Night into Day

The evening was growing late when a restless John, wearing swim trunks and a t-shirt, found himself by the pool. The water, lit from without and within, rippled and glinted from the motion of its sole occupant, Gordon. John smiled slightly, then pulled his shirt over his head and slipped into the water, not wanting to break his brother's rhythm. He began to swim, not as energetically nor as smoothly as his next youngest brother, but with enough vigor to stretch his muscles and generate a pleasant feeling of actually working them.

He hit the far wall for the second time and turned, crawling the length of the pool back to the shallow end. As he turned his head to breathe, he caught a glimpse of Gordon sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs dangling in the water. Touching the wall, he stopped, rising from the water and pushing his blond locks back, away from his face. Then he boosted himself to the side of the pool to join his brother.

"So, how was your day?" Gordon asked, without preface.

"Challenging," John replied. "I was trying to translate an email that Aunt Lou got from a friend of hers in Singapore. A late friend, as it turns out. The email was in Mandarin, but there were a few odd characters that didn't translate."

"Is that what you were talking with Brains about over dinner?"

"Yeah. I think we've got it puzzled out. Now I just have to wait for the time zones to align so I can call her and tell her." He paused, giving Gordon's pensive face a good going over. "How was your day?"

"Boring as all hell," the aquanaut replied with a snort. "All I did was stand still and let Tin-Tin measure me, and measure me again, then put pieces of cloth up to me and pin them together. Wish the sewing industry would come up with a better way of fastening cloth together; she stuck me several times."

"So, what did the uniform look like?" John asked, leaning back on his hands.

Gordon shrugged and shook his head. "Beats me. The only thing I know is that the shirt is some kind of shiny, stretchy stuff. Tin-Tin found it was the devil to work with." He chuckled slightly. "I've never heard her cuss before. At least I think it was cussing; it sounded like she was using French, Malay, and a couple of languages I've never heard before."

John laughed. "I would have loved to hear it, if only to tease her about it later. But that explains why she wanted a tray in her room."

"Yeah, she wanted to sew that stuff up while she still had the upper hand." Gordon paused for a moment, then asked, "What was going on at dinner tonight? The atmosphere was so strained you could have used it for baby food."

His brother shook his head. "I didn't pay too much attention, I'm afraid. Got caught up in my discussion with Brains."

"Yeah, so I saw. But... Dad was distracted. Scott was talking in monosyllables, if at all. Virgil had a nice dark purple bruise on his jaw and wasn't talking to Scott. Both of them have bandaged hands. Grandma looked so tired. And where was Lady Penelope? I don't think I've seen her since they came back from the Caribbean."

John blew out a breath slowly. "Don't know what Dad's up to, but a lot of this has to do with Peter Riordan's death. Penelope was there, and I think she's still in shock over it. Scott's really cut up about it, and it's like he's looking for someone to blame. I hear he and Virgil mixed it up in the garden today, possibly about the pod incident..."

"Pod incident?" Gordon asked, puzzled. "What pod incident?"

The blond shook his head impatiently. "Virge and I got angry at each other and he dropped the pod with me in it as his way of expressing his displeasure. I made the mistake of making a distinction during the debriefing, and Scott picked up on it. He asked me about it, and said he was going to 'discuss' it with Virgil."

"Must have been some discussion if Scott gave Virge that bruise," Gordon said dryly. "Not to mention the bandaged hands."

"I'm not sure where those came from; Scott's was already bandaged when he and I talked," John admitted. "But I hope they're able to function tomorrow. Dad wants me to go up and replace Alan for a week or two so Alan can help work on FAB-1. It'll be you, Scott, and Virge left to handle any calls."

"I hope they're talking to each other by then," Gordon said, shaking his head. He frowned, a puzzled look. "Y'know, this fight, if it was one, bothers me. Virge is usually a whole lot more laid back, and he's better at handling Scott when he's in his 'I'm the field commander' mode than any of the rest of us are. I can't see why Scott discussing rescue operations would cause this."

John sat silent for a long moment, staring at the water. Then he turned to Gordon. "It may not have been just about the rescue. Scott told me something today that made my jaw drop."

"What's that?" Gordon's interest was suddenly piqued, and he sat up straighter, leaning toward John. "You can tell me."

The astronaut's face took on an incredulous look. "What? Tell you? I don't think so. You're practically a member of the mass media."

The copper-haired man rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Johnny. It was only that one time..."

"Yeah, and I've never lived it down, either," John retorted.

