Chapter 11: Making Mountains out of MOLE-Hills?

The moment William stepped in the front door, still beaming from having just encountered his own latest invention, the startling pop-up monster haunting their porch for Halloween, he sensed the buzz – women's lively voices from the kitchen, and the dining room too, along with the tinkling of dishes and the scent of a comfy dinner in the air, and delightfully, the lively pitter-patters up the stairs from the playroom, Claire-Marie calling after her charge.

"Daddy's home!" the pronouncement from his little son as he barreled full-speed ahead towards his Daddy's wide-eyed catch.

So much information for William's brain to grasp in the mere four seconds it would take until the boy was heartily embraced and surged into boisterous play, flooded with his Daddy's smiles and his adoring or teasing declarations, all packaged up in his Daddy's love. The toddler had been dressed up in his Halloween costume, explaining his heightened level of excitement. For his first real Halloween, the little child was Triton, the princely-son of the King of the Sea, King Neptune, and his queen, Salacia. The costume was amazingly realistic, the rubberized fishtail hugging William Jr.'s legs, shortening his tiny stride, and it dangled up in the air behind him, bobbing and bouncing about, producing a fishlike swimming motion in his son's wake.

"Why Master Neptune, you are quite the fast swimmer!" William declared, the child landing with a soft thud to then be catapulted upward into raucous 'flight.' William Jr. was his parents' child, and so he was quick for his age, catching onto his father's game instantly as he felt his own body flattened out in the space as his Daddy's strong arms lifted and dropped and whirled him forward in the imaginary waves of the ocean, and William Jr. extended his arms out in front of him, to stroke them out to his sides and then backwards, pretending to be swimming through the deep sea.

Julia appeared, finishing up with the final details as the caterers took their leave, an ear-to-ear smile on her face watching her husband with her son. A flash of memory followed her thought – that their child had inherited her penchant for swimming – her body remembering the inner terror and adrenalin, her skin re-feeling the cold saltwater slide around her as she had dived in, plunged into the bottom of the sinking ship to save William… his homburg floating there the clue, the certainty, that had blasted her into that uncanny realm of instinct. Desperate to find him, to save him… not a choice, just pure action.

Her own voice sounded, bursting the memory bubble, "Like a fish to water, hmm, Little One," she beamed.

"Just like his mother," William said. "Well done, Little Man," he cheered, then shifted the boy down onto his hip, he turned to greet the caterer, a personal friend of Margaret's.

With William holding the toddler sea-prince in his arms, the Murdoch's bid the caterer farewell, confident all was well with the preparations for their big party on Friday. The door closed, Julia leaned in to kiss him hello. "Welcome home, detective," she whispered, "Oh," she remembered their Halloween costumes, "Excuse my insolence, Welcome home, King Neptune. Our costumes are up on the bed."

His mouth wrinkled at a corner, attempting an apology, for he was meant to be home in time to help with the caterer. "I regret the lateness, my lovely Queen Salacia," came his sheepish, yet playful, response, accompanied by his winsome bow.

The boy's wriggling drew his parents' attention, and his father set him down on the ground. Claire-Marie in his sights, his tiny trident-fork and crown in her hands, he took off in a flash towards his regal accessories, his fishtail pumping along behind him.

Extending the three-pronged, wand-like, trident-fork out to the smallest Murdoch, Claire-Marie reminded of their game, "Master Triton, shall we return to our quest to save Blanco once again, from that dastardly sea-monster?" The nanny turned to her employers to explain, "He was desperate to stab something with his fork. The stuffed dinosaur seemed the best alternative."

"Perfect," Julia answered with a giggle. Her voice growing more intimate, she confided, "It seems your son inherited your tendency to have to save those you love from monsters," she nudged against his shoulder. An unconscious barrier held traumatic memories at bay, of James Gillies, and being buried, and almost hung…

"Smug, cocky," she thought of his sly smile.

"I do believe there is evidence that our son received that tendency from his mother as well," he gave, his eyes so enchanting she could have fallen into them.

"Perhaps," she agreed, slipping her arm in his and giving it a squeeze.

William Jr., having made a ripping tour of the ground floor on his hunt for the dreaded sea-monster, now tore past them once more and headed back down the stairs on his rescue mission.

William wrinkled his brow and asked, "Won't he be cold in that, when we go out Trick-or-Treating?" And then, suddenly, it dawned on him. His costumeKing Neptune, King of the Sea… it would be similar, and an odd chill seeped in, and he imagined the fishtail hugging tight around his legs, and all that cold air touching so much of his uncovered skin up above it, sending an icy shudder through him. Like a bullet, he rushed up the stairs.

Julia, mentally her brain catching up with him almost as quickly as her feet were, was mere froth in his wake.

Their bedroom door was opened and William barreled around the corner to halt before the costume-adorned bed, his eyes glued down to the King Neptune and Queen Salacia costumes laid out waiting. Two dazzling fishtails, a pair of gilded-trident forks… two jeweled crowns…

Julia barely avoided colliding into his abrupt stop.

"Where's the rest?" his question out, as much pleading as demanding. "Where's the other half of them?!"

The hum inside her head outward against the threatening blackening at the edges of her brain, she had anticipated that he wouldn't like it, but he seemed more upset than she had expected.

His arms opened slightly, questioning her as he sarcastically quipped, "I can see the headlines now, Second Murdoch Body Farm even More Outrageous than the First…"

She laughed.

"It's not funny, Julia," any inkling of humor gone, his eyes held to hers, accusing.

Julia's chin moved out and up, into its defiant jut, becoming proud, strong, as her eyes narrowed and her lips and jaw tightened.

Seeing it, William's heart pounded in his chest, for he could tell that she was gearing-up for a fight. He had less than a second to decide, would he engage or would he backpedal? There was a sickly spreading of queasiness in his stomach, driving him, out of habit, to dive head first for default, his fallback – reason.

His exhale first, before his words, hinted to her that he was trying to calm himself down.

"Julia," his eyes asked for understanding, but also pled for her to give in, to accept and to admit as well, "Sometimes you… There's a part of you that seeks… well… that seeks out public displays, scandal… and that wants to shock others… that tries to get us to… make love…" William's hands turned upward, gesturing towards the expanse of the public realm, "out there somewhere… where we could get caught… on purpose!" his tone one of disbelief, tainted ever so slightly with his frustration.

Uh-oh… Her hands went to her hips…

"You started it!" she barked. "Inviting me to dinner, out in a public park, on a picnic blanket!" she raised.

Oh my… William's chest puffed out, and then he leaned in…

"That was different! I was… The absinthe…" he retorted.

Oh, how her eyes honed and pierced and stabbed, as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back to better take in the results as she prepared for her winning shot…

"And whose brilliant idea was that?!" she jabbed.

Their gaze clenched, both aware in the other, and in themselves, of their heaving chests, their drumming hearts, caused by the ringing urgency, for there was a challenge between them. The rumbling quivered, as if the earth itself quaked beneath their feet, such danger about, a rift threatening to crack apart on the precious little ground between them.

But then – with the subtlest hitch of breath, there was a bend, the locked rigidness between them creaking and swaying with the relief of it, like the trees do in the wind. It was her, it was Julia, who gave first.

Weakening, his body reacted to the change in her, draining his blood, tingling his flesh as her expression softened and warmed, tugging at him in the way only she, in all the world, could tug, and his heartstrings, his… more primitive urges, suddenly, uncontrollably, became taut…

"William," steamy, the way her breath flooded out of her with his name, and the chord of her voice dropped down two octaves, and she inched ever so slightly closer. "You know under all that buttoned-down outrage" and her fingers were on his tie, all over his tie, pulling and nudging, and her breath was hot on him, dizzying him, souping his brain. So quickly, the tie loosened, undone, and his top button gone, the sexual pressure of it forcing him to swallow against his will. "There's a part of you that fell madly in love with me precisely because of that very part of me. And I think…" next button gone, her fingers immediately encountering, taking, demanding his vest buttons, "it is the tension…" she said as her hands traveled down lower, getting so close, so very, very close. Oh, my God, another shirt button popped opened, the coolness of the air licking and mingled with the luscious sensations of her fingers directly encountering his flesh. Julia's voice in his ear continued torturing, "the immense, hard pressure between the balancing of those two opposing parts of you, battling on inside of you, that tension thrills me to the bone…" the next shirt button, now so low she was able to slip her hand inside to ravage his stomach, such a surge jolting like a beeline to his groin, "and I think it thrills you, too..." her fingers molded up his chest, "husband, to be such a King, to be my King, of the deep."

The tension, so quickly, tilted towards unbearable inside of him, wavering between opposing forces within.

She shook her head slowly, a fuzzy, loose curl tickling against his cheek, and her smoky voice whispered in his ear, "Don't deny it." And then she stepped back, the shifting of her distance sending a riptide through him.

So badly, he wanted to give her this – this latest dabble of hers in outrageousness. The forces on the left and those on the right were so evenly matched inside of him that the side to side movement between the two burdensome weights became undetectable, a microscopic teetering back-and-forth of the seesaw, the perfect balance serving only to raise the pressure around the center fulcrum rumbling and rising out of his core towards eruption. Trembling, buckling, his head throbbing – his skin suddenly so cold it burned… and his eyes pleaded with her so. A high-pitched hissing sound inside his head drew his attention. Froze him, the steam screeching as it escaped, its secretive whisper hinting the way out, "Just tell her… Let it out – tell her the truth."

