part0010

Oh, trials! Oh, tribulations! Princess Destiny put a delicate hand to her bosom and attempted to quiet her heart. Prince Drake? Surely her parents—

“Calm yourself, child,” Queen Camille suggested gently. “Your father and I understand how this news excites you, and such stimulation certainly becomes your countenance, but you must save your energy.”

The girl lifted her hand to her lovely face. “Energy?”

Her father chuckled, and the princess directed her attention to the other end of the dining table. “Dearest Dee Dee.” King Cedric smiled kindly. “Your mother is simply suggesting you shall require all your strength for your upcoming nuptials.”

Nuptials! “Oh, but Papa—”

“Prince Drake and his parents are most eager to seal your union, and the union of our two realms,” King Cedric continued mercilessly, for he knew not the distress his words caused his beloved offspring.

“There is much to do in a fortnight,” Queen Camille agreed.

Fortnight! “Oh, but Mama—”

“Of course, everyone ought be invited.” The queen tapped her chin in contemplation. “Cedric, darling. Shan’t you declare the occasion a holiday for all subjects of the realm?”

King Cedric pounded the table. “By Jove, Cammie, smashing idea!” He raised his wine goblet and turned to the princess. “It shall be a glorious day!” The king’s gaze fell upon his daughter’s untouched supper. “Eat up, my girl! You shall need your energy!” He winked at his wife. “For her wedding day, and her wedding night.”

“Cedric!” Queen Camille scolded. “Do not embarrass the child.”

Princess Destiny simply could bear no more! She asked to be excused and rushed toward the doors. My, but they seemed so terribly far away. How had she never noticed the immense size of the dining hall of Griffondale Castle?

But at last she reached the doors. She swept past the butler Mr. Jekyll and stumbled up the stone staircase to her bed chamber.

“Oh, trials! Oh, tribulations!” she wailed as she flung herself onto the lace coverlets.

Wilson awoke with a start. “What the—”

I patted his chest. “I must have jumped a bit, in empathy with Princess Destiny.”

He yawned and sat up, and Snowflake found his lap. Wally had already snuggled up against my left elbow, but Bernice remained at the foot of the bed, sound asleep and snoring. “Did you sleep at all?” Wilson asked me.

I shrugged and pointed to the computer on my lap. “Abigail Witherspoon dusts when distressed, Adelé Nightingale writes.”

He rubbed his eyes, and I scrolled up so he could read. “What’s wrong with the Flake guy?” he asked. “He’s a prince, right?”

I pointed cat-ward. “She’s Snowflake, but he’s Prince Drake.”

“Is he handsome?”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s a prince.”

I again answered in the affirmative. “Drake is everything a prince should be—rich, handsome, intelligent—”

“Intelligent!” Wilson exclaimed. “Well, there’s your problem. Since when do Adelé Nightingale’s heroes have anything worth mentioning between their ears?”

I turned and glared.

“No, really,” he said. “What’s her problem with the prince?”

“Her secret, of course. It is altogether impossible that she marry Prince Drake.”

“Oh yeah, the secret.” Wilson nodded to the cats and again addressed me. “What secret? ”

“That’s the million-dollar question.” But I insisted Adelé would have to tackle that conundrum some other time. “Right now we need to get to Pierpont’s.”

Bernice woke up at that suggestion and meowed adamantly until Wilson assured her she’d get breakfast first. He climbed out of bed. “Come on, guys,” he said, and the fatter-than-fat calico was the first to follow.

I was setting my computer aside to join the gang when his cell phone rang.

“Pick that up?” he called from the kitchen.

I snarled at the phone on his nightstand and reached over. “Captain Rye is busy today.”

“It’s me, Jessie.”

“Of course it’s you, Russell.”

Lieutenant Russell Densmore is Captain Wilson Rye’s right hand man. He’s a good friend and a great cop, however, he has one very bad habit—he calls on weekends. Crime, it seems, tends to happen on weekends.

“Wilson’s busy today,” I repeated. “Karen’s been kidnap—”

“I heard, Jessie. I need to talk to him.”

“He’s busy—”

“Would you give me that!” Wilson grabbed the phone.

I climbed out of bed and headed for the coffee pot, and endeavored not to listen to all the “mm-hmms” emanating from my husband.

“Let Russell handle it,” I called out, and I know Wilson heard me.

“I’m on my way,” he said.

“No, you’re not!” I hollered as he rounded the corner. I stomped my bare foot. “Karen needs you, Wilson.”

“There’s been a homicide, Jessie.”

“Not Karen! Not Karen!” Wilson’s voice wafted over me, and eventually I opened my eyes. And eventually I sat up. I was in the middle of the cat food dishes, but even Bernice had stepped aside. I glanced into the baby blues.

“I’m sorry, Jessie. That was really stupid of me. ”

I took a deep breath. “Who?” I asked, and he named Elliot Moss, a prominent local businessman. “Can’t Russell handle it?” I begged. “Please?”

“Jessie. You know they need me at the crime scene.”

“I know Karen needs you.”

The baby blues held me. “Didn’t we already agree Karen’s not the victim of a homici—”

“Don’t!” I held up both hands. “Don’t say that word.”

He didn’t say that word. Instead he emphasized the kidnapping angle, and while he rushed to take a shower and get ready to leave, outlined a contingency plan—Lieutenant Allen Kapinski would take over the search for Karen.

“I do not like this plan,” I told the shower curtain. “I want you.”

“Al’s your guy, Jessie.” Wilson stepped out of the shower to argue some nonsense about Lieutenant Kapinski being the Clarence PD’s kidnapping expert.

He moved to the sink for a quick shave. “I’ll call him on my way to the Moss house,” he said. “He’ll meet you at Pierpont’s.”

“Al’s too old,” I whined.

“You’re one to talk.”

I folded my arms and glared, and Wilson, who is five years my junior, apologized. “Just trying to lighten things up,” he said, and as he got dressed, he argued some nonsense about how age brings experience.

“Try to have an open mind.” He stood up from tying his shoelaces. “You can make yourself useful, you know.”

“I can?” I shook my head. “I mean, I can!” I followed him to the door but sprung ahead to block his path. “How?”

He frowned at the door behind me. “Talk to the neighbors and find out when they last saw Karen. And once you’re at Pierpont’s cooperate with Al.”

I reminded him I am an exceedingly cooperative person, and for some reason he pointed to the door I was blocking. “Is Al going to cooperate with me?” I asked.

“I’ll talk to him.” Wilson tried maneuvering me aside. “I’m sure he’ll let you observe. ”

“Perfect.” I grabbed the doorknob and struggled to hold my ground. “You won’t be there, and I’ll be ‘observing.’ This should be productive.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, he said it’s so nice when we agree. Then he gave me a quick kiss, won our little wrestling match, and closed the door behind him.