Sleeping with Anemone (14 page)

“Why didn’t you warn me Marco was here?” she shrieked loud enough to make my ears ring. “I thought he was an intruder!”

“I’m sorry, Nik,” I said, following her up the hallway. She had on her purple robe and furry purple slippers and was shaking her hands as though trying to fling water off them. She tripped over Marco’s duffel bag and landed on her hands and knees.

“We came in really late last night,” I said, helping her up, “and I forgot to leave a note. Besides, you’re not usually up this early.”

“Well, I am today—thank you very much for the near heart attack. I have an eye doctor’s appointment in an hour. Does that bag have to be in the middle of the hallway?”

I pushed Marco’s belongings to one side with my bare foot. “I’m really, really sorry.”

Still griping, Nikki stormed through the living room with me right behind. She wasn’t normally a grouch in the morning; then again, she rarely rose before ten. She worked afternoon shifts as an X-ray tech at the county hospital and usually didn’t get home until close to midnight.

The bedsheets, I noted, had been folded and stacked at one end of the sofa.

Nikki opened the front door and picked up the newspaper, then unfolded it and headed into the kitchen. She stopped with a gasp. “Tara was kidnapped? From the concert?”

She held up the newspaper, whose big bold headline screamed the news: ONE DEAD IN TEEN KIDNAPPING.

I snatched the paper from her, scanning the article for information. Included in the piece was a photo of a female with short auburn hair, with a caption underneath that identified her as Charlotte H. Bebe. If that was the blond kidnapper, Tara had been right about the wig.

Nikki grabbed the paper from me. “Would you tell me what happened?”

I really wanted to read the article, but Nikki’s exasperated expression changed my mind. “If you’ll make coffee, I’ll give you the entire story.”

“Deal.”

While Nikki measured out the grounds and filled the coffee machine with water, I gave her the rundown, slipping over to the fridge for the coffee creamer. Then, over cups of freshly brewed java, I read the newspaper article, giving Nikki the main points.

“It says the dead woman has been positively identified as Charlotte H. Bebe, thirty years old, and police are searching for her boyfriend, Dwayne Hudge, who is being called a person of interest.”

Marco came in, freshly showered and shaved. “Sorry, Nikki. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No harm done,” she said pleasantly. “Want some coffee?”

What? No harm done? Could have fooled me.

Marco took a cup from the cabinet and held it out. “Thanks.”

“How about some toast to go with it?” I asked.

“Got any oatmeal?” he asked.

“Sorry,” I said. “We’re all out. We have toast.”

“Cream of wheat?”

I shook my head. “Toast.”

“Farina?”

What was it with Marco and mushy breakfast food? “Until one of us can get to the grocery store, all we have is toast.”

“No eggs?”

“I think I saw a packet of oatmeal in the back of the cabinet,” Nikki said, and began digging through a shelf filled with risotto, macaroni and cheese, instant rice, and canned soup.

“Toast is fine,” Marco said.

Nikki stopped rooting and glanced at me, rolling her eyes.

“How will this bodyguard duty work?” Nikki asked him, as I dropped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster.

“Are you two going to hang out here until the other kidnapper is caught?”

“I can’t do that,” I said. “I have a business to run.”

“We’ll handle it like we have the past few days,” Marco said. “I’ll take Abby to Bloomers and pick her up after work. If she has any errands to run, Lottie or Grace can do them, or I’ll take her. We just have to make sure she’s never there alone.”

Never? I thought about that as I watched the bread to keep it from burning. While I deeply appreciated the measures Marco was taking to keep me safe, I knew I’d miss having time to myself. It was when I did my best work. In fact, I got a bit testy without it.

Marco picked up his cup, took the toast I offered him, and headed for the living room.

“What a great guy,” Nikki said.

“He’s my hero.”

Hearing the TV, I called, “Hey, Marco, I usually listen to the
Today
show while I’m getting ready for work.”

“Hmm,” he said. Then I heard a sports talk channel come on.

“Well,” Nikki said, “won’t this be fun?”

 

As Marco drove me to Bloomers that morning, I called my brother’s house to see how Tara was faring.

“She didn’t sleep well,” Kathy told me. “She kept having nightmares, some about you. Tara’s really afraid for you, Abby.”

“Assure her I’ve got an around-the-clock bodyguard. Does Tara know about the blonde’s death?”

“Not yet. I haven’t had the heart to tell her. That’s on tap for later this morning. I don’t want her to hear the news from her friends. She’s showering now or I’d put her on.”

“I just wanted to see how she was doing. I’m so sorry for what I put all of you through.”

“I know you are,” Kathy said. “We’ll be fine. You just take care of yourself.”

