Free Sleeping with Anemone by Kate Collins

many people in here. You should have someone throw a burning brick through your door more often.”
    Another difference between us: the common sense gene.
    While I took another payment, Jillian roamed the displays, examining, weighing, pondering, and rejecting everything. She ended up in the parlor sipping cups of espresso until we closed up shop at five o’clock.
    “Okay,” she said, returning from the bathroom, “what am I going to take to the shower?”
    “How about a gift certificate?” I asked. “The bride-to-be can pick out something for herself later or apply it toward wedding flowers, which would give me her wedding business.”
    Jillian put her hands on my shoulders and bent at the knees so she could look me straight in the eye. “Do you recall me using the word extraordinaire? Is there anything extraordinaire about a gift certificate?”
    “Perhaps an original piece of art deco jewelry?” Grace suggested as she passed by.
    Jillian’s eyes widened with enthusiasm—or maybe from too many espressos. “Art deco?”
    Grace had cleverly redeemed herself. I led Jillian to the armoire. Obviously she’d overlooked my mom’s brooch during her initial search, because it was right—nowhere. “Grace, did you move it?”
    “No, dear. Look on the middle shelf.”
    “I don’t see it.”
    Grace came over to join the hunt. Then Lottie came to help. Then the four of us did a search of the entire room, but the brooch was gone.
    “Great,” Jillian said, slipping on her coat. “I’ll have to hope Claymore can come up with an idea.” With her cell phone to her ear, she gave me a quick wave and hurried out.
    Grace flicked off the overhead lights, turned the sign to CLOSED, and locked the door. “It’s a puzzle about that brooch, isn’t it? Could someone have nicked it, then?”
    “What else could it be?” I asked as we headed for the workroom to clean up.
    “Will you tell your mum, do you think?” Grace asked.
    “She’d probably feel honored,” Lottie said, “creating something worth stealing.”
    As I swept trimmings off the floor, I considered what to do. If I told Mom her piece was stolen, she might think it was worth duplicating. If I told her someone had purchased it, I’d have to make up a price that wouldn’t hurt her feelings—and then pay her. Or maybe I just wouldn’t say anything at all and hope she didn’t notice it was missing.
    My cell phone rang. Marco’s name appeared on the screen and I answered it.
    “Hey, Sunshine, are you coming down to the bar for dinner?”
    “Um, was I supposed to?”
    “We never did get to have that discussion.”
    Oh, right. The discussion. In the background, I heard guys shouting and laughing, glasses clinking, and the noisy whir of a blender crushing ice. Ugh. “You know, Marco, after the busy day I’ve had, what I really need is to go home and unwind.”
    At a sudden furious pounding on the front door, I said, “Hold on,” and followed Lottie through the curtain.
    “Oh, dear Lord!” Lottie cried, then opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air. There stood Jillian, beret gone, hair awry, purse strap broken, and designer coat torn at the shoulder. She fell into Lottie’s arms, sobbing hysterically. “I was kidnapped!”
    Wow. Marco was right. Things were happening.

CHAPTER SIX

    “ M arco, someone tried to kidnap Jillian. I have to call the police.”
    Quickly, I ended the call, dialed 911, spoke to the emergency operator, then hung up and hurried over to my cousin to hear her story.
    “I was talking to Claymore on the phone when I left here.” Sniffle. “I put my phone in my purse, turned the corner, and bam ! Someone snatched my beret. When I went to see who it was, some thug twisted my arm behind my back and pushed me toward the street. I struggled and tried to get away, but he shoved me into this dirty old van, then climbed in with me and shut the door. Then the van pulled away.” Sniffle. “I thought for sure I was going to