Sleeping With Anemone Part 28

I sympathized with Rafe. The first time I met Mrs. Salvare, she invited me to dinner, grilled me on my plans for the future, and got me drunk on wine-on purpose. A test of character, according to Marco. He said I pa.s.sed, but I still had my doubts, and I still got nervous whenever she came to town.

"What's the occasion?" I asked.

"She says she wants to see how her little boy is faring. Rafe is worried that she's coming to take him back with her."

"Rafe is a grown man. Can't he just tell her he's staying here?"

"Rafe needs to grow a spine before he can do that."

"You can't just say he has to grow a spine, Marco. The poor guy has to gain confidence before he can stand up to your mother. Getting this new job on his own is a good first step."

"He dropped out of college and is working at Hooters learning how to tend bar. That may boost Rafe's self-confidence, but it's not going to inspire a whole lot of a.s.surance in Francesca Salvare, trust me."

I saw Marco's point. Poor Rafe. No wonder he was worried. But then another thought crossed my mind. "What if your mom has an ulterior motive for coming to town?"

Marco glanced at me. "What would that be?"

"Us."

He pondered that for a moment. "You're right. We haven't made our announcement yet."

"Exactly."

"We haven't had that discussion yet, either."

With all the turmoil, I'd pushed it out of my mind. "We probably should."

"When? Now?"

Now? I'd just mentioned it. I had to prepare. "Not now. We're almost at Bloomers."

"How about at lunch?"

"Lottie and Grace will be there. Can we make it at dinner?"

"Done."

"Next problem-my mom. I have to talk her out of working for PAR."

"Abby, you know there's no way to stop her."

"I have to try. Once Raand finds out about her involvement, he'll come after both of us. I can't expose her to that. I'll confer with Dad. Maybe he can talk sense into her."

As was now our procedure, Marco phoned ahead to alert Lottie and Grace of our impending arrival, so that when we pulled up, the women were standing guard at the door, scanning up and down the sidewalk for any signs of danger. I was beginning to understand how a movie star felt as I was whisked into the store with my security entourage around me.

With the door locked firmly behind me, and Marco on his way to park the car, my first order of business was to grab a cup of Grace's coffee, then sit down with both women to fill them in on my visit to the hospital and subsequent trip to New Buffalo. They had lots of questions about Honey Bebe and Harding and whether they were linked to the kidnappings, but, unfortunately, I didn't have lots of answers.

As we were discussing Honey's disappearing act, the phone rang and Lottie got up to answer it in the shop.

"Abby," she called from the doorway, "I've got that salesman on hold. You remember the one who left you that little flashlight? Do you want to speak to him?"

"I haven't had a chance to look at his price list, but if it will stop his annoying calls, I'll take it." I had started toward the phone at the cashier's counter when Marco rapped on the door.

I let him in, and he strode past me, saying, "I think I know where I can find more information on Charlotte."

"Where?"

"Come see."

I started to follow him, but then Lottie cleared her throat and pointed to the phone, where the light was blinking. "Would you take a message, please?" I asked her. "Tell the salesman I'll try to find time later today to call him."

I followed Marco into the workroom and leaned over his shoulder as he logged on to the computer and began to type. But after a few minutes of watching him search through pages of results, I grew bored and decided to work on an order. I plucked a slip off the spindle and studied the instructions Grace had written: Ninety-fifth birthday bouquet. Recipient-Jennie Helen Bolek. Bright colors. Fun. I loved doing bright and fun, and for a ninety-fifth birthday, it had to be extra special.

"Take a look at this," Marco said as I gathered my tools. "It's an online job application Charlotte submitted in January for a position with Chinn, Knowles, and Brown."

"No kidding? But isn't a job application considered confidential information? How did you get it?"

Marco lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay, don't tell me, then. Was her application rejected or is that a secret, too?"

"It doesn't say, but I know how to find out."

While Marco placed a call, I stepped into the walk-in cooler to select my stems. Humming happily, I lost myself among the fresh blossoms, breathing in the soothing floral scents, absorbing the dewy moisture, feeling at peace with the world. Ah, if only I didn't have to step outside again.

Okay, bright and fun for a special birthday. Definitely some deep pink tulips, orange lilies, purple foxgloves, white mini callas, yellow daisies, bird-of-paradise . . . Hmm. A mix of blue, purple, and pink anemones would be the perfect finish . . . except I still didn't have any. d.a.m.n. I'd have to use gerberas instead.

I nearly dropped my armload of flowers when Marco spoke from behind me. "Listen to this. According to the office manager at Chinn, Knowles, and Brown, Charlotte left Uniworld to work as a filing clerk for Attorney Knowles."

"So Charlotte went from Uniworld to the lawyer representing Uniworld. That certainly establishes a strong link between Raand and the kidnappers."

"Here's where it gets really interesting. Knowles fired Charlotte two days before the first kidnapping attempt."

"Why was she fired?"

"The office manager didn't know. The only person who can answer that is Knowles, and you can bet he won't."

"Okay, Marco, I know you don't like me making giant leaps, but here's one I can't help but make. Maybe Knowles fired Charlotte because he found out about the kidnapping plot."

"If Attorney Knowles had that information, he would have had to be forthcoming with the police. He's an officer of the court."

"Even if doing so implicated his client?"

