Author's Note: This is mostly a Veronica Mars-universe chapter. Not entirely. But most of it is. It is based on the VM episode An Echolls Family Christmas, though not rigidly.

X X X X X

Or, at least, that I'm going to think about not going to?

On the way over to the Echolls, I remembered to ask dad what the mercy rule was.

"It's a rule usually used in junior league sports," Dad said. "If your Little League team is beating the other one by ten or more runs, say, at a certain point in the game, the game ends early. They don't have it college and up. Why?"

"It just came up in a conversation and I didn't think to ask at the time. Thanks."

"Anytime, sweetie," Dad said.

Interesting. What the Adversary had been trying to tell me during the dream was that whoever was winning the bet wasn't by a large enough margin that there was no point in continuing.

Of course, this being the bottom of the eighth, that didn't necessarily mean I wasn't losing by six runs. (I suppose it was also possible I was up by six runs, which kind of killed the sports metaphor anyway. Who plays a baseball game without being able to see the scoreboard?)

And that was the last real thinking I did about my overall situation for a while.

For the night, though? Not done at all.

I was still hashing out whether I should let Dad know about the possibility that the stalker might come in as one of the catering company's servers. If the victim were anyone else, and I mean anyone up to and including Don Lamb, who as I've said I don't actively wish dead no matter what he's done to me in the past, I wouldn't hesitate. (Well, okay. I'd hesitate on Lamb. But for maybe five minutes while Evil Veronica came out to gleefully contemplate his death. But then Evil Veronica would be sent back inside while good Veronica reluctantly came out to do her duty.)

But Aaron Echolls has hurt me worse than anyone else. And yes, that includes Cassidy Casablancas, that includes Warren Mears, that includes Mom, that even includes Drusilla.

Not to get too heavily into self-pity – because if I did, I'd probably curl up into the fetal position and whimper until the Adversary decided I'd lost the bet – but when you're 16 and the list of people who've hurt you, badly, has a top five, you've had a fairly rough go of it. I say this not to evoke pity from you, or puff myself up by saying how much adversity I've overcome. I say this just to note and log it, and move on.

So, moving on: My personal reasons should be pretty obvious. Balanced against that, ethically at least, were two things: One, it was simply wrong to let Aaron get stabbed, no matter what he'd done. And two, it would make Dad look bad that he'd been hired to prevent this, and failed.

The latter weighed a lot more heavily, to me, than the former.

Heavily enough? Not by itself, unless Dad completely blew it and let Aaron die, which I seriously doubted he would do. Keith Mars is too good for that.

And then we got beyond ethics, to the 'friendly warning' given by Lilly and the Adversary to lay off trying to help Dad prove that Aaron Echolls killed Lilly.

Did this qualify as that, though? I wasn't sure, but I didn't think so. I hadn't done anything with this case except a little research for Dad tracking down possible suspects. I couldn't help it if I ran into something –

Ah. "If I ran into something." That sounds like an excuse to go snooping. I knew me, and even with the ironest of wills to avoid snooping, I could snoop. It's what I do, more or less. It would be damn near a heroic effort to stop myself, yet I had to.

I could still hope that the winds of fate would blow my way and let some juicy piece of evidence fall into my lap, but fate had smiled on me once already this week, so I was over my quota.

Still, generally speaking, I don't think this fell under Lilly's warning, as long as I was careful about it.

That left one major reason to prevent the stabbing of Aaron Echolls, and it had nothing to do with Aaron Echolls himself.

It had to do with Lynn Echolls.

In the original timeline, when Viola Kerrigan had stabbed Aaron – with Dad getting there just in time to prevent something worse – it had made blatantly public Aaron Echolls' long history of cheating, in front of too many people to cover it up. Admittedly, the cover-up machine of Neptune was run by rank amateurs compared to the one in Sunnydale, but this, with hundreds of people in the immediate vicinity? Too much for even Mayor Wilkins, Don Lamb, and the trained seals comprising the Sunnydale Sheriff's Department to handle, and in any event, it wasn't supernatural-related –

At least, I hoped not. That hadn't even occurred to me, but in the Buffyverse, where magical things lurked around every corner if you were paying attention, Aaron had to have slept with a half-demon or two along the way, ones who might be willing to bring magical abilities into play to get back at him. Considering that Viola Kerrigan appeared to be a holdover from my world, I doubted it, but it was another headache.

