Charlie looks a little too surprised to see Zandra shuffle and slide into her office.

"Make a call. Tell Gene Carey I need to cleanse the sprits in his home. I can't trust his dipshit assistant to do it for me. And I don't want to make small talk on the phone," Zandra says and sits down.

"Well, hello to you, too," Charlie says, looking up from her computer. "How'd it go at the office?"

"Nary a demon in the staple sticks now that I'm done with it," Zandra says, still in a pissy mood. Hacks into her sleeve.

Charlie raises an eyebrow. "You feeling OK? That cough sounds worse every time."

None of your business.

Zandra looks Charlie over. The flush in her neck is back.

"I'm fine. How's your drinking working out?" Zandra says.

"Excuse me?"

"You stop long enough to cart a kid around in your asset forfeiture car. But when that's over, you're right back to the bottle," Zandra says.

Charlie tries her best to cover the shock in her face. Zandra senses it like a trumpet in a tunnel. Right in the corner of Charlie's eyes.

Good. Glad it hurt.

"Don't ask questions about me. I'll return the favor. Deal?" Zandra says.

Charlie swallows. "Deal," she says.

"Now pick up the phone and make me an appointment," Zandra says. Fakes a second cough into her sleeve.

Charlie follows suit. A minute later, Zandra is all set with an invitation to drop in any time.

"I'll need money for the cab, unless you're driving," Zandra says. The Carey mansion sulks like a dud bomb on the rural edge of city limits, far beyond where Zandra's bad ankle can take her.

Mansion doesn't quite fit the bill. Complex is more like it. The ultra-modern iron house is flanked by a maze of manicured lawns, dense woods, driveways to nowhere, ornate out buildings frozen in perpetual construction and an infamous gate that wouldn't look out of place in 1066. Eccentric. Iconic. Classic. Modern. Classy. Tacky. It's said each of Gene's ex-wives brought a different flavor to the estate. And he had many.

Sitting adjacent to the Carey complex are 30 city-owned acres called Soma Falls Park. It's a gem in central Wisconsin, with walking paths, picnic tables and Stevens Point's only natural waterfall. It's more like a loose stream that lost its way, tumbling 15 feet into a pool the size of a tennis court. A walk up to the guardrail for a closer view of the magnificent-for-Wisconsin waterfall will reveal a simple, wooden sign on the rocky bank. Stenciled and burned into its knotted grain are the words, "Soma Falls."

"Take a cab and bill me," Charlie says, still irritated with Zandra's intrusion. She turns back to her busy work. Stays quiet to let Zandra know to leave. Zandra doesn't until Charlie dials the cab.

Fifteen minutes later, the medieval gates guarding the Carey estate part their siege machines for Zandra's cab. She flips the driver Charlie's card and hurries to the front door. It opens without a knock. A grotesque surprise inside nearly sends Zandra running.