Author's Ledger: Good day my fair readers. It seems I've had enough free time to write this week and enough inspiration. I'd like to thank my reviewer (Captain Flying Sparrow) for last chapter. I appreciate the input but I'm afraid that the course you agreed with simply did not fit with the plot I'd already developed. It did not occur to me though before I'd already received your review. I do thank all of you who are reading this for simply reading it. And so it is without further introduction that I leave you to read the next installment of my story.

Your Obedient Servant.

Danbamina

Icabod woke up in his own room. He didn't remember coming in here. What had happened? Icabod thought hard for several minutes before it all came flooding back to him. He and Masbeth had gone to the Western Wood, argued, and then the Horseman had shown up, they had gone into a stand of trees and he'd fainted. Icabod groaned, he'd fainted…again. He cursed his delicate nervous system as he got out of bed and moved towards the closet to get dressed. His bare feet stung on the cold wood floor, the small amount of pain quickly clearing the rest of his mind. Icabod surveyed his wardrobe critically. Everything was almost exactly the same. The only differences to be found in his wardrobe consisted of buttons, stitching and shapes of pockets. The same color palette and cuts permeated his clothes. Icabod thought for a moment on these new revelations in his fashion sense, shrugged and pulled a black coat, white shirt, dark pants and black boots.

Icabod dressed carefully, fussing with his boots more than usual and dusting his pants free of every piece of dust and lint visible. Icabod was starting to pull his shirt on when Helen came in with a breakfast tray in her hands. Icabod stared at her, frozen in place with his arms in the sleeves and the shirt pushed half-way up his forearms. Helen stared, wide-eyed back at him, completely still. Icabod blinked slowly at her. This simple action of his seemed to restart Helen's abilities to move and speak.

Helen dropped the tray as her hands flew up to cover her eyes "I'm so sorry Constable! I didn't know you were awake and getting dressed." She explained quickly backing from the room and running into the wall several times before she found the door and slipped away. Icabod stared after her for a moment before finishing putting his shirt and the rest of his clothes on. He wasn't so meticulous about it now.

Icabod went over to where the tray had landed and gathered the shattered glass and bits of food that had gone flying everywhere when it had hit the ground. He stood up and brought the tray with him to the kitchen, being careful not to spill the mess again. Helen was coming back up the stairs with downcast eyes and a red face, a broom and dustpan in her hands now. Icabod felt a smile of amusement barely tug up the corners of his mouth as he let her pass by. There was still a small mess that was too small to be picked up by human hands alone. Icabod entered the kitchen to find Elizabeth laughing as she prepared bread. Icabod set the tray of ruined glass and food on the counter and walked around in front of Elizabeth.

"Liz." He said placing his hands behind his back and straightening his posture, "What are you laughing about?"

Liz looked up at Icabod, smiled and started laughing harder, "It seems Helen caught you in the process of getting dressed. She came down here all flustered and babbling something about how manners matter and being polite." Liz told him between fits of laughter, "The poor dear, never seen a man without a shirt on. Had no idea what to do with herself." Liz stopped laughing and looked sternly at Icabod, "She's a good girl, she is, and I don't want you to make her feel bad about all this, you hear?"

Icabod raised an eyebrow at Liz and shook his head. Liz was so…well, she was Liz. There was no other way to describe her. He took a piece of toast with butter from a plate and left the kitchen. Helen darted past him and into the kitchen. He glanced over his shoulder to see Liz laughing again. He shouldn't make Helen feel bad? Icabod shrugged mentally and went upstairs to locate Masbeth.

Masbeth was in his room, making his bed. Icabod stood just inside of the open doorway and rapped a knuckle loudly upon the wood. Masbeth's head jerked around and a smile split his face in two as he realized who was in his doorway.

"Glad to see you've woken up, sir." He said cheerily throwing a pillow onto the bed and walking over to stand next to Icabod, "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Icabod thought for a brief moment, "We need to think about the crimes and such. Care to help me?"

"Of course, sir, but how can I help? I can't rightly read your mind."

"You can listen and think on what I say."

Masbeth nodded and motioned to the stairs, "Let's get going then."

***

Icabod crawled around the floor of his room, scraps of paper with all the residents of Sleepy Hollow written on them were scattered around him. He'd piled the deceased by way of Horseman in one corner and suspects in another, possible victims in still another and possible suspects in yet another. Masbeth was perusing the family trees of the victims to see if there was any connection at all with any of the victims. Icabod rocked back on his heels and sighed, none of it added up.

"Well the Robertson's, Roberts (excepting the Doctor) and Thomas's weren't related except by a pending marriage between Mary and John. But that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon as Mary wasn't much older than fourteen." Masbeth commented slamming the book closed and stretching.

