Sleeping With Anemone Part 14

Tara nodded. "I didn't recognize him until the detective asked him to put up his hood and turn to the side. Then I was pretty sure it was him, because I could see his profile whenever he was talking to Blondie. But just to be sure, I asked the detective to have him say what I heard him tell Blondie right before I got away. Then I knew it was him."

"What did he say?" I asked.

" 'You're a dead woman.' He kind of screamed it at her."

"Did you hear any more of their argument?" Marco asked.

Tara nodded again. "The scuzzball called Blondie a doublecrosser and accused her sister of turning Blondie against him. Then Blondie called him crazy and stupid, and then he yelled back that she was a dead woman. But the detective said that was too much to have him repeat, so instead he asked him to say only the last part-about her being a dead woman."

Tara turned to me. "Did you know Blondie died? Mom said they found her body outside one of those garage doors at Uniworld, and that maybe a semitruck crushed her, but I'll bet the scuzzball ran her down." At a buzzing noise, she pulled a cell phone from her pocket. "Is it okay if I text now?" she asked her mom.

"I guess so," Kathy said.

While Tara sat on the bench, tapping out her message, I said to my sister-in-law, "Did the detective mention anything about the evidence they found?"

"Only that they were a.n.a.lyzing it. Detective Maroni said he'd let me know when he had any updates."

"Would you let me know if he calls you?" I asked.

"Sure."

Tara put away her phone. "Can we go home now? My stomach feels funny."

I glanced at the door where Jillian would emerge shortly and said, "Mine, too. We'll walk out with you."

As we headed back to Bloomers, I mulled over Tara's revelations, trying to fit them into the puzzle. "Marco, what do you think Dwayne Hudge might have meant when he accused Blondie-I mean Charlotte Bebe-of double-crossing him?"

"That Hudge was afraid Charlotte's sister had convinced her to cut him out of whatever their deal was."

"Do you remember Tara saying that they were arguing about where to take her? Charlotte wanted to go somewhere they couldn't be heard, remember?"

"Sure. That's why we thought their intent was to kill Tara-you."

"But if Charlotte was planning to double-cross Hudge, maybe her true intent was to kill him. And if Hudge suspected that's what Charlotte's intentions were, that would give him a motive for running her down."

"True."

Terrific. We were on the same page again. "I wish we could sit in on Hudge's interview. I really want to know about those two pieces of evidence that tie Raand to Hudge and Charlotte."

"What two pieces of evidence?"

"I forgot to tell you I called Greg Morgan today. So much is going on, I can't remember who I told what."

"Morgan talked to you about the evidence?"

"Sort of. Anyway, he said the cops had recovered two pieces of evidence that linked Raand to the kidnappers-a note and flowers. I got it out of him that the note was from Raand, but he wouldn't say who the recipient was or how flowers fit into the picture, so maybe Reilly can help there."

"We can't keep asking Reilly to divulge information from the police files, Abby. He's taken too many chances for us."

"Not on this case."

Marco gave me a frown. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Go there. Leave Reilly alone."

Our page numbers were not lining up now. "Then what do you suggest we do to get more information?"

"Why do we have to do anything?"

"For my peace of mind."

Marco glanced at me. "You're going to work this like a dog with a bone, aren't you?"

"Can you blame me?"

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Okay, here's an idea. I'd be highly surprised if Hudge had enough money to hire private counsel, so he'll ask for a public defender. And who is the county's public defender for major crimes? Your old boss, Dave Hammond."

"And of course Dave will need to hire an investigator, and that will be you."

"Now you're getting the picture."

"Then you'll need an a.s.sistant, and that will be me. So let's get moving on this. I should have some free time this afternoon to . . ."

Marco frowned.

"What now?" I asked in exasperation, as we pulled up in front of Bloomers.

"Let's not jump the gun. Hudge has to have his initial hearing first. Then if he qualifies for a public defender, we can get moving on it."

"Are you kidding me? We're talking a week, at least, and I'm really tired of checking the roof for snipers."

"Snipers?"

"All I'm saying is that I want to know now who I'm dealing with and whether I'm still in danger. I don't think that's an unreasonable request."

"I didn't say it was unreasonable."

"Think of it this way. If we can prove that I'm no longer in danger, you'll be off the hook as a bodyguard. You'll be able to resume your normal duties at Down the Hatch instead of hanging around Bloomers, bored out of your mind."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"What? No. Of course not."

The corners of Marco's mouth curved up in a s.e.xy grin. "You're sure about that?"

I leaned across the console to gaze into his eyes. "Not on your life would I want to get of you, Salvare."

"You mean your life, don't you"-he leaned toward me for a kiss-"Fireball?"

Marco had started using that nickname on our romantic getaway, and it still had the power to heat up my blood. "You want to see fire?"

"Do you need to ask?" He met my lips in a pa.s.sionate kiss that swept me back to that dreamy, steamy weekend we spent in Key West only a month before. Then, nibbling a trail along my jaw, he murmured, "I don't want you to worry about Hudge and Bebe. You take care of your flower shop, let me take care of protecting you, and let the cops handle the investigation."

"Mmm," I replied, my eyes still closed, my thoughts taking a leisurely stroll along the white sands of Smathers Beach.

"If Dave Hammond gets the case," he whispered in my ear, "then we'll talk about getting involved. In the meantime, I have to head down to the bar to see if my new bartender showed up today. I'll give you a call in a bit to see how everything is, okay?"

