The Case of the Identical Cousin
Turnbull sat humming at his desk organizing Insp. Met Thatcher's family recipes. She'd recently received them in the mail from her Aunt Eileen and didn't want to deal with them herself. Her aunt's ancient, Spencerian-style scrawl was nearly indecipherable. Meg wanted to be able to read them if she ever had anyone besides herself to cook for ever again. Turnbull's fastidious print would be so much easier to read. With a sigh the dark haired, dark eyed, Canadian Chief Liaison Officer walked past the blithely content subordinate officer and on down the hallway.
"Constable Fraser, may I have a moment, please?" Thatcher asked popping her head into the open office door. The top notch RCMP Officer looked up from the report he'd been typing, a surprised expression on his handsome face. He always looked surprised when he looked at her, kinda like a deer in the headlights.
"Yes, Sir." Constable Benton Fraser stood up quickly, hands behind his back, feet apart as he stood in his usual fashion; parade rest. Meg took a deep breath, he was extraordinary, standing there like something off of a Harlequin romance novel cover. Those green eyes and that straight, Roman nose, dark brown hair and full, firm bottom lip made the lady mountie melt like an iceberg in Bermuda.
"I, um, I, do you have the weekly reports ready yet?" Thatcher asked, her thoughts finally gaining traction.
"I wasn't aware that they were due today, Sir, I can have them for you by the end of the day if you wish." Fraser looked at the desk blotter to check the date, certain that it was only Tuesday and the reports were due on Monday of the next week. He'd just turned the previous week's in the day before.
"Oh, yes, you turned them in yesterday didn't you." Meg searched her brain for what she'd actually came to ask for and couldn't recall. "Carry on then, Constable Fraser." She turned to walk away, her heels thumping steadily on the carpeted floor of the hallway. Almost to the door she finally remembered what it was she'd gone down the hall to ask for. Growling at herself for her being distracted, Meg dialed Fraser's extension. "Constable Fraser, there will be an honored guest arriving on Thursday, I'd like it if you would show him around the city while he's here." She picked up the dossier she'd been sent by her superiors and wondered about the man coming to spend time shadowing one of the detectives of the Chicago police department for a week.
"May I ask who it is, Sir?" Fraser inquired, hoping it would be a scientist or a professor of some sort.
"It's an actor, Peter Gloss, he'll be here all week to follow a detective from the Chicago police department, research for a new show or movie, the dossier doesn't say." She skimmed the typed information again. Her eyes zoomed in on the picture attached when she heard,
"Oh dear, Peetie." Said as if it were a curse word Fraser had let slip.
"How did they mix up and put a picture of you in the file, Constable Fraser?" Meg laughed, thinking it had been a joke.
"Well, Sir, I," Fraser took a deep breath, "Peter is my cousin, my Aunt Judy's son on my father's side." Meg could hear him beginning a long, drawn out explanation.
"He's the one that did that movie," The inspector racked her brain for the title.
"Yes, Sir, it is." Cousin Peetie was the last person Fraser wanted visiting for a week.
"Why haven't you said he was your cousin before now, Constable Fraser?" Insp. Thatcher asked, a little starry eyed.
"Frankly, it's something I prefer not to mention, Sir." The good constable gritted his teeth momentarily as he thought about those holiday visits with the only cousin his age.
"I see, well, his agent will be calling tomorrow to schedule the week's itinerary, since you two are relatives, this should be a pleasant assignment, Constable Fraser." Thatcher's voice sounded cheerful.
"Yes, Sir." Was all Fraser could manage. He'd rather have sentry duty every day until retirement than to spend ten minutes in the building with his cousin.
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"Hey, Fraser, how's it goin'?" Ray asked as his Canadian friend walked into the squad room. The Armani clad detective looked up from his never ending supply of paperwork, glad to see him.
"I'm fine, Ray, how are you this afternoon?" The mountie tossed his hat easily onto the hat rack and sat down in the chair across the desk from the Italian detective.
"I've got a hundred and one cases that need solving as usual, you?" A thick stack of files sat on the corner of the desk. Fraser didn't hear the question, instead he stared at his boots. From the Civilian Aide desk Francesca came walking her best runway walk, back strait, chest high, mega-watt smile spread across her face. Tentatively she touched her short, dark hair before she got close to the mountie whom she'd gladly skin and mount any day.
"Hello, Fraser." She fiddled with the top button of her uniform shirt until it was open and the lapels pulled strategically apart. "I bought this new perfume yesterday, how do you like it?" Ray's younger sister ran her hands down her curvy body, bending at the knees so that her breast were right at Fraser's eye level. The Canadian inhaled deeply and plastered a polite smile on his features.
"It's quite something, Miss Vecchio." He gave a vague answer.
"Thank you, but how many times have I told you, call me Francesca." She purred in her huskiest, most seductive voice.
"Francesca." Fraser humored her. Ray studied the interaction. Usually Fraser's face flamed up to match his red, serge uniform when Frannie showed off in front of him. This time it was as pale as ever. Francesca shimmied off, her walk rolling like sea waves as she strutted across the squad room.
"What's the matter with you, Bennie?" The detective asked, his dark brows knitting together as he waited for an answer.
"Nothing, Ray, I'm quite alright." Fraser shrugged but didn't quite look his friend in the eye.
"Bullshit, Fraser, you usually light up like Rudolph the Red nosed Reindeer when Frannie comes on to you." It wasn't often Ray called BS on Fraser, he didn't have much reason to.
"I have a new assignment I'm leery of, Ray, I," He didn't get a chance to finish.
"Vecchio, I've reassigned some of your workload, here's your new assignment." Lt. Walsh dropped a file folder on the detective's desk and grinned. Ray skimmed the contents of the file and looked at his boss suspiciously.
"A babysitting gig, Sir, really, I have fourteen unsolved murders that have leads I could be working." Vecchio wheedled like he always did when he wanted out of something.
"And those leads will be right there this time next week when Mr. Gloss is finished shadowing you and Fraser." Lt. Walsh insisted, his irises disappearing behind the folds around his eyes. Fraser hung his head, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the tile floor underfoot, a groan escaping his throat. "I hope the three of you will get along well together." Whistling, the lieutenant walked on through the squad room and off to the break room, a self-satisfied smile on his aging jowls. Ray gave him a cold, annoyed glare as he left. Scanning the printed page he didn't see any reason his boss would gloat about, until he got to the back of the file and saw the black and white, 8X10 glossy photo.
"I've never seen this picture of you, Fraser, is it new?" Ray asked, looking at his unofficial partner. "There must be some mistake here." Fraser shook his head no, a no-hope-of-survival look in his green eyes.
"Peter Gloss is my Aunt Judy's only son, he's an actor of some note in the Territories, Ray." The mountie smoothed one eyebrow with his thumbnail as he sat in the chair wishing he were tracking bank robbers across the tundra barefoot.
"Why didn't you say something, Bennie?" Ray hated the assignment but couldn't wait to meet one of Fraser's relatives, especially one he dreaded seeing so badly. A sneaky, wolfish grin pulled at the Italian detective's features as he leaned back in his office chair.
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