It's Five O'clock Somewhere

by Musical Redhead

In a battle of wills, does there have to be a loser? The good detective has to decide. He and the reporter are at the top of their games, though they aren't very perceptive. Mystery #4, Final.

4. Let it Roll

Title: It's Five O'clock Somewhere

Chapter: Let it Roll

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Thank you for reading, reviewing, and having extreme patience with me. It isn't just the days that are passing me by, but weeks.

Adults are always asking little kids what they want to be when they grow up because they're looking for ideas. ~Paula Poundstone

Let it Roll

Rory woke up slowly to the sound of her cellphone ringing. It was still dark out, causing her to panic as she quickly, though drowsily, answered, "Hello?"

"Good morning," Lorelai said cheerfully on the other end. "This is your friendly morning wake up call."

"I didn't ask for one."

"You didn't?" Lorelai asked, as though she was really thinking about it. "I scheduled you in a week ago."

"To shop, not to wake up me in the middle of the night."

"That must be why I wrote payback on my calendar," she mused. "That makes sense. I couldn't remember why you'd want to be woken up at such a ridiculous hour."

"I didn't."

"Well, you know what they say about payback."

"Yes, and I'm thinking it about you right now."

"Hey! Those are fighting words."

"Sorry, but you started it," Rory grumbled. She sighed and pulled the covers up closer to her chin.

"No, you did. A week ago. That's why it's called payback—I'm paying you back for wronging me. And you're being dramatic, it's not the middle of the night. It's only five."

Rory groaned. "I want to sleep more. Did you get up just to call me?"

"I did," her mother said. "Luke has a bread delivery coming in, so I got up when he did. But I got the distinct impression he likes it better when I stay asleep."

"I can't imagine why," Rory said dryly. She turned her head to find the other side of the bed empty. "Where's Tristan?"

"I don't know, he isn't with me. But I haven't been downstairs yet."

"You cannot be this wide awake without coffee. You keep the coffee downstairs," Rory reminded her. "At least, I think you do. I've already told you the bathroom isn't a sanitary place to make beverages."

"And I still disagree. It has water and an electrical outlet right at the counter. If that isn't for coffee, then why is it all there for my convenience?"

"That's for brushing your teeth and using a hair dryer, respectfully," Rory said.

"To the less pragmatic." Lorelai returned to the original question, "I had Luke make me coffee before he left."

"And he had to bring it back upstairs to you?"

"Yes."

"When he needed to go meet his bread guy?"

"Yes."

"You have no shame," Rory said, turning to her side. "No wonder he'd prefer you to stay asleep when he gets up early."

"No, no, he enjoys serving me."

"Oh boy."

"Anyway, I just wanted to remind you that my arrival is eminent. I'll be down tomorrow morning, as scheduled. That way we can eat lunch before we shop."

"Tomorrow?" Rory said, her brows furrowing deeply. "What day is it?"

"Friday."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"I think you shortchanged the week by a day. I'm sure it was just Wednesday—like yesterday."

"No, it's definitely Friday. Tonight's a night at the Gilmore's. I wouldn't put myself through that sooner than I had to."

Rory shook her head. "The staff meeting was yesterday. I'm sure of it, I was there. It's only Thursday."

"Aw man. I must have gotten confused with my big payback plans."

"That's what you get for seeking vengeance."

"The best laid plans," Lorelai lamented. "So the day after tomorrow then?"

"Yeah. It's a plan." Rory went on, "Make sure you're nice to Tristan while you're here."

"That's really going to put a damper on my weekend," Lorelai said grimly. "I was planning a solid two days of bullying him."

"He has a lot on his plate right now. There's his own work, and he's getting ready to go to court against his dad—he has jury selection starting tomorrow."

"He's what?"

"He's prosecuting a case. Didn't I tell you about that?"

"No, and I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if you did."

"Well, he is, so be nice. I think he's stressing out. He's definitely running on minimal sleep."

"Fine. I'll be good."

"Thank you." Rory sighed. "I'm ready to go back to sleep."

"All right, sweet dreams," Lorelai said before they both hung up.

Rory turned to get comfortable again and closed her eyes, but sleep didn't come. She turned over to try another position and didn't have any more luck. A dull glow was starting to shine through the curtain, signaling the approaching dawn. By the time she'd fall back asleep, it would probably be time to get up. Sighing unhappily, she sat up and got out of the warm bed. Yawning, she retrieved her slippers from the other side of the room and made the long journey down to the kitchen.

She found Tristan sitting on the couch in the living room, still wearing his flannel pants and t-shirt. He was staring blankly at the work in front of him on the coffee table as he flipped a coin.

"Heads," Rory said, taking a seat next to him. She pulled a blanket from the corner of the couch to cover their legs.

He looked down at the quarter he'd just flattened on his hand. "Tails."

"What was heads?"

He shrugged and sat the quarter down. "Nothing."

She leaned against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Looking at the corner of the room, she asked, "I'm surprised you don't have the Christmas tree put away yet. You've done everything else this week."

He glanced over to the greenery. "I can't put it back in storage until you take the decorations and lights off," he reminded her. "So, when am I going to put it away?"

Rory thought for a moment, then, "In about a week."

"Mm." Tristan looked down at his work on the coffee table and said, "Last night, when I was leaving, the captain caught me on the elevator."

"Mm-hmm."

"And he said I'm 'not going to do this anymore'."

She lifted her head up. "Do what anymore?"

Tristan glanced at her and then nodded at the coffee table. "This."

"Try a case?" Rory asked. "He's right. You can't do both."

"Yeah, that's what he said." After a pause, Tristan added, "I have to pick one."

"One what?"

"Career. One or the other."

"Oh," Rory said, frowning. She looked down at the papers on the table in front of them, where Post-It notes with Tristan's writing stuck off several of the pages. Knowing his feelings about lawyers were tied into his father, and seeing how much work he was putting into this trial, she didn't ask what his decision was going to be. A look at his face told her he didn't know.

Rory picked up the coin and said, "Heads or tails?"

"Heads," he said as she flicked it in the air. Checking the results, she said, "Tails."

