“Does that help me now?” Jillian asked, her hand on her hip.

“Hang on. It has to be here somewhere.”

While Jillian looked on, tapping the toe of her boot on the tile floor, I hunted all over the shop and finally went into the parlor to ask Grace. She slipped away from her customers long enough to help me hunt, but once again, the brooch had vanished.

“Great,” Jillian said. “This is exactly what happened last time I wanted to buy a brooch.”

“You can always give her a beautiful floral arrangement,” I said.

“I want something unique, Abby. Flowers aren’t unique. I’ll just have to call Claymore again and tell him to come up with something himself.”

The bell over the door jingled and in walked Tara. She wore a puffy orange down jacket, jeans, black gloves and boots, and a backpack on her shoulder. “Hey,” she said, swinging her load onto the decorative bench in the corner. “What’s up?”

“Your collar,” Jillian said, and straightened it. She leaned back to study Tara, then arranged a lock of her hair to cover one eye. “Now all you need is a dab of lip gloss…”

“I’m good, Aunt Jillian,” Tara said, ducking out of reach. She and Jillian were actually first cousins once removed, but Tara preferred to remove her a little further. She opened her backpack and pulled out a manila envelope. “Mom forgot to give these to you, Aunt Abby.”

“How’s your stomach feeling?” I asked her, opening the envelope.

“Why?” Jillian asked, eyeing Tara warily. “Do you have the flu? Are you contagious?”

Tara shrugged. “Maybe. Lots of bugs going around school.”

Jillian immediately distanced herself. “Okay, then. I hope you’re better soon. Gotta run.” She blew kisses and dashed out the door.

“She’s such an easy target.” Tara cupped her hands around her eyes to gaze into the glass-fronted display case. “I almost feel bad about doing that.”

Tara was so much like me, it scared me. I removed the contents of the envelope-a half dozen samples of wedding invitations, and a newspaper advertisement of a sale at a bridal salon-and immediately put them back with an exasperated sigh.

“They’re from Aunt Portia, too,” Tara said, referring to my brother Jonathan’s model-thin wife, “but she didn’t have the strength to stuff the envelope. Mom says if she’d eat more than a teaspoon of applesauce a day, she might have more energy.” Tara took a yellow daisy out of the case, tucked it behind one ear, and checked her reflection in the glass. “How’s this for a junior bridesmaid look?”

“The next customer who needs a junior bridesmaid, I’ll give them your number.”

Suddenly, Tara gasped, then swung around, staring saucer-eyed out the bay window. “It’s Spook Face,” she whispered, and quickly looked away.

“Nils Raand? The guy from the Home and Garden Show?”

Tara barely nodded. “I saw his reflection in the glass. He’s watching us. Don’t look!”

“I have to look.” I moved toward the bay window and peered cautiously outside. “Where is he?”

“On that bench across the street. He’s staring right at us! Call Unc. Hurry.”

I spotted Raand. He was sitting alone on the bench, dressed in a light gray topcoat, one arm draped across the back of the bench, one leg crossed over his knee. Despite his casual posture, he was clearly and intently watching the shop, like a cat watching a mousehole. Was he waiting for me to come outside? Did he want me to see him? Was he trying to unnerve me? Because it was working.

I stepped back behind the counter to pick up the phone, but dialed Reilly’s number instead of Marco’s. As I waited for him to answer, I said to Tara, “Did you call Marco Unc?”

“You won’t let me call him Uncle Marco,” she said, trying not to move her mouth.

“Raand can’t hear you, Tara.”

“He might read lips.”

“Reilly, hi, it’s Abby. Nils Raand is sitting on a bench on the courthouse lawn watching my shop.”

“That’s not against the law, Abby,” Reilly said.

“But I think he’s trying to intimidate me.”

“Still, unless you can prove it… Look, tell you what, I’ll drive by and make sure he sees me eyeball him. If that doesn’t do it, I’ll walk over and have a talk with him.”

“Thanks, Reilly. You’re the best.” I hung up and said to Tara, “Cops are on their way.”

Tara turned her head just enough to see out the window; then she relaxed. “Never mind. He left.”

I ran to the window to look out. Not only had Raand left the bench, but I couldn’t see him anywhere on the courthouse property. I searched people getting into cars parked around the square but caught no glimpse of him. Thank goodness both of us had seen him. If it had been only me, I might have thought I’d imagined him.

By the time Marco came down to Bloomers to get me at five thirty that evening, I’d had a full day and was ready for a quiet evening. Reilly had stopped by to tell me he hadn’t located Raand and to ask if I was sure I’d actually seen him. After assuring him that Tara could back me up, I asked him to make out a report for the theft of my mom’s brooch. Since it was the second such theft, I thought it important to do so. No one had notified Mom yet. None of us wanted to be the one to break the news.

“Losing one brooch I can almost understand,” I told Marco on the ride home, “because it wouldn’t be difficult to lift a small piece like that. But then to have the second one stolen makes me think it’s more than a coincidence. And then to spot Nils Raand watching us through the window on the same day…” I shuddered. “Why would he do that? Is he playing games with me?”

“I don’t know, but next time you see him, call me. I can be there sooner than the cops. Is Tara okay?”

“A bit shaken. She had Kathy pick her up right after Raand left.”

“Are you okay?”

“A little unnerved, which I’m sure is what Raand wanted.”

Marco was mulling something over. I could see his jaw muscles working. “Was the brooch the only item stolen both times?”

“As far as we can tell, yes.”

“And both times, it was Jillian who wanted to purchase a brooch?”

“Yes, but she didn’t know anything about the first one until Grace told her. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Maybe Jillian is the one playing games.”

“By stealing Mom’s brooches? Why would she do that?”

“Think about it. You wear a beret; Jillian wears a beret. You wore a brooch; then she wanted to buy a brooch. You were engaged to an Osborne; she got engaged to an Osborne. See where I’m going with this?”

“Yes. You’re saying my cousin is a thief with bad taste in men.”

“She likes to copy you-that’s all I’m saying.”

“If she wanted the brooch, she has the money to buy it.”

“Maybe it’s more fun to make you look for it. It’s something to keep in mind, anyway. By the way, did Jillian tell you whether she identified anyone in the lineup?”

“She picked out Hudge as the van driver. And Lottie picked him out as the UPS guy.”

Marco shook his head. “I can’t believe how inept Hudge was to let Jillian see his face. It’s as though he never considered she might ID him.”

“So wouldn’t you think that after Hudge and Charlotte botched the first attempt to kidnap me, Raand would find someone else? Or if not, then surely after the second failed attempt? It bothers me that he continued to let them try, because it seems out of keeping with Raand’s character.”

“I’m with you on that. Raand was surely savvy enough to realize that the more those two screwed up, the more likely they were to be caught and lead the police back to him. Still, we can’t discount the evidence Morgan mentioned. If it decisively connects Raand to the kidnappers, then he’s their guy.”›

“I’d feel better knowing what that evidence was.”

“You just have to have a little patience, Abby, while the detectives do their job. In the meantime, I’m doing my job-keeping you safe.”