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.

6. Back to the Moment

Title: It's Five O'clock Somewhere

Chapter 6: Back to the Moment

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"My mom used to say it doesn't matter how many kids you have . . . because one kid'll take up 100% of your time so more kids can't possibly take up more than 100% of your time." –Karen Brow

Back to the Moment

"Are you ready to go?" Kyle asked brightly, his coat and gloves already on.

"Almost," Rory answered, typing a last sentence in an e-mail. Jimmy was well again and back in the office, freeing Rory to go out and about. She reread her message and pressed send before putting on her own coat and scarf. Before she could stand up though, her cellphone started ringing.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"For me," she said dryly. She glanced at the caller ID. "Oh, it's my mom."

Kyle tipped his head back, casting his eyes upward. "Ugh. Hurry up," he said, going to take a seat at his desk, knowing she was going to answer and have a full conversation.

"Hello?"

"Can I get a 20 on your location?" Lorelai asked in greeting.

"My 20 is my location, and you called me at the newsroom, so you answered your own redundant question."

Lorelai argued, "No, I called your cellphone, which you carry wherever you go, so I did not know where you are."

"Oh, you're right, sorry. Well, it's Monday morning, so I'm at the newsroom."

"That sounded a little passive aggressive, like I was still supposed to assume you were at work."

"Well. . . ." Rory trailed off. "Did you need something?"

"Yes, I wanted to know how he took it."

"How did who take what?"

"Ugh, Tristan. How did he take the news of your condition?"

"Oh, that. I haven't told him yet."

"It's been like three days."

Rory glanced around the newsroom and ducked her head down, whispering, "I only peed on a stick, that doesn't even count as official. A medical professional is the only one who can confirm it formally. So when I find out for sure, I'll tell him."

For perhaps the first time in Lorelai's life, she was silent for a moment. "So you're having a denial pregnancy, interesting," she said slowly. "I've heard of those. I just never pegged you as a candidate for one."

Rory made a face. "I am not in denial. I just don't want to stress Tristan out more than he already is. I'll tell him when he's finished with the trial and everything calms down."

"What if the trial goes on for months?"

"It won't. It isn't Casey Anthony."

Lorelai reminded her, "He's in the middle of a big decision about his career. Don't you think he deserves to know all the factors? As far as factors go, this one should count for a lot."

"I want him to make the decision based on what he wants."

"Maybe he wants to be alive to be there for his kid."

"Lots of cops have kids," Rory said impatiently. "They aren't all out there getting killed." She added, "I don't want him to pick something he doesn't really want just because it's safer and then resent it later down the road."

"Okay, but that's still his decision to make. I think you should tell him."

"I will," she said with a sigh.

Lorelai asked, "Are you at least taking those prenatal vitamins we got yesterday?"

"Yes."

"I don't know why you weren't taking them already. They're good for your hair and nails."

Rory glanced around again, as though paranoid everyone could hear her mother's end of the conversation. "I'm at work, I need to go." They ended the call and she headed out of the newsroom. "Are you coming or what?" she asked Kyle as she walked by his desk.

They took a cab to the neighborhood where the car had been stolen. Using the address Kyle had, they went up to the floor that Madam Atlantica lived and knocked. The door didn't open, but a woman inside permitted them to enter. Rory and Kyle walked into the apartment, stopping to let their eyes adjust do the dim lighting. When they could see, they looked around at their surroundings. Rory was thankful she didn't mention the physic while her mother was in town, or they surely would have had to stop by.

"Are you three coming in?" Madam Atlantica asked. There wasn't much furniture, nor was there room in such a small apartment. The woman sat behind a table that faced the door, waiting for her customers to approach.

Kyle looked around. "There are only two of us."

"I sense there are three of you."

He turned to Rory with wide eyes, clearly happy. "There must be a spirit with us. Do you know anyone who died recently? Maybe they're following us around the city."

"No," Rory said with a frown, crossing her arms over herself. "It's just the two of us." That was almost true.

They both took a few steps forward until they were standing at the table across from Madam Atlantica. "You're wrong, there are four of us in this room," she said, more insistently.

"Fine, there are four of us, we can go with that," Rory said, hoping the subject would be dropped. She sat down on the cushioned chair at the table so she was facing the older woman. She said, "We're reporters from the Daily News and we'd like to ask you some questions. We aren't here to get our fortunes read."

Kyle hissed, "Speak for yourself."

"What can you tell us about the night your upstairs neighbor's car was stolen last October? I understand you heard it happening outside."

"You are not the first to come to me about this. Two others have been here," the woman said, her voice deep and speech slow.

"The police detectives, yes. My colleague and I are just as interested as they were."

Madam Atlantica frowned in thought as she picked up a deck of cards and started to shuffle them. "The father."

Rory frowned. "The father?" She asked, "The detective's father?" She didn't believe in Seers, as it were, but it was at least a little impressive she knew about Tristan's dad being in New York City. She tried to do her best in keep her intrigue in check.

