Authors: Heather Webber

Tags: #Contemporary Women, #Mystery & Detective, #Quinn; Nina (Fictitious character), #General, #Women Sleuths, #Fiction

Weeding Out Trouble (14 page)

BOOK: Weeding Out Trouble

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"Gus brings her lunch every day."

How did I not know this? Gus owned, surprise, surprise, Gus's Diner, a cornerstone in the Mill. "How long does he stay?"

"Don't know. And don't look at me that way," he said with a smile.

"What way?"

He walked toward me. That sweat droplet coasted toward his belly button. Bracing his arms on the table, one on each side of me, he leaned in. "Like you're disappointed. You're the one with the stellar Clue-playing abilities."

Our lips were almost touching. "You're still peeved about losing to me, aren't you?"

"Possibly."

"Will you do me a favor?" I asked.

Our noses touched. "You want me to get into a poker game at Mrs. Greeble's house, don't you?"

I blinked in innocence. "Am I so transparent?"

"Sometimes."

"How about now? What am I thinking?"

"Exactly what I am."

I leaned in just a bit to meet his lips, closed my eyes, and nearly jumped clear out of my skin as the doorbell rang. BeBe's barks echoed through the kitchen, reverberating off the stainless steel fridge.

Bobby hung his head. "So close."

Suddenly I felt as though I were sixteen as I wiggled out from under his arm, afraid my mother was at the door, about to catch me making out with my boyfriend. I shushed BeBe, looked out the front window, and pulled the door open.

"Holy hell!" Perry cried as he stepped inside, trying to push BeBe off him. "It's hot as Hades in here." BeBe licked and slobbered, but finally settled down.

Bobby came in from the kitchen, pulling on a gray Tshirt. The pity.

"Holy hell!" Perry muttered, staring. His gaze flew to mine. "You're one lucky girl."

I arched an eyebrow. "I would have been if you didn't show up."

Perry barked out a laugh that sounded so much like BeBe's, she jumped up and pranced around. It took a good minute to calm her back down.

"What're you doing here?" I asked him as he kicked off his shoes.

"I can't stay there."

"Where?" Bobby asked.

"With Ursula and Donatelli."

I wasn't the least bit surprised.

Bobby sat on the arm of his couch, a big brown leather number that screamed MANLY MAN. "Why are you staying with them?"

I sat on the coffee table. "That's the whole 'if Mario calls you know nothing' part of my day I haven't had a chance to tell you about."

"Oh." Bobby looked amused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"The noise," Perry said. "Something's living in their garage—"

"Gregory Peck."

"I'm sorry, sugar, but if Gregory Peck was in there, I'd have been one happy man."

"Gregory Peck is a chicken," Bobby said in a don't-ask kind of voice.

"Actually," I said, "he's a rooster."

"Then the cocka-doodle-dooing makes sense." Perry sank into a taupe armchair. "But the noise coming from Ursula's and Donatelli's bedroom is worse." He shuddered.

I shuddered.

Bobby shuddered.

Perry hung his coat on the doorknob. "Can I stay here?"

Bobby and I looked at each other, and I immediately mourned the noise that wouldn't be coming from Bobby's room that night. "Sure," I said.

Bobby hung his head again.

Perry sniffed the air. "Is something burning?"

Jumping up, Bobby raced into the kitchen just as the smoke alarms wailed.

"Pizza," I said with a grimace.

"Not much of a cook, is he?" Perry whispered.

"He has other talents."

"I'll bet."

I heard a kitchen towel flapping, and soon the smoke alarm silenced. BeBe had slept through the ruckus.

"Thanks for letting me stay." Perry stretched out on the couch.

"It's not a problem, but shouldn't you have gone home to Mario?"

"Lord, no! He's going to kill me over his car. I need time to formulate a plan. Or an escape route. I'm not sure which. I called and told him the roads were still awful up here."

I tsked.

"Hush now. We all have our methods of self-preservation."

He was right. It was one of the reasons I was here. But I tried not to think about that. Or Daisy's viewing the next day. Or how Kent Ingless might give me nightmares.

