Weeding Out Trouble (12 page)

Ana and my mother's relationship was the trickle down effect at its best.

I peeled off my starchy jeans and tossed them onto the floor. With a finger, I tested the bathwater, then turned the faucet toward the H.

"Where are you?" I managed to get my shirt over my head before she answered.

"Still in Denver. I don't think this snow is ever going to stop. At this rate, I don't know if I'll be back before Thanksgiving. I had to wait an hour in line just to charge my cell phone for ten minutes. So talk fast."

"You'll get home," I said, hating the note of sadness in her usually peppy voice.

Static crackled the connection. "How am I supposed to help Kit when I'm stuck here?"

"I'm here," I said, "and I don't know how to help Kit."

I sank into the hot water. Heaven. I pulled the shower curtain to trap the steam. I could hear the sound of the airport's PA system in the background but couldn't make out specific words as Ana asked, "There's been no news?"

Letting the hot water soothe away my stress, I filled her in about Kent Ingless and everything else that had been going on since the last time I spoke with her. Not wanting to rehash the particulars, I left out the part about Leah Quinn.

"What do you think he meant about Daisy trying to do the right thing?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. My best guess is that it has to do with the drugs."

"Not selling them anymore?"

"Could be."

"Could . . . mot . . . "

"You're breaking up, Ana."

"Bet . . . go."

The line went dead.

I flipped my phone closed, set it aside, and turned off the tap.

In the sudden silence, I could hear raised voices from downstairs. Something about investigating and danger.

I tuned it out. Brickhouse could handle herself and protect Perry at the same time.

I wasn't worried.

About them.

I didn't want to think about what was in store for me when I emerged from the tub.

Which got me thinking about all the things I wasn't supposed to be thinking about.

The turkeys.

Gregory Peck.

Brickhouse and I being similar.

Kevin getting married.

Riley possibly gambling.

Daisy having hated me.

Leah Quinn.

Daisy dead.

Kit missing.

Bobby.

Thanksgiving dinner.

I drew in a deep breath, held it, and sank under the water.

I had plans to stay under as long as possible, but a loud noise had me resurfacing. It took a second to realize my mother was at the bathroom door, knocking.

"Chérie
, can I come in?"

"No!"

Next thing I knew, I heard the door open, then close again. I peeked around the shower curtain, saw my mother perched on the countertop.

"How'd you get in?" I asked, letting the curtain fall back into place.

Her voice echoed. "I have my ways."

Ugh. I wanted to sink back down into the water. "Is everyone still here?"

"Ursula and Perry have gone. Riley went off to help Mrs. Greeble, and Kevin is on the telephone and asked for privacy."

My mind sorted all that out. My first thought was to search Riley's room thoroughly while he was out, but my second was to catch him in the act.

Both options required me getting out of the tub, which I didn't want to do just yet.

"After the tears and all, I thought you may have wanted company."

"Yes, I could see how breaking through two locked doors would give you that impression."

"Snarkiness, my dear, is not becoming. Especially when I have news."

I drew back the curtain, stuck my head out. "News?"

"Maddie Pipe phoned. Daisy's viewing will be held tomorrow. Maddie hoped you would attend. I told her you would."

Leave it to my mother to agree without asking me. I should probably have put up a fuss about it, but I wanted to go, to see who might show up. There was one person I wanted to see in particular, someone who could shed some light on Daisy's business and drug selling.

I hoped she had some of the answers I was looking for.

As soon as my mother left, I let the water drain out of the tub, watching it swirl in a little vortex down the drain. I quickly got dressed, blow-dried my hair, and pulled it back into a ponytail. With any luck, I would not be seeing Perry again today. As my hairdresser, he wouldn't be fond of my lack of style.

I'd half expected Kevin to be waiting for me to emerge from the tub, but I could hear him talking with my mother downstairs when I opened my bedroom door.

