The paramedics arrived promptly, weaving through the crowd of departing people. Twenty or thirty audience members had decided to stay, but the rest had decided they'd had enough. Wilson was checked and worked over. It was decided that he was out of immediate danger, but that there had most likely been an attack, and that he had to be transported immediately, in case this was only the first infarction.

Wilson said weakly. "But the program... Tina, I hate to let you down..."

"Wilson, don't worry about that! The important thing is your health. I'll arrange something." She smiled at him, even though her eyes looked a little frantic. "That's why they pay me the big bucks." She kept up the confidant expression till Wilson had been taken away, then she slumped into a chair. "Oh, Christ! Marva is going to roast me if I don't get an episode of this show in the can. Plus she's been looking for a reason to dump this show. She wants to try to work in a shopping program. I think she intends to host herself. She figures she can buy whatever she wants, then write it off as a business expense."

"I think the IRS might want to have a talk with her about that," said Hank dryly.

"Yeah, well, Marva can be shrewd about some things, but on others she's remarkably short sighted." Tina rubbed her eyes. "Wilson has several programs taped ahead, but he airs every week, and there's no telling when he'll be able to tape again--if ever. Hank, he doesn't really need the money, but he needs the program. If he has to just stop, it really will kill him."

"Tina, this is your last show of the day, right?"

"Yes. Once it was taped, we were heading home."

"Is there some sort of rule that no one else can host the show?"

Tina frowned. "Well, no. Wilson has had a guest host before."

"Why can't you host it?"

She stared at him. "Funny, you don't look insane."

"Tina, you're an attractive, personable, articulate young woman. How long is this program?"

"It's a half hour, minus breaks for commercials."

"You ought to be able to bullshit... Oh, beg pardon--you ought to be able to improvise for that long."

"Maybe--if I had a guest. I think that even if Cosgrove has managed to catch Bit o' Honey, that poor beast isn't going to be in any shape to sparkle for the audience."

"And even if you wanted to feature that snake, the owner has already left. He said he had to go buy another aquarium, then put Rupert somewhere quiet for awhile to settle his nerves."

Tina was thinking. Now she pulled out her cell phone and started dialing. "I'll call the cat owner. I want to know why I ended up with cold and scaly instead of fuzzy-purry. Hello, Rose? Hi, it's Tina Bergeron. I was wondering... What? No. No. Look, Rose, it would have been inconsiderate, if I'd cancelled on such short notice, but I didn't. No, I didn't send any email. What did it say? Uh-huh. One sec." She covered the receiver. "She says that she received an email this morning saying that her appearance was cancelled, and we'd call and reschedule at a later date."

"That fellow with the snake said something about getting a scheduling change, too," Hank commented.

"This is weird." She turned back to the phone. "Rose, something odd is going on. I never sent you a cancellation. I can't help it. What was the name on the email? Can you check? I'll hold." She looked at Hank. "She says that she got the email last night. I haven't contacted her since I finished setting this up last month, and I scheduled the snake owner less than a week ago. We never cut things that close... Yes, Rose. Tell me the sender. No, that's not me. It's close, but no. Look, did you save any of the other emails I've sent you? Look at that. Momofchase, right? Now, look at the new one. Look closely." She glanced at Hank. "Monofchase. Yeah, I'll be damned, too. It wasn't me. No, don't apologize. You weren't the only one. Now, I need to ask a big favor. Can you come in and bring Piebald with you? No, you aren't too late. Taping was unavoidably held up. Act of God. I'll explain it to you when you get here--if you get here?" She paused, then her shoulders relaxed a little, and she gave Hank a thumbs up. "Great! What? Kittens? Oh, you bet! Bring them along. Kittens are always a hit. Thanks, hon. I owe you one."

She punched the off button with a sigh. "Okay, that's something. But an entire half-hour of kittens is going to be a little thin. I'd give anything for another animal. Heck, if Chase had goldfish I'd go home and get them."

