"Ahhh." Simon leaned back in his chair and savored the moment. The moment, the hour, hell, the entire day.

The vanilla creme de broulet coffee dripping behind him filled the office with a spectacular aroma, his cigar was one of a delightful hand-made brand he'd recently discovered from New Mexico, and, in what he considered a major coup, the mayor had called to congratulate him on getting Evelyn Smith to participate in the Sesquicentennial celebration. Apparently her nephew had just phoned his office accepting the official invitation -- proof that Ellison and Sandburg could carry out a simple duty without setting the city on fire. This, thought Simon with a touch of envy, is how captains supervising normal detectives must feel each day.

A loud knock interrupted his introspective self-congratulations.

"Come!"

The door opened a few inches and Rafe poked his head in. "You have a moment, sir?"

"Certainly." When Rafe didn't move, he added, "Don't be shy, Detective. I'm in a good mood today."

The rest of Rafe's body followed his head, but he remained standing just a few inches inside the door, his eyes wandering around the room as if looking for something. "That's good, sir."

For the first time, Simon's exuberant smile faltered. "You're going to ruin my good mood, aren't you?"

"Uh...."

"Damn, I knew it couldn't last." Simon dropped his cigar into an ashtray and sighed. "Let me guess: it involves Ellison and Sandburg."

"We don't think so. Actually, we hope so. Actually, we--"

"Damnit, man, just spit it out!"

"Right. Well, there was a little girl sitting at Sandburg's desk, waiting for him and Ellison, but she seems to have, uh, disappeared. Sir."

Thank you, God. Simon relaxed and even chuckled. "Fear not, Detective. Ellison and Sandburg have her."

The look of relief that washed over Rafe's face was almost comical. "Oh, man. That's a load off my mind. Well, Brown's too. We figured they'd keep her here at the station, but no one had seen them."

"Why would they keep her here at the station?"

"Why wouldn't they? That's usually proper procedure."

Scowling, Simon grabbed his cigar back. "The whole point of having her ride along, Detective, is so that she can 'ride' 'along.'"

"Ride along?" Now Rafe looked thoroughly confused.

"What are we doing here, a recreation of one of those Police Academy movies? We are talking about Councilwoman Elder's daughter, aren't we?"

Rafe swallowed hard, and shook his head. "No, sir. We're... well, I'm talking about the little Michaelson girl. Eyewitness to a murder."

Stunned, Simon sat up sharply. He remembered seeing the girl when they left. "Cute little kid with blonde braids? Plaid jumper?"

"That's the one."

"Shit. They must have thought... Well, what the hell was she doing waiting for Ellison and Sandburg anyway?"

"Oh yeah." Rafe looked at the suddenly interesting floor and shifted his position. "H and I have been meaning to bring you up to speed on a few things...."

Simon halted him with a raised hand. "Don't move." He grabbed the phone and punched a few numbers. "I need Dispatch!" he barked into the receiver, remembering that Ellison and Sandburg's cellphones had been destroyed in the explosion. To Rafe he added, "Get your partner in here. You both have some fast explaining to do."

Reverend Willis C. Chatterly thought Cascade should be a real town, so he started a town directorate (a "directorate" is just like a council). He was the minister for the big Methodist church, and the directorate used to meet there every Thursday night. The directorate was made up of all five of our founding fathers. Everyone thought Reverend Chatterly was a good man, but people didn't like his sermons much because they were usually about three hours long. Raymond Crockett said once that "Dear Reverend Chatterly is one of the most aptly named men it has ever been my pleasure to meet." The big Methodist church was the only church in Cascade back then, and it's still there now, near the courthouse.

From the 5th Grade Report Cascade's Founding Fathers by Jeannie Marie Michaelson

Blair sipped his coffee while they waited for Jim, and enjoyed watching Jeannie as she practically inhaled her cinnamon cruller.

"I love strawberry jelly doughnuts best," Jeannie commented as she licked each of her fingers in turn, "but this was really good. I never had the twisty kind before."

"Well, don't tell Jim, but I kind of like the twisty kind myself."

After leaving the Smith home, Jim had insisted they go to a drive-through Dunkin' Donuts so he could get the taste of "all that tea" out of his mouth. Jeannie had pounced on the doughnuts even quicker than Jim.

