Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

“Hold it,” Marco said. “Come back here.”

I stood beside my car, twisting my keys in my hand. Marco was one parking space away. “You, too,” he said to me. “Come here.”

Like errant schoolchildren, we stood in front of him, guilty looks on our faces. “I can explain,” I said, shivering in the cold night air. “This wasn’t Rafe’s fault.”

“You’re cold. Let’s go inside and talk about it,” Marco said.

“Now?” Rafe asked. “It’s eleven thirty.”

Marco shot him a look and Rafe shut up.

At my apartment, I offered beers to the brothers and both accepted. I handed out the beers; then Marco asked us to sit on the sofa. He rolled the desk chair around so he could face us. “Okay, Abby, you first.”

Why was I thinking Spanish Inquisition?

Here we go, Abby. Make it good . I began by explaining how important it was for my own peace of mind to know Harding’s condition, and that I’d only been looking out for Marco’s peace of mind when I didn’t tell him I’d gone to the hospital to find out. If I had told him, would he have been able to concentrate on his work? No. Would he have worried? Yes. Ergo, zipped lips.

Marco said nothing.

Next, I explained that Nikki had stumbled upon the existence of H. Bebe, and that I’d felt it important to find out if she was Charlotte’s sister.

Marco still had no comment.

Finally, I said it was my idea to try the front door, and having found it unlocked, I checked inside the house to make sure there hadn’t been any foul play. Unfortunately, the neighbors saw us and called the police. Fortunately, Reilly cleared us. Then I sat back and waited.

Marco leaned forward. “Tell me what you learned.”

“Not to leave the apartment without letting you know our plans.”

“I meant,” Marco said, “what did you learn when you went inside the house?”

“Oh.” What? No lecture? I glanced at Rafe, and he shrugged.

“Okay,” I said, “judging by the half-eaten plate of food and open bottle of beer, and no car in the garage, I got the impression that someone left in a big hurry.”

“Temperature of the food?” Marco asked.

“Mashed potatoes were cold; beer was warm.”

“What else?”

“Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, we found men’s clothing in one closet, but the other closet was empty. In the bathroom, we saw men’s toiletries but not women’s, and two drawers had been cleaned out.”

“There was a Valentine in the woman’s nightstand,” Rafe added, “signed by someone named Tom.”

“It has to be Harding,” I said.

“Anything else?” Marco asked.

I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head.

Marco folded his arms. “You two had quite an evening.”

“I’m sorry we interrupted your PI job, Marco,” I said. “I hated having to ask Reilly to get us out of jail, and I know I shouldn’t have gone without letting you know. But I did it, so yell if you want. I’m okay with that, although I think we’ve had enough punishment.”

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Are you done?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Good. Now do you want to hear what I found out?” he asked.

I glanced at Rafe in disbelief. To Marco I said, “Is that it? No lecture?”

“I don’t see any reason for it. I’m betting the cops scared the living daylights out of you.”

“Duh,” Rafe said. “We had to chill at the police station for ninety-two freakin’ minutes. They treated us like criminals.”

“We entered someone’s home illegally, Rafe,” I said. “We are criminals.”

“From now on I’m following your orders, bro, no matter how much the Abster begs.”

I turned on Rafe with a glare. “I did not beg. I never beg, only suggest. And you are so not using my car tomorrow night.”

“Hey,” Marco said. “Let’s move on. Do you want to hear what I found out? Good. First of all, the town house is listed as belonging to Tom Harding and H. Bebe, otherwise known as Honey B. Haven, as joint tenants in common.”

“Honey B. Haven’s real name is Honey Bebe?” I asked.

“That’s how it appears,” Marco said. “I couldn’t find any record of a marriage to a Haven or Harding, but I did learn that Honey and Charlotte are sisters.”

“Honey B. Haven,” Rafe said, chortling. “I just got that.”

“When did you have time to dig up all this information?” I asked Marco.

“After Reilly phoned to tell me where you were and why.”

I felt my face turning red. “Sorry about that.”

“I found it a little difficult to focus after that call.”

“I’m sure you did.”

Rafe yawned, obviously not feeling any guilt. “I’m not needed here, am I? Would you mind if I relax for a while?”

We vacated the sofa and headed for the dinette table. Rafe immediately stretched out and flipped on the TV.

“After Reilly’s call,” Marco said, picking up our conversation, “I dropped by the hospital and had a chat with Nikki. When she told me what was in Harding’s chart, I went back to his hospital room to get a better look at his injuries.”

Marco sat back, extending his long legs. “It was obvious the man took a severe beating, so I called Reilly back and asked if a police or accident report had been made on Harding. He found out that snowmobilers had found Harding in the woods late Wednesday night, barely clinging to life. He’d apparently been out there for some time. Since his wallet was taken, they’re calling it a robbery, so whether it has anything to do with the kidnappings remains to be seen. But the Bebe connection makes me suspect it does.

“Here’s something else I discovered,” he said, pulling out his notebook and flipping up the cover. “Honey Bebe boarded a plane for France at eight thirty this evening. She bought a one-way ticket an hour and fifty minutes before the plane departed, so this wasn’t a trip she’d planned in advance. That, along with your report that her clothes and makeup were gone, says she’s on the run. The question is, who is she running from?”

“Maybe the detectives asked Honey to come down for an interview, and she was afraid they were going to link her with the kidnappings.”

“I thought of that, so I called Detective Valderas and told him what I’d found out about Charlotte’s sister. He didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“Are you telling me they haven’t been looking for her sister?”

“They weren’t aware she had a sister,” Marco said in disgust. “And after I talked to Valderas, all he’d say was that they’d check into it.”

“Will they?”

Marco lifted one shoulder, his classic Italian shrug. Having been a police officer, Marco loathed to speak ill about fellow cops, but I could see the frustration in his tightly clenched jaw.

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

“We stop waiting for them to solve this case.”

I wanted to stand up and cheer. Finally, we were back on the same page.

“Let’s review what you saw at the town house,” Marco said. He was so sexy when he was intense. “You said the front door was unlocked. Was it standing open?”

Oh no! Was it?

“No,” Rafe called. “Remember, Abby? You tried the knob and the door opened.”

“Right,” I said, ignoring Marco’s skeptical glance. “And what are the odds that a woman would leave her front door unlocked, especially after dark? It wouldn’t happen.”

“Was the garage attached to the town house?” Marco asked.

“Yes, accessible through a door in the kitchen.”

Marco rubbed his jaw. “So I’m picturing Honey eating in the kitchen, hearing her front door open, then running out to the garage and taking off in her car.”