"But would you stand up in court and testify as to what you saw? Could you recreate some of it?"

Mario shook his head at Barbara, mystified at her questioning. Why the third degree over the figures he had seen at Calloway's? "Of course I could. But what does that matter? I mean, in the long run, sure, but right now, aren't we just trying to find Marissa?"

Even before she spoke, Mario mistrusted Barbara's words. From what he knew of Barbara, she had a plan that would complicate things. "We are. And that is my top priority," she spoke with a marked superficiality. In anyone else, Mario would have censured such lack of concern, but Barbara possessed such visionary naivety in some ways that Mario had trouble finding fault. He could hear her thinking, Oh, the Marissa thing will work out. I'm not even convinced she's in danger.

In a way, she was right. As far as Mario and Barbara knew, Marissa had entered Calloway's the night before and returned home to sleep. Though the couple had stopped off at the bookstore early in the morning, Marissa's absence still did not signify peril with any certainty. No one else lived at the bookstore, and Marissa could easily have returned home, slept, and left again before Mario and Barbara arrived.

Not that Mario really believed his own conjecture. Too many coincidences entirely. According to Sam's coworker, though, Sam had left Calloway's even before Mario arrived. Perhaps Marissa had complained about the clientele and the activities in which they engaged, and the two of them had left.

"And that is why you're going to stop by Marcel's today," Barbara reassured him. "Obviously, Jerome didn't want to accept my message, and I can't say I blame him. If I had to run a campaign against people as unscrupulous as the McReynolds or Moran crew, I wouldn't trust anyone either. Just another reason why we were right to print that paper."

Mario shook his head, but he held his tongue. Barbara seemed to have so lost herself in her imagined cause that Marissa had fallen by the wayside. "I know we were right to publish Marissa's stories."

Barbara pondered his words, and for a moment, Mario thought that he had reached her. Though her condescending smile presaged something less desirable than acquiescence, Mario couldn't quite make out the actual motive.

"You're right, of course," Barbara cooed persuasively. "And that is why I need you to sign a statement that says exactly what you saw on those books."

Again, Mario couldn't quite divine her meaning. "What does signing a statement have to do with Marissa's stories?"

"I'm going to present the statement to your father and mine to use in the election. If we provide proof positive that Moran and McReynolds are engaged in a complex business relationship, that fact will quickly derail McReynolds's campaign. To that purpose, right now my father and yours are meeting with Jerome Weathers to discuss Marissa's situation and the security of the rally tomorrow. Which means that they will be in an even better position to give Jerome's campaign the information."

Mario breathed evenly for a moment, considering Barbara's words. Even if Barbara determined to act rashly, surely Mr. Crenshaw and Mario's father, and even Jerome Weathers, would use the information with the delicacy that it required. After all, Mario did possess knowledge that could incriminate the McReynolds brothers in all kinds of criminal activity. For some reason, too, Mario felt confident that the accountant whom he had met at Calloway's would jump the McReynolds's ship if given the opportunity and offer evidence to corroborate Mario's story.

"If I give you this, you'll let your father decide what to do with it?"

"He is the most qualified to make a decision like that," Barbara assured him. "He's not just my father; he's an honorable man."

"Fine," Mario agreed. "Let's head over to your father's house, and he can help me word the statement in the best way."

"Perfect!" Barbara agreed eagerly as she took several steps toward the door. "Except one thing," she murmured, biting her lip in consternation. "I thought we were going to find Marissa."

"Of course," Mario agreed, irritated that he had let the conversation distract him so completely. "Telling our fathers can wait."

Barbara considered for a moment. "Or, you could take the statement to our fathers, and I could check out Marcel's and Calloway's to see if anyone has heard from Marissa. Maybe even stop by the bookstore again."

At the name "Calloway's" Mario's heart nearly stopped. If he tried to keep her from going, she would resist. Instead, he honed in on a better idea, hoping she would not question his motives for the alternate plan. "We could try it that way," he hedged. "Though I am concerned about what your father has told Jerome about my part in the paper. Neither of them is my biggest fan right now. I'm not sure how they would receive such information from my hand."

Though she looked vexed, Barbara seemed to ponder Mario's words. "You've got a point," she muttered, then in a louder voice. "What if you check out Marcel's and Calloway's then? Before you leave, you can call Mr. Ellenwood at the bookstore to ask after Marissa, and I'll take the statement, which you can write right now, and deliver it to my father."

Mario couldn't help but think that Barbara noted the chivalry in his acquiescence. Hopefully, though, not enough recognition to awaken her independence.

"And it will only delay us for a minute. I mean, I don't have too much to say." He seated himself behind the office desk and pulled out a pen and paper. "I'll just note down some of the figures I saw - a couple of dates that seemed important. Tell your father that I only saw one page, but that I can recreate over half of its figures from memory if he needs it."

Mario noted with pleasure the look of admiration Barbara shot his way. If in nothing else of the last half hour, he could sense the utter sincerity of her approbation. As if to confirm his assessment, Barbara leaned in and offered him a warm kiss on the cheek once he had folded the letter and handed it to her.

"You really are amazing," she offered with a gaze as warm and soft as her lips.

"So are you Barbara," he caught her hand, restraining her movement away from him so he could focus his thoughts into her eyes. "I have never met someone with so much conviction."

To his surprise and wonderment, she smiled, closed her eyes, and placed her lips on his own. Whatever worry had gripped him before evaporated with the sensation of her gentle mouth on his.

"Thank you," she simpered before turning and striding out the door, her diminutive legs nonetheless driven forward with purpose.

Mario knew two things for sure when he looked at Barbara: there were some things in which he would never be able to trust her discretion, and he adored her so much that he really didn't care.