Trouble In Bloom

  I dipped my hand into the water, swirled it around. With a loud yelp, I suddenly yanked it out of the water while jumping backward, nearly knocking Bobby over.

  He steadied me, keeping me from falling.

  "Nina, what's wrong?"

  I pointed a shaking, dripping finger toward the hot tub. "Someone . . . someone's in there."

  "What?" He reached into the water, searched with his arm. His face paled as a body rose to the surface.

  Looks like I'd found Genevieve.

  Twelve

  All was quiet in the Mill at one in the morning. My house sat in darkness as I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. No evidence remained of the block party. If nothing else, my mother was a stickler for cleanliness.

  Relief flooded me as I saw the house across the street still bore a FOR SALE sign and not a SOLD sign. I could take only so many traumas in one night.

  I pushed open the truck door and gasped as I saw Mr. Cabrera standing there. "You just took ten years off my life," I said.

  He helped me out of the truck. "Sorry, just wanted to talk with you."

  Interrogate would probably be a better term. "And thought one in the morning would be a good time for a chat?"

  "When better?" he asked, smiling. "Saw you pull in."

  "You were waiting for me."

  "I happened to be lookin' out the window."

  "Happened?"

  He grinned. I was glad to see he hadn't taken his dentures out for the night.

  Glow from the street lamps lit the path up to my door way. Riley hadn't bothered to leave the front light on. I unlocked the door and held it open for Mr. Cabrera to follow me in.

  "Is anything wrong?" I asked, flipping on lights in the living room. Any hope my living room ceiling had been miraculously patched dissipated when I spotted the telltale hole above my head.

  He followed me to the kitchen. "You tell me."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, playing dumb. I held up a kettle. "Cocoa?"

  "You have marshmallows?"

  "Always."

  He slid onto a stool, set his elbows on the island. "Hitched or Ditched."

  I heard a soft knock at the front door. I opened it to find Flash Leonard standing on my front porch, his sister Miss Sue and her dog Bear next to him. "We heard about the murder," Flash said. "You okay, darlin'?"

  "I'm fine. Come on in." I led them to the kitchen. "Pull up a stool. I'll be right back."

  Mr. Cabrera looked put-out that he wouldn't be the first to get the scoop. Poor guy.

  I crept up the stairs as the three of them launched into a report on Genevieve's murder.

  At the top of the steps, I switched on the hall light, tiptoed to Riley's room, slowly turned the knob and opened the door.

  Sounds of deep breathing filled the air. He was a mouth breather, had been since I met him when he was eight years old.

  Strong scent of boy filled my nose. Moonlight filtered in through his closed shades, lighting his face. Asleep, he looked so peaceful, even with one leg thrown over the edge of the bed and his iPod headphones dangerously wrapped around his neck. I untangled him and he stirred. He grabbed his pillow, thrust it under his arm.

  I gently kissed his head—it was the only time I got to kiss him without complaint—and said, "Good-night." I backtracked out of his room, refusing to say good-night to Xena, Riley's pet snake. My love of Riley only went so far.

  Back downstairs, Mr. Cabrera filled mugs with hot water. Bear woofed at me.

  "He doesn't bite," Miss Sue said. She looked completely comfortable sitting at my counter in her pink button-down shirt and Levi's jeans.

  After my encounters with BeBe, Bear looked like a dust bunny.

  I grabbed a mug, poured in Swiss Miss and added water. Mr. Cabrera held up the Staypuff bag, but I bypassed it for the can of whipped cream sitting on the counter. I looked at the nutritional content. No carbs. Whew!

  I didn't even look at the calories. I didn't want to know.

  "So?" Flash prompted.

  "Genevieve Hidalgo Sala is dead?" Miss Sue asked.

  "Found drowned in Thad's heart-shaped hot tub?" Mr. Cabrera added.

  "That about sums it up." I lifted my mug. "Cheers."

  Mr. Cabrera popped three more mini-marshmallows into his mug. I didn't know why he bothered with the cocoa at all—he just wanted the marshmallows. "It's been all over the news."

  I wasn't surprised. Everything that had happened tonight was a big blur, from finding Genevieve's body, to Louisa's screams, to Carson filming everything, to Willie's tears, to the police and the questions.

  Through it all I felt guilty for not believing Genevieve's death threats.

  Ana had been in cadaver heaven, trying to peek at Genevieve's body, weasel preliminary exam information from the medical examiner technician, and be the best eyewitness Carson Keyes had ever interviewed.

  "What's going to happen with the show?" Bear had fallen asleep on Miss Sue's lap.

  Cocoa burned my throat. "I don't know. Canceled, I guess."

  Mr. Cabrera reached for more marshmallows. "This week's? Or forever?"

