"Walter Scott's toddler daughter is waiting for you to rescue her," Frank stated as a pointed reminder. Belatedly thinking to take a bite of the raspberry doughnut that he'd picked up many minutes ago, he saw that it was now ringed around his index finger, with chocolate frosting smeared from the center knuckle, to his fingernail.

Observing the sticky dilemma, Marcus couldn't resist being more of a pain in the rear than he'd already been. "You accepted the case, you solve it. I'm outta here!" he stated as he once again turned and headed toward the door. Up for debate, cheeseburger vs. sub sandwich.

"Scott swears that his mother-in-law is crazier than his wife. He says she has an inherited mental disorder, that she hasn't been locked away because she'd, so far, appeared harmless to herself and others. He is convinced that her behavior could take a turn for the worse. Scott fears for his child's life."

Having made it only as far as the doorway this time, Marcus felt as if his six-foot frame had just shrunk to a fraction of that size. This wasn't the first time Frank had made him feel like a worm. Wouldn't be the last, either. The man really knew what strings to pull.

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