They glanced at each other. Then Lottie said, "What was what for?"

Like I was going to fall for that. I walked around the coffee counter to confront Lottie, which was easier than confronting Grace because she could outsmart me by quoting Shakespeare. "What are you keeping from me?"

"Nothing," Lottie said, avoiding my gaze.

"Why did you poke Grace, then? You know I'm going to keep asking until you tell me."

Grace struck a statesmanlike pose. "Perhaps you should consider the words of William Shakespeare."

Uh-oh. Here it came.

" 'Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain; / For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.'"

I sighed resolutely. "I give up. What does it mean?"

"We've become aware," Grace said, "that you've been very-shall we say mum?-on the subject of Marco lately, and we're growing concerned."

"Well, don't be. Marco's simply been extra busy lately with his bar and his PI cases. . . ."

They gazed at me with knowing eyes, as if to say, Don't try to fool us.

"We've split up," I said despondently.

"Why?" Lottie asked. "You're crazy about Marco."

"And he's undoubtedly crazy about you," Grace added.

"Not so much anymore," I said. "I kind of blew it."

"It's that danged Libby, isn't it?" Lottie exclaimed, looking like she wanted to punch somebody's lights out. "She wormed her way between you two."

"If our relationship had been solid, Lottie, Libby wouldn't have been able to worm her way between us. The truth is, I tried to convince Marco to give her back her retainer and her file, and he refused because he thinks I'm overreacting to her. So I threatened to walk out, and he didn't stop me." I took a breath to keep my chin steady. "So we're over."

Both women rushed to hug me. "Don't you worry, sweetie," Lottie said. "He'll come to his senses after I have a little talk with him. And if not, there are plenty of fish in the sea. You just have to get back out there and cast your nets."

"Okay, this is why I didn't tell you before," I said, breaking free. "I'm not ready to cast my nets. In fact, I hate fishing, and it isn't a matter of Marco coming to his senses. He doesn't trust my gut feelings. How can I be with a guy who doesn't trust me? That's why our getting back together is highly doubtful."

"Listen to me, dear," Grace said. "You've known Marco for a short six months. It takes a long time to build a solid relationship, and I guarantee that there will always be setbacks along the way. You mustn't think of this as the end but as merely a bump in the road. Don't close any doors on Marco just yet."

I appreciated Grace's advice, but she really couldn't understand because she hadn't been there. "Thanks, Grace. Whatever happens, I'm fine with it. But I don't want anyone talking to Marco about this. Now let's get to work."

I took a deep breath, then turned and marched toward the curtain, hoping that they'd drop the subject so I could get on with my day. Unfortunately, Grace's quotation kept echoing in my head: For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.

She'd nailed it. Speaking those words out loud- We've split up-had been excruciating. Before I started to feel sorry for myself, I snatched an order from the spindle and pulled the flowers for it. There wasn't any better medicine than an armful of fresh blossoms.

At eleven thirty that morning, I reviewed my plan to find Oliver's stalker with Lottie and Grace. While Grace kept an eye out for suspicious-looking people from the parlor window, Lottie would make sure Oliver got in and out of the shop within five minutes, leaving with a small bouquet of mums. Meanwhile, I would be eating my lunch on a bench in the middle of the courthouse lawn where I could watch Oliver's progress as he walked to Bloomers and back.

At eleven forty-five, I bought my usual turkey sandwich at the deli, added an apple to the order-apples took time to eat, giving me more reason to linger outside-and strolled across the street to the courthouse commons. I found a cement bench that didn't have too much bird poop on it in a central location, then made myself as comfy as possible, readied my cell phone, and unwrapped my sandwich.

Exactly at noon, Oliver stepped outside Blume's Art Shop and glanced cautiously in both directions. Wearing his olive drab long coat over camouflage pants and army boots, he skulked along the sidewalk heading toward Lincoln Street. I didn't see anyone following him.

As Oliver crossed the street at the light and proceeded east on Lincoln, he kept darting glances over at the courthouse lawn as though searching for me. I saw him put his cell phone to his ear and a second later my phone vibrated. "Is the coast clear?" he asked quietly.

"I haven't spotted anyone following you, Oliver.

Don't look over here. You're being too obvious. Just keep moving."

"He's here, ma'am."

"Where?"

"I feel him. He could be watching from his black sedan."