Kyle did not. He dropped down to his knees next to Rory. His eyes were wide again. "The lawyer?"

"Yes, the lawyer," Madam Atlantica said.

Rory frowned at him before turning back to the woman. "Okay, yes, the detective's father is a lawyer, and he's in town, but that's not why we're here."

Madam Atlantica gave Rory a doubtful look. She narrowed her eyes. "The mother is close now."

She knew about Eileen too? That was uncanny. No, Rory scolded herself. Kyle saw a woman in court who might have been Tristan's mother. That was not a definite. Madam Atlantica was probably 'sensing' someone else, not related to the DuGrey's at all.

"You want what's best for the son too." Her frown deepened. "You and he are connected."

Kyle excitedly looked from his colleague to the psychic. "That's her husband, they're married. How did you know?"

"Madam Atlantica Sees things," the woman said.

"I think you made some lucky guesses," Rory said. "Sure, I do care about the son," she said, wishing to steer the conversation in a different direction. She couldn't quite help herself though. "But things with his dad are complicated. His dad is demanding and wants what he wants—not what's best for his son."

After a long pause, "You're wrong."

"No, I think you're wrong," Rory argued.

"Wait, I'm getting confused," Kyle said. "Do we know for sure Tristan is the son? Does he have a brother?"

"No," Rory said and glared accusingly at Kyle. "Well, actually, he does have a half-brother, but why would it be about him? What other father and son are in New York?" Then her frown faded and her shoulders dropped. She crossed her arms over herself and couldn't hide concern in her eyes. Aw, man.

Madam Atlantica looked vaguely smug and nodded. "Now you follow."

"You do?" Kyle asked Rory. "Will you tell me about it later? Because I'm a little lost."

Rory shook her head and turned back to the old woman. "Could we get back to your neighbor and the night her car was stolen? I'd really like to know what you remember."

"I will tell you what I told the men," the psychic said. "I was with a client and did not see what was going on outside."

Rory sighed in defeated frustration. This was getting them nowhere.

Kyle's brow arched suddenly. "Who was the client? He or she might have seen something when they left your apartment. We don't need to know why he or she was using your services."

Rory turned to the woman again, brows raised, glad Kyle had the mind to ask.

The old woman started placing her Tarot cards in front of her, one by one. "I was contacting his dead uncle beyond the grave."

"Awesome," Kyle said. "A name though, can we have it? Please?"

Madam Atlantica stared at him for a long moment before writing a name on a piece of paper. Rory couldn't believe their good luck. When the woman handed it over, she stood up excitedly, eager to find the client.

"Thank you," Kyle said, as they moved toward the door. As he and Rory walked out of the apartment and down the stairs, he said, "I don't care what you believe, that lady knew some stuff. That was crazy. I'm definitely coming back later for her to read my fortune." Whether it was the break in the case or the psychic's vision of Tristan's family, Rory wasn't sure. One way or another, her young colleague was completely jazzed by the visit. "Whose spirit do you think is following us around? Was there ever a death in the newsroom?" he asked. "I'm going to ask Jimmy." He gasped. "Maybe it's Joe Patterson's ghost. That would be awesome if he's with us, just watching us follow leads for stories."

Rory scowled at him and argued, "There isn't a spirit following us, and definitely not Joe Patterson's."

"Then why did she think there were three of us?" he asked as they got to the bottom of the stairs at street level.

"I don't know," she insisted, pushing open the door and leading them onto the sidewalk. She could have sworn it still smiled like snow. She changed the subject, "Do you have that list of all the used car lots in the city?

"Yeah, it's in my desk. We need to find out where they get their cars."

When they were back at the newsroom, Kyle dutifully called dealership after dealership, adding a column to his list indicating where each got their cars. It was quite a list, but undeterred, he followed up with each supplier, making a note to any that seemed less than reputable.

At her own desk, Rory searched for Madam Atlantica's client. It was with great luck that she found the name in police records, and more than once. "Drug charges," she muttered to herself.

"Who has drug charges? That guy?" Julie asked, hearing Rory as she passed by. She pointed to the mug shot of Sean Adams on the corner of Rory's desk.

Rory glanced at the picture and shook her head. "No, someone else. That guy was Avery Fox's boyfriend. He's in some hot water of his own."

"He wasn't the one who killed her? I saw him talking to her down at city hall."

Rory perked up. "At city hall? What was he doing there? I thought you didn't know anything about Avery."

"I don't. But I know who she is, and I did see her run into him one day. I think it was spring," the blonde girl said, thinking back. "I know it was, my boyfriend was excited about opening day."

"Opening day of what?" Rory asked.

Julie blinked. "Opening day, for baseball."

Rory stared. "Oh, yeah, of course—that opening day."

"Anyway, I heard that guy introducing himself to Avery in the hall while we were waiting for a committee meeting."

