Weeding Out Trouble (3 page)

No doubt it was Lewy and Joe. And also no doubt they wanted me to know they were watching.

Well, let them.

That's me, Nina Colette Cooperating Witness Ceceri Quinn.

In the console cup holder my silenced cell phone vibrated. I'd been ignoring calls left and right all day. My coping mechanisms had been maxed out, and I couldn't deal with the prying questions from friends and family on top of everything else.

I checked the screen, and flipped the phone open. "Hi, there."

I heard a deep inhale, a lengthy exhale. "I was worried."

"I'm all right."

"You're lying."

Turning left, I said, "Maybe."

I could hear the smile in Bobby's voice. "There's no maybe about it, Nina. Where are you?"

"On my way home. You?"

"Headed that way."

The sleet had picked up. I bumped up the speed on my wipers, turned up the heat in the truck. "How'd the interview go?" He'd been looking for a job since resigning as an elementary school principal nearly a month ago.

Static crackled. "It went."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'll find something."

Bobby MacKenna and I had been dating off and on for almost six months. We'd gotten serious fast, slowed things down, split up, and since he returned to Ohio from Florida a month ago, had been putting the pieces back together.

It took some doing, though. Especially after I found him holding another woman in his arms.

I was quite proud of myself for not overreacting to the scene, because after Kevin cheated on me, I had serious trust issues.

No one was happier than I when Bobby explained that the woman had simply been giving him a thank-you hug for returning a bracelet he retrieved from his charming geriatric klepto grandfather Mac.

Considering Mac had snitched my watch, the story rang true.

Personally, I thought the woman would have liked more of a relationship with Bobby. But he was only interested in me.

It did my heart good.

He'd moved in across the street, and we were now closer than ever.

It felt good.

And scary.

And hopeful.

I liked the hopeful part.

"How about some hot soup and a long bath tonight?" he asked.

"In that order?"

"Not necessarily."

"Care to join me?" I asked.

"You know how much I love soup."

I laughed, then instantly teared up. "Somehow it feels wrong to laugh."

BeBe lifted her head, yawned, and put it back down. The sleet was slowly turning to snow.

"I knew you weren't okay," he said.

"I'm just . . . I'm just . . . "

"Scared?"

"Terrified. They have a manhunt out for him, Bobby. Like he's some dangerous animal."

"We know he isn't."

I exhaled. I'd been holding my breath without realizing it, waiting, worried. Bobby's opinion meant a lot to me, and I didn't know what I would have done if he believed Kit guilty of Daisy's murder.

"We know," I said, "but our opinions don't count."

Bobby's voice deepened. "The police will find evidence to clear him."

"What if . . . " I took a deep breath.

"What?"

I couldn't bring myself to say it. I could barely think it.

What if whoever killed Daisy killed him too? I shuddered. "Nothing."

"Listen, do you need a lawyer? I could call Josh."

"No!" Bobby's sleazy cousin, Josh Drake, was the last person I'd ever want representing me. "I'm good. They pretty much think Kit did it. I'm just a witness."

Bobby laughed. He knew how I felt about Josh, and I had the feeling he'd only brought up his name to get my mind off Kit for a minute. "Okay, no Josh. I've been thinking . . . "

"Uh-oh."

"No, no. It's just that with all this going on, maybe we should cancel next week."

"You, Robert Patrick MacKenna, are not getting out of Thanksgiving dinner. So stop trying."

"Have I warned you about my family?"

"I've met your grandfather and Josh, how much worse can it get?" After a second of silence, I said, "Bobby?"

"Worse," he mumbled.

I didn't believe him. His grandfather was a piece of work. And Josh was pretty darn bad.

"Thanksgiving is still on," I said. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"I'll bring the bubbles."

Hanging up, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Lewy and Joe still followed.

My phone vibrated again. I thought about turning it off, but looked at the ID and couldn't help myself.

