Trouble In Spades

by Heather Webber

  I pulled Riley out of the line. "Go ahead," I said to her.

  "Oh man," Riley whined.

  As we walked away, a loud siren whooped. We turned to find the woman jumping up and down. Three BMWs were aligned on the screen.

  Ack!

  Riley looked at me, mouth open, an accusation in his eyes.

  "Don't say it," I warned.

  "But—"

  I shot him a look. He closed his mouth. "Besides," I said, "if I had won it, I would have kept it."

  "You would not have!"

  "Would have."

  "Life's not fair!"

  "Nope. Come on," I told him. "Let's go find Ana."

  He was still brooding, but managed a smile. "That could take a while. There are lots of single guys here."

  Ack. And hotel rooms. We broke into a run.

  "So, he said, "you'll buy me a car when I get my license, right?"

  I shot him a look. "Keep dreaming, kid."

  Twenty-seven

  If the puddle that appeared on the floor was any indication, Gracie was very happy to see me. I bent down, rubbed her smooth head. She snuffled and raced around in circles, before bouncing into a wall and diving back under the couch.

  Riley hadn't bothered to come in—he'd made a beeline toward the path in the woods, no doubt to tell Katie all the latest news.

  In the kitchen, I grabbed a box of Nilla wafers and checked my messages. I had one from Mr. Cabrera that said he'd heard the Colonel had been picked up in Cleveland. I didn't doubt it was true. Mr. Cabrera was usually quite reliable when it concerned gossip.

  There was a message from my father telling me that Nate was in surgery and it was touch and go. He hadn't regained consciousness yet, so no one knew what, exactly, had happened to him. He'd call back when he heard something. I had a message from Bobby MacKenna too. "I hope you're thinking."

  I smiled in spite of myself. I had mixed feelings where the good vice principal was concerned. Oh, I liked him. A lot. But I still loved Kevin.

  And I didn't know what to do about it.

  I stuffed a wafer in my mouth, sat on the counter. All I wanted to do was go to bed.

  I checked the cat clock that hung on the kitchen wall. It was only seven. Not even dark out.

  Beyond that, I was expecting my uncle Giuseppe and aunt Carlotta to show up at the door any minute now, once they realized my parents weren't home.

  My only hope lay in the fact that they didn't know where I lived. Maybe, just maybe, they'd call Aunt Rosa and decide to stay at Ana's with her. A girl could dream.

  In case I was being delusional, I threw some musty smelling sheets in the washer, and before I knew it I found myself in a full cleaning frenzy.

  I, unfortunately, tended to clean when I was stressed. Which, these days, was often. Honest to goodness, I needed to get another neurotic pastime.

  Gracie stayed under the couch while I cleaned and waited, waited and cleaned.

  By nine, dusk was settling into a muted darkness and Gracie had decided not to be such a scaredy-dog of the vacuum. She came out, pranced around. I knew that prance.

  Scooping her up, I raced toward the back door. I flung it open and gasped when I saw Mr. Weatherbee on the back step, hand poised to knock.

  "Mrs. Quinn," he said. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

  "Do you want to come in?" I asked.

  "No."

  "Oh."

  Gracie squirmed. I set her down next to the washing machine and kept an eye on her.

  "I heard," he said, arms folded, "that it was fingerprints that led to the Colonel's arrest. Seeing as how I know you also suspected me . . ."

  Ah. He was fishing. He wanted to know if I knew of his arrest record. "And?" I asked, being petty enough to want to see him squirm.

  "And, ahem, there are things that . . ." He frowned. "My mother," he said softly, "would never understand . . . or accept."

  Jeez. My heart wasn't made of stone, for crying out loud. It wasn't my place to judge.

  "Mr. Weatherbee," I said, watching Gracie circle my feet, "as I recall, you drank out of a paper cup yesterday, didn't you?"

  The barest hint of a smile broke on his face. "Thank you," he said. He turned to go, but stopped and looked back. "For the record, Mrs. Quinn . . . I detest paper cups."

  I scooped up Gracie. "Good to know," I said.

  As he walked away, I looked out into the dark night. Mr. Cabrera's back floodlights were mysteriously dark, and I admit to being a little freaked out, especially after Maria had been so positive someone had been out there earlier. I looked around but couldn't find Maria's can of Aqua Net. I grabbed a can of Pledge instead, and Riley's hockey stick from the closet.

  The minute I set Gracie down, she took off, her little snout to the ground like a bloodhound on a trail, stopping every few feet before rushing on. I chased after her as she darted into the shadowy woods. I followed her in. "Gracie!"

  I heard a loud yip and spun toward the sound.

  "Looking for something?" a voice said. I spun. In the pale moonlight, I saw Roz Phineus holding Gracie in one hand and a gun in the other. A gun that looked suspiciously like a Smith & Wesson pistol with a four-inch barrel and a black polymer grip. Uh-oh.

  "Hot dogs," she said, rubbing Gracie's head. "Worked like a charm."

  I glared at Gracie, somehow feeling betrayed. Sold out for a few pieces of hot dog. Hmmph. "Put the stick down," Roz said.

