Although Lieutenant Brant was already sitting at the corner booth when I entered the diner, I still stopped at the counter to place my order before joining him.

"Glad you could make it, Eldridge."

"I'm glad you asked to meet where we could get a decent cup of coffee. I have recurring nightmares about the sludge you serve me in your office."

"I thought you'd rather hear what I had to say somewhere other than downtown."

"Hear what?"

He laid his arms on the table. "First of all, it's not free. I need your help."

I thanked Zetra for the coffee, waited for her to leave before I used a napkin to clean what she'd spilled. "Is it work-related or something personal?"

The Lieutenant sighed. "I'm investigating another impossible crime."

I laughed. "Didn't I already solve one of those for you?"

"Yes, and I fixed Emily's ticket so your daughter wouldn't see her insurance rates skyrocket. We're even."

I sipped my coffee, watched him over the rim. "You seem a little touchy."

He sighed. "Yeah, well, this isn't easy."

"Take your time."

"We'll start with my problem. Then we'll get to yours." The Lieutenant took a deep breath. "A guy got himself killed over on Windsor Heights. The house is a reproduction of some famous Mexican villa: adobe construction, tile roof, no screens on the windows. The lot is surrounded by a six-foot stone wall with a locked gate in front."

"Thinking of a second career as a real estate agent?"

The Lieutenant scowled. "Arthur Pelham was killed by a poisoned dart. He must have heard something while he was sitting at his desk because he crossed to the window and...pow."

"It was probably more like a pfft."

He ignored my joke. "We found the blow pipe inside the wall. The shooter probably dropped it by mistake."

I took another sip of coffee. "Have you found any witnesses?"

"Nobody saw, heard, or smelled anything."

"You asked about smell?"

The Lieutenant finally smiled, if ruefully. "It's the poisoned dart. Wouldn't a tribal medicine man decked out with war-paint and feathers have built a fire to dance around first?"

"That's a question for the profiling unit at the FBI." I motioned to Zetra for a refill. "So why did you call this an impossible crime? Maybe the weapon is a little esoteric but I imagine any non-smoker can fire one."

"There's a catch."

"Isn't there always."

"The window that the dart was shot through; it was closed."

"Wind?"

The Lieutenant shook his head. "You really have to work to open and close those windows. I mean tug. According to the housekeeper, Pelham kept the windows open for the air."

"Who discovered the body?"

"Patrol officer. Neighbor called the police when Pelham didn't show up for their daily game of chess and didn't answer his telephone."

Zetra stopped by to top off my coffee.

I turned to the Lieutenant. "Aren't you having anything?"

He shook his head. "My stomach is bothering me."

"Warm milk?"

"Not unless you want me to puke."

I smiled up at Zetra. "That will be all."

I took notes as the Lieutenant gave me a rundown on his suspects. Each had an alibi, none ironclad.

"How much leeway on the time of death?"

"Pelham busted his watch on the desk when he fell."

My expression must have spoken volumes because he quickly continued, "The ME says it can't be more than an hour off according to core body temp."

"Do I have access to the property?"

"Sure. But I made you copies of the crime scene photos."

I smiled. "Because you'd rather not have the media notice me going into the house."

The Lieutenant winced. "Bringing in a PI isn't quite the same as hiring a psychic but they'd hang me just as high."

"Okay, I'll work your impossible crime. Now, what's this thing I need to hear?"

The Lieutenant looked down at his hands, bobbed his Adam's apple a few times. "We've been keeping an eye on a dealer, building a case. We've got Emily on tape."

"My Emily?"

He nodded. "Your daughter bought a bag of marijuana."

I didn't know what to say. How much did she use that she knew a dealer? I saw her every weekend. How could I have missed the signs? There had to be a mistake. "Are you sure?"

The Lieutenant grimaced and put his hand to his chest. "I've had heartburn ever since I realized I needed to let you know."

"How long?"

