S weat beaded on the large man’s forehead as he ducked his head to climb into the rear seat of the black limousine. The other man waited there, eyes hidden behind mirrored shades, facial expression as inscrutable as marble. The glass partition had been raised so the driver couldn’t hear them.
“First of all, let me say how sorry I am,” the large man said as the limo pulled away.
“You failed. There is nothing more to be said about it.”
“But I can explain.”
“I don’t want an explanation. It’s enough that I must now step in, which is exactly what I wanted to avoid.”
“But see, you don’t need to step in. I know how to fix things.”
“Now? It took you how many tries to figure it out?”
“What I mean is, I understand that I should’ve taken care of the problem myself. It’s just that I didn’t want to risk having her see me. She knows my face.”
“So, instead, you hired stupid people to do the job for you? Did I not make it clear that time is of the essence? Did I not stress that finesse would be required?”
“It isn’t easy to find someone who-”
“Shut up. I’m tired of your excuses. Now we have one dead and another who could lead the police to me through you. I must think what to do about that.”
“Okay, look, forget about my cut of the action. Just let me fix this.”
The other man slammed his fist against the door. “I said shut up!”
The big man eased a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his brow as he glanced out the side window. Was it his illness or his nerves causing him to sweat so?
He noticed the driver had turned the car into a wooded area just beyond the city limits. As they drove deeper into the forest, he wondered if he’d make it out alive. He eyed the door handle, gauging his chances of making an escape.
The car pulled to a stop before he could act. The driver got out and came around to open his door. The big man glanced fearfully at his seatmate. “What’s going on?”
“Get out.”
“Okay. Sure.” He’d be glad to hoof it home, no matter the frigid temps outside.
He stepped from the car and turned to see the driver bring a crowbar down on his skull. His last thought was that he should have known better than to trust an ex-con.
As Marco drove me to Bloomers that morning, I called my brother’s house to see how Tara was faring.
“She didn’t sleep well,” Kathy told me. “She kept having nightmares, some about you. Tara’s really afraid for you, Abby.”
“Assure her I’ve got an around-the-clock bodyguard. Does Tara know about the blonde’s death?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had the heart to tell her. That’s on tap for later this morning. I don’t want her to hear the news from her friends. She’s showering now or I’d put her on.”
“I just wanted to see how she was doing. I’m so sorry for what I put all of you through.”
“I know you are,” Kathy said. “We’ll be fine. You just take care of yourself.”
I put away the phone and blew my nose.
“Everything okay?” Marco asked as he pulled up in front of Bloomers to let me out.
I blinked a few times to clear away the tears. “It will be. I’ve got a strong family.”
I slid from the car and hurried inside Bloomers, where a welcoming party had gathered: Lottie, Grace, my mom and dad, and Sergeant Reilly. Starting with my mom, each woman hugged, then inspected, and finally admonished me about being extra vigilant, paying attention to my surroundings, not taking candy from strangers-okay, not the last one, but they were treating me as though I were five.
Marco rapped on the door, and Lottie let him in. He accepted Mom’s hug-she was a kindergarten teacher; hugs were built-in-shook hands with my dad, then stepped to one side to talk to Reilly.
When the women hustled off to the parlor to set out coffee and scones, I knelt down beside my dad’s wheelchair, knowing he’d been waiting his turn to talk to me. “How are you doing, Dad?”
“Never mind about me. How’s my girl? Are you really all right?”
It had been nearly four years since Dad had taken to a wheelchair, yet I still found it difficult to accept. He’d been such an active, vibrant man-a graceful dancer, nimble bowler, strong swimmer-before a drug dealer shot him in the leg during a drug bust. A subsequent operation to remove the bullet had caused a major stroke that paralyzed Dad completely in one leg and left him with limited use of the other.
My mother, brothers, and I were devastated, yet Dad refused to let his handicap prevent him from enjoying life. In true Irish spirit, he made the most of what he still had and joked about what he didn’t. Although his courage inspired me, the senselessness of the crime, and the fact that the drug dealer was back on the street nine months after his conviction while my dad was sentenced to a lifetime in his chair, gave me a deep hatred of injustice.
Now Dad put his hands on either side of my face, gazing at me as though memorizing my features. We shared not only the genes for red hair and freckles, but also a deep bond of understanding, making words often unnecessary. His thoughts were all there in his expression: He was extremely relieved the kidnapping had been unsuccessful, both for my sake and for Tara’s, and worried that next time the kidnappers might get it right.
