Author's webpage: http://gURLpages.com/nolabel/drum.queen/index.html

Author's disclaimer: All characters except for Jessie Henderson belong to Alliance Communications.

SOMETHING OLD, SOMEONE DEAD

Benton Fraser slid into the booth with Jessie Henderson. They were having lunch at Cecil's Diner that Saturday. "So," asked the mountie, "what will you have? My personal favorite is the chicken breast sandwich, and the special today is vegetable soup." "Fraser," the thirteen-year-old said, very seriously, "you aren't the waiter." She picked up one of the menus and began to skim over it. "So, what's up at the station?" "Jessie, I thought that we agreed not to discuss cases with you. I know you don't like it, but I am simply thinking of your safety." "It was just a harmless question," she replied. She looked rather annoyed. "You know, how's the Leutenant's health, is Huey still drumming, did Fracesca shave her head? You know, that sort of thing." "Well," Fraser answered, "everything is fine there."

        "And the Consolate?"
        "Same as always."
        The waiter came up to the table and said, in a gruff voice, "So wadaya

want to have t'day?" "Well, Nick, I'll have the chicken breast sandwich, please, an a glass of water," Fraser replied. The waiter scowled. "How'd ya know my name?"

        "It was on your name tag."
        "Make that two sandwiches and a Coke." Jessie handed him the menu. After

he left Jessie looked around nervously and then whispered, "How's Turnbull?" "Well," Fraser whispered back, "he's very...nervous."

Jessie nodded. "I should see why! It's gotta be tough for a guy to do that." "Yes, but remember," Fraser hissed, "we are the only other people who know." "Right."

Meanwhile, back at the Canadian Consolate, Renfield Turbull was pacing the floor by his desk. "Now, let me try that again," he mumbled. He turned around, got down on one knee and said to no one, "'There comes a time in a man's life when they--' No, that's been done." He stood back up. "Hmmm... 'I love you with all my heart and I would be honored--' That's too formal!" He began pacing the floor again. "I have to think of the right thing to say. I couldn't just say 'Francesca, I love you, will you marry me?' and expect a yes." The telephone rang. Turnbull ran to bick it up. "Hello, Canadian Consolate. Bon jour, Consolate du

Canada."        "Turnbull, enought with the French. It's Ray."
        "Oh, hello Detective Vecchio." Turnbull took his seat at the desk. 

"Just call me Ray. Listen, I need to talk to Fraser."

        "I'm sorry, but Constable Fraser is on his lunch break." 
        "Great, wonderful. Well let him know that I need him at the station,
all right?"     "Yes sir, Detective Vecchio."
        "That's Ray."
        "Yes sir, Detective Ray."
        Click.
        "Detective Ray?" When no one answered, Turnbull hung up. He slumped

down into his chair and sighed. "I can't think of a thing to say. I need some advice." Fraser walked into the Consolate with Jessie. "Hello Turnbull." He dusted the snow off of his coat and began to unbutton it. "Hello Constable Fraser, Miss Henderson. I had a very interesting conversation with Detective Ray. He said you were needed at the station." "Oh, well in that case, we must be off again." They put their coats back on and headed for the door. Jessie turned and waved. "See ya Turnbull."

"Wait! Constable Fraser, I wanted to ask you--" But they had already left before Turnbull could finish his sentance.

"Oh, good!" Mort Gustafson exclaimed, as they rolled the body of Emilio Elenneti into the morgue. "Another specimine." Ray, feeling sick to his stomach, turned to the wall. Dead bodies made him feel queasy. He didn't even like when the casket was open at his grandfather's funeral. "This...this guy was found in his house, in the bedroom." "Can you get a cause of death?" Fraser asked.

        "Don't I always?" Mort boasted. "Here are his clothes. You can check
the pockets, or you can do that thing where you lick his shoes."        "Gross!"

Jessie gasped.

"He has a lot of grime under his fingernails," Mort commented. "It appears to be oil. This man was a mechanic." "Okay," Ray began, "we have a place of occupation. Now I'm goin' back upstairs." He grabbed his jacket and ran to the door.

        "Ma'am, may I have a word with you?"
        Inspector Meg Thatcher looked up from her computer and saw Turnbull

in her doorway. "Come in, Turnbull." He stepped into her office and

headed for her desk. "I need a piece of advice, Ma'am."         "Well?"
        Turnbull began to blush. "Well, I have been meaning to ask a particular

person a particular question, and I was wondering, when I ask the particular question to the particular person, how should I ask it in a way that the particular person might say yes to the particular question?" Thatcher propped her head up with her fingertips, her elbow on the desk. "Turnbull,

who are you asking out on a date?"      "It's...much more than a date."
        Thatcher frowned at first, then understood. She grinned and asked, "So,

who's the lucky lady?" Turnbull blushed even more. "I'd rather not say."