Turning his head to look out the window, Blair watched the animated conversation between Jim and the landlady of the next person on the list, Morton Finnerman, great-, great-, etc., grandson of Willis Chatterly. "So what do you know about Reverend Chatterly, Jeannie?"

"Oh, he was a minister, and the founding fathers used to meet at his church. He was really fat, and he loved to talk and talk and talk and talk...." Jeannie's head tilted back and forth as she sing-songed the last words.

Blair watched as Jim carefully wrote something in his little notebook, a challenge with his bandaged hand. He said something else to the lady as she shut the door, then jogged back to the truck. Blair placed his coffee in the cup holder and prepared to get back on the road.

"Here." Jim handed him the ripped off part of his notebook page as he climbed back inside.

"The corner of Devost and Everly?" Blair shifted the truck and pulled away. "There are four corners there. Which building is it?"

Jim just shrugged. "She was reluctant to tell me anything. Hates cops for some reason, and I've got to admit, telling her the truth about why we wanted to find Finnerman certainly sounded lame, even to me. She said we'd know once we got there."

"So how'd you get her to give you the address?"

Jim looked slightly embarrassed as he glanced at Jeannie. "I sort of... suggested that her apartment building might be due for inspection. Looked to me like a place ripe for all sorts of violations."

"But wasn't that mean?" Jeannie asked, frowning.

Blair pulled lightly on one of her braids. "Jim won't really do it. We just needed the information, and sometimes people don't think police officers can be trusted, so we have to obfu... uh, bend the truth a little. You'll understand if you decide to become a cop."

"I don't want to be a cop," Jeannie stated absolutely as she reached for another cruller. "I want to be the city historian when I grow up."

Blair's eyebrows rose right along with Jim's.

"Geez, man," Blair laughed. "She's only been with us a couple of hours!"

"Well if I'd known I'd have to pull this kind of duty," Jim grumbled, "I wouldn't have wanted to be a cop either."

Blair parked in the only open space near the intersection of Devost and Everly, one of the nicer parts of Cascade's business district.

"Now let me do the talking this time, Chief. I don't want to end up chit-chatting for another hour and sipping questionable liquids."

"Hey man, knock yourself out." Blair peered through the windshield. "So which place do you suppose he works?"

A large medical office building hosting private physicians, optometrists, and dentists graced one corner; across the street was a parking garage; across the other street was a restaurant with unknown business offices in the upper floors; and on their right was a multi-level department store. A large woman with dreadlocks and a huge smile sold coffee and pretzels under a canopied metal cart, and a mime braved the cold weather across the street, hoping for a few coins to be tossed his way.

"Dentist?" Blair offered randomly.

"Salesman?"

"Parking garage attendant?"

"She said we'd know it when we saw it."

"Well it certainly isn't the pretzel vendor!" Blair laughed, then paused. "You don't suppose...."

"Don't even think it, Sandburg."

"Jim, it's got to be him."

Jim continued to look out the window and didn't answer. The mime was walking up an imaginary staircase while peeling an equally imaginary banana. Inevitably, the peel was carelessly dropped, and the mime slipped and tumbled back down the stairs, an exaggerated expression of surprise frozen on his face.

Jeannie giggled.

"Go on, Jim. You wanted to talk to him. You insisted, as I recall."

Jim turned to him, his expression one of absolute dread. "Come on, Chief, I can't talk to a mime!"

"Sure you can. You just talk. He'll answer. He might even answer in words, depending on how dedicated he is to the craft."

"Yeah, and what would you know about it?" Jim's tone was petulant as he turned back to watch the mime.

"I was a mime once. In New Orleans."

That got a smile from his partner. Well, a smirk, actually. "Right. You were a mime."

"I was! We spent a summer down south when I was fourteen. Naomi had taken up with a street musician and one of his friends taught me mime. I only performed for one week, but I made over six hundred bucks."

"Cool!" said Jeannie.

Jim just snorted. "Sandburg, you couldn't go five minutes without talking."

Blair smiled sweetly and flipped Jim the bird over Jeannie's head. "Come on, I'll go with you and 'translate.' You stay here, Jeannie, we'll just be over--"

"No!" The usually easy-going little girl clutched Blair's arm desperately as he started to open the door. "I want to go with you! I don't want to stay here alone."

"Okay, that's okay." Blair raised an eyebrow Jim's way.

"I could use the extra support, kid." It was Jim's turn to tweak a braid. "Afterwards, maybe stuffy old Sanbug will let us buy some pretzels."

