Unless Marco was a magician, I didn't see how.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Sitting on a bench on the courthouse lawn, the driver pressed the b.u.t.ton on his earpiece to phone his boss. "The boyfriend is on the move. He's entering the Down the Hatch bar. I can see him walking toward the rear, up a hallway, into a room . . . and now he shut the door."

"And what is happening inside the flower shop?"

The driver refocused his small, high-powered binoculars. "Looks like a full house in the coffee shop, a handful of customers in the flower shop."

"Good. Keep watching the boyfriend and be ready to act. Do whatever it takes to keep him from her. We must make our move today. The risk of discovery is too great to delay any longer."

"Forgive me for saying so, boss, but how is that gonna happen? You took all the brooches she had, and none of them were the genuine article. You've searched the obvious places. She's gotta have it stashed somewhere safe."

"I don't think so. Someone has been making copies for her, and since the original can't be located, my guess is that it's being used as the model. Thus, it is a matter of learning the location of the copier."

"How are you gonna make that happen?"

"My plan is already in action."

My frustration level rose another notch as I watched Marco head out of the parlor. There had to be something I could do besides make one phone call. Musing, I packed up the leftover pizza and stowed it in the refrigerator, then stopped to check on Tara's progress.

"How's it going?"

She sighed and tossed the magazine onto her discard pile. "It'd be going a lot better if you weren't so picky. Can I take the rest home with me and look later? I'm bored."

"No." I picked up the stack and stuck them in my desk drawer. "That's how rumors get started."

"Fine. So when do I get my reward?"

"Tomorrow." I'd have to come up with something quick.

Tara gave me an obligatory hug, took a fresh daisy from the cooler for her hair, and left.

I saw a few orders on the spindle, but knew I could whip them out in no time, so I sat down at the desk to call my mom while she was on her lunch break at school. To reach her, I had to go through the school's secretary, Midge, and have her paged.

Although I told Midge it wasn't an emergency, Mom still answered with a breathless, "Abigail, did something happen? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mom. I just need to let you know I'll be stopping by the house later. I have to pick up the anthurium brooch."

"Today? But I haven't finished with it yet."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but it's possible the brooch might be a valuable piece of jewelry stolen from a Hawaiian museum."

"And I'm making copies of it?" she whispered into the phone. "Am I going to get into trouble?"

Her copies weren't thatgood. "No, Mom. You won't get into trouble. But I do need to find out if it is the stolen brooch. So will you have it out for me, say, shortly after five o'clock?"

"I might not be home, so I'll tell your dad where it is so he can have it waiting. I'm meeting with my dissension team after school."

"Your what?"

"Dissension team. You know, dissenters. Protesters. I told the other teachers about Uniworld's plans to open a dairy farm and use bovine hormones on the cows, and all of them volunteered to help. Isn't that exciting?"

"Help you do what exactly?"

"You'll see. I've got to phone your father before the bell rings. Keep me posted on the brooch, honey. And try to make it to dinner tonight. Bye."

Mom had a dissension team? At least there was safety in numbers.

Lottie came through the curtain and headed toward the kitchen. "Joe's here for a UPS delivery. I'll let him in."

"Wait. I'll do that, Lottie. I want to talk him."

I hurried through the kitchen to the back door and threw my shoulder against it to push it open. Joe, a lanky guy with bushy brown hair, came striding up to the door carrying a huge box.

"Got some flowers for you." He put the box on the landing, then handed me a pen and a clipboard. "Sign here, if you would."

"I've got a question," I said, scribbling my name on the paper. "Is it possible you delivered a package to Tom's Green Thumb on January twenty-eighth that should have come here?"

Joe's cheeks reddened. "Someone had to sign for it, right? Wouldn't they have noticed if someone else's name was on the packing slip?"

"You'd think so." Except that I'd just signed for an order of flowers without checking first. Obviously we needed to pay attention when we accepted deliveries. "Have there been any reports in the last month of anyone posing as a UPS driver?"

"No," he said with a wary glance. "Why?"

I wasn't about to go into the whole long story. "I thought I'd heard something about it."

Joe hesitated, then said, "Look, you didn't hear this from me, but someone at Tom's Green Thumb did complain about a missing order round about that same date. That's not my route, but guys talk, you know? So the driver tells them he doesn't know anything about a missing order and maybe they should check to see if another flower shop got it. That didn't make them very happy. So the driver got canned. You see why I like to keep my mouth shut?"

"I sure do. I don't suppose the driver mentioned Bloomers Flower Shop to the person at Tom's, did he?"

"That, I couldn't tell you. Well, have a nice day."

I pulled the heavy back door shut, thinking about what Marco had suggested-that Mr. Mikala, the supplier, might be involved in the theft. Yet when I last spoke with the man, he sounded as baffled about the brooch being in the shipment as I was. Had he lied to me?

I decided to pick up the phone and ask him.

I explained to Mr. Mikala what the antiques dealer had said about the real brooch, then asked again if he knew how the piece I'd found got into the box. He apologized profusely for my trouble and said he'd read about the theft in the papers. He also said he might have an idea how the brooch could have ended up in that shipment.

In mid-January, he hired a nineteen-year-old man to work in his warehouse, but within a week, other employees complained that the young man was involved with a gang of thieves. They were afraid of him and said they thought the gang was working through him to smuggle stolen goods out of the country.

To play it safe, Mr. Mikala called the police, who then decided to plant an undercover man in the warehouse. Unfortunately, the young man failed to show up for work the next day. The following week, Mr. Mikala read in the newspaper that the young man had been stabbed in the neck while at a bar. No one had seen the murderer; the police had no suspects; and the murder weapon had not been found.

