Chapter Two: Decaf
Grace Van Pelt peered over her computer monitor and caught Rigsby's eye. They exchanged sympathetic winces.
Both agents could clearly hear Jane being vigorously chewed up and spit out by Lisbon a short distance down the hall.
He'd done something in the interview. He always did something, and on a day like today, it wouldn't have taken much.
Lisbon had been on the warpath since her arrival that morning - snapping at secretaries and interns until they stuttered and fled, shooting lethal glares at anyone who dared to look at her for more than two seconds.
The problem wasn't hard to decipher. Someone had removed the labels from the coffee pots again, and Grace was pretty sure Lisbon had gotten the decaf by mistake.
Fortunately, the boss's sharp voice petered out after only a minute or so, and a minute after that, Jane strolled into the office, looking like he'd just come from a party, rather than a dressing-down.
"Hey," Rigsby greeted him. "How'd it go with Cardelli?"
Jane waved a hand. "Meh. He's innocent. I'm off to see the widow. Anybody care to join me?"
Grace shifted in her seat, feeling torn. On the one hand, she was aching for more field time. On the other hand, today was definitely not the day to ask the boss for a change in assignment.
Plus, it was field time with Jane that Grace would be asking for. He tended to do weird, embarrassing stuff when they went places together. Like pretending to be her fiancé.
Grace decided to fall back on the truth: "Uh, sorry. Boss has me checking the Jorstens' records for possible mob links…"
Jane switched his hopeful gaze to the other agent in the room. "Rigsby?"
Rigsby eyed the consultant warily. "Did Lisbon okay this?"
"Eh, it's just an interview," Jane told him, sounding wholly unconcerned. "Why wouldn't she be okay with it?"
Grace could practically hear the little warning bells going off inside Rigsby's brain. She fought to keep her lips from twitching.
"Uh, you know what? I think I'll stay here and help Van Pelt. It'll be faster with…the two of us," Rigsby finished lamely.
Jane shrugged and smiled at the pair of them, completely unoffended. "Suit yourselves," he said cheerfully, and strolled out the door.
He'd been gone less than five minutes when Lisbon stalked into the office, her nice-but-practical shoes clicking extra-hard against the linoleum.
Rigsby instantly tried to look busy with a file.
"Hey, boss," said Grace, not taking her eyes off the computer screen.
"Hey," Lisbon grumbled. "You find anything on the mob angle yet?"
Grace shook her head, then boldly chanced a look at the boss. "No, uh, so far Paul Jorsten's about as clean as they get."
Lisbon nodded distractedly. "Well, we figured it was a long shot, but keep digging anyway…" Lisbon's eyes were scanning the office. They landed on a worn-out brown leather couch. An empty worn-out brown leather couch. A frown darkened the boss's face. "Where's Jane?" she demanded.
Grace quickly looked back at her computer. "Um, I think he said something about going to talk to Jorsten's wife…"
It was the wrong thing to say. Grace could sense the boss start to bristle.
"What! I specifically told him—" Lisbon abruptly cut herself off, huffed the word "Great" and stomped into her own private office.
Grace heard the door slam hard enough to make the glass rattle.
An instant later, Rigsby's worried eyes appeared over the edge of the upside-down file he was holding. He met Grace's gaze.
They exchanged winces.