"It's going to be okay, Bridget," I said as she laid a hand on the table to steady herself. Once again I was amazed at the changes her pregnancy had brought on.
She shook her head, waddled ahead of me. "I don't have a good feeling about this. Not at all."
Five
I followed Bridget as we took the side roads to Sandowski's Farm, avoiding Vista View altogether.
At a four-way stop, I examined a ragged fingernail, picked its jagged edges. I wanted to turn around, go home. I had no business whatsoever looking into a murder. I was in way over my head, knew it, and yet still felt compelled to help. What was it with me?
I lost sight of Bridget's late-model Jeep for a moment as I crested a hill. Not that it mattered. I knew where the farm was, had been there many, many times during my teen years, when I used to tag along after Bridget and Tim because I had nothing better to do and no one else to do it with.
I slowed for a yellow light at the corner of Millson and Liberty. Up ahead, behind the do-it-yourself car wash, I could see the roofline of Sandowski's Farm.
Stores crowded each corner of the intersection. A supermarket, a pharmacy, a Mickey D's, and a gas station. My eyes swept it all in, remembering it as it was ten, fifteen years ago, when there was nothing here but open fields, wandering cows, and an endless blue sky.
As I passed the gas station, I did a double take. I caught the profiles of Kevin and Ginger sitting in the gas station's parking lot, the nose of their unmarked pointed in the direction of Sandowski's Farm. Clearly they were doing a little surveillance. I'd have paid to see Kevin's face when he realized just who Mrs. Sandowski's visitor was.
Gravel spit under my tires as I turned into the driveway, rolled to a stop. Though I must've passed this way a thousand times, I hadn't taken a good look at the place in years. Gone was the freshly painted picturesque farmhouse I remembered. Weeds choked the yard, the walkway. Bushy shrub branches thrust here, there, everywhere. Bricks were missing from the steps leading up to the door and the screen door hung by only one hinge. Clearly the Sandowskis had fallen on hard times in the last few years.
I imagined a couple million would come in handy for the family right about now. It went beyond my reasoning why they hadn't taken the money.
Bridget climbed out of her Jeep. After closing the door of my truck, I made sure Kevin got a good view of my face. I almost laughed as I imagined his mouth agape in shock.
Aside from my wanting to help the Sandowskis—and I did, don't get me wrong—I had to admit I was going to enjoy sticking my nose into Kevin's investigation. My interference was going to make Kevin's hair stand on end. Not quite the punishment I was aiming for—unless he was attached to the electric chair—but it would do. For now.
Farmer Joe's meticulous landscaping had been allowed to run wild, with overgrown flower beds chock full of weeds and his shaped hedges growing every which way.
Weeds choked the cracked brick pathway leading up to the door. The designer in me already had ideas to transform the yard back to what it used to be.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I needed to remember why I was here.
Taking hold of the door handle, Bridget jumped back in surprise as the screen door fell off its frame, landed with a soft whoosh in one of the overgrown Japanese yews that flanked the steps.
At closer inspection, I realized the house itself was quite beautiful. Run-down but beautiful. A classic Federal style and shape: a white brick square box with symmetrical lines and incredible detail on the paneled doors and moldings. It was too bad it was in such disrepair.
"You okay?"
Shakily, she nodded. "Nina, I really don't think this is a good idea."
I offered a reassuring smile. "So I've heard."
Sighing, she knocked once, entered.
Before stepping over the threshold, I turned to face the street, blew Kevin a kiss.
The scent of baking bread filled the air, and my stomach rumbled to life. Mrs. Sandowski's homemade bread was heaven on earth.
It took a moment for me to adjust from the sun to the dim lighting. Colored spots danced in front of my eyes.
Bridget cleared her throat. "Mom?"
I smiled. Bridget had started calling Mrs. Sandowski "Mom" long before she and Tim married. My eyesight slowly adjusted. The living room, where we were standing, was spotless. I doubted there was a speck of dust on any piece of furniture, and certainly no trace of soot in the large stone fireplace. I checked the soles of my Keds to make sure they were clean.
"Mom?" Bridget called out, slightly louder than before. Under her breath, she muttered, "Man, it's hot in here."
Hot was an understatement. Even with the windows open and a prehistoric ceiling fan droning above, hell had nothing on this place.
"I'm back here," Mrs. Sandowski yelled from the kitchen.
I followed Bridget down a short hallway into the sun
filled kitchen. I felt my breath catch as memories assailed me. I had spent many a happy hour in this kitchen, back when I had thought my own family was just too weird to be associated with. Oh, the wallpaper had faded and the linoleum had cracked, but it was as though I had just stepped back in time. The only thing different was the gallons and gallons of jug water bottles stacked against the rear wall.
