Tina had been giving Logan a tour of the house, so they'd missed most of the chaos, but it was still pretty startling to walk in on. The first thing they did was go looking for Hank and Hunter. They had to weave their way carefully through fragrant, stained, whimpering partygoers and paramedics who were beginning to look a bit nauseated themselves. People were being examined in an assembly line manner, advised to stay near help (anyone who hadn't been at the party), and go directly to an emergency room if there were any more symptoms.

They found Hunter and Hank sitting on a sofa that had somehow astonishingly remained clean. Tina and Logan came up behind them, and noticed that the two men were sitting close beside each other. Hunter had his arm across Hank's back and was gently patting his shoulder. That made Logan blink. He whispered to Tina, "Hank doesn't usually allow physical displays in public except from blood relatives. Christ, I hope he didn't catch whatever this is." They went around the sofa.

Hunter was watching Hank with concern and sympathy, tinged ever so slightly with amusement. Hank was holding on his lap a dark object, almost completely covered by a dinner napkin. He was cradling it tenderly in both big hands. Logan and Tina approached gingerly. Tina was thinking that Hank looked like he was in mourning. Logan squatted down in front of him and put a hand on Hank's knee. "Hank? Are you all right?"

Hank didn't respond. Hunter said quietly. "Physically, he's fine--magnificent, actually. But emotionally? I'm afraid there's been trauma." He tilted his head down at the object in Hank's hands.

Logan reached out and lifted the edge of the napkin just far enough to see the elegant, unmistakable curve of a dress Stetson's crown. There was a distinct, sour whiff, and Logan dropped the cloth back into place quickly. "Oh, shit! Not the Stetson."

"That's pretty much what Hank said," observed Hunter. "I was shocked."

"So am I. I've seen that man lock his hand in a car door and never say anything stronger than 'son of a gun'. Hank," he said softly. His friend finally lifted his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I've been better, Lo." His eyes returned to the Stetson. "They gave me this on my tenth anniversary with the Rangers."

"They do miraculous things in cleaning these days."

Hank heaved a sigh. "No. No, I'm afraid I'll just have to face facts." He stroked the hat's sides. "He's gone."

Tina shot a glance at Logan, mouthing, "He?"

It was Hunter who responded. "Men call ships and cars she, why shouldn't they assign gender to something as important as this?"

"Hank," said Logan, holding out his hands. "If you're not going to have it cleaned, why don't you let me take care of it for you?"

Hank shook his head. "No. I'm going to have to take a sample of... what's inside... to have it analyzed--I'm sure the caterer will have something I can put it in, if the police run out of evidence bags. They're going to have plenty without having to worry about one bit being considered compromised. Then I'm going to package it very carefully and store it in the freezer till I get it home."

Logan blinked. "You're taking it back to Texas to throw it away?"

Hank's jaw firmed. "No. I'm taking it home for a decent burial. Hunter, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite now, and I wouldn't be much company."

"Hank, don't worry about it," Hunter assured him.

Hank looked around. "Where's Pogey?"

The others looked around also. "I don't know," said Hunter. He pointed. "There are tire tracks in that puddle over there." He made a face. "Ugh, chunky. Anyway, he's probably gone by now. I sincerely doubt he'd hang around any longer than he absolutely had to. We can check with the police, though. They wouldn't have let anyone go without taking note."

"I'd sort of like to speak to him."

"Not a good idea in the state you're in right now, buddy," Logan advised.

"I'll say," said Hunter. "I served for a while under a famous chef. The man could have given a Parris Island drill sergeant a run for the money, so when he complimented you, it meant something. When I left he gave me a high quality cast iron skillet that he'd seasoned himself. If someone did to that skillet what Pogey did to your hat, I know I'd probably be up on assault charges for using the skillet on their head."

"No, no. I'm not going to do anything to the man. I just want to ask him a few questions."

"Like what?" asked Logan.

Hank glanced at Hunter. "Hunter, you didn't pass my hat to Pogey, did you?"

