Archive of Our Own ^beta

Frank Strenlich, the Chief of Detectives at the 101st Precinct, stepped out of the green Corvair convertible into thick, glutinous brown mud that rose above the stitching in his leather shoes. Moisture seeped in and soaked his black socks. The former Marine took pride in his neat dress, and cursed the man who had brought him so far out into the countryside on a Saturday afternoon.

Detective Kermit Griffin got out of the convertible, which he had been driving with the top down, despite the threatening sky. He stared at the cabin set amid the barren trees. The crest of the hill rose behind them. Small pines, tangled bushes and briars covered the landscape. It looked wild and unkempt.

The cabin was small and square, rising to a peaked roof that probably meant it had an upper level inside, or a loft. A porch ran around three-quarters of the building, sometimes a foot above the muddy ground, at other times an inch above. Paint had peeled off the wooden walls, leaving streaks of stained, weathered wood. The rusty screen door had holes. One of the two windows had a broken pane, imperfectly repaired with a piece of cardboard. On the left side of the house was a stone chimney.

"Looks like a nice vacation home," Kermit observed acidly.

Strenlich shot him a cold glare. "You weren't invited."

"Wouldn't miss your party," Kermit replied without a trace of smugness. "Are you sure this is the place?"

The chief glanced at the map he had left lying open on the seat. "Well, it fits the directions Wilson gave me."

"We should have gone left at that fork twenty or so miles ago," Kermit suggested delicately. "As soon as we ran out of fast-food restaurants and roadside fruit stands."

"Which were closed for the season," the chief groused, his attention drawn to the house. He cupped his hands around his mouth, and called, "Wilson!"

The sound carried into the woods around them. Only a cold wind answered as it howled around their ears.

Kermit shivered. "Let's go inside."

"Don't you want to put the top up?" Strenlich knew that Kermit cherished his antique car.

"For fifteen minutes? No," Kermit replied firmly. "Besides, the mechanism's jammed."

Strenlich shrugged. "Your problem."

"All mine." Kermit walked around the car. "Now, where is this Wilson?"

"Should be inside." Strenlich picked his way through the mud heading for the front steps, Kermit, a few strides behind him on the well-trodden path.

The muddy front yard was pockmarked with small holes filled with water. The temperature was already dropping with a new storm coming in, and the water would freeze into ice.

The stairs creaked under Strenlich's feet as he climbed up, and Kermit stepped carefully, seeing a crack on the top one. The wood had rotted away at one end. Dead, wet leaves piled beside the stairs gave off a dank stench.

"Wilson!" Strenlich barked.

They didn't hear a thing. The chief opened the storm door, and knocked on the inner one. It gave under his hand.

Kermit reached around him and gave the door a gentle push. "It's open," he observed in surprise, his hand going under his blue suit jacket and pulling out his gun.

Strenlich nodded, pulling out his weapon, but holding it down by his side. "Wilson?" he called.

Something creaked inside. Both policemen tensed. The wind stirred the ashes in the fireplace and filling the room with the smell of smoke.
Someone was burning wood, Strenlich thought alertly, or had been recently. He hesitated for a second before stepping inside the house.
Kermit looked around for danger one last time, then followed the chief inside.

It was so quiet that Strenlich could hear Kermit's breathing. The ancient leather couch in the living room was spotted with mud and half-buried in old newspapers. Next to it was a table with a lamp, and a garbage can with a few beer cans. A parka was hung beside the door on a nail, gloves protruding from one pocket. . The only light in the room was provided by the small windows that flanked the door. The rag rug under their feet had the marks of muddy feet.

Kermit hastily closed the door behind him. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," he murmured.

"I smell gun smoke," Strenlich muttered back.

"From in there." Kermit waved his gun toward the kitchen. Through the half-open door, they saw an old refrigerator and a dingy sink that dated back to the thirties. The linoleum floor was faded to an uneven green.

Strenlich walked towards it, his senses alert for any kind of danger. Kermit matched his expression, the gun held ready. His mercenary training had made him paranoid about empty houses.

"Wilson?" Strenlich called a fourth time, one large hand pushing back the kitchen door. The door swung open and they saw a wooden table, laden with various bits of machinery, several plastic dishes along with some leftover beer cans and the remains of a banana. A man was slumped over a newspaper on the far side of the table.

Strenlich lowered his gun slowly, staring at the man. "That's not Wilson."

"Be glad. He's dead," Kermit shot back tersely.

The shotgun blast had gone through the back of the man's head and turned his face into a puddle of red jelly spread across the New York Times' puzzle. His right hand was outstretched towards a glass of half-drunk milk while his other hand held a pencil.

The chief estimated from the condition of the body that he had been dead for a day. The heat from the pot-bellied stove in the comer was faint in the face of the howling wind that was fluttering through cracks in the windows.

"I'll look around," Kermit murmured. "Maybe he left a suicide note."

Strenlich shook his head in disgust, then realized Kermit was being facetious. Not even a suicide could blow away his head from behind.

*****

Detective Peter Caine sat on the low wall of the small veranda at his father's apartment, and gazed at the bustling city below him. Sunlight dodged in and out of rain clouds making a patchwork of dark and light shadows. To the north, he saw a water-fat cloud bank that looked like it belonged to the time of the Deluge moving slowly towards them. He estimated it should arrive in an hour or two. However, at the moment, the apartment was bathed in light and warmth. His father, Kwai Chang Caine, was tending to his ailing spider plant.

"I...thought you were bringing ...Kermit?" Caine inquired of his son. "We were ...going to dinner together."

"He's out with Strenlich," Peter said with a laugh.

Caine looked surprised. "The chief ...and Kermit? I would not have ...expected it. Do they have ...a case?"

"I don't think Strenlich expected him to offer to help, either," Peter agreed "The chief’s been working on that Wilson double homicide in the mountains, and one of the Wilson cousins said he had something for the chief. Strenlich said he'd go up and meet with him, and Kermit volunteered to drive."

With a doubtful expression, Caine stared at him. "Kermit...volunteered?"

Peter grinned. "I think he was trying to avoid going to his sister's. Somehow, she talked him into helping her set up a computer for a friend, and he wasn't in the mood. Said he'd have to go out on Sunday but he wasn't going to do both days."

"I cannot believe ...that Kermit would not help out. ..his sister," Caine said in gentle reproof.

"Marilyn's match-making, Pop," Peter explained. "Anyway, Kermit picked up the chief and is driving him into the wilds of Upstate. They left a couple of hours ago."

"You saw them?"

"Yeah. I stopped by the office, and did some extra work," Peter admitted, looking down at Chinatown. "Crime doesn't stop on the weekends."

"No, indeed," Caine agreed. He finished stripping the dead leaves off the spider plant. "There. It will recover now. So, we will have lunch together."

"Anything but rice," Peter protested.

"I will take you ...to a good restaurant," Caine replied firmly. "No hamburgers. Or fries. Salad."

Peter grinned. "Lead on, Pop."

*****

Strenlich looked distastefully at the corpse. The man was roughly fifty, wore a well- washed cotton shirt under bib overalls that had been clumsily patched, and heavy army boots, covered with dried mud.

Kermit returned, his gun held ready, his expression suspicious. "I checked around. There's a loft upstairs with a sleeping bag, couple of quilts, and an old army trunk with no labels. The bathroom's down here. Hasn't been used in a while from the smell. Toilet's still running."

Strenlich glanced towards a door half-hidden behind the refrigerator. "Another level? A basement?"

"That fridge must weigh a ton," Kermit observed. "Probably no one's been downstairs since they built the place. Any ID on the man?"

"None." Strenlich hadn't seen a bulge in the man's clothing that indicated a wallet. The shirt didn't have a tag.

Kermit put his gun away. "Looks like he's a heavy reader," he commented looking at the newspaper. "That's from a week ago."

"The other ones are older," Strenlich replied, waving to the pile beside the pot-bellied stove. It consisted of the Times of London, the Wall Street Journal, and several local papers with well-creased pages.

"Do you recognize any of the hardware on the table?" Strenlich asked.

Kermit picked up one piece. It looked like a thicker version of the plastic containers Moo Shi Pork wrappers came in at Chinese restaurants and was six inches deep. Threads ran around the edge, so it was made to be screwed together with something else. Kermit put it down with a faint frown. "It's familiar," Kermit said slowly, his mind racing through all his years as a mercenary. "But I can't place it." He picked up a broken wooden stake and turned it over in his hands. "Looks like he was serious about keeping rabbits out of the garden. Isn't that barbed wire?"

Strenlich nodded and stepped away from the corpse. He bumped into the sink. The room was too small for the three of them. "Well, let's call the county cops and get them out here. We still have to get to Wilson's and find out what he's got for me."

"Nothing like a murder to distract you from the journey at hand," Kermit quipped. He pulled out a small cellular phone, flipped it open and dialed.
Nothing. Nothing at all. Kermit checked the phone and saw that the batteries worked.

"Well?"

"Out of cell range," Kermit concluded, flipping it closed and returning it to his pocket. "We'll have to use that old wreck outside."

"What old wreck? Your car?"

"The telephone." Kermit went into the living room to the small table beside the couch. It sported a small lamp with a bedraggled shade, probably purchased at the local flea market, and a black rotary-dial phone that proclaimed its age with every curve. Lying beside the phone was a pad of paper and several pencils.

Kermit picked up the phone and began dialing before stopping abruptly. "What?" Strenlich saw a strange expression pass over the detective's face. "It's dead."

The wind’s pitch went outside. The glass windows rattled as a breeze snuck in under the cardboard. The ashes shifted as wind came down the flue.

"Dead?" the chief repeated. "How? On purpose?"

"Could be just a branch came down on the wires," Kermit suggested. His tone said clearly he didn't believe it.

"Or it could be cut."

Their gazes met, then Kermit's flicked to the kitchen. "Oh, yeah."

Strenlich nodded abruptly. "Let's take a couple of those boxes with us, and drive to the nearest town."

"Back to the Golden Arches," Kermit muttered, hanging up the telephone. "I'll turn the car around."