Ah well. Add it to the pile.

Anyway, once the publicity had hit, Aaron Echolls' major concern, as always, was his own image, and his family's job was to damn well support the image of him being a good family man, no matter what they wanted to do, otherwise.

I don't know all the details. Neither Logan nor Trina told me – Aaron sure as hell didn't – and I wasn't going to ask. Trina wouldn't have known – she was as self-absorbed as self-absorbed gets, even if she lacked her father's malicious streak – and Logan, in the immediate aftermath, was so convinced his mother had faked her death that he wasn't exactly a reliable witness for what he did tell me.

Still, it isn't hard to imagine: Lynn's just gotten publicly humiliated by her husband's acts – the man who is supposed to love her above all others – and instead of reassuring her, his main concern is to protect his career prospects. And finally, she has enough and she throws herself off the Coronado Bridge.

And that was a powerful argument in favor of cluing Dad in. I couldn't tell him directly, but I could at least tell him to double-check the servers for anyone who even remotely resembled Viola Kerrigan.

Damn it.

I was going to either have to completely save him – for Lynn Echolls' sake – or make sure she got off enough swipes with her blade to kill him. A dead Aaron Echolls wouldn't care about his reputation and wouldn't be able to fend off suggestions of being a murderer, either.

Decisions, decisions.

So let's go for the one that's easier on my Dad. "Dad –" I said right before we pulled up.

"Yes?"

"Did you check everyone on the guest list?"

"Yes. Twice. Aaron admitted to liaisons with two of them." Which meant he'd actually slept with a half dozen, and the only three women there who were guaranteed not to be one of his many conquests, for various reasons, were me, Cordelia, and Celeste Kane. (Jake was under indictment for obstruction of justice, but he would still be here.)

I was too independent-minded for Aaron; Cordelia had too much class (yes, really); and Aaron would have beneath Celeste.

Still -- "Really? He admitted to it?"

"He seems to think there's such a thing as PI-client privilege. I have no idea where he got that notion, of course."

"Of course you don't," I said. "Okay, you checked the guest list. How about the staff?"

"All of Aaron's servants except the butler have the night off," Dad said. "And it's not the butler. Despite what decades of mystery writers have told you."

"So the caterers are dropping off the food and Aaron's bringing it in himself?"

He nodded, saying, "I looked over the company -- they're legit -- and the staff list, but Viola Kerrigan wouldn't be silly enough to use her real name, would she? I'll look them over."

"You hadn't thought of that?"

"Not all the way through," he said as we got out of the car. "You roam. I'll go over the catering staff. If you think you see her, don't confront her."

"I won't," I said. "I mean, dark hair and in her 20's could probably describe a lot of people there, up to and including Cordelia Chase." Thanks to Charisma Carpenter being about ten years older than the character she was playing, of course.

"At least I'll know it's not her," Dad said.

"Ah, go on. Drag off her and question her anyway."

Dad asked, "And if I'm tormenting Miss Chase and Viola Kerrigan stabs Aaron?" We were walking towards the house.

"Win-win?" I asked hopefully.

"No," he said firmly.

"Ruin a little girl's dreams," I said.

"That's what Daddies do. Lynn!"

Lynn Echolls came out to greet us with a big smile. "Keith. Veronica. Glad to see you." No other guests had arrived yet; the caterers were setting up. Logan gave me a sardonic wave from inside the house and gestured towards the poolhouse. I shook my head and held up my finger -- no, not that one -- to indicate it would be a bit.

Another nod and Logan turned back towards the rear of the house.

"Good to see you too, Lynn," Dad said. "I hope you don't mind us getting here a little early --"

"You're trying to save my husband from a madwoman," Lynn said. "Of course I don't mind."

"Where are the caterers?" Dad asked.

"Is this a business-related question or are you hungry?"

"Business-related. I'd like to see if maybe it could be one of their staff."

"Oh, Keith, we've been using Giacomo's for years," Lynn said. "I trust them."

"I'm sure you do," Dad said.

"But you don't."

"It's my job."

Lynn said, "Of course it is. And you wouldn't be doing it if you weren't checking everyone in the building."

"Thank you for understanding," Dad said.

"They're in the kitchen, some of them, and most of the rest are in the dining room."

"Thanks, Lynn."

"Anything else you need, let me know."

