Digging Up Trouble (15 page)

Kate wore a soft orange-colored halter top, loose and flowing, with white capris. A gold link anklet encircled her right ankle, and she was barefoot. I liked her even more. I was a barefoot kind of girl at heart.

Stubborn? Or scared? The thought of leaving after forty years of depending on someone else had to be terrifying. Not to mention that by all accounts, Russ was an abuser. Mentally, definitely, but physically too?

"I hear he was horrible."

She scrunched her nose. "I don't like to speak badly about the dead, but honestly? He was the worst."

"Was the homeowners' lawsuit designed to get him out of the neighborhood?"

"I'm not going to lie. It would have been an added benefit. But you saw the yard. It was an eyesore, and in definite violation of our codes."

I could see why she had been voted president of the homeowners' association. She had an easy way about her, but under the pretty surface, she was smart. I imagined she got what she wanted—a lot.

"Codes the HOA designed specifically because of him?" I asked.

She shrugged. "It's a standard agreement."

"Was he mad when he found out Greta joined the HOA without his permission?"

"Fuming. Wouldn't pay dues or respond to our notices. We had no choice but to file a suit against him."

"But I heard the suit had been dropped."

"Dropped?"

"That's what I heard." I didn't tell her where.

"From whom?"

I really couldn't say since I didn't know the identity of the man in Greta's kitchen. "It's not true?"

"No," she said. "It's not."

So, had Greta's visitor been lying? It seemed that way, without a doubt.

"Where did you hear it?"

I hedged. "Somewhere. I can't place it."

"Well, if you do, please let me know."

"I will. And if you happen to see Greta, would you please let her know I need to talk to her? I can't finish the job in her backyard without her permission. And right now she's refusing to speak to me."

Kate's eyes widened.

"You seem concerned."

"Well, as it is, the yard is still an eyesore."

It really was, all torn up, yard debris everywhere. I cringed because I hated leaving a job undone.

"Despite what you heard, the homeowner association's lawsuit is still in effect, Ms. Quinn."

"Nina, please. And what does that mean?"

"It means that Greta has until the end of the month to repay the dues and to have the yard fixed or the house will be foreclosed upon."

"Does she know this? What if she's under the impression the suit has been dropped?"

"I'll have the lawyers get in touch with her again. Now that Russ is out of the picture, I can't imagine there being any issues or that she'd follow through with her threats to sue you. She needs you if she wants to save her house."

That made me feel better.

As I drove away I slowed in front of the Lockharts' house. There was a small SUV in the driveway that had a local real estate agent's logo on it. I pulled up to the curb as a woman pulled a For Sale sign out of the hatchback.

I leaned out the passenger window. "Excuse me, is this house for sale?"

She perked right up, sensing a sale. "Officially on the market tomorrow."

Interestinger and interestinger.

"Really? It's such a lovely house. I can't imagine anyone moving from it? Was it a job transfer?"

She came up to my window. "No, just not enough space for the family anymore."

My foot.

"They're actually moving into Vista View . . . heard of it?"

I knew it quite well. It was a neighborhood of halfmillion- to multi-million-dollar homes.

Bill and Lindsey were movin' on up.

Now that they could afford it? Because Russ was dead?

I thanked the agent, who looked put out that I didn't make an appointment to look at the house, and headed toward Growl thinking that the motives for killing Russ were stacking up against Bill.

Growl had been in business for about a year now, and doing quite well as far as I knew. The parking lot was almost full when I pulled in. The building was a modern design, all sleek lines and dark stone. In a former life it had been an upscale coffeehouse.

I wondered if Bill was working. And if I could find out more information about those accounting books.

Inside, the place was jumping. I looked around for Riley and found him at a register, taking orders. He looked awfully cute in his dress shirt and nice pants, both black. Not that I'd ever tell him so. He still got defensive about those kinds of things.

He spotted me and held up a wait-a-minute finger. I took the opportunity to look around, see if I could spot Bill.