There was a rumble of thunder. "You'd better put up the top."

"I'll do that," Kermit agreed. He went outside as Strenlich went back into the kitchen and, using a handkerchief, put the broken spike inside the plastic bowl. He tucked the container under his arm and went back through the living room.

Strenlich grinned as he looked out the screen door. Kermit's frigid self-control was slipping when faced with the worst Mother Nature could provide. He was struggling with the top. He had gotten it started on one side, but the other side was being recalcitrant. Finally, he braced himself and gave it a heave.

His feet slipped and he fell on his knees in the mud, digging up a huge gouge of turf behind him. He floundered for a second, his body language murderous, then got to his feet. The car rolled back, making him dance out of the way, before it stopped. If he yanked again, it might start rolling down the path. He needed to brace it.

The chief picked up a log from the pile beside the fireplace and came outside, the bowl under one ann. "Try this." He tossed the wood to Kermit.

Griffin caught the log and jammed it behind the car's rear left wheeL Then, bracing himself, he put all his strength into freeing the hood.

"Hold on. I'll help you." Strenlich slammed the screen door shut and fastened it.

Kermit's feet slipped again, hitting the piece of wood and sending it flying into the yard.

The world exploded.

Dazed, lying against the door jamb, Strenlich saw the .Corvair had been blown cock-eyed, its rear wheel deflated by flying debris. The rear of the car was in flames, the half-raised top, burning. Billows of black smoke rose in the air above the crackling fire.

Dropping the bowl, Strenlich looked around desperately for Kermit.

He saw an unmoving body lying in the middle of the yard, face down. Kermit had been catapulted over the car by the explosion.

Strenlich pulled himself upright with effort, and started down the stairs, then stopped abruptly, almost overbalancing himself.

With a growing sense of horror, he looked at the area around the well-trodden path. What he and Kermit had concluded were normal potholes caused by runoff or moles were very probably created by buried land mines like the one that had exploded.

*****

Caine froze in the act of lifting noodles to his mouth. His eyes were on the flame in the small candle holder. Around them, the Chinese restaurant bustled with customers. The rising wind and risk of rain was driving people indoors.

"Pop?" Peter asked seriously

"Kermit...."

"Kermit?" his son said warily. "What about him?"

Caine lowered the noodle-laden chopsticks and stared around the room. "I saw ...Kermit." "What?"

"In Red ...red. He was moving. Something has happened ...to Kermit."

Peter stared at him incredulously. "What are you channeling Kermit now?"

Caine shot him a reproachful glare. "I saw ...something."

Peter shrugged. "Well, we were discussing him earlier so maybe he's on your mind, Pop. He's out with Strenlich. Nothing could happen to either of them. It'd be like ...like the end of the world."

"You will call him?" Caine asked seriously, picking up the chopsticks again.

"I wouldn't interrupt him this weekend," Peter said with a grin. "His sister would shoot me."

"You will ...call him tonight, Peter!"

Peter held up his hands in protest. "Okay! Okay, I'll call him when I get home."

*****

Strenlich took a deep breath, brushed the mud off his face, and started down the steps again. He remembered charging through mine fields in Vietnam where he prayed he wasn't going to die. What happened here was nothing he hadn't faced in the past, including the death of a comrade or partner or friend.

He hated it, though. He had nightmares after losing people, even people he disliked. This wasn't a case of that; Griffin was a partner. He realized he was procrastinating. Whether he was dead or alive, he had to get Kermit out of the minefield.

The car was sagging on its punctured wheels, the bumper half-off, and the upholstery a blackened wreck, the fires snuffed by the rain. Strenlich licked his lips unconsciously, then reached for the antenna, and wrenched it out of the socket. It was the longest straight wand he could find on short notice. He looked down. He couldn't see the oily liquid but the smell of gasoline was everywhere. The tank must have ruptured. He'd have to hurry if he was going to rescue Kermit.

He looked at the body lying motionless seventy feet away. I'd better get started ...

Strenlich cautiously began poking at the wet turf between the path and Kermit.

He found not every hole had the potential to be a mine. Some were mole holes, and he startled one animal who fled across the field almost giving Strenlich a heart attack. He had forgotten over the years how much weight it would take to blow up a land mine. He didn't think a mole would do it, but the uncertainty sapped his confidence. He cautiously poked the ground, took a step, poked again, stepped, conscious that every time he put a foot down, the ground might explode.

He was two-thirds of the way when he heard the telltale sound of the antenna hitting metal. He froze, sweat dripping down his back. The rain was falling harder, small pellets of sleet intermingled with the icy drizzle. His hands were shaking from cold and fear. He swallowed heavily, and knelt down a foot away from the small hole where the antenna had punctured the mud.

He gently dug his hands into the soggy turf and unearthed one of the plastic pork containers he'd seen inside, twice as thick since both sides were screwed together. From the weight, it was packed with explosive. He swallowed and turned it over finding where it could be unscrewed. His hands were shaking and slippery with mud. Finally, he gently put it down, and wiped his palms on his pants, getting off a layer of dirt.

Someone groaned. Startled, he looked around, hoping it hadn't come from him. That would be humiliating.

No. The sound came from Kermit who was feebly moving his outstretched right arm as he regained consciousness.

Strenlich knew that his time had run out. If Kermit awakened, and tried to move around it was possible he could hit another mine. The chief had to get his partner out of the minefield before that happened.

Taking a deep breath, he took a solid grip on the top of the mine in his hands and twisted.

It was stiff. With great reluctance, the top half began to rotate. He screwed it carefully apart to reveal the dynamite inside. On the top half was a metal cup connected to a small cap. Strenlich remembered from his training that this would be the primary charge which would set off the other explosives. He delicately removed the cup and put it beside the hole, then rescrewed the halves of the mine together, setting it on its side almost automatically. The mine was disarmed now. He only had to worry about the others that lay between him and Kermit .

Kermit stirred, and turned on his side.

"Griffin! Stay down!" Strenlich ordered in his best parade-ground bark. Kermit stopped moving for a minute, then moved his feet.

Strenlich cursed under his breath. The man either hadn't heard him, or was too out of it to obey him, or was just being stubborn. Either way, he had to get across the final few feet fast.

Poking carefully, it took Strenlich another three minutes to reach the man. Kermit had rolled on his back, groaning, but had stopped trying to get up. His sunglasses lay out of reach several feet away and his gun was yards away. The explosion had thrown him face down, and mud covered his entire front. He had landed on his prominent nose, and it bled, leaving gory streaks down his lips and chin. His eyes were dazed.

"I've got you, Kermit," Strenlich said as soothingly as he could, tucking the antenna in the back of his belt where it spayed out his jacket in an odd fashion.

Griffin didn't respond to his calm tone. The man's gaze scanned the sky, and trees, never settling on Strenlich. His hands flexed but he didn't try to rise.

Strenlich guessed that beside what might be broken inside, Kermit had a concussion that needed immediate attention. Right now, the key was to get him to the cabin.

He grunted as he maneuvered Kermit up onto his shoulder, slinging him in a fireman's carry. Griffin groaned painfully, but remained limp.

It had been a long time since Strenlich had had to carry a heavy man, and he regretted that he wasn't in better shape. It didn't matter how many times he worked out a week, he was still overweight and not as strong as he been five years before. He gritted his teeth and began carefully walking along back the path that he had come, praying that he wouldn't slip.

A rumble of thunder startled him, and he almost let Kermit slip. A squall roared over the crest of the hill, turning the sleet into a solid sheet of ice and water, soaking both men in a second. The ground was covered with chunky diamonds. Strenlich grimly slogged on.

Finally, he climbed with the stairs, and unfastened the lock on the storm door, pulling it open. With an immense sigh of relief, Strenlich let Kermit down on the leather couch in the dim living room.

The chief jumped as lightning lanced across the sky, throwing the room into stark light for a fraction of a second, followed by rolling thunder. It was likely to rain all night with this kind of fury. He'd better try to get some help.

Automatically his hand went to the phone, then fell away. He remembered the phone wasn't working and the cellular was in the mud where it had fallen during the rescue. His arm caught on the antenna, and he yanked it out, tossing it to one side.

"Kermit?" He saw the man was still breathing regularly, and his eyes were closed.

He muttered something obscene under his breath and lifted out one of the logs beside the fireplace. He built a fire, using the papers lying beside it, and the dry wood. His hand automatically crumbled one piece of white paper before he paused. He looked at it carefully.

It looked like some kind of receipt to the local hardware store or a grocery. There was a signature on the bottom. Strenlich strained to see it but the light was too dim. Finally he put it into his pocket. He'd check it later. Fumbling in his pockets, he found nothing that would light the newsprint and logs. He scanned the table and couch but found no matches or a lighter.

Rising to his half-thawed feet, he went into the darkening kitchen. Outside, sleet assaulted the small windows.

Inside the pot-bellied stove were the embers of the last fire. He screwed up a piece of newspaper and used it as a wick to carry the flame into the other room. The wood-and-paper crackled cheerfully. It was the best moment all afternoon. Strenlich tossed the wick on the flames and straightened up, turning to Kermit.

He slapped him gently on the cheek to rouse him, and was rewarded when both eyes opened. Kermit's hand came around to grab his but the grip was weak.

"Griffin!" Strenlich barked in a low tone trying to get his attention. "Kermit!"

Kermit blinked. His hand dropped from Strenlich's wrist and wiped at the water on his face. His long wiry black hair was saturated with mud and rain. "Stren ...lich. Chief. What. ..happened?"

"We ran into a minefield," Strenlich replied sitting back. He still didn't like the way Kermit looked but at least the man was coherent.

"Minefield ..." Kermit mused foggily. "Mine ...field. What happened?"

"Your car is gone," Strenlich said in a compassionate tone. He knew that the Corvair was very important to Kermit.

Kermit blinked. "My ...car." His tone was flat and disinterested. "Right. My car ..."

"How do you feel?" Strenlich questioned urgently.

"Car ..." Kermit repeated. "I...I am going to sleep."

