A Hoe Lot of Trouble

  "Anyone else?"

  "Oh," he said. "I just remembered."

  "Yeah?"

  "That friend of yours stopped by. The one you had break fast with yesterday at Gus's?"

  Bridget. It amazed me how fast news traveled in this neighborhood.

  "The one about to pop?"

  I bit back a smile.

  "She knocked, but you weren't home."

  "What time was that?"

  "Twelve thirty-seven. Not that I was prying."

  Eleven

  As I drove southbound on I-75, I kept one hand on the wheel and used the other to check my voicemail messages from my cell.

  Bridget had called.

  My mother had called.

  And there was yet another hang-up.

  I decided not to take the hang-up personally, ignored my mother, and punched in Bridget's number while stopped at a red light on the Mitchell Avenue exit ramp.

  I hadn't had time to digest what Mr. Cabrera had told me before heading out to my meeting, and now, hours later, I was still purposely smothering the fact that someone had been in my house.

  I could smother with the best of them.

  The TBS consultation had gone well, and since it hadn't been all that far from Bridget's, I thought I'd make good on my offer to take a look at Bridget's backyard.

  No one answered the phone. I figured she was still at work and nixed the idea of calling there and disturbing her. She didn't need to be home for me to poke around.

  There were no cars in Bridget's driveway as I rolled to a stop in front of the old Victorian, which was just as well. I wasn't exactly in the mood for a face-to-face lecture from Tim about me snooping into Farmer Joe's death.

  Stay away from Sandowski's Farm or face the consequences.

  I pushed the letter out of my thoughts. It was just a scare tactic, that's all. One that wouldn't work if I ignored it.

  Taking a second, I looked at the house. When Bridget said fixer-upper, she wasn't kidding.

  Victorian Vernacular, I thought they called this kind of house, found only in the Cincinnati area. It had seen better days. The front porch sagged, slate tiles were missing from the roof, and the whole brick façade looked like it could use another coat of mortar.

  I grabbed my sketch pad, Polaroid, and measuring wheel and hopped out of the truck.

  An old garage door hung limply on a detached two-car garage that looked older than the house but clearly wasn't original. Fading sunlight slipped through the cracks of the door and I could see a car inside.

  For a brief second, I swore under my breath, cursing my bad luck, thinking it was Tim's car, and that he was home after all. Looking more closely, however, I saw a battered tarp pulled over the top of the car. And by the looks of the dust, no one had been in or out of that garage in years.

  I let out a sigh of relief as I skirted the edge of the house, already thinking how nice a set of steps leading down into the sloping backyard would look.

  My stomach rumbled, complaining loudly about missing dinner. I'd grab something with Ana later on, while we were playing stakeout.

  The backyard was almost completely sheltered by woods. I wondered if Bridget and Tim had thought about fencing it in. Smiling, I sketched a small picket fence on my blank pad, imagining Bridget's baby running around.

  Mosquitoes pestered me as I took a few snapshots. Heat bugs teeeck-teeeck-teeeck'd from the woods.

  High thick grass threatened to trip me as I walked around the yard, already cordoning off sections in my head. An entertainment area, a play area, a grassy terrace maybe. I took a few measurements with my handy-dandy wheel and jotted them onto the pad.

  I glanced up at the house and stepped back in surprise.

  Had a curtain moved?

  Was someone home after all? Why hadn't they come out?

  I hadn't heard a car pull in, though, and no lights shone from inside.

  I shook my head, taming my imagination. Just my eyes playing tricks on me. I jotted a few notes about the surrounding area and sketched in a rough vision.

  Suddenly a twig snapped in the woods and my pencil skittered across the pad. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. Everything in me screamed that I wasn't alone, that someone was watching me.

  My inner voice bellowed for me to get the hell out of there, and I was in no state to argue.

  Eyes intent on the tall pines and shadowed dense underbrush, I crept backward toward the house, toward my truck, toward safety.

  And bumped into something—someone—who hadn't been there a minute ago.

  A scream escaped me, and everything I held went flying.

  "Nina! Nina, it's okay!"

  I gulped the thick evening air and maybe a mosquito or two—but at that point I didn't care—and focused on Bridget's laughing eyes.

  "You scared the shit out of me!" My pulse pounded in my ears. My heart couldn't take this twice in one day.

  Her shoulders shook and she started laughing. Deep belly laughs that had her big tummy shaking.

  "I'm sorry," she said. At my skeptical look, she held up a hand. "No, I really am."

  My eyebrows shot up, and I bent to gather up my stuff, still keeping a wary eye on those woods.

  "I thought you heard me," she said, still chuckling.

