Weeding Out Trouble (9 page)
Read Weeding Out Trouble Online
Authors: Heather Webber
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #Mystery & Detective, #Quinn; Nina (Fictitious character), #General, #Women Sleuths, #Fiction
"How could I stay away? This is Kit we're talking about. The big galoot."
"Galoot? Have you been drinking?"
"Just a little. Listen, I'm stuck in Denver. There's a blizzard here, and most of the flights into Cincinnati have been canceled because of the snow there. I don't know when I'll be getting in. Can you pick me up?"
I had to smile. Only Ana would ask me to pick her up when she didn't have a clue as to when that might be. "Of course."
And only I would agree without a moment's hesitation.
"How are things there?" she asked.
I filled her in on Kevin, Maddie, Daisy's parents, Lewy and Joe, and the rooster fiasco.
I could hear her pout. "I'm missing everything!"
"Be glad."
"Hmmph. Well, what are you doing tomorrow?"
"Perry and I are going to talk to Kent Ingless. See what he knows."
"Can't you wait until I get in?"
"We'll see."
"I miss everything!"
We said our good-byes, and I climbed out of the bathtub.
I yawned as I gathered up my drawing supplies and set them on my nightstand in the bedroom. Crossing over to the window, I knelt down and looked across the street. Then I glanced back at my bed, where there was no room for me.
It made sense to go over there.
Perfectly justifiable.
It would be so nice to curl up with Bobby. There was something about being in his arms that made me feel safe and secure and . . . loved.
But there were those pesky boundaries.
What was a girl to do?
Making up my mind, I went into the closet and pulled down an extra blanket. I wrestled my pillow out from beneath BeBe's head, hoping she didn't drool in her sleep, and settled in on the floor.
As I turned off the lamp, I told myself my decision had everything to do with maintaining a healthy distance so my and Bobby's relationship could grow.
But I knew as I fell into a fitful sleep it had more to do with not wanting to have to deal with Kevin on my way out.
There were no corners left in my head to store away that information.
I was getting good at sneaking out.
It was all about distraction.
I'd waited until my mother was changing Kevin's gauze, then announced that I'd be taking BeBe for a walk, maybe go check on Gregory Peck, and see if Miss Maisie had contacted the CDC yet.
It was ten in the morning and all was quiet in the Mill. Snow reached mid-calf on my galoshes, but the sun peeped through fluffy clouds, promising a beautiful day. BeBe pranced around the yard, taking a moment to visit her snowman. She'd been having a blast until she saw the turkeys lurking near the woods at the back of my property.
One turkey sighting and she was cowering behind my legs, shaking like a bad Elvis impersonator. Namely, my dad. I wondered if he'd give a performance of "Don't Be Cruel" if my Thanksgiving dinner needed livening up.
As I dragged BeBe toward Mr. Cabrera's, I thought about my father. Was he lonely? I guessed not. I could practi cally see him lounging in his recliner, watching the History Channel, coffee in one hand, bag of Cheetos in the other.
My mom never let Dad have Cheetos.
I had to know. Pulling out my cell phone, I called him. "Are you eating Cheetos?"
Crunch, crunch
. "What? No. Never! Did you know on this day in 1835 the horseshoe manufacturing machine was patented?"
. "What? No. Never! Did you know on this day in 1835 the horseshoe manufacturing machine was patented?"
"No. And I'd wipe the cheesy fingerprints off the phone before Mom gets home." To the dog, I said, "C'mon, BeBe!"
She'd planted all four paws in the snow.
"She's not coming home, is she?" Dad didn't have to specify the "she." I could tell by the fear in his voice.
"I don't know," I lied, tugging on BeBe. It wasn't easy budging 150 pounds of turkey-fearing canine.
"What do you mean you don't know? Didn't you see your mother this morning?"
My breath puffed out in front of me like little evil cumulous clouds. "Actually, I didn't."
Lying again. I suppose it was bad enough to lie, but to lie and enjoy it? Maybe I had a sadistic streak.
If I did, it was easily explained by the fact that he'd gone and left my mother with me. I was going to need to see a chiropractor if I had to sleep on the floor again.
His voice tinged in panic, he said, "I've got to go, Nina."
"'Bye, Dad."
I flipped my phone closed, tucked it into my pocket. A light coat of snow had covered BeBe.