Sprinting across the hallway, I ducked into Riley's room. I started with his bookshelves. He wasn't much of a reader, so it only took five minutes to flip through all his books. None were hollowed out, and none held anything other than old bookmarks. I did notice one of his books from the local library was overdue by fourteen months. I made a mental note to return it and make Riley pay the late fees from legally earned funds.

I peeked in at Xena, who lay coiled in the bottom of her cage. There wasn't anywhere inside the cage Riley could hide anything of significance, like a wad of cash, so I skipped searching in snake territory.

Okay, who was I kidding? If there'd been a big moneysized mound, I wouldn't have stuck my hand in that tank.

No way, no how.

I checked behind and in his Cincinnati Reds ceramic bank, took a piece off one of his 3-D puzzles and peeped inside, and shuffled around his CDs. Nothing.

Turning my attention toward the closet, I wondered if he'd have taken his stash with him to Mrs. Greeble's house. It made sense that he'd need playing money.

But since I'd gotten started, I found I couldn't stop myself from snooping. Ry's closet was oddly tidy. Shirts hung up, pants folded on a shelf. He had a set of built-in dresser drawers that revealed he might have a bit of obsessivecompulsive disorder in him. Folded tees, neat rows of socks, and sweats were stored, color-coded.

Yet, no money.

At the bottom of the closet, I shook old gym shoes, hoping something would fall out. Still nothing. In the way back, I found a couple of shoe boxes. One was filled with old Pokémon cards that looked like they hadn't seen the light of day in five years. Another box held Hot Wheels, which made me smile. I tugged on the small Nike box at the bottom and checked the label. Size 11, youth. Now he wore size 12, mens.

Noticing writing on the lid, I aimed the box toward a beam of sunlight.

MOMMY was written in childlike block letters.

"Find what you were looking for?" a deep male voice asked from behind me.

"Eee!" I screamed, nearly falling backward out of the closet. I caught my balance, guiltily shoved the shoe box back in, and looked up.

Kevin loomed over me, scowling.

He was a great scowler. It was his eyebrows. When he was mad, they snapped together in a furry vee that nearly dipped down to his nose. Very intimidating. Though once, when I was on pain medication, I thought he looked remarkably like Bert from
Sesame Street.

I missed that pain medication.

That was damn good stuff.

"Me? Looking? Haha." I jumped to my feet. "I was just, er, cleaning up."

His eyebrows separated, one rising upward.

"Riley's kind of messy, if you hadn't noticed. It's, ah, uh, a fire hazard! Can't be having that." I kicked a shoe into the closet, slammed the door closed, and leaned against it. My pulse pounded in my ears as I produced a fake smile.

His other eyebrow arched.

This wasn't the time to rest on my laurels, whatever laurels were. I needed to go on the offensive and change the subject. Quickly. "Did Ginger get a flight out yet?"

"Oh no you don't, Nina."

My pulse pounded in my throat, reverberated in my ears. "Don't what?"

"You're not changing the subject so easily."

Easy? He thought this was easy? Ha! I edged toward the hallway. "What subject is that?"

"What are you doing in here?"

I took another long step, keeping my back to the wall. "Cleaning."

In one stride he cut off my retreat.

"Does Ginger have any idea when planes will be taking off again? Any chance she's going to forego the trip?"
And
come back and take you away?

He leaned in, nudged up my chin. I noticed he needed to shave, but I wasn't about to volunteer to help him.

"Let's make a deal," he said.

"A deal?"

"How about I tell you what I learned about the crime scene at Heavenly Hope, and you tell me what you're doing snooping in my son's room."

I took offense at the way he'd said "my son," as though I had no claim to Riley at all. Especially since it was Kevin's choice to move out without taking Riley with him—mostly because Riley had wanted to stay with me. However, curiosity won out over my sudden spurt of anger. "Is there news? About Kit?"

"Deal?" he asked.

"All right. Deal."

"You first," he said.

I ducked under his arm so I wouldn't feel so trapped. "Oh no. Uh-uh. I can see the way that would play out."

