However, he discovered as soon as he arrived that Zephyr was not in nearly as good a mood. "Marsh and Oscar took my cafe account while I was sick!" he grumbled as Connor walked into his office. "And Oscar did the groundwork for the Morey account! At least we get to keep that one. In fact, we have an appointment at 9:30. Ready?"

"Yup," said Connor. "I'll get us a car."

"I used to know someone named Diane Morey," Zephyr mused as he gathered the paperwork. "We went to school together."

Connor shrugged. "Maybe it's her."

"I also went to school with a Thomas Jefferson and a Jimmy Hendricks."

"I had a friend named Mike Myers when I was a kid," Connor added.

Zephyr smirked. "There you go! And you'd better go. We need to leave right now."

Connor hurried down the hall, smiling to himself as he remembered his old friend Mike. Back then the actor by the same name hadn't quite reached fame, but at least they'd gotten to rib him about being the villain in the Halloween movies. Connor knocked on Mr. Dykstra's door, asked him for a set of keys, and returned with them to Zephyr's office.

"All set," he said, holding up the keys for Zephyr to see.

Zephyr grabbed his tool bag, and as they headed toward the front door, Connor swung by his carrel to get his backpack. He had something in it he wanted to bring. They located the little Honda Civic that matched the keys and Connor opened it using the remote lock on the keychain. He squeezed into the driver's seat (it really was a little car) and adjusted himself as well as he could in the cramped compartment.

Zephyr looked just as uncomfortable beside him, although at least Zephyr fit better in the seat. He was just tense and nervous, which Connor had expected but still wasn't used to. That reminded Connor of the item in his bag. He reached into the back seat and awkwardly pulled it out of the side pocket.

"Hey, I brought you something," he told Zephyr. "My friend burned this for me. It's by Count Basie. I've never heard of them, but from what my friend said about them, I thought you might like them. Want me to play it?"

Zephyr nodded and stopped staring at the dashboard long enough to eye Connor cynically. "Sure. But he's not a them; he's a him."

"Oh, okay. Sorry." Connor slipped the CD into the player and started the car. "Ready?"

"Yup," Zephyr mumbled.

Connor backed out, reminded himself to drive as innocuously as he could, and they hit the road. The music started; it turned out to be that old jazz music with lots of horns and stuff and people with sultry voices singing very slowly. Connor doubted he would have had the patience to listen to it by himself. And it wasn't what he'd consider driving music, either. But Zephyr seemed to enjoy it - he was even starting to relax a bit - and that alone was worth it. After a while, Connor decided that Count Basie was growing on him.

"Hey, this is pretty good," he told Zephyr, in case it helped. Zephyr replied with something between a mutter and a grunt.

"Cool," replied Zephyr. "Someone named Robert Johnson went to my college. I didn't know him, but I saw his name around a few times."

"Robert Johnson?" Connor couldn't think of anyone famous by that name.

"You've never heard of Robert Johnson? He was... hmm. He was a bluesman. A long time ago."

"Oh," Connor said. No wonder he hadn't heard of the guy. He didn't think he could name a single blues artist, unless Eric Clapton counted, and Connor wasn't sure he did. Clapton was more into the classic rock genre, right? "My freshman English professor was Roberta Johnson. Hey, what started this whole name thing, anyway?" Connor asked.

"Diane Morey," Zephyr reminded him.

"Right. Now who was that again?"

"Our client."

"I know that!" Connor insisted. "But what famous person is named Diane Morey?"

Zephyr smirked. "There isn't one. Not that I know of."

"Oh." Then Connor remembered: the other Diane Morey was Zephyr's old classmate. Right. They were almost at the destination, so he pulled out the printout of directions and double-checked the last couple of turns. He preferred to be his own navigator because Zephyr tended to get frustrated, and Zephyr didn't seem to mind relinquishing the responsibility.

He located the house - it was a two-story cottage with a badly neglected, overgrown yard - and pulled into the empty driveway. "We're here," he announced, glancing at Zephyr, who had at some point gone back to staring at the dashboard. Connor unbuckled his seat belt, got out of the car, and reached back and got his backpack and the equipment bag. Zephyr got out of the passenger seat and stopped. He stood there, leaning against the open car door, and Connor waited on his own side of the car. Back when Connor had first gotten his internship, Zephyr used to open his notes and pretend to peruse them; he had adopted that habit himself for a while, until he realized it didn't help. Now he knew that the best thing to do was wait, and then just before they headed toward the front door, make some innocuous observation about something. His ability to make this sort of small allowance was what helped Connor keep his job.

He scanned the tangle of brown grass and weeds and noted how it contrasted with the well-tended lawns hugging it tightly on either side of Diane's property. This was probably because Diane was no longer able to care for it herself, he mused. He had read her profile, but it didn't give much background; just that her injury was "recent." Clients in her situation could be difficult because they were still very uncomfortable with themselves. Connor prepared himself to play diplomat, and it occurred to him that Zephyr was taking so long to compose himself because he was doing the same.

He glanced discreetly at his watch. 9:28; perfect timing. He heaved the equipment bag over one shoulder, grabbed his backpack in the opposite hand, and wandered around the car to the edge of the lawn near the front walk. He was in luck; he saw a weed that looked familiar. He bent down, placed the equipment bag on the pavement, and plucked the nearly dead weed.

"Me and my sisters used to play with these when we were kids," he told Zephyr. "We called them Valentine plants, because, look, if you peel the seed pod open, the seeds look like little hearts." The dry seed pod fell open easily in his hand and he held out the black seeds scattered across his palm for Zephyr to see.

Zephyr nodded. "Cool. Ready?"

"Yup," Connor replied. He brushed the seeds off his hand, picked up the bag again, and followed Zephyr to the front door. Zephyr rang the bell and they waited. And waited. Several long minutes later, the door opened and a woman with striking blonde hair peered up at them from a cheap-looking electric wheelchair.

"Hello, Ms. Morey?" Zephyr greeted her. "I'm Zephyr DeCastle from MARZ, Inc. We have an appointment this morning."

Diane Morey gawked at Zephyr, and Zephyr blinked back at her. "Oh my God," she finally gasped. "Zephyr."

"Hi." Zephyr looked, Connor decided, the most uncomfortable he'd ever seen him look... and that was saying a lot.

He waited for one of them to make a move, and finally took the matter into his own hands. "Hi," he said, "I'm Connor, his assistant. Can we, um, come inside?"

Diane gave him a blank look, and then seemed to grasp what he was trying to say. "Oh, oh of course!" She rolled backwards a couple of feet to allow them room.

Zephyr stepped to the side to let Connor precede him. "That's her!" he whispered as Connor opened the screen door to enter the house. "That's the one I know!"

"I can tell," Connor replied discreetly, and flashed Zephyr a sympathetic smile. He had no idea how things would unfold from here, but it was sure to be interesting.