How Does That Rhyme Go Again?
In honor of the Easter season, here is a little plot bunny that has been nagging me to get written down. In "Odds on a Dead Pigeon", something about Gordon Redding's elaborate plan to use the very scary, very deadly coral snake to kill the real Amanda King™ just seems a little off. Here is my attempt to make it all make sense.
Special thanks to the SP ladies for egging me on, Clagjanet for her beta skills and feedback, strent23 for kicking my butt when needed, and Khell for convincing me that Fred Fielder really deserves a little more love. Any 'mistakes' are mine and mine alone, and are not only deliberate but actually part of a cipher for the launch codes because microdots are so passé and so last century. Enjoy!
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"Lee Stetson, you are a dead man!"
Billy and Lee looked up as Francine stormed past them into Billy's office, slamming the door so hard that the windows rattled.
"Good God, man, what did you do to her this time?"
"Billy, I–I don't know!" Lee protested, but the sight of the beat-up lunch box she carried made his stomach drop.
Ignoring the whispers and curious stares from the others in the bullpen, Lee and Billy hesitated before opening the door and going inside.
"Take care of the coral snake for me, will you?" Francine dropped the lunch box on Billy's desk in disgust. "Do you have any idea how HUMILIATING it is for Leatherneck and Fred Fielder–yes, FRED FIELDER–to lecture me on the difference between coral and milk snakes?"
Lee squinted at her. "Wait, what? What are you talking about?"
She mimicked Fred's sing-song voice. "Oh, Desmond, don't you know?–'Red touch black, safe for Jack; red touch yellow, kills a fellow'. You did not give me a coral snake. You stuffed a milk snake in this preschool lunch box, and now I'm the laughingstock of the Agency," she hissed.
Lee ran a hand through his hair. "No! C'mon, Francine! Amanda was unconscious on the ground with a snake moving toward her, about to strike–I wasn't about to stop and recite a Boy Scout rhyme to decide if she was in danger or not!"
She narrowed her eyes. "You didn't try to set me up?"
He shook his head.
Billy gingerly slid the lunch box to the side of the desk. "The snake isn't... still in there, is it?"
"Of course not," she replied icily.
He exhaled deeply. "Nothing about this case makes sense. The more we dig into it, the weirder it gets."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Lee grumbled, loosening his tie.
Francine, slightly mollified by Lee's reaction, paced the room. "Like, here's what I don't get. Gordon Redding is supposed to be this mastermind genius, right? If he wanted Amanda dead, why not use lethal gas? There are several that are just as easily available as the one he used. Or why not just spray her with a neurotoxin when she answered the door?"
The men nodded in agreement.
She continued pacing. "And if he actually managed to get hold of a real coral snake, why would he assume it would bite her? Was he planning to wait hours or maybe even days for the venom to take effect? And where did he think he could get a coral snake on short notice? It's not like there's a 'poisonous reptiles' section in the Yellow Pages."
"Venomous," Lee corrected automatically.
"Whatever!" she muttered. "And why not just shoot her when she first opened the door? It would be quicker."
"Hey!" Lee stiffened.
Francine turned from Lee and continued enthusiastically, "And if he wanted to use Amanda to get to you, why not just follow her around? I mean, there would be some wasted trips to the PTA, the grocery store, and the dentist," – she ticked them off on her fingers, "and whatever else housewives do during their day. But for someone who is 'part-time casual', she sure is around here a lot."
"Francine," Billy warned quietly, noticing the thunderous expression on Lee's face.
"And the money he spent recreating Amanda's wardrobe..." She shuddered. "Though I do almost admire him for his commitment. Almost. But, instead of going all out creating this evil Amanda doppelgänger, he could have just waited for you to show up at her place and taken you out then. Because, let's face it, if she's not here, odds are, you are over there–you sure do seem to hang out at her place a lot."
"Just whose side are you on, anyway?" Lee snapped.
"Okay, you two–enough!" Billy barked. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think we can be grateful that even though Redding fancied himself a Bond villain, he was a dime-store version with too much time on his hands. His brother was clearly the brains of the operation."
A quiet tap at the door interrupted them. A switchboard operator stepped in and handed Billy a folded note. He skimmed over it and nodded.
"Well, it looks like we may be able to at least get some answers." Deciding he had enough of their bickering, he turned to Lee. "Look, it's been a rough couple of days for you and Amanda, why don't you go and see how she's doing while Francine and I follow up with this lead."
"Thanks, Billy." Lee rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll check in with you later, and we can set up the task force to see if we can tie Karen to any outstanding cold cases."
