Author's note: Penultimate means "next to last."

This chapter – an epilogue, which is why it's a bit on the short side -- is the last one. If there's enough acclamation, I may get to work on a sequel. But I have a couple of other ideas I want to hash out first. (Would anyone hate a Buffy/VM crossover?)

Thanks, thanks, thanks, to all the reviewers. Everyone, from those of you who've been with me since this thing started to those who happened in later. (It's a massive ego boost to have someone say they 'found my story and couldn't stop reading it.' That's happened more than once, which is unbelievable to me.)

And yes, I know I'm evil.

Disclaimer: Oh, come on. Does anyone really think I own this after 66 chapters?

X X X X X

The press conference went as well as I could have expected. I spent about twenty minutes detailing exactly what had happened, up to and including my speculation – and I was very careful to call it speculation – on Trina's motives.

The first question I got was a smart one. "So if you think she wants publicity, why are you giving it to her?"

"Pre-emptive strike," I said. "This way if she ever gets to talk publicly about matters other than her crimes –"

"Such as her father's alleged murder of your friend Lilly Kane?" another reporter asked. Duncan winced at that.

"Such as," I responded. "And there was nothing alleged about it. I know my slander law; Aaron's dead. I can flat out call him what he was: a murdering, adulterous psychopath. You can too, by the way." A brief current of laughter from the reporters. "In any event, this way everyone will know her for what she is: someone out for publicity. You'll probably still interview her, but I'm hoping hype is a lot more obvious when you know it's coming."

Another half hour like that and I was done. When I stepped back from the microphone I practically collapsed; Logan caught me.

"You did well," Lynn murmured.

"Oh yeah," Wallace said.

"I wanted to flatten the guy who said that Lilly was allegedly murdered," Duncan said.

"So did I," I said. "But I don't think that would have gone over so well. Thanks for being here with me. It meant a lot."

Mac said, "If you try to hug me I'll break your arm."

"Wasn't planning on it," I said.

"Good."

That weekend, Lynn went to LA to talk to a lawyer, her agent, and a lot of other people. Trina's actions had hit her hard, but she was one resilient woman. She told Logan that the house was all his for the weekend.

How odd is it to have a parent who not only approves of your sex life, but connives in you getting one?

Scratch that question. I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

We made sure Dad knew Mac and Wallace were going to be there, too. We didn't stress that they were going to be there long enough for a nice long lunch and a couple of relaxing rounds of whatever the latest fighting game was to come down the pike. No, Logan and Mac weren't done with Cybermage; but Mac knew that today wasn't primarily about her quest to destroy Logan Echolls in every video game known to mankind.

Didn't mean she wasn't going to kick his ass today, though, she told me.

Three Cho's pizzas and assorted ass-kickings later, Wallace and Mac both left.

Which left Logan and me with a whole mansion and our imagination.

It started with kissing and worked its way from there throughout the building.

We skipped two rooms: Trina's and the trophy room. Trina's door was closed, anyway.

Beyond that –

Well, let's just say that there were very few surfaces of that house that couldn't have stood a thorough cleaning by the time we were done. If I thought Logan and I had explored each other previously –

Well, we found a whole lot of new territory that day.

And by the time we were done, I think every part of my body ached except my left shoulder.

But it was a good kind of ache.

And if I couldn't walk, I knew damn well Logan couldn't.

We kind of spent the entire rest of the weekend like that.

I loved him. Really. And he loved me.

And if you'd told me that at the beginning of the year, I would have taken steps to have you locked up in the nearest psych ward.

Interesting how things can turn out, sometimes.

X X X X X

And what else happened?

Well, the thing is, life isn't like a story. Things don't always tie up in neat little bows at the end. Clarence Weidman is still out there, working for Kane software. I haven't forgotten my promise to Mom that he would pay for what he did, but so far, my vow seems to be a vain one.

Speaking of: Mom's still in the coma. Dad's dancing around the subject of whether or not it's irreversible. I think he's trying to spare my feelings. I appreciate it, really, I do. But I've resigned myself to her never waking up.

What does that mean?

I'm not sure. I've always been in favor of being able to pull the plug, but there's a whole hell of a lot of difference between 'in theory' and "your own mother.' Does that make me a hypocrite?

