Roses Are Red

by Jackie

pixie7@gte.net

A light snow was falling as Benton Fraser made his way into the bullpen of the 27^th. It was Wednesday, three days before Valentine's Day. He brushed the snow from his winter coat, then removed it as well as his Stetson. A commotion at Lynda's desk caught his attention as he made his way over. Dief was trotting alongside him.

"I still can't believe you did that, Lynda," Stanley frowned at his daughter, who was sitting in her chair looking at a file. Regan was lounging at his master's feet, watching the two Detectives talk back and forth.

"Dad, it's part of my job," Lynda said patiently.

"But did you have to sniff the woman's breath? I mean, sniffing the breath of a person who's alive is bad enough, but sniffing a dead woman's breath is just disgusting."

"Hey, it might of helped our investigation."

"But it didn't." Lynda shook her head, but didn't say a word. Stanley sighed. "How come you don't find dead people revolting?"

"Because they're dead," Lynda replied bluntly.

"But you hate dead animals."

"There's a difference, Dad."

"What? Both are dead."

Lynda couldn't think of an excuse, so she looked up and smiled as Fraser came up. "Good morning, Fraser." She petted Dief, then let the wolves lounge together.

"Good morning, Lynda," Fraser smiled. "Stanley. So, what seems to be the problem?"

"Dad's upset that I sniffed a cadaver's breath."

"Fraser, I can't believe you taught her how to do that," Stanley said, clearly frustrated. "What's next? Hanging off the backs of cars or running across rooftops?"

"Already did both," Lynda said.

"WHAT?" Stanley jerked his head up. "When?"

"Last week," Fraser answered. "Lynda's very agile."

Stanley sighed loudly before rubbing his forehead, as he walked away. "I'm getting too old for this."

Lynda smiled, then turned back to Fraser. "So, what brings my favorite Mountie from the Consulate?"

"This." Fraser handed her a manila file folder. Lynda took it, then opened it. Inside was a picture of a young girl, sprawled on the sidewalk. A single arrow to the heart was sticking out of her chest. "Anything about it seem familiar, Lynda?"

Lynda frowned as she read the report. "Unfortunately, yeah. When did this one happen?"

"Last night in Toronto," Fraser answered. "She was found at eight o'clock in her house by a neighbor. The Toronto Police found no signs of forced entry and nothing was missing."

"Just like the other ones," Lynda murmured. For the past two days Lynda, Ray, and Stanley had been investigating the murders of two local citizens. Both had been found with heart-shaped arrows in their chests in their homes. No signs of forced entry, nothing missing, all were females in their late teens. Lynda jumped to her feet and walked quickly over to her father's desk. "Dad, look at this."

Stanley took the offered file and read it, then raised his eyebrows. "Another one, huh?"

"Yeah," Lynda answered.

"But that doesn't make sense. This girl's from Canada. Our killer's never been out of Chicago."

"I know, Stanley, but the victim and the circumstances surrounding the death are identical to that of the other two victims," Fraser explained.

"Three," Stanley and Lynda said at the same time.

"Pardon?"

"We just got our third victim about one hour ago," Stanley said as he handed the file back to Lynda. "The girl's roommate found her in her room right before heading out the front door to work."

"That's the dead person we were arguing about," Lynda added. "I'll go let Welsh know about this." She walked to Welsh's office and disappeared inside.

"So, it looks like we got ourselves a serial killer," Fraser said.

"'We'?" Stanley asked.

"Yes," Fraser nodded. "The Toronto Police gave the case over to the RCMP and Inspector Thatcher upon learning about the similarities of the other recent victims. I'm to assist in the investigation."

"Okay," Stanley nodded. "Hey, Fraser, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you think I have the right to worry about Lynda?"

"Because of this case?"

Stanley nodded. Not only had the victims been in their late teens, they were also blond-haired and blue-eyed. "Yeah. I mean, we don't have any clue as to who's doing these killings, why they're doing it, and what the connection is to all the victims."

"Well, I can see having just cause to worry," Fraser replied. "But you know how Lynda is."

"Tell me about it. She thinks I'm over-protective."

"Are you?"

Stanley knew it was a rhetorical question, but he answered it nonetheless. "Hell yeah. She's all I got, and I don't want to lose her, especially to some wacked-out psycho."

"Have you told her this?"

"Fraser, you know talking to Lynda is not that easy. 'Oh, Dad, I wish you'd just stop worrying about me'," Stanley whipped into an imitation of Lynda. "'I'm old enough to take care of myself'." He shook his head. "So, how are things with the Ice Queen? Any plans for Valentine's Day?" He smirked.

"Well . . ." Fraser blushed as red as his red tunic.

"Spit it out, Benton buddy."

"I invited her out to have dinner," Fraser answered.

"Ooh," Stanley smiled. "Sounds nice." He had noticed that lately Fraser had been repeatedly trying to get Thatcher's attention. Finally, it seemed to pay off. "So, where you going?"

"Valentino's," Fraser answered. "On Michigan Avenue. What about you?"

"Aw, I'm not into Valentine's Day much," Stanley answered. "Haven't been since Stella and I spilt up."

"So, you're not planning on doing anything with Lynda?"

"I don't think she'd want to do anything with me. I'm her father. It's not considered cool." Stanley moved some papers on his desk, then noticed a white envelope. He picked it up and read the front: 'SRK'. He opened it and pulled out a folded up piece of paper.

"What is it?" Fraser asked as his friend opened note.

"'Roses are red, a deep crimson hue'," Stanley read aloud. "'My heart skipped a beat the first day I saw you. I knew in that moment that things would be fine. Will you, oh could you, be my Valentine?'"

"Who's it from?" Fraser asked curiously.

"It doesn't say," Stanley answered. He stared at the note.

"What's up?" Ray asked as he walked up to Stanley's desk. He was dressed in a charcoal Armani suit, and carrying a manila envelope. He smiled at the Mountie. "Hey, Benny.

