Digging Up Trouble (5 page)

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Authors: Heather Webber

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Mystery & Detective, #General

BOOK: Digging Up Trouble
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I just couldn't help myself. I blamed it on the stress of my day. "Sorry. I only speak to presidents." I lifted a bag of potting soil and shrugged.
She turned from valentine pink to fire engine red in two seconds flat. Her mouth opened widely, then closed again with an audible click. Pencil thin pale eyebrows dipped dangerously low as she tried hard for an evil eye. With the slight bulge, she just couldn't pull it off.
I bit my lip hard to keep from laughing.
"Uhhnn!" she squawked, spinning on her Ann Taylor wedges. Fists pumped as she speed-walked down the sidewalk.
I was definitely going to hell.
My mood lifted, I turned, potting soil in hand. "Eee!" I screamed as a big black blur barreled down on me.
"Nina, look out!" someone yelled unnecessarily.
I didn't even have time to brace myself before two enormous paws landed on my shoulders and pushed me backward. I tripped on the stack of potting soil sacks and fell down on the grass.
Pain radiated from my, er, backside. The sacks of soil I'd already stacked stopped my head from hitting the cement. Bits of soil flew everywhere as claws tore into the bag I still held onto. For dear life.
A huge tongue assaulted me, licking my face up and down, side to side.
I knew that tongue.
BeBe. Kit's dog.
"Get her off me!" I cried, trying not to open my mouth. Drool oozed down my face. Ewww! "BeBe, down! Down!"
This was some sort of cosmic justice, I just knew it.
A sharp whistle pierced the air. BeBe immediately retreated and began prancing around, her tongue lolling out of the corner of her mouth. She pranced rather gracefully for an enormous 150-pound, wrinkly-faced, drooling English mastiff.
Dazed, I glanced up. Kit's goofy grin split his whole face. "She missed you," he said.
Lifting my head, I saw that Jean-Claude stood behind Kit, a leash in his hands. He shrugged. "Sorry. She got away from me."
"What's BeBe doing with you?" I sputtered, still confused.
"Kit had me babysitting her."
Kit snatched the leash out of Jean-Claude's hands. "Lot of good it did me." He attached a hook to BeBe's collar.
"Well you didn't tell me she'd freak out when she saw Nina." Jean-Claude gestured to my prone body.
Tiredly, I asked, "What's BeBe doing
here
?"
BeBe lunged toward me when she heard her name. Kit's muscles bulged as he held her back. "Daisy got an emergency call and had to drop her off."
Daisy? I craned my neck to see down the street. "Daisy was here?"
"Thirty minutes ago," Jean-Claude said.
"What? You saw her?"
"She's not a ghost," Kit snapped.
"Actually, I didn't see
her.
" Jean-Claude scratched his eight a.m. shadow. "I just saw the car driving away. It's a sweet ride."
Damn. I'd missed her!
"You better not be looking at her ride," Kit warned, his eyes dark.
Jean-Claude had a history of stealing cars in his youth. I wasn't so sure he'd given up the pastime. Not with his weird behavior lately.
Jean-Claude held up his hands, palms out. "What ride?"
Kit nodded.
My butt ached. I groaned and accepted Jean-Claude's hand to help me up.
BeBe strained at her leash to get back to me. "Why bring her here? Why not leave her at home?"
Kit's eyes widened. "By herself?"
"Yeah?"
"That's harsh, Nina. She's just a baby."
A hundred-and-fifty-pound baby.
"She's a dog."
Kit's face contorted in disbelief.
"Fine, fine," I said, giving in. "Just keep her out of the yard and get back to work."
"What am I supposed to do with her?"
I gave him a how-am-I-supposed-to-know look.
Jean-Claude cleared his throat. "I'll watch her."
My jaw dropped open. "Hello? You work for
me
. Besides, look what happened last time you watched her."
"She was just excited to see you," he said. "I wasn't prepared for it. Now I am."
Kit rubbed BeBe's ears. They flopped back and forth. "He has a point. And if he doesn't watch over her, I'm going to have to run her over to my mom's."
"Your mom lives in Lima." Four hours away round-trip.
"Exactly."
"Fine," I said, looking between the two of them. "But if I need your help, Jean-Claude, BeBe goes in the truck with the AC on. Got it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Hmmph. Ma'am. That was twice this week. It made me want to fire him more than his recent misbehavior.
"Kit?" I asked.
"All right." He handed BeBe off to Jean-Claude, who wrapped the leash around his wrist three times and started off down the street.
Kit looked at me. "Home alone? C'mon, Nina."
"She's a dog!"
With a disgusted look, he turned and headed into the backyard.
Stanley Mack, the carpenter I contracted, drove up the street, a load of lumber in the back of his truck. I waved.
I managed to work for four hours straight without any other interruptions. It was almost eleven-thirty when someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Nina Quinn?"
The woman backed up a step when I turned. I wondered if it had anything to do with me being covered in dirt. "Yes?"
"I'm Kate Hathaway. President of the Fallow Falls Homeowners Association."
She was awfully pretty, with big blue eyes and reddishblonde hair. "Ah. Meredith sent you."
"Meredith is a bit high-strung." She smiled, showing no teeth, yet it still seemed genuine. "But she means well."
I wasn't so sure. Not about the high-strung part—she definitely was—but about the meaning well part. I thought she rather enjoyed being bossy and demanding.
