"I don't understand what this has to do with me," Marshall Crenshaw blustered, staring out his front window at the moonlit silhouettes that decorated his neatly manicured lawn.

"These are your people," the shorter guest stated matter-of-factly. "Don't you know what your people are doing?"

"I am a politician, Mr. McReynolds, not a dictator. I don't have spies reporting on my constituents."

"That's too bad, Mr. Crenshaw. I think that I speak for Mr. Moran when I say that we had hoped for more cooperation from you on this matter."

Mr. Crenshaw turned back to face the brothers where they sat on his small leather settee. "I assure you, Carson," Marshall Crenshaw poured as much sincerity into his address as he could muster. "I do not like this any better than you. The people who published that paper have drawn an audience, and they have been very careless about researching which names to publish on these so-called 'black-lists.'"

"Careless is a bit of an understatement," Carson replied, taking over the conversation from his brother, "but maybe easier for you to say than for us. After all, your precinct can afford a little lost business. Over in the patch, a small price can cost us dearly. What's a few dollars to someone who has ample money? Our people have little to begin with, so a little loss could cost someone his entire business."

Marshall Crenshaw, angry but slightly ashamed, spun back to stare out his window. "If you're intimating that I..."

"I'm not intimating anything, Marshall," Carson cut him off. "I would never expect you to tamper with a fair election; I'm not saying that you have intentionally caused anyone harm. I just know that you have influence, and you should use that influence to right a great wrong that has occurred."

Unfortunately, everyone also knew that Marshall Crenshaw would cave to enough pressure. Under normal circumstances, he would have refused to shake down his own constituency to find some supposed perpetrator for the sake of the McReynolds, but what Carson had said rang too true for Marshall to deny entirely.

"Look," Marshall offered in a conciliatory tone, "would it help if I promised to keep my ear to the ground and listen for any information? I'll even dig around in my acquaintances to see if the public knows something that I haven't heard."

"Well, that's awfully kind of you, Marshall," Carson grinned as he spoke, no doubt sensing victory. "I hope we can resolve this before another edition comes out. The Patch can't afford too many more attacks."

"They're hardly attacks," Marshall mumbled to himself, but only said aloud, "I hope so, too. Thanks for your time, gentlemen."

Turning to offer his hand, Marshall Crenshaw forced himself to smile while easing toward the study door. He needed to get these men out of his house for two reasons. One, their presence in the Crenshaw manor did not speak well of Crenshaw's publicly impeccable record. And, two, Marshall had watched in horror as Barbara, his precious only child, had made her way up the walk toward the front of the house. Marshall had no desire for the two men to encounter his most beloved possession on the planet. From what Marshall had heard, the McReynolds brothers had a problem with coveting their neighbors’ possessions, and Marshall didn't want his lovely daughter anywhere near the McReynolds's ilk.

Fortunately, Marshall had managed to covertly signal to Barbara to enter through the back door. He had done this before, times when he needed to put forth a strong front with a political opponent who had chosen to visit the Crenshaw home. On such occasions, Barbara had needed to stay behind the scenes; nothing gave the lie to the words of a hard-nosed politician than seeing him mellowed by his progeny.

As Barbara made her way around back, Mario peered past the edge of the house at the retreating forms of the McReynolds brothers.

"What are they doing here?" he hissed, and Barbara turned just in time to see a limousine pull away down her front drive.

"Who?" she begged.

"The McReynolds brothers. Does this mean that we are coming to the wrong person? If your pop is involved with the McReynoldses..."

"If my father is in any way involved with the McReynoldses, it is in working against them. He's no George Washington, but he's also no Benedict Arnold."

Mario glanced at Barbara's reddening face and decided to let his speculations wait. The truth would come out soon enough, one way or the other, and Mario would prefer not to make spurious accusations against his girl's father. "Of course not. Let's go see if he'll let us know what happened, or if not, if he'll help us with Marissa."