"Like hell you are," Strenlich said roughly. He knew the dangers of letting a man with a concussion go to sleep. "Talk to me, Kermit!" Kermit shut his eyes.

Strenlich gave his shoulder a shake. Griffin open his lids a sliver and shot him a malevolent look.

"You don't go to sleep until I let you," Strenlich ordered in a hard tone. "We've got to find a way out of this."

Kermit struggled to keep his eyes open. "Out of here. We've got to get...out of here." He started to lift himself off the couch and gave a gasp of pain.

Strenlich poked him in the chest, and he fell back against the cracked leather. Kermit wasn't thinking clearly.

"I thought I'd go and get some help," Strenlich suggested, watching the other man cautiously. Did he understand?

Kermit rubbed his face with his hands and flinched when he hit his nose. "Get help. Right. That sounds good."

"How do you feel?" Strenlich asked urgently.

Kermit looked at him, then at the fire. "It's very dark in here."

"That's the storm outside," Strenlich said. "It's raining like hell out there. Almost as black as night."

"Turn on the lights," Kermit suggested.

Strenlich nodded, reaching for the lamp beside the couch. He clicked the switch. Nothing. No light from the bulb.

He clicked it again, then stood up. "It looks like the power's out." Kermit stared at the fire, not replying.

Strenlich went into the kitchen to check on the refrigerator. The gentle hum which they'd noticed earlier was no longer there. The power was certainly out.

He opened it, hoping to find something to feed Kermit and himself.

Inside were several six-packs of beer, a sandwich from a local diner that had been half- eaten and was re-wrapped, some bags of potato chips, and one overripe banana. Whoever the dead man was, he had lousy taste in groceries.

Strenlich slammed the door closed, and went back into the living room carrying a beer and a bag of chips.

The couch was empty. He dropped the bag and moved fast to prevent Kermit from opening the front door. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Kermit stared at him with a disconnected glare. He was as pale as the lace curtain hanging over the window. "We have to leave ...you said, we have to leave."

"Not till the storm is over," Strenlich replied, exasperated. He forced him back a couple of steps, and kicked the door shut. "We can wait till then."

Kermit stared at the door, then at Strenlich. "My ...car."

"Come here by the fire," Strenlich ordered soothingly. "Sit on the couch. What the --!" Kermit collapsed, almost dragging them both down.

"You've got to lose some weight," Strenlich snarled, dragging him back to the couch.

Whatever I do, I'll have to make sure he can't leave the cabin, Strenlich concluded grimly. That meant finding a safe place to leave him so that he couldn't wander down into the minefield.

His hand went to the piece of paper in his pocket. With only the light of the fire, he couldn't read it, but he was sure that it was a clue to what had happened in the secluded cabin. He glanced at his watch. Almost six o'clock.

He settled beside the couch, listening to Griffin's breathing, and hearing the house creak and groan under the fierce winds and pouring rain. "Well... I've spent better Saturday nights with my wife," he said out loud startling the shadows. "Not much better."

*****

Peter let himself into his apartment. His soaked raincoat left little puddles in his foyer as he struggled out of it. He hung it in the bathroom where it could drip on the tiles in his shower and after toweling his hair dry, he wandered out into the living room. The clock said nine p.m. He wondered what was keeping Jordan. The Vice cop had been working late this entire week.

Seeing the red button on his answering machine blinking, he tapped it. The tape rewound, then Jordan's cheerful voice came out. "Peter, sorry, I'm going to be real late tonight. We've got a lead on those murders down on Main and the gang's following up. Keep the wine chilled and I'll warm you up later!"

Peter smiled. That was not one of the problems he had with Jordan. She always kept him warm.

He hit the rewind and turned around, scanning the empty room. Hours to kill before Jordan arrived. What should he do?

Television. Not a chance. Cooking? No way. Clean up? That was what he paid a maid for. Maybe it was time to do some reading that he had been putting off. He restlessly scanned the bookshelf seeing volumes on Chinese traditions, martial arts, the Tao and a mystery novel left there by Jordan, who was addicted to the things. He picked it up, and flicked it open. A murdered woman, a stalking victim, and sexual intrigue. Sounded like a case file from work.

Something nagged at him. He had something to do this evening, something he had forgotten. He abruptly remembered his promise to his father to call Kermit when he got home.

He tapped the buttons of the touch-tone phone and let it ring till Kermit's answering machine picked up.

The computer expert's voice was terse. "You have reached a wrong number. Hang up and try again."

Peter laughed. "I have not. Pick up, Kermit, I gotta talk to you."

Nothing. The machine finally beeped and disconnected.

Peter shrugged. Kermit had proved he was interested in a love life, so maybe he was out trolling mercenary bars, or hitting on Captain Simms down at Delancey's. Now there was an interesting relationship. Peter was secretly glad that finally the office had someone else to watch. The family that was the squad was always terribly curious about what was going on in his love life. They knew things before he did. However, he wasn't the man who was going to quiz Kermit about any woman-he wanted to live a long and happy life. At least he had kept his promise to his father.

He settled down in a comfortable chair and began to read Jordan's mystery. It put him to sleep in a half-hour.

*****

Strenlich was roused by the sound of something scratching in the kitchen. He had fallen asleep, worn out by the effort in the minefield, and the stress inside. On the couch, Kermit was breathing evenly, the color having returned to his face. His nose in particular was red and swollen under traces of mud.

In the kitchen? There shouldn't be anything in the kitchen except for a corpse. Strenlich pulled out his gun and cautiously rose to his feet. Treading softly, he stalked over to the kitchen door.

Lightening flashed outside. The storm was raging furiously, and the trees creaked. Strenlich silently prayed that no branches would come down on the house or the yard. All he needed right now was a house fire, from some burning branch torched by a land mine.

Scratch, scratch. The sound came from the area near the back door.

He let his ears tell him where the intruder was working. It sounded like something was trying to dig in the trash.

A flash of lightning. He saw a blinding image of the body, the room and a pair of eyes in a ringed face. The after-image burned for a second on his retinas.

Raccoon. A raccoon had gotten inside somehow and was industriously digging in the garbage next to the sink. Strenlich let the gun sink. Compared with what it could have been, a raccoon was small pickings.

He went back into the living room, and picked up a smaller branch from the woodpile. Lighting it, he went back into the kitchen.

The animal had escaped, probably scared by his footsteps. He felt a cold breeze hit his ankles probably from where it had gotten in. He looked around. 

The back door had had a doggie door built in, and it was ajar. The wire of the storm door outside had rotted away. A pattern of small prints disappeared into the blackness.

Strenlich let out a sigh of relief. The branch crackled in his hands, warning him that it would soon burn down to his fingers.

"There must be candles," he mused out loud, his words ringing around the room. He jammed the burning wood into the stove, and went over to the counter next to the sink and opened the first drawer.

Knives, forks, spoons, and a butcher's blade greeted his gaze. He tried the second drawer, finding matches but no candles.

The third drawer wouldn't move. He cursed it and yanked but it didn't move.

Finally he stepped back in disgust. Nothing was going to be easy today.

The refrigerator caught his eye. A beer, even if not totally cold, would be good. He walked over and opened it, juggling the burning brand in one hand. He reached in and pulled a can out of the plastic webbing, then let the door shut.

It landed like a guillotine and the appliance shook. It rolled slightly to the right.

Strenlich blinked. Rolled? Tucking the can in his pocket, he gave it a tentative push, and it rolled easily away from the cellar door.

"Well, how about that?" he said aloud. The door had clearly been used recently from the lack of cobwebs and rust-free hinges. His hand went to the polished knob, and he twisted, then heard a noise behind him. A creaking sound as if someone was awake and moving.

Kermit.

He had forgotten his partner in the discovery of the basement door. Come to think of it, this might be the answer, he thought, turning away from the door back to the living room. He could put Kermit in the basement long enough to go to town and get help. That would prevent the injured man from running into the land mines outside.

Kermit was sitting up on the couch. His face was painted red by the fire's glow. One side of his chin was darker as if he was bruised under the growing stubble. That was probably what had happened, Strenlich concluded. Under the muddy suit, Griffin had to have bruises rivaling a sunset.

"Detective Griffin?" Strenlich asked.

Kermit stiffly turned his head, and winced. "Chief."

"You're better then," Strenlich said, perching on the sofa arm.

"I wouldn't ...say that," Kermit replied tersely. "I've got a headache. I've lost...today. What happened?"

"It's tomorrow. Sunday. Someone, probably the body in the kitchen, mined the front yard. Your car is-"

"Gone," Kermit finished for him. "I remember you saying that. I'll see about that. What are we going to do? Have you called for help?"

"Power's out, telephone's gone, and the car's not moving. I'm glad to see you're awake," Strenlich replied briskly. "You tried to walk out into the field earlier. Must have been in a daze."

"Why would he mine it?" Kermit questioned. "What's so important that he's got land mines around here?"

"He must have been building them as well," Strenlich said. "Those were the pieces we found on the table. The plastic bowl was half of one of the mines."

"So, we've found a military bomber? Why? Does he sell them?"

The chief shrugged. "Who knows? I want to know who killed him. There's a mystery in the kitchen too."

"Mystery?" Kermit glanced at him in interest. "Why a mystery?"

"The fridge was rolled in front of the basement door to keep people out. I moved it back. I was just going to check it out."

Kermit shifted on the couch, putting his feet over the edge. "Let's take a look." He stood and swayed dangerously.

Strenlich put out his hand in warning. "Griffin, I've had to carry you back to that couch twice. The next time you collapse I'm leaving you on the floor!"

Kermit shot him a dirty look. He was holding his left arm close to his side, and wincing every time he moved. "I won't collapse."

"What's the matter with your shoulder?"

"It feels like a broken collarbone," Kermit confessed reluctantly. "'Must have landed on it." He sneezed suddenly and went white. "That was ...not fun." He sounded nasal and he grimaced when he touched his nose.

Strenlich winced in sympathy. "You've probably got a cold coming."

"I'll wait in here," Kermit said reluctantly sinking back on the couch.