Rory frowned and quickly made a note. She still had one more councilman to look into. Maybe Avery was only dating Adams to find out who was using his services. That couldn't be right, she thought with a shake of her head. Avery didn't know she was dating a hit man. Or maybe she did, there was no way to know. Her death still could have had something to do with her investigation for her paper. Rory needed to get down to city hall again, but it would have to wait for another day.

She easily found the address of Madam Atlantica's client and wrote it down on her notepad, then started preparing to go outside again.

Kyle noticed and asked, "Are you leaving?"

"I found the address I need. So yes."

"I'm coming with you," he said, quickly putting on his coat and hat before Rory could leave without him.

They took the Subway to get to their destination and knocked at the door when they arrived. A man who looked like he was in his 40's opened the door and looked out at them expectantly. Rory introduced herself and Kyle, asking to come in to ask some questions.

"We were wondering if you can remember the night you went to Madam Atlantica last October?" she asked from her place on the couch next to Kyle.

The man's eyes darted left and right. "Oh, uh, right, she did a palm reading."

Kyle frowned. "She said it was to communicate with your dead relative."

Eyes darted again and he sniffled. "Well, uh, yeah, I went for a palm reading, but she ended up hearing my great-aunt—Myrtle—while I was there. Madam Atlantica isn't my usual sell—psychic."

"Okay," Kyle said, skeptical. "We actually want to know if you saw anything out on the street when you were leaving."

The man thought back, frowning. He shook his head. "Just a tow truck hooking up a red car."

Kyle and Rory glanced at each other and then back to the man. "What did the truck look like? Was there any writing on it, like a company name?"

"Oh yeah, it was a yellow truck with red writing—Tommy's Towing Co. But that's not really odd, if you're in the right neighborhood at the right time, you see them towing broken down cars. Usually at night."

So not so much right place at the right time, Rory thought grimly. "Do you know where they took the car?" she asked.

The man shook his head and shrugged. "I guess just back to their lot. You can ask them, they're in the book. Did you need anything else?" He sniffled again, already standing to escort them out.

"No, that's all," Rory said.

But Kyle hesitated. He asked, "How long have you been fighting that cold?"

"What cold?"

Kyle nodded. "Thanks for your time." When they were back out on the street, he commented, "I see he's still having a drug problem."

"What? How do you tell?" Rory asked with a frown.

He looked at her in amazement. "How could you not? He was sniffling the whole time and his eyes were bloodshot." He asked, "Why was his story different from Madam Atlantica's?" He shook his head. "Something doesn't line up there."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Tristan sat across from his wife at a table for two for the first time this week. They were having a date night, since he'd been too busy as of late to meet her for lunch like they usually did. To make up for it, they were at a nice restaurant. He yawned widely into his hand and shook his head, apologizing. It was the third time he'd done that. Rory hoped he wasn't too tired. For some reason he looked extra good tonight, in his suit and light green shirt, and his blonde hair was just right.

When the waiter came around to ask for their drinks, Tristan ordered a scotch. Rory only wanted water. After he decided what he wanted, Tristan closed his menu in front of him and sighed heavily. "So what did you and Lorelai do this weekend? Anything exciting?"

Peed on a stick. "Oh, we just did some shopping and watched a lot of movies."

"Ones you like or hate?"

"Like," she answered. It was true, she didn't have the mental capacity to mock a movie Saturday night. She had other things on her mind. That didn't stop Lorelai from chattering away while the movies were playing. There was very likely a person living inside of Rory. She didn't know how her mother could think about anything else. She kept trying to think of everything she'd had to eat in the past couple months. She famously had a terrible diet, that was going to have to change. How much food did small children eat? It already took a large quantity to keep their kitchen stocked up for just her and Tristan.

And how many diapers did a baby go through in a day, or a week? Maybe it would be better if they used cloth diapers, in which case, would need to be washed. Laundry! There would be more laundry with another person living with them, Rory fretted.

"Are we going to have to move to the suburbs?" she had abruptly asked her mother Saturday night, interrupting a movie. "We like it in New York. Our life is here."

"I don't think you have to move," Lorelai had said. "I thought the remodel took care of that. What did you think those extra rooms upstairs were for?"

"Books?"

Her mother shook her head in dismay. "You surely know that was not their intended purpose. There are two rooms besides the master bedroom, so Emily expects no less than two great-grandchildren from you. Three, if you use the downstairs bedroom."

Three kids! Rory couldn't have three kids! One sounded like a lot. It wasn't fair of her grandmother to expect so much from just Rory—she was only one person! Tristan didn't want three, did he? He was going to have to find someone else if he did, because she was not committing to any more than one of each.

That could be cute, she thought, one of each. Maybe a little girl that looked like her and a boy that looked like Tristan. Or a blonde girl. There weren't any blonde Lorelai's. Rory almost shook her head. It was presumptuous to automatically think a daughter would be named Lorelai. But what else would she name her daughter? That was, if it was a girl, and it might not be, especially if Madam Atlantica was right. What was wrong with her? Now she believed a psychic before she even saw a doctor.

