CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Logan was interfering with her plan of a relaxing morning. Not him specifically, but her desire to talk to him coupled with the stubborn silence of her cell phone made taking it easy, not easy. Veronica checked the volume on the phone, which was fine and then went to her voice mails. She fell asleep listening to them last night and she listened to them again this morning. If she didn't know better, she might actually think she was pining for Logan Echolls. She pressed play.

His first message was flirty, "voicemail, huh? I'm going to pretend you're taking a shower and picture you naked, soapy, and wet." Veronica smiled.

The second was sweet, "this is Logan with today's inspirational message. "The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother. Henry Ward Beecher….I love you Veronica Mars."

"Isabelle? Charlotte? Skyler? No scratch that last one, I think I definitely maybe slept with a Skyler, and she was probably a bitch, but the other two should be okay…where are you Veronica?" Sweet, snarky, and concerned all in the same message; the man could certainly multitask.

His last messages were just concern reflected by an increasing level of panic: Fourth, "are you mad at me? Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it." Fifth, "God Veronica, are you okay? I know you can't call me back, fuck." Sixth, "Dick isn't picking up the phone either, did something happen to you?" Seventh, "I'm calling Dottie. I just need to know you're okay."

It was frustrating to not be able to call him and to have to wait. Regular mail and emails were the only contact she could initiate, but both were iffy. Regular mail could take days or weeks to reach him on the ship and sometimes it was delivered out of order. When she wrote, or sent him something, she numbered the outside of the envelopes so he would know which piece to open first. Emails were slightly better, but even those could be delayed by days if there were higher communication priorities. Veronica didn't want to think about the reasons for those higher priorities. There were lots of things she didn't want to think about right now, Logan's safety and her impending life sentence were on the top of the list.

She rolled over, plumped up the pillows and tried to find a comfortable position. It was useless. She was not made to be a lady of leisure, especially when there were lying witnesses to confront, bugs to listen to, and bad guys to track down. "Sorry baby, but mommy has to go to work."

Mommy. The word fell from her lips with ease, but the ramification of it pinned her to the spot. She was going to be someone's mother. They were going to be parents. How could something be so equally exciting and terrifying at the same time? It will be fine Veronica. You're already doing such a bang up job of it; arrested for murder, skipping meals, and now you can't even give yourself a few hours of much needed rest after a night in jail. She sighed. Relaxing was just stressing her out.

She went back to her voice mails, saved Logan's first three messages and deleted the panic filled others. Then she pressed play on the first message from the bug in Nico's office. It was four minutes of a one sided conversation and it picked up in the middle of his sentence, "…transfer come through?"

The bug had a decent range so it was doubtful that he was speaking to someone in the office. Her surmise was a telephone call. An unpleasant telephone call from the exasperated tone of Nico's voice, "I know, but it gets later and later each time." Exasperated slid into angry, "I don't care who he is." Angry then moved to threatening, "Maybe he needs a reminder that he isn't the boss and we're partners on this." He listened some more, "you do that." Bang. The slamming of the phone startled her. An unhappy Nico sounded like a dangerous Nico. Veronica didn't want to guess what kind of reminder he was planning, but she did want to know more about this partner.

The second message started with blaring trumpets and saxophones belting out Duke Ellington's, Take the 'A' Train. It disappeared with the closing of a door. Veronica wondered if it was the door troll coming into the office. Nico asked, "did you take care of it?"

"It's done." Not the troll, somebody new. "I got him a room at the Neptune Grand."

"Did you tell Petra?" Petra Landros, owner of the hotel- interesting.

"She knows to take care of him." Take care of him how?

"Is there something else?" Impatient. Obviously this was an underling and someone Nico wasn't interested in spending any more time with than necessary.

"Uh, no boss. I'll just go back to work." Piano and a pretty good singer doing Ella Fitzgerald's version of All the Things You Are. Some day my happy arms will hold you. Veronica could relate. Some day was under a hundred days, but still too far away. My God Veronica, you are pining.

She moved on to the next message. "Hey Nico, did you see the papers this morning?" It was the door troll and he was teasing him. "What did she say her name was, Rory?" Uh-oh, don't poke the bear, door troll.

The office was silent. Veronica was afraid the bug would shut itself off if they didn't say something soon. "Go find me Charlie Gallagher." She scrambled out of bed. If they found Mr. Misanthrope before she did, it would not be good.

The company Dick hired did an amazing job. Not only was everything pristine, all the damaged items were removed and replaced. It was back to pre-search warrant condition without missing a beat. She would like to be back to pre-search warrant condition just as easily. Too bad there wasn't a 1-800-FIX-IT, for life in general. Veronica found her things and got ready.

Since she was still avoiding the café with her favorite breakfast burritos, she stopped at the first place she could find with breakfast to go and ordered two unappetizing looking pancake wraps to eat on the way. They weren't too bad once you doused them in syrup, but by the time she got to Books and Beans she was sticky. Never too early to stock up on baby wipes. She licked her fingers and wiped them on her pant leg.

