Trouble In Spades

  Instead of shaking my hand, she grasped my elbows lightly and brushed a kiss on each of my cheeks. "I'm so glad you came. Colin will be thrilled with this surprise. Just thrilled. We're both so busy right now that he'll never suspect a thing."

  "Beautiful place," I said.

  "Thanks." Her nose scrunched up. "It's a little ostentatious for my tastes, but Colin likes it. And so does my mother."

  "Roz?"

  Verona motioned with her head to the carriage house. "This is her place."

  I shuddered at the thought of my mother living so close to me. Verona must have been reading my mind. "It does get a tad," she pursed her coral bottom lip, "cozy sometimes, but overall it works well." She looked around as if seeing it for the first time. "It's hard to believe my father was the son of a poor barkeep."

  Her father. Alfred Phineus. "How long has he been gone?" I asked, hoping I didn't sound too nosy.

  "Three years now." She scrunched her nose again. "He'd hate this."

  "This?"

  "The house, the cars . . . all the show."

  "Really?" I'd assumed with his millions that he'd lived a similar lifestyle.

  "Until he died, he and Roz lived in a small split level in Avondale. Daddy didn't believe in material things. It was the way he was brought up, I guess. Which is why I'm not completely comfortable here, I suppose."

  "What about your mother?" I asked. Curiosity was one of my weaker traits. I just couldn't help myself. I couldn't imagine Roz, with her platinum hair and red talons, living in a split level anywhere, never mind Avondale, which wasn't known for its high society.

  Verona's hand plucked the pearls at her neck. "Roz tolerated well," she said. "She was never lacking for anything, but she wasn't spoiled."

  Not like now, I thought, remembering the multicarat princess-cut diamonds she wore the other day.

  "Why don't you show me the area that needs a makeover?" I asked.

  How did I work in questions about Nate? About Claire? Would Verona even know anything about them?

  As we walked, she said, "I'm so glad your schedule opened up, Nina."

  I didn't mention why it had opened up, so I hedged, feeling her out. "I am too. It's always nice to help out a friend of the family. Maria has had nothing but nice things to say about Phineus Frye."

  "She's an asset, that's for certain. Colin raves about her work, and is as proud as can be for setting her up with Nate."

  "Do you know Nate well?"

  Again the cloud crossed her face. I wondered at it, but when she spoke, there was nothing somber in her tone. "Not very." Suddenly, she laughed. "I actually remember worrying about him."

  I hoped my eyes didn't pop out of my head. "Why?"

  She stopped walking and again her hand went to her pearls. "It seems silly now, but he was so trusting, so open. I worried about him working at the Kalypso with Claire, though it all seems to have worked out."

  I stared at my mud-covered Timberlands. If she only knew.

  This was probably a good time to sneak Claire into the conversation. "Claire has taken good care of him."

  Her lips thinned. "Yes. Well."

  All right-y. Obviously Claire was a sore spot. I decided to press my luck. "You said Claire works closely with Colin? Just on the gala? Do they get along?"

  She twisted the pearls so tightly I thought they were going to pop loose or choke her.

  "I'll say this for Claire: She knows how to get what she wants."

  I winced at the venom in her voice. I wanted to pry, but her tone warned me to back off.

  Part of me wanted to tell her that Claire was dead, but then Verona might start questioning me, and that wouldn't do. I shifted to a droll conversation about the weather. As we talked, she led me around to the back of the house. A threefoot-high stacked stone wall lined the perimeter of the backyard. She opened a rusty iron gate and led me down a curving brick path. I stopped dead in my tracks when we rounded the corner. "Whoa."

  She beamed. I hadn't thought her pretty. Not really. Her nose was too long, her face too narrow. Average blue eyes were set too close together, and her lips were wafer thin. But when she smiled . . . it transformed her whole face. "It's gorgeous," I said, taking in the informal English garden.

  The path meandered through beds of gorgeous annuals and mature perennials and shrubs. Sunbeams highlighted the vibrant colors of tea roses, hydrangeas, columbine, lavender, peonies, and delphiniums. Spirea, lady's mantle, foxglove, hollyhock, and lamb's ear accented the bold hues. Closer to the ground, bellflowers, daisies, yarrow, phlox, and pink coreopsis added a stunning depth to the garden.

  It should all be too much, but it wasn't. It worked. Which was the beauty of a cottage garden.

  I turned to her. "Why am I here, Verona? It's obvious you don't need any help from me."

  "Nonsense," she said, starting down the brick path. With outstretched arms she said, "All this was done by the previous owners. I admit it's why I fell in love with the place. And why I pay a small fortune to my gardener to keep it looking this good."

  We veered left off the path, toward a hidden corner of the lot.

  "This," Verona said, "is why you're here."

  I looked around at this little corner nook and wondered What Went Wrong. Something obviously had.

  "Colin loves this spot, especially in the spring," she said. Behind the stacked stone wall, someone had planted a lilac hedge. I could just imagine the amazing scent when the shrubs were in bloom. I'd love it here too.

