At the word badhb, Kevin froze, and the little man chuckled.  "I see you're just as afeared as before.  And wisely so."

           "I'm not... afraid at all."  But the pause in his sentence gave his apprehension away.  As a child, the older adults in the O'Kenney and O'Brien families would brandish stories of the badhb as a weapon against naughty behavior.  This Irish "bogey man", with bird like face and raven black hair, looked for misbehaving boys and girls, so that he could swoop down and carry them off to his nest.  Once there, the badhb would use the children as a meal, keeping them alive and eating them piece by piece.  Fr. Kevin shuddered, remembering a certain Christmas Eve when he was seven years old.  He and his sister Maureen, who was five at the time, were wrestling near his Nana O'Kenney's Christmas tree.  In the melee, several of her ornaments were knocked off, and went crashing to the floor.  Nana pointed her finger at them, and warned that the badhb especially like the flavor of bad children at Christmas time, and that they should watch their step.  He and Maureen had fled in terror, and while their siblings and cousins rejoiced in their holiday gifts, the two frightened children huddled under a bed and could not be coaxed out.

          As the tiny man continued to chuckle,  Kevin demanded, "Stop laughing at me.  It isn't funny."

         Wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, the man explained, "I mean no harm, lad.  But the expression on your face was priceless.  Not to worry, though.  The badhb has no use for adults."

          "Don't be ridiculous!  There's no such thing!  Those were make believe stories for adults who didn't know how to parent very well.  You don't expect me to believe that nonsense, do you?"

          "Very strange words for someone who set out a line of fairy gifts.  As to to the gifts, I could do with some hospitality, lad.  A bite to eat, perhaps, and some more of that fine Irish whiskey?"

           The  priest was a bit unsure about leaving the wee man alone in his room, but not knowing how to refuse, padded his way down to the kitchen.  His research earlier that evening had suggested that fairy folk were partially to sweets, especially honey.  Rummaging through the cabinet, he could only find some saltines, and an opened jar of peanut butter.  Smearing several of the crackers with the peanut butter, he arranged them on the plate.  Deciding it looked rather sparse, he eyed a ripe banana on the table, and cutting it up, added it the platter.  Grabbing the bottle of Jameson, and an extra glass for himself, he headed back upstairs, hoping the inelegant snack would suffice.

          When he arrived back upstairs, he found the creature had made himself very much at home.  He had propped himself up with all the bed pillows, and had removed his long, pointy shoes.  Tried as he might, Fr. O'Kenney could not help staring at the man's feet.  They were dark and hairy, with toes as long as fingers that he waggled back and forth, as if glad to be free of the confining shoes.   Trying to tear his eyes away from the creepy toes, the priest placed the tray with the food and whiskey near the man.  "Go ahead.  Be my guest."

         The man picked up a peanut butter cracker, and somewhat daintily, held it to his nose.  Giving it a quick sniff, he nodded and popped it in his mouth.  "Strange feel to this fare, lad", he mumbled with his mouth full, "but quite tasty!"  He reached for the Jameson and poured himself a full cup, and seeing the second glass on the tray, poured a double shot and handed it to Kevin.  "I be supposing himself has a question or two, so go ahead and ask."

         Kevin dropped the shot down his throat in one gulp, and in his next breath asked, "I'm not really sure how to put this politely, so I'm just going to go ahead and spit it out.  Who...or what... the hell are you?  Leah Bhrogan?"

        The small man, grinned, and poured himself a second glass of whiskey, all the while curling and uncurling his long toes.  "Well, if you're looking for instant wealth, lad, I hate to disappoint.  I'm no leprechaun, and there's no wee pot of gold."

         Not wanting to appear uneducated about fairy matters, Kevin continued, "Well, I doubt you're grogach, as you most certainly would not be making yourself at home in the presence of a clergyman.""

         "I see you've been well versed in fairy lore, my lad.  That is correct.  I am no wee grogach, and for that I thank the Creator.  Ugly, smelly things are the grogachs."  he pushed the bottle of whiskey toward Kevin, and added, "Drink up, lad.  The evening's early."

         Tossing down another double, and feeling quite mellow, Fr. O'Kenney went on, "Then, I must deduce that you are certainly a clurichaun, given the way you're tackling my Jameson."

