you've done is make a mess. Plus, you now have to completely redo the filing you spent the morning on."

"I'm not bored or frustrated. I'm angry because you're not listening to me about this. That. Wherever it is."

Melissa waved her hands vaguely at the pile of papers Devon was putting down next to the food. Then, she laid down on the bed, put a pillow over her head, and screamed again.

Now that she couldn't see him, Michael allowed himself to smile. But he carefully kept his amusement out of his voice. "Look, Melissa –"

"La, la, la. Not listening. Just like you're not listening to me," was the muffled reply.

Kitt chimed in over the commlink, "Michael, if I may?"

"Sure, go for it." Then he added under his breath, "And good luck, pal."

"Melissa?"

She uncovered her face. "Kitt, are you going to listen to me?"

"I shall certainly endeavor to do so, Melissa. However, as I am not physically present where you are, I am unable to see any hand gestures that I presume accompanied the words 'this' and 'that'. If you could describe those hand gestures, that would greatly facilitate my comprehension."

"I was pointing at the flyer for the Halloway charity event."

Michael noticed Devon knew immediately what Melissa was talking about. However, he caught his boss's eyes and shook his head. Kitt now had a rapport with Melissa, and Michael didn't want to break that. Devon nodded his understanding.

"The flyer for –"

Melissa huffed. "The flyer for the Halloway charity event. I helped Mrs. H and the rest of the Halloway Horde stuff flyers into envelopes. So even though Michael only had part of the flyer, I recognized it."

"You are referring to the torn piece of paper Michael found earlier today? The green one?"

"This year's color is celadon. And yes. I have my own copy of the event flyer in my bedroom, along with the auction brochure. Which I have been trying to tell Michael for ages now, but he isn't listening to me."

Michael leapt out of the chair and headed off down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "Wait here."

He heard Melissa yell after him, "Fine! I'll just cancel my plans to fly to Boston and run the Marathon!"

That was followed by a muffled scream; she had clearly put the pillow back over her head. He laughed out loud, hoping he was out of ear shot.

"You know, Michael, your ward –"

"Is smart as a whip."

"As the daughter of Wilton Knight, that goes without saying. However, I was going to point out that she has likely just given us our first solid lead in this case."

"Yes, she has. And also explained how the thieves pick their targets."

"I assume you mean the auction brochure Melissa mentioned."

"Exactly. The flyer tells them when and where; the auction brochure tells whether to bother showing up. Now we just have to figure out how they are getting their hands on them."

Michael reached Melissa's room. Fortunately, she didn't lock her door. So he didn't need to pick the lock. She kept her room neat, which made it easy for him to spot the green – okay, celadon – flyer plus the brochure. He looked at them both, somewhat confused. Then he jogged back to medical.

When he arrived, Melissa was sitting up again, eating her yogurt. Devon was sitting in the chair Michael had so recently vacated, eating his sandwich. Devon looked up as Michael came into the room.

"We decided to start lunch without you," he explained.

Melissa said in a small voice, "I'm . . . I'm sorry, Michael."

He walked over to the side of her bed and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "You've been stuck in this bed for week, with another week to go. And you've still managed to give us our first major break on this case. I'm willing to put with a lot more than a minor tantrum for that." She gave him a slight smile. "But . . . you called this the Halloway charity event. Neither the flyer nor the brochure says that. What gives?"

"Keep eating your lunch, my dear," said Devon, who then turned to Michael. "Paul Halloway was a friend and business associate of Wilton's. His wife, Doris, has been the chairwoman of the organizing committee for that annual charity event over a decade now. The Halloways have five children, all around Melissa's age. She spends quite a lot of time there, in fact. The children – including Melissa – help with the event."

"Well, that clears that up."

Melissa sighed, "And speaking of clearing things up, I guess now I have to redo the filing."

"After lunch. I'll keep you company while Devon calls Mrs. Halloway and arranges for me to meet with her. Deal?"

"Deal."