Gunther Morse chewed a party pick as he listened to Peter's concerns. The pick had green cellophane curled about the end and Peter unwillingly followed its movements while trying to concentrate.

"Sounds to me like some jealous third party." He removed the pick while he spoke.

"Whatever. Do you think you can find out who it is?"

"It's what I do, Mr. Braxton, it's what I do." He opened his desk and took out a form, then unscrewed the top off an old fountain pen and smiled at Peter. "Full name, address, contact number. Name of other party involved and address for her . . . it is a her?"

"What? Of course it's a her." Peter rankled. "What did you think?"

"Didn't think anything, Mr. Braxton, just checkin'. Now I'll need the picture as well."

"Why, I told you what it showed . . . and I believe I mentioned it was a her at the time."

"No need to get prickly. I just like to be thorough. I use some sophisticated methods of finding what phone took the picture."

"How do you know it was a phone?"

"Commando shots like the one you describe are usually phone shots. Easier, quicker."

Peter sighed and said he would get the photo. "How long will this take?"

"Well, if I knew that it would be a treat wouldn't it?"

"Approximately, and how much do you charge?"

********

"Well that's enough, isn't it?" Della sipped her drink as she listened to Peter relate his visit with the investigator.

"It will be worth it if he's successful, Della."

"What do we do meanwhile?"

"Nothing! We do nothing. We discussed this. Just let's see what he finds out and we carry on as usual . . . not as usual but like normal - not normal . . ."

"I know what you mean, Peter. Do you think this is the right thing? What do we do when we find out?"

"A little late for second guessing. Depends who it is I suppose, I don't really know."

She ate the onion off the pick from her martini and stared at him. What could they do? What did this person want? What if it was his wife? Would she tell his boss?

"What's the matter? Why are you staring at me?"

"Sorry, I'm- I'm just worried."

He huffed and looked at his watch. "Time to get back, you go first."

Della took her purse and left the booth heading for the lounge door. Peter followed a moment later, catching a broad, leering wink from Jim as he did.

********

Gunther scanned the photo Peter supplied, uploaded it and then ran a Google reverse search for its likeness. As he suspected, it was a phone shot and it was resting in the cloud, minding its business. Gunther traced the URL through TinyEye back to the original site and the user.

"Ah, technology," he uttered gleefully. "If people only knew how vulnerable they made themselves."

He copied down the information then ran a search on the name, finding a Facebook page that was a goldmine of self adulation for one Anthony Renesto. Gunther laughed even louder, removing his pick before he injured himself, when he saw that Mr. Renesto worked for his client.

"Momma," he said aloud. "You would be proud of your son on days like this." He wrote down everything he needed to know then sat back and considered how much more he could or should do. At an hourly rate, this particular job was only lunch money at the moment. He needed to add some quality time to bump up the fee.

********

Harold sulked even more as he performed his mail duties. The idea of being on hold made being on hold all the more aggravating and his mood was sullen as a result. He delivered the mail robotically and when he arrived at Della's desk, she looked at him with what he interpreted as almost fear.

"Is something wrong, Miss Walker?"

"No. Why do you ask? Should there be?" Her voice shook.

This was not the Della Walker he was used to. Something had put a burr up her bottom. "You seem nervous that's all. Is it about what you asked me last week, about seeing someone near your desk?"

"I'm not nervous, do you have my mail"

"Right here." Harold gave it to her and watched as she fluttered through the envelopes, sagging and letting out a long breath. "Expecting bad news?"

"What? Why would you ask that?"

"You just looked worried about the mail."

"You keep saying I'm worried. I'm not worried."

Harold rapped his hands on the cart handle. "Guess we all have these moments, eh? Be nice if they were like snapshots and we could look at them and deal with them one at a time." His look seemed suspiciously smug.

Della stood, open-mouthed, following his departure then hurried around to Peter's office. Snapshots! She rushed in and shut the door, leaning against it and panting.

"What the- what in God's name are you doing?" Peter threw his pen down and rocked back in his chair.

"I'm sure it's Harold Pope!"

"What? The mail guy?" Wha-"

"He gave me the mail and asked if I was alright then he made specific comments about snapshots! It's him, I'm sure of it."

"Pope? What comments?"

"About taking snapshots of our worries! He's been trying to date me and he's been following me - Tony told me."

"Tony?"

She crouched on the edge of a chair in front of his desk and blurted out everything Tony had told her.

"It's him - it has to be!"

"Tony?"

"No! Pope. Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Well it came out pretty jumbled. So you think Pope took the picture?"

"Yes!"

"But if he hasn't done anything maybe we don't have to worry."

"Are you crazy? He could be planning anything. We have to do something. "

"We did, I hired a detective."

"We don't need a detective now, Peter, this could ruin both our careers . . . our lives! We need a solution."

********

Gunther listened on the phone carefully as Peter explained what happened. He had discovered who the culprit was, the man worked right there at his company, and that he practically admitted it to- the other party."

"Miss Walker." Gunther confirmed.

"I know who it is!"

"Well I found the guy who took the picture too, and he does work right on-"

"I know where he works, don't I! I just told you."

Peter was sounding irascible and Gunther thought, what the hell, he's the client.

"I'll still have to charge you-"

"Fine, charge me. We both now know who it was so the game has changed. So do you?"

"Do I what?" Gunther asked.

"Handle situations like this! You know . . . waste . . . removal?"

"Mr. Braxton, that's kind of extreme don't you think? Surely you could-"

"Yes or no!"

"Not personally but I can arrange for you to contact someone and it will be taken care of, but you must be sure you want to go down this path."

"Why can't you contact him?"

"In cases like this I'm strictly arms length, Mr. Braxton. So, are you still sure?

"I'm sure. Tell me what to do and how much it's going to cost."

********

"That's enough isn't it?" Della leaned against his desk listening to the decision they had made take root.

"If it puts an end to the worry and possibility of more threats it's worth it. God, I can't imagine what this could do to my position here . . . and at home."

"I'm in this too, Peter," Della spoke with growing annoyance. "I wouldn't get to just walk away you know."

"Of course, of course." He waved a hand. "Let's just see how this goes."

"Did he say when?"

"No. He's putting it in the hands of a contact I have to leave instructions for."

"You?"

"He doesn't get personally involved. I just leave a message with the bartender at the Parkhurst. He passes it on."

"They'll need to hire a new mail guy." She remarked absently.

"First things first, Della. Just carry on as usual . . . well, you know . . . until we hear it's over, and for God's sake don't let on to Pope".

Tony was standing by her desk when she returned and he gave her a sheepish look when she rolled her eyes..

"Still upset about the mother hen bit?"

"I have more important things on my mind."

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

She brushed past and sat down. "What you said about Harold . . . have uh, you heard any more? You know . . . about . . .?"

"Did he bother you?" Tony bristled.

"Not really . . . I just wondered."

"I'll set him straight if you like." He gleefully rubbed his hands. "You let me know if he bothers you again." He risked a comforting shoulder squeeze.

12,574 Word Total (Microsoft Word count)