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A MURDER IN SUNNYDALE


Chapter 8: ‘Red Rose; Proud Rose’


Buffy lay in her California King sized bed, looking up at her bedroom ceiling. “Crap,” she hissed out loud, “I’ve got to get to sleep, but I can’t.” She had gone to bed that night, fairly early, having been exceedingly tired after her lunch with Spike. For some reason, more tonight then ever, Buffy’s huge bed seemed mighty empty and it was causing her to toss and turn in it. “I suppose I’m just wound up, all that soul searching and stuff,” she explained to the empty air about her. “Yeah, that’s it,” she nodded, wide awake still, at almost midnight, “it’s got nothing to do with the fact that Spike Williamson is extremely good looking, gorgeous eyes, that man…a killer smile and he ‘is’ kind and compassionate, at least with me.

Of course,” she still spoke out loud, playing her own devil’s advocate, “he could turn out to be the British version of his cousin Holden Webster. Numbers, Giles says, that’s all. Uh huh, simple innocent betting. No drug or gun running, no prostitution rings, no evil minions or thug employees working for him. In other words, Spike is the ‘good’ cousin from England, just like Glinda was the ‘good’ witch from Oz. Right…”

Spike sat on his hotel balcony, a drink in one hand, cigarette in the other. Right at the moment, he was thinking about Buffy Summers and wondering what she was doing. ‘She’s asleep you idiot,’ he chided himself, ‘poor thing, that crap job she’s got, the hours must be hell. Wonder why a girl like that, one that could have any man she wanted, works a shitty, thankless job like a homicide cop? She could be married to a doctor, a school teacher, like her little sis, a lawyer even. Or,’ he hesitated with a frown, ‘a fucking Assistant District Attorney.’

Practicality was Spike’s long suit, however, patience was not. Spike wanted Buffy, more then anything but it wasn’t just that, no. From the moment he met her, mere days ago, he felt a connection to this woman, something he could not deny. The problem was, Buffy was not going to just roll over and accept Spike’s feelings for her, or his pursuit of her either. She, Buffy, he was well aware, was no fool, no naïve romantic that could just overlook exactly what she might ‘think’ Spike and his ‘family’ were involved with. Much less, what ill gotten gains they possessed. His own Father, Spike’s, was a powerful, ruthless man back in England, who would kill anyone that got in his family’s way, or hurt them, naturally.

“I’ve got to convince Buffy,” Spike sighed as he stubbed out his cigarette, “that I’m not such a bad bloke. Make her see that there’s something between us, I know it.” He had already made plans to send Buffy dozens of blood red roses, for passion, tomorrow, right to her office at work. Spike chuckled softly at the thought, “hope that whelp partner of hers is there when I do,” he smirked wickedly. “That loser has got to wake up and realize that Buffy is not interested in him, he’s not her keeper and in the end, she’ll belong with me.”

“You look like hell, Summers,” Captain Wilkens eyed Buffy with concern as she stepped into his office, early this Tuesday morning. “Well, thanks Captain,” Buffy responded evenly, “that’s always something a gal wants to hear from a man, even you, so early in the morning.” The Captain shrugged then asked, “you sleeping at all, at night? I mean, if it’s because of your boyfriend, Peter, or whatever his name is, the CPA? That’s different, but I’d hate to find out that it’s because of this damn Webster case. I…”

“My God,” Buffy cried in exasperation, “does everyone in Sunnydale know about my private life? Okay,” she shook her head somewhat miffed, “it’s ‘Parker’ not Peter and we’ve cooled it, for a while that is. And, yes, for your information, I am losing some sleep over this damn Webster case. I am sticking to my guns, Captain,” Buffy snapped at him, her jaw set in determination, “I ‘know’ that Amy did not shoot Holden or Katerina, period!”

Captain Wilkens sighed, loudly and sat down his coffee mug, the one that read ‘Best Daddy Ever’. “Buffy,” he began quietly, “I’m at a loss here, about this case I mean. On one hand, I admire you for your loyalty to this pathetic young woman, I do. I’m a Father, Buffy, of two young girls and a boy. Do you think I’m not sick at heart about what this sad little Amy St. Claire might have been pushed to do? She’s had a miserable existence, well, since forever, I know.

