"Cut to the chase, Arthur, what's my position?" Grace tugged at the hem of her skirt and glared across the desk at her lawyer.

"Not good, Grace. My God, you broke the bride's nose and ruined a five thousand dollar gown two hours before the wedding." Arthur Pinchot stroked the side of his narrow head and blew out a long breath.

"I know what I did, Arthur. What I want to know is how to get out of it."
"Okay. Worst case you get charged with assault, sued for emotional distress, pain and suffering as well as financial compensation for the wedding . . . in all aspects." He tapped his pen on the desk in a chaotic rhythm. "That, my dear, would pretty much wipe out your portfolio."

"I'm still waiting to hear why I pay you big dollars, Arthur." Grace tapped her foot, stood up and paced in front of the desk.

"To answer the assault charge we could plead temporary insanity-"

"Insanity!"

"It's a defense called irresistible impulse. Due to ill conceived last minute changes and meddling in your creation of one of the city's high profile social events, the stress became too much and you just snapped . . . an irresistible impulse."

"That would work?"

"It has." He looked away and cleared his throat." As to the financial suit you should be prepared to compensate Grandcastle big time although not nearly as big as he will want. The same parameters from the assault charge apply here. They agreed upon the plans you originally presented at a quoted cost plus extenuating circumstance charges. Those extenuating circumstances added to your stress and mental anguish not to mention a threat to your personal reputation."

"How much is 'big time'?"

"You quoted them twelve thousand dollars for full service planning. On top of that the family spent approximately fifteen thousand for food, drink, cake and their included services. The reception hall, announcements, photographer, gowns, invitations, flowers, transportation, church, etal, you can add another fifteen."

"That's not bad. Forty-two thousand." Grace stopped pacing and held out her arms.

"That's the costs, Grace. They will sue you for hundreds of thousands for destroying their daughter's wedding day!"

She dropped her arms and closed her eyes. "I have a better solution for old man Grandcastle."

"Grace! Not another word. I cannot be a party to anything you say or do in your other career." He dropped his pen on the desk and stood, hoisting his pants and adjusting his jacket. He watched her turn and stroll to the window, hands on hips and fists clenched. "I would hazard a guess at about fifty thousand, Grace, plus of course my own stipend."

"Is that a good estimate, Arthur?"

"I believe it is yes. And I will do my utmost to keep it there or less."

She sighed and picked up her purse from his desk. "Very well, let's see what happens."

"Nothing rash, Grace." He cautioned as she closed the door gently behind her.

******

Mickey sat hunched in front of Lester's desk. After reporting on his activities and expounding on his theory about 'the guy' from Earl's club, Lester had begun a slowly building tirade toward his sister's nephew. It began with Mickey's confessed eavesdropping, moving through his bungled handling of Tabor, his incurring of Grace Purcell's wrath and his ineptitude in securing a manufacturer who made a decent cigar.

"I thought it was what you wanted me to do, Lester. You said you didn't want a connection to Earl."

Lester plodded around from behind his desk and sat on the front, has massive bottom noisily displacing several items. He folded his arms and considered the man he'd been coerced into using as an aide; he refused to call him his nephew..

"Mickey, you are absolutely right in saying that I didn't want a connection to Earl, however, what I meant was his murder. The police will have to be relatives of yours not to figure out from Earl's books that we had a connection."

"You're my relative, Lester."

The few seconds of eerie silence was smashed by Lester's growl that went from throaty to a high pitched squeal and Mickey actually covered his ears.

"Okay well I meant that . . . murder." Mickey cowered in the chair. "There has to be some reason he's still seeing the cops."

"Well until we hear different you just stay away from him and the dame AND the police. Got it?"

Mickey nodded and reseated himself with a little more dignity. He'd get the story from Donny tonight and then Lester could suck up an apology and a great good goddamn thank you.

******

When the phone rang and it was Detective Holt again, Des began to get an uneasy feeling of being stalked. She knew by instinct that he was interested. He hadn't said anything but she knew and the barrage of calls only supported her feeling.

"Did you want Parker, Detective? It was he who made the initial report."

Holt made a circle with his mouth then sucked his lip. "Sure, I can tell him."

"Just a minute, please."

Des beckoned Parker to the phone, covering the mouthpiece. "It's your policeman friend." She handed him the phone and left the kitchen.

Parker watched her as he answered. "Detective."

"Yeah uh, we had a break in the Tabor case and I thought you might want a heads up."

"That doesn't sound very encouraging."

"The forensic people found a hidden camera system in the motel where Tabor was killed. Each room was bugged and in a false cupboard in the owner's office was a digital recorder."

"Shades of Psycho."

Holt laughed. "Yeah, you could say. The best part is, we got Tabor's killer on a recording . . . it was a woman."

"A woman! Let me guess, a jealous wife or girlfriend."

"Nope."

Parker waited but there was just silence. "Oh, I get three guesses, eh?"

"Two left."

"A disillusioned hooker?"

"One more."

"Had to be a mistress . . .just to break the monogamy."

There was a sharp snort and a lot of coughing and Parker held the phone away from his face, shrugging at Des. "You still there, Detective?"

"Just to- to break the man- monogamy. Christ, Nevens, where do you get those."

"Yeah, well for my next number . . ."

"Okay. Okay. The woman-" Holt snickered again. "We have managed to trace her movements prior to the killing from a hotel in Garberville. The Gerrard."

"Yeah? That's impressive."

"We do have good days, Mr. Nevens. Anyway she apparently spent the night there with one Howard Pitt, owner of a local dining room."

"This is all really interesting Detective but why are you telling me and why do I need a heads up?"

"Because we have no idea where she went from there nor do we know if her work was done." He left the inference hanging like wash on a windless day.

"Didn't the camera get her picture?"

"Only from the rear. It was her car we tried to back trace but it isn't on our vehicle system anywhere."

"No license?"

"A vanity plate that said, I DO. No record of it anywhere."

"Colour? Make? Anything?" Parker shifted the phone to his other ear. "What about the hotel, no cameras there?"

"You an investigator now? No, no cameras and it was black or dark blue, last year's model Caddy."

"Let me get this straight. You are calling because you think maybe this dame is possibly looking for me- us?"

"Yep."

"And you have no idea who or where she is?"

"Nope."

The Ps in his answers popped noisily. "Right. Thanks, Gary Cooper." Parker hung up and leaned on the counter by the door. "You heard that I guess."

"I heard your part." Des was sitting with her knees up wrapped by her arms.

He joined her on the loveseat and told her Holt's news and his warning, finishing with a mini tirade against the Gods of fortune.

"I can't do this again."

"Good thing I brought my bag, eh."

The look said it all.

"Listen, Des. Don't even give it a thought. Answer that letter you got and move on. Hell, I'll go with you if you want. Who knows, maybe they need an opening act." He gave her a wide grin and a light push on the arm. "When is it?"

"Saturday, that's only two days." She banged her head on her knees, groaning.

"C'mon, Des, life's short. You gotta live each day like it's your last; one day you'll be right."

"Parker! "