       Clapping his small hands, the fairy giggled, "Well done!  Well done, lad!  Margaret would be proud of her ginger grandson.  You be her favorite, ya know."

         Knowing full well the fairy was feeding him a line of shit, and not much caring after four shots of whiskey, Kevin leaned against the bed post and watched the man polish off the plate of crackers, carefully avoiding the bananas at all costs.  "Do you have a name?  Something I could call you?"

        "Ah lad, you must be knowing the power one's name invokes.  I no be sharing that power with you, mortal.  But your Granny liked to call me 'Brian', and I'd be well pleased if you did the same."   Leaning over the tray, Brian poured Kevin another shot out of the nearly empty bottle.  "The question   an buachaill ...is what is it you want of me?"



       

       

         

         

       

         It was well past dusk when Fr. O'Keeney gave up his hunt.  Twilight had blanketed the peaceful summer sky, and it began to be much too dark for the type of search he intended. He was grateful for the solitude the church's rear garden offered him.  It would have been difficult to explain what it was he was actually doing.  In fact, he carefully avoided rationalizing the knowledge himself.  He could picture trying to sanely explain to the Bishop the reason he was crawling around on his hands and knees. searching out fairy mounds.  In every single scenario, the outcome boded ill for any sympathy and understanding.

        Dusting off his knees and elbows, Kevin picked up the items from the garden bench and headed toward the rectory, deciding a search on the Internet would offer more explanation.  It was almost 8:00 pm, and he had gone without dinner too long.  Making himself a ham and cheese sandwich, and grabbing a cold can of Red Bull, he settled his tall frame into the comfortable desk chair, and powered up his Mac.  He brought up Google, typed the word sidhe into the search engine box, and wasn't surprised to see  245, 678 hits.  It was obviously going to be a long evening.

        Three hours later, he found himself an arm chair expert on the subject of Celtic fairy folk.   He narrowed his hypothesis of who the wee man might be to three possibilities...grogach...cluricaun...or leath bhrogan, better known by it's English name of leprechaun.  The fact that he even was considering  this explanation was scary, but having a plan of action made him feel as if he was still firing on all his brain matter cylinders.  The research was extensive, and oddly in some cases, written as fact, and not story-telling myth, so apparently he was not alone in dealing with fairy hallucinations.  Deciding that he probably was already suffering from some type of psychosis, he forgave himself for the ridiculous plans to try and trap the sidhe should he chose to visit again this evening.

         Not sure what it was he was dealing with, he prepared for every possibility.  The research had insisted that a "gift" left out for the sidhe would encourage a nightly visit, so Fr. Kevin covered all his bases.  He poured two full shots of Jameson Irish whiskey into a tiny, china tea cup, and a full glass of cold, whole milk into the smallest coffee mug he owned.  These he placed on the dresser nearest the window, next to a pair of his best leather shoes, and a 1oz gold proof coin he took from his wall safe.

       Looking at the "fairy buffet" arranged on the bedroom furniture, he smiled, and remembered how each evening, his Granny O'Brien would always leave one or two dishes unwashed in the sink, and a tiny saucer of milk nearby.  "Give the wee sidhe something to do, lad, and they not be causing trouble whiles you sleep."  As he had gotten older, he had written off this fantasy as her way of hanging on to the ways of the Old Country, but this evening, it was as if she were in this very room with him.

         Sighing, he looked for the last piece of required equipment.  He had no fisherman's net from the Old Sod, knotted with magic incantations, (and just what would the Bishop say about that?!) so he justified that the cotton afghan his Granny crocheted in Ireland would be the next best thing.  If the wee man appeared, he'd jump out from his hiding place behind the chair, and toss it over the sidhe.  What he would do once he caught him was yet up for discussion, but he figured as he was undoubtedly crazy, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.  Folding himself up behind the arm chair in the corner, he leaned against the wall and waited.

          At some point in the night, as uncomfortable and stiff as he was, he must have fallen asleep. Quite suddenly, he was startled awake by the crashing and breaking of glass. Jumping up from behind the chair, he grabbed the afghan off the end of the bed, and flung it in the direction of the dresser.  From under the blanket, there was much tossing and turning, and the collection of "gifts" were scattered to the floor in every direction.

        "Loc na mhuice!  You let me go right now, lad, if you be knowing what's good for ya!"

