Back to the Drawing Board_9_Shooting Stars vs Falling Stars_T

) (

"My God, that was good," William's mind repeated it again as he rolled off of his wife, and plopped down onto his pillow, exhausted and glorious, basking in the remaining warm, tingly waves rippling through his every inch.

"You seem quite winded, detective," Julia, herself out of breath, her body still blazing from absorbing the impact of their love, teased him.

"Worth it," came his breathless reply.

Such a big smile, she agreed, "That it was, detective." Then the sly appearance of a devilish grin, she added, "Perhaps I will need to perform mouth-on-mouth resuscitation to save you once more."

He raised an eyebrow at her, charming her with his sideways glance and repressing a smile, "Are you suggesting canoodling?" he poked at her, reminding of Inspector Brackenreid's interpretation of the original event on the sinking ship.

She was always up for a little canoodling with William Murdoch, and her brain entertained the idea of teasing him some more, about them not being able to imbibe further because he was so… spent, from all his 'efforts' just now. Yet, another idea emerged, in the wake of the memory of saving him from drowning on the ship… and then of Madame Celeste telling their fortunes. She nestled down beside him, then slipped her long, supple leg over his skin to end up half over him, and laid her head down on his chest. His heartbeat still rushed and strong in her ear, she allowed her fingers to explore his flesh.

So lovely, his fingers through her hair.

Her warm dampness huddled against the bare skin of his upper thigh stirred him, intrigued him, with his own reaction. She was his.

"William," the lilt in her voice suggested a question was coming for him to consider, "I think that perhaps Madame Celeste was right…" Julia lifted up off of his chest to find his eyes, "But she was not predicting the future… I had already saved you with Air!" she beamed. Hurrying to explain, she announced, "When I performed mouth-on-mouth resuscitation on you! I breathed AIR into you William?"

(Fate's response would go unheard by them, however two things were true, Julia had forgotten that the foretelling was that she was to save William from death by air, not from death with air, and further, there would come a time, not so very far from now, for years are a mere blip of time for the stars, when she would take to the air in a hot air balloon, the skills needed to fly such a monster rare, and yet, within her grasp, and would rush ahead of him to light the night-sky ahead of his galloping horse, making his way through the danger clear.)

His eyebrow up at her, he rebuked, "Julia Ogden, tell me you do not believe in astrological forecasts?"

Mouth dropping agape, she would show him his hypocrisy. "Says the man who maintains that he sensed, from before he had even met me, that there was a woman out there who was meant for him, AND, from the moment that we met, he claims that he knew I was the one… AND, this same man told me that heSAW us… married… and with a son, in the future… in the future, William."

They both knew that, truth be told, they were of two minds on the subject, for science was their way of understanding the world, albeit William had somehow come to counterbalance this with his Catholic faith, and it was undebatable that astrology was wholly unfounded, yet there was a… feeling… somehow, somewhere, that dwelled in the hidden pockets of their beliefs.

William yielded to her argument, "Well, perhaps you're right then."

Satisfied, she settled back down on top of him.

A few moments later, unsure, William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, and offered, "Perhaps we shouldn't take Mr. Pendr… err, James, up on his offer to go flying?"

) (

Detective Murdoch appeared on the 16th green, predictably mounted on his bicycle. Swinging his leg over the back of the bike while it still glided over the grass, he barely touched ground before asking, "What have we, George?"

For George Crabtree, this golf course brought back disturbing memories of running into the annoying Roger Newsome once more, prompting George's own voice to play in his head as he remembered telling the detective back then, "I hate the way he acts, and the way he speaks and the way he laughs. I hate his little bow tie and his stupid face …" and George's jaw gritted tight with his seething from the memory, only to be smoldered with his… guilt – guilt? Was he feeling guilty about Roger Newsome's death? The detective's voice saved him from his wanderings.

"Well George, at least this time it's not you in the germy pond water, in your skivvies," he teased, as he looked out into the pond at the two constables, each chest deep in the water, searching for clues that may have sunk to the mucky bottom.

Focusing back on work, George filled the detective in on what they had ascertained thus far on the case. "As you can see sir, the body was found in the pond. Um, by a Mr. Carlie, sir. Now as I remember, you found it hard to believe that a grown man would throw his perfectly good golf clubs into this pond, but that is exactly what Mr. Carlie claims he was doing at the time. He said he heard the "splash" wrong, and knew there was something under the surface. He said he watched as the back of the man's shirt sort of ballooned and puffed up to the surface," George demonstrated the rising and expanding motions with his hands.

Needing a deep breath, for William had been confronting his old golfing demons, the detective said, "It sounds like this was not the first time he…"

"Oh no, sir. Mr. Carlie is known to throw such temper tantrums regularly," George interrupted.

"Making him familiar with the sound of the club landing in the water," the detective finished his statement.

From behind them, Dr. Ogden had arrived. "My, my," her voice turned the two men, William instantly becoming worried that she would poke fun, "It seems someone had a case of the yips that went quite a bit farther than usual." As he had expected, she eyed her husband mischievously.

In a rush to change the subject, William asked, "Dr. Ogden, is there anything you would like to see before the men pull the body from the pond?"

George added, "That is the same spot and position the body was in when we first arrived, doctor. It was submerged, but it seems that the man's golf club hitting it caused the body to shift… up, to where it is now."

"I see," she answered. "So, am I to assume that the man had deliberately been throwing his club into the pond… um, when he found the body, then?"

William could tell she studied him, clandestinely teased him, out of the corner of her eye as she received George's nod.

The doctor shaded her eyes with her hand and checked the scene. "He's floating in the typical position, face down. I'd say it was less than a few days, since the body hadn't started to float yet on its own…"

"Not sufficient time for the build-up of gasses from the bacteria inside of him," the detective explained.

"Yes, yes, that's right," she agreed. "It's fine with me to fish the body out now," she said, deciding not to laugh at her own pun because it was so bad.

The investigation of the area around the pond showed no signs of anyone carrying the body into the water to dump it there, or even that the man himself had walked into the pond, as there were not any footprints in the surrounding mud besides those of Constabulary members. The detective reasoned that this indicated murder, because the man could not have either, killed himself, or 'gone for a swim' and then died in the water, if he did not walk himself into the pond. He began working on possible ways for the body to be deposited in the pond without leaving footprints around it.

George suggested one of those cannons they shoot people out of in the circus. The detective, despite himself, considered it with a wrinkle in the corner of his mouth and then a rub to his brow. His wife laughed, earning herself a dirty look.

Once the body was rolled over, it was determined that he was not a member of the Club, the employees all claiming they had never seen him before. He was noticeably short, about his mid-twenties in age, and appeared to be in excellent health. Dressed as a common man, with no identification on h. There was a set of keys in his pocket.

When asked about probable cause of death, the doctor stated the obvious, for there were no signs of any serious injuries – no bullet or knife wounds, no significant bruising or cuts that could be observed on his face or his hands, no noticeable bumps or contusions to the head. She had speculated it would most likely be drowning, but nothing would be certain until after she had performed the postmortem.

Dr. Ogden sighed and said, "I'm sorry I can't give you more, detective."

