Ridiculous, my little voice of reason whispered. Do you see any cops?

Not a single one. I took a breath and slipped inside. A large man lay beneath a blue hospital blanket, tubes in his nose and mouth, an IV in his hand, and a heart monitor behind him making slow blips across the screen. The top of his head was swathed in bandages, and his eyelids were purple and swollen, yet he did bear a striking resemblance to Harding, who was a big man-craggy-featured, thick-bodied, ham-handed, and intimidating, with eyes that were cold and a gaze that was remorseless. I'd never forget his piercing stare, or how I'd gotten entangled with him in the first place.

Through a series of events, the main one being the purchase of a box of what I thought was fertilizer, I had been able to tie Harding to a murder-make that a murder and an attempted murder (mine)-that got him sent to prison for a very long time. I knew he'd been sent away. I was in the courtroom when the sentence was read and he was led out in handcuffs. Thus, the man in that bed could not be Harding. Still, he bore a strong resemblance. Could he be a brother?

I slid his bedside chart from the holder, flipped open the cover, and focused on the name at the top. Patient: Thomas Harding.

I gripped the chart, staring at the name in disbelief. Tom Harding!! Why wasn't he under guard? Where were the police to keep him from escaping?

I heard footsteps coming toward the room and quickly slid the chart back in place. As I turned to go, I glanced once more at the huge form lying so deathly still.

Harding's eyes were open.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Ifroze, unable to draw a breath. Wide-eyed, all I could do was stare back. Where was my bodyguard when I needed him?

A sudden recollection flashed into my mind-the two detectives quizzing me about possible enemies.

"Anyone else you can think of who might have reason to want to harm you?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I did help put a few felons behind bars."

"How many are we talking about? Two? Three?"

"More like seven."

"You helped convict seven felons?"

"Make that eight. And they were all involved in murders."

One of those eight lay right in front of me.

Harding's puffy eyelids fluttered shut. I watched him for a moment longer, then filled my lungs with air. Had he recognized me? Was he even conscious?

I ran from the room straight into Marco's arms. "It's him," I said breathlessly. "It's Harding."

"Are you sure?"

"I saw his name on the chart! Why is that man here without cops?"

Marco ushered me away from the doorway and said quietly, "I don't know what he's doing here, but I sure as h.e.l.l intend to find out."

As we started toward the central nurses' station, I said, "The nurses won't be able to tell you anything unless you're family."

"Okay, I'll call Reilly. There's a lounge on this floor somewhere, isn't there?"

He pulled out his cell phone, but I pushed his hand down before a nurse saw him. "You can't use that in here."

"Then let's go outside."

We did a quick walk to the elevator and rode down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Outside the back entrance, Marco made his call while I paced, shivering in spite of my warm coat. Seeing Harding was like being caught in a bad flashback, making me relive the terror that man had caused me.

Take it easy, Abby, my little voice of reason said. If Harding is hooked up to all those tubes, with no cops to watch him, the man must be near death. He can't hurt you. So forget about him. Stay focused.

"Sean," Marco said, jolting me out of my musing. "Hey, man. I have a favor to ask. Abby and I just delivered flowers to the hospital, and who should we see but Tom Harding. Yeah, formerly of Tom's Green Thumb. Right. That's what I thought. He seems to be a patient here but he doesn't have any guards. Yes, I'm serious. Will you look into it? Thanks, man."

Marco closed his phone. "Done."

"When will he get back to you?"

"As soon as he can. Are we finished here now? Can we head back to Bloomers?"

I nodded, my heart still racing. Wasn't there something I'd wanted to do after making the deliveries?

"Are you okay?" Marco asked, glancing my way as we headed toward the minivan.

"A little rattled."

"Don't worry about Harding. He's obviously not a threat."

"That's what I've been telling myself, Marco, but I'd feel a whole lot better if I knew for sure Harding wasn't going to wake up tomorrow, throw back that blanket, and leap out of bed crying, 'It's a miracle! I'm alive. Now I have a score to settle with that meddlesome florist.' "

"Abby, come on. You saw the guy. He's got tubes in every orifice."

Still, as we headed back toward Bloomers, I couldn't stop thinking about Harding. "When the detectives interviewed me, they asked about enemies, specifically the ones I'd helped put behind bars and whether any had been released. Now I can't help but wonder whether Harding was behind the kidnappings. Remember the death threats he shouted at me after I testified against him? Maybe he's trying to make good on them."

"Harding didn't look like he was in any shape to mastermind anything."

"Yeah, now. But how about before he was admitted? I'll have to ask Nikki to take a peek at his medical chart."

"Are you sure an X-ray tech has open access to medical records? You don't want her to get into trouble."

"She won't if she's careful."

At Marco's skeptical glance, I said, "It's what girlfriends do for each other, remember?"

"How about leaving Nikki out of this and letting me worry about your safety? That's why I'm here. Or don't you trust me on that, either?"

"Marco, I trust you! I know I'm overreacting. It's just not often I run into a man I hoped I'd never lay eyes on again-and vice versa."

Marco reached over to squeeze my hand. "Forget about Harding, babe. Let it go."

As if it were easy to forget that the man had tried to kill me.

Remembering one of Grace's stress-buster tips, I drew in a deep breath while imagining Tom Harding inside a big balloon. Then I let out all the air in my lungs with a whoosh, sending the balloon with Harding in it up to the sky to be carried off by a strong breeze.