His deep green eyes glowed. "What? You don't trust me, Nina?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

With a smirk he said, "It's okay. I don't trust you either."

"Me! What? I'm the most trustworthy person arou—"

He burst out laughing, and it must have hurt because he doubled over clutching his shoulder, cursing a blue streak.

I crossed my arms as he slumped onto Riley's bed. "Serves you right."

His face regaining color, he said, "For what?"

"For laughing at me."

Shaking his head, he muttered something under his breath I couldn't hear. "I'm not going to win this, am I?"

"Nope."

"Fine. Using a metal detector, the crime scene unit found some spent shells near the tree line of Heavenly Hope's property. They found blood on some of the trees leading into the woods. The blood didn't match Daisy's type."

I sat next to him on the bed, absorbing what he was telling me. Someone else had been shot. Most likely Kit.

"No body, though?"

"No. They did find Kit's car keys in the woods."

"Does Lewy still think Kit's involved in Daisy's death? If he was wounded, doesn't that prove otherwise?"

Kevin started to shrug then must have thought better of it. "I don't know. There's no way of knowing just yet if it's Kit's blood. It could be weeks before we hear."

"Who else's would it be?"

"I don't know, Nina. Try not to worry about it until we get some definitive answers."

Right. Not worry. That'd be the day.

"Your turn," he said.

I couldn't believe I'd agreed to this deal. I didn't want Kevin to know my suspicions about Riley just yet. It was easy to see him barreling across the street, barging into Mrs. Greeble's house and demanding answers. The man had no finesse about him.

Brickhouse had been right—there was no need to accuse Riley just yet. Not until I had a little proof. Proof I'd yet to find. Riley and I had a fragile relationship. I didn't want to destroy it by accusing him of something he didn't do. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.

Of course, I highly suspected guilty.

Kevin elbowed me. "I'm waiting."

Damn. Maybe I could color it in a not-so-bad light. "Well, see, it's about Riley. And Mrs. Gree—"

Riley walked into his room.

Saved! Thank heavens.

He took a look at the pair of us on his bed and said, "Something you two want to tell me?"

I jumped up, but Kevin stayed put. "Nope," I said, "not a thing."

Ry looked to his dad.

"I've got nothing," Kevin said, standing.

"You think you two could take your nothingness somewhere else?"

Since I was eager to leave, I didn't put up a fuss about his rudeness. I took advantage of the fact that Kevin moved at the pace of a slug due to his injuries and hightailed it downstairs.

My mother was on the couch watching T
erms of Endear
ment
on cable. I grabbed my purse and coat, and slipped on my boots.

"Sneaking out again?" my mother asked.

"If I were, I'd be doing a lousy job of it."

"Snarky, c
hérie
."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to Kroger." I had four days until Thanksgiving.

Without taking her eyes off Shirley MacLaine, she said, "Could you pick me up some kiwis? I'm having a craving."

As I pulled open the door, I heard Kevin on the stairs. At this point I would have offered to fly to New Zealand to pick them myself just to get out of the house. "Sure thing. I'll be gone awhile."

I shut the door behind me, pretending not to hear Kevin calling my name.

The sun had come out and temperatures warmed, slowly melting the snow, leaving a slushy mess on the roads. The Snow Emergency level had dropped to a two, and I definitely considered groceries a pressing need to be on the road.

As did everyone else in the county. All of whom seemed to be heading to the same place as me.

The packed store had been picked clean. I managed to scrounge a few kiwis from the organic produce section. I picked up some apples and oranges too.

As I wended my way down the aisles, I kicked myself for not having made a list before I came. Not that it would have mattered. There was no bread, fresh or frozen. No milk. No cereal except for cream of wheat (which I left on the shelf—I wasn't that desperate). The meat selection had been cleared out. There wasn't a frozen turkey to be seen.

An overhead announcement apologized for the lack of stock, blaming it on the weather and the inability of the store's trucks to travel.