"Which one was tails?"

"Detective."

Tristan nodded and picked up a blank sheet of paper and drew two columns down the center, making a tally under the one labeled detective.

Rory stared. "What are you doing?"

He glanced back over at her. "Keeping score."

"You can't decide like that. I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"It's completely scientific."

"No it isn't."

"It's the same as a pro-con list."

Her jaw dropped and her brow lowered. "It is not," she said, scandalized.

"Pretty much." He tapped his tally sheet. "Look, it has two columns, just like a pro-con list."

"A pro-con list considers all the factors in an organized way, so you can easily see which comes out ahead," she said. "What are you going to do? Best two out of three?"

"I'm not sure. It should probably be more. Best of fifty?" he asked. "Or one hundred." He looked back at her, like he was serious.

She shook her head. "No. That isn't how you decide this kind of thing."

"No, it isn't how you decide this kind of thing. I can decide by whatever method I choose."

"So you can decide how to decide, as long as you aren't actually making a huge decision on your own?"

"I don't look at it like that," Tristan said. "Flipping a coin is leaving it up to chance—no emotions or biases involved. It's completely objective."

"It's completely insane."

Tristan looked at her quizzically. "Shouldn't you be up in bed asleep still, rather than down here judging me?"

"Mom woke me up. She's coming down this weekend so we can go shopping. She thought I needed a reminder."

"At five in the morning? When did she become a morning person?"

"She didn't," Rory answered. "I made the mistake of calling her early last week—that night we pulled an all-nighter at work. She didn't like it."

"Ah."

"Speaking of that all-nighter, do you know anything new about Avery Fox's case?"

"Nice segue."

"Thank you."

"I don't know anything new."

"Have you been looking into any other suspects?"

Tristan shook his head and answered, "No, just her boyfriend. His alibi isn't completely rock solid. And he's being evasive about it." After a pause he said, "I thought you already talked with Stevenson about this when you dropped by the precinct."

Rory sighed and shook her head. "That was a no-go."

"He didn't tell you anything?"

"Nope."

"Huh."

"I know," she said. "It was an unpleasant surprise." She yawned and pulled the blanket away. "I guess I should get ready for work."

"You're actually going in today?" Tristan asked, brow arched.

"Yes," she answered defiantly. "I think I am."

"Maybe you should take a pillow—in case you need to slip into the conference room for an afternoon catnap."

"Funny," she said dryly, getting up from the couch. But she did wonder how ridiculous she'd look if she got into a cab with her pillow.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"You still work here?" James asked Rory a few hours later, passing behind her desk in the newsroom.

"Yes," she answered with a slight twinge of annoyance. She sat down the copy of The New York Times she'd been reading. "And I have an update on the Avery Fox case."

"Oh yeah?" James said, sitting on the edge of Marie's unoccupied desk to face Rory's. "What is it?"

"The police are still looking into her boyfriend, and have no other leads."

Dryly, James commented, "That's quite an update." He blew on the coffee in his mug before taking a cautious sip.

Rory shrugged. "I can only report it. I can't will them to make progress." Continuing, she said, "I think they're boxing themselves in with this guy she was dating, so I'm looking at a different angle. I'm going to go down to city hall again later today to look into one of the councilmembers."

"Kyle's already going there today," James said.

"What about Julie?" Rory asked, picking up her own coffee to cradle in her hands as she looked up at her editor.

"She's out sick today."

"Hey, that was my cover when I went to city hall last time," Rory said. Then she frowned. "Now I feel bad, I brought on her illness. Maybe I shouldn't have told people she was sick when she wasn't."

James nodded. "And here's another thought," he said. "Don't reassign reporters who already have assignments. That's generally considered the job of the editor, not other reporters."

Rory protested, "She still wrote the article. I was just the one to take notes. No harm, no foul."

"Still, I'd rather my employees not get confused about who they answer to." In a loud whisper, he added, "It's me. If you forgot."

"Calm down. I know you're in charge, El Captain," Rory said. "I won't tell Kyle not to go to city hall. He can tag along."

James shook his head slightly. "Whatever," he said, standing back up to retreat to his office.

Rory went back to reading her paper and sipping her coffee as her colleagues trickled into the newsroom, bleary eyed and yawning through their first cup of coffee. When she was finished reading the national and world news stories, she turned to the city page to see if the objects of her new search were mentioned. When she didn't find anything noteworthy, she folded her paper neatly and instead used the internet to continue her research.

She didn't pay attention as the rest of her colleagues arrived at work as she took notes. When she glanced at the time a couple hours later, she looked around and couldn't find Kyle anywhere in the newsroom. She looked to her right. "Where's Kyle?"

At the next desk, Marie shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't seen him this morning."

"He never came in?" Rory asked. She got up and walked over to her editor's office, where the door was open. "Did Kyle come in today? Is he sick again?"

"No, he went straight to city hall," James answered, looking over from his computer screen.

"And you didn't tell me?" Rory asked, looking down at her watch.

"Didn't I?" James asked, smirking.

"I need to get down there," she said, annoyed, before hurrying back to her desk for her coat and notebook.

Not long thereafter, she exited a cab downtown and entered the city building. She'd texted Kyle on the way, so she knew to meet him on the fifth floor. She took the elevator up and ran into a few reporters on their way out. Rory made her way down the hall, locating Kyle. "Hey, I wanted to come here with you today," she told him, put out.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't know."

"Was Councilman Jacob Peters at that meeting?" she asked, nodding at the room he'd just exited. "I wanted to talk to him."

"He was," Kyle answered. "But he already left." He pointed to the elevator terminal. "There's a directory over there on the wall. We'll just find his office."

The two proceeded down the hall and found the councilmember's office number, then took the stairs one floor down. When they entered his office, a secretary looked up to greet them.

"Can I help you?" she asked nicely.

"We're reporters from the Daily News," Rory explained. "We were hoping to speak with Mr. Peters."

"Oh, well he just left for a lunch appointment, but he'll be back in about an hour."

"Thanks," Rory said, and they both turned to leave.

"So do you want to hang around until he gets back?" Kyle asked as their elevator descended to the lobby.

