Digging Up Trouble (2 page)

I peeked at her through the open door. She shook her finger at me.

"Is 'clear sailing' a cliché?" I asked.

Five heads bobbed.

I had picked up the worst habit of sounding like my mother, using abridged clichés and trite expressions. Except lately I'd noticed she'd been using them less and less, and I'd been using them more and more. "Hey! It wasn't abbreviated, though! That's something."

"It's hard to abbreviate a two-word cliché," Tam said, jotting something down. I imagined she had a notebook filled with my grammar transgressions.

Hmmph.

The small set of chimes attached to the front door rang out. The door used to have a cowbell, but the clanging had apparently gotten on Tam's nerves because I came in one day to find the bell flatter than a pan— I caught myself and stopped.

It was flat.

And there'd been a baseball bat nearby, namely in Tam's hands. I hadn't asked questions. The next day the chimes were on the door.

Heads craned to look out the conference room door to see who'd come in. Four sets of eyes then turned to me when Jean-Claude stumbled into the office.

"What?" I said to them.

"You need to take care of this." Kit rose.

I looked up, up, up at him. "I will."

He arched an eyebrow, and I noticed that he didn't look nearly as scary with a fuzzy head. It was hard to look scary with baby chicken hair.

I wondered if he knew that.

Didn't think I should be the one to tell him.

Jean-Claude froze when he spotted us. I
think
he spotted us, at least. Hard to say when he wore pitch-black Ray-Bans.

Everyone remaining at the table stood and scattered, leaving me to deal with Jean-Claude in private. "Come on in," I said to him.

"Was the meeting at eight? Thought it was at nine."

"Seeing as how it's almost ten, that's beside the point."

"You're mad."

I was. "Sit."

He slumped in Deanna's vacated chair, looking like Riley, my fifteen-year-old stepson, when he was in a mood.

In the reflection of his sunglasses I could see anger had darkened my already muddy green eyes. I noticed I needed a haircut too, my hair hanging past my shoulders. In my head it was easy to hear my sister Maria's voice telling me to go blonde like she was, but I was happy to be a brunette. For now.

I picked at the edge of a paper, folding it back and forth until it ripped. "What's going on?"

Taking off his sunglasses, he looked at me. I held back a gasp but could feel my eyes go wide, my anger dissipating into worry. Dark circles rimmed his eyes and streaks of red marred the white part around his dark pupils. "Overslept."

"You've been doing that a lot lately."

"I know. Sorry."

I jumped right in. "I think maybe it's time you found another job, Jean-Claude. Something nocturnal maybe."

His eyes grew wide, looking more bloodshot than before. "What?"

"I really can't have you working here anymore. Actually, you haven't been working much at all. The others have been covering for you for too long. And it's dangerous to have you working when you're so tired all the time. Some of the equipment—"

"Nina, please, you can't fire me."

My stomach hurt. "I really don't have a choice."

"I need the money," he said, leaning forward, over the table.

"
I
need
you
to work for the money."

"I will. Just give me another chance."

"Jean-Claude, this is about your hundredth chance."

"Please, Nina."

This all went back to me being a sucker for a sob story. I hated turning down someone in need. "Why do you need the money so badly?"

He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed. "Family trouble."

"Can you be more specific?"

"I'd rather not. It's embarrassing."

I looked out the conference room door, saw Tam sitting, listing left like a sinking boat, her ear cocked. She rarely missed much of what went on around here.

"You're not doing drugs are you?"

I heard a scraping noise from the wall behind me and had the feeling Kit, Deanna, Coby, and Marty were listening through the vent.

"What? No! I don't do that."

My eyebrow arched.

"Anymore," he put in.

The chimes on the front door startled me. My head snapped up.

She was here.

I gathered my files, stood up.

Jean-Claude glanced at me with big puppy dog eyes. "Please, Nina?"

Be strong,
I told myself. "We'll talk about this later."

