CHAPTER ONE 

Monday, January 31st

      “Isn’t there a law that says public hallways have to be lighted?” Marco complained. “Now there are two bulbs out. How are you supposed to find your key in the dark?”

      I stopped rummaging through my duffel bag to whisper, “You’d better keep your voice down or you’ll wake the neighbors.”

      In a complete change of mood, my hunky, ex-Army Ranger boyfriend swept aside my hair back to press hot kisses against my neck. “You didn’t seem to mind waking the neighbors yesterday, Fireball.”

      “I didn’t know those neigh--” Oh, baby. His kisses were sending tingles to erotic zones I didn’t even know existed . . . and I thought he’d found them all. Hard to believe that less than a month ago, I was certain Marco and I were history.

        Where was my key? I really had to get a smaller bag.

      “Why don’t we go back to my apartment,” Marco murmured in my ear, “and extend our vacation another day?”

      Now there was an offer that was hard to refuse. Who wouldn’t want to prolong a romantic weekend with a hot, handsome hunk like Marco Salvare? He was all man, all the time, a guy who was both tough and sensitive, who could cook up a mean omelet and take down a killer all in the same day.

      Besides, after our seven hour, red-eye flight back to Indiana from Key West, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to putting in a long day at the flower shop -- I don’t do well on only a few hours’ sleep – but as Bloomer’s owner, I couldn’t ignore my responsibilities either. So as much as it pained me, I had to decline.

       Abandoning my key hunt, I wound my arms around his neck and gazed up at him, his sexy brown eyes barely visible in the darkness. “I really, really wish I could, Marco, but you know how hectic Mondays are. And besides, Lottie and Grace are expecting me. But it’s a nice thought.” Almost too nice to let go.

      “Yeah, I figured as much.”

      Reluctantly, I released him to start rummaging again. “What time is it, anyway? Is it six o’clock yet? I still have to unpack, shower . . .”

      Marco ran his hands over my shoulders and down my arms, his body close to mine, the seductive aroma of his spicy aftershave calling forth sweet memories of our weekend. “How about that?” he murmured in my ear. “I was planning to shower, too.”

      My fingers closed around the key at last and I pressed it into his palm. “You know what they say. Two can shower as cheaply as one.”

      “I think we should test that notion right now.” He started to unlock the door, then paused. “Nikki will be asleep, right?”

      “Deja vu. You asked me that same question last Sunday night.”

      “And the answer was?”

      “Nikki is depressed and dateless. She’ll be sound asleep until noon.”

      “Sound asleep . . . as in, nothing will wake her?”

      “Except for smoke alarms.”

      “Then we’ll have to be careful and not set them off.”

      “Like we did Saturday night?”

      “Like we did twice Saturday night.” Marco tilted my chin and kissed me, a deep, hot, stirring kiss that made me glad there were no smoke alarms directly overhead.

      Somehow he managed to unlock the door, back me inside, drag our bags in with his foot, close the door and lock it without breaking our kiss. I dropped my pea coat and purse on the floor and we began fumbling at each other’s clothing, still kissing hot and heavy.

      All at once, someone pounded on the door, shouting, “New Chapel Police. Open up!”

      With a gasp I jumped back as though I’d done something illegal. Our watch cat, Simon, who had just come around the corner to greet us, arched his back menacingly at the disturbance, then changed his mind and fled the scene, his claws skittering on the hallway tile. Some protector he was.

      “What’s going on?” Marco exclaimed, buttoning his shirt as he started for the door.

      “Could it be Reilly playing some stupid joke? But how would he have gotten into the building without us buzzing him in?”

      Marco peered through the peep hole, muttered about the light being out, then flipped the switch for my front hallway light and opened the door, leaving the chain in place. “It’s not Reilly,” he said quietly, so I ducked beneath his arm to peer through the crack.

      Two men in blue uniform stood outside, neither of whom was our buddy, Sgt. Sean Reilly of the New Chapel police department. One cop appeared to be in his mid-thirties, about five years older than Marco. The other had a boyish build, a smooth, baby face, and a belligerent stance that young cops often adopted to make them seem experienced.

