Snipped in the Bud (25 page)

“Abby, hello-o-o. It’s fifteen hundred dollars.”

I nearly passed out. Fifteen hundred was two months’ rent. The bell over the front door gave a quick jingle, so I said, “Hold on, Jillian, someone just came in.”

“You opened the store on a Sunday?”

She was right. I had
locked
the front door.

“Abby, are you there?” Jillian cried.

I swallowed hard, keeping my eyes on the curtain that separated the two rooms. Then, quietly, I whispered, “Jillian, someone is in the shop.”

“D
o you want me to call the cops?” Jillian whispered back, apparently forgetting that her voice couldn’t be heard to anyone but me.

I darted a hand across to the worktable and grabbed the floral knife. “Yes. Tell them to hurry.”

“Grace?” Lottie boomed out. “Is that you back there?”

My entire body, including the hangnail on my index finger, sagged in relief. “It’s Lottie. Never mind, Jillian.”

“Oh, good. So what do you want to do about the suit?”

“I’ll talk to you about that later.” I hung up, then called, “It’s me, Lottie. I’m back here.”

“Abby?”

I turned to find myself enfolded in a hug that lifted me off my feet. “It’s good to see you, sweetie,” she cried.

“Likewise,” I gasped.

“Is it true what I read in the paper?” she asked, setting me down. “You found the killer?”

“Not exactly. We’re getting close, though.”

“It can’t happen soon enough for me.”

“I’ll second that. You don’t know how much I miss this place.”

“Honey, I know exactly how much. When Herman took ill and had to be cared for twenty-four hours a day, it almost broke my heart to leave Bloomers. And then when I had to put her up for sale…” Lottie paused to wipe tears from her eyes, unable to continue.

“I came along and here we are.” I was getting a little misty-eyed myself, so I picked up the stack of orders and handed them to her. “These are finished and in the cooler. Is there anything else I can do?”

“That’ll do it.” Lottie put an arm around me and walked me toward the curtain. “Now we can both go home and enjoy the rest of the day.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me,” I joked.

The bell jingled again and then I heard Grace’s chipper, “Halloo? Lottie?” A moment later she came in carrying a big plate of muffins. She stopped short when she saw me, then said lightly, “Good heavens, dear. I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you?”

I caught a quick exchange between the two, so I said, “Okay, what’s going on?”

Grace looked from me to Lottie. “You tell her. I’ll start the kettle for tea.”

I folded my arms and waited. Giving me a sheepish glance, Lottie opened a cabinet and pulled out a spindle stacked high with orders. “We didn’t want you to have any more stress, so we’ve been coming in on our free time to keep up.”

I wasn’t slow after all. They needed me! “I love you guys.”

Over tea and cranberry muffins, I brought them up to speed on the murder investigation, then we put on our aprons and set to work. With the three of us snipping and clipping and sharing laughs, it felt like old times, until I glanced at the clock and saw that it was two thirty—almost time to meet Connor—and that was the end of our happy reunion.

I raced back to my apartment, shed the coat and hat, and found a note from Nikki saying that she had gone shopping with her mother. Good. She wouldn’t be around to witness the debacle, because once I had that photo I intended to give Connor a piece of my mind.

My cell phone chirped softly, so I raced to the bedroom, dug it out of my purse, and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Abby, this is Bea. You wanted to talk to me?”

I glanced at my watch. Five minutes until Connor was due. “Thanks for returning my call. I really need to see you. Will you be home later this afternoon?”

“Honestly, Abby, I don’t have time. I’m at the law school right now trying to finish a stack of dictation. I’m leaving for a week’s vacation and my friend will be here in an hour to pick me up.”

“I can drop by the school. It won’t take long.”

“Well…I suppose.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.” The doorbell buzzed, so I ended the conversation, tossed the phone onto the bed, and dashed to the front door.

“Look who I found in the hallway,” Jillian gushed. “Connor Mackay! And he has something for you.” In a stage whisper he was bound to have heard she said, “Isn’t he quixy!”

“Quixy?” I whispered back. That was a new one.