"Good morning, Ray," Fraser smiled. "Where have you been?"

"Checking with Forensics on the third victim," Ray waved the envelope slightly.

"Fourth," Fraser and Stanley said together.

"Excuse me?" Ray asked.

"Fraser's been assigned to work with us," Stanley explained. "Toronto police found a victim that matches our guy's M.O., so the RCMP wants Fraser to help us. Lynda's in with Welsh about it right now."

"Okay," Ray nodded. "Well, everything's matched the other victims, so we definitely got a serial killer on our hands." He noticed the note in Stanley's hands. "What's that?"

"Stanley has a secret admirer," Fraser answered.

"Really?" Ray asked, clearly curious.

"No big deal," Stanley answered, shoving the note inside the pocket of his jacket. "It's just a note."

"Hey, guys, Welsh wants to see us," Lynda called out, sticking her head outside Welsh's door.

The three men walked over and joined Lynda in Welsh's office. The four stood in front of the Lieutenant, who sat behind his desk. He was reading the file from the RCMP that Lynda had given him.

"So, we now have four victims who have apparently been killed by the same killer," Welsh said as he read the file. "One of which happens to be from Canada." He sighed as he put down the file, then looked at the four. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the Toronto Police isn't too thrilled about having one of their citizens killed by one of ours. Do you have anything that even remotely connects the victims?"

"We've searched their backgrounds," Ray said. "We haven't found anything that could even remotely connect the four girls."

Welsh sighed. "I was just on the phone with the Commissioner of the RCMP. We've been given a ultimatum: we have three days to catch the killer."

"And if we don't?" Stanley asked.

"Then you three will be taken off the case," Welsh said to Ray, Stanley, and Lynda. "The case will then be given over to the feds, and Fraser will work with them."

"That's not fair!" Ray frowned. "We can't catch a killer in three days. We don't know anything about him . . . or her."

"Then I suggest you all get to work," Welsh suggested.

The four nodded and left the office.

"So, what do you guys suggest?" Lynda asked as they made their way over to Ray's desk, which was closer. "We have three days before the FBI gets jurisdiction on this case, and personally, I don't want them on it so they can screw it up."

"Lynda, I doubt the FBI would screw up a case like this," Fraser said gently.

"Really?" Lynda folded her arms across her chest. "Seems to me that the FBI screws up in a lot of things."

"What kind of things?"

"Take a wild guess, Fraser."

Fraser thought for a moment, then it clicked. "Derek, right?" Lynda nodded. "Lynda, I thought you said you'd control yourself about that particular subject."

"It doesn't mean I can't be upset." She sighed as she leaned against Ray's desk. "Let's just get to work." She pulled a small notebook from her jacket pocket and flipped it open. "I'd like to go back and talk to the families of the victims, if that's okay. Maybe we missed something."

"Okay, Ray, Fraser, and I'll do that," Stanley jumped in quickly. "You stay here and sort through all the evidence."

"That's Francesca's job," Lynda said. "I'd like to come if that's okay."

"Well, it's not okay," Stanley retorted.

"Excuse me?" Lynda put her hands on her hips. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said, Lynda. You're staying put. You don't have enough experience under your belt to be going out into the field like this."

Lynda stood still for a minute, just staring at her father. "What's with you? You're not my superior."

"But I am your father."

"Not here," Lynda answered. "We're both partners, and that's it."

"No, it isn't," Stanley crossed his arms. "You're staying put."

"Fine with me," Lynda said cooly. She tossed the notebook onto Ray's desk before marching back to her desk and planting herself in her seat. She began typing on her computer.

"Fine," Stanley answered before walking back to his desk and planting himself at his seat. He began scribbling on a piece of paper.

"Did I just walk into the middle of the movie?" Ray asked Fraser.

"Stanley's worried that the killer may come after Lynda," Fraser explained. "All the victims are Lynda's age and have her hair and eye color."

"Why didn't he just tell her that?"

"Who knows, Ray?"

Ray sighed. "You know, those two really have some issues to settle before they begin working together."

"I agree," Fraser nodded. "And we should talk to them about it, since we all work together."

Ray hesitated. "After you, Benny."

"I think we better wait until they cool off a bit," Fraser suggested. "Being around one angry Kowalski is bad enough, but two is not something that should be broached if you value your life."

And so, that's how it continued for the rest of the day. Neither Stanley or Lynda spoke to each other directly, but through Ray and Fraser. At the end of the day, they went their separate ways. Ray and Fraser thought that a good night's sleep would help clear the matter, but they were wrong.

"LYNDA!"

That was the first thing everyone heard the next morning. Seconds later, everyone looked up to see Stanley storm into the Squad Room. He was dressed in black jeans, running shoes, and a freshly-ironed, white shirt. He carried his jacket in one hand. His holster and gun swung angrily as he marched over to Lynda's desk. She was busy on her computer - dressed in jeans, loafers, a white blouse, and a purple jacket - and didn't even look up.

"Well?" Stanley looked angry.

"Well, what?" she asked cooly.

"Anything to explain?"

"Like?"

"Like the fact that all my shirts are crispy."

Lynda looked up from her work, as if acknowledging her father's presence for the first time, her loose hair swinging slightly. "Oh, my, your shirt looks neat."

"Cut it out, Lynda," Stanley frowned.

"What's going on?" Ray asked as he and Fraser ventured up to the two. Each were dressed in their usual attire.

"Lynda sneaked into my apartment sometime after I fell asleep and before I awoke, and ironed all my shirts."

"Nice gesture," Ray replied.

"Do I look like a banker?" Stanley asked angrily.

"No."

"Then I don't need crispy shirts. I like them wrinkled and loose-fitting. Matches my style." He turned back to Lynda. "Now, I'd like to know why you did that, Lynda."

"You're the Detective," Lynda replied curtly. "You figure it out."

"Is this about yesterday?"

"Hey, if you're going to be unreasonable, then I'm going to as well."

"Ironing my shirts is not unreasonable, it's mean, Lynda."

