Forget Me Not 

by Jackie 

pixie7@gte.net	

 "Lynda? Wake up, Lynda." 

 Lynda stirred and groggily opened her eyes. She looked around as she
yawned, suddenly remembering she was in the car of her superior. "Yes,
sir?" 

 "We're here," he answered. 

 Lynda looked out her window and smiled. She was looking at the front part
of her apartment building. She hadn't seen it in thirty days. "It's good
to be back." 

 "It sure is. And I'm sure Fraser and your father will agree." 

 "Don't forget Diefenbaker, sir." 

 "No one can forget him, Lynda." 

 Lynda sighed and stretched. "Well, no offense or anything, but if I never
see you again it will be too soon." 

 Welsh smiled. "Unfortunately, you will be working tomorrow. It is
essential that you and I both go back to our normal routines." 

 "No arguing there, sir. I can't wait to be a Civilian Aid again." She
opened her passenger and got out. The nighttime Chicago air felt
refreshing against her face as she went to the trunk and retrieved her
luggage. She headed for the building when Welsh rolled down the passenger 

window. 

 "Lynda?" 

 She turned around. "Sir?" 

 "I want you to know I'm very proud of you." He smiled briefly before
pulling away from the curb. 

 "Thank you," she said softly as she smiled. She grabbed her luggage and
walked into the apartment building. 

 "Welcome back, Miss Peterson," Harry, the doorman, tipped his hat and
held the front door open for her. 

 "Thanks, Harry," Lynda smiled brightly. "Is Fraser in?" 

 "Yes he is," the elderly doorman nodded. "Shall I let him know you're
back?" 

 "No, I'd like to surprise him. Did he come in with anyone?" 

 "No one, but the wolf." 

 "Thanks." She walked to the elevator and pressed the button. Immediately,
the doors opened and she got on. She rode the elevator to her floor, and
got off. The hallway was brightly lit as she made her way to her
apartment, 67D. She quietly took her keys from her purse, inserted one
into the keyhole, and unlocked the door. 

 The door creaked slightly when she opened it. She put her luggage near
the front door and quietly closed it. Feeling in the darkness, she flipped
the light switch, flooding the living room with light. For what seemed
like an eternity, Lynda just stood there, smiling. Her apartment was in
immaculate condition, and she knew why. 

 Lynda turned around after hearing a soft bark behind her. "Hey, Dief,"
she whispered as loudly as she dared. She knelt beside the wolf as he
covered her with drooling licks, his tail swishing furiously side to side.
"I'm glad to see you, too." 

 "Lynda?" a new voice called out. The young lady looked up to see a tall
man in red long johns emerge from the hallway, rubbing his eyes. 

 "Hey, Fraser. It's good to see you." 

 "It's great to see you, Lynda. When did you get in?" 

 "Just now. Nice pj's." 

 Fraser got that deer-in-the-headlights look before he ducked back into
the hallway. He emerged a few minutes later wearing a pair of jeans and an
unbuttoned, plaid shirt over his long johns. Lynda smiled. "How have you
been?" 

 "Just fine." 

 "And Ray?" 

 "He missed you a lot, as did Diefenbaker. How was the assignment?" 

 "Boring, most of the time, but everything went smoothly." 

 "And you still can't talk about it?" 

 "No, it's still in the process of being completed. I've been sworn to
secrecy." 

 Fraser nodded, understanding. He walked over to the kitchen, with Lynda
and Dief close behind. "Would you care for anything to eat? I went
shopping yesterday, so you don't have to worry about doing it yourself." 

 "I really appreciate it, Fraser." 

 "Also, you're mail is on the kitchen table, and all your phone messages
are on post-it notes on your refrigerator. And you don't have to worry
about doing your laundry, other than the clothes in your suitcases, and
Detectives Dewy and Huey dropped by a few days ago and gave me the words
to a song they wrote. They wanted you to take a look at it." 

 "You have been busy. Hopefully, you did get out of here every once in
awhile." 

 "Yes, Ray and I went out frequently, and we got together with your
friend, Stafford, a few times. He's a really nice person." 

 "How is Stafford?" 

 "His arm healed. He should be able to play the piano quite nicely." 

 "That's good to hear." She stifled a yawn. "Hohh. Oh, excuse me. I think
I'm going to have to skip out on that offer, Fraser. I'm just so tired." 

 "That's perfectly all right, Lynda. I'll just get my things and head on
back to the Consulate." 

 "No you won't. It's almost midnight. You can stay the night." 

 "You sure?" 

 "Yeah, I don't mind." She walked out of the kitchen with Fraser. "So,
which room did you choose?" 

 "The library. I hope you don't mind, but I read some of your books." 

 "Did you enjoy them?" 

 "Immensely." 

 "Glad to hear that. You go on back to bed. I'll lock up." 

 Fraser smiled warmly. "It's great to have you back, Lynda." 

 Lynda returned the smile. "It's good to be back." 

 "Goodnight." He disappeared down the hall. 

 "Goodnight, Fraser." She locked the front door, then turned off all the
lights. She went to her bedroom, changed, and quickly got into her bed.
The familiar sheets, pillows, and even the scent were very relaxing. Lynda
closed her eyes as Dief snuggled close to her. He gave a doggie smile as
he rested his head on her stomach. Lynda patted him on the head, then
drifted off into a deep slumber.  

