"Was that for real?"

"Yes, Lottie, dear, that was real," Grace said.

Lottie heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. I thought I was losing it."

Three of our regular coffee customers peeked into the parlor. "You're still open, aren't you?" one asked.

"Yes, we are," Grace said, going into action. "Do come in and sit down. We have lovely pecan scones today."

Break time over, Lottie stayed up front to man the shop while Marco returned to my computer, and I gathered supplies for the next order.

"What's this?" he asked.

I glanced at the shiny, credit card-sized object in his hand. It was pale green with the image of a pink hibiscus on the front. "Where did you find it?"

"On your desk." He turned it over, revealing printing on the bottom.

"Aloha Florals, Limited, Maui," Marco read. "Keahi Kana, sales a.s.sociate, with a telephone number."

"Must be his business card."

"Kind of thick for a business card." Marco examined it, then pressed a b.u.t.ton on one edge and a beam of light came from the other. "It's a pocket flashlight."

He handed it to me, and I switched it off and on again. "Perfect for my purse. It feels good, too, silky smooth. Looks like it's made from crushed seash.e.l.ls."

Lottie came through the curtain and saw us playing with it. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, that salesman I mentioned yesterday-the one offering those great bargain prices on exotics-left that for you. He said to give him a call if you're interested in placing an order."

"Determined, isn't he?" Marco said, returning to the computer screen.

"That's a salesman for you," Lottie said. "Always trying to push something, always with an agenda, always schmoozing with clients, yakkity-yakkity-yak all the time. I can't imagine living like that."

The bell over the door jingled, prompting Lottie to grab the basket she had come for and return to the front, still grumbling to herself.

"I can imagine it," Marco muttered.

I stowed the flashlight in my purse, then studied the next order. Okay, here we go. An anniversary bouquet for delivery tomorrow morning. I glanced at the clock on the wall. One hour before closing. Plenty of time for me to do the bouquet.

Or . . .

I could try to find out why Harding was in the hospital.

Hold it, Flower Girl. Tom Harding isn't going anywhere anytime soon. So let's focus on our career so it doesn't fall into the toilet, okay?

Sometimes that voice of reason wasn't reasonable at all. If Harding was dying, would it hurt to find out how long he had? Ghoulish or not, I wouldn't breathe easy until Harding's balloon had pa.s.sed way beyond my stratosphere.

I slipped into the kitchen, lifted the receiver from the base on the wall, and punched in Nikki's cell phone number. She'd be on duty in the X-ray department, so I hoped she'd have time to slip up to the second-floor nurses' station and take a peek at Harding's chart.

So as not to be overheard by Hot Pockets, I stretched the cord all the way over to the hallway that led to the bas.e.m.e.nt and sat down on the top stair. I hated corded phones, but at least this cord was long.

My call went straight to Nikki's voice mail. d.a.m.n. I forgot the hospital rule that the employees had to keep their phones off during work hours. Now what?

There was a tug on the cord. I glanced around and there stood the light of my life, arms folded, gazing at me speculatively. "What are you doing?"

"I was . . . ordering your birthday present. I didn't want you to hear what I got you."

"Ordering my present? Really. Do you know when my birthday is?"

"Well, of course I know!"

He lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

Marco's birthday was-d.a.m.n! How could I have forgotten it?

Oh, wait. I knew this one. It was three days before Nikki's. "July fifteenth." I smiled.

"You're ordering a present five months in advance?"

"Well," I said, my mind working at warp speed, "it takes that long to . . . be . . . manufactured."

"Manufactured?"

"Actually, made by hand. Don't ask me any more questions about it, because I won't answer. It's a surprise."

A surprise to both of us.

"Well," I said, rising, "now that that's done, I can get back to work." Ignoring Marco's questioning gaze, I replaced the receiver and returned to the workroom, making straight for the walk-in cooler. I stepped inside and began to pull stems for the order.

Okay, back to the Harding puzzle. Nikki wasn't answering her phone, so either I'd have to wait until tomorrow and hope she had time to do a little detective work during the afternoon, or I could drop by the hospital tonight to ask her in person. So, do it sooner or later?

A no-brainer for sure.

With only thirty minutes to go before we turned the sign to CLOSED, I got a call on my cell phone from my cousin, Jillian the pest.