She bit her lip and looked over at Tristan.

They were going to have to find a baby-sitter. Or a nanny. She'd never thought she would let a nanny raise her children. After all, she wasn't raised by one. Or, oh God, did Tristan want her to stay home? She couldn't stay home, she had a job! Maybe he'll want to stay home! He couldn't quit his job, she didn't make enough money to support a family. Maybe she should just tell him now so he could factor it in. If she was making a giant career decision, she would want every available factor. Her mother was right, she should tell him, then he could help figure out the worries on her list. Just say it. Blurt it out. Quick, like a Band-Aid!

The waiter returned then to get their orders.

Rory couldn't add to his list when his was already long and heavy! She blinked and finally spoke, "How is court going? I hate that I didn't make it on your first real day of trial."

"That's okay. It's going pretty well so far. I was really nervous, but after I got going, I relaxed."

"How has your dad been?"

He shrugged. "He's just the opposing council. He hasn't tried to connect in any other way. We're just a couple professionals who happen to have the same last name."

She wished it was different with his dad. As much as her own mother didn't get along with her parents, it was different for Rory. As the granddaughter, she'd had a clean slate with them. Maybe Harrison DuGrey had made mistakes in his capacity as Tristan's father, but that didn't mean he definitely wouldn't be a good grandfather if given the chance. Rory was not eager to run this thought by Tristan. He was set in his ways.

There was his mother to contend with, as well. Eileen DuGrey liked Rory so far, she hoped her mother-in-law wouldn't change her mind when they made her a grandmother. The woman fought age like she was at war with time. She was going to have to understand that women in their 60's with grown children tended to become grandmothers. It was the natural progression in life.

"How is Mark doing with the Avery Fox case?" she asked. She hadn't tried to call him today, as it was an exercise in futility.

"He hasn't gotten far. Every time he turns around, someone comes forward to let him know Sean Adams killed someone for them so they can get a deal. Half the precinct is involved with it now—all hands on deck." He shook his head. "There are so many dead bodies to find, they have their work cut out for them."

"Did you guys conclusively determine that he didn't kill Avery?"

Tristan nodded. "He was in Houston. It's not clear if he was there to off someone, but he was definitely out of town at the time of his girlfriend's murder. And if he wasn't on there on business, he probably would have just told the truth when we asked about his alibi." He added, "He hasn't been quick to out his clients."

"Well sure, assassin-client confidentiality," Rory said. She took a sip of water. "Mm, today I found out he meet Avery down at city hall."

"Really," Tristan said slowly, his brow furrowing in thought.

"They were seen meeting for the first time when Avery was there to cover a committee meeting."

"What kind of business would a hit man have at city hall?"

She sat up straighter. "I told you this had something to do with her beat, journalism can be hazardous to a person's health. Are you finally getting on the bandwagon?"

He assessed her grimly as he took a roll from the basket and tore it in half. "I don't even know where you're making that connection. I also don't know what direction that information points in. I'm not jumping to any conclusions. He may have been there to pay a parking ticket."

Her shoulders slumped. "You won't let me be right about anything, will you?"

"I'm not saying anything. I just don't know where that path is leading in relation to Avery Fox's murder, just because she met her assassin boyfriend at city hall."

"So you're not going to look into it?"

He took a long drink of water and she knew she had him. "I didn't say that," he said as he put his glass down.

She smiled. "It was useful information."

He picked up another roll. "If it's true. Any time two people are in the same place at the same time, you think it spells murder." He asked, "Have you given up on your theory that Avery was killed by a subject of an investigation?"

Rory's eyes lit up. "Oh no, if anything, I'm closing in. I still have to look into Thaddeus Black. He's the other person she was poking around."

Tristan pressed his lips together in a grim line. "Good luck with that."

"Thank you. He's the only one left, so process of elimination points to him." She thought of something and her eyes widened. "What if Avery's boyfriend was there on business and she knew about it, so he had her killed?"

"Adams was out of town when she was killed. We don't know if he was away on hit man business, but he was out of town."

"Yes, but maybe he had someone else do it, you know, like another assassin that he worked with or was friends with."

Tristan's lip curved up, finding her amusing.

She quickly pointed a finger at him, knowing he was about to dispute her theory. She sternly leveled him a look and said, "If you tell me I'm wrong and call me Doll Face in that condescending tone, I will leave you."

His smile grew and he held up his hands. "Okay, but just keep in mind, he was running a one man operation, not an assassin's firm. It isn't impossible that he had someone else kill her, but I'm just not sure how big the hit man community is." He took a drink and commented, "An assassin's firm does sound like a pretty badass place to work though."

Rory's shoulders dropped. At least he said it wasn't impossible, that was something. The waiter returned with plates of hot food and sat them in front of Tristan and Rory. She unrolled her silverware and put her napkin on her lap, thinking of what else Madam Atlantica had said earlier that day.

