Thank you so much to all of my wonderful reviewers! I would thank I you individually if I wasn't so technophobic and could figure out how, which hopefully I'll be able to soon :P To answer a common reviewer question, Miranda Pratt is not related to Susan Pratt and Nancy Lewis from the show (sorry to disapoint.) The name just popped into my head while I was writing the story. Now without further ado...

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

After leaving a much calmer Walter with a Dora the Explorer Popsicle bought from the neighborhood ice cream man and a promise of two more exhumed bodies to examine, Peter and Olivia pulled up to what could only be called a mansion. The enormous house stood three stories tall with probably close to twenty rooms and its pristine white walls adorned with wild ivy. Fruit trees lined the driveway in the front yard, in the center which stood a gaudy fountain in the shape of a centaur. The look was completed by an Olympic size swimming pool (visible even through the barred gate) in the back yard.

Peter whistled. "I don't know about you, but in my eyes, it's almost too minimalistic," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Personally I wish they had gone for it more."

Olivia couldn't help but laugh as she rang the door bell. "You can give your complaints to their decorator after we talk to Miranda."

The door was answered almost immediately by a woman in a black maid's uniform. Olivia flashed her badge. "FBI," she announced. "Can we have a talk with Mrs. Miranda Pratt?"

The frightened looking servant quickly ushered each of them into the velvet red armchairs in the drawing room (a pompadour paradise in its black marble floors and ornate velvet furniture) and told them to wait while she fetched the young master.

"What do you want?" a voice called.

Olivia looked up to see Miranda Pratt gracefully descend the staircase, appearing the picture of mourning in a simple black slip, high heels, and a vintage black veil draped over her fore-head.

"We just wanted to ask you a few questions, Ms. Pratt," Olivia replied. "It will only take a few minutes of your time."

Miranda roamed over to the ornate purple couch and threw herself upon it with a devil may care attitude. The differences between this girl and the one she had helped at the crime scene were shocking. Whereas the previous Miranda had been confused and helpless, this girl seemed confident and in control. She stalked her house like a predator. The hair on Olivia's arm stood up on end: this girl was dangerous. Had it all been an act?

"Do you know these boys?" asked Peter, passing Miranda pictures of the three previous victims.

"I know them," she evaded, "They were my friends."

"Just friends?" Olivia probed further.

"We dated, okay?" she huffed. "I didn't know high school romances were so important to the FBI."

Olivia's attention was diverted by the sudden outburst of brilliant white lightning outside, followed by a booming clap of thunder. Peter jumped. "Well that snuck up fast," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck subconsciously before trying to slip back into his "tough FBI guy" persona. "How long did you date each of them?"

Miranda quickly rattled off each of the victim's names as well as the length of each relationship, none of which had lasted more than five months. "Anything else I can help you with?" she asked sarcastically, crossing her arms with a pout.

Olivia glanced at the gathering storm clouds on the once clear horizon and decided to try another tactic. "Where are your parents, Miranda?" she asked.

"Well daddy's a stock-broker in New York; so he doesn't come home very often," Miranda replied, twirling a strand of hair around her finger blasély. "And mummy loves to travel. I think that she's in India right now."

"So you're alone a lot of the time?" she implored.

"I'm not alone; I have dozens of servants. Besides, I'm not a child!" she snapped, clutching her hands together so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I don't need them to look after me."

It seemed Olivia had struck a nerve. "That's all of your time we'll take for today Mrs. Pratt," Olivia excused herself, rising from the arm-chair and locking eyes with Peter to non-verbally tell him to do the same. "Thank you very much for your time."

"And I thought I had daddy issues," Peter whispered in Olivia's ear as the two of them were led out by the same servant who had ushered them in. Once out on the lawn the two of them began to speak freely.

"So what did you think?" she asked him.

"She seemed like a brat, no doubt about it, but no way she's capable of murder - that kid's had everything brought to her on a silver platter since she was born. Not to mention we have no idea how she, or anyone else, managed to electrocute those people to begin with." Peter looked Olivia in the eye. "You think she had something to do with it," he stated.