His exhale foretold that he had yielded before his words did, "I won't," he bent closer with the disclosure, "I won't deny it."

She found it telling that he did not give his customary wrinkled-corner-of-the-mouth admitting it face with his confession, merely swallowing instead, the crushing pressure lessened, but still heavy, still echoing in his ears.

William's eyes returned to the costumes laid out on the bed. True, he was unable to deny that he felt a passion he had never imagined possible when roused by this woman's wild side, yet he still he found he balked at the mere thought of feeling other people looking at them wearing little more than fishtails.

Julia stood next to him, less re-examining the costumes than she was re-examining William, sensing her husband's struggle was still raging on beside her. She sighed, unfortunately too late to stifle it completely, she merely cut the disappointing sound short. She reminded herself that she knew who she had married, and Detective William Henry Murdoch was a stiff, stuffy, upstanding man… she almost giggled to herself as her brain interjected, "with potential."

"Let's at least put them on William," she bargained. Gratefully with that, his breathing settled. As Julia began undressing, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that her rather straight-laced husband was already in a state of being only partially dressed, the gorgeous man's chest duly exposed. The finding stimulating a delightful tweak in her womb and also invoked an ounce of pride, a guilty pleasure, in her for having been the one to make him so undone.

It was not long before he found himself standing before the mirror of her dressing vanity, Julia observing from behind. William braved a look at himself donning his costume. Unavoidable, the hunky bareness of the reflection that bounced back.

"Mmm," Julia's head purred her opinion. She cleared her throat, feeling his eyes, brown, gorgeous, those eyes, lift to hers in the looking-glass. "You…" she needed to clear her throat once more, "You look fantastic, William. Believe me…" she stepped closer, boldly rubbing her lusty, big blue eyes all over his manly contours, "there's nothing to be ashamed of – quite the opposite."

William's focus returned to examine further his own physique in the mirror. He answered her, "I'm not ashamed of…" Without warning, out of nowhere, a feeling of exasperation took him, causing him to lift his arms to the sky, presenting the blatant fact of his half-dressed state more emphatically, "It's going out in public… like this. Actually -choosing to do so."

His eyes met hers again, in the glass.

Odd, the way the feeling of their shared glance was so familiar to him, with it an unspoken request from her to keep his eyes firmly to hers, to not let himself look down, and at the same time her face revealed her secret wish that he would do exactly that, and that he would be utterly undone by what he would see when he did so. Before his mind could chase down the association stirring the déjà vu, he made his choice. William's long-lashed, dark eyes wholeheartedly gave into perusing all over her sultry body in the mirror. Breathtaking, lust-struck and love-struck, and so soaringly dizzy… That is, before the wave passed. And his awareness of the outer world re-emerged around them. And then William could better imagine it, how she would appear to the eyes of others, particularly male others, in her state.

"You can see your…" his eyes clung down on her breasts and his words halted. "Pendrick should have gotten her bigger clamshells…" his logical brain tried to lighten, registering its complaint. The small size of the pair of curvy, finger-edged clamshells, plastered down into her moldable, creamy, groin-screaming, breasts, only served to exaggerate the urge to touch them, to have them in your hands, to feel the supple squishing and bulging filling in between your fingers, and all this longing achingly pulsed his groin to full-fledged alert… Yet, when his eyes came back to hers, there was an element of the hurt that he was contending with that showed through, from his having seen her desirable nakedness exposed so palpably.

And that's when Julia remembered the night of the voluptuous black dress, the night they had argued about her wearing that dress to a party after she had put it on. Him thinking he possessed her, him acting like he could control her, like he could make her wear something else instead. It had made her furious at the time. And he had tried in the midst of that fight, with such desperation, to tell her what he felt when he pictured other men looking at her in that shapely black dress, and worse, that he was certain that those same other men would feel inside of themselves upon the sight, the same feelings that he felt when he looked at her in that dress. And with this memory she undeniably knew it, the re-discovery landing, now, with a thump in her chest, she grasped that William had likely just run the gamut of imagining much the same thing with this similarly revealing Queen Salacia costume. And with that, with having found empathy with William's troubled state, she felt the sting of it. There was no doubt about it, she felt regret.

"I'm sorry, William," she said with a sigh, stepping up close from behind him.

He smiled instantly when she gave him his own wrinkled-corner-of-the-mouth admitting it look in the mirror.

Her bare arms slipped around his waist and she tenderly leaned down to kiss his chiseled, muscly shoulder. Inside her there was a pang, so delicious the taste of this man, the scent of him wafting in, he was so scrumptiously strapping and strong. And she knew plainly that this magnificent feeling of arousal ignited by the thought of their wearing these salaciously alluring costumes out in public was the cost of accepting that she had been pushing him too hard. She had been asking too much to expect a man such as William to accept this degree of outrageousness. With a deep sigh she moved, stepping around to his side to stand next to him before the mirror. Their eyes still entwined, she suggested, "You can wear an undershirt. Perhaps there's a way to dye it to match the blue color of the tail – or even better," her eyes sparkled with the idea, "your blue pajama top." She fought a frown, adding, "I'll wear a camisole. I have one that is beige… From afar, with a quick glance, it may appear to be skin. I can put the clamshells over it."

He turned to face her and she lifted her arms up around his neck.

"You do look beautiful," he said.

"We've always make a good couple," she replied. Her lips tipped in so very close to his ear, creating the mirage of contact, "At least we can enjoy these for now, just the two of us…"

"My queen," his voice grew lusty and he glanced over at their bed. "Shall we pump up some waves in the ocean?"

Wild, passionate images played in their minds, predicting the future. Crowns and trident-forks scattered to the winds as the seas picked up, and the bed, and the pillows, and the blankets, rippled and roared. Thunderous crashes as the two bodies of the king and the queen vied for dominance, flipping and flopping, throwing and pulling, and pressing, and squeezing, and demanding, and begging, and thrusting…

BUT… There were time issues. Eloise would surely have dinner ready.

"Perhaps we don't have time," William corrected.

They decided, accepting reality, to complete putting on the costumes and to take photographs, as this would be the last time they would wear them, at least in the spirit that these particular costumes were intended. Julia laced sparkly green strips of 'seaweed' into her hair as William adhered the small beard to his chin. Then they put on their crowns, and posed together, checking the results in the mirror. Their ensembles complete, his tail off to the right, hers to the left, lush seaweed, so beautiful, twisted and curled into the locks of her golden hair, his distinguished black goatee beard on his chin, regal crowns atop, lustrous trident-forks, and with it all their eyes seemed to dance as they soaked the magic before them in.

William had a memory flash, sparked upon noticing in the reflection the sensual way the golden, long curls of her hair parted around those two perfectly bulging orbs of her breasts, covered just barely with those two teeny, tiny clamshells. There were flickers, each one stealing away a bit more of his ability to breathe, his mind finally replaying the full memory, probably for the billionth time. "Perhaps it was her smaller trident-fork, reminding of a shovel?" his rational brain tried to understand the connection. He felt the roll through him, breath stolen, knees wobbling. She was stunning. He had always suspected so, but that first time… Who was he fooling, every time, he was wholeheartedly captured reveling in her beauty, her unfathomable, devastating beauty.

Breaking the spell, William changed his point of focus to his own reflection once more. As the couple's brown eyes and blue eyes fluttered over the image in front of them, they evaluated, at first wholly caught by the magnificence. Dangerous however, flying this close to grandiosity, and their instincts drove them each to correct their distasteful arrogance by finding faults. Those same twinkling eyes switched to critical ones as they sought out scars, wrinkles, unsightly sags in the flesh.

Julia spoke, telling her thoughts had traveled a similar path to his, "Life takes its toll," she said, "But still, it seems it doesn't wholly steal away the beauty, hmm?"

His deep breath, and she sensed his discomfort. She would help. "You make a good king – fitting for the crown."

Then he asked her, noting the accessory was missing, "What did they make your purse out of… a conch shell?" he suggested.

"William," an air of authority in her tone for his having made such an obvious mistake, "I won't need a purse… William," she paused, ducking down her chin down and looking up at him before inviting him to look around at their surroundings, "The party's in our own home."

Wham, that familiar out-of-body experience hit him like a brick, his mind lightening-off down the trail rapidly unfolding inside of him, catapulting him along against his will to show him what he already knew. It felt like a time-warp, going so fast, yet so slow, knowing words would never be able to get there in time. He pictured, remembered, it exactly as it had happened, that strutting Neil Catfrey seated in the Interview Room, tossing William a crumb, a hint, saying cryptically, "In order for you to be successful when you pursue this, at least one of you must come out of the picture." Staggery and mumbly, still, William tried, muttering to her, "Take one of 'U' out of 'pursue'… Of course! Julia, you are brilliant! Of course!"