"We could," she said. "Do you need to get back to the newsroom, or do you want to stay?" They both walked out of the building on automatic polite, regardless of his decision to leave or not.

Rather than answer her question, Kyle nodded toward a tall man wearing an overcoat. He was climbing into the backseat of a cab. "Hey, there he is."

"Rats," Rory said with a frown. "We just missed him."

Kyle turned to her, eyes wide. "We could probably catch up though," he said, throwing his arm up to hail a cab.

"What do you mean? What are you doing?"

Smiling at his idea, Kyle answered, "We'll tail him."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"We'll just take some tea," Rory told a waitress who was standing at the end of their table, notebook in hand.

When the woman walked away, Kyle looked at her from the opposite side of the table, brows slightly furrowed. "I don't really like tea."

"We aren't really here for lunch," she reminded him.

"Do you think he saw us following him?" he asked, leaning over so he wouldn't have to talk loud. The councilman had led them to a restaurant that was buzzing with the noontime rush. Kyle's eyes darted around the large dining space.

Rory shoved her gloves in her pocket and pulled her arms out of her coat, draping it over the back of her chair. "I don't think so. And even if he did, this is a free country. It's lunch time, so we can eat wherever we want." She added, "But stop looking around like that. Try to look inconspicuous."

"Sorry," Kyle said, turning his full attention to her. He shot another furtive glance toward the councilman. "Can we eat while we're here? I'm starving."

Rory opened the menu that was sitting in front of her and turned to the choices of soups and salads. "Fine, I could eat." After reviewing her options, she said, "I want tomato soup and a grilled cheese."

Kyle scrunched up his nose in response as he continued to peruse his menu.

"What?"

"Tomato soup is kind of gross."

"Not when you dip a sandwich in it," she said defensively. When their waitress returned with their tea, Rory went first with her order. She kept one eye on Jacob Peters, hoping he would take his time eating his lunch, or he might leave them behind while they finished off their own. Luckily, the councilman's waitress brought over two plates to his table, setting one in front of him and the other in front of the empty chair. Excellent, Rory thought, he was waiting for someone.

"Can we get it in boxes? And the bill?" Kyle asked after he'd placed his order. "In case we have to leave in a hurry," he explained to Rory once the waitress had left, apparently able to read her mind.

"Good call." She subtly tilted her head over to the other man's table again as she took a sip of her tea. She nodded over at Peters. "It looks like someone will be joining him."

Kyle glanced over covertly. "Must be a woman."

"How can you tell?" she asked, brows knit.

"There's a big salad for the other person."

"So? Only women can eat salad for lunch?"

"No. But how often do you see men order just a salad?"

Rory tried to think, but even her mother would never want a salad—by itself or otherwise. "Fine, it might be a woman."

"It's like Starbucks in here," Kyle remarked, observing the other restaurant patrons. "I should have brought my laptop to work on my screenplay."

Rory stared. "I'm not sure whether or not you're joking."

"Yeah, of course I'm joking," he said hastily. Returning to the subject of their stakeout, he asked, "Were you following this guy yesterday too? When you weren't in the newsroom?"

"No," she answered. "I was at home. I did some work from home."

"Oh. That sounds nice."

"It was," she said, leaving out the significant part of the afternoon she spent asleep.

In less than ten minutes, their waitress returned to their table with two brown paper bags with the restaurant's logo stamped on both sides.

"Thank you," Kyle said politely as they both took their sandwich boxes out of the bags.

Rory opened her cup of soup to dip an end of her triangular cut sandwich. She ate a few spoons of her soup and commented, "You're crazy. This is really good soup. I'm glad Councilman Peters came here for lunch."

"Mm-mmm," Kyle agreed between bites of his sandwich. He added, "You'd like their espresso."

"Ooh, maybe for the road."

They were halfway finished with their lunch when Kyle glanced at the councilman's table and said, "Hey, look. There's a woman. I was right."

Rory, not wanting to stare, quickly looked over to get a look at the woman, who had long black hair that went to her shoulders, spilling over her red sweater. From her place across from the councilman, she talked animatedly while she started her salad.

"I wonder who she is," Rory said.

"Maybe she's on his staff," Kyle suggested.

"But then they could have shared a ride."

"Not if she was out running errands for him. Or taking a meeting on his behalf."

"Fine." Rory abruptly turned back to her lunch. "Stop staring at them."

"Oh right," Kyle said, mirroring her in over-eagerly eating his chicken salad sandwich. "So, what happened with this dead girl, anyway?

"She was a reporter for the Post," Rory said. "She was found in the trunk of a car that was pulled out of the Hudson."

"Whoa. She must have made someone mad," Kyle said, eyeing the councilman again.

"I know, right?" Rory said. "I keep saying that, but the police are sticking with their usual suspects. Like her boyfriend who has a shaky alibi."

"But she's a reporter," Kyle argued. "She clearly ticked someone off."

"Hey, you don't have to convince me," she said, stirring her soup.

"Whose car was it?"

"Don't know," Rory said with a shrug. "It was stolen." She chanced a glance over at the other table. She nodded toward it. "Look, their waitress just left the bill."

They both watched as the woman smiled and picked up the narrow folder, laughing at something the councilman said. She picked up her wallet and pulled out a bankcard, sticking it in the top slot and placing the folder on the edge of the table.

"That has her name on it," Kyle said quickly. "If we can just see it, we'll know who she is."

Rory gave him a startled, perplexed look. "How are we going to manage that?" she asked. "We can't just take a peek at someone's credit card."

"Pretend to be a waitress."

"I can't do that," Rory protested. "The wait staff is all wearing black, and I'm not. I'd just be some lunatic woman stealing someone's credit card."

Kyle drummed his fingers on the table anxiously and then stopped. "I know. Pretend you're the manager."

"What?" Rory asked wide eyed.

"Yeah, just go up and ask them if everything tasted all right. Managers do that all the time. They're just checking to make sure their customers are happy. They're never dressed like the wait staff. Peters and his lady friend will never know."

"Why do I have to do it?"

