Beyond here there be dragons, less than pretty language, and malevolent prose. People of the same sex get frisky with other people of the same sex. Alcohol happens, what happens when alcohol happens (that's violence, if you're not familiar with the phenomenon). That said, there's nothing too graphic in here. And there's a lot of made up stuff that I didn't have time to research - that's why I'm calling it fiction.

Thanks to the finest beta reader a part-time bard could ask for. She's a rockin' beta gal. And thanks to anyone, anywhere who's had anything to do with getting and keeping the show on the air. It's been a hoot.

Creme Brulee: cremebrulee@myrealbox.com

Part 6

'Someone said of a great egotist: 'He would burn your house down to burn a couple of eggs.' - Nicholas Chamfort

She arrived outside Fry's house. She had a tingling sensation at the base of her neck. She didn't give herself any time to think about it, she walked through the gate and up to the porch. There were a couple of steps up and a hand painted sign that hung over the door, it read, Grains and Goodness. She tried not to look at it.

She'd come here to see Fry. That Fry lived in a house that was also a vegetarian restaurant was another bitter pill she'd have to swallow.

She remembered Barbra's simple advice to knock on the door and wondered if she should return for more, because the door was open and that could throw the whole thing off. She ducked her head through and looked around the foyer. On the wall that faced her there was a bulletin board. She gave it a quick perusal and didn't find any surprises. The usual flyers for community events, ride share offers, business cards and the dreaded lost cat plea. There was a summer schedule of films and other events at the Comstock Community Center. A volunteer signup sheet was pinned next to it.

Welcome to the murky underworld of socialist dining. French shuddered. A dining experience that connected you to the greater world, making you feel part of the whole. That was their illusion and they were welcome to it. She preferred her own and the one she'd carefully crafted at Bachanal. Designed to lift you above the mundane to help you enjoy an experience that was anything but common.

She'd thought these places were extinct. A memory best left to haunt the towns of upstate New York and New England. She girded her loins and stepped into what served as the main dining room. She supposed it had a certain dishevelled appeal. Nothing matched, and aside from the overused milk paint schema, she wasn't entirely blinded by the atmosphere. She'd decided that if there'd been print napkins and/or curtains, she could call it quits and talk to Fry some other time. No such luck.

There were ten small tables, each had four place settings and fresh flowers. There were three tables seated, two had people reading the paper, the third had a couple having a heated, but quiet discussion.

A door at the back of the room swung open and Fry walked out. Or maybe it was her twin sister, because the last time she'd seen Fry, she'd had a lot more hair. The look she got from the woman in question cleared the confusion right up. It was Fry alright. The waitress turned on her heel and left the room. French walked across to follow. Every eye in the room went with her.

She was halfway across the room when the door she was heading to swung open and there was no question this time that the figure that passed through was not Fry. This woman was in her fifties, thin, drawn looking, and headed right at her with eyes spitting fire.

'You want something?'

'Ummm.' French looked over the woman's shoulder at the door that must have lead to the kitchen. She wasn't much taller than Fry. This must be her mother, Priscilla. 'I just want to talk to her.'

'Fine,' Priscilla spat. 'You want to talk to her, have a seat.' She slapped a menu on a table and stalked off.

French was beginning to feel put upon. It was her nature. She couldn't help but grumble a barely audible, 'I thought socialists were supposed to be open-minded, friendly people.'

What French didn't know was that Priscilla Spark had been a grade school teacher for years before she got involved in the whole foods movement. Nothing got by her ears. She spun on her heel and glared at French.

'You must not get out much. And in case there's any confusion on your part about my sociability, you hurt my daughter, my baby girl, you insensitive lout. You want friendly? There's a Burger King two blocks over, why don't you try your luck there?'

French was reasonably sure she'd just been told to go to hell in vegan. Most likely it was the closest Ms. Spark had come to cursing in years. French was also certain she'd blown any chance of making a positive impression on Priscilla Spark. Though why that should occur to her she hadn't a clue.

What was up here anyway? Why was she being cowed by this small, vicious woman. She could take Priscilla Spark, she wasn't even in shape. But there was something about the self-righteous indignation pouring off of her that gave her pause for thought. Though Priscilla did not have Fry's coloring or build, she had her eyes, and a bone deep realness that French had come to respect. She also knew this woman ate tofu on a regular basis. These people were capable of anything.

'I'm sorry to trouble you. Would you please ask Fry to come talk to me?'

'I'm not sure who that is and I'm not sure she'll have the time, this is the lunch rush, Violet's busy.'

French bit her tongue and nodded to the glaring harpy that inhabited Fry's mother's body. No one else had entered the room since she'd come in. That made four tables in all.

A few minutes later Fry appeared in the doorway again. French released the breath she'd been holding, relieved that she'd at least get a chance to speak her peace. Fry walked to another table first and served a dark liquid out of a pitcher. French could smell the earthy fragrance and knew without a doubt that it wasn't likely to be caffeinated, or coffee.

Fry smiled at the woman, chatted about something, then turned and headed over to French. All the smile was gone from her face by the time she reached her table. French felt a lurching, twisting sort of motion in the pit of her stomach. She looked down at the table, suddenly fascinated by the menu and no longer sure what to say.

'Hi.' Fry's voice was a monotone. It seemed to French that she'd never heard such an empty sound before. She rallied her forces and dove in. She looked up, catching Fry's eye and beamed her highest wattage smile at the blank face regarding her.

'Hey! I thought I'd stop by, and try your special...' She began brightly, but Fry wasn't biting. She just stood there staring at her. 'I hear you serve up a mean plate of crow, figuratively speaking, of course, and I'd like an extra large portion.' Fry didn't respond, much. French detected a slight movement above her left eye, a sort of a furrowed brow maybe. She plowed on, determined that she'd get to some space where she could talk to Fry. She knew that meant she'd have to get real. She was sure she could, she was a quick study at most things, why should honesty be any different?

'The truth is, I'm sorry I treated you so poorly last night.' There, she'd said it. And Christ did it hurt. 'And I wanted you to know that this thing I've been going through lately it's been harder than I thought it would be. So it's nothing personal, but I don't think us getting involved is a good idea. Someone like you, well, I wouldn't want to mix you up in an experiment. I like you Fry. I have no idea why, I shouldn't really, considering our differences.' She laughed a little, but an angry scowl appeared on Fry's face and she began to turn away. French decided to change tack and avoid anything that she might consider remotely humorous, this was obviously not a humorous moment in Fry's eyes. 'But I have enjoyed spending time with you and would miss you if you decided to leave for good. I apologize for being such an assho... jerk and I promise to try not to belittle your feelings or efforts in the future. I'd like you to come back.' She'd made sure to hit each and every point twice if that's what it took, but she hadn't intended on that last little bit. It'd just slipped out.

There was a long moment of quiet as Fry looked into her eyes. She was never so unsure of a response in her life. She began to feel closed in, restricted in her seat. Uncomfortable for the second time that day, but damned if she'd show it.

Fry finally huffed out a slightly exasperated breath and put a hand to her hip. 'You're expecting a large crowd tonight, aren't you? I've heard stories about the lengths you've gone to to ensure the smooth running of that place on a busy night. Or is it that you need those keys? Is that what's brought on this sudden attack of sincerity?'

French was confused. Did any of that make sense? Wouldn't she have just found another waitress? Why would she have to come scam Fry? Why would she leave Bachanal on a busy afternoon? If she'd wanted the keys without Fry knowing she would have had them in her hands by now. Did Fry think she was that far gone? Or did Fry suspect that she was incapable of being honest? She didn't have to wait long for the answer.

'Or do you just feel guilty?'

French's head was spinning. She wasn't used to analyzing what she was feeling while arguing with someone. Okay, that was less than true, she'd never done it. And like any intense new experience that involved her lacking complete control, she was easily overwhelmed by it. She was used to having an argument and winning, it had been simple before.

She opened her mouth to speak, looking Fry in the eye, and hesitated, not knowing if what she was saying was right or wrong, only that's it's what was true for her. She was pretty sure that wasn't the way to win friends and influence people, but what the hell...

