The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection

by Frost, E J

  “Not yet, Emmy, it’s a surprise,” Sammi says.

  “Okay!” I scamper back into the greenhouse and hide behind Daddy, tucking my face into his jacket.

  “What’s this, little girl?”

  “Sammi and Jack are bringing a cake in but it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

  “It’s a surprise to me, too. And since I ordered a cake, on top of everything Martyn insisted on serving, there will be lot and lots of cake.”

  That sends me into wild giggles, but I actually love the idea of a party overflowing with cake, particularly since I’m not counting calories this weekend.

  “I’m going to eat cake until I explode,” I whisper into Daddy’s jacket.

  He chuckles.

  Sammi and Jack lug in the huge sheet cake and set it on one of the old wooden trestles, which groans alarmingly but holds. I peer out from behind Daddy and then draw near to exclaim over it in wonder.

  It’s a scene out of the illustrated Beauty and the Beast that Daddy and I love so much. Somehow Sammi’s made the frosting in the luminous pinks and reds and oranges of Mercer Mayer’s illustration. The cake shows the scene where the Beast reveals himself as the prince and asks Beauty to be his wife. I feel my eyes overflow hotly.

  Sammi, who is dressed in a bright red suit with short pants like a British schoolboy, throws his arms around me. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  He squees, then I squee, then Aggie and Yumiko pile on, hugging us and squeeing.

  Martyn brings out his own cake contribution, a towering topsy-turvey cake covered in edible violets and frosted pocket watches that has us all squeeing again. The cake is followed by racks of cupcakes with “Eat Me” piped onto their tops. Then come plates of tarts, sugar cookies frosted with playing cards, and little sandwiches cut into the shape of hearts.

  By the time Martyn carries in several big platters of salad, everyone who is coming to the tea party is seated. We’re down by twelve since quite a few people decided to go sightseeing today, but all of the littles and their mommies and daddies as well as all the Blunts subs are here and I feel surrounded by friends. Everyone eats and no one gets angry when macarons that Martyn’s provided for the purpose get thrown. The cupcakes and cakes are wonderful and Daddy just smiles when I have a bite of each but leave most of each piece on my plate. Even with just a few bites, the sugar goes to my head and makes me feel so giddy that when Martyn brings out a huge surprise, I stagger out of my chair and fall on my butt.

  Laughing, Daddy helps me up and guides me over to the grassy area. The five littles get seated in a circle and Martyn puts down a huge wicker basket between us that’s filled with hay. Peeping out of the hay are ten pairs of bright eyes.

  “It’s a fluffle!”

  “A fluffle?” Daddy asks.

  “A group of bunnies is called a fluffle. Martyn, can I pick one up?”

  “You can,” Martyn says, standing back and beaming. “These are therapy bunnies and they’re very tame and used to being handled. The right way to pick up a bunny is to scoop your hand under its chest and then your other hand under its bottom and then hold it to your chest or put it in your lap. They don’t like to be held out in the air.”

  I follow his direction, scooping up a very fuzzy gray bunny and placing it in my lap. The bunny has a piece of hay sticking out of its mouth that it continues to chew as I pet it. Daddy stretches out on the grass behind me and when the bunny finishes its piece of hay, Daddy pulls a handful from basket and offers the bunny another piece, which it contentedly chews.

  Pretty soon everyone is sitting on the grass, passing the bunnies around. As Martyn said, they’re very tame and don’t seem to mind going from lap to lap, particularly as long as they have some hay to munch on. Some of them fall asleep while they’re being petted. After an hour, Martyn collects the bunnies back into the basket and says it’s time for games. We play duck, duck, goose, and Simon Says, and then run outside to play croquet. A light, misting rain drives us back inside around dinnertime, but we’re all still so full from the tea party that we just pick at the leftovers until Martyn calls us through to the bar where the chairs and tables have been moved back and there’s a huge pile of pillows and blankets on the floor. We build a giant blanket fort and crash in it with bowls of popcorn to watch Disney movies.

