Dashing Through the Snow

by Lisa G Riley

  “Right,” John said and consulted his notes. “Let’s see here. In Sheffield-Chatham, we have Mr. and Mrs. Landry, Mr. Winscoff, Kip Beech, Adam Ginsburg and Taylor Thomkins -- two of our leading citizens, by the way. In Chicago, there’s Ramirez from the museum, who was brought in by Tam, who is in the wind, but they’re looking for him. And then you have the two goons from Chicago, one of which died an hour ago from the injuries he obtained when falling down the incline. They, too, were brought in on it by Mr. Tam. Actually, they forced themselves in. He apparently owes them big money.”

  “So the Businessman’s Social Club isn’t facilitating a theft ring,” Lily said to Smith.

  “No,” Smith agreed, “but it was a good theory.”

  John nodded. “Yeah, it is. There certainly were enough members involved in this for a reasonable person to come to that conclusion. At any rate, we’re bringing Mrs. Landry in for questioning right now.”

  “And the mistress?” Lily asked.

  “As far as I can tell, she had nothing to do with anything. Kip Beech has never heard of her and Landry says she’s clueless. Hell, she isn’t even the reason he was in Chicago the last time he was there. He wanted one last taste before he ran off, but not from her. He’s got another mistress. Can you believe it? Old dude like that?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable. Oh, and before I forget. This is for you.” He reached across his desk and handed Smith a card. “That’s the card for the woman at Village Hall. She says you should call and talk to her about repairing the funicular car and the ticket seller’s cabin.”

  Smith slipped the card in his pocket and Lily said indignantly, “There’s nothing to repair at the cabin. Smith only picked the lock so we could hide inside. He did break the glass on the funicular car, yes, but that was to make them think we were hiding inside. So, we’ll pay for that, and nothing else!”

  John looked from Lily’s angry face to Smith, who just grinned and said, “I’ll leave all the money matters to her.”

  “And speaking of which,” Lily began, “this whole Mrs. Landry as co-conspirator thing begs the question of how we’re going to get paid.”

  “Talk to Cousin Ralph,” John suggested. “I don’t know if it would be his practice, but if he can’t tell you what to do, surely one of his partners can.”

  “Maybe the Field will offer a reward,” Smith suggested.

  “Might be worth a try,” John agreed. “You know they’re probably going to milk this for all the publicity they can get. It will mean a lot of ticket sales. Maybe they’ll hail you two as the dynamic detective team that saved the jewel.”

  “Where is the Folly? Can I see it?” Lily asked excitedly.

  “Just remember where it’s been,” John cautioned as he slipped on a pair of latex gloves. He took a key and unlocked one of his desk drawers and pulled out the Folly.

  Lily stared, completely transfixed. “Do you have another pair of gloves?” she asked her cousin without taking her eyes off the jewel.

  John handed her a pair and Smith helped her slip one on. John dropped the diamond in her hand. The weight of it made Lily close her fingers around it like it was a guilty secret she desperately needed to keep to herself. “Ah,” she groaned. “It’s gorgeous.” She opened and closed her hand several times in a weird game of peek-a-boo. She couldn’t believe she was actually holding it in her hand.

  She sighed, knowing if she didn’t relinquish it right that minute, the temptation to get up and run from the room would be much too great to resist. She handed it back over to John. “Shouldn’t you put that in a safer place, say, like a bank vault?”

  “I would, but the museum is sending the curator with armed guards to pick this up tonight. They’ll be here any minute. Might as well make sure the thing is accessible.”

  “But --” Lily began, but Smith nudged her.

  She looked at him and then followed the direction of his gaze. Two policemen were leading Charles Landry past John’s office in handcuffs. Landry wore yoga pants, slippers… and a green coat.

  Epilogue

  December 23, 2011 (Lily’s birthday)

  Lily bounced out of bed, brushed her teeth and washed her face, and then managed to put on the new sheer satin pink peignoir Smith had given her for her birthday the night before. Calling it the reciprocity gift because by wearing it, he’d explained with a lusty smile, she gave him a present for her birthday, he’d begged her to try it on with nothing else. Lily blushed as she remembered exactly how he’d shown his appreciation.

  He hadn’t given her a matching nightgown, but she’d found one in her drawer to sleep in, prompting him to complain that she’d ruined his present. She chuckled as she continued her happy bounce down the stairs. Her week couldn’t have ended any better. Not only did the museum offer them a reward for locating Golddigger’s Folly, but her cousin had told her the day before that he thought there was a way they could get their fees and the bonus from Mrs. Landry. Smith and she had been interviewed on the local news and a major Chicago paper had interviewed them for a piece that would run in its Sunday magazine. She was hopeful that the publicity would bring in new clients.

  Sure, she was a little disappointed that Smith hadn’t awakened with her on her birthday, but she didn’t let it bother her. She was sure his reason would be good. She turned into the living room after stepping off the last stair and was assaulted with the seizure-inducing, intermittent flashing lights of a revolving disco ball that hung from her ceiling, and the first pulsating beats of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean.”

  Laughing with sheer delight, she noticed a chair with a crown on it and picked the crown up, put it on her head, sat down and prepared to be entertained. She clapped with enthusiasm when Smith glided into the room wearing high-water black jeans, black penny loafers, some kind of sparkly shirt and a black jacket, a black Fedora and one white glove. “Oh, yay, you’re doing the thing!”

