"You don't know the half of it," I replied, gulping down the second drink as quickly as I had the first and feeling the icy needles of too much cold too quickly spiking into my brain. "Owww."

Laughing gently, Corinne took back her glass as I rubbed at my forehead, willing the sharp pain to recede.

It calmed gradually, disappearing completely just as a warm, and very welcome presence made itself known at my side. Feeling a grin surface, I looked up at a soot-covered partner who looked nearly as exhausted as I felt, her eyes red rimmed and puffy. "Hey, stranger," I said, bumping her thigh with my hip.

"Hey." She cocked a questioning eyebrow at me. "You alright?"

"Nothing a year's worth of sleep won't cure. You?"

She shrugged. "I'm fine."

I looked at her, assessing the truth of her words. She bore several fresh scrapes to the left side of her face, and peeking beneath the ruins of a once pristine T-shirt, an ugly red burn stood out angrily on the smooth skin of her muscled belly. "What happened?"

She looked down as if noticing the burn for the first time. "Got a little too close to the fire, I guess. Doesn't hurt."

"It will."

"Maybe."

Corinne pressed the glass of tea into her hand and she quaffed it quickly, then handed the glass back and lifted the half-filled bucket laying at my feet and dumping its contents over her head. Groaning, she shook her head, spraying us all with the droplets that flew out from her hair.

As my skin greedily took in the precious moisture offered, I turned to look at the charred remains of Pop's automobile graveyard. There wasn't much left. "At least we kept the tanks from going up."

"True enough," Ice replied, gliding an arm around my shoulders and hugging me into her side.

Tearing my gaze away from the carnage, I looked toward the Inn. Once again, I could swear I saw the curtains twitch just a little, as if released by a hidden hand. I turned back to Ice. "She did this, you know. She might not have been the one to start the fire, but she's just as guilty."

Ice nodded. "I know."

"Well, if you know, and I know, and Pop knows, and everybody in this whole damn town knows, why isn't anybody doing anything about it?"

She squeezed me tighter for a minute. "You know why, Angel. This is Pop's show. And as much as I want to rearrange the bitch's arms and legs for her, we need to let Pop take the lead on this one."

"But for how much longer? Damnit, Ice, he's already been beaten to a bloody pulp, had his shop trashed, and now this! I know he's an adult and this is his life, but when is it going to end? When is that bitch going to stop getting away with it?"

She looked down at me, her eyes steel-gray in the light of a new dawn. "Pop or no Pop, Angel, she will not get away with this. That I promise you."

After a moment, I let go my anger and relaxed against her. After all, who knew better than I that when Morgan Steele made a promise, you went to the bank with it.

Released from the false energy of both my anger and Corinne's caffeine-and-sugar laden tea, I slumped wearily against Ice's side. "Can we go home now? I think I can hear the bed calling from here, and if I don't get there quick, I'll just fall asleep in this nice juicy mud-puddle instead."

She hugged me tight. "Sure. This mess will still be around to clean up later. Let's go."

Saying our goodbyes to Pop and the other firefighters, we then collected Corinne, squeezed into the truck, and headed for home, weary to the bone.

And after three successive showers finally managed to clean the soot and smoke from my body, I climbed into my big, soft, clean and oh so wonderful bed and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow, leaving my angers and my worries to wait for another day, when I was more equipped, not to mention awake, to deal with them.

The next several days passed quietly, though not without activity. The fire had left behind huge clumps of twisted, charred metal only vaguely resembling the cars they once were. Shattered bits of safety glass lay glittering under the mid-day sun like a tiny galaxy being viewed from above by an omnipotent god. Charred upholstery, tires, and hundreds of other items rendered unidentifiable by the conflagration waited patiently to be cleared away.

I lobbied hard against such a clean up, reasoning-quite logically, I thought-that it would be just desserts of the highest order to have Millicent and her guests be forced to look down upon the true eyesore her efforts had wrought.

Pop, however, was a better person than I that day, and lobbied just as hard to clean the mess up. His reasoning that other people would have to look at it too couldn't be argued with, and finally I put away my snit for the day and pitched in, though not without a few half-muttered curses that even had Corinne looking at me with newfound respect.

