Cute chapter. I was :lol: at the whole "you can't be a queen, you keep shaving your head" part. :lol:
Of Nightmares and Pinkie-Swears, a CSI: Nick-Centric Fic
- Thread starter Jacqui
- Start date
MacsGirlMel
Mac's Personal Assistant
love it 
You rock
You rock 
racefh853629
Pathologist
Aww, cute chapter! I agree with GNRF, I loved the part about not being a queen. Classic! Great job!
Jacqui
Police Officer
Thanks for the great replies Here's an update - and I have to warn you, it's the most scientific I get
::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::
Nick did call her back the next day, but the teenaged boy who answered the phone had said she was sleeping. He left a message that he had called, and then went on with his day.
The following Wednesday he was in the middle of yet another double shift, helping Greg process a car that had been left in the baking Nevada heat with a body in the backseat, when his cell phone rang. He pulled it off his belt and looked at the number. He didn’t immediately recognize it, but knew it was familiar, so he answered.
“Stokes.”
“Um . . . Nick?”
“Yeah,” he replied disinterestedly. “This is Nick Stokes.” He shot Greg a look, rolling his eyes.
“Hi, Nick. It’s Cassie.”
He smiled and got out of the car. “Hey, princess,” he said. “Feelin’ better?”
“Yeah, a little,” she replied. Her voice wasn’t as raspy but she sounded a little far away. “I’m sorry I was sick the other day when you called.”
“You don’t have to apologize for bein’ sick, sweetie. I called you back – did you get my message?”
“Yeah, Robbie told me someone called for me . . . he didn’t say who, but I figured it was you.”
“Hey, Nick – quit flirtin’ with your girlfriend and help me out here,” whined Greg, who was on the last leg of what amounted to a 24-hour shift, having waited almost all day to testify in a trial only to be put off until the next day, and then being called in by Grissom.
Despite this, Nick shot him a filthy look. “Hang on a second, Cassie – it’s kind of loud in here.” He put the phone to his shoulder. “I’m doin’ you a favor, Sanders – lay off.” He removed his gloves and put them in an evidence bag, and then moved to the hallway. “That’s better. Hey, how did the tectonic plates go?”
“Fine. Once I got to read the chapter it wasn’t so bad, and the map was easy. What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m at work. I was in the garage.”
“The garage where they keep the police cars?”
“No, it’s a different kind of garage. It’s where we take cars or other vehicles if we have to look for evidence in them.”
“Like fingerprints?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was doing.”
“I told my science teacher that I learned what forensic science was. She told me I could do forensic science for my science project.”
“That’d be neat,” replied Nick with a smile, wandering around slowly. “If you want some ideas, you should ask me. When do you do your project?”
“It’s due next month – we got the assignment today.”
“You don’t sound too excited about it. Don’t you like science, Cassie?”
She was quiet for a moment while a smile crept over his face. “I like science okay,” she replied, her voice small. “But I like other things better. Like reading.”
“Are you going to be in a play this year?” he asked.
“No,” she said sadly. “Miss Emily doesn’t let us do after-school stuff because she can’t always leave and go to pick people up everywhere.”
“How many kids does Miss Emily have?” he asked.
“Six that live here all the time. Other kids come and go. There’s a helper that comes sometimes, like if we have doctor’s appointments that Miss Emily has to take us to.”
“Oh . . . I’m sorry. Listen, let me think about some ideas for your science project. This weekend I’ll come visit. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” she replied, and he was pleased that he could hear the smile he imagined crept across her face.
After saying his adieus and replacing his phone on his belt, he headed back to the garage to find Greg struggling to open the hood of the car. With a grin he strode over to Greg, putting on new gloves, and reached under Greg’s arm to release the latch. The hood popped, and he raised it easily over their heads. Greg shot daggers at Nick through his eyes.
Nick simply smiled back. “Go home, Greggo,” he said quietly. “I got this.”
Too tired to argue, Greg dropped his glare and thanked Nick before stumbling out of the garage, headed for the locker room.
::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::
Saturday dawned hot and bright, and as Nick drove out to Blue Diamond he went through the list of items contained in the shopping bag on the passenger seat. He had talcum powder, cocoa powder, tape, an ink pad, coffee filters, four different pens, heavy black and white paper, a magnifying glass, Popsicle sticks, plastic cups, a mirror, and a cosmetic brush. The rest of what he needed, he figured Emily would have.
Emily had given him directions to the house over the phone, and he followed them through the suburban town to find a big whitewashed house in the middle of what at one time might have been some kind of a livestock farm. He parked behind another car and ambled out of the truck, taking the bag from the seat. When he knocked on the door, Cassie almost immediately answered.
“Hi, Nick!” she exclaimed, holding the screen door open. “Come in.”
He smilingly obliged her and followed her inside. “How are you, Cassie?”
“I’m fine. Where should we go?”
“We’ll need a big table.”
“We should be able to work in the dining room.” She turned and led him through the living room and down a short hallway to the kitchen.
Standing at the sink was a short woman with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Hello,” said Nick in greeting, assuming that the woman was Miss Emily.
She started at his deep voice but when she turned around, her expression was unreadable. “Hi.” She did not smile, nor did she offer her hand in greeting.
“Emily, right? I’m Nick Stokes – Cassie’s friend,” he explained. “We talked on the phone yesterday.”
“Cassie’s friend,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, I thought that Cassie’s friend Nick was Cassie’s age.”
“I talked to you on the phone last night,” repeated Nick, confused.
“I assumed I was talking to Nick’s dad.”
Nick hoisted an eyebrow and shook his head a little. “I’m sorry for the confusion,” he offered.
Emily turned to Cassie. “Would you give Nick and me some privacy, please?”