      Quickly, I backed back out of sight. What had I done this time?

      “What’s up?” Marco asked nonchalantly. Men in uniform didn’t intimidate him. He’d served on the New Chapel police force for about a year after his Army Ranger days -- until all the rules and regulations, as well as a vindictive watch commander, got to him.

      “We’re looking for Nikki Hiduke,” a mature voice said.

      Nikki? That was novel.

 “What business do you have with Nikki?” Marco asked.

      “Is she here or not?” a tenor voice demanded. The younger officer was clearly unwilling to divulge any info. He probably had no clue he was talking to an ex-cop.

      “She might be here,” Marco replied coolly.

      Just to be sure, I looked around and spotted Nikki’s keys on the table.

      “Is it all right if we step inside?” the deep voice asked politely. “You might not want the neighbors in on this.”

      Yikes. That didn’t sound good.

      Marco unchained the door, pulled it open, and stepped back to allow them to enter, putting me in full view. Out in the hallway, Mr. Bodenhammer, the building superintendent, tried to get a peek inside before Marco shut the door, solving the mystery as to how the police got in.

      “How’s it going, Pete?” Marco said, obviously recognizing him.

      “Business as usual. That’s why we’re here.”

      “Are you Nikki?” the rookie asked me. He was definitely new to the force, because only a newbie would see my bright red hair and freckles and not know who I was. Not that I was a celebrity or anything. More like the town’s trouble magnet.

      “I’m Abby Knight,” I said, “Nikki’s my roommate.”

       “You’re the florist, right?” the cop named Pete asked.

      It was such a pleasure to hear myself labeled as something other than “the troublemaker who flunked out of law school” that I nodded eagerly. In a college town like mine, a flunk-out was the equivalent of being the village idiot.

      “Yeah, I thought that was you.” To his partner he added, “She’s the one keeps sticking her nose into police business.”

      “Excuse me,” I said, taking exception to his remark. “I helped solve a few murder cases by sticking my nose into police business. And I’ll have you know that my dad was a sergeant on the police force before a drug dealer’s bullet put him out of commission.”

      “Abby,” Marco said quietly, laying a hand on my arm as though he feared I might take a swing at the guy. Although I measured in at a mere five feet two inches, Marco knew that I knew how to throw a punch. 

      At that moment, Nikki came around the corner sleepily rubbing her eyes, her spiked blonde hair sticking up more than usual. She’d tied her purple robe tightly around her tall, slender body and stuck her feet into giant dark purple slippers, making her long legs look like cocktail picks capped by Kalamata olives.

      “What’s all the noise about?” she asked with a yawn.

      Marco glanced around in surprise, then gave me a pointed look, obviously remembering my comment about the smoke alarms. Okay, so she was awakened by smoke alarms and police raids.

      “Nikki Hiduke?” the younger cop tried again.

      She squinted at him, unable to see anything but blurred shapes without her contacts. “Yes?”

      He showed her his badge, which she had to bring up close to her face. “Would you get your coat and come with us to the police station, please? We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”

      She looked from one to the other in confusion. “In my pajamas?”

      I knew Nikki wasn’t completely awake or she would have asked a far more pertinent question, which is exactly what Marco did. “You want to tell us what this is about?” he said.

      I stepped in front of Nikki in a valiant act of self-sacrifice. “And why does she have to go with you to answer questions? Why can’t you talk to her here?”

      “We need to talk to her,” the rookie said immediately, thumbs hooked in his thick leather belt, “down at the station.”

      “I got that part the first time,” I said. “But what about? She has the right to know.”

      “I don’t hear her asking,” the rookie fired back. He was starting to get on my nerves.

      “Nikki, ask them why they want to talk to you,” Marco instructed.

      As she opened her mouth to speak, the rookie said, “She’s wanted for questioning in a homicide.”

      At that, Nikki and I both opened our mouths, but only to gasp. I turned and met her shocked stare, and she gave me a look that said, I don’t have a clue what’s going on.

