Weeding Out Trouble (13 page)

My inner panic alarm sounded. I had close to twenty people coming for dinner on Thursday, and only had kiwis, apples, oranges, Beefaroni, Dr Pepper, and tomato soup to feed them. This didn't bode well for a good first meeting with Bobby's family.

I grabbed what I could, including dog food for BeBe, managed to spend over a hundred dollars despite the fact I barely had anything in the cart, and headed for my truck.

The craziness inside the store had done the impossible— distracted me from what was going on in my life. Namely, the news that Kit had probably been shot. I held on to the hope that no body had been found. Before I gave myself an ulcer, I decided I was going to ask Maddie Pipe, pointblank, if she'd been in contact with Kit. If she had, maybe I wouldn't need to use the bottle of Pepto I just bought.

I piled grocery bags into the cab of my truck and thought back to that box in Riley's closet.

If Kevin hadn't caught me snooping, would I have opened it?

I'd like to think I wouldn't. That I wouldn't invade Riley's privacy in such a manner.

Yet I also knew myself better. I definitely would have looked.

It didn't mean I was happy about it.

As I drove toward home I noticed a familiar car in my rearview mirror. I wasn't quite sure why Joe and Lewy continued to follow me around. It made no sense. They had to know by now I didn't know where Kit was. I wasn't that good a liar.

I pulled into my driveway, Joe and Lewy pulling in behind me.

My gaze automatically went to the house across the street, and I noticed Bobby was home. My heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Riley came out of the house, didn't say hello, grabbed several bags and headed back into the house as Lewy stepped out of the Taurus and came up to me. Joe stayed in the car, talking on his cell phone.

"Is it really necessary to keep following me around?" I asked Lewy.

"Just following orders, Nina."

I pressed a forty pound bag of dog kibble into his arms. "Bring that in, will you?"

Grabbing two bags of groceries, I headed toward the house.

Lewy heaved the bag over his shoulder. "I don't think this is in my job description."

"Might as well make yourself useful. Careful on the steps, they're slick."

"We found your truck," he said as I stepped onto the porch.

I played up my acting skills. "Did you find Kit with it?"

"No. The truck was abandoned on a Georgia freeway, out of gas. Does Kit have family in that area?"

"Not that I know of." I hoped the media attention would latch onto this. It was wrong of me, I know, but anything I could do to help Kit out was worth it.

"When are you leaving?" I asked.

"Leaving?"

"To go look for Kit?"

"We sent a team down."

Damn! Talk about a backfire. "I see."

"And you haven't heard from him?" Lewy asked.

"Wouldn't you know if I had?"

"You're a sneaky one," he said, smiling.

I stepped into the house, passing Riley as he went out for the last of the groceries.

Kevin sat on the couch, bundled up in an afghan. I gave him only the briefest look, trying not to make eye contact. Eye contact was dangerous.

My mother stood in the kitchen, sorting the goods, tsking at the selection of Chef Boyardee I'd made. "Trust me," I said to her. "It was the best I could do."

I heard Kevin and Lewy exchange hellos before Lewy stepped into the kitchen and set down the dog food.

My mother ooohed over her kiwi.

"Don't ask," I told Lewy when he saw her making such a fuss.

Riley placed the last of the groceries on the counter and hopped over the back of the sofa, landing next to Kevin.

"What have you got there?" Lewy asked, coming up behind them.

Curious, I followed. I took a look and wished I'd stayed in the kitchen.

Riley's "Mommy" box sat on the coffee table, its contents strewn across Kevin's and Riley's laps.

"Just a trip down memory lane," Kevin said, glancing at me.

I felt a wee bit sick.

My mother's hand settled on my shoulder. "It's been a long time coming, no?" she said to Riley, fluffing his hair.

He smoothed it down. "I guess."

His surly tone held no true anger. Just one look into his shining eyes and it was easy to see how he'd longed for years to know more about his mother.

I could have kicked myself for not seeing it sooner.

And kicked Kevin for keeping Leah's memory locked away so long.