"A week. Then the murder came up and gave me an angle. I pulled the tape." He slipped a brown paper bag onto the table. "The crime scene photos are in there too. What are you going to tell your ex?"

"I don't know." The ugliness of the divorce behind us, we managed to remain friendly enough to raise a teenage girl between us.

"You can't keep your ex in the dark. Emily lives with her five days out of seven."

"Maybe it was a one-time thing."

The Lieutenant's face said it all. Someone who wanted to experiment did so with a friend, not a dealer.

"Right."

He pulled himself out of the booth. "You know where to find me."

"Sure." I glanced at the paper bag, pushed it away. I'd always assumed she would come to me about something like this. Wasn't I her friend as well as her father? Apparently I wasn't much of either.

Nursing the coffee, I reviewed the last few weekends to see if I had missed some tell-tale clue. Perhaps I was blind to Emily's problems because she was my daughter and I was a private investigator who saved other people's daughters.

Leaving money on the table, I left the diner and climbed into my car, the brown bag on my lap. I just sat there, staring off into space.

I'd probably be there still except that I slammed my brake when the car next to me slowly reversed. I laughed at my mistake. At least the illusion was enough to disrupt my funk. I had an impossible crime to solve.

I opened the bag and ignored the tape, pulling out the photographs. The lieutenant had given me everything, even a shot of the photographer's shoe and a busy blur that almost made me dizzy just looking at it.

Among the better attempts at photography, there were four establishing shots of the room, one from each corner.

The desk was located in the center of the room, facing the door, back to the window.

The chair was lying on its side and various office supplies littered the floor. Pelham was between the desk and the window, scrunched up on the rug as though he was trying to eat his way through.

There were close-ups of the body, the desk, and the window. Nothing jingled my bell.

Outside, there were photographs of the tree overhanging the wall, a series focusing on the murder weapon, and a shot that baffled me no matter which way I turned it.

I didn't know who was shooting the crime scene photos these days but I wouldn't be surprised to discover he shared the same dealer as Emily.

Just what the heck was my daughter thinking?

I laid the crime scene photos on the dashboard.

Was this about the Correia boy? I testified against his father so Emily punished me by getting involved with drugs?

No. Emily didn't stoop to mind games and besides she'd been brutally honest with me about her feelings before, during, and after the trial.

Perhaps she was going through a stage. Divorce could be hard on kids and I knew she was overwhelmed by the task of deciding on her future.

Actually, for all I knew Brant had misidentified her, and now I was grasping at straws.

I moved the crime scene photos to the passenger seat and started the engine. First I'd solve the Lieutenant's impossible crime. Then I'd try to untangle my own mess.

It must have been tough for him, informing me that I didn't know what was happening under my own roof. I was surprised he entrusted his murder case to a PI who couldn't see his hand in front of his face.

The Lieutenant had given me three names. Each of the people had motive. None appeared to have means. Opportunity was up for grabs.

I took a left onto Manchester.

Pelham's daughter ran a mystery bookstore located just outside the fringes of nearly almost downtown. I didn't imagine she saw much foot traffic.

There was a single parking space in front of MISSING PERSONS. It was empty until I pulled in.

I entered the bookstore, waited for the chimes to bring Sandy to the counter from the back room. "Do you have any John Dickson Carr?"

"Not in stock."

"Edward Hoch?"

"Sorry." Her left eyebrow twitched when I pronounced his name correctly to rhyme with coke.

"Impossible crimes are sort of a hobby with me."

Sandy smiled. "The puzzle does gladden the intellect."

"I hear you've had some experience."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Your father."

She drew in a slow breath. "Are you with the police?"

"I'm a private detective." I placed my card on the counter next to a pile of bookmarks. "The name's Eldridge."

"Why the ploy?"

"I've never been good at introductions." I glanced around the bookstore. "Is this a good time to talk?"

"I already told the police everything I know which isn't much. We were never close. I doubt I've spoken to him once in the last ten years."

"You're in the will."

