Thanks for the reviews...they are my reason for even attempting to tell this story. So, once again I own nothing and my disclaimer may be read in the Prologue. Finally, here are some familiar faces and as time goes by even more of them. Oh and I promise from here on in to spell Wallace's last name right. Arrgg! Continue the reviews please.

MARS INVESTIGATIONS

I checked the listing three times before I entered. Mars Investigations was painted simply on the door with the all-seeing eye logo below it. I touched the logo, as if touching a good luck charm, before entering. I listened as the bell above me clanged and a door shut. I looked at the reception area and into the face of what had to be Weevil. Eli (a.ka. Weevil) Navarro was tall, muscular with tattoos splayed across his arms that were covered only somewhat by his navy polo shirt. He wore tan khakis much lighter than his dark skin. His shiny bald head and clean shaven face were off-setting the entire look. It was almost as if Mr. Clean had gone bad. He looked me over and by every look he was taking I'm thinking he was already underestimating me. I hate to be underestimated.

"Can I help you?" His accent poured.

"I don't know- can you? My name is January Grant, I work for the Neptune Navigator. I'm doing a piece on the "Cheerleader Kidnappings." Rumor has it--- that you and Mr. Mars are involved in the investigation."

"You're a high school reporter?" He all but laughed.

"No, I'm Lois Lane. Yes, I'm a high school newspaper reporter. Now about my question- are you or are you not involved with the case?"

He laughed a wicked laugh before sitting down behind the desk. He kicked his large black boots up and leaned back in his chair, reclining and placing his arms behind his head. He looked at me with an odd amusement. "I'm not sure if I like your tone. You know you get more flies with honey than crap."

"Well, if I were looking for flies then I would have gone to Mr. Vanlow's agency. What I am looking for is information on the case and I figured I'd start with the best."

"The best, eh?" He rubbed his jaw and then sat-up.

Maybe that whole flattery thing does work.

"Listen Miss…"

"January."

"Whatever. As of yesterday, Mars Investigations was black-listed from the Department and pursuing the case. Mr. Mars has chosen to use his talents elsewhere at this time. That is for the record."

I took a seat across from him. I pulled out my recorder, and repeated word for word what Weevil had said. If this was on the record, what would he say off of it? I made a grand show of turning the recorder off and then leaned back myself. "Alright, Mr. Navarro what can I get off the record?"

He grinned. I think if nothing else he was getting a kick out of the high school kid playing journalist. "Off the record, two days ago Kane Corporation through its two figureheads, Duncan Kane and Cindy Casablancas donated three mill as a reward for whoever found the missing girls or could lead the police to their kidnapper or… killer. The money came with a guarantee though- on the part of Sheriff Mitchell. She was told that our agency was to have NOTHING to do with the investigation or the money would vanish, too. All the leads we brought in and tracked were property of her Department. Most of the evidence they have is because of us." He paused and sat-up. He had my attention and he knew it. "For instance, the C.S.I. team in Neptune manages to muck-up every crime scene. They are the last ones to be called. So… Mr. Mars with his connections called in the forensic team from San Diego as a special favor to look over the scenes and actually get real data. Their reports concluded that the kidnappings are related and not copycats or runaways. The team's report also found a similar chemical substance at the scene where the jewelry was found. They were identifying it."

"Were?"

"When the Department benched us; I called San Diego."

"You stopped their investigation?"

"No, just filtered and edited it. The real reports come to us. The reports that mean nothing go to Sheriff Mitchell and the Kane money."

Wow, no bitterness here, I thought as I heard Weevil speak. Most reporters would have gone and jumped onto the evidence found and tried for the reports San Diego was producing. I was more interested on why the resident hero of Neptune had been kicked-off the case. What did the Kane foundation…corporation…cult have against Mars?

"Off the record, why was there a stipulation on the money? I've read the books and stories, Keith Mars found Lily's killer, saved Cindy Casablancas from a rapist and murderer, and generally is beloved by this town. I would've thought the town would have wanted him on the case."

Weevil's nonchalant grin faded. His brows furrowed a sure sign that at this moment he was debating whether to tell me (total stranger girl) the real truth or let it be. I met his gaze. Eye contact was important in the issue of trust. I think Weevil needed to know he could trust me.

"Off the record…" His voice had grown softer and deeper. I had to lean in to actually hear him. "Duncan Kane, as I am sure you are aware, dated Keith's daughter Veronica. Veronica Mars was the real beginning of the second investigation into the Lilly Kane murder. She followed her own leads and tips and she managed to put the pieces together even before her dad. She didn't do this without scaring a few of the 09ers. She got into their business and she found dirt that they thought God couldn't uncover. It also didn't help matters when Veronica crossed territory lines and started dating 09er badass, Logan Echolls."