         Stunned for an instant, Fr. Kevin hesitated, but then carefully pulled the afghan off the moving bundle.  On top of his dresser, stood the wee man, red faced and sputtering,  screaming what Kevin could only guess were Gaelic obscenities.

        " Pog Mo Thoin!  This is no kind of welcome for a member of the Seelie Court!  How dare you try and trap me in..this...this blaincead!  Not even a proper net of such!"  Seeing the smashed tea cup on the floor, the little man jumped off the dresser, and cradling the broken china, cried, "Ach!  And such a damned shame waste of good Irish whiskey!" Hands on his hips, he marched over to where Kevin was standing shocked in the corner, and gave his thigh a mighty pinch.

          "Ouch!  Hey...that really hurt!"

          Seating himself on the comfiest bed pillow, the yet unnamed sidhe wagged a pointy finger at the priest and said, "  You, my ruafholtach sotaire, have some serious explaining to do...or maybe I shall call a badhb to come and carry you away?"

         

     

           With a few swipes of the keys on her laptop, the damaging evidence slipped away.   Technology just made the whole thing so damn easy.  Cassie McKreedy reached under the bed to check that the blue suitcase was still there.  There was something about sitting on a half a million dollars that gave a girl ease.  If money couldn't buy happiness, it sure as hell could buy some independence.

           Checking her Facebook, Cassie noticed that Ted Beckett had left a message on her wall.  "Had a wonderful time with a special lady.  When can I see you again?"  Poor Teddy.  It wasn't as if she had purposely went out to try and hurt him.  There were always causalities in this type of thing.  Just part of the over all plan.  Ted was a nice enough guy...funny, attractive, considerate.  They even shared some of...well..the same hobbies.  But his real draw was his position as Sheriff.  People laughed at the term "pillow talk, but information gathered that way had pulled Cassie out of more than one pile of shit.  And it wasn't as if she didn't care for these guys at all.  When they were together, she gave each one of them her adoring, undivided attention.  What man didn't appreciate that, even for a short while?

          Looking at the time at the top of the computer, she realized that it was nearly 8:00 PM, and that she was starving.  Ted had wanted to take her out for a bite to eat, but of course that wouldn't work.  He said he understood about the agoraphobia, but most people never really knew the limitations the unreal fear could cause.  She and Dr. Patterson had made some progress, with short walks around the block.  But out in the open, Cassie still felt lost and fearful, shaken to her very core.  Now that the money part was settled, she'd have to concentrate on being able to travel, otherwise her disability could wreck this whole scheme.

         She picked up her cell phone to call Liz, whose light footsteps she could hear above her head.  "Hey, Lizzie girl!  What's up?  You hungry?  No...he's gone.  Yeah, you can come down.  Let's decide what we want to eat.  I'm starving."

         A few moments later, her cousin poked her head into Cassie's room.  "Hi Cas.  Can I come in?"

        Cassie patted the bed next to her, and Liz dutifully plopped herself down.  "How was your date?
Was he nice?"

         "Oh, Teddy Beckett is very nice, Liz.  A real sweetie pie.  We had a wonderful time."

         "Beckett?  As in Sheriff Beckett?"

         "Yup, one and the same."

         "Cassie, you're not actually dating the Sheriff of this town, are you?  Isn't that ...well...risky?  Especially in our situation?"

          "That's how little you know, Elizabeth, and why I've always been the brains of this partnership.  Having the Sheriff under my thumb and on my radar is an asset."  She laughed, showing Liz her set of perfect, white teeth.  "It's a dirty job, but some body's got to do it.  Nothing to worry about cousin.  I got everything under control."

          "What about the paper trail?"

           "Just took care of that.  Poof!  All gone...just like that.  In a couple weeks, we'll be out of this hick town, and on our way to somewhere exciting.  Where do you think, Lizzie?" as her fingers flew over the keyboard.  "Paris?  Greece?  Somewhere sunny and tropical, I think."  Not getting an answer back, Cassie looked up from her computer screen displaying scenes of sun and surf, and noticed a confused expression on her cousin's pale face.  "What's wrong now?  I told you..stop worrying.  I got it all covered!"

           "It's just...well...I have something to tell you, and I know you're not going to like it."

           Her attention now totally focused on her cousin, Cassie warned, "Just spit it out Liz, and stop playing your baby games.  What the hell is bothering you?'