She shrugged. "He managed to appease his conscience in such a way that he wouldn't live to see the expense."

"That's clever."

"He was a clever man."

"I meant your turn of phrase."

"One can't help but be educated by what one reads."

"That's where I came in, asking about books concerning impossible crimes."

"Yes." She smiled. "Are you hoping I'll confess to the murder?"

"That would make my life easier."

"It would also make me a liar."

Unable to stop myself from laughing aloud, I held up my hands. "You win. Assuming you've learned something from all your reading, who do you think killed Pelham?"

"I didn't know him well enough to know his enemies. In fiction, the least likely suspect is often guilty. In real life, isn't it just the opposite?"

"Sometimes."

Sandy picked up my card. "I'll call you if his ghost comes to me with an accusation."

"Or, after the case is over, to invite me to dinner."

She held my gaze. "And if I'm the one you put away?"

"A very late dinner."

She smiled. "You'd better get cracking."

Since I couldn't think of a comeback quickly enough, I left Sandy with the last word. Driving towards the next name on the list, I wondered why I had allowed myself to flirt.

Of course I had the answer to that before I even finished asking the question. A new relationship would increase my obligations and responsibilities, shrinking the size of the pie labeled Emily.

How did I miss the smell of marijuana, the red eyes, the giggles? Later, I'd beat myself up later.

The second suspect was his housekeeper. Motive was slight. She admitted to sleeping with him and that he wanted to end the relationship. How scorned could she be if she continued to work for him?

According to the Lieutenant, for the next several hours I should be able to find her over on Piedmont since she cleaned houses in rigid half-day blocks.

I parked in front of 72 Piedmont, a large Georgian which dwarfed the low-end Toyota in the driveway, and snuck a peek through the vehicle's windows as I passed. The car was spotless.

I brushed off the pang of shoemaker's guilt.

At the front door, I pressed the lighted button and listened to the dulcimer tones that escaped from an open window.

Thirty seconds later, a woman answered the door. "Can I help you?"

"Gail Landers?"

She blinked. "Yes. How did you--"

"I'm a private detective investigating the murder of Arthur Pelham. Lieutenant Brant told me where I could find you."

Gail glanced at her watch. "You know I'm working."

"Just a few minutes of your time is all I need."

She paused. "We can talk while I scrub the toilet."

"Just so long as you don't vacuum." She didn't laugh but then she'd already turned away to lead me into the house so perhaps she didn't hear what I said.

Inside, the place was even more impressive than the outside had prepared me to believe.

Gail walked quickly and I almost lost her at an intersection. She was pulling on thick plastic gloves when I found her in the bathroom.

I whistled. "This is one big bathroom."

"The larger the bathroom, the easier it is to clean."

"What's Pelham's bathroom like?"

Gail lifted the toilet seat and sprayed all surfaces with some noxious chemical. I could feel my nostril hairs vibrate before entering their death throes.

"Small and difficult." She lifted a two-headed brush from a tool chest on the floor and began scrubbing, switching back and forth between the bristle and the sponge.

"Who do you think killed him?"

"His affairs were none of my concern."

"One was."

There was a slight break in her perfect stroke. "That is history."

"So is Pelham. Why did you continue to work for him?"

"I needed the money."

My toilet hadn't been as clean when new. "I imagine a good housekeeper is in demand."

"Finding a client takes time. I couldn't afford to have an open slot right now."

"Why right now?"

She stopped, took a deep breath which must have frosted her lungs. "If I answer your question, will you leave me to finish my work in peace?"

"Certainly." After all, I had her schedule.

"I need to earn as much as I can now because I'll have to cut back on my hours once I have the baby."

"Is Pelham the father?"

"He was."

I left my card on the tool box and eventually found my way out of the house.

Did the pregnancy give Gail more motive or less? Remembering the state of my apartment, could I afford her rates?

Was parenthood ever as simple as we imagined?