"I'll be back in a second," the chief agreed, and went back into the kitchen where he picked up the box of matches.

He opened the door. The basement was a gaping black hole. Strenlich struck a match and went down the stairs.

The staircase was in much better shape than the rest of the house. Strenlich noticed it had been recently repaired.

The match burned down to his fingers, and Strenlich waved it out, dropping it on the concrete floor. He lit another. The basement was filled with anonymous boxes.

He held the match up to the nearest box. The black letters were in a foreign language he didn't recognize. He tried levering open the box with one hand, and managed to break off part of the lid.

The box was filled with globe-headed wooden spikes, barbed wire wrapped around their lengths. They looked vaguely familiar and very dangerous. Probably some kind of mine. He went on to the next box and pried open a corner.

He smelled a very familiar odor. Strenlich retreated as fast as he could to the stairs.

The room was filled with dynamite and explosives. The globed spikes were hand-grenade bouquets tied on a wooden stick. Now, he remembered that kind of land mine. It was used mostly in Southeast Asia where they had a profusion of leftover munitions and ample bamboo spikes. Thousands of people a year died from that kind of land mine. Wrapped with a tripwire, it was a lethal, cheap method of killing.

The flame burned down to his fingers, then went out, leaving him in darkness.

Instead of dropping the used match on the floor, he put it in his pocket, heedless of the danger, and fumbled for the stairs. A basement full of explosives and he was playing with matches. He went up the stairs at a run, and gave a sigh of relief when he reached the door.

Closing it behind him, he rolled the refrigerator back in front. The kitchen might have the corpse and raccoons, but at least it wasn't going to blow up around him. With a chill, he remembered he'd left a snuffed match downstairs. It was dead, he reassured himself uneasily. It hadn't landed anywhere near any of the boxes.

The light in the room was blocked as Kermit leaned unsteadily against the door jamb. "What is it?" he asked tautly.

"Dynamite."

For the first time, Strenlich could read Griffin's body language. The man was startled, then disturbed. "Is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?" Strenlich retorted. "No, all the bomb makings are downstairs. This place is a weapons dump."

"No fertilizer?" Kermit inquired. "Those seem to be the native explosive ...around here."

"These aren't native," the chief guessed grimly. "These are pros." He glanced down at the corpse. "A falling out of thieves?"

"Oh, yeah ," Kermit said tiredly.

Both men flinched when a bolt of lightning lit up the kitchen and thunder cracked directly above them.

"Come daylight, I'll go for help," Strenlich said unequivocally.

Kermit nodded. "I should be able to come ..."

"You stay here," the chief ordered flatly./p>

"It's not that bad."

"I'm not carrying you through mud, Griffin, and you can't keep up with me. I can make the main road in a couple of hours and try to flag a ride to town," Strenlich stated, knowing that it would be more than a couple of hours. Even if he was back in the Marines, in this sort of weather it would take four to six hours to go the muddy miles back to the two-lane highway where he might find someone.

At least Kermit was more coherent than he had been when he'd tried wandering outside. Strenlich wouldn't have to lock him in the basement with the explosives to keep him ‘safe.' But Kermit didn't like it. That was clear from the way he turned. Without a word, he stumbled back to the couch. The fire was burning low.

Strenlich followed, put another log on the fire and poked at the embers.

"I have a feeling that this is where we're supposed to bond," Kermit said unexpectedly. "I'd rather not."

"Don't bother," Strenlich said simultaneously.

"We agree, at least, on that." Griffin flashed a smile, then returned to his usual dour expression.

Strenlich permitted himself a slight smile, his back to the other man. and sat down, leaning against the sofa arm. His hand bumped the beer can, and he pulled it out of his pocket, flipping the tab open.

"Beer?" Kermit asked hopefully.

"I'm not sure you should have one with that concussion," Strenlich said smugly.

Griffin unexpectedly leaned forward and snagged it with his right hand. His face whitened at the effort but he sank back against the couch, his prize in hand. "You're probably right."

Strenlich shook his head in disgust. "I've got some aspirin. Might help with that collarbone. I'll get you some water to wash them down."

"Get yourself a beer," Kermit threw after him. "It's going to be a long night."

*****

Peter heard the patter of rain and sleet against the apartment's windows. He shifted in his warm bed, enjoying the feeling and warmth of the woman beside him. There hadn't been that much time to sleep last night after she'd come in, and his body was telling him that it was later than he thought. Finally he opened his eyes and sat up, running his hand through his hair.

Across the room, the digital readout said that it was nine twenty-five a.m. The room was dimly lit with the muted light of a rainy morning. Peter padded his way to the bathroom, used the facilities, and went into the kitchen, tying his robe around him. He fumbled at the coffee machine, began the brewing cycle, then opened the refrigerator.

The phone rang, and Peter swiveled gracefully, picking it up, scared that it would awaken Jordan.

"Caine."

"Peter Caine?" The woman's voice was vaguely familiar. It wasn't a voice he heard a lot. "This is Molly Strenlich."

"Mrs. Strenlich?" Peter was surprised. He had only met the woman a few times. "Hi! Good morning, I mean."

"Good morning," she replied politely. "Have you seen my husband?"

"Uh ...no. Not since yesterday morning," Peter said, his uneasiness growing. "Why? What's happened?"

"I don't know," she said in a slightly exasperated tone. "Frank didn't come home last night."

A whole slew of scenarios flashed through Peter's mind, but he threw them all out. The chief and his wife might have their problems but he was not the kind of man to run out on her and play with whores. "You are just calling this in? Have you called the office?"

"I just...figured this out," she said reluctantly. "His bed wasn't slept in." Peter went scarlet. "Urn. His bed ..."

"He sleeps in the other room," she said with fragile dignity, warning him that this was a delicate topic.

"That's all right, really," Peter cut her off, feeling terribly embarrassed. This was more than he wanted to know about his commanding officer. "I'll take your word for the fact that he didn't come home. Have you checked the office, Mrs. Strenlich?"

"I did, but there was no one there who could help me," she replied, sounding worried. "I didn't know the man who picked up, and I didn't want to seem like a nagging wife."

"You're not a-I mean, you've got a right to know," Peter answered, floundering. He prayed that the coffee machine would finish brewing. "I'll check right now and get back to you, Mrs. Strenlich."

"Thank you, Peter." The phone clicked as she hung up.

Peter rehung his receiver. His mind was already racing with possibilities, all of them grim. He remembered that Strenlich hadn't gone out to the house alone, he'd gone with Kermit. If there was anyone who knew where the chief was, it would be Griffin.

Uneasily, he remembered that Kermit hadn't picked up last night, hadn't returned his message, and that Caine had been worried about the computer expert. He picked up the receiver and pressed in Kermit's number, then listened to the answering machine. He hung up without leaving another message.

Flipping open his black notebook, he pulled out the number of Kermit’s sister, Marilyn.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up by her son, Jason. "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Peter Caine. Is Kermit there?"

"I'm sorry, Detective Caine, but he's not here. He said he'd be arriving any time now."

"When did he say that?" Peter asked urgently.

"When he called my mother on Thursday," Jason replied in surprise. "Is there some message for him?"

"No ...yeah. Tell him call me at the office or at home. It's important."

"Sure," the teenager replied laconically.

Peter hung up, then pulled out one more number. Kermit's pager. He dialed, hoping that the man would call in somewhere.

Finally, he concluded that both Kermit and Strenlich were missing and had been for at least eighteen hours. Time to call out the troops. He discarded his robe on the bed, disturbing Jordan, and headed for the shower.

*****

Kermit was roused from an uneasy sleep by the steady patter of rain on the roof and the creaking of the trees.

He slid forward on the worn leather and put his feet on the ground, trying to keep himself from jarring his collarbone. His body was stiff from lying in an uncomfortable position on the couch. A headache pounded from a place somewhere above his left eye.

He felt messy. He felt tired and fed-up. Where was Strenlich? Vaguely he remembered the chief stretched out on the hearth, one of the quilts from upstairs over him-Kermit got the other -and snoring loudly all night. The beer, aspirin and headache had all combined to put him into a deep sleep.

He staggered to the window beside the door and looked out. The rain was still sheeting down, dancing on the back of the ruined Corvair and turning the ground into a bog. The ground glistened with pools of half-frozen water. It was a day to stay at home with a brandy, a fired-up modem, and flirt on the Internet. Unfortunately, he was here.

His mind still muddy from sleep, he crossed the living room to the small bathroom, and used the facilities, finding out that the toilet still flushed and he could get icy cold water out of the pipes. In the tarnished mirror above the sink, he saw his nose was bruised purple. There were scrape marks on that side of his face. It made him look villainous, he concluded, and tried to scrape some of the mud off his stubble. He shivered as the water hit his face.

No towel. He wiped his face with his handkerchief and stepped back into the living room. Outside, he heard the sound of a truck engine climbing the hill. It stopped abruptly, and he heard voices.

Caution raised its ugly head. Who are these men? Did they know about the mines?

Of course they do, he thought, walking unsteadily towards the door. He peered out the window and noted the license plate number. He dodged back as a man stepped out, swathed in a green poncho. If they're here, they came prepared for the mines, and probably about the body.

But what they don't know is about me ... But, they'll see the Corvair. Damn. Damn ... He looked around the empty room, realizing his position. From the sound of the voices, there were at least three men outside, or maybe more.

Kermit was a realist. He was in no condition to take on three men, even if he could. He didn't even know where his gun was. He hadn't been lying on it, so apparently Strenlich had taken it off him, or it was out there somewhere in the mud. There was no way to call for backup. So, he would have to beat a judicious retreat without getting his head blown off like the corpse. How? He went into the kitchen, noting the warmth of the living room had permeated here as well, and the corpse had responded by decaying even more. The smell was sickening.

Footsteps on the front porch startled him. He hadn't realized the men had come up so fast.

He heard the squeal of the rusty storm door being opened, and someone was twisting the knob on the main door.

Mouthing a curse, he fumbled with the back door. Outside, he.might have a chance if the strangers hadn't bothered scouting the icy ground. Of course, there might be land mines in the woods. He considered the possibility, then dismissed it. It was just another way to die.