"God, no, Hank! I have better sense than that."

"I didn't think you would have, but I had to ask. I had to eliminate the possibility. Do you suppose anyone else handed it to him?"

"I wish I could point a finger, Hank, but everyone was too busy to be playing Good Samaritan, and I don't think there was anyone close enough to get the hat and hand it over when Pogey started to get sick." Hunter shrugged. "Besides, I'm pretty sure it was a deliberate choice--passive-aggressive to the max. Why are you so concerned?"

"Oh, I'm not looking to lay blame. It's just..." He pointed. "I left my hat on this table." He pointed to the opposite end of the couch. "And Pogey was sitting at that end, right?" Hunter nodded. "That's a distance of at least ten feet, over a fairly high arm. My question is, how did a paraplegic managed to reach that far without taking a good couple of minutes to drag himself, or ending up on the floor?"

The next morning Detective Hoffman called and asked Hank and Logan if they could come down to the police station. When they met in the detective's office, he said, "I'd like to have you two's take on this incident from last night."

"Looks like food poisoning, right?" said Logan. "That's always a hazard with buffets."

"It is, and we looked into that. We took samples of everything they had, and let me tell you, the caterer insisted that we do so. He's rabid about maintaining his reputation."

"I think what the detective mean, Lo, is do we feel like this was related to what's been going on at the station," said Hank. Hoffman nodded. "I'd be mightily surprised if it wasn't related."

"I think you're right, and whoever is responsible has moved up the ranks." Hoffman's expression was grim. "This case involves a lot of people, and I'll admit that the media connection has something to do with it--Police Public Relations is very determined to keep them on our side wherever it's legally possible. We put a push on the evidence, and the lab got the results back to me this morning. All the vomitus samples taken showed traces of Ipecac."

Hank winced. "Oh, man! Heloise got into something when she was little. We weren't sure what it was, so they brought out the syrup of Ipecac while we were waiting for the ambulance to get there. She wouldn't take it unless I tasted it first. She was big on even-steven back then. So I dipped a finger in it and tasted, and she went on and drank it. Both of us threw up. That is pretty much the foulest stuff I've ever tasted." He looked thoughtful. "Wait a minute--Hunter said something about the wine punch tasting funny."

"Bingo," said the detective. "Wine punch was the only item ingested by every victim we spoke to. We checked the punch, and sure enough, it was laced."

"That's a nasty prank," agreed Logan.

"It's more than a prank," said Hoffman. "This is considered poisoning. We're just lucky that there wasn't much used, and it was heavily diluted--a strong enough dose could have killed someone. And someone whose constitution was weakened by something like heart disease could have easily died from complications. We're going to be stepping up the investigation on this. Do either of you have any theories? Perhaps someone in particular was the target, and the others are collateral damage?"

Hank held up his hands. "I don't know enough about these people to offer an objective opinion."

"If it was just the Ipecac in the punch, I'd have no problem believing that someone is trying to make Marva Barbee-Clutterbuck's life miserable. She isn't exactly what you'd call beloved."

"Who's at the head of the list?" asked Hoffman.

Logan frowned. "I wouldn't like to say."

"Mister Berryman, I know that the urge to be discreet is strong, but this is getting dangerous. If Mrs. Clutterbuck is being targeted, she needs to be warned to be on her guard, and we might even need to put her under protective surveillance."

Logan sighed. "Marva has been sticking her fingers in the mix at the station, and she doesn't have the training or natural inclination for that type of work, so she's made some enemies there."

"What sort of interference has she been up to?"

"Do I need to get specific? Okay. Good Morning, Glendale! Cerise Stone was supposed to host that show alone. Tobias had promised it to her--she had a verbal contract, but nothing on paper. Marva moved Devin in on her. Cerise considered filing a civil suit, but she couldn't get anyone to take it on contingency, and she couldn't afford to pursue it alone."

"That could be a good motive." Hoffman made notes. "Show people and their egos are a volatile combination. Who else?"

