Renfield Turnbull awoke with a smile on his face   SHIRLEY M
EDSTEDT Normal Preferred Customer 2 14 2000-09-29T02:41:00Z
2000-09-29T02:41:00Z 19 12124 69108   575 138 84869 9.2720     6 pt 6 pt 0
		    After a rather angsty intro, Renfield and Kerri have a
party. It is more a RayK story, however. Rated PG-13 for language.   All
original due South characters are the property of the geniuses who created
them. No infringement of copyright is intended. No profit is made or
expected from this story. 'Great Expectations' was first posted to
racinestreet and RSY. Please do not reprint or post to any other site
without my express written permission. It is Sept 2000.   Prequel to Great
Expectations by Shirley Russell   Renfield Turnbull awoke with a smile on
his face. It was the middle of the night, 2:07am, by the clock on his
nightstand. He awoke many nights recently with the same deep feeling of
contentment, the feeling that life was just about perfect, and that all
was almost right with the world. He spent many quiet moments just like
this silently thanking God that He had brought him to his senses, and
brought him home. He turned on his side and watched his wife as she slept.
He hadn't told Kerri that he spent most nights this way, praying and
watching her sleep. He hadn't told her that he had promised God that he
would always watch out for her, or asked Him to heal them both. Heal them
of the memories of Rene and the terrible things that he had done. With
each passing day, Renfield felt freer and freer of the consuming hatred he
felt for his twin brother, and the disgust he felt toward the woman who
had turned out to be his mother. He knew that Kerri was not completely
free of the memories of Ren, but he prayed that someday soon she would
begin the healing process as well.    As he watched her sleep, Kerri began
to stir. He knew that she still had bad dreams, dreams that she did not
share with him, for fear of upsetting him. He knew that since he had come
home several weeks ago, Kerri had kept many things to herself, memories
and fears, in an unspoken attempt to protect him.   He frowned as she
writhed in her sleep, vainly attempting to out run the demon that chased
her in her dreams. With growing concern, Renfield reached across her chest
to draw her into his arms, and, though still asleep, Kerri panicked. She
struggled against Renfield's hold on her with all her might as she
screamed. Terrified, he at first tried to hold her close to him, but then
released her as he began to fear she would hurt herself.   The moment he
loosed his hold Kerri bolted from their bed, still only half-awake, and
ran to hide between their dresser and the wall. Renfield was close on her
heels, but only followed her, he made no attempt to touch her again. She
shoved her slender body as far into the corner as she physically could get
and spun around to face him. Even in the darkness he could tell she did
not see him. Her eyes were unfocused and glazed over as she wrapped her
arms around her waist and trembled.   Renfield still made no attempt to
touch her, but spoke to her in soothing words. "Kerri, its Renfield.
Please listen to me, you've had a bad dream. Ren is dead, Kerri, he can't
hurt you any more." He wanted so desperately to hold her as her trembling
turned to full body shudders. He had no other choice but to speak more
loudly, and with more authority. "Kerri! You were dreaming. Ren can't hurt
you any more. I...I killed him to protect you," his loud words faded to
whispers as he pleaded with her, "I killed him to protect you..."   He saw
the change come into her eyes, as she suddenly became aware of her
surroundings. His heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he watched her
eyes widen in realization and as she threw her hands to her face. Before
he could react, Kerri slid to the floor and sat naked, with her arms
wrapped around her knees and began to cry.   Although still afraid his
touch would frighten her, he knelt on the floor and gently touched her
arm. He was immediately alarmed at how deeply she was trembling. Without a
word he sat in front of her and drew her on to his lap, where he rocked
her gently. He was at a loss at to what to say, and felt she wouldn't
really hear the words anyway, so he began to babble softly into her hair.
"I saw Constable Fraser and Inspector Thatcher with their heads together
over some report or other today. I think they make a very handsome couple,
almost a handsome as us. Did you know that the Griffiths have two labs,
Carob and Cameo? They're chocolate colored. Can you imagine two labs under
one roof; one is almost more...   Renfield continued his monologue for a
very long time before he became aware that Kerri had stopped trembling.
She was still crying, but his arms and his words where having the desired
effect. He continued to rock her gently and began to try to get through to
her. Again he whispered to her, "shh, it's all right. It was just a bad
dream. I'm here and I will never let any thing or any one hurt you, ever
again. I love you more than life itself, and I promise to love you
forever..."   "E...even if...if I have a...a
red...nose...and...and...sw...swollen...eyes?"   Renfield breathed a very
deep sigh of relief, and drew her more snuggly against his chest.
"Well..." He hesitated just long enough that he could feel her attempting
to smile. "Runny nose, swollen eyes, blotches on you face and short hair,
you're still the most beautiful woman in the world, and the woman I love."
For the first time in over an hour, Renfield felt Kerri relax in his arms.
  They sat there for a few more minutes before Renfield dared to ask,
"could we get up now? This wood floor is awfully hard on my bare behind."
Kerri was completely done in and found it difficult to stand. But with the
help of her partner, soul mate, lover and husband, Kerri got to her feet. 
  Renfield tucked her in to bed and rushed to get tissues and a wet cloth.
Her face was a mess, but he lovingly dried her tears and wiped her face.
Within five minutes Kerri was fast asleep. ~~*~~*~~*~~ Renfield did not
sleep for the rest of the night, fearful that Kerri might have another
nightmare. Shortly before their alarm rang, he switched it off and quietly
got out of bed. He made as little noise as possible as he prepared for
work, determined not to awaken Kerri. He quietly carried his uniform to
the bathroom where he fastened all the necessary fastenings and buttoned
all the necessary buttons. Sometimes he wondered who had designed these
uniforms, obviously someone who knew they would never have to wear one.  
Tiptoeing to the bedroom door with his boots caused him to smile. He knew
Kerri would laugh out loud at seeing a man of his size and 'grace'
tiptoeing. It actually seemed rather funny to him too. He placed the boots
quietly by the door and tiptoed to the closet.	  He was momentarily
perplexed at how he would find what he sought without making any noise. He
knew it was in here somewhere, in a box that he had moved with him from
posting to posting. A box that he rarely opened, or looked at, for that
matter, but one that contained numerous treasures, too valuable to ever
part with.   He carefully pushed back the clothes hanging in the way and
scanned the assorted 'stuff' on the floor. 'Drat,' he thought, 'where is
the blasted thing?' He turned to the other side of the narrow space and
drew back Kerri's clothes. This required a little more effort, as her
clothes were already very tightly packed into the small closet. At last he
spied his objective, a medium sized cardboard box, with assorted addresses
crossed through on the flaps. He reached into the box, purposely avoiding
a baby blanket that had belonged to Meghan and a knitted cap that Melanie
had made for him. He dug through the contents, until at the very bottom,
he felt what he was searching for, soft fur-like fabric. 'Aha!' Just
touching the fabric made him smile. He hoped that this small stuffed
creature had the same affect on Kerri that it had always had on him.   He
straightened the clothes as best he could (why did women always have so
many different types of clothing?), and turned out the light prior to
opening the door. It was light outside now, and soon it would be time for
him to leave, but he had one more thing to do before he could go.  
Renfield perched on the side of their bed and starred at Kerri. God, how
he hated to wake her, but it had to be done. "Kerri?" he called softly.
"Kerri, wake up."   She shifted slightly and frowned. When she opened her
eyes she immediately smiled and then closed them again. It took a few
seconds for her to open them again, but when she did, and saw Renny's
eyes, the smile was back in an instant. Then suddenly, as she focused on
him through swollen eyes, she frowned. "Renny, you're already dressed!
What time...?" She glanced at the clock and struggled to get up. "I've
overslept! Renny, you should have waked me up. I'm going..."   "No! Kerri,
please don't get up? You need some rest. Please stay in bed today?"  
"Renny, you know I can't..."   "Yes, you can. I'll leave a note for Lance.
He can take care of things in the shop. Please? I can't stay home, I've
missed too much work already, and I still have my disciplinary action to
serve. But I'll worry about you if you don't get some more sleep. Please?
Just 'til lunch? I'll come home and fix you something to eat."   The
pleading look on his face actually concerned her. He was really worried
about her, and she couldn't have that.   She grudgingly conceded. "Well,
okay, if it will make you feel better. I am rather tired."   Renfield
sighed in relief. And then he smiled shyly. "I have someone I'd like for
you to meet." From behind him on the bed Renfield pulled out a medium
sized gray and white stuffed wolf, it's pink felt tongue lolling to one
side, just like Dickens' did every so often. "This is Wolffy. Wolffy meet
Kerri."   Kerri's brows knitted together in confusion as she stared at the
rather worn stuffed animal.   "My mother gave him to me when I was very
small. We've been through a lot together. He's soaked up a lot of tears,
heard all manner of kid complaints, and been my best friend through some
pretty tough times. When my mum died and I was trying so hard to be so
strong for my dad, Wolffy let me cry on him countless times. There were
times, even into my late teens, when I'd look at him and feel as if my Mum
were there in the room with me. He's been a great comfort to me, and
I'd...well, I'd like for you to have him."   Kerri was deeply touched that
Renny would open up to her like this. "I'd be honored to have Wolffy for a
friend, but he will always be yours."   "Then he'll be both of ours,"
Renfield said as he tucked Wolffy under the covers with Kerri. "Now you
rest, and I'll see you at lunch." He kissed her gently on the forehead and
looked at the ragged stuffed wolf. "Take good care of her Wolffy, she's a
very special lady."   Before leaving the room Renfield drew the shades and
turned on the window air conditioner. He knew a dark, cool room would be
much more conducive to Kerri's rest. That and Wolffy should do the trick.