           Wringing her hands, Elizabeth tried to explain, "Well..you know on the day Rivera was  murdered?"

           "Yes.  So what about it?"

           " I was really nervous that day.  I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd go to early Mass."

           "You were at the murder scene on the morning it happened!  Shit!  You better tell me you were wearing the disguise when you went!"

           "I'm sorry, Cassie.  I just didn't want to put on all that make-up.  I thought I'd just slip in and out, and nobody would notice me.  I wanted..."  Elizabeth never saw her cousin's hand coming, and when Cassie's hand connected with her check, the slap left her startled and in pain.

           "You stupid bitch!  How could you have been so careless?  I told you over and over again, not to go out without the disguise.  You had one little part in this deal, and you screwed it up!  I could really hurt you right now, family or not!  Did anyone see you?"

          "I don't think so.  I got there early, and was praying the rosary.  When people started coming in, I moved and sat in the last pew by the door.  I didn't even stay for the whole thing.  I slipped out right after Communion...and...and there he was...lying by the grotto...all bloody.  I got scared and ran all the way back to the B and B."

          "And nobody saw you running away?"

           "No!  It was early, and people weren't out yet.  I swear!  No one saw me.  But..." Elizabeth moved off the bed, and out of her cousin's easy reach.  "I think I dropped something."  She paused, and her breath hitched,  "Grandma's rosary.  It's missing, and I can't find it anywhere."

         



         

 

 





     

            Tessa Peppers shifted in her bed and noticed that the pain over her right eye had somewhat subsided.  She could even open both eyes and squint at the tiny bit of light breaking under the pulled shade, without feeling waves of nausea rolling over her.  It was a good sign that maybe, just maybe, the worst was over.

         The migraine had cost her an entire day as a prisoner in her darkened bedroom.  When she felt as bad as she had today, there was little to nothing that could shorten the duration of the monster attack, and this one had been a real doozy.  It had started with the flashing, squiggly lights in her line of vision, and had rapidly progressed to the blinding, pounding pain that sent her fleeing to solitary confinement.  And now here it was...nearly 8:00 pm...and a whole day of campaigning... lost.

         She had been forced to cancel her speech at the Women's Club brunch, and the group's president had made sure she knew what an inconvenience the change had caused.  She had hoped she'd feel better for her interview with the Dollyville Gazzette later in the day, but was unable to even finish dressing, and had reluctantly called the reporter to reschedule.  The reporter, annoyed that he'd be needing another story so close to deadline, was non-committal to a follow-up date.  And right now, at this very moment, she was missing the Hoffman's annual western themed barbeque, an event that was the highlight of her friend's summer.  Tapping down the rage that was building in her gut, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed, and tried to sit up.

     Yes, the pain had definitely lost it's edge.  She slowly got up, crossed the room to her vanity, and seating herself in front of the mirror, took a brush to her  matted hair.  The migraine was gone, but the problem that had caused it was still hanging heavy over her, thick as smoke.  The contents of the envelope
had shocked her beyond belief, as she was sure she had put an end to that horrible issue.  Apparently, she had been both careless and wrong, and now the damn thing was again back, biting at the heels of her campaign like a vicious, mongrel dog.

        Grimacing at the reflection in the vanity glass, she mumbled to herself, "Well, my dears, everyone knows what happens to vicious dogs.  They need to be put down... once and for all."  She knew exactly what must be done, and gladly had the experience to finish the job.  Making her tired body move from the chair, Tessa began the process of planning out the rest of the evening.  Smiling to herself, she knew Thomas would have his memorial park, and she would be mayor.  They could count on it.

               

          "Can I keep this stuff Fr. O'Kenney?  Can I, huh?  Finder's keepers, you know, and you said I could dig in the back garden."

           At that very moment, Fr. Kevin was finding it hard to breathe, much less answer Irwin's ongoing questions.  Realizing that he'd left the roach clip out back was bad enough, but those little things...the chair, the bowl and the spoon, the pile of acorn tops...left him shaking.  The right side of his brain deduced that these items must belong to the wee sidhe, while the left side screamed that he had truly gone off the deep end.  Gathering himself together, the confused priest decided to work on the problem of getting rid of Irwin before he, personally, could figure any of this out.

