Page 152 of Fearless

Maggie sucked at the inside of her cheek. “I think so, yeah, but I think he knew that would never happen. Just like I think he knows he has lots to prove before someone hands him an officer patch and puts him in charge of anything.”

Jackie nodded. “Collier thought…well, nevermind.”

“Not ‘nevermind.’ ” Maggie plucked at her purse when she would have pulled away. “What?”

“It’s nothing. Really, it’s not. I just…”

Maggie was getting irritated. “Just what?”

“Don’t want there to be some sort of internal politics bullshit in addition to the external bullshit we’ve got going on,” Jackie said in a rush, with a loud exhale on the end, like she’d been wanting to say that for days, and was relieved to get it off her chest.

It was anything but a relief to Maggie. “Does Collier think there’s internal politics bullshit?”

“No. No…he just…he’s worried, is all.”

“And you just thought you’d mention it to me, ‘is all,’ so I could put a bug in Ghost’s ear and get things all smoothed over, right?”

Jackie looked startled.

“If the boys have a problem, then it’s their problem to handle,” Maggie said. “I’ve got a enough to worry about keeping Dartmoor running, keeping all of them fed and partied and alive and bullet-hole-free. Their arguments they have to settle themselves.”

Jackie glanced away, blinking hard. She looked nothing like herself, pale and rattled all of a sudden.

“Jackie, what’s wrong? Are you guys having problems–”

“No.” She shook her head, hair falling across her face. “Forget I said anything. Just nerves, you know.” She held up one trembling hand to prove her point.

Maggie frowned. She felt like she’d just learned her ship was taking on water…as they plowed straight toward an enemy vessel.No, she wanted to say,I didn’t think there was any personal bullshit – not until you made me think it!

She said, “Let’s get this over with. We can stop at Bell Bar for lunch. Get you some anxiety medication,” she added with a humorless chuckle.

Jackie just nodded and pushed her hair back, still looking drawn and uncertain.

Maggie made a mental note to keep an eye on…whatever this was…and then shoved it aside. She smoothed her expression and reached for the door handle of As a Daisy flower shop, one last check over her shoulder to see that Harry was in place. He was watching them with just the right amount of casual intensity.

She was putting in a good word for him with her hubby, she decided.

Daisy was a tiny rectangular shop, the center packed with displays of vases, balloons, baskets, grapevine wreaths, florist foam, glass jars, and wooden boxes: things to put your flowers in. There were big bins of glass beads of every color, smooth river stones, bright rough gravel; tubs of faux Spanish moss, green moss, yellow moss. Spools and spools of ribbon, the ends lolling like tongues, fluttering in the drafts of AC. The cut flowers were in the coolers that lined the side and back walls. And the desk sat dead center, the shop’s proprietress standing behind it, arranging calla lilies in a narrow, fluted vase trimmed in blue ribbon.

Ramona Baily glanced up briefly, that habitual checking of new customers. “Welcome to…” Then she did a double take and trailed off, her eyes going wide behind her black-framed, rectangular glasses.

“Maggie,” she said, voice toneless with surprise. “Jackie. Hi.”

Maggie pretended to inspect a heavy porcelain milk jug, running a finger down its glossy side, while she scrutinized Ramona from behind her sunglasses. “Hi.” She affected bored. “How much is this?”

Ramona pushed her glasses up into her short dark hair and Maggie saw the first faint sheen of perspiration at the woman’s temples. Fear. She ignored the question. “I meant to send an arrangement to the funeral. I’m sorry I didn’t. I’ve been so swamped lately–”

Maggie waved her quiet and edged toward the desk as she inspected the collection of glass beads. “You don’t ever send flowers to club events as a gift. Why should you start now?”

“Oh.” Loud sound of her swallowing. “Well, I just thought it would be a nice thing to do.”

“You mean, because you weren’t available to do the flowers for the funeral in a business sense.”

Slow, careful voice: “Right.”

“Flanders seemed to think,” Jackie spoke up, gliding perfectly into the dance from her position beside the desk and startling Ramona again, “that our business wouldn’t be welcome here.” Her brows were notched with worry, her voice a perfect blend of hurt and confused.

Ramona’s gaze swiveled between the two of them, hair slinging at the ends. “No, I never – I’ve been busy is all.” She let out a high, thin, nervous laugh. “You guys know Flanders. He loves gossip. Any excuse to wring his hands and get flustered, and he’ll take it.”

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