"Who did you say this is?" Jerome queried into the phone in the back of the five and dime.

"Barbara Crenshaw. I'm Marshall Crenshaw's daughter? I got your name from a friend of mine who visits with Miss Clarice from time to time."

For a moment, Jerome just scratched his head. "And you say you're looking for Tony?"

"Yes. Mario – Tony's brother – and I are looking for him and a friend of ours."

Jerome couldn't help his natural suspicions. The daughter of a white politician calling him at random only three days before the election? How did he know that she really spoke for Mario Garner?

Fortunately for him, he could provide an easy answer. "I haven't seen Tony for a couple of days. I may campaign on the weekend, but he doesn't unless I ask him to. I'm having a rally tomorrow night, though. I'm sure he'll show up there."

Actually, Tony had played a major role in the planning and execution of the event, as well as in the hand-shaking PR during the event. The caller didn't need to know that, though.

"Well, if you hear from him, would you have him call Professor Garner's office. Even if Mario and I aren't there, Professor Garner can give us a message. And tell Tony I said to keep Marissa close at all times!"

At the name, Jerome perked up. Marissa. Jerome knew all too well, and the mention of her meant that something had happened. As soon as he hung up with the supposed "Barbara Crenshaw," Jerome would make a point to find Marissa. Whether Barbara meant well or not, her advice was sound: stick with Tony. If Jerome had to sacrifice an event coordinator to save that precious girl, he would gladly do so.

"Thanks, Jerome. From what Tony said, I knew we could trust you."

Rather than answer, Jerome hung up the phone with a mumbled goodbye. He needed to cross the square and make it to Marcel's as quickly as possible.

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

"Can you blame him for being suspicious?" Barbara begged after she had hung up the phone and explained to Mario the content of the conversation. "I mean, the daughter of another politician happens to call him up a few days before the election? Whatever her espoused reason, he has to have some questions. Hopefully, he'll call your dad and verify my story."

"He could have just talked to me."

"Yes," Barbara conceded. "And you could be anyone whom I hired or colluded with and not Mario Garner. I see you haven't yet learned to think like a politician."

Mario smiled. "I'll just let you do that for both of us. So..." he hesitated. "How are we going to find Marissa?"

For a moment, Barbara said nothing. She had no good answer. "Well," she finally offered. "I say we contact your brother first. I've decided to take it as good news that he hasn't contacted us. If he had bad news, he would have found us by now."

"Unless he were dead," Mario mumbled. He didn't think it likely that his wily baby brother would get himself caught in a situation he couldn't escape, but if he had Marissa in tow, she might just cause him enough trouble to impede his usual acuity.

Barbara reached over and put a hand on Mario's own. "Let's not be so serious," she chastised, though she spoke it with affectionate indulgence.

Rather than agree with her, Mario took the hand she had laid on his and held it tightly as he moved within inches of her. His seriousness surprised her, and she looked up into his face. "What is it?" she begged.

"I need to know," he leaned his forehead down to touch hers, "that you're taking this as seriously as the situation warrants. Barbara..." Lifting her chin, he gazed into the eyes of determination. "I think we made a mistake in publishing those names in the way in which we did. People will be hurt – have been hurt – by what we did."

"People are being hurt every day because no one is doing anything about it," Barbara countered as she pulled herself away from Mario.

"But Marissa is in serious danger because of what we did, not because of her own actions."

"And Marissa will be fine," Barbara insisted. "It's not doing us, or her, any good for us to sit around here and debate the merits of past actions."

"Only in how it affects our future ones."

"One step at a time, Mario," Barbara pressed, stepping back to him and piercing him again with her gaze. "Right now, we find Marissa. When that is done, we can decide our next course of action. We have only to think of the next three days."

They stood inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes for several seconds. Mario no less enthralled by her intensity than he had been the first time he met her, if almost afraid of its outcome. Barbara, trying to see into the depths of the intelligence buried in his mind, and only part of her worrying that he might hold enough smarts to interfere with her plans. Though neither moved, both felt satisfied by the communication that seemed to confirm the hearts beating inside their chests. They still didn't know if they could agree on an action, but they each felt sure they wanted the other on their team.

"Mario?" came the cry that finally pulled them apart.

Mario stepped back immediately, and though Barbara found herself leaning forward, he pressed her back a step just before the professor made it past the little corridor into the office.

"Father," Mario managed, forcing a measure of strength into his tone.

"Mario, what's going on? Neither you nor your brother appears to have come home at all last night, and last I heard, Marissa was missing. Did you find her?"

Mario glanced at Barbara. "I know as much as you do," Mario sighed. "We haven't heard from Tony since about midnight."