Nick didn’t like the tone of Emily’s voice but turned to Cassie. “Here – take this stuff to the dining room, and I’ll be right there.” He smiled reassuringly at her, because the excitement she had obviously felt at his visit had fizzled and she wore the worried, tired expression he had seen at the courthouse. Wordlessly, she took the bag from him and left the kitchen.
“Something wrong?”
“Yes, there’s something wrong. When I told Cassie you could come over I assumed you were an eleven year old boy. What are you after?”
“Wow – you don’t mince words, do you?” he replied, stunned. “I’m just trying to help a kid with science.”
“Why?”
“She needs a friend right now,” he replied, annoyed.
“How do you know Cassie?” Emily demanded.
Nick didn’t like the bent of her questions. “What do you know about what happened to her family?”
“Everything.”
“I pulled her half-dead body off the shore of a lake,” he replied forcefully, trying hard not to raise his voice.
“Oohh, I see,” replied Emily, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “you’re her hero.”
“I didn’t say that. Listen, I’m a crime scene investigator; I work for the LVPD. If you want to check me out, go for it, but you won’t find anything. Now do you mind?” He pointed in the general direction of the dining room.
“You got an hour with her,” replied Emily. “I don’t want you talkin’ to any of the other kids.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick knew there was a logical reason that she was so distrustful, but the front of his mind was too preoccupied with being outraged at being treated like a dissident to care. “I don’t want to fight with you, so I’ll quietly go to the dining room, but I’ll be back. Miss Emily.” He turned and left the kitchen.
The dining room, like the rest of the house, was clean and tidy, if not a little run-down. All of his materials had been laid out on one end of the big table, and Cassie was anxiously waiting for him. Traces of his scowl remained on his face when her eyes alighted on him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell her you weren’t a kid,” she said right away. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It’s not,” he told her. “It’s all right, Cassie. I think Miss Emily was just a little surprised, that’s all.”
“She doesn’t like surprises.” Cassie sounded as if she spoke from experience.
“I bet she doesn’t. Hey – let’s get to work. I think you’ll like this, even if it is science.”
“It doesn’t look like science,” she replied, grateful for the change in topic. “Looks like we’re making an art project.”
He smiled and shook his head. “No art here – it wasn’t my best subject,” he admitted. “Now, what I need from you is a scissors, and I need these four plastic cups filled about a third full of water.”
“Okay,” she replied, and as she went to the kitchen he began preparing the other items. When she returned he instructed her to use the scissors to cut four strips from the coffee filters, and when she was finished, he handed her the first of the four black pens.
“The first thing I’m going to teach you about is chromatography,” he said as she accepted the pen. “I know you said that sounded boring, but this’ll be neat; you’ll see.”
“Okay. Hang on; I gotta take notes.” She moved her notebook and pencil toward her from down the table, and asked how to spell forensic as she wrote “Forensic Science Lesson” across the top. Then she wrote the date, and Nick’s name. She paused a moment, and then looked up at Nick. “Do the police call you a scientist?”
He shook his head with a bit of a private smile. “The police call us a lot of things; scientist isn’t one of them.”
“So what do they call you?”
“I'm a Crime Scene Investigator.”
“What else do they call you?” she asked when she had finished writing this down.
“They call us the Nerd Squad,” he replied. “Because we like science and we’re smart – smart people get picked on.”
“I’m not smart, and I get picked on,” she replied, a hint of bitterness in her tone.
“First of all, you are smart, and second, who picks on you?”
“Everyone,” she said, putting her pencil down. “It’s different at school when you don’t have any real parents. And everyone here calls me Casserole because of stupid Robbie. He thinks it’s funny to make fun of people’s names.”
“You know, I had nicknames when I was growing up,” he said in an effort to soothe her wounded pride. “My sisters still call me some of them.”
“What did they call you?” she asked, looking into his eyes as he sat down on the chair next to her.
“Ninny,” he replied, and she giggled a little. “And sometimes Baby Ninny, because I’m the youngest in my family. And also, because I was always sick when I was a kid, they’d call me Sicky Nicky.”
His admission making her feel a little better, she smiled at him. “I wouldn’t have called you any of those names,” she replied. “They’re so silly!”
“What would you have called me?”
She thought a moment. “I would’ve called you . . . Nickelbee.”
“Nickelbee?”
“Yep.”
“And that’s not silly?” he asked, smiling.
“It’s as silly as Casserole,” she declared.
He laughed again and suppressed the urge to reach over and hug her. “You’re a funny girl, Casserole. Let’s get back to work.”
“Okay. Let’s see . . . .” She consulted her notebook again. “How would this be used?”
“Do you know what fraud is?”
“No.”
“Fraud is when someone says they’re someone they’re not, or makes something look like something it’s not. For example, if I were to come here and say that I’m Nick Jonas . . . ?”
“A bunch of dumb girls would squeal,” she deadpanned.
“Not a fan, Cass?”
“Not so much.”
“I see,” he replied with a grin. “My point remains the same, though. I’m not Nick Jonas, but if I come here and say I am, that’s fraud. Or if I paint a picture and say it was painted by Michelangelo, or if I got a check for ten dollars and took a pen and wrote an extra zero on it to make it look like a hundred dollars – that’s all fraud.”
“Okay. Got it. People who do fraud are big fat liars.”
“Exactly. So that last example, with the check – that’s where we can use chromatography.”
“And how does chrome-a-tog-ra-fee work?”
“It’s how you can identify different inks. See, ink isn’t just blue, or black, or red. Each different pen uses different pigments to make up the color of the pen. What we’re going to do is separate those different pigments. We can tell which pen is used by which pigments are contained in the ink.” He instructed her to place a dot on each of the four strips of filter paper near the end of the strip, using a different black pen each time. Then he placed a Popsicle stick across the top of each of the plastic cups, draping one strip of filter paper over the Popsicle stick.
