Here's another chapter. Hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 158.

I made a note of what Petey said as I thought about what kind of delivery they might be using the van's for. It didn't sound like it was fruit. I hoped Petey could find out, and would be finished with it in time for his job with Jess and Nina.

Was there another way I could help the sisters with their first catering job? Other than eating some of the food they served, that is. And being there to cheer them on. That would have to do.

It had already been a long day, and it was about to get longer. The one person I wasn't ready to talk to appeared in my doorway.

"House, why aren't you returning my calls? Have you forgotten that I'm the one who pays your salary?" Cuddy was on the warpath.

"Busy here." I didn't even bother to get up.

"It doesn't look to me like your are."

"Got a patient. I can't be bothered with your love life."

She glared at me. "I need to talk to Marcello about hospital board business, but he's not returning my calls."

"And you're telling me this because?"

"Because he'll talk to you. Please have him call me." She turned on her pointy heels and left.

I dismissed her request from my mind, especially because Chase showed up waving the patient's file.

"We did every test we could think of, even some that weren't appropriate. House, this one's got us all stumped."

I let out a melodramatic sigh. "Guess I'll have to do it." I grimaced at him as I rose and reached for the file. "Gimme." A scan of the pages inside confirmed what he'd told me. This patient was very healthy. His riding mower, too, was in tip-top shape. The grass he had been mowing hadn't been fertilized recently, either. There were absolutely no reasons for his symptoms.

Without a word, I marched out to the elevator and took it to the patient's floor. Taub sat next to the bed, chatting with the white-haired chap.

I had to look at the file for his name. "Mr. Stone, do you maintain your own equipment?"

"Sure do." His open mouth grin displayed a fine set of white teeth.

"What do you use to clean the cutting blades?"

Taub looked at me quizzically as Stone answered. "Cleaning fluid, a course."

I smiled. "Inside a garage, right?"

"Yup." He puffed out his chest in pride.

"Clean your hands afterwards?"

He nodded. "And wipe 'em with my rag."

"What else do you do with your rag?"

"What?"

"I think you're exposing yourself to too much of those fumes, Mr. Stone. You may be keeping yourself and your equipment in great shape except for what those chemicals are doing to you." I watched to see whether he understood what I was saying.

"So how else can I care for my equipment? I have a business to run!"

I knew he'd never give up either cutting grass or caring for his mower. "You can wear a mask when you clean and make sure to dispose of the rags you use. You can work outside, or install an industrial grade ventilator in your garage. Besides everything else, those fluids are flammable."

He nodded. "I guess I can do that." A grin spread across the bottom of his face. "I thought you was gonna tell me to quit."

"As long as you're hale and hearty, I don't see why you'd have to. But you want to stay that way, don't you?"

"Thanks, Doc."

It was so unusual for a patient to thank me, I didn't know how to respond. All I could say was, "You can thank me by following my advice. My team will get you up and running again by tomorrow morning." I turned and made a hasty exit.

For once I had a patient who wasn't connected in any way to the Molino mystery. But I was ready to get back to it. All the little threads were coming together, although the picture they formed wasn't at all what I originally thought. I was missing a few more pieces of the puzzle. Who was left for me to tap for information?

I spied Cuddy down the hall talking to one of the pulmonologists, and dashed down another corridor to avoid her. She'd only get after me again to talk to Marcello. I'd gotten all I could out of him the last time we chatted. On the other hand...

On the chance that Ricky was visiting Marisa again, I headed for her room instead of my office. Sure enough, he sat at her bedside, holding her hand. I nearly gagged at the way they were eying each other.

As the door slid open, they both looked my way. "Good afternoon, folks. Hope you're having a good day."

"Marisa was just telling me Dr. Wilson will be releasing her on Monday. Isn't that great news?" Ricky was beaming.

"Super." I kept the sarcasm out of my voice. "Uh, if you can tear yourself away from her for a minute, I'd like a word."

He glanced at Marisa, who nodded. "Sure. Marisa, I'll be right back." He followed me into the hall. "Can we do this here, or did you want to go someplace more private?"

Nurses and orderlies scurried by, intent on their work. I pointed to a bench and we both sat down.

"So? What's this about?" he asked.

"I know you said you had no idea why Molino has a vendetta against your family, but you also said you'd seen his wife at the car place. That you admired her from afar, but never really met her."

Ricky nodded.

"When you saw her, who was she with?"

"With? How should I know who they were. I assumed they were salesmen and customers. Certainly none of them were people I knew."

"Was that the only place you ever saw Francesca? Don't answer until you think about that a while." I sat back against the wall behind the bench and waited.

