Weeding Out Trouble

  "I thought you were making that up! What's wrong?" Ana asked.

  "Some sort of flu. Fever, cookie-tossing—"

  "Don't remind me," Riley moaned. "The smell of the soup is making my stomach turn."

  I grabbed the bowl, clicked on the lid, and set it in the hall. Like I said, I didn't do well with cookie-tossing.

  "Fine," Ana said. "Just send someone."

  She hung up, and I went in search of Mr. Cabrera. It didn't take much for him to agree to pick up Ana—they had become fast friends over the last few months. Besides, I had a hunch he didn't like the soup very much and wanted the excuse to abandon supper.

  I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back upstairs. Riley had fallen asleep again.

  Sinking into the chair, I stared into my mug. The dark coffee jarred my memory.

  In my room, I dug Randall Oh's phone number out of my purse. Hoping we could have coffee first thing in the morning, I dialed.

  Two rings later a tinny voice came on the line telling me the number I dialed was not in service.

  I redialed carefully, just to be sure.

  No doubt about it. Randall Oh had given me a fake number.

  It made me wonder why.

  Seventeen

  I woke to the sun streaming in my bedroom window and someone's hand under my camisole, rubbing my back in lazy, sensuous circles.

  I knew that hand, that touch.

  And didn't like it. Not one bit.

  Jumping up, I grabbed my duvet, covering myself to my neck. "Get out!"

  Kevin propped himself up on his elbow. My yanking of the covers revealed him to be shirtless with nothing on but jammie bottoms and gauze covering the wound near his collarbone. "Why? I was just getting started."

  My temper flared.

  Then . . .

  I smiled.

  "That's better." Kevin reached for me.

  I slapped his hand.

  "Ow! What was that for?"

  "Don't touch me."

  He sat up. "Why the smile then? Talk about mixed mes sages."

  "I just realized something."

  "Do share," he mocked.

  "Your touch didn't affect me. In fact, I didn't like it. Don't you see? I'm over you. Really over you. I love Bobby. It was his touch I was hoping for when I opened my eyes."

  Looking wounded, he said, "Let me get this knife out of my heart, and I'll get out of your way."

  My anger slowly returned. "Wait. Where do you get off?" I asked. "What were your intentions coming in here?"

  He laughed. "I thought that was obvious."

  My hands shook I was so mad. "I don't get you. I really don't. I can't believe I'm about to say this, Lord help me because I must have caught Riley's illness and be nearly delusional, but I feel bad for Ginger. Did you think about her at all when you climbed into my bed this morning?"

  His eyes darkened.

  "You're supposed to be committed to her, and here you are sneaking into my bed like a sneaky, no-good, lowdown, dirty—"

  "We broke up," he interrupted.

  "—snake," I finished. "What?"

  "We broke up. Yesterday."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged, and pain flitted across his face. My gaze shot to the scars on his chest, but there was no way I was offering him sympathy now, not a single chance, no way in— "You okay?"

  "Fine."

  "Fine."

  A prime example of our primo communication skills.

  "I just thought," he said.

  I stood up, wrapping my duvet around me. "I know what you thought. You figured that since Ginger was out of the picture you could slide right back into mine because you knew I still had feelings for you, deep down. You figured I'd sleep with you, realize what I'd been missing, and come running back with open arms. You know what?"

  "I don't think I want to know."

  "You figured wrong. I don't have feelings, deep down. They're gone. I deserve better than you, Kevin. I deserve a man who loves me for all the right reasons. And though I hate her, Ginger deserves a man to love her the same way. You know what?"

  "I still think I don't want to know."

  "I think you still love Leah."

  His eyes flashed, burning green.

  "Yeah, I said it. You still love Leah. And I don't think it was fair to me, or to Ginger, that you had relationships with us without fully being able to commit." My voice softened, my heart suddenly breaking for him. "And you won't ever be able to have a relationship with a woman until you're able to fully put Leah to rest. In your mind. In your heart. You haven't allowed yourself to do that, Kevin. You need to. For your sake. For your happiness."

  He pulled both hands down his face. "Yeah," was all he said as he walked out of my room.

  Taking a deep breath, I sat down on the edge of my bed, wrapping my duvet around me like a cocoon. Tears hovered at the corners of my eyes and I wasn't sure why. I couldn't nail down a single one of the many emotions coursing through me.

  Riley appeared in the doorway, like the ghost of Christmas past. Pale, wide, watery eyes, red lips, wild hair. Just give the boy some chains to rattle and he'd be a dead ringer.

