Lucy and the Valentine Verdict (6 page)

My surprise must have shown on my face.
“Detective, in Helena.”

She nodded and took a drink. “He has the
look.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. He did, and he
was here with me. I put my hand on his arm and lifted up on my toes
to whisper in his ear that Kiska
was
looking a little tired
and perhaps we should take our drinks to our cabin.

Furniture squeaked. Recognizing the sound of
old wood being moved, I turned. Lady York stood in front of the
buffet, directing her husband as he pulled the piece of furniture
away from the wall.

“It has to be there,” she said. “It isn’t on
the floor. It must have slipped behind it and gotten trapped
between the back and the wall.”

Except as the antique wood creaked and the
not antique, but not overly young Sir Arthur reddened, nothing
dropped from behind the buffet onto the floor.

Apparently not trusting her husband’s
efforts, Lady York strode forward and pulled the buffet another two
feet away from the baseboard. “It’s not here!” she announced,
holding up her hands. Frustration was clear on her face. She turned
to face the room, her gaze moving over each of us in a
less-than-welcoming manner.

Her eyes lit on Peter and something behind
them clicked. She strode forward and looped her arm through the one
I wasn’t already holding. “Detective,” she murmured. “Could we have
another word?”

Her husband, still standing by the buffet,
held up his arm. “Andre– Lady York, don’t you think–”

She hesitated, then pulled in a breath and
closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them, she
seemed both composed and back in character. “I’m sorry. The events
of the evening seem to have shaken me more than I’d realized.” She
dropped Peter’s arm and stepped into the center of the room. “It’s
just... my husband’s dear grandmother’s watch. I’d had it on
earlier, but the catch was pulling at my dress. So I took it off
and left it on that...” She pointed across the room. “...buffet.
And now it’s gone. It seems dear guests,
not only do we have a
murderer amongst us, but a thief as well
.”

I glanced around the room, wondering if the
drama of her tone was as lost on the other guests as it was on me.
I mean thievery when lined up against murder... Then I realized...
“You mean your watch is really missing?” I blurted.

Her gaze moved to me, cold and assessing.
“You haven’t seen it, have you, Maid Ann? You were admiring it...”
She tempered her accusation with a smile, but it didn’t change the
facts.

Her watch had been stolen and for the second
time that night, I was the prime suspect, this time for real.

Things became a bit chaotic after that,
everyone staring at me, whispering and moving around as if I might
reach out and snatch the loose change out of their pockets.

I could feel their distrust, and it hurt. I
pulled my linen runner tighter about my shoulders and tried to look
as if I didn’t care. Beside me, Peter stood stiff and angry, his
gaze narrowed and moving over the group.

“Here,” Mrs. Peabody tipped the martini
shaker, pouring more of the frothy pink concoction into my glass.
“Don’t let her get to you. I was with you all the time. Besides, in
that outfit where would you hide anything?”

I glanced down at my dress. She had a
point.

“She’s just pissy because her game players
aren’t following the script. She probably stole the thing
herself.”

“Why would she do that?” I asked, taking a
bigger drink than I probably should have. The alcohol hit the back
of my throat and I coughed.

Mrs. Peabody pounded me on the back.
“Insurance? That’s a usual motive, isn’t it? Or more likely just
plain old jealousy, wanting more attention on herself. I heard Sir
Arthur’s been seen around town with a younger woman. She acts all
upset, he comforts her...” She made a knowing face. “When we leave
she’ll pull that watch out of its hidey hole and go about her
business, but don’t think I won’t be looking for it around her neck
next mystery weekend.”

Peter placed his hand on my back
reassuringly and murmured. “Let’s see how far our hostess wants to
push this.” He stepped forward, any traces of the wounded Captain
Egg gone, replaced by my in-control-at-all-times detective
boyfriend.

“Accusing someone of theft in real life is a
serious accusation. Even petty theft can carry a penalty of up to
six months in jail. Are you sure you didn’t simply misplace the
watch?”

