Carrie Alexander - Once Upon A Tiara - Once Upon A Tiara / Henry Ever After

“Send the bodyguard after her.”

“I have, sir. However, I believe reinforcements are called for. Mr. Wilhelm has discovered from the concierge that the princess left the hotel with a stranger.”

“Was it the Tower?”

“Pardon?”

“The man she met at the reception. Tall, well-dressed. Cleft chin. Freakishly hirsute.” Simon was feeling around on the floor for his trousers. He found a sweatshirt and put it on instead, right over his pajama top, holding the phone with his chin. “His name’s Stone.”

“Yes, I do believe that’s the one. I have a terrible feeling he’s not on the up-and-up.”

“Where’s Wilhelm now?”

“Searching for the convertible they drove away in.”

Simon thrust his arm, and the phone, through a sleeve, then brought it back to his mouth. “I’m going to hang up now and call Henry—Chief Russell.”

“My goodness, no. We can’t have the police involved. This must be kept discreet, lest the muckrakers get wind of it.”

“Henry will keep it off the record, if possible. The man’s a bloodhound. He’ll probably sniff the air once and know exactly where Lili—Her Highness—is. We’ll have her back to you in no time, none the worse for—” He stopped.

Inexperienced? Naive? Susceptible?

Was Grundy trying to tell him the princess was a virgin?

“Indeed,” said the Brit.

“Huh?” said Simon, feeling damn slow on the uptake. The hair on the back of his neck was tingling. Oddly, he suspected that Grundy had read his mind and responded in agreement.

“Indeed, the princess will return none the worse for the adventure. She always has before.”

Now that she’d hooked him, Grundy was sounding less urgent. Even complacent. “The princess has done this in the past?” Simon asked.

“On occasion.”

Then why call out the big guns? Simon shoved his left foot into the running shoe he’d found under the bed. He was searching through the clots of dust for the other when it struck him that he wasn’t the big gun. He was the mild-mannered museum dweeb, not the hero. He didn’t rescue damsels in undress.

So why in tarnation had the efficient and spookily perceptive Amelia Grundy chosen to call him?

AMELIA HUNG UP the phone, a small smile puckering her lips. Magic had been in the air the instant Lili met Mr. Tremayne—she herself had felt the thunderbolt that crackled between the young couple. But one had to be circumspect about these things, especially when it came to guiding impulsive young princesses. Mistakes might be made.

Not even “fairy godmothers” were foolproof. Look at the Princesses Natalia and Andrea—now there was a pair of stubborn young ladies!

“Patience,” Amelia whispered to herself. “Their time shall soon come.” Just as Princess Lili’s had.

It wasn’t for Amelia to force the issue. Better to be discreet, waiting patiently for Lili to blunder about blindly until the perfect moment struck. When it did, Amelia would ensure that the princess’s eyes were opened to her intended destiny.

Which wasn’t to say that in the meantime Amelia couldn’t give a nudge or two to point the reluctant Prince Charming in the right direction….

“THANKS A LOT,” said Henry. “I’d just gotten home. Didn’t even have time to take the uniform off.” Minutes after Simon had called, the police chief had driven up in a patrol car, wearing his uniform of a medium-blue shirt with the badge emblem on the pocket, and navy pants, not as crisp and perfectly creased as usual. But still not as rumpled as Simon, who could put a wrinkle in a concrete wall if he had to wear one.

Henry shook his head. “I knew all this museum malarkey would be a major pain in my keister. And it’s not even the weekend yet.”

“Technically, it is.” Simon tapped his watch face. “Past midnight.”

Henry glowered. “And I’m on baby-sitting duty.”

“Princess rescue unit would be more accurate.”

“Why do I have the feeling we’re rescuing someone who doesn’t want to be rescued?” Henry had scanned the streets as they drove through town, but now his attention was mainly on the road. They were traveling north on a wooded lane. Although Simon wasn’t privy to the reasons why, there was a dogged look on Henry’s face that said he knew what he was doing.

“The princess’s personal desires don’t seem to be a priority. It’s all about her public persona.” Simon looked out at the rolling hills, the forests, punctuated by the occasional stately brick house or family farm.

“How are we supposed to find her?” he asked, his voice betraying an edge of desperation. The idea of Lili frolicking with Stone somewhere out here in total isolation did not sit well.

“You’ll see.”

Simon glanced at Henry’s set jaw. “Sorry about this. I thought you’d want to be informed—” In his time in town, he’d learned that the police chief was the repository of all town gossip, accusations and petty squabbles, and Henry seemed to want it that way. “But maybe I shouldn’t have called, after the day you had—”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Then you managed to reapprehend your suspect?”

Henry had been more steamed than Simon had ever seen him when he’d returned to the museum to interview Jana Vargas and found the snack shop empty. Although the door was still locked, one of the small second-story windows had been left open—all of a quarter inch. Henry had spotted that at once. Simon obviously wasn’t a crime-stopper, but he hadn’t needed his college degrees to deduce that Lili was involved. The Gypsy woman had probably crawled out the window, saw it was too far to jump, then got lucky in finding the princess in the next room. Lili had removed her shoes and stood on the trash can to pass over the key, then slipped, crashing into the position he’d discovered her in. This afternoon, he hadn’t gotten the chance to explain his theory to Henry. The chief had raced off in pursuit of Jana Vargas.

Henry grunted. “My suspect walked into the station, bold as you please.”

“What?”

Apparently the chief wasn’t fully satisfied by the surrender. He shook his head in disgust. “Not even an hour after she’d escaped.”

“Then she’s still in custody?”

“Nope.” Henry shrugged. “I questioned her, but I had no good reason to hold her. No evidence. Her partner got away with the loot and we haven’t been able to pick him up. We don’t even have a clear ID on the guy. I couldn’t hold either of them for long, unless we can catch them fencing the necklace.”

“So why’d she turn herself in?”

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