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**I left this story too late to allow for 12 days so I’ll send it out 1/day instead**

It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like Christmas

Part 1 of 6

Year One
December 1st dawns horribly bright and sunny. The mercury hovers at 100 degrees by 9 am and Detective Inspector Richard Poole seconded to the Saint-Marie constabulary (and hopefully still of The Met), has had enough! More than enough - he is bloody well fried! He looms in the station doorway; over-heated, over-dressed, and over-the-edge. He skewers each of his officers in turn with a gimlet eye and says in tones of doom, “There had better not be any bloody Christmas nonsense in this office if you know what’s good for you!” He then stalks to his desk and manages not to have a heat-induced coronary for the rest of the day.He watches his so-called team with utmost care. Bloody locals! I don’t trust ‘em as far as I can throw ‘em!They are watching him right back! Bloody Brit! What a spoil-sport! He can’t stop us!But he does stop them. It is a constant skirmish from December 2 – 25 to prevent the insidious intrusion of tinsel, ornaments, sparkly fake greens, and all manner of useless fol-der-rol into his inner sanctum. On January 1st, he tears December off his calendar with savage glee and shreds it into his waste bin with great delight. Christmas! Bah! Humbug! I can’t wait to effing go home!! Oddly enough, his so-called team is more or less thinking the very same thing but with a different pronoun.
Year Two
December 1st dawns horribly bright and sunny. The mercury hovers at 101 degrees by 9 am but Richard has skimmed into the station well ahead of the sun and is already ensconced at his desk in his shirtsleeves when the rest of the team arrives.

They hover in the doorway, observing and testing the wind, trying to get a hint of his mood. Camille holds up a cautionary hand to the other two officers and ventures in on her own, “Morning.”He doesn’t even look up, “Morning. It’s all right, you can tell those two to come on in. I’m not going to bite your heads off.” He shuffles papers from the ‘do’ pile to the ‘done and dusted’ pile.“You’re not?” She beckons to Fidel and Dwayne and they slip inside to their desks. “Does this mean…?”“Yes, yes, you can celebrate… a bit.” His head comes up and he gives her a long-suffering look, “But please remember that this is a public office and not a mall. No music, no red hats, and no tinsel!”She can’t help saying in a teasing voice, “I see you’ve started celebrating early.” His puzzled look makes her sigh and she gestures to his tie.He glances down and slumps ever so slightly, “Oh, the red stripe is completely accidental… and very understated if I may express an opinion. This hardly counts as ‘celebrating’, does it?”“No, sir, not a’tall,” Dwayne chimes in loyally while winking at Fidel.“Yes, sir, that’s not a Christmas tie at all. You should see mine! It’s horrendous. Rosie likes it, though.”Richard nods at this, “Yes, Christmas is for children, mostly. Although, I must say, I like a nice hot plum pudding but not in this heat. What wouldn’t I give for a nice cool day with just a hint of snow in the air.” He sighs forlornly and goes back to work, remembering all the white Christmases of his past. Something in his voice makes his officers look at him with sympathy… and a signal is passed back and forth.By the end of the day, a cunning plan is hatched. Not that they mean to wind him up. No, of course not, not at all! But it is just so much fun!
December 2
Fidel strings a little paper-chain across his desk front. It is crooked and a bit chewed but since Rosie obviously helped make it… utterly adorable. Richard nods when he sees it and smiles on his way by, “Very nice, Fidel. A touch of family always helps during this trying time.”“Trying time? Doesn’t your family send you tokens here?” Fidel asks.Richard shrugs and begins unpacking his briefcase, “Oh, a card or two is hardly the same, is it?”
December 3
All the desks now sport little paper-chains across their fronts. Dwayne laughs to see his is made from the newspaper sports section. Camille coos over hers as it is sparkly and bright. They all watch Richard very carefully as he runs a hand along the uneven links at his desk. For a moment, they fear he will rip it down… but he doesn’t. He smiles and says, “Where ever did you find pin-striped paper?”Fidel grins in relief, “Oh, Juliet thought of that. We just used coloured papers and drew lines on it with a white pencil. Rosie knew exactly who the chain was meant for too. She talked about the specker all the while. She’s very pleased. Can I tell her that you like it?”Keeping his back carefully to the room, Richard answers quietly, “Yes, you can tell her I like it.”Camille gives him a moment before coming over to admire the pinstripes. Sotto voce she murmurs, “You big softy, you. Thanks for being nice about it.”He huffs, “Camille, I’m always nice.” She gives him a stroppy look that almost makes him laugh but he manages to keep a straight face, “Well, I am! And don’t you forget it.”She smiles, “No, sir, I won’t forget it. I’m making a mental note – ‘Nice to babies’.”
END – part 1

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Part 2 of 6

December 5
Richard comes in to a subtly changed office. It’s nothing he can really put his finger on but he knows the station has been decorated in his absence. He enjoys finding all the tiny holiday touches one at a time as they reveal themselves. Really, the team is being very circumspect in their embellishments.
December 10
Things have been quiet for the past five days but this morning there is music on the radio. Dwayne reaches for the volume knob, “Sorry, Chief. The stations are all running holiday music off and on now. I’ll find another channel.”“No, no, it’s all right. How are we to keep up with local happenings if we don’t listen to the local news, hmmm?” As he drops his jacket onto his chair back, he muses, “Maybe turn down the rock and roll versions, if you don’t mind.”Dwayne nods happily, “I can do that, Chief. Hey, have you heard our Caribbean holiday songs?”“No, Dwayne, I can’t say as I have. Are they very different?”“Oh, yes, Chief. You might not recognize any of them. Here, give a listen, this is one of my favourites.” He turns the dial up and the music wafts melodically out into the bright day. Richard listens very carefully and is surprised to discover that he likes it. Ergo, music is now allowed.
December 15
“Christmas dinner… will you let us invite you to one?” Camille mutters quietly at his elbow during break.He is so relieved that he can hardly keep the excitement out of his voice, “There’s a dinner is there?”She smiles, “Several. Which one would you like to attend?”He pretends to think if over, “How many are there?”She begins ticking off fingers, “Well, there’s Fidel’s. Juliet has been looking up British recipes for days now in case you come to theirs. Dwayne is planning a bonfire with rum. Maman is having a small gathering for that roast beef dinner you like so much. And I…”He darts a glance so swift that she almost misses it, “Yes? What are you planning?”She looks away, “Well, I’d like to host an intimate evening with wine and light entertainment. I really hope…”“I’d like that,” he interrupts then catches himself, “Sorry, you were saying?”She meets his eyes, “Oh, nothing special, really… just you and me and…”He frowns, “And?”She bumps his shoulder with hers, “And… the wine.”He can’t help but smile nervously, “A Rioja?”She holds his gaze for a long moment and he seems to still completely before she smiles slow, “Naturally. What else would suit the occasion?”He is at a loss for words, his store of witty repartee totally exhausted, and only shakes his head.Dwayne and Fidel are very surprised upon hearing the Chief will be attending their parties. Party plans ramp up into the stratosphere until Richard has to tell them to keep it simple as crime never takes a holiday. They all laugh and agree. Heads must be kept cool and the station manned as usual… but everyone is extremely chuffed just the same. Only Catherine isn’t surprised. Her roast beef dinner has quite the reputation now and she was sure he couldn’t resist.Of all the plans, he is most eager to attend Camille’s although he refuses to let himself think why.
END – part 2

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Part 3 of 6

December 18
Juliet outdoes herself. The meal is wonderful. The decorations are wonderful… strange but wonderful. Richard entertains the entire party with stories of snow and sleet and blinding fogs, of blackouts and fireplaces and chopping wood, of cholesterol-deadly puddings and bakings and nogs. Rosie listens with wide eyes and informs her parents in mime that she wants to go to England to see it all, eat it all, feel the cold and catch snowflakes on her tongue.Fidel grins, “Maybe when you’re older, Rosie. We don’t have enough warm clothes.”“S’OK,” Rosie pipes up, “Specker help?”Richard laughs, “Certainly, although your mama will look funny in one of my suits, won’t she? Your papa is too big to fit my clothes… and you’re too small. I don’t think your plan will work at all, sorry.” Everyone laughs at her tragic face but she decides that a shopping trip is in order and the day is saved.“Gee, thanks for that, sir,” Fidel grouses. “That’s all I need, another shopping trip!”“You’re welcome, Fidel,” Richard scoffs. “Anything to keep the ladies happy, hey?”Camille leans in quietly, “Oh, I hope you truly believe that!”Richard’s radar buzzes loudly but he keeps his voice down as he answers, “Believe in what?”She barely makes herself heard above the happy hubbub all around them, “In keeping the ladies happy.”He swallows dryly, “I believe in it most heartily, trust me.”She smiles and his heart thuds a bit painfully, “Good. I’ll hold you to it for my little soirée.”“Um, good. When is that, exactly?”“Can I have you all to myself on Christmas Eve, please?”“Oh, um, aren’t you supposed to be in church?” is all he can think to say. All to myself! She said ‘all to myself’! He shivers.“Not really. Our priest is elderly and can’t manage a midnight mass anymore. Most people go the next morning at 9.”“Oh. Would it… would it be an imposition if I went with you?”She sighs happily, “Not at all, Richard. Christmas mass tends to be a bit boisterous but the music is lovely.” Her eyes flick up to his then down again, “Um, Maman will be there too. Will you mind?”His hand brushes hers ever so slightly, “Why would I mind? Church is a very personal thing and I’m… I’m pleased that you would include me. I’ll try not to get in the way.”Her hand brushes his ever so firmly, “You won’t be in the way, trust me. I’m pleased too.”They are interrupted by coffee and desserts. Juliet is very sorry but she just didn’t feel up to trying to brew proper tea. Richard assures her it isn’t necessary as the company more than makes up for the lack of tannic concoctions and the evening ends on a high note with Rosie helping the Specker eat cake.
END – part 3

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Part 4 of 6

December 20
Richard stands in front of his desk and simply can’t believe it. There is a tiny little Christmas tree sitting smack-dab in the middle of his blotter. And it’s a very odd little tree too. It’s sitting in a small tub of white sand. He reaches out a hesitant finger to run along one of the branches. It isn’t wood. It’s too fine grained and hard. He bends down to peer at it but still can’t make it out. He straightens up and checks the other desks. Yes, they all have little trees. He looks to Camille for help.She smiles back,“It’s tree coral.”“Is it?” he huffs. “It looks like bone.”“It does, doesn’t it?”He runs his fingers over it once more, fine and smooth and hard and silky, “It’s even brown…” He touches the green bits, “And what’s this?”She shrugs a self-deprecating laugh, “Sorry, it’s painted sponge. I hope it’s not too garish. It’s all I could think of. Rosie helped – and remember that you are kind to babies!”He nods, “No, it’s nice. After all, even though we have pine trees here, no one likes cleaning up the needles, do they? Besides, this took care and skill to make. That means more.”“I’m glad you like it. Having a small tree means only small gifts.”He looks up now, a bit concerned, “Gifts?”“Yes, please don’t be angry but everyone is to add to the trees. Nothing fancy…”He sighs, “Mmm, arts and crafts were never my forte but I’ll try to think of something.”“Whatever you dream up will be fine, I’m sure,” she answers.
December 21
The little trees are now topped with tiny stars. He bends down to peer closer. Of course, it’s a dried starfish painted white with a tiny ‘FB’ written on the back. He begins to wrack his brains for a decoration idea but comes up empty.That night is Dwayne’s beach bonfire. There’s a roaring leaping fire with roaring leaping people, about 100 or so, most seem to be cousins of one sort or another, most seem to know Richard by reputation, and the rum flows freely and quickly. A trestle table groans beneath whatever food is brought in. Plates are washed off in the surf and filled up again. There is music and singing and dancing and stories and…… there’s Richard sitting off to the side watching everything with slight amazement. Camille drops off her donation to the food table and sits down beside him. “Been here long?” she shouts.He shakes his head, “Only long enough to go partially deaf. Are you hungry? I haven’t had nerve to approach the food yet in case that table collapses and I need to render first aid.”She pulls him to his feet, only recalling later how firmly he gripped her hand, “I think we’re safe. I’m starved! Let’s eat.” And they do eat. She even manages to sneak some seafood onto his plate under the cover of darkness (not that he doesn’t notice) but he doesn’t mind as there are no arthropod eyeballs staring up at him so it’s all good.They skip the rum as they are both on duty tomorrow morning but she manages to skirl him into the scrum around the fire and they dance briefly before he stumbles out of the fire’s corona and paces off into the cooler night air. She chases after him and he saves her from tumbling into the waves. She stoops down to splash him with water, “There! That ought to cool you off,” she laughs.He feels the coolness against his over-heated skin and is thankful. It isn’t just the fire that has him heated up. She’s mesmerizing tonight. Something about the golden red firelight on her skin, her husky laughter, her merry eyes. Somehow, she is glowing and it feels like she is glowing for him alone. He takes her hand and leads her away from the fire, into the shadowy night surrounding them.They walk along the tide-line for several moments before she ventures, “Are you having a good time?”“Yes,” he nods, “More than I expected. You?”She squeezes his hand and halts him, “Oh, yes. And do you know why?” In the night, all she can see is his silhouette and the gleam of his eyes. He shakes his head, not daring to speak. She leans in and whispers, “Because I’m with you. Don’t you know that?” He shakes his head again. She nods firmly, “Don’t you tell me I’m wrong. I know my own mind. This isn’t a debate.”This time he nods, “Oh, I believe you think you know your own mind… but do you? Do you really?”“Richard, please allow me to…” but her statement is interrupted by people running down the beach, bearing torches and rum. Seems a midnight dip is in order. Camille raises her eyebrows but Richard’s eyes say ‘NO WAY’ pretty loudly so they swallow whatever else they were going to say and go back to the fire. Richard finishes the night with Camille’s head on his shoulder as he listens to Christmas carols around a bed of coals. He can’t remember a more pleasant time he’s ever spent on sand.
END – part 4

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Part 5 of 6

December 22
There are four tiny angels on the desk trees. Looking closer, he realizes they are made out of tiny hinged bivalves with white shirt buttons for heads and arced paperclip for halos. They are signed ‘DM’. He pauses and thinks hard. He rummages in his desk drawer then curls a tiny bit of black tissue paper from his sweets tin onto his angel’s head. There, he thinks as he nestles it back into his tree, now it’s perfect.He isn’t there to see her reaction later in the day when she notices this addition... which is a good thing because it might have stampeded things a few days ahead of schedule and surely ruined everything.
December 23
Now it is Catherine’s turn to host the festivities – and it is very festive indeed! Almost eighty people attend. Shop owners from up and down the street and their partners fill up La Kaz. A smaller party of nine camps out under the party tree across the street. The tree is decked out in red and yellow lights with drifts of white gauzy material simulating snow.Richard huffs, “This is left-over from the Erzuli Festival, isn’t it?” into Camille’s ear. Camille just shrugs but she knows he is perfectly correct. Erzuli can be called upon anytime in a pinch and she is being called upon pretty damn hard this evening. Maman hasn’t said a word… not a single word… but Camille can hear every word her mother isn’t saying.As the team jostle for seats and Camille makes sure she is sitting beside Richard, only Dwayne knows what all the red candles on the table really mean. He even helps Catherine light them, whispering, “You’re gonna melt the man right away with all this fire.”Catherine smiles placidly and whispers back, “It’s not the man I wish to melt but his walls.”Dwayne nods back, “OK, I’ll go along with that but you maybe shouldn’t worry quite so much. Things have been pretty mellow in the station these past few days. I think they are almost there. If Camille plays her cards right, you might have an extra Poole at this table next year.”He watches gleefully as Catherine adds more candles to the flickering display of greens.Richard does notice all the sprigs of ‘Neverdone’ tucked into the centre-piece but simply thinks it’s a nice island touch. He watches the candles burn with contentment. So soothing. So friendly and inviting. So intimate… His thoughts spiral away to much more pleasant musings as a warm little hand slips into his beneath the table.The meal is suitably mind-numbing so totally satisfying that people are hard put to stay awake for the games and charades that follow. For the first and only time in his adult life, Richard pretends to change a tire, acts out washing the dishes, and mimes the book title of ‘The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time’. Camille laughs so hard she gets the hiccups. He is so pleased with himself that he even joins in on the caroling. A good time is had by all. He is sorry when it is all over and he has to go home.
December 24
Richard is up before the sun, vibrating with expectation. Tonight! Tonight… tonight is my evening with Camille. At least, I hope that’s what it is. He has been wrong before… he scoffs at his reflection in the mirror as he knots his tie… hell, he’s been wrong every single time before… but tonight! Oh, he really hopes he isn’t wrong about this!When he gets to the office, he opens his top drawer and spends several minutes fiddling with something tiny then goes to each desk and leaves his gift. He isn’t sure if anyone will appreciate his efforts but it is the best he can do.When they all come in, his anxiety is suitably assuaged. They all stare then laugh with delight and thank him most profusely. He blushes with appreciation as he looks to his own tree with the little threaded string of Jelly Babies festooning its branches. I am just SO English, he thinks but for the first time it doesn’t sound like an insult. For the first time, it sounds like a plus.Oddly enough, his team is thinking the exact same thing. Exactly.The day passes. Finally it’s 6 pm and he is practically vibrating with nerves. She has been cool and collected all day long. Has he misread her? Is his radar so totally off that he is wrong about everything? His calm façade is crumbling quite badly by the time they say their goodbyes and wish each other a Merry Christmas.Camille gives Dwayne and Fidel a kiss as they pass by on their way out.Richard sees this and stays at his desk until they were gone before venturing cautiously out to collect his kiss.
END – part 5

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Part 6 of 6

But Camille stays his hand, ducking back and shaking her head, “Uh-uh. Your kiss will be delivered later… at my place… along with all the other presents I have for you.”His skin is humming as he dares to murmur, “Will I like my other presents?”She gives him the most thrilling smile he’s even witnessed in his direction, “Oh, Richard, I hope so!”He dithers but the words simply burst out, “Um, what with all the excitement and such, I completely forgot to get you anything special. I’m sorry.”Her smile outshines the previous one, “Oh, mon Coeur, you have exactly what I want most in the whole wide world, don’t you know that?” She sees his flustered reaction and takes pity on him. She reminds herself to speak slowly and carefully just as you would to a wild animal on the cusp of fleeing, “Richard, YOU are my special gift… and I really hope you are ready to share. Are you, do you think? Ready?”He listens to this incredible statement with aplomb… and a jack-hammer heart. Somehow, he keeps a calm face, “Er, yes, yes, I think I am. Ummm, I hope it’s enough. After all, I’m just me.”She takes his arm and tucks him into her side for all the world like a lover, “Oh, dearest, somehow I don’t think you will disappoint. Come, let us sally forth and hie to mine. I’ve spent absolute days preparing for tonight. I also hope it’s enough… for you… for us.”He watches his hand curl around her waist and hears his voice say, “Whatever, wherever, whenever… it will most certainly be enough… more than I deserve, that’s certain.”She locks the station doors behind them and revels in the jostling closeness of him behind her. She turns to take him in hand, “As to what you deserve, let’s discuss that over a glass of wine, hmmm?”His eyes glint green sparks, “Oh, yes, the wine. Lots and lots of wine then maybe…”“Mmmm,” she agrees “then maybe some slow dancing then maybe…”He is pulling her down the steps, “Can’t you move any faster?” “Why?” she teases him. “Maybe I want to savour the anticipation. Maybe I want to let my imagination run wild. Maybe I want to kill you with suspense.”“You’re killing me, all right.” Somehow this desperate complaint sounds much more debonair than he intended. She laughs with delight and several people on the street turn to watch them.“Oh, great,” he mutters, “Now we have an audience.” He ducks his head and paces on, hands at his sides. He darts glances from side to side, beginning to worry that he will spoil everything after all.“Oh, relax,” she mutters back, “Just scowl like you usually do and everyone will just think we’re fighting again. Wave your arms around a bit. That always leaves the right impression.” Just to be on the safe side she trumpets, “You’re SO English!” and notes with satisfaction the sudden disinterest on the street.He is giving her dagger-eyes when they reach her door. She takes out a key with a discrete ‘R’ fob dangling from it and shows it to him. His glare damps down to hushed hope as she says, “This is my first present to you, if you will accept it.”After a long moment, he takes it out of her hand and stares at it in silence. She is just beginning to worry when he reaches out and unlocks the front door, “Camille, I accept. I do.” He tucks the key (HIS key!) tenderly and reverently into his inside jacket pocket. Right over his heart.She pats this tiny bump once (most thankfully), ushers him inside, closes the door demurely, then lunges at him not demurely at all, “That’s good enough for me! C’mere, you Detective you... there’s serious crime afoot within these walls and we're going to be collecting evidence into the wee small hours of the night.”“Thank god!” is all he has time to say before the only Christmas gift they both really want is unwrapped, savoured, enjoyed, consumed, refreshed, and savoured again.It is the gift that keeps on giving and one that reaps dividends for years to come.
END

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**unexpected M-ish sequel to “It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot like Christmas**
Year Three aka Snowy Snowy Night
Camille checks her watch as she inserts her key into the oaken door to the rustic chalet cottage high up in the French Alps. As snowflakes skirl gently down all around, she shivers and calls back over her shoulder, “We have an hour before my husband returns, time enough for a glass of wine, n’est pas?”Zoe laughs, “Honestly, Camille, you don’t have to host us in your anniversary suite. We could just as well reminisce about Paris in the resort lounge.”“I know, I know, but we can be loud here and laugh as much as we want. We were getting looks from some of the other patrons in the lounge.” She struggles with the door as they all stamp their feet to knock off the clinging snow.Richelle adds, “And we’ll stay only for one glass. We don’t want to spoil your romantic interlude, do we?” She looks to Zoe and gets a vigorous head shake in reply. “Right, one glass then we’re gone!”The door finally gives and they slip inside.