* * * *  

 "Lynda!" Stanley called out as the young woman, Fraser, and Dief made
their way into the Squad Room the next morning. Smiling, the Detective
hurried over to his daughter and gave her a big hug. "Welcome back." 

 "Hey, Ray," she smiled brightly as she hugged him back. "It's so good to
see you." 

 "When did you get in?" 

 "Last night, about midnight. What's going on here?" Sporadically
positioned around the around the Squad Room were construction workers.
They were working on a variety of different things. The group began
walking toward Lynda's desk. Along the way, Lynda would occasionally wave
to someone. 

 "Renovation," Fraser answered. "It's been going on for a couple of
weeks." 

 "Really?" Lynda knitted her eyebrows. "Why?" 

 "Oh, some mucky mucks way on up think pipes and things need to be
replaced. Heads up!" The humans ducked just as a metal pipe was swung
around by a worker, missing their heads by inches. "Watch it!" Stanley
glared at the worker. 

 "Sorry," the worker answered. 

 Stanley shrugged as Lynda sat at her desk. "So, how was . . . whatever it
was you and Welsh were doing?" 

 "Fine. And that's all." 

 "Aw, come on, Lynda. No hints?" 

 "Sorry, Ray." 

 Stanley sighed loudly before kissing her on the forehead. "Well, glad
you're back." He went back to his desk. Fraser looked down at Lynda. She
was smiling. 

 "I missed him so much. I'm really glad to be back." 

 "Lynda!" Welsh called out from his desk. "Can you bring me the files on
the Scarbaroni brothers?" 

 Lynda looked in her 'IN' box and grabbed the requested file from her
organized pile. She got up and began to make her way to Welsh's office.
Suddenly, a worker carrying a metal pipe swung around. She had no time to
duck, the pipe connecting with her forehead. Lynda went sailing backwards,
papers flying in all directions. She landed unconscious near some metal 

file drawers. 

 Fraser and Stanley were the first to reach her. Her forehead was already
bruising from the blow. A crowd quickly formed as Stanley gently held her.
"Lynda? Can you hear me?" 

 The worker was frantically running back and forth. "I'm so sorry, I'm so
sorry!" he kept crying. Some officers managed to take him away and calm
him down as Welsh joined the group. 

 Lynda stirred slightly. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around.
Dozens of pairs of eyes were staring back at her. 

 "You okay?" Stanley asked softly. 

 "Yeah, I think so . . ." She peered more closely at him. "And you are . .
.?" 

 "You know who I am, Lynda." 

 "Lynda? Why are you calling me Lynda?" 

 "Oh dear," Fraser muttered. 

 "Frannie, call an ambulance," Stanley said to the other Civilian Aid. She
nodded and ran to her desk. 

 "Is she okay?" Welsh asked. 

 "It would appear she's suffering from amnesia," Fraser explained. 

 "Amnesia?" Stanley looked at the Mountie. "You sure, Fraser?" Fraser
nodded. "Oh, dear."  

* * * *  

 "So, is she okay?" Stanley asked the doctor examining Lynda in a cubicle
of the emergency room. 

 "According to her X-rays," the doctor explained, "there are no fractures
or tissue damage, but she *is*, in fact, suffering from anterograde
amnesia." 

 "How long will it last?" 

 "Could be a few minutes, to a few days . . . or it may possibly never
clear up." 

 "So, you're saying I may be a blank slate forever?" Lynda asked. 

 "It's very rare, Miss Peterson." 

 "Look, where are my parents?" 

 Fraser and Stanley exchanged a worried glance. This was going to be a
problem. Fraser cleared his throat. Now would not be a good time to go
into any of that, not with her injury. "Don't worry about that right now,
Lynda." 

 "Why does everyone keep calling me Lynda? And just who are you, Dudley
Do-Right?" 

 "I'm Constable Benton Fraser, R.C.M.P. I first came to Chicago on the
trail of my father's killer, and for reasons that don't need exploring at
this juncture, I've remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian
Consulate. We're also good friends." 

 "Whatever. Look, Doc, when can I go home?" 

 "Later this afternoon, if there's no concussion. Try to relax." He nodded
to Stanley and Fraser. "May I see you two outside?" 

 Stanley and Fraser followed the doctor outside the cubicle, where Welsh,
Dewy, Huey, and Francesca were waiting. 

 "How is she?" Huey asked. 

 "It's amnesia," Stanley answered. 

 "Oh, God," Welsh murmured. 

 "She doesn't remember anything?" Francesca looked in disbelief. 

 "It's fairly common in head injuries," the doctor explained. "I want
Lynda to rest for the remaining day. I also would like it if all of you
would try and act as normal as possible around her. Surround her with
familiar objects, and get her into her normal routine." 

 "And this will cure her amnesia?" Stanley asked. 

 "It could possibly trigger something that will give her back her memory.
And be patient. It will take time. If you'll please excuse me, I have
other patients to attend to." The doctor left the group and disappeared
down a hall. 