I did a slow visual inspection of the streets around the courthouse but didn't see a black Buick either in motion or parked. "If he's here, Oliver, I sure don't see him."

"He could be inside a store, watching from a window."

I studied the shop windows on Lincoln Street. The guy could be hovering overhead in a chopper, too, but he wasn't. "He'll have to come out at some point, Oliver. Maybe when you enter Bloomers."

Oliver hung up on me, but this time I didn't care. I chewed a bite of sandwich as my gaze tracked him, searching for anyone the least bit suspicious. I was beginning to think Marco was right about Oliver, and I didn't enjoy the thought that I was being taken for a ride.

Suddenly, a black sedan pulled up to a red light at the intersection where Oliver was crossing. I stopped chewing and sat forward, watching as Oliver froze like a statue in the middle of the street, his hollow eyes wide with terror. But the car was a brand-new Ford Taurus, and when the light changed, the driver had to honk to snap Oliver out of his trance. He did a fast shuffle across the street, then darted more glances my way as he slunk up Franklin heading for Bloomers. I sat back in relief. If Oliver was bluffing me, he sure knew how to put on an act.

"Abby!" someone called cheerily. I glanced around to see my cousin Jillian come prancing across the lawn. Just what I needed-someone to draw attention to me.

And draw attention Jillian did. As a personal shopper, my fashion-conscious cousin always wore the latest style, no matter how outlandish. Today she sported a long, patchwork duster made of many different colors of dyed leather, with a red beret topping her long, shimmering coppery locks, a red silk scarf flying out behind her, a black patent purse with huge gold buckles on the front, and shiny black boots.

She flopped down on the bench beside me, casting off her shopping bags like a tree shedding its leaves. "Don't you love preholiday sales?"

"What holiday? Thanksgiving is three weeks away."

"Christmas," she replied blithely, as though she thought nothing odd of it.

"A little early for a pre-Christmas sale, isn't it? Shouldn't we at least get through Thanksgiving first?"

"Abby," she said gravely, "it's never too early for a sale. Why are you eating lunch outside? No one eats outside in November."

"I wanted to get some fresh air, do some people watching, clear my head." I turned just as Oliver walked inside Bloomers.

"I'm starving," Jillian said. "What kind of sandwich is that? Turkey? Can I have a bite?" Without asking, she took half my sandwich from the wrapper on my lap and began to daintily nibble the corner.

Growing up in our close-knit family, Jillian had been, and remained, the annoying sister I never had. The fact that she was a year younger, a head taller, and wealthy to boot had only exacerbated our siblinglike rivalry.

"Are you going to eat that apple?" she asked, her mouth stuffed full with my sandwich.

"No, I'm going to have earrings made out of it."

"There's no need for sarcasm."

"Go away, Jill," I said, guarding the remains of my lunch. "I'm busy."

"Busy what-people watching?" She unscrewed my water bottle, tipped her head back, and emptied half the contents.

I snatched the bottle and cap from her hands, screwed the cap on, and put the water bottle on the bench beside me. "I'm busy working out a problem."

"Like how to get Marco back?"

"What are you talking about?"

Jillian leaned close to say in a confidential tone, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Libby told me Marco dumped you... when I was still associating with her, of course. She seemed way too happy about it. Libby caused it, didn't she? I sensed she was trouble from the moment I met her. I mean, breaking up relationships and killing people? Who does that?"

"Okay, I'll admit Libby isn't one of my favorite people, but we don't know that she killed her mother, so you shouldn't go around making that kind of accusation. There are other very good suspects."

"Oh, right." She winked conspiratorially.

"Go away, Jillian."

"Want my advice on how to get Marco back?"

"Right. I want advice about relationships from the woman who jilted four men at the altar." I peered at the locket peeking from the open collar of her coat. "Is that a BFF locket? Oh, my God! Libby gave that to you, didn't she?"

"Will you look at the time!" she exclaimed, gazing at the heavy gold watch on her wrist. "I have to get these bags to my car so I can finish shopping. Baubles is having a huge clearance sale." She stood up and began to gather her loot, partially blocking my view of Bloomers. I leaned around her to see just as Oliver came out with his wrapped flowers.