  "What are you doing here? How was New York?" I said, trying for nonchalant. Another minute or so and I'd invite her inside to share my Nilla wafers.

  Roz pointed a red talon at me. "I spoke with Verona earlier. Seems there was some excitement at home."

  I shrugged, acting as though finding a body wasn't all that out of the ordinary for me.

  "I want that guest list and those pictures," she demanded. "I know you have them."

  Uh, uh-oh. "I don't," I said.

  Roz waved the gun. I tried not to cringe. "Maria called last night and said you did. If you have the guest list, you have the pictures. Nate said he had them both right before Claire shot him . . . May he rest in peace. Now let's get them before I shoot you."

  I really didn't think my legs would move. Claire had shot Nate . . . And obviously Roz didn't know Nate was alive. "Why kill Nate?" I asked. "He'd never hurt anyone."

  "Hah! He was about to hurt my livelihood!" Huh?

  "Mr. Goody-two-shoes couldn't leave well enough alone." Roz set Gracie down. "If he'd minded his own business, none of this would be happening. He just had to go and invite those sick kids. All my hard work, including having to cozy up with my husband's bastard child . . . down the drain."

  My thoughts whirled, and snippets of conversations I'd had over the past few days haunted me.

  PCF was founded by Roz after Alfred Phineus's death. PCF is Roz's baby. Roz didn't inherit anything after her husband's death.

  Nate had called the FBI saying he had information they'd be interested in . . . Like fraud?

  Had Roz, with Claire's help, pulled the scam of the century? Had she invented a phony charity just to rake in millions? I wouldn't put it past her.

  She'd been cheated on by her husband, but then he'd left her absolutely nothing . . . except instructions to look after his love child.

  Talk about a woman scorned. The ultimate payback, that's what this was. And Nate had found out about it—all because he was trying to do a good deed for some sick kids. Kids, I suspected, who didn't even exist. And to think I'd almost given PCF some of my money!

  Money. That's what all this had been about. Alfred Phineus hadn't left any to his wife—or to Claire—so they'd teamed up to get some of their own, using his name. "Why kill Claire?" I asked, hoping to stall some more.

  "Bringing Claire in on this was a mis—"

  "For God's sake, write her a book!" someone said. "Just shoot her and be done with it."

  Gracie set off on a barking frenzy as Colin Frye stepped out from behind a tree. "This whole th
ing is your fault," he said to Roz, "trusting Claire to get the job done. Getting those pictures back from Biederman was her job." My eyes widened. Colin had been in on all this too? Then I thought about it and realized he'd have to be. He worked too closely on the events at Phineus Frye not to know what was happening. My mind jumped to Brian Thatcher, the senior event planner at Phineus Frye—the one Claire had killed. Had he been in on it too? Or been an innocent bystander like Nate?

  Roz hissed, "And if you hadn't been sleeping with her, then maybe you'd have had more control over her." So Colin had been sleeping with Claire. I wondered if Verona knew . . . I suspected she did.

  "She killed him," Colin said, "didn't she? Got that FBI agent's number out of his pocket too." I gasped. Poor Fran Cooper!

  "Yes, Claire was perfect," Roz said. "That must be why you killed her."

  "Claire got sloppy, leaving those pictures in her office where Biederman could find them—and then not getting them back. Sloppy like someone who had the brilliant idea to bury an FBI agent in our own backyard!" Colin snapped. Roz waved her gun around as she talked.

  "Well, pardon me. It wasn't as if your idea to drop Claire's body in that pond was the best of ideas either! I didn't know what Verona had planned! If she'd stop trying to please you and kick you out, then that FBI agent would be resting in peace."

  Ohh-kay. I took stock. My hockey stick was out of reach, but I still had my Pledge. But getting away when both of them had guns didn't bode well for me coming out alive. "If you recall," Colin explained to her in a chilling voice, "our plan was that Nate would take the blame for Claire's death."

  I wanted to ask a few questions, but it seemed like they'd forgotten I was here, and I kind of liked it that way. I took another small step backward. Gracie moved with me. Roz snorted. "Your plan. I never thought anyone would believe that he'd kill someone."

  Colin calmly raised his gun and fired twice, the silenced bullets hitting Roz in the chest. She fell to the ground. Gracie yipped and yapped and circled Colin's legs. "Ah," he said. "Much better."

  He turned to me. I tried not to wet my pants. He was obviously on the wrong side of crazy. I stalled. "I, uh, er, was it you who took those pictures of Brian Thatcher?"

  He laughed. "Do you think this is some ridiculous episode of Law and Order where I'm going to spill my guts to you?"

  I didn't point out that his bickering with Roz had pretty much told me what I needed to know. "I was hoping," I said weakly.

  Gracie started yipping again. Colin reached down and picked her up. She squirmed as he held her snout closed with two fingers. "Let's get those pictures now. They're the only things that tie me to this whole mess. Poor Roz will take the blame for everything else. Including your death." How did those pictures implicate him? I wondered. Then I remembered the bookcases in the background. Had they been taken in Colin's office?

  When Colin took a step toward me, Gracie shook in his arms, tucked her tail, and did what she does best. "What the hell?" Colin shouted, dropping her.

