Trouble In Spades

by Heather Webber

  "It's taken," I said.

  "Food?" she whimpered.

  I motioned to the kitchen. "Have at it. And try to keep them from coming in here, will you? I really don't want to see any bloodshed."

  When Ana disappeared through the doorway, the arguing reached fever pitch.

  "Is she wanted by the FBI?" I asked Kevin, handing the picture back to him.

  "Nina, she is FBI."

  Ack.

  "Her real name is Fran Cooper, and she's been missing since yesterday morning. Needless to say, the FBI is very interested in her whereabouts."

  "I don't know where she is." It was the truth, as lame as it sounded.

  "So Ana told me. She filled me in on the pictures Nate sent you too. Can I have them now?"

  Out of the coat closet, I grabbed my backpack. I thrust the packet of pictures and the guest list at Kevin. "I don't know why he sent them to me."

  "Probably figured you were safe."

  "Safe from what?"

  "I honestly don't know. The FBI doesn't like to share. I need to turn these over to them." He flipped through them, whistling under his breath.

  "I don't recognize him," I said. "Do you?" Kevin shook his head.

  Maria came running in with rice stuck in her hair. She collided with Kevin and the pictures scattered. "It's getting ugly in there! Don't worry," she said to me. "I'll call the painter first thing in the morning." I didn't want to know. Really, I didn't.

  Gracie came out, sat at Maria's ankle. She was eyeing it like she was going to take another bite, but Maria gave her the Ceceri evil eye and she slunk away.

  Kevin hurriedly grabbed the pictures and tried to sound low-key. "Looks like a Chihuahua to me," he said.

  "You want her?" I asked.

  Maria was shaking her head no, warning Kevin off. The backstabber.

  "No thanks," he said.

  "Oh, you missed one." Maria scooped a Polaroid from beneath the chair.

  Kevin reached for it, but she didn't let go. I peeked over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. It was the picture of the man from chest up. No gun. No Claire. No blood. Maria looked up at Kevin. "I didn't know you were working on his case."

  Kevin and I looked at each other. Kevin said, "His case?"

  "Brian Thatcher. I hope you catch whoever did it. It was quite a shock."

  "You know him?" I asked, shocked myself.

  "I told you about him," she said to me, acting put out. When I looked blankly at her, she sighed. "You know, my boss . . . at Phineus Frye. He was carjacked a few months ago . . ."

  This was Brian Thatcher? I tried to remember everything I'd been told about him, but all I came up with was his death and that he'd been Maria's boss. I thought these pictures certainly proved that he hadn't been carjacked.

  Brian Thatcher had worked at Phineus Frye. Claire Battiste worked for Phineus Frye and, it turns out, was a Phineus and related to a Frye. And Nate? How did he tie in other than he worked for Claire? Maybe it was enough. Another crash came from the kitchen.

  "That's my cue to leave," Kevin said. "We need to talk about this," he said, holding up the file. "I'll be in touch."

  "Can't wait," I said.

  Kevin darted for the door as more glass shattered. I ran into the kitchen.

  Serenely, Ana sat cross-legged on top of the island, my father was on the floor picking up pieces of wineglass, and my mother and Aunt Rosetta were facing off across the table from one another, each holding a fork at arm's length. "Who was here?" my father asked.

  "The paper boy," I lied.

  "Hmmm," he said as he picked up shards. I thought it was a good thing Kevin had left when he had.

  "Where are Mr. Cabrera and Mrs. Krauss?" I asked.

  Ana dipped her fork into her bowl. "They slipped out the back when the soy sauce started flying." She gestured to her bowl. "This is good, by the way."

  Dryly, I said, "Glad you like it."

  "Nina!" my mother shouted. "This is unforgivable!"

  "Don't blame her for you being too stubborn to let bygones be bygones!" Rosa yelled.

  "Really, Nina. You could have warned us," Maria chimed in.

  Oooooh. My blood pressure jumped. "Mom," I said childishly, "Maria has something she needs to tell you. About Nate."

  My mother looked at Maria. "Oh?"

  Maria shot me a dirty look. Then she lifted her chin, drew her shoulders back, and smiled evilly. "Actually, I do. Nina thinks Nate and I should elope."

  My father quickly sidestepped and caught my mother as she fainted.

  Seventeen

  I looked up from my sketch pad at the knock on my door. "I can't sleep," Maria said, coming in.

  "Maybe you should go sleep at Mom's."

  She pulled back the covers. "You're not still mad about earlier, are you?"

  I went back to sketching, my colored pencils spread out around me. They rolled when Maria crawled into the bed. Gracie hopped up and snuggled next to her. Maria nudged her away and Gracie slunk down to the end of the bed, circled five times and settled down.

  I gaped at the two of them, but they were oblivious to the fact that this was my room. My bed.

  Maria yawned. "I'm really worried about Nate, Nina."

  Which is exactly why I was keeping my mouth shut on the matter. She didn't need to know about Nate's frightened phone call, or what really happened to Brian Thatcher. Not yet, at least. Honestly, I wished I didn't know about any of it. "He'll be fine."

  "You're lying."

  "How do you know?"