"I've never had a street pretzel before!" The happy, eager Jeannie reappeared as she followed the men out of the truck.

The mime looked up expectantly as they approached. Thinking he had fans, his performance picked up momentum as he tried to pull a rope against the wind wearing, apparently, a big, floppy hat. Jeannie thought he was hysterical.

Blair leaned against the corner lamp post to watch the show. The Jim Show, that is.

"Excuse me, sir," Jim started, "I don't mean to interrupt your performance, but are you Morton Finnerman?"

The mime responded with a "who me?" gesture.

"Yes, sir, you. I'm Detective Ellison from the Cascade Police Department, and we -- my partner and I -- have been asked by the mayor to speak with you personally concerning the upcoming Sesquicentennial celebration."

The mime pretended to be shocked. Then he grinned and nodded vigorously. Jim sighed.

"I have here an official letter of invitation for you from the mayor. As a direct descendant of Reverend Willis C. Chatterly, he would..." Jim's voice trailed off. At the mention of Chatterly's name, the mime pulled the waistband of his pants out as far as it would go and strutted around like a giant penguin, his mouth pantomiming a constant stream of words. Jim turned to Blair in confusion.

"Chatterly was rather plump, according to Jeannie," Blair explained. "And he talked a lot."

"You really should read my report, Jim," Jeannie added.

"Hmm." Jim cleared his throat and valiantly turned back to Finnerman. "We really need an answer, sir."

Finnerman stopped his imitation of Chatterly and grabbed the letter Jim held out. As he read, he guffawed soundlessly, wiped invisible tears from his eyes using an oversized handkerchief, and clutched his chest.

"I laughed, I cried...." Blair translated with a grin.

"I know what he's doing, Sandburg," Jim snapped under his breath. "Will you be there, sir?"

The mime transformed suddenly into a businessman. He shrugged and pulled the lining out of his pockets with a sad expression on his face.

"Yeah, right." With cynical understanding, Jim pulled out his wallet and dropped a twenty-dollar bill in the performer's hat. The mime's expression didn't change. He pulled out the lining of two more pockets from lower down on the pants. Jim glared defiantly but proceeded to add another twenty on top of the first. Finnerman pouted. Two more inside-out pockets sprouted on the mime's striped shirt. This time Jim did hesitate.

"We need a 'yes,' Jim," Blair barely whispered. "And I'd bet on him having more pockets than you've got twenties."

"Oh, for the love of..." Jim reached into his wallet and this time removed two fifty-dollar bills. He dropped them into the hat.

"Wow!" Jeannie's eyes were wide behind her glasses.

"That's it," Jim directed at Finnerman. "You've almost cleaned me out. Now, can we count on you to be on the riser with the mayor at the ceremony?"

The mime clapped silently and nodded, then bowed graciously in Jim's direction. Jim did not seem impressed.

"And you'll phone the mayor's office as soon as possible?"

Again the vigorous nod. Immediately, the mime picked up an imaginary telephone receiver and punched several buttons, somehow sitting back in a nonexistent chair and crossing his legs.

"I mean using a real phone!" Jim all but shouted. The mime was surprised and fell right out of the chair, landing on the hard pavement. He rubbed his sore butt with an angry, rather un-mime-like expression, but nodded again.

"Good." Jim turned and, without looking at either of his companions, crossed the street to the pretzel vendor. The mime jumped back to his feet and mimicked Jim, marching in place while shouting imaginary silent orders at random pedestrians.

Jeannie giggled.

Blair dropped his own twenty into the hat.

Simon slammed down the phone and stormed out into the bullpen. Rafe and Brown were pacing nervously, jackets on, awaiting their orders.

"Dispatch has an APB out on Jim's truck; we can't get them on the radio and somehow they managed to get both of their cellphones destroyed in that meth lab explosion."

"What a surprise," mumbled Henri.

Simon ignored him. "The mayor's office is faxing us duplicates of the contents of the folder Ellison has. Now, I'm trusting you two to track Ellison and Sandburg down and get that Michaelson girl into protective custody. You're pretty sure she was spotted by the killers?"

Brown nodded. "We're sure."

"Once this is over," Simon's expression became stern, "you two and I are going to have a long talk about proper procedure."