  Daddy, changed out of his Mad Hatter’s outfit and into jeans and a warm, brown Henley, burrows into the fort to find me amid squeals from its many occupants since most of the submissives have embraced their inner child enough to join us littles in the fort. I think the only subbies missing are Brenna and Ryan’s wife, Tania. Daddy climbs over me and settles onto his forearms so he’s not crushing me while he rains kisses on my mouth and cheeks and nose and I wriggle under him with delight, sinking my hands into his soft shirt and holding him close.

  “I’m going for drinks with the Doms. Ginger has offered to stay and supervise—”

  “I promise-promise-promise we’ll be on our best behavior so Ginger can go with you. Martyn’s here and I have my phone if anything happens.”

  Daddy rubs noses with me. “Promise-promise?”

  “Promise-promise. Cross my heart and hope to die, promise.”

  “You’ll watch out for Yumiko and Sammi and if they go very little and need their daddies, you’ll call me? No messing around and no trying to deal with them yourself. Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “That’s my good girl. I’ll be back by midnight but if you get tired and want to go to bed earlier, just text me so I know. You’ve had more sugar than you’re used to today, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you crash.”

  I stifle a yawn. I am already a little sleepy and it isn’t even eight o’clock. “Okay, Daddy, I will.”

  “Mmm, my very good girl. Have you had a good day?”

  “Super-good. Have you?”

  “Yes, sweetie. You know what tomorrow is?”

  I feel the smile that breaks out all over my face. “My collaring?”

  “Your collaring. Are you excited?”

  I nod so hard my hair flops everywhere despite the braids Laurel has worked along my crown. Daddy scoops it off my face with a chuckle.

  “Me, too. I can’t wait to see my collar around your neck and know that I’ve locked it there and only I will ever take it off.”

  I blink hard and sniff because I don’t want to burst into tears when Daddy’s about to go out with his Dom friends, but whenever he talks about the foreverness of my collar, I feel myself well up. Daddy smiles and kisses the tip of my nose.

  “Is Daddy overdoing the mushy stuff?”

  “No, Daddy. I’m just emotional.”

  “I’m glad you’re emotional, baby doll. I am, too. This is a big deal and I want us both to feel it. So, no hiding from Daddy. If you get too emotional while I’m gone, you send me a text. Otherwise, I’ll be back to give you a huge snuggle at midnight.”

  “Okay, Daddy, see you then.” I wriggle under him and give him a tight hug. He kisses me a final time before backing out of the blanket fort.

  I fall asleep in the blanket fort after watching Mulan and eating handfuls of popcorn and scooting around in the fort so I can talk to everyone.

  I’m jostled awake when strong arms lift me off the pile of pillows I fell asleep in. I immediately know it’s not Daddy by the scent and grab the man’s shoulders even as I look up into bright blue eyes.

  “I’ve got you, Emmy,” Master Mac says.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  “Righ’ here, baby doll,” Daddy slurs from behind Master Mac as he carries me towards the stairs. “Jus’ not steady enough to lift you.”

  Poor Daddy. I don’t know if it’s injury that’s bothering him or if he’s just had too much to drink, but I’m grateful to him for arranging a Mac-lift. I rest my head on Master Mac’s shoulder as he carries me upstairs.

  Mac settles me on the bed in our suite. Daddy stumbles into the bathroom and flicks the light on, sending warm li
ght slanting through the room.

  “Did Daddy drink too much?” I ask Master Mac.

  Mac grins as he offers me a bottle of water from the night table, which I take and sip.

  “I think we got him drinking more than he expected. He’s definitely had too many to carry you upstairs and he’ll probably want something greasy for breakfast, but he’ll be fine. I wouldn’t let him get so hammered he won’t enjoy the collaring.”

  “Thank you, Master Mac.”

  He pats me on my head. “Good night, Em. Sweet dreams.”

  “Sweet dreams, sir.”

  Mac crosses the suite and pokes his head into the bathroom. “You gonna hurl?”

  “No,” Daddy grumbles. “But I can’t believe I let the two of you talk me into whiskey shots.”

