Abraham Fisher was a crewman on the steamboat, The Beaver, which traveled throughout the Puget Sound at the time Cascade was founded. The sidewheeler was owned by the Hudson Bay Company, and was powered by the woodburning steam engine that Robert Fulton invented. The steamboats could go places that sailing ships could not go, so Fisher visited many settlements around the Sound. He married the daughter of a missionary, and they had many children. Even though he had a wife and family in Cascade, he also had "wives" and children in several other towns, including at least one Native American wife from a local tribe. His Native American family was not accepted by the growing Cascade society, and they called those children "half-breeds" because they were half white and half Indian.

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

"This is great, Jim. I've been wanting to stop in here, but just hadn't gotten around to it yet. It's a co-op that sells items made by local Native American artists and craftsmen. One of their artists was even mentioned in 'Art in the Northwest' last year." Blair's eyes gleamed as he pulled the truck into the parking lot at the side of the building.

"We're on the job, Chief. Let's keep our focus, okay?" Jim reminded him.

They climbed out of the truck and walked around to the front of the building. The sign over the door read "Winds of Tradition," and a windsock with a design representing an orca whale rode happily on a light breeze. Colorful clothing and art pieces filled the display window.

"So he's supposed to be here this afternoon?"

"That's what his wife said. This afternoon is one of his regular shifts for the co-op, so he should be here unless he's on a break."

As they entered the shop, their presence was announced by the sound of tiny wind chimes. Subtle flute and drum music played in the background. A young woman looked up from the display of scarves she was arranging.

"Hello, I'm Maggie. Welcome. Can I help you find anything?"

Jim wasted no time in getting to the point.

"We're looking for Frank Fisher. Is he here?"

"He's in the back, talking with a distributor. They shouldn't be much longer. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, ma'am, we need to speak with Mr. Fisher personally. We'll wait." Jim glanced impatiently toward the back of the shop and wandered over to look at a selection of books on a nearby shelf.

Blair eagerly checked out the intricately carved and decorated masks that adorned a side wall, while Jeannie spotted a display case of jewelry and quickly headed in that direction. Browsing their way along the shelves, they ended up meeting at a display of dolls in native costumes.

"Look at these, Blair," Jeannie said as she picked up one of the more colorfully dressed figures. "I'd love to have one of these!"

"Well, you never know, Jeannie," Blair teased. "Maybe Santa will drop one in your Christmas stocking this year."

They continued to examine the dolls, Blair regaling Jeannie with his knowledge of some of the tribes that they represented, until Jim cleared his throat and called out.

"Mr. Fisher? Mr. Frank Fisher?"

Turning, Blair spotted Jim hailing a man entering the shop from a back hallway. He was Native American, with shoulder-length black hair, and was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt advertising the store. Setting a folder of prints down on a countertop, he turned to answer.

"Yeah, I'm Frank Fisher. What can I do for you?"

Jim introduced himself and explained their mission as Blair and Jeannie joined them.

"So, you are formally invited by the mayor himself to attend the Sesquicentennial celebration as a representative of the Fisher family." He handed the letter to Fisher.

Fisher read the letter carefully, then looked into each of their faces.

"Okay, so what's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"You know, what's the mayor want out of me?"

"Just what the letter says, to honor Cascade's founding fathers by honoring their descendants," Blair answered uncertainly. "Why would you think there's a catch?"

Fisher looked at him disdainfully. "No white man's ever spent any time honoring me, and my revered ancestor would be spinning in his grave to know that an Indian could represent the family in public. Am I supposed to be the token Indian?"

"No, you're one of the four descendants of the original founding fathers who still live in Cascade. All four are being invited," Jim explained patiently. "You are the only Native American, as far as I know."

"Huh! No kidding."

Jim continued with a sideways glance at Blair. "...and the mayor would very much like you to attend."

Fisher knelt down, opened a box, and began unloading music CDs.

"The mayor sure must be desperate. The citizens of Cascade never offered anything to my branch of the family but a boot on our backs."

Maggie joined the group.

"Frank, that's not really fair. We did get a grant from the City Arts Commission to help get this place going, remember."