Icabod bit his lip and thought, "Then there's something else that connects them all." He reached inside of his coat and pulled out a scrap of parchment that had been rubbing against him and making him itch. He looked at it, it was the scrap of parchment that M had given him. Icabod unfolded it and with a small amount of difficulty managed to make out the messy hand-writing, "L-o-v-e." He said each letter separately.

"Love?" Masbeth asked, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"There's more, be patient. This is hard to read." Icabod squinted at the thin black lines that made up the letters, "I-n-s-u-l-t-s. A-n-g-e-r. J-e-a-l-o-u-s-y. Now it's completely illegible. It's just an uneven line from there." Icabod sighed, "So much for a helpful clue. He could've written neater."

"So that's what M gave you?" Masbeth asked getting up and peering over Icabod's shoulder, "Love. Insults. Anger. Jealousy. And indecipherable letters that just look like a line?" He snorted, "Some help."

Icabod wasn't listening, he was thinking. Love. Who was desirable around here by the majority of single men? The only single, young woman, "Helen." Icabod stood up and wrote her name in his ledger. He scribbled the word LOVE in it as well. Dropping his pen Icabod began to pace the room, sending the scraps of paper blowing about. Insults? What insults? Icabod's mind flashed through all of his conversations with residents of the Hollow, "I suppose someone insulted Helen and this person got wind of it, got angry and had them killed."

"Ok. So Helen's the root of all of this. She's been insulted, someone's avenged the insults. Why were they jealous though?"

"I don't know. As far as I know Helen never had a caller of any sort while I've been here."

"Well weren't the beheadings happening before you got here?"

"Yes. One did." Icabod scratched a name down in his ledger and continued pacing.

"John Roberts." Masbeth read out and looked at Icabod confusedly, "Who is he?"

"Helen mentioned her 'Dear John' when I first arrived. Why would she call John Roberts her 'Dear John' if he wasn't in fact her Dear John?" Icabod stopped pacing, "Someone was jealous of John for being allowed to call on Helen. They got angry and had him killed. People started insulting her. The person got angry and had them killed." Icabod stopped and bent over his ledger, he drew a picture of a whiskey bottle that came out horribly and wrote the word TAVERN next to it, "The tavern is where all the news is filtered to at one point or another in this town. The eligible bachelors drink at the tavern." Icabod froze and rounded on Masbeth "Masbeth! Do you know what this means?"

Masbeth jumped, startled by Icabod's quick actions "That the culprit is a bachelor who likes to drink?" Masbeth's inflection made the statement a question.

"Precisely! He must be a regular!" Icabod grabbed Masbeth's coat from the bed and threw it at him, "Put that on. We're leaving."

"But where are we going?" Masbeth asked shouldering into his coat as he followed Icabod from his room.

"To the tavern, where else?" Icabod stated as he jogged down the stairs and out of the front door. Helen was riding around the yard on Admiral, still looking rather embarrassed about that morning, "Helen!" Icabod called to her, walking briskly towards Admiral.

Helen pulled the horse to a stop, "What?" She asked quietly as Icabod came to a stop and looked up at her, one hand on the reins and another on the edge of her saddle.

"May I borrow your horse?"

Helen blinked, "Why?"

"I need to get to town and quickly. I don't have time to fight with Gunpowder."

"Why?"

"I think I've figured out who is controlling the Horseman."

Helen was silent for a moment, surprise and relief written on her face, "All right. You can borrow Admiral for today. I'll ride Gunpowder." Helen swung a leg over the saddle and sat sideways in the saddle, reluctant to get off.

Icabod reached up and grasped her wrists gently, "Come on Helen." He coaxed gently, "Time to get off now."

Helen sighed mournfully and slipped off of her horse and into Icabod's arms, she giggled a little as she stepped back from him, "Do you need a leg up?" She asked Icabod looking pointedly at her feet.

"No, but thank you anyway." Icabod stuck a foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of the front and back of the saddle and hoisted himself onto Admiral's back. He looked down at Helen and was stunned by just how large Admiral was compared to Gunpowder.

"Well, good bye Icabod. See you at dinner." Helen patted Admiral's shoulder and walked away as Masbeth walked up on Ghost.

"I'm ready to leave now sir." Masbeth informed Icabod as he continued to walk towards the road.

"Alright." Icabod turned Admiral and trotted off with Masbeth towards the road and town and the tavern. Icabod prayed that he could just make a simple arrest, find the skull, return it to its resting place and not have to go through an ordeal like last time. Though he highly doubted that these things would come about as smoothly as he had planned and prayed for.

***

Author's Ledger: *adopts British accent* By jove I think he's got it! *drops British accent* So my fair readers, that was the chapter. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. Please, do review this. Thank you ever so much. I do appreciate your time. Until next time then.

Your Faithful Author,

Danbamina