Evil In Carnations (33 page)

He wrapped an arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “Isn’t it lucky for me I have a fireball for a girlfriend?”

The nurse came in and scowled at the sight of me on the bed. Sheepishly, I slid off and went to the other side while she checked Marco’s blood pressure and took his temperature. At a knock on the door frame, I glanced over and saw Reilly, out of uniform now.

“How’s it going?” Reilly asked me, with a nod toward Marco.

“He’s cracking jokes,” I replied. “That tells you something.”

As the nurse left the room, Reilly walked up to the bed. “Hey, man. You’re looking better than last time I saw you. How’s your head?”

“A little sore, but thanks to Abby, I kept it. That’s the important thing.”

“I wanted to give you an update,” Reilly said, pulling up a chair. “We got a confession from Mrs. Frey on the murder of Jonas Treat, and full cooperation from her daughter.”

“Good,” I said. “That old woman is insane. They’re not charging Iris with stalking or anything, are they?”

“Who’s going to file charges?” Reilly asked. “Jonas? Besides, she’s been through enough, what with losing her dad and putting up with that nutcase of a mother. Mrs. Frey’s being charged in her husband’s murder, too, by the way. So I’d say her life is over. And just so you know, she was also the anonymous tipster.”

I scooted back onto the bed beside Marco. “How did Mrs. Frey explain Jonas’s murder?”

“She’s been renting Miller’s old place since October, when the renovations on the second floor of the dry cleaner’s started, which is when Iris began spying on Jonas. Mrs. Frey was disgusted with Iris’s behavior, but it wasn’t until that Sunday night that she decided to put an end to it.

“Apparently, after Mrs. Frey got back from bingo, Iris took the car and was gone a long time. Mrs. Frey became suspicious, fearing Iris was up to her tricks of stalking Jonas, and biked over to the subdivision to see Iris sitting in the car in tears over ‘that pervert,’ as Mrs. Frey called Jonas. She went back home, waited until Iris went to bed, then rode to the model home and had a showdown with Jonas that ended with her pulling a knife and stabbing him. Naturally, she claims it was in self-defense, even though she stabbed him from behind.”

“How did Mrs. Frey know Jonas was at the office?” I asked.

“Iris wasn’t the only one spying from the loft,” Reilly said.

“Do you buy her story?” I asked.

Reilly shrugged. “Not for me to decide. By the way, Marco, Abby mentioned that you’d been trying to reach Hank Miller, so I thought I’d let you know one of the detectives told me Miller came into town today for a second interview. It seems you weren’t the only ones to doubt his alibi. Anyway, he was able to satisfy their questions, so they let him go back to Chicago. He’s set to fly back to Miami in the morning.”

“That solves one mystery,” Marco said. “But we still have a hit-and-run driver out there somewhere. You might want to suggest the detectives talk to Carmen Gold about that.”

“Done,” Reilly said. “After the cops put a little pressure on Carmen’s assistant—I think her name is Pamela—she was more than happy to give a statement about her boss’s act of vengeance against Jonas.”

I noticed Marco’s eyelids starting to droop. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired. You must be, too, Sunshine. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

Knowing Marco would be okay now, I decided to take him up on it. I lowered the head of the bed, then kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be back in the morning. If there’s anything you need, call me, okay?”

Barely awake, he said softly, “What I need is you. But that’ll have to wait.”

With a blush, I turned to find Reilly staring at his shoes, as if embarrassed to have overheard. “So,” he said, “need a ride home?”

 

A persistent buzzing dragged me from a deep sleep. After staying up half the night explaining everything to Nikki, who was so relieved she insisted on making big, gloppy chocolate sundaes for us, it took me a full minute to realize the noise was coming from my cell phone. I groped for it on the nightstand, then croaked, “Hello?”

“Rise and shine, Fireball,” Marco said in his husky voice. “It’s eight in the morning.”

Eight? Oh, no! I’d overslept. “Marco, you sound better. How do you feel?”

“A few bruises, still have a headache, but not too bad, considering. The doctor released me, so I’m going home to rest. Rafe is picking me up in ten minutes.”

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “That’s great!”

“Does Nikki know what happened yet?”

