Weeding Out Trouble (11 page)

"You are chicken," I countered, biting into the cannoli.

"Self-preservation, sugar."

"You're lucky you brought these cannoli with you."

I needed them. I tossed the information Kent had given me on top of everything else I was trying so hard not to think about.

I wondered how long before it all toppled down on me.

"Did you see those eyes?" Brickhouse asked. "Evil, I tell you." She crossed herself. When she took her hand off the wheel, the car drifted right. She yanked left to correct, and the car fishtailed, its tires losing traction. We spun in three circles, the car slipping, sliding toward a large oak tree off the side of the road. I closed my eyes and wished I hadn't eaten that cannoli.

The crunch of metal and the sound of breaking glass shattered the eerie silence. I lurched forward, then back again as the car jerked to a halt, its front end resting against the oak's trunk. Well, smushed into the trunk would be a better description.

We sat there for a stunned minute. Everyone was okay, that was the most important thing. No injuries, just a little tossed and shaken.

For some reason I thought a martini sounded good right about now.

"Mario's going to kill me," Perry murmured.

Neither Brickhouse nor I disputed that.

Perry looked back at me, his gray-green eyes big and wide. "Maybe I can stay at your house?"

I unbuckled my seat belt. "The inn's full."

"Ach. You can stay with me," Brickhouse said.

I thought I'd rather face Mario's wrath.

A car pulled up alongside of us, a dark Taurus. "Oh no," I murmured.

"How'd they find us?" Brickhouse asked.

I groaned. "Perry, did you happen to check Mario's car for a GPS?"

"Oops."

I was sandwiched in the middle of the Taurus's backseat between Brickhouse and Perry. A tow truck was called to retrieve Mario's car but hadn't arrived by the time we left the scene, and I think Perry was seriously considering staying with Brickhouse for the night.

I thought he might need medical attention, but he shooed off offers to take him to the E.R.

"You know," Lewy said, "driving in a level three snow emergency is against the law unless it's actually an emergency. I could take you in."

I rolled my eyes.

"And Nina, we warned you about interfering in our investigation."

"I'm not investigating, Lewy. I'm asking questions."

"Well, stop," Joe said.

"I'll stop as soon as you start looking at other suspects. Kit didn't kill Daisy."

Brickhouse clucked.

Since Lewy seemed the saner of the two, I said to him, "What if Eva were accused of killing someone? And then went missing?" Eva was Lewy's wife. A sweet little thing who adored him.

"It's not the same, Nina. Eva isn't cheating on me."

"Kit and Daisy weren't dating anymore." I leaned for

ward, jabbed a finger in the air. "And don't tell me that's just another motive. I don't want to hear it. There are other people who might want to kill Daisy."

"Like who?" he asked.

"That Kent Ingless is one scary man," Perry piped in.

Joe flipped on a blinker. The scanner was turned down low, barely audible. Below the dash, a computer screen was lit up. I wondered when detecting had gone high-tech. "More reason for you to stop snooping. It's dangerous. Leave it to the professionals."

"Ach. Like you two? Who prefer to follow us around in hopes we lead you to your prime suspect? What kind of detecting is that?"

Perry slinked closer to the door. I can't say I blamed him. Brickhouse was pushing the limits.

I was surprised when Lewy laughed. "So far, not very good."

"Then why do it?" I asked.

"It's my job," he said. There was something in his voice I couldn't put a finger on.

"Then quit," I mumbled.

Joe chuckled and said something that sounded like "Leah."

"What did you say?" I asked. I only knew one Leah. Leah Quinn, Kevin's first wife. She died when Riley was three. Kevin met and married me five years later.

Brickhouse turned toward me. "He said you're a lot like Leah. Who's Leah?"

My stomach curled. For years I'd wanted to know more about Leah Quinn, but had recently decided to stop wondering about the woman Kevin married first. It wasn't healthy, and knowing wouldn't change anything. It had been pure nosiness on my part.

"Kevin's first wife," I answered.

"What happened to her?" Perry asked.

"She died," Joe answered. "A long time ago."

"How?" Brickhouse asked.