I don't think so. Of course, as recent events have indicated, I'm not exactly the best judge of character.

And Meg still hasn't been able to bring herself to deal with her parents. She did do well on her next case, though; a junior named Carmen's boyfriend, Tad had been threatening to blackmail her with an explicit video taken at Shelly Pomroy's party – saying he'd ruin her reputation if she didn't go out with him.

See, I would have come up with some kind of elaborate scheme involving Mutual Assured Destruction, setting up a way to blackmail Tad in return. Meg didn't bother with any of that. She simply went directly to Weevil Navarro and mentioned what was going on.

"So you'll beat me up if I release the tape," Tad said. "If she doesn't go out with me, I'll just wait until I'm out of your range. Then I'll post it all over the damn internet."

"Never planning to come back to town then, are you?" Meg said.

Weevil added, "'cause me and mine, we got long memories. And don't you got family around here?"

"You touch them and I'll –"

"You'll what?" Weevil said. "Stay out of town to cover yourself 'cause you've ruined the rep of a good chica whose only mistake was to date a punkass like you?"

"I love her!" Tad said.

"This kind of love is called 'stalking," Meg said.

Tad looked at them and said, "You don't understand," and fled.

The last I'd heard, he hadn't posted the video on the internet. Meg hired Mac to let her know if someone tried, and so far, nothing. So I guess Meg's approach worked.

Which I'm thrilled about, believe me. Hercule Poirot and Jim Rockford may have had vastly different ways of solving crimes, but the important thing is, they both worked.

There has been a bit of good news, though. Just because not everything ends doesn't mean nothing does.

Jake Kane pleaded guilty to obstruction of justice in the investigation into Lilly's murder. He got thirty days in a country club prison, two years' probation, and a fine, so not a whole lot of justice going on there; but the important thing is, he pleaded guilty. That blot will always be on his reputation – that he tried to cover up a murder, even if he was doing it from what he thought were good motives.

From that cover up sprang most of me and Dad's troubles over the last year and a half. If Jake Kane hadn't been so desperately trying to protect Duncan from the consequences of something Duncan didn't do, then Dad would still be Sheriff, Mom would still be conscious, I wouldn't have gone to Shelly Pomroy's party as a complete social outcast and maybe Cassidy wouldn't have gotten the chance to rape me; and Trina wouldn't have taken shots at me and Lynn because she was trying to protect the reputation of a man who was not even close to being worth protecting.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda. That ship has, unfortunately, long since sailed. But at least Jake's taking some kind of public hit for it. No matter how small.

Speaking of people taking public hits: Dick Casablancas finally gave up and pleaded guilty to one count of false imprisonment. He got a five year suspended sentence, with all but three months suspended. His restraining order forbidding him from coming within fifty feet of me was made permanent, and the judge told them that there would not be any allowances made for us being in the same school. This meant, essentially, that he would have to go to a private school for his senior year. Not that I was crying over that one.

I never received a thank-you note for getting him off the charge of murder. Possibly my insistence that he sign that contract had something to do with that.

Hamilton Cho has increased his lead in the year's GPA over Sabrina Fuller by a couple of more percentage points. It's still anyone's scholarship to win, but if I were a betting woman I'd bet that Hamilton, this time next year, will be at Oxford. I actually have nothing against Sabrina Fuller – but she doesn't need the scholarship. Hamilton does. And he deserves it.

And my shoulder slowly healed. By the time of my next was still sore, tender, and hurt if I moved it too quickly or used the arm to carry too much, but I didn't need the prescription pain medication and so I no longer needed to rely on my friends to take me places.

That's right: Veronica Mars is back in the land of the mobile.

And the automobile.

One more thing: The Neptune County Sheriff's Office issued a statement that, in their opinion, Aaron Echolls had murdered Lilly Kane, and that as far as they were concerned that case was closed.

Death did not become him.

X X X X X

A week after my press conference, I found a note taped to my locker. "Journalism room," it said. "After school."

I was curious, so when the time came I showed up. The door was pulled mostly shut, so I knocked on it.

The person inside came over and, grinning nervously, said, "I was hoping it would be you."