“I’ll be okay,” I assured him. “Marco has promised to keep me safe. Yep, he’ll be guarding me pretty much twenty-four /seven now.”
Saying it that way sounded so-infinite.
“That’s a lot of time to spend with one person,” Dad said. “Are you up to it?”
I knew what he was really asking. He was aware that Marco and I were close to making a commitment, but he also knew that I had qualms about taking that step. “I guess this will be a good test… except I was never a great test taker in school.”
He tugged my earlobe. “Listen up, Abracadabra. This isn’t about memorizing facts and spewing them back. It’s about finding a person you trust and enjoy doing things with.”
It had been a long time since Dad had used my old nickname. He’d given it to me when I was a kid because whenever there was work to be done, I’d disappear. “And Marco is that person. It’s just that-I don’t know-I’m still nervous about taking such a big step.”
“It’s understandable that you’d be gun-shy. But don’t overthink this, okay? You have a tendency to do that, you know.”
“I can’t help it, Dad. I get that from Mom. And I think we’d better can this discussion because she keeps looking our way like she wants to know what we’re talking about.”
“Gotcha. Once this case has been solved and you have some free time, drop by the house so we can have a real talk.”
“I’ll take you up on that.” I glanced over at Marco, and he gave me that little half grin that always made my heart beat faster. Why was I so skittish? Marco had so many positive qualities, having him in my life all the time should be a piece of cake.
Since the shop wouldn’t open for another forty-five minutes, the seven of us sat around a table in the parlor sampling Grace’s freshly baked cranberry scones and gourmet coffee, while Marco and I recounted the evening’s events. Mom and Dad had already been to Jordan’s house that morning to see Tara and hear Kathy’s version. Now they needed mine.
After I finished, we turned to Reilly to update us. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to tell. All they knew about the dead woman, Charlotte Bebe, was what had been in the newspapers. An autopsy was scheduled for later that morning, and her boyfriend, Dwayne Hudge, was believed to be in South Bend, Indiana, where he had family. Police expected to have him in custody shortly, and Nils Raand had been brought in for questioning.
“That’s all I’m at liberty to tell you,” Reilly concluded, leaning back in his chair.
“Come on, Reilly,” I urged. “Tell us something that might be in the newspapers tomorrow.”
Reilly eyed me, as though weighing his options. “Can I have more coffee, please, Grace?” He waited until Grace had refilled his cup, then, after a moment’s consideration, said, “Two items came to light that tie Nils Raand to the kidnappers. The first is public knowledge, so there’s no harm in telling you. Charlotte Bebe worked at Uniworld until two weeks before her death.”
“I knew we’d find a connection!” I said.
“It was a big factor in the decision to bring Raand in,” Reilly said.
Marco frowned in thought. “I’m surprised Raand would hire someone to kidnap Abby who had such an obvious connection to Uniworld.”
“Maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought,” Lottie said.
“What other item came to light?” I asked Reilly.
“It’s evidence,” he said. “I can’t say anything about it.”
“But it’s my case,” I argued. “Why shouldn’t I be privy to the evidence?”
“Because it relates to the crime committed last night,” Reilly said, “and that’s not your case. It’s Tara’s.”
“Does that mean they’ll share it with my brother and sister-in-law?”
“When the time comes,” he said cryptically.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means forget it,” Dad said. “I know how the prosecutor’s office works.”
“Look,” Reilly said to me, “all I can tell you is that if and when the evidence affects the investigation on your matter, they’ll share it with you.”
What if if and when was never? Didn’t I have the right to know who was trying to kidnap me? Gearing up for further argument, I opened my mouth, but the look on Reilly’s face said, Don’t even think about it.
I glanced at Marco for support, but he gave a quick shake of his head, as though to say, Don’t press the issue.
Fine. I knew someone who could clue me in-Deputy Prosecutor Gregory Morgan, aka Nikki’s boyfriend. I glanced at my watch. Morgan would be in his office. Maybe I could slip into the workroom and give him a call to catch him before any hearings dragged him away.
I stuffed the last bite of scone in my mouth and wiped my fingers on my napkin, my mind busily turning over various ways to get Morgan to give up the info. He’d grown more reluctant to share with me of late, fearing the constant information leak would be traced back to him. Morgan wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he did catch on eventually, so I had to keep my tactics fresh.
“Abigail,” Mom said, snapping me out of my thoughts, “I think you should stay with us until the police have the culprits in custody.”