"Perhaps times have changed, Mr. Fisher," Blair suggested. "This could be a great opportunity to point out the role of Native Americans in the founding, growth, and continuing prosperity of Cascade. Your family and this store are good examples of that."

Jeannie chimed in. "I'd really like to hear about the history of your family. I could use it for my next report for American History, and I bet I could get an article in the school paper, too. Maybe even a picture on the front page!"

Maggie smiled at her enthusiasm. "So what do you think, Frank? I think it's a great idea. Set that old man spinning in his grave!"

Frank re-read the letter, then met Maggie's eyes. A smirk slowly raised the corners of his mouth.

"You may have a point, Maggie. Tell you what, gentlemen...and lady," he said to a giggling Jeannie, "I'll think about it. I'll let the mayor's office know by the end of the week."

Jim extended his hand. "We hope you will decide to attend, Mr. Fisher." He waved Blair and Jeannie toward the front door. "Let's go, gang. We've got another stop yet."

Blair slowed long enough to shake the artist's hand as well, and Jeannie gave a little wave as she was ushered out the door, her eyes landing longingly one last time on the dolls.

Maggie was busy rearranging items beneath the counter when the door chimes rang again. Standing up, she brushed her dusty hands against the legs of her jeans.

"Hi, there. What can I do for you gentlemen today?"

The large African-American man in front pulled a badge from his jacket pocket and showed it to her.

"I'm Detective Brown, and this is my partner, Detective Rafe, with Cascade PD. We're wondering if some colleagues of ours stopped in here earlier. Detectives Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg?"

"I think so. Did they have a young girl with them?"

Rafe nodded in reply. "Yes, they did."

"That must have been them, then. I'm sorry, I didn't remember their names. They were in about a half hour ago. Is there some kind of trouble?"

"Why would you say that?"

"There was a guy in here just a little while ago asking about them, too. He said something was wrong with their radio. Unfortunately, they'd just left, and he asked if they'd mentioned where they were going." Maggie shrugged. "I told him no, though I did remember the tall one saying something about the WonderBurger at the turnoff onto Milestone Road. Then the man took off in a big hurry; I could hear the tires squeal as he drove away."

The two detectives made eye contact.

"Did you happen to see what he was driving?"

"No, I didn't. What's wrong?"

Detective Rafe pulled out a cellphone and walked a few steps away as he dialed, speaking softly into the receiver while Brown filled her in.

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"Sure, he was standing right where you are." Maggie suddenly understood. "He wasn't a police officer, was he? Are we in trouble?"

"No ma'am. The girl is a murder witness, and it's very important we find her."

Maggie stumbled back to sit clumsily on a tall stool behind her. "My God, that poor little girl!"

"We'll have an officer come and take your statement. Try writing down any details you can recall while you're waiting. Okay?"

"Of course. Anything I can do to help."

Rafe snapped the phone shut and slapped Brown on the shoulder as he headed for the door.

"Let's go. There's only one more place on that list. We've got to catch up with them before the bad guys do."

Rupert Ramsbotham was a sea captain who originally lived in Liverpool, England. He was very, very tall and strong, and his pictures look kind of scary. His business wasn't doing very well, so he decided he could make a lot of money by bringing goods from Europe, like fancy wines and clothes, and selling them in America. For reasons that no one understands, he decided to sail all the way around Florida and Texas and California and come up the coast to settle in Washington. A lot of the people in Cascade whispered that he was a pirate, and that he took the longer way so he could steal merchandise off of other ships. Once Captain Ramsbotham got to Cascade, though, he decided to give up sailing and live off of the money from the sale of the merchandise and his big ship. One night a group of robbers tried to steal his money and he killed all five of them with his bare hands. After that, Reverend Chatterly asked him to become Cascade's first full-time sheriff.

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

The Winston-Dunsmore estate was enormous. The pristine lawn and landscaped gardens and hedges stretched out in all directions, looking more like a country club than a single man's home. The driveway leading up to the door of the white mansion was over a quarter of a mile long and looped around back onto itself, an elaborate stone fountain of leaping horses and a fleeing fox in the center of the loop.

"Totally awesome!" Jeannie said, summing up pretty much what Blair was feeling. "I wonder if they'll feed us some fancy food here like Mrs. Smith did."