"He saw me down at city hall an hour ago at the committee meeting," Kyle deadpanned, like it was a dumb question. "He knows I'm a reporter. And it's your investigation, not mine." Kyle put the second half of his sandwich in the box to pack it back in the bag. "Do it, quick. Before their waitress comes back and they get away."

Rory tapped her foot, aware time was slipping away. Without taking any more time to weigh their options, she quickly sprang up from her seat. She walked over to the table and smiled sweetly at the couple. "Hi, how was everything today?"

Jacob Peters and his mysterious lunch companion looked up to her and smiled politely. "Great," he said.

"Really good," the woman added.

Heart pounding, Rory grabbed the bill folder off the table. "I'll just take care of this." She turned hastily and opened the folder, quickly reading the name on the card, repeating it to herself over and over.

"What are you doing?" she heard someone ask suspiciously.

Wide eyed and palms starting to sweat, Rory looked up into the face of one of the waitresses. "Nothing." She handed over the folder. "Here, they enjoyed their meal."

She quickly turned on her heel and made a bee line to the door. Kyle was already outside, having left enough cash on their table to cover their bill. "Let's go!" she said, taking her coat from him without stopping to look back. "We can never come back here." She shoved her hands through her sleeves, though her adrenaline rush and the rapid repetition of the woman's name in her head kept her from processing the cold.

"You know, I just thought of something," Kyle said as they quickly walked down the sidewalk, getting lost in the crowd of pedestrians. "We could have just looked at her receipt after they left. It would have had her name on it too."

Rory scowled at him. "You think of that now?"

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory typed the name of the woman into her search engine back in the newsroom a little while later. "All right, Sandra O'Neil. Who are you?"

Next to her, Kyle had rolled his desk chair over. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Big money, big money," he said as they waited.

When the results popped up, she scrolled down the page to view the articles. "Here's Peters' website. Her name is mentioned on it somewhere," Rory said, clicking on the site. There was a page on the councilman's site dedicated to a charity he founded. On the left side, there was a column of pictures of key people in the organization.

"She runs his charity," Kyle read. He looked at Rory with wide eyes. "If it's really a charity. Maybe it's a front for criminal activity."

"You're jumping to conclusions," she said. Then she gasped. "But maybe he's funneling money from the city into the charity."

"So you can jump to conclusions, but I can't?" Kyle asked. He looked back to her computer screen. "We should dig around to see what he's up to."

"Write a feature article about it," Rory suggested. "Then you can ask anyone whatever you want and it won't look fishy."

"Being a reporter is great," he commented good-naturedly. "But why do I have to do it?"

"Because now Councilman Peters thinks I'm the manager of that restaurant. You're still a reporter."

"Oh yeah. I do have to do it." He pulled out his notebook from his back pocket and picked up a pen from the top of Rory's desk. "Okay, I'll need to talk to Peters and Sandra O'Neil, for sure." He glanced up at her screen again with squinty eyes. "Who else?"

"How about his wife," Rory said. "And go down to the charity headquarters to talk to a few others who work there." After some thought, she added, "Try to talk to some of the people who the charity helps, to make sure they really are benefitting from all the funds he raises for them."

"Ooh, that's a good one," Kyle said, adding her suggestions to his list. "Won't they be suspicious when they don't see their feature in the paper? What if they call to ask about it?"

Rory waved her hand and swiveled her chair slightly toward Kyle. "You can either get Jimmy to go ahead and publish it, or just tell them your editor shelved the story for a while. It happens."

"So either way, pin it on Jimmy?"

"Basically."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan pulled out a chair at a small square table across from his partner. Music played from a juke box in the corner and a group of men started a game of pool not too far away from them. Mark sent a text and sat his phone on the, checking the door of the bar. Tristan sat with his shoulders hunched and his chin resting in his hand as he scanned the room.

"Do we get to drink?" he asked. "We're officially off the clock. I think I need a drink."

Mark shrugged and glanced at his watch. "Sure. It's a socially acceptable hour to do so."

"And I am nothing if not socially acceptable," Tristan said, looking around to catch the eye of a waitress.

A woman wearing a short apron over her jeans came over to their table and introduced herself. "Can I start you off with some drinks?"

"We'll take a pitcher of beer," Mark told her. He glanced at Tristan. "And I'm starving. So I'll take a cheeseburger and fries."

"Make it two," Tristan said.

Stevenson's phone vibrated and he checked the incoming message. "Make it three, but one to-go."

"I'll get your order right in," the woman said before heading toward the now familiar bar.

"You're going to be in trouble when you get home and smell like a hamburger with none to share," Mark commented.

"I don't think I will," Tristan said, taking off his coat. "Rory's probably just having mashed potatoes again. Or macaroni and peanut butter."

Mark scrunched up his nose.

Tristan shook his head. "No, it's better than it sounds. I had some the other day." He glanced around the bar again before saying, "I'm going to come by the precinct early tomorrow morning before I have to be in court. And I'll meet up with you at lunch."

Mark didn't say anything for a moment. Then, flatly said, "Fine."

Tristan looked back at his partner. "What?"

"Nothing," Mark said, his eyes roaming around the room.

"Maybe you should drop by Sean Adams' office building and try to talk to anyone who goes in and out. See if we can find out what he does."

Mark didn't say anything to indicate he'd heard as he kept tabs on their surroundings. After a few minutes, he nodded at the door. "There he is."

Tristan leaned over to look back over his shoulder. Their person of interest walked in with a few of his friends and went to a table near the bar. They removed their outerwear and gestured to someone behind the counter.

"So he does come sometimes," Mark said, sitting back to allow the waitress who'd just returned to set a glass in front of him and a full pitcher in the center of the table.

Tristan pointed over at Sean Adams. "Could you send that guy bourbon on the rocks?" he asked the waitress.

She glanced over to the table indicated. "Sure thing."

"Does he come in every Thursday night?" Tristan asked.

"Usually," the waitress answered. "But I wouldn't say every week."

"Thanks," Mark said, pouring himself a drink after Tristan had filled his glass.

"Your food will be out in a few minutes."

The detectives watched as the waitress went over to the counter and then served Sean Adams his drink. When she pointed to them as the benefactors, Adams looked over and scowled.