At the same time, a black Buick came down the street from the south, slowing as it approached him. Oliver saw it, too, and froze in his tracks. Clutching my apple and half-eaten sandwich, I jumped up in alarm as the Buick braked in front of him. Oliver instantly dropped the flowers and raced into the narrow alleyway alongside my shop. I shoved my food into Jillian's already laden arms, grabbed my purse, and raced across the wide lawn. I had to get that license plate number!

"Where are you going?" Jillian called. "What's wrong?"

"Bugs in the sandwich," I called back. "You can have the rest." I heard her shriek. That would teach her to steal half my lunch.

Suddenly, the Buick's taillights came on, as though it was about to back up. What the heck was the driver trying to do? Go down the alley after Oliver? Then a big SUV behind the Buick honked, and the black sedan took off. By the time I got to the curb, the car was already rounding the corner on Lincoln, heading east.

Damn! I stopped to catch my breath, then had a frightening thought. What if the driver came up the alley from the other direction? What if he really was planning to kill Oliver? Would there be another dead body found behind Bloomers?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

*uickly, I dug in my purse for my cell phone and punched in 911. "Emergency assistance," a woman answered. "What is the nature of your problem?"

"This is Abby Knight from Bloomers Flower Shop. A car is following my friend and he's in danger. We're in the alley behind Bloomers on Franklin Street. Send help."

I darted across Franklin and ducked down the narrow passageway that gave access to the wider alley behind the shops. When I reached the alley, I glanced both ways but didn't see the Buick. To my left were rows of garbage bins, one behind each business, including the two closest to me- the Dumpsters where Delphi's body had been discovered. That was where I found Oliver, sitting between the dirty metal containers, hugging his knees, rocking back and forth.

"Do you believe me now?" he whispered, gazing up at me with a pale, gaunt face. "Okay, Oliver, calm down. You're not hurt. Obviously the driver only wanted to scare you. Otherwise he'd probably be coming up this alley right now."

Oliver moaned, pulling into a tighter ball. "Why are they doing this to me? Why are they hunting me down like an animal?"

I crouched down before him. "Look, I know our deal was that I'm supposed to find out who this person is before you answer questions, but we need to have that talk now. It could help me find out who's following you."

"What do you want to talk about?" he muttered, his face buried.

"Your mother's death."

He raised his head, his eyes wide and frightened. "I- I can't."

"I know it's painful, but maybe the person who's following you is connected with her murder."

"No!" Oliver sprang to his feet, causing me to fall back on my hands. He glanced around wildly, like a trapped animal. "I have to hide. They'll find me here. They'll put me away."

"Why?" I cried, righting myself. "What did you do?"

He turned on me, a feral look in his eye. "Are you with them?"

"No, Oliver. I'm with you. Remember what you called me the day you came into Bloomers to buy the bamboo plants? O.O.T.T.O.? One of the trusted ones?"

He pulled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and tried to use it, but his hands were shaking too much. "Call Libby for me," he said, thrusting the phone at me.

I opened the phone and clicked on her phone-book entry. "Here you go," I said.

He jabbed his index finger toward the phone. "You talk. Talk the talk. Tell her what happened. Tell her I have to hide. Hide-and-seek. Seek and ye shall find."

At that moment Libby answered with, "Where are you, Oliver? You're supposed to be helping me."

"It's Abby. I'm with Oliver in the alley behind Bloomers. Your brother had an incident and wanted me to call you. He's pretty upset."

"An incident? What happened?"

"Someone's been following him, and gave him quite a scare just now."

"Tell her I have to hide," Oliver said nervously.

"He said he has to hide," I repeated.

Libby sighed sharply. "Put him on."

I handed Oliver the phone and he held it to his ear, his eyes darting nervously around as he listened. "But the black car came after me again. Abby saw it, too." He listened for several moments, then straightened as though he'd been called to attention. "Yes, ma'am. Understood."

He clapped the phone shut and slid it into his chest pocket, carefully buttoning the flap over it. He held his hand to his forehead in salute. "Thank you for your help, ma'am." Then, as if nothing had happened, he pivoted, clicked his heels together, and marched away.

"Wait, Oliver. You can't leave now. The police haven't arrived yet. We need to make a report on that Buick. And we still need to have that talk."

"No time, ma'am," he called over his shoulder. " Duty calls."

Frustrated, I watched him march up the alley. What duty? What in the world had Libby said to snap him out of his paralyzing fear?