Ray smiled as Irene brought his breakfast to the table but received nothing in return.

"Good morning to you too."

"Not really." She hesitated and then sagged slightly as she offered an apology.

"Problems?"

"More of the same only worse." She started to leave but he grabbed her arm. "Hey, Irene. I know I'm really a stranger to you but I do listen well and maybe I can even help somehow."

"It's nice of you to offer but this is not something a stranger can help with."

"Don't be too sure."

"Thanks anyway, Ray."

"Let me take you to lunch and we can talk about it... please?"

His genuine concern felt comforting and the offer was well intended but what could be gained by including him in her problems? He asked again and his expression was so touching, she agreed with teary eyes.

He chewed his toast and thought about her dilemma. There was no way that Elwood should be able to get away with what he'd forced on her and he was certain there was something he could do about that but she would have to agree. His mind wandered to Duffy and the newspaperman's enthusiasm over digging around for a story on drugs. Somehow he had arrived in the Bay a stranger and was now deeply involved in so many of the resident's lives. Ray wasn't as comfortable with that as he might be.

When lunch rolled around his calls to Duffy hadn't been answered and his mind, after insisting she talk, was not completely on Irene's problems as she spilled her story to him over lunch at the Lazy Daffodil. Twyla came out from the kitchen to meet the cook from the hotel and compliment her on a splendid menu; it wasn't quite the home cooking she herself provided but it was wholesome nonetheless. Irene thanked her and accepted an invitation to come by any time and pick up tips on preparation.

"New friends, new opportunities." Ray observed.

"Is that what this is," she wiggled a finger between them, "a new opportunity?"

He studied her face to see just what the remark meant, knowing that the younger woman had definitely stirred his own feelings.

"One can hope." She blushed. "It sounds like you've kind of sealed your fate as far as the bank loan goes," he said quickly, returning to her problem. "It isn't something he'd press charges over is it?"

"Woody? Not a chance. His image is so important to him, any suggestion of scandal would have him hightailing it into the hills."

"Really? That's interesting."

"What are you thinking? I don't want any new problems, Ray. I have enough."

Mildred served the lunch plates with her trademark choreography, fussing with napkins and water glasses before waltzing away to another table. They started eating, delaying the next step in the debate.

"This is the greatest quiche I've ever tasted." He forked another chunk into his mouth and chewed with visible ecstasy. "How's the sandwich?"

"Delicious. Twyla has a knack for just the right amount of filling for the size of the bread." Irene glanced across at him and saw that he was grinning ear to ear. "What?"

"Have you ever heard such phony conversation?" She blushed again and her eyes dropped to her plate. "Look, Irene... I'd - I want to tell you something I've been thinking about. Some of it is fact and some is speculation but it hangs together and I think it needs further investigation. It has a side effect where you're concerned and that's why I found your story interesting."

She stopped chewing and stared at him. "What side effect?"
"Let me tell it from the start." For the rest of the lunch Ray explained his theory and his findings to Irene, taking time to acknowledge the parts that were pure speculation but insisting that they worked as a whole. When he finished she still had her half eaten sandwich clenched between her fingers. "Your sandwich is getting cold."

"Huh? Oh- huh." She nibbled a piece off but continued to stare at him.

"You think it's too far out?"

"I'm- I'm not sure what to think... Woody? Drugs?"

"Well I don't know if he's into them personally but I do believe he's acting as a cut-out for Stella and Oliver." Ray waited a beat. "That's how I think I can solve your problem."

"You mean blackmail, Woody." She put down the sandwich and wiped her mouth. "No thanks."

"Not for any gain, just to get you off the hook... well, I suppose that's a gain, isn't it?"

"I don't want you saying anything to Woody. Besides if he's implicated in the whole mess- sorry- I meant..."

"It's okay. Adelaide's murder was a mess, and yes, he could be, but that has nothing to do with your bank loan."

She shook her head firmly and they silently for a minute. "How can you resolve this? Are you going to Captain Smithy?" The topic of Woody was dropped and her sandwich became interesting again as she took another bite.

