Send Me No Flowers (13 page)

Charlie immediately jumped up on the sofa. “A giant cockroach? Forget the police. Call an exterminator!”

Drew stifled a smile at Charlie’s reaction. His friend had an irrational fear of bugs. He’d quit the Boy Scouts just so he wouldn’t have to face insects in the wild. “Don’t worry, Dennison, they’re all dead.”

Charlie gulped. “You mean there’s more than one?”

Russell sank down onto the bottom step. “I have the most extensive cockroach collection in the country. The
Megaloblatta longipennis
was the crowning jewel, coveted by all my colleagues.” He stood up and headed toward the telephone. “One of them probably stole it. Just another case of entomologist envy. I’m calling the cops.”

“Wait a minute, Russ,” Drew said, another news headline flashing before his eyes: Mayor’s House Full of Cockroaches. “Are you sure you didn’t lose it somewhere?”

Russell rifled his hand through his blond hair. “Of course not. I always keep it in the special locked case with the rest of the collection. I left it open last night and now the Megaloblatta is gone.”

Missy the cat suddenly scampered around the corner, tossing a suspicious, brown object in the air with her paw.

Russell looked on in horror. “My Megaloblatta!” He caught it in midair, then checked it for damage. Then he breathed a long sigh of relief. “Miraculously it seems to be in good condition.”

Drew wished he could say the same about Charlie, who looked more than a little green around the gills. He turned to Russell. “Maybe you’d better take it back upstairs and put it away. You can lock the case in your bedroom closet for safekeeping. Just don’t lose the key.”

“I’ll guard it with my life,” Russell said, cradling the dead bug in his hands as he ascended the staircase.

Charlie sank down onto the sofa. “Who is that guy? Don’t tell me he’s a friend of yours.”

“Not exactly. He’s Russell Baker, a soon-to-be famous entomologist and Rachel’s fiancé.”

“Rachel? Your Rachel?”

“She’s not my Rachel,” Drew said, even though that’s exactly how he’d been thinking of her. Especially after Russell had arrived and tried to stake his claim.

“Of course she isn’t,” Charlie affirmed. “But I can’t believe that guy is her fiancé.”

“I think ex-fiancé is more accurate.” Drew had spent enough time with Russell Baker to know for certain this man was all wrong for Rachel. “He abandoned her a year ago, on Valentine’s Day.”

Charlie nodded. “So that explains it.”

“Now he’s back with some cockamamy story, claiming he’s madly in love with her. He even planned on moving in with her.” Drew shook his head. “Can you believe the nerve of that guy? But before she could turn him down, I offered him a place here. I thought it might be a good way to keep tabs on the competition.”

“By competition, do you mean Russell or Rachel?”

“Rachel, of course,” Drew replied. “Stopping this boycott is my top priority.”

Charlie eyed him shrewdly. “I hope you remember that, Drew. Especially since you plan to campaign for state attorney general in the next election.” He shook his head. “Rachel and her radical ideas would make her poison as a politician’s wife.”

“Wife?” Drew sputtered, trying to ignore the images it brought to mind. Rachel Grant sharing his name, his house, his bed. He ran a finger around his shirt collar. “Who said anything about a wife? I’m not looking for a wife, remember? I’ve already got my hands full.” His memory, now crystal clear, envisioned his hands full of Rachel last night. How warm and soft and tempting she’d been when he’d kissed her. How he’d never wanted to let her go.

“That’s good,” Charlie said. “Especially since you don’t seem to have much influence with her.” He straightened his tie. “Maybe I should give it a try. I’ve been known to distract a few women in my time.”

“Forget it, Dennison,” Drew snapped. “Rachel Grant is off-limits. We have a bet, remember? Fifty bucks says I convince her to drop the boycott by Valentine’s Day. I still have one week left.”

Charlie hitched a thumb toward the ceiling. “The question is, can you stand to live with Russell and his cockroach collection for that long?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Drew said grimly.