  "Your nostrils flared."

  "Don't look at my nostrils," I said, covering them up. "That's gross."

  "Tell me about it. But it's the only way I can tell if you're lying."

  I pinched my nose closed. "He'll be fine," I said in a squeaky Donald Duck–like voice. "He didn't kill Claire."

  "I didn't say he did."

  Gracie inched her way up the bed. I watched her with a wary eye. I hadn't had a waterproof mattress cover on my bed since I was four.

  Picking up a black pencil, I drew in a wrought-iron chaise lounge on the Frye's design board. I hoped I'd be able to find one on such short notice. "What do you think happened to him?" I asked her.

  "I thought he ran away with Claire. But Claire's dead, so where's Nate?" She pulled the covers up to her chin. "Would I know if he were dead? Have some sort of feeling?"

  "I think that only happens in movies."

  A tear slipped out of her eye. "I love him, Nina."

  A lump formed in my throat. Jeez. I'd gone to bed early to escape this. "I know."

  Her eyes shut and within minutes she was snoring. Worrying had apparently exhausted her. If Nate was my fiancé, I'd be up all night giving myself ulcers. It was only one of the many things that made us different. Sighing, I drew the covers up under her chin.

  As I went back to sketching, I kept an eye on Gracie. I noticed her surreptitiously inching her way up the bed. Curious, I watched to see what she'd do.

  Once she was finally nestled between Maria and me, she snorted and snuffed, trying to lift the covers with her nose. In amazement, I watched as she burrowed beneath the covers and settled in. From my point of view, Gracie's small shape made Maria look like she was hunchbacked. I grabbed my pencils and sketch pad and headed for the living room. This drawing needed to be done for Verona Frye before tomorrow. Apparently, her sister's death hadn't put a damper on her plans. She'd called the office after Kevin and I left her house and told Tam as much. To my eyes, it seemed as though Verona had wanted nothing to do with Claire. Why? Because she wasn't a full sister? Or for some other reason?

  When I dropped off this sketch, maybe I could pry the information out of her. All right, so I was hoping for more cookies. I admit it.

  Way past midnight, I put the finishing touches on my sketch. I'd run it by Verona, get final approval, have her sign the contracts. I'd then round up the materials we needed to get the job done.

  Upstairs, I pushed open Riley's door. He'd
come home and laughed until he cried when he saw the soy sauce on the walls. But he did help me clean it up, which gave me hope for our future.

  I knocked softly on the open door. A large lump rested in the middle of his bed.

  Feeling oddly maternal, I crept over to give Riley a kiss. I pulled the covers down and gasped when all I saw was pillows. "Riley Michael . . . !"

  What was he up to? I wouldn't even consider that he was the panty thief, so my mind jumped to the next logical conclusion. He was out looking for the panty thief.

  I'd wait up for him, then ground him until he left for college.

  I went into my room to grab a robe. Gracie shimmied out from under the covers. She saw me and started whimpering. "Oh no," I said. I grabbed her and made a run for the back door. Once outside, I set her down. She wandered around the house, looking for a good place to do her business. It was quiet, and I heard the sound of voices.

  It was the middle of the night. Who on earth was out?

  Gracie followed me as I backtracked to the house to grab Riley's hockey stick from the laundry room. After all, there was a burglar creeping around these days and I needed to protect my bikini briefs.

  Slowly, I crept back out into the night. Gracie stayed at my heels. I followed the voices to Mr. Cabrera's gazebo. I inched forward, poised to strike.

  Gracie started barking. Yip yip yip. So much for sneaking up on anyone. In the moonlight, I saw Riley's head pop up. "Nina?" he said.

  I leaned on the hockey stick. "Riley? What're you doing?"

  "Uh, keeping watch?"

  Had he fallen asleep on the job? Maternal instincts reared up. It was a school night. What was he thinking, being out here this late? And what was Mr. Cabrera doing, letting him be out this late? He stood up, tugged on his shirt. "Do you know what time it is?" I asked.

  Gracie milled around, her snout to the ground, probably looking for more food. Her stomach had to be the size of Maria's suitcase. Riley shrugged, kept tugging.

  Getting a strange vibe, I put my hands on my hips. "What is going on?"

  Riley shifted back and forth, looking everywhere but at me. Then it hit. I'd heard voices when I came out. More than one. "Olly olly oxenfree," I snapped, all patience lost.

  Long dark curls trailed down the girl's back as she popped up next to Riley. "Uh, hi, Mrs. Quinn."

  Oh-ho! This certainly explained Riley's nighttime forays. "And you'd be?"

  "Katie Coughlin," she said brightly.

  Gracie continued yipping. I wished she had batteries so I could take them out and toss them far, far into the woods. Mr. Cabrera's floodlights flashed on. Oh, here we go.

  "Take her home," I told Riley. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

  "Uh, Nina, it is morning."

  "Riley . . ." I warned.

  "All right." He took Katie's hand and they disappeared into the woods behind the gazebo. There was a trail there that led to the neighborhood behind ours.

  Mr. Cabrera's door creaked open. "Who's back there?" he called out.

