A/N: Alright, people. This is the chapter this fic was rated for, more or less, not counting the imagery of blood and death throughout. Please be warned that there is sexual content here, but not very descriptive and not much more than you'd see in your average PG-13 movie.

Shout out to RuthieGreen for her spot-on psychological diagnosis of our villain, which is referenced here!

Next time: Everyone's got some skeletons in their closet, including Eva.

George and Emily Take St Louis

Chapter Ten

"Riddle me this," George said as he sat in the chaise, the daily newspaper folded over his knees, "Eva coerces her friends into helping her murder Miss Vandeventer. The ensuing racket is drowned out by the waterfalls. However, no one saw the deceased enter the attraction and the evidence we have placing the three of them in the ride is circumstantial at best. I am certainly not an unbiased witness, and the attendant could have been swayed. So how is it that a delirious woman in a drug induced stupor managed to follow three people in the heat of the afternoon through the crowds, locate the service entrance, and traverse the Magic Whirlpool? And for what purpose?"

Emily was lying atop the covers in bed, her legs stretched out before her as she repeatedly ran a brush through her curls. She wore a dressing gown generously provided by the housekeeper, whose royal purple hue set off the ivory tones in her skin. Having been mostly silent throughout their discussion of the case, it was evident that something else was on her mind. "Perhaps to confront them. Jonathan did say that she came around to the office that morning; I'm willing to bet she had just discovered Eva's plot and needed to tell someone about it."

"And the codeine? How did she come to ingest that much in the first place?" The paper was set aside and he settled farther down into the cushions, fingers knit together behind his head.

She slid off the bed at enough of an angle that George caught a glimpse of her underthings. Quickly, he averted his gaze as she closed the blinds and turned on the lamp at the bedside table. "Methyl morphine is a queer sort of drug. Once ingested, it takes anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour or so to hit, depending on a person's body mass. It's perfectly feasible that Celia arrived in his office under considerable stress, remembered him speaking about how his training medication took the edge off, and self medicated. Or maybe he'd mixed it in his morning coffee and she took a long drink, or took it out willingly out of sympathy."

"Sympathy, Emily?" It never failed to amaze him just how much insight she had into the human spirit.

"They were engaged. The pain of one is the anguish of the other. Whatever the case, it seems that she lost track of reality, stumbled into the fairgrounds on her way home, and happened upon the three girls," she explained, climbing back into bed. Laying on her stomach, she turned to face him, her head propped up in her hands and feet in the air.

This made sense, but then again they would never know the true reason behind Celia's intoxication. "So Eva knows that someone is wise to her scheme and wants to silence anyone who could bring her to justice. It's easy to coerce Marjorie and Charlotte, but the law isn't so easy swayed. Dr. Haynes was first on the list. Any one of the girls could have done him in; they were all wearing red nail polish cake."

And so that had been the damning clue for each of them. "It wouldn't have made sense for Marjorie to go after the doctor, George. She'd just been shot in the upper arm, and must have been bleeding quite heavily. And she couldn't have gone to the precinct first-whoever killed him would have been simply doused in his body fluids. Consider that she must have sought out Eva to inform her that the plan to stop Anechka from circulating the flyers she'd made had failed, and she reacted out of anger."

"That leaves Eva and Charlotte as primary suspects," he leaned forward and took one of her hands, subconsciously running his fingers over the dorsum. "While it's possible that a pregnant woman could have wrought that much damage on a victim, I certainly don't like to think about it. Let's assume Miss Pearce beat Dr. Haynes to death, escaped out from the crawlspace to an undisclosed location, then shot her friend to keep her from seeking medical attention. Why then would she go to the trouble of switching the bodies at the funeral home?"

Dr. Grace considered this for a moment. "For all we know, it could have been to perpetuate Mr. Vandeventer's assumption that his creditors were coming after him, with the murder of another wealthy socialite. She must have filched a delivery boy's uniform and disposed of her bloody clothes. We already know she is a master of disguise."

"The risk of being caught would be too great," he refuted that theory with a shake of the head. "And Julia's findings indicate that Eva isn't completely insane, just a malignant narcissist. Her connection to Mr. Hampton may be stronger than we believe. The switch may not have been her idea."

So one of the Vice Chancellors of Washington University was thoroughly, irrefutably deranged? Something didn't add up. Emily knew first hand how love could drive people to do things they normally wouldn't, but this was a bit of a stretch.