"The kid has an appetite," Jim remarked as Blair parked in front of the door and they got out.

"I doubt they'll feed us anything. I've heard that Rolland Winston-Dunsmore is a real snob."

A large brass knocker graced the door, delicately etched with an English coat-of-arms: a lion and two swords. Blair felt like he should be wearing gloves to touch the thing, but taking a deep breath, he lifted the bar and whacked the lion two or three times.

The door opened almost immediately.

"Yes?" A man in a fancy suit -- a butler, Blair guessed -- stood in the slight crack of the open door. And damned if he didn't have an English accent. The man glanced disdainfully at the truck. "We require deliveries to be accomplished using the back drive."

"Uh, no..." Blair fumbled for his badge, "I'm Detective Blair Sandburg and this is my partner, Detective Jim Ellison. We'd like to speak with Mr. Winston-Dunsmore if he's available, please." Blair smiled his most endearing smile and bounced on his heels.

The butler was not impressed. "I shall see if the master can be disturbed." The door shut decidedly in his face and a soft snick announced that it had also been locked.

Blair puffed out his cheeks and mimicked the butler's accent, making the voice extra nasally. "I shall seeee if the master can be disturrrrrbed."

Jeannie giggled. "He was a butler, just like the one on Batman! I didn't know people really had butlers."

"Don't be too impressed, Jeannie," Jim said, absently patting her head. "People who have to have fancy houses and cars and servants are just trying to fill up the empty places inside."

Jeannie scrunched up her face. "Inside of what?"

Blair was disappointed when the door opened again. He wanted to know how Jim would've answered.

The Jeeves-wannabe had returned, opening the door wider this time. A good sign, Blair decided.

"You may have a five-minute audience with Mr. Winston-Dunsmore."

"Thank you." Blair forced sincerity into his response. "That should be plenty of time."

As he, Jim, and Jeannie started to move through the open doorway, Jeeves suddenly blocked their way. "The child must wait in the... truck."

Blair blinked. He must be kidding. And he spoke the word "child" as if it were a curse word. Before he could even respond, Jim stood tall and crossed his arms.

"The child stays with us. And we will speak with Mr. Winston-Dunsmore one way or the other."

The butler sighed. "One moment, please." The door slammed shut and locked again, this time in Jim's face, which was beginning to turn a dangerous shade of pink.

"It's okay, man," Blair grinned. "Just calm down. We'll talk to this guy and then we're done. Mission accomplished. Outta here."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. People like this just piss me off."

The door swung open. A tall, blonde curly-haired man with a ruddy complexion gripped the door with one hand, the other held a pipe. He was actually wearing a smoking jacket.

"Rolland Winston-Dunsmore, I presume?" Blair said.

The man glared down at him. "I am a busy man, gentlemen. You have three minutes to state your business before I shut this door and return to mine."

Geez, what an asshole. He must have been born with a silver spoon up his butt.

Jeannie piped up, her face all innocence. "Hey, you sound just like Mr. Howell from Gilligan's Island."

Blair choked back a laugh.

"Two minutes, thirty-seven seconds, gentlemen." Winston-Dunsmore's face was a shade ruddier.

Jim stepped in. "My apologies, sir. We are acting on behalf of the mayor's office to invite you to participate in Cascade's upcoming Sesquicentennial celebration." He took the letter of invitation Blair was still holding and handed it to Rolland.

"I decline." He handed the letter back to Jim without reading it and started to close the door.

"Sir," Jim said politely, "as a direct descendant of Rupert Ramsbotham, one of Cascade's five founding fathers, I would think you would be proud to stand in front of the city's residents and acknowledge your place in Cascade's history."

"Wrong." Winston-Dunsmore glared at each detective in turn, refusing to even acknowledge Jeannie's presence. "Rupert Ramsbotham was an immigrant. He was from the slums of Liverpool. He was a bully with a checkered past, and achieved what little prestige history might grace him with through violence and barbarism. I'll have no part of this."

"But... You're his relative!"