"Yeah, well, so is acting irrationally," Lynda frowned as she stood up. "I can't believe you would do something like this. You want to know how important this case is to me?"

"And you want to know how important you are to me?" Stanley asked. Lynda stared at her father, her mouth slightly open. "You know, it's bad enough having to worry about a killer who we don't know anything about, but I also have to deal with the possibility he or she may come after you."

"Is that what this is about?" Lynda asked.

"Yes." Stanley said. "All the victims look like you and are about your age."

Lynda's face softened. "And since we don't know what the killer's M.O. is, you think I may be the next victim?" Stanley nodded. Lynda sighed, slightly frustrated. "Why didn't you say so?"

"I don't know," Stanley shrugged his shoulders. "It's not easy to talk to you about this. You always seem to be getting upset when we talk."

"Because you go overboard," Lynda smiled. "Look, I know you're new at this parenting thing, but you're doing good so far. You just . . . need to stop crossing the line from protective to over-protective, okay?"

"Easier said than done," Stanley muttered.

"I know, but don't think you have to beat around the bush with me, Dad. Be straightforward with me."

"Even if it makes you mad?

"Even if it makes me mad." She put a hand on her father's shoulder. "Ready to begin working together?"

"Only if you promise to do the same with me," Stanley replied. "I get mad when you don't talk to me about certain things, okay?"

Lynda smiled. "Deal."

Stanley grinned. "Deal. And don't iron my shirts again. Now, let's get to work . . . partner." The two busied themselves, then noticed for the first time that Ray and Fraser were watching them. They both looked up. "What's up?"

"What was that all about?" Ray asked.

"What?" Lynda asked.

"You guys just made up like that." Ray looked frustrated. "Do you think we can all get to work now without killing each other or arguing or ironing shirts for people who don't like ironed shirts?"

"Yeah," the Kowalskis answered.

"Good, 'cause we got two days to find that killer, and we got nothing."

Lynda began typing on her computer. "Actually, we may have something, Ray."

"What?" Stanley asked as he leaned over to peer at the screen.

Lynda pulled up the files of the four victims. "I went back over the files this morning and found something that connects all of our victims together."

"Really?" Ray said, suddenly very interested. "What?"

"All of them attended the same high school," Lynda answered as she turned around. "Right here in Chicago." She printed up the files, then showed them to her partners. "See? They all attended the Latin School of Chicago."

"Didn't we investigate there recently?" Stanley asked.

"Yes, with Christopher Xavier," Fraser answered. "He blackmailed the staff to pass high school."

"Gosh, it feels like forever since that time," Lynda answered. She took in a deep breath. "Well, what do you say we get over there and figure out what all these girls have in common besides the fact they attended the same school." She let out a small whistle. Immediately, Regan and Dief trotted up to her. "Let's get going." The four humans grabbed their coats and left the bullpen with the two wolves.

"What the hell is going on?" Stanley asked as the four stared down the main hall of the school. Regan and Dief were outside, waiting in Lynda's Chevy. Teenagers in different clothing were scurrying around, talking, shouting and laughing. Some gave a few weird looks to the group, while some girls flirted with Fraser by sashaying by him, swinging their hips.

"Must be changing classes," Lynda answered. "Let's go to the main office and try to get the records of our victims." The four made their way to the administration office, where a blond-haired woman - wearing a business suit - was sitting, typing on a computer at her desk. She looked up at her computer.

"Yes, can I help you?" The three Detectives showed their badges. The young woman looked nervous. "Police? Look, if it's about those bad checks I wrote -"

"Actually, we're investigating four young women who attended school here," Fraser explained.

"And who are you?" the woman asked.

"My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of my father's killer and, for reason that don't need exploring at this juncture, I've remained attached as Liaison Officer with the Canadian Consulate."

"What about you three?" the woman asked the three Detectives.

"Detective Ray Vecchio," Ray answered. He nodded to his partners. "Detectives Stanley and Lynda Kowalski."

"We need to speak to Principal West if that's not a problem," Lynda said.

"And even if it is, then we'd still like to see him," Stanley added.

"And this is in regards to what?"

"The deaths of those young women found with heart-shaped arrows in their chests," Lynda answered.

"Oh, that's a real shame," the woman nodded. "I hope you find the person who's killing them."

"That's why we're here," Ray replied. "Two more victims were found - one last night in Toronto, and one this morning over on Michigan Avenue - that match the killer's M.O. We found that all four girls attended this school, and we think there may be a connection."

"I'll be right back," the woman answered as she stood up and went over to West's door. She knocked once before entering ans shutting the door behind her. After a few minutes, the door opened ans she stepped out. "Principal West will see you now."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser smiled before the four went in. Sitting at a desk was West, but he didn't seem too happy to see the four.

"So, what brings you four back here?" he asked sarcastically. "Trying to find more ways to ruin my life?" Soon after Xavier was tried for his crimes while in the Academy, West and the others had testified against him. All their reputations had been slightly tarnished, but West's suffered the most damage. His wife had left with their two kids and West was suspended from his duties for a month. He glared at Lynda. "Is that how it is? The little guy gets all the blame and the Civilian Aid gets to become a Detective?"

"Don't blame us," Stanley answered, slightly angry. "It was your mistakes that got you in trouble, not us. If you hadn't screwed up by letting Xavier blackmail you, then you'd be -""

"I'd be out of a job," West answered angrily. "Might as well be, since no one seems to trust me anyway."

"Not our fault," Ray rolled his eyes.

"Can we get back onto the subject at hand?" Lynda intervened. She turned to West. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened to you. I really am, but don't blame me, okay?"

"So, what can I do for you, *Detective*,"West asked cooly.

"There have been a recent string of homicides," Lynda explained. "All four victims were young female in their late teens, with blond hair and blue eyes. All four of them were killed with a single heart-shaped arrow to the chest."

"And why should I have to worry about that?"

"All four girls attended this school," Fraser answered. "We believe there may be a connection."

