Trouble In Spades

by Heather Webber

  "The alarm woke Maria, and she came down to find Mrs. Mustard in the kitchen." He laughed again.

  "This isn't funny!" I snapped. Maria really could have been hurt.

  "I know, I know," he said, but he was still laughing. "Old habits must die hard for your sister, though. She brought a can of Aqua Net down with her. She got Mrs. Mustard but good, then sat on her until we arrived. I still haven't been able to get that can of hair spray out of her hand." Oh dear Lord.

  "I think," he continued, "that we might have to have her register that can with the department as a licensed weapon."

  "Ha. Ha."

  He stood up. The swing swayed. "You better go in," he said. I nodded.

  I was bone tired, needed to get up early, and was stressed beyond my limits.

  At the sound of footsteps, I looked up. Mr. Cabrera was hustling up the driveway. It was going to be a long, long night.

  "One other thing," Kevin said.

  I arched an eyebrow.

  "Mr. Weatherbee?"

  "Yeah?"

  He stepped down. "Thought you might be interested to know that he was arrested in 'ninety-four in Boston at a gay rights rally."

  Twenty-four

  Kit's Hummer and Tam's Cabriolet were in the lot when I pulled in early the next morning.

  I'd left Maria at home fighting a terrible headache. She looked like death warmed over. At noon she was due at the police station to give her statement from last night (what she could remember). She'd also promised to pick up Gracie from the vet.

  Physically, she seemed okay, but mentally . . . I was worried. Since waking up that morning, she'd been pretending she wasn't waiting to hear news about Nate. And I pretended not to notice how she jumped every time the phone rang.

  Tam was at her desk when I came in, all smiles at Leo/Ian, who was sitting across from her. I arched an eyebrow, said hello, and walked on past without stopping to chat like I normally would. For one, I didn't want to know why she was being so friendly, and secondly, I didn't want to accidentally let it slip that Leo was FBI.

  It was just after 6:30 a.m. and the office phone was already ringing. It was always like this on the morning of a job. I had to admit I jumped every time the phone rang too, hoping it was Nate calling. I feared the worst, but was trying to think positive. For Maria's sake.

  Tam came wobbling in. "About Ian . . ." she said. My head snapped up. "Ian?"

  "He told me everything," she admitted, sitting across from me. Her helmet hair stayed put as she shook her head. "I should have known. I must be losing my touch."

  "It's not lost," I said. "Just a little fuzzy."

  "He brought me éclairs," she said.

  "Oh?"

  She blushed. "And V8."

  I shuddered at the combo.

  "We have a date this weekend," she said.

  I gaped. Really I did. It wasn't pretty, I was sure.

  "I know, I know." She struggled to her feet. "Don't start the lecture. I know what I'm getting myself into, and using my own advice about taking chances. I really tried not to like him, but there's only so much willpower I have."

  "You don't have to explain anything to me," I said. "So, éclairs and V8, huh? That's all it takes to get on your good side?"

  "Nina, I'm seven months pregnant, thirty-two years old, and single. He had me at the wink."

  The phone rang as she waddled out the door, and I grabbed it on the first ring.

  "Nina?"

  I smiled. "Hunk o' Burning Love, is that you?"

  My father groaned. "It's my secret screen name. Your mother checks my other one."

  Oddly, I wasn't at all surprised my father had a secret screen name . . . I tsked. "You're lucky you didn't get caught. Because, really, there's no more room in my house." We purposely avoided the big issues about Nate and Maria and the Wedding That Might Not Be. We Ceceris are notorious at denial.

  Secretly, I thought my dad might be happy the wedding was in jeopardy. He never liked Nate. It wasn't Nate personally; it was anyone who dared take his baby away. Sometimes it paid to be a middle child.

  We said our good-byes and I hung up. I looked at the picture of Riley on my desk. He'd been nine when it was taken. He was pudgy back then, and full of anger and hurt. Six years later he'd lost the pudge but was still fighting against the anger and hurt.

  After my house had cleared out last night, I'd thrown on a light coat, grabbed a flashlight and trekked through the woods behind the house in search of the Coughlin residence. I'd found the address in the phone book, and Katie's dad was very surprised when I showed up on the doorstep, and even more surprised when I explained why I'd come.

  Ian poked his head in my office. "Got a minute?"

  "Sure," I said.

  "I need a favor," he said as he sat down.

  "You mean more than me letting you break and enter while I'm working on a client's yard?"

  "I gave you a dog," he said.

  "I bought that dog," I countered. He laughed, and I added, "What do you want me to do?" Despite myself, I was kind of excited to be in the middle of all this.

  "I'd really like you to keep Verona busy while I'm inside. Chat with her or something."

  "About what?"

  "Anything."

  "Can I ask her if she's a murderer?"

  His eyebrows dipped. "No."

  "Can I ask leading questions about Claire and Nate and the Kalypso?"

  "No."

  Well, this wasn't going to be any fun. He stood, headed to the door.

  "Oh, Ian?"