           "Gee, Irwin.  I don't have a clue to who these things might belong to."  Kevin prayed silently that the Lord would forgive him this one tiny, white lie.  "We really should do the right thing and look for the owner first.  Maybe someone is desperately needing these things."

           "Aw, come on, Father!" the child whined.  "It's just some old junk! The wooden chair and bowl looks like doll stuff, and the old paper clip thingy smells weird.  Nobody's gonna want this anymore."

            "Well, we can't be sure about that, Irwin.   You never know what other people find important. What if some little girl is crying over her lost dolly things?"

            Tilting his head, and thinking it over, the boy replied,  "Yeah, you might be right, Father O'Kenney.  Girls are like that you know.  Always crying over stupid stuff.  Can I at least have the paper clip?  It looks kinda cool even if it does stink."

             Kevin could imagine the reaction of Irwin's parents if he brought home drug paraphernalia he said he found at the church.  The young Pastor would have a very hard time explaining its presence among his hydrangea and inpatients.  Besides, that particular roach clip was one of his favorites, and a memento of finer college days.  "Sorry, Irwin.  Until I can check who this might belong to, I think I'll just hang on to it."

            "Alright, Father O'Kenney.  But you gotta promise that if no one claims this stuff, it becomes my property, okay?  'Cause that's how it works in real life."

            "You have my word on it Irwin." said the priest, as he crossed his fingers behind his back.

             Before anyone could say another word, the sound of an elephant's triumphant call came from Irwin's back pocket.  The boy slid  out a brand new iphone, and glancing at the screen announced,  "That's my mom, Father.  I gotta go home now for dinner.  See ya later.  Don't loose my stuff, okay?"

              "Don't worry,  Irwin.  I'll keep it nice and safe."  He watched the boy hop down the stairs, and head for home, pondering the fact that a 10 year old had an iphone, and he did not.  He picked up a broom, and began half-heartedly sweeping the corners of the room, his mind on the problems that the found items might bring. Deciding full well that he wouldn't get another thing done until he checked for himself, Fr. Kevin locked up the storage room, and made his way down the stairs and over to the small garden, carrying the strange items with him, but pocketing the roach clip.

            Laying the  wee "treasures" on a stone bench near the grotto, and checking to see that he was quite alone, he began to crawl around on his hands and knees, pushing aside branches and hedges, and poking around in the dirt.  He wasn't sure what it was he was looking for, but worried it might be his own lost sanity.

           





           

        The bicycle ride back to the rectory was no where near as pleasant as the ride over to the Sheriff's home.  The temperature had risen several degrees, traffic was much heavier, and Fr. Kevin was in an unusually foul mood.  It was not like him to take things as personal as he took the Sheriff's rudeness and lack of concern over Marco's murder.  As he pedaled along, he tried praying over the matter, and by the time he rolled into the rectory driveway, he felt a mite better.

        Not wanting to spend the whole day in a worthless funk, he decided he'd get back to tackling the mess in the church's garage.  Over the past month, he had straightened the lower half of the building, but the storage room on top looked as it hadn't been touched in 20 years.  Changing out of his black "priest" suit,  and putting on his shorts and an old t-shirt from his seminary days, he got to work.

        The storage room was filthy, hot and windowless, towering junk stacked almost to the ceiling.  Giving a quick look around, he almost turned and fled back to the air conditioned comfort of the rectory parlor, but decided the hard physical work would take his mind off the crap floating around in his head.  Bloody bodies...little midgets...and annoying neighbors would disappear in the exertion of pushing, sweeping and moving.  And hell, maybe he could even sell some of this junk at a garage sale.  With empty pews, today's collection was terribly sparse, and the extra cash might soon be a necessity.  He chuckled at the reaction the townspeople would have, seeing the church's bits and pieces spread on tables across the driveway, with those little sticky price tags attached.

        In the far corner of the room was a stack of old cardboard boxes marked "church accounts".  Figuring he should probably take a look through them before they hit the dumpster, he pulled up a chair, and began flipping through the piles of paperwork and account ledgers.  The totals listed for past Sunday collections raised his eyebrows.  Apparently the people of Holy Family had been exceedingly generous in years past.  At first, Fr. O'Kenney felt awful, thinking that maybe the decrease in their weekly  offerings had something to do with his arrival.  But as he checked further, he realized that the decreased amounts began about 11 months ago, and he had only arrived at this parish about four.