There were three registers in use, and a mix of patrons ranged from young gen-exers fresh from the office, to scrubby looking teens, to senior citizens looking for a discount. I spotted two vegetarian T-shirts. The majority of people seemed to be in their twenties and thirties, business types if the suits and sensible shoes were any indication.

Growl had accomplished what many other places hadn't— bridging the age gap and closing the financial divide.

The lines were long, yet people didn't look impatient. Someone walked by me with a tray of food that smelled heavenly but looked horrible. Too many green and slimy things on the plate. Spinach, I think. And some marinated mushrooms.

Yuck!

I glanced up at the menu. It was divided into three sections. Soups, salads, entrées. The soups made me shudder. Stuff like Asparagus Delight, which was an oxymoron if I ever heard one, Lentil Stew, Split Pea, Mushroom Barley, Forest Mushroom. I shuddered.

I'm sorry, but anything grown in a forest should stay in a forest. My gaze moved onto the salad menu. If I were a salad person, it wouldn't be too bad. There was Dandelion Green Salad, Mandarin Spinach Salad, Portabella Mushroom Salad, and Vegetarian Antipasto. Unfortunately, I was a cookie dough kind of person.

The entrées ranged from burgers—Tofu Mushroom, Super Soy, Black Bean, and Turkey—to wraps such as the Five Mushroom, Hummus Leek, and Turkey Spinach. There were other dishes such as the Tofu Taco, Mushroom Pot Pie, Tuna Mushroom Melt, and Mushroom Ragout.

This explained why I never ate here.

The cost was amazingly affordable, most items under five dollars. I could see why the place was so popular to healthy eaters.

There was a lot of money to be made here.

And a lot to be stolen . . .

Behind Riley there was a pass-through to the kitchen, where I could only see hands working quickly and lettuce flying. No sign of Bill.

Down a long hall in front of me, just beyond the restrooms, a door was marked employees only. I assumed Bill's office was back there . . .

I looked up as someone came out of the swinging door at the end of the hall, pushing a mop bucket. As she came closer I realized I recognized her.

"Noreen?"

Dark circles hovered under her Sally Jesse glasses. Her eyes narrowed while she apparently searched to put my name to my face, then widened in recognition.

"I didn't know you worked here," I said, inanely. How would I know?

A small gold tag on her black shirt read noreen, manager. "Nepotism at its best," she said with no inflection at all.

Ahh. I remembered what Bill had said when I'd first met Noreen.
What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be
at wo
—

Work.

That's how Bill had known Noreen.

She looked me up and down. "Not eating?"

"Picking up my son." Technically he wasn't mine, but I couldn't quite get my heart to accept that. "Riley."

"Oh, Bill's nephew." There was a look on her face I couldn't quite place.

I smiled. "Nepotism at its best."

I thought I saw the corner of her mouth lift into a small smile, but it could have been my imagination.

"Good kid," she said.

"Thanks. How's Greta holding up?" Maybe this was my way into seeing her. Noreen seemed to be the reasonable sort. And if she could get me in with Greta, I silently promised not to call her Mrs. Potato Head anymore. I'd even make it a commandment and everything.

"Still refuses to see anyone." Blunt cut bangs swung as she shook her head. "Shouldn't be alone at a time like this. It ain't right."

"Grief does funny things to people."

"She should be celebrating." She twirled the mop in the bucket. She must have seen my startled look. "No, I'm not sad he's gone. None of us here are. Especially Bill."

I perked up. "Oh?"

"He and Russ have differing management styles. There was constant staff turnover on the days Russ managed. Everyone loves working for Bill."

"Including you?"

She shrugged. "Better than Russ. Made me manager. Can't argue with that. After a year of working for Russ, I was still on the registers."

It seemed to me that pushing a mop around wasn't a step up from the registers.

"What made Russ want to start a restaurant? He was a little old for a middle-age crisis, wasn't he?"