"Well," Thatcher began, "I could only give you this piece of advice: don't do what Nathaniel Richerds did." "Right! Thank you, sir," he relpied. Then he frowned. "Who is Nathaiel Richerds?" "I'd rather not get into that, Constable. But I can tell you what happened. He got down on one knee, and you were thinking he said that whole 'There comes a time in a man's life' thing, but instead he said 'Let's get hitched'. That was a total turn-off." "Ma'am, could I be safe in assuming that Mr. Richerds was proposing to you?" "Constable, that was rather forward of you," Thatcher replied, "wasn't it?" Turnbull looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Very well, you are forgiven." Thatcher nodded to the door. "Dismissed." As he left, Turnbull made two mental notes: The "There comes a time in a man's life" bit is truthfully overdone, and don't say "Let's get hitched".

Jessie stood in the doorway of George Hadin's office, her ears plugged with her fingers on a request from Ray. He and Fraser were talking to Hadin of Hadin's Car Repairs about Elenetti's death. "Nobody had anything against Emilio," Hadin stated. "Sure, he borrowed a lot of money from people, but that's all. He was usually a really nice guy." "Borrowed money?" Ray pondered. "From who?"

        "Whom," Fraser corrected.
        "Well, he borrowed some cash from Kevin Henderson, like a couple hundred

or so. And I think he borrowed from Jack Montoya. That's all I can think of, though." Ray scribbled the names down in his notebook. "All right. Thanks for the help." Fraser looked closely at Hadin, and then asked, "Yes, sir, thank you kindly. Do you, by any chance, smoke?" Hadin looked surprised. "How did you know?"

"You have black flecks on your teeth, possibly from tar. Also, you have a burn on your left index finger from when you were, I suppose, lighting a ciggarette." Hadin shrugged. "Yeah, I smoke, New Gold ciggarets." Then he chuckled under his breath. "What, are you going to arrest me

for that?"      "No, sir."
        Fraser walked to the doorway and tapped Jessie on the shoulder. "You

can unplug your ears now." She did obediently. "So, Fraser, what's with the fleck on the teeth?" Ray asked when they were in the hallway. "Yeah, was the smoking thing a clue?" Jessie added.

        "Well, actually--"
        Ray interrupted. "Jessie, how'd you know what I was talkin' about with

the flecks?" Jessie bit her bottom lip. "Well..."

"You didn't have you ears plugged all the way! You were faking it!" "It's not going to kill me if I heared that the guy smokes," Jessie reassured. "No," Ray agreed, "but I might if you keep this up!"

Just then, Ray's cell phone rang. He flipped it open. "Vecchio." "Detective Ray? This is Constable Turnbull from the Consolate. I wanted to ask you a very important question." "Hey Ren. Just call me Ray. Now, what's the question?"

        "I'm asking for your permission to marry Frascesca."
        Ray's eyes widened until he looked like a bunny in the path of a semi.

He ducked into a nearby restroom, much to the surprise of Fraser and Jessie. He whipered into the phone, "What did you say?" "I want to ask Francesca to marry me. I would ask your father fo permission, but he has unfortunately passed on. So since you are the next male in line, and closest to Fracesca, I asked you." "Look, I'll...I'll...I don't know!" He put his free hand on the sink, leaned over, and looked in the mirror at his worried face. "Oh my God, what do I say?" Then he stood back up. "Okay, I guess...you have my permission." On the other end of the line, Turnbull squealed in a manner not becoming of a mountie. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Now I would like to ask you a favor. Could you come pick me up at the Consolate and take me to the station

so I can ask her?"      Ray sighed. "Yes Turnbull."
        "Thank you sooooooo much. Oh, call me Renfield. We're going to be pretty
close from now on."     "Yeah, I know."

"Hey, guys!" Francesca ran up to Fraser and Ray with a manilla envelope. "The pictures of the murder scene were developed." She handed the envelope to Ray. "Also, here's the list of stuff in his trash can." Ray opened the envelope and looked at the pictures. Fraser looked over his shoulder.

"Is that an ashtray on his nightstand?" he asked.       "No, it's his clock."
        "This man is not a smoker then. So why would he have a ciggarette pack

in his trash?" Ray looked over at the list. It was number seven: empty New Gold ciggarette pack. Then he remembered what Fraser had pointed out at Hadin's office. He grabbed Fraser by the arm. "We have to go back to Hadin's." The two ran toward the door. "Guys, wait for me!" Jessie sped after them, leaving Turnbull and Francesca alone. Francesca smiled. "Hi Renfield." She distinctly remembered their first date; a candlelit lunch in the coffee room, Turnbull expressing his love of country music, and his sweet whisper of "You are always on my mind". After that they

had gone on numerous dates.     Turnbull blushed. "Hello Francesca. Could
I...could I have a private word with you?"      "Sure." She led him into

the hallway. "So, what did you want to say?" "Well," he began, "there comes a...no wait. I would be honored...oh, gee, I--" Finally, he got down on one knee and pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket. "Francesca, I love you. Will you marry me?" He opened the box to reveil a diamond ring. Francesca's jaw dropped open. "Oh my lord...Renfield, I...of course!" She got down on her knees and kissed him. Wow, he thought, she did say yes to it!

Eventually, Fraser and Ray caught Hadin, who had forgotten to say that Elenetti owed him a thousand dollars. Jessie enjoyed being involed in a case, much to the dismay of her mentor and his partner. And as for Francesca and Turnbull, well, the wedding was marvelous.