  She saw him grimace in embarrassment, but he soldiered on. Showing her his profile, he put his hand on his hat, bent his head over the microphone (a scrub brush) and thrust his hips in time with the beat of the music. When the tempo changed, he twisted and turned his body in perfect harmony with the music. The vocals started and he whipped the hat off and tossed it in her lap. She cracked up laughing when she saw that he’d arranged his hair so a great hank of it flopped on his forehead just like Michael’s had. Still looking thoroughly embarrassed, he sang along with the song, his voice strong and true. He slipped his hand in his pocket and jerked his shoulders up and down as he twisted a foot into the floor as if he were trying to grind a hole into the wood.

  In perfect timing, he kicked his leg out and twisted it in the air. It wasn’t done quite as gracefully as it had been at age nine, but it was good. When he glided smoothly into the moonwalk, she decided to put him out of his misery and rushed over to him and jumped into his arms, where he caught her, of course. “Oh, I love you,” she said laughingly and kissed him.

  When she would have ended it, Smith prolonged it and turned it into something tender. He cradled her face in his hands and sipped gently from her mouth. “You’d better love me,” he said as he looked into her eyes. “Or else I’m making a fool out of myself for the wrong person.”

  He was smiling, but Lily knew he was serious and she answered in kind. “I do love you.”

  Smith kissed her again. “I love you.” He wrapped his arms around her and they swayed slowly together, completely off beat with the music.

  Lily looped her arms around his neck, lay her head on his chest and breathed him in. “I can’t believe you remembered the dance moves from his appearance on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Motown. Only you would do something like this for me.”

  “Of course, I remembered the moves. I watched your VHS copy of that show for hours and practiced the moves for days to get them just right because you were sick with the flu and had to miss his concert in Detroit with the rest of your little friends and their parents. I felt so bad for you.”

 
Lily lifted her head and smiled at him. “You were so sweet. I remember you came into my room with your boom box. ‘Don’t be sad, Lily-bud. Look, Lily,’ you said, ‘I’ve got a surprise for you and I looked and I watched you dance and sing for me, even though you were beet red with embarrassment, and I fell in love with you all over again, probably for at least the fiftieth time in our young lives.”

  “When I finished, you said, ‘I love you, Smith’ in such a sweet little sincere voice that when you asked me to do it again, I did it again.”

  “And again, and again, and again!” They said together, laughing as they did so. The music had changed to something romantic and so slow, it was thick. They’re bodies automatically moved in time.

  “You know, we’re really good together, Lily.”

  “Yes, we are. We should be partners.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. We’ll combine our businesses. What shall we call ourselves?”

  “I tried to think of names yesterday,” she said. “All I could come up with was C&C Investigations, but then it occurred to me that maybe we want a name that will get us noticed so I thought Hunt Club, but it sounded too much like a clothing line. I then came up with Carstairs & Cameron Investigations, but thought it would only be fair to list you first since you have the most experience and it’s correct alphabetically. So what do you think of Cameron & Carstairs In --”

  Smith had pressed a finger to her lips. “How about Cameron & Cameron?” He took a deep breath and took the plunge he’d been trying to avoid for four years, “Lily, will you marry me?”

  Lily looked at him. “What? Why? We don’t have to get married to go into business together.”

  Exasperated, Smith shook his head. “I know that, Lil, and I can’t believe I have to explain this. We should get married because we love each other.”

  Lily shook her head. “Not necessary. Besides, I’m not ready, and you don’t really want to. You’re only proposing because you think I want to be married.”

  Smith stopped dancing. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t want to marry you, sweetness. Besides, both your mama and mine gave you to me, and I plan to keep you.”

  She nodded absentmindedly. She’d started to tune out his words and pay attention to the feel of his body pressed against hers. She stood on tiptoe to nibble at his chin. “Can I have another birthday present, Smith?” she whispered as she nuzzled his neck.

  Distracted, Smith took her by the shoulders to look in her eyes. The lust he encountered made heat curl low in his stomach and he forgot what he was going to say. “What did you say again?”

  “I asked if I could please have another birthday present. Pretty please,” she begged prettily before nuzzling his neck again. “With sugar on top.” This time she scraped her teeth across his skin.

  And he was a goner. He took her mouth in a long, wet kiss. “What would that present be, sweetness?” he asked when they came up for air.

  What she whispered in his ear made him pick her up and toss her over his shoulder. “I believe that can be arranged. We’ll finish our discussion later,” he promised as he ran with her up the stairs. “Count on it.”

  Keep checking Lisa’s blog to find out when the next Lily and Smith adventure comes out!

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lisa G. Riley is the best-selling author of “Caught Up in the Rapture” and “At Last.” Her work has been called “character and issue driven; exciting, passionate and thought provoking.” Ms. Riley writes in several genres including romantic suspense, erotica and paranormal. She resides in Chicago where she is hard at work on her next project. She loves to hear from readers. Feel free to email her at lisa@lisagriley.com. Please visit her at www.lisagriley.wordpress.com for more information about her work.

  OTHER BOOKS BY LISA G. RILEY

  After the Morning After

  Give Yourself to Me

  Stolen (co-authored with Roslyn Hardy Holcomb)

  Given (co-authored with Roslyn Hardy Holcomb)

  Simply Wicked

  At Last

  Caught Up in the Rapture

  Big Spankable Asses (anthology)

  Bound to Ecstasy (anthology)

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