I needed to talk to Ian, and to track down Randall Oh as well. He could probably fill in a blank or two.

Bobby came back in, shaking his head. "There were no survivors. There's always cereal."

I thought aloud that a margarita would suffice just fine. Perry agreed and leaned in. "Okay, since I'm here . . . "

"Yeah?" I said.

"We've got to do something about that ponytail."

Thirteen

BeBe slurped me awake early the next morning. I patted the bed next to me and found it empty.

The temperature in Bobby's house had chilled considerably overnight, so I raided his closet once again and came out with a Longhorn sweatshirt.

After a quick brushing of the teeth, wonderful coffee smells lured me into the empty kitchen. The guest bedroom door was closed tight, and I wondered if Perry was going to hide in there all day.

I found Bobby in the living room, typing on a laptop. When I came in, he lowered the screen.

Perching on the edge of the couch, I asked, "What're you working on?"

"It's nothing."

"It's something."

"It's silly."

I rolled my eyes.

He raised the screen. The Word program was open. I read, asked, "What's this?"

"A column."

"Even without my morning caffeine I can see that."

"Mac knows the Lifestyle editor at the
Enquirer
. The paper is looking for a weekly columnist, and Mac gave him my name. And no, the man doesn't owe Mac money."

Mac, Bobby's grandfather, was a geriatric con man, thief, and all-around charmer. I had to admit, my mind had jumped to Bobby's conclusion.

"The editor is looking for an everyday average Joe to write a daily column that's part humor, part social satire, part human interest." He stood, went to the window and looked out. "It's crazy to even think about doing it. My master's is in education administration."

"True, but you are an everyday average Joe, and if you know what social satire is, you're a step ahead of most." I sank into the couch, drew my knees to my chest and pulled my sweatshirt over my legs. My toes stuck out at the hem.

Bobby raised an eyebrow.

"Not quite the same effect as the boxers last night?"

He laughed. "No, but cute all the same."

"Don't make me blush. What about being a principal?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I've just been out of sorts since Florida. Is it crazy to want to do this?"

"Honestly, yes." I smiled. "But I like crazy."

"That explains a lot."

"It's good," I said, nodding to the computer. It was a humorous piece on men's cooking abilities, featuring the flaming pizzas from last night.

"It's scary."

I knew he wasn't talking about the column. This was a whole shift in his life plan. "I bet."

He paced. "I've got enough saved to try this for a while. Plus, I've really enjoyed playing handyman in the neighborhood. I could do that as a side business. I've plenty of experience painting because of summers working with my family . . . "

"Perry would hire you."

He laughed.

"Sounds like you've made up your mind."

"I guess it does."

"Good for you." I wiggled free of the sweatshirt and

gave him a quick kiss. Smiling, I asked, "This endeavor isn't going to interfere with playing poker today, is it?"

As I drove north to Tam's, I thought about how there shouldn't be blue skies and fifty degree temperatures.

Not today. Maybe not all week.

I was dressed in my only black dress because I was headed straight for the Stangle Funeral Home from Tam's. I even had on panty hose, of which I only owned one pair because I despised them.

My sunglasses slipped down my nose, and I pushed them back up again. All the beautiful snow would soon be gone, and no one had been more upset at the change in the weather than Riley that morning as he skulked out the door to catch the bus to school.

The sun was high in the sky, telling me without looking at my dashboard clock that it was closing in on 10:00 A.M. Daisy's viewing was at noon, at the funeral home back in Freedom.

I wished it was snowing. Or at the very least, raining.

Death called for bad weather, for doom and gloom.

Not sunshine and balmy temperatures.

The theme song for the
Match Game
filled the cab of my truck. I grabbed my cell phone, checked the caller ID, and flipped it open.

"Home yet?" I asked Ana.

"I haven't showered in three days. I think I smell."

I made appropriate clucking noises.

"Don't do that!" Ana said.

"What?"

"Cluck. You sound like Brickhouse. It's freaky."

Oh . . . my . . . God. Was I slowly morphing into a miniBrickhouse? Clearly, I
was
spending too much time with her. A cutback was in order. Pronto.