Camille hangs up her coat on a wall-hook and starts down the little hallway past the kitchen, heading into the intimate livingroom/bedroom where the wine glasses are resting on the fireplace mantle, “I’ll get the glasses, you get the wine out of the…”As she reaches the end of the little hall, she notices flickering shadows on the floor. As she steps into the room, she notices something else in front of the fireplace. Well, ‘notice’ is a bit of a misnomer here. There is a flash of blinding beauty then everything whites out for a split-second. She hears a roaring noise. Her body temperature sky-rockets. Her fingertips thrill. For some reason she suddenly feels like a whistle that someone is blowing very hot air through. Then reality crashes in and she whirls.She whirls just in time to step back into the hall and slam both hands into the opposing walls, just in time to prevent Zoe and Richelle from entering the room and turning the corner and seeing…“So sorry, ladies, but my plans are cancelled! Allez, allez, no visitors right now.” She marches them back to the door, shoves their coats into their arms, and deposits them back out onto the doorstep. “See you both later, maybe, probably… oh, merde!” The door is shut none too politely in their faces and they are alone once more in the gently drifting flakes.After a stunned moment or two, Richelle mutters, “Well, I never! What came over her?”Zoe takes her arm and leads her down the step and back towards the resort without a word.Richelle decides to take umbrage, “How rude! She seemed so nice when we were telling our stories in the lounge. Here, Zoe, you were in front of me when we went down the hall. Did you see anything?”Zoe takes a deep breath, still trying to process the brief kaleidoscope of images that had flashed before her eyes. Should I tell her, she wonders? After all, that certainly wasn’t something I was meant to see! “I saw a man…” Yes, a man. A man sitting up hurriedly on a bear-skin rug, pulling the edge up to cover himself. Pale skin glowing by firelight... a flash of eyes… mon Dieu, those eyes! She shakes her head and says more firmly, “I saw a man, that’s all.”Richelle stares at her for a moment then scoffs, “So! Her lover follows them, does he? She’s more French then I thought. Oh, well, it’s none of our business, is it? But kudos to her for managing it. Come, let us go before the husband arrives. I do not enjoy such scenes.”They hurry away.
Romantic Interlude #1
Camille stands staring at the closed front door and tries to get her heart rate back under control.She can’t.She slowly turns to look back up the hall, sees the flickering light on the floor, and swallows dryly. Somehow she puts one foot in front of the other and glides towards that light like a sleepwalker. She pauses at the corner, takes a deep breath, and steps in. She turns her head and tips her face down towards… her vision.Her eyes flash closed. Ah, merde! He’s just as beautiful huddled behind that concealing flap of rug as he’d been just the moment before when she’d seen him spread out in all his glory! She forces her eyes open and takes the sensory overload like a big girl.His eyes flash anxiously as he slowly sits up and begins to fiddle with the edge of the rug, “Oh, Christ, Camille! Who were those people? I almost had a heart attack!”She just stands there, lost in his fabulosity. Somehow she finds her voice, “I met them over lunch. We had Paris in common and I invited them back for some wine. I thought you weren’t due back for another hour…”He huffs a shaky laugh, “Well, yes, that was the plan but it turns out I didn’t want to stay away. I came back early and thought I’d surprise you.” He is relaxing now, stretching out a bit.She sees a swell of creamy thigh and drops to her knees. Her hands are reaching for the rug.He sees this and meets her eyes, “Oh, I see. Back to our normally scheduled program, are we?”She draws the rug away, lays it flat on the floor, smooths it down, “Yes, we jolly well are! Do you mind?” She fights like hell to keep her eyes focussed on his. Her hands however have a mind of their own. They are sending blissful sensations streaming up her arms.His eyes slip closed and he lay back onto one elbow, “You know very well that nothing you do alarms me at all anymore.” He gestures off to one side. Her eyes are torn away to see the wine and 2 goblets near to hand, “And you wouldn’t have found the wine in the kitchen. It’s right here. Thirsty?” This last word is spoken in a manner unlike anything he would have uttered in his previous life.She leans forward, her hands on his chest. She presses ever so gently and he responds ever so slowly. She gives him one last semi-in-control look and says, “Sorry, the wine will have to wait.”As she enters once more into her secret garden of delights, he laughs, “Wife! Must you engage before you undress?”She murmurs through hot kisses, “Maybe I’d like to feast while suited, ever think of that?”He is flushing a most lovely rosy hue, “Oh, Camille, whatever you want. Take it.”“Thank you,” she whispers against him, “I will.”
Back at the chalet
Later that evening, Richelle and Zoe spy Camille in a dark corner of the dining room drinking champagne by candlelight, her arm twined in a man’s as they drink from each other’s flutes.Richelle grouses, “Oh, the nerve of some people. Imagine flaunting him in public like this! She’d better be careful or we’ll have a murder if the husband sees. Just think! A crime of passion right here!”Zoe shakes her head, “I don’t think so.” I won’t forget those eyes in a hurry. “Don’t you see the matching wedding rings? That’s not her lover, that’s her husband.”“What?! Impossible. Wives don’t look at their husbands that way, only at other women’s husbands.”“Well, he’s certainly looking at her that way. Come on, we’d better give them their privacy. This is no time to be friendly.”“No, obviously not. They look plenty friendly already. What’s that he just said? Something about a rug? Why is that so funny?”Oh, dear. The rug. Don’t remind me! I don’t need that image stuck in my head, thank you very much! “Come on, Richelle, let’s try the bar. We can order from the kitchen there. Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet some men of our own just as nice.” As they leave the room, Zoe can’t help casting one last glance back and thinking, but somehow I doubt it.Soon afterwards, they see Camille and her man leaving. He has a bottle of something expensive by the neck in one hand and the other hand wrapped around her hip. He is laughing and chivvying her along.“Oh,” Zoe sighs, “Lucky girl.”“Stop it,” Richelle grouses, disappointed that there hadn’t been any suitable men in the bar. She props her chin in her hand as they watch the couple go past, “Something tells me we won’t be seeing her anytime soon. I know I wouldn’t waste of moment of his time.” She raises her glass. As they toast each other in envy, the couple dash out into the gentle snowy night, back to their fireplace and the rug and whatever else awaits them.It is an anniversary, after all.
Romantic Interlude #2
The bed of coals flares up just as hotly as they do, burning brightly and fiercely as they celebrate by golden firelight. Later, he folds the rug over them as they rest in front of the fireplace. He watches the flames burn down quietly, relishing the cool air on his chest and shoulders. He is hot as blazes everywhere else she touches him.He smiles and kisses her drowsy temple, “Rest now, love.” Her hand tightens on his hip. He catches it and draws it up for another kiss, “Here now, time enough for that later. You are going to burn yourself out if you keep up this frantic pace.”She turns her face off his shoulder and kisses his throat, “Nonsense, my fire is constantly fed new fuel. It will never burn out.”He smiles at that, “Never?”She snuggles down beneath the rug and sighs most contentedly, “No, never. Sorry.”He folds an arm beneath his head and settles onto his back. Her hand flashes to him automatically and he just has to smile again, “Ah, so I see. Well, thank god for small miracles is all I can say.”She touches him in the manner he has become accustomed to, “Mmmm, me too, what you said.”“Eloquent as always, aren’t you? But some of your last comments were in French. Care to translate?”“Mmm,” she shifts at his side, “Maybe in a few minutes. Not right now. Burnt out, remember?”“Yes, I remember… and I don’t believe it for a moment. You are just so French.” She peels back one eyelid and simply looks at him. He kisses her eyelashes and wraps her back into his arms, “To which I say again, thank god.”They both settle back and watch the fire burn down, knowing that it can be brought back to roaring ferocity anytime they choose.Kind of like each other.
END

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Oooh-ooh, That Lovin’ Feelin’

It’s at least 100 degrees beneath the station ceiling fan and all it’s doing is blowing hot air down onto the man hunched at the desk below. Even without the heat and the ever-lasting hot wet wool blanket that passes for air down here in the tropics, this man, one Richard Poole, would be sweating.He would be sweating not because there is a lull in the crime rate and he is most assiduously making use of his down time. No. He would be sweating not because he’s nearing the end of a long hard fiduciary slog that has taken him several days to near the finish line. No. He wouldn’t even be sweating due to the sultry weight of the Caribbean day pressing down on top of his woolen-clad body. No.He would be sweating because he is totting up his taxes and he doesn’t like the looming final figure.Not one bit.He will have to pay taxes in not one but TWO countries. He has had to fill in not one but TWO very different yet incomprehensible tax forms. He’s had to remember all the complicated maths he’d learned and forgotten then relearned just in order to comply with both sets of criteria. He’s had to unlimber all his legal jargon just to follow the instructions. He has, in short, reached the figurative end of his rather frayed and chewed-upon rope.His Croydon domicile is a minus.Him not owning his own home on Saint-Marie is a minus.His being single? A minus.No dependents? Minus.All his careful scrimping and saving, all his ‘sock it away for a rainy day’ instincts. BIG minus!The only plus? He might just have enough liquid capital to pay his taxes… if he stops eating out… if he returns his latest batch of dress shirts… if he turns out his lights at 9pm every night… if he stops using the washing machine… and if he starts beach-combing looking for spare change dropped by the tourists.He slams his fists down onto his desk top, snapping his hapless (and rather tired) pen in two. “Blast!” he shouts. He slams his fists down a second time. “Damn AND blast!” he shouts again.In the station, total silence falls but he doesn’t notice.In mounting frustration he does the math again. Stares at the answer. Does it again. And again.Finally, in defeat and stubborn non-compliance, he slumps back in his chair, covers his face, and moans, “I need a big house, a wife, and at least six kids just to break even.”Total silence is noisy compared to the absolute absence of sound now ringing within these four walls.This gets his attention. He slips his hands down just enough to show his eyes and glances about. Three very different faces are staring back at him from various places in the room, staring back with three very different expressions.First, there’s Fidel, standing in the middle of the room, interrupted on his way to Dwayne’s desk with a report in his hand. Fidel looks politely concerned, nods small and says, “Taxes. Don’t you hate them?” He continues to Dwayne’s desk, drops the report then turns back to his own desk.Richard’s eyes deke to Dwayne who is nodding with a knowing smile flirting at the corners of his mouth, “Don’t look at ME, Chief. I’m not the marryin’ kind.” At the look on his boss’ face, Dwayne’s smile breaks out into a cheerful and cheeky grin while his eyes amble slowly to look across the room to the last person of consideration.Richard’s eyes follow Dwayne’s prompt and now he’s looking into the sloe-eyed speculative gaze of his Detective Sergeant. A sudden dry throat clicks as Richard swallows. Why is she looking at me like that? he wonders faintly.You know, a little voice chuckles, you know very well.No, I don’t! his mind babbles. No, I… But whatever lame Band-Aid his mind is about to lay over this latest faux pas, it is whipped out of his metaphorical hand by Camille. She slowly stands and comes around her desk, heading right for him. He feels suddenly endangered, like one of those little Jefferson Salamanders feeling the vibration of the earth-movers rumbling closer and closer, coming to up-end its little world and kill it deader than dead.Kill it or jug it up as a cherished pet to keep forever and ever, halleluiah, amen.He pushes away from his desk and almost makes it to his feet before she is at his side, petting him, soothing him, measuring him up for a nice big jar, “There, there, sir, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that. Why don’t you come down to La Kaz with me for a nice calming pot of tea? I think I may have a simple solution to all your problems.”She slips his jacket off its hook, slides it onto his shoulders. He shrugs into it on pure reflex. He stands on pure reflex. The thought of tea gets his feet moving and he follows her out the door without a single suspicion in his head.Tea and Camille, he thinks. What a nice combination. Why, she is even now telling him she knows a school-mate right here in town, a CPA of renown, who excels at taxes. If there is any way to ease Richard’s tax burden then her friend is just the woman to do it. If there is ANY way at all, Janine will find it. And, of course, Camille will do whatever she can to help him too. Of course, she will. That’s what good friends are for, right? Right.As their voices dwindle and fade, Fidel and Dwayne regard one another. Fidel still looks a bit concerned but Dwayne’s smile is confident as he leans back and clasps his hands behind his head, “If I’m any judge of women, I predict the Chief’s taxes will be a sight more simplified and his life a LOT more complicated by this same time next year.”“What do you mean, Dwayne?”“How much did your situation change when Rosie came along?”“Oh, tons. We call her our ‘little bread-winner’ at tax time.”“Mmm-hmm. And six kids? What would that do to a man’s tax problems?”“I can’t even imagine! Why?”Dwayne smiles anew, “The Chief’s got a DS on his back trail and she’s leadin’ him straight to a CPA that doesn’t believe men are capable of takin’ care of themselves day to day, let alone at this time of the year.” He laughs now, a relieved ‘better him than me’ laugh, “Oh, yeah. He’s toast.”Fidel laughs, “No, no, Dwayne, I’m sure you’re reading more into it than it really is. Camille’s just trying to help him out, that’s all.”Dwayne smirks, “Yeah, but help him outta what? I reckon it’s his bachelor-hood she’s really after.”Fidel’s face falls blank then he reaches into his pocket and slaps a ten-dollar bill onto his desk top, “Ten bucks says you’re wrong!”Dwayne sighs and fishes a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and lays it atop his own desk, “OK, you’re on. But!” He fixes Fidel with knowing eyes, “If you think I’m gonna claim this chump bet as income… you gotta 'nother think coming!”Fidel harrumphs and they both settle down to their shift, waiting for their superior officers to return and the bet to be settled.Fidel isn’t really all that worried. Even if Dwayne IS right, it will be a good thing for the Chief.As for Dwayne, he is already thinking about the drinks he will be spending the money on.(Those drinks taste as sweet as victory can taste. Later. After all the crowing is done.)
END

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Horses
Richard is being hunted.There are two gunmen. One is stalking him in the dark shadowy loft. The other is covering all the outside exits. As Richard flits silently from bale to bale, the sweet smell of horse wafts up from below. If the circumstances weren’t so dire, Richard would be fondly remembering rainy afternoons nestled in the hay mow of his maternal grandfather’s little barn. He’d spent many a happy childhood hour there, reading, playing with his tin soldiers, imagining his future as an astronaut. Better days, he thinks sadly. Too bad I had to grow up and become a target. He bitterly regrets coming here on his own. He hadn’t really given Dwayne’s off-hand comment the due consideration it had deserved - That drug always smells so sweet, don’t it? It always reminds me of new-mown hay. As he sidles along, keeping an eye on his pursuer, Richard nods to himself. You’re right, Dwayne, as usual , whenever it’s a slightly criminal outlook. It DOES smell like new-mown hay. Ah, yes, freshly mown hay. Hay bales. The only horse barn on the island. Sunrise rides in the surf. So romantic. So touristy. So perfect for moving drugs on and off the island. Sure enough, he’d spotted the bales marked with blue twine but he’d also been spotted in turn and now he is on the run, being hunted in this dusty space, keeping the gunman in sight and thinking three steps ahead.He is searching. He knows it is here somewhere but where? His shoe steps on something beneath the loose hay. He stoops, feels, finds the metal ring and says a thankful prayer. He lifts the trapdoor and slips down into darker darkness, warmth rising to meet him as he hangs briefly in mid-air before saying a second prayer and letting himself drop.He is in luck. He drops only a few feet into a manger, landing on top of a mound of hay. Unfortunately, the tethered horses are startled by his unexpected appearance and there is quite a bit of noise and clatter as they jostle and call to one another. He hears a voice call out from above and an answering call from somewhere close by. The gunmen know he’s out of the mow and down amongst the horses now! He has to escape and quickly!He slips out of the manger and realizes that he is hemmed in by many animals all tramping and curvetting about. He can’t escape! He won’t be able to get through the horses until they settle. There’s nothing for it. He drops to his knees and crams himself in beneath the manger, scooping up loose hay and covering himself as best he can. He stills his breathing, slows his heart, and becomes one with the fodder. Huge hooves clop explosively only inches away from his face.The horses are easing. They are tourist horses. Patient. Used to humans. Blasé. Richard hopes they don’t give him away. A snuffling nose comes down to investigate. He remembers his grandfather’s horses, Doc and Skip, and reaches out to let the animal smell him. A phrase swims up in his memory and he whispers, “Cor, ti lwmp mawr o ceffyl. Ya big lump o’ cob. Setlo'ch hun i lawr. Set yersel’ doon.” The nose pauses then nuzzles his hand before he withdraws it to burrow into his cover.Big Liz sniffs carefully.
<Man.
Beneath the sweet-grass.
How odd.>
But no odder than some of the visitors she carries every day. And the Man has spoken odd words - words that sparked something in her horsey little mind. Old words. Words from her colt-hood. Words from the gaffer. <Cob.
That meant her, didn't it?
Doon.
That meant be quiet.>
She snorts in acceptance, sets all four hooves squarely, and quiets as instructed.
The Man stirs and she feels a rewarding caress. She readies herself for whatever is going to be demanded of her and her kind.Black Andy (her first born) on her right chuffs at her. She prods him with her nose. He stills. She turns to Sofie (her second born) on her left and prods her. Sofie stills. They pass the prod down the line to the rest of the herd. They all still. Big Liz is queen of this stable and she is not to be trifled with!Her ears prick. She hears other men sneaking about. Her head shoots up, eyes and nostrils flaring in alarm! She smells another memory from her colt-hood! The bitter stink of thunder tools! More than anything she does NOT want to endure the shocking pain of hearing one of those tools go off inside her stable! Her nice quiet peaceful stable.
<This isn't a hunting place!
Why would men bring thunder into her place?
These must be bad men who don't care about horses.>She drops her nose to the floor. Checks. Yes, she can smell it. Fear. The Man is afraid. She already knows he is not afraid of her kind so it must be the other men. Her brain sparks. <Do men hunt other men?>
Nothing would surprise her after all these years. Men are not to be understood, only obeyed.Her ears go back. <Just obeyed?
No.
Something else.
Sometimes.
Sometimes they need to be protected.>
She nickers low in her throat and all the horses are on alert. Big Liz settles her haunches and the signal goes out. The herd shifts its weight onto front hooves and listens.The bitter smell is drawing nearer. It is in the stable now. Quiet footsteps are heard in the narrow walkway right behind the tense animals. Big Liz cocks one back hoof and taps it on the floor. She hears answering taps. Little Irene on the far end of the line lashes out first. The answering man-oath is very gratifying to equine ears. Now Jolly Matt pistons out. Then Chris. Then Grey Peter. Then Mac and Brown Betty. Within moments the stable is alive with dancing snorting horses as they kick out with deadly force.The men withdraw with life and limb intact. Barely. And limping.Just audible above the ruckus, Richard hears one of them shout, “He can’t be in there with those crazy nags. They’d stomp him to jelly! He must have snuck past us somehow. We’d better run for it.”The second man shouts back, “What about the stuff? Are we just gonna leave it up there?”The first voice is fainter now, “You want to carry five bales on your back? Of course we’re leaving it there! Let big Ricardo worry about it. It was his bright idea in the first place. We’re outta here!”Richard nods. Now he has the final clue. He smiles. Let them look for him outside. Better yet, let them leg it! He reaches for his cell phone but his pocket is empty. He shrugs. Oh, well, he doesn’t really need it. Relief washes through him as he realizes he is safe. He stretches out on the hay and sighs. He’ll wait a bit more then make good his escape. He closes his eyes.Within moments he is asleep and dreaming of fragrant afternoons in his grandfather’s barn.The horses know they are alone before Richard does. They whicker and signal by tail swish and begin to doze off. They drowse the rest of the night while breathing the Man’s scent, a lovely slightly lime-ish smell. Very soothing. Very relaxing. Quite distinctive.Next morning, Richard shows up with chaff in his hair but big Ricardo is in the cells before noon and he has a lot of company before nightfall. The local drug ring is busted wide open and the ripples spread out to other islands and right into the United States. Kudos rain down on everyone involved. The Commissioner laps it up as his due but does remember to thank the one person solely responsible who, in turn, thanks his team for handing him all the clues.Once the case is sewn up several weeks later, Richard treats his officers to an early lunch.Everyone in La Kaz is just relaxing into the soft Caribbean air when something inexplicable and totally wondrous happens.Horses. Plodding along the surf line down on the beach, bearing sun-burnt tourists and their rambunctious offspring.Horses. Lifting their heads, tasting the air, slowing their gait to come to a complete standstill despite the best efforts of their hapless riders.Horses. Veering suddenly off the beach and heading into town at a fast clip.Horses. Jostling and shoving their faces into a window, calling low and reaching for a man who looks back in surprise but who comes out to them and pats their noses and calls them ‘cob’ and ‘great lumps’ and all sorts of arcane names lost to a younger generation.Horses. Nose-bumping and jostling the man with every evidence of good humor. The man sways under their cheery assault and almost looks like he is dancing within the circle of tons of horse-flesh.Tourists gather round in jolly hilarity and take pictures.The locals draw back in slightly superstitious caution and nod to one another. Oh, yes, he’s the magic man. Even the horses know.His team just watches, seeing all the silent knowing looks from the islanders. The team is part of the magic even if they don’t understand it. They grin at one another, quirking eyebrows to their boss. He’s magic, all right. Pure and simple. They don’t need to understand it. They only need to accept it. Bask in it. Learn from it.And do everything within their power to keep him going.
END

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The Shell

Part 1 of 5
When the ‘Public Inquiry Counter’ bell dings a little after 9 am on this fraught morning, officers Best and Myers bolt to answer it, leaving their desks behind in a desperate attempt to get out of the line of fire!Anything to escape this morning’s contest of wills!Honestly, is this any way to run a police station?!Today’s argument had started over paperclips versus staples and had escalated from there, gaining steam with every minute. Now the Chief is waving his little extendable pointer around and she is trying to grab it out of his hands. Oh, it will all end in tears! Everyone knows you never run with scissors and, in this station, you NEVER wave extendable pointers around.As soon as the little bell dings, the battling accents drop to vitriolic hisses but the fight continues in the little nook screened from the public. Oh, yes! God forbid this spat should stop for anything as mundane as ordinary police work! Egos are at stake here and neither combatant will budge an inch!Thankful for the distraction, the two junior officers jostle each other at the counter then stand tall and grave and eye the middle-aged slightly sunburnt tourist lady who’s rung the bell. “Yes, ma’am, how may we help you?” Dwayne intones, all business. Something clatters around the corner behind him just out of sight. Dwayne sighs. That will be his pointer, I bet. He’s goin’ to have to order yet another one. When will he learn NOT to wave it around in her presence?The tourist lady puts something on the counter and starts to speak - then stops. She is looking over Dwayne’s shoulder at a lovely young woman who’s stepped into view waving a snarled metal object of some kind. Now a quietly understated be-suited man steps into view and tries to retrieve the object. The pair stands toe to toe amid a mad flurry of hands, totally silent and totally intent upon one another. The man snatches the object out of the woman’s hand, cries “Aha!” and ducks back out of sight closely followed by the woman whose eyes are blazing. After a moments silence there is a soft thud, another clatter, and then nothing.The tourist lady refocuses her eyes onto the officers behind the counter who have stood stiffly during all this without batting an eye. She pauses, quirks an eyebrow, “Um...?”“Ignore them,” Dwayne says, thumbs hooked into his belt, flicking a glance up to Fidel, “We do.”“Oh, um, OK,” she answers hesitantly, listening, her eyes darting to the concealing corner. Deep silence now reigns in the station. Rapid keyboard clicking starts up. A chair squeaks. There is the sound of paper shuffling and a stapler ‘kachunk’. Totally ordinary sounds that belong in an office.Dwayne relaxes. OK, round one is over. How long before round two starts up, I wonder?“How may we help you, ma’am?” Fidel repeats coolly, having come to the same conclusion.“Well, I’m not sure if you CAN help me. I’m not even sure if a crime has been committed… but I brought something in to show you. I got it yesterday from a beach vendor and I think… I think I recognize it.” She points to a small blood-red shell on the counter top.The two officers stare at it, then each other, and then back to her. Finally Dwayne says, “Yes, ma’am, we see it. What is it? It looks fake to me. Are you reportin' a con of some kind?”The woman shakes her head uncertainly, “Well, I’m… I’m almost sure it is a Scarlet Tricorne, otherwise known as a ‘red cocked hat’.”A puzzled quiet meets this comment. Fidel finally asks, “And that means…?”The floodgates are opened, “It means it’s been declared extinct since the 1880’s! My grandson Christopher did a school report on fabulous seashells and I helped him a bit with the on-line research. He was especially taken with the Scarlet Tricorne because of the colour. I’m almost sure this is the same thing. If it’s extinct then where did this shell come from? If it’s NOT extinct then should people be selling them to tourists? This could have been the very last one and now it really IS extinct, thanks to me!” She wipes her eye, grieving over a tiny innocent mollusc, “Christopher would never forgive me.”Fidel picks up the shell, turning it over and over, “I’ve never seen one like it.” He turns to Dwayne, “You?” Dwayne shakes his head. Fidel turns back to the tourist, “Tell you what, ma’am. Officer Myers here will take your statement and I’ll do a quick check on-line, OK?”It is OK. Within minutes Fidel is back, “She’s right, Dwayne. This is definitely a Scarlet Tricorne and it is definitely deemed extinct. Any leads?”“Yeah, I think I know who sold it to her. He’s a petty crook but he’s never been involved in endangered species or smugglin’. I’m off to the beach where she got the shell to see if I can find him. Care to come along?” he asks Fidel with a straight face, his eyes jigging briefly back into the big room behind.Fidel slides his gaze back over his own shoulder and listens. The keyboard sounds have stopped. The paper shuffling sounds have stopped. A thunderous tension seems to twist in the air and he senses round two is imminent! “Oh, yeah,” he hastens, “I’m with you!” He turns to the tourist lady, “We’ll contact you if we need any more information. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, ma’am.”A loud bang is heard. A drawer slamming shut? A book hitting the floor? A quiet gun going off?All three people jump then the tourist lady is bustling out of the ‘Public Inquiries’ door and the two officers are hustling out the middle door and all three are thinking the very same thing…Honestly! Is this any way to run a police station?!!
End – part 1

