CHAPTER SIX

Cara Murphy insisted that Piz wasn't filing installments of his story. He called occasionally to check-in, but the messages were your basic "I'm making progress," or, "the story is really coming together." She also had no idea where Piz was staying. The only thing she could confirm was that his initial interview for the job was two months ago and he'd taken two weeks to wrap up his New York life before coming to Neptune.

Veronica thanked her for her time and Cara gave the generic, "please do not hesitate to call me if you need anything else." Then she added a request that Veronica keep her up-to-date on the progress of the investigation because she really liked Piz and she was sorry about what happened to him. Her parting comment was that she didn't really think his murder had anything to do with the story and that maybe Veronica was better off looking for a more personal reason.

When Veronica pressed her on the 'more personal' reason, Cara suggested a new woman in his life. Her exact words were, "Piz seemed lonely when he first got here so our conversations often strayed beyond work. At first, he seemed pretty broken up about you, you and Logan, but in the last week or two he seemed happier. Like he was finally letting go and moving on, know what I mean?"

Veronica knew what she meant, but she didn't know how accurate it was. If Piz was really moving on with a new girlfriend why was he at her house trying to get her to move back to New York? Could this new girlfriend have found out about his visit to Veronica and his plans to ditch Neptune, and then killed him in a fit of jealous passion? Veronica was disconcerted to realize she had trouble imagining Piz inspiring that kind of passion in someone.

Her undeserved reputation in high school notwithstanding, Veronica's experience with the opposite sex was….limited. There were a few men at college and one or two more during law school before Piz, but if she thought about them, they were the same. It was almost like she knew they would be boring and safe before getting involved with them. They didn't challenge her and she was never fully herself around them. She was the edited version of Veronica. They were all men from the yellow cotton dress collection. All of them, except Logan. He was the strapless, red satin.

It wasn't just the chemistry, which sizzled between them whenever they were in the same zip code. There was also their shared history and their shared loss. It was the fact that they got each other. Knew all the flaws and imperfections, and all the beauty and potential too. They could be vulnerable and they could also hurt each other like no one else. There was no safe. It was walking off the edge of the world together.

Maybe it wasn't likely, but it was at least possible for someone to feel that passionate about Piz. Veronica just didn't share Cara's conviction that it wasn't about his story. She hummed a few bars of "if you knew Neptune, like I knew Neptune." If Piz found something he shouldn't, the fine upstanding citizens of Neptune were not above putting him out of their misery, or at least getting their attack dogs to do it.

The question now was where were his notes? The bag he was carrying when he came to the house was a wheelie suitcase small enough to fit in an overhead bin. It was not a suitcase for a six week stay in Neptune and there was no laptop case. If he didn't have it with him when he went to Wallace's apartment, then it wasn't part of the crime scene, which meant the Sheriff's Department didn't have it yet. It was either stashed some place or it was still wherever he'd been staying. Veronica made a note to ask Mac about tracing it. She knew it was possible with its IP address and service tag and some other wizard skills that she didn't possess.

Of course if there was a laptop and it did contain notes that implicated the shmuckity-schmucks of Neptune in some nefarious plot it was a safe bet the Sheriff's Department was expending a considerable amount of effort trying to find it. Luckily, while they had the manpower, they didn't necessarily have the brainpower to achieve said task and they certainly didn't have Mac.

Neptune was a beach town, a popular beach town. . Sun-seeking tourists always littered the streets and during spring break you could barely move through the hoards of the horny that descended en masse. This equaled many places to stay, ranging from the very cheap on the outskirts of Neptune proper e.g. The Camelot all the way to the very grand as in, the Neptune Grand.

If Piz was paying cash and trying to fly under the radar, the Neptune Grand and other luxury hotels would be bad choices. Those kinds of storied establishments liked their credit cards to pay for the essentials- in-room massages, fully stocked bars, Michelin star room service, and luxury bathrobes. Trying to pay in cash might indicate bad credit and that just wouldn't be tolerated by their ilk. No, Piz would've blended in better with the Camelots of the world.

