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She laughed. "When you hear what I did to Blakely, you'll be sorry you asked that question. So, what was it? A sudden yen? A boyish prank?" She grasped the open collar of his shirt and tugged on it. "A fit of youthful rebellion?"
"All of that, I guess. The bike belonged to the guy who lived downstairs. He'd let me ride it a couple of times; I figured I'd take it out for half an hour, bring it back, and nobody'd be the wiser."
"But?"
"But, my old man caught me. He said what I'd done was a sure sign I was destined for a dissolute life."
Miranda's brows lifted. "You sure your father and my mother never met?"
Conor chuckled. "Not unless Eva put in some time down around the Magnificent Seventh."
"The Magnificent Seventh? What's that?"
"My old man's police precinct. He was a cop."
"A law-and-order type, hmm?"
Conor's smile tilted. "Yeah, you might say that."
He stood up, drew Miranda to her feet and put his arm around her. They strolled along a path bordered by bright yellow daffodils.
"Just look at the flowers," she said. Her smile lit his heart. "Aren't they beautiful?"
"Beautiful," Conor agreed, watching her.
She bent down to the daffodils and reached out as if to touch one but her fingers never quite reached the golden petals. Suddenly, Conor thought of the photo tucked inside his wallet, the one of Miranda sitting under a dogwood tree, smiling with the innocence of youth and holding a flower in her hand.
That's the sort of girl she was, Agnes Foster had said coldly, sitting on the grass when she knew it was forbidden, plucking blossoms. She would have been reprimanded for that.
He reached down, plucked a daff from the sea of gold and handed it to Miranda.
"It's okay," he said solemnly. "There's an old Irish proverb says you have to pick the first daffodil of the season or they won't bloom the next year."
A smile curved over her mouth. "You made that up."
"Yeah." He smiled, too, as he took the flower from her and tucked it in her hair. "But you have to admit it's a nice thought."
He slipped his arm around her again and they headed into the leafy coolness of the Ramble. "So," he said, clearing his throat, "you were telling me about the scam you pulled on old lady Blakely. Why'd you want to swap places with the kid on K.P. duty?"
Miranda laughed softly and ducked her head against his shoulder.
"Well, how else could I switch Blakely's dinner plate for one containing a dead mouse?"
Conor burst out laughing. Ahead, the graceful grey stone of Bow Bridge arched across Central Park lake.
"You didn't."
"I did. Poor little guy met his end in a trap in the stable but I gave him the closest thing I could to a big send-off. Oh, it was wonderful! Blakely whisked off the cover and there was Mickey, lying on a bed of watercress with his little feet pointing straight up."
The bridge was deserted and lit by the sun. When they reached the center of the span, Conor leaned back against the warm stone and put his arms around Miranda. She was still smiling but darkness was stealing into her eyes.
"Blakely knew, right away, that I'd done it. So she sent for Eva, told her what I'd done and said I was unfit to continue at the school."
"Did you tell Eva about the rotten food and that you'd tried to have it changed?"
"Remember your father's little speech to you? Eva's was pretty much the same. She said I'd been nothing but trouble all my life and that the next school she sent me to would know how to deal with 'problem girls' like me." She gave a soft, sad little laugh. "And I was on my way."
Conor took her face in his hands and kissed her.