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Part 2 of 5
The bike ride to the south-east end of the island is calming and so un-fighty! Once there, Dwayne parks in the shade, they shuck their helmets, turn their faces up to the sky, and just enjoy the peace and quiet.“You know,” Dwayne remarks, his eyes closed, “I don’t know why those two don’t just get married. They couldn’t possible fight more, could they? And, maybe, they’d do most of it at home!”“I don’t think they’d fight at all,” Fidel muses.“What? Why do you say that?”Fidel shrugs, “I’m married,” is his only answer.Dwayne frowns and shakes his head, “Well, it’s a mystery to me. Let’s do our jobs and find my guy.” They spend a fruitless hour questioning people and watching the beach before admitting temporary defeat and returning to the station. Mounting the steps with caution, they listen carefully before getting up the nerve to enter.As they hesitate outside the door, Camille’s voice calls out, “You can stop lurking! He’s gone out.”They grin sheepishly at each other, shrug, and troop in. Dwayne looks up an address while Fidel fills her in on their investigation, thinking it might ease her bad mood. It doesn’t. If anything, it seems to set her off on another rant.“That’s ALL he needs right now!” she scoffs, “Another endangered animal to worry about. First it was turtles! Lately, he’s been banging on about parrots! He should worry about himself! I am going to commit justifiable homicide if he gets stroppy with me one more time! Ooooo…” She clenches her hands into fists and practically vibrates all the papers atop her desk onto the floor.“Come on, Camille,” Dwayne placates from behind his computer screen, “Why don’t you just humour him like we do? Or ignore him? Most of the time he’s not a bad guy if you handle him right.”Her head whips around to pin Dwayne where he sits, “HAN-dle him?! Oh, I’d like to handle him alright! Right into a strait-jacket! The man is mad! Impossible! Worse than impossible! He’s ENGLISH!!”Dwayne casts a careful glance to Fidel and says cautiously, “Well, truth be told… I mean… don’t take this the wrong way or nuthin’ but… you kinda DO push all his buttons. Alla time. Every day. Don’t you?” He can see her seizing up, practically swelling like a rising rogue wave. He bites his lip but it’s too late.Now her eyes are furious, “WHAT?! Are you saying it’s all MY fault?” She is rising to her feet. Any second now she is going to charge around her desk and…Dwayne keeps a straight face, making calming gestures with his hands, “Now, now, I didn’t exactly say that.” He turns to Fidel for help, “Did I, Fidel? I didn’t say nuthin’ about…”Fidel is staring back with wide eyes, husband-eyes, and he knows he is going to get some of the blame over Dwayne’s remarks no matter how hard he tries to defend himself. He presses his lips together and shakes his head minutely, willing Dwayne to shut up!A vengeful female finger is being shaken at Dwayne, “Don’t YOU start in on me too! I am ALWAYS professional! Always!! And the shorts don’t enter into it! What I wear has NOTHING to do with ANYTHING! I could run rings around him totally naked and still be a better cop than him!”Dwayne listens to all this with a disbelieving look, spares a quick glance at her legs, something he doesn’t usually do, and gulps, “Um, OK, although I never mentioned…”“And another thing!” Her temper seems to be under better control but she is advancing on Dwayne’s desk. “How DARE he impugn my methods? I get results and that’s what matters! I do NOT smash like a bull through the china shop. I do NOT use feminine wiles! I have NEVER thrown an arm-lock onto someone that didn’t deserve it!”Dwayne is standing now, sidling away from her, “Wow, you’d got a lot on your mind,” he marvels. But he simply can’t resist adding a bit cheekily, “It’s a wonder you get any policin’ done at all what with everythin’ that’s on your mind.”Camille’s eyes start to whirl again and Dwayne knows he’s in trouble. However, woman-trouble can always be side-tracked with a compliment so he jumps right in, “C’mon! You know how to handle men, Camille. Why don’t you use those skills on the Chief? A bit of French guile can go a long way.”Her eyes keep whirling, “What do you mean?”“Well, you catch flies with honey and carrot works better than stick. Men respond to a soft voice.”A beat of silence then very softly, “Do they? ALL men? Even the impossible mad English ones?”Dwayne feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He nods jerkily, “Especially the impossible mad English ones! Especially HIM. He’s not used to it. Think of it as a kinda secret weapon!” He rushes to Fidel, grabs his arm, says to her, “We gotta go. Fidel and me, we’re savin’ a Red Unicorn from bein’ extinct! C’mon, Fidel.”Fidel jolts back to life, hardly believing his luck at not being blamed for whatever has just happened here - and marvelling yet again Dwayne’s skill with women.The men beat a strategic retreat and meet the Chief at the bottom of the steps where the man is obviously prevaricating about going back into the office.“Have a care, Chief,” Dwayne mutters, “She’s gone all quiet and thunder is buildin’ in the air up there.”“Oh, lord! What did I ever do that was so heinous as to deserve her in my life?” the Chief laments, gazing up at the station with tormented eyes.Fidel steps up, “Well, you DO tend to push all her buttons, Chief.”Green eyes snap back down, blazing. “Oh, so it’s all MY fault, is it?” the Chief hisses vehemently.Now it is Fidel’s turn to make placating hand gestures and try to catch Dwayne’s eyes. Dwayne is studiously looking at the clouds. No help there! Fidel tries for a reassuring smile, “No, no, Chief, that’s not what I meant. Not at all! As a wise man once said, you catch more flies with honey, the carrot gets better results than the stick, and women respond favourably to a soft voice.”Now Dwayne graces Fidel with a look, eyebrows raised, but remains silent.There is a very long pause as the Chief thinks. Finally he mutters, “They do?” then more softly, “Do they? Even stubborn stroppy incomprehensible French ones?”The officers leave the chief looking speculatively up at his office as they roar away on the bike.“I hope they don’t kill each other,” Dwayne shouts.“Do you want to go back and stand by to render First Aid?” Fidel shouts back.Dwayne scoffs, “Not me! I’m liable to get caught in the crossfire and end up in the hospital!”Fidel settles into the sidecar, “OK, then! Let’s go find a Red Unicorn trafficker!”
END – part 2

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Part 3 of 5
They stake out a tiny ramshackle hut tucked in behind an abandoned warehouse down in the east end of town. Just as the sun is setting, they see a slender stooped man slip inside. A nod from Dwayne sends Fidel to the far side of the hut and he is right in place to catch the man as he shoots out in response to Dwayne’s knock.The man attempts to pitch a paper bag over the sea-wall and into the murky waters below but Fidel snatches it out of the air before it disappears. Fidel cuffs the man then together he and Dwayne stare into the bag then at each other then at their perp.“C’mon, Artwell,” Dwayne says gravely, taking the man’s cuffed arm, “You’re comin’ with us.”“Where I’m go?” Artwell whines. “I ain’t done nuthin’. Just sell trin-ket to the tourists is all.”“I dunno,” Dwayne opines, “Some of this stuff don’t look too trinket-y to me! We’re goin’ back to the station so’s we can look up some of this stuff on-line.” They stuff Artwell into the side car and Fidel rides behind Dwayne more or less hanging on for dear life as they return to the station.The station is closed when they arrive. Fidel and Dwayne give each other a relieved look. Peace and quiet at last! Now, let’s get some work done! They bung Artwell into a cell and give him a cup of coffee and a cookie to keep him busy while they start sorting through the bag’s contents.After a few moments, Dwayne muses, “Lucky for us this stuff is labeled. Funny names.”“It’s Latin,” Fidel answers, sounding very concerned as he goes through the odd bits and pieces. “Look, Dwayne, here’s hollow eggs and sea shells and teeth and other things. These are all animal parts of one kind or another. What in the world is Artwell up to?”“I dunno,” Dwayne murmurs, “but it can’t be good, whatever it is.” Within moments Dwayne has a hit. He peers at the screen, carefully enunciating, “Alca impennis, the Great Auk, whatever that is. Funny name for an egg. And here’s another egg, Grus americana, otherwise known as the Whoopin’ Crane.”Fidel’s head snaps up, “Whooping Crane? Let me see.” He scans the screen and anger begins to wash into his eyes, “The Great Auk, last breeding pair clubbed to death in 1844. Of their two eggs, one was broken so the sole surviving specimen would be that much more valuable to the collector who sent the men to do the job.” He taps a key, “Whooping Crane, reduced to only 14 adults in the early 1900’s and now the subject of intensive conservation methods to save the species.” He turns to look back at the cells where snores can now be heard. Dwayne doesn’t like the look on his face.“Hey, Fidel, what’s a Stellar’s Sea Cow?” He holds up a comically giant tooth, “and why would somethin’ so ugly be interestin’ to anybody?”Fidel’s voice growls, “SEA cow?! I’ve heard of those!” He snatches the tooth and examines it before leveling stern eyes upon his partner, “They’re extinct, Dwayne. Just like almost everything that’s in this bag, I suspect. Extinct or seriously threatened or very hard to find. I’ll bet every single item Artwell has in this bag is subject to CITES.”“Sy-tees? What’s that?”“Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species. It’s a last-ditch effort to save life-forms from people like Artwell and the collectors they serve.” He sorts through the precious cargo, “Look, here’s three more Scarlet Tricornes. Oh, this is so sad. These three plus the one handed in might have turned the tide for these little guys. Maybe they could have saved themselves from extinction.”Dwayne lays a comforting hand on Fidel’s shoulder and they both sigh. Such is Life.They spend an hour sorting and cataloging the forlorn bits of long-gone and fabulous creatures. When they are done, the list has 37 names on it, some so bizarre as to be alien. They look each name up and are lost in the fascinating world of the esoteric and exotic, the despairing realm of the vanished.Dwayne mutters, “Oh, the Chief ain’t gonna like this. In fact, he’s gonna explode! We’d better get Artwell to tell us where he got this loot before the Chief gets his hands on him.”They march back into the cells and clang on the bars to wake Artwell who snorts awake, sits up, rubs his eyes, and begins to complain about the rough treatment and when does he get another cookie?Fidel crosses his arms and barks, “Why should we feed you? Maybe we should let you go extinct too, just like those poor sad bits sitting out there on my desk!”Artwell falters, “Extinct? You mean you starve me? You can’t do that! You hafta take care a me.”Dwayne growls, “We can do whatever we wanna. You’re the lowest of the low, buddy! Dealin’ in extinct and endangered animals is a major crime and you’re gonna do major time! I hope you rot!”“Whatcho talkin’ ‘bout? It just shells and stuff I… I find onna beach. Tourists like that sorta stuff. What harm, me?”The two officers look to each other. Silent questions whiz through the air and they both nod in unison.“Right,” Dwayne says. “You wanna know what harm, you? Each of those things is priceless and belongs in a museum, not in a paper bag with you. You’re lookin’ at maybe 10 years for each piece. Let’s see, 10 years times 37… that’s…” He makes a big show of adding it up.“That not right!” Artwell blurts out. “They’s no way I find alla that stuff meself. You can’t blame me for other people’s…” He hushes.Fidel leans in, looming, “Other people’s… what?” he whispers.Artwell’s eyes dart side to side. He licks his lips, “Ah, other people’s hobbies, I guess.”“Un-huh!” Dwayne scoffs. “Now I suppose you’re gonna tell us that you found this bag and you don’t know where it came from, right? That won’t be enough to get you off the hook…” He leans in and grinds out low, “… especially when our Chief finds out.” He stands back up, shakes his head, “Oh, man! You are in big trouble! BIG trouble! Do you remember the fall-out from the sea turtle egg episode?”
End - part 3

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Part 4 of 5
Artwell nods jerkily. Oh, yeah! The whole town, the whole EYE-land, knows about THAT particular episode. The unfortunate guilty parties will languish in prison for years to come. Their entire families had been run right off Saint-Marie. Oh, yeah. Everyone knows the Chief don’t allow animal trafficking.Artwell starts to sweat, “Looka here, officers, I didn’t kill these things, honest! I found ‘em… in a house… on a job, like.”Dwayne nods, “Uh-huh, ‘on a job’? You mean as in breakin’ and enterin’?”Artwell hangs his head and nods, his hands knotting in his lap as his imagination begins to run wild.Dwayne sighs, “I see… and which house was it?”Artwell dithers. Now he’s come to it. Does he tell? He takes one look at his interrogators and knows he’d rather deal with these guys than with HIM. The suit. The man in the scary suit. The sudden adrenaline surge in his blood settles the matter. “The St. Remy place! I hear the old gran-daddy had a secret stash so I sneak in but all I find is this sorta stuff… eggs an' bones an' feathers an' skeletons an' such. I take some small things an' then I outta there. It creepy. Real creepy. Almost like whisperin’. I figure shells easiest to sell onna beach. I don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout the rest, honest.”Dwayne nods, “Oddly enough, I believe you. You aren’t smart enough to know about anything, hey?”Artwell nods eagerly, happily admitting to being too dumb to get into trouble. He hopes. Dark visions of the suit still swam before his eyes but now he sees maybe a faint light at the end of his particular tunnel.Dwayne nods again, “OK, here’s what we’re gonna do. You are gonna give us a statement about alla this then you are gonna spend a quiet night right here in the care of Honoré’s finest. Once we’ve been to the St. Remy place, we’ll come back and decide what to do with you. I’m guessin’ minor B and E with maybe a few weeks of community service is all you’ll get.”Artwell starts to smile in relief so Dwayne just has to say, “Unless the Chief decides to get involved with you. Oh, man, if he does then all bets are off! I sure don’t wanna be in your shoes then!”Artwell’s smile dies a horrid death, “You be puttin’ in a good word a me, hey, Dwayne? You won’t let him do nuthin’ horrible a me, will you? Please say you won’t! I’m all my mam got to take care a her!”Dwayne shakes his head sadly, “I can try, Artwell, I can try. But you don’t know the man. Normally he’s the nicest guy in the world. Some people even think he’s maybe not OF this world… BUT!” Dwayne shoots up a stiff finger and he has Artwell’s mesmerized attention, “He’s somethin’ else when his blood is up.” Dwayne sighs, finishing sorrowfully, “And he’s gonna be sooooo angry with you!”They leave a very shaken petty criminal in the cells and go back out into the main room where Fidel mutters, “Dwayne, why did you tell him all that? We’ll need a search warrant and maybe a museum curator. There’s no telling what we’ll find at the St. Remy place. Oh! And Octavia St. Remy isn’t exactly the Chief’s favourite person, you know.”Dwayne grins, “I know… but she’d like to be his BFF and that will help us a lot.”“It will?”“Yes, trust me. C’mon, let’s you and me go out there right now. It’s early yet and I’m sure Ms. St. Remy is still up. We’ll tell her we’re on a special call from the Chief and he would really appreciate her assistance in this delicate matter. Maybe he will even pay her a visit once our investigation is done.”Fidel is aghast, “Dwayne! You can’t dangle the Chief in front of her like that! He’d never agree to it and…”“…and if we hurry and wrap this up tonight, he will never have to deal with her at all, will he?” Dwayne grabs the evidence cases and they are down the steps and off into the darkening night once more.Ms. St. Remy is indeed most eager to aid the police in their investigations and asks a million questions (about the Chief) which they manage to evade seeing as they don’t rightly know anything about the man’s private life. She escorts them to a dusty closed-down wing of the estate where her grandfather had kept HIS grandfather’s ‘cabinet of curiosities’.It is a macabre wonderland. Dwayne and Fidel spend about 10 minutes poking about, asking questions and getting very few answers. Ms. St. Remy has absolutely no interest in biology except for the one exception which she continues to inquire about.Finally, the officers lock down the room and Ms. St. Remy promises to leave everything just as it is but only if the Chief comes tomorrow to handle her personally.“Think that was a Freudian slip?” Fidel asks as they don their helmets out in the drive.“A what?”“Never mind. I want to be in the room when you tell the Chief he has to spend time with her tomorrow. In fact, I want to be in the room with Camille when you tell him.”Dwayne gulps, “Oh, golly, I didn’t think about that!”“I bet you didn’t. It should be very entertaining. For this, I WILL stand by to render First Aid.”“Entertainin’ for YOU, maybe. I might not be in so gooda shape after we tell ‘em about this.”“What do you mean ‘we’? This is your baby and it serves you right for using the Chief as bait.”“Well, it worked, didn’t it? That’s what counts. This is a case where carrot work better than stick. The Chief will just have to suck it up, be the carrot, and handle it like a big boy. I’m sure his visit with Ms. St. Remy won’t take too long, not with Camille there glarin’ at the both of them, her bein’ the stick and all.”Fidel chuckles, “Yes, indeed. Tomorrow should be interesting in all kinds of ways.”
End – part 4

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Part 5 of 5

The next day
The Chief does indeed blow up; at Dwayne for telling Octavia he’d interview her personally, at Fidel for letting Dwayne tell Octavia that he’d interview her personally, at Camille for being mad that he has to interview Octavia personally, and at himself for being so upset that he has to interview Octavia personally.After the release of Artwell on lesser charges of basically being a police nuisance, Richard had waited a full minute before bolting to his feet, “The Police Manual doesn’t cover ‘Dangerous Predators, The interviewing of’,” he all but howls in anguish. “How am I to interview her personally when I worry about life and limb whenever I’m anywhere near her?”Camille growls low in her throat (Dwayne takes a step away). She’s noticed Richard absently rubbing his thigh where the St. Remy scar evidently still rides him. “You will interview her like the true professional you are, like the good cop you are, and I will be right at your side taking notes, recording every word that’s said.” She levels a no-nonsense look at Richard who subsides in sudden hope, “Just so no one can claim someone said something to someone that someone would never say to any one, if you get me.”All three men nod their heads without the slightest clue what she means but it sounds good so let’s go with that! They load up the Defender and it is a very antsy team that rides out to the St. Remy estate later that afternoon, everyone worried about different aspects of the coming chore.It is a subdued team that returns after sunset. They trudge up the steps and stow their gear and sit at their desks and ponder Life’s ups and downs. After about a minute, Camille goes into the break area, plugs in the kettle, and starts the tea ceremony. Richard joins her and they return shortly with four steaming mugs of tea. Everyone settles down once more and silence reigns for a while.Finally, Fidel murmurs, “I have to say, your solution was eloquent and very fitting, sir.”Dwayne stirs to life, “Yeah, I never woulda thought of it. What made you think she’d go for it?”The Chief nods tiredly, “It glorifies her great-great-grandfather’s name, removes a blot on her family’s reputation, and…”“… and joins her name to yours,” grumbles thunder that sounds a bit like a voice. No one looks up.The Chief sips his tea, sighs, “I only suggested it because she was becoming obstreperous.” He flicks a look sideways, suddenly remembering to soften his voice, “After you foiled her eighth attempt to sit beside me, I think she got a bit frustrated, Camille.” He hesitates then adds, “For whatever reason.”“Good!” Camille barks, making them all jump. “She deserved it! Of all the conniving, smarmy, flirtatious, brassy, outré, I-simply-cannot-believe-it tactics! She is relentless! I’m worn out just keeping her off you let alone trying to hammer out some sort of face-saving scheme that gives her kudos! ‘The St. Remy-Poole Exhibit of Bygone Ages’ indeed! Ooooo, I could kill that woman!”Fidel speaks into the fraught silence, “I’m pretty sure the Chief won’t lend his name to something so sensational, will you, sir? I’m sure there’s articles in the Police Procedural Manual that prevent that sort of thing, isn’t there?”The Chief perks up, “Indeed. And if there isn’t, I’m sure the Commissioner will find one! My name will NOT be appended to any exhibition so egregious as to display past transgressions against the natural world by an entitled generation of a bygone age.”“My sentiments exactly!” chirps Dwayne and they all laugh.The Chief stands, stretches, “That had to be, without a doubt, the most stressful non-murder interview I’ve ever conducted. Thank you all for being there to back me up and keeping things on the up and up.”Camille is giving him a heavy-lidded look, “Mmm-hmm, but I thought the offer to spend the night as it was getting so late was a bit much, don’t you?”The Chief halts mid-stretch and seems to shudder, “Well…”Dwayne nods, thinking ‘An’ what an excellent carrot you were’ but says straight-faced, “Camille’s right, Chief. Nine o’clock isn’t really that late, is it? Do you think Ms. St. Remy had somethin’ else in mind when she made that offer?” He hooks an eyebrow at Camille but she is focused on the Chief and misses it. Dwayne somehow feels she wouldn’t appreciate his humour anyhow. The slow shake of the head he gets from Fidel confirms his suspicions so he adds, “Well, it’s done now and we have a full day tomorrow overseein’ the transfer of the collection to the local museum. Will we all go, do you think?”The Chief starts, “Not me! I’m much too busy to babysit museum artifacts.” He hefts his briefcase, “In fact, I’m behind on my daily schedule of paperwork. It will take me all of tomorrow to catch up so I am very sad to say that you and Fidel will have to handle Ms. St. Remy on your own.”Fidel smiles, “Oh, she’s not going to like that, Chief.”Richard turns to make a hot retort, sees the knowing look in Fidel’s eye, and decides to keep quiet. No sense in fanning the flames. Instead, he gestures to the door, “Time to lock up. After you, everyone.”They all troop out. On their way down the stairs, Camille suddenly speaks up in an ultra-soft voice that puts two of the men on guard and the third man not at all, “I didn’t like the look on Ms. St. Remy’s face when we left the estate. I believe I will drive you home, sir, just to make sure you arrive safely and in a timely manner.”Richard smiles, she really is a most dedicated officer, “Thank you, Camille, I would appreciate that. These moonless nights aren’t the safest for strolling.”“No, sir,” she grits. “Not safe at all. If it weren’t for your white shirt and green eyes, no one would know you were there in the dark somewhere. You could go amiss quite easily.”Richard gives her a strange look but gets into the truck nevertheless, thinking, far be it for me to parse her meaning. The French, a truly opaque people. Everything will look much rosier tomorrow morning when I wake up without the threat of Octavia St. Remy’s presence to ruin my day. He clicks his seatbelt, a quiet man riding to his doom.Camille climbs into the truck beside him and waves to Fidel and Dwayne. Her mind was made up today. Finally. Time to make a move, girl. There are predators out there circling, always circling, and this little sweet treat is just too defenseless on his own. The English, a truly clueless people. She gives the man beside her a covetous look as they roll out of the parking lot, a hopeful woman riding to glory.She smiles to herself, sure she’s on the right track at last. He’s been on his own too long. Everything will look much rosier tomorrow morning when he wakes up with company to start his day off right, the way we both deserve, our day and the rest of our lives if I have anything to say about it!She glances up into the depthless inky sky. Yep. All sorts of mayhem can happen on a night like this! Crimes of every nature could be perpetrated under the cover of such darkness. Maybe more than once. Her grin is quite apparent in the glow of the dashboard lights as they drive away.
END

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Stick-shift

Part 1 of 2
As they come down to the parking lot, Camille yells out, “I’ll drive!” and hops into the loaner like a kid going to the ice cream store.Dwayne sighs and gets into the passenger seat. “Are you ever gonna let me drive this thing before the Defender is sent back?” he grouses. As he buckles up, he once more admires the sleek lines and dash instruments, “It’s such a pretty truck, I hate to give it up.”She roars it into life and backs them out like an Indy 500 racer, gives him a knowing look, and tightens her grip on the stick-shift, “No way! This beauty is mine and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it while it lasts.” She throws it into gear and they spin out into the driveway and off they go.Dwayne rides with bad grace, arms crossed, a frown upon his face, “You could at least share the drivin’ duties, y’ know! I don’t often get a chance to maneuver somethin’ like this on the job. C’mon, Camille, why do you always have to drive?”She is cruising and her eyes are half-closed, one hand on the leather steering wheel and the other on the stick-shift as she smoothly shifts them up through all the gears to top speed. Once they are well out of town and there are no more slow-downs expected for a while, she leans back lazily and drawls, “I don’t know what it is about this truck but I just love it. It’s so smooth and quiet and powerful and… and it’s just a joy to drive, that’s all.” She pats the dash, “Well-built, solid, dependable.” She pats the leather seat, “Comfy and soft and silky. I could sleep here quite happily.”“Uh-huh! Well, some of us might like a chance to enjoy it too, y’ know.” He leans back into his corner and watches her. His mind wanders. He sees the shadows play across her face, hears the soft song of tires on the road, smells the sweet perfume of good leather. Yep, he thinks, this is a class ride and I just wish she would share. He snorts at the likelihood of that ever happening and almost turns away when something catches his eye.He turns back. What is it? What is pinging on his radar right now? Usually its women that set his radar off… and Camille is a woman… so…?