"Kyle and I went to Madam Atlantica today," she started. "She was . . . interesting."

Tristan nodded. "How did it go?"

"She . . . was interesting."

"You mentioned. Did she say anything you were interested in?"

Rory shook her head slowly, several times. She folded her arms and rested them on the table. "Kyle was going back to see her again. He wanted to get his fortune read." Rory asked, "Have you heard from your mom lately?"

He shook his head and sipped on some water. "No. Why?"

She shook her head too. "Madam Atlantica said something about a mother being near—like she did with your dad."

"You don't believe in psychics now, do you?"

"No, of course not. It's all nonsense. It was just crazy that she knew about your dad being in town."

"Yeah, but she said the father wanted what's best for his son, and that isn't true. So she couldn't have been talking about my dad."

"Right, he's the only dad around," Rory said, crossing her arms across herself again, like she had at Madam Atlantica's. "Unless there's some other dad around that she was confused with."

"I think she was just saying things because she's batty." After a minute of thought, he said, "Actually, maybe she was on to something, there was a mother in the city."

"Oh?" Rory said, heart thumping too hard.

Tristan stared at her blankly. "Your mother was just here."

"Oh yeah, that's probably it," she said, averting her gaze as she took a long sip of water.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory got out of the Camaro when Tristan parked as close to their building as he could get. She slammed her door and looked at the other cars and then to her husband. "If I saw something in one of these cars and broke in to take it, what would you do?"

He frowned over at her. "What do you want from someone else's car?"

"This is hypothetical. If you saw me commit a crime, would you look the other way to spare your wife the jail time? Or would you arrest me?"

He stared.

She stepped closer to a random car, with a smirk and a raised brow. "What are you going to do about it?"

Tristan, being tired, was slow to follow. "Uh, I'd ask you to step away and put your hands up."

"And then I would flee," she said simply.

"What?"

"I'm resisting, what are you going to do about it?"

Before he could answer, she smiled and took off in the direction of their building. Tristan finally caught on and went after her. Being faster, he grabbed her when they were on first floor of their apartment and took no time to disrobe her. They once again made use of the spare room.

Later, Tristan couldn't sleep, while next to him Rory had no trouble. So he got up and went to his desk at the bottom of the stairs. He felt better if he went over the next day's trial details before he went to bed. Once he went over it, he could rest easier. He sighed and closed a file folder when he was finished, stacking it with the rest of his files. Looking at the pile, he once again thought how much easier it'd be to lug it around if he had a briefcase. He shook his head. He didn't know if he'd be doing this after the trial. At least he wasn't stressed about that anymore. The decision was going to make itself.

He turned to his computer and moved the mouse around until the monitor lit up. For the hell of it, he typed Thaddeus Black into the search bar. Tristan perused the councilman's official website and clicked around, landing on a page that listed staff members. He opened another window and started running background checks on each person. He looked around his desktop for a pen while he waited for the results. He glanced over at Rory's desk and saw three neatly lined up and ready for writing. He rolled over to grab one and then back to his desk to scribble down some information. All the names he searched were coming up clean, until he found one that was reported missing three months prior.

"Son of a bitch."

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory stood on the court steps with Tristan's partner the next morning. She finally got away from work long enough to come watch him for once, and as luck would have it, Mark was testifying today.

"I don't care what you heard," Mark said, irritated. "Without any hard evidence, I can't go chasing leads based on something someone you know heard in a hallway down at city hall."

"If you talk to my co-worker, it wouldn't be hearsay," Rory argued.

He exhaled heavily and finally said something useful for once, "We searched her apartment, including the hard drive of her personal laptop and her flash drive and her notes. There wasn't anything about either of the councilmembers you were told she was investigating. Nothing."

Rory gaped, wind let out of her sails. "But she's supposed to be looking into Thaddeus Black. How could she have no notes about what he was doing?"

"Maybe because he wasn't doing anything illegal."

She pouted and looked away, her hair whipping in the wind. There was still the towing company that stole the car, she thought, trying to cheer herself up. She really had her sights set on Thaddeus Black being guilty of a crime worth exposing. She forgot about all that when she saw her husband approaching the courthouse. He wore his long coat over his suit, topped off with a scarf.

"I thought you were already here," Mark said with a frown, speaking what Rory had been thinking.

"I had to run by the precinct to talk to the captain."

Rory's eyes flashed to him, alert. Had he made a decision without telling her? Surely he'd discuss it with her before he announced it to his boss.

"One of Thaddeus Black's staff members went missing a few months ago. It's just a little strange. I thought we should look into it, just to be safe."

Rory brightened, considerably, and looked at Mark. "Ha!" She turned back to her husband. "What made you decide to dig into Black?"

He shrugged. "I couldn't sleep last night, I was just messing around." He pointed at the building. "I need to get inside. See you in there." Nodding at his partner, he added, "You're up first."