Charlie Gallagher wasn't hard to find. He was sitting on his stool behind the counter reading a book. When the door chimed, he glanced up and grimaced. "Veronica Mars."

Apparently, being charged with murder was going to severely limit the "undercover" part of her investigation. "You might want to head out of town for awhile."

"Why, are you planning to shoot me too?"

"I'm considering it." She leaned on the counter, "we don't have a lot of time, correction, you don't have a lot of time, so let's skip the how have you been part of our conversation. Why did you lie about seeing my car and who put you up to it?"

His eyelids twitched as he studied the glass door and the street beyond, "why don't I have a lot of time?

Veronica snapped her fingers, "focus here, this is important. Why did you lie?"

"I…I don't know what you're talking about. That car," he pointed through the window to Logan's BMW, "or one exactly like it was parked across the street the morning you offed your ex."

Offed Her Ex- not a bad headline, but it lacked pizzazz, maybe with some practice he could get a job with the Neptune Register. "Is that what you told the sheriff?"

"Of course I did. It was my civic responsibility and I had a moral obligation…"

"Excuse me, did you say moral? You are hardly a shining example of morality, mister I owe the mob five hundred grand in gambling debt."

"I haven't killed anyone." Touché, Mr. Misanthrope. His eyes zeroed in on her, "what did you do?"

"Why do people always ask me that?"

Charlie hit a button on the register and the cash drawer popped open. He scooped out the bills and slammed the drawer. "You need to leave now."

"But we were having such a nice chat."

"Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I did see that car. No one put me up to anything; now get out of my store." He shuffled her out the door, "oh and hey good luck at your trial."

He shut the door in her face, made a big show of locking it and then flipped the sign to closed. Veronica watched as he disappeared from view. Not wanting to be caught standing on the sidewalk when Nico's goons came to collect Charlie, she got back in her car.

It wasn't long before a black Toyota Corolla came flying out of the parking lot behind the store. Veronica considered following him, but abandoned the idea. It was hard enough to follow a person not looking for a tail; keeping up with someone watching over his shoulder would be fruitless. She made note of his license plate, but tracking him down later might prove to be a real problem. Unless she wanted to ask Nico, which part of the ocean he used for dumping bodies. No, her real problem with confronting Charlie was that she didn't think he was lying.

He stuck to his story. He wasn't evasive. He didn't embellish or contradict and he wasn't exactly unnerved by either her appearance or her questions. Veronica headed for the freeway. This time she didn't park across the street, but pulled into the lot reserved for both employees and customers.

The reception area was just a desk and two chairs in the front of a large open space akin to a warehouse or car dealership. Tables and desks littered with computers and audio/visual equipment filled up the rest of the space. There was a mix of people; some in business suits and ties, some in jeans and t-shirts and still others in the tan Smart Start uniforms. Lots of ringing phones, talking and a constant hum of activity generated a considerable amount of noise in the cavernous space.

A cute brunette, hair twisted into a bun and held up with a pencil through it, was staring at her. She gave her a wide smile, "may I help you?" The question came out hectic, but friendly and slightly confused as if Veronica was in the wrong place.

"I would like to speak with Jim Kincaid if he's available?"

"Sure thing hon, just have a seat." She answered four consecutive calls with, "Smart Start, please hold," and then buzzed an intercom on her desk, "Jimmy someone's up front for you." She went back to answering the steady stream of calls and Veronica felt a pang of jealousy; at least there was one business in the area that was actually, you know, busy.

James Kincaid didn't keep her waiting long. "Hi, how can I help you…" He waited for her to supply her name, which she did. "Veronica Mars? Any relation to Keith Mars?"

"He's my father."

Jimmy tapped his temple, "I'm good with names. It helps in this business. Are you here about the private investigator symposium?" A rueful smile twisted her mouth. "From your expression, I gather the answer is no? Why don't we speak in my office? Coffee?"

"No, thank you." She didn't want to impose on his hospitality. He ushered her into his office. It was not a space designed to impress or for show, it was a space for work. Jimmy cleaned the pile of paper from one of the chairs and dumped it on his already overflowing desk.

"Trust me; I know where everything is, mostly." He grinned. "How can I help you?"

"This is awkward. My father and I are both private investigators, but he didn't meet with you because of any symposium. I don't even know if there is such a thing as a convention of P.I.'s? I'm guessing there would be a lot of fedoras and sarcasm." Veronica shook her head, "anyway. My father was following you."

"Following me?" His shock was genuine. "Am I being, what do you kids call it, punked?"

Veronica smiled. "Yes that's what we kids call it and no you're not. A couple of weeks back a woman came into my office calling herself Marjorie Kincaid and claiming to be your wife. She said you were cheating on her and wanted me to get pictures of you in the act."

