"Yes," Maria said. "Yes, she is. Can you set them up?"
"No, I'm not interested in him."
Kevin said, "Then why did Maria say..."
"She's messing with your head. It's what she does."
He glared at her.
"That'll teach you to call my dog a rat," she said loftily, then ruined her haughty moment by trying to stand up.
I gave her a helping hand and said, "The man reminded me of someone I used to know. I thought it might be him."
"Who?" Kevin asked.
"No one. A ghost."
Kevin opened his mouth, then snapped it closed again. He looked between Maria and me, shook his head, and pulled open the door.
"Oh Kev?" I said.
He looked over his shoulder.
I smiled. "Jealousy becomes you."
Chapter Six
A few hours later, my cousin Ana sailed through my front door, her long dark hair flying out behind her, and flung her hands into the air. "I'm gone for one afternoon at a lousy conference and you dig up a body across the street? You're a menace, Nina Quinn. No, you're a corpse whisperer, that's what you are. You're better than a bloodhound. Now," she said, plopping next to me on the couch, "tell me everything, including whether any of your employees had anything to do with it."
I muted the TV—I was still glued to the Project Runway marathon—and faced her head-on. "First, I didn't dig up Joey Miller's body. I wasn't even around when it was found. The storm blew over a tree, and the body fell out of the rotted trunk. Second, so help me if that nickname sticks, I know where you live. Third, I don't think any of my employees had anything to do with it. However, Jean-Claude did start acting strangely when he saw the police."
Because of her job, Ana had a vested interest in most of my employees' criminal statuses.
"Stranger than normal?" she asked.
"I think he walked home. He was supposed to get a ride from his cousin Plum, but he pulled a disappearing act after the body was found."
Ana gasped. "Walked?"
Even though Jean Claude wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, he was inherently lazy. Walking a few miles home was definitely out of character. "In the rain."
"He willingly got his hair wet?"
"This is what I'm saying. It's strange."
"That's not good." She whistled low, then suddenly belted out a high-pitched scream. Scrambling, she flailed as she pulled her feet onto the couch and peered downward. "What the hell was that?"
"What? What?" I cried, pulling my feet up, too.
"Something licked my ankle!"
We cowered together as Gracie wobbled out from beneath the sofa and peered up at us with baleful dark eyes.
Ana pressed her hand to her large chest. "Sweet baby Jesus, I think I just had a heart attack."
I looked at her, then Gracie, and burst out laughing, falling backward onto the sofa cushions.
"Nina Colette Ceceri Quinn, it isn't funny!" Ana chastised. Then her lip quivered, and she started laughing too, collapsing on top of me.
I wiped tears from my eyes and bent down to pick up Gracie. She climbed over my legs like she was scaling Mount Everest and lurched onto Ana's lap. She commenced in licking Ana's chin.
"She likes you," I said.
Ana patted the dog's head. "I think she just smells BeBe on me. I was just over there."
BeBe was Kit Pipe's massive mastiff. Once upon a time Kit and BeBe lived with me as boarders, but he'd since moved in across the street. Into Bobby's former house.
Bobby MacKenna and I had a history. Not a long one, but one that involved love, loss, and broken hearts. He moved to Texas at Christmastime to live near his ailing mother, and Kit had been house-sitting for him. But a few months ago Kit bought the house outright.
I glanced out the front windows at the bungalow directly across the street, at the glow in the windows. My heart clenched a little, like it did whenever I thought of Bobby. Truthfully, I'd been holding out hope that he'd eventually move back, that we'd pick up the pieces...then he sold the house to Kit.
The sale officially told me it was time to move on.
If only my heart would listen to that memo.
I tried to tell it that sometimes relationships just didn't work out. The timing was wrong. It wasn't destiny. To remember the good times and forget the bad.
My heart told me to shut the hell up.
"Nina? Are you okay?"
"Me? Fine."
Ana tipped her head, and her eyes softened. "You sure about that?"
