Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

Huffing indignantly, she whipped out her cell phone, gave me one last dirty look, and headed for the door. “Hi, Claymore? You won’t believe what Abby did this time.”

The bell jingled behind her.

Marco’s eyebrows were higher than I’d ever seen them. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t warned him. “I’ve never seen her turn on you before,” he said in wonder.

“That could have been you, dear,” Grace said to Marco, as she and Lottie came back into the room from different doorways.

“You should be grateful, Marco,” Lottie said, winking discreetly at me. “Abby took the bullet for you.”

“The main thing is that Jillian doesn’t know you suspect her,” I told Marco. “I think we’re safe as far as the family goes.”

“Boy oh boy, Jillian was madder than a wet hen,” Lottie said with a chuckle. “I could feel it through the curtain. Woo-ee!”

“But we’re still missing the brooches,” I said, “so we’d better file another police report. I’ll call Reilly and see if he’s around to take the report.” I glanced at Marco to see if he was in agreement, but he was headed for the workroom like a man on a mission.

I made the call, then went to tell Marco. He was working at the computer, typing words into a search box, while Lottie finished a silk flower arrangement at the worktable behind him.

“I left a message for Reilly. What are you searching?” I asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Marco was concentrating, so his answer came out in bursts. “Jillian mentioned the brooch-news conference-checking something.”

He had typed flower brooch into the box, and was resting his chin on his hand, reading through the links, so I prompted him to fill in the blanks. “Jillian mentioned seeing the brooch on my beret at the news conference and you’re researching flower brooches because…?”

“It got me to thinking about who else might have seen it.”

“What do you mean? Like a professional brooch thief?”

“Where did you say you got it?”

“It was lying loose in a box of orchids, but I called our supplier in Hawaii and he didn’t know anything about it. He said to keep it unless I heard otherwise.”

Marco scrolled through the links on the first page. “Two and a half million results. We have to narrow the search.”

“Try anthurium brooch,” I said.

He typed it in, glanced down the list of links, then clicked on Hawaiian collectibles: Antiques and Hawaiiana. Up popped a page full of photos of flower pins, pendants, and brooches in a variety of materials. I watched over Marco’s shoulder as he scrolled down the page.

“There’s an ivory anthurium brooch,” I said, pointing to the image on the screen. “That looks a lot like the one I found.”

Marco clicked on the photo, but all it did was enlarge it. “I’ll have to get in touch with the dealer to find out more about their brooches. The pieces on this site are all collectors’ items.”

“Maybe the one you found is a collector’s item, too,” Lottie said.

“If it were valuable,” I said, “you’d think it would be packaged in a cushioned box.”

“Maybe a woman packed the flowers and didn’t realize her brooch fell into the box,” Lottie offered.

Marco dialed the phone number on the Web site’s home page, then held his hand over the receiver. “It’s an automated menu. I have to leave contact information.” He removed his hand and gave his name and cell phone number, then left a brief description of the brooch.

“Here’s a thought,” Lottie said. “Remember when the phony delivery man came by for a package he claimed was delivered to us by mistake, and that man turned out to be Hudge? Maybe we did get someone else’s package and he came to pick it up.”

“So you’re saying Hudge pulled off those kidnappings to get the brooch?” I asked.

Marco turned to look at Lottie. “When did Hudge come here?”

“Right after the flower shop was trashed,” Lottie said.

“Why don’t I remember that?” Marco asked.

“You were checking out the other rooms for damage when we discussed it,” Lottie said. “Sergeant Reilly was making out a report, and I said I wondered whether the damage was the result of a plain ol’ robbery instead of Uniworld trying to retaliate.”

The phone rang and Grace caught it out front, then came back to say that Reilly was on the line. Marco picked it up at my desk. “Hey, Sean. Yes, Abby did call. Right, and this time twelve brooches were taken. Three brooch-related thefts. We’ve definitely got something going on here, so we’ll need to file a police report. Sure. I’ll hold.”

“Abby,” Lottie said, “Gracie and I are going to close up shop now.”

“Okay,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

Marco glanced at the clock. “Five o’clock? Damn. I haven’t been down to the bar yet.”

Reilly came back on the line, so Marco turned away to talk to him while I cleaned up the worktable. As I brushed bits of leaves and blossoms into the plastic-lined trash can, I started thinking back over the times my mom’s brooches had turned up missing. The first theft happened after I appeared on our local cable TV news station. Was that a coincidence or, as Marco mentioned, had someone with a reason to care spotted the anthurium on my hat? Was it possible Dwayne Hudge was working for a jewelry thief?

Marco ended his call and got up. “Reilly said no viable fingerprints were collected when Bloomers was trashed, and right now they don’t have any leads.”

“You mentioned that someone might have spotted me wearing the brooch. What if Hudge and Charlotte were hired to get it back?”

Marco’s eyebrows pulled together. “I guess it would explain the theft of the brooches, although I still think Jillian should be a suspect.”

“It would also explain why Jillian’s beret was snatched.”

“But it doesn’t explain why they kidnapped Tara. She wasn’t wearing a beret.”

“We were dressed alike. Maybe they were planning to hold me until I gave up the brooch.”

“That would be risky.”

“They were bunglers, Marco. And I just remembered something else. When Jillian was nabbed, she said the kidnapper told her to give it up. Do you remember that? The brooch has to be what they were after.”

“We could speculate all evening, and I wish I had time for that, but Reilly is sending officers to take the report and dust for prints, so while they’re here, I’ve got to run down to the bar to check on things and get my accounting done, or there won’t be any paychecks to hand out this week. I’ll be back afterward to take you home, pick up Rafe, and drop him at your place so I can squeeze in a couple of hours of work at the bar before I start on my PI case.”

I was exhausted just thinking about all he had to do. Poor Marco, dealing with stolen brooches, kidnapping attempts, wayward younger brothers, his bar, my crazy family, and me, in addition to his private investigator work. He really was my hero.

But we absolutely did have to discuss the issue about our conflicting work hours. Soon.

As he stood there in his fitted shirt, tight jeans, and worn boots, his dark hair curling around his ears, a five-o’clock shadow on his handsome face, I couldn’t resist slipping my arms around his waist. “You go to a lot of trouble for me, Salvare.”

That was all it took to get his juices flowing. His eyes darkened in that seductive way of his and one corner of his mouth quirked. “You know what I always say about pay-backs.” Then he dipped his head down for a deep, smoldering kiss-that was interrupted a moment later by a sharp rap on the front door.

Marco gave me one more quick kiss, then strode through the curtain to let in the cops.