A Hoe Lot of Trouble (16 page)

Wearing a bright red pantsuit, she stood out—which I thought was her intention. She held up a finger while she finished her conversation. Finally, she hung up the phone.

"Well, Nina Quinn! I haven't seen you since . . ."

"A month ago at Kroger." What was it about people not remembering me?

She frowned. "Oh yeah, that's right," she said, laughing. "In front of the ice-cream case. Sit down, will ya?"

I sat.

"I'm not going to say you look good. You look like hell."

I knew Russell had been lying. "I'm okay."

"Like hell."

I sighed. It would be out soon, anyway. "By the way, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Kevin I stopped by."

Her eyes, lined with a dark blue, blinked. "That sounds like some serious trouble. What the hell happened?" she asked, scooting her chair next to mine.

I shrugged. Part of me wanted to tell her the whole sordid story, and the other part, the part that respected Kevin as an officer, knew that his reputation would be sullied if it got around that he was sleeping with his partner. "Let's not talk about it."

"Hell."

"I agree."

"If there's anything I can do," she said.

I waved her offer away. "I'm fine."

Candy Carradon was short, stocky. Imposing. Her black hair was swept off her face, giving her a stern look.

"What's up?" she asked.

I leaned forward. "I was wondering if you have any information on a group called the Skinz?" Candy had been working juvie for three years. I figured if anyone knew about these punks, she would.

She leaned back in her chair. "Nasty little buggers."

"You know them?"

"Of course I do. They've been tied to a dozen robberies, but we can never get enough evidence on them. They're smart. Too smart."

"Dangerous?"

"The potential is there. A few of the robberies have targeted gun shops. By our count, this group has thirty or forty guns stashed away."

My head swam. "Any ties to militia groups?" I was thinking about that
Gun Pride
magazine I'd found under Riley's mattress.

Candy shook her head. "Not that I've ever come across. But again, there's potential. They're not exactly white supremacists, but they haven't exactly been friendly to people of different races. By races I mean the whole gamut: Irish, Italian, Norwegian, Polish . . . the list goes on and on."

"Great."

"Why? Do you know something?"

"No. Riley's been hanging around this group lately."

"No kidding?"

I shook my head, my ponytail slapping me in my face.

"Nina," Candy said, leaning in. "You call me if you need me or have any more questions. Because if Riley's involved with these kids, he's in some serious trouble. You need to get him away from them."

Great. Just how was I going to do that?

I pounded on the front door of Ginger's town house. I took some pleasure in her bland landscaping. Usually a yard reflected its owner. There wasn't even a withering pot of marigolds to be seen. Just boring, cracked, chipped cement stairs.

The door finally swung open. Kevin cursed.

"Good to see you too."

"What are you doing here?" He shaded his eyes against the sun.

I swallowed hard. He was clad in a pair of old denim shorts, left unbuttoned and barely zipped. His chest was lightly tanned, broad and flat, his stomach, muscled and taut. I tore my gaze away from the little trail of hair that ran down from his belly button.

"I need to talk to you."

"You ever heard of a phone?"

I went to jab him in the chest, then thought it wiser if I didn't touch him. "I tried. You didn't answer."

"You could have paged me."

"Again, no answer," I snapped. Oh, no. I was turning into my sister, and hated it. I didn't want to be snappy, or snippy, for that matter.

He dragged a hand over his face. The gash above his eye had scabbed over, the goose egg had begun to turn a pretty shade of purple. Stubble dotted his cheeks, his jaw. Clearly I had gotten him out of bed.

"Jesus, Nina, did you have to come here?"

"Oh, gee, sorry I'm intruding on your little love nest, but this is important."

"How'd you even know about this place?"

"Phone book."

He finally stepped out onto the small stoop, closing the door behind him. "What do you want?"

I sat down on the front step. "Riley."

"Can't you give the kid a break? He told me how you embarrassed him at school in front of his friends."

"I embarrassed him? Oh that's rich. And they aren't his friends. I know Riley. He wouldn't hang out with kids like those."

"Those kids are fine," he said tightly.

"Harmless?"

"Perfectly."

Reaching down, I grabbed one of the hairs on his calf and yanked. I knew from experience where to inflict pain.

"Ow!"

"You're such a liar. I don't know how long I've been blind to that, but I see it clearly now."

His face steeled. I had ticked him off. Okay, maybe I'd gone too far pulling out his leg hair, but damn, it felt good.

"A liar?" His voice was hard.

"Shall I count the ways?"

"That's personal, Nina. That has nothing to do with Riley."

He infuriated me. "You lied about the Skinz!"

"Did not."

I wished I had my hockey stick. "Those kids are trouble. I talked to Candy Carradon this morning. Seems she has a different viewpoint on those kids than you do."

"Your curiosity is going to get you into trouble one of these days."

"She said I should get Riley away from them as soon as possible. I'm sure my father would be happy to home school him."

"You'll do no such thing!"

"Why not?"

"Riley belongs in school. He's had enough turmoil in his world without you yanking him away from the only stability in his life."

"So you want me to leave him there to become more deeply enmeshed with a group who has nearly forty stolen guns in their possession?"

"That's not fact."

"So you knew!"

He stood up. "Stay out of this, Nina. I mean it." He stormed into the condo and slammed the door behind him.

The picture of maturity, I stuck out my tongue.

I stopped at home to grab a quick lunch and called Bridget at her office, but got her voice mail. I tried her cell and she answered on the third ring.

"Just wanted to check in," I said.

"Find anything?"

"A reluctant congressman and a scared paramedic. Not much to build a case on."

"Let's just drop it, Nina. Tim's not happy you're involved in all this. It's much too dangerous. We'll find the money for the PI sooner or later."