 "So, now what?" Francesca asked. 

 "We have a problem before us," Welsh said in a hushed tone. "I was
thinking about this as we were waiting, and until further notice, you are
Ray Vecchio." He pointed a finger at Stanley. "Right now, Lynda doesn't
need to know you're her real father." 

 "Leftenant, couldn't that traumatize Lynda, maybe even block her memories
for life, if we don't be completely honest with her?" 

 "Yeah, and won't she question why we look alike?" Stanley asked. 

 "She may, Detective, but shrug it off as nothing. Now, you and Fraser
stay with her. Do what the doctor says. I don't want to see her in until
tomorrow, okay?" Stanley nodded. "The rest of you, back to work." He
herded the others away, leaving Stanley and Fraser to wait.  

* * * *  

 Lynda checked out of the hospital at five o'clock. Stanley and Fraser
took her back to her apartment. When they entered her place, Dief was so
happy he ran up to Lynda, barking and jumping. Lynda coiled in fear. 

 "It's okay, Lynda, it's just Diefenbaker," Fraser assured her. 

 "Why would I name my dog after a Canadian prime minister?" 

 "At least your knowledge of practical things seems to be in order." 

 "Yeah, I'm jumping for joy, Dudley - er, Fraser." 

 "And Diefenbaker's a wolf." 

 "Wolf?! What the hell am I doing with a wolf in my apartment?" 

 "Actually, he's my wolf," Fraser explained. "He's staying with you
because my apartment burned down and he didn't want to sleep in my office
anymore." Dief was trying to jump on to Lynda. "Dief, calm down. Lynda's
lost her memory." 

 "He talks to his wolf?" Lynda whispered to Stanley. 

 "Yup." 

 "Lynda?" The young girl turned to Fraser. "Dief apologizes for jumping on
you." 

 "It's okay." She looked around her place. "So, this is my apartment, huh?
Kinda big for just me and Diefenbaker . . . I do live by myself, right?" 

 "Yeah, you just always liked big areas. And it overlooks the lake." 

 Lynda walked over to the alcove windows and looked out. The sun was
setting in the distance, casting different shades of pink and orange
across the water. She smiled. "It's really pretty." She eyed the piano
next to her. "Do I play?" 

 "Yes, you do," Stanley answered. "Fraser, maybe she should play something
to see if it would help her memory." 

 "Good idea, Ray. You want to try that, Lynda?" 

 Lynda shrugged and sat down on the piano bench. She placed her fingers on
the keys and began to play, but only sour notes filled the air. Disgusted,
she gave up. Suddenly, her mind saw a familiar picture. She closed her
eyes. 

 "Lynda?" Stanley asked, concerned. "What is it?" 

 "I see myself at this piano," she replied. "I'm in a bigger house . . .
playing . . . then there's some blurry stuff . . . now I see you hovering
over a woman. She'd dead." Lynda opened her eyes. "What's that all about?"


 Stanley cleared his throat, then sighed. He knew what he was going to say
to her would be painful, but he had to tell her. "Lynda, you *were*
playing that piano one day, about four months ago. You lived in a big
house." 

 "Yeah . . . wait, I remember you and Fraser were with me and that lady .
. . she's my mom, right?" Stanley nodded. "I got shot while I was playing
the piano." Her face suddenly fell. "Mom was killed that day." 

 "I'm sorry, Lynda," Fraser spoke up. "I know how painful it must be to
relive those memories. Do you remember anything else?" 

 Lynda shook her head. "No. It's really fuzzy after that . . . who killed
her?" 

 "Your step-father - uh, I mean, your father." Stanley kicked himself
mentally. 

 Lynda smiled wryly. "So, who was it, my father or my step-father?" 

 "Father," both men quickly answered. 

 Lynda looked up. She knew they were hiding something, but she wasn't
sure. She would find out later. She sighed, deciding to take a different
approach. "Okay, can you answer this question for me? Why is it that you
and I look so much alike, Ray?" 

 Ray got the deer-in-the-headlights look Fraser was famous for. He cleared
his throat. "It's just . . . I have one of those faces," he answered
slowly. 

 Lynda raised her eyebrows. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She
knew these two men shouldn't be lying to her . . . at least, she thought
they shouldn't. It was very infuriating. She took off her glasses and
rubbed the bridge of her nose. 

 "You okay?" Stanley asked. 

 "I'm tired," Lynda answered. And she was. She politely excused herself
and trudged down the hallway. Suddenly, she turned around. "Where's my
bedroom?" 

 "Second door on the left," Fraser answered. 

 "Thank you kindly." She stopped. "Why does that sound so familiar?" 

 "That's what Fraser always says." 

 "Oh." She turned and disappeared down the hall. Stanley and Fraser heard
her door shut a few seconds later. 

 Stanley got up from the piano and looked out the windows. Fraser watched
him for a few moments. 

 "You okay, Ray?" 

 "No. I hate not being able to tell her the truth, Fraser. She's my -" He
lowered his voice "- daughter, after all." 

 "I understand she's your daughter, but we have been given orders not to
tell her, yet." 

 "I think she knew we were lying to her. She got that look in her eyes.
What happens when we do tell her? She's won't be too happy." 

