Digging Up Trouble (9 page)

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Authors: Heather Webber

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

BOOK: Digging Up Trouble

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Not that Russ was murdered.

It had been a heart attack.

If I kept thinking that, then maybe it'd be true.

I slipped my foot into Bill's linked hands and used the brick exterior for leverage.

I stayed to the left of the window and peered in, a quick peep just to see where the two were standing. Greta stood in front of the sink, her back to me. All I could see of the man was his hands as he gestured. He stood too far left, near the back door.

"I want them back, Greta."

He wore a wedding ring. Not just a simple band. There was something unusual about it, but I was too far away to make out any details. I looked for a watch or any other identifying feature, but couldn't find anything that stood out. Only man hands. Long fingers, short nails—not bitten. He must have worn a short-sleeve shirt because I couldn't see any cuffs.

"Who is it?" Bill asked.

"I can't see him," I whispered.

The back door creaked open. "I want them back by—"

I didn't hear the rest. I fell backward when Bill released his hands. I braced for a crash landing but was snatched up before I hit the ground.

Bill pushed me around the corner of the house just as the back door slammed closed.

I dragged Bill toward the front of the house, but he resisted.

Breathing hard, I tried to keep my voice low. "What're you doing?"

"Going back. I want to see who it is. I'll look casual."

He was nuts. I was so out of there.

As he stuck his hands in his pockets, started whistling "Yellow Rose of Texas," and headed for the police tape, I made a break for the front yard . . . and almost slammed into someone when I rounded the corner.

What was it with me crashing into people today?

"Who are you?" Suspicious eyes honed in. "What are you doing sneaking around? I'm going to call the police!" she said, shaking a finger at me.

Backing up, I scrambled for an answer. She was a short rotund woman, with thick arms and thicker ankles. She wore orthopedic shoes, black stirrup pants from the eighties, a purple beaded shirt, and a strange glint in her eye.

I quickly said, "I'm Nina Quinn. I'm the landscaper . . . I was just checking to see if the crime scene tape had been removed yet. I'd like to finish the job I started."

I was such a good liar. I wasn't sure if this was a good trait or not. Probably not, but a girl had to make do with the gifts given her.

Bill came whistling around the corner and stiffened when he saw the woman. "Noreen?" he said. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at wo—"

She cut him off. "Are you two together?" Her gaze jumped between Bill and me, suspicion still apparent. Potato-shaped, she looked to be about fifty, with a short graying bob with chunky bangs, chubby cheeks, and big Sally Jesse Raphael red glasses.

"Us?" I said. "No. Definitely not."

We all jumped when the front door swung open, banging against the wall behind it. Seemed I wasn't the only one on edge.

A red-faced, perspiring Greta filled the doorway.

"Greta, what's wrong?" Mrs. Potato Head asked.

Greta still wore the same housecoat as yesterday. "What are you all doing here?"

I swallowed hard. It was quite clear by her jumpy demeanor and angry eyes that she wasn't in the mood for visitors. This probably wasn't the best time to ask about dropping the lawsuit. "I, um, came by to talk."

Bill said, "Me too."

Mrs. Potato Head didn't say anything, but Greta didn't seem to be looking for an answer from her. Greta folded meaty arms across her huge chest. "I have nothing to say to either of you."

Ohh-kay.

I looked to Bill. He took a step forward, toward the front stairs. "Greta, I'm truly sorry about Russ, you must know that."

Her shoulders stiffened. "I don't know anything right now."

"Fair enough," he said. "But—"

Greta glared. Her beehive 'do shook as she leaned against the doorjamb. "But what? What do you want, Bill?"

I saw his pointy Adam's apple bob as he said, "Russ had taken some paperwork home with him from the restaurant. I need it."

"It'll have to wait."

"It really can't."

"It has to." She wiped her forehead with the top of her hand. "Go home."

Bill held out his hands, pleading. "Greta, please."

