Sleeping with Anemone (36 page)

“Thanks to some quick thinking by my dad, we’re both all right. Marco, Dad was amazing. He tricked Kana into eating Mom’s red-hot candy, then took him down to the floor in a choke hold. He was fearless.”

“That’s where you get that quality, Abby, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Really? You think I’m fearless?”

“Fiercely.”

We went to see how Dad was faring. He was back in his wheelchair, thanks to the cops, with a cloth pressed to the cut on his neck. Kana had been hauled to his feet, rehandcuffed with his hands behind his back, and searched. He was still drooling and begging for water, which Reilly was just now bringing to him.

I filled Reilly and Marco in on our ordeal, how the brooch had ended up at Bloomers instead of Tom’s Green Thumb, Harding’s role in the theft, and what I’d been able to get Kana to admit.

“So Kana was the mastermind behind the kidnappings,” Reilly said, sizing up the Hawaiian.

“Kana planted a listening device in that flashlight he left for me,” I told Marco. “That’s how he found out the brooch was here. I dropped it and discovered the bug, so I knew he’d heard me call my mom and tell her to have the brooch ready. I dashed over to pick it up, but Kana got here before I left.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Reilly asked. “I would’ve come to pick it up.”

“I—” Didn’t have a good reason.

“My fault,” Dad said. “I asked her to keep me company.” >

I smiled Dad my thanks, then glanced over at Kana, who was greedily drinking the water. “Reilly, the knife your guys found in his coat is probably the murder weapon used on Hudge. Kana admitted he slipped into the jail and killed Hudge.”

“Wait a minute,” Reilly said. “No one can just walk into the county jail.”

“Then you might want to have Mr. Kana tell you how to fix that security glitch, because he got in. And check with the cops in Maui, too. I’m guessing his knife might have been used to kill the young man who shipped that brooch here.”

“You won’t be able to prove a thing,” Kana said in a hoarse whisper.

“There are people who can help us with that,” Marco said. “Like Tom Harding.”

“Who, as it happens,” Reilly said, “came out of his coma today.”

Kana’s gaze darted from Marco to Reilly, as though seeking verification, so Reilly added, “Two hours ago. Brain swelling went down. He’ll be singing like a bird by tomorrow.”

Kana didn’t look quite as sure of himself as two officers marched him out to the cruiser.

“Is it true?” I asked Reilly. “Is Harding going to be okay?”

“We still don’t know. I just wanted to give the guy something to worry about.”

I went to give my dad a big hug. “Diabetic shock. That was an amazing idea.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Dad said, but I could tell he was proud of himself.

“You should have seen him in action, Marco.” I hugged my father again and whispered in his ear, “I think I have a new hero.”

“Abby!” Dad said, giving me a warning look.

“Just kidding.”

“So your mom’s candy saved the day?” Marco asked, putting the lid on the jar.

I glanced at my dad and we both opened our eyes wide at the enormity of it.

“You can’t tell her,” I said to Dad.

“Tell her what? That the candy I’ve been saying nearly wiped out her family ended up saving our lives? Believe me, Ab, she won’t hear it from me.”

I handed the brooch to Reilly; then we stayed at the house long enough to give statements to the police. Afterward, Marco walked me to the minivan, where I leaned against the side of the van and let him kiss me.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I said. “And I’m very glad you came here with Reilly.”

“I had no choice. You gave me an order. ‘Pick up the brooch now.’ ”

I laughed. “You heard only the last part of that message. I had just figured out that Kana was listening in on my conversations, so I was trying to make him think the cops were on their way to my parents’ house. Not that it worked.”

“After the Cadillac tried to broadside me, I called Bloomers to let you know what happened, and Lottie said you and the minivan were gone. I phoned Reilly and he met me here.”

“As Tara would say, you arrived just in the nick of time, like in the movies. Did you ever find out how those anemone petals got smashed into the treads of Charlotte’s shoes? Or why Attorney Knowles fired her?”

“Yes to both. When I went back to Tom’s Green Thumb to talk to Robin, she reported finding a mess on the stockroom floor after the anemones were delivered. Most of the flowers were destroyed and petals were all over the place. She said it looked like someone had a tantrum. Anyone walking through the stockroom before they’d been cleaned up would have gotten petals stuck on the bottom of their shoes, and deep treads would’ve held them there.

“Then Harding must have met with Hudge and Bebe before the flowers were cleaned up. He probably threw a fit when they botched the second kidnapping.

“And as for Knowles, he fired Charlotte for stealing office supplies.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” He kissed me. “Satisfied?”

“Yes.” I gave Marco a hug. “I’m so relieved you’re not hurt.”

“How do you think I feel about you and your dad? If you had waited for me to take you to your parents’ house, none of this would have happened.”

Not true. Kana would have showed up before we got there. But it was over and everything had worked out, so why bring it up? “I’m sorry, Marco. I’ll try to make sure it never happens again.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “You’re not going to list your reasons for not waiting?”

“Nope. I’m done with lists. I’d rather contemplate your positive qualities.”

“I’m not even going to ask you to explain.”

“Okay, you can kiss me again instead.”

His mouth curved up at the corner. “We can do a lot more than that.”

“Tonight?”

“Later tonight.”

Things were looking up.

“And tomorrow,” he said, his lips against my ear, “my place for dinner?”

“Perfect. Just the two of us—” I pushed away from him. “Your mother invited me to dinner, didn’t she?”

“Yep.”

Things were no longer looking up.

“H
ow do I look?” I asked Marco, turning for him. For his mother’s Saturday dinner, I’d put on a black pencil skirt and powder blue shawl-neck sweater with black pumps, hoping to impress Mrs. Salvare with my sensible yet stylish outfit.

