"Dankworth and Weeble Private Investigators." Becker studied the licence, and the certificates brought from the D&W office with an amused incredulity. "You say you took a course offered online, by an ex FBI Special Agent."

"That's right, and we both passed," Wendell boasted.

"Detective Sergeant Creswell looked into your online course and discovered some very interesting facts about the site."

"So, in that context, we are good to go?"

Becker snorted and apologized, glancing at his partner. "Would you like to introduce them to FBI Special Agent, Frank Delacourte, Glen?"

Creswell punched up a photo on his phone, enlarged the picture, and held it out so both Jerome and Wendell could see.

"That's fifteen year old, Rodney Hiller and his mother, with the grip on his ear. Rodney has been charged with internet fraud and will be appearing in juvenile court. If you join the class action against young Rodney, you may get your tuition back."

"Where's Delacourte?" Jerome looked befuddled.

Wendell looked sick, as he recalled Audrey's words. "That's him, Jerome. We were scammed."

"You saying my certificate is no good?" Jerome sat stunned.

"Make an interesting place mat," Creswell quipped.

Becker forced a straight face and continued with his questions. "You realize impersonating a licensed legal representative is a Class A misdemeanour? You could be hit with some hefty fines as well as jail time."

"We didn't- we weren't-" Wendell grappled for words, poking Jerome for assistance.

"What about the arrest we made?" Jerome begged.

"Also illegal - and you are actually suspects in two separate homicide investigations."

"We never killed anybody!" Wendell blurted.

"Do you deny conspiring with Benjamin Undergrove and Gary Fletcher, to kill Donald Temple, and dispose of his body?"

"Well, we uh- we were there but it was Fletcher that made the deal . . ."

"That's conspiracy, Mr. Dankworth."

"No, wait! It wasn't like that." Wendell launched into an unstoppable outpouring of their story from day one, accompanied by a supportive Jerome's vocal punctuations, and fist pumps.

******

Audrey set the plates of pasta on the table, then returned to the kitchen for her own. She withheld a smile at the silence as they forked the noodles around in the sauce and passed the cheese back and forth.

"Cat got your tongues?" The men looked at one another and pouted. "I think they're kind of cute. They'll be a lot more interesting in shorts, when you sit in the backyard, sunning.

"Have your fun, Audrey. Get it out f your system. You were right, we were wrong." Wendell wound some noodles onto his fork and slurped noisily.

"I know," she beamed. "Tell me, do they come in different colours?"

"Alright, enough." Jerome frowned. "It's bad enough we have to wear them without you hammering it home."

"Well, since you can't leave the property now, we'll be able to get after all those chores we keep sloughing off - oh, and while you both are doing that, I can get the groceries we actually need."

Eyes rolled and muttered grumbling brought giggles from Audrey. Dankworth and Weebles, Homemade Investigators - ankle bracelets our speciality!" She dropped her fork and began laughing until tears came.

"It isn't funny, Audrey." Wendell mewled.

"Oh, yes it is, Wendy. It's very funny - but I will concede one thing. The surprise call from Rodney's mother, apologizing for the trouble he caused with his-" she began giggling again, "his online FBI persona - and her offer to make amends in the form of a job offer . . . to me."

They both stopped eating and stared at her. "Job offer? You?"

"Yes. It seems Mrs. Hiller is an insurance investigator with a very large insurance company, and she is interested in having me work as an intern investigator for her - at a salary that well exceeds what I am earning now."

Wendell pushed his chair back from the table. "Wait a minute. She offered you the job? Jerome and I are the ones that solved the tracking case, not you."

"True, but as my new employer stated, it wouldn't look very good for her company to have a couple of house arrested fraudsters as investigators." Audrey ate some pasta, chewing smugly. "No, Wendell," she sipped some wine, "it's better this way. When your sentence is up you can both begin job hunting again and start paying your share of our happy home."

"I told you the whole thing was a big mistake." Jerome complained.

"Oh, sure. You seemed to enjoy getting your taller diploma alright." He sighed and slumped in the chair. "I guess I should be satisfied with the fact that at least my dad's work wasn't wasted."

Jerome closed his eyes and hung his head. "Sorry, man."

Audrey stood and came around the table, hugging Wendell's shoulders. "I'm sorry too, Wendy. But happy that you did get what you went after, in spite of the ending."

"Thanks, guys." He heaved a sigh of his own and pulled his chair back to the table, picking up his fork. "And I supposed I should be congratulating you, Aud. I'm sure you'll be perfect in the job."

"Yeah, me too," Jerome gave a half smile. "I've got a pair of sunglasses that will give you a real badass look?" He suggested.

"Say," Wendell suddenly brightened. "We could be a team - the three of us. Dankworth, Weeble, and Hall, Investigations. Jerome could run off a bunch of cards, and we could--" Audrey picked up her wine glass, leaned back and stared at them. "What?"

She sipped slowly, watching them over the rim of the glass. "Jerome," she finally spoke, "sketch up a few designs for a card. I like something in pinks and greys."

"Great!" Wendell rubbed his hands together. "Not so much the colour combination but--"

"And Jerome, Make it Audrey Hall . . . and associates, with just a phone number for now." Her eyes found Wendell's, and crinkled at the corners as he deflated visibly. "Maybe when the ankle cuffs come off you fellows, we can think about an address."

******

BREAKING NEWS.

The banner filled the TV screen, pulsing dramatically, then vanished, revealing the news anchor, Marilyn Klyjak, her quaffed, golden hair positioned just so over a solemn face. She lifted her chin ever so slightly to let the camera catch her toned features, and spoke.

"Mayor Buntz and Police Chief James Trotter, gave statements today regarding the shocking events of the Metro Club massacre, and the deadly home invasion of a Miss Audrey, Hall, Wendell Dankworth, and Jerome Weeble. Dankworth you will remember, was the police detective killed in the high speed chase a few months ago.

He was the father of Wendell Dankworth, a central figure in both homicides. Police Chief Trotter confirmed today - by name - that both Dankworth and his roommate partner, Jerome Weeble, have been placed under house arrest while awaiting the trial for one Benjamin Undergrove, an underworld killer for hire, Gary Fletcher, an underboss of crime lord Hardy Menken, and Maxwell Shine, a supply source for the gang's business.

"Also involved were--" Marilyn suddenly placed a finger to her earpiece, frowning, then eyes widened dramatically. "There seems to be some activity at the site of the statements. Tod? Tod Stemmer, scene reporter, are you there?"

The camera switched to a live confrontation of Tod Stemmer being restrained by officers, as he screamed epithets at the studio, and Marilyn in particular. Bystanders heard the terms, selfish bitch, and glory seeker, along with a brief tirade on how she scooped all his on the scene reporting, before he was wrestled into a police car.

Back in the studio, staff were fanning the shocked Marilyn Klyjak, and waving for a cut to commercial.

"Don't think old Tod enjoyed always being upstaged." Jerome reached over and snapped off the TV.

"It's a familiar feeling," Wendell said laconically, turning on the vacuum cleaner and pushing it across the carpet.

END