  Looking around, I took everything in. Behind the hedge, dense woods blocked any view of neighbors, though I did notice a horse trail cutting through the trees. A lone wooden Adirondack chair sat in the Corner That Had Seen Better Days.

  "I tried to pretty this up, but nothing seems to work. The perennial garden withered and died. I tried a vegetable garden here last year. Nothing grew. Just two days ago, I dug out a bed of three dozen impatiens. They'd all wilted and withered."

  Bending over, I frowned. Bits of limp green stems had been left behind. Pink petals littered the area. The soil was damp, but it was good soil, rich and dark, and it looked to have good drainage.

  I brushed my fingers against my jeans. There were a number of reasons Verona had no luck planting here. She could have a black thumb, for one. Overwatered. Underwatered. Overfed.

  "Colin has always wanted to use this space as an outdoor getaway. Somewhere to be alone with nature. Our anniversary is coming up and I'd love to surprise him. Do you think you can help me?"

  "I know I can help," I reassured her. "It's just a matter of coming up with something."

  Her blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Do you have any ideas?"

  I bit my lip, looked around. After a few minutes I said, "Maybe we could put a small arbor here with a hidden bench, and plant vines that will cover it by the end of summer. Something elegant that will blend in with the rest of the garden."

  Verona nodded, and I kept on talking. "Or, we could try to work with the soil and create a raised grassy terrace, a natural patio where you could have a cozy seating area . . . but—"

  "What?"

  "It's a lot of work. Too much for a mini."

  "Oh. Do you have any other ideas?"

  Usually it took me days to come up with even one idea. I'd pore over photographs of an area and draw several rough drafts of a design before I found one that worked. But today I knew what I wanted right from the moment I saw the area. I'd been saving the best for last.

  "What I'd really like to do is work with the beautiful stone wall. I'd love to build a water feature—a small pond with a tumbled fieldstone waterfall that will look like it has always been here." As with every job I did, I felt the excitement building. "Around its base, we'll put in a small flagstone patio—just large enough to fit a chaise lounge to lie back on and enjoy the sights and sounds, and a small table to put your drink on."

  Verona played with her pearls. "It's perfect! It's serene, yet masculine with all the stone. Colin will love i
t. When do you think you could have a design for me?"

  Realistically, I'd need a week at least to come up with something. However, realistically didn't pay the bills. If I worked late into the night on it, I could probably have a decent draft done by tomorrow afternoon.

  Verona beamed when I told her. "That's fantastic! When do you think construction could begin?"

  Unfortunately my schedule was wide open. "Did you have a day in mind?"

  "Colin is out of town on Friday. He and Roz are meeting with their New York attorneys. They're leaving late Thursday night and will be back on Friday night. I could surprise both of them with it! How wonderful."

  Already I was compiling a mental shopping list. The supplies for the water garden were fairly common, and I didn't think I'd have any problem getting what I wanted in such a short amount of time.

  I took a few snapshots of the area and measured it out. Roughly, I sketched my vision on my notepad, already loving the way it looked. The curves and informal structure of the pond would complement the existing garden perfectly. As Verona walked me back to my truck, she asked, "Would you care to come in, have some lemonade?"

  "I really can't. I have so much—"

  "I have fresh sugar cookies too. I just baked them this morning. Haven't even frosted them yet."

  I think I drooled. "Frosting?"

  "Vanilla."

  No doubt about it: I was a certified cookie addict. "Sounds great," I said.

  After dumping my stuff in the truck, I locked the doors out of habit and followed Verona into the Frye manse. I'd been in nice houses before, but this looked like something out of Architectural Digest. High ceilings, polished marble floors, dark woods, and subtle lighting. A curved marble staircase rose up two stories, and my gaze followed it straight to the round stained-glass skylight above. I blinked as I looked back at Verona. "Wow."

  "It is something," she said. "Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't be wearing shoes in here, and that I should whisper."

  Her voice echoed slightly through the cavernous room and up to the vaulted, beamed ceiling. I knew what she meant. The place had an air of a museum—or church. I didn't know which was worse. It made my little bungalow seem downright cozy.

  Sure enough, in the kitchen a big plate of cookies sat on the counter. Verona pulled a bowl of homemade frosting from the fridge. My stomach leapt with joy.

  I sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. Verona stuck a knife in the frosting bowl and pushed it, and the plate of cookies, toward me.

  "Please help yourself." She took a cookie and dipped it in the frosting, her smile falling, her face suddenly looking sad. I spread frosting on a cookie. "If you hate it here, why don't you move?" I asked, the cookie high making me brave.

  "Things aren't always that easy, unfortunately. This is where Colin wants to be. And I want to be with Colin. I'll get used to it. Eventually."

  My nosiness reared. "Have you been married long?"

  "Five years."

  Out of the newlywed stage but hadn't hit the seven-year itch yet. "He seems like a nice guy."