  Kerri smiled as she watched Renfield grab his boots and quietly close
the door behind him. She fully intended to get up as soon as she knew he
was gone, but as she drew the stuffed animal against her chest she forgot
about the work that waited for her downstairs. The sense of peace and
comfort she felt was almost overwhelming. As she held Wolffy to her she
almost felt as if Renfield's mother was there in the room with her,
holding her and telling her everything was going to be all right.    Kerri
was fast asleep before Renny had made it half way across the living room. 
~~*~~*~~*~~ Renfield made it to the center of the living room before he
felt compelled to stop. Slowly he turned full circle, taking in the home
that he and Kerri had created for themselves. He smiled as he remembered
the day they had wallpapered the dining area. Kerri had said the first
time she had seen the apartment over the bookshop that this room was large
enough to be two rooms. And so they had made a living room and dining room
out of the space that ran the length of the apartment, dividing in two by
wallpapering the far end. Neither of them had ever attempted hanging
wallpaper before, but how hard could it possibly be?   They had learned
the true strength of their relationship that day. Kerri had said, with
wallpaper paste in her hair, on her face, and in her mouth, that if their
relationship could withstand wallpapering together, it could withstand
anything life could throw at them. They had hired a professional to hang
the wallpaper in the kitchen.   Renfield giggled out loud as he remembered
one special day last winter when he had come home for lunch. Somehow they
had ended up on the braided rug in front of the fireplace, more intent on
each other's bodies than on food. They hadn't noticed that the hardwood
floor on which they enjoyed themselves creaked loudly, loudly enough that
it had everyone in the shop below smiling in that certain knowledge of
exactly what was going on upstairs. Even Father Behan, who had come in
looking for a book on comparative religion, was smiling as Renfield came
bouncing down the stairs. Renfield still blushed at the thought of Kerri
asking him why it was necessary to get that particular spot on the floor
fixed.   Renfield scratched Dickens' head absentmindedly as he surveyed
the room. They had been very happy here, living and working and loving. He
would fight to the death any one who tried to take this away from him. But
a demon had crept into their lives to threaten them. He had killed the
man, but God help him, how would he kill the memory?   As he stood in the
center of the room he was sure he heard someone speaking to him. He knew
it wasn't possible, he was alone here, but the voice spoke directly to his
heart. And just as suddenly as Ren had entered their lives, Renfield knew
exactly how to deal with the memories.   He grabbed his keys and hurriedly
scribbled a note for Lance. Inspector Thatcher would be able to help him;
she would know just what to do. As he dropped Lance's note on the front
counter, Renfield set about convincing himself that there was no shame in
seeking professional help. Just as one sought the help of a physician to
help heal a physical ailment, there was no shame in seeking the help of a
counselor to help heal an emotional ailment.   He smiled to himself as he
locked the door of the bookshop behind him. They'd sought the help of a
professional paperhanger to save their relationship, now they'd seek the
help of a professional counselor.   Renfield whistled as he drove to short
distance to the Consulate.   'Great Expectations'   Stan Kowalski set the
heavy package down on the sidewalk and stood, in the growing darkness,
across the street from the bookshop. He'd been away for three weeks, and
the changes in the exterior of the old building surprised him. He knew
they'd been working on it, he'd been going to help them. But then his mom
had gotten sick and he'd decided to take some time to spend with his
folks. Thank God his mom was fine now, but she'd scared the hell out of
him. He was the only one of his friends whose parents were both still
alive, and, even though he didn't always get along with his dad, he
thanked God that both of them were still hanging around.   Turnbull and
Kerri had certainly done a lot with the place in the time he'd been gone.
He laughed to himself as he thought back to the first time that he'd seen
the bookshop. Well, actually, not the first time he'd seen it, he'd driven
by the place countless times, but had never taken notice of it until the
day Turnbull told him he was going to buy the run down building. He'd been
shocked that Turnbull could afford it, but not the least bit surprised
that he'd want to buy the place for Kerri. Turnbull had been goofy for her
from the moment they'd met, and would have given her the moon if he could
have reached it.   The building had been, well, kind of shabby, just a
plain three-story brownstone like so many others in the neighborhood. As
he remembered, the second floor had been as dumpy as the exterior. But Mr.
Murphy had kept the first floor, with it's high ceilings, worn but
polished hardwood floors, and tall mullioned windows, as neat as a pin.
The first floor, that housed the books and the lunch room, Kerri called it
a tearoom, hadn't needed much work, but Stan rolled his eyes as he thought
of all the elbow grease he and Frase and Turnbull, and, okay, Meg had put
into the apartment on the second floor. Turnbull insisted that it be spic
'n span spotless before Kerri saw it for the first time. And Turnbull's
definition of spotless was exactly that, the man used an old toothbrush
around the burners on the stove, for God's sake!   He remembered muttering
to himself as he climbed the creaky, dusty steps that led to the hot,
airless attic. Just so he could get to the roof with that stupid red
ribbon. The plan was for Fraser and Thatcher to stretch one section of
ribbon from one corner of the building to the other, and then Stan would
drape the other section from the roof to the ground. Turnbull had made the
biggest bow Stan had every seen to be hung where the two sections of
ribbon intersected.   He was standing on the roof when he saw Turnbull
park his car around the corner. Determined that he was not going to be the
only one to miss Kerri's reaction he'd almost fallen down two flights of
stairs and tripped over one wolf and one really stupid yellow puppy in his
rush to get down to the front of the building.   Enduring the hot, stuffy
attic, the even hotter roof, and almost breaking his neck on stairs and
dogs had all been worth it, though. The look on Kerri's face had been
worth all his pain and suffering. She was so shocked and thrilled Stan
thought he might loose it, right there on the street.   He was jarred back
to reality as Kerri passed by the bookshop's front windows. Stan closed
his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief that the disgusting quickening in
his groin every time he saw her failed to happen this time. The sensation
was only disgusting because he felt it for the wife of his best friend.
The feeling itself was rather nice. But, thank God, he no longer felt it
for a married lady.   Stan knew exactly when he began to fall in love with
Kerri: the first time he'd seen her. She'd been standing on a stepladder
in Meg's office, barefooted, with her long blonde hair falling in her
face. He'd thought she looked like an angel, but sexy too. Legs that
wouldn't quit, and a body just made to be held. If he'd known then that
she and Turnbull were already becoming involved he might have left it at
that. But he didn't know until it was too late, for him at least. The more
he knew her the more he thought Kerri was just about perfect. Perfect to
the point that he had started having dreams about her, *those* kind of
dreams.   He laughed to himself as he stood staring into the front window
of the shop. He knew when he started falling in love with her, and he was
pretty sure when he started falling out of love with her. It was the day
she had gotten that god-awful hair cut. It was really a minor thing,
really kind of stupid, but without her long blonde hair she wasn't quite
as perfect, at least to Stan. Just a tiny crack in her perfection, just
enough for Stan to free himself from her hold on him, just a little chink,
that allowed him flee for his life and sanity. Oh, he still loved her,
sort of like the sister he never had, but, thank God, the other love, the
physical attraction, was gone! How he thanked God for that hair cut.  
Kerri moved from in front of the window and left Stan free to study the
changes they had made to the outside of the building. They had put green
awnings over the tall, narrow windows on all three stories. He liked the
color, kind of like the top of a pool table. They had curly edges,
scalloped he thought it was called, and were trimmed with white cord like
stuff. The windows were arched at the top, and the awnings followed the
line of the arch. Two tall windows on the first floor and three on the
second floor glowed with lights from within the building. They had hung a
brass rail across the back of each first floor windows, to create a
display area, and hung short green curtains from the rail, to separate the
display area from the rest of the shop.   There were tables and chairs on
the sidewalk, for the party, he guessed, and a string of paper lanterns
from one side of the building to the other that sagged slightly in the
middle. With the brightly colored lanterns shining in the darkness, and
the windows on the first and second floor blinking merrily with party
goers moving in front of them, the building looked for all the world as if
it were smiling at him, inviting him in, to the warmth and affection that
Kerri and Turnbull so freely offered. The building looked like it was
loved, and loved the people inside in return. He cringed at the thought.
'Well, that's just stupid, Kowalski.'    He was about to step into the
street, to run across and jump right in and party hardy, when he finally
noticed the new sign above the first floor windows. He frowned deeply,
he'd told them he didn't like the name, he'd voted for 'My Back Pages' the
name of a song written by his man Bob Dylan. But the Charles Dickens fans
in the group had out voted him.   So there it was in big, bold, shiny gold
block letters, the new name for the bookshop: 'Great Expectations'. Stan
wrinkled his nose, it sounded like the name for a shop where pregnant
women went to buy clothes.   That made him just a little sad, knowing that
Kerri would never be able to have children. But, he guessed Turnbull would
more than make up for that, with all the kids he attracted to the shop.
