The report, Kevin Turnbull read did not make him happy. The past three years had not been happy times. Find and end the activities of the mysterious killer or contemplate a career somewhere in Alaska, had been the directive from on high.

When his investigator zeroed in on a suspect, Kevin was ready to pop champagne but after several months of seemingly useless undercover work, he was ready to pop his investigator.

The young man working in the mail room of a large manufacturing firm did not stir Kevin's personal probative juices. He absently drummed the William Tell Overture on his desk with his fingers, staring out at the cloud formations drifting past his window.

This cocktail party, described in the report, was presented as a golden opportunity for his investigator to confirm his theory and assemble some key, missing facts. Kevin finished the overture with a slap on the file and a request to his secretary to get his man on the phone.

********

The Betts' rooftop garden glittered under the glass canopy from reflections off a myriad of jewellery and gown ensembles adorning wives and the fashion model hostesses. The traditional tuxedos worn by most of the men came off as drab and almost dowdy by comparison. That was, with the exception of Tony Renesto.

"Hiram, may I present Anthony Renesto, our star salesman who so ably represented our products to your company." Peter's eyes swept over Della as he made the introduction. An envious bug crept into his thoughts.

"A genuine pleasure, sir." Tony shook hands briefly.

"You should be proud, Peter. Your man here breached a formidable group of our buyers and convinced them that we needed your products."

"We can only be grateful for the acknowledgement," Peter oozed diplomatically.

Tony preened.

"And this lovely lady with you, Mr. Renesto?"

"Aah, Della Walker, Mr. Yoshie. Della is the mother hen who masterfully tends our managerial flock. The pinch on the inside of his arm nearly brought him to his knees.

"Charmed, Miss Walker." Hiram's eyes devoured her with an intense scrutiny. "Your gown struggles to compete with your beauty."

An awkward silence followed the remark, and startled glances were covered as feet shuffled and champagne was tasted.

"And you, Anthony," Hiram continued. "I don't think I've ever seen that particular shade in a tuxedo . . . I would call it, beet coloured?"

Tony clenched his teeth and smiled, thankfully stepping aside as more of the company managers arrived for introductions.

"Mother hen!" Della hissed.

Obviously his credits had been completely disregarded and he chose to respond with a complaint about her crippling pinch.

"You're just damn lucky it was your arm. Peter's wife certainly doesn't need to hear that I mother hen the managers."

"It was intended as a compliment." He said weakly.

"You must have horseshoes with your sales pitches if that's your idea of a compliment. I need a real drink."

"There's a bar over there."

Della stared at him until he bounced up and down then sped away to get her a drink.

"This was an extremely thoughtful thing to do, Hiram. I had no idea you extended your generosity to our entire company. I'm quite in awe." Peter fawned over his client.

"The Kirkland line of accessories were precisely what was needed to compliment our spring fashions and Betts is always willing to reward excellent service."

"Thank you, I hope we can continue to do that for your future creations."

Hiram turned and whispered something to the mannequin-like model serving as his escort and she left immediately. Moments later a small combo began playing music and the guests were encouraged to dance.

Peter frowned in disappointment; the king had subtly dismissed his court

********

Down at the fashion floor venue Harold accepted the teasing from several employees who had hauled him into their conversations, then he detached himself, getting a drink and drifting to a quiet corner to observe the crowd. The women all looked dazzling and the models gliding from group to group with fixed smiles and wide eyes helped them to feel that way. The men had swivel heads and eyes that bounced around like Pachinko balls trying to see all of them.

He quartered the room and began a careful scan of all the Betts models, looking for his described target but there was such a similarity among them he found it difficult, and after several exasperating minutes, decided to try a more personal approach.

His engine stalled in the middle of speaking with a third attempt; over the girl's shoulder, against the far wall he saw Bill Staines talking with some of the men. He hastily apologized and headed carefully to the exit. This was what he feared. He now believed he was under suspicion and was being followed.

In the lobby, several models were still welcoming latecomers and two surrounded Harold, concerned as to why he was leaving. Thin, smooth arms locked with his and he was steered toward a large conversation area.

"Ah, it's- something personal has come up and I'm afraid I have to miss this wonderful party." His protest failed as they flanked him on a plush leather lounge seat, wanting to know all about it.

"Really, ladies, I have to go."

"Mr. Yoshie would be very displeased with us if we allowed his invited guests to rush off early." The voice sounded a tad too cutsie but the pressure from the hands prevented him from standing.

"What's your name?' The other asked.

"Smith. Archie Smith, now I real-"

"Archie! I love that name. I read all those comics he was in."

"Swell, now if-"

"I'm Mona and she's Cara."

Harold gaped at the girl beside him. Cara! His target! He studied her face more carefully and asked himself how this young girl could get involved with some old married man and then try to blackmail him.

"So what do you do at Kirkland, Archie?" Mona asked, wiggling a finger in his side.

"Huh? Uh- I'm in production. The production apartment- department."

"Ho, ho what were you thinking just then, Archie?" Both girls giggled.

"Nothing. Listen- look, I really have to leave. I hate doing it after meeting such lovely ladies as yourselves but I must go."

Harold instinctively slouched down suddenly and the girls thought he had changed his mind and was ready to have some fun but it was the sight of Bill Staines wandering into the lobby and gazing about.

"Okay, look. I need a favour." Harold whispered from beneath a screen of long, I'm worth it, hair. "I do have to leave but there's a man over there - don't look!" He pulled them both closer. "Mona, would you be a peach and distract him long enough for Cara here to sneak me out? It really is important, and don't let on that you know about me at all?"

"What's it all about, Archie?"

"Cara laughed "That's Alfie, silly."

Harold stared, wondering just how old she was.

"Am I going to miss all the fun?" Mona complained.

"No, not at all. He is a lot more fun than me, trust me. And he doesn't have to go anywhere."

The next few minutes were spent cautiously sneaking down a hallway to another exit leaving Mona to spin her magic on Bill. Outside, Harold hailed a cab while holding on to Cara's arm.

"Hey, it's chilly out here. I have to get back."

A cab pulled to the curb. "No, you have to come with me." He opened the door and pushed her inside.

"Wait a minute! What's going on?"

"Hey, I don't want trouble in my cab, fella."

"No trouble. Lover's spat." He gave the driver an address and then wrestled Cara into a submissive pout.

********

Cara sat slumped, arms crossed and a hurt look on her tear streaked face. Harold had spent some time explaining that what she was doing had set some serious wheels in motion but that she might still have an opportunity to get out of trouble without harm.

She had objected noisily at first, saying the old bugger deserved being threatened. He had used her and made empty promises he had no intention of ever keeping. After hearing Harold's explanation she had changed from anger to doubt to fear and finally to the frightened young girl she was now.

"I'll make some calls and see if I can sort this out but you're gonna have to do your part too . . . and convincingly."

She looked away but nodded, defeated.

Harold opened his laptop and went to the chat site where he left a message for telephone contact then he closed it and got himself some water.

"You want any?"

She shook her head. "How long do I have to stay here?"

"Until this is sorted, one way or another." He hadn't told her that other way, hoping he could fix things. Harold didn't like killing women and never children and he hoped upon hope he wouldn't have to kill this girl. It wasn't that he couldn't refuse jobs, but it cast doubt over the reliability he had built up for so long.

A couple of hours passed and the telephone rang.

8365 Word Total (Microsoft Word count)