The Glass Shoe (19 page)

"What's gone?" Amanda asked.

"The other shoe."

"Sam, I've got the other shoe."

Samantha smiled suddenly. "You took it with you after all? Oh, good. Now you'll have both of—"

"Samantha." Amanda was beginning to realize there was something peculiar here. "You know you put that shoe in my suitcase when I wasn't looking."

"I did not," Sam denied instantly. "Hey, I took you at your word in the limo when you said you never wanted to set eyes on it again. When we got home, I shoved it into the back of my closet. I didn't know it was gone until just now."

After a moment Edward said reflectively. "She's very truthful, you know. If she says she didn't—"

"I didn't," Sam repeated flatly.

Amanda looked, more or less automatically, at Leslie, who immediately disclaimed any responsibility.

"Not me. Sam's the brains of this outfit. Whenever one of her plans is unfolding, I keep my fingers out of it."

"Which is as it should be," Sam told her.

Leslie looked at her orange juice and said meditatively, "Which is safer."

Amanda looked at Ryder.
"Then how on earth?
I didn't put it there. I never saw it after the ball until I got out to the ranch and unpacked."

Samantha grinned at them both. "Sort of makes you believe in fate, doesn't it?"

He closed the file with a satisfied smile and put it to one side on the big desk. He tapped one finger against the thick manila envelope lying on the other side of the desk and mused aloud. "There'll be a great deal of money from this, unless I'm mistaken."

"You never are," she said.

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound. "Thank you, sweet. But the problem remains.
A university, perhaps?"

"Scholarships.
There are never enough to go around."

"Good, good," he murmured, nodding. "And as for the other little matter—"

"No," she said.

His dark eyes gleamed with mischief. "Well, but I could hang it in here."

"I will not," she said, "have a murdered animal hanging on a wall in my house, Cyrus."

He chuckled again. "I wish I could have seen her face," he said wistfully. "Still, I suppose you're right, my love. I'll have it sent... somewhere."

He reached out to the tidy stack of files and lifted the topmost one, opening it on the desk before him. In the golden circle of light provided by a shaded lamp he studied the papers in the file thoughtfully.

"This is the one you've waited for, isn't it?" She had risen from her chair and come to him, standing by his chair and resting one small hand on his shoulder.

He reached up to clasp it with the extreme gentleness of a very large and powerful man. "Yes. For thirty-five years."

"It wasn't your fault, Cy."

"If I had arrived on time..."

"You were delayed. And perhaps that was the way it had to be. How often have I heard you say that everything happens in its own time?"

After a moment he looked up at her and smiled.
"All right, sweet.
Point taken.
But the time is now— and I won't be delayed."

"How long do you have?"

He studied the file. "The events have already been set in motion; there's no stopping them. At best I'll have until Christmas."