"I can't prove a thing against any of them. All I could do would be to poke a stick in the nest and stir things up. If it didn't work I could be the one on the short end."

"Do you think Duffy will get your proof?"

Mildred came by and her face fell when she saw the half eaten lunches. She clasped her hands in front of her bosom and almost cried.

"You don't like the food?"

"We do! Oh it's just that we had a lot of business to discuss and ..."

"Twyla will be crushed."

"Please, Mildred," Irene tried. "It's excellent, it's just that we got distracted with our conversation."

Her hands fluttered in time with her eyelids and with one hand pressed to her bosom and the other backing onto her forehead, she tilted away dramatically.

"You can expect the other one to be out here shortly." Ray shook his head and quickly dug into the remainder of his quiche. Chewing rapidly, he answered her question. "Duffy worries me actually. He's like a kid playing spy games. As for his success..." He shrugged his shoulders and picked up his coffee. "Here she comes."

Duffy leaned back and laughed with the other drivers. They were guzzling coffee and sharing stories about various passengers and their antics. Duffy contributed a few of his own from interviews he tried to get. The space was dusty and decorated with bosomy young women on old, curling calendars. Some were decorated with fanciful comments and graphic inclusions. The group was enjoying the off time and in a congenial mood until the cruiser pulled up to the front of the cabstand. Two of the drivers got up and left Duffy and two others at the table.

Garth Williams stepped out of the car and pushed his sunglasses up onto his hair and did a three hundred and sixty degree scan before shutting the door and sauntering inside. He stopped when he saw Duffy sitting at the table and his face darkened.

"Hey, Garth, " Duffy sang out. "Policin' the fare boxes today?"

"What 're you doin' up here?"

"Looking for news, things are getting awful slow in the Bay these days."

Garth's face hardened and the dark look deepened. "Where's Stiff and Louie?"

"Out back," one of the cabbies answered, thumbing the way. Garth strode through the office and out to the garage. "Sour bugger."

"What's he want with those guys?" Duffy asked. The two drivers traded guilty looks and feigned ignorance. "Licenses out of date?" He tried casually.

"Be better if that's all it was," one of the men muttered.

"Hey, Christ's sake, Harry!" The other snapped and shot a look toward the garage.

"Duffy wouldn't say nothing."

"About what?" Duffy sat up. "C'mon guys, what's going on?"

Garth appeared in the doorway and the talk stopped. He glared at the two drivers and then at Duffy before heading out to his cruiser. They watched as he spun gravel all over the front of the building and tore off down the street. A few minutes later the other two drivers returned and stood by the wall.

"You been bad boys?" Duffy asked.

"Naw, just checkin' the meters." The men all shared looks and Duffy decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Guys, I've been coming around here a long time and checking the meters is probably the worst lie you've ever tried to spin. What's going on?"

"Maybe everything just isn't your business, Duffy." One of the standing men said.

He looked at the man for a minute. "Normally with friends it's just private gossip, but sometimes my business is sussing out interesting information and airing it out in my paper."

"I better not see my name in your rag, Wiltshire," the other standing man said.

"Like I said," Duffy scraped his chair back and stood. "With friends it's private gossip." He gave them a small salute and strode out the office door. The weather was getting better and better and the sudden change from the office made him pause and close his eyes as he enjoyed the warm sun on his head.

"Duff. A word." One of the men from the table beckoned him to the side of the building. Duffy looked back through the window and saw the other three having what looked like a heated argument. He followed the other man and they stepped into the shadow of the garage.

"Harry is scared shitless you're gonna write some made up story about what's going on here."

"What could I possibly write? I don't know anything do I?" He held out his hands for an explanation. Am I gonna write about his cab meter for cryin' out loud?"

"C'mon, Duffy. You're sharper than that. That's why you came out here in the first place. We might be fair friends but we don't hang out together. Your nose was twitching in there."

"Okay, my nose twitched. Want to tell me why?"

"You have to promise me first that it doesn't go beyond this spot right here." He pointed firmly to where they stood. "No newspaper stories."

The temptation to balk nearly overwhelmed him but he thought of Ray and why this was all happening in the first place and he agreed.

******