"No way. Absolutely no freakin' way. No way on God's somewhat green—I hear global warming is wreaking havoc and now El Niño is back—earth. Holy hell. Not Kit. Not that big cuddly, wuddly teddy bear. Are the police idiots? They probably can't find their nightsticks with both hands, can they? Overbearing heterosexual alpha males, probably trying to assert their manliness. Am I right? Am I right?"

Perry Owens didn't wait for my answer.

"Kit's a target, that's what he is. A big six-foot-five target. Just paint big red round circles on his chest—though, ugh, he really shouldn't wear red, not his color at all—and have a little shooting practice."

I broke in before he hyperventilated. "Breathe, Perry. Breathe."

"Sorry, sugar, but I'm pissed."

I smiled. "I can tell."

"You won't tell Kit I called him a cuddly, wuddly teddy bear, will you?"

I really didn't want Perry to get his ass kicked. "Your secret is safe."

I'd met Perry Owens while Bobby and I were undercover contestants on a sleazy reality TV show. Perry and his life partner, Mario Gibbens, had been the other set of contestants. The show ended up being a nightmare, where the only realities were adultery, deceit, and murder.

The upside was that Perry, a hairdresser, and I had bonded. He'd given me a complete head-to-toe makeover, some of which I'd kept up, most of which I let go by the wayside.

"What are we going to do about it?" Perry asked.

"About it?"

"We've got to clear his name. He's probably hiding out until someone does."

"You really think he's hiding out?"

Perry must have heard what I was really asking. "Oh, sugar, don't be thinking such things. Kit's a tough cookie. No way is he kicking the bucket, feeding the earthworms—"

"You have such a way with words, Perry."

He laughed. He had a great laugh, full of sound. Infectious. "Sugar, I'd been thinking 'pushing up daisies,' but decided that might be in bad taste."

I groaned. "You're awful."

"That Daisy was no good for him, anyway. I'm sad she went the way she did, but I'm not sad she's out of his life for good."

Turning right, I inched along Tylersville Road. There were several vehicles on the shoulder of the road, abandoned. In southern Ohio, this weather always turned roadways into a dangerous game of bumper cars.

I thought about what Perry had said. About Daisy. Honestly? I agreed with him. I'd seen what she put Kit through over the last few months. But I'd also seen how much Kit cared for her. For him, I mourned her death.

But only for him.

BeBe snuffled.

And maybe BeBe too.

I loved them both.

"How about dinner tonight?" he asked.

"Can't. I have plans."

"What's that I hear in your voice?"

"Bubbles," I said.

He laughed. "I think I want details, but have to run. Ma- rio's on the other line. I'll talk to you later. Hang in there, sugar. Everything will be okay."

I slowly turned right into the Mill. The back of my truck fishtailed a bit, but I managed to keep control.

Down the block, I could see a line of cars parked in front of my house.

I wasn't the least bit surprised. The neighborhood wasn't known as the Gossip Mill for nothing. All my neighbors would want a run-down of today's events, especially since they had gotten to know Kit over the past few weeks.

My mom, my dad, probably my sister, would want every last detail too. If my brother Peter lived within a hundred mile radius, I'm sure he'd have been waiting for me on the front porch, lousy weather and all.

We were a nosy lot, us Ceceris.

I checked my watch. I'd tell them what I knew, but come six o'clock, they were gone. Vamoosed. I had a date with bubbles.

The wipers swiped away a light layer of snow just in time for me to see a black blur run in front of my truck. I slammed on my brakes.

The unmarked cruiser behind me slid sideways up onto the curb. BeBe jumped up, looked around, and started barking at the critter running through Mrs. Daasch's side yard.

A knock at the window startled me. I powered it down.

"Why the hell is there a turkey on the loose in the neighborhood?" Lewy wanted to know.

"Running for his life, probably," I shouted over BeBe's raucous barking.

Just like Kit? I wondered.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman close my front door, get into her car. I blinked twice.

"Something wrong?" Lewy asked, following my gaze. "Ah."

Was that pity I saw in his eyes? Well, I didn't want it.

I shook my head, loosened my grip on the steering wheel. "Nothing's wrong. Not at all."