“When you’re doing this for your experiment, make sure that the tips of the strip of filter paper touch the water but the dots are well above it. What’s going to happen is that the water will soak up into the paper, and the ink will separate into the different colors that are used to make up the black ink. This way, you’ll know what the ink looks like from each pen, so when you run the same test on the evidence – a check, or a note, or whatever you choose – you’ll have something to match it to.”
“That’s kind of cool,” she replied with a smile, writing in her notebook.
“Only one drawback to this test,” he said. “Can you guess what it is?”
She looked at the strips of filter paper, her brow knitted together. “Well . . . if these were real checks or letters or something, they’d be ruined.”
He smiled. “Exactly. The evidence is destroyed in the process. That’s why if we have to do this, we do, but nowadays there are machines to do this kind of analysis.”
“Too bad I can’t use one for my science project,” she replied. “Then it would really be cool.”
“This way’s more hands-on, though. With a machine you don’t get to use your head as much. Plus, you don’t get to see this.” He pointed to where the coffee filter strips sat draped over the Popsicle sticks. The water had pulled the ink from the black dots upwards into the filter paper, leaving streaks and smears of different colors in its wake.
“Cool,” she repeated, her eyes lighting. Just as Nick had said it would be, there was a rainbow of colors represented there: one dot had a lot of green, another of blue, and yellow was prominent in the third. The fourth, however, had no smear of color at all. “This one’s not working, though.”
Nick touched it to make sure the filter was wet, and then reassured her. “Some inks don’t dissolve in water,” he told her. “If this happens, it’s okay. At the very least, it’s telling you that the ink isn’t water-soluble, and sometimes, that’s enough. If you happen to get two pens that aren’t water-soluble, all you have to do is repeat this test using rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover instead of water.”
Cassie wrote furiously in her notebook. He had to admire her for that – she may not have liked science much, but she was a diligent student. “Okay. Got it. What’s next?” she asked, looking up at him.
Nick wiggled the fingers of his left hand at her. “Fingerprints. Now, this is important, because it’s the single most effective tool we have in tracking down suspects.” He went on to explain to her the two different types of fingerprints and talked about ridge detail while she continued to scribble with her pencil. “Did you get all that?”
“Yep,” she said.
“Good. Now for the fun part.” And as he explained the process, talking about how it was done at the lab, he rolled her fingertips in the ink pad and then on the heavy white paper he had brought with him. While she ran to the kitchen to wash her hands, he took the mirror and placed his own pinkie print on it in several different places. When Cassie returned, he took her hand and placed her index finger on the mirror, without her seeing where.
“Now we’ll dust and lift the prints, and I’ll show you how to analyze them to pick out the differences. When we’re done, you’ll be able to tell me which print on this mirror is yours.”
She smiled, and they got to work, using the talc for some prints and the cocoa powder for the rest. He showed her how to use the tape to lift the prints, and then pressed the ones dusted with talc onto the black paper, the ones with cocoa onto white. The Nick made a print of his own pinkie on white paper to use for comparison.
A few moments later she was examining the various prints with the magnifying glass. As he watched her, occasionally giving her tips, he noted that Emily walked by the room several times.
“Somethin’ you need, Miss Emily?” he called.
“Your time’s up, Stokes.” Her hands were on her hips.
“Oh – I think I got it,” said Cassie from Nick’s side. “It’s this one!” She held up a cocoa-powdered print.
Nick compared the two prints – hers and the lifted one – and even though he was far from a fingerprint expert, he knew the basics well enough to say, “Nice job, Cass,” with a pleased laugh.
“Great – now you can go home,” said Emily, walking into the room. “Cassie, I’m glad your friend Nick came to teach you these things, but it’s time for him to go.”
“Can’t he stay for lunch?” she whined.
“No, and you know why. Now help him clean up.” With that, she left the room.
Nick let out an involuntary sigh, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about Miss Emily,” said Cassie in a low voice. “She doesn’t trust anyone. Not even our teachers. She takes us to the dentist one by one so she can sit in the room while they clean our teeth.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Casserole.”
“No problem, Nickelbee.”
They chatted about what crime she could solve for her project while they finished cleaning up their mess. “Are you gonna need any of this stuff?” Nick asked. “I could leave it here, and if Miss Emily doesn’t want any of it when you’re finished you can give it back to me.”
“Okay.” She helped him load the items back into the bag, and they headed back through the house and out the front door to Nick’s truck.
“Well, keep me updated on how it goes, and if you have any questions – anything at all – just give me a call, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks for teaching me all this stuff.”
“It was my pleasure, Cassie Jane.” He winked at her.
A smile crept over her face. “Hey, how’d you know my middle name?”
He sobered a moment, clearing his throat. “Paperwork,” was all he said, wishing he hadn’t used her middle name, wishing he hadn’t brought up a reference to that awful night when she was trying so hard to move on.
“Oh.” She thought a moment, then said, “Well . . . what’s your middle name?”
He smiled. “It’s Parker.”
“Parker?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of a crazy middle name.”
He shrugged. “My mom liked it. What are you gonna do? Can’t pick your own name, I guess.”
She shrugged, too. “I guess,” she replied, her tone light.
The screen door on the house slammed then, and Nick looked up to see a dark-haired girl about Cassie’s age standing on the steps with a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips. “Cassie! It’s your turn to help make lunch!”
“I’ll be right there!” Cassie called back. She turned to Nick again. “That’s Susan, my roommate. She’s just as crabby as Miss Emily.”
Nick couldn’t think of what to say besides, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“It’s all right. I had fun today. You better go, though.”