“Wait just a minute.” A smile slowly dawned on Charlie’s face. “This is wonderful. You’ve just found yourself the perfect weapon, Lavery.”

“Weapon?”

“The bug man. If Rachel falls in love with him again, what happens?”

“She’s kookier than I thought?”

“No,” Charlie exclaimed in a low voice. “If she falls head-over-heels for Russell, she’ll be too wrapped up in romance to bother with the boycott. In fact, she’ll probably be the first in line to
celebrate
Valentine’s Day.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Charlie’s idea made sense. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like her type.”

Charlie shrugged. “Hey, she fell for him once before. She was even engaged to the guy. There must be some sparks left. Now you just have to find a way to ignite them.”

Drew’s jaw dropped. “Me? I’m no matchmaker.”

“But you know women. Just give good old Russ some pointers. You know, teach him a few of your old tricks. C’mon, Lavery it’s for a good cause.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Drew said, resisting the idea of fixing Rachel up with another man. Especially since even the thought of her kissing another man made his gut clench. But Russell certainly had more to offer her than Drew. Love. Marriage. A world-famous cockroach collection.

Charlie shrugged. “You can always just pay me the fifty bucks from our bet now. Because unless you’ve got a better idea, this boycott is going to derail Valentine’s Day in Love.”

One week. One week to play Cupid for Rachel and Russell. The thought made him cringe. But what choice did he have if he wanted to stop the boycott?

The oven timer dinged, providing a welcome distraction. “Supper’s on. I’ve got enough if you want to stay.”

Charlie sighed. “Frozen pizza. I guess I can choke it down if you’ve got plenty of beer to go with it. Do you mind if I turn on the game? The Detroit Pistons are playing the Bulls tonight.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Drew said, heading for the kitchen. “And tell Russell it’s time to eat.”

By the time he came back from the kitchen with pizza and beer and paper plates, Russell was seated in his favorite recliner. Charlie still sat on the sofa, the remote control in his hand, an expression of horror frozen on his face.

“The Bulls must be winning,” Drew concluded, setting down the beer.

“It’s worse than that,” Charlie said. “Look.”

Drew turned his gaze to the television set. He recognized the face of television reporter Candi Conrad beaming at the camera, a raucous crowd gathering behind her. “
This is a special newsbreak brought to you by WKLV in Love, Michigan. A protest rally has begun here at the Cupid Fountain in downtown Love...
”

“Hey, there’s Rachel,” Russell exclaimed, pointing toward the television set. “Wow, she looks great! And get a load of that crazy woman climbing on top of the Cupid statue.”

“What the hell is going on?” Drew muttered as he took a better look. Then he dropped the pizza. “That’s my mom!”

She stood on a platform in front of the fountain, her cheeks a rosy red from the cold and her big brown eyes sparkling with excitement. Her silky blond hair was pulled back by oversize furry black earmuffs. Her long, black leather coat was cinched at the waist and her black boots came up to her knees. She clutched a bullhorn with a bulky red mitten, reciting her top ten reasons to boycott Valentine’s Day.

“Reason number seven,” she shouted to the enthusiastic crowd gathered around her, “those sappy love songs on the radio.”

The crowd whooped and hollered, some waving signs with the anti-Valentine’s logo emblazoned on them. A newspaper photographer jostled his way through the crowd, gleefully snapping pictures.

“Number eight,” she called out, “red hearts on underwear—need I say more?”

“Call the fashion police!” shrieked one of the protesters.

Drew didn’t see his mother anywhere. At least she wasn’t still straddling the statue. He couldn’t take another minute of this nonsense. “I need to talk to you,” he yelled over the noise of the crowd, waving his arms to get Rachel’s attention.

She smiled and waved back at him.

Drew cupped his hands around his mouth. “I said I need to talk to you!”

