the back of the bench, one leg crossed over his knee. Despite his casual posture, he was clearly and intently watching the shop, like a cat watching a mousehole. Was he waiting for me to come outside? Did he want me to see him? Was he trying to unnerve me? Because it was working.
I stepped back behind the counter to pick up the phone, but dialed Reilly’s number instead of Marco’s. As I waited for him to answer, I said to Tara, “Did you call Marco Unc?”
“You won’t let me call him Uncle Marco,” she said, trying not to move her mouth.
“Raand can’t hear you, Tara.”
“He might read lips.”
“Reilly, hi, it’s Abby. Nils Raand is sitting on a bench on the courthouse lawn watching my shop.”
“That’s not against the law, Abby,” Reilly said.
“But I think he’s trying to intimidate me.”
“Still, unless you can prove it… Look, tell you what, I’ll drive by and make sure he sees me eyeball him. If that doesn’t do it, I’ll walk over and have a talk with him.”
“Thanks, Reilly. You’re the best.” I hung up and said to Tara, “Cops are on their way.”
Tara turned her head just enough to see out the window; then she relaxed. “Never mind. He left.”
I ran to the window to look out. Not only had Raand left the bench, but I couldn’t see him anywhere on the courthouse property. I searched people getting into cars parked around the square but caught no glimpse of him. Thank goodness both of us had seen him. If it had been only me, I might have thought I’d imagined him.
By the time Marco came down to Bloomers to get me at five thirty that evening, I’d had a full day and was ready for a quiet evening. Reilly had stopped by to tell me he hadn’t located Raand and to ask if I was sure I’d actually seen him. After assuring him that Tara could back me up, I asked him to make out a report for the theft of my mom’s brooch. Since it was the second such theft, I thought it important to do so. No one had notified Mom yet. None of us wanted to be the one to break the news.
“Losing one brooch I can almost understand,” I told Marco on the ride home, “because it wouldn’t be difficult to lift a small piece like that. But then to have the second one stolen makes me think it’s more than a coincidence. And then to spot Nils Raand watching us through the window on the same day…” I shuddered. “Why would he do that? Is he playing games with me?”
“I don’t know, but next time you see him, call me. I can be there sooner than the cops. Is Tara okay?”
“A bit shaken. She had Kathy pick her up right after Raand left.”
“Are you okay?”
“A little unnerved, which I’m sure is what Raand wanted.”
Marco was mulling something over. I could see his jaw muscles working. “Was the brooch the only item stolen both times?”
“As far as we can tell, yes.”
“And both times, it was Jillian who wanted to purchase a brooch?”
“Yes, but she didn’t know anything about the first one until Grace told her. Why? What are you thinking?”
“Maybe Jillian is the one playing games.”
“By stealing Mom’s brooches? Why would she do that?”
“Think about it. You wear a beret; Jillian wears a beret. You wore a brooch; then she wanted to buy a brooch. You were engaged to an Osborne; she got engaged to an Osborne. See where I’m going with this?”
“Yes. You’re saying my cousin is a thief with bad taste in men.”
“She likes to copy you-that’s all I’m saying.”
“If she wanted the brooch, she has the money to buy it.”
“Maybe it’s more fun to make you look for it. It’s something to keep in mind, anyway. By the way, did Jillian tell you whether she identified anyone in the lineup?”
“She picked out Hudge as the van driver. And Lottie picked him out as the UPS guy.”
Marco shook his head. “I can’t believe how inept Hudge was to let Jillian see his face. It’s as though he never considered she might ID him.”
“So wouldn’t you think that after Hudge and Charlotte botched the first attempt to kidnap me, Raand would find someone else? Or if not, then surely after the second failed attempt? It bothers me that he continued to let them try, because it seems out of keeping with Raand’s character.”
“I’m with you on that. Raand was surely savvy enough to realize that the more those two screwed up, the more likely they were to be caught and lead the police back to him. Still, we can’t discount the evidence Morgan mentioned. If it decisively connects Raand to the kidnappers, then he’s their guy.”›
“I’d feel better knowing what that evidence was.”
“You just have to have a little patience, Abby, while the detectives do their job. In the meantime, I’m doing my job-keeping you safe.”
At my apartment building, Marco pulled the Vette into my assigned parking space and shut off the engine. “We’re home. What’s for supper?”
I was supposed to have supper ready?
“Just kidding,” he said. “I brought food.” Then he reached for a bag in his backseat.
As long as it wasn’t more greasy pork, it worked for me.
Marco took out a package of ground beef, a jar of spaghetti sauce, and a pound of whole wheat pasta and set them on the counter. “Perfect,” I told him.
Then he pulled out a thick mailing envelope and set it on the counter, too. “From my mom. Take a guess what’s inside.”
“Another bridal magazine.” I opened it up and showed him. “I stand corrected. It’s a pattern book for bridal wear. She’s branching out.”
“Now her comment makes sense. She said to tell you she’s an excellent seamstress.”
“Your mom wants to make my gown?”
Marco shrugged. “I’m only the messenger.”
“Tell her I said thanks-again.” I opened the front hallway closet and tossed the pattern book onto the growing pile of wedding-themed magazines.
Marco washed his hands at the sink. “If you show me where the ingredients are, I’ll whip up a salad.”
I pointed to the refrigerator.
“How about a knife?”
I pointed to the knife block on the counter.
“Olive oil?”
I pointed to the cabinet where we kept our supplies. “Are you new in town?”
“How about spices?”
“Same cabinet. Wait. What spices do you put in a salad?”
“Italian spices, I guess.”
“Seriously? I use sea salt and black pepper.”
He reached for the phone. “I’ll call my mother and find out what she uses.”
I grabbed the phone from him. No way did I want Francesca Salvare to know I was a bland, uninspired cook. Her meals could rival those of the best chefs in Italy. I opened the cabinet and searched among the spices, pulling out oregano and basil. “Italian spices. There you go.”
While Marco tore lettuce and chopped tomatoes, I browned beef in a skillet and cooked the pasta. It wasn’t easy for two adults to work in a small galley kitchen, so we found ourselves constantly bumping into each other, until soon the bumping became more deliberate, more sensual… and then more than just the pasta was cooking in that kitchen.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
