"Hey, b.u.t.tercup," Marco said. "Turn on the news."

I turned to whisper to Lottie, "Would you turn on the radio?" While she hurried to the back counter to switch on her radio/CD player, I said to Marco, "What's up?"

"The cops found Dwayne Hudge hiding in his uncle's bas.e.m.e.nt in South Bend. He was just booked into the county jail. It's on now. I'll wait."

Lottie and I listened to the news reporter tell us the exact same thing Marco just had. "Well, that's a relief," I said. "Maybe now we'll find out if Raand was behind the kidnappings."

"I'm sure he was smart enough to lawyer up. I'll let you know if I hear anything more. Everything cool there?"

"Everything's fine. Well, except that I've been thinking about the kidnapping attempts."

"Go on."

"You saw how Raand behaved at that meeting. He was so icy cold, I wondered if he had a pulse. His warehouse operation was efficient, as was his secretary, and his office was neat to the point of being sterile. Which is why it seems unlikely that Raand would hire two b.u.mbling people to do anything for him."

"That thought occurred to me, too."

"So we're on the same page with this."

"You bet. Raand's shrewd. He wouldn't have hired them himself. He probably had a go-between to put a layer of protection between him and the kidnappers. All the more reason not to take any chances until we know for sure who was at the helm."

"True."

"Good. I'll be down at noon with sandwiches. Should I bring some for Lottie and Grace?"

I had him hold while I checked; then I said, "Lottie is going out for lunch, and Grace is on a tuna salad diet. Would you make mine a turkey sandwich, please?" I gave him a phone kiss and hung up.

Lottie was just about to turn off the radio when we heard, "In other news, a.s.sistant City Attorney Peter Chinn was hospitalized early this morning after apparently suffering a concussion from a fall on ice. No word at this moment as to his condition."

"Peter must be hurt pretty bad to be hospitalized," Lottie said, switching the radio off. "He has diabetes, you know. That certainly can't have helped his condition any."

"How do you know these things?" I asked in amazement.

"You'd be shocked at what I pick up from other parents at my boys' school functions. It's a real gossip fest. Did you know Peter is from Portland, Oregon? And that he's single?"

Didn't know. Didn't care. Peter wasn't on my list of favorite people. "Maybe I should take a bouquet of flowers to him at the hospital as a gesture of goodwill," I said, "and as a reminder that we're still waiting for that permit."

"Sweetie, I like the way you think."

I made a mental note to work on that later. For now, however, I had to concentrate on business. So while Grace worked in the coffee-and-tea parlor and Lottie took care of customers in the shop, I pulled the top order from the spindle and began to ready my supplies, humming happily as I worked.

A floral arrangement for the Walshivers' dinner party. Cool. Gloria Walshiver, one of our loyal customers, wanted the arrangement made with both traditional and nontraditional elements, so I opened one of the big walk-in coolers and surveyed my stock. For the traditional elements, I pulled pale pink peony stems, then added red saucer magnolias, white spider mums, and aspidistra leaves. Nontraditional elements? Glossy red anthuriums fit the bill. Also, I'd been dying to use herbs in an arrangement, especially dill, which was so feathery and fragrant. What else was I itching to use?

Anemones. That was it. Anemones just felt romantic to me, perfect for Valentine's Day. I searched among the bucket of flowers only to discover we had run out. I wrote a note to Lottie asking her to put them on our next flower order, then looked for a subst.i.tute.

Twenty minutes later, I had a wonderfully aromatic dinner table display for the Walshivers' party. I wrapped the arrangement, tagged it, put it in the second cooler, and started on the next order. By the time Marco came down at noon, I had finished seven more orders and was almost done with the bouquet for Peter.

"Food's here," he announced, carrying in a big sack. He put it on the worktable and began to unload the contents. "I told Lottie to give us ten minutes to eat; then we'd come up front so she could take her lunch break. Grace should be able to take hers when Lottie comes back. Does that sound like a plan?"

Yes. His plan.

"Here's your sandwich." Marco handed me a big, greasy bundle of something wrapped in white butcher's paper.

I sniffed suspiciously. "Is it turkey?"

"The turkey didn't look good today. I thought you'd like the pork cutlet instead."

He thought wrong. But what could I say? It was free, and the delivery boy was s.e.xy. I watched him take out two small bags of salt-and-vinegar potato chips and put one in front of me. "You like this kind, don't you?"

Wrong again. Wasn't going to complain, though. Not one word of complaint. Didn't want to seem ungrateful. Not going to think about adding to Marco's minus column, either. But if I were to think about adding to it, the word presumptuous might have to go on it. Bad Abby for thinking about it.

"Did you just zip your lips?" Marco asked.

I stopped unwrapping the greasy sandwich. "What?"

"It looked like you made that motion to zip your lips."

I gave him an innocent gaze. "Why would I do that?"

"Maybe because you don't like the chips."

I shrugged apologetically. "I eat only the baked kind." Which he should have remembered from our romantic weekend in Key West. He eyed my bag, as though fearing I might toss it in the trash, so I pushed it toward him. "Be my guest."

Being hungry enough to eat just about anything, I downed half the sandwich, then wrapped the rest for another day-actually for another person. Marco and I went up front so Lottie could take her lunch break and found her on the phone and Grace in the parlor, bustling between several tables of customers, pouring tea and coffee and replenishing plates of scones.

"Our regular supplier is out of anemones," Lottie told me as she ended her call. "I'll have to shop around for another source."

"Didn't we place an order for anemones recently?" I asked.

"That was a few weeks back," Lottie said. "Now that I think about it, I don't recall receiving that order. I'll have to check the records."

"Aren't anemones sea creatures?" Marco asked.

