Trouble In Spades (7 page)

"She can't see much without her glasses."

I pulled two mugs from the cupboard and thought about the burglaries in the Mill. There had been at least a dozen, if not more, during the past couple of months. All seemingly random except they took place in the Mill and the creep only took one or two things.

Stupid things too. Like an umbrella from Mr. and Mrs. Krayloc and a paperback romance from Mrs. Ansel's. Nothing of any value. The guy had even passed right over Mrs. Sieback's diamond ring. It didn't make sense.

I ripped open two packages of Swiss Miss's finest and dumped them into the mugs. "Did the guy take anything from Mrs. Warnicke?"

Raindrops dripped onto the floor as Mr. Cabrera toweldried his hair. His bushy white eyebrows rose. A grin slipped across his face, his smile so wide his dentures looked ready to pop out. "Her skivvies."

"What?!" The teakettle nearly slipped right out of my hand. I carefully set it down.

"Her skivvies. You know, her granny panties. You'd think this guy would at least break in a young gal's place and steal those thong-y thingies they wear now."

I rubbed my temples, not sure where to go with this conversation. I tried not to picture Mr. Cabrera thinking about women in thongs, but the image just wouldn't go away.
Ew!
Cringing, I said, "How do you know?"

"Word is, the police found the panties on the floor. Guy must've dropped them on his way out."

What kind of loon watched women sleep while holding their panties? I shuddered. Then an idea hit that turned my stomach. What if the Mill's burglar wasn't breaking in to steal things so much as to watch women sleep? While holding their skivvies . . .

I let that stew for a minute while I filled the mugs. I dropped a handful of mini-marshmallows into Mr. Cabrera's and slid it across the island to him. Mr. Cabrera said, "Got a spoon?"

I opened the silverware drawer, pulled one out. He dipped it into his cocoa, scooped up some soggy marshmallows, and slurped them down.

It was like watching a three-year-old, I swear.

From the fridge, I grabbed a can of whipped cream, loaded my cocoa with it, sipped. M
mm.
"All the breakins . . . Did women live in every house?"

His forehead crunched as he thought, the many wrinkles blending into one thick line. "Yeah. Some were married, though. Like Mrs. Voehlke."

Yeah, but
Mr. V
oehlke wore two hearing aids, and probably not to bed. All the burglaries just so happened at night. "And Mrs. Rheindstat."

Again, a deaf husband.

Now that I thought about it, every one of the houses broken into were owned by women who were either single (one way or another) or had a husband who was deaf or near to it. "What're you thinkin'?" Mr. Cabrera asked.

My whipped cream had melted into a foamy white puddle. "I'm thinking that maybe these so-called burglaries are just a cover-up for some sicko who likes to watch women sleep." I blinked. "Actually, I wonder if this guy is taking panties! No one would notice if a pair went missing." I set my mug down. "Maybe he just wants the panties and takes other things to cover it so everyone will think that's why he went in."

Mr. Cabrera nodded like a bobble head. "I can see this."

"Yeah?"

He looked at me like I'd grown two heads. "No."

I sighed. "Why not?"

"Who wants old women's panties? That's gross."

Rolling my eyes, I said, "Around here, there are only old women to choose from."

"Well, there's you," he said with a wicked teasing gleam in his eye.

Yeah, but I had a husband who wasn't deaf.

Oh.

Right.

That husband thing wasn't happening for me anymore. Great.

Aha! I had Riley. That had to count for something. Except the boy slept like the dead. I wonder if our neighborhood burglar knew that?

I was now convinced it
was
someone local. Very local. He knew these people, knew them well.

And it reinforced my earlier thought that Maria's burglar and the one from the Mill were not the same. For a second I let myself think about why someone would break into Maria's place. What had he been looking for?

Shaking my head, I pushed those thoughts out.

"I just can't see it, Miz Quinn. Who'd want a bunch of granny panties?" Mr. Cabrera said in between sips. The spoon clanked against my mug as I set it in the sink. "I think it's something we should mention to the cops." Absently, I wondered if Kevin had been keeping up with the burglaries in the area, if he cared.

A lump of something that felt suspiciously like self-pity built in my stomach, making me feel slightly sick. I needed to stop thinking about Kevin. Denial was a good thing. Ignorance and bliss and all. I groaned, catching myself sounding like my mother again.