Gordon linked his fingers together and held them out in front of him, his arms straight. He leaned way over, until he was nearly in John's lap. His head tilted upwards and he blinked his eyelids, trying to flutter his eyelashes. He smiled, and said in his cutest, pleading tone, "Tell me, Johnny, pleeeeeeease? You know you can't wesist your widdle baby brudder."

John closed his eyes and shook his head as if in pain. Then he gave Gordon a shove, putting him back in an upright position. "Okay, I'll tell you, if only to stop this pathetic attempt at wheedling. You're going to make me barf."

Gordon sat up, laughing, then calmed down as he saw the more serious expression on John's face. "What is it, John? C'mon, let loose."

His brother took a deep breath and said quickly, "Virgil wants Lady Penelope." He turned to see Gordon's reaction.

Gordon blinked, then frowned. "This is news?"

John's mouth dropped open. "Wait," he said, matching Gordon's frown. "You knew about this?"

"Well... yeah. Sort of," Gordon said, nodding. "If you'd seen him looking at her after we rescued her in the Anderbad tunnel... talk about a 'come-hither' look! And they had that date at Paradise Peaks, and then went to the Swinging Star that other time..."

"Wait! Wait! Slow down!" John put up his hands to visually stop his brother's account. "When did this all start? Why didn't I know about it? Hell, why didn't I get to go?"

"When? About two, maybe three years ago. Why didn't you know? Well, for the same reason you didn't get to go. You were in Thunderbird Five."

"Damn! I miss too much being up there," John said, shaking his head again. "So, tell me. They had dates at Paradise Peaks, and the Swinging Star... where else? And how in hell did Virgil talk Dad into letting him go?"

"Oh, it wasn't too hard. The dates happened at the end of a rescue or some other caper, and Penelope invited him. They didn't go alone, either. Alan and Tin-Tin were on hand at Paradise Peaks, and Scott was with them at the Swinging Star. And, for the record, I didn't get to go to any of these soirées either. I was stuck at home." He looked off into the night sky for a moment. "I think that Virgil would have taken Penelope out in Paris, too, but she had Sir Jeremy Hodges to entertain. There have been a couple of other times, too. I can't think of where and when at the moment."

"That's it! I'm going to demand some more time doing the town like that," John said, smacking one fist into the palm of the other hand. "Maybe I can find someplace nice to take Brigitte."

"Brigitte?" Gordon asked, one eyebrow climbing and his voice again betraying his piqued interest.

"Uh, yeah. Brigitte. One of our agents. A firefighter from Unity City," John stammered, feeling a flush color his cheeks.

"Pretty?" Gordon asked.

"Yeah. Pretty. Even in camo," John admitted. He nudged his brother. "Hey, it's not like I expect it to be serious or anything, but..." He shrugged. "You never know."

"Man, I've got to get out more, too," Gordon said, shaking his head. "Though, I did get a kiss from that tiger's trainer... what was her name?" He snapped his fingers. "Yeah, Margot. Not a bad looker, either."

"Yeah, but do you really want to get involved with a woman who keeps a 200 kilo cat for a house pet?"

Gordon looked up as if considering. "You have a point. With a woman like that, there might be control issues..."

The two men laughed. "I'm for some more laps," John said. "You?"

"Sure. Got to get really tired out so I can get a good night sleep... and maybe have a nice dream or two."

With that, they slipped back into the water, and started swimming side by side down the length of the pool.

"Jeff?"

Jeff turned at the soft voice that called from the far end of the lounge. He smiled. "Penelope. What a nice surprise."

Penelope stepped down carefully into the room from the study. "I came to ask what arrangements have been made for FAB-1."

He put down the data pad he had been poring over, and motioned her to Thunderbird Three's couch, then joined her there. "Brains has requested that we bring Alan down, and possibly fetch Kenny Malone from the States to help. He's got a lot on his plate, and feels that Alan would do a better job with the Rolls than he could, with his current workload."

"Ah. I understand." She turned her body to face him, her hands in her lap. "I have not yet heard back from my friend in Unity City, but I feel she shall be able to help Melissa Riordan return Peter to Ireland without trouble."

"Good to hear," Jeff said gently. "I've had one of our agents checking into dealing the family's debt. We'll pay off the bills anonymously to free her of financial obligation. Then I'll be setting up a stipend each month for her, paid directly to her bank account."

"How will you explain the funds to her?" Penelope asked.