Chuck Kutner was Pelham's old business partner. He didn't keep regular hours anywhere and didn't answer any of the telephone numbers I'd been given by the Lieutenant.

Three years after selling their business, the two men were still claiming the other cooked the books and skimmed profits. With Pelham dead, Chuck wouldn't have to defend himself against allegations of embezzlement, though he may have traded that for a charge of first degree murder.

Emily had to realize that an arrest would haunt her forever.

College admission departments took a dim view of court-ordered community service and employers almost always asked about criminal records. Did the process of mapping her future so freak her out that Emily was trying to sabotage her efforts?

I forced the thoughts from my head so I could focus on the issue at hand. The Lieutenant told me that Chuck was a big darts player so I started checking the taverns.

Twenty minutes later, a bartender pointed him out.

"Chuck Kutner?"

He turned his head but kept his eyes on his opponent's tosses. "Yeah."

I explained why I was there.

Chuck smiled, probably more at his opponent's inability to score than at the pleasure of my company.

He spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Give me five minutes."

Chuck licked his fingers as he approached the line. I withdrew to the bar and asked for a soda and lemon.

The bartender handed me my drink. "You here to play Chuck?"

"In a way."

"I won't be able to start you a tab then."

I placed a five on the bar, turned to watch my suspect.

Chuck played a mean game of cricket. Not two minutes went by before he joined

me thumbing a sheaf of bills. "I don't suppose you're a dart man."

"Not against you, I'm not."

He laughed, ordered a beer.

Chuck folded the winnings into his shirt pocket and gave me his full attention. "So what do you want to know?"

"Someone painted a bulls-eye on Pelham. What do you make of that?"

"We had our difficulties." Chuck took a sip of his beer. "Pelham wasn't an easy man. We fought the entire time we worked together and ever since. Some people are like that. They rub you the wrong way and do it on purpose."

"So you're not surprised someone killed him."

"Surprised? Yes. I had more reason than most to hate Pelham but hate doesn't necessarily translate to murder. I projected his face onto whatever spot I wanted to hit. Now that Pelham's gone, I'm going to need to find a new nemesis or I'm through."

"You know he was killed by a poisoned dart."

Chuck sniffed. "And maybe if he lived until next month he'd be run down by a Dodge Dart. Big deal."

"When was the last time you talked to him?"

"Face to face? Maybe a month and a half. The only friends we had in common were the lawyers."

I nodded toward the dart board. "Thanks for the demonstration."

"Any time."

As I left the bar I turned on my phone and saw that I had a message. I called Emily back from the car.

"What's up?"

"Can we get together and talk?"

"Sure. Where and when?"

"I'm at work right now but it's slow and they're letting me go home early."

"I'll pick you up in front of the west entrance in fifteen."

"Great."

I started the car.

Emily was a Purchasing Assistant at Oddz N Endz, one of perhaps a dozen accessory stores at the mall.

She knew more about hair ornamentation than anyone should have to. Or perhaps that was only me talking. I smiled as I pictured Emily rolling her eyes at her Daddy so hopelessly out of touch.

My warm feeling faded when I remembered just how out of touch I was. If Emily wanted to talk about something besides her drug use, how did I broach the subject?

I could ask three perfect strangers whether they were guilty of murder but I didn't want to hear my daughter say she was naughty.

To distract myself from the coming conversation, I mulled over the three suspects. Perhaps the key to this case was the bizarre manner in which Pelham was killed. Solve the puzzle and win a confession.

Say the window was open when the dart was fired. Pelham could have taken the shot, closed the window to protect himself from a second, and then fallen to the floor. Unless the poison was instantaneous, facing meant nothing.

The thing was, I couldn't picture any of the suspects up in that tree, extending a blow pipe over the wall, making a sound to catch Pelham's attention and draw him towards the open window.

I entered the mall parking lot and made my way to the west entrance.

Why depend on such a complicated approach? Pelham might have turned his head and seen the killer while still at his desk. Then all he needed to do was stand and step aside. A dart wasn't going through thick, adobe walls.