Turnbull was a kid magnet, kids and dogs. Thank God it wasn't him, Stan
had convinced himself that kids and him just didn't mix, and dogs well
forget that!   He was late for the party when he arrived across the
street, and really late now, so he picked up the package of beer and
hurried across the street. He hesitated at the door just long enough to
shove his arms into the sleeves of the trench coat and turn up the collar.
He pulled the gray fedora down, cocked slightly over his left eye, and for
the finishing touch, fished a toothpick out of the coat pocket. Chomping
down on the toothpick, he glanced at his reflection in the front window.
'Yep,' he thought as he admired his reflection, 'Bogey at his best: Philip
Marlowe in all his private eye glory.'   Stan arranged the coat, picked up
the beer and sauntered into Turnbull's 'come as your favorite fictional
character' costume party.   ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ They had pushed all
the bookshelves from the center of the narrow room against the walls to
allow space for all the people they expected to attend the party. And lots
of people there were, too. The room was packed with people in all manner
of fictional character costumes. He doffed his hat toward Lt. Welsh, who
leaned, with a beer in one hand, against the books on the far wall. On his
other hand he wore a hook, over one eye a black patch, and on his head a
tri cornered black hat with a very large white plume sticking out of it.
The coat he wore was bright red, much like the Mountie uniform, but that
was the only similarity. His tall, cuffed boots were black and had buckles
on the toes. 'Aye, matey,' Stan thought, 'and a fine Captain Hook he
makes, too!' Stan reminded himself to ask old Cap'n Hook if the phrase was
'shiver me timbers' or 'sliver me timbers', he had a bet to settle with
Frannie.   Stan was looking around the crowded room for anyone else he
knew, when he spotted something he could not believe. There was Frannie,
his former sort of sister, wearing a rather long, for Frannie anyway, pale
blue dress with a white pinafore over it. She also wore a long blonde
wig...Frannie as Alice in Wonderland was almost more than he could get a
handle on. He almost laughed out loud as he thought about the similarity
between the two of them. 'Yep,' he thought, 'she acts like she slipped
through the looking glass a few times.'   As soon as Frannie spotted Stan
she came running, and threw her arms around him in a great big kid sister
hug. "Hey, ya bro!" She yelled over the racket in the room. "We've missed
ya!' Her welcoming smile faded as she became very serious, "yer Mom doin'
okay?"   "Yep, she had pneumonia, but she's a lot better now." Stan looked
around the room, "pretty cool party, huh?" The room was crowded, loud and
very hot, just Stan's kind of place. "What's the deal with Little Bo Peep?
That's one the them nursery rhymes, not a fictional character."  
Francessca was obviously enjoying herself immensely, but did not care for
Stan's humor. "You know I'm supposed to be Alice in Wonderland!" When she
realized he was teasing her she punched him in the arm. "An who you
s'posed ta be, a flasher?"   They both were laughing as Kerri came up
behind them. She embraced Stan before he had a chance react. "Stan, we've
missed you! How's your mother?"   He pushed her to arm's length, but still
held her by the shoulders. "She's fine." 'Remember the hair, remember at
the hair, remember at the hair.'   Kerri eyed him curiously. "Are you
okay?"   "Great, just great. You just took me by surprise that's all. You
look good really, really good." That was an understatement. Kerri wore a
very, very low cut, floor length gown of deep red velvet, trimmed in gold,
with wide, flowing sleeves, the tips of the tapered cuffs almost touching
the ground. Her hair was damp with perspiration and fell in short, moist
curls all around her face. She'd obviously been in the kitchen, because
her cheeks were flushed deep pink from the heat. At the beginning of the
evening she must have had a wreath of fresh daisies in her hair, but now
they were rather wilted and drooped endearingly over her ears.   But it
was her eyes that stopped his traffic. Her face glowed, but her eyes
sparkled, just as they had the day she and Turnbull got married. Stan was
at a loss for words, she was prettier than he had ever seen her. Well,
damn!   Frannie was no dumb cookie. She knew what was up with Stan, and
decided he needed a little sisterly help. "Kerri's s'pposed ta be Maid
Marion, ya know from Robin Hood and his happy guys?" She elbowed him in
the side to get his attention. "Ya know?"   "Uh, yeah sure. Marion." Stan
finally found his voice, "so that means Turnbull's..."   A hardy slap on
the back, turned Stan around to see green, a whole lot of green. "I'm
Robin Hood, Stan, and it's great to see you back! Is your mother
recovering?"   Again Stan was at a loss for words. Turnbull wore a green
sleeveless tunic kind of thing that went to his knees. Under it he wore a
long sleeve knitted green shirt and green tights. Even his cap was green.
He was wearing a few brown things, a leather belt with a wooden buckle and
brown leather boots. The feather in his cap was also brown. He looked
exactly like the jolly green giant. All he needed was a can of corn. Stan
succeeded admirably in keeping from laughing his head off.    "Stan? I
asked you what was in the bag?"   Stan realized there was a whole
conversation going on that he hadn't heard one word of. "Uh, it's, uh,
beer. I brought beer."   Renfield looked thoroughly confused. "Thank you
kindly, Stan, but that really wasn't necessary, we have plenty."   Stan
finally regained his composure. "Yeah, but this is a party thrown by
Canadians. Ya probably got beers like Moose Drool or Salmon Slime, or
somethin'."    Renfield knew Stan too well to be offended, so he just
laughed. "How about I take this and put it on ice?" Renfield took the
heavy package and disappeared into the tearoom.    When Stan turned back
to Kerri and Frannie, Frannie was frowning deeply at him. Stan had no clue
what her problem was. "What?"   "Real nice 'Mister I know all about
offending Canadians'. Ya prob'bly hurt the big guy's feelins."   Kerri
smiled at Alice/Frannie. "I don't think so Francessca, Renny's used to
Stan's put downs."   Frannie muttered under her breath as she walked away.
"Yeah, right."   Suddenly Stan and Kerri were alone in the crowded room.
"You really do look good, ya know? I guess I don't need ta ask how the
shrink visits are goin'. You two are lookin' pretty goofy again. You doin'
okay?"   Kerri grinned at him. "You think I look 'goofy'? Don't answer
that if you want to get out of here alive! Actually, we're doing great.
We're learning an awful lot about each other and ourselves. No more trying
to keep things to ourselves for fear of hurting each other."   "No more
nightmares?" Shit! Maybe Turnbull hadn't told her Stan knew about that.
"He just told me you were having bad dreams, about...Laurier. He was
really worried."   Kerri grabbed his arm and walked him toward the
tearoom. "It's okay, I was pretty scared too. It's been almost six weeks
and no more nightmares." Kerri thanked God every day that now when she
dreamed they were the regular nonsensical kind that everyone had. "I've
got to go see to our other guests. Have something to eat," she looked at
him slyly, "and try a Molson Lager, you just might find you like Canadian
beer."   Kerri turned to reenter the main room leaving Stan with just one
thought, 'look at the hair, look at the hair, look at the hair.'
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~   Stan gaped at the buffet laid out on the worn
oak tables in the small tearoom. Every neighbor for blocks must have
contributed something. He recognized Debbie and Pietro Desmone's lasagna
and manicotti, Mr. Fong's eggrolls, and Mrs. Gamez's enchiladas, his
personal favorite. There was ham and roast beef, all kinds of cheeses,
pasta and fruit salads. There were also a whole lot of things he couldn't
name, and everything looked delicious!   He loaded his plate first with
the recognizable foods; he'd come back for the unrecognizable stuff later.
He carried the plate back into the main room, still in search of familiar
faces. The first one he saw caused him to shudder. From a black silk cape,
lined in red and a black silk top hat, Mort beckoned to him with a single
crooked finger. When he smiled he revealed two reddened fangs...Count
Dracula in all his ghoulish glory. No way, Jos! Stan shuddered as he
headed toward the back of the building.   He turned the corner and ran
headlong into a duck beak. "What the hell? Huey, what the hell are you
carrying?" Stan knew the answer, but still couldn't believe it.   "It's
too hot in here to wear this thing, but Dewey insists I at least carry it.
Yer mom doing okay?" Stan nodded as Huey looked down at his duck body.
"This was his idea. I told him it was dumb..."   "It's not dumb!" Tom
Dewey walked up behind his partner, wearing the exact same costume, and
Stan almost missed his muffled words. While Huey opted to carry the head
to his costume, Dewey had apparently elected to leave the duck head on.
"Huey and Dewey are perfectly fine fictional characters. Get it, Kowalski?
Huey and Dewey?   "Oh yeah, Dewey, I think everyone in the room gets it.
But they're cartoon characters!" Stan frowned at the outlandish feathered
costumes. "And a duck is still a duck."   Stan couldn't help staring at
them as they both waddled off, Huey's words ringing in his ears. "I told
you I wanted to come as Superman."    Dewey scoffed at him, "Superman's a
cartoon too. Besides, he's white."   "Well, at least he's not a duck!"  