"I'm not sure," Jeff said, scratching the back of his neck. "If you have any ideas, I'd be glad to hear them. I'd rather not tell her about Peter's activities in International Rescue if I can help it." He shook his head slowly. "These are things we haven't had to deal with before, and they're proving to be more of a tangled mess than I anticipated."

"I know you will find a way, Jeff. You always do."

The two of them sat quietly for a few moments, then Jeff said, "I'd like you to look over something for me, Penelope." He got up and retrieved the data pad, handing it to her as he sat back down. "It's a letter to our agents, explaining about Peter. And... giving them a chance to step out, if they want to."

Penelope glanced up at him, a small frown creasing her face as she did. Then she applied herself to reading the letter. When she was finished, she handed it back. "It is very well stated. Clear and concise. But... do you think it wise to send it?"

Jeff let out a deep breath. "Yes, I think so." He glanced at her with a wry expression. "Scott was all for disbanding the agents' network entirely. But it has been helpful to us over the years. And I can't see dismantling something that's worked for us because of... because of an unexpected fatality." He looked down at the data pad. "Still, there are those who, on hearing this, might reconsider what we've asked them to do. I want to give them the opportunity to choose whether to stay or go."

"And if they go? What then?"

"Then, the equipment they have in their homes will be deactivated, and the stipend I pay them will stop or perhaps be reduced. I'm not sure which. I hate the idea of buying someone's silence, but I hope it doesn't come to that. I'd like to think that the people we've chosen are at least loyal enough not to give us away to the world."

"And for those who stay? What of them? You mention a restructuring?"

Jeff nodded. "Yes. A codifying of who can do what. Looking at the individual strengths and weaknesses of each agent, then deciding who we can call on in certain instances. For example, if we needed a physician, we might call on Agent 112, that Dr. Solokov who was with you. If we needed someone handy with a gun, perhaps my old friend, Jeremiah, would be chosen." He smiled at Penelope. "He could always bring along some of Maud's beans..."

His sally brought forth a small smile from Penelope, as he hoped it would. But it was a smile that too soon faded, and she turned her head to gaze out the windows at the darkness beyond. "What's wrong, Penny?" he asked gently.

It took a long moment for Penelope to steel herself to the subject. "I... I have a message for you." She turned to Jeff with a solemn face. "It is from Peter. They were his last words."

Jeff was taken aback and just stared at her. She avoided his gaze, looking down at her now-folded hands. At last, he let out a pent-up breath and said, his voice rough, "Please tell me."

Penelope glanced up again, staring straight ahead, her eyes moist. "He was dying. Victor had told him so. He looked up at me and gave me messages for his children, for Scott, and for Melissa. Then he told me," here she drew in a deep breath, " 'Tell the boss, 'twas worth it'." She swallowed and continued. "He wanted you to know that he did not think he died in vain. That he considered your dream important enough to sacrifice his life."

There was another long silence between them, then Jeff swallowed heavily and said, "Thank you, Penny. Thank you for giving me his message."

"You are welcome," came the automatic response. Another, shorter spell of quiet, then Penelope rose, and Jeff rose with her. "I... must sleep now, if I can." She met Jeff's eyes. "Am I included in your letter to the agents?"

Jeff nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Putting a hand up beside his face, she reached up with her lips to kiss him on the opposite cheek. "Thank you for giving me a choice." She brought her hand slowly down his jawline and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Goodnight, Jeff."

"Goodnight, Penny," he said as she turned. He watched her leave the room, rooted to the spot by her words and their implications. When she had made her way through the study, and the door had hissed shut behind her, he sagged. Going to the cabinets and drawers behind his desk, he pulled out a bottle of Scotch, and a single glass tumbler, one of four in the drawer. I see Kyrano has already replaced the one Scott broke. I don't know what we'd do without him to keep this place together.

He poured himself two fingers worth, and lowered most of the overhead lights, leaving only the ones over his desk at their full brightness. Then he made his way over to the windows that opened onto the balcony. The moon was a crescent, high in the sky, and he saluted her before he took his first taste. From where he stood he could just make out part of Thunderbird Two's runway, a dark strip of asphalt on the white beach, the palm trees showing as dark masses that flanked it in two straight rows like an honor guard. He sipped his drink, feeling the whiskey roll down his throat with each swallow. I wonder what Penelope meant about having a choice? Could she be considering leaving IR? Has her confidence been shaken that badly? I hope not; we need her.

