Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead, which was beaded with sweat despite the cold temp. “I’m taking a risk coming here, so cut the sarcasm. I had nothing to do with this, nor do I know who did. And just to make this clear, I don’t handle the Uniworld account. I don’t even know which attorney in our firm does. But I can tell you that if you want that new door and ramp installed, you need to stop your campaign against the dairy farm.”

“So you don’t handle the Uniworld account; you just deliver their threats?”

“This is merely a friendly tip from me to you. Give me your word that you and your supporters won’t oppose the farm opening, and you can start looking for a contractor.”

One word. It was that simple. Lottie and Grace would certainly be relieved, as would Marco, Nikki, and my parents. Plus, I could stop worrying about losing Bloomers; I wouldn’t need an escort; and I could get my car back. But could I live with my conscience?

“Explain something to me, please, Mr. Chinn. How does my stand against the dairy farm affect my request for a new door and ramp?”

“Just tell me yes or no,” he snapped.

Before Chinn’s arrival I probably would have jumped at the chance to make the trouble go away. But his thinly veiled threat made me angry all over again. Still, could I afford to turn down his offer? “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Don’t take too long, Ms. Knight. You have no idea what you’re up against.” He opened the door, pausing to say, “And if you tell anyone about this conversation, I’ll deny it.”

Lottie came through the curtain just as Chinn left. “What the heck did he want?”

If I told her, I knew she’d be upset that I didn’t accept his offer. I handed her the brochure. “He left this for us.”

It took the rest of the week to get Bloomers back up to speed. We had to scrub and polish the wood floors, restock flowers, repair cabinets, and replace vases, candlesticks, bric-a-brac, and all the other gift items that had been broken, plus keep the coffee-and-tea parlor open to generate some income. And although our insurance policy covered most of the damage, I could still feel the swoosh of air through my wallet as money drained out.

Adding to my anxiety, I hadn’t made a decision about my position on the dairy farm, and the opening date was less than a month away. Before Peter Chinn’s visit, I’d managed to send e-mail alerts to people who’d volunteered to help, encouraging them to collect signatures for the petition and get them back to me, but none had come in yet. Frankly, I was almost relieved. Repairing my flower shop had to come first. At least Uniworld seemed to have halted its attacks, perhaps waiting to see what I would do.

My parents were appalled by the break-in, but Mom wasn’t all that upset about her art deco brooch having gone missing. She assumed it had been trashed along with everything else, and we didn’t see the need to tell her otherwise. I also didn’t voice my suspicions about who was behind it, and as it turned out, I didn’t need to. They’d already concluded it was Uniworld and were adamant that I not do anything to put myself in further danger. Luckily, I could tell them with a clear conscience that I hadn’t scheduled any more protests. Yet.

By the end of the week, Dad had seen to the installation of a stronger dead bolt and a better alarm system, and had sat down with Marco for a face-to-face on how Marco was going to keep me safe, as if a former Army Ranger wouldn’t know. Marco was a good sport about it, though, which went straight into his plus column.

Mom did her part by delivering a new brooch, a copy so good I had no problem putting it out on the middle shelf of the armoire. Unfortunately, with the brooch came the name of another wedding caterer Mom felt sure I’d want to interview, just so I’d be ahead of the game when the time came to get married. I tucked it in a file marked Someday.

Finally, we were ready to announce our grand reopening to take place the following week on Valentine’s Day. So, on Friday morning, we strung a banner across the bay windows outside, and crossed our fingers. Fortunately, it worked. From the moment we opened our doors on Valentine’s Day, customers flocked in, and the ring of the cash register had Grace, Lottie, and me smiling for the first time in a long while. At that moment I truly believed I’d faced down the worst that could happen.

Tara phoned in the middle of the Valentine’s Day rush to complain that her parents were rethinking the idea of letting her attend the concert. Apparently, my cousin Jillian’s attempted kidnapping, along with the break-in and threatening letters, had rattled Tara’s parents enough that they didn’t want their only child exposed to potential harm.

“Please, Aunt Abby!” she cried. “You have to talk to them. I’ll die if I miss the BBs.”

“I’ll figure out something,” I assured her, then placed a call to my brother. After I’d spent fifteen minutes arguing Tara’s case, it came down to Tara staying home or my brother and Kathy attending the concert with us, only sitting discreetly in the back.

“You won’t get tickets at this late date,” I argued.

“You’re forgetting the scalpers,” Jordan said. “I know a guy who can get two tickets for me, no problem.”

“Bragger! It’ll cost you plenty, and you’ll probably have to stand.”

“I don’t think so. But hey, my daughter is worth it.” Knowing Tara would paint herself chartreuse before being seen with her mom and dad, I made Jordan promise to let Tara ride with us. Then I called Tara with the good news.

“Awesome! Thank you sooooo much for everything, Aunt Abby,” she cried. “Don’t forget I want to get there early to buy a Barrow Boys T-shirt. So I’ll see you and Uncle Marco at six, okay? Bye.”

“Hey, what did I tell you about calling him-” Too late. She’d hung up.

It wasn’t until five o’clock, when we turned our sign to CLOSED, that we were able to sit down and take stock. Grace, efficient as always, had tea and scones waiting, so the three of us took a welcome break at a table in the parlor.

“How much do you think we made today?” I asked Lottie.

“Enough to keep us afloat for a few more months,” she said.

“And it won’t be long until Easter,” Grace reminded us. “Another big cash holiday.”

My cell phone rang, Marco checking in. “We had our busiest day of the year,” I told him.

“Good for you, Sunshine. Hey, do you need to go home to change for the concert?”

The concert! I glanced down at my outfit-turtleneck sweater, brown pants, brown boots-then hopped up and started for the back. “Nope. I just need to clean up here first.”

“Don’t worry about that, sweetie,” Lottie called. “We’ll cover. Just go have fun.”

Marco took Tara and me in the Prius, with Tara’s parents following at a safe distance in their car. Although we arrived early, the Expo Center parking lot was nearly full, so we had to park in an out-lot bordering the two-lane state highway and hike a half mile over frozen ground. When at last the glass double doors of the Expo Center were within sight, so was a long line of fans waiting to get into the main lobby.

Once we finally made it inside, Tara shuffled Marco and me past the food stands lining the inside wall of the lobby, straight over to the souvenir booth, where she selected a lime green hoodie for herself, then decided I should have one, too. On the front was the Barrow Boys’ logo in shiny black surrounded by hot pink and lemon yellow hearts, a perfect match for her glossy pink clutch purse and the skinny, colored plastic headbands in her hair.