He scratched the side of his neck as he pondered. His eyes went wide and he smiled. "I saw her once at a restaurant. Bennet's maybe. She was with a few other people, again none I knew. Although..."

"Although what?"

"I was there with my grandfather. He seemed interested in them."

"So we're back to your grandfather, who hasn't been the most forthcoming person on the planet."

Ricky laughed. "He never is."

"What do you know about his relationship with Johnny Bertoli?"

"Bertoli?" He shrugged. "They've been friends forever."

"I know Bertoli was at your mother's funeral."

"Was he? I didn't notice anyone. That may have been one of the hardest days of my life, harder than my accident and the time right after it." He ran a hand through his hair.

"Have you had any dealings with Bertoli?"

He aimed his thumb at his chest. "Me? He's my grandfather's friend. I barely know the guy."

"Okay, getting back to the people who were with Francesca. Can you describe any of them?"

He looked down. When he picked up his head, he shook it. "Sorry. Just two men and one other woman. Wait. The woman was oriental, I think. The guys were just guys." He shrugged. "No, I couldn't describe them."

"And that was the only time you saw her besides the car place?"

"Yes. Why is she important?"

"She may be the key, but every time I pursue anything about her, it leads nowhere." I glanced around. "Go on back to your girlfriend."

"I wish she was."

"Don't you think so? Marisa likes you, you know," I teased.

"We'll see what happens once she's released from the hospital."

"Oh, I don't know whether anyone told you, but they're planning a welcome home party for her at the Black Keys next week. It's a surprise, so don't go blabbing to Marisa."

"A party." He grinned. "She'll love it." He stood and limped back to her room.

There was nothing else to do but tackle Tony. For his own safety and that of his family, he should want to cooperate. No, I had no authority to do anything, but if he had those last few pieces, maybe I could help them. And I'd solve the puzzle.

I went back to my office and found his number. The woman who answered was pleasant enough, said she'd give him the message, but he was out of the office and she didn't know when he'd return.

The call left me with a sense of dissatisfaction. I wasn't going to sit by the phone and wait, not when I could get in the car and drive to his office and wait there.

No matter how many times I visited Tony Locarno, I was always amazed at how elegant the interior of the building, and particularly his offices. They made his son and nephew's suite look shabby even though it wasn't.

The receptionist looked up as I walked through the double glass doors. "Dr. House, isn't it?"

"You remembered. How sweet."

"I did tell you that Mr. Locarno was out." She scowled at me.

"Yes, you did, but it was lonely waiting in my office for him to call back, so I thought I'd wait here instead. With you."

She frowned, then sighed. "Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee? I'm afraid you'll be here a while."

I plopped into one of the buttery leather armchairs. "Coffee would be peachy." I picked up a recent issue of Yachting Magazine and flipped through it. Photos of the rich and famous stared back at me, grinning and waving pastel colored drinks, against a background of blue sea and huge white boats.

The coffee was served in real china cups from a silver serving set. There was nothing accompanying it, though, not even those little cucumber sandwich triangles with the bread crust cut off.

I'd finished the entire pot before Locarno showed up. He wasn't alone. Lo and behold, my good friend Johnny Bertoli was with HIS good friend Tony Locarno.

"House!" Bertoli grinned at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, drinking coffee and reading about how the cruising rich of the world live."

The receptionist spoke up. "Dr. House was waiting to see Mr. Locarno. He didn't have an appointment."

Bertoli was still smiling, but Locarno stared at me. "You may as well come into my office."

We did an after-you-no-after-you shuffle through the inner door, then marched down to the end room off the corridor. Locarno's office occupied a corner of the building with a commanding view of one of the better parts of Princeton. Lots of green trees and a pond dominated the scene.

"What's this about?" Locarno demanded.

"Did you know Francesca Molino?" I still thought she was the key.

"I knew of her."

"Who were the people with her the day you and Ricky saw her at Bennet's? Your grandson says you were very interested in them."

There was a flicker of a response, but he quickly resumed his neutral expression. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do." He might not tell me, so I switched subjects. "What do you know about Peter Giordano's relationship with Carlo Molino?"

That time he couldn't hide his response. "I told you before, Giordano is a two-bit player. Not worth my attention. If he's associated with Molino, that's his problem."

"Problem?"

"Carlo Molino is a thug. Heavy-handed. A teppista." He spit it out. "We haven't been able to keep him out of New Jersey, but we have limited his operations here."

"We?"

Locarno looked at Bertoli, who answered. "Several of us are actively policing who does business where in the state. Trying to keep things as clean as possible."

"And the two of you head that group?"

They both nodded.