Snipped in the Bud by Kate Collins Page A

conference call with your father.”
    “Mom, that’s not necessary. I’ll talk to you both later, when you get home from school.”
    “Do you really think my nerves will hold out until then?”
    “Okay, fine,” I said, and settled back to wait for my father to get on. It took him a little longer to do things. More than three years ago he’d lost the use of his legs after a felon’s bullet struck him in the thigh and an operation to remove it had caused a stroke. With therapy he had regained most of his speech, but he was still in a wheelchair. He’d retired from the police force shortly after the shooting and was currently teaching himself genealogy. He hoped to write a biography of the Knight family one day, starting with his great-grandfather, who’d come over from Ireland. Having heard many of the stories, I had a feeling the bookstores would probably shelve the book next to Ripley’s Believe It or Not . We had some quirky skeletons in our closet. Thank goodness the oddball gene had skipped my generation.
    I heard a click and then my mother said, “Okay, Abigail, your father’s on. Go ahead.”
    As I launched into a sanitized version of my afternoon, Lottie came in to finish a topiary made with deep-coral alstroemerias, ming fern, and jessamine foliage. I watched her work her magic as I talked, and finally ended my story with Dave Hammond’s comforting assurance that the matter would probably come to nothing. My mother apparently tuned out that last part.
    “Oh, dear God!” she cried. “Jeffrey, you have to call someone to make sure Abby’s not a suspect. You still know people on the force.”
    “Maureen, calm down. No one said she was a suspect. It’s not like they told her not to leave town.”
    Gulp.
    “But she was questioned, Jeff. Our baby! That’s just not right.”
    “It’s standard police procedure.”
    Their debate raged on, so I finally said, “I’d love to stay and chat but I have orders to fill. Love you both,” and hung up. I’d dodged the bullet temporarily.
    “Is she freaking out?” Lottie asked.
    “She can’t yet. She’s at school.” I turned to get up and there was Grace, holding the lapels of her blazer—her lecture pose.
    “That’s a new jacket, isn’t it?” I asked her. “I really like it over that blouse.”
    I heard Lottie cough and knew she was trying to cover her laugh at my attempt to divert Grace’s attention.
    “Thank you, dear. Yes, it is new. And I’d like to share something that William Shakespeare wrote in the Second Part of King Henry the Fourth .”
    The phone rang. “Excuse me a minute,” I said and turned to pick it up before Lottie could get it. No offense to Grace, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear from any of King Henry’s parts, even the more interesting ones.
    It was Marco. “Are you all right? I left a message for you to call.”
    “I’m fine. I just got back to the shop. Reilly put me through quite a grilling.”
    “Whoa. Why would he put you through a grilling?”
    I took a quick glance over my shoulder and saw Grace waiting patiently. “This might take a while,” I whispered to her. The bell over the door chimed, so she left.
    “I found the body, Marco. Can you believe Reilly actually told me not to leave town?”
    “Wait. You found the body?”
    Marco must have been the only one in town who hadn’t heard the news, and by the tone of his voice I knew I needed to put a good spin on it. “Remember when I told you I was going back for my flower and you said to do what I had to do?”
    “I’m coming down.” There was a click on the other end.
    I hung up and glanced over at Lottie, who was tying a sage-colored satin ribbon at the base of the topiary. “Marco’s on his way. I guess he’d rather hear the story in person.”
    “Herman is like that, too. He can’t concentrate unless he can see me; otherwise his mind wanders. Is that your stomach growling?”
    “I didn’t eat lunch.”
    She put down her pruning shears and