His eyes twinkled and sparkled and pulled at her so, electrical zings of love and lust and curiosity and wonder shooting bolts between them, and then… then she remembered what she had been saying before he went wherever it was William goes in his big brain – she had been telling him about her not needing a purse at their own party. And with a wallop, it hit her, as she compared that to his misty comment about taking a 'U' out of 'pursue,' yielding a whole different word all together, like a sort of word puzzle! And she saw that William was detecting that she had grasped it, and now it would be a race between them, for she so wanted to say it aloud before he did.

William forced himself to hold back at the last second, anticipating the reward of the burst of joint discovery.

"Purse! Purse! That's what the clue is!" Julia nearly hopped up and down with her excitement, "Taking a 'U' out of the word pursue makes the word 'purse' William! The robber must have put something in the women's purses!"

He swept her into his arms and planted an enthusiastic kiss on her lips. "I knew there was a reason I married you!" he declared.

His kiss of joy still tingled on her lips as she watched him flinging the various parts of his King Neptune costume all over the room, the back of her brain disappointed, for it seemed they would not be capturing their sexy-looking Halloween costumes in a photograph after all. Julia hurried to help him, retrieving his shirt from earlier, his tie, his vest, like a high-speed rewind, almost immediately downstairs, him tapping his homburg onto his head and asking her to call the Inspector and George and to tell them to meet him at the Banner's house, and then blurring out the door.

)

About an hour later the doorbell rang unexpectedly. Julia recognized the man standing there immediately, but not the shapely woman at his side. "Inspector Guillaume!" she greeted with surprise, "This is quite far from Paris. You must be in Toronto to guard the Pink Panther Diamond."

"Dr. Ogden, oui. It is that exactly. Although it has been many years, you… you still impress me. Magnifique, that a doctor can be so beautiful," he charmed instantly, taking her hand up to his lips, pausing, eyeing her up through his lashes, lashes that he seemed wholly unaware would never compete with William's. "This is my wife, Angelique," he turned to tuck his hand behind the small of the blond woman's back.

"A doctor, so extraordinaire," Angelique greeted. Her eyes flirted, fluttering a glance, then darting away only to return for a slightly deeper connection. "Your monster… I suppose for your Halloween… uh, customs… It is very frightening, non?" she patted her chest, as she dared to look back where the monster had popped-up from behind the bushes next to the porch to startle them.

Inspector Guillaume complimented his friend, Monsieur Murdoch, "I told you, Angelique, that the detective was an inventor… However…" then an impudent smile grew on his face as he caught Julia's eye, "What I did not know was that he would use his talents for something with no purpose other than for fun. Your husband is très sérieux, non? I was of the belief that he lacked such… playful inclinations."

"Marcel," his wife took exception, "How impolite of you."

Odd, Julia noticed, the way woman's giggle afterwards revealed that she found her husband's brashness enticing.

Julia found herself lured into the teasing of poor, absent, William, agreeing with the sentiment behind the French Inspector's comment. "I must admit," Julia conceded, "my husband can be a bit… stuffy."

"You see, Angelique, even the woman who married him knows… Il est évident. You will see for yourself soon enough," he added.

Suddenly both of them were staring expectedly at Julia. A subtle cloud of confusion filled the air.

Marcel Guillaume broke the uncomfortable pause with a chuckle. "I suppose the good detective forgot to mention…" he nodded, receiving Julia's 'a-ha' expression, "It seems your husband invited us over for after dinner drinks without informing his beautiful wife."

"Oh my," Angelique gasped. "He is here, oui?

Julia shook her head, "No. He hurried out…" Her glance jumped to meet Inspector Guillaume's eye, a fellow policeman, he would understand, she shrugged knowingly to him explaining, "He discovered a clue… on his latest case."

Angelique complained, "I wanted, beaucoup, beaucoup, to meet this handsome Canadian detective again. We met so briefly that morning at the hotel…"

Unable not to wonder, Julia repeated the much too sexy-looking woman's last words in her head, "…at the hotel! William… met her at a hotel!?"

Angelique, apparently completely unaware that she had set off concern in her potential hostess, continued on with her rambling wishing, "…this man, this Monsieur Murdoch. Il fascine Marcel." The woman pouted, her plush lips drawing the eye.

Diverting from an uncomfortable topic for him, Marcel proudly held up a bottle. "Shall we start without him then, ladies?" he invited cheerfully.

Julia recognized the extravagant cognac, her eyes widening with excited glee, "Jacquiot XO! How splendid," she declared. "William won't mind… I'm afraid he does not indulge," she said, realizing at the end of her statement that William's teetotaling would be seen as further fodder for his being a boring and stuffy man – that is, certainly in comparison the these two.

Already through the door, coat hung on William's foyer peg, Marcel headed for the living room, trumpeting, "Très bon, all the more for us!"

) (

So… While William dashed over to investigate the purses of both Madame Banner as well as Madame Hubbard, the Guillaume's and his lovely doctor-wife shared stories, much of them about William, over glass after glass after glass of delicious, and quite potent, French cognac. Wanting not to abandon their company, particularly in light of the fact that William had already erred in forgetting that they were even coming at all, Julia asked Claire-Marie to stay later than usual and to prepare William Jr. for bed. Now, the nanny long gone, the toddler had nestled into his Mommy's lap and drifted off to sleep, waiting for his father to get home. None of the adults realized how quickly the time had passed as the conversation was lively and the cognac was wonderful. Feeling delightfully tipsy, the conversation drifted into somewhat dangerous territory.

The current laughter erupted, Julia working so hard to control her own share of it to blurt out the rest of her story, her face bright pink with the laughing – and the cognac – she told the French couple, "You should have seen how flustered William looked, his perfect tie and his stylish hat all askew, even his shirt buttons undone, when the cabbie opened the carriage door and caught us.

Touching her hand, probably for the hundredth time that night, to Julia's knee, Angelique leaned forward and said, "I wonder how it could be, such a daring, risqué woman as you are, Julia, how do you find happiness with a man so… how shall I say…"

Marcel drunkenly stabbed his index finger proudly in the air, stealing their attention, for he had the perfect word. Shaking the finger about for dramatic effect, shoving his urge to laugh aside, "Prudish…" he spilled it out, then collapsed into hearty laughter once again.

"That is it exactly!" Angelique declared, sliding over on the sofa to sit in her husband's lap. She showered him with kisses. "You are so brilliant," she adored, "Mon homme sexy." Her attentions to her husband escalated, her mouth traveling down the man's neck, her fingers invading the knot of his tie. "Perhaps we can make you look the same way, non?" she teased.

Watching on, her womb twitching, despite her telling herself not to do so, as she watched the abundantly French couple becoming more passionate right in front of her, Julia became conscious of a feeling of a regret. The acknowledgement of it made her take a deep breath. "We're not being wholly fair to William," she scolded herself inside her head. A part of her gave herself the admitting-it face as she argued back at herself, thinking, "Well, 'prudish' is not completely untrue…" Still, she felt the need to explain, to at least try to correct their mistaken image of William, despite the fact that earlier she had had to make it starkly clear to them that William would want no part in their more 'FRENCH' lifestyles.

"I must say, in William's defense," she started her attempt to rectify their limited point of view of William. Her tone was sufficiently serious that it changed the mood, and the couple ceased their foreplay and their giggling, and settled to focus on her. "I think I have let you get the wrong idea about William. William is one of the most open-minded, modern men I've ever known… It's just well, William has much more to him than one sees at first. It's not as much that there is a different side to him as it is that there are deeper and deeper layers to him, and they're underneath his more modest, rigid surface… William's sort of like a crab, in a way…" she waxed philosophical, probably because of the cognac, "Not to say he's 'crabby.' No, that is not what I mean. I mean, he's all soft and tender inside, like the meaty crab inside its hard shell," she meandered towards making her point.

"Well," Angelique worked to accept this novel perspective of the man she was yet to truly meet, "It must be so, for a woman as lovely as you are to be so in lov…"

! ! !

Alarming them abruptly, the strangest noise pierced the air – from outside… followed instantly by that horridly familiar mechanized evil laughter! It was William's pop-up monster, everyone figured it out instantly, feeling a grateful sense of relief sinking in with the remembering of the booby-trap-like device planted outside the Murdoch front porch.

"Little One," Julia nudged her baby son in her lap, "Daddy's home." Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly she kissed and caressed the sleepiness out of her little boy, and then she lifted him off her lap and dangled him, waiting for him to firmly place his adorable footsie-pajama-covered feet on the floor. Letting go of him, from behind, she encouraged the toddler to hurry to go greet his Daddy at the door.

The parade of adults followed along in tow.

Immediately, William had picked up his two-year old son. His hug was softer, less rambunctious, than usual, for his fatherly instincts had detected the baby's sleepiness. "You waited up for me, hmm Little Man?" he gushed.

"Yes Daddy," William Jr. answered him proudly, turning to look at the others coming up behind while receiving his Daddy's adoring kiss on his cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, William noticed the three figures… "Not just Julia. There are others," his mind alerted.And his brain raced to provide the memory of his having had invited the French Inspector and his wife over to their house tonight, bringing it up to the forefront for him, all happening before he had even fully taken in the sight of who it was exactly that was in their company. He had completely forgotten!

"Inspector Guillaume… Madame Guillaume! Please forgive me," he worried, resting William Jr. over onto his hip to offer the Inspector a handshake.