  "I didn't." I started for the driveway.

  Bridget kept up. She wiped her eyes. "Really, I'm sorry."

  "It's okay." I knew I bordered on rude, but I was still creeped. Seriously creeped.

  Her Jeep sat in the driveway, its engine ticking.

  She smiled. "What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked. "I stopped by your house earlier, but you weren't around."

  "Yeah, I know. I got your message. I must have just missed you. It's been a crazy couple of days." I left out the particulars. I didn't need to be recounting them in the state I was in. "I happened to be in the area and thought I'd stop by and start my baby-friendly backyard design."

  "Oh! I didn't think you'd get to it so soon."

  I pulled open my truck door and tossed my stuff inside. "I should be able to have a plan drawn up for it and to you by the end of next week."

  She patted her stomach. "We have time."

  By the size of her, I didn't think so, but I kept my mouth shut. I didn't think that was the sort of thing pregnant women liked to hear.

  "I missed you for lunch. How about supper? Tim will be home soon."

  I was too spooked to think about food. "Maybe some other time? I've got plans with Ana tonight."

  "Oh. Okay."

  "We still on for Friday?" I asked.

  "Absolutely." She leaned on my door. "But I have to warn you, Nina. Tim's dead set against having you involved in this mess."

  "Something to look forward to."

  She smiled brightly. "Forewarned is forearmed."

  I wondered at her tone, all dark and dripping with things that creeped me even more.

  Shivering despite the warm evening, I turned the key. "So noted."

  Ana slurped her triple-thick shake.

  "Why don't you just use the spoon?"

  "I'm hoping to burn some calories this way."

  I trained the binoculars on Coby Fowler as he loaded up the truck in front of Bonnie Freel's house. Bonnie, Ana, and I had gone to college together and still kept in touch.

  I'd conjured up some ridiculous reason Coby needed to go out there at 7:30 to take measurements, all with Bonnie's permission, of course. This gave Coby complete access to a wide variety of my equipment from a loaded TBS truck with no one looking over his shoulder.

  Ana purred. "He's so cute."

  "He's a baby!"

  "Babies are cute."

  I sighed and shook my head. "We need to find you a date."

  "I'm doing okay on my own."

  "Hah!" Her divorce had been finalized for nearly a year, so by my calculations, she hadn't had a date since 1999.

  "I am!"

  "When was the last time you went out?"

  Her low
er lip jutted out.

  "See."

  "Well, find me someone."

  "I don't think you want my choice of men."

  "Look." Ana pointed out the window. "He's leaving."

  Sure enough, Coby had hopped into his TBS truck.

  "What, exactly, are we looking for?"

  "Him stealing hoes."

  "Oh." She abandoned her straw and reached for a spoon. So much for the calorie burning. "All hoes seem present and accounted for."

  I bit my lip to keep from saying something about Ana's college reputation.

  "He's supposed to be bringing the truck back to the office," I said as he turned west on Old Freedom Trail. The office was east.

  "Seems he's lost."

  "Quite."

  We followed him up side streets and down back roads and over the county line. After twenty minutes of driving, he pulled into a cracked asphalt driveway.

  We both ducked low in our seats as we drove past. Ana said, "You know this place?"

  "No."

  I eyed the one-story contemporary as I parked down the block on the berm of an embankment. "Come on."

  "What! You didn't say anything about fieldwork. I wore heels. I have a skirt on."

  "Take the heels off. Hike up the skirt." It was one of those long, flowy flower-child skirts. Perfect for getting snagged on broken branches.

  "The things I do for you," she mumbled.

  I switched off the overhead light and pushed open the driver's side door of my Jurassic period Corolla.

  Crickets chirped as Ana and I did a crouch walk toward the small house, staying hidden in the overgrown patch of weeds and shrubs along the property line. Coby stood at the Ford, pulling tools out of the bed.

  "Doesn't this look compromising?" Ana said in a loud whisper.

  "Shhh."

  Coby knocked once on the door, talked to a shadowy figure behind the screen.

  A mosquito buzzed my ear. Coby walked back to the truck, grabbed an electric hedge trimmer and went about finding a socket.

  "What is he doing?" I mumbled aloud.

  "Trimming?"

  I shot Ana a look.

  "You asked."

  My legs stiffened as we continued to watch, the setting sun glowing orange in the western sky.

  After half an hour of watching Coby tame an unruly boring hedge, Ana sighed. "My NTP index just reached ninety."

  "NTP?" This was a new one to me.

  "Like it? I just made it up."

  Bits of dark hair had fallen out of her ponytail and stuck to her cheeks. "I don't know what it is. How can I like it?"