She knew me too well.
"I'm fine. Really. How's Kit doing? He's been hiding out all afternoon."
She narrowed her eyes, but let her line of questioning go. "He's good. He just didn't want to get involved with the whole dead body thing, especially with the timing."
"Timing?"
"It's been six months since Daisy was killed."
Daisy had been Kit's ex-girlfriend, and for a while he was a suspect in her death. Ana had helped him through those initial dark days, but if anyone realized that the dark days never quite went away, it was me.
That was me. Nina Colette Corpse Whisperer Ceceri Quinn.
I was grateful when Ana changed the subject—she didn't like talking about Daisy any more than Kit or I did.
"Why is Gracie here?" she asked.
"Because Maria's staying the night."
"Maria's here?" Ana craned her neck as if she had missed seeing a very-pregnant woman in the room.
As if that were possible.
"She and Riley are at Kroger picking up a few things."
"Riley's here, too?"
"Kevin's working late, with the new case." I gestured across the street.
"Full house."
I nodded, not minding the company one bit. Living alone was proving to be challenging for me.
Maybe I needed to get a dog.
Gracie looked over her shoulder at me and sneered, one snaggle tooth catching on her lip.
Or a cat.
"Well...I have some news," Ana said, scooping up Gracie and cradling her like a baby.
Ana apparently had no qualms about being peed on. "What kind of news? Good or bad?" I watched the way she held Gracie and gasped. "You're not pregnant, are you? Oh my God, you're pregnant!"
"No, I'm not pregnant. But remember a couple of minutes ago when you said that you know where I live?"
I thought back, searching my brain.
She sighed. "When you threatened me about the nickname 'the corpse whisperer'?"
I snapped my fingers. "Now I remember. And seriously, I do know where you live. I will come after you."
Her big brown eyes grew round as her face lit. "I won't be living there anymore."
"What's that mean?"
"I'm moving in with Kit. This weekend."
My gaze zipped to her ring finger. Her bare ring finger.
"I know, I know. I said I'd wait until he proposed, but it's a good time. My lease is up, he lives right across the street from you—and let's face it, someone needs to look after you—and..."
"And what?" I asked.
Tears welled in her eyes. "I love him."
Reaching over, I pulled her into a hug. "I know you do, and he loves you. The ring is only a matter of time."
She sniffled. "It is, right? Only a matter of time?"
"Kit's not a stupid man," I said, holding her close. "Obviously, since he fell for you."
Kit wasn't stupid but he could be stubborn. I hoped he didn't wait too long to get that ring on her finger. Because she wouldn't wait forever. She was as proud as he was obstinate.
She swiped tears from her eyes. "Nina?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I borrow some clothes? Gracie just peed all over me."
***
Night had fallen early thanks to the stormy weather. Maria and I sat side-by-side in the dark, Riley occupied the recliner, and the only light came from the flat-screen TV above the fireplace. We were still glued to the TV for the Proj
ect Runway two-part finale (finally!), and Heidi was just about to announce the winner when voices arose outside and footsteps landed heavily on the front porch.
I didn't budge from my spot on the couch—I recognized the visitors' voices. They were friends, not foes. Most of the time.
There was a polite knock before the door swung open and Perry marched inside. Mario followed, nipping at his heels a lot like Gracie nipped at mine.
Mario was apparently in the midst of a long-winded lecture. "And what about the master bathroom? The pipe? It's not fixed, which means we don't have water. And the tile still needs grout, oh! And the washer and dryer hookup? Who's going to do that now? How am I supposed to wash my clothes? Never mind all the finish—"
"Make him stop!" Perry pleaded.
"—details. The painting, the trim work, the—"
Maria threw a piercing look over her shoulder. "Shh! Can't you see we're in the middle of something important here?"
They both immediately quieted. Maria had that effect on men.
Mario flicked a look at the TV. "Christian wins."
Riley groaned and stood up. "On that note, it's time for me to go." He headed for the side table by the door to get his car keys.