I didn't understand the hint of desperation I heard in Bill's voice. Was he looking for the account books I'd seen through the window? Were they for Growl? Or was he looking for something else? Something so important that he'd leave his pride behind and beg a grieving widow?

"No." Greta's jaw set stubbornly. "I don't wish to see anyone right now. Go away."

She looked at wit's end. Russ's death had obviously taken its toll. Not to mention the conversation from the mystery man in her kitchen.

Mrs. Potato Head climbed the front steps, paused on the landing, adjusted her glasses, and glowered at us as well. Hmmph. Nothing like feeling welcome.

"You heard her," Mrs. Potato Head said. "The both of you need to leave. Greta needs to rest."

"You too, Noreen," Greta said. "I want to be alone."

A look of hurt flashed across Mrs. Potato Head's face. "I can understand that, but now is the time you should be with family."

Although Bill and I had been dismissed, neither of us made ready to leave. Apparently I wasn't the only one with a nosy streak.

Or was he waiting until everyone left to talk his way into the Grabinsky house?

Greta reached out, touched Noreen's arm. Her voice had softened noticeably. "Thanks, but no. I truly wish to be alone."

When Greta turned to go back into the house, I noted that she and Noreen had the same profile . . . and without the Sally Jesse glasses, the same eyes. Sisters, probably.

Greta closed the door with much more caution than when she'd opened it.

Well. I couldn't say this was a wasted trip, not with overhearing Greta being threatened.

Russ had been a blackmailer. Wasn't that interesting?

And Bill was desperate to find "paperwork."

Noreen came down the steps, her chin held high. False bravado, if the tears in her eyes were any indication.

"Noreen, may I have a word with you?" A strained smile tugged at Bill's lips.

She sniffed, and looked directly at Bill without blinking. "Now's not a good time. I'm worried about my sister. Greta isn't used to being alone."

Aha! They were sisters. Good to know my Clue-playing skills could actually come in handy once in a while.

Bill spoke through clenched teeth. "When, then?"

Noreen wrung her hands. "I'll be around."

I looked between the two of them. "You two know each other well?"

Without answering, Noreen said, "I must go." She hurried down the front walk, opened the door to a small compact, and drove away.

I looked a question at Bill.

"Not very well," he said.

My eyebrow arched.

"Did you see the man from the kitchen?"

"He was gone by the time I made it back there. I've got to go too."

My other eyebrow arched as he walked away, but I wasn't sure why. All I knew was that my instincts were rarely wrong. Bill and Lindsey's explanation about hiring me just wasn't ringing true.

I walked back to my truck with a lot of questions.

Who was blackmailing Greta?

Who had Russ been blackmailing?

And the most important . . .

Had Russ been murdered?

Nine

I resisted temptation to head to the hospital to visit Tam.

Okay, okay, so I didn't want to hear Brickhouse's "I told you so" about my disastrous visit with Greta.

It was closing in on two o' clock, and as I headed to the office to get some paperwork done, I called Kit to make sure the mini was going okay.

He answered his cell on the third ring. "Yo."

"What kind of greeting is that?"

"My kind."

I imagined him winking when he said it. He had a playful tone in his voice. "Everything going okay?"

"No dead bodies."

"Ha. Ha."

"The brick pavers are laid, the fire pit is done, the flowers are going in now. We should be back at the office in another two hours or so."

"Did Jean-Claude show up?"

"Ten minutes late. Looks like death warmed up and spit out."

I didn't want to think about death. I turned right onto Jaybird, heading toward TBS.

"He say anything?" I ventured. "About what he's been doing?" I'd kept my gigolo suspicions to myself. Well, I'd shared them with Ana, who said she'd look into it.

I wondered exactly what kind of connections she had in that area, but truly, there were some things about my cousin even I didn't want to know.

"Nah."

"Any suspicions?"

"Nah."

I rolled my eyes. "You're so helpful."

"That's what you pay me for," he said, and I heard a big
WOOF
in the background.

"Is that BeBe?"

"I, um—" Static suddenly filled the line. "You're breaking up!"