'I don't know.' She couldn't look at Fry anymore. She wasn't sure what she was doing anyway. She wasn't even sure what had happened here and she wasn't sure she could stay another minute. Then Fry sat down across from her.

After a moment Fry spoke quietly, 'You hurt my feelings badly... I don't accept that treatment lightly, not from anyone. So I appreciate you coming here and being honest like that. You know I like you French, I'm not sure what to do about that if you aren't interested. I know I'm not your type and ...'

'Says who?'

'What?'

'Says who? Who are you getting your information from Fry? I'd like to know which rumor mill you're getting your information from because I don't have a type. Technically. Unless 'useful' counts as an attribute. The truth is Fry, I don't know what I want anymore.'

Someone walked into the room behind French, and she saw Fry's concerned and beleaguered countenance change to a shy smile. She waved a little and said, 'Hi Alyssa. I'll just be a minute.'

Priscilla had been in and out of the room a couple of times to attend to her guests and glare hot fury at French in passing. She walked over and gave Alyssa a big hug. She led her to the other end of the room and they chatted quietly.

French remembered that Fry had a few irons in the fire and felt curiously envious for a moment. Why on earth would she envy Alyssa? A little know nothing socialista punk with a couple of overachieving, do-gooder parents? One glance at Fry answered the question, but she wasn't going there, not today. She was getting herself used to the idea that she'd admitted to liking the squirt out loud. When she'd ever live that down, she didn't know. Having a friend was a novel experience she might enjoy exploring.

Fry continued, 'I guess I can understand what you're saying about your life right now. I think you're really special French, but I guess I don't have to tell you that.' She smiled at her, and wondered why the joke hadn't gone over. 'Yes, we have our differences and you've made it positively clear what you think of them. That's one of the things I like about you. And you're the most determined person I know. You've even tried your hardest to be emotionally honest. And even though I seriously considered making you eat the Tofu Surprise before I told you, I'll come back. However, there are going to be a few changes... One: What you know, I know. Two: I want to know it when you find it out, not when it's convenient to you. Three: I defer to you in all matters concerning physical conflict. Four: I agree to follow any reasonable request you make concerning my personal safety without question. Five: If you want out now, you tell me now.'

French knew that this was what it felt like to be in a bind. She was giving up complete control. It was a trust thing. She hated trust things. Still, Fry had some good points and if they stuck to them, it might work out... 'Deal. Only I have one request.'

'What is it?' Fry looked wary, but French could see that there was already a sparkle returning to the younger woman's eyes.

'Would you do something to your hair before you come in? It's, ummm...'

'A mess? Yeah, I know, I'll have Mom trim it after lunch.'

'What happened to it?' French had thought Fry's hair was nice. It never stayed back in its tie, but it had a soft, fine quality to it.

'It's something I do sometimes. When I get upset.'

'Oh.' French made a mental note not to be around Fry when she was upset. She didn't want to get in the way of the scissors.

Chapter 27

Fry was finishing out her shift at Grains and Goodness and had told French she'd be back at Bachanal tomorrow. French had been none too pleased when Fry had asked to be excused from the evening shift of her double the following day. She'd told her that given the fact she'd quit and technically been out of a job she'd agreed to help her friend Vince at a catering gig tomorrow night. And while she realized that her primary obligation was to French, there'd be no shortage of takers if she offered the shift to someone else. French had grumbled something about Fry being a 'fast mover', then caved in.

Fry looked up from the table where she'd been chatting with Joel and Connie Frankle. She got the second shock of the day when she saw who was standing in the doorway now. In as much as French had looked out of place in the small, unassuming room, Miguel looked positively incongruous.

He was still dressed in his uniform, except for the apron. Fry was sure that it was carefully hung in his locker at work, along with his 'refresher' spares. She'd finally figured out how he managed to remain so pristine throughout his shift. She'd begun to think that he wasn't human. He was able to keep his clothing so neat all night, sometimes she swore it got neater. Turned out he changed his clothing halfway through shift. Apparently, the thing he feared most, next to physical pain, was wrinkles.

Fry excused herself and approached him.

'Hi. Let me guess, you're not here for the Tofu Special either.'

'No.' To say that Miguel was uncomfortable was understating the obvious. He was probably risking his life by being there. And if French didn't kill him, the decor might. But once he'd decided on a course of action, he was powerless to change it. This much he understood about himself. 'I'll have a cup of tea.'

'You can just talk to me, you don't have to order anything.'

Miguel looked slightly affronted. She shook her head and led him to a table. It occurred to her that his extremely mannered professional countenance might be his everyday personality. Poor man.

She went to get his tea. When she returned she'd be darned if he hadn't rearranged the tablesetting and the flowers. She'd also be darned if it didn't look better. She sighed and served his tea, then sat across from him. He gave her a look. She gave him one right back. He was nuts if he thought she was going to stand there while she listened to him. He didn't seem to be able to drop service protocol to save his life.

'Thank you.' He stirred his tea and looked around the room. 'That's a nice fan you did on the napkins.'

Fry blushed. She hadn't noticed that she'd folded all of them that way. She watched as Miguel sipped his tea.

He shifted in his chair and began, 'There are a couple of things I need to tell you. Then I'll gladly leave you to finish your work. First is that I'm not as you say, a city slicker. I grew up in a small town in Western Massachusetts. My parents owned a Mexican restaurant. Nothing big, it did alright. My father always insisted that even small town America needed good Mexican food. Our mostly Irish neighbors agreed with him. It was the Mexicans who lived there and ran it that they weren't as keen on. Anyway, I know that you can come from pretty far afield and go very far in the business. If you have what it takes, and want it bad enough.' He was giving her an intense look. Had the Bachanal Twilight Zone just landed in her dinning room? Was it Miguel, not French who caused the delusional field to coalesce so strongly at random? Could he be encouraging her to pursue a career as a waitperson?

He continued, 'I know French can be unreasonable at times.' Fry, who'd completely buried the hatchet with the chef, snorted loudly. 'She's extreme, I agree.' He continued. 'And I'd consider crossing the devil before I betrayed French, mostly because she could probably get to me first, but she's changed in a way I never thought possible this summer. If you knew what she could be like before...' Miguel absentmindedly crossed himself. 'She was a fury. She wasn't just bad in an attractively charismatic way, she was hateful. Not the kind of person you wanted to spend any of your downtime with, trust me.'

'Why did you put up with her? What could possibly motivate anyone to stay around her if she was so much worse before? You could go anywhere with your skills. You're not in love with her are you!?'

'Even you can't be that naive. French understands excellence, and some of the less attractive qualities that may accompany it. Yes, I can pick and choose where I work, but she's the one who lets me be. She's also a talent to behold. I'm privileged to have been able to work for her. And she saved my life one summer, though she'd never admit it. She may not even remember it entirely, she was inebriated at the time. She used to drink a lot.'

'What happened?'

Miguel hesitated and readjusted his cup on it's saucer. 'I made a poor choice of company for an evening... He'd come into the restaurant a few times and one night we decided to meet in town when I was finished. I was new here and didn't know the address he'd given me was a side street downtown, with nothing on it but a parking lot. Long story short, by the time I saw the group of young men it was too late. I got worked over badly and just when one of them had the bright idea to start bashing my head in with a pipe, there was the mostawful noise and the guy who was holding me up from behind let go. I fell and wasn't conscious for much longer. All I know is that bodies dropped like flies into my field of vision on the ground.'

'I came to the next day in French's house. She asked me if I was interested in pressing charges. You can guess what my answer to that question had been. She said it was all the same to her and she was going to spend the day at the restaurant nursing a hangover. She took care of me for a couple of days. Then she gave me a map of the town and told me not to be such an idiot. She's never mentioned it since.'

Fry was stunned. What could you say to that?