"You mean to tell me that Chase doesn't have a pet? Oh, that's just wrong."

"I know, but it's in the apartment rules. I might be able to sneak in a hamster, but Chase isn't interested in rodents, thank God. When me move in with Logan, we're going to..." She stumbled to a stop, blushing.

Hank smiled. "I'm glad I brought along a suit. Logan asked me to stand up for him."

"I just wasn't sure how you'd handle knowing the honeymoon started a little early."

Hank patted her arm gently. "Tina, Logan's a smart man, with a fine sense of judgment. The first time he married, he picked out a classy lady, and I'm sure he has the second time, too."

"You're a real gentleman, Hank. Now, if I can only figure out something here. I almost wish the security force had patrol dogs. I could shanghai one of... Oo, no--not with a cat on the show."

"Actually, Tina, any professional dog worth his salt will have been trained to be cat-tolerant. I've worked a few times with scent hounds--bloodhounds for tracking and searches for bodies, and really sweet beagle on a drug smuggling case, and you could have set them down in the middle of a Cat Fanciers show and they wouldn't have turned a hair."

Tina was eyeing him. "You know a good bit about animals, don't you?"

"Some."

"And you're a pet owner."

"I suppose Chill Pill qualifies." He noticed the gleam in her eyes. "Tina? What are you thinking of?"

"It would take fifteen minutes to get back to Logan's, then another fifteen back here."

"Oh, Tina, no."

"We haven't had an armadillo on this program, I know that." She was getting excited. "And I have a friend over at Channel 7 news. He could have a copy of that tape of you and Chill in Nevada here in no time at all."

"Lord Almighty, Tina, you're not going to revive that thing? It's going to be hard enough to live down. Look, I've done a bit of public relations work for the Department of Justice and the Rangers--I figured it was part of the job, but this..." She was looking at him with wide eyes. "That isn't going to work."

Her bottom lip trembled. "I guess Chase doesn't really need to go to camp this year. And his shoes should last a few more months--if his feet don't keep growing at the same rate. He'll understand if we have to give up cable, even though I'm sure he's going to miss Blue's Clues in the afternoons."

Hank heaved a sigh. "Stop it. You don't fight fair, woman." He held out his hand. "You're going to have to let me borrow that kiddy car of yours."

Hank almost hoped that Chill Pill had dug himself a nice deep burrow and decided to take a long nap, but the little creature came waddling to him the moment he stepped into Logan's back yard and called. He wasn't too pleased about getting back into the pet taxi, but he only shifted a little before settling down for the ride.

Hank had left his ID at the front desk, so he stopped to collect it again from Beau. While Hank was pinning it back on, Beau bent and peered into the pet taxi, then jerked back. "Damn, man! What is that thing?"

"That's my 'dillo--Chill Pill. You don't need to pull back so quick, Beau. He's never bitten anyone, and if he did, it probably wouldn't be much more than a good pinch."

"Yeah, well, probably isn't absolutely, my man. I haven's seen anything like that since Jurassic Park."

"No, I think armadillos are Pleistocene instead of Jurassic."

"Tina talked you into going on that show, huh?"

Hank picked up the pet taxi. "That woman can do sad puppy dog eyes better than an eight week old cocker spaniel."

Hank had expected it to be like pulling teeth, but he enjoyed it. He always liked talking about armadillos in general ("The state animal of Texas."), and Chill Pill in particular. There was some good natured skepticism about Chill's ability to use a litter box, but they doubted him a little less when he demonstrated that Chill would come when called, "Though he is a little like a cat when it comes to that--he'll do it if he's in the mood." That had gotten a good laugh.

The mama cat and her three kittens were a big hit, too. The audience ohed and ahed as the fluff balls tottered around on shaky legs. They became fascinated by Chill Pill, sniffing and pawing at him. Chill suffered it all with dignity, even when Piebald jumped up on his back, settled down on her haunches, and began to groom him between the ears, purring so loud it could be heard into the third row.