 "She probably won't, Ray, and to tell you the truth, I have objections
about not telling her everything, but we have to look at all the angles to
this situation. If we tell Lynda the truth about who you are and who she
is, she may inadvertently let it slip out that you're not the real Ray 

Vecchio. This, in turn, could put the real Ray Vecchio's life in grave
danger. I don't think she would, but the Leftenant just wants to make sure
everyone remains safe." 

 Stanley snorted and rolled his eyes, but deep down he knew the Mountie
was right. Time to change the subject. "So, uh, you gonna stay here
tonight or go back to the Consulate?" 

 "Depends on Inspector Thatcher. I'll need to notify her of the situation.
And you?" 

 "I'm gonna stay here. I don't feel comfortable knowing Lynda's here by
herself with no memories." 

 "Understood. I'll call the Inspector now before it gets too late." He
went over to Lynda's living room phone and made his call. Stanley sighed
and looked back out the alcove windows. Lynda's doctor said to be patient,
that it may take time for her to get her memory back. Stanley was not know
to be patient, thought. Man, he thought, this is 

going to be hell.  

* * * *  

 Inspector Thatcher allowed Fraser to remain at Lynda's. So, the two men
kept a constant vigil over the young woman, waking her up every hour just
to make sure her injury hadn't escalated. 

 Stanley took over at eleven, allowing Fraser and Dief to get some rest.
They would take over at three. The Detective had retired to Lynda's
computer room, resting on the daybed she had placed in there. He tried to
get comfortable, but it was no use. He just couldn't sleep. 

 A slight shuffle from outside the room caught his attention. He looked up
to see a sliver of light coming in from underneath the door. Curious,
Stanley went to investigate. He quietly opened the door and walked toward
the sound of the noise. It came from the kitchen. He made his way in to
find Lynda looking in the refrigerator. She had long since changed into a 

night shirt and socks. Her hair was pinned up. 

 "Lynda?" 

 Startled, she jumped. She looked to see Stanley standing in the doorway
of the kitchen. 

 "Hi. I didn't wake you, did I?" 

 "Nah, I couldn't sleep. What are you doing?" 

 "I'm a little hungry. Since I can't seem to remember what I like as a
nighttime snack, or even if I like nighttime snacks, do you have any
suggestions?" 

 "I always found a nice bowl of cereal helped make me sleepy. Want one?" 

 "Sure." Lynda got the milk out of the fridge while he retrieved the
cereal from her pantry and the bowls and silverware. He prepared two bowls
of cornflakes while Lynda turned on another light, then sat at the kitchen
table. It wasn't long before they were both munching away. 

 "So, how is it I know you?" Lynda asked in between bites. 

 'What do you mean?" 

 "I mean, how did we first meet?" 

 "You came in asking for my help because you and your mother were in
danger." 

 "But why you?" 

 "Well . . ." How could he answer this question? Lynda, I'm, your father.
Your real father. The guy who killed your mother was your step-father.
"Your mother and I were friends in high school. She told you about me,
about how I became a cop, so when you two were in trouble, you remembered
what she said about me and tracked me down." It was the truth, or at 

least, part of it. 

 "Okay." Lynda took another bite. She chewed for a few moments, then
swallowed. "You know, I have this strange feeling that you're not telling
me something. That you and Fraser know more about me than you're telling."


 "That's ridiculous, Lynda." 

 "Yeah, I guess you're right. I think it's this amnesia thing making me
paranoid. I mean, if there was something about me you knew you would tell
me, right?" 

 "Of course," Stanley answered, taking care not to look directly at her.
He quickly took a big bite of cereal and chewed slowly. Boy, did he feel
like a heel, lying to her right to her face. Both father and daughter ate
the remainders of their cereal in awkward silence.  

* * * *  

 "Here she comes," Dewy announced to his partner. Both he and Huey looked
up from their desks as Lynda, Fraser, Stanley, and Dief strolled into the
Squad Room. Lynda was dressed as she normally did, but everyone knew by
now what had happened. He looked at his partner and motioned for them to
talk to her. They made their way over just as Lynda and the others reached


her desk. 

 Stanley was the first to notice them. "Oh, Lynda, this is Detectives Jack
Huey and Thomas Dewy." 

 They shook hands with her as she smiled. "You're kidding, right?" Lynda
began to laugh. 

 "What's so funny?" Dewy asked. 

 "What dweeb in the staffing department's the Disney nut?" Huey and Dewy
rolled their eyes and sighed. They kind of expected Lynda to ask that
question, considering. In fact, they had been asked that question ever
since they started working together. "Where's Louie, or did he fly off to
go find Donald?" She started snickering. 

 "Detective Louis Gardino was my previous partner," Huey explained. "He
was killed in a 

car explosion." 

 For almost a minute, Lynda looked at him in horror, her mouth slightly
open. "I - I - I'm 

so sorry. I didn't know, I -" She looked close to tears. 

 "It's all right, Lynda," Huey assured her. "It's perfectly
understandable." There was pain 

in his eyes, Fraser could see, as Huey remembered that awful night. The
Mountie was certain that if it had been anyone else making that comment,
himself included, Huey would not have responded so gently. Before anything
else could be said, Fraser gently led Lynda to her desk, 

where she sat down. Lynda sighed, and took off her glasses. "Lynda, don't
feel bad," Fraser replied. 