'I've paid back a good chunk of what I consider a sizeable debt. The woman has threatened my life tenfold in the last five years, but she's never really hurt me. Nothing permanent anyway. That's more than I can say for anyone who's so much as looked at her crooked. This summer I've seen something that's been truly amazing and while I shouldn't doubt that she's capable of anything, I never thought she'd be able or interested in becoming something like a decent human being. She's changed. I think you might have something to do with that. And I'd like you to reconsider your resignation. If not for French's sake, then maybe for all of us who are going to have to suffer through the rest of the summer with her.'

'I don't know what to say. I'm...' What she really wanted to do was give Miguel a big hug. That is if she wasn't completely certain that it would make him exponentially more uncomfortable than he already was. He'd rearranged the entire table four times since he'd begun his story. Each time it had become more perfect. He was in the process of refolding and smoothing the napkin in his lap again. She couldn't imagine how awful it must have been to go through something like that. 'I'm so sorry that happened. And I'm glad that French was able to help. And I think you should know that I am coming back. Didn't you know that French came by already?'

Miguel gave her a look of surprise. 'No, I didn't.'

'She was here about ten minutes ago. She apologized and we decided to try to work it out.' She thought she might have to get Miguel a glass of water. He was coughing violently. She gave him a minute. He took a sip of his tea and cleared his throat.

'Excuse me. Did you say she apologized?'

'Yes. I was surprised too. I thought she was going to blame the whole thing on me again and storm out. She doesn't like it when someone else gets in the last word. But that wasn't it at all. She came in, sat and had a pretty normal conversation. For French, anyway.'

It was Miguel's turn to be speechless.

Wednesday morning Fry walked through the kitchen on her way to the dining room. She stopped in front of French's station to give her an enthusiastic hello.

French looked at the woman in front of her doing a fairly reasonable impression of a hedgehog. She'd have to have a talk with Priscilla Spark about the definition of the word 'trim'. 'What happened to the rest of your hair?'

'Aren't you even going to say 'hello'? Didn't you miss me even a little bit?' Fry looked at the frown still on French's face. Try to move this woman's focus an inch and you'd find yourself engaged in an impossible and fruitless undertaking.

'Alyssa cut it for me. Like it?'

'No. We'll see what the customers think. I get any hedgehog complaints and you're off to the barber.'

'Know what your problem is?'

'I have a feeling you'll tell me no matter what.'

'You're too picky. Ever consider letting go for a minute? Letting some sunshine in?' Fry had added that last bit because she knew French would make that face. She looked slightly repulsed, like she'd swallowed castor oil.

'Get lost. And tell Barbra to only seat horny old men at your tables today. They won't care what your hair looks like.'

'Oh wow, was that humor? It was almost funny.'

'Yeah, yeah, move it.'

French was glad that things were back to normal. Except for Fry's hair. But there was only so much she could do about that. And even though the impulse to reach out and organize the messy strands on top of her head had been strong, she'd overcome it. On reflection, she didn't mind the new look that much.

The crew in the kitchen let out a quiet, but collective sigh of relief. French had been agitated all morning. Now that Fry had appeared, she seemed to settle down. No one questioned the effect the waitress had on her anymore, they were just thankful.

Chapter 28

'So what's the score?' Fry sat on French's couch and rubbed her feet. She'd finished her shift and was taking the opportunity to get some circulation back in her toes. She and French were having a counsel of war. All heretofore withheld information would be exchanged. Or so she hoped.

French proceeded to relate all of the details that she'd been conveniently omitting up until now. She even threw in a few extra irrelevant ones, just to show that she was making an effort.

'So he's got a tape and some papers hidden in the basement of city hall?'

'Stupid place for it, but there you have it.'

'Seems like a good place to me. It's big, there's security there too. If you don't mind me asking, why didn't you go in yourself? From what you did in the library, I doubt city hall would be much of a problem for you.'

French shrugged. 'Easier with the keys. Especially the one to the alarm. I don't waste my time if I can help it. He's also a sneaky little bureaucrat and he made sure that one of those locks is a real pisser to pick. So the keys would save a lot of time.' French had been mildly impressed with Jason's grasp of the caliber of the people he was up against and the absolutely paranoiac steps he'd taken to ensure his own safety. Not to mention that of the documents that had been the cause of his problems.

Monica aside, he didn't trust a soul. That was mainly because he didn't have a damn clue who'd killed Louisa. As far as he was concerned, she was a great public defender ý la Erin Brokovich who was gathering important information on a great big conspiracy in the government of Comstock. She'd entrusted him with some evidence and he was defending it and himself to the end. That was his story and he was sticking to it. The deluded little snipe. Some people would believe anything.

Divesting Jason of his misplaced hero worship wasn't high on her list of priorities. Getting at what he'd stashed away was. Could it be the elusive paper trail that could nail Mitchell's or someone else's ass to the wall? Was it a dirty movie starring one of Comstock's finest?

'Oh! Oh! Oh!' Fry had jumped up from her chair and was waving her hands in the air. French couldn't figure out if she'd been bitten by something or was having an attack of some kind.

'What! Sit down for Pete's sake, you're making me nervous.'

'Big girl like you? Afraid of a little excitement?' Fry was smiling at her, but French wasn't biting. They were going to keep this business-like. As business like as was possible with Fry waving her socks around and walking all over the place in her bare feet. She had cute feet, French would give her that. And the most she could hope for with Fry was an orderly casual, formal was out of the question.

'I forgot to tell you! Mrs. Landry, one of Louisa's neighbors, said she saw Jason go into Louisa's that night, but after he left, another man visited briefly. She couldn't see who it was, but she insisted it was a man.'

'And why is Mrs. Landry so interested in the coming and goings at Louisa's house?'

'Oh, it's the block in general, or as much of it as she can see from her second story porch. Some people watch people on TV, other people, like Mrs. Landry, find the real thing more interesting.'

'What makes her so sure it was a guy?'

'She said, from what she could see, he was dressed like a man and had the build.'

'And how long have you known this little tidbit of information?'

'Um, well, you know how things have been kind of crazy around here...' French had raised her eyebrow. Fry had come to know this as her dubious expression. 'Well, I wasn't keeping it from you on purpose. Not since the night you let me eat tofu inside. Before that it was purely out of spite.'

'Ah, ha! So I see I'm not the only one guilty of withholding.'

'You can hardly equate the two. Besides, I meant to tell you... eventually. There's a difference.'

'So you say. Anything else you might want to tell me?'

'Bernie's been talking to the bank about a loan.'

'He should.' French had written Bernie off her list for good.

'And I really enjoyed the wild mushroom crepe today. That had such a wonderful texture and arrangement. All of the flavors were balanced to perfection.'

'It was alright. You can't get really good morel's around here. I'm assuming that we're finished catching up on all things morbid?'

'Sure. Have you tried looking out at Komer Farm? They have great stuff, all organic.'

'Some of their stuff isn't bad. I stick to my usual purveyors, then I'm not running all over the place constantly...'

'They'll deliver it for you.'

'You seem to know a lot about their growing and distribution methods. Any reason for that?' French had stopped by the Farm's roadside stand a couple of times on her runs. They had a good selection and the couple who ran the place was nice enough. For people who spent the balance of their time in the dirt.

'I've worked there quite a bit. My sister Joe is part owner.'

'Don't you mean Harriet?'

'No, Joe.'

This stumped French, who'd met the Joe in question. He wasn't anyone's sister as far as she could tell. 'I don't know how to tell you this, but your sister's a guy. With five o'clock shadow, the works.'

'I know. But he'll always be my sister. He's okay with that.' Fry's tone was reassuring, as if that would explain everything.

French's expression must have clued her in that it didn't explain much. 'He's a non-operative transgender male. A she-guy. Though Joe sees himself as a guy. Mostly.'

'Mostly?'

'Yeah, he has what he calls his 'femmie' days. Then he says he feels more like tossing a ball funny and not scratching his crotch in public. He calls me to get in touch with his feminine side. He says he doesn't want to be threatened by it, but understand it. His masculinity was always easier for him to identify with. Personally, I think his femmie days drive Harriet up the wall. He wants to know what she's feeling all of the time. That can be irritating. She's not the most patient woman you've ever met.'

'What's she doing with a Spark then?'

'Watch it.'