“Okay.” He reached out for a hug and said good-bye, and then climbed back into his truck to head home. He started it up and backed out of the driveway, then headed down the dusty road. He waved one last time as he passed the house, but Cassie waved until the truck was out of sight.
_______________________
(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson
Here's an update - and I have to warn you, it's the most scientific I get ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::
Nick did call her back the next day, but the teenaged boy who answered the phone had said she was sleeping. He left a message that he had called, and then went on with his day.
The following Wednesday he was in the middle of yet another double shift, helping Greg process a car that had been left in the baking Nevada heat with a body in the backseat, when his cell phone rang. He pulled it off his belt and looked at the number. He didn’t immediately recognize it, but knew it was familiar, so he answered.
“Stokes.”
“Um . . . Nick?”
“Yeah,” he replied disinterestedly. “This is Nick Stokes.” He shot Greg a look, rolling his eyes.
“Hi, Nick. It’s Cassie.”
He smiled and got out of the car. “Hey, princess,” he said. “Feelin’ better?”
“Yeah, a little,” she replied. Her voice wasn’t as raspy but she sounded a little far away. “I’m sorry I was sick the other day when you called.”
“You don’t have to apologize for bein’ sick, sweetie. I called you back – did you get my message?”
“Yeah, Robbie told me someone called for me . . . he didn’t say who, but I figured it was you.”
“Hey, Nick – quit flirtin’ with your girlfriend and help me out here,” whined Greg, who was on the last leg of what amounted to a 24-hour shift, having waited almost all day to testify in a trial only to be put off until the next day, and then being called in by Grissom.
Despite this, Nick shot him a filthy look. “Hang on a second, Cassie – it’s kind of loud in here.” He put the phone to his shoulder. “I’m doin’ you a favor, Sanders – lay off.” He removed his gloves and put them in an evidence bag, and then moved to the hallway. “That’s better. Hey, how did the tectonic plates go?”
“Fine. Once I got to read the chapter it wasn’t so bad, and the map was easy. What are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m at work. I was in the garage.”
“The garage where they keep the police cars?”
“No, it’s a different kind of garage. It’s where we take cars or other vehicles if we have to look for evidence in them.”
“Like fingerprints?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was doing.”
“I told my science teacher that I learned what forensic science was. She told me I could do forensic science for my science project.”
“That’d be neat,” replied Nick with a smile, wandering around slowly. “If you want some ideas, you should ask me. When do you do your project?”
“It’s due next month – we got the assignment today.”
“You don’t sound too excited about it. Don’t you like science, Cassie?”
She was quiet for a moment while a smile crept over his face. “I like science okay,” she replied, her voice small. “But I like other things better. Like reading.”
“Are you going to be in a play this year?” he asked.
“No,” she said sadly. “Miss Emily doesn’t let us do after-school stuff because she can’t always leave and go to pick people up everywhere.”
“How many kids does Miss Emily have?” he asked.
“Six that live here all the time. Other kids come and go. There’s a helper that comes sometimes, like if we have doctor’s appointments that Miss Emily has to take us to.”
“Oh . . . I’m sorry. Listen, let me think about some ideas for your science project. This weekend I’ll come visit. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” she replied, and he was pleased that he could hear the smile he imagined crept across her face.
After saying his adieus and replacing his phone on his belt, he headed back to the garage to find Greg struggling to open the hood of the car. With a grin he strode over to Greg, putting on new gloves, and reached under Greg’s arm to release the latch. The hood popped, and he raised it easily over their heads. Greg shot daggers at Nick through his eyes.
Nick simply smiled back. “Go home, Greggo,” he said quietly. “I got this.”
Too tired to argue, Greg dropped his glare and thanked Nick before stumbling out of the garage, headed for the locker room.
::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: ::: :::
Saturday dawned hot and bright, and as Nick drove out to Blue Diamond he went through the list of items contained in the shopping bag on the passenger seat. He had talcum powder, cocoa powder, tape, an ink pad, coffee filters, four different pens, heavy black and white paper, a magnifying glass, Popsicle sticks, plastic cups, a mirror, and a cosmetic brush. The rest of what he needed, he figured Emily would have.
Emily had given him directions to the house over the phone, and he followed them through the suburban town to find a big whitewashed house in the middle of what at one time might have been some kind of a livestock farm. He parked behind another car and ambled out of the truck, taking the bag from the seat. When he knocked on the door, Cassie almost immediately answered.
“Hi, Nick!” she exclaimed, holding the screen door open. “Come in.”
He smilingly obliged her and followed her inside. “How are you, Cassie?”
“I’m fine. Where should we go?”
“We’ll need a big table.”
“We should be able to work in the dining room.” She turned and led him through the living room and down a short hallway to the kitchen.
Standing at the sink was a short woman with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Hello,” said Nick in greeting, assuming that the woman was Miss Emily.
She started at his deep voice but when she turned around, her expression was unreadable. “Hi.” She did not smile, nor did she offer her hand in greeting.
“Emily, right? I’m Nick Stokes – Cassie’s friend,” he explained. “We talked on the phone yesterday.”
“Cassie’s friend,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, I thought that Cassie’s friend Nick was Cassie’s age.”
“I talked to you on the phone last night,” repeated Nick, confused.
“I assumed I was talking to Nick’s dad.”
Nick hoisted an eyebrow and shook his head a little. “I’m sorry for the confusion,” he offered.
Emily turned to Cassie. “Would you give Nick and me some privacy, please?”
Nick didn’t like the tone of Emily’s voice but turned to Cassie. “Here – take this stuff to the dining room, and I’ll be right there.” He smiled reassuringly at her, because the excitement she had obviously felt at his visit had fizzled and she wore the worried, tired expression he had seen at the courthouse. Wordlessly, she took the bag from him and left the kitchen.
“Something wrong?”
