Sleeping with Anemone (9 page)

Jillian put her hands on my shoulders and bent at the knees so she could look me straight in the eye. “Do you recall me using the word
extraordinaire?
Is there anything
extraordinaire
about a gift certificate?”

“Perhaps an original piece of art deco jewelry?” Grace suggested as she passed by.

Jillian’s eyes widened with enthusiasm—or maybe from too many espressos. “Art deco?”

Grace had cleverly redeemed herself. I led Jillian to the armoire. Obviously she’d overlooked my mom’s brooch during her initial search, because it was right—nowhere. “Grace, did you move it?”

“No, dear. Look on the middle shelf.”

“I don’t see it.”

Grace came over to join the hunt. Then Lottie came to help. Then the four of us did a search of the entire room, but the brooch was gone.

“Great,” Jillian said, slipping on her coat. “I’ll have to hope Claymore can come up with an idea.” With her cell phone to her ear, she gave me a quick wave and hurried out.

Grace flicked off the overhead lights, turned the sign to CLOSED, and locked the door. “It’s a puzzle about that brooch, isn’t it? Could someone have nicked it, then?”

“What else could it be?” I asked as we headed for the workroom to clean up.

“Will you tell your mum, do you think?” Grace asked.

“She’d probably feel honored,” Lottie said, “creating something worth stealing.”

As I swept trimmings off the floor, I considered what to do. If I told Mom her piece was stolen, she might think it was worth duplicating. If I told her someone had purchased it, I’d have to make up a price that wouldn’t hurt her feelings—and then pay her. Or maybe I just wouldn’t say anything at all and hope she didn’t notice it was missing.

My cell phone rang. Marco’s name appeared on the screen and I answered it.

“Hey, Sunshine, are you coming down to the bar for dinner?”

“Um, was I supposed to?”

“We never did get to have that discussion.”

Oh, right. The discussion. In the background, I heard guys shouting and laughing, glasses clinking, and the noisy whir of a blender crushing ice. Ugh. “You know, Marco, after the busy day I’ve had, what I really need is to go home and unwind.”

At a sudden furious pounding on the front door, I said, “Hold on,” and followed Lottie through the curtain.

“Oh, dear Lord!” Lottie cried, then opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air. There stood Jillian, beret gone, hair awry, purse strap broken, and designer coat torn at the shoulder. She fell into Lottie’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “I was kidnapped!”

Wow. Marco was right. Things
were
happening.

“
M
arco, someone tried to kidnap Jillian. I have to call the police.”

Quickly, I ended the call, dialed 911, spoke to the emergency operator, then hung up and hurried over to my cousin to hear her story.

“I was talking to Claymore on the phone when I left here.”
Sniffle.
“I put my phone in my purse, turned the corner, and
bam
! Someone snatched my beret. When I went to see who it was, some thug twisted my arm behind my back and pushed me toward the street. I struggled and tried to get away, but he shoved me into this dirty old van, then climbed in with me and shut the door. Then the van pulled away.”
Sniffle.
“I thought for sure I was going to die.”

“Good heavens!” Grace exclaimed. “Did you get a look at his face?”

“He was wearing a ski mask.” Jillian wept, abandoning Lottie to switch to Grace’s shoulder. “He snarled something about giving it up, and I said, ‘Give up what? I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ and then he grabbed me by the arms and shook me. Then he said in this whispery, scary voice, ‘Don’t play games with me, Abby Knight,’ just like that. So I said, ‘I’m not Abby.’ And he said, ‘Right.’ And I said, ‘No, seriously. I’m her cousin.’ And he said, ‘No way.’ And I said, ‘Surely you’ve heard of me. I’m Jillian Knight-Osborne, the well-known wardrobe consultant.’ ”

Dear God. She gave the kidnapper her name.

Marco rapped on the front door, and Lottie let him in. At the same moment, a squad car pulled up, lights flashing, and two cops got out, one of them Reilly.