"A boating accident on the river." My nosiness got the better of me. "You knew her well?" I asked Lewy.

"Fairly. Through Kevin. She was a great cop."

"Cop?" I asked.

Lewy shifted in his seat. "You didn't know?"

I shook my head. I'd never even seen a picture of her. "How am I like her? Do I look like her?"

"God, no," Joe said. "She was a stunner."

Great boost to my ego.

"Actually, she looks a lot like G-lo," he added.

"G-lo?" Perry asked.

"Ginger Barlow. Kev's new—"

Perry cut Joe off. "I know who she is."

Joe tapped his fingers on the wheel as if in rhythm to a song only he could hear. "Could be sisters, those two."

Lewy nodded. "Now that you say so, I can see it."

My teeth hurt from clenching them. "So how is it we're alike?"

"Personality," Joe said as if that was low on his list of qualities in women. "A go-getter, that Leah was."

"Feisty," Lewy supplied.

I wondered if feisty was a good thing.

"Nosy," Joe said.

Ah. Now I saw where this conversation was headed.

"It made her a good cop," Lewy added. "The thing is, Nina, you're not a cop. Your nosiness can get you hurt. I don't want to be the one bringing that news to Kevin. I think he's been through enough lately without having to deal with all that."

The old guilt trick.

My mother would have been proud of these two, but it made me feel sick. I didn't belong to Kevin.

I wondered if they'd rehearsed this little tête-à-tête just so I would fall into line and stay out of the investigation.

And I wouldn't doubt for a minute that Kevin put them up to it.

"And Riley," Joe said loudly. "That boy thinks of you as a mom now. Gotta be thinking about him too."

I willed myself not to be swayed by the guilt, though I had to admit using Riley was a good tactic.

Only this wasn't about me. Or Kevin. Or Riley. It was about Kit.

I kept my mouth shut. There was no use arguing my case. Unless I could prove otherwise, Kit was going to jail for murder.

The thought depressed me. I slumped back in my seat.

In a rare burst of sympathy, Brickhouse murmured, "Ach, it'll be okay."

Perry patted my hand, then turned his full attention to the detectives, his woes over Mario's car apparently left with the wreckage. "I want to hear more about Leah," he said, practically bouncing in his seat.

Lewy and Joe seemed to latch on to this idea. Great.

During the agonizing ride home, I had to endure howshe-saved-the-day stories, how-she-and-Kevin-fell-in-loveat-the-police-academy stories, her-being-pregnant stories (God, just kill me now and be done with it), and finally, after all these years, I heard the whole story of how she died.

I cursed Mother Nature and the snow and all things that made this ride take so long.

My stomach tossed and turned, and I was seriously regretting the cannoli. This was what I'd wanted, to hear details, to know the woman who was so much a part of Riley . . . and Kevin. But now?

I felt sick. I didn't want to listen. It was easier dealing with the ghost of a woman I barely knew. It was another thing thinking about her as someone I probably would have been friends with.

I wanted to block my ears and sing "Lalalalala" at the top of my lungs until Lewy finished the story of how Kevin, Riley, and Leah had been celebrating Riverfest on a friend's boat, watching the fireworks, when another boat collided with theirs, flipping it.

Of how it had taken Kevin a few minutes to find Riley in the murky Ohio River.

Of how Leah never surfaced.

Of how they looked for her body for weeks, never finding it.

Of how Kevin nearly went mad with grief.

And of how, as his friends, Lewy and Joe never wanted to see that happen to him again.

By the time the pair dropped us off at my house, I practically crawled over Perry to get out of the car.

As much as I hated to admit it, the guilt was working.

And when I walked into the house, saw Kevin sitting on the couch looking pale and drawn, bags under his eyes, with Riley next to him, with a goofy grin on his face from something his dad had said, I forgot all about the things I was mad about and forced myself not to rush over and pull them both into hugs. Instead, I did the next best thing.

I burst into tears.

My mother rushed in from the kitchen, took one look at me and gathered me in her arms, pushing my head into her ample bosom.

Sometimes there was nothing like a mother's hug, and thinking so just made me cry all that much harder on Riley's behalf.