"If this was true, her original plan must have been to get rid of the children so that she would inherit the Vandeventer family's fortune. When she discovered that they were close to bankruptcy, her loyalty shifted, and now she and Mr. Hampton are biding their time in town until they can get rid of all the witnesses to their crimes. Why would they do this, now that the entire police department is after them?" Rolling over onto her back, she met his gaze upside down.

"You said it yourself, Emily. She wants us to find her. There must be some sort of crucial clue we're missing," George said. Eva still had her wits about her, enough to leave whatever enclave she was holed up in the middle of the night in pursuit of retribution. As if Anechka and her family weren't terrified enough by what happened, she'd shot into the storefront for good measure. By comparison, this seemed gratuitous, even petty.

She shrugged, casting off his speculation with an air of finality. "Everything always becomes clearer after a good night's sleep."

Both were thinking that they hadn't been able to achieve that in almost a week, but didn't want to dwell on the reasons. Looking upon her heart shaped face, her eyes closed in rumination, George was suddenly seized with a burst of affection. Before he could give it a second thought, he leaned forward and kissed her softly.

Her lips came together in a warm smile. "Come to bed," she encouraged him, rubbing the bedspread with her hands.

George jerked backwards as if he'd been stung. This wasn't a request that came innocently. He would be lying if he said he didn't want to lay with her, to feel every inch of her exquisite body against his own. But there were still many things that needed to be discussed if they were to resume to their relationship ever again. "Might we talk about us first?"

Rolling back over and tucking her legs underneath her, Emily felt the heat rising to her cheeks. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that she should have expected this. Why, oh why was she constantly putting her foot in everything?

"Fine. I'll go first." His eyes were on her, and she had never felt so vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Whenever I embraced Leslie, or Lillian, or anyone else for that matter, it was always you I saw when I closed my eyes. If you ask me, we never should have split up. We were too young, too prideful, to see that we were pushing each other away. If we tried again, I know we could make it right."

The expression that crossed his face in that moment was nothing short of astounded. Before he could reply, Emily stood. "You don't understand, George. You've been driving me mad ever since I came to work at the constabulary. It's your foolish jokes, your smile, your creativity. And the way you look at me-Me!-as if I was some icon of intellect. You made me work harder, just so by the end of the day I'd have time to go to the vaudeville or the hot dog stand with you. I just can't say it enough-it's you, it's you, it's always been you."

Quickly, the separation between them began to feel like an untraversable canyon. He coughed into his sleeve, taking in how both her hands were unclenched at her sides, subconsciously reaching for him through this storm of emotional burden. Even now, tears were building up in his throat, threatening to cut off his words. So he began to speak, and didn't stop until they all ran together.

"Emily...believe me, I didn't mean to rush into this. But ever since you left Toronto, I've been a mess. You can ask anyone at the station house. All I had to keep myself company was the memories I made with you. And now that we're together again, I realize that I'm in love with you, and not just the good times. Please, if only so I can finally sleep at night, I have to know if you do."

She took a step towards him, her face upturned. "Do what?" It was a daft question, but right now her heart was pounding so loud she could scarcely hear a word he said after the declaration.

He took her hand, gently teasing her fingers with his own. Then he suddenly gripped it hard and asked, scarcely above a whisper, "Do you love me as much as I love you?"

"I love you more," Emily answered automatically. "To the moon and back, to the depths of my heart, to the edges of the universe."

The other hand came up to catch her cheek, and she nuzzled into it. George was having a hard time talking, for his lips were contorted in the most ludicrous smile she'd ever seen. "My dear, I'm not sure that's possible."

At last she closed the distance between them, melting into his arms. They kissed once, twice, then separated a fraction of an inch apart. It was as if something snapped between them, for George took a protective hold on her waist and brought her in again. Their embrace quickly turned passionate.

"Show me," she murmured close to his ear, gently massaging his back.

His hands trailed downward to softly cup her backside, and soon Emily found herself lifted atop a chest of drawers. The display of dominance was impetuous, but not unwelcome. One shoulder of her robe had slipped, revealing the strap of her camisole. Try as he might, George could not keep his eyes off of her decolletage, which was rising and falling with each shuddering breath. "May I?"