      “Do you know a man by the name of Jonas Treat?” Pete the cop asked her.

      “Yes,” she answered. The name rang a bell with me, but I couldn’t place it. 

      “He was murdered during the night,” the rookie announced, looking very pleased for having that information.

      Nikki gasped again. I whispered to her, “Is Jonas Treat the guy with the Ferrari from the speed dating event?”

      She gave me a quick nod.

      “How was he murdered?” Marco asked the cops.

      “You know I can’t give you that information, Salvare,” Pete said. “You’re a civilian now.”

      “Nikki doesn’t need to go down to the station to answer your questions,” I told Pete. “She met this man only briefly last Thursday night at a social event. Tell them, Nikki.”

      My roommate merely put a hand over her mouth, as if in shock.

      “Nikki,” I urged, “tell them.”

      “Yes,” said the younger cop, with a sly gleam in his eye. “And while you’re at it, tell us where you were last night.”

      Bewildered, I glanced at her and noticed that her face had taken on an ashen hue, as though she might throw up. What was going on?

      “Nikki, you don’t have to answer any questions,” Marco said quietly. “Just state that you want your lawyer present.”

      “Were you with a man named Jonas Treat yesterday evening?” Pete asked anyway.

      When she merely stared at them, I whispered, “What’s wrong with you? Tell them no.”

      She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Abby.”

      Sorry?

      “Okay,” Pete said, stepping toward Nikki, “Get your coat and let’s go.”

      Suddenly I got it: Nikki had gone out with Jonas – in spite of my best efforts to warn her away from him. “Oh, Nikki, you didn’t!”

      “I couldn’t help it, Abby. Jonas was--”

      “Nikki,” Marco snapped, causing her to jump, “Don’t say another word.”

      She looked perplexed. “I was only going to say he was--”

      Marco put up his hand to stop her. “Anything you say can be used against you. Abby is going to call Dave Hammond and have him meet you at the station.” Marco turned toward Pete. “Is it okay if she puts on some decent clothes first?”

      “And my c-contact lenses?” Nikki asked, visibly trembling.

      The younger cop tapped the face of his watch. “We’ll give you five minutes. I’ll be right outside your door, so don’t even think about sneaking out a window.”

      As if Nikki would ever do that. Now, me, that was a different story.

      “I told you that speed dating thing was a bad idea,” Marco murmured in my ear.

      My stomach knotted as I watched poor Nikki lead the young cop through our small living room, heading for the hallway. Just before stepping out of sight, the rookie turned to give me a glare, as though I might be plotting her escape.

      “Abby, you want to make that call now?” Marco asked.

      I raced off to use the phone in our tiny galley kitchen, huddling in the far corner by the refrigerator so as not to be overheard. At Dave’s answer, I said, “Hi, it’s Abby. I hope I didn’t wake you, but the cops are taking Nikki down to the station for questioning in a murder and--”

      “Slow down, Abby, I just woke up. Your roommate Nikki? The girl who looks like Bambi?”

      “That’s the one. Nikki met this guy at a speed dating event a few days ago, Dave, and apparently went out with him last night, against my advice let me just say right up front, and then he was killed sometime after that and now the cops think she had something to do with--”

      “Abby! Take a breath before you pass out.”

      I followed his advice and gulped air. “Will you meet her at the police station, Dave? Quickly? Before the cops pressure her into answering questions?”

      “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Make sure you instruct her not to talk to anyone.”

      “I will. Thanks, Dave. You’re a champ.”

      Dave truly was a champion attorney. During my year of law school, I was fortunate enough to clerk for him, an experience that taught me many invaluable lessons, such as what a good lawyer was supposed to be like -- and it wasn’t to file a bunch of trivial motions with the court in order to rack up huge client fees. Thank goodness for that now, because who knew what Nikki’s legal costs would be if Dave ended up having to defend her in a murder case.

      I pressed my fingers to my temples, forcing my thoughts to stop right there, because surely it would never come to that.