Trouble In Spades (24 page)

I sighed. "I really don't have the time," I said.

"
Chérie
. . ." she began.

I tuned out her guilt trip. My gaze wandered over her shoulder. I gasped and grabbed Ana's arm, motioning. Ana's eyes went wide. "Ohhh noooo."

My mother stopped mid-guilt trip. "What?"

Ana cleared her throat. "Nothing. I'm just sympathizing."

"Well, yes. As I was saying . . ."

Behind my mother's head, my father was scanning the restaurant. He obviously didn't recognize us in our hootchie mama getups.

Ana and I watched in horror as Aunt Rosa rushed over to him. She motioned toward us, and my dad's bulldog eyes went all round and wide.
He w
as Hunk o' Burning Love? I made the international shooing sign with my hands. "What are you doing, c
hérie
?"

I breathed a sigh of relief when my father and Aunt Rosa ducked out the door.

"Nina?"

"Me?" I said, folding my hands into fists. "Nothing."

"Filing," Ana piped in. "Her nails." My mother's eyes lit. "I'll do that!"

Before I could protest, my mother had my hands held hostage. She'd been trying to get me to have a manicure for years now and probably saw this as her only change to rid me of my ragged cuticles. As she pulled a file out of her purse, my cell phone rang. She pouted as I tugged my hands free and checked the phone's readout:
Home.
"Hello?"

"Nina?"

"Kevin? What're you doing at my house?"

His long sigh echoed across the line. "You need to come home. There's been a break-in."

Red and blue lights bathed my house. Two patrol cars were parked diagonally at the sidewalk and Kevin's 4Runner was in my driveway. I pulled in behind it, and Ana and my mother jumped out before I could even get my truck into park.

Kevin had been waiting on the front porch talking with one of the uniformed officers when we pulled in. He came to the top of the steps when he spotted us.

My mother teetered on the flagstone path in her stilettos. "Where's Maria?" she cried. "My baby! Mar-eee-ahh! Bé-bé!"

Kevin said, "She's inside on the couch. Resting. She's a little dazed."

Ana gasped. "Did the intruder hurt her?"

Kevin shook his head. "No. She's still a little woozy from her, uh, sleep aid."

My cheeks heated, and I was glad I could blame the color on the strobe lights. "What happened?" I asked after my mother and Ana rushed inside. "Nice hair," he said with a sly smile. Ack! I whipped the wig off.

"Something I should know about?" he asked.

"Ana . . ."

"Enough said."

"What happened here?" I repeated. "Is Riley okay?"

"Maria said he's at a friend's house, left a few hours ago. Do you know which one?"

I had a pretty good idea. "Katie."

"Katie?" Kevin asked.

I quickly explained that whole situation. Kevin smiled smugly when I got to the part about Riley and Katie in the gazebo. I fully expected a "That's my boy" to come out of his lips any second now. I cut it off at the pass. "What happened here?" I asked again. "Is Maria really okay?"

He motioned to the porch swing. The uniformed officer disappeared into the house. "She's fine. Though I highly recommend she never takes two Dramamines ever again." Through the thin walls I could hear Maria saying, "Poop on, poop on." I shot a look at Kevin. "What's she talking about?" Gracie was still at the vet—or I'd have assumed the worst. "And what are
you
doing here?" Kevin chuckled. "What?"

"The security company called the department after someone tripped the alarm here because apparently when they called the house, a semiconscious woman kept saying, 'Poop on, poop on.' "

I dreaded going inside. What in the world was I going to find?

"The 911 operator recognized it as my address and let me know what was going on."

I didn't correct him that it was his former address. Although I wanted to.

"I was second on the scene, and came in to find Officer Frennell trying to coax Maria off of your neighbor, Mrs. Mustard. She was saying 'poupon.' As in Grey Poupon. The mustard."

I gasped. "Is Mrs. Mustard all right?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Those fingerprints you asked me to run . . . as a favor?"

My cheeks heated again at the memory of favors. "Yes."

"Turns out Jake Jones has an outstanding warrant out for his arrest in Oklahoma."