Both men raised their glasses to him, Tristan adding an overly cunning grin.

Adams rose from his table and came over to the detectives. "You're following me now? This is harassment."

"We're not following you," Tristan answered friendlily. "We've put in a long hard day and just happened to be hungry when our shift ended."

Mark nodded in agreement.

"I'm sure there's a local cop bar you could go to," Adams said.

"Yeah, but we've been coming here so often, we thought we'd give it a try."

The man raised his arms. "And look who's here to ruin your accusations. Thursday night, just like I told you. Would a judge and jury like to hear that a couple of New York police detectives stooped to acquiring information from someone who was under the influence of alcohol?"

"That isn't what we were doing," Stevenson said. "We weren't going to ask you any questions tonight. We were just being friendly. Unless you have something you wanted to confess. Because we'll lend our ears if you do."

Tristan nodded and added, "We're excellent listeners."

"No. I don't," Adams said. Then he went on, "You could be out finding Avery's murderer, but you insist on wasting your time—and mine—on targeting me."

Mark argued, "We aren't targeting you. We just want to know where you really were the night she died."

"I've already told you I was here," Adams said. "And now you have your proof."

"Not really," Tristan said.

"I haven't even 'lawyered up', as you all like to say. Wouldn't I want representation around if I was guilty of something?"

"Again, that isn't really how it works. It does look suspicious, but isn't conclusive proof of anything."

Mark nodded at his partner. "He knows his stuff. He's a lawyer."

"No I'm not," Tristan said quickly before addressing Adams again, "Why don't you go back to your friends? Don't let us bother you."

"I don't intend to," Sean said. "Thanks for the drink," he added before heading back over to his table. He picked up his drink and raised it to the detectives with an arched brow and took a large gulp.

"He kind of has a point," Stevenson said when Tristan had turned back around. "He hasn't brought in his lawyer. He's confident of his innocence."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"Who's going to do the talking?" Kyle asked as he and Rory walked down the hallway of Brooklyn office building. "Peters' wife doesn't know you moonlight as a restaurant manager."

"We both can," Rory answered, watching the numbers on the doors get bigger as they passed by. "I'll take the lead, but you can jump in." She came to a stop and gestured at a door. "Here it is."

They went in and Rory went up to the receptionists' window. "Hi, we have an appointment with Dr. Peters." She quickly added, "For an interview about her husband, not for therapy. We're reporters."

The blonde woman behind the desk checked her calendar and told them to have a seat. Kyle and Rory turned to the waiting room and sat down next to each other.

Kyle looked around the room curiously. "Have you ever been to therapy?"
"No," she answered. Then, "Well, once. In college. It was mandatory since I left for a semester."

Sympathetically, he asked, "And how did that make you feel?"
Rory shot him a quick glare. "Shut up."

Twenty minutes later a door beside the receptionists' office swung open. A short woman with a bob haircut called their names, as though they were there for a session. She ushered the two reporters into her office and gestured for them to sit on the opposite side of her desk, where she sat down in a large leather chair.

"So you two write for the Daily News?" Dr. Peters began. "What can I do for you?"

As she said she would, Rory started, "We're writing a feature article about your husband's charity."

"What does the organization do?" Kyle asked, pen poised to take notes.

Dr. Peters clasped her hands and rested her arms on her desk. "It fights community deterioration," she answered. "There's special focus on youth."

"In what way?" Rory asked.

"We work with kids who need extra support—whether it be academic or their basic living conditions, with the goal of preventing juvenile delinquency."

"What communities do you serve?"

"A few here in Brooklyn. We've seen some very positive results, so we're thinking about expanding to Queens," the woman answered. "Jacob is very passionate about serving the city however he can."

"How does he raise money?" Rory asked.

"We host a gala every year in the fall and spring. Those are the biggest events, but the public can make donations at any time."

"He hosts campaign events to raise money for his city hall runs, too, correct?" Rory asked.

"Yes, but he isn't up for reelection, so he hasn't had many of those recently."

"Oh, true," she said, slightly disheartened. She went for broke and continued anyway, "If he had to do both at the same time, it would probably be tempting to do joint events. Two birds, one stone."

The doctor shook her head. "No, Jacob draws a very clear line between his interests. He prioritizes his time between city hall duties and his charity."

Rory was starting to feel as though this interview wasn't getting them anywhere. She looked down at her notebook for another question. "What can you tell us about Sandra O'Neil?" she asked.

Dr. Peters suddenly scowled. "What about her?"

"She's the head of the charity," Rory said. "Is there a problem?"

"She doesn't run the charity anymore," Dr. Peters argued, shaking her head. "That's old information."

"But he just had lunch with her yesterday," Kyle said. "We saw them together at a restaurant."

Dr. Peters sat up straight and looked livid. "He was with her? He said he was breaking things off with Sandra. He promised me."

Rory and Kyle glanced at each other, slightly timid at the woman's anger at her husband. "Uh, we're sorry," Rory said. "We may have said too much. We don't know what your husband and Ms. O'Neil were talking about. It could have been completely innocent—a business meeting."

Dr. Peters snorted. "Don't be naïve. I know he's been with her for months. I just thought he took me seriously when I confronted him." She shook her head again. "If he thinks I'm going to stand by and be the good wife while he makes a fool of me, he has another thing coming."

"Dr. Peters," Rory said as gently as she could before the opportunity slipped by. "Do you know if any reporters—from the Post—were investigating your husband?"

"I have no idea," the woman answered shortly. "But I do know I'm about to launch my own." She shook her head again. "No. He already had all the chances he's getting. I'm calling my lawyer." She picked up her phone and glanced up at the two reporters. "Did you have any other questions?"

"Oh, no," Rory said hastily, starting to stand and pulling on Kyle's coat for him to follow. "Let's go."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

"I feel like I shouldn't be here," Kyle commented as he and Rory stepped out of the elevator at the third floor of the twenty-first precinct building. "Like I'm a criminal and all the police know when they look at me."

"You're fine," Rory said. "You're with me, and they know me." She led her colleague over to her husband's workspace, where his partner was the only detective present.