  "Yeah?"

  "If you hurt her you'll be sorry."

  He looked over his shoulder toward Tam's desk. He winked at me. "I have no doubt of that."

  It was chaos at the Frye house. Just the way I liked it.

  My adrenaline was high as I walked around the site, double- and triple-checking the materials and making sure everyone knew what they had to do.

  The Frye driveway was a mess, between the pallets of fieldstone and flagstone and the load of topsoil that had been delivered bright and early.

  I hefted a piece of the patio's flagstone that was in the shape of Nevada, turning it over in my palm, loving the cool smooth surface. Muted browns and soft golds flowed over it. The fieldstone for the pond ran more toward dark grays and subtle browns, which I knew would only be enhanced by the pond water, deepening the hues and creating depth.

  Deanna hustled up the driveway, Coby and Jean-Claude behind her, carrying the iron chaise she'd found. "Nina! Don't you love it? I absolutely love it!" I opened my mouth, but she rushed on before I could get a word out. "Isn't it perfect?"

  She was one of the best up and coming designers I'd ever met. Despite never having any formal training at all, she had a natural talent for design that was rare. One day soon I was sure she would quit working for me and move on to her own business.

  Her blue eyes went wide as she waited a half second for a response from me. "You don't like it," she said.

  "I love it. I just wasn't sure you were done talking."

  "Oh! I'm so glad you like it! Jean-Claude and I looked forever before we found it. You know, he's not so bad to work with, once you get over the smell."

  "Smell?"

  She leaned in. "He swims in cologne."

  "I can still hear you," Jean-Claude said in an all-American voice. His name was French through and through, but he'd been born and raised in Cleveland.

  Deanna smiled at him. "I know. I'm hoping you take the hint."

  I rolled my eyes and plotted how I was going to escape. Deanna was a talker and I had things to do. I sent her in search of the chaise's cushion, asked Coby and Jean-Claude to start hauling the stone into the backyard, and went looking for Kit.

  I found him marking the pond area with paint. Orange for the pond, pink for the patio. I looked around. He'd already started the electrical work.

  "Yo," Kit said when he spotted me.

  "Hey. How's BeBe?"

  He grinned. "Great. How's Graci
e?"

  Ack. Lie, definitely lie. "Great. Perfect. Very healthy."

  A dark eyebrow with a horseshoe-shaped silver piercing shot up. "What did you do to her?"

  "She's, er, fine. Just fine." That wasn't a lie. She was fine. Now.

  I spotted Ian lurking near the house. I waved him over. "You might as well start digging the pond until Verona comes out."

  He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't say anything as he picked up a shovel.

  I took a step back, already envisioning the transformation. The water garden would be exquisite. This little nook was the perfect place for it. I couldn't wait to see the end result.

  My crew milled around, everyone focused on their individual tasks. It wasn't long before Verona came out with a plate of cookies. I pulled off my gloves and took two. Okay, three, but I don't think anyone noticed.

  Verona looked scared. "It's such," her nose wrinkled in dismay, "a mess. You really think it's going to be done by tonight?"

  "Positive." I was used to dealing with shocked homeowners. "It's going to be beautiful."

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ian set his shovel down and mosey toward the house.

  To stall, I took Verona around, introduced her to everyone. Kit mentioned he remembered her, and she blushed. He took four cookies, so I felt less guilty about my three. After inhaling them, he picked up Ian's shovel and took up where he left off.

  Over my shoulder, I glanced toward the house. No sign of Ian yet. I steered Verona toward Deanna. Deanna could keep Verona busy for hours.

  "I heard about Nate's disappearance on the news," Verona said. "I'm so sorry. Has anyone heard from him?" Ack. Ian had said for me not to mention Nate, but he didn't tell me what to do if Verona mentioned him.

  "I, er . . . No," I said, lying. Ian never said anything about telling people about Nate's calls. And it would be just like me to blab something I shouldn't.

  "Oh." She kept tight hold of the cookie plate with one hand, but the other went to her neck, straight to her pearls.

  "That's too bad."

  I kicked the ground with my toe.

  "Maria sounds like she's holding up well."

  I felt my eyes widen in surprise. "You talked to her?"

  Verona nodded. "Last night. She said you found the guest list. I can't tell you how relieved I am. Do you have it with you?"

  I was going to kill Maria with my bare hands. I'd told her I'd take care of the guest list. I couldn't very well give it back to the Fryes when I didn't know why Nate was hiding it in the first place. "Actually, I don't . . . I gave it to—"

  "Nina!"

  I spun, my pulse kicking up a notch at the tone of Kit's voice. He was leaning on the shovel, muttering under his breath.

  Verona and I rushed over. "What's wrong?" I asked. Kit nodded downward.

  I followed his gaze, gasped when I spotted the upper torso of a body lying facedown in the ground. I gasped, recognizing that blue hair.

  Looked like Kit had found Stella Zamora, aka Fran Cooper, FBI.