All right, so I copped out. But I really needed more information before I could fire him. Right?

Ugh.

I
hated
firing people.

As I walked out of the conference room, I heard scrambling from next door. I couldn't help but smile. At least I wasn't the only nosy one in the office.

"Lindsey," I said, holding out my hand to the tall winsome woman who'd just come in.

"Hi, Nina. Ready for me?" she asked as we shook.

I nodded as I led her into my office. Lindsey Lockhart.

Leah's sister.

Leah Quinn. Who happened to be Riley's mother. My soon-to-be-ex-husband Kevin's first wife.

The one who mysteriously died.

The one I knew nothing about.

Yet.

I set the design board for the Lockharts' yard on an easel and sat in my swivel chair. "We just had our finalization meeting. Everything's on track."

"That's great," she said, her light eyes wide and bright as she stared at the board. "Everything looks just beautiful. I love those colors. The blues and whites are so soothing."

She had long brown hair, blonde highlights, and Riley's widow's peak. I wondered if her sister had had it too.

Leah Quinn had died long before I met Kevin, and in the eight years I'd been married to him, I'd never seen a single picture of the woman.

Riley must have her eyes. Kevin's were a dark green and Riley's were midnight blue.

"Thanks again for doing this, Nina. I know the yard is a mess."

An understatement if I'd ever heard one. The Lockhart yard . . .

I shuddered.

It was going to take a solid half day to excavate, even with Ignacio's crew's help. I made a mental note to confirm with Dexter Trucking that the extra dump trucks I hired would be at the site on time.

"When we—I mean I . . . When
I fo
und out through Riley about TBS, I couldn't believe my luck. It was just such perfect timing. I know it will be a tough job, though."

The "we" included Bill Lockhart, Lindsey's husband, who was the surprisee of this makeover.

"I'm always game for a challenge," I said. "Plus, we're practically family." When Riley had come to me, telling me that his aunt was interested in a makeover, I'd been fairly giddy. Finally, someone who knew the whole story about Leah's death.

When I saw the yard for the first time three weeks ago, I'd nearly backed out. My nosiness wasn't worth the trouble it was going to take to get the Lockhart job done in one day.

Then I'd thought of Riley. Of how happy he'd been lately. And I couldn't say no.

"How's Riley doing?" she asked.

"Pretty good. He really likes his job. Thanks for setting that up. He couldn't wait to get away from bagging groceries."

Lindsey laughed. "I don't know if flipping tofu burgers is a big step up, but Bill loves having him around."

Lindsey's husband Bill was the co-owner of Growl, a fast food restaurant featuring healthy alternatives. Riley had applied for a job there after one particularly horrifying afternoon at his old job as a grocery bagger when he'd been forced to triple bag someone's order; hit a car with a cart while on lot duty; and had his sneakers soaked in egg yolk when a plastic bag tore open, dumping out a carton of eggs. He'd quit that afternoon. It probably didn't help that he and his girlfriend Katie had broken up the night before.

He was still pouting over that, but it had been a month since he'd started his new job, and I hadn't heard a single complaint. Well, that wasn't true. Bill's business partner was apparently a micromanager, but after Riley learned that his uncle Bill was in charge of the restaurant Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturday nights, he'd changed his schedule.

All had been peaceful in my household lately.

Which was somewhat disturbing.

My house was rarely peaceful.

Not with having a fifteen-year-old living with me. Plus, my divorce from Kevin was in its final stages. Oh, and let's not forget my dysfunctional family. Between Ana, my sister Maria, and my parents . . .

This was clearly the calm before the storm.

Lord help me.

"What kind of trees are these?" she asked.

"These two," I said, pointing, "are Bradford pears. Nice pear shape and beautiful white blossoms in the spring. This is an ash. Fairly quick grower, lots of shade, and pretty yellow gold foliage in the fall."

"It all looks so beautiful."

"Can I ask why you've let the yard go all these years?" I'd been dying to ask.