"Come on, Beebs." I yanked, I tugged, I begged, I cajoled. Finally, I said, "Gobble, gobble!"
She leaped forward, nearly knocking me down in the process. Barking, she wound her way around me, wrapping me like a mummy.
"BeBe, stop!"
She was having fun now, the little devil.
Just when I was wondering how I was going to get out of that mess, I heard, "Ach. There's a good schnitzel."
Great. Just great.
BeBe lunged for Brickhouse.
"Timber!" she yelled, cackling.
As I fell, I suddenly remembered why I didn't like that woman.
She laughed and laughed. "I wish I had a camera. What a great Christmas picture this would be for my cards this year."
Ugh. I didn't want to think Mrs. Krauss and I were alike at all, but there were times . . .
I shoved those thoughts into the Never Be Thought About Again, Ever corner.
BeBe easily pulled me across the snow, as though I was some bound-up Christmas tree she was delivering.
I looked up at Brickhouse. "You're not going to leave me like this, are you?"
She clucked. "Depends."
"On?"
"Are you sneaking off?"
"Ha. Ha. Who says I snuck off?"
She held up her hand. One chubby finger shot into the air. "The detectives." Another finger. "Your mother." Another finger. "Tam."
Tam! She'd ratted me out?
Another finger. "Kevin."
"All right! All right. I snuck off." My backside was starting to freeze.
She planted meaty hands on her hips. "I want to go with you today."
I wiggled, trying to free myself. It wasn't pretty. "I don't think so."
"Suit yourself, Nina Ceceri."
She turned and started walking away. BeBe followed, dragging me along.
I caved. "All right! You can come."
She clucked happily as she unleashed BeBe and unwound me. "Where are we going?"
I explained about Kent Ingless.
"How are we going to lose the fuzz?" She motioned to the curb. Lewy and Joe sat in a dark Taurus.
Wonderful.
"Fuzz?" I asked. "Really?"
"Are you one to question my word choices?"
She had a point. I followed her to Mr. Cabrera's house, and true to my word, I checked on Gregory Peck. He seemed to be doing well, having taken over the garage for his roost.
"Where's Mr. Cabrera?"
"Ach. Walked himself to the hardware store. He's intent on catching those turkeys."
I smiled. When Mr. Cabrera had his mind set on something, he usually went at it gung ho.
Brickhouse pulled on a rainbow-colored knit cap. "What's our plan of escape?"
It was scary how much enjoyment she was getting out of this. I swore I caught her humming the theme song to
Mis
sion Impossible
while filling a bowl of water for BeBe.
Mis
sion Impossible
while filling a bowl of water for BeBe.
"Leave BeBe here, mosey over to Miss Maisie's to make sure she's okay after the rooster debacle yesterday, then sneak out her back door to meet up with Perry." I checked my watch. "We have ten minutes."
My phone chirped. Bobby.
"Were you and BeBe playing Iditarod?" he asked.
I looked out Mr. Cabrera's front window and could see Bobby standing in his window, phone in one hand, coffee cup in the other. "Very funny. Where's your shirt?"
"Just got out of the shower."
My mouth went dry.
Softly, he said, "I left the lights on for you last night."
Damn those boundaries. "Will they be on again tonight?"
"Probably."
I was glad to hear it. I saw him take a sip of coffee, wince. "You should really blow on that first. Dinner tonight?" I asked.
He laughed. "Sure, I should be home by then. I'm headed down to Mac's place—promised I'd watch the Bengals game with him."
"Okay."
"Dare I ask what you're doing today? I assume it will have something to do with outwitting the two detectives in front of your house."
"Something like that."
"The less I know, the better?"
I smiled. "Definitely."
I hung up, and Brickhouse and I headed toward Miss Maisie's.
She seemed surprised to see us, and even more surprised when we said hello, asked how she was, and wondered aloud if we could leave through her back door.
She showed us out, but not before checking to see if there were any stray fowl running around outside.
We picked our way through the deep snow, cutting through Mrs. Greeble's backyard.
As we neared the back of the house, something caught my eye. I crept up to the window and looked in.
"Nina!" Brickhouse whispered loudly. "What are you doing? Time is of the essence, child."
I stood there, unable to believe what I was seeing.