Reaching up and rubbing his brow, he admitted that he did not have much to go on. He pulled his lips tight and looked her in the eye, accepting it. "I'll start with his keys… And stop by for your preliminary results."

"Good," she said with a slight nod his way. Oh, how she wanted to tease him about throwing his golf clubs in this very pond… to the point that her body itched with the desire. Maintaining their professional roles, she fought it, nodded again and took her leave. Perhaps she would find a way to pester him about it later…

Murdoch was about to mount his bicycle and ride back to the clubhouse to take statements, when Dr. Ogden hurried back towards him. "Detective!" she called ahead of herself.

He waited.

"I think you should come see," she said. Knowing this woman as well as he did, he felt an air of excitement. She believed she had found something that could be a clue! No one else would be able to tell by her demeanor, for she had regained control as she walked the last few steps towards him, and she was downplaying it now – he figured she did so because she was trying not to get his hopes up.

George had only gotten a few steps ahead, and, upon hearing the doctor call, had turned back to rejoin the conversation as well.

The detective walking his bike, the three of them headed to the morgue's carriage as Dr. Ogden explained. "I didn't notice it until the body was lying on a flat, solid surface…" She turned to catch William's eye, took a breath – they were carrying a hearty pace. "Well, his torso has an odd shape," she said.

Standing at the rear of the carriage looking in at the body, Dr. Ogden asked for a hand, and then encouraged the detective to join her crouched over alongside the body inside the carriage. "This contour here, you see how unusual it is?" she asked as she gestured with her hand moving over the body from the pelvis towards the chest.

He saw it – it was strange…

"You see how it dips in at the hips and then bulges up along the abdomen," she elaborated.

He turned to face her, curiosity had captured him. "What could cause such a swelling of the abdomen?" he asked.

"It's as if his insides have been shifted around," she marveled. "You know, William, it seems… well, remember that case where the autopsy showed the body's organs had been cooked?"

He nodded, "The microwave death-ray had caused that," he answered. His mind was racing, but he didn't see the connection. There was something, though…

Seeing his confusion, Julia quickly explained that she saw nothing in this case to suggest a similar cause of death, it was more the general oddness that had caught her attention. "I just don't think this is going to turn out to be your run-of-the-mill drowning, that's all I'm saying, William," she concluded.

He helped her out of the carriage to the ground.

"My God, he is handsome," she thought, as he tipped his hat to her with a quick nod.

"Good," he said.

She gave him a smile, and then she was off.

) (

Gaining nothing of importance from their interviews at the Golf Club, they were left with the man's keys to consider as their next clue. The constables took the back to the Stationhouse. A warm, gentle rain began to fall as William rode his bicycle alone back to work. Never one to mind the rain, likely due to his earlier lives as a ranch-hand and a lumberjack, he pulled off his trusty homburg, and pedaled forward into the cloudburst, raising his face to receive nature's shower. He felt the water accumulating on his body, gravity sending the crystal-like drops to the edges of each lock of his hair, framing his view with a silvery splattering of reflections of the world, each drop globing itself into a tiny, tiny bead. He took a deep breath. There was contentment.

Thoughts fluttered here and there in his head. He giggled to himself, considering Julia's comment about the golfing yips not usually being severe enough to cause one to commit suicide, and then he imagined what it must have looked like from her perspective when someone, particularly someone as collected and in control as himself, had been driven to throw their very own golf clubs into a pond…

His mind tossed it up at him, the feeling that there was something familiar about the odd shape of the body. He had seen that strange swelling of the abdomen before… His head tilted left, his brain zigged and zagged through his memory, image, after image…

Boom – it landed!

In the forest… the man fell from a tree. Samuel Ashford! So long ago – back when he was lumberjack! The old timers had said it was common for men who died as a result of falling from the tops of trees to have that peculiar shape to them.

"But there aren't any tall trees near the pond…"

) (

The bright lights shining from above the body, and the spanking-clean white walls of the morgue, worked together to make one feel they were on stage in the morgue theatre. "Well Miss James," Dr. Ogden queried.

"This clavicle has also been broken," the young woman responded.

Wiping the excess blood onto her beige morgue-apron, then placing her hands on her hips, Dr. Ogden blew an annoying curl out of her face and wondered aloud, "Why so many old fractures?" The puzzles with this case were astounding.

The women were so deep in thought that they both jumped with the 'BAM' of the huge morgue door.

"William!" Julia exclaimed upon seeing him unexpectedly, then corrected herself, "Detective… We're not quite ready…"

"Doctor. Miss James," the detective nodded, his hat in his hands. Out of breath from the bike ride, dripping wet…

"How did you get so soaked?" his wife asked.

"Oh, I got caught in a downpour," he answered, plain as day. She went to a cabinet and found him a towel as he continued.

Rebecca was distracted, momentarily, by a thought… "The detective was Water," she remembered from the party, now looking upon the man happily drenched before her…

He was excited. It was contagious.

"I thought of something that might explain the swollen abdomen!" he said, his eyes now down on the body. The body had been opened-up, and the detective was having trouble orienting himself. "Where's the heart?" he asked, figuring that for some reason they had removed it earlier in the procedure than they normally would have.

"Miss James," Dr. Ogden nudged, giving her apprentice the fun of sharing the shocking news. Julia kept her eyes on William's face, waiting.

The detective looked into Miss James' eyes, then followed her eyes back to where her finger pointed at the body. "Down here," she said…

William saw it! Unbelievable!

"And look," Miss James added, reaching inside the abdominal cavity to turn the heart, "It's ripped."

He couldn't deny that he was beyond surprised, but still, his explanation would make sense…

"I've never seen anything like it William," Julia said, her amazement evaporating her professional distance. "Most of his organs have been displaced," she continued, watching his eyes jump from recognizable organ to recognizable organ, each one lower, more dorsal, than would be expected, "Besides his heart, his spleen… his liver – his liver was nearly in the pelvis! All of them ruptured. You should have seen the amount of blood that had accumulated in the abdominal cavity."

He lifted his eyes to hers.

She noticed again, how soaking wet he was. She imagined fluffing the towel over his wet head and rubbing him, deeply, soothingly, caringly, with her fingers through the comfy terrycloth…

"Here," she said, offering him the dry towel. She went on, "I've never seen anything like it… detective."

Drying his own face, then his hair, he said, "I think I have… but, um, well… I had never seen the insides." He peeked at her from within the towel – pleased to see she was intrigued.

He glanced over at Miss James, then back to Julia. "When I was a lumberjack…"

Julia tilted her head towards her young apprentice and footnoted, "There's much about our detective's life you do not know, Miss James."

Becoming impatient, William clamped his lips together and nodded. Back to it, he said, "There was a man who died from falling from a tree. These trees are high, mind you," he gestured, stretching his hand up above his head and following it with his eyes, "He had a similar shape to his contours as our victim…"

William had gone on, Julia partially hearing him, "old timers from the lumberyards said they had seen similar results…" But her mind had moved on to fitting the pieces to this case before them. Death from a high fall. One would think the skin would break open, but it made sense. The skin is full of proteins – that would stretch, and shock absorbing lipids. The organs inside would rupture as they had here. And they would shift down and towards the back – if he landed on his back… and the water, in this case, absorbed much of the impact of the landing – not enough to save him from death, but to…

"Doctor?" she heard him ask for the second time.

