I am so so so so so so so so so so so sorry for the wait! I'm ashamed of myself for taking so long, but here's the next chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist.


The knock at the door prompted it being opened by the stunningly beautiful Emily Carter, James Carter's wife. Patrick examined her and noticed the small details that shouldn't be there. Crow's feet pricked at her shining dark eyes, gray roots that poked through her blonde hair, the ratty clothes. The house itself was nothing that a man looking like James Carter should be living in.

"Excuse me, who are you?" she asked, not unkindly, through the screen door. Teresa flashed her badge quickly and rumbled out the tired old line: "CBI". Patrick felt pity twist his stomach as her face fell.

"Oh," was all she said as she opened the screen door and let the two into her house. Patrick immediately took in his surroundings; the ratty brown carpet, old and red gingham couch, and the ancient TV perched on a stand. "This is about Mia, right?"

Patrick stopped looking and turned to flash her a reassuring smile. She managed a weak one, one that trembled like a willow in the wind. "Yes, we have a few questions for you," he muttered. As though the energy had left her legs, she collapsed on her couch.

"Okay, I'll tell you what I know," she murmured. Patrick sat beside her and Lisbon kept standing.

"We've heard two different points of view about Johnny Earl, Mia's boyfriend, so we'd love to hear yours," Patrick said gently. Emily looked into his eyes for a few moments before looking up at Teresa.

"Johnny? He was a nice boy… but what does he have to do with this?" It hit her then. "You don't think he could have anything to do with this, do you?" she looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Your husband said something about him being obsessed with your daughter and Cart was suspicious as well," Teresa answered.

"You talked to James?" she asked, slightly unsure how to take that. Patrick noticed her sudden shock and took note.

"Actually, he came and talked to us. He told us all about Johnny and we wouldn't have known about him had it not been for your husband," Patrick muttered, almost as though he were thinking out loud.

"Emily?" The three members of the room looked up to see James Carter standing in the doorway, his suit in place and a rather perturbed look on his face. His gaze rested on Patrick Jane. "What are you doing here?"

"We're asking your wife some questions," Lisbon answered. James looked up and arched an eyebrow at her, like he didn't see her before.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and I heard some pretty interesting things from the neighborhood tramps. Says that you were pretty strict on your daughter," Patrick turned quickly to Emily. "Was your daughter one to rebel?"

"What? No! She would never do anything rash! She always did what she was told and…"

"And teenagers like that usually have pent-up anger. Had she shown any signs of going against the usual? Maybe she went goth… or got something pierced, I don't know! Heck, maybe she even started… dating someone unnapproved?" James face turned to a rather dangerous beet color. And here's the final proof…

"Get out of my house," he rumbled, his voice low but deadly. Patrick slowly stood up.

"What's wrong?" Patrick asked, slowly heading towards the door.

"Get out of my house!" this time he shouted it, his beet color extending to his eyes as veins threatened to make him look like his dead daughter.

"Fine, fine… I'm leaving…" he stopped and turned to Lisbon. "Come on, lets go back, I'd like to talk to you…" that popped a vein in James.

"GET OUT!!!" he shouted. Patrick gave one last grin and turned around, already knowing that Lisbon would be behind him. Almost as soon as she had stepped outside of the door, it was slammed, creating a minuscule hurricane.

"Friendly people…" Patrick chuckled, yanking on the handle of the car. Two doors slammed and the engine roared to life before Lisbon gave a dry chuckle.

"It's amazing how optimistic you are." Oaks whisked past.

"I try… I try," Patrick laughed, looking out at the trees. He suddenly turned around to stare at Lisbon's profile. Her prominent, pure brown eyes… gorgeous, brunette and complementing curling locks that framed her pale, perfect skin… "I want to drive!"

The slight swerve in her driving proved that Patrick's whining, and incredibly random outburst had taken her by surprise. Her profile quickly turned into her full face as she turned to stare at her companion.

"What?"

"I want to drive! We always go placed together, but I never get to drive." He paused. "And isn't the man supposed to drive, anyway?"

"We're not going on a date and this has nothing to do with being chivalrous!" Patrick laughed and put on an innocent face.

"I never said anything about a date…" Lisbon suddenly seemed to freeze, her peach lips held slightly open, almost begging for something resembling a kiss. Patrick swallowed the lump of convulsing tissue that jumped into his throat.

"You don't watch where you're driving!" Lisbon snapped her composure back. Patrick shook his head slightly and turned to the road.