  Mac chuckles. “Puts hair on your chest, son. Now show me this thing so I can go to bed.”

  “Ge’ Niall,” Daddy says. I’ve never heard him slur from drink before and it’s funny, but I clap my hand over my mouth because I don’t want Daddy to think I’m laughing at him.

  While I get undressed and scoot under the covers, Mac ducks out into the hallway. When he returns, Niall follows him. Daddy emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, with a damp towel slung around his neck. I drool a little. Even though Daddy and I have been together for months, seeing him bare always stuns me. My daddy’s just all the hot.

  Daddy opens the top drawer in an antique, wooden dresser with a flourish. Niall and Mac peer inside.

  “What are we lookin’ at?” Niall asks.

  Daddy turns his head, does a double-take, and nearly sticks his head into the drawer. “What the fuck? I left it in here. Emmy, you didn’t take a velvet box out of here, did you?”

  “No, Daddy. I haven’t been in that drawer at all.”

  Daddy shuts the drawer and opens it again. By his expression, the drawer remains empty. “Fuck.”

  Niall claps Daddy on the shoulder. “No worries, eh? We’ll look for it in the morning. It’ll turn up.”

  Daddy closes the drawer and rubs his hands over his face. “You’re right.”

  “G’night, wanker.” Niall slaps Daddy on the shoulder again before he leaves.

  “Gobshite,” Daddy says after him; even though I know it’s an insult, it holds no heat and I think Daddy means it affectionately.

  “Good night, son. Congratulations.” Mac gives Daddy a hug, which Daddy returns, and they thump each other on the back. Mac leaves, closing the door behind him.

  Confident whatever Daddy was going to show Niall and Mac will turn up in the morning, when Daddy remembers where he put it since I haven’t taken anything out of that drawer, I take a final sip of water, cap the bottle, and cuddle down in the bed. Daddy joins me a moment later, curling his warm body around mine.

  “G’night, my sweet baby. I’m a liddle drunk, but I still love you more than I ever imagined possible.”

  “Good night, Daddy, my forever-daddy. I love you more.”

  Daddy chuckles into my hair. “Not possible.”

  “I think it is.”

  We fall asleep still bickering over who loves who more. While I can’t imagine Daddy loves me more than the welling, swelling, crushing, mushing tenderness I feel for him, this isn’t an argument I feel compelled to win. We’re both winners.

  Chapter Six

  Logan

  In the morning, while Emmy’s in the bath with her arms wrapped in plastic to avoid wetting the beautiful henna Vashi’s done on her, I ransack the room with a hangover snarling in my sinus and rumbling through my gut.

  The velvet box with Emily’s collar and diamond-studded lock is missing.

  I know I left it in that dresser drawer. I know it in my bones. But I had a head injury not so many months ago and, although I haven’t had any memory loss since leaving the hospital, my doctors warned me that it’s common with my type of head injury. So, I check and check and check again, every spot I think I could have put the box in. Nothing.

  I try to hide my concern, and my hangover, from Emily as I dress her and take her down to breakfast, but she knows me too well. As soon as we’ve finished eating, she climbs into my lap. “Are you poorly sick and can’t eat pudding?”

  Her use of one of my mother’s very Northern sayings makes me laugh.

  “I have a bit of a hangover, little love, but I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll get you some fizzy drops. Is that everything that’s wrong?”

  I touch my forehead to hers and sigh. “I can’t find your collar and lock. I know I put them together in the box I bought for them. I know I put them in that top drawer. I don’t know where they could have gone.”

  She strokes my cheeks. “I’ll help you find them, Daddy.”

  “Okay, my baby. Thank you.”

  I’m not the only one nursing a hangover this morning and we leave a subdued group at breakfast to return to our room.

  Emmy fetches me a glass of fizzing water and whether it’s the medicine or breakfast, the hangover begins to recede. But the box doesn’t appear and seeing Emily sink down onto the edge of the bed, her hands twisting together, makes my gut churn worse than any excess of alcohol.

  I kneel in front of her and take her hands in mine. “I promise I will find it.”

