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It’s almost eight am on a Sunday morning, and Dick Casablancas is pacing back and forward, distraught, hair disheveled, in Veronica Mars small apartment living space, wearing nothing but his still-dripping-from-the-ocean boardshorts.
Dick has impulsively burst in on a Sunday morning breakfast ritual established over the past few months. One that allows Keith to spend time one-on-one with Veronica outside Mars Investigations, keeping a watchful eye on her emotional health in the aftermath of the tragedy.
“I’m serious Ronnie! Where is he? You have to tell me!”
“I know he’s alive!” I know it sounds crazy but it’s true, I’ve got proof!” The man says urgently in the face of his audience's continued silence.
Veronica remains stony faced on the opposite side of the tiny apartment’s kitchen island, remnants of a croissant abandoned on a plate, her arms crossed tightly across her body, as if protecting herself from the ranting Casablancas, her pain evident in her sad blue eyes.
Keith Mars moves from his daughter’s side towards his deceased son-in-law’s best friend, the calm look he’s used a thousand times to defuse high emotion situations as a cop plastered on his face.
He knows the Casablancas kid is hurting. God knows he lost his entire remaining family on that one day, and Keith feels for him, he really does, but he can’t have the mourning man torturing Veronica, a year on from Logan’s death, she’s still barely holding it together.
“Richard, you need to leave,” Keith says kindly but firmly, placing himself between Dick and Veronica, trying to shield her in some way from the deranged ramblings being spewed by the surfer.
“You can’t hide him from me! The rope’s wet, Veronica, it’s wet! He’s used it! I know he has! It’s his favorite board!” Dick says urgently, desperate to get his evidence tabled before he can be removed from the apartment, his head poking over Keith's shoulders as the older man gently but decisively guides him, hand on his chest towards the still open door.
With a last nudge Keith propels the distraught Dick onto the worn welcome mat.
Looking the young man in the eyes, Keith says kindly, ‘I’m sorry Richard, I know you miss Logan, but I can’t have you upsetting Veronica.”
Now the PI is closer, he can smell the stale booze rolling off the other man's body, and clocks the red-veined eyes.
It seems that Richard has continued his mourning process the way he started, soaked in booze and drugs, thinks Keith sadly.
He probably should have kept an eye on the boy, but between trying to hold Veronica together, his own surgery, keeping Matty out of trouble and ensure his PI business stayed afloat, there was only so much Keith could do for everyone after the final bomb went off, leaving only a shattered shell of a car and a fine mist of blood on the road representing all that was left of Logan Echolls.
“Go home son, have a shower and something real to eat. Then try to sleep,” Keith says sympathetically.
“But its wet,” Dick says sadly, resigned to the fact that neither Mars is taking him seriously.
“Look,’ He points to one of Logan small collection of surfboards that Veronica still keeps in the rack at the front door.
She keeps telling Keith she’ll do something with them, but so far that something hasn’t materialized, and he doesn’t have the heart to push her.
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, Richard,” Keith says logically.
“Fine, I’m going,” Dick says, turning slowly, dejectedly making his way down the stairs.
“Richard?” Keith asks, halting the blonde man's progress.
“How did you know the rope was wet?” The PI queries, a spark of logic prompting him to ask.
Dick shrugged ruefully, shooting Keith a hangdog look.
“Ronnie never uses them, and I know he wouldn’t mind. I sometimes come and grab one of his boards and take it out, you know, makes me feel close to him and shit. I dunno, it’s kind of stupid, but it makes me feel a bit better.” Dick says sadly, almost like he expected to be shamed for wanting to maintain a connection to the man who’d been more a brother to him than his own.
Keith smiled sadly at the young man, saying reassuringly, “I’m sure Logan would be happy you were remembering him this way. I can see him having something pithy to say about it. Probably quote a Greek philosopher or someone obscure we wouldn’t understand.”
“Thanks,” Dick mumbled, “I’ll fuck off now. Tell Ronnie I said sorry for upsetting her and shit.”
With that the upset Dick shambled off towards where his vehicle was parked in the street.
Keith watched for a moment, making sure Dick did in fact leave.
Turning, he cast a quick eye at the rack, it did look like one rope was dampish, but that could be anything, overnight dew, an overwatered plant, any number of explanations. Pushing the questions bubbling in the back of his mind away, Keith entered the house, focused solely on the fallout of the unexpected visitor on his grieving daughter.
Closing the door softly behind him, Keith Mars surveyed the petite blonde, who to anyone’s eye looked pissed!
“Honey, I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you,” Keith says conciliatorily.
“Oh, but I am pissed!” Veronica says emphatically, turning to glare fiercely into the alcove that hides the bedroom from view of the living area.
“Seriously? Surfing? YOU WENT SURFING?” She explodes unexpectedly, focusing her ferocity on the shadows.
Before Keith can say anything at this apparent departure from reality, to his absolute shock, a figure materialised from the attacked space.
“In my defense….” It began
“There’s no defense here, buddy!” Veronica yells.
“You went surfing BEFORE seeing me?” The furious woman continues.
“Hey, I did come here first!” Counters the figure contritely, moving, at great personal risk, towards the incensed blonde, gently gathering her in strong, muscular arms.
Arms which the stunned PI can now clearly see belong to his apparently not dead son-in-law.
“YOU!....” Veronica’s so angry she’s lost for words.
“I repeat,” says Logan calmly, “I did come here first, I was here at 3 am. I sat next to you and Pony while both of you snored your heads off.” He softened the jibe by kissing the tip of his outraged widow/wife’s nose.
“Hey, I do not snore!” Veronica says angrily, poking her finger into the firm, dearly beloved chest of the man smiling softly down at her.
“Well, someone was. And you both looked so peaceful, that I took the opportunity to catch some waves before dawn – the whole pesky being dead bit makes it awkward if you are caught on the beach during peak breaker hour. Plus, I knew I’d be back here long before you woke up.” Logan explains ruefully.
“What I’m hearing is you didn’t think you’d get caught!” Veronica says grumpily.
“Well, yeah, there’s that too,” Logan says with a wry eyebrow lift.
“Besides,” he says with a bemused shake of his head and an incredulous tone, “It took Mossad six months to work out I was alive. What are the odds of Dick working it out inside 4 hours of me returning to Neptune?”
“Wow, didn’t think of that aspect,” Says Veronica, “I thought you were good at this spy stuff? You’re probably lucky to be alive!” She finishes with a grimace.
“I am,” Logan's candid response prompts Veronica to cuddle deep into his embrace, relishing the feeling of the man she loves, warm and alive in her arms.
Keith Mars cleared his throat, gaining the attention of the newly reunited couple.
Taking a deep breath, he says, “If no one minds, I’ve got some questions………….”