As they stepped out of the office, the noise level in the bullpen dropped suspiciously low. Francine's eyes narrowed as she spotted a group of people huddled around Fred Fielder's desk. He smirked as they approached.
"Nice sssssssstripes you got there, Desmond!"
A few people snickered. She gave them all a withering glare and strode out through the glass doors into the corridor without a word.
"All right, people – back to work!" Billy ordered, as he looked at Fred and shook his head. The sound of good-natured grumbling followed them as they made their way to the elevator.
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The brown sedan slowly drove up the street, and Billy scanned the storefronts to confirm the address. Even without a specific store number, 'Pets & Friends' was hard to miss. The bright blue awning and illuminated sign looked out of place among the dignified antique stores and coffee shops flanking it on either side. The driver dropped them off, agreeing to circle the block until they were finished talking to the owner.
Billy turned the brass doorknob, and an overhead bell announced their arrival. As the door swung open and they stepped over the threshold, they were hit with the familiar pet store smell – a mix of animals, wood shavings, and dried pet food. The air was filled with the squeaks of hamster wheels blending with the chirping of small birds, punctuated by the occasional squawks of parrots. The bubbling and hum of the fish tank pumps added to the mix.
Francine and Billy waited patiently near the entrance as a neatly dressed woman, who appeared to be in her forties, finished filling a plastic bag with tank water and securing the top with an elastic band. She handed the bag containing several guppies to a small boy, about six years old, and gave his father some pamphlets and a small, brightly colored container of fish food.
"Now, it's really important that you follow these instructions and don't dump the fish into your tank right away. And the most important thing," she said, looking at the young boy, "is not to overfeed them. They could get very sick if they eat too much. Promise me you'll listen to your dad?"
"I promise!" He solemnly stared at the fish, his small hands carefully cradling the bag.
She smiled at him and rang up the purchase. The father paid, and they left the store, the little boy gazing at his new friends while his dad made sure he didn't trip since he was staring at the fish rather than watching where he was going.
Francine stayed back, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the musky, earthy smells of the shop, while Billy approached the counter.
"Evelyn Connor?" At her nod, he added, "I'm Billy Melrose, and this is my associate, Francine Desmond." He gestured behind him.
Evelyn studied his badge. "Are you here from the FBI? I wasn't sure who to contact."
"We are affiliated with them." He showed her a picture of Gordon Redding. "Is this the man you called about?"
"Oh, I wasn't here yesterday when he came in. My part-time girl was, and when she told me about her dealings with a strange man, the more I thought about it… well, it bothered me enough that I thought I should call someone–but I wasn't sure if I should, because it seemed so ridiculous."
"You did the right thing, Ms. Connor. We wish more people would trust their instincts and notify us when things seem off."
She dropped her voice. "Ummm, just a heads-up, my employee is enthusiastic, but a little bit...um, I guess you could say, quirky." She turned and called out, "Susan, can you come over here for a moment?"
A young woman with impossibly high, teased blonde hair–who looked like she still might be in high school–came out from the back. She saw Billy's badge, flushed and gulped. "I'm not in some sort of trouble, am I?"
"Not at the moment. Is this the guy you sold the coral snake to yesterday?" He handed the photo to her.
She stared intently at the photo through her teal-colored lashes, which matched her eyeliner, work smock and the signage out front. "Yes, he was here yesterday. That guy was legit giving off some weird vibes. But no, I didn't sell him a coral snake–I sold him Coral, the snake," she corrected him.
He furrowed his brow. At his puzzled look, she explained, "See,"–she gestured to the terrariums and cages behind her. "I name all our pets, well, except for the fish, of course, they come and go so fast it would be hard to keep them straight."
Billy nodded encouragingly.
She walked over to two brightly colored parrots jostling for position on a perch beside a large cage. "This is Santana–he has the red leg band–and his blue-banded friend is Eric Clapton."
Santana and Eric squawked as if responding to their names.
"And, then, we have Frank the Ferret, Charlotte the Tarantula, and–right over here– our guinea pigs." She walked over to a row of cages, "the red one is named Molly, the black long-haired Peruvian is Ally, and the boys are Judd, Anthony, and Emilio... but, I think Anthony is more the jock guinea pig than Emilio. Oh well, too late now."
She looked at them all expectantly and sighed at their blank faces. "Hello? The Breakfast Club?"
Francine decided to intervene. "So, you mean to tell me that you named the snake Coral? The milk snake—you named her Coral?"