He put his free hand in his trouser pocket as he stood there. Peter's last words were a shock. I've always known that, at any time, any of my sons might make the ultimate sacrifice for my dream. It's been the fear that's haunted me ever since we started this. And we've had so many close calls. But... to think that one of my agents found in my dream something worth dying for... it's humbling. I never would have expected it. Just as I never really expected one of them to die in the line of duty.

A slight rustle behind him told him that he was not alone. He watched in the window as the reflection of a figure came up beside his own. "Yes, Scott?"

Scott stood with his arms folded over his chest, not looking Jeff in the face, but gazing out the window as his father was doing. "I came to tell you that I'm going to Peter's wake and funeral."

Not, "I want to go" or "May I go". Just "I'm going", Jeff thought. He said, "Let me know when it is so I can have Alan take Thunderbird One."

Scott was surprised. He was all set to argue with his father over the matter. To hear him give permission without a fight took some of the belligerence out of his pose, and he lowered his arms, sticking his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

"Also, I... uh... want to help Melissa out..."

"That won't be necessary. I've got the finances covered."

Scott's bandaged hand clenched into a fist, hidden from Jeff by the pocket. "I'm not talking financially. I'm talking about on a... personal level."

Jeff now looked over at his son. "How so?"

"Well, those kids of hers will need a father figure in their lives, an 'honorary uncle' of sorts. I want to be that for them. So, when you need to send me to one of the corporate offices, I'd like it to be close to wherever she ends up, whether it's Unity City or Dublin."

"Have you discussed this with Melissa?"

"No. I haven't had a chance to. And I think I should wait a couple of weeks before I do. Let things... settle a bit."

The older man nodded, then turned back to the window, downing the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, grimacing. "Come back to me once you've spoken to her and we'll discuss it then."

"Yes, sir."

Scott turned to go, and Jeff spoke up. "Scott, did you give Virgil that bruise?"

The son turned back and with a touch of defiance in his tone, said, "Yes, sir. I did."

"Why?"

"He was offended by something I said, and took a swing at me."

Jeff didn't expect this answer. "What did you say? Virgil wouldn't take a poke at you without cause."

Scott huffed out a breath. "It's not something I'm going to repeat."

There was silence between the men. Then Jeff sighed. "Well, whatever it was, make it right between you."

Scott came back to his father and stood before him, arms folded over his chest again. "Why? So it doesn't interfere with operations?"

"No, Scott," Jeff cut in sharply. "Make it right between you because one, he's your brother, and two, your grandmother doesn't need this stress. Haven't you seen how tired she is? She's still feeling the effects of being sick."

This brought Scott up short. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down, sudden regret causing his cheeks to color. "I'm... I'm sorry for jumping to a conclusion. I'll talk to Virgil." For her sake.

"Good." Jeff nodded once and went back to his desk, taking up the whiskey and pouring himself another dram. He stopped the glass on the way to his lips, then turned to Scott. "I think you should take Parker with you. To the wake and funeral."

"Why?" Scott challenged.

"The story Penelope gave is that Peter and Parker were good friends. It would look odd if such a good friend didn't pay his respects."

Scott stood still, letting the idea roll around in his mind for a few moments. Then he replied, "All right. I'll take him."

"And I'll speak to him about it." Jeff now took a sip of his freshened drink. He picked up the data pad, and held it out to his son. "You might as well see this."

The younger man approached and took the pad. He read through it quickly, glancing up at Jeff and handing it back when he was finished. "Too little, too late, don't you think?"

Jeff tossed the pad back on his desk, and took a larger gulp of his whiskey. He made a face and an involuntary "Ahhh" escaped his lips. He met Scott's eyes. "I'm not dismantling the network. It has been useful in more ways than one. But I do see the need for some adjustments so that hopefully this doesn't happen again."

" 'Hopefully'," Scott echoed. He gave a bitter little laugh. "Y'know, somehow, I'm not comforted by that, Dad." Turning, he sauntered across the room toward the study. As he reached the steps, he glanced over his shoulder. "I'll talk to Virgil. And I'll let you know when I'm ready to go." Then he was gone.

Alone again, Jeff let out a deep sigh, and polished off his drink.

The morning sun pushed its way through the blinds in Cindy Lou's bedroom, causing her to roll away from the window, unconsciously snuggling down into her pillow with a barely audible sigh of contentment. Her comfort was short-lived, however, as from outside her door came the loud hissing and snarling of a cat fight. The noise brought her upright in bed, with a startled, "Wha...?"