"Jake Jones?"

"Aka Jacob Mustard."

"What!?" I said, shocked. Straight-laced Colonel? A fake name? An arrest warrant?

"Peeping Tom. He skipped bail."

My jaw dropped.

"But that's not all," he said, just like a perky talk show host.

I didn't think I could take any more. I could still hear Maria whining about Poupon. I was tempted to give her another Dramamine to knock her out for the night. "He's never been in the military, and he's not married. Margaret Mustard, aka Margaret Jones, is his sister, or as we're now calling her, his accomplice. He's skipped town again, and she's not talking."

Sweet Mrs. Mustard?

"She was breaking in here to find that glass from this afternoon. She'd apparently figured out what you were up to." I remembered Mrs. Mustard trying to wrestle that glass from me. I couldn't believe her sweetness and light act fooled me!

"The alarm woke Maria, and she came down to find Mrs. Mustard in the kitchen." He laughed again.

"This isn't funny!" I snapped. Maria really could have been hurt.

"I know, I know," he said, but he was still laughing. "Old habits must die hard for your sister, though. She brought a can of Aqua Net down with her. She got Mrs. Mustard but good, then sat on her until we arrived. I still haven't been able to get that can of hair spray out of her hand." Oh dear Lord.

"I think," he continued, "that we might have to have her register that can with the department as a licensed weapon."

"Ha. Ha."

He stood up. The swing swayed. "You better go in," he said. I nodded.

I was bone tired, needed to get up early, and was stressed beyond my limits.

At the sound of footsteps, I looked up. Mr. Cabrera was hustling up the driveway. It was going to be a long, long night.

"One other thing," Kevin said.

I arched an eyebrow.

"Mr. Weatherbee?"

"Yeah?"

He stepped down. "Thought you might be interested to know that he was arrested in 'ninety-four in Boston at a gay rights rally."

Kit's Hummer and Tam's Cabriolet were in the lot when I pulled in early the next morning.

I'd left Maria at home fighting a terrible headache. She looked like death warmed over. At noon she was due at the police station to give her statement from last night (what she could remember). She'd also promised to pick up Gracie from the vet.

Physically, she seemed okay, but mentally . . . I was worried. Since waking up that morning, she'd been pretending she wasn't waiting to hear news about Nate. And
I
pretended not to notice how she jumped every time the phone rang.

Tam was at her desk when I came in, all smiles at Leo/Ian, who was sitting across from her. I arched an eyebrow, said hello, and walked on past without stopping to chat like I normally would. For one, I didn't want to know why she was being so friendly, and secondly, I didn't want to accidentally let it slip that Leo was FBI.

It was just after 6:30 a.m. and the office phone was already ringing. It was always like this on the morning of a job. I had to admit I jumped every time the phone rang too, hoping it was Nate calling. I feared the worst, but was trying to think positive. For Maria's sake.

Tam came wobbling in. "About Ian . . ." she said. My head snapped up. "Ian?"

"He told me everything," she admitted, sitting across from me. Her helmet hair stayed put as she shook her head. "I should have known. I must be losing my touch."

"It's not lost," I said. "Just a little fuzzy."

"He brought me éclairs," she said.

"Oh?"

She blushed. "And V8."

I shuddered at the combo.

"We have a date this weekend," she said.

I gaped. Really I did. It wasn't pretty, I was sure.

"I know, I know." She struggled to her feet. "Don't start the lecture. I know what I'm getting myself into, and using my own advice about taking chances. I really tried not to like him, but there's only so much willpower I have."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," I said. "So, éclairs and V8, huh? That's all it takes to get on your good side?"

"Nina, I'm seven months pregnant, thirty-two years old, and single. He had me at the wink."

The phone rang as she waddled out the door, and I grabbed it on the first ring.

"Nina?"

I smiled. "Hunk o' Burning Love, is that you?"

My father groaned. "It's my secret screen name. Your mother checks my other one."

