sitting down on the couch with Emily peering intently at her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I’ve lost my phone,” she said slowly. She ignored Derrick’s noises of impatience and Emily’s concern and ran back through the afternoon and evening’s events. She had, she had to admit, suffered a moment of panic and pulled the embroidery out of her purse and . . . well, that was probably when she’d lost her phone.
Emily pulled her phone out of her purse on the coffee table. She started to hand it over, but Derrick reached out and took it before she could. Emily looked at him in surprise.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want her calling anyone until she’s given me the lace.”
“I don’t have the lace,” Samantha managed.
Derrick waved Emily’s phone at her. “At least you admit that you know what I’m talking about.”
She wondered how someone so good-looking could be so stubborn and unreasonable. “Is it your lace?”
“No,” he said shortly. “It belongs to my client.”
“Are you a cop?”
He pursed his lips. “No.”
“Then how do you know anything about it?”
Derrick looked at Emily. “I’m finding it difficult to believe I’m having a conversation with a thief. Tell me why I just don’t rip her bag out of her hands and get back what she’s stolen?”
“I didn’t steal it,” Samantha said.
“No, you were working for other people who stole it,” he said, shooting her a dark look, “which I’m sure you knew.”
“But I had no idea—”
“Ha,” he said triumphantly. “Then you admit you have it.”
She started to protest but realized that maybe there was no point. She took a deep breath. “I had it,” she said. “But I had no idea that I had it. It was hidden inside a piece of Victorian embroidery that I was asked to bring south to London.”
“Unbelievable,” he said with a gusty sigh. “And you didn’t think to question any of this?”
“Why would I?” she asked. “The Cookes are friends of my brother’s—”
“Who has terrible taste in friends,” he muttered. He dragged his hands through his hair and looked heavenward. “At least the lace is safe. We can worry about the rest of it later.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take it and make sure it gets back to the right place.”
“And why in the world would I trust you with it?”
“Because I have been charged by its owner, Lord Epworth, with getting it back,” he said, with exaggerated patience, “and get it back I shall. Now, do the right thing and hand it over before I call Scotland Yard and counter every thing you’ve said.”
“You work for Lord Epworth?” she asked in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” he said in a perfect American accent. “Relinquish it so I can ring up the poor man and ease his mind.”
She was on her feet without quite knowing how she’d gotten there. She paced a bit, then turned and looked at the other two in the room. Emily was sitting on the couch, the picture of elegance. Derrick was frowning at her, as if he couldn’t decide whether to shout or simply take her bag and get the lace himself. She took a deep breath, but that didn’t calm her nerves any.
“I don’t have it,” she said.
“Of course you do,” Derrick said.
“No, I don’t.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”
She supposed since she didn’t have a phone, there was nothing in her bag that was really worth saving except her wallet, which was uninteresting, and her notebook, which she was just going to display, not hand over. He’d already flipped through her notebook and handed it back to her in the car, so she supposed there was nothing else she had that would shock him. She pulled the strap over her head, then emptied the bag onto the coffee table. Derrick only looked down, then at her.
“Where is it?”
“Probably with my phone,” she said, “which I probably dropped while hiding the lace.”
He blinked. “You did what?”
“I hid the lace,” she repeated slowly. “You know, as in putting it somewhere out of the way?”
“You hid the lace?” he asked incredulously. “Where?”
She gestured behind her, because she had a very good sense of direction. “Back there. In that street fair.”
He swayed. “You hid a priceless piece of Elizabethan lace in a street fair?”
“Under a planter,” she said defensively. “And it was in archival quality plastic, not a paper bag. It’ll be fine.” She paused. “Actually, I’ll admit that the location worried me, because that seemed to be a rougher part of