  Emily nods. “It’s a little hard to have a collaring ceremony without a collar, Daddy.”

  “I know, my baby. I’ll sort something out.”

  “Maybe—do you think it’s possible Molly took it?”

  “Oh, baby doll, no. Molly’s a kind spirit. She wouldn’t take your collar.”

  “But Teddy never came back to her. Maybe she wants my collar for herself.” She blinks tears out of those huge, hazel eyes.

  I lean in and kiss her forehead. “I can’t believe she’d do that. Please, Emmy, don’t be sad on your special day. I swear I’ll find your collar.”

  A knock on the door has us both looking up.

  “Come in,” I call.

  Niall opens the door and as soon as he does, Vashi pushes past him, slides onto the bed beside Emily, and puts her arm around her shoulders. “Has it not been found?”

  Emily shakes her head sorrowfully.

  I glanced at Niall and shake my head. He rubs his hand over his face. “When’d yeh last see it?”

  “Yesterday morning when I took the collar off Emily. I put it straight into the box with the lock. I’ve been through this already. It’s not here. I think I should have a word with Martyn.”

  Niall nods. “I’ll come with yeh.”

  I give Emily another kiss on the forehead before I rise.

  Martyn, for once, proves unhelpful. “I’m so sorry, Logan. As you might have noticed, I was so busy yesterday that I didn’t have a chance to clean the rooms beyond making the beds and setting out fresh towels. Do you want me to help you look?”

  I can see he’s going six ways at once. He’s even got ketchup or something tomato-y smeared on his apron and I haven’t seen him in anything that isn’t spotless. “No, no, I’ll keep looking.”

  Niall trails me up the stairs back into the bedroom, where I find a group of submissives clustered around Emily. If a group of bunnies is a fluffle, what’s a group of submissives? A bratting? A sammying? I shake off those fanciful thoughts and focus on the practicality of not having a collar and lock for a collaring ceremony that’s supposed to take place in less than three hours. Returning to the dresser, I check the drawer for the thousandth time. Still empty.

  With half an ear as I go through the rest of the dresser, then the closet, then our luggage, I listen to the submissives’ conversation. They go from reassuring Emmy that the collar and lock will turn up, to consoling her that it’s the ceremony that means everything, not the physical symbol of collar and lock, to suggesting making a temporary collar out of wire and flowers. That finally perks up my little girl and after asking permission to leave, a gesture that stabs me right through the chest given how I may have failed her by misplacing this damn box, she runs off, ha
nd-in-hand with Vashi and Laurel and trailed by Aggie, Austin, and Cappa, to find wire and flowers.

  I sit down on the spot she’s vacated, feeling her body’s warmth on the comforter through my pants, and cup my tender forehead in my hands.

  “Yeh think someone took it?” Niall asks.

  “I don’t know. I can’t imagine anyone would. Everyone here loves Emily. I can’t see Martyn stealing it, either.”

  Niall scoops an armful of stuffies out of a chair and sits, rubbing his temples. He was doing whiskey shots right along with me, so I suspect he has a little snarling and rumbling going on this morning, too. Serves the bastard right.

  “Have yeh taken anything outta the room?” Niall asks, speaking to his knees as he hunkers in the chair, rubbing his head. “What about those bags we used in the scene?”

  I point to the corner where the bags, considerately reloaded with hoods by Martyn, are sitting under a chair.

  “Fuck,” Niall groans. “Anything else?”

  “Not that I can think off.” With an echoing groan, I drag myself up and begin to tear apart the bed. Knowing I’ll have to remake it when I’m done almost drives me to my knees. While I find a handcuff key that’s fallen down between the mattress and frame, no box or collar or lock appears.

  As I’m contemplating the pile of sheets and blankets on the floor, Mac appears in the open doorway.

  “Emmy’s collar really missing?” he asks.

  I nod morosely.

  “You know there’s a clowder of littles sitting in the remains of the blanket fort, watching some cartoon movie and weaving a collar with florists’ wire?”

  “A clowder?”

  Mac shrugs. “Group of kittens is called a clowder. I figured it fit them.”