  I stepped forward, pulled my Pledge out of my robe pocket. I aimed and fired. Colin dropped his gun and went down on his knees, crying out in pain as he held his hands over his eyes.

  I grabbed my hockey stick and slap-shot his gun away, then hit him over the head for good measure.

  Before I knew it, I heard someone crashing through the brush. Brickhouse Krauss came barreling toward us, her silky knee-length robe flapping, revealing more than I ever wanted to know. She was brandishing a wine bottle and made no bones about smashing it over Colin's head. Then she sat on him.

  He wasn't going anywhere.

  "Where did you come from?" I asked in awe. "Gazebo. We heard the commotion."

  Mr. Cabrera came puffing up, his banana-covered shirt unbuttoned, his shorts too. He took one look at the situation and said, "I'll go call the police."

  I didn't want to envision exactly what Brickhouse and Mr. Cabrera were doing in the gazebo, her in a nightie, his clothes askew, and wine involved. My mind had had enough horrors for one day.

  "Thanks for the help, Mrs. Krauss," I told her, though I'd pretty much had the situation under control.

  She clucked. "No problem, Nina Ceceri. But you do owe me twenty bucks for the wine."

  Twenty-eight

  "Your mother is behaving quite well," Ana said in between sips of champagne.

  It had been three weeks since Nate was found.

  We leaned against the brand-new railing of the halfmoon footbridge that straddled the koi pond in Maria's backyard. "I think she got hold of Maria's Dramamine." We looked toward the patio, where most of the reception guests were gathered, watching Maria and Nate open gifts. My mother was sitting calmly next to them, taking notes on who had given what.

  I looked around. Maria's yard was incredible, if I did say so myself. This garden was the epitome of serenity and simplicity. Winding gravel walkways lit with tall granite lanterns snaked around the pond. Groupings of plants were sparse and simply elegant. Azaleas, boxwoods, rhododendrons, Japanese maples, honeysuckle, and wisteria all lent to the beautiful landscape.

  Along the paths, benches were tucked away in hidden nooks, perfect for reflecting back on a hectic day. And Nate and Maria had plenty of those in their futures now that Nate had taken over Claire Battiste's job at the Kalypso and Maria had been promoted at the newly renamed Alfred Phineus Public Relations.

  Ana took a big swallow of champagne. "My mother's threatening to move here. She wants to live with me."

  My eyes widened. "You're joking?"

  Grimly, she shook her head. "Not."

  "Well, don't tell my mother. Not today. Things are going so well right now."

  My father had the buffet table manned. My mother wouldn't be allowed near the knives. And Aunt Rosa, who flew back for the reception, had promised to be on her best behavior.

  My brother Peter hadn't been able to change his vacation days but promised to come home for Christmas. I was personally holding him to it.

  Laughter erupted on the patio, and we turned to see Maria smiling up at Nate as they opened yet another wedding gift, this one a set of his and her thongs.

  Personally, I'd had enough talk of underwear in the past month to not even want to wear it anymore.

  There were subtle differences between want and need.

  I smoothed my dress, a clingy red chiffon thing that Ana had picked out for me.

  "You look amazing," Ana said, noticing. "Aren't you glad you didn't have to wear that hideous matron of honor dress?"

  "Glad doesn't begin to describe it." I still had nightmares about that dress.

  Ana motioned toward the deck. "He hasn't been able to take his eyes off you."

  I'd been in a quandary for weeks trying to make a decision between Bobby and Kevin.

  Kevin . . . I loved him. I did. I couldn't help myself. And Bobby? He was amazing. Giving and caring . . .

  With Kevin, there was history, but with Bobby there could be a future. "Did I make the right decision?" I asked.

  "Time will tell."

  "What kind of answer is that?"

  "Hey, I have my own problems. My mother moving here puts a serious damper on my love life. I finally find a steady guy and we have to sneak around!"

  My gaze shot to S. Larue, Security, who was talking to Verona Frye. Her right hand had yet to let go of her pearls, and I gave her credit for being here, for showing the world that she wouldn't let her S.O.B. of a husband ruin her life any more than he had.

  Once Nate came to, he'd explained everything. From deciding to invite some of the Phineus foundation's beneficiaries to the gala only to find out they didn't exist, to snooping through Claire's office in hopes of finding evidence that PCF was a phony charity. That's when he'd stumbled on the pictures of Claire killing Brian Thatcher. He'd called the FBI, sent the package to me for safekeeping just in case, and had convinced Claire to turn herself in. Only, she'd turned a gun on him instead.

  Turns out, Verona didn't know anything
about the phony charity—but she had known about Colin's affair. And overlooked it in the name of love.

  On the patio, Verona said something to S. Larue that had him smiling. "Come on," I said to Ana, "tell me what the S stands for!" They'd been on five dates and I still didn't know.

  "I don't know!" she said. "He won't tell me."

  "There's got to be a way to find out."

  She gave me a secret smile. "I think it's kind of mysterious in a sexy way."

  "You're insane."

  "They look good together, don't they?" Ana asked, looking toward the patio.