"Hey, Abs? Your mom said she made more brooches, but before I make the trip down to Bloomers again, you do have one I can buy, right?"

"I do. In fact, I have twelve brooches, Jillian."

"I don't need to buy twelve. Just one."

"I didn't say you had to buy twelve. What I meant was-never mind. Do you want me to gift wrap one for you?"

"That'd be awesome. Do you have gold paper?"

"No, floral."

"How about silver?"

"Floral, Jillian. When did you see my mom?"

"I was having lunch with my mom when your mom called about dinner at the club tomorrow night, and she mentioned making more brooches. She also said to remind you to bring Marco."

"Marco can't make it tomorrow."

"Wink, wink," Jillian said.

"No, seriously, Jill, he has to work on a PI case."

Jillian huffed. "How are you two ever going to make a marriage work with you spending your days at Bloomers and Marco spending his nights doing two other jobs?"

That was an issue we hadn't tackled yet, and I wasn't about to get into it now with Jillian. I carried my cell phone into the shop, heading toward the armoire to pick out one of the brooches. "Are you going to stop by for the brooch before we close?"

"Yes, if you're sure you have a brooch for me."

"I told you, Jillian, I have twelve-"

Make that none.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

The mirrored tray was empty. Where did the brooches go? "Hold on, Jillian." I glanced around at Lottie, who was rearranging the flowers in the gla.s.s case. "Did you sell any brooches today?"

"No, why?"

"I can't find them."

"You gotta be kidding me." Lottie took a look for herself, then headed toward the parlor. At the doorway, she asked, "Gracie, did you put the brooches somewhere?"

"On the mirrored tray."

"They're not on the tray now," Lottie said.

Grace came out of the parlor to help us search the shop; then the three of us stood in front of the armoire, staring at the empty tray as if somehow the brooches would magically reappear.

"I'll be doggone," Lottie said. "Someone swiped 'em again."

"Do we have a thief with an anthurium fetish?" Grace asked.

"Abby!" the phone squawked.

"Jillian, I'll have to call you back." I hit the END b.u.t.ton and set the cell phone on the armoire.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on with these brooches?" Lottie asked.

Marco came through the curtain. "Something wrong?"

"The d.a.m.n brooches are gone," Lottie said. "All twelve of 'em. Now, how could someone get a dozen brooches out of here without us seeing a thing?"

"Remember when you thought you heard the bell jingle?" Grace asked Lottie. "Is it possible someone slipped in and nicked them?"

"But I looked twice and didn't see anybody," Lottie said.

"Still," Grace said, "it's odd you heard the jingle twice, isn't it?"

"Did you just discover they were gone?" Marco asked.

"Jillian called about them," I said. "Otherwise I probably wouldn't have noticed until tomorrow."

"Perhaps," Grace said, "our thief slipped in while we were preoccupied with the Harding matter, hid behind the counter, emptied the brooches into a bag, and slipped out again."

"Sneaky devil," Lottie said. "I'd sure like to get my hands on him."

"Or her," Marco said.

We all turned to gaze at him, but I guessed at once what he was going to say. "Honey B. Haven?"

He shook his head. "Jillian."

"It wasn't Jillian!" I cried.

"Then why is it," he posed, "that each time your cousin inquires about a brooch, you can't find it? You search all over the shop, then decide it's been stolen. Next step is for Jillian to come in and raise a stink over it, so that you're tripping all over yourself trying to make it up to her."

"I do not trip all over myself. I just feel bad when she comes down here for nothing, not to mention that someone is stealing my merchandise."

"Maybe that's the idea," Marco said. "She wants to make you feel bad."

"Surely Abby's cousin wouldn't be so cruel as to steal as a practical joke," Grace said.

"And it's not like she can't afford to buy the brooch," Lottie added.

"Marco's theory is that Jillian is playing with my mind," I explained with an eye roll.

"Mind games?" Grace asked. "For what purpose?"

"I get what Marco means," Lottie said. "Jillian wants to be like big cousin Abby, and at the same time she resents Abby for it because she sees herself as superior. So this is her way of getting back-playing little mind games."

"Jillian isn't that clever," Grace said flatly.

"That would be a pretty sick joke, even for her," I said.

Marco lifted an eyebrow. I was always amazed how much he could convey with that tiny gesture. "It's worth investigating before we file a police report, isn't it?"

"How do you plan to investigate?" I asked warily.