Bernice smiled as Laura entered the office. "So," she asked eagerly, "How did it go?"
Laura ignored the question, her gaze fixed on Murphy's closed office door. "Is he in?"
"Yeah. Mr. Blankenship left a few minutes ago. I'm surprised you didn't meet him on your way up-" she looked concerned. "Are you okay, Laura?"
"I'll let you know in a few minutes," Laura promised, turning toward her own office. "Hold any calls for awhile, okay?"
"Sure. Mr. Oliver's due in fifteen minutes," she warned.
"Gotcha," Laura replied as she closed the door behind her. She hung up her hat and purse on the rack, and then knocked once on Murphy's door before entering.
He was writing something into a file, and didn't look up at her. "Bernice said you went out."
"Yes. I had to meet with a- client," Laura confirmed. It was the truth, after all. Harry WAS a client. She toyed with a paperclip that was lying on his desk. "Murphy, before Mr. Blankenship got here, you were trying to tell me something about Wednesday morning-" Laura watched as Murphy's hand stilled, and he looked up, looking decidedly guilty. "What happened?"
Murphy watched her, then tossed the pen onto the desk and sat back. "Why should I tell you? Apparently you already know what happened."
"I'd still like to hear it from you," she said in a controlled voice.
Murphy rose from his chair to come around and sit on the edge of the desk. "Not much to tell," he said with a shrug. "Bernice wasn't here, neither were you, and delivery boy brought some flowers for you from- him."
"SOME flowers?"
He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Two dozen, long stemmed red roses," he clarified.
"You know, it's funny, but I don't *quite* recall getting any roses this week," Laura mused.
Murphy winced again as he admitted, "That's because I tossed them into the trash dumpster downstairs."
"Oh, Murphy," Laura said with a disappointed sigh. "Why?"
"Because I was worried about you," he insisted. "I was there when Wilson walked out of your life without a word or anything, remember? I saw how much that hurt you. And I watched while you picked up the pieces of your life and put them back together. You turned it around, Laura. Created something really special out of all that. And I can't just stand by and watch you set yourself up for another broken heart. He's not right for you. You need someone who understands you, who thinks like you do. Not some jet-setting English Lord who's just out to have a good time."
"He's rearranged his entire LIFE to move to Los Angeles, Murphy," Laura said in a quiet voice. "Does that sound like he's just- 'out to have a good time'?" she asked. But Murphy's disapproving frown was still in place. "Oh, Murph, how long have we known each other? Six years?"
"Seven, he corrected. "That's if you count the summer that you worked as a secretary at Havenhurst."
Laura shuddered, giving him a pained smile. "Don't remind me. I thought that I was never going to convince Alan that I could be a better detective than I was a secretary."
He grinned. "Well, that wouldn't have taken much work," he teased, then dodged Laura's punch at his shoulder and placed his hands on her shoulders. "But you did convince him- and you were the best damn detective that Havenhurst ever saw. Even Alan Grievey had to admit that. You can't expect me to stand by and let you just throw all of that hard work away."
"I'm not throwing anything away, Murphy," she assured her friend. "Look, I'm grateful for your having been here when I needed you, and I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but-"
He sighed, dropping his hands. "I know. You can take care of yourself. Okay. I'll back off." He went back to his chair and sat down. "You want my resignation?"
"Your-?" Laura laughed and shook her head, easing the tension level in the room about four notches. "Of course not. But I *do* think you owe Harry for two dozen long stemmed red roses."
He nodded. "Fair enough. Although I think that guy can probably afford to buy a greenhouse full of them." He looked uncertain again. "If it's any consolation, I have the card that was with the roses."
"You do?"
"Yeah. I - uh - well, I kinda felt guilty about what I'd done, so I- well-" he winced as he told her, "I went down to get them out of the dumpster. But someone had thrown other stuff on top of them. The roses didn't make it. But I salvaged the card-" he opened the top drawer of his desk to pull out a wrinkled, slightly stained, small envelope. "Here," he said, handing it across the desk.
Laura examined the envelope, fighting a smile at the thought of Murphy rummaging around in the dumpster to retrieve it. "Thank you." She turned it over. "It's still sealed. You didn't read it?"
"I didn't want to pry," he said, fighting a smile of his own.
"Murphy, if you didn't open it, how did you know that Harry had sent the roses?"
"Come on, Laura. Who else do you know that would do something like that?" he asked. "Hell, you haven't gone on a date in over six months. You've been spending every waking moment on Agency business."
Laura had to admit that he had a point. She couldn't even remember the name of the last guy she'd gone out to dinner with. Someone Bernice had set her up with. George, or Gene, or something. The intercom buzzed, and Murphy pressed the button. "Yes, Bernice?" he asked.
