Michael arrived at the restaurant only a little later than he had planned. Osborne was there, sitting at a booth and facing the door. Though he could have been the assailant since he knew where they were meeting and when. Or perhaps Tommy Groves, after their run-in at lunch or because he had gotten wind of Michael's real reason for being here.

Osborne waved him over. "Michael! Great to see you again."

"Same here, Ross," said Michael as he sat down. "How's the Challenger?"

"In great shape. Waiting to hear the results. Not that there's much doubt in my mind."

"They didn't announce the winner the other day?"

"Nah, they wait until the day of the awards dinner, to see if they can raise more money for the charity. They're hoping to set a record again this year, raising more than last year."

"Who won last year?"

"Me," replied Osborne cheerfully.

"Seems a bit unfair to win two years in a row."

"Oh, different car." At Michael's look, he explained, "I rent and I'm single. No house, no wife, no kids. Gives me the money and the time to indulge my passion for classic cars. I currently own five, with the Challenger being the newest. And the only one not to have won me an award. Yet."

"I can barely handle the one car I have," said Michael wryly. "I can't imagine having five."

"Like I said, I have a passion for classic cars. And how are you finding White Ridge?"

"So far, about what I expected. Based on what I've heard."

"Hmm. Well, you might want to check this out." Osborne handed Michael a folded newspaper. "To learn a little more about our community."

Michael took the newspaper, which seemed a bit stiffer than newsprint should. But about right for some manila folders. The two men then chatted about cars while they ordered and ate their dinner. Michael left first, taking the newspaper with him.

When he was back in the motel room, Kitt called him on the commlink.

"Michael, I have run the two background checks you requested."

"And?"

"Ross Osborne is who he says he is: a single man with a love of cars. A hobby he has engaged in for over 15 years."

"Well before Tommy Groves and Summit were on the scene. So he's not likely taking kickbacks from them. And Summit?"

"Does not appear to be bankrolled by Tommy Groves's father. Or anyone else."

"But isn't bankrupt."

"Summit has money in their bank account. But as a small, privately-held company –"

"No public financial statements for you to check."

"Correct."

Michael paused, thinking things over. "Another name to add to your list of people to check out: Erika Courtney."

"Really?"

"She knows Ross and Tommy Groves. Works at Summit. And –"

"And you keep running into her."

"Yeah. That encounter at the restaurant could have been a set-up. And if she's working with Tommy –"

"Then she could have told him where to find you this evening. I will see what I can find out."

"Thanks, pal. For now, we wait until dark and then I check out Summit's offices. Perhaps we'll find something there."

Michael relaxed patiently on the motel bed, which was a bit more comfortable than he had expected. When it was dark, he went out and drove off, hoping anyone watching would assume he was out for a drive. Or perhaps a trip to a bar. He parked a short walk from Summit's offices. Like Siddall, the office was in a small strip mall with other offices.

"Okay, Kitt. Is there a security alarm?"

Kitt scanned the building. "Yes, though it is quite primitive. Shall I disable it or leave it for you?"

"Why should I have all the fun, pal?"

Kitt paused, then reported, "I have disabled the security system for you, Michael. It was really not a fair test of my abilities."

"Thanks," said Michael, patting Kitt's dashboard as he got out. "Keep an eye out for me."

"Of course, Michael."

Michael quietly snuck around the back of the strip mall to the back door to Summit's offices. He picked the lock and went in. It was similar to Siddall's offices: small with a couple of desks, filing cabinets, maps on the wall showing work sites, and a radio for calling them. There wasn't much in the way of paperwork on the desks, though.

Michael went over to the filing cabinets, which were, of course, locked. He put his flashlight in his mouth. Then he picked the lock (like the security system, it was easily bypassed) and starting thumbing through the files. Occasionally, he stopped to take a picture with his commlink.

"Michael?" Kitt whispered.

"Someone coming?"

"A police cruiser just drove by and slowed down as it passed me."

"Did they keep going?"

"Yes. But they appear to be on a path that will bring them by me again in 15 minutes."

"Then I'll be out of here in 10."

Michael closed the filing cabinets and relocked them. He turned off his flashlight and went out the back door, locking it behind him. He was driving off just as the police cruiser came by. But it didn't come after him.

"Kitt, did you remember to turn –"

"Of course, Michael," said Kitt, very affronted. "As soon as you were out of the building, in fact." He paused, then asked, "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"More like what I didn't find."

"Meaning?"

"Supply contracts, but not enough to cover all the work sites Summit has going. And almost no invoices."

"Then Summit is cutting corners."

Michael sighed. "Probably. Or hasn't been billed yet. Or has the contracts and invoices at one or more work sites. Or even at Tommy Groves's house. It's all circumstantial."

"By the way, I have finished my background check on Erika Courtney."

"Find anything?"

"No. She has no connection to Tommy Groves, other than living in the same town. They were in high school at the same time but don't appear to have dated then. Or since then."

"Mmm. So we're back to square one on this."

"It would seem so."