Lottie patted his hand. “Don’t you worry about that. We just want our Abby to feel safe.”
“Coffee?” Grace asked, holding up the pot.
“Sure.” He turned a chair around to straddle it, sampled the coffee, pronounced it delicious. “I’ve been thinking,” he said to me. “If Nils Raand is arrested, as Reilly believes will happen soon, Raand will use Uniworld’s local counsel-Chinn, Knowles, and Brown. Dave Hammond won’t be involved.”
“Which means you won’t, either,” I said glumly. And since Marco had nixed Reilly and Morgan, that left one source-Charlotte’s sister. But there was no way Marco would let me help search for her now.
“Speaking of Chinn,” Lottie said, “we’ve got flowers to be delivered to Peter.”
“Is he still in hospital?” Grace asked.
“Yep,” Lottie said, “and no one’s saying how bad his condition is.”
“Poor man,” Grace said. “He must have suffered quite a concussion. He’s rather a large fellow, isn’t he? Probably none too firm on ice. What a shame.”
“Something’s been bugging me all morning,” Lottie said to Marco. “Nils Raand knows the cops are watching him, right? Especially after Tara was found at Uniworld. It sure doesn’t seem to me that he’d be foolish enough to sneak into the jail and stab Hudge. Does it to you?”
“Or that he’d sit on a bench in full view of everyone on the town square to goad Abby,” Grace pointed out.
“You’re right,” Marco said. “It doesn’t make sense. But I doubt Raand would have killed Hudge himself. He’d most likely hire someone. In any case, you have to view this from a prosecutor’s perspective. If the DA is convinced Raand masterminded the kidnappings, and then the remaining kidnapper is murdered, that would only reinforce his case against Raand. Remember, the DA is looking for a quick conviction. As Abby and I have learned, a determined prosecutor doesn’t need much more than a motive to go after someone.”
“Not that I’m a fan of Raand’s,” Lottie said, “but what if he wasn’t behind the kidnappings? Wouldn’t it make sense for the cops to widen their search for the murderer, just to make sure they look at all likely suspects?”
“It makes sense, but that’s not how it works. Cops follow orders from the DA.” Marco drained his cup. “Would any of you mind if I used the computer? As long as I’m here, I might as well make good use of my time.”
“Go right ahead,” Lottie said. “Just yell if you want anything.”
“I’ll be right on the other side of the curtain if you need me, Abby.” Marco headed out of the parlor, but at the doorway paused to say to me, “I’ll let you know as soon as I get someone lined up for this evening.”
“Okay.” I blew him a kiss, waited until he was out of sight, then turned back with a sigh. Another babysitter. My life was so wonderful.
Lottie leaned across the table to scrutinize me. “This is taking its toll on you, isn’t it?”
I leaned my chin on my palm. “Is it that evident?”
“You do seem rather tense about the cheekbones, dear,” Grace said, “as though you’ve been clenching your jaw a lot. Having nightmares, are you?”
I nodded sadly. “I guess I’m just not used to having a man around all the time, driving me everywhere, watching over me, telling me what I can and can’t do. My dad worked swing shifts as a cop, so he wasn’t home that much, and my brothers were always out playing sports. Most of the time it was just Mom and me.”
Lottie and Grace glanced at each other. Then Lottie said, “I meant the kidnapping attempts were taking their toll. Odd that you thought I meant Marco.”
I tried to laugh. “Oh, right. The kidnappings.”
Grace leaned toward me, too. “Is there something you’d like to share with us, dear? Having second thoughts about furthering your relationship with Marco?”
“Absolutely not. Marco is a great guy. Look at the sacrifices he’s making to keep me safe.”
“It’s perfectly natural to have a few doubts, love,” Grace assured me. “Right, Lottie?”
“Hell, yes. Every path has a few puddles. Remember, sweetie, deep, abiding love doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time-as long as there’s more to your relationship than sex.”
That was a discussion I definitely wasn’t ready for. Fortunately, the phone rang, so I thanked them for their advice and fled.
“Bloomers Flower Shop. How may I help you?”
“Good news,” Mom sang out. “The brooches are done. I finished last night.”
“You made more brooches?” I glanced at the doorway, where Lottie stood with a sheepish grin.
“I told her someone bought her last one,” Lottie whispered.
“Didn’t you get my message?” Mom asked. “I made a dozen more. I’ll run them by during my lunch hour.”
Yippee?
Two things happened at noon: Mom brought in twelve glossy anthurium brooches to replace the one she believed we sold, and Reilly stopped by to tell us Nils Raand had been charged with conspiracy, as predicted, and taken into custody. But instead of feeling any sense of relief that I no longer had to fear Raand, and that my mom had found an avenue for her creative talent, both events vexed me.
Vex number one: We now had a dozen more of the odd little brooches to sell. If no one bought them, Mom would be hurt. If I ended up buying them myself, then stashing them in the basement, Mom would be thrilled, but my conscience would poke me mercilessly, plus I’d be out a hefty piece of change. Neither scenario looked good, but I couldn’t come up with any other to take its place.
Vex number two: It was possible that Nils Raand could be found guilty of conspiracy-proven by evidence collected by the police-and sentenced to prison. That would be a good thing. On the other hand, Raand could be found innocent, also proven by evidence. That would be the justice system working as it was supposed to-unless the detectives didn’t renew their search for the real conspirator afterward.
And then there was another possibility, that the prosecutor would ignore evidence that didn’t lead to the outcome he wanted, which was to get Raand convicted-something he’d been known to do. That would basically suck air, because then Raand would be punished for a crime he didn’t commit, the true criminal would be loose, and I could still be a target.
All the more reason for searching for Charlotte Bebe’s sister. But how could I get Marco to agree with me?
“Abigail,” Mom said, shaking me out of my gloomy thoughts, “what do you think of the latest batch?” She was beaming as Grace set out a mirrored tray and placed her brooches on it. “They came out very well, didn’t they?”
“Lovely,” Grace said.
“You’ve outdone yourself once again, Mom,” I said, gazing at the tray of heart-shaped red leaves with their yellow spadix in the centers. My niece’s original assessment was right. The brooches did look like… well, whatev. “The only problem is, after Valentine’s Day, sometimes gift items like these brooches don’t sell well. Just so you understand.”
“Thanks for the warning, honey, but considering how quickly the last one was snapped up, I have every hope these will move fast, too. Do you mind if I hang on to the original, though? I want to show it to your aunt Corrine at the country club Friday night. I thought she might want me to make some brooches for her women’s club benefit raffle.”
“No problem. Keep it as long as you like.” To be honest, I didn’t care if I ever saw another anthurium brooch again, even if mine had brought out the blush in my cheeks. Makeup worked for me. But dinner at the country club? Not so much.
I hated trying to figure out which water glass was mine, how to keep my napkin from sliding off my knees, and how to get a bad piece of meat out of my mouth without anyone noticing, but I dutifully attended our weekly family dinners there because they were important to Mom. In her eyes, belonging to a country club was the epitome of class.
Thanks to my genius brothers, Jonathan and Jordan, who had joined the club as soon as they’d finished their medical residencies and established practices, Mom’s dream had been partially realized, even though she and Dad couldn’t afford the fees on his police salary, and Mom wasn’t a member herself. Every Friday evening she gathered the Knight clan at the club to show off her highly skilled surgeon sons and her highly, um, freckled daughter.
“Abigail?” Mom asked, jerking me into the present. “Did you hear a word I said? Will you be bringing Marco to the country club with you on Friday night?”
