"Miss Grandcastle, Giles tells me you want to serve the cake rather than have it presented in the packaging we discussed?" Grace had tracked down the bride to be and steered her to a secluded corner of the hall.

"Yes! Rodney suggested it and I thought it would be just so- so communal."

"Communal."

"Yes." Bridget Grandcastle fairly bubbled.

"You do realize that will disturb the planned schedule in the kitchen making it very difficult for the chef."

"Oh, will he mind do you think?"

Grace chewed the inside of her mouth raw, freezing the icy smile on her face. "Perhaps Rodney might be more amenable to the original plan if he was aware of that fact."

"Oh Rodney doesn't care." Bridget fanned the air with her hand. "He just wanted some input into our wedding."

"I think that is supposed to take place after the ceremony." Grace muttered, contemplating strangling her client.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, dear. Please speak to Rodney so chef has some sense of timing for the other courses. We wouldn't want the roast to be spoiled just so the cake can be served now would we." Grace was a bout to turn away and she paused. "Oh and by the way, your mother's dress. Could you please see that she selects her original design- and colour?"

"Oh sure. Mom doesn't care."

Grace stared at the young woman as she skipped away, an image of her Beretta intruding on her thoughts.

She went back to the kitchen and told Giles to package the cake and if the family complained she would take care of it. Next she asked for thirteen of the Napoleon cream tarts in a gift box; she would pick them up on her way out.

******

Lester had cream on his chin and the end of his nose. His eyes were closed and he was moaning as if in the throes of orgasm.

"Don't like them eh, Lester?" Grace chuckled at the scene.

"God these are to kill for, Grace." He wiped his face with a serviette and swallowed, tonguing the leftover from his teeth.

"I nearly did," she offered, with a disgusted look.

"Wedding planning not going well?"

"The planning's fine, it's the imbeciles I'm planning for."

"Speaking of which..."

"Another deadbeat?"

"This is a little different." Lester wiped his hands on the serviette and tossed it in the tart box. "You know about Earl Barkluster."

"Oh Lester, that wasn't you." Grace frowned.

"Not uh, directly."

She shifted in her chair and set her drink glass on the edge of his desk. "Not directly."

"Ah Grace. Christ. You know what I mean. He was into me big time and ignoring my calls."

"But killing?" She sat back. "And you didn't call me?"

"No, no. Well, yes but it wasn't intentional. At least it- oh shit. I gave the job to Mickey because he said he had a connection that could collect."

"Mickey!"

"I know, I know. My sister was after me to give him a chance. Let him show me he could handle a job." Lester massaged his face tiredly, and peeked at Grace between his fingers.

"So his connection did this?"

"Yes, a guy named Tabor. You know him?"

Grace's face pinched and she made a small moue. "I don't think so."

"Well, anyway I let Mickey handle it and it's all gone to rat shit."

"Didn't your nephew tell him just to administer a bashing?"

"Yeah, well this time he went beyond bashing."

"What did Mickey say? What was his excuse? This is not good, Lester. I don't need something like this to draw attention to me by association."

"You know me, Grace. I say stuff all the time. I said, whatever it takes but Christ, I didn't mean kill the guy. How many dead men pay their bills?" His look was mournful. "I'm really sorry, Grace. I had no idea-"

"What are you going to do about it?"

"I need to make sure nothing comes back to me. I need . . . closure."

"So . . . ?"

"Tabor did a runner after messing up on a hit on a witness."

"There was a witness!" Grace slapped her thighs and sat back giving Lester an incredulous stare.

"He won't matter. He knows nothing about me but he saw Tabor just before the murder and Tabor knew it. He was supposed to take care of him but he blew it and now he's gone. I was hoping you might . . ."

She linked her fingers and looked down at her lap for a moment. "You know that if he's found by the police he'll give up Mickey, who will involve you and they could find their way back to me."

"I would never-"

"You wouldn't have to, Lester, that idiot nephew of yours would probably sing like a frozen hydro wire."

Lester moaned and grasped his face between two meaty hands.

"Anybody else but you could pound sand over this, Lester."

