Author's Note: Again, thank you for the reviews. They really mean the world to me and encourage me to write. So for those of you who are too shy to leave one, please do. I need to know I'm going on the right track here.

A big thanks to Bayre...only the best BETA in the world!

Enjoy!

After checking into the Southern Motor Inn, Sam and Dean were on their way to pay Mitch Cooley a visit. Pulling the Impala over to the curb, Dean looked up at the small home. It looked to be no bigger than a two-bedroom home, with white vinyl siding and hunter green shutters. The yard didn't look so bad, but you could tell this was a bachelor's pad due to the absence of flowers that dotted every other home on the block. A late-model red Ford Ranger was parked under the small carport.

Dean let out a sigh and fumbled with his tie. "You know, there's only so many times we can use this getup and I gotta tell you, I think we're reaching the quota." Both brothers were dressed conservatively in their suit and ties they brought out for special occasions such as this.

Sam smiled. "I think we still have a few more uses out of these."

Dean pouted. "It still sucks." He pushed the door open and Sam followed close behind, grabbing a briefcase from the backseat.

The brothers walked up the short walkway and Dean rang the doorbell. The door remained unanswered after a minute, so Dean rang again, finding the little patience he'd managed to hold onto was thinning quickly. When the door still remained unanswered, Dean kept pushing the tiny button, the ringing becoming incessant.

"A bit childish, don't you think?" Sam asked, arching a brow.

"What?" Dean kept pressing the doorbell. "The guy is clearly home. If someone is taking the time to ring the doorbell, then you should take the time to answer it. Otherwise, it's just rude."

"And what you're doing isn't?"

"No, not at all."

Finally the door was flung open by an angry looking guy with mussed red hair who seemed to be around Sam's age. His eyes appeared to be bloodshot and Dean instantly recognized the symptoms of a long night with the three J's—Jose, Jack, and Jim. "What the hell is going on out here?"

Oh, yeah…someone had a wild night, Dean thought as he caught a whiff of the red head's breath. "Mitch Cooley?"

"Who wants to know?"

Dean plastered a big shit-eating grin on his face. "My name is Paul Rogers and this is Mike Delp," he said, pointing at Sam. "We're with United Life Insurance."

Mitch began to close the door. "I'm not interested."

Dean stopped the door before it could be closed completely. "We're not trying to sell you anything, Mitch."

Mitch's eyes narrowed. "Then what do you want?"

Sam stepped forward, a sympathetic smile planted firmly on his face. "We're here to talk to you about your friend, Brad Pershing."

"Why would you need to talk to me about Brad? Shouldn't you be talking to his family?"

"We already have," Sam lied. "We just need to tie up some loose ends and make sure everything is correct before the company will agree to pay out."

"Company policy," Dean supplied. "You understand."

Mitch studied them for a few moments longer and Dean decided right there if the kid wasn't going to let them in, he was going to kick the door open. He was sure Sam would have something to say about that, but he didn't really care. It had been a good long while since he'd gotten to kick open a door and he was itching to do it again. Unfortunately for Dean, Mitch stepped back and let the brothers in.

Dammit!

Walking into the home, Dean saw the inside didn't look much better than the outside. Clothes were strewn about everywhere, along with empty take-out containers and, Dean noticed with amusement, pornographic videos and magazines he was sure would make Sam turn at least ten shades of red. Dean turned his head and saw his little brother had averted his gaze and was nearing shade number eight. Dean snorted and Mitch turned back to look at him.

"Did you say something?"

"Sorry…I had something in my throat."

Mitch nodded as he led the way into the small kitchen. Dean looked back at Sam and smirked; Sam returned the favor by giving his brother a finger and a glare to match.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"No, thank you," Sam said as he sat down at the small table.

Mitch seemed relieved by that as he pulled out a beer for himself out of the small, avocado green refrigerator and sat down opposite the brothers. "So, what did you want to know about Brad?"

"How long did you know him?" Dean asked.

"Almost all my life. We'd been friends since the first grade."

"Did Brad have a history of depression?" Sam asked.

Mitch scoffed. "Are you kidding? Brad was the happiest person I knew. It was kind of annoying sometimes, to tell you the truth."

"So he wasn't on any medication or anything?"

"No way. The guy hated to take an aspirin."

"Then why do you think he would have committed suicide?" Dean asked, clasping his hands together on top of the table.

"He wouldn't." Mitch leveled a gaze at the brothers. "He didn't."

"That's not was the police are saying."

"The cops around here wouldn't know a suicide if it bit them in the ass."

"You don't sound like you're a big fan of them."

"You would be right." Mitch sighed and shook his head. "Every time I turn around, they're breathing down my neck."

"I know the feeling," Dean muttered under his breath.

"What?" Mitch looked at Dean, confused.

Sam spoke up. "Mitch, why don't you think it was a suicide?"

Mitch looked at Sam and shrugged. "Brad had a lot going for him. He graduated the top of his class and he was just beginning his internship at Tulane Medical. He was happy."