Rory looked at Mark smugly.

Warily, he said, "You might have noticed that he didn't say anything about it being connected to Avery Fox's murder."

Not discouraged, she turned to lead him inside the large building. She went in and found a seat that gave her a good view of the jury and the witness stand. Jacobs was here, sitting in the front row of the audience, behind the gate that separated the prosecutor and defendant's tables. Out the side of her eye, she looked around at the people behind the defendant's side. She saw a woman with a scarf covering her head. She had the unmistakable full pouty lips of Eileen DuGrey.

Rory smacked her forehead with her palm. What was she doing here, and on her ex-husband's side? The universe was not going to leave Tristan alone. It was just going to pile on.

Everyone stood when the bailiff entered to announce the judge. Tristan called Mark up to the witness stand. Out of his coat, the detective was in his formal uniform. It was a handsome look. Rory was going to miss that if Tristan didn't continue his current line of work. That would go on the con list for lawyer. Not that he didn't look perfectly good in a suit, she thought, admiring Tristan as he stood at the front of the courtroom questioning his partner. Then she admitted that attire was probably not an important factor in such a decision. And yet, it was still something she would put on a list. Maybe her mother was right and it was just something he'd know without making a list.

No, that couldn't be right. Her pro-con lists obviously just needed to be weighted. If she were to numerically rank each item according to importance, then add up the scores at the end, the score would point to the right decision. How could it not, with that kind of accuracy? This way, a long list of pros made up of petty reasons to do something—such as wardrobe and what restaurants are in the vicinity of the workplace would not win out over a heavy con, such as deadly working conditions. Death would certainly rank a 10 on the con side of staying a detective and con points would obviously be deducted from the score. The point system could probably be reduced though, she thought with a frown, between one and five would be sufficient.

Rory was pleased with this idea. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought to make her lists weighted before. Her decision making process was now so perfect she wished she was the one who needed to make a huge life altering choice. Even Lorelai would have to agree the improvement would make a significant difference.

Rory stayed to watch all morning, not wanting to admit that court was boring. It was tedious, from her perspective. But from what she could tell, Tristan was not of the same mind. He looked like he was taking pleasure in asking questions and bringing the jury's attention to the points he wanted them to remember. She would occasionally peek over at the defendant's table, where she could have sworn Harrison looked either proud or smug as he watched his son. It may have been both, for all Rory knew. She didn't know what to think anymore. She only hoped something between the two DuGrey men might resolve after all of this.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

It was lunch time, and the judge had dismissed court for an hour. Jacobs joined the detectives and the reporter wife at a nearby restaurant. He sat down in a booth across from Rory, and she scooted down to make room for Tristan. However, her husband did not join them. Instead he passed them and two more booths, sitting down across from his partner, who had followed him to the other table. Rory craned her neck around to watch, giving him a look of befuddlement.

He glanced up at her. "I'll come over when our food gets here. Order for me. Something with extra fries." And with that, he leaned in toward his partner to have a hushed conversation about their case, no doubt.

Rory turned back around to face Jacobs, who had picked up a menu to peruse.

"Are you enjoying the latest installment of Fifty Shades of DuGrey as much as everyone else?" he asked.

"Probably more."

"How do you think it's going to end?" Jacobs asked. He had not looked up from his menu, hoping to indicate his lack of interest.

"You mean what is he going to decide to do with his life?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I'm not sure there's much of a decision to make. He made it a long time ago. Maybe," she said, and then shook her head. "It's complicated, Tristan and his dad."

"No it isn't," Jacobs argued. "It's pretty simple. Did you know he's been asking some of the guys at the precinct why they became cops?"

Rory frowned and shook her head. "No. He's doing that?"

He nodded. "But he's asking the wrong people the wrong question. He doesn't need to think about why he's a cop and compare his answer with other people. He needs to think about why he isn't a lawyer," Jacobs said. "If the first excuse that comes to mind isn't that he doesn't want to—and it isn't, by the way—then the real reason better be pretty damn good."

"You don't understand," Rory pressed on. "It's a matter of principle for him."

Jacobs shook his head. "Nope, it's just stubborn pride. Nothing more."

Frowning down at the table, she muttered, "That wouldn't rank very high."

"What?"

She looked back up at him. "Oh, my pro-con lists. I decided everything on it should be ranked by importance, for accuracy."

Greg furrowed his brows, not knowing what the hell she was talking about.

She realized this and said, "I make pro-con lists when I make decisions." She added, "You don't know that about me." She apparently still felt like arguing on Tristan's behalf though, and said, "You might be right, but he would feel like he's selling out—literally."

"Who'd he be selling out to?"

"His dad."

"Who cares what his dad thinks?" Jacobs asked, exasperated. He was about sick of those two. They were intolerable, both of them.

Rory jerked her head back toward her husband. "Tristan cares, obviously."