Finally, I pulled away and accepted a handkerchief from Perry, who had followed me inside.

My mother jabbed a finger in Kevin's direction. "What did you do?"

"Me?" Shock lifted his eyebrows. "Nothing!"

My mother cursed in French. I didn't have to know the language to understand what she was saying.

"It's true," Riley said, jumping to his feet. "She just came in and started with the tears." He looked horrified, and took a step away from me as though my emotional outburst might be contagious.

"Ach, it wasn't them. Not directly, at least," Brickhouse said, closing the door behind her.

I hoped Lewy and Joe had gone away. Far, far away.

"Directly? What does that mean?" Kevin demanded.

Perry perched on an armchair. "It was those detectives talking about— Ow!" He glared at Brickhouse. "Why'd you do that?"

"What?" she asked innocently.

"Kick my shin! I bruise easily, you know."

"Oh, I must have slipped. Snow on my shoes," she mumbled.

My mother crossed her arms and aimed her evil eye at the whole group. "What's going on?"

Perry looked at Brickhouse. Both said, "Nothing."

"What was that comment about the detectives?" Kevin asked. By the look in his eye, he wasn't giving up until he got some answers.

I didn't want to stick around for that conversation. There's only so much I could take in a day. Honest. It had nothing to do with Kevin finding out I'd snuck off again, taking Larry and Moe with me. "I'm going to take a bath."

My mother looked at me, concern drawing down the corners of her eyes.

"I'm okay," I said. "I'm just worried about Kit."

"Yeah, Kit," Perry said, nodding.

Brickhouse clucked.

Suspicion crept into my mother's eyes. I took the stairs two at a time, getting away before being subjected to the Grand Inquisition.

At the top, I paused on the landing and listened, wincing as the questions began. Brickhouse had tremendous fortitude, but it wouldn't be long before Perry caved.

Rubbing my gritty eyes, I headed for my room until I saw Riley's door open wide.

I cocked an ear toward the stairs. Brickhouse was explaining about walking BeBe, visiting Miss Maisie.

I didn't have long.

Creeping into Riley's room, I took a cursory glance around. It was a disaster area. Clothes everywhere, bed a mess, school papers tossed on his desk. I picked one up. It was from September. He rarely threw anything away without a lecture from me first, and I could only stomach those twice a year or so.

The drawers of his desk were stuffed with knickknacks from when he was little, from trips to Kings Island, from old stocking stuffers. I didn't find anything suspicious.

I checked under his mattress and found an old Victoria's Secret catalog underneath. Rolling my eyes, I shoved it back in.

Under the bed, stray socks, old binders, and boxes to his video games lived a happy, content life. I shook some of the boxes, but they were empty.

I didn't have time to check his closet, and I wasn't going near Xena's cage.

Letting out a puff of frustration, I put my hands on my hips. My instincts told me he was up to something. I had to trust them—they were all I had left in my maternal cache.

I'd have to wait until Riley went out again before I could search more thoroughly.

Tiptoeing out of his room, I paused, listening. Perry was talking about how evil Kent had looked.

I hustled into my room, locked the door.

A peek out my front windows showed no signs of Lewy and Joe. A glance out the window next to my bed showed Mr. Cabrera in his backyard chasing the turkeys with what looked to be an oversized butterfly net. BeBe, I noticed, was cowering in Mr. Cabrera's gazebo.

I found myself rooting for the turkeys.

My cell phone rang, and I pried it from my pocket and headed into the bathroom, closing and locking that door as well. One couldn't be too careful.

I turned on the tub and answered, recognizing Ana's number.

"Where are you?" she asked. "Niagara Falls?"

"Bathroom. Taking a bath."

"What's with you and bathrooms lately? Every time I call you're in one."

"Safe haven."

"Ah, right. Kevin."

"And my mom. Don't forget about my mom."

Ana laughed. "I wish I could."

My mother and Ana had a long-standing feud. It wasn't so much a feud as genetics. Ana is the daughter of my father's sister, Rosetta, aka Aunt Rosa. Who my mother happens to detest.