"Marcel," Inspector Guillaume corrected, preferring the less formal address.

The Inspector's wife offered him her hand, "And Angelique, s'il vous plait… William," she requested, using William's first name, subtly asking his permission.

"Flirtatious, this one," William observed.

Unexpectedly, almost intrusively, an old disconcerting memory flashed inside of William's head, from nearly a decade ago when William had met the French Inspector in his hotel room to tell him what they had found out about their Jane Doe, and a beautiful young woman had emerged from the bedroom and kissed Guillaume, long and deep, on the lips, and then asked him if she would see him that night…And then, just a few minutes later, another woman, a different woman – Angelique – the French Inspector's wife, it had turned out, came out of that very SAME bedroom! And William had known then that Inspector Guillaume had had sex with both of these attractive women together! It was astounding! And the man had felt no shame about it, on the contrary, Guillaume had behaved as if such behavior was commonplace, and that it was actually William who was abnormal for not partaking in such behavior himself.

Oh, it tickled Guillaume so, the detective's expression, for he knew exactly what the poor buttoned-down man was remembering, and he intended to push this man's ever-so-proper buttons mercilessly. After all, Monsieur Murdoch had an abundance of said buttons to push.

"Monsieur Murdoch," he spoke in a rush, "William…" he corrected himself, "It seems you interrupt me once again while I am entertaining two of the most beautiful women. Even more delightful, that one of them is your wife, non?"

Julia noticed, Guillaume noticed… William Henry Murdoch had blushed.

Julia's telling Mona-Lisa-smile on her lips, she would rescue her husband, "James Pendrick called for you. He said to tell you that you were right, the item suspected might be missing is missing."

William's heartrate shot up even higher with the news. And he felt them all still examining him, all those eyes. And he felt a panic brewing in his gut, for he had been troubled about telling Julia about Sally Pendrick, correction – Sally Hubbard, and even worse, telling Julia about what Catfrey had said about the painting of the titillating woman in the nude. And he remembered that Julia was the only one who had been able to see that obscure painting for what it truly was all those years ago. And he was certain she could see right into him right now. And it was getting so hot in here…

He hated it, but still, William had no choice. The tension had made his throat so dry it would crack if he did not swallow before he spoke. Gulp, he yielded to the requirement, and then said, "That is unfortunate," his brain explaining why it was so, but only to himself, for it indicated that there was definitely a connection between Catfrey and Sally both being here in Toronto at the same time, and it was most likely a sinister connection at that.

Adding to William's stress, the Guillaume's had clearly been told about his and Julia's sexually-revealing Halloween costumes, and worse, the couple intended to torture him with their relentless requests for him to agree for himself and Julia to change into the half-naked garbs for them to see.

Angelique brought the topic up by way of congratulating William about making such a, "magnifique," monster to frighten the Trick-or-Treaters on Halloween, thus giving an opening for her husband to make the direct suggestion.

"Monsieur Murdoch… William, you have a Halloween costume, with Julia, yes… Angelique and I would very much like to see them," his handsome blue eyes glistened with the intended poke.

William's dark eyes charged to meet Julia's, scolding with a raising of an eyebrow.

There was a slowness, an oddly familiar blurriness to her movements, and a dimly detectable slurring, as Julia responded to her husband's unspoken reprimand. "I don't see the harm, William. It's just the four of us. Maybe, after the baby's tucked in?" mischievously, she joined the dastardly rally against him.

And that's how long it took William to notice, the awareness surging his uneasy stomach even further towards alarm, at least at first. "They were all drunk!"

"Julia," he mixed pleading with annoyance…

Angelique interrupted them, stepping close to William and stoking William Jr.'s black curls. "William Jr. showed us his fish-man costume earlier…"

"Triton," William Jr. corrected her.

"Oui, oui," she declared delightedly, "Triton."

Putting the little boy down, William straightened up and frowned at her. He was feeling more in control with the recognition that the three of them were intoxicated, the alcohol being the best explanation for their whimsical, less than responsible, attitudes.

"That will have to suffice, I'm afraid," he said firmly. The corner of his mouth curled upward after his statement, the merest attempt at an apology.

And with that, William received Angelique's pout.

William Jr. took off for the kitchen. "Hot chocklit! Hot Chocklit!" the little child made his hopes known.

Julia gestured, suggesting they all follow him.

Just before they struck off for the kitchen, Marcel watched William watch his son run off and then winked at William and leaned over to tease, "I see you made babies as I suggested…"

A cat-ate-the-canary grin on her face, Angelique halted them all right there. "Oh, I see Marcel at one point has graced you with his usual line about the wife and the mistress," she divulged with guilty pleasure.

Julia's curiosity was ever so piqued, but, so devilishly, her big, blue, beautiful eyes stayed pinned directly on her, already squirming, husband when she asked the Frenchwoman, "And what, pray tell, is your husband's line about the wife and the mistress?"

My goodness, it was getting so very hot in here…

Angelique's manner imitated her husband's perfectly, "You make babies with your wife," then, using Marcel's hand gestures to a T, and the Frenchman's overstated widening of his eyes, she continued, "But you make LOVE to your mistress." Angelique fell into a fit of laughter afterwards.

And Julia's glee lit up her face, for she had watched as William had turned crimson, and then he had uncomfortably tugged at his collar, and then he had blown out all that built-up pressure through his pursed lips, and all the while he had been brave enough to look her wholeheartedly in the eye. So lovely. "Oh, I see," she joined in the giggling.

William sensed an opening and cleared his throat, bidding they all take notice. My God, the man could be winsome, and he puffed-out his chest, knowing he would charm them all with what he was about to say. He began walking them all forward towards the kitchen together again and said, as he tucked his arm into Julia's, "What you could not have known when you told me that all those years ago, Marcel, was that, for me, this remarkable woman would be both."

William's gorgeous eyes dashed that shy, sideways glance at Julia that always gave her butterflies. Brief yes, but he had seen it… Her face was aglow, wide, surprised… It reminded him of the expression she had had back when she had stood in the bullpen looking on as he demonstrated his truthilizer invention to the men, and the blue liquid had shot up so dramatically in the coiled glass tube right after Higgins had been cocky enough to publicly ask him if he was in love.

"Oh-ho!" Marcel exclaimed with a dirty chuckle, impressed by William's bold statement about his intimate relations with his wife.

"It is true then, what Julia has told us," Angelique gasped.

And William's brain rushed a little wondering what it was Julia had said to them.

Angelique never stopped, now rewarding, "Touché, William…" The Frenchwoman looked to Julia, for she wanted her to know that she, too, felt such a love with Marcel, saying, "That is what Marcel tells of me." There was an undertow though, a solemnness in the woman's tone that Julia detected. She had seen it in Angelique earlier as well, when she had declined the couple's rather spicy and immodest proposal, indirectly avoiding giving them an answer, describing hers and William's passions instead, as a means of explanation. She wondered if perhaps Angelique was more the mistress than the wife. She wasn't sure, but there was something missing, a longing that had been awoken anew.

"Then we are both fortunate men," William replied, such a big smile on his face, "very fortunate men indeed."

"Oui, c'est vrai," Marcel exclaimed.

"Shall we?" William gestured them forward the last few steps into the kitchen, by now William Jr. tugging at his mother's skirts.

Julia remembered that William had not yet had any dinner, and so the Murdoch's and their guests sat around the kitchen table enjoying a second dinner, and some hot chocolate, sobering up the more drunken members of the group, while they discussed all myriad of things, but mostly the police matters at hand. William caught everybody up on the security being instated by the Constabulary to guard the Pink Panther Diamond during Friday night's Howell-oween Bash. And he filled them in on much of the details about the home-invasion Jewel Robbery case as well.

William decided that it would be best to bring up Sally while Inspector Guillaume and his wife were there. The French Inspector knew Sally, she had recently married a wealthy French baron over in Paris. And importantly, Julia would probably be less likely to probe into William's discomforts with some of his feelings for the other woman if others were present. He told them all that he had considered Sally Hubbard, now Sally Charron, as a potential victim of the jewel robber because she tended to don such luxurious jewels, but he had decided to rule her out because the robber uses home-invasion to commit his crimes and the security at the Queen's Hotel where Sally was staying would likely deter the robber, or robbers, for it was still unclear as to whether or not he worked alone. He had not, however, ruled Sally out as a potential thief of the Pink Panther Diamond, largely because he was aware that she had ties to his main suspect, Neil Catfrey. Further, Sally was well-connected to the owner of the priceless diamond, making it relatively easy for her to get close to it.

All eyes were glued to William as he disclosed what he had discovered from Catfrey's clue about the purses. It turns out that both Mrs. Banner's and Mrs. Hubbard's purses which they had taken with them to the events on the night's they were robbed each still had these small devices adhered deep down inside the very bottom of them. William pulled out the two devices from inside his vest pocket to show them. Also in his pocket was the picture he had used when interviewing people in his efforts to locate Neil Catfrey. Having had already shown Inspector Guillaume the picture, and knowing that Julia had seen more than enough of Mr. Catfrey on the night she danced with the man, she engaged in flirtation with the man, he laid the picture down on the table thinking it was insignificant. He opened his palm wide to display the devices they had found, explaining that he had suspected they were a form of listening device. Handing one of the small devices off to Julia and the other to Angelique, Angelique quickly passed hers on to her husband to examine. William added that he had gone to see a man he knew who had invented a wireless transmission device – an 'electrolytic detector.'

