[February 1st] [Perry Mason] Candles and the Snow, 1

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Candles and the Snow, scene 1
Day/Theme: February 1st - The Earth is frozen solid, like a heart that will not love
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Hamilton Burger, Mignon Germaine
Rating: G

I'm trying an experiment. I love the fire/ice themes so much, and I think they fit these characters so well (with Hamilton as "fire" and Mignon as "ice"), so I've decided to see if I can write for the full month, with a theme per day. I have a head-start, with seven and a half complete already.

Mignon Germaine is a canon character, depicted in this icon and portrayed by the great Fay Wray in season 8's The Case of the Fatal Fetish. Hamilton comments that he and Mignon have been good friends for a long time. This series will explore scenes all throughout that long time. There won't be any particular chronological order; some will be in the present, others, over twenty-five years ago. Other Perry characters will make appearances throughout. References will be made both to episodes and to events in my mystery series, which is available at http://www.fanfiction.net/~Luckyladybug


By Lucky_Ladybug

The sound of the rain tapping against the window brought Hamilton’s attention up from the exasperating casefile on his desk. Anything was a welcome distraction at this point; this crime had more twists and turns than a canyon road.

Rain was uncommon enough in Los Angeles without it being a heavy downpour like this. It had started early that morning as he had driven to work and had continued straight through until now. The clock at the bottom of his laptop flatly announced that the time was now 4:17 in the afternoon. He turned half-away from the desk, gazing thoughtfully at the pounding drops right behind him.

It had been raining the day he had met Mignon, too.

He idly tapped a pen on the desk as he allowed himself to become immersed in his thoughts.
****
Both the weatherman and the daily newspaper had predicted the overcast skies that loomed across Los Angeles that day. The sudden bursting open of the sky and the dumping of what must have been half the Pacific Ocean on the city had not been forecast.

Hamilton ran for cover, pulling his coat close around him and his hat down over his eyes. He had just mailed his application for UCLA at the corner post office by the park. Bill Kramer, who had been in the building for the same reason, had remarked that somehow, being greeted by this torrent made him wonder how good his chances for acceptance were.

Hamilton hoped it was nothing more than a sarcastic musing. He had said as much to Bill. He did not believe in omens or superstitions. Cold, hard logic was what he put his faith in. That, and his own abilities. If he were good enough for UCLA, they would accept him. If he were not, he deserved to be turned down. Bill should feel the same.

He threw himself into his old brown second-hand car, pulling the door shut after him. At last he was out of that squall. He shoved the key in the ignition and turned the engine on, reaching for the broken heater knob. It still worked, if one knew how to operate the dial so it would not come off in their hands.

He put the windshield wipers on while he was at it. Between the swishing of the water from the windshield, it looked like someone else hurrying through the rain. He squinted, leaning forward for a better look. No one was there now. Maybe it had been his imagination.

The rap on the window to his side made him jump a mile. He turned to look. Sharp brown eyes were peering back at him through the rain. A girl was standing there, not much older than he was if he was seeing right.

He rolled down the window with the manual crank. “Can I help you?” he called over the determination of the falling water.

His visitor was very striking with the contrast of her dark hair and white skin. The rain beating on her wavy locks and taking out the curl did not appear to faze her at all. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for directions to this address,” she called back. She thrust a small piece of paper through the opening. He took it, quickly scanning over the contents.

“That’s on the other side of town!” he told her.

“I see.” She looked troubled at the news. Reaching for the paper she said, “Is there a bus stop near here?”

“Yes, there is, but the next bus isn’t due for almost an hour,” Hamilton said.

Now she was further distressed. But the only real indication of it was in the flickering of her eyes; her face was otherwise all but impassive. And she soon composed herself so her eyes were likewise. “I’ll call for a cab then,” she said. “Please excuse me.”

She hastened to a phone booth near the post office. Hamilton sat back, intrigued in spite of himself. Who was she? What was she doing here? Behind her she was pulling a suitcase on wheels. Had she just arrived in town with nowhere to go?

She stood uncomfortably in the rain as she fumbled with the phone book. At last locating the correct number, she slipped a coin into the phone and dialed. Her conversation was short and to the point. In a moment she had replaced the receiver and was turning away. Seeing that Hamilton’s car was still there, she headed back in that direction.

