Trouble In Spades (3 page)

"I will."

He turned to me. "Pleasure, Ms. Quinn."

Maria and I watched the car roll down the long winding drive. I turned toward Maria.

"You love me," she said.

"I'm still trying to remember why."

The sounds of "Love Story" filled the air. I groaned. Only Maria would have "Love Story" as a ring tone on her cell phone.

Glancing at the readout, she smiled. Flipping open the phone, she said, "Nate?"

Her smile faded into a grim line. "No, he's not with me," she said after listening for a while. "No, I haven't. I've been trying to reach him myself."

I tried not to eavesdrop, but some things couldn't be helped.

After she said, "I will," and snapped her phone closed, she looked at me, her eyes filled with a bit of panic. "That was Nate's secretary," she said. "She's worried because Nate went to breakfast early this morning with his boss and has yet to come back."

Despite her three-inch heels, Maria stomped her foot like a petulant two year old. "He's run out on me!"

"You don't know that," I calmly tried to explain. "There could be any number of reasons why he's late. Car trouble, for one."

"And another?" she asked, leveling an icy glare at me. I said weakly, "Traffic?"

She waved her arms like a whirligig. The sleeves of her Chanel suit coat rode up to her elbows. "He got cold feet!" She stomped some more. "Men just don't know what commitment means."

I tended to agree. I'd been married for seven years to Kevin. Happy years, until I'd found his partner's lipstick on his boxers.

I'd kicked him out, and he'd gone, leaving me the one thing I never realized how much I wanted—his son, Riley. At fifteen, Riley was as surly as they came, and we continuously butted heads. It wasn't until recently that we both realized just how much we cared about each other. Nevertheless, we were still doing that butting heads thing. Lately it was over his sudden inability to tell time. He'd missed his curfew a handful of times in the last couple of weeks. I still didn't know what to do about it, especially since I was a little time-challenged myself. It's hard to give a teenager a "do as I say, not as I do" lecture.

Dried soil crunched under my Timberlands. "Could be he got a flat tire."

She flipped her hair back. "Claire Battiste has been eyeing him for a while. Maybe he finally gave in."

"Claire Battiste?"

"Nate's boss. You met her."

"I did?"

"At our engagement party. Tall, blonde, early thirties, flirted with every man in the room."

"Oh her. I didn't meet her, but I saw her." It had been hard to miss her. Mini-mini-skirt, mile high legs, and every pair of male eyes watching her.

"Well, she's . . . she's . . ." Maria's chin shot in the air. "I'll just come out and say it."

Lord help us all.

"She's a hussy."

"Maria, I'm sure the CEO of the Kalypso isn't a hussy."

"H-u-s-s-y."

"Okay, okay, she's a ho, but that doesn't mean Nate's cheating on you."

Hands on her hips, Maria mumbled under her breath about tramps and office romances. She paced on her tiptoes, so her heels wouldn't snag on the crusty, chunky sun-baked ground. As she pivoted, she zeroed in on me. "I should have seen this coming. He's not been himself for over a week now. When I asked him about it, he brushed it off." She cleared her throat. " 'Don't worry, baby, everything's fine,' " she mimicked, doing quite a good job of imitating Nate's son-of-a-politician's voice. " 'I love you, baby; I'd never do anything to jeopardize our relationship.' " She let out a small primal cry. "That lyin', stinkin', rotten, no good, two timin', backstabbin' son of a—"

"Maria!" I grabbed her hands so she wouldn't take a swing at me by mistake.

Her blue eyes widened, focusing on me.

Calmly, I said, "How about we don't get worked up until we know for certain what's going on?"

Footsteps crunched behind us. We turned. Kit came to a dead halt when he saw us. Abruptly, he turned around, walked away. Angry women terrified him, and Maria was fuming.

"There's no need to get upset when we don't know if there's anything to get upset over."

"She's obviously seduced him. Men are weak."

"Look," I said, holding up Maria's left hand. A huge three-carat diamond set in platinum dwarfed her ring finger. "Would Nate give this absolutely gorgeous ring to anyone he wasn't planning happily-ever-after with?"