While William elaborated on the first time he had worked with Professor Fessenden a decade ago. He grew so excited with the memories and with the technology that his eyes twinkled and his speech grew hurried. His enthusiasm was contagious…

That is, it was to Julia and Marcel. Angelique, however, held back a sigh of boredom. Her eyes drifted looking for anything of interest.

"We used the listening device to record a politician admitting to taking a bribe," William put his fork down on his plate, indicating his story would be a long one. "The device was huge back then – so big we had to hide it in a suitcase, and in order to make it work, the suitcase had to have this gigantic antenna sticking up out of it…"

Angelique spotted the picture William had put down on the table and reached over to pick it up. The man was extremely good-looking, she noticed first. But then it sparked – she had seen this man! Her excitement bubbled up, and for the briefest of seconds she told herself not to interrupt the detective, but it was too late. She had shaken the photograph about vigorously with her discovery. And she wasn't sure, but she might have even gasped. Either way, Monsieur Murdoch had stopped talking and all of them were staring at her.

"Oh," she declared, now the center of attention, "But I recognize him," she offered. She turned the photograph for Julia to see and said, "He is memorable, non, you must admit." Her eyes lured Julia to look, unbeknownst to Angelique that Julia had seen the man before, that THIS was the man who recently had beguiled her at a dance and caused them so much suffering. The Frenchwoman coaxed her to notice the man's handsomeness, then she gave her husband a wide-eyed look. "This man is most attractive," she concluded, bringing the picture back to look at it admiringly once more.

At the same time, Marcel and William both rushed to ask her where and when she had seen the man in the picture – where she had seen this Neil Catfrey. But before they each had a chance to finish their simultaneous questions, Angelique answered, "I saw him today at the zoo, while you were all so busy with your questions and your checking things for fingermarks and any other signs of tampering with the big important diamond… And that beautiful young woman veterinarian made such a scene, so upset about the poor lioness who must be painted pink to look as if she is a pink panther. It is so ridiculous…"

Unfortunately for William's patience, Julia joined in with the protesting about the insignificant detail – the dyeing of the unfortunate lion and the subsequent lividness of the shapely woman vet. "All because of the name of the diamond! That is absurd, to say the least," she nodded excitedly to Angelique.

"It is why they chose this location – the zoo, for the panther," Angelique reminded.

An inner tug, not identified to herself yet as jealousy, drove Julia to learn more about this intriguing woman. "So, this woman veterinarian… she failed in stopping the silliness?"

"Oui, her boss – a toff, Alderman Lamb, he demanded it be done despite the young woman's obvious prowess on matters of caring for the zoo animals. She felt it would be much too dangerous, that she would have to tranquilize the poor lioness," Angelique jumped at the chance to elaborate, "This Alderman, he treated the doctor like a tiny child, he tell to her that she was making the molehill into a mountain…"

As the two women spoke about the 'beautiful young woman veterinarian,' William felt an unsteadiness stirring inside. He HAD noticed this woman. She was incredibly attractive. Young, bright eyed, spicy, and strong. He had had a reaction to her, one that had been strong enough for him to be aware of it, for him to shove at it, to push it down, to think of Julia, for the woman reminded him of Julia, and such worry had ensued in his remembering about how terribly upset Julia had become that time not so long ago when he had found himself, when she had noticed him from across the restaurant table, fantasizing about the waitress…

There, around their kitchen table, Julia was wholly enthralled, the back of her mind squinting through Angelique's words to discern if her first instinct towards jealousy was founded. "The saying about the molehill is that she was 'making a mountain OUT OF a molehill," Julia corrected.

"Oui, yes. That is right," she agreed. Talkative, this Angelique, and now she had some gossip – and Julia's ear. "Oui Julia. Her name is Dr. Elizabeth Mole. Perhaps her name makes people think of the molehill, non?" she brightened with her creative pun, "A woman doctor… like you, but for the animals, so not as good. But the men will turn heads for this one…"

As much to get away from a topic that William wanted to avoid as it was to get back to the case, William interrupted, "Ladies, please. My suspicions are raised even more now to find out that Catfrey was at the zoo today. He must be preparing to steal the diamond…"

Julia asked, finding as she did so that she not only had some qualms about her husband and this new, beautiful veterinarian, but she also felt a smoldering of unpleasant suspicions concerning William and the woman she herself was about to bring up – Sally Pendrick, "Did you say Sally Pendrick, err, uh, Sally Charron was it… Did you say she was at the zoo today too?"

William gulped, for she gave him a look.

"Perhaps while this attractive woman doctor was steaming about?" Julia continued, her discerning eyes looking over at William from the rim of her cup of hot chocolate as she lifted it to her lips.

Marcel could not lean further forward over the Murdoch's kitchen table… and William noticed, with a scowl, that the Frenchman had lit, once again, one of those foul, dreadful cigarettes – bad enough they had to occasionally put up with Meyers' cigars, now this too… Using one of his, now familiar, usual gestures, Marcel's cigarette-clasped fist rose high towards the center of the table, the cigarette replacing his index finger in insisting they take note of him. "Non, non," he said, shaking his head, his long hair lagging behind the motion, "I did not see her. You William?" He tapped some ashes from the cigarette into the ashtray Julia had retrieved for him.

William's irritation required a moment to quell, and so there was a pause. He swallowed away the awful cigarette-burning sting in his throat. "I saw neither Sally Hubbard nor Neil Catfrey. But with Sally's acquaintance with the diamond's owner, she could very well have been in the building set aside to seclude the diamond for sake-keeping until Friday night."

"C' est vrai," Marcel agreed. "And this Neil Catfrey, you suspect him in your robbery case as well, you said?" Another drag on the cigarette before ticking it into the ashtray once more.

William nodded, his appetite gone because of the smoke. He pushed his plate away.

Marcel went on, "He could have been there today to prepare for either crime then – stealing the Pink Panther Diamond OR robbing some poor toff of her jewels, yes?

"Yes," William's simple answer. Thinking about it he added, "Or both."

As to the robbery case, William went over much of the details that he had worked out thus far. He told them about what Neil Catfrey had said when he interviewed him, that Catfrey had said that he believed the robber would prefer to work alone – no partners. And Catfrey had known how the robber could accomplish the crime singlehandedly, and he had been the one to lead him to the very devices that were now the biggest clue in the case. "Finding these listening devices, exactly where his clue indicated they would be, suggests that not only was Catfrey right about the way the robberies were done," William argued, "but he is also now the prime suspect."

Julia wondered, an upsurge of emotion flaring inside her gut with the thought because she did not want to be the one to defend Neil Catfrey to William again, especially not after all they had been through because of the man. She overruled her hesitation and asked, "But William, don't you think that if he was the robber he would have avoided telling you such things?"

Annoyingly to William's state of mind, Marcel added, "The lovely doctor has a point." Even more annoyingly to William, Marcel winked at his wife.

Julia almost laughed out loud as she watched William reach up and rub his brow. Watching on, she knew exactly what William would do next, even before William himself did. He would sigh.

Frowning, William went back to what things they did know about the case, and yes, he sighed first. "Professor Fessenden said that the listening devices are only able to send a signal four or five blocks. And, because the robber, or one of the robbers if Neil Catfrey's theory is incorrect, arrived at the victim's homes only briefly before the victims did, Friday night's targeted couple would need to reside relatively near to the Riverdale Zoo. Now we know that he will likely plant a device similar to these…" William glanced at the two devices resting in the center of the table, "into some woman's purse that night. We will be watching for this to happen. He will also need a place to set up the equipment that receives the signals from the victim's purse, and he will need to listen in during the event to hear the wife saying goodnight, or whatever," William waved off the annoyance of explaining how the robber would use what he heard through the device to be certain of the departure time of the victims. He took a deep breath and continued his train of thought, "Once they are preparing to leave the party, the robber will have to rush from wherever he is listening to the victims through the device to the victims' home so that he can be waiting inside the front door when they enter. We've narrowed down the likely victims from the guest list – married women, wealthy, with an abundance of expensive jewels, living within a ten-block radius of the zoo… That is the maximum distance, if the robber is acting alone and he placed the signal-receiving equipment within five blocks of the event, and then only needed to travel a short distance to the target's home." William reached up and rubbed his brow again. He worried that he would not be able to be at the zoo during the event, but it had been settled. He just had to accept it. Inspector Guillaume would be there, and Julia had made the best possible arrangements for someone to attend in his own place, and there would be a large number of constable on hand as well.

As if he were psychic, Marcel rubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and he said, "It is unfortunate that you will not be attending this Howell-oween Bash with us…" He winked at Angelique before he continued, "Then we would have had a chance to see the two of you in your magnificent Halloween costumes… since you deny us the pleasure tonight."

William simply gave the man an irritated smile.