"Flowers, too." Lottie shook her head, chuckling. "When I first came to Bloomers all those years ago, I placed an order for an-ee-moans. There was dead silence on the other end of the line; then the guy started laughing. 'You're saying it wrong. It's a-NEM-o-nee, like an enemy said backward. ' Well, you can imagine my embarra.s.sment. There I was, trying to act like I knew what I was doing-"

The phone rang and she picked it up. "Bloomers Flower Shop. How can I help you?" She listened a moment, then said, "Hold on." Then she handed me the phone. "Detective Maroni."

I took the receiver from her. "Hi, Detective. This is Abby."

"I'd like you to come down to the sheriff's office to take a look at a lineup. Can you be here in an hour?"

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Marco drove me around the square to the tan brick building on Indiana Street that housed the sheriff's department. It was located next to the New Chapel Savings Bank and across from the entrance to the courthouse. Once inside the building, we went through security; then I was taken to a room no wider than a hallway, where I sat in front of a one-way gla.s.s mirror, Detective Maroni beside me.

"Any questions before we start?" he asked.

I nodded eagerly. "Did Dwayne Hudge confess to the kidnapping?"

"I meant questions about the lineup."

"Oh, I understand how that works. What I need to know is whether Hudge was operating independently or hired to do the job."

The detective gave me a look of disbelief.

"Don't worry," I a.s.sured him. "As I mentioned in my interview, I've helped with investigations before, and after all, this is my case, too, so I'd appreciate it if you'd brief me."

He rose and said into an intercom, "We're ready."

Fine. I'd get my information somewhere else.

Six men, all of similar height, weight, coloring, and clothing, down to their hooded sweatshirts, filed into the room on the other side of the gla.s.s, then turned to face the gla.s.s. Behind them, height markings were painted on the wall.

"Take your time," Detective Maroni told me. "If you want to hear a voice or have them say a phrase, let me know. Mainly, we need to know if you've seen any of these men in your shop or outside your shop, or otherwise near your person."

I studied the men for several minutes. "I've seen number three before. His face is very familiar."

"Okay. Anyone else?"

I took a long look at each one. "Just number three."

He stood up. "Well, then, thanks for your time."

"Is the third man Dwayne Hudge?"

"No, he's one of my deputies."

No wonder he looked familiar. Number three was the cop who'd threatened to arrest me if I led the protesters onto Uniworld property.

Okay, then. Feeling a bit foolish, I left the room and found Tara waiting outside with her mom. Tara seemed relieved to see me and gave me a fierce hug. "Was it scary?"

"Not at all," I told her. "They can't see you behind the gla.s.s. You can only see them."

The detective called her in then, allowing Kathy to accompany her. I sat down on a bench against the wall just as Marco strode up the hallway toward me. He radiated such virility, confidence, strength, and genuine concern for me, I couldn't help thinking that I'd made a mistake starting a minus column. I'd delete it the moment I got back to the shop.

He sat down beside me. "How did it go?"

"I wasn't much help. I picked a cop out of the lineup."

"Don't sweat it. That happens. People see cops around town in uniform, but don't recognize them in regular street clothes."

"That was probably it."

"Ready to go back to the flower shop?"

"Tara's in there now. I'd like to wait to see how she does."

"No problem."

I leaned back against the wall. "I tried to find out if Hudge had confessed, but Detective Maroni didn't want to share that information with me."

"Did you really expect him to?"

"Abby. Hi!" Jillian cried, sailing toward me. She was bundled into a stylishly short white faux fur coat and warm Ugg boots, with a jaunty new beret on her head. "You'll never guess why I'm here."

"For a lineup," I said as Jillian eyed the bench, trying to decide if it was clean enough for her posterior.

"For a lineup," she said one second behind me. "Wait. How did you know? Is that why you're here? Not you, Marco. I know why you're here. I heard about your-wink, wink-bodyguard duties."

Marco had his arms folded across his chest and was staring up the hallway in the opposite direction, pretending not to be there.

Jillian wedged herself in between us, causing Marco to sidle to the far end of the bench. Then she nudged my boot with the toe of her Ugg. "Kind of a sneaky way to move in together, isn't it, Abs? I mean, why not just get married and be done with it? That's what Claymore and I did. You have to step off the cliff one of these days. Right, Marco?"

I grabbed her boot at the ankle and tried to wrestle it off her foot, while she held on to the bench to keep from sliding onto the floor. "Jillian, if you say one more word about us getting married-"

"Let go of my Ugg!"

"-I'll tell Claymore you've decided you're ready to have babies. Lots of them."

It was merely a guess that Claymore had broached that subject, but it had the effect I wanted. My cousin sucked in her breath in horror. "You wouldn't!"

I released her boot. "Try me."

She glared at me as she tugged the boot in place, but when I merely glared back, she finally said grudgingly to Marco, who was now standing a few feet away trying to be invisible, "I'm sorry. I take it all back."

Marco gave her a nod, and went back to not being there.

Jillian decided to remedy that. "Seriously, Marco, if you and Abby want to live together, it's cool with me. I won't say another word about it." She winked at me.

"That's it," I said, pulling out my phone.

The door opened and the detective ushered Tara and Kathy out. "You did an excellent job," the detective said to Tara. He saw Jillian and wiggled his finger at her. "You're next."

As though she'd been called to the stage to accept an award, Jillian smoothed back her hair, moistened her lips, and followed the detective into the room.

As soon as the door closed behind them, I hopped up from the bench and went over to Tara. "How did it go?"

"She was very brave," Kathy said, stroking Tara's hair. "Weren't you, honey?"

"I identified the kidnapper," Tara told me, her voice a bit shaky from the ordeal. "The scuzzball was number five in the line."

"Are you sure it was him?" Marco asked.