“Quietly sexy,” she said in my ear, then turned her beautiful smile on him. I had to admit he looked dashing—in an Indiana Jones kind of way. He had on a mint green button-down shirt that played up his eyes, with a beat-up brown leather bomber jacket, khakis, and brown loafers.

“What are we standing here for?” Jillian asked, threading her hand through his arm. “Let’s have a seat in the living room. Would you like something to drink, Connor? We have lite beer, white wine, soda.”

I tried to grab her sleeve and drag her back, but she was too quick on her feet.

“No, thanks,” Connor told her.

I trailed after them as my cousin steered Connor toward the sofa. “Why don’t you have a seat beside him, Abby?” She tried to make it sound like a question, but I recognized that militant spark in her eye.

I sat down and narrowed my gaze on her, seething, but she merely settled in the adjacent chair and folded her hands in her lap. She would pay for this big-time. Not only was I going to tell Claymore where she lived, but I’d personally take him to her door.

“So Abby tells me there was an article about her in the newspaper.” Jillian smiled at Connor, as though waiting for him to pick up the thread of conversation.

“Yes, and please tell us about that headline, too,” I said dryly.

“That wasn’t my headline, Abby.” He saw my icy glare and added, “I’ll just give you the photo and leave, okay?”

“Photo?” Jillian jumped up from the chair and sat beside him. “Let’s see.”

Connor glanced at me and I nodded my consent. Was there any use trying to hide it from her? He handed me a manila envelope from which I removed a five-by-seven, glossy, black-and-white print. Jillian leaned across Connor to look at it with me, then covered her mouth and snickered.

There I was in shackles, my mouth open, obviously shouting at Carson Reed, who was speaking into the microphones that had been shoved under his face. Next to him was Marvin Y. Brown. And just behind them were Dustin and Kenny, looking very self-important.

“Hey!” Jillian tapped the print with a long, ice pink fingernail. “Those are the two guys who helped me look for Peewee.”

I gazed at her in surprise. “The ones in the gray minivan? Are you sure?”

“I never forget a man’s face.” She winked at Connor.

Were Kenny and Dustin the petnappers? No wonder Kenny had lied about knowing Marvin Brown. He was working for the man. “I need to make a call. I’ll be right back.”

I shut myself in the bedroom, opened my cell phone, and hit speed-dial number two. As soon as Marco answered I said, “The two guys in the newspaper photo
were
Kenny and Dustin, so Kenny
did
lie to me. And you’ll never believe this. Jillian recognized them as being the same guys she saw in our parking lot in the gray minivan. They could be part of a petnapping ring, Marco!”

“Whoa. Slow down. Did Jillian see them take the dog? Did she get a license plate number? Gray minivans are pretty common.”

“No to both questions, but come on, it’s a strong coincidence.”

“You’re right. I’ll call Reilly and run it past him. He’ll probably want to see the photo.”

“I’ll keep it in my purse. I’m going to be leaving shortly to talk to Bea.”

“Call me afterward.”

When I returned to the living room, Jillian was just shutting the front door. I glanced around, puzzled. “Where’s Connor?”

“He left. But don’t worry, he’ll be back at seven thirty this evening.”

“You made a
date
for me?”

“No, silly. He’s coming to see me.”

“You can’t do that, Jillian. You’re still married to Claymore. If you want to date Connor, you need to file for divorce.”

“I don’t want to date Connor. I want to sell him new clothes. Did you see those pants he was wearing?”

She started for the door, but this time I did manage to get ahold of her sleeve. “Not so fast. What about Claymore?”

“What
about
Claymore?” she cried, trying to shake me loose.

“You can’t keep him twisting in the wind, Jillian. It isn’t fair to him.”

“It serves him right for leaving me. Would you let go of my sleeve?”

“Claymore didn’t leave you. You walked out on him, and don’t you dare deny it.”

She gasped in outrage. “You talked to him?”

“You love Claymore. How could you break his heart?”

“Better now than later.”

“What are you talking about?”