“Yes, there’s something wrong. When I told Cassie you could come over I assumed you were an eleven year old boy. What are you after?”
“Wow – you don’t mince words, do you?” he replied, stunned. “I’m just trying to help a kid with science.”
“Why?”
“She needs a friend right now,” he replied, annoyed.
“How do you know Cassie?” Emily demanded.
Nick didn’t like the bent of her questions. “What do you know about what happened to her family?”
“Everything.”
“I pulled her half-dead body off the shore of a lake,” he replied forcefully, trying hard not to raise his voice.
“Oohh, I see,” replied Emily, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “you’re her hero.”
“I didn’t say that. Listen, I’m a crime scene investigator; I work for the LVPD. If you want to check me out, go for it, but you won’t find anything. Now do you mind?” He pointed in the general direction of the dining room.
“You got an hour with her,” replied Emily. “I don’t want you talkin’ to any of the other kids.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick knew there was a logical reason that she was so distrustful, but the front of his mind was too preoccupied with being outraged at being treated like a dissident to care. “I don’t want to fight with you, so I’ll quietly go to the dining room, but I’ll be back. Miss Emily.” He turned and left the kitchen.
The dining room, like the rest of the house, was clean and tidy, if not a little run-down. All of his materials had been laid out on one end of the big table, and Cassie was anxiously waiting for him. Traces of his scowl remained on his face when her eyes alighted on him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell her you weren’t a kid,” she said right away. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“It’s not,” he told her. “It’s all right, Cassie. I think Miss Emily was just a little surprised, that’s all.”
“She doesn’t like surprises.” Cassie sounded as if she spoke from experience.
“I bet she doesn’t. Hey – let’s get to work. I think you’ll like this, even if it is science.”
“It doesn’t look like science,” she replied, grateful for the change in topic. “Looks like we’re making an art project.”
He smiled and shook his head. “No art here – it wasn’t my best subject,” he admitted. “Now, what I need from you is a scissors, and I need these four plastic cups filled about a third full of water.”
“Okay,” she replied, and as she went to the kitchen he began preparing the other items. When she returned he instructed her to use the scissors to cut four strips from the coffee filters, and when she was finished, he handed her the first of the four black pens.
“The first thing I’m going to teach you about is chromatography,” he said as she accepted the pen. “I know you said that sounded boring, but this’ll be neat; you’ll see.”
“Okay. Hang on; I gotta take notes.” She moved her notebook and pencil toward her from down the table, and asked how to spell forensic as she wrote “Forensic Science Lesson” across the top. Then she wrote the date, and Nick’s name. She paused a moment, and then looked up at Nick. “Do the police call you a scientist?”
He shook his head with a bit of a private smile. “The police call us a lot of things; scientist isn’t one of them.”
“So what do they call you?”
“I'm a Crime Scene Investigator.”
“What else do they call you?” she asked when she had finished writing this down.
“They call us the Nerd Squad,” he replied. “Because we like science and we’re smart – smart people get picked on.”
“I’m not smart, and I get picked on,” she replied, a hint of bitterness in her tone.
“First of all, you are smart, and second, who picks on you?”
“Everyone,” she said, putting her pencil down. “It’s different at school when you don’t have any real parents. And everyone here calls me Casserole because of stupid Robbie. He thinks it’s funny to make fun of people’s names.”
“You know, I had nicknames when I was growing up,” he said in an effort to soothe her wounded pride. “My sisters still call me some of them.”
“What did they call you?” she asked, looking into his eyes as he sat down on the chair next to her.
“Ninny,” he replied, and she giggled a little. “And sometimes Baby Ninny, because I’m the youngest in my family. And also, because I was always sick when I was a kid, they’d call me Sicky Nicky.”
His admission making her feel a little better, she smiled at him. “I wouldn’t have called you any of those names,” she replied. “They’re so silly!”
“What would you have called me?”
She thought a moment. “I would’ve called you . . . Nickelbee.”
“Nickelbee?”
“Yep.”
“And that’s not silly?” he asked, smiling.
“It’s as silly as Casserole,” she declared.
He laughed again and suppressed the urge to reach over and hug her. “You’re a funny girl, Casserole. Let’s get back to work.”
“Okay. Let’s see . . . .” She consulted her notebook again. “How would this be used?”
“Do you know what fraud is?”
“No.”
“Fraud is when someone says they’re someone they’re not, or makes something look like something it’s not. For example, if I were to come here and say that I’m Nick Jonas . . . ?”
“A bunch of dumb girls would squeal,” she deadpanned.
“Not a fan, Cass?”
“Not so much.”
“I see,” he replied with a grin. “My point remains the same, though. I’m not Nick Jonas, but if I come here and say I am, that’s fraud. Or if I paint a picture and say it was painted by Michelangelo, or if I got a check for ten dollars and took a pen and wrote an extra zero on it to make it look like a hundred dollars – that’s all fraud.”
“Okay. Got it. People who do fraud are big fat liars.”
“Exactly. So that last example, with the check – that’s where we can use chromatography.”
“And how does chrome-a-tog-ra-fee work?”
“It’s how you can identify different inks. See, ink isn’t just blue, or black, or red. Each different pen uses different pigments to make up the color of the pen. What we’re going to do is separate those different pigments. We can tell which pen is used by which pigments are contained in the ink.” He instructed her to place a dot on each of the four strips of filter paper near the end of the strip, using a different black pen each time. Then he placed a Popsicle stick across the top of each of the plastic cups, draping one strip of filter paper over the Popsicle stick.
“When you’re doing this for your experiment, make sure that the tips of the strip of filter paper touch the water but the dots are well above it. What’s going to happen is that the water will soak up into the paper, and the ink will separate into the different colors that are used to make up the black ink. This way, you’ll know what the ink looks like from each pen, so when you run the same test on the evidence – a check, or a note, or whatever you choose – you’ll have something to match it to.”
