BOOM BOOM BOOM
Ray stumbled out of bed, one eye open and his left PJ leg up around his knee.
"What?" he demanded, yanking open the hotel door.
"Good morning, Ray. We brought breakfast." Fraser held up a brown bag while Thatcher held a tray of coffee cups.
"You could get shot doin' that to a guy." Ray helped himself to one of the coffees before pulling down his PJ leg.
"I'm sorry, Ray. We didn't realize you intended to sleep in." Fraser apologized.
Ray's alarm read 6:29 AM, in large, demon red script.
"Sleep in! It's 6:29 AM, that's not sleeping in, Fraser." The detective ran his free hand over his head, standing the few, remaining hair wisps on end.
"Give me that," he snatched the brown bag from Meg's hand. That signaled Dief, who'd been laying on the bed to clamor for food.
"The tenderloin and egg is for Diefenbaker." Meg informed Ray as he sat wrapped biscuits on the table near the door.
Ray dropped the biscuit in the wolf-dog's general area, barely pulling his fingers away in time.
"Sheesh," Ray exclaimed, jumping back.
"We have excellent news," Ben began Ray nodded, engrossed in his breakfast.
"Margaret and I contacted the Wisconsin State Police, they have consented to investigate Mrs. Johnson's death." Fraser went on to explain the whole situation, complete with interruptions from Thatcher.
"Alright, when do we meet the detective?" Ray rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
"One o'clock this afternoon." Thatcher answered, checking her watch.
"Good, I'll check in at him, we'll have lunch then drive over." Ray affirmed. They agreed to meet at the diner in a few hours for lunch and then went their separate ways.

Packed and ready, the investigators loaded into the Riviera. It had been a long, frustrating investigation – for everyone but Diefenbaker. His human's pack mate was generous with snacks.
Detective Alden with the Wisconsin State Police greeted them cordially. An average looking fellow, he wore a neatly trimmed goatee and shook hands firmly.
"What can I do for you today?" Detective Alden looked from one to the others as he sat down at his orderly but brimming desk. Over the next half hour they filled him in on the story so far.
Thatcher's appendix
Premonition
Chasing the hit-and-run
Missing Mountie – recovery
Arrest
Wisconsin Investigation
Alden blinked twice, digesting the narrative.
"I wouldn't believe it either had I not been involved, Detective Alden." Meg assured him.
"Well, I'll admit I'm still skeptical but I'll go along. When you called I ran your credentials; all three of you." Fraser looked to Thatcher who frowned, then to Ray, who looked bashful.
"You check out; got a reputation for this kind of case even." He looked at them steadily, his words ripe with meaning.
"Show me your evidence." Detective Alden suggested.
Ray led the way out to the Riviera. Opening the trunk, he revealed a heavily damaged Cadillac bumper.
"Huh, not much to go on. I'll give it to the forensics team, see what they come up with." Alden pulled a pair of latex gloves from his breast pocket and lifted the bumper out. Fraser handed over a copy of his research notes and Ray handed the detective his business card.
"I'll let you know what we find. Have a safe trip." Detective Alden nodded before heading back into the state police post.
"Well, that's that, we'll never hear from him again." Ray groused as he climbed into the Riv.
"Don't be so pessimistic, Ray. Detective Alden seems like a fair man." Fraser said with genuine belief.
"As much as I loathe to, I agree with Detective Vecchio." Meg slid into the back seat next to Dief.
"What other recourse do we have now?" Ben turned toward the window, disappointed in his friends for their lack of faith.
Ray and Meg remained silent.