"Just a hunch," she shrugged. "It was so strange the way that she talked about her parents. She was so alone."

Suddenly the clouds above them burst, violently raining down droplets the size golf balls and soaking both of them within seconds. Olivia lifted her head to the sky and listened. It was strange: the rain sounded almost like tears. She shivered.

"Come on, Dunham, run!" Peter cried, shaking her out of her reverie. He grabbed her hand as they ran back to the car, laughing and shrieking along the way.

"Look, Peter! Aspirin showed me how to make a MyFace," Walter exclaimed happily from his seat in front of the computer back at the lab.

"Facebook," Astrid corrected gently. "There's Myspace and then there's Facebook – they're two separate things."

"You made him a Facebook?" Peter wailed, running a towel through his soaking wet hair. "Do you have any idea how many people I have to worry about him offending on a daily basis? Now I have to worry about the entire free world!"

"Sorry. He was curious about how I got information for the case," Astrid whispered apologetically. "Once I showed him how, he wouldn't stop pestering me until I made him one."

"Peter, stop being a worry-wart! I'm not going to offend anyone – in fact I'm probably the most politically correct person in this laboratory right now. You're the one who asked the young lady at the Starbucks how far along she was in her pregnancy. She wasn't pregnant," he explained, motioning to Astrid. "She was just fat."

Astrid raised her eyebrows at Peter. "She really did look pregnant. It was very misleading," he justified, his red face giving away his embarrassment.

"I simply want to reconnect," Walter continued, ignoring his son's explanation. A sudden blip brought his attention back to the computer. "Ah, see, Asperger? My lab partners from college just commented on one of Peter's old baby pictures!" Walter clicked on the link, bringing up a page displaying a picture of a seventh month old Peter in a bubble bath which he had captioned "Rub a dub dub; Peter's in the tub!"

"Walter!" Peter stammered, unable to speak intelligibly in his anger (and Astrid's muffled laughter certainly wasn't helping). "I'm naked in that picture!"

"So?"

"I don't want the entire world to see my naked baby pictures! Don't you think that that would bother me?"

"I don't care when people see me naked," Walter claimed, clicking furiously as he tried to beat his high score on Bejeweled.

Peter stood dumbfounded for a moment while he allowed that statement to sink in before he pressed home his advantage. "Walter, I want this thing deleted by the end of the day or you will never see another dessert as long as you live with me."

Game over flashed across the screen. "You're no fun," Walter grumbled as he turned off the computer and wandered over to the autopsy bench.

Peter's attention was sidetracked momentarily as Olivia burst of the lab's small bathroom, newly dressed in dry clothes. She looked slightly awkward in her casual duds (which she had been forced to don due to the lack of a dry suit), but Peter couldn't help but notice how good she looked in them. The jean shorts that she wore showed off her beautiful long legs, and her clingy t-shirt showed off curves he never would have known she possessed.

"Any break-throughs on the case?" she asked while she braided her hair into a long plait. Peter forced himself not to stare.

He cleared his throat hoarsely. "I think Walter was about to show us something."

(A/N: This is where I get way out of my depth in the pseudo-science department.)

The three of them wandered over to join Walter next to the body of Bryce Johnson.

"Find anything, Walter?" Olivia questioned.

"Indeed," he nodded. "All three of the bodies share one thing in common: enormous amounts of static electricity."

"But shouldn't that be common in electrocution victims?" she said.

"Yes. But traces of static electricity of this magnitude can only come from one source: lightning!"

Peter then took up the explanation. "Ice crystals in the clouds become increasingly polarized, causing the cloud top to accumulate a positive charge and the cloud bottom to accumulate a negative charge. This brings about a flow of electricity from positively charged regions to negatively charged regions; thus, lightning.

"So we're looking for a 'Storm'" Astrid quipped. Walter high-fived his approval for the comic book reference.

Olivia put up a hand. "Wait a minute… so you're saying that whoever killed these people can control the weather?"

"Precisely," Walter said.