“That’s kind of cool,” she replied with a smile, writing in her notebook.
“Only one drawback to this test,” he said. “Can you guess what it is?”
She looked at the strips of filter paper, her brow knitted together. “Well . . . if these were real checks or letters or something, they’d be ruined.”
He smiled. “Exactly. The evidence is destroyed in the process. That’s why if we have to do this, we do, but nowadays there are machines to do this kind of analysis.”
“Too bad I can’t use one for my science project,” she replied. “Then it would really be cool.”
“This way’s more hands-on, though. With a machine you don’t get to use your head as much. Plus, you don’t get to see this.” He pointed to where the coffee filter strips sat draped over the Popsicle sticks. The water had pulled the ink from the black dots upwards into the filter paper, leaving streaks and smears of different colors in its wake.
“Cool,” she repeated, her eyes lighting. Just as Nick had said it would be, there was a rainbow of colors represented there: one dot had a lot of green, another of blue, and yellow was prominent in the third. The fourth, however, had no smear of color at all. “This one’s not working, though.”
Nick touched it to make sure the filter was wet, and then reassured her. “Some inks don’t dissolve in water,” he told her. “If this happens, it’s okay. At the very least, it’s telling you that the ink isn’t water-soluble, and sometimes, that’s enough. If you happen to get two pens that aren’t water-soluble, all you have to do is repeat this test using rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover instead of water.”
Cassie wrote furiously in her notebook. He had to admire her for that – she may not have liked science much, but she was a diligent student. “Okay. Got it. What’s next?” she asked, looking up at him.
Nick wiggled the fingers of his left hand at her. “Fingerprints. Now, this is important, because it’s the single most effective tool we have in tracking down suspects.” He went on to explain to her the two different types of fingerprints and talked about ridge detail while she continued to scribble with her pencil. “Did you get all that?”
“Yep,” she said.
“Good. Now for the fun part.” And as he explained the process, talking about how it was done at the lab, he rolled her fingertips in the ink pad and then on the heavy white paper he had brought with him. While she ran to the kitchen to wash her hands, he took the mirror and placed his own pinkie print on it in several different places. When Cassie returned, he took her hand and placed her index finger on the mirror, without her seeing where.
“Now we’ll dust and lift the prints, and I’ll show you how to analyze them to pick out the differences. When we’re done, you’ll be able to tell me which print on this mirror is yours.”
She smiled, and they got to work, using the talc for some prints and the cocoa powder for the rest. He showed her how to use the tape to lift the prints, and then pressed the ones dusted with talc onto the black paper, the ones with cocoa onto white. The Nick made a print of his own pinkie on white paper to use for comparison.
A few moments later she was examining the various prints with the magnifying glass. As he watched her, occasionally giving her tips, he noted that Emily walked by the room several times.
“Somethin’ you need, Miss Emily?” he called.
“Your time’s up, Stokes.” Her hands were on her hips.
“Oh – I think I got it,” said Cassie from Nick’s side. “It’s this one!” She held up a cocoa-powdered print.
Nick compared the two prints – hers and the lifted one – and even though he was far from a fingerprint expert, he knew the basics well enough to say, “Nice job, Cass,” with a pleased laugh.
“Great – now you can go home,” said Emily, walking into the room. “Cassie, I’m glad your friend Nick came to teach you these things, but it’s time for him to go.”
“Can’t he stay for lunch?” she whined.
“No, and you know why. Now help him clean up.” With that, she left the room.
Nick let out an involuntary sigh, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about Miss Emily,” said Cassie in a low voice. “She doesn’t trust anyone. Not even our teachers. She takes us to the dentist one by one so she can sit in the room while they clean our teeth.”
He smiled at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Casserole.”
“No problem, Nickelbee.”
They chatted about what crime she could solve for her project while they finished cleaning up their mess. “Are you gonna need any of this stuff?” Nick asked. “I could leave it here, and if Miss Emily doesn’t want any of it when you’re finished you can give it back to me.”
“Okay.” She helped him load the items back into the bag, and they headed back through the house and out the front door to Nick’s truck.
“Well, keep me updated on how it goes, and if you have any questions – anything at all – just give me a call, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks for teaching me all this stuff.”
“It was my pleasure, Cassie Jane.” He winked at her.
A smile crept over her face. “Hey, how’d you know my middle name?”
He sobered a moment, clearing his throat. “Paperwork,” was all he said, wishing he hadn’t used her middle name, wishing he hadn’t brought up a reference to that awful night when she was trying so hard to move on.
“Oh.” She thought a moment, then said, “Well . . . what’s your middle name?”
He smiled. “It’s Parker.”
“Parker?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s kind of a crazy middle name.”
He shrugged. “My mom liked it. What are you gonna do? Can’t pick your own name, I guess.”
She shrugged, too. “I guess,” she replied, her tone light.
The screen door on the house slammed then, and Nick looked up to see a dark-haired girl about Cassie’s age standing on the steps with a scowl on her face and her hands on her hips. “Cassie! It’s your turn to help make lunch!”
“I’ll be right there!” Cassie called back. She turned to Nick again. “That’s Susan, my roommate. She’s just as crabby as Miss Emily.”
Nick couldn’t think of what to say besides, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“It’s all right. I had fun today. You better go, though.”
“Okay.” He reached out for a hug and said good-bye, and then climbed back into his truck to head home. He started it up and backed out of the driveway, then headed down the dusty road. He waved one last time as he passed the house, but Cassie waved until the truck was out of sight.
_______________________
(c) 2008 J. H. Thompson
Last edited:
MacsGirlMel
Mac's Personal Assistant
I hope you fix it...I want her situation to get better.