Veronica made a detour to Ralphs before going to the office. Mac was engaged in her wizard magic when Veronica entered and she continued her rapid fire typing without looking up. A slight tilt of her head toward a vague spot on the desk was the only indication she even noticed Veronica's arrival. "The stuff you wanted on Books & Beans is there."

"You're ruining my grand entrance. I wanted noisemakers and streamers with party hats and cake."

"Your birthday was last month."

"Hey, now that you mention it, I didn't get those things then either."

"Next year, boss." Mac finished on the computer and turned around, "what's up?"

"What's up is your slacking at your Momentous Event Planner job."

"You mean my unpaid Momentous Event Planner job?"

"Aha, drum roll please." Veronica presented her with a check, "your very first Mars Investigation paycheck. I was going to have it framed, but then I thought the bank might frown on that, difficult to fit it under the teller window."

"Good call." Mac looked down at the check and then back at Veronica, "are you sure we can afford this? Did you win the lottery and forget to tell me?"

"Wasn't it on my calendar? Pick up dry cleaning, win lottery, buy shoes?"

Mac put the check away and passed Veronica a sheaf of papers. "Happy reading. Oh and your dad is here."

"Way to bury the lead." She took her grocery bag and paperwork into the office. "Hi, Dad."

"Just who I was hoping to see. What do you say to lunch at Luigi's? All the manicotti you can eat?"

Veronica pulled a jar of peanut butter from the bag and waved it at him. "I have all the essential lunch fixin's right here." Bread, jelly, sliced apples and a bottle of fruit juice landed on the desk next to the peanut butter.

"Not exactly what I had in mind."

"What did you have in mind?" She dragged a piece of apple through the peanut butter and popped it in her mouth before making them sandwiches.

"A little daddy, daughter conversation over cheap Italian food." He took the sandwich she offered, "but this is nice too."

They ate in silence. Veronica wasn't trying to make it hard for him, but she didn't know what to say so instead she made herself another sandwich. "Do you want one?"

"No, I'm good." Keith watched her, "How are you feeling? Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Eh, Dick snores- loudly, but he's not as bad as Wallace."

"You could always move back home."

This was the second man in her life to pose the same suggestion in the span of a week. "I think it's time for me to start looking for a place. Before he shipped out, Logan gave me the contact information for the Ombudsman on base. She should be able to point me in the right direction for off base housing. I just don't know- house or apartment? Rent or buy? Neptune or San Diego? Lots of pros and cons for each."

"I thought you wanted to wait until Logan got home?"

Veronica shrugged, "maybe my nesting instincts are kicking in early. You know me, always ahead of all the other kids in class."

A smile flit across his face and then the somber expression returned. "Veronica I'm sorry. One day, very soon, you are going to understand that worrying is part of the job description. I just want to make sure you're happy and safe. And safe? Safe, is pretty high up there on the list."

"I'm not a little girl anymore."

"You're my little girl."

"Wait, I think I've seen this movie, now we hug and play basketball, right? Cheaper By the Dozen? No, no, Father of the Bride. Either way that makes you Steve Martin."

"He wishes he were as handsome as me, look at this chiseled jaw and these prominent cheekbones."

Veronica crossed the room to him, "and that shiny head." She kissed the top of his head and he pulled her close in a one-arm hug. "How come I can never stay mad at you?"

"It's my charm."

"Must be." She returned the squeeze, "I love you."

"I love you too and you know I am always here for you."

"So did you come here just to mooch lunch off me or are you planning on earning your keep?"

"Just take it easy on me, remember I'm convalescing."