'So, what does Mother Spark make of this? That must've been a toughie, even for your parents.'

'My parents knew Joe was different from a young age. I think it was easier for them. I'm the one who had a hard time with it.' This admission interested French. Fry seemed like the be all, end all in understanding compassion. 'I love my Dad and have some terrific guy friends, but I've never understood the attraction, ya know? Joe'd been crossing for a while, but when he told me he was going to start the hormones and thinking about the operation, I couldn't wrap my head around it. It didn't make sense. She was a lesbian. Out. Why did she want to be a guy? To me, women are just so... so... ya know? Feminine. They're strong, soft, courageous, and magnetic. And men are... i dunno... well, they're...'

'Not on your radar screen.' French wondered how this worked with Bobby. He looked kind of femmie, but he was definitely a guy.

'I guess. Joe's Joe. He's the sweetest sister I could hope to have and if I need someone to explain the more cryptic behavior of my male friends, he's always got an insight. He hasn't joined any men's groups, which I'm thankful for. Not that Harriet would put up with the drumming or anything. But sometimes we don't understand each other. It's like we're on opposite sides of some divide. We try to work it out, and when we can't he just picks me up and spins me on his shoulder 'til I say 'Uncle'.'

'Probably as good a method as any to shut you up. Maybe I'll try it sometime.'

'You and what army?'

'Who's this army you keep asking about? Like I've needed any help with you up 'til now?' There was no getting away from it with Fry. She couldn't resist the banter. She was an odd fish, from an odd family, but good company as that kind of thing went. She was certainly interesting.

'Maybe I've been taking it easy on you up 'til now.' French gave her a dubious look. But Fry was secretly hoping she'd take the bait and try to prove her wrong. She had a theory about French and her new found needs in her personal life.

'Whatever you say shorty. I'm shakin' in my boots from here on out.'

Fry gave up. 'So, are you okay with that? I mean Joe.'

French shrugged. 'Why wouldn't I be?'

'It bothered a lot of people around here, I can tell you that much. And it drives me crazy how people can get about gender and preference, but you can't ignore how they feel. I may not agree, or be able to be around them much, but I can't ignore that it's important. So I thought I'd ask.'

'You don't have to worry about me. If it makes you feel any better, I once had a close acquaintance who was a tranny.'

Fry made a face at French's choice of expression. The term always struck her as inappropriate. It sounded more like something you'd find in a baby's crib than a term for gender identification. 'Oh, were you good friends?' She knew so little about French, any bit of information was welcome.

'Ha! No. Julia and I were associates who slept together. Neither one of us was foolish enough to think of it as anything more.'

'...'

'Close your mouth Fry. That's not especially attractive.'

'Sorry. But she's... She's...'

'A woman? I'd guess you'd be all swell with it. What with your sister and all.' French could never understand these liberals. They couldn't even keep to their own impossible standards for acceptance and cuddly thinking.

'No.'

'No what?'

'She's a Senator's wife.'

'And...'

'No 'and' to it. I don't know if you've noticed French, but the United States Senate is a pretty conservative bunch.'

'I don't pay much attention to politics.'

'I gathered not. But the point is, there aren't a lot of transgender people in that crowd. There aren't many women, people of color, or gays for that matter. Is this one of those things that all the rich people know and don't care much about, but they don't talk about it either because of that weird double standard?'

'Was I supposed to follow that?'

'Like the Old Boat Regatta today. All of those boats racing around out there that they all know are bogus, but nobody says anything about it. Is this like that?'

'Nope. Precious few know about Julia's bogus parts.'

'French!'

'What?! What I'm saying is that Julia's discrete. You know, like you and your best friend's husband.'

'Who?' Fry's head was beginning to get that inside-out feeling she sometimes got when she was talking with French.

'You know. Lover boy, Bobby.'

'I have no idea...' Fry suddenly got the idea. 'You thought Bobby and I? We? He's my cousin you dope!'

French looked disgusted. 'Well, if you're into that kind of thing, who am I to judge you? What were your parents feeding you guys as kids anyway?'

'I am NOT involved with Bobby. We work together a lot sure, but we've never... I'm a lesbian.'

'What's that got to do with anything?'

'It's happening again! Nothing is making any sense. Let me say this in the most simple way I know how. I am not interested in Bobby in any other way than as my cousin and one of my best friends. You said it yourself. Men are not on my radar screen, that about sums it up. Got it?'

'Sure, you don't have to get so excited about it. You're a dyke. Fine, whatever. Suit yourself.' Fry could be so defensive.

'So why wouldn't anyone else know about Julia? Except you, of course.' Fry asked.

'I'm not saying no one knows. I'm saying that if they do, they're few and far between. She's extremely picky about who gets into her bed. Always has been.'

'Lucky you.' Fry couldn't help it, she was getting jealous.

'It wasn't exactly a cozy relationship.'

'It's none of my business really.' Oh, but how she wished it was. 'I wonder if maybe someone found out. Like Louisa.'

'Not a chance. Julia's no fool. She knows exactly what kind of a problem she could cause for Jay. She's probably erased any evidence that ever existed on Julius Emery. She also had the operation years ago, before anyone knew who her family was.'

French wasn't sure how this whole honesty thing applied to the concept of hunches. She decided to play it safe. She told Fry that Julia's father's company, JCE International, was the company who'd bought the remains of the Fisherman's Prize and more importantly, the property adjacent to it. They'd also bought the Grist Mill.

'So why didn't you tell me that before?'

'I didn't think the two things were related.'

'Oh.' Fry wasn't sure why the thought that French might not share all of her various problems with her was so disappointing. After all, she was just a pushy employee, tagging along after an internationally acclaimed chef with more enemies than she knew how to keep straight. Maybe Fry could make out a list for her. She could cross reference and arrange it so that French would know which incident was likely to be related to which enemy. 'So now you think this might be related to the murder?'

'There are a couple of things that keep cropping up. Mitchell and Julia. Something's going on. Maybe it's something Louisa got wind of. Maybe she threw a stick in the spokes and got the wrong somebody's attention.'

'But do you think that your friends might have killed her?'

'Friends?'

'Well, not Mitchell, but even though you say you and Julia were once acquaintances, you seem friendly now.'

French was shaking her head. 'If that's friendship, I want nothing to do with it. Julia and I have an understanding. I stay out of her way, and she'll stay out of mine.'

'But she invited you to a party. I don't get it. I thought you were involved, you seem so intimate.'

French was startled by the observation. 'We're anything but. Don't kid yourself, that woman may seem like she's all sweet sophistication, but under that skin there's a hard as nails businesswoman with one overriding obsession and it's got very little to do with anything so mundane as friendship or sex. She's an absolute fanatic about her damn hotels. Nothing else much gets on her daily planner. It can be pretty obnoxious.'

Fry was staring at her like she'd said something odd. French continued, 'Well, I guess Jay would be the other bee in her bonnet. For all of their differences, they stick together. And you know something?'

'No, at this point, I really don't.'

'I've been sitting here talking to you for way too long. I have to get to it and you have to get to whatever it is you're getting to. You want me to get those documents and we can look them over tomorrow?'

'Not on your life! We go together.'

'Suit yourself. Wear something over that hair. It's too reflective in the dark.'

Fry brushed her hand through her hair causing it to stick out in even more directions. 'Whatever you say chef. When's the heist?'

Chapter 29

Fry was looking forward to the day that she wouldn't have to carry a tray again. It wasn't today. She had agreed to help Vince out and was hustling to set up another buffet table. She'd volunteered to do the decorating, while Leon and Vince finished unloading the backup supplies and Stephanie arranged the bar with George. She'd worked Vince's catering gigs for years. Whenever she had time in her schedule she'd let him know. He was a good friend and fun to work for.

She spread a bunch of flowers across the baskets and was straightening a candlestick in its holder when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

'I hope your boss knows you're moonlighting because I don't want a scene later. And she'll be here, so let me know now.'

Fry turned to see Julia, resplendent in an emerald gown that made her hair, that had been placed in an ornate knot, look like a deep, rich flame. She hadn't been looking forward to this, or French's scene later. She hadn't known where this party was going to be until Vince had mentioned it in the truck on the way over.