I put away the phone and blew my nose.

“Everything okay?” Marco asked as he pulled up in front of Bloomers to let me out.

I blinked a few times to clear away the tears. “It will be. I’ve got a strong family.”

I slid from the car and hurried inside Bloomers, where a welcoming party had gathered: Lottie, Grace, my mom and dad, and Sergeant Reilly. Starting with my mom, each woman hugged, then inspected, and finally admonished me about being extra vigilant, paying attention to my surroundings, not taking candy from strangers—okay, not the last one, but they
were
treating me as though I were five.

Marco rapped on the door, and Lottie let him in. He accepted Mom’s hug—she was a kindergarten teacher; hugs were built-in—shook hands with my dad, then stepped to one side to talk to Reilly.

When the women hustled off to the parlor to set out coffee and scones, I knelt down beside my dad’s wheelchair, knowing he’d been waiting his turn to talk to me. “How are you doing, Dad?”

“Never mind about me. How’s my girl? Are you really all right?”

It had been nearly four years since Dad had taken to a wheelchair, yet I still found it difficult to accept. He’d been such an active, vibrant man—a graceful dancer, nimble bowler, strong swimmer—before a drug dealer shot him in the leg during a drug bust. A subsequent operation to remove the bullet had caused a major stroke that paralyzed Dad completely in one leg and left him with limited use of the other.

My mother, brothers, and I were devastated, yet Dad refused to let his handicap prevent him from enjoying life. In true Irish spirit, he made the most of what he still had and joked about what he didn’t. Although his courage inspired me, the senselessness of the crime, and the fact that the drug dealer was back on the street nine months after his conviction while my dad was sentenced to a lifetime in his chair, gave me a deep hatred of injustice.

Now Dad put his hands on either side of my face, gazing at me as though memorizing my features. We shared not only the genes for red hair and freckles, but also a deep bond of understanding, making words often unnecessary. His thoughts were all there in his expression: He was extremely relieved the kidnapping had been unsuccessful, both for my sake and for Tara’s, and worried that next time the kidnappers might get it right.

“I’ll be okay,” I assured him. “Marco has promised to keep me safe. Yep, he’ll be guarding me pretty much twenty-four /seven now.”

Saying it that way sounded so—infinite.

“That’s a lot of time to spend with one person,” Dad said. “Are you up to it?”

I knew what he was really asking. He was aware that Marco and I were close to making a commitment, but he also knew that I had qualms about taking that step. “I guess this will be a good test . . . except I was never a great test taker in school.”

He tugged my earlobe. “Listen up, Abracadabra. This isn’t about memorizing facts and spewing them back. It’s about finding a person you trust and enjoy doing things with.”

It had been a long time since Dad had used my old nickname. He’d given it to me when I was a kid because whenever there was work to be done, I’d disappear. “And Marco is that person. It’s just that—I don’t know—I’m still nervous about taking such a big step.”

“It’s understandable that you’d be gun-shy. But don’t overthink this, okay? You have a tendency to do that, you know.”

“I can’t help it, Dad. I get that from Mom. And I think we’d better can this discussion because she keeps looking our way like she wants to know what we’re talking about.”

“Gotcha. Once this case has been solved and you have some free time, drop by the house so we can have a real talk.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” I glanced over at Marco, and he gave me that little half grin that always made my heart beat faster. Why was I so skittish? Marco had so many positive qualities, having him in my life all the time should be a piece of cake.

 

Since the shop wouldn’t open for another forty-five minutes, the seven of us sat around a table in the parlor sampling Grace’s freshly baked cranberry scones and gourmet coffee, while Marco and I recounted the evening’s events. Mom and Dad had already been to Jordan’s house that morning to see Tara and hear Kathy’s version. Now they needed mine.

After I finished, we turned to Reilly to update us. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to tell. All they knew about the dead woman, Charlotte Bebe, was what had been in the newspapers. An autopsy was scheduled for later that morning, and her boyfriend, Dwayne Hudge, was believed to be in South Bend, Indiana, where he had family. Police expected to have him in custody shortly, and Nils Raand had been brought in for questioning.

“That’s all I’m at liberty to tell you,” Reilly concluded, leaning back in his chair.

“Come on, Reilly,” I urged. “Tell us something that might be in the newspapers tomorrow.”

Reilly eyed me, as though weighing his options. “Can I have more coffee, please, Grace?” He waited until Grace had refilled his cup, then, after a moment’s consideration, said, “Two items came to light that tie Nils Raand to the kidnappers. The first is public knowledge, so there’s no harm in telling you. Charlotte Bebe worked at Uniworld until two weeks before her death.”