Brows furrowed, Greg laced his fingers together on the table and slowly asked, "How would he be selling out, exactly?"

Rory hesitated, probably not wanting to divulge in the current company. Tristan probably wouldn't want her to either. Vaguely, she said, "His dad put a monetary value on it. It was a long time ago, and Tristan walked. I'm sure he'd do it again."

Jacobs stared at her for a moment. "Ah," he said, like he had an epiphany. "I see." His lips stretched up on one side and then he laughed, though without humor. "Now we're getting somewhere. Family resentment." He glanced over at the blonde detective for a few seconds before turning his attention back to Rory. "Okay, here's what you should do. Go home tonight and snoop around a bit."

"Snoop around?"

He nodded.

"Like some woman who's suspicious her husband is cheating?" she asked with knit brows. "I don't want to look through his stuff like that."

He shrugged slightly. "I won't tell. Does he have a place where he keeps important stuff? A safe maybe?"

"We don't have a safe." She sat and thought for a moment, then asked, "His desk?"

"That's good, start there. Check all the drawers. I think he has something hidden somewhere."

He appeared to have worried her. It wasn't like it was going to be a bad surprise, so much as it was like winning the lottery. She looked at him skeptically, probably wondering what he could possibly know that she didn't. But she obviously didn't know about the little birthday present Harrison left for his son. Finally, she said, "I'm not going to invade his privacy."

"I can get you a search warrant if it'll make you feel better."

She sat dumbfounded until the waitress returned for their orders. Greg let the woman know Mark was with their group so she could get his order, then he slid out of the booth. "I'm going to bother them now, see if they're making any progress with anything." He walked two tables down and sat next to Stevenson.

Tristan was resting his chin in his hand with his elbows on the table. Frowning, he quietly said, "I was thinking about Rory's leads."

His partner regarded him warily. "You don't think she's on to something now? I read through Avery's articles, it didn't seem like she sufficiently rocked the boat enough to be motivation for murder, whatever your wife thinks. And that includes Thaddeus Black."

Tristan shook his head. "I don't think there's anything there for us. She's way off. I mean, she's stumbled on some crimes, but it's been unrelated to Avery's death. It's just . . . odd."

"How did she decide who to look into?" Mark asked.

Tristan shrugged his shoulders. "She won't say." Without missing a beat, he went on, "I want to know where she's getting her information. It's like she was misdirected, deliberately."

Mark looked inquisitive. "How do you suggest I find out who she's been talking to?"

"Follow her."

Mark stared, as did Jacobs. "You want me to tail your wife?"

They'll just be even, Greg thought, amused. "I think it's a good idea. You aren't getting anywhere on your own." That earned him a quick glare from both detectives. "Get a uniform to do it. She'll never know."

"Just find her source." Tristan sat in thought some more.

"When is she going to city hall again?" Mark asked.

"I'll have to ask, but I'm sure she's going since she thinks she's on to something." He rubbed his forehead. Their food arrived at the other table, but since Rory was alone, she pointed over to the other table and got up to join them. Barely noticing the food and his wife sliding into his booth, Tristan said, "We need a new lead."

Rory sang, "There's city hall."

Tristan took the ketchup after Greg was finished with it and poured some out next to his fries. "True, but I know how you don't like when we steal your thunder when you make a big break. Aren't you going back down there?"

"Mm-hmm," she said with a nod. After she swallowed a bite of her burger, she said, "Tomorrow, for a committee meeting. I'm going back to the newsroom for the rest of the day to see how Kyle is doing with his project. I think we're getting somewhere."

Tristan nodded and wiped his mouth off with a napkin. He didn't even bother sharing a glance with is partner, knowing Mark heard.

Greg glanced at Rory. "Journalism is pretty cutthroat, isn't it?"

"Very," she said with a nod.

"When guys went to the Post, did you find out if she was maybe assigned to a project one of her colleagues wanted?" he asked.

"Ooh, that's a good thought," she said.

Tristan frowned at her. "Don't encourage him."

Stevenson shook his head. "Her boss didn't mention any issues with co-workers, just that she abruptly quit over e-mail to go work somewhere else. No one knew what the new job was."

"If there even was one," Tristan said. "Someone hacked into her e-mail account and made it look like she wasn't going to be around anymore. We need to verify whether or not that job existed."

After they'd finished eating lunch, Stevenson headed back to the precinct and Rory went back to the newsroom. Jacobs accompanied Tristan back to the courthouse, this time sitting with him at the prosecutor's table. He had to grudgingly admit, the insufferable detective wasn't doing poorly, considering it was his first time. He was pretty obviously rusty starting out, but he managed to get into the swing of things. The father took notes as the son asked questions, and the son did likewise when they reversed roles. If Jacobs didn't know any better, he'd say they were both enjoying themselves.