Then one morning, while coming downstairs after changing the sheets on our bed, I spied Corinne standing before the mirror on the back of the bathroom door, putting the finishing touches on the outfit she'd chosen for the day.

And a fine outfit it was. A simple black dress and matching shoes were complimented by tasteful-and obviously expensive-jewelry. Her hair and makeup were done to perfection, and when she turned to face me, I suddenly saw just what it was that attracted so many to her, both in the days of her youth, and now, when that youth was a far away thing, never to be seen again.

She was, in a word, beautiful.

"Wow!" I commented, giving her my best wolf whistle. "Don't you clean up nice."

"One does one's best with what one has," she replied, her twinkling eyes and smug grin belying the false modesty of her words.

"Who's the lucky guy?" I grinned. "Or girl."

"Getting a bit nosey are we?"

"What can I say? I learned from the best," I replied, reaching out to straighten her collar.

"Well, if you must know, I'm about to pay Millicent a visit."

I could feel my nose wrinkling. "I thought your standards were higher than that, Corinne."

She laughed. "Oh, you can be sure that they most definitely are. I'm considering this a little fact finding mission. That stubborn mule of a gas station owner won't let even the tiniest hair springing from Millicent's moles be harmed. He wants irrefutable proof that she was behind the attacks against him. I intend to give him that proof."

"Ahh," I said, nodding. "Would you like some company?"

She looked at me critically. "I don't know if that's wise, Angel. Millicent doesn't seem predisposed toward having warm feelings for you, especially given recent events and the part you've played in them."

"True. But I hardly think that's an obstacle the great Corinne Weaver can't overcome." Playing to her ego was a sure-fire way to get myself a seat of honor at the main event. Besides, it was only the truth, and we both knew it.

Her eyes softened and she acknowledged my tactic with a slight tilt of her head, causing me to display my triumph with a toothy grin. Still, she couldn't help putting a touch of the martyr in her voice. "Oh, very well. If you feel you must come along, hurry up and change. I'm not getting any younger, you know."

"But you're aging beautifully," I said, dodging in and giving her a teasing kiss before darting away and running up the stairs to change into something more presentable. From the floor below, I heard her muttering something about impertinent brats and their need of a good strapping, and I couldn't help but laugh.

After changing into a pair of clean, pressed shorts and a simple green top, I slipped a pair of sandals on and walked back downstairs to join Corinne, bearing her scrutiny stoically.

"The innocent little girl look. I like it." Her dark eyes twinkled. "I like it a great deal, in fact."

"Down, Fido," I joked. "Let's just get this show on the road, ok?"

"Spoilsport."

"Chicken-hawk."

Her laugh sounded its music behind me as I made for the door.

God I had missed her!

Twenty minutes later, we found ourselves standing outside the open door to the Silver Pine. The bustle of workers busily readying the Inn for its upcoming season filled the space around us. Looking around, I wasn't surprised to find many of the same people who had fought the fire were there, sprucing up the arsonist's business establishment.

Though it looked to all the world like Millicent had gotten off without a hitch, in reality, she was being watched like a hawk by those working for her. With so many townspeople in and around her home, she couldn't blow her nose without it becoming town gossip within seconds.

The men and women up on ladders, or raking the grounds, or bearing buckets and scrub brushes gave me little grins or covert winks as our gazes met, as if to assure me that they were on the job and ready for action.

Millicent came to the door then, wearing a dress the exact shade, not to mention size, of a huge wad of bubblegum in a teenaged girl's mouth. Her lipstick, a frosted pink that had last been popular during the disco era, tried its best to match, but failed miserably. Even the ribbons entangled in poor Puddles' fur couldn't come close to the true atrocity that was Millicent's dress. Her feet were adorned with dainty slippers more suited to the ballet, and which were straining at the seams from being forced to carry a weight far heavier than their maker no-doubt intended. And, of course, the jewels were out in full bloom, covering what seemed to be every inch of exposed skin.

Since I was closest to the door, she spied me first and her face took on that sour lemon look I'd come to associate with her. I gave her my best smile, then stepped aside as the great Corinne moved forward to take center stage in the play she was directing.

Her lips hinted at a somewhat regal half-smile as she assessed Millicent from head to toe, looking at her as if she might just be a rival for a cherished mate's affections. "Ms. Harding-Post, I presume?"