  "Are you all right?" I asked him. "Do you need something?" I'd spent most of the night in his room, dozing in his chair, holding his bedpan for him while he was sick. I personally thought it was enough for my Stepmother of the Year nomination to be reinstated, especially after being in such close proximity to Xena all night. Though, I confess, I'd thrown a sheet over her cage to help ward off the heebies. I hadn't crept into my bed with my mother and BeBe—who was so happy to see me she nearly knocked my mother out of bed with her tail—until nearly four in the morning. It was close to nine now. No sign of Mom or BeBe.

  "I'm okay. You?" he asked me.

  It dawned on me that he'd overheard.

  Crap.

  "Yeah. Sorry you heard all that."

  Slowly, he came into the room, sat on the bed next to me. He was such a mirror of his father. Yet, he was so different than Kevin. Softer, despite the attitude. Wiser, despite his age. In his eyes I could see the man he would become. The good man. It did my heart proud.

  He gazed at me, saying nothing.

  I let out a deep breath, not sure what to say either.

  Finally, in a raspy voice, he said, "Do you need a hug?"

  Slowly, I nodded.

  He wrapped me in his arms, cocoon and all, and I couldn't keep the tears from falling.

  A minute later my mother walked into the room and gasped. "What's going on? Did someone die?"

  Riley backed away, and I noticed moisture in his eyes too. I wiped away my tears. "No. But I think we're all mourning something this morning." I shooed Riley off my bed. "Go lie down. I'll bring you some medicine in a minute."

  He left, walking slowly, as if the fever wouldn't let him move any faster. My mother took his place on the bed.

  Her eyes were filled with tears.

  "Why are you crying?" I asked her.

  "Mothers, chérie, will always cry when they see their babies in pain."

  She put an arm around me. I dropped my head onto her shoulder and told her about my conversation with Kevin.

  "It was something he needed to hear, chérie. And it was very brave of you to tell him so."

  "I love Bobby," I said to her.

  "I know that, bébé."

  I looked into her eyes, a blue much like Riley's. "Then why do I feel guilty for not loving Kevin anymore?"

  "Because, you're a fixer. Fixers want everyone to be happy. It's time for you to learn, perhaps, that sometimes people need to fix themselves."

  "It sucks." I sniffled.

  She laughed. "That it does. Get dressed. I'll make you some breakfast." My mother thought food was the best medicine for any ailment. "Remember, I'm taking Kevin for his checkup this afternoon, so we'll be gone for a trifle."

  The house almost to myself . . . It was enough to make me giddy.

  I took a few minutes to get dressed, brush my
hair, my teeth. I still felt out of sorts with myself and thought talking to Ana about it would make me feel better.

  She didn't answer her home number. I tried her cell next, but it went straight to voice mail.

  I hadn't heard from her last night, but figured she'd been pouting about being left at the airport. Was she still mad at me?

  I dialed Riley's pediatrician next and made an appointment.

  While I had the phone out, I called Tam to do a little research for me and asked to speak to Ian.

  "He's not here, Nina."

  "Oh. I was hoping to talk to him."

  "You could call his cell, but if you just wait you should see him today."

  "I should?"

  "I know he was planning to stop by your house today. To see you."

  By the time I made it downstairs, no one was around. I peeked out the kitchen window and saw why. All hell was breaking loose outside.

  I rushed out the back door and into the fray. I spotted Brickhouse on the fringe, BeBe at her feet, sitting obediently. She licked my hand as I sidled up, trying to take it all in, pick apart conversations.

  I spotted the local reporter milling around the crowd, and soon a news van pulled up in front of Miss Maisie's house.

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  She clucked. "Twenty frozen Cornish game hens were delivered all throughout the neighborhood this morning to various residents. Miss Maisie is convinced someone is trying to poison the elderly neighbors, and she called the news."

  Miss Maisie needed meds.

  But . . . who on earth would send Cornish game hens? It had to have something to do with the turkeys and Gregory Peck as well.

  "Who delivered the hens?"

  "UPS."

  I laughed. I couldn't help it. Brickhouse cracked a smile too. BeBe's tail swished.

  We watched the crowd. People circled, traveling from one conversation to another. My mother, Kevin, Mr. Cabrera, Flash, and even Bobby were in the midst of it all.

  There was no sign of Ian. I wondered when he might be coming by and what he needed to see me about. Had he found out anything on the missing white pills?

  Brickhouse clucked. "UPS can track the buyer."

  "Unless they used a fake name."

  "You always were a killjoy, Nina Ceceri."

  As I smiled—it was such fun bantering with Brickhouse—I spotted Miss Maisie storm into her house and slam the door. A second later Bobby walked over to us. I gave him a kiss. "What's with Miss Maisie?"

  "Someone suggested a huge bonfire to roast the hens, and she stormed off. She's still convinced someone is trying to spread the bird flu through the Mill. You okay?" he asked me, looking closely at my eyes. "Rough night?"

  Rougher morning, I thought, but I simply nodded.