"This is about that check, isn't it?" He started flipping through the stack of papers closest to him. "The bank called me about it. They put the money back in my account, actually they had me open a whole new account, said they would investigate. Here it is." Whatever he found, he didn't hand it to her. He held on to it and sat back in his chair. "I can't say what I find more surprising, being followed by a private investigator, or someone accusing me of cheating. Are you married?"

"Not yet." Not yet? Where did that come from, Veronica? "Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious how your husband felt about you skulking around motels trying to catch people in the act. Poor bastard wouldn't stand a chance if he thought about cheating on you." He immediately looked chagrined, "I'm sorry; this is the point where my wife usually tells me to shut up. I hope I didn't offend you?"

Maybe if she thought Logan cheating on her was in the realm of possibility his words would bother her, but it was the one thing she'd always been certain of, Logan's faithfulness. "I'm not that easily offended, don't worry about it." She pulled the picture of Marjorie from her purse, held it back for a second or two, and then passed it across the desk to him. A little, I'll show you mine, now you show me yours, suggestive cue. "This is a picture of the woman who posed as your wife, do you recognize her?"

He studied the surveillance photo. "I can't say that I do, I'm sorry."

"Would you mind if I showed it to your employees?"

"Not at all. Most of them are here today, we're getting ready for a big show. It's pretty crazy, but if it will help." He shrugged. He looked at the picture one more time before handing it back to her. Then seemed to realize he was still holding on to whatever he'd found on his desk and handed that to her too. "The bank faxed that over. They called it check washing?"

Veronica was familiar with the practice. You stole an original check to someone else, covered up the actual signature and then using nail polish remover, paint thinner, or bleach you removed the name of the payee and the amount. Once the check dried you were able to make it payable to yourself for whatever amount you wanted. Or in this case make it payable to Mars Investigations for fifteen hundred dollars.

The fax from the bank was a copy of the original check. It was only for three hundred dollars and made payable to a Mr. Thrifty. "What is Mr. Thrifty?"

"Car rental place, we needed to transport this screen for a last minute presentation. I won't bore you with the details, but that's how much he charged us for two hours. Needless to say he wasn't very thrifty."

"Do you have their address and phone number?"

"Sure, just give me a minute." She gave him ten, but eventually he found their business card and handed it over. "Keep it; I won't be using him again."

Veronica thanked him for his time, reminded him that she was going to show Marjorie's picture to his staff, and left his office. All of the employees were just as friendly and accommodating as their boss, but like their boss not one of them recognized the picture of Marjorie Kincaid.

After striking out at Smart Start, Veronica decided to console herself with a good lunch. She picked up two roasted turkey sandwiches loaded with cranberry sauce, stuffing, and gravy on fresh baked ciabatta and headed for her dad's house. "Anybody home?"

"We're back here."

We're? The living room didn't look too bad and the kitchen was clean. Veronica regretfully put the sandwiches down and murmured to them, "don't worry I'm coming back for you."

She found her dad in her bedroom with Dottie. "Now I know why the house is clean. If it was up to Dad, it would've stayed in shambles until the next search warrant."

Keith smiled, "It wasn't so bad, it had a nice lived in feel."

"For Oscar the Grouch maybe."

He stood up and pulled her into a hug, "are you calling me a grouch?"

"No, I'm calling you a slob." Veronica looked around the room. It was all her stuff, not her California things, but her life in New York stuff. Everything was neatly organized. Her clothes were all folded in orderly stacks on the pullout sofa. Three towers of books, mostly from law school, were on the desk. Her remaining personal items were separated into piles on the floor. "My boxes."

Dottie stood up as she spoke, "they were all ripped open and tossed around the living room. We brought everything in here until we could get new boxes."

"You don't have to do that, I can get them, the boxes I mean. You've already done so much, too much."

"Please Veronica, it was nothing and your father has been wonderful company. He was just about to feed me lunch."

She gave a distracted wave in the general direction of the kitchen, "I brought sandwiches, they're all yours."

Keith rubbed his hands together, "turkey from Capriotti's I hope?"

"Is there any other kind?"

"You're in for a real treat Dottie, way better than anything I could have come up with." He let Dottie precede him from the room before turning back to Veronica, "are you coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute." As soon as they were gone, she went through her books until she found George Orwell's 1984. "Please be here, please be here." Still taped inside the back cover was an unopened letter from Logan written during their nine years of radio silence. She ripped it out and slipped it in her purse. Then she knelt on the floor in front of the mountain of personal papers and notebooks. It took her awhile, but she didn't find anything from Piz.

These were her boxes from New York. The boxes he shipped to her right before leaving for Neptune. There was no way he sent her all her things without so much as a note. Why didn't I think of this sooner? Like before Lamb tore apart my life? Whatever Piz sent her was either destroyed or tagged into evidence.

Veronica dug out her phone and called Norris on his cell. "So here's what I'm thinking."