Again, the pair moved in unison toward the back door and ascended the stairs into the house. Before they reached the stairway, Marshall Crenshaw opened his study door and rushed out into the hallway.

"What is it, Father?" Barbara didn't like his agitated looks, and though she hadn't forgotten Marissa, her father took precedence for a few moments.

"Those damn McReynoldses – pardon my language, Mr. Garner. I'm just a bit irritated."

"The McReynoldses? What did they want?" Barbara didn't like one bit that those men had so irritated her daddy.

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" Mr. Crenshaw turned to Mario. "Barbara, join me in my study."

"You can sit in the library, if you like, Mario. It's right through that door."

Though Mario didn't like being dismissed, he couldn't complain at his sentence. The Crenshaw library rivaled Professor Garner's, and held different topics than the familiar Garner tomes.

"I'll be waiting," Mario smiled politely at Mr. Crenshaw before making his exit from the foyer.

Barbara followed her father into the study, determining to discuss Marissa no matter what else her father had to say. In her case, time mattered immensely, and Barbara's father would need even more time to gather information or resources with which to help.

"What did the McReynoldses want?" she queried, fully aware that the more she offered her father, the more likely he would help her. Of course, she couldn't have suspected that his words would make her forget her entire purpose for coming to see him.

"It's that blasted paper," Mr. Crenshaw spat. "It's really starting to cause problems for the McReynoldses, and they think I might be able to find out who is publishing it."

Unable to speak, Barbara stared at the back of her father's head as he retook his usual position staring out the front window.

"The problem is, I don't even know how to look. Now, your friend in there," Marshall turned and gestured to the wall that separated the study from the library. "He might have some idea of how to find out."

"Why would you say that?" Though Barbara managed to keep the squeak out of her voice, she heard a definite quivering in her tone.

"Well, I've been thinking." He sat on the edge of his desk, one arm across his chest, his opposite hand stroking his chin in thought. "Who would have the tools to print a paper just sitting around ready to use? A university. Where would one find the idealistic fools brave enough to publish such a list and stupid enough to include so many names with unfounded accusations? A university. Where is the paper published? In the neighborhoods bordering the university."

"I've read that paper," Barbara interrupted. "The lists look legitimate to me."

Mr. Crenshaw squinted at his daughter suspiciously, but seemed to think better of his concern. "I didn't say they weren't legitimate. What they printed was true, but some of the people would have been better left alone. Only a few of those people perpetrated any real crimes."

Despite her earlier resolve, Barbara's conscience upbraided her. Now two of the people she respected most in the world had accused her of carelessness when printing the lists. Not only that, but even Mario had stood with her only because he liked her, not because he thought her right.

"Oh, I understand," she equivocated. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Well," Marshall Crenshaw twisted his mouth in thought. "If you don't mind, I was hoping I could do a little interview with your friend next door. His father works at the university, and I imagine that your friend knows many of the students. Maybe he has heard something that would give me a clue."

Barbara's heart skipped a beat. Though she respected Mario, he had little experience in subversion. Under the interrogation of her father, Mario might just spill everything. The realization stirred in her an idea, and she decided that she needed to run it past Mario before her father started in on his questioning.

"Of course, father. He won't mind at all." Barbara grew suddenly pleasant. "Would you mind if I have a few words with him? We had a date planned, and I would like to smooth things over with him since your conversation with him is likely to make us late for our reservations."

Marshall Crenshaw smiled indulgently at his daughter, placing a gentle hand on her cheek so he could stare into her eyes. "I'm sorry this is interfering with your plans. I'll only take a few minutes."

"Oh, no problem," she answered brightly. "We'll be back in a minute."

Barbara now knew how to appeal to her father for Marissa, but she felt entirely too nervous to begin the process. Garnering her courage, though, she passed through the doorway and across the few feet to the library. She would be asking Mario Garner to make a very large sacrifice for the sake of their friend. She only hoped that the risk would pay off. And that it wouldn't cost more than Barbara was willing to pay.