“You always look beautiful, Abby.”

That lie right there was reason enough to tear up my list.

Marco held out my coat so I could slip into it. “We’d better go. Mama will be pulling that pan of lasagna out of the oven in ten minutes. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

My stomach tensed at the thought of facing Francesca Salvare. I knew she’d quiz us about our engagement plans, except we still didn’t have any. Marco and I had wanted to have our discussion last night, but by the time he’d spent several hours on his PI case, it was so late when he arrived at my apartment, all we could do was tumble into bed. Together. A hot, sweaty, lusty, rousing
tumble
! After which we fell into an exhausted but thoroughly satiated sleep.

We awoke to Marco’s cell phone chirping—a call from his mom wondering why he wasn’t home. Had he been on surveillance all night? At which point Marco had drawn me against his warm, hard body and assured her he had indeed been undercover.

Because we’d slept in, and it was my Saturday to work, I had to scramble to get to Bloomers before nine o’clock. On the plus side, however, since I no longer had to fear being kidnapped, I got to drive my Vette all by myself. I smiled at Marco as he helped me into my coat. Life was good again.

Except . . .

It was time to face the music. Fish or cut bait. No more waffling. We’d delayed long enough, and I felt certain his mom was going to ask when this engagement was going to happen—she’d certainly hinted enough—and not let us off the hook until we gave her an answer.

“What are we going to say when your mom asks about our engagement?” I asked as Marco opened the car door for me.

“What do you want to say?”

“What do I want to say or what does she want to hear?”

“Whichever.”

“Whichever what?”

“Whichever you want to answer.”

This was getting us nowhere fast. “What would
you
answer?”

He pursed his lips, thinking. “We should have discussed this last night.”

“But we didn’t.”

He glanced at me. “Are you sorry?”

“About last night? Are you serious?”

He reached over to squeeze my hand. “Happy?”

“Of course, silly, and madly in love with you. How about you?”

He lifted an eyebrow. That little gesture was enough to make my pulse race, especially after last night. “Same here, Fireball.”

So why were we both dancing around the idea of commitment?

When we pulled up in front of the white two-story that housed Marco’s apartment, I noticed my parents’ specially equipped van parked at the curb. “Marco, what are my parents doing here? I talked to my mom on the phone this morning. She didn’t mention anything about coming over.”

“They must be planning another ambush.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t show up.”

Marco gave me a look that said,
You have to be kidding.

“My Prius is gone,” Marco noted as he walked me to the front porch. “That means Rafe isn’t back yet. He said he had to drop something off at his girlfriend’s place, but he promised to be here in time for dinner.”

“Is this the girl from Hooters? The one he wanted to impress with my Vette last night?”

“That’s the one.”

“He’s not going to leave her to come back here for dinner, you know.”

“I agree.”

Great. No Rafe to distract Marco’s mom. It was just us and the parents. I nibbled my lower lip as we climbed the steps to the second floor and stepped into his living room. It was a decidedly masculine space with lots of big furniture and a huge, flat-panel TV. My mom was seated on the sofa, my dad was in his wheelchair, and both had glasses of wine. Dad’s crutches, I noticed, were near the staircase. He’d had to use them to get up the stairs.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming tonight,” I said to them, as Marco took my coat.

“Your mom just informed me two hours ago,” Dad said.

Mom merely smiled.

At that moment, Marco’s mother bustled into the room, a younger but not quite as pretty version of Sophia Loren, luxurious dark hair, wide smile, gorgeous curves and all. She wore a black dress with a colorful apron tied around her waist and had a wooden spoon in her hand.

“Bella Abby!” she cried, enveloping me in a warm hug. “I’m so happy to see you.” She turned to Marco. “Why are you standing there? Get her a glass of wine and one for yourself. Dinner is ready and where is your brother? Well, no matter. He’ll be here soon. Everyone, come eat!”

We arranged ourselves around Marco’s table, where Mrs. Salvare lifted her wineglass and waited for us to follow suit. “Now, then, I believe we have someone who wants to make an announcement.”

I gripped Marco’s fingers under the table. Yikes!

My mom cleared her throat. “I am happy to announce that my dissension group is going to meet with Mr. Raand and members of the local media at Uniworld next Wednesday evening to discuss the new dairy operation.”

Whew! That was close. “Raand agreed to that?” I asked.

Dad sent me a look that said,
Let your mom finish
.

“We are going to demand that no bovine hormones, or any other kind of hormones, be used on their cows,” Mom continued. “Instead, we are going to ask them to implement a method that dairy farmers around the world have been using for centuries, namely, that they will talk to their cows, provide calming music for them, and name them.”

“Brava, Maureen,” Mrs. Salvare said, applauding.

I clapped, too, although I kept picturing Nils Raand’s stupefied expression when he heard their demands. “That’s a great plan, Mom, but do you think you have a chance of getting Uniworld to cooperate?”

“I certainly do, and here’s what I intend to read aloud,” Mom said, pulling a sheet of paper from her purse. “According to an article in
USA Today
, in a study conducted by scientists at Newcastle University in Newcastle upon Tyne, it was discovered that more affectionate treatment of cattle, including giving cows names, can increase milk production by more than sixty-eight gallons annually.”

Mom looked up at us. “The reason for that is chemical. When a cow is treated cruelly, the stress causes the release of cortisol, a hormone that inhibits milk production. By using bovine hormones and creating oversized, painful udders, Uniworld would actually decrease milk production. And anyone drinking that milk would not only get a dose of bovine hormones, but cortisol as well.