"Something must have happened."

"The only thing I can think of is he just split from his girl."

"Did she break it off?"

"No, he did."

"Why did he do that?"

"He couldn't deal with her and his internship at the same time, it was just too much for him. They'd been together for three years and he realized she wasn't going to slow down and get serious."

"What do you mean?"

"She liked to party, have a good time. Brad used to be the same way, but then he got serious about his life. It took everything I had to get him to go out for one night."

"How did she take it?" Sam asked.

"She was devastated, a complete mess."

"This girlfriend…she have a name?" Dean asked.

"Maggie Lewis."

Dean made a note on a small notebook he pulled out of his pocket.

"Can you tell us what happened the night Brad died?" Sam asked.

"I don't know much," Mitch admitted. "Brad called me a little after midnight. I tried to get him to come out, but he said he was too tired. Then there was a knock on the door and he told me he had to go."

"Do you know who was at the door?"

"No, he never said."

"All right." Dean pushed back from the table and Sam did the same. "I think we have all we need."

Mitch started to rise from the table, but Sam held up a hand. "We'll show ourselves out."

The brothers began to walk towards the door, but Dean stopped before he could open in. "By the way, this Maggie Lewis…you know where she lives?"

"Why do you want to talk to her?" Suspicion crept into Mitch's voice.

"Like Mike said, we have to cover all of our bases."

"Oh…" Mitch didn't seem convinced. "She lives at the Baywood Commons, apartment eleven."

"Thanks a lot, Mitch." Dean opened the door and the bright sunlight greeted them as they walked towards the Impala.

"You really think the ex will know something?" Sam asked as he threw the briefcase on the backseat.

Dean shrugged out of his jacket. "Don't know, but it can't hurt to find out."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

As Dean pulled up to the Baywood Commons, a three-level apartment complex on the edge of the French Quarter, Sam was impressed with the well-manicured lawns surrounding the conservative building. If you were going to live anywhere in New Orleans, he figured this was one of the prime real-estate destinations to call home. He and Dean had stopped by the motel long enough to change into "civilian clothes" as his brother like to call them and were now on their way to speak to Maggie. Getting out of the Impala, Sam stretched his long body until he heard several pops up and down his spine.

"Geez, Sammy, you keep stretching like that and you won't fit in the car anymore. I'll have to start strapping you down to the roof." Dean laughed.

Sam shot his brother a look. "You know, you just keep getting funnier and funnier every time you open your mouth."

Dean shrugged, flashing his brother a hundred-watt smile. "What can I say? It is a gift."

"And apparently you still haven't recognized sarcasm when it slaps you in the face."

"That would be because you're not so good at it."

"Let's just get this done." Sam shut the car door and began to walk up the small sidewalk towards the circular iron staircase.

"And Sasquatch takes another loss." Dean shook his head as he followed his brother up the staircase. They came to a stop in front of apartment eleven and Sam softly knocked on the door. It was answered within a matter of seconds by a strikingly beautiful woman with long brown hair and the deepest green eyes Sam had ever seen.

Sam had to mentally shake himself in order to tear his gaze away. "Um…Maggie Lewis?" He noticed in the corner of his eye Dean was staring at him, trying his best not to laugh. I am definitely going to hear about this later…

"Yes," the woman smiled. "Can I help you?"

"My name is Sam Collins and this is my partner Dean Stanley—we're reporters with the Times-Picayune. Is it all right if we ask you some questions?"

"Can I see some ID?"

Sam and Dean pulled out their fake press badges and flashed them at her. She glanced at them quickly before they slipped them back into their pockets.

"What is this about?" Maggie asked.

"We're investigating the deaths that have been occurring lately throughout the city," Dean said, smoothly. "Thought you could help us fill in some blanks."

"I don't understand."

"Look, Miss Lewis—" Dean began.

"—Maggie."

"—Maggie, we can either do this out in the hallway or we can do it in the privacy of your home. You choose."

Maggie studied the brothers a few seconds before she reluctantly opened the door wider to allow them in. Sam turned his head and shot his brother a withering glare before entering the apartment and Dean just gave him an innocent shrug. Sam knew his brother wanted answers but he didn't understand why he had to be such a complete ass about it sometimes.

"So, can I get you guys anything to drink? Water? Juice? Sweet tea?"

"Water would be great," Sam answered.

Maggie nodded and went into the kitchen to get the beverages as Sam took a seat on the small sofa. Dean walked around the living room, glancing at all of the trinkets lining the small shelves surrounding the television. It was a variety of things, ranging all the way from ceramic angels to medieval dragons and they took up every inch of space. He turned towards Sam and raised his eyebrows in question and Sam just shook his head.

"Dean, try to tone it down a little," Sam hissed angrily.

"What?" Dean sat next to his brother on the sofa. "We want to know answers Sam and we're not going to get them by standing out in the hallway while she plays dumb."

