Mel banked down her excitement and mentally crossed her fingers. "I always used to play this game when I was a kid. My mom and I traveled a lot, and she tried to give me things to do. I guess you know how car trips are with kids."

Mrs. O'Dell rolled her eyes. For the first time, there was a trace of humor in them. "Oh, do I."

"I always tried to make words out of the letters on plates. Or come up with funny names for what the initials stood for."

"We do the same thing with Billy. He's old enough. But the baby…"

"Maybe you noticed the license number, casually, while you were working. Without even thinking about it, if you know what I mean."

And Mel could see that she did try for a minute. Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed. Then she made an impatient movement with her dust rag and closed down. "I've got a lot of more important things on my mind. I saw it was a California plate, like I said, but I didn't stand there and play games with it."

"No, of course not, but sometimes you pick up things without even knowing it. Then, when you think back—"

"Miss—"

"Sutherland," Mel told her.

"I'd like to help you. Really. My heart goes out to that poor woman and her husband. But I make a habit of minding my own business and keeping to my own. Now there's nothing else I can tell you, and I'm falling behind schedule."

Recognizing the wall she'd just hit, Mel took out a business card. "If you remember anything about the plate, anything at all, would you call me?"

Billy piped up. "Said cat."

"Billy, don't interrupt when people are talking."

He shrugged and drove his fire truck up his sister's leg to make her giggle.

"What said cat?" Mel asked.

"The car did." Billy made engine noises. "K-a-t, that spellscat ," he chanted, and had his mother sighing.

"You don't spellcat with a k. It'sc-a-t. I can't believe you'll be going into the second grade and—"

Mel put a hand on Mrs. O'Dell's arm. "Please," she murmured, then squatted down in front of Billy. "Did you see the car down there Billy, the dirty brown car?"

"Sure. When I came home from school it was there. Freddy's mom had the pool."

"Car pool," Mrs. O'Dell said quietly.

"She let me off right behind it. I don't like riding with Freddy, 'cause he pinches."

"Did you play the license plate game with the brown car?" Mel asked.

"I like it when they make words. Like cat ."

"You're sure it was that brown car? Not some other car you saw on the drive home from school?''

"No, 'cause it was parked just out front the whole week Freddy's mom drove me. Sometimes it was on the other side of the street. Then it wasn't there anymore when Mom had the pool."

"Do you remember the numbers, Billy?"

"I don't like numbers. Letters are better. K-a-t" he repeated. Then he looked up at his mother. "If it doesn't spell cat , what does it spell?"

With a grin, Mel kissed him right on the chocolate-smeared mouth. "This time it spells thanks . Thanks a lot."

Mel was practically singing when she walked back into Sutherland Investigations. She had something. Maybe it was only half of a license plate, and maybe the information had come from a six-year-old, but she had something.

She switched her answering machine to playback, then nipped into the kitchen for a soft drink. Her self-satisfied smile remained as she jotted down the messages.

Good solid investigative work, she told herself. That was the way you got things done. Persistence didn't hurt. She didn't imagine the police had managed to get anywhere near Billy O'Dell, or that they would have considered him a viable witness.

Solid investigative work, persistence—and hunches. Mel believed in hunches, just as she believed they were part of an investigator's makeup. But that was a far cry from psychic visions.

Her smile tilted toward a smirk as she thought of Sebastian. Maybe he had gotten lucky with the sketch and the car. But maybe it was just as she'd thought before. A connection on the force could have given him that data.

She wouldn't mind rubbing his nose in this new information.

Not that he was all bad, she thought, feeling charitable. He'd been okay when they'd shared a burger the evening before. No more come-ons—which she'd been positive she would have nipped in the bud. And he hadn't gotten spooky on her, either.

Actually, she remembered, they'd talked. Mostly books and movies, those old conversational standbys. But he had been interesting. When he wasn't irritating her, his voice was rather pleasant, with that whisper of a brogue.

A brogue that had deepened when he'd murmured to her, his lips sliding over hers.

Annoyed, she shook herself. She wasn't going to think about that. She'd been kissed before, and she wasn't against the practice. She simply preferred to choose her own time and place.

And if she hadn't had a reaction quite like that before, it was because he'd taken her so completely by surprise.

That wouldn't happen again, either.

In fact, the way things were going, she wasn't going to need Sebastian Donovan and his hocus-pocus any longer. She had a few contacts at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and once she called in with the partial plate she would…

Her thoughts trailed off as Sebastian's voice flowed out of her answering machine.

"Ah, Sutherland, sorry I missed you. Out sleuthing, I suppose."

She made a face at the machine. An immature reaction, she readily admitted. But the laughter in his voice demanded it.

"I thought you might be interested in some new information. I've been working on the car. The left rear tire's nearly bald—which could give our man a great deal of trouble, since his spare is flat."

"Give me a break, Donovan," she muttered. She rose, deciding to turn off the machine, and the voice.

"Oh, by the way, the car has California plates. KAT 2544."

Mel's mouth fell open as her finger hesitated on the button.

"I thought you might be able to work your detective magic with that tidbit. Let me know what you come up with, won't you, love? I'll be home this evening. Good hunting, Mary Ellen."

"Son of a—" She gritted her teeth and switched the machine off.