"Little girl," the man condescended, "I have four great-grandfathers, eight great-great-grandfathers, sixteen great-great-great grandfathers; as you cruise back in time through my genealogy, you will find sixty-three men offering me the same grandfatherly distinction as Rupert Ramsbotham, all of whom were more well-bred and well-mannered and better loved than he."

No one responded. What could they say to that?

"Now if you'll excuse me...." The door began to shut again.

Unless... "No problem," Blair called out with a friendly wave. "You were our first choice, but, well, we can go with Herman Lifschitz if we have to. He's already expressed an interest."

Jim blinked in surprise, but kept his mouth shut.

The door opened wider. Winston-Dunsmore's head poked out. "Who is Herman Lifschitz?"

"He's another direct descendant of Rupert's, from his third son. Owns a deli on South Main Street. Like I said, you were the mayor's first choice, but as long as we have a direct descendant up on the podium, well, the mayor will be happy."

Blair turned to leave, and following his lead, so did Jim.

"Wait." Winston-Dunsmore stepped outside. "Who else will be at this -- celebration -- representing the founding fathers' descendants?"

"Oh, let's see," Blair pretended to consider a moment. "Evelyn Smith. Of the Smith Estate. It's on the Historical Society's Register, so certainly you've heard of it."

"Certainly." He sounded doubtful.

"And one of Cascade's premier artists," Jim offered. "A Mr. Finnerman. He's currently showing downtown."

Blair ticked off a third finger on his hand. "And Mr. Fisher. He represents a family with a long and respected tradition of artists, collectors and dealers of fine art."

Winston-Dunsmore's teeth clenched tightly while he wrestled with his dilemma. "I shall have Louis call the mayor's office with my acceptance. I shall not be present during the musical portion of the program, nor during the fireworks, only during the ceremony honoring the ancestors. As long as that is understood."

"We'll make sure it's understood." Jim smiled politely and once again held out the letter. Winston-Dunsmore grabbed it with his thumb and forefinger and held it out as if it were a dirty diaper. Without another word, he slammed the door.

"Herman Lifschitz?" Jim thwacked Blair's forehead with the palm of his hand and headed off to the truck. He seemed anxious to get away.

Blair grinned back. "Considering what a frickin' prick this guy was, I figured he wouldn't want a Jew representing his family tree. Um, forget I said that," he added, blushing. He really needed to watch his language around their young ride-along.

Jeannie didn't even seem to notice. She was chewing her bottom lip and looking at the closed door with interest. "Was that another truth bending?"

"Yes, ma'am." Blair grinned. "Our specialty."

Jim couldn't get away from the guy fast enough. Winston-Dunsmore was an egotistical, closed-minded snob and reminded him far too much of some of his father's business partners from years ago. Thank God he had followed his heart and avoided the family business.

"Hey, man, I've still got the keys you know."

"Huh?" Startled, Jim looked up. Blair was standing a short distance away, glaring at him, tossing the truck keys from one hand to the other. Realization hit. In his preoccupied exit from the house, he had, out of force of habit, headed straight for the driver's door. Raising both hands in acquiescence, he retreated to the other side of the truck and leaned against the hood, waiting. He hated his status as passenger. Too bad Blair hadn't insisted they take the Mustang this morning. He actually enjoyed being a passenger in the sleek blue car.

Blair looked down at Jeannie. "Jim always likes to drive, Jeannie, but with his hands sore he's not supposed to. Which is a good thing because with him driving, we usually get into these long and dangerous car chases."

"And I'd be driving today, too, if I hadn't burned my hands saving your sorry as-- I mean, putting out the fire on your jacket after that explosion."

"Car chases and explosions?" Jeannie looked at Jim. "Cool." A growing sense of admiration gleamed from behind her glasses. He was beginning to like this kid.

"Come on, Sanbug. We've completed our 'special duty' for the mayor, so I say we go celebrate at WonderBurger with a nice lunch, then head back to the station to see if there's any news on Bannerman."

Before his partner could even protest, Jeannie made a little pumping motion with her arm as she looked happily up at Blair. "Yes! I love WonderBurger, and I'm really, really hungry! Can I get a Wonder Meal? You get a free puppy with each one. Not a real puppy, but little miniatures, like from the movie. I have three of them and there are two more I need to get the whole set." By the time she was finished, Jeannie had skipped her way into the truck and seated herself.

