“Maybe we should ask Amalie what she wants?” Kathryn snapped irritably because her leg was starting to ache, which meant that rain was on the horizon. She apologized immediately for her sharp words.

“Right now, Amalie has no say in the matter. We make all the decisions. She’s too vulnerable and fearful at the moment to know what is best for her. She’ll do whatever we tell her to do because she just wants to put all this behind her and get her life back,” Myra said quietly.

Maggie let out a whoop of sound. “Ooooh, wait till you hear this! Lisa from the paper, our girl Friday, just sent me a text saying the biggest flower arrangement in the world just arrived for me. She said there are six dozen champagne-colored roses in a decorative bushel basket sitting on my desk. And they are . . . drumroll, la-di-da, from Lincoln Moss! The note said he apologizes for his ridiculous threats yesterday and blamed it on a killer migraine. Well, will wonders never cease. Guess I can stop worrying about being on Homeland Security’s terrorist list and sigh with relief that the IRS isn’t going to come after me. I’m texting Lisa to divvy up the arrangement into separate bouquets and have one of the copy boys take them over to a hospice two blocks from the paper. I don’t want any flowers from Lincoln Moss. I don’t want anything from Lincoln Moss,” Maggie said through clenched teeth, her eyes sparking dangerously.

“Good for you. I would have done the same thing. Just out of curiosity, Maggie, did you believe Moss’s threats?” Isabelle asked.

“I did believe that he would try to do what he threatened to do. Because that’s the kind of mean, spiteful person he is. I’m not above being scared out of my wits when someone threatens me. But did I think he would succeed? No, not really. Still . . .

“Six dozen roses. That’s seventy-two roses. Yep, guess he would need a bushel basket for that many.” Maggie laughed, but it was a nervous laugh. “What’s my next move, girls?”

“I guess calling him to thank him. I think I’d call him on his landline at home if I were you, though. Then throw him a bone and tell him he’s inching up to the number one slot for your Man of the Year contest,” Alexis said.

“Okay, I’ll do that later. I don’t want to appear eager or anything.”

“Back to our game plan,” Yoko said. “What is it?”