Mrs. Sandowski sat at a pea green kitchen table, shucking corn, a window fan providing her little relief from the intense heat. She looked older, now with more gray than brown hair, but her eyes were the same. Sparkling hazel. Keen. Piercing. Alert. They narrowed as she looked at me.
"I'll be darned. Nina Ceceri! Is that you?"
She jumped up, moving much quicker than I would have thought she could. She had to be at least seventy.
Before I knew it I was engulfed in a big hug. She smelled of baking bread and Ivory soap. I smiled as she pulled away. "It's Nina Quinn now."
"Yes, yes, that's right." She waved to her head. "I'm old. The memory goes." The twinkle in her eye told me she was teasing.
"Nonsense."
She smiled. "My oh my, you're a sight for these old eyes."
"You look wonderful, Mrs. Sandowski."
She patted her hair, then slid her hands down her still slim figure. "Well, you know, I try."
My voice shook slightly as I said, "I'm so very sorry about Joe."
Her smile faltered. "So am I, Nina. So am I. But he's at peace now. I have to keep reminding myself of that." Clapping her hands, she said, "No melancholy today. I'm too happy to see you after all this time." She turned to Bridget, tsked lovingly. "Why didn't you tell me you were bringing Nina? I would've set out lunch, or tea, or something."
"I didn't know. It just sort of came up. And actually, I can't stay all that long." She lowered herself into a chair, stretched out her long legs, rested her hands on her belly. Dark circles under her eyes were beginning to glow beneath her translucent skin. "I have an appointment in an hour."
"You should be resting, honey," Mrs. Sandowski said, rubbing a hand over Bridget's hair. "It's not good for the baby, you working so hard."
With great effort, Bridget shifted. "We're fine. Really, we are. You know I wouldn't take any risks."
Mrs. Sandowski clucked. "I know. I just hate seeing you working yourself to the bone."
Strands of pale blonde hair fell forward onto Bridget's face. She pushed them back behind her ears. "I hope you don't mind us stopping in."
"Not at all, honey." To me, she said, "Sit, sit." She pulled out a chair for me. "Catch me up with you. You're in landscaping now, right?"
I smiled, thinking about Taken by Surprise until I remembered those damn hoes. "It's not your traditional landscape company."
Her wrinkled face puckered. "Oh?"
"It started that way until a client offered me an absurd amount of money to be done with her job in a day. She wanted to surprise her husband while he was out of town."
"And you did it?"
"Do I look like someone who'd turn down an absurd amount of money?" I laughed
before I realized who I was speaking to—someone who had turned down an absurd amount of money.
My discomfort eased, though, as Mrs. Sandowski laughed.
I pressed on, talking fast to cover my nervousness. "I realized there was a whole market out there for garden makeovers. One client became two, then three. A local paper did a story on us, then the local news, and now I have to turn people away."
"Do you enjoy it?"
"I love it. I try to do as much hands-on as I can, but between consultation and design meetings, it's tough."
"Joe always loved puttering around those gardens out there with you."
"I loved it too."
She tsked. "He hated that he couldn't take care of the garden once he became ill."
A thick lump of sorrow lodged in my throat. It was hard to talk around it. "I wish I had known. I'd have been glad to help out. Actually, I'd still like to help. Maybe get things back to the way they were. Make Joe proud."
Bridget sniffled.
Mrs. Sandowski's eyes filled with tears. "I'd really like that," she said.
"So would I."
We sat in silence for a long minute before she picked up another ear of corn. She smiled at us. "So what brings you here? A trip down memory lane?"
"Uh," I stammered, looking at Bridget. "Not quite."
Bridget stiffened. "How's Jumper?"
Mrs. Sandowski's smile faltered. "Better," she said warily. "Doc said he'd be home in a few days."
Bridget cleared her throat. "That's why Nina's here, Mom."
Hazel eyes narrowed into thin slits. "Tell me you did not tell her about this."
I felt her anger as much as saw it and was glad that I wasn't at the receiving end. Still, I felt guilty for having caused such feelings in the first place.
"Nina wants to help. And we need help. You and I both know it."
She shook her head. "We can do this on our own. You shouldn't have involved Nina in this. It's none of her concern."
Bridget paled.
I leaned forward, trying not to feel hurt that Mrs. Sandowski didn't want me around. "It was my idea, Mrs. Sandowski. Don't be angry with Bridget."
Mrs. Sandowski picked up an ear of corn and ripped it open, revealing a golden yellow cob. Honestly, how could she continue to work in the stifling heat?
As sweat trickled down my hairline, I said, "I know that you didn't want any outsiders helping, but you're in over your head. What happened with Jumper this morning proves it."
"No offense, Nina, but it's private."
Bridget flashed me an I-told-you-so look, then slowly wobbled to her feet. "I'm going to head out now and let the two of you hash this out."