       Going through the receipts from the CPA, he noticed that the amounts listed for taxes had gone up substantially, and the money collected from the parishioners had decreased.  There was no further information given, and although he had never have been very good at math, Kevin thought the whole thing rather odd.   Marking the boxes "SAVE", he pushed them to the side to worry about later.  Maybe when he took the Eucharist to that McKreedy woman, she could explain the ledgers to him, as they were stamped with her initials.

        The room was shaping up, and he was about half way finished, when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs next to the storage room.  He mentally prayed that it would be someone pleasant, as he had his fill of crabby, obnoxious people today.  Wondering why God seemed to be deaf to his pleas, he watched Irwin Teller stomp his way into the small room..

       "Whatcha doin', Father"

       "I'm cleaning out the storage room, Irwin"

        "Why?"

        "Because it's full of junk and dirt"

        "Why?"

        "Because probably no one has cleaned it out in a long while."

         "Why?"

         "Probably because they forgot about all the stuff up here.  People don't know what to do with things they're not using, so they store it somewhere until they forget about it."

          Changing topics as he was known to do, Irwin chatted on.  "Father O'Kenney, why ya wearn' shorts?  You look silly."

         "I'm wearing shorts, Irwin, because it's hot and dirty up here.  I don't want to ruin my good clothes.  And why do you think they look silly?"

         "I dunna know.  Just that you don't look much like a priest right now.  Plus, you should be wearing sandals or gym shoes with shorts...not pinchy, brown dress shoes.  Looks dumb.  And where did you get that old t-shirt?  Why does it say St. Mary's?  You should have one with Spiderman on it, like mine.  Way more cool."

         Not wanting to get into a long discussion about his fashion sense, his lack of it, or anything else for that matter, Fr. Kevin, suggested, "Irwin, why don't you go collect some bugs on the church lawn."

         "Can't Father.  The crime scene tape is still up.  You told me not to go there the other day.  Remember that ..when we found that cool murder stuff?"

          "We're not sure it's 'murder stuff' Irwin.  Don't go telling people that."

          "It might be...you said yourself it might be.  Too bad it didn't have blood or guts on it.  That would have been major cool."

           Looking for a way to rid himself of his unwanted visitor, the clever priest suggested, "Hey...I got an idea!  Why don't you go look for bugs in the little garden between the church and the rectory?"

           "You mean it Father O'Kenney?  Alright!  That other old guy priest never let me dig there.  Said I ruined his petunias.  This will be awesome cool!  Thanks Father!"  And off he trotted, out of Kevin's hair.

          Turning up his new ipod, Father Kevin got back to work, jamming along to his favorite tunes from Blue Oyster Cult.  He was just getting back into a rhythm...sweep, dump, stack...when he heard the boy's thumping feet climb back up the stairs.

          "Father...Father O'Kenney...this church is full of treasures!  Look at the cool stuff I found today in the little garden out back!'

           Fr. Kevin turned, and could only stare in horror at the items Irwin lined up the on the storage room floor...a tiny wooden chair, an even tinier wooden bowl and spoon, tops to several acorns...and one slightly used roach clip.


       

         





       

       

         

          Surveying the dining room table, Elizabeth could tell that Cassie felt bad about the early morning incident.  All Liz's favorites were laid out on the best china...home made waffles with sliced strawberries, clotted cream, thick cut bacon, nice and crisp, and a chilled pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.  It was a breakfast fit for angels, and no doubt meant to replace the apology that was so desperately needed.

         That's the way it had always been with Cassie.  From the time they were little, her older cousin would tease and hurt with brutal pinches and unkind words, causing Elizabeth to break down and weep until her eyes were swollen.  Then, when she tired of playing alone, Cassie would present her with some extravagant token...a cherished doll, her new bike, a handful of the prettiest hair ribbons...and act as if nothing had happened between them. This had gone on throughout their childhood, and into their teens, the gifts getting more expensive as the years went on.  It appeared nothing had changed, and she was once again being bribed to ignore her cousin's nasty behavior.

          Cassandra McKreedy floated into the room, carrying a plate of warm beignets.  "Look Lizzie, I made beignets from a recipe I found.  Remember how you loved them when we were down in New Orleans?  I made them special for you, my most favorite cousin in the whole world."