Hearing that Julia and French weren't lovers was good news, learning that Julia may not even be friendly with French brought up another feeling altogether. She reminded herself that she only knewhalf of the story, not even half, because French was about as forthcoming with the details as she was with everything else. She gave a bright smile and said, 'Oh, she'll be fine. I told her that I was helping Vince out already.'

She also hoped that she saw French before French saw her later on.

'By the time she gets here I'll probably be needing some entertainment. The chefs always make the most fashionable entrances. Hazard of the trade. Everything's looking great. Where's Vince, I want to give the last minute marching orders.'

Several hours and about thirty trays of hors d'oeuvres later (and her friends wondered where she got her biceps...), Fry was chatting with Skyler Redmond. Skyler had introduced Fry to her mother who'd wandered by. Portia managed an indifferent half smile and moved on. Skyler blushed lightly in embarrassment, but continued to chat, until she spotted French in the doorway.

Fry might not have seen her right off if it hadn't been for the surprised look on Skyler's face. She expected her to excuse herself and approach the chef, but instead she excused herself and beat it in the opposite direction. She walked right out one of the open doors to the terrace.

French's effect on Skyler was an aberration. As Skyler had moved away, the rest of the room seemed to close in on her. Attracted in no small part, Fry opined, by the black dress she'd chosen to wear. On second thought it couldn't have been the dress that attracted so many, there wasn't enough of it. She was sure that everybody else, like herself, was drawn by the magnificent woman who inhabited it. The dress wasn't immodest in it's length. It flowed down, over and across French's figure, stopping just above the knee. The neckline stopped short of her knee too, but not by much. The back was non existent, dropping down to the dip of her lower back. And there was no way you could miss her back because her hair was wound into a knot, clearing the view entirely.

'Hot damn.' Fry muttered under her breath. She sent up a silent prayer to no one in particular to give her strength. She'd never been much of one for the ultra feminine thing, but French's shoulders did something for that look that she'd never seen before. She ducked behind one of the screens that they'd set up earlier as a clearing station and took a deep breath.

The party showed no signs of slowing. It was past one and a few people had left, but only the older, more sedate guests. They'd been replaced by a rowdier bunch who'd shown up later, many of whom had crewed in various capacities for the captains in the Old Boat Regatta. They were also full to capacity liquor-wise and the volume in the room had escalated.

Fry had managed to dodge French for an hour and found herself with the added chore of dodging Nigel, Julia's private secretary, as well. Not that he struck her as administrative looking in any way. On occasion he'd take out a digital device from his pocket and fiddle with it, usually after a brief chat with Julia. The rest of the time he waited in doorways for her to pass by and asked her for drinks, leered at her, and generally made a nuisance of himself. She wouldn't miss that kind of thing either.

The party took place in three main rooms. All of them opened into each other through wide double doors. The ceilings were high in all of the rooms helping to dissipate the heat. In the large dining room that had been emptied for the event and turned into the buffet room, four floor to ceiling doors were opened onto a terrace. It overlooked a garden and beyond that the cliffs and the ocean. There was a nice breeze and if you could pass by the windows or doors, you could stay cooler. Unfortunately, Fry had to circulate, it was part of the job.

She'd spied French a couple of times and found convenient plants or guests to hide behind. As she made her way through one of the least crowded rooms, she saw French talking to Skippy Hendrake in a corner. Actually, from her vantage point she saw that Skippy was doing most of the talking. Looked like smooth talking too. It hadn't escaped Fry's notice that Skippy, an older woman, with graying, short cropped hair, had been following French around since she'd arrived. She was wearing a sporty linen suit with a simple silk chemise. She liked Skippy, usually. She was nice and had a zest for life. She was always on the go.

Fry wasn't sure Skippy was really talking to French, because it seemed to be the chef's chest that was getting the lion's share of her attention. Now Fry had come to a point in her self awareness that she'd admit to herself, and possibly a close friend like Bobby, that French's chest was worthy of attention. But she wasn't sure how she felt about having to watch someone else in that act of appreciation.

French was leaning against the wall. Skippy, who wasn't as tall as the chef by a couple of inches, had placed a hand on the wall by French's shoulder and was leaning in on the pretense to hear her better. But from Fry's view point it looked like nothing more than a better angle from which to view French's cleavage. Fry was getting peeved.

For one thing she knew French was trying to change her life. For another, Fry knew how hard that kind of change could be. And here was Skippy, she wasn't helping at all. Fry decided to give the chef an out, in case she was caught in one of those socially awkward moments and couldn't find an opportunity in the conversation to politely excuse herself. Fry was struggling to maintain the thin veneer of denial that obstructed her view of the massive jealousy attack she was suffering.

She approached the women as Skippy leaned in. Fry couldn't tell if she was going to whisper something into French's ear, or kiss her and she wasn't all that interested in finding out. She introduced her tray between the two bodies and said as politely as she could manage. 'Hors d'oeuvre? The smoked salmon is especially good.'

Without changing her posture, Skippy turned her head slowly. When she saw Fry she let out a frustrated sigh and said, 'Hello Violet.'

French's only response was to glance at the tray and then give Fry a blasé sort of look that said, 'I don't know you from a hole in the wall'. She then poured herself off the wall, pushed the tray out of her way and said that she was going to refill her drink. Fry schooled her reflexes and managed not to follow her with her eyes. Skippy wasn't so well trained as Fry in the art of not caving into your baser instincts around the chef. She considered that she should give a tutorial. 'How'd the race go?'

Skippy gave Fry a pained, but polite smile. She wasn't interested in talking boats with Violet just then. She knew Violet from all of her work in the community. She'd been warned about her the first week she'd hit town. 'Be prepared for a young woman to visit you with a fierce determination to involve you in the lesser doings of the island. She'll go away for a price.' But Skippy had enjoyed Violet's company and gotten familiar with some other aspects of the town through her projects.

She took a breath and decided she'd deal with French later. The night was young, so to speak. 'Not bad all round. Came in fourth, under protest. But it came clear in the end.'

'Great! I have to run back to the kitchen for a refill. Can I get you anything?'

'Thanks, no.'

Fry walked through the doors to the back hall and gave a sigh of relief. On her way to the kitchen, Vince had asked her to grab a couple of extra canisters of propane from the truck. It was nice to get a break from the loud, crowded rooms. It had gotten hot in there and her starched white shirt and bow tie were going to wilt if she didn't get some air. Her musings were interrupted by an arm that shot out and grabbed her from behind a floor to ceiling curtain that covered a passageway. She yelped as she was pulled through the opening and found herself face to face with an irritated French.

Fry didn't have to wonder at French's mood, her body language was terrifically articulate. She towered with her arms crossed over her chest and she was tapping her toe on the marble floor. How could a heeled shoe sound so ominous. Tick, tick, tick.

'What's with the ambush?'

Fry couldn't be sure if French meant Skippy, or her being at the party at all. She opted for the party explanation first. 'It wasn't an ambush. I didn't even know who's party it was until Vince mentioned it on the drive over. Besides, I can watch your back for you. I see Skippy's got your front covered.' If only she could edit internally, these little things would stop slipping out.

'She wanted to talk business.'

'Looked like she'd have made that deal horizontal if she could.'

'If this is jealousy Fry, it doesn't suit you.'

'Why is it okay for you to get involved with someone like Skippy and not me?'

Well there was a straightforward question if French had ever heard one. 'Look, there's a lot going on here. Let's not confuse the issue. We can talk about it later.'

'I don't need to talk about it later. And for the record, I'm not confused. I know what I want.' She headed back through the curtain, gently brushing French's arm as she left.

'For the love of Pete.' French was feeling frustrated herself, but it was a different frustration than Fry was experiencing. She was right, Skippy had propositioned her, but it was nothing like Fry had imagined. She'd told Skippy to get lost, she had enough on her plate as it was.

The party finally began to thin out around two thirty. Fry was doing more picking up than anything else. She was hunting stray glasses in the smaller room when she came across Nigel again.