"Knowles would have warned Raand that he knew about the plot. In that case, I can't imagine Raand giving the go-ahead to Charlotte and Hudge."

"So what do we do with this information?"

"Nothing yet. I want to see what else I can dig up on Charlotte."

I surveyed the flowers on the table, still puzzled over the anemones. "Before you do that, I need to look up an order on the computer."

I brought up a file containing my recent orders and sure enough, Lottie had put in for anemones more than three weeks ago. "There it is," I said, pointing to the monitor. "Paid in full. Now I need to find out why we didn't receive them."

I opened my lower desk drawer and removed a manila folder containing our various suppliers' information, then vacated the chair so Marco could resume his search. I took the folder to the kitchen to call the supplier in question.

"Certainly we shipped that order," the clerk there told me. "Our records indicate it was delivered on January twenty-eighth."

I glanced at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. That was the day we'd found the anthurium brooch in the box of orchids. But there hadn't been any other orders delivered that day. "Are you sure of the date?"

"I'm showing that the delivery was accepted by a . . . Sorry; I can't read the signature."

"Lottie Dombowski?"

"It's hard to make out. All I can say for sure is that the order went out to Bloomers Flower Shop."

"But I didn't get the order."

"You'll have to check with the delivery company. It must be their mistake."

Whoever's mistake it was, I shouldn't have to pay for it! "Thank you. I'll follow up on that. In the meantime, I need to reorder."

I placed the order, then hunted through my file until I found a delivery slip that had the UPS toll-free number on it. I dialed, and an automated voice asked for a tracking number, which I didn't have. I waded through a long menu, then hit the O repeatedly until finally a friendly man answered. I explained the problem, but the man kept insisting he needed a tracking number.

"I don't have a number because I didn't receive the order. Can't you search the sender's name to find out who else in my zip code area received a shipment from that company?"

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry. Not without a tracking number."

"Not even for a beautiful bouquet of flowers for that special lady in your life?"

"That would be my mother," he said dryly, "and no, not even then. I have no way of getting that information. Maybe you should call the sender."

"I tried that. Okay, how about this? Can you tell me if anyone in my zip code reported a problem with a delivery on that date?"

"If you want to report a problem, we need a tracking number."

"I just reported my problem! I'm asking if anyone else in my area had a problem."

"I don't have any way of checking without a tracking number."

"Okay, forget it. Thank you for your time."

"If you have any other problems, please call."

Not unless I wanted a headache, too. I returned to the workroom just as Marco's cell phone chirped. He answered crisply, "Salvare."

As I filled out a delivery tag for the birthday bouquet, Marco held his hand over the phone to whisper, "It's the antiques dealer.

"Thanks for getting back to me so quickly, Mr. Oke," he said. "I'm looking for information on a flower brooch listed on your Web site. It's a . . ." He glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Red anthurium," I said. "Possibly made out of ivory."

Marco repeated it. "Can you give me a price on that? No, I'm not a collector, just an interested party. Sure, I'll hold." He swiveled the chair toward me. "Did you get your order straightened out?"

"No. The supplier claims my order was delivered and signed for."

"Yes, sir," Marco said into the phone, resuming his conversation.

"What did I sign for?" Lottie asked, coming into the workroom.

"A shipment with our anemone order in it. Supposedly, you signed for it on January twenty-eighth, the same day the orchids arrived with the brooch inside. I called UPS, but they can't tell me anything without a tracking number-which I don't have because I never received that delivery. I finally gave up."

Lottie opened one of the walk-in coolers, pausing to say, "Well, Dwayne Hudge did come here looking for a package he said was delivered to us by mistake. I'll bet our regular guy, Joe, delivered our order to someone else and gave us the order Hudge was after."

"It shouldn't be hard to find out who got our order," I said.

"Right," Lottie said. "How many places around here sell flowers?"

She stepped into the cooler just as Marco wrapped up his phone conversation. "Use this number, if you would, Mr. Oke. Thanks for your help."

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He has to check the current market value before he gives me a quote. I have a feeling he wants to check me out more than the value of the brooch." Marco glanced at his watch. "It's ten thirty. When do you want to go see Morgan?"

"Now, if Lottie doesn't mind."

Lottie came out of the cooler carrying an armload of roses. She stopped to glance from me to Marco. "Mind what? How is it I always walk in on the middle of a conversation?"

Greg Morgan lived on the third floor of a new condominium building on the east side of town, a fast-growing area filled with lots of apartments, condos, and starter homes. His building was the typical modern brick box four stories high. It had a small entrance hall containing rows of mailboxes and a list of occupants by last name, with corresponding buzzers.

I pressed the b.u.t.ton beside his name and eventually a hoa.r.s.e voice said, "Who is it?"

"Hey, Greg, it's Abby. Nikki said you were sick, so we thought you might appreciate some homemade chicken soup." I didn't explain who the "we" was so he'd think it was Nikki.

"Are you sure you want to come up? I might be contagious."

"Not a problem, Greg."

He buzzed us through the security door, and we headed for the elevator. As I got ready to board, Marco said, "I'll wait down here."

"Don't you want to question him?"

"I'd just be a distraction. You know how to handle Morgan. You don't need me."

"Are you afraid of catching the flu?"

"I just think Morgan will be more forthcoming without me there."

"Sure, you do." I wiggled my fingers at Marco as the doors began to close. "See you in about ten minutes."