"Wait! Are you telling me that Logan Echolls, a.k.a. big time producer and ex-son-in-law to Mr. Spielberg, dated Keith's daughter?" My eyes almost popped out of my head. I was certain that either Neptune was connected to every scandal in the Western world or was a Hellmouth. There was no logical though process that could explain how connected this town was to the darkest cases and mysteries known to man.

Weevil rolled his eyes. Apparently, he didn't get along with the Producer. Shocker. Nevertheless, he took a moment and looked at a door which read KEITH MARS, PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. Was Mr. Mars here? I didn't look away from Weevil, in fear he would stop his story.

"Veronica eventually left Logan for Duncan Kane, only for both of them to discover Duncan's ex Meg was pregnant with Duncan's baby. Duncan split not long after, on the run with baby in tow. Veronica ran back to Logan just in time to discover that Cassidy Casablancas, Dick's younger brother, had raped her, almost raped Cindy Mackenzie, killed loads of people, and was ultimately responsible for the Neptune High Bus Crash. Duncan and Mac… Cindy, that is, had no ill will towards Veronica. Both of them owed their lives to her."

"This doesn't make any sense." I replied shaking my head in disbelief. "If Mr. Kane and Mrs. Casblancas loved Veronica so much why would they go after her father?"

"Because my daughter left…"

My head whipped around and I stared into the eyes of Keith Mars. The pictures in the books bore little resemblance to the man before me. His eyes were darker, his wrinkles deeper, and his hair was graying and almost gone. He wore a simple understated suit which made him look less seedy and more like a public defender. His voice was like gravel. But, what caught my attention about the man I had admired for so long was his presence. Not many people have presence anymore, I heard my grandfather quip. That presence where when they walk into a room you know you are with someone very important in the grand scheme of life. That is exactly how I felt when he walked in. I wondered how long he had listened. I stood, approached him, and held out my hand. I was shocked momentarily when he returned the action by placing his hand in mine.

"Mr. Mars, I'm January Grant, I work for the Neptune Navigator."

"I heard."

I felt ashamed… though I'm not sure why. I had only asked questions and I had only got answers. No guns or firearms were involved in obtaining them. I glanced over his shoulder and my eyes caught once again a picture. It was a large black and white picture of a man on baseball field with a bat and glove in his hands walking towards the pitcher's mound. Two things I knew: the man was Keith Mars. The second was that this was another photograph by Veronica M.

"Your photograph is by Veronica M. Am I right?" Smooth Jane, I thought- nice change of subject. Get him off the fact for the past 15 minutes you have been discussing the details of his daughter's life.

"It is. How did you know?" Mr. Mars asked, puzzled I think by the randomness of the question.

"I have one of her photographs in my room. I saw her show at a gallery in New York. She has a distinct style of shooting."

"That she does…" He smirked. "Which photograph?"

"Shot of Three."

The smirk gave away to a cloud of seriousness and what I would guess to be pain. Why though? Why would a detective get upset over a photograph I had… oh wait. No way, it couldn't be that easy. Well, it could and I just happened to be the biggest moron on the planet! Veronica M. was Veronica Mars. It would explain why Mr. Fennel had several of her photographs and why Keith Mars did as well. It would explain why he would be upset at the mention of her name. Her name which… was… associated with a case with Duncan Kane and Cindy Casablancas. What was in the hellmouth was going on in Neptune?

"Mr. Mars…" I looked at my hero in the eye giving a sense I was being brave here although I am completely and totally terrified. "I am guessing that Veronica M. is your daughter; which means you have the sincere pleasure of knowing I idolize your entire family. I understand from your books that she was just as involved in two of the major cases you solved as yourself. What I don't understand, if I'm not being too forward, is why she is the reason you were taken off a case that has no leads and few clues? If she left Neptune, I assume it was to pursue her photography. Which I also assume is a good thing. She's world famous and her photographs kick ass. But what difference should it make to software tycoons and a California town?"

"You seem like a smart girl. When you figure it out, let me know." He replied bitterly, turning back to his office.

"MR. MARS!" I called; forming a haphazard plan as I spoke. "I have an interview with the Sheriff this week. I also have connections with the New York Times, the court system here, and if I call in the favor for killing the guy in Vegas, I have contacts in some of the top crime labs in the United States."

I got him with the "killing the guy in Vegas" as he turned around, leaned on the doorframe and began to smile. "Listen, Mr. Mars you are my hero. And for the chance to work with you and quote you in my next award-winning article I will keep you on this case…in this case, I mean. I'll get you whatever you need."

"It's Keith…" He paused. C'mon on man, give me an answer! "Since we'll be working together." He then crossed his arms and got serious. "But listen kid, I don't need you getting yourself in trouble or on the wrong side of this case. I've been there and I am too old to do that now. If you have a lead call Eli and take Backup."

