Anything You Can Do(20)
"Dear Cinderella," Paula read from the ivory paper. "My faithful servant brought me the copy of your note, and I hastened to reply lest you be overwhelmed by an army of unreasonable facsimiles. For, of course, I am the only real Prince Charming. Actually, I'm king now since my father retired and moved to Texas, but King Charming doesn't have quite the same ring, does it? Since the post office system is so mundane and totally unsuitable for use by such as we, may I suggest we maintain further contact via the secret royal chamber for missives. If you go to the park named Regency and travel twenty paces from the northeast corner of the rose garden, then turn and go twelve paces to your left, you will come upon a large tree. There you'll find said chamber cleverly disguised as a hole beneath the roots. Do respond soon as I shan't be able to attend to the duties of the kingdom until I hear from you. Faithfully, PC."
"You have to make a new stack for that one," Gordon declared. "Definitely at Once."
"Absolutely," Paula agreed. "The kingdom might be besieged and lost, all because I didn't answer the man."
"You're going to write a letter to that lunatic?" Bailey asked in amazement.
"At least he's a romantic lunatic." Paula stood and raised her head haughtily. "Come along, Gordon. We'll find my laptop and compose a suitable reply."
Gordon stood and took Paula's arm to escort her from the room. "A laptop sounds sort of mundane. Do you think maybe this letter should be handwritten on perfumed stationery?"
"Nah. My handwriting is totally illegible. It's why I had to learn to type. Anyway, PC typed his letter."
"Dictated it to the court stenographer, probably." The pair went into gales of laughter as they disappeared into Paula's room.
Bailey reached down and scooped up Samantha as the little dog strolled into the room. "I do believe you're the only sane friend I have," she told her.
Samantha snuggled in, twisting and turning before finally settling with a contented sigh in a fuzzy ball in Bailey's lap. Bailey stroked the soft fur and wondered why she didn't feel content. Usually Friday nights left her with a sense of accomplishment and an anticipation of the weekend. Saturday work was leisurely compared to the rest of the week so Friday evening started a time of relaxation, but tonight she felt unsettled.
"Want to go get something to eat?" she called to her demented friends.
"How about we send out for a pizza?" Paula asked.
"Sounds good to me," Gordon seconded.
Resignedly Bailey reached for the phone, wondering if they planned to come out of the bedroom to eat. Just as her hand touched the instrument, however, it rang.
Her lack of surprise at hearing Austin's voice gave her a moment's pause, but she assured herself it was only because they'd talked at least once a day concerning the Miller case during the past week. Expecting his voice was a normal response, not a psychic link or anything weird.
"Yes, Gordon's here," she replied in response to his query. "At least, his body is. He's totally lost his mind." She explained what Gordon and Paula were doing, expecting a sympathetic ear.
"They're both writing a letter to Prince Charming?" Austin asked, the emphasis indicating it would be okay if only one of them was doing the writing.
"Hang on. I'll get your friend for you," Bailey offered. Apparently Austin wasn't going to be an ally—was, in fact, involved in the nuttiness.
Gordon's first response to Austin was laughter, then a cryptic "Guidance could be critical."
The entire conversation sounded suspicious to Bailey—Gordon's tone as well as his avoidance of coherent statements.
"See if he wants to come over for pizza," she invited. Best to find out what the two of them were up to, she told herself, justifying the action.
"He says he'll even bring the pizza," Gordon informed her.
An hour later Austin arrived with cold beer and hot pizza. Bailey directed him to the refrigerator while she set the cardboard box in the middle of her dining room table.
"I'm surprised you have a table," Austin said, coming up behind her, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the polished wood with glass inserts. "I mean, since you don't have anything in the refrigerator except dog food and mayonnaise."
"I keep sodas in the vegetable bins," she snapped, suddenly acutely aware of his closeness, afraid to move for fear she'd touch him, uncertain and fearful of where that touch might take her.