Seed No Evil (21 page)

“I should do it soon, then.”

“That's what I'm saying. We've got five days. Put the dog out of your mind, call Tara, and arrange your meeting.”

“She's in school,” I said, taking out my phone. “I'll leave her a message.”

Marco checked his watch. “It's twelve ten. Emma's late.”

By twelve twenty, there was no sign of Emma, and it looked like I'd been stood up again. I felt like a fool for trusting her.

“We'll track her down,” Marco said.

“But that'll take time, and we don't have much.”

“Look at it this way,” he said as he got out of the booth. “What choice do we have? In the meantime, what do you want for lunch? I'll go put in our orders.”

“A Caesar salad.” I was too tense to eat anything heavy.

Just after Marco left, my phone dinged to signal a message. Hoping it was Emma, I pulled out my phone to check, but it was a text from Mom asking me to call her.

I was in the process of punching in her phone number when I heard, “Sorry I'm late.”

I looked up to find Emma sliding into the booth opposite me. I broke into a wide smile. “You made it!”

“Barely. My car broke down.” She sighed in frustration. “I had to walk here.”

“Where did you leave it?”

“On the west end of Lincoln. You know where that old cement-block building is? I went to the law firm there to apply for a secretarial position. I hated to leave my car in their lot, but I didn't know what else to do. I've had it fixed twice already and I can't afford to buy another one.”

“I know a great mechanic. His aunt works for me. His auto shop is three blocks south of here on Washington Street. Tell him I sent you, and he'll go get your car with his tow truck. He'll be able to tell you what's wrong.”

She sighed miserably. “The problem is, how will I'll pay for it?”

I had no answer for that one. “Would you like some lunch?”

“No, thanks. I'm too stressed out to eat.”

“Let me buy you a cup of coffee, then.”

“I don't want anything right now, thanks. Just ask whatever you have to so I can take care of my car.”

Marco returned just then and slid in beside me, nodding hello to Emma as he placed his notebook and pen in front of me. “How are you?” he asked her.

“Not very good, to be honest.”

“Her car broke down,” I explained to Marco, “and she had to walk here. Let's do the interview so she can get to the repair shop.”

“You already know why I took the money,” Emma said to me glumly.

“Will you confirm that the money issue is why Bev called you into her office Monday?” I asked.

“It's true,” she said with a sigh. “Bev found out I took the money—but I had every intention of paying it back once I'd caught up on my bills.” She held up one hand to stop my reply. “I know. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Don't think I haven't thought about that every day since then. I wasn't raised like that, believe me. I was—am—in a terrible financial bind, and I couldn't get Bev to care. She had absolutely no sympathy for me.”

“I'm going to repeat the question I asked at our first meeting,” Marco said. “What were you doing on Monday between five and seven p.m.?”

Emma looked down as though ashamed. “I went to a bar and had a couple of margaritas. I knew I shouldn't drink before the PAR meeting, but I was rattled and needed to get away for a while.”

“What bar?” I asked, taking notes.

“It's a place called Luck o' the Irish, up north near the lake.”

“I know it,” I said, and at Marco's surprised look, I said, “Don't you remember when I went there to interview a suspect when one of Jillian's groomsmen was murdered at the Indiana Dunes?”

“Hey, Marco, can I see you for a minute?” Rafe asked, then smiled at Emma and said in a sexy voice, “How're you doing?”

“I'm so sorry I wasn't able to make it yesterday,” Emma replied. “Can we try again?”

“Sure,” Rafe said happily, then saw Marco's frown and said, “But not today.”

Marco got up and started toward the bar, so Rafe said to her quickly, “Before you leave, stop at the counter and I'll give you my phone number.” He gave her a wink and swaggered off.

“Okay,” I said to Emma, readying my pen, “you went to Luck o' the Irish and had two margaritas. Will the bartender be able to verify that?”

“I hope so. He was flirting with me like crazy.”

“Do you have any receipts?”

“I didn't keep them, and I paid in cash. I've maxed out my credit cards.”

“What time did you leave there?”

“Later than I should have because I got to the meeting after it started.”

I remembered seeing Emma rush up to her seat at the front. I noted it, then looked at her. “Why couldn't you have given us this information the first time we met?”

“Because I couldn't believe that you would accuse me of murder.”

“We didn't accuse you of anything.”

“It felt that way. Anyway, it made me angry.”

“It also made you look suspicious.”

“I kind of figured that, too.”

I pulled out my cell phone and turned the camera feature on. “I'm going to take a photo of you to show to the bartender, okay?”

She tossed back her hair. “Go ahead.”

I clicked the button and checked to make sure I had a good shot. So far I was getting nothing but good vibes from Emma.

Marco returned and looked over my notes, then asked, “Do you remember the name of the bartender?”

