Midnight Cravings. Elizabeth Harbison
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out for that, too.”
It was hopeless. She may as well just go shopping for new clothes, because she was never going to see her old ones again. She’d also have to find a fax machine somewhere in this town and hope that someone in the office had copies of everything except the letter to fax to her.
But before she did anything else, she had to contact the brewery and ask them to cut another check for Beatrice.
“Thanks for your help, Chief.” Josie was unable to keep the edge off her tone. “You certainly know how to make a girl feel safe.” She turned to go but was stopped by a strong hand on her upper arm.
He turned her to face him and his expression was serious. “You’re safe, Ms. Ross. Don’t doubt that.”
For just a moment, she didn’t. He was tall and strong and obviously capable, at least in a physical sense. It had been so long since she’d had someone to lean on that, for just one insane moment, she would have liked to fall into the cloak of his arms and let the whole outside world disappear.
She shook herself out of the thought immediately. “Thanks. But at this point, I would settle for simply being dressed this weekend.”
His gaze swept over her like wind. “Look dressed to me.”
Funny, for a moment there, she didn’t feel dressed. “This is the only outfit I have now,” she said, swallowing the disconcerting sexual awareness of him that she felt. “My clothes, my shampoo, my toothbrush, everything was in that suitcase.”
Dan’s expression softened. “Listen, I don’t mean to seem insensitive, but there’s always trouble during this contest. The odds of finding a stolen suitcase, with everything else that’s going on, are pretty low. Thieves in this situation tend to do one of two things, as I told you. They either hide the item away, so it can’t be found, or they take what they want and toss the rest. If it’s the latter, we’ll find it. Otherwise, don’t hold your breath.”
“Nice little town you’ve got here.”
“Believe it or not, normally Beldon is a nice place. Maybe not the kind of place you city folks would want to hang out in, but a nice, quiet place. However, during this cook-off, things are a little different. Every year, for this one weekend, the whole town becomes a bar.”
She softened. “I’m sure that’s a nightmare for you, but I don’t get the feeling you’re concerned about my stolen property at all.”
“I am. You’ll just have to trust me on this.”
She looked into his eyes, wondering how many gullible women had heard that very line.
She swallowed hard. “I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”
He smiled. “That’s more like it. Around here we take things more slowly.”
“I fully appreciate that you do things differently around here,” she said, her voice tight. She was off to a terrible start this weekend. “But I’m only here for four days and I don’t have the luxury of taking things slowly.”
She thought again of the missing envelope, with the letter about Beatrice. It wasn’t as if she could call the editor, tell her the letter had been lost and ask if she could send another copy. Beatrice’s publisher was a major client of Page-turner Promotions and Josie absolutely couldn’t afford to risk alienating the publisher, for fear that they would drop her company altogether. And that the company, in turn, would drop her.
On top of that, Josie thought with horror, what if the confidential information was sensitive in the sense that the public shouldn’t get wind of it? Beatrice was the celebrity author of the moment, and a lot of journalists were trying to tear her down. On top of that, thanks to the theme of her cookbook, Beatrice had come under the feminists’ wrath, so that was another whole group looking for ammo against her.
But Josie couldn’t let Dan Duvall know all of that. Who knew what motivated him? “Look,” she said, “I really need some of the papers that were stolen. For work. They’re not of interest to anyone else, but if you find anything that looks like it could be relevant, you would save me an awful lot of hassle.”
He shrugged. His shoulders were really quite broad under the thin cotton of his shirt. If he wanted to catch criminals, he probably could, bare-handed. “You got it. Well, it was nice meeting you, Miss Ross.”
“Ms.,” she corrected automatically, then immediately regretted it.
“Ms.,” he amended, showing the almost-dimple.
“My apologies.” He was dismissing her, there was no doubt about it.
She hesitated. Dismissive or not, he was obviously trying. He didn’t know how important those stolen papers were to her. “I’m sorry about the desk. And—” she gestured “—Deputy Pfeiffer back there. Although, as I said, I wouldn’t have let him out.”
A little warmth came into his eyes and they crinkled at the corners. He was a great-looking man. In fact, he would be a deadly combination for some women. “It’s like I always say, you city folks are just too trusting.”
“We are, huh?” She couldn’t help but smile, albeit reluctantly.
Incredibly, he smiled back. “Oh, yeah.”
A tremor coursed through Josie.
Suddenly there was a loud ruckus at the door. A man who looked like a thin, wiry version of Dan Duvall was led in, apparently against his will, by two older gentlemen.
“I didn’t know it was a wig!” the dark-haired man was protesting loudly.
Dan sighed. “Excuse me,” he said to Josie, and got up from his desk.
Although she was curious about what was going on, the office was so small that there was no way she could stand by unobtrusively and watch. “Please call me at the inn when you’ve found my things,” she said. “I’m in room 508.”
“I know where you are.”
Josie watched as he strode across the room. He moved well, she noticed. Not many men could look graceful and masculine at the same time. It was hard to take her eyes off of him, but she managed, then left.
Dan Duvall did have his hands full, Josie had to admit. Maybe she should have been more patient with him. How many thousands of times had her mother repeated the cliché about catching flies with honey instead of vinegar?
She also had Beatrice to consider. It wouldn’t be good for Beatrice’s public image to have her publicist arguing with the chief of police.
Which reminded her, Beatrice must surely have made it to the Silver Moon Inn by now. It was after seven o’clock.
She hurried back through the town, barely noticing the many picture-postcard scenes, to the inn. After a ten-minute search of the lobby and upstairs rooms, Josie feared that Beatrice not only wasn’t there, but she might not be coming at all.
No sooner did she have the thought than the front doors banged open. A round elderly woman, with gray curls atop her apple-cheeked visage, made her way in, using a knotted cane for support. Behind her was a young woman, with lank dark hair and a figure like a toothpick, holding a baby.
It was Beatrice. It had to be. Josie let out a long pent-up breath and thanked God that things were finally going to get back on track.
Her thanks went out just a moment too soon.
“Get the hell out of my way, boy, I don’t need your damn help!”
Josie stopped short and watched in open-mouthed horror as Beatrice Beaujold whacked the bellboy in the shins with her cane.
That’s not Beatrice, Josie thought as the woman raised her cane again and thumped it against the hapless bellboy’s leg. That can’t be her.
But it was her, all right. Josie recognized her from her publicity photos.
Something