The sounds continued, and Cindy Lou, cussing under her breath, climbed out of bed, throwing a satiny, pale blue, embroidered robe, on over her matching pajamas. She unlocked her door, and threw it open. There in the carpeted hallway, Midnight and Spot were facing off, both with hackles raised. The two swatted at each other, neither making contact, both hissing loudly. Snowball and Moofums were on hand, too, watching the spat until Cindy Lou opened the door. Then their attention turned to their mistress, and they began to rub themselves against her legs, trying to butter her up. Midnight and Spot, however, continued with their argument.

"Midnight!" she shouted, reaching out to grab the black male. "Yoah a pest, yew know thet?" Tucking him under her arm, she stomped downstairs, barefoot, her robe dragging from step to step behind her. She dropped the cat in the middle of the kitchen floor, where he was joined by the females, Spot still hissing at him if he got near. She glanced back at them as she opened the cupboard door, shaking her head, her hand reaching in for a can of cat food. When it failed to make contact with one, she turned to view the empty spot on the shelf, and groaned.

"Damn," she muttered under her breath. "Ah need t' go shoppin'."

Opening another cupboard, she pulled out a can of tuna in water, and opened it. The cats got a whiff of the familiar, fishy odor and crowded around, Moofums even getting so bold as to jump up on the counter. Cindy Lou pushed her off, and took out a fork.

"Now, don't y'all get used t' this, y'hear?" she warned the cats as she portioned out the fish. "Ah'll be goin' shoppin' t'day t' get yew what yew really need."

The cats were munching away contentedly when the vidphone in her kitchen rang. Looking at the clock, she sighed heavily, raising a hand to her hair. "Great. Ah haven' had a chance t' showah yet. Well, whoevah it is is gonna have t' put up with no picture." She activated the phone and, not hiding her frustration, said, "Cindy Lou Kellay heah. Who is callin'?"

There was a pause on the other end, and then a familiar voice sounded out hesitantly. "Uh... Aunt Lou?"

"John. What th' hell ah yew doin' callin' me at this ungodly owah?" she asked bluntly.

"Is that you, Aunt Lou?" he asked again.

"Yes, John, it's me," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Uh, how come you've got the phone on voice only?"

" 'Cause, John Tracy, it's seven o'clock in th' mornin' heah an' Ah haven't had tahme t' get a showah," she explained with exaggerated patience.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought it would be a good time to call. I'll call back later," he replied, his words coming out in a rush.

Her shoulders sagged as "No, no, John. Ah'm sorry. It's just... Ah look lahke Medusa when Ah first get up, that's all. What did yew need, hun?"

"Me? Nothing. I've got something for you. Dad handed me that email you sent, and..."

Cindy Lou cut in. "Wait jes' a second, John. Lemme take this in mah office, okay? Gonna put yew on hold." She did it before he could either protest or acknowledge the act, then she scooted off quickly to her office, closing the door behind her. A movement of her mouse brought her computer to life, and she picked up the phone in that room, still keeping it on "voice only". "Okay, John, Ah'm in mah office an' Ah've got th' email befoah me. Now, tell me whatchu got."

"Well, I can read it to you in more colloquial English, but I think you're probably more interested in those odd characters, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ah am. Yew can send on th' rest of th' translation latuh."

"Okay. Those characters were set apart because they don't make a word in Mandarin or in any other language that uses Hanyu Pinyin. Instead, they are merely the sounds that would be strung together to make a word. The sounds are 'deh', 'ruh', and 'eh'. Together, they would sound like 'druh'. And, I noticed that the characters are actually connected to the word that follows: the word 'man'."

Cindy Lou frowned. "Druh-man? Drummond?"

"No!" John said excitedly. "I talked this over with Brains last night, and he came up with an inspired idea. Instead of having the sounds read left to right as Hanyu Pinyin usually is, the sounds would read right to left, as traditional Chinese characters would be. So instead of 'druh', you get..."

" 'Ur-d' and 'man'... Erdman! Th' Erdman gang!" Cindy Lou pushed herself back into her chair with a huff of breath. "Tony, yew definitely ran afoul of th' wrong fellas."

"From your response, I'd guess that the Erdman gang wasn't completely eliminated," John commented, a wry tone to his voice.

"Eliminated? What d'yew mean, John?"

"Well, you remember an incident from a few years back? Where a man named Prescott was trapped in the basement of a burning building and IR had to rescue him?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, Ah remembah. Th' Erdman gang was behind it an' the British Security Service got involved. Ah recall hearin' they sent in a man t' infiltrate th' gang."

