Sleeping with Anemone

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?