“I do not trip all over myself. I just feel bad when she comes down here for nothing, not to mention that someone is stealing my merchandise.”
“Maybe that’s the idea,” Marco said. “She wants to make you feel bad.”
“Surely Abby’s cousin wouldn’t be so cruel as to steal as a practical joke,” Grace said.
“And it’s not like she can’t afford to buy the brooch,” Lottie added.
“Marco’s theory is that Jillian is playing with my mind,” I explained with an eye roll.
“Mind games?” Grace asked. “For what purpose?”
“I get what Marco means,” Lottie said. “Jillian wants to be like big cousin Abby, and at the same time she resents Abby for it because she sees herself as superior. So this is her way of getting back-playing little mind games.”
“Jillian isn’t that clever,” Grace said flatly.
“That would be a pretty sick joke, even for her,” I said.
Marco lifted an eyebrow. I was always amazed how much he could convey with that tiny gesture. “It’s worth investigating before we file a police report, isn’t it?”
“How do you plan to investigate?” I asked warily.
“To start with, I’ll have a little talk with her.”
“Talk,” I asked, feeling a sliver of panic in my gut, “as in interrogate?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Marco said, “unless I have to.”
“Oh, Lordy,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes.
“Questioning Jillian would be a very bad idea, Marco,” I said. “She’s a lot shrewder than she looks… or acts… or talks. If you start quizzing her about the brooch, she’ll know right away you suspect her of stealing it.”
“She has that animal cunning,” Grace added.
Marco sighed impatiently. “I know how to do my job.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “It’s not Jillian who concerns me as much as what this could do to my already tarnished reputation in the family. I mean, they’re still trying to figure out how I got booted from law school. Then to have the man to whom they are expecting me to become engaged treating my own cousin as a suspect in a robbery?”
“Wouldn’t be good,” Lottie said, shaking her head.
“Do you have any idea what they’ll do if they find out you interrogated Jillian about the brooches?” I asked him. “Picture a school of hungry piranhas-”
“Calm down, Sunshine,” Marco said. “Wouldn’t you rather have me talk to Jillian than have the police pick her up for questioning?”
“Why? It’d be off our shoulders.”
“Maybe so, but what if the police find out that Jillian’s the culprit?” Marco asked.
“Again, Marco. Off. Our. Shoulders.”
He took the phone from the shelf and hit REDIAL, then held it up high when I tried to get it from him. He turned his back on me to say, “Jillian. Hey, it’s Marco. Would you come down to Bloomers? It won’t take long. Yep, it’s about the brooch. Thank you.”
He hit END and gave me the phone.
I blinked rapidly, trying to fire up my stunned brain cells. “You asked Jillian to come here?”
“It’s always better to confront in person.”
“But here? Where I am?”
“And where I am.”
Where I wished he wasn’t at that moment.
I sank onto the wicker settee next to the armoire and leaned my head back with a groan. Marco was going to confront drama queen Jillian Ophelia Knight-Osborne. In my shop. I would pay for this forever.
When Jillian breezed in fifteen minutes later, Lottie came to let us know, then said, “Grace is cleaning the coffeepots in the parlor and I’ll be in the kitchen… hiding.”
Marco got up. “Let me handle it.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll just retire to the cooler until the furor dies down.”
“There’s not going to be a furor. I know how to deal with your cousin.”
“Right. Thaw me gently.”
Marco shook his head and stepped through the curtain into the shop. I eyed the cooler, then sighed and followed him. It wasn’t often I got to witness someone self-destruct.
Jillian was standing in front of the counter, arms folded, wearing a short black-and-white leopard print swing coat, red cashmere beret, shiny red tote bag, and black patent boots. She glanced from Marco to me. “Where’s the brooch? Do you have it wrapped yet? I’m in a hurry.”
“Nice beret,” Marco said, leaning his hip against the counter.
I stared at him, trying to get him to see the pleading look in my eyes: Don’t do this, Marco. He ignored me.
Unable to resist a compliment, Jillian took off her beret and patted it. “Thanks. I got it to replace the one that was stolen.”
“Reminds me of Abby’s,” Marco said.
She glanced at me. “You have a beret?”
There was my opening to firm up our cousin bond and possibly salvage Marco’s standing with my family. I gave her a playful punch. “Come on, Jilly,” I said, using the nickname I’d given her when we were little. “You remember my Kelly green wool beret that we got last St. Patrick’s Day at Target.”
“Stop,” she cried, looking horrified. She hated to admit to shopping anywhere but on Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. “I remember, okay?”
“Abby was wearing the brooch on her beret before her mom borrowed it to make copies,” Marco added, watching her closely. “Remember now?”
Jillian studied my head. “S.O.R’ing.”
Wonderful. She was making up words again. “Translate,” I snapped, then quickly added with a smile, “please?”
She huffed. “S.O.R. Sort of remembering. Don’t you text?”
“Sort of remember more,” I said.
She pressed her fingertips to her temples and closed her eyes. “Okay, I think I remember seeing you wearing your green beret when you were on the news after someone hurled that brick through the door. And yes, I do remember seeing the brooch on it. You were standing outside the shop, right? Holding a press conference or something?”
Marco gave me a scowl. “Yeah, an impromptu press conference just after she was told to keep a low profile.”
Jillian’s eyes opened. “There. Satisfied?”
“That certainly does it for me,” I said. “Thank you for being so helpful!”
“I have a question,” Marco said.
“Can’t you save that for another time?” I asked him. “Sweetheart?”
“Can you describe the beret that was stolen from you?” Marco asked.
“Why?” Jillian asked skeptically. “Don’t tell me the cops actually found it.”
“This is for my own investigation,” he replied.
“Oh. Well, it’s hand-stitched black Italian leather, and I hope you have better luck than the police, because my dad brought it back from Naples, Italy, for my twenty-first birthday, and I’m very attached to it.”
“Your twenty-first birthday,” I said, “which was five years ago, whereas I bought my beret last year.” I gave Marco a pointed look. “So Jillian had hers first.”
He tipped his head, acknowledging my point.
Jillian glanced at her watch. “Okay, it’s been fun reminiscing, but I really need to pay for the brooch and go.”
“Just one more question,” he said, giving her a hint of a smile.
I groaned inwardly. Couldn’t Marco let well enough alone? “Who are you buying the brooch for today?” he
