by Lyn Stone
“You do, too.” He did. But she was just as eager as he was to get him out of that tuxedo. “Oh, look, Mr. Knoblett’s dancing with your mom. She is so sweet, Ford.”
Ford laughed. “‘Sweet’? Mom would love hearing that.”
Mary watched others join the dance. But one man stood alone and unsmiling, cradling a flute of champagne. “Duvek looks more surly than usual. What’s his problem?”
Ford’s smile faltered. “Lives for his job, that’s all. The mess with Blevins left two of his pet projects dangling. Somebody was running an employment agency using our suspects files for reference. You know—the way Blevins found safe crackers for the thefts, the couriers, and Perry for the hit on us. Could have been Blevins’ brainchild from the get-go. Probably was, but Duvek can’t be sure of that, now that Blevins is dead.
“And, of course, there are the missing diamonds,” Ford continued as he pressed her closer for an intricate turn. “Duvek feels responsible that they disappeared while we were using them in the investigation.”
“Ah. Will they take it out of his paycheck?” Mary asked, faking a hopeful look. Her anger at Duvek hadn’t abated yet.
“He should live so long! Do you have any idea what we public servants make?”
“More than preschool teachers, I’ll bet. I hope.”
“Don’t you worry, hon. You and I are the richest people in the world. What we have is priceless.” He kissed her soundly and released her as the music stopped.
The mother of Sarah, one of her students, approached them as they arrived at the punch table. “You two look so happy,” she said. “Such a beautiful wedding. And very Christmassy!”
“Thank you, Mrs. Claire,” Mary responded, noticing the three-year-old standing by, clutching her ever-present blanket.
“Yours,” Sarah said, shoving the wadded bundle into Mary’s hands.
“But you already gave us a gift, Sarah,” Mary told her. “A pretty vase. I love it.”
Michelle Claire smiled down at her daughter as she spoke to Mary. “Sarah brought a couple of your dolls home with her on the Monday after the Friday you left. They were wrapped in her blanket and I didn’t notice them until bedtime. They’re so old, I knew they must be part of your collection. I tried to call you.”
And she had been gone. Mary felt the small, solid forms within the fuzzy bundle. She knelt beside the little girl and unwrapped them. “You took these out of my purse, Sarah?”
“You missed share time ‘cause he made you go with him.” Sarah shot Ford a dark look of reprimand. “So Libby and me got ‘em. We showed and telled for you ’cause Miss Lucy was too busy. You didn’t come back,” she said.
The dolls had been there at the school that night, in Sarah’s cubby, safely wrapped. Mary could imagine her two little helpers taking over after she had left. They eagerly awaited the surprises she brought each day in her tote bag. “Thank you, Sarah,” she said to the child.
Ford crouched down beside Mary and took the dolls, handing them back to Sarah. “Take these and give them to that ol’ frowny-faced man by the punch bowl. Tell him where you got ’em, and I’ll bet you a cookie you can make him smile.”
Mary laughed and nodded encouragement to the little curly-top.
“Which reminds me...” Ford added, taking Mary’s arm to help her stand. “Come upstairs, and I’ll bet you a cookie I can make you smile.”
Ignoring her laughing protests about leaving the reception early, Ford rushed Mary up the stairs to her old room.
“A treasure for my treasure,” he quipped as he gave her a beautifully wrapped gift about the size of a shoe box. “I thought about waiting until Christmas, but—Well, go ahead, open it!”
Mary tore the wrappings away and lifted the lid. “Ruthie!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Ford, you fixed Ruthie!” She laid the box aside and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his face all over until she landed on his mouth. “Oh, you are so wonderful. It’s the best, the greatest gift I could imagine!”
He grinned. “Well, Mom knew about this doll hospital. Ruthie’s little friends are still recuperating.”
“All of them?” Mary asked in a hushed voice.
“Mom said most of them will make it. Now it’s your turn.”
Mary sighed. “I couldn’t top this present, no matter how hard I tried.”
“Bet you can. Never one to be subtle, I’ll drop a very large hint. Okay?”
She snuggled against him, loving the way they fit together. “Fine. What would you like? Anything at all, because I love you more than chocolate.”
“I want a doll, too. A Betsy Wetsy. One around, oh, say, twenty inches long. Dark hair, please. A costume’s not necessary. I’ll dress her myself. Next year’s model. I don’t care for antiques.” He pressed his palm against her middle and patted.
Mary nudged him, laughing. “I was saving that for a surprise! How did you guess?”
He slid his hands up to cup her breasts, which had filled out considerably in the past month. “Brilliant investigative techniques.”
ISBN : 978-1-4592-5905-8
BEAUTY AND THE BADGE
Copyright © 1999 by Lynda Stone
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
“Maybe safety wasn’t the only thing on Mary’s mind.
Letter to Reader
Books by Lyn Stone
LYN STONE
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Copyright