Trouble In Spades (18 page)

"Celeste," Aunt Rosa said. "You're looking well."

"Rosetta," my mother said to her sister-in-law. "You're looking well."

"Let's eat!" I urged. The sooner they ate, the sooner they would leave.

I'd just doused my stir-fry with soy sauce when the doorbell rang. I jumped up. "That's gotta be Ana!"

"I should have known she was in this with you!" my mother said under her breath.

Aunt Rosa pointed a fork at her. "Don't you say anything bad about my Analise!"

My mother looked innocently at my father. "Did I say something bad?"

Like a tortured man, he said, "Celeste . . ."

"Is something wrong?" Brickhouse asked. "I feel tension." As I scooted out of the room, I heard Mr. Cabrera say, "Rosetta is Tonio's sister. She and Celeste have a longstanding feud . . ."

I didn't even want to know how he knew that.

I pulled open the door. "Thank God you're—"

"I knew you missed me," Kevin said.

He leaned against the doorjamb, a folder in his hands.

Ana stepped out from behind him, looking contrite.

I let them both in, shot a nervous glance toward the kitchen. "Maybe you shouldn't come in," I said to Kevin. "My parents are here, and you're not exactly on their list of favorite people right now. There's no telling what my dad might do to you."

Kevin looked over my head, toward the doorway. Loud voices filtered out as my mother and Aunt Rosa bickered. Grimly, Kevin said, "I'll have to take my chances. This is important."

"Oh?" I said. Ana wouldn't look at me.
Uh-oh.
"What's going on?"

Kevin tapped his chin. Dark stubble covered his jaw, his cheeks. "Funny thing happened today."

I noticed he'd lowered his voice. A good idea. My father knew where the knives were hidden.

"What's that?" I asked.

"John Orlenke paid me a visit."

My gaze slid to Ana. A while back she dated John Orlenke, a rookie patrol officer. Ana had to feel my glare, but she apparently found something interesting in the carpet and wouldn't look up. "Oh?" I said.

"Let's say," Kevin gestured, "hypothetically, an old friend of his came in and asked him for a favor."

"Oh?" I said again.

"Not a big deal." He tapped the folder against his palm. "Just to run some prints. See what comes up."

"I'd say that would be nice of him." I needed to sit. The arm of the couch seemed like a good spot.

The arguing from the other room escalated. Maybe this was the best thing for Mom and Aunt Rosetta. Get things out in the open.

"Yeah, it would be. And let's say he does it, thinking maybe he'd do
this fav
or and the old friend would offer him a favor or two."

Ana's head snapped up. I couldn't tell if she was appalled or excited.

Kevin continued. "Imagine John's shock when the FBI calls him. Wants to know how he obtained a certain pair of prints."

"Scared, he comes to me. See, I know his friend quite well, and he wants me to take care of this for him." Something crashed in the kitchen and Gracie came bolting out. She bumped into the chair and darted under the couch.

Ana jumped, lifting her feet up onto the chair. "What the hell was that?"

I rubbed my temples. "Gracie."

Kevin glared at me. "You got a dog?"
He'd always wanted a dog, but I'd argued we weren't home enough.

"It's not a dog," I said. "It's a rat."

He narrowed his green eyes.

"Can we just get to it, please? World War Three is raging in my kitchen."

"Do you know her?" he asked me, pulling a picture from the file.

I took it, examined the face. The hair was definitely different, and she looked somehow younger, but it was Stella Zamora, the blue-haired lady from the Kalypso. I told Kevin about my run-in with her. He just kept nodding.

"Is that Chinese I smell?" Ana broke in. "I'm hungry. Haven't eaten since Mom got here. She never stops long enough to. And sleep? Hah! She was up all night on the computer. Tappity-tap-tap. It's driving me nuts." She eyed the couch. "This pulls out, right?"

"It's taken," I said.

"Food?" she whimpered.

I motioned to the kitchen. "Have at it. And try to keep them from coming in here, will you? I really don't want to see any bloodshed."

When Ana disappeared through the doorway, the arguing reached fever pitch.

"Is she wanted by the FBI?" I asked Kevin, handing the picture back to him.