Angelique would try one last time, her pouting preceding her request this time. "Please William," she pleaded, "Julia tells us they are for making of the films, non. These costumes must be marvelous, non. And they lack the tops… and I think you would look magnifique without the top on…"

"He does," Julia interjected. Her blue eyes looked to William and she nodded as she told it again, "He really, really does."

Angelique leaned close to William seated around the corner from her at the table, bringing her ruby, red lips provocatively near. She whispered, "I très, très, très desire to see you with your costume."

Avoidance at all costs, William dropped his focus down on their sleeping son in Julia's lap. "It's late," he signaled that his answer was still no.

Marcel pushed his chair back, yielding. "I suppose you are right," he agreed. "Angelique, mon Cherie, we should be going. Let them put the baby to bed, and do whatever it is that these Murdoch's do afterwards," he reached for Julia's free hand to kiss it in saying goodnight. Then slyly he added, "Malheureusement, it appears certain that they will not be doing it with us."

"Malheureusement," Angelique answered him, offering her hand to William for him to kiss.

The Guillaume's put on their coats and said another round of goodnights at the door.

Then, finally alone, suggested that William put William Jr. to bed while she cleaned up. It was not long until the house was locked up for the night safe and sound.

)

Quite intentionally, Julia left her satin slip on instead of changing into her nightgown. Feeling lustful, she had removed all her undergarments, leaving only her bare skin under the sleek satin fabric. Now, sitting at her vanity brushing out her hair, she waited for William to finish closing up the house, and she decisively let herself enjoy imagining what would happen when he came in. So quickly, she tumbled head over heels into the fantasies – William stepping up behind her, his hands all over her, slipping and sliding so lusciously over her body through the satin. Her womb coiled and clenched as she imagined his breath, hot and surging and hungry, in her ear, his poking manhood at her buttocks…

His footsteps coming up the stairs drew her own eyes to meet herself in the mirror, "truly beautiful in this lowlight," she thought of the look of them. She felt… so aroused, and warm. And a part of her wondered if it was the cognac, and another part assured that she had sobered up sufficiently while they talked in the kitchen. She heard William pass their bedroom. "Checking the baby," she told herself, such tenderness in her chest, she loved them both so.

William came in, closed the bedroom door behind himself. His suit jacket and vest in hand, he nodded to her, his eyes darkening as he took in the look of her. He put the vest and jacket in the closet, placed his badge in the top drawer of his dresser, and came over next to her. Julia enjoyed so when he did this, such a lovely familiarity to it, he rested his buttocks to lean down against the top of her vanity while she sat in the chair working on her hair. There would be intimacy to their talk. At least, that was what she expected, but…

"The case, of course, the case," she frowned to herself, annoyed that she had expected otherwise from him, as William brought up the same old subject once more.

William slipped off his shoes as he said, "We got another lead from Professor Fessenden today…"

Julia looked at herself in the mirror once more, partially wondering if her disappointment could be seen on her face. After a quick sigh, she replied, "Oh?" accepting that the case would be what they discussed, she urged herself for patience.

Typical of William, an unsolved case like bone to a dog, he seemed wholly unaware of her more romantic hopes. He continued on, "After I showed him the listening devices from the purses, he told me that he had sold six such devices to a man about a month ago."

Being the perfect match for William Murdoch that Julia Ogden was, her mind began to engage. She asked herself, had almost had time to ask William the question too, but he went had proceeded too quickly, "Could the man have been Neil Catfrey?"

Answering her question, he said, "He did not recognize the photograph of Catfrey. But he did think the buyer was American. He had heard an accent. And he gave us a description – short, balding, spectacles… and a notably big nose. The name on the receipt was Peter Burke…"

Adoring it so, Julia smiled when he gave her his doubting face, all wrinkled up and gorgeous.

"But the address on the receipt panned out," he said, sounding more cheery. "A man at the corner newspaper stand near the building said he thought the description matched a man called Schnozzy. He said he knew the man to run a two-bit shell game in the park…" William recounted more of the clues. Tellingly, William rubbed his forehead with his stress before he added, "But he hadn't been around for about a month. Maybe this Schnozzy purchased the listening devices for the robber and then moved on…"

That lovely, unsure face-wrinkle of his again, Julia noted.

"I'll have George work on it tomorrow," William sounded resolved to stop himself from obsessing on the case any further.

Out of the corner of her eye she sensed his aura change. He turned, deeply he looked at her, watched her. She returned to brushing her hair, and smiled, for the butterflies began fluttering inside of her again. His needing to clear his throat hinted, he was about to brave something with her.

"Julia," he began, then pushed himself, forcing a shortening of his natural desire to pause, "Did Inspector Guillaume… Marcel… Did he suggest anything…" An emotional upwelling, and the unwanted hesitation happened anyway, still, William managed not to swallow, not to clear his throat again, "…risqué," he managed to risk using the direct word, "with you?"

"Huh," her mind marveled.

"Why William, whatever do you mean," she asked him, her tone tinted with teasing.

Oh my, he had to swallow…

And she loved it…

Delightfully, William's voice was scratchy and dry as he delved further. "Ahem…" he cleared his throat again, "When he was here the first time… he and Angelique…" He would just blurt it out! Get it over with! "Julia, did he suggest a ménage à trois?" William asked her frankly.

Her responding gaze into him was deep, and warm, and dangerously frisky.

"William, you shock me," she teased him again, then gave, "No, not Marcel so much as his wife," she answered. My, how she enjoyed the expression on William's face, not wholly able to decipher if it was disapproval or intrigue. Then she added, barely suppressing her giggle, "Marcel seemed to be much more interested in a ménage à quatre, if you ask me…" the urge to giggle won out, "It seems he's quite taken with you… although I'm not quite sure how four would work…"

"I'm not sure how three would," William admitted with his typical wrinkled-corner-of-the-mouth gesture.

She stood, came so very close to him as he remained perched on the edge of her vanity. Her husband avoided her eyes. She lowered hers down to his tie, felt his breath on her skin, and his eyes on her, safer now. Taking a gentle hold of his tie just below the knot, Julia slipped her hand seductively down half its length and then squeezed it, pulled it up, urging him up off of his perch. He yielded to her wish, stood now right in front of her. And she spoke, her inner focus honed on his reaction, but her eyes, her fingers, busy undoing his tie, "Such suggestions," she asked him, her voice low, close, "they make you uncomfortable?"

Their eyes met, and he held his warm chocolaty eyes to hers. "They do," his look so honest, so opened, it caught her breath. The intensity, the intimacy, was almost painful in its rawness as it passed between them. He gave her his admitting-it wrinkled-corner-of-the-mouth look once more. Then, there was a bracing inside of him, locking his arms at his sides, for he had decided to brave asking more. William's chin ducked down, exaggerating his already breathtaking, long lashes, the look of him whirling and flooring her with his vulnerability, and he asked, "And what did you tell them… about their provocative proposal?"

The power of their connection too much, Julia shifted the flow of energy between them, changed it to be more sexual. She began unbuttoning his shirt. William's jaw tightened – he was resisting. Her tone as she answered him was matter-of-fact, but – my Godwhat she was about to say to him was not… "I told them that the way we make love is so extremely focused on one another, so tangled up in each other, and drawn to each other, so utterly and completely wrapped up in each other, that there could not possibly be any room for anyone else."

Inside, coming from so very, very deep inside of himself, William felt the implosion of pure joy. She was perfect, this woman, absolutely perfect.

Prompted by those glorious feelings, William swept her off her feet, his tone luminous, and so delightfully cocky, he said, "I guess that's what happens when, if… if a man is fortunate enough…" he bowed softly to her, "to meet that one rare woman who is the perfect match for him in every way, that one woman who fits uniquely with him, who is able to be – to him – beyond both his wife and his mistress… to be his whole world."

The softest hum seemed to seep into the back of her brain, every molecule vibrating so lusciously. "Quite winsome again, husband," Julia told. She tugged his shirttails out of his trousers and undid the lower buttons on his shirt, then stepped closer to him still, and pressed her pliant bosom into his firmer chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head, pausing her mouth close to him before her kiss, "Yes, winsome again," and then her lips fell to his, the touch so tender, luring him in, rhythmically deepening. She loved this man so…

Their breathing built, growing rushed and strong. Every cell of her wanted him to… "Please William," she begged him in her head, "Please." Their kissing deepened.

William felt her hands touring over the cottony fabric of his shirt, sliding his suspenders down over his shoulders…

And with that, with his imaginings, and anticipation, of what was to come next… William's self-control burst, stormy commanding hunger cascaded out of him, and his hands, through that fabulously silky-smooth satin of her slip, ravaged her every curve. So wild, his kissing, devouring her chin, her neck, her lips, her tongue – her soft, soft, delicious tongue. His hands rough, squeezing, and her body responded to him, moaning, gasping, squeezing back… her nipples erect, sassy, under his fingers.