When the closing theme (How Much Is That Doggy In The Window?, and Hank thought that Wilson probably gritted his teeth every time he heard it) started, Hank suddenly said, "Shoot! Hi, Heloise, Anton, Eloise, baby! Hi! Eloise, you be a good girl and kick behind at soccer." The show went out on a burst of laughter and applause. Hank blushed, but explained, "That child would give me no peace when I get home if I had forgotten that." He thought for a second, then said, "Please tell me I can get a tape of this--otherwise I just made a fool of myself for nothing."

Tina laughed, standing on tiptoe to kiss Hank's cheek. "The Texas Rangers to the rescue once again. Thank you, Hank. I really owe you one."

"You just keep making Logan happy and I consider us more than square."

The audience was filing out, all but a half-dozen gone. From the back of the studio they heard several slow, deliberate claps. It was obviously a gesture calculated to draw attention, and it worked. All eyes turned to the woman who had just entered, and was standing at the top of the bank of seats.

She was a tall, slender woman with an artfully tousled mop of shiny blonde hair. Once she was sure that she had been noticed, she strolled down the aisle. She moved with a slink that was more feline than Piebald's walk. She was wearing a silky shirt, jeans, and boots, but Hank could tell that the jeans had at least half as much as Heloise normally spent on a season's wardrobe, and the boots had never come in contact with anything earthier than a manicured lawn.

She was also wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, which looked a lot like the large, white framed ones Audrey Hepburn had worn in Breakfast At Tiffany's (one of his mama's favorite movies), and Hank had the feeling that the choice was very deliberate. She had a lot more bosom than Audrey Hepburn had, but then Hank suspected that Audrey had a lot more class than this woman. He was pretty sure that the dark haired actress had never tried so blatantly to attract attention.

The woman approached the set, saying, "Well, well, well, Tina. I must say I'm impressed. You improvised like a pro."

"Why, thank you, Marva. I'll take that as a compliment--even though I am a pro."

Her smile was condescending. "Of course you are." She glanced down to find a kitten crawling up on her boot. "Oh. How sweet." Her voice lacked conviction, and she shook her foot--not brutally, but more roughly than was necessary. The kitten squeaked as it rolled, plump bottom over fuzzy head. Piebald rushed over, putting herself between the woman and the baby. She bushed up to almost twice her size, put her ears back flat against her skull, and hissed like an over-heated radiator. Marva backed up a step, saying nervously. "Do something with that animal! If I get scratched, I'll sue you for the plastic surgery."

Hank bent down and scooped the kitten into his palm, then held it under Piebald's nose. "Here, Mama. See? Your baby is just fine. Why don't you take him?" Piebald deflated a little, chirping to the kitten. Then she picked it up by the scruff of the neck and carried it to the basket that Rose had used to transport the cats. She placed it inside with its siblings, then hopped in and settled down with them.

Rose quickly latched the basket, then glared at Marva. "Lady--and I use that term loosely--those cats are worth more than your last movie pulled down--including popcorn sales." She hefted the basket, nodded at Tina and Hank, and carried it away.

"I wasn't expecting you, Marva," said Tina. "What are you doing here? When was the last time you came by? When they shot that station promo?"

"No," said Marva coolly. "It was when I showed those potential investors around. I came over because I heard that we were having a particularly nasty day." She waved one well manicured hand vaguely. "I thought I might help."

"I did all right."

She was eyeing Hank. He'd seen that look before. It was the same sort of appraising stares you might see bidders giving a steer at a fat stock show. How do you do? I'm Marva Barbee-Clutterbuck."

She offered her hand, palm downward, and Hank wondered if he was expected to shake it, or kiss it. He settled for gripping, turning, and shaking. "Yes, ma'am--I recognized you."

Her smile grew almost incandescent. "You did? You sweet thing!" She pouted a little. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Herbert Crank, ma'am, but my friends call me Hank."

The very tip of her tongue darted out to briefly touch her upper lip. "Are we going to be friends?"

Hank blinked. "Uh..."

