As he picked up a box wrapped in brown paper, he wondered if there was a way to make her keep wearing the fuzzy thing instead of that other, silky kind of robe she'd shown up in. No reason to torture himself.
"A package came for you." Smith carried the box inside. It was small, about a six-inch cube.
"Oh, thanks." She reached to take it from him.
"Not so fast," he said. "Let me open it."
She warily pulled together the lapels of the robe and followed him into the kitchen.
He put the box on the counter and reached into his back pocket, taking out the thin leather case he took with him wherever he went. It was about the size of a wallet and when he opened it up, thin, stainless steel tools gleamed. "You got any rubber gloves around here?"
She plucked two yellow ones out of a cabinet under the sink, handing them to him with a worried look. He snapped them on and examined the package carefully, looking, listening, smelling. The countess's name and address had been written by hand across the top, otherwise there were no identifying marks.
"You recognize this handwriting?" he asked.
She shook her head as he continued.
"Where'd you learn all this?" She was lingering in the doorway, watching him work. The smell of the soap she'd used pleased him. He tried to ignore it.
"Here and there."
Unexpectedly, she let out a giggle. As he shot her a wry look, he watched her clap a hand over her mouth.
"Sorry. I have a tendency to laugh at inappropriate times."
"Somehow I doubt that." He slid a thin knife out of the kit.
"No, it's true. I used to drive my father mad. Once, during a holiday party, a guest got drunk and fell into the fountain. Everyone was stunned into silence as he splashed around except for me. As my father liked to tell it, from out of the crowd, a giggle rose like a bad smell."
Smith inserted the blade through the wrapping and began cutting around the top of the box. "Children can have rotten timing."
"Actually, it was two years ago."
He flashed her another look and then found himself pausing. It seemed inconceivable that someone as poised as she was could make such a gaffe and he wondered what other foibles and mischief she'd gotten herself into.
Her lips lifted sweetly into a smile and he felt his chest tighten.
Smith frowned and went back to work. "Let me guess, the guy in the drink was someone important."
"Bishop Bradford. Not the sort one laughs at."
" Where've I heard the name?"
"Bradford Bourbon. Kentucky's best."
"Hard to imagine a bourbon king with low tolerance," he muttered.
"Funny, that's what my father said."
When Smith was done, he lifted off the top and saw Tiffany's signature blue glowing from underneath a thin veil of tissue.
"What is it?" she asked nervously.
"If it is a mail bomb, they have excellent taste." He pulled the smaller box out gingerly and put it on the counter. "Mind if I do the honors?"
When she shook her head, he cut off the white bow and lifted off the lid. There was a card on top of the tissue.
He could feel the tension emanating from her as he picked up the envelope. After opening it, he read aloud, "To Woody with love, Bo. PS, can't wait to see you next week."
Grace began to laugh, a lovely sound of relief.
"What's so funny?"
"Bo happens to be Bishop Bradford's niece. You might know her as Senator Barbara Ann Bradford from Kentucky. What a coincidence."
Smith began pulling out tissue, creating a fluffy pile on the counter. "Assuming she's not paying you back for that giggle over her uncle, I don't think this is going to blow on us."
Nestled deep in the protective layers, he found a small porcelain box with flowers on it. He debated on whether to open it and decided it would be safe for her to. He had a feeling she'd appreciate the privacy if it was a personal gift and passed it over to her.
When she lifted the lid, she gasped.
"What?"
"Nothing," she said softly. She tucked the small box into her hands, curling it up and holding it close.
He restuffed the package, cramming the wrapping paper as well as the white fluff into its belly. He was surprised that he actually wondered what was inside the little box.
She nodded toward the caviar and crackers on the counter. "I see you've scavenged around for something to eat. Sorry about that. I wasn't expecting company ... last night."
"Better than some other things I've had over the years." He snapped off the gloves and put them back under the sink. "About your maid."
"Therese?"
He nodded. "When she came this morning, I told her she was going to have a break for a while."
The countess frowned. "But she's completely trustworthy. She's been with our family for years and—"