"Mmm." The warm sand ma.s.saged my bare feet; a tropical breeze lifted my hair . . .

He straightened, all business now. "And remember, if you have to go out for any reason, call me. I'll take you. Not a problem. And make sure the ladies don't leave you alone for even a minute. You've got your cell phone on, right? You're carrying it with you at all times?"

Great. We were back to the warnings again. Visions of the tropics faded to the stark white snowy backdrop of New Chapel. "Yes to everything. Don't worry. I'll be here working away."

I could tell Marco was about to add another instruction, so I unbuckled my seat belt and got out. "See you later."

Inside Bloomers, Grace was working alone because Lottie had been asked to come to the station and view the lineup, too. When Lottie returned a short time later, she reported that she had picked out the phony UPS man who, it turned out, was none other than Dwayne Hudge.

When we had a few minutes between customers, I filled my a.s.sistants in on what Tara had revealed about the kidnappers' argument, and how it had most likely led to Charlotte's death.

"I knew that phony deliveryman was up to no good," Lottie told us. "I never suspected he was a killer, though. We can breathe a little easier now that Hudge is in custody."

"But we shan't let down our guard until we know who hired him," Grace added. "As Confucius said, 'Better be despised for too anxious apprehensions, than ruined by too confident security.' "

"Good one," Lottie said, applauding.

When I finally made it back to my workroom, I discovered that none of the orders I'd finished that morning had been delivered because there'd been no one available to deliver them.

Yowzers! We had to get them out! The only problem was that Lottie had begun helping a young couple select flowers from a wedding catalog, and Grace was waiting on three tables full of women downing scones and cups of espresso. I hated to b.u.t.t in on a job Lottie had started, and I still couldn't operate the espresso machine, so no way was I going to take over in the parlor. That left asking Marco to come back, so I quickly called the bar.

Gert, a longtime waitress, answered in her gravelly voice, "Down the Hatch."

"Hi, Gert. It's Abby. Is Marco busy?"

"He sure is, hon. Just went into a meeting. Want him to call you back when he's finished? Should be an hour or so . . . unless this is an emergency or something."

An hour? The shop would close in two hours. I couldn't afford to wait that long, but I also didn't want to pull Marco away from something important. "Never mind, Gert. I'll see him later."

d.a.m.n! It was so frustrating not being able to leave on my own . . . unless I wasn't the one leaving.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

"What are you doing?" Lottie asked, startling me. I was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, swaddling my head in a black wool scarf that was already starting to itch. "I'm disguising myself so I can make deliveries."

"No way, Jose. My orders are to make sure you don't leave here alone."

"But we need to get these out."

"Well, we're too busy right now for one of us to go with you, so get on that phone and call your bodyguard."

Lottie could be a real pain at times. I began to unwind my turban. "I did call Marco. He's busy, too."

Lottie held out her hand, and I placed her wool scarf on it. "I'll make the deliveries," she said. "You stay with Grace. And by the way, that salesman I told you about left a price list. It's on your desk. You might want to take a look at it. The prices on orchids are the best I've seen this year. The Wilmar Galaxy Star? Under six dollars."

"Abby?" came Jillian's shrill voice from the other room.

Lottie gave me a nudge. "There's another reason you need to stay and I need to leave."

With a weary sigh, I marched forth to deal with the diva and found her standing in front of the armoire, looking among the gift items, muttering, "Grace said it would be right here."

"Hey, Jillian, how did you do at the lineup?"

"I picked out the driver of the van," she said, intent on her search. "Naturally I couldn't ID the guy in the ski mask."

"I'm pretty certain the guy in the ski mask was actually a woman named Charlotte Bebe."

"Hmm." She felt along the top of a high shelf, clearly not paying attention.

"Didn't the person who grabbed you talk in a hoa.r.s.e whisper? And have thin arms?"

"I guess that would explain why the creep took my expensive beret." Jillian gave up with a huff and put her hands on her hips. "Where is the new brooch your mom said she made? Claymore's secretary's birthday is today. She's old. She likes gaudy jewelry. The brooch sounds perfect for her."

Ignoring her unintentional slam, I showed her where Grace had put it, except that the brooch wasn't there. "That's odd. It was here last Friday."

"Does that help me now?" Jillian asked, her hand on her hip.

"Hang on. It has to be here somewhere."

While Jillian looked on, tapping the toe of her boot on the tile floor, I hunted all over the shop and finally went into the parlor to ask Grace. She slipped away from her customers long enough to help me hunt, but once again, the brooch had vanished.

"Great," Jillian said. "This is exactly what happened last time I wanted to buy a brooch."

"You can always give her a beautiful floral arrangement," I said.

"I want something unique, Abby. Flowers aren't unique. I'll just have to call Claymore again and tell him to come up with something himself."

The bell over the door jingled and in walked Tara. She wore a puffy orange down jacket, jeans, black gloves and boots, and a backpack on her shoulder. "Hey," she said, swinging her load onto the decorative bench in the corner. "What's up?"

"Your collar," Jillian said, and straightened it. She leaned back to study Tara, then arranged a lock of her hair to cover one eye. "Now all you need is a dab of lip gloss. . . ."

"I'm good, Aunt Jillian," Tara said, ducking out of reach. She and Jillian were actually first cousins once removed, but Tara preferred to remove her a little further. She opened her backpack and pulled out a manila envelope. "Mom forgot to give these to you, Aunt Abby."