Ben remained at Meg's apartment after their Wisconsin trip. They'd become accustomed to each other and developed a comfortable routine: Ben woke first, dressed, made breakfast and packed lunches for them. Meanwhile, Dief ate breakfast and went for a walk solo. Meg woke, dressed and then joined Ben for their morning meal. Her morning disposition had greatly improved since Ben's arrival.
"Have you heard from Joshua or Mrs. Reitman?" Meg asked a few days after getting back to Chicago.
"I believe she called Ray yesterday, to thank him for his hospitality." Ben informed her as he peeled an orange for them to share.
"Oh, really," Meg grinned wickedly.
"He seems quite taken with Mrs. Reitman." she remarked.
"Hmm, I hadn't really noticed." Ben shrugged before popping an orange slice in his mouth.
"I doubt that," Meg shook her head, slowly eating her own orange slice. Ben looked over the morning paper, surprised. No one had called his bluff in a long time. Well, his father, but a dead man didn't count.
"Hello, hello!" followed by a cheerful knock interrupted Ben's answer.
Meg opened the door for Ray, who strolled in with a grin.
"Good news, Mayor Beady was arrested. The WSP picked him up on a routine traffic stop; suspected DUI. He's lawyer'd up but Detective Alden is confident everything will come out." Ray helped himself to a cup of coffee and one of Fraser's orange slices.
"That's wonderful, Ray. You'll have to call Mrs. Reitman and inform her." Ben suggested.
"I already did." Ray sat down at the table, a smug expression on his long face.
Ben watched Meg take a sip of coffee, a grin hidden behind her mug. She couldn't hide the amusement in her dark eyes though.
"Where does that leave Joshua Reitman?" Meg asked, straight-faced.
"His lawyer says restitution and community service. The lady he clipped isn't pressing charges and Fraser here put in a good word for him; along with an 'extenuating circumstances' spiel." Ray shrugged, "Six months from now it'll all be a bad dream."
"I hope he's learned something from all this." Meg shook her head, staring into space.
"Juanita, ah, his mother, says he's more determined to get his criminal justice degree now than ever."
Ben and Meg exchanged knowing glances.
"Anyway, I have to get to the station, Welsh is shoutin' his head off about my paperwork." Ray rinsed his coffee mug and set it in the basin. "See ya later, Fraser, Inspector," He let himself out.
"That takes care of that." Ben commented as he gathered their breakfast dishes.
"It does," Meg agreed though sounding less than enthused.
Ben turned, a question on his lips.
"We should go, Vecchio isn't the only one behind on paperwork." she handed Ben her coffee cup and rose from the table.
While Constable Turnbull stood sentry duty and ran Meg's errands Ben worked on past due paperwork. He wore his dress serge, with the pant leg split for his cast. The part of Ben's brain not answering the consulate phone or typing pondered Meg's reaction to the end of the case. She sounded hollow to him. A happy ending should have pleased her.
Dief dozed under the foyer desk – no help. Ben had yet to see his father's ghost. That left Ray.
"Vecchio," Ray answered over the background noise.
"Ray, are you free for lunch?" Ben asked, hoping to talk over a burger and fries.
"Uh, no, not really, Fraser. Welsh is riding me about my unsolved cases. Take a rain check?"
Ben heard paper shuffling and the lieutenant bellowing in the background.
"Some other time then, Ray. I'm sorry to have interrupted." Ben hung up feeling disappointed. The rest of the day passed slowly. Both Ben and Meg worked through lunch and late into the evening.
Turnbull left at four o'clock, along with the rest of the consular staff. At seven Ben decided to check on Meg.
"Inspector Thatcher," he tapped on her door quietly. When he didn't hear a response he pushed the door open. Meg sat at her desk, her chin resting on her left fist and her reading glasses still perched on her nose – sound asleep. Ben couldn't help but smile. He hated to wake her.
"Margaret," He gently pulled off her glasses, folded them and laid them on the desk blotter.
"Margaret, it's late," Ben caressed her cheek.
"Hmm," she pulled back, startled. "What time is it?" she blinked a moment before wiping the sleep from her eyes and yawning.
"Five past seven; time to leave." Ben answered. Despite the self-prescribed physical therapy the Mountie's leg ached from over-use.
"Yes, it is." Quickly, Meg straightened her desk and turned off the computer. Balanced on one foot, Ben helped her into her suit jacket. Together, they left for Meg's apartment.
Meg kicked off her pumps just inside the front door. She felt Dief's bushy tail swarp across her legs as he headed toward the food bowl.
"We have leftover spaghetti and meatballs, would you like fresh garlic bread?" Ben offered as he watched her slip out of her suit jacket. She hadn't said more than a few words on the ride home.
"That sounds good, thank you." She gave Ben a weary smile. Without another word, Meg walked away, toward the bedroom. A moment later Ben heard the shower start up. He debated on his next course of action – find out what bothered her or let her sort it out.
Whatever the answer, dinner came first.

Meg ate mechanically, chewing bites of spaghetti, salad and fresh garlic bread without truly tasting any of it. Ben tried to start a conversation, asking about an important dignitary visiting soon.
"I'm tired, I'm going to bed early." Meg declared, cutting Ben off. She couldn't pretend anymore, Ben would leave soon; leave her alone again. Who would be there to turn the covers down or peel her oranges with breakfast?
"This is stupid. I lived thirty-odd years just fine without him. I can do it again." she told herself.
"You don't want to though." an inner voice pointed out.
All Meg's reason and logic warred against her heart. She knew beyond all doubt, Ben loved her. He'd told her so – and he never lied. Logic dictated otherwise. Ben loved her – for now. Once back in his own apartment – once separated – he'd just feel differently. She remembered the sick, dread feeling when he had been missing. This felt worse.
Meg closed her eyes and tried to block the feeling out. She felt like screaming. Reviled, she drew up in a fetal ball and rocked herself to sleep.

Ben slipped into bed after letting Dief out and waiting for him to come back. Meg lay curled in a self-protective ball in the center of the large bed. In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, Ben noticed her tear smudged mascara.
"This won't do," he thought.
"Margaret," he caressed her cheek as he spoke. Sound asleep, she nuzzled into his touch.
"Talk to me, Margaret," Ben tried again. Finally, her eyes opened and her gaze rose to his face.
"What's wrong?" Meg looked off to the glaring, red alarm clock – 11:04.
"You've been crying." Ben answered simply. He watched her sit up, clutching the summer quilt as she moved.
"I'm overly tired, that's all." she shrugged as she tried to wipe away mascara trails from her cheeks.
"You have but to ask, remember, Margaret?" Ben gently turned her chin to face him.
Meg let out a growling sigh.
"I don't want you to go." she stated flatly.
Ben turned his head to the side, confused.
"Where would I go?" he asked.
"When you get out of that cast you'll go back to your apartment, you'll go back to investigating with Vecchio. Everything will go back to the way it was before the hit-and-run," she looked away.
"Margaret," She refused to look at him, her jaw clenched.
"Margaret," Ben repeated.
"Don't go, Benton," Meg turned to him, her brown eyes pleading.
Ben hadn't realized she felt that attached; that strongly.
"I'm not going anywhere." Pulling her close, Ben kissed her, tasting salt from her tears.
He'd never leave her.
The End