Maria let out a frustrated cry. "Way to ruin it, Mario!"
Dropping an overnight bag on the floor, he sat in the recliner Riley just vacated. "Do you want me to tell you about how my day was ruined?"
I eyed that bag.
Perry sandwiched himself in between Maria and me. "Oh, please do. Because we haven't heard enough about it yet."
Mario flipped him off.
"What's with the bag?" I asked.
"Kevin kicked us out," Perry said. "The police need to process the house to determine if Joey Miller got the old," he drew a line across his neck, "inside."
Mario said, "Let it be known that I didn't want to move to that house in the first place. It was Perry's idea."
"We know," Maria, Riley, Perry and I said in unison.
I was grateful that Gracie had slept straight through their arrival—Mario usually sent her into a tizzy. Probably because she didn't like nipping competition.
"Where will you stay?" I asked. "A hotel?"
"Kind of," Perry said. "It's more like a halfway house." He blinked at me.
"Something in your eye?" I asked.
"We're staying here," Mario said bluntly, his gorgeous black eyes daring me to say no to him.
"What?" They were joking, right? There was no more room at this inn.
"We're. Staying. Here." Mario folded his arms.
Maria put her hands on her hips and said, "Do you want me to kick his ass, Nina? Don't let this big belly fool you, Mario Gibbens. I can still take you down."
She could. And would. Which probably wouldn't be best for her blood pressure or the baby.
"It's not that big," Mario said.
Maria smiled at him, pleased with his statement, then shifted her gaze to me. "They can surely stay one night. Two, max."
"Where?" I asked. "You're sharing my bed, and Riley's home for the weekend."
"I can bunk on the couch," Riley said. "The guys can have my room."
Perry blinked at me again. "Please, Nina?"
"Fine," I said. "But try and stay out of Gracie's way."
Mario lifted his feet onto the chair. "She's here?"
I pointed under the couch.
"Maybe we should get a hotel," Mario said. "Do you remember what she did to my Gucci loafers?"
We all grimaced. His loafers hadn't stood a chance.
Mario was an interesting juxtaposition of a man. He loved the finer things in life like designer clothes and nice restaurants, but he was also cheaper than Brickhouse, and that was saying something.
Riley headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes. At sixteen, he'd perfected the eye roll. "Out."
"Out where?"
"To a friend's."
"Which friend?" I asked.
He sighed. He'd mastered that, too. He'd obviously taken lessons from Maria.
"Well," I added, "you can either tell me, or you can stay here and take care of Maria for the rest of the night."
"Hey!" she said, struggling to stand up. "I don't need a babysitter." She tossed a look at Perry. "Can you give me a little help here?"
Riley had hit a growth spurt over the winter and was closing fast on Kevin's height at a little more than six feet tall. He looked a lot like his dad, with his dark hair, full mouth, and strong chin. His eyes, however, had come straight from his mom, who'd died when he was still a little boy.
He clenched his teeth and said, "I'm going to Layla's."
Maria, Perry, Mario and I said in perfect sing-song unison, "Lay-la's?"
With cheeks flushing a bright red, he choked out, "I'll be back at midnight." He slammed the door behind him.
"Layla?" Maria asked me as she absently rubbed her belly.
"First I've heard of her," I said, watching as Riley's headlights swept across the windows. I wondered if Kevin knew about her.
"She's a junior, five-ten, plays volleyball, has short blond hair and eyes as deep blue as a midnight sky," Perry said on a dramatic sigh.
We all stared at him.
"What?" he asked. "He talks. I listen."
"When does he talk? When do you listen?" I questioned.
"When I cut his hair," Perry said as if it was the most reasonable answer in the world.
I supposed it was. Perry was a master at weaseling information from his clients.
"We need to meet her..." Maria said as she wandered into the kitchen.
I didn't like the dreamy look in her eyes. She'd been cooped up a long time on bed rest. She was itching to throw a party. But I didn't think Riley would be so keen on the idea.