As she walked away, Dad turned to look at me. "I'll go check out the ones in the kitchen and dining room. You go ahead to see if you see any anywhere else, and if they match the description, let me know. Don't do anything."

"Confronting crazy murderers? Not on the agenda for today." I did enough of that last night, thanks to Drusilla, and please note, I knew it was possible she might be around tonight and was hoping like hell she'd found something else to do. "I see anyone, I'll keep right on going and find you."

And saying that, I first wandered around the outside of the mansion -- there were a couple of the catering staff still unloading supplies from a delivery van, but one was a man, and the other was what looked to be a natural redhead in her late '30s. I tried and failed to remember what Viola Kerrigan looked like, but I doubted this woman was her unless in addition to a convincing dye job she'd put on at least ten years and about forty pounds.

I did hear an interesting snippet of conversation.

"Tony," the woman said sternly. "Where are Nancy and the other van?"

"That genius cook you hired forgot the cans of sterno," he said. "So she --"

I lost track of the conversation after that, because my target clearly wasn't there; there was no one inside the van, for instance. But Nancy could certainly be Viola; don't think I hadn't caught the possible Kerrigan connection.

Still, this wasn't a mystery novel where such clever associations were common and almost guaranteed a connection; this was the real world. That didn't make it impossible, of course. I'd still tell Dad. If nothing else, it meant there was a catering employee not here we'd need to check into.

There were no other catering employees outside as I made my way around the mansion; I was about to go in through the back doors when a voice behind me said, "Veronica?"

I turned around. "Hello, Duncan," I said. "What are you doing here?"

He took the question the way it was intended: Curiosity. "Mostly," he said, "I'm here because of Logan's poker game. You?"

"Helping my Dad with some security matters," he said. "Aaron Echolls wanted someone to double-check things -- a lot of the Sunnydale elite are going to be here tonight."

"True," he said. "Good move on his part." He drew in a deep breath. "Veronica, look. I've been acting like a really big ass for the last few days."

"Yes, you have," I said.

He seemed a little upset. "I'm trying to apologize."

"And I appreciate it. Your apology, when it comes, will be accepted. But do you really want me to lie to you and say you haven't been assholish to me?"

Sighing, he said, "I suppose not. Look. Your Dad was doing his job. My Dad was trying to protect me, but that doesn't mean he should have tried to set up someone else. Something you might not know: I don't remember a lot of the time around Lilly's death. I have blackouts, occasionally."

I knew: Duncan had epilepsy. I didn't think I officially knew, though, not in this timeline. "And so your Dad assumed that you'd blacked out, killed your sister, and moved heaven and earth to deflect suspicion. You do realize that your father's efforts are what made my Dad suspicious in the first place, right? Yes, he was wrong. But."

"Yeah. But. I'm sorry, Veronica."

"Apology accepted," I said.

"You going to come in and play some poker with us?"

"In a few minutes, maybe. And as long as you're not starting with $1000 chips."

"We know how much you charge, Mars," came Logan's voice. "And it's obvious you don't spend it on clothes or makeup."

The tone was teasing; Logan had definitely moved off of psychotic jackassery. "No, I blow it all on expenses and daily living. But I wouldn't expect someone who can buy a Rolls out of petty cash to understand that."

Duncan nodded, and headed into the poolhouse. "You joining the game?"

"Off and on, if you'll have me," I said. "But I have to finish helping my Dad. I assume you know why we're actually here."

"Those threatening letters to my father," Logan said.

"Yeah. Well, I know you're not his biggest fan --"

"Understatement of the eon, Mars," he said. "I haven't quite reached the point of wanting him dead. Most of the time."

"Anyway, Dad and I know who the stalker is, just not what she looks like beyond mid-20's and dark hair."

"If I see anyone matching that description, I'll let you know." He nodded, "Until I can take your money, I bid you adieu."

I opened the back doors and went inside. This was the dining room; there was a bar set up at the far end. A couple of early-arriving guests were here, already. One member of the catering staff was dark-haired and in her '20s; she was tending the bar. I'd make a note of her to Dad, too, on the off chance he'd missed her.

A familiar voice near the bar said, "Give me a Coke."

I froze, then slowly took a couple of steps forward to identify the speaker. It couldn't be.

Of course it was.

Of course she'd be here. Where else would she be? Viola Kerrigan was, above all else, a scorned woman.

And who looks out for scorned women in the Buffyverse?

Three guesses.

The first two don't count.