Damn him and his gentlemanly sensibilities! She responded by tugging at the tie around her waist, unveiling her satin undergarments to the casual view. Taking this as a resounding yes, her companion placed a tentative hand on her knee, slowly running it up the length of her body. When at last he reached her breasts, his deft fingers slipped underneath the fabric, eliciting a gratified sigh.

Emily hoped she would never forget the sensation of it, his lips on her neck and her fingers threaded through his hair. Even in their first courtship, they hadn't gone so far physically. Continuing the tortuously slow perusal of her form, George allowed his hands to wander, causing her hips to buck under his touch. She didn't know where on earth he'd learned to do such a thing, and frankly, she didn't want to know.

Roughly, she shoved him off. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he'd done something wrong, or if he'd hurt her in some way. Yet the fiendish glint in her eye told otherwise.

"May I?" She echoed his previous statement, except she didn't wait for a response. His belt came off with a snap.

The next few seconds are a blur. She made a bold play for the most sensitive parts of him; he exhaled through his teeth, trying not to make any incriminating noises that passersby in the hall might hear. Eventually, they collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.

After a brief struggle, Emily came out on top, cheeks pink with exertion. The image of her perched on his chest, hair tousled and smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, is one that would forever be in his memory. But because he tried his best to be honorable, and his aunts had taught him better than to take advantage of a woman, he had to doubly ascertain her consent. "Love, are you sure about this?"

She couldn't help it; the question was ludicrous! Struggling to her feet at the edge of the bed, she actually interjected, "Are you kidding?"

The robe came off with a shimmy of the shoulders. Next, she made sure the camisole and bloomers join it on the floor, all the while holding his gaze.

That's when George knows he's done for.

-0-

"If this key doesn't belong to a room in this building, I'm going to lose my mind," Emily said as they trudged up what felt like the millionth staircase in the sixth lecture hall they'd searched that morning.

Jonathan Larimore lead the charge indefatigably through campus, a prodigious ring of keys proceeding him through every archway and passage. It was a wonder what finally acquiring a search warrant with probable cause could get their investigation, for they were now allowed in all buildings that had been shuttered for the summer season.

And so they had began in the halls hosting all manners of classes in the natural sciences, going off of the noxious sulfurous smell wafting from the box. Once he'd heard the rest of the story, Celia's fiance hadn't been irritated at their decision to steal from his boss's office. Besides, his opinion on the man in question had definitely changed over the course of the past twenty-four hours. "This campus is the second largest in the state, right after the flagship university in Columbia. There's also dozens of underground tunnels, which definitely warrant a look if we come up empty," he explained, demonstrating his exhaustive (if not momentarily irrelevant) knowledge of his place of employment.

George brought up the end of the line. For the past few hours, he felt like he'd been walking on air. Today of all mornings he hadn't wanted to get out of bed; now that he and Emily had finally shared the depths of their love for one another, a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A part of him had feared that she would think their coupling had been a mistake, but upon waking, she'd only cuddled up closer, kissing him and reminding him that she loved him, and what's more, she would let it happen again. They could have stayed there all day, but the case required their absolute attention.

Progress on the case had picked up considerably. There was now a warrant out for Eva Pearce's arrest, published in the Post and Dispatch for all to see. Already the precinct had received reports of seeing her about town, but attempts to locate her were unsuccessful. Curiously, Mr. Hampton had neglected to come to work that morning.

Upon arriving on the top floor, they split into two groups on opposite sides of the corridor. One would check the classrooms to see if one had been left unlocked by chance, and the other would try the key on each of the locked doors. It was time consuming work, but George and Emily were confident that it would lead them to the clue that would crack the case wide open.

Eventually they arrived in the basement, which was lit by naked bulbs sparingly dotting the ceiling. It seemed that every other floor tile was missing, creating an uneven walking surface. That was when Emily chose to broach the question that would confirm their theory on Celia's death: "Mr. Larimore, do you keep codeine in your personal affects?"

To his credit, he barely flinched at the intrusive query. "Certainly. It's given to me by my trainer. You get a little drowsy, but after that you're more alert than you could be otherwise."

"Celia was found to have high amounts of the drug in her system when she died. What are the chances she got it from your desk when she came to check up on you?" George wondered, causing his hand to freeze over the next doorknob.

Jonathan's smile fell, replaced with a dour grimace. If this was so, he could be indirectly responsible for her inebriation, and subsequently her death. He turned to one side to hide his anguish, turning the key in the lock in the process.

The door swung open without pause.

(to be continued)