Millicent reacted immediately, her carriage becoming more erect, as befitting one meeting a social peer for the first time and not wanting it to get back to the powers that be that one was slacking off in one's duties. "Yes. And you are?"

"Corinne LaPointe. Of the LaPointes of North Hampton. Perhaps you recognize the name?"

Like the biggest large-mouth ever landed, Millicent took the bait, her face breaking into a beaming smile. "Indeed I do, Mrs. LaPointe. Indeed I do! It's so wonderful to meet a fellow Islander. Won't you please come in?"

"I'd be delighted. My wonderful niece has told me so much about you, Ms. Harding-Post. It was all I could do just to wait the respectable amount of time before coming to pay you a visit."

Millicent tittered coyly, her broad face dimpling. "Oh please, Mrs. LaPointe. Millicent, if you don't mind. Such formality is for those beneath one's station, don't you agree?"

"Oh, I do indeed, Millicent. Perhaps you'll return the favor and call me Corinne, yes?"

"It would be a great honor, Corinne. Won't you please come in?"

"Your invitation is most welcome, Millicent. Thank you."

One of my father's many down-home sayings chose that moment to pop into my mind. When a shit storm's blowin your way, Tyler, best thing you can do is get out of the way and plug up your nose.

And so I did, stepping aside so that Corinne could pass in front of me. Though this time, instead of plugging my nose, I held tight to the laughter that was threatening to erupt as I watched the genius that was my friend.

Following close behind, I couldn't help but watch as Corinne took in the interior of the Bed and Breakfast with what seemed to be wide-eyed, and appreciative, wonder.

"What a beautiful home you have, Millicent! You simply must give me the name of your designer."

Millicent's eyes narrowed just a touch. "Why? Are you thinking of opening up a business here?"

"Me?" Corinne's hand came up to her chest and she laughed. "Oh no, my dear. My dabbling days are long over, I'm afraid. I'll leave the fine art of business to those much younger and more beautiful than I."

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have found it impossible to believe that Millicent Harding Post could become even larger than she already was, yet there it was, plain as day, her body seeming to puff up with the praise she'd received, much as a peacock's will when spreading his plumage.

I wondered if asking for quick directions to the bathroom was out.

Millicent uttered that queer tittering laugh again, flapping her hand at Corinne. "Nonsense, dear. You're absolutely charming, and I mean that in only the best of ways!"

"How kind of you to say, Millicent."

"I only speak the truth, Corinne." Bustling us into the lobby, she indicated a rather uncomfortable looking couch which sat catty-corner to the overdone fireplace monopolizing one wall. "Won't you please sit down? I'd offer you the grand tour, but I'm afraid the horrid winter has done just dreadful things to the rooms upstairs. They won't be fit for man nor beast for a month, at least!"

Corinne nodded in commiseration. "I understand perfectly, Millicent. Your hospitality is a gift beyond measure." She sat down on the couch, the very essence of regality. I stood next to her, wondering if it was proper to sit next to such royalty, or if it was more proper that I kneel by her side, a footman bearing scepter and crown. She looked at me, the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes. "Please sit, Tyler. You're offending our hostess."

Even though said in jest, the mock rebuke stung and, true to my childhood programming, I sat down quickly, eyes cast to the floor. "Yes, Ma'am."

"There's a good girl," she replied, patting my hand.

I looked up, first at Corrine, then at Millicent.

Oh, how I ached to wipe that look of smug condescension from her face.

With an axe.

Not that anyone would notice the difference if I did.

Corinne must have caught my tension, because she squeezed my hand briefly before releasing it and clasping her hands primly in her lap.

"Would you like some tea?" Millicent asked.

"Only if it isn't too much trouble, dear."

"Oh, no trouble at all. I was just about to fix myself a cup when you came calling. Be back in a flash."

I maintained my silence for all of a second after she left, taking her stench and her oh-so-refined air with her. Then I did a slow head turn until Corinne was fully in my sights. "Is it permissible to vomit in the potted palm, my Lady?"

Corinne laughed, her whole body shaking with mirth. "Patience, dear Angel. In order to grow a proper garden, one needs to visit the cow pasture first."

"Yeah, but I'm only wearing sandals."

"Just relax and follow my lead."