"Yes?" she found his eyes.

"Do you think Constable Crabtree could be right…" now that William had her attention he felt uncomfortable about supporting the wild theory, "Um, I mean about the cannon?" the detective asked.

Confident, she responded, "It's consistent with his injuries… though, what we know is that there was considerable impact, likely it was a fall from a considerable height, into shallow water, um, we don't know that it was from a cannon, exactly. Do you think a cannon could shoot a man high enough and with enough force to produce such drastic injuries?"

William twisted his face into contortions as thought and emotions collided within him. He rubbed his brow again and took a deep breath, a sigh really, then said, "I'll have to look into it." His eyes back to the body, his expression changed.

Julia took a deep breath and organized her thoughts. "He was alive when he went into the water – there was water in his lungs, but he also aspirated blood. The lungs were punctured by a broken rib. I think death would have come quite quickly as he bled out," she continued her report.

"Like a dog with a bone," Rebecca thought to herself as Detective Murdoch reacted to his wife's decision.

"Good," William responded, his eyes twinkling in the bright lights, "we've got the likely cause of death, and possible means… Now, identity?" he pushed, lifting his eyes expectedly.

Rebecca observed the way Dr. Ogden tucked her chin, and held her husband's eyes for that extra second, warning him. And she thought she saw that the man had received the message, but…

Julia reached up to grasp the towel draped around his neck, and tenderly spread its ends in her fingers, and then looped the comfy, dry towel up to rub his hair. She dried behind his ears, the back of his neck…

Rebecca James was astounded by it – she saw the image emerge so clearly in front of her eyes – lusty steam filled the air around them.

Now standing much closer to him, Julia spoke quietly. "There's not much, William. No tattoos. No jewelry. No surgeries, no stitches. Mostly, we can give you two things… and from them a suggested place to start."

Rebecca decided that the detective had definitely gotten her earlier message, for he looked at his wife with a wrinkle at the corner of his mouth, and everything about the expression said he was sorry to be so impatient. She surprised herself, however, for she too, wanted desperately to know, blurting out the question one would have expected the detective to ask, "What two things? Where should he start?"

Dr. Ogden smiled and stepped back. All eyes returned to the body on the morgue slab. "We know he was very short, and in good physical condition, clothing suggesting of a common man financially, and we know he had a great deal of old broken bones…" Her hands once again on her hips, she finished, "He may have been a jockey…"

"Of course!" Both William's and Rebecca's heads screamed at them!

The doctor reached down and extended the victim's ring finger.

William thought she might be about to suggest he was married, somehow knowing he used to have a wedding ring on his finger, but…

Julia's voice, an air of the cat-that-ate-the-canary tone in it, said, "You see these callouses from repeated blistering…"

Both William and Miss James nodded.

"Well, jockeys hold the reins in what's called a 'double bridge' – and race horses pull terribly, resulting in exactly these kinds of callouses," she concluded confidently.

"You are brilliant, Dr. Ogden!" William declared, "A jockey, of course… although… it does make one wonder what a jockey would be doing being shot out of a cannon, err, if that is how he got into the pond?

His wife teased, playfully turning him towards the door, "It is not Detective Ogden, now is it?" Just as he had reached the threshold to leave, she called after him, "Oh, and Detective Murdoch, you might have some luck with his fingermarks. George already collected them. He took the photo as well."

"Good," he called back, making her smile.

) (

Crossing the bullpen, Murdoch nodded to Crabtree, who was busy talking on the phone. He deposited his homburg on its hook. The slightest pause, as he soaked in the look of his hat hanging there, and his brain went back to the night he had been abducted, and how he had been 'returned' home naked – albeit for the hat. So much about that whole experience bothered him. He felt a shudder cross the backs of his shoulders with the creeps.

Hearing George signing off the phone call with a commitment to "head right over," William stepped back into the bullpen and waited at George's desk. The constable hung up the phone and said, his tone excited, "Welcome back, sir. I have just been speaking with the Master of Ceremonies with the Terrell Jacob's Circus. We're in luck! They have been in Toronto for the past week, and will be staying for another, so it is possible our victim was a performer there. Now, it turns out that they do have a human cannonball act, sir…" George glanced into the detective's eyes, assessing the man's degree of patience, before he changed the subject to add, "Did you know that it was a Canadian who invented the human cannon – "The Great Farini?"

"Something to be proud of," the detective responded.

George studied Detective Murdoch's face trying to detect sarcasm. Unable to decide, he returned to the point. "According to Mr. Banks, with whom I spoke, the cannon shoots the person about 40-50 feet, depending on the angle and how high in the sky the person… err, human cannonball, is shot. He said that the man they shoot from the cannon had been given last night off, but he is expected to perform tonight. Also, I inquired as to some facts about the cannon itself. As you would expect, sir, the cannon is very heavy and would be terribly cumbersome to transport. And, if it were used to shoot the victim into the pond, well, it would have left imprints in the grass. I was thinking we could send Jackson over to search a 50-foot perimeter around the pond…"

"Very good," Murdoch answered. "Do you have the photo of the victim developed already?" he asked.

George pulled out the photograph, as well as an extra one for the detective.

"Very good, George. I'll take this over to Woodbine, see if anyone there recognizes him as a jockey, or maybe an exercise rider. I suppose you are off to this Terrell Jacob's Circus," he checked, receiving a nod. "We should have someone checking the fing…"

"Ah, yes sir. I have Higgins on that," George said, gesturing at Higgins' desk, fingermark cards spread here and there, but the constable nowhere in sight. "It seems he's taken up smoking those dreadful cigars again, sir. He said he smelled Meyers' cigar the last time he was here… Remember when Meyers came to close our case with that enemy spy, um… Wimmer, was the fake name he used… The man who abducted you…"

Annoyed, on multiple accounts, Murdoch frowned. "I remember George," he insisted. He planned to find Higgins smoking behind the stationhouse and take him to task, but the constable returned just then.

"Right to it, sir," Henry said, taking his seat and lifting a card, immediately focused on the ink trails of swirls and loops.

With a sigh, William grabbed his hat and headed out. Woodbine too far for his bike, he would take a carriage.

) (

Success at the racetrack, William had identified the victim as an ex-jockey named Peter Schiergen. A man claiming to be an old friend of Schiergen's explained that the man had come upon an ad in the paper last winter. He had been extremely excited about it. The ad was seeking "small, brave men" and offered excellent pay. That was the last he had ever heard from his friend. He had always assumed that Schiergen had just taken the job on the spot, happy for the work because the racetrack is closed in the winter.

Murdoch phoned to the Stationhouse to see if they could get an address for Peter Schiergen. He inquired after George, finding the constable was still out. He wondered if they could be that lucky… if the ad in the paper for a 'short, brave' man might have been run by the circus back when they had been looking for a human cannonball. Receiving the last address on file for Peter Schiergen, the detective reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around the victim's keys. If he was lucky, they would match the locks at that address.