He studies her for several minutes before he sees it. He scoffs and rubs his eyes and looks again, not quite sure what he’s seeing.Her right hand. Her right hand has drifted back down to the stick-shift and she strokes the carved wooden head. Something about this tiny motion pings his radar real hard and he sits up with a jerk. Surely not! I’m imagining things, right? But no. Now her hand has dropped and she is caressing the leather sheath slowly, top to bottom then bottom to top. Now she is rubbing…He coughs and looks out the window. Get a grip, Myers! There is NO WAY your superior officer is fondling a cold piece of car hardware! You better get your mind outta the gutter and back onto business! He shakes his head hard and rubs his knees roughly before he turns back to look at her again.Oh, good. Both hands are on the wheel. She looks a bit dreamy but certainly not like someone who… then her right hand drops to the stick-shift again and she just rides with it there. This goes on for several minutes. She doesn’t shift but she runs her hand slow over the stick-shift like it’s a beloved pet… or…He coughs again, “Um, Camille, do you ride stick much?” he blurts out then winces. Oh, I didn’t mean for it to sound the way it sounded.Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice. She laughs and shakes out her hair, “Oh, yeah. In Paris I had a little tiny car with the worst clutch in the world and I risked life and limb daily. I learned to ride stick just to survive another day. This truck is nothing like that little bomb but it sure brings back memories.”He sees her grip on the head and grumbles, “I just bet. Um, none of my business, of course, but have you driven the Chief in this thing?” She looks at him then, just a beat, and he senses he’s hit upon something. “Well? Have you?” he presses.She nods and turns back to the road, “Yes. Funny you should mention it but I drove him over to Government House yesterday and he was acting odder than usual by the time we got there. He actually sent me back then caught a taxi to Honoré later. I was perfectly willing to wait for him but he said his heart wouldn’t take the strain and scuttled off. Weird, hey?”Dwayne cringes. He can just imagine. “Yeah, weird.” He wonders if he should keep quiet then decides to be a good friend once more. He puts his hand on hers where she is once more fondling the stick-shift, “Um, Camille, please don’t blow your top but… are you aware of how you’re touchin’ this thing?”She smiles over at him, eyebrows raised, expecting a joke or quip or something but all she sees are his earnest eyes and slightly worried look. Her smile fades as she thinks about it, checks the road, then looks back to him and shrugs, “Touching what thing? Do you mean the truck?”He gulps and forges on, “No, not the truck, at least, not ALL the truck. This here…” he taps her hand and now she looks down, puzzled. “You’re… you’re bein' awful friendly with it, don’t y’ think?” He lifts his hand away and waits to see if she will take offense.She doesn’t. Her puzzled look persists for several moments before her brow lowers and she gives him a suspicious look, “What are you trying to say?”He holds up both hands, “I’m not sayin' anythin’ about anythin’! I’m just wonderin’ if you need to be so solicitous of its welfare, that’s all. It’s just wood and leather and metal, not…”Her voice is suddenly monotone, “Not what?”“Not… not a pet… or…”Now her gaze is glacial.He crosses his arms and looks out his side window. How do I end up in situations like this, he wonders? Me and my big mouth, I always gotta put my foot into it and now she’s mad at me. Keep this up and I’ll be getting a dressing-down just like the Chief gets.Thinking about the Chief rallies his courage. The poor guy, he’s got no defenses for stuff like this. If I don’t say something then he’ll just suffer in silence and be more uncomfortable than ever! I gotta try to make her understand. He turns back for another try but stops when he sees her face.She is looking down at her right hand, her right hand that is once more caressing the stick-shift as if she is asking it for something… asking it to be kind… asking it to be something special. Her eyes when she looks back up to him are horrified. “Oh…” she breathes. Her hand whips back up to the wheel and she drives stiffly for several moments before she slows down and pulls over.
END – part 1

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Part 2 of 2
They sit quietly as the truck purrs around them. She turns the key and the truck hushes into silence. He waits. Finally, she puts her forehead onto the steering wheel and groans, “Oh, merde! Please tell me I wasn’t doing that during the whole ride today.” She doesn’t even look at him as he slowly nods. She groans again, “So, if I was doing it today, that means…”He nods again, “Yeah, probably, more ‘n likely. Sorry.”Her hands clutch the wheel hard enough to show white knuckles, “Oh, double merde! Why didn’t you say something sooner?”“Me? I just noticed it now.” He frowns, feels her distress, “But, hey, I’m predisposed to notice stuff like that. He isn’t. Maybe he didn’t notice. You never know.”She shakes her head, “No, oh, no, he noticed all right. That’s why he was so quiet and skittish when he got out of the truck. Oh, Dwayne, what must he think of me? Oh, oh, oh.”Her upset is growing. Dwayne slides across the seat to pat her back, pitches his voice low, “C’mon, it’s not as bad as all that. I’m sure he knows subconscious actions from deliberate come-ons…” She lifts her face and gives him a ‘wtf’ look. He stops, thinks then concedes, “Yeah, OK, he wouldn’t know a thing about any of that, would he?” He sits back up and shrugs, “Well, I got nothin’. You’ll just have to hope he gets over it and we get the Defender back rapidement.”She shudders, “This truck. This truck! I’m not driving it anymore. Trade places with me, right now!”He does so gladly. As he pulls back onto the road and shifts up through the gears to bring them to cruising speed, his hand pauses on the stick-shift. He looks down at it then over to her, “Um, its awful smooth and silky and kinda intimate, isn’t it?”She covers her eyes and doesn’t answer him.He runs his hand over it again and again, Oh, yeah, this feels nice and definitely too much like the real thing to be a mistake. He has a thought, “Um, Camille, you know somethin’? I think this was done on purpose. Some designer somewhere in a tiny office cupboard realized what this looks like and feels like and did their best to make it true to life. Don’t feel so bad, I’m feelin’ the same thing but I’m already aware of the resemblance so I’m not fooled.”“Oh, Dwayne, do you think so? Why would someone do something like that?”“Because it will sell more trucks, that’s why. People aren’t all that smart sometimes, y’ know.” He drives for a bit then muses, “And I bet I can convince the Chief that’s exactly what happened. I’ll tell him about my impressions while drivin’ but I won’t mention anythin’ about you. He’s a smart guy. He’ll figure it out. If you then tell him that drivin’ made you uncomfortable for some reason, he’ll put two and two together and you’ll be off the hook.”“Do you really think so?”“Yeah, I do. He’s not the sorta guy to think badly of anyone… except murderers, of course.”“It’s worth a try, I guess. I really don’t want him to think I’m some sort of car-nympho or something.”Dwayne smiles, “He won’t ‘cause you’re not. It was a design trick and we both fell for it, right?”“Right,” she says firmly, “but I’m still not going to drive this thing ever again.”“That’s good,” he smiles as he shifts down to drive into the upcoming little town, “I like drivin’ and this just makes the job more amusin’ than usual.”She looks to him and by the time they pull up in front of the tiny police sub-station they are both laughing and everything is all right between them once more.
Next day
It’s Camille’s day off and she spends it cleaning, shopping, and doing all the tiny chores needed to keep a neat and tidy home. When the doorbell dings just after 6pm, she finds Dwayne smiling on her doorstep.“Bondeye, Camille! I just stopped by to tell you everythin’s OK with the Chief. We had a quiet little talk over coffee this mornin’ and I told him all about my drive yesterday. He was pretty shocked. He says that sorta thing is to be expected from foreigners and then he ranted on for a while about sleazy sellin’ practices then he settled down and was fine.”“Did he mention me at all?” she asks hesitantly.“No, he got quiet for a bit then nodded and said ‘Of course’ and that such sneaky tricks shouldn’t be pulled on unsuspectin’ people of high moral fibre or some such. I’m pretty sure he was talkin’ about you. Anyway, he took the truck right back and got another loaner. When he got back he was much more understandin’. I think it affected him too so I’m sure he’s forgiven you your momentary lapse.”She throws her arms around him, “Oh, thank you, Dwayne. You’re an absolute angel.” He grins as she steps back and she holds up a finger, “Not that I am for one minute going to let you get away with anything cheeky just because you pulled my fat out of the fire.”“Naw, naw, I know.” He gives her a sly sideways look, “Um, the Chief is havin’ supper at La Kaz right now, if you wanna talk to him or anythin’ like that.”She wavers, “Why would I want to talk to him? It’s my day off and I’ve got so much to do…”He hides a smile, “Uh-huh, well, it’s up to you how you wanna spend your day off, isn’t it?” He turns away and saunters down the sidewalk to the street. As he tarries there, he catches her speeding out of the house with her hair pulled up and a nice dress on just a few minutes later. She stutters to a halt upon seeing him. “Uh-huh,” he repeats with a grin, “totally up to you.”She dithers then rushes past him, “Out of my way, Officer Myers. I have some important business to attend to.” She turns back at the corner, sees him watching her and blows him a kiss, “You really are an angel, you know. It’s just that some angels outshine all the rest. You understand?”He nods, “Oh, I understand completely.” He watches her hurry away into town and mutters, “And some angels are ill equipped to handle cheeky car-nymphos. Good luck, Chief, and buckle up. Somethin’ tells me you’re goin’ off-road real soon now.”He resumes his slow saunter home and can’t wait for tomorrow to see what’s developed overnight.
END

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Roses Are Red…

Part 1 of 7
In town The florist, Romeo LaFleur (yes, really), stands in his shop doorway a trifle out of breath and more than a little perplexed and anxious. He shouldn’t feel either of those emotions, not today of all days because it’s Valentine’s Day and, next to the Erzuli Festival, the busiest time of his year. But he does. He wonders if he should call someone. But who? He just knows a disaster is pending.The day had started out with such promise. He’d come in extra early to get everything ready for the last minute rush of all the desperate men who are due for long nights on the sofa if they forget this most important date yet again! The shop was full of blooms and blossoms that will save many a marriage and encourage many a romance. He is a man who helps other men and he likes it.It was a half-hour before opening when he had heard a timid tap on his front door and looked up and… and saw the last man on the island that he would expect to see here today of all days! He’d rushed up to unlock the door, his heart in his throat, quavered, “Can I help you, sir?” all the while thinking desperately, Please don’t say there’s been a murder! Ever since his brother-in-law Eldred had been involved in a case, this man had been a frequent topic of conversation around the Sunday supper table. How they laughed and shook their heads, wondering how this man does it. How does he solve so many murders? What an odd duck he must be!Romeo had suddenly realized that it’s fun to talk about but no one wants to actually BE the case!As Romeo watched the suited man’s eyes dart up and down the street, he’d shivered. Oh, please! Don’t let it be bad news! We talk about this man but we REALLY don’t want to be part of his life! Is it my wife? Is it Eldred? Is it one of the children? Romeo had trembled and waited. He was so sure the ax was going to fall that he was caught off guard as the man slipped inside and shut the door hurriedly behind him.And if that wasn’t mysterious enough, the man’s next words were a shocking surprise.“Um, er, ah… flowers… yes… flowers… nothing too showy… for a lady… for my… ah, er, um…”Romeo had to think for quite a few moments before his ears caught up with his eyes that were marveling at the flashes of colour washing over the man’s pale cheeks. Finally, Romeo had to accept his senses. This man… THIS man… needed flowers, on Valentine’s Day, and he’s nervous, more nervous than Romeo. Which settled Romeo’s nerves quite nicely. Here’s just another man who needs help in the floral department, which was Romeo’s special gift and personal forte.Romeo had taken a deep calming breath and smiled with relief, saying, “Certainly, sir.” He took the man gently by the elbow and led him deeper into the shop. There, Romeo worked his magic and 15 minutes later the Inspector was sent on his way to his meeting with destiny.Romeo had just enough time to sigh happily, hoping Ms. Bordey appreciated the subtlety of the arrangement, when another man had shoved his way into the shop shouting and flailing his arms and demanding immediate service! Tout suite! Allons, allons! Vite, vite, vite!Romeo had been swept up in the man’s mad rush and it is only now, as he stands in his doorway a trifle out of breath and more than a little perplexed and anxious as he watches 3 dozen red roses dash away, heading uphill, the same way the Inspector had gone, that he begins to worry.Could be a coincidence, sure. Might mean nothing, maybe. He really didn’t know what to think. He shrugs and goes back into his shop, finally turning over the ‘Ferme’ sign to ‘Ouvert’. He tidies up his counter and the little bell over his door dings as the men begin to arrive.He stiffens his spine and smiles disarmingly but under his breath he mutters, “Maybe I’m worried over nothing, neh? For all I know, there could be two ‘Camille’s’ in town, n’est pas?”
On the hill
Richard Poole schools his face to placidity and tries to rope in his galloping heart as he approaches the station. He can’t believe he actually did it! He glances down at the small bouquet in his hands and marvels. Three perfectly matched roses of palest cream blushed with faintest pink, just opening, just hinting at the deep dark secret hearts within, surrounded by a frothy wave of Baby’s Breath, all tied up in antique lace. No full-blown blowzy blooms shouting for attention here! No, not HIS roses! These buds send a message of polite interest and gentle inquiry with just a hint of heat, just in case the lady who receives them wishes to take further steps, just in case the lady perhaps returns his regard, just in case… just in case…He swallows, tucks the flowers to his side and mounts the station steps. At the top, he stalls. He can hear voices inside. Oh, merde! Fidel and Dwayne are here! Well, no matter. I will send them out on some errand and then… then I’ll… um… He feels a bit faint. He sits briefly on a bench then hops back up and begins practicing his line. He’d worked diligently all week to get it absolutely right. Not too hesitant, not too cocky, not too bossy – just right!He presents his offering with a small flourish, “Camille, would you do me the honour of allowing me to take you to dinner?” He frowns, shakes his head, adjusts his tie, tries again, “A-hem. Ca-MILLE! Would you PLEASE do me the honour…”He is so intent on his coming task that he doesn’t notice the commotion nearing from below. He doesn’t notice the commotion much like he didn’t notice the many eyes that had followed him through the market crowd a few moments earlier.Yes, many pairs of eyes had followed him and his flowers as he’d sidled through the people below, each with a different thought; True love, sigh. Dead man walking, snort. Another one bites the dust. Lucky woman. Hey, I’ll take those. Finally! These curious eyes suddenly look aside as a boisterous young man thrusts his way through the crowds to stand momentarily at the bottom of the station stairs, gazing up with confidence.This man is tall, wide-shouldered, dressed in an electric blue ¾ sleeve silk shirt open to a glimpse of an impressively smooth chest. His slim hips are clad in white slacks and his feet in white loafers. The mirror shades are framed perfectly by long dark tousled locks. The finishing touch, a rakish goatee, frames full sensuous lips that smile as if romantic failure isn’t an option.In short, a Frenchman.And not just ANY Frenchman, oh no. God, no.This is Philippe. The same Philippe whose name is… well… you’ll see (if you don’t already know).
End – part 1

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Part 2 of 7
By the time Philippe bounds up the steps, Richard has stepped inside and is standing beside Fidel’s desk trying to get up the nerve to tell his officers to leave and then approach Camille without stuttering, stammering, or fainting. He is just drawing breath when a whirlwind blows past him, waving a mass of blood-red roses and charges Camille’s desk like a heat-seeking missile.Before anyone can react, the whirlwind is down on one knee and professing undying love to the wild-eyed woman staring back at him in shock. Everyone is so focused on the man that no one sees her lift blind-sided and dismayed eyes to the still suit standing across the room with his hands behind his back and a face pale as milk.Her lips move soundlessly and only she knows what word she whispers in anguish.But now the young man is sweeping her to her feet, trying to embrace her, telling her that all his girlfriends have dumped him and they were so shallow and foolish and stupid and he’s so lonely and he’s come to his senses and now he knows she is his one true love and he’s come to take her back to Paris with him where she belongs. Camille, his Camille, how he adores her, his darling!All during this tirade, she has slowly stood to face him, her mouth slightly open in amazement. When he finally runs down, she croaks, “Philippe! What in god’s name are you doing here? How did you find me? It’s been almost 10 years! My god, you can’t possibly think…?”He smirks, “Ma chérie, my heart led me. Well, that, plus a mutual friend who asked me to not reveal her name. But that doesn’t matter! Come, come! Your starry eyes tell me you are overjoyed to see me once more! And who wouldn’t? Am I not me? Am I not Philippe the magnificent, the man you loved enough to tattoo my name on your…”She throws up a harsh hand, jerking panicked eyes to Richard who is now staring blindly at the floor, “That’s ENOUGH! Not another word!” Maybe he didn’t hear? Or understand? Oh, I hope so! Philippe smiles and leans in for a kiss and she whirls him and his roses around and marches everything through the stunned room and outside onto the veranda. There is a frozen moment of stillness then Dwayne lunges out of his chair and hangs out his window, a hand cocked to his ear. Fidel leaps to his feet and plasters himself just inside the door frame, straining his ears to the max.Both men listen furiously but can only hear hissing from her and interrupted disjointed words from him. Fidel and Dwayne exchange a brief look. Whatever is going on out there on the veranda, it ain’t Love!For his part, Richard Poole doesn’t hear anything, see anything, and moves not at all.Richard Poole is a graven effigy. A stone. Cold and grey and frozen and lifeless. His heart is thudding in agony and his mind is filled with icy loss. His back is to the veranda where his Love, his Light, his Reason for Living is now reuniting with her one true love come to claim her and take her away!He draws out his pitiful little offering from behind his back and stares down at it, seeing it for the truly pathetic gesture it is. How can these three little buds possibly compete with that massive bouquet of fiery French intent? He hitches in a painful breath, almost a sob, and drops it into the waste bin at his feet then squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, stiffens that upper lip, and starts for his desk.Every step feels like knives in his bones but he makes it to the desk and sits. He pulls files towards himself out of pure reflex. He doesn’t know what else to do. He uncaps his pen, bends his head, and struggles to hide himself in the minutia of his work.At the door, Fidel has turned in response to a slight rustling sound and sees his Chief being the professional that he truly is. Look at him. HE isn’t trying to eavesdrop on this most private moment between two lovers. No sir, not the Chief! He’s got more manners than that!Feeling slightly ashamed, Fidel abandons his post by the door. Just as he’s sitting down, he notices something sticking out of his waste bin and remembers that odd little rustley noise. Peeking over the edge of his desk, he sees flowers, upside down, and his eyes jerk with alarm to his boss who is just sitting and staring at his desktop. Fidel has the presence of mind to drop his eyes and pretend he didn’t see anything but his mind is working at speed.A hot silence holds for several seconds before Dwayne jerks himself back inside and makes it into his chair just before Camille sidles back in the front door and mumbles, “Um, I have to… um, I need a…”A calm controlled voice answers her, “Perfectly understandable, Sergeant. You need to take care of a personal matter. The men and I will handle the station. Take all the time you need.”Fidel and Dwayne both join Camille in staring at their boss whose machine-like voice surprised them all. At their silence, DI Poole nods and flips open a file, “You may take a personal day, if you like.” His head never lifts. His eyes never waver. He is the suit, the boss, getting the job done, a rock.Dwayne and Fidel jerk their eyes to Camille and they both wince. She is ashen, lips parted in dismay, eyes shining with grief. Then she nods and turns and walks out without a backward glance. She is the Sergeant, the underling, taking care of business, water flowing around the rock.As she leads Philippe away, only Fidel hears her low growl, “Come on, you’re getting right back onto that plane. Oh, why did you come? Today of ALL days! You’ve ruined everything!”Fidel sits back in his chair and thinks, replays the past few minutes, marshals his thoughts, and comes to a rather awful conclusion. But before he can think of anything to say or do to console his boss, the Chief is on his feet, tapping files into military precision and capping his pen. “I need to go out,” he says in that machine-voice and marches out without another word.The two officers look after him but neither can think of a response to this most unexpected of acts. Dwayne turns to Fidel only to see the younger man jump up and fish something carefully out of his waste bin, cupping it in both hands. He brings it to Dwayne’s desk where Dwayne stares down at it in confusion.“Where did this come from?” Dwayne whispers.“I think the Chief dropped it into my waste bin right after…”Dwayne’s eyes spark, “Right after that ‘chien lisse’ showed up, am I right?”“You’re right. The Chief was hiding something behind his back when he first came in… and then he wasn’t. Oh, Dwayne! I think he was going to give these to Camille.” Fidel slumps in sympathy.Dwayne jerks erect, “Oh, man, what bad luck that man has with women! What are we gonna do?”Fidel plods to the fridge, pops the little bouquet inside for safe-keeping, “I don’t know… but we have to think of something! This is awful! It’s Valentine’s Day and…”Dwayne jumps, staring wildly at Fidel, “It’s WHAT?!! Oh, man! I gotta go!” then runs for the door.Fidel chases after him, “Wait! You can’t just leave me here with this dilemma!”Dwayne calls over his shoulder, “If I don’t take care of somethin’ right now, you’re gonna see a REAL dilemma! Me! Splashed all over the sidewalks! Bye!!” and he is gone with a clatter and a bang.Fidel sinks down into his chair and covers his face with his hands. After a moment, he reaches blindly for the phone and calls his wife. It’s all he can think to do.
End – part 2

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Part 3 of 7

Back in town again
Richard feels like he’s dying. Camille. And Philippe. Philippe. And Camille. Of COURSE she would have someone like that in her fabled past. She’s French! HE’S French!! They are BOTH French! And NOW they are being French together! Probably back at her place. Where else would she go in such a hurry with a beautiful man like that? Yeah, back to her place. For romance. For hugging and kissing and… and… He hangs his head and groans. His imagination is pretty stunted when it comes to male-female relations but he’s got enough to torture himself with and he’s using every last drop of it with poisonous results! His mind’s eye burns with jealousy! His blood sears his flesh!He drifts through the crowds down in the parking lot market, not seeing the looks he is getting. His eyes smart, his throat hurts, and there doesn’t seem to be enough air in his vicinity. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect he’s coming down with another fever. But this isn’t fever. It’s heart ache, pure and simple. He waited too long, hesitated just enough for his faint heart to lose fair maid! He walks on, his heart quietly breaking and his future falling like dead ashes all around him.When he comes back to himself, he is sitting on a bench in the shade in the little plaza outside the bank. He remembers being here during the Leon Hamilton case. Yes, I sat right over there at that table with… with… my Sergeant… and we worked together seamlessly to find clues for the case. How heady those early days had been! Me. And her. Her. And me. Working together. Partners. Such good partners! Two sides of the same coin. Two minds with but one goal. He shakes his head. What a fool I am! All this time, I had her to myself. I had her every day and I let each day drift by without realizing. Without realizing how desperately I need her. How I count on her and lean on her and depend on her for EVERY thing! Why didn’t I speak up yesterday? Or the day before that? Or the month before THAT? Why did I give that French man a chance to spoil everything? He shifts on his bench most painfully, trying not to think about what Camille is doing right now. It almost guts him. He’s never been sure he’d be able to keep up if she’d turned her attention onto HIM like she’s doing with Philippe right now – but he is male enough to hope he might have.He shakes his head again. Give it up, Poole. She’s gone. She’s history. You’re dust in her rear-view mirror. She’ll be on a plane soon and gone out of your life and you bloody well deserve it, you tosser! You’re going to die a dried-up pathetic old bachelor and you have no one to blame but yourself. As he slumps in romantic defeat, his eye is caught by another man across the plaza, drooped in identical attitude. Huh, he thinks, I’m not the only one suffering today, it seems. Valentine’s Day! I’ve always hated it. Now I loathe it. I will hide in a closet for every Valentine’s Day hereafter and tear February 14th out of my calendar forever!He is almost cheerful in his plans for scorning this day for the rest of his life when he sees the other man raise his head, catches a glimpse of red flowers, and sudden recognition floods through him. It’s Philippe! Here! Alone!! What the hell happened between the station and Camille’s place? Speaking of Camille, where is SHE? Oh, I’ve got to go! I don’t want to witness a possible happy reunion. If there’s a big make-up scene coming, I don’t want to see it! He jumps to his feet but his motion catches Philippe’s attention and now the young man is staring at him in likewise fashion. Before Richard can scarper, Philippe is striding towards him and he is pinned by hot Gallic eyes.“Hey!” the French man calls, “You’re the DI, right? Her boss? Maybe YOU can help me.” He flops down onto Richard’s bench and Richard can’t think of anything else to do except sink down beside the man, wrapping himself in his good manners like a shield.Philippe heaves a huge expressive sigh, very dramatic, and throws out a hand, “She dumped me! ME!! Can you believe it? I thought she would welcome me with open thighs…” Richard winces but Philippe continues unabated “… but no! It’s all off. In fact, it was never on! But how was I to know, hmmm?”He looks to Richard as if Richard knows what he’s talking about. Richard shakes his head, unable to say anything in reply, the words ‘open thighs’ ringing crudely in his ears.Philippe shrugs elaborately, “Well, you’re English, right? What would you know about la grande passion? Nothing, that’s what she tells me anyway. But, voila, she’s rejected me, spurned me, and for what? You’ll never guess so I’ll tell you. Another man!! Yes,” he nods at Richard’s incredulous eyes “she’s met someone. Here! She’s in love with another man; a good man, a kind man, a gentle and caring man.”Philippe’s voice has taken on a sarcastic tone that raises Richard’s hackles just a touch and he rallies to Camille’s defense, “Now see here! If she’s in love with someone else then a gentleman must give way and accept the truth of the matter…” but Philippe doesn’t let him finish.“Non!! It is ME! It MUST be me! She bears my name! We met on a beach in Ibiza! We fell in love! She got the tattoo and moved in with me. So what if I had other girlfriends, mmm? That’s the French way. I would never allow other boyfriends, of course, but she isn’t like that. She was a one-man woman, my friend, and that means she is STILL a one-man woman. Except, now, she tells me I’m not the man! Incroyable! How can this be? Just look at me!” Philippe throws his arms wide, posturing for Richard.Richard can’t help but wish he looked a bit like Philippe… except… except Camille didn’t seem to prefer Philippe. Well, then, whom DID she prefer? “Um,” he stammers, “did she say who this new man is?” Maybe, he thinks, if this new man isn’t too splendid, I MIGHT stand a chance with her after all!“Phhah!” Philippe snorts. “She says he’s smart and funny and old-fashioned and perfect! She is preferring this man over me, ME!! And for what? Some fool in a suit. Yes! A suit! Something about his ties mirroring his moods and how she wants to doff his jacket and I don’t know what other foolishness!”He sees Richard’s round shocked eyes and nods, “Yes! That’s what she told me! And do you know what else, hmmm?” He leans in as if to impart a sacred trust, “She hasn’t even told him yet! Seems he’s older than her and quiet and sedate. A ‘tea-drinker’, whatever THAT is! Merde! What does that even mean? And how can you love someone and not tell them? I don’t understand her at all!”Now Richard leans back and feels dizzy, “A tea-drinker? Is that what she said? Older too? With ties?”“Yes, yes, yes,” Philippe fumes, making fists. “Ties for when he’s happy. Ties for when he’s upset. Ties for solving puzzles. Ties for work. Ties for home. Ties, ties, ties; I am sick to the death with this talk of ties!” He slumps, looking down at his woebegone roses, “Who can this man be? Do you know?”Richard jerks guiltily, “Well… I…”“And how can this man not see her, I ask you? How does one ignore Camille Bordey? He must be a moron! Truly, a fool in a suit!”Richard can only nod his head in agreement. Indeed, a fool in a suit. But… now… a fool who knows something he didn’t know a few minutes ago. A fool who might not be quite as foolish as he was. Philippe sighs, stands, “Well, c'est ça, so be it. Let her waste her life chasing after this idiot. It will serve her right to die a lonely dried-up spinster. I hope this angel man marries and has seven children and she cries herself to sleep every night for the rest of her life! I’m through with her! She could have had me and Paris but instead she chooses this god-forsaken knob of hot rock in the middle of nowhere and a man she hasn’t the courage to approach. Good luck to her, I say! And, by that, I mean bad luck! Rotten luck!! I place a curse on her! May she never sleep peacefully again! Never!”Philippe pauses for a moment then flicks out his card, giving it to Richard, “Do me a favour, will you? If and when she tries for this man and fails, give me a call. Maybe I’ll come back for her, if I’m not otherwise engaged.” Richard takes the card out of reflex, his mouth working soundlessly.Philippe now looks down at a very pensive English man, “And what of you, sir? You were there in the station. You saw how badly Love can treat a man. I saw that little bunch of flowers in your hand. I hope you have better luck with your romance than I did with mine.”Richard freezes fractionally before he coughs, “My romance? Um…”Philippe nods with jaded weariness, “Yes, with that exquisite young officer of yours.”
End – part 3