  She reached over for another cookie. "He is," she said. "But I'd rather him be home more. He's always working." I opened my mouth to tell her that she needed to let him know how she felt, but snapped it closed again. In light of my impending divorce, I didn't think I was one to offer any kind of marital advice.

  I took another bite of cookie. Ahhhh. It was so buttery and soft. "Had Colin worked at your dad's company long? Before he met you, I mean?"

  "A couple of years."

  "He made partner fast."

  Her cheeks colored. "I think that had more to do with me than anything. The partnership was a wedding present, but Colin deserved it. He works hard and brings in a lot of lucrative accounts."

  I was on my fourth cookie. "What about your mother? Has she always been interested in public relations?"

  "My mother? Oh!" Her face lit. "She's just—"

  A shrill beeping cut her off. She winced. "What's that?"

  I was already on my feet. "My truck's alarm."

  Hurrying out the front door, all I could think of was those pictures in my backpack. The backpack in my truck. Outside, a white Lexus was parked next to my truck. Roz Phineus had her hands over her ears.

  With the remote on my key chain, I silenced the alarm.

  "Roz?" Verona's voice sounded slightly off-key and guilty.

  I went into my Pinocchio mode. Verona had said she'd wanted to surprise her mother with the makeover as well. I needed an excuse as to why I was here—and fast. "What're you doing here?" Verona asked her mother.

  Roz placed her manicured hands on her hips. "I live here."

  "Uh," Verona mumbled. "You're just . . . early."

  "I have to get my nails done. I broke one," she said, frowning. Well, at least I thought she was frowning. It was hard to tell because of all the Botox.

  She looked at me, narrowed her eyes. "Nina Quinn, right?" she said in that scratchy voice of hers. I nodded. "How is Maria?"

  How was she? She was a neurotic mess. But I kept that to myself and went along with Maria's phony illness. She'd been calling in sick these past couple of days. "She's getting better."

  "And Nate?"

  My nose was growing by the minute. "Nate's, um, good."

  Verona's eyes narrowed again. "Does he have the same flu as Maria? Because I heard he hasn't been into work either. With the gala coming up, it's terrible timing."

  "I'm sure they'll both be better soon." I shifted foot to foot. "I, um . . . Why was my truck alarm going off?"

  "Oh, that!" Roz laughed. "I was curious who was here. I peeked in the window and the buzzer went off."

  It was my turn to narrow my eyes. "Really?"

  She tipped her silver head as if daring me to call her on it. "Yes."

  Interesting, since my alarm only went off if the door handles were engaged. Why was she lying?

  "What are you doing here, Mrs. Quinn?" she asked.

  Verona looked at me helplessly. Great. Seems she was a lousy liar. Fortunately, I'd had many years of practice. "Verona mentioned her beautiful gardens to me the other day, and asked if I'd like to stop by sometime to see them. I'm always looking for inspiration for my work." Just keep shoveling, I told myself. "Everything here is gorgeous. Just perfect." I cleared my throat. "I wouldn't change a single thing."

  Roz stared at me. Verona smiled and said, "We were just having cookies. Would you like some?"

  "Cookies? How trite." Tight skin strained as if she was trying to frown.

  Verona's smile fell. "Oh."

  "Actually, they were quite good," I said. "Much better than the ones I had at Congressman Chanson's house." All right, so I never had a cookie at the congressman's house. But I'd been there. That had to count for something. Verona's chin hitched up and she shot me a grateful look. Roz continued to stare and it was making me uncomfortable. "Well, I need to go," I said. "I've got company coming." With the remote, I unlocked the truck's doors. "Thanks for having me over, Verona."

  She nodded. "Any time."

  "Roz," I said. Roz nodded stiffly.

  Climbing into my truck, I shuddered. Something cold had blown through, and I wasn't sure why.

  I reversed down the driveway and had to stomp on the brakes when I spotted a car rolling to a stop behind me, blocking me in.

  And I nearly lost the cookies I'd just been eating when I saw who it was.

  Kevin.

  Sixteen

  Kevin tapped on my door.

  Oh great. I'd kinda-sorta hoped he wouldn't notice I was here.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I pushed open the door, climbed out. "What now?"

  Roz came around the hood, stepped in close to Kevin and purred like a cat in heat. "You know this fine man?" she asked me.

  I smiled through clenched teeth. "He's my husband," I told her.

  Her eyes lit like I'd just issued a challenge. "Lucky you."

  "Yeah. Lucky. That's me."

  I pulled
Kevin aside. "I told you I'd meet up with you later," I said in a tight whisper. "What're you doing here?"

  His bright green eyes zeroed on my face. "What are you doing here, is more like it."

  "Working," I said under my breath.

  "So am I." He pulled a hand over his face and I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

  Slightly confused (okay, a lot confused), I said, "Huh?" He grasped my arm, and I tried to ignore how his touch sizzled along my skin.

  Need. To. Get. Over. Him.

  It was easy enough to tell myself that, but really, really hard to convince my heart of it. It was somewhat attached to him—even after finding Ginger's gaudy lipstick on his boxers.