The last thing I wanted to do was give up. "I know how Tim feels, but I really think I'm getting somewhere. Give me a few more days, Bridget. If I don't come up with anything by then, I'll back off."

Her sigh echoed across the line. "Saturday, that's it."

"Tuesday."

"Sunday."

"Monday."

"Deal. Please be careful, Nina. I mean it."

"I will."

I told her about the plans I had to meet with the developer, Demming, later that afternoon, but I didn't mention the calls I'd gotten, or the note that had somehow found its way onto my bed. The less she knew about that sort of thing, the better.

"I'm looking forward to dinner tomorrow night with you and Kevin."

I bit my lip. Cringed. "Uh, bad news, there. He has to work. Ana's gonna tag along, if that's okay."

"That's fine. I haven't seen Ana in ages. But be sure to say hello to Kevin for us."

Righty-o. We said our good-byes after setting a time and place for dinner.

There was only one new message on my machine—from Pesky Pests. I called them back, but they were once again out in the field. I was beginning to think Xena had run, uh, slithered, away, but I still didn't relax my guard. It would be just like that snake to lull me into a false sense of security, then spring.

I hurried through lunch, eager to see what Demming had to say. Okay, not entirely true. My house just didn't feel like a home anymore. Sure, Xena terrified me, but she wasn't the only thing. At least with her I knew the enemy. Someone had come into my house yesterday. Someone had been in my bedroom. Had touched my jammies.

Even though I was ticked at Kevin, and didn't with 100 percent certainty trust him, I admit I entertained thoughts about letting him see the note and telling him about heavy breathing calls. He had more resources than I did. But telling him would not guarantee his silence, and I had promised Mrs. Sandowski I wouldn't involve the police. What's a girl to do?

I'd figure something out. Eventually.

I placed a call to an alarm company and arranged for someone to come out to show me the different alarms the company offered. Better to be safe than sorry, and although I knew any professional criminal would know how to bypass most systems, it was worth a try.

The phone rang and I jumped. I reached for it, then let my arm fall to my side. I swallowed. The answering machine clicked on.

"Nina? This is Ma-ma. Don't forget Tuesday!"

Tuesday? Tuesday? Oh, the fitting. I pressed the delete button. As far as I was concerned, I had no plans for Tuesday.

I hurried the dishes, wiped my hands on my jeans, and had reached for my backpack when the phone rang again. I instinctively reached for it without thinking.

"Hello."

"Nina Quinn?"

"Yes?"

"This is Robert MacKenna, Riley's vice principal."

Dread built in my stomach.

"I was just wondering if you knew that he wasn't in school today."

"But I dropped him off there myself," I said inanely.

"I'm sorry. He didn't even make it to first period."

I banged my head against the kitchen wall. "Thanks for letting me know."

"He'll be punished for missing."

"What kind of punishment?"

"Detention. If it keeps up, we'll have to sit down with him and work out a probationary plan."

Great. Just great.

"Oh, and Nina?"

"Yeah?"

"In case you didn't know, it's morning detention. Six thirty to seven fifteen. The school board recently decided that making these kids get up so early adds a little oomph to their punishment."

"No flogging?"

He laughed. "No. Some parents complained."

A man with my sense of humor. I managed a smile as I pressed my eyes together to keep the moisture in.

"Any chance Mike Novak's in? Could I talk with him?"

"Hold on," MacKenna said. "I'll check."

A minute later he came back on the line. "Can't seem to find him."

"Thanks for trying."

I hung up, picked up the phone again. Knowing Riley had skipped again left me uneasy. I wanted more information about the Skinz.

A quick call to Candy Carradon left me with more questions. Seems she left work right after lunch to go to a conference somewhere out of state.

Funny how she hadn't mentioned that to me earlier when she asked me to call her if I had any questions.

What w
as going on?

John Demming had stood me up.

"He's out at a site," his receptionist said.

"We had an appointment."

She shrugged.

"Can you at least tell me what site?"

She worried her lip. John Demming had probably told her to tell me he was out, but I guessed he'd never told her not to tell me where. She didn't look like the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, so I leaned in close, slipped my wedding band off my finger and slid it into my pocket.

"It's kind of important," I said.

"It is?"

Definitely, air made up most of what was in her head. She wiped a strand of dark brown hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. She was young, maybe nineteen.

I covered my eyes dramatically and tried desperately to scare up some tears. It wasn't too hard, considering the state of my life. I sniffled. "D-do you have a tis-sue?"

She reached in her desk and handed me a box. I plucked out a Puffs. "Th-thank you." I hiccupped.

Taking a deep breath, I started talking fast, hoping that John Demming was indeed married. "He was supposed to be here, and oh, I knew I shouldn't have trusted him when he told me he would leave his wife, then told me that he'd love me forever, then got me pregnant and he said he'd support us. Now me and little Johnny are gonna be kicked out on the street if he doesn't come up with the money he owes us for back child support." I sniffed again for effect.

"Men are slime," she said, coming around the desk. She put a comforting arm around my shoulder. She smelled like cigarettes.

"I know." I hiccupped again, blew my nose.

"He's at a development off Millson Road. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah. I think," I said softly.

"Here," she said, tossing me a hard hat, "you'll need this."

I followed the receptionist's directions to the new subdivision. I took Vista View as a short cut. If I lived there I'd be a little ticked too, but as a driver, it was much easier than going around.

I turned onto Millson, and as I approached Sandowski's Farm, I slowed. Nothing looked unusual. The house was still falling down around itself.

I kept driving east on Millson, and about a half mile down from Sandowski's Farm, I turned left into the subdivision.

The streets were wide and tree lined. Electric reproductions of gaslights dotted the sidewalks at intervals of every third house. It looked to me as if the construction was completed in the neighborhood, but as I wended my way down the twisting streets, I saw the frames of new houses being erected.