"Look at you using those big, fancy words." Veronica bumped his arm with her hip, and then leaned over the desk to get the stack of papers on Books & Beans. A quick scan of the top sheet told her that there was only one employee of the bookstore, the owner, Charles "Charlie" Gallagher. There were records from the California Department of Motor Vehicle, including a color printout of his driver's license and Mr. Misanthrope now had a name. She folded back the top pages so the picture was on top and passed the package to Keith. "Charlie owns and operates a bookstore cater-cornered to Wallace's apartment. He was there the morning of the shooting and…"

Stupid, stupid, stupid Veronica, he just told you he's worried about your safety and you start to ask him to look into the guy placing you at a crime scene?

"And?"

Veronica took the papers back from him, "and that is what the non-convalescing detective gets to investigate. You, on the other hand, get to look into Marjorie Kincaid, we'll call it the case of the bumbling bigamist, the bigamist's blunder, the bigamist and the blonde?"

Keith was frowning at her, either because he didn't believe her cover story, or because the jokes were bad. It was probably both. Veronica withdrew the Kincaid file from her bag and gave it to him. Then she settled down in the visitor's chair to read about Mr. Misanthrope. His financial records showed he was in bad shape. No savings, no investment accounts, plenty of credit card debt and the mortgage on the bookstore was underwater. Money, in the form of a bribe, would be a powerful motivator for good ole Charlie to be lying through his teeth.

If there was a payoff, he didn't deposit it anywhere. There were also no big, recent purchases he might have spent it on. No paid off loans. It didn't mean it wasn't stuffed in his mattress or that the payoff was only in the promise stage. Maybe he needed to tell the lie a few more times, to the Sheriff, to the press and then at her murder trial before he received the big bucks. Under that scenario, he was the donkey and the money was the carrot, but what was the stick?

She got up and stretched, "cracked the case yet?"

Keith shook his head, "your Marjorie Kincaid doesn't exist. I had Mac run her through every database she could think of and …"

"When did you have her do that?"

"When I got back from the convention center." Veronica noticed the file he was working through was considerably larger than the one she'd given him.

"So you were already working on it."

"This ain't my first day on the job, Blondie." He handed her a copy of the check made payable to Mars Investigations. "The name on the check is Marjorie Kincaid, but the account number is a corporate account that belongs to Smart Start and the signature on the check actually matches the signature on file at the bank. It's a good forgery."

The "signature" was really only a bunch of loops and swirls, which toward the end could read Kincaid, as in James Kincaid owner of Smart Start, but only if you squinted and tilted your head just right. "Forgery, I suppose that means you reported it to the bank?"

Keith nodded, "their fraud department is investigating and our checking balance is a little lower."

"Why go to all the trouble of printing a fake check and perfecting a forged signature to hire me to investigate a man, who because he is not your husband, is not cheating on you? It wasn't like she needed me to find him; she knew exactly where he was. What was her end game?"

"I don't know Veronica, but I don't like it."

"You'll figure it out." She collected the ever-growing pile of files on Piz's murder and shoved them in her bag for later reading. "Let me drive you home. I have a few questions for your roomie and I want to get some clothes."

"You can pick up some clothes, but Wallace went home today after work."

"He went back to school today?" Her BFF was apparently still mad at her. "Would you mind if Mac took you home? I really need to talk to Wallace. I promise I'll come by later with ice cream?"

"Go. I want to have a closer look at Smart Start anyway. But I expect whipped cream, hot fudge and cherries with my ice cream."

"But of course." Veronica stopped by Mac's desk to arrange a ride home for Keith and then left to confront Wallace. Too bad she didn't have time to bake him some snickerdoodles. When in doubt, bring baked goods. There was a slight chill to the air and she regretted not grabbing a sweater from the closet in her office. Dad's office, Veronica. They were going to have to do something about that soon, which meant talking to him about Logan's check. The check she already used part of to pay this month's rent and Mac's salary.

She made the drive to Wallace's apartment with the top up. That was something else she needed to buy, a new car. Preferably one that was safe and reliable with four doors, room for a car seat and not a convertible. The words "mini" and "van" flashed through her thoughts and she gave a small shudder. There were certain changes she was looking forward to and there were certain sacrifices she was willing to make, but a minivan wasn't one of them.

