Sleeping with Anemone

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