Stan found a fairly quiet spot to eat his dinner and could only snicker at
the other detectives as they retreated, their white tail feathers swishing
as they waddled. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~   After finishing his first plate
of recognizable food, Stan continued his search of the overcrowded room
for someone he knew, someone who was wearing a civilized costume, like
his. He finally spotted a friendly familiar face, okay, two friendly
faces. Fraser and Thatcher were standing toward the back of the room, near
the stairs, their heads together over some shiny object Fraser held in his
hand.   As Stan made his way toward them he tried to figure out their
costumes. Meg looked like Marie Antoinette, with a silver wig piled high
on her head, and a shiny silver brocade gown that revealed as much
cleavage as the gown Kerri wore. They were from different times, however.
Where as Kerri's dress was rather simple, Meg's dress was much more
extravagant and exotic looking. The low neckline and high waistline
accentuated her slender figure, and Stan had to admit, it suited her.  
Fraser, on the other hand, was wearing something Stan didn't understand.
It was a floor length robe, red, with a large golden cross embroidered on
the front. The embroidery was gold, as was the hem of the robe. He also
wore a heavy chain with a jewel encrusted cross hanging from it. He wore a
red hat that looked rather like a crown, but it was made of silk.   "Hey
ya, Frase!" Stan had to raise his voice quite high to get their attention.
He was gratified at the warm smiles from both Fraser and Meg.   "Stan!
Welcome home! I trust your mother is doing well?" Fraser asked as Stan
approached.   Meg's greeting was equally as warm. "We've - that is, Ben
has missed you. It's good to see you back, Detective. Are you supposed to
be Philip Marlowe?"   Stan was shocked that someone had finally gotten it
right. "Yep, and are you Marie Antoinette?"   "Stan, Marie Antoinette was
a real person, not a fictional character. She was the wife of Louis..."  
"Ben! Actually Ben is Cardinal Richelieu, and I am Milady de Winter
from..."   "The Three Musketeers! Dumas, I know. It was a of my favorite
books in high school. But Frase I thought you'd come as somethin' dorky,
like Hamlet or somethin'."   "Stan! Hamlet was far from 'dorky'. He was a
great Shakespearean character, who has been portrayed by a number of very
fine actors..."   "Yeah, yeah. I know. Plummer, Branaugh 'n Richard Burton
are s'pposed ta be the best."   "Among others." Stan could not interpret
the look on Fraser's face, he thought he looked rather crestfallen.   Meg
did not care for the look on Fraser's face either. She wasn't sure what
had been said to threaten his good mood, but she was determined to change
the subject. "Stan, you never did tell us how your mother is doing."  
Stan smiled. "She was pretty bad off for awhile, but she's just fine now.
Just in time for me ta get back for this great party."   "The christening
of Great Expectations. Turnbull and Kerri have really done a lot with the
place, don't you think?"    Meg cast a sideways glance at Ben. Whatever
had caused his mood shift, it was gone now.   "What's that?" Stan pointed
at the silver object Fraser was holding in his hand.   "That, Stan, is a
key."   Stan smirked at his Mountie friend. "I know it's a key, Mister
Take Everything Literally Mountie. What I meant was why are ya fiddlin'
with it?"   Fraser held up a large silver key, suspended from a long red
ribbon. "Turnbull found the key hidden behind a wall in the attic. They're
doing some renovating up there too, and viol, he uncovered this key."  
Stan took the heavy key from Fraser and studied it for a short time. "It
looks like a skeleton key. I wonder what...?"   "Ah, that's the fun of
it." Meg grinned at him. "Kerri's got us all guessing the story behind it.
The best guess gets a prize. Ben and I have just been trying to come up
with what it might open."   Alice in Wonderland joined the group. "I think
it opens a treasure chest. Maybe treasure off one of those Spanish gallon
ships. It was hidden by pirates, and has parts of twos..."   "Alice, I
think ya need ta slip back through the lookin' glass. It's Spanish Galleon
and if ya mean pieces of eight, we don't have pirates 'n Chicago..."
Fraser was about to speak up but Stan continued, "okay, maybe Great Lakes
pirates, but not Spanish Galleon pirates. And 'sides the building was
built in the early 1900's, so a buried treasure is kinda far fetched."  
"But rather romantic, when you think about it." Meg interjected. "I like
the idea, Francessca. You should enter it."   "Ya mean there really is a
contest goin' on?" Stan glanced in the direction Fraser pointed, toward
the front counter, and saw a glass fish bowl with folded pieces of paper
in it. "What's the prize?"   "An early edition of 'A Christmas Carol' and
other Dickens short stories. Kerri and Turnbull will select the winner
later this evening."   "Hmm, maybe I can come up with somethin'. Mind if I
take this off yer hands for awhile?" Stan wandered off staring at the
silver key in his hand.   ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Stan wandered through
the partygoers fingering the key, trying to conjure up its hidden secrets.
He had a pretty active imagination, but for the life of him he couldn't
come up with any legitimate reason for the key being hidden in a wall in
Turnbull's attic.   He suddenly realized he was hungry again, so he
momentarily forgot all about the key and went in search of some of the
unrecognizable food he had yet to try. Kerri was just coming out of the
kitchen as Stan entered the tearoom. He could tell she was just a little
hassled, and wondered if he could help.   "What's up? Ya need some help,
or somethin'?"   "Thanks, no, I'm just about done. Just making sure
everyone has plenty to eat. You need anything else?"   Stan laughed. "I
haven't eaten this much at one time in...well, a long time." Stan took his
plate full of food he could not recognize and followed Kerri into the main
room. He put the plate on the counter by their antique cash register, that
he loved to punch the 'no sale' key on, and was almost ready to take his
first bite when he noticed four sets of eyes staring at him from under the
counter, somewhere near the floor.    "What the...Hey, Dief, what's up?
Who's the company ya got here?" Stan finally recognized Maggie, Dief's
lady friend, and Dickens. But he didn't recognize the fourth animal, whose
head Dickens rested his chin on. "Hey, Dick, who's the fur ball?"  
Dickens raised his head, narrowed his dark brown eyes and growled from
deep within his throat.    "Stan, shh! Don't offend her. This is Cameo.
She's a friend of Dickens'." Kerri whispered in his ear, "I think they're
in love."   Stan was beginning to think that everyone in this place had a
date, except him. Even the dogs! He squatted down and came close to Cameo.
  "Sorry buddy, no offense." He started to scratch Cameo's head and
Dickens growled again. "Hey, I may be hard up, but I'm not about ta steal
yer girl. I just wanna say hello." Dickens quieted, but did not move from
his protective position at Cameo's side.   Stan patted her on the head and
smiled. Cameo was apparently a Lab, just like Dickens, but a little
smaller and a totally different color. A color that reminded Stan of
really good chocolate milk, not the kind you make with the powder stuff,
but the kind you get from the market. Her eyes were darker brown and were
warm and soft looking. Stan felt like she was smiling at him. She had the
sweetest dog face he had ever seen. He immediately liked Cameo, and he did
not like dogs.   He continued to pet her as he talked to Dickens. "Ya
know, Dick, ya got good taste. Really good taste." He straightened up to
find Kerri smiling at him.   "She is pretty, isn't she? She's a chocolate
Lab. She and her brother, Carob, live down the street." Kerri whispered in
Stan's ear again, "they've been 'seeing' each other for a couple of weeks.
Aren't they cute?"   "Yeah, right, cute." Stan slipped Cameo a sugar
cookie from the plate on the counter when he thought no one was looking.  
Kerri wandered off to find her husband, and left Stan to stand at the
counter and watch the party. He could hear laughter coming from the back
of the room, and when the crowd cleared enough, he could see what every
one was laughing at.   Fraser and Meg were playing Twister, and as he
watched Meg lost her balance and fell head long onto the mat, taking
Fraser down with her. Stan had never seen Fraser laugh so hard. Not at Meg
lying on top of him, but at the sight of Meg with a face full of silver
wig, and skirts halfway up her thighs. Very nice thighs, too, from what
Stan could see. He found himself smiling broadly at his friend's
happiness.   If he had been looking very closely he probably still would
not have seen the figure of an older man shaking his head in disdain at
the couple sprawled on the floor. The gray haired man wore a Inverness
cape, a deerstalker hat and had a calabash pipe clenched between his
teeth. Stan would have been pleased to know that he was not the only
detective present at Turnbull's party. Sgt. Robert Fraser, or the ghost of
the man, depending on one's interpretation, leaned against the far wall of
the reading room, doing great justice to the likeness of Sherlock Holmes. 
  Fraser Sr was certain that his invitation had been lost in the mail, and
would never have considered that he might have been looked upon as a party
crasher. His son had told him earlier in the evening that his getting an
invitation was ludicrous, as ghosts do not have mailing addresses, but
Fraser Sr was undeterred. He did consider that when the invitation finally
arrived the stamp would be worth saving.   Stan tore his gaze away from
the embarrassed Fraser and Meg, struggling to regain their footing, and
glanced around the room. He spotted Turnbull leaning against the shelves
near the reading room, holding Kerri back against his chest. He had his
arms around her waist, and his chin resting on the top of her head. Stan's
smile grew even broader; they looked just like Dickens and Cameo!   As he
munched on some really good unrecognizable food, Stan watched the rest of
the people at the party. Stan figured Huey had had enough of that costume
because he and Dewey had ducked out fairly early. Most of the others
remained though, enjoying the company too much to leave.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~   As Stan continued to eat the delicious, unnamed
food he had on the counter in front of him, he silently guessed at the
costumes of the other partygoers. Debbie and Peitro were Becky Thatcher
and Tom Sawyer, Pete's straw hat and ragged cut-off jeans making those two
costumes easy to identify. Mr. Hansen, the dry cleaner from across the
street and his wife were Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig, from 'A Christmas Carol'.