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Part 4 of 7
Richard’s lips feel wooden, “Oh, well, it’s not quite… um… you see…” Is he going to punch me? Has he seen through my smoke-screen of indifference? Does he know I love Camille? Oh, this could get ugly! I’ve always wondered about being in a fist fight but I don’t think I want to go up against an incensed French man a decade younger! Although… I wouldn’t mind taking on Camille… like she threatened to do so long ago… He is in danger of sailing off into pleasant reverie but Philippe snaps him back to the present with his next utterance.Philippe flips a languid hand, “No need to explain, my friend. To each his own. In fact, here.” He hands the roses to Richard, “I gift these to you. They say more than a mere handful of weeds ever could. These are sure to give your young man the right idea. Give him these tokens of your regard and take him to a quiet candle-lit dinner for two with my blessing.”Now Richard’s mouth hangs open, “My… my… young man?”But his blank look goes unnoticed. Philippe is already striding away, calling over his shoulder, “Farewell, Mr. DI, I need to get to the airport to see if I can charm my way to a refund on her ticket.”Richard calls absently after him, “See Daphne at the Information Desk, she’ll help you.”Philippe waves a ‘thank you’ over his shoulder and he’s gone (out of Richard’s life and almost out of this story, thank goodness).Richard is alone on his bench, beneath his sheltering tree, his lap full of blazing ardor that he hasn’t the faintest idea what to do with. I could probably take the flowers back to Romeo’s shop. It IS Valentine’s day after all and the bloody things are probably worth their weight in gold!He stares at the blooms; so red, so blatant, so NOT him! Then he remembers his sedate earnest little arrangement he’d dropped into the garbage and sighs with sorrow. Those three perfect roses had said so much! Purest cream of platonic admiration. Just a touch of blushed rosy interest. Velvety petals that begged to be stroked. A subtle aroma that could only be enjoyed with the closest of encounters.He smiles with growing confidence. Yes, my flowers said everything I wanted them to say. How I wish I still had them. He looks back down. But all I have are these overblown arrogant obnoxious shouts for attention. She rejected them from him and she will surely do the same to me if I try to give them to her. But… what else are they good for?He idly toys with one bloom and it falls at his feet where it gleams like a hot red coal on the ground. It looks like a gout of blood, he thinks. If we found a splash like this at a crime scene why then we’d look for others. We’d follow the trail and it would lead us to the killer… or the next clue… or…His mind wanders as he gazes down at the flower at his feet. A candle-lit dinner for two, that’s what I need to find. And not with Fidel. Poor Fidel! I hope others haven’t gotten the same wrong idea about me. Well, if I’m married soon then no one will think the wrong thing again, will they? So, I need Camille, a candle-lit dinner, and somewhere quiet where I can pledge my troth… after I oh so carefully sound her out about this mystery man of hers, naturally.He stands, dusts his hands, picks up the roses and rallies his courage. But, being Richard Poole, he can’t help thinking, Golly, I really hope it’s me she’s in love with and not some OTHER undeserving tie-wearing tea-imbibing older man who can’t see the forest for the trees. If not, I might get my fist fight after all! Engarde Mr. X whomever you are, you’ve got a rival now, you git!He hurries away, heading for the only ally he can think of in this unexpected war of the sexes.Within the half-hour his ally is onside, a plan is in place, the scene is set, and he is cosseted, soothed, and assured of his ascendancy for Camille Bordey’s affections. Half a bottle of good wine doesn’t hurt either and boosts his confidence nicely.And all it cost him was six red roses – cheap at ten times the price!Turns out, her Maman always hated Philippe.
Somewhere else in town
Camille rages from her front room to her kitchen to her hallway and back again. Around and around and around. She is livid! Livid and worried. Worried and scared.Livid with that ass Philippe for showing up with $300 worth of flowers and expecting her to forgive three years of her life that she’d rather scrub out of her head with the loo brush! Worried that he’d mentioned Ibiza and the tattoo! Scared that he’d revealed that she’d once been foolish enough to fall for good looks, easy manner, and unending lies!She whirls in a circle, her hands covering her face. Richard. RICHARD. Oh, merde, what about Richard? He witnessed it all. Every single soul-bearing moment! Just when I’d been getting to my feet and almost going over to him and… Oh! I practiced and practiced asking him out for Valentine’s dinner! Over and over in front of the mirror, ‘Richard, would you PLEASE come to dinner with me?’She swings back to retrace her steps. Months of patient wooing – ruined! Weeks and weeks of cautious banter – wasted! That fool Philippe has spoiled everything! How can Richard respect me now that he’s seen the ‘true love’ from my past? Someone I’m so ashamed had me fooled every single moment?She throws her head back and moans, “Oh, Richard! Will you ever find it in your heart to give me another chance?” She sinks to her knees, just a love-sick French woman with no antidote in sight.Into the profound silence of her aching heart, there is a quiet knock.Her head comes up, her senses on high alert. Non! It cannot be! Surely the man isn’t so oblivious as to think he still has a chance with me? Surely he hasn’t waited this hour to let me calm down so he can try again with his egotistical attempts at wooing me to his side? She slowly rises into a crouch. I will murder him! I will simply kill him stone-cold dead! God help me but I will even brave Richard’s stern disappointment when he arrests me!! I will plead justifiable homicide! If I get a lady judge, I’m sure she will see my side of it!She leaps for the front door and throws it open with a roar.There’s no one there. The street is empty and the houses drowse in the late afternoon heat.She glances up and down the street, just to make sure. Great, she thinks, now my mind is playing tricks on me! Just before she shuts the door, she notices something on her doorstep. She swings back with an oath and stoops down. It is the head of a single red rose, snapped off from its stem and winking up at her arrogantly.
End – part 4

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Part 5 of 7
She snatches it up with a growl and shreds it to tatters. How DARE he? Does he really think I’m so stupid, so gullible, so forgiving, that I’d fall for any of his idiot moves now? Her eye falls upon another rose head down on the sidewalk in front of her place. She blazes up in anger and charges down to rend it to bits. As the red slivers drop like blood spatter at her feet, she spies another 20 feet away. She goes for it in a fury. Then she spots another… and another…By the time she realizes she is playing right into whatever stupid little mind-game Philippe is playing, she is panting and sweating and feeling a growing unease. This isn’t like Philippe at ALL! He hasn’t the imagination or the patience to set up a game like this! What’s going on? Who laid this trail? And why? But she can’t resist! There’s another one. And another! She is being led by back ways, alley ways, and by-ways through town. What is her destination? And what awaits her there?She shivers in dread and excitement as she follows the roses. She is gathering them up now, piling them up in the scooped hem of her T-shirt as she goes. There must be almost 2 dozen rose heads in her possession now. Somehow, these decapitated blooms hold a deeper meaning than mere flowers. Her interest is piqued, her senses on high alert. She is on the hunt and her instincts are humming.Suddenly, she is at the back of La Kaz and there are no more roses in sight. She listens very carefully. It is quiet. Too quiet. Where is the expected late afternoon crowd? Surely Maman’s back room should be packed with lovers and couples? This is normally a VERY busy day for La Kaz.How she wishes she was in there, in the back room, right now, with Richard!! Sitting at a table in the dim shadows and gazing into those mesmerizing eyes by candle light! Her mouth floods with water and she almost weeps at the hopeless beauty of this image.Her little daydream is interrupted most rudely by something waving in a tree just to one side of the low back wall to La Kaz. Her eyes go from dreamy to deadly in a blink. It’s a rose. A whole rose. Hanging upside down from a branch. It nods in the gentle breeze. Beckoning her. Daring her!She rushes through the vegetation, scattering beheaded roses in all directions, and wrests the hapless dangler into her hands. I am going to beat that man about the head and shoulders with it until he gets the message! she thinks savagely as she vaults the low wall and stands vibrating with anger in the dim back room. But it’s empty! The doors are shut and the room is empty. This can’t be! What does it mean? Something is very wrong here!Also, it’s dark, too dark. What’s going on? Where is everyone? More to the point, where is Philippe? Him and his stupid little trail of roses – although, she wonders again about who laid this trail. It just doesn’t feel like something Philippe would do. He simply isn’t clever enough to…Her sun-blinded eyes dart furiously about and are caught by a slight movement in the gloom as a bright spark stabs out unexpectedly and she throws up a hand to shield her eyes. She growls, “You are SO dead!” and tenses up for a fight. She takes a menacing step forward, fists raised, battle-rose on the ready, before her brain deciphers what her eyes are frantically trying to tell her and she halts.She sees a single table in the middle of an empty room, draped in snowy linen. She recognizes that linen. It’s ‘for special’. Weddings and such like. She sees two white candles throwing dancing shadows. She sees a vase with 6 more roses in it. She sees two crystal champagne flutes, an ice bucket, and a bottle nestled therein. She recognizes these items too. They are also ‘for special’.Last of all, and really it should have been FIRST of all considering the day she’s just had, she sees two anxious eyes gleaming cats-eye-green back at her. A voice speaks out of the dark, sweet music to her ears, smooth and soothing and just the right timbre and pitch, the voice of her dreams except it sounds slightly tremulous.“NOW what did I do?”She is a woman-statue of coldest ice. Surprise doesn’t even come close to describing her feelings although a certain admiration flares up. NOW she knows who laid the trail. Of course! This has his eccentric little fingerprints all OVER it! But, the question remains. Why? Her brain is sputtering so she simply stands there by the back wall and drinks him in before whispering, “Why, Richard? Why have you led me here? And what about these roses? Are they…?”He chuffs a chagrined laugh, “Yes, these are all that’s left of Philippe’s roses. He gave them to me.” At her sharp look he adds, “We met in the bank plaza. He told me all about your dénouement.”Her burgeoning smile falters, eyes signaling some strong emotion, “What? What did he tell you?”He sits back, settles, pours some champagne for himself, “Wellll, he told me you dumped him. And I can’t really say as I blame you. He doesn’t strike me as a suitable match for you. Not at all.” He pauses, holds the mouth of the bottle over the second flute, jinks an eyebrow.She steps carefully up to the table, hovers behind the empty chair, nods, “Yes, please.”He pours a second glass of champagne and sets the bottle gently back into the ice. As he rewraps the napkin around the neck, she watches him closely. He’s calm. He’s not dithering. He’s not nervous. This is JUST how he gets right before his big reveal on a case! He’s sure he’s got the answer. He’s uncovered whatever secret the guilty party has been trying so desperately to hide… and he’s getting ready to spring it on me. Except this isn’t a case. This is private. This is SO unlike him! She sinks into the chair with wonder. This is a Richard Poole she’s not seen in public before and she likes it!They pick up their flutes and a shivery crystal chime rings faintly all around them. They sip. They regard one another over the rim of their glasses, seeing each other through effervescent bubbles. She can’t help but notice how his eyes glow brightly by candle-light, contrasting so vividly with the deep colour of the roses. She files this away as ‘Necessary Information’ and vows to keep candles on hand from this day forward... just in case.Finally, she sets her glass down, clasping her hands upon the pristine cloth, “What else did he tell you?”Richard glances upwards, purses his lips, then drops his gaze to bore green fire right into her souls, “He said you are in love with someone else. An older man. A quiet man. A ‘tea-imbiber’. You are in love with this man but you haven’t told him.”Her breath freezes in her throat and she wonders if it’s too late to hunt Philippe down and throttle him!
End – part 5

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Part 6 of 7
At her deer-in-the-headlights stare, he continues, “Now, tell me, Camille, is that fair? To withhold such treasure from a man who probably doesn’t deserve it but yearns for it with all his heart and being? Isn’t that terribly cruel of you? Terribly French? Why would you torture someone so horribly?”Her lips are tingling and she’s pretty sure it isn’t the champagne, she hasn’t had enough of it. She settles that lack by taking a deep draught and shivering as the bubbles go straight to her hind-brain. She pauses briefly then takes a second deep drink to steady herself. She sets the glass down and looks him right in the eye.“I’m not torturing him, I’m torturing myself. I don’t know what he thinks of me. Sometimes I think he likes me and other times I think he hates me. He fights with me all the time. He never tries to spend time with me. He’s never touched me. I want him so bad but he’s never shown me the slightest interest. What if I’m wrong? What if he doesn’t think of me in that way? Should I jeopardize our professional relationship on a hunch?”He shrugs, an almost French move, “Why not? You’ve solved entire cases using your intuition. I rely completely on your skills in that area. You should trust yourself as I trust you.”“Do you? Trust me?” she asks breathlessly, finally hoping to get the truth.He nods curtly, a very English move, “Yes. Completely. In fact, I’m gambling my future on you.”“Oh,” she whispers, sitting back, feeling anticlimactic. Such a simple answer but it says so much!Now he smiles small and says, “As for never touching you, perhaps he’s gay.”Her eyes almost fall out of her face. “What?” she manages to strangle out. Oh, where did THIS come from?!He laughs low, “Well, that’s the word around town, I hear. Yes, Philippe gifted me the roses so I could give them to my exquisite young lover in the station. He didn’t want them to go to waste. What a thoughtful fellow.”Now she barks, “What? Are you saying he already knew…?”He tops up their flutes, “No, I’m sure the truth would never occur to him. He meant Fidel.”The silence stretches out to the breaking point as he calmly sips and watches her slyly.“F... F… F…” is all she can stutter, her teeth caught on her lower lip.He leans forward and gently nudges her chin up to close her stalled mouth, “Mmm-hmm. Apparently I am having a torrid affair with Fidel. I wonder who else believes it?”Her eyes blaze and her fists clench, “NO ONE! Who would dare? Who would be so blind as to…”He glances away, highly amused, “Well, Philippe for one.”Her restraint gives way, if it was ever in place to begin with, “Philippe?!! Oh, don’t you ever say his name again! That man was the worst mistake I ever made! I gave him my heart and he tossed it in the corner like a worn-out shoe! I cried myself to sleep more nights than… well… ALMOST more nights than I have for you…” She stops, aghast, “I mean… I don’t… that is…”He glances back at her, his eyes laser green and she suddenly realizes he DOES know the secret. Her secret. “Mmm-hmm, pray continue,” he says with deadly intonation.“Well,” she gulps, fighting for air, “he is NOT the man of my dreams, not MY dreams or the dreams of any of the many many women he cheated on me with. He was so awful, Richard, you have no idea!”“Oh, I think I have some idea. I didn’t spend much time in his company but maybe some of your skills have rubbed off on me. I think my opinion of him matches your own. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. He is beautiful and if I WERE gay, maybe I’d give him a tumble…” he almost laughs at the look on her face but can’t bear to tease her any more “… but I’m not so I won’t.”He leans forward and rests a hand upon hers, “Rest assured, dear one, I am heterosexual all the way.” He leans back and sits and waits.Her mouth is opening and closing. Her eyes are blinking. Her mind is whirling. Is he flirting with me? Is this wooing Richard-style? Do I go with my gut? Or do I try to get him to say something in plain English? As her mind tries to pick out an option, she hears a voice say, “Richard, would you please have Valentine’s dinner with me? Please?”Just as she slips a too-late hand over her traitorous lips, he smiles happily and says, “Funny, I was going to ask you the very same question. I say ‘yes’. What do you say?”She drops her hand with a guilty jerk and lisps, “I say ‘yes’, thank god, yes!”“Well, then, I think it’s time we dined,” and he taps his flute with his knife, a tiny crystal bell.The door immediately opens and her Maman wafts in with a platter fit for a king. Richard moves the candles aside and Maman lays the platter then departs at speed in total silence.Camille sits stunned. How much of this whole embarrassing conversation has her mother heard? Knowing her Maman, every single solitary word! Her brain prods her... What? What is it? Oh, Maman was standing by, waiting for Richard’s signal. OH! The two of them are in this together! They are in cahoots and I am hootless! She draws in an indignant breath but Richard forestalls her.“Yes! I confess most abjectly. I enlisted the help and advice of the only other person I trusted to guide me through a minefield I cannot understand. All it cost me was six roses. Besides, who else could I turn to for help in dealing with a baffling French woman?”Her lips curl up despite herself as she nods and murmurs, “Another French woman, obviously.”He drapes his napkin into his lap, “Obviously. I may be clueless but I’m not stupid. I know when I’m beat. There’s you eyeing me up for a wedding suit… and your mother eyeing me up for fatherhood. How can I withstand such overwhelming expectations?”She stills, “Wedding suit?” she whispers.He stills, a worried frown suddenly creasing his brow, “Did I get it wrong? I AM the man, aren’t I?”She fidgets then has to speak the truth, “Yes, you are.”He looks down at his hands, fidgets and then simply has to ask, “Do you not want to marry me?”She darts a quick look at him from beneath her lashes. He looks scared. Like he assembled all the clues but still got the answer wrong. Oh, Richard, how can you doubt yourself even now? She nods small, “Yes, I do. I just surprised you thought that far ahead.”He huffs a relieved breath, “Whew! Don’t do that to me! I almost got up and ran away!”She darts out a hand to catch his upon the table, “Once that wedding ring is on your finger, you’ll never be able to run far enough or fast enough to escape me. Just so you know. Fair warning.”He squeezes her hand, “Fair warning from me too. I’m liable to bore you to death on the matrimonial front but I also will not allow other boyfriends. Philippe was completely right in that regard.”She is just about to quip back when there is a low ‘psssst’ sound from somewhere nearby.They both look about but see and hear nothing. They are just about to get down to the serious business of romantic negotiations when the sound repeats.“Pssssssssst!” followed by a furtive whisper, “Chief, here, over here, psssst.”
End – part 6

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Part 7 of 7
Richard’s eyes fixate on hers and she can hear his thoughts as if spoken aloud. Oh, no! Fidel! How much did he overhear? How much does he know? Why does he have to push in at this very moment? She shoots out another hand to lay over his, “Don’t fret, dear heart. Why don’t you go see what he wants? I’ll wait. I’ll wait and drink champagne and think about making love to you.”Richard freezes in mid-rise as her words shiver down between his souls where they join those other words that had burned just as hotly, ‘You should sleep naked. I do.’ She scoffs and leans forward to give him a shove. He staggers to his feet and gives her a piteous look. She shoos him away, “Go, go, I’m not going anywhere, Inspector, never again.”Richard’s feet bear him reluctantly away towards the shadow flitting at the side wall. Camille watches him go through the motions of talking to Fidel. She has no idea what they are discussing but Richard’s back is losing its tension and he seems to be pleasantly surprised by something. Within moments, the shadow flits away and Richard turns back to her. He ambles to the table with one hand behind his back.She quirks an eyebrow at him as he sits with great satisfaction, “Well? What did he want?”He draws his hand out and presents her with a small bouquet, “This. He wanted to give me this.”She gazes down at the perfect perfection of perfectitude, “What is it? It’s beautiful!” She takes it into her hands and falls in love all over again.“It’s my original bouquet, the one I made just for you. Those roses…” his voice fades as she strokes the petals with a tender fingertip, “… um, those roses, they… they… um…”“Soft. Like skin. I love the colour too, so sweet and innocent and shy…” she mutters.“Are they? Well, yes, perhaps they are. I wonder if the florist understood my situation better than I did?” At her look he hastens to add, “I couldn’t presume upon your feelings, you see. Not then. I hadn’t had my little heart-to-heart with Philippe yet.”She buries her nose into the arrangement, takes a long deep glorious breath, “You may now presume to your heart’s content, my darling man. Oooo, these smell so good!” Now she’s brushing her lips over the velvety blooms and his heart shivers.“Um, Camille?” She stops fondling the bouquet and fastens her drugged gaze onto him, “Mmmm?”He clears his throat and says faintly, “I hope this doesn’t shock you but… I want you to do the same to me as you’ve just done to those roses. When you’re ready. If you want. If you can…”Her eyes widen for long moments and he suddenly fears he’s overstepped her bounds by miles! Then her eyes narrow and she grins in what he can only think is a leering kind of way, “Oh, yeah! I can do that. You bet! Want me to start right now?”He swallows drily, “Um, please no, not here. Can you wait until we’ve finished this fine meal? Until I can get you back to my place?”She snorts, “Your place? Why not mine? It’s closer.”He blushes then and she thrills to see it, “Um, my place is isolated and remote, less chance of anyone hearing... um… you know… interfering… er… interrupting… um…”She leans back, lifts her glass, watches him through the champagne, “Oh, I see. You anticipate a rather lengthy session then, do you?”He can barely meet her eyes, “I anticipate an all-nighter, if that is alright with you. I anticipate a cataclysmic meeting of the minds. I anticipate… I HOPE… all my dreams come true.”She can almost feel the heat of his blush from across the table. She takes his hand one last time, “Fine. I accept your terms. We will finish this meal. We will finish the champagne. We will retire to your place and…” she sets his bouquet on the table by the candles “… these perfect roses can witness the completion of their task. After all, they gave their lives so that you could finally tell me what I needed so badly to hear.”“Oh? And what’s that?” He sees her sharp gaze and rushes to his defense, “Not that I’m not in total agreement with your sentiments, no! It’s just that… well, most of the time I have no idea what you’re talking about. I have to learn to understand you now, don’t I? Can you at least tell me if I’m even in the same pitch as you? Please?”She smiles then, tender and loving, “I needed to hear that you love me… so I could tell you the same. And you did, so thank you for freeing me.”He frowns as he begins spooning food onto her plate, “Freeing you? From what?”She takes his other hand and draws it to her mouth where she bites the base of his thumb, “From any constraints I might have had about taking you as my own. Now that I know, now that I’m sure, I can be as wild and wanton as I like, can’t I?”He drops the spoon and snatches his tingling hand back, “Um, well, I… I… oh god…”She picks up the spoon and begins moving food to his plate, “Yes, Richard, I can. I can finally be completely and totally French on you. Oh, I can’t wait.” She leans forward, whispers, “And can you finally be completely and totally English on me? Hmmm?”He nods dumbly, not understanding in the slightest what he’s just agreed to but knowing deep in his bones that whatever it is she is asking of him, he will deliver. Deliver or die trying.The meal passes as if in a dream. He doesn’t remember the taste of anything but the light-headedness of the champagne floats him all the way back to his place. Back to his place with an angel on his arm.But he does have the presence of mind to sweep up his last 6 roses from the vase and take them too.
On the beach of dreams
When she comes out of the bathroom all steamy and dewy and wrapped in a towel so as not to shock him too awfully, she finds his bed covered in red petals. He is standing there looking uncertain but now she knows why he brought the last of Philippe’s roses. No, she shakes her head as she draws him down into paradise, OUR roses.Those petals get a work out of monumental proportions despite the tiny hiccup of the discovery of a certain tattoo that a certain person takes in stride but not without exacting a promise from another certain person to have it removed tout suite! (But that’s another story)After that, it is all down-hill from there, like a car without brakes on a mountainside in the Alps. For the lady returns his regard. She certainly does. AND the lady certainly takes further steps. Boy, does she ever, right into outer space! He meets his Destiny and Destiny is booted to the curb where it joins his proper English propriety in stunned disbelief as the action ramps up on the bed to the participants’ total and complete satisfaction.He now knows that he will NEVER want to run away (unless some sort of chase is involved).She now knows she will NEVER be bored on the matrimonial front (unless she somehow loses her edge).Many hours later, the scent of crushed roses follows them down into blissful sleep.He rouses briefly, later, and thinks sleepily of sending a tasteful photo of a comatose tousle-maned anonymous shape covered in rumpled sheets and red smudges to Philippe with the smug message, ‘Thx for the roses, my love sleeps most peacefully upon them.’ He smirks. He would sign it ‘not gay’ and let the oaf try to puzzle it out.But, he sighs as he nestles deeper into his haven, I want to live another day. Somehow I think an incensed French woman would beat the living shite out of me if I was to do something so chest-thumpingly knuckle-draggingly caveman. I believe I’ll simply console myself with living the rest of my life with her instead, and he decides to be magnanimous in victory.After all, the best revenge is success!His lips curl into a contented little smile as his ego mutters faintly ‘AND we kept up with her. Stone the crows.’He nuzzles into her, his rose-spattered love and mutters, “Stone the crows until the cows come home, I’m here now and she’s here now and we’re both here together.”His ego falters into puzzled silence and he slips back to sleep, wrapped up like a Christmas present with a lap full of slumbering ardor that he knows EXACTLY what to do with now. He dreams of the coming mornings mutual shower and his smile (and something else just as sweet and wonderful) blossoms.
END