When I didn't say anything, she went on. "I just need to make sure you have all the proper permits."
I'd dealt with HOAs before, so I knew the drill. "They're over here," I said, walking her to my truck. The little ankle bracelet she wore tinkled as we walked, reminding me of TBS's chimes, which reminded me of Tam, which reminded me I hadn't called her in the last thirty minutes to see if she was okay.
It would have to wait until I was done with Madame President.
I grabbed my clipboard and the folder where I kept important files. I was rooting through it when she said, "Does Greta know about this?"
"Greta?" I asked. The Lockharts' dog?
"She's rather particular."
My hand stilled. "The dog?"
"What dog?"
"Greta?"
Her big blue eyes got even bigger. "Greta's not—"
"Nina!" Jean-Claude yelled. "Help!"
In a blink I took it all in. The big black dog chasing the small white cat. The dog-sitter spread-eagle on the sidewalk, holding his wrist.
I dropped my papers and took off running after BeBe, who'd already disappeared into the backyard.
"BeBe," I yelled. "Here, BeBe!"
"BeBe!" Jean-Claude had picked himself up and was running alongside me. He turned worried eyes to me. "Is Kit going to kill me?"
"Yes."
He slowed down. "Maybe I should go."
I grabbed his arm, tugged him along. "Not until you catch her!"
"BeBe!" he yelled.
She wouldn't even look at us. Her focus was completely on the little cat who seemed to be enjoying running BeBe ragged.
The skid loader's engine fell silent. "Oh no," Jean-Claude murmured.
"BeBe! Come to Nina!" I urged. No luck. She galloped through the backyard, this way and that.
"Jean-Claude!" Kit bellowed.
Jean-Claude went pale.
"Maybe you ought to go after all," I said.
He turned and ran.
The cat dashed into the woods behind the house. BeBe followed it. I followed her.
Kit whistled, but BeBe wasn't listening. "What happened?" he yelled to me.
I thought it was fairly obvious, so I didn't answer.
The shady woods were full and thick with greenery. Everything from honeysuckle vines to squishy mushrooms covered the ground. Breathing hard, I hopped over a small creek and was relieved to see BeBe circling a large buckeye tree.
I bent at the waist, drawing in oxygen.
Kit powered through the woods and grabbed hold of BeBe's leash. He looked at me. "Time for a trip to the gym?"
"Ha." Gasp. "Ha."
BeBe apparently noticed my presence for the first time because she ran over and slobbered my face. "Eww!"
"She just loves you."
I shot Kit a look.
"Nina!" Coby yelled from the edge of the woods.
I walked toward him, noticing he looked a bit piqued. "What's wrong?"
He pointed to an older man standing near the house. "He wants to talk to you."
I didn't recognize him. I just hoped he wasn't another homeowners' official. Using the back of my hand, I wiped the sweat from my forehead, the drool from my face, and hurried down the hill.
I noticed two things right off. The man held a Growl take out bag in his hand (it's hard to miss being all black with bright yellow lettering), and he didn't look well at all. He was shouting at Marty.
"What is going on here? This is private property!" Sweat beaded on his brow. "Who are you people? No one gave permission for this!"
My lungs burned. Maybe a trip to the gym wasn't such a bad idea. Pulling in a shallow breath, I said, "I'll take care of this, Marty."
Next, I tried for a soothing tone. "Sir, calm down."
The take-out bag crinkled in his closed fist. "Don't tell me to calm down, little lady. This is America. I can be as
not
calm as I want! Where's my wife?"
Little lady.
Hmm. I couldn't decide whether this insult was a step up or step down from "ma'am."
Kit snorted from behind me. I turned and gave him the evil eye. Even BeBe ducked behind Kit's legs.
The man stomped across the cracked cement patio, threw open the back door of the house, and disappeared inside. The house I was quickly suspecting did not belong to the Lockharts.
I felt sick.
"Greta!" he yelled, his voice thunderous.
Uh-oh. Was he yelling for his dog . . . or his wife?
I felt re
ally
sick.
He came back out a second later without the take-out bag, both fists clenched tight, like he was ready to take a swing. Sweat dripped from his receding hairline. He looked hot yet cold at the same time. Sweating yet pale.
Stepping back, I wondered if I had any degerminator in my truck. The man obviously had the flu or something.
He bellowed, "I come home from work not feeling well, just wanting some rest, relaxation, and a little soup, and this is what I find! People desecrating my yard! What is going on?" Color sat high on his hollow cheekbones, standing out against his pale skin.
"Surprise!" I said. "I'm Nina Quinn, owner of Taken by Surprise, Garden Designs. I was hired to makeover this backyard."
"Hired! By who?"
I didn't think this was the time to correct his grammar. I gulped. I'd been hired by Lindsey Lockhart to surprise her husband.
This clearly was not Bill. I'd met him many times picking Riley up from work. So either Lindsey was a polygamist or I'd been tricked. It was a sticky situation. I didn't know what to do, what to say, and I hated that I'd been put in this position.
"Um, the homeowner?" I asked, hoping against hope that I was wrong about this house belonging to this man.
"Are you toying with me, little lady?"
Again the snort from Kit. What on earth was going on? I expected
Candid Camera
any second.
"
I
am the home—" He broke off mid-word, his eyes widening. He clutched his chest, his lips parting in a silent scream. His knees buckled and he toppled over. He landed in a motionless heap at my feet.