Hansen wore a plaid waistcoat and black silk cutaway jacket, with green
wool breeches. He and 'the missus' both wore powdered wigs. Stan only knew
they were the Fezziwigs because he'd heard Turnbull comment on how
appropriate the costumes were. Mrs. Calvo, accompanied by her son Rafael,
wore a very exotic Spanish looking costume, a form fitting black lace
dress that was short in the front, but tapered down to the floor in the
back. Her hair was pulled tight in a bun at the nape of her neck and was
secured with a large tortoise shell comb. Stan saw the castanets she
carried and was sure she was a flamenco dancer. Raf was dressed as a
Spanish caballero, but Stan had no idea what fictional characters they
represented.   Susan and Doug West had to take the prize for the most
appropriate costumes. Stan had heard Kerri and Turnbull talking about
them. They were dressed as Mrs. Haversham and Pip. Susan wore a dirty
white lace wedding gown, so tattered it almost fell of her body, and Doug
was dressed as an 19th century Fop, complete with black morning coat,
white gloves and a black top hat. Stan remembered the characters well; as
much as he loved 'The Three Musketeers' in school he had hated 'Great
Expectations'.	  Old man Popodopolus, the butcher from around the corner,
and his wife Athena, came as Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara. Stan
thought they were a little long in the tooth, and a little too heavy in
the weight department, but he had to hand it to them for their creativity.
  His favorite of all the costumes had to be Lance and his friend Art.
Lance as Sir Lancelot and Art and King Arthur. They had really out done
themselves. Lance wore chain mail and a hammered metal helmet, and Art
wore a flowing purple robe and gold jeweled crown and carried a sword
reminiscent of Excaliber. Stan had always wondered about Lance, and now
that he had come to the party with a date who was a guy, Stan was sure. He
thought about it for a minute and decided that it was cool. 'Whatever
turned your crank' that was his motto.   As Stan continued to study the
people in the room he realized he was happy. That was kind of a unique
feeling for him, at least recently. Well, maybe a little longer ago than
recently. He couldn't remember the last time he was really happy - yeah,
he could. He'd been happy for about two weeks when he had spent the time
in the company of Jeannette. And before that it was when he was with
Stella.    But he was happy now. He didn't have a lady, but he was not
alone. His mom was doing great and he'd gotten close to his dad again.
He'd stopped feeling that way about Kerri, and Turnbull and Kerri were
going to make it. Even Fraser and Meg were cool in their relationship. As
he thought about his friends he realized that everyone he'd spoken with
this evening, that is everyone he knew, had asked about his mom. These
people really did care about him, and that's what made him so happy. He
was beginning to feel like maybe he was a pretty good guy, and maybe he
didn't suck so bad after all.   As Stan stood at the counter he failed to
notice the couple that walked in the front door. The man wore a cream
colored three piece linen suit with a narrow brown pinstripe and wide
lapels, with a pale pink scarf in the breast pocket. His shirt was crisp
white with a pale pink stripe and had a high, stiff white collar. His wide
tie matched the pocket scarf in color and fabric. On his head he wore a
panama hat with a wide brown silk band. The brim of the hat was turned
down just slightly over his forehead.   The woman who clung to the man
wore a dress that was a shiny, white gossamer affair, that sparkled as it
fell straight from her shoulders. The neckline was low cut and it had
flowing sleeves. The filmy costume was nearly mid-calf length, but slit so
high up one side it revealed the lacy top of her thigh high stockings. She
wore a long chiffon scarf that was wrapped around her neck and held at her
shoulder with a rhinestone clip. In addition to the rhinestone clip she
wore large pearl drop earrings, a long rope of pearls around her neck and
a glittering diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist.   She wore a wide
brimmed, flouncy summer hat decorated with all manner of pastel colored
spring flowers, lilacs, roses and daisies among them. Her blonde hair fell
in soft waves around her face, and from under the brim of the hat her eyes
shown bright with excitement.   Stan never did know why, but he slipped
off of his happy cloud just long enough to notice the couple at they
sauntered into the room. It was obvious to him that they were Jay Gatsby
and Daisy. It was also obvious to him that Gatsby was Ray Vecchio and the
woman hanging all over him was Stella.	  ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Holding
his wife in his arms, Renfield was happier than he could ever remember
being. Their love for each other had deepened over the last few weeks, if
that was possible, and he finally felt safe and secure in their
relationship. Kerri was calm and relaxed again, and had at last stopped
having the nightmares that scared both of them so much.   Watching the
party whirling about them, Renfield could not help but smile. Their
business was growing, slowly, but steadily, but more than that, they were
surrounded by good friends. There was little more that Renfield could ask
from his life.   He smiled at several different people as they passed by,
and his heart was warmed by the affectionate smiles he received in return.
Yes, all was right with the world.   Renfield saw the couple immediately
after the front door opened, and recognized them about two seconds later.
He watched them enter, and saw Stan react. "Shit!" He whispered.  
Startled out of her reverie by Renfield's uncharacteristic curse, Kerri
jumped in his arms. "Renny, what on earth..." She froze in mid-sentence as
she saw what had cause Renny's oath. "Dear God!" She returned his whisper.
  Stan stood at the front counter, fists clenched at his side, trying
desperately not to gape at the couple now standing in the center of the
room. Unfortunately he could not tear his eyes away from the man who's
life he had lived for so long, and the woman who's life he had shared for
even longer. The happy cloud Stan had been sitting on five minutes earlier
evaporated like so much steam.   Ray and Stella spoke to several people in
the room before Stella locked gazes with Stan for a brief moment. When
that moment passed she turned to Ray and brought his mouth to hers for a
long, deep, passionate kiss.   "Did you see that?" Kerri hissed at
Renfield. "She did that on purpose! Just to hurt Stan. How could she do
that? How could anyone do such a hurtful thing?"   "Shh, he'll hear you,"
he whispered back.   "I don't care if they hear me! What an awful thing to
do, and Ray's just as bad, he brought her here."   "I don't care if Stella
hears you either, but I don't want Stan to know anyone noticed anything.
It would be too embarrassing for him."   Kerri stopped in mid-objection.
Renny was right, of course, and it was extremely insensitive of her not to
have realized the same thing. She glared briefly at Stella and then turned
to smile weakly at Renfield. "You're right, I'm sorry." She whispered.  
Renfield returned her smile. "You're just feeling protective of Stan, like
any good friend would. But this is his problem, we need to butt out."  
"Can I strangle her first, then butt out?"   Renfield's eyes had darkened
to a blue so deep it was almost black as he watched his best friend react
to his ex-wife's presence. He did not look at Kerri as he responded to
her. "You know as well as I do that it takes two to make a marriage work,
just as it takes two to make a marriage fail. We don't know what happened
between them while they were still together, and I'm sure that Stan is not
entirely blameless. Her being here is unfortunate, but Stan is going to
have to deal with it." He said the words, but still had to restrain
himself from grabbing Vecchio and his date and shoving them both back out
the front door.   Stan was dealing with Stella's presence, just not very
well. He felt like someone had sucker punched him right in the gut, and
succeeded in stealing all the air from his lungs. It took every ounce of
physical strength he possessed to keep from passing out from the shear
intensity of the pain. He tried his best to hide the agonized look he was
sure was written all over his face. He knew everyone in the room was
staring at him, knowing what a loser he was. The feeling of confidence
that had been growing in him since he walked into the party now evaporated
along with the happy cloud. He even felt his costume, of which he had been
so proud, was now just a stupid gray coat and a dirty old hat.   He
continued to stand at the counter, trying his best to concentrate on the
plate in front of him. But somehow, the nameless food that had been so
great just five minutes ago was now the most unappetizing mess he had ever
seen. He could barely choke down one fork full.   Finally, when he
couldn't stand looking at the food any longer, but could find no other
place to look other than at Vecchio and Stella, he grabbed the silver key
and made his way silently up the stairs. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~   To his
immense relief, Stan found that the second floor apartment was deserted.
He stood in the center of Turnbull's living room for a couple of minutes,
unsure as to what to do next. Finally he plopped himself down on their
old, overstuffed sofa and buried his head in his hands.   He sat that way
for a long time, alternating between being furious with Vecchio for
bringing Stella to the party, being more furious with Stella for flaunting
herself in his face, and being more furious still at himself for being
such a loser.   He was shaken out of his angry contemplation of just how
much he really did suck by a soft nudge to his arm. Glancing up, he was
greeted by the softest, sweetest brown eyes he had ever seen.    Cameo
whined softly and placed her chin on his knee, but her eyes never let his.