To Mario's surprise, the news did not seem to upset his father. Instead, the older man took on a calculating expression, and Mario found himself waiting to hear what wisdom followed. Gone was the mousy and meek professor, and Mario couldn't help thinking he saw a glimpse of Paulo Gargano, as Tony would have called their pop's old identity. Even more shocking, he recognized Tony in the determined and focused expression.

"Well, the first thing we need to do," Professor Garner offered in answer to Mario's thoughts, "is contact Tony's friends. Who is that nice young man Tony goes to see just north of the campus?"

Barbara shook her head, "I don't remember his name, but I think the best route would be to go through Jerome Weathers."

"The man running for city council?"

"Tony has done nothing but work on his campaign for the last month or so. Pretty much everything he does revolves around Jerome these days. Even if Jerome doesn't know where Tony is, he'll know who might."

Professor Garner shook his head at his own ignorance. How many months had he worried about Tony's idle pursuits? Instead, Tony had spent his time in action, much as Paul would have done in his own youth. "So, how do we contact this Jerome?"

"Well," Barbara offered matter-of- factly, "we could ask my dad."

She glided over to the professor's phone and waited as the operator connected her to her father.

"Ross," she commanded, "I need to speak to my father about an urgent matter."

"He's in a meeting," Ross began hesitantly.

"Just take him the message. Let him judge whether it's worth interrupting his meeting or not."

Both Mario and the professor stifled a laugh at her authoritarian tone. Though they had always known her tendency to take charge, she had suppressed it well in the professor's office, masking it under a veil of extreme competence.

"Yes," Barbara spoke into the phone. "Thanks. Hello, Father. I need to come see you right away. And I need to bring Mario and his father."

For a moment, she merely listened, but her face showed her exasperation. "Yes, he's fine, and no, it won't be dangerous for him to come to your house. Nothing of significance has happened yet."

Another pause.

"No, dad. The professor has a car. I'll have him come around back. Make sure Richards knows to let us in."

"I'm starting to notice a trend in your father's thought patterns," Mario ventured as soon as Barbara hung up the phone. "His daughter first, his political career second, and everything else a distant third."

Barbara grinned, "His thoughts, yes, but his actions betray his values. Pop does right even though he sometimes speaks wrong."

Ten minutes later, a diminutive elderly man let the trio in through the back gates of the Crenshaw home, taking the wheel from the professor when the car stopped at the back door. The professor looked dubiously at the man with his squinting eyes.

"Yeah," Barbara admitted with a shrug. "He's a bit more comfortable with a horse and carriage, but he hasn't damaged my dad's cars yet."

Marshall Crenshaw met his daughter and her friends at the back door, and Barbara made the introduction to the professor. Each man had heard enough of the other to begin the acquaintance with immediate respect.

"I don't know which of us knows less," the professor began as the group seated itself in Mr. Crenshaw's office, "but since I know next to nothing, I will go first, if you don't mind. Once we get my little story out of the way, you guys can fill me in on the important things. Late last night, my youngest son, Tony, came to me in quite a state of upset. He seemed to have some information that my dear little friend, Marissa Erinson, might be in trouble. Apparently, she wrote the cover articles for that sensationalist paper that has circulated around over the last couple of weeks. Of course, I understood the position the fact put her in. Almost as soon as I saw him, though, he left again after giving me a message for Barbara and Mario. That is the last I heard from anyone until this morning when I found Barbara and Mario in a heated discussion at my office."

"Yes," Barbara picked up the account of the night. "Before we called you, professor, we were having a discussion with my father about basically the same subject. We knew where Marissa was, and considering that Tony knew about the paper, we have to assume that he heard about it from someone else. Which means someone else knew about it, too, Mario."

"As far as we knew at the time, she was just doing something foolish, and we needed to interfere," Mario inserted. "If what you tell us is true, father, it wasn't just foolish. It was dangerous. Someone found out she wrote the articles."

"So," Marshall Crenshaw interjected. "Where did she get her stories?"

"Well, mostly Jerome Weathers's neighborhood," Barbara informed him. "Why?"

"And you say that Tony works for Mr. Weathers campaign?" Marshall continued.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Well, perhaps we should ask Jerome Weathers if he knows anything about it? Maybe Tony found out about the paper from Jerome. If that's the case, we have little to worry about. As long as the McReynoldses or Morans don't know her identity, she has little to fear."

As soon as Mr. Crenshaw said the words, everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. They had all pictured the worst: Marissa, entering the lions' den, with lions who had been primed with a taste for her blood. Instead, they began to hope that maybe she had just entered a lions' den, where she might not appear any more appealing to the carnivores than any other young woman at the establishment.