Jillian blew her nose on a tissue Lottie offered. “Then the guy said in this hoarse voice, ‘You swear you’re not Abby Knight?’ And I said, ‘I told you I’m her
cousin.
Would you like to see my ID?’ Then he banged on the roof, the van stopped, he opened the door, and shoved me out! Look at my purse! It’s ruined.” With an angry sniff, Jillian brushed her hair away from her face, then patted the top of her head. “And he still has my beret!”

With Marco and the cops there, Jillian repeated her tale. She’d gathered her wits sufficiently to embellish it, so I knew she was going to be okay. Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling so hot. Cold, actually. Shivering, teeth-chattering cold.

I hugged myself for warmth as the cops began questioning her. Was she sure the man had called her Abby Knight? She was. What had he said to her exactly? She couldn’t remember. It was all a bit fuzzy. What color was the van? Dirty. Okay, white. How old was the man who grabbed her? She couldn’t tell by his voice because he whispered, but his arms were thin, so probably a teen. Could she give a description to their sketch artist? Only if they wanted a drawing of a guy wearing a ski mask. Did she see a license plate number? Puh-leez! She was facedown on the street.

“Sweetie, you look as white as a sheet,” Lottie said to me, while the cops finished up. “Come on. Let’s get you a glass of water.”

Lottie escorted me into the parlor with Grace hurrying ahead of us. “A nice bracing cup of tea is what she needs.”

I sank down on a chair at one of the ice cream tables and rested my forehead in my hands. Moments later, Marco pulled up a chair and put his arms around me. “You okay?”

I nodded, turning against his chest. It felt safe there. Warm and safe, melting the cold.

“Reilly wants to talk to you,” Marco said quietly, rubbing my back.

“Here’s a glass of water, sweetie,” Lottie said.

“And a cup of herb tea,” Grace said, setting a cup and saucer next to the glass.

I reached for the water as Reilly sat down at the table and got out his notebook. His partner stood behind him, keeping an eye on the front door. In the other room, Jillian was retelling her story to someone on her cell phone.

“Have you noticed anyone following you lately?” Reilly asked. “Any suspicious vehicles, or this white van your cousin described, parked outside the shop or your apartment?”

I shook my head.

“From what your cousin said,” Reilly began, “it seems likely that the perps are the same two who went after Nikki.”

Stating the obvious. I took a sip of water. It didn’t want to go down. I switched to tea.

“It also seems likely that they were, in actuality, after you both times.”

Hence the chattering teeth.

Reilly glanced at me to see if I was paying attention. “Plus, we have the threatening letters and the burning brick.”

Why was he drawing this out?

“Naturally, we’ll be actively looking for these people,” Reilly said, “but until we figure out who’s behind this, it’s best if you’re escorted to and from work.”

“I’ll handle that task,” Marco said.

Great. Now I was a task.

“Also,” Reilly continued, “don’t leave the shop or your apartment to run errands unless someone is with you.”

“We’ll see to that on our end,” Grace said. I smiled my thanks, but there was no way we could manage the shop with two of us gone at the same time.

“And last”—Reilly glanced at Marco, then cleared his throat—“you need to keep a low profile. That means stopping your campaign against Uniworld.”

“No!” I put down the cup, sloshing tea. “That’s what they want me to do!”

“Abby, whoever is behind this kidnapping attempt isn’t fooling around,” Reilly argued. “Confinement is a class-A felony, punishable by thirty years in prison.”

“You know very well who’s behind it. Nils Raand. Go tell him about the thirty years in prison, because Marco’s little pep talk obviously didn’t do the trick.” I glanced at my hero and rubbed his arm. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” Marco said. “I didn’t give Raand enough credit for his cunning. That’s my fault, but I sure as hell won’t make the same mistake twice.” He gazed earnestly into my eyes, making me go all gooey inside. “Look, baby, I know you’re upset and scared, but you don’t have to worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m here for you.”