"Yes! I name all our snakes with sea names. You should have seen our albino ball python that sold last week. Pearl is such a beautiful girl. I was sad when she left. I hope we get another one soon."
"That is interesting, Susan," Billy interrupted, trying to refocus her, "but don't you think someone could get confused and think a snake named Coral was a coral snake?"
She laughed loudly. "No, that's soooo dumb. No, not you guys!" she clarified quickly. "I mean him!" Susan pointed at Gordon's photo. "Like, why would he think Coral is a coral? Everyone knows: 'Red on yellow, kill a fellow; red on black, venom lack!'"
Evelyn added, "Though I always heard it was, 'red on black, friend of Jack.'"
"Yes, that too! Many different versions." She beamed. "And, anyways, coral snakes can't be sold in pet stores. I love snakes, but even I wouldn't have one. They can be dangerous if you don't know what you are do-...oh WOW! Oh wow, oh wow!" she interrupted herself, sudden comprehension dawning on her face. "Was that why he was acting so mental, and freaking out holding Coral's take-home box? I tried to talk him into a garter snake, but he insisted he wanted Coral and only Coral would do. DUH!" She smacked the side of her head.
Billy and Francine shot Evelyn a sympathetic look. Then, the absurdity of Gordon Redding trying to buy a coral snake but instead ending up with an unfortunately named milk snake hit them both at the same time.
Francine pressed her lips together, struggling not to laugh while the corners of Billy's mouth twitched. "Thank you, Susan. You have been a big help to us."
She rocked back from foot to foot and chewed on her bottom lip.
"Is there anything else you wanted to add?" Billy asked gently.
"Ummm, is Coral alright? Is there, like, any way we could get her back? She's going to need to eat in a few days, and this guy didn't buy any feeders–or even pinkies. He didn't seem interested in hearing about heat lamps. I'm worried he's not going to take good care of her."
Francine answered, "I can't promise anything, but I'll see what we can do."
"Thank you!" Susan broke into a relieved smile.
Francine checked her slim Cartier watch, "Billy, I need to get back to the office to wrap up some loose ends."
Billy put his card on the counter. "Here's my number if you think of anything else that might be important. We'll let you know what we find out about your snake."
Evelyn shook both their hands and walked them to the door. "I'll wait for your call!"
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The closet elevator doors slowly opened, and as they pushed the coats and sweaters aside, Francine saw Fred Fielder saunter past, coffee cup in hand.
She smiled. "Oh, good–we got back just in time."
Billy looked at her quizzically. She tilted her head towards Fielder, who was now leaning back in his chair, examining a box on his desk.
"GYYYAAAAAHHH!"
Fred launched himself backward, his chair ramming into the desk behind him and knocking a pile of papers to the floor. "Get it away from me! Get. It. Away!" he shrieked.
Pandemonium erupted. His coffee cup hit the ground, splashing the fallen papers. People jumped up and scattered–some rushed toward him while others dropped and took cover behind their desks. Fred, wide-eyed and white as a sheet, ran through the doors, pushing past the MPs, who already had their hands on their holsters, ready to intervene. Francine signalled to them to stand back.
"What the hell is going on around here?" Billy bellowed.
Francine placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Let me handle this," motioning to the MPs to follow her.
She picked her way through the scattered reports and overturned chairs, her colleagues now watching from a safe distance. Sidestepping the broken coffee mug, she reached Fred's desk and noticed the empty box on top. Frowning, she quickly and methodically sifted through the piles of papers and moved his knick-knacks with no success. She glanced down and spotted a partially open drawer.
She peered inside and exclaimed with relief, "Oh, there you are!"
She slid the drawer fully open, and with one swift, confident motion, decisively grabbed Coral with both hands.
"Gotcha!"
There was an audible gasp from her colleagues. Billy shook his head.
"Jenkins!" she called. "Bring that box over".
He did not look thrilled but did as she instructed.
She adjusted her grip, and expertly lowered Coral into the box, smoothly sliding her hands out as Jenkins snapped on the lid. She turned to face the rest of the room, most of them staring at her, and a few offering up nervous applause.
Francine took the now securely shut container from a relieved looking Jenkins. "How does that rhyme go again?" she called out, making deliberate eye contact with each of her co-workers.
"Oh, yes–
'Black touches red,
Don't mess with me,
Or you'll end up like Fred.'"
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a/n Generic 'I don't own the characters, or the show, blah blah, Just taking them out for a spin' disclaimer. No snakes or other animals were harmed in the telling of this story but maybe a few egos were stomped on. Please leave a review!