Jim smirked with satisfaction as he and Blair joined her in the truck.

"You know Jeannie," Blair said as he shifted from park and coasted slowly down the long, winding driveway, "you've had several cookies, a cup of cocoa, two crullers, a glass of orange juice, three pretzels with mustard, a large coke, and now you want a Wonder Meal? Your mom's never going to let you near a police station again."

Jeannie's happy smile faltered a bit. "It's okay," she said quietly. "My mom left us a long time ago. I live with Daddy, and he takes me to WonderBurger a lot."

Both men were stunned momentarily by the announcement.

"WonderBurger it is, then," Blair finally agreed. Tossing a confused look at Jim, he added softly, for Jim's ears only, "How could Elder get elected with something like abandonment on her resume? And why would she be arranging a ride-along for a child she didn't want in her life?"

"I think you're missing the point here, Chief." Jim had recognized the sad and betrayed look in Jeannie's eyes when she mentioned her mother. His stomach tightened for a moment, and he felt his face flushing.

Jeannie looked at each man in turn and shrugged, her smile returning. "It's okay. I love my dad a lot, and I don't even remember my mom. Not really."

Blair finally caught on. "Shit," he mumbled indiscriminately as he slowed the truck at the end of the drive and put it in park. "She's not... You don't know Councilwoman Elder, do you, Jeannie?"

"Sure I do! She's on the City Council. She and a bunch of the others came and watched us rehearse the pageant. The mayor was there, too!"

"I didn't even question her last name," Blair said under his breath. "I just assumed Councilwoman Elder had kept her maiden name. What was she doing in my chair then, Jim? God, I feel like a kidnapper."

"There's enough blame to go around, Chief." Jim touched Jeannie's shoulder, turning her attention his way. "Why were you at the station this morning?" he asked gently.

Jeannie's smile faltered again. "Detective Brown and Detective Riff said I should wait for you."

"But why were you with those detectives to begin with?"

The girl looked at his and Blair's anxious faces. Then she looked down at her lap and fiddled with the straps of her backpack. "I saw some men shoot Fireman Sully. I think he's dead."

No more information was offered. Jim was about to ask her another question, like who Fireman Sully was, when she looked up at him, her eyes eager and happy once again. "Can we go to WonderBurger now, please? I'm really, really, really hungry."

He recognized that look, too. Denial. Pretend it didn't matter. No big deal. This child needed some professional help ASAP.

"Sure, sweetie." At some point Jim had wrapped a comforting arm around the little girl's shoulders, but he didn't remember doing it. "Come on, Chief. You heard the lady. WonderBurger, ho!"

"Um... okay." Blair raised his eyebrows but complied.

"I think I'll check in," Jim said nonchalantly, reaching for the radio.

This time Blair nodded his understanding. "Brown and 'Riff' are probably worried sick by now."

"Will they be mad at me?" Jeannie frowned.

"No, no. Not at all," Blair assured her, but from the grimace he tossed Jim it was all too clear he realized that they weren't going to be so lucky.

The radio crackled and sputtered to life, the end of an APB just being announced. Jim pressed the button on the hand unit. "One-Zebra-One to Dispatch, patch me through to Captain Banks immediately."

"Roger One-Zebra-One."

A few moments later the radio really came to life. "Ellison! Sandburg! Where the hell are you?"

"Uh, Captain..." Jim smiled at Jeannie as he spoke into the radio, his voice breezy and calm. "We just became aware of our ride-along's status, sir, if you catch my drift. And you might choose your words a little more carefully. Sir."

There was a moment's pause from the other end. When Simon came back on, he used the same easy tone as Jim. "Roger that. So noted. We need you and Sandburg to return to the station ASAP."

"We're on our way, with just a quick stopover at WonderBurger for lunch."

"ASAP doesn't mean when you feel like it, Detective!" Yes, he and Sandburg were going to be delegated to desk duty and ride-alongs for a long, long time to come. A throat cleared on the radio and a calmer Simon prevailed. "You are perhaps unaware of several, uh, code 187 suspects heading your way. On purpose. If you catch my drift."