She heaved a sigh and turned to face me. “I left him because I couldn’t bear for him to find out what a horrendous wife I’d be. Look at me. I’m silly and selfish and totally inept. I can’t cook—not that I’d want to, but what if I did? The only thing I know how to make is Jello. Plain Jello! I don’t even know how to add fruit to it.”

“Jillian, you are not”—actually, she
was
silly and selfish—“totally inept. You have more fashion sense than anyone I know. Look how you pulled together those outfits for me. If you want to be a better wife, get counseling. If you don’t know how to cook, sign up for a class. But for God’s sake, knock off the pity party. Beneath your selfish exterior is a gentle, loving woman who just needs to believe in herself a little more and trust in those who love her.”

She looked at me in surprise. “Really?”

“You don’t think Claymore is an idiot, do you? So why would he choose an inept wife? Listen to me. He married you because he truly loves you, but he won’t wait forever. You can’t let your selfish side win in this, Jillian. Call him right now and tell him you made a huge mistake and you’re sorry.”

She gave me an exuberant hug, pressing my forehead against her collarbone. “Little Abs, you are the best. Thank you! I really needed that pep talk.”

“So you’ll call Claymore?” I asked as she jumped up and headed for the door.

“No.” She paused to glance over her shoulder. “But I appreciate all the nice things you said about me.”

I grabbed a pillow from the sofa and heaved it at the door as it shut behind her. So she wouldn’t see Claymore, hmm? We’d see about that. I threw the dead bolt, looked up Claymore’s phone number, and called him. “Hey, it’s Abby. You wouldn’t happen to need a new suit, would you? You do? Great. Meet me at my apartment at seven this evening.”

Fearing I’d missed my chance to talk to Bea, I sped to the law school, where I found her seated at her desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard, her eyes fixed on the monitor. She was dressed in a white peasant blouse and long brown suede skirt, her heavy hair tied at the nape with a leather cord. Silver earrings shaped like feathers dangled from her earlobes, a yellow pencil was tucked behind one ear, and a turquoise-encrusted Native American totem hung on a silver chain around her neck.

I didn’t think she’d noticed me, but without turning her head in my direction she said, “I’ll be right with you, Abby.” She hit a key, then turned to watch the big printer behind her clatter to life.

I wheeled over a chair from another secretary’s desk and sat down, taking a quick glance around. None of the other secretaries were there, and all of the office windows were dark—with one exception. The Dragon’s.
Damn.
“Professor Puffer is here?” I whispered.

“He came in shortly after I arrived, in quite a temper, too.”

Great. He’d probably seen the newspaper. I crossed my fingers and hoped he’d stay put for the five minutes I needed to be there. “This won’t take long, I promise. I just need to ask you a few questions about the day of the murder.”

She sighed impatiently. “You know I’d like to oblige, but I’ve already told you everything.”

“But some new information has come to light.”

She pulled the pencil out from behind her ear and tossed it on her desk. “You’ll have to be quick.”

Feeling suddenly anxious, I rubbed my hands together. This was the woman who’d been there for me during some of the worst moments of my life. I couldn’t grill her like a common criminal. But I couldn’t keep beating around the bush, either. Maybe I’d try tact again. “Would it surprise you to learn that Jocelyn Puffer had been seeing Professor Reed?”

Bea gazed at me with her mouth open, clearly at a loss for words. “I’d never dreamed…Jocelyn Puffer? I certainly wouldn’t have expected that of her.”

“But wouldn’t you have expected it of Professor Reed—especially in light of Hannah’s relationship with him?”

She waved away my question as if it were a gnat. “That silly crush she had on him? It was nothing but a romantic fantasy.”

“It wasn’t a fantasy to her. Hannah thought they were going to elope. She truly believed he loved her.”

“Hannah is a child. I told her Carson Reed had no intention of marrying her, or anyone else for that matter.”

“You also told Hannah you’d take care of everything. What did you mean by that?”

“That I’d talk to him. What do you think I meant?”

“Is that all you did?” I asked as kindly as I could. “Talk to him?”