  Swallowing hard, I wished I hadn't eaten those cookies. Verona screamed and dropped the plate. She backed away in horror. Coby came running. "Holy—"

  "Go find Ian," I told him. "Now."

  "Ian?" he asked, confused.

  I'd forgotten about the alias. "Leo! Leo! Find Leo."

  Something red near Stella's hair caught my eye. I knelt down.

  "Dude," Kit said to me. "Don't get too close."

  I'd been a cop's wife too long to go touching anything. But I didn't need to. I recognized immediately what that bit of red was.

  Roz Phineus's fingernail.

  Twenty-five

  Two hours later it was chaos of a different sort at the Frye house. Somber FBI agents swarmed the property, cordoning off the crime scene and questioning everyone, including me. Twice.

  Verona hadn't let go of her pearls since Stella's body had been found. She stood just inside the French doors at the back of the house, peering out.

  I wondered what she'd had to say about all this, but I wasn't privy to that kind of information, and really, I didn't want to know. All right, I'm lying. I wanted to know, but I hated that I wanted to know so I was lying to myself. I tended to do that, lie to myself, which was why I hadn't made it a commandment, because I knew I'd never be able to keep it.

  And I was rambling to myself too, which was never a good sign.

  Biting my lip, I wondered at the coincidence of my crew finding Stella's body. Had it been a mistake? Or planned all along?

  Again I questioned Verona's innocence in all this. She brought me here, to this spot, and she had motive to kill Claire. How involved was she? Had she killed Stella? Or was she truly innocent? Completely oblivious to the evil around her?

  One thing I knew for certain was that Roz Phineus had been involved—information I gladly passed on to Ian's superiors.

  An APB was out for Colin and Roz, so far with no luck. Verona had said they were off to New York for a business meeting, but all attempts to reach them had failed. I'd questioned whether they were even in New York, but apparently they were, having landed at LaGuardia late last night. The hotel staff where they were staying also confirmed that they had checked in. So much for my detective skills.

  How involved was Colin? I wondered. Was he as clueless as his wife seemed to be, or was he up to his eyebrows in murder?

  Or were all three of them in it together for some reason? One happy murdering family?

  I shook my head, sick of thinking about it. There was a lot to be done, cleaning up the supplies we wouldn't be using and figuring out what to do with everything. What a nightmare.

  My cell phone buzzed. Freedom, Ohio. Frowning, I flipped the phone open. "Nina Quinn."

  "Mrs. Quinn, this is Vice Principal Robert MacKenna at Freedom High."

  Oh no. His icy tone coupled with his full title told me all I needed to know. "Is Riley in trouble?"

  "I have him in my office. I need you to come down here as soon as possible."

  Ack. This didn't sound good. Not good at all. If Robert had put a little warmth into his voice—after all this was the same man who sent me Almond Joys on a regular basis—I wouldn't have been so worried.

  "I'm at a site," I said, looking around for Kit's bald head, "but I can be there in forty minutes or so." If I ignored the posted speed limits.

  "We will be waiting." He disconnected. Without even saying good-bye. Dear Lord, what had Riley done now? And after I went to bat for him with Katie's father and everything.

  I found Kit, begged him to take care of everything here, found Ian/Leo and asked him if I could leave.

  His eyes were haunted, and they snapped me out of my denial. Stella was dead. Claire was dead. Brian Thatcher was dead. And Nate . . .

  I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and forced myself back into oblivion. The FBI would find Nate. Everything had a good explanation, and everything would be fine. Just fine.

  "If I find anything out, I'll let you know," he said.

  "I'd appreciate it."

  I watched him walk away, toward Verona, who was still watching from the doorway. She looked my way and quickly turned from me. I tried not to take it personally.

  Hurrying, I sprinted down Verona's narrow driveway. Thankfully, I'd had the foresight to park on the street instead of running the risk of being blocked in again. As I drove toward Freedom, thoughts swirled in my mind, giving me a headache. Attempting to drown them out, I flipped to the Oldies station on the radio. Within minutes I was singing "Do You Want to Dance?" at the top of my lungs.

  When the song ended, I turned the radio down and realized my phone was ringing. I made a grab for it. Maria. "Nina," she said in a loud whisper. "I think someone's trying to break in. I keep hearing noises and Gracie keeps coming out from under the couch to bark. Do you think my stalker is back? Do you think maybe Mr. Mustard has come for my lace panties?"

  "How many Dramamine have you had today?"

  "None! Seriousl
y, Nina, someone's out there."

  "Is the alarm set?"

  "Yes, but I'm freaking out."

  "Go to Mom's."

  "Okay, so maybe I had one Dramamine . . . I don't think it's a good idea to drive."

  "I think it's time to throw the Dramamine away, Maria. Obviously, you don't tolerate them well."

  "But—"

  "No buts."

  She whimpered.

  I sighed. "I'm on my way to get Riley. I'll swing by to check things out at home." I couldn't dismiss her worries. After all, the last time she thought she heard someone outside, a dead body had turned up. "How long?" she whimpered.