"Come ta feel sorry for me, sweetface?" When she sighed deeply, Stan knew
that she was just trying to be friendly. "Sorry, I guess I'm doin' a
pretty good job a that all by myself." He scratched her head and was
amazed at how much better he felt. "You do a pretty good job of cheerin' a
guy up, ya know that?"   "Then maybe you don't need me?"   Stan jumped, as
for a split second he thought the words had come from Cameo. Kerri laughed
softly at his surprise. "Labs are very smart, but I'm pretty sure they
can't talk."   "Ya just startled me, that's all." Stan really didn't want
to talk to anyone, especially Kerri. He much preferred to be left in the
company of his chocolate friend.   Kerri knew he was avoiding looking at
her, so she sat next to him without even attempting to make eye contact.
She sat quietly for just a moment before she felt she had to say
something. "Life can really suck sometimes, huh?"   Stan almost laughed at
her words. "Suck? Yeah, I guess it can."   "We didn't invite her, you
know?"   "I know. But it's a free country."   "I'm sorry..."   Stan jumped
to his feet and yelled at her. "Don't pity me! I can feel pitiful enough
without yer help..." If he could have crawled under the rug and hid for
the rest of his life he would have gladly done it. "God, honey, I'm sorry.
I didn't mean ta yell, 'specially not at you."   He plopped himself back
down on the couch next to her and laid his head back against the cushions.
Kerri rested her head lightly on his shoulder. "What are we going to do
with you?"   "Shoot me?"   It was Kerri's turn to rise up in anger. "Don't
you ever say such a thing!"   "Kerri, I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I was
just kiddin'!"   She met his eyes for the first time, and Stan was
surprised to see tears in them. "Don't you know how much I worry how
scared I am for you, for all of you, all the time? You and Benton and
Renny? Oh sure, Renny doesn't do the kind of dangerous work you, and even
Benton, do, but I'm still married to a cop. My best friends, the people I
care about most in the world, are cops. Please, please don't kid about
something like that!" Her anger subsided as quickly as it had come. "I
don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to any of you," she
whispered.   "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I've been shot, once, 'n I
wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Hurts like hell." He frowned in
thought for a brief moment. "How 'bout I promise ta never get shot again?
Just for you?" Stan was relieved to see Kerri begin to smile.   "Just be
safe, okay?" Stan nodded. "I really need to get back to the party, I just
came up to get you. Please come back down?"   "I think I'll sit here fer
awhile. Sweetface here'll keep me company..."   "Please don't stay up
here. Don't let Ray and...and what's her name spoil the party for you." As
soon as she said it Kerri realized it was already to late for that. "You
going to be all right?"   Stan smiled bravely at his friend. "Yeah, just
gimme a few minutes, 'n I'll come down."   Kerri reluctantly left Stan and
returned to the party.   Stan sank back against the sofa cushions and
began to take stock of his life. He was divorced, alone, a total slob, had
experimental hair, wasn't too disgusting to look at, had an okay job, a
terrific, if often irritating, unofficial partner, who was also his
friend, and several other friends who he was sure cared about him...even
if they were almost all Canadians. He had to admit that on a scale of one
to ten, his life right now was heading for about a seven, maybe sometimes
even an eight. Tonight rated about a two, though.   As he sat on the worn
out sofa that he, Turnbull, Fraser and Meg had hauled up the stairs the
day they moved in to the apartment, Stan thought he heard movement in the
attic. He hardly had a chance to consider what the sound might be when he
heard a woman scream and the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~   Feeling extremely disoriented, Stan hesitated
just briefly before dashing toward Turnbull's kitchen. He came to an
abrupt halt in the doorway. Although her costume was different, and he
couldn't see her face from this angle, Stan knew exactly who it was that
lay on the cold tile floor. He'd recognize that body anywhere, he knew it
as well as he knew his own. It was the body of the woman he had loved
since he was old enough to know that there was a difference between boys
and girls, and old enough to care. The woman who lay in the middle of
Turnbull's kitchen floor was Stella.   Stan was frozen in place, too
scared to let his heart accept what his brain already knew. He'd been a
cop a long time, and seen far too many shooting victims not to know that
this one was beyond his help. When he was finally able to force his legs
to propel him in the right direction, he went to the center of the room
and knelt by her. She lay on her side, facing away from him, but Stan was
afraid to touch her, afraid to see the face of the woman that had caused
him so much pain, and so much happiness.   "Stel?" He whispered, hoping
desperately that she would respond with one of her bitchy comebacks. There
was a time, of course, when she had loved him, that her comebacks weren't
from anger. They'd had their share of loving, more than their share, in
the beginning at least. But over the last few years she had really not
treated him very well. Sure their marriage had failed, but did she really
need to be such a bitch all the time? Stan shook off his thoughts and
gently touched her shoulder. He knew she wouldn't, couldn't respond, but
he hoped...   There was only a small stain of blood on the silver sequined
dress she wore, just over her left breast, but Stan instinctively knew the
bullet had pierced her heart. The lack of blood and her new costume nagged
at the back of his mind, but he couldn't let that concern him - yet. Her
head lolled back as he raised her shoulders from the floor and buried his
face in her neck.   There was only just a moment for tears, however. He
knew that who ever had done this terrible thing was only just a few
minutes ahead of him. And then he heard the noises in the attic again.  
He reluctantly laid her back on the cold tile floor and knelt by her just
briefly before he pushed his grief aside and let anger become his driving
force. He had to determine the source of the noise in the attic.   The
stairs were around the corner, off the back of the apartment, and Stan
took them two at a time, in a desperate attempt to intercept whoever had
murdered the woman he loved, and hated. He didn't notice the new gold
wallpaper, flocked with red paisleys, or the shiny brass handrail that led
the way toward the top of the stairs.   What he did notice, because he ran
headlong into it in the darkened stairwell, was a heavy solid oak door.
"What the hell? When did Turnbull put this damn thing here?" He muttered
as he tried the knob. But the door was locked. "Shit!" He shouted in anger
and frustration. He had to get in there, and there was no time to get
Turnbull to open it for him.   Then he remembered the key he had stuffed
in his pocket when he first heard Stella scream.   ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
  He didn't know how he knew, but he knew. He knew that the key in his
pocket, the key that Turnbull had found hidden in the attic would open
this door. And he was right. But, not only did it unlock the heavy door,
it unlocked it as if both the door and the key were brand new.   Stan
burst through the door and stopped dead. He had entered a small, dimly lit
room. There was a counter that ran the length of one wall with all kinds
of coats, from cloth to mink, hanging behind it. There was a bright red
velvet and mahogany settee on another wall, with a red cut glass lamp
sitting on a mahogany table next to it. He hadn't noticed the wallpaper in
the stairwell, but these walls were covered with the same thing, a golden
background with red flocked paisleys.   Stan gave all this only a passing
thought, thinking the dcor looked like someone's bad dream, as he headed
for the only door, directly across from the ugly red sofa.   This door was
not locked, and gave easily to the pressure of a man urgently seeking the
goal he was sure was on the other side. What actually was on the other
side caused him to be frozen in his tracks for the third time in just a
few short minutes.   This time he could not ignore his surroundings. The
room was huge, with a high ceiling and tall windows that looked onto the
street in the front, and onto the alley in the back. He sure as hell
didn't remember Turnbull's attic being this big. It had to be at least
100' in length and the vaulted ceiling was certainly 20' high at the peak.
The room was hot and smoky, and the ceiling fans that turned lazily from
overhead did little to cool the air or dissipate the haze.   Not only was
Turnbull's attic much larger than Stan remembered, but it was also full of
people, a few of whom he recognized, but most he had never seen before.
Closest to him, in the corner, was a small stage area. On the stage, under
a soft pink spot light, was a grand piano, and perched on the piano,
holding a very large microphone, was a fair skinned black woman, who
looked vaguely familiar. She wore a long brown, sparkling beaded dress
that was almost exactly the same color as her skin. The dress flowed to
her ankles, but she sat with her legs crossed, and the dress was slit so
far up one side it afforded everyone a fine view of her very long, shapely
legs. From his angle Stan could not be sure, but it looked like the dress
was backless, the front being held up by a collar at her neck. On the
collar she wore an oval pin. She spotted Stan staring at her and smiled,
accentuating her large brown eyes. Her eyes were what reminded him of
someone, he just couldn't think of who.   The man playing the piano was
dressed in a pale yellow plaid three-piece suit. The vest he wore was
light brown, and had a watch chain hanging from a small pocket. He wore a
brown derby hat over longish pale blonde hair. While Stan stared
admiringly at the singer's legs the pianist frowned at him with narrowed
brown eyes.   The surreal surroundings in which Stan found himself caused
him to momentarily forget that he was searching for the person who had
murdered Stella. When he was finally able to at least partially shake the
disorientation, he began to scan the room of anything out of the ordinary.
   'Oh, yeah, like this is gonna be a piece a cake!' He thought.   In the
center of the large room were several tables, with countless numbers of
men and women sitting at them. They were all dressed in costume, the men
in old-fashioned tuxedos, with starched, standup collars and brilliant
white shirts. The women all wore similar types of colorful dresses, with
lots of feathers, plumes, and long strands of pearls. All of them were
either drinking something from teacups, or had the teacups sitting in
front of them on the tables.   Stan frowned deeply and scratched his head
just below the edge of his gray fedora. All of this reminded him of
something but what?   He continued to search the room, looking past the
pool table, along the far wall. What he saw there caused him to gasp.