West became more interested. "Really? Which four girls?"

Lynda pulled out her notebook, and flipped it to the page where she had written the victims' manes. "Anne-Marie Spier, Lydia Thomas, Jessica Spencer, and Rachel Marie Crothers." She looked up. "Is it possible that we can have their school records and see what we come up with?"

"Sure," West nodded. "I'll get those immediately." He began typing on his computer, and brought up the files of the young girls. He printed all of them up, then handed them to Lynda. "Here. Is there anything else I can do?"

"The students should be informed," Fraser replied. "Especially the girls with blond hair and blue eyes."

"I can get an assembly together immediately," Welsh said quickly. "Twenty minutes and the entire school can be assembled in the auditorium." The officers looked at each other, then nodded.

"We'll spend a few minutes going over the deaths and informing the students what they can do to protect themselves," Lynda nodded.

"Okay, let me just make an announcement, then we'll head on over," West said, reaching for the microphone of the PA system.

Exactly twenty minutes later, the entire student body had assembled into the auditorium. West was on the stage with Ray, Stanley, Lynda, and Fraser. He motioned for quiet, then spoke into the microphone he held.

"I'm sure you're all wondering about why I called this assembly so suddenly," he said.

"Hey, just as long as we don't have to do schoolwork!" one guy said loudly. The students laughed as a teacher hauled the guy away by his ear.

West frowned. "Four students from this school have recently been murdered. Any one of you could be next." That shut the students up. "Now, I have with me the officers who are working on this case. They're going to inform you of what is going on and what you can do in order to help them and protect yourself." He handed the microphone to Stanley, who happened to be the closest to him.

"Thanks," Stanley spoke into the microphone. "My name is Detective Stanley Kowalski." He pointed to his partners. "Detectives Lynda Kowalski and Ry Vecchio, and Constable Benton Fraser from Canada."

"A Mountie?" one girl asked.

"Yes," Fraser answered as he spoke into the microphone. "I first came to Chicago on the trail -"

"Fraser, not now," Ray and Lynda said quickly.

"Understood." Fraser stood back with Ray and Lynda.

"Anyway," Stanley continued, "we're here because four young girls have been murdered in the past three days. All of them were girls your ages, with blond hair and blue eyes, and they attended this school. We have no idea who the killer is or why he or she is killing. That's where you guys come in." He told them everything about the case that the CPD already knew, including the names of the victims.

"If anybody has any information at all," Stanley said. "Call us at the 27^th District. And be careful, okay? The last thing we want to hear is that another young person has been killed." He handed the microphone back to West, who dismissed the teachers and students back to their classes.

The four walked out of the back part of the auditorium and down the main hall to the front entrance. Lynda was flipping through the files as they walked.

"Excuse me?"

The quartet turned around to see a young girl running up to them. She was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt with the words 'So What?' on the front, and tennis shoes. Her brown hair swung from side to side as she ran up to the group.

"Detective Kowalski?" she asked.

"Yeah?" Lynda and Stanley asked.

"Uh . . . her," the girl answered.

"Yes?" Lynda asked.

"I know who those girls are," the girl answered.

"Really?" Ray asked.

The girl hesitated, then gave Lynda a look. Lynda nodded, then handed the files to her father. With the young girl, she walked about a hundred feet down the hall. The men watched as the girl talked with Lynda, who listened and scribbled down information in her notebook. After a few minutes, Lynda handed the girl her card, then walked back to her group.

"What was that all about?" Stanley asked.

"Her name is Lisa Wright," Lynda answered. "She writes the social column for the school paper."

"What does that have to do with our victims?" Ray asked as they walked out the front entrance and into the parking lot.

"According to Lisa," Lynda read her notes, "all four girls were on the cheerleading squad. All of them were very popular and very well-known. And all of them are blond-haired and blue eyed."

"So, we're looking for someone who doesn't like this school's cheerleaders?" Stanley asked as they walked over to the Riv and the Chevy that were parked side by side.

"Like that's a big lead," Ray muttered.

"Well, it may not lead us to the killer right now," Fraser said, "but at least we can protect the other cheerleaders from getting killed."

"Lisa was able to give me all the other cheerleaders' names that were in the same squad with our four," Lynda said. "They've all graduated, so I'll have Francesca get their current locations so we can inform them of the situation. That's probably going to be our best bet."

"Okay, let's get to work," Stanley said. He and Lynda climbed in the Chevy with the wolves while Ray and Fraser got in the Riv.

A quick call to Francesca gave the other cheerleaders' names. The four went to visit the first girl, Patricia Grover, who was a student at the University of Chicago. The four waited in the hall of the dorm building as Lynda knocked on the door. The door was soon opened by a young girl Lynda's age. Both her hair and body were wrapped in pink towels.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Miss Grover?" Lynda asked.

"What?"

"Police," Lynda whipped out her badge. "May we come in?" Patricia's eyes went wide as she slammed the door shut. Lynda tried to open it, but the student had locked it. The Detectives drew their guns. "Stand back." The four took a few steps back. Lynda swiftly kicked the door in. Stanley and Ray ran in to secure the place, then stopped short when they saw what was going on. Patricia was in the process of trying to push a guy, who was clothed in only a sheet from her bed, out her window.

"Hold it," Ray said, aiming his gun. "Put your hands in the air."

"I don't think that would be such a good idea," Fraser said.

"Why not?" Stanley asked, his gun aimed as well. Lynda also had hers aimed at Patricia and the guy.

"Well, because their hands are holding up the clothing that's covering them," Fraser answered. "And if they raise their hands . . ." He gestured, indicating what would happen.

"So, what do we do?" Ray asked.

Lynda lowered and put away her gun. She walked up to Patricia and grabbed her free arm. "You guys question this guy, I'll be in the bathroom with Patricia." The two ladies went into the bathroom, then Lynda shut the door closed.

"Okay," Stanley said as he and Ray put their guns away. He turned to the guy, who look absolutely terrified. "Put some clothes on, then we'll talk."

