Kate Collins - Sleeping with Anemone

“After setting it on fire,” Lottie added, in case he’d missed the charred newspaper.

“What kind of idiot would pull a stunt like that?” Marco asked.

Reilly whispered, “He doesn’t know about the you-know-whats?”

Oh, very professional, Reilly.

Marco glanced at me. “What you-know-whats?”

“Someone shoved a letter under the door today,” I explained as Reilly pulled it out of the back of his notebook and let Marco read it. “I didn’t think anything of it until the brick hit.”

“Wasn’t her first letter, either,” Reilly the instigator added.

Marco glanced at me in concern.

“It’s Uniworld,” I assured him. “They’re using scare tactics to get me to back off. I didn’t mention the letters before because I didn’t think they were anything to worry about.”

“What do you think now?” Marco asked.

That I didn’t care for his pompous tone, but then I reminded myself that he was just showing his protective side, and since that was a plus, I held my tongue.

“I’m going to take a ride out to Uniworld,” Reilly told him, “have a talk with people there, see if I can rattle some cages.”

Marco put an arm around my shoulders and said to him, “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“Me, too, Reilly,” I said. “And make sure you ask for Nils Raand, the guy in charge.”

“Just so you know,” Marco added, “Abby’s going to tone down her protests. Maybe that’ll put an end to the threats.”

I was? Irked, I pulled away from him. “If I tone down my protests, how will I keep Uniworld from opening their milk factory? By writing them poems?”

At Marco’s raised eyebrows, I said contritely, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but I can’t let Nils Raand, or anyone else at Uniworld, believe I can be frightened off.”

“You can’t let them burn down your flower shop, either,” he countered.

“They won’t burn it down,” I said. “This is about intimidation. Bullying. If they’d wanted to burn down Bloomers, they’d do it when no one was here.”

“Maybe there’s something you can do besides holding those protest rallies,” Lottie said. “Something a little quieter and less risky.”

“That’s why I’m collecting signatures for a petition, so I can ask for an injunction,” I explained to Reilly, “but I’ve got only forty-three. I need five hundred to be effective.”

“How about meeting with a Uniworld rep to discuss your concerns?” Reilly asked.

“That’s a lovely idea,” Grace said hopefully.

“No risk there,” Lottie chimed in.

“It’s something to consider, Abby,” Marco said.

I was on the verge of explaining how Uniworld had operated in other cities, pretending to be sympathetic to concerns about the milk production, then proceeding as planned, and how the only things that had stopped them were citizen rallies and marches. But I knew I’d be wasting my breath on this gang. All they wanted was for me to be safe.

“Fine.”

Everyone smiled.

“How about if I see what I can set up with Raand for Monday?” Reilly offered.

What the heck. It was Saturday. If he set up a meeting, maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about any more bricks being heaved through my door. Maybe a day to let recent events settle in would be a good thing. I could regroup, decide what my next move would be. “Okay.”

At that, Reilly left; Lottie went back to unloading flowers; Grace returned to the parlor to make tea; and Marco gazed at me thoughtfully. “So, no more protests, right?”

“I didn’t agree to that.”

“You agreed to a meeting.”

“I agreed to try a meeting. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up the idea of protests if the meeting doesn’t get results.”

He lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes. “Repeat after me: no more protests. You can’t afford to have your business go up in flames.”

“Marco-”

“No. More. Protests.”

Bossiness. Definitely had to have a minus column.

He gave me a kiss on the cheek, then headed for the door. “Six o’clock in your green silk dress?”

I gave him a sharp salute. “Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?” He rolled his eyes, then opened the door and found an even larger crowd standing outside. “You’d better stay out of sight,” he warned, then disappeared into their midst.

When the onlookers saw me in the doorway, a ripple of excitement went through them like a wave, and suddenly a reporter with a mic hurried toward me, followed by a cameraman and two reporters carrying mini-tape recorders.

“Miss Knight!” they called over each other. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Has your life been threatened?”

“Will you give a statement?”

I stood on tiptoes to see over the crowd. No sign of Marco. “Okay if I get my coat first?”

Yanking my wool peacoat and beret from the hook by the back door, and yelling for Lottie to bring my clipboard and a pen, I donned the garments during the seconds it took me to get back to the sidewalk, arriving breathlessly just in time for a photographer to shoot his first photo of me. Then, with the camera rolling, and the photographers clicking away, I answered the reporters’ questions and told my story. And during it all, Lottie was handing out business cards and collecting the signatures of outraged citizens-finally-who were actually booing Uniworld by the time I finished.

“Do you think that was wise?” Grace asked, when Lottie and I came back inside. “Painting Uniworld as-what were your words-pigheaded money-grubbers? Should you have waited until after your meeting with Mr. Raand to talk to the press?”

“Too late now,” Lottie said, counting the names. She showed me the petition.

“One hundred seven! We’re one-fifth of the way there.” I high-fived her, then glanced at Grace. “Don’t frown. This is way better than meeting with Raand. He’d just blow me off.”

Grace sighed. “I only hope you haven’t made a worse enemy of Uniworld.”

“I’m not afraid of them, Grace.”

“I’m reminded of a quote by Sir Isaac Newton,” Grace said.

Of course she was. Everything reminded Grace of a quote.

“ ‘Tact is the knack of making a point without making an enemy.’ ”

Huh. She had me there.

When I arrived home at my apartment at five fifteen that evening, my best friend and roommate, Nikki Hiduke, was in the bathroom preparing for a dinner date with her new beau, Deputy Prosecutor Gregory Morgan, or, as I thought of him, Deputy Damn-I’m-Handsome!

“Hey, what’s up?” I called as I shuffled through the mail left on the table.

“Abby,” Nikki cried, hurrying out with a tube of lipstick in her hand, her blond hair starched into stiff spikes like a very tall, slender Lisa Simpson’s. She gave me a hug. “I saw the news. I’m so glad you’re okay. I can’t believe those bastards tried to burn down your store.”

“They weren’t trying to burn it down, Nik, just to frighten me. Remember the woman from PAR telling us about Uniworld’s scare tactics?”

“Sure, stuff like hate mail and smear campaigns. She didn’t say anything about burning bricks.” Nikki glanced at the clock. “Quick! Turn on the TV. They should be doing a recap of the local news now, and you’re the lead story!”

Sweet. I dropped the envelopes and dove for the remote on the coffee table, startling Simon, Nikki’s white cat, who had curled on the sofa for his predinner nap. He arched his back and hissed, then realized it was me and came to climb on my knees and rub his cold nose against my chin as the television flickered.

“Yes, Simon. I see you. Love you, too, Simon. Have you gained weight? Get off, Simon. My knee is numb!” I placed him beside me so I could watch the reporter’s interview. “Do I look pale?” I asked Nikki.