"We don't even know if she knows anything about what's going on!"

"Exactly, which is why we need to find out."

Sam was about to argue with Dean further, but Maggie walked in carrying a small tray holding three glasses of iced water. The brothers each took a glass, and grabbing one for herself, Maggie took a seat on the chair opposite them.

"So, what did you need to talk to me about? Is this about Brad? Carlie?"

"You knew Carlie Smith?" Dean asked, setting his glass on the small table next to him.

Maggie nodded. "She was my best friend."

"Really?"

Again Maggie nodded.

"Were you with her the night she died?"

"For a while."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means we hung out for a while. She told me she needed to get out and get some fresh air. I volunteered to go with her, but she said she wanted to go alone."

"Do you know why she would go to the St. Louis Cemetery?"

Maggie shrugged. "Her grandmother was buried there. She always went there to talk to her when she was stressed."

"What was she stressed out about?"

"Our last year at Tulane was coming up in a couple of weeks. She's been stressing out about it because she still didn't know what she was going to do."

Sam nodded, sympathetically. "I've been there before." When he first got into Stanford, he could remember not knowing what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He was content on settling on anything that didn't involve hunting, wanted to be as far from it as possible. Sam still wanted to help people, it was something he felt great pride in, always would. He remembered Professor Guice, his debate instructor, suggesting he give Law a try since he excelled at every debate. He spent a lot of time with his career counselor, finding out all he could about the different branches of law and finally decided on Criminal Law—he wanted to put criminals away so they would never have a chance to hurt anyone else, he wanted to give victims a chance to have a voice.

Maggie smiled. "I kept telling her not to worry about it, but she just wouldn't listen to me. But that was Carlie—she always freaked out about anything and everything."

"That sounds like Sammy here," Dean said, smiling at his brother.

Sam shot the older hunter a look that clearly said he was going to kill him the first available chance he got. Maggie just glanced at the two, confused by their behavior.

"Are you sure you two aren't brothers?"

Sam chuckled uncomfortably. "No…we just spend a lot of time together."

"Okay," Maggie nodded. She grinned at Sam and the younger man smiled right back, his cheeks blushing slightly.

Dean cleared his throat a little louder than necessary, clearly trying to break the moment. "So…about Carlie. Did she have any enemies? Piss anyone off lately?"

"Carlie? No way…she always went out of her way to help everyone. And anyway, I don't see why you're asking about this. The coroner said she died of a heart attack."

"That's right, but we want to make sure. Sometimes the police miss something and we just want to know they didn't."

Maggie looked at Sam, horrified. "So…you think Carlie could have been murdered?"

"We don't know anything for sure," Sam said softly.

"What about Brad Pershing?" Dean asked.

"What about him?" Maggie turned her attention back to Dean. "He committed suicide."

"That's not what his friend is saying."

"Who? Mitch?" Maggie laughed. "Mitch is always drunk—I'd be surprised if he could even wipe his own ass. He's just trying to gain attention at Brad's expense—end of story."

"When did you last speak to Brad?"

"The night he died." Maggie glared at Dean, realizing what he was implicating. "What, do you think I had something to do with his death?"

Dean shrugged. "You tell me."

Maggie quickly rose from her chair. "How dare you come into my home and accuse me of murder!"

Sam stood up, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "No one is saying that, Maggie." He shot his brother a pointed look. "Right, Dean?"

Maggie wasn't having any of it. "I think you've asked enough questions." She stormed over to the door and opened it. "Please leave."

"Maggie, my partner really didn't mean to accuse you…" Sam trailed off as Maggie shook her head.

"I don't want to hear anything else," Maggie said, wiping away a tear trailing down her cheek.

Sam sighed as he and Dean walked towards the door. He decided right then and there his brother really was capable of being a complete ass when he wanted answers, didn't care who he upset in the process. It was one thing to question a person about their loved one's death, but to basically accuse them of the crime itself, there was just no sense in that. He really didn't know what he could say to the young woman to make her feel better. Instead, he just reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper and scribbled his cell number on it. He handed it to her as Dean walked into the hallway.

"Listen, I really am sorry about my partner. If you want to talk about it or know anything that may help, don't hesitate to call."

Maggie nodded and grabbed the slip of paper from his hand. She didn't say anything as she closed the door behind him. Sam walked ahead of his brother and down the staircase, towards the Impala.

"What, are you going to be pissed at me now?" Dean demanded as he got in the car.

"Is there a quota you have to meet each day that requires you to be an ass?"

"I just asked her a question, Sam."

"No, Dean, you didn't."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this, Sammy. You heard what she said—she knew the first two victims."

"It's a coincidence."

"Really? And since when do you believe in that? In our line of work, there are no coincidences." Dean started the car and shook his head. "Don't pretend I don't know where these feelings really are coming from."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, annoyed.

"You like her. I saw it as soon as she opened the door, you couldn't tear your eyes away from her."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Dean pulled the car out into traffic. "Yeah, I never do."