Five

Kit immediately handed me BeBe's leash and started CPR. I watched him do chest compressions, stopping to breathe air into the man's lungs every so often.
"He's dead!" a voice over my shoulder said.
It was Meredith Adams, HOA VP, her eyes on bulge overload.
"No, he's not," I said, hoping it was true.
Please God, let
it be true.
I swore right then and there I'd go to confession every week for the rest of my life if it were true.
"Yes, he is. You killed him!"
"Did not!"
"Did too."
"Go away!"
Someone grabbed Meredith's arm and tugged. It was Kate Hathaway. I gave her a grateful smile.
Kit pressed and breathed.
Dear God. I'd never had someone die at one of my sites. BeBe, probably sensing something important was going on, sat at my feet, content to lick my hand. I didn't even mind. All I kept thinking about was what the man had said. Or what he'd been about to say. I
am the homeowner.
This man was clearly
not
Bill Lockhart.
Who the hell was he?
I turned to Madame President to ask, but she and Meredith Adams were gone. Marty and Coby stood huddled by the neighbor's picket fence, their eyes wide with disbelief. Ignacio and his crew had disappeared. I didn't blame them. In a few minutes this place would be crawling with officials. Officials who might think to check green cards.
Sirens rang in the distance.
They'd gotten here fast, though I rather suspected it was too late for the man. John Doe's face had turned a pale shade of blue, his lips a plum color. And his eyes . . . I shuddered. They were open wide but not seeing a thing.
Still, Kit worked on him. The man had clearly been ill, and I wondered if he was contagious as Kit did mouth-to-mouth.
I looked down the hill to the sidewalk and saw an ambulance pull up diagonally at the curb. As the paramedics rushed toward us, they brought a crowd of onlookers. BeBe excitedly danced around my feet at all the new faces.

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