"Mayonnaise instead of vanilla pudding. You got me there, Eva."

Upon entrance into the bullpen, I grin pridefully at Ziva and McGee. Of course, the two share looks of confusion.

"Tony and I've decided to partake in a little pranking competition for Halloween." I explain to them. "I'm in the lead: plastic wrap on the toilet and mayonnaise in the pudding cup."

He comes rushing in through the elevator doors. "I almost got you with the alarm clock."

"And who ended up waking up at 3:00 A.M.?"

". . .it's not my fault the clock was right by my ear."

Gibbs walks to announce the arrival of a new case before tossing the keys at our newest N.C.I.S. agent. . .Ziva David.

"Korby lived for Mischief Night. He was the king of practical jokes." One of the teens to have found the victim mourns.

"I guess that makes you the princes of pranks?" Tony mocks lightly.

The second boy stutters nervously. "Are-Are we in trouble?"

"Not at all. Unless you killed him."

"The guy was awesome. Came up with new practical jokes every Halloween." He shrugs his shoulders. "Nothing dangerous. I mean, no razor blades. He'd freeze all kinds of stuff, blow things up. It was funny."

"And illegal."

A petite, middle-aged man dressed in a Mister Rogers-esque cardigan, though his mannerisms are nothing like the beloved showrunner.

"And who are you?"

"Ted Rogers. Live across the street." He gestures to the house behind him. "First he drove us crazy with his pranks. Now he dies in the driveway."

Tony narrows his eyes. "Well, it sounds like you've got a problem in your neighborhood, Mr. Rogers. That's a nice sweater, by the way."

I hide my smirk well in realization of just how alike we think.

"Um, boys, we're gonna need the footage from the camera."

"Yes, you can use it to document what these punks did last night."

"We're only interested in what happened to Lance Corporal Korby, thank you."

After retrieving the tape from the teenagers, Tony and I venture into the garage for any pieces of evidence. But it's filled to the brim with Halloween decor and pranking materials.

"Must be Korby's Joke Lab." Tony pokes the tops of my hips, eliciting a yelp. "And possibly our crime scene."

I glance back at him with squinted eyes. "Don't steal on prank ideas, Tony. I know how desperate you are seeing as I'm in the lead."

"There are signs of a struggle."

"How do you know that?"

He squats down in front of a knocked over desktop, the screen absolutely shattered and rendered useless.

"Because pranksters don't break their own stuff."

Back at headquarters, Tony's convinced Korby's wife had something to do with his death, although a blaring piece of evidence — Korby's wife and step-daughter checking into a hotel three days prior — says otherwise.

"We're still scrubbing the video from the kids, boss." McGee greets him upon arrival.

"Multiple neighbors have filed complaints against Korby." Ziva states. "But only one neighbor has filed multiple complaints."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Ted Rogers, who lives across the street from them. Bears no resemblance to Mister Rogers of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood."

Tony's forced to rest his case against Korby's wife when Gibbs sends me and him out to pay a little visit to Ted.

A couple more visits to and from headquarters leads nowhere on our list of suspects.

"We were able to put together a brief history of Korby's units, and it isn't good." McGee flips through his little notebook.

"Plenty of transfer requests and complaints through the course of their time, and they were noted to be not combat-ready on two different occasions. It was complete chaos." I brief him.

"Korby's distractions were more serious than his squad leader led us to believe." Tony approaches from behind.

"This started two months ago."

"After Korby was poisoned."

"Before that, they'd only received exemplary remarks about the unit. Bunch of citations and promotions, and they were already on their third tour."

"It was a well-oiled machine."

"What would make a Marine unit fall apart?"

"Lack of discipline."

"Yeah." Gibbs stands up from behind his desk, headed down to autopsy. "Or too much."

That night, long after Tony and I've had dinner and changed into our pajamas, I feel his restless body leave the bed.

"Tony?" I attempt to blink away the sleep. "Tony, what are you doing up?"

"I can't get rid of the wife angle to the case." He paces up and down the edge of the bed.

"We can talk about it in the morning, honey."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

Even in the darkness, his gaze locks with mine, and a somber look grows on his face.

"How about we visit Mrs. Korby in the morning, huh?" I extend a hand. "For now, just come back to bed and try to catch some sleep."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

And so first thing next morning, Tony and I arrive at the Korby household to confront Mrs. Korby and her daughter.

One by one, we revisit old suspects as new evidence arises. But one particular charge on Sara Korby's credit card is enough to bring her into the interrogation room.

"We found out about your, uh, affair with Private Singer."

"He-He told you?" Her eyes flutter in shock.

"Didn't have to. Not with the fancy hotel by the ocean or the room service delivery of champagne and caviar." I recall the charges on Singer's credit card.

Tony steps out of the corner of the room. "Singer thought he was in for a treat. . .but you tricked him. You used him."

"No."

"You gave Singer the hose and tape, told him to make it look like a suicide. He drove from the hotel to your house and killed your husband."

Having studied the wife theory for the entirety of the case, Tony recites his theory like a piece of poetry.

"David wasn't at the house that night. I was."

"You drove Singer's car to your house and killed your husband?" Tony inquires with furrowed brows.

"No." She shakes her head. "I couldn't go through with it, the affair. I couldn't cheat on James. I didn't have my own car, I'd been dropped off by the service at the hotel. So I borrowed David's. I drove back home to tell my husband the truth, but I just. . .sat in front of the house. And I lost the nerve." She smacks her lips. "So I left, went back to the hotel, and broke it off with David."

"Well, I don't think he got the message."

"So you admit to being at the scene of the crime at the time of death?"

"I did not kill my husband. It's the truth. I swear to you."

Surprisingly, she wasn't lying.

Tony's theory is only slightly off: instead of it being the wife that killed her husband, it was the daughter who killed her own father.

All over a trust fund her biological father had set up.

"So, what exactly do you get for winning the prank war?"

"Bragging rights."

"That's it?"

"And I get to pick out his outfits for the next week."

On queue, Tony steps out of the elevator dressed for work on top. . .but with a hula grass skirt on the bottom.

"How many more hours until we get to leave?" Tony groans over the laughter from the team.

I glance down at my watch. "Seeing as you just got to work. . .you've got about eight more hours."