She shrugged and pointed to her earmuffs, indicating she couldn’t hear him. “Number nine...equal opportunity for singles.” The crowd hooted and clapped its hands in support, their applause muted by the thick mittens on their hands.

“Rachel, I need to talk to you right now!”

“What?” she mouthed, or at least, that’s what he interpreted. The crowd shifted, enabling him to edge a little closer. “I want to talk to you.”

Either she didn’t hear him or she was ignoring him, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was the latter.

“And reason number ten...all that candy causes cavities.”

The crowd exploded with laughter and muffled applause. Somebody started singing a chorus of “We Shall Overcome.” Drew reached her at last, grasping her by the shoulders. “You’re driving me crazy,” he shouted.

“What?” she asked, leaning closer to him.

“I’m crazy about you.” He’d just wanted to get her attention. Or at least, that’s what he told himself. He’d never said those words before. To any woman. He just wanted to test them out. Test himself. But instead of panicking at the words, he felt warm all the way down to his toes. Then he looked down at his shoes. Someone in the crowd had dumped their hot cocoa on the ground, soaking his white Nikes.

“I still can’t hear you,” she said, flipping off her earmuffs.

He took the bullhorn away from her before she could incite a riot. “I said, are you crazy?”

This time Rachel heard him. So did the rest of the crowd, judging by the gasps and the sudden hush falling over them. Too late, he realized his mistake. The bullhorn was still on and had picked up his words.

He turned to the crowd, among them several irate members of the chamber of commerce. “I’ve got this boycott situation completely under control,” he said through the bullhorn. “Now why don’t you just disperse calmly and quietly while I deal with Dr. Grant.”

“Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” shouted a malcontent in the crowd.

So much for diplomacy. “I’m not picking on anybody. Dr. Grant started this mess...” The sound of police sirens saved him from saying something stupid. While the protesters milled around in confusion, Drew took advantage of the opportunity to make his escape.

He grasped Rachel gently by the elbow, disengaging her from the crowd. She didn’t look too happy about it, mouthing words that he probably didn’t want to hear. Once they were at a distance from all the pandemonium, he heard her only too loud and clear.

“Listen, you big jerk, you can’t drag me around like some Neanderthal. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

He dropped her arm and whirled around to face her. “Yes, let’s talk about my mother. I saw her on television, climbing around on that Cupid statue. Did you brainwash her into joining this stupid boycott?”

“In the first place, this boycott isn’t stupid. And in the second place, your mother came to me about joining the boycott. But why am I telling you this, you obviously sent her in as a spy.”

His jaw dropped, his amazement at her accusation quickly followed by chagrin that he hadn’t thought of it himself. Then it all became clear. His mother just wanted to win the bet. She was siding with the enemy for a lousy fifty bucks! “Where is she?” he asked, looking around the crowd.

Shivering in the bitter cold, Rachel wrapped her arms around her body. “She and Frank Anders went to the coffee shop on the corner to warm up. Crawling around on that stone statue is bone-chilling work.”

He shook his head. “What was she even doing up there?”

Rachel pointed to the statue. “Putting underwear on Cupid. Irma knitted him a pair of red drawers because she thinks it’s indecent to have a naked statue in the town square. Especially in the middle of winter.”

Drew stared in disbelief at the statue, noticing for the first time the bright red boxer shorts hanging off of Cupid’s stone waist. This was a living nightmare.

“So now you’re protesting naked statues. What’s next? A field trip to the art museum to paint clothes on all the nudes? Don’t you have anything better to do with your time, Dr. Grant? Aren’t there enough lunatics running around to keep you busy?”

She tipped her chin. “We don’t call patients lunatics anymore. And I happen to think this Valentine’s Day protest is important. See how many people showed up.” She nodded toward the crowd.

Too many, by Drew’s calculation. He needed to act fast. And the only plan he could come up with was the one Charlie had suggested earlier in the evening. Make Rachel forget about the boycott by rekindling her romance with her ex-fiancé.