          It was just like Cassie to remember the only good memory of their time in New Orleans.  She had obviously blotted out the fact that she had run out on Elizabeth when the deal had turned badly, leaving Liz to dig herself out of the pile trouble she'd caused.  Not wishing to set her cousin off again, she nodded and agreed with her,  "Yes, Cassie.  I remember all the hours we spent at Cafe Du Monde, watching the world pass by."

          "Come on..sit down and enjoy.  I've been slaving over a hot stove for hours."

           Seating herself at the table, Elizabeth began piling the food on her plate, when she noticed Cassie still standing.  "Aren't you having any?"

          "Oh, I'd love to, but I haven't got the time."  She pulled out her cell, and checked the clock.   "I need to hop in the shower and get ready."

           "Ready for what?  Are you thinking of going out this morning?"

           "Don't be ridiculous.  You know I'm not ready for outside excursions.  Really, Elizabeth, do you always have to point out my disability?  Geez...that's really kind of bitchy considering I just made you this fabulous breakfast.  Just for that, I shouldn't give you this gift"  Casie picked up a small box from off the side board.

            Another gift always meant an incoming injury and bribe, and Elizabeth was leery of what might come next.  "You don't need to give me things, Cassie.  I appreciate just staying here with you, I really do."

           Paying her no mind, Cassie shoved an ipad and a pair of headphones across the table.   "This is for you.  I've already downloaded a bunch of your favorite music, a few novels, and some magazines I thought you'd like.  You can sign up for NetFlix if you get really bored, and download movies too."

            "That's really sweet of you Cas, but honestly, I really don't want you buying me things.  I'm fine with the ways things are, so all these gifts are... too much."

            "Take the ipad, Liz.  It will give you something to do while I have my date."

            "What date?  With who?  You just said you're not going out."

            " Of course not, silly!  He's coming here!  And I need you to stay out of sight and be silent, okay?  Just for a couple of hours or so.  That means no walking around either.  It wouldn't do to have my date hear footsteps above his head, especially this one.  That's why I gave you the headphones.  We won't hear you...you won't hear us.  Pretty clever, huh?"

            "Can't I just slip out for awhile?  I'll go hide out at the mall, or something.  No one will see me, honest.  I'll lay low."

             "Damn it, Elizabeth!  Don't start all that again!  We already went through this.  Eat your breakfast and skedaddle upstairs like a good little girl...and take the ipad with you."

             Elizabeth pushed the food around her plate, no longer having much of an appetite.  She watched Cassie scurry around the house, picking up and straightening things in advance of her guest.
"Can you at least tell me who it is that's coming over?"

            "Not that you need to know, Lizzie, but his name is Teddy. He's a perfectly nice man, and I'm a perfectly big girl, okay.  So don't you worry about me."

             "Do you think it's such a good idea to get involved with someone now, Cassie?  When we're almost ready to leave town?

             " Listen, I know what I'm doing.  This date is a total necessity...kind of like mixing business with pleasure.  Now please, stop arguing with me, and get yourself settled upstairs.  He'll be here in less than an hour.  And, Liz... promise me you'll stay off the radar?   I'd really hate to have to lock you in." she said with a smirk.

              "I'll be fine, Cassie."  Elizabeth took her plate to the kitchen, and scrapped the uneaten food into the garbage.  She thought about telling Cassie what she could do with the ipad, but fearing another outrage, she grabbed it and headed upstairs.  Maybe it would be better to drown out the fact that Cassie was downstairs having a life, and she was stuck in that room, a virtual prisoner.

                                                         ******************************

               An hour later, Cassie lit several scented candles in the living room to cover the scent of frying beignets, and fluffed up the pillows on the sofa.  Looking at her appearance in the hall mirror, she pinched her cheeks for color, and added a bit of gloss to her lips.  "Lookin' good Cassie girl!" she murmured to herself.  As she readjusted her skirt, she heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.  "Showtime, girlfriend." she stated to the mirror.

             She opened the door to welcome her visitor, and tossing her hair said, "Well, it's just so nice of you to come see little ole' me, Sheriff"  Grabbing him by the bicep, and leading him into the house, she added, "And you brought the nice rope like I asked.  How very lovely of you."  She looked up at Sheriff Beckett, and gave him her most dazzling smile.