Melty and gooey all over, Julia's core tweaked agonously for him, wrenched, and knotted, and wanted, so very desperately wanted him, and her brain demanded, against her conscious will, that she call his name, over and over again, with such a compelling, forceful yearning…

"William. My God, William. Please… Oh, Oh, William… William, I love you so much," the taste of him between each word, lush, delicious, this man. "Finally," her brain rewarded her as her hands tucked into the opening in the front of his shirt, his skin so warm, muscles so rippled and defined, and… "Oh," her moan escaped her throat as her knees weakened so, "So strong. He's so strong," her brain trumpeted and ferociously her womb clenched so tightly it stole her breath away. Utter collapse threatened, surely the floor was floating up, surging up, such a fall loomed, dizziness all around, only her arms around his neck, holding with all her might, to stop it. "William! William!" her untamed whispers so desperate, so helpless in his ear.

His hands, impossible to move fast enough, ventured, took what he wanted, rode up over the magnificent curve of her plump bottom, glided down the backs of her firm, long thighs, lifting and bunching up her satiny slip with heart-racing urgency. Then the flare, the rage, of his fiery exhale with his discovery of her complete bareness, so accessible, right there for him, no undergarments, right there, her juicy, warm, slippery wanting him rocketed him out of control.

Wham, their world spun wildly out of control, William taking her by the backs of her thighs, lifting her up, sweeping her up off of her feet, Julia losing all concept of up or down, she clung to him wholly, her legs wrapped around his waist, holding on for dear life, her arms around his neck, the centripetal force of the swirling whirlwind defying gravity with its torque. William's head squalled, turbulently soupy with the sensation of her wetness pressed against his stomach.

Boom, her back slammed into the cool, solid wood of their closed bedroom door. William was so heavy on her, his breath, primal, junglewild, in her ear. "When you call my name like that…" he told her, raspy and heaving fast and strong, so wonderfully out of breath… The utter crashing of it surging Julia's back into an uncontrollable arch. With everything he had, William fought the urge to pump into her right this second, wildly, wildly, his body wanted to, so hard. Forcefully he demanded that he keep control.

Surely Julia would die, the spinning in her head overwhelming, for he was… he was. His trousers, William is taking off, shoving, rushing, to get them off… He's going to… Oh, my God, he's going to…

AHHH, the steamy declaration of their mutual moan filled the air as he ruptured her, the pleasure of it, the sweetness of him pushing in, deeper, and deeper, threatened implosion. With savage need they sought the ultimate touch. The rhythm, intoxicating, each thrust closer, further, deeper, so close, almost… There was nothing else in the world but the need to reach the threshold, to reach that one perfect spot. Him, driving wildly forward with his pounding inward. Her, sucking him in more and more, with everything she had, with every ounce of herself, she pulled for him, wanting every last drop of him in her deepest, deepest crevices.

"William…"

The way she said it, he knew it in his soul.

"William, please…"

The humungous wave was lifting her, so high, so mountainously high.

Mighty, rugged, he poured all of himself into the effort, his life-force, his power, shoving, launching them over the edge…

Silent, paused, floating before the drop, the heaven of the unavoidable promise…

And it hit, like a maelstrom, wave after wave of heat, molten, delicious heat deluged through every molecule, every atom. Fused, wholly fused, it was so, so, GOOD.

"Mmm," William's contented moan thrilled her to the core. "Julia," he whispered her name with what felt like the last breath he would ever take, he was so completely spent, exhausted, collapsed, "I love you, Julia," his gentle kisses showered across her beautiful, hot, flushed face, lush, and rich, the taste of a few salty tears. She had given him her all, absolutely and completely, everything she had, and he had done the same. Julia clung to him still, her body demanding he stay inside her just a little bit longer.

He lifted her away from the door, walked them over to the bed. Artfully, he held her close as he sat, her on his lap, then turned, trusting her to keep their connection with the tautness of her hug, he laid her down underneath him. Her breathing so labored, he reminded himself to hold his weight off of her with his elbows wedged into the mattress. He kissed her ear, her neck.

Her voice was delectable raspy and dry from their spent passions when she said to him, "No one else in all the world knows a love like ours, William."

"Perhaps," he whispered his answer to her. Unfortunately, for he correctly assessed it would irritate her, he found her argument to be pointless, unprovable…

He felt her frown under his shoulder, and with that, he rolled them over, bringing her on top. Julia argued with herself in her head, "William is who William is." Still, she felt her jaw clench, fighting her annoyance. The words appeared before her, "William, and his boring, unromantic, logic." She managed not to complain, yet failed in holding her telling sigh at bay.

Correcting, he hoped, he said, "But, it feels that way to me, too… if that helps." He tucked his fingers under her chin and lifted her face to his. He gave her a soft smile, requesting it would do.

She returned his smile, and nestled into her place on his chest. Julia puzzled though, about it before she asked. Her tone suggested a change of topic…

He noted gratefully.

"William," she started with her query, "How can it be that such a practical and sober man as yourself, can write such passionate and remarkably romantic love notes?"

"Ironic," he thought as his mind searched the answer, for it was due in part to Inspector Guillaume. Taking a deep breath, indicating the answer would be thoughtful and long, he explained, "Marcel, actually. When he was here working with me to find Monique, and then Monique's killer. We sat in his hotel room and read through a pile of letters the sisters had written to each other. He, um…" William reached up and rubbed his forehead…

And Julia wondered if such an insightful man as himself would ever figure out how much the gesture told.

Going on, William said, "He read the letters with an idyllic passion. And… um, he mocked me for lacking passion in the way I read the letters. And, well, he showed me a part of myself, a part I had always been… reluctant, maybe even a bit ashamed of. It wouldn't have been spurted at all though, if I hadn't met you yet. So much of those… thoughts, and feelings, and words, they only happen when I think of you, Julia. And Marcel, he just helped me to find them inside of me."

Her head still down on his chest, Julia felt, for she could not actually could see, his endearing admitting-it wrinkle. She gave him a loving squeeze. "Well, I should thank him then," she replied.

Pillow talk lulled, and Julia settled down heavier on top of him. Her fingers strolled and rubbed the contours of him. Her ear pressed above his heart, she noted that he had not yet recovered from their lovemaking, his heart thundering, and thumping, and still pounding against his chest. Her brain wandered, lovely, the replay, the memory, of the way he had so passionately made love to her against the door. She lifted up, propped an elbow into the mattress to hold her chin so she could see his face. "Such a massive effort, it seems, for you… your body, making love?" she wondered.

He chuckled.

Julia went off on another tangent, pondering aloud as she rested back down on him, "Why, I wonder? Why would God make procreation take such effort from a man?"

"Only those fit enough would make good fathers, perhaps," he suggested.

Julia sensed his curled-up face questioning his own logic. Her heart flickered with a flare, she was still so very unexplainably madly in love with this man. She kissed his chest. His breathing was slowing. She interrupted their thoughts to tease him, "I hope it was worth the effort…"

She felt his arms draw her near, warming her to her core…

"Value is comparable to effort, I've found," he said, hoping she would take the opening.

"Oh, I see," she replied, the mischief in her tone clueing him that she had. "So, based on my calculations, considering your rapid heartrate and highly winded state, not to mention sweat… you detective," her use of his title signaling her playfulness and seduction, "quite value making love to me then, yes?" she ended it with a question, forcing him to say it.

"Yes doctor," he responded in kind, "And, I find that once again, I am unable to deny one of your discoveries about what drives me," he gave.

The couple grew quiet. William's mind dabbled for a few moments on Guillaume, his thoughts leading him from the man's unconventional promiscuity being wholly confounding to him, somehow back to the case. Julia's thoughts went an entirely different way.

"A man puts such effort into getting his seed into a woman," Julia thought to herself. She figured, "It's all he really has to do to reproduce." And then her thoughts arrived at the more personal, thinking that right this second William's seed was inside of her, and that thought, surprisingly to her, made her feel so very happy, and warm, and mushy, like she wanted to huddle around his seed deep inside of her, and surround and nurture it, and love it forever, and with those thoughts she started to feel like she was going to cry. The ache of it was so familiar, the pain, the longing, to have another child, to have HIS child resurfacing. She pushed – hard, to make the feelings sink back down. She had to accept it… be grateful for William Jr. Their baby was a miracle. She loved him with all her heart. Her efforts to console herself reminded, coached her towards the positive, towards hope. She was going to Church with William now, every Sunday. They would eventually adopt…

Julia practically jumped when William's voice broke the silence.

"The fingermarks on the two devices we found in the purses were not Catfrey's or Professor Fessenden's," William was working on the case again.

"Amazing, the tenacity of this man's focus," Julia thought, then added, "Annoying at times," and in her mind, prompting her to make his admitting-it face to herself. She would play the familiar game with him, though. As soon as she started, finding, as usual, that she thrilled with their intellectual connection as much as their romantic one. "Catfrey was willing to give you his fingermarks?" she was surprised. Explaining, she elaborated, "Weren't you concerned… that your asking him for them would tell him of your suspicions about him?"

William nodded. He had thought of that. "George got them without his knowing," William confided, the sanctity of their home lulling him into feeling it was safe to reveal his sneakiness, "off of a cup of tea, as it were."

"Oh, I see." She marveled, her husband's cunning sometimes taking her by surprise. Back to helping him with the case, she suggested, "Perhaps the fingermarks are his partner's… perhaps this man called Schnozzy?"

