A/N: Another answer to the story challenge.

RING OF TRUST

by

Owlcroft

Sarah carefully handed the box down to McCormick, saying as she did so, "Be very careful, now."

"I got it," he replied, easing the box from her grip. "Hold on a sec." He placed the large cardboard box on a lower shelf and extended a hand to help her down from the stepladder.

"Thank you, Mark." She straightened her skirt and gestured toward the ladder. "If you can put that away, I'll start unpacking the dishes."

McCormick nodded, but picked up the box instead. "Let me just put it on the counter for you. I kinda want to see what it all looks like anyway."

"It's an unusual pattern," she told him, following him into the kitchen. "Mrs. Hardcastle was very fond of Crown Derby in general, but this Windsor Rose pattern was her favorite. It was a limited edition release, so the pieces are irreplaceable."

Mark set the box gently down on the counter next to the sink. "I'm gonna let you unpack it then. Anything breaks, it's your fault," he grinned at her.

Sarah sniffed in mock outrage. "If anything breaks, I'll blame it on a certain ex-con being in my way."

Mark cringed and held up his hands in defense. "Hey, I'm way over here! Just looking, that's all." He craned his neck as she began removing the china, and said curiously, "What's that? Looks like a gasket or something."

"This is a napkin ring, and it's one of six. Crown Derby sets don't usually include them, and you had to order them at the time this particular set was made." Sarah finished unwrapping the tissue paper from the next napkin ring and set it in the middle of the counter. She examined it and smiled in reminiscence. "You see the roses outlined in real gold? The napkin rings cost nearly as much as the rest of the set combined. She only used this china at Thanksgiving and Christmas. She'd lay it all out on the table and just sit and look at it." The housekeeper glanced up at McCormick and tilted her head. "I told you this set of china was a tenth anniversary present. Mrs. Hardcastle was appalled at what the judge paid for it, but he told her no price could be set on what he felt for her."

"That's nice," said McCormick quietly. He gazed at the napkin rings for a moment, then shook himself and added, "I better get that ladder put away and get to the store. You did order the turkey, right?" he asked anxiously.

Sarah sighed in a long-suffering manner, then waved her hands at him. "Of course I did. Now scat or there won't be any Thanksgiving dinner."

ooooo

"Great Thanksgiving dinner, Sarah. Thank you." The judge patted his stomach tenderly and smiled. "That might be your best pie ever."

Mark took one final bite, then shoved his dessert plate away. "I'd love to have another piece, but," he looked longingly at the remaining slice of pumpkin pie, "I just can't."

"Three pieces is enough for anyone," said Sarah primly. "Thank you, Your Honor. We'll just clear up here, and get the leftovers put away. There's plenty for sandwiches tonight."

Hardcastle groaned, "I don't think I'll eat for a week." He pushed away from the table and gathered up a few items from the table in front of him. "I'll help carry."

Sarah tsked and shook her head. "You go watch the football game. Mark and I can handle this."

"I'll just take this one load." The judge headed for the kitchen. "Gonna get myself another cup of coffee anyway."

McCormick stood up with a sigh of contentment, and started to stack the dessert plates.

"No, no, Mark," Sarah took the two plates from him, one in either hand. "You don't stack this china. Handle each piece separately and it's got to be washed by hand."

"No dishwasher," he said in disappointment.

"I wash, you dry," she told him. "Very carefully."

He picked up the pie plate in one hand and grabbed a fistful of cutlery with the other. "Is Thanksgiving like this every year? I mean, all this food!"

"Oh, this is pretty standard for a Gull's Way Thanksgiving." She preceded him into the kitchen and held the door open for him with her elbow. "But I don't usually make two pies."

The judge passed them on the way to the den, but stopped when he heard her remark. "There's another pie?"

Sarah smiled wryly. "I've been cooking for Mark a few weeks now, Your Honor. I thought two pies might just get us through the day."

ooooo

The leftovers were stored in the refrigerator, the linen tablecloth and napkins taken to the laundry room, and the china washed and dried with great care. McCormick fetched the Crown Derby box and began to pile the tissue paper from it onto the counter.

Sarah stiffened suddenly and said, "Mark."

Bending down to catch a piece of paper trying to float to the floor, he answered, "Yeah?" without looking at her. He straightened up, put the paper on the counter, and realized she wasn't responding. "Sarah? Did you say something?"

She stood in silence, biting her lip and staring through the window over the sink.

"Sarah?" asked McCormick tentatively. "Are you okay?"

The elderly housekeeper turned to him. "One of the napkin rings is missing."

Mark stood in perplexity for a moment, brow wrinkled in thought. "I remember putting mine right here." He pointed to the side of the sink. His face abruptly lost all expression and his jaw clenched. "Oh. I get it." He took a step back from her and extended his arms from his sides. "You want me to assume the position? You can call Hardcase in here and have him pat me down."

"What in heaven's name are you nattering about?" she said snappishly. "We've lost a napkin ring. I can't think about your little jokes right now. Just let me try to remember!"

McCormick blinked, opened his mouth to say something, realized he had no idea what he wanted to say, and closed it again.

Sarah nodded suddenly, very decisively, then walked to the kitchen door, pushed it open and walked through. Mark followed, apprehension warring with curiosity.

"Your Honor," she called as she came to the steps leading down into the den. "Where did you put your napkin ring when you took those plates into the kitchen?"

Hardcastle waved a hand at her, staring at the television screen. "It's third down and eight, Sarah!"

She folded her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "Your Honor," she said firmly.

"Huh, what? Oh, dammit. Why do I always bet on U.S.C.? I oughtta know better by now." He snorted in disgust and muted the sound. "What did you say?"

"Your napkin ring, Your Honor. Where did you put it?"

"Oh," he leaned back in his chair and stared into space. "Um, on top of the fridge. I figured it'd be safe up there."

Sarah smiled at him grimly. "The one place I can't see. Thank you, Your Honor. Oh, Mark, did you have something you wanted the judge to do?"

McCormick shook his head. "No. Not really." He followed the small determined figure back into the kitchen. "So, I guess . . . maybe I should apologize?"

"For what? Not spotting it up there? Why should you look on top of the icebox? Honestly, that man," she grumbled. "He's a wonderful person, but sometimes he can be so careless with valuable things."

Mark spotted the errant napkin ring and handed it down to her, then leaned against the counter and ran a finger across its surface. "Well, I kinda jumped to a conclusion, I guess. I mean, I thought you were accusing me of stealing it."

"Mark McCormick!" Arms akimbo, Sarah wore a shocked expression. "Don't you think I'm a better judge of character than that? It never for one instant occurred to me that you would do such a thing."

"Sorry, Sarah," he mumbled.

"And so you should be. Although," she turned toward the box of china and began to fuss with the tissue paper again, "I suppose anyone who didn't know you might think you capable of something like that. But the judge and I know better. You have to learn to trust us, Mark."

McCormick smiled at that. "Oh, yeah? So you trust me enough for me to put that box away for you?" His smile changed to an impish grin with a definite challenge to it.

She turned away to hide an answering smile and said dryly, "Maybe by Christmas."

finis