The door frame had warped. He took the knob with one hand, put the other against the frame, ignored the pain from his collarbone, and yanked at the door.

Then froze.

Outside, someone was trying to get into the house.

*****

Strenlich wondered how Kermit was doing back at the house. When he left at dawn, the man was snoring gently on the couch.

His Marine training was years behind him, Strenlich realized in disgust as he slogged through the thick mud. With the proper boots and gear, he probably could have covered the ten miles in about four hours. This was going to take longer. His flimsy shoes were providing little help for his feet and the mud had seeped inside the lacings, and soaked his socks. The soaked wool was chafing his skin. Before long, he had blisters.

The rain had been slightly lighter at dawn but increased as he walked, soaking the parka he'd stolen from the house. Even with the hood up, his ears were cold.

He could feel his back tensing up. The next thing that would happen would be that he'd start to feel numbness in his legs and thighs. Then, his feet would tingle before going numb again. He remembered forced marches on icy roads in training. He had hated them then and hated them now.

Actually, he hated everyone, he decided an hour later. He hated Mother Nature who was varying her rainfall between sleet and mist, but keeping it cold enough to chill him to the bone.

He hated Wilson for calling him out on this weekend and not providing the proper instructions to get to his vacation home, where undoubtedly he was sipping coffee with whipped cream and brandy in front of a roaring fire. He hated Kermit for taking the wrong road. Yeah, Strenlich had been the one with the instructions but that didn't mean Kermit hadn't turned the wrong way! In the back of his mind he was amused by this thought. If Kermit had done something wrong, he was paying for it with a broken collarbone, a concussion and a bruised nose that made him look like an unsuccessful prizefighter. That would make the computer expert hide in his office for a week. Maybe Captain Simms would order him to take time off.

Maybe Captain Simms would tell Strenlich to take time off ... I might be able to get back in Molly's good graces, he thought numbly. It was warmer sleeping with her... He wasn't sure of how he had offended his wife this particular time but, sooner or later, it would come out. Of course, he could just take her on a Bermudan vacation ...or Jamaica. The Caribbean had particular appeal right now. Hot sunshine, fresh fruit, brilliant colors ...His foot slipped in the mud and he went down on one knee. With a muffled oath, he stood up again, and kept walking.

Of course, Captain Simms was more likely to give him some extra duties because Kermit would be out, and that meant more time at the office, more time cleaning up after everyone, including the Captain, more time away from Molly ... Home wasn't great shakes but at least he didn't have to worry about getting shot. Of course, former Captain Blaisdell's house had been machine-gunned proving no one was safe anywhere.

Strenlich paused and looked around. Clear ground stretched for thirty feet on either side of the road, then the forest closed in. Gusty winds blew against the naked branches, and the wood moaned. Occasionally a bough broke and crashed down through the trees to land with a muffled thud on the rain-saturated earth. Not a living creature was in sight-no squirrels, no birds, nothing. He was alone with nature.

Something else to hate.

He checked his watch. Almost noon. Time for a burger, large french fries and lots of hot coffee. He started walking again.

*****

Peter had arrived at the station in time to see Detectives Jody Powell and Mary Margaret Skalany splitting the last of a box of donuts. Both of them had garnered the Sunday shift this week, and grumbled loudly about it, but seemed to be working smoothly. In fact, for the first time in months, the files in Mary Margaret's inbox were lower than the files in the out box. There was something to be said for the Sunday shift.

Jody, her mouth filled with a donut, glanced up at him. "What's ..um." She finished chewing and swallowed. "Pete?"

"Has anyone seen Strenlich this morning?" Peter asked.

"The chief? Nope," Mary Margaret replied, licking honey glaze off her fingers. "Thought he had the day off."

"How many times does that stop him from coming in?" Jody countered looking over at her. "I thought he was working on the Wilson thing, Peter."

"He was. Did he drop off his stuff?" Peter was trying to be casual but the others weren't deceived.

Mary Margaret looked triumphantly at her near-empty desk, and abandoned it for whatever was eating at Peter. "What are you into?" she inquired sweetly.

"Nothing," Peter said hastily. He didn't want to go into the phone call from Strenlich's wife.

"Peter ..." Both voices had the same reproving tone.

"Has something happened to the chief?" Jody asked pointedly.

He cast up his hands. "I don't know," he confessed. "I got a call from his wife that he didn't come in last night."

"Didn't come home last night!" Mary Margaret said in disbelief. "Why ...he could be-"

"The chief would check in if it was business," Jody cut in ruthlessly. "Then go out."

"Anyone got a key to his office?" Peter asked.

Both women stared at him in disbelief. "You're joking?" Jody asked.

"Just asking," he said hastily. "I'll ask-"

"Ask Captain Simms," Mary Margaret overrode his sentence. "She's in this morning."

"Captain Simms?" He looked around blankly. Yes, the lights were on in the captain's office, but they often were. She had the best emergency lighting in the entire room.

"Just knock on the door," Mary Margaret suggested. She had a peculiar grin on her face that told him something was up.

He shrugged and rapped on the door frame. Jody and Mary Margaret exchanged anticipatory looks.

The door opened and Peter took a step back.

Captain Karen Simms, the professional, tailored backbone of the office, wore a designer sweat suit of rich purple and black high-topped sneakers. Her long, blond hair was tied very informally in a ponytail on the top of her head, and she didn't have on any make-up. A smudge of powdered sugar was on the tip of her nose. She looked as appalled to see Peter. "Can I help you, Detective Caine?"

"Urn, ah, yes, Captain, can I have the key to Strenlich's office?" he asked baldly.

One elegant eyebrow went up. "Would you like to come in here and explain that?"

"He's missing. I need to check if he left a clue as to where he was going yesterday with Kermit."

"He's missing with Kermit?" Simms suddenly took it seriously. Her liking for the reclusive computer expert was well known but the office didn't discuss it in her presence. Everyone was being painfully discreet and avidly fascinated. "You checked that he didn't call in?"

"When did Kermit ever keep regular hours? The muster desk hasn't heard from Strenlich. Took a series of messages from some unknown man for him," Peter replied. "Seems the man was upset that the chief didn't pick up his stuff yesterday."

"No name?"

"Nope."

Simms went back in her office and came out with a set of keys. "Let's check Strenlich's office."

The room was a reflection of the chief’s personality. Neat piles sat in the outbox, and on the blotter was a closed desk calendar. To one side was a file folder with a label, "Wilson" and several sheets of oversized paper protruding from each side. A dying African violet drooped on the top of a file cabinet.

Simms opened the desk diary while Peter started to go through the papers in the file.

"He's marked that he is going to visit Alfred Wilson out at his vacation home," Simms read aloud.

"There's sort of a set of instructions here," Peter agreed, handing her a sheet of paper.

"I'm not sure I'd want to try and navigate by them. Ah, Wilson's phone number is the same as on the messages for the chief. He was the one who called to say Strenlich never arrived but wouldn't leave his name."

"It's out in the mountains. What, two, three hours, drive?"

'''Bout that, Captain," Peter agreed, closing the file. "Especially in this rain."

"Then you'd better get started," she retorted, putting down the diary.

"Right," Peter agreed instantly. He had been planning to go anyway. "Want to come along?"

"Take Skalany," she ordered.

"Take me where?" Mary Margaret called from the main room.

Exiting the small office, Simms shut the door.

"A trip into the country," Peter said brightly.

Skalany looked at the rain pelting down the windows of the squad room and then back at him in disbelief. "A picnic?"

"Bring your water wings," Jody suggested humorously from behind.

"Can that Stealth swim, Peter?" Mary Margaret needled.

"Better than your car," he shot back. He went to his desk and picked up the receiver. After dialing, he perched on the edge of the desk.

This time the phone was picked up by Marilyn, Kermit's sister. "Hi, is Kermit there?"

"No," she said with more than a touch of acid in her voice. "Do you know where he is, Peter?"

Peter shook his head. "No. I'm looking for him."

"I am too."

"I'll keep you informed."

"Why? Is he in trouble?"

With you, oh, yeah ... Peter thought, but didn't voice it. "We're just checking on a case he's working on," he said reassuringly.

"Tell him to call me," she insisted.

"Sure. Bye!" He hung up.

Simms stared at him sternly, her arms crossed. "Well?" "Not there. Not anywhere."

"I'll get my coat," Skalany murmured, sliding away from her desk.

"Should we put an APB out on them, Captain?" Jody suggested.

"That's a good idea," Simms agreed. "Do it."

"They went off in the Corvair," Peter called after her.

"Then it should be easy to find. Just look for the only green thing out there."

*****

The rain was coming down hard as the men reached the porch. They moved with self-confidence past the ruined Corvair and up the rickety steps as if they had done this often. One lagged behind, checking the soaked wreck.

"Come on, Fred," the dark-haired man called. "Get in out of the rain."

Fred, a stocky man with dashes of grey in his curly red hair, grunted as he reached into the car. “You seen all this computer stuff? Who owns a car like this, Marv?"

"He's probably inside and'll tell us about it," Marv replied, shaking rain off his coat. He held a pistol in one hand.

Fred leaned over the right side, and opened the glove compartment of the Corvair. Water had seeped in and a cold puddle was growing at the bottom. He pulled out the papers, and began to sort through them. "Map. Map. Hell, these are all city maps! Map, map. Registration ..."

"Who?" Marv asked.

"Some guy called Griffin. Huh." Fred flipped over a piece of cardboard. "Dammit, Alde!"

"What?" Marv came down off the porch, AIde following him. They were careful to stay on the path.

The cardboard was one of those signs that the police used to mark their cars when parking illegally. "It's a cop car!"

"Then we'd better take care of this Griffin," Marv said coolly, his fingers flicking off the safety.

"Jeez, let's get inside," AIde snarled. His gloved hands tightened on his wrapped shotgun. “I'm freezin'. Why'd you have to move the stuff today, Fred?"

"Buyer wants it," Fred snapped back, opening the screen door. "Besides, we gotta move Pilchard's body."