"It's because I'm too busy watching you…" he muttered, just strategically loud enough for her to hear. Lisbon slowly turned her head to him.

"You're… what?" she asked, her eyes narrowed to disbelieving slits. Patrick, slowly but surely, raised his hand and even slower than that, pointed it to the…

"Watch where you're driving!" he shouted, whipping his head to the road and scaring Lisbon enough to make her swerve around the invisible raccoon that was just unfortunate enough to be apart of the blond's ambitious plot. As soon as the car straightened up, Lisbon let loose.

"You planned that!" she growled loudly. Patrick never answered, though, and merely let out a merry laugh, and slowly, like a blooming flower, a red rose to be precise, the dangerous gloom in the car evaporated.

"So… what'd you find out?" Van Pelt inquired, almost immediately as the duo stepped into the room. Teresa sighed and threw her body into her chair, opening her mouth to reply.

"We found out that the mother was hiding something," Jane cut in, collapsing on his couch and throwing a pillow over his face, a sure sign of deep thought. The four other occupants in the room turned to look at him, confusion scribbled on their faces. Even Teresa, who'd been with him the whole time, was utterly confused.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. It grated against her nerves to know that Jane was just where he wanted to be, in the middle of the spotlight with the answers to the questions all lying on their lips.

"Didn't you see the way she got jumpy and nervous as soon as we mentioned her husband?" he lifted the pillow up as he talked so his words weren't slurred.

"Yeah, so what?"

"So, she looked as though she regretted saying something. Usually, women only regret saying something if they're going to get punished for it later. So, using common knowledge, we can assume that what she said would get her in trouble with someone, presumably her husband. And since she knew to regret it, and had to stop herself, she probably knows more than she said."

"You think James had a part in the murder of his own daughter?" Van Pelt asked, indecision showing on her face. There was a muffled laugh, and Jane moved the pillow again.

"Why do you sound so disgusted? We've seen worse," he fiddled with the pillow before dropping it on his face, ending the conversation. The four remaining agents regarded him questioningly for a moment before turning to each other to discuss the new twist on the case.

"Shoulda' thought of that," Rigsby mumbled, fiddling absently with the corner of his desk. "We always think of the dad."

"Yes, but we were too busy with uncles and boyfriends." Cho rebutted, calmly folding his arms before his chest.

"And what did we find from them?" Van Pelt asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she reread a paper on the case.

"Nothing," Rigsby tried to agree with her rhetorical question. Cho sighed and shook his head, shooting him a glance that clearly read fool. Lisbon just gave a small shake of her hair before turning back around to face her computer. She typed a bit before giving an aggravated grunt.

"James Carter had an alibi for that night! And a solid one, at that." The couch creaked as Jane sat up and swept a gaze around the room, his ocean eyes slightly clouded from his daze. He ran a hand through his hair before walking over to the computer and laying a hand over Lisbon. In response, she jerked her hand out from under his, but didn't even get a look from him. He gently clicked on another name, but it showed no alibi.

"Cart."

Cart swirled around in his chair, stomping his foot down and speeding up every now and then when he started to lag. He looked like an oversized, official kid and he knew it, but didn't quite care. He had status, so no one could judge him out loud, and out loud was where it mattered. Finally, he stomped his foot down, stopping the chair abruptly.

"Dria," he sang into the intercom, holding down the button imperiously. "I need you to give me the files from 20 years ago. All of the lawsuits," he stopped as her voice crackled back.

"Sir, those files are all on paper."

"Well then, you best start looking. I want them in at least 20 minutes."

There was a pause, before Dria sighed back, "yes sir." To her credit, it only took her 10 to find the yellow folders. She laid them on the desk, gave a polite nod, and left, leaving nothing but deep footprints in the plush carpet. As soon as the door closed, Cart went at those folders in a frenzy. He flipped them open, reading the names that sat blatantly on the paper, snapping them back closed after his efforts were in vain. He went through folder after folder, finding not but empty names that hadn't been paid. Of course, his idea was only a wild good chase, for his memory wasn't that good, yet the nagging sensation in the back of his mind kept him going until he opened a folder and found his name, printed innocently on the paper with a list of the lawsuit. The only lawsuit they had ever lost.

Cart gave a deep sigh, gently closing the folder and placing it in his top drawer. So that's why he looked familiar, because he is… he thought, gently massaging his head. Then he laughed. "A friend from my reckless days!" He paused then lightly took a truffle off his desk, "And I hate friends."

There you have it! Kind of short, but it's one of those get back into stride after not writing on it kind of chapters. I hope you like it!