"Click," the victim's key turned in the door of the flat. Jumpy and unsettled, William reminded himself that he really shouldn't be doing this alone. He had been struck by paranoia upon arriving here at the building, fighting the urge to check to see if he was being followed. With a deep breath, he frowned. He was mad at himself, for he had managed to put his obsession with his abduction behind him for days… ever since their Anniversary Party, he realized, but now, all day long, the anxiety had returned and plagued him.

Pushing the door quietly opened, William found he was flooded with memories of encountering spies and their cloak-and-dagger dangers. He checked the floor ahead, expecting a trip wire – "Plantagenet McCarthy," the name sounded in his head, spoken in Meyers' voice. Uncomfortable, but fighting to overcome it, William turned back to look down the empty hallway once more, before he stepped into the flat.

Inside, he discovered little that he suspected would be helpful to the case. The man lived alone, a simple life, few clothes or possessions. William chuckled to himself as he tilted the book at the bedside to read the title. The Riddle of the Sands: A Record of Secret Service, by Erskine Childersblurry. "What are the odds?" he thought, "The same book Julia and I just read to the children." On a deeper level, however, the fact that the protagonist in this particular book was a man working for the government, who had come to suspect that the Germans were building up forces on a local island and planning to secretly transport this powerful German army across the North Sea to invade Britain's east coast, the protagonist then had stowing away on one of the enemy vessels to spy on them and stop their evil plot… it served to unnerve William further.

Another deep breath, he told himself to focus. "For all you know, William," he coached himself, "Peter Schiergen is just a circus performer… who happens to enjoy espionage novels," he teased himself with the unlikelihood of the irony. In a drawer, he found what he believed to be a major clue – photographs! There were three different ones, all very, very blurry. They appeared to be photos of land… and a few buildings, taken from very high up. William tilted his head to the side with a noticing. At the edge of one of the photos, yes, he was certain, it was a part of a tire. Wham! He grasped it – from a plane! The photos were taken from an airplane!

Perhaps Peter Schiergen wasn't killed after all. Perhaps he fell! Out of a plane and into the pond. Maybe it was an accident! William reasoned further, "You would want the photographer in such a situation to be little, and strong, and brave… The ad was for a photographer, for a man who would, somehow, hang under a plane and take photographs of…

William studied the photos more closely. Truly, they were too blurry to make anything out. He would work on it back at the station. It was getting late as it was. He hoped Julia would have returned to the morgue after teaching her class at the University. Perhaps she would still be in the morgue when he returned, to help him consider whether it was possible that Peter Schiergen had fallen from a plane to his death.

) (

Bam, the morgue door slammed.

"Detective Murdoch," Miss James reacted with surprise. She had just turned out the lights, hat already on, she was about to leave.

Disappointed, William figured Julia had left hours ago to teach her class and then, most likely, from the looks of things here, she had gone straight home.

Reading his face, Miss James quickly said, "Oh… Dr. Ogden went over to see you, sir. Uh, she had the results."

Relieved he thanked her, wished her a good night, and hurried over to the stationhouse.

) (

Upon his arrival, William spotted both George and Julia in the Inspector's office. They all seemed engaged in one of George's wild tales. Pausing at the door, grateful to have gone unnoticed, he listened in.

George's voice intriguing, he told, "Well, I just about laid an egg! Not only did Lady Minerva's cards know I had found my mother, they also knew there had been a 'joker' trying to trick me about that very same thing!"

William's brain ran down multiple paths, the first seeming to be more of an electrical surge, almost a singeing of his very fibers upon hearing the name Lady Minerva once again… and remembering her Tarot Card fortune from so many years ago predicting he would never have the woman he loved, only to reverse and say he would, but only with great sacrifice… And how her foretelling had been right, and how much that scared him and awed him. Down another neural circuit there was the remembering of the time George spoke of, with his 'two mothers,' and how he, himself, had enlisted Julia into helping him with the ruse he had thought up to determine the real mother, the idea springing from such an odd conversation he had had with George about Solomon's biblical dilemma and his offering to cut the debated progeny, a tiny baby, in half, and he felt the pain in his gut still with the memory of pulling off that stunt, for he and Julia were not together then, and they both were hurting so badly. And to top it all off, the whole thing had happened while he was working on the case of a murdered astronomy professor… the time in their lives when he, and Julia too, had first encountered James Gillies – James Gillies! Chills ran up the back of his spine.

The Inspector spotted him first, calling out as he stood from behind his desk, "Detective Murdoch!" The man looked relieved, likely to be free of Crabtree's zany tales.

All eyes turned to William.

George inhaled deeply, excitement palpable. "Sir, Lady Minerva is at the Terrell Jacob's Circus! She asked after you, sir… said she knows of you, and of your fate, err, as told by her cards – said she saw it in the Toronto papers over the years. She wants you to stop by, sir," he blurted out.

"Oh George, I don't take Lady Minerva too seriously," William answered, minimizing the apparent impact of the gypsy fortune-teller's insights and predictions on him. Changing the subject, he said, "I'm glad you are all here. I've had a break in the case."

George responded, "Oh, that's good sir. No one at the circus recognized our victim… And their human cannonball was there, alive and well."

Inspector Brackenreid worked to move it along, "So, our victim was not a circus star who got shot out of a cannon then. So how did bloody well end up in the pond?"

Murdoch spoke up, "No, not so much from being shot into the pond as falling into the pond…"

"From where?" his wife interrupted.

William filled them in on what he had learned about Peter Schiergen, highlighting the aerial photographs, hurrying towards his urgent question of his wife, "Doctor, do you think one could sustain a fall, from as high up as an airplane, without having the skin… burst open on impact?"

There was hesitation, as she considered it, everyone anticipating, guessing in their heads.

"Well, as the fall was into water, I believe so," she concluded. Yet, her mind still struggled with it. "Even his clothing did not rip, albeit except for at the front of his pants… The water would have absorbed much of the blow. There was sediment on the backside of his clothes, so he fell completely through to the bottom…" she continued thinking it through. Her eyes changed, focused on William. "Yes," she said firmly, "I believe that it would be possible."

"Good," the detective concluded, "I think we know how he got into the pond. And as Dr. Ogden has said that he was alive when he went into the water, then we also have how he died. The question is, was it an accident, or was he pushed?"

Planning for the next day before finishing for the evening, William said he would enlist James Pendrick's help on the case, figuring that it was possible Pendrick had even hired the man himself for some reason or another, and if not, then he would be the most likely person they knew to suggest where else Schiergen might have found employment taking photographs from underneath airplanes. Constable Crabtree was assigned the task of searching newspapers from last winter to find the ad Schiergen had described to his friend.

As William tucked his hat on his head, he noticed it had dried. A smile curled on his face with the memory of his beautiful gliding on the bike in the pleasant rain earlier… and then with the seductive and caring way Julia had dried him with the towel… after setting him straight about his annoying hyper-focusing on solving the case. He would have to meet Julia at home, as he had his bicycle in the Constabulary stable. They were late, missed eating dinner with their children. Eloise would have put two plates aside. They would take up the chase again tomorrow… Huge, his exhale… letting out some of the pressure. In the shadows of his mind, it lurked, the distinct sensation that someone was following him.