 "I *do* feel bad, Fraser. That's what's so frustrating about this
amnesia. I know these 

things, and yet I can't remember them. I saw the look in Detective Huey's
eyes: it hurt him to be telling me the truth. I know it." 

 Stanley, who was standing behind her, looked at Fraser. Before anything
else could be said, Francesca walked up, dressed in one of her usual,
gaudy outfits. "Morning, everyone," she replied cheerfully. 

 "Good morning, Francesca," Fraser nodded. 

 "Hey, Frannie," Stanley nodded. Lynda looked at Francesca, then at
Stanley, who quickly got the hint. "Lynda, this is Francesca Vecchio.
She's the other Civilian Aid who work with you." 

 "Vecchio?" Lynda raised her eyebrows. "You two related?" 

 "Yeah, I'm his brother." 

 Lynda peered closely at both of them. "You don't look like you're
related," she finally said. "Hey, if we're both Civilian Aids, then how
come I have to wear this blue uniform and she gets to wear whatever she
wants to?" 

 "That's what I'm wondering," Welsh answered her question. He strolled up
to Lynda's desk. "Good morning." 

 "Do you know who he is?" Fraser asked. 

 "Haven't the foggiest," Lynda replied. "I'm Lynda Peterson." 

 "I'm your boss, Lieutenant Harding Welsh. Is there anything you need?" 

 "My memory back." Lynda smiled wryly. "Actually, I'd like to know what I
do here." 

 "You just look up things and do research for the Detectives," Welsh
answered. 

 "I'll help as much as I can," Francesca offered. 

 "I appreciate it," Lynda replied. "I'll do my best." 

 "Well, since your doctor said it would be good for you to get back into
your normal routine," Welsh cleared his throat, "why don't we start right
away. Do you think you could look up a file on a Frederico Vanzetti?" 

 "I'll try," Lynda faced her computer. She stared at it for a few minutes,
then looked up sheepishly. "Uh, how do I turn it on?" 

 Fraser reached over and turned the computer on. After it warmed up,
Francesca directed her into the search directory. "Now, type in Frederico
Vanzetti," she instructed. 

 Lynda looked down at the keyboard, then proceeded to type in the name,
punching one key at a time, much slower than her usual eight-five words
per minute. "F-R-E-D-E-R-I-C-O V-A-N-Z-E-T-T-I." Soon, the file appeared
on the computer screen. "All right!" 

 "Now, print it up," Welsh instructed. 

 "No please?" Lynda looked up. Welsh gave her a look. "Okay, okay. Sheesh,
you think I could get a little respect here for doing this." She took the
mouse in her right hand, pointed it to the word 'PRINT DOCUMENT', and
clicked on it. 

 Welsh grabbed the papers as soon as they were done printing and handed
them to Stanley. "Okay, Ray, go down stairs and give these to Mort. He
could be the John Doe we found this morning. That's your job and your
case. I want you to find out who killed him." 

 Stanley grumbled, but agreed, not because of the case, but because he
hated dead bodies. He and Fraser walked to the morgue, when Lynda jumped
from her chair and ran after them. Dief was close behind "What's up?"
Stanley asked. 

 "Can I come?" she asked. 

 "I don't think that would be a good idea, Lynda." 

 "Why not? Do I detest the dead?" 

 "Well . . . you don't like to dissect dead pigs, remember?" 

 "I don't know what you're talking about. Come on, please?" 

 "Fine, but if you get sick, you're leaving." 

 "Understood." 

 The quartet walked down to the morgue, where Mort Gustafson was working
on 

Vanzetti, his latest patient, or victim as Stanley put it. He was also
singing Beethoven's 'Ode To Joy' in that usual deep bass voice of his. He
turned around as the trio walked in. 

 "Ah, eet ees gud to see you, Constable," Mort greeted them cheerfully.
"And Ray, alvays a pleasure. Oh, Lynda, ow nice of you to venture down
into zee catacombs." He chuckled gently at his own joke. Lynda smiled.
"Ave you looked into zat piece of Bach muzic I suggested zee last time ve
met?" 

 "Mort, Lynda has amnesia," Fraser explained gently. "She doesn't know who
she is, or who we are." 

 "Yeah, that's me: the blank slate," Lynda rolled her eyes. 

 "Oh, such a shame," Mort frowned for a moment. "Vell, in zat case, allow
me to introduce myself. I'm Mort Gustafson, zee county medical examiner."
He reached a gloved hand out to shake Lynda's hand, but she refused. 

 "I'll wait until your hands aren't covered in blood and guts," she
declined gently. "So, when did we first meet, Mort?" 

 Mort smiled. "Ve met about two months ago, right after you got your job
as a Civilian Aid. You have a great soprano voice, as you helped me sing
'Figaro'." Lynda nodded slowly, not really remembering, but acknowledging
the memory. 

 "So, Mort, any word on what killed Vanzetti?" Stanley asked, his back to
the body. 

