“I was having lunch with my mom when your mom called about dinner at the club tomorrow night, and she mentioned making more brooches. She also said to remind you to bring Marco.”

“Marco can’t make it tomorrow.”

“Wink, wink,” Jillian said.

“No, seriously, Jill, he has to work on a PI case.”

Jillian huffed. “How are you two ever going to make a marriage work with you spending your days at Bloomers and Marco spending his nights doing two other jobs?”

That was an issue we hadn’t tackled yet, and I wasn’t about to get into it now with Jillian. I carried my cell phone into the shop, heading toward the armoire to pick out one of the brooches. “Are you going to stop by for the brooch before we close?”

“Yes, if you’re sure you have a brooch for me.”

“I told you, Jillian, I have twelve-”

Make that none.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The mirrored tray was empty. Where did the brooches go? “Hold on, Jillian.” I glanced around at Lottie, who was rearranging the flowers in the glass case. “Did you sell any brooches today?”

“No, why?”

“I can’t find them.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Lottie took a look for herself, then headed toward the parlor. At the doorway, she asked, “Gracie, did you put the brooches somewhere?”

“On the mirrored tray.”

“They’re not on the tray now,” Lottie said.

Grace came out of the parlor to help us search the shop; then the three of us stood in front of the armoire, staring at the empty tray as if somehow the brooches would magically reappear.

“I’ll be doggone,” Lottie said. “Someone swiped ’em again.”

“Do we have a thief with an anthurium fetish?” Grace asked.

“Abby!” the phone squawked.

“Jillian, I’ll have to call you back.” I hit the END button and set the cell phone on the armoire.

“What the hell is going on with these brooches?” Lottie asked.

Marco came through the curtain. “Something wrong?”

“The damn brooches are gone,” Lottie said. “All twelve of ’em. Now, how could someone get a dozen brooches out of here without us seeing a thing?”

“Remember when you thought you heard the bell jingle?” Grace asked Lottie. “Is it possible someone slipped in and nicked them?”

“But I looked twice and didn’t see anybody,” Lottie said.

“Still,” Grace said, “it’s odd you heard the jingle twice, isn’t it?”

“Did you just discover they were gone?” Marco asked.

“Jillian called about them,” I said. “Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have noticed until tomorrow.”

“Perhaps,” Grace said, “our thief slipped in while we were preoccupied with the Harding matter, hid behind the counter, emptied the brooches into a bag, and slipped out again.”

“Sneaky devil,” Lottie said. “I’d sure like to get my hands on him.”

“Or her,” Marco said.

We all turned to gaze at him, but I guessed at once what he was going to say. “Honey B. Haven?”

He shook his head. “Jillian.”

“It wasn’t Jillian!” I cried.

“Then why is it,” he posed, “that each time your cousin inquires about a brooch, you can’t find it? You search all over the shop, then decide it’s been stolen. Next step is for Jillian to come in and raise a stink over it, so that you’re tripping all over yourself trying to make it up to her.”

“I do not trip all over myself. I just feel bad when she comes down here for nothing, not to mention that someone is stealing my merchandise.”

“Maybe that’s the idea,” Marco said. “She wants to make you feel bad.”

“Surely Abby’s cousin wouldn’t be so cruel as to steal as a practical joke,” Grace said.

“And it’s not like she can’t afford to buy the brooch,” Lottie added.

“Marco’s theory is that Jillian is playing with my mind,” I explained with an eye roll.

“Mind games?” Grace asked. “For what purpose?”

“I get what Marco means,” Lottie said. “Jillian wants to be like big cousin Abby, and at the same time she resents Abby for it because she sees herself as superior. So this is her way of getting back-playing little mind games.”

“Jillian isn’t that clever,” Grace said flatly.

“That would be a pretty sick joke, even for her,” I said.

Marco lifted an eyebrow. I was always amazed how much he could convey with that tiny gesture. “It’s worth investigating before we file a police report, isn’t it?”

“How do you plan to investigate?” I asked warily.

“To start with, I’ll have a little talk with her.”

“Talk,” I asked, feeling a sliver of panic in my gut, “as in interrogate?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Marco said, “unless I have to.”

“Oh, Lordy,” Lottie said, rolling her eyes.

“Questioning Jillian would be a very bad idea, Marco,” I said. “She’s a lot shrewder than she looks… or acts… or talks. If you start quizzing her about the brooch, she’ll know right away you suspect her of stealing it.”

“She has that animal cunning,” Grace added.

Marco sighed impatiently. “I know how to do my job.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. “It’s not Jillian who concerns me as much as what this could do to my already tarnished reputation in the family. I mean, they’re still trying to figure out how I got booted from law school. Then to have the man to whom they are expecting me to become engaged treating my own cousin as a suspect in a robbery?”

“Wouldn’t be good,” Lottie said, shaking her head.

“Do you have any idea what they’ll do if they find out you interrogated Jillian about the brooches?” I asked him. “Picture a school of hungry piranhas-”

“Calm down, Sunshine,” Marco said. “Wouldn’t you rather have me talk to Jillian than have the police pick her up for questioning?”

“Why? It’d be off our shoulders.”

“Maybe so, but what if the police find out that Jillian’s the culprit?” Marco asked.

“Again, Marco. Off. Our. Shoulders.”

He took the phone from the shelf and hit REDIAL, then held it up high when I tried to get it from him. He turned his back on me to say, “Jillian. Hey, it’s Marco. Would you come down to Bloomers? It won’t take long. Yep, it’s about the brooch. Thank you.”

He hit END and gave me the phone.

I blinked rapidly, trying to fire up my stunned brain cells. “You asked Jillian to come here?”

“It’s always better to confront in person.”

“But here? Where I am?”

“And where I am.”

Where I wished he wasn’t at that moment.

I sank onto the wicker settee next to the armoire and leaned my head back with a groan. Marco was going to confront drama queen Jillian Ophelia Knight-Osborne. In my shop. I would pay for this forever.

When Jillian breezed in fifteen minutes later, Lottie came to let us know, then said, “Grace is cleaning the coffeepots in the parlor and I’ll be in the kitchen… hiding.”

Marco got up. “Let me handle it.”

“No problem,” I said. “I’ll just retire to the cooler until the furor dies down.”

“There’s not going to be a furor. I know how to deal with your cousin.”

“Right. Thaw me gently.”

Marco shook his head and stepped through the curtain into the shop. I eyed the cooler, then sighed and followed him. It wasn’t often I got to witness someone self-destruct.

Jillian was standing in front of the counter, arms folded, wearing a short black-and-white leopard print swing coat, red cashmere beret, shiny red tote bag, and black patent boots. She glanced from Marco to me. “Where’s the brooch? Do you have it wrapped yet? I’m in a hurry.”

“Nice beret,” Marco said, leaning his hip against the counter.

I stared at him, trying to get him to see the pleading look in my eyes: Don’t do this, Marco. He ignored me.

Unable to resist a compliment, Jillian took off her beret and patted it. “Thanks. I got it to replace the one that was stolen.”