“Everything’s fine. Well, except that I’ve been thinking about the kidnapping attempts.”

“Go on.”

“You saw how Raand behaved at that meeting. He was so icy cold, I wondered if he had a pulse. His warehouse operation was efficient, as was his secretary, and his office was neat to the point of being sterile. Which is why it seems unlikely that Raand would hire two bumbling people to do anything for him.”

“That thought occurred to me, too.”

“So we’re on the same page with this.”

“You bet. Raand’s shrewd. He wouldn’t have hired them himself. He probably had a go-between to put a layer of protection between him and the kidnappers. All the more reason not to take any chances until we know for sure who was at the helm.”

“True.”

“Good. I’ll be down at noon with sandwiches. Should I bring some for Lottie and Grace?”

I had him hold while I checked; then I said, “Lottie is going out for lunch, and Grace is on a tuna salad diet. Would you make mine a turkey sandwich, please?” I gave him a phone kiss and hung up.

Lottie was just about to turn off the radio when we heard, “In other news, Assistant City Attorney Peter Chinn was hospitalized early this morning after apparently suffering a concussion from a fall on ice. No word at this moment as to his condition.”

“Peter must be hurt pretty bad to be hospitalized,” Lottie said, switching the radio off. “He has diabetes, you know. That certainly can’t have helped his condition any.”

“How do you know these things?” I asked in amazement.

“You’d be shocked at what I pick up from other parents at my boys’ school functions. It’s a real gossip fest. Did you know Peter is from Portland, Oregon? And that he’s single?”

Didn’t know. Didn’t care. Peter wasn’t on my list of favorite people. “Maybe I should take a bouquet of flowers to him at the hospital as a gesture of goodwill,” I said, “and as a reminder that we’re still waiting for that permit.”

“Sweetie, I like the way you think.”

I made a mental note to work on that later. For now, however, I had to concentrate on business. So while Grace worked in the coffee-and-tea parlor and Lottie took care of customers in the shop, I pulled the top order from the spindle and began to ready my supplies, humming happily as I worked.

A floral arrangement for the Walshivers’ dinner party. Cool. Gloria Walshiver, one of our loyal customers, wanted the arrangement made with both traditional and nontraditional elements, so I opened one of the big walk-in coolers and surveyed my stock. For the traditional elements, I pulled pale pink peony stems, then added red saucer magnolias, white spider mums, and aspidistra leaves. Nontraditional elements? Glossy red anthuriums fit the bill. Also, I’d been dying to use herbs in an arrangement, especially dill, which was so feathery and fragrant. What else was I itching to use?

Anemones. That was it. Anemones just felt romantic to me, perfect for Valentine’s Day. I searched among the bucket of flowers only to discover we had run out. I wrote a note to Lottie asking her to put them on our next flower order, then looked for a substitute.

Twenty minutes later, I had a wonderfully aromatic dinner table display for the Walshivers’ party. I wrapped the arrangement, tagged it, put it in the second cooler, and started on the next order. By the time Marco came down at noon, I had finished seven more orders and was almost done with the bouquet for Peter.

“Food’s here,” he announced, carrying in a big sack. He put it on the worktable and began to unload the contents. “I told Lottie to give us ten minutes to eat; then we’d come up front so she could take her lunch break. Grace should be able to take hers when Lottie comes back. Does that sound like a plan?”

Yes. His plan.

“Here’s your sandwich.” Marco handed me a big, greasy bundle of something wrapped in white butcher’s paper.

I sniffed suspiciously. “Is it turkey?”

“The turkey didn’t look good today. I thought you’d like the pork cutlet instead.”

He thought wrong. But what could I say? It was free, and the delivery boy was sexy. I watched him take out two small bags of salt-and-vinegar potato chips and put one in front of me. “You like this kind, don’t you?”

Wrong again. Wasn’t going to complain, though. Not one word of complaint. Didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Not going to think about adding to Marco’s minus column, either. But if I were to think about adding to it, the word presumptuous might have to go on it. Bad Abby for thinking about it.

“Did you just zip your lips?” Marco asked.

I stopped unwrapping the greasy sandwich. “What?”

“It looked like you made that motion to zip your lips.”

I gave him an innocent gaze. “Why would I do that?”

“Maybe because you don’t like the chips.”

I shrugged apologetically. “I eat only the baked kind.” Which he should have remembered from our romantic weekend in Key West. He eyed my bag, as though fearing I might toss it in the trash, so I pushed it toward him. “Be my guest.”

Being hungry enough to eat just about anything, I downed half the sandwich, then wrapped the rest for another day-actually for another person. Marco and I went up front so Lottie could take her lunch break and found her on the phone and Grace in the parlor, bustling between several tables of customers, pouring tea and coffee and replenishing plates of scones.

“Our regular supplier is out of anemones,” Lottie told me as she ended her call. “I’ll have to shop around for another source.”

“Didn’t we place an order for anemones recently?” I asked.

“That was a few weeks back,” Lottie said. “Now that I think about it, I don’t recall receiving that order. I’ll have to check the records.”

“Aren’t anemones sea creatures?” Marco asked.

“Flowers, too.” Lottie shook her head, chuckling. “When I first came to Bloomers all those years ago, I placed an order for an-ee-moans. There was dead silence on the other end of the line; then the guy started laughing. ‘You’re saying it wrong. It’s a-NEM-o-nee, like an enemy said backward. ’ Well, you can imagine my embarrassment. There I was, trying to act like I knew what I was doing-”

The phone rang and she picked it up. “Bloomers Flower Shop. How can I help you?” She listened a moment, then said, “Hold on.” Then she handed me the phone. “Detective Maroni.”

I took the receiver from her. “Hi, Detective. This is Abby.”

“I’d like you to come down to the sheriff’s office to take a look at a lineup. Can you be here in an hour?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Marco drove me around the square to the tan brick building on Indiana Street that housed the sheriff’s department. It was located next to the New Chapel Savings Bank and across from the entrance to the courthouse. Once inside the building, we went through security; then I was taken to a room no wider than a hallway, where I sat in front of a one-way glass mirror, Detective Maroni beside me.

“Any questions before we start?” he asked.

I nodded eagerly. “Did Dwayne Hudge confess to the kidnapping?”

“I meant questions about the lineup.”

“Oh, I understand how that works. What I need to know is whether Hudge was operating independently or hired to do the job.”

The detective gave me a look of disbelief.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “As I mentioned in my interview, I’ve helped with investigations before, and after all, this is my case, too, so I’d appreciate it if you’d brief me.”

He rose and said into an intercom, “We’re ready.”

Fine. I’d get my information somewhere else.

Six men, all of similar height, weight, coloring, and clothing, down to their hooded sweatshirts, filed into the room on the other side of the glass, then turned to face the glass. Behind them, height markings were painted on the wall.