"Nina, she
is
FBI."

"Her real name is Fran Cooper, and she's been missing since yesterday morning. Needless to say, the FBI is very interested in her whereabouts."

"I don't know where she is." It was the truth, as lame as it sounded.

"So Ana told me. She filled me in on the pictures Nate sent you too. Can I have them now?"

Out of the coat closet, I grabbed my backpack. I thrust the packet of pictures and the guest list at Kevin. "I don't know why he sent them to me."

"Probably figured you were safe."

"Safe from what?"

"I honestly don't know. The FBI doesn't like to share. I need to turn these over to them." He flipped through them, whistling under his breath.

"I don't recognize him," I said. "Do you?" Kevin shook his head.

Maria came running in with rice stuck in her hair. She collided with Kevin and the pictures scattered. "It's getting ugly in there! Don't worry," she said to me. "I'll call the painter first thing in the morning." I didn't want to know. Really, I didn't.

Gracie came out, sat at Maria's ankle. She was eyeing it like she was going to take another bite, but Maria gave her the Ceceri evil eye and she slunk away.

Kevin hurriedly grabbed the pictures and tried to sound low-key. "Looks like a Chihuahua to me," he said.

"You want her?" I asked.

Maria was shaking her head no, warning Kevin off. The backstabber.

"No thanks," he said.

"Oh, you missed one." Maria scooped a Polaroid from beneath the chair.

Kevin reached for it, but she didn't let go. I peeked over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. It was the picture of the man from chest up. No gun. No Claire. No blood. Maria looked up at Kevin. "I didn't know you were working on his case."

Kevin and I looked at each other. Kevin said, "
His
case?"

"Brian Thatcher. I hope you catch whoever did it. It was quite a shock."

"You know him?" I asked, shocked myself.

"I told you about him," she said to me, acting put out. When I looked blankly at her, she sighed. "You know, my boss . . . at Phineus Frye. He was carjacked a few months ago . . ."

This w
as Brian Thatcher? I tried to remember everything I'd been told about him, but all I came up with was his death and that he'd been Maria's boss. I thought these pictures certainly proved that he hadn't been carjacked.

Brian Thatcher had worked
at
Phineus Frye. Claire Battiste worked
for
Phineus Frye and, it turns out,
was
a Phineus and re
lated
to a Frye. And Nate? How did he tie in other than he worked for Claire? Maybe it was enough. Another crash came from the kitchen.

"That's my cue to leave," Kevin said. "We need to talk about this," he said, holding up the file. "I'll be in touch."

"Can't wait," I said.

Kevin darted for the door as more glass shattered. I ran into the kitchen.

Serenely, Ana sat cross-legged on top of the island, my father was on the floor picking up pieces of wineglass, and my mother and Aunt Rosetta were facing off across the table from one another, each holding a fork at arm's length. "Who was here?" my father asked.

"The paper boy," I lied.

"Hmmm," he said as he picked up shards. I thought it was a good thing Kevin had left when he had.

"Where are Mr. Cabrera and Mrs. Krauss?" I asked.

Ana dipped her fork into her bowl. "They slipped out the back when the soy sauce started flying." She gestured to her bowl. "This is good, by the way."

Dryly, I said, "Glad you like it."

"Nina!" my mother shouted. "This is unforgivable!"

"Don't blame her for you being too stubborn to let bygones be bygones!" Rosa yelled.

"Really, Nina. You
could
have warned us," Maria chimed in.

Oooooh.
My blood pressure jumped. "Mom," I said childishly, "Maria has something she needs to tell you. About Nate."

My mother looked at Maria. "Oh?"

Maria shot me a dirty look. Then she lifted her chin, drew her shoulders back, and smiled evilly. "Actually, I do. Nina thinks Nate and I should elope."

My father quickly sidestepped and caught my mother as she fainted.

I looked up from my sketch pad at the knock on my door. "I can't sleep," Maria said, coming in.

"Maybe you should go sleep at Mom's."

She pulled back the covers. "You're not still mad about earlier, are you?"