She gestured for Kyle to sit in the chair next to Tristan's desk, while she made herself comfortable in his swivel chair.

When she folded her arms and leaned over the desk slightly, Mark said, "There's no one here to talk to you." He didn't look away from his computer screen.

Kyle tiled his head toward Rory. "You were saying."

"Tristan said he'd be here for lunch," she said.

"He told me the same thing. And yet he isn't."

"That's okay," she said nicely. "We can wait. You won't even know we're here." She removed her gloves and coat, while Kyle glanced around the detective squad room awkwardly. As confidently as she had walked in, Rory was slightly on edge without Tristan around and his partner still giving her the cold shoulder. She felt much less welcome.

"Have you decided to take a look at what Avery was writing for the Post?" she asked.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Stevenson answered, barely tossing her a glance.

"I'll take that as a no."

"I thought I wouldn't notice you're here," Mark reminded her. "I'm noticing."

"I think you're making a mistake," she continued, shaking her head at him. "Are you still looking into her boyfriend?" she asked. "Come on, you don't even have to say it. One blink for yes, two for no."

Mark looked up to stare at her without blinking at all.

Kyle leaned toward Rory again. "He's really good at that."

"That's the last I heard, so I'll go ahead and assume you think he's your guy."

"And I will neither confirm nor deny."

"Fine. Would it interest you to know one of the councilmen is having an affair with the woman who runs his charity?"

Kyle looked at her sharply.

"I'm not saying he is," she added.

Mark pointed at Kyle. "But he just did."

"Wouldn't you want to look into it?"

The detective sighed. "Do you have any proof Avery was investigating him?"

"No. Not yet."

"Then no, I'm not very interested in that morsel of random information. But thanks anyway." Mark continued, "Even if it's true, I'd be more worried about the woman he was having an affair with, not the reporter who possibly knew about it. I'd look at the wife if another woman was involved."

Rory's shoulders dropped. "I guess that makes sense. But wouldn't he blame the person who let the cat out of the bag?"

"No cat has been let out."

"Yet. Maybe she didn't get the chance."

Stevenson shrugged. "Would there be any ramifications for him if it went public?"

"Maybe."

"Such as?" Rory thought for a moment, but Mark interrupted her thoughts, "There probably wouldn't be. Politicians do that kind of stuff all the time. An extramarital affair is pretty much scandal lite at this point." He continued, "They apologize and fall off the radar for a while, and then they come back to run for office again. People are pretty forgiving of those transgressions. In fact, they probably expect it."

"So you don't think it's even worth looking into?" she asked, shoulders falling again.

"Not right now."

Kyle addressed Rory, "He's right about all that. That must be why they pay him the big bucks."

She hissed back, "We don't know if he's right."

"Hey," Tristan said from the entrance of the squad room, approaching his desk. "That's my spot."

Rory rolled away a foot to allow him access to his desk, but didn't get up. "I'm warming it for you."

Tristan unbuttoned his coat and took it off, laying it on the edge of his desk. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you'd be checking in nowish, since it's lunchtime."

"Well here I am. Is this a social visit?"

"Not exactly," she admitted. "Is Avery Fox's boyfriend still your main suspect?"

"Yeah," he supplied easily.

Rory glared over at his partner, who had barely looked up at Tristan's arrival. "Now was that so difficult?"
"I wouldn't know," Mark answered.

Before she could say more, a uniformed officer approached the detectives' workspace. "There's someone here to talk to you," he told them. "Anthony Schultz. Says it's about Sean Adams. He wants a deal."

Mark and Tristan both frowned as they looked behind the officer to see two men in suits. "He's the guy we saw at the restaurant," Mark said.

"What guy?" Rory asked eagerly, looking up at her husband.

Tristan looked down at her. "You two have to go."

Deflated, she protested, "Can't we stay a little longer?"

"No," he answered. Without another word, he raised his eyes to the door in suggestion they move toward it.

Rory sulked as she pulled her coat on and stood from his chair. Kyle, watching Mark lead the new arrivals to an interview room, got up to follow her.

"I thought you had pull here," he said as they walked toward the subway terminal a few minutes later.

"I do have pull," she said defensively. "Didn't you notice the way I walked right in without being stopped on the first floor on our way in? I only had to flash my ID as a formality. And then Tristan confirmed the facts."

"Fact—singular. It was only the one. And then he made us leave when things were getting good. I thought he'd let us watch them question that guy—or at least let you watch."

Rory shrugged. "I'll find out about it later at home. He'll tell me what happened. Maybe." She muttered, "This goes on the con list for lawyer."

"What?"

She glanced at Kyle out the side of her eye as they descended the stairs to the underground station. "He has to pick a job—lawyer or detective—and stick with it."

Kyle's jaw dropped. "He can't be a lawyer. That's so lame." He shook his head. "He'll lose his appeal."

Rory snorted. "What appeal?"

"You know, his tough guy appeal," Kyle said as he inserted a token to pay for his ride.

Dryly, she said, "I'll be sure to add that to the list."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Meanwhile, Tristan stood at the window to watch his partner question the familiar looking man. He'd have been in there to participate in the interview if he didn't have to get back to court soon.

"You were having a business meeting with Mr. Adams a couple days ago, correct?" Mark asked.

"Yes," Anthony Schultz answered. He quickly added, "But I didn't know what kind of business he was in. I was only told he fixes problems."

"What kind of problem do you have?"

Anthony glanced at his lawyer, who nodded for him to continue. "Well, see, there's this guy who works with me. He's a snitch. Every time I make a mistake, he squeals to management. I was getting tired of it." The man looked down at his hands nervously. "I was complaining to a friend of mine, and he told me I needed to talk to this guy—Sean Adams, and he'd take care of it for me." The man pulled a card bearing their suspect's name and sat it on the table, sliding it over to the detective.

"Okay," Mark said, glancing down at the card. "How would he do that?"

The man looked up at him. "I swear, I didn't know what he'd do. And he hasn't done anything yet. I haven't paid him. We only got together to talk it over. That's when I figured out what he'd do."