"That is actually what Mario and I had decided to do just before we came to see you. That's why we're here."

Mr. Crenshaw furrowed his brow. "To see Jerome Weathers?"

"No," Mario countered. "To find out how to see Jerome Weathers. We were hoping you knew some way to contact him."

Mr. Crenshaw stood to his feet and began to march back and forth across a small space, deep in thought. "The only man I know in that district is Marcel Lafitte."

"Marcel Lafitte of Marcel's?" the professor asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I'm surprised that you -"

"I have never set foot in the establishment," Mr. Crenshaw huffed, and Barbara only just managed to stifle a chuckle at the obvious teasing by the professor. "Mr. Lafitte has provided musicians for my rallies from time to time."

"So, you could call him?" Barbara begged. "Or should the professor? He wouldn't know either Mario or me, and if Jerome's response to us is any indication, Marcel won't trust us either."

"If you don't mind, Mr. Crenshaw -" the professor began.

"Call me Marshall," the politician urged.

"If you don't mind, Marshall, I think you should call. We're calling from your house, so Mr. Lafitte will be able to vouch for you. He's bound to take the call from a respected and established politician such as you."

"But I can't offer him my support -"

"Not yet," Professor Garner smiled. "But I have a feeling that when you meet him, you'll consider supporting him a distinct possibility. That's not our purpose in the call, though, so that's no reason to refuse."

"Please, father?" Barbara chimed in. "It's for my friend."

Instead of answering, Marshall Crenshaw sidled over to his phone and picked up the receiver. "Marcel Lafitte, please."

Mr. Crenshaw waited impatiently on the phone until the deep, gravelly voice of Marcel Lafitte came on the line. "Mr. Crenshaw?" the man asked with more than a little confusion in his voice.

"Mr. Lafitte. Always a pleasure to speak with you. May I have a moment of your time?"

Marshall felt no shock to hear the small huff of skepticism from Marcel, but the musician acquiesced nonetheless.

"I know this is highly irregular," Marshall continued, "but I'm trying to reach a friend of yours, and you are the only connection between us, as far as I know."

"Which friend? My musicians are booked up for the McReynolds and Weathers rallies until after the election."

"Actually, it's not a musician I need. It's Mr. Weathers."

Marshall gave the words a second to sink in before he continued. "I understand how unusual this looks, but you know enough of me to know that I bear no nefarious purpose."

"Nefarious," the musician grumbled. "Sound like that damn college boy who comes in here all the time." Aloud Marcel said, "Well, I might see him today, but he's so busy with his campaign that I doubt he'll stay in one place long enough for me to send a message to him."

After pondering a minute, Marshall decided that the offer would have to do. "Well, if you wouldn't mind just delivering a message to him when he makes it to your establishment; that would help me immensely."

"I'm listenin'."

"Please tell him that his presence is requested at my residence this afternoon. The meeting is of some import and should not last more than thirty minutes. If he would prefer, I could send someone to retrieve him so that he does not run into any obstacle on the way."

"Run into an obstacle," Marcel took to mumbling again. "Well, I can't promise how he'll take the message, but I'll give it to him."

"You have my deepest gratitude," Marshall Crenshaw offered in his best politician speak.

When Marshall turned to face the room, its occupants did not look enthusiastic.

"I hate not knowing," Barbara complained. "And I hate sitting and waiting. I have done entirely too much of that lately."

When Mario placed his hand consolingly on Barbara's, both Marshall Crenshaw and the professor donned expressions of utter shock, though they grew from different sentiments. Marshall Crenshaw had long denied the possibility that his daughter would show interest in a serious relationship. If anything, he figured she would someday acquiesce to a date in order to secure a political alliance. The professor hardly qualified.

Professor Garner, on the other hand, had to swallow a massive grin on the occasion. He knew that too much parental approval would act as sand on a fire for a budding romance. For as long as he had known her, the professor had thought of Barbara as a sort of daughter. If the thought could actually coalesce into reality, he would not interfere.

"I'm thinking," Mario finally stood to his feet, "that Barbara and I should go back to the office. If anyone tries to contact us, it will be there."

"Before we do that," Mr. Crenshaw insisted, "let's have a quick lunch. That will give Mr. Weathers time to respond. If you all scatter, how can we find each other when we need to? I don't particularly wish to entertain Mr. Weathers all by myself."

When the professor seconded the wisdom of Marshall's plan, Mario and Barbara felt no ability to choose any other course. Within half an hour, the four of them had seated themselves to an early lunch, and Mario and his father were well on their way to earning the respect of Marshall Crenshaw by the intelligence and insight of their conversation. Barbara need only smile at the effect.