Mr. Cabrera levered himself off the kitchen stool. His blue eyes shimmered under his whitened lashes. "Yeah, yeah. Like they'll listen to us."

Before I could argue that point, he said, "What we need to do is organize us a neighborhood watch. We can set up twenty-four-hour patrols in shifts. Keep tabs on everyone." I closed my eyes as he rambled on. For years Mr. Cabrera had been trying to get a neighborhood watch together. For years the Mill had been loath to do so. Around here, a watch wasn't needed. Everyone knew everyone, and everything about everyone. No one had wanted to give Mr. Cabrera permission to snoop. He did well enough on his own. But that had been before this string of burglaries that proved the Mill wasn't quite as close-knit as everyone thought.

No, we weren't immune at all. And with the news tonight about Mrs. Warnicke, I had to admit I was a little nervous about some wacko breaking in here and pawing through my undie drawer.

I shuddered. "Maybe you ought to talk to people tomorrow, see what they think."

He smiled a mischievous kind of smile that had me thinking this wasn't such a good idea. "Yeah. I'll do that." Then he looked up at me with hopeful eyes. "You didn't talk to Ursula yet, did you?"

Oh, the guilt! I reached out and patted his liver-spotted wrinkled hand. "Not yet."

In the silence that hung in the air after that, I heard a scratching noise coming from the laundry room. "Did you hear that?" I asked, my nerves jumping to full alert.

"
I'm
not deaf, thank you very much." He shot me a cranky look that I suspected had more to do with me not talking to Mrs. Krauss than with any unintentional insult to his hearing.

This time a definite rattling came from the laundry room—someone was trying to get in the back door. I grabbed the can of whipped topping, and Mr. Cabrera grabbed the dish towel hanging on the oven handle. Together, like we were joined at the hip, we ambled toward the back door, nearly toppling when Mr. Cabrera missed the step down into the laundry room. I grabbed hold of his damp shirt and righted him.

Through the sheer curtain, I could see the dim outline of someone on the other side of the door. The outdoor sconce highlighted his every move as he tried to get in.

Mr. Cabrera motioned to throw the dead bolt. I nodded, and he flipped the lock and yanked open the door in one smooth move.

I sprang forward, spraying whipped cream into the intruder's face while wishing I had Maria's Aqua Net. Mr. Cabrera started whacking him in the head with the towel. "Stop!" the intruder yelled. "Nina! Stop!"

He sounded suspiciously like Kevin, but the height was all wrong. I dropped my can. "Riley?!"

Rain poured down on us. Mr. Cabrera used the towel to wipe away whipped cream. He
tsked
as Riley's petulant face was slowly uncovered, his tongue swiping the corner of his lips.

I pulled him inside. Mr. Cabrera closed the door. We all dripped on the floor.

White cream flecks dotted Riley's dark lashes. I checked the rest of him. Jeans, sneaks, hoodie—all soaked. The ends of his platinum hair dripped onto his shoulders. I tapped my soggy foot. "Explain."

Mr. Cabrera tapped his foot too. "It better be good."

I looked at Mr. Cabrera. "Don't you think it's time you go home now?" A limp white eyebrow arched. "No."

"Look, I heard the commotion outside," Riley said. "The sirens woke me up."

Hmmph. I'd
managed to sleep right through them.

Riley continued, his hands gesturing here, there, and everywhere. "I went to see what it was." He rocked, heel to heel, little squishy sounds echoing through the small room. "Poor Mrs. Warnicke, huh?"

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I asked.

His eyes widened and a high-wattage smile formed. "But, Nina, you looked so peaceful . . . on the sofa?" he ventured, all angelic-like.

Crap! Too late, I realized Riley hadn't known I was asleep! Why? Because he'd probably been out all night! The bugger. I could have kicked myself. "Go," I ordered, mad at myself more now than at him. You'd think after eight years I'd be better at this mother thing. "Go clean up. And then go . . . to . . . bed."

With a devilish grin on his face, he scampered off, his shoes squeaking on the kitchen floor.