He looked up, his face brightening. "I know, Grace and believe me if there was any other way-"

"I'll deal with Tabor for you but you need to impress upon Mickey that if he even dreams about any of this I'll do him in a heartbeat- unsolicited."

"Mickey won't be a problem." Lester panted with relief.

"Get everything your nephew knows about everyone involved and call me."

*************

"Whadda ya mean the insurance won't cover it? What the hell did I buy it for?"

"Sir, the car did not have any damage when you signed for it and now you have returned it with scratches on the passenger door and a series of small dents in the rear quarter panel, same side."

"So why doesn't the insurance cover it?"

"You signed for fifteen hundred dollars deductible. That means you pay the first fifteen hundred."

Tabor stared at the man, his eyes blinking as the rage grew in his chest.

"And just how much do these tiny bumps and scratches cost to fix?" The question was delivered in a flat, low monotone.

"Our body shop manager estimates a repair cost of seven hundred and eighty-four dollars, plus tax."

Tabor stood nodding as the man talked and when he was finished he demanded to see the body shop manager.

"Can I help you, sir? Reg Bond, manager." The square man fairly pranced through the door behind the counter and held out a stubby hand.

"Body shop manager?" Tabor said.

"That's right. What can I-" The blow was so swift, the rental agent could only gasp. Tabor clutched his fist, blood streaming between his fingers, and gritted his teeth as he watched the body shop manager double over the counter. The agent gaped dumbstruck and when Tabor turned to him he just squeaked and fled the room.

Tabor picked up the car keys and left the rental office taking the slightly dented and scratched car with him.

******

Des folded up Parker's blanket and placed it on the end of the loveseat then went back into the kitchen and put away the dishes he was drying.

"Quite domestic isn't it?" He smiled cheerily.

She grunted and wiped down the sink with a sponge.

"Sort of, 'Leave it to Beaver-'"

"Parker! You make one more comment like that and you are gone."

He blinked. "What did I say? I was talking abou- oooh. Ooooh, wow that was quick, Des. I should hire you as my writer."

She turned away, her face crimson with the realization that it was her mind and not his that went south.

Parker laughed as he hung up the tea towel and leaned his hands behind him on the counter. "It was funny, Des."

"Not to me." She wiped a hand under her nose and licked her lips.

They both stayed silent. Des breathing carefully through her nose and looking out the kitchen window. Parker studying his shoes.

"What's the plan for today?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are we just going to stay in your apartment and look at one another?"

"I don't have a plan. Actually I need to shop for groceries; I wasn't expecting a house guest."

"Can I come?"

She looked at him for a sign of sarcasm but saw only an open, honest face.

"I'll get changed and we can go to the market on West Avenue."

"Great! We can walk and talk and be just like a-"

"Don't say it, Parker. As a matter of fact, don't say anything."

"Fine, I'll use sign language . . . it's really handy."

Des stopped in her tracks and turned slowly around all set to rip a strip off of him but she was faced with the biggest, goofiest grin she ever saw and she started to laugh. "Sign language is handy . . . oh, god."

******

Grace hung up the phone, tapping her pen against her chin. Mickey, under threat of something worse than death, had volunteered the fact that Tabor was using a rental car. She set about the laborious task of calling a number of agencies, finally learning that there had been an assault at one and the customer then stole the car.

Description said Winston Tabor. With all the vehicle information and the times involved, she called one of her many sources and had data from the city's traffic cameras sent to her home computer system. It paid to have a reputation in two careers. The car was spotted in several views and Grace extrapolated a direction and possible destination.

A few selective calls turned up an attempted sale of the car but as it was a rental, the car lot operator threatened to call the police and the driver fled. Following up with the dealer, Grace learned the direction Tabor took and did a search for accommodation along the route. Several calls later she clenched a fist and jotted down the address of a questionable motel that had Tabor's car license on their register.

Satisfied she had his location, she packed her little bag, rode down to the garage and steered her car out into traffic, humming with self satisfaction. The trip would take about an hour or so, putting her at her destination around dinner time and she had already searched out some well reviewed eating spots.