“It was like Dan—or Don,” Emma said. “Wait. It was Dan because someone called him Dan the Man.”

“Why did you drive so far for a drink when you knew you had to be back for the PAR meeting?” Marco asked.

“Because I didn't want to run into anyone I knew here in town,” she said. “After Bev yelled at me, I was a mess.”

Marco reviewed his notes again, then said, “I think that should take care of it. If we have any more questions, we'll get back to you.”

I watched Emma stop at the bar and exchange phone numbers with Rafe. She glanced back at me and waved before she left.

“What do you think about Emma?” Marco asked.

“I hope her story checks out. I just don't see her as the murdering kind. I'd like to say she and Rafe would make a cute couple, but I still question her scruples. She did take someone else's money, whether she intended to pay it back or not.”

“Rafe spends too much time thinking about women,” Marco groused, as Gert delivered our sandwiches.

“He's a young single guy, Marco. What were you thinking about when you were his age?”

“I went into the military at his age. I didn't have time to think about women. I'm just saying he needs to focus on business right now.”

“What did Rafe want earlier?”

Marco moved the notebook aside and picked up his sandwich. “He had a few questions for me. Nothing to worry about.”

I was getting really, really sick of hearing that. Did I look worried? Annoyed was more like it. Should I be worried? Marco said that so often that I was starting to think I should.

I studied my husband-to-be as he dived into his sandwich. He was totally clueless about my feelings, and that wasn't like him. I had to speak up.

“A
re you having problems with Rafe? Is that why you've been so distracted lately?”

“Rafe will be fine. Don't worry. He just needs more training.”

There it was again
.
I sat back with a frustrated huff. “Every time I ask you what's going on, you blow me off.”

“I would never blow you off, Abby. I'm just telling you there's nothing to worry about.” He took another bite, clearly blowing me off.

“You're doing it right now.” I pushed away my salad. “You're distracted, and it's affecting me, Marco. I feel like you're shutting me out.”

“Sunshine, you need to eat. We can talk about this later.”

“Talk to me first. Please trust me enough to be honest with me, Marco.”

“You know I trust you.”

“Then why won't you be straight with me and admit you're having problems with your brother?”

“Because you'll worry.”

“So you think telling me not to worry is the answer?”

“Abby, if you told
me
not to worry, I wouldn't.”

“Well, there's the difference between us. I'll worry if I think there's something to worry about. So be honest. Is there?”

Marco put down his sandwich. With irritation in his voice, he asked, “Why won't you trust me when I say there's nothing to worry about?”

“Why won't you let me decide that?” I retorted.

He sat back, placing his hands flat on the table, clearly exasperated. “You know what? I need to get back to work.” He stood up and picked up his plate.

Just what we needed five days before our wedding, a rift.

Angry and hurt, I said, “Fine. I need to get back to Bloomers. I'll take my sandwich with me.”

Before I could scoot off the bench, Marco had put down his plate and slid in beside me. He took my hands and looked me straight in the eye. “I don't want you to leave here angry, Abby. Yes, Rafe is giving me problems, and I'm having to spend a lot of time straightening him—and them—out. I haven't told you because you've had your own problems with your business slowing down. I'm trying to protect you, babe.”

“But don't you see that by keeping these things from me, you're sending the message that you don't trust me? Whether you realize it or not, I pick up on your emotions, Marco, and when you're distracted or tense or worried, I can tell immediately. I'm going to be your life partner, Salvare. It's important that we share problems with each other, and if I worry, that's my problem.”

He ran his thumbs over the tops of my hands. “I just don't like to see you worried, that's all.”

“Marco, I love that you're trying to protect me, but you can't protect me from life, especially not from our life together. I want to be a part of it, and that means sharing the ups and downs. That's why I've told you about my business slump. But you haven't seemed to care.”

“I care, Abby, too much. I was just having a hard time balancing your worries on top of mine.”

“You don't have to balance anything or fix anything, Marco. You just have to listen and be there to give me hugs and advice when I need them.”

Marco put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me against his side. “I can do that.”

“So you
have
been worried about Rafe?”

Marco sighed. “On several fronts. I tried to teach him how to use my financial software so he could help with the bookkeeping and bills, and he screwed up big-time. I didn't want you to know, Sunshine, but I've been as worried about my business as you have about yours. It's obvious now that unless Rafe settles down and focuses, he's not going to be able to take over for me here, and that means I won't have as much time to spend with you as you'd hoped—I mean, as we'd hoped.”

“I'm glad you added the
we
part.”

“I got that. Anyway, I don't want you to worry. I'm getting the finances straightened out and digging out from under the debt.”

“Marco, we've had enough ups and downs that you know a solid, trusting relationship doesn't come easily. We have to have open lines of communication, okay? That builds trust. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”

“Of course. But you need to understand that I've never had a partner before, in business or in life, and I'm not much of a talker, so sharing everything will take some getting used to.”