Mr. Cabrera took a step back, eyed me with disdain. "How do you expect to catch a panty thief with such poor interrogation skills? You practically spelled out that you were asleep on the couch and didn't know what was goin' on!" I pointed toward the door. "Out. You go to bed too."

Hinges squeaked as he pulled open the back door. "I'll find you tomorrow, Miz Quinn. Fill you in on the latest happenings." He stepped out into the rain, turned back to me. "You want to be in on the neighborhood watch? Maybe Tuesday nights?" "Think I'll pass."

"Fine. But when that thief comes a'calling, don't come cry—"

I slammed the door closed, took a deep breath, and went to take inventory of my undies.

Early the next morning, I barreled into my office, trying to escape the rain. Luckily, Tam had already arrived, and I hadn't had to fight with the door's dead bolt. The idea of a portico out front popped into my head, and I stored it away to think about later. Time. There just wasn't enough of it these days. Not with everything going on. A skivvy stealer, Riley's late night activities, and most importantly, Maria and Nate.

Though the cow bell above the door jangled loudly, Tam didn't look up. She stood motionless, staring at her desk, hands on hips. The maternity blouse she wore clung to her curves, exaggerating her belly.

By the expression on her face, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Tam?" Sloshing over, I waved my hand in front of her face. She jumped back in surprise.

"Nina! I didn't hear you."

"What's wrong?" I asked, setting my damp backpack down.

She walked around her desk, pulled out her huge red rattan chair. Her throne, as I liked to call it. Gingerly, she sat. Her eyebrows snapped together into devil-like points. "Someone went through my desk."

My eyes widened. Her desk looked perfectly normal. "How can you tell?"

"Do you doubt me?" she asked in that regal tone of hers. I wasn't about to argue with a paranoid pregnant woman. "Nope."

"This," she said, pointing to a small ceramic jar that held pens and pencils, "is in the wrong spot." She slid it an inch to the right.

I pressed my lips together. I wouldn't have noticed if my pencil cup was missing, never mind having been moved a fraction of an inch. "Is it?" I asked.

She either missed my sarcasm or had decided to ignore it. "It is."

With an irritated tone, she went on to list things that had been moved, misplaced, or rifled through. When she finished, she folded her arms on top of her belly. Anger clouded her blue eyes. "The Winker." "Leo? What about him?"

She glared at me. "He did this. I knew he was bad news. His references may have come back okay, but he is bad, bad, news." While muttering under her breath about pretty boys and not being able to trust them, she dragged a tote bag onto her lap.

"How could Leo have done it?" I asked. "You were the last one out last night and the first one in this morning . . ."

"Oh," she said, her voice full of contempt, "he has his wicked ways, I'm sure."

Her vehement tone reminded me that I had my own reservations about Leo Barker. Ana hadn't sent him to me, and I still didn't know who had. I added finding out who did to my growing to-do list.

Tam unpacked her tote, unloading a stapler, the infamous hole punch, several small knickknacks that usually dotted her desk, and even a small potted African violet. At my astonished glance, she explained. "I had a feeling this would happen, so I took a few things home with me last night."

"You think he'd break in here to steal your African violet?" "It's award-winning. And her name is Sassy."

Holding in a smile, I remembered that she was part of a local African violet club and took it
very
seriously. I gathered up my backpack, thinking that pregnancy was making her a little bit nutso.

Not trusting myself not to say something that would make her cranky, I beat a hasty retreat. "I'll be in my office should you find any more evidence."

Her right eyebrow dipped. "Are you mocking me?" I gasped and teased, "Never."

The sign on my door read nina quinn, president. I hated that sign. "President" sounded so hoity-toity. I kept it only because Tam had insisted, I still wasn't clear why. Something about being in charge and showing it.
Nina Quinn. Quinn. Hmmph.
I still needed to decide if I was keeping that last name too. I hated to admit it, but I'd kind of grown fond of it. And going back to being a Ceceri seemed like a step back into full-blown dysfunction. Still, it was
his
name and he was persona non grata these days. However, next to Riley, Kevin's name might be the only other good thing I'd gotten out of my marriage. Rain beat against the windowpane inside my office, and I groaned. My schedule had taken a backseat to Mother Nature. Not that there weren't things to do, there were. Bills, invoices to double and triple check, design plans to create, presentations to complete . . .