 "Vell, it vas internal bleeding," Mort answered, picking his way through
the body. "Someone, or someones, gave him quite a beating." 

 "Ouch," Lynda grimaced. 

 "Yes indeed," Mort agreed. "It took him, I'm guessing, about four hours
before he died." 

 "And that would be apparent from how badly deteriorated his organs have
become," Fraser examined the body closely. "I can see that the stomach has
been partially -" 

 "That's so interesting, Fraser," Stanley quickly interrupted, "but we got
work to do. Mort, I got all the records on a possible match." He dropped
them on a nearby table. "Let us know if you get anything." 

 He quickly exited, the others watched him go. Lynda turned to Fraser. "A
little squeamish, isn't he? And he was worried about me getting sick. He
looked green." 

 'Ray just doesn't care much for the dead, Lynda," Fraser answered. 

 "Ah," Lynda replied. "See you later, Mort." 

 "Goodbye, Lynda, Constable. I hope you get your memory back." 

 "So, where to now?" She walked out of the morgue with Fraser and Dief,
joining Stanley as he waited outside. 

 "I need to run to the Consulate," Fraser said. "That's where I work." He
turned to Stanley. "Ray, it might benefit Lynda if she accompanies me.
Maybe something will jog her memory." 

 "I've been to this Consulate before, then?" 

 "Oh, yes, numerous times, Lynda. You like it there." 

 Lynda thought about that as the quartet walked down the hall.	

* * * *  

 "Good morning, Fraser ," Turnbull stood abruptly as the quartet entered
the lavish Consulate. 

 "Good morning, Turnbull," Fraser nodded briefly. "Have there been any
messages for me this morning?" 

 "Two, actually," Turnbull replied. "One from the American Embassy in
Toronto, about a Chicago case that you have been working on and the other
from Sergeant Frobisher. He wanted to see how you were doing. Oh, and
Inspector Thatcher told me she wants to see you as soon as you came in." 

 "Did she say what about?" Fraser prompted. 

 "Something about Lynda." Turnbull finally noticed Lynda and Stanley
standing next to Fraser. "Oh, welcome to Canada, Detective and Lynda." 

 "Who's this?" Lynda asked Stanley. 

 Turnbull looked perplexed. But before he could say anything, Thatcher
opened the door and walked out of her office. "Ah, Constable, it's about
time you showed up." She glanced at Lynda. "Any change in her condition?" 

 "No sir," Fraser answered, standing at attention. "She still knows
nothing. We thought, that is Detective Vecchio and I thought, maybe since
she visits the Consulate frequently, a tour could jar her memory." 

 "A tour?" Turnbull asked. "Lynda already knows her way around the
Consulate, but if you feel a tour is necessary, then -" 

 "Turnbull," Fraser explained, "Lynda suffered a neurological injury to
her cranium, resulting in a total lapse of her memory." 

 "Huh?" Stanley asked. 

 "She's got amnesia," Thatcher looked exasperated. 

 "Well, why didn't he just say it?" 

 "I believe I did, Ray." 

 "Wait a second," Lynda interrupted. "I'm remembering something." 

 Everyone turned to look at her. "What?" Stanley asked. 

 "When she walked out of her office," Lynda said, pointing to Thatcher,
"two words just popped into my head." 

 "What?" Thatcher asked. 

 "'Ice' and 'Queen'." 

 Stanley smiled down at his daughter. "Hey, she remembered." 

 "Ray," Fraser looked sternly at his partner. 

 "Ice Queen?" Thatcher looked displeased. "Detective, may I have a word
with you in private?" 

 "Did I say something wrong?" Lynda asked. 

 "No, Lynda, it's just a pet name I have for the Inspector." 

 "Look, please don't get mad at him," Lynda asked. "I didn't know what I
was saying, it just clicked in my head." 

 "Sir, she is trying to remember things," Fraser replied gently, "and
while Detective Vecchio's manners are somewhat unorthodox, anything Lynda
remembers gets her one step closer to getting her entire memory back." 

 Thatcher looked at everyone, then sighed. "Very well. Just don't let
anything like that happen again." She gave a stern look to everyone before
she went back into her office and shut the door. 

 "Man, what a dragon lady," Lynda shook her head. 

 Fraser snapped his head in her direction. "What did you say?" 

 "I said, 'she's a dragon lady'." 

 "Fraser, what is it?" Stanley asked. 

 Fraser pulled Stanley off to the side. "Ray, Lynda just said something
that Ray used to say." 

 "Ray Vecchio? The real Ray Vecchio?" 

 "Yes. He used to call Inspector Thatcher 'Dragon Lady'." 

 "My kind of guy." Fraser gave him a look. "Look, did you ever talk about
him in front of her?" 

 "Yes, but I don't recall ever mentioning his name for her." 

 "You probably did, but just don't remember it. Don't worry about it,
okay?" He went back to Lynda, who was petting Dief and trying to get
Turnbull to stop rambling on and on as he usually did. "Look, Turnbull,
thanks, but we need to get going." He herded Lynda and Dief out of the
Consulate. 

 "Man, that guy's annoying," Lynda said. 

 "Yeah, no kidding." 

 "Woof." 