Rafe raised his hands in petition. "Captain--"

"No." Crossing his arms over his chest, Simon glared at each man in turn. "You don't leave an eyewitness to a murder alone, even in a police station, especially when that witness is a minor. I don't care that Joel was here at the time -- you never explained her presence here to him, and he had to be in court at 8:30. There are no excuses."

"Yes, sir." Henri did 'meek' very well.

Simon let it go at that. He knew that they were already beating themselves up over the whole thing, and that they'd feel terrible if anything happened to the little girl. Or Ellison and Sandburg, for that matter.

A softly spoken "Captain?" announced Rhonda's presence as she appeared next to him with a stack of papers.

"Thank you," Simon said and, in turn, handed the pages to Rafe.

Brown shook his head as stood up. "The hard part, babe, will be figuring out whether they're using the Ellison method or the Sandburg method for approaching these people."

"Huh?" Rafe folded the pages lengthwise and tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket.

"If Ellison's running things, they'll be doing them in the order they were listed in the folder. If Sandburg's choosing... well, he's probably got them organized by zodiac sign or biorhythms or something."

Simon almost smiled. "I'd bet on Ellison. For one thing, Sandburg's driving. For another, I know the first place they went to was Evelyn Smith's, and she was first on the list."

"Gotcha."

"Good luck," Simon called after them. "It'll be nice having someone else saving their butts for a change."

Ernest "Manny" Manning pounded a fist on his desk as he reviewed the books, a scowl growing on his face. The estimate of the weekly losses he'd suffer due to the explosion of his methamphetamine lab was painful to contemplate. Not to mention the damage to his best cashmere and wool coat as he escaped all but the edge of the explosion. He glared at the silent phone taunting him from the edge of the desk.

That punk Bannerman! That little wuss had led the police right to the lab, the idiot. If his uncle hadn't been one of the cartel's original partners before his heart attack, Bannerman would never have gotten a second glance from the cartel.

At least I spotted the girl, he mused. Staying in the burning building just long enough to ensure that the cartel's records were destroyed, he and the others had run out a side door and started for the street. The unsuspecting man who'd run into them never saw the bullets that cut him down. There'd been too much at stake to take a chance on any witnesses.

He'd spotted the other witness just as they'd exited the alley. There was a green Ford Taurus parked across the street, and a passenger in the back seat was staring directly at him as he stood beneath a street light. Manny had seen her clearly, and was certain that she'd seen him clearly as well. Furthermore, from the expression on her face, he knew she'd seen the murder. Police and fire personnel had arrived, so they hadn't had time to take care of her then, but he knew it was just a matter of time. If only he could have gotten the Ford's license plate number.

Bannerman had been right next to him and his description of the kid matched his own: a blonde-haired girl, maybe ten or twelve years old, with long braided hair and big round glasses.

Since Bannerman had seen her, too, and since he had led the trigger-happy cops to the lab in the first place, he got the task of finding her. He'd been waiting outside the Cascade PD, hoping to spot her coming or going. As a potential witness to a murder by a cartel member, Manny was certain she'd be taken to the central precinct, and he'd been right. Bannerman had called earlier on his cellphone, all excited. He'd spotted her leaving the police garage with those damned cops in an old blue and white Ford truck.

Barely taking the time to call in the report, Bannerman had quickly hung up in order to follow them, promising to call in their location once they reached a destination, probably a safe house. Not much later, Bannerman had called again, stuttering and stammering that he'd lost them in traffic. Manny had wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the little creep.

Bannerman promised to scour the city to find them, and that had been a few hours ago. Manny had called a few of his best men to stand by and wait for his call. He was planning to fully take advantage of the situation if he got the chance -- not only to eliminate the witness, but Ellison and Sandburg as well. Because of them, he had to find a new location and set up a new lab from scratch. Because of them, he'd lost a great deal of money. Killing three birds with one stone had such a nice ring to it.

The phone rang -- finally! -- and he snatched it up.

"What?"

As he listened to the nervous voice on the other end, a smile slowly crept across his face. His own voice became low and threatening.

"Listen, Bannerman, you'd better not lose them this time, if you know what's good for you. Tell me where you are, then stay off the phone. Jacobs and Everly will call and meet you there. We don't have to wait until they arrive at the safe house; it will probably be well-protected anyway. We'll hit them on the run."

Manny scribbled their location and direction on the pad in front of him, then hung up in satisfaction. If Bannerman doesn't screw this one up, most of my problems could be taken care of very soon. He reached again for the phone.