Her small upturned nose scrunched. "Honestly, it's just one of those things. Surely, you understand."

Not really. I couldn't imagine having what looked like a third world jungle for my backyard. But hey, that's me.

"I don't know if we'd be doing it at all if it weren't for the lawsuit."

I perked up, leaned over my stained desk blotter. "Lawsuit?"

"Neighborhood HOA. Homeowners' association."

My eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Really. The fines from not fixing the yard mounted and, well, Bill, he, um, is stubborn and, well . . . here I am."

My eyebrows twitched. Something didn't sound right.

Lindsey tsked. "Poor Greta."

"Greta?"

"Oh! Um, our dog."

"Your dog? What's that have to do with the lawsuit?"

She shifted in her chair. "I just meant that even without the lawsuit, it was past time to get the yard done. Greta barely has any room to move out there." Her hands fluttered. "Plus, the ticks. You know."

I fell back against my chair. My eyebrow started twitching again. My eyebrows were my secret weapon against load-ofbull stories. If the twitching was any indication, Lindsey was seriously shoveling me a line.

"Ticks," I repeated.

"All that long grass." Her head snapped to the design board. "Is that a fire pit?"

I noted the change of subject. "A ceramic one, yes. For the corner of the deck. We talked about that last time, if you remember."

"Oh, right. Right."

Something wacky was happening, but I didn't know what. Clearly flustered, Lindsey fidgeted in her seat and couldn't keep her hands still. Her eyes danced from me to the board to the floor and back again.

This might be the perfect time to get information out of her. "Have you and Bill been married long?"

She smiled. "Twelve years."

"Really? You don't look old enough to be married twelve years!"

I was such a liar. She looked forty if a day.

She blushed clear to the roots of her blonde highlights. "You're sweet. Thanks. I'm forty-three."

"Leah was your younger sister, then?"

A cloud passed over her eyes, and for a second I didn't

think she was going to answer me. Finally, she said, "Yes."

"It must have been hard."

"Hardest on Riley, I think," Lindsey murmured. "To lose his mom."

Kevin too, I figured. He'd grieved a long time for his first wife. Five years.

I put my hands in my lap, crossed my fingers. "What exactly happened to her?"

"Boating accident."

I knew that already. I pressed. "Did it crash?"

"Hasn't Kevin told you all this?"

Busted.

"Um, well, he doesn't like to talk about it."

"Neither do I, Nina. No offense."

This conversation was going downhill fast. "None taken," I said, thinking fast, grasping at straws.

I completely ignored my use of that particular cliché. It fit.

"It's just that since coming to work for you and Bill, Riley's been talking about his mom a lot. He has questions I can't answer."

I was going to burn in hell for my lies. I made a mental note to head to confession at St. Valentine's as soon as possible.

Then I remembered I hated confession.

Maybe I'd just do some acts of kindness on my own as penance. God would accept that, wouldn't He?

Probably I was going to hell.

"Have him come to talk to me. My door is always open."

To him. Her point was clear. She was done talking to
me
about it.

Great. I'd taken on this job to get more information about Leah and her death, and I'd just gotten shafted. Now I was stuck with a nightmare of a job and no answers.

This was what I got for snooping.

"Well, what's Bill doing tomorrow?" I loved hearing the ways people tricked unknowing spouses to leave the house while the makeover took place.

"Bill?" she asked, her eyebrows dipping in confusion.

"Oh, he'll be at work, right?" I remembered Riley worked tomorrow, a Friday, which meant it was a day Bill would be there.

"In the afternoon," she said.

My shoulders stiffened. "Not the morning?"

"Oh, no. The restaurant doesn't open till eleven. Bill likes to sleep late."

My crew was due to arrive at six-thirty, the trucks at seven. This wasn't good, and I told Lindsey so. "Unless he knows about the makeover?" Some people did that. People who just wanted their yard done in a day, but I tried to only take on clients who wanted the surprise, to keep the integrity of the business.