"So, the only reason they tried to bolt was because they were both supposed to be in Biology class and they weren't?" Ray asked as the four walked out of the dorm.

"Oh, I think they were studying Biology already," Stanley said. He chuckled. "Man, I can't believe they thought we were the Campus Police." He pointed a finger at Lynda. "And, Lynda, if I *ever* catch you doing that with a guy, I'll kill you and the guy myself."

"Excuse me?" Lynda stopped and put her hands on her hips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Dad, you're not going to have to worry about catching me like that, okay? Mom didn't raise me like that and I doubt there's ever going to be another guy in my life anyhow."

"Good," Stanley replied. "That's what I like to hear."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Lynda," Fraser replied. "You're young. They'll be time in your life for love."

"Love bites," Lynda frowned.

"Whoa, did I hear that right?" Stanley looked shocked. "Miss Hopeless Romantic says 'love bites'?"

"You know what that means, right, Stan?"

"Right, Ray."

"'It's the end of the world as we know it'," the two older Detectives burst out in song, causing Lynda to laugh, and Fraser to appear perplexed.

"What's that supposed to mean.?" the Mountie asked.

"Well, when Lynda said 'love bites'," Ray explained, "it's gotta be the last thing ever imagined about her, so it's considered to be the end of the world, Benny."

"But, it's not," Fraser pointed out.

"It's just an expression, Fraser," Stanley said frustrated.

"Oh."

"Well, let's go to these other places," Lynda said. "There's gotta be something that can help us out here." Her cell phone rang, which she quickly answered. "Hello? . . . Hey, Francesca." She knitted her eyebrows, then closed her eyes as she listened. "Okay, thanks."

"What was that about?" Ray asked as Lynda put away her phone and pulled out her notebook.

"I think we need to go to Michelle Cook's place."

"Why?" Ray asked.

"She's dead," Lynda answer grimly.

Police had already arrived are got the scene under control by the time the Riv and Chevy drove up. They parked alongside the curb, and all six occupants got out and walked up. After showing their identification to the officer guarding the front of the parameter, the six made their way inside.

It was like a zoo. Cops everywhere, sorting and gather evidence, talking up a storm, and over on the couch crying into her hands, was a middle-aged woman that the group assumed to be her mother. They walked over to her.

"Ma'am?" The woman looked up, her tears red and puffy from crying.

"Yes?" she asked tearfully.

"My name is Lynda Kowalski. These are my partners, Detectives Ray Vecchio and Stanley Kowalski, and Constable Benton Fraser. Are you Michelle Cook's mother?"

She nodded. "Donna Cook."

"We're all very sorry about your loss, Mrs. Cook," Fraser spoke up. "We know how painful this must be for you, but do you think you could tell us exactly what happened?"

Donna took in a deep breath. "I was coming home from working the morning shift at Gary's cafe right up the street. Michelle is usually home at about the time I get in, so when I found the front door open, I didn't think much of it. I walk in and shut the door, then call her name. When I don't hear anything, I go to the kitchen to start lunch." Tears spilled down her cheeks as she buried her head in her hands. "That's when I saw her on the floor. She was dead."

The group watched helplessly as the woman just cried. Out of the entire group, Stanley was the only one there who could remotely understand what the woman was going through. He knew that he'd be devastated if he came to his home and found Lynda dead in his kitchen. "We're doing everything in our power to find out who's doing this, okay?"

"I appreciate that," Donna sniffled slightly.

"Mrs. Cook, we know your daughter was on the school cheerleading squad when she was in high school," Lynda said as she offered her a tissue from her pocket. "Do you know of anything out of the ordinary that might have happened while she was there? Any people who didn't like her?"

"Michelle was very well-liked," Donna answered. "She was bright, articulate, and managed to get along with everyone." She dabbed her eyes with the tissue. "Wait. There was something that happened last year . . . about this time, too."

"What?" Ray asked.

"She received a note," Donna explained.

"What types of note?" Fraser asked.

"I don't remember all of it . . . but it started with the phrase, 'Roses are red'." Stanley and Fraser jerked their heads up. "Who would kill her?"

"We don't know," Ray answered, "but we believe all the cheerleaders of your daughter's squad are being targeted. If there's anything else you can tell us that may help us, please call." He handed a business card to the woman.

"Man, that's depressing," Lynda said as they walked into the kitchen.

"Lynda, the woman just lost her daughter," Stanley said. "Course it's depressing."

Before Lynda could answer that, they saw the body of Michelle Cook, lying exactly where she had been found, outlined in the chalk. Police were bustling around, looking for clues or taking pictures of the body, or doing other things.

Lynda knelt down beside Michelle and carefully examined the fatal wound. Blood had collected and started pooling around the arrow that was embedded deep in her chest. Lynda could tell it was sticky and not yet completely dry. She stood up.

"I'd like to go up to Michelle's room and look around," she said. "Maybe there's something up there that may help us."

After getting permission from Donna, the six proceeded up the stairs to Michelle's room and went in. It was decorated in a typical college student fashion. Posters of movie stars were on the walls, clothes were slightly strewn on the bed (which wasn't made), and books cluttered the desk. Over in one corner was a group of trophies and some high school pictures and yearbooks.

While the men searched the other areas, Lynda and the wolves went over to the corner and looked - or sniffed - through the stuff. Regan found something particularly interesting and began barking. Lynda looked to what he had found and picked it up. It was Michelle's cheerleading squad from high school. Lynda recognized the four girls who had already died and Michelle from the ten girl group.

"Good work, boy," Lynda smiled as she ruffled Regan's head. She reached into her jacket and pulled out a hand-held scanner that she sometimes carried with her. She scanned the picture then saved the information to pull up on her computer back at work. She turned around. "Find anything, guys?"

"The notes Mrs. Cook was talking about," Fraser said holding up two notes. Lynda walked over and took the offered notes. She read on dated Feb. 10 of last year.

