Booth could feel Brennan staring at him in the car on the drive to the historical society.

"What?"
"Oh, nothing Booth."

"It's not nothing, come on, Bones, what is it?"

"I'm just surprised is all" she replied condescendingly.

Booth shook his head. "That was snotty, Bones. You know I don't respond to snotty."

She looked out the window and raised her eyebrows once. "Still."
"What? It's really that much of a surprise? Yes…Booth can read." He intoned in a caveman voice.

"I don't really want to talk about it" She replied coolly.

"Yes! Haha!"

"What?"
"You stopped fighting. That means I won that argument."
"What? No it doesn't? Besides, we don't argue…we…"
"Bicker, got it, Bones. Fine, I won that…discussion."
"No one can win a discussion, Booth. It's just a discussion."

Booth sighed.
"Whatever, Bones. We're here. What do we know?"
"Just what Angela told us. The victim's name is Anne Jackson, alias Harriet Smith."

"Okay, well let's go see what we can find out."

They walked to the door and looked at each other when they saw the sign. "Hamilton County Official Chapter of Jane Austen Historical Society."

Booth patted her on the shoulder.

"Better leave this one to the expert, here, Bones." He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, but followed him in.

Behind a desk was a man in total black, looking like he'd just stepped out of a catalogue for a costume shop that catered specifically toward boring duds.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, this here's my partner, Dr. Brennan. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
'Ah, right this way, kind sir." The man escorted them into what looked like some sort of library, and they settled into some stiff, highback chairs.

"Can I get anyone some refreshments? Tea, scones?"

"Uh, no thanks. We're here to ask about Anne Jackson."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I know anyone by that name."

"Okay…what's your name?" Booth pulled the notepad from his pocket.

"Charles Bingley.
"No, your real name." Booth looked up.

"Booth, how do you know that's not his real name?"

"Because, Bones, I…"

"He's right. That's my society name, Charles Bingley. It's from Pride and Prejudice." He told Booth.

"I've read it." Booth grinned.

"Ah" the man approved, then turned to Brennan with the question on his face.

Brennan scowled. "What's your real name, then?"
"Francis Graham."



"Well, Francis" Booth continued. "A woman by the name Anne Jackson, alias Harriet Smith, was found dead a few hundred feet from this property this morning. What can you tell us about that?"
"Harriet? Oh, that's too bad. Not unexpected, but, well, yes, very sad."
"What do you mean, not unexpected?" Brennan asked him.
"Well, she was murdered, right? You're with the FBI? I'm sure she didn't die from a cold if you are here."
Booth conceded this with a nod. "But why was it not unexpected?"

"Well, I don't know of any specific incidents, but, sometimes, members of the society can get…jealous, and…well, these things happen."

Booth wasn't sure about that. "Right…What more can you tell us?"
"Not too much, you should come back tomorrow night. We have our weekly chapter meeting. You can meet the rest of the society and ask anyone anything you'd like."

Booth stood.

"Okay, thanks for your time."
"You're welcome. Anyone who's read Austen is always welcome here."
"Ah, sorry about your luck, Bones." Booth teased.

"What? This young lady has never read Austen?" Graham seemed disappointed.

"I'll have you know I'm a world renowned forensic anthropologist" she called as Booth dragged her out the door.

"We'll be in touch" Booth called back.