) (

Children tucked in, William and Julia finished up their bedtime routines. Julia sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. William was fussing about in the background with this and that – changing a lightbulb, she thought. Admiring the warm glow of the strands of her hair in the mirror, she stood up and leaned over close to the glass, examining her hairline more closely, worried about finding grey. A slight frown grew, for the evidence was clear. "I guess it's back to Oscar Ducharme once more," she plotted, "I think a bit more blond this time…"

She would never know exactly how, but she sensed it. Checking on her suspicions, she glanced into the looking glass to see her husband in the reflection. Oh my, she was definitely right. Gorgeous enough to weaken her knees, she saw his face – he was lusting, his dark, brown eyes glazed and fixed… on her behind.

Mischief arose in her, accompanied by her own sexual longing. She would entice him further. Slowly, Julia slipped her hand down to gather up the fabric of her nightgown, lifting the white garment, feeling the cool air, and his hot gaze, on her skin. The shift, the motion, the change, brought his eyes to hers in the mirror.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth – caught.

Scandalously, Julia continued lifting her gown higher, the hem almost there, dangling over the deliciously open space just under the round curve of her buttocks, where the two orbs met at the highest portions of her inner thighs. More… Higher… More…

Her voice broke the silence, dry, aroused, "Remember our honeymoon – our room with a view…"

Breathtaking, he dizzied with that final inch, unsure whether he could bear the jolt to his groin with the sight, as the tidal wave hit.

Arching her back, she dropped her belly down on the cool, hard surface of the vanity, then took a seductive step to the side with one leg, widening, opening, the space.

He saw red…

She watched his face in the mirror, charged by his gallant effort to harbor his urges, his fight to stay in control.

Suddenly, gown released, hem back down, Julia stood upright, turned, approached her stunned husband. So unbelievably devastating, his twinkling, chocolate eyes – whirlpooling her in. Sensing the tilt of gravity dangerously near, she leaned back, resisting the fall.

A slight warning, her expression served to alert to him, as an evil plot emerged in her mind.

"If you want it, detective… You'll have to…"

Boom, she powered a hearty shove into his chest, sending him backwards onto the bed…

"You'll have to catch it…" she hollered back at him, already in retreat.

Down the steps, fast, fast, fast – Julia's mind rushed ahead, out into the backyard! Images of making love out on the grass, under the stars…

With a thud, Julia's feet hit the halfway landing of the staircase, making the turn…

Whoosh, abruptly his arm ceased all forward motion, wrapped around her waist from behind – captured, her body floated and flung forward and up with the inertia. The world swinging and swirling and flipping…

A scream out of her gut…

She's on his shoulder… Back up the stairs. Her bare-feet on the floor now. His gorgeous eyes.

He swallowed – delightfully winded.

"William Murdoch," she reprimanded, "I am not some sack of grain you can lug about as you like," with her hands planted sternly on her hips.

Her resistance, her strength, buckled him. This woman was the one for him – the certainty swam through his soul.

"No," he answered, agreeing, enchanted and misty.

She lifted her chin, indignant – magnificent. Chest heaving up and down out of breath.

William tilted his head towards her, confiding, "But you did say, if I wanted it…" He grabbed hold of the skirt of her nightgown with both fists, and pulled her closer.

Dazing her, enticing her.

Quieter, so near, he said, "To catch it… And I want it…" He lifted her nightgown up over her head, tossed it away with a gentle whish to the floor. William's eyes traveled her naked, exposed, succulent body, her exquisite bare skin, curving and round and plump in just the right places.

In his mind, he flooded and gushed out of control. Oh my, how he really wanted it…

He pushed her down on the bed, stood over her as she looked up at him.

Julia backed away… slinked up the bed towards the pillows. Her mind too, was desperately anticipating what would come.

William's eyes never leaving hers, he leaned down onto the foot of the bed, on his hands and knees, he crawled up over her. Julia, slowly being taken by his shadow…

Her grip on constraint was tugged by her astounding attraction to this man. So hard, she fought it.

Her hands blocked his advances, landing on his solid, irresistible chest. She stopped him. Squinting one eye at him judgmentally, she examined his face. Then teasing him, she said, "Avoiding the subject, once again, I see detective. I do insist we return to the problem at hand."

Willing to play her game, he playfully asked, "Oh, and what problem was that?"

Julia pushed at his chest, rolling him over onto his back. She would be on top. He would let her.

Lifting her nightgown up high on her thighs, she straddled him. Now over him, she teased, stating the problem, it coming from out of the blue, "Why, detective, would a perfectly reasonable man throw his prized golf clubs into a mucky pond?" she shot at him, sure to gain the upper hand.

His answer out immediately, honest and true, he replied, "Because he is both of those things, 'reasonable' yes, but also still…"

Knowing what he would say, his meaning thumping with a POW in her chest, taking her breath away… his essence, his being, standing now so clearly vulnerable in front of her. Her jaw dropped, her eyes blackened as she allowed the vision in.

Julia completed his sentence, her voice breathless, revealing its impact on her, "… a man."

She would never be able to say why, for it made no sense to her, but she was hit with such a profound awareness of the beauty of his humanness, and her chest seemed to crack open as a result of seeing it. And she knew, because of the warmth of it, that it was her heart expanding with love for him… and she so regretted ever teasing him about it, finding now that she loved his manly pride, or manly jealousy, or whatever other manly imperfections came with him, so much so that it threatened to dissolve her.

Beautiful, sparkly tears pooled in her warm, blue eyes. She showered him declaring over, and over again her overwhelming feelings of love for him, her fingers memorizing, cherishing his face, then her lips caressing his skin. She loved him so…

William held on to her tightly, rolled them both over to secure her underneath him. He leaned back, taking her face into his view. His hands tucked under her head, his fingers glancing her ears on the way, and now his thumbs brushing away her tears, William took a deep breath. It was his turn to tease, so he suggested, "Now then, perhaps we should tackle the problems with perfectly reasonable women?" and his brain was doing the calculations of her 'patterns,' and he kissed her, so petal-soft, on her luscious lips, tasting the salt of her down into his bones.

Her hot breath in his ear, she whispered, "Hold me," with a weakness that crushed him, and he felt her squeeze her arms and legs around him tight.

In her ear, he responded with a chuckle, and he whispered back, "I may want to do a bit more than 'hold you,' Julia..." he swallowed, "I am, after all, as we just discussed..."

She finished his statement for him once more, "a man… a beautiful, wonderful, remarkable, man… Touché William. Touché," she gave him.

He made love to her that night, with a reverence, a cherishing, that would make her feel loved beyond her wildest dreams for a long, long time to come.

) (

The next morning, Eloise had brought the Toronto Daily Star Newspaper and left it on the table for the couple to see while they ate breakfast. She knew it would spark much conversation, having had read it with glee. Madge Merton had written an article about their Anniversary Party. It was a blast to read, and she still found she had to work to suppress her giggles as the Murdoch's finally arrived downstairs and began to settle in around the table.

The detective, usually the one to first read the papers she left out, quickly found the article. A photograph of their final kiss on the dancefloor, with the crystal tingling all around in the background, had caught his eye. He focused in on his wife's face across the table and said, "It seems Madge Merton had sent a spy to our party after all."

"Oh?" Julia revealed her worry.