He was totally toasted. Or so Fry assumed from his behavior, having had a lot of experience with the effects of alcohol on the thirsty public. Nigel was that special kind of person who didn't get silly or stupid or clumsy as he drank, he got mean.

'If it isn't my favorite little waitress. I need another drink, bring it to me in the library, over there. I'm going to have to make a few calls. And make it quick, I don't want to have to wait for it.'

Fry glanced around, there were still about forty people at the party, ten or so in that room alone. She felt pretty safe, but knew that following that man into the library wasn't a bright idea. 'Sure, just a minute.'

She found Leon, and explained the situation. He said he'd bring the guy the drink and if he made a move on him he'd block him one. Fry thanked him, but said she'd bring the drink, she just wanted Leon to look in on the room in a couple of minutes. Especially if she hadn't come out. He said it didn't make sense, but agreed and she set off.

She didn't have a plan. It was one of those things she often didn't have, but it hadn't ever stopped her before. She knew that Julia's family's company could be involved in the murder in some way. Maybe Nigel knew something about it.

She entered the library with his scotch and found him perched on the edge of a desk, waiting. He was across the large room and made no effort to meet her half way. He sat there and waited. She smiled and headed over.

French was in the process of gathering information of her own. She'd been watching the guests, a few with particular interest. That meant spending a lot of time letting herself get pawed and fawned over and generally bored out of her mind. But it also gave her the all important opportunity to observe. And what she'd seen had interested her.

The Senator hadn't shown up until nearly 12:30AM. He apologized to the remaining guests, saying an important phone call had kept him away. It must have been some phone call, because it had made him look his age. Something French had never thought possible for Jay. She wondered briefly if youthful looks had anything to do with goodness. Fry had that kind of youthful thing going for her too.

She'd watched the Senator talking with Nigel earlier and thought she'd found a better explanation for his fatigued condition. Dealing with the likes of Nigel would age anyone. What French couldn't figure out on first blush was why it should also frighten them. She recognized the signs of fear in Jay as easily as any predator might.

She dodged Skippy a few times and was still on the prowl. She had a short conversation with the lady of the house and waited for a while to speak to Jay. He was in the center of a small group when she approached.

'Ah French, so glad you could make it. Come with me to refill my drink.' He offered his arm and she took it, letting him lead her away from the group.

'It's good to see you. You're looking stunning as ever.' He smiled.

'You're not looking so bad yourself.' She wasn't lying. While Jay had aged like all other humans, he'd also grown more handsome. A little fatigue only enhanced his features, making him appear more serious and pensive than he otherwise might.

'Flattery will get you everywhere. But as I recall, it wasn't me you were ever interested in. I didn't own any restaurants.'

'True enough. But you were a temptation nonetheless.' She smiled a winning smile at him and he reciprocated in kind. They'd always been like that with each other. Oddly honest in a teasing manner. She'd seen it as his way of letting her know he knew the score. He was never blind to her relationship with Julia, he wasn't threatened by it either. He let her know in his subtle, kind way that as long as she didn't cross the line and hurt Julia, he'd tolerate her. She'd felt a bit like a jackal being batted at by a lioness' cub.

However, tonight she sensed a bitterness beneath his words that hadn't been there before. But it had been six years since she'd seen either Julia or Jay. A lot could happen to change a person in that kind of time. She knew that for a fact.

She saw him watching Nigel who had walked through a door off of the main rooms where the party was going on. Jay's expression darkened momentarily. Then he smiled a rueful looking smile and laughed a little. 'I never thought I could say this, but I think I've missed you.'

French wondered if he meant that he'd proffered her to Nigel. Could Nigel be Julia's right hand man? Surely, she had more sense than that. He was a nasty piece of work, no question, but a little shit who you couldn't trust as far as you could stretch his lying little tongue. She'd never liked the obsequious pissant. Even all of those years ago she could feel him worming his way into Julia's confidence. She'd made sure Nigel never got his hooks in too deeply while she'd been around. Not out of any concern for Julia, it just hadn't been in French's interest to allow it. She recognized a threat when she saw one. Apparently neither Jay nor Julia were so keen.

Jay took a handkerchief from his pocket and patted at the sweat on his brow. 'It's hot in here. Let's go onto the terrace.'

Fry was feeling pretty stupid just about now. The moment she'd reached Nigel at the desk, he'd made a grab at her. No sweet talk, no questions, no nothing. He pushed the tray aside and went for her. And she hadn't been prepared for it.

Oh, she'd been prepared to fend off an advance, maybe some groping. Not his whole body, all at once. And he wasn't being gentle, not by a long shot. Her clip on tie was history and she was attempting to push him away as he grabbed at her shirt. He'd tackled her onto the couch and was trying to rip it off. She was about to scream when a quiet voice spoke out near her ear.

'Nigel. Stop.' It was Julia.

He did. But he didn't look happy about it and he wasn't letting her go. She was going to kick him for all she was worth, but she felt Julia pushing him off of her.

'This is none of your business Julia. You don't see me sticking my nose into your fun.' He stumbled before he got his balance.

'Get out. Now.'

'I think you'd better stop treating me like the hired help around here. And maybe you ought to get the hell out!' He was drunk all right. It also looked like he was ready to take a swing at his employer.

That's when French ducked her head in the door. She was surprised by the scene she encountered. Then she was something else altogether when all of the implications of it lined up neatly in her brain. She stepped inside and closed the door quietly. 'Julia, Jay's looking for you. I don't think he's feeling well.'

Fry had heard that tone in French's voice before. It was the even, calm voice she'd used in the kitchen a while back when she was brushing Fry's neat shirt unnecessarily, before she had her pinned to a wall. Apparently, the other people in the room were familiar with the deceptively placid tone as well. Nigel took a step back.

'He's out on the terrace.' French moved closer. She hadn't taken her eyes off Nigel.

Fry had stood up, straightened her shirt and was looking for her bow tie. She hadn't seen where it landed.

Julia said, 'Nigel, I think you ought to leave now.'

He did, feeling like a marked man.

As he walked through the door French's nostrils flared at the scent of fear. Her blood had increased flow. She wanted to taste some of Nigel's, not watch him walk out the door.

'Thank you darling. That's a very impressive entrance you make. Understated menace always suited you so well.' Julia didn't want her party broken up along with Nigel's body. And French was no one to be making any kind of judgements in her house. Julia suspected that if anything was bothering the chef it was someone messing with one of her employees. French had always managed her better employees like possessions. She treated them horribly, but they were hers to treat as she wished and anyone else who horned in on that privilege got burned quickly.

Whatever the cause for French's reaction, Julia wasn't interested. Unless French had the audacity to actually care what happened to one of her employees, that would be another matter entirely. Julia decided she was going to do some research. Maybe change French's focus while she was at it.

French had reached their side of the room and gave Fry a cursory glance. She looked rumpled, but otherwise alright. Fry'd given her a smile and nod as she was replacing her bow tie. It was slightly crooked and it surprised French to feel the amount of willpower it took to refrain from straightening it. Was she really such a tightass?

She turned to face Julia who had a gleam in her eye. That could be trouble. Gleams usually were.

'Enjoying the party?' Julia asked.

French wondered why she hadn't gone to see about Jay. She hadn't been kidding, he hadn't looked well when she'd left him. 'You've always known how to keep things entertaining.'

French closed the distance between them. She was going to distract Julia, she hoped that Fry would take the chance to make tracks. Of course, she hoped in vain.

'You don't seem interested in anything I have on offer this evening. Poor Skippy looks like she's run a country mile chasing you all night.'

'You didn't tell me she was interested in the restaurant business. She's got investor fever written all over her.'

'I think it's more than the business she's got in mind.'

'Skippy's barking up the wrong tree.'

'Yes, I've noticed that you're sampling the local atmosphere this summer. Good choice.' Julia glanced over French's shoulder at Fry, her meaning clear, her tone light and conversational. She could eviscerate you in the most cheerful manner. 'So sweet. Not your usual fare. Does she know anything about you? Or is that the attraction? Come to think of it, she does remind me of somebody... One of your old conquests. She was younger of course, but sweet in her own way. Yes, she's a lot like Giselle, isn't she?'