From his place at the window, Tristan's brows furrowed, waiting for the man to get to the point, and making a guess at what it was.

Mark asked, "You haven't paid him for what?"

"His services."

"Which are?"

The man glanced to his companion, who spoke up, "My client wants a deal. He wants full immunity for his information."

Stevenson glanced over at the window, and Tristan hit the button. "Fine," he told them.

Schultz, looking hard at the window, unable to see anyone on the other side, hesitantly turned his attention back to Mark. "Mr. Adams—he'd make my problem disappear." Anthony leaned in and his eyes grew wider. "He'd kill the guy."

Tristan closed his eyes and bowed his head to rest it on the glass.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Later that evening, Rory walked down the sidewalk toward her apartment building with a grocery bag at her side. Up ahead, she saw a familiar figure at their door, cursing at the numerical pad.

Rory smiled. "Hey, crazy lady," she called out.

Lorelai looked up. "Hey, your stupid door isn't letting me in. I put the code in four times. And I know I did it right."

"Our door isn't stupid. Tristan just changed the code," Rory explained, stopping next to her mother.

"What? Why would he do that?" Lorelai asked. "What was wrong with the last code?"

"Nothing. We just change it every year. It's a new year, so we have a new code."

"I can't believe you don't use my birthday anymore. It was such a perfect, easy number to remember."

"For you. There are other birthdays out there, or so I've been told."

Lorelai pouted. "What's the new code then?"

"You could have just gone through the gallery," Rory said, pointing to the door to their right. "Olivia would have let you up the back stairs."

"I need to be able to enter from the street. It's my privilege as mother of the building owner."

"But I need to know the code. Just give it to me."

"I'm not telling you our security code while we're standing out on the street," Rory said, incredulous. "Someone will hear and they'll be able to get in. Then there won't be a point to having a security code. You can watch me put it in."

"Ugh. Fine," Lorelai sulked, picking up her bags.

Rory stepped up to the pad and entered the six digit number, and then opened the door to allow her mother entrance first. She frowned down at her mother's bags as they headed up the stairs. "How long are you staying?"

"Oh, the weekend, or a year—whichever comes first," Lorelai answered. "Tristan won't mind, will he?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that," Rory said. "I thought you weren't coming until tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, me too. But I got out of Friday night dinner a little early, and Emily was on the annoying side tonight, so I decided to come down earlier. I hope that's okay."

"Of course it is," Rory said as she unlocked her door and entered the apartment. She dropped her plastic back on the dining room table before extracting her coat and scarf.

Lorelai did the same, and dragged her things to the couch. She followed her daughter to the kitchen, and frowned when she saw the contents of Rory's bag. It was full of Brussels sprouts, and she took it to the sink to rinse before depositing in a bowl.

After she'd taken the bowl to the microwave, she turned back to her mother, who was at the island.

"You're eating Brussels sprouts," Lorelai stated.

"I know." At the beep, she took her bowl over to the island with a fork and had a seat, taking a content bite. Remembering her manners, Rory added, "Sorry, do you want some?"

"I'm good," Lorelai said.

"Are you sure? These are delicious," Rory said, pointing her fork at her vegetable dinner.

"I already ate." Lorelai eyed her daughter, brow arched slightly.

"What?"

"Nothing. I didn't know you were such a big fan of Brussels sprouts."

"I just left work a little while ago, and got a huge craving for them. I had to run past the super market to get some. But it was so worth it."

"Sure." Lorelai stared for a second longer, and then looked around the kitchen, perking up. "I could go for some coffee—if you don't mind."

"Nope," Rory said, getting up to brew a pot. When she sat back down and took another bite, she changed the subject, "Why was Grandma driving you crazy tonight?" Before Lorelai could answer, Rory added, "And don't say just by being Emily."

"Fine. But that's usually reason enough. Tonight she was agitated because of your in-laws."

"My in-laws?"

"Yeah. Apparently they're engaged in an affair."

"I know, we've talked about this before. A long time ago," Rory reminded her.

"No, you said Tristan's dad was having an affair, and his mom was also having an affair. You didn't say it was with each other."

Rory stopped, mid chew. "Do people know about that now?"

"You knew about it?"

"Not all the details. I thought that was the situation." Quickly, she added, "But you can't tell Tristan."

"He doesn't know?"

"No. And I'm not sure how he'll take it when he finds out—if he ever finds out. He only heard about his dad getting a divorce from his grandpa a couple months ago." Rory frowned, "But why does Grandma care about his parents?"

"Well, their little dalliance is apparently common knowledge amongst her friends, but Mom was completely out of the loop. She had to pretend like she knew about it to save face," Lorelai explained. "It's especially egregious since they're your in-laws. She should have known more than everyone else, not less."

"That makes me feel responsible," Rory said, taking another bite.

"You kind of are. It's your family gossip." Lorelai got up from her seat and went across the room to get a cup down from the cabinet. As she poured herself coffee, she asked, "So now I have to be nice to Tristan and I can't say anything about his parents?"

"Yes. Please."

"If I'd known I would have to walk on eggshells all weekend I might have turned down the invitation," she said, returning to her seat.

"It isn't even just the trial anymore. He has more to stress out about every day." Rory explained, "His boss is making him choose between lawyer and detective once and for all. No more blurring the lines."

"What is he going to do?" Lorelai asked.

"I don't know," Rory said seriously. "On the one hand, he likes being a detective, but on the other, he's been putting out some pretty strong lawyer vibes for years. Then there's the Harrison factor. He's never wanted it to look like he's giving in to his dad's demands."

"What do you want him to choose?" Lorelai asked.

Rory took another bite. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? Which one do you want him to pick?"

"He can choose whichever one he wants. I want him to pick the one that makes him happy."

"Come on," Lorelai deadpanned.

"What?"

"You have to have a preference. If you had to decide for him, which would it be?"

Rory's shoulders fell. "That's not fair a fair question to ask me."

"Why not?"

"Because, one of the jobs has a much higher chance of personal injury," Rory said. "Or death. It almost did happen once. His partner has my phone number specially for the purpose of calling me in case of an emergency." She added, "It's a no-brainer that danger belongs on the con list for detective." Then she suddenly slapped her leg. "He isn't even making a pro-con list."

