Trouble In Bloom

  I knew she was smart.

  "Right. So, what if TBS offered a special ser vice? We— rather, you—design the landscape and pull together all the materials needed for the design. Everything will be delivered to the homeowner's front step. Then the homeowner does all the work to see the design come to fruition. It will be a fraction of the cost we charge now, people can do it on their own time schedule, and there's a sense of accomplishment they receive by doing the yard themselves, without the hassle of searching for the right type of stone, the perfect plant, liners, pumps, all the tedious, time-consuming details."

  Her face lit. "I love it!"

  "I knew you would."

  "I'm so sor—"

  "Ah!" I shook a finger. "We weren't going to dwell, remember?"

  "Okay. Can I say thank you?"

  "You just did."

  "When do I start?"

  "Now." I pulled a file from my drawer. "Here are some names I've accumulated over the last month or so of people who were interested in a makeover but couldn't swing it for one reason or another. You should contact them, offer this new ser vice. I guarantee your spring will be busy."

  Slowly, she stood, clutching the folder. "I'll make you proud, Nina."

  I didn't tell her she already had.

  Looking up at the wall clock, I noted that Sherry Cochran's appointment time had come and gone. I'd stuck around just in case.

  I ate another cupcake as I tidied my desk, gathered up my handbag. "Why don't you go home, Mrs. Krauss?" I asked, headed for the door. "I'll be out all afternoon, and there's really no need for you to stay."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Out."

  "Where?"

  "If you must know, to the mall." I was due to meet Perry there in forty-five minutes.

  She grabbed her purse. "Good timing. I need a few things myself."

  "But—"

  "Close your mouth, Nina Ceceri. We'll take my car."

  "But—"

  "No arguments."

  "And to think I was just beginning to like you."

  "Ach. We can't be having that, can we?" She pushed me out the door.

  Nineteen

  Lips pursed, eyebrows dipped, Perry said, "No, no! Get it off right now! My eyes!"

  I pointed at Brickhouse's cleavage. "You could hurt someone with those. Poke someone's eyes out."

  "Donatelli's going to love it," she said, admiring the leather bustier in the dressing room's full-length mirror.

  Perry cupped his mouth, directing his words so only I could hear him. "I hope this Donatelli doesn't have a heart condition."

  "If he doesn't now," I whispered, "he will after he gets a look at that."

  Brickhouse spun. "I wonder if they have a matching skirt."

  "No!" Perry and I shouted at the same time.

  An older woman popped her head out of the adjacent dressing room at all the commotion. She took one look at Brickhouse's outfit and darted back inside, a huge grin on her face. Thank goodness I didn't recognize the woman from the Mill. News that Brickhouse had turned hootchie mama would have been all over the neighborhood by the time we left the mall.

  "Ach. No fun, you two."

  My cell phone rang.

  Perry said, "How appropriate. A Madonna song for a Madonna kind of outfit. Perhaps you should have it for your ring tone, Ursula."

  Brickhouse said, "For a gay guy you're no fun."

  Eyebrows dipped and mouth open in outrage, Perry said, "No fun? Me? Not true!"

  She jabbed him in the chest. "I haven't heard a show tune since I met you."

  I rolled my eyes, checked my caller ID. It was Bobby. I hesitated for just a second before I answered it.

  "Bobby?"

  "Hi, Nina," he said.

  Perry said, "I don't sing show tunes until I've had one drink, maybe two."

  "Ach. You know songs from West Side Story?"

  "Has Joan Rivers had too much plastic surgery?"

  She let out a laugh. "It's karaoke night at Out of Tune, a little place near me."

  "I've heard of it," he said warily.

  "Are you game?"

  "Darlin', if you promise not to buy that bustier, I'm there."

  I stepped away from the conversation. "Bobby, you still there?"

  "Where are you? And did I just hear the word 'bustier'?"

  I moseyed over to the lingerie. A beautiful sheer camisole/panty set caught my eye. "I'm at the mall with Perry and Brickhouse."

  "Dare I hope the bustier is for you?"

  "You daren't," I said, flipping through the hangers to see if they had my size.

  "Just my luck."

  I pulled a hanger off the rack, held the camisole up to my chest. Tiny embroidered flowers were stitched along the V-neck seam and along the waistband of the panties. It was a gorgeous set. Glancing up, I saw Perry across the way giving me a thumbs-up. Then he fanned himself.

  I shook my head at him.

  He nodded at me.

  Unable to believe I was even contemplating buying it, I set the lingerie back on the rack, stared at it.

  I knew Bobby would love it.

  He cleared his throat. "I said, 'Just my luck.' "

  "I heard."

