Mason tried returning some of the calls from lawyers on other cases he was handling, but gave up when he realized they were using those cases as an excuse to talk about the shoot-out at the lagoon. Instead, he called Rachel and asked her to check the Star's clipping file for stories about the death of Donald Ray White.

"Who was Donald Ray White and why are you interested in that story?" she asked him.

"Because," he answered.

"Because it has something to do with the mayhem epidemic you started, or just because?"

"Donald Ray White was the director of liquor control until he was killed eighteen years ago."

"If I ask you who killed him, will you tell me?"

"According to Howard Trimble, who inherited Donald Ray's job, he was killed by his brain-damaged daughter, Cheryl White."

"Why aren't you convinced? Do you have another suspect in mind?"

"Yeah. Amy White."

"Mayor Billy Sunshine's Amy White? Get out of town! Give it to me!"

"Do your homework first. I'm at the office."

Mason sorted through his mail, the volume of which had doubled. Much of it was from cranks and kooks who wanted to hire him. One writer even asked Mason to sue the planet Zircon for bombarding him with radiation.

His phone rang so often, he let his answering machine screen calls. When Beth Harrell called, he nearly succumbed to the sound of her voice and picked up the phone. She sounded distant, almost as if she were adrift.

"Lou," she said, "it's Beth. I know things are crazy for you right now. They sure are crazy for me. Call me when you can. There's something I have to tell you."

Mason ran down a mental list of what that could possibly be, and didn't come up with anything he was anxious to find out. The sun was making its late afternoon exit, carpeting Broadway with shadows, when Mason's cell phone rang.

"Do you make house calls?" Blues asked.

"Depends on the patient's condition. Is it critical?"

"Could be. I followed Amy from City Hall. She stopped at the Goodwill Industries sheltered workshop and picked up a woman who must be her sister. They went out to lunch, did some shopping, and came home."

"Sounds very suspicious," Mason teased.

"Wait till you hear about the snowman. The two of them came back outside and built a snowman and had a snowball fight. Then they got back in the car and went sledding on Suicide Hill on Brookside Boulevard, which isn't far from her house. Amy acted like she didn't have a care in the world. Her sister was obviously a little slow. Amy had to help her with her mittens and show her how to steer the sled, things like that. They just got home."

"Give me the address," Mason said, jotting it down.

"Keep an eye on them. I'm waiting to hear from Harry on something. As soon as he calls, I'll be there."

Mason stacked and unstacked the papers on his desk, rearranged the pencils in his drawer, and shot baskets with Mickey using wadded-up crank letters as basketballs and his trash can as a hoop. Mickey let him win the first two games, then suggested they play for money. Mason knew he was being set up, but didn't mind. Mickey ran his scams with good humor, even making Mason feel charitable as the money changed hands.

Rachel rocketed into Mason's office at four o'clock with a set of clippings under her arm and high color in her cheeks. Mickey was bent over backward, making the winning basket in a game of HORSE.

"Who's the contortionist?" Rachel asked.

Mickey looked up, sprang forward on one hand, and extended the other. "Mickey Shanahan," he said.

"Beat it, Mickey," Rachel told him in a sharp tone that left no room for argument. "And close the door behind you."

Mickey looked at Mason, who nodded and pointed at the door. "She's usually a lot meaner," Mason told him. "She's having a good day."

After Mickey closed the door, Rachel and Mason had a staring contest. Mason caught a merry glint in her eye and a fragment of a smile that turned the corner of her mouth slightly upward.

"First one to smile is a weenie," Mason said.

"Stand up," she commanded him, "and get over here."

Mason did as he was told, stopping well inside her territorial imperative while he tried to decipher the mixed message that was scrambling his hormonal network. Before he was able to crack Rachel's code, she grasped the back of his neck with both of her hands, pulled his mouth to hers, and crushed him with a kiss that nearly sucked the life out of him. Mason couldn't decide whether to hold on or beg for mercy. He settled for the Issac Newton kissing principle of equal, and opposite reaction.

"Damn it!" she said when she released him and came up for air. "Nothing!"

"What's the matter?" he gasped.

"It's not your fault," she said. "You're just not a woman. What a waste!"

"Could I have a translation here or at least a reverse-angle replay?"

Rachel stroked the side of his face with excruciating tenderness. "I'm sorry, Lou. I told you not to get a crush on me because I'd break your heart. I should have listened to my own advice. You're cute, funny, and you give great tips. Today's was a mega-tip. I guess it all overwhelmed me, and I had to find out if it was you or the tips that were making me wet."

"Shouldn't we at least have sex just to be certain?"

"Further proof that you'll never be a woman," she said. "You'll have to settle for the clippings on Donald Ray White. Why didn't you tell me that Jack Cullan was the family's lawyer?"

Rachel handed Mason the clippings and sat down on his couch as he leafed through them. "And take all the fun out of your job?" he said.

Rachel joined him on the couch. "Okay, give me the rest of it," she said. Mason started to protest, and Rachel interrupted him. "I know. It's all off the record until you tell me otherwise."

"Jack Cullan and Blues had an argument in the bar the Friday night that Cullan was killed."

"I know. That was the key to the prosecutor's case," Rachel said.

"Cullan threatened to shut Blues down. Later than night, he called Amy White and demanded that she bring him Blues' liquor control file."

"That night?"

"Cullan lived for immediate gratification. Amy told me about the call from Cullan, but said that she told him that he'd have to wait until Monday morning. This morning, Howard Trimble told me that Amy called him that night and he met her at his office and gave her Blues's file."

Rachel whistled. "So, you think Amy took the file to Cullan and killed him for making her come out late at night?"

Mason shook his head. "Not exactly. According to Howard Trimble, Donald Ray was a child-abuser. He'd been arrested for abusing Amy's sister Cheryl. Amy was fifteen and Cheryl was twelve. Cullan got him off and kept it quiet and, in the process, added Donald Ray to his stable of indebted city officials. After Donald Ray got out of jail, he took his frustrations out on Cheryl, leaving her braindamaged. Then Cheryl shot her father with his own gun. Cullan made that case go away too."

"How does a brain-damaged twelve year old kill her father?"

"I don't think Cheryl shot her father. I think Amy did, and Cullan pinned it on Cheryl because nothing would happen to her. He made a long-term investment in Amy, and was collecting-again-when he told her to get Blues's file."

"Maybe Amy decided her account was already paid in full," Rachel said.

"More likely that she decided to cancel the debt."

Rachel said, "The newspaper reported it as an accidental shooting, a tragic accident. The story says that Donald Ray had just cleaned the gun and set it down for a moment. The wife said Cheryl thought it was a toy and was playing with it when the gun went off accidentally. Everybody said how sad, and that was it. What now?"

"Harry Ryman is doing a ballistics check to see if Donald Ray and Cullan were killed with the same gun."