Loved Greg being tired and grouchy. :lol:
All the nicknames were cute and funny. Casserole... haha!
And the whole Nick Jonas thing... :lol:
Miss Emily is crabby. :lol:
Loved the chapter.
All the nicknames were cute and funny. Casserole... haha!
And the whole Nick Jonas thing... :lol:
Miss Emily is crabby. :lol:
Loved the chapter.
myfuturecsi
Corpse
This is great Jacqui! Have you got a page set up in fanfiction.net
Speedystokesgirl
Judge
Jacqui, this is a real cute story. I love the nicknames: casserole, nickelbee.
I can so see Nick doing this and now I know why you asked if anyone knew what Nick's middle name is, though I had my suspicions.
You should post this on fanfiction.net, you'd probably reach more readers.
I hope you update soon, 'cause I will be reading it.
Great story!
I can so see Nick doing this and now I know why you asked if anyone knew what Nick's middle name is, though I had my suspicions.
You should post this on fanfiction.net, you'd probably reach more readers.
I hope you update soon, 'cause I will be reading it.
Great story!
Jacqui
Police Officer
You guys are so sweet Here's an update. I'm going to try to figure out fanfiction.net, too!
Here's an update. I'm going to try to figure out fanfiction.net, too!~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Nick made another trip to Blue Diamond about two weeks following his first. Emily wouldn’t allow Cassie to leave, but she did let him stay. They played cards for a while in the dining room. After a while, she asked him if he wanted to go outside to play. Emily had a basketball hoop in her big dusty driveway, and Susan was outside with an older girl and a boy who Nick had learned was the nickname-bestowing Robbie.
When they arrived in the driveway, Susan, who had the basketball, stopped mid-shot and stared at Nick.
Cassie didn’t notice. Brightly, she asked, “Can we play, too?”
The other girl, Marie, looked to Susan and then to Nick. “We’re in the middle of a game right now,” she said to Cassie, her tone quiet and apologetic. “Maybe you guys can play the next one.”
Cassie voiced her disappointment and tried to cajole Marie into letting them join the game, but Nick, who was incredibly uncomfortable with Susan’s staring, said, “No . . . no, it’s all right, Cassie. Let’s go do something else; we can play the next game.” He turned and walked swiftly to the garage, just so Susan would stop staring at him.
“What else do you wanna do?” asked Cassie, who’d had to run to catch up with him.
Agitated, he floundered a little. “I don’t know . . . what about . . . ball? Do you have a baseball and a couple of gloves? We could play catch in the back yard.”
She brightened again. “Okay!”
Moments later they were in the back yard. Cassie’s glove was too big for her little hand, and once they got going, it kept falling off. She caught okay, she really had a hard time throwing. Nick, who had played in college, tried to coach her and stayed close so he’d catch what she threw, but she still had difficulty until he realized what the problem was.
“Nice catch!” he cried when she caught a ball he tossed off-course. She had caught it because instead of using her gloved left hand, she reached out instinctively with her right. The glove fell off again in her effort to catch, and when she had the ball, she subconsciously dumped it into her left hand and threw it back. It landed right in Nick’s glove.
“There you go – you got it!” he exclaimed, pleased. Then he paused, realizing what he’d just seen. “You’re left-handed!”
“So?”
“So why aren’t you throwing with your left hand?” he asked, approaching.
“Because of the glove,” she replied, thinking it was obvious.
He chuckled. “You know what? I’m gonna need to find you a right-handed glove,” he said. Then his cell phone rang, and he rolled his eyes. “Hang on a sec, Cass.”
She waited patiently while he talked briefly to someone he called Cath. When he replaced the phone on his belt and looked at her apologetically, she smiled. “You have to go to work, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Sorry, kiddo – I’d much rather stay.”
“Are you gonna try to come to the science fair?” she asked hopefully.
“I’ll do everything I can to make it,” he said, holding out his left pinkie.
She linked her right one with his, but neither one pulled away. Their hands fell between them. Pinkies thusly linked, they began to cross the yard.
Marie and Robbie approached them, having run from the front of the house. “Hey – are you guys playin’ catch?” asked Marie.
“Can we play?” asked Robbie.
“Sure,” he said to Robbie. Nick turned to Cassie and asked for the ball. When she put it in his hand, he pulled back his arm and threw the ball as he had in college – long and straight – into the bare, dusty expanse behind Emily’s rural house. Handing the boy his glove, he patted him on the shoulder with a wink and said, “Catch, Robot,” before striding across the lawn again. Cassie followed, giggling gleefully.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Cassie, an avid reader and natural storyteller, had fun with the rest of her science project. She presented a library book in which someone had written the phrase “I –heart– Mickey Mouse” and told the story of how the four people who had the opportunity to commit the vandalism all denied any wrongdoing. Using the four black pens from Nick and volunteers for fingerprints (Emily, Susan, her own, and the pinkie-print Nick had left) she created four suspects and executed her tests. For extra credit, she presented her project to the class. They laughed at her silly made-up names and clapped when she named the vandal. She earned extra points and a good spot in the gym at the 6th grade science fair.
The fair ran from 2:00 until 4:00 on a Thursday afternoon, a month from the date the assignment had been given. Cassie was distracted from thinking about whether Nick would come for the first hour and a half, as many people were impressed, informed, and entertained by her forensics display. For the next twenty minutes, she was agitated, wondering if he’d forgotten or maybe if he had to be at a really important crime scene. The next five minutes she spent reconciled to the fact that he simply couldn’t come. She sadly moved to pack away her things.
At 3:56 Nick entered the gym at Wilbur & Theresa Faiss Middle School. He looked frantically around for Cassie, and then saw her as she moved to take down her display board. He hurried over to her corner of the gym.