Bridget promised she'd check in with me soon, despite having to prepare for an upcoming trial, and gave me her business card with all her numbers on it. She mentioned something about dinner Friday night with her and Tim as she kissed my cheek, then Mrs. Sandowski's. Teetering toward the door, she said over her shoulder, "Don't say I didn't warn you."
A moment later, the front door opened then closed and an engine sputtered to life.
Mrs. Sandowski continued to shuck corn.
Now, sitting here, just the two of us, I felt a hundred times a fool. What to do? What to say? Had I really volunteered to become embroiled in this mess? Unfortunately, it seemed as though I was already too involved to back out, that I didn't have a choice in the matter, even if I wanted to.
I leaned forward, propping my elbows on the table. "You have to trust someone, sometime, Mrs. Sandowski. Why not me? I have connections through my husband."
"Ah, yes. Detective Quinn." She said this as though she had some serious doubts about Kevin's character. Not that I blamed her. I now had serious doubts about his character too.
Grabbing an ear of corn, I ripped it open. "My point is I have access to certain information. And I can use my business as a cover while asking around about this land, and who's most interested in it. But most of all, you know me. I'd never do anything to hurt this family. I hate what's happening to all of you. And I hate that nothing's been done about it."
Lines creased her forehead as her brows dipped. "You're serious?"
I set my shucked ear with the others in a bowl near the edge of the table. "Completely."
She sighed heavily. "I don't know what you can do to help, Nina."
Corn silk clung to the table. "I'm not sure, either, but it's better than nothing being done at all, right?"
"Perhaps."
Feeling as though I'd just stumbled, flailing, over one hurdle, I pressed on, hoping to keep her talking. "When did all this start?"
Mrs. Sandowski rubbed her hands together. They were dark from the sun and dotted with liver spots. "I'd say three, four months ago. That's when we were approached by a developer about selling our land."
"Which developer?"
She picked at the strands of yellow corn silk left behind by the shucking and now covering the table. "Demming. John Demming."
Demming was a popular builder. His billboards dotted Freedom's landscape, and I thought I recalled seeing ads for his homes on TV.
"He offered us three million dollars for our house and land. Joe and I said no." Her voice cracked when she said her husband's name.
I picked another ear of corn from the pile. Softly, I said, "May I ask why?"
She shrugged, a delicate movement that said volumes. "This house was built by Timmy's great-great grandfather. I've lived here near all my life, since I married Joe at sixteen. Timmy was born in the upstairs bedroom. It's our home. I know it's not much to look at, but it's ours. The memories are here."
I could understand her reluctance, but three million dollars? "What happened then?"
"A few days after Demming's offer, the congressman came."
"Chanson?"
"Yes. He's a charming man, easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean, but he's arrogant."
I liked arrogant in a man. I've chalked it up to genetic defect and written it off as something I could never change. An arrogant man had confidence, was sure of himself, secure. He wasn't a pushover, and I'm sure Chanson tried every which way to get Mrs. Sandowski to sell.
"Pushy?" I'd seen Chanson on TV and he played the role of politician perfectly. Smooth, suave, amiable to a fault. He had to have some flaw, somewhere. But was he capable of murder?
"Not overly."
Well, there blew that theory.
"He has a way about him that makes you want to bend to his will. That if you don't, you're in the wrong."
"Do you think he has something to do with what's been happening here?" I dropped the gleaming golden corn on her teetering pile.
"Hard to say. He has a lot of money behind him, and he lives over there in that Vista View, so he has a stake in what happens too. I just don't know." She inhaled deeply. "He came armed with an offer of four point five million— money from a group of investors from Vista View, himself included. I said no and told him never to come back. So far, he hasn't."
She bandied about the huge sums as though they were pocket change. Millions. I couldn't imagine it.
"Demming came back and upped his offer," she said as calm as can be. "He doesn't understand about this being a home, a legacy. He thinks money can buy anything."
Glancing at the entryway, I thought it could certainly buy a new screen door, but I kept my mouth shut.
"I tried explaining to him that money wasn't everything, that it didn't buy happiness. That's when Demming offered five million."
Five million! "And you turned it down?" I said incredulously.
She shrugged, half smiled. "This house makes us happy. This is what's important to us, not padding our bank account." Swiping her hand across the table, she gathered all the corn silk into a paper bag at her feet.
She kept saying "our" and "us" as if Farmer Joe would come strolling in from the fields at any moment. It broke my heart and at the same time made me uneasy.
She glanced at me. "It was after that last refusal
when the calls started."
"What were they like? Just hang-ups?"
Wiping her hands down her apron, she said, "No. Heavy breathing, then hanging up."
"Nothing was ever said?"
"No. It was always the same."
I bit my lip. "Did you try Star 69 or Caller ID?"
She shifted in her seat and began twisting her wedding ring. I looked down at my own hands, at the diamond band that seemed heavier each day.