Mario said, "We have a bigger issue than Riley's new girlfriend."
"Joey's murder?" I asked.
His cheeks pinked up. "I was thinking about the state of our house, but I suppose that relates to the murder. Who's going to finish our house? And when? I certainly don't want to stay here long term."
I threw a panicked look at Perry. "I thought you said one night?"
He had the grace to look guilty. "Give or take a week or three."
"No," I said.
"But, Nina, the water line..." Perry said.
"Noooo." I stood up.
"The washer hookup," Mario pleaded.
I stuck my fingers in my ears and headed for the stairs. "I'm taking a bath and going to bed." Even though I knew I'd lie awake until Riley came in.
"Um, Nina?" Mario asked.
"What?"
"Don't use all the hot water, okay? I need to take a shower."
"What's that?" I asked. "You want me to sneak into your room tonight, steal your loafers and give them to Gracie to use as a wee wee pad?"
As if she actually heard her name, Gracie toddled out from beneath the sofa, growled low in her throat at Mario (who still had his feet on the chair), then went back into hiding.
Mario frowned. "I'll just shower in the morning."
"Good choice," I said. "Good choice."
Chapter Seven
Early the next morning, I left Maria in my canopy bed, threw on my robe and slippers, and scooped up a whimpering Gracie before she left a puddle on my bedroom floor.
The sun was barely creeping up over the horizon as I stealthily made my way downstairs, trying not to make too much noise.
There was just enough murky light coming in the front windows to see that Riley was tucked into a sleeping bag, sound asleep on the living room floor. I tossed a look at the sofa, wondering why he wasn't there, only to realize it was already occupied.
I edged closer. Surely he hadn't brought his new girlfriend home for a sleepover...
Peeking over the edge of the couch, I braced myself to see the face of the mysterious Layla and nearly jumped out of my slippers to find two brown eyes, hooded with thick unruly
white eyebrows staring up at me.
"Mornin', Miz Quinn," Mr. Cabrera whispered.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and looked again. He was still there.
"I'd get up," he said, "but my head hurts too bad."
I had questions. So many questions. But first, Gracie. "I'll be right back."
"I'm not goin' anywhere," he said wistfully.
It was a warm morning, the humidity high. I set Gracie on the grass and took a moment just to breathe in the scent of spring. It was a special smell, one full of renewal and hope and...murder?
My gaze had skipped to the bright yellow crime scene tape across the street, which looked as unnatural in this landscape as a prickly pear cactus.
Gracie sniffed around while I stepped over my work boots (they hadn't disintegrated overnight) and walked the stone path toward the front of the house. Birds chirped loudly as I spotted Brickhouse's car parked in Mr. Cabrera's driveway.
If she was there, what was he doing here?
Or maybe that explained why he was sleeping on my sofa.
But would Brickhouse really kick Mr. Cabrera out of his own house?
I smiled. Yes, yes she would. Absolutely.
Across the street, all the emergency vehicles were long gone, leaving behind the bright tape and a sense of violation. I could just barely make out the fallen tree in the back yard and noted that it had been cut into sections—probably by the coroner's office.
I tried to imagine myself stuffing Joey Miller's body into that tree hollow and realized that it wasn't impossible. Sure, it would be a struggle for someone my size—or Delphine's—but not too much for someone taller. Like Bear, Ethan, Plum. But with the hollow's opening a good three feet off the ground, whoever had killed him had to be strong enough to lift one hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight.
Dead weight.
I shuddered at the term, but it was accurate.
If Joey had been killed inside the house, someone had to drag or carry him to the tree, heft him up, and finagle him inside the trunk.
The more I thought about this, the more I realized that Joey's killer had to have put him in the tree at night. There's no way shoving a dead man into a tree during broad daylight would go unnoticed in this neighborhood.
But that didn't jibe with what I knew of Joey's disappearance. He'd walked off the job at lunchtime...