I read her files again, this morning and it makes me ill, as a Father, to realize what the poor thing has gone through in her life. I don’t know,” Wilkens shook his head sadly, “I just don’t know what to say. I’m a police officer Buffy, I have to uphold the law and this case ‘seems’ so open and shut as to who pulled the trigger that offed that dirty bastard Webster, and his innocent girl friend.”

Buffy was stunned at her Captain’s unusual show of compassion and understanding. “If you really knew Amy,” she began quietly, “understood what I do. What Thomas Ford might have been able to bring to her and how Webster was a manipulative, controlling monster, especially where Amy was concerned. I know that you and everyone else would…” However, she was not able to finish her case, Xander rushed in, excitedly. Before he blurted out his news, Xander tossed a half eaten breakfast burrito on his Captain’s desk, “it’s Warren Meers,” he crowed. “He’s downstairs, we’re going to do the line up and formal ID of Amy!”

Captain Wilkens eyed Buffy’s partner with obvious frustration and disdain, “get this freakin’ garbage off my desk Harris!” he growled. “Summers,” the Captain continued, “let’s take Harris here and lead him down to lock-up. We’ve got seven canidates in the line-up, including your gal Amy. Christ!” the boss hissed, “hope this Meers idiot doesn’t pick out Officer Ross as the suspect he saw at the crime!”

Buffy came back into her office, two hours later, her heart heavy, her head aching like a mother! The line-up/ID had started off terrible and gone down hill after that. This, door man, Meers, from Webster’s apartment complex, took less then ten seconds to point out suspect number 3 from the line-up. Amy St. Claire. Oh yeah, Meers was positive, no doubt. This was the young woman who the door man had seen enter the complex an hour before the set time of the killings. To top it off, Meers, Warren that is, never saw Amy leave again from the Webster penthouse.

It was less then two seconds, after entering her office, that Buffy found the five dozen blood red roses waiting for her. They were mixed with pure, white Queen Anne’s lace buds and lovely green ferns. “Hmmm,” she sighed, a little overwhelmed, “wonder who sent me these?” Although she was sure, no question. Only someone like Spike Williamson would think of Queen Anne’s Lace to compliment roses.

Picking up the rather large card that accompanied her gift of 60 roses or so, Buffy read:

Dear Buffy,

I am no poet, I’m afraid, so I will have to quote another
‘William’ Butler Yeats in this card to you:

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose
Of all my days
Come near me,
While I sing…
The ancient ways

Yours,
William W.

Buffy felt a long hard pull at her heart, a feeling she had not experienced in so very long. At least not since Riley left, then Angel left her for someone else, too. The mess downstairs with the line-up, the smug looks of her co-workers as Meers pointed right at Amy and announced, ‘it’s her.’ Everything had overwhelmed Buffy that morning and now, this? Such a sweet gesture from a man she barely knew, who barely knew her? A man that should be her enemy, not believe anything Buffy had to say about her feelings in this case that hit so close to home for him.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, “how did Spike know I needed this, these beautiful works of art, especially now?” She sat down in her chair and surveyed the blood red roses before her and began to cry like a child. This went on for a good ten minutes, before her office phone rang, shrilly, breaking Buffy’s crying jag. “Oh, shit,” she sniffled, “I must look like crap!” Then she remembered, she was alone in the office, miserable and alone. Buffy grabbed the phone on the fifth ring and answered softly, “yes, Lt. Summers.”

There was a slight pause on the end of the line, “Buffy?” came Spike’s deep voice, “are you all right, luv?” With a shake of her blonde head, Buffy automatically smiled, “yes,” she lied easily, “I am okay. It’s just that, well, they did a line-up today. Meers, the door man at your cousin’s complex, he picked Amy out immediately. I don’t know, I’m just so confused. But,” she added quickly, “thank you, Spike, for the roses I mean. You don’t know how much they mean to me, especially right now.”