“I gave her the whole story last night. She’s so relieved, Marco, and so appreciative. She wants to take us out to dinner next week.”

“Okay by me. What do you want to do about your family dinner tonight?”

“I’m sure you’re not up to going.”

“I know how important this is to you, Abby. I’ll rest up today. It’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t fine with me. “What about your mom? Won’t she be hurt if you miss a meal with her?”

“She said I should go. She practically insisted.”

“You’re kidding.” That wasn’t the Francesca Salvare I knew.

“She said it would be an insult to turn down your parents’ invitation, especially after what you and I went through. So what time should I pick you up?”

“Six o’clock, but I’ll pick you up. You need to take it easy.”

I hung up with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. My mother was planning something awful; I just knew it. Why had Mrs. Salvare chosen today to be so gracious?

That feeling stayed with me while I showered, ate breakfast, drove to the flower shop, and filled Grace in on the events of the previous day.

“Oh, Abby, love! You brave, dear girl, the ordeal you went through! I never would have suspected Iris’s mother. But it all makes sense now, doesn’t it? And then to rescue the man you love!” She gave me a hug. “I’m so proud of you, dear, and so very glad you weren’t hurt.”

As tears misted her eyes, Grace straightened her shoulders. “Right, then. Have a seat and I’ll bring you a nice cup of my special coffee.”

Under Grace’s tender ministrations, I felt much better, until my mom and dad called for a full report at noon. After what seemed like an interminable grilling, Mom ended our conversation with a happy, “See you and Marco tonight. Don’t be late. You’re in for a surprise.”

And then my feeling of dread returned.

That feeling grew stronger still when Jillian stopped by, having heard the news about Mrs. Frey’s capture through the Knight family grapevine. “Wittle Abs! I’m so glad you’re safe,” she cried. “Oh, look, your hands are cut.” She picked up my hands and turned them over. “Hmm,” she said, then dropped them. “Oh, well. See you tonight.”

That was it? No questions about how I got the cuts on my hands? No questions about how I helped capture Jonas’s murderer or even what I was wearing at the time? Who was this woman impersonating my annoying cousin?

“Jillian, wait,” I called. “Exactly why did my mom call you yesterday?”

She merely wiggled her fingers at me and hurried out.

 

When I got home after work and wanted to share my feelings of impending doom with Nikki, I found her dressed for a date.

“You’ll never guess who asked me out,” she said, putting on her earrings at the mirror.

I stopped sipping my tea. “If you say Scott, I’ll banish you from my life forever.”

“Scott? Scott who?” she said, then laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve gotten a lot smarter about men since that fiasco. It’s Greg Morgan.”

I nearly spit tea all over her. “Seriously, Nikki, no jokes. Who is it?”

She turned toward me, putting her hands on either side of my face. “Greg. Morgan. He called today to tell me I’ve been cleared and to apologize for what I went through. Then he asked me out. He wants to take me to the Italian Village in Chicago. Isn’t that exciting?”

I shuddered, remembering my disastrous date with Morgan at that very restaurant, where I not only suffered through dinner with a horrendous sunburn, but also had to pin up the hem of my dress with clear tape that had crackled throughout the evening as it slowly came undone. And Morgan had been oblivious to everything. I still had nightmares about the experience.

“Nikki, this is
Morgan
, remember? Mr. Hey-Look-At-Me? Are you certain you want to go out with him?”

She smiled and nodded, her eyes bright and clear, her skin glowing. Her mojo was back. Who was I to spoil it for her?

“Go for it, girlfriend.” I gave her a hug and ran to get ready for the calamity that awaited me.

 

At six o’clock I pulled up in front of the big, two-story house where Marco had an apartment on the second floor. He came out moments later, his stride strong, his face cleanly shaved, looking as handsome as ever in his black leather jacket, a light blue mock turtleneck sweater underneath. Instead of jeans and boots, though, he had on black pants and shined shoes.

He got into the passenger side and leaned over to give me a kiss. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you, too. How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He tipped his head forward. “Stitches don’t show much, do they?”

“Not at all. Your hair covers them.”

Taking a deep breath, he buckled his seat belt and said bravely, “Let’s do this thing.”