"I know you hadda kill him, Marv," AIde whined, his voice dropping as they came into the house. "But why leave the body behind?"

Marv didn't reply as the smell of the room hit them both. Kermit's and Strenlich's quilts were abandoned by the couch and the embers were still burning in the fireplace. The stench of the warmed body was oozing in from the kitchen.

"Check upstairs," Marv ordered softly.

AIde uncovered his shotgun and cautiously headed up the stairs.

*****

Strenlich clambered down from the front seat of the truck and waved good-bye to the milkman who had given him a ride. He had reached the paved road and walked for forty-five minutes before the truck had rumbled up. The driver had eyed him suspiciously, but a look at Strenlich's badge had impressed him enough to take the chief to the nearest town. It had been around the other side of the rolling hills. Strenlich noted that the other side of the hill where the cabin was, fell at a steep incline down to the road, almost as if a giant landslide had swept away most of the earth. He was glad he took the long path. It might have taken some time but was safer.

A diner called Maggie's seemed a likely place for a hot meal, coffee and, most importantly, a telephone. The large woman behind the counter, wearing a badge with the name, "Norma," eyed him suspiciously as he squished over to the counter.

"Telephone?"

"Over there." She waved to the other side of the room. The rectangular diner had windows down two sides, and a counter where various truckers were sitting and sipping what smelled like delicious hot coffee. The kitchen was behind the counter, and Norma was starting to flip burgers. Strenlich's stomach rumbled.

His hand on the telephone, he debated who he should call. The local state troopers? County police? Local cops? He wasn't sure they'd have bomb equipment, even though they'd probably have a tow truck for hauling away the corpse of the Corvair. Finally, he just called collect to the station.

The phone rang four times before someone picked up. "101st Precinct?"

"This is the chief," Strenlich grated. "Where's-"

"This is the operator. Will you accept this call?" the woman said sweetly.

"Hell, yeah! Chief! Captain Simms wants to talk to you," the officer overrode her.

"Captain Simms?" he repeated, calling her name. Strenlich grimaced, and leaned against the wall, leaving a large wet spot on the corrugated wall-paper. Simms had to be in today, didn't she?

"Chief?" The voice on the other end wasn't the captain.

"Peter, what are you doing there?" Strenlich asked. "It's Sunday."

"Where are you? Your wife said you didn't come home last night!"

"My wife called you? Never mind. Listen, Peter, I'm at a diner called Maggie's in ...where the hell am I?' he asked, turning to Norma who had edged down to his end of the counter.

"Patonsville," she replied, putting a large mug of black coffee near his hand. "Off Route 342."

His eyes lit up, and he grabbed the mug with a look of gratitude. She smiled sweetly, and began to wipe the counter, patently eavesdropping. "Catonsville."

"Where's ...ah, a map." There was the sound of rustling paper. "Okay, here it is. That's not near the house on these instructions, -"

"Shut up, Caine! Kermit's back at a cabin-"

"Kermit's at a cabin?"

"And it's surrounded by land mines."

"Land mines?"

"What is going on?" Simms' voice cut in. She must have taken the receiver from Peter because her tone was very loud.

"Captain, the cabin was the wrong one, but we found one that is mined," Strenlich said concisely.

"The wrong cabin?"

"The cabin we ended up at is surrounded by land mines," he clarified. "It's not the Wilson's cabin."

"Anyone hurt?"

"Kermit got blown up...but he's fine, he's fine!" the chief added hastily hearing her suck in a deep breath. "Really, he's fine. Just bruised, broke his collarbone, got a concussion. I left him at the house."

"You left him behind?"

"Well, I couldn't carry him through this muck, Captain. The Corvair's a wreck and he couldn't keep up with me," Strenlich said acidly. He took a sip of the coffee. Heavenly. Needed milk. "There's a body too."

"A body?"

"Yeah." Strenlich was suddenly aware of silence in the diner. Everyone was watching him. "Listen, send the Army Ordinance guys up here."

"Why not the bomb squad?"

"They're military land mines. We're going to need sappers to get them out."

Outside, a flash of lightning forked down to the hills outside the town. The thunder followed it seconds later, rattling the windows.

"It's getting harder out here," Strenlich commented. "Captain, the phone line at the cabin is down or cut. We're out of cell range."

"Call the state troopers and have them pick you up," she ordered.

He eyed the sleet rattling the windows of the diner. "Sure, Captain."

"We'll meet you at the cabin."

"Take a left at the fork, Captain. The cabin's on a hill. The Corvair's in front of it."

"You say it's been wrecked?"

Strenlich couldn't resist. "Oh, yeah ..." he drawled like Kermit. "But he'll probably want it back anyway."

"We'll see you in a couple of hours."

The chief rehung the receiver with a feeling of vast relief. He looked down the counter and most of the customers averted their eyes.

Perching on a chair near the phone, he was surprised as Norma slid a plate with a large hamburger and french fries in front of him. "You look like you need lunch," she suggested. "You been out at the old Aslepth place?"

"Aslepth?" He started on the french fries.

"Yeah, he's got one of the old houses round here, on the other side of the mountain. He was a loner."

"He's probably dead," Strenlich commented, munching. "lf he's the man who's there."

"Aslepth sold out," a wiry farmer said from a couple of seats down the counter.

"You know him?" the chief questioned.

"Knew him. Some guy bought him out a couple of months ago, and Aslepth went south. Florida, I think."

"Know who the guy was?" Strenlich asked casually.

The farmer frowned. "Huh. Pilchard. Joe Pilchard. Saw him at the lumberyard."

Strenlich remembered the receipt in his pocket. Maybe the lumberyard could help him out with a description.

Thunder rumbled outside. He had time to kill. He'd go down with the State Troopers and check it out. After eating his lunch.

He sank his teeth into the hamburger and wondered how Kermit was doing.

*****

AIde grunted as he lowered the box of dynamite into the back of the truck. He flipped the tarp so it was covered from the rain. "That it, Marv?"

"The commissioned stuff, yeah," Marv called from the porch. He had a beer in one hand. "I'm thinkin' we should take the rest of the stuff with us."
AIde spat into the minefield. "Let's move it after we get the junker outta here."

'The cops'Il be back to get it," Marv said, pursing his lips. "We'd better move all the dynamite now."

"What about the body?" AIde asked truculently. Rain ran down his face into his saturated beard. He wiped it out of his eyes. "We leavin' it for them?"

"The body ..." Marv looked over his shoulder. "We'd better get rid of the evidence. I'll rig some of the dynamite to blow in an half-hour after we leave. That'll take down the house and burn the body."

"So the cops won't find anything," Fred said with satisfaction, a box of detonator caps balanced on one shoulder. He put them beside the box of dynamite. "The explosion may set off the mines."

"Hmm," Marv mused aloud. "Depending when they get here, we might want to leave them a little surprise."

"So, what do you want me to do?" AIde asked.

"Bring up the rest of the dynamite. Fred, help him," Marv replied decisively. "I'll grab a couple of makin's and rig up a couple of mines. Move it. The cops could be on their way now." He checked his watch. "It's almost three."

*****

A neon blue Dodge Stealth led the cavalcade up to the muddy path. The passengers took firm grips on the door handles as it rocked over the potholes.

Finally, the driver spotted the wrecked Corvair, and parked his car.

The large van following them, slowed, carefully parking itself against the other side of the road. A wiry man with a military haircut under a beret, and a younger soldier climbed out, pulling up the hood on his raincoat.

Getting out, Peter heard the wail of a siren. In the distance, he saw a State Trooper's car come over the hill, followed by a small fire engine.

"Strenlich's almost here," he commented.

Simms climbed out, wearing a black poncho over her purple running suit and high-tops. Behind her, Mary Margaret clambered out of the back seat, and put up her red umbrella.

"'Really looks like a vacation home," she muttered eyeing the wrecked car and unprepossessing cabin.

"What do you want to wager that neither man would stop to check the directions, Detective?" Simms asked with a touch of a grin.

"I won't take it," Skalany retorted with a laugh.

"Captain Simms?" the wiry officer asked from the protection of his raincoat. "I'm Lieutenant Dion. Army Ordinance."

"Glad to meet you, Lieutenant," she replied holding out her hand. They shook.

"You've got a man in there?" he asked. "My report was pretty skimpy."

"The man who knows all is about to arrive," she replied. The trooper's sedan was rocking over the potholes. She put the umbrella against the crick of her neck, and cupped her hands around her mouth. "Kermit!"

There was no response from the house. None of the lights went on.

Strenlich climbed out of the trooper's car, ignoring Peter's and Mary Margaret's expressions of horror, The food had put the color back into his cheeks, and he'd managed to get most of the mud off, but he was limping from his blistered feet and shin splints. It had been too long since he had to do a forced march. He was swathed in a transparent rain poncho.

"Captain?"

She waved to two officers. "Lieutenant Dion. He's asking about the mines."

Strenlich nodded. "They're all over the place. All different types. The round ones that can be screwed apart-"

"Probably 72As," Dion cut in.

"Some hand grenade ones wrapped in barbed wire--"

"POMZ- 2s."

"They're in the front yard. I don't know if they're in the woods as well. Kermit threw a stick in the field before we knew the bombs were there-"

"And that's what did it," Simms concluded. "He landed in the yard?"

"Blown right over the car," Strenlich confirmed.

Mary Margaret winced. "So those are his glasses?" She pointed to the shades lying in the mud.

"His gun's out there somewhere too," the chief replied, "And the cellular phone. At least he's got his wallet."

"Well, he's not answering so I hope he's all right," Simms said thoughtfully. "We're safe if we stick by the path?"

"Chief, has someone been here?" Peter cut in unexpectedly. He held up his right hand stopping Simms' advance.

Strenlich eyed the muddy road. "No. Those are our tracks, Peter."

"Then, that car must be a tank," Dion commented, looking at the deep ruts.

"These tracks should be full of water," Peter said slowly. "They aren't. These are fresh."

Simms eyed the road with suspicion. "You're right. Not only that, it looks like those are truck marks."