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Showing His Colours

Part 1 of 2
The market stalls offer everything under the sun (except fresh cow’s milk) and are athrong with tourists buying all sorts of dreadful tat. The locals have been and gone already, taking the best and freshest with them hours ago. All that’s left is the noise and the colour and the joie de vive of visitors to paradise.NONE of which interests Detective Inspector Richard Poole in the slightest!Yet here he stands, smack dab in the thick of things, hating every single nanosecond of it! He almost turns to march back to the station but his feet hesitate as a deep voice reverberates inside his head.The Commissioner had been MOST explicit.
Minutes earlier
“You must circulate where the nervous tourists can see you, Inspector. You must display the badge of safety so that everyone may see it and be reassured. Most of all, you must allay all fears of mayhem. You must let people know that there is NO danger on our island, except, perhaps, the danger of missing out on all the festivities if our visitors hide in their rooms once evening falls.”Poole tries to get a word in edgewise but soon gives it up for a game of soldiers. The big man will have his say. The pep talk goes on for another minute or two and Poole nods without accepting any of it. But, once done, the Commissioner proudly brings something very shiny out of his pocket and pins it to Poole’s lapel, smiles, and wafts out…… leaving his Chief of Police gawping down at a muckle great medal gleaming on his chest.The team gathers round to admire this glittering emblem of authority. At least, Poole hopes that’s what they’re doing. His ‘mockery sensor’ is still rather touchy. He looks down at himself, seeing his latest accessory upside-down. All brass and rainbow enamel. A thing of beauty. NOT!“Now, that’s real nice,” Dwayne opines, his own eye glinting mischievously, “Look how it catches the light. Fidel, don’t it look fine?”Fidel covers his smile and nods, “Oh, yes, most fine.”Poole slumps in embarrassment, “A Chief of Police badge? I’ve never had to advertise before!” He turns to Camille for support, “Please tell me I don’t look as complete a tosser as I feel right now.”She studies him closely then shakes her head, “Sorry. I cannot lie. You look completely tossed.”He gives her a blank stare for several seconds before he jerks back to life, grabs at the offending article, and spins around furiously, trying to get it off. “Right! Well, I refuse to look the fool,” but it won’t budge. He looks to Camille for help but she throws her hands up and steps away. So do Fidel and Dwayne. The Commissioner has spoken and no one wants to garner the big man’s ire.With a growl, Poole attacks the badge again, now spinning in the opposite direction.Camille yells, “Stop it! You’ll rip your suit.”That quells him. He subsides, panting, and glares down at his neatly suited breast. “Chief of Police,” he mutters with disgust, “More like Chief Loon if you ask me. How am I expected to parade myself in public wearing THIS ridiculous thing?”“I dunno,” Dwayne glances to his watch, “but you gotta do it now. Time to parade, sir.”Poole straightens up and begins to wheedle, “Surely one of you will accompany me? You can’t send me out all on my own looking like this, can you!? Have pity!” He turns to Fidel.Fidel looks truly contrite, “Sorry, sir, but I’ve got that boot-legging outfit to find. The Commissioner is most eager to shut them down.” He dons his hat and exits with zeal, glad to leave this problem behind. Let older, craftier, cooler heads prevail!Pleading green eyes turn to Dwayne who resolutely shakes his head, “And I’ve got patrol. I still haven’t figured out how those contraband cigars are gettin’ inta town. The Commissioner is most serious about it seein’ as he got a bum stogy himself last week. I gotta go track down my informants.” He dons HIS hat and rushes out, glad to leave the sitch with Camille.As Dwayne’s shadow dwindles, his boss mutters, “Yeah, in every low-level bar on the island…”Camille chastises him from her desk, “That is uncalled for and you know it. Dwayne’s sources have cracked many a case for us… AND…” she holds up a finger that halts Poole in his tracks mid-way to her, “… I have to stay here working on the reports that are needed by closing time.”“But…” Indignant.She turns her head and gives him the palm of her hand, “No!”“But…” Pleading.“NO! Don’t try to weasel out of this. Just wander about and chat up the tourists. The Commissioner will be appeased, I’ll get my work done, and you need the exercise.” She flaps a hand at him, “An hour should do. Au revoir, goodbye, see you later!”“An HOUR?” he bleats, “With this sticking out like a sore thumb? Look at this thing! Look how it ruins the drape of my suit! It’s too heavy. It’s too big. It’s too gaudy. It’s un-Poole!” A lower lip is definitely on the verge of trembling. Anything to engender a bit of sympathy!But he should have known better. She is made of sterner stuff. French stuff. She surges up out of her chair and chivvies him right out the front door, “And I’m too busy to listen to your whining! Off you go like a good little police chief.”He stands on the veranda, muttering to himself and stamping his feet until she pops out the door and startles him quite badly, “Allez! Allez! Go do your duty and leave me in peace to do mine!”He gives her a murderous look, “My duty? My DUTY! All right, I’ll do it… but I won’t like it.”He is still muttering to himself as he makes his way down the stairs and so doesn’t hear her muttered reply as she goes back inside, “He won’t like it! Big surprise there! Merde, Erzuli save me from all English men… and THIS English man in particular.” She sits, opens a file, and sighs.Her head is thus buried in paperwork so she doesn’t hear HIM pause half way down the stairs with an indignant squawk, “I need the EX-er-CISE?!!”He spins about and flashes hot eyes back up at the empty doorway but then he runs his hands down himself and bites his lip. Great, he thinks, now I have TWO things to worry about! My dignity and my attractiveness to the opposite sex of the French kind! He sighs unhappily and finishes his descent to earth, a former slightly insecure man now feeling very insecure indeed. But, insecure or not, he has his orders and order has always ruled his life. Order lets you know where you stand. So, minutes later…
Minutes later
… he is standing in the midst of the jostling crowd and hating every single nanosecond of it. He almost turns his back to march back to the station… but… he is surprised by an elderly couple who grab his arm and begin firing questions at him. Within seconds he is reciting crime statistics and reassuring them that all is well, all is well, and all manner of things will be well.Moments later, a mother with three small children button-holes him about safe activities for young children and he sends her off to the first thing that pops into his head, the ‘Le Clerc’ presentation.Next, another couple seeks reassurance that tonight’s beach bonfire and seafood fest is completely safe to attend after dark. He no sooner sends them happily off when the next encounter happens. Then the next. And the next.What with one thing and another, he is so totally swept off his feet that he barely makes it to La Kaz where he ducks out of sight post-haste.Catherine rounds the bar moments later to find an exasperated DI crouching behind it. “Richard! To what do I owe the pleasure?” she coos, nudging him aside with one knee so she can open the fridge.
End – part 1

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Part 2 of 2
He gestures with both hands, “Shhh, keep your voice down. I am pursued by a paranoid pack of tourists. Just let me sit here and rest for a while, will you? For about…” he checks his watch, “… 47 minutes?”She nods and hands him a cold bottle of water which he downs with relish. As she mixes drinks, she glances down at him, “Ah, a new honour, is it? Very pretty. What does it say?”He thumbs his chest disdainfully, “It says ‘Ask me whatever insane thing is in your head and I have to pretend to care!’ That’s what it says!”“Mmmm,” she muses, “was that you out on the street causing all that noise just now?”He scoffs, “Oh, probably. Honestly! Why are people so nervous?”She shrugs, “People get nervous. You remember how it was for you? Far from home. Things so strange. The news worrisome. People need reassurance that everything is fine. People need a hero.”He stops pulling at the badge and looks up at her, “A what?”“A hero. That’s you, mon chéri. You maybe don’t believe it but I hear things. I see things. You calm people. You make us feel safe… but only those of us who know you. The islanders all know who you are, even the ones that haven’t actually met you, because people talk. But the visitors, they don’t know you. And they need to. So!”She reaches down an elegant hand, grasps him by the shirt collar, and dead-lifts him to his feet, much to his slightly strangled amazement. She ignores his incredulous look, dusts him down, and straightens the badge, “Now, off you go. Show your face and your colours. Be our proud Chief of Police for all to see.”He breaks off his stare. Well, what can he say? He isn’t sure if she’s taking the piss with him or not. As he hesitates, the young mother spots him from the sidewalk doorway and rushes in to thank him for the info about ‘Le Clerc’. The kids are simply agog to beach-comb and their whole chaotic week is suddenly planned and orderly. She thanks him profusely while the children mill about showing off their buckets and sand shovels, tugging on their mother to get a move on! Pirate gold awaits!!On his way out the door, Poole meets the bonfire couple who thank him mightily for his input. Now their entire resort crowd is going to go. What fun! He even gets an invitation to join them but he has to decline due to a previous engagement with his... um, lizard. He hurries off before they can ask.Once back on the street, he almost expects to bump into his first couple but he never does for they have decided to tour the West End with local travel guide Hida on her ‘Meet The Locals And Get Some Island Colour’ trip. They have the time of their lives and send many other visitors Hida’s way in the following days. Bless that nice police man!Instead, Poole makes his slow way up the street, talking to business owners and being stopped every third step it seems to answer questions, calm the waters, and direct tourists this way and that. What with all this, he doesn’t get back to the station until well after 5 pm. As he strolls in, finishing a kebab of some sort and carrying a bag of oranges, he surprises his team who all whirl to stare at him.“Where have you been?” Camille bugles, “We were just coming to search for you!”“I was…” He waves the kabab in counterpoint but is interrupted again.“And what in the world are you EAT-ing?” Camille’s eyes are huge. “You don’t do street food!”He looks at the kabab as if just discovering he is holding something novel, “A vendor shoved it into my hand, moaning that no one was buying his wares and would I please pretend to eat it and I was so rushed and so hungry that I… well… I ate it.”Camille’s face is a picture of ‘go on, pull the other one’. She braces herself for a spat, hands on hips, head thrown back, “And??”He shrugs, takes another nibble, and mumbles low, “It’s quite good. This is actually my third. I would have gotten yet another but he sold out.”Dwayne snorts hugely and waves a hand to Camille, “I told you, didn’t I? He was schmoozin’ and cruisin’ and soothin’ the restless hordes. Eldred says the whole street settled down once the Chief got there. The businesses filled right up and tonight’s festivities are all fully booked. Everyone is right pleased!”Fidel smiles with pride, “So, your walk served its purpose, did it, sir?”“Yes, I…” Poole begins again, finishing his nosh and tossing the skewer into the nearest bin.Dwayne pipes back up, “Yes aye, I tol’ the Commissioner all about it! He’s chuffed, he is.”Poole flicks his eyebrows in satisfaction, “Is he? Well, good. Maybe I won’t have to do this again until the next boatload of new faces arrives. It really wasn’t too onerous a task. Rather pleasant, really.”Camille scoffs, not believing a word of it! Trust the men to stick together! “You didn’t walk that badge all this time! You hid somewhere, didn’t you?” She clicks her fingers, “At Maman’s, I bet!”“Indeed not!” Poole harrumphs, taking righteous offense with just a hint of a guilty look, “It was a simple enough request; show my face and my colours and calm the waters.” He fixes Camille with a stern eye, “Which I did. Easy. No problem whatsoever. Now,” he looks down at himself, “can someone PLEASE help me get this thing off? It’s ruining my jacket and it’s become enmeshed somehow!”While his officers rally round and confer on the best way to remove the badge that has somehow welded itself to his suit, Poole stands calmly in their midst and peels a citrus fruit. As he enjoys the aroma of a truly ripe orange with savoury joy, he smiles. Life can be good. It’s the simple things that make it all worthwhile… a good job, a tidy home, friends, and… he looks out the door to the panorama below… location, location, location. All I’m missing is…He pensively sections the orange and ponders his future, glancing down at curly tresses right in front of him, so close and yet so far, and his ponderings deepen into formerly verboten territory. So it is that when the badge suddenly lets go almost a minute later and she rears up to show him with a gleeful ‘I got it!’, she is staring right into thoughtful green eyes.After a long pause he cocks his head and nods once, very slowly, “Mmm,” he hums, “yes, you do.” The other officers wander off to finish up their day but the man and the woman remain motionless, facing each other with the eternal question in both their eyes.After long moments, she shakes her head, chastising herself for this sudden feeling of intimacy where surely none is meant. This is my boss. This is Richard Poole; cold, distant, unattainable, English, a conundrum, unpredictable, fascinating, way above my pay grade, apt to do or say the most awful things, and an insult to all things French! He doesn’t want a woman in his life. There is NO way…Her self-castigation is interrupted most unexpectedly as he quietly holds up a cupped palm full of plump ripe sections of honeyed sweetness. She can see droplets of pure golden nectar glistening on pristine skin. Her eyes jump to his. She suddenly feels dizzy.“Can I tempt you?” he murmurs.
END

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Would You Like To Get Married?

Part 1 of 4
The question hangs lazily in the hot afternoon air between them.A mountain of files and reports separate them as they face one another across his desk. The fan flaps uselessly at the heavy air and she listlessly turns it to blow onto her damp face. Her hair lifts off her shoulders for a brief instant and she sighs without relief. Then she turns the fan back towards him and hunches over her paperwork once more.How can he BREATHE under all that wool, her mind drawls tiredly for the hundredth time that week as she pulls the neck of her T-shirt off her skin. I’m in SHORTS and I’m dying! The silence falls once more, spinning out like molten lead, then…“Did you hear what I said?” he asks quietly.She groans and slumps onto her hand, “Oh, not you too!”“Me too? Me what too?”“You. And Maman. She’s bound and determined to marry me off before the year is out. According to her, I have very little shelf-life left. I’m going to go ‘off’ if I don’t settle for one of her blind dates, like I’m a tin of prunes or something.”He shifts a bit then says, “So, um, these blind dates… no takers?”She scoffs loudly, “Oh, plenty of takers! No trouble there! Lots of takers. Just no givers.”They work for several more minutes before he says, “Givers? What’s a giver?”She doesn’t even look up, “A giver is someone who shares, who trusts, who loves. A giver is someone you can count on through thick and through thin. A giver is your best friend, your soul-mate.”Several more minutes pass in slow motion before he ventures anew, “So… tall, handsome, witty… none of that matters?”She shrugs, “Not really, but…”“But?” His pen has ceased moving and he appears to be concentrating on something very intently.“But…” her eyes dart to him, sees his stillness, misinterprets it as polite disinterest, and shrugs again, “… it would be nice if he were also handsome, intelligent, a gentleman, and a perfect lamb.”His shoulders slump and his pen resumes its motions, “So… the impossible dream then.”“No,” she whispers, “he’s out there. I know it. I just have to find him.”“Perhaps…” he shifts in his chair to stretch out his tense back, “… you already have someone’s attention but just don’t know it.”She slaps a file closed, adds it to the ‘dusted’ pile, “Oh, hardly! I’m a trained observer of the human animal. People can’t lie to me, especially men. If I had someone’s attention, I’d know. Believe me! I’d know.”He shoves a new pile of reports across the desk. She groans and pulls them to her. As she bends to her task, he says, “What if the fellow didn’t know?”“Know what?”“Well, what if he didn’t know he loved you. Not at first. Then he didn’t know if you loved him. Someone like that might be conflicted and unable to declare himself for fear of rejection… on top of all the other fears he might harbour.”She barks a laugh, “If he hasn’t the nerve to speak up then he hasn’t the nerve to handle me!”After a brief interval he murmurs, “Yes, that’s his fear.”She looks up at that, “Whose fear?”He bends to his task, “The man who may or may not love you.”She thinks about this then lays her pen down, “Do you know something? Something you’re not telling me?”He frowns and shakes his head, “Oh, probably not. I’m no good with this whole man-woman thing. You know that.” He sounds slightly amused.“I DO know that,” she says then reaches across to still his hand with hers, “but if you know something then you have to tell me. A good friend comes to your aid whenever you need help… and I need help.”“No, you don’t,” he says quietly, looking down at their joined hands. “You need a man who will never lie to you or ignore you, a man who will treasure you, a man who will guard you with his name and his body.” Now his eyes rise calmly to meet hers, “You need a man devoted to you.”Her hand squeezes his tightly. She leans forward, looking deep into his eyes as if trying to scry her future, “Yes! Yes, I do. Do you know of such a man? Someone I’ve overlooked? Someone I’ve maybe thought impossible to reach… someone who’s probably too good for me?”He studies her for a long moment, “Too good for you? Is there such a man?”She waits a beat then nods, “Maybe. Probably. Definitely.”He waits a beat, “Impossible. There isn’t a man alive that wouldn’t celebrate your regard.”She sits back with a scoff, “Yeah, there are. I’ve met lots.”He sighs, “Well, perhaps. This is something I know nothing about. Men don’t talk to other men seriously about their relationships. It’s mostly chest-thumping and tree-shaking.”Camille thinks about this then says, “Fidel is serious. I think you can trust his perspective.”He nods slowly, “Yes, there’s that. Fidel does seem happy, doesn’t he? He has Rosie too.”“Yes, he’s very happy. If you need a role model, he’s your man.”Richard nods and flips over another file, “Mmm-hmm, something to think about.” He sighs again, “Are all little girls as fascinating as wee Rose?”“No,” Camille laughs, “She’s a very special case. Cute as a button and smart as a whip.” She watches him for a few more moments but he seems to have retreated into some inner Poole. She shrugs and resumes her work.

They toil on all through that long hot afternoon and the paper piles shrink and grow and move around his desk until it is 6 pm.As the clock tower chimes, he caps his pen and leans back, “At ease, Sergeant, its quitting time. Go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”She stands and shakes out her hair, tying it back up with relish, “Oh, you bet. Now if only I can sneak past La Kaz without Maman catching sight of me. I don’t need another lecture tonight. Maybe I’ll go swimming to cool down.”He is packing his briefcase, calm and totally the boss, “Mmm-hmm, sounds like a plan. Good night.” He snaps the case shut and marches out, his jacket over his arm, passing Dwayne and Fidel as they come in for the night shift.
END – part 1

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Part 2 of 4
The officers exchange greetings with their Chief then Dwayne saunters over to Camille, “He looks real tired today. What happened here? Did you have some excitement?”Camille is taking her purse out of her drawer but stops and look up with a worried look on her face, “What? You think he’s getting ill again? Maybe the fever?” Dwayne shakes his head, “I dunno. He just looked real tired, almost sad and beat. Did you two have a fight? You shouldn’t fight with him when it’s this hot, you know. He’ll never adjust properly if you do.” Fidel nods agreement from his desk as he sets up for his shift.Camille bristles under this unjust accusation, “We did NOT fight! We got a ton of work done and we had a long adult conversation about the meaning of life and that sort of thing.”“Oh, well, that sounds innocent enough. Maybe he’s not sleepin’. Those pajamas of his are still in use, I suppose?” Dwayne looks to Fidel and both men laugh quietly at the quaint foibles of their boss.She nods, “Probably. He’s so stubborn. If he’s sure he’s right about something then he never gives up.”Dwayne laughs, “Amen to that! He’s solved as many cases with his smarts as he has with his grit. Good thing he’s so stubborn, hey? What did you two talk about?” He is walking to his desk now.She stills, thinking back. It had been so quiet when Richard’s question had dropped into the motionless air that she had actually jumped a little. What exactly had he said? “Oh, yeah,” she snaps her fingers, “He just burst out and asked me if I wanted to get married.”Dwayne whirls around and stares at her, “He WHAT?!!” Fidel jerks and drops files all over his desk.Camille halts mid-stride, half-way to the door, “What?” She sees two pairs of eyes gawping at her.Dwayne rushes up, grips her arms, his eyes wide and shocked, “The Chief asked you to MARRY him?! Just like that? What did he SAY? What did YOU say?” Fidel hurries over to join them.Camille laughs a bit hysterically, pulling away, “No, no, no, it was nothing like THAT! It was a rhetorical question, you know? I suspect he’s been talking to Maman because she’s on the war-path again.”Dwayne settles slightly, watching her closely, “Are you sure?”Now she is indignant, “Of COURSE I’m sure! Do you really think I wouldn’t know if a man is proposing marriage? Honestly, how dense do you think I am? Tsk.”Dwayne nods slowly, looks to Fidel, laughs, steps back, “Yeah, OK, it does sound a bit crazy, doesn’t it, a man like the Chief thinkin’ he can take on someone like you? That IS crazy. OK, forget I said anythin’.” He turns to go to his desk once more, slapping Fidel on the arm as he passes, but he doesn’t get far. Now it is HIS turn to be gripped by the arm and spun back to face burning eyes.“What do you mean by THAT?!” she growls. “Why is it crazy? Why wouldn’t he think it? Don’t you think I’m good enough for a man like him? He’s a genius and totally foreign and I don’t understand him at all most of the time but he’s all alone in his ivory tower and why couldn’t he chose someone like me?”Dwayne gulps, something dangerous is looking back at him from normally friendly eyes. “Um, no?” he ventures, looking to Fidel for help but Fidel is frowning and looking a bit lost too.She actually shakes him! “Well? WHAT then? What did you mean?”Dwayne breaks her grip and rubs a bicep, “Nuthin’, I didn’t mean nuthin’! It’s just the way you said it, that’s all, like he proposed or somethin’. I was wrong, OK? I got it wrong and I’m sorry! Ay ay ay.” He breaks away and makes it to the safety of his desk under her blazing gaze.Fidel laughs, tries to defuse the tension, “Well, you have to admit, Camille, the way you said it, it DID sound a bit like a marriage proposal, didn’t it?”Camille relaxes marginally and adjusts her purse strap while muttering, “Yeah, well, he didn’t and it wasn’t. It was just a quiet conversation, that’s all. He even seemed a bit envious of you, Fidel.”Fidel smiles in nervous surprise, “Me? Why me?”“Well, you have Juliet and Rosie. He mentioned Rosie twice as a matter of fact. He seems very taken with her.”Fidel nods, “Oh, yeah, she talks about him all the time. He’s got a big fan in that one. She’s always going on about ‘the Specker this’ and ‘the Specker that’. He walks on water according to her.”Dwayne interrupts, “So, other than babies, what ELSE did you talk about?”Camille flares up, “We DIDN’T talk about babies! We talked about what sort of man I need in my life.”Fidel nods helpfully, “And what sort of man is that?” as Dwayne scoffs from a safe distance. She looks up to the ceiling and tries to recall their exact words, “Um, something about sharing and trusting, that I need someone I can count on, someone who never lies and will treasure me, someone devoted to me, intelligent, a gentleman, someone who is a perfect…” She falters.Dwayne senses a discrepancy in her evidence and jumps in, “Yes? A perfect what?”She looks down and says in a small voice, “… a perfect lamb.”“Uh-HUH.” Dwayne crosses his arms and slits his eyes, studying her suddenly timid posture, “Are you SURE you need a perfect lamb? You’re a tiger, Camille. Do tigers and lambs get along, do ya think?”She bristles at this then thinks, nods, shrugs, shakes her head, and says low, “I don’t know… but that’s my gut feeling. And he seemed to agree with me. He knows I’m a tiger, as you call me. Who better?”Dwayne heaves a huge sigh and sits back, lacing his hands behind his head and gives her a piercing look, “Well, that’s quite a shoppin’ list you got. I sure don’t know anyone like that on the island. Do you?”Fidel can’t stay quiet one moment longer, “Well, I…” but Dwayne hushes him with a curt wave, never taking his eyes off Camille.She twists her purse strap into a pretzel then shakes her head, “Um, noooo, not really. No one that I...”Fidel now turns to her and says earnestly, “But, Camille, there’s…” Dwayne coughs loudly, glares Fidel to silence and sits up briskly, “Well then, this has been a bit of a rhetorical conversation too, hasn’t it?” He pulls some files towards himself and says in a business-like tone, “Good night, Sergeant. Enjoy your evenin’. You’ve got lots to think about, don’t cha?”She stops her drift to the door, looks back at the two men watching her so intently, “Do I?”Dwayne nods once very firmly, sharing a look with Fidel who seems to want to say something but isn’t sure if he should, “Oh, yeah, you do. You’d best give it a lotta careful thought. G’night.”She gives him one last puzzled glance then walks out the door.Dwayne watches her leave. Waits. She doesn’t come back. He sighs and turns to Fidel, “I shouldna let my imagination run loose like that… but it sure sounded like he proposed to her, didn’t it? I wish I’da been here so’s I can be sure! The Chief! And Camille! Oh, man, what a combination.”Now Fidel does speak up, “Why didn’t you let me talk? I know the man she described. We both do! Why are you letting her waste time looking elsewhere when her match is right here in the station with us? It’s the Chief, Dwayne! You must see that?”Dwayne sighs, “Yeah, I see it. YOU see it. Maybe even the Chief finally sees it… but we have only her version of the conversation. He coulda meant a million different things. He’s a puzzle and no mistake. What we don’t have is HER seein’ it. I was tryin’ to make her think about it. Maybe she will. Maybe she won’t. Let’s see what tomorrow brings.” He leans back, snaps on his radio and settles down to the crossword, once more pondering the dangerous minefield of romantic entanglement.Fidel murmurs from his desk, “Maybe I should call Juliet. She’s a woman. She might understand this better than we can. She’ll probably tell us to mind our own business but…”Dwayne nods, “Couldn’t hurt. Go ahead.” As Fidel dials, Dwayne mutters to himself, “If I’m wrong, I hope I didn’t just throw chum into shark waters. The Chief will have my hide nailed to the wall over his desk if he finds out I sicced Camille onta him without cause!” He listens to the half-sentences that Fidel manages to utter to his wife and realizes that things may be more complicated than they knew!Fidel hangs up, his eyes wide and scared, “Um, Dwayne?”“Yeah?”“Juliet says we have to…”“Have to what?”A nervous swallow, “We have to call the Chief. Right now. We can’t wait until tomorrow.”After a long fraught silence, a life-and-death round of ‘Rock Paper Scissors’ takes place with absolute solemnity and fearful portent. Dwayne loses, 4 out of 6. He slumps and groans, “Awwww, man!” before reaching for his phone with a tremulous hand.
END – part 2