But that didn't mean I wanted to stick around and hear more gooey, goopy, sappy stories. I had a weak stomach.

I tugged my mother into the kitchen. "I've been thinking—" I began.

"Go, c
hérie
. It's where you belong."

I tipped my head. "You didn't even know what I was going to say."

"You were going to say you would stay the night with Bobby. Go, c
hérie
. I have things under control here." She kissed my forehead. "Trips down memory lane are good to heal their hearts," she said, nodding to the couch. "However, this is not where your heart belongs. Not right now, at least. Trust Mama."

Like a big sap, I felt my eyes well. "I don't know how you do that," I said.

She shrugged delicately, brushing off my awe. "It's a gift."

I smiled. "It really is."

I ran upstairs, packed a bag. Joe had made his way inside

by the time I made my way downstairs. He, Riley, Lewy, my mother, and Kevin had gathered around the coffee table. A fire blazed from the fireplace, and the whole scene looked awfully cozy.

But it was the last place I wanted to be.

From the back hall, I grabbed a Ziploc bag of doggy kibble, and was headed out the door to collect BeBe before moseying across the street when Kevin's voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Don't forget about our deal," he said from the kitchen doorway. "I can wait until tomorrow."

I smiled weakly and closed the door behind me.

If I had any say in it, he'd be waiting much longer than that.

"Holy hell!" I cried, borrowing Perry's phrase, as I opened the door to Bobby's house. The blast of heat nearly knocked me down his front steps.

BeBe pranced and drooled as Bobby came out of the kitchen.

I think I drooled too. He wore nothing but a pair of boxers.

He looked . . . hot. No maybes about it.

And it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Bobby rubbed BeBe's head, murmuring to her about being a good schnitzel.

I wasn't the only one spending too much time with Brickhouse.

Once I pried my gaze from Bobby's sculpted stomach, and the line of hair that trickled from his belly button down beneath the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxers, I found him staring at me.

"Coming in?" he asked.

My mouth had gone completely dry, while my insides felt like they'd dissolved into one of the puddles of melted snow outside.

Absently, I nodded, and closed the door behind me. Placing my bag down, I kicked off my boots, leaving them on a small throw rug, and zipped off my down vest.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. "Why's it so hot in here?"

"Furnace is broken."

I noticed the wrench in his hand then. Funny how I hadn't seen it before.

"Is that dinner?" he asked, gesturing to the Baggie in my hand.

I nodded, unable to keep my gaze from his chest, his abs, and the slight sheen covering both.

He laughed.

"What? Oh." My head snapped up. I smiled. "No," I said, shaking the doggy kibble, "this isn't dinner. Not ours, at least."

BeBe's tail thumped wildly, knocking a lamp off a side table. Luckily, it fell onto the sofa and didn't break.

"I should probably feed her."

She spun in circles.

Bobby laughed again. "Toss it to me."

I did, and BeBe lunged for it, catching it in midair. Doggy kibble flew out everywhere. She crunched and gobbled, sucking every piece she could find from the rug, a canine vacuum.

"I guess that takes care of BeBe." Bobby picked up little plastic bits. "Are you hungry?"

My shirt stuck to me, and my jeans were starting to dampen as well. Twice in one day. Unfair. "I could eat. But I really want to change into something a little cooler."

His blond hair had curled with the humidity in the room, and he looked more tantalizing than ever. Then he winked. "Are you flirting with me, Nina Quinn?"

Oh. My. His wink did something to me. Always had. There was something so seductive in the way he did it. "Maybe." At this rate we wouldn't be eating, and we wouldn't be talking. "Did you fix the furnace?"

"I beat it into submission. It's just going to take a while for the place to cool down."

"Why not open some windows?"

"I thought about it, but then again how often do we get a heat wave in November? Might as well enjoy it. I can make you a margarita."

"Are you flirting with
me
, Bobby MacKenna?"

"Definitely."

Whoo-ee. The temperature in the living room had jumped up another degree or two.

BeBe sniffed out the last of the kibble, and plopped herself on a thick woven rug in front of the brick fireplace. She set her head on her paws, looked up at us, then closed her eyes.