I went back to sketching, my colored pencils spread out around me. They rolled when Maria crawled into the bed. Gracie hopped up and snuggled next to her. Maria nudged her away and Gracie slunk down to the end of the bed, circled five times and settled down.

I gaped at the two of them, but they were oblivious to the fact that this was
my
room.
My
bed.

Maria yawned. "I'm really worried about Nate, Nina."

Which is exactly why I was keeping my mouth shut on the matter. She didn't need to know about Nate's frightened phone call, or what really happened to Brian Thatcher. Not yet, at least. Honestly, I wished I didn't know about any of it. "He'll be fine."

"You're lying."

"How do you know?"

"Your nostrils flared."

"Don't look at my nostrils," I said, covering them up. "That's gross."

"Tell me about it. But it's the only way I can tell if you're lying."

I pinched my nose closed. "He'll be fine," I said in a squeaky Donald Duck–like voice. "He didn't kill Claire."

"I didn't say he did."

Gracie inched her way up the bed. I watched her with a wary eye. I hadn't had a waterproof mattress cover on my bed since I was four.

Picking up a black pencil, I drew in a wrought-iron chaise lounge on the Frye's design board. I hoped I'd be able to find one on such short notice. "What do you think happened to him?" I asked her.

"I thought he ran away with Claire. But Claire's dead, so where's Nate?" She pulled the covers up to her chin. "Would I know if he were dead? Have some sort of feeling?"

"I think that only happens in movies."

A tear slipped out of her eye. "I love him, Nina."

A lump formed in my throat. Jeez. I'd gone to bed early to escape this. "I know."

Her eyes shut and within minutes she was snoring. Worrying had apparently exhausted her. If Nate was my fiancé, I'd be up all night giving myself ulcers. It was only one of the many things that made us different. Sighing, I drew the covers up under her chin.

As I went back to sketching, I kept an eye on Gracie. I noticed her surreptitiously inching her way up the bed. Curious, I watched to see what she'd do.

Once she was finally nestled between Maria and me, she snorted and snuffed, trying to lift the covers with her nose. In amazement, I watched as she burrowed beneath the covers and settled in. From my point of view, Gracie's small shape made Maria look like she was hunchbacked. I grabbed my pencils and sketch pad and headed for the living room. This drawing needed to be done for Verona Frye before tomorrow. Apparently, her sister's death hadn't put a damper on her plans. She'd called the office after Kevin and I left her house and told Tam as much. To my eyes, it seemed as though Verona had wanted nothing to do with Claire. Why? Because she wasn't a full sister? Or for some other reason?

When I dropped off this sketch, maybe I could pry the information out of her. All right, so I was hoping for more cookies. I admit it.

Way past midnight, I put the finishing touches on my sketch. I'd run it by Verona, get final approval, have her sign the contracts. I'd then round up the materials we needed to get the job done.

Upstairs, I pushed open Riley's door. He'd come home and laughed until he cried when he saw the soy sauce on the walls. But he did help me clean it up, which gave me hope for our future.

I knocked softly on the open door. A large lump rested in the middle of his bed.

Feeling oddly maternal, I crept over to give Riley a kiss. I pulled the covers down and gasped when all I saw was pillows. "Riley Michael . . . !"

What was he up to? I wouldn't even consider that he was the panty thief, so my mind jumped to the next logical conclusion. He was out
looking f
or the panty thief.

I'd wait up for him, then ground him until he left for college.

I went into my room to grab a robe. Gracie shimmied out from under the covers. She saw me and started whimpering. "Oh no," I said. I grabbed her and made a run for the back door. Once outside, I set her down. She wandered around the house, looking for a good place to do her business. It was quiet, and I heard the sound of voices.

It was the middle of the night. Who on earth was out?

Gracie followed me as I backtracked to the house to grab Riley's hockey stick from the laundry room. After all, there was a burglar creeping around these days and I needed to protect my bikini briefs.

Slowly, I crept back out into the night. Gracie stayed at my heels. I followed the voices to Mr. Cabrera's gazebo. I inched forward, poised to strike.

Gracie started barking. Y
ip yip yip.
So much for sneaking up on anyone. In the moonlight, I saw Riley's head pop up. "Nina?" he said.