I nearly choked on a cranberry. Had she really just suggested I live in the same house with her? Had she forgotten my law school days, when we fought over whether a plate had to be rinsed before being placed in the dishwasher? How to wrap the hair dryer cord? How many times a pair of jeans could be worn before they absolutely had to be laundered? And those were just a few of our thousands of points of disagreement.
Before I said something rash, such as, You’d have to shoot me first, Dad said, “Maureen, she has a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard?” Mom glanced at me in surprise. “I didn’t see anyone guarding you.”
Marco raised his hand. “That would be me.”
Mom regarded Marco with some uncertainty; Lottie and Grace looked pleased; and Reilly sipped his coffee, trying to stay above the fray. Dad, however, was watching me. At his wink, I gave him a thumbs-up.
“Our daughter is in good hands, Maureen,” he said.
“We’d better get ready to open,” Lottie announced, standing. “It’s almost nine.”
That ended the discussion. Reilly thanked us for the goodies and left. Mom cautioned Marco to take very good care of me, after which Dad told Marco he had every confidence that he would, and they left. Then Marco departed, too, but not before extracting promises from Grace and Lottie that they wouldn’t leave me alone in the shop.
“And you,” he said to me, tapping the end of my nose with his fingertip, “have to promise not to leave Bloomers without an escort.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’m not in any hurry to make myself a target.”
“Good girl.” He gave me a kiss and left.
I shut the door and glanced around at my lovely little flower shop. It had been more than a week since the break-in, and I doubted whether anyone could tell it had ever happened. Now I just had to make sure it never did again.
Grace was in the parlor preparing for our usual batch of morning customers, and Lottie was taking inventory of the glass-fronted display case against the back wall of the shop, so I went through the purple curtain and settled at my desk to dial the prosecutor’s office. But just as I was about to punch in the courthouse number, the phone rang.
I answered with my usual, “Bloomers Flower Shop. How may I help you?”
An overly chipper male voice said, “Well, good morning there, honey. Is the owner of your business handy?”
I got that a lot. Trying to make myself sound older, I said, “How may I help you?”
“I have a shipment of exotic lilies coming in next month, with the best prices you’ll find anywhere. You won’t want to miss out on this opportunity-”
Another salesman. I hung up on him. I hated cold calls. I dialed the courthouse before anyone else tried to get through on my line. “Mr. Morgan, please,” I said to the secretary. “This is Abby Knight.”
“Abby, how are you?” Morgan asked a few moments later. “I just got a full report on what happened last night. Is your niece doing okay?”
“She’s still traumatized, and I’m a little shook up myself, which is why I’m calling. I’ll feel so much better when they find that other kidnapper and lock him up, along with whoever else was involved. So what do you know about the evidence the cops recovered last night?”
There was a pause, and then he answered in his best imitation of a prosecutor’s voice, “As much as I need to know.”
So he wanted to play it coy. Fine. I loved a challenge.
First rule of coyness: State your question as a known fact. “Then I’m sure you’re not surprised that the evidence ties Nils Raand to the kidnappers.”
“Which evidence are you talking about-the flowers or the note?”
Flowers? Note? They’d collected two pieces of incriminating evidence?
“Wait a minute,” Morgan said. “How did you hear about the evidence? Okay. Never mind. I suspect I know, but I don’t want it confirmed. Better for all of us.”
Rule two: Pave the way with flattery. “You’re a wise man, Greg Morgan. I can see why Nikki thinks so highly of you.”
“She does?”
Rule three: Be authoritative. “Would I say so if it weren’t true? Now, about the flowers, are we talking bouquets, baskets, something sent to him by one of the kidnappers…?”
“I thought you knew about the evidence.”
Rule four: Don’t admit ignorance. “Actually, I knew about the other evidence-the, um, note to Raand-”
“Don’t you mean from Raand?”
“That’s what I meant. The note from Raand.”
Morgan was silent for a moment. “You didn’t know about either one, did you?”
Rule five: Punt. “With what the cops recovered from the scene, plus the threats against me, and the break-in at my shop, the prosecution has to be building a case against Raand, right?”
“You can stop fishing, Abby. You know I can’t discuss the case with you.”
Rule six: Make it easy for him. “I’m not asking for a discussion, Greg, just a yes or no.”
“Same thing.”
“Not.”
“Yes.”
Wait. He’d lost me. “Yes, it’s the same thing, or yes, they have a case?”