The trial proceeded smoothly until the judge dismissed everyone for the day. A man entered the courtroom as the spectators and jury members were leaving. Jacobs recognized him as Harrison DuGrey's private investigator. He handed a closed file to his employer and glanced over at Tristan grimly.

Harrison opened the file, and after looking at the contents, handed it over to his son.

Jacobs watched as Tristan looked at whatever was in the file. It may as well have glowed yellow in his face.

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Not long thereafter, Tristan laid limply in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk from Jacobs. He had followed the prosecutor to his office, leaving Jacobs no choice but to let him in. The open file lay between them, the incriminating evidence sitting right on top. "I'm going to lose," he said in a monotone,

"You don't know that for sure," Greg argued. "You could still persuade the jury the evidence isn't compelling enough."

Tristan stared across the room blankly. "I'm going to lose." He sulked in silence a few more minutes, and then said, "And the worst part is, my dad thinks answering questions on the witness stand was all I could do. Now this proves he was right. I am the one that usually rides in—all dramatic, with the new evidence that wins the case. I guess I should stick to what I'm good at."

"Whoa, whoa," Jacobs said, his hands up. "What are you talking about?"

Tristan looked up. "He told me I'm good at investigating. And testifying is probably all I can do in the courtroom."

Greg looked exasperated. "What?" He shook his head. "Are you kidding me? The only thing this proves is that you just failed the ethics exam."

"No, it's what he told me, back during the summer after the hung jury."

"And you fell for it—hook, line, and sinker." Greg went on, "He doesn't think that."

Tristan scowled. "Yes he does. What do you know about it, anyway? You probably agree with him."

"I know he thinks you could have my job as much as you always have," Jacobs said, irritated. "He even think's you'd be better at it than me, sound like anyone you know?"

Tristan's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"He lied to you. The money didn't work so he handed it over and tried something else. You played right into his hands, taking this trial. So it worked."

Tristan stared.

Jacobs crossed his arms. "I've spent several years fighting with you, trying to keep you in your place, when you obviously don't want to stay there. Have you just been repressing yourself because you don't want to do what your dad wants? That's as stubborn as it is stupid."

"You don't know what it's like to have him for a father," Tristan said, finding his voice. "It's like nothing I do is good enough."

"Apparently he's ready to meet you half way."

"He wouldn't do that."

"It's time to put your head on straight, DuGrey," Jacobs said sternly. "Your responsibility is to the State. You can't use a trial to prove something to Daddy. And now you're in a real pickle, because you're finally going to have to make a choice. Can you even base a decision on what you want? Or do you need to defy your dad your whole life?"

NNNNNNNNNNNNNN

Rory lie in bed awake later that night, staring at the ceiling. For once, Tristan was beside her, asleep rather than burning the midnight oil. She glanced over at him, both envious that he was sleeping and glad he was finally getting some real rest. It wasn't to say she wasn't concerned. He'd come in late and had been rather surely. He hadn't said what it was that put him in the mood he was in, he was just quiet and seemed disappointed.

She sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling again. When she started to feel hungry, she pulled the blankets back and got up. She slid on her slippers and went down to the kitchen. At a glance in the pantry, cereal looked the most delicious. She pulled a box out and poured herself a bowl before going to the living room. The Christmas tree was still in the corner and she contemplated getting the boxes down to take the ornaments off. Really, if she could find some pink twinkle lights, it'd make a very nice Valentine's Day tree. She couldn't believe the stores hadn't capitalized on the procrastinators of the world. As she enjoyed her cereal, she turned on the television and flipped through the channels. There weren't any good informertials on, so she turned it off restlessly. When her bowl was empty, she went to the kitchen and poured more cereal and slowly crept down the hallway toward the two desks at the bottom of the stairs. She looked at Tristan's, but couldn't bring herself to sit down and go through the drawers. She couldn't really look through his things.

But what was Jacobs talking about? Did he know something she didn't? He seemed to. She didn't even know what she would be looking for.

So she went to her own desk instead, continuing her cereal. She went through her own drawers. She glanced up the stairs. Except for the soft light of the Christmas tree coming from the living room, the apartment was dark and quiet.

She opened her top desk drawer and shuffled through its contents. "Hmm," she said contemplatively. "I'm sure I had more pens. Where do they all go?" She looked over at Tristan's desk. Stilted, she said, "I bet he stole them."

She sat her empty cereal bowl on her desk and quietly rolled her chair over to the other desk. She slowly opened the top drawers, not finding anything out of the ordinary. She tossed a glance at the stairs again, guilty. When she got to the bottom drawer, she lifted some of the papers and found a small packet that was folded in thirds like a letter.

She pulled it out and opened it, looking around again before reading what it said. The letter was from a financial institution and had Harrison DuGrey's signature. It was dated a few days before Tristan's summer birthday.

The withheld trust fund was released to the recipient. She checked the date again. He had this since summer? Why didn't he say anything about it?

She found the monetary figure on the last page and her eyes widened. "Whoa. That'll buy a lot of diapers."