“Are you sure? We can still cancel. I can tell my family you weren’t feeling well.”

“Come on, Abby. This is only dinner with your family. As long as you’re with me and there’s food involved, it can’t be all bad.”

“Even if my mom unveils a hideous work of art?”

“Even then.”

I held on to that thought as we headed for the country club. I held on to Marco’s hand, as well, when we walked into the sprawling modern brick building and the hostess said to me, “You’re in the library this evening, Miss Knight.”

Hmm.
That was a surprise. The library was a private dining room usually reserved for special events. I sincerely hoped it didn’t tie in with some sort of unveiling.

I led Marco toward the cozy room off to the side of the main dining room, where bookshelves lined the walnut wainscoted walls, a fire in the stone hearth crackled invitingly, and a black baby grand piano sat regally in a corner. We walked into the room and saw my family seated at the long banquet table.

At the foot of the table, nearest the door, was my dad in his wheelchair, with Mom beside him. Next were my brothers, Jonathan and Jordan, sisters-in-law Portia and Kathy, and thirteen-year-old niece, Tara, looking particularly fetching—or was that because she was a younger version of me? Beyond them were Jillian and Claymore, Aunt Corrine and Uncle Doug, and dear God! Sitting at the far end were Marco’s mother, brother, Rafe, and sister, Gina. I glanced at Marco in bewilderment. He returned my look.

My mom jumped to her feet and cried, “Here are our heroes!”

At once, all but my dad rose, cheering and clapping. “We’re so proud of both of you,” Dad said, beaming at me from his wheelchair. “You’re a chip off the old block, sweetheart—and Marco, fine job, man! You brought in another murderer. I couldn’t be prouder if you were my own son.”

“Thank you, sir,” Marco said, shaking his hand.

I stepped up to give my dad a kiss on the cheek, then saw the huge sheet cake in the middle of the table that said in giant yellow letters, CONGRATULATIONS!

Then Jillian called, “It’s a doubration!”

Everyone stopped clapping and turned to stare at her.

“Double celebration,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Duh!”

Double
celebration? I glanced back at Marco and saw his brows knit. He was clearly as befuddled as I was. He gave me a look that said,
What the hell is going on?
As if I had a clue.

“Okay, you two lovebirds,” my mom said, “tell us your other news.”

“What other news?” I asked.

“Isn’t she coy?” Mom said to the group. “Okay, honey, I’ll break the ice by being the first to congratulate you. I’m truly happy for both of you.”

I put my hand on my dad’s shoulder and whispered, “What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he said, patting my hand, “I hope we’re not spoiling your surprise too much, but we know about your engagement.”

“Our
what
?” Marco asked, as my mother drew us toward the head of the table.

“Stop pretending you don’t know what we’re talking about,” Mom said, wagging a finger at us. “We’re not the only ones who can follow clues, you know.”

“What clues?” I asked, growing exasperated.

“Let’s start with last weekend,” she said. “According to Jillian, you and Marco slipped away together, and that’s when Marco popped the question.”

“Jillian!” I cried. “I never told you that!”

She propped her chin on her palm and smiled. “You didn’t deny it, either.”

“In the first place,” I ground out, “I remember the exact moment you asked me about the weekend, and if you’d stopped complaining about the cash register mangling your fingernails long enough to let me speak—”

“So deny it now.” She gave me a smug smile. “Tell us you two didn’t go away together.”

I glanced at Marco for help, but he merely shrugged. Surrounded by a pack of gossip-hungry females, he was out of his element. “Okay, look, there was a reason we didn’t say anything.”

“Of course, dear,” Mom said, “because you wanted to surprise us. I know how you love surprises.”

Oh, God, I hated surprises. “Mom, no, you’ve got it wrong.”

“Your aunt Corrine even saw you and Marco picking out a ring at Bindstroms.”

“What?” I asked, turning toward my aunt. “When was this?”

“Yesterday,” Aunt Corrine said. “Remember when I waved to you?”

“That was Rafe!” I pointed at Marco’s brother, who seemed to be enjoying the mix-up. “Tell them why I was there, Rafe.”

“As I remember it,” he said, a devilish twinkle in his eyes, “you did look at the diamond rings.”