  "Need To Pee."

  I laughed. "Is it a one-to-one-hundred scale?"

  "Yep."

  "Then ninety is pretty high."

  She pressed her knees together and rocked back on her bare heels. "Yep."

  I looked back at Coby. Chances were he was just helping out a friend, but I couldn't be sure. I eyed some tall grass near a clump of old pine trees behind Ana.

  "Oh no."

  "Like you haven't done it before."

  "I was six and lost in the woods."

  "See? You still sound haunted by it. This will give you the chance to put it all behind you. Literally."

  "Ha. Ha. But I have to go too bad to argue with you."

  She rustled off into the deeper grass, half hidden behind

  the trees. Coby had finished hedge trimming and pulled out a spade. He was dutifully edging the driveway.

  I glanced in the direction Ana had gone. I cringed, spotting tell tale leaves of three. "Uh, Ana?" I whispered loudly.

  "What?"

  "You aren't, by any chance, allergic to poison ivy, are you?"

  Ana jumped to her feet, shrieking like a banshee. Her skirt fell into place, but her undies were wrapped around her ankles.

  Coby dropped the spade and ran full tilt toward us.

  Ana continued to screech, hopping from foot to foot, looking just like some gypsy woman stomping grapes. Except for the screaming. I didn't think people screamed when they squished grapes.

  There was no place to run, nowhere to hide. I slowly rose.

  Coby stopped dead in his tracks. "Nina?"

  Ana's shrieks had turned into whimpers, but she was still doing the jig, trying to get her undies off her feet. Finally, they were flung free, almost hitting Coby in the face.

  I pressed my lips together. Tight.

  Ana screeched when she spotted him.

  Coby stared at the undies lying at his feet, with eyes the size of baseballs. "Ms. Bertoli?"

  Ana's cheeks flamed. "Uh, hello, Coby." Shoulders back, chin high, she walked over to him and snatched up her panties. She shoved them in her pocket, turned and glared at me. "You owe me. So big."

  Guilt nudged at me. I glanced at Coby. His slightly chubby cheeks glowed pink beneath pale peach fuzz.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "I, uh, we . . ." I cleared my throat. "What are you doing here, is more like it." Nothing like going on the offensive. "You were supposed to take the truck and the tools back to the office."

  He dug his toe into the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ana scratch her leg. Then the other. It was all mental, I knew, since poison ivy didn't usually show up for hours, sometimes days, after exposure.

  "I know, I'm sorry. You're not going to fire me, are you? My nana . . ."

  An older woman's voice was carried on the evening air. "Coby?"

  I looked across the expanse of lawn as "Nana" (I assumed), using a walker, hobbled toward us.

  Ana glowered. "I hope you're proud of yourself."

  I felt terrible.

  Coby pleaded to Ana with his puppy-dog eyes. "Please don't say anything about my arrest. She doesn't know."

  "What's going on, Coby?" Nana said, her voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

  I couldn't help but wince. Coby seemed immune though, as he said, "Nana—"

  I broke in. "This young man was fine enough to help us." I gestured down the road. "Our car has broken down . . . overheated or something."

  "Might be the fan belt," Ana put in.

  I rolled my eyes. "As I was saying, this young man was kind enough to offer to look."

  The woman's keen eyes swept over me. "I heard screaming."

  Ana suddenly found interest with her toenail polish.

  "I, uh, I fell," I said.

  Her eyebrows arched. Her gaze meandered to Ana. "Uhhunh. What happened to your shoes?"

  Ana looked up, all brown eyes and innocence. "Lost them?"

  Coby put his arm around the woman. "Nana, it's okay. I'll help them out and be back in just a minute."

  She nodded sharply, and pivoted with her walker, nearly taking my feet out from under me as she turned. I heard her murmur something about vixens, and couldn't help but feel an odd sense of pride that I could still be considered one.

  We walked a few feet toward my car. Coby's head hung. How I ended up feeling in the wrong, I had no idea. To him, I said, "Just bring the truck back when you're done. I'll see you tomorrow."

  A smile lit his face and he trotted back.

  Ana shook her head, scratched her leg as she got into the car.

  I turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. "Don't say it."

  We drove in silence for, oh, ten seconds before Ana said, "That was awful."

  I nodded. Maybe I should have just sat Jean-Claude, Coby, and Marty down in my office after all. This investigating on my own wasn't quite working out the way I thought it would.

  "I feel awful," I said.

  "You should." She sighed dramatically, leading up to a lecture, I was sure. But instead said, "Why didn't you tell me there was poison ivy back there?"

  Leave it to Ana to know how to make me feel better. I laughed.