It had been years since French had heard the name spoken aloud. 'Fry, would you excuse us for a moment?'

'Uh...no?'

'This is personal.'

'I got that feeling.' She'd also felt the temperature in the room drop about ten degrees. There was a crackling electric vibe bouncing between the two women that would have singed anyone who'd stepped into it. Fry hadn't a clue what was going on, but she wasn't leaving French now, not by a long shot.

'Really, I could chat with you girls all night, but I have to see to Jay. Bye Sweet, I'll see you later.' Julia leaned forward and gave French a peck on the cheek. Game, set and match. She had all the information she needed.

French hadn't moved since Julia left the room. She stood, rooted to the spot. Fry was still wondering what had happened. On the surface of it, nothing. Julia may have made a less than pleasant inference that she and French were involved. Okay, it'd been demeaning, but she doubted that it would have effected French so extremely. Whoever Giselle was seemed to be the key. Whoever Giselle was must also be the kind of thing you treaded around lightly. Fry hadn't spent the first third of her summer being yelled at, pushed around and generally harassed by French and not picked up a certain sensitivity to her moods.

She walked over and looked at the chef. Her face was devoid of emotion or spark. The look pulled at Fry's heart. French looked lost. Fry reached out and took her hand. 'You okay?'

French removed her hand from her grasp. It wasn't a sudden gesture, more like a falling away. 'Go back to your work. I'll see you later.'

French turned away, walked over to a window and stared out. Fry watched her for a minute, then decided she should give her space and returned to her job.

Chapter 30

When she returned to the party, Leon explained that he hadn't thought it necessary to go into the library after her, considering the fact that he'd seen two other people go in as well. 'Of course,' he nudged her with his elbow. 'I might have been missing out on something.' She assured him that he hadn't and let it drop.

The party finally wrapped up and she said good night to the rest of the crew. She and Leon decided they wanted to walk back into town. Vince asked them if they were sure, they were at least a mile and a half out. She said she really needed the air, and Leon agreed wholeheartedly.

She hadn't seen French again. She wondered if they were still on for later. They'd planned to meet at four to collect the goods from City Hall. There wasn't going to be any sleep tonight.

The walk turned out to be a great idea. She and Leon had fun discussing the evening's events and mishaps. Like earlier when Vince had been distracted in the kitchen and set a bunch of napkins on fire. He said he didn't have a clue how it happened. Fry had asked him if he'd left his cigarette on them. Vince claimed that he'd quit months ago, but no one who spent more than a minute in his company could help but smell the smoke that followed him everywhere. He denied the spurious charge vehemently, until Fry poked through the ashes and held up the culprit. Fortunately, it hadn't been much of a fire and the smell didn't carry far.

She dropped Leon at his house. When he insisted he'd drive her the rest of the way she'd told him not to be silly. It was only a short walk.

She should have known that a lot could happen in that time. She hadn't gone two blocks from his house when a dark figure appeared at her side, scaring her half out of her skin.

'Why do you keep doing that!?' She exclaimed at French.

'Doing what?'

'Creeping out of the darkness like that. Couldn't you make some noise or warn me that it's you?'

French shrugged. 'Habit.' And if people knew you were coming, you weren't doing your job.

The dress was gone. In it's place French wore something close fitting and black. The braid was back.

'Have you been following me?' Fry asked.

'No. Just happened along.' It wasn't an outright lie. She'd been following Fry and whoever the other guy was, so that wasn't following Fry exactly, so it wasn't a lie, exactly. More like a half truth. She was comfortable with half truths.

Fry didn't buy it, but she wasn't going to push it either. 'Are we still on?'

'You up for it?'

'Sure, if you are. I just need to get home and change, maybe shower.'

They walked along in silence. Fry could tell French's mood was still off, there was something missing. She sounded flat.

'Get any good intel tonight?' Fry asked.

'Hmmm?'

'You know, any helpful information?'

'Where do you get these words?'

'Don't know, they just come to me.' Fry smiled.

'Like trouble.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Oh, nothing. Just thinking about a scene I walked in on at the party this evening. What were you doing with Nigel?'

'Trying to get him off me mostly. I thoughtÖ I don't know what I thought, but I had an idea that maybe I could find something out from him.'

'The only thing you were about to find out from him wasn't anything I thought you'd be interested in.'

'I'm not! He attacked me!'

'What were you thinking? You'd get him alone and he'd start spilling his guts about a murder? 'Oh excuse me, I don't know you from a hole in the wall, but did you by any chance kill this lady I used to know?''

'I didn't say I thought he killed her. Do you?'

'I'd say he's as suspect as any of them, even more so.'

'Why's that?'

'Because they'd never do it themselves. Fry?'

'Yeah?'

'Remember how we talked a while back about One through Five and you agreed that you'd listen to me if I told you to do something. If you were in physical danger?'

'Sure. And I meant it, I will. Really.'

'Good, because when I tell you to run, I want you to go hell bent for leather away from here as fast as you can. Don't look back, just run as far and as fast as you can. Get somewhere you know you'll be safe.'

'You mean now?'

'I mean when I give you the word.'

Fry couldn't figure out what French was talking about. They'd walked for about ten minutes or so and they hadn't seen a soul. There wasn't anyone out on the street. Then she saw them. Four of them up ahead. Heading right in their direction. It was as if they'd oozed out of the shadows.

Fry hesitated, but French kept her stride steady. 'Don't panic.' She said quietly. 'They probably just want to talk.' To herself, she acknowledged that this was highly unlikely. She could make out Jasper's bulky frame anywhere.

'But then why...'

'No questions. Just be ready to run. Got it?'

'Got it.'

They were closing in. French glanced to her left and saw what she'd been hoping for. She gave Fry a little shove and yelled, 'Now! Run!'

Fry took off down the alley. It ran along Jimmy's News Stand and Donut Shop. It was bisected by another alley that ran behind two rows of buildings and out onto Pullman Street. She ran like the wind. She was scared witless. She wanted to stay with French, but knew better than to argue. She made like a madwoman three blocks over and two down and reached the destination that had been in her mind the moment she'd reluctantly stepped away from the chef. She hadn't wanted to leave her there with the four large men who looked anything but friendly. She pounded on the door she'd reached for all she was worth and prayed that he was home.

French hadn't done too badly. Not if you considered the odds. Big, ugly guy number one was lying in the gutter not moving, but big ugly guy number two had backed her into a tight spot where the medium sized nasty guy had gotten a good punch in and winded her. That's when Jasper had made his move. He stepped in and slammed her a good one with something heavy, probably a black jack, right in the head.

That had been five minutes ago. Five very long minutes. It wasn't so much the pain she minded. Having your brains scrambled was never a pleasant experience. It was the sad verbiage trying to pass for dialogue that went along with it that was really bothering her. Jasper wasn't as funny or bright as he liked to think he was. Big guy number two and medium sized guy were holding her by the arms and letting Jasper get his jollies by knocking her guts around and messing up her face. She wished he'd deal a killing blow or at least knock her out because there was no way she'd cooperate with him and she was beyond tired of listening to his bullshit.

Jasper was a professional. He had a fair idea of what she could take. He also knew that hell would freeze over before the bitch would give in. He was getting out a little frustration on her to make up for past insults and slights. He knew she wouldn't tell him anything. He should have made more of an effort to keep her friend on hand. Then she might have cooperated.

He drew back the jack once more to wipe the bloody smile, and possibly some of the bone structure off of French's face when he felt something cold and hard press into the side of his head.

'Drop it asshole. And none of you move or pretty boy here gets wasted.'

Jasper looked out of the corner of his eye to see a large hairy guy in his boxers holding a gun to his temple. 'You don't want this kind of trouble friend. I suggest you move on.'

'I suggest you shut the fuc...,' the big man glanced at Fry. 'Shut up. And back off if you don't want me to waste your useless scum-sucking ass.' He winced. It wasn't easy to do the tough guy thing with Violet standing right there.