There was Fraser, sitting at a poker table, playing cards with three other
men he could not see. Fraser was also wearing a tuxedo, but the sight of
his friend was not what caused Stan to gasp. Hanging from either side of
him were two women, and the crowd had shifted just enough to provide Stan
with a view of who they were. On Fraser's left hung Meg, dressed in a red
sequined, very low cut dress. She bent low over him, gifting him with what
looked to be a fine view of her cleavage. Her hair was waved around her
face, and she wore a red sequined headband with a red feather plume
sticking out of it.   Glaring at her from Fraser's right was Frannie.
Dressed much like Meg, except her costume was royal blue, Frannie tried
her best to catch Fraser's eye. From Stan's vantagepoint she seemed to be
doing pretty good job. As Stan watched, Fraser looked away from Meg's
cleavage, and pulled Frannie down to him for a rather passionate kiss.  
"What the Hell?" Stan whispered under his breath. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
  Stan could not help but continue to search the room. He had stopped
trying to uncover anything out of the ordinary. Hell, everything was out
of the ordinary here!   Standing behind and a little to the right of
Fraser was a man whose face Stan could not yet see. He wasn't wearing a
tuxedo, but instead a black double breasted, pinstriped suit. His shirt
was also black, but his tie was white. He wore a white panama hat with a
black hat band. Standing on either side of him were two men, dressed in
almost the exact same way, but hatless. Stan did recognized them, they
were Huey and Dewey. All three men must have been musicians, because each
one of them had a violin case at his feet.   As he stared at the three men
the one in the center turned to Huey, and Stan knew immediately who it
was, Lieutenant Welsh. Had all these people changed their costumes? And
hadn't Huey and Dewey gone home much earlier in the evening?   Stan tore
his gaze away from Fraser and the people surrounding him to continue
searching the room. He finally spotted the neon sign on the opposite wall
from where Fraser was sitting, that apparently told him where he was.
Which at this point was a very good thing, because he was really beginning
to wonder. The sign hung over a long oak bar and read 'Ren's Nest'.  
"What the Hell?" Stan was beginning to feel like that was all he knew how
to say.   Several people leaning against the bar chose that moment to
return to their tables, and suddenly Stan could see Turnbull standing at
one end. Dressed in shirtsleeves, with garters on each upper arm and black
suspenders, Turnbull was deep in discussion with Lance.   Stan was about
to approach his friend when he spotted Kerri sitting alone on a stool at
the opposite end of the bar. Even she had changed her costume. Stan was
really beginning to wonder if all this was really happening.   Kerri
spotted Stan at just about the same time he first saw her. He saw her
smile in recognition and motion for him to join her. As he made his way
through the crowded tables Stan kept his eyes on her, feeling grounded by
her smile.   "Hey, Ski! Didn't expect to see you back quite so soon.
You're looking a little funny, you feeling okay?"   Stan wasn't sure she
was speaking to him. "Did you just call me Ski?"   Kerri laughed at him.
"Of course I did. What else would I call you? You'd probably hit me if I
called you 'Stanley'." She frowned as she looked even more closely at him.
"You'd better sit down, you look awful."   "I'm not feelin' so good. Why's
everbudy got different costumes on? And when'd you an Turnbull put a bar
up here?"   "Turnbull and me?" She sighed. "I wish. Ski, have you gotten a
hold of some bad gin? You know Ren's only got eyes for Lance. Look at
them."	  Stan turned to the two men at the opposite end of the bar, and
watched as Lance tenderly touched Turnbull's cheek, and look deeply into
his eyes. Kerri hung her head and sighed, and Stan knew beyond any doubt
that he was dreaming.    'Hey,' he thought, 'this could be interestin'."  
"Ski? Answer me! Are you okay?"   "Yeah, I'm just kinda mixed-up. Where am
I, or better yet, what's day is it?"   "Honey, you really don't know?"
Kerri was alarmed. "It's Saturday."   'Well that's right,' he thought.
"But what year?"   "God, Ski, you are mixed-up. It's 1924, and this is
Ren's place. It's kind of a not so well kept secret. It's Big Benny Blue's
favorite night spot, and attracts all kinds of hangers-on." She gestured
toward the entire room.    Stan almost laughed out loud, *Big Benny Blue*?
"You mean Fraser?"   "That's his name, yeah. But nobody calls him that any
more. Not since he became the Godfather's second in command, anyway."  
Stan watched Fraser at the poker table. Second in command of a crime
family? Stan turned back to Kerri. "Are you a hanger on?" He asked.   She
looked wistfully at Turnbull. "Only in my dreams," she whispered.  
Suddenly he remembered why he was here. "Kerri, someone killed Stella, I
gotta find out who."   "Stella? Oh, you mean Star? Only you would call her
Stella, and never to her face. I thought you hated her? What do you care
if she dead or not?"   "Kerri! I can't believe you don't care that she's
dead!"   "Why should I care after the way she treated you?" Stan was
shocked at her vehemence. "We'd hoped...I mean I'd think you'd be happy.
I'll get Hardy or one of the boys to move her out of..."   "Hardy?" He'd
have to remember that one.   "Big Benny's bodyguard. I call them Hardy and
Har and Har. But don't tell them that."   'Hardy, Har, Har.' Huey and
Dewey! God, he'd really have to remember that!   "Ski, I'm really worried
about you. Are you really upset about Star?" She touched his arm and gave
him a look of concern that melted his heart.   "I loved her, Kerri. She
treated me like shit sometimes, and didn't love me anymore, but I really
loved her." An all-encompassing feeling of grief overwhelmed him, and
despite his best attempts to hold them back, tears spilled from his eyes.
  Kerri drew him into her arms, and cast a worried look over his shoulder
at Big Benny Blue, who was watching the scene at the bar intently.   Stan
didn't see Fraser snap his fingers at Hardy, Har and Har. Or see the
Lieutenant, Huey and Dewey jump into action and leave the speakeasy
through the same door by which Stan entered. He didn't see the violin
cases that they carried with them, and he also didn't see Fraser leave the
poker table and walk toward him.   ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~   By the time
Fraser reached them, Stan had been able to compose himself. When his eyes
met his friend's Stan could see the compassion there. He thought that
rather odd for a mob boss.   "Ski? You okay? What's happened?" Fraser knew
very well what had happened, but realized Stan was not reacting the way
they had all anticipated.   "Sorry, Frase uh, Benny. Somebudy killed Stel
er, Star." These names were getting confusing. But whatever her name,
Stella was still dead, and even if he was dreaming, Stan was determined to
find out who was responsible.   "Why don't you come over and sit with us?
We can talk." Fraser gave Kerri a look that surprised Stan. It was a look
that said she was not welcome at their table.   Stan hated to leave her
alone, but Kerri really didn't seem to mind. She looked as if she was
content to stare at Turnbull for the rest of the evening. He whispered in
her ear, "if it'll help any, I happen ta know that he loves you. Give him
some time, he'll come round." 'About 50 years' he thought, but of course
he didn't say that. Stan winked at Kerri and followed Fraser back to the
poker table.   Fraser put his arm around Stan's shoulders as they
approached the table. Everyone there seemed to be glad to see him, even
Meg. "You know Greta and Chessie, right Ski?" Fraser nodded toward Meg and
Frannie. Sure he knew them, but not by those names.    'Okay,' he thought,
'I guess Greta could be short for Margaret, but Chessie? Yuk!'   "And this
is my superior," the man sitting with his back to Stan turned at Fraser's
introduction, "Ray Vecchio."    The pain from the last time Stan had seen
Ray was still fresh in his mind, but he shook the hand that was offered.
"Mr. Kowalski, I understand you're a Shamus. Benny here speaks very highly
of you. Any friend of his is a friend of mine. Please, sit with us."  
Fraser seemed slightly nervous around Ray, and Stan felt the all too
familiar disorientation wash over him again. Something was wrong here, and
Stan had to find out what.   "You're Big Benny's boss, huh? All these
goombas work for you?" Stan was tickled with himself, he'd always wanted
to use that word.   "Gombas? Well, I suppose you could call my aides that.
Benny seems to think you're upset about something. Is that correct, Mr
Kowalski?"   "Call me Ski. Yeah, somebudy murdered my wife...ex-wife. I
need ta find out who."   "And if you were to find out this thing, what
would you do with the knowledge?"   Stan was about to say 'arrest the son
of a bitch', but realized these people thought of him as a private
detective, not a police detective. They also seemed to trust him. He
measured his response carefully. "I s'pose I'd wanna know why they did
it."   Ray pondered Stan's response for a moment. "And if the man had a
good reason? What then?"   Stan felt as if he was being baited. He wasn't
sure what to say, but since he had nothing to lose, he told the truth. "I
can't imagine what a 'good reason' would be."   "Let me tell you a story,
Mr., sorry, Ski. It's a story about a woman who thought she could
continually tease and manipulate a man. A woman who used her power over
this man to get everything she wanted, and then cast him aside. He was a
well respected man, and had a great number of friends. But the woman's
treachery did not end there. This woman took up with a new man, one who
thought she might love him. As it turned out, however, she was only using
the man to make the first man jealous. Now, I ask you, does a person like
that deserve to live?"   "I..."   "I would say that it would very much
depend on who the woman chose to manipulate, Ski."   "Did you kill Star?"