I slowed as I reached the entrance and saw Emily disengage from the group standing there. Stopping, I unlocked the passenger door.

Emily slid into the seat and pecked me on the cheek.

Her eyes appeared normal and she wasn't covered with crumbs. On the other hand, she had paper clips hanging from her ears. "Anywhere in particular you want to go?"

She shook her head. "Just around. Mom's picking me up in half an hour. My car's in the shop."

"I can bring you home."

Emily bit her lip. "Mom can't know we talked."

"Okay. I'll just circle the mall then. The size of this lot, it may take twenty minutes to complete the loop."

Turning to the window, Emily sighed. "This isn't easy."

"Lieutenant Brant said the same thing earlier today. I'll tell you what I told him: take your time."

"I don't know if I should. She asked me not to."

"She?"

"Mom."

"Mom?"

Emily nodded. "Mom found a lump. They operated, discovered more traces. Now she's on chemo."

I slowed, turned into an empty slot and killed the engine. "Are you saying she has cancer?"

Emily covered her face. "The prognosis is good. No one but me even knows."

Shifting in my seat, I pulled Emily into my arms. "I'm sorry."

"It's not fair."

"Why is she keeping it a secret?"

"You know Mom."

I did. And I could understand her point of view. Heck, if I had cancer, I wouldn't even let myself know. "You say the doctors are hopeful?"

"Very." Her voice was muffled by our embrace. Emily sat up and wiped her eyes. "I'm probably a fool for even mentioning it to you. Mom wouldn't like it."

"I'm your father."

Emily made a brave attempt at a smile. "It's helped just to talk." She sniffed. "You better take me back. Now I need to freshen up so Mom doesn't know I was crying."

"How's Mom reacting to the chemo?"

"It makes her sick. Believe it or not, I've been buying her marijuana."

"Does it help?"

"Mostly."

I started the engine and turned the car around. I'd been prepared to convince Emily to enter a drug rehab program and here she was trying to help her Mom cope with the side-effects of cancer treatment. "The dealer you've been buying from is under police surveillance."

"You're joking."

"I'll talk to the Lieutenant, work something out, find you a safer source."

"Thanks Daddy."

"You, ah, haven't tried any yourself, have you?"

"No. I heard pot interferes with the how heroin is metabolized." Emily laughed before I had a chance to have a heart attack. "Gotcha."

I stopped in front of the west entrance. "You did."

Emily pecked me on the cheek again before leaving.

My ex and I had been married fifteen years. She never even got the flu. Colds that laid me out inconvenienced her for a few hours. I only hoped the doctors knew what they were doing.

Someone behind me honked and I suddenly realized I'd been sitting there so long Emily was no longer in sight. Waving in the rearview mirror, I drove back to the diner to recaffinate.

I brought the brown paper bag in with me, dumped the tape into the trash on my way to a booth where I spread out the crime scene photos.

I examined them again, one at a time.

Nothing had changed except for me. I now saw what I missed before and I knew why the murderer used such an arcane method.

I tested my theory, tried to find holes. Believing myself more right by the minute, I called Brant.

"So who's the killer?"

"Gail Landers, the housekeeper. If you paid any attention to the crime scene photos, you would have noticed paper clips and rubber bands under the desk. You might even have asked yourself why."

"Why?"

"She rigged the dart to shot Pelham when he opened his middle drawer. The blow pipe in the yard was a red herring. It was just her bad luck that he closed the window the day of the murder."

"What's her motive?"

"Love. Do you have the lab results yet on the poison?"

"They're working on it."

"Don't be surprised if it's a combination of industrial strength cleaning agents." I took a deep breath. "And I talked with Emily. She's Okay. I'll explain more later."

"Good work. Buy yourself a coffee."

"Consider it done."

After signaling Zetra for a coffee, I slid the crime scene photos together and returned them to the bag.