"Okay, Tom Harding is out of my head," I reported.

"Good girl."

After another deep breath, I said, "I'm back on track. Focused."

"That's the way to do it."

"So let's stop at the courthouse to have a little chat with Greg Morgan, see what he'll tell us."

"Not gonna happen."

Fine. I knew a Salvare who would be more than happy to oblige.

Marco's cell phone rang as he was ushering me into Bloomers, so he headed toward the workroom to take the call. Since there were customers browsing, I motioned for my helpers to follow me behind the counter, where I whispered to them the account of my hospital visit. They were horrified to learn that Harding was no longer behind bars.

"And get this," I said. "Remember Harding's girlfriend, Honey B. Haven? With the big hair? I saw her coming out of the hospital. She must have been visiting him."

"His young chippy?" Lottie exclaimed, then clapped a hand over her mouth when a customer gave her a quizzical glance.

"Honey B. Haven," Grace said, shaking her head. "What parents in their right mind would burden a child with such a name?"

"If I remember what came out during Harding's trial," I said, "Honey worked at a strip club before she met Harding. Maybe that was her stage name."

Grace cleared her throat and took hold of the edges of her cardigan.

Here it came, her quote for the day.

"As Logan Pearsall Smith once said," Grace began, " 'Our names are labels, plainly printed on the bottled essence of our past behavior.' Now, what, I ask you, does the name Honey B. Haven say about her behavior?"

Lottie snorted. "Maybe she should've called herself Honey Misbehavin.' "

"Did she recognize you, Abby?" Grace asked.

"I think so," I said. "She did a double take."

"You know," Lottie said, "now that you mention her, I could swear I saw a woman who looked like Honey in the shop last week."

"That's weird, because I thought I caught a glimpse of her, too," I said.

"I can't imagine Tom Harding's girlfriend setting foot in Bloomers," Grace said. "Not after Abby was instrumental in sending her man to prison. Don't you remember the hateful looks that dreadful creature was giving Abby during the trial?"

That was a memory to treasure.

"Maybe Honey was buying flowers to take to her jack-a.s.s boyfriend," Lottie said.

"Here?" I asked. "Why not at Harding's former business, Tom's Green Thumb? Or even the grocery store?"

" 'Tis indeed a puzzler," Grace said.

"Here's a thought," I said. "What if Harding was behind the kidnappings, and Honey stole the brooches?"

"But why single out the brooches?" Grace asked.

Marco walked up behind us. "Can I guess what this conversation is about?"

The shoppers brought a silk flower arrangement to the counter, so Grace, Marco, and I stepped away while Lottie rang them up.

"Since we have a bit of a lull," Grace said, "shall we repair to the parlor for some tea?"

"That was Reilly on the phone," Marco said as we gathered at a table with a fresh pot of tea. "He told me that after Harding was sent downstate to a prison facility, they had so much overcrowding, he was returned to our county jail to wait for an opening. While he was at the jail, he was diagnosed with lymphoma, but because the sheriff's budget can't afford long-term treatment for prisoners, he was quietly OR'd and transferred to the hospital."

"What's OR'd?" Lottie asked.

"Released on his own recognizance," Marco explained, "making Harding responsible for the cost of his medical care. In between treatments, he's allowed to recuperate at home. If and when he recovers from his illness, he'll go back to prison."

"All those bandages on his head are from his cancer treatments?" I asked.

Marco shrugged. "I don't know anything about lymphoma."

"Well, I don't care how sick he is," I said. "It doesn't seem fair to let him out of jail on his own recognizance. He should have guards."

"Marco, love," Grace said, "would you explain how it's possible for a man serving a twenty-year prison sentence to be released after a mere six months? Even an ill man? As Abby pointed out, that doesn't seem fair."

"Here's how the system works in Indiana," Marco said. "Every person sentenced to prison goes first to a central reception center to be evaluated for a.s.signment to the appropriate facility. In Tom's case, the facility where he was a.s.signed was severely overcrowded. Since this was Harding's first offense, someone decided he'd be a good candidate to return to the county jail to wait there.

"And by the way, most of the prisons in this state are overcrowded and getting worse by the day, but the cost of building new facilities is more than our current economy can handle, so there are a lot of inmates being OR'd."

"Is Harding being monitored at least?" Grace asked. "An ankle bracelet, perhaps?"

"I'm certain he's being monitored," Marco said. "He's just not in jail."

"So it's all about dollars and cents," Lottie said with a disgusted shake of her head. She started to sip her tea, then c.o.c.ked an ear toward the doorway. "Was that the bell over the door?"

We stopped talking to listen. Lottie got up, walked to the doorway to glance around the shop, and came back. "n.o.body there. I must be hearing things."

Grace clucked her tongue. "OR'd. I never knew such a thing was possible."

"I wish I didn't know," Lottie added. "It doesn't give me a warm, fuzzy feeling. . . . Okay, now, did anyone hear that jingle?" She got up to look around the shop, returning a moment later. "I don't know what I keep hearing."

"Would anyone care for more tea?" Grace asked, rising.

At that moment, the bell jingled with gusto, but Lottie kept sipping her tea.

"I'll get it," I said, and stood up, causing Lottie to glance at me in surprise.