"I want you there before 9am, Ziva," Gibbs barked down the phone as he swerved around yet another senior citizen that hadn't looked both way before stepping out. "Help interview this book club and start following up some leads McGee and I are forming."

"Yes Gibbs, me and Tony will be there 9am sharp."

"But that involves getting up at like 4am." Gibbs could hear Tony wine in the distance of the squad room.

"And start pulling up more of his career for us. Rule out any old enemies he could have made. Get Abby to look into the samples we sent over and Ducky onto the crime scene photos; we're trying to arrange the admiral's body to be sent back to you guys, but it might be a wonder for him to come down here." With that he clipped the phone shut and looked at the GPS. Beside him, McGee had his head in the files again, which had since been added to after seeing the room.

As the report stated, there was no sign of a break in and it was heavily suggested by the two cups of coffee on the counter top that he had known and let in his killer. There was a suggestion it was premeditated since the assailant had not touched their cup to leave any finger prints for them to collect, let alone even taking a single sip. The blood stain on the carpet continued the coroner's report that it was a strong, single blow to the back with the knife that had killed him. The murder weapon was still missing.

Skidding round a corner, Gibbs flung the car into the motel parking lot and was heavily relieved to see an old fashioned dinner across the street which promised coffee and a half average meal from dusk till dawn for them.

"Stay here. I'm going to go meet this Craig," Gibbs instructed as he got out the car, slamming his door shut behind him.

Craig Huston was the motel owner and, as pre-warned by the sheriff, another member of the infamous book club. The man was in his early sixties, destined for his retirement to be the same day written on his death certificate due to some poor financial decisions in his youth. Hair short and grey and skin paler than snow, his full sleeve of tattoos up both arms stood out more.

Entering the reception room, which was no bigger than 6ft by 6ft, Gibbs found Craig head deep in a 500 paged fiction book, too engrossed in the book to notice his arrival. The agent sighed, noticing the small bell on the counter top and giving a single ding.

Craig shuddered with the surprise, slamming his book downwards on the counter. His blue eyes held the tiniest flash of annoyance, before softening, his face breaking out in a grin.

"Oh hello there, Sir. So sorry not to of noticed you there. Um," he shuffled off his stool, standing to be a fair bit shorter than Gibbs. He placed a bookmark neatly in place and closed the book. "How can I help? Do we have a booking?"

"Sheriff Docks arranged a room for me and my partner."

Craig looked up from the clipboard he'd been rustling with. "NCIS agents?"

Gibbs let a soft smile spread on his lips, firm eyes keeping a fixed gaze. "Yah." He said.

"Poor thing that happened to Smuggler… I've started locking my door again, horrible… Let me grab your key." Gibbs watched the man trudge over to the key cabinet.

"Your book any good"

"Sorry?"

"The book," he nodded towards the paperback. "Any good?"

"Oh," he handed over the two keys. "The Damned – great little thriller. Probably bore you though, you live this stuff."

"Uh huh." Gibbs murmured his reply, wondering how often those fictional detectives had to spend pulling their team mates off each other when they acted like grown toddlers.

Thanking him, Gibbs left the little reception room and strolled his way back to the car. The three occupants of the book club they'd met so far were definitely a mixed bag as the sheriff had put. Caroline an aged Southern-charm, Willow a shy youth and Craig a dusty motel manager.

And some of them could be a murderer.

Returning to the car, he noticed McGee stood waiting, their few bags already out of the car. His nose was back in the book he was reading.

"Didn't I say wait in the car?"

"You said stay here. Not explicitly stay in the car," was the mildly confused response, which earned him a glare. Sweeping by, Gibbs took both sets of over night bags in his hands and wondered in the direction of the room, leaving his Probie behind to softly follow after.

There was only seven rooms at the motel, which seemed to be one of two places to stay in Bluffridge. C-Motel – a name as imaginative as its appearance – was the lesser of the two places, with the small family-run B&B half way across town the more popular choice. Flinging the bags next to him, Gibbs put the key in the lock and pushed the door open with absolutely no grace; a lack of caffeine was beginning to set in.

The room was simplistic; maroon carpet with dust yellow curtains. A desk so small, a baby wouldn't have space to work. The most decent or recently refurbished thing was the bathroom, which bestowed white and blue tiles.

Then, there was the bed.

"Boss, you told the sheriff we needed a twin room right?"

Gibbs needed coffee.

"I told you, it was an honest mistake," Craig grumbled into the phone, watching the two agents through the blinds as they wondered across the road to the dinner.

"I don't care," Caroline drawled with excitement across the phone. "This is just brilliant. Willow!" She called out into her house. "Honestly Craig, do you see it?"

"The younger seems to be like a puppy with him," the man mused, popping open a bottle of soda.

"Uh, aren't young ones just when they datin' an elder. Willow! Come here."

"He did go get the bags," he continued, half ignore Caroline's cried on the phone. "Seemed In a hurry to get to the room."

"In a hurry! To get to the room? That has ONE bed? WILLOW! I need that writing thingy."

"Aren't you fantasising here doll?"

"Isn't the subtext there?" Craig watched them enter the dinner, the elder agent holding the door as the young trudged after, papers and books in his hands.

"I mean," he gurgled his words as he drank and paused. "Nope, I need a bit more."

"You're the motel manager, Craig. You've seen enough over the years; I'm sure you'll see some more here."

McGee watched his boss read through their notes from the victim's house. They had an hour to kill before needing to meet the sheriff at the station and go over their initial repots with all the officers involved and Gibbs had full intended that time to involve coffee.

Tim wasn't sure what was going on through his boss' head today; a long night of crafting his boat to an early drive to the outskirts to be neatly wrapped with an interesting bundle of suspects and a single bed motel room.

Which brought Tim to a sense of nerves. The only other option was for someone to take the the car or the bathtub and Gibbs was not to allow it to be his agent and was too old for those joints himself.

"Did Tony or Ziva send anything?" Gibbs asked, breaking his agents training of thought. He didn't look up form the files.

"Uh," McGee fumbled with his phone. "Nothing out of ordinary in his career. 25years in service and left in retirement. Moved out here a year after retirement."

"Tell them to keep looking; although I agree with Sheriff Decks' theory of its someone he knew from the book club."

"Think he disliked someone else's suggestion?"

"You ever been in a book club?" Gibbs asked, finally looking up. It was less or a question and more of a fact; his nerdish Probie had to of been in a book club at some stage of his life. Nonetheless, he phrased it as such.

"Back in middle-school and first year of college."

"And?"

His agent shrugged. "And its what it says it is. You pick a book, you have a set period to read it – usually a week – and then you meet up and discuss the book. Likes, dislikes, narrative, characters, plots and all that."

"Not exactly a hobby that you'd suspect leading to murder."

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