 Fraser politely excused himself, then joined his friends outside. He
couldn't stop thinking about what Lynda had said.  

* * * *  

 Lynda was adapting quickly to her work routine, despite her memory loss.
It was very helpful to her as well. Sometimes, she'd be working at her
desk when someone wold shout a phrase, jogging Lynda's memory.
Unfortunately, she still couldn't connect all the events of her past and
remember exactly who she was. 

 As she typed up a police report that was given to her by Francesca, her
eyes drifted from the computer screen and to a picture of herself, Fraser,
Stanley, and Dief. Lynda stopped typing, and took the framed picture in
her hand. She studied every little detail of herself, knowing that it was
her in the picture, but not quite knowing it. It was as if she was staring
at a stranger who happened to look exactly like her. 

 Her eyes fell on Stanley, focusing on his face. Suddenly, something
clicked. She stared intently at his eyes, then at her eyes. They were
exactly the same. The hair color was the same. They even shared the same
devilish grin. 

 She put the picture down in disbelief. She knew that she had been kept
something, that she wasn't being told the entire truth about her past and
ho she was. She looked over at Stanley's desk. It was empty. She looked
around, spotting Francesca. 

 "Francesca, where's Ray?" she called out. 

 "He's in with Welsh." 

 "Thanks." She quickly got up from her desk and went over to Welsh's
office door. She knocked once, before opening it. Inside, Welsh was
talking to both Stanley and Fraser. He was seated at his desk, looking
over a file. 

 "Yes, Lynda?" Welsh asked, taking his reading glasses off. 

 Lynda set her mouth in a straight line as she closed the door behind her.
"I would like to know just what exactly is going on here," she answered
angrily. 

 "What are you talking about?" Stanley asked. 

 "I knew something was wrong from the beginning. There is something that
you're keeping from me. Why is it that I look so much like Ray, and how
come when I ask about that, everyone just beats around the bush?" 

 "Lynda, calm down," Welsh said gently. 

 "I will not calm down! I have no memory, only vague snippets of past
events, some of which I can't be sure or not if they're true. Now, I want
to know everything." She folded her arms across her chest, giving
universal indications she was not going to move. 

 Welsh looked at both Stanley and Fraser before clearing his throat.
"Lynda, I guess we should have told you this earlier, but it was a matter
of extreme importance." He gestured to Stanley. "This man's name is
Stanley Raymond Kowalski. He's your real father." 

 "But, but last night I was told my father killed my mother." 

 "It was your step-father, Lynda," Stanley answered. 

 "Then why did you lie to me? If you're my real father, then why lie to
your own daughter?" 

 "The reason is because Stanley is covering for another Detective, the
real Ray Vecchio," Welsh explained. "Ray Vecchio was a dead ringer for a
mob boss, so he went undercover to help blow it open. Someone was needed
to cover his tracks. That's why your father's pretending to be Vecchio.
Now, Vecchio didn't have any children, so that's why you two go by
different 

last names." 

 Lynda looked at everyone is disbelief. Her head began to whirl with all
the information. Suddenly, the room began to spin, she felt light-headed.
She rolled her eyes up before fainting. Fortunately, Stanley caught her
before she hit the ground. He lowered her to the floor, and began fanning
her face with some paper. 

 "We should have told her earlier," he said. "Now, who knows what's going
to happen?" 

 He continued to fan her face while Fraser went to get a glass of water.
He came back, with a bunch of people behind him. They watch from the
doorway as he knelt beside Lynda, who was still unconscious. 

 "What happened?" Huey asked. 

 "We told her the truth, then she just fainted," Welsh said, kneeling
beside Fraser. 

 "Is she going to be okay?" Dewy asked. 

 "We don't know." 

 Lynda slowly began to stir. She looked around, at the faces staring down
at her. "What's going on?" 

 "You fainted?" 

 "I did? Last thing I remembered before waking up here was seeing a metal
pipe swinging at me. Then . . . nothing." 

 "Yeah, that happened yesterday," Stanley nodded, then caught himself.
"Wait a minute, you remember what happened yesterday?" 

 "Of course I do, Ray. I'm not an idiot." She was Welsh beside Fraser.
"Oh, sir, I'll get the Scarbaroni brothers' files. What do you mean
'yesterday'?" 

 "Lynda, you got hit on the head by a metal pipe. When you came to, you
didn't know who you were or who any of us were." 

 "How could I forget any of you?" Lynda looked bewildered. "You all have
done so much for me ever since I came here." 

 "She got her memory!" Huey shouted to the rest of the Squad Room.
Everyone started cheering and yelling as Stanley helped Lynda to her feet.
She was still a little woozy. 

 "Vecchio, please take Lynda to her apartment," Welsh said. "I think she
needs to get some more rest." Stanley nodded, and left the office, guiding
Lynda with him. Fraser smiled and watched the two as they left. "Something
on your mind, Constable?" 

 "Sir?" Fraser faced Welsh. 

 "You seem distant. Anything on your mind?" 

 "Well, Leftenant, when Lynda was at the Consulate earlier, she called
Inspector Thatcher a dragon lady. Sound familiar?" 

 "Didn't the real Vecchio used to call her that?" 