Having already scanned through the story, thus knowing that the woman, famous for gossip, had shared as much shocking information as possible, highlighted specifically by Madam Celeste's public readings of their astrological birth charts and the "star's insights" into their romantic, sexual, and professional lives, William handed her the paper.

Julia read the provocative title aloud, "Steamy and Stormy Love Written in the Stars: A Murdoch Anniversary."

Unable to hide the fact that she secretly, well, apparently not quite so secretly, enjoyed public displays of their love, she greedily smiled, and bounced in her seat, and lifted an eyebrow at him, and said, "Oh my!"

She read on. "It would surely not surprise my readers, as we have all followed the life of this couple for many years, and we all know both Detective William Murdoch, and his wife, Dr. Julia Ogden, well, that he is a Water sign – Cancer, for the man embodies the very meanings of depth and mystery, while she is a Fire sign – Sagittarius, known to be both a 'pistol,' as well as warm and extremely bright. And, according to the expert astrological psychic, Madam Celeste, it is the mixing of these two elements, in the unique intensity housed in each of them, that inspires the stormy steam that surrounds their lives together…"

Julia silently read ahead, taking a bite of her eggs, everyone else also returning to their meals,

Eloise, off to the side, waited.

Julia gasped, drawing all eyes to her. "In the bedroom, William! It says, that…" her eyes lifted wide. He had seen it, she could tell. She glanced at the children. Julia decided that she could read it aloud, stopping if it went too far.

Her eyes dropped back down to the paper. "Spared of what would be, a stiff, rigid, romantic intimacy in the bedroom, if left to the detective, by the doctor's spark and joie de vivre, their special mixture of Fire and Water, and self-discipline and adventure, results in what is revealed by the stars to be a highly…" she paused considering whether to read the next part aloud, then ventured forward, "stimulating…" Julia replaced the wording, "personal intimacy – one that we all would hope for, steamy and spicy, and…" She needed to take a breath.

She jumped down to a lower portion of the article. "The couple stood together amongst the crowd, including their three young children, William Jr. (4 years-old), Katie (3 years-old), and Chelsea (just over 1-year-old), and listened to the Madam's predictions. At times, particularly Detective Murdoch, looked uncomfortably exposed and blushed, but in the end, they were unable to deny the truths that had been foretold. Margaret Brackenreid, the Murdoch's Seventh-Year Anniversary Party planner, spoke of a "love-letter" that had been written by the detective for the doctor that was read aloud at a previous gathering…"

William must not have read this part, for he choked on his breakfast as his wife read it…

His big brown eyes jumped up to meet hers. She saw such panic in them.

Behind them, Eloise failed in holding back a chuckle.

Julia read the rest quietly to herself. Madge Merton told the world of William's Meteorological Theory of Lovemaking, telling all her readers of their "wild mixing of his Water and her Fire to make lusty, sensual, racy love-storms that rage and thunder and nourish the profound and magical bond between them."

Finished, she handed him the paper. "Miss Merton wrote about the times we saved each other's lives as well," she said.

He nodded, "Added the prediction… about the Air."

"Yes," she agreed.

They both checked the children's reactions.

Relief ensued with William Jr.'s exclamation, "We're famous!"

Julia smiled, "Yes, little one, that we are." Unable to help herself, she gave into the urge to chuckle, shaking her head.

) (

The photographs of Schiergen and his three blurry aerial shots tucked inside his jacket, Murdoch was accompanied by one of Pendrick's assistants to a very large building. Even before entering, he heard the metal clanging. Pendrick was working on an engine of the biggest plane William had ever seen in his life.

Spotting them approaching, Pendrick pulled his arms out of the coils and rotors and called out, "Murdoch! Have you come to see?! Isn't she a beauty?" He jumped down from his ladder, wiped some grease from his hand, and offered it for a shake.

Wholly taken, William asked, "How can it ever fly? It's so big?"

"Yes," Pendrick puffed up. It is one of my innovations. I'm running an aerial shipping business Murdoch. Sometimes the cargo is large."

"I see," William answered, peeking inside an opened space in the floor of the huge plane.

"And of course, I'm still working on perfecting the dropping of cargo without landing… As you helped me with. It works quite well. Would you like to go up… see for yourself?" Pendrick asked.

Oh, how William's eyes glistened with excitement. He wanted to. He definitely wanted to.

Pendrick had to admit, he adored having someone around like Murdoch, someone who could appreciate the marvels he was creating.

Just for fun, Pendrick decided to tease, "That is, if you want to risk defying the stars. I mean it would be in the AIR… And your wife is nowhere around to save you."

"Oh," William stalled, not knowing how to respond.

"Don't worry about it, Murdoch," Pendrick reassured. "I know, like me, you're a man of science."

"Mm. Perhaps, Mr. Pend… James," William clamped his lips tight and then changed the subject, "After I get your help with a case. I have some quest…"

Annoyed and worried and flabbergasted, Pendrick became defensive, insisting, "Don't tell me you think I've killed someone again, Murdoch. This is outrageous. I am at work here practically all day and all nigh…"

"No. No, it's nothing like that, James," William rushed to insert. "It's just, well I have a photo, and I wondered if you've ever seen the man before… uh, he was… Um, I have reason to believe he was involved with planes," he explained, taking out the photograph of Schiergen.

Pendrick had never seen the man. He also said that he had not been using his planes for taking photographs from sky. He agreed to come down to the stationhouse to help check any records for possible people who might have been involved in such things.

William had hoped the airman would invite him up in a plane to try to find the location in Schiergen's photographs, but it seemed that any talk of Constabulary business had dampened Pendrick's appetite for sharing. Disappointed, and uncomfortable with asking, he sighed and stared down at the photo with the partial image of a tire. Ah, an idea.

"James, do you recognize this type of tire?" he asked, extending the photo for Pendrick's closer investigation. Not asking permission, William stepped over to a smaller plane and leaned down to look underneath it. He asked, "How do you think he hung from the plane?"

Oh, his plan worked beautifully, Pendrick now caught with the puzzle and the mystery. Only minutes later, the two men were up in the air in a plane.

Having had determined that Schiergen most likely was secured in a rig to lie prone, tight up against the bottom of the plane, best protecting from being blown about by the wind, Murdoch and Pendrick moved on to looking for places down on the ground that matched those in the photos.

Holding tightly to the aerial photos, William reasoned aloud – very loud, "We don't know the time of day, so it's hard to tell the compass directions by the Sun and shadows. It looks like largely farmland and forest… here. One large building and two other smaller ones. Actually, all of these shots could be of the same place… just from different angles. Images ran through his mind, of what it must have been like to be strapped-in under the plane and taking pictures. He wondered, "Did the rigging break? Did someone cut it – sabotage it?" For a terrifying second, William imagined the feeling Schiergen must have had that first moment when he started to fall…

Sometimes these things just came to him…

William had a much better idea about how to take aerial pictures, he was certain of it. Eager, he rambled on and on to James Pendrick about his idea of using his scrutiny cameras, and attaching them to the bottom of the plane, letting them click away the photos, getting at least two shots of the same thing, but from different angles… You could use a spectroscope to see the resulting photographs in a three-dimensional image! He was excited beyond measure. And much to his satisfaction, so was Pendrick. Perhaps Julia was right, and he and this man could be good friends.