"I'm going to change." I grabbed my bag and headed down the hall to Bobby's room.

"I'll throw a pizza in the oven. How'd today go?"

With a flip of the light switch, Bobby's room filled with a soft glow. We had painstakingly stripped the fifties era wallpaper from the wall, and he'd picked a silvery blue to paint the room. A queen-sized bed with a black mission-style head- and footboard took up most of the small space. Nightstands stacked with books, mostly biographies, flanked both sides of the bed, and a flat screen TV hung from the wall.

Raising my voice, I said, "
Reader's Digest
version or
War and Peace
?"

Pots clanged.
"Reader's Digest."

"Kent Ingless might be Hannibal Lector in disguise, Riley's probably gambling, if Mario calls you know nothing, Gregory Peck is roosting, and Kevin's first wife is due to be canonized any minute now."

I dropped my bag on the mattress. A plain white down comforter covered half of the unmade bed. White on white checkerboard sheets had been pushed to one side, and I could tell by the disarray he hadn't slept well last night. I wondered if (okay, kinda-sorta hoped) it had been because I wasn't there.

Bobby's shadow fell across the bed, and I turned to find him standing in the doorway, cookie sheet in hand. "Too late for W
ar and Peace
?"

"How long do you have?"

"For you? All night."

Whoo. Eee. "Then you better get that pizza on."

He grinned and backed out of the doorway.

As I unpacked I filled him in on the day's events. While I told him about Kent, I pulled a sexy nightie from my bag. Putting it on now would be like a neon invitation, one I wanted to save for later.

Biting my thumbnail, I knew I couldn't stay in the clothes I had on. No way. Damp jeans were cruel and unusual punishment.

I pulled off my shirt, choosing to keep my camisole on, and stepped into Bobby's closet, projecting my voice, hoping he could still hear me.

"Kent seems like pure evil, but I can't see a motive for him killing Daisy."

Bobby's voice was muffled. "Unless she knew something he didn't want her to know."

"Like what?" I asked. "The drugs?"

"Probably."

Bobby had installed an organizing system in his tiny walk-in closet that included two built-in dressers, several shelves, two high hanging and two dropped rods.

I opened the top drawer of the closest dresser and pulled a pair of boxers from the crumpled pile. Struggling out of my jeans, I made a mental note to invest in some lounging pants. Maybe sweatpants. Something roomy and comfortable that wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable if wet.

I thought about Daisy and her stand on pharmaceutical therapy. "But she seemed to be okay with the whole drug thing."

"What if what Kent was into wasn't medicinal?"

"Like those little white pills?" I slipped into the cotton boxers and rolled the waistband so they wouldn't fall down. Talk about a neon invitation.

"What?"

Stepping out of the closet, I repeated myself.

Bobby was in the kitchen, filling a bowl with water as I came out. He set it on the floor for BeBe and took a good long look at me.

"Hope you don't mind." I motioned to my CK shorts.

"Mind? Definitely not. You look better in them than I do."

I found that hard to believe. But who was I to argue?

"What pills?" he asked, leaning against the kitchen sink.

I told him about the pills I'd seen near Daisy's body.

Sitting on the kitchen table, swinging my legs, I said, "I'm hoping Ian can help identify what they were. I'm going to see him tomorrow."

Spicy pepperoni smells filled the kitchen as I told Bobby about Leah, who I mostly glossed over, and then revealed my suspicions about Riley.

"You've been doing a lot of work around the neighborhood. Have you noticed anything unusual about Mrs. Greeble?" My legs swung back and forth.

He shook his head. Damp blond curls stuck out in every direction. "She gets a lot of foot traffic, but I chalked it up to people wanting to look out for her. It's pretty amazing that she's eighty-five and still living on her own."

"If it's true she's running an illegal poker room in her house, then she probably doesn't need any financial help. Is there anyone you've seen going in on a regular basis?"

Loud snores came from the living room as BeBe fell into a deep sleep. I smiled and happened to notice a trickle of sweat working its way down Bobby's chest. I'm observant that way.