  Ray smiled broadly as he looked at his 'family' sitting or standing
around the table. "I ask you, my closest friends, would I do such a thing
as to murder a woman?"   Everyone, even Fraser, shook their heads.   "So
this is hypo...hypo...just a story, right?"   "Mr. Kowalski, Ski, you have
my word that I did not murder your wife, and I am not privy to the
knowledge of who did."   Stan didn't know why, but he believed Ray. He was
sure that Ray played some part in taking Stella's life, but he believed
Ray when he said he didn't know who had actually pulled the trigger. It
didn't make any sense, but what else was new?   "If you will excuse me,
ladies and gentlemen, I have business to attend to." Ray rose from the
table and, with a small army of men gathering around him, left the room
through a door that Stan had failed to notice before.   Greta, or Meg to
Stan, sashayed over to him and cuddled in close. Stan couldn't help but
smile, and pray he'd remember this for a long time to come. She dragged
her body across his back and whispered in his ear. "Ya know, Ski, he'd
just as soon kill a man as talk to him. They don't call him Ray the Razor
for nuthin'. But he likes you, haven't got a clue why, but he does."   Oh
yeah! He had to remember this!   Stan glanced toward Fraser, to see if he
was treading on thin ice, but Fraser seemed more interested in Frannie,
correction Chessie, than in watching Greta tease him. Stan was relieved,
dream or not, Fraser didn't deserve to be jealous.   "Hey, Benny. Does he
know who did it?"   "He told you he didn't. Don't you believe him?"  
"Yeah, Benny, I do. But I gotta know who. I loved her, ya know?"   Chessie
sat in Fraser's lap, desperately trying to hold his attention, and
failing. Lots of things were different in Ren's Nest, but Frannie's pout
directed toward Fraser was nothing new.   "I'm sorry I can't help you,
Ski. I don't know."   Why didn't he believe Fraser?
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~   Stan spent the rest of the evening mingling with
the crowd, innocently talking to everyone he could, asking them indirect
questions, and getting exactly nowhere. These people were used to being on
the wrong side of whatever law they had in this town, and knew well how to
clam up when necessary. Stan guessed that staying on the good side of
Vecchio also made it a necessity.   He finally worked his way around the
room and back to the bar where Kerri was sitting, still staring doe-eyed
at Turnbull, who was still staring doe-eyed at Lance. "Ya shouldn't pine
away for him, honey. Find another guy, one who likes girls - like me."
Stan grinned at her, and Kerri smiled in return.   "I don't know why I
waste my time here, Turnbull will never be interested in me, and I'm not
one of Benny's girls, or Mr. Vecchio's for that matter. They don't really
like me to be here either," she leaned close, to whisper in his ear, "you
see, they don't trust me. I'm just not one of 'them'. I'm Canadian, you
know."   Stan's smile broadened. "I think I heard that. Ya think they hold
that against ya?"   Kerri sighed. "Oh, sure. I'm not included in their
group because I'm a foreigner. I get kind of lonely sometimes. I'd like to
have Big Benny smile at me once in awhile, he has such a beautiful smile.
And just once I'd like to have Mr. Vecchio ask me to sit at his table. But
most of all," she cast a sideways glance toward the opposite end of the
bar, "most of all," she turned back to Stan and smiled slightly. "Never
mind, it's not important."   Stan did mind and it was important, but he
really didn't know what to say, so he attempted to change the subject.
"Kerri, you hang around here a lot. Did ya ever hear Benny or Ray talkin'
'bout Star? Or know of anybudy that might have any reason ta kill her?
Anybudy have a fight with her lately, or anybudy she pissed off, more than
usual anyway? I promise I won't tell anybudy what ya tell me."   Kerri
studied Stan's face for several long moments, and then stared at the bar
top for a few moments more. Stan began to realize that she knew something,
something that she really didn't want to admit.   She looked into his
eyes, searching for something Stan wasn't sure he could give her,
reassurance. "You know how much everyone around here cares about you? We
all hated to see the way Star treated you. And then she took up with Mr.
Vecchio. She really used him, to hurt you, you know? He's really good to
his friends, but you sure don't want to cross him. She was treading on
really dangerous ground." She looked into his eyes, her eyes bright with
unshed tears.    Stan began to frown. He had a horrible feeling that this
might lead somewhere neither of them wanted to go. "Maybe ya shouldn't
tell me any more. Maybe I'm better off not knowin' anythin'."   "I...I
didn't know she meant so much to you. She was such a bitch. My daddy
taught me to never speak ill of the dead, but she was - a bitch. I...
just..."   Stan grabbed her arm. "Kerri, don't..."   "I hated to see her
treat people like that, especially you. You didn't deserve that. I... I
wanted to stop her, wanted to stop the way she was treating you, and
maybe...maybe get some of these people to...to like me...I'm not sorry,
only sorry that you're sad about it."   "My God! Kerri, you?" ~~*~~*~~*~~
  "Stan? Stan? Stan! Wake up, you're dreaming."   He was jolted awake by a
familiar voice and someone shaking his knee. "Stan, you're dreaming."  
"No shit! Dammit, Stel, whaddya haf ta go 'n wake me up for? Damn, what a
dream!" Stan rubbed both fists in his eyes and opened them to see Stella
sitting on the coffee table across from him.    When he was finally awake
enough to get his mind back into the present, he smiled at her. "I
dreamed...somebudy killed ya. I'm real glad yer not dead."   "I guess I
can see why you would dream that I was murdered." She pursed her lips and
sighed. "I'm sorry Stan, I never meant..."   "Sure ya did." He said as he
stifled a yawn.   "Pardon?"   "You meant ta do exactly what you did."  
"What do you mean?"   "Think about it, Stel. Ever since before we split,
you've played me like one of them kid's yo-yos. Hold me close, then push
me away. But don't let me get too far before you jerk me right back again.
Every time you saw me 'bout to break free 'n start ta live my own life
you'd do somethin' sweet ta make me realize I still loved ya, or do
somethin' like ya did tonight, ta make me jealous."   "Is that what you
believe? Stan, I'm so sorry..."   "Ya know, I really think ya are. I know
ya love me in yer own way, 'n I'll always love you. But tonight ya just
pushed me away a little too hard, and that yo-yo string just snapped." He
leaned forward and put his hand on her knee, just like he'd done a million
times before. "What you did with Vecchio, honey that really sucked..."  
"He told me the same thing. So I lost both of you, in one night." She
looked so forlorn that Stan almost rethought his feelings for her -
almost, but not quite. "He told me to find my own way home, and left.
There are not too many people downstairs that will even speak to me, and I
think if Kerri could have gotten her hands on me she would have strangled
me."   "Or shot ya." Stan muttered under his breath.   "Usually I don't
give a shit what people think, but it must be nice to have friends that
care so much..."   "Yeah, sometimes I forget just what a lucky guy I am."
He jumped up and turned for the stairs. "If ya need a ride I'll take ya
home, but I gotta do somethin' first."   He turned and ran down the
stairs. Stella was so startled all she could do was sit, with her mouth
gaping open, and listen to his shouts die out as he got farther and
farther away, "Hey, guys, don't be givin' that prize to nobudy else,
'cause have I got a story for you. Ya see the key opens a door to..."  
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Epilogue   Renfield and Kerri trudged slowly up
the stairs, arm in arm. Kerri rested her head against his shoulder as she
smiled the smile of a deeply satisfied woman.   "Hope Stan likes his
prize."   "He'll probably use the book to level the legs of his kitchen
table. He was grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary when you
gave it to him, though."   "I liked hisstorybest. That wasagreat party.
Don'tyathink?"   Renfield frowned slightly at her slurred words. 'She must
be really tired', he thought. "It was the best party I have ever been to.
You made a delightful hostess, and a very provocative Maid Marion."   He
bent to kiss her just as she stumbled on the steps, and Renfield was
forced to catch her before she fell. "Kerri! Are you all right?"   She
swayed in his arms and grinned up at him. "Kerri Turnbull! You are, what
my Grandmother used to call, tiddly!   She giggled as she swayed. "Am NOT!
What's tiddly?"   "I believe I have heard Stan refer to is as soused.
Drunk, my dear. What on earth did you have to drink tonight?" Renfield was
alarmed and tickled at the same time. She was so cute, even in this
condition.   "Just Mr. Mustafi's wonerful fruit punch. It was sooo hot
down there, just alotapunch."   Renfield closed his eyes and sighed.
"Honey, I saw him dump at least a fifth of rum into that bowl. Boy, are
you going to regret it in the morning. But right now," he said as he swept
her into his arms, "let's get you to bed."   Kerri giggled as she started
nibbling on his ear lobe. "You too. Bed's more funwifyou." She ran her
hands through his hair and planted wet kisses all over his face.  
Renfield laughed as he carried her to their room.   "Wanna haf un wif you
in bed!"   "You know I think I might just remind you of that, when you are
actually able to carry through!" Renfield undressed his wife and tucked
her into their bed. She was asleep even before he could kiss her
goodnight.   It was probably just as well that Kerri fell asleep when she
did, because he didn't want her teasing him about what he was about to do.
He just couldn't wait to go ghost hunting in his attic.   The End