  He put his arm around me, tucked me close to his body. I felt like I could stay there the rest of the week.

  Mr. Cabrera wandered over, throwing his hands in the air. "That Maisie is a loony toon!"

  "Donatelli!" Brickhouse admonished.

  "What?" he asked. "It's true."

  "Be that as it may, be nice."

  I smiled. They were good for each other.

  "I don't know what people are complainin' about," he grumbled. "You'd think they'd be grateful for somethin' to put on their dinner table. Those hens aren't cheap." He caught my eye. "Miz Quinn, you don't look so good. You catch that flu?"

  I made a mental note to apply more makeup once I went back inside. "I'm fine. Thanks."

  "The boy?"

  "Going to the doctor in a little bit."

  "Good, good. That doc of his will fix him up good."

  My mind played mental association. Mr. Cabrera mentioning the doctor reminded me of Ana's dalliance with Johan, Dr. Feelgood, which reminded me that I hadn't been able to get hold of my cousin that morning. "Thanks for picking up Ana yesterday," I said.

  "No problem, Miz Quinn. Miz Ana is a hot ticket."

  Brickhouse elbowed him.

  "Not as hot as you," he said to her.

  I felt Bobby's chest vibrate as he laughed.

  "Did she get home okay?" I asked.

  "You sayin' somethin' about my drivin'?" Mr. Cabrera looked put out.

  "Not at all. I just haven't been able to reach her this morning."

  "I dropped her off at her front door. She didn't want me to come up. I waited till she got in, then drove off."

  Something just didn't feel right. Ana might have been mad at me, but she'd still want to help Kit. I made a mental note to call her again once I reapplied more makeup. Priorities.

  An SPCA truck pulled up to the crowd, and right behind it, Joe and Lewy's dark Ford pulled into my driveway. They got out, zeroed in on me immediately, their faces grim.

  "What now?" I asked aloud.

  Brickhouse clucked. I noticed she loosened BeBe's leash just enough so BeBe could launch herself at someone if need be.

  Honestly, I thought I must have been sick or something, because Brickhouse was definitely growing on me.

  Kevin strode over when he saw Joe and Lewy approaching. He wouldn't look at me.

  "What's wrong?" I asked the detectives once they were close enough. "It's not Kit, is it? Is he okay?"

  "No idea," Joe said.

  Then I couldn't imagine what would warrant such long faces.

  "You've got news?" Kevin asked.

  "There's been another murder," Lewy said.

  My stomach fell. Bobby tightened his arm around me.

  "Who?" Kevin asked.

  "Kent Ingless. He was found shot at close range early this morning."

  Eighteen

  "I can't say I'm glad to see him gone," Brickhouse said an hour later.

  BeBe had gone upstairs, where she now slept at the foot of Riley's bed.

  I set the kettle on the stove. "Me either, but you know they'll think Kit did it."

  I peeked in the fridge. Nearly empty. Great.

  Thanksgiving was in two days, and I didn't even have a turkey yet. Some impression I was going to make on Bobby's family.

  I pulled out a box of stale Nilla Wafers from the cupboard and set them on the counter. Desperate times and all.

  Apparently I had issues with cutting back on Brickhouse time, because it had been me who invited her in for tea. There weren't enough corners in my head to tuck away that information.

  My father, looking well-rested, had dropped a car off for my mother. Mr. Cabrera had volunteered to drive him home, since for some reason Dad didn't feel like hanging out with us.

  Hmm. Empty house, full fridge, peace and quiet.

  Couldn't imagine why he chose to go home.

  My mother had taken Kevin to his doctor's appointment

  downtown, promising me in a hushed whisper to get the full scoop on Kevin and Ginger's breakup.

  Bobby was off fixing another leak of Mrs. Daasch's, and I was beginning to suspect she was breaking things on purpose.

  Ana still wasn't answering her phone. Part of me wondered if she'd met a man on the plane and made other plans.

  But then the reality sank in. She was honestly worried about Kit. So where was she?

  "With Kent dead," I said, "there goes my prime suspect."

  "Ach. Mine too."

  I filled her in about Randall Oh. "He did give me a fake number, so obviously he's trying to avoid me. Why?"

  "Because you're annoying?"

  "And here I was sharing my Nilla Wafers with you."

  "Ach. They're stale."

  I grit my teeth and returned to the conversation. "Maybe Randall is the killer. Maybe he killed Daisy because he's selling drugs too, and wanted the business all for himself."

  "Then why kill Mr. Creepy if he was the supplier?"

  "Okay, maybe Randall killed Daisy because he knew Daisy was dealing and it hurt his reputation? Killing Creepy Kent then makes sense, if Randall wanted to eliminate all the drug influences surrounding Heavenly Hope."

  "Did you tell the detectives these theories
?"