"Mr. Oliver is here."
Laura pointed to her office. "Show him into Laura's office. We'll be there."
***
Mr. Oliver wanted the Laura Holt Agency to find out who had been breaking into one of his furniture warehouses. "Have you gone to the police about this, Mr. Oliver?" Laura asked the well-dressed, middle aged little man who was sitting in the chair in front of her desk. She'd noticed his lingering look of consideration in Murphy's direction before he'd apparently dismissed the blonde man from his thoughts.
He looked horrified at Laura's question, taking a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his brow. "Oh no. I can't afford any adverse publicity, Miss Holt," he told her with a dramatic air. "The people whose houses I decorate wouldn't do business with anyone who was involved with the police. They prefer their- privacy. And involving the police would require my allowing them into the warehouse. The very idea of those people moving among my antiques-" he shuddered at the thought.
"You say that nothing's gone missing or been harmed?" Murphy asked, and Laura hid her smile as she thought that his voice was a tad deeper than it was normally. Apparently he'd noticed that measured look as well, she decided.
"Nothing. But someone has been in that warehouse. For the last week, every time I've gone there, the side window latch has been tampered with. I'm a creature of habit. I would never have failed to secure it properly. I made sure of that myself on the last two occasions." He frowned. "Miss Holt, the furnishings in that warehouse are all antiques. If someone is casing the building to steal them, I'd like to know about it, and stop them before they succeed."
"What would you like the Laura Holt Agency to do, Mr. Oliver?" Laura asked.
"Keep an eye on the place for a few days. These people have been getting in at least every night for the last two weeks. I want it stopped and I want it stopped now."
Once Oliver had left, Murphy looked at Laura. They both laughed softly. "Strange little man," Laura commented.
"Strange? I'd call him something else. Reminds me of my old maiden aunt back in Denver. Couldn't stand anyone not using a coaster on her tables- and if you tried to sit on her Victorian sofa with the smallest speck of dirt-" he rolled his eyes as Laura continued to laugh.
"Well, I wouldn't worry," Laura said. "I don't think you're his type."
"Thank goodness for small favors," Murphy said, then put an arm around her shoulders. "Well, partner, I guess we're on stake out," he said to her. "I'll pick you up at seven and we'll get something to eat before -."
"Why don't I meet you here, say about nine?" Laura said, turning to smile up at him. "I'm meeting someone for dinner-" she admitted cautiously, her earlier decision to cancel dinner with Harry not as clear cut as it had been.
Murphy's eyes narrowed with suspicion, and his arm slid away. "Someone? Anyone I know?" He must have seen the answer in her eyes, because he shook his head. "Didn't waste much time, did he?"
"Let's just get the initial paperwork finished on Mr. Oliver's case, okay, Murphy?" Laura said, turning away from him, her hands in her pockets. Feeling the small envelope, Laura fingered it thoughtfully. "I don't think we need to discuss this. Besides, aren't you the one who was just complaining about my not spending so much time with work? You know what they say about all work and no play-" she pointed out, pulling the car from the roses out of her pocket. She ignored Murphy's response as she opened the tiny flap to read the contents.
"Yeah," Murphy muttered under his breath. "But I didn't mean for you to play with *him*."
"These roses can in no way match your beauty," the card read. "I'll be in town on Friday. Dinner?" And it was signed, simply, "Harry." Laura smiled and put the card into her jacket pocket, then turned her attention toward the paperwork. One dinner couldn't hurt, surely. It would give her a chance to set the ground rules for their business relationship, and to let Harry know that she wasn't interested in anything else.
***
Harry exited the lift on the eleventh floor of Century City, and wandered down the corridor, looking at the numbers on the offices. When he finally found Suite 1142, he read the words, "Laura Holt Investigations". Through the glass doors, he saw the tall brunette at the desk inside. What was her name again? Bernice something or other?
Pushing through the doors, he smiled at her as she looked up. "Good afternoon," he said brightly. He recognized her look from long experience. Interest. Bare, undisguised interest. Until a week ago, he might have welcomed it. But now, interest from this woman could be disastrous for any hopes of a relationship with Laura. Foxe. Bernice Foxe, he thought, recalling her name. And with that recollection came a way to possibly blunt her interest. "Miss- Wolfe, wasn't it?" he asked.
Her smile faltered slightly. "Foxe," she corrected him.
"Forgive me. I'm terrible with names," he lied. "Can't remember them for the life of me."
She smiled again, and leaned forward. "Tell you what, why don't you just call me Bernice?" she suggested in a breathy voice.