187 was the radio code for murder. Not good. The men Jeannie had seen murder the fireman must have seen her as well. And somehow they knew her location.

"No, sir, we..." Jim's voice trailed off as he extended his sight down the road ahead. Even though they were on a more remote, less-traveled road of the city, it was long and straight, and extremely well-maintained, no doubt due to its proximity to the Winston-Dunsmore estate and the site of the Sesquicentennial celebration ten miles beyond. Just at the edge of his Sentinel sight, Jim spotted three black sedans rapidly heading in their direction.

"Turn around," he said to Blair.

"Turn around?" Blair sounded incredulous. "Where, man?"

"Ellison!" roared the radio's speakers.

The road was somewhat narrow, edged by deep ditches and lined by thick stands of trees. "Back up. Turn around at Dunsmore's."

"What!" Blair was definitely incredulous. "Are you kidding me? Winston-Dunsmore's driveway is about a mile back by now!"

"ELLISON!"

"Dammit, Chief, just do it! Three cars are coming this way."

"Okay, okay." All business now, Blair shifted immediately into reverse and accelerated, burning rubber as he looked intently back over his right shoulder. Jim's foot subconsciously pressed harder on his own imaginary accelerator and he wished, not for the first time, that he were driving. He finally replied to the shouts emanating from the radio.

"Sorry, Captain. The possible 187s are in sight. Immediate back-up would be appreciated." He gave their location and ended the call.

An excruciating two minutes later, Blair backed recklessly into Winston-Dunsmore's driveway, hit the brakes, then shifted immediately back into forward in one smooth motion. The tires spun momentarily on loose gravel before gripping the pavement. Blair whipped the steering wheel around to the right and sped back onto the road.

The black cars were only about a quarter of a mile away now and rapidly gaining. Jeannie clutched her backpack tightly to her body, but didn't say a word. Jim's arm was still around her shoulder, and he kept it there.

The sedans were closer now. The first gunshot pinged against the tailgate, the next one broke through the back windshield and out through Jim's window. He felt hot air brush against his neck as a bullet just missed him. Jim moved his hand to Jeannie's back and pushed her down until she was bent over the backpack. Her heart was pounding wildly and he heard a soft whimper.

Blair hunched down as best he could, the accelerator flush with the floor. He stayed in the middle of the road, not allowing the car behind to pass them. If they became sandwiched between two hostile cars, their chances were nil.

Satisfied that Jeannie was as safe as she could be for the moment, Jim clumsily pulled out his Sig-Sauer with the fingertips of his bandaged right hand. Transferring it to his left hand, he twisted around in the seat to return fire.

The road became curvy and gunshots on both sides decreased. The Ford took the curves on two wheels, and Jim was grateful each time they landed back on all four. Blair was mumbling some mantra over and over as he drove, his knuckles white. He'd probably have to use a crowbar to pry his partner's hands off the steering wheel when this was over.

~PING!~

Another gunshot ricocheted off the truck. As they turned onto a long stretch of straight road, Jim carefully aimed, waiting. The first black sedan rounded the corner and Jim fired, blowing the front passenger tire. The car swerved and spun, ending up on its side in a ditch. Unfortunately, the other cars managed to maneuver around. He had hoped to cause a three car pile-up, but no such luck.

"Shit!" Blair gasped. Jim turned his attention back to the road ahead. They were now at the site of the Sesquicentennial. An enormous field to their left had been cleared for parking, and the field to their right contained the temporary bandstand, risers, stage, and other necessities being erected for the celebration.

The road had been paved only as far as the end of the fields. Beyond that, the road narrowed by half and was littered with large embedded rocks and branches. The truck was bound to sustain some damage if they tried to continue.

"Turn right, Chief. The bandstand'll give us some cover."

Just as Blair turned the wheel to the right, the car behind returned Jim's favor. The Ford's right rear tire exploded and the truck careened over the uneven ground, out of control.

"Hang on!" Blair yelled unnecessarily as he desperately tried to maneuver, pumping the brake and twisting the steering wheel. No use. Jim covered Jeannie with his body and seconds later the truck crashed into the side of the wooden bandstand.