There was that familiar frown. "I don't think so," he replied, "The whole point of planting the listening device in the first place is so that the robber would not need a partner, according to Catfrey's theory, anyway. And it makes the most sense that way, with the evidence we have." He sighed, "Though, we do know that a man called Schnozzy purchased these two devices along with four others. I suppose they could be his fingermarks, from when he made the purchase, or, of course, this Schnozzy is the robber."

Julia expected him to rub his brow, but he didn't.

"Well, either way, it suggests that Catfrey isn't the robber," he concluded. "Still, Catfrey knew about those devices, knew that they would be in the victims' purses. He's involved, most certainly…"

"Yes," she agreed. "But I guess you will have to work out how, hmm?"

"Mmm," he answered her.

"You should sleep on it," she advised, suddenly feeling the tiredness of a very long day taking hold.

"Mmm," he answered her again. William stretched over and clicked off the lamp. Nestling in, he said aloud, "Perhaps I'm making too much out of it…"

And Julia thought, the lovely ripples of sleepiness already rocking her, hearing it in Angelique's voice, the saucy French accent mingling the words with an importance in her head, "making the molehill into the mountain."

) (

The setting was dark and dank, somewhere in the bowels of the secret passageways of an old, abandoned mansion that Schnozzy had found near to Detective Murdoch's home. It was here that he had moved to once he had finished with all the purchases for their scheme – the listening device to keep an eye (so to speak) on Murdoch, the equipment to make the fake diamond once Sally had delivered the real one for them to serve as their model. The plan had gone well, or so they had thought up until now, Sally having done her part, even planting the lead-crystal, pink-coated, fake diamond, complete with its pouncing-panther-shaped sliver melded inside of it, back where it would be taken as being the Pink Panther Diamond, hopefully for a long, long time to come.

The two men, suitcases and bundles readied by the secret escape door, huddled together in the dim light, with fine wine and a cold but delicious meal between them, listening in to the Murdoch's pillow talk. Other nights had provided a racy, lusty, eavesdropping. This night was no exception, at least, not in that regard. But they had heard terribly upsetting things mixed in with the 'Toronto's Favorite Couple's' wild passions, and they were currently beyond distressed about it.

"They know my name, Neil!" Schnozzy screamed, his panic blatant, his arms pleading, "My name! And they might even have my fingermarks! We have to go – NOW! Now, Neil. Now."

Schnozzy held his beady little eyes to those beautiful, charming, blue eyes of his longtime friend. Neil could think of nothing to say, certain that 'sorry' would not be enough.

Schnozzy's tirade out of his control, his rant went on. But he loved this man, and his desperation, they both knew, was a much for Neil as it was for himself. "I don't understand why you had to tell Murdoch! Why give him that clue – about the ladies' purses?!" his eyes pleaded again. "Now he'll come to arrest you. We have no choice but to run," he insisted.

A sigh first, Neil had to concede, "I made mistake. Schnozzy, I'm so sorry. I got wrapped up in further taunting the man after what had happened at the Ball with his wife. I got cocky, was so sure I had the upper hand."

Then, suddenly remembering the part of Murdoch's conversation with his wife about the constable having gotten HIS fingermarks, Catfrey too felt a wild panic ensue. Maybe HIS fingermarks were on the fake! The fake that right this very moment was under heavy guard at the zoo! Slowly, he ran his memories through his mind. "Schnozzy," he alerted his friend about the new concern, "I remember, distinctly, that I handed the fake diamond to Sally. Schnozzy…" Neil's eyes swelled huge with worry, "I was wearing gloves, but Sally… Sally wasn't wearing gloves, Schnozzy. Her fingermarks are on that fake – I know it Schnozzy! She'll get caught! Murdoch will question her because he knows we… I told him about Paris, and Pendrick's painting of Sally in the nude…"

Schnozzy's eyes shot to glance at the painting wrapped up, waiting to be sent ahead to Chicago with the rest of their things. He spoke, now that it was Neil who was upset, sounding much calmer, now his job to reassure. "You mean that same dreadful, weird, painting you had me pack-up, with all the shapes, and the triangles… That one?"

Catfrey nodded. "Sally will be there Friday night. She's the only one who knows we already made the switch! Detective Murdoch will suspect her. He already thinks she might be involved – because he suspects me, and he knows about our past… and the painting…" Neil was trying, and failing, not to lose control. He adored Sally Hubbard. She was his one and only "Beautiful Lady," the love of his life. He couldn't, just couldn't let Murdoch get her…

"Neil, you're making a mountain out of a molehill," Schnozzy poured him another glass of wine hoping it would calm his nerves.

"I have to at least warn her," Neil jumped up, rushed to find his coat.

"We can't take that chance Neil – Murdoch likely has constables watching her hotel," Schnozzy heard the pleading in his own voice again. He took a deep breath, worked to lower his tone. "Think Neil. Be reasonable. Sally will just have to take care of herself – she's a big girl," he reminded Neil of Sally Hubbard's prowess.

Accepting it for now, certain he would think of another way, Neil sat back down. "You're right. I need to think, just a minute. I swear to you Schnozzy, I will not leave Toronto without warning her about the fingermarks and to watch out for Murdoch," he vowed, stubbornly.

"O.K. O.K. We'll think of something," Schnozzy agreed, sitting back down as well.

Neil had an idea, thought it through before he told his plan to Schnozzy. "I'll have Nannette take her a note…"

"That chambermaid… the one I've found you naked with every morning for the past week? Schnozzy worried. The woman was ditzy, to say the least. "Neil, she's head over heels in love with you…"

"Exactly!" he charged forward feeling a sense of a silver lining. "She'd do anything for me, I'd wager," he offered. He set about writing the cryptic note to Sally. They would drop it off at Nannette's on their way to the train station. It would all work out. He was sure of it. They'd get to Chicago with the Pink Panther Diamond. Sally would rendezvous after the big bash on Friday. By the time she arrived, he and Schnozzy would have already begun implementing their plan to steal the priceless "Tigers on Bamboo," giving him more valuable CATS for his and Sally's collection, this one consisting of two stunning paintings on top of a fine layer of gold-leaf on Japanese silk screens.

Neil crafted the letter, got it Nannette. Just as they made it onto the train they sat in their seats and Schnozzy attempted to reassure, "They'll never figure out that the diamond in the display case right now is a fake before they leave Toronto."

His tone stern, definite, Neil responded, "Murdoch'll figure it out. But Sally will be alright. She'll make sure there's an explanation for why her fingermarks would be found on the fake… and then she'll get out of there. It'll be alright, even if Murdoch does figure it out. Everything's going to work out." Catfrey nodded to his friend, then his handsome blue eyes stared out the window as the train started to move. "Good-bye Toronto, and good riddance."

) (

Nannette opened the envelope and read Neil's note to the toff, the bloodsucker, the vamp.

My Beautiful Lady,

Make a display of touching the fake with your exquisite bare hands. Be certain that others see you do so. Watch, my most beautiful lady, beware the wily and cunning tiger, the one that hunts, the tiger in the 4th house, the one that watches over the zoo, for his stealthy stripes render him camouflaged in the tall grass. Then come, my love, to our room. Meet me, my beautiful lady, where we planned. I will wait forever, my love, forever.

Your Handsome Cat,

NC

Nannette closed the letter. Seething jealousy dizzied her thinking. She needed a plan, a plan that would keep Neil for herself, and rid the world of her competition, this vampireous Sally Charron. She would never deliver this note. Never. Rather, her dastardly plan hatched before Neil and Schnozzy had even boarded the train to Chicago, she would get the letter to the tiger himself, to Detective William Murdoch, the one in the 4th house, at the Constabulary's Stationhouse #4. But, it was essential that her beloved Neil not be caught in her trap, refusing to lose HER CAT in an effort to rid them of his LADY, and so, she would need to send the tiger, the detective, after the wrong scent. Using a pen of similar hue, she signed a different name to the bottom of the letter, surrounding her love's "NC" with a few other capital letters, creating a fake sender, "NANCY." She, herself would go to Chicago and meet him at the hotel. He would surely hear of his precious Sally's demise soon enough. He would be forced to love her, once Sally Charron rested securely in Detective Murdoch's jail cell. Yes, that was exactly what she would do.

)) ((

*** And so, it seems that there are many who cannot wholly escape the dilemma of the Lady, or the Tiger. Neil Catfrey tried to cheat the fate of the Lady or the Tiger dilemma by sending his latest meaningless conquest with a note to warn his Beautiful Lady, Sally Hubbard, thus planning to have his Lady and to have his freedom, and to also have his coveted masterpiece, the "Tigers on Bamboo" as well. But, there was, what he and Sally had coded as a danger, lurking, using their predetermined signal – a "tiger in the grass," in this case the tiger being the tenacity of her one previous obsession, her William Murdoch, the only other man besides himself to be graced with her blessing of her naked portrait, and he had had to warn his lady to beware of it. Neil had that portrait now, and he would have Sally too. The dangerous tiger – Murdoch, be damned.

But how could Neil Catfrey know that Nannette would also choose between his Lady and their Tiger, sacrificing the Lady to the Tiger itself, in the end. She delivered the note anonymously to Stationhouse #4 that very night, addressed to Detective William Murdoch. And then Nannette caught the next train to Chicago. She too, had had her own encounter with the dilemma of Lady and the Tiger.

)) ((