Logan rubbed his forehead. "Lord, I hate to say this. That poor woman has had enough crap in her life, but... If I'm going to be honest, I'd have to mention Suelynn Clutterbuck."

"The first wife? The relationship isn't amicable, eh?"

"Hardly. There hasn't actually been any hair pulling and wrestling, but I've heard exchanges that made my ears itch, and their lawyers have done a lot of snarling at each other. If one of them ever gets the upper hand on percentage of ownership, the other one will be pretty much shut out."

Hank lifted a finger, "I don't want to butt in..."

Dustin smiled. "With the rep that the Rangers have for investigation? Please, butt in."

"Tina told me that the two women owned forty-five percent of the business each, and there's three percent being held in trust for future offspring. That leaves seven points in the hands of others. If one or the other of them gets control of that, they get control of the business. As tiny as those points of the business are, they aren't worth much--on their own. A person just might look at all the trouble that the station has been having lately and decide that it's on its way down the tubes. Maybe, they think, the smartest move would be to sell when they could. Or... Let's say that they've got a little shrewdness on their side. If they knew that someone really, really wanted those last few percentage points, there's a good chance that they might decide to see just how much the market would bear."

Dustin was nodding, making notes. "Yes, I think that looking into the financial situation might be fruitful."

"Did you fingerprint that drawer that was tampered with?"

Hoffman nodded. "Like I said, anything we got wouldn't do us much good, since the chain of evidence is screwed, but I had it printed, anyway. We got several. We ran them, but didn't get a hit. Whoever did it isn't in the state system."

Logan said, "What about the out-of-state system?"

Hoffman nodded. "That will take time to check, and quite frankly, anything non-crippling and non-fatal is going to be at the end of the list. Who knows? Maybe lightening will strike. Anything else you gents can think of? Any questions?"

"I'm curious about Mister Clutterbuck's disappearance. I'd like to hear more about it."

Dustin sat back in his chair. "The commonly held theory is that he's sipping tropical drinks somewhere warm and sandy, probably with someone very young and most likely blonde."

"What supports that theory?"

"The disappearance of a load of money, for one. It turned out that a lot of assets had been liquidated and turned into bearer bonds, but these have never been located, and his joint account was cleaned out just after he disappeared. Put that with where they found his car..." He shrugged.

"But if he ran off with his own money, how is that illegal?"

Hoffman smiled. "That's a rhetorical question, right?"

Hank returned the smile. "I'm assuming that some of that money that went missing wasn't strictly his to use as he saw fit?"

"The company is in the names of Marva Barbee-Clutterbuck, Suelynn Clutterbuck, and several others we haven't tracked down yet. They'd like to have it accounted for, and so would the IRS. Suelynn Clutterbuck has said, loud and long, that she believes her husband was done away with. She sights many reasons, but the main one is 'gut feeling'."

"How about you?"

"I don't like the fact that we can't trace him past the airport parking lot, and I don't like the fact that he's contacted no one. From all accounts, he was still pretty infatuated with his second wife. I think he'd have either kept in touch with her, or taken her with him. And Marva claims that the evening that Tobias disappeared, he got ready to go into town, telling her that he was going to talk business with someone. She didn't get a name, or what sort of business it was. He just told her that it should make things more peaceful for them. We don't know what that could mean. He was having some financial difficulties--most new businesses of this size do--but it wasn't all that much when you look at the scale they operate on in television. And Tobias had come back from bankruptcy more than once. He wasn't afraid of financial loss. He'd always told people that money never really went away--it just relocated for a while--he'd always get it back. I suppose he could have skipped, but frankly--one explanation is as good as the other here. Is there anything else you've observed that you think might be significant, Hank?"

"Only that I think that Pogey Penneman's disability may very well be a load of codswallop."

That made Hoffman blink. "Penneman? You mean The Angry Young Paraplegic? Why do you say that?"