"'Roses are red, a bloody crimson hue. It'll soon be time to take revenge on you. You won't know the place, you won't know the time. I'm going to get you, my sweet Valentine.'" Lynda shuddered. "Freaky." She read the second one, dated yesterday. "Roses are red, roses are red. There'll be some time left before you are dead. You won't know the place and you won't know the time. I'll be there to get you, my sweet Valentine.'" She closed the note. "Well, I'd say our killer got her alright."

"You think there's a connection?" Ray asked.

"I'm not sure,"Lynda furrowed her eyebrows. "Let's split up and go back to each of the families of the other victims. If they got notes similar to these, then we have another piece of the puzzle solved."

"Let's get to work then," Stanley nodded.

While Ray and Dief ventured to Toronto with Fraser, Stanley, Lynda, and Regan stayed and talked with the remaining families in Chicago. After gathering information from the families, the trio headed back to the 27^th and waited for the others to show up. They busied themselves by working on the computers and looking at the bodies. Actually, Lynda did most of both, considering her father didn't care too much for either areas.

"So, what was that look for?" Lynda asked suddenly as she brought up and old file on her computer.

"What look?" Stanley asked, peering over his daughter's shoulder as she worked.

"You and Fraser seemed kind of agitated when Mrs. Cook told us about the note. And when we interviewed the other families. Your face suddenly paled." She eyed him. "What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Dad," Lynda said sternly as she turned around in her chair. "Remember that talk we had? Now spit it out."

Stanley sighed, then pulled the note out of his jacket pocket (he hadn't bother to remove it the day before when he went home) and handed it to her. "Read that."

Lynda opened the piece of paper. When she was done, she looked at her father, eyebrows raised. "When did you get this?"

"Yesterday."

"And you didn't bother telling anyone?"

"Fraser knew."

"And what about me? Dad, this note matches the others."

"No, it doesn't. They're totally different."

"Except the beginning. They're the same."

"It's almost Valentine's Day, Lynda. People send other people mushy love poems."

"Dad, you don't think this person is the same person who's been sending the notes to the girls?"

"No."

"You positive?"

"Lynda, there's no way -"

"Dad, I know you think that the sender could be the same."

"How?" Stanley folded his arms across his chest.

"You wouldn't have jerked your head up like that."

"Lynda, I was just surprised, that's all."

"And what about your face paling?"

"Temporary loss of blood flow," Stanley answered quickly. Lynda rolled her eyes. "I'm not scared of nothing."

"That's a double negative, Dad. And I hope you're right." Lynda sat back down and began typing again.

"What's a double negative?"

"It's when you use a negative twice in one sentence," Lynda said. "'Not' and 'nothing' are negatives."

"So, I guess that makes me a negative person, huh?" Stanley joked. Lynda shook her head and smiled, but said nothing. Stanley ran a hand through his hair. "Hey, Lynda, how would you feel if I asked you out for Valentine's Day?"

"I'd have to decline," Lynda answered.

"Why?" the Detective asked suspiciously, shifting into over-protective dad mode. "You already got plans?"

"Nope, just don't like Valentine's Day," Lynda answered. "It's just another reminder to us single people that we're alone in our miserable lives. Why? You didn't have plans, did you?"

"No," Stanley shook his head. "Just curious."

They were in the middle of going through some past evidence when Dief trotted up to Lynda and put his front paws on her lap. He began licking her cheek. Ray and Fraser were close behind him.

"We're back," Ray announced.

"Gee, how could I have missed?" Lynda joked as Dief got down and went to sit next to Regan, who was lounging nearby. She grabbed a tissue and wiped her face. "So, what's the story?"

"Two letters," Ray answered, dropping two more notes onto the ever-growing pile on Lynda's desk. "Exact same beginning."

"We should probably see if we can get fingerprints off of 'em," Stanley suggested. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Good idea, Dad," Lynda nodded. She began gathering all the notes together.

"How about you two?" Ray asked.

"Same notes, same styles," Stanley answered.

"Oh, here's your mail," Fraser spoke up, handing Stanley some mail. "You forgot to check you box."

Stanley sorted through it, coming upon a simple pink envelope marked 'SRK'. He opened it, the read it silently. "Huh. Another one."

"Another what?" Lynda asked.

"Another card from a secret admirer."

"What's it say?" Ray asked.

"'Roses are red, and your eyes so blue'," Stanley reads aloud. "'I'm sure you're wondering who's taken interest in you. Fear not, Detective, patient you must be'-"

"Yeah right," Ray muttered. Lynda elbowed him in the stomach, causing him to be quiet.

"- 'for it will be a time before you see me'," Stanley continued. "'The face that goes with the words so true. On Valentine's Day I'll reveal myself to you'."

"Just like the other ones," Lynda frowned. "Dad, it's from the same person, admit it."

"Lynda, it's not from the same person," Stanley answered.

"Stan, I have to agree with her," Ray said. "It just seems too coincidental you're getting notes that begin with 'Roses are red'."

"Oh, Ray, don't you start it," Stanley frowned. "I can take of myself, okay?"

"Now you know how I feel," Lynda retorted. Stanley glared temporarily at her. Lynda smiled. "Look, just promise me that you'll be careful, okay?"

"No problem," Stanley shrugged his shoulders. "Let's get these notes down to Forensics." The four gathered up the notes of the victims.

Nothing solid came back from the fingerprint analysis, leaving the group stuck at a dead end. With nothing better to do, the group headed over to the next young woman who's named appeared on the list Francesca had pulled for them, Michelle Johnson. The four went over to her place on the north side of the city, near Ray's neighborhood.

Lynda knocked on the door three times. A young woman answered the door.

"Yes?" she asked cautiously.

"Chicago Police," Lynda said, showing her badge. "Michelle Johnson?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Can we ask you some questions?"

"Sure, I guess," Michelle opened the door to let the four in. Suddenly, the was a loud whizzing sound that cut through the air like a knife. Everyone fell to the ground. Just as quickly as it came, the noise stopped.