I gazed into those sexy deep brown eyes and smiled. “Believe it or not, I do understand.”

“Just, please, never think I don't love or trust you if I forget.”

I loved Marco so much, my heart ached. “I'll keep that in mind.” Then, to lighten the mood, I tilted my head coquettishly and said, “Want to prove how much you love me?”

He lifted one dark eyebrow. “This is either going to be expensive or something we'll have to do later.”

“Neither,” I said. “Get me a to-go container.”

•   •   •

Before I left Down the Hatch, Marco and I made plans to visit Justin's towing shop at five o'clock and then head out to the Luck o' the Irish bar to check out Emma's story. My next task was to phone Jillian and talk to her about Seedy. As it turned out, however, Jillian came to see me first.

I walked into Bloomers to find the Monday Afternoon Ladies' Poetry Society in session in the parlor, with Grace scuttling about among tables refilling teacups and plates of scones and Lottie waiting on a customer who'd come in to buy a bouquet of fresh flowers from the glass display case.

“Abby,” Lottie called as I walked through the shop, “you have a visitor.” She lifted her eyebrows in what was clearly a warning, so I proceeded cautiously.

I lifted one side of the curtain and peered into the workroom. There was Jillian sitting in my desk chair, flipping through a magazine. Okay, innocent enough.

Then I saw what was strapped below the waistband of her short skirt.

“Are you going to stand there looking at me,” Jillian said, closing the magazine, “or are you going to come in?”

“What are you wearing?” I asked, walking around her.

“This little device,” she said, tapping the MP3 player fastened around her middle, “is teaching my daughter French. And these,” she said, lifting a pair of thin black wires coming from the bottom of the player and tracing them around to earbuds pinned on each side of her abdomen, “is piping the sound in stereo.
Comprenez-vous?”

“You're teaching Snow how to speak French
now
?”

“Storm, not Snow. I changed it back. And, yes, now. Today and all this week. Next week it's Chinese, the following week it's Greek, and then it's Gaelic. By the time Storm is born, she'll be multilingual.
C'est très bon, oui?
”

“Are you sure this will work?”

Jillian pulled a book out of her oversized snakeskin tote bag and handed it to me. I turned it over and read the cover.
Learning Languages in Utero: Guarantee That Your Child Will Be Admitted to Top Universities
, by Takashi Francoise Dimitri O'Malley.

Another of Jillian's crazy ideas. I handed the book back, then glanced around for the stroller. “Where's Sno—Storm?”

“In utero. Duh.” She tapped her chin. “Snowstorm.
Hmm.
”

“What happened to the potatoes?”

Jillian wrinkled her nose. “They started to rot. One exploded last night while Tara was babysitting. She wasn't exactly thrilled.”

“Speaking of Tara,” I said, pulling up a stool, “did she tell you about the dogs she wants to adopt?”

Jillian huffed. “She tried to get me to say I'd adopt one of them, but I asked her, what would I do with a dog when I'm about to become a mother?”

“Jillian, you have seven months before the baby is born. That would give you plenty of time to get used to having a dog around. And you could baby the dog and get real practice being a mommy. Plus, think about what a good guardian a dog would be for Storm, like a built-in babysitter.”

Jillian chewed her lower lip. “You really think it's a good idea?”

I leaned forward to gaze into her eyes. “Wouldn't you just love to give some homeless little dog a rich and happy life?”

Jillian got a faraway look on her face, as though imaging herself with a dog, and then she smiled. “Maybe.”

“Here's the thing. Tara wants to adopt this puppy named Seedling, but she doesn't want the puppy separated from its mom, and Jordan won't adopt both of them, so if you took the mom, they could visit. And Tara could always watch the mother dog for you if you had to be away.”

The smile disappeared. “What about Claymore's allergies?”

“He has hay fever, Jillian. That doesn't mean he's allergic to dogs.”

“He might be.”

“Then let's go visit Seedy and see if Claymore's affected.”

“Seedy? What a horrid name! Does the dog look seedy?”

I couldn't lie, yet I didn't want to nix the deal before Jillian had had a chance to meet Seedy. “Let's just say she needs a good clipping and a few weeks of steady meals so she'll fill out, because she looks like she hasn't been cared for very well. But, Jillian, she's so loving and has the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen. They'll melt your heart.”

She slipped the magazine in her bag and stood up. The MP3 player stayed in place. “Okay, when can we go see her?”

I glanced at the spindle and saw three slips of paper. After a quick calculation, I said, “How about four o'clock?”

“We'll pick you up out front.” Jillian gave me a hug. “I'm excited, Abs. I'll be able to practice my mothering skills and get an adorable little pet, too.”

I was about to correct her on the adorable part but clamped my mouth shut instead. I'd have to prepare her for Seedy on the way to the shelter.