"What has you so captivated?" She came up behind me. "Ah." She clucked. "Oh."
I couldn't have said it better.
Right there in Mrs. Greeble's back room was a large poker table.
Now I knew why Riley had been spending so much time with her.
Nine
As Brickhouse and I trudged through the snow, all I could think about was Riley. How he'd fooled me once again. And my first evil thought was like father, like son, but as soon as I thought it, I was ashamed. It wasn't fair to lump Kevin's sins on Riley.
I stomped along, feeling petulant. I had believed I'd come a long way in parenting a teen. I'd picked up tricks to spot lies, tips to weasel information.
I'd been blindsided by this, thinking, believing, that Riley was helping Mrs. Greeble. That he was
earning
his money. Not
winning
it.
earning
his money. Not
winning
it.
And don't get me started on Mrs. Greeble. She'd seemed so nice, yet if she was running a poker game out of her house, she had to have a dark side.
Now I felt the obligation to figure out how dark.
Just one more thing for me to worry about.
"You look like your head is about to pop off. It's not attractive, Nina Ceceri." Brickhouse glanced back at me as she held a branch so it wouldn't thwap me in the face. "Perhaps all is not what it seems."
I arched an eyebrow, my BS meter working on overdrive.
"On occasion," she clucked, "I am wrong. It's rare, occurring about as often as a harvest moon, but it does happen. This may well be one of those times."
"You think?"
"No need for snippiness." Releasing the branch, she forged ahead.
Snow seeped down into my galoshes, absorbed into my jeans. Ask me last week, and I'd have said there was little worse than wet jeans. This week I held a whole new perspective on life's pitfalls.
Though the jeans still ranked up there.
"Sorry," I grumbled. "I just don't know what's worse. That he's been gambling for money or that I keep being duped by him."
Her laughter carried back to me. "Teenagers are created to dupe parents."
"Did Claudia ever dupe you?" I asked, referring to her grown daughter.
"Ach. No. I'm too smart to fall for such things."
I tried to step in the prints Brickhouse made. "Gee, thanks."
"I'm sure it's not what we think. Talk to him before you accuse him of anything."
As we emerged from our journey through the Mill's backyards, I decided not to think about it for a while. I'd deal with Riley later.
A small Saturn, circa 1992, sat at the curb, idling. Thick, crispy street salt adhered to the car like dried out barnacles. Chunks of dirty snow clung to the car's wheel wells, and two inches of thick snow covered the hood, roof, and trunk like a wintry blanket.
The passenger window rolled slowly down. Inside, I saw Perry leaning across the front seat, cranking the lever.
Brickhouse and I gaped.
"Where's the Range Rover?" I asked.
"Get in, get in," he ordered. "I've been sitting here for ten minutes and the car won't heat unless it's moving. I've lost feeling in the tip of my nose! Hurry, hurry! I like this nose. I paid a lot of money for this nose."
"Shotgun!" Brickhouse called, yanking open the front door.
I rolled my eyes and pulled open the back door. The handle, also caked in salt, felt starchy and stiff under my fingers. I rubbed my hands down my pants and made a face at my damp, clingy jeans.
I was seriously missing summertime.
Perry air-kissed Brickhouse's cheeks but didn't ask why she was there. He shifted, the gears grinding. Tires spun as he stepped on the gas. The car spurted forward, then stopped, stalled.
"The Range Rover?" I winced as the gears ground.
"You wouldn't believe it," he said. The rosy color of his cheeks stood out against the black hat he wore. It had a large rounded crown and drooping ear flaps, and looked like he'd stolen it from the Red Baron's closet.
The car lurched and I flew forward, almost ending up in the front seat. And I nearly got whiplash when the car died again, sending me backward.
I fastened my seat belt, tightening it around my waist.
Perry cursed a blue streak, banging the steering wheel. He ended his diatribe with a vicious jerk of the gear shift and the threat of, "Don't make me get out and kick your rotten, stinkin', rusty chassis," before Brickhouse reached over and turned off the ignition.
"Get out," she ordered Perry as she opened her door.
I watched in amazement as he obeyed. I'd never even heard him raise his voice before. He slowly walked around the front of the car as Brickhouse crossed behind. He wore a thick cable-knit Irish wool sweater, jeans, and a wool coat that hit him mid-thigh.
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