Lynda looked up from her spot near the front door over to Michelle. She was lying in a crumpled heap near the entrance. An arrow was sticking out of her chest, blood slowly oozing from the wound. Even though she knew it was pointless, she felt for a pulse in the young woman's neck. Nothing. She was dead.

Two hours had passed since Michelle was killed. The four were with Mort when he examined her. Now they were at separate desks, trying to find some connection to the case. While Stanley and Fraser went over the old evidence, Lynda was busy typing at her desk. Ray was sitting nearby, leafing through one of the girl's yearbook.

"So, you think it's someone from the school?" Ray asked. "Someone they all knew?"

"Has to be," Lynda answered. "The girls all separated after they graduated last year. They haven't had any contact with each other that we know of. It has to be someone they knew while in high school."

"Hey, here's that picture that you scanned," Ray said, showing her the book.

"Yeah," Lynda glanced quickly over, then went back to work. She abruptly stopped in mid-type, then jerked her head back to the photograph. "Wait a second, Ray. That's not the same photograph I scanned."

"Sure it is."

"No, it isn't," Lynda answered as she pulled her scanned photograph up. "Look, in my picture, there are ten girls. In the yearbook, there are only nine girls."

Ray looked at both photographs. "Well, I'll be. You're right, Lynda. So, who's that other girl?"

"Look for her picture in the yearbook, Ray."

"Okay," Ray answered. He carefully went through the yearbook, looking at each individual picture. He found the girl's picture in fifteen minutes. "Here it is. Karen Baker. She graduated the same time the other girls there."

Lynda went into the Latin School of Chicago's database, then typed the name in. After a few moments, Baker's school file came up. "She was part of the cheerleading squad for about a month, when the group pictures were taken. She dropped out in mid-October for no reasons. Took up . . . Archery instead."

"Which she got an 'A' in," Ray added. "I think it's about time we had a talk with Miss Baker. Hey, Frannie!"

"Yeah?" Francesca walked up to the two.

"Get the current whereabouts for a Karen Baker, age nineteen," Ray said.

"Ask me nicely," Francesca said angrily. 'Don't order me around."

"Frannie, please," Lynda said gently.

"Okay, I'll get it," Francesca walked away.

"Ray, do you have to be so mean to your own sister?" Lynda asked.

"I'm not mean, Lynda. I'm demanding."

"Whatever. She's family. You don't see me ordering Dad around, do you?"

"No, but you and him fight just like myself and Frannie at times," Ray retorted.

Before Lynda could reply to that, Francesca came back with the current address of Karen Baker. The two Detectives stood up and walked quickly over to Stanley and Fraser.

"Guys, let's get to it," Lynda said. "We may have a suspect."

The four approached the wooded cottage of Karen Baker when an arrow came streaking at them. They barely had enough time to duck behind some trees. Unfortunately, Ray's Armani jacket was caught by the arrow and held tight against the trunk of a tree. Ray jerked it free, but ripped it in the process.

"She's dead for ruining my suit," Ray said as he pulled out his gun.

"So, what's the plan?" Lynda asked as she and Stanley pulled out their guns.

"I'll shoot," Ray said.

"Ray, we need a *real* plan," Fraser said. He quickly survey the area. "We need a distraction. Someone needs to divert her attention. I'll sneak around with one of you and we'll look for another way in, taking her by surprise."

"I'll divert her attention," Lynda said. She put her gun away. "Fraser, hand over your tunic."

"Pardon?"

"It's bright red," Lynda explain. "If you plan on sneaking around in that, she'll pick you off quicker than ducks in a shooting gallery. I'll wear the tunic and distract her." Fraser quickly handed Lynda his tunic, which she put on. "Okay, on three. One, two, three!" Lynda bolted out from the protection of the trees just as an arrow shot by her. She ran in the opposite direction the guys were going, narrowly missing arrows that were fired at her.

Meanwhile, the three had managed to slip around the back without being noticed. They found a back door, which Baker had left unlocked. The Detectives gripped their guns tightly while Fraser quietly opened the door. The two ran in and quickly found Baker in the front part of the house, shooting at Lynda through an open window. A quiver of arrows was slung on her back.

"Police!" Ray and Stanley shouted. "Freeze!"

Baker was so startled that she dropped her bow and bolted for the front door. It suddenly opened up, knocking Baker in the head. She fell to the ground, unconscious. Lynda walked casually into the cottage, smiling.

"Did I miss anything?" she asked.

"*That's* why she killed them all?" Ray asked.

"Yep," Lynda nodded. She had just finished interrogating Baker with Stanley, while Ray got himself a new jacket. Fraser was talking with Inspector Thatcher and welsh in Welsh's office. The Detectives were hanging outside. "It seemed all the other cheerleaders played a huge - and cruel - joke on Baker. She quit, saying she would get revenge on them one day for humiliating her."

"What's going to happen to her now?"

"She's going to a big, white padded room for a long time," Stanley answered. Fraser came out a few minutes later. "So, what's the verdict?"

"Case closed," Fraser said. "Inspector Thatcher just phoned Toronto with our results." Inspector Thatcher walked out with Welsh.

"I expect a full report on my desk tomorrow at oh nine hundred hours, Constable," Thatcher said cooly before walking away.

"Yes, Sir," Fraser nodded.

"Are you sure she's still going out with you?" Stanley asked.

"We're still going out," Fraser answered. "She just wasn't too thrilled about me lending Lynda my serge."

"What do you have to do now?" Lynda asked.

"Sentry duty all day tomorrow." Lynda shook her head.

"And you three," Welsh nodded to his Detectives. "Good work." The three smiled.

"We are good," Lynda said as each went to their respected desk and sat down.

Stanley noticed another envelope on his desk. He opened it and read it. "Hey, it's another one."

"What's it say?" Lynda asked.

"'Rose are red, love is in the air. I look forward to seeing you at a semi-formal affair. Tomorrow night at Valentino's you and I have a date. Dinner for us, so please don't be late. Stanley, just trust me that things will be fine. You will finally see who is your Valentine'."