“A driver will be here in a few minutes,” she reported. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome to wait in my car until your cab gets here,” Hamilton said. “I know it’s not much, but it’s better than being out in that rain.”

He could not be sure, but the traces of a small smile seemed to play at the edges of her mouth. “I don’t mind the rain,” she said.

She probably also doesn’t want to get in a car with a stranger, Hamilton realized. There was a certain something about her, a seriousness and maturity he did not usually see in girls her age. It was altogether surprising and refreshing. At the same time, there was something outright cooling in the air. But then again, that could be the rain rather than her aloof personality.

“Then I could stand and wait with you,” he said, moving for the door handle.

“You don’t need to get drenched because of me. Please, stay in your car.” She glanced at her suitcase. “I have an umbrella in there, somewhere. I didn’t have a chance to retrieve it before the sky split open.”

“I didn’t bring one at all,” Hamilton admitted. “This doesn’t usually happen in Los Angeles.”

“So I’ve heard.” She held still, gripping the metal handle of her suitcase.

“Oh,” Hamilton realized, “I forgot to introduce myself. Hamilton Burger. And that’s Hamilton,” he added with an awkward smile. “I don’t like nicknames.”

“Then we have that in common, Mr. Burger,” she answered. “I don’t care for them either. I am Mignon Germaine. I was called Minnie once and didn’t like it one bit.”

“Mignon,” Hamilton repeated in surprise. “I’ve never heard that name before. Well, other than in a seafood restaurant. . . .”

“It’s French,” Mignon told him, unaffected by his attempt at humor. “It means delicate.”

And that was an interesting name of contrast. She did not look especially physically strong, it was true—but he had the feeling that her mental and emotional strength was immense.

“I see,” Hamilton said. “You’re French then?”

“You’re assuming, Mr. Burger. My parents could simply have liked the name.” The flicker of amusement was back. “But . . . yes, I have French blood in my veins.”

Hamilton leaned on the steering wheel. “You sure picked a bad time to come to L.A.,” he remarked. The rain was still pounding. “Is this your first time?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Are you visiting family or friends?”

Mignon stood tall. “No, Mr. Burger, I’m not. I came here to make a new life for myself.”

Hamilton raised an eyebrow. “You’re not one of those starry-eyed girls trying to break into the movie business, are you?” he wondered. The Golden Age of Hollywood was long past, but even now people came to Los Angeles seeking careers in the entertainment industry. Most of them were disappointed. Some of them even had their lives ruined over it.

“Do I seem starry-eyed?” Mignon returned.

Hamilton was a bit embarrassed. “No,” he hurried to say. “You don’t, not at all.”

“Good.” She gave a satisfied nod. “I am here partially to see what Hollywood is like,” she confessed, “but I might lose interest quickly. I’m a dancer by profession.”

Hamilton blinked. Of all things she could have said, that was not something he had expected to hear at all. “Really,” he said. “What kind of dancing?”

Mignon shrugged. “Cultural, mostly,” she said. “You seem surprised.”

“Well, I . . .” Hamilton shifted. He was not used to being put on the spot, especially by a girl. “I wasn’t expecting it,” he stammered.

“I don’t seem like a dancer, is that it?” Mignon quirked an eyebrow.

“Not like any I’ve seen,” Hamilton said. “They’re usually more . . .”

“Outgoing? Social?” Now it looked like she bore a slightly ironic smirk. “You’re not so wrong. In New Orleans they often called me The Ice Queen.”

Her attention was captured by something else before Hamilton could think of a response. “My cab is here,” she said. “Goodbye, Mr. Burger.” She walked past the car, pulling that suitcase behind her.

Hamilton started back to himself. “Hey!” he called, opening the door and leaping into the downpour. “Wait a minute!”

But she either did not hear or was ignoring him. She was already in the backseat of the cab. The driver pulled away from the curb, sending up a spray of water from the street.

Hamilton watched the yellow vehicle disappear from sight. Then, muttering to himself in frustration, he got back in his own car.

“I really put my foot in my mouth that time,” he grumbled. “I’ll probably never see her again to apologize.”