“Hang on a minute,” he called. “Let a professional review your case – let’s see if it’ll stand up in court.”
Turning, she grinned her million-watt grin and put the display back up. She stepped back proudly.
Nick looked over her storyboard and her experiments, commenting on the great job she had done lifting the fingerprints from the book and admiring the cleverness with which she had put together her case. “Yeah,” he said, folding his arms and stepping back. “I think you got a conviction, Casserole. This Mac N. Cheese fella is goin' down hard.”
“Do you like it?”
“I sure do,” he replied, smiling at her. “I’m sorry I’m late – I got called in again to help out.”
She shrugged, just happy that he was there. “You came,” she said. “That’s all that matters.”
He returned her smile, grateful that he was able to do something to make her day a little brighter. “What grade did you get?” he asked.
“I got an A!” she exclaimed. “I did a presentation to the whole class and got extra credit.”
He held out his fist for her to bump. She bumped. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Hey – I got something for you in my truck. Can you come outside a minute?”
“Okay – let me just tell my teacher where I’m going.” Living with the distrustful Emily had taught Cassie to be extra careful that adults knew of her whereabouts. She had gone to the grocery store with Emily once and lingered in an aisle longer than the rest of the kids. When Emily realized she wasn’t with the group she had demanded that the store manager lock the doors and call the police. Needless to say, Cassie got more than an earful when they got home, and since she had upset Emily, which always put everyone on edge, no one cared to comfort her.
She approached a middle-aged man wearing a black polo and khakis and spoke to him a moment, pointing Nick out. The man walked toward him, with Cassie leading.
“Hello,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Mr. Jacobson, Cassie’s science teacher.”
Nick shook. “Nick Stokes,” he said. “I’m a friend of Cassie’s.”
“You’re a police officer,” he commented, noting Nick’s hat and vest.
“No, he’s a Crime Scene Investigator!” exclaimed Cassie, proud of her friend.
“Oh, that’s right – you must’ve been the one who taught her about forensics. Nice to meet you.”
“Cassie did a great job on her project,” said Nick, gesturing toward her display.
Mr. Jacobson smiled down at Cassie. “She sure did,” he praised. “Hey, I wanted to thank you for getting Cassie into this. There really aren’t enough girls who take enough active interest in science. We do what we can to make it appealing to girls and boys, but most of the time the influence comes from home.”
Nick was uncomfortable for a moment, not knowing how much Mr. Jacobson knew of Cassie’s home situation. “Glad to help out,” was all he could say.
“Cassie says you need to go outside for a second?” Nick nodded in affirmation. “That’s fine. She just needs to get her display cleaned up and back here in time for Mrs. Edstrom to bring her back home.”
“Oh, I can bring her home, if that’s okay,” he offered.
Mr. Jacobson looked a little uncomfortable. “I think it’d be best if Mrs. Edstrom took her home.”
“Miss Emily doesn’t like surprises,” Cassie reminded him.
He smiled saccharinely at Mr. Jacobson. “Right. No problem. We’ll just be a minute.” He walked toward the doors of the gym and hoped Cassie would follow.
She did, but she had to jog a little to keep up with him. “Nick?”
He slowed down, but didn’t look at her. “Yeah, Cass.”
“Are you okay?”
He stopped walking, pausing to control the tone of his voice and his expression before he turned to look at her. “I don’t like not being trusted.”
She looked crushed. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “As long as you trust me, I’m okay. I’ll deal with Emily and whoever else. Okay?”
She nodded, but her worried look remained. “Okay.”
“Cassie, you don’t have anything to be sorry about or to worry over,” he said, his tone more gentle. “This is a silly . . . adult thing, and I’ll figure out how to make Emily trust me with you. All right?”
She adjusted her features. “All right.” She held up a pinkie. He smilingly linked it with his own and led her to the department-owned Denali.
“This isn’t your truck,” she noted.
“Nope – it’s the city’s. I’m not supposed to use my own truck to take evidence from crime scenes.” He opened the passenger door and extracted the object that he had brought along, handing it to her proudly.
“It’s pink!” she squealed, and jumped up and down. “Oh, I love it, Nick!”
“Put it on, princess,” he said. “Let’s make sure it fits.”
Cassie tugged the baseball glove over her right hand and flexed her fingers. “It’s a little stiff.”
“That’ll get better the more you use it. Now, I’m going to come out again on Saturday afternoon. See if you can get that Robot guy to play with you a little – loosen it up. When I get there, it’ll really get a workout.”
“Deal!” she exclaimed. “Thanks, Nicky!” She reached up for a hug, which he willingly bestowed. She kept the glove on and walked with her left pinkie linked again with Nick’s right one back into the school, where they said good-bye until Saturday.
__________________________
(c) J. H. Thompson
__________________________
(c) J. H. Thompson
Speedystokesgirl
Judge
Ahhhh, yup, that pretty much somes up this chapter. This definitely is a cute story.
Ok, now you have me wanting Nick to adopt her, maybe that's what you have planned, who knows, but he'd make a great dad.
He bought a glove and its pink, so cute.
Update soon.
Ok, now you have me wanting Nick to adopt her, maybe that's what you have planned, who knows, but he'd make a great dad.
He bought a glove and its pink, so cute.
Update soon.
MacsGirlMel
Mac's Personal Assistant
nice work...yeah can he please?
Cute chapter. Nick is so good with Cassie. :lol: at Robot! haha! Loved Cassie's project. Hehe... Mac N. Cheese. :lol: Cute! I didn't know that baseball gloves came in pink. How cute!
racefh853629
Pathologist
Okay, I agree... Nick needs to adopt her! lol
I think this story is so adorable. Can't wait for more!
I think this story is so adorable. Can't wait for more!