  Good question. How did Genevieve's death factor into the sale of the show to the network? "I don't know."

  "Do the police know who killed her?" Flash asked.

  I shook my head. I'd had to tell the officials about me seeing Thad and Genevieve together, and me seeing Willie and Sherry together, and about the death threats. They had a lot of motives to sort through.

  Mr. Cabrera tossed the empty bag of marshmallows in the trash can. "We should go, let Miz Quinn get some rest."

  Basically, he was done with me because I didn't have any more information (or marshmallows). As it was, what he'd learned tonight would be spread across the Mill before my head hit my pillow.

  I showed them out, their kisses on my cheek comforting, and locked the door behind them.

  Pulling back the covers on the sofa bed, I was just about to slip in when the phone rang. I rushed to answer it before it woke Riley. Bobby's cell number glowed on the caller ID readout.

  "Hey," I said.

  "I just wanted to check in, make sure you're okay."

  "I'm all right. You?"

  "Okay. It's not every day I see a dead body."

  For me it was becoming a common occurrence. I shuddered and noticed I had a voice mail waiting.

  "You sure you're all right? It might not be good for you to be alone tonight. I can come over."

  I saw right through him. "Riley's here."

  He paused, and I swore I could hear him smiling. "Good night, Nina. Call me if you need me."

  "Good night, Bobby."

  Slowly, I hung up, trying not to think about needing him. I didn't want to need any man. Wasn't that the point of this self-discovery mission? Then why was I feeling as though I should pick up that phone and call him back? Even if it was just to talk?

  I did pick up the phone, but only to dial into my voice mail.

  "Nina Quinn, this is Duke reminding you that I'll see you at the Freedom High School track at five A.M. sharp. Don't be late or you'll regret it."

  As I climbed into bed I was full of regrets. And none of them had to do with Duke.

  "What happened to you?" Brickhouse asked as I hobbled into the office at 6:30 A.M., every muscle in my body aching .

  I hadn't thought that possible—for every muscle in a person's body to ache. Had believed it was just a saying.

  It was possible. Trust me.

  "Duke," I said.

  I heard a laugh come from Kit's office.

  "Not funny!" I called out. I looked around. No drooling behemoth to be seen. "Where's BeBe?"

  Brickhouse shoved an invoice into a file and placed it in the cabinet behind her desk. "That new one is out walking her."

  "The new one?"

  "Jeff."

  Jeff. Right. The one I'd told specifically not to have anything to do with BeBe.

  "Anyone else in yet?"

  "Marty and
Shay are out back loading the trucks. Coby's snoozing in the conference room. Who's Duke?"

  Kit laughed again. I grit my teeth. "You don't want to know," I said. Carefully, I walked into my office, closed the door.

  Gingerly, I sat. I woke up that morning barely able to move. And then, fearing Duke's wrath, dragged myself to the Freedom High track. There, I had run four laps—one piddly mile—and nearly needed CPR.

  I pulled out a bottle of Advil and thanked my lucky stars Duke had given me tomorrow off.

  My office door swung open and Brickhouse came in, carrying a steaming mug. She set it on my desk, said, "I bought a grinder for the office. Hope you don't mind," and walked back out again, leaving the door open.

  If I didn't feel as though my skeletal system had wilted like the liriope outside TBS's front door, I would have gotten up and closed it.

  Hopefully that ibuprofen would kick in soon, or I'd be of no use for Pippi's mini today.

  Who knew self-discovery would be so painful?

  From the office next door I heard the Nokia tune—Kit's boring ring tone. Straining, I tried to listen to his conversation, but no sooner had I deciphered his grumbled, "Daisy, I need to see you," than he strode out the front door, his cell phone held to his ear. The chimes crashed against the door as it closed behind him.

  "Mrs. Krauss?" I called.

  "What do you want?"

  "Do you know what's going on with Kit and Daisy?"

  "Not a clue? You?" she said loudly. Probably I should get up and go to the door. Or pick up the phone. Or use the intercom.

  But shouting worked well enough.

  "Nope. I'm worried, though."

  She clucked. "Ach. Me too."

  "If you hear something, will you tell me?"

  "Only if you do the same."

  "Deal."

  She clucked again and said, "Don't you have work to do, Nina Ceceri?"

  After flashing back to tenth grade, where I'd heard those exact words a lot, I opened the Lowther file, glanced at the master checklist Deanna had put together.

  I'd been doing well not thinking about her, but knew eventually I was going to have to. I didn't want her to leave TBS, and I really didn't think she wanted to go.

  My cell phone rang, and I heard Brickhouse singing along with Madonna.

  Because I didn't want to get up, I chucked my well-worn stress ball at the door, hoping the door would close. It didn't budge. Giving up, I flipped open my phone, and wished I had my stress ball back, because I was starting to get a little stressed. I said hello to Ana. "You're up early."