'They've all got guns.' French's voice was thick, but audible.

'Hand 'em over. Violet, grab 'em.' The burly man directed.

Fry wanted nothing more than to run to French. There was blood all over her face, and she was kneeling between the two guys who were holding their hands in the air. Fry stepped forward and relieved the men of the guns that were in their shoulder holsters.

'Jasper's got one in his sock. Don't miss it.' French said.

Fry removed the gun in question. A small, dangerous looking weapon.

'Now back off, nice and slow. If I see you so much as crane your neck between here and the end of that block, you're dead. Now start walking.'

'Big mistake buddy. You'd all better find yourselves nice holes to hide in, like for the rest of your lives.'

Jasper signalled his guys and they started off. No one paid any attention to the guy in the gutter.

Fry was on the ground next to where French had fallen. She smoothed back her hair and looked over her wounds. She couldn't move French on her own. 'Come on Ronnie, help me.'

'Sure Violet. Step aside.' Ronnie bent down and hefted French in his arm. 'Big girl. She your girlfriend?'

Fry shook her head, 'No, she's a friend. My boss.'

'Oh. We better get her some help. Umm, Violet?'

'Yes?'

'You're not going to tell your Mom about the gun are you? I mean, she'd get real pissed if she knew I had it. It's the only thing my Dad left me and I don't use it or anything... not anymore.'

'No Ronnie, I won't tell her. Thanks a lot for helping us.'

'Oh sure. No problem.'

Ronnie knew better than to ask too many questions. The years he'd been a drug runner up and down the east coast, he'd learned a few things. One of them was when to keep your mouth shut. Something he'd learned since he'd gotten out of prison and left that life behind was that there were a lot of things on this earth more worthwhile than money and drugs. He had two people to thank for that. Priscilla and Howard Spark. So when Violet showed up at his door half crazy with fright, there wasn't a person on this earth that could have deterred him from helping her. He owed the Sparks a lot. So did a lot of other ex-cons who'd gotten their first shot at a legit job working in their restaurant.

You showed up there because it'd keep your parole officer off your back for five minutes while you worked your connections to get you back in the game. But the Sparks were smarter than that. Before you knew it they were in every aspect of your life and before you knew what else, you were licking stamps at the tables out front, organizing text book buys for inmates and ex-cons or you were being marshalled into the local community center to help out troubled teens. They made you feel needed, damn them. Whatever your history, they found a way to put it to use. He owed the Sparks big time.

The first thing that became clear to French was the smell of stale beer and... could that be three day old pizza? Her head hurt like hell and the only thing that made sense to her addled brain was that she'd gotten plastered and gone on a binge. She wondered how much she'd had to drink. But that couldn't be right because she remembered telling Fry to run. 'Fry!'

She tried to sit up and realized what a mistake that was.

'Hey, it's okay. I'm right here. We're at my friend Ronnie's house. Do you remember what happened?'

'Yeah. I didn't move left.'

'You got hit pretty bad, do you remember it?'

'Yeah, I didn't move left. The medium sized guy got in a zinger and Jasper clocked me good. I don't think I'll be forgetting it any time soon.'

Fry couldn't express her relief in words, so she began to cry. It was all she could do to keep calm for this long. When they'd gotten French's face cleaned and looked at her torso she couldn't believe the bruising. It was awful. She must have been in such pain.

'Oh come on, do I look that bad?' She could feel that the left side of her face was kind of swollen and she had a few cuts as well. What really hurt like a son of a bitch was her side. The bastard had better not have busted a rib. She was already going to kill him. If one of her ribs was busted, she'd hang him in her walk in and flay him alive. It had a certain morbid appeal. When she chuckled involuntarily she groaned from the pain.

'What is it? What hurts?'

'Everything.'

'Ronnie's getting dressed. We're going to take you to a doctor.'

French groaned again. 'No doctors, I hate doctors.'

'We have to. You could have a concussion, or worse.'

'Look at my eyes.' French told her.

Fry did. They were beautiful. She was lost in the blue depths when French's eyes rolled upwards. Fry backed up a bit. Even through the swelling and bruising she could tell French was giving her a look. 'I meant look at my pupils. Are they the same size? C'mon Fry, get a grip.'

Fry blushed. 'Sorry.' The more time she was spending around French, the harder it was not to act on her feelings. She checked her pupils and was mildly surprised to see they were the same size. It didn't mean she didn't have a concussion definitely, but it was a good sign. She should have known French had a thick skull.

French insisted she didn't need a doctor, but she couldn't fight off both Fry and her hairy cohort, Ronnie. He was a huge man with a large beard and hairy forearms to match. He helped French into the truck and they all went over to Doctor Phillip's house where he poked and prodded and generally made a nuisance of himself. That was French's opinion.

Fry was pleased. The doctor said French was very lucky to have gotten away with just the cuts and bruising. As far as he could see she didn't have a concussion. He gave her some anti-inflammatories and told her he'd call her the next day.

'Take two aspirin and call me in the morning. How much is that dollop of wisdom going to cost me?' They had left the office and Ronnie was driving them to French's house.

'He said he'd call you and it won't cost you anything.'

'Why's that?'

'He's Bobby's father. My mother's younger brother.'

'I should have known.'

'How?'

'He kept poking me where it hurt. I told him to stop, and he kept at it.'

When French got out of the truck on her own steam, both Ronnie and Fry gave each other a surprised look. Fry followed her out to help her up the couple of stairs to her porch.

'Where do you think you're going?' French wanted to know.

'I'm going to help you.'

'It's daybreak, why don't you go home and get some shut eye. If I'm not mistaken, you're on later today. I'll see you then.'

'You must be joking.'

'After this evening, I'm not in a funny mood. I'll see you later Fry. Beat it.' French was aching in places she didn't like to admit to owning. She didn't feel like being pestered to death by Fry. She just wanted to be left alone. It occurred to her that all of the problems she'd had that night had involved other people. Take away the people and the problems should go with them.

'I want to help get you settled. Then I'll leave you alone. Promise. Please, let me help a little.'

French grunted, then turned and walked slowly toward the steps. The neighbor's cat was there, as always. Fry started talking to it, but French knew better. Cats weren't interested in people. They were smarter than that.

Fry supported her as she limped into the house and by the time she had aided French onto the couch in her living room the ailing chef was glad of the help. French sank into the cushions and didn't move. Moving had become a bad idea. She was seriously considering never moving again. Oh yeah, maybe once, to kill Jasper. But that was it.

'Do you want me to get you a blanket?'

'No.'

'How about some water?'

French wanted to say 'no' again, but knew she'd need water and didn't want to have to get it herself. 'In the kitchen. Glasses are to the left of the sink.'

Fry took that as her permission and set off to get the water. French's house wasn't big, but it was spacious and airy inside. The older structure had been extensively remodeled. It had a nice mix of modern and aged to it. The decor in the living room was interesting, but not to Fry's taste. The kitchen on the other hand was perfection. Who wouldn't want to cook in there? Not that it could have gotten much use with French at the restaurant all of the time. Still, it had a comfortable feeling to it, despite it's immaculate marble surfaces and super-organized setup. Fry located the glasses and poured the water.

She returned and set it on a table where French could reach it from the couch.

'I'd be glad to stay for a while,in case you need something else...'

'I'll be fine. Thanks. I want to get some rest. Alone.'

'Alright, but you can call me if you need anything.'

'Sure.'

'French?'

'Yeah.'

'Can I ask you a question? Then I promise to leave you alone.'

'Shoot.' Like she had any choice. Fry had her in a vulnerable position with her guts and brains scrambled and not being able to move. And as Fry had probably saved her worthless life that night, she should probably answer the damn question. Maybe it would make them even.

'Well, I was wondering. Why do you have cutlery all over your walls?'

It took French a second to figure out what Fry meant. She cracked open an eye and looked at one of the walls in question. There was a display of knives, sure. But mainly it was a collection of swords and pikes and other bladed weapons. She closed the eye. 'Because, I'm a chef.'

To be continued...