Yelling to be heard over the engine, and the wind, and his companion's enthusiasm, Pendrick said, "But Murdoch, it would be nothing but three dimensional blurs. You have to solve the problem of the camera bouncing around, Murdoch," he warned.

"Yes, yes. You're right," William replied, feeling only more energized by the challenge.

Suddenly, WHAM!

Something hit the windshield, causing both men's instincts to make them duck and shield themselves with their arms. Quickly checking to see if they were safe, Pendrick recovering from the fear first, said, "Damn birds, Murdoch!"

And William figured it out – a bird had struck the windshield of the plane. At the speed they were traveling, it was quite a hit.

Pendrick yelled over, "At least this time it didn't shatter the windshield..." He watched Murdoch's eyes grow wide imagining what that would be like.

Taking the opportunity to poke at the man, Pendrick teased, "I bet you thought twice about your decision, eh Murdoch… to risk defying the stars?"

"Very funny, Mr. Pendrick," William worked to save face.

A few minutes later, both men having had drifted into contemplation, Pendrick said, "I know I'm a man of science, but I do find this astrology stuff interesting. What do you think I am, Murdoch?" he asked, "Do you think I'm fire, like your hot wife? – congratulations on all that, by the way… I loved Madge Merton's article in the Star…"

William was too proud, especially after being so jealous of Julia liking Pendrick's kiss, to feel embarrassed. He was spared having to respond, however, because Pendrick had kept moving right past the risqué sexual, love talk…

"Guess, Murdoch! Air, Water like you… maybe Earth…" he pushed.

Telling himself it was all a fairytale, he found he still did have a guess. "Air," Murdoch replied.

Pendrick laughed, "Yes Murdoch! It is fitting, is it not, that I would take to the air so. I'm a Libra."

Once they landed, William trying to hide the fact that he was grateful to have his feet firmly back on solid ground, they headed directly to the stationhouse. On the way, Murdoch shared his idea about bullet-resistant glass. Pendrick agreed it was worth looking into, his fellow inventor helping him come up with a windshield that could survive a bird-strike. He, too, was enjoying this renewed friendship with Murdoch.

) (

James Pendrick marveled at how busy it was at Stationhouse #4. He was having a drink of scotch with his good friend, Tommy-Two-Cakes – aka Inspector Brackenreid, while watching the hustle-and-bustle on the other side of the man's office windows. One constable was accruing the records of businesses and individuals who could own, or make, airplanes… to bring to him, to help look over the records to try to find who Schiergen worked for. Another was checking tire companies to try to find which type of tire was on the plane in Schiergen's photo. Crabtree had been all excited about finding the ad in the last winter's Gazette for a "small, brave man." Murdoch was making that phone call right now.

Never one to beat around the bush, Brackenreid asked the question on his mind. "So James, is it true that you don't remember locking lips with Murdoch's wife, the good Dr. Ogden?"

He would need time to think, Pendrick's eyes dropped down on the alcohol he swirled around against the sides of his glass.

Brackenreid would give him time. "Not the type of thing it's easy for a husband to look the other way about…"

"I have to agree with you there, Tommy," Pendrick said. "I'm sorry to say, I…"

Both men turned to look at the door. Murdoch had just stepped up. "The company that ran the ad in the paper, uh, for the 'small, brave man,' I got a secretary on the phone. She said they do not have any jobs involving airplanes, but that the manager, the one who would know about the ad in the paper, as well as any job applicants, would be out until 1:30," Murdoch told. "I'll head over there to talk with him then. Mr. Pen… James," William changed his use of the man's name awkwardly, "Um, I have the records for you in my office. And I thought we might draw up some of the plans, um, for the windshield, and the aerial photography…"

Abruptly, Pendrick stood up and chugged the last bit of his scotch. Nodding to the Inspector, he said, "Thank you, kind sir, for sharing of your superb drink. Duty calls," and he followed Murdoch out.

) (

Pausing before tugging on the Stationhouse 4 door, Terrence Meyers worked to push down his regret. These men were not going to like this, and he was getting tired of bringing nothing but bad news. "But… it was for the good of Canada," he told himself, entering the station.

Predictable, really, but still so amazingly irritating, Murdoch would never be certain if he smelled the cigar first, or spotted the top hat. His tone betrayed his thoughts of doom, as he slowly uttered, as much to himself as to Pendrick, "Terrence Meyers."

As expected, the head Canadian spy was there to stop the investigation into what had happened to Mr. Schiergen. Pulling Murdoch and Pendrick into Inspector Brackenreid's office and closing the door, he said, after a long draw on his stinky cigar, "We've been watching Clegg, and Clegg's been watching you, Mr. Pendrick…"

The room shared looks.

Deep down in the recesses of his mind, William saw a Necco Wafer wrapper. Part of his brain took up chase – Where was that? When?

Objecting, upset by such news, Pendrick declared, "Me? Why me?"

"Inspector," Meyers delayed, hoping to calm, "Would you share a bit of your scotch?"

"Blimey, this guy's got a lot of nerve," Brackenreid thought while standing and walking over to the cabinet to get the man a drink.

Meyers took another puff, and looked Pendrick in the eye. "You've been under suspicion of being spy ever since you became involved with the Russians…"

Pendrick remembered, Svetlana and his rocket into space, and even Terrence Meyers himself… "Didn't he die?" the question plagued him, the evidence making the answer clear.

"And so, we know Murdoch went out flying with you this morning," Meyers abruptly stopped there. It was only a matter of seconds until the protests began.

Brackenreid first, red-faced with fury, "And what's wrong with that!? Can't two gentlemen go out in a man's own private plane…"

Meyers held up his hand, to no avail, the barrage kept coming. Particularly the detective and the Inspector, for they suspected he would be shutting down their case again, and they were having none of it.

"Gentlemen," Meyers soon raised his voice, already reaching for the phone. "Don't even bother fighting me on this." He would not wait to see if they acquiesced. He dialed, and said he was afraid it would come to this, and he needed to talk to him, and, in a matter of seconds, Meyers handed the Inspector the phone so the man could be told, in no uncertain terms, by the Prime Minister of Canada himself, that they were to cease investigating the case involving Mr. Schiergen.

What Meyers would not tell them was that Murdoch had gone too far by making the phone call he had just made following up on the ad in the newspaper. That was too close. Yes, Meyers himself had managed to infiltrate that particular spy network with one of his own… women, and they still did not know who, exactly, was the mastermind of this particular enemy spy network, but he certainly wasn't going to have Murdoch blow their cover when they were this close.

Bad news given, Meyers hesitated before he left, considering apologizing, considering asking if Murdoch and the doctor had liked his salmon roses decorating their front fence for their big party, considered … well, he would probably never talk to Murdoch about Ettie again, he figured anyway – too personal. Finally, he said, "Oh, and Murdoch, congratulations on your anniversary. The, uh, papers tell quite a tale about it. Try to see the bright side of this, you'll have more time to spend with your beautiful family." He opened the door and turned back, "And tell your lovely wife I wish her well, Inspector. Oh… and Pendrick, Your Svetlana will be getting out soon. Watch out for that one." So quickly, he was gone.