Aw. How could I argue with that? I laid my head on his shoulder, nestling in the crook of his neck. Besides, if Marco was going to play bodyguard, I really wouldn’t have to give up my campaign.

As Grace brought a pot of tea to the table, Reilly slipped his notebook in his pocket and stood up. “I’ll pay another call on Raand first thing in the morning.”

“Hellooooo,” Jillian called, coming into the parlor. “I was the victim, remember? Don’t I get any tea?”

 

“I’ll take you home in my car,” Marco said as we got ready to lock up the shop. “I’m going to leave the Prius at your place. In case of an emergency, I don’t want you to be without transportation. Rafe will bring me back here to get your car.”

“Then are you going to keep the Vette at your apartment?”

“Unless you object.”

“Oh no. That’s very thoughtful of you.” Always looking out for my safety—another of those pluses that made him so great.

He kissed me on the forehead, so I refrained from reminding him to be really, really careful with my car. Of course he’d be careful. If I couldn’t trust the man I was thinking about becoming engaged to, I shouldn’t think about becoming engaged to him.

“So . . . you won’t let Rafe drive it, will you?”

He chuckled.

Was that a no?

 

Marco insisted on walking me up to the second floor of my apartment building, and waited while I opened the door, to be sure Nikki was home. “Nikki?” I called.

“I’m in the living room,” she called back.

“All clear,” I said to Marco.

He gave me a long, hot good-night kiss that made me wish he weren’t leaving. “I’ll be here at seven forty-five in the morning,” he promised.

Awesome. My very own limo service. I locked the door behind him and removed my coat and hat, calling to Nikki, “You’ll never believe what happened today.”

“Hold on,” she called. “I have to pause the movie. We’re watching
Titanic
.”

I stepped into the living room and found Nikki and Morgan sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a comforter.

“Come join us.” Nikki held out a bowl. “Greg made cheese popcorn.”

“One of my many hidden talents,” he said.

Nikki ruffled his hair. “You’re so cute. You remind me of Leo DiCaprio.”

If only Morgan would float out to sea.

Deputy Prosecutor Greg Morgan had the blue eyes, perfect teeth, and golden brown hair of a choirboy, looks that had opened many doors for him, some into bedrooms, but the most important one straight into the prosecutor’s office. Everyone at the courthouse adored him. Indeed, it was almost impossible not to like him—unless you’d had a huge crush on him in high school and he’d totally ignored you until you came home from college with breasts.

I tolerated him because of Nikki and because his position on the prosecutor’s staff gave him access to information that was helpful in solving murder cases, when I was able to pry it out of him, not that he could ever admit to helping me and still keep his job.

“Tell us what happened,” Nikki prompted.

“Jillian was kidnapped,” I said, “but the kidnappers meant to get me.”

Nikki gasped. Morgan sat forward. “Is Jillian okay?” Nikki asked.

“Shaken, mostly,” I said.

Morgan began firing questions at me. “Were there any witnesses? Were statements taken? Who are the officers involved? Any suspects?”

“Slow down, Greg. I’ll tell you what happened.” I dipped my hand in the popcorn bowl and perched on the side chair to tell the whole story, except halfway through, my stomach got queasy, so I pushed the bowl aside.

When I finished, Nikki said, “Listen to Reilly, Abby. You absolutely have to call PAR to tell them to find someone else to fight Uniworld. You can’t risk your life for those cows.”

“Come on, Nikki. Not you, too.”

“Seriously, Abby,” Morgan said. “Pull back and let the police do their job. I’ll do everything I can to see that those jerks are brought to justice, whoever they are. We can’t have this sort of thing happening in our town. And forget about going after Uniworld. This issue with their milk has to be resolved in a court of law. And just so you know, they’ve hired local lawyers to represent them, and they have unlimited funds at their disposal.”

That was news to me. “Who?”