Well, that hadn't worked, old man, Harry thought. "Um, is Laura about, by any chance? If she's with a client- I can wait," he said.
"She's in conference with Murphy, but I'm sure she'll see you," Bernice assured him, rising slowly from her chair and sauntering toward Laura's door. Harry was certain that it would have been easier for her to use the intercom system, but he allowed himself to appreciate the view of her swaying hips encased in a tight skirt as she moved toward the closed door and knocked. "Laura, there's someone out here who wants to see you," she said in a voice that left little doubt as to *who* that someone might be.
Laura appeared a moment later, smiling uncertainly. "Harry?"
"Hi there," he said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" he asked as Murphy came from the office behind her. He met the blonde man's eyes steadily, reading the jealousy and anger in them, and nodded in silent acknowledgement. "Murphy."
"Your Lordship," Murphy replied coolly.
"Murphy and I were just starting some paperwork on a new client," Laura explained. "Actually, I'm glad you came by- something's come up," she began, but stopped when Harry sighed.
"I rather thought it might," he said, and saw a flicker of guilt cross her face. "So I decided to stop by and suggest that we make it an early dinner- I'm still a bit lagged- time change and all. My body's telling me that it's nearly midnight."
"That might be best," Laura told him. "Murphy and I have to do a stake out tonight at a client's warehouse- Let me get my hat and purse," she said, turning back to her office.
Murphy followed her to the door, asking, "What about that paperwork?"
"You can finish it, can't you, Murph?" she wanted to know, returning to the reception area. "I'll meet you here at nine."
"Laura, you promised me an explanation," Bernice said.
"I'm sure Murphy can explain it as well I can," Laura told the secretary. She smiled at Harry. "I'm ready when you are."
He held out his arm for her. "Shall, we, then?" As they exited the office, he told Laura, "If looks could kill, I think your associate would be arrested for murder about now."
"Murphy will get over it," Laura told him. "Where are we going?"
"A friend suggested a place called Che Rive. Do you know it?"
"I don't think I'm dressed for-" she said, indicating her business-like suit.
"Nonsense. You look delightful," he insisted as the lift doors opened for them. "After you."
Back in the office, Bernice watched the door close behind Laura and Lord Bryce-Davies, and said, "Murphy- what's going on?" When there was no answer, she turned to discover that he'd gone back into Laura's office, and followed him. He wasn't there, so she went into his office. "Okay, give."
"Give?" he asked, pretending to concentrate on the paper in front of him.
"The explanation?" she prompted.
"Don't you have a date or something?" Murphy asked, looking at his wristwatch. "It's five o'clock on Friday. Don't tell me Miss 'Party-Time' doesn't have to rush off."
She leaned against his desk. "The party can wait," she said. "I don't think this can."
Murphy tossed the papers onto his desk and sat back. "Okay, you want the dirt? His - *Lordship* sent Laura two dozen red roses on Wednesday while you were both out of the office. I tossed them out before she got back. When she saw him today, he mentioned them, and she figured out what happened."
"Mistake, Murphy," Bernice said. "I'd give up, if I were you," she told him, standing up.
"Give up?"
"Look, you've known Laura for a long time. If she hasn't noticed the way you look at her by now, she's never going to. Face it. To Laura, you're her big brother."
Murphy sat there alone once the door closed behind Bernice, thinking. "Big brother, huh?" he said aloud. "Okay, she wants a big brother, then she's gonna get one." Glancing at his watch, he made some mental calculations. The time was way off, but maybe he'd get lucky. Picking up the phone, he dialed a number.
***
"What did Murphy have to say about the roses?" Harry asked Laura once Che Rive's maitre'd had seated them. "Where you correct in your suspicions?"
"He threw them out," Laura confirmed. Harry gave her a long look. "He said that he didn't want to see me get hurt again," she explained.
"There's that word," Harry noted aloud, and when Laura frowned, he said, "Again."
She seemed inordinately interested in the tablecloth suddenly. "My last- relationship didn't end very well," she confessed. "I'm over it now, though," she assured him. "But, well, like I said, Murphy liked to play big brother."
"Hmm," he commented, wondering how Laura could *not* know that Murphy Michaels feelings for his employer were anything but brotherly. He took the wine list that the steward handed him and glanced at it before ordering a bottle of champagne. Laura's soft laugh caused him to give her a curious look.
"Murphy would never believe that I was drinking champagne," she told him.
"Why not?"
"I don't like it. At least, I haven't liked it before."
"Perhaps it's the company," Harry suggested, smiling and sliding his arm along the back of the circular, leather upholstered booth behind Laura.