"For one thing, I sincerely doubt that even the most vigorous and dedicated physical therapy could've have prevented the wasting away of his legs to the point that he seems to have managed. I haven't seen him in shorts, but unless he's wearing padding, his legs seem fully fleshed, if not downright muscular. He said he's been in his chair for twenty years, and he can't be thirty yet. His legs shouldn't have developed normally." Hoffman was nodding thoughtfully. "Then," Hank's expression tightened, "there's what happened to my Stetson."

Hoffman raised his eyebrows. When Hank didn't immediately continue, the detective looked at Logan for an explanation. "It was desecrated during the mass nausea last night. The thing is, it was Penneman who filled it up, and none of us can come up with a feasible way he could have reached it without assistance. We spoke to the only other person who was close enough to observe, and not in the process of tossing his cookies, and he's ready to swear that no one else handed the hat to Pogey. Hunter turned away for a second, while there was no one nearby who wasn't busy hurling, and when he turned back, Pogey was just finishing up."

"What hurts is that he had to have done it on purpose." Hank's tone was injured. "He could have just leaned over the side of the couch. Instead he had to stretch way over, and risk being accused of fraud if anyone saw him." He looked aggrieved. "That's just plain vindictive."

"Okay. But even if he is lying about his physical condition, what of it? I don't think it's illegal, unless he's lying to defraud--collect donations, or something."

"And what would you call the whole Yes We Can! business?" said Logan, his voice taking on heat. "He's profiting from a lie. He wrote a book about his noble struggle with the unfeeling world of the able bodied."

"It's reprehensible, if it's true," agreed Hoffman, "but I think the worst that he could have done to him would be a civil suit." He smiled slightly. "And he'd probably be smeared all over the tabloids."

Hank snorted. "You think that would be a punishment to him? It's pretty much a given that the man is obsessed with attention. Someone once said they can write anything they want about me, as long as they spell my name right."

Logan agreed. "I suppose he'd probably try to use any notoriety to bolster his career."

"With a book, and a made for TV movie."

"Are you kidding, Hank? He'd want a big screen movie, probably with Brad Pitt playing him."

"He's not that good looking," said Hank bluntly. "But as little as I like him, I don't think he'd have been willing to make himself sick as a dog just for a little personal drama. Or rather, if he was going to do it, I believe he'd have just spiked his own food or drink. I hardly think he enjoyed competing for attention with a couple of dozen equally miserable and sick people."

They talked for another few minutes, but there was nothing else of much significance. Hoffman agreed to keep Hank informed, and Hank agreed to do the same for Hoffman. Hank didn't use the word 'investigate'. After all, he was no longer a licensed law enforcement official, but he saw no reason why he couldn't look a round a little in his capacity of a concerned private citizen.

They decided to drop by the hospital and check up on Wilson Bates. Hank insisted on going into the lobby gift shop. After a little dithering, he purchased a small plant, a sugar-free low carb candy bar, and a get-well card, taking a moment to sign it at the counter. They were directed to the cardiac care floor. Hank stopped at the nurses desk and spoke to a tiny Asian woman in a flowered set of scrubs. "Ma'am, we're here to visit Mister Wilson Bates. Is he allowed visitors?"

"He certainly is. His daughter and grandson came by last night, and they did him a world of good," she replied.

"How is he?"

"I'm sorry, I can't discuss his medical condition with anyone but family." When Hank looked concerned, she said, "I can tell you that he's not considered critical, or even guarded, but we are monitoring him for the next few days--just in case." "Is he on a special diet? I'm asking because I have a little treat I'd like to give him." Hank displayed the candy.

She looked at it, and smiled. "It might be. I can ask his doctor. You're showing a lot more sense than some visitors. You wouldn't believe the sort of things I've had to confiscate on this floor. One very sweet Italian lady had a whole Genoa salami hidden under her pillow, and she'd just got done having a triple bypass. If you'd like to go ahead and visit Mister Bates, I'll look up his doctor and see if this can be approved."

"Much obliged."

As he started to walk away, she said, "Oh, and did the armadillo play any of the slots, or is he strictly a roulette man?"