I felt sick.
"Greta!" he yelled, his voice thunderous.
Uh-oh. Was he yelling for his dog . . . or his wife?
I felt really sick.
He came back out a second later without the take-out bag, both fists clenched tight, like he was ready to take a swing. Sweat dripped from his receding hairline. He looked hot yet cold at the same time. Sweating yet pale.
Stepping back, I wondered if I had any degerminator in my truck. The man obviously had the flu or something.
He bellowed, "I come home from work not feeling well, just wanting some rest, relaxation, and a little soup, and this is what I find! People desecrating my yard! What is going on?" Color sat high on his hollow cheekbones, standing out against his pale skin.
"Surprise!" I said. "I'm Nina Quinn, owner of Taken by Surprise, Garden Designs. I was hired to makeover this backyard."
"Hired! By who?"
I didn't think this was the time to correct his grammar. I gulped. I'd been hired by Lindsey Lockhart to surprise her husband.
This clearly was not Bill. I'd met him many times picking Riley up from work. So either Lindsey was a polygamist or I'd been tricked. It was a sticky situation. I didn't know what to do, what to say, and I hated that I'd been put in this position.
"Um, the homeowner?" I asked, hoping against hope that I was wrong about this house belonging to this man.
"Are you toying with me, little lady?"
Again the snort from Kit. What on earth was going on? I expected Candid Camera any second.
"I am the home—" He broke off mid-word, his eyes widening. He clutched his chest, his lips parting in a silent scream. His knees buckled and he toppled over. He landed in a motionless heap at my feet.
Five
Kit immediately handed me BeBe's leash and started CPR. I watched him do chest compressions, stopping to breathe air into the man's lungs every so often.
"He's dead!" a voice over my shoulder said.
It was Meredith Adams, HOA VP, her eyes on bulge overload.
"No, he's not," I said, hoping it was true. Please God, let it be true. I swore right then and there I'd go to confession every week for the rest of my life if it were true.
"Yes, he is. You killed him!"
"Did not!"
"Did too."
"Go away!"
Someone grabbed Meredith's arm and tugged. It was Kate Hathaway. I gave her a grateful smile.
Kit pressed and breathed.
Dear God. I'd never had someone die at one of my sites. BeBe, probably sensing something important was going on, sat at my feet, content to lick my hand. I didn't even mind. All I kept thinking about was what the man had said. Or what he'd been about to say. I am the homeowner.
This man was clearly not Bill Lockhart.
Who the hell was he?
I turned to Madame President to ask, but she and Meredith Adams were gone. Marty and Coby stood huddled by the neighbor's picket fence, their eyes wide with disbelief. Ignacio and his crew had disappeared. I didn't blame them. In a few minutes this place would be crawling with officials. Officials who might think to check green cards.
Sirens rang in the distance.
They'd gotten here fast, though I rather suspected it was too late for the man. John Doe's face had turned a pale shade of blue, his lips a plum color. And his eyes . . . I shuddered. They were open wide but not seeing a thing.
Still, Kit worked on him. The man had clearly been ill, and I wondered if he was contagious as Kit did mouth-to-mouth.
I looked down the hill to the sidewalk and saw an ambulance pull up diagonally at the curb. As the paramedics rushed toward us, they brought a crowd of onlookers. BeBe excitedly danced around my feet at all the new faces.
When she tried to help Kit with the CPR by licking John Doe's face, I tugged sharply on her leash and led her to my truck.
I rolled down the windows two inches, turned on the AC, and called Lindsey Lockhart's cell phone.
No one answered.
A police cruiser pulled up behind the ambulance. A uniformed officer got out and hurried up the slope into the backyard.
Still no answer when I tried Lindsey's cell again. I left a message.
I figured the cop would want to ask me questions, so I left BeBe drooling on my gear shift and listening to the Oldies station. Kit stood with folded arms on the fringe of the crowd. The paramedics still worked on John Doe, using a portable defibrillator.
Everyone stood in silence, just watching.
After twenty minutes of futile effort one of the paramedics made a phone call. After he hung up, he and his partner started putting away their gear.
Out of nowhere a sheet appeared, and they draped it over the man's face and shoulders, leaving his arms and legs sticking out, like some sort of off-kilter stick figure.
I turned away.
Several officers now swarmed the yard, clearing people out. Kit had disappeared. I assumed he was off coddling BeBe. Marty, Coby, and Stanley Mack had moved to the shade under the eaves of the house.
People began speaking as they walked away, softly at first, but then more loudly. I was able to pick out pieces of conversation.