Sir Arthur’s face reddened and his eyes
darted to the crowd. I had the distinct feeling he was looking at
one person in particular, but I couldn’t say whom. “I’m sure that’s
all that happened,” he sputtered. “My wife probably left it in her
room.”

Lady York, still holding center stage,
turned to face her husband. “No, I did not. I know that for certain
because Maid Ann made a point of asking me about it on more than
one occasion. In fact, her veiled comments that it was not
appropriate for my outfit are one reason I took the watch off.” She
looked at me again.

I took that as a challenge. I pulled back my
linen runner, but remembering my outfit, stopped short of sticking
out my chest. “I didn’t say it wasn’t appropriate, I said it wasn’t
from the Jazz Age. It was
obviously
Victorian.” And so did
not go with her dress. “Since the Jazz Age was later, someone could
have chosen to wear it but it wouldn’t have been a ‘modern’
choice.”

Feeling I’d made my point, I tossed my hair
and took a slug of my martini.

Peter gave me a sideways look and took the
glass from my strangely wobbly fingers. “I think it’s time to call
it a night.” He set the glass on the bar and, with his hand on my
back, guided me toward the door.

Giddy with my victory... I couldn’t remember
for what... I leaned against him and giggled.

Lady York wasn’t cowed. “Aren’t you going
to...?”

Peter stopped. “What?”

“Investigate? Search everyone?”

I could feel annoyance running through
Peter’s body, like electricity humming through a wire. I put my
hand on his chest and sighed. He glanced down at me and
laughed.

When he looked back up at Lady York, some of
the humor was still there. “If you want to file a formal report, I
suggest you call the local deputy sheriff. Maid Ann and I, however,
are going to bed.”

He handed me Kiska’s leash, and we walked
out of the house.

o0o

I woke up the next morning to a malamute
stretched out beside me and a 12-piece jazz ensemble blowing Dixie
in my head.

I groaned and rolled over. No Peter. I
started to sit up, but thought better of it. I rolled the other
direction. There was a note on the bedside table.

Breakfast is in the armoire. Be back
soon.

The armoire was a strange place to keep
breakfast, unless a malamute was sleeping beside you. Then it was
an ingenious place to keep breakfast.

I stumbled out of bed and opened the
armoire. A brown grocery bag sat inside, filled with a bacon and
egg croissant sandwich, a thermos of coffee, two bottles of water
and a bottle of ibuprofen.

I had the best boyfriend ever.

The ibuprofen and water were first. Then,
immunized against the worst of my post-alcohol adventures, I crept
out of the bedroom to have my coffee and sandwich away from begging
malamute eyes.

I had just finished both and was on my way
to feeling human when I saw Peter get out of his truck and walk
toward our cabin.

He smiled when he saw me watching him from
the couch. “You’re alive.”

I couldn’t help but be a little insulted. I
hadn’t drank
that
much. “Of course I
am.”

“Uh huh.” He picked up the thermos and
turned it upside down. One lone drop of coffee dripped onto the
polished wood. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen where
he went about making more coffee in a small four-cup maker that had
been hidden inside a cabinet.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“Out.”

The coffee dripped into the carafe with a
slow steadiness that, if I hadn’t already had two cups earlier,
would have driven me insane.

“The others seem to be up,” he commented,
reminding me that there’d been brunch promised.

Seeing my face, he laughed. “No food until
11. There was a note under our door when I got up.”

I didn’t bother asking him what time that
was. Knowing him, it had probably been pre-dawn. I snorted and held
out my cup for the coffee that had just finished brewing. He filled
mine and then before filling his own, handed me a handful of little
plastic half-and-half cups.

“Out where?” He might have thought the
aftermath of the previous night’s martinis had allowed that to slip
past me, but he’d been wrong. Seeley Lake was beautiful, but it was
also in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t even sure there was a
decent-sized grocery store within an hour’s drive. Which made me
think... “Where’d you get my breakfast?”

“Mrs. Peabody.”

I cocked a brow.

“She brought it by.”

“And where’d she get it?”