"Kit," I warned, knowing exactly what he was doing. Another W
OOF
echoed across the line.

"Gotta go, Nina."

I stared at my silent cell phone. He'd hung up on me.

Hmmph.

Part of me wanted to go to the site and find out why BeBe was once again part of my crew. BeBe was sweet and all, but a work site was no place for her. She could possibly cause more damage than we could fix.

If BeBe couldn't stay at home, then it was time for doggy day care.

I walked into the office and found I kind of missed the chimes.

Coby manned Tam's desk. He looked up at me, the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder, one hand on the computer keyboard, the other holding a pencil.

"Do you know how to schedule an appointment?" he asked me. Then said into the phone, "No, no, not you."

He mouthed
Help me
and added big puppy dog eyes.

His chubby baby-fat cheeks were covered in a light peach fuzzy blond that would someday turn to stubble.

I had to imagine that, at twenty-four, he hoped "one day" would be soon.

I took the phone, sorted out the mess, and hung up.

"We need to get a temp," Coby said, rising from Tam's throne. It had been odd to see him sitting there, and not Tam. She was such a fixture in the office. Her African violet, Sassy, even seemed to droop a little. I made a mental note to take it to the hospital with me the next time I visited.

"Thanks for covering things today," I said.

He took a set of keys from his pocket, headed toward the door. "I've got a cousin who needs a job."

"Any experience?"

He hedged. "Define experience."

"As in telephone, computer, people skills?"

"Ah, no."

"Then I'm going to have to pass."

"You're missing out," he said, shaking a finger.

"I'll risk it."

He waved as he walked out. I wondered if anyone else was there. I checked around but didn't see anyone, and wondered where Deanna was until I played my voice mail and discovered that she'd called in sick today because her two-year-old son Lucah had that weird flu going around.

I wondered what it was like to have a two-year-old. I didn't have much experience with babies or toddlers. I'd met Riley when he was eight. Though I supposed if I could survive his attitude, then I could face anything.

This summer flu going around had hit hard. I wondered if that's what Russ had had. Could that have played a factor in his death?

Tossing aside thoughts of death, I wandered into Deanna's office and couldn't help but peek at her design plan for a mini scheduled for the following afternoon.

Since she'd shown so much design promise, I'd given her free reign over the project. She'd been ear-splittingly happy. I knew Kit was scheduled to be her project foreman and realized he'd been working a lot lately. Not that he complained—he rarely expressed his unhappiness. Maybe it was time to hire another contractor to lessen Kit's load?

Or maybe it was time to cut back altogether. I'd been thinking about it more and more lately. The long hours were wearing thin on all of us.

Looking around, I realized I missed the darn chimes. I went outside to look and found them in a boxwood near my TBS truck. As I reattached them to the door, the phone rang.

I gave Sassy a pat as I picked up the phone on Tam's desk. "Taken by Surprise, this is Nina Quinn."

"This is your date, wondering where you are."

My date. Oh no! "I'm so sorry, Bobby! I forgot." We'd had plans to go to a Reds game. "It's been crazy here." I'd talked to him last night, told him all about what had happened. "The widow is still threatening to sue me. I hate to say it, but she has a case."

"My cousin Josh is a lawyer. A good one. Let me call him for you."

I had independence issues and thought I should call my own lawyer, but decided I needed help. I couldn't do it all, as much as I wanted to. "All right."

"How about dinner and a movie now that the game is just about over?" he asked.

"Bobby, I'm so sorry I forgot about the game!"

"It's okay. They're losing anyway. Dinner? Movie? It will take your mind off things for a while."

I agreed before I thought too much about it, and hung up before I changed my mind.

I knew I needed to decide how I felt about Bobby. Soon. I didn't want to hurt him.

The phone rang again, reminding me that I also needed to find a temp for Tam, though no one could ever replace her. She was the backbone of TBS. She kept things running smoothly, me organized, and track of all loose ends.

Not to mention she answered the phone.

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