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Part 3 of 4
Her evening
Camille detours several blocks to evade her mother. As she unlocks her front door, she replays her conversation with her fellow officers. Funny how Dwayne misinterpreted the situation like that. Fidel too. It’s not like them to make such a mistake.As she prepares supper, she muses. The man Richard described would suit me to a ‘T’, though. Yes, he would. He sounds perfect. Perfectly wonderful.As she changes into her swimsuit and walks down to the twilight beach, she thinks. It almost seems like Richard knows this mystery man well. Now, who does he know here on the island that even remotely resembles this Mr. Right? As she surrenders herself to the sea, she goes over a VERY short list of names.As she strolls home and readies for bed, she continues to wonder. How can I make Richard tell me?Finally, she turns out her bedside lamp, lies in the dark, and scoffs. I spent all evening thinking about Richard. Why is that? It’s not like he’s putting himself up for the job, is he?She rolls over, closes her eyes, and smiles sadly. Sure, Richard is a man… but he’s also my boss. And bosses DON’T. Plus, he’s English. And the English WON'T. HE certainly wouldn’t. Why, think of all the things that would stand in his way… so many things… he’d be afraid to even try… he simply wouldn’t have the nerve… nerve… ner…She sinks down in slumber. Echoes from the day softly bounce around in her memory. Share. Trust. Count on. Thick and thin. Handsome? Richard. Witty? Richard. Tall? No, not too tall. Richard-height would be just right. She floats in quiet clear water. It’s cool. Restful. She looks up into a depthless sky. Impossible dream. A man afraid to declare himself. Why? Oh, fear of rejection. A man conflicted. It’s very peaceful. She could stay here forever. The water strokes her silkily. She wishes she could find a place like this in the waking world. And still the echoes circle. I need a man who never lies. A treasure. To guard me with his name and body. Devoted to me. My soul-mate… soul-mate… soul… She sinks without a care beneath the waters, down and down and down into a crystal world of peace and safety, a totally silent pool full of bright green light. Her last thought… a lamb… a perfect lamb…His evening
He sets the phone down with a slow almost fearful manner. He remains sitting in the rattan chair, facing the open veranda doors, looking out to the ocean, the ceaseless ever-restless ocean that beats upon the shore without thought or reason. He shifts a bit and a novel thought intrudes. It’s a force of Nature. It doesn’t NEED a reason. A bit like her. His eyes soften and another novel thought follows. If… she’s the ocean then… am I the beach?He hadn’t said more than a dozen words during the phone call yet he had taken in an overwhelming amount of data and circumstantial evidence in a very short period of time. Dwayne had been a bit hysterical, Fidel a bit fearful, but it was the third-hand opinion of Juliet Best that had stunned him.Now he sits, not moving except for the metronome tick of his eyes as he watches the waves caress the sand, as he waits to see what his brain will decide. He knows what his body wants but it is his mind that must make the final decision. He shifts again. Well, my mind AND my heart. It’s a three-way debate.He snorts lightly in a totally gentlemanly manner and privately scoffs. My heart! My heart was lost from day one. My body followed suit just days later. It is my mind that has stood in the way all this time.The light fades, night falls, and still he sits. Waiting. The longer he waits, the more hopeful he gets.Finally, in full dark, he reaches for the phone and calls back, “I’ll be in at 6 am. Please don’t be underfoot.” He nods once and resets the phone. And continues to watch the sea, waiting for his final internal consensus, whatever it might be.Her morning
When her eyes snap open in the grey pre-dawn light, she is hugging a pillow and weeping; terrified, thrilling, breathless. A sudden blue light stabs her vision and she looks down blearily to see her cell phone in her hand with a name and number displayed in tiny script… so innocuously… so mundane… so matter-of-fact. She slams the phone face-down on her bedside table and tries to get her pulse back under control.It takes quite a long time, a full pot of coffee, many steamy gallons of water, and her best shampoos, so that when the sun comes up it is a very nervous anxious fevered chilled Camille Bordey that meets it. Also coifed, dressed, and shod with particular care. After all, it never hurts to go into battle fully armed.When she races to work an hour later, it is a VERY n/a/f/c Camille Bordey that stands at the bottom of the steps and looks up… looks up to meet the solemn green gaze of the man waiting for her. She takes the first step in her journey to heaven or hell (she isn’t sure which) but she is nothing if not brave. Nevertheless, her knees tremble all the way up those steps.His morning
When his eyes snap open in the grey pre-dawn light, he is still in the chair but his mind is quiet. Which means, sometime during the night, he has reached a decision. He smiles grimly, stands, and sets about girding himself for what could be the debate of his life. The debate FOR his life.
END – part 3

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Part 4 of 4
When she reaches the veranda he is totally still, totally collected, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes drop to the floor between them in a reflex instilled over decades... but not before he notes her appearance and her nervous manner, which helps to settle HIS nerves nicely. Maybe this won’t be a debate after all, he thinks suddenly. Maybe… just maybe… it might be an agreement, a surrender! His pulse leaps but years of training and disappointment school his face to placidity and he just waits.They stand so for many moments, neither wishing to start the conversation off on the wrong foot. The tumultuous silent stretches out between them, growing heavier and more uncertain by the second. Now he frowns to himself. Isn’t something going to happen here? Aren’t we going to settle this? Start something new? Oh, god, is she waiting for ME to start the conversation? I started it yesterday and it almost killed me! But she’s staring at me with those lustrous brown eyes. She obviously wants me to say something… but what? His mouth opens and he has no idea what is going to fall out but he’s pretty sure it will be the wrong thing no matter how good his intentions are.Camille is frozen in place. She sees him there before her like a vision, neat as a pin, polished and buffed to a high shine, practically glowing in the early morning light, and she is frozen. In fear, in admiration, in confusion, in… she winces and double-checks because THAT can’t be right… but, yes, it IS! She’s sure what she’s feeling is shyness! Her eyes jerk back to his composed face in wonder. I haven’t felt shy with a man since I was 17! Oh, Erzuli, help me. How do I tell him? How do I make him love me? The small space between them seems to be growing now along with the continuing lack of words, a space that now threatens to yawn into an echoing gulf where communication is simply impossible. Just as she is trying to scramble some words together that might make the slightest bit of sense, she sees his lips part and her whole world condenses down to a narrow focus. Whatever he says next may very well decide the course of her future. THEIR future. If there IS one. She still isn’t at all sure.Richard pauses, breath drawn, lips primed, but no words come. She’s staring at him like a bird before the snake but no words come. He had hoped for a miracle but it isn’t happening. He hasn’t the faintest idea what to say! He now wishes he’d taken an earlier idea to heart and written it all down. Reading his passion-filled words off a sheet of paper would be embarrassing but it would be better than this mime-show! He knows that he has only a few moments more before he ruins everything. A totally foreign thought pops into his head unbidden and he thinks it before he can stop himself, Please, Erzuli, help me.As they stand for another second, transfixed in growing dread, there is a very tiny but vehement hiss heard by them both. Richard doesn’t turn around because he knows where the hiss came from but he does jerk slightly as if he’d been poked in the back. Camille’s eyes dart to the vacant doorway behind Richard and she can just make out two shadows jostling there, hiding behind the door jamb while Richard straightens up upon hearing this noise and mutters something she doesn’t understand in the least, “Call that not being underfoot?” But now he faces her with something approaching his usual calm and she steels herself to hear him absolutely. He clears his throat and addresses the sky in a casual voice, “Er, Camille, I have been advised that our conversation of yesterday may not have been as clear and concise as it could have been.” He pauses, gives her a quick sideways glance, “Do you, um, recall our conversation of yesterday at all, by chance?”“Yes,” she stutters a trifle hoarsely, twisting her hands together behind her back.He nods, thinks, waits, but she says nothing more, “Um, right, well, I asked you a question and…”“Yes,” she says louder, making him jump a bit. His eyes fly up to meet hers then drop once more. “Oh, well, good, good, that’s good.” He fidgets then resumes, “Actually, I asked you several questions, didn’t I? The one I am specifically referring to is whether or not you’d like to… um… to…”“Yes!” she repeats louder yet, bringing her hands out tensely to her sides, fingers flexed, taking a step towards him without thought.He falls back a step as if unsure of her motivation. Another less quiet hiss issues from the dark doorway behind him and he seems to take courage, “I see, I see, so then… you WOULD like to get married?”She holds her breath and nods. She finally catches his eyes once more and this time she holds them, “But only if the man we were talking about is you. Is it you, Richard? Is it? Please tell me I didn’t get it wrong, and… if I did, please don’t fire me. Don’t punish me by sending me away. I don’t mean to insult you or force you into anything you don’t...”He gives her an utterly blank look until a third hiss galvanizes him back to life, “Insult me? You think you’re insulting me?” He looks at her as if he wonders if he’s hearing right. Seeing the hopeful fear shining in her eyes, how she is biting her lip, her clenched hands, he suddenly knows she is waiting for his response with all her brave heart. He smiles then because now he has words. Lots of words. “Granting me my fondest wish and most secret desire is not an insult, Camille, quite the opposite in fact.” He takes a step nearer, “And, yes, it was me. I almost went up in smoke trying to not give myself away. I all but declared undying devotion and you totally ignored me.”She gulps and gasps, “That was yesterday. Yesterday I was an idiot! Today I’m gambling everything on one throw of the dice. Did I win? Do I win the prize?”He scoffs quietly, heart swelling with hope, his confidence beginning to nose out of hiding, bobs on his heels, hands clasped behind his back, “Wellllll, if by ‘prize’ you mean…”Dwayne and Fidel burst out of the doorway having endured as much of this so-called wooing as they can stand! Fidel is smiling fit to bust and Dwayne is laughing. “Oh, I can’t take the suspense!” he roars as he grabs his two senior officers by the arm and says, “Do you, Richard, take Camille as your tiger?” At Richard’s totally baffled look of interrupted wooing (English-style), Dwayne turns to Camille, “And do you, Camille, take Richard as your lamb?” Camille is looking up into Richard’s face and nodding like mad. Richard sees this and nods back resolutely, “I have absolutely no idea what you just said, Dwayne, but that isn’t much of a surprise. I recognize the ‘do you take’ part though… and if you mean what I think you mean then I do. I most certainly do.”Dwayne takes their hands and joins them, “Then by the power invested in us as two Nosy Parkers, we pronounce you tiger and lamb. You may now carry on carryin’ on!” He turns to Fidel, “Come on, officer, I think it’s time you ‘n I go on one last patrol before we knock off.” The two men salute smartly then clatter off down the stairs, chattering in relieved happiness.Camille watches them go, thinking how easily they skate down the steps that had seemed so steep and impossible to her only minutes ago. Then a squeeze of her hand makes her look back to the man joined to her by the most tenuous of touches.Richard clears his throat and attempts a nonchalance that fails totally as his eyes skip sideways to hers, “So… we’re tiger and lamb now, are we? How did Dwayne happen to choose those terms, I wonder?” He quirks an eyebrow, his confidence now basking in the warm Caribbean sun and liking the feeling.She ducks her head and shrugs with a smile, “Oh, I might have blabbed the whole thing to them last night after you left, me being the idiot and not understanding anything at all.” She looks up at him now, earnestly, “Honest, Richard, I had no idea what you were trying to say yesterday… other than just being the concerned boss. You were so calm, so quiet, so deep, so...” she falters, remembering her dream. She takes a deep breath, shakes her head, and whispers urgently, “Are you really on fire for me?”Now he scoffs hugely and puts his head back, his confidence unfurling like a flag catching the breeze, “Wellllll… on fire… that’s pretty much an overstatement, don’t you think? Especially for an English man such as I? I was more…” he muses for a moment, “… I was more lost for words, you know?”She laughs, catching his hands, “You? Lost for words? Never! I’ve heard you blurt out the most insane things. I’ve heard you babble like a schoolboy. I’ve even heard you out and out lie… but I’ve never heard you lost for words.” Now she slowly reels him in until he is right in front of her, his eyes getting a bit alarmed. She cocks her head, studying him, “I like that look,” she murmurs. “I saw that look all those months ago when I chewed you out during the Dead Bride Case. And, you know something? I’d really like to see that look in a more private setting.”He straightens his tie then gestures to the doorway, flag now snapping briskly in the high gale pushing ahead of Storm Bordey, “Well, in that case, let’s step into my office and we can discuss it.”She takes his proffered arm with thankfulness and teases, “Oh, another conversation, is it? Are you all talk, mister?” He bites his lip, gives her a lidded look, shakes his head. She raises both eyebrows and smiles, “Oh, good! I was hoping that was the case.” He smiles then too, a rather toothy smile she doesn’t ever recall seeing on his face before, “Sometimes a lamb can be something else, you know.” The flag has escaped its life-long fetters. It is sailing, sailing, up the hill side, over the mountain top, dancing in the sunshine, free.“Like what?” she asks as he moves her into the dim recesses of the empty building.“Oh,” his voice drifts out into the bright empty air of the now vacant veranda, dropping in timbre, “perhaps a ram… perhaps a wolf in sheep’s clothing… perhaps something stronger, hungrier, something starved for decades.”That discovery is not determined right away. After all they ARE at work! But later that evening, back at his place, in the cool, in the dark, they discover he can be all these things… with the proper motivation… with the proper partner. In fact, they are such marvelous partners that they can even take turns being the tiger.
END

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Tides
Part 1 of 5
She floats; floats effortlessly, carelessly, freely, letting her mind wander. The sky vaults above her, dark, mysterious, peppered with pulsing points of light. It’s after 11 pm on the hind-end of a blistering hot day that she thought would never end. The moon is just cresting, casting a milky glow over her little slice of deserted beach. Five more minutes, she thinks, five more minutes of peace and quiet then I’ll call it a night. This day can’t be over soon enough for me!She wafts her arms languidly at her sides, takes a deep breath, and finally allows herself to think about him. She’d fought all day not to think about him but, here, in the shrouding dark, in the falling night, she finally allows herself the supreme luxury of contemplating the infuriating conundrum that is Richard Poole.It is almost past her usual bedtime (and WAY past his, she knows) but the cooling waters had called her down to the lapping ocean’s edge and she had come, dropping her towel and shoes above the tide-line, waded in to mid-thigh, stripped off her bra, laid back, and let the sea take her.Yes, she is SO glad this day is finally over. It had been sheer hell being cooped up with him for ten hours with hardly a civil word between them, using Fidel and Dwayne as go-betweens all day long… ‘Fidel, will you give this to the Inspector?’… ‘Dwayne, will you drop this on the Sergeant’s desk?’ They hadn’t spoken to or looked at one another the entire time. It had been nerve-wrenching!So polite. So formal. So totally tooth-achingly stiff and proper! She’d given up trying to catch Richard’s eye just before lunchtime and spent the rest of the day not looking into his corner of the station at all. Easier that way. Not to look. Not to see. Not to imagine. Whatever bee has gotten into his bonnet lately, I hope it works its way out REAL soon because I can’t stand this silent treatment!Where is the slightly stiff but bemused Brit I’ve come to depend on? Where the dry humour? Where the shy little grin? Where the shared looks and almost intimate vibrations? She dashes a sudden fist at her side, splashing water onto her already wet cheeks. NO where, that’s where! Nowhere!She takes a deep breath and tries to calm herself. It’s no use getting upset over whatever speedbump our so-called ‘friendship’ has hit. Something has upset him, that’s for sure, and I will just have to wait and be patient and let him get over it like I’ve done all the times in the past.She grimaces up at the stars. Yeah, like I’ve had to do all the many many OTHER times in the past!

Our past! HAH! We don’t HAVE a past, do we? No-oh, as he used to quip, no past at all. If he keeps this up, we will have no future either! She takes another deep breath and forces herself to still, to settle in the waters, to let her mind drift as well as her body.This is nice, she thinks after a few moments, being rocked so gently, almost like he could do, if he wanted to, if he tried. Holding me. Rocking me. Caressing me. Will he ever hold me, she wonders sadly? She rolls her tense shoulders and consoles herself. Soon! Sometime REAL soon I’m gonna do something… or say something… to finally get his attention. She snorts, arches her neck, feels her hair float gently all around her, not his policing attention, oh no, his MALE attention, you bet! He must have one, I’m sure of it, because I’ve seen him ogle other women. She hitches in a breath, always other women but never me. She bites her lip. Never me. Her contentment begins to erode once more so she slips her eyes closed and lets her mind wander once more along more agreeable pathways. She is enjoying such pleasant thoughts that it is several moments before her serendipity is interrupted by the sound of quiet movement off to her left, on the beach. She turns her head, her ever-present ‘cop radar’ pinging out. There is a dark silhouette standing beside her towel, watching her without menace. The outline is male, very nice, but of no interest to her. Not now. Not any more.She sighs. No, men don’t interest me anymore but I’m the only one who knows that so it’s a bit much to expect a stranger to intuit that my attentions are otherwise engaged. Now, if I had a ring on my finger! Yes. That would be all the announcement I’d need to display my place in this world.She looks once more. The shape hasn’t moved. She runs her gaze over him. This one would definitely have caught her eye in the ‘before’ time. But not now. She signs again and says to the night sky, “You can stop ogling and keep walking. I’m not interested.”There is a long hush then a quiet voice answers, “If not me, then who?”Her body jerks in surprise and tries to sit up, splashing like a beached porpoise. She manages to kneel, eyes riveted on the man-shadow, realizing now why she found his outline so appealing! Then she realizes something else and mutters, “Damn!” She begins casting about in the surrounding waters.“What’s wrong?” the shadow asks, taking a step nearer, “Did something bite you? Do you need help?”Her head snaps up, “NO! I mean, no, you startled me is all and I dropped my…” Her voice runs down then revs back up, “What are you doing out this late?” She tries not to look but her eyes are drawn like magnets, “And WHY are you in shorts?”The shadow shuffles its feet, “Oh, um, well, I couldn’t sleep; sometimes I can’t if something is bothering me. It’s not exactly insomnia but it’s still tiring. Then I walk here since it’s usually deserted. As for the shorts, well, I didn’t fancy a suit and I can’t very well stride the beach in my pyjamas, now can I?”She can’t help herself, the moonlight isn’t that strong yet and she can’t quite see, “Just shorts?”He starts slightly and sounds scandalized, “What? No, of course not! I do own T-shirts, you know.”“Do you?” she quips, still seining the waters around her.He sees this and asks, “What are you searching for? You say you dropped something, was it valuable?”“No,” she admits sheepishly, “I dropped my top… my…”“Top? Top of what?” The silence spins out. She casts about harder. Where is it?Finally, his voice drifts out hesitantly, “Not the top of… of… your suit?”She nods, embarrassed.“Why would you disrobe in the water?” he can’t help asking. She can hear the shudder in his voice.She frowns than shakes her head. Right. He doesn’t swim. He’s never been in the intimate embrace of a velvety Caribbean evening swell, never felt the thrilling curl of warm currants, and for SURE he’s never swum naked! She doesn’t say any of this, of course. How do you relate an unthinkable thought to someone who has no idea what you are talking about? But she can see he’s waiting for an answer and so she says, “Um, well, this IS a public beach and I can’t walk into the ocean nude so I… you know…”She can see him nod. He seems to be studying her, the beach, the waters, almost like he is working on a problem. Suddenly, her skin is tingling. Is he thinking about me? Am I the problem? Her nipples snap down to painful little points all by themselves as, as if in answer to her nightly prayers, he strides down to the water.“What are you doing?” she yelps, unsure of what's happening.“I’m solving your problem,” he states matter-of-factually as he walks into the ocean, shoes and all.“You’re WHAT?!” she yelps louder, cursing herself for edging away then calling out in deflective mode, “Stop! You’ll ruin your leather shoes!”He does stop, about 6 feet away from her, puts his hands on his hips, scoffs, “Please! I do own other shoes too, you know. These are canvas. Now hush.” She hushes, arms shielding her chest as he studies the water again, then her, then the beach. Why has he stopped? she frets, why isn’t he coming to me? What is he looking for?His question catches her by surprise, “How long since you dropped your top?”“Oh, um, ah, maybe a minute? A minute and a half?”He nods again, “More like the latter than the former. So…” He splashes off to her left, paralleling the shore. After several yards, he reaches down confidently, swirls his hand about, and fishes out her bra.She goggles at him, “How did you do that?”He shrugs, “Elementary, my dear Bordey.” He holds it out to her, “Shall I toss it?”Her mouth opens, her lips part, and she fully intends to say ‘OK’. She really does. To her dying day she will swear to it. Instead, she hears a voice say, “Why don’t you bring it to me?”
End – part 1