Oddly, I wasn't at all surprised my father had a secret screen name . . . I tsked. "You're lucky you didn't get caught. Because, really, there's no more room in my house." We purposely avoided the big issues about Nate and Maria and the Wedding That Might Not Be. We Ceceris are notorious at denial.

Secretly, I thought my dad might be happy the wedding was in jeopardy. He never liked Nate. It wasn't Nate personally; it was anyone who dared take his baby away. Sometimes it paid to be a middle child.

We said our good-byes and I hung up. I looked at the picture of Riley on my desk. He'd been nine when it was taken. He was pudgy back then, and full of anger and hurt. Six years later he'd lost the pudge but was still fighting against the anger and hurt.

After my house had cleared out last night, I'd thrown on a light coat, grabbed a flashlight and trekked through the woods behind the house in search of the Coughlin residence. I'd found the address in the phone book, and Katie's dad was very surprised when I showed up on the doorstep, and even more surprised when I explained why I'd come.

Ian poked his head in my office. "Got a minute?"

"Sure," I said.

"I need a favor," he said as he sat down.

"You mean more than me letting you break and enter while I'm working on a client's yard?"

"I gave you a dog," he said.

"I bought that dog," I countered. He laughed, and I added, "What do you want me to do?" Despite myself, I was kind of excited to be in the middle of all this.

"I'd really like you to keep Verona busy while I'm inside. Chat with her or something."

"About what?"

"Anything."

"Can I ask her if she's a murderer?"

His eyebrows dipped. "No."

"Can I ask leading questions about Claire and Nate and the Kalypso?"

"No."

Well, this wasn't going to be any fun. He stood, headed to the door.

"Oh, Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"If you hurt her you'll be sorry."

He looked over his shoulder toward Tam's desk. He winked at me. "I have no doubt of that."

It was chaos at the Frye house. Just the way I liked it.

My adrenaline was high as I walked around the site, double- and triple-checking the materials and making sure everyone knew what they had to do.

The Frye driveway was a mess, between the pallets of fieldstone and flagstone and the load of topsoil that had been delivered bright and early.

I hefted a piece of the patio's flagstone that was in the shape of Nevada, turning it over in my palm, loving the cool smooth surface. Muted browns and soft golds flowed over it. The fieldstone for the pond ran more toward dark grays and subtle browns, which I knew would only be enhanced by the pond water, deepening the hues and creating depth.

Deanna hustled up the driveway, Coby and Jean-Claude behind her, carrying the iron chaise she'd found. "Nina! Don't you love it? I absolutely love it!" I opened my mouth, but she rushed on before I could get a word out. "Isn't it perfect?"

She was one of the best up and coming designers I'd ever met. Despite never having any formal training at all, she had a natural talent for design that was rare. One day soon I was sure she would quit working for me and move on to her own business.

Her blue eyes went wide as she waited a half second for a response from me. "You don't like it," she said.

"I love it. I just wasn't sure you were done talking."

"Oh! I'm so glad you like it! Jean-Claude and I looked forever before we found it. You know, he's not so bad to work with, once you get over the smell."

"Smell?"

She leaned in. "He swims in cologne."

"I can still hear you," Jean-Claude said in an all-American voice. His name was French through and through, but he'd been born and raised in Cleveland.

Deanna smiled at him. "I know. I'm hoping you take the hint."

I rolled my eyes and plotted how I was going to escape. Deanna was a talker and I had things to do. I sent her in search of the chaise's cushion, asked Coby and Jean-Claude to start hauling the stone into the backyard, and went looking for Kit.

I found him marking the pond area with paint. Orange for the pond, pink for the patio. I looked around. He'd already started the electrical work.

"Yo," Kit said when he spotted me.

"Hey. How's BeBe?"

He grinned. "Great. How's Gracie?"

Ack. Lie, definitely lie.
"Great. Perfect. Very healthy."

A dark eyebrow with a horseshoe-shaped silver piercing shot up. "What did you do to her?"

"She's, er, fine. Just fine." That wasn't a lie. She was fine.
Now
.

I spotted Ian lurking near the house. I waved him over. "You might as well start digging the pond until Verona comes out."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't say anything as he picked up a shovel.