) (

Once again, able to come home early because their case had been closed by Meyers, the Murdoch family indulged in a backyard picnic for their pre-bedtime snack of hot chocolate. Happily, they all lay out together on their big picnic blanket and gazed up at the stars. The father of the family was busy pointing out important stars, like those making up the Big Dipper, and Polaris – the North Star, which was the most important star of all because it can be used to find your way… it is always in the northern part of the sky.

William Jr. interrupted, asking, "Daddy, is your Cancer star up there?" remembering the details from Madam Celeste's astrological birth-chart reading at the party.

Ever the scientist, his father answered, "Cancer is a constellation, not a star, son. It's a bunch of stars in the same part of the sky."

"Where?" the boy asked, the rest of the family, except possibly Chelsea who was too young, growing curious as well.

Preparing for the rather long answer, William sighed. "You can't see it at this time of year, Cancer is aimed at the other side of Earth right now. When our side of the planet rotates around and is facing Cancer, it will be tomorrow – daytime, and the light from the Sun will be too bright for us to see the stars behind it. No one can ever see their own sign's constellation on or near their birthday. We'll have to wait till winter to be able to see Cancer in the nighttime sky," he explained.

Katie tried another sign, "How about Mommy's Satarus?" she wondered.

Charged with delight, William Jr. rushed to ask, "Can we see Mommy's fire, Daddy?"

Watching her husband's face, Julia recognized the moment the barrage of questions became overwhelming, and this was that moment. She would help now. She propped herself up on an elbow and looked over across her husband's chest to their little ones, Katie and William Jr. "The Fire and Water you heard Madam Celeste talking about at the party are all made up, honey. You can't see them. They aren't real things," she explained. "But, I'll bet your Daddy can show us where the Sagittarius stars are. They can be seen this time of year. Am I right, William?" Truth be told, she really wanted to see them too.

"Yes, we can see Sagittarius, and Katie's Scorpio, too," he said.

William Jr. grew immensely excited. "Katie has stars! Do I have some too, Daddy?"

"You do," he answered, his voice betraying the fact that he, too, was being swept up by their enthusiasm. "You and Mommy have the same ones – you are both Sagittarius."

"How about Chelsea?" Katie asked.

"I… I'll have to think about that one, um…" he tried.

"Where's Sagit… Sagitus…"

"Sagittarius," Julia helped.

First, her Daddy showed Katie where her sign's stars were in the sky. "Now to find Sagittarius, you need to know it's the next constellation after Scorpio, and so it rose after Scorpio, so it's east of Scorpio…" William pointed and talked in a soft near whisper, making the whole experience seem magical.

Every Murdoch eye followed his directions, taking in the sparkling points of light scattered in important patterns in the sky.

"And you can use the North Star – Polaris, to figure out which way is east. See, the North Star there, so South is the opposite way, there… and east is that way. Now we find Scorpio again there, and move towards the east. Do you see those…"

Oh! Ahh! Ouh! A shower of gasps called out in the night – a bright star had flown across the sky, so silent, so quick, so invigorating, streaking a white, blazing trail across the sky! Everyone was looking in exactly the right place to see it… together.

Their Mommy called out, "A shooting star!"

Their Daddy called out, "A falling star!"

Before they could debate it, William Jr. whispered, "Do it again, Daddy!"

And then Katie urged him as well, "Please Daddy!"

Heartbreaking, to disappoint so, but their parents had to tell them, that he could not, William Murdoch could not, make another meteor fly across the sky.

It grew quiet.

Katie asked, "Am I Fire or Water?"

Julia said, "There are four elements you could be, according to Madam Celeste," she added quickly, hoping to fight off William's suspicious looks accusing her of being duped by this whole astrology thing, "Fire and Water, but also Air and Earth. William, do you know which one is aligned with Scorpio?" she asked.

Clamping his lips together, "No," he said with a sigh. "But we can find out. And what Chelsea's sign is too," he reassured, "If you want?" he concluded.

"Yes! Yes, Daddy. I do want," Katie replied.

) (

Talk turned to that of shooting stars versus rising stars while the couple prepared for bed. Julia attempted to tell a joke, saying, "And then there are of course, rising stars."

"Now you're just being ridiculous Mrs. Murdoch," her husband scolded, "These stars, or meteors really, go across the sky, down through the sky. The only way that stars rise is due to Earth's rotation, like the star closest to us, our Sun, stars rise and set too."

She sighed, defeated. "Well, I guess people then, will have to be our rising stars – like Hattie Carter showing off her lovely legs to musician Buddy Duncan's new Ragtime beat… those artist types always having all the fun." Being the one in their relationship who spices up their love-life, Julia suddenly had a wicked and lustful idea!

She had William bring up her Victrola and she put on one of her Ragtime records, and she danced for him. She sat William Henry Murdoch down on her vanity chair, and she swung, and dipped, and shoed off her luscious flesh to him. How beautiful he was watching her.

In his mind, he had a flash, of being just about to marry her, and letting himself just feel it, alive in his body, soupy in his head, stirring in his trousers, as Bat Masterson's exotic and sensual dancer wiggled and jiggled before him, just as this delicious woman was doing for him now.

The record finished, and Julia lifted the needle and turned off the player. She approached him, hot and out of breath, and aroused, and leaned her bottom on the vanity top next to him. She waited.

William's mind wandered, and he thought of the case, and imagined again, falling from the bottom of the plane – and then right away, being shot out of a cannon, and he didn't think, he just said, "You know, our case is much like our debate about stars. Either Schiergen was shot out of a cannon – a shooting star… or he fell from a plane – a falling star. I mean in this case, there was only one right answer… unlike in the case of the stars in the sky…"

He stopped abruptly, noticing the look his wife was giving him. He was unable to decipher its meaning… annoyed, surprised, impressed?

"William," she said, flabbergasted that that was what was on his mind after she had just danced for him(!), and amazed at the tenacity at which he sought after solutions to the problems he was confronted with on his cases, and she worried that he would have trouble letting go of a case that they had clearly been ordered – by the Prime Minister of Canada – to forget about. She would address her concerns, flashes of her fears of losing him flaring up as the most important of all.

"Meyers… the Prime Minister, they distinctly told us – YOU, William – to drop the case, to stop working on the case." She held his eyes, waiting for him to acquiesce.

He sighed, his face wrinkling and admitting to the difficulty he was having in doing what he was supposed to do.

"Perhaps I can help you with this particular endeavor…" his sexy wife said.

She stepped close, her eyes fixed to his, and pulled her nightgown up high. Then, a long, supple leg over him, she sat in his lap.

"It seems my husband has a one-track mind," she teased, her voice sultry, her naked bottom delighting in the rise she was getting out of him.

William cleared his throat, the scent of her floating into him, spinning and whirling his brain into soup. He would need to speak, for words were evaporating away. "It could be argued that your husband has, at least, a two-track…" her lips stopped his words, never to finish his sentence. He would not complain, he would not remember…

The Murdoch's made stormy, steamy love in the chair of Julia's vanity that starry night – both seeing stars. Oh, and they would need another copper and yellow rose.

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