"The nerve."

"I know. I found him flipping a coin early this morning. That isn't how you make a decision."

Lorelai made a sound of dissent.

"What?" Rory asked, brows lowering. "You cannot call flipping a coin a rational way to make a major life decision."

"No, but I think it could tell you what you want when you think you don't know."

"What? How?"

"If he were to say heads is detective and it's a disappointing when heads comes up, then it doesn't mean he has to go with heads. It means he subconsciously knows what he wants—or I guess doesn't want, in this example."

Rory stewed silently as she stared at her mother and ate another bite of her vegetables.

"You wouldn't understand," Lorelai continued. "You like your system of checks and balances, where everything adds up before you cautiously make a decision. Other people just have a gut feeling and know what they really want."

"Is that your way of calling me indecisive?" Rory asked, miffed.

Lorelai blinked. "Not at all," she said, a bit too emphatically. She pointed out, "You know, lawyer isn't automatically safer. There have been cases of prosecutors getting shot on the steps of the courthouse."

"Thank you for that," Rory said flatly.

"You have to tell him your opinion."

"No I can't."

"You're his wife, so you do get a say."

"I can't tell him what to do with his life," Rory protested. "It's his decision. And he already knows I worry about him. I mean he's a cop, so it's a given." She went over to the cabinet to get a cup and poured some coffee for herself.

Lorelai watched her move around the kitchen and abruptly changed the topic to ask, "You still get to drink coffee?"
Rory frowned. "Obviously. Why?"

"Nothing. But Tristan, he's letting you?"

"Letting me drink coffee?" Rory asked, rounding the island. "He knows it's what keeps me living. He bought a new pot when I broke ours this week."

"You're so lucky," Lorelai said, shaking her head. "Luke forced me to stop. I had to go cold-turkey. It was awful."

"What are you talking about? You just told me yesterday he brought coffee upstairs to you."

"I'm not talking about now, I'm talking about when I was . . ." Lorelai arched a brow as she trailed off and leaned in.

Rory narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to mirror her mother. "When you were—what?"

"You know," Lorelai said, winking a couple times.

"What is wrong with you?"

Lorelai went silent for a second as she stared at her daughter. "Nothing." She backed off, physically sitting up. "Nothing."

"That's debatable," Rory muttered, taking a sip of her hot beverage. Both women jumped slightly when they heard the door being unlocked.

"Don't forget," Lorelai said quickly. "Don't talk about his parents or his job. And be nice."

"That's for you to remember," Rory said. "I already know."

Tristan entered the apartment then, dropping his keys on the designated table. Upon seeing his mother-in-law with Rory, he said, "Hey."

"Hi," Lorelai said with a smile.

Tristan put his other things down and started taking off his coat. "I thought you were coming tomorrow," he said, moving further into the apartment to join them in the kitchen.

"I was, but I got out of Friday night dinner a little early," she explained.

"Lucky." He pulled the knot of his already loosened tie until it came undone, draping it over his shoulders. He eyed Rory's bowl of Brussels sprouts and took her fork to have a bite. "Do we have more?"

"Yeah, do you want me to make you some?" she asked.

"Yes."

She spun around to go to the refrigerator for more of the vegetable, while her mother eyed Tristan.

When he noticed her, he did a slight double take. "What?"

"Nothing. That's just an odd dinner choice, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Is it? I don't know anymore. She got it from you."

"Oh I don't think so," Lorelai said defiantly, shaking her head. When Tristan frowned, she slowly got up from her stool and went to the couch for her bags. "I'm just going to retire for the evening." She pointed a finger at them as she started to back out of the room. "But we're definitely coming back to this."

From the sink where she was rinsing and trimming sprouts, Rory barely tossed Lorelai a glance to say, "The spare bedroom is all made up."

When it was just the two of them, Tristan sighed heavily and rounded the counter to claim the chair Lorelai had been sitting on. Then he remarked, "You're mom's weird."

"I know. But I don't think she knows how to be anything else." She continued, "That reminds me, do we have some sort of alarm system that tells us when strange people off the street are trying to get into our building?"

"No."

"I think we need one." She added a dash of salt to the bowl and put it in the microwave. While it heated, she took another fork out of the drawer and went back to her own bowl, where Tristan had continued to help himself. "How was jury duty?" she asked.

"Not too bad," he answered. "With any luck, we might be able to round out the jury tomorrow."

"Only two days?" Rory asked, impressed. "That's an improvement from last time."

"Yeah," he said. "We actually agreed on four members."

"Good progress," she said, returning to the microwave at the sound of the beep. "Are you all ready to start the trial?"

"We're going to find out," he answered.

"I'll try to take part of the day off Monday," she said. "So I can come down to see you in action." They ate for a minute, then Rory asked, "So what was all that about earlier today at the precinct? Did that guy know something about Avery Fox?"

Tristan shook his head. "No." Hesitantly, he added, "But her boyfriend's alibi might be firming up."

"Oh yeah? What's the scoop?" she asked, leaning over the counter, propped up by her elbows.

He leaned in toward her. In a quiet voice, he said. "This is off the record."

"Fine."

"No, say it. It's completely off the record." He continued, "It's so far off the record, you only heard this in a dream and woke up not remembering you had a dream. Because this conversation never happened. Ever."

The corner of Rory's mouth crept up, eyes lighting up. "Yeah, of course. You didn't tell me anything."

"Say the words," he said. "Off the record. You can't even try to find another source to turn it into a story."

Rory bit on her lips and drummed her fingers on the countertop.

At her hesitance to give her word, Tristan casually sat back and crossed his arms.

"All right," she said. "It's off the record. Off-off. It won't leave this room—in fact, it was never in this room. What's the guy's alibi?"

Tristan leaned back in closer to her as quickly as he'd backed off. "Avery Fox's boyfriend might have been out on a kill."

There was a pause. "What?"

"He couldn't have killed her that night if he was busy killing someone else. He's a professional hit man," Tristan said. "He kills people—for money."