"Valentino's?" Ray asked. "Wow, whoever your secret admirer is, she sure has good taste."

"Ray, how do you know a woman is sending him these notes?" Fraser asked.

"Fraser, trust me, I think it would be safe to assume it is a woman," Lynda answered.

"I hope so," Stanley shuddered. "If it's a guy, then I'm in big trouble." He paused. "Hey, Fraser, you and the Ice Queen are going to be at Valentino's, right?"

"Yes, we are," Fraser nodded. "Maybe you can introduce us to your secret admirer."

"Benny, if that happens," Ray said, "Stanley won't have a date anymore."

"Ray, I'm surprised," Lynda said. "I think whoever this secret admirer is, she's already seen what Dad looks like. Which means she knows what Fraser looks like, since he hangs around

here so much. If she hasn't fallen for him yet, I doubt she will."

"I'll believe that when I see it tomorrow night," Ray answered.

"You're not following me, Ray," Stanley said sternly. "I'll shoot you."

"I have reservations at seven," Ray answered haughtily.

"With who? Frannie?"

"No, she and Turnbull are double-dating with myself and Louise."

"Who?" Stanley and Lynda asked.

"Louise St. Laurent," Fraser explained. "She's a States Attorney. She and Ray dated one time. They didn't seem to get along well, but apparently I was wrong."

"Well, listen, since you men seem to have your Valentine Day plans squared away," Lynda grabbed her coat and purse off her coat rack, "I'll go."

"Lynda, if you want to join us," Stanley offered, "you're more than welcomed to."

"No thanks, Dad." Lynda shrugged into her coat. "I don't want to impose. Besides, I have other plans."

"Which are what?" Ray asked.

"Sitting at home in a pair of sweats, eating popcorn, watching sappy old movies. I do it every year, so don't worry. Later." Together with both wolves, Lynda walked out of the bullpen.

"Man, now I feel bad," Stanley said. "I mean, everyone's doing something for Valentine's Day, except Lynda. You think I should cancel my date?"

"No," Ray answered. "You heard what Lynda said. Don't worry about her."

"Fine," Stanley sighed. "I guess I'll see you two tomorrow night." He grabbed his jacket and walked out of the bullpen.

Stanley walked into Valentino's and looked around the restaurant. He never cared much for these types of places. His idea of a nice dinner was eating at the table . . . using silverware, if he had any. He tugged at the tie around his neck, feeling like it was choking him. Man, he thought, why did I buy this monkey suit? I feel like a banker.

"May I help you?" a waiter asked.

"Yeah, I got an appointment at seven," Stanley answered. "But, uh, I don't who with."

"This way." The waiter led Stanley to the back of the restaurant to a large table. Stanley's jaw dropped when he saw who was at the table.

Fraser and Thatcher were there, dresses in red serge and white satin evening dress, respectively. Ray was dressed in a charcoal Armani suit. A red-headed woman sat beside him, dressed in a black evening dress. Francesca was wearing a conservative dress for a change, and Turnbull was in his red serge as well.

"What's this?" Stanley asked.

"When we arrived, we were told to come back here," Ray answered. "You didn't plan this, did you?"

"I don't even know what's going on," Stanley answered, slightly frustrated.

"Well, sit down," Francesca said.

Stanley sat down in his chair and glanced at the red-haired woman. "You must be Louise."

"Hello, Detective Kowalski," Louise smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Stanley nodded, smiling slightly. He glanced down and noticed a white envelope on his plate. He opened it and read it silently.

"What's it say?" Ray asked.

"'Roses are red, the hour is here. It's time to know who holds you so dear. I'm wearing a red dress of satin, not lace. And I'm wearing a big smile upon my face. Some people may say I'm a beautiful sight. Detective, here I am. Just look to your right'."

Stanley looked to the right and just stared. Standing about ten feet away, dressed in a long, red satin gown and matching heels, her blond hair falling in soft waves over shoulders, was Lynda. She smiled as she walked up to him.

"Hi," she grinned.

"You mean . . . you've been sending me those notes?" Lynda nodded. "Why? I thought you hated Valentine's Day."

"It was just to throw you off the trail," Ray answered. Stanley looked at the group. All of them were grinning.

"You all knew about this?"

"They helped me arrange everything," Lynda said, trying not to laugh. "Although with Baker handing out the notes with the same beginning I had . . . well, I was close to stopping the entire thing and telling you. But Ray convinced me to let you squirm a little."

"Scammed by my own daughter and friends," Stanley smiled, shaking his head. He pulled out the seat next to him, then slowly pushed it in as Lynda sat down. He returned to his chair. "So, why the big surprise?"

"Why not?" Lynda asked. "I knew that if I didn't do something, we'd both be spending Valentine's Day alone. I mean, Mom and I would always do something together, like watch a movie or something."

"How did you know what I was thinking?" Stanley asked.

"Because I know you," Lynda smiled. "I know how your mind works. So, you're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" Stanley asked. "I'm spending Valentine's Day with my favorite girl." Lynda grinned. "And my best friends in the world." Everyone else smiled. "Dinner's on me."

The waiter came back with the menus just then. Everyone opened them and decided what to order. Stanley squinted his eyes, trying to read the prices. He pulled his glasses from his jacket and put them on. He read . . . and read. Finally, he found the least expensive thing on the list - 10 oz steak.

"Twenty-four bucks?" he hissed loudly. "What the hell is in that steak?" People were looking at him.

"Dad, calm down. Look, I'll pay for diner. This was my surprise, after all."

"No, I'm paying for it," Stanley answered. He reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. He withdrew a credit card from it. "See, I carry American Express. 'Never leave home without it'." Everyone laughed.

The rest of the evening was very enjoyable for everyone, but Stanley especially. He could never remember a Valentine's Day when he had so much fun. He knew he would never forget it for as long as he lived.

THE END