Another moment of silence then, “well, if you feel that way, luv, why don’t you have dinner with me. We’ll talk, eat and drink too much and maybe I’ll get you to kiss me, at least?” Buffy giggled despite her pain and embarrassment, “I don’t know, Spike,” she teased, “knowing your plans of seduction for me? Might not be wise to make things to easy for you. Besides, I promised my little sister I’d have dinner at her house tonight. She’s pregnant and embracing the whole stay at home, housewife and mommy thing. Wanted to show me what a good cook she’s become. And also,” Buffy hesitated, “you know, the old thing of ‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to see you?”

Spike chuckled lowly, despite his own dissapointment, “it’s okay, luv,” he assured her. “I understand about your little sister and all. About your other excuse? Not so sure, but doesn’t matter, I’ll wear you down, eventually, no doubt. Tell you what, I’ll stop by your job tomorrow, catch up on the case, hit you up again for a date. How’s that?” He heard Buffy sigh and it gave him some kind of hope. “That’s fine, Spike,” she finally responded, we’ll talk about the case then. Thank you again.” He smiled into the phone, “no problem, luv. See you tomorrow.”

When they had hung up their respective phones, Spike speed dialed his cousin Wesley. “Wes,” he barked into the cell phone, “have Dalton follow Buffy Summers, tonight. Do not ask why, cousin,” he ordered gruffly, “just do it. I want to know exactly where she goes after work and when she gets home. Do you understand?”

Buffy slumped down in her office chair and once again eyed the lovely bunches of roses that seemed to fill her office with beauty and fragrance. ‘It really was a lovely gesture,’ she thought with a stab of guilt, ‘I just wish…’

Her phone rang, once again and she reluctantly answered it. “Lt. Summers,” she responded professionally. “Hello Buffy,” came the masculine, deep voice of Angel O’Connor. “Thought you and I needed to talk, about this Webster case and Amy St. Claire. It’s time, Buffy. Thought we’d have dinner, tomorrow night, at our old place…La Tria Bellas. I need to hear your side of the story Buff, I’m going to be prosecuting you know. St. Claire that is and their talking Friday for her arraignment. If we could meet, talk things out in a relaxed atmosphere. I know you believe Amy is innocent, so why not meet me and try to convince me. If nothing else, we can come to some agreement on bail bond…Cordelia Chase called me, says you’re going to put up the bond.”

Buffy felt her tummy do a flip flop, then kind of sink lower into her upper thighs! “Gee, Angel,” she stammered, unsure and ashamed of her weak voice, “I don’t know. Say we do ‘meet’ and talk about the case? That would be ‘okay’ but that’s all there is to it, right?” Angel was silent for a moment, “of course, Buffy,” he answered evenly. “I just want to give you a shot at voicing your opinions and such. You know how much I respect you, Buffy, always. Thought maybe I’d pick you up, take you for a nice supper, you know. We used to talk together, quite well, made a good team once. What do you say?”

She pondered the question for just a moment, “I say yes, Angel, but,” she added firmly, “I mean it, just talk, nothing more.” He agreed and told her that he would call her the next morning and firm up the plans. When they had hung up ‘their’ respective phones, Buffy quickly dialed Anya’s dress shop and asked for the owner, Anya herself, a gleam of slyness in her green eyes.

“Hey, Buffy,” Anya greeted fairly warmly, which really surprised Buffy since Xander was acting like a complete ass, as usual, about their relationship. “Hey, Anya,” she responded friendly enough. “I need a dress, Anya,” Buffy stated, “a perfect dress that cries business, but with a touch of posh. A dress that screams ‘look what you gave up and won’t ever be getting again’ you asshole!”


A/N: Another so so chappie, I’m afraid. So, what do you think? Should I go on? Okay, so I’m going on no matter what. Next chapter, Buffy goes shopping then to supper at Dawn’s. That’s a given, then she goes to work tomorrow. Guess who’s going to dinner tomorrow night. Here’s a hint…two’s company, three’s a blessing! Tee hee! Thanks for reading, please review…luv, Spuf





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