"Yes sir. I believe she was."

"She lived here?"

"Yes sir. I believe she did."

"For how long?"

"Oh… for a long time. Years. Yeah, definitely years."

"Mmmm, yes. And her mother was Molly Conner?"

"Yes sir. I believe that is correct."

"Do you know how old Lorraine is?"

"Oh no, sir. I'm much too smart to ask a woman her age."

"You must have it in the files, though. Personnel records, something like that."

"We might. But she left with our previous sheriff, Shep O'Grady. You'd have to ask him. He's not here anymore, of course. Lives somewhere else now."

"Shep O'Grady." Mitz made a note.

Luke said, "So what's this all about, sir? We don't often get lawyers asking about our former officers."

"Its a routine background check."

"She's applying for a job?"

"Uh… no."

"She's applying for a credit card?"

"I'm a lawyer, Sheriff. I assure you I don't get involved with credit card applications."

"Of course, pardon me. So when do you get involved?"

"That's confidential. Something I will share with Ms. Conner when the occasion arises."

"Fair enough. I would never ask a man to compromise his principles. Say, just out of curiosity, what is your specialty?"

Mitz, however, was no dummy. "That would also be something for me to share with her when the occasion arises. So Lorraine Conner served as a police officer for how many years?"

"Several," Luke obliged.

"I understand she resigned last year."

"Yes sir."

"A bit of scandal or something? About a fifteen-year-old incident?"

Luke shrugged. "Officer Conner resigned in good standing, Mr. Mitz. We're all real proud of her."

"Well," Mitz said briskly. "That's good to hear. Of course, as long as I'm in town, you won't be offended if I ask others the same question?"

"Ask away," Luke said graciously. "Yes, well. What about the rest of her family?"

"What about them?"

"She has other family?" Mitz sounded surprised. For the first time, Luke hesitated, clearly caught off guard.

"Not that I know of," Luke said hastily, abandoning the drawl. "But you asked the question."

"So she doesn't have an ex-husband, half-siblings, children?"

"Not that I know of. Why do you ask?"

"Line on the form," Mitz said curtly. He began to make a note again, but Luke caught his hand. The Andy Griffith routine had vanished. Luke's face was hard set, and his voice had grown stern.

"These are very personal questions for a routine background check, sir, and even if Rainie doesn't live here anymore, she's a good friend of mine. Now I'm asking you one more time, what is this all about?"

"And I'm telling you one last time," Mitz said stiffly. "I'm not at liberty to say."

Rainie decided that was her cue. The conversation was going no place, plus good cop was about to beat the crap out of Mr. Mitz, which would give her role a tough act to follow. She came around the booth. She gave the lawyer a big smile. "Hey, Mitz," she said. "Surprise." Then she slid into the booth and effectively trapped the man between her and Luke.

"What… what is going on?" Mitz had started stuttering. Perspiration dotted his upper brow and Rainie figured in the last ten seconds, he'd sweat through his tanlinen suit. She scooted in a little closer, letting her hand fall to his prized briefcase and stroking the leather almost lovingly.

"You've been trying very hard to meet me, Mr. Mitz," she said.

"Well, yes. I left several messages in Virginia. I didn't know… When did you get back in town?"

"Make you uncomfortable?"

"Well, yes. But, but, it's not bad either!" The lawyer perked up. "I mean, I wish you would've called first. I would've brought the whole file, been better prepared. Butyou are here now and I have wanted to talk to you."

"About my past," Rainie said knowingly.

"Oh, in all honesty, we know all details about your past. Even the, well, 'incident.' I assure you, he's not concerned about that. Doesn't bother him a bit."

"What?" Now it was Rainie's turn to feel confused. Sheglanced at Luke. He was shaking his head slightly, equally baffled. Shit.

"You've spoken to him, correct?" Mitz was saying in a merry rush. "I gave him your number in Virginia and he promised to call. After all, it seemed more appropriate for him to personally give you the news."

The hang ups, Rainie thought. Two days of hang ups she'd naively assumed were Mitz. Why is it wrong to assume? Because it makes an ass out of u and rne.

"What news?" she heard herself ask.

"The estate, Ms. Conner. The will. That's what I do, you know. Estate planning. I'm his attorney."

"Whose attorney?"

"Ooooooooh deeeaaaaarrrr." Mitz drew up short. He blinkedbehind his glasses. "He didn't call you, did he? He saidhe would, but he didn't. It's the wild card, you know.Estate planning, it is an intense, personal experience. Younever know how your client is going to react."

"Mr. Mitz, you start explaining now or Iswear I'm going to breakevery bone in your overly educated body.

Mr. Mitz ducked his head. He blinkedagain. And he said in a small voice, "I work for Ronald Dawson. Ronnie thinks- we think- that he's your father. Which would make you, Ms. Conner, his sole surviving heir."

Portland,Oregon

"You have a father?"

"Not bloody likely."

"You don't seem very happy about it."

"Happy about it? Happy about it!" Four hours later, Rainie stood in the middle of the one-bedroom deluxe hotel suite in downtown Portland and whirled on Kim-berly Quincy as if the girl didn't have a brain in her head. Rainie had made the two-hour drive back to the city in one hour and thirty minutes. She'd cut off two semi's, flashed half a dozen cars, and nearly rear-ended a police cruiser. Only the fact that the state trooper was a personal friend of Luke's had saved her from a speeding ticket or worse. She should've taken a deep breath then. She hadn't.

Now she started pacing the living room of the suite, where Quincy and his daughter were registered as Larry and Barbara Jones. Quincy was catching a badly needed nap in the bedroom. Kimberly had been staring blindly at some network's TGIF TV-lineup before Rainie hadburst through the door. Far from being wary of Rainie'smood, the aspiring psych student seemed gratefulfor the distraction. Rainie now understood how guinea pigs felt. If Kimberly gave her that deep, probing stare one more time, Rainie was going to start pushing brightly colored buttons in return for pellets. Then she was going to bounce said pellets off of Kimberly's blond head.

Rainie held up her hand. "One," she ticked off crisply. "Let's consider the father-to-be. Ronald Dawson, aka Ronnie. He's a thug. Better yet, a convicted thug. The man has spent the last thirty years incarcerated for aggravated murder. He was only paroled last year because at the age of sixty-eight, he's too arthritic to be considered a menace to society. In his thirties, however, he gutted two men in a bar fight with a hunting knife. Oh wait, I'm sorry. According to his lawyer, Carl Mitz, there were mitigating circumstances. Good ol' Ronnie was so damn drunk, he didn't know what he was doing at the time. Helloooooooo, Dad!"

"Still, he hired a lawyer to find you," Kimberly said mildly.

Rainie scowled at her. "Two," she continued. "Ronnie claims to be looking for an heir to his estate, but it's not like he did anything to earn the estate. His father had a hundred-acre farm in Beaverton. Ronnie didn't help on the farm. He drank, gutted, then went to jail. His father worked the farm. His father built the farm. And when the real estate boom hit Beaverton in the early nineties, his father sold the farm to a real estate developer for ten million dollars. Praise be to Grandpa Dawson. Ronnie still sucks."