"Right. They were trying to blow up a plutonium storage facility. But the agent's cover was blown, and he was left in the main storeroom in the clutches of a guard robot. We got called in to rescue him and take out the explosive devices. We called in Lady Penelope, who went after the other two crooks and caught up with them just as they got aboard their leader's helijet. She... uh... used FAB-1's guns to blow it out of the sky. Everyone aboard was killed."

"And?"

"And that was the end of the Erdman gang. Or so we thought."

Cindy Lou sighed and smiled, even though John couldn't see it. "Oh, hun, that was not th' end of th' Erdman gang. They were disorganized an' went underground foah a tahme aftah that, but they came back an' ah still out theyah. Jus' pickin' different targets, that's all. Believe me, Ah know. Intuhpol's been tryin' t' shut them down foah a good long tahme. They'll work foah whoevah will pay what they ask." She paused. "That incident did keep them from becomin' a major terrorist organization, though. But it looks lahke theyah workin' foah Gaat rahte now."

"So, what's the next step?"

"Yew leave that up t' me, John. Ah got mah friends workin' on a little suhprize foah th' Erdman gang an' the websahte they run. But thank yew foah th' translation, hun. Give mah thanks t' Brains, too, y'hear?"

"You're welcome, Aunt Lou. I wish Dad had warned me about that accent, though. I thought I had the wrong number at first."

"Believe me, John, if yew'd seen me, yew would've been shoah of it." They chuckled together then she added, "It's aftuh midnight out theyah an' I don't want t' keep yew from yoah bed."

"Okay, Aunt Lou. Talk to you later. Have a good day."

"Latuh, John. An' goodnight."

They disconnected the call, and Cindy Lou sat up, resting her elbow on her desk and her chin in her hand. Now all I need is to get that altered program from Dee and hopefully, I can put a crimp in the Erdman gang's game for a bit. And while that's happening, figure out a way to take down Gaat. Just can't let him keep the power he's stolen; he's far too dangerous. She gnawed lightly on a thumbnail. Should I pass this email on to Donovan? It might be nice to implicate the gang in Tony's murder. I'll have to think about it. But first things first.

She stretched and yawned, then padded upstairs, back to her bedroom and bath to get another, fresher start to the day.

The doorbell rang at the bed and breakfast and one of the owners hurried to answer it. He first looked out the window beside the wide double door to see who might be calling at this frenzied time of day. The man on the porch was tall and well-built, with dark hair, wearing equally dark glasses. He reached down to pet one of the inn's dogs who came up to smell him. This is a bad time, but I'd better see what he wants, the proprietor thought. He opened the door enough to step outside. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, maybe you can." The man smiled, his white teeth gleaming in his well-tanned skin. He gestured over across the street. "I'm looking for an old friend of mine: Lucinda Myles. This is the most recent address I have, but she seems to have moved. Tell me, did she leave behind any contact information? I really need to get in touch with her."

The innkeeper gazed at the man steadily, then shook his head. "No, Ms. Myles didn't leave any forwarding address. At least, not with us. She may have with the post office."

"An email address, a phone number? Anything?" the stranger queried in his odd voice.

The proprietor shook his head slowly. "No, nothing. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

The stranger was poised to ask another question, but the door opened behind the innkeeper, and his partner peered out. "Everything okay out here?"

"Oh, yeah, just fine," the manager said. "I was just telling this gentleman that Ms. Myles didn't leave behind any way for us to contact her. Again, I'm sorry, sir. But I can't help you."

The stranger smiled again. "That's okay. Thanks for your time."

"You're welcome."

The dark-haired man left the inn, walking quickly over to the plush sedan he was driving. He gave a little wave as he climbed inside, then pulled carefully out of the driveway. The innkeepers both watched him go, then the man outside came back inside.

"Who was that?" the partner wanted to know.

"I think it was that guy Luci asked us to keep an eye out for."

"Wasn't that guy supposed to be blond?" the partner asked.

"Yeah," the first man said as they walked back to the kitchen. People were already sitting at the small tables in the common area, chatting. "But Luci said something about him having a weird voice. And that guy's voice fit the bill! I think I'd better drop her an email."

"Yeah, sure, go ahead. But not right now," his partner hissed. "We've got breakfast to serve."

The man who answered the door nodded, and the two innkeepers began to serve up the gourmet breakfast that they had been preparing. And in the rush to feed the guests, the incident on the porch slipped the mind of the one who had spoken to the stranger, until much, much later.