"You'd better not go up there," Dion warned. "See that mud patch? And the one farther up? Looks like a patty. It looks like your boy had visitors who left some explosive gifts." Simms bit her lip. Peter and Mary Margaret exchanged worried glances.

Strenlich audibly ground his teeth. He put his hands to his mouth, and bellowed, "Kermit!"

Nothing answered except the wind. It howled louder through the woods around them.

The Lieutenant shifted the toothpick in his mouth to the other side. "Well, Captain, let me see what kind of gifts we got here. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can get inside and find your man."

The belief that Kermit was still alive and well was fading fast for all of the members of the l01st. He wasn't the sort of man that would let more land mines get placed while he was still alive. Strenlich's fists were clenched in anger as he stared at the muddy path.

"Let's sit inside the car," Peter said awkwardly to Simms who was watching the army men pulling equipment out of the back of their van.

She froze him with one glance.

"Captain, it's gonna be an hour before-"

Crash! A gust of wind blew through the trees, and a huge branch cracked off, crashing to the ground in front of the house.

It landed on three mines. The front yard exploded. Simms was thrown back against Peter and Strenlich. A curtain of mud covered them like a shroud. Mary Margaret was thrown behind the Stealth into the mud, landing face-first in a puddle.

Wiping dirt off their faces, they stared at the burning branch.

Then the house exploded.

*****

Several miles away, Kermit looked over the roof of a red Cabriolet at the plume of smoke. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he clambered inside the small car without saying a word, and pulled forward the passenger seat as far as he could so the brunette coed in the back wasn't cramped.

"More thunder?" said the sprightly blond behind the wheel. "We've been driving through this rain for hours!"

"Does Cutie float?" the other girl asked.

Kermit closed his eyes momentarily. She'd better not be speaking at me.

The blond patted her dashboard affectionately. "Nope. But I might be able to skid over the potholes!"

"Great. Do you know where you're going?" Kermit inquired as politely as he could. His collarbone ached.

"Sure, we drive by here each spring break," she said breezily.

"But we don't usually pick up strangers," her friend added. "I mean, you looked, I mean ...you could have been mugged. Or carjacked."

Kermit knew what she meant. He had rolled out of the briars at the bottom of the steep incline not three minutes before the jaunty Cabriolet and its small U-Haul truck, had appeared around a corner. Unable to do more than raise his hand and wave, he wasn't surprised when they drove past him. He had been surprised when the car stopped a quarter-mile away and cautiously backed up. The brunette, who later introduced herself as Maria De1arges, had poked her head out the window and watched him cautiously.

He held up his police identification. After they examined it, he'd been taken into the bosom of their very small car. Kermit wasn't the tallest man in the precinct, but he was cramped in the Cabriolet. Newspaper crackled under his muddy pants and jacket. The blond girl was taking no chances with the upholstery in her new car.

"Were you carjacked, Mr. Griffin?" she asked solicitously as they sped along.

"No. Just a breakdown," he said, his head throbbing from a headache. It had been a long hour since he'd left the house. "I thought there would be a road closer than I found it."

"Through the woods?" Maria asked skeptically. "Katie, take a right here."

"I'm going to," Katie replied peevishly. "It's a couple of miles down here to the main road."

"Then, a couple to the diner," Maria added. She eyed Kermit's bruised face in the side mirror. "Do you want something? I mean you look like you've got a headache."

"I'd give my kingdom for an aspirin," he confessed, wincing as the car hit a pothole and jarred his collarbone.

"Midol? Will that help?"

He chuckled. Painkillers were painkillers. "Sure."

"Here. Diet Pepsi. You can wash them down," she suggested, squirming around in the back seat, then handing him a bottle of pills and the open can.

The soda was flat and he couldn't see clearly enough to see the recommended dose, but he swallowed two of the pills and sipped at the pop.

Thunder rolled over them. The windshield was awash with water as a heavy squall swept through. Katie slowed down for a mile, then speeded up as it cleared.

"I don't think that was thunder back there," Kermit said aloud, his thoughts clearing as the pain receded. The drugs were working.

"What? What was that?" Maria asked.

"I...never mind."

"Put on some music," she called. Katie complied. They raced along to the sound of Bruce Springsteen and Amy Grant. It was a jarring contrast that matched his mood.

Kermit was very glad when they finally pulled up to Maggie’s Diner. The night was falling over the town and the bright lights glowed like little stars.

"Am I going to make you late?" he asked, opening his eyes. He had closed them so he wouldn't have watch Katie's driving. The U-Haul had an under-inflated tire. It bobbed in the rear mirror making him nauseous. "Getting back to school."

"Not if we just drop you off," Katie said breezily, maneuvering the Cabriolet into a space in the middle of the row. The U-Haul extruded into the main path.

"Better get another spot," Maria advised. "There's a real nasty driver trying to get around you."

"Oops. Hold on." She extracted the car and reparked it alongside the edge of the parking lot. The lights of the main road reflected off the red hood.

Kermit stepped out, and his shoes sank in a deep puddle. Water slopped over the sides. The cold air cleared his head.

Katie and Maria were out before he came around the side. "We've decided to get some food," Maria informed him.

"More than Doritos?" he inquired. The floor of the car had been littered with used plastic bags.

"Yep," Katie said. "Besides, I want some coffee. I've been doing all the work!"

"Cherry pie," Maria suggested. Her friend smiled. "Do you like cherry pie, Mr. Griffin?"

"Detective," he corrected her. "I wouldn't turn down cherry pie. But first I have to find a phone."

They went inside to find two men at the counter, and the waitress swabbing the table in the middle of the dining area. She looked up and her eyes went wide at his disgraceful condition.

"Where's the phone?" he barked.

She jerked her thumb at the phone on the wall.

"We'll sit and wait," Katie said cheerfully, sliding into one of the chairs. Maria followed. They ordered Cokes, watching him.

Kermit hunched as best he could and dialed the precinct using his phone card. He wondered if Strenlich had managed to reach them or if the chief was still missing. His mind went back to the explosion and the smoke. He hoped that wasn't the last of Strenlich.

"101st," Broderick, the desk sergeant, answered in his calm tone.

"This is Kermit."

"Kermit?" Broderick said incredulously. "Where are you?"

"I'm at a diner called Maggie's," Kermit said looking over at the window where the name was spelled backwards.

"Maggie's? That's where the chief called from!"

"He's all right?" Kermit's tone sharpened. "When did he call in?"

"Called in about five, six hours ago. He said you were holed up in a cabin surrounded by land mines!"

"Well, he was right. Where is he now?"

"He and the captain went out to the cabin."

Kermit flinched, shutting his eyes for a second. The explosion probably had been Strenlich trying to get to the cabin. Something went wrong, and now Simms was involved as well. Damn, damn, damn!

"What's happening now?"

"God knows," Broderick said frankly. "None of our equipment reaches that far, and the State Trooper who picked up Strenlich has a bum radio. I'm expecting a call from the Army crew but they've got the only radio that's working."

"I heard an explosion," Kermit grated out. "See if you can raise them, Broderick!"

"I'll work on it, Kermit. What about you?"

He sighed, and winced. Every time he moved, the collarbone reminded him it was still broken. "Broderick, a trio showed up to haul the explosives out. Their van had a license plate of VNX 235. They used the names, Marv, AIde, and I don't have a spelling on that, and Fred. They probably took most of the dynamite with them. Put an APB out. Maybe we can haul them in."

"VNX 235. Got it. Should I send a trooper to pick you up? I heard ...that your car had an accident." Broderick's tone was almost apologetic.

Kermit chuckled unpleasantly. "That's a nice way of putting it. Yeah, send a trooper if you can find one. I'll call you back if anything changes. Let me give you the number here." He read it off the dial.

"Stay put, Kermit," Broderick ordered. "We had to unearth the chief from the local lumberyard and the troopers weren't amused by that."

"I'm not going anywhere," Kermit replied sluggishly. He leaned against the wall for a second letting his tired body rest. "Bye."

"Bye."

*****

The force of the explosion sent pieces of the roof flying into the air, and blew out every window.

Peter's only clear thought was that if this was what Pop meant by Kermit being "red" and "moving", then his father had had a warped vision. Kermit Griffin as a bloody corpse cracking in the fire wasn't something that Peter wanted to think about.

They watched, stunned, as the front of the house sagged forward, sliding onto the porch, then, with a crash, fell down on the front yard setting off the buried land mines it landed on.

Everyone ducked as the turf went flying. Peter grabbed Simms and threw himself over her, shielding her from the flying earth. His ears were ringing from the noise.

After a couple of minutes when nothing was flying, Simms pushed him off and got to her feet. She took one step towards the building, then stopped, both hands thrust in her raincoat. Her back was ramrod straight.

Lieutenant Dion walked over, shaking his head. "What happened?" he yelled. Peter could barely hear him. Simms didn't move.

Strenlich put his hand out to her, then let it drop when she ignored it. He turned to Dion.

"Probably just another little present left behind. Someone blew the house up."

"What about your man?" Dion asked. "Think he was inside?"

"Probably," Mary Margaret answered soberly. "Someone was. Smell that? Crispy critter."

Simms shot her a furious look and Skalany held her hands up defensively. "Captain, we have to be realistic!"

"Not right now, we don't," Peter said flatly.

The fire crackled and hissed. The chimney fell into the ruins.

"Want me to get more fire engines?" the state trooper asked unexpectedly. They had almost forgotten he was there.

Dion spat out some mud, and folded his arms, shaking his head. "Don't bother. By the time the big ones get here, it'll be over with. We're lucky that it's so wet. Shouldn't set fire to the woods." The firemen who came up beside them, nodded.

"If we blowout the fire, we'll have more evidence," Simms said unexpectedly. She turned to face him, her face an expressionless mask.

"Can't have the engines near enough to do anything without getting them into the minefield," the soldier replied prosaically. "We'll just have to wait it out and hope nothing does catch."

Thunder crackled above them and everyone flinched.

"Captain ...Captain, there's nothing more we can do here," Peter finally said. "If he's in there, he's gone now."