 "Yes, sir, and I find it rather unusual that Lynda would call her that if
she's never met Ray." 

 "Do you tell Lynda about him?" 

 "Yes, sir, but -" 

 "There's your answer, Constable. Now, is there anything else I can do for
you?" 

 "May I borrow your phone to call Inspector Thatcher?" 

 Welsh nodded, and Fraser quickly dialed the Consulate's number. He talked
briefly to Thatcher, explaining that Lynda had gotten her memory back, and
that he'd be coming back to the Consulate after picking his things up from
Lynda's apartment. 

 After hanging up, he left the office, gathered Dief, and left the
Station. They stopped by at a florist and picked up a wide selection of
cut flowers. Then, they made their way to Lynda's apartment. 

 "Hello, Fraser," Harry tipped his hat. "Hey, Dief." 

 "Good evening, Harry." 

 "Woof!" 

 The twosome rode the elevator up to Lynda's floor, then lightly knocked
on her door. After a few moments, Stanley opened the door. "Hey, Fraser.
Look, sorry I left you back at the Station." 

 "Don't worry about it." 

 "Come on in." 

 "Thank you kindly." He and Dief walked into the apartment. Stanley closed
the door shut. "Nice flowers." 

 "They're for Lynda. Is she resting?" 

 "Yeah, she's in her bedroom. Come on." 

 Stanley led them to Lynda's bedroom, where Lynda had changed out of her
uniform and into a white nightgown. She smiled brightly when she saw her
two visitors. "Hi, guys." Dief jumped onto the bed neck to Lynda, his tail
swishing back and forth. She scratched him behind his ears. 

 "These are for you," Fraser handed her the flower bouquet. 

 "Thanks, Frase. So, how out of it was I?" 

 "Pretty out of it," Stanley answered. "It was like you were a total
stranger." 

 "Well, I'm glad I have my memory back. Hey, did I say anything I normally
wouldn't have said? Something I might have regretted?" 

 "Well, you gave Huey and Dewy a hard time about their names, and you
called Inspector Thatcher Dragon Lady, but no one was mad at you," Fraser
explained. 

 "'Dragon Lady'? I thought she was called Ice Queen." 

 "Well, you did call her Ice Queen as well." 

 "Where did Dragon Lady come from, then?" 

 "Well, interestingly enough, Lynda, Ray - that is, the real Ray Vecchio -
used to refer to Inspector Thatcher as Dragon Lady." 

 "That is weird, considering how I've never met the real Ray Vecchio . . .
wait, Fraser, when you told me about the real Ray, you did mention that he
didn't like Inspector Thatcher. That must be why I called her Dragon
Lady." 

 A knock on the front door interrupted the conversation. Fraser left the
room to answer the door. Moments later he came back with Stafford. Lynda
smiled. "Hey, what are you doing here?" 

 "I was going to surprise you at the office, but Lieutenant Welsh told me
what happened. So, I decided to come here instead." 

 "And you're arm?" 

 Stafford moved his right arm in big circles. "Good as new. Oh, here, I
bought these when I heard you had returned." He handed her a thornless red
rose, and kissed her on the cheek. "Glad you're back." 

 Fraser motioned Stanley, who got the hint. "Uh, Lynda," Stanley cleared
his throat, "I'll take those flowers and put them in a vase." 

 "Thanks, Ray," Lynda handed him the bouquet of flowers. The two older
gentlemen left. 

 "Dief, let's go," Fraser said to the wolf. Dief gave a pitiful whine.
"Let's go." 

 "Go on, Dief," Lynda nudged him slightly. Dief jumped from the bed and
left the room, leaving Stafford and Lynda alone. 

 "So, how you feeling?" He eyed the bruise on her forehead. "Welsh told me
you had amnesia." 

 "Yeah, but I'm better." 

 "I'm glad. How was the assignment?" 

 "Good. Boring, but good." 

 "Great. Listen, I hope you don't mind, but I talked with the other band
members while you were gone. They don't mind I'm the new piano player." 

 "And we can start rehearsing soon. I'm going to take a few days off to
rest. We can work on some songs then." 

 "Sounds great, but do you think I could interest you in a home-cooked
meal, first?" 

 Lynda smiled. "I'd like that. And we can watch a nice, romantic movie,
like Gone With The Wind." 

 "Why not something like Lethal Weapon?" 

 "Because, my dear Stafford, then you can't comfort me when Mel Gibson is
blowing someone's brains out." 

 "Ah, good point." 

 "Hey, Lynda," Stanley stuck his head inside the room suddenly. "Sorry to
interrupt, but Fraser and I need to get back to work. I called Welsh and
he wants you to rest for a few days, considering." 

 "Okay, Ray." 

 "That means no strenuous work or activities." 

 "I'll make sure she does just that," Stafford said. 

 "I know you will, Stafford. I'm leaving her in capable hands." Lynda
smiled gratefully at her father. "Later." 

 He disappeared from sight. Seconds later, the front door shut quietly. 

 Lynda looked back at Stafford. "So, what are you going to fix?" 

 "Well, my dear Lynda, let's go to your kitchen and see." He helped Lynda
to her feet and together they walked out of her bedroom.  

THE END