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Part 2 of 5
The silence spins out once more, slightly shocked on his behalf and TOTALLY shocked on her behalf! As they lock gazes, the moon finally clears the hilltop and limns everything in palest silver. She can see him, standing up to his knees in the gently seething surf before her with a slightly puzzled look on his face. But, even better, now he can see HER. She rises up just a bit upon her knees, letting her ‘coastline’ settle slightly as a very feminine cove now nestles between the soft secret swell of her breasts. She sees his eyes widen; how they flash, how they gleam!She suddenly feels it in her bones… she has finally caught his attention at last. His MALE attention! His undivided, transfixed, fascinated, and perhaps stunned male attention! Maybe for the first time (she’s not entirely sure, he IS British, after all) but, Erzuli please be merciful, hopefully not for the last time!His hand drifts towards her, holding the scrap of cloth out like an offering. Or a question.“Yes,” she murmurs, “bring it to me, please.”He takes a slow unsteady step, like a man in a dream.She nods, holds up her right hand, causing the concealing waters to recede ever so slightly. She doesn’t dare look down to check if she’s still ‘decent’ or not because somehow she just knows that if she breaks eye contact, if she looks away for even a split second, the spell will be broken and his Britishness will reassert itself and the moment – this moment of SUCH potent promise – will be lost forever.He takes another slow step. She holds her breath, hand out, waits. Another step. As he slowly nears, she can see his eyes, his wide disbelieving eyes that seem to gain brightness as he makes his approach. Within moments he is standing over her, looking down, and he hands her the bra.She takes it, flips it over a shoulder to free up both hands, then slips fingertips to his hidden calves and runs her hands over him. There is the briefest of pauses then he jerks like a man startled out of a pleasant dream and takes an awkward step back. Alarm bubbles in her stomach and she opens her mouth to say something, to reassure him, to keep him here with her, but he holds up a hand and takes another (almost reluctant) step away.She feels crushing loss at his retreat. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen! I’m supposed to rise up out of the waters, tiny rivulets and beads of water cascading down silky skin, revealing myself to him at last, take him in my arms at long last, kiss him at long LONG last! He would get my towel, wrap me in it, tuck me into his side, then lovingly slouch his way back to his home where we would spend the rest of the evening (and most of the night) making hot, slow, mad, easy, mind-blowing love to one another until we pass out into a mutual shag-coma wrapped around each other like starfish!These overpowering images in her head clash sickeningly with the evidence of her own eyes. He is back on the beach. He is indeed picking up her towel but he only wades back in up to his ankles and holds it out to her, spread for her to walk into, head turned away. “Here,” he says, “Come in, wrap up. I know it’s hard to put clothes back on over wet skin so here’s your towel.” At her unhappy silence, he adds in a low ominous tone, “We need to talk, Camille.”She hears those last 5 words and her world crashes down all around her. We - Need - To - Talk. Oh, my GOD! We make jokes all the time about those four words, usually at the expense of the hapless man involved in the joke but… to Camille it sounds like a death knell. She slowly rises to her feet, arms once more folded over her chest, wades towards him, wraps herself meekly in the towel. He turns away, goes up onto the beach, and she follows him.In the strengthening moonlight, she now sees every swell, every hollow, every beautiful line of him. He is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. And he won’t look at her. She finally tears her eyes off him and looks out to the sea. The endless uncaring sea. “What do you want to talk about?” she monotones, her heart sinking in anticipation. “Is this because I touched you just now? If it is then I’m very sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.” Her eyes slide shut in defeat. That’s a promise she’s not sure she can keep. But she’ll try, if he demands it. She will pay any price to stay in his life.He sighs and nods, looking to her at last. “Yes, it is, but not just that. I’m very sorry too. This is a conversation we needed some time ago but I could never get up the courage to actually start it. But, now, it seems the moment is upon us and so…” She turns to him, focusing on whatever he says next. She feels her entire future happiness depends upon it and every word he then says slams her down into deeper and deeper despondency as he recites the Police Manual non-fraternization rules. Verbatim, word for word, with perfect memory she is sure.When he is done and sinks back into silence, she stutters back to life, incredulous, looking for the tiniest hint that this isn’t really happening. His stern sad look shatters any self-deception that she’s tried to hold onto, “You’re kidding, right?” she pleads. “Please tell me this is your idea of a not-very-funny English joke, haha?”He gives her a slow solemn shake of the head, never taking his sorrowful eyes from hers.She is frozen in stricken realization then utters a soft bark of laughter, “Oh, who am I kidding? You’re not kidding, you never kid. You’re serious, aren’t you?” She studies his stiff face. “Of course you are, as serious as a heart attack.” She then cocks her head at his continued silence, sweeps her eyes over him, sees something intangible then slowly says, “In fact… you’ve… you’ve memorized it, haven’t you?”He starts ever so slightly and averts his face but not before she sees his sudden guilty look.A desperate little thought pops into her head. Could it be? Is it possible? Am I so desperate that I’m seeing things that aren’t really there? Only one way to find out, Bordey! Get out your ‘sleuthing hat’ and start digging! She gives him a lidded side look and whispers, “WHY have you memorized it? What would make you do that?” Her suspicions intensify as she sees him bite his lower lip as he takes a half-step back, looks guiltier.She takes a half-step forward, suddenly feeling hope flare like a mad flame in her chest, “Oh, PLEASE,” she groans, biting her own lip, “please tell me you were looking for loopholes!”This gets the guiltiest look of all as his hands twist together and he shuffles in the sand once more.Her hands clap together and she squeals as she hugs herself, “You WERE! Oh, thank Erzuli and all the little godlings, you WERE! You were trying to find a way around the rules, weren’t you?”He jerks to life once more, shaking his head, backing up hastily as she approaches, “Um, well, no, not exactly… well… yes… but not exactly… I mean, I just wanted… needed… I…” He stumbles over her shoes and it seems to bring him back on topic. He braces himself and stoutly announces, “There are NO loopholes. Not one. Not for our situation. We need to be separated by at least three levels of bureaucracy or in separate departments all together. There is absolutely NO protocol for a DI and a DS to… to…” He lifts a shaky hand, twiddles a finger between them, tries to be authoritative. Small hope!“To canoodle!” she finishes for him with complete self-satisfaction.He doesn’t even try to correct her, edify her, or chastise her for her choice of words. Instead, he lowers his head and nods again, just once, but with a wealth of sadness behind it.Which tells her everything she needs to know!She sidles nearer, holding the towel a bit lower in front and a LOT lower in back. The fuse is lit and the fireworks are a’comin’ – Englishman beware!! She bats her eyes for the first time since high school and cuvettes not-so-subtly from side to side, cooing, “So, you DO fancy me then, do you? I KNEW it! So, tell me, Richard, is it just a little? Or a lot? With my hair up? Or down? In my towel or…?”He backs up, trying by sheer force of best British stiff-upper-lippiness to defuse this suddenly fraught situation. No luck. The fuse. She is lit. Firecracker hot. Sparking and sizzling. Ready to explode. He doesn’t actually think this as his mind is completely out to sea but his body senses it and seems to be arguing vociferously about his knee-jerk reaction to this unexpected turn of events.He is just turning to dash for freedom when she cuts the legs right out from under him, metaphorically speaking.“I QUIT!” she yodels to the moon which she now almost out-lambents such is her joy, “I totally QUIT!”
End – part 2

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Part 3 of 5
He whirls back to face her, eyes bright, chin dropped, “You WHAT?!”She throws both hands up into the air and laughs with delight. He envisions the resultant ‘wardrobe malfunction’ a bare nano-second before it happens and lunges before all is revealed and she captures his hands right in her décolletage, laughing up into his startled face, “If I have to quit to get you… then… I QUIT!! Oh Erzuli, it’s so simple! So SIMPLE! Why didn’t I see it before?” She all but capers in glee.He pulls his hands free, shaking out his fingers as if burnt, “It doesn’t work that way!” he manages. He takes a step back then lifts his chin in defiance, “No, it doesn’t work that way. I can’t accept your resignation. Not like this. Not over something so trivial.”Her eyebrows shoot skyward and she bugles, “TRIVIAL? This isn’t trivial! This is life-changing! This is perfect!” She tries to embrace him but he ducks away deftly, just out of reach. What reflexes!“Yes, it IS trivial,” he growls “Our partnership… our jobs… our unexpected friendship… our…” He can’t seem to find the right words.She tries to help him out with a sloe-eyed look, “My burning yearning to eat you with a spoon?”He stares at her for an incomprehensible moment then groans and closes his eyes, swallows, straightens his shoulders as if taking up a heavy heavy load, “Whatever you want to call it, it isn’t worth jeopardizing you career, your years of service, all that you’ve endured to reach the place where you are. You have such a shining future in Law Enforcement. You can’t just throw that all away, Camille, you can’t!” He slumps slightly and whispers, “I’m just not worth it.”His last forlorn words flash-heat her blood from simmering lust to blazing anger as her misty eyes flare white-hot, “You let ME be the judge of that, mister! I’ve weighed everything that’s at stake here and I’ve made my decision! I quit and you can’t stop me! As of right now, I’m no longer your DS, I’m a woman, naked, in a very loose towel, in the moonlight, with a man I’m dying to know better… so… c’mere!” She lunges for him.Those reflexes again! He dodges expertly and stays just beyond reach. She stands, hands empty and wonders, Just how much practice has he HAD in this particular exercise? She darts and feints but, try as she might, she can’t seem to corner him. Finally she stops, nonplussed, Well, we’re on a reefing beach! If I can’t back him into the ocean, trip him, or distract him, I’ll never catch him! He has put several feet of Camille-free space between them. He can see the thoughts flying across her face and he has a very uneasy feeling that her towel may now be under consideration. He knows in his heart of hearts that if she drops that towel – game over!! So he begins jogging backwards, calling out to her, “I will not accept your verbal resignation. Certainly not here on a beach in the moonlight.” He turns away from her and starts for home, satisfied that he’s handled a tricky situation with success. Luckily for him (not so much for her), he looks back one last time and his involuntary muscles scorch him away in a full-out sprint just in the nick of time as her rigid fingertips rake down the back of his T-shirt.As he pelts away, he can’t help grinning fiercely. All these years of being alone, never having anyone to care for or want him, and now he’s being chased by a starving tiger! He snaps a glance back and speeds up, pouring on the ATP and over-loading his lactic acid cycle just to keep ahead of her. Luckily for him (not so much for her), his runner’s body is up to the task and he pulls away. She has to stop in exhausted frustration as she watches him dwindle into a perfectly perfect outline once more.His tiny figure brakes in a spray of sand about 100 feet away and he shouts back, “Resignations must be submitted in writing, in triplicate, using the proper forms! You know that!”She shakes an angry fist at him, “I’ll triplicate YOU, you coward! Come back here!”His snort floats back to her as he disappears into the darkness. He’s just a gorgeous outline against the darker night; fading, fading, gone.Gone. But not forgotten. She begins pacing the beach, muttering and rehashing their entire encounter, trying to get a handle on what he’d meant when he said what he said and what he might have felt as he said it. He often says one thing and means another. Also, he’s British, a right royal British bastard at times, and she has to take THAT into account too. One thing she knows for sure, he always tries to do the right thing, the proper thing, even against his own wants and wishes. He would do the same thing here even if he didn’t…She stops pacing with a start… even if he didn’t agree! What had he said there, towards the end? It had struck me as odd at the time and I didn’t really understand it. Had he said ‘I’m not worth it?’ Her brow furrows in concentration. Somehow she knows she has stumbled upon the truth. Yes! I’m almost sure of it. He said it as if it were his only reason. His real reason? ‘Not worth it?’ HIM?!!She looks up the beach to where he’d vanished back to sanctuary. Yes, that’s what he said alright and he sounded so sad and disappointed and defeated. Her eyes flare. Also! He admitted to studying the Police Protocols looking for a loophole! A grin blooms. AND! He didn’t argue or correct my inflammatory choice of words to describe our situation! A triumphant laugh. PLUS! I told him I wanted to make love to him and he didn’t blink an eye! Now she whirls to stare at the moon. Merde! He practically declared his love for me and I didn’t even realize it! Oh! I should have knocked him down with a rock! I should have grabbed him when he was in the water! I should have dropped this towel right at the get-go! I should have… I should have…She shakes her head, tries to gather her scattered thoughts, and resumes pacing. Now that her blood has cooled and she is no longer distracted by his blinding beauty, her sly Gallic nature is reasserting itself. And it is giving her a very splendid idea! She paces for several minutes then gathers up her things and turns for home. She has a lot to think about and some careful plans to lay but, hopefully, by this time tomorrow she will have him in her arms and he will be captured at last!
End – part 3

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Part 4 of 5Next Day, very very earlyJust as the sun crests the east hill on a certain beach, he is most abruptly ambushed, teacup in hand, on his own veranda doorstep. He hadn’t slept very well for some reason, his dreams kept waking him up and he is a bit stressed and nervy so he crashes to a halt, spilling nary a precious drop, at the sight of a be-suited DS Bordey in full professional mode, hair up, defenses up, and emotions in lock-down.As they silently observe one another, she holds up a sealed white envelope with the word ‘Resignation’ typed across its face. At his sky-rocketing eyebrows, she nods, “I have an appointment first thing with our Commissioner of Police. I would very much appreciate and respectfully request that you accompany me as my immediate senior officer in order that protocol is satisfied.”He waits. Nothing more is said. He looks briefly sad then sighs and nods, takes one sip of tea, and returns inside to get his briefcase and lock up. They ride in total silence all the way to Government House. He stares unseeing out his window as she drives.Once parked, he follows her inside where they sit side by side in the Reception Area, stoic in the face of imminent disaster. She is as still as a pre-dawn lake. One of his heels is barely moving in a rapid tattoo. They both study the floor and neither one of them says a word.When the Commissioner’s PA comes to fetch them, they stand in unison. He motions for her to precede him and she nods, follows the PA to the imposing mahogany doors of the Commissioner’s inner sanctum. The PA ushers them inside and promptly closes the doors behind them. They step in right foot left foot in perfect synchronicity, a fact not lost on either of them nor on the big man waiting for them behind his equally imposing mahogany desk. Camille sits neatly, briskly smoothing her suit skirt and patting the complicated up-do she is wearing today. Poole merely folds up and inhabits the space in his chair.Now there are three people keeping silent vigil but only one of them really knows what’s going on here.That one speaks up first, “Commissioner, thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”Patterson nods once, “Your phone call was suitably mysterious. I sensed urgency was of the utmost importance.” He folds his hands on his imported Italian desk-blotter and grumbles, “Now, will you tell me what the problem is?” Patterson looks to Poole who looks back stonily, a total blank, stiff and still. He’s also extremely pale… and that’s saying something. Patterson remembers the first few weeks of this man’s existence on the island; a man abandoned, a man shunned, a man unwanted by anyone and everyone. That man had gradually become someone else but that man is back again. Here, sitting before him, is the elemental Poole, afraid and alone once more.Patterson knows instantly that this meeting is not Poole’s idea. He pivots his authoritative visage to Camille Bordey and has his answer. This was Camille’s idea – and it must be MOST serious if Poole is here under duress yet mute. Poole has vented many a rant in this office and most of them due to this woman right here. Whatever is going on, it’s a first. A cool waft of unease brushes down Patterson’s back. He pins his eyes onto Camille and waits.Camille meets his eyes calmly, also a first. Whatever she is going to say, it’s a done deal in her mind so he must try to adjust the situation to the benefit of Saint-Marie as best he can. He jinks an eyebrow and begins, “Ms. Bordey? You have something to say?” He braces himself for whatever horrible news she is about to reveal.“Sir,” she breathes and lays an envelope onto his desk. Patterson leans forward, reads the single word printed there, purses his lips, and sits back to regard her closely. After a moment he says, “I see.” He turns to look at Poole, “And do you agree to this unexpected turn of events, Inspector?”Poole opens his mouth to reply but is forestalled. Camille interjects, “Sir, he is the REASON I’m resigning.”Poole and Patterson stare at one another, their expected exchange interrupted. Poole’s eyes drop to the floor once more and closes his mouth and pales even more. Patterson sees this and thinks, Keep this up, sir, and you are going to pass out! He turns to face the woman once more and nods, “Proceed. Has something happened that contravenes the Police Manual on proper protocol between officers?”He sees Poole start minutely, sees Camille’s tiny smile, and knows he’s struck pirate gold on his first try, God, I’m good! but he doesn’t let this thought show on his face. He allows a slightly disbelieving air to drift into the space between himself and her. It speaks volumes. Not Poole. It would never be Poole. It must be you. What have you done? Why are you trying to upset the delicate house of cards I’ve built up here? Why are you jeopardizing my Inspector?She reads him perfectly, flicks non-existent lint off her immaculate knee and says into the volatile silence, “Yes, sir, and no, sir. It has been brought to my attention that the only way I can begin a sexual relationship with my immediate superior officer is to resign. And so, I resign.”If the silence had been loud earlier, it is deafening now. Camille sits back complacently, the bombshell well and truly dropped, let the body parts fall where they may! Now it is her turn to study the floor.Patterson looks at her for several moments, taking in her aspect and knowing that this is only the opening gambit in whatever game she is playing. So be it. He will play along. He hasn’t been so surprised in a LONG time here in this office and it is a novel feeling. Keeping his face serene, he now turns back to Poole and almost breaks cover.The man is white as milk, eyes wide and horrified. He is trying to speak but he can’t seem to get any air into his lungs and now he is beginning to flush an unhealthy hue. Patterson nods at him and says quietly, “Camille?”Camille looks over to Poole, leans sideways, reaches out, and claps the man on the back. Hard.That seems to do the trick. The man whoops in a huge breath and bolts to his feet, looking down at her in utter shock, “How… how… how can you say something so heinous to my superior officer? Are you TRYING to ruin me? Isn’t it bad enough you tried to seduce me last night on the…” Here he recollects himself and snaps his mouth shut, practically vibrating in insulted propriety.Patterson gives the man a moment to collect himself and is rewarded by a pleading green gaze.“Sir,” Poole stutters, swallows, and tries again in a slightly steadier voice, “nothing untoward has happened between Detective Sergeant Bordey and myself. I have adhered to proper protocol at all times.” Here he darts a hot look to her and grits out, “Despite whatever Machiavellian plot is underway here, I absolutely declare my innocence!”Now she is the target of two pairs of eyes; one cool, one molten. She looks up to the cool pair, “Sir, I stand by my statement. I must resign in order to…”Poole throws out a shaky hand, “Don’t you say it! Don’t you DARE repeat that egregious statement!”She smiles small, “All right, if you insist, SIR. I’m sure the Commissioner heard me the first time.”Now the Commissioner sits back with a deep sigh, “Indeed, I DID hear you.” He laces his hands over his stomach and muses, “What are you plans now, no-longer-Detective-Sergeant Bordey?”She mirrors his move and chuffs with satisfaction, “Now I will pursue a course of focused and unrelenting shadowing of Detective Inspector Poole.” She finally turns to look at the appalled man beside her and gives him the once-over very slowly and extremely thoroughly, “I intend to keep after him until I wear down his resistance and conquer him to my way of thinking.”Poole’s mouth is opening and closing but no sound is heard. He turns woodenly to Patterson and moans low, “Sir! I must protest! How can you allow such salacious language in your office? It’s completely against all regulations. She has no right to drag our private…” he gives her a filthy look, a betrayed look, “… and, quite frankly what I hoped would remain just between we two, conversation that has no place in this office!” Now he is beginning sound aggrieved and his colour is improving.“I see,” Patterson says, seeing the change in the man, his Inspector persona gaining ground. His ire is up and now there should be some fireworks! Patterson sighs, settles back, and gets ready to enjoy the floor show.End – part 4

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Part 5 of 5Poole now squares off at his nemesis, shoulders stiff, voice cold, “How dare you air our private lives here in conference like this? I told you last night and I repeat it now in front of an impartial witness, there is NO loophole that allows a personal relationship of ANY kind between us. We must carry on as before.”She bolts to her feet, her manner not calm at all! “But that’s just it, isn’t it? There can be NO carrying on! Not in YOUR books! You made that very clear last night.” She looks to Patterson, “He’s right in THAT regard, sir, nothing happened. Unfortunately he left before I could drop my towel otherwise we’d be tucked up in his bed right now and you would be none the wiser!”This earns her the most outraged glare of all from the object of her affections… and a droll smile from their mutual boss.“I see,” Patterson repeats, indeed seeing her side of things. The question is… he turns to look at Poole… what is HIS side of things, hmmm? “Inspector?” he murmurs, all solicitude.Poole snaps his eyes off Camille and stands stiffly to attention, “As to what may or may NOT have happened last night… I categorically deny any wrong-doing.” He holds up a hand and says slowly, “However, sir, I would like to state for the record that I am very unhappy with her resignation. We are an excellent partnership.” He turns to Camille, “Dwayne and Fidel will be heart-broken.”She jinks an eyebrow, “And you? Will you be heart-broken too?”He drops his eyes, flushes slightly, dithers minutely, “Um, oh, well, I will miss our… your… um…”Camille and Patterson’s eyes meet and they share a private smile very briefly. “I see,” Patterson says a third time, heaving a huge sigh, holds up both hands, “Well, do either of you have anything more to add before I come to a decision here?”Camille folds her hands in front of herself, shakes her head, “I believe I have made myself perfectly clear. The rest is up to him.”Poole is practically vibrating with suppressed emotions but can’t seem to find any words. Finally, he takes a deep breath and steps back, shakes his head, but looks like he has a secret sorrow, “No, sir.”“Hmm,” Patterson nods, knowing very well that this matter is not settled at all. Nor is it likely to be while these two stood here before him. He knows what solution HE desires. The trouble is… he has to make them find the same solution. He has no doubts about her – she has been VERY eloquent. It is Poole that is the sticking point. “Hmm,” he says again.They are both watching him now; her with speculation, him with hopeless acceptance. Well, he thinks, here’s where I earn the ‘big bucks’ they pay me. He takes a deep breath and says sadly, “Seems an insurmountable obstacle, doesn’t it? Two people, in love, so well-suited, of a like mind, wishing for happiness yet finding only road blocks in their way. It puts me in mind of my own predicament thirty years ago when I fell in love with my own Detective Sergeant.” He ignores Poole’s gob-smacked stare and sits up with sudden determination, both hands flat on his desktop, “I will therefore pass on the very good advice that our Commissioner gave to us when we stood in the very spot you are standing in now.” He picks up the white envelope, stands up, comes around the desk and hands it back to her. He then puts his arms around both their shoulders and turns them towards the door. As he walks them out, he pontificates, “I want you to go somewhere quiet,” he looks to Poole “… together…” smiles “… sit down…” he looks at Camille “… and not in his lap, Sergeant.” Poole groans but Patterson ignores him, “Yes, I want you two to sit down and discuss this thoroughly. Please keep in mind that personal relationships – SERIOUS personal relationships – are possible here in the Caribbean. It’s all a matter of degree. Married officers are NOT a detriment to the force. They tend to reinforce a team, much as my dear wife and I reinforced our team so long ago.”He looks off into the near distance, “Ah, yes, those were heady days indeed. I would hate to think that you two are never to know how sweet it can be.” He pats them both in a paternal way, gently urging them onward, “Go. Talk. Solve it. Come back tomorrow at 10 am to inform me of your decision.” He then resolutely propels them out into the hallway to whatever future they decide upon.As the pair quietly departs, Patterson turns to find his wife regarding him with a smile. He darts a glance to his watch, “Cecile! Is it lunch time already? I’m so sorry, I was unavoidably distracted and lost track of the time.”She nods, “That was very well done, dear. I am most pleased. I couldn’t help but overhear some of that unavoidable conversation. It would be such a shame to lose them, wouldn’t it?”“Yes, it would.”“Will she resign, do you think?”“I’m sure she will do whatever it takes to achieve her goal.”“As did I. And what of him? Will he stay if she leaves?”“Hard to say since I don’t think she will leave at all. It all depends on the man’s will power, I think.”They step up to the office bay window and watch the Jeep drive off, slightly unsteady in its trajectory, definitely over the speed limit, and heading in the wrong direction.His wife muses, “Isn’t there a secluded beach down that road?”“Yes, dear, as you well know.”She turns to him, “Do you think they will keep tomorrow’s appointment?”“I don’t know. I hope not. I will text them both in an hour or so to tell them not to bother. I will have already decided to allow them to fraternize as they see fit. I trust in Poole’s sense of decency to do the right thing… and in the right manner. I’m sure no one will be disturbed in any way if half my police force decides to marry each other. It might actually put the wind up several disreputable types in town.”“Well good, so that’s all settled then. And when did you decide this?”He smiles down at her, “Oh, about a year and a half ago. I’m just surprised it took them this long to weaken. He must have nerves of steel and she must have the patience of a cat.”She threads an arm through his, “They remind me of us so long ago.”He smiles up at her, still a man in love, “Yes, I saw the parallels too.”She pats his arm, “Well, that’s them taken care of. Now, what about us? I believe we have a standing reservation at The Savoy? I hear their new menu is to die for.”He hums, “Mmm, yes, death in paradise, my favourite state of being. After you, my dear.”The older couple walk out, following in the footsteps of the younger couple who, if all goes well down at that deserted beach, may also choose to follow in the footsteps of the older couple. Each to their destiny.
END