House dropped his gaze back to his desk. The object of his puzzlement was still there. He'd actually wondered for just a moment if it would disappear if he took his eyes off it.
The postcard showed a Mediterranean beach, all sun and sand, umbrellas like large colorful mushrooms with happy tourists lounging beneath. He turned it over and read the message again. House -- Spain is even better than South Africa! Miss you and wish you were here. Love, Wilson. All in Wilson's left-handed, butchered scrawl. He rechecked the postmark -- like the first, it was from four weeks ago. Archimedes, regarding him from the postage stamp, seemed to be saying, Well? Solve the equation!
This couldn't be a joke, as Jimmy had suggested last week. One postcard, perhaps ... but two? What was going on? A game like this had to be well-planned out, far in advance. The sheer logistics that were involved --
"Lunch?" Wilson poked his head in House's office. House hastily slid the new card under some papers.
"Sure, just give me a minute," he replied. Wilson nodded and ducked back out.
House frowned again. He'd looked completely innocent -- but then Wilson always looked innocent. Even caught red-handed in prank, escapade, or actual affair, those high cheekbones and youthful face had often been enough to absolve him of any guilt. House felt certain all of the ex-Mrs. Wilsons would testify to that.
He allowed himself to briefly consider other suspects -- his Fellows, an old college friend -- but dismissed them immediately. No. This was interesting. This was tricky. This had depth. This had the fingerprints of James Wilson all over it.
Sighing, he used his cane as a brace and pushed himself up from the chair. He'd let this rest for a while, watch his friend carefully. Better right now to lie back and observe.
This plan worked perfectly until the next week, when the third postcard arrived.
tbc