It sounded eerily like Hudge's murder.

"I don't know whether this young man was involved in the brooch theft," Mr. Mikala said, "but that's my only explanation for you. And again, I apologize for your trouble. I hope we don't lose your business."

I a.s.sured him it wouldn't affect our relationship. As I was about to sign off, I spotted Grace's note about the salesman and his evening reception. Just out of curiosity I asked Mr. Mikala what he knew about Aloha Florals, Ltd.

"Aloha Florals?" the supplier asked. "They went out of business five years ago."

"Five years ago? Is it possible they started up their business again?"

"I would have heard something. I knew the owner well. His business closed when he pa.s.sed away."

Something didn't smell right. "A salesman claiming to work for Aloha Florals has been trying to get me to buy flowers from him. He even left a price list." I searched through a stack of papers on my desk, but didn't see it, so I rooted through my purse and found the smooth flashlight. "I can't find the list at this moment, but his business card says, 'Aloha Florals, Limited, Maui,' and the man's name is Keahi Kana."

"Keahi Kana? That's quite an interesting name, and definitely of Hawaiian origin."

"What makes it interesting?"

"Kana is a Maui demiG.o.d who is said to have been able to take the form of a rope so he could stretch from one island to the next. Keahi is the Hawaiian word for flame. Loosely translated, his name would mean a G.o.d of fire or flame, although a very minor G.o.d."

Instantly, my thoughts went back to what the antiques dealer had told Marco. Some of these middlemen are the actual thieves. They can be notoriously wealthy and are often extremely dangerous. The FBI is working on a case like that in Chicago right now, looking for a man known as the Flame.

I rotated the flashlight in my hand. "Mr. Mikala, have you ever heard of a man known as the Flame?"

"It's not familiar to me. Why?"

"I'm wondering if the Flame and Keahi Kana are one and the same."

"I couldn't begin to guess. Would you like me to look up Aloha Florals in the phone book to be sure it hasn't reopened?"

"Thanks, but I can do that on the computer. I've taken enough of your time. You've been very helpful, Mr. Mikala."

I hung up the phone, toying with the flashlight. The man who'd left it had spoken with Grace and Lottie on the phone, and Lottie in person, yet neither had reported anything unusual. Still, because of what Mr. Mikala had said, my gut was telling me to be wary.

In the shop, Lottie was waiting on customers, so I pulled her aside to whisper, "The salesman who left the flashlight, was he Hawaiian?"

"I'm not sure what a Hawaiian is supposed to look like, but if I had to guess, I'd say yes. Nice-looking guy, well dressed and polite, kind of short, though, but with these intense eyes-"

I thanked her and dashed back to the computer to do a search for Aloha Florals. I tried two different search engines, including the one Reilly gave me, yet couldn't find a single listing. In a broader search, I found a link to an obituary in a Maui paper for the longtime owner of Aloha Florals. There were also earlier mentions of the company, but nothing after the man's death.

What was going on?

I took out a sheet of paper and began to make a list, hoping a pattern would emerge. I wrote down everything I could think of, whether it appeared to tie in or not, beginning from the day Lottie unpacked the orchids.

A brooch was found in the bottom of a box of orchids.

A threat letter arrived warning me to stop the protests.

Dwayne Hudge posed as a delivery man to ask about a package delivered by mistake.

A brick was thrown through my door.

I wore the brooch when I appeared on cable TV.

My business was broken into and trashed.

My mom's first copy of the brooch went missing.

Nikki was nearly kidnapped while driving my Vette.

Jillian was kidnapped, her beret was stolen, and then she was released because she wasn't me.

Tara was kidnapped because we were dressed alike. Charlotte Bebe was run over by her partner, who thought she was about to cut him out in order to include her sister, Honey.

Dwayne Hudge knew who planned the kidnapping plot. Hudge was stabbed in the neck in front of witnesses while in jail. No suspects.

Twelve copies of the brooch were stolen.

Tom Harding was beaten, left for dead.

Honey Bebe fled the country when someone showed up at her door.

Nils Raand vowed to stop my protests.

Nils Raand thanked Charlotte for filling in for his secretary and paid her.

Anemone petals were found in Charlotte Bebe's shoe treads.

Tom's Green Thumb received an unordered shipment of anemones.

A valuable ivory anthurium brooch was stolen from a Hawaiian museum.

A young man who worked for the supplier was in a gang of smugglers.

The young man was stabbed in the neck while in a public place. No witnesses, no suspects, no weapon.

The FBI has been searching for a man known as the Flame.

A Hawaiian salesman, whose name means G.o.d of fire or flame, claimed to work for a supplier that closed five years ago.

I put down the pen and picked up Grace's message again: Mr. Keahi Kana is giving a reception for clients Friday evening from seven to ten p.m., at the New Chapel Inn and Suites. RSVP required.

Why didn't a major orchid supplier know that Aloha Florals was back in business? If Mr. Kana was a legitimate salesman, why wasn't his company listed on the Internet? If Mr. Kana was the Flame, was this reception a trap designed to lure me to the hotel? How did he hope to get the brooch from me once I was there?

So many questions-and only one person with answers.

I turned the flashlight over to see the number; then, taking a deep breath, I picked up the phone and dialed. My call was answered with a smooth "Aloha."

"Same to you, Mr. Kana. This is Abby Knight, from Bloomers Flower Shop. I'm RSVPing to your invitation."