She held her hand out so the diamond could sparkle in the sunshine. A serene smile came over her face. Crisis averted as she beamed at the ring. "It
is
beautiful, isn't it?" I sighed. "Stunning."

She obviously missed the mockery in my voice since she said, "Yes, yes it is."

"Why don't you go home?" I suggested. "Take a long bath, do that waxy thing you do to your hands—"

"Paraffin." She said it as though I was an imbecile.

"
Paraffin
and relax. I'm sure Nate will be calling to check in any minute now."

She pouted. "You think?"

"I know."

"Maybe you're right." She examined her long fingers. "My hands
are
a little dry. The heat, you know."

"Yeah, the heat." I ushered her toward her car, trying to keep my own hands hidden. They were chapped and cracked and rough from years of playing in the dirt. "Listen," I said, "I've got to get back to the office, then I'm running Riley to work, but after that I can grab Ana and come by, maybe bring a movie with us."

This was a huge sacrifice. Maria loved horror movies— the kind that usually gave me heebies for weeks. "Don't you have your fitting tonight?" she asked.

Damn.
I was hoping she wouldn't remember. "Oh, is that tonight?"

Her stiletto heel punctured the ground as she stomped again. "Nina! The wedding is next Saturday. You must— must!—get your dress fitted. Tonight. Armande is doing us a big favor by keeping the shop open."

Oh yes. Wouldn't want to upset Armande, would I? I bit back a groan and a comment about there not being a wedding if Nate didn't show up. I didn't want her to freak out again. However, I indulged in some mental math: A wedding minus a groom equaled no need for me to get a dress. This could be a prime example of my father's silver lining theory. "I'll be there," I said.

She batted her long eyelashes. "Then after
that yo
u can come by with a movie."

A night of torture, that's what this would be.

She cooed as she opened her car door. "You're going to love your dress. It's perfect for you." "I can just imagine."

As I stepped into my office, I found Tam seated in her huge red rattan chair, hole puncher gripped tightly, and looking more than a bit frazzled.

When I spied the group of men in the waiting area, I knew why. There were seven of them sitting there, each with one leg folded across the other, reading an assortment of magazines—everything from
Home & Garden
to
High
lights for Children
to
Reader's Digest
.

They looked fresh out of a Stepford movie. Almost identical, they appeared to be mid- to late thirties, had buzz cuts, were freshly shaven, and wore colorful variations of oxford shirts and Dockers. A shiver ran down my spine.

Tam came up behind me. "I told you they were scary," she whispered.

"I see what you mean."

I was desperate for help, what with Maria's yard and all the other jobs I had lined up for the summer. But by the looks of this lot, I needed to keep looking. The whole bunch of them together looked like they weighed less than Kit. I had to wonder what their arrest records were. Had they all gotten out of hand at a geek convention? Honest to goodness, three of them had pocket protectors.

Tam shifted nervously. "Should I send them all away?"

"No, I'll talk to them. Ana must have had some reason for sending them all here." What it was, I couldn't begin to imagine. April Fool's came to mind, but it was two months too late. "Call the first guy into my office."

"All right," she said reluctantly. "Here, take this." She pushed the hole punch into my hand.

"Why?" I asked.

Her eyebrows jumped up. "For protection, of course."

As I walked into my office, I bit back a laugh because she was perfectly serious.

After six of the seven interviews, I was wondering if Ana was playing a prank on me, April Fool's or not. Seemed most of my interviewees had been arrested for petty theft. The large company they worked for had cracked down on missing office supplies and made an example of these men who had taken home a box of paper clips here, a pen there. Now they were out of jobs, most with families to feed, bills to pay.

That instinctive maternal side of me wished I could help them all. Realistically, I didn't think I could even help one of them—and I doubted any of them could help me. I didn't have the time to train them or listen to them cry when they got their first blister.

My cell buzzed as I waited for the last man to come in. I fished it out of my backpack, groaning at the caller ID screen.

"Maria?"

Sniffle. "Still no word from him."

"He loves you," I said, trying to reassure.