  "Usually you have a snappy comeback for me."

  "Sorry."

  His voice dropped a notch. "Are you okay?"

  I checked the price tag on the cami set. Eighty dollars. I'd really want to own it for that price.

  Or really want Bobby to see me in it.

  "I'm okay, Bobby." I sighed, took a deep breath, and was about to tell him how much I missed him. Not only right now, but for the past six weeks. Of how I went to bed thinking about him, woke up thinking about him.

  Damn it.

  I just couldn't admit to myself that he wasn't a rebound relationship. Because then I'd have to open myself up once again to pain and heartache and possible rejection.

  It was nice to see that my self-discovery had finally allowed me to see that.

  But what did I do about it?

  Searching, I found a place to sit, at the base of a mannequin wearing a barely there fur-trimmed teddy. Maria would have loved it.

  "For some reason, I don't believe you," he said softly.

  He was perceptive, that Bobby.

  "Is this about the murders?" he asked.

  Okay, maybe not that perceptive.

  "Maybe," I said.

  "Any news there?"

  I told him what I knew, about the case being unofficially closed.

  "I still can't believe Thad would kill himself," he said.

  "Me either."

  I found I didn't want to talk about it anymore. "Where are you?" I asked.

  "Just landed in Tampa—I'm on my way to my place. I have a couple of meetings, then I'm heading back."

  "Important meetings?"

  My cell phone crackled. My battery was low, and reception in the mall wasn't the greatest.

  "You could say that. I know what I want, Nina," he said softly. "And I'm going to get it."

  I smiled. "With that attitude, who could say no?"

  He laughed. "That's what I'm banking on. Listen, I need a favor, Nina. I know you're busy . . . "

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's Mac. Louisa can't stay with him."

  Imagining Mac chasing Louisa around the house, playing grabby-grab, I smiled. "Oh?"

  "Louisa has to go, something about emergency meetings with Willie. I'll be back later tonight, but I don't want Mac to be alone for that long."

  I hoped Mac had gotten in one pinch at least. "I'll head over there now."

  "You sure? What about your shopping?"

  "I've bought too much already." I spotted Brickhouse waddling toward me, Perry behind her carrying my numerous shopping bags.

  "Thanks, Nina. I'll let Mac know you're on your way. Call me if you need anything."

  "I will."

  "I'll be getting in around nine tonight. Will you be able to stay around and talk?"

&
nbsp; "Talk?"

  "Talk, though where that goes . . . "

  I laughed.

  "I can't believe the thought of that made you laugh."

  "You never give up."

  "Never. You'll cave. 'Bye, Nina."

  I might. I was feeling weaker by the minute.

  Hanging up, I watched Brickhouse eye the teddy on the mannequin standing behind me. "No leather, but how about this?" she asked Perry.

  He set the shopping bags down. "Tasteful, pretty . . . all right, give it a go."

  Her eyes lit and she went in search of her size.

  "That's an image of her I really don't need in my head," I said.

  "Was that Bobby on the phone?"

  "How could you tell?"

  "Your face. It glows when you talk to him. Does he know how much you love him?"

  I shrugged.

  "Do you know how much you love him?"

  "I'm just starting to figure that out."

  "Maybe you two could figure it out together?"

  "Maybe."

  Brickhouse returned and held up the teddy on a hanger. "Should I try it on?"

  "No!" we shouted at the same time.

  She headed toward the register.

  "I've got to cut our shopping trip short," I said, and explained about Mac.

  "You sure you don't want to buy just one more thing?"

  I followed his gaze to the sheer camisole set.

  To buy it would be admitting I did want a future with Bobby, long distance or not. That I was ready to take that leap of faith, to open my heart up again, to love again. And accept all the risks that came with it.

  I walked over, picked it up. "Maybe just one more thing."

  Twenty

  Mac was more a kisser than a pincher. Every time I turned around, he was there, trying to steal a smooch. I'd finally gotten him settled in front of the baseball playoff game.

  He and Bobby were currently staying together at Mac's place, a small run-down apartment in Springdale, about fifteen miles south of the Mill. For someone who could afford Lowther House, Mac sure didn't live like he had money.

  He sat on a worn couch, circa the year I was born, watched TV on one of those old sets that didn't have remotes, and even had a rotary phone.

  The kitchen was dated but spotless. I washed down the counter, dried the dishes in the sink, and went to make sure Mac was okay.

  He was sound asleep on the couch, his head tipped back. He snored almost as loud as my mother.

  Almost.

  I opened the slider on the back patio and stepped outside. The snow had stopped and had melted almost immediately, leaving everything slick.