He sighed sharply, clearly growing exasperated with me. “Yes.”
“To both?”
“Yes!”
Finally! Rule seven: Leave him with a glow. “Okay, Greg, I’ll stop pestering you. I can tell you’ve got way more important things to do than talk to me, but thanks for giving me a few moments. Nikki’s a lucky girl to be…” What? Dating Morgan?
I decided to leave it at that.
I hung up the phone just as Lottie brought in a message for me. As she handed me the slip of paper, I said, “I just confirmed with Greg Morgan that the other item of evidence Reilly told us about this morning is actually two items, and they do tie Raand to the kidnappers. The prosecution is building a case against him even as we speak.”
“That’s good news.”
“Yes, it is. I’m positive Raand was behind all the threats I received, so why wouldn’t he be behind the kidnappings?”
“Sweetie, the fact that you’re asking me makes me think you’re having a few doubts.”
I sighed. “I hate to admit it, but you’re right. Marco brought up something earlier that I keep pondering, and that’s why Raand would hire someone who’d worked for him.”
“That’s not so hard to believe. She wasn’t working for him when she died.”
“Okay, but even so, I’ve seen Nils Raand in operation, and both times he struck me as a calculating, meticulous, no-nonsense type. So why would he hire two obviously inexperienced people to do any type of work for him, especially kidnappings?”
“Then how do you explain the evidence?”
“I can’t-unless it’s purely circumstantial. That’s why I want to find out more about it. Unfortunately, I have a feeling Morgan isn’t going to be of any more help there.”
“But, sweetie, if it wasn’t Raand behind the kidnappings, who would it be?”
“Don’t I wish I had an answer to that. I’d prefer to think the kidnappers cooked up the scheme themselves, since one of them is out of the picture now, and the other soon will be. The only problem is, what would they kidnap me for? My mortgage? Flowers?”
I was still holding Lottie’s message, so I stopped to read it. “Another sales call? How many does that make this week? Seven?”
“You weren’t around last winter, but they usually start flocking in around this time of the year for the all-important pre-Easter sales. This fella had some awfully good prices, though, so I told him you’d be in this afternoon, if he wanted to call back. If you don’t want to talk to him, I’ll just have him drop off his catalog.”
I pinned her message to the bulletin board. There weren’t enough hours in my day to accomplish all I needed to do. The phone rang, and I answered with my standard greeting.
“Hey, Buttercup,” Marco said. “Turn on the news.”
I turned to whisper to Lottie, “Would you turn on the radio?” While she hurried to the back counter to switch on her radio/CD player, I said to Marco, “What’s up?”
“The cops found Dwayne Hudge hiding in his uncle’s basement in South Bend. He was just booked into the county jail. It’s on now. I’ll wait.”
Lottie and I listened to the news reporter tell us the exact same thing Marco just had. “Well, that’s a relief,” I said. “Maybe now we’ll find out if Raand was behind the kidnappings.”
“I’m sure he was smart enough to lawyer up. I’ll let you know if I hear anything more. Everything cool there?”
“Everything’s fine. Well, except that I’ve been thinking about the kidnapping attempts.”
“Go on.”
“You saw how Raand behaved at that meeting. He was so icy cold, I wondered if he had a pulse. His warehouse operation was efficient, as was his secretary, and his office was neat to the point of being sterile. Which is why it seems unlikely that Raand would hire two bumbling people to do anything for him.”
“That thought occurred to me, too.”
“So we’re on the same page with this.”
“You bet. Raand’s shrewd. He wouldn’t have hired them himself. He probably had a go-between to put a layer of protection between him and the kidnappers. All the more reason not to take any chances until we know for sure who was at the helm.”
“True.”
“Good. I’ll be down at noon with sandwiches. Should I bring some for Lottie and Grace?”
I had him hold while I checked; then I said, “Lottie is going out for lunch, and Grace is on a tuna salad diet. Would you make mine a turkey sandwich, please?” I gave him a phone kiss and hung up.
Lottie was just about to turn off the radio when we heard, “In other news, Assistant City Attorney Peter Chinn was hospitalized early this morning after apparently suffering a concussion from a fall on ice. No word at this moment as to his condition.”
“Peter must be hurt pretty bad to be hospitalized,” Lottie said, switching the radio off. “He has diabetes, you know. That certainly can’t have helped his condition any.”
“How do you know these things?” I asked in amazement.