"Then where is he?"

"Shopping?"

"He doesn't shop."

"Canoeing?"

"Nee-nah!"

At her wail, I immediately felt contrite. "Listen, Maria, I don't know where he is or what he's doing, but he's going to show up. He loves you too much to ever let you go." A quartet of sniffles echoed across the line.

"Do you really think so?"

"I really do."

"Okay, then. I'll give him until midnight; then I get mad." The echo of her slamming the phone rang in my ear. I hoped Nate got home soon. I didn't know how long Maria could hold her temper in check.

I snapped my phone closed and looked up to find one of the Stepford men standing in the doorway.

"The door was open," he said. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop."

"It's okay. Just my sister."

"Sounded serious." Across from me, a chair groaned as he sat. "Someone's missing?"

I smiled to ease the concern in his gray-green eyes. "Temporarily misplaced." Picking up a pen, I wondered what Nate was doing, where he was. This just wasn't like him, and I couldn't help but worry a little. I'm a worrier by nature.

I reached across the desk. "I'm Nina Quinn."

His handshake was firm, unlike the other men who had been in.

"Leo Barker."

Little ink spots dotted my blotter as I tapped my pen. "So, Leo, what kind of landscaping experience do you have?" I steeled myself for the usual, "None."

"I worked for Decker and Sons all through college."

My pen stilled. I sized him up. Truth was, he wasn't as Stepford as the others. There was a little bulk to his arms, his shoulders, underneath the blue button-down he wore. Alleluia! There might be some hope yet.

"What did you do for old man Decker?"

"Grunt work, mostly." He smiled wickedly. "I'm killer with a spade."

I laughed. "Good to know." Flipping through his paperwork, I added, "But college was a long time ago." Fifteen years, if his résumé was up-to-date.

"I've got twenty acres of land in Lebanon. I like to play farmer on weekends. I'm still in shape, if that's what you're wondering."

I could see that now as I took a closer look. Energy surrounded him, and even though he was leaning back in the chair, he looked as though he could pounce at any second. It would have been unnerving if not for his crinkly I'm-afriendly-guy smile.

"If you're interested," I said, "and provided your references check out, I'll start you off part-time, see how you fit in. If you fit well, then I'll bump you up to full-time."

"That include benefits?"

"Yep. All the bells and whistles."

After haggling a bit about a starting wage, we shook hands. "Let's plan on you starting tomorrow," I said. "That's assuming, of course, that your references pan out." I'd have Tam check them right away. He grinned. "Of course. I'll be here."

After he left, Tam scurried in. "I'm glad to see them go. Should I put an ad in the classifieds?"

"I hired that last one—Leo Barker."

"What!?" Her tight curls bounced as she stepped back, hand on her heart. "He was the scariest of them all. He's the
winker
!"

I was surprised by her reaction. "He's qualified."

"He's trouble."

I hesitated at her adamancy. Tam was a good judge of character, where I—well . . . I wasn't. Had she possibly seen something I hadn't?

"He's starting off part-time. Just give him a chance."

She made the sign of the cross. "Call him back and rescind your offer." Picking up the phone on my desk, she added, "I'll dial."

I wrested the receiver from her death grip. "What is it about him you don't like?"

She shuddered. "I don't know. There's just . . . something."

"It'll be fine."

"Oh, Nina. I don't like this at all. Not one bit." She backtracked out of my office, closed the door behind her. Slumping back in my chair, I flipped through Leo Barker's résumé. Thirty-five. Went to college at the University of Cincinnati. Worked—or used to work—at Procter & Gamble. I straightened.

P&G? The other Stepford men hadn't worked for them.

Further rummaging through his résumé left me with more questions. He'd never been arrested, according to the box he'd left blank.

Which meant he'd never been on probation.

So, if Ana hadn't sent him . . . who had?

As usual, I was late picking up Riley. I'd never cut it as a professional chauffeur—and was failing miserably as Riley's. Punctuality really wasn't one of my strong points. Something Riley had apparently picked up from me, since he wasn't outside when I pulled up in front of my house. I honked.