Her expression didn't change. "You're quite right, Detective Caine."

"It'll be hours before we know for sure," Strenlich agreed flatly.

"Why don't you go back to the city and we'll keep you informed?" the trooper said unexpectedly. "I can get the county sheriff out here and we'll tell you as soon as we find anything. He'd be here but he was at a domestic case."

Simms let her breath out with a hiss, then nodded. "It's your jurisdiction now."

"See if you can get a cast of the tire tracks," Peter suggested. "We might be able to find out who set the mines."

The trooper nodded, looking up at the house burning brightly against the darkening clouds. Nightfall was almost on them. "I'll file a complete report on everything we find." Dion nodded. "Can't do much tonight. There's no reason to hurry now, is there? Nope," said the trooper reflectively. "Nope. No hurry at all."

Skalany went to Peter's side of the Stealth, dripping mud from hairline to her knees. Something crunched underfoot, and she stopped. Looking down, she saw Kermit's mud-covered sunglasses had been blown out of the field. She picked them up, and put them in her poncho pocket. She slid in the back of the Stealth keeping out of Simms' way. After an awkward moment, Strenlich climbed in beside her, leaving the front seat for the Captain.

The Stealth's windows steamed up as they drove down the muddy track. The light of its high beams shone through the steady, heavy rainfall. They drove in silence, each wrapped in their gloom. Looking in the rearview mirror, Peter saw that Strenlich was absolutely furious. He could tell from the chief’s glare and the rigid line between his brows. Skalany was huddled in the raincoat, her expression distracted. What was she thinking? She and Kermit had tolerated each other, but their personalities were opposites. Her tactless comment in the field was devastatingly accurate.

Out of the comer of his eye, he saw that Simms had come out of her stunned anger, and was staring thoughtfully out at the rain, her lips pursed. Another close friend of Kermit's. Maybe more. None of his business. Like what was going on between Strenlich and his wife.

"You've got his sister's number?" Simms asked, breaking the silence. Peter nodded. "I'll call her when we have ...when we find him."

"I shouldn't have left him behind," Strenlich said tightly.

"If you hadn't, we'd never have found you," Peter replied in a no-nonsense tone. "We'd have followed the instructions and gotten to the wrong house."

"I knew we should have taken a right," the chief replied angrily.

"He wouldn't listen, eh?" Skalany said sympathetically. "I thought your notes said, 'right' ."

"They did," he replied virtuously.

"You wouldn't have known about the explosives if he hadn't turned the wrong way,"

Simms cut in. "We'll find out who laid the mines."

That effectively quelled the discussion. Peter made the turn that took him to the pavement, and speeded up. There was only the steady drum of the rain on his car roof as they drove along.

The lights of Patonsville appeared unexpectedly out of the blackness. Peter slowed down, obeying the speed limit sign. They passed the gasoline station, a couple of office buildings from their blocky architecture, and the local grocery.

The lights of Maggie's gleamed on the right.

The Stealth swept by it.

A quarter-mile down the road, Peter hit the brakes hard, flinging his passengers against their seat belts.

"What the--Caine!" Simms protested.

With a screech of his wheels, Peter made an illegal U-turn and headed back into town.

"What is it, Peter?" Skalany called. She rubbed her head where she had hit it against the back of his seat.

He shook his head. "Red and moving."

"What?" Simms snapped.

"Pop. He said he had a vision of Kermit as "red and moving". I thought he meant in the fire."

"So? What are you talking about?" she shot, her lips tight.

"I think I was wrong," he said simply. He swept the Stealth into the diner's lot, and parked in a slot.

Skalany and Strenlich exchanged glances of worry.

"Look there." Peter pointed out the window at the car parked alongside the road.

Simms stared at the red Cabriolet and U-Haul. "Red, but not moving. Where are you going?"

Peter was already out of the car and heading inside. The restaurant was warm and comfortable. A waitress had just set a plate of steaming stew in front of Kermit Griffin. The two girls on the other side of the booth were sipping cokes and giggling.

Peter was almost overcome by his relief. He couldn't help himself from laughing out loud which made Kermit look up sharply. Peter threw open the door and beckoned to everyone in his car, his broad smile telling the news.

Skalany carefully didn't look at Simms' face as she climbed out. Later she'd swear she heard the elegant woman mutter that she'd kill him. Which 'him' wasn't clear.

Griffin didn't move out of the booth as the quartet came in. For once, he was smiling broadly. Skalany was reminded that he was an attractive man when he took off those glasses. That reminded her of what she had in her pocket. Her fingers tightened around them.

The two girls looked at them, then back at Kermit. "You know them?" the brunette asked.

"Oh, yeah ..." Kermit drawled out. He put up a hand to greet them, and winced. "This is half of the 101st Precinct. Captain Simms, these are Katie and Maria. They gave me a ride into town."

She smiled at them, then went back to glaring at Kermit.

Both girls shoved their chairs back at the same moment. "We gotta get going." "We're gonna be late."

"I'm picking up the bill," Kermit ordered. "Thank you both."

They looked flustered. "S'okay. Bye!" Katie said dodging around Peter.

"Katie!" Kermit called as they opened the diner door.

She froze.

"Pump up that back tire on the U-Haul. It needs air."

She smiled. "Yes, sir! 'Bye."

Their giggles could be heard on the air outside as they went to their car.

Finally, Simms sat down in Katie's chair, and folded her arms. Strenlich sat down beside her, Skalany took the end seat, and Peter sat down beside Kermit. The computer expert spooned up some of the stew, and waited.

"What happened out there?" Strenlich finally asked. "We thought you were in the cabin."

"You had visitors?" Simms questioned.

Kermit nodded. "A trio called Marv, AIde and Fred. They moved out the stuff."

"And left us some surprises," Peter murmured.

"That's not what I was asking," Strenlich said acidly. "What happened to you?"

"I nearly stepped on a raccoon," Kermit replied.

They were interrupted by Norma who smiled at Strenlich. "Hi, there! More burgers?"

"I want some of that," Skalany said, staring avidly at Kermit's dinner.

"A round of 'that' all around," Simms ordered. "Got any coffee?"

"'That’ is Yankee Pot Roast," Norma said with dignity. "I'll bring out the coffee."

"I heard them come up the road," Kermit continued, "There's no place to hide so I knew I had to get out of the house."

"The back yard could have been mined," Simms said flatly.

His gaze met hers. "I know. No choice. I went out the back over the raccoon who was trying to get in the dog door again, and into the woods. Stumbled into a pit, and went down. Probably saved my life."

"Why?" Strenlich asked.

Kermit waited till Norma had set the plates of stew down and left. "AIde, with a shotgun, came outside, looking for the stranger. I was too low for them to see. His partner, Fred came out but they were afraid of the mines that might be in the woods so they stayed on the porch. Apparently Pilchard, our corpse, chief, didn't want to sell to their current buyer, and Marv killed him when he threatened the deal. Marv had to get the others to help load the truck. The rain held them up. They came back to start moving the stuff out."

"You heard all this?"

"Alde was complaining about the smell," Kermit said with a shrug. "Fred explained it to him."

"While you were in the pit?" Peter asked, digging out a succulent chunk of beef.

"Trying to keep my head out of the water," admitted Kermit. "When they went inside, I went farther into the woods, over the crest of the hill. I didn't realize that it was a forty-five degree drop down to the highway. We came up the long way, Chief. It doesn't take as long when you're rolling downhill."

"That suit'll never be the same," Strenlich commented dryly. "Trees, briars and mud. You must really hurt."

"What else did you learn?" Simms cut in.

"I learned not to go on a Saturday drive in the country with Strenlich," Kermit said dourly. He grinned at Strenlich's darkening glare. "Oh, about the bombers. Not much. I just talked with Broderick again. The truck's been sighted about forty miles away. The Feds are into it now, Captain. They're tracking Marv and company."

"Probably want to see who picks them up," Peter hazarded. "This is good stew."

"This is great stew," Skalany agreed unexpectedly. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the mud-speckled sunglasses. "Here."

Kermit started to reach for them, then stopped. His face paled. "I must remember not to do that."

Simms took them from Mary Margaret, and put them within his reach. "Next time, we'll have better communication before going out? Leave better instructions?"

"Which reminds me, the cellular's somewhere in the mud," Kermit murmured. "We were out of cell range, Captain."

"It's toast," Skalany informed him.

Simms just shook her head, looking around the table. "Remind me not to invite you to the department picnic."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Captain," Peter said cheerfully, eyeing the apple pie on the counter. "You'll have to admit it will be exciting. Chief, call your wife when you get home. She was worried about you."

Strenlich shifted uncomfortably.

"And, Marilyn wants to have a talk with you, Kermit," Peter added with false innocence.

Kermit smiled. "I'm an invalid. You'll certify that won't you, Captain?"

"Can't drive anyway," Skalany teased. "Your car's in the shop. Been drinking, Kermit? Nice rosy hue!"

"Where do you think he landed the first time?" Strenlich joked.

Kermit rolled his eyes to Simms then put his glasses on his bruised nose, the weight of them painful from his expression.

"You'll have to be in the hospital for that," she commented. "I think your sister's the lesser of the two evils. But you will be stopping at the hospital tonight."

"It's not that bad, Captain," he protested.

"I insist. Being blown up by a land mine is a drastic way of getting time off."

"You had a concussion too," Strenlich added virtuously. "You were unconscious."

Kermit glared at him.

Skalany grinned. "You're not going to win, Kermit."

"No, but he'll have the entire trip home to argue," Strenlich said dourly.

"That's right," Peter said with a slight chuckle. "We're going to be a cozy bunch in the Stealth."

Kermit's gaze desperately met Strenlich's. "Flip you for the front seat."

"I don't think so," Simms said smugly. "Chief, you're bigger than Kermit. You get the front. You, Griffin, ride in the back."

Mary Margaret grinned. "Between us. This'll be a fun ride."

Simms laughed.

Thunder rolled, lightning flashed. It was going to be a long, miserable ride home but they were all alive and that's all that mattered.