“You’d be shocked at what I pick up from other parents at my boys’ school functions. It’s a real gossip fest. Did you know Peter is from Portland, Oregon? And that he’s single?”
Didn’t know. Didn’t care. Peter wasn’t on my list of favorite people. “Maybe I should take a bouquet of flowers to him at the hospital as a gesture of goodwill,” I said, “and as a reminder that we’re still waiting for that permit.”
“Sweetie, I like the way you think.”
I made a mental note to work on that later. For now, however, I had to concentrate on business. So while Grace worked in the coffee-and-tea parlor and Lottie took care of customers in the shop, I pulled the top order from the spindle and began to ready my supplies, humming happily as I worked.
A floral arrangement for the Walshivers’ dinner party. Cool. Gloria Walshiver, one of our loyal customers, wanted the arrangement made with both traditional and nontraditional elements, so I opened one of the big walk-in coolers and surveyed my stock. For the traditional elements, I pulled pale pink peony stems, then added red saucer magnolias, white spider mums, and aspidistra leaves. Nontraditional elements? Glossy red anthuriums fit the bill. Also, I’d been dying to use herbs in an arrangement, especially dill, which was so feathery and fragrant. What else was I itching to use?
Anemones. That was it. Anemones just felt romantic to me, perfect for Valentine’s Day. I searched among the bucket of flowers only to discover we had run out. I wrote a note to Lottie asking her to put them on our next flower order, then looked for a substitute.
Twenty minutes later, I had a wonderfully aromatic dinner table display for the Walshivers’ party. I wrapped the arrangement, tagged it, put it in the second cooler, and started on the next order. By the time Marco came down at noon, I had finished seven more orders and was almost done with the bouquet for Peter.
“Food’s here,” he announced, carrying in a big sack. He put it on the worktable and began to unload the contents. “I told Lottie to give us ten minutes to eat; then we’d come up front so she could take her lunch break. Grace should be able to take hers when Lottie comes back. Does that sound like a plan?”
Yes. His plan.
“Here’s your sandwich.” Marco handed me a big, greasy bundle of something wrapped in white butcher’s paper.
I sniffed suspiciously. “Is it turkey?”
“The turkey didn’t look good today. I thought you’d like the pork cutlet instead.”
He thought wrong. But what could I say? It was free, and the delivery boy was sexy. I watched him take out two small bags of salt-and-vinegar potato chips and put one in front of me. “You like this kind, don’t you?”
Wrong again. Wasn’t going to complain, though. Not one word of complaint. Didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Not going to think about adding to Marco’s minus column, either. But if I were to think about adding to it, the word presumptuous might have to go on it. Bad Abby for thinking about it.
“Did you just zip your lips?” Marco asked.
I stopped unwrapping the greasy sandwich. “What?”
“It looked like you made that motion to zip your lips.”
I gave him an innocent gaze. “Why would I do that?”
“Maybe because you don’t like the chips.”
I shrugged apologetically. “I eat only the baked kind.” Which he should have remembered from our romantic weekend in Key West. He eyed my bag, as though fearing I might toss it in the trash, so I pushed it toward him. “Be my guest.”
Being hungry enough to eat just about anything, I downed half the sandwich, then wrapped the rest for another day-actually for another person. Marco and I went up front so Lottie could take her lunch break and found her on the phone and Grace in the parlor, bustling between several tables of customers, pouring tea and coffee and replenishing plates of scones.
“Our regular supplier is out of anemones,” Lottie told me as she ended her call. “I’ll have to shop around for another source.”
“Didn’t we place an order for anemones recently?” I asked.
“That was a few weeks back,” Lottie said. “Now that I think about it, I don’t recall receiving that order. I’ll have to check the records.”
“Aren’t anemones sea creatures?” Marco asked.
“Flowers, too.” Lottie shook her head, chuckling. “When I first came to Bloomers all those years ago, I placed an order for an-ee-moans. There was dead silence on the other end of the line; then the guy started laughing. ‘You’re saying it wrong. It’s a-NEM-o-nee, like an enemy said backward. ’ Well, you can imagine my embarrassment. There I was, trying to act like I knew what I was doing-”
The phone rang and she picked it up. “Bloomers Flower Shop. How can I help you?” She listened a moment, then said, “Hold on.” Then she handed me the phone. “Detective Maroni.”
I took the receiver from her. “Hi, Detective. This is Abby.”
“I’d like you to come down to the sheriff’s office to take a look at a lineup. Can you be here in an hour?”