Marva froze. "Your animal is sniffing my cuff."

Chill Pill was nosing the denim. He sneezed several times, and Hank noticed a damp patch appear on Marva's pant leg. Hank had a feeling that the woman wouldn't deal well with armadillo mucus, so he acted quickly. He reached down to pick up Chill Pill. The 'dillo suddenly developed a stubborn streak, and rolled up into a ball. "Chill, you know that doesn't work. You're just making it easier for me." Hank picked Chill Pill up and easily deposited him in the pet taxi, shutting the door. "Please excuse him."

She shrugged. "Maybe it's the smog."

Hank thought about the air quality in Houston. "Could be."

"I'd like to say thank you for your generous help, Hank. Have dinner with me tonight."

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I have a date."

She wasn't a good enough actress to suppress her look of consternation. "Really?"

"Hunter Overend asked me to have dinner at his restaurant."

Marva blinked, and examined Hank more closely, pulling the sunglasses halfway down her pert nose, exposing a pair of pale blue eyes. "Hunter? Oh, that explains it. Well, we must have drinks or something. How long will you be here?"

"For a week, but I'm not sure what sort of activities my host has planned."

"We'll work something out," she said dismissively, pushing the shades back into place. "Ciao, bella!" She turned and sashayed back up the aisle and out.

Hank looked at Tina. "That woman just spoke Italian for no good reason."

"She does a lot of things for no good reason--like most of her acting career. Let's go get Chase. I'm ready to get out of here."

That evening they ordered Chinese food, and Hank confessed himself astonished at the number of delivery menus Logan had stuck to the corkboard by his phone in the kitchen. "In my area you have your choice of three different delivery services--Pizza Inn, Pizza Hut, and Pappa John's Pizza."

"I like Chinese 'sketti," said Chase, messily slurping a noodle into his mouth.

Tina wiped soy sauce off the boy's chin. "Those are noodles, Chase. Did you know that the Chinese invented spaghetti?"

Chase gave him a wide-eyed look. "Get out of town."

"I have to introduce him to Eloise," said Hank. "Tina, are things always that hectic at your job?"

"There's always a few minor disasters going on at any station, but I have to admit that today was pretty spectacular. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe the building is standing over an Indian burial ground, or something. If I didn't have any ethics, and I wanted some quick cash, I could sell a story about 'The Cursed Studio' to the tabloids."

"What is it with you women and tabloids? Heloise has an ambition to sell them a story, too. I'm afraid you'd need more than what happened today to interest them."

"I have it. Things have been happening for a couple of months now. I didn't think much of it at first, because none of it was really awful--no bombs. But recently I started to put together all the little incidents I've been hearing about. I've come to the conclusion that no one group of individuals can have such collective bad luck." She started ticking off on her fingers. "Someone put dye in the make-up one time, and a hair remover the other. That wasn't nice. One of the actresses has sensitive skin, uses her own special cosmetics, and it gave her a bad rash. She couldn't film her show for almost a week. Of course Marva didn't mind--since there was no understudy, she moved in and became guest host. Another time there was a hideous stink, and we found dead fish in several air ducts. Someone loosened the casters on a chair and dumped a guest on their behind. Vaseline was smeared on all the camera lenses; bulbs were loosened in the lights before filming. Superglue was smeared on some of the seats--oh, man, was that a nightmare! It cost us a fortune to replace the audience members' ruined clothing. There were a lot of things--I'd have to sit down with a pad and pen to get them all straight."

Logan frowned. "Honey, some of those things could just be coincidence, or pranks, but when you add it up, it looks pretty nasty."

"But why? I mean, what possible reason would someone have for doing something like this?"

"I don't know," said Hank. "I'd have to know a lot more about the people who do business there, and what's been going on."

Tina bit her lip. "The people who do business there?"

"I know it isn't a nice thing to consider, Tina, but I'm afraid that when you consider the number and type of things that have been going on, there isn't much doubt--it has to be some sort of inside job."