Out of all the people I expected to see, she wasn't one of them. And I just had to wonder what Ginger Ho, er, Ginger Barlow, was doing at my house.

I parked behind Tam's Cabriolet, took a solid hold of BeBe's collar for fear she'd take off on a turkey hunt, and made my way up slippery front porch steps.

The walls to my house were notoriously thin, and I could hear the conversation inside without much trouble.

"What if he did it?" I recognized the voice of Jeff Dannon, one of my part-time employees. He was fairly new so I didn't hold his doubts against him. If he'd known Kit for any length of time, then he'd realize how ridiculous that notion was.

"Ach. He didn't." That from Brickhouse. She loved Kit almost as much as I did.

I hated that we had something in common.

"Who do you think did it?" It was the overeager voice of my neighbor, Mr. Cabrera. He loved gossip more than anyone I knew. He was fishing for speculation, and Tam bit.

"I never liked Daisy," she said. "And I can't be the only one."

"Did you ever meet her, c
hérie
?" my mother asked Tam. The use of c
hérie,
her signature endearment, was a dead giveaway.

"Well, no. But I didn't have to."

Brickhouse clucked. "Me either."

"So, who'd want to off her?" Mr. Cabrera pressed. He was a man on a mission for tidbits for the weekly neighborhood poker game. It used to be cribbage, but my stepson Riley had hooked Mr. Cabrera on Texas Hold 'Em over the summer, and the neighborhood hasn't been the same since.

"Maybe she had a new boyfriend." That from Mrs. Daasch, my neighbor two houses down.

"Or someone from that business of hers?" Jean-Claude Reaux, one of my full-time employees, said.

"Right, because those holistic types are so dangerous," Tam snipped.

"Hmmph. You never know," Jean-Claude said.

Jean-Claude was right. None of them knew about Daisy's freelance work—providing medicinal marijuana to those in need.

And although one would think peddling medicinal marijuana wouldn't be all that dangerous, Daisy had to have a supplier. Then there was the thought that maybe she didn't just sell to the sick . . .

And then there was the little problem of all those white pills. I had a feeling they weren't aspirin.

I suddenly recalled a conversation I'd overheard between Kit and Daisy last month.

"What you're doing is dangerous," Kit had said. "I'm worried about you."

And in light of what happened today, I couldn't shake her response: "Sometimes we have to do things to protect those we love."

I shuddered, unsure whether it was from the cold or from the memory. What had Daisy meant? And what had she been doing that was so dangerous?

As I reached for the door handle, I heard a voice from inside that made my stomach sink.

"You all can speculate as much as you want," he said, "but you have to accept the fact that Kit may be guilty. And in fact, probably is."

The voice explained why Ginger had been there, but not why she left without him.

I shoved the door open. My gaze skimmed past Mrs. Daasch, Brickhouse, Mr. Cabrera, my mother, Jeff Dannon, Tam, Jean-Claude, and Shay Oshwalter, to land on Kevin Quinn.

My ex.

I glared. Luckily, he looked deathly pale, so I withheld marching over to him and slapping him upside the head.

Guilty, my ass.

My mother was the first to break the silence. "Close the door, c
hérie
, it's freezing!"

Then everyone spoke at once, throwing questions at me left and right.

BeBe pranced, working herself into a frenzy. I let go of her collar before she broke my arm. She took off, searching every corner of the room, stopping extra long to sniff at the duffel bag in the corner, where Kit kept most of his clothes. BeBe went from person to person. Finally, she must have realized Kit wasn't in the room and flopped down on the floor next to a suitcase.

A suitcase I didn't recognize.

But before I could question its ownership, the TV caught my attention. The sound was muted, but I could imagine what the anchor was saying as a picture of Kit flashed on the screen. It was his mug shot from years ago when he'd been arrested for indecent exposure after streaking across the fifty yard line at a Miami University football game.

Great. Now the public would think he was guilty too. Who was going to look beyond the mug shot and past mistakes to see the man he'd become?