CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he limo idled half a block away from the police station. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. “What do you want me to do?”

“Follow them.”

The driver put the big sedan in gear and eased out onto the street. Nothing easier than tailing a bright yellow Corvette. Those two showing up here had been something of a surprise, though, especially coming on the heels of that broad slipping away before she could be silenced.

The driver cast another glance in the mirror. It always amazed him how well his boss hid his feelings. It was only the clickity-click of those tiny seashells he was palming that indicated how hard his brain was working.

“Bad luck tonight, huh?” he commented, trying to make conversation.

“For now.”

“What do we do about the florist?”

“Nothing for now. She doesn’t realize what she has, so it will be merely a matter of looking for it where we failed to look before. Then I’ll decide whether we need to do anything more with her.”

The driver shook his head. “I don’t know, boss. You might have a problem with her boyfriend. He seems to be attached to her at the hip.”

“She will be without him sometime. And then we’ll make our move.”

“I am so busted,” Rafe said as we sped along the Red Arrow Highway, heading for Indiana. He had the passenger seat tilted back as far as it would go and one arm flung across his eyes. “What are you going to tell my brother?”

“I’m thinking.”

It was midnight Michigan time, eleven o’clock p.m. at home, where a very perturbed Salvare awaited our arrival. Thanks to a vigilant neighborhood watch group, we had spent the last hour and a half at the New Buffalo police station, answering questions and being printed and photographed, hoping and praying that my dear friend Reilly would come through for us.

Bless Reilly’s heart, he did. He called a cop he knew in New Buffalo and arranged our release, although he grumbled when he learned I’d referred to him as my extremely close friend and New Chapel police sergeant. Still, I didn’t know how I’d ever repay him.

But first I had to figure out how to explain everything to Marco.

“Okay, how’s this?” I asked Rafe. “We’ll say that I had to go to New Buffalo anyway because… Forget it. He wouldn’t buy it. Do you have any ideas?”

“Honesty is the best policy,” Rafe said. “That’s what Mama always taught us.”

“You’re right.” I sighed morosely. “I’ll have to confess.” He sat upright. “Are you out of your mind?”

“You just said honesty was the best policy.”

“I’m not rational. Don’t listen to me.” Rafe flopped backward against the seat. “I shouldn’t have listened to you; that’s for sure.”

“Hey! You were just as eager to get out this evening as I was. Don’t even start with me.”

Rafe sighed. “Sorry. I just don’t want Marco to send me back to Ohio.”

“Why not? I got the impression you lived like a prince there.”

“Who told you that? Do you seriously think my mom would treat me like a prince? Have you met the woman? She’s an Italian commando. Never mind. You wouldn’t understand. You don’t have any idea what it’s like to have your mother telling you what to do all the time, and comparing you to your older, successful brother and sisters.”

Actually, I did know.

“It’s not my fault I’m different than them,” he muttered.

Boy, I heard that loud and clear. It made me feel even more remorseful for involving Rafe in my scheme. “Look, I do understand what you’re going through, so take my advice. Do something completely different than your siblings so there won’t be any way to compare the six of you.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Surprise them. And I promise I won’t let Marco send you home. I’ll tell him you didn’t want to come with me, but I twisted your arm, okay?”

“Awesome. Thanks. So I can still use your car tomorrow, right?”

I had a feeling I’d been played.

When I pulled into my parking spot, Marco was leaning against his Prius, arms folded, an inscrutable look on his face. Rafe saw him and groaned. “This is gonna be bad.”

I took a deep breath, stuffed my anxiety inside a balloon, and blew it out. Time to face the music. I glanced at Rafe. “Ready?”

We got out and slammed the doors. “Hey, bro,” Rafe said, striding around to the passenger side of Marco’s car. “I’m beat. Let’s go.”

“Hold it,” Marco said. “Come back here.”

I stood beside my car, twisting my keys in my hand. Marco was one parking space away. “You, too,” he said to me. “Come here.”

Like errant schoolchildren, we stood in front of him, guilty looks on our faces. “I can explain,” I said, shivering in the cold night air. “This wasn’t Rafe’s fault.”

“You’re cold. Let’s go inside and talk about it,” Marco said.

“Now?” Rafe asked. “It’s eleven thirty.”

Marco shot him a look and Rafe shut up.

At my apartment, I offered beers to the brothers and both accepted. I handed out the beers; then Marco asked us to sit on the sofa. He rolled the desk chair around so he could face us. “Okay, Abby, you first.”

Why was I thinking Spanish Inquisition?

Here we go, Abby. Make it good. I began by explaining how important it was for my own peace of mind to know Harding’s condition, and that I’d only been looking out for Marco’s peace of mind when I didn’t tell him I’d gone to the hospital to find out. If I had told him, would he have been able to concentrate on his work? No. Would he have worried? Yes. Ergo, zipped lips.

Marco said nothing.

Next, I explained that Nikki had stumbled upon the existence of H. Bebe, and that I’d felt it important to find out if she was Charlotte’s sister.

Marco still had no comment.

Finally, I said it was my idea to try the front door, and having found it unlocked, I checked inside the house to make sure there hadn’t been any foul play. Unfortunately, the neighbors saw us and called the police. Fortunately, Reilly cleared us. Then I sat back and waited.

Marco leaned forward. “Tell me what you learned.”

“Not to leave the apartment without letting you know our plans.”

“I meant,” Marco said, “what did you learn when you went inside the house?”

“Oh.” What? No lecture? I glanced at Rafe, and he shrugged.

“Okay,” I said, “judging by the half-eaten plate of food and open bottle of beer, and no car in the garage, I got the impression that someone left in a big hurry.”

“Temperature of the food?” Marco asked.

“Mashed potatoes were cold; beer was warm.”

“What else?”

“Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, we found men’s clothing in one closet, but the other closet was empty. In the bathroom, we saw men’s toiletries but not women’s, and two drawers had been cleaned out.”

“There was a Valentine in the woman’s nightstand,” Rafe added, “signed by someone named Tom.”

“It has to be Harding,” I said.

“Anything else?” Marco asked.

I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head.

Marco folded his arms. “You two had quite an evening.”

“I’m sorry we interrupted your PI job, Marco,” I said. “I hated having to ask Reilly to get us out of jail, and I know I shouldn’t have gone without letting you know. But I did it, so yell if you want. I’m okay with that, although I think we’ve had enough punishment.”

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Are you done?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Good. Now do you want to hear what I found out?” he asked.

I glanced at Rafe in disbelief. To Marco I said, “Is that it? No lecture?”

“I don’t see any reason for it. I’m betting the cops scared the living daylights out of you.”

“Duh,” Rafe said. “We had to chill at the police station for ninety-two freakin’ minutes. They treated us like criminals.”