Water sloshed out of the bucket. The scent of sautéed onions wafted through the pass-through, making my stomach growl despite itself.

Growl.

Ah. I finally understood the name. Sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake.

Noreen pursed her lips. "Russ's always been a health nut. When that McDonald's documentary came out he'd finally had enough. He wanted to open a restaurant here in Freedom where people could have healthy options."

"Did Greta have a say?"

"Greta rarely had a say."

I thought about how sad that was, then said, "Why go in with Bill?"

She shot me a look that said she didn't know why she was talking to me, or telling me so much. I didn't quite understand it myself, but gift horses and all.

I swore under my breath.

"Something wrong?"

"My mother."

"Something's wrong with your mother?"

"No, no," I reassured. "Only that I'm the only one who got the defective cliché gene."

One dark bushy eyebrow arched over a squinty eye. I had the uneasy feeling she was trying to determine whether I was crazy.

If she figured it out, I wished she'd let me know.

The bucket got another glance from behind the Sally Jesse glasses, then she looked up at me again and picked up where we'd left off. "Bill had the know-how."

Apparently I rated over mopping. Good to know.

"Right. He'd managed previous places."

Noreen nodded, sloshed more water over the side of the bucket. At this rate the place would be flooded soon. "They both put in some money, Russ more than Bill. He was a miser, that Russ. Saved every penny."

"Well, it seems to have paid off. This place is doing well."

"Thanks to Bill. Without him, the place would have folded by now. Don't think Russ didn't know it. Originally he'd had plans to cut Bill loose after a year, but realized he couldn't run the place without him. Bill threatened to walk unless he was allowed to become a full co-owner. It's been tense around here ever since. With Russ wanting the place to himself and Bill thinking he deserves it all."

That wasn't quite the flowery version Lindsey had told me. Again I thought of my suspicions about Bill skimming from the business and pressed my luck. "Do you know why Russ brought Growl's accounting books home? Was he suspicious?"

"Suspicious of what?" Noreen asked. "The business is fine."

"That's right, it is," a male voice said.

It was Bill, and clearly he'd been eavesdropping. "The floor isn't going to mop itself, Noreen."

She looked like she wanted to give Bill a piece of her mind, but thought better of it. The wheels on the bucket squeaked as she pushed it toward the rear of the dining area. She didn't look back.

"Just picking up Riley," I said by way of explanation.

"He'll be out in a minute. Why are you so curious about the accounting books, Nina?"

"Curious? Me?" I laughed, desperately looked around for Riley.

"You've heard about curiosity and the cat, right?"

"Have you been hanging out with my mother?"

Flustered, he crossed his arms, unfolded them again. "What? Your mother? No, why?"

"Hey." Riley dropped a duffel bag at my feet. He'd changed from his black uniform to shorts and a tee. "I'm ready."

"Riley! Good to see you," I said, throwing an arm around him.

He shrugged out of the semihug, looked at me like I was crazy.

Scary. I was actually becoming accustomed to seeing that look from people.

"Gotta go." I fairly pushed Riley toward the door.

"What's with you?" he asked.

Sounded suspiciously like a threat to me. What exactly could those accounting books reveal?

And how far would Bill go to conceal it?

Which was all too much to spill on Riley, so I opted for something he could relate to. "I have a date."

"With Bo-bby?" he singsonged.

"Dude," someone called just as I pushed open the door.

Riley turned and greeted the kid. "Hey, Goosh." The pair completed a series of hand slaps that left me dizzy.

"Goosh?" I said. He was tall, thin. The black Growl uniform hung loosely from his arms, his legs. Pockmarks scarred his face and a scraggly goatee hid his chin.

Long stringy hair covered Goosh's eyes. "It's, like, ah, whattaya call it? A um, yeah, nickname."

Thank God.

As he asked Riley, in a babbling almost incoherent string of words that would cause Mrs. Krauss to shudder, about covering for him the next day, I noticed how his words slurred. On closer inspection, his pupils were dark and wide.