In any case, it was useless to stay there. He started the engine once more, pulling out of the parking space.
****
The rain continued off and on for the next couple of days. By Friday it had ended, but the sky was still threatening to unleash more. It was a light gray as Hamilton crossed to the park by the post office, staring at the day’s newspaper.

The front-page story disgusted and repulsed him. A high-ranking politician in the city had been exposed as corrupt, allowing mob leaders and other criminals to go free in return for pay-offs. And he had friends in high places himself. The police were still trying to round them all up so they could not arrange for him to escape punishment.

Hamilton shook the paper out and folded it in the center, dropping it onto the nearest bench before all but throwing himself onto it as well. He would love to be in charge of the investigation. How he would like to show that man and others like him that such injustice was not to be tolerated and that not all public officials could be bought.

“Hello, Mr. Burger. You look angry today.”

He jumped a mile. Approaching him on one of the park’s many footpaths was none other than Mignon Germaine. She had her umbrella this time, albeit it was not open. And as before, she was dressed in black.

Hamilton stood in amazement. “Miss Germaine,” he greeted. “I didn’t think we’d ever meet up again.”

“It must be fate,” Mignon said.

“It’s just coincidence,” Hamilton said immediately. “But I’m glad to see you. I wanted to apologize for last time.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Mignon said. “People should say what they mean and not put on airs. I like a straightforward approach.” She glanced at the newspaper. “Has something in the news upset you?”

Hamilton sighed. “Oh, I was reading about that political scandal,” he said. “I just don’t understand how someone who sets out to do good can get so turned around.” His eyes flashed. “I hope the district attorney throws the book at him.”

“I imagine he will,” Mignon said. “But I wonder what kind of man will replace the ousted politician.”

“He’ll probably be approached by the mob leaders, if they aren’t caught first,” Hamilton said. “And there’s always others to take their place. All we can really do is hope that he won’t be weak and his head won’t be turned by the thought of all that extra money.

“I don’t know; sometimes it seems like this world is just crazy. Crime rates are up. People don’t even care, either. There was a case not too long ago where a woman was being stabbed to death and screaming for help. Several people heard her, but they didn’t do anything. They ‘didn’t want to get involved.’” He spat the words as though they greatly offended him. “This world is well on its way to being frozen when there’s so little compassion left.”

Suddenly aware of his tirade, he stopped and took a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got carried away.”

Mignon did not seem bothered. Instead she looked interested. “Have you thought about trying to get into a public office yourself?” she wondered. “You have the passion for it.”

“Yes, I have,” said Hamilton. “After I finish college.”

“And I’m sure you’ll do it,” Mignon said with a nod. “Most people can succeed at a goal if they put their minds to it.”

“What about you?” Hamilton remembered. “Have you had any luck in Hollywood?”

“I made friends in New Orleans who said they’d arrange for me to meet with some people here,” Mignon said. “I met one of them today. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not.”

“You probably did just fine,” Hamilton said. He reached for the paper. “I should be going. It was nice to see you again.”

“Maybe this won’t be the last time,” Mignon said. She started to walk past, then paused. “You don’t believe in fate, Mr. Burger?”

“No, I don’t,” was the reply. “We make our own fates. They’re not decided for us.”

Mignon nodded. “However, if we encounter each other a third time, that’s a lot of coincidences.”

“If,” Hamilton repeated.
****
In the present day, Hamilton turned back to his desk. If, indeed. It was over twenty-five years later. He was the district attorney of Los Angeles County, re-elected several times over. He had done his best to weed out crime and corruption, and the people were grateful. Mignon was still a dancer, married and widowed with a bright, intelligent son. A son who worked with Hamilton in the office.

Coincidence or destiny, they had crafted a powerful friendship, brick by brick. Far from being any kind of Ice Queen, Mignon was a warm-hearted person who cared deeply about those close to her. Hamilton had thought then, and still did now, that those who had given her such an unfeeling nickname in New Orleans had just been shallow and unable to see. Hamilton had liked her from their first encounter. By the end of their second, he had been certain that The Ice Queen was a drastic misnomer.

As for Hamilton, Mignon had been right about his passion for public office. He had gotten better at controlling his feelings, but there were still times in court when he could not refrain from showing his revulsion over some of the law-breakers he encountered. Crime appalled and repulsed him.

He turned the page of the casefile on his desk.