"Back-up?" I asked and before I got an answer, a pitbull came barreling out of Keith's office towards my feet. I bent down and gave the dog a warm welcome. I looked at Keith. "You got it." I held out my hand again.

He shook it and thus began the start of our beautiful partnership, I thought. A partnership cut short by my vibrating pants. I glanced down at the phone--- HOME flashed on the caller ID. I was late. I left my card--- I've had business cards since I was four--- with Keith and ran out the door already thinking of my bi-line.

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GRANT HOUSE- THE NEW ONE!

I arrived home. No, not home…this mansion monstrosity was not my home. It was loud and extravagant and pretentious. I am none of these things. I mean, we had money in New York. I wasn't living in the "ghetto" or anything. I had friends at school that had famous parents. I was living in the upper class. In my defense, the money could have been old money but it wasn't. My parents, like theirs' before them, earned every cent and inch of respect.

Respect. That was something we had more than money. A Naval Princess marries a New York Prince and they have three…really two…heirs to the fortune. The Grant family was considered just, respectable, hard workers, and beloved by the city.

And then, cue sappy over-played-pop-music, we leave it all behind for California elegance and dramatics. We move to a town where I can guarantee respect pays for very little; even less than minimum wage. I'd give away the car and the mansion in the Hills for a shoebox in the City, But there was no use in wallowing. My parents do not allow wallowing. I have to make this work.

Speaking of parents… Mom was in the living room, moving more things around. We got more things since moving because we had places to put them. Empty spaces in Cali were like last year. Mom moved another vase before she turned to face me. Her eyes, a deep emerald, were open and expressive. "Where were you?"

I placed my bag at the front of the door in the cabinet my Mom had installed. That Navy thing could be a complete pain in the… yeah, you know where. Every thing and item has its place and when it's not there that is not good. I pushed my hair behind my ears. This is what my father calls my weak move. He knows the moment I do that, I am deciding between a truth and a lie. Fortunately, he's never shared this theory with Mom and I'm usually home free. I decided for the truth for once. "I was at MARS INVESTIGATIONS. I was offered a hot spot on the Navigator, the school pap' and I was catching some leads. I'm not late."

Mom crossed her arms and leaned back. This was her sign of what was she ever going to do with her daughter- her daughter that just didn't fit in to the family mold as she would like. My Mom is tall, with a curvy build but not fat, just athletic. She has dark wavy red hair off-set by her emerald eyes. Her complexion gave her away. She is Irish- full-blooded Irish. My grandparents both hailed from Ireland and had made America their home. My Mom was born and raised all over the world though. She was cultured, organized, and endearing. She loved me and my brothers but on any given day she preferred sporty Brock and artistic Fritz to the mess I was. She sighed. "Listen, we are having dinner tonight with a family. I need you dressed by Fourteen Hundred hours. And January I mean dressed nicely. Nothing that would embarrass me or your father."

Her tone was clear…I would be dressing from my closet. My closet is where I put all the clothes she bought me in attempt to make me over. Ugh. "Which family?"

"The Kanes." She replied, as if she had said the Cleavers.

Alright, it's certain…I am in hell. "I guess it would be too much to ask if I could NOT go?"

Her gaze caught mine. If anything, she knew my school habits. "On a scale of one to ten, just how badly did you piss off their kids?"

Pause. Let's see I insulted Scott at lunch and basically called him and his friends bullies and snobs. I then by accepting the VP's offer offended Hannah in jumping on her territory. Later in the day, I had mocked the entire 09er group when Coach Casablancas had insisted on me running laps because I was seen with Alex and Isa. "Eight and a half. Are the Casablacas coming?"

"Yes…" She hesitated.

"Ten."

"January…" She moaned.

"What? I was me. You couldn't actually believe I would get along with them?"

"No, I didn't. I just thought maybe you'd cut people here a little slack."

"Why?" I demanded.

"You're new. They don't know you. You could give them time to do that before pronouncing your damning judgment on them."

My Mom was right but she would never get that from me. "I could have. I could have let them judge me by your bank account, where I lived and who I hung out with, and what car I drove. I could buy into the superficial nature of their lives and give up reality. Or I could let them know I am who I am and I have goals and nothing gets in the way of my goals. No one and judgments will tear me down. Judge not less you be judged; I just beat them to the point."

She walked over to me, placed a patented comforting hand on my shoulder and gently moved me forward to my bedroom. "January for your Dad's sake, just stay away from them tonight and wear the last outfit I bought you and after this, I promise, you'll always be busy with "homework."

I smiled as I went to my room. Sometimes we win battles and sometimes we win the whole freak'n war. I had won the war. As it looked, I was going to write my own ticket here and maybe make it back to New York alive and well.