"Are you still in Denver?" I asked. I concentrated on the road as I drove, at the cars zipping past me on the highway.

"Dallas." She started humming the theme song of the TV show of the same name. "J.R. was cute, wasn't he?"

"I was more a Bobby fan."

"Go figure. I'm due to land in Cincinnati at three. Can you pick me up?"

"I'll be there."

"Still no sign of Kit?"

I filled her in. Including my latest conversation with Kevin.

"Shot? I feel sick," she said.

"I'm trying not to worry until I talk to Maddie."

In my rearview mirror I caught sight of Lewy and Joe two cars behind me. I sighed.

"When you hear something," Ana said, "text me so I can stop worrying."

"I will."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm off to Tam's to talk to Ian."

"About the little white pills?"

"Yes. Imagine if Daisy was pushing drugs other than the medicinal marijuana? She'd have to have a supplier and less than stellar clients. Any number of them would have motive to kill her. It would also explain the conversation I overheard between her and Kit, about the danger she was in. I wish I'd taken one of the pills with me to show Ian."

"And tamper with a crime scene?"

"Would they have had to know?"

Ana snorted. She'd have definitely taken a pill with her. I was glad she was on her way home, though I worried about Aunt Rosa. "How did your mom take to you leaving?"

"She's pouting, but understands."

This conversation reminded me of Ginger. Had her flight to Wyoming left yet? Had Kevin convinced her that there was nothing going on between the two of us?

Briefly, I wondered why I cared. After all, she was a big part of why my marriage had failed. I should feel zero pity for her. Yet . . . I knew what it was like to question faith fulness in a relationship. I didn't wish it on anyone. Even, dare I say it? Ginger.

"Really?" I finally said once I gathered my thoughts. "Understanding isn't a word I'd use to describe your mom."

"Okay, I had to promise her we'd go on a cruise at Christmastime."

"And?"

"I have to pay for it."

"Small price for Kit?"

"Oh, he's going to owe me, big-time."

I laughed. Understanding wouldn't be a word I'd have used to describe Ana either.

We said our good-byes as I turned into Ian and Tam's driveway.

Ian owned a large farm where he'd once raised English mastiffs, but he gave up breeding dogs once Niki was born. Just not enough time. A lopsided snowman sat melting in the front pasture, missing a charcoal eye. His carrot drooped like a bad nose job, and all but one of his rock buttons had fallen to the ground.

Tam threw open her front door as I stepped out of my truck. She started laughing.

"What's so funny?" I asked, climbing her front steps.

"You! In a dress."

Jeez. "I do, occasionally, wear one."

"Not that I've ever seen. How old is that dress?"

I thought back, lost track. "Old."

"Are those nylons?" Tam asked as she led me into the house.

"Yes, and don't ask how old they are. Hi there, Niki." I crouched down, peeked through the mesh of a playpen and cooed. Niki took one look at me and started wailing. "Why do I always have that effect on her?"

"I'm guessing it's the dress," Tam said, scooping up her daughter.

Niki, at four months, was plump, round, and drooled al most as much as BeBe did. "All right, all right. I'll buy a new dress!"

"Good. I can call Perry and let him know. He apparently saw you leaving this morning and called to warn me."

I wondered if I had Mario's number. It would only be fair to warn him about his precious Saturn.

Tam finally settled Niki just as Ian came in the back door carrying firewood. Niki's whole face lit up. Though Ian wasn't her biological father, I could tell she couldn't care less about DNA.

"Ian told me about the bloodstains and the bullets in the woods by Heavenly Hope," Tam said, nibbling the inside of her cheek.

Ian set the firewood down, began to stack it on the fieldstone hearth. "There wasn't a large amount of blood. In all likeliness, the bullet probably grazed the skin."

"But you don't know that for sure," Tam countered.

"And you don't know that Kit was the one hit," Ian said. He tugged off his knit cap, and his blond buzz cut stood on end. "We can't rush to judgments."

Tam looked at me.

I glanced at Ian. "Yes, we can."

He exhaled. "Not you too."

BOOK: Weeding Out Trouble

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