  "It's okay, Mr. Cabrera. It's just me." I winced at the sight of him in a pair of boxer shorts and black socks pulled to his knees. Too much information.

  He stepped out. "Miz Quinn?"

  "Really, Mr. Cabrera, I'm just out here with the dog."

  My jaw dropped when Brickhouse appeared behind him, wrapped in a bed sheet. I quickly looked away before I saw something that would send me directly into therapy without passing Go.

  "Donatelli?" she said to Mr. Cabrera, her loud voice carrying easily in the quiet night. "What's going on?"

  "Go in," I urged. "Go back to—" The word lodged in my throat and I forced it out. "—bed."

  I tightened my robe, warding off heebie-jeebies.

  "You sure you okay?" he asked.

  "Right as rain."

  He said good-night, and I heaved a sigh of relief when he closed the door behind him.

  I fought a yawn, but I knew I couldn't go back to bed until I knew Riley was home safe and sound. I'd kill him in the morning. "Gracie, come on."

  Looking around, I didn't see any ratlike dogs. "Gracie?" Oh no. I'd barely had her two days and I'd already managed to lose her. This is why I didn't have a pet. I was lucky I hadn't lost Riley during the last eight years. "Gracie!" I said in a loud whisper.

  A yip pierced the silence. It came from my right.

  I started to follow it, then stopped. Why? Wouldn't it be easier to let her go?

  Guilt nudged me forward. That, and the image of Kit's face when he learned I'd lost the stupid dog. "Gracie!"

  I cut across Mr. Cabrera's backyard, through the next two yards, trying to spot any movement in the moonlight. I raised my voice. "Gracie!"

  Two yips punctuated the night.

  A light flashed on. Mrs. Daasch opened her window. She tossed something out, yelled, "Now let me go back to sleep," and slammed the window closed.

  I stooped to pick up what she'd tossed. In the pale moonlight, I made out a pair of flowered panties.

  "Eww!" I let them drop, wiped my hand on my robe. But I hated to leave them there, on the ground. I snatched them up, held them at arm's length with two fingers, and hung them on her back-door knob.

  "Gracie, I'm going to ring that little canine neck of yours!" I heard a long, prolonged yiiiiiiip and took off, grass squishing between my toes, the dew nearly making me slip. I zigged and zagged through trees, rounded the corner of Mr. Weatherbee's house and stopped so fast my feet went out from under me.

  A man dressed all in black stood in the shadows of the house, as if he'd been there watching me the whole time. "Eee!" I cried as I went down. On the ground, I backpedaled, not caring that my robe had fallen open. I opened my mouth to scream again, but my voice had gone AWOL. I assumed no one had heard my initial scream since no lights were coming on. I cursed hearing aids and searched the ground for something to protect myself. Stupidly, I'd left Riley's hockey stick back at the gazebo. The man stepped forward, out of the shadows, and moonlight cut across his face. Mr. Weatherbee.

  "Does this, Mrs. Quinn, belong to you?" he asked, holding Gracie out like I'd held Mrs. Daasch's underwear. My voice still missing, I nodded.

  "I'll thank you to keep . . . it . . . out of my garden." I nodded again.

  He stepped over to me, dropped Gracie. I caught her, felt her shaking.

  I was surprised she didn't tuck her tail and do the pee thing, since Mr. Weatherbee had certainly scared the piss out of me. "Thank you," I managed, scrambling up. "Um, Mr. Weatherbee, what are you doing out here, dressed all in black?" I asked, keeping the "and scaring poor innocent landscape designers to near death" to myself.

  He laughed. Gracie and I backed up, inched toward home. "You think I'm the panty thief?"

  "I didn't say that."

  After a moment he said, "I'm on watch tonight."

  A flashlight beam cut through the night, shined on us.

  "What's going on here?" Mr. Mustard demanded.

  Flash Leonard stood behind him looking at my legs. "Great gams," he said.

  "Uh, thanks."

  "An explanation is needed," the Colonel said. He was dressed all in black too. I supposed older people had a lot of it, what with all the funerals they had to go to.

  Even Flash had on a black robe. Of course, it was open, but so was mine. Balancing Gracie, I managed to tighten my sash. I held out Gracie. "She got out." Gracie yipped as if in agreement. "Mr. Weatherbee found her."

  "I heard a scream," the Colonel said.

  "I, uh, fell."

  "What're you two doing out this late?" I asked them.

  The Colonel bristled. "I heard commotion, including a scream."

  "I'm on duty tonight," Flash said. "Thought I saw someone and followed him over here."

  "Really? Who?"

  Flash frowned. "Don't know. Lost him. Then I heard your scream."

  At Flash's pace, he could lose track of a snail.

  "It's late," Mr. Weatherbee said. "Why don't we all turn
in?"

  There were murmured agreements all around. Except from me. I kept feeling like someone wasn't telling me something. "I'll walk you home," Flash offered me.

  I tucked Gracie into the crook of my elbow and slipped my other arm through Flash's.

  As we walked down the street, I looked back over my shoulder. Mr. Weatherbee and the Colonel were watching us go.

  I shuddered, and I wasn't quite sure why.