"Maybe," Laura agreed, meeting his gaze and finding herself unable to look away. The spell was broken by the arrival of the wine, and she turned her attention to the perfectly laid table as the waiter poured two crystal flutes. "Thank you," she said, taking hers.
"Your waiter will be with you in a moment," he told Harry.
Harry nodded, and then lifted his glass. "What shall we drink to?" he mused, then smiled. "How about- new beginnings, eh?"
She touched her glass to his. "To new beginnings," she echoed, sipping the wine.
"Tell me, how did you know where to find me earlier?" Harry asked. "All my message to your Miss Foxe said was that I was sending the car to bring you to the airport."
"I guess you haven't read today's local paper."
"No. I haven't had a chance," he told her. "Why? Surely the quiet arrival of Harry Bryce-Davies wouldn't make the front of the Los Angeles Tribune."
"Not the front page, no. But your leasing that condo on Rossmore made the local gossip column."
"Good Lord. So much for my remaining incognito." He frowned. "The didn't publish the actual address, did they?"
"Of course not. Just that you'd taken a condo at the Rossmore Arms. The rest I found out on my own through a few telephone calls. I *am* a detective, after all."
"So you are," he agreed, as the waiter approached. Laura fully expected that he would try to order for them both, and was pleasantly surprised when he asked what she would like. Alone again, she watched Harry's long fingers play with the half-full champagne flute. "So, tell me about this new case that you have to work on this evening," he said.
"Oh, I don't know-"
"I don't mean the details," he said quickly, misunderstanding her hesitation. "I know you can't divulge them. I just meant in general."
"I doubt you'd be interested," Laura said, rephrasing her sentence.
Those long fingers closed over hers. "On the contrary. I find that I'm interested in everything about you."
He certainly *sounded* sincere, Laura thought. And the look in those blue eyes would have melted the polar ice caps, much less her resolve to keep things strictly business between them. She'd talk to him about that later, she decided. "Well, it's really pretty routine. The client owns several warehouses in which he stores furniture."
"Why?" Harry asked, sitting back.
"Why what?"
"Why store furniture?"
"Oh. He's an interior decorator. This particular warehouse contains antiques."
"Ah," he nodded. "Please. Continue."
"For the last week or so, someone has been getting into that warehouse. Nothing has been taken or damaged, but the client is afraid that someone might be *planning* to steal something. He wants us to find out who it is, and stop them."
"Did he go to the authorities?"
"No. He doesn't want any bad publicity- if something is going on. Mr.-" she stopped herself in time and smiled. "The *client* also said that he didn't want to have to let the police into the building to investigate. He was afraid one of them might damage one of the valuable pieces. He's agreed to give Murphy and me access to the building. So, one of us will wait inside, while the other one watches from outside."
"Sounds as though it could be dangerous," Harry commented.
"It's most likely just some kids with nothing better to do than to torment Mr.- my client."
Dinner arrived, and Laura thought the conversation would end. But Harry seemed determined to talk. "What does your family think about your choice of career?" he asked.
"We don't see too much of each other. My mother and sister live back East. In Connecticut. Frances, my older sister, is married to a dentist. They have two children, two cars and a big house with a huge mortgage."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Let's just say that my mother and sister think I'm crazy for choosing a career over finding a husband, okay?"
Harry nodded. "You didn't mention your father. I'm sure he's proud of you-"
"I've no idea what my father thinks of me," Laura said, poking at the veal she'd ordered with her fork. "He left for good when I was sixteen. No one's heard from him since."
Harry reached over and placed a hand over hers. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried. I can well imagine my grandfather's reaction had I told him I wanted no part of the title and everything it brought with it. He would have-"
"Disowned you?" Laura suggested. "Like he did Daniel?"
"That wasn't why Daniel was disinherited," Harry said. "It had more to do with the time he spent in an Irish prison than anything else. Grandfather felt that Daniel wasn't- suitable to inherit."
"So he brought you to England to take Daniel's place."
"Something like that," Harry said. "Don't judge Daniel too harshly, Laura. In spite of being the son of an Earl, his life hasn't been an easy one."
"Or maybe it was *too* easy?" Laura suggested. "When someone has everything they could ever want handed to them on a silver platter, life can get boring. Take Leslie Maxwell, for example."
"You might be right. I'd never considered that idea." He nodded toward the dessert cart. "Would you like something?"
"Oh, no. I couldn't eat another bite," she told him, then watched as he asked for a piece of chocolate torte. "On second thought," she said, eyeing a bowl of chocolate mousse topped with a dollop of whipped cream, "I- I think I could manage that."
Harry smiled. "I knew there was a way to your heart, Laura Holt," he said. To the waiter, he said, "The lady would like some of that chocolate mousse, I believe."
To Be Continued . . .