  She laughed. "Never went to bed."

  I leaned back in my chair, thought about staying in that position until I could walk normally again. "Do I want to know?"

  She giggled.

  "Okay, that would be no, I don't."

  "I went with Carson to the studio, and after he was done reporting on poor Genevieve, then we went back to his place and—"

  Cutting in, I said, "Didn't want to hear about it."

  "Party pooper."

  I reached for my mug of coffee, hoping Brickhouse had made it like Roxie.

  "Has Carson learned any more about Genevieve's death?" I asked.

  "Carson? No, he's not an investigative reporter. He's just . . . "

  "Fluff? Eye candy?"

  "That works. Although I have to say he has a really nice—"

  "Ana!"

  "You're no fun, you know that?"

  Was fun on my self-discovery list? I chose to ignore her

  and said, "So we don't really know anything else about the murder?"

  "Actually, we do. Well, I do. I'd make a great investigator, don't you think?"

  I thought that sounded terrifying, but kept it to myself. "That would depend on what you'd learned."

  "Remember that tech from the medical examiner's office I buddied up to last night?"

  "You mean badgered?"

  "Potato, potahto."

  I smiled, sipped. Not too bad. I could get used to coffee drinking.

  "He called a little bit ago."

  "So early?"

  "Okay, maybe I called him."

  "To chitchat, I'm sure."

  "I don't like your tone, Nina Colette Ceceri Quinn."

  Setting the mug down, I grinned. "You're sounding like my mother."

  Ana gasped. "I should hang up!"

  "But you won't, because you're busting at the seams to tell me something."

  She picked up where she'd left off. "After I agreed to meet him for lunch—"

  "What about Carson?" I asked.

  "It's not like we're exclusive."

  "Oh. My mistake."

  "Anyway, the tech—his name is Andy by the way—said that a prelim report on Genevieve came back and that he really shouldn't tell me, but . . . "

  I leaned forward and regretted it immediately as my muscles cried in protest.

  "Genevieve was dead before someone put her in that hot tub. Strangled."

  "Wow."

  "You're telling me. This is getting juicy, and it's just

  about killed Carson that Willie's pulled the plug on him filming behind the scenes."

  Genevieve's death probably wasn't the kind of publicity Willie needed or wanted right about now. "I don't blame him."

  "I know, I know, but this could be the start of something big for Carson."

  I thought of his big fish, little pond speech. "Is that something Carson wants or something you want for Carson?"

  She hemmed and hawed. "Does it matter?"

  Ditched. Their relationship was definitely headed toward ditched.

  "I mean, really matter?" she went on. "He could be the next big entertainment reporter for the big names: ET, Access Hollywood, E! Oh my God, he would work for E! Think of the people I'd meet."

  She'd gone off the deep end.

  "Nina, you have to talk to Willie tonight. Get him to let Carson back on the set! This could be my big break!"

  "Don't you mean his big break?"

  "Isn't that what I said?"

  "No."

  "Oh. Slip of the tongue."

  "Doesn't matter anyways. I won't be seeing Willie anymore."

  "Why not? Won't you see him tonight at the taping of Rendezvous?"

  Warmth flowed into my fingers as I gripped my mug. "Isn't the show canceled?"

  "No one's called you?"

  "No . . . "

  "Willie wants to go on with the show. He's worried the network will back out if filming stops."

  "Without a hostess?"

  The chimes on the front door jangled, and I heard Brickhouse squeal in delight.

  I don't think I'd ever heard her squeal before.

  I craned my neck but couldn't see who'd come in, then I heard Tam say, "I hope you're not getting too comfortable behind that desk."

  "Gotta go," I said to Ana, and clicked my phone closed.

  I struggled to my feet, winced as I made my way out of my office.

  Brickhouse had Tam in a big bear hug. When she finally pulled away, I saw little Nic strapped to Tam's chest in one of those newfangled strappy Baby Bjorn pouch things. How she hadn't been smothered by Brickhouse, I didn't know.

  Brickhouse tickled Nic's chin, and the baby started crying.

  "Stop scaring the poor girl," I said.

  Brickhouse glared. "Ach."

  "It's not you," Tam reassured. "She's been fussy all night. I can't get her to stop crying. My gosh, Nina, you look great. I mean, you looked good on TV, but look even better now."

  "I've missed you around here," I said, sticking my tongue out at Brickhouse.

  She clucked, and apparently chose to ignore me, instead saying, "My Claudia rarely cried."

  I smiled at Nic. She snuffled. Redness streaked her blue eyes, and her bottom lip trembled and jutted out.

  I turned to Brickhouse. "If you were my mother, I'd be too scared to cry too."