He took a drink of coffee. “I didn’t
ask.”

I rounded my eyes and mouth in mock shock.
Well, not all that mock. “Do you think she stole it? From the
house? Did you take stolen goods?”

His lips curved in a deliciously devious
way. “I have no knowledge of such events or reason to suspect such
events.”

Except there was no grocery store and that
croissant hadn’t come from a gas station...

He walked over to pick up the empty paper
bag that had held my breakfast. “Unfortunately...” He shook the
bag. “Someone has eaten all the evidence.”

I smiled. I loved it when he was playful
like this.

As we sipped our coffee, I studied him and
considered how to find out what he’d been up to that had put him in
such a good mood.

“So, out?” I prompted.

He took a drink of coffee and settled into
the over-stuffed recliner across from me.

Whoever had decorated the main house had
not, it seemed, given the same attention to the cabins, or at least
our cabin. It was much more Black Friday bargain bin than Black
Forest antique.

Peter thumped the arm of the recliner. “I
used to have a chair like this. I should get another one.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I
reached for a creamer. “So, you went into town?”

“I did.”

It wasn’t much, but it
was
an
answer.

“What exactly is in town, anyway?” Casual...
not prodding at all.

“Post office, gas station, a bank...”

“A police station?”

He took a slug of coffee. “Nope. No police
station here. No police.”

He was looking a little too smug for my
taste. I twisted my lips. “No police at all? What happens when
someone’s... I don’t know... antique watch is stolen?” I remembered
then that he’d said something about a “deputy sheriff” last night.
“Is there a sheriff’s office maybe?”

He took another sip. “Missoula covers this
area.”

That was not a complete answer. He knew it,
and I knew it. I narrowed my eyes. “So if I wanted to report a
crime, I’d call Missoula.”

“That’s what I’d do.”

I growled. He grinned and then he
relented.

“It so happens, I did run into the deputy
sheriff.”

I was sure that was a big old coincidence.
“And?”

He shrugged. “Some kids spray-painted a
garage.”

“And...?”

“Not much more; he did let me use his laptop
for a few minutes. To check email and such.”

I bet. “And?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing my ass. I grimaced. Looking as
pleased as Kiska with a brand new toy, he took another sip of
coffee. I waited a few seconds, trying to determine if he actually
knew something or was just enjoying making me think he knew
something.

My annoyance must have shown on my face,
because after a moment, he relented.

“Really. Nothing. No one called in any
complaint from here.”

I nodded. That made me feel somewhat better,
but not a lot. “That doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“And it doesn’t mean they will. And if they
do, there is zero evidence against you.”

True, but I’d been accused before on not
much more.

He walked over and sat on the couch beside
me. “People misplace things all the time. A missing watch does not
a grand larceny case make.”

He was right, as usual. Still, I couldn’t
help but want to avoid the accusing eyes that I knew were waiting
for me in the main house.

I twisted my finger into a hole on the knee
of my sweats. “Are you having fun? Because if you aren’t... we
could leave. I know this isn’t your kind of thing...”

His gaze was level and serious. “Is that
what you want?”

Pressing my lips together, I stared back at
him. It was what I wanted. Being accused of stealing in front of
everyone had been humiliating, and then I’d added to that
embarrassment by stumbling out on my way to passing out. But if I
left, people would think I was guilty.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Good.” His eyes glimmered, and I smiled. I
was a liar and he knew it, but I thought maybe that made him
appreciate my decision to stay even more.

From inside the bedroom came the sound of an
Alaskan malamute slamming his body against the bedroom door. While
Peter let him out, I filled Kiska’s food and water bowls and picked
up his leash.

Peter held out his hand. “I’ll take
him.”

I handed over the duty and went to shower. I
was getting back into my maid’s outfit when the males in my life
returned. While showering, I’d remembered something else from the
night before.

“What was Lady York talking to you about
last night in the dining room? Before she noticed her watch was
missing.”

Peter didn’t answer. I turned, ready to
whine that he could at least give me that much information, and
caught him staring at my behind.