I didn't like him, but I'd never wish this on him.
Hasn't seen his kid in ten years.
A bastard to work with too.
The way he treated Greta . . . the man should have been in jail.
Neighborhood will be better now that he's gone.
I heard his wife was hoping he'd have a heart attack when he saw the yard. That's why she hired these people.
Rumors flew. I wanted to yell that this man's wife hadn't hired me at all. Lindsey Lockhart had. To surprise her husband Bill.
But the man on the ground wasn't Bill. And this yard apparently wasn't the Lockharts'.
Lindsey had lied to me.
I tapped someone on the shoulder. The man turned, his light blue eyes narrowing. I said, "Do you happen to know this man's name?"
"Russ Grabinsky," he said. "The lowest form of scum that ever lived."
Ohh-kay. "And he lived here?" I asked, double-checking.
"For over thirty years."
"Where, ah, do the Lockharts live?"
The man hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the house next door, the one with the cute picket fence and greenhouse. "There. Why?"
"No reason."
We both looked back at the covered body.
"I'm glad he's dead," he said, then stalked off, stopping to speak with Kate Hathaway for a brief moment before storming down the hill.
I forced my mouth closed. It's one thing not to like a man, but another to say you're glad he's dead.
My gaze went back to the body on the ground.
Russ Grabinsky. Grabinsky. I'd heard the name before, but I couldn't place it. It had been recent too.
I cursed getting older just as a uniformed officer came over to me. "Hello, Nina."
"Hey, Davis." The Freedom Police Department was very close-knit. Everyone knew everyone. I wondered how long it would take for this incident to get back to Kevin.
"Bad day, huh?" Davis asked, tapping his small notebook.
I bit back any sarcastic comments. No need to antagonize. "I've had better."
"Just need to ask a few questions."
I nodded.
"Who hired you?"
"Lindsey Lockhart."
"She here?"
I looked around, didn't see her traitorous self anywhere. I'd known something was off about this job. Dammit. When was I going to listen to my instincts? "No."
"She live here?"
"I guess not," I said, unable to completely cover my sarcasm.
"Did you have the homeowner's permission to work this land?"
"Apparently not." I eyed my fingernails, in need of biting one, but they were just too dirty. I crossed my arms instead.
Davis whistled low.
Just then a woman came waddling quickly up the hill, her face flushed with exertion. She was
older, maybe midsixties, with an old-fashioned beehive hairdo. She wore an old housecoat with faux pearl buttons. "Russell!" she cried when she spotted the sheet-covered body on the ground.
"Greta!" Kate Hathaway rushed over to her, put an arm around the woman's broad shoulders.
Davis said, "I'll be right back."
So this was Greta. Not a dog after all. I looked around for Lindsey Lockhart, thinking there might be two deaths today.
I moseyed over to stand with the guys while the police and the homeowners' association welcome wagon filled Mrs. Grabinsky in.
I recalled what one of the passersby had said about her wanting to kill her husband and wondered why people would think so. Had their marriage been bad? Had he been abusive? Was she glad he was gone?
She certainly wasn't acting glad. Tears flowed.
Crocodile tears?
"No, no, no!" she cried as one of the paramedics asked her which mortuary to call. "I want an autopsy done!"
Why? I wondered.
"Why?" the paramedic asked, bless him.
"Because I want to know why he died. My Russell was a healthy man. This just does not happen to healthy men!"
"You know that's not true, Greta," a voice from behind me said.
Lindsey. When had she shown up? Had she been hiding nearby all along? I glared at her, but she wouldn't look at me, so I supposed it had little effect.
"What's not true?" Davis asked, stepping into the conversation.
Lindsey clasped her hands together. "Russell wasn't that healthy."
Mrs. Grabinsky's eyes narrowed.
"You know he wasn't, Greta. He was taking high blood pressure medication. You told me so yourself."
Russ Grabinsky. Ebenezer! Of course. That's where I'd heard the name. Yesterday at the hospital. Russ Grabinsky was the Growl co-owner Riley despised.
Greta put her meaty hands on her meatier hips. "Nothing that would cause this!"
"Actually," the paramedic said, "high blood pressure could cause a heart infarction."
The vicious glare turned to him. He looked at Davis.
"If there's any suspicion at all, an autopsy must be done."
The paramedic looked like he wanted to argue, but said, "We'll transport the body to the coroner's office, then."
Davis nodded, jotted something in his notebook.
Everyone watched silently as Russ Grabinsky was loaded onto a gurney, the white sheet still covering him, and rolled down the hill into a waiting van.