  Pulling out my phone, I dialed into TBS's voice-mail system. Most calls were not urgent. I'd get back to them tomorrow. One, however, caught my attention. It was from Sherry Cochran, and she wanted me to call her back as soon as possible.

  Over my shoulder, I checked on Mac. Still asleep. Mentally, I repeated Sherry's number until I punched it into the phone. She answered on the third ring.

  "Thank you for getting back to me so soon," she said after the standard hellos. "I'm so sorry I missed my appointment today."

  I leaned over the railing. Mac lived on the third fl oor. It was a long way down. "It's perfectly understandable. No need to worry. We can reschedule when you're ready."

  She breathed a sigh. "I'm so glad to hear that. I'd been afraid I missed my chance."

  "Not at all. I'm so sorry about what happened, Sherry." I felt the need to say it, though I barely knew her.

  "Don't be. I'm not."

  I straightened so fast I nearly lost my footing. I grabbed hold of the railing. The cool air soothed my burning cheeks. "You're not?"

  "No."

  "Oh."

  "That sounds harsh, I know, but Thad and I haven't been in love for a long time. He was an egotistical ass."

  Ohh-kay. I didn't ask why she'd stayed with him. None of my business.

  "However," she said, "he didn't deserve to be murdered."

  "But I thought—"

  "They're wrong. Thad would never kill himself. I've been at the police station all day trying to convince the detectives someone killed Thad. No one listened. They thought I was just being hysterical. Do I sound hysterical to you?"

  Maybe a little, but I said, "Um, no."

  "Thank you. Thad had already put down a deposit on a house in California, had a meeting with a decorator lined up. He had plans, Nina. He didn't care one whit that Gen evieve had died, no matter how the police try to paint it. Thad wanted the spotlight for himself anyway."

  "Do you, uh, think Thad killed her?"

  "Maybe," she said. "I really don't know. I wouldn't put it past him."

  "So you, uh, knew about the affair?"

  "All of them. He made a point of telling me."

  Nice guy.

  "Did he, uh, know about yours?"

  There was silence for a second. "How did you know about mine?"

  I came clean. "I saw you and Willie together Monday night."

  "Ah."

  "Sorry. I just happened to be walking outside, getting fresh air."

  "No, Thad didn't know. Neither did Genevieve."

  "Did Willie know about Thad and Genevieve?"

  "Yes. I went to him and told him. That's when we became close."

  "Do you, um, think Willie killed Genevieve?"

  "He didn't. We had our own plans for Thad and Genevieve."

  Did I dare ask? It was something the old Nina would have done. The new one, though? Some things just couldn't be helped. "If you don't mind me asking, what kind of plans?"

  "It's no secret now—I've told the police everything. Willie was going to finalize the deal with the network people, then cut Gen and Thad loose and hire new hosts. Willie and I were going to file for divorces and live happily ever after in Malibu. Genevieve and Thad would have had their worlds pulled out from under them. Come this Friday, when Willie was supposed to sign the final contracts, they would have had nothing but each other. It was the ultimate revenge."

  Willie's comment about everything being over on Friday now made sense. But it seemed to me Genevieve and Thad had paid the ultimate price—but by whose hand?

  "Let me tell you this, though. In their deaths, they gave us the greatest retribution. A bidding war has erupted. Three networks now want the show. Like they say, there's no such thing as bad PR."

  The PR comment reminded me. "Were Genevieve's death threats real?"

  She laughed. "Lord, no. Completely made up for the benefit of that reporter. Worked like a charm too."

  Too well—someone had capitalized on the PR those threats had gotten.

  "Did you hire the picketers to boost ratings too?"

  "Actually, we had nothing to do with the picketers. Just some morality group out to sabotage the show."

  Not from what I'd overheard. Interesting.

  "I've got to go, Nina. I'll call to reschedule our appointment."

  "Any time."

  I hung up, pulled my hand off the railing and felt a metal spur bite into my skin. "Yowch!"

  Blood pooled along the cut. From the kitchen, I grabbed a paper towel and wrapped my finger. It was just a tiny slice, but wouldn't stop bleeding. I applied pressure and went in search of a Band-Aid.

  Mac still snored as I passed by. I froze in the doorway of the hallway, though, when I heard Carson's voice coming from the TV.

  "This is Carson Keyes, stay tuned to Fox 18 after the game to see my exclusive interview with Thad Cochran's widow, Sherry." He arched an eyebrow. "Hear why she believes her husband was murdered."

  So, Sherry was taking her case public. I wondered what the police would think of that. I couldn't imagine they'd be pleased.

  I checked the medicine cabinet for Band-Aids, but didn't see any. Crouching, I searched the vanity drawers, then under the sink.