The stores were closed, including Books & Beans, and there was plenty of street parking. She grabbed her purse and let herself in the courtyard gate. It was a two-story building with four apartments on each floor. The pattern of one apartment on the left, one on the right, and two across the courtyard repeated itself on the second floor. The only difference being that ground floor tenants made use of the courtyard with lawn chairs and barbecues, while the second floor tenants had to enjoy the weather from the exterior concrete walkway and enviously watch their neighbors over the railings.

Veronica crossed the courtyard to Wallace's apartment and found him sitting outside in the shadows beyond reach of his porch light. "Whatcha doin'?"

There was a six-pack of beer between his feet. He reached down for two new bottles and passed one to Veronica. "They didn't clean."

Her fingers shook and the bottle slipped from her grasp. It landed on the grass with a dull thud. Veronica picked it up and slipped it back in the case before taking the chair next to Wallace. "Did you hire a company?"

"I didn't know I had to. I've never had anybody…no one has ever…the police don't…"

"Dad has someone you can use. We'll call them tomorrow and schedule an appointment. I'll call your landlord too, so he can let them in." Veronica glanced at the front door to the apartment. It was hard to think about never seeing Piz again. It was easier to put him out of her mind and focus on the case, focus on solving the puzzle. She remembered the first time she met him, my God- the hair, and all his stuff stolen by the 'welcome wagon.' Where are you from, Brigadoon? "I can't believe he's gone."

"Do you care?" Before she could respond, Wallace held out his hand. "I'm sorry V. I know you care. He was your friend and you loved him, I'm just…it's bad in there Veronica."

Images of the Kane's swimming pool and the blood and Lilly's body exploded through her memory. Another murder, another friend; she didn't know if she had it in her to go inside. Inside.

Veronica got up and examined the door. There didn't seem to be any tool marks on the locks, the door was solid and the jamb was intact. "Was the door locked when you left on Wednesday?"

"The bottom lock is automatic and I always lock the deadbolt when I leave."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive because I even remembered to leave my spare set on the coffee table so Piz would see them when he woke up."

"And this is the same door, right? Your landlord didn't replace it?" She asked the question even though the answer was obvious. It was the same faded, dull red as the other doors in the complex with the same wear and tear. This was not a new door.

Wallace didn't bother to answer her question instead asking one of his own, "what are you thinking Veronica?"

"If the door was locked and the locks weren't tampered with, which doesn't appear to be the case, and there are no broken windows?" She cast a hopeful glance at him and got the headshake she was expecting, "then how did they get inside? Did Piz let them in?"

"Why would he?"

There were really only two answers to that question, he wanted to or he had to. "Where was he shot?"

"In the kitchen."

Veronica took a deep breath and opened the front door. The coppery smell assailed her. She was pretty sure the pregnancy books didn't have a chapter entitled, your sense of smell at a crime scene. She marched through the apartment, avoiding the kitchen, and threw open all the windows before returning to Wallace. "Do you really need to do this V?"

"I'll be okay." The front door opened directly into the living room. Two windows overlooking the parking lot were across from her. To her right was a brown suede overstuffed sofa still covered with pillows and a blanket. Hanging on the wall opposite the sofa was a flat panel television. Since she'd been home, there were many movie nights with Wallace. A large bowl of popcorn between them and their feet propped on the coffee table as they quoted their way through their favorite films. Veronica didn't think she would be able to sit on the sofa again without thinking; this is where Piz spent the last night of his life.

She needed to get out of here. The kitchen was to the left off the living room. Before she could change her mind, she advanced on the kitchen and crossed through its open archway. Her steps faltered and she wrapped her arms around her body. There were bullet holes in the stainless steel fridge surrounded by blood and tissue. Her eyes dropped to the floor and the blood that had pooled along the base of the cabinets and dried there. Veronica turned away. It answered her question, but she needed the autopsy to be sure.