Wild-eyed, Greta backed away from us, her hands shaking. She pointed to Lindsey. "This is your fault! You had no right, not at all, to do this."
Lindsey pleaded, "Greta, be reasonable. I was trying to help you."
"Help? Ha! By sending my husband to an early grave?"
"Greta—"
"You'll be hearing from my lawyer!" Greta cried.
Hmmph. I had a visit to my lawyers in mind as well, to deal with Lindsey.
"And you!" A craggy finger shook at me.
"Me?"
"You will pay too."
I gasped. "What did I do?"
"You murdered my husband."
Murmurs rippled through the yard.
"As far as I'm concerned it was your unauthorized work here that caused his heart attack. You will pay, little lady."
The use of "little lady" barely even registered. All I could think of was how I was going to deal with this. Because Greta Grabinsky actually had a good case against me.
Not about the murder, of course. That was ridiculous. But about the unauthorized work. Technically, I'd destroyed her property. She could sue me for everything I had.
I could lose everything.
Six
An hour later I stood staring at the mess in the backyard. Most of the clearing had been done, at least.
"You know, you need to finish this job ASAP."
Meredith Adams's voice worked my last nerve. "Why's that?"
"You cannot leave this yard in the state it's in. It's an eyesore. A blight on the neighborhood."
"Is it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Will you sue me?" I asked, my voice low.
She took a step back, out of range of my hand, which was itching to smack her.
She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. She looked about my age, maybe a little older. "Besides, the work has been paid for. You've been paid. It's only right you finish the job."
I didn't feel like explaining that I couldn't finish the job until I had the homeowner's permission. And judging by Greta's current state, I didn't think that was going to happen anytime soon.
A deep masculine voice said, "That's not going to happen. At least not today."
My stomach muscles clenched. I turned to find Kevin standing there, a speculative glint in his green eyes.
"What's with you and dead bodies?" he asked.
Meredith gasped. "You mean there's been more than one?"
I fisted my hands and tucked them under my armpits so I wouldn't deck Little Miss Sunshine and Light.
"None of them were my fault," I said, feeling defensive, especially when Meredith gasped again.
"That remains to be determined."
Uh-oh. "What are you doing here?" I asked. Kevin was a homicide detective. He, well, detected homicides. Which this wasn't. This was a heart attack.
"Davis called about a suspicious death."
"It's not suspicious. He had a heart attack."
"Is it considered a heart attack if the victim is shocked to death?" Meredith piped in. "Because Russ Grabinsky was shocked by his backyard. Keeled right over when he saw it."
I backed up a step so I wouldn't kick her. "It wasn't right over," I argued. "He went inside and everything before he came back out—"
"And keeled over," Meredith said.
"Who are you?" Kevin asked.
"Meredith Adams. I'm the vice president of the Fallow Falls Homeowners Association."
Kevin pulled out his notebook. I didn't know why. He never actually wrote anything down. He'd had that same notebook for four years. "And you knew the victim?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ginger Ho, er, Barlow coming up the slope along the side of the house. She stopped to look at the spot where Russ Grabinsky had died.
Great. My day just kept getting better and better.
Meredith's expression soured. "Everyone knew Russ."
"Everyone hated Russ," I supplied.
Both of them looked at me. "Oh, come on," I said. "One guy told me he was glad Russ was dead."
Kevin's eyebrow jumped. "I'll need that name."
"I don't know it. Though I did see him speak to Kate Hathaway, the Fallow Falls Homeowners Association president, before he left. Tall guy, Nordic looking, blond, amazing cheekbones, light blue eyes."
Kevin's other eyebrow dipped. "Amazing cheekbones?"
"Well, it's hard not to notice them."
"Do you think you should be noticing them? What would your Ken doll think?"
Kevin had issues with Bobby, obviously. Issues he had no right to whatsoever. I gritted my teeth, spoke softly through them. "Probably the same thing Ginger would think if she knew you kissed me a month ago."
Now his eyebrows waggled. "Still thinking about that, are you?"
Argh!
"Do you two know each other?" Meredith asked, confusion creasing the faint wrinkles on her forehead and pulling down the corners of her mouth.
"She's my wife," Kevin said.
"Almost ex," I pointed out.
The divorce would be final in nine days.